WBBBBm Iran ■■•■-■:-■:•■■■■'":■■■ ■pn ' V." ■HHIHHi ■ '■'■■' ■■■'■' ■'■'■■'■' ■■■> ; .".■■■ ■' '•'■■• < |K9 « i ■ ■' sm tWtWM Iniito BISKS mm ■'■■■'■■ • ■' ' IBl :.■■.'••■"•.■:;■' ■-'»■■. W ■ Ms 5M flffi ■MM Class "sL BooL___£iM fo|pgIitN?________ CflHRIGHT DEPOSIE 'jfaxm. w» 'STILL IN THY RIGHT HAND CARRY GENTLE PEACE TO SILENCE ENVIOUS TONGUES." SHAKESPEARE. MAXINE ELLIOTT. 'Tis in my memory locked, And you yourself shall keep the key." THE FORGOTTEN LINES (Suggestion For Tableau) .._ ■ MISS NINA E. GRAY. (Neff College of Oratory.) FATHER, MUST I DRINK IT NOW?' Chautauqua Instructor OF ELOCUTION and DRAMATIC ART CONTAINING THE Best Readings and Recitations for all Occasions from the Most Celebrated Authors INCLUDING GRAVE AND PATHETIC, MORAL AND DIDACTIC, DRAMATIC, DESCRIPTIVE, RELIGIOUS AND HUMOROUS SELECTIONS Programmes for Special Occasions TOGETHER WITH A TREATISE ON ELOCUTION; CULTIVATION OF THE VOICE; LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT; YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT; CELEBRATED ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS; SPEECHES OF GREAT WARRIORS; DIALOGUES; DEBATES; PARLIAMENTARY RULES, ETC., ETC. HOW TO ORGANIZE AND CONDUCT LITERARY SOCIETIES CONTAINING THE BEST SELECTIONS FROM HUNDREDS OF OUR MOST RENOWNED AUTHORS SUCH AS ROBERT J. BURDETTE ; ELLA WHEELER WILCOX; CHAS. F. ADAMS; MARK TWAIN ; CHAUNCEY M. DEPEW ; MRS. E. J. H. GOODFELLOW; H. ALGER, JR.; SAMUEL W. SMALL; WILL CARLETON ; EDWARD C. CARSWELL; MAY RAPLEY McNABB ; MARION DOUGLAS, ETC. EMBELLISHED WITH MORE THAN lOO SUPERB ILLUSTRATIONS NATIONAL PUBLISHING 239, 241 AND 243 AMERICAN ST., PHILADELPHIA, PA. -f\\f%o 1079 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S97, by W. R. VANS ANT, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. Ct All Rights Reserved. ... o INTRODUCTION. THERE are many books of selections for speakers and reciters, but there is no other volume published which carries out the progressive idea embodied in this work. No other single volume covers so great a field and meets so completely the demands of all ages, conditions and occasions. An examination of the work will disclose the fact that the richness and variety of the selections are unsurpassed, and that the arrangement and plan of the work are its peculiarly original and distinctive features. The youth of our country should be encouraged to train themselves in recitation and declamation, to avail themselves of opportunities to speak and recite in public, and to study the art and science of elocution and oratory. As a useful accomplishment and as a means to success and honor no other pur- suit offers greater opportunities. The orator is always a king among men. " I can conceive, " says Cicero, " of no accomplishment more to be desired than to be able to captivate the affections, charm the understanding, and direct or restrain at pleasure the will of whole assemblies. Can aught be more desirable than to have always ready the power of speech to raise up the prostrate, to communicate happiness, to avert danger, to save a fellow-citizen from wrong, to defend the weak, to assail the profligate, and to redress our own or our country's injuries? Upon the eloquence and spirit of an accomplished speaker may often depend not only his own honor and right, but the welfare of a government — nay, of a whole race of people." Orators and effective public speakers must always exist in the growing power of any government, and when a nation is without one or more great patriotic and unselfish orators it is in imminent danger. Greece was safe and invincible as long as Demosthenes thundered against Philip ; but when he was taken away, and the mantle of his oratory descended not upon another, then the Macedonian came and the glory of ancient Athens departed. When the silvery tongue of Cicero was silenced in Rome, and no one arose to take his place, the decline of that great empire was marked and rapid until the vandals of the north made it their prey. The United States of America with its model government was made possible by the oratory of Patrick Henry and John Adams on one side, and Pitt and Burke on the other side of the Atlantic. The ringing tones of their eloquence awoke the sleeping spirits of liberty and justice in two hemispheres iii iv INTRODUCTION, and, under their magic spell, the arm of oppression was unnerved, while he who fought for home, country and liberty was inspired with double strength and courage. It was the burning eloquence of Mirabeau, Vergniaud, Robespierre and Danton that lighted the fires of revolution under the wicked and crumbling- throne of France, sacrificing the crown and royalty as an offering for the salvation of the people ; and, having burned the barriers away, raised, like a Phcenix from its smouldering ashes, the first great Republic of Europe, and,, in spite of the moral miasma — inherited from a corrupted court — with which that country was so long enveloped, the oratory of de Tocqueville, Victor Hugo and Gambetta has preserved and nurtured the spirit of liberty, and caused the French to be universally respected — with the possible exception of the Swiss — as the most individually free, prosperous and patriotic nation in the old world. The orators of England and Ireland have always sounded the keynote in the British psalm of life. The words of warning and admonition from Burke and his colleagues, no doubt, saved the English crown from the fate of the French and averted a revolution as terrible and bloody as that which befel their neighbors. It was the patriotic eloquence of Clay and Webster which, for more than a quarter of a century, beat back the waves of destruction which threatened our ship of state, and not until they were long in their graves, and the echoes of their voices were dying in the distance, did it become possible for the spirit of disunion to raise its head and stand erect upon the shores of America. Had these great orators — their souls afire with unselfish love for our whole country — lived, that fratricidal war which drank the blood of her sons, and widowed the homes of her daughters, and laid waste and bleached with bones and burned with fire the fair land of Columbia, might never have been. The power of the press is great, and nothing else can fulfill its missis in civilization. It is the current historian of the world, and it is the popular educator — the trainer — of the intelligent masses of mankind. But it is an erroneous theory that the newspaper can fill the office of the orator. Cold print lacks the living fire. It cannot warm the heart, arouse the mind to intense thought and nerve the arm to energetic action as do the spoken words, welling up from a great soul, charged with life or electrified with passionate ardor, flashing from the tongue of the human orator, and falling warm and sympathetic upon the ear of the listener. But the glories of the orator and his achievements in the past are hardly to be compared with his opportunities in the future. The nations of the earth have never needed his voice more than they shall need it in the next half INTRODUCTION. v century. There has never been a greater opportunity to do good and win honor and renown than the legislative halls, the rostrum, the bar and the pulpit are now ready to lay at the feet of those worthy to wear the honors. From a financial standpoint, be it said to the credit of advancing civiliza- tion that the musician and the orator were never so well remunerated as at the present time. Many composers and musicians have amassed great fortunes by honest work within the past twenty-five years, and there never was a time when distinguished lecturers, orators and public speakers were in such great demand or received such liberal compensation as they now do. In answer to this growing taste and popular demand for public speakers, schools of elocution and oratory have grown up in many of our cities, and the fact is to be hailed as one of the mo c t propitious indications for the permanence of our institutions, the liberty of car people, and the future of our nation. To aid them, and to assist those who cannot attend such schools, is the object of the publishers in issuing this volume. Part I. — Elocution — comprises a brief treatise upon the subject, giving the fundamental principles of the art, with appropriate exercises on Articula- tion, Inflection, Pitch and Force, Modulation, Time, Attitudes and Gestures ; also Readings and Recitations with Lesson Talks. Part II. is the Little Folks' Department, containing nearly two hun- dred choice selections for children from five to twelve years of age, embracing recitations, dialogues, concert pieces, and selections suited to Sunday-school and all sorts of occasions. Part III. — Youths' Department — comprises selections, declamations, recitations and dialogues fitted especially to young people from twelve to twenty years, and adapted to use in schools, concerts, holiday, church and miscellaneous entertainments, selected with a view to stimulating, developing and instructing the growing mind. This department also contains Selections with Musical Accompaniments. Part IV. — Great Orators and their Orations — embraces nearly one hundred masterpieces of Forensic, Senatorial, Patriotic, Judicial, Temperance and Pulpit Eloquence, gathered with much research from the orations of nearly fifty of the greatest orators of Greece, Rome, France, England, Ireland and the United States, and treating the most momentous questions in the history of the nations from the days of Demosthenes to the present time. This depart- ment is illustrated by portraits, and has brief biographical sketches of the most renowned orators. It is particularly interesting and instructive to those who desire to make a comparative study of the style of public speech in dif- ferent ages and different countries of the world. vi INTRODUCTION. Part V. — Speeches of Great Warriors — embraces the most eloquent passages from the addresses and supposed speeches of famous generals and noted martial heroes, delivered in the camp, on the eve of battle, and before the public on stirring occasions. Beginning with Achilles, Hector, Alexander the Great, Darius the Persian, we come on down the ages and listen to Brutus the Roman swearing destruction to Tarquin over the dead Lucretia ; Leonidas appealing to his brave three hundred before the pass of Thermopylae ; Catiline haranguing his traitorous army before the gates of Rome ; Mark Antony, Hannibal, Scipio, Alfred the Great, Galgacus, Regulus, Spartacus, Henry VIII. , General Wolfe, Richmond, Napoleon,. Washington, Warren, Byron to the Greeks, Indian .Chiefs and Modern Warriors sound in our ears the blasts of war, bringing the thrilling and historic events before the mind with a vivid- ness scarcely less than realism itself. Part VI. — Miscellaneous Selections — comprises, as the title implies, a collection of choice readings, recitations, declamations, soliloquies, musical .selections, debates, dialogues, amateur plays, farces and comedies. The object in this department is to represent, as far as practicable, the whole realm of literature adapted to public entertainments. It embraces patriotic, martial, religious, temperance, dramatic, descriptive, pathetic, humorous, and dialectic .selections, suitable for lyceums, schools, churches and general occasions. Part VII. teaches How to Organize and Conduct Literary Societies. contains a Complete and Up-to-Date Manual of Parliamentary Practice :as taught by Cushing and others, and closes with Programmes for Special Occasions. Thus the work, on the whole, is constructed on a different plan from any other volume of selections. It supplies the general wants of all conditions and occasions for the different ages, from early childhood to mature manhood, in a manner which no other single volume has attempted to do, and forms what the publishers believe to be the most complete progressive speaker and reciter for general use that has yet been published. The Illustrations have been made especially for this volume, and are designed to add not only to the ornamental beauty of the work, but to help the student in the rendering of the selections. Most of these engravings have been selected and prepared at large expense. In many instances professional elocutionists have been engaged to pose in appropriate costume for photographs from which the engravings have been reproduced. THE PUBLISHERS. CONTENTS ELOCUTION. PAGE. Arms, The. 17, 31 Body, The 31 Battle of Ilohenlinden Campbell 38 Elocution 18 Emphasis..... 22 Eyes, The 31 Explanation 36 Gesture 24 Grace of Action 32 How to Improve Articulation 19 Head, Eyes, Arm, and Hand, The 24 Head and Face, The.. 31 Inflection 22 Lisping and Stammering 20 Lower Limbs, The 31 Lesson Talk 37, 33, 39, 40, 41 Melody , 23 PAGE. Modulation 23 Miser and Plutus, The Gay 35 Night Thoughts Young 41 Pitch and Force 22 Stroke and Time of Gesture, The 26 Significant Gestures 31 Stylesof Gesture 31 Satan's Speech to his Legions Milton 33 Speech of Rollo to the Peruvian Army, R. B. Sheridan 39 Time 23 Tell's Address to the Mountain 37 Whole Figure Gestures and Attitudes 26 Wolsey's Soliloquy Shakespeare 40 Wolsey's Farewell Address to Cromwell, 40 Shakespeare 40 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. Arithmetic... 58 Almost a Man 65 Among the Animals , , 65 Axe to Grind, An 72 Address on the Occasion of a New Pastor 83 Always in a Hurry Priscilla Leonard 85 American Boy, The Caroline Gilman 59 Baby'sLullaby 48 Busy Bee, The „ Isaac Watts 51 Bessie's Letter 65 Boy's Opinion, A 66 Blessed Ones, The 80 Bessie's Secret 82 Babyland Children's Museum 82 Big Shoe, The Mother Goose 88 Chick-a-dee-dee 45 Cherry Cheeks 46 Captain General, The. 48 Cradle Song Alfred Tennyson 49 Cross at Santa May Rapley McNabb 51 Children' s Offering, The Nellie G. Gerome 53 Carrie's Birthday Cake 54 Contentment 5. C. Peabody 55 Caw! Caw! Caw! Edward Car swell 68 Christmas , The Nursery 71 Christmas Acrostic 74 Colorado Hotel Rules ..T. Sheppurd 76 Contented Blind Boy, The Cibber 81 Contentment Better than Riches 82 Charley's Opinion of the Baby 83 Christmas Carol, A H. Sets. 89 Chicken's Mistake, The Phoebe Cary 73 Dickey-Bird, The 44 Doctor's Visit 52 Diligent Bessie , Lizzie J. Rook 57 Dr. Brown... Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow 60 Dispute, A A. L. Mitchell 61 Dolly's Bedtime .... 62 Dolly's Bath 66 Do Your Best 67 Doll Rosy's Bath 69 Don't Wake the Baby 74 Days of the Week Mary Ely Page 79 Early Miss Crocus Mrs. E.J. H. Goodfellow 57 Elsie's Soliloquy 64 Egg a Chicken, An Youth' 's Companion 70 Five Little Brothers Ella Wheeler Wilcox 45 Funny Man, A 46 From One to Six Esther Fleming 47 Fourth of July Record, K..Lilian Dynevor Rice 79 Follow the Golden Rule , 81 Golden Rule, The 4i vii Vlll CONTENTS. PAGE. Grandma's Mistake 53 Generous Little One 54 Good-night Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow 59 Gentleman, A George M. Vickers 81 George Washington 86 How Butter is Made 49 Howard's Wish 50 HisSpeech 63 Hattie's Views on Housecleaning GQ Harry's Dog 67 How Sad May Rapley McNabb 71 I'll Try and I Can't. 62 " I Can't Army," The , 68 I Wish I Were a Bird 75 If I Were You 79 I Think It's Wrong, Don't You 80 I Love the Birds 81 Japanese Doll, The 51 Jack Frost and Tom Ruddy 77 Kindness and Cruelty 74 Little Boy's Lecture, A Julia M. Thayer 43 Lecture to the Crow, A 46 Lost Kitten, The Mrs. E. J. H. Goodjellow 47 Little Flag- Bearer, The 47 Little Girl's Lecture to Mothers, A 50 Little by Little........... 52 Little Child's Prayer, A 53 Late at Breakfast..... 58 Little Things 62 Little Teacher, The 67 Little Girl's Christmas, A 71 Ll'-tle Boy's Wonder, A 73 Little School Marm, A 75 Little Kitty 76 Months, The Lizzie M. Hadley 44 Mamma's Little Market Woman, Lizzie J. Rook 45 Mr. Weyler , 45 My Dolly 46 Mary and Dinah Lizzie J. Rook 47 Mountain and the Squirrel, The 48 My Pussy Cat 48 Mean Man, A 49 My Mother 49 My Good-for-Nothing 50 My Carlo Talks.... . . . . ..Mrs . E. J. H. Goodfellow 59 Mrs. Santa Claus May Rapley McNabb 61 My Speech Mrs. E.J. H. Goodfellow 63 Maud's Birthday 68 Mary and the Swallow Marion Douglas 69 Mr. Tongue 70 My Present 75 Miser and the Mouse... 83 Nursery Fable, A Will H. Wall 52 Naughty Girl, The 53 Need of Christ, The 5S Nobody Knows but Mother 89 Oh! 70 Only a Baby Small , Matthias Barr 71 Over the Fence 78 Patriotic Boy, A Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow 50 Playing Old Folks Mrs. E.J. H. Goodfellow 60 Packing the Box Mrs. E.J.H. Goodfellow 61 Playing Church 64 Partnership C8 Pledge, The 83 Presentation Speech 87 Queer Table, A 51 Questions About Women 86 Rob's Mittens Youths' Companion 56 Recitations in Concert 77 Reasons Why T. Sheppard 87 Spring Voices 78 Short Speeches for Little Philosophers 84 San^a and His Reindeer Margaret Hallock Steen 85 Six- Year-Old, A , 63 Summer is Coming 51 Senses, The 52 Santa Claus 55 Seven Days in a Week... Cora Woodward Foster 56 Song of the Rye 86 Taking Doily's Picture Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow 56 Too Much of a Good Thing 65 Teaching Dolly 66 Throwing Kisses 67 Things That I Do Not Like to See L.J. Rook 69 That's Baby 78 Twenty-third Psalm Adapted by T. Sheppard 80 True Bravery 89 Two Commands, The 51 Welcome 43 What the Little Shoes Said 43 Who Made the Speech 44 Writing to Grandma 49 Wash Day 50 What Boys are Good For Mrs. E.J. H. Goodfellow 52 Way to Be Happy, The , 55 When Papa Puts His Great Coat On May Rapley McNabb 55 What Girls Love to Do 57 When the Fairies Lived Here , 58 Who Knows the Most Nellie G, Bronson 59 Wisest Plan, The 62 Which is Best? Annie L. Hannah 63 Washing Dolly's Clothes 76 CONTENTS. ix Willie's Speech 87 Where Heaven Is 88 What to Drink 79 What I Don't Like 51 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Advice to a Young Man Robert J. Burdette 92 Auntie's Education May Rapley McNabb 108 Artie's 'Amen " Paul Hamilton Hayne 114 Artemus Ward Visits the Shakers.. .C. F. Brown 134 America's Gifts to Europe Webster 144 Appeal to the Hungarians, 1849 ..Louis Kossuth 163 Address to the Ocean Byron 167 Appeal for Temperance H. W. Grady 175 Advice to Young Men. Noah Porter 187 Arkansaw Pete's Adventure T. Sheppard 198 Boy and the Pedant, The 96 Boy's Temperance Speech, A 109 Buying Gape Seed , ...John B. Gough 125 Brother Jim May Rapley McNabb 135 Battle of Life, The Bryant 137 Battle Song for Freedom, A Gail Hamilton 144 Beauty, Wit, and Gold Moore 148 Blindness Henry Ward Bee cher 157 Bereaved Editor's Speech, The 162 Biddy's Trouble 182 Beauties of the Law , 184 Bells, The Edgar A. Poe 172 Be in Earnest Lord Bulwer Lytton 188 Brutus Over the Body of Lucretia...y. H. Payne 191 Bill Nye on Hornets 197 Buzzard's Point Geo. M. Vickers 204 Closing Address 121 Case of Indigestion, A 126 Charge of the Light Brigade ...Alfred Tennyson 137 Country Thanksgiving, A 138 Civil War 142 Casey at the Bat 178 Christopher Columbus 182 Counting Eggs ....Texas Sifting s 184 Cash 186 Cicero and Demosthenes Compared Fenelon 191 Custer's Last Charge Frederick Whitaker 194 Difference of Opinion 98 Drinking a Farm H. L. Hastings 103 Dressed Turkey, The 104 Dame Partington and the Atlantic Ocean, Sydney Smith 130 Defense of Jefferson, 1813 Henry Clay 131 DePint wid Old Pete 133 Dangers of Our Prosperity Timothy Walker 166 Delsartean Plea, A 177 Demosthenes Creasy 190 Devotion to Duty D. N Shelley 201 Dying Alchemist, The N P. Willis 195 Decoration Day 196 Excellent Man, The Heine 142 Enoch Arden at the Window... A Ijred Tennyson 145 Eloquence of Action, The Daniel Webster .197 Flower of Liberty, The. Holmes 120 Funny Story, The 134 Folly of Pride, The ■ Rev. Sydney Smith 142 Fathers of the Republic, The... Edward Everett 187 Grandfather's Barn 94 Gossips, The Ella Wheeler Wilcox 97 Gambler's Son, The 100 Grammar in Rhyme 117 Gigglety Girl, The Judge 126 Give Me the Hand Goodman Barnaby 139 Grumbler, The Dora Read Goodale 187 Hofer, the Tyrolese 92 Hilda, Spinning 95 Harry's Lecture L.J. Rook 104 How to Break Bad News 130 Hunter and the Child, The 132 Highland War Song Sir Walter Scott 143 How Two Men Spoke the Same Words Sargeant 14S Happy Miller, The Hood 149 Handy Andy and the Squire 150 Hard-Shell Sermon, A 160 His First and Last Drink 175 Harbor of San Francisco... 189 "I Don't See It ! " 108 I'm Getting Too Big to Kiss. George M. Vickers 113 Imaginary Sick Man, The Moliere 152 Judge Brown's Watermelon Story, Arkansaw Traveller 93 John Maynard H. Alger, Jr 112 Joe Alice Robbins 136 Just Retribution, The Dimond 206 Kate Ketchum Phoebe Cary 154 List of Our Presidents 110 Little Maid's Prayer at the Shrine of St. Valen- tine, The 115 Laboring Classes, The Hugh Legari 165 Latest Form of Literary Hysterics, Chicago Tribune 181 Little Conqueror, The Chas. F. Adams 186 Land of Our Forefathers, Th.o... Edward Everett 189 Lookout Mountain Geo. L. Catlin 192 Mrs. Piper Marian Douglas 98 Mourner, The 110 Minuet, The Mary M. Dodge 125 CONTENTS. Mr. Cross and Servant John 128 "Music" Geo. M. Vickers 129 Mark Twain Introduces Himself.... Mark Twain 180 Miss January Jones' Lectures on Woman's Rights 181 Mrs. Lofty and I 174 Men Always Fit for Freedom ... 7". B. Macaulay 188 Model Love Letter, A.... 200 Nobody's Child 123 Newcastle Apothecary, The Colman 124 New Rosette, The Geo. M. Vickers 140 News-telling Bore, The 179 Noble Revenge, The 185 Old Cottage Clock, The 117 On the Death of Sheridan Byron 167 Opportunities of the Scholar... Henry W. Grady 167 Over the Hill to the Poorhouse.. Will M. Carleton 169 Over the Hills from the Poorhouse May Mignonette 171 Order of Nature, The Alexander Pope 208 Old Canteen, The G. M. White 201 Pardon Complete 100 Preaching versus Practice Cowper 116 Playing Drunkard Francis S. Smith 121 Plea for the Sailor, A 132 Pride Rebuked 132 ' Possum Run Debating Society, The 158 People Always Conquer, The ...Edward Everett 163 Power of Habit, The John B. Gough 165 Poor Indian, The 178 Puzzled Dutchman, The Charles F. Adams 174 Passing of the Rubicon, The......../. S. Knowles 190. Retort, The 112 Reply to John Randolph Henry Clay 138 Rival Speakers, The 149 Rome and Carthage Victor Hngo 155 Rienzi to the Roman Conspirators in 1347, Thos. Moore 157 Ruins of Rome, The Byron 164 Retribution Abraham Lincoln 189 Resignation Longfellow 200 Raven, The Edgar A. Foe 202 Ship on Fire, The 105 Sailor's Story, The Geo. M. Vickers 118 Search Questions ■. „. 120 Song of the Decanter ,..„ 139 Song of Mina's Soldiers, The Mrs. Hemans 143 Song of Marion's Men Bryant 144 Salutatory Address , , 1 45 Sympathy Bishop Heber 143 Selling a Coat ; or, How a Jew Trained a Clerk.. 156 Sewing on a Button ./. M. Bailey 180 Success in Life James A. Garfield 188- Trust Not to Appearances 91 Two Bills, The 106 They Say 106 Twenty-five Years of Peace Edward Everett 122 Tragedy, A T. De Witt Talmage 122 Twenty-second of February, The Webster 123- Think Before You Speak Wm. Penn 138 Two Little Kittens 147 Take Care of the Minutes 151 Tim Murphy's Irish Stew 160 Temperance Question, The Wendell Phillips 177 Them Yankee Blankits Satn'l W. Small 173 Unbolted Door, The Edward Garrett 105 Uncle Pete's Sermon 161 Unbeliever, The Thomas Chalmers 168- World Owes Me a Living, The 91 Water for Me 95 Woodman, Spare That Tree Geo. P. Morris 113 Where They Never Feel the Cold 116 Where Honeysuckles Grow May Rapley McNabb 117 Washington's Birthday Rufus Choate 123- Washington's Sword and Franklin's Staff /. O. Adams 130 What a Common Man May Say ; or, What I Have to Be Thankful for 192 What Makes a Hero Henry Taylor 208 You Put No Flowers on My Papa's Grave .. C.E.L. Holmes 146 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. Against Philip Demosthenes 209 Against Bribery Demosthenes 213 Against Catiline Cicero 218 Against the Nobility and Clergy of Provence, February 3, 1789 Mirabeau 220 Against the Terrorism of the Jacobins. Vergniaud 226 » Against War, January 13, 1792 Robespierre 227 Against Mr. Pitt, 1741 Sir Robert Walpole 234 American War Denounced, 1781.... William Pitt 238 Against Political Jobbing, 1794... R. B. Sheridan 255 Against the Force Bill, 1833. . . . John C. Calhoun 270 Birthday of Washington, The Rufus Choate 264 British Influence, 1881 John Randolph 266 Burr and Blennerhassett William Wirt 275 Back from the War T. De Witt Talmage 287 Catiline Denounced Cicero 217 Catiline Expelled Cicero 219 Conquest of the Americans Impracticable, 1775. John Wilkes 237 Collision of Vices, 1825 George Canning 241 CONTENTS. XI Cause of Temperance, The John B. Gough 280 Degeneracy of Athens Demosthenes 210 Democracy Hateful to Philip, A Demosthenes 211 Demosthenes Denounced JEschines 214 Disobedience of Magistrates, The Mirabeau 222 Defence Against the Charge of Corruption, Mirabeau 223 Democracy Adverse to Socialism, Alexis De Tor queville 229 Declaration of Irish Rights, 1780..Henry Grattan 246 Declaration of Independence, The/. 0. Adams 285 Eulogium on Franklin Mirabeau 223 Enterprise of American Colonists, 1775 Edmund Burke 244 Eulogy on General Grant..//" greet ; lower voice. ) You first* beheld (Note falling inflection.) I hold to you the hands (Extend full arms, as if ex- pecting hands to be grasped. ) | To show they still are a free*. | Methinks P hear (Throw arms freely out palms front.) | (Pause. Drop both. A spiri/ in your echoes, an*swer me, [ hands by the side, and speak musingly.) And bid your tenant welcome to his home*, (Extend arms and lift face, as if receiving a welcome. ) Again v ! e | O sabered forms, | how proud* you loo>& d ! | (After "again " pause with hands by side. Then suddenly 38 READINGS AND DECLAMATIONS break forth in manifestation of deep admiration, making ges- tures to suit the different expressions. ) How high you lift your heads into the sky^ ! | How huge v , you 6 are ! | how migh N ty, j and how free x ! | Ye are the things tha/ tow'r r — j tha/ shine v — | whose smile Makes g\ad s — | whose frown is terrible — | whose forms, Robe;/, or unjobe^/, | do all the impress wear | Of awe divine v . | Ye guards of liberty, | (As "Ye guards of liberty " is pronounced the right hand should circle around the head, the left extend diagonally- downward, the figure be thrown backward, and face elevated. ) I'm with you once again r ! c — | fffl call to you | With all my voice r ! — | I hoL/my nands to you | To show they still are free^ — | I rush to you | As though I could embrace^ you f ! | (The letters fff denote that the last four lines should be spoken loud, in an ecstacy of delight, the fervor of the expres- sion remaining to the close, but the loudness decreasing.) a Still , are ; not stillar. b Methinks , I ; not me- 2 think 7 si. c Agen. d Proud , you look ; not prow'- jew-look. e Huge , you are ; not hew'jew are. f Em- brace you ; not embra / shew. LKSSON TALK. The first thing necessary for the student, in order to recite the above declamation, is to appreciate the fact that William Tell, the great Swiss patriot, is sup- posed to have been in exile from his home, which he loved with all the zeal of his patriotic nature. Hav- ing gained his freedom, he returns to Switzerland ; and as he looks again on the native crags and peaks of his mountain home, his heart is filled with patri- otic emotion. He is overjoyed, and in the ecstacy of his nature, breaks forth in the above magnificent address to his native mountains. A correct rendering of this piece cannot be executed unless the speaker puts himself in sympathy with the occasion. For a moment he must be William Tell, the exiled patriot, returned. Second in importance is a correct pronunciation and a clear articulation. The foot-notes following the selection point out the most prominent errors which are likely to occur from running words together. The italic letters placed at the end of cer- , tain words indicate the points where the speaker's ; articulation is likely to be faulty. Third. Observe carefully the marks of inflection. Much of the expression will be lost if these inflec- tions are not carefully observed. If unfamiliar with j the meaning of the marks, refer to the preceding explanations. Fourth. Almost every line of this selection requires, , one or two gestures. The small type printed under the line in perentheses indicates some of the most prominent, but by no means all, of the gestures, which will add to the effect of the piece if properly made. These gestures, in a number of cases, are not independent, but compound, and consist in a graceful passage of the hand from one position to another. We advise the student to the illustrateds • ' Speech of Satan to his Legions," in the preceding pages, for assistance in acquiring grace of movement. BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.— Campbell. On Linden/ when the sun was low', | All bloodless lay the untrodd'n snow v , | And darZ' as win v ter, was the flow' | Of Iser rolling rapidly. | Bu/ Linden saw another sigh/, | When the drum bea/ a/ dea^/ of nigh/ v , | Commanding fires of death , to lighf | The darkness of /zer sce v iiery\ | By torch, and trumphe/ fas/ array' d f , | Each horseman drew his batHle blade', | And furious every charger neigh V, | To join the dreadful rev v elry. | Then shoo/£ the hills with thun v der riv'n ; | Then rushV the steeART II, LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT CONTAINING CHOICE SELECTIONS FOR CHILDREN BETWEEN THE AGES OF FIVE AND TWELVE YEARS COMPRISING SPEECHES, DIALOGUES, MOTION SONGS, RECITATIONS, CONCERT PIECES, ETC., SUITED TO ALL OCCASIONS. A number of selections in this department have been written expressly for this book We acknowledge especially the courtesy of Mr. C. C. Shoemaker, who has given us permission to use a number of choice selections from his series of graded speakers, including Tiny Tots' Speaker, Child's Own Speaker, Young People's Speaker, and Young Folks' Recitations. The copyright of this volume thoroughly covers and protects the selections used by permission from all copyrighted sources. WELCOME. (A concert piece.) PARENTS, friends, we bid you welcome, To our school-room dear ; And we join our loving voices Now to greet you here. If to-day mistakes we're making, Many failures too, Oh ! believe us, we have tried Our very best to do. A LITTLE BOY'S LECTURE. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN : Over four hundred years ago the mighty mind of Columbus, traversing unknown seas, clasped this new continent in its embrace. {Extend arms as if embracing. ) A few centuries later arose one here who now lives in all our hearts as the Father of his Country. An able warrior, a sagacious states- man, a noble gentleman. Yes, Christopher Columbus was great. George Washington was great. But here, my friends, in this glorious nineteenth century, is — a grater / \_Exhibiting a bright, tin grater. The large kind used for horseradish can be most easily distinguished by the audience .] Well, if you are going to laugh at me, I'll quit. Julia M. Thayer. I WHAT THE LITTLE SHOES SAID* SAW two dusty little shoes A-standing by the bed ; They suddenly began to talk, And this is what they said : " We're just as tired as we can be, We've been 'most everywhere; And now our little master rests — It really is not fair. " He's had his bath and sweetly sleeps 'Twixt sheets both cool and clean, While we are left to stand outside ; Now don't you think it mean? " We've carried him from morn till night ; He's quite forgot, that's plain; While here we watch, and wait, and wait Till morning comes again. " And then he'll tramp, and tramp, and tramp, The livelong summer day ; Now this is what we'd like to do — Just carry him away " Where he could never go to bed, But stay up all the night Unwashed, and covered o'er with dust — Indeed! 'twould serve him right." 43 44 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. WHO MADE THE SPEECH? (For a small girl holding a doll.) )/nrMS dolly's turn to speak a piece ; L (Now, don't be frightened, dear ;) ( Caressing her doll. ) Her voice is weak, but if you're still, I think you all can hear. She's never been away from home, And so she feels quite shy ; (There, never mind, my precious babe, We'll go home by and by.) I s'pose she takes her bashfulness From me — her mamma, dear ; If I should try to speak, I know I'd almost die with fear. When mamma asked me yesterday, If I would speak to-night, I told her ' ' No, " for I felt sure I couldn't do it right. "Well, little daughter, never mind," Then darling mamma said, "We'll dress your dolly in her best, And let her speak instead. ' ' So that is why I've brought her here — (Why, dolly, are you ill ?) Just she how she is trembling — Poor dear, she can't keep still. She's nervous and excited, too, So now we'll say " good-bye ; " Has dolly made a speech to-night, I wonder, or have I ? D THE DICKEY-BIRD. ICKEY-BIRD baby In the nest sleeps, Dickey-bird mother Watch o'er it keeps; Dickey-bird father Is the bread-winner ; See him fly home With worms for a dinner. THE MONTHS. (A pretty exercise for twelve children, suited to Christmas or New Year's entertainment. The effect may be improved, if the children dress in costumes suited to the season in which the months come.) First Child. — JANUARY comes the first of all, Ready to make a New Year's call. Second Child. — February is next in line, Bringing to all a valentine. Ihird Child. — March comes next with wind and noise, Here's a kite for all the boys. Fourth Child. — April's eyes are brimming over, Silvery drops that start the clover. Fifth Child.— May with blossoms stops the way And brings us Decoration Day. Sixth Child. — Laughing June her face discloses Almost hid among the roses. Seventh Child. — Boom of cannon, roar of gun, In comes July. Oh what fun ! Eighth Child.— August comes with berries red, Sheaves of wheat about his head. Ninth Child.— Next September. Ho, for School ! Study now must be the rule. Tenth Child.— Dropping nuts, and shortening days, October comes with woods ablaze. Eleventh Child. — What brings cold and bleak November ? Oh, Thanksgiving ! I remember. Twelfth Child.— Last and best of all we see, December brings a Christmas tree. Lizzie M. Hadley. AN OLD TIME TEA (Suggestion For Tableau) A ROSE ON THE HEATH LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 45 CHICK-A-DE-DEE. THE ground was all covered with snow one day, And two little sisters were busy at play, When a snow-bird was sitting close by on a tree, And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee, Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee. He had not been singing that tune very long Ere Emily heard him, so sweet was his song ; " Oh, sister, look out of the window! " said she; " Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-de-dee, Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-de-dee. "Oh, mother, do get him some stockings and shoes ! And a nice little frock, and a hat if you choose ; I wish he'd come into the parlor and see How warm we would make him, poor chick-a- de-dee, Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, How warm we would make him, poor chick-a- de-dee." " There is One, my dear child, though I cannot tell who, Has clothed me already, and warm enough, too; Good morning ! Oh, who are so happy as we ? " And away he went singing his chick-a-de-dee, Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, And away he went singing his chick-a-de-dee. MAMMA'S LITTLE MARKET-WOMAN. (Little girl in hat and coat, carrying market-basket and pocket-book, and thoughtfully counting over on her fingers what she must not forget. ) A POUND of butter, a dozen of eggs, a quart of molasses — yes, that's it; I mustn't forget. A quart of butter, a dozen of molasses and a pound of eggs — no, a quart of eggs, a pound of molasses and a dozen of butter. Yes, I " fink " that's all I mustn't make any 'stakes, 'cause mamma wants them all for supper. [ Goes off saying, ' ' A quart of butter, a pound of eggs," etc. 'Lizzie J. Rook. FIVE LITTLE BROTHERS. FIVE little brothers set out together To journey the livelong day, In a curious carriage all made of leather They hurried him away, away ! One big brother and three quite small, And one wee fellow, no size at all. The carriage was dark and none too roomy And they could not move about ; The five little brothers grew very gloomy, And the wee one began to pout, Till the biggest one whispered, ' ' What do you say, Lets leave the carriage and run away ! ' ' So out they scampered, the five together, And off and away they sped ! When somebody found that carriage of leather, Oh my ! how she shook her head. 'Twas her little boy's shoe, as every one knows, And the five little brothers were five little toes. Ella Wheeler Wilcox. MR. WEYLER. (Humorous ridicule of the Captain-General.) T THO was it saw his duty plain VV To make the infant King of Spain Economize throughout his reign ? Mr. Weyler. Who came with medals on his chest And told the public that he guessed The fight would last two weeks, at best ? Mr. Weyler. Who took no colds, though wont to tramp In territory rather damp, But got a case of writer's cramp ? Mr. Weyler. Who hardly knows just which to do ; Confront that irate Spanish crew Or hold the fort and see it through ? Mr. Weyler. Who shows us by his record rough That it is dangerous to bluff 'Mongst men who really have " the stuff? " Mr. Weyler. 46 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. M A FUNNY MAN, (For a little boy of five to seven years.) Y gran' pa is a funny man, He's Scotch as he can be. I tries to teach him all I can, But he can't talk like me.. I've told him forty thousand times, But 'tain't a bit of use ; He always says a man's a a mon " And calls a house a " noose." He plays with me most ev'ry day And rides me on his knee. He took me to a picnic once And dressed up just like me. He says I am a " bonny bairn " And kisses me, and when I ask him why he can't talk right He says, ' ' I dinna ken. ' ' But me and him has lots of fun — He's such a funny man. I dance for him and brush his hair And loves him all I can. I calls him Anjrew — that's his name And he says I can't talk, And then he puts my pladie on And takes me for a walk. I tells him forty thousand times, But 'tain't a bit of use ; He always says a man's a "mon" And calls a house a " hoose." y MY DOLLY. HO is it that I've christened May, With whom I dearly love to play, And dress and undress every day? My Dolly. Who is it loves me well, although, Poor dear, she cannot tell me so, Because she cannot talk, you know? My Dolly. Who is it, tho' she's very old, I love still in my arms to hold, And wouldn't part with — not for gold? My Dolly. A LECTURE TO THE CROW. (At the last two lines in each stanza shake finger and look reprovingly at the imaginary crow. Speak slowly. ) C ROW, you're very wicked ! You'll surely come to grief; The naughtiest thing in all the world It is, to be a thief? You needn't turn your head one side, As if you didn't care ; You know you stole poor Carlo's bone ; And, Crow, it wasn't fair ! He buried it so cunning This morning, in the ground ; He never even dreamed, I'm sure, That robbers were around. And just as soon as he was gone You took it, I declare, I saw you flying off with it ; And, Crow, it wasn't fair. I think you'd better drop it, And some other breakfast find, Else, when good birdies go to heaven, You'll sure be left behind ! You won't? Then sad will be your fate, As sure as you sit there ! To steal a doggie's only bone, Oh, Crow, it wasn't fair! T CHERRY CHEEKS. ( Little girl with a basket of roses. ) HIS is grandma's birthday, That is why I've come To bring her all these roses, We have such lots at home. The road was rather dusty, And I am rather small, But grandma's pleased to see me, And that makes up for all. Tiredness doesn't matter When my grandma speaks : " Thank you for the roses ! Thank you, Cherry Cheeks." LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 47 MARY AND DINAH, (Little girl sitting in chair with two dolls. ) THIS is my dolly Mary, She's only two years old ; Dear Santa brought her to me — At least that's what I'm told. I think she's very pretty, She has such big blue eyes, But when 'tis time to go to bed, Oh my ! how dolly cries ! And this is dolly Dinah, She's 'most as black as night; I love her very dearly, But Dick says she's a fright. I play she's Mary's nursy, Who takes her out to walk And keeps her clothes in order And teaches her to talk. I think they both are darlings, And I hope they'll never die ; For I'm sure if I should lose them, I would cry, and cry, and cry. Lizzie J. Rook. THE LOST KITTEN. (Very effective if the child be well trained. She should almost cry at the close of each stanza. ) MY little kitty's gone astray, She would no longer with us stay. This is, indeed, a sorry day, For kitty's lost. Perhaps some cat upon the fence Did drive our little kitty hence, Who went because she'd no more sense, — Oh! Kitty's lost. No more she'll lie upon our laps, And sweetly take her short cat-naps, Or slyly blink at our love -taps, — My kitty's lost. No more we'll softly stroke her fur, Or listen to her gentle purr ; Oh ! It is hard, not to murmur, — For kitty's lost. And, now, just tell me, please, will you. I really don't know what to do ; Shall I begin and boo-hoo-hoo ? — For kitty's lost. Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. . FROM ONE TO SIX. WHEN I was one I wore long dresses just for fun; I couldn't walk or creep or run. When I was two I learned a language all brand new, I only knew at first "Boo-hoo." When I was three I had a lovely Christmas tree, And a little sister sent to me. When I was four I had some books and wanted more, But couldn't think to shut the door. When I was five I went to the brook and tried to dive And papa took me out alive. When I was six I often got into a fix, And did not like the crooks of sticks. What comes next ? I do not know, But its better and better the older I grow, Because my Mamma told me so. Esther Fleming. THE LITTLE FLAG-BEARER. (A little boy with flag in hand should wave it at the close of each stanza. ) " /HT\0 the red, white, and blue I will ever be true." There is no flag, however grand, Like our own red, white, and blue. Hurrah for the flag ! Our country's flag ! Its stripes and white stars, too ! There is no flag in any land Like our own red, white, and blue ! 48 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. BABY'S LULLABY. X "THAT'S the way to Bylo-town? \\l Bylo-town ? Bylo-town ? What's the way to Bylo-town? Baby wants to go. Shut her sleepy little eyes, That's the way, That's the way, Shut her sleepy little eyes, Then how fast the rocker flies. That's the way, That's the way, Way to Bylo-town. Keep the little lashes down, That's the way, That's the way, Keep the little lashes down, That's the way to Bylo-town. That's the way, That's the way, Way to Bylo-town. THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL. THE mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel, And the former called the latter ' ' little Prig;" Bun replied : — * ' You are doubtless very big, " But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together To make up a year And a sphere ; "And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I am not as large as you, You are not so small as I. And not half so spry. "I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track ; Talents differ ; all are well and wisely put. If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can you crack a nut." T THE GOLDEN RULE. do to others as I would That they should do to me Will make me honest, kind, and good As children ought to be. Whether I am at home, at school, Or walking out abroad, 1 never should forget this rule Of Jesus Christ our Lord. MY PUSSY CAT. I LOVE my pussy cat, her coat is so warm, And if I don't hurt her she'll do me no harm ; So I'll not pull her tail nor drive her away, But pussy and I very gently will play ; She shall sit by my side, and I'll give her some food, And she' 11 love me because I am gentle and good. I'll pat little pussy and then she will pur, And thus show her thanks for my kindness to her ; I'll not pinch her ears nor tread on her paw, Lest I should provoke her to use her sharp claw ; I never will vex her nor make her displeased, For cats do not like to be worried and teased. H THE CAPTAIN-GENERAL. (Burlesque on General Weyler. ) E marched his men into the field, Where marsh and mire confounded them, And vowed that not an inch he'd yield Until he'd quite surrounded them. For days he looked for Ma-ce-o, Where Maceo he knew was not, Nor stopped his valiant chaseo Until he heard his man was shot. Then, ho ! then, ho ! With banners a flying he came, Like a hero enlaurled advancing, To him all the prais~, naught of blame, As into Havana he's prancing. Oh, Weyler, great generalissimo, We salute thee, albeit pianissimo. A general truly you are, A general humbug so far ! LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 49 HOW BUTTER IS MADE. ( Concert song or recitation. The little ones should be taught to go through the various motions. This .piece may be either recited or sung to a simple air, the accompaniment being played softly.) SKIM, skim, skim; With the skimmer bright Take the rich and yellow cream, Leave the milk so white. Churn, churn, churn, Now 'tis churning day ; Till the cream to butter turns, Dasher must not stay. Press, press, press ; All the milk must be From the golden butter now Pressed out carefully. Pat, pat, pat ; Make it smooth and round. See ! the roll of butter's done ; Won't you buy a pound? Taste, oh ! taste, This is very nice. Spread it on the children's bread, Give them each a slice. CRADLE SONG. *T y HAT does little birdie say ^^ In her nest at peep of day ? ' ' Let me fly, ' ' says little birdie, " Mother, let me fly away." " Birdie, wait a little longer, Till the little wings are Ftronger ; ' ' So she waits a little longer, Then she flies away. What does little baby say In her bed at peep of day ? Baby says, like little birdie, " Let me rise and fly away." Baby, sleep a little longer, Till the little wings are stronger ; If she sleeps a little longer, Baby, too, shall fly away. Alfred Tennyson. 4 P-8 WRITING TO GRANDMA. (A small child seated at a table, with pen, ink, and paper before her.) D EAR GRANDMA: I am writing you a letter With mamma's pen and ink; She left them on the table here, I guess she didn't think That I was big enough to climb In her big chair and write ; But I thought I'd just 'sprise you With a letter sweet to night ; I know, when you have read it, The very words you'll say — " Why, bless the little darling, I'll send her a doll this day." A A MEAN MAN. LITTLE bird sat in a cherry tree, Singing its song of chink, chink, chee ; A man came by with a dog and a gun And shot the birdie, just for fun ; At least that's all he had to say, When on the ground the birdie lay With a broken wing and a hole in its side ; It fluttered and squeaked and then it died, And sister and I just stood and cried. I'd rather be a dog or a cat, Or the meanest kind of a big gray rat, Than an ugly man with a dog and gun, Who shot a birdie just for fun. M MY MOTHER. I mother, my kind mother, I hear thy gentle voice ; It always makes my little heart Beat gladly and rejoice. When I am ill, it comes to me And kindly soothes my pain ; And when I sleep, then in my dreams It sweetly comes again. My mother, my dear mother, Oh, may I never be Unkind or disobedient In any way to thee. 50 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. A LITTLE GIRL'S LECTURE TO MOTHERS. (Sunday-School selection for a bright little girl of five years. ) 'VE something to say to the mothers to-night, And I hope they will pardon my size ; For, though all I say will be proper and right, I do not pretend to be wise. I In this troublesome world I have lived just five years, Have seen boys and girls very small ; But all of us have the same trials and fears, And into the same errors fall. Wee Johnny stepped into the custard, one day, That was set on the table to cool ; And Bessie spilt milk on her new cloak, they say, And Josie played truant from school. Kate tried her mamma's velvet bonnet to wear, And pulled till she made it to fit ; Minnie ran off alone, and went to a fair, And Lottie attempted to knit. And I can't remember whatever I did — I guess it was nothing at all ; But somebody scolded at me, and I hid, When sugar was found in the hall. But what harm was there ? I may venture to ask : Can't we have a new custard to-morrow? Won't benzine take the stains out of Bessie's new basque ? And sugar is easy to borrow. And this is the something I'm going to say : When you were as little as we, Did any one scold you and whip you all day, And send you to bed before tea? "I HOWARD'S WISH. WISH," said greedy Howard, with a wide and beaming smile, ' ' That I could be the Mississippi river for awhile ; For my mouth would be three miles wide — my joy would be complete — Just imagine for a moment what a dinner I could eat. , ' Y A PATRIOTIC BCY. (A small boy -with flag.) OU see I am a little boy, But I can wave a flag, And when the other boys all march I'm sure I do not lag. And when the others shout out loud, As loud as they, shout I; I wave my flag and say, Hurrah, hurrah for Fourth o' July ! Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. MY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. WHAT are you good for, my brave little man? Answer that question for me if you can ; You, with your ringlets as bright as the sun, You, with your fingers as white as a nun j All the day long, with your busy contriving, Into all mischief and fun you are driving ; See if your wise little noddle can tell What you are good for. Now ponder it well. Over the carpet the dear little feet Came with a patter, to climb on my seat j Two merry eyes full of frolic and glee Under their lashes looked up unto me ; Two little hands pressing soft on my face Drew me down close in a loving embrace ; Two rosy lips gave the answer so true, ' ' Good to love you, mamma — good to love you. WASH DAY. (Several little girls with play washtubs. ) "T ~TE are merry maidens sitting in a ring; \\l We've no time to play to-day, Though we gayly sing Rub-a-dub-dub, soapsuds and tubs, This is our washing day. We are busy maidens, Work's the sweetest thing, This is all we stay to say As we gayly sing Rub-a-dub-dub, soapsuds and tubs, This is our washing day. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 51 SUMMER IS COMING. UP in the tree-top, down in the ground, High in the blue sky, far, all around, — Near by and everywhere creatures are living, God in his bounty something is giving. Up in the tree-top, down in the ground, High in the blue sky, fall, all around, — Near by and everywhere creatures are striving ; Labor is surely the price of their thriving. Up in the tree -top, down in the ground, High in the blue sky, far, all around. — Near by and everywhere singing and humming Busily, joyfully, summer is coming. A QUEER TABLE. (For boy or girl of eight or nine years. ) I WISH to tell you all to-day of a very queer table. In the first place it is several hun- dred years old and yet it is as good as new — just as sound and strong as ever ; No, it is not iron, and yet I can't see how it can ever wear out. It is not used for breakfast, dinner or any meal. It came all the way from Arabia and it is ornamented with many figures. We do not know who made it, but we do know that it is a very useful table, and we call it " The Multipli- cation Table." THE TWO COMMANDS. THIS is the first and great command : To love thy God above ; And this the second : As thyself Thy neighbor thou shalt love. Who is thy neighbor ? He who wants A help which thou canst give ; And both the law and prophets say, This do and thou shalt live. WHAT I DON'T LIKE. I DON'T like horses that will not spring, And I don't like bells that will not ring; I don't like fire-wood that will not burn ; I don't like mill-sails that will not turn ; And I don't like children that will not learn. H THE BUSY BEE. OW doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower ! How skillfully she builds her cell, How neatly spreads her wax, And labors hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes ! In works of labor or of skill I would be busy too ; For Satan finds some mischief still ^or idle hands to do. In books or work or healthful play Let my first years be passed, That I may give for every day Some good account at last. Isaac Watts* M THE JAPANESE DOLL. Y dolly is a Japanese, And will not say her A B C's, No matter how I coax and tease That naughty, naughty, Japanese. M CROSS AT SANTA. (By special permission of the Author.) Y Mamma said that Santa Had brought a doll to me, With bright pink cheeks and yellow hair As nice as nice could be. But when I left her up, Dressed in her long white gown, '• Oh, do take care ' ' my Mamma said With such a drefful frown. So now I don't like Santa, For he's brought a dolly here, They wont let me stick pins into, She'd cry so loud they fear. And if I try to lift her up, They think her head I'll crack, I'm going to write to Santa Claus And have him take her back. May Rapley McNabb. 52 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. D WHAT BOYS ARE GOOD FOR. (For a plain spoken little girl. ) O you know that someone really said, " Of what earthly good are boys ? ' ' I'd like to state it for a fact That they're good to make a noise. {Strikes table with force. ) Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. DOCTOR'S VISIT. ( Dialogue for girl and boy. ) Little Mamma {with a sick doll) : COME and see my baby dear ; Doctor, she is ill, I fear. Yesterday, do what I would, She would touch no kind of food ; And she tosses, moans and cries; doctor, what do you advise ? Doctor {should be dressed in long coat and have on a plug hat, and carry medicine case) : Hum ! ha ! Good madam, tell me, pray, What have you offered her to day ? Ah, yes — I see ; a piece of cake, The worst thing you could make her take. Just let me taste. Yes, yes, I fear Too many plums and currants here — But stop ! I will just taste again, So as to make the matter plain ! Little Mamma: Eut, doctor, pray excuse me ; oh ! You've eaten all my cake up now ! I thank you kindly for your care ; Eut do you think ' t was hardly fair ? Doctor : Oh, dear me ! Did I eat the cake ? Well, it was for dear baby's sake. Eut keep her in her bed, well warm, And you will see she'll take no harm. At night and morning, use, once more, Her drink and powder as before ; And she must not be overfed, But may just have a piece of bread. To-morrow, then, I dare to say, She'll be quite right. Good-day ! good-day ! THE SENSES. (To be spoken with appropriate gestures. ) TWO bright little eyes, To see beautiful things ; Two quick little ears, To hear Dick when he sings. One queer little nose, To smell flowers so sweet ; And one little tongue, To taste good things to eat. Ten fingers quite small, To touch Pussy's soft hair, These organs of sense God has put in my care. LITTLE BY LITTLE. ONE step and then another, and the longest walk is ended ; One stitch and then another, and the widest rent is mended ; One brick upon another, and the highest wall is made ; One flake upon another, and the deepest snow is laid. Then do not frown or murmur at the work you have to do, Or say that such a mighty task you never can get through ; But just endeavor, day by day, another point to gain, And soon the mountain that you feared will prove to be a plain. A NURSERY FABLE. (To be spoken very plainly. At the last go through the motion of spanking baby with a slipper.) A BABY once cried for the moon, So they got a toy moon for their pet ; But the babe wasn't satisfied yet, It set up another wild tune, And cried for the star-spangled dipper. Did they promise to haul down the skies ? No ; they tired of its " heavenly " cries, And made it " see stars " with a slipper. Will H. Wall. THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY (Suggestion For Tableau) 'MAY WITH BLOSSOMS STOPS THE WAY.' LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 53 A LITTLE CHILD'S PRAYER, (Church, or Sunday-School entertainment. To be said kneeling on the stage. When used at an even- ing entertainment the effect will be heightened if the little one be dressed in night gown, kneeling beside a little bed. Be careful to train the child in the proper attitude — hands pressed together in front, and face raised to heaven. After this prayer, the song ' ' Good Night, ' ' may be sung from behind the curtain softly, while the little one is tucked in bed, or remains kneeling as the curtain falls. ) J ESUS, I would be like thee : Look from heaven and pity me ; Though so full of sin I am, Make me now thy little lamb. I have very naughty been, Done those things I knew was sin, Have not hearkened to thy word, When thy loving voice I heard. But I'm sorry for it now, And before thy throne I bow; Wash me in that crimson flood ; Make me clean in Jesus' blood. When I oft would go astray, Keep me in the blessed way : Let thy love abide in me, Jesus : then I'll be like thee. THE CHILDREN'S OFFERING. (For Decoration Day.) "T "7"E little children gather \^[_ The brightest flowers of May, And lovingly will lay them On our soldiers' graves to-day. We bring the fragrant violets And buttercups so bright, And pure, white petaled lilies, For those who fought for right. Altho' we are so little, We've heard of battles fought, And gladly bring our offering For those who freedom bought. We proudly wave the colors, The red, the white, the blue, And place our flag upon the graves Of those whose hearts were true. Nellie G. Gerome. THE NAUGHTY GIRL. (Suited to a little girl from six to eight years. Train to speak plainly. ) THE naughty girl never minds mamma ; Always says, " I won't ! " to dear papa ; Makes a great deal of noise about the house, When her mother wants her as still as a mouse. She pulls the cat, and pinches her tail, And takes the bird-cage down from the nail ; Teases her brothers, and spoils her hair, And when reproved says, " I don't care ! " She worries poor grandma, makes baby cry ; She cannot please him, and I know why, — She lets him lie in the crib and moan, While she is amusing herself alone. At school she forgets what the teacher said, Sits idly leaning, her hands on her head ; She never learns the task that's given, And cannot tell even seven times seven. At table she's careless, and spills her drink, Can never be taught to " stop and think," Gets down from the table and goes to play And does the same over another day. P GRANDMA'S MISTAKE. (For Christmas Entertainment.) OOR Grandma, I do hate to tell her, And yet it does seem queer, She's lived so much longer than 1 have, And I, why, I've known it a year. Even Alice begins to look doubtful, And she is so babyish, too ; And Mamma just laughs at the nonsense, But Grandma believes it is true. I did it all up in brown paper, And laid it just there by her plate, And she put on her glasses so slowly, I thought that I never could wait. And when she had opened the bundle, ' ' My gracious ! ' ' she said, ' ' how complete 1 A dear little box for my knitting ; Now isn't old Santa Claus sweet?" 54 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. CARRIE'S BIRTHDAY CAKE. ( For a droll child of six, boy or girl. ) YES, Aunt Jennie, I was six years old last Saturday, and Mamma made me a beau- tiful cake, all covered with icing and with six little candles on it, one for every year, you know. What ! you going to have a birthday, Aunt Jennie ; and you want a cake with candles on it, too ? Why, you can't ! You can't have the candles, Aunt Jennie — not one for every year, you know. There wouldn't be room on the cake. GENEROUS LITTLE ONES. ( Dialogue for Sunday-School. Eight little scholars, four girls and four boys, on the stage, with presents in their hands.) Teacher. What have you there ? Girl A. A doll. T. Where did you get it ? A. It was a Christmas present. Girl B. I had a present, too. T. What was it ? B. A kitty. T. Was it a live one ? B. No, it was not alive ; but it cries. Boy C. I had a horse and wagon. Boy D. And I had a train of cars. Girl E. I had a new dress and hat. Boy F. I had a pair of boots. Girl G. I had a little book. T. And what did you have, H ? Boy H. I didn't have anything. T. Didn't you? Why not ? If. Mother said I couldn't have any, because we were so poor. T. I am very sorry. How many of you had more than one present ? AIL I did. T. What did you have, D ? D. I had a little boat, and a train of cars, and a cane, and a book. T. And what did you have, E ? E. I had a new dress and hat, and a little carriage, and some playthings. T. Won't some one of you give Johnny one of your presents? (JVo response.) D, who gave you such nice presents ? D. Mother, and father, and auntie, and grandma. T. Now, I'll tell you a true story. When I went to the toy-shop, to buy some presents for my little ones, I saw a little girl on the sidewalk, whose feet were bare, whose clothes were ragged, and whose face was very sad. She was looking in at the window of the toy -shop, and looking so earnestly that I spoke to her, and asked her what she wanted. She burst into tears, and said, " I want a Christmas present ; but mother says it's more than she can do to give us bread, and so I must go without." So I bought a little picture book and gave her ; and you should have seen how her face grew bright. Now, all you tell me, if you can, who gave you your nice home, and kind parents to give you pretty presents, while so many little boys and girls are poor, and have no nice warm homes, and cannot have any Christmas presents ? E. Is it Jesus, teacher ? T. Yes, Jesus has given you a father and a mother to take care of you, and has given them money to buy food for you, and clothes, and presents to make you happy. Now, what will you give Jesus for all this ? G. Why, teacher, Jesus don't want any of my things ! He don't want my doll, or my hat ? T. No, Jesus don't want them to play with, as you do ; but He wants you to give some of your things to those who have none. Johnny has had no Christmas present this year, and no birth- day present, and no New Year's present. A. I will give him my card. B. I will give him my kitty. C. I will give him my horse and wagon. E. I don't suppose he wants my doll, but I will give him my little picture book. T. I am glad to see my little ones so generous. Jesus loves to see us willing to give our gifts for Him ; but there is something that Jesus wants more than these, G. Is it my new hat ? F. Is it my new boots ? T. No, not these. A. What is it? LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 55 T. Jesus wants you to give Him your heart. Sometimes your little heart is naughty, and loves to do wrong ; but Jesus can make it all new and good. Jesus loves you, and wants you to love Him, and be His little child, and then, by and by, He will take you to live with Him in His beautiful home. G. I want to give Jesus my heart. May I give it to Him now ? T. Yes, Jesus wants it now. Don't you all want to love Jesus, and give Him your hearts? All {bowing reverently'). Please, Jesus, take my heart, and make it good, and make me thy little child. T, Sing, ' ( Jesus loves me. ' ' {All sing. ) A CONTENTMENT. KITTEN has no work to do, It frisks about all day ; But she can't write as I can, All she can do is play. A birdie has no work to do, He flies from tree to tree ; But he can't read as I can, Not even count to three. I'm glad I'm not a kitten, And I wouldn't be a bird, For if I changed with either, I shouldn't know a word. S. C. Peabody. THE WAY TO BE HAPPY. TT HERMIT there was, who lived in a grot, l\ And the way to be happy they said he had got. As I wanted to learn it, I went to his cell ; And this answer he gave, when I asked him to tell: e 'Tis being, and doing, and having, that make All the pleasures and pains of which mortals partake : To be what God's pleases, to do a man's best And to have a good heart is the way to be blest." WHEN PAPA PUTS HIS GREAT COAT ON. (By special permission of the Author.) WHEN papa puts his great coat on, We children gather round And listen to his talking, But never make a sound, Till he's said all he's got to say, And then we whoop and hi, To give a jolly send-off, When he gets down to ' ' good-by. ' ' When papa puts his great coat on, We knows just what he'll say, He'll tell Josie to get the coal And close at home to stay ; He'll tell Susan to help mamma, And then we whoop and hi, To give a jolly send-off, When he gets down to "good-by." When papa puts his great coat on, We tells him what to buy, Candy and nuts and piles of gum, 'Twould almost reach the sky; He claps his hands upon his ears, And then we whoop and hi, To give a jolly send-off, When he gets down to ' ' good-by. ' ' When papa puts his great coat on, We knows just what he'll do, He'll kiss mamma then pass 'em round, To all us noisy crew ; And then he'll pass them round again And help us whoop and hi, To give a jolly send off, When he gets down " to-good-by. " May Rapley McNabb. SANTA CLAUS. A JOLLY old fellow, Whose hair is snow white And whose little, bright eyes are blue, Will be making his visits On Christmas night ; Perhaps he will call on you. 56 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. SEVEN DAYS IN A WEEK. (A concert piece for seven little girls.) All: SEVEN little girls are we, Each one goes to school ; There we try to do our work, And mind our teacher's rule. We are learning very fast, How to read and spell, Many stories do we know, One of which we'll tell. This is one about the week, We are each a day ; Truly ^nes of course we're not, But just so in play. Bessie : I am Monday, and you see I can wash quit fine, First the clothes I rub and boil, Then hang them on the line. Alice: I am Tuesday, the next day, Full of work am I, All the clothes I have to press, But I will not cry. Eva: I am Wednesday, and must cook Puddings, pies, and cake, For my hungry little flock Eat everything I make. Annie : I am Thursday, and I guess I must take a walk, Many calls I have to make And much I'll have to talk. Clara : Friday comes, and I must try All the rooms to clean ; For we dislike to see the dust Anywhere, I mean. Tennie : Saturday is here at last, And I'm quite perplexed; With so many things to do, What shall I do next ? Ada: ^Hjnday is the day of rest, And we'll try to do Just what God would want of us, All the whole day through. All: Now we've said our piece to you And we'll take our seat, Hoping at some future time, You again we'll meet. Cora Woodward Foster. TAKING DOLLY'S PICTURE. (A little girl has placed her doll on a chair, while she stands beside another chair at some distance in front of doll. A magic-lantern is on the chair, or, if this is not obtainable, a black cloth thrown across the top of the chair will answer. ) COME, Dolly Toodlekins, I'm going take your picture, and you must mind every word I say. Sit up straight now — so ! Look right at me. That's right ! Now don't wink or blink. You're minding beautifully. Now don't laugh or even smile, but just look pleasant while I count one, two, three, four. Now it's done, and your 'spression is lovely. Come now, we'll go see Grandma. We'll tell her what a good girl you were. Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. ROB'S MITTENS. UR Rob has mittens new and red, To keep his hands so warm and nice When making snowballs, building forts, And sliding on the ice. One morning, coming in from play, His dear face pinker than a rose, Please, Mamma," cried he, "can't you knit A mitten for my nose ? ' ' Youth's Companion. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 57 I WHAT GIRLS LOVE TO DO. ( Recitation for six little girls. ) Ellen {holding a plate of cakes, etc.) , LOVE to get the breakfast, The pancakes I can bake ; The table then I nicely set And help make bread and cake. Kate (with a milk-stool and pail) : I love to milk the gentle cows, It's fun, I'd have you know, To take my stool and milking-pail, And say, ' ' So — Bossy — so. ' ' Eliza {swinging her hat) : It's better fun to get the cows. " Co-Boss ! Co-Boss I " I call. I run and climb the highest fence And never get a fall. Mary {with gay dolls in her hand) : I'm fond of dressing pretty dolls, In lovely lace and silk ; To trim their clothes with velvets fine, Is nicer than to milk. Emma (with a book and some stockings that need mending) : I love to read good story-books, And spend a while at play ; And then I wash the dishes up And stockings mend, each day. Jenny (holding a broom and dustpan) : I love to take a broom and sweep, I make the beds and sew ; Such work as this, my mother says, Is good for me to do. {Standing in a semi- circle and holding up the implement of work, etc. ; when it is named t all ■ recite together, slowly and clearly) : Baking cakes for breakfast, Milking cows at morn, Climbing fences safely, With our clothes not torn ; I Dressings dolls in laces, Reading and some play, Dishes washed and stockings mended, Brooms well used each day — Doing these while on time whirls, Makes us happy, useful girls. EARLY MISS CROCUS. (Teach the child to sing, laugh, and cry at proper places. ) 'M little Crocus, How d'y do ? I'm coming out now, Wouldn't you? Come, Yellow Daisy, Lift your head, Pull little Buttercup Out of bed. Guess I'm the first up, Tra, la, la ; I'm going to laugh now, Ha, ha, ha ! My, how the wind blows, Whoo, hoo, woo ; Think I'll go in now, Boo, hoo, hoo ! Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. DILIGENT BESSIE. (Little girl darning her stocking. A cat or toy cat sitting near by. Should be spoken in a reproving tone at first. Jolly and playful at the last. ) KITTY, don't sit there looking at me ; I've no time to play; I'm big enough now to take care of my clothes. I am mak- ing a dear little darn in the toe of my stocking. I've watched Mamma mend stockings — and it's just as easy as easy can be. You pull the thread forward and backward, backward and forward — see, Kitty. Oh, there ! I've broken my thread, and I don't know how to mend it. I've never learned to mend thread, so come on, Kitty, we'll have a good romp and let the old stocking go. ( Throws it on the floor and skips off. ) Lizzie J. Rook. 58 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. THE NEED OF CHRIST. ( Church or Sunday-School Exercises. To be repeated in succession by ten boys of ten to twelve years. ) i. As it is written, There is none righteous, no, not one. Rom. iii. 10. 2. There is none that understandeth, there is none that seeketh after God. Rom. iii. n. 3. They are all gone out of the way : they are together become unprofitable : there is none that doeth good, no, not one. Rom. iii. 12. 4. Their throat is an open sepulchre ; with their tongues they have used deceit : the poison of asps is under their lips. Rom. iii. 13. 5. Whose mouth is full of cursing and bitter- ness. Rom. iii. 14. 6. Their feet are swift to shed blood. Rom. iii. 15. 7. Destruction and misery are in their ways. Rom. iii. 16. 8. And the way of peace they have not known. Rom. iii. 17. 9. There is no fear of God before their eyes. Rom. iii. 18. 10. For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God. Rom. iii. 23. LATE AT BREAKFAST. ( Dialogue for boy and lady. ) Mother. See ! the hour for school is near : Robert, Robert, do you hear ? Robei't. Mother, mother, do not fret ! I'm not through my breakfast yet. M. From your bed you should have sprung When the early bell was rung. R. All my window-panes were white With the frost we had last night. M. If you would not be a dunce, Brave the cold and rise at once. R. When Jack Frost is in the case, Bed is such a pleasant place ! M. He who loves his bed so well Never, never will excel. R. Mother, mother, do not scold ! I shall soon be eight years old. M. More's the shame for you, my son, Leaving duties thus undone. R. Something whispers in my ear, You are right, my mother dear. M. Then get down, sir, from your stool, And run quickly off to school. R. Off I go ! You shall not see After this a drone in me. WHEN THE FAIRIES LIVED HERE. (Should be spoken in a slow, credulous tone, with eyebrows lifted, and seem very earnest. ) "T "7" HEN the fairies used to live here, VV/ Then, you know, There was never any dark, Or any snow ; But the great big sun kept shining All the night, And the roses just kept blooming, Oh, so bright ! And the little children never Teased their mothers ; And the little girls always Loved their brothers. And the brothers, they were just as Mild and kind ; Every single thing you told them They would mind ; And they played so very gently ; But you know That was when the fairies lived here, Long ago ! ARITHMETIC. (A boy sits in a chair on platform, holding a large slate and pencil, and looking at it occasionally, as if talking to himself. Be sure his face his plainly to the audience, that he may be heard.) I ' M glad I have a good-sized slate, With lots of room to calculate. Bring on your sums ! I'm ready now; My slate is clean and I know how. But don' t you ask me to subtract ; I like to have my slate well packed ; And only two long rows, you know, Make such a miserable show ; And, please, don't bring me sums to add; Well, multiplying' s just as bad; And, say ! I'd rather not divide — Bring me something I have'nt tried ! LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 59 MY CARLO TALKS. (The little boy who speaks this, should try to imi- tate the barking and whinning of the dog at close of second, third and fifth stanzas. ) SOME people say that dogs can't talk, But this is not quite true, For, that my Carlo talks to me, I'll plainly show to you. Now, when I say, " Come Carlo speak, Do you want a piece of meat ? ' ' He wags, and barks bow-wow, to say "I'm hungry and can eat." And then when I am going out, And say, ' ' You cannot go, ' ' He, wistful, eyes me, while he says " I understand, No ! No ! " And when again I only say " Come, Carlo, take the lead," He frisks around and joyful says " I'm very glad, indeed." And when to closed door he comes, With scratches, one, two, three, He says, as plain as anything, " Come, turn the latch for me." And so I could tell many things, As plain as A, B, C, About when I talk to my dog, And he talks back to me. The trouble is, that folks won't learn A little dog's plain speech ; If they'd only pay attention, Most any dog could teach. Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. GOOD NIGHT. (Sleepy little girl in night gown. Suitable at close of concert or children's entertainment. I AM so very near asleep I scarce can keep from gaping, And so I think it must be time That people all were napping ; So just before my eyes close tight, I wish you, each and all, good night. Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. WHO KNOWS THE MOST. (The little girl should address a real kitten or a picture of one. ) "T "THO knows the most, Pussy, you or I ? \/\[ I know you're cunning and very spry, I love to watch you chase the ball, But you cannot read nor write at all. Your little sharp claws help you climb a tree Where you sit out of reach and look at me. I know that is something I can't do, But you have four feet and I but two. You look very wise as you lick your paw, But you do not know that two twos are four, Or that m-i-c-e is the way to spell mice, Although you think they are very nice. But it really isn't your fault at all That you don' t know sphere is the name for ball ; For you have never been to school And do not know a single rule. Now I must go to school each day While you do nothing but sleep and play, And I don't believe, Pussy, as older you grow You ever will think how little you know. Nellie G. Bronson. THE AMERICAN BOY. LOOK up, my young American ! Stand firmly on the earth, Where noble deeds and mental power Give titles over birth. A hallow' d land thou claim 'st, my boy, By early struggles bought, Heaped up with noble memories, And wide, ay, wide as thought ! What though we boast no ancient towers Where "ivied" streamers twine, The laurel lives upon our soil, The laurel, boy, is thine. And when thou'rt told of knighthood's shield, And English battles won. Look up, my boy, and breathe one word — The name of Washington. Caroline Gilman 60 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. DR. BROWN. (A dialogue for a small girl and boy. Room ar- ranged as doctor's office — bottles, rags, and scissors on table, at which doctor sits reading newspaper.) {Bell rings. ) Doctor : ANOTHER patient, I suppose, This is my office hour, And by the score I count them off Who claim my healing power. (JSnter small girl as mother, with dilapidated doll.) Mother : I've called to see you, Dr. Brown, I've heard of your great skill, And so I've brought my darling here, Who is so very ill. Doctor {takes baby) : Ah me ! just so, ahem ! ahem ! She's very ill indeed ; For fractured is her skull, Her arm, how it does bleed. Her face, I see, is covered o'er With bruises, black and blue ; Now madam, I'll proceed at once To see what I can do. Mother : Oh, doctor, do you, do you think My little dear will die ? I feel as if, — oh dear, as if I shall begin to cry. Doctor : Now, madam, calm yourself at once, You know I'm Doctor Brown; And if I cannot cure your child, There's no one can in town. Mother : Oh, doctor, try at once, please try To cure my little Nell ; I feel as if my heart will break Unless she gets quite well. Doctor {who has been working with dolt); Upon her head you see I've placed A plaster rag-a-rum ; Her arm I've sewed as neat as wax, From elbow unto thumb. The bruises from her face are gone, I've used some butterine : And now your baby is as well As any ever seen. {Hands babe to mother. ) Mother : Oh, doctor, she's as sweet, as sweet As anything can be ! Now, if you tell me, I will pay Your customary fee. Doctor : Ten dollars, madam, is my price For curing such a case. Mother : Ten dollars ! that is awful dear, How can you have the face ? Well, there it is j pray have no doubt I'll tell it over town. Doctor : Well, speed my fame, if so you will — - The fame of Doctor Brown. Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. PLAYING OLD FOLKS. (For a little girl dressed as Grandma, and a little N boy dressed as Grandpa. ) Girl: OW, Grandpa, as I sit and knit, Please read to me the news ; You may read about the 'lection things, Or anything you choose. Boy: What ! read to you of politics ! Now what do women know ? I'll read you of the fashions, Or 'bout the candy show. Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. f r/ffDocrox < %^fk^' SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHING CHILDREN FACIAL EXPRESSION. * /J // Side- ' JtFTERTHEffESSSRT. Cornered- 1* HOW I SERVED THE NURSE Suggestions for Teaching Children Facial Expression. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 61 MRS, SANTA CLAUS. ( Written especially for this volume. Suited to a boy often or twelve years. ) Omuch has been told our dear girls and boys Of Santa who comes every year with his toys, And candy, and nuts, he brings with good will, The stockings of good little children to fill. They have heard I am sure how his sleigh skims the snow, On a clear Christmas eve though the frosty winds blow ; How his reindeer fly swift with their delicate feet That morning, each child with a present shall greet. What visions of dollies, and doll dresses too, Long golden curls and soft eyes of blue, And dainty hued kites and bright-colored drums, Cheer the eyes of the dreamer when Santa Claus comes. But, now, to consider these joys all about, Comes to me such a puzzle I cannot make out, Why, in this broad land, with its wonderful laws, No voice sings the praise of Mrs. Santa Claus ? Who is it, I ask, throughout the whole year Sews bright silken gowns for those dollies so dear, And smoothes out the tangles of long frizzy curls, To gladden the hearts of a million sweet girls? And makes those rich candies, delicious and nice, And spreads them to cool on a huge cake of ice \ With fingers so slim stretches ball-covers tight, And stitches them firm by the gay northern light ? And gathers the nuts ('twere a task this I think) Winds up all the tops that spin with a tink, And paints many pictures for Santa to give Of the land where the dear little Esquimaux live ? And — but stop ! it would take me a whole year to tell Of this dear Mrs. Santa, who labors so well In her far northern home, with a heart full of cheer, Just to make you all happy one day in a year. It is she who assists to pack up the load, To be sure that each treasure all safely is stowed And say, Santa dear, don't forget that poor boy Who never in all his whole life had a toy. Then, when all is ready she bids him away, As she tucks him so snug in his gay little sleigh, And gives each sleek reindeer a pat on the back, And whispers " speed swift o'er the wide snowy- track. ' ' So now, Children dear, on each glad Christmas night, When you kneel down to pray, with your gifts all in sight, And ask God to bless dear Santa Claus true, — - Don 1 1 forget Mrs. Santa, but mention her too. May Rapley McNabb. T A DISPUTE. OM and Joe quarreled, I've heard people tell; About a queer animal Hid in a shell. " I tell you it walks, sir ! " Said Tommy to Joe ; " It swims ! " cried Joe loudly, " I've seen and I know ! " " It walks ! " — "' No, it swims ! " — And the boys grew quite wroth, But the turtle peeped out, Saying, ' ' I can do both ! ' ' A. L. Mitchell. PACKING THE BOX. (For a plain spoken boy.) I'VE begun to pack a box. Every day I put in a great many things ; sometimes I put in things that I wish I hadn't, but I cannot get them out again, no matter how hard I try. And then the queerest thing about this box is, that the more I put in, the more room there seems to be. But no ; that is not the queerest ; I think this is, that no matter how hard I work, or how long I work, I never finish. Of course, its my Knowledge Box I'm packing. Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. 62 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. LITTLE THINGS. LITTLE drops of water, Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean, And the pleasant land. Thus the little minutes, Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages Of eternity. Thus our little errors Lead the soul away, From the path of virtue, Oft in sin to stray. Little deeds of kindness, Little words of love, Make our earth an Eden, Like the heaven above. THE WISEST PLAN. SUPPOSE, my little lady, Your doll should break her head, Could you make it whole by crying, Till your eyes and nose were red ? And wouldn't it be pleasanter To treat it as a joke, And say you're glad 'twas dolly's, And not your head that broke ? Suppose you're dressed for walking, And the rain comes pouring down, Will it clear off any sooner Because you scold and frown ? And wouldn't it be nicer For you to smile than pout, And so make sunshine in the house When there is none without ? Suppose your task, my little man, Is very hard to get, Will it make it any easier For you to sit and fret ? And wouldn't it be wiser Than waiting like a dunce, To go to work in earnest And learn the thing at once ? Suppose that some boys have a horse And some a coach and pair, Will it tire you less while walking To say : " It isn't fair ? " And wouldn't it be nobler To keep your temper sweet, And in your heart be thankful You can walk upon your feet ? Suppose the world doesn't please you, Nor the way some people do, Do you think the whole creation Will be altered just for you ? And isn't it, my boy or girl, The wisest, bravest plan, Whatsoever comes or doesn't come, To do the best you can ? DOLLY'S BEDTIME. (Girl holding doll. More effective if at the close a nurse enters wearing a white cap. ) COME, good-night, my dolly dear, It is bedtime, do you hear ? Little girl must go to bed ; That is what my mamma said ; But I guess, I really do, Dolly, dear, mamma meant you ; I'm not sleepy, so you see Mamma couldn't have meant me. Now the little nightie, Oh Dolly, sweet, I love you so ! Now, good-night ! Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! I see nursie coming here ; I'm afraid, to tell you true, Mamma did mean me — not you. T I'LL TRY AND I CAN'T. HE little boy who says " I'll try," Will climb to the hill top. The little boy who says " I can't," Will at the bottom stop. ' ' I'll try does great things every day ; " I can't " gets nothing done ; Be sure then that you say "I'll try," And let "I can't " alone. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 63 WHICH IS BEST. (For two boys and a girl. ) First Boy : "/~\F all the days of all the year," \J Cried loyal Freddy Bly, " The very splendid-est of all Comes early in July. Think of the fun ! the glorious noise ! That is the day — at least for boys. ' ' Second Boy : " Of all the days of all the year," Said little Robin Gray, " The very best, I do believe, Will be Thanksgiving day. A fellow has such things to eat ! Thanksgiving day cannot be beat." Girl: " Of all the days of all the year." Sang pretty Nan, " remember The dearest, happiest and best Is coming in December. What girl or boy, north, east, south, west, But knows that Christmas day is best ? ' ' Annie L. Hannah. F MY SPEECH. OLKS think I'm such a tiny tot That I can't make a speech, For some one said to Mamma I am too young to teach. But I can tell a story I'm sure you never heard; And if you'll only listen, I'll tell you every word. " One morning very early I heard a whisper low, It came from near my bedside, This little voice, you know. 44 Oh dear, I'm very wretched. Is any one more tired? For just behold my trouble, T 'm broken in my side. "I'm torn and bruised and scratched And grown so very thin, It is indeed a really sad Condition I am in." And then another voice replied " I'm sorry you are sad, But misery loves company And I am just as bad. "I've worked all day from morn till eve, Right side by side with you ; I've suffered woes, until, until — My sole's worn through and through." " Then let us creep together, close, Our waning life to spend ; For this is just a solemn fact, We are too bad to mend. ' ' Just then I opened wide my eyes To hear such awful news, And by my bed I only saw My little worn-out shoes. Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. A SIX-YEAR-OLD. WHEN Joe and Kate and Dick and Belle Started to school last fall, I cried to go, and papa said He thought I was too small. I begged so hard, at last he said, " Well, you can go to-day ; For after this I'm very sure, At home you'll want to stay." But I'm not tired yet, and you Can judge now by my looks. That, though I am but six years old, I like my school and books. Y HIS SPEECH. (A loud-talking boy. ) OU'VE called on me to make a speech J I'm sure I don't know how ; Perhaps 'twill answer just as well If I only make a bow. 64 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. ELSIE'S SOLILOQUY. OH ! dear. Is it any wonder I feel cross ? Just see how it is raining, and I wanted to go out to gather wild flowers. Mamma says there wouldn't be any flowers if it didn't rain, and that I ought not to grumble about it. But how can I help it? She says rain makes things grow. It doesn't make me, grow, does it? Then what does, I wonder? I'm sure I'm a great deal taller now than I was last year, for mamma had to let all the tucks out of this dress. I suppose she means planted things. Well, there's all that money I planted last Fourth of July — to be sure there wasn't any rain — but I poured bushels and bushels of water on it, and not one cent came up. But what became of that money I don't know. That's the queer part of it ; for when I took my little spade and uncovered the hole to see what was the matter with it, there wasn't any money there. Bill (that's the boy that lives with us) says may- be it grew the other way and came up in China. How he knows anything about it I can't tell, for I never breathed a word of it to anybody. He's an awful bad boy, and whenever he passes me he calls me ' ' little missionary, ' ' or else he says, "Say, Elsie, has your money sprouted yet?" I told him if he didn't stop teasing me I would tell papa, and he said if I did, papa would tease me more than he did. Oh ! there ! See that sunbeam ! I do believe it's clearing off! I can go for my flowers after all. I wonder where my hat and basket are ! PLAYING CHURCH. (Harry, seven years, and Eddy, five years of age. Sunday-School entertainment. ) Harry. Come, Eddie, let's play go to church, and I'll be the minister, and preach you a sermon. Eddie. Well, and I'll be the peoples. Harry {lifts Eddie into a chair). There! this is your pew, and you must listen to my sermon. My text is a very short one, and easy, too — a part of the one the minister had one Sunday, and all I can remember of it. There are some little texts in the Bible on pur- pose for little children, and this is one: "Be kind!" Now, these are the heads: First, Be kind to papa, and don't make a noise when he has a headache. I don't believe you know what headache is ; but I do : I had it once ; and I didn't want anybody to speak a word. Secondly, Be kind to mamma, and don't make her tell you to do a thing more than once. It is very tiresome for her to tell you to keep still twenty times a day. Thirdly, Be kind to baby, and don't let her cry. Eddie. You have leaved out, Be kind to Harry. Ha7-ry. Yes ; I did not want to say myself in my sermon. But I want you to be kind to Minnie, and let her have your red soldier when she wants it. Fourthly, Be kind to Jane, and don't kick and scream when she washes and dresses you. Eddie. But she pulled my hair with the comb. Harry. People must not talk in meeting; besides, you must not let your hair snarl. Now, I don't know whether the next was fifthly or sixthly. Eddie. I don't know wha,tfffy is. Harry. O, that's because you cannot count. See here ; I will count them on my fingers for you. One, Be kind to papa. Two, Be kind to mamma. Three. Be kind to baby. Four, Be kind to Jane. O, yes, that's it ! Now, the little finger is five. Fifthly, Be kind to kitty. Do what will make her purr; but don't do what will make her cry. Eddie. Baby made her meow right out loud to-day. She pulled her tail, and kitty jumped right off the cradle, and ran to the door, and I shutted it for her. Harry. Opened it, you mean. Eddie. Isn't the sermon most done? I want to sing. (He sings, and just then the supper bell rings. ) Harry {running off the stage). There! there is the bell for supper. Come, Eddie. {Exit.) LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 65 ALMOST A MAN. (A little boy supposed to have on his first pair of pants. ) I DON'T wear dresses any more — See my coat and breeches, Cuffs and collar, pockets too, Made with many stitches. I must have a watch and chain, A silk umbrella, and a cane. No more kilts and skirts for me, I'm a big boy, don't you see? You can give away my dresses, And my other baby clothes, Give away my horse with rockers, I want one that really goes. But two nice goats I guess will do, And I want a carriage too ; No more chairs hitched up for me, I'm too big for that, you see ! I think I'll give my picture books To little sister Mary; I'll go to school, and learn 10 read In the big dictionary ; Or maybe in a g'ography ; Or 'rithmatic, or history ; They're just about the size for me, For I'm a big boy, — don't you see? BESSIE'S LETTER. {By a little girl holding a letter in her hand.) I HAVE got a letter, A letter all my own, It has my name upon it, Miss Bessie L. Stone. My papa sent it to me, He's away from home — you see ! I guess the postman wondered Who Bessie Stone could be. I'd like to send an answer, But I don't know how to spell, I'll get mamma to do it, And that will do as well. 5 p-s AMONG THE ANIMALS. (For a boy. ) ONE rainy morning, Just for a lark, I jumped and stamped On my new Noah's ark. I crushed an elephant, I smashed a gnu, And snapped a camel Clean in two. I finished the wolf Without half trying, Then the wild hyena And roaring lion. I knocked down Ham And Japeth too, And cracked the legs Of the kangaroo. I finished, besides, Two pigs and a donkey, A Polar bear, Opossum, and monkey. Also rhe lions, Tigers, and cats, And dromedaries, And tiny rats. There wasn't a thing That didn't feel, Sooner or later, The weight of my heel. I felt as grand As grand could be — But, oh ! the whipping My mamma gave me ! TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING. ( For small boy — one who can speak out. ) THE elephant said, " If my trunk I could check I would make an excursion to upper Quebec ; But truly, I cannot get state-room or bunk, So long as I'm hampered with such a big trunk. ' ' 66 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. TEACHING DOLLY. (Suited to a little girl from five to eight years of age. Should have a book or chart with large letters, and hold it so the audience can see. Addressing her doll, she begins :) COME here, you nignoramus ! I'm 'shamed to have to 'fess You don't know any letter 'Cept just your cookie S. Now, listen, and I'll tell you- — This round hole's name is O, And when you put a tail in, It makes it Q, you know. And if it has a front door To walk in at, it's C ; Then make a seat right here To sit on, and it's G. And this tall letter, Dolly, Is I, and stands for me, And when it puts a hat on, It makes a cup o' T. And curly I is J, dear, And half of B is P, And E without his slippers on Is only F, you see. You turn A upside downward, And people call it V, And if it's twins, like this one W 'twill be. Now, Dolly, when you learn 'em, You'll know a great big heap — Most much's I— Oh, Dolly ! I b'lieve you've gone asleep. D DOLLY'S BATH. (A little girl with doll. ) OLLY, you're a sad disgrace, I shall have to wash your face ; How can you so dirty be ? Really it distresses me. A bath at once, dear, you must take, That will a nice, clean dolly make. {Prepares to wash the dolL~) A BOY'S OPINION. (Boy with hammer and paper of tacks.) THE girls may have their dollies, Made of china and wax ; I prefer a little hammer, And a paper full of tacks. There's such comfort in a chisel ! And such music in a file ! I wish that little pocket-saws Would get to be the style ! My kite may fly up in the tree ; My sled be stuck in rnud ; And all my hopes of digging wells Be nipped off in the bud ; But with a little box of nails, A gimlet and a screw, I'm happier than any king ; I've work enough to do HATTIE'S VIEWS ON HOUSE- CLEANING. OUR folks have been cleaning house — anct oh ! it is just dreadful, I think ! Why, a little girl might just as well have no mamma, as to have a mamma who is cleaning house. She does not have any time to 'tend to me at all. She ties her head up in an old apron, and wears an ugly old dress, and she don't look a bit pretty. Then she pulls every- thing out of its place, and the house looks — oh ! so bad. We do not have any good dinners, either, 'cause there's no time to stop to get them ready. And I cannot find my dear Mar- garet that was broken a little, and the saw-dust ran out of her. Mamma said she made so much dirt that she must be burnt up, and, oh ! I'm afraid that is where she is gone. And ever so many of my playthings are lost — lost in the house- cleaning. What if they were old and broken ! I loved them ; so is it any wonder 1 think house-cleaning is a dreadml thing ? When I grow up to be a big woman, I mean never to clean house at all, but be just as dirty and happy as I can. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 67 THROWING KISSES. (Sunday- School or church occasion.) A LITTLE girl, accustomed to play, Stood by the window, one summer day, Throwing kisses by two and two, As you often see little children do. The mother saw the darling well, But who they were for, she could not tell ; Still on flew the kisses, away, away, As sweet as the sun of the summer day. ' ' What are you doing, my darling Bell ? ' ' " You can see me, mother, and can't you tell ? ' ' " Throwing kisses ; but why, my dear? For I see nobody, far or near. ' ' " Why, mother, you know, as well as I, Who lives way up above the sky ; 'Tis He who sees me every day, When I'm sleeping, and when at play. " To God and Jesus the kisses I throw, Because, dear mother, I love them so ! I can't see them, of course, I know ; But they can see me, wherever I go. " And they want the kisses ; for, don't you see, I must love them, if they love me ? The teacher at Sunday-School told me this And those I love, I always kiss." THE LITTLE TEACHER, (Little Mary addresses her doll, which is seated in a chair. ) WELL, little girl, you wish to come to school, do you ? I hope you are a very good girl and will not give me any trouble. What is your name ? Lucy, is it ? Well, Lucy, do you know your letters ? Can you read and spell and write? You don't know anything, eh ? How shocking ! Well, then, I will try to teach you how to spell your name the first thing, because every little girl, when she is as big as you, ought to know how to spell her name. Lucy — that's an easy name to spell. Now say " L " — you can remember that if you'll just think of "Aunt El.;" then " U "— u, remember, not me — that's L-U. Next comes " C " — that's what you do with your eyes, you know— "C." L-U-C, and the last is "Y," that's easy — "Y." Why, of course! And now you have it all ! — L (for Aunt El.)-U (not me)-C (with your eyes) -and Y (why, of course) — Lucy. That is very good. You'll soon be a good scholar, I see ! Now you may take a recess. D DO YOUR BEST. O your best, your very best, And do it every day. Little boys and little girls-, That is the wisest way. Whatever work comes to your hand, At home or at your school, Do your best with right good will ; It is a golden rule. For he who always does his best,. His best will better grow ; But he who shirks or slights his task, Lets all the better go. What if your lessons should be hard ? You need not yield to sorrow, For he who bravely works to-day, His tasks grow bright to-morrow. H HARRY'S DOG. ARRY has a little dog, Such a cunning fellow ! With a very shaggy coat, Streaked with white and yellow . Harry's dog has shining eyes, And a nose so funny ! Harry wouldn't sell his dog For a mint of money. Harry's dog will never bark, Never bite a stranger ; So he'd be of no account Where there's any danger. Harry has a little dog, Such a cunning fellow ! But his dog is made of wood, Painted white and yellow. 68 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. PARTNERSHIP. (A little girl addresses the mother of her pet kitten. ) YOU need not be looking around at me so ; She's my kitten as much as your kitten, you know ; And I'll take her wherever I wish her to go ! You know very well that the day she was found, If I hadn't cried, she'd have surely been drowned, And you ought to be thankful she's here safe sound ! She is only just crying because she s a goose ; I'm not squeezing her — look, now ! my hands are quite loose, And she may as well hush, for it's not any use. And you may as well get right down and go 'way ! You're not in the play we are going to play, And, remember, it isn't your half of the day. You're forgetting the bargain we made — and so soon ! In the morning she's yours, and mine all after- noon, And you couldn't teach her to eat with a fpoon. So don't let me hear you give one single mew. Do you know what will happen right off, if you do ? She'll be my kitten mornings and afternoons too ! MAUD'S BIRTHDAY. (The speaker must have his arms filled with the toys mentioned in the piece.) I'M five years eld to-day, and I have brought my pretty birthday presents here to show them to you all. Five times one to-day ! I'm getting pretty old, but I'm glad of it. I think it is very nice to be going-on-six. I suppose, after while, when I get to be two or three hundred, like grandma, I won't like it so well to have a birthday, but now I think it is delightful. Isn't this a beautiful top? Mamma gave it to me this morning. And see my ball and hoop, and this nice slate and book ! I think papa and mamma, and all our folks, must be very glad that I was born, because, if they were sorry, they would not give me such nice things on my birthday, would they? THE "I CAN'T" ARMY. OH ! dear. What a troublesome set of chil- dren the " I can'ts " are ! Their moth- ers have to button their shoes, and brush their hair, and find their mittens, and do all such little things for them, that they might learn to do for themselves, if they would only try. The "I Can'ts" do not want to learn an> thing. Their teachers have to coax them to allow their lessons to be pushed into their minds. They stop at every hard place and whine " I can't go on," and have to be helped, or there they would stav forever. Nov/, do you suppose the ' ' I Can'ts " will ever make the world any better or happier for their being in it ? No, of course they will not ; and if any one among us even suspects that he belongs to the army of " I Can'ts," let him at once desert and join the ranks of the tJ I'll Try's." CAW! CAW! CAW! (The effect is very comical if the "Caws" are well mimicked. ) CAW ! caw ! caw ! I am a poor old crow ! And I just want to know Why you treat us with cruelty and scorn ? Caw ! caw ! caw ! Why you shoot us with a gun, And seem to think it fun, If we just take a grain or two of corn? Caw ! caw ! caw ! Yet you'll make it into drink, Which does more harm, I think, Than all the crows that ever flew in air ; Caw ! caw ! caw ! For it blights where'er it flows, Killing men instead of crows, Then why not eat, and let us have a share ? Caw ! caw ! caw ! Edward Carswell. A LITTLE CHILD'S PRAYER. (Suggestion For Tableau.) "Jesus I would be like thee, Look from heaven and pity me. Though so full of sin I am , Make me now thy little lamb." NOBODY'S CHILD. (Suggestion For Tableau.) 'AH dav I wander to and fro Hungry and shivering and nowhere to go Oh! Why does the wind blow upon me so wild? Is it because I'm nobody's child?" LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. THINGS THAT I DO NOT LIKE TO SEE. (Practical boy or girl of eight or nine years. ) A LITTLE boy or girl coming late to school, Failing in his lessons, breaking every rule, Whispering to his neighbor, slamming hard the door, Walking with a heavy step on the school-room floor, — Dropping slate and pencil, lounging in his seat, Drumming with his fingers, kicking with his feet, Slyly pinching Willie, pulling Johnny's hair, Gazmg out the window with a vacant stare, Making ugly faces, telling ugly tales, Throwing little spit-balls, biting finger nails, Grumbling at the lessons, studying them aloud, Looking black, if noticed, as a thunder-cloud, Muttering at the teacher in an undertone, Borrowing sponge and pencil, careless of his own, Forgetting to return them, neglecting to replace, Always finding some excuse — ever in disgrace, Creating a confusion wherever he may be — Are just a few of many things I do not like to see. L. J. Rook. MARY AND THE SWALLOW. (Suited for any entertainment where children take part. The swallow may be personated by a little girl out of sight of the audience. An imitative twittering may be heard before the dialogue com- mences.) M. The lilacs are in blossom, the cherry flowers are white ; I hear a sound above me, a twitter of delight ; It is my friend the swallow, as sure as I'm alive ! I'm very glad to see you ! Pray, when did you arrive ? S. I'm very glad to get here; I only came to-day : I was this very morning a hundred miles away. M. It was a weary journey ; how tired you must be ! S. Oh no ! I m used to traveling, and it agrees with me. M. You left us last September, and pray where did you go ? S. I went South for the Winter, I always do, you know. M. The South ? How do you like it ? S. I like its sunny skies ; And round the orange-blossoms I caught the nicest flies. But when the spring had opened, I wanted to come back. M. You're still the same old swallow ! Your wings are just as black. S. I always wear dark colors; I'm ever on the wing ; A sober suit for traveling I think the proper thing. M. Your little last year's nestlings, do tell me how they grow. S. My nestlings are great swallows, and mated long ago. M. And shall you build this summer among the flowers and leaves ? S. No. I have taken lodgings beneath the stable eaves. You'll hear each night and morning my twitter in the sky. M. That sound is always welcome. And now good-bye ! -S". Good-bye ! Marian Douglas. DOLL ROSY'S BATH. (An action recitation, in which the little girl should have a doll, which she attempts to wash. ) ; ATAIS time Doll Rosy had a bath, And she'll be good, I hope ; She likes the water well enough, But doesn't like the soap. Now soft I'll rub her with a sponge, Her eyes and nose and ears, And splash her fingers in the bowl, And never mind the tears. There now — oh, my! what have I done? I've washed the skin off — see ! Her pretty pink and white are gone Entirely ! oh, dear me ! 70 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. AN EGG A CHICKEN. (Seven-year-old boy. Speak in a know-all tone.) ** TY~ N egg a chicken ! Don't tell me ! /~"\ For didn't I break an egg to see ? There was nothing inside but a yellow ball, With a bit of mucilage round it all — Neither beak nor bill, Nor toe nor quill, Not even a feather To hold it together ; Not a sign of life could any one see. An egg a chicken ? You can't fool me . " An egg a chicken ! Didn't I pick Up the very shell that had held the chick — So they said ? — and didn't I work half a day To pack him in where he couldn't stay ? Let me try as I please, With squeeze upon squeeze, There is scarce space to meet His head and his feet. No room for any of the rest of him — so That egg never held that chicken, I know. ' ' Mamma heard the logic of her little man, Felt his trouble, and helped him, as mothers can ! Took an egg from the nest — it was smooth and round : " Now, my boy, can you tell me what makes this sound ? ' ' Faint and low, tap, tap, tap ; Soft and slow, rap, rap ; Sharp and quick, Like a prisoner's pick. " Hear it peep, inside there ! " cried Tom, with a shout ; " How did it get in, and how can it get out ? ' ' Tom was eager to help — he could break the shell. Mamma smiled and said, " All's well that ends well, Be patient awhile yet my boy. ' ' Click, click, And out popped the bill of a dear little chick. No room had it lacked, Though snug it was packed, There it was all complete, From its head to its feet. The softest of down and the brightest of eyes, And so big — why the shell wasn't half its size. Tom gave a long whistle, " Mamma, now I see That an egg is a chicken — though the how beats me, An egg isn't a chicken, that I know and declare, Yet an egg is a chicken — see the proof of i* there. Nobody can tell How it came in that shell ; Once out all in vain Would I pack it again. I think 'tis a miracle, mamma mine, As much as that of the water and wine." Youth's Companion. M MR. TONGUE. Y friend, Mr. Tongue, He lives in my mouth, He's red as a rose, And as warm as the South. He has not a foot, But how quickly he goes, My little friend Tongue, As red as a rose. OH! H, what would people do Without the little Oh ? For everybody says it Wherever they may go. When people bump their noses, Or even stump a toe, How very much they'd suffer If they couldn't cry out " Oh ! It's Oh ! when I am happy And Oh my ! when I'm sad, And Oh dear me ! when study Makes me so awful mad. When I go to the dentist's I sound a frightful Oh ! And then when I am sleepy There is the gaping O — h ! LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 71 A LITTLE GIRL'S CHRISTMAS. (To be spoken by a girl of six to eight years, be- fore the presents are distributed from the Christmas Tree. ) YES, Christmas day has come at last, And I am glad ' tis here ; For, don't you think, for this one day, I've waited just a year. I'm sure it should have come before, As sure as I'm alive ; Fifty-two Sundays make a year, And I've counted seventy-five. There's one thing makes me very glad, As glad as I can be : The years grow short as we grow old, And that will just suit me. I wish 'twas Christmas every month — That's long enough to wait — For all the presents that I want, A year is very late. We'd have a tree, then, every month, And presents nice and new : {A voice in the audience says, " Where would the money come from ? ") Do Christmas trees cost anything ? (A voice, " I guess they do!) Then one a year will do. And now I'll take my seat, dear friends, And wait to hear my call ; For I've a present on the tree, And I hope it is a doll. HOW SAD. (By special permission of the Author.) AT morning Susie Bell and I Went to the beach to play,, The sun shone high above our heads, We thought he'd shine all day. But very soon a cloud came by, And hid him from our eyes, Then Susie said the cloud was mean And frowned up at the skies. I know he heard, for soon upon The sands there fell a tear, Then Susie cried with all her might And I did too, I fear. And so the cloud and Susie Bell And T, we cried all three, And were 'most drown' d by the tears, As wet as wet could be. Then nursie came to take us home, And scolded all the way, But when the sun comes out again We're going back to play. May Rapley McNabb. CHRISTMAS. DAINTY little stockings Hanging in a row, Blue and gray and scarlet, In the firelight's glow. Curly-pated sleepers Safely tucked in bed ; Dreams of wondrous toy-shops Dancing through each head. Funny little stockings Hanging in a row Stuffed with sweet surprises, Down from top to toe. Skates and balls and trumpets, Dishes, tops, and drums, Books and dolls and candles, Nuts and sugar-plums. Little sleeper waking : Bless me, what a noise : Wish you merry Christmas, Happy girls and boys ! The Nursery. ONLY A BABY SMALL. NLY a baby small, dropped from the skies > Only a laughing face, two sunny eyes ; Only two cherry lips, one chubby nose ; Only two little hands ten little toes ; Only a golden head, curly and soft ; Only a tougue that wags loudly and oft ; Only a little brain, unvexed by thought ; Only a little heart, troubled by naught ; Only a tender flower, sent us to rear ; Only a life to love while we are here. Matthias Barr. 72 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. AN AXE TO GRIND. (Big boy with an axe on his shoulder, conies on the stage, where he finds a small boy with a book satchel going to school. Grindstone sitting on the stage. ) Hiram Sneak. Stop a moment, boy. I've a word to say. Ben Franklin. Well, what is it ? I can't stop long ; I'm on my way to school ; the bell is ringing. H. What time does school begin, my little hero ? B. In ten minutes, and I must run half a mile to get there. H. So far ? You are a bright little fellow ; there isn't your match in all Boston. By the way, has your father such a thing as a grindstone ? B. Oh yes ! There it stands. H. Upon my word, you are a remarkably fine lad. Can you read, write and cipher? B. That I can : I go to Mr. Brownell's school ; I could read before I was four years old. H. What a wonderful boy ! What's your name? B. Benjamin Franklin. H. Well, Ben, can I grind my axe on your grindstone ? B. Yes ; father can have no objection. Now I must go, or I shall be late at school. H. Stop ! I declare you're a fine little fel- low. B. I'm to have a new London writing-book to-morrow. H. Possible? I say, Ben, it's such a cold day all the water about the grindstone seems to be frozen. Couldn't you get me some hot water? B. Yes, I'll get some in half a minute. {Exit. ) H. There's nothing like flattery if you want to get an axe ground. Here's this little fool tickled out of his wits by my praises. The school-bell has been clanging away, but he forgets all about it. Well, well, Alexander the Great wasn't much wiser. It takes a philosopher like me to despise fame. B. ( entering with kettle) . Here' s the hot water. H. Thank you, Tom. B. No, sir ; Ben — Ben Franklin. H. Well, Ben, you're the finest lad I've ever seen. Will you turn the grindstone for me a minute ? B. Excuse me, sir, but the school-bell has — H. Oh, I see, you're not strong enough. B. Not strong enough ! You shall see. H. What a powerful boy ! Grind away, Ben. B. It turns rathe r hard. You are pressing on, sir. H. Yes, the axe has never been ground before. I declare ! You turn it as well as a grown man could do. B. I'm afraid the school-bell has done ring- ing. H. Turn away, Ben. What a man you'll make if you live to grow up ! Wliat do you mean to be, Ben ? B. A printer ; my brother is a printer. I never knew this grindstone to go so hard. It tries the hands. H. Turn away, Ben. The axe is almost ground. I never knew such a boy — I'll say that. One more turn, Ben ! There ! That will do. The axe is ground. B. It's sharp, is it? H. What's that to you ? You want a penny for the job, I suppose. Now, look here, you. little rascal ! B. Rascal ? Is that all the thanks I get ? H. You've been playing truant. Oh, won't you catch it from old Brownell ! B. After blistering my hands over your old axe you call me a rascal, do you ? H. Pick up your satchel and scud ! B. I shall be late at school. I shall be thrashed. But I shall remember you, Mr. Axe- grinder, for the rest of my life. {Runs off.) H. Ha, ha, ha! Poor little Ben! 'Tis rather rough on him, I confess, but it's a good lesson ; it will set him to thinking — will teach, him how much axe-grinding there is going on in the world. When he sees a tradesman over- polite to his customers, begging them to take a drink and throwing his goods on the counter, Ben will say to himself, That man has an axe to grind. When he sees a fellow who in private LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 7S life is a tyrant professing great love for liberty, Ben will say, Look out, good people ; that fel- low would set you turning grindstones. When he sees a man hoisted into office by party spirit, without one qualification to render him either respectable or useful, Ben will say, Deluded people, you are doomed for a season to turn the grindstone for a booby. And so, in the long run, Ben will not grudge the time he has wasted turning the grindstone for Hiram Sneak. His wits will be as much sharpened as my axe has been by his labor. On the whole, I natter myself I've done a very benevolent action. (Exit.) A LITTLE BOY'S WONDER. (For a bright little fellow of five years — in frock.) I WONDER, oh ! I wonder what makes ve sun go wound ; I wonder what can make ve fowers turn popin' from ve gwound. I wonder if my mamma loves Billy morn'n me; I wonder if I'd beat a bear a-climbin' up a twee ; I wonder how ve angels 'member everybody's pwayers, I wonder if I didn't leave my sandwich on ve stairs, I wonder what my teacher meant about " a twuthful heart ; ' ' I guess 'tis finkin' untul Jack will surely bring my cart. I wonder what I'd do if I should hear a lion woar ; I bet I'd knock 'im on ve head, and lay him on ve floor. I wonder if our Farver knew how awful I did feel When Tom's pie was in my poftet, and I wead, 11 Vou shall not steal." I wonder if, when boys get big, it's dreadful in ve dark ; I wonder what my doggie thinks when he begins to bark. I wonder what vat birdie says who hollers so and sings ; I wonder, oh ! I wonder lots and lots of over fings. A THE CHICKEN'S MISTAKE. (Suited to a boy or girl of eight to ten years.) LITTLE downy chick one day Asked leave to go on the water, Where she saw a duck with her brood at play, Swimming and splashing about her. Indeed, she began to peep and cry, When her mother wouldn't let her, " If the ducks can swim there, why can't I? Are they any bigger or better ?" Then the old hen answered, ' ' Listen to me, And hush your foolish talking ; Just look at your feet, and you will see They were only made for walking. ' ' But chicky wistfully eyed the brook, And didn't half believe her, For she seemed to say, by a knowing look. Such stories couldn't deceive her. And as her mother was scratching the ground She muttered lower and lower, " I know I can go there and not be drowned, And so I think I'll show her." Then she made a plunge where the stream was deep, And saw too late her blunder ; For she had hardly time to peep, When her foolish head went under. And now I hope her fate will show The child my story reading, That those who are older sometimes know What you will do well in heeding ; That each content in his place should dwell ? And envy not his brother ; For any part that is acted well Is just as good as another ; For we all have our proper spheres below. And this is a truth worth knowing : You will come to grief if you try to go Where you never were made for going. Phcebe Cary. 74 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. CHRISTMAS ACROSTIC. (For Christmas entertainment. The following acrostic may be represented by fourteen little boys and girls, each bearing a small banner made of dif- ferent colors of cloth and having one large letter cut •out of cloth and sewed on it. Each little speaker steps forward and repeats one line, holding the ban- ner so the letter shows plainly to the audience. When they are all in line, the letters spell the words MERRY CHRISTMAS. Merrily ring the Christmas Bells ; Every heart with rapture swells ; Round the world with joy proclaim Redemption in the Saviour's name. Youth and age alike will say Christ was born on Christmas Day. Herald Him, ye glittering throng, Rend the morning light with song ; In Judea's land a babe is born, Sent to comfort all that mourn. Trusting in the promise given, Marching on our way to Heaven, All of earth in gladness sing, Songs of praise to Heaven's King. DON'T WAKE THE BABY. (Speak in a low half whisper and tread about on tip- toes.) B ABY sleeps, so we must tread Softly 'round her little bed, And be careful that our toys Do not fall and make a noise. Play and talk, but whisper low, Mother wants to work, we know ; That when father comes to tea, All may neat and cheerful be. KINDNESS AND CRUELTY. (Big boy of twelve and little boy of eight. ) Paul. Are you the boy who called me names the other day ? Charles. If you are the boy who threw stones at a toad, I am the boy who called you cruel. P. Then I shall give you a beating. C. I do not see how that would change the fact. You would s** 1 * be cruel. P. Are you not afraid of me ? C. I am just about as afraid of you as I am of our big rooster when he jumps on a fence and crows. P. I am larger and stouter than you are. C. So a hawk is larger than a king-bird ; but the king-bird is not afraid of him. P. Why did you call me cruel for stoning an ugly toad ? C. Because it is a cruel act to give needless pain to any living thing. P. Would you not like to have all the toads put out of the way ? C. By no means. The toad is of use, and does us no harm. Four or five toads will keep a garden free from bugs, worms and flies, that would spoil the leaves. A good gardener would rather have you strike him than kill a toad. P. I never heard before that a toad was cf any use. C. Probably all the creatures in the world are of use, in someway, though we may not yet have found it out. But what harm did you ever know a toad to do ? See how he tries to hop out of your way as soon as he hears your step. P. It is true ; I never heard of a toad's doing any harm. What is your name ? C. My name is Charles Larcom. P. Charles Larcom, I have been in the wrong, and you have been in the right. Will you shake hands with me ? C. Gladly; I'd much rather shake hands than fight. P. I was cruel in stoning the toad, and you said no more than the truth about me. C. I think we shall be good friends. Come and see me : I live in the white house by the brook, near the old willow tree. P. I know the house. Will you go and pick berries with me next Saturday afternoon ? C. That I will ; and my brother would like to go, too. P. I'll call for you at three o'clock; till then, good-bye. C. Good-bye, Paul Curtis ; I'm glad to have met you. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 75 A LITTLE SCHOOL MARM. (The little girl should have three dolls, arranged in a row on chairs. Careful drilling in the gestures and correct recitation of the piece will add to its interest. ) MELINDA JANE, and Kate, and Nell, It's time you learned to read and spell. Come, now, and say your A, B, C. Hold up your heads, and look at me, For if you never learn to read, What stupid dolls you'll be, indeed ! All ready now : A, B, and C — What is the matter ? Oh dear me ! I cannot hear one word you say ! Why, Katy dear, don't turn away; Sit up again and listen — there ! •She's fast asleep, I do declare ! Well, never mind, where's grandpa's cane? Now look at me, Melinda Jane, You needn't think that this is play; For I shall keep you here all day, And make you read before you go : I know what's good for dollies, — so ! Now say A, B — Look this way, Nell : You speak so low, I can't just tell. Melinda Jane, why don't you try? Oh dear ! I'm tired enough to cry ! I think I'll stop, and go to play, And try again some other day. I I WISH I WERE A BIRD. (Suited to Sunday-School occasions. ) 'M tired of being a little girl, And sitting 'round all day ; I'm hardly big enough to work, And I don't care to play. I guess I'd like to be a bird, And sit upon a tree ; They never hear a naughty word, Nor cry, as I can see. I wonder if they always feel As happy as they seem ? Say, little bird, do I guess right, Or is it all a dream ? Does anybody trouble you, Or make you grieve and cry ? Now hark ! so I won't miss a word : He'll tell me by and by. ( The countenance of the speaker should change to sadness while listening.) O, that's too bad ! I never thought That you could ever cry. He says they ohut him in a cage, So he could never fly. And now he's lonely all the day, And does not care to sing. I'll come and see you, little bird, And all my playthings bring. I'll bring my little sister doll, And when I talk to you, And say her truly name, you'll think She is your sister, too. And then, if God is willing, you Can teach me how to fly ; - For, if I only were a bird, I wouldn't have to die. MY PRESENT. ( For Christmas entertainment. For a little boy who speaks plainly.) IF I've a present upon the tree, I'll tell you all what I hope it will be. I want a kite that knows how to fly, And a string that will let it go very high. And then, as firm as firm can be, A seat on the top that will just suit me : And then the dear old kite and I Will start away, and begin to fly. We'll sail away on the gentle breeze, Over the houses, and over the trees, Over the clouds, and on and on, Till we pass the stars, and moon, and sun. And what, do you think, would Jesus say, To see me coming to heaven that way ? I think He would call me, and ask me why; And I'd tell Him, I didn't want- to- die ! 76 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. LITTLE KITTY. (To be recited with appropriate gestures. ) ONCE there was a little kitty, Whiter than snow ; In the barn she used to frolic, Long time ago. In the barn a little mousie Ran to and fro ; For she heard the kitty coming, Long time ago. . Two black eyes had little kitty, Black as a sloe ; And they spied the little mousie, Long time ago. Nine pearl teeth had little kittie, All in a row • And they bit the little- mousie, Long time ago. When the teeth bit little mousie, Little mousie cried " Oh ! " But she got away from kitty, Long time ago. Kitty White so shyly comes, To catch the mousie Gray ; But mousie hears her softly step, And quickly runs away. WASHING DOLLY'S CLOTHES. (A little girl with her dolly sitting in a chair nearby. Should have a bowl or small tub. ) IN'T you 'shamed, you naughty Dolly? Ain't you 'shamed as you can be ? 'Cause you made your clothes so dirty, See trie trouble you've made me ! Oh, you needn't hang your head so ; That won't help the thing a bit ; Here's your mother, naughty Dolly, Hard at work ; just think of it ! But I've learned a lesson, Dolly, I'll be good at I can be ; My mamma shall not be tired Doing extra work for me- A COLORADO HOTEL RULES. (Suited to a little boy of seven to nine years.) MY Pa is a travelling man, so he calls him- self. He goes all over the country and rides on the cars, and sees the storekeepers and sells 'em all sorts of things, especially soap and chewing-gum. I don't know much about the soap, but I tell you the chewing- gum is boss. I am going to be a travelling man, too, when I get grown. My Pa said I might if I learnt all about the rules, and I have done learned the hotel rules by heart. He brought 'em to me right from a big hotel, called the Rustler's Rest, out in Colorado. Let me see if I can say ' em for you : Rule i. All gents with shooting-irons or other weapons must check them before entering the dining-room. Waiters are too scarce to be killed. Rule 2. Gents are requested not to attract waiters' attention by throwing things at them. This is no deaf-mute asylum. Rule 3. Seven kinds of pies are given with, every dinner. Rule 4. Tablecloths are changed every Sun- day. Rule 5. Our food is all of the best quality. Our milk is pure, eggs new laid, and the butter speaks for itself. Rule 6. Guests tipping waiters must pay funeral benefits in case one should die from, heart disease. Rule 7. No more than six eggs will be given each at a sitting. Any guest found trying to' work off shells on a neighbor will be fired from the table. Rule 8. Biscuits found riveted together can- be opened with a chisel supplied by a waiter. The use of dynamite is strictly forbidden. Rule 9. Disputes over articles of food must be settled outside. Rule 10. Don't lasso the waiters, because the guest who can' t throw the rope will be at a dis- advantage. Rule ii. Gents can take off their coats if they want to, but they must keep on their shirts. SUGGESTIONS FOR CHILDREN'S COSTUME, HEADDRESS, AND ATTITUDES THE SICK CHILD. (Suggestion For Tableau.) 'Jessie tired, mamma; good-night, papa; Jessie see you in the morning. ' ' LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 77 JACK FROST AND TOM RUDDY. (A big boy, with cotton over his hat and clothes, -may represent Jack Frost. A small boy, with ruddy cheeks, warm clothes and gloves, and a pair of skates slung over his arms, should represent Tom Ruddy. ) Jack Frost : Who are you, little boy, on your way to the meadow, This cold winter day with your skates and your sled— O ? Tom Ruddy : My name is Tom Ruddy ; and though it is snowing, To the meadow, to skate and to coast, I am going. Jack Frost: You had better turn back now, my little friend Tommy, For the ground it is stiff, and the day it is stormy. Tom Ruddy : No, sir, if you please ; I do love this cold weather, And my coat is of wool, and my shoes are of leather. Jack Frost: To nip you and pinch you and chill you I'll study, Unless you turn back and run home, Thomas Ruddy. Tom Ruddy: And who may you be, sir, to talk to me thus, sir ? And what have I done, you should make such a fuss, sir? Jack Frost-. My name and my calling I will not dissemble : Jack Frost is my name, Tom ! So hear that and tremble ! Tom Ruddy: Oh, you are that Frost, then, whose touch is so bitter ; Who makes all our window-panes sparkle and glitter ! Jack Frost: Yes, I am Jack Frost, and now, Tom, I'm coming To chill you all over, your finger-tips numbing. Tom Ruddy: My fingers lie snug in my gay little mittens, And the fur on my cap is as warm as a kitten's. Jack Frost: I will breathe on your ears till they tingle ; so fear me, And scamper, Tom, scamper ! Boo-hoo ! Do you hear me ? Tom Ruddy: I hear you, I know you, and if you can match me In sliding and coasting, come catch me, Jack, catch me ! {Runs. ) Jack Frost: Stop ! stop ! He is gone, all my terrors defying ; To scare boys like Tom I had better stop trying. RECITATION IN CONCERT. (For three children. ) T "7"E are but little children yet ; \\l We are but little children yet ! But as we grow, the more we know ; We hope we may be wiser yet. We wish to learn to read and spell ; We wish to know our duty well ! And everyone who asks we'll tell That we shall soon be wiser yet! Perhaps we are but naughty yet ; Perhaps we are but naugb**' - vet ! But every day we try to sa> , We'll be a little better yet. We mean to mind what we are told ; And if we should be rude or bold, We'll try to mend as we grow old : We'll wish that we were better yet ! You think we are too giddy yet ; You think we are too giddy yet ! But wait awhile, you need not smile, Perhaps you'll see us steady yet. For though we love to run and play, And many a foolish word we say, Just come again on some fine day, You'll find us all quite steady yet ! 78 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. "C SPRING VOICES. (Teach the child to imitate the crow, duck and frog. ) AW ! caw! " says the crow; " Spring has come again, I know ; For as sure as I am born there's a farmer planting corn : I shall breakfast there, I trow, long before his corn can grow." ' ' Quack ! quack ! ' ' says the duck ; ■" was there ever such good luck ! Spring has cleared the pond of ice, and the day is warm and nice, Just as I and Goodman Drake thought we'd like a swim to take. ' ' ' ' Croak ! croak ! ' ' says the frog, as he leaps out from the bog ; " The earth is warm and fair ; spring is here, I do declare ! Croak ! croak ! I love the spring ; come, little birds, and sing. ' ' THAT'S BABY. (The words, " That's baby," should be said slowly and with rising inflection and lifted eyebrows, every time growing more emphatic. ) NE little row of ten little toes To go along with a brand new nose, Eight little fingers and two new thumbs That are just as good as sugar plums — That's baby. One little pair of round, new eyes, Like a little owl's, so big and wise, One little place they call a mouth, Without one tooth from north to south — That's baby. Two little cheeks to kiss all day, Two little hands so in his way, A brand new head, not very big, That seems to need a brand new wig — That's baby. Dear little row of ten little toes ! How much we love them nobody knows ; Ten little kisses on mouth and chin ; What a shame he wasn't born a twin — That's baby. OVER THE FENCE. (In this dialogue Conscience should be repre- sented by a voice from some one unseen by the audience. The Chii.d may have a ball in her (or his) hand, and make it bound two or three times.) Child: Over the fence is a garden fair — How I would love to be owner there ! All that I lack is a mere pretense, Then I could cross that low white fence. Conscience : This is the way all crimes commence : Sin and sorrow are over the fence. Child: Over the fence I toss my ball, Then I go for it — that is all ! Picking an apple beneath a tree Wouldn't be really theft, you see. Conscience : That is not true, says common sense ; Sin and sorrow are over the fence. Child: No one will see me in the shade ; What is the use of being afraid ? Not very hard is the fence to leap ; There lie the apples, a golden heap. Conscience : No one will see thee ? Oh fly hence ! Down leads the road that's over the fence. Child: Whose is that voice so stern and clear ? Twice have I heard it — again I hear ! Help me to look no more that way, Help me from right no further to stray ! Conscience : Remember, remember, all crimes commence With coveting that which is over the fence. Child: I know thee now — let me know thee long ! Voice divine, oh keep me from wrong ! Keep me from every mean pretense, From coveting aught that is over the fence. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 79 A FOURTH OF JULY RECORD. ( Suitable to Fourth of July entertainment. ) 1 was a wide-awake little boy Who rose with the break of day ; 2 were the minutes he took to dress, Then he was off and away. 3 were his leaps when he cleared the stairs, Although they were steep and high ; 4 was the number which caused his haste, Because it was Fourth of July ! 5 were his pennies which went to buy A package of crackers red ; 6 were the matches which touched them off And then — he was back in bed. 7 big plasters he had to wear To cure his fractures sore ; 8 were the visits the doctor made, Before he was whole once more. 9 were the dolorous days he spent In sorrow and pain ; but then, are the seconds he'll stop to think Before he does it again. Lilian Dynevor Rice. DAYS OF THE WEEK. (For seven little boys and girls. Teacher or some large boy or girl should speak.) THE days of the week once talking together About their housekeeping, their friends and the weather, Agreed in their talk it would be a nice thing For all to march, and dance, and sing ; So they all stood up in a very straight row, And this is the way they decided to go : {Let seven children stand np, and as day of week is called, take places, each one equipped with the things the speaker mentions. ) First came little Sunday, so sweet and good, With a book in her hand, at the head she stood. Monday skipped in with soap and a tub, Scrubbing away with a rub-a-dub -dub ; With board and iron came Tuesday bright, Talking to Monday in great delight. Then Wednesday — the dear little cook — came in,. Riding cock horse on his rolling-pin. Thursday followed, with broom and brush, Her hair in a towel, and she in a rush. Friday appeared, gayly tripping along ; He scoured the knives, and then he was gone. Saturday last, with a great big tub, Into which we all jump for a very good rub. {The children march and sing to the tune of " Good Morning, Merry Sunshine") Children of the week are we, Happy, busy, full of glee. Often do we come this way, And you meet us every day. Hand in hand we trip along, Singing, as we go, a song. Each one may a duty bring, Though it be a little thing. {All bow, and taking up the articles retire front the stage in order, Sunday, Monday, etc. ) Mary Ely Page. I I IF I WERE YOU. F I were you, and went to school, I'd never break the smallest rule; And it should be my teacher's joy To say she had no better boy. - And 'twould be true, If I were you. If I were you, I'd always tell The truth, no matter what befell ;. For two things only I despise, A coward heart and telling lies ; And you would, too, If I were you. WHAT TO DRINK. THINK that every mother's son And every father's daughter, Should drink at least till twenty-one. Just nothing but cold water. And after that, they might drink tea, But nothing any stronger ; If all folks would agree with me, They'd live a great deal longer. SO LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. THE BLESSED ONES. {Suited to nine little boys and girls. Let each one step forward as lie speaks. ) BLESSED are the poor in spirit : for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn : for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek : for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness : for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful : for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart : for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers : for they shall be called the children of God. Blessed are they which are persecuted for right- eousness' sake : for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. HBlessed are ye when men shall revile you, and per- secute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake. (All stand in line and repeat together .-) Rejoice, and be exceeding glad : for great is your reward in heaven ; for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you. From Matthew, 5 : 2-12. I THINK IT'S WRONG— DON'T YOU? (Suited to a bright little boy or girl. Should be spoken in a simple, confident, child-like tone. Teach the child to speak plainly and slowly, and lo ask the question distinctly.) ~T yHILE walking on the street one day, \A^ I saw a boy — it's true — Snatch quickly Irom a little girl A toy, both rare and new, And never give it back to her : I think that's wrong — don't you? I saw a little girl at home, With curls, and eyes of blue ; I heard her say, " I won't, mamma !" And saw she meant it, too. And then the eyes grew very fierce : I think that's wrong — don't you? Eve seen the children on the street Such wicked actions do, That I have really been afraid 'Twould make me wicked, too. I think if I had stayed there, / Should have done wrong — don't you? I think it's wrong to steal and lie, To drink, and smoke, and chew ; It's wrong to disobey mamma, As children often do ; But to be Christ-like every da}-, I think that's right — don't you ? TWENTY-THIRD PSALM. (Suited for Church or Sunday-School. Arranged for five little boys -»r girls. May be repeated at entertainment or before Sunday-School. Speakers should stand in line and recite "one after the other. ) First Speaker. . THE Lord is my shepherd ; I shall not want. Second Speaker. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures ; He leadeth me beside the still waters ; Third Speaker. He restoreth my soul ; He leadeth me in the path of righteousness for His name's sake. Fourth Speaker. Yea, though I walk through the valley of tiie shadow of death, I will fear no evil ; for Thou art with me ; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me. Fifth Speaker. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies ; Thou anoinest my head with oil ; My cup runneth over. All Together. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow (me) us all the days of (my) our (life) lives ; And (I) we will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 81 THE CONTENTED BLIND BOY. (When this selection is used for an entertainment the effect may be greatly enhanced by allowing the little speaker to sit instead of standing on the stage. He should keep his eyes closed or wear glasses, and all his actions should be those of a blind child.) OH say what is that thing called light, which I must ne'er enjoy ? What are the blessings of the sight? Oh tell a poor blind boy ! You talk of wondrous things you see ; you say the sun shines bright ; I feel him warm, but how can he make it day or night? My day or night myself I make whene'er I sleep or play ; And could I always keep awake,, with me 'twere always day. With heavy sigh I often hear you mourn my hapless woe ; Eut sure with patience I can bear a loss 1 ne'er can know. Then let not what I cannot have my cheer of mind destroy ; While thus I sing, I am a king, although a poor blind boy. Cibber. I I LOVE THE BIRDS. F ever I see On bush or tree, Young birds in their pretty nest, I must not in play Steal the birds away, To grieve their mother's breast. My mother, I know, Would sorrow so, Should I be stolen away ; So I'll speak to the birds In my softest words, Nor harm them in my play. And when they can fly In the bright blue sky, They'll warble a song to me ; And then, if I'm sad It will make me glad To think they are happy and free. 6 P-8 A GENTLEMAN. (For a boy of twelve years.) THE appellation ' ' gentleman ' ' Too frequently is bought, But how to be a gentleman Is very seldom taught. In vain the tailor's subtle skill, In vain the barber's art ; They cannot give one attribute One polished grace impart. A man may be a gentleman Though clad in homespun stuff, And prove himself by word and deed A diamond in the rough. No contact with the vulgar mind Can cloud his lustre o'er, But like the lapidary's touch 'Twill make him shine the more. At home, abroad, to high, to low, He always is the same ; By this you'll know your gentleman ~3 worthy of the name. George M. Vickers. FOLLOW THE GOLDEN RULE. ( Sunday-School selection. ) NE rule to guide us in our life Is always good and true ; 'Tis do to others as you would That they should do to you. When urged to do a selfish deed, Pause, and your course review; Then do to others as you would That they should do to you. When doubtful which is right, which wrong, This you can safely do : Do unto others as you would That they should do to you. Oh simple rule ! oh law divine ! To duty thou'rt a clew. Child, do to others as you would That they should do to vou. 82 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. BESSIE'S SECRET. (Suited to a girl of six to eight. This selection is also often recited by older persons. ) " y KNOW the nicest secret," Cried bonnie little Bess, Her golden curls all flying, " You'll never, never guess. There's something up at our house That cries, and cries, and cries ; It's head's as bald as grandpa's, And it has such little eyes. " It's face is red, just awful, With such a funny nose ; It has such tiny fingers And such a lot of toes. It isn't very pretty, Nor half so nice as me, But mamma calls it darling, And sweet as sweet can be. " It isn't a new dolly, For dolls can't breathe, you know ; It's — Oh! I almost told you ! — Good -by, I've got to go. I want to go and kiss it, ' ' Away flew little Bess Without telling the secret, I leave for you to guess. H BABY-LAND. OW many miles to Baby-Land ? Any one can tell ; Up one flight To your right — Please to ring the bell. What can you see in Baby- Land ? Little folks in white ; Downy heads, Cradle beds, Faces pure and bright. What do they do in Baby-Land ? Dream, and wake and play ; Laugh and crow, Shout and grow, Jolly times have they. What do they say in Baby Land ? Why, the oddest things ; Might as well Try to tell What the birdie sings. Who is the Queen of Baby Land? Mother, kind and sweet ; And her love, Born above, Guides the little feet. CONTENTMENT BETTER THAN RICHES. (Suited to Sunday-School or school. When used at an entertainment, the boys should dress according; to the characters they represent. ) Arthur Rich: Your hat is too big for your head, Martin Lee, Your jacket is threadbare and old, There's a hole in your shoe and a patch on your knee, Yet you seem very cheerful and bold. Ma7-tin Lee : Why not, Arthur Rich ? for my lesson I say, And my duty I try hard to do ; I have plenty of work, I have time, too, to play,. I have health, and my joys are not few. Arthur Rich : See my vest, Martin Lee, and my boots how they shine ! My jacket, my trousers, all new ! Now, would you not like such a nice ring as mine ?' Come, give me the answer that's true. Martin Lee : Such clothes, Arthur Rich, would become me,, and please, But I'm content in the thought, Since my mother is poor, that I'd rather wear these Than make her work more than she ought. Arthur Rich : You are right, Martin Lee, and your way is the best j Your hat is now handsome to me ; I look at the heart beating under your vest, And the patches no longer I see. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 83 A THE MISER AND THE MOUSE. MISER, traversing his house, Espied, unusual there, a mouse, And thus his uninvited guest, Briskly inquisitive, addressed : ' Tell me, my dear, to what cause is it I owe this unexpected visit ?' ' The mouse her host obliquely eyed, And, smiling, pleasantly replied, 1 Fear not, good fellow, for your hoard, I come to lodge, and not to board 7" A ADDRESS ON THE OCCASION OF A NEW PASTOR. (Sunday-school or church entertainment.) UR hearts are full of joy to-night ; We're happy, every one ; Each face is beaming with delight For something nobly done. We're glad, to-night, to raise our song To Jesus' listening ear, Glad to employ both heart and tongue And know that Heaven will hear. We're glad to meet our pastor dear, And greet him to our school ; We'll give him now the welcome cheer. Of which our hearts are full. We hope he'll find a pleasant home, And hearts both warm and true ; And all that children can, and more, We'll nobly try to do. Our former pastor, patient, kina, Who long has toiled, and tried To lead us to the fold of Christ, And in His love t' abide, — He meets us not — we miss him here, But still for him would pray, — That God would be his guard and guide, His present help alway. And when the race of life we've run, And fall to rise no more, May each a crown of glory find On Canaan's happy shore. THE PLEDGE. (Temperance concert recitation for several little boys. ) PLEDGE we make No wine to take ; Nor brandy red, To turn the head. Nor whiskey hot, That makes the sot ; Nor fiery rum That ruins home. Nor will we sin By drinking gin ; Hard cider, too, Will never do ; Nor brewer's beer, Our hearts to cheer. CHARLEY'S OPINION OF THE BABY. ( Humorous. ) MUZZER'S bought a baby, Ittle bit's of zing ; Zink I mos could put him Froo my rubber ring. Ain't he awful ugly? Ain't he awful pink? Jus come down from Heaven, Dat's a fib, I zink. Doctor told anozzer Great big awful lie ; Nose ain't out of joyent, Dat ain't why I cry. Zink I ought to love him I No, I won't ! so zere ; Nassy, crying baby, Ain't got any hair. Send me off wiz Biddy Ev'ry single day ; "Bea good boy, Charlie, Run away and play. ' ' Dot all my nice kisses, Dot my place in bed ; Mean to take my drumstick And beat him on ze head. 84 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. SHORT SPEECHES FOR LITTLE PHILOSOPHERS. (Arranged by T. Sheppard for this volume.) These selections may be spoken separately by little folks ; or a very pretty exercise for school or chil- dren's entertainment may be arranged by having a f group of children — one for each selection — appear, seated or standing in a row on the stage, and without calling them separately let each one step forward, announce his subject, and recite in order : 1. KEEP WORKING. Over and over again, No matter which way I turn, I always find in the Book of Life Some lesson that I must learn ; I must take my turn at the mill, I must grind out the golden grain, I must work at my task with a resolute will Over and over again. 2. BE CAREFUL OF YOUR WORDS. Before speaking evil of any one put these three questions to yourself: Is it kind? Is it true ? Is it necessary ? 3. DON'T SPEAK WHEN ANGRY. Angry words are lightly spoken, Bitter thoughts are rashly stirred ; Brightest links in life are broken, By a single angry word 4. HOW TO BE NOBLE. Howe'er it be, it seems to me ' Tis only noble to be good ; Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood. Tennyson. 5 t KINDNESS. Kind hearts are the gardens, Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the blossoms, Kind deeds are the fruits. 6. WE ALL HAVE FAULTS Oh, wad some pow'r the giftie gie us To see oursels as ithers see us ! It wad frae monie a blunder free us, And foolish notion. Robert Burns. 7_ BE TRUTHFUL. Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again i The eternal years of God are hers ; But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, And dies amid her worshipers. Bryant. 8. HOPE ON. The Night is mother of the Day, The Winter of the Spring, And ever upon old Decay The greenest mosses cling ; Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, Through showers the sunbeams fall ; For God, who loveth all His works, Has left His hope with all. Whittier. 9. GODS LOVE. God scatters love on every side Freely among His children all, And always hearts lie open wide Wherein some grains may fall. Lowell. 10. TRIUMPH OF TRUTH. But Truth shall conquer at the last, For round and round we run, And ever the right comes uppermost, And ever is justice done. Charles Mackay. 11. TRUE WORTH. True w T orth is in being, not seeming, In doing, each day that goes by, Some little good, not in dreaming Of great things to do by-and-by ; For whatever men say in their blindness, And in spite of the fancies of youth, There is nothing so kingly as kindness, And nothing so royal as truth. Alice Cary. 12. CHARITY. Let more than the domestic mill Be turned by feeling's river; Let charity begin at home, But not stay there forever. 1 3 . PLEASURE A T HOME. Closer, closer let us knit Hearts and hands together LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 85 Where our fireside comforts sit In the wildest weather ; Oh ! they wander wide who roam For the joys of life from home. 14. We HOW TO LIVE. live in deeds, not years ; in thoughts, not breaths ; In feelings, not in figures on a dial : We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best. Philip James Bailey. 15. THINK, SPEAK AND LIVE TRULY. Think truly, and thy thought Shall the world's famine feed; Speak truly, and thy word Shall be a fruitful seed ; Live truly, and thy life shall be A great and noble creed. 16. HABIT. Habit is a cable ; we weave a thread of it every day, And at last we cannot break it. Horace Mann. 17. how to be true. This above all : to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. Shakespeare. 18. don't say it. Is there a cross word that tries to be said ? Don't let it, my dear, don't let it ! Just speak two pleasant ones, quick, instead, And that will make you forget it. 19. LIVES OF GREAT MEN. Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time. Longfellow. 20. wives of grea t men. {Humorous parody on the above.) Wives of great men all remind us We can make our wives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us, Widows worthy of our time. So then give your wife a "send-off" By the life insurance plan, Fix her so that when you ' ' glide off ' ' She can catch another man. SANTA AND HIS REINDEER. COME, little people, and listen here While I tell you of Santa and his reindeer; How he comes flying down to the snowy ground In the dead of night when there's not a sound ; And in great big books, on his library shelf, There's the names of boys and girls like yourself. But for each bad deed that is done From his list of presents he strikes off one ; So look out for the things you do and say If you want a merry Christmas day. Margaret Hallock Steen (aged 1 1 years) . ALWAYS IN A HURRY. I KNOW a little maiden who is always in a hurry : She races through her breakfast to be in time for school ; She scribbles at her desk in a hasty sort of flurry, And comes home in a breathless whirl that fills the vestibule. She hurries through her studying, she hurries through her sewing, Like an engine at high pressure, as if leisure were a crime ; She's always in a scramble, no matter where she's going, And yet — would you believe it? — she never is in time ! It seems a contradiction until you know the reason ; But I'm sure you'll think it simple, as I do, when I state That she never has been known to begin a thing' in season, And she's always in a. hurry because she starts too late. Priscilla Leonard. 86 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. SONG OF THE RYE. (Temperance selection. May be made very enter- taining by binding rye straws about the boy's waist, so they will project above his head, hiding face and hands, causing him to appear as a walking shock of rye, from which the voice proceeds in solemn tones. ) I WAS made to be eaten And not to be drank ; To be threshed in a barn, Not soaked in a tank. I come as a blessing When put through a mill, As a blight and a curse When run through a still. Make me up into loaves, And the children are fed ; But if into drink, I'll starve them instead. In bread I'm a servant, The eater shall rule ; In drink I am master, The drinker a fool. QUESTIONS ABOUT WOMEN. (For a class of g : rls. The teacher asks questions, and scholars should repeat the verse and give the reference in answer to every question. ) 1. What two men were hidden in a well by a woman? 2 Sam. xvii. 18, 19. 2. What man asked his servant to kill him after he had been mortally wounded by a woman? Judges ix. 53, 54. 3. What man owed his own life and that of all his countrymen to a woman? Esther iv. 15, 16. 4. What king caused a good man to be slain because he loved the man's wife? 2 Sam. xi. *4, 15- 5. What man made a vow which involved the life of his own daughter? Judges xi. 30, 31, 34. 6. What man once received most hospitable treatment from a woman whom he sought, though she knew him not? Gen. xxiv. 17—19. 7. What man was deceived by a woman, and then treacherously slain by her? Judges iv. 18, 8. What man once refused to go to battle unless the woman he was addressing would con - duct it? Judges iv. 8, 9. 9. What man was saved from death by his wife's pretending he was sick? 1 Sam. xix. 12-14. 10. What man was twice betrayed by his wife through avowal of love? Judges xiv. 16, 17, and xv. 15-1 7. 11. What woman judged Israel? Judges iv. 4, 5- 12. What woman reigned over Israel six years? 2 Chron. xxii. 10, 12. GEORGE WASHINGTON. (Especially suited to Washington's birthday enter- tainment. A recitation for five small boys. Let each boy hold in his right hand a card with date, lifting it high during his recitation.) 1732. — TX seventeen hundred thirty-two George Washington was born ; Truth, Goodness, skill, and glory high, His whole life did adorn. 177"). — In seventeen hundred seventy-five, The chief command he took Of all the army in the State, And ne'er his flag forsook. 1783. — In seventeen hundred eighty-three, Retired to private life, He saw his much-loved country free From battle and from strife. 1789. — In seventeen hundred eighty-nine The country with one voice, Proclaimed him President to shine, Blessed by the people's choice. 1799. — In seventeen hundred ninety-nine The Nation's tears were shed, To see the Patriot life resign, And sleep among the dead. All. — As " first in war, and first in peace. " As patriot, father, friend, He will be blessed till time shall cease, And earthly life shall end. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 87 REASONS WHY. (Temperance exercise for eight boys. Prepared especially for this volume, by T. Sheppard. TEACHER. Children, I want to see if you can tell me why children and all others should not only be temperate and avoid strong drink, but never drink it at all. We will begin here with Jimmy, who will give me his reason, and after him every one of you rise and tell me the best reason you can for abstaining from all intoxicants. Jimmy. Because the Bible says : ■ " Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging : and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise." Charles. Because if they never taste strong drink they can never become drunkards. William. Because if all children were tee- totalers we would soon have a sober world. Enos. Because the money spent in strong drink could be spent in useful articles and houses for homes. George. Because it says in the Bible, "No drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of God." Harry. Because drunkenness is a disgrace, and a hindrance to the progress of Christianity. John. Because God loves to see children try to do good in the world, and we should all try to make some one better for our having lived. Elwood. Because they will grow up healthy and strong, and be more happy and useful in life. Teacher {at the close'). Your reasons are very good. I hope you will all be guided through your lives by the wise counsels contained in these lessons. All. We will. PRESENTATION SPEECH. (Where presents are for Sunday-School Superin- tendent and his wife. The wording of the speech may be changed to suit the article presented, where others than pictures are used, or for Superintendent only where his wife is not remembered with a present. ) I SUPPOSE you think me rather small to stand up here and make a speech, and I think myself so. But I am not going to say any big words : I am going to tell you what I came here for, and then I am going to take my seat. Now listen closely, for I don't want brother Mills to hear what I am going to say. He has been our superintendent for years ; and now he is going away ; and I thought it would be very nice, if we could make him a little present, just to let him know that we are sorry : I feel so — don't you ? All those that are sorry, hold up your hands. (School raise their hands.') He has been a real good superintendent. I would like to tell you some of his peculiar virtues, but it would take too much time ; and you, that have seen him every Sunday, know him as well as I do. Now, how many think we had better try and give him something, and his wife, too ? for she has worked in the school a great deal. All those that think so, raise your hands. (They do so.) Very well ; what shall it be ? ( Two boys come up, bearing a present for each. ) Those will do nicely. ( Turning to the side of the stage. ) I wish you would ask Mr. and Mrs. Mills to come up here. ( They come up. Turning to him. ) Brother Mills, our Sabbath-School feels that you have been a very true friend ; and now you are about to leave us, we desire to give you some token of our friendship. Take this picture ; and may it make you happy many times. Sister Mills, we have seen how you have labored for us, and we have not forgotten it, but wish you to take this picture, as a proof that we do not wish you to forget us, as we certainly shall not you. ( Turning to the audience. ) Dear friends, I thank you for your hearty response. WILLIE'S SPEECH. (For a very little boy. ) I AM just a little fellow, and I can't say much. My speech is this : I am glad I am a boy ! I had rather be a boy than a girl, or anything. Boys have good times. They can swim and skate and coast, ride horseback, climb trees, play hop -toad, make cartwheels of themselves, and slide down the banisters ; and most girls can't. I wouldn't be a girl — no — not if you'd give me the best jack-knife in the world ! LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. WHERE HEAVEN IS. (Sunday-School occasion.) "T "THERE'S heaven, mamma?" said a \/\[ little girl, With cheeks a-glow, and hair a-curl. "Heaven is above, where Jesus lives, And mansions fair, that Jesus gives." "But tell me, where is heaven, mamma? You say that it is very far ; How can I go there when I die ? How can I ever mount so high?" i ' Heaven is with Jesus, Katy Bell ; But how we get there none can tell. ' ' "What is it like, then, mamma, dear? Shall I be happy there as here?" "Heaven is, my darling, very fair; No clouds or darkness enter there. When there, we never sin again, Are never sick, and feel no pain." "Then I will go," said little Kate ; "I'll start to-day, — I cannot wait !" "My little Kate, you cannot go Until you're ready, — don't you know? * ' Your lessons are not learned, my dear : We have to learn our lessons here. ' ' "Yes, I know what you mean, mamma: I must obey you and papa. "When I have learned to do it well Then I shall go to heaven to dwell." And Katy tries each day she lives, To learn the lesson Jesus gives. THE BIG SHOE. 44 ^TAHERE was an old woman Who lived in a shoe ; She had so many children She didn't know what to do. To some she gave broth And to some she gave bread, And some she whipped soundly And sent them to bed." Do you find out the likeness ? A portly old dame, — The mother of millions, — Britannia by name. And howe'er it may strike you In reading the song — Not stinted in space For bestowing the throng; Since the sun can himself Hardly manage to go, In a day and a night, From the heel to the toe. On the arch of the instep She builds up her throne, And with seas rolling under, She sits there alone ; With her heel at the foot Of the Himalayas planted,. And her toe in the icebergs, Unchilled and undaunted. Yet, though justly of all Her fine family proud, 'Tis no light undertaking To rule such a crowd ; Not to mention the trouble Of seeing them fed, And dispensing with justice The broth and the bread. Some will seize upon one, Some are left with the other,, And so the whole household Gets into a pother. But the rigid old dame Has a summary way Of her own, when she finds There is mischief to pay. She just takes up the rod, And lays down the spoon, And makes their rebellious Backs tingle right soon. Then bids them, while yet The sore smarting they feel, To lie down and go to Sleep, under her heel. LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT. 8*> Only once was she posed, — When the little boy, Sam, Who had always before Been as meek as a lamb, Refused to take tea, As his mother had bid, And returned saucy answers, Because he was chid. Not content, even then, He cut loose from the throne, And set about making A shoe of his own ; Which succeeded so well, And was filled up so fast, That the world, in amazement, Confessed at the last — Looking on at the work, With a gasp and a stare — That 'twas hard to tell which Would be best of the pair. - Side by side they are standing Together to-day, Side by side may they keep Their strong foothold for aye ; And beneath the broad sea, Whose blue depths intervene, May the finishing string Lie unbroken between ! NOBODY KNOWS BUT MOTHER. NOBODY knows of trie work it makes, To keep the home together ; Nobody knows of the steps it takes, Nobody knows — but mother. Nobody listens to childish woes, Which kisses only smother ; Nobody's pained by naughty blows, Nobody — only mother. Nobody knows of the sleepless care Bestowed on baby brother ; Nobody knows of the tender pray'r, Nobody — only mother. Nobody knows of the lessons taught Of loving one another ; Nobody knows of the patience sought, Nobody — only mother. Nobody knows of the anxious fears, Lest darlings may not weather The storm of life in after years, Nobody knows — but mother. Nobody kneels at the throne above To thank the Heavenly Father, For that sweetest gift — a mother's love ; Nobody can — but mother. A CHRISTMAS CAROL. LITTLE children, can you tell — Do you know the story well, Every girl and every boy — Why the angels sang for joy On the Christmas morning ? Yes, we know the story well : Listen, now, and hear us tell, Every girl and every boy, Why the angels sang for joy On the Christmas morning. Shepherds sat upon the ground, Fleecy flocks were scattered round, When the brightness filled the sky,, And the songs were heard on high On that Christmas morning. Joy and peace the angels sang, And the pleasant echoes rang, " Peace on earth, to men good will." Hark ! the angels sing it still — On the Christmas morning. TRUE BRAVERY. (Suited to a boy and girl of twelve years.) Ralph. Good-morning, Cousin Laura ! I have a word to say to you. Laura. Only a word ! It is yet half an hour to school-time, and I can listen. R. I saw you yesterday speaking to that fellow Sterling — Frank Sterling. ■90 LITTLE FOLKS' DEPARTMENT Z. Of course I spoke to Frank. What then ? Is he too good to be spoken to ? R. Far from it. You must give up his .acquaintance. Z. Indeed, Cousin Ralph ! I must give up his acquaintance ? On what compulsion must I ? R. If you do not wish to be cut by all the boys of the academy, you must cut Frank. Z. Cut ! What do you mean by cut ? R. By cutting, I mean not recognizing an individual. When a boy who knows you passes you without speaking or bowing, he cuts you. Z. I thank you for the explanation. And I am to understand that I must either give up the .acquaintance of my friend Frank, or submit to the terrible mortification of being ' ' cut ' ' by Mr. Ralph Burton and his companions ! R. Certainly. Frank is a boy of no spirit — in short, a coward. Z. How has he shown it? R. Why, a dozen boys have dared him to fight, and he refuses to do it. Z. And is your test of courage a willingness to fight? If so, a bull-dog is the most coura- geous of gentlemen. R. I am serious, Laura ; you must give him up. Why, the other day Tom Harding put a chip on a fellow's hat, and dared Frank Sterling to knock it off. But Sterling folded his arms and walked off, while we all groaned and hissed. L. You did? You groaned and hissed ? Oh, Ralph, I did not believe you had so little of the -true gentlemen about you ! R. What do you mean? Come, now, I do not like that. Z. Were you at the great fire last night ? R. Yes; Tom Harding and I helped work one of the engines. Z. Did you see that boy go up the ladder? R. Yes; wouldn't I like to be in his shoes / They say the Humane Society are going to give him a medal ; for he saved a baby's life and no mistake — at the risk of his own, too : every- body said so ; for the ladder he went up was all charred and weakened, and it broke short off before he got to the ground. Z. What boy was it? R. Nobody could find out, but I suppose the morning paper will tell us all about it. Z. I have a copy. Here's the account : "Great fire; house tenanted by poor families; baby left in one of the upper rooms ; ladder much charred ; firemen too heavy to go up ; boy came forward, ran up ; seized an infant ; descended safely ; gave it into arms of frantic mother. ' ' R. Is the boy's name mentioned? Z. Ay ! Here it is ! Here it is ! And who do you think he is ? R. Do not keep me in suspense. Z. Well, then, he's the boy who was so afraid of knocking a chip off your hat — Frank Sterling — the coward, as you called him. R. No ! Let me see the paper for myself. There's the name, sure enough, printed in capital letters. Z. But, cousin, how much more illustrious an achievement it would have been for him to have knocked a chip off your hat ! Risking his life to save a chip of a baby was a small matter compared with that. Can the gratitude of a mother for saving her baby make amends for the ignominy of being cut by Mr. Tom Harding and Mr. Ralph Burton? R. Don't laugh at me any more, Cousin Laura. I see I've been stupidly in the wrong. Frank Sterling is no coward. I'll ask his pardon this very day. Z. Will you? My dear Ralph, you will in that case show that you are not without courage. PART III, YOUTHS 7 DEPARTMENT CONTAINING CHOICE SELECTIONS SUITED TO YOUNG PEOPLE FROM TWELVE TO TWENTY YEARS OF AGE ADAPTED TO USE IN SCHOOLS, CONCERTS, PARLOR, LYCEUM, DECORATION DAY, FOURTH OF JULY, THANKSGIVING, CHRISTMAS, TEMPERANCE, SUNDAY-SCHOOL, CHURCH, AND MISCELLANEOUS ENTERTAINMENTS COMPRISING DECLAMATIONS, RECITATIONS, READINGS, DIALOGUES, AMATEUR PLAYS, SELECTIONS WITH MUSIC ACCOMPANIMENTS, ETC., COVERING THE FIELDS OF THE HUMEROUS, DIALECTIC, MORAL, RELIGIOUS, DIDACTIC, MARTIAL, PATRIOTIC AND PATHETIC BRANCHES OF LITERATURE SELECTED WITH SPECIAL CARE FOR THE BEST FORM OF ENTERTAINMENTS SAME TIME WITH A VIEW TO INSTRUCTING, CULTIVATING, AND DEVELOPING THE GROWING MIND AT THE "THE WORLD OWES ME A LIVING." (A popular fallacy corrected. ) " ATAHE world owes you a living !" Does it P Mr. Do-nothing ? Never was there a more absurd idea ! You have been a tax, a sponge upon the world ever since you came into it. It is your creditor to a vast amount. Your liabilities are immense, your assets are nothing, and yet you say the world is owing you ! Go to ! The amount in which you stand indebted to the world is greater than you will ever have the power to liquidate. You owe the world the labor of your two •.strong arms and all the skill in work they might have gained ; you owe the world the labor of that brain of yours, the sympathies of that heart, the energies of your being ; you owe the world the whole moral and intellectual capabilities of a man. Awake, then, from your dreamy, do- nothing state ! Juggle your eas}A conscience no longer with the idea that the world is owing to you. First do something to pay your debt to the world — the debt you owe to civilized humanity, to the activities of the past and of the present. "What debt?" do you ask? The debt for all the means of culture within your reach— -of skilled, intelligent labor, of instruction in sci- ence ; the debt for the great thoughts accessible to you in books — for the grand opportunities of rising, on an infinite ascent, in the scale of being. TRUST NOT TO APPEARANCES, "No other protection is wanting, provided you are under the guidance of prudence."— -Juvenal. EARLY one day in leafy June, When brooks and birds are all in tune, A Quaker, on a palfrey brown, Was riding over Horsley Down. Though he could see no houses near, He trotted on without a fear ; For not a thief upon the road Would guess where he his cash had stowed. As thus he went — that Quaker sly — Another Quaker trotted by. " Stop, brother," said the first ; "the weather Is pleasant ; let us chat together. ' ' " Nay," said the stranger, " know'st thou not That this is a suspected spot ? 91 92 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. That robbers here resort, my brother ? ' ' "A fig for robbers ! " said the other : "I've all my money in a note, And that is hid — not in my coat — But — " "Where!" the other asked. "Be- hold!"— " What ! in your shoe ? " " The secret's told ! You see, it has a double sole : Within that I have hid the whole ; Now where's the robber who would think Of ever looking there for chink ? ' ' " Here ! " cried the stranger ; "so dismount, And straightway render an account ; I'm Captain Bibb, the robber trim, So hand your money quick to him ! Don't tremble — all you've got to do, You know, is to take off your shoe ; And for your money I will give Advice shall serve you while you live : MARK YE WHAT I SAY Don't take each broad-brim chance may send, Though plain his collar, for a Frie?id ; Don't trust the ge?itle??ian or clown While riding over Horsley Down. ' ' HOFER THE TYROLESE. (Andrew Hofer, born 1767, a gallant leader of the Tyrolese, in their endeavor to throw off the Austrian yoke. He gained several battles, but France finally came to Austria's assistance. Hofer was forced into the mountains, where he was betrayed by one of his f llowers, and captured, and imprisoned at Mantua, being placed in chains, and cruelly treated. He was shot by his country s oppressors February 20, 1810.) AT Mantua, in chains, the gallant Hofer lay; In Mantua, to death, the foe led him away ; Right bravely had he striven, in arms, to make a stand For freedom and Ty-rol', his own fair mountain land. His hands behind him clasped, with firm and measured pace Marched Andrew Hofer on : he feared not death to face ; ' ' Ty-rol', I hoped to see your sons and daugh- ters free ! Farewell, my mountain land, a last farewell!" said he. The drummer's hand refused to beat the funeral march While Andrew Hofer passed the portal's gloomy arch ; He on the bastion stood, the shackles on his arm, But proudly and erect, as if he feared no harm. They bade him then kneel down : said he,, "That will I not? Here standing will I die, as I have stood and. fought ! No tyrant's power shall claim from me the bended knee ; I'll die as I have lived — for thee, Ty-rol', for thee!" A grenadier then took the bandage from his hand, While Hofer breathed a prayer, his last on earthly land. "Aim well, my lads!" said he; the soldiers aimed and fired. "For thee, Ty-rol', I die!" said Hofer, and expired. ADVICE TO A YOUNG MAN. Robert J. Burdette has established a reputation as. one of the greatest humorists of the age. His fame began while he was a writer on the Burlington Hawkeye, which paper was made prominent by his contributions. He is a minister and an extensive writer and lecturer. His humor always points a good moral. REMEMBER, my son, you have to work. Whether you handle a pick or a pen, a. wheelbarrow or a set of books, digging ditches or editing a paper, ringing an auction bell or writing funny things, you must work. If you look around you will see the men who are the most able to live the rest of their days without work are the men who work the hardest. Don't be afraid of killing yourself with over- work. It is beyond your power to do that on YOUTHS' DEPARTMEiNT. 93 the sunny side of thirty. They die sometimes, j but it is because they quit work at six p. m. and don't get home until two a. m. It's the interval that kills, my son. The work gives you an ap- petite for your meals ; it lends solidity to your slumbers ; it gives you a perfect and grateful appreciation of a holiday. There are young men who do not work, but the world is not proud of them. It does not know their names, even; it simply speaks of them as " old So-and-so's boys." Nobody likes them; the great, busy world doesn't know that they are there. So find out what you want to be and do, and take off your coat and 'make a dust in the world. The busier you are the less harm you will be apt to get into, the sweeter your sleep, the brighter and happier your holi- days, and the better satisfied will the world be with you. JUDGE BROWN'S WATERMELON STORY. (Humorous Southern story. The above may be read or spoken. Be careful to observe the different moods of the piece and give them proper expression.) MY father was the finest watermelon grower in the country. Melon culture was his delight. I particularly remember one •crop. Just before the melons began to get ripe my father called Black Bill and me, and said : ' ' I want you boys to understand one thing. If -one of my melons is stolen, I am going to measure the tracks that I find in the patch, and then measure feet, and the owner of the feet that correspond with the tracks shall get a ■whipping that he can never forget. See this hickory? " pointing to a long and cruel-looking •switch which he had placed above the dining- room door. "Well, if either of you want to catch this switch, pitch in." Bill shook his head and muttered that he didn't want it ; that he would rather be killed by a steer (old Buck a few weeks before had thrown Bill against a tree • and knocked off the bark) than to be cut to pieces with such a switch ; and I assured my stern parent that so far as I was concerned he might rest in peace. Bill was the only negro we had, and although he was compelled to go to church every Sunday, riding on the seat behind the buggy, and although he sat in the buggy during services, and without effort could hear every word of the sermon, yet that boy, with all his careful training, was inclined to be a thief. The next day after the proclamation was issued I went out and looked at the melon patch. There, lying in the sun, striped and tempting, lay a beautiful melon. Ah, if there were anything that could make a Southern boy forget honor it was a watermelon. I trembled, for I knew I could not prevent myself from stealing it, and then that awful switch came up before me. An idea struck me. I went to the house, stole into the cabin, and got Bill's shoes. What an enormous foot the rascal had ! The shoes were so large that they would not stay on my feet, but I overcame this great drawback by stuffing them with grass, I slipped around and entered the patch from a locust thicket. A rain had fallen the day before, and I made decided tracks in the level ground. I got the melon, stole back to the thicket, and, although it was not ripe, I ate more than half of it. Then I returned Bill's shoes. That afternoon, while Bill and I were in the yard, I saw my father, carefully carrying a small stick, enter the gate. His face wore an unusually stern expression, and I saw that there was something wrong. " I don't think that much measuring is needed on this occasion," said he, glancing at the stick. "Bill, where are your shoes?" "In de cabin, sah.' " Bring them here." He brought the shoes. The old gentleman applied the measure, and said : "Fresh dirt on them, I see." Bill's face became a study. " Doan know how it came on dar, marster. Aint wore 'em sense last Sunday. ' ' "Yes, that's all right. John," turning to me, " fetch me that switch." My heart smote me, but I brought the switch. Then Bill began to dance. I never did see a fellow get himself 94 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. into so many different shapes, and it seemed that every shape was better suited to the switch. I had to snort. I couldn't help it. I kept out of Bill's way as much as possible, for he seemed to look reproachfully at me, but he did not accuse me of delivering him up to the enemy, and I had begun to persuade myself that Bill had stolen the melon, when two days later I came to grief. Bill and I were again in the yard when my father entered the gate, carrying a small stick. "John," said he, as he approached, " where are your shoes?" "In the house, sir." "Bring them here." I got my shoes. Great Caesar ! there was fresh soil on them. "Come on, come on," said the old gentleman. I handed him one shoe and dropped the other one. "Bill," said he, after measuring the shoe, "bring me that switch." Bill bounded with delight, and brought the switch. "Pap," I cried, "please don't whip me; I ain't done nuthin' — Oh — " I danced, I capered, and I met the switch at every turn. In my agony I caught sight of Bill standing at the corner of the house and snorting like a glandered horse. Bill kept out of my way, but that evening I met him and asked : " Bill, how did you wear my shoes?" " How did yer w'ar mine ?" "Put grass in 'em." "Wall, I tuck er p'ar er short stilts an' put yer shoes on de ends o' 'em. Reckon we'se erbout even now. Oh, I tell yer whut's er fack, John, it don't do ter fool wid me, case I'se one o' de 'n'inted by de saints." Arkansaw Traveller. GRANDFATHER'S BARN. (Parody on " The Old Oaken Bucket.") OH, don't you remember our grandfather's barn, Where our cousins and we met to play ; How we climbed on the beams and the scaffolds so high, Or tumbled at will on the hay ? How we sat in a row on the bundles of straw, And riddles and witch stories told, While the sunshine came in through the cracks of the South, And turned the dust into gold ? How we played hide and seek in each cranny and nook, Wherever a child could be stowed? Then we made us a coach of a hogshead of rye, And on it to " Boston " we rode ; And then we kept store and sold barley and oats,. And corn by the bushel or bin ; And straw for our sisters to braid into hats, And flax for our mothers to spin. Then we played we were biddies, and cackled and crowed, Till grandma in haste came to see If the weasles were killing the old speckled hen, Or whatever the matter might be ; How she patted our heads when she saw her mis- take, And called us her sweet " chicken dears ! " While a tear dimmed her eye as the picture recalled The scenes of her own vanished years. How we tittered and swung, and played meeting and school, And Indian and soldier and bear ! While up in the rafter the swallows kept house, Or sailed through the soft summer air. How we longed to peep in their curious nests ! But they were too far overhead ; So we wished we were giants, or winged like the birds, And then we'd do wonders, we said. And don't you remember the racket we made When selling at auction the hay ; And how we wound up with a keel over leap From the scaffold down into the hay ? When we went into supper our grandfather said,. If he'd not once been a boy, He should think that the Hessians were sacking the town, Or an earthquake had come to destroy. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 95 WATER FOR ME. (Temperance selection. ) OH, water for me ! bright water for me, And wine for the tremulous debauchee ! It cooleth the brow, it cooleth the brain, It maketh the faint one strong again ; It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea, All freshness, like infant purity. Oh water, bright water, for me, for me ! Give wine, give wine, to the debauchee ! Fill to the brim ! Fill, fill to the brim ! For water strengtheneth life and limb ; To the days of the aged it addeth length ; To the might of the strong it addeth strength ; It freshens the heart, it brightens the sight, 'Tis quaffing a goblet of morning light. So, water, I will drink naught but thee, Thou parent of health and energy. HILDA, SPINNING. (Descriptive and pathetic. ) SPINNING, spinning by the sea, All the night ! On a stormy, rock-ribbed shore, Where the north winds downward pour, And the tempests fiercely sweep From the mountains to the deep, Hilda spins beside the sea, All the night ! Spinning at her lonely window By the sea ! With her candle burning clear, Every night of all the year, And her sweet voice crooning low Quaint old songs of love and woe, Spins she at her lonely window By the sea. On a bitter night in March, Long ago, Hilda, very young and fair, With a crown of golden hair, Watched the tempest raging wild, Watched the roaring sea — and smiled — Through that woful night in March, Long ago ! What though all the winds were out In their might ! Richard's boat was tried and true ; Stanch and brave his hardy crew : Strongest he to do or dare. Said she, breathing forth a prayer : " He is safe, though winds are out In their might." But at lenght the morning dawned Still and clear ; Calm in azure splendor, lay All the waters of the bay ; And the ocean's angry moans Sank to solemn undertones, As at last the morning dawned Still and clear ! With her waves of golden hair Floating free, Hilda ran along the shore, Gazing off the waters o'er ; And the fisherman replied : " He will come in with the tide,"' As they saw her golden hair Floating free ! Ah ! he came in with the tide, Came alone ! Tossed upon the shining sands, Ghastly face and clutching hands, Seaweed tangled in his hair, Bruised and torn his forehead fair- Thus he came in with the tide, All alone ! Hilda watched beside her dead Day and night. Of those hours of mortal woe Human ken may never know ; She was silent, and his ear Kept the secret close and dear, Of her watch beside her dead, Day and night ! What she promised in the darkness, Who can tell ? 96 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. But upon that rock-ribbed shore Burns a beacon evermore, And, beside it all the night, Hilda guards the lonely light, Though what vowed she in the darkness None may tell ! Spinning, spinning by the sea, All the night ! While her candle, gleaming wide O'er the restless, rolling tide, Guides with steady, changeless ray, The lone fisher up the bay, — Hilda spins beside the sea, Through the night. Fifty years of patient spinning By the sea ! Old and worn, she sleeps to-day, "While the sunshine gilds the bay ; But her candle shining clear Every night of all the year, Still is telling of her spinning By the sea ! THE BOY AND THE PEDANT. (Dialogue for a large and small boy. The boy should be concealed in the supposed water, away from the stage, but in his last speech should appeal to the audience and act as if his clothes were drip- ping from his immersion. ) Boy. Help me, mister ! Lend a hand ! Pedant. Why did you get into such deep water ? B. I fell out of a boat; and if you don't lielp me, I shall drown. So be lively. P. Did you ever read my famous essay, entitled ' ' Look Before you Leap ? ' ' B. None of your fooling ! Stop talking and lielp me. P. Stop talking ? Why, young man, do you suppose the noble gift of speech was meant to rust in us unused? Stop talking? What if Cicero had stopped talking ? What if Demos x - the-nes had stopped talking? What if the immortal Henry — B. Hang the immortal Henry ! What's he tome, now? Help me first, preach afterward. I can't swim. P. Can't swim? Is it possible you went into water before you knew how to swim ? Now, if you will just give me your close attention for a quarter of an hour, I will prove to you by a simple syllogism that you have gone contrary to all the laws of common sense in your conduct. Impri'mis — that is to say, in the first place — B. Oh, I can tread water no longer. Stop your nonsense and help a feller, will you ? P. Never say feller ; say fellow. Good pro- nunciation and good grammer should go hand in hand ; for, as Quintilian says — B. Stop that, will you? There ! I've gone under twice ; if I go under a third time, I'm a goner. P. Goner? That word isn't in Webster, ray young friend. Never say goner. In all my philological studies — B. If ever I get on shore, you look out, that's all. Are you going to help me? P. Help is of various kinds, young man. There is moral help, and there is physical help. The help I proffer you is the higher and nobler help — help to your understanding, help to your modes of thought and speech, such help as may teach you to keep out of these scrapes in the future. B. Stop, or I shall drown to be rid of a bore. P. Do you know you are speaking to an F. R. S. ? B. I know J'm speaking to an A. S. S. P. Youth, learn to reverence wisdom. B. Old feller, I've just touched bottom, and now I'm all right. Please -wait where you are just one minute. P. I think it will be the part of prudence for me to hasten my departure ; for I see a good many stones lying round on the beach. {Exit hastily.') B. {entering. ,) Ha, ha! See him run. A proof that a man may know a good deal and yet be a great simpleton and a great coward. I'd like to hold his head under salt water about as long as mine was, that's all. But I must dry my clothes, so the present company will excuse me. (Exit.) YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. THE GOSSIPS. " There is a set of malicious, prating, prudent gossips, both male and female, who murder characters to kill time."— Sheri- dan. AROSE in my garden, the sweetest and fairest, Was hanging her head, through the long golden hours, And early one morning I saw her tears falling, And heard a low, gossipy talk in the bowers. The flower-de-luce, a spinster all faded, Was telling the Lily what ailed the poor Rose — *' That wild, roving Bee, who was hanging about her, Has jilted her squarely, as every one knows. *' I knew when he came, with his singing and sighing, With his airs and his speeches, so fine and so sweet, Just how it would end ; but none would believe me, For all were quite ready to fall at his feet. ' ' * ' Indeed, you are wrong, ' ' said the Lily, quite proudly, "I care nothing for him. He called on me once, And would have come often, no doubt, if I'd asked him, But, though he was handsome, I thought him a dunce. ' ' , "Oh, oh! that's not true," spoke the tall Oleander, ' ' He has traveled and seen every flower that grows ; And one who has supped in the garden of princes, We all might have known, meant no good to a Rose." " But wasn't she proud when she won his atten- tions ? And she let him caress her, ' ' said sly Mignon- ette ; 1 ' And I used to see it, and blushed for her folly ; But the vain thing believes he will come to her yet." 7P-S "I thought he was splendid ! " said pretty Lark- spur ; " So dark and so grand, with that gray cloak of gold ; But he tried once to kiss me — the impudent fel- low ! — And I got offended ; I thought him too bold. ' ' ' ' Oh, fie ! " laughed the Almond, ' ' that does for a story. Though I hang down my head, yet I see all that goes \ And I saw you reach out, smiling sweet, to de- tain him ; But he just tapped your cheek, and flew by to the Rose. He cared nothing for her ; he only was flirting, To while away time, as I very well knew ; So I turned the cold shoulder on his advances, Because I was certain that his heart was un- true. ' ' ' ' Well, the Rose is served right for her folly in trusting An oily-tongued stranger," quoth proud Col- umbine. " I knew what he was, and thought once I would warn her, But you know the affair was no matter of mine." "Oh, well," cried the Peony, shrugging her shoulders, ' ' I knew all along the Bee was a flirt ; But the Rose has been always so praised and so petted, I thought a good lesson would do her no hurt. ' ' Just then came the sound of a love-song sung softly, And I saw my sad Rose lifting up her bowed head, And the voice of the gossips was hushed in a moment, And the garden was as still as the tomb of the dead ; For the dark glossy Bee, with his cloak o'er his shoulder, 98 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Came swift o'er the meadows and kissed the sweet Rose, And whispered, " My darling, I've roamed the world over, And nothing like thee in the universe grows. ' ' Ella Wheeler Wilcox. DIFFERENCES OF OPINION. (Suited to entertainment. The two speakers may occupy the stage at once, each appearing uncon- scious of the other's presence, and after the first has spoken a stanza the other speaks one. Or the first may speak his entire part, and the second then come on the stage and recite.) First Speaker : H ! the woe that woman brings ! Source of sorrow, grief and pain ! All our evils have their springs, In the first of female train. Eve by eating led poor Adam Out of Eden and astray ; Look for sorrow still where Madam, Pert and proud, directs the way. Courtship is a slavish pleasure, Soothing a coquettish train ; Wedded — what the mighty treasure ? Doom'd to drag a golden chain. Noisy clack and constant brawling, Discord and domestic strife ; Empty cupboard, children brawling, Scolding woman made a wife. Gaudy dress and haughty carriage, Love's fond balance fled and gone ; These, the bitter fruits of marriage ! He that's wise will live alone ! Second Speaker : Oh ! what joys from woman spring, Source of bliss and purest peace, Eden could not comfort bring, Till fair woman show'd her face. When she came, good honest Adam Clasped the gift with open arms, He left Eden for his madam, So our parent prized her charms. Courtship thrills the soul with pleasure ; Virtue's blush on beauty's cheek : Happy prelude to a treasure King's have left their crowns to seek! Lovely looks and constant courting, Sweet 'ning all the toils of life ; Cheerful children, harmless sporting, Lovely woman made a wife ! Modest dress and gentle carriage, Love triumphant on his throne ; These the blissful fruits of marriage None but fools would live alone. MRS. PIPER. (Recitation suited for a young lady. She should appear very innocent at the beginning and speak in a droll, unsuspecting voice and manner. Toward the end she should exhibit an uncontrollable delight, at the same time manifest a disposition to conceal it. ) MRS. PIPER was a widow— "Oh, dear me! This world is not at all, ' ' she said, l ' the place it used to be ! Now my good husband, he was such a good man to provide — I never had the leastest care of anything outside ! But now, Why, there's the cow, A constant care, and Brindle's calf I used to feed when small, And those two Ayrshire heifers that we pur- chased in the fall — Oh, dear ! My husband sleeping in the grave, it's gloomy being here ! The oxen Mr. Piper broke, and four steers two years old, The blind mare and the little colt, they all wait to be sold ! For how am I to keep 'em now? and yet how shall I sell? And what's the price they ought to bring, how can a woman tell ? Now Jacob Smith, he called last night, and stayed till nine o'clock, YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. And talked and talked, and talked and talked, and tried to buy my stock ; He said he'd pay a higher price than any man in town ; He'd give his note, or, if I chose, he'd pay the money down. But, there ! To let him take those creeturs off, I really do not dare ! For 'tis a lying world, and men are slippery things at best ; My poor, dear husband in the ground, he was'nt like the rest ! But Jacob Smith's a different case; if I would let him, now, Perhaps he'd wrong me on the horse, or cheat me on a cow ; And so I do not dare to trust him, and I mean to answer 'No.'" Mrs. Piper was a widow — " Oh, dear me ! A single woman with a farm must fight her way, ' ' said she. "Of everything about the land my husband always knew ; I never felt, when he was here, I'd anything to do ; But now, what fields to plow, And how much hay I ought to cut, and just what crops to sow, And what to tell the hired men, how can a woman know? Oh, dear ! With no strong arm to lean upon, it's lonesome being here ! Now Jacob Smith, the other night, he called on me again, And talked and talked, and talked and talked, and stayed till after ten ; He said he'd like to take my farm, to buy it or to lease — I do declare, I wish that man would give me any peace ! For, there ! To trust him with my real estate I truly did not dare ; For, if he buys it, on the price he'll cheat me underhand ; And, if he leases it, I know he will run out the land ; And, if he takes it at the halves, both halves he'll strike for then ; It's risky work when women folk have dealings with the men ! And so, I do not dare to trust him, and I mean to answer 'No.' " Mrs. Piper was a widow — " Oh, dear me ! Yet I have still some mercies left ; I won't com- plain, ' ' said she. " My poor, dear husband knows, I trust, a better world than this ; 'Twere sinful selfishness in me to grudge him Heaven's bliss ! So now, I ought to bow Submissively to what is sent — not murmur and repine ; The hand that sends our trials has, in all, some good design. Oh, dear ! If we knew all, we might not want our buried lost ones here ! And Jacob Smith, he called last night, but it was not to see About the cattle or the farm, but this time it was me ! He said he prized me very high, and wished I'd be his wife, And if I did not he should lead a most unhappy life. He did not have a selfish thought, but gladly, for my sake, The care of all my stock and farm he would consent to take — And, there ! To slight so plain a Providence I really do not dare ! 100 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. He'll take the cattle off my mind, he'll carry on the farm — I haven't since my husband died had such a sense of calm ! I think the man was sent to me — a poor, lone woman must, In such a world as this, I feel, have some one she can trust ; And so, I do not feel it would be right for me to answer 'No.' " Marian Douglas. PARDON COMPLETE. "Words fitly spoken are like apples of gold in pictures of silver." — Solomon. "' Politeness and kindness are invincible warriors when they fight together." — Sheppard. SHE was pretty and happy and young, The gods, from Jupiter down, Grew pale with envy as they sung, Till Venus' nerves were quite unstrung, And black was Juno's frown. Pretty with graces numberless, As her feet bewitchingly small- Went dancing by with eagerness ; She was hurrying on to buy a dress To wear to a charity ball. Snips, the gamin, was coming up With a friend in the paper line ; His crownless hat, a huge straw cup With brick-red hair filled brimming up, Had a rakish and gay incline. His coat had little left of sleeves, From boots his curious toes Peeped slyly out, like darkey thieves, His ragged trousers waved their leaves Like banners to his foes. Those trifles, though, were very far From troubling him in the least. 'The stump of a very cheap cigar — Poor Snips was not particular — Making him lunch and feast. He looked with grins at business men Who rushed by looking worried, And vowed he'd not exchange with them ; He hated to be hurried. He turned the corner ; Rosebud sweet Just turned the corner, too, And tripped her toes against his feet, So very awkward on the street ! The gamin whistled, ' ' Whew ! ' ' " Oh, dear ! I beg your pardon, sir," With pretty blushes, said The blithe and bonny traveler, Dyeing her cheeks with red. Off came the gamin's ragged hat With bow that swept the walk ; " You hev my parding, Miss, if that Is how yer gwine to talk. I'd like to give it on my knees, I'd run all over town To see yer face ! an', Miss, jest please Next time ter knock me down ! ' ' They sauntered on ; Snips heaved a sigh ; His friend bestowed a grin, — " Ter notice such a cove as I For being run agin ! I never had my parding axed Afore, an' I must say It made my head feel kinder mixed, It tuk my breath away. ' ' THE GAMBLER'S SON. "Keep flax from fire and youth from gambling."— Franklin. " Gambling is the child of avarice, the brother of iniquity, the father of mischief." — Washington. "Gaming finds a man a fool and leaves him a knave." — Cumberland. (Argument: M. de Ferrieres — pronounced Ferr- yair — after years of extreme poverty, has risen sud- denly to opulence. His son, George, returns home from sea, and questions his father as to the source of his wealth. The father evades his inquiries. George follows him to the gaming table, sees him play with M. Dubourg, and win all his money, and satisfies himself that his father cheated at cards. He stands overwhelmed, and, in the following scene, intimates to his father what he has discovered. If convenient, there should be a table on the stage, with a pack of cards on it, and a chair on either side of the table.) Enter M. De F. first, to Left; then George, to Right. M. de Ferrieres. What would you, George? George (aside). How shall I broach it? M. de F. You tremble, my son ! What's the matter ? ' With her waves of golden hair Floating free, Hilda ran along the shore, Gazing oft the waters o'er; And the fishermen "replied: 'He will come in with the tide," As they saw her golden hair Floating free ! THE NEW COOK. " ' Will you iver be dqne wid your graneness,' she axed me wid a loud scrarne." YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 101 George {looking around hint). No one can enter ? Are we sure of that ? M. de F. Why all all these precautions ? George {with much emotion). Did Dubourg lose all — all — at cards ! Did you win his all ? M. de F. The luck went against him. George {mustering courage). But that money — you will give it back to him ? M. de F. How ? George. You will give it back to him — will you not ? M. de F. Are you mad ? George. O ! keep it not, my father ! Keep it not? Dubourg is a merchant. He must have that money in order to meet his engage- ments. Without it he is ruined. Give it him back. It is all I ask. M. de F. {looking at him with surprise). I do not understand you. George {aside) . Yes, it is my duty ! {Aloud. ) You must renounce all that you won from Dubourg ; absolutely, you must. M. de F. The more I look at you, the more am I astonished. Are you in your senses, George ? The paleness — these convulsive move- ments — What has happened to you ? George. I am very wretched ! M. de F. Are you suffering ? George. More than I can tell. M. de F. You alarm me ! What profound despair ! Speak, George ! George. I shall never be able — M. de F. It is I who beseech you — I, your father. George {recoiling). My father ! M. de F. You repel me, my son. George. O, misery ! M. de F. Have I ever failed in a father's love and care ! From your youth upwards have you not found me your best friend ? George. Ah, yes ! I have not forgotten the days of my childhood. Often do I remember me of the lessons you used to instill when we dwelt in our humble hut. Every principle of honor and of virtue — it is from you that I have received it ; and nothing is forgotten. M. de F. You know it ; you were the object of my tenderness ; all my hopes reposed on you. George. Yes ! You would say to me in those days, "My son, whatever may be your fate, remember that he is never without consolation who keeps his conscience pure ! ' ' You said it, my father, and I remember it well. M. de F. George, that state of destitution and wretchedness, to which I had reduced you and your mother, — how did I reproach myself with it ! That horrible poverty — that absolute want — what torture ! And what regrets did I experience because of you, whose heritage I had so foolishly dissipated ! George. Did I ever utter a complaint ? Did I ever reproach you with your misfortunes — our poverty ? Have I not always cherished, respected, served you ? M. de F. Yes, George is a good son ; he is no ingrate ; he will not heedlessly wound a. father's heart. George. No, no ! Only one boon. M. de F. Speak, my son. George. That money of Dubourg' s — M. de F. {angrily). Again you recur to it!' George. Do you not remember those words which you added to your lessons? "All that now remains to us, my son, is honor / ' ' M. de F. Doubtless. But how wretched, George, had you been without this change of for- tune which time has brought ! George. This fortune — its source ? Tell me whence you — M. de F. {interrupting him). Never could you have presumed to marry her you love ; never would a career have been opened to you ; you would have had no means of exercising your talents, no resources ! You do not realize the humiliation which poverty brings with it in an age like ours, where favor and consideration are measured according to the amount of gold one has; where the virtues are repulsed, merit dis- dained, talent ignored, unless intrigue or fortune open the way. With gold one has everything — without it, nothing. George {aside). All is now explained. 102 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. (Aloud. ) Ah, well ! my choice is made : indi- gence and probity. M. de F. Indigence — the return of all those sufferings you once experienced ? Can aught be worse ? George. Yes — dishonor. M. de F. (aside). I tremble. (Aloud.) What would you say ? George. That there is no wretchedness equal to mine, sir ! M. de F. " Sir ? ' ' (He gives his hand to his son, who takes it with a disordered air. ) George. Hear me. Can you imagine all which that man suffers who sees in a single day the overthrow of all that he believed in — the destruction of what he had regarded, up to that moment, as the summit of his hopes and affec- tions ; who sees the past rendered hateful, the future desperate, since he can trust no longer in all that he had adored and respected? Love, honor, ye sole blessings which make life precious, ye are gone — gone forever ! M. de F. George ! George. Do you comprehend, sir, this mis- fortune without consolation ? A son who cher- ished, who revered his father, who bore with pride an honorable name — ah, well ! this son — he must now blush forevermore, and repulse that man whom he had learned to venerate and love. M. de F. Gracious powers ! George. Ay, sir ; for he knows all. M.de F. What knows he ? George. He knows that yonder, at the table, an old friend was ruined by him. M. de F. And if hazards did it all ? George. No, sir, no ; that old friend was deceived — was swindled. M. de F. Swindled? George ! You believe it ? George. Ah ! 'tis that belief is the burthen of my woe ! M. de F. And if it were not true ? George (producing a pack of cards) . That pack of cards — M. de F. What of them ? George. They are — they are — O, shame ! I cannot say it ! M. de F. Ah ! you know not what real misery is. George. I know what honor is, and I will not permit — M. de F. Would you ruin me ? George. Shall I let you dishonor me? O, I have no longer a father ! The name he gave me, here I give him back. I am but an orphan, without a home, without means ; but still — still, sir, I have a conscience left, and what that dic- tates I will obey to the death ! Farewell ! M. de F. What would you, unhappy boy? Is it not enough that I am humbled thus? — that you see me blush and tremble before you — be- fore my son ? What would you more ? Go ! I fear you not ! (He produces a pistol.) I fear nothing ! George (placing himself before him). I, too, sir, am without fear ; and to me life is hateful. M. de F. What sayest thou ? Be mine alone the — George (wresting the pistol from him). My father ! M. de F. I am no longer thy father. George (rushing to his arms) . Yes, yes! You are my father still. M. de F. O, anguish insupportable ! George. All may be repaired. Go where you will, your son will follow. This city — we must quit it. This money — it must be restored — must be restored, I say. Happiness shall yet be ours. Do not hesitate, my father ! M. de F. Think you I have never anticipated a situation like this? But fate has driven me on. George. What would you say ? M. de F. In our old house, beneath that hum- ble roof where I suffered so much, my passion for play, that deadly passion which had devoured my substance, was not quite extinct. I sought in secret to satisfy it ; often, to find the oppor- tunity, I had to have recourse to men of the lowest grade, to vagabonds and ignoble gam- blers. Yes, George, yes— I, the Count de Fer- rieres — I, your father, played with such ! They taught me terrible secrets. And yet I did not YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 103 think to make use of them. But I returned one day to Paris, and there tried my fortune. It proved favorable. Considerable sums succes- sively came to reanimate my hopes. I was guilt- less. But no, no ! my heart was no longer so. The greed of gold had filled it wholly. Ambi- tion, vanity, the need of luxury, all contributed to my infatuation. One day — hear me — one day I lost. Your mother had just come to oc- cupy this hotel which I had prepared for her ; already the story, adroitly spread, had given our neighbors the idea that I was rich. Well, I lost. Must I, then, always be the fool of fortune ? I had felt the pangs of poverty ; I had seen her suffer whom I loved; I had seen two children, thy brothers, pushed by misery into the tomb ; friends, society, rank, all had then disappeared. And must there now be a repetition of all these woes ? No, no ! cried I ; it must not be. It is too much. I can no longer be a loser ; and a loser I was no longer ! George. Ah ! the fatal, fatal step ! But, come ! We must retrace it. You will make restitution of all you have won unfairly ; you will do it, my father ? M. de F. Ay, call me father, and do with me what you will. George. It is bravely said. Come on ! Know'st thou where I shall guide thee? Back, back to poverty and — honor, my father ! M. de F. Lead on ! Translation. DRINKING A FARM. (Suited for temperance entertainment. ) MY homeless friend with the chromatic nose, while you are stirring up the sugar in that ten-cent glass of gin, let me give you a fact to wash it down with. You say you have longed for years for the free, inde- pendent life of the farmer, but have never been able to get enough money together to buy a farm. But this is just where you are mistaken. For several years you have been drinking a good improved farm at the rate of one hundred square feet a gulp. If you doubt this statement figure it for yourself. An acre of land contains forty- three thousand five hundred and sixty square feet. Estimating, for convenience, the land at forty-three dollars and fifty-six cents per acre, you will see that this brings the land to just one mill per square foot, one cent for ten square feet. Now pour down that fiery dose, and just imagine you are swallowing a strawberry patch. Call in five of your friends and have them help you gulp down that five-hundred-foot garden. Get on a prolonged spree some day, and see how long a time it requires to swallow a pasture large enough to feed a cow. Put down that glass of gin ! there is dirt in it — one hundred square feet of good, rich dirt, worth forty-three dollars and fifty-six cents per acre. But there are plenty of farms which do not cost more than a tenth part of forty-three dol- lars and fifty-six cents per acre. What an enormous acreage has gone down many a home • less drinker's throat ! No wonder such men are buried in the "potter's field ;" they have swal- lowed farms and gardens and homes, and even drank up their own graveyard. H. L. Hastings. THE DRESSED TURKEY, (A lesson on politeness.) NE of the parish sent one morn — A farmer kind and able — A nice fat turkey, raised on corn, To grace the pastor's table. The farmer's lad went with the fowl, And thus addressed the pastor : " Dear me, if I ain't tired ! Here is A gobbler from my master. ' ' The pastor said : " Thou should' st not thus Present the fowl to me ; Come take my chair, and for me ask, And I will act for thee." The preacher's chair received the boy, The fowl the pastor took — Went out with it and then came in With pleasant smile and look ; 104 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. And to his young pro tem he said : " Dear sir, my honored master Presents this turkey, and his best Respects to you, his pastor. ' ' ' ' Good ! ' ' said the boy ; ' i your master is A gentleman and scholar ! Many thanks to him, and for yourself, Here is half a dollar ! ' ' The pastor felt around his mouth A most peculiar twitching ; And, to the gobbler holding fast, He "bolted" for the kitchen. He gave the turkey to the cook, And came back in a minute, Then took the youngster's hand and left A half a dollar in it. HARRY'S LECTURE. (Humorous, for twelve or thirteen -year-old boy. To be spoken very loud. ) * < r\ HILDREN should be seen and not heard, ' ' l^ at least so my mother often tells me. But to-day the children are to be heard as well as seen. Just as I stepped up here to speak my piece, my teacher whispered, "Now, Harry, speak very loud. ' ' And that is what I arn trying to do. Can you hear me ? I am going to give a little lecture to the boys, and I want to be heard. Never mind what it is about. You will find that out before I am half through. And now for my firstly : Do you want to know how to be happy all day, boys ? Let me tell you. When you get up in the morning, don't forget to slip on your "good- natured coat ' ' before you go down stairs. You all have one, haven't you? And then you won't care if everybody is done breakfast and the buckwheats are cold. Secondly. When everything goes wrong at home, at school, or in the street, and you think you have enough trouble to put any boy in bad humor, then {slowly} you may depend upon it, boys, some one is trying to rob you of your "good-natured coat." But don't let it go. Hold on to it with a tight grip, and when you feel it settling firmly back into its place, oh, my ! how jolly you will feel. Thirdly. I have found out, boys, that it pays to wear this coat. And the beauty of it is, you can wear it in all kinds of weather. It is just as useful on a stormy day as on a fair, sunshiny one. Indeed, it often makes a dull, cloudy day seem very bright and golden. And now, lastly : Be good-natured, always. Put cross people in a good humor by being pleasant and cheerful. Give a smile for a frown, a gentle word for a cross one ; and this you can do if you are care- ful to put on your "good-natured coat" as soon as you arise in the morning, and to wear it all day and in all kinds of weather. L. J. Rook. A THE UNBOLTED DOOR. (Pathetic portrayal of a mother's love.) CAREWORN widow sat alone Beside her fading hearth ; Her silent cottage never hears The ringing laugh of mirth. Six children once had sported there, But now the church-yard snow Fell softly on five little graves That were not long ago. She mourned them all with patient love ; But since, her eyes had shed Far bitterer tears than those which dewed The faces of the dead, — The child which had been spared to her, The darling of her pride, The woeful mother lived to wish That she had also died. Those little ones beneath the snow She well knew where they are ; "• Close gathered to the throne of God," And that was better far. But when she saw where Katy was, She saw the city's glare, The painted mask of bitter joy That need gave sin to wear. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT, 105 Without, the snow lay thick and white ; No step had fallen there ; Within, she sat beside her fire, Each thought a silent prayer ; When suddenly behind her seat Unwonted noise she heard, As though a hesitating hand The rustic latch had stirred. She turned, and there the wanderer stood With snow-flakes on her hair ; A faded woman, wild and worn, The ghost of something fair. And then upon the mother's breast The whitened head was laid, " Can God and you forgive me all? For I have sinned," she said. The widow dropped upon her knees Before the fading fire, And thanked the Lord whose love at last Had granted her desire ; The daughter kneeled beside her, too, Tears streaming from her eyes. And prayed, ' ' God help me to be good To mother ere she dies." They did not talk about the sin, The shame, the bitter woe ; They spoke about those little graves And things of long ago. And then the daughter raised her eyes And asked in tender tone, " Why did you keep your door unbarred When you were all alone ? ' ' " My child," the widow said, and smiled A smile of love and pain, " I kept it so lest you should come And turn away again ? I've waited for you all the while — A mother's love is true ; Yet this is but a shadowy type Of His who died for you ! ' ' Edward Garrett. T THE SHIP ON FIRE. (Dramatic recitation.) HERE was joy in the ship as she furrowed the foam, For fond hearts within her were dreaming of home. The young mother folded her babe to her breast, And sang a sweet song as she rocked it to rest ; And the husband sat cheerily down by her side. And looked with delight on the face of his bride. " Oh happy ! " said he, "when our roaming is o'er, We'll dwell in a cottage that stands by the shore ; Already in fancy its roof I descry, And the smoke of its hearth curling up to the sky, Its garden so green and its vine-covered wall, And the kind friends awaiting to welcome us all ! " Hark ! hark ! what was that ? Hark ! hark to the shout ! ' ' Fire ! fire ! ' ' then a tramp and a rush and a rout, And an uproar of voices arose on the air, And the mother knelt down ; and the half- spoken prayer That she offered to Heaven, in her agony wild, Was, " Father ! have mercy ! look down on my child ! " Fire ! fire ! it is raging above and below ; The smoke and hot cinders all blindingly blow. The cheek of the sailor grew pale at the sight, And his eyes glittered wild in the glare of the light. The smoke in thick wreaths mounted higher and higher ! " Heaven help us ! 'tis fearful to perish bj fire!" They prayed for relief, and not vainly they prayed ; For at noon the sun shone, in full splendor arrayed ; 106 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. "A sail, ho ! a sail ! " cried the man on the lee ; "A sail ! " and all turned their glad eyes o'er the sea. ' ' They spy us, they heed us ! the signal is waved ! They bear down to help us — thank Heaven ! we are saved ! ' ' THE TWO BILLS. (A fable. Suitable to a Sunday-School or chari- table entertainment, for recitation or reading. ) TWO bills were waiting in the bank for their turn to go out into the world. One was a little bill, only one dollar ; the other was a big bill, a thousand-dollar bill. While lying there, side by side, they fell a-talk- ing about their usefulness. The dollar bill mur- mured : " Ah, if I were as big as you what good I would do ! I could move in such high places, and people would be so careful of me wherever I should go ! All would admire me, and want to take me home with them, but, small as I am, what good can I do ? Nobody cares much for me. I am too little to be of any use. ' ' "Ah, yes! that is so," said the thousand- dollar bill ; and it haughtily gathered up its well- trimmed edges, that were lying next the little bill, in conscious superiority. "That is so," it repeated. "If you were as great as I am — a thousand times bigger than you are — then you might hope to do some good in the world." And its face smiled a wrinkle of contempt for the little dollar bill. " Just then the cashier came, took the little, murmuring bill, and kindly gave it to a poor widow. ' ' God bless you ! ' ' she cried, as with a smil- ing face she received it. " My dear, hungry children can now have some bread." A thrill of joy ran through the little bill as it was folded up in the widow's hand, and it whis- wered : "I may do some good, even if I am small." And when it saw the bright faces of her fatherless children, it was very glad that it could do a little good. Then the little dollar bill began its journey of usefulness. It went first to the baker's for bread, then to the miller's, then to the farmer's, then to the laborer's, then to the doctor's, then to the minister's ; and wherever it went it gave pleas- ure, adding something to their comfort and joy. At last, after a long, long pilgrimage of usefulness among every sort of people, it came back to the bank again, crumpled, defaced, ragged, softened, by its daily use. Seeing the thousand-dollar bill lying there with scarcely a wrinkle or a finger- mark upon it, it exclaimed : "Pray, sir, and what has been your mission of usefulness ? ' ' The big bill sadly replied : "I have been from safe to safe, among the rich, where few could see me, and they were afraid to let me go out far, lest I should be lost. Few, indeed, are they whom I have made happy by my mission. ' ' The little dollar bill said, "It is better to be small and go among the multitudes doing good, than to be so great as to be imprisoned in the safes of the few. ' ' And it rested satisfied with its lot. Moral. — The doing well of little every-day duties makes one the most useful and happy. Characters. - THEY SAY. Mr. Robert Rollins, _ Mr. Voluble Tattle. [Enter Rollins, reading a letter aloud, .] R. " Brother Edward has been much better; his cough is abating. Your little daughter reminds me of you every day. What a comfort she is ! " Dear Emily ! Now that we are so near to meeting, why do I delay ? Is the antici- pation itself joy enough? (Reads letter to himself. ) [Enter Mr. Tattle with hands in pockets. He tries to look over shoulders and get a sight of the letter. ,] T. (aside). Who can this be, I wonder? I do wish women wouldn't use violet ink. (Reads.) ' ' Most — p-r-e-cious — most — b-e-loved. ' ' O Cupid ! How tender ! Now, it's odd, but I never had such things said to me ! (Reads.) "Edward — has — Edward has — " Perhaps I YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 107 can make it out better with my glass. ( Takes a large opera-glass from his pocket and looks. Rollins turns suddenly round on him. ) R. {folding up letter). You seem, sir, to be of an investigating disposition. T Well, sir, if I weren't, this village, let me tell you, would be a pretty slow sort of a place — altogether behind the age. Are you a stranger in these parts ? R. Not altogether. Do you know a Mrs. Rollins ? T. The little lady who lives in the brown cottage ? R. The same. Is she well ? T. Poor thing ! poor thing ! A month after her marriage her scamp of a husband ran off to California. R. Scamp of a husband? Ran off? What do you mean ? Excuse me. Why did he run off? T. For robbing a bank. What do you think of that? R. For robbing a bank ? T. So they say. R. Who say? T. They say. R. Who are They ? Explain, sir. T. Who are they ? Everybody ; people ; the whole village. R. Can you name a single person, besides yourself, who says it ? T So many, — I can think of no one in par- ticular. R. I may quicken your memory by and by. And how does Mrs. Rollins bear her affliction ? T. Oh capitally. She's on the point of being married again. So they say. R. Indeed ! To whom ? T. To a Mr. Edward Edwards. So they say. R. (aside). Her own brother ! Are you sure? T. Oh yes ! They take romantic walks together. They read Tennyson together. It's all settled. So they say. R. Who say ? I insist on you telling me. T. Well, I told you, they say ! How unreas- sonable you are ! What would you have more ? R. No dodging, sir ! Who are they ? T. How should I know ? I say they say, and you ask me who say. As if any better authority could be had ! R. Did They Say ever say that you are a meddling (following him about the stage, Tattle retreating at every step), prying, gossiping, im- pertinent, mischievous, unscrupulous, malicious retailer of absurd slanders ? T. What do you mean, sir, by such lan- guage? I'll have you arrested. Lawyer Petti- fog is my particular friend. If there was only a witness nearby I'd make you pay a pretty sum for this unparalleled outrage. Keep your hands off, sir ! No matter ; kick me — kick me ! I see a witness yonder. I'll have you arrested for assault and battery. Kick me now, if you like. R. I shall not indulge you so far. But take warning, sir, how you quote Mr. They Say for your scandalous reports. Old They Say is a liar and a coward. T. That's libelous, sir. You are libeling the whole village in that remark : I wish I knew your name. R. You shall be gratified ; my name is Rol- lins, and that cottage on the hill there is mine. T. Is it possible ? You are Mr. Rollins ? R. The same. Nobody else. T Allow me to ask, didn't you once rob a bank? R. I once plucked a rose from a flower-bank in a friend's garden ; he playfully charged me with robbing a bank. Some stupid laborer nearby took it in earnest and reported it of me. Hence the preposterous story. T. Doesn't your wife walk out with a young man? R. That young man is her poor, consumptive brother, who is here for change of air. Let me advise you, Mr. They Say, to look before you leap the next time, or the consequences may be unpleasant. T. What consequences, sir ? R. Why, the price of cowhides in this vil- 108 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. lage will go up, and Mr. They Say will be soundly tKrashed. [Exit. T. Now, isn't it provoking such a nice bit of gossip should be spoiled? No matter. There's a report the Rev. Mr. Pine plays at nine-pins. Does it for his health, he says. Ha, ha ! For his health ! We'll see. Won't I raise a pretty tempest in a tea-pot about his ears. The whole parish is in a stir — a meeting of ministers — an inquiry — a reprimand — perhaps a dismissal ! More sport ahead — more sport ! Rollins is played out. Now for Pine ! \Exit. "I DON'T SEE ITI" (For a twelve-year-old boy.) THEY tell about the happy days And sunny hours of youth : I'd like to know what means the phrase, And if they tell the truth. I've been a youth about twelve years — Have had a sorry time ; And truly, friends, it still appears Most anything but fine. Just listen while I shall relate Some of my woes to you : I'll try and not exaggerate, But only tell what's true. When one year old (and ere that time My sorrows were not few) I first began to creep and climb, And walk a little, too. But, O, the falls, — why, Caesar's fall Was naught to be compared, — I fell from table low and tall ; Falls hard and soft have shared. I've cried alike for aches and pain, From hunger and from cold, Until the kind maternal dame Her patience could not hold. And then by her I've been chastised, Because, as she has said, I was so cross, and then advised To travel straight to bed. My shoes would always be in knot, Whene'er the lamp was out ; The toys I wished were never bought — The poor must go without. And then, whenever we had planned An interesting play, A job was sure to be on hand, Which must be done that day. And as to food, although I had Enough to satisfy, They always passed ('twas quite too bad) The smallest piece of pie. Old clothes made over was my share, Or those outgrown before ; But to complain I did not dare — It would not bring me more. The deepest griefs of later years, Are lessons to prepare, And home restraint, for — lend your ears — I can't go anywhere ! Indeed, it's naught but grief and pain — I never have my way ; There's no good time till you're a man Is my belief to-day. AUNTIE'S EDUCATION. (Negro dialect. Special permission of the author. ) COME in, honey; how yo' do ? I jes know'd yuse comin' shuah, Old red roosta crow'd so loud In de doah lak he wuz proud, Comp'ny comin'. Res' yo' hat? Yuse too busy ? Well, de lak, T' ought yuse jes' had come to stay W^id po' Auntie 'while to-day. Bring me buk to read ! why, chile, 'Nuf to make old Auntie smile. Nevah larn'd but jes' one wud, Spell it yet, chile ; lor', it stirred Dis ole bress to kno' 'twas me Larn'd to spell dat one wud — free. Whar I larn'd it? Nevah know'd; Mebby from de wind dat blow'd. 'Specks God printed on de sky 'Out swept the squadrons, fated three hundred Into the battle-line steady and full;" La 4 ^cS 1 in h s > W3;^H S ^H| '' V i i j : ^H lii "GALATEA." ( Suggestion For Tableau. ) "Then this is life? And not long since I was a cold dull stone. I recollect that by some means I knew that I was a stone. ' ' YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 109 Wid de stars a-shinin' high, Jes' so plain dat niggas, see ! Lam to spell it jes' lak me. Chile, kno' why dis po' ole head Be so white an' eyes lak lead ? Once wuz black, jes' lak de crow, Eyes dey shine lak fiah's glow, When de darkies gather roun', Steps to music on de groun' ; Lor', chile, hu-la, hu-la, low, Kaint jes' help but sing it so, Tak's me back to long ago An' my Sambo bowin' low. ' Scuse dese teahs, chile ; grasses wave Eru' de yeahs on Sambo's grave. Dats what makes my har so white ? No, no, chile ; de Lawd was right When he tole him res' a while, But he tuk' ole Auntie's smile. Mos' folks' white har comes wid yeahs, Not lak mine — it come wid teahs. Wuk by day an' teahs by night, — 'Nuf to make dis ole head white. When de chickens crow at morn, Den yo' heah de darkies sorng Keepin' time wid medda lark, Greetin' mornin' from de dark. Sing as well as cry dey said Wid de dew upon de head, Mak' one feel lak had de right On God's erf jes' lak de white. Wuk all day till mos' drop dead, Cotton baskets on de head ; Eat de co'n pone in de heat, Wid fat bakin, nuth'n sweet. Den when flow'rs, tia'd to def, Wid de wind's too kissin' bref, Go to sleep, chile — Auntie try, But de flow'rs heah her cry, So dey tell de wind, and he Tuk it up to hebben ; yo' see, Po' ole Auntie couldn't read, But de Lawd in hebben he seed Auntie pray, so He larn'd me Jes' to spell dat one wud — free. May Rapley McNabb. A BOY'S TEMPERANCE SPEECH. (Boy ten to fifteen years of age. ) I WISH to say a few words on temperance. I suppose you'll say the subject is too deep for boys, and that this speech is altogether too old for me. Now, I will be honest with you, and say, in the first place, that these are not my words, or, rather, the thoughts are not really mine ; but it is what I think of other people's thoughts. And as for the subject being too deep for me, that is all mere nonsense. Small as I am, I have seen people drunk a great many times. And they are not men alone : I have seen women and children drunk, more than once ; and every time I see it, I feel sorry. When I see men going into a lager beer saloon, day after day, or women carrying home liquor in a pitcher or bottle, then I think of the time when I saw them drunk on the sidewalk, or quar- relling with a lamp-post, or staggering home to beat their wife or children, and I know that one is the beginning of the other. That is not what somebody else says ; for I know that of myself. I have been to temperance meetings some, and have heard about the best means of promoting the cause of temperance — and they tell about taking away the liberty of the people ! I con- fess I don' t understand this ; but I want to ; for I want to be intelligent enough to vote one of these days, which some men are not, they say. But I'm going to tell you what I think about it, from what I do know. I think it is a strange liberty that men want — liberty to get drunk, and reel around the streets, and frighten children, and be made fun of by the boys, and to go home at two o'clock in the morning, and get into bed with their boots on and not know the diiference. Then my father interferes with my liberty when he won't let me swear ; for that don't hurt any- body. And the robber ought to have liberty to go into all the houses he wishes to, and take any- thing he pleases ; and the murderer ought not to be hung — that's interfering with his liberty. I must say I don't understand it. Then, they say it is no sin to drink, but it is a 110 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. sin to get drunk. Now, my father and mother teach me that it is just as wrong to steal a pin as to steal money, and they would punish me just ths same for it. If it is a sin to drink ten glasses of whiskey and get drunk, it is a sin to drink one glass ; for some people can get more tipsy, dis- agreeable and dangerous on one glass than if they drank many and grew helplessly drunk. Take a boy's advice and don't touch it yourself and don't sell or give it to others. LIST OF OUR PRESIDENTS. (Memorizing this will help to remember names and order of the Presidents. ) COME, young folks all, and learn my rhyme, Writ like the ones of olden time. For linked together, name and name, The whole a surer place will claim ; And firmly in your mind shall stand The names of those who've ruled our land. A noble list : George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison and James Monroe, John Quincy Adams — and below Comes Andrew Jackson in his turn ; Martin Van Buren next we learn. Then William Henry Harrison, Whom soon John Tyler followed on. And after Tyler, James K. Polk ; Then Zachary Taylor ruled the folk Till death. Then Millard Fillmore came j And Franklin Pierce we next must name. And James Buchanan then appears, Then Abraham Lincoln through those years Of war. And when his life was lost 'Twas Andrew Johnson filled his post. Then U. S. Grant and R. B. Hayes, And James A. Garfield each had place, Then Chester Arthur took command Till Grover Cleveland ruled the land, Who, when his first four years were done, Gave way to Benjamin Harrison. Then we have Grover Cleveland again, For four more years he comes to reign. Next, William McKinley's name we find, To whom the office was consigned. THE MOURNER. (For church or Sunday-School entertainment. Characters. — One, a young lady, to represent the Mourner, and five girls, ten to fourteen years old, to represent Patience, Resignation, Faith, Hope and Charity, each provided with a small Bible.) The Mourner (soliloquizing). O, my poor sor- rowing heart ! What is earth ? A fleeting show, soon past ; a bubble, soon lost ; a breath, soon spent ! Why am I spared ? Why may I not make my bed in the grave, and be free from earth's trials? I care not to live longer, now I am alone ! There is no one to soothe my trou- bles, or to weep with me in my grief ! Alone ! alone! (Enter Patience.) Patience. "Behold, we count them happy which endure ! Ye have heard of the patience of Job, and have seen the end of the Lord ; that the Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy." James v. n. (Enter Resignation, and stands by the side of Patience. ) Resignation. "Wherefore, let them that suffer according to the will of God, commit the keeping of their souls to him in well-doing, as unto a faithful Creator." i Peter iv. 19. ( Opening a Bible and handifig it to mouriier. ) Read that troubled one and be comforted. (Enter Faith, who ope?is her Bible and reads:) "For whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world : and this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith." 1 John v. 4. (Lay the open book on her lap. Enter Hope. ) Hope (reading). "But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope." 1 Thess. iv. 13. Dear mourner that is for you. (Hand her the open book. Enter Charity. ) Charity. "Charity sufTereth long, and is kind." " Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth. " 1 Cor. xiii. 4, 7, 8. Mourner. Who are these that thus unbidden enter the house of mourning ? that thus attempt to draw the afflicted heart from the contempla- YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Ill tion of those lost dear ones ? Why do ye thus intrude, or with vain words seek to fill the heart already broken ? Leave me alone ; for I would fain be deaf to earth, and rest in solitude till life is past ! ( The five then sing the following .•) Mourner, do not sorrow longer ! Lift thou up thy drooping head ! Though the friends who fondly loved thee Slumber now among the dead. Though their pale and lifeless bodies In the grave were buried low, Yet the friends who tarried with thee At the feet of Jesus bow. Here, they suffered pain and anguish ! There, they lay them all aside ! Here, they battled with the waters, Fiercely tossing o'er the tide : Now, their bark has safely landed On the blessed heavenly shore, And they meet the long-lost loved ones, Meet them there, to part no more. Mourner, wouldst thou now recall them, Wouldst thou call them back to earth? Bid them tread again these portals, And engage in scences of mirth ? Or, while they their songs are singing, ' ' Glory, glory to our King f ' ' Wouldst thou sadly sit repining, And with them refuse to sing ? (All answer:) Mourner. Whence are these sweet sounds? It is not like earthly music ! Who are ye, and by what names are ye known ? Patience. Patience. Resignation. Resignation. Faith. Faith. Hope. Hope. Charity. Charity. Patience. Patience, duty to fulfil. Resignation. Resignation to His will. Faith. Faith in God, in Whom we trust, Giveth life to all the just. Hope. Hope, an anchor to the soul. Charity. Charity to each an all. All. These to suffering man are given. To guide him in the way to heaven. Mourner. On what errand are ye come? What is your mission? Patience. To sustain. Resignation. To comfort. Faith. To guide. Hope. To cheer. Charity. To relieve. Patience. Sustaining grace you sure will find If you in patience wait ; His ear to every call inclined, To hear both small and great. Resignation. To comfort when all things of earth Fade from your sight away. With resignation to His will, He makes the night as day. Faith. Faith dwells in the Christian's heart His guide and inner light ; Pillar of cloud in sorrow's day, Pillar of fire by night. Hope. Hope is the Christian ' s anchor sure ; In grief, a blessing given ; His landmark on the shores of time, His passport into heaven. Charity. Have charity for erring ones ; The suffering relieve ; Your life may thus be spent for Him In whom you now believe. Mourner. Enough ! These words have cheered me ; and whenever I am forgetting my mission in life, may I be reminded of these kind admoni- tions. Now, ere you depart, sing me one sweet strain, that I may not soon forget. Hope. I will repeat some verses, the senti- ment of which befit this occasion. We will afterwards sing them. (Let her repeat them with a sweet spirit and good elocution). Now, let us sing. ( They sing .-) O, who, in such a world as this, Could bear his lot of pain, Did not one radiant hope of bliss Unclouded yet remain ? 112 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. That hope the sovereign Lord has given, Who reigns above the skies ; Hope that unites the soul to heaven, By faith's endearing ties. Each care, each ill of mortal birth, Is sent in pitying love, To lift the lingering heart from earth, And speed its flight above. And every pang that wrings the breast, And every joy that dies, Tell us to seek a purer rest, And trust to holier ties. THE RETORT. (Narrative to be told in a conversational style. The enjoyment of jokes and incidents depends always upon the manner of the narrator. Enter fully into the spirit. Don't declaim this piece, but tell it good naturedly. ) ONE day, a rich man, flushed with pride and wine, sitting with guests at table, all quite merry, conceived it would be vastly fine to crack a joke upon his secretary. "Young man," said he, "by what art, craft or trade did your good father earn his liveli- hood ? " " He was a saddler, sir, ' ' the young man said ; ' ' and in his line was always reckoned good." "A saddler, eh? and had you stuffed with Greek, instead of teaching you like him to do ! And pray, sir, why did not your father make a saddler, too, of you ? " At this each flatterer, as in duty bound, the joke applauded, and the laugh went round. At length the secretary, bowing low, said (craving pardon if too free he made), " Sir, by your leave, I fain would know your father's trade. ' ' "My father's trade? Why, sir, but that's too bad ! My father's trade ! Why, block- head, art thou mad ? My father, sir, was never brought so low : he was a gentleman, I'd have you know. ' ' ' ' Indeed ? Excuse the liberty I take, but, if your story's true, how happened it your father did not make a gentleman of you ? ' ' T JOHN MAYNARD. ( Descriptive and dramatic. ) WAS on Lake Erie's broad expanse, One bright midsummer day, The gallant steamer Ocean Queen Swept proudly on her way. Bright faces clustered on the deck, Or leaning o'er the side, Watched carelessly the feathery foam, That flecked the rippling tide. Ah, who beneath that cloudless sky, That smiling bends serene, Could dream that danger, awful, vast, Impended o'er the scene — Could dream that ere an hour had sped, That frame of sturdy oak Would sink beneath the lake's blue waves Blackened with fire and smoke ? A seaman sought the captain's side, A moment whispered low ; The captain's swarthy face grew pale, He hurried down below. Alas, too late ! Though quick and sharp And clear his orders came, No human effort could avail To quench the insidious flame. The bad news quickly reached the deck, It sped from lip to lip, And ghastly faces everywhere Looked from the doomed ship. f Is there no hope — no chance of life ?' ' A hundred lips implore : f But one," the captain made reply, "To run the ship on shore." A sailor, whose heroic soul That hour should yet reveal — By name John Maynard, eastern born, Stood calmly at the wheel. r Head her southeast !" the captain shouts, Above the smothered roar, Head her southeast without delay ! Make for the nearest shore ! ' ' No terror pales the helmsman's cheek, Or clouds his dauntless eye, YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 113 As in a soilor's measured tone His voice responds, ' 'Ay, ay ! " Three hundred souls, — the steamer's freight — Crowd forward wild with fear, While at the stern the dreadful flames Above the deek appear. John Maynard watched the nearing flame, But still with steady hand He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly He steered the ship to land. "John Maynard," with an anxious voice, The captain cries once more, i ' Stand by the w 7 _ieel five minutes yet ! And we will reach the shore." Through flames and smoke that dauntless heart Responded firmly, still Unawed, though face to face with death, " With God's good help I will !" The flames approach with giant strides, They scorch his hands and brow ; One arm disabled seeks his side, Ah, he is conquered now ! But no, his teeth are firmly set, He crushes down the pain, — His knee upon the stanchion pressed, He guides the ship again. One moment yet ! one moment yet ! Brave heart thy task is o'er ! The pebbles grate beneath the keel, The steamer touches shore. Three hundred grateful voices rise, In praise to God that He Hath saved them from the fearful fire, And from the engulfing sea. But where is he, that helmsman bold ? The captain saw him reel — His nerveless hands released their task, He sunk beside the wheel. The waves received his lifeless corpse, Blackened with smoke and fire, God rest him ! Hero never had A nobler funeral pyre ! H. Alger, Jr. 8 P-s WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE. X yOODMAN, spare that tree ! V\^ Touch not a single bough ; In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now. 'Twas my forefather's hand That placed it near his cot ; There, woodman, let it stand, Thy axe shall harm it not. When but an idle boy I sought its grateful shade ; In all their gushing joy Here, too, my sister played. My mother kissed me here, My father pressed my hand ; Forgive this foolish tear, But let the old oak stand. My heart-strings round thee cling Close as thy bark, old friend; Here shall the wild bird sing, And still thy branches bend. Old tree, the storm still brave ! And, woodman, leave the spot ; While I've a hand to save, Thy axe shall hurt it not. George P. Morris. I'M GETTING TOO BIG TO KISS. ( By permission of the author. ) THE friends of my childhood with pleasure I greet, Their faces I ever hold dear, In palace or cottage, on meadow or street, Wherever they chance to appear. Then do not misjudge me, and deem me not cold, Nor call me a queer, haughty miss, Oh, no one can budge me, so do not be bold, I'm getting too — too big to kiss. 'Tis hardly a year since the guests of the house, On leaving, would kiss me adieu, The parson, the deacon, old Schnider, Von Krouse, Ned Blanc, and the young squire, too. 114 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. They called me a treasure, a sweet, roguish maid ; Now nonsense like that is amiss, Though once 'twas a pleasure, I'm really afraid That somebody's too big to kiss. Now if you should happen by moonlight to walk, With some one you know very well, Remember, 'tis harmless to laugh and to talk, Or sweet little stories to tell. But oh, have a care, girls, and heed me, I pray, For what I would counsel is this — Refuse, though his hair curls, and promptly this say : I'm getting, sir, too big to kiss. Oh, no, no, no, no, sir ! Allow me to pass ; Oh, no, sir, 'tis more than I dare : That game's out of fashion (I'm sorry, alas !) You needn't look cross as a bear. Yet still I've an ember of pity right here, I'll throw you just one kiss like this, But, sir, you'll remember, now don't come so near — That really I'm too big to kiss. George M. Vickers. ARTIE'S "AMEN." (Humorous. Sunday-school or church occasion.) THEY were Methodists twain, of the ancient school, Who always followed the wholesome rule That whenever the preacher in meeting said Aught that was good for the heart or head, His hearers should pour their feelings out In a loud "Amen " or a godly shout. Three children had they — all honest boys — Whose youthful sorrows and youthful joys They shared, as all loving parents will, While tending them ever through good and ill. One day — 'twas a bleak, cold Sabbath morn, When the sky was dark and the earth forlorn — These boys, with a caution not to roam, Were left by the elder folk at home. But scarce had they gone when the wooded frame By the tall stove-pipe was seen aflame ; And out of their reach, high, high, and higher, Rose the red coils of the serpent fire. With startled sight for a while they gazed, As the pipe grew hot and the wood-work blazed ; Then up, though his heart beat wild with dread, The eldest climbed to a shelf o'erhead, And soon with a sputter and hiss of steam, The flame died out like an angry dream. When the father and mother came back that day — They had gone to a neigboring church to pray — Each looked, but with half-averted eye, On the awful doom which had just passed by. And then the father began to praise His boys with a tender and sweet amaze. "Why, how did you manage, Tom, to climb And quench the threatening flames in time To save your brothers and save yourself? " "Well, father, I mounted the strong oak shelf By the help of the table standing nigh. ' ' ' ' And what ? ' ' quoth the father, suddenly, Turning to Jemmy, the next in age, " Did you to quiet the fiery rage ? " " I brought the pail and the dipper, too, And so it was that the water flew All over the flames and quenched them quite. ' ' A mist came over the father's sight, A mist of pride and of righteous joy, As he turned at last to his youngest boy — A gleeful urchin scarce three years old, With his dimpling cheeks and his hair of gold. " Come, Artie, I'm sure you weren't afraid ; Now tell me in what way you tried to aid This fight with the fire ? " " Too small ami," Artie replied, with a half-drawn sigh, " To fetch like Jemmy, and work like Tom ; So I stood just here for a minute dumb, Because, papa, I was frightened some ; But I prayed, ' Our Father, ' and then — and then I shouted as loud as I could, 'Amen.' " Paul Hamilton Hayne. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 115 116 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. WHERE THEY NEVER FEEL THE COLD. (Reading : droll humor. ) " TTES," remarked the St. Paul man to a Y friend from Chicago, as he stood arrayed in his blanket suit, and ad- justed a couple of buckskin chest protectors, " yes, there is something about the air in the North- western climate which causes a person not to notice the cold. Its extreme dryness," he con- tinued, as he drew on a couple of extra woolen socks, a pair of Scandinavian sheepskin boots, and some Alaska overshoes — " its extreme dry- ness makes a degree of cold, reckoned by the mercury, which would be unbearable in other latitudes, simply exhilarating here. I have suffered more with the cold in Michigan, for instance," he added, as he drew on a pair of goatskin leggings, adjusted a double fur cap, and tied on some Esquimau ear-muffs ? "in Michigan or Illinois, we will say, with the ther- mometer at zero or above, than I have here with it at from forty-five to fifty-five below. The dryness of our winter air is certainly remark- able, ' ' he went on, as he wound a couple of rods of red woolen scarf about his neck, wrapped a dozen newspapers around his body, drew on a fall-cloth overcoat, a winter- cloth overcoat, a light buffalo-skin overcoat, and a heavy polar- bear-skin overcoat ; ' ' no, if you have never en- joyed our glorious Minnesota winter climate, with its dry atmosphere, its bright sunshine, and invigorating ozone, you would scarcely believe some things I could tell you about it. The air is dry," he continued, as he adjusted his leather nose protector, drew on his reindeer-skin mit- tens, and carefully closed one eye-hole in the sealskin mask he drew down from his cap, ' ' it is so dry that actually it seems next to impossible to feel the cold at all. We can scarcely realize in the spring that we have had winter, owing to the extreme dryness of the atmosphere. By the way," he went on, turning to his wife, "just bring me a couple of blankets and those bed-- quilts to throw over my shoulders, and hand me that muff with the hot soapstone in it, and now I'll take a pull at this jug of brandy and whale oil, and then, if you'll have the girl bring my snow-shoes and iceberg scaling stick, I'll step over and see them pry the workmen off the top of the ice-palace, who were frozen on yesterday. I tell you we wouldn't be going on this way five hundred miles further south, where the air is damp and chilly. Nothing but our dry air makes it possible." PREACHING VERSUS PRACTICE. A YOUNGSTER at school, more sedate than the rest, Had once his integrity put to the test j His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob, And asked him to go and assist in the job. He was shocked, sir, like you, and answered, "O, no! What ! rob our good neighbor ? I pray you, don't go ! Besides, the man's poor, his orchard's his bread ; Then think of his children, for they must be fed. ' ' ' ( You speak very fine, and you look very grave, But apples we want, and apples we'll have : If you will go with us, why, you'll have a share ; If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear. ' ' They spoke, and Tom pondered — "I see they will go : Poor man ! what a pity to injure him so ! Poor man ! I would save him his fruit, if I could, But my staying behind will now do him no good. "If the matter depended alone upon me, His apples might hang till they dropped from the tree ; But since they will take them, I think I' 11 go, too ; He will lose none by me, though I get a few. ' ' His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease, And went with his comrades the apples to seize ; He blamed and protested, but joined in the plan ; He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man. Cowper. RECORDING THE VOW JOSEPH JEFFERSON and BLANCHE BENDER in "Rip Van Winkle." (Suggestion for Tableau.) YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 117 GRAMMAR IN RHYME, THREE little words you often see Are articles — a, an, and the. A Noun is the name of anything, As SCHOOL Or GARDEN, HOOP Or SWING. Adjectives tell the kind of Noun, As GREAT, SMALL, PRETTY, WHITE, Or BROWN. Instead of Nouns the Pronouns stand — Her head, his face, your arm, my hand. Verbs tell of something to be done, To BEAR, COUNT, SING, LAUGH, STUDY, RUN. How things are done the Adverbs tell, As SLOWLY, QUICKLY, ILL, Or WELL. Conjunctions join the words together, As man and woman, wind or weather. The prepositions stand before A Noun, as of or through a door. The interjection shows surprise, As, Ah ! how pretty ! Oh ! how wise ! The whole are called Nine Parts of Speech Which reading, writing, speaking teach. WHERE HONEYSUCKLES GROW. ( By special permission of the author. ) AND you have lost your little boy ? Grieve not dear lady so, Perhaps you'll find him half asleep Where honeysuckles grow. For children tire of dusty streets And love to wander there, Where perfumed lips of pine and flowers Caress the wildwood air. They love to dip their tiny hands In cool waves of the grass, To count the leaves of gold which fall And heap in burnished mass. Ah, there he comes, your darling now, And they found him 'mongst the trees And sleeping there beneath the care Of lullabying breeze. How did I know ? why once for me The whole world sang with joy, Then suddenly sang low a dirge, For I had lost my boy. I knew he wearied of the town, And so he wandered far, I searched for him beneath the sun And 'neath the evening star. And one day wandering in the wood, Where honeysuckles keep Their fragrant stores, I found the bed, Wherein he lay asleep. And yet I could not raise my voice, To call him from his rest ; For, oh, he was so sweetly still, I ended there my quest. n.nd left him 'neath the sheltering shade, Where slender flowers heap Their pure sweet blossoms ever o'er My little boy asleep. May Rapley McNabb THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK. OTHE old, old clock, of the household stock. Was the brightest thing and neatest ; Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold, And its chime rang still the sweetest. 'Twas a monitor, too, though its words were few, Yet they lived, though nations altered ; And its voice, still strong, warned old and young, When the voice of friendship faltered ! ' ' Tick, tick, ' ' it said ; ' ' quick, quick, to bed, — For ten I've given warning; Up, up, and go, or else you know You'll never rise soon in the morning V A friendly voice was that old, old clock, As it stood in the corner smiling, And blessed the time with a merry chime, The wintry hours beguiling ; But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock, As it called at daybreak boldly, When the dawn looked gray o'er the misty way, And the early air blew coldly. "Tick, tick," it said; "quick out of bed, For five I've given warning ; You'll never have health, you'll never get wealth, Unless you're up soon in the morning." 118 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. THE SAILOR'S STORY.— Geo. M. Vickers. ( Temperance recitation with musical accompaniment. Prepared expressly for this volume.) Prelude. (The recitation begins when the music ceases.} Allegro \ N N ^ ^ y T _£__* L^v P r 1 \ J h (T »,' , — s - , — , K , — J _ N fc . r 2 v % ~ — % — m 1 1 1 — w m .4 , — h . 1 1 P- — I— — P — 1 — m m- - — *> 1- — P-+ gz „ w m r m w i^r 1 ^-- wh-W-^grSr-" — ^ =r ^^^^—^—9 =x 1 . Flood tide. * ' AH strangers leave the ship ! The boatswain hoarsely cried. Then hand grasped hand in fervent grip And lips pressed lips in fond adieu, As o'er the vessel's side Each loved one parted from her crew. 2. " Dear mother," keep this flageolet 'Till I come home from sea — I'll often write, nor shall forget I am a widow's only stay — God bless you, pray for me, 3e quick ! the vessel's under weigh ! " 3. The ship sailed off. The sailor boy, That woman's darling child, So late her sad life's only joy, Soon grew to like his new friends' ways, To join their revels wild — While lone his mother passed her days. 4. In far-off lands he learned to love The soul-distressing cup, Nor ever sought for help above ; Home, mother, God, all were forgot, Good thoughts rum swallowed up And left him but a helpless sot. (Music begins softly.) 5. At home, his mother, bent and wan, Toils patient day and night, Oft bending o'er her work till dawn ; And oft against the window pressed Her face is seen, a sight Most touching, care-worn, grief-distressed. 6. The letter-man has passed the dooi, He does so ev'ry day ; The widow's heart is sick and sore, For not a line in three long years Has come to light her way Or stop the flowing of her tears. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 119 (The following music is to be played softly, as an accompaniment to the reader's voice, beginning with the fifth and continuing to the end of the eighth stanza. ) Tenderly. ^ .. fc h 7. 9. 10. By piecemeal all her scanty store Has gone to buy her bread, Yet sickness, want, claim one thing more, The thing she fain would cling to yet, And'fainting, almost dead, She pawns her darling's flageolet. The awning's flap, the shutter's bang, The night's air filled with sleet ; Three golden balls above us hang, Below, a woman, stiff and cold Lies, friendless, in the street — Dead, near the flageolet she sold ! (At this point the music ceases, the recitation continuing. A broker's sale. The room is filled (For Chrisrmas time is near) With some to buy, while others chilled Have slipped in from the biting cold. 1 ' We want a bid, look here, Silver-keyed, and washed with gold ! ' ' The auctioneer then paused, for, lo ! A man leaped on his stand, My flageolet ! oh, mother's woe ! " And sobs choked up the sailor's throat, As with his brawny hand His heaving bosom wild he smote. 11. He learned, though late, that wine deceives, That strong drink leads to death ; That abstinence alone relieves The drunkard from disgrace, distress, Makes pure his rum-fouled breath, That temperance doth ever bless. 12. And thus the sailor's story ends, A story all too true ; Yet judge not harshly, gentle friends, He was a loving boy and brave, Loved by a reckless crew, Whose lesson is a mother's grave. 120 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. THE FLOWER OF LIBERTY. (Arranged for five speakers. The first speaker may- carry an American flag, or plant it on the stage. ) First Speaker. WHAT flower is this that greets the morn, Its hues from heaven so freshly born ? With burning star and flaming band It kindles all the sunset land ; Oh tell us what its name may be ! Is this the Flower of Liberty ? It is the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty ! Second Speaker. In savage Nature's fair abode Its tender seed our fathers sowed ; The storm-winds rocked its swelling bud, Its opening leaves were streaked with blood ; Till, lo ! earth's tyrants shook to see The full-blown Flower of Liberty ! Then hail the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty ! Third Speaker. Behold its streaming rays unite One mingling flood of braided light — The red that fires the Southern rose With spotless white from Northern snows, And, spangled o'er its azure, see The sister Stars of Liberty ! Then hail the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty ! Fourth Speaker. The blades of heroes fence it round ; Where'er it springs is holy ground ; From tower and dome its glories spread ; It waves where lonely sentries tread ; It makes the land as ocean free, And plants an empire on the sea ! Then hail the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty ! Fifth Speaker. Thy sacred leaves, fair Freedom's flower, Shall ever float on dome and tower, To all their heavenly colors true, In blackening frost or crimson dew ; And God love us as we love Thee, Thrice holy Flower of Liberty ! Then hail the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty ! All at Once. And God love us as we love Thee, Thrice holy Flower of Liberty ! Holmes. SEARCH QUESTIONS. (Sunday-school exercise.) (The Superintendent might print or write these questions and give them out to the school, withhold- ing the references. Offer a book, or some prize to the scholar answering the most of them correctly before school two weeks later. Ten minutes to be devoted before the lesson is taken up to reading onK the correct answers, placing those of each individual in a separate pile. The one having the largest num- ber of correct answers takes the prize. The answers should contain the Scripture references. Teachers may also employ this plan in their individual classes with good effect. ) 1 . What was David doing when he was called to be king? i Sam. xvi. n, 12. 2. What sign was given Moses that his call was divine? Ex. iv. 2, 3, 4, 6, 7. 3. What sign did Gideon ask of the Lord, that he should save Israel? Judges vi. 36, 40. 4. What miracle did God work over a bor- rowed axe? 2 Kings vi. 5, 6, 7. 5. How did Jonathan's son become lame? 2 Sam. iv. 4. 6. What woman called her husband foolish? 1 Sam. xxv. 3, 25. 7. How did David act before the king of Achish? 1 Sam. xxi. 13. 8. When did David scorn to offer sacrifice at the expense of another ? 2 Sam. xxiv. 24. 9. How were the men of Shechem destroyed ? Judges ix.. 48, 49. 10. What tribe obtained a league with the Israelites by craft ? Joshua ix. 3, 4, 5, 14, 15. 11. What was the ancient law in harvesting? Deut. xxiv. 19. 12. What was the bedstead of Og? Deut. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 121 PLAYING DRUNKARD. {Temperance selection.) "TONES was a kind, good-natured man as one might wish to see, J He had a buxom, tidy wife and bright-eyed children three, But Jones was weak in one respect — he had a love for rum, And often from the drinking-shop would, stag- gering, homeward come. His good wife grieved to see him thus, but bore all patiently, And prayed and hoped that in some way he would reformed be ; She never waver' d in her faith, but toiled with hand and brain, And in the end with joy she found her prayers were not in vain. Thus it occurred. One Sunday morn, while Jones lay on the floor, Sleeping away the outcome of .his spree the night before. His wife had gone to church to pray that his reform might come, Leaving, with much regret, her ill-clad little ones at home. When passed away the lethargy, caused by the flowing bowl, Jones gazed around, and saw a sight which shocked his very soul. His eldest child, a boy of six, with frowzy, unkempt hair, Was staggering around the room with idiotic stare, The while his other little ones laughed loudly in their glee, His grimaces, and flounderings, and antics queer to see. "T'm only playing drunk," he said, "to imi- tate papa, But if I had some liquor, I could do it better, far. But children ain't allowed to drink, so I know what I'll do, I'll wait till I grow up, and then, I'll be a drunkard, too." "I reckon not," Jones muttered. "With Heaven's help I'll try To do my duty after this in strict sobriety. My eyes shall ne'er again behold a scene so sad as this ; Come here, my precious little ones, and give papa a kiss ! ' ' <^ 5J* *^C Pj=C 2>fC 5f* ^fC When Mrs. Jones came home from church, he met her at the door, And tenderly embracing her, said: "Wife, I'll drink no more ! " She saw the truth shine in his eyes, and wept for very joy, But never knew the change was wrought by her unthinking boy. Francis S. Smith. CLOSING ADDRESS. (to close a Sunday-school entertainment. For a little Christian boy of twelve to fourteen years.) DEAR FRIENDS: We have now finished what we have to say, and come to thank you for your kind attention dur- ing the evening. We have not said anything great, we know, but we have tried to say all the good things we could. We are yet small, and our powers of mind, as well as of body, are feeble. We cannot talk as you can ; we cannot think so fast, or reason so well ; but as we grow older we hope to grow in wisdom and in strength. This is one of the ways by which we gain strength, and the Sunday-school instruction is good to make us wise. Who knows but some day one of us here may be the President of the United States? or, better still, may go to foreign lands, to proclaim the gospel to those who sit in darkness? We may be called to fill high places of honor and trust, and it is important that we prepare our- selves now for the stations which we soon may fill. 122 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Life is passing by, and youth will soon be gone, or the night of death may overtake us. Many little ones we remember who once stood where we now stand ; many faces that beamed with love and expectation, as they stood before you on an occasion like this ; but to-night they look on us, seeing but unseen. They have crossed the narrow river, have entered the gate to that beautiful city, and we are left to follow. We would not forget that life with us may close as suddenly, and we hope to live so that when we die we may join the blest above. We want your prayers for us, that we may be pure and good, that Jesus may love us, and make us his own. {Turning to the superintendent.) Now, Mr. Superintendent, I suggest that we close by ask- ing the audience to rise and join with us in singing that beautiful Sunday-school song, "God Be with You Till We Meet Again" (All rise and sing. If the Sunday-school book does not contain it, it should be printed on slips and distributed through the audience. ) TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF PEACE. "T "THILE we act, sir, upon the maxim, " In j/\/_ peace prepare for war," let us also remember that the best preparation for war is peace. This swells your numbers ; this augments your means ; this knits the sinews of your strength ; this covers you all over with a panoply of might. And, then, if war must come in a just cause, no foreign state — no, sir, not all combined — can send forth an adversary that you need fear to encounter. But, sir, give us these twenty-five years of peace. I do believe, sir, that this coming quarter of a century is to be the most important in our whole history. I do beseech you to let us have these twenty-five years, at least, of peace. Let these fertile wastes be filled up with swarming millions ; let this tide of emigration from Europe go on ; let the steamer, the canal, the railway, and especially let this great Pacific railway, subdue these mighty distances, and bring this vast extension into a span. Let us pay back the ingots of California gold with bars of Atlantic iron ; let agriculture clothe our vast wastes with waving plenty ; let the in- dustrial and mechanic arts erect their peaceful fortresses at the waterfalls \ and then, sir, in the train of this growing population, let the print- ing office, the lecture-room, the village school- house, and the village church, be scattered over the country. And in these twenty-five years we shall exhibit a spectacle of national prosperity such as the world has never seen on so large a scale, and yet within the reach of a sober, practical contemplation. Edward Everett. A TRAGEDY. HOW many acts are there in a tragedy? Five, I believe. Act I. — Young man starting from home. Parents and sisters weeping to see him go. Wagon passing over the hill. Farewell kiss thrown back. Ring the bell and let the cur- tain drop. Act II. — Marriage altar. Bright lights. Full organ. White vail trailing through the aisle. Prayer and congratulations, and exclamations of ' ' How well she looks ! ' ' Ring the bell and let the curtain drop. Act III — Midnight. Woman waiting for staggering steps. Old garments stuck into broken window-panes. Many marks of hardship on the face. Biting the nails of bloodless fingers. Neglect, cruelty, disgrace. Ring the bell and let the curtain drop. Act IV. — Three graves in a very dark place. Grave of a child, who died from want of medi- cine ; grave of husband and father, who died of dissipation ; grave of wife and mother, who died of a broken heart. Plenty of weeds but no flowers ! Oh ! what a blasted heath with three graves ! Ring the bell and let the curtain drop. Act V. — A destroyed soul's eternity. No light ; no music ; no hope ! Despair coiling around the heart with unutterable anguish. Blackness of darkness forever ! Woe ! woe ! woe ! I cannot bear longer to look. I close my eyes at this last act of tragedy. Quick ! Quick ! Ring the bell and let the curtain drop. T. De Witt Talmage. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 123 WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY, February 22, 1732. 6* ATAHE first in the hearts of his country- men!" Yes, first ! Washington has our first and most fervent love. Un- doubtedly there were brave and wise and good men before his day in every colony. But the American nation, as a nation, I do not reckon to have begun before 1774. And the first love of that young America was Washington. The first word she lisped was his name. Her earliest breath spoke it. It is still her proud ejacula- tion, and it will be the last gasp of her expiring life. Yes ! Others of our great men have been appreciated — many admired — by all. But him we love. Him we all love. No sectional preju- dice or bias, no party, no creed, no dogma of politics — none of these shall assail him. Yes, when the storm of battle blows darkest and rages highest, the memory of Washington shall nerve every American arm and cheer every American heart. It shall relume that Promethean fire, that sublime flame of patriotism, that devoted love of country, commended by his words, con- secrated by his example ! "Where may the wearied eye repose, When gazing on the great, Where neither guilty glory glows Nor despicable state ? Yes — one ; the first, the last, the best, The Cincinnatus of the West, Whom Bnvy dared not hate, Bequeathed the name of Washington, To make men blush there was but one." Rufus Choate. THE TWENTY-SECOND OF FEBRUARY. (Suited to Washington's Birthday celebration.) GENTLEMEN, a most auspicious omen salutes and cheers us, this day. This day is the anniversary of the birth of Wash- ington. Washington birthday is celebrated from one end of this land to the other. The whole atmosphere of the country is this day redolent of his principles, — the hills, the rocks, the groves, the vales, and the rivers, shout their praises, and resound with his fame. All the good, whether learned or unlearned, high or low, rich or poor, feel this day that there is one treasure common to them all ; and that is the fame of Washing- ton. They all recount his deeds, ponder over his principles and teachings, and resolve to be more and more guided by them in the future. To the old and the young, to all born in this land, and to all whose preferences have led them to make it the home of their adoption, Washing- ton is an exhilarating theme. Americans are proud of his character ; all exiles from foreign shores are eager to participate in admiration of him ; and it is true that he is, this day, here, everywhere, all over the world, more an object of regard than on any former day since his birth. Gentlemen, by his example, and under the guidance of his precepts, will we and our children uphold the Constitution. Under his military leadership, our fathers conquered their ancient enemies ; and, under the outspread banner of his political and constitutional principles, will we conquer now. To that standard we shall adhere, and uphold it, through evil report and good report. We will sustain it, and meet death itself, if it come ; we will ever encounter and defeat error, by day and by night, in light or in darkness — thick darkness — if it come, till " Danger's troubled night is o'er, And the star of peace return," Webster. NOBODY'S CHILD. (Pathetic. May be made very effective by a girl of twelve or thirteen, dressed in ragged clothes. The stage should be darkened, and soft, subdued music may be played as the lines are recited. ) ALONE, in the dreary, pitiless street, With my torn old dress and bare cold feet, All day I wandered to and fro, Hungry and shivering and nowhere to go ; The night's coming on in darkness and dread, And the chill sleet beating upon my bare head ; Oh ! why does the wind blow upon me so wild ? Is it because I'm nobody's child? 124 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Just over the way there's a flood of light, And warmth and beauty, and all things bright ; Beautiful children, in robes so fair, Are caroling songs in rapture there. I wonder if they, in their blissful glee, Would pity a poor little beggar like me, Wandering alone in the merciless street, Naked and shivering and nothing to eat ? Oh ! what shall I do when the night comes down In its terrible blackness all over the town ? Shall I lay me down 'neath the angry sky, On the cold hard pavements alone to die? When the beautiful children their prayers have said, And mammas have tucked them up snugly in bed. No dear mother ever upon me smiled — Why is it, I wonder, that I'm nobody's child? No father, no mother, no sister, not one In all the world loves me ; e'en the little dogs run When I wander too near them ; ' tis wondrous to see, How everythtng shrinks from a beggar like me ! Perhaps 'tis a dream; but sometimes when I lie Gazing far up in the dark blue sky, Watching for hours some large bright star, I fancy the beautiful gates are ajar. And a host of white-robed, nameless things, Come fluttering o'er me in gilded wings ; A hand that is strangely soft and fair Caresses gently my tangled hair, And a voice like the carol of some wild bird The sweetest voice that was ever heard — Calls me many a dear pet name, Till my heart and spirits are all aflame ; And tells me of such unbounded love, And bids me come up to their home above, And then, with such pitiful, sad surprise, They look at me with their sweet blue eyes, And it seems to me out of the dreary night, I am going up to the world of light, And away from the hunger and storms so wild — I am sure I shall then be somebody's child. THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECARY. (Humorous reading.) A MEMBER of the ^Esculapian line lived at Newcastle-upon-Tyne : no man could better gild a pill, or make a bill, or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister ; or draw a tooth out of your head ; or chatter scandal by your bed ; or spread a plaster. His fame full six miles round the country ran ; in short, in repu- tation he was solus : all the old women called him " a fine man ! ' ' His name was Bolus. Benjamin Bolus, though in trade (which often- times will genius fetter), read works of fancy, it is said, and cultivated the "belles lettres."* Bolus loved verse ; — and took so much delight in't, all his prescriptions he resolved to write in't. No opportunity he e'er let pass of writing the directions on his labels in dapper couplets, like Gay Fables, or, rather, like the lines in Hudibras. He had a patient lying at death's door, some three miles from the town, it might be four, — to whom, one evening, Bolus sent an article — in pharmacy that's called cathartical : and on the label of the stuff he wrote this verse, which one would think was clear enough, and terse, — " When taken, To be well shaken. ' ' Next morning early Bolus rose, and to the patient's house he goes, upon his pad, who a vile trick of stumbling had : but he arrived, and gave a tap, between a single and a double rap. The servant lets him in, with dismal face, long as a courtier's out of place, — portending some dis- aster. John's countenance as rueful looked and grim, as if the apothecary had physicked him, and not his master. "Well, how's the patient?" Bolus said. John shook his head. " Indeed ! — hum ! — ha ! that's very odd !— He took the draught ?' ' John gave a nod. "Well? — how? — what then? — speak out, you dunce! " "Why, then," says John, "we shook him once." — " Shook him ! how? how?" friend Bolus stammered out. — " We jolted him about." *In both of these French words the .s is unsounded. hVLV GLASER. 'They laugh that win." OTHELLO. E. H. SOTHERN. Home, mother, wife 'ere he reeled down 'mong the dead. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 125 "What ! shake the patient, man ! — why, that won't do." "No, sir," quoth John, "and so we gave him two." " Two shakes ! O, luckless verse! 'Twould make the patient worse!" "It did so, sir, and so a third we tried." — "Well, and what then?" — "Then, sir, my master — died ! Colman. BUYING GAPE-SEED. (Humorous Reading.) A YANKEE, walking the streets of Lon- don, looked through a window upon a group of men writing very rapidly; and one of them said to him in an insulting manner, "Do you wish to buy some gape- seed?" Passing on a short distance the Yankee met a man, and asked him what the business of those men was in the office he had just passed. He was told that they wrote letters dictated by others, and transcribed all sorts of documents ; in short, they were writers. The Yankee re- turned to the office, and inquired if one of the men would write a letter for him, and was answered in the affirmative. He asked the price, and was told one dollar. After consid- erable talk, the bargain was made ; one of the conditions of which was that the scribe should write just what the Yankee told him to, or he should receive no pay. The scribe told the Yankee he was ready to begin ; and the latter said : "Dearmarm:" and then asked, "Have you got that deown ?' ' ' ' Yes, ' ' was the reply ; "goon" " I went to ride t'other day — have you got that deown?" "Yes; go on; go on" "And I harnessed up the old mare into the wagon — have you got that deown?" ' ' Yes, yes, long ago ; go on. ' ' ' ' Why, how fast you write ! And I got into the wagon and sat deown, and drew up the reins, and took the whip in my right hand — have you got that deown?" " Yes, long ago ; go on" " Dear me, how fast you write ! I never saw your equal. And I said to the old mare, ' Go 'long,' and jerked the reins pretty hard — have you got that deown ?' ' "Yes; and I am impatiently waiting for more. I wish you wouldn't bother me with so many foolish questions. Go on with your letter." " Well, the old mare wouldn't stir out of her tracks, and I hollered, l Go 'long, you old jade / go 'long.' Have you got that deown?" "Yes, indeed, you pester some fellow ; goon." "And I licked her, and licked her, and licked her. ' ' ( Continuing to repeat these words as rapidly as possible. ) " Hold on there ! I have written two pages of e licked her, ' and I want the rest of the letter. ' ' " Well, and she kicked, and she kicked, and she kicked. ' ' ( Continuing to repeat these words with great rapidity. ) "Do go on with your letter; I have several pages of ' she kicked. ' ' ' {The Yankee clucks as in urging horses to move, and co?itinues the clucking noise with rapid repetition for some time. The scribe throws down his pen.) " Write it deown / write it deown !' ' "I can't! " "Well, then, I won't pay you." ( The scribe, gathering up his papers :) "What shall I do with all these sheets upon which I have written your nonsense." "You may use them in doing up your gape- seed. Good-by ! ' ' John B. Gough. THE MINUET. (Suited to girl of thirteen to fourteen years of age.) GRANDMA told me all about it, Told me so I couldn't doubt it, How she danced — my grandma danced, Long ago. How she held her pretty head, How her dainty skirt she spread, How she turned her little toes — Smiling little human rose ! — Long ago. 126 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Grandma's hair was bright and sunny ; Dimpled cheeks, too — ah, how funny ! Really quite a pretty girl, Long ago. Bless her ! why she wears a cap, Grandma does, and takes a nap Every single day ; and yet Grandma danced the minuet Long ago. Now she sits there, rocking, rocking, Always knitting grandpa's stocking — (Every girl was taught to knit Long ago,) Yet her figure is so neat, And her way so staid and sweet, I can almost see her now Bending to her partner's bow, Long ago. Grandma says our modern jumping, Hopping, rushing, whirling, bumping, Would have shocked the gentle folk Long ago. No — they moved with stately grace, Everything in proper place, Gliding slowly forward, then Slowly courtesying back again, Long ago. Modern ways are quite alarming, Grandma says ; but boys were charming- Girls and boys, I mean, of course — Long ago. Bravely modest, grandly shy — What if all of us should try Just to feel like those who met In the graceful minuet Long ago ? With the minuet in fashion, Who could fly into a passion ? All would wear the calm they wore Long ago. In time to come, if I perchance, Should tell my grandchild of our dance, I should really like to say, " We did it, dear, in some such way, Long ago." Mary M. Dodge. THE GIGGLETY GIRL. H ! the gigglety girl — Gee whiz ! From her toe to her curl What a bother she is ! For whatever you do and whatever you say, She is laughing away through the whole of the day, And sometimes her noisy, unwearying zeal Will make a man feel So all fired Excessively tired That far into space he'd be willing to hurl The gigglety, gigglety, gigglety girl. Oh ! the gigglety girl — Great Scott ! What a scurry and whirl She can bring to the spot ! And yet, when her light-hearted freedom from care Kind of gets in the air — well, you can't be a bear — And you feel that your blood wouldn't stand it to see And man who could be So downright Ill-bred as to slight Or in any way hurt, with the mood of a churl, This gigglety, gigglety, gigglety girl. Judge. A CASE OF INDIGESTION. SCENE.— Dr. Gregory's study. A table and two chairs. Enter Patient {an unhappy Scotch merchant) from left. Dr. Gregory discovered reading ( on right ) . PATIENT. Good morning, Dr. Gregory ! I'm just come into Edinburgh about some law business, and I thought when I was here, at any rate, I might just as weel take your advice, sir, about my trouble. Doctor. Pray, sir, sit down. {Patient sits on left.) And now, my good sir, what may your trouble be ? Pa. Indeed, doctor, I'm not very sure, but I'm thinking it's a kind of weakness that makes me dizzy at times, and a kind of pinkling about my stomach — I'm just na right. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 127 Dr. You are from the west country, I should suppose, sir? Pa. Yes, sir ; from Glasgow. Dr. Ay, pray, sir, are you a glutton ? Pa. Heaven forbid, sir ! I am one of the plainest men living in the west country. Dr. Then, perhaps, you are a drunkard ? Pa. No, Dr. Gregory, thank Heaven, no one can accuse me of that ! I'm of the dissenting persuasion, doctor, and an elder, so you may suppose I'm na drunkard. Dr. I'll suppose no such thing till you tell me your mode of living. I'm so much puzzled with your symptoms, sir, that I should wish to hear in detail what you do eat and drink, When do you breakfast, and what do you take at it ? Pa. I breakfast at nine o'clock; take a cup of coffee, and one or two cups of tea, a couple of eggs, and a bit of ham or kippered salmon, or, maybe, both, if they're good, and two or three rolls and butter. Dr. Do you eat no honey, or jelly, or jam, at breakfast ? Pa. O, yes, sir ! but I don't count that as anything. Dr. Come, this is a very moderate breakfast. What kind of a dinner do you make ? Pa. O, sir, I eat a very plain dinner, indeed. Some soup, and some fish, and a little plain roast or boiled ; for I dinna care for made dishes ; I think, some way, they never satisfy the appetite. Dr. You take a little pudding, then, and afterwards some cheese ? Pa. O, yes ! though I don't care much about them. Dr. You take a glass of ale or porter with your cheese ? Pa. Yes, one or the other ; but seldom both. Dr. You west-country people generally take a glass of Highland whiskey after dinner. Pa. Yes, we do ; it's good for digestion. Dr. Do you take any wine during dinner? Pa. Yes, a glass or two of sherry ; but I'm indifferent as to wine during dinner. I drink a good deal of beer. Dr. What quantity of port do you drink ? Pa. O, very little ; not above half a dozen glasses or so. Dr. In the west country, it is impossible, I hear, to dine without punch ? Pa. Yes, sir; indeed, 'tis punch we drink chiefly ; but, for myself, unless I happen to have a friend with me, I never take more than a couple of tumblers or so, and that's moderate. Dr. O, exceedingly moderate, indeed ! You then, after this slight repast, take some tea and bread and butter? Pa. Yes, before I go to the counting-house to read the evening letters. Dr. And on your return you take supper, I suppose ? Pa. No, sir, I canna be said to take supper ; just something before going to bed ; — a rizzered haddock, or a bit of toasted cheese, or a half- hundred oysters, or the like o' that, and, may- be, two-thirds of a bottle of ale ; but I take no regular supper. Dr. But you take a little more punch after that? Pa. No, sir, punch does not agree with me at bedtime. I take a tumbler of warm whiskey- toddy at night ; it is lighter to sleep on. Dr. So it must be, no doubt. This, you say, is your everyday life ; but, upon great occasions, you perhaps exceed a little ? Pa. No, sir, except when a friend or two dine with me, or I dine out, which, as I am a sober family man, does not often happen. Dr. Not above twice a week ? Pa. No ; not oftener. Dr. Of course you sleep well and have a good appetite ? Pa. Yes, sir, thank Heaven, I have ; indeed, any ill health that I have is about meal-time. Dr. {Rising with a severe air — the Patient also rises. ) Now, sir, you are a very pretty fel- low, indeed ! You come here and tell me you are a moderate man ; but, upon examination, I find, by your own showing, that you are a most voracious glutton. You said you were a sober man ; yet, by your own showing, you are a beer- swiller, a dram-drinker, a wine-bibber, and a 128 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. guzzler of punch. You tell me you eat indiges- tible suppers, and swill toddy to force sleep. I see that you chew tobacco. Now, sir, what human stomach can stand this ? Go home, sir, and leave your present course of riotous living, and there are hopes that your stomach may re- cover its tone, and you be in good health, like your neighbors. Pa. I'm sure, doctor, I'm very much obliged to you. {Taking out a bundle of bank-notes.*) I shall endeavor to — Dr. Sir, you are not obliged to me : — put up your money, sir. Do you think I'll take a fee for telling you what you know as well as myself? Though you're no physician, sir, you are not al- together a fool. Go home, sir, and reform, or, take my word for it, your life is not worth half a year's purchase. Pa. Thank you, doctor, thank you. Good- day, doctor. {Exit on right, followed by Doctor. ) MR. CROSS AND SERVANT JOHN. Mr. Cross. Why do you keep me knocking all day at the door ? John. I was at work, sir, in the garden. " > soon as I heard your knock, I ran to open the door with such haste that I fell down and hurt myself. Mr. C. Why didn't you leave the door open? John. Why, sir, you. scolded me yesterday because I did so; When the door is open, you scold ; when it is shut, you scold. I should like to know what to do ? Mr. C. What to do ? What to do, did you say? John. I said it. Shall I leave the door open ? Mr. C. No. I tell you, no ! John. Shall I keep the door shut ? Mr. C. Shall you keep the door shut ? No, I say. John. But, sir, a door must be either open or — Mr. C. Don't presume to argue with me, fellow ! John. But doesn't it hold to reason that a door — Mr. C. Silence, I say. Hold your tongue ! John. And I say that a door must be either open or shut. Now, how will you have it ? Mr. C. I have told you a thousand times, you provoking fellow — I have told you that I wished it — But what do you mean by cross-questioning me, sir ? Have you trimmed the grape-vine, as I ordered you ? John. I did that three days'ago, sir. Mr. C. Have you washed the carriage ? Eh ? John. I washed it before breakfast, sir, as usual. Mr. C. You haven't watered the horses to- day ! John. Go and see, sir, if you can make them drink any more. They have had their fill. Mr. C. Have you given them their oats ? John, Ask William ; he saw me do it. Mr. C. But you have forgotten to take the brown mare to be shod. Ah ! I have you now ! Jolm. I have the blacksmith's bill, and here it is. Mr. C. My letters ! — Did you take them to the post-office ? Ha ! You forgot that, did you ? John. I forgot nothing, sir. The letters were in the mail ten minutes after you handed them to me. Mr. C. How often have I told you not to scrape on that abominable violin of yours ? And yet this very morning — John. This morning? You forget, sir. You broke the violin all to pieces for me last Satur- day night. Mr. C. I'm glad of it ! Come, now; that wood which I told you to saw and put into the shed — why is it not done ? Answer me that ! John. The wood is all sawed, split, and housed, sir ; besides doing that, I have watered all the trees in the garden, dug over three of the beds, and was digging another when you knocked. Mr. C. Oh, I must get rid of this fellow ! He will plague my life out of me. Out of my sight, sir ! (John rushes out.) "MUSIC."— Geo. M. Vickers. (A recitation with musical accompaniment. Prepared expressly for this volume.) The music to be played softly while the first two stanzas are being recited. At the end of second stanza the music continues for a few seconds, the reciter standing in rapt attention When the instrument ceases the speaker recites the last stanza.) -1-m- ^=i m r: *EE* ^P £: :£: ^ P ^_^_>c_=l^=: ls^- I* I *E^E: *?=*=$=*&m^*=F3 rm^r- ym* , Expression. ^ ! w N Ad lib. &£fe£ When rustling leaves in whispers tell That summer bids her sad farewell ; When mountain, lake, and blooming plain Are wrapped in solitude again, Ah, then to pleasure's pilgrims fair Is lost sweet nature's music rare ; When chill have grown the zephyrs mild That oft their idle hours beguiled, No more to them the moonlit sea Gives forth its grand old melody, 'Tis then that home seems doubly sweet, As rain-drops on the windows beat, Or snow-clad trees all leafless sway As fades the bleak and wintry day ; But sweeter far the charms that dwell Where music wields her mystic spell ; How oft the rich piano's tone Makes guests of peerless masters gone ! And hearts unite in loved refrain When blended with the organ's strain— O music, gift beyond compare, How oft thy beauties blessings bear ! How strong thy pow'r that binds to home And bids the wayward cease to roam — How sweet when wearied out with care Some half forgot, familiar air ! The hearth-stone seems to brighter glow When cheerful numbers gayly flow — Good will, content, and peace belong Where music reigns with merry song. 129 130 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. HOW TO BREAK BAD NEWS. Mr. H. Ha, steward ! how are you, my old boy ? How do things go on at home ? Steward. Bad enough, your honor; the mag- pie's dead. Mr. H. Poor Mag ! so he's gone. How came he to die ? Steward. Over-ate himself, sir. Mr. H. Did he, indeed ? a greedy villain ! Why, what did he get he liked so well ? Steward. Horse-flesh, sir; he died of eating horse-flesh. Mr. H. How came he to get so much horse- flesh? Steward. All your father's horses, sir. Mr. H. What ! are they dead, too ? Steward. Ay, sir ; they died of over-work. Mr. H. And why were they over- worked, pray? Steward. To carry water, sir. Mr. H. To carry water ! What did they carry water for ? Steward. Sure, sir, to put out the fire. Mr. H. Fire ! What fire? Steward. Oh, sir, your father's house is burned to the ground. Mr. H. My father's house ! How come it set on fire ? Steward. I think, sir, it must have been the torches. Mr. H. Torches ! What torches ? Steward. At your mother's funeral. Mr. H. Alas ! my mother dead ? Steward. Ah, poor lady, she never looked up after it ! Mr. H. After what ? Steward. The loss of your father. Mr. H. My father gone, too ? Steward. Yes, poor man, he took to his bed soon as he heard of it. Mr. H. Heard of what? Steward. The bad news, sir, an' please your honor. Mr. H. What ! more miseries ? more bad news? No ! you can add nothing more ! Steward. Yes, sir ; your bank has failed, and your credit is lost, and you are not worth a dollar in the world. I made bold, sir, to come to wait on you about it, for I thought you would like to hear the news. DAME PARTINGTON AND THE ATLANTIC OCEAN. GENTLEMEN : I would not be disrespectful, but the attempt of the House of Lords to stop the progress of reform reminds me very forcibly of the great storm of Sidmouth and of the conduct of the excellent Mrs. Par- tington on that occasion. In the winter of 1824 there set in a great flood upon that town ; the tide rose to an incredible height, the waves rushed in upon the houses, and everything was threatened with destruction. In the midst of this sublime and terrible storm, Dame Partington, who lived upon the beach, was seen at the door of her house with mop and pattens, trundling her mop, squeezing out the sea-water and vigorously pushing away the Atlantic Ocean ! The Atlantic was roused, Mrs. Partington's spirit was up likewise, but I need not tell you that the contest was unequal. The Atlantic Ocean beat Mrs. Partington. She was excellent at a slop or a puddle, but she should not have meddled with a tempest. Gentlemen, be at your ease ; be quiet and steady. You will beat Mrs. Partington. Sydney Smith. WASHINGTON'S SWORD AND FRANKLIN'S STAFF. By J. Q. Adams, in the United States House of Representatives, on reception of these memorials by Congress, to be deposited in the State archives. THE sword of Washington ! The staff of Franklin ! O, Sir, what associations are linked in adamant with these names ! Washington, whose sword was never drawn but in the cause of his country, and never sheathed when wielded in his country's cause ! Franklin, the philosopher of the thunderbolt, the printing- press, and the plough-share ! — What names are these in the scanty catalogue of the benefactors of human kind? Washington and Franklin I YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 131 What other two men, whose lives belong to the eighteenth century of Christendom have left a deeper impression of themselves upon the age in which they lived, and upon all after time ? Washington, the warrior and the legislator ! In war, contending by the wager of battle, for the independence of his country, and for the freedom of the human race, — ever manifesting, amidst its horrors, by precept and by example, his reverence for the laws of peace, and for the tenderest sympathies of humanity ; in peace, soothing the ferocious spirit of discord, among his own countrymen, into harmony and union, and giving to that very sword, now presented to his country, a charm more potent than that attributed, in ancient times, to the lyre of Orpheus. Franklin ! — The mechanic of his own for- tune ; teaching, in early youth, under the shackles of indigence, the way to wealth, and, in the shade of obscurity, the path to greatness ; in the maturity of manhood, disarming the thunder of its terrors, the lightning of its fatal blast ; and wrestling from the tyrant's hand the still more afflicted sceptre of oppression : while descending into the vale of years, traversing the Atlantic Ocean, braving, in the dead of winter, the battle and the breeze, bearing in his hand the charter of Independence, which he had con- tributed to form, and tendering, from the self- created Nation to the mighti st monarchs of Europe, the olive-branch of peace, the mercurial wand of commerce, and the amulet of protec- tion and safety to the man of peace, on the pathless ocean, from the inexorable cruelty and merciless rapacity of war. And, finally, in the last stage of life, with fourscore winters upon his head, under the tor- ture of an incurable disease, returning to his native land, closing his days as the chief magis- trate of his adopted commonwealth, after con- tributing by his counsels, under the Presidency of Washington, and recording his name, under the sanction of devout prayer, invoked by him to God, to that Constitution under the authority of which we are here assembled, as the Repre- sentatives of the North American People, to re- ceive, in their name and for them these venerable relics of the wise, the valiant, and the good founders of our great confederated Republic, — these sacred symbols of our golden age. May they be deposited among the archives of our Gov- ernment ! And may every American, who shall hereafter behold them, ejaculate a mingled offer- ing of praise to that Supreme Ruler of the Uni- verse, by whose tender mercies our Union has been hitherto preserved, through all the vicissi- tudes and revolutions of this turbulent world ; and of prayer for the continuance of these bless- ings, by the dispensations of Providence, to our beloved country, from age to age, till time shall be no more ! DEFENCE OF JEFFERSON, 1813. NEXT to the notice which the opposition has found itself called upon to bestow upon the French emperor, a distin- guished citizen of Virginia, formerly President of the United States, has never for a moment failed to receive their kindest and most respect- ful attention. An honorable gentleman from Massachusetts, of whom I am sorry to say, it becomes necessary for me, in the course of my remarks, to take some notice, has alluded to him in a remarkable manner. Neither his retirement from public office, his eminent services, nor his advanced age, can exempt this patriot from the coarse assaults of party malevolence. No, sir ! In 1 80 1, he snatched from the rude hand of usurpation the violated Constitution of his country, — and that is his crime. He preserved that instrument, in form, and substance, and spirit, a precious inheritance for generations to come, and for this he can never be forgiven. How vain and impotent is party rage, directed against such a man ! He is not more elevated by his lofty residence, upon the summit of his own favorite mountain, than he is lifted, by the , serenity of his mind and the consciousness of a well-spent life, above the malignant passions and bitter feelings of the day. No ! his own be- loved Monticello is not less moved by the 132 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. storms that beat against its sides, than is this illustrious man, by the howlings of the whole British pack, let loose from the Essex kennel. When the gentleman to whom I have been com- pelled to allude shall have mingled his dust with that of his abused ancestors, — when he shall have been consigned to oblivion, or, if he lives at all, shall live only in the treasonable annals of a certain junto,-— the name of Jefferson will be hailed with gratitude, his memory honored and cherished as the second founder of the liberties < f the People, and the period of his administra- tion will be looked back to as one of the hap- piest and brightest epochs in American history ! Henry Clay. A PLEA FOR THE SAILOR. LIVING here comfortably at home, do we ever think of the perils of the poor sailor ? Do we ever recall how much we owe him ? Live comfortably we cannot — live at all, per- haps, we canno*: — without seamen will expose themselves for us, risk themselves for us, and, alas ! often, very often, drown — drown in our service — drown and leave widows and orphans destitute. To beg with me, to plead with me for the destitute ones, there comes from many a place where seamen have died a call, a prayer, a be- seeching voice ; a cry from the coast of Guinea, where there is fever evermore : a cry from Arctic seas, where icebergs are death ; a cry from coral reefs, that ships are wrecked on horribly ; a cry from mid-ocean, where many a sailor drops into a sudden grave ! They ask your help, your charity, for the widows and orphans of those who have gone down to the sea — have gone down to the sea in ships. PRIDE REBUKED. (Suitable for school, or Sunday-school entertain- ment. For girls of twelve to fourteen years. ) Laura. Why, Rachel, how can you wear that old winter dress to church this fine spring morn- ing ? Look at me. Rachel. What a pretty overskirt ! And what a becoming hat and plume ! L. I gave my mother no peace till she got them for me. Why don't you make your father buy you a new spring dress, Rachel ? R. He would have given me such a dress if I had not told him I should like something else better. L. Indeed ! Pray what else would you like better than a beautiful spring dress? R. I knew my father could not afford to let me take music lessons this spring if he gave me a silk dress, so I told him I would rather barn music than have a new dress. L. What a silly girl, not to get the dress when you could ! R. Hark ! What is that harsh noise ? L. It is the cry of that foolish peacock in the garden yonder. He wants us to admire him. R. How he struts about, and arches his neck, and shows his fine feathers, blue, orange, and gold, in the sunlight! L. Who is that man there standing by the garden gate? R. It is the clergyman who is to preach for us to-day. L. He looks at me : and now he looks at the peacock ; and now ne looks at me again — and now at the peacock again ; and now — Oh, ) know what he is thinking ! R. Let us hurry on to church. L. Ah ! Rachel, he tells me, plainly kF lOui* can tell, that I am vain as a peacoch. 7?. Why, your face is covered wLh blushes, Laura ! Do you think you merit his reouke? L. I do, I do. It is I vho have been the silly girl. Let us hurry en to church. I will not play the peacock again : f I can help it. THE HUNTER AND THE CHILD. (Big boy with a gun ^.nd hunter's trappings, ami little j^irl dressed in oouiitry style with a tin buckc> or some plaything \r, he* hand. ) Sportsman, kittle girl, did you see a rabbit cross this roa.^ just now? Girl. W?s it a large rabbit? 6*. Ye„, it was quite a large one. G. Was it gray, with a little mark of white on OLdO ear ? YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT 133 S. Yes ; I believe it was. Which way did it go? G. Did it have pink eyes and a thick fur ? S. Yes ; be quick, or the creature will regain its hole. G. Did he have big ears, and long legs behind ? S. To be sure he had ! All rabbits have big ears, and long legs behind. G. Did he make long jumps in running ? S. Yes, yes ; he made long jumps. G. Are you sure the rabbit had that white •^pot on one of his ears ? S. I told you I believed so. Which way did he go? G> Let me see. He had big ears — pink eyes — was of a gray color — S. Come, miss, I can wait no longer. G. You are sure he made long jumps in running? S. Of course he did! All rabbits do that. G. Well, sir, I have not seen any such crea- ture cross this road ; and so I will bid you good- morning. I think the rabbit must be out of your reach by this time, and I must be out of your reach, too. S. Stop, little girl, I must punish you for trifling with me. G. You are welcome to whip me if you can catch me. You only wanted to kill the poor rabbit for sport. .S. And so you thought you would delay me till the rabbit could run into his hole? G. That was just it. / saw no rabbit, but do not doubt you saw one. And so, Mr. Sports- man, when you come to shoot in our woods again, you had better ask leave of my father. DE PINT WID OLD PETE. (Humorous reading.) UPON the hurrican deck of one of our gun- boats, an elderly darkey, with a very philosophical and retrospective cast of countenance, squatted on his bundle, toasting his shins against the chimney and apparently plunged into a state of profund meditation. Finding, upon inquiry, that he belonged to the Ninth Illinois, one of the most gallantly behaved and heavy losing regiments at the Fort Donald- son battle, I began to interrogate him upon the subject. " Were you in the fight ?' ' " Had a little taste of it, sa." " Stood your ground, did you?" "No, sa, I runs." " Run at the first fire, did you?" "Yes, sa, and would hab run soona, had i know'd it war comin'," "Why, that wasn't very creditable to your courage." " Massa, dat isn't my line, sa ; cookin's my profeshun." " Well, but have you no regard for your repu- tation ?' ' "Yah, yah ! reputation's nuffin to me by de side ob life." ' ' Do you consider your life worth more than other people's ?" "It is worth more to me, sa." " Then you must value it very highly?" "Yes, sa, I does; more dan all dis world, more dan a million ob dollars, sa ; for what would dat be worth to a man wid the bref out of him ? Self-preservation am de first law wid me. ' ' " But why should you act upon a different rule from other men ?" "Because different men set different values upon their lives ; mine is not in de market." ' ' But if you lost it, you would have the satis- faction of knowing that you died for your coun- try." " What satisfaction would dat be to me when de power ob feelin' was gone ?' ' "Then patriotism and honor are nothing to you ?' ' " Nufhn whatever, sa; I regard them as among the vanities. ' ' " If our soldiers were like you, traitors might have broken up the government without resist- ance." "Yes, sa; dar would hab been no help for 134 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT "Do you think any of your company would have missed you if you had been killed?" " Maybe not, sa ; a dead white man ain t much to dese sogers, let alone a dead nigga; but I'd miss myself, and dat was de pint wid me." THE FUNNY STORY. (Laughing recitation. The speaker should appear in a smiling good humor throughout the recitation, bursting into outright laughter at the points indi- cated.) IT was such a funny story ! how I wish you could have heard it ; For it set us all a laughing from the little to the big. I'd really like to tell it, but I don't know how to word it, Though it travels to the music of a very lively jig. If Sally just began it, then Amelia Jane would giggle, And Mehitable and Susan put on their broadest grin. And the infant Zachariah on his mother's lap would wriggle And add a lusty chorus to the very merry din. It was such a funny story with its cherry snap and crackle, And Sally always told it with so much dramatic art That the chickens in the door-yard would begin to cackle, cackle, As if in such a frolic they were willing to take part. (Laughing.) It was all about a — ha ! ha ! — and a ho ! ho ! ho ! well really ; It is he ! he ! he ! I never could begin to tell you half of the nonsense in it, for I just remember clearly, it began with ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! and it ended with a laugh. But Sally, she could tell it, looking at you so demurely, With a woe-begone expression that no actress would despise. And if you'd never heard it, why you would imagine surely, That you'd need your pocket handkerchief to wipe your weeping eyes ; When age my hair has silvered and my step has grown unsteady And the nearest to my visions are the scenes of long ago. I shall see the pretty picture and the tears may come as ready As the laugh did when I used to — ha ! ha ! ha ! and ho ! ho ! ho ! ARTEMUS WARD VISITS THE SHAKERS. (Humorous reading. ) " \/C R ' SHAKER >" sed l > " y° u see before j^Yj^ you a Babe in the Woods, so to speak, and he axes a shelter of you. ' ' "Yay," said the Shaker, and he led the way into the house, another bein sent to put my horse and wagon under kiver. A solum female, lookin somewhat like a last year's bean-pole stuck into a long meal-bag, cum in and axed me was I athirst and did I hunger? To which I asserted, ''A few." She went off, and I endeavored to open a conversa- tion with the old man. " Elder, I spect?" sed I. "Yayj'* he said. " Health's good, I reckon?" "Yay." " What's the wages of a Elder, when he understands his bizness — or do you devote yom sarvices gratooitous ?' ' "Yay." " Storm nigh^ sir?" "Yay." "If the storm continues there'll be a mess underfoot, hay?" "Yay." " If I may be so bold, kind sir, what's the price of that pecooler kind of wesket you wear, includin trimmins?" "Yay." I pawsed a mi nit, and, think in I'd be faseshus YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 135 with him and see how that would go, I slapt him on the shoulder, burst into a hearty larf, and told him that as a yayer he had no living ekel. He jumped up as if bilin water had been squirted into his ears, groaned, rolled his eyes up tords the sealin, and sed : ' ' You' re a man of sin ! " He then walked out of the room. Directly thar cum in two Shakeresses, as putty and slick lookin galls as I ever met. It is troo they was drest in meal-bags, like the old one I'd met previsly, and their shiny, silky hair was hid from sight by long, white caps, such as I spose female gosts wear ; but their eyes sparkled like diamonds, their cheeks was like roses, and they was charmin enuff to make a man throw stuns at his grandmother, if they axed him to. They commenst clearing away the dishes, casting shy glances at me all the time. I got excited. I fargot Betsey Jane in my rapter, and sez I : ' ' My pretty dears, how air you ?' ' ' ' We are well, ' ' they solumly sed. "Where is the old man?" said I, in a soft voice. " Of whom dost thou speak, Brother Uriah?" ' ' I mean that gay and festive cuss who calls me a man of sin. Shouldn't wonder if his name wasn't Uriah." ' ' He has retired. ' ' "Wall, my pretty dears," sez I, " let's have some fun. Let's play puss in the corner. What say ?' ' "Air you a Shaker, sir?" they asked. "Wall, my pretty dears, I haven't arrayed my proud form in a long weskit yet, but if they wus all like you perhaps I'd jine 'em. As it is, I am willing to be Shaker protemporary. " They was full of fun. I seed that at fust, only they was a little skeery. I tawt 'em puss in the corner, and sich like plase, and we had a nice time, keepin quiet, of course, so that the old man shouldn't hear. When we broke up, sez I : " My pretty dears, ear I go, you have no ob- jections, have you, to a innersent kiss at partin?" " Yay," they said, and I — yayed. Charles F. Brown. BROTHER JIM. (By permission of the Author.) IT was Christmas time, and over the world The winter her snowy flags unfurled, And they fluttered and waved through the starry night, And dazzled the eyes with their brilliant white. There was Christmas cheer and the land was gay, And I was glad in a quiet way, For friends were true and love was warm ; Why should I care for the cold or storm ? So I lifted my voice and caroled long To join in a school-boy's cheerful song Of * " Merry, merry Christmas, everywhere, Cheerily it ringeth through the air." " Christmas bells," how it rang to the skies, Then sank in the distance, and raising my eyes, I checked my joy at the miserable sight Of a beggar who pleaded for alms in the night. A beggar — why is it they ever will stand, To shatter our joy with a trembling hand ? Why don't they work ? I smothered a sigh, And a vision of years went hurrying by. I had a brother once — brother Jim ; Many the years since I parted with him ; A long-ago Christmas — we quarreled — a blow, And Jim went his way through the dark and the snow. (How wan is this man with his dark, furrowed brow ; Was that head ever proud, so meekly bowed now?) (My brother was proud for he never would write. ) Strange this beggar should bring me such thoughts Christmas night. And his form, how it stoops as if weighted with care. How oddly his hat shadows over his hair, * These two lines to be sung (tune of "Merry, Merry Christ- mas ") by the speaker or some one from behind the scene. 136 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. And his voice, O his voice — lift your face, that I see, For I hear, and that voice brings — a memory to me. A memory — how soft the bells chime on the air, Christmas cheer, Christmas cheer, Christmas cheer, everywhere, Everywhere ? Lift your head, that I see or I die. And your name ? Breath it quick, though your breath be a sigh. It is Jim? Lift your head ! O, I see and I know, Your name is his name that I loved long ago, Your voice is his voice — Christmas bells, sweet the sound, — I fall on my knees with my face to the ground. Ring the new — Christmas bells — the old is at rest ; The beggar — the rags — to my bosom I pressed, His tears with my tears — chant your heavenly hymn, *' Of peace unto men" — I have peace now — and Jim. May Rapley-McNabb. JOE. (Suited to soldiers' reunion.) X ~TE don't take vagrants in, sir, VV And I am alone to-day, Leastwise, I could call the good man — He's not so far away. You are welcome to a breakfast — I'll bring you some bread and tea; You might sit on the old stone yonder, Under the chestnut stree. You're traveling, stranger ? Mebbe You've got some notions to sell? We hev a sight of peddlers, But we allers treat them well. For they, poor souls, are trying Like the rest of us to live : And it's not like tramping the country And calling on folks to give. Not that I meant a word, sir — No offence in the world to you : I think, now I look at it closer, Your coat is an army blue. Don' t say ? Under Sherman, were you ? That was — how many years ago? I had a boy at Shiloh, Kearney — a sergeant — Joe ! Joe Kearney, you might a' met him ? But in course you were miles apart, He was a tall, straight boy, sir, The pride of his mother's heart. We were off to Kittery, then, sir, Small farmers in dear old Maine ; It's a long stretch from there to Kansas, But I couldn't go back again. He was all we had, was Joseph ; He and my old man and me Had sort o' growed together, And were happy as we could be. I wasn't a lookin' for trouble When the terrible war begun, And I wrestled for grace to be able To give up our only son. AVell, well, 'taint no use o' talking. My old man said, said he : The Lord loves a willing giver ;" And that's what I tried to be. Well, the heart and the flesh are rebels, And hev to be fought with grace ; But I'd give my life — yes, willin' — To look on my dead boy's face. Take care, you are spillin' your tea, sir, Poor soul ! don't cry : I'm sure You've had a good mother sometime — Your wounds, were they hard to cure ? Andersonville ! God help you ! Hunted by dogs, did you say ? Hospital ! crazy, seven years, sir? I wonder you're living to-day. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 137 I'm thankful my Joe was shot, sir. " How do you know that he died ?" 'Twas certified, sir, by the surgeon. Here's the letter, and — " mebbe he lied f" Well, I never ! you shake like the ager. My joe ! there's his name and the date ; "Joe Kearney, 7th Maine, sir, a sergeant — Lies here in a critical state — Just died — will be buried to-morrow — Can't wait for his parents to come." Well, I thought God had left us that hour, As for John, my poor man, he was dumb. Didn't speak for a month to the neighbors, Scarce spoke in a week, sir, to me ; Never been the same man since that Monday They brought us this letter you see. And you are from Maine ! from old Kittery ? What time in the year did you go ? I just disremember the fellows That marched out of town with our Joe. Lord love ye ! come into the house, sir ; It's gettin' too warm out o' door. If I'd known you'd been gone for a sojer I'd taken you in here afore. Now make yourself easy. We're humbler, We Kansas folks don't go for show, — ■ Set here — it's Joe's chair — take your hat off; " Call father >" My God ! you are Joe ! Alice Robbins. CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALAKLAVA. (The following poem is printed in prose form to assist the reciter in better interpreting its meaning. It is very effective when well rendered. ) HALF a league, half a league, half a league onward, all in the valley of Death, rode the six hundred. "Charge!" was the captain's cry : theirs not to reason why; theirs not to make reply ; theirs but to do and die ! Into the valley of Death rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon in front of them, volleyed and thundered. Stormed at with shot and shell, boldly they rode and well ; into the jaws of Death, into the mouth of Hell, rode the six hun- dred. Flashed all their sabers bare, flashed all at once in air, sabering the gunners there, charging an army, while all the world wondered. Plunged in the battery smoke, fiercely the line they broke ; strong was the saber-stroke, making an army reel, shaken and sundered. Then they rode back ; but not — not the six hundred ! Cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon behind them, volleyed and thun- dered ; stormed at with shot and shell, they that had struck so well rode through the jaws of Death, half a league back again, up from the mouth of Hell, all that was left of them — left of six hundred ! When can their glory fade ? O, the wild charge they made ! — all the world won- dered. Honor the charge they made — honor the Light Brigade ! Noble six hundred ! Alfred Tennyson. N THE BATTLE OF LIFE. OW nerve thy spirit to the proof, And blench not at thy chosen lot : The timid good may stand aloof. The sage may frown, yet faint thou not. Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, The hissing, stinging bolt of scorn ; For with thy side shall dwell at last The victory of endurance born. Yea, though thou die upon the dust, When those who helped thee flee in fear, Die full of hope and manly trust, Like those who fell in battle here. Another hand thy sword shall wield, Another hand the standard wave. Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again : The eternal years of God are hers ; But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, And dies among his worshipers. Bbyant. 138 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. H A COUNTRY THANKSGIVING. ARVEST is home. The bins are full, The barns are running o'er ; Both grains and fruits we've garnered in Till we've no space for more. We've worked and toiled through heat and cold, To plant, to sow, to reap ; And now for all this bounteous store Let us Thanksgiving keep. The nuts have ripened on the trees, The golden pumpkins round Have yielded to our industry Their wealth from out the ground. The cattle lowing in the fields, The horses in their stalls, The sheep and fowls all gave increase, Until our very walls Are bending out with God's good gifts. And now the day is here When we should show the Giver that We hold those mercies dear. We take our lives, our joys, our wealth, Unthanking every day ; If we deserve or we do not, The sun it shines alway. So in this life of daily toil, That leaves short time to pray, With brimming hearts let's humbly keep One true Thanksgiving Day. And if there be some sorrowing ones, Less favored than we are, A generous gift to them, I think, Is just as good as prayer. THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK. IF thou thinkest twice before thou speakest once, thou wilt speak twice the better for it. Better say nothing than not to the purpose. And, to speak pertinently, consider both what is fit and when it is fit to speak. In all debates let truth be thy aim, not victory, or an unjust in- terest ; and endeavor to gain rather than to expose thy antagonist. Wm. Penn. REPLY TO JOHN RANDOLPH. ( From speech in the House of Representatives, 1834.) SIR, I am growing old. I have had some little measure of experience in public life, and the result of that experience has brought me to this conclusion, that when busi- ness, of whatever nature, is to be transacted in a deliberative assembly, or in private life, cour- tesy, forbearance, and moderation, are best cal- culated to bring it to a successful conclusion. Sir, my age admonishes me to abstain from in- volving myself in personal difficulties ; would to God that I could say, I am also restrained by higher motives. I certainly never sought any collision with the gentleman from Virginia. My situation at this time is peculiar, if it be nothing else, and might, I should think, dissaude, at least, a generous heart from any wish to draw me into circumstances of personal altercation. I have experienced this magnanimity from some quarters of the House. But I regret, that from others it appears to have no such consideration. The gentleman from Virginia was pleased to say, that in one point, at least, he coincided with me — in an humble estimate of my gram- matical and philological acquirements. I know my deficiencies. I was born to no proud patri- monial estate ; from my father I inherited only infancy, ignorance, and indigence. I feel my defects j but, so far as my situation in early life is concerned, I may, without presumption, say they are more my misfortune than my fault. But, however, I regret my want of ability to furnish to the gentleman a better specimen of powers of verbal criticism, I will venture to say, it is not greater than the disappointment of this, committee as to the strength of his argument. It is not a few abstractions engrossed on parch- ment, that make free Governments. No, sir; the law of liberty must be inscribed on the heart of the citizen : the word, if I may use the expression without irreverence, must become flesh. You must have a whole People trained. disciplined, bred, — yea, and born, — as ou^ fathers were, to institutions like ours. Before the Colonies existed, the Petition oi YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 139 Rights, that Magna Charta of a more enlight- ened age, had been presented, in 1628, by Lord Coke and his immortal compeers. Our founders brought it with them, and we have not gone one step beyond them. They brought these maxims of civil liberty, not in their libraries, but in their souls ; not as philosophical prattle, not as barren generalities, but as rules of conduct ; as a symbol of public duty and private right, to be adhered to with religious fidelity ; and the very first pilgrim that set his foot upon the rock of Plymouth stepped forth a living constitution, armed at all points to defend and to perpetuate the liberty to which he had devoted his whole being. Henry Clay. GIVE ME THE HAND. GIVE me the hand that is kind, warm, and ready ; Give me the clasp that is calm, true, and steady ; 'Give me the hand that will never deceive me ; Give me its grasp that I aye may believe thee. Soft is the palm of the delicate woman ; Hard is the hand of the rough, sturdy yeoman ; Soft palm or hard hand, it matters not — never ! Give me the grasp that is friendly forever. Give me the hand that is true as a brother ; Give me the hand that has harmed not another ; Give me the hand that has never forsworn it ! Give me the grasp that I aye may adore it ! Lovely the palm of the fair blue-veined maiden ; Horney the hand of the workman o'erladen ; Lovely or ugly, it matters not— never ! Give me the grasp that is friendly forever. Give me the grasp that is honest and hearty Free as the breeze and unshackled by party : Let friendship give me the grasp that becomes her, Close as the twine of the vines of the summer, — Give me the hand that is true as a brother ; Give me the hand that has wronged not an- other ; Soft palm or hard hand, it matters not — never ! Give me the grasp that is friendly forever. Goodman Earnaby. SONG OF THE DECANTER. (Temperance selection.) There was an old decanter, and its mouth was gaping wide ; the rosy wine had ebbed away and left its crys- tal side ; and the wind went humming, humming ; up and down the sides it flew, and through the reed-like, hollow neck the wildest notes it blew. I placed it in the window, where the blast was blowing free, and fancied that its pale mouth sang the queerest strains to me. " They tell me — puny con- querors ! — the Plague has slain his ten, and War his hundred thousands of the very best of men; but I" — 'twas thus the bottle spoke — "but I have con- quered more than all your famous con- querers, so feared and famed of yore. Then come, ye youths and maidens, come drink from out my cup, the bev- erage that dulls the brain and burns the spirit up ; that puts to shame the conquerors that slay their scores below ; for this has del- uged millions with the lava tide of woe. Though, in the path of battle, darkest waves of blood may roll ; yet while I killed the body, I have damned the very soul. The cholera, the sword, such ruin never wrought, as I, in mirth or malice, on the innocent have brought. And still I breathe upon them, and they shrink before my breath ; and year by year my thousands tread THE FEARFUL ROAD TO DEATH. .40 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. THE NEW ROSETTE.— Geo. M. Vickers. (Recitation with musical accompaniment. Prepared expressly for this volume. ) Recited at the Reunion of Union and Confederate Veterans, Washington, D. C. On September 16, 1896, the first Reunion of Union and Confederate soldiers was held at Washington, D. C. Thirty-one years had past since the echo 01 the last cannon had died away at Appomattox, and the weary heroes of two magnificent armies closed the bloodiest fratricidal strife in the annals of time. On that eventful day thev parted ; one turned to the iSortli, the other to the South, to beat their swords into plow-shares and take up again the pursuits of peace. After thirty-one years these veterans meet again— not the young and buoyant soldiers with martial tread, but grizzled old heroes. Deeds of bravery are acknowledged and praised on both sides. Time, that mighty healer, had closed the bloody chasm ; animosities were consumed in the fire of a common patriotism ; hands were clasped in friendship which had formerlv raised against each other the deadly sword ; hearts were melted and welded together as these old enemies faced each other on the streets of our National Capital ; together they rejoiced over the preservation of the Union, cemented with their blood. Many were the tales they told and many the songs they sung, and roval was the welcome given them by their Nation's capital city. They were brothers again. Eove and good cheer ruled the hour, and their joys were unconcealed. A New Rosette, composed of blue and gray, was worn. George ME. Vickers, a "Yankee " soldier, composed the following poem, which was recited. By special request of the compiler of this book, Mr. Vickers has arranged appropriate musical airs as an accom- paniment, and it is here published in this form for the first time, as a fitting memorial to the " Old Soldiers," both North and South, whose example, on this occasion, admonishes the youth of our whole country that the war is over, and that the bitter- ness, no longer cherished by those who fought, should not be harbored by their descendants.— [Ed.] Let us sing a song That all may hear ; Sound the death of wrong, The knell of fear ; For in this cordial clasp of hands America united stands. The new rosette Of Blue and Gray, Without regret, Is worn to-day. Fire the signal gun, Proclaim our creed ; Liberty has won, And we are freed ; Our country's creed is Liberty, And Freedom shall our watchword be The new rosette Of Blue and Gray, Love's amulet, Shall be to-day. Ring the bells with pride, The brave are here ; Heroes true and tried, And each a peer ; Their deeds and valor e'er shall be Our caveat on land and sea. The new rosette Of Blue and Gray, A pledge, a threat, Is worn to-day. INTERLUDE ACCOMPANIMENT.— "Maryland, My Maryland." (To be played softly while the two following stanzas are recited. The speaker and accompanist shoucd practice > that the music and recitation may be properly timed.) -%-Q ■ C ^ 1 *"■ k- YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 141 ~m+W- * £ ^tl^trtszzjz^t ffi -tf— *" afcafc _^.. _*. ^2. ,«T. jf. if: -n hai- ba b*~> H £? »- l^±E^EeEE£^| iff *-t 1?^ zpa^z^zzzzzjzpzj'^ bdt t=£=t :p: _-fc£=_^-_, s _ *t± ■ w -' •*£ M-W tt I &- Give the armies praise, of Grant, of Lee, Shafts in honor raise, That all may see ; Proclaim that as they did, so we Would do and die for liberty ; The new rosette Of Blue and Gray Bids none forget Their dead to-day. Let the broadsides roar From ship to ship ; Shout your cheers from shore, Let colors dip ; Brave Farragut, Buchanan, too, Showed what our gallant tars can do. The new rosette Of Blue and Gray, Shall homage get From all to-day. CONCLUDING ACCOMPANIMENT.— "My Country, 'tis of Theb. ( To be played softly while the last stanza is being recited.) ±3=3: :=f :f: m IW A. :f=: =t= =j=!EEEJEE^=E j*=£: -si- =*==* w%- -I* rf(p- :==r==^=[:=g=i=:n=t=: 1m=W- :t=: ji=t £= lzf=Jz=^=P=f: -j£=f: *=*§= »^f=zg: =^: |1|=5=E£ :t=: *Qja_4 :=P Give thanks to God, That we are one ; He withholds the rod, Our strife is done ; One flag alone shall o'er us wave. :-_-s--^ n -£2- =fe One Country, or for each a grave. The new rosette Of Blue and Gray, With love's tears wet, Is worn to-day. 142 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. THE EXCELLENT MAN. THEY gave me advice and plenty of praise, Promised to help me in various ways ; Said that I only should " wait a while," And offered their pat'ronage with a smile. But with all their honor and approbation, I should, long ago, have died of starvation, If an excellent man, with a resolute heart, Hadn't come forward to take my part. Good fellow ! he got me the food I ate : His kindness and care I shall never forget ; Yet I cannot embrace him, though other folks ca?i, For I myself am that excellent man. Heine. CIVIL WAR. (Dramatic and pathetic.) " "T^\ IFLEMAN, shoot me a fancy shot HC Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette ; Ring me a ball in the glittering spot That shines on his breast like an amulet ! ' ' "Ah, captain ! here goes for a fine-drawn bead, There's music around when my barrel's in tune ! ' ' Crack ! went the rifle, the messenger sped, And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon. " Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes and snatch From your victim some trinket to hansel first blood ; A button, a loop, or that luminous patch That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!" " Oh, captain ! I staggered and sunk on my track, When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette, For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back, That my heart rose upon me, and masters me vet. "But I snatched off the trinket, — this locket of gold; An inch from the centre my lead broke its way, Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold, Of a beautiful lady in bridal array. ' ' " Ha ! rifleman, fling me the locket ! — 'tis she, My brother's young bride, — and the fallen dragoon Was her husband — Hush! soldier, 'twas Heaven's decree, We must bury him there, by the light of the moon ! " But hark ! the far bugles their warnings unite ; War is a virtue, — weakness a sin ; There's a lurking and loping around us to-night; — Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in !" THE FOLLY OF PRlDE. TAKE some quiet, sober moment of life, and add together the two ideas of pride and of man : behold him, a creature of a span high, stalking through infinite space in all the grandeur of littleness. Perched on a little speck of the universe, every wind of heaven strikes into his blood the coldness of death ; his soul fleets from his body, like mel- ody from the string ; day and night, as dust on the wheel, he is rolled along the heavens, through a labyrinth of worlds, and all the systems and creations of God are flaming above and beneath. Is this a creature to revel in his greatness? Is this a creature to make to himself a crown of glory, to deny J^is own flesh and blood, and to mock at his fellow, sprung from that dust to which they both will soon return? Does the proud man not err? Does he not suffer ? Does he not die? When he reasons, is he never stopped by difficulties? When he acts, is he never tempted by pleasures ? When he lives, is he free from pain ? When he dies, can he escape from the common grave ? Pride is not the heritage of man ; humility should dwell with frailty, and atone for ignorance, error and, imperfection. Rev. Sydney Smith. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 14: THE SONG OF MINA'S SOLDIERS. T" "TE heard thy name, O Mina ! Wl Far through our hills it rang ; A sound more strong than tempests, More keen than armor's clang. The peasant left his vintage, The shepherd grasped the spear — We heard thy name, O Mina ! The mountain bands are here. As eagles to the day-spring, As torrents to the sea, From every dark sierra So rushed our hearts to thee. Thy spirit is our banner, Thine eye our beacon -sign. Thy name our trumpet, Mina ! The mountain bands are thine. Mrs. Hemans. HIGHLAND WAR-SONG. PIBROCH* of Donuil Dhu, pibroch of Donuil, Wake thy wild voice anew, summon Clan- Conuii Come away, come away, hark to the summons ! Come in your war array, gentles and commons ! Come from deep glen, and from mountain so rocky, The war-pipe and pennon are at Inverlochy ; Come every hill-plaid and true heart that wears one, Come every steel-blade, and strong hand that bears one. Leave untended the herd, the flock without shelter ; Leave the corpse uninterred, the bride at the altar ; Leave the deer, leave the steer, leave nets and barges ; Come with your flighting gear, broadswords and targes. *Apibroch ( pronounced pr'brok) i^a martial air played with the bagpipe. Donuil, pronounced Eon' nil. Come as the winds come, when forests are rended ; Come as the waves come, when navies are stranded : Faster come, faster come, faster and faster, Chief, vassal, page and groom, tenant and master. Fast they come, fast they come ; see how they gather ! Wide waves the eagle- plume, blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades, forward each man set ! Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, knell for the onset ! Sir Walter Scott. A BATTLE-SONG FOR FREEDOM. MEN of action ! men of might ! Stern defenders of the right 1 Are you girded for the fight ? Have you marked and trenched the ground, Where the din of arms must sound. Ere the victor can be crowned ? Have you guarded well the coast ? Have you marshaled all your host ? Standeth each man at his post ? Have you counted up the cost ? What is gained and what is lost, When the foe your lines have crost? Gained — the infamy of fame. Gained — a dastard's spotted name. Gained — eternity of shame. Lost — desert of manly worth. Lost — the right you had by birth. Lost — lost ! — freedom for the earth. Freemen, up ! The foe is nearing ! Haughty banners high uprearing — Lo, their serried ranks appearing ! Freemen, on ! The drums are beating ! Will you shrink from such a meeting ? Forward ! Give them hero greeting ! 144 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Fiom your hearths, and homes, and altars, Backward hurl your proud assaulters, He is not a man that falters. Hush ! The hour of fate is nigh. On the help of God rely ! Forward ! We will do or die ! G. Hamilton. 0' SONG OF MARION'S MEN. JUR band is few, but true and tried, — our leader frank and bold, The British soldier trembles when Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good green wood, our tent the cypress tree ; We know the forest round us as seamen know the sea. "We know its walls of thorny vines, its glades of reedy grass, Its safe and* silent islands within the dark morass. Woe to the English soldiery that little dread us near ' On them shall light, at midnight, a strange and sudden fear; When, waking to their tents on fire, they grasp their arms in vain, And they who stand to face us are beat to earth again ; And they who fly in terror deem a mighty host behind, And hear the tramp of thousands upon the hollow wind. Well knows the fair and friendly moon the band that Marion leads — The glitter of their rifles, the scampering of their steeds. 'Tis life to guide the fiery barb across the moon- lit plain ; 'Tis life to feel the night-wind that lifts his toss- ing mane. A moment in the British camp — a moment — and away, Back to the pathless forest before the peep of day. Grave men there are by broad Santee, grave men with hoary hairs : Their hearts are all with Marion, for Marion are their prayers. And lovely ladies greet our band with kindliest welcoming, With smiles like those of summer, and tears like those of spring. For them we wear these trusty arms, and lay them down no more Till we have driven the Briton forever from our shore. Bryant. AMERICA'S GIFTS TO EUROPE. AMERICA has furnished to Europe proof of the fact that popular institutions, founded on equality and the principle of repre- sentation, are capable of maintaining govern- ments, able to secure the rights of person, property and reputation. America has proved that it is practicable to elevate the mass of man- kind — that portion which in Europe is called the laboring or lower class — to raise them to seli- respect, to make them competent to act a part in the great right and great duty of self-govern- ment ; and she has proved that this may be done by education and the diffusion of knowledge. She holds out an example, a thousand times more encouraging than ever was presented before, to those nine-tenths of the human race who are born without hereditary fortune or hereditary rank. America has furnishea to the world the charac- ter of Washington ; and if our American institu- tions had done nothing else, that alone would have entitled them to the respect of mankind. Washington ! " First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen," Washing- ton is all our own ! The enthusiastic veneration and regard in which the people of the United States hold him, prove them to be worthy cf such a countryman, while his reputation abroad reflects the highest honor on his country. I would cheerfully put the question to-day to the intelligence of Europe and the world, What character of the century, upon the whole, stands YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 145 out, in the relief of history, most pure, most respectable, most sublime ? and I doubt not that, by a suffrage approaching to unanimity, the an- swer would be, Washington ! Webster. ENOCH ARDEN AT THE WINDOW. BUT Enoch yearned to see her face again ; " If I might look on her sweet face again And know that she is happy. ' ' So the thought Haunted and harassed him and drove him forth At evening when the dull November day Was growing duller twilight, to the hill. There he sat down gazing on all below : There did a thousand memories roll upon him Unspeakable for sadness. By and by The ruddy square of comfortable light, Far-blazing from the rear of Philip's house, Allured him, as the beacon-blaze allures The bird of passage, till he madly strike * Against it, and beats out his weary life. For Philip's dwelling fronted on the street, The latest house to landward ; but behind, With one small gate that opened on the waste, Flourished a little garden square and walled : And in it throve an ancient evergreen, A yew-tree,, and all around it ran a walk Of shingle, and a walk divided it : But Enoch shunned the middle walk and stole Up by the wall, behind the yew ; and thence That which he better might have shunned, if griefs Tike his have worse or better, Enoch saw. For cups and silver on the burnished board Sparkled and shone ; so genial was the hearth ; And on the right hand of the hearth he saw Philip, the slighted suitor of old times, Stout, rosy, with his babe across his knees And o'er her second father stoopt a girl, A later but a loftier Annie Lee, Fair-haired and tall, and from her lifted hand Dangled a length of ribbon and a ring To tempt the babe, who reared his creasy arms, Caught at and ever missed it, and they laughed : And on the left hand of the hearth he saw 10 p-s The mother glancing often at her babe, But turning now and then to speak with him, Her son, who stood beside her tall and strong, And saying that which pleased him, for he smiled. Now when the dead man come to life beheld His. wife his wife no more, and saw the babe Hers, yet not his, upon the father's knee, And all the warmth, the peace, the happiness, And his own .children tall and beautiful And him, that other, reigning in his place, Lord of his rights and of his children's love, — Then he, though Miriam Lane had told him all, Because things seen are mightier than things heard, Staggered and shook, holding the branch, and feared To send abroad a shrill and terrible cry, Which in one moment, like the blast of doom, Would shatter all the happiness of the hearth. He therefore turning softly like a thief, Lest the harsh shingle should grate underfoot, And feeling all along the garden -wall, Lest he should swoon and tumble and be found, Crept to the gate, and opened it, and closed, As lightly as a sick man's chamber-door, Behind him, and came out upon the waste. And there he would have knelt, but that his knees Were feeble, so that falling prone he dug His fingers into the wet earth, and prayed. Alfred Tennyson. SALUTATORY ADDRESS. (The following speech should be delivered by a droll boy who can keep his face straight while others do the laughing. He should act out the spirit of the piece with appropriate gestures. ) I AM requested to open our performances by a salutatory address. It needs but one honest Saxon word for that — one homely, pertinent word ; but before I utter a pertinent word, allow me, like other great speakers, to indulge in a few ///zpertinent words. And first, let me ask if there is a critic among us ; for this is a sort of family gathering. We 146 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. allow no critics ! No reporters ! No inter- viewers ! (Do I see a boy taking notes ? Put him out. No ! It's a false alarm, I believe.) Pardon me if, with the help of my mother's eye-glass {lifts eye-glasses), I look round on your phys — phys — physiognomies. (That's the word, I'm very certain, for I practiced on it a good half hour.) Without flattery I say it, I like your countenances — with one exception. A critic ! If there is anything I detest it is a critic. One who cannot bear a little nonsense, and who shakes his head at a little salutary (not salutatory) fun. Salutary fun? Did anybody hiss? Point him out. {Speaker folds his arms, advances, fixes his eyes on some one in the audi- ence, and shakes his fist at him. ) Yes, sir, I said salutary fun. Salutary ! You needn't put on such a grave look. Salutary ! You needn't sneer at that ep — ep — epithet. (Yes, I'm quite positive that's the word I was drilled on. Epi — thet ! That' s it. ) But I was speaking of critics. If there is any one of that tribe in this assembly — any dear friend of Caesar — I mean any stupid friend of Pompey, no, of pomposity — to him I say — no, to you I say — Go mark him well ; for him no minstrel raptures swell ; despite his titles, power and pelf, the wretch (rather rough on him, that ! ) — the wretch, concentred all in self, living shall forfeit fair renown, and, doubly dying, shall go down to the vile dust from whence he sprung, unwept, unhonored, and unsung. There ! If any member of Congress could do it better, bring him on. Excuse me if I sop my brow. ( Wipi?ig it with handkerchief. ) But enough ! Let us now put by the cap and bells. Enough of nonsense ! As a great phil- osopher, who had been frolicking, once said : "Hush! Let us be grave! Here comes a fool. ' ' Nothing personal, sir, in that ! Let us be grave. And so friends, relatives, ladies, and gentle- men, I shall conclude by uttering from an over- flowing heart that one word to which I alluded at the be^inrrin^ — that one pertinent Saxon word; that is — {flourishes his hand as if about to utter it ; then suddenly puts his hand to Ids forehead as if trying to remember. ) Forgotten ? Confusion ! Not a big word either ! Not half as big as some I have spoken ! What — where — when — whence — what has be- come of it? Must I break down, after all? Must I retire in disgrace from public life ! Never ! I have it. Here it is ! Here it is in big capitals: WELCOME! YOU PUT NO FLOWERS ON MY PAPA'S GRAVE. ( Pathetic. Suited to Decoration Day occasions. ) T" TTTH sable-draped banners, and slow yy measured tread, The flower-laden ranks pass the gates of the dead \ And seeking each mound where a comrade's form rests, Leave tear-bedewed garlands to bloom on his breast. Ended at last is the labor of love ; Once more through the gateway the saddened lines move — A wailing of anguish, a sobbing of grief, Falls low on the ear of the battle-scarred chief ; Close crouched by the portals, a sunny-haired child Besought him in accents with grief renderec wild : " Oh ! sir, he was good, and they say he died brave — Why ! why ! did you pass by my dear papa's grave ? I know he was poor, but as kind and as true As ever marched into the battle with you — His grave is so humble, no stone marks the spot, You may not have seen it. Oh, say you did not ! For my poor heart will break if you knew he was there, And thought him too lowly your offerings to share. He didn't die lowly — he poured his heart's blood, In rich crimson streams, from the top-crowning pod YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 147 Of the breastworks which stood in front of the fight— ind died shouting, ' Onward ! for God and the right ! ' O'er all his dead comrades your bright garlands wave, But you haven't put one on my papa's grave, [f mamma were here — but she lies by his side, Her wearied heart broke when our dear papa died." "Battalion! file left! countermarch!" cried the chief, ' This young orphan' d maid hath full cause for her grief. ' ' Then up in his arms from the hot, dusty street, tie lifted the maiden, while in through the gate The long line repasses, and many an eye Pays fresh tribute of tears to the lone orphan' s sigh. ' ' This way, it is — here, sir — right under this tree ; They lie close together, with just room for me." ' ' Halt ! Cover with roses each lowly green mound — A love pure as this makes these graves hallowed ground." " Oh ! thank you, kind sir ! I ne'er can repay The kindness you've shown little Daisy to-day ; But I'll pray for you here, each day while I live, 'Tis all that a poor soldier's orphan can give. I shall see papa soon, and dear mamma too — I dreamed so last night, and I know 'twill come true ; And they will both bless you, I know, when I say How you folded your arms round their dear one to-day — How you cheered her sad heart, and soothed it to rest, And hushed its wild throbs on your strong, noble breast ; And when the kind angels shall call you to come, We'll welcome you there to our beautiful home, Where death never comes, his black banners to wave, And the beautiful flowers ne'er weep o'er a grave." C. E. L. Holmes. TWO LITTLE KITTENS. (Suited to a girl of twelve years.) TWO little kittens, one stormy night, Began to quarrel and then to fight ; One had a mouse the other had none, And that was the way the quarrel begun. "Til have that mouse," said the biggest cat. " You 1 11 have that mouse, we'll see about that." " I will have that mouse," said the eldest son. "You shan't have that mouse," said the little one. I told you before 'twas a stormy night When these two little kittens began to fight ; The old woman seized her sweeping-broom And swept the two kittens right out of the room. The ground was covered with frost and snow, And the two little kittens had nowhere to go, So they laid them down on the mat at the do( r, While the old woman finished sweeping the floor. Then they both crept in, as quiet as mice, All wet with snow and cold as ice ; For they found it was better, that stormy night, To lie down and sleep, than to quarrel and fight. BEAUTY, WIT AND GOLD. IN a bower a widow dwelt ; At her feet three suitors knelt ; Each adored the widow much, Each essayed her heart to touch ; One had wit, and one had gold, And one was cast in beauty's mould ; Guess which was it won the prize, Purse, or tongue, or handsome eyes ? First appeared the handsome man, Proudly peeping o'er her fan ; Red his lips, and white his skin, — Could such beauty fail to win ? Then stepped forth the man of gold ; Cash he counted, coin he told, Wealth the burden of his tale, — Could such golden projects fail ? Then the man of wit and sense Wooed her with his eloquence. 148 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Now she blushed, she knew not why ; Now a tear was in her eye ; Then she smiled, to hear him speak ; Then the tear was on her cheek ; Beauty, vanish ! Gold, depart / Wit has won the widow's heart ! Moore. HOW TWO MEN SPOKE THE SAME WORDS. (The words of the first traveler should be delivered in a languid, drawling tone ; those of the second with great animation and enthusiasm.) SPEAKER, hark here ! How can you hope to reach My heart if yours is languid, and your speech Tame and without a sympathetic tone, Showing the words, in feeling, are your own ? A man returned rue pleasant afternoon From a long walk amid the wealth of June, And all the folks at home drew near to learn 'What he might have to say at his return. Said they, ' ' You' ve been more fortunate than we : Tell us, where have you been ? What did you see ?" "Not much," said he, "in two long, stupid hours : — Blue skies, hills, plains, streams, trees and birds and flowers. ' ' No pulse of feeling throbbed in what he said ; Each word fell flat, emotionless and dead ; And all his hearers were dejected so, They said, ". How dull ! We're glad we did not go-" Another man, that pleasant afternoon, Took that same walk, amid the wealth of June ; To the same house came back, and was surrounded By the same folks, who the same words pro- pounded. Said they, "You've been more fortunate than we : Tell us, where have you been ? What did you see ?' ' "What did I see? Much, much in two swift hours : — Blue skies, hills, plains, streams, trees and birds and flowers." Each word came forth witr such a gush of feelii v t You saw the sky its tender b 3 iK revealing, Trees waving in the fragrant sutfhft?! ail, Streams flashing in the sunshine, tru^-dows fair. Hills purple in the distance, twittering birds. Flowers on the turf, green slopes and lowii^ herds — All sounds and sights that thrill the attentive soul And lift it to the great, pervading whole ; — So that his hearers, while they nearer drew, Cried, "Beautiful! We wish we'd been with you ! ' ' Speaker, hark here ! Would you my heart impel, First must your own feel the awakening spell ; Hope not to make your hearer weep or smile If apathy is freezing you the while. No mimic fervor will attention gain ; The heart must speak, or all your toil is vain. Sargeant. A SYMPATHY. KNIGHT and a lady once met in a grove, While each was in quest of a fugitive love ; A river ran mournfully murmuring by, And they wept in its waters for sympathy. " O, never was knight such a sorrow that bore ! ' ' "O, never was maid so deserted before !" "From life and its woes let us instantly fly, And jump in together for company." They searched for an eddy that suited the deed, But here was a bramble, and there was a weed ; "How tiresome it is!" said the maid, with a sigh; So they sat down to rest them in company. They gazed on each other, the maid and the knight ; And they did not seem very averse to the sight : ' ' One mournful embrace, ' ' said the youth, ' ' ere we die ! ' ' So, kissing and crying, kept company. " O, had I but wooed such an angel as you !" " O , had but my swain been one quarter as true ! ' ' YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 149 ' fo niss such perfection how blinded was I !" 5ur% now they were excellent company. At length spoke the lass, 'twixt a smile and a tear : *The weather is cold for a watery bier. When the summer returns we may easily die ; Till then let us sorrow in company. ' ' Bishop Heber. THE HAPPY MILLER. (This little piece has been made quite entertaining vt prrlor exhibitions by the use of a rattle in the de- livery of the second and fourth lines of each stanza, *mt the speaker must be careful not to overdo the 'attie. ) R OBIN the Miller, he kept a mill, Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle The noise of the hopper it never was still, Rattle-tattle, rattle -tattle, tattle ! A perpetual clatter that, you'd have thought, Was more than enough to drive him distraught. Robin the Miller, he heeded it not, Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! Though he was not dull of his hearing, I wot, Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! The neighbors wondered what was the matter With Robin, to make him enjoy such a clatter. Robin the Miller, he once had a wife ; Rattle-tattle^ rattle-tattle, tattle ! After ten years of marriage she quitted this life, Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle., tattle ! And Robin he was not a miller then, But a farmer employing his forty men. But Robin, when of his wife bereft, Rattle-tattle, rattle- tattle, tattle ! Felt life had little of pleasure left, Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! Most wretched then was his lonely case, His home it was such a quiet place. He grew more pale and thin each day, Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! They feared that he would waste away, Rattle-tattle, rattle -tattle, tattle ! Said they, " How odd he mourns so !" She Was known a terrible scold to be. At length poor Robin he took the mill, Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! Where the noise of the hopper it never is still, Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! And Robin, recovering quiet, at length, Began to regain his health and strength. And this is why the endless noise — Rattle-tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! — Old Robin, the Miller, he so enjoys. Rattle- tattle, rattle-tattle, tattle ! For while the mill goes he does not fret, But fancies his wife is living yet. Hood. THE RIVAL SPEAKERS. Enter Thomas, followed by Samuel, a ??iuch smaller boy. Tho?nas (turning to Samuel). What do you want here ? Samuel. I want to speak my piece, to be sure. T. Well, you'll be sure to wait; 'tis my turn now. S. No, it isn't, my learn'ed friend; excuse me, but my turn came before that fellow's who spoke last — him whose voice ' ' was still for open war." T. It's your own fault if you lost your turn. Go. 6". Well, that's cool — as cool as an iced cucum- ber. Can't you ask some other favor, Mr. Trotter ? T. Yes. Hold your tongue. S. Can't do it. Am bound to let off my speech : here goes : "My name is Norval ; on the Grampian hills—" T. {in a louder lone). "Friends, Romans, countrymen ! ' ' S. "Greeks, Regicides, and fellow-sojers ! " T. ' ' Lend me your ears. ' ' S. Don't do it; he has enough of his own. T. "I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him." S. (mimic gestures). I come to speak my piece, and I'll do it, Caesar or no Caesar : " My name is Norval " — 150 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. T. Sam Sly, stop your fooling, or I'll put you off the stage. S. Don't, Tom; you'll joggle my piece all out of me. T. Then keep still till I get through : "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears ; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him." 6". I say, Tommy, whose calf have you been trying to imitate ? T. " The evil that men do lives after them, The good is oft inter'red with their bones ; So let it be with Caesar." {Again interrupted by Sam's mi mi eking his gestures. ) Now, Sam, I tell you to stop your monkey- shines ; if you don't I'll make you. S. Try it on. Oh, you needn't think you can bully me because you wear higher heeled shoes than I do. T. Nothing but your size, sir, Scves you from a flogging. S. Well, that is a queer coincidence ; for nothing but your size saves you from the same. ( To the audience. ) What can be done with him? He's too big to be whipped, and he isn't big enough to behave himself. Now all keep still while I tiy it again : ' ' My name is Norval- — ' ' T. "I come to bury Caesar — ' ' S. How many more times are you going to do it ? A nice man you'd be for an undertaker. T. Sam, I'm for peace, but if you — .S". You're for peace ? I'm for piece, too, but for my piece, net yours. As I was saying, '•' My name is — " T. " Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest (For Brutus is an honorable man — So are they all, all honorable men), Come I to speak at Caesar's funeral." S. Caesar is played out I tell you. ' ' My name is—" T. ' ' He was my friend, faithful and just to me ; But Brutus says he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honorable man." S. No such thing ! Brutus was a brutal fellow. T. Come, Sammy, let me finish my piece and then you can have the whole platform to yourself. S. You're very kind, Mr. Trotter; kind as the Irishman who couldn't live peaceably with his wife, and so they agreed to divide the house between them. " Biddy," said he, " you'll just take the outside of the house, and I'll kape the inside." T { To the audience. ) You see it is useless for me to attempt to proceed, so I trust you will excuse me. {Exit.) S. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I hope you'll excuse him. He means well enough, but he's lacking here {touching head). He might make a decent crier or auctioneer, but when it comes to oratory — to playing the part of a Marc An- tony — well, modesty forbids me to say more, except as the coast is now clear, I will proceed with my part : " My name is Norval ; on the Grampian hills My father feeds his flocks — a frugal swain — Whose — whose — whose — ' ' {Aside to a hoy near). What is it? "A frugal swain, whose — whose — " There ! if I'm not stuck already ! So much for that fellow's attempt to bury Caesar ! He buried my memory instead, and your patience, too, I fear. "A frugal swain — whose — whose — " I must give it up ! {Exit with hands over face. ) ^ANDY ANDY AND THE SQUIRE. Squire. It is time for that stupid fellow to be back from the post-office. The chances are ten to one he has made some exasperating blunder. Ah! here he comes. {Enter Andy.) Well, Andy, what luck ? Andy. I've been to the post-office, your honor. S. And what did you find ? A. I found a most impident fellow indade, bad luck to him ! Said I — as dacent like as any gentleman — says I, " I want a letter, sir, if you plaze." "And who do you want it for?" says the ill-mannered spalpeen. "What's that to you?" says I. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 151 S. You incredible blockhead ! What did the postmaster say to that ? A. He laughed at me, your honor, and said he could not tell what letter to give me unless I fold him the direction. S. Well, did you give him the direction ? A. "The directions I got," says I, "was to sret a letter here — that's the direction." "Who gave you those directions?" says he. "The master," says I. "And who's your master?" says he. "What consarn is that of yours?" says I. S. Did he break your head then ? or what did he do ? A. Said he, "Why, you stupid rascal, if you don't tell me his name, how can I give you his letter?" "You could give it if you liked," said I, "but you're fond of axin impident •questions, bekase you think I'm simple." " Go along out o' this," says he ; your master must be as great a goose as yourself to send such a messenger. ' ' S. Well, after that, how did you save my honor, Andy ? A. Says I to the fellow, "Bad luck to your impudence ; is it Squire Egan you dare say goose to?" "Oh, Squire Egan's your master, then,?" says he. "Yes," says I, "have you anything to say agin it ?" S. Well, well, he gave you the letter, then, did he ? A. No, he didn't; but after he found out I was your honor's servant, "Here's a letter for the squire, ' ' says he ; " you are to pay me eleven pence postage. ' ' S. Well, Andy, you paid it, didn't you, and got the letter ? A. Wait a bit, your honor. "What would I pay eleven pence for?" says I. " For postage," says he. "You old chate," says I, "didn't I see you give Mr. Durfy a letter for fourpence this minute, and a bigger letter than that ? And now you want me to pay eleven pence for that jcrap of a thing ? Do you think I'm a fool ?" says I. "Here's fourpence for you — and give me the letter." ^. I wonder he did not break your skull and try to let some light into it. A. "Go along, you stupid thafe," says he; and all bekase I wouldn't let him chate youi honor. 6*. Well, I can't hear any more of your non- sense. Give me the letter, Andy. A. I haven't it, sir. The old chate wouldn't give it to me. He wanted me to pay eleven pence for it, when he had just sold one twice the size before my face for a fourpence. S. You impenetrable blockhead, you'll pro- voke me to knock you flat some day. Ride back for your life, you vagabond, and pay whatever he asks and get me the letter. A. I tell you, your honor, he was sellin' them before my face for fourpence apiece. S. Go back, you scoundrel, or I'll horsewhip you; and if you're longer than an hour, I'll have you ducked in the horsepond ! A. Is this the thanks I get for — {Exit.) S. {Threatening him.) Go, you blockhead of blockheads ! Was there ever such a fellow who had such a knack of doing everything the wrong way ? TAKE CARE OF THE MINUTES. TAKE care of the minutes, they are price- less, you know ; Will you value them less that so quickly they go ? " It is but a minute," the trifler will say ; But the minutes make hours, and hours make the day. The gold-dust of time are these minutes so small ; Will you lose even one? why not treasure them all? As each broken petal disfigures the flower, So each wasted minute despoils the full hour. Take care of the minutes ; they come and are gone; Yet in each there is space for some good to be done. Our time is a talent we hold from above : May each hour leave us richer in wisdom and love ! .52 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. THE IMAGINARY SICK MAN. Enter Burty from left, and Servant from right. BURLEY. Can I see your master? Servant. Master can't see anybody, sir, except the doctor. . Bur. Why, what's the matter? Ser. Why, you see, ever since he had that large fortune left him, master has a fancy that he has all sorts of complaints on him, and that he isn't long for this world. Bur. Poor Fidget ! Has such been the effect of his good fortune ? Well, tell him that an old friend whom he hasn't seen for ten years wishes to see him. Ser. It's no use, sir. Unless you be a doctor of some sort, he'll shut the door on you. Bur. {Aside. ) A doctor of some sort ! Let me see. I surely am a sort of a doctor. Didn't I physic Prince Sackatoo, the black steward en board the Thunder Cloud, for an attack of colic ? And haven't I a vial of nux vom'ica, that my good aunt gave me ? To be sure I am a sort of a doctor ! {Aloud.') Tell your master that Doctor Bughumm, late physician to his highness Prince Sackatoo, has called to see him. Ser. Ay, sir; he'll see Doctor Bughumm, and no mistake. {Exit to right. ) Bur. Now, with the knob of my cane to my nose, thus, I think I may pass muster. {Enter Fidget from right. ) Sir, your obedient servant. I have the honor of addressing Mr. Frederic Fid- get, I believe. Fidget. Why, Burly, is that you ? Bur. Sir! Fidg. Excuse me, doctor, but, really, your resemblance to an old friend of mine is very re- markable. Bur. Very probable, sir ; I am often mistaken for other people. But look at me well, sir, and tell me what age you take me to be. Fidg. Well, sir, I should think you might be about twenty-two or twenty-three. Bur. Ha, ha ! Sir, I was ninety-five last Christmas. Fidg. Ninety-five ? Impossible ! Bur. It's as true, sir, as that you are a sick man. Why, sir, you see in me one of the won- derful effects of my art — of my system of prac- tice. Fidg. Upon my word, you are a very young- looking man for ninety-five. Bur. Sir, I am a traveling physician, and pass from city to city, from country to country, in search of distinguished subjects, for whose benefit I may put in practice some of the wonderful secrets I have discovered in medicine. Sir, 1 disdain to trouble myself with ordinary mala- dies — with common fevers, colds, and such, bagatelles. I seek such maladies as are pro- nounced incurable by other physicians : a good desperate case of cholera, or of dropsy — a good plague — a good hopeless case of fever or inflam- mation. It is such cases that I seek, and in such. that I triumph ; and I only wish, sir, that you had a complication of all these maladies upon you, and were given over by all other physicians, in order that I might show you the excellence of my remedies, and do you a service. ( Crosses to right.) Fidg. {from left). Really, sir, I am much obliged for this visit, for I am in a bad way, and the doctors give me no relief. Bur. Sir, let me feel your pulse. {Feels his pulse.) Don't be alarmed, sir. No matter how it beats — the worse the better. Ah ? this pulse doesn't yet know who has got hold of it. It is a bad pulse — a very bad pulse. Fidg. I was sure of it, doctor, and yet there are those who make light of it. Bur. Who attends you now? Fidg. Doctor Purjum. Bur. His name isn't on my tablets in the list of great physicians. What does he say ails you? Fidg. He says my . liver is affected ; others say, my spleen. Bur. They are all ignoramuses ! The trouble is in your lungs. Fidg. {very loud). In my lungs ? Bur. Yes, allow me. {Taps him on the breast.) Don't you feel a sort of tenderness — a pain there ? •/ YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 15a Fidg. Well, doctor, I don't perceive that I do. Bur. Is it possible you don't? {Gives him something of a thump.') Fidg. O ! now I do, doctor. You almost doubled me up. Bur. I knew it was the lungs ! Fidg. Well, doctor, I don't know but what you are right. Is there any other inquiry? Bur. Yes. What are your symptoms ? Fidg. An occasional head -ache. Bur. Exactly. The lungs. Fidg. I have now and then a sort of mist before my eyes. Bur. All right. The lungs. Fidg. I have a sort of a feeling at my heart. Bur. Of course you have. The lungs, I say. Fidg. Sometimes I have a lassitude in all my limbs. Bur. Well and good. The lungs again. Fidg. And sometimes I have a sort of colicky pain hereabouts. Bur. No doubt of it. The lungs. You have an appetite for what you eat ? Fidg. Yes, doctor. Bur. The lungs. You don't object to a little wine ? Fidg. Not at all, doctor. Bur. The lungs. You are a little drowsy after eating, and are glad of a nap ? Fidg. Yes, doctor. Bur. The lungs, the lungs, I tell you ! What does your physician order for you by way of nourishment ? Fidg. He prescribes a plain porridge. Bur. The ignoramus ! ( Crosses and re- crosses. ) Fidg. Some chicken. Bur. The ignoramus ! Fidg. Now and then, some veal. Bur. The ignoramus ! Fidg. Boiled meats, occasionally. Bur. The ignoramus ! -Fidg. Fresh eggs. Bur. The ignoramus ! Fidg. And at night some stewed prunes, to keep my bowels in good order. Bur. The ignoramus ! Fidg. And, above all, if I take wine, I must take it well diluted with water. Bur. Ignorans' , ignoran'tior, ignorantis 1 simus / Your physician is a blockhead ! Throw his. physic to the dogs ! Throw your wine out of of the window. Eat coarse bread, vegetables, fruits — as much as you want. Get a trotting- horse. Take plenty of exercise. Fidg. Exercise. Dear doctor, I haven't stirred out of the house for a month. It would be the death of me ! Bur. Allow me to be the judge of that. Sir, I haven't been physician-in-chief to Prince Sackatoo for nothing. I do not mean, sir, that you should do all these things until I have forti- fied you with some of my medicines. {Takes out vial of ho?nceopathic medicines. ) Behold those little glob'ules ! Fidg. Shall I cake them all at a dose ? Bur. All ? Three of them, my dear sir, put under a mountain, would work it from its base ! {Gives him three.) Swallow them. Don't be afraid ! Should they prove too powerful, I have an antidote at hand. Fidg. {Swallows them.) There is nothing unpleasant in the taste. Bitr. No; nor in the effect, you'll find. Don't you begin to feel a thrill, as it were — a. sort of expansion — a sort of — eh? — that you haven't felt before ? {Slaps hi?n on back. ) Fidg. O ! my dear doctor, that was rather hard ! But, really, I do begin to feel a change — a sort of — Bur. Exactly. You feel stronger. Fidg. I do, indeed. Bur. More wide awake ? Fidg. I do. Bur. Let me see you walk. Fidg. { Walks briskly across stage. ) There I I haven't walked like that these six weeks. Bur. To he sure you haven't ! Now for the trotting-horse ! Come with me. I will accom * pany you. Come on. Fidg. Doctor, the effect is wonderful ! Ven- erable man ! Ninety-five, did you say ? 154 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Bur. Ninety-five and a fraction. — But wait till you see me on horseback ! (Exeunt, arm in ■arm, left.) Moliere. KATE KETCHEM. (Parody on Maud Muller. ) KATE Ketchem, on a winter's night, Went to a party, dressed in white. Her chignon in a net of gold Was about as large as they ever sold. Gayly she went because her ' ' pap ' ' Was supposed to be a rich old chap. But when by chance her glances fell •On a friend who lately had married well, Her spirits sunk, and a vague unrest And a nameless longing filled her breast — A wish she wouldn't have made known, To have an establishment of her own. Tom Fudge came slowly through the throng, With chestnut hair, worn pretty long. He saw Kate Ketcham in the crowd, And, knowing her slightly, stopped and bowed. Then asked her to give him a single flower, Saying he'd think it a priceless dower. Out from those with which she was decked She took the poorest she could select, And blushed as she gave it, looking down To call attention to her gown. " Thanks," said Fudge, as he thought how dear Flowers must be at this time of year. Then several charming remarks he made, Asked if she sang, or danced, or played ; And being exhausted, inquired whether She thought it was going to be pleasant weather. And Kate displayed her jewelry, And dropped her lashes becomingly ; And listened with no attempt to disguise The admiration in her eyes. At last, like one who has nothing to say, He turned around and walked away. Kate Ketchem smiled, and said "You bet I'll catch that Fudge and his money yet. " He's rich enough to keep me in clothes, And I think I could manage him if I chose. ' ' He could aid my father as well as not, And buy my brother a splendid yacht. " My mother for money should never fret, And all that it cried for the baby should get; "And after that, with what he could spare, I'd make a show at a charity fair." Tom Fudge looked back as he crossed the sill, And saw Kate Ketchem standing still. "A girl more suited to my mind It isn't an easy thing to find ; "And everything that she has to wear Proves her as rich as she is fair. " Would she were mine, and that I to-day Had the old man's cash my debts to pay ; " No creditors with a long account, No tradesmen waiting 'that little amount ;' " But all my scores paid up when due By a father as rich as any Jew ! ' ' But he thought of her brother, not worth a straw, And her mother, that would be his, in law ; So, undecided, he walked along, And Kate was left alone in the throng. But a lawyer smiled, when he sought by stealth, To ascertain old Ketchem' s wealth ; And as for Kate, she schemed and planned Till one of the dancers claimed her hand. He married her for her father's cash — She married him to cut a dash. But as to paying his debts, do you know The father couldn't see it so ; And at hints for help Kate's hazel' eyes Looked out in their innocent surprise. And when Tom thought of the way he had wed, He longed for a single life instead, YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 155 And closed his eyes in a sulky mood Regretting the days of his bachelorhood; And said in a sort of reckless vein, " I'd like to see her catch me again, " If I were free as on that night I saw Kate Ketchem dressed in white ! " She wedded him to be rich and gay ; But husband and children didn't pay. He wasn't the prize she hoped to draw, And wouldn't live with his mother-in-law. And oft when she had to coax and pout In order to get him to take her out, She thought how very attentive and bright He seemed at the party that winter's night. Of his laugh, as soft as a breeze of the south, { ' Twas now on the other side of his mouth : ) How he praised her dress and gems in his talk, As he took a careful account of stock. Sometimes she hated the very walls — Hated her friends, her dinners, and calls : Till her weak affections, to hatred turned, Like a dying tallow candle burned. And for him who sat there, her peace to mar, Smoking his everlasting segar — He wasn't the man she thought she saw, And grief was duty, and hate was law. So she took up her burden with a groan, Saying only, " I might have known ! " Alas for Kate ! and alas for Fudge ! Though I do not owe them any grudge ; And alas for any that find to their shame That two can play at their little game ! For of all hard things to bear and grin, The hardest is knowing you're taken in. Ah well ! as a general thing we fret About the one we didn't get ; But I think we needn't make a fuss If the one we don't want didn't get us. Phoebe Cary. ROME AND CARTHAGE. ROME and Carthage ! — behold them draw- ing near for the struggle that is to shake the world ! Carthage, the metropolis of Africa, is the mistress of oceans, of kingdoms, and of nations ; a magnificent city, burthened with opulence, radiant with the strange arts and trophies of the East. She is at the acme of her civilization. She can mount no higher. Any change now must be a decline. Rome is com- paratively poor. She has seized all within her grasp, but rather from the lust of conquest than to fill her own coffers. She is demi-barbar- ous, and has her education and her fortune both to make. All is before her, nothing be- hind. For a time these two nations exist in distinct view of each other. The one reposes in the noontide of her splendor ; the other waxet strong in the shade. But, little by little, aii and space are wanting to each, for the develop- ment of each. Rome begins to systematically perplex Carthage, and Carthage is an eyesore to Rome. Seated on opposite banks of the Medi- terranean, the two cities look each other in the face. The sea no longer keeps them apart. Europe and Africa weigh upon each other. Like two clouds surcharged with electricity, they im- pend. With their contact must come the thunder-shock. The catastrophe of this stupendous drama is at hand. What actors are met ! Two races, - that of merchants and mariners, that of laborers and soldiers; two Nations, — the one dominant by gold the other by steel ; two Republics, — the one theocratic, the other aristocratic. Rome and Carthage ! Rome with her army, Carthage with her fleet ; Carthage old, rich, and crafty, — Rome young, poor, and robust ; the past and the future ; the spirit of discovery, and the spirit of conquest ; the genius of commerce, the demon of war ; the East and the South on one side, the West and the North on the other ; in short, two worlds, — the civilization of Africa and the civilization of Europe. They measured each other from head to foot. They gather all their forces. Gradually the war kindles. The 156 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. world takes fire. These colossal powers are locked in deadly strife. Carthage has crossed the Alps ; Rome the seas. The two Nations, personified in two men, Hannibal and Scipio, close with each other, wrestle, and grow in- furiate. The duel is desperate. It is a struggle for life. Rome wavers. — She utters that cry of anguish — Hannibal at the gates ! But she ral- lies, — collects all her strength for one last, ap- palling effort, — throws herself upon Carthage, and sweeps her from the face of the earth. Victor Hugo. SELLING A COAT; Or, How a Jew Trained a Clerk. (Humorous and suggestive reading.) A STORY is told of a clothing merchant on Chatham street, New York, who kept a very open store and drove a thriving trade, the natural consequence being that he waxed wealthy and indolent - . He finally con- cluded to get an assistant to take his place on the sidewalk to'" run in " customers, while he him- self would enjoy his otium cum *#£• within the store. Having ad^^ised for a suitable clerk, he awaited application, determined to engage none but a good talker who would be sure to promote his interest. Several unsuccessful applicants were dismissed, when a smart looking Americanized Jew came along and applied for the situation. The ' ' boss ' ' was determined not to engage the fellow without proof of his thorough capability and sharpness. Hence the following dialogue : " Look here, young man ! I told you some- dings. I vill gone up de street und valk me back past dis shop yust like I vas coundrymans, and if you can make me buy a coat of you, I vill hire you right away quick." "All right," said the young man, "go ahead, and if I don't sell you a coat I won't ask the situation." The proprietor proceeded a short distance up the street, then sauntered back toward the shop, where the young man was on the alert for him. "Hi' look here! Don't you want some clothes to-day?" " No, I don't vant me nothing," returned the boss. ' ' Step inside and let me show you what an elegant stock we have," said the "spider to the fly, ' ' catching him by the arm, and forcing him into the store. After considerable palaver, the clerk expectant got down a coai, on the merits of which he ex- patiated at length, and finally offered it to " the countryman " at thirty dollars, remarking that it was "dirt cheap." " Dirty tollar? My kracious ! I vouldn't give you dwenty. But I don't vant de coat anyvays. ' " You had better take it, my friend ; you don't get a bargain like this every day." "No; I don't vant it. I gone me out. Good-day. ' ' "Hold on! don't be in such a hurry," an- swered the anxious clerk. " See here, now the boss has been out all day, and I haven't sold a dollar's worth. I want to have something to show when he comes back, so take the coat at twenty-five dollars ; that is just what it cost. I don't make a cent on it ; but take it along." "Young man, don'd I told you three, four, couple of dimes dat I don't vant de coat ?" "Well, take it at twenty dollars; I'll lose money on it, but I want to make one sale any- how before the boss comes in. Take it at twenty dollars." "Veil, I don't vant de coat, but I'll give you fifteen tollar, and not one cent more. ' ' "Oh, my friend, I couldn't do it! Why, the coat cost twenty-five ; yet sooner than not make a sale, I'll let you have it for eighteen dollars, and stand the loss. ' ' "No; I don't vant it anyvays. It ain't vurth no more as fifteen tollar, but I vouldn't give a cent more, so help me kracious. ' ' Here the counterfeit rustic turned to depart, pleased to think that he had got the best of the young clerk ; but the individual was equal to the emergency. Knowing that he must sell the- YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 157 garment to secure his place, he seized the part- ing boss, saying : " Well, I'll tell you how it is. The man who keeps this store is an uncle of mine, and as he is a mean old cuss, I want to bust him. Here, take the coat at fifteen dollars. ' ' This settled the business. The proprietor saw that this was too valuable a salesman to let slip, and so engaged him at once ; and he may be seen every day standing in front of the shop, urging innocent countrymen to buy clothes which are " yust de fit," at sacrificial prices. RIENZI TO THE ROMAN CONSPIRA- TORS IN 1347. ROMANS ! look round you — on this sacred place There once stood shrines, and gods, and godlike men. What see you now ? — what solitary trace Is left of all that made Rome's glory then? The shrines are sunk, the Sacred Mount bereft Even of its name — and nothing now remains But the deep memory of that glory, left To whet our pangs and aggravate our chains ! But shall this be ? Our sun and sky the same,— Treading the very soil our fathers trod, — What withering curse hath fallen on soul and frame, What visitation hath there come from God, To blast our strength, and rot us into slaves, Mere , on our great forefathers' glorious graves? It can not be ! Rise up, ye mighty dead, — If we , the living, are too weak to crush These tyrant priests, that o'er your empire tread, Till all but Romans at Rome's tameness blush ! Happy, Palmyra, in thy desert domes, Where only date-trees sigh, and serpents hiss ! And thou, whose pillars are but silent homes For the stork's brood, superb Per-sep'olis ! Thrice happy both, that your extinguished race Have left no embers — no half-living trace — No slaves to crawl around the once proud spot, Till past renown in present shame's forgot ; While Rome, the queen of all, whose very wrecks, If lone and lifeless through a desert hurled, Would wear more true magnificence than decks The assembled thrones of all the existing world — Rome, Rome alone is haunted, stained, and cursed, Through every spot her princely Tiber laves, By living human things — the deadliest, worst, This earth engenders — tyrants and their slaves ! And we — O, shame ! we, who have pondered o'ei The patriot's lesson, and the poet's lay ; Have mounted up the streams of ancient lore. Tracking our country's glories all the way — Even we have tamely, basely kissed the ground, Before that tyrant power, that ghost of her, The world's imperial mistress — sitting crowned And ghastly, on her mouldering sepulcher ! But this is past ! — too long have lordly priests And priestly lords led us, with all our pride Withering about us, — like devoted beasts, Dragged to the shrine, with faded garlands tied. 'Tis o'er — the dawn of our deliverance breaks ! Up from his sleep of centuries awakes The Genius of the old republic, free As first he stood, in chainless majesty, And sends his voice through ages yet to come, Proclaiming Rome, Rome, Rome, Eternal Rome ! Thomas Moore. BLINDNESS. IT would be a dreadful thing to me to lose my sight, to see no more the faces of those I love, nor the sweet blue of heaven, nor the myriad stars that gem the sky, nor the dissolv- ing clouds that pass over it, nor the battling ships upon the sea, nor the mountains with their changing lines of light and shade, nor the love- liness of flowers, nor the burnished mail of insects. But I should do as other blind men have done before me : I should take God's rod and staff for my guide and comfort, and wait patiently for death to bring better light to nobler eyes. O ye who are living in the dark- ness of sin ! turn before it is too late to the light of holiness, else death will bring to you 158 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. not recreation, but retribution. Earthly blind- ness can be borne, for it is but for a day ; but who could bear to be blind through eternity? Henry Ward Beecher. THE 'POSSOM-RUN DEBATING SOCIETY. (An Ethiopian forensic tussle. ) CHARACTERS. The Chairman. Professor Morehouse. Dr. Crane. Mr. Julius. Mr. Hunnicut. Scene. — Room with platform and arm-chair for Chairman. Four chairs for the speakers, and benches for audience. Table, with a few books and writing materials. Performers all dis- covered sitting. Chairman {rising) . I rise, gemmen an' ladies, for de puppose of calling de meeting to order. De object ob dis meeting is to debate a scientific question, de nature an' scope ob which might engage de noble faculties ob Professor Huxley — a question ob de mos' significant interest to ebery culled pusson in dis cultivated audience now befo' me. De question for debate am dis : — "Which has produced demos' wonders — de Ian' or de water?" I ask for de learned speakers who will address the char, ladies and gemmen, your mos' 'spectful 'tention. I am a war ob de fac' dat for more reasons dan one, water am not a popular subjec' with mos' pus- sons in dis audience, but I trus' — {Business here, several of the audience, including the speakers, press forward and try to bo?'row a quarter of the Chairman — emphatically. ) As I was about to say when I was interrupted — I trus' you will not let your prejudices interfer' with de freedom ob debate. De debate will now be opened, an' water takes de lead. (Sits down, amid applause from audience. ) Dr. Crane {rising, and bowing to the Chair- man). Mr. Chaarman, geografers tell us dat one-quarter ob de yaarth's surface is Ian' an' three-quarters is water ; in one squaar foot of dat water is more wonders dan in forty squaar rods of Ian'. Dese chillen settin' round hyar can figger on dat. Dat's a argyment I intro- duce jus' to keep de chillen quiet awhile. When you spill water on a table it spreads all out thin — on a clean table, I mean. Now, s'posen de- table dusty. Note de change. De water seper- ates in globules. (Turning towards the audi- ence. ) (For de information of some ob be folks, I would explain dat globules is drops, seperated drops.) Now, why is dat? Isn't dat won- derful ? Can de Ian' do like dat ? No saar. Dere'sno such wonder in the Ian'. (Sits down, amid applause. ) Prof. Morehouse (rising, and bowing to the Chairman). Mr. Chaarman, I don't see noth- ing wonderful in de water gettin' in drops on de dusty table. Dat 's de natcher ob de water. Dere's nothing wonderful in anything actin* accordin to natcher. S'posen it wasn't natcher, what causes it to get into draps ? De dust. De dust! de /an 1 / de lari ! De wonder's in de Ian', after all. Mr. Chaarman, Dr. Crane makes no argyment for de water at all, but all for Ian'. He makes a p'int dat de table should be dusty. De dust makes de wonderful change in de water, an' dust is Ian/ . I wants no better argyment for de Ian' dan Dr. Crane makes, (Sits down, amid app/ause.') Mr. Hunnicut (rising and bowing to the Chair- man). Mr. Chaarman, speakin' ob de wonders in de water, I take my position on Niagary Falls — de gran' stupenjus, majestick wonder ob de hole world. Dere's no such or-inspiring objeck in de Ian' Den, see de water-falls ob minoi importance scattered all ober de face ob de yaarth. Whoeber saw de Ian' rollin' ober de precipice, like de water? See de mitey oshum She hole up de ship full ob frate an' passengers, widout props, an' yit de ship move along in de water if jus' a little wind touch her. Put de ship on de Ian' an' load her ; forty locomotives tear her all to pieces 'fore she ■move. Di. Crane tells us dere's more wonders in one square foot of water, dan in forty rods ob Ian'. He's right. Why, one night las' week, I's ober to Doc Russel's house, an' de ole doctor he ax me would I like to see a drop ob water in YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 159' his glass (his magnifyin' glass, I mean.) I tole um sartainly. So he rig up de glass an' when he get um all right he tole me to take a good look. Wa'al, Mr. Chaarman, in dat one drop ob water I seed more wonders dan I eber saw in the hole course ob my life. Dere was a animal like a gran' mother's night-cap wid one string, a-scootin' roun' after another thing, like a curry- comb wid a flounced handle. Dere was a year ob corn wid a ruffle down each side, an' de fuss t'ing I know, a six-legged base-drum come swimmin' along, an' jus' swallowed it. Talk about wonders on de Ian' ! dey ain't a patchin' to de water. {Sits down, amid applause. ) Mr. Julius {rising and bowing to the Chair- man). De fuss part of Mr. Hunnicut's argy- ment seems to me is all for de lan\ Dere would be no Niagary, or any udder falls, if de Ian' wasn't in such a mos' wonderful shape to make falls. De water falls, cause dafs its natcher. Jus' look right here in Mount Vernon. Dere's Norton's dam; dere's de same principle, de same law of natcher. Take away de dam, de water is no more dan common water. No, sair, dere's no wonder in de water at Niagary. De wonder is in de Ian'. {Sits down.) Dr. Crane {looking at the Chairman for a moment, and then towards the audieitce. ) Per- haps it is not generally known, buc still it is a fac, dat if it's not for de water in de air, we'd all die. Dere mus' be water in de air we take into our lungs to sustain life. An', strange as it may seem, dere mus' be water in de air to sus- tain combustion. You could not kindle a fire were it not for de aqueous gases ob de air. (By aqueous I mean watery. ) I call dat wonderful — I can see nothing like it in de Ian' — dat de water which put out de fire is necessary to make de fire burn. {Sits down, a?nid applause. ) Prof. Morehouse {rising). Mr. Chaarman, I hope dat you'll rule out all dat Dr. Crane jus' said. Instruct de committee not to take no 'count ob it. Sich talk's too much fool non- sense. Dr. Crane says we must have water to breeve. I daar him to a trial. He may go down an' stick his college hed ('scuse me, saar), his eddicated hed, in de creek, an' take his, breevin' dar, saar, and I'll take my stan' an' my breevin', on dis platform, by de stove, an' let de committee decide de case on de merits of de proof of who holes out de longest. Den listen to what he sez about water makin' de fire burn. Did you eber — did you eber hyaar de like? Now, 'cordin to Dr. Crane, s'posen, I wants to start a fire in dis yar stove. I gits some shavin's. an' puts in, den some pine kindlin's, den berry carefully pour on a little, 'jus a little, karaysene, den puts on a few nice pieces of coal, lights a. match, sticks her to de sheavin's, and she don't burn ; I lights a newspaper, and frows her under de grate; de shavin's don't light. I gits mad, an' I slaps in a bucket ob water, an' away she goes, all a-blazin in a second. Oh, shaw, sich bosh ! Don't take no 'count ob dat. It would' be a wonder if it was true ; but, oh, my ! what, cabbage it is ! Jedges, don' take no 'count ob sich idle talk. I say, saar, dat de Ian' produces de mos' wonders. Look at de trees, de flowers, de grain, de cabbages, de inguns, dat spring up out of de Ian' Look at de Mammoth Cave, more wonderful than all the falls that eber fell. See how dey bore in de groun' fifteen hundred feet an' more, an' out come coal oil, two t'ousan bar'l a minit. I'd jus' like to see any dese water folks bore a hole fifteen hundred feet down into the ocean, an' pump out one gallon of coal-oil in an hour. Can you dig down in de ocean, or in de lakes, an' git out gold, an' silber, an' iron, and coal? Can you build a. railroad on de ocean, an' cut a tunnel thru' de waters ? No, saar, Mr. Chaarman, I am satisfied to close de subjec' befo' de meetin', so far as de side ob Ian' am concerned. {Sits down, amid tremendous applause. ) Mr. Hunnicut {rising). It's jus' 'curred to> my mind, on Prof. Morehouse speakin' 'bout trees, an' de grass, an' de inguns, an' cabbages, dat when I was out in de far West, I alius notice dat on de plains, on de mountains, anywheres away from de streems, no timber grows, no wegi- tation, no grass, mostly barr'n ; but all along de streems,, dere's de grass, de trees, de wegita- 160 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. fion. Why ? 'Cause of de moistureness, de water. So, 'pears to me dat de cause of all de b'utiful wegitation, after all, is de water. Mr. Chaar- man, we hab close de debate on dis subjec', and I hab no fear dat you will decide dat my worthy colleague, an' de unworthy speaker, hab demon- strated beyond de power of contradiction — dat de water am greater dan de Ian' . {Sits down, -amid applause. ) Chairman (rising). Ladies and gemmen, — de •question befo' de meetin' hab been discussed with marked ability on bofe sides. De advo- cates ob water hab made a good showin', con- siderin' how little we really know about water. But, as I'm mos' shu' ob de Ian', I mus' decide in favor ob de Ian', but I recommend de water side as deserbin' high credit for deir investiga- tions, an' de instruction an' edification ob de meetin'. [curtain.] TIM MURPHY'S IRISH STEW. (An Irish sketch.) TIM MURPHY {solus). I saw Teddy Rea- gan, the other day ; he told me he had been dealing in hogs. Is business good ? sez I. Yis, sez he. Talking about hogs, Teddy, how do you find yourself? sez I. I wint to buy a clock the other day, to make a present to Mary Jane. Will you have a Frinch clock ? says the jeweler. The divil take your Frinch clock, sez I. I want a clock that my sister can understand when it sthrikes. I have a Dutch clock, sez he, an' you can put that on the sthairs. It might run down if I put it there, sez I. Well, sez he, here's a Yankee clock, with a lookin' -glass in the front, so that you can see yourself, sez he. It's too ugly, sez I. Thin I'll take the lookin' - glass out, an' whin you look at it you'll not find it so ugly, sez he. I wint to Chatham street, to buy a shirt, for the one I had on was a thrifle soiled. The Jew who kept the sthore looked at my bosom, an' said : — Mine Got, how long do you veara shirt? Twenty-eight inches, sez I. Have you any fine shirts? sez I. Yis, sez he. Are they clane ? sez I. Yis, sez he. Then, you had betther put on one, sez I. You may talk about bringing up childher in the way they should go, but I believe in bring- ing them up by the hair of the head. Talking about bringing up childher — I hear my childher' s prayers every night — the other night I let thim up to bed without thim. I skipped and sthood behind the door. I heard the big boy say — " Give us this day our daily bread." The little fellow said — " Sthrike him for pie, Johnny." I have one of the most economical boys in the city of New York ; he hasn't spint one cint for the last two years. I am expecting him down from Sing-Sing next week. Talking about boys — I have a nephew who five years ago couldn't write a word. Last week he wrote his name for $10,000 — he'll git tin years in Auburn. They had a fight at Tim Owen's wake, last week. Mary Jane was there. She says that, barrin' herself, there was only one whole nose left in the party, an' that belonged to the tea- kettle. A HARD-SHELL SERMON. (Must be read in a ranting, sing-song monotone, increasing in loudness to the close. ) MY BELOVED BRETHERING : I am a unlarnt hard-shell Baptist preacher, of whom you've no doubt hearn afore, and I now appear here to expound the scripters and pint out the narrow way which leads from a vain world to the streets of Jaroosalem ; and my tex, which I shall choose for the occasion, is in the leds of the Bible, somewhar between the second Chronikills and the last chapter of Timothy Titus, and when you find it, you'll find it in these words : ' 'And they shall knaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, where the lion roareth, and the wang-doodle mourneth for its first born. ' ' Now, my brethering, as I have before told you, I am an oneddicated man, and know noth- ing about grammar talk and collidge highfalutin, but I am a plain, unlarnt preacher, what's been YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 161 foreordaned and called to prepare a pervarse generation for the day of wrath — ah ! ' ' For they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, whar the lion roareth, and the wang- doodle mourneth for its first born," — ah ! My beloved brethering, the tex says, they shall gnaw a file. It does not say they may, but shall. Now, there is more than one kind of file. There's the hand-saw file, the rat -tail file, the single file, the double file, and profile ; but the kind spoken of here isn't one of them kind, nayther, bekaus it's a figger of speech, and means going it alone, and getting ukered. "For they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, whar the lion roareth, and the wang-doodle mourneth for its first born," — ah ! And now, there be some here with fine clothes on thar backs, brass rings on thar fingers, and lard on tharhar, what goes it while tha're yung ; and thar be others here what, as long as thar con- stitooshins and forty-cent whiskey last, goes it blind. Thar be sisters here what, when they get sixteen years old, cut thar tiller-rope, and goes it with a rush. But I say, my dear brethering, take care you don't find, when Gabriel blows his last trump, your hand played out, and you've got ukered — ah! " For they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, whar the lion roareth, and the wang-doodle mourneth for its first born. ' ' My brethering, I am the captain of the flat- boat you see tied up thar, and have got aboard of her flour and bacon, 'taters, and as good Monongahela whiskey as ever was drunk, and am mighty apt to get a big price for them all; but what, my dear brethering, would it all be worth if I hadn't got religion? Thar's nothing like religion, my brethering; it's better nor silver, or gold jimcracks ; and you can no more get to heaven without ' it than a jay-bird can fly without a tail — ah ! Thank the Lord ! I'm a oneddicated man, my brethering; but I've sarched the Scripters from Dan to Beersheba, and found Zion right side up, and hard-shell religion the best kind of religion — ah. 'Tis not like the Methodies, what specks to get to heaven 11P-S by hollerin' hell fire ; nor like the Univarsalists, that gets on the broad guage and goes the hull hog — ah ! nor like the Yewnited Brethering, that takes each other by the slack of thar briches and hists themselves in ; nor like the Katherlicks, that buys threw tickets from their priests ; but it may be likened unto a man what has to cross the river — ah ! — and the ferry-boat was gone j so he tucked up his breeches and waded across — ah ! " For they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hespidam, whar the lion roar- eth, and the wang-doodle mourneth for its first- born!" Pass the hat, Brother Fluit, and let every hard-shell Baptist shell out. UNCLE PETE'S SERMON. (Humorous and dialectic.) BELUBBED fellow-travelers, in holding forth to-day, I doesn't quote no special verse for what I has to say ; De sarmon will be very short, and dis here am de text : Dat half-way doin's ain't no 'count, for dis world, or de nex. Dis world dat we's a libbin in is like a cotton row, Whar ebbry cullud gemmen has got his line to hoe ; An' ebbry time a lazy niggar stops to take a nap, De grass keeps on a growin' to smudder up his crap. When Moses led de Jews across de waters ob de sea, Dey had to keep a goin', jes as fas' as fas' could be. Do you s'pose dat dey could ebber have suc- ceeded in deir wish, An' reached de promised land at last, if dey had stopped to fish ? My friends, dar was a garden once, whar Addem libed wid Eve, Wid no one 'round to bodder dem, no neigh- bor for to t'ieve ; 162 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. An' ebbry day was Christmas, an' dey got deir rations free, An' ebbryt'ing belonged to dem excep' an apple tree. You all know 'bout de story — how de snake came swooping 'round, A stump-tail, rusty moccasin, a-crawlin' on de groun' — How Eve an' Addem eat deir fruit, an' went an' hid deir face, Till de angel-oberseer came, an' drove 'em off de place. Now, s'pose dat man an' woman hadn't 'tempted for to shirk, But had gone about deir gardening an' 'tended to deir work; Dey wouldn't hab been a-loafin' whar dey had no bizness to, And de debbel'd nebber had a chance to tell 'em what to do. No half-way doin's bruddren ! It'll nebber do, I say ! Go at your task and finish it, an' den's de time to play ; For eben if de crap is good, de rain '11 spoil de bolls, Unless you keeps a-pickin in de garden ob your souls. Keep a-plowin', and a-hoin', and a-scrapin' ob de rows. And when de ginnin's ober, you can pay up what you owes. But if you quit a-workin' ebbry time de sun is hot, De sheriff's gwine to lebby on ebbryt'ing you's got. What ebber 'tis you's dribin' at, be sure and dribe it through ; And don't let nufnn' stop you, but do what you's gwine to do ; For when you sees a niggar foolin', den as sho's you're born, You's gwine to see him comin' out de small end ob de horn. I t'anks you for de 'tention you hab gib dis arternoon. Sister Williams will 'blige us by de raisin' ob a tune j I see dat Brudder Johnson's 'bout to pass round de hat, And don't let's hab no half-way doin's when it comes to dat. THE BEREAVED EDITOR'S SPEECH. (Humorous. ) MY house and barn have recently been de- stroyed by fire, together with two- valuable horses. My dear wife has also just been called away, and now another horse has gone ; yet, notwithstanding all this, I never felt more resigned in my life ! Blessed faith I Wife and horses all gone, yet resignation and confidence triumphant ! Still it is hard to bear with the stings of adversity. No more will those loving hands pull off my boots, and part my hair, as only a true wife can. No more will those willing feet replenish the coal- hod and water-pail. No more will she arise, 'mid the tempestuous storms of winter, and gayly hie herself away to build the fire, without disturbing- the slumbers of the man who doted on her sa artlessly. Her memory is embalmed in my heart of hearts. I wanted to embalm her body, but I found that I could embalm her money muck cheaper. I procured from Eli Mudget, a neighbor of mine, a very, pretty grave-stone. His wife was a consumptive, and he had kept it on hand several years, in expectation of her death. But she rallied that spring, and his hopes were blasted. Never shall I forget this poor man's grief, when. I asked him to part with it. ' ' Take it, Skinner, ' ' said he ; ' ' take it ; and may you never know what it is to have your soul racked with disap- pointment, as mine has been." And he burst into a flood of tears. His spirit was indeed ut- terly crushed. I have the following epistle engraved on the grave -stone : "To the memory of Tabitha, wife of Moses Skinner, Esq., gentlemanly editor of the Trom- bone. A kind mother and exemplary wife- YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 163 Terms, two dollars a year, invariably in advance. Office over Coleman's grocery, up two nights. Knock hard. We shall miss thee, mother ; we shall miss thee, mother ; we shall miss thee, mother. Job printing solicited." Thus did my lacerated spirit cry out in agony, even as Rachel weeping for her children. But one ray of light penetrated the despair of my soul. The undertaker took his pay in job print- ing, and the sexton owed me a little account I should not have gotten in any other way. Why should we pine at the mysterious ways of Provi- dence and vicinity? (Not a conundrum.) I here pause to drop a silent tear to the memory of Tabitha Ripley, that was. She was an emi- nently pious woman, and could fry the best piece of tripe I ever slung under my vest. Her picked- up dinners were a perfect success, and she always doted on foreign missions. She sometimes made it warm for me ; but, she's quiet now. (Aside.) And I love her still. THE PEOPLE ALWAYS CONQUER. SIR, in the efforts of the People, — of the People struggling for their rights, — mov- ing, not in organized, disciplined masses, but in their spontaneous action, man for man, and heart for heart, — there is something glorious. They can then move forward without orders, act together without combination, and brave the naming lines of battle without intrenchments to cover or walls to shield them. No dissolute camp has worn off from the feelings of the youthful soldier the freshness of that home, where his mother and his sisters sit waiting, with tearful eyes and aching heart, to hear good news from the wars ; no long service in the ranks of a conqueror has turned the veteran's I heart into marble. Their valor springs not from recklessness, from habit, from indifference to the preservation of a life knit by no pledges to the life of others ; but in the strength and spirit of the cause alone, they act, they contend, they bleed. In this they conquer. The People always conquer. They always must conquer. Armies may be defeated, kings may be overthrown, and new dynasties imposed, by foreign arms, on an ignorant and slavish race, that care not in what language the cove- nant of their subjections runs, nor in whose name the deed of their barter and sale is made out. But the People never invade ; and, when they rise against the invader, are never subdued. If they are driven from the plains, they fly to the mountains. Steep rocks and everlasting hills are their castles ; the tangled, pathless thicket their palisado ; and nature, God, is their ally ! Now He Overwhelms the hosts of their enemies beneath his drifting mountains of sand ; now He buries them beneath a falling atmos- phere of polar snows ; He lets loose His tem- pests on their fleets ; He puts a folly into their counsels, a madness into the hearts of their leaders ; He never gave, and never will give, a final triumph over a virtuous and gallant People, resolved to be free. " For Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son, Though baffled oft, is ever won." Edward Everett APPEAL TO THE HUNGARIANS, 1849. Kossuth. Louis Kossuth. Born, 1802 ; died, 1894. An eminent Hungarian patriot, orator, and statesman. As a result of the following speech, the Hungarians threw off the Austrian yoke, and elected Kossuth Dictator. Through the influence of Russia, Kos- suth was forced into exile. In 185 1 he vis- ited the United States and England, where he made a number of speeches. OUR Fatherland is in danger ! Citizens ! to arms ! to arms. Unless the whole Nation rise up, as one man, to defend itself, all noble blood already shed is in vain ; and, on the ground where the ashes of our ancestors re- pose, the Russian knout will rule over an en- slaved People ! Be it known to all Hungary, that the Austrian Emperor has let loose upon us the barbarous hordes of Russia ; that a Russian army of forty-six thousand men has broken into our country from Gallicia, and is on the march ; that another has entered Transylvania ; and that, finally, we can expect no foreign assistance, as the People that sympathize with us are kept 164 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. down by their rulers, and gaze only in dumb silence on our struggle. We have nothing to rest our hopes upon but a righteous God and our own strength. If we do not put forth that strength, God will also forsake us. Hungary's struggle is no longer our struggle alone. It is the struggle of popular freedom against tyranny. Our victory is the victory of freedom, — our fall is the fall of freedom. God has chosen us to free the Nations from bodily servitude. In the wake of our victory will follow liberty to the Italians, Germans, Poles, Valla- chians, Sclavonians, Servians, and Croatians. With our fall goes down the star of freedom over all. People of Hungary ! will you die under the exterminating sword of the savage Russians? If not, defend yourselves ! Will you look on while the Cossacks of the far North tread under foot the bodies of your fathers, mothers, wives, and children ? If not, defend yourselves ! Will you see a part of your fellow-citizens sent to the wilds of Siberia, made to serve in the wars of tyrants, or bleed under the murderous knout? If not, defend yourselves ! Will you behold your villages in flames and your harvests de- stroyed ? Will you die of hunger on the land which your sweat has made fertile ? If not, de- fend yourselves ! We call upon the People, in the name of God and the Country, to rise up in arms. In virtue of our powers and duty, we order a general crusade of the People against the enemy, to be declared from every pulpit and from every town house of the country, and made known by the continual ringing of bells. One great effort, and the country is forever saved ! We have, indeed, an army which numbers some two hundred thou- sand determined men ; but the struggle is no longer one between two hostile camps ; it is the struggle of tyranny against freedom, — of barbar- ism against all free Nations. Therefore must all the People seize arms and support the army, that, thus united, the victory of freedom for Europe may be won. Fly, then, united with the army, to arms, every citizen of the land, and the victory is sure ! THE RUINS OF ROME. . ROME ! my country ! city of the soul ! . The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones, and temples, ye, Whose agonies are evils of a day — A world is at our feet, as fragile as our clay. The Ni'o-be of nations ! there she stands Childless and crownless in her voiceless woe; An empty urn within her withered hands, Whose holy dust was scattered long ago : The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now ; The very sepulchres lie tenantless Of their heroic dwellers ; dost thou flow, Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness ? Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her dis- tress ! The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, Have dealt upon the seven-hilled city's pride ,• They saw her glories star by star expire, And, up the steep, barbarian monarchs ride Where the car climbed the capitol ; far and wide Temple and tower went down, nor left a site : — Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void ? O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, And say, ' ' here was, or is, ' ' where all is doubly night ? Alas ! the lofty city ! and alas ! The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away ? Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, And Livy's pictured page ! — but these shall be Her resurrection ; all beside — decay. Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free ! Byron. 4 <^%* "What change has now come o'er the spirit of thy dreams? Answer me in a word. ' ' (Suggestion For Tableau.) 'Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shot Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette; Ring me a ball in the glittering spot That shines on her breast like an amulet!" YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 165 THE POWER OF HABIT. (Descriptive, spirited, and dramatic.) I REMEMBER once riding from Buffalo to the Niagara Falls. I said to a gentleman, ' ' What river is that, sir ? " 4 'That, " said he, "is Niagara river." "Well, it is a beautiful stream," said. I; " bright, and fair, and glassy. How far off are the rapids?" ' ' Only a mile or two, ' ' was the reply. "Is it possible that only a mile from us we shall find the water in the turbulence which it must show near the Falls ? ' ' " You will find it so, sir." And so I found it ; and the first sight of Niagara I shall never forget. Now, launch your bark on that Niagara river ; it is bright, smooth, beautiful, and glassy. There is a ripple at the bow ; the silver wake you leave behind adds to your enjoyment. Down the stream you glide, oars, sails, and helm in proper trim, and you set out on your pleasure excursion. Suddenly some one cries out from the bank, "Young men, ahoy ! " "What is it?" " The rapids are below you ! " ' ' Ha ! ha ! we have heard of the rapids ; but we are not such fools as to get there. If we go too fast, then we shall up with the helm, and steer to the shore ; we will set the mast in the socket, hoist the sail, and speed to the land. Then on, boys, don't be alarmed, there is no danger. ' ' " Young men, ahoy there ! " "What is it?" ' ' The rapids are below you ! ' ' "Ha! ha! we will laugh and quaff; all things delight us. What care we for the future ! No man ever saw it. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. We will enjoy life while we may, we will catch pleasure as it flies. This is enjoyment ; time enough to steer out of danger when we are sailing swiftly with the current. ' ' " Young men, ahoy ! " "What is it?" " Beware ! beware ! The rapids are below you ! ' ' " Now you see the water foaming all around. See how fast you pass that point ! Up with the helm ! Now turn ! Pull hard ! Quick ! quick ! quick ! pull for your lives ! pull till the blood starts from your nostrils, and the veins stand like whip-cords upon your brow ! Set the mast in the socket ! hoist the sail ! Ah ! ah ! it is too late ! Shrieking, howling, blaspheming, over they go." Thousands go over the rapids of intemper- ance every year, through the power of habit, crying all the while, ' ' When I find out that it is injuring me, I will give it up / " John B. Gough. THE LABORING CLASSES. SIR, it is an insult to our laboring classes to compare them with the debased poor of Europe. Why, sir, we of this country do not know what poverty is. We have no poor in this country, in the sense in which that word is used abroad. Every laborer, even the most humble, m the United States, soon becomes a capitalist, and even, if he choose, a proprietor of land ; for the West, with all its boundless fer- tility, is open to him. How can any one dare to compare the me- chanics of this land (whose inferiority, in any substantial particular, in intelligence, in virtue, in wealth, to the other classes of our society, I have yet to learn) with that race of outcasts, of which so terrific a picture is presented by recent writers — the poor of Europe ? — a race among no inconsiderable portion of whom famine and pesti- lence may be said to dwell continually ; many of whom are without morals, without education, without a country, without a God ! and may be said to know society only by the terrors of its penal code, and to live in perpetual war with it. Poor bondmen ! mocked with the name of liberty, that they may be sometimes tempted to break their chains, in order that, after a few days of starvation in idleness and dissipation, they may be driven back to their prison-house to take 166 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. their shackles up again, heavier and more galling than before ; severed, as it has been touchingly expressed, from nature, from the common air, and the light of the sun ; knowing only by hear- say that the fields are green, that the birds sing, and that there is a per' fume in flowers ! And is it with a race whom the perverse insti- tutions of Europe have thus degraded beneath the condition of humanity that the advocates, the patrons, the protectors, of our working-men, presume to compare them? Sir, it is to treat them with a scorn at which their spirit should revolt, and does revolt. Hugh Legare. DANGERS OF OUR PROSPERITY. THE danger, my countrymen, is that we shall become intoxicated by our amazing phy- sical triumphs. Because, within the memory of most. of us, the lightning has been harnessed to the newsman's car, and the steam- engine has not only brought the ends of the earth into proximity, but has also provided a working power, which, requiring no nutriment, and sus- ceptible of no fatigue, almost releases living creatures from the necessity of toil, — because of these most marvelous discoveries, we are in dan- ger of believing that like wonders maybe achieved in the social and moral world. But be it remembered that, in all our discov- eries, no substitute has been found for conscience, and no machine to take the place of reason. The telegraph cannot legislate, nor the locomo- tive educate. The mind is still the mind, and must obey its own higher laws. Our most press- ing needs are such as no mechanism can supply. What we most lack is true, earnest, sincere, faith- ful, loyal, self-sacrificing men. Without these, it is in vain that we extend our territory from ocean to ocean, and quarry gold as we do rocks. These physical accessions, coming so suddenly upon us, do but increase our peril. Adversity we might bear, and be the better for it. But how shall we bear this gush of seeming prosperity? Seeming, I say, because time alone can deter- mine whether it is real. If, my countrymen, with all these excitements, we do not become a nation of reckless adven- turers, — gamblers, perhaps, would be the proper word, — if we do not cut ourselves entirely loose from our ancient moorings, but still hold fast to our integrity, our very continence will prove that there is still some sterling virtue left. For never was there so much reason for the prayer, " De- liver us from temptation." After all our con- quests, the most difficult yet remains, — the victory over ourselves. We have now to answer, under untried difficulties, that gravest of ques- tions, "What constitutes a State?" And the answer must be like that which was given long, long ago : " Not high-raised battlements or labored mound, Thick wall or moated gate ; Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned ; Not bays and broad-armed ports, Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride. * * * * * No ; — men, high-minded men, — * ■* * * * Men who their duties know, But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain. " Timothy Walker. R ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. OLL on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin ; his control Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and un- known. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark heaving; boundless, endless, and sub- lime — YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 167 The image of eternity — the throne Of the Invisible ! even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers ; — they to me Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror, ' twas a pleasing fear ; For I was, as it were, a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. Byron. ON THE DEATH OF SHERIDAN. (Sheridan was a great Irish orator, poet, statesman and dramatist. He was distinguished in many respects. Byron considers him as the greatest genius of his day. ) "T" "THEN the last sunshine of expiring day VV In summer's twilight weeps itself away, Who hath not felt the softness of the hour Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower ? 'Tis not harsh sorrow — but a tenderer woe, Nameless, but dear to gentle hearts below ; Felt without bitterness — but full and clear . A sweet dejection — a transparent tear, Unmixed with worldly grief or selfish stain, Shed without shame, and secret without pain. Even as the tenderness that hour instills When summer's day declines along the hills, So feels the fullness of our heart and eyes When all of Genius which can perish dies ! Almighty spirit is eclipsed — a power Hath passed from day to darkness — to whose hour Of light no likeness is bequeathed — no name, Focus at once of all the rays of F.ame ! The flash of Wit, the bright Intelligence, _,The beam of Song, the blaze of Eloquence, Set with their sun — but still have left behind The enduring produce of immortal Mind ; Fruits of a genial morn and glorious noon, A deathless part of him who died too soon. Ye orators ! whom yet our councils yield, Mourn for the veteran hero of your field ! The worthy rival of the wondrous Three,* Whose words were sparks of immortality ! Ye bards ! to whom the drama' s muse is dear, He was your master — emulate him here ! Ye men of wit and social eloquence ! He was your brother — bear his ashes hence ! While powers of mind almost of boundless range, Complete in kind, as various in their change, — While Eloquence, Wit, Poesy, and Mirth, That humbler harmonist of care on earth, Survive within our souls, — while lives our sense Of pride in Merit's proud pre-eminence, Long shall we seek his likeness — long in vain, And turn to all of him which may remain, Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, And broke the die — in moulding Sheridan ! Byron. OPPORTUNITIES OF THE SCHOLAR. (From "Henry W. Grady. His Life, Writings, and Speeches." Permission of C. H. Hudgins & Co. "Y" "TTE are standing in the daybreak of the jA/ second century of this Republic. The fixed stars are fading from the sky, and we grope in uncertain light. Strange shapes have come with the night. Established ways are lost — new roads perplex, and widening fields stretch beyond the sight. The unrest of dawn impels us to and fro — but Doubt stalks amid the confusion, and even on the beaten paths the shifting crowds are halted, and from the shadows the sentries cry : ' ' Who comes there ? ' * In the obscurity of the morning tremendous forces are at work. Nothing is steadfast or approved. The miracles of the present belie the simple truths of the past. The Church is besieged from without and betrayed from within. Be- hind the courts smoulders the rioter's torch and looms the gibbet of the anarchists. Gov- ernment is the contention of partisans and the prey of spoilsmen. Trade is restless in the grasp of monopoly, and commerce shackled with * Pitt, Fox, and Burke. 168 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. limitation. The cities are swollen and the fields are stripped. Splendor streams from the castle, and squalor crouches in the home. The uni- versal brotherhood is dissolving, and the People are huddling into classes. The hiss of the Nihilist disturbs the covert, and the roar of the mob murmurs along the highway. Amid it all beats the great American heart undismayed, and standing fast by the challenge of his conscience, the citizen of the Republic, tranquil and reso- lute, notes the drifting of the spectral currents, and calmly awaits the full disclosures of the day. Who shall be the heralds of this coming day ? Who shall thread the way of honor and safety through these besetting problems? Who shall rally the People to the defence of their liberties, and stir them until they shall cry aloud to be led against the enemies of the Republic ? You, my countrymen, you ! The university is the training camp of the future. The scholar the champion of the coming years. Napoleon over- ran Europe with drum-tap and bivouac — the next Napoleon shall form his battalions at the tap of the school-house bell, and his captains shall come with cap and gown. Waterloo was won at Oxford — Sedan at Berlin. So Germany plants her colleges in the shadow of the French forts, and the professor smiles amid his students as he notes the sentinel stalking against the sky. The farmer has learned that brains mix better with his soil than the waste of sea-birds, and the professor walks by his side as he spreads the showers in the verdure of his field, and locks the sunshine in the glory of his harvest. A button is pressed by a child's finger and the work of a million men is done. The hand is nothing — the brain everything. Physical prow- ess has had its day, and the age of reason has come. The lion-hearted Richard challenging Saladin to single combat is absurd, for even Gog and Magog shall wage the Armageddon from their closets and look not upon the blood that runs to the bridle-bit. Science is every- thing ! She butchers a hog in Chicago, draws Boston within three hours of New York, renews the famished soil, routs her viewless bondsmen from the electric centre of the earth, and ther± turns to watch the new Icarus, as mounting in his flight to the sun, he darkens the burnished ceiling of the sky with the shadow of his wing. Learning is supreme, and you are its prophets. Here the Olympic games of the Republic — and you its chosen athletes. It is yours, then, to grapple with these problems, to confront and master these dangers. Yours to decide whether the tremendous forces of this Republic shall be kept in balance, or, whether unbalanced they shall bring chaos ; whether 60,000,000 men are capable of self-government, or whether liberty shall be lost to them who would give their lives to maintain it. Your responsibility is appalling. You stand in the pass behind which the world's liberties are guarded. This government carries the hopes of the human race. Blot out the beacon that lights the portals of this Republic and the world is adrift again. But save the Republic ; establish the light of its beacon over the troubled waters, and one by one the nations of the earth shall drop anchor and be at rest in the harbor of universal liberty. THE UNBELIEVER. I PITY the unbeliever, — one who can gaze upon the grandeur, and glory, and beauty of the natural universe, and behold not the touches of His finger, who is over, and with, and above all; from my very heart I do com- miserate his condition. The unbeliever ! one whose intellect the light of revelation never penetrated ; who can gaze upon the sun, and moon, and stars, and upon the unfading and imperishable sky, spread out so magnificently above him, and say all this is the work of chance. The heart of such a being is a drear and cheerless void. In him, mind — the god- like gift of intellect — is debased, destroyed ; ail is dark, — a fearful chaotic labyrinth — rayless — cheerless — hopeless ! No gleam of light from heaven penetrates the blackness of the horrible delusion ; no voice from the Eternal bids the desponding heart rejoice. No fancied tones from the harps of seraphim arouse the dull YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 169 spirit from its lethargy, or allay the consuming fever of the brain. The wreck of mind is utterly remediless ; reason is prostrate ; and passion, prejudice, and superstition have reared their temple on the ruins of his intellect. I pity the unbeliever. What to him is the revelation from on high but a sealed book ? He sees nothing above, or around, or beneath him that evinces the existence of a God ; and he denies — yea, while standing on the footstool of Omnipotence, and gazing upon the dazzling throne of Jehovah, he shuts his intellect to the light of reason, and denies there is a God. Thomas Chalmers. OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR- HOUSE. OVER the hill to the poor-house I'm trudgin' my weary way — I, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle gray— I, who am smart an' chipper, for all the years I've told, As many another woman, that's only half as old. Over the hill to the poor-house — I can't make it quite clear ! Over the hill to the poor-house — it seems so horrid queer ! Many a step I've taken a-toilin' to and fro, But this is a sort of journey I never thought to go. What is the use of heapin' on me a pauper's shame ? Am I lazy or crazy ? am I blind or lame ? True, I am not so supple, nor yet so awful stout, But charity ain't no favor, if one can live without. I am willin' and anxious an' ready any day, To work for a decent livin', an' pay my honest way; For I can earn my victuals, an' more too, I'll be bound, If anybody only is willin' to have me 'round. Once I was young and han'some — I was, upon my soul — Once my cheeks was roses, my eyes as black as coal ; And I can't remember, in them days, of hearin' people say, For any kind of reason, that I was in their way. 'Taint no use of boastin', or talkin' over free, But many a house an' home was open then to me ; Many a han'some offer I had from likely men, And nobody ever hinted that I was a burden then. And when to John I was married, sure he was. good and smart, But he and all the neighbors would own I done my part : For life was all before me, an' I was young an' strong. And I worked the best that I could in try in' to get along. And so we worked together : and life was hard but gay, With now and then a baby, for to cheer us on our way ; Till we had half a dozen, an' all growed clean an' neat, An' went to school like others, an' had enough to eat. So we worked for the childr'n, and raised 'em every cne ; Worked for 'em summer and winter, just as we ought to've done ; Only perhaps we humored 'em, which some good folks condemn, But every couple's child 'rn's a heap the best to them. Strange how much wc think of our blessed little ones ? — I'd have died for my daughters, I'd have died for my sons ; And God he made that rule of love ; but when we're old and gray, I've noticed it sometimes somehow fails to work the other way. 170 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Strange, another thing : when our boys an' girls was grown, And when, exceptin' Charlie, they'd left us there alone ; When John he nearer an' nearer come, an' dearer seemed to be, The Lord of Hosts He come one day an' took him away from me. Still I was bound to struggle, an' never to cringe or fall- Still I worked for Charlie, for Charlie was now my all ; And Charlie was pretty good to me, with scarce a word or frown, Till at last he went a courtin', and brought a wife from town. She was somewhat dressy, an' hadn't a pleasant smile — She was quite conceity, and carried a heap o' style ; But if ever I tried to be friends, I did with her, I know ; Eut she was hard and proud, an' I couldn't make it go. She had an edication, an' that was good for her ; But when she twitted me on mine 'twas carryin' things too fur ; An' I told her once 'fore company (an' it almost made her sick), That I never swallowed a grammar, or 'et a 'rith- matic. So 'twas only a few days before the thing was done — They was a family of themselves, and I another one ; And a very little cottage for one family will do, But I have never seen a house that was big enough for two. An' I never could speak to suit her, never could please her eye, An' it made me independent, an' then I didn't trv ; But I was terribly staggered, an' felt it like a blow, When Charlie turned ag'in me, an' told me I could go. I went to live with Susan, but Susan's house was small, And she was always a-hintin' how snug it was for us all ; And what with her husband's sisters, and what with her childr'n three, 'Twas easy to discover that there wasn't room for me. An' then I went to Thomas, the oldest son I've got, For Thomas' buildings' d cover the half of an acre lot ; But all the childr'n was on me — I couldn't stand their sauce — And Thomas said I needn't think I was comin' there to boss. An' then I wrote to Rebeeca, — my girl who lives out West, And to Isaac, not far from her — some twenty miles at best ; An' one of 'em said 'twas too warm there, for any one so old, And t'other had an opinion the climate was too cold. So they have shirked and slighted me, an' shifted me about — So they have well-nigh soured me, an' worn my old heart out ; But still I've born up pretty well, an' wasn't much put down, Till Charlie went to the poor-master, an' put me on the town. Over the hill to the poor-house — my childr'n dear, good-bye ! Many a night I've watched you when only God was nigh ; And God' 11 judge between us ; but I will al'ays pray That you shall never suffer the half I do to-day. Will M. Carleton. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 171 OVER THE HILLS FROM THE POOR- HOUSE. OVER the hills to the poor-house sad paths have been made to-day, For sorrow is near, such as maketh the heads of the young turn gray, Causing the heart of the careless to throb with a fevered breath — The sorrow that leads to the chamber whose light has gone out in death. To Susan, Rebecca and Isaac, to Thomas and Charley, word sped That mother was ill and fast failing, perhaps when they heard might be dead; But e'en while they wrote she was praying that some of her children might come, To hear from her lips their last blessing before she should start for her home. To Susan, poor Susan! how bitter the agony brought by the call, For deep in her heart for her mother wide rooms had been left after all ; And now, that she thought, by her fireside one place had been vacant for years, — And while "o'er the hills" she was speeding her path might be traced by her tears. Rebecca ! she heard not the tidings, but those who bent over her knew That led by the Angel of Death, near the waves of the river she drew ; Delirious, ever she told them her mother was cooling her head, While, weeping, they thought that ere morning both mother and child might be dead, And, Isaac him kneeling beside her, stern qiuv'ring in aspen-like grief, While waves of sad mem'ry surged o'er like billows of wind o'er the leaf; "'Too late," were the words that had humbled his cold, haughty pride to the dust, And Peace, with her olive-boughs laden, crowned loving forgiveness with trust. Bowed over his letters and papers, sat Thomas, his brow lined by thought, But little he heeded the markets or news of his gains that they brought ; His lips grew as pale as his cheek, but new pur- pose seemed born in his eye, And Thomas went "over the hills," to the mother that shortly must die. To Charley, her youngest, her pride, came the mother's message that morn, And he was away "o'er the hills " ere the sun- light blushed over the corn ; And, strangest of all, by his side, was the wife he had ' ' brought from the town. ' ' And silently wept, while her tears strung with diamonds her plain mourning gown. For each had been thinking, of late, how they missed the old mother's sweet smile, And wond'ring how they could have been so blind and unjust all that while ; They thought of their harsh, cruel words, and longed to atone for the past, When swift o'er the heart of vain dreams swept the presence of death's chilling blast. So into the chamber of death, one by one, these sad children had crept, As they, in their childhood had done, when mother was tired and slept, — And peace, rich as then, came to each, as they drank in her blessing, so deep, That, breathing into her life, she fell back in her last blessed sleep. And when "o'er the hills from the poor-house," that mother is tenderly borne, The life of her life, her loved children, tread softly, and silently mourn, For theirs is no rivulet sorrow, but deep as the ocean is deep, And into our lives, with sweet healing, the balm of their bruising may creep. For swift come the flashings of temper, and tor- rents of words come as swift, 172 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Till out 'mong the tide -waves of anger, how often we thoughtlessly drift ! And heads that are gray with life's ashes, and feet that walk down 'mong the dead, We send "o'er the hills to the poor-house " for love, and, it may be, for bread. Oh ! when shall we value the living while yet the keen sickle is stayed, Nor slight the wild flower in its blooming, till all its sweet life is decayed ? Yet often the fragrance is richest, when poured from the bruised blossom's soul, And ' ' over the hills from the poor-house ' ' the rarest of melodies roll. May Mignonette. THE BELLS. (Good for voice culture. Imitate the tones of the bells. ) HEAR the sledges with the bells — Silver bells ! What a world of merriment their melody fortells ! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night ! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight ; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. Hear the mellow wedding bells- Golden bells ! What a world of happiness their harmony fore- tells! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight ! From the molten-golden notes, And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon ! Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells I • How it swells ! How it dwells On the future ! how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells,— Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells I Hear the loud alarum bells — Brazen bells ! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells 1 In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright ! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor, Now — now to sit or never, By the side of the pale-faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells ! What a tale their terror tells Of despair ! How they clang, and clash, and roar I What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air ! Yet the ear, it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows ; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling And the wrangling How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells — MISSES SANDALL AND CRIDER. (Neff College of Oratory.) "BACK, RUFFIANS, BACK!" MISS MARY SANDALL. (Neff College of Oratory.) 'WITH A S-MJLE THAT WAS CHILDLIKE AND BLAND." Bret Harte. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 173 Of the bells— Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— In the clamor and the clangor of the bells ! Hear the tolling of the bells — Iron bells ! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels ! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright, At the melancholy menace of their tone ! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people — ah, the people — They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone — They are neither man nor woman — They are neither brute nor human — They are ghouls: And their king it is who tolls ; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls, A paean from the bells ! And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells ! And he dances and he yells ; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the paean of the bells — Of the bells; Keeping time, time, tinx,, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells, To the sobbing of the bells ; Keeping time, time, time, •As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, To the tolling of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells- Bells, bells, bells, To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. Edgar A. Poe. "THEM YANKEE BLANKITS." HOW SUFFERING AND BROTHERLY KINDNESS BROUGHT HEARTS TOGETHER. YES, John, I was down thar at Memphis, A-\vorkin' around at the boats, A-heavin' o' cotton with emph'sis, An' a-loadin' her onter the floats. I was comin' away from Ole Texas, Whar I went, you know, arter the wah — 'Bout it now I'll make no reflexes, But wait till I get ter long taw. Well, while I was down thar, the fever, As yaller an' pizen as sin, Broke out ; an' ef you'll beleeve her, Wharever she hit she struck in ! It didn't take long in the hatchin', It jes' fa'rly bred in the air, Till a hospittel camp warn't a patchin' An' we'd plenty o' corpses to spare. I volunteer' d then with the Howards, — I thought that my duty was clear, — An' I didn't look back'ards, but for'ards, An' went ter my work 'ithout fear. One day, howsomever, she got me As quick as the shot of a gun, An' they toted me off ter allot me A bunk tell my life-race was run. The doctor and nurses they wrestled, But it didn't do me any good ; An' the drugger he pounded and pestled, But he didn't get up the right food. " No blankits ner ice in the city ! " — I hear'd 'em say that from my bed, — An' some cried, " O God! who'll take pity On the dyin' that soon' 11 be dead?" Next day, howsomever, the doctor Came in with a smile on his brow. " Old boy, jest as yit we hain't knocked her/' Said he, " but we'll do fer her now !" 174 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Fer, yer see, John, them folks ter the Nor' ward Hed hear'd us afore we call'd twice, An* they'd sent us a full cargo forward Of them much-needed blankits an' ice ! Well, brother, I've been mighty solid Agin' Yankees, yer know, since the wah, An' agin' reconstrucktin' was stolid, Not kearin' fer Kongriss ner law \ But, John, I got onder thet kiver, That God -blessed gift o' the Yanks, An' it sav'd me from fordin' "the river," An' I'm prayin' 'em oceans o' thanks ! I tell yer, old boy, thar's er streak in us Old Rebels an' Yanks thet is warm ; It's er brotherly love thet' 11 speak in us, An' fetch us together in storm : We may snarl about "niggers an' francheese," But whenever thar's sufferin' afoot, The two trees' 11 unite in the branches The same as they do at the root ! Samuel W. Small. THE PUZZLED DUTCHMAN. (Dialectic. ) I'M a proken-hearted Deutscher, Vot's villed mit crief und shame. I dells you vot der drouple ish : I doosri ' t know my name. You dinks dis fery vunny, eh ? Ven you der schtory hear, You vill not vonder den so mooch, It vas so schtrange und queer. Mine moder had dwo leedle twins ; Dey vas me und mine broder : Ve lookt so fery mooch alike, No von knew vich vrom toder. Von off der poys vas ' ' Yawcob, ' ' Und " Hans " de Oder's name : But den it made no tifferent ; Ve both got called der same. Veil ! von off us got tead, — Yaw, Mynheer, dot ish so ! M But vedder Hans or Yawcob, Mine moder she don'd know. Und so I am in drouples : I gan't kit droo mine hed Vedder I'm Hans vof s lifing, Or Yawcob vot is tead / Charles F. Adams. MRS. LOFTY AND I. RS. LOFTY keeps a carriage, So do I ; She has dapple grays to draw it, None have I ; She's no prouder with her coachman Than am I With my blue-eyed laughing baby Trundling by ; I hide his face, lest she should see The cherub boy, and envy me. Her fine husband has white fingers, Mine has not ; He could give his bride a palace, Mine a cot ; Her's comes beneath the star-light, Ne'er cares she ; Mine comes in the purple twilight, Kisses me. And prays that He who turns life's sands, Will hold his lov'd ones in His hands. Mrs. Lofty has her jewels, So have I ; She wears her's upon her bosom, Inside I ; She will leave her's at death's portals, By and by ; I shall bear the treasure with me, When I die : For I have love, and she has gold ; She counts her wealth, mine can't be told. She has those that love her station, None have I ; But I've one true heart beside me, Glad am I ; YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 175 I'd not change it for a kingdom, No, not I ; God will weigh it in His balance, By and by ; And then the diffrence 'twill define 'Twixt Mrs. Lofty 's wealth and mine. APPEAL FOR TEMPERANCE. H. W. Grady. (In no cause in which his sympathies were enlisted was Mr. Grady more active and earnest than in that of temperance. The following extract is from one of his speeches delivered during the exciting local campaign in Georgia in 1887. Permission of C. H. Hudgins & Co. ) MY friends, hesitate before you vote liquor back into Atlanta, now that it is shut out. Don't trust it. It is powerful, aggressive and universal in its attacks. To- night it enters an humble home, to strike the roses from a woman's cheek, and to-morrow it challenges this Republic in the halls of Con- gress. To-day it strikes a crust from the lips of a starving child, and to-morrow levies tribute from the government itself. There is no cottage in this city humble enough to escape it — no palace strong enough to shut it out. It defies the law when it cannot coerce suffrage. It is flexible to cajole, but merciless in victory. It is the mortal enemy of peace and order. The de- spoiler of men, the terror of women, the cloud that shadows the face of children, the demon that has dug more graves and sent more souls unshrived to judgment, than all the pestilences that have wasted life since God sent the plagues to Egypt, and all the wars since Joshua stood beyond Jericho. O my countrymen ! loving God and humanity, do not bring this grand old city again under the dominion of that power. It can profit no man by its return. It can uplift no industry, revive no interest, remedy no wrong. You know that it cannot. It comes to turn, and it shall profit mainly by the ruin of your sons and mine. It comes to mislead human souls and crush human hearts under its rumbling wheels. It comes to bring gray -haired mothers down in shame and sorrow to their graves. It comes to turn the wife's love into despair and P her pride into shame. It comes to still the laughter on the lips of little children. It comes to stifle all the music of the home and fill it with silence and desolation. It comes to ruin your body and mind, to wreck your home, and it knows that it must measure its prosperity by the swiftness and certainty with which it wreaks this work. HIS FIRST AND LAST DRINK. ( Dialectic and humorous. A good reading for tern perance entertainment. The reader should be careful to give the proper German accent.) OY PILLY" was the adopted son of Father Zende, an eccentric Teuton, who was much shocked one day at see- ing the boy in a lager beer saloon taking off" a foaming glass of lager. He bade the boy go home, but said nothing about the matter till evening. After tea Zende seated himself at the table and placed before him a variety of queer things, whereon Billy looked with curiosity. ' ' Kommer zie hier, Pilly, ' ' cried Christian. ' ' Vy vas du in te peer shops, to-tay, hein ? Vy drinks peer, mein poy ?' ' "O — O — because it's good," said Billy, boldly. ' ' No, Pilly, it vas not gute to dein mout. I did see nefifer so pig faces als didst make, Pilly. Pilly, you dinks it vill daste gute py-and-py, and it ees like a man to trinks, and so you trinks, Pilly. Now, Pilly, eef it ees gute, haf it ; if it ees like ein man, trink it, Pilly, I vill not hinders you vrom vat ees gute and manly, mein shilt ; but — trinks at home, dakes your trink pure, Pilly, and lets me pay for it. Kom, mein poy ! You likes peer. Veil, kom, open dein mout ; heir I haf all te peer stuff Simons pure vrom te schops, mein poy. Kom, opens dein mout, ant I vill puts it een. ' ' Billy drew near, but kept his mouth close shut. Said Zende : "Don you makes me madt, Pilly! Opens dein mout !" Thus exhorted, Billy opened his mouth, and Christian put a small bit of alum in it. Billy drew up his face, but boys can stand alum. 176 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. After a little, Christian cried, ' ' Opens dein mout, peer is't not all alums !" and he dropped in a bit of aloes. This was worse ; Billy winced. Again, ' ' Opens dein mout ! ' ' The least morsel of red pepper, now, from a knife point ; but Billy howled. "Vat! not likes dein peer?" said Zende. ' ' Opens dein mout ! ' ' Just touched, now, with a knife point dipped in oil of turpentine. Billy began to cry. " Opens dein mout, dein peer is not hafs mate yet, Pilly !" And Billy's tongue got the least dusting of lime and potash and saleratus. Billy now cried loudly. ' ' Opens dein mout ! ' ' Unlucky Billy ! This time about a grain of liquorice, hop pollen, and salpetre. "Looks, Pilly! Here ist some arsenic, and some strychnine ; dese pelongs in te peer. Opens dein mout ! ' ' "I can't, I can't!" roared Billy. "Arsenic and strychnine are to kill rats ! I shall die ! O-O-O ! do you want to kill me, Father Zende ?' ' "Kills him; joost py ein leetle peer! All gute and pure ! He dells me he likes peer, and it ees manly to trinks eet, and ven I gives him te peer, he cries kills him ! So, Pilly, heir is water, dere ist mooch water in peer — trinks dat ! ' ' Billy drank the water eagerly. Zende went on, "x\nd dere is mooch alcohol in peer. Heir! opens dein mout ! ' ' and he dropped four drops of raw spirit carefully on his tongue. Billy went dancing about the room, and then ran for more water. " Kommer zie heir, dein peer ist not done, Pilly," shouted Christian; and, seizing him, he put the cork of an ammonia bottle to his lips, then a drop of honey, a taste of sugar, a drop of molasses, a drop of gall; then "Pilly, heir is more of dein peer ! Heir is jalap, copperas, sulphuric acid, acetic acid, and nux vomica ; opens dein mout ! ' ' " O, no, no !" moaned Billy. " Let me go ! I hate beer ! I'll never drink any more ! I'll never go in that shop again ! I'll be a good boy ! I'll sign the pledge ! Oh, let me be ! I can't eat those things ! I'll die ! My mouth tastes awful now. Oh, take 'em away, Father Zende!" " Dakes 'em away! dakes avay dein goot peer!" cried the old man, innocently, "ven I hafs paid vor eet, ant mein Pilly can trinks eet pure at his home, likes ein shentleman ! Vy, poy, dese ist te makins of peer, and you no likes dem? All dese honey ant sugar ant water, poy?' ' " But the other things, ' ' said Billy. " O, the other things — they are the biggest part — ugh — they make me sick. ' ' "Mein poy, you trinks dem fast to-tay ! Looks, Pilly, a man he trinks all dese pad things mix up in vater, and call peer. Ach ! he gets red in hees faces, he gets pig in hees poddy, he gets shaky in hees hands, he gets clumsy on hees toes, he gets weak in hees eyes, he gets pad in hees breat', he gets mean in hees manners. Vy, Pilly, you sees vy. All dese dings on mein table ees vy !' Happy Billy ! Few boys get so good a tem- perance lecture, such home thrusts, such practical experiments as fall to your lot. Billy was satis- fied on the beer question. "He ees all goot now," said Zende. "I hafs no more droubles mit mein Pilly. ' ' THE TEMPERANCE QUESTION. SOME men look upon this temperance cause as whining bigotry, narrow asceticism, or a vulgar sentimentality, fit for little minds, weak women, and weaker men. On the contrary, I regard it as second only to one or two others of the primary reforms of this age, and for this reason : every race has its peculiar temptation ; every clime has its specific sin. The tropics and tropical races are tempted to one form of sensuality ; the colder and tem- perate regions, and our Saxon blood, find their peculiar temptation in the stimulus of drink and food. In old times our heaven was a drunken revel. We relieve ourselves from the over- weariness of constant and exhausting toil by intoxication. Science has brought a cheap means of drunkenness within the reach of every individual. National prosperity and free insti- YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 177 tutions have put into the hands of almost every workman the means of being drunk for a week on the labor of two or three hours. With that blood and that temptation, we have adopted democratic institutions, where the law has no sanctions but the purpose and virtue of the masses. The statute-book rests not on bayonets, as in Europe, but on the hearts of the people. A drunken people can never be the basis of a free government. It is the corner-stone neither of virtue, prosperity, nor progress. To us, therefore, the title-deeds of whose estates and the safety of whose lives depend upon the tran- quillity of the streets, upon the virtue of the masses, the presence of any vice which brutal- izes the average mass of mankind, and tends to make it more readily the tool of intriguing and corrupt leaders, is necessarily a stab at the very life of the nation. Against such a vice is mar- shaled the Temperance Reformation. That my sketch is no fancy picture every one of you knows. Every one of you can glance back over your own path, and count many and many a one among those who started from the goal at your side, with equal energy and perhaps greater promise, who has found a drunkard's grave long before this. The brightness of the bar, the ornament of the pulpit, the hope, and blessing, and stay of many a family — you know, every one of you who has reached middle life, how often on your path you set up the warning, * ' Fallen before the temptations of the street ! ' ' Hardly one house in this city, whether it be full and warm with all the luxury of wealth, or whether it find hard, cold maintenance by the most earnest economy : no matter which — hardly a house that does not count among sons or nephews some victim of this vice. The skeleton of this warning sits at every board. The whole world is kindred in this suffering. The country mother launches her boy with trembling upon the temptations of city life ; the father trusts his daughter anxiously to the young man she has chosen, knowing what a wreck intoxication may make of the house-tree they set up. Alas ! how often are their worst 12P-S forebodings more than fulfilled : I have known a case — probably many of you recall some almost equal to it — where one worthy woman could count father, brother, husband, and son- in-law all drunkards — no man among her near kindred, except her son, who was not a victim of this vice. Like all other appetites, this finds resolution weak when set against the constant presence of temptation. Wendell Phillips. D A DELSARTEN PLEA. EAR Mr. Delsarte !* Since you've taught us that art Must replace Mother Nature's injunctions. And teach us anew What we really should do With our various physical functions. We beg you would add To the lessons we've had About walking and breathing and posing, Other hints that will make All our doings partake Of a grace more perfection disclosing. We'd be taught, if you please, How to gracefully sneeze, How to snore in symmetrical manner, How to get out of bed, How to drop when we tread On the cuticle of a banana ; How to smell, how to wink, How to chew, how to drink, How sublimely to shake an ash-sifter, How to step on a tack, How to get in a hack, How to toy with a heated stove-lifter ; How to hiccough with ease, How to groan, how to wheeze, How to spank a night-brawling relation ; In short, how to mend The mistakes that our friend Dame Nature mixed in our creation. * Francois Delsarte, the famous French teacher, whc taught that the greatest need of the elocutionist was to imi- tate nature in his art ; that there was a natural way of ex- pressing every thought and emotion, and that mind and body should work together in harmony under the guidance of nature's true promptings. 178 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. I THE POOR INDIAN! KNOW him by his falcon eye, His raven tress and mien of pride ; Those dingy draperies, as they fly, Tell that a great soul throbs inside ! - No eagle-feathered crown he wears, Capping in pride his kingly brow ; But his crownless hat in grief declares, "Iaman unthroned monarch now !" " O noble son of a royal line !" I exclaim, as I gaze into his face, ' ' How shall I knit my soul to thine ? How right the wrongs of thine injured race ? " What shall I do for thee, glorious one ? To soothe thy sorrows my soul aspires. Speak ! and say how the Saxon's son May atone for the wrongs of his ruthless sires ! ' ' He speaks, he speaks ! — that noble chief! From his marble lips deep accents come ; And I catch the sound of his mighty grief, — " Pie 1 gV me tree cent for git S07ne rum .?" CASEY AT THE BAT. (This selection has been made famous by DeWolf Hopper, who has been called before the curtain between the acts of his comic opera performances hundreds of times to recite this piece, always receiv- ing thunders of applause. ) THERE was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place, There was pride in Casey's bearing, and a smile on Casey's face ; And when responding to the cheers he lightly doffed his hat, No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt, Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt ; Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip, Defiance glanced in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip. And now the leather-covered sphere came whirl- ing thro' the air, And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty- grandeur there ; Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped. "That ain't my style," said Casey, "Strike one," the umpire said. From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar, Like the beating of storm waves on a stern and distant shore ; ' ' Kill him ! kill the umpire ! ' ' shouted some one on the stand. And it's likely they'd have killed him had not. Casey raised his hand. With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone, He stilled the rising tumult, he bade the game go on; He signalled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew, But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said "Strike two." ' ' Fraud ! ' ' cried the maddened thousands, and the echo answered, " Fraud ! " But the scornful look from Casey, and the audi- ence was awed ; They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain, And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again. The sneer is gone from Casey's lips, his teeth are clenched in hate, He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate ; And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he let's it go. And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow. Oh ! somewhere in this favored land the sun »s shining bright, YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 179 The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light ; And somewhere men are laughing, and some- where children shout, But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has struck out. THE NEWS-TELLING BORE. (It is important in the delivery of dialogues, in order to prevent confusion, to have the places of entrance and exit, whether right or left, well under- stood beforehand ; also to have every crossing of the stage marked and understood. Unless this is done, awkwardness will be produced by an unexpected movement. In some of the dialogues the editor has inserted the proper marks ; in others, the speakers are left to arrange them. The animation and natural- ness of a dialogue often depend upon proper and ex- pressive movements across the stage, or to and fro. ) Quidnunc and Feeble. Enter Feeble, L. * He stops, C. , feels his pulse, and shakes his head — then takes a vial from his pocket, pours a few drops on a lump of sugar, and swallows it. As soon as he hears Quid- nunc' s voice, he starts with disgust towards R. The whole of Quidnunc' s first speech is uttered off the stage. There should be a chair a little to the right of the centre. Quidnunc {without). Hold your tongue, you foolish fellow ! he'll be glad to see me. Brother Feeble ! brother Feeble ! Feeble (J?.). I was just going to bed. Bless my heart, what can this man want ? I know his voice. I hope no new misfortune brings him at this hour. Enter Quidunc, L. Quid. Brother Feeble, I give you joy ! the nabob's demolished. Hurra ! Feeb. Lack-a-day, Mr. Quidnunc ! How can you serve me thus ? Quid. Suraja Dowla is no more ! Hurra ! ( Crosses the stage to L. , then back again to R. ) Feeb. Poor man ! he's stark, staring mad. Quid. Our men diverted themselves with kill- ing their bullocks and their camels, till they dis- lodged the enemy from the sotagon, and the counterscarp, and the bungalow — * R. stands for the right of the stage, facing the audience ; I,, for the left ; C. for the centre. Feeb. I'll hear the rest to-morrow morning. O ! I'm ready to die ! Quid. Odds-heart, man, be of good cheer ! {Slapping Feeble on the back. ) The new nabob, Jaffer Alley Cawn, has acceded to a treaty, and the English Company got all their rights in the Phiemad and the Fushbulhoonons. Feeb. But, dear heart, Mr. Quidnunc, why am I to be disturbed for this ? Quid. We had but two seapoys killed, three chokeys, four gaul-walls, and two zemindars. Hurra ! Feeb. Would not to-morrow morning do as well for this ? Quid. Light up your windows, man ! — light up your windows ! Chandernagore is taken ! Hurra ! Feeb. Well, well ! I am glad of it. Good- night. ( Going R. ) Quid. Here — here's the Gazette. {Produces newspaper. ) Feeb. O, I shall certainly faint ! {Sits down. ) Quid. Ay, ay, sit down, and I'll read it to you. Here it is : " On the ioththe action com- menced. Suraja Dowla drew up his men on the right of the bungalow, about" — (Feeble rises and moves away, R.) Nay, don't run away: I've more news to tell you. There's an account from Williamsburg, in America. The superin- tendent of Indian affairs — Feeb. Dear sir ! dear sir ! {Avoiding him.) Quid. He has settled matters with the Chero- kees — {Following him about the stage. ) Feeb. Enough, enough ! {Moving away. ) Quid. In the same manner he did before with the Catawbas. {Following him.) Feeb. Well, well! — your servant. {Moving off-) Quid. So that the white inhabitants — {Fol- lowing him.) Feeb. I wish you would let me be a quiet in- habitant of my own house ! Quid. So that the white inhabitants will now be secured by the Cherokees and the Catawbas — Feeb. You had better go home, and think of appearing before the commissioners. 180 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Quid. Go home ! No, no! I'll go and talk the matter over at our coffee-house. ( Going, L. ) Feeb. Do so, do so ! Quid, {turning back) . I had a dispute about the balance of power. ( Takes chair and sits, C.) Pray, now, can you tell — Feeb. I know nothing of the matter. Quid. Well, another time will do for that. {Rises. ) - 1 have a great deal to say about that. ( Going — returns. ) Right ! I had like to have forgot. There' s an erratum in the last Gazette. Feeb. With all my heart ! Quid. Page 3, 1st col., 1st and 3d lines, for bombs read booms. Feeb. Read what you will ! Quid. Nay, but that alters the sense, you know. Well, now, your servant. If I hear any more news, I'll come and tell you. Feeb. For heaven's sake, no more ! Quid. I'll be with you before you're out of your first sleep. Feeb. Good-night, good-night ! {Hurries off, R.) Quid, {screaming after hint). I forgot to tell you — the Emperor of Morocco is dead. So, now I have made him happy, I'll go and call up my friend Razor, and make him happy, too ; and then I'll go and see if anybody ii up at the coffee- house, and make them all happy ihere, too. {Exit, Z.) MARK TWAIN INTRODUCES HIMSELF. «* T ADIES — and — gentlemen: By — the re- j quest of the — Chairman of the — Com- mit-tee — I beg leave to — intro — duce — to you — the reader of the eve-ning — a gentle- man whose great learning — whose historical ac- curacy — whose devotion — to science — and — whose veneration for the truth — are only equalled by his high moral character — and — his — majestic presence. I allude — in these vague general terms — to my-self. I — am a little opposed to the cus- tom of ceremoniously introducing a reader to the audience, because it seems — unnecessary — where the man has been properly advertised ! But as — it is — the custom — I prefer to make it myself — in my own case — and then I can rely on getting in — all the facts ! I never had but one introduction — that seemed to me just the thing: — and the gentleman was not acquainted with me, and there was no nonsense. ' Ladies and gentle- men, I shall waste no time in this introduction. I know of only two facts about this man ; first, he — has never been in state prison ; and, second, I can't — imagine why.' " SEWING ON A BUTTON. (Humorous reading.) IT is bad enough to see a bachelor sew on a button, but he is the embodiment of grace alongside of a married man. Necessity has compelled experience in the case of the former, but the latter has always depended upon some one else for this service, and fortunately, for the sake of society, it is rarely he is obliged to resort to the needle himself. Sometimes the patient wife scalds her right hand, or runs a sliver under the nail of the index finger of that hand, and it is then the man clutches the needle around the neck, and forgetting to tie a knot in the thread commences to put on the button. It is always in the morning, and from five to twenty minutes after he is expected to be down street. He lays the button exactly on the site of its predecessor, and pushes the needle through one eye, and carefully draws the thread after, leaving about three inches of it sticking up for leeway. He says to himself, — "Well, if women don't have the easiest time I ever see." Then he comes back the other way, and gets the needle through the cloth well enough, and lays himself out to find the eye, but in spite of a great deal of patient jabbing, the needle point persists in bucking against the solid parts of that button, and, finally, when he loses patience, his fingers catch the thread, and that three inches he had left to hold the button slips through the eye in a twinkling, and the button rolls leisurely across the floor. He picks it up without a single remark, out of respect to his children, and makes another at- tempt to fasten it. This time when coming back YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 181 with the needle he keeps both the thread and but- ton from slipping by covering them with his thumb, and it is out of regard for that part of him that he feels around for the eye in a very careful and judicious manner ; but eventually losing his philosophy as the search becomes more and more hopeless, he falls to jabbing about in a loose and savage manner, and it is just then the needle finds the opening, and comes up through the button and part way through his thumb with a celerity that no humau ingenuity can guard against. Then he lays down the things, with a few familiar quotations, and presses the injured hand between his knees, and then holds it under the other arm, and finally jams it into his mouth, and all the while he prances about the floor, and calls upon heaven and earth to witness that there has never been anything like it since the world was created, and howls, and whistles, and moans, and sobs. After awhile, he calms down, and puts on his pants, and fastens them together with a stick, and goes to his business a changed man. J. M. Bailey. LATEST FORM OF LITERARY HYSTERICS. (Speaker should be earnest, as if trying to deliver an oration of consequence. ) THE little bird stood on the roof of the cow- shed and scratched its neck. Afar down the valley a lone ragman drove his chariot slowly along and chanted his plaintive lay. The wind moaned through the chimney-pots, the red sun looked dimly down through the smoke, and the little bird stood on the roof of the cowshed and scratched its neck. The little bird stood on the roof of the cow- shed and scratched its neck. Sadly the stray policeman in the gray distance swiped a banana from the cart of a passing Italian and peeled it with a grimy hand. He was thinking, thinking. And the dead leaves still choked the tin spout above the rain-water barrel in the backyard. The little bird stood on the roof of the cow- shed and scratched its neck. Adown the gutters in the lonely street ran murky puddles on their long, long journey toward the distant sea. Borne on the wings of the sluggish breeze came a far-off murmur of vagrant dogs in fierce contention, and life was a hollow mockery to the homeless cat. The little bird stood on the roof of the cow- shed and scratched its neck. And it softly said : " I scratch because it itches !" MISS JANUARY JONES' LECTURE ON . WOMAN'S RIGHTS. ' (Young man dressed up as a colored woman. ) LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: Hear me for my cause, and be silent that I may have your years. I come to speak for my sufferin' sisters. Man, my hearers, claims to be the sooperior uv woman ! Is it so ? and ef so, in what, and how much ? Wuz he the fust creashun ? He wuz, my hearers ; but what does that prove ? Man wuz made fust, but the experience gained in makin' man wuz applied to the makin' uv a betterer and more fmerer bein', uv whom I am a sample. Nacher made man, but saw in a breef space uv time thet he coodent take keer of hisself alone, and so he made a woman to take keer uv him, and thet's why we wuz created, tho' seein' all the trubble we hev, I don't doubt thet it wood hev bin money in our pockets ef we hedn't bin med at all. Imagine, my antiquated sisters, Adam, afore Eve wuz med ! Who sowed on his shirt buttins? Who cooked his beef-steak ? Who med his coffee in the mornin' and did his washin' ? He wuz mizzable, he wuz — he must hev boarded out, and eat hash ! But when Eve cum, the scene changed. Her gentle hand suthed his akin' brow wen he cum in from a hard day's work. She hed his house in order ; she hed his slippers and dressin' gown reddy, and after tea he smoked his meershaum in peece. Men, crooel, hard-hearted men, assert thet Eve wuz the cause uv his expulshun from Eden — thet she plucked the apple and give him half; oh, my sisters, its troo : it's too troo, but what uv it ? It proves, fustly, her goodness. Hed Adam plucked the apple, ef it hed bin a good 182 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. one, he'd never thought of his wife at home, but wood hev gobbled it all. Eve, angel that we all are, thought uv him, and went havers with him ! Secondly, it wuz the meens uv good, anyhow. It interdoost deth inter the wurld, which separated 'em wile they still hed luv fur each uther. I appeal to the sterner sex present to-night, Wood yoo, oh, wood yoo, desire for immortality, onless, indede, you lived in Injeany, where yoo cood git divorces, and change your names wunst in ten or fifteen yeers? S'pos'n all uv yoo hed bin fortoonit enuff to win sich virgin soles ez me, cood yoo endoor charms like mine for a eternity ? Methinks not. I know that ef I hed a husband he wood bless Eve for interdoosin' death inter the world. CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. (Humorous, Italian dialect. ) DEESA man liva in Italia a gooda longa time ago. He hada greata head ever since he was a kidda. Not a bigga heada likea de politicians nowaday — not a swella heada. His fadda keepa de standa in Italia. Sella de pea- nutta and de banan. Maka plente de mon. Christopher Colum he say, ' < Fadda, gimma de stamp, I go finda de new world. ' ' His fadda he laugh, "Ha! ha!" just so. Den Christopher he say, ' ' Whata you maka fun ! I betta you I finda new world. ' ' After a longa time his fadda say, "You go finda new world, and bringa it over here. ' ' Den de olda man he buy him a grip-sack, an' giva him boodle, an' maka him a present of three ships to come over to deesa contra. Well, Christopher Colum he saila an' saila for a gooda many day. He don't see any landa. An' he say, " I giva fiva do r ^r bill if I was back in Italia!" Well, he saila, an' he saila, an' vera soon he strika Coney Island. Den dat maka him glad ! Vera soon he coma to Castle Garden, an' den he walka up Broadway an' he feel very bada. He finda outa dat de Irish gang has gotta possession of New Yorka ! He don't lika de Irish, an' de Shamrocka donta lika him. He donta go vera far before a pleas- anter mana speaks to him. He say, "How-a-you do, Mista Jones ? Howa de folks in Pittaburg ?' ' Christopher Colum he say, ' ' I notta Mista Jones ; I reada the papers \ I tinka you sella de green goods, ha ? You go away, or I broka your jaw ?' ' Den he shaka hees fista deesa way, and de man he skedaddle. Den he tries to crossa de Broad-a-way, but it fulla de mud an' he canta swim. Vera soon he sees a policeman cluba de mana, one, two, three times, an' he feel secka de stom' ! Next he metta de politicians uppa Tam- many Hall, an' dees wanta him to runna for Alderman. He getta plenty friend. He learna to "settom op" at de bar mana time. Next day he hava heada like deesa ! His fadda writa : " Why you notta bringa back de new world ? I lika to hava de earth ! ' ' Christopher Colum he writa back dat New Yorka is already in de hands of the Shamrocka. Den he goes to Ohio and buys a place an' calla it after himself — Colum. Soon he goa broka an' taka de nexta train home in disgusta, because he reada in de paper dat the Fair in '93 was holda in Chicago ! BIDDY'S TROUBLES. (Humorous dialectic reading.) " yT'S thru for me, Katy, that I never seed the like of this people afore. It's a sorry time I've been having since coming to this house, twelve months agone this week Thursday. Yer know, honey, that my fourth coosin, Ann Macarthy, recommended me to Mrs. Whaler, and told the lady that I knew about ginteel housework and the likes ; while at the same time I had niver seed inter an American lady's kitchen. So she engaged me, and my heart was jist ready to burst wid grief for the story that Ann had told, for Mrs. Whaler was a swate spoken lady, and niver looked cross-like in her life ; that I knew by her smooth, kind face. Well, jist the first thing she told me to do, after I dressed the children, was to dress the ducks for dinner. I stood looking at the lady for a couple of minutes before I could make out any meaning at all to her words. Thin I wint searching after clothes for the ducks ; and such YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 183 a time as I had, to be sure. High and low I went, till at last my mistress axed me for what I was looking ; and I told her the clothes" for the ducks, to be sure. Och ! how she scramed and laughed, till my face was rid as the sun wid shame, and she showed me in her kind, swate way what her maning was. Thin she told me how to air the beds ; and it was a day for me indade, when I could go up chamber alone and clare up the rooms. One day Mrs. Whaler said to me : " ' Biddy, an' ye may give the baby an airin', if yees will.' " What should I do — and it's thru what I am saying this blessed minute- -but go up-stairs wid the child, and shake it, and then howld it out of the winder. Such a scraming and kicking as the baby gave — but I hild on the harder. Everybody thin in the strate looked up at me ; at last mistress came up to see what for was so much noise. '"Iain thrying to air the baby,' I said, ' but it kicks and screams dridfully. ' ' ' There was company down below, and when Mrs. Whaler told them what I had been after doing I thought they would scare the folks in the strate wid scraming. "And then I was told I must do up Mr. Whaler's sharts one day when my mistress was out shopping. She told me repeatedly to do them up nice, for master was going away, so I takes the sharts and did them all up in some paper that I was after bringing from the ould counthry wid me, and tied some nice pink ribbon around the bundle. " ' Where are the sharts, Biddy? ' axed Mrs. Whaler when she corned home. " ' I have been doing them up in a quair nice way, ' I said, bringing her the bundle. "'Will you iver be done wid your grane- ness ? ' she axed me with a loud scrame. "I can't for the life of me be telliri' what their talkin' manes. At home we calls the likes of this fine work starching ; and a deal of it I have done, too. Och ! and may the Blessed Vargin pity me, for I never' 11 be cured of my graneness ! ' ' BEAUTIES OF THE LAW. Bullum versus Boatum. "T "THAT a profound study is the law ! How y/SjL shall I define it ? Law is — law. Law is — law ; and so forth, and hereby, and aforesaid, provided always, nevertheless, notwith- standing. Law is like a country dance ; people are led up and down in it till they are tired. It is like physic ; they that take the least of it are best off. Law is like a homely gentlewoman ; very well to follow. Law is like a scolding wife ; very bad when it follows us. Law is like a new fashion ; people are bewitched to get into it ; it is also like bad weather ; most people are glad when they get out of it. We shall now mention, in illustration, a case that came before us, — the case of Bullum versus Boatum. It was as follows : There were two farmers — farmer A and farmer B. Farmer A was seized or possessed of a bull ; farmer B was seized or possessed of a ferry-boat. Now, the owner of the ferry-boat, having made his boat fast to a post on shore, with a piece of hay twisted rope-fashion, or, as we say, volgo vocato, a hay -band, — after he had made his boat fast to the aforesaid post (as it was very natural for a hungry man to do) went up town to dinner. Farmer A's bull (as it was natural for a hungry bull to do) came down town to look for a din- ner ; and, observing, discovering, seeing, and spying out, some turnips in the bottom of the ferry-boat, the bull scrambled into the ferry-boat, ate up the turnips, and, to make an end of his meal, fell to work upon the hay-band. The boat, being eaten from its moorings, floated down the river with the bull in it : it struck against a rock, beat a hole in the bottom of the boat, and tossed the bull overboard ; whereupon, the owner of the bull brought his action against the boat for running away with the bull. The owner of the boat brought his action against the bull for running away with the boat. And thus notice of the trial was given, Bullum versus Boatum, Boatum versus Bullum. The counsel foj the bull began by saying, " Your honor, and you, gentlemen of the jury, we are counsel in this cause for the bull. We 184 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. are indicted for running away with the boat. Now, your honor, we have heard of running horses, but never of running bulls before. Now, your honor, the bull could no more run away with the boat than a man in a coach may be said to run away with the horses; therefore, your honor, how can we punish what is not punish- able ? How can we eat what is not eatable ? Or, how can we drink what is not drinkable ? Or, as the law says, how can we think what is not thinkable ? Therefore, your honor, as we are counsel in this cause for the bull, if the jury should bring the bull in guilty, the jury would be guilty of a bull. ' ' The counsel for the boat observed, that the bull should be non-suited, because, in his decla- ration, he had not specified what color he was of; for thus wisely, and thus learnedly, spoke the counsel : " Your honor, if the bull was of no color, he must be of some color ; and, if he was not of any color, what color could the bull be of?" I over-ruled this motion, myself, by observing the bull was a white bull, and that white is no color; besides, as I told my brethren, they should not trouble their heads to talk of color in the law, for the law can color anything. This cause being afterwards left to a reference, upon the award, both bull and boat were acquitted, it being proved that the tide of the river carried them both away ; upon which I gave it as my opinion, that, as the tide of the river carried both bull and boat away, both bull and boat had a good action against the water- bailiff. My opinion being taken, an action was issued, and, upon the traverse, this point of law arose : How, wherefore, and whether, why, when, and what, whatsoever, whereas, and whereby, as the boat was not a compos mentis evidence, how could an oath be administered? That point was soon settled by Boatum's attorney declaring that, for his client, he would swear anything. The water-bailiff's charter was then read, taken out of the original record in true law Latin ; which set forth in their declaration, that they were carried away either by the tide of flood or the tide of ebb. The charter of the water-bailiff was as follows : ' ' Aqua bailiffi, est magistrates in choici, sapor omnibus fishibus qui habuerunt finos et scalos, claws, shells, ef talos, qui swimmare in freshibus, vel s alt i bus- riveris, lakos, pondis, canalibus et well-boats, si've oysteri, prawni, whitini, shrimpi, iurbutus, solus ; ' ' that is, not turbots alone, but turbots and soles both together. But now comes the nicety of the law ; for the law is as nice as a new-laid egg. Bullum and Boatum mentioned both ebb and flood, to avoid quibbling ; but, it being proved that they were carried away neither by the tide of flood nor by the tide of ebb, but exactly upon the top of high water, they were non-suited ; but, such was the lenity of the court, that, upon their paying all costs, they were allowed to begin again de novo. COUNTING EGGS. OLD Moses, who sells eggs and chickens on the streets of Austin for a living, is as honest an old negro as ever lived ; but he has the habit of chatting familiarly with his customers, hence he frequently makes mistakes in counting out the eggs they buy. He carries his wares around in a small cart drawn by a diminutive donkey. He stopped in front of the residence of Mrs. Samuel Burton. The old lady herself came out to the gate to make the purchase. ' ' Have you any eggs this morning, Uncle Moses?" she asked. "Yes, indeed, I has. Jess got in ten dosen from de kentry." "Are they fresh?" "Fresh? Yas, indeed! I guarantees 'em, an' — an' — de hen guarantees 'em." "I'll take nine dozen. You can count them into this basket." "All right, mum;" he counts, "One, two, free, foah, five, six, seben, eight, nine, ten. You can rely on them bein' fresh. How's your ^ son comin' on de school? He must be mos' grown." ' ' Yes, Uncle Moses ; he is a clerk in a bank in Galveston." YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 185 " Why, how ole am de boy?" " He is eighteen." " You don't tole me so ! Eighteen, and get- ting a salary already ! Eighteen (counting), nineteen, twenty, twenty- one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty- foah, twenty-five. And how's your gal comin' on? She was most growed up de last time I seed her. ' ' ' ' She is married and living in Dallas. ' ' "Wall, I declar' ; how time scoots away. And you say she has childruns ? Why how ole am de gal ? She must be jest about — ' ' "Thirty-three." "Am dat so?" (Counting.') "Firty-free, firty-foah, firty-five, firty-six, firty-seben, firty- eight, firty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two, forty-free. Hit am singular dat you has such ole childruns. You don't look more den forty years old yerseff. ' ' ' ' Nonsense, old man ; I see you want to natter me. When a person gets to be fifty- three years old — " "Fifty-free ! I jess dun gwinter bleeve hit ; fifty-free, fifty-foah, fifty-five, fifty-six — I want you to pay 'tenshun when I count de eggs, so dar'll be no mistake — fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one sixty-two, sixty-free, sixty-foah. Whew ! Dis am a warm day. Dis am de time ob year when I feels I'se gettin' ole myself; I ain't long fur dis world. You comes from an ole family. When your fadder died he was sebenty years ole." " Seventy-two." " Dat's old, suah. Sebenty-two, sebenty- free, sebenty-foah, sebenty-five, sebenty-six, sebenty-seben, sebenty-eight, sebenty-nine. And your mudder ? she was one ob de noblest lookin' ladies I ebber see. You remind me ob her so much ! She libed to mos' a hundred. I bleeves she was done past a centurion when she died." " No, Uncle Moses ; she was only ninety-six when she died." "Den she wan't no chicken when she died, I know dat. Ninety-six, ninety-seben, ninety- eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one, two, free, foah, five, six, seben, eight — dar, one hundred and eight nice fresh eggs — jess nine dozen, and here am moah egg in case I have discounted myself. ' ' Old Mose went on his way rejoicing. A few days afterward Mrs. Burton said to her husband : "I am afraid we will have to discharge Ma- tilda. I am satisfied that she steals the milk and eggs. I am positive about the eggs, for I bought them day before yesterday, and now about half of them are gone. I stood right there, and heard Moses count them myself, and there were nine dozen." Texas Siftings. THE NOBLE REVENGE. (Reading. Teaching a lesson of kindness.) THE coffin was a plain one — a poor, miser- able pine coffin. No flowers on the top ; no lining of white satin for the pale brow ; no smooth ribbons about the coarse shroud. The brown hair was laid decently back, but there was no crimped cap with neat tie: beneath the chin. The sufferer from cruel pov- erty smiled in her sleep ; she had found bread, rest, and health. ' ' I want to see my mother, ' ' sobbed a poor little child, as the undertaker screwed down the top. ' ' You cannot ; get out of the way, boy ; why don't somebody take the brat?" "Only let me see her one minute!" cried the helpless orphan, clutching the side of the charity box, and, as he gazed upon the rough box, agonized tears streamed down the cheeks on which no childish bloom ever lingered. Oh ! it was painful to hear him cry the words, ' * Only once, let me see my mother, only once ! ' ' Quickly and brutally the heartless monster struck the boy away, so that he reeled with the blow. For a moment the boy stood panting with grief and rage — his blue eyes distended, his lips sprang apart, fire glittered through his eyes, as he raised his little arm with a most un- childish laugh, and screamed, ' ' When I am a man, I'll be revenged for that !" There was a cofhn and a heap of earth be- 186 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. tween the mother and the poor forsaken child — a monument much stronger than granite built in the boy's heart the memory of the heartless deed. * ^ >;=; %■ %. The court-house was crowded to suffocation. " Does anyone appear as this man's counsel ?" asked the Judge. There was a silence when he had finished, until, with lips tightly pressed together, a look of strange intelligence blended with a haughty reserve upon his handsome features, a young man stepped forward with a firm tread and kindly eye to plead for the erring friendless. He was a stranger, but at the first sentence there was silence. The splendor of his genius entranced — convinced. The man who could not find a friend was ac- quitted. "May God bless you, sir; I cannot," he said. " I want no thanks," replied the stranger. " I — I — I believe you are unknown to me." " Man, I will refresh your memory. Twenty years ago, this day, you struck a broken-hearted little boy away from his dear mother's coffin. I was that boy. ' ' The man turned livid. ' * Have you rescued me, then, to take my life?" " No, I have a sweeter revenge. I have saved the life of a man whose brutal conduct has rankled in my breast for the last twenty years. Go, then, and remember the tears of a friendless child." The man bowed his head in shame, and went from the presence of magnanimity as grand to him as it was incomprehensible. "C "CASH." A-A-SH!" calls the Ribbon-clerk in Lacy's dry goods store, And he pounds on the counter and " Ca-a-a-sh !" he calls some more. Oh ! all day long he yells for cash, and when the week is o'er, He gets the eight crisp dollar bills that he's been shouting for. "Cash!" call the Doctor, the Lawyer, Mer- chant, Chief, The Rich Man and the Poor Man, the Beggar Man and Thief. Each calls for cash, but what he gets as little represents The sum he thinks he ought to have as does that first-named gent's. Oh ! some dine at Delmonico's and some eat mutton hash, Some have to cut their cuffs each week, while others cut a dash ; For some have less, and some have more, but none will call me rash In stating that there is not one who does not call for cash. THE LITTLE CONQUEROR. ' ATA WAS midnight ; not a sound was heard ; Within the — " Papa! won't 'ou 'ook An' see my pooty 'ittle house ? I wis' 'ou wouldn't wead 'ou book " — " Within the palace, where the king Upon his couch in anguish lay " — " Papa ! Va-fia ! I wis' 'ou'd turn An' have a 'ittle tonty play — " " No gentle hand was there to bring The cooling draught, or bathe his brow ; His courtiers, and his pages gone ' ' — "Turn, papa, turn; I want 'ou now — " Down goes the book with needless force, And, with expression far from mild, With sullen air, and clouded brow, I seat myself beside the child. Her little, trusting eyes of blue With mute surprise gazed in my face, As if, in its expression, stern, Reproof, and censure, she could trace ; Anon her little bosom heaves, Her rosy lips begins to curl ; And, with a qui v' ring chin, she sobs ; " Papa don't 'uv his 'ittle dirl ! " YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 187 King, palace, book — all are forgot ; My arms are 'round my darling thrown — The thunder cloud has burst, and, lo ! Tears fall and mingle with her own. Chas. F. Adams. THE GRUMBLER. HIS YOUTH. HIS cap was too thick, and his coat was too thin: He couldn't be quiet ; he hated a din ; He hated to write, and he hated to read ; He was certainly very much injured indeed ; He must study and toil over work he detested ; His parents were strict, and he never was rested ; He knew he was wretched as wretched could be, There was no one so wretchedly wretched as he. HIS MATURITY. His farm was too small, and his taxes too big ; He was selfish and lazy, and cross as a pig ; His wife was too silly, his children too rude, And just because he was uncommonly good ! He hadn't got money enough and to spare ; He had nothing at all fit to eat or to wear ; He knew he was wretched as wretched could be, There was no one so wretchedly wretched as he. HIS OLD AGE. He finds he has sorrows more deep than his fears, He grumbles to think he has grumbled for years ; He grumbles to think he has grumbled away His home and his children, his life's little day; But alas ! 'tis too late ! it is no use to say That his eyes are too dim, and his hair is too gray. He knows he is wretched as wretched can be, There is no one so wretchedly wretched as he. Dora Read Goodale. THE FATHERS OF THE REPUBLIC. TO be cold and breathless, to feel not and speak not — this is not the end of exist- ence to the men who have breathed their spirits into the institutions of their country, who have stamped their characters on the pillars of the age, who have poured their heart's blood into the channels of the public prosperity. Tell me, ye who tread the sods of yon sacred height, is Warren dead? Can you not still see him — not pale and prostrate, the blood of his gallant heart pouring out of his ghastly wound, but moving resplendent over the field of honor, with the rose of heaven upon his cheek and the fire of liberty in his eye ? Tell me, ye who make your pious pilgrimage to the shades of Vernon, is Washington indeed shut up in that cold and narrow house ? That which made these men, and men like these, cannot die. The hand that traced the charter of independ- ence is, indeed, motionless ; the eloquent lips that sustained it are hushed ; but the lofty spirits that conceived, resolved and maintained it, and which alone, to such men, make it life to live — these cannot expire. Edward Everett. ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. YOUNG men, you are the architects of your own fortunes. Rely upon your own strength of body and soul. Take for your star self-reliance, faith, honesty, and industry. Inscribe on your banner, ' ' Luck is a fool, pluck is a hero." Don't take too much advice — keep at your helm and steer your own ship, and remember that the great art of com- manding is to take a fair share of the work. Don't practice too much humanity. Think well of yourself. Strike out. Assume, your own position. Put potatoes in your cart, over a rough road, and small ones go to the bottom. Rise above the envious and jealous. Fire above the mark you intend to hit. Energy, invin- cible determination, with a right motive, are the levers that move the world. Don't drink. Don't chew. Don't smoke. Don't swear. Don't deceive. Don't read novels. Don't marry until you can support a wife. Be in earnest. Be self-reliant. Be generous. Be civil. Read the papers. Advertise your busi- ness. Make money and do good with it. Love your God and fellow-men. Love truth and virtue. Love your country and obey its laws. If this advice be implicitly followed by the young men of the country, the millennium is at hand. Noah Porter. 188 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. MEN ALWAYS FIT FOR FREEDOM. THERE is only one cure for the evils which newly-acquired freedom produces, — and that cure is freedom ! When a prisoner leaves his cell, he cannot bear the light of day ; he is unable to discriminate colors, or recognize faces ; but the remedy is not to remand him into his dungeon, but to accustom him to the rays of the sun. The blaze of truth and liberty may at first dazzle and bewilder Nations which have become half blind in the house of bond- age ; but let them gaze on, and they will soon be able to bear it. In a few years men learn to reason ; the extreme violence of opinion sub- sides ; hostile theories correct each other ; the scattered elements of truth cease to conflict, and begin to coalesce ; and, at length, a system of justice and order is educed out of the chaos. Many politicians of our time are in the habit of laying it down as a self-evident proposi- tion, that no People ought to be free till they are fit to use their freedom. The maxim is worthy of the foo] in the old story, who resolved not to go into the water till he had learned to swim ! If men are to wait for liberty till they become wise and good in slavery they may, in- deed, wait forever ! T. B. Macaulay. SUCCESS IN LIFE. POETS may be born, but success is made ; therefore let me beg of you, in the out- set of your career, to dismiss from your minds all ideas of succeeding by luck. There is no more common thought among young people than that foolish one that by and by something will turn up by which they will suddenly achieve fame or fortune. Luck is an ignis-fatuus. You may follow it to ruin, but not to success. The- great Napoleon, who believed in his destiny, followed it until he saw his star go down in blackest night, when the Old Guard perished around him, and Waterloo was lost. A pound of pluck is worth a ton of luck. Young men talk of trusting to the spur of the occasion. That trust is vain. Occasion cannot make spurs. If you expect to wear spurs, you must win them. If you wish to use them, you must buckle them to your own heels before you go into the fight. Any success you may achieve is not worth the having unless you fight for it. Whatever you win in life you must conquer by your own efforts, and then it is yours — a part of yourself. In giving you being, God locked up in your nature certain forces and capabilities. What will you do with them ? Look at the mechanism of a clock. Take off the pendulum and ratchet, and the wheels go rattling down, and all its force is expended in a moment ; but properly balanced and regulated, it will go on, letting out its force tick by tick, measuring hours and days, and do- ing faithfully the service for which it was de- signed. I implore you to cherish and guard and use well the forces that God has given you. You may let them run down in a year, if you will. Take off the strong curb of discipline and moral- ity, and you will be an old man before your twenties are passed. Preserve these forces. Do not burn them out with brandy, or waste them in idleness and crime. Do not destroy them. Do not use them unworthily. Save and protect them, that they may save for you fortune and fame. Honestly resolve to do this, and you will be an honor to yourself and to your country. James A. Garfield. BE IN EARNEST. NEVER be ashamed to say, "I do not know." Men will then believe you when you say, " I do know. ' ' Never be ashamed to say, " I can't afford it ;" " I can't afford to waste time in the idleness to which you invite me," or "I can't afford the money you ask me to spend. ' ' Never affect to be other than you are — either wiser or richer. Learn to say " No " with decision ; "Yes " with caution. "No" with decision whenever it resists temptation ; ' ' Yes ' ' with caution when- ever it implies a promise : for a promise once given is a bond inviolable. A man is already of consequence in the world YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 189 when it is known that we can implicitly rely upon him. Often have I known a man to be preferred in stations of honor and profit because he had this reputation : when he said he knew a tning, he knew it; and when he said he would do a thing, he did it. Lord Bulwer Lytton. RETRIBUTION.— Abraham Lincoln. (Extract from second inaugural address.) Abraham Lincoln. Born, January 12, 1809 ; assassinated, April 14, 1865. The sixteenth President of the United States. For greatness of soul, heroism of spirit, rugged honesty, strong intellect, and a keen sense of j ustice, which qualities always contribute to the greatness of an orator, Lincoln was unsurpassed in American history. THE Almighty has His own purposes. "Woe unto the world • because of offences ! for it must needs be that offences come ; but woe to the man by whom the offence cometh. ' ' If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of those offences which, in the providence of God, must needs come, but which, having con- tinued through His appointed time, He now wills to remove, and that He gives to both North and South this terrible war, as the woe due to those by whom the offence came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attri- butes which the believers in a living God always ascribe to Him ! Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bond- man's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said, "The judg- ments of the Lord are true and righteous alto- gether. ' ' With malice toward none ; with charity for all ; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in ; to bind up the nation's wounds ; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan — to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and a last- ing peace among ourselves, and with all nations. THE LAND OF OUR FOREFATHERS. FOR myself, I can truly say that, after my native land, I feel a tenderness and a -everence for that of my fathers. The pride 1 iake in my own country makes me respect that from which we are sprung. The sound of my native language beyond the sea is a music to my ears beyond the richest strains of Tuscan softness or Castilian majesty. I am not — I need not say I am. not — the panegyrist of England. I am not dazzled by her riches nor awed by her power. The sceptre, the mitre and the coronet, stars, garters and ribbons, seem to me poor things for great men to contend for. But England is the cradle and the refuge of free principles, though often persecuted ; the school of religious liberty, the more precious for the struggles through which it has passed ; she holds the tombs of those who have reflected honor on all who speak the English tongue ; she is the birthplace of our fathers, the home of the Pilgrims ; it is these which I love and ven- erate in England. I should feel ashamed of an enthusiasm for Italy and Greece did I not also feel it for a land like this. In an American it would seem to me degenerate and ungrateful to hang with pas- sion upon the traces of Homer and Virgil and follow without emotion the nearer and plainer footsteps of Shakespeare and Milton. I should think him cold in love for his native land who felt no melting in his heart for that other native country which holds the ashes of his forefathers. Edward Everett. THE HARBOR OF SAN FRANCISCO. NOT even the magnificent harbor of Con- stantinople, in which security, depth, and expanse are combined, can rival the peerless land-locked Bay of San Francisco. How shall we describe it? You are sailing along the high coast of California, when sud- denly a gap is seen, as if the rocks had been rent asunder : you leave the open ocean, and enter the strait. The mountains tower so high on 190 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. either hand that it seems but a stone's throw from your vessel to the shore, though in reality it is a mile. Slowly advancing, an hour's sail brings you to where the strait grows still nar- rower ; and, lo ! before you, rising from the very middle of the waters, a steep rock towers aloft like a giant warder of the strait. With that rock well fortified, not all the fleets in the world could force the passage. You gaze back on the grim rock as you emerge from its shadows, and so land-locked does the scene appear, that you could fancy the mountains had fallen in, since you passed, and blocked up for- ever your path to the ocean. You turn to look ahead, and, lo ! a scene as wonderful again lies before you. You are in an inland sea ! — you are in Francisco Bay. To your right lies the Golden City ; at a distance in front rise the steep shores, and all around you an expanse of water, — a lake for calmness, a sea for extent, — in which the fleets of the world might ride at anchor. San Francisco will be the entrepot of nations, the emporium of the East and West. True, her merchandise will be largely manufactured in the East, her ships will for a long time be built in the harbors of the Atlantic, but her merchants will be the brokers, her halls the exchange, of the Pacific. Turn to the map, and you will see the rare advantages of her position. The whole Pacific, with its countless isles, lies open to her enterprise ; the Australian continent, and the realms of Hindostan', will reciprocate her com- merce, and the Golden Gate fronts the harbor of Canton' and the mouth of the Yang-tze-Kiang, the great harbor of Chinese traffic. THE PASSING OF THE RUBICON. ON what ground is it asserted that Caesar secured the greatness of his country? Was it by extending the fame of its arms ? There was another kind of fame which the Roman people valued more than the fame of their arms — the fame of their liberty. A gentleman, speak- ing of Caesar's benevolent disposition, and the reluctance with which he entered into the civil war, observes, ' ' How long did he pause upon the brink of the Ru'bicon ?' ' How came he to the brink of that river ? How dared he cross it? Shall private men respect the boundaries of private property, and shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries of his country's rights? How dared he cross that river ? Oh, but he paused upon the brink ! He should have perished upon the brink ere he had crossed it. Why did he pause ? Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on the point of committing an unlawful deed ? Why dees the very murderer, his victim sleeping before him, and his glaring eye taking the measure of the blow, strike wide of the mortal part ? Because of con- science. 'Twas that made Caesar pause upon the brink of the Rubicon. No wonder that he paused — no wonder if im- agination, wrought upon by conscience, had be- held blood instead of water, and heard groans instead of murmurs ! No wonder if some gorgon horror had turned him into stone upon the spot ! But no! he cried, "The die is cast!" He plunged ! he crossed ! and Rome was free no more ! J. S. Knowles. DEMOSTHENES. Of all political characters, Demosthenes is the most sublime ; he is the purest tragic char- acter with which history is acquainted. When, still trembling with the vehement force of his language, we read his life in Plutarch, when we transfer ourselves into his times and his situation, we are carried away by a deeper interest than can be excited by any hero of the epic muse or of tragedy. From his first appearance till the moment when he swallowed poison in the temple, we see him contending against destiny, which seems to mock him with malignant cruelty. It throws him to the ground, but never subdues him. What a crowd of emotions must have struggled through his manly breast amidst this interchange of reviving and expiring hopes ! How natural was it that the lines of melancholy YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 191 and of indignation, such as we yet behold in his bust, should have been imprinted on his severe countenance ! It was his high calling to be the pillar of a sinking state. Thirty years he remained true to this cause, nor did he yield till he was buried beneath the ruins of his country. It was about the middle of the fourth century before our era when Demosthenes began to command attention in the Athenian assemblies. His first attempt, like those of Walpole and Sheridan in the British Parliament, was a failure; and the derision which he received from the multitude would have discouraged an inferior spirit forever. It only nerved Demos- thenes to severer study, and to a more obstinate contest with his physical disadvantages. He assiduously practiced his growing powers as an advocate before the legal tribunals before he again ventured to speak on state affairs. But at length he re-appeared before the people and the dominion of his genius was supreme. Creasy. CICERO AND DEMOSTHENES COMPARED. To me Demosthenes seems superior to Cicero. I yield to no one in my admiration of the latter. He adorns whatever he touches. He lends honor to speech. He uses words as no one else can use them. His versatility is beyond descrip- tion. He is even concise and vehement when disposed to be so, — as against Catiline, against Verres, against Antony. But we detect the embellishments in his discourses. The art is marvelous, but it is not hidden. The orator does not, in his concern for the republic, forget himself, nor does he allow himself to be for- gotten. Demosthenes, on the contrary, seems to lose all consciousness of himself, and to recognize only his country. He does not seek the beau- tiful ; he unconsciously creates it. He is superior to admiration. He uses language as a modest man uses his garment — for a covering. He thunders, he lightens ; he is like a torrent hurrying all before it. We cannot criticize him, for we are in the sweep of his influence. We think on what he says, not on how he says it. We lose sight of the speaker ; we are occupied only with his subject. Fenelon. BRUTUS OVER THE BODY OF LUCRETIA. ( Dramatic and impassioned. The story of l,ucre- tia's death should be read in Roman history, and the speaker appreciate the circumstances and enter fully into the spirit of the occasion. ) THUS, thus, my friends, fast as our breaking hearts Permitted utterance, we have told our story. And now, to say one word of the imposture, The mask necessity has made me wear. When the ferocious malice of your king — King do I call him ? — when the monster, Tarquin, Slew, as you most of you may well remember, My father, Marcus, and my elder brother, Envying at once their virtues and their wealth, How could I hope a shelter from his power But in the false face I have worn so long ? Would you know why Brutus has summoned you? Ask ye what brings him here ? Behold this dag- ger, Clotted with gore ! Behold that frozen corse ! See where the lost Lucretia sleeps in death ! She was the mark and model of the time ; The mould in which each female grace was formed, The very shrine and sacristy of virtue ! The worthiest of the worthy ! Not the nymph Who met old Numa in his hallowed walk, And whispered in his ear her strains divine, Can I conceive beyond her ! The young choir Of vestal virgins bent to her ! O, my country- men, You all can witness ihat when she went forth, It was a holiday in Rome. Old age Forgot its crutch, labor its task ; all ran ; And mothers, turning to their daughters, cried, " There, there's Lucretia ! ' ' Now look ye where she lies. That beauteous flower, that innocent, sweet rose, Torn up by ruthless violence ! — gone, gone ! 192 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Say, would ye seek instruction ? would ye seek What ye should do ? Ask ye yon conscious walls, And they will cry, Revenge ! Ask yon deserted street, where Tullia drove O'er her dead father's corse ; 'twill cry, Revenge ! Ask yonder senate-house, whose stones are purple With human blood, and it will cry, Revenge ! Go to the tomb of Tarquin's murdered wife, And the poor queen, who loved him as her son — Their unappeased ghosts will shriek, Revenge ! The temples of the gods, the all- viewing heavens, The gods themselves, shall justify the cry, And swell the general sound — Revenge ! Re- venge J. H. Payne. WHAT A COMMON MAN MAY SAY; Or, What I Have to be Thankful For. (Good selection for Thanksgiving Day. ) I" AM lodged in a house that affords me con- veniences and comforts which even a king could not command some centuries ago. There are ships crossing the seas in every direc- tion, some propelled by steam and some by the wind, to bring what is usefal to me from all parts of the earth. In China men are gather- ing the tea-leaf for me ; in the Southern States, they are planting cotton for me ; in the West India Islands, and in Brazil, they are preparing my sugar and my coffee ; in Italy, they are feeding silk-worms for me ; at home, they are shearing sheep to make me clothing ; powerful steam-engines are spinning and weaving for me, and making cutlery for me, and pumping the mines, that minerals useful to me may be pro- cured. My patrimony was small, yet I have locomo- tive engines running, day and night, on all the railroads, to carry my correspondence. I have canals to bring the coal for my winter fire. Then I have telegraphic lines, which tell me what has happened a thousand miles off, the same day of its occurrence ; which flash a message for me in a minute to the bedside of a sick relative hundreds of miles distant ; and I have editors and printers who daily send me an account of what is going on throughout the world, amongst all these people who serve me. By the camera I procure in a few seconds a perfect likeness of myself or friend, drawn without human touch, by the simple agency of light. And then, in a corner of my house, I have books / — -the miracle of all my possessions, more wonderful than the wishing -cap of the Arabian Tales ; for they transport me instantly not only to all places, but to all times. By my books I can con'jure up before me, to vivid existence, all the great and good men of old ; and, for my own private satisfaction, I can make them act over again the most renowned of all their ex- ploits. In a word, from the equator to the pole, and from the beginning of time until now, by my books I can be where I please. This picture is not overcharged, and might be much extended ; such being the miracle of God's goodness and providence, that each individual of the civilized millions that cover the earth may have nearly the same enjoyments as if he were the single lord of all. LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. ( Dialectic. ) ""\ T"AH, I shpeaks English a leetle ; berhaps Y you shpeaks petter der German. ' ' " No, not a word. " " Vel, den, meester, it hardt for to be oonderstandt. I vos drei yahr in your country ; I fights in der army mit Sherman — Twentiet' Illinois Infantry — Fightin' Joe Hooker's commandt." " So you've seen service in Georgia — a veteran, eh?"— "Veil, I tell you Shust how it vos. I vent ofer in sixty, und landt in Nei York ; I sphends all mine money, gets sick, und near dies in der Hospiddal Bellevue ; Ven I gets petter I tramps to Sheecago to look for some vork. ' ' "Pretty young then, I suppose?" — "Yah, swansig apout ; und der peebles Vot I goes to for to ask for some vork, dey hafe none for to geef ; YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 193 Efery von laughs ; but I holds my head ope shust so high as der steeples ; Only dot var comes along, or I should have die, I belief." * ' Ever get wounded ? I notice you walk rather lame and unsteady. Pshaw ! got a wooden leg, eh ? What battle ?' ' " At Lookout !" " Don't say ! I was there too — wait a minute — why your glass is empty already. Have another. There ! tell me how 'twas you got wounded that day. ' ' ;< ^ % %. ^ Worn, grown old, yet tenderly keeping, Every May month, sad tryst with her dead, She knows not where her darling is sleeping, She Uys no garlands on his low bed. All claim her love and her soldiers' graves blessing : She decks them with flowers made sacred by tears ; Love of her heart for her soldier expressing, ' ' Love that is stronger than death, ' ' through the years. Soon in ths land of unfading beauty, He, faithful knight of valor and truth, She, living martyr to country and duty, Shall find the sweetness and love of their youth. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 197 Honor the dead with richest oblation, — Cover their graves with laurel and palm ! Honor the living for life's consecration, — Give to their pierced hearts love's healing balm. Mary Hussey. THE ELOQUENCE OF ACTION. "T T~HEN public bodies are to be addressed \J\l on momentous occasions, when great interests are at stake and strong pas- sions excited, nothing is valuable in speech, further than it is connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness are the qualities which produce con- viction. True eloquence, indeed, does not con- sist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be mar- shalled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Effected passion, intense ex- pression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire after it, — they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a foun- tain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, tne costly ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their children, and their country hang on the decision of the hour. Then, words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory con- temptible. Even genius itself then feels re- buked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then, patriotism is eloquent ; then, self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward, to his object, — this, this is eloquence ; or, rather, it is something greater and higher than all eloquence, — it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action. Daniel Webster. L BILL NYE ON HORNETS. AST fall I desired to add to my rare collec- tion a large hornet's nest. I had an em- balmed tarantula and her porcelain-lined nest, and I desired to add to these the gray and airy house of the hornet. I procured one of the large size, after cold weather, and hung it in my cabinet by a string. I forgot about it until spring. When warm weather came, something reminded me of it ; I think it was a hornet. He jogged my memory in some way, and called my attention to it. Memory is not located where I thought it was. It seemed as though whenever he touched me he awakened a memory, — a warm memory, with a red place all around it. Then some more hornets came, and began to rake up old personalities. I remember that one of them lit on my upper lip. He thought it was a rosebud. When he went away it looked like a gladiolus bulb. I wrapped a wet sheet around it to take out the warmth and reduce the swell- ing, so that I could go through the folding-doors, and tell my wife about it. Hornets lit all over me, and walked around on my person. I did not dare to scrape them off, because they were so sensitive. You have to be very guarded in your conduct toward a hornet. I remember once while I was watching the busy little hornet gathering honey and June bugs from the bosom of a rose, years ago, I stirred him up with a club, more as a practical joke than anything, and he came and lit in my sunny hair ; — that was when I wore my own hair — and he walked around through my gleam- ing tresses quite a while, making tracks as large as a watermelon all over my head. If he hadn't run out of tracks my head would have looked like a load of summer squashes. I remember I had to thump my head against the smoke house in order to smash him ; and I had to comb him out with a fine comb, and wear a waste-paper basket two weeks for a hat. Much has been said of the hornet ; but he has an odd, quaint way after all, that is forever new. 198 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. Words by T. Sheppard. ARKANSAW PETE'S ADVENTURE. A character song, with chorus. (By permission. ) Music adapted by Geo. M. Vickers. Characters. — Arkansaw Pete, a typical frontier backwoodsman, who sings the solo. Chorus. — Three lively, city, society gentlemen. Explanatory : Disappointed in love, Pete sought relief in the sights and excitement of the city. By accident, he fell in 'with three fun-loving gentlemen. Finding him a free talker, and with a vein of waggish wit, and considering him a rare catch, they introduced him into society, where no end of sport was enjoyed at his expense. Pete felt himself nattered. It was discovered that he could make verses, and he was cajoled into writing a metrical description of his only effort at love-making, which was set to simple music, and, his friends agreeing to stand behind him and fortify him with their chorus, he was induced to sing it on society occasions. Pete was required to dress in the typical Sunday-go-to-meeting style of the western frontiers- man — black frock coat, very short waisted ; pantaloons stuck in a pair of fancy top boots ; large spurs on heels ; short " quirk" riding whip of plaited leather ; long hair, and wide sombrero hat. His friends, of course, appeared in evening dress suits, or fashionable frocks, and paraded up and down behind him as they sang the chorus with great vigor and gusto. Introduction. Moderato. 4 + w. w £=£=X :l=: r- -r 0. &^m=2: r~ ^.-^-rnj^- f fe *=fc -*=w- _p p 4> ^ — F-*- :-: m Voice. Moderato. p Solo. q— -t=Xz|v f Chorus. p Solo. W* ■MZZM: I. Now ladies and gents, who here FPS — 1-+ =n - I J J- $EE =f I see, Snap- poo I pray you list - en -X ~Fi — g^FV~ :-: *- P f 3jfe ^E£ =t i=» / Chorus. Solo. ILl T ^ P\ & :MzMzM—^: ^ •fc-gnf-h -*-v- 5& ■m—m- it-v-t \W=m—W- t=x=t *=?=Z=2A ■v-v- - to me, Snap-poo! And I'll re - late what came to pass when I lived down in 1: :=t=i: Jmrgr^m -n f&e rJ 1— J r- l 1 1 H 1 I r -j—=^ ^ — *— * *-%—%—% L *< — * — 9 c ifci t=* m/ :^: 22zz: t= #i=^: P* / Full Chorus. {Snapping fingers.} tev i%y ^i? C/iorus twice over for dance round. -M—*—& f^mti^-^- :£±£:f =*=J =s£ Ar- kan- sas, Snap- poo - Snap Pe- ter Fi Ian- thi Go Sheeter Snap- poo ! YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 199 2. While riding home one Saturday night, Snap-poo ! I passed Miss Smith's and thought I'd light, Snap-poo ! So I hitch' d my hoss and in did go, Just for to spend an hour or so. Chorus [marching up and down, and snapping fingers at PETE). Snap-poo ! Snap-Peter ! Fi-lan-thi-go-shee-ter ! Snap-poo ! {Repeat chorus.) 3. When to the door I had safely got, Snap-poo ! She came and pok'd her sweet head ouf Snap-poo ! Said she right out, " Why, Mister Pete ! Oh, do walk in and have a seat ! " (Chorus.) 4. With easy step and a jolly heart, Snap-poo ! I bounded in just like a dart, Snap-poo ! And, oh, you may bet, I felt all hunk When into a chair by her I sunk. (Chorus. ) 5. Our chairs got closer as we two rock'd, Snap-poo ! My throat swell' d up till I most chok'd, Snap-poo ! At length they struck, and came to a stop — Now, now, thinks I, 's the time to "pop ! " (Chorus.) 6. I tried to look in her love-lit eyes, Snap-poo ! They were clear and blue as summer skies, Snap-poo ! Not a word could I speak — alas ! poor Pete ! Though she look'd good enough to eat. (Chorus.) 7. I look'd at her, and she look'd at me, Snap-poo ! I heard my heart say pee-dee-dee, Snap-poo ! I twisted my chair, and cross 'd my feet — I'd never seen anything half so sweet. (Chorus. ) 8. My tongue grew thick, and my eyes stuck out, Snap-poo ! My hands flew nervously about, Snap-poo ! And, before I could their motion check, They grabb'd that gal right 'round the neck ! ( Chorus. ) 9. She haul'd away with her pretty fist, Snap-poo ! She gave my jaw an awful twist, Snap-poo ! It seem'd an hour before I spoke — I thought by gum, my head was broke ! (Chorus.) 10. The racket we made brought her ma-ma, Snap-poo ! Who straightway call'd her great pa-pa, Snap-poo ! He kicked me out — and, you bet, I fled. That gal won't do, thinks I, to wed ! (Chorus.) ENCORE STANZAS. You're very kind to call me back, Snap-poo ! I still love dear, old Rack-en-sack, * Snap-poo ! But for that gal who smashed my jaw, — I won't be her dad's son-in-law. " (Chorus.) Her ma might git along well with me, Snap-poo ! The gal's as peart as she can be, Snap-poo ! But her dad's big boot and her fat fist I'm sure I never could resist. (Chorus. ) So, rather than be a henpeck'd man, Snap-poo ! I'll seek a wife in another land, Snap-poo ! Where the gals dont knock a feller mute, And answer " No ! " with daddy's boot. (Chorus.) SECOND ENCORE Any lady who a husband wants, Snap-poo ! Please take my name — I am your chance ; Snap-poo ! But, don't forget, I'll not kiss or hug Till we are married, tight and snug. ( Chorus. ) The lesson I learned in Ar-kan-saw, Snap-poo ! Impress'd by Smith's gal on my jaw, Snap-poo ! And kicked into my pantaloon, I'll not forget — not very soon. (Chorus.) * The State of Arkansas (the final syllable pronounced often sas, but properly saw) is sometimes slang-fly referred to as "Rack-en-sack." 200 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. A MODEL LOVE-LETTER. (Humorous reading. More effective if copied, placed in an envelope, opened and read by a lady as a love-letter received by herself. ) MY DEAR MRS. M : Every time I think of you, my heart flops up and down like a churn-dasher. Sensations of exquisite joy caper over it like young goats on a stable-roof, and thrill through it like Spanish needles through a pair of tow linen trousers. As a gosling swimmeth with delight in a mud-pud- dle, so swim I in a sea of glory. Visions of ecstatic rapture thicker than the hairs of a black- ing-brush, and brighter than the hues of a hum- ming-bird's pinions, visit me in my slumbers, and borne on their invisible wings, your image stands before me, and I reach out to grasp it like a pointer snapping at a blue-bottle fly. When I first beheld your angelic perfections, I was bewildered, and my brain whirled around like a bumble-bee under a glass tumbler. My eyes stood open like a cellar-door in a country town, and I lifted up my ears to catch the silvery accents of your voice. My tongue refused to wag, and in silent adoration I drank in the sweet infection of love as a thirsty man swalloweth a tumbler of hot whiskey punch. Since the light of your face fell upon my life, I sometimes feel as if I could lift myself up by my boot-straps to the top of the church steeple, and pull the bell rope for singing school. Day and night you are in my thoughts. When Aurora, blushing like a bride, rises from her saffron-colored couch ; when the jay-bird pipes his tuneful lay in the apple tree by the spring house ; when the chanticleer's shrill clarion her- alds the coming morn ; when the awaking pig ariseth from his bed and grunteth, and goeth for his morning refreshments; when the drowsy beetle wheels his droning flight at sultry noon- tide ; and the lowing herds come home at milk- ing time, I think of thee ; and like a piece of gum elastic, my heart seems stretched clear across my bosom. Your hair is like the mane of a sorrel horse powdered with gold ; and the brass pins skewered through your waterfall fill me with unbounded awe. Your forehead is smoother than the elbow of an old coat ; your eyes are glorious to behold ; in their liquid depths I see legions of little Cupids bathing, like a cohort of ants in an old army cracker. When their fire hit me upon my manly breast, it penetrated my whole anatomy, as a load of bird-shot through a rotten apple. Your nose is from a chunk of Parian marble, and your mouth is puckered with sweetness. Nectar lin- gers on your lips, like honey on a bear's paw; and myriads of unfledged kisses are there, ready to fly out and light somewhere, like blue-birds out of their parents' nest. Your laugh rings in my ears like the wind-harp's strain, or the bleat of a stray lamb on a bleak hillside. The dimples on your cheeks are like bowers on beds of roses, or hollows in cakes of home-made sugar. I am dying to fly to thy presence, and pour out the burning eloquence of my love, as a thrifty housekeeper pours out hot coffee. Away from, you I am as melancholy as a sick rat. Sometimes I can hear the June bugs of despond- ency buzzing in my ears, and feel the cold lizard of despair crawling down my back. Uncouth fears, like a thousand minnows, nibble at my spirits ; and my soul is pierced with doubts, as an old cheese is bored with skippers. You are fairer than a speckled pullet, sweeter than a Yankee doughnut fried in sorghum mo- lasses, brighter than a topknot plumage on a muscovey duck. You are candy, kisses, raisins, pound cake, and sweetened toddy all together. If these remarks will enable you to see the in- side of my soul, and me to win your affections, I shall be as happy as a woodpecker on a cherry tree, or a stage -horse in a green pasture. If you cannot reciprocate my thrilling passion, I will pine away like a poisoned bedbug, and fall away from a flourishing vine of life, an untimely branch ; and in the coming years, when the shadows grow from the hills, and the philosophi- cal frog sings his cheerful evening hymns, you, happy in another's love, can come and drop a tear and — catch a cold upon the last resting- place of Yours affectionately, H. YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 201 THE OLD CANTEEN. SEND it up to the garret ? Well, no : what's the harm If it hangs like a horse-shoe to serve as a charm ? Had its day, to be sure : matches ill with things here ; Shall I sack the old friend just because it is queer ? Thing of beauty 'tis not, but a joy none the less, As my hot lips remember its old-time caress, And I think on the solace once gurgling between My lips from that old, battered tin canteen. It has hung by my side in the long, weary tramp, Been my friend in the bivouac, barrack and camp, In the triumph, the capture, advance and retreat, More than light to my path, more than guide to my feet. Sweeter nectar ne'er flowed, howe'er sparkling and cold, From out chalice of silver, or goblet of gold, For a king or an emperor, princess or queen, Than to me from the mouth of that old canteen. It has cheered the desponding on many a night, Till their laughing eyes gleamed in the camp- fire light. Whether guns stood in silence, or boomed at short range, It was always on duty ; though ' twould not be strange If in somnolent periods just after " taps " Some colonel or captain, disturbed at his naps, May have felt a suspicion that • ' spirits ' ' unseen Had somehow bedeviled that old canteen. But I think on the time when in lulls of the strife It has called the far look in dim eyes back to life : Helped to stanch the quick blood just beginning to pour, Softened broad, gaping wounds that were stiff- ened and sore Moistened thin, livid lips, so despairing of breath They could only speak thanks in the quiver of death ; If an angel of mercy e'er hovered between This world and the next, 'twas the old canteen. Then banish it not as a profitless thing, Were it hung m a palace it might well swing To tell in its mute, allegorical way How the citizen volunteer won the day ; How he bravely, unflinchingly, grandly won, And how, when the death-dealing work was done, 'Twas as easy his passion from war to wean As his mouth from the lips of that old canteen. By-and-by, when all hate for the rags with the bars Is forgotten in love for the ' ' stripes and the stars ; ' ' When Columbia rules everything solid and sole, From her own ship canal to the ice at the pole r When the Grand Army men have obeyed the last call, And the May flowers and violets bloom for us all : Then away in some garret the cobwebs may screen My battered, old, cloth-covered tin canteen. G. M. White. DEVOTION TO DUTY. YOUNG men of America ! You on whom rests the future of the Republic ! You, who are to become not only our citi- zens but our law-makers : Remember your re- sponsibilities, and, remembering, prepare for them. As the great universe is order and harmony- only through the perfection of its laws, so in life and human government, the happiness and prosperity of a people depend on the orderly subservience of act and thought to the good of the whole. Be great, therefore, in small things. If it is your ambition to be a citizen reverenced for his virtues, remember that nothing is more admirable than devotion to duty, and the more admirable as that duty leads to self-sacrifice in others' behalf. 202 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. When Pompeii was exhumed, a few years ago, after lying under the cinders of Vesuvius about eighteen hundred years, the body of a Roman soldier was discovered at the Herculaneum gate of the city. He evidently had been placed there as a sentinel, and there, amid the accumu- lated horrors of that August day, he unflinch- ingly remained. He stood at his post while the earth rocked and shivered beneath his feet. He stood at his post while the grim old mountain towering above him was thundering from base to summit. He stood at his post while the air, surcharged with smoke and ashes, was impenetrable to the sight, though lit up with a lurid glare scarcely less than infernal by the flames bursting and roaring all around him. He stood at his post white the men, women, and children of the doomed city were screaming with affright and agony, as they surged through its narrow streets in their mad- dening efforts to pass the gates to the open coun- try. He stood at his post till enveloped in the mantle of a fiery death ! O hero of the dead city ! Step out from your ashen shroud and exalt us by the lesson of your death. When the very earth rocked beneath your feet, and the heavens seemed falling, you stood on guard, — a sentinel to the gate that pro- tected the city ; and standing there were en- tombed, — a sacrifice to duty. Awful death, but oh, how sublime is its lesson ! Who would not honor such heroism ? Build there a mausoleum, for one greater than princes and kings has hal- lowed that spot, and humanity itself will wor- ship there. Emulate this heroism. In whatever position of life you are placed, be true to the trust re- posed in you ; then the Republic is safe. Go forth with a heart glowing, not with the fires of a lordly ambition, to ride to power over opposi- tion and against the wishes of your fellowmen, but with the flame of an honest purpose to be a good citizen and an ornament to the State that gave you birth. Then, indeed, shall you be great. D. N. Shelley. THE RAVEN. ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pon- dered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-door. " 'Tis some visitor," I mutter' d, "tapping at my chamber-door — Only this, and nothing more. ' ' Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainly I had sought to borrow Firtfm my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore, — For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore, — Nameless here forevermore. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain, Thrilled me, — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before ; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, — "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door, — Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door ; That it is, and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger : hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgive- ness I implore ; But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber-door, That I scarce was sure I heard you. "--Here I opened wide the door : — Darkness there, and nothing more ! YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 203 Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before ; .But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whis- pered word, < ' Lenore ! ' ' This /whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, " Lenore !" Merely this, and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before. "Surely," said I, " surely that is something at my window-lattice ; Let me see then what thereat is and this mystery explore, — Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore ; — 'Tis the wind, and nothing more." Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he ; not a minute stopped or stayed he ; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber-door, — Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-door — Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, Ey the grave and stern decorum of the counten- ance it wore, * ' Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou, ' ' I said, "art sure no craven ; Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore, Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian shore ?' ' Quoth the raven, ' ' Nevermore ! ' ' Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear dis- course so plainly, Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living hu- man being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber-door ; — Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber-door With such name as " Nevermore ! " But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered ; not a feather then he fluttered — Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before, On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before. Then the bird said, ' ' Nevermore. ' ' Startled at the stillness, broken by reply so aptly spoken, ' ' Doubtless, ' ' said I, ' ' what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master, whom un- merciful disaster Follow' d fast and follow' d faster, till his songs one burden bore, Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy bur- den bore, Of — ' Never — nevermore ? ' " But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door. Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore — What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking, " Nevermore ! " 204 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burn'd into my bosom's core ; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp- light gloated o'er; — But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp- light gloating o'er She shall press — ah ! nevermore ! Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath set thee Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy mem- ories of Lenore ! Quaff, oh, quaff, this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore ! ' ' Quoth the raven, ' ' Nevermore ! ' ' " Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil ! — prophet still, if bird or devil ! Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore, — Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me — tell me, I implore ! ' ' Quoth the raven, < ' Nevermore ! ' ' "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil ! By that heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore, Tell this soul, with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore ; Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore ! ' ' Quoth the raven, " Nevermore !" ' ' Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! ' ? I shrieked, upstarting, — Get thee back into the tempest and the night's Plutonian shore ; Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! Leave my loneliness unbroken ; — quit the bust. above my door. Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door ! ' ' Quoth the raven, " Nevermore !" And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-door ; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor ; And my soul from out that shadow that lies float- ing on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore ! Edgar A. Poe. BUZZARD'S POINT. (By permission of the Author. This selection was- awarded a gold medal prize at the Elocutionary Con- test at the Mt. Vernon Institute of Elocution and Languages, Philadelphia, June 14, 1888. ) HUGE, fleecy clouds, like stately ships, drift by, And in their wake come more to join the fleet Now seeming anchored in the southern sky ; A hundred glassy pools reflect the sun, For, save yon brook-like thread, the river bed Is dry, and only sand and shale mark out Where deep Ohio thunders to the sea. Upon the rocky summit of a bluff That juts far out from shore, two lovers sit Beneath the shade of mingling beech and elm. The man is young ; the maid, almost a child ; Yet in the eyes of both is seen the fire Of holy love, true love, that only dies With life- Blue eyes and brown ; her's blue, his brown. YOUTHS* DEPARTMENT. 205 And oh, how gloriously free their hair Coquettes, streams off, now flutters back to kiss Again ; his chestnut dark to twine in sport Amid her living gold. Blow on, fair breeze ; Sing sweet, chirp low, ye merry birds, for here Two hearts make solitude of all the world That lies beyond their rosy world of love. A tree trunk forms the seat whereon they sit, And vines and shrubs a perfect bower make The place, so wild and yet so beautiful : Below them, full a mile, a log hut stands ; 'The forest trees, like giant infantry Up-drawn, have formed a three-flanked noilow square About the strip of clearing ; further on The river sweeps around a graceful bend And hides its course amidst the dense green leaves. The lovers rise. He places on her head The rough straw hat that so becomes her fair, Sweet face, and then takes up his own broad felt Erom off the ground. They stand and look afar Among the drifting clouds. The birds chirp low ; Their plumage gay gleams bright, as flashing through A patch of sunlight, swift they dart in glee, How tame, how fearless in their native home. See there, among the vines that twine that tree, "There, where his rifle rests ! What kind of bird Is that ? Its plumes are gray ; how slow it moves ! It glides away. Perhaps it may come back. Strange bird. There, where his rifle rests — but see ! His rifle is not there, 'tis gone ! Whiz ! Click ! And, as the tomahawk still trembles in The tree, the startled lovers each spring back, Then turn to see the scowling copper fiend That clasps Ben Dowling's rifle in his hand. No shriek escapes her firm -pressed lips, as calm, Though deathly pale, the girl steps back a pace ; No sign of fear betrays her frozen heart ; She sees her lover slowly draw his knife, Beholds the crouching savage raise the piece To take delib'rate aim. A dash, a flash Of fluttering white, and she has leaped and grasped The rifle in her small brown hands. With yell Of rage the red man springs aside to shun The lover's keen-edged blade, then whipping out His own long knife, with horrid grin prepares To meet his foe. The cunning dog keeps well The lover in a line between himself And that bright barrel resting on a branch ; For Mabel Earle is no mean shot, and with Her finger on the trigger mutely bids The painted wretch beware ! A moment's pause, And now the work begins. Thrust, guard, lunge, cut, Now parry, clink ! the sparks fly as their cold Blades clash. The Indian advances quick, A sudden stroke. " Lost ! O my God, he's killed! " Ben Dowling reels, the red stream trickles down His face. ' ' Kneel ! Kneel ! for life, stoop low ! ' ' The girl Is ashen white. Clink ! clink ! more sparks. "O Ben, My own, he's growing faint, he staggers — Oh !" The savage strikes again. The lover falls. A shot — " There, murderer !" The blue smoke veils Her wet blue eyes — the red chief drops his knife, He rallies, clutches at the air, spins 'round And 'round, now nears the brink, is nearer still, Still nearer, gone ! ' ' Oh, speak to me, ' ' she cries, As bending o'er her lover's form she wipes The blood-stains from his pallid face. " Oh, speak To me, but tell me that you live ! Ah, see ! He moves his lips ! Thank Heaven, he lives ! His eyes Unclose, he faintly smiles ! Ha, hark!" "Ye ho! Ye ho!" "Saved, saved!" and placing both her brown Hands to her lips she answers back the cry, " Ye ho ! ye ho !" and swoons away. 206 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. They come, Her father and a trapper friend. The thing That first they see looks like a wounded bird, A buzzard, hanging on a twig above Them high ; another glance and well they know 'Tis but the head-gear of an Indian, Caught off as down he fell. And thenceforth on, Long after Ben and Mabel happy lived And died, the place was known as Buzzard's Point. George M. Vickers. THE JUST RETRIBUTION. Persons Represented. — Alberti, the duke whose life has bee?i assailed, Julian, Mon- taldi, stephano, ludovico, ambrose, vln- cent, Guards, Etc. {Enter Guards, co7tducting Julian , — all the char- acters follow, — Alberti ascends the judgment seat. ) ALBERTI. My people ! — the cause of your present assemblage, too well is known to you. You come to witness the dispen- sations of an awful, but impartial justice ; — either to rejoice in the acquittal of innocence, wrong- fully accused, or to approve the conviction of guilt, arrested in its foul career. Personal feel- ings forbid me to assume this seat myself : yet fear not but that it will be filled by nobleness and honor ; to Montaldi only, I resign it. Julian. He, my judge ! then I am lost indeed ! Alb. Ascend the seat, my friend, and decide from it as your own virtuous conscience shall direct. This only will I say y — should the scales of accusation and defense poise doubtfully, let mercy touch them with her downy hand, and turn the balance on the gentler side. Montaldi { ascending the judgment seat) . Your will and honor are my only governors ! {Bow- ing. ) Julian, stand forth ; you are charged with a most foul and horrible attempt upon the life of my noble kinsman. The implements of mur- der have been found in your possession, and many powerful circumstances combine to fix the guilt upon you. What have you to urge in vin- dication ? Jul. First, I aver by that Power which vice dreads, and virtue reverences, that no word but strictest truth shall pass my lips. On yesterday evening I crossed the mountain to the monastery of St. Bertrand ; my errand thither finished, I returned directly to the valley. Rosalie saw me enter the cottage. Soon afterward, a strange out- cry recalled me to the door ; a mantle spread before the threshold caught my eye ; — I raised it, and discovered a mask within it. The mantle was newly stained with blood ! Consternation seized upon my soul ! The next moment I was surrounded by guards, and accused of murder ! They produced the weapon which I had lost in defending myself against a ferocious animal. Confounded by terror and surprise, I had not power to explain the truth, and loaded with chains and reproaches, I was dragged to the dun- geons of the castle. Here my knowledge of the dark transaction ends, and I have only this to add, I may become the victim of circumstance, but I never have been the slave of crime ! Mon. {Ironically smiling. ) Plausibly urged ; have you no more to offer ? Jul. Truth needs but few words, — I have spoken ! Mon. Yet bethink yourself. Dare you abide by this wild tale, and brave a sentence on no stronger plea ? Jul. Alas ! I have none else to offer. Mon. You say, on yesterday evening, you visited the monastery of St. Bertrand. What was your business there ? Jul. To engage Father Nicolo to marry Rosalie and myself, on the following morning. Mon. A marriage, too ! Well, at what time did you quit the monastery ? Jul. The bell for vesper-service had just ceased to toll. Mon. By what path did you return to the valley ? Jul. Across the mountain. Mon. Did you not pass through the wood of w olives, where the dark deed was attempted ? Jul. {Pausing. ) The wood of olives ? Mon. Ha ! mark ! he hesitates ; speak 1 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. 207 Jul. No ! my soul scorns to tell a falsehood. I did pass through the wood of olives. Mon. Ay ! and pursuit was close behind. Stephano, you seized the prisoner ? Stephano. I did. The bloody weapon bore his name ; the mask and mantle were in his hands, confusion in his countenance, and every limb trembling with alarm. Mon. Enough ! Heavens ! that villainy so monstrous should inhabit with such tender youth ! I fain would doubt, and in spite of reason, hesi- tate to give my sentence ; but conviction glares from every point, and incredulity would now be madness. Not to descant on the absurdity of your defense — a tale too wild for romance to sanction — I find from your admission a chain of circumstances that confirms your criminality. The time at which you passed the wood, and the hour of the duke's attack, precisely correspond. You sought to rush on fortune by the readiest path, and snatch from the unwary traveler that sudden wealth which honest labor could, only by slow degrees, obtain. Defeated in the dark at- tempt, you fled. Pursuit was instant, — your steps were traced, — and, at the very door of your cottage, you were seized before the evi- dences of your guilt could be secreted. O wretched youth ! I warn you to confess. Sin- cerity can be your only claim to mercy. Jul. My heart will burst ; but I have spoken truth. Mon. Then I must exercise my duty. Death is my sentence. Jul. Hold ! pronounce it not as yet ! Mon. If you have any further evidence, pro- duce it. Jul. { With despairing look. ) I call on Ludo- vico ! {Ludovico hastily steps forward. Montaldi starts back with evident trepidation. ) Ludovico. I am here ! Mon. And what can he unfold — only to re- peat what we already know? I will not hear him, the evidence is perfect. Alb. {Rising hastily. ) Hold ! Montaldi, Lu- dovico must be heard ; to the ear of justice, the slightest syllable of proof is precious. Mon. {Confused.) I stand rebuked. Well, Ludovico, depose your evidence ! Lud. Mine was the fortunate arm appointed by Heaven to rescue the duke. I fought with the assassin, and drove him beyond the trees into the open lawn. I there distinctly marked his figure, and, from the difference in height alone, I solemnly aver Julian cannot be the person. Mon. This is no proof, the eye might easily be deceived. I cannot withhold my sentence longer. Lud. I have further matter to advance. Just before the ruffian fled, he received a wound across his right hand ; the moonlight directed my blow, and showed me that the cut was deep and dan- gerous. Julian's fingers bear no such mark. Mon. {Manifesting great excitement and invol- untarily drawing his glove close over his hand. ) — A wound ! — mere fable. Lud. Nay, more ; the same blow struck from off one of the assassin's fingers, a jewel; it glittered as it fell; I snatched it from the ground — thrust it within my bosom, and have ever since preserved it next my heart ; I now produce it — 'tis here — a ring — an amethyst set with brilliants ! Alb. {Rising hastily. ) — What say you ? An amethyst set with brilliants ! even such I gave Montaldi. Let me view it. {As Ludovico ad- vances to present the ring to the duke, Montaldi rushes with frantic impetuosity between, and at- tempts to seize it. ) Mon. Slave ! resign the ring ! Lud. I will yield my life sooner \ Mon. Wretch ! I will rend thy frame to atoms. ( They struggle with violence. Montaldi snatches at the ring — Ludovico catches his hand and tears off the glove — the wound appears. ) Lud. O Heavens ! murder is unmasked — the bloody mark is here ! Montaldi is the assassin. {All rush forward in astonishment. ) Mon. Shame ! madness ! Alb. Eternal Providence ! Montaldi a mur- derer ? Mon. Ay ! accuse and curse ! idiots ! dupes t I heed you not. I can but die ! Triumph not, Alberti — I trample on thee still ! {Draws pon- 208 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. iard and attempts to destroy himself. The weapo?i is wrested from his hands by the guards. Alb. Fiend ! thy power to sin is past. Ivlon. (Delirious with passion.*) Ha! ha! ha! my brain scorches, and my veins run with fire ! — disgraced, dishonored — Oh, madness ! I can- not bear it ! — save me — oh ! (Falls insensible into the arms of attendants.') Alb. Wretched man ! bear him to his cham- ber — his punishment be hereafter. (Montaldi is carried off. ) Jul. Oh ! my joy is too full for words ! Ambrose. My noble boy ! Vi?icent. Rosalie shall reward him. Alb. Yes! they are children of virtue ! their happiness shall be my future care. Let this day, through each returning year, become a festival on my domain. Heaven, with peculiar favor, has marked it for its own, and taught us, by the simple moral of this hour, that, howsoever in darkness guilt may veil its malefactions from the eye of man, an omniscient Judge will penetrate each hidden sin, and still, with never-failing justice, confound the vicious and protect the good ! Dimond. THE ORDER OF NATURE. ALL are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body nature is, and God the soul ; That, changed through all, and yet in all the same, Great in the Earth, as in the ethereal frame, Warms in the Sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, Lives through all life, extends through all extent Spreads undivided, operates unspent ; Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart ; As full, as perfect, in vile Man that mourns, As the rapt Seraph that adores and burns : To Him, no high, no low, no great, no small ; He fills, He bounds, connects, and equals all. Cease, then, nor Order Imperfection name, — Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. Know thy own point : This kind, this due degree Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee. Submit ; — in this, or any other sphere, Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear, — Safe in the hand of one Disposing Power, Or in the natal, or the mortal hour. All Nature is but Art, unknown to thee ; All Chance, Direction, which thou canst not see ; All Discord, Harmony not understood ; All partial Evil, universal Good : And, spite of Pride, in erring Reason's spite, One truth is clear : Whatever is, is right. Alexander Pope. WHAT MAKES A HERO? T" T"HAT makes a hero? — not succes, not \Sl fame, Inebriate merchants, and the loud acclaim Of glutted Avarice, — caps tossed up in air, Or pen of journalist with flourish fair ; Bells pealed, stars, ribbons, and a titular name — - These, though his rightful tribute, he can spare ; His rightful tribute, not his end or aim, Or true reward ; for never yet did these Refresh the soul, or set the heart at ease What makes a hero ? — An heroic mind, Expressed in action, in endurance proved. And if there be pre-eminence of right. Derived through pain well suffered, to the height Of rank heroic, 'tis to bear unmoved, Not toil, not risk, not rage of sea or wind, Not the brute fury of barbarians blind, But worse — ingratitude and poisonous darts, Launched by the country he had served and loved ; This, with a free, unclouded spirit pure, This, in the strength of silence to endure, A dignity to noble deeds imparts, Beyond the gauds and trappings of renown ; This is the hero's complement and crown ; This missed, one struggle had been wanting still, — One glorious triumph of the heroic will, One self-approval in his heart of hearts. Henry Taylor. PART IV. Great Orators and their Orations ANCIENT AND MODERN CONTAINING SPECIMENS OF SENATORIAL, JUDICIAL, PULPIT, FORENSIC AND PATRIOTIC ELOQUENCE ALSO NOTED ORATIONS, AFTER-DINNER SPEECHES, ETC., ON SPECIAL OCCASIONS AGAINST PHILIP.— Demosthenes* Demosthenes, whose claim to the title of the greatest of orators has not yet been superseded, was born at Athens, about 380 B. C. At the age of seventeen he determined to study eloquence, though his lungs were weak, his articulation imperfect, and his gestures awkward. These impediments he overcame by perseverance. When the encroachments of Philip, King of Macedon, alarmed the Grecian states, Demos- thenes roused his countrymen to resistence by a series of harangues, so celebrated, that similar orations are, to this day, often styled Philippics. The influence which he acquired he employed for the good of his country. The charges that have come down of his cowardice and venality are believed to be calumnious. It is related of Demosthenes, that, while studying oratory, he spoke with pebbles in his mouth, to cure himself of stammering ; that he repeated verses of the poets as he ran up hill, to strengthen his voice, and that he declaimed on the seashore, to accustom himself jd the tumult of a popular assembly. He died 322 B. C. The speeches of Demosthenes were delivered before select, not accidental, assemblages of the people. The first four extracts, from the first, third, eighth and ninth Philippics, which follow, together with the extract from iEJschines on the Crown, are chiefly translated from Stievenarts excellent and very spirited version. BEGIN, O men of Athens, by not despair- ing of your situation, however deplor- able it may seem ; for the very cause of your former reverses offers the best encouragement for the future. And how ? Your utter supineness, O Athenians, has brought about your disasters. If these had come upon you in spite of your most strenuous exertions, then only might all hopes of an amelioration in your affairs be abandoned. When, then, O my countrymen ! when will you do your duty ? What wait you ? Truly, an event ! or else, by Jupiter, necessity ! But how can we construe otherwise what has already occurred ? For my- self, I can conceive of no necessity more urgent to free souls than the pressure of dishonor. Tell me, is it your wish to go about the public places, here and there, continually, asking, ' ' What is there new ? ' ' Ah ! what should there be new, if not that a Macedonian could conquer Athens, and lord it over Greece ? "Is Philip dead?" ' ' No, by Jupiter ! he is sick. ' ' Dead or sick, what matters it to you? If he were to die, and your vigilance were to continue slack as now, you would cause a new Philip to rise up at once, — since this one owes his aggrandizement less to his own power than to your inertness ! It is a matter of astonishment to me, O Athe- nians, that none of you are aroused either to reflection or to anger, in beholding a war, begun for the chastisement of Philip, degenerate at last into a war of defence against him. And it is evident that he will not stop even yet, unless we bar his progress. But where, it is asked, shall we make a descent. Let us but attack, O, Athenians, and the war itself will disclose the * Demosthenes delivered most of his great orations to the people from what was known as the Bema — a raised step, from which the Athenian orators generally spoke. H r-o 209 210 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. enemy's weak point. But, if we tarry at home, lazily listening to speech-makers, in their emu- lous abuse of one another, never, — no, never, shall we accomplish a single necessary step ! Some among you, retailing the news, affirm that Philip is plotting with Lacedsemon the ruin of Thebes and the dismemberment of our de- mocracies; others make him send ambassadors to the Great King ; others tell us he is fortifying places in Illyria. All have their different stories. For myself, Athenians, I do, by the Gods, believe that this man is intoxicated by his magnificent exploits ; I believe that a thousand dazzling projects lure his imagination ; and that, seeing no barrier opposed to his career, he is inflated by success. But, trust me, he does not so combine his plans that all our fools of low DEGENERACY OF CONTRAST, O men of Athens, your con- duct with that of your ancestors. Loyal towards the people of Greece, religious towards the gods, faithful to the rule of civic equality, they mounted, by a sure path, to the summit of prosperity. What is your condi- tion, under your present complaisant rulers ? Is it still the same ? Has it in any respect changed? In how many ! I confine myself to this simple fact : Sparta prostrate, Thebes occupied else- where, — with no power capable of disputing our sovereignty, — able, in fact, in the peaceable possession of our own domains, to be the umpire of other Nations, — what have we done? We have lost our own provinces ; and dissipated, with no good result, more than fifteen hundred talents ; the allies which we had gained by war your counsellors have deprived us of by peace ; and we have trained up to power our formidable foe. Whosoever denies this, let him stand forth, and tell me where, then, has this Philip drawn his strength, if not from the very bosom of Athens ? Ah ! but surely, if abroad we have been weak- ened, our interior administration is more flourish- ing. And what are the evidences of this ? A few whitewashed ramparts, repaired roads, foun- degree may penetrate them ; which fools — who are they but the gossips ? Let us leave them to their reveries. We should consider that this man is our enemy, — our despoiler, — that we have long endured his insolence ; that all the succors, on which we counted, have been turned against us ; that henceforth our only resource is in our- selves ; that, to refuse now to carry the war into his dominions, would surely be to impose upon us the fatal necessity of sustaining it at the gates of Athens ; — if we would comprehend all this, we should then know what it imports us to know, and discard all idiot conjectures. For it is not your duty to dive into the future ; but it does behoove you to look in the face the calamities which that future must bring, unless you shake off your present heedless inactivity. AT H E US— Demosthenes. tains, bagatelles ! Turn — turn your eyes on the functionaries, to whom we owe these vanities. This one has passed from misery to opulence ; that one, from obscurity to splendor. Another has built for himself sumptuous palaces, which look down upon the edifices of the State. In- deed, the more the public fortunes have declined, the more have theirs ascended. Tell us the mean- ing of these contrasts ! Why is it, that formerly all prospered, while now all is in jeopardy ? It k because formerly the People, itself, daring to wage war, was the master of its functionaries, the sovereign dispenser of all favors. It is be- cause individual citizens were then glad to re- ceive from the People honors, magistracies, bene- fits. How are the times changed ! All favors are in the gift of our functionaries ; everything is under their control ; while you — you, the People ! — enervated in your habits, mutilated in your means, and weakened in your allies, stand like so many supernumeraries and lackeys, too happy if your worthy chiefs distribute to you the fund for the theatre — if they throw to you a meagre pittance ! And — last degree of base- ness ! — you kiss the hand which thus makes lar- gess to you of your own ! Do they not imprison you within your own walls, beguile you to your GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 211 ruin, tame you and fashion you to their yoke ? Never, O ! never can a manly pride and a noble courage impel men, subjected to vile and un- worthy actions ! The life is necessarily the image of the heart. And your degeneracy — by Heaven, I should not be surprised if I, in A DEMOCRACY HATEFU THERE are persons among you, O Athe- nians, who think to confound a speaker by asking, ' ' What, then, is to be done ? " To which I might answer : ' ' Nothing that you are doing — ever) thing that you leave undone ! ' ' And it would be a just and a true reply. But I will be more explicit ; and may these men, so ready to question, be equally ready to act ! In the first place, Athe- nians, admit the incontestable fact, that Philip has broken your treaties, — that he has declared war against you. Let us have no more crimi- nation and recrimination on this point ! And then, recognize the fact that he is the mortal enemy of Athens, — of its very soil, — of all within its walls, — ay, of those even who most flatter themselves that they are high in his good graces. What Philip most dreads and abhors is our liberty — our Democratic system. For the de- struction of that, all his snares are laid, all his projects are shaped ! And in this is he not con- sistent? He is well aware that, though he should subjugate all the rest of Greece, his con- quest would be insecure, while your Democracy stands. He knows that, should he experience one of those reverses to which the lot of humanity is so liable, it would be into your arms that all those Nations, now forcibly held under his yoke, would rush. Is there a Tyrant to be driven back ? — Athens is in the field ! Is there a People to be enfranchised? — Lo, Athens, prompt to aid ! What wonder, then, that Philip should be impatient while Athenian liberty is a spy upon his evil days? Be sure, O my country- men, that he is your irreconcilable foe ; that it is against Athens that he musters and disposes all his armaments ; against Athens that all his schemes are laid. charging it home upon you, exposed myself, rather than those who have brought you to it, to your resentment ! To be candid, frankness of speech does not every day gain the entrance of your ears ; and that you suffer it now, may well be matter of astonishment ! L TO PHILIP.— Demosthenes. What, then, ought you, as wise men, con- vinced of these truths, to do ? You ought to shake off your fatal lethargy, contribute according to your means, summon your allies to contribute, and take measures to retain the troops already under arms ; so that, if Philip has an army pre- pared to attack and subjugate all the Greeks, you may also have one ready to succor and to save them. Tell me not of the trouble and expense which this will involve. I grant it all. But consider the dangers that menace you, and how much you will be the gainers by engaging heartily, at once, in the general cause. Indeed, should some god assure you that, however inac- tive and unconcerned you might remain, yet, in the end, you should not be molested by Philip, still it would be ignominious, — be witness, Heaven! — it would be beneath you — beneath the dignity of your State — beneath the glory of your ances- tors — to sacrifice, to your own selfish repose, the interest of all the rest of Greece. Rather would I perish than recommend such a course ! Let some other man urge it upon you, if he will ; and listen to him, if you can. But, if my sentiments are yours, — if you foresee, as I do, that the more we leave Philip to extend his conquests, the more we are fortifying an enemy, whom, sooner or later, we must cope with, why do you hesitate? What necessity do you wait? Can there be a greater for freemen than the prospect of dishonor? Do you wait for that ? It is here already ; it presses — it weighs on us now. Now, did I say ? Long since — long since, was it before us, face to face. True, there is still another necessity in reserve — the necessity of slaves — blows, and stripes ! Wait you for them ? The gods forbid ! The very words, in this place, are an indignit; 1 212 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. VENALITY THE RUIN IF ever, O men of Athens, the People of Greece felt the rigor of your rule, or of that of Sparta, their masters were at least their countrymen. But where is our just indignation against Philip and his usurpa- tions ? — Philip, the Barbarian ! Has he not exhausted his resources of outrage against us ? Without mentioning the Grecian cities which he has sacked, does he not take it upon himself to preside at the Pythian games, a celebration exclu- sively national? And, if absent himself, does he not delegate his slaves to award the crowns ? Master of Thermopylae, and of all the passes of Greece, does he not hold these posts by his garrisons and foreign troops ? Does he not j^lace governors over Thessaly, at his pleasure ? Has he not wrested Echinus from the Thebians ? Is he not, at this moment, on his march against Byzantium — Byzantium, the alley of Athens ! And if such is his audacity towards collective Greece, what will it be when he has mastered us all in detail ? And now, why is all this ? For, not without a cause could Greece, once so jealous of free- dom, now be resigned to servitude. The cause is here. Once, O Athenians, in the hearts of all our People, a sentiment presided, which i i paramount no more ; a sentiment which triumphed over all venality, and maintained Greece free, and invincible by land and sea; but the loss of that sentiment has brought down OF GREECE.— Demosthenes. ruin, and left the country in the dust. What was it — this sentiment, so powerful? Was it the result of any subtle policy of State ? No : it was a universal hatred for the bribed traitors, in the pay of those Powers, seeking to subdue or dishonor Greece ! Venality was a capital offence, and punished with the extremest rigor. Pardon, palliation, were not thought of. And so, orators and generals could not with impu- nity barter those favorable conjunctures which Fortune oftentimes presents to negligence and inactivity against vigilance and vigor. The public concord, the general hatred and distrust of Tyrants and Barbarians, all the guarantees of liberty, were inaccessible to the power of gold. But now all these are offered for sale in the open market ! And, in exchange, we have an importation of morals which are desolating and destroying Greece. What do they exhibit? Envy, for the recipient of base bribes ; deri- sion, should he confess his crime ; pardon, should he be convicted ; and resentment to- wards his accuser ! — in a word, all the laxities which engender corruption. In vessels, in troops, in revenues, in the various resources of war, in all that constitutes the strength of a State, we are richer than ever before ; but all these advantages are paralyzed, crushed, by an infamous traffic. And all this you behold with your own eyes, and my testi- mony in regard to it is quite superfluous ! INVECTIVE AGAINST DEMOSTHENES.-^Vw^te. Dinarchus, a Greek orator, born at Corinth about 360 B. C. When thirty years of age he joined the Macedonian party, and opposed Demosthenes, doing much to send that great orator into exile. Three of his orations are extant, an extract from one of which is here inserted. It is an artful, spirited and virulent invective against Demosthenes when he had fallen into disgrace and the displeasure of his countrymen. The occasion is distinctly recounted by Plutarch. Dinarchus afterwards gave a favorable testimony to the character of Demosthenes, thus personally testifying to the injustice of the following virulent oration : TO what causes, Athenians, is the pros- perity or the calamity of a State to be ascribed ? To none so eminently as to its ministers and generals. Turn your eyes on the state of Thebes. It subsisted once. It was once great. It had its soldiers and com- manders. There was a time when Pelop'idas led the " sacred band;" when Epaminon'das and his colleagues commanded the army. Then did the Thebans gain the victory at Leuctra. Then did they pierce into the territories of La-ce- de'mon, before deemed inaccessible. Then did 3 DEMOSTHENES. Greatest Orator of Ancient Times. (Born about 382 B. C. Died of poison 322 B. C.) MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO. The most famous . K oman oratur. (Born January 3, 106 B. C. Assassinated Dec. 7, U B. C.) GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 213 they achieve many and noble deeds. For what is the great security of every state and nation ? Good generals and able ministers ! Let this be duly and attentively considered, and let us no longer suffer by the corrupt and pernicious conduct of Demosthenes. Let it not be imagined that we shall ever want good men and faithful counselors. With all the generous severity of our ancestors, let us punish the man whose bribery, whose treason, are unequivocally detected ; who could not resist the temptation of gold ; who in war has proved himself a coward, in his civil conduct a busybody ; who, when his fellow-citizens are called forth to meet their enemies in the field, flies from his post, and hides himself at home ; when the danger is at home, and his aid is demanded here, pretends that he is an ambassador, and runs from the city ! Let this man no longer amuse you with airy hopes and false representations and promises, which he forgets as soon as uttered ! Let not his ready tears and lamentations move you ! Reserve all your pity for your country : your country, Which his practices have undone — your country, which now implores you to save it from a traitor's hand. When he would waken all your sympathy for Demosthenes, then turn your eyes on Athens. Consider her former glory. Contrast it with her present degradation ! And ask yourselves, whether Demosthenes has been reduced to greater wretchedness by Athens, or Athens by Demosthenes. IT were better, O Athenians ! to die ten thou- sand deaths, than to be guilty of a servile acquiescence in the usurpations of Philip- Not only is he no Greek, and no way allied to Greece, but he sprang from a part of the bar- barian world unworthy to be named — from Macedonia, where formerly we could not find a slave fit to purchase ! And why is it that the insolence of this man is so tamely tolerated? Surely there must be some cause why the Greeks, who were once so jealous of their liberty, now show themselves so basely submissive. It is this, Athenians ! They were formerly impelled by a sentiment which was more than a match for bribing gold; a sentiment which maintained the freedom of Greece, and wrought her triumphs by sea and land, over all hostile powers. It was no subtle or mysterious element of success. It was simply this ; an abhorrence of traitors ; of all who accepted bribes from those princes who were prompted by the ambition of subduing, or the base intent of corrupting, Greece. To receive bribes was accounted a crime of the blackest die — a crime which called for all the severity of public justice. No petitioning for mercy, no pardon, was allowed. Those favorable conjunctures with which fortune often- times assists the supine against the vigilant, and AGAINST BRIBERY.— Demosthenes. renders men, even when most regardless of their interests, superior to those who exert their utmost efforts, could never be sold by orator or general, as in these degenerate days. Our mutual confidence, our settled hatred and dis- trust of all tyrants, could not be impaired or turned aside by the force of money. But now, opportunity, principles, private honor, and the public good, are exposed to sale as in a market ; and in exchange we have that pernicious laxity which is destroying the safety, the very vitals, of Greece. Let a man receive a bribe, he is envied ; let him confess it, he pro- vokes laughter ; let him be convicted, he is pardoned ! His very accusation only awakens resentment, so thoroughly is public sentiment corrupted ! Richer, more powerful, better prepared, than ever before, we lose all our advantages through these traffickers in their country's welfare. How was it formerly ? Listen to the decree which your ancestors inscribed upon a brazen column erected in the citadel : "Let Arthmius of Zelia, the son of Pythonax, be accounted infamous, and an enemy to the Athenians and their allies, both he and all his race ! ' ' Then comes the reason of his sentence : ' ' Because he brought gold from Media into Peloponnes'us. ' ' 214 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. This is the decree. And now, in the name of all the gods, think upon it ! Think what wisdom, what dignity appeared in this action of our ancestors ! This receiver of bribes they declare an enemy to them and their confederates, and that he and his posterity shall be infamous ! And the sentence im- ported something more ; for in the laws relat- ing to capital cases, it is enacted, that "when the legal punishment of a man's crime cannot be inflicted, he may be put' to death." And it was accounted meritorious to kill him ! "Let not the infamous man," says the law, ' ' be permitted to live ; ' ' implying that the citizen is free from guilt who executes this sentence ! Such was the detestation in which bribery was held by our fathers ! And hence was it that the Greeks were a terror to the barbarians — not the barbarians to the Greeks ! Hence was it that wars were fair and open ; that battles were fought, not with gold, but with steel ; and won, if won at all, not by treacheiy, but by force of arms ! DEMOSTHENES DENOUNCED.— ^Eschines on the Crown. {Translated.) Some authorities state that ^Eschines was born 397 years B. C. ; and others, that he was born 389 B. C. , and was only four years the senior of Demosthenes. During the war with Philip, iEschmes became a strenuous advocate of compromise and peace — Demosthenes being as resolutely in favor of active resistance. After the battle of Cheronsea, Demosthenes was intrusted with the repairing of the fortifications of the city. The cost of the work was thirteen talents, of which he paid three from his own purse. Ctesiphon proposed that a golden crown should be voted him. ^schines maintained that, under the circumstances, the proposal was illegal, and brought a suit nominally against Ctesiphon, but really to crush Demosthenes. From various causes, the trial was delayed eight years. At last it came on. The accuser's speech was a great effort. But Demosthenes was irresistible. " The greatest oration of the greatest of orators " is the phrase which Lord Brougham applies to the Oration on the Crown. Ctesiphon was acquitted by a considerable majority. iEschines went into banishment at Rhodes, where he set up a school of rhetoric. He once read the oration of Demosthenes to his pupils. Upon their expressing their admiration of it, he said, "What would you have thought, had you heard the lion himself? " ~T~ "T^HEN Demosthenes boasts to you, O 1 A / Athenians, of his Democratic zeal, . JL jL examine, not his harangues, but his life ; not what he professes to be, but -what he really is ; — redoubtable in words, impo- tent in deeds ; plausible in speech, perfidious in action. As to his courage — has he not himself, before the assembled People, confessed his pol- troonery ? By the laws of Athens, the man who refuses to bear arms, the coward, the deserter of his post in battle, is excluded from all share in the public deliberations — denied admission to our religious rites, and rendered incapable of receiving the honor of a crown. Yet now it is proposed to crown a man whom your laws ex- pressly disqualify ! Which, think you, was the more worthy citi- zen — Themistocles, who commanded your fleet when you vanquished the Persian at Salamis, or Demosthenes the deserter? — Miltlades, who con- quered the Barbarians at Marathon, or this hire- ling traitor? — Aristldes, surnamed the Just, or Demosthenes, who merits a far different sur- name? By all the gods of Olympus, it is a profanation to mention in the same breath this monster and those great men ! Let him cite, if he can, one among them all to whom a crown was decreed. And was Athens ungrateful ? No ! She was magnanimous ; and those un- crowned citizens were worthy of Athens. They placed their glory, not in the letter of a decree, but in the remembrance of a country, of which they had merited well, — in the living, imperish- able remembrance ! And now a popular orator — the mainspring of our calamities — a deserter from the field of battle, a deserter from the city — claims of us a crown, exacts the honor of a proclamation ! Crown him ? Proclaim his worth ? My country- men, this would not be to exalt Demosthenes, but to degrade yourselves, — to dishonor those brave men who perished for you in battle. Crown him ! Shall his recreancy win what was denied to their devotion ? This would indeed GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 215 be to insult the memory of the dead, and to paralyze the emulation of the living ! When Demosthenes tells you that, as ambas- sador, he wrested Byzantium from Philip, — that, as orator, he roused the Acarnanians, and subdued the Thebans, — let not the braggart impose on you. He flatters himself that the Athenians are simpletons enough to believe him, — as if in him they cherished the very genius of persuasion, instead of a vile caluminator. But, when, at the close of his defence, he shall sum- mon to his aid his accomplices in corruption, imagine then, O Athenians, that you behold, at the foot of this tribune, from which I now address you, the great benefactors of the Re- public arrayed against them. Solon, who environed our liberty with the noblest institutions, — Solon, the philosopher, the mighty legislator, — with that benignity so characteristic, implores you not to pay more regard to the honeyed phrases of Demosthenes than to your own oaths, your own laws. Aris- tldes, who fixed for Greece the apportionment of her contributions, and whose orphan daugh- ters were dowered by the People, is moved to indignation at this prostitution of justice, and exclaims : "Think on your fathers ! Arthmlus of Zelia brought gold from Media into Greece, and, for the act, barely escaped death in banish- ment ; and now Demosthenes, who has not merely brought gold, but who received it as the price of treachery, and still retains it, — Demos- thenes it is unblushingly proposed to invest with a golden crown ! ' ' From those who fell at Marathon and at Plataea — from Themistocles — from the very sepulchres of your ancestors — issues the protesting groan of condemnation and rebuke ! REPLY TO v^SCHINES. (Part I.)— Demosthenes on the Crown. {Lord Brougham' s Translation.') The two following extracts are a suggestion of the art and grace with which the orator defended himself, and of the power and fierceness with which he assailed his adversary. LET me begin, Men of Athens, by implor- ing, of all the Heavenly Powers, that the same kindly sentiments which I have, throughout my public life, cher- ished towards this country and each one of you, may now by you be shown towards me in the present contest ! In two respects my adversary plainly has the advantage of me. First, we .nave not the same interests at stake : it is by no means the same thing for me to forfeit your ■esteem, and for ^Eschines, an unprovoked volun- teer, to fail in his impeachment. My other dis- advantage is, the natural proneness of men to lend a pleased attention to invective and accusa- tion, but to give little heed to him whose theme is his own vindication. A wicked thing, Athenians, a wicked thing is a calumniator, ever ; — querulous and industrious in seeking pretences of complaint. But this creature is despicable by nature, and incapable of any trace of generous and noble deeds ; ape of a tragedian, third-rate actor, spurious orator ! For what, ^Eschines, does your eloquence profit the country? You now descant upon what is past and gone ; as if a physician, when called to patients in a sinking state, should give no advice, nor prescribe any course by which the disease might be cured ; but, after one of them had died, and the last offices were performing to his remains, should follow him to the grave, and expound how the poor man never would have died had such and such things only been done. Moonstricken ! is it now that at length you too speak out ? As to the defeat, that incident in which you so exult (wretch ! who should rather mourn for it), — look through my whole conduct, and you shall find nothing there that brought down this calamity on my country. Consider only, Athe- nians : Never, from any embassy upon which you sent me, did I come off worsted by Philip's ambassadors ; not from Thessaly, not from Am- bracia, not from Illyria, not from the Thracian kings, not from the Byzantians, nor from any 216 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. other quarter whatever, — nor finally, of late, from Thebes But wheresoever his negotiators were overcome in debate, thither Philip marched, and carried the day by his arms. Do you, then, exact this of me, and are you not ashamed, at the moment you are upbraiding me for weakness, to require that I should defy him single-handed, and by force of words alone ! For what other weapons had I ? Certainly not the lives of men, nor the fortune of warriors, nor the military operations of which you are so blundering as to demand an account at my hands. But, whatever a minister can be accountable for, make of that the strictest scrutiny, and I do not object. What, then, falls within this description ? To descry events in their first beginnings, to cast his look forward, and to warn others of their approach. All this I have done. Then, to confine within the narrowest bounds all delays, and backwardness, and igno- rance, and contentiousness, — faults which are inherent and unavoidable in all States ; and, on the other hand, to promote unanimity, and friendly dispositions, and zeal in the perform- ance of public duty: — and all these things I likewise did, nor can any man point out any of them that, so far as depended on me, was. left undone. If, then, it should be asked by what means Philip for the most part succeeded in his opera- tions, every one would answer, By his army, by his largesses, by corrupting those at the head of affairs. Well, then, I neither had armies, nor aid I command them ; and therefore the argu- ment respecting military operations cannot touch me. Nay, in so far as I was inaccessible to bribes, there I conquered Philip ! For, as he who pur- chases any one overcomes him who has received the price and sold himself, so he who will not take the money, nor consent to be bribed, has conquered the bidder. Thus, as far as I am con- cerned, this country stands unconquered. UNDER what circumstances, O Athe- nians, ought the strenuous and patri- otic orator to appear ? When the State is in jeopardy, when the people are at issue with the enemy, then it is that his ve'he- mence is timely. But now, when I stand clear on all hands, — by prescription, by judgments repeatedly pronounced, by my never having been convicted before the people of any offense, — and when more or less of glory has of necessity resulted to the public from my course — now it is that ^Eschlnes turns up, and attempts to wrest from me the honors which you pro- pose to bestow ! Personal spite and envy are at the bottom of all his trumped-up charges, my fellow-citizens ; and I proclaim him no true man. Consider, ^Eschlnes, whether you are not in reality the country's enemy, while you pretend to be only mine. Let us look at the acts of the orator rather than at the speech. He who pays his court to the enemies of the State does not cast anchor in the same roadstead with the people. REPLY TO ^ESCHINES. (Part II.) He looks elsewhere than to them for his security. Such a man — mark me ! — am not I. I have al- ways made common cause with the people, nor have I shaped my public course for my individual benefit. Can you say as much ? Can you ? You, who, instantly after the battle, repaired as ambassador to Philip, the author of all our calamities ; and this after you had declared loudly, on previous occasions, against engaging in any such commission, — as all these citizens can testify ! What worse charge can anyone bring against an orator than that his words and his deeds do not tally ? Yet you have been discovered to be such a man ; and you still lift your voice and dare to look this assembly in the face ! Think you they do not know you for what you are ? or that such a slumber and oblivion have come over them all as to make them forget the speeches in which, with oaths and imprecations, you dis- claimed all dealings with Philip, and declared that I falsely brought this charge against you from personal enmity ? And yet, no sooner was GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 217 the advice received of that fatal- -O ! that fatal — battle, than your asseverations were forgotten, your connection publicly avowed ! You affected to have been Philip's friend and guest. Such were the titles by which you sought to dignify your prostitution ! But read here the epitaph inscribed by the State upon the monument of the slain, that you may see yourself in it, JEschines, — unjust, calum- nious, and profligate. Read ! " These were the brave, unknowing how to yield, Who, terrible in valor, kept the field Against the foe ; and, higher than life's breath Prizing their honor, met the doom of death, Our common doom — that Greece unyoked might stand, Nor shuddering crouch beneath a tyrant's hand. Such was the will of Jove ; and now they rest Peaceful enfolded in their country's breast. The immortal gods alone are ever great, And erring mortals must submit to Fate." Do you hear, vEschmes ? It pertains only to the gods to control fortune and command suc- cess. To them the power of assuring victory to armies is ascribed, — not to the statesman, but to the gods. Wherefore, then, execrable wretch, wherefore upbraid me with what has happened ? Why denounce against me, what may the just gods reserve for the heads of you and yours ! CATILINE DENOUNCED.— Cicero. Marcus-Tullius-Cicero, the greatest of Roman orators, was born at Arpinum, 106 B. C, two hundred and sixteen years after the death of Demosthenes. Having taken part against Antony, after the assassination of Caesar, Cicero was proscribed. He was murdered by a party of soldiers, headed by Popilius Lsenas, whose life he had formerly saved by his eloquence ; and his head and hands were publicly exhibited on the rostrum at Rome. He perished in his sixty-fourth year, 43 B. C. His writings are voluminous. As an orator, Cicero ranks next to Demosthenes ; and bis orations against Catiline and Verres are masterpieces of denun- ciatory eloquence. HOW far, O Catiline, wilt thou abuse our patience ? How long shalt thou baffle justice in thy mad career ? To what extreme wilt thou carry thy audacity ? Art thou nothing daunted by the nightly watch, posted to secure the Palatium? Nothing, by the city guards? Nothing, by the rally of all good citizens? Nothing, by the assembling of the Senate in this fortified place ? Nothing, by the averted looks of all here present? Seest thou not that all thy plots are exposed ? — that thy wretched conspiracy is laid bare to every man's knowledge, here in the Senate? — that we are well aware of thy proceedings of last night ; of the night before ; — the place of meeting, the company convoked, the measures concerted ? Alas, the times ! Alas, the public morals ! The Senate understands all this. The Consul sees it. Yet the traitor lives ! Lives? Ay, truly, and confronts us here in council, — takes part in our deliberations, — and, with his measuring eye, marks out each man of us for slaughter! And we, all this while, strenuous that we are, think we have amply discharged our duty to the State, if we but shun this madman's swcrd and fury ! Long since, O Catiline, ought the Consul to have ordered thee to execution, and brought upon thy own head the ruin thou hast been meditating against others ! There was that virtue once in Rome, that a wicked citizen was- held more execrable than the deadliest foe. We have a law still, Catiline, for thee. Think not that we are powerless, because forbearing. We have a decree, — though it rests among our archives like a sword in its scabbard, — a decree, by which thy life would be made to pay the forfeit of thy crimes. And, should I order thee to be instantly seized and put to death, I make just doubt whether all good men would not think it done rather too late than any man too cruelly. But, for good reasons, I will yet defer the blow long since deserved. Then will I doom thee, when no man is found, so lost, so wicked, nay, so like thyself, but shall confess that it was justly- dealt. While there is one man that dares defend thee, live ! But thou shalt live so beset, so sur- rounded, so scrutinized by the vigilant guards that I have placed thee, that thou shalt not stir a foot against the Republic, without my knowl- '218 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. «dge. There shall be eyes to detect thy slightest movement, and ears to catch thy wariest whisper, of which thou shalt not dream. The darkness ■of night shall not cover thy treason — the walls of privacy shall not stifle its voice. Baffled on all sides, thy most secret counsels clear as noon- ■dav, what canst thou now have in view ? Pro- ceed, plot, conspire, as thou wilt ; there is noth- ing you can contrive, nothing you can propose, nothing you can attempt, which I shall not know, hear and promptly understand. Thou shalt soon be made aware that I am even more active in providing for the preservation of the State than thou in plotting its destruction ! AGAINST CATILINE.— a«w. CONSCRIPT FATHERS, a camp is pitched against the Roman Republic within Italy, on the very borders of Etruria. Every day adds to the number of the enemy. The leader of those enemies, the commander of that encampment, walks within the walls of Rome, and, with venomous mischief, rankles in the inmost vitals of the commonwealth. Catiline, should I, on the instant, order my lictors to seize and drag you to the stake, some men might, even then, blame me for having procrastinated punishment ; but no man could criminate me for a faithful execu- tion of the laws. They shall be executed. But I will neither act, nor will I suffer, with- out full and sufficient reason. Trust me, they shall be executed, and then, even then, when there shall not be found a man so flagitious, so much a Catiline, as to say you were not ripe for execution. Was not the night before the last sufficient to convince you that there is a good genius protecting that Republic, which a ferocious demoniac is laboring to destroy? I aver, that on that same night you and your complotters assembled. Can even your own tongue deny it ? Yet secret ! Speak out, man ; for, if you do not, there are some I see around me who shall have an agonizing proof that I am true in my assertion. Good and great gods, where are we ? What city do we inhabit? Under what government do we live? Here — here, Conscript Fathers, mixed and mingled with us all — in the center of this most grave and venerable assembly — are men sitting, quietly incubating a plot against my life, against all your lives — the life of every virtuous Senator and citizen ; while I, with the whole nest of traitors brooding beneath my eyes, am parading in the petty formalities of debate, and the very men appear scarcely vulnerable by my voice, who ought long since to have been cut down by the sword. Proceed, Catiline, in your meritorious career ! Go where destiny and desire are driving you. Evacuate the city for a season. The gates stand open. Begone ! What a pity that the Manlian army should look so long for their general ! Take all your loving friends along with you ; or, if that be a vain hope, take, at least, as many as you can, and cleanse the city for some short time. Let the walls of Rome be the mediators between me and thee, for, at present, you are much too near. I will not suffer you, I will not longer endure you ! Lucius Catiline, away ! Begin as soon as you can this shameful and unnatural war. Begin it, on your part, under the shade of every dreadful omen ; on mine, with the sure and certain hope of safety to my country, and glory to myself; and, when this you have done, then do thou, whose altar was first founded by the founder of our State — thou, the establisher of this city — pour out thy vengeance upon this man, and all his adherents ! Save us from his fury, our public altars, our sacred temples, our houses and household goods, our liberties, our lives. Pursue, tutelar god, pursue them, these foes, to the gods and to goodness — these plunderers of Italy — these assassins of Rome ! Erase them out of this life, and in the next let thy ven- geance follow them still, insatiable, implacable, immortal. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 219 CATILINE EXPELLED. —Cicero. AT length, Romans, we are rid of Cati- line ! We have driven him forth, drunk with fury, breathing mischief, threatening to revisit us with fire and •sword. He is gone ; he is fled ; he has escaped ; he has broken away. No longer, within the very walls of the city, shall he plot her ruin. We have forced him from secret plots into open rebellion. The bad citizen is now the avowed traitor. His flight is the confession of his treason ! Would that his attendants had not been so few ! Be speedy, ye companions of his dissolute pleasures ; be speedy, and you may overtake liim before night, on the Aurelian road. Let him not languish, deprived of your society. Haste to join the congenial crew that composes his army; his army, I say, — for who doubts that the army under Manlius expect Catiline for their leader ? And such an army ! Outcasts from honor, and fugitives from debt ; gamblers and felons ; miscreants, whose dreams are of rapine, murder and conflagration ! Against these gallant troops of your adver- sary, prepare, O Romans, your garrisons and armies ; and first to that maimed and battered gladiator oppose your Consuls and Generals ; next, against that miserable outcast horde, lead forth the strength and flower of all Italy ! On the one side chastity contends ; on the other, wantonness : here purity, there pollution ; here integrity, there treachery ; here piety, there profaneness ; here constancy, there rage ; here honesty, there baseness ; here continence, there lust ; in shorty equity, temperance, fortitude, prudence, struggle with iniquity, luxury, cow- ardice, rashness ; every virtue with every vice ; and lastly, the contest lies between well- grounded hope and absolute despair. In such a conflict, were even human aid to fail, would not the immortal gods empower such conspicuous virtue to triumph over such complicated vice ? VERRES DENOUNCED.— Cicero. AN opinion has long prevailed, Fathers, that, in public prosecutions, men of wealth, however clearly convicted, are always safe. This opinion, so injurious to your order, so detrimental to the State, it is now in your power to refute. A man is on trial before you who is rich, and who hopes his riches will compass his acquittal ; but whose life and actions are his sufficient condemnation in the •eyes of all candid men. I speak of Caius Verres, who, if he now receive not the sentence his crimes deserve, it shall not be through the lack of a criminal, or of a prosecutor ; but through the failure of the ministers of justice to do their duty. Passing over the shameful irregularities of his youth, what does the quaestorship of Verres ex- hibit but one continued scene of villainies ? The public treasure squandered, a Consul stripped and betrayed, an army deserted and reduced to want, a province robbed, the civil and religious rights of a People trampled on ! But his proetor- ship in Sicily has crowned his career of wicked- ness, and completed the lasting monument of his infamy. His decisions have violated all law, all precedent, all right. His extortions from the industrious poor have been beyond computation. Our most faithful allies have been treated as ene- mies. Roman citizens have, like slaves, been put to death with tortures. Men the most worthy have been condemned and banished without a hearing, while the most atrocious criminals have, with money, purchased exemption from the pun- ishment due to their guilt. I ask now, Verres, what have you to advance against these charges ? Art thou not the tyrant praetor, who, at no greater distance than Sicily, within sight of the Italian coast, dared to put to an infamous death, on the cross, that ill-fated and innocent citizen, Publius Gavius Cosanus? And what was his offence? He had declared his intention of appealing to the justice of his country against your brutal persecutions ! For 220 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. this, when about to embark for home, he was seized, brought before you, charged with being a spy, scourged and tortured. In vain did he ex- claim : "I am a Roman citizen ! I have served under Lucius Pretius, who is now at Panormus, and who will attest my innocence ! ' ' Deaf to all remonstrance, remorseless, thirsting for innocent blood, you ordered the savage punishment to be inflicted! While the sacred words, "I am a Roman citizen," were on his lips, — words which, in the remotest regions, are a passport to protec- tion, — you ordered him to death, to a death upon the cross ! O liberty ! O sound once delightful to every Roman ear ! O sacred privilege of Roman citi- zenship ! once sacred, — now trampled on ! Is it come to this ? Shall an inferior magistrate, a gov- ernor, who holds his whole power of the Roman People, in a Roman province, within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture, and put to an infa- mous death, a Roman citizen ? Shall neither the cries of innocence expiring in agony, the tears of pitying spectators, the majesty of the Roman Commonwealth, nor the fear of the justice of his country, restrain the merciless monster, who, in confidence of his riches, strikes at the very root of liberty and sets mankind at defiance ? And shall this man escape ? Fathers, it must not be ! It must not be, unless you would undermine the very foundations of social safety, strangle justice, and call down anarchy, massacre and ruin on the commonwealth. GREAT FRENCH ORATORS. AGAINST THE NOBILITY AND CLERGY OF PROVENCE, Mirabeau. (Translated.) Feb. 3, 1789. Hon ore Gabriel Riquetti, Comte de Mirabeau, was born at Bignon, in France, on the 9th of March, 1749. The early part of his life was one of disorder and misery. The French Revolution offered a field for his energies. Being rejected, at the time of the elections, by the nobility of Province, he hired a ware- house, put up this inscription, — " Mirabeau, woollen-draper," — and was elected deputy from the third estate "of Aix. His contemporaries speak of the effect of his eloquence as surprising and irresistable. "He trod the tribune with the supreme authority of a master, and the imperial air of a king." Personalhy, he was quite ugly. He himself has said, in a letter to a lady whom had not seen him : — "Imagine a tiger scarred with the small pox, and you may form some notion of my features." " He was a man," says one of his critics, " who, by his qualities no less than by the singularity of his fortune, is destined to take his place in history by the side of the Demosthenes, the Gracchi, and the other kindred spirits of an antiquity whose gigantic characteristics he so frequently reproduced." He died 1791. In the French National Assembly, every speaker who addresses that body formally, instead of speak- ing from his seat, as in the legislative halls of England and the United States, ascends an elevated platform, or pulpit, called a tribune, from which he makes his harangue. IN all countries, in all ages, have aristocrats implacably pursued the friends of the People ; and when, by I know not what combination of fortune, such a friend has uprisen from the very bosom of the aristrocracy, it has been at him pre-eminently that they have struck, eager to inspire wider terror by the elevation of their victim. So perished the last of the Gracchi by the hands of the Patricians. But, mortally smitten, he flung dust towards heaven, calling the avenging gods to witness: and, from that dust, sprang Marius ; — Marius, less illustrious for having exterminated the Cimbri than for having beaten down the des- potism of the nobility in Rome. But you, Commons, listen to one, who, unse- duced by your applauses, yet cherishes them in his heart. Man is strong only by union ; happy only by peace. Be firm, not obstinate ; coura- geous, not turbulent ; free, not undisciplined ; prompt, not precipitate. Stop not except at diffi- culties of moment ; and be then wholly in- flexible. But disdain the contentions of self- love, and never thrust into the balance the individual against the country. Above all, hasten, as much as in you lies the epoch of those States-General, from which you are charged with flinching, — the more acrimoniously charged, the more your accusers dread the results ; of those States-General, through which so many 9*3**^ fc#6&*~ HENRY W. GRADY. A noted Southern orator who did much to restore good fellowship between the North and South. (Born 1851, Died 1889.) GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 221 pretensions will be scattered, so many rights re-established, so many evils reformed ; of those States-General, in short, through which the monarch himself desires that France should regenerate herself. For myself, who, in my public career, have liad no other fear but that of wrong-doing, — who, girt with my conscience, and armed with my principles, would brave the universe, — whether it shall be my fortune to serve you with my voice and my exertions in the National Assembly, or whether I shall be enabled to aid you there with my prayers only, be sure that the vain clamors, the wrathful menaces, the injurious protestations, — all the convulsions, in a word, of expiring prejudices, — shall not on me impose ! What ! shall he now pause in his civic course, who, first among all the men of France, emphatically proclaimed his opinions on national affairs, at a time when circumstances were much less urgent than now, and the task one of much greater peril ? Never ! No measure of outrages shall bear down my patience. I have been, I am, I shall be, even to the tomb, the man of the Public Liberty, the man of the Constitution. If to be such be to become the man of the People rather than of the Nobles, then woe to the privileged orders ! For privileges shall have an end, but the People is eternal ! NECKER'S FINANCIAL PLAN, Sept. 26, \1S9.— Mirabeau. (Translated.) Necker, the minister of finance, having proposed an income tax of twenty-five per cent., with other measures, in view of the desperate state of the financial affairs of France, the proposition was advocated by Mirabeau, who did not, however, profess to comprehend or endorse all its details. Although a known enemy to the minister, he magnanimously made two speeches in behalf of his measure ; without, however, inducing the Assembly to pass it, until, on the eve of its being rejected, Mirabeau rushed to the Tribune, and poured forth a last appeal, an abridgment of which is here given. This speech proved effectual. The Assembly received it with shouts of enthusiam ; and Necker's plan was adopted. Madame da Stael (Necker's daughter), who was near Mirabeau at the time of the delivery of this speech, says that "its effect was prodigious. ' ' THE minister of finance has presented a most alarming picture of the state of our affairs. He has assured us that delay must aggravate the peril ; and that a day, an hour, an instant, may render it fatal. We have no plan that can be substituted for that which he proposes. On this plan, there- fore, we must fall back. But, have we time, Gentlemen ask, to examine it, to probe it thor- oughly, and verify its . calculations ? No, no ! a thousand time no ! Hap -hazard conjectures, insignificant inquiries, gropings that can but mislead, — these are all that we can give to it now. Shall we therefore miss the decisive moment ? Do Gentlemen hope to escape sacri- fices and taxation by a plunge into national "bankruptcy? What, then, is bankruptcy, but the most cruel, most iniquitous, most unequal and disastrous of imposts? Listen to me for one moment ! Two centuries of plunder and abuse have dug the abyss which threatens to engulf the Nation. It must be filled up — this terrible chasm. But how ! Here is a list of proprietors. Choose from the wealthiest, in order that the smallest number of citizens may be sacrificed. But choose ! Shall not a few perish, that the mass of the People may be saved ? Come then ! Here are two thousand Notables, whose property will supply the deficit. Restore order to your finances, peace and prosperity to the Kingdom ! Strike ! Immolate, without mercy, these unfor- tunate victims ! Hurl them into the abyss ! — It closes ! You recoil with dismay from the contempla- tion. Inconsistent and pusillanimous ! What ! Do you not perceive that, in decreeing a public bankruptcy, or what is worse, in rendering it inevitable without decreeing it, you disgrace yourselves by an act a thousand times more criminal, and — folly inconceivable! — gratui- tously criminal ? For, in the shocking alterna- tive I have supposed, at least the deficit would be wiped off. 222 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. But do you imagine that, in refusing to pay, you shall cease to owe ? Think you that the thousands, the millions of men, who will lose in an instant, by the terrible explosion of a bankruptcy, or its revulsion, all that formed the consolation of their lives, and perhaps their sole means of subsistence, — think you that they will leave you to the peaceable fruition of your crime? Stoical spectators of the incalculable evils which this catastrophe would disgorge upon France ; impenetrable egotists, who fancy that these convulsions of despair and of misery will pass, as other calamities have passed, — and all the more rapidly because of their intense violence, — are you, indeed, certain that so many men without bread will leave you tran- quilly to the enjoyment of those savory viands, the number and delicacy of which you are so loth to diminish ? No ! you will perish ; and, in the universal conflagration, which you do not shrink from kindling, you will not, in losing your honor, save a single one of your detestable indulgences. This is the way we are going. And I say to you, that the men who, above all others, are interested in the enforcement of these sacrifices which the Government demands, are you your- selves ! Vote, then, this subsidy extraordinary :. and may it prove sufficient ! Vote it, inasmuch as whatever doubts you may entertain as to the means, — doubts vague and unenlightened, — you can have none as to the necessity, or as to our inability to provide — immediately, at least — a substitute. Vote it, because the circumstances of the country admit of no evasion, and we shall be responsible for all delays. Beware of demanding more time ! Misfortune accords it never. Why, gentlemen, it was but the other day, that, in reference to a ridiculous commotion at the Palais-Royal,* — a Quixotic insurrection, which never had any importance save in the feeble imaginations or perverse designs of certain faithless men, — you heard these wild words : ' ' Catiline is at the gates of Rome, a?id yet you deliberate ! ' ' And verily there was neither a Catiline nor a Rome ; neither perils nor factions around you. But, to-day, bank- ruptcy, hideous bankruptcy, is there before you, and threatens to consume you, yourselves, your property, your honor, — and yet you deliberate ! *The s in Palais is mute, and the dipthong ai has. the sound of ai in air, before the r is reached. The French pronunciation of Royal may be expressed in English thus : Roh-ah-ee-ahl ; but the syllables must be fused rapidly in the utterance. THE DISOBEDIENCE OF MAGISTRATES.— Mirabeau. ~T~ "T~E have been told, gentlemen, that the m A / magistrate is not bound to execute a 1l * law which he has not adopted. We are told that he is not obliged to adopt, as magistrate, a new law which does not suit him ; that, when he received his powers, he swore to render justice according to established laws. You now offer him new powers ; you exact of him the application of new laws. What is his reply? <( I do not desire these powers. I do not engage to execute these laws. ' ' And I, in my turn, reply : These magistrates who are not willing to exercise those functions that have reference to new laws, have they, in disobeying, abdicated their offices, and resigned their commissions? Unless they have done this, then is their conduct inconsistent with their principles. "We are justified," they say,, " by our conscience, in disobeying the laws." Their conscience, like that of all men, is the result of their ideas, their sentiments, their habits of thought and action. Let them cease to be magistrates, these men who presume to regard the eternal rights of the people as ' ' new laws; " — who reverence despotic authority, and whose conscience is wounded by the public liberty. Let them abdicate, and become once more as simple citizens ! Who will regret them? Have not all the parliaments of the kingdom recognized the principle that the interruption of justice is a crime — that combined resignations are a forfeiture? The magistrate, the soldier, every man who has public functions to fulfill, may abdicate his place ; but can he desert his GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 223 post ? Can he quit it in the critical moment, at the approach of a combat, when his services are needed ? In such a moment, the refusal of the soldier would be an act of cowardice — the pre- tended scruples of magistrates would be a crime. The principle of these refractory officers is, that they will obey such laws only as suit them ; in other words, they will obey only themselves. EULOGIUM ON FRANKLIN, Ju FRANKLIN is dead ! Restored to the bosom of the Divinity is that genius which gave freedom to America, and rayed forth torrents of light upon Europe. The sage whom two worlds claim — the man whom the History of Empires and the History of Science alike contend for- - occupied, it cannot be denied, a lofty rank amonk his species. Long enough have po- litical Cabinets signalized the death of those who were great in their funeral eulogies only'. Long enough has the etiquette of Courts pre- scribed hypocritical mournings. For their benefactors only, should Nations assume the emblems of grief; and the Representatives of Nations should commend only the heroes of humanity to public veneration. In the fourteen States of the Confederacy, Congress has ordained a mourning of two months for the death of Franklin ; and America is at this moment acquitting herself of this If this be not a folly and a crime, what is our business here? What need of legislation? What is our power? — what the object of our labors ? Let us hasten to replunge into nothing- ness that constitution which has given birth to so many false hopes. Let the aurora of public liberty be eclipsed, and let the eternal night of despotism cover once more the earth. ne II, 1790. — Mirabeau. {Translated.) tribute of honor to one of the Fathers of her Constitution. Would it not become us, gen- tlemen, to unite in this religious act ; to partici- pate in this homage, publicly rendered, at once to the rights of man, and to the philosopher who has contributed most largely to their vindi- cation throughout the world ? Antiquity would have erected altars to this- great and powerful genius, who, to promote the welfare of mankind, comprehending both the Heavens and the Earth in the range of his thought, could at once snatch the bolt from the cloud and the sceptre from tryants. France, enlightened and free, owes at least the acknowledgment of her remem- brance and regret to one of the greatest intellects that ever served the united cause of philosophy and liberty. I propose that it be now decreed that the National Assembly wear mourning, during three days, for Benjamin Franklin. DEFENSE AGAINST THE CHARGE OF CORRUPTION. —Mirabeau. {Translated.) FOR eight days now rumors of perfidy, of corruption, have been bruited. Popu- lar vengeance has been invoked to en- force the tyranny of opinion ; and denunciations have been uttered, as if, on a subject involving one of the most delicate and difficult questions affecting the organization of society, persons could not dissent without a crime. What strange madness, what deplorable infatuation, is this, which thus incites against one another men whom — let debate run never so high — one common object, one indestructible sentiment of patriotism, ought always to bring together, always to reunite ; but who thus sub- stitute, alas ! the irascibility of self-love for de- votion to the public good, and give one another over, without compunction, to the hatred and. distrust of the People ! And me, too — me, but the other day they would have borne in triumph ; — and now they cry in the streets, The great treason of the Count of Mirabeau ! I needed not this lesson to teach me how short the distance from the Capitol to the Tarpeian Rock! But the man who battles for reason, for country, does not so easily admit that he is vanquished. He who 224 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. lias the consciousness that he deserves well of that country, and, above all, that he is still able to serve her ; who disdains a vain celebrity, and prizes veritable glory above the successes of the day ; who would speak the truth, and labor for the public weal, independently of the fluctua- tions of popular opinion, — such a man carries in his own breast the recompense of his services, the solace of his pains, the reward of his dangers. The harvest he looks for — the destiny, the only destiny, to which he aspires — is that of his good name ; and for that he is content to trust to time, — to time, that incorruptible judge, who dispenses justice to all ! Let those who, for these eight days past, have been ignorantly predicting my opinion, — who, at this moment, calumniate my discourse with- out comprehending it, — let them charge me, if they will, with beginning to offer incense to the THE UNION OF CHURCH AN ~"Y~ "T^E are reproached with having refused to \ A / decree that the Catholic religion, Jl jL Apostolic and Roman, is the national religion. To declare the Christian religion national, would be to dishonor it in its most intimate and essential characteristic. In general terms, it may be said, that religion is not, and cannot be, a relation between the indi- vidual man and society. It is a relation between him and the Infinite Being. Would you understand what was meant by a national conscience ? Religion is no more national than conscience ! A man is not veri- tably religious in so far as he is attached to the Teligion of a Nation. If there were but one religion in the world, and all men were agreed in professing it, it would be none the less true that each would have the sincere sentiment of religion so far only as he should be himself religious with a religion of his own ; that is to say, so far only as he would be wedded to that universal religion, even though the whole human race were to abjure it. And so, from whatever point we consider religion, to term it national is to give it a designation insignificant or absurd. impotent idols I have overturned — with being the vile stipendiary of men whom I have never ceased to combat ; let them denounce as an enemy of the Revolution him, who at least has contributed so much to its cause, that his safety, if not his glory, lies in its support ; — let them deliver over to the rage of a deceived People him, who, for twenty years, has warred against oppression inall its forms ; — who spoke to French- men of Liberty, of a Constitution, of Resistance, at a time when his vile calumniators were suck- ing the milk of Courts, — living on those domi- i nant abuses which he denounced : — what matters i it ! These underhand attacks shall not stop me in my career. I will say to my traducers, j Answer if you can, and then calumniate tc I your heart's content ! And now I re-enter the lists, armed only with my principles, and a i steadfast conscience. D STATE.— Mirabeau. (Translated.) Would it be as the arbiter of its truth, or as the judge of its aptitude to form good citizens, that the Legislature would make a religion con- stitutional? But, in the first place, are there national truths ? In the second place, can it b<*. ever useful to the public happiness to fetter the conscience of men by a law of the State ? The law unites us only in those points where adhe- sion is essential to social organization. Those points belong only to the superfices of our being. In thought and conscience men remain isolated ; | and their association leaves to them, in these | respects, the absolute freedom of the state of nature. What a spectacle would it be for those early Christians, who, to, escape the sword of Perse- cution, were obliged to consecrate their altars in caves or amid ruins, — what a spectacle would it be for them, could they this day come among us, and witness the glory with which their despised religion now sees itself environed ; the temples, the lofty steeples bearing aloft the glittering emblem of their faith ; the evangelic cross, which crowns the summit of all the de- partments of this great Empire ! What a trans- GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 225 porting sight for those who, in descending to the tomb, had seen that religion, during their lives, honored only in the lurking places of the forest and the desert ! Methinks I hear them exclaim, even as that stranger of the old time exclaimed, on beholding the encampment of ihe People of God, — "How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob, and thy tabernacles, O Israel ! ' ' Calm, then, ah ! calm your apprehensions, ye ministers of the God of peace and truth ! Blush rather at your incendiary exaggerations, and no longer look at the action of this Assembly through the medium of your passions. We do not ask it of you to take an oath contrary to the law of your heart ; but we do ask it of you, in the name of that God who will judge us all, not to confound human opinions and scholastic tra- ditions with the sacred and inviolable rules of the Gospel. If it be contrary to morality to act against one's conscience, it is none the less so to form one's conscience after false and arbi- trary principles. The obligation to form and enlighten one's conscience is anterior to the obli- gation to folloiu one's conscience. The greatest public calamities have been caused by men who believed they were obeying God, and saving their own souls. TO THE. FRENCH PEOPLE, 1792.— Vergniaud. {Translated.) Vergniaud, the most eloquent orator of the celebrated party known as the Girondists, during the ^French Revolution, was born at Limoges, in 1759. He was executed in 1793. As an orator, his renown is second only to that of Mirabeau, in France. His speeches were always carefully prepared beforehand. PREPARATIONS for war are manifest on our frontiers ; and we hear of renewed plots against liberty. Our armies re- assemble ; mighty movements agitate the Empire. Martial law having become neces- sary, it has seemed to us just. But we have succeeded only in brandishing for a moment the thunderbolt in the eyes of rebellion. The sanc- tion of the King has been refused to our decrees. The princes of Germany make their territory a retreat for the conspirators against you. They favor the plots of the emigrants. They furnish them an asylum — they furnish them gold, arms, horses, and munitions. Is not the patience suicidal which tolerates all this ? Doubtless you have renounced all projects of conquest ; but you have not promised to endure such insolent provocations. You have shaken off the yoke of your tyrants ; but it was not to bend the knee to foreign despots. But, beware ! You are environed by snares. They seek to drive you, by disgust or lassitude, to a state of languor fatal to your courage, — or fatal to its right direction. They seek to sepa- rate you from us ; they pursue a system of calumny against the National Assembly ; they incriminate your Revolution in your eyes. O ! beware of these attempts at panic ! 15 p-s dignantly, these impostors, who, while they affect a hypocritical zeal for the Constitution, cease not to urge upon you the monarchy ! The monarchy ! With them it is the counter-revolu- tion ! The monarchy ? It is the nobility / The counter-revolution — what is it but taxation, feu- dality, the Bastille, chains and executioners, to punish the sublime aspirations of liberty ? What is it but foreign satellites in the midst of the State? What, but bankruptcy, engulfing, with your assignats, your private fortunes and the national wealth ; what, but the furies of fanati- cism and of vengeance, — assassinations, pillage, and incendiarism, — in short, despotism and death, disputing, over rivers of blood and heaps of carcasses, the dominion of your wretched country ? The nobility ! That is to say, two classes of men ; the one for grandeur, the other for debasement ! — the one for tyranny, the other for servitude ! The nobility ! Ah ! the very word is an insult to the human race / And yet, it is in order to secure the success of these conspiracies that Europe is now put in motion against you ! Be it so ! By a solemn declaration must these guilty hopes be crushed. Yes, the free representatives of France, unshaken in their attachment to the Constitution, will be Repel, in- I buried beneath its ruins, before they consent to 226 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. a capitulation at once unworthy of them and of you. Rally ! Be reassured ! They would raise the Nations against you: — they will raise only princes. The heart of every People is with you. It is their cause which you embrace, in defending your own. Ever abhorred be war ! It is the greatest of the crimes of men ;«— it is the most terrible scourge of humanity ! But, since you are irresistibly forced to it, yield to the course of your destinies. Who can foresee where will end the punishment of the tyrants who will have driven you to take up arms ? AGAINST THE TERRORISM OF THE JACOBINS, 1792. ( Translated. ) Vergniaud. THE blinded Parisians presume to call themselves free. Alas ! it is true they are no longer the slaves of crowned tryants ; but they are the slaves of men the most vile, and of wretches the most detest- able ; men who continue to imagine that the Revolution has been made for themselves alone, and who have sent Louis XVI. to the Temple, in order that they may be enthroned at the Tuileries ! * It is time to break these dis- graceful chains — -to crush this new despotism. It is time that those who have made honest men tremble should be made to tremble in their turn. I am not ignorant that they have poniards at their service. On the night of the second of September — that night of proscription ! — did they not seek to turn them against several depu- ties, and myself among the number? Were we not denounced to the People as traitors ! Fortu- nately, it was the People into whose hands we fell. The assassins were elsewhere occupied. The voice of calumny failed of its effect. If my voice may yet make itself heard from this place, I call you all to witness, it shall not cease to thunder, with all its energy, against tyrants, whether of high or low degree. What to me their ruffians and their poniards? What his own life to the representative of the People, while the safety of the country is at stake ? When William Tell adjusted the arrow which * Pronounced Tweelree. was to pierce the fatal apple that a tryant had placed on his son's head, he exclaimed, " Perish my name, and perish my memory, provided Switzerland may be free ! " And we, also, — we will say, "Perish the National Assembly and its memory, provided France may be free ! " f Ay, perish the National Assembly and its memory, so by its death it may save the Nation from a course of crime that would affix an eternal stigma to the French name ; so, by its action, it may show the Nations of Europe that, despite the calumnies by which it is sought to dishonor France, there is still in the very bosom of that momentary anarchy where the brigands have plunged us — there is still in our country some public virtue, some respect for humanity left ! Perish the National Assembly and its memory, if upon our ashes our more fortunate successors may establish the edifice of a Constitution, which shall assure the happiness of France, and consolidate the reign of liberty and equality ! f The deputies here rose, as by an unanimous im- pulse, and repeated, with enthusiasm, the oath of Vergniaud. The audience, who occupied the gal- leries, also mingled their voices with those of the deputies. To appreciate fully the intrepid eloquence of this speech, it should be remembered that France was, at that moment, virtually under the sanguinary dictatorship of the Jacobin Club ; and that their proscriptions and massacres threatened to involve all who did not acquiesce in their measures. Vergniaud soon afterward paid the penalty of his courage ; and justfied his bold words by a bold death on the scaffold. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 227 AGAINST WAR, Jan. 13, 1 SHALL we await the orders of the War Office to overturn Thrones ? Shall we await the signal of the Court? In this war against aristocrats and Kings, shall we look to be commanded by these same Patri- cians, these eternal favorites of Despotism? No ! Alone let us march. Our own leaders let us be ! If it is the war of the Court that we must accept, — the war of the Ministers, of Patricians shamming patriotism, — then, alas ! far from anticipating the enfranchisement of the world, I shall not even believe that your own liberty is secure. Our wisest course now is to defend it against the perfidy of those internal enemies who would beguile you with these heroic illusions. I have proved that liberty has no more mortal enemy than war. I have proved that war, recommended by men of doubtful stamp, will be, in the Executive hands, but a means of annihilating the Constitution — but the issue of a plot against the Revolution. To favor these projects of war, under whatever pre- text, is, then, to join in conspiracy against the Revolution. To recommend confidence in the Executive, — to invoke public favor in behalf of 792 .—Robespierre. ( Translated. ) the Generals, — is, then, to deprive the Revolu- tion of its last security, the vigilance and energy of the Nation. If, then, the moment of emancipation for the Nations be not yet arrived, we should have the patience to await it. If this generation be destined only to struggle on in the slough of those vices, where Despotism has plunged it, if the theatre of our Revolution be doomed to present to the world no other spectacle than the miserable contests of perfidy and imbecility, egotism and ambition, — then to the rising gen- eration will be bequeathed the task of purifying the polluted earth. That generation shall bring — not the peace of Despotism, not the sterile agitations of intrigue, but the torch and the sword to consume Thrones, and exterminate oppressors ! Thou art not alien to us, O more fortunate posterity ! For thee we brave these storms, for thee defy the plots of tyranny. Dis- heartened ofttimes by the obstacles that sur- round us, towards thee we yearn ! For by thee shall our work be finished ! O ! cherish in thy memory the names of the martyrs of liberty ! MORALITY THE BASIS OF CIVILIZED SOCIETY— BELIEF IN GOD THE BASIS OF MORALITY.— Robespierre. {Translated.) The name of Maximilian Robespierre is associated with all that is sanguinary and atrocious in the history of the French Revolution. Whatever his own practice may have been, he had the sagacity to see that there is no security in a Republic which is not based on principle, — and no security in principle which is not based on belief in God and the immortality of the soul. The extract we here give is from his Report, read to the French National Convention, the 7th of May, 1794. THE idea of a Supreme Being and of the immortality of the soul is a continual call to justice. It is therefore a social and republican principle. Who has authorized you to declare that a Deity does not exist ? O, you who support so arid a doctrine, what advantage do you expect to derive from the principle that a blind fatality regulates the affairs of men, and that the soul is nothing but a breath of air impelled towards the tomb ? Will the idea of nonenity inspire man with more elevated sentiments than that of immortality ? Will it awaken more respect for others or him- self, more devotion to country, more courage to resist tyranny, greater contempt for pleasure or death ? You, who regret a virtuous friend, can you endure the thought that his noblest part has not escaped dissolution ? You, who weep over the remains of a child or a wife, are you con- soled by the thought that a handful of dust is all that is left of the beloved object ? You, the un- fortunate, who expire under the stroke of the assassin, is not your last sigh an appeal to the justice of the Most High ? Innocence on the scaffold makes the tyrant turn pale on his tri- umphal car. Would such an ascendency be felt, 228 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. if the tomb levelled alike the oppressor and the oppressed ? The more a man is gifted with sensibility and genius, the more does he attach himself to those ideas which aggrandize his being and exalt his aspirations; and the doctrine of men of this stamp becomes the doctrine of all mankind. A great man, a veritable hero, knows his own worth too well to experience complacency in the thought of his nonentity. A wretch, de- spicable in his own eyes, repulsive in those of others, feels that nature but gives him his deserts in annihilation. Confusion to those who seek, by their deso- lating doctrines, to extinguish this sublime enthusiasm, and to stifle this moral instinct of the' People, which is the principle of all great actions ! To you, Representatives of the People, it belongs to hasten the triumph of the truths we have developed. If we lack the courage to proclaim them, then deep, indeed, must be the depravity, with which we are environed. Defy the insensate clamors of presumptuous ignorance and of stubborn hypocrisy ! Will posterity credit it, that the vanquished factions have carried their audacity so far as to charge us with luke- warmness and aristocracy for having restored to the Nation's heart the idea of the Divinity, the fundamental principle of all morality? Will it be believed that they have dared, even in this place, to assert that we have thereby thrown back human reason centuries in its progress? O, be not surprised that the wretches, leagued against us, are so eager to put the hemlock to our lips ! But, before we quaff it, we will save the country ! ROBESPIERRE'S LAST SPEECH.— {Translated.) The day after this speech — delivered July 28, 1794, and addressed to an assembly bent on his destruc- tion, — Robespierre was executed, at the early age of thirty-live, under circumstances of accumulated horror. His fate is a warning to rulers who would cement even the best of Governments with blood. Robespierre's character is still an enigma ; some regarding him as an honest fanatic, and others as a crafty demagogue. Perhaps the traits of either predominated at times. "Destitute," says Lamartine, "of exterior graces, and of that gift of extemporaneous speaking which pours forth the unpremeditated inspira- tions of natural eloquence, Robespierre had taken so much pains with himself, — he had meditated so much, written and erased so much, — he.had so often braved the inattention and the sarcasms of his audiences. — that, in the end, he succeeded in giving warmth and suppleness to his style, and in transforming his whole person, despite his stiff and meagre figure, his shrill voice and abrupt gesticulation, into an engine of .eloauence, of conviction and of passion.' .eloquence, ot conviction and ot passion. THE enemies of the Pvepublic call me tyrant ! Were I such they would grovel at my feet. I should gorge them with gold, — I should grant them impunity for their crimes, — and they would be grateful. Were I such, the Kings we have van- quished, far from denouncing Robespierre, would lend me their guilty support. There would be a covenant between them and me. Tyranny must have tools. But the enemies of tyranny, — whither does their path tend? To the tomb, and to immortality ! What tyrant is my pro- protector? To what what faction do I belong? Yourselves ! What faction, since the beginning of the Revolution, has crushed and annihilated so many detected traitors? You, — the People, — our principles, — are that faction ! A faction to which I am devoted, and against which all the scoundrelism of the dav is banded ! The confirmation of the Republic has been my object ; and I know that the Republic can be established only on the eternal basis of moral- ity. Against me, and against those who hold kindred principles, the league is formed. My life ? O ! my life, I abandon without a regret ! I have seen the Past ; and I foresee the Future. What friend of his country would wish to survive the moment when he could no longer serve it, — when he could no longer de- fend innocence against oppression? Wherefore should I continue in an order of things, where intrigue eternally triumphs over truth ; where justice is mocked ; where passions the most ab- ject, or fears the most absurd, override the sacred interests of humanity ? In witnessing the multitude of vices which the torrent of the Revolution has rolled in turbid communion with its civic virtues, I confess that GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 229 I have sometimes feared that I should be sullied, in the eyes of posterity, by the impure neighbor- hood of unprincipled men, who had thrust them- selves into association with the sincere friends of humanity ; and I rejoice that these conspirators against my country have now, by their reckless rage, traced deep the line of demarcation be- tween themselves and all true men. Question history, and learn how all the de- fenders of liberty, in all times, have been over- whelmed by calumny. But their traducers died also. The good and the bad disappear alike from the earth ; but in very different conditions. O, Frenchmen ! O, my countrymen ! Let not your enemies, with their desolating doctrines, degrade your souls, and enervate your virtues ! No, Chaumette,* no ! Death is not " an eternal sleep ' ' ! Citizens ! efface from the tomb that motto, graven by sacrilegious hands, which spreads over all nature a funeral crape, takes from oppressed innocence its support, and af- fronts the beneficent dispensation of death ! Inscribe rather thereon these words : " Death is the commencement of immortality ! " I leave to the oppressors of the People a terrible testament, which I proclaim with the independence befitting one whose career is so nearly ended; it is the awful truth, — "Thou shalt die!" * Chaumette was a member of the Convention, who was opposed to the public recognition of a God and the future state. DEMOCRACY ADVERSE TO SOCIALISM.— Ale ;is De Tocqueville. Born 1805. Died 1S59. ( Translated. ) De Tocqueville was an eminent French statesman and political philospher, who believed that Democ- racy, like that established in America, would finally become the form of government throughout the world. He was accused of Socialistic tendencies, and this speech is his self-vindication. He wrote much on the subject. His ' ' Democracy in America " is well worth the study of modern political students. DEMOCRACY !— Socialism ! Why pro- fess to associate what, in the nature of things, can never be united? Can it be, gentlemen, that this whole grand movement of the French Revolution is destined to terminate in that form of society which the Socialists have, with so much fervor, depicted ? A society, marked out with compass and rule ; in which the State is to charge itself with every- thing, and the individual is to be nothing ; in which society is to absorb all force, all life ; and in which the only end assigned to man is his personal comfort ! What ! was it for such a society of beavers and of bees, a society rather of skillful animals than of men free and civil- ized, — was it for such, that the French Revolu- tion was accomplished ? Not so ! It was for a greater, a more sacred end ; one more worthy of humanity. But Socialism professes to be the legitimate de- velopment of Democracy. I shall not search, as many have done, into the true etymology of this word Democracy. I shall not, as gentlemen did yesterday, traverse the garden of Greek roots, to find the derivation of this word. I shall point you to Democracy, where I have seen it, living, active, triumphant ; in the only country in the world where it truly exists, where it has been able to establish and maintain, even to the present time, something grand and durable to claim our admiration, — in the New World, — in America. There shall you see a People, among whom all conditions of men are more on an equality even than among us ; where the social state, the manners, the laws,- '.everything is Democratic ; where all emanates from the People, and returns to the People ; and where, at the same time, every individual enjoys z greater amount of liberty, a more entire independence, than in any other part of the world, at any period of time ; — a country, I repeat it, essentially Demo- cratic ; the only Democracy in the wide world at this day ; and the only Republic, truly Democratic, which we know of in history. And in this Republic you will look in vain for Socialism. Not only have the theories of the Socialists gained no possession there of the public mind, but they have played so trifling x 230 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. part in the discussions and affairs of that great Nation, that they have not even reached the dignity of being feared. America is at this day that country, of the whole world, where the sovereignty of Democ- racy is most practical and complete ; and it is at the same time that where the doctrines of the Socialists, which you pretend to find so much in accordance with Democracy, are the least in vogue ; the country, of the whole universe, where the men sustaining those doctrines would have the least chance of making an impression. For myself personally, I do not see, I confess, any great objection to the emigration of these proselyting gentlemen to America ; but I warn them that they will not find there any field for their labors. No, gentlemen, Democracy and Socialism are the antipodes of each other. While Demo- cracy extends the sphere of individual independ- ence, Socialism contracts it. Democracy de- velops a man's whole manhood, Socialism makes him an agent, an instrument, a cipher. Demo- cracy and Socialism assimilate on one point only, — the equality which they introduce ; but mark the difference : Democracy seeks equality in liberty, while Socialism seeks it in servitude and constraint. NECESSITY OF RELIGION.— {Translated from Victor Hugo.) Victor Hugo, a celebrated French poet, novelist, statesman, and orator, was born in 1802 and died in 1885. His literary works are well known throughout the world. He was admitted to the French Academy in 1841, and made a Peer in 1845. In 1848 he was elected to the Assembly, and in 1849 joined the party ot advanced Democrats, became their leader, and distinguished himself as an orator. Banished from Paris in 185 1, he lived abroad until the fall of the empire, when he returned. In 187 1, he was re-elected to the National Assembly. Later in life he removed to Brussels, whence he was expelled for political reasons, and he spent his last years in Paris. Few men have distinguished themselves so signally in so many different lines, or crowded so long a life full of great and noble service. GENTLEMEN, it is not because I would prevent religious instruction, but be- cause I would prevent the union of Church and State, that I oppose this Bill. So far from wishing to proscribe religious instruction, I maintain that it is more essential at this day than ever. The more a man grows the more he ought to believe. As he draws nearer to God, the better ought he to recognize His existence. It is the wretched tendency of our times to base all calculations, all efforts, on this life only, — to crowd everything into this narrow span. In limiting man's end and aim to this terrestrial and material existence, we aggra- vate all his miseries by the terrible negation at its close. We add to the burthens of the unfor- tunate the insupportable weight of a hopeless hereafter. God's law of suffering we convert, by our unbelief, into hell's law of despair. Hence these deplorable social convulsions. That I am one of those who desire — I will not say with sincerity merely, but with inex- pressible ardor, and by all possible means — to ameliorate the material condition of the suffering classes in this life, no one in this Assembly will doubt. But the first and greatest of ameliora- tions is to impart hope. How do our finite mis- eries dwindle, in the presence of an infinite hope ! Our first duty, then, whether we be clergymen or laymen, bishops or legislators, priests or writers, is not merely to direct all our social energies to the abatement of physical misery, but, at the same time, to lift every drooping head towards Heaven — to fix the at- tention and the faith of every human soul on that ulterior life, where justice shall preside, where justice shall be awarded ! Let us pro- claim it aloud to all, No one shall unjustly or needlessly suffer ! Death is restitution. The law of the material world is gravitation ; of the moral world, equity. At the end of all, re- appears God. Let us not forget — let us every- where teach it — There would be no dignity in life, it would not be worth the holding, if in death we wholly perish. All that lightens labor, and sanctifies toil, — all that renders man brave, good, wise, patient, benevolent, just, humble, and, at the same time, great, worthy of intelli- GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 231 gence, worthy of liberty, — is to have perpetu- ally before him the vision of a better world darting its rays of celestial splendor through the dark shadows of this present life. For myself, since Chance will have it that words of such gravity should at this time fall from lips of such little authority, let me be per- mitted here to say, and to proclaim from the elevation of this Tribune, that I believe, that I most profoundly and reverently believe, in that better world. It is to me more real, more sub- stantial, more positive in its effects, than this evanescence which we cling to and call life. It is unceasingly before my eyes. I believe in it with all the strength of my convictions; and, after many struggles, and much study and expe- rience, it is the supreme certainty of my reason, as it is the supreme consolation of my soul ! I desire, therefore, most sincerely, strenuously, and fervently, that there should be religious instruction ; but let it be the instruction of the Gospel, and not of a party. Let it be sincere, not hypocritical. Let it have Heaven, not earth, for its end ! IN DEFENSE OF UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE, May 20, 1850. ( Translated from Victor Hugo. ) GENTLEMEN, one great object of the Revolution of February was to estab- lish universal suffrage ; and you would now restrict, abridge, and mutilate it ! Have you considered well what you are about ? This law, which gives a share in the popular sovereignty to the down -trodden victim of social and political distinctions — to the des- perate man, ready for revolt — what does it say to him but this, — "Vote! No more fight- ing ! ' ' Universal suffrage says to all, ' ' Be ye tranquil ! Are ye not sovereign ? When you have voted, the sovereignty has spoken." The right of insurrection is abolished by the right of suffrage. Universal suffrage ! — what is it but the over- throw of violence and brute force — the end of the material and the beginning of the moral fact? What was the Revolution of February intended to establish in France, if not this? And now it is proposed to abolish this sacred light ! And what is its abolition, but the re- introduction of the right of insurrection? Ye Ministers and men of State, who govern, where- fore do you venture on this mad attempt ? I will tell you. It is because the People have deemed worthy of their votes men whom you judge worthy of your insults ! It is because the People have presumed to compare your prom- ises with your acts • because they do not find your Administration altogether sublime ; because they have dared peaceably to instruct you through the ballot-box ! Therefore it is, that your anger is roused, and that, under the pretence that So- ciety is in peril, you seek to chastise the People, — to take them in hand ! And so, like that maniac of whom History tells, you beat the ocean with rods ! And so you launch at us your poor little laws, furious but feeble ! And so you defy the spirit of the age, defy the good sense of the public, defy the Democracy, and tear your unfortunate finger-nails against the granite of universal suffrage ! Go on, gentlemen ! Proceed ! Disfranchise, if you will, three millions of voters, four millions, nay, eight millions out of nine ! Get rid of all these ! It will not matter. What you cannot get rid of is your own fatal incapacity and ig- norance ; your own antipathy for the People, and theirs for you ! What you cannot get rid of is the time that marches, and the hour that strikes ; is the earth that revolves, the onward movement of ideas, the crippled pace of preju- dices ; the widening gulf between you and the age, between you and the coming generation, between you and the spirit of liberty, between you and the spirit of philosophy ! What you cannot get rid of is the great fact that you and the Nation pass on opposite sides ; that what is to you the East is to her the West ; and that, while you turn your back on the Future, this great People of France, their foreheads all 232 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. bathed in ligh. from the day-spring of a new humanity, tun? ' heir back on the Past ! Ah ! Whether yoa will it or no, the Past is passed. Your law is null, void and dead, even before its birth : because it is not just ; because it is not true ; because, while it goes furtively to plunder the poor man and the weak of his right of suffrage, it encounters the withering glance of a Nation's probity and sense of right, before which your work of darkness shall vanish ; because, in the depths of the conscience of every citizen, — of the humblest as well as the highest, — there is a sentiment sublime, sacred, inde- structible, incorruptible, eternal, — the Right ! This sentiment, which is the very element of reason in man, the granite of the human con- science, — this Right, is the rock upon which shall split and go to pieces the iniquities, the hypocrisies, the bad laws and bad governments, of the world. There is the obstacle, concealed, j invisible, — lost to view in the soul's profoundest deep, but eternally present and abiding, — against ; which you shall always strike, and which you shall ; never wear away, do what you will ! I repeat it, I your efforts are in vain. You cannot deracinate, you cannot shake it. You might sooner tear yr> the eternal Rock from the bottom of the sea, than the Right from the heart of the People ! LIBERTY OF THE PRESS: OR, THE HUMAN MIND, 1850. ( Translated from Victor Hugo. ) HAVING restricted universal suffrage and the right of public meetings, you now wage war against the liberty of the Press. ' In the crisis through which we are passing, it is asked : ' ' Who is making all this trouble? Who is the culprit? Whom must we punish ? ' ' The alarm party in Europe say, "It is France ! " In France they say, "It is Paris ! " In Paris they say, " It is the Press ! " The man of observation and re- flection says : " The culprit is not the Press ; it is not Paris ; it is not France ; — it is the human mind ! ' ' Yes, it is the human mind, which has made the Nations what they are ; which, from the beginning, has scrutinized, examined, discussed, debated, doubted, contradicted, pro- bated, affirmed, and pursued without ceasing, the solution of the problem, eternally placed before the creature by the Creator. It is the human mind, which, continually per- secuted, opposed, driven back, headed off, has disappeared only to appear again ; and, passing from one labor to another, has taken succes- sively, from age to age, the figure of all the great agitators. It is the human mind, which was named John Huss, and which did not die on the funeral-pile of Constance ; which was named Luther, and shook orthodoxy to its centre : which was named Voltaire, and shook faith ; which, was named Mirabeau, and shook royalty. It is the human mind, which, since history began, has transformed societies and governments according to a law progressively acceptable to the reason, — which has been the- ocracy, aristocracy, monarchy, and which is to- day democracy. It is the human mind, which has been Baby- lon, Tyre, Jerusalem, Athens, and which to-day is Paris ; which has been, turn by turn, and sometimes all at once, error, illusion, schism, protestation, truth ; it is the human mind, which is the great pastor of the generations, and which, in short, has always marched to- wards the Just, the Beautiful and the True, enlightening multitudes, elevating life, raising more and more the head of the People towards- the Right, and the head of the individual to- wards God ! And now I address myself to the alarm party, — not in this Chamber, but wherever they may be, throughout Europe, —and I say to them : Consider well what you would do ; reflect on the task that you have undertaken ; and measure it well before you commence. Suppose you should succeed : when you have destroyed the Press, there will remain something more to de- stroy, — Paris ! When you have destroyed Paris, there will remain France, When vou have de- GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 233 stroyed France, there will remain the human mind. I repeat it, let this great European alarm party measure the immensity of the task which, in their heroism, they would attempt. Though they annihilate the Press to the last journal, Paris to the last pavement, France to the last hamlet, they will have done nothing. There will remain yet for them to destroy something always paramount, above the gen- erations, and, as it were, between man and his Maker; — something that has written all the books, invented all the arts, discovered all the worlds, founded all the civilizations ; — some- thing which will always grasp, under the form of Revolutions, what is not yielded under the form of progress ;— something which is itself unseizable as the light, and unapproachable as the sun, — and which calls itself the human mind ! ON THE PUNISHMENT OF LOUIS XVI.— Robespierre. T k O what punishment shall we condemn Louis the Sixteenth ? ' ' The punish- ment of death is too cruel," says one. "No," says another, "life is more cruel still; let him live." Advocates of the king, is it from pity or from cruelty that you wish to withdraw him from the penalty of his crimes ? For my part, I abhor the punishment of death, inflicted so unsparingly by your laws, and I have for Louis neither love nor hatred ; I hate only his crimes. I asked for the abolition of the punishment of death in the Assembly which you still call Con- stituent, and it is not my fault if the first prin- ciples of reason appeared to it moral and political heresies ; but if you never thought of renouncing them in favor of so many unfortunate men, whose offenses are less theirs than those of the government, by what fatality do you remember them only to plead the cause of the greatest of all criminals? You demand an exception to the punishment of death for him alone who can render it legiti- mate ! Yes, the punishment of death, in gen- THE TWO NAPOLEONS. THE monarchy of glory ! There are a class of monarchists in France who now speak to us of a monarchy of glory. Legitimacy is impossible. Mon- archy by right divine, the monarchy of princi- ple, is dead ; but there is another monarchy, the monarchy of glory, — the Empire, we are told, which is not only possible, but necessary. eral, is a crime ; and, for this reason alone, that, according to the indestructible principles of nature, it can be justified only in the cases where it is necessary for the security of individ- uals or of society. Now, the public security never calls for it against ordinary offenses, be- cause society can always prevent them by other means, and put it out of the power of the guilty to be dangerous ; but a dethroned king in the bosom of a revolution, which is nothing less than cemented by laws, — a king whose name alone brings down the plague of war upon the agitated- nation, neither imprisonment nor exile can render his existence a matter of indifference to the public welfare ; and this cruel exception to ordinary laws, which justice avows, can only be imputed to the nature of his crimes. I pronounce with regret this fatal truth ; but Louis must die, because the country must live. A people at peace, free and respected within and without, might listen to the advice which is given you to be generous ; but a people whose liberty is still disputed, after so many sacrifices and combats, can not afford to do so. -{Translated from Victor Hugo.) This glory, where is it ? What are its elements ? Of what is it composed ? I am curious to wit- ness the glory which this present Government can show. What do we see ? All our liberties, one after another, entrapped and bound ; uni- versal suffrage mutilated and betrayed, socialist manifestoes terminating in a Jesuitical policy, and for a Government, one immense intrigue,— 234 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. history, perchance, will call it a conspiracy, — by which the Republic is to be made the basis of the Empire through the Bonapartist free- masonry of five hundred thousand office-holders; every reform postponed or smothered ; burden- some taxes maintained or re-established ; the Press shackled ; juries packed ; too little justice and too much police ; misery at the foot, an- archy at the head of the social state. Abroad, the wreck of the Roman Republic ; Austria — that is to say, the gallows — with her foot upon Hungary, upon Lombardy, upon Milan, upon Venice, a latent coalition of Kings, waiting for an opportunity ; our diplomacy dumb, I will not say an accomplice ! This is our situation. France bows her head ; Napoleon quivers with shame in his tomb ; and five or six thousand hirelings shout, " Vive V empereur .' ' ' But nobody dreams of the Empire, you tell ns. What mean, then, those cries of Vive V em- pereur? and who pays for them? What means this mendicant petition for a prolongation of the President's powers? What is a prolongation ? The Consulate for life ! And where leads the Consulate for life ? To the Empire ! Gentle- men, here is an intrigue. We will let in day- light upon it, if you please. France must not wake up, one of these fine mornings, and find herself emperor-ridden, without knowing why. An emperor ! Let us consider the subject a little. Because there was once a man who gained the battle of Marengo, and who reigned, must the man who gained only the battle of Satory reign also ? Because, ten centuries ago, Charle- magne, after forty years of glory, let fall on the face of the globe a sceptre and a sword of such proportions that no one dared to touch them ; and because, a thousand years later, — for it re- quires a gestation of a thousand years to produce such men, — another genius appeared, who took up that sword and sceptre, and stood up erect under the weight ; a man who chained Revolu- tion in France, and unchained it in the rest of Europe ; who added to his name the brilliant synonyms of Rivoli, Jena, Essling, Friedland, Montmirail ; because this man, after ten years of a glory almost fabulous in its grandeur, let fall, in his turn, that sceptre and sword which had accomplished such colossal exploits, — you would come, — you, you would presume, after him, to catch them up as he did, — he, Napoleon, after Charlemagne, — and grasp in your feeble hands this sceptre of the giants, this sword of the Titans ! What to do ? What ! after Augustus must we have August- ulus? Because we have had a Napleon the Great, must we now have Napoleon the Little ? GREAT ENGLISH ORATORS, AGAINST MR. PITT, I741.-Sz> SIR, — I was unwilling to interrupt the course of this debate while it was car- ried on, with calmness and decency, by men who do not suffer the ardor of opposition to cloud their reason, or transport them to such expressions as the dignity of this assembly does not admit. I have hitherto deferred to answer the gentleman who de- claimed against the Bill with such fluency of rhetoric, and such vehemence of gesture, — who charged the advocates for the expedients now proposed with having no regard to any interest but their own, and with making laws Robert Walpole. Bor?i 1676. Died 1745. only to consume paper, and threatened them with the defection of their adherents, and the loss of their influence, upon this new discovery of their folly, and their ignorance. Nor, sir, do I now answer him for any other purpose than to remind him how little the clamors of rage, and the petulancy of invectives, contribute to the purposes for which this assembly is called together ; — how little the discovery of truth is promoted, and the security of the Nation estab- lished, by pompous diction and theatrical emo- tions. Formidable sounds and furious declamations, GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 235 -confident assertions and lofty periods, may affect the young and inexperienced ; and per- haps the gentleman may have contracted his habits of oratory by conversing more with those of his own age than with such as have had more opportunities of acquiring knowledge, and more successful methods of communicating their sen- timents. If the heat of his temper, sir, would suffer him to attend to those whose age and long acquaintance with business give them an indis- putable right to deference and superiority, he would learn, in time, to reason rather than de- claim, and to prefer justness of argument, and an accurate knowledge of facts, to sounding epithets, and splendid superlatives, which may disturb the imagination for a moment, but which leave no lasting impression on the mind. He will learn, sir, that to accuse and prove are very different ; and that reproaches, unsup- ported by evidence, affect only the character of him that utters them. Excursions of fancy, and flights of oratory, are, indeed, pardonable in young men, but in no other; and it would surely contribute more, even to the purpose for which some gentlemen appear to speak (that of depreciating the conduct of the administration), to prove the inconveniences and injustice of this Bill, than barely to assert them, with whatever magnificence of language, or appearance of zeal, honesty, or compassion. REPLY TO SIR ROBERT WALPOLE, 1741.— William Pitt, afterwards Earl of Chatham. William Pitt, first Earl of Chatham, — one of the greatest orators of modern times, and especially endeared to Americans for his eloquent appeals in their behalf against the aggressions of the Mother Country, — was born on the 15th of November, 1708, in the parish of St. James, in the city of Westminster, England, and died on the nth of May, 1778. His second son was the celebrated William Pitt, whose fame equals, though it does not eclipse, that of his father. "Viewing the forms of the two Pitts, father and son," says a biographer of the latter, " as they stand in history, what different emotions their images call forth ! The impassioned and romantic father seems like a hero of chivalry ; the stately and classical son, as a Roman dictator, compelled into the dimensions of an English minister!" "The principle," says Hazlitt, ' ' by which the Earl of Chatham exerted his influence over others, was sympathy. He himself evidently had a strong possession of his subject, a thorough conviction, an intense interest ; and this communicated itself from his manner, from the tones of his voice, from his commanding attitudes, and eager gestures, instinctively and unavoidably, to his hearers." The first sound is said to have terrified Sir Robert Walpole, who immediately exclaimed, ' ' We must muzzle that terrible cornet of a horse. ' ' Sir Robert offered to promote Mr. Pitt in the army, provided he gave up his seat in Parliament. Probably Mr. Pitt was unwarrantably severe in the following reply to the foregoing remarks of Sir Robert. The reply appeared originally in Dr. Johnson's Register of Debates, and probably received many touches from his pen. SIR, — The atrocious crime of being a young man, which the honorable gentle- man has, with such spirit and decency, charged upon me, I shall neither at- tempt to palliate nor deny ; — but content myself with wishing that I may be one of those whose follies may cease with their youth, and not of that number who are ignorant in spite of expe- rience. Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a reproach, I will not, sir, assume the province of determining ; but surely age may "become justly contemptible, if the opportunities which it brings have passed away without im- provement, and vice appears to prevail when the passions have subsided. The wretch who, after having seen the consequences of a thousand errors, continues still to blunder, and whose age lias only added obstinacy to stupidity, is surely the object of either abhorrence or contempt, and deserves not that his gray hairs should secure him from insult. Much more, sir, is he to be abhorred, who, as he has advanced in age, has receded from virtue, and becomes more wicked with less temptation ; who prostitutes himself for money which he cannot enjoy, — and spends the remains of his life in the ruin of his country. But youth, sir, is not my only crime : I have been accused of acting a theatrical part. A theatrical part may either imply some peculiari- ties of gesture, or a dissimulation of my real sentiments, and an adoption of the opinions and language of another man. In the first sense, sir, the charge is too trifling to be con- futed, and deserves only to be mentioned, to be despised. I am at liberty, like every other 236 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. man, to use my own language, and though, per- haps, I may have some ambition to please this gentleman, I shall not lay myself under any re- straint, nor very solicitously copy his diction or his mien, however matured by age or modelled by experience. If any man shall, by charging me with the- atrical behavior, imply that I utter any senti- ments but my own, I shall treat him as a cal- umniator and a villain ; — nor shall any protec- tion shelter him from the treatment he deserves. I shall, on such an occasion, without scruple, trample upon all those forms with which wealth and dignity intrench themselves, — nor shall any- thing but age restrain my resentment ; — age, which always brings one privilege, that of being insolent and supercilious without punishment. But with regard, sir, to those whom I have offended, I am of opinion that, if I had acted a borrowed part, I should have avoided their cen- sure : the heat that offended them is the ardor of conviction, and that zeal for the service of my country which neither hope nor fear shall influence me to suppress. I will not sit uncon- cerned while my liberty is invaded, nor look in silence , upon public robbery. I will exert my endeavors, at whatever hazard, to repel the aggressor, and drag the thief to justice, — who- ever may protect them in their villainy, and whoever may partake of their plunder. REPEAL CLAIMED BY AMERICANS AS A RIGHT.— Earl of Chatham. IT is not repealing this or that act of Parlia- ment, — it is not repealing a piece of parchment, — that can restore America to our bosom. You must repeal her fears and her resentments ; and you may then hope for- her love and gratitude. But, now, insulted with an armed force posted at Boston, irritated with a hostile array before her eyes, her conces- sions, if you could force them, would be suspi- cious and insecure, — the dictates of fear, and the extortions of force ! But it is more than evi- dent that you cannot force them, principled and united as they are, to your unworthy terms of submission. Repeal, therefore, my Lords, I say ! But bare repeal will not satisfy this enlightened and spirited People. You must go through the work. You must declare you have no right to tax. Then they may trust you. There is no time to be lost. Every moment is big with dangers. While I am speaking, the decisive blow may be struck, and millions involved in the consequence. The very first drop of blood shed in civil and unnatural war will make a wound which years, perhaps ages, may not heal. It will be immedicabile vulnus. When your Lordships look at the papers transmitted to us from America, — when you consider their decency, firmness, and wisdom, — you cannot but respect their cause, and wish to make it your own. I must declare and avow, that, in the master States of the world, I know not the People nor the Senate, who, under such a complication of difficult circumstances, can stand in preference to the delegates of America, assembled in General Congress at Philadelphia. For genuine sagacity, for singular moderation, for solid wisdom, manly spirit, sublime senti- ments, and simplicity of language, — for every- thing respectable and honorable, — they stand unrivalled. I trust it is obvious to your Lordships that: all attempts to impose servitude upon such, men, to establish despotism over such a mighty Continental Nation, must be vain, must be fatal. This wise People speak out. They do not hold the language of slaves. They tell you what they mean. They do not ask you to repeal your laws as a favor. They claim it as a right — they demand it. They tell ) ou they will not submit to them. And I tell you, the acts must be repealed. We shall be forced ulti- mately to retract. Let us retract while we can, not when we must. I say we must necessarily undo these violent, oppressive acts. They must be repealed. You will repeal them. I pledge myself for it, that you will, in the end, repeal them. I stake my reputation on it. I will con- GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 237 sent to 6e taken for an idiot, if they are not finally repealed.* Avoid, then, this humiliating, this disgraceful necessity. Every motive of justice and of policy, of dignity and of prudence, urges you to allay the ferment in America, by a removal of your troops from Boston, by a repeal of your acts of Parliament. On the other hand, every danger and every hazard impend, to deter you *The prediction cf the Earl of Chatham was veri- fied. After three years' fruitless war, the repeal of the offensive acts was sent out as a peace-offering to the Colonists ; but it was too late. from perseverance in your present ruinous meas- ures : — foreign war hanging over your heads by a slight and brittle thread, — France and Spain watching your conduct, and waiting the matur- ity of your errors ! To conclude, my Lords : if the Ministers thus persevere in misadvising and misleading the King, I will not say that they can alienate the affections of his subjects from the Crown, but I will affirm that they will make his Crown not worth his wearing ; I will not say that the King is betrayed, but I will pronounce that the King- dom is undone ! REPLY TO THE DUKE OF GRAFTON.-I^ Thurlow. Edward Thurlow, who rose to be Lord High Chancellor of Great Britian, was born in 1732, and died in 1806. Butler, in his " Reminiscences," says : "It was my good fortune to hear his celebrated reply to the Duke of Grafton, who reproached Lord Thurlow with his plebeian extraction, and his recent admission into the peerage. His Lordship had spoken too often, and began to be heard with a civil but visible impatience ; and, under these circumstances, he was attacked in the manner we have mentioned. Lord Thurlow rose from the woolsack, and advanced slowly to the place from which the Chancellor generally addresses the House of Lords, and then, fixing on the Duke the look of Jove, when he has grasped the thunder, he said (in a- level tone of voice), ' I am amazed at the attack which the noble Duke has made on me.' Then, raising his voice, — 'Yes, my Lords, I am amazed, etc' " I AM amazed at the attack which the noble Duke has made on me. Yes, my Lords, I am amazed at his Grace's speech. The noble Duke cannot look before him, be- hind him, or on either side of him, without see- ing some noble Peer who owes his seat in this House to his successful exertions in the profes- sion to which I belong. Does he not feel that it is as honorable to owe it to these, as to being the accident of an accident ? To all these noble Lords the language of the noble Duke is as applicable, and as insulting, as it is to myself. But I do not fear to meet it single and alone. CONQUEST OF THE AMERICANS Born 1717. I CALL the war with our brethren in America an unjust and felonious war, because the primary cause and confessed origin of it is to attempt to take their money from them without their consent, con- trary to the common rights of all mankind, and those great fundamental principles of the Eng- lish Constitution for which Hampden bled. I No one venerates the Peerage more than I do ; but, my Lords, I must say that the Peerage soli- cited me, — not I the Peerage. Nay, more, — I can say, and will say, that, as a Peer of Parlia- ment, as Speaker of this right honorable House, as keeper of the great seal, as guardian of his Majesty's conscience, as Lord High Chancellor of England, — nay, even in that character alone in which the noble Duke would think it an af- front to be considered, but which character none can deny me, — as a man, — I am, at this moment, as respectable, — I beg leave to add, I am as much respected, — as the proudest Peer I now look down upon ! IMPRACTICABLE, MIB.—John Wilkes. Died 1797, assert, sir, that it is a murderous war, because it is an effort to deprive men of their lives for standing up in defence of their property and their clear rights. Such a war, I fear, sir, will draw down the vengeance of Heaven on this devoted Kingdom. Sir, is any Minister weak enough to flatter himself with the conquest of the Americans? 238 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. You cannot, with all your allies, — with all the mercenary ruffians of the North, — you cannot effect so wicked a purpose. The Americans will dispute every inch of territory with you, every narrow pass, every strong defile, every Thermopylae, every Bunker's Hill ! More than half the Empire is already lost, and almost all the rest is in confusion and anarchy. We have appealed to the sword ; and what have we gained? Bunker's Hill only, — and that with the loss of twelve hundred men ! Are we to pay as dear for the rest of America? The idea of the conquest of that immense country is as romantic as unjust. The honorable gentleman who moved this address says, "The Americans have been treated with lenity." Will facts justify the assertion? Was your Boston Port Bill a measure of lenity? Was your Fishery Bill a measure of lenity? Was your Bill for taking away the charter of Massachusetts Bay a measure of lenity, or even of justice ? I omit your many other gross provocations and insults by which the brave Americans have been driven to their present state. Sir, I disapprove, not only the evil spirit of this whole Address, but likewise the wretched adulation of almost every part of it. My wish and hope, therefore, is, that it will be rejected by this House ; and that another, dutiful yet decent, manly Address, will be pre- sented to his Majesty, praying that he would sheathe the sword, prevent the further effusion of the blood of our fellow-subjects, and adopt some mode of negotiation with the general Congress, in compliance with their repeated petition, thereby restoring peace and harmony to this distracted Empire. THE AMERICAN WAR DENOUNCED, 1781.— William Pitt. William Pitt, second son of the great Earl of Chatham, entered Parliament in his twenty-second year. He was born the 28th of May, 1759; an d took his seat in the House of Commons, as representative for the borough of Appleby, on the 23d of January, 1781. He made his first oratorical effort in that body the 26th of February following ; and displayed great and astonishing powers of eloquence. Burke said of him, "He is not merely a chip of the old block, but he is the old block itself." At the age of twenty-four, Pitt became the virtual leader of the House of Commons, and Prime Minister of England. He died January 23, 1806. The subjoined remarks were made in reference to a resolution declaring that immediate measures ought to be adopted for concluding peace with the American Colonies. GENTLEMEN have passed the highest eulogiums on the American war. Its justice has been defended in the most fervent manner. A noble Lord, in the heat of his zeal, has called it a holy war. For my part, although the honorable gentleman who made this motion, and some other gentle- men, have been, more than once, in the course of the debate, severely reprehended for calling it a wicked and accursed war, I am persuaded, and would affirm, that it was a most accursed, wicked, barbarous, cruel, unnatural, unjust and diabolical war ! It was conceived in injustice ; it was nurtured and brought forth in folly ; its footsteps were marked with blood, slaughter, persecution and devastation • — in truth, every- thing which went to constitute moral depravity and human turpitude were to be found in it. It was pregnant with misery of every kind. The mischief, however, recoiled on the un- happy People of this country, who were made the instruments by which the wicked purposes of the authors of the war were effected. The Nation was drained of its best blood, and of its vital resources of men and money. The expense of the war was enormous, — much beyond any former experience. And yet, what has the British Nation received in return ? Nothing but a series of ineffective victories, or severe de- feats ; — victories celebrated only by a temporary triumph over our brethren, whom we would trample down and destroy; victories which filled the land with mourning for the loss of dear and valued relatives, slain in the impious cause of enforcing unconditional submission, or with narratives of the glorious exertions of men struggling in the holy cause of liberty, though struggling in the absence of all the facilities and l GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 239 advantages which are in general deemed the necessary concomitants of victory and success. Where was the Englishman, who, on reading the narratives of those bloody and well-fought contests, could refrain from lamenting the loss of so much British blood spilt in such a cause ; or from weeping, on whatever side victory might be declared? ON WAR WITH FRANCE OR AMERICA, 1778.— Charles James Fox. Charles James Fox was born in England, on the 24th of January, 1749. He made his first speech in Parliament on the 15th of April, 1769. In the style of his oratory he has been compared, by some critics, to Demosthenes. "A certain sincerity and open-heartedness of manner; an apparently entire and thorough conviction of being in the right ; an abrupt tone of vehemence and indignation ; a steadfast love of freedom, and corresponding hatred of oppression in all its forms ; a natural and idiomatic style, — vigor, argument, power, — these were characteristics equally of the Greek and English orator." Fox died on the 13th of September, 1806, in the fifty-eighth year of his age. YOU have now two wars before you, of which you must choose one, for both you cannot support. The war against America is against your own country- men — you have stopped me from saying against your fellow-subjects ; that against France is against your inveterate enemy and rival. Every blow you strike in America is against your- selves; it is against all idea of reconciliation, and against your own interest, though you should be able, as you never will be, to force them to sub- mit. Every stroke against France is of advantage to you : America must be conquered in France ; France never can be conquered in America. The war of France is a war of interest ; it was her interest which first induced her to engage in it, and it is by that interest that she will measure its continuance. Turn your face at once against her ; attack her wherever she is exposed; crush her commerce wherever you can ; make her feel heavy and immediate distress throughout the nation : the LIBERTY IS STRENGTH.- PINIONS become dangerous to a State only when persecution makes it neces- sary for the People to communicate their ideas under the bond of secrecy. What a mockery ! What an insult, to say to the People of Ireland that they have the right of petition ! To tell them that they shall have a right to applaud, a right to rejoice, a right to meet when they are happy ; but not a right to condemn, not a right to deplore their misfor- tunes, not a right to suggest a remedy ! People will soon cry out to their Government. The war of the Americans is a war of passion. It is of such a nature as to be supported by the most powerful virtues, love of liberty and of their country ; and, at the same time, by those passions in the human heart which give courage, strength, and perseverance, to man, the spirit of revenge for the injuries you have done them, of re- taliation for the hardships you have inflicted on them, and of opposition to the unjust powers you have exercised over them. Everything combines to animate them to this war, and such a war is without end ; for whatever obstinacy enthusiasm ever inspired man with, you will now find in America. No matter what gives birth to that enthusiasm, whether the name of religion or of liberty, the effects are the same ; it inspires a spirit which is unconquerable, and solicitous to undergo difficulty, danger, and hardship : and as long as there is a man in America, a being formed such as we are, you will have him pre- sent himself against you in the field. Fox, 1797, on the State of Ireland. Liberty is order. Liberty is strength. Look round the world, and admire, as you must, the instructive spectacle. You will see that liberty not only is power and order, but that it is power and order predominant and invincible, — that it derides all other sources of strength. And shall the preposterous imagination be fostered, that men bred in liberty — the first of human kind who asserted the glorious distinction of forming for themselves their social compact — can be con- demned to silence upon their rights ? Is it to be '240 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. conceived that men, who have enjoyed, for such a length of days, the light and happiness of freedom, can be restrained, and shut up again in the gloom of ignorance and degradation ? As well, sir, might you try, by a miserable dam, to shut up the flowing of a rapid river ! The roll- ing and impetuous tide would burst through every impediment that man might throw in its way ; and the only consequence of the impotent attempt would be, that, having collected new force by its temporary suspension, enforcing itself through new channels, it would spread devastation and ruin on every side. The pro- gress of liberty is like the progress of the stream. Kept within its bounds, it is sure to fertilize the country through which it runs • but no power can arrest it in its passage ; and short- sighted, as well as wicked, must be the heart of the projector that would strive to divert its course. ON MR. TIERNEY'S MOTION, Dec. 11, 1798.— George Canning. George Canning was born in London, on the nth of April, 1770. He entered into public life the avowed pupil of Mr. Pitt, and made his maiden speech in Parliament, from which the following is an extract, in 1794. He was repeatedly a member of the Ministry, and became Premier shorty before his death, which occurred in 1827. Mr. Canning meditated his speeches carefully, and they are models of Parliamentary stvle. "No English speaker," says Sir James Mackintosh, "used the keen and brilliant weapon of wit so long, so often, or so effectively, as Mr. Canning." THE friendship of Holland ! The inde- pendence of Spain ! Is there a man so besotted as to suppose that there is one hour of peace with France pre- served by either of these unhappy countries, that there is one syllable of friendship uttered by them towards France, but what is extorted by the immediate pressure, or by the dread and terror, of French arms ? — " Mouth-honor, breath, Which the poor heart would fain refuse, but dare not." Have the regenerated Republic of Holland, the degraded Monarchy of Spain, such reason to re- joice in the protection of the French Republic, that they would voluntarily throw themselves between her and any blow which might menace her existence ? But does the honorable gentleman intend his motion as a motion for peace ? If he really thinks this a moment for opening a negotiation, why has he not the candor and manliness to say so ? Mark, I entreat you, how delicately he manages it ! He will not speak to France, but he would speak at her. He will not propose — not he — that we should say to the Directory, "Will you make peace?" No, sir; we are merely to say to ourselves, loud enough for the Directory to overhear us : "I wish these French gentlemen to make an overture to us. ' ' Now, sir, does this save the dignity of the country ? or is it only a sneaking, shabby way of doing what, if fit to be done at all, must, to have any serious effect, be done openly, unequivocally, and directly ? But I beg the honorable gentleman's pardon; — I misrepresent him ; I certainly do. His motion does not amount even to so much as I have stated. He begins further off. The solilo- quy which he prompts us, by his motion, is no more than this — "We must continue to make war against France, to be sure ; — and we are sorry for it ; but we will not do it as if we bore malice. We will not make an ill-natured, hos- tile kind of war any longer, — that we won't. And who knows, but, if they should happen to overhear this resolution, as the Directory are good-natured at bottom, their hearts may soften and grow kind towards us — and then they will offer to make a peace ! ' ' And thus, sir, and thus only, is the motion a motion for peace. Since, then, sir, this motion appears to me to be founded on no principle of policy or neces- sity ; since, if it be intended for a censure on ministers, it is unjust, — if for a control, it is nugatory ; as its tendency is to impair the power of prosecuting war with vigor, and to diminish GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 241 the chance of negotiating peace with dignity, or concluding it with safety ; as it contradicts, without reason, and without advantage, the established policy of our ancestors ; as it must degrade in the eyes of the world the character of this country ■ as it must carry dismay and terror throughout Europe ; and, above all, as it must administer consolation, and hope, and power, and confidence, to France,— I shall give it my most hearty and decided negative. THE PARTITION OF POLAND, 1800.— Charles James Fox. NrOW, sir, what was the conduct of your own allies to Poland ? Is there a single atrocity of the French in Italy, in Switzerland, in Egypt, if you please, more unprincipled and inhuman than that of Russia, Austria, and Prussia, in Poland? What has there been in the conduct of the French to foreign powers ; what in the violation of solemn treaties ; what in the plunder, devastation, and dismemberment of unoffending countries ; what in the horrors and murders perpetrated upon the subdued victims of their rage in any district which they have overrun, — worse than the con- duct of those three great powers in the misera- ble, devoted, and trampled-on Kingdom of Poland, and who have been, or are, our allies in this war for religion, social order, and the rights of Nations? O, but you " regretted the partition of Poland ! ' ' Yes, regretted ! — you regretted the violence, and that is all you did. You united yourselves with the actors ; you, in fact, by your acquiescence, confirmed the atrocity. But they are your allies ; and though they overran and divided Poland, there was nothing, perhaps, in the manner of doing it, which stamped it with peculiar infamy and disgrace. The hero of Poland, perhaps, was merciful and mild ! He was " as much superior to Bonaparte in bravery, and in the discipline which he maintained, as he was superior in virtue and humanity ! He was animated by the purest principles of Christianity, and was re- strained in his career by the benevolent precepts which it inculcates ! ' ' Was he ? Let unfortunate Warsaw, and the miserable inhabitants of the suburb of Praga in particular, tell ! What do we understand to have been the conduct of this magnanimous hero, with whom, it seems, Bonaparte is not to be compared ? He entered the suburb of Praga, the most populous suburb of Warsaw, and there he let his soldiery loose on the miserable, unarmed and unresisting people ! Men, women and children, — nay, in- fants at the breast, — were doomed to one indis- criminate massacre ! Thousands of them were inhumanly, wantonly butchered ! And for what? Because they had dared to join in a wish to meliorate their own condition as a People, and to improve their Constitution, which had been confessed, by their own sovereign, to be in want of amendment. And such is the hero upon whom the cause of "religion and social order " is to repose ! And such is the man whom we praise for his discipline and his virtue, and whom we hold out as our boast and our dependence ; while the conduct of Bonaparte unfits him to be even treated with as an enemy ! M A COLLISION OF VICES, 1825.— Ceorge Canning. Y honorable and learned friend (Sir James Mackintosh) began by telling us that, after all, hatred is no bad thing in itself. ' ' I hate a tory, ' ' says my honorable friend ; \ ' and another man hates a cat ; but it does not follow that he would hunt down the cat, or I the tory. ' ' Nay, so far from it, hatred, if it be properly managed, 16P-S is, according to my honorable friend's theory, no bad preface to a rational esteem and affec- tion. It prepares its votaries for a reconcilia- tion of differences ; for lying down with their most inveterate enemies, like the leopard and the kid in the vision of the prophet. This dogma is a little startling, but it is not altogether without precedent. It is borrowed 242 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. from a character in a play, which is, I dare say, as great a favorite with my learned friend as it is with me, — I mean the comedy of the Rivals ; in which Mrs. Malaprop, giving a lecture on the subject of marriage to her neice (who is unrea- sonable enough to talk of liking, as a necessary preliminary to such a union), says, "What have you to do with your likings and your prefer- ences, child? Depend upon it, it is safest to begin with a little aversion. I am sure I hated your poor, dear uncle like a blackamoor before we were married ; and yet, you know, my dear, what a good wife I made him." Such is my learned friend's argument, to a hair. But, finding that this doctrine did not appear to go down with the House so glibly as he had expected, my honorable and learned friend presently changed his tack, and put forward a theory which, whether for novelty or for beauty, I pronounce to be incomparable ; and, in short, as wanting nothing to recommend it but a slight foundation in truth. " True philosophy," says my honorable friend, ' ' will always continue to lead men to virtue by the instrumentality of their conflicting vices. The virtues, where more than one exists, may live harmoniously together ; but the vices bear mortal antipathy to one another, and, therefore, furnish to the moral engineer the power by which he can make each keep the other under control. ' ' Admirable ! but, upon this doctrine, the poor man who has but one single vice must be in a very bad way. No fulcrum, no moral power, for effecting his cure ! Whereas, his more fortunate neighbor, who has two or more vices in his composition, is in a fair way of 'becoming a very virtuous member of society. I wonder how my learned friend would like to have this doctrine introduced into his domestic establishment. For instance, suppose that I discharge a servant because he is addicted to liquor, I could not venture to recommend him to my honorable and learned friend. It might be the poor man's only fault, and therefore clearly incorrigible ; but, if I had the good fortune to find out that he was also addicted to stealing, might I not, with a safe conscience, send him to my learned friend with a strong recommenda- tion, saying, ' ' I send you a man whom I know to be a drunkard ; but I am happy to assure you he is also a thief: you cannot do better than employ him ; you will make his drunkenness counteract his thievery, and no doubt you will bring him out of the conflict a very moral personage ! ' ' PUBLIC OPINION AND THE SWORD, Oct. lO, 1831.— T. B. Macaulay. Thomas B. Macaulay. Born October 25, 1800. Died December 28, 1859. Eminent English scholar, critic, poet, and historian. Entered Parliament in 1830. While at school in Cambridge he distinguished himself as an orator. His speeches in Parliament on the Reform Bill, and on the renewal of the charter of the East India Company, have established his fame as an able and eloquent speaker, entitling him to be ranked among the famous British orators. His learning was prodigious. He is said to have been able to read one hundred ordinary octavo pages per hour. At the coffee houses and clubs which he frequented, great crowds always gathered to hear him talk. His conversation was not only brilliant, but eloquent,, and his random talks on current topics were fit to be printed and distributed as the choicest literature. AT the present moment I can see only one question in the State, the Ques- tion of Reform ; only two parties — the friends of the Bill, and its ene- mies. No observant and unprejudiced man can look forward, without great alarm, to the effects which the recent decision of the Lords may pos- sibly produce. I do not predict, I do not ex- pect, open, armed insurrection. What I appre- hend is this — that the People may engage in a silent but extensive and persevering war against the law. It is easy to say, ' ' Be bold ; be firm ; defy intimidation ; let the law have its course ; the law is strong enough to put down the sedi- tious." Sir, we have heard this blustering be- fore ; and we know in what it ended. It is the blustering of little men, whose lot has fallen on a great crisis. Xerxes scourging the waves, Canute commanding the waves to recede from his footstool, were but types of the folly. The law has no eyes ; the law has no hands ; the law is nothing — nothing but a piece of paper GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 243 printed by the King's printer, with the King's arms at the top — till public opinion breathes the breath of life into the dead letter. We found this in Ireland. The elections of 1826 — the Clare election, two years later — proved the folly of those who think that nations are governed by wax and parchment : and, at length, in the close of 1828, the Government had only one plain alternative before it — con- cession or civil war. I know only two ways in which societies can permanently be governed — by Public Opinion, and by the Sword. A Government having at its command the armies, the fleets, and the reve- nues of Great Britain, might possibly hold Ire- land by the Sword. So Oliver Cromwell held Ireland ; so William the Third held it ; so Mr. Pitt held it ; so the Duke of Wellington might, perhaps, have held it. But, to govern Great Britain by the Sword — so wild a thought has never, I will venture to say, occurred to any public man of any party ; and, if any man were frantic enough to make the attempt, he would find, before three days had expired, that there is no better Sword than that which is fashioned out of a Ploughshare ! But, if not by the Sword, how is the people to be governed? I understand how the peace is kept at New York. It is by the assent and support of the People. I understand, also, how the peace is kept at Milan. It is by the bayonets of the Austrian soldiers. But how the peace is to be kept when you have neither the popular assent ncr the mili- tary force, — how the peace is to be kept in Eng- land by a Government acting on the principles of the present Opposition, — I do not understand, ON LIMITING THE -iOURS OF LABOH, 1846.— T. B. Macaulay. IF we consider man simply in a commercial point of view, simply as a machine for productive labor, let us not forget what a piece of mechanism he is, — how " fear- fully and wonderfully made." If we have a fine horse, we do not use him exactly as a steam-engine ; and still less should we treat man so, more especially in his earlier years. The depressing labor that begins early in life, and is continued too long every day, enfeebles his body, enervates his mind, weakens his spirits, overpowers his understanding, and is incompat- ible with any good or useful degree of educa- tion. A state of society in which such a system prevails will inevitably, and in no long space, feel its baneful effects. What is it which makes one community prosperous and flourishing, more than another ? You will not say that it is the soil ; you will not say that it is its climate ; you will not say that it is its mineral wealth, or its natural advantages, — its ports, or its great rivers. Is it anything in the earth, or in the air, that makes Scotland a richer country than Egypt ; or, Batavia, with its marshes, more prosperous than Sicily ? No ; but Scotchmen made Scotland what she is, and Dutchmen raised their marshes to such eminence. Look to America. Two centuries ago, it was a wilder- ness of buffaloes and wolves. What has caused the change ? Is it her rich mould ? Is it her mighty rivers ? Is it her broad waters ? No ; her plains were then as fertile as they are now, — her rivers were as numerous. Nor was it any great amount of capital that the emigrants car- ried out with them. They took a mere pittance. What is it, then, that has effected the change ? It is simply this, — you placed the Englishman, instead of the red man, upon the soil ; and the Englishman, intelligent and energetic, cut down the forests, turned them into cities and fleets, and covered the land with harvests and orchards in their place. I am convinced, sir, that this question of limiting the hours of labor, being a question connected, for the most part, with persons of tender years, — a question in which public health is concerned, and a question relating to public morality, — it is one with which the State may properly interfere. Sir, as lawgivers, we have errors of two different kinds to repair. We have done that which we ought not to have done ) we have left undone that which we ou~ht 244 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. to have done. We have regulated that which we ought to have left to regulate itself ; we have left unregulated that which it was our especial business to have regulated. We have given to certain branches of industry a protection which was their bane. We have withheld from public health, and from public morality, a protection which it was our duty to have given. We have prevented the laborer from getting his loaf where he could get it cheapest, but we have not prevented him from prematurely destroy- ing the health of his body and mind, by inordinate toil. I hope and believe that we are approaching the end of a vicious system of interference, and of a vicious system of non-interference. GREAT IRISH ORATORS, ENTERPRISE OF AMERICAN COLONISTS, 1775.- Born 1730. Died 1797. -Edmund Burke. Burke, the greatest of Irish statesmen, and unsurpassed as a writer of English prose, impaired his immediate success as a speaker by a badly-regulated voice, and an infelicitous delivery. Grattan, his countryman and contemporary, wrote of him : " Burke is unquestionably the first orator of the Commons of England, notwithstanding the want of energy, the want of grace, and the want of elegance, in his manner." "He was a prodigy of nature and of acquisition. He read everything — he saw everything. His knowledge of history amounted to a power of foretellings, and, when he perceived the wild work that was doing in France, that great political physician, cognizant of symptoms, distinguished between the access of fever and the force of health, and what others conceived to be the vigor of her constitution he knew to be the paroxysm of her madness; and then, prophet-like, he pronounced the destinies of France, and in his prophetic fury admonished nations." FOR some time past, Mr. Speaker, has the Old World been fed from the New. The scarcity which you have felt would have been a desolating famine, if this child of your old age, — if America, — with a true filial piety, with a Roman charity, had not put the full breast of its youthful exuberance to the mouth of its exhausted parent. Turning from the agricultural resources of the Colonies, consider the wealth which they have drawn from the sea by their fisheries. The spirit in which that enterprising employment has been exercised ought to raise your esteem and admira- tion. Pray, sir, what in the world is equal to it? Pass by the other parts, and look at the manner in which the People of New England have of late carried on the whale fishery. Whilst we follow them among the tumbling mountains of ice, and behold them penetrating into the deepest frozen recesses of Hudson's Bay, and Davis' Straits, whilst we are looking for them beneath the Artie Circle, we hear that they have pierced into the opposite region of Polar cold, that they are at the antipodes, and engaged under the frozen serpent of th'e South. Falkland Island, which seemed too remote and romantic an object for the grasp of national ambition, is but a stage and resting-place in the progress of their victorious industry. Nor is the equinoctial heat more discouraging to them than the accumulated winter of both the Poles. We know that whilst some of them draw the line and strike the harpoon on the coast of Africa, others run the longitude, and pursue their gigantic game, along the coast of Brazil. No sea but what is vexed by their fisheries. No climate that is not witness to their toils. Neither the perseverance of Holland, nor the activity of France, nor the dexterous and firm sagacity of English enterprise, ever carried this most perilous mode of hardy industry to' the extent to which it has been pushed by this recent People ; a People who are still, as it were, but in the gristle, and not yet hardened into the bone, of manhood. When I contemplate these things,— -when I know that the Colonies in general owe little or nothing to any care of ours, and that they are not squeezed into this happy form by the con- straints of a watchful and suspicious Govern- GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 245 ment, but that, through a wise and salutary I the pride of power sink, and all presump- neglect, a generous nature has been suffered tion in the wisdom of human contrivances to take her own way to perfection, — when melt, and die away within me. My rigor I reflect upon these effects, when I see how profitable they have been to us, I feel all relents. I pardon something to the spirit of liberty. IMPEACHMENT OF WARREN HASTINGS, \7 88.— Burke. The unremitting energy of Burke's appeals, in the prosecution of Hastings, was a subject of wonder at the time, and is a lasting memorial of his zeal in what lie believed an honest cause, for the admiration of posterity. Hastings himself has said of Burke's eloquence against him, — " For the first half hour, I looked up to the orator in a reverie of wonder ; and, during that time, I felt myself the most culpable man on earth." The trial of Warren Hastings commenced in Westminster Hall, February 18, 1788. The whole process occupied ten years, from 1785 to 1795. On the 23d of April, 1796, Hastings was acquitted by a large majority of the Peers. Economy of space prevents our making a longer extract from this famous speech.^ MY Lords, I do not mean now to go further than just to remind your Lordships of this, — that Mr. Has- tings' government was one whole system of oppression, of robbery of individuals, of spoliation of the public, and of supersession of the whole system of the English Government, in order to vest in the worst of the natives all the power that could possibly exist in any Gov- ernment ; in order to defeat the ends which all Governments ought, in common, to have in view. In the name of the Commons of Eng- land, I charge all this villany upon Warren Has- ings, in this last moment of my application to you. My Lords, what is it that we want here, to a great act of national justice? Do we want a cause, my Lords ? You have the cause of op- pressed princes, of undone women of the first rank, of desolated Provinces, and of wasted Kingdoms. Do you want a criminal, my Lords ? When was there so much iniquity ever laid to the charge of any one ? — No, my Lords, you must not look to punish any other such delinquent from India. Warren Hastings has not left sub- stance enough in India to nourish such another delinquent. My Lords, is it a prosecutor you want ? You have before you the Commons of Great Britain as prosecutors ; and I believe, my Lords, that the sun, in his beneficent progress round the world, does not behold a more glorious sight than that of men, separated from a remote People by the material bonds and barriers of nature, united by the bond of a social and moral community ; — all the Commons of Eng- land resenting, as their own, the indignities and cruelties that are offered to all the people of India. Do we want a tribunal ? My Lords, no example of antiquity, nothing in the modern world, nothing in the range of human imagi- nation, can supply us with a tribunal like this. We commit safely the interests of India and humanity into your hands. Therefore, it is with confidence that, ordered by the Commons, — I impeach Warren Hastings, Esquire, of high crimes and misdemeanors. I impeach him in the name of the Commons of Great Britain in Parliament assembled, whose Parliamentary trust he has betrayed. I impeach him in the name of all the Com- mons of Great Britain, whose national character he has dishonored. I impeach him in the name of the People of India, whose laws, rights and liberties, he has subverted ; whose properties he has destroyed ; whose country he has laid waste and desolate. I impeach him in the name and by virtue of those eternal laws of justice which he has violated. I impeach him in the name of human nature itself, which he has cruelly outraged, injured, and oppressed, in both sexes, in every age, rank, situation, and condition of life. 246 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. TO THE ELECTORS OF (On being accused of too much sympathy GENTLEMEN, I have had my day. I can never sufficiently express my grati- tude unto you for having set me in a place wherein I could lend the slight- est help to great and laudable designs. If I have had my share in any measure giving quiet to private property and private conscience ; if by my vote I have aided in securing to families the best possession, peace ; if I have joined in reconciling kings to their subjects, and subjects to their prince ; if I have assisted to loosen the foreign holdings of the citizen, and taught him to look for his protection to the laws of his country, and for his comfort to the good will of his countrymen ; if I have thus taken my part with the best of men in the best of their actions, — I can shut the book ; — I might wish to read a page or two more, — but this is enough for my measure. I have not lived in vain. And now, gentlemen, on this serious day, when I come, as it were, to make up my ac- BRISTOL.—Bdmwid Burke. and benevolence in his administrations. ) count with you, let me take to myself some degree of honest pride, on the nature of the charges that are against me. I do not here stand before you accused of venality, or of neglect of duty. It is not said that, in the long period of my service, I have, in a single instance, sacrificed the slightest of your inter> ests to my ambitkm, or to my fortune. It is not alleged that, to gratify any anger or revenge of my own, or of my party, I have had a share in wronging or oppressing any description of men, or any one man in any description. No ! the charges against me are all of one kind, — that I have pushed the principles of general justice and benevolence too far, — further than a cautious policy would warrant, and further than the opinions of many would go along with me. In every accident which may happen through life, — in pain, in sorrow, in depression and dis- tress, — I will call to mind this accusation, and be comforted. DECLARATION OF IRISH RIGHTS, 1780.— Henry Grattan. Henry Grattan, one of the most renowned of Irish orators, was born in Dublin, on the 3d of July, 1746, rand died in 1820. In Decemoer, 1775, he took his seat in the Irish House of Commons ; and from that time till 1800, he figured politically in that body chiefly. The Irish Revolution of 1782 was carried mainly by his -efforts. Although a Protestant, he was a most earnest advocate of the entire emancipation of the Catholics from all invidious distinctions and disabilities. In 1805 Grattan took his seat in the British Parliament, where he became the leading Champion of Catholic rights. The passages from his speeches in this collec- tion bearing date anterior to 1805 were pronounced in the Irish Parliament ; those of a subsequent date were delivered before the popular branch of the Imperial Parliament. Of Grattan we may add in the words of the Rev. Sydney Smith : — "No Government ever dismayed him ; the world could not bribe him ; he thought only of Ireland ; lived for no other object ; dedicated to her his beautiful fancy, his manly courage, and all the splendor of his astonishing eloquence." SIR, I have entreated an attendance on this day, that you might, in the most public manner, deny the claim of the British Parliament to make law for Ire- land, and with one voice lift up your hands against it. England now smarts under the lesson of the American war ; her enemies are a host, pouring upon her from all quarters of the earth ; her armies are dispersed ; the sea is not hers ; she has no minister, no ally, no admiral, none in whom she long confides, and no general whom she has not disgraced ; the balance of her fete is in the hands of Ireland ; you are not only her last connection, — you are the only Nation in Europe that is not her enemy. Let corruption tremble ; but let the friends of liberty rejoice at these means of safety, and this hour of redemption. You have done too much not to do more ; you have gone too far not to go on ; you have brought yourselves into that situation in which you must silently abdicate the rights of your country, or publicly restore them. Where is the freedom of trade ? Where is the security of property? Where is the liberty of the People? I therefore say, nothing is safe, sat- isfactory or honorable, nothing except a declara- GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 247 tion of rights. What ! are you, with three hundred thousand men at your back, with charters in one hand and arms in the other, afraid to say you are a free People? If Eng- land is a tyrant, it is you have made her so; it is the slave that makes the tyrant, and then murmurs at the master whom he himself has constituted. The British Minister mistakes the Irish char- acter ; had he intended to make Ireland a slave, lie should have kept her a beggar. There is no middle policy : win her heart by the restoration of her rights, or cut off the Nation's right hand; igreatly emancipate, or fundamentally destroy. We may talk plausibly to England, but so long as she exercises a power to bind this country, so long are the Nations in a state of war ; the claims of the one go against the liberty of the other, and the sentiments of the latter go to oppose those claims to the last drop of her blood. The English opposition, therefore, are :right; mere trade will not satisfy Ireland. They judge of us by other great Nations ; by the Nation whose political life has been a struggle for liberty, — America ! They judge of us with a true knowledge and just deference for our character; that a country enlightened as Ire- land, chartered as Ireland, armed as Ireland, and injured as Ireland, will be satisfied with nothing less than liberty. I might, as a constituent, come to your bar and demand my liberty. I do call upon you, by the laws of the land and their violation, by the instruction of eighteen centuries, by the arms, inspiration and providence of the present mo- ment, tell us the rule by which we shall go ; assert the law of Ireland ; declare the liberty of the land. I will not be answered by a public lie in the shape of an amendment ; neither, speaking for the subject's freedom, am I to hear of faction. I wish for nothing but to breathe, in this our island, in common with my fellow- subjects, the air of liberty. I have no ambition, unless it be the ambition to break your chain, and contemplate your glory. I never will be satisfied so long as the meanest cottager in Ire- land has a link of the British chain clanking to his rags. He may be naked, — he shall not be in iron. And I do see the time is at hand, the spirit is gone forth, the declaration is planted ; and though great men should apostatize, yet the cause will live; and though the public speaker should lie, yet the immortal fire shall outlast the organ which conveyed it, and the breath of liberty, like the word of the holy man, will not die with the prophet, but survive him. REPLY TO MR. FLOOD, 1783.— Henry Grattan. At the time of this speech in the Irish Parliament, Flood and Grattan, although previously friends, stood before the British public as rival leaders. A bitter animosity had arisen between them ; and Grattan having unfortunately led the way in personality, by speaking of his opponent's "affectation of infirmity," Flood replied with great asperity, denouncing Grattan as "a mendicant patriot," who, " bought by his country for a sum of money, then sold his country for prompt payment." He also sneered at Grattan's <( aping the stvle of Lord Chatham." To these taunts Grattan replied in a speech, an abridgment of which we here give. An arrangement for a hostile meeting between the parties was the consequence of this speech ; but Flood was arrested, and the crime of a duel was not added to the offence of vindictive person- ality, of which both had been guilty. Grattan lived to regret his harshness, and speak in generous terms of his rival. IT is not the slander of an evil tongue that can defame me. I maintain my reputa- tion in public and in private life. No man, who has not a bad character, can ever say that I deceived. No country can call me a cheat. But I will suppose such a public character. I will suppose such a man to have existence. I will begin with his character in his political cradle, and I will follow him to the last stage of political dissolution. I will sup- pose him, in the first stage of his life, to have been intemperate ; in the second, to have been corrupt; and in the last, seditious; that, after an envenomed attack on the persons and meas- ures of a succession of viceroys, and after much declamation against their illegalities and their profusion, he took office, and became a sup- porter of Government, when the profusion of 248 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. ministers had greatly increased, and their crimes multiplied beyond example. With regard to the liberties of America, which were inseperable from ours, I will suppose this gentleman to have been an enemy decided and unreserved ; that he voted against her liberty, and voted, moreover, for an address to send i'")ur thousand Irish troops to cut the throats of the Americans ; that he called these butch- ers "armed negotiators," and stood with a metaphor in his mouth and a bribe in his pocket, a champion against the rights of America, — of America, the only hope of Ireland, and the only refuge of the liberties of mankind. Thus de- fective in every relationship, whether to consti- tution, commerce, and toleration, I will suppose this man to have added much private improbity to public crimes ; that this probity was like his patriotism, and his honor on a level with his oath. He loves to deliver panegyrics on him- self. I will interrupt him, and say : Sir, you are much mistaken if you think that your talents have been as great as your life has been reprehensible. You began your parlia- mentary career with an acrimony and person- ality which could have been justified only by a supposition of virtue ; after a rank and clamor- ous opposition, you became, on a sudden, silent; HEAVEN FIGHTS ON THE SIDE THE Kingdom of Ireland, with her im- perial crown, stands at your Bar. • She applies for the civil liberty of three- fourths of her children. Will you dis- miss her without a hearing ? You cannot do it ! I say cou cannot finally do it ! The interest of your country would not support you ; the feelings of your country would not support you : it is a proceeding that cannot long be persisted in. No courtier so devoted, no politician so hardened, no conscience so capacious ! I am not afraid of oc- casional majorities. A majority cannot overlay a great principle. God will guard His own cause against rank majorities. In vain shall men appeal to a church-cry, or to a mock thunder ; the pro- prietor of the bolt is on the side of the People. you were silent for seven years ; you were silent on the greatest questions, and you were silent for money ! You supported the unparalleled profusion and jobbing of Lord Harcourt's scan- dalous ministry. You, sir, who manufacture stage thunder against Mr. Eden for his anti American principles, — you, sir, whom it pleases to chant a hymn to the immortal Hampden ; — you, sir, approved of the tyranny exercised against America, — and you, sir, voted four thous- and Irish troops to cut the throats of the Ameri- cans fighting for their freedom, fighting for your freedom, fighting for the great principle, liberty ! But you found, at last, that the Court had bought, but would not trust you. Mortified at the discovery, you try the sorry game of a trim- mer in your progress to the acts of an incen- diary ; and observing, with regard to Prince and People, the most impartial treachery and deser- tion, you justify the suspicion of your Sovereign by betraying the Government, as you had sold the People. Such has been your conduct, and at such conduct every order of your fellow- subjects have a right to exclaim S The merchant may say to you, the constitutionalist may say to you, the American may say to you, — and I, I now say, and say to your beard, sir, — you are not an honest man ! OF A GREAT PRINCIPLE.— Grattan. It was the expectation of the repeal of Cath- olic disability which carried the Union. Should you wish to support the minister of the crown against the People of Ireland, retain the Union, and perpetuate the disqualification, the conse- quence must be something more than aliena- tion. When you finally decide against the Cath- olic question, you abandon the idea of gov- erning Ireland by affection, and you adopt the idea of coercion in its place. You are pro- nouncing the doom of England. If you ask how the People of Ireland feel towards you, ask yourselves how you would feel towards us, if we disqualified three-fourths of the People of Eng- land forever. The day you finally ascertain the disqualification of the Catholic, you pronounce GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 249 the doom ot Great Britain. It is just it should be so. The King who takes away the liberty of his subjects loses his Crown ; the People who take away the liberty of their fellow-subjects lose their Empire. The scales of your own destinies are in your own hands ; and if you throw out the civil liberty of the Irish Catholic, depend on. it, Old England will be weighed in the balance,, and found wanting : you will then have dug your own grave, and you may write your own epitaph thus : — " England died because she taxed America, and disqualified Ireland." SECTARIAN TYRANNY, 1812.— Henry Grattan. "Y" "T"HENEVER one set degrades another \ A / on account of religion, such degra- ,M \L dation is the tyranny of a sect. When you enact that, on account of his religion, no Catholic shall sit in Parliament, you do what amounts to the tyranny of a sect. When you enact that no Catholic shall be a sheriff, you do what amounts to the tyranny of a sect. When you enact that 'no Catholic shall be a general, you do what amounts to the tyranny of a sect. There are two descriptions of laws, — the municipal law, which binds the People, and the law of God, which binds the Parliament and the People. Whenever you do any act which is contrary to His laws, as expressed in His work, which is the world, or in His book, the Bible, you exceed your right ; whenever you rest any of your establishments on that excess, you rest it on a foundation which is weak and fallacious; whenever you attempt to establish your Govern- ment, or your property, or your Church, on religious restrictions you establish them on that false foundation, and you oppose the Almighty ; and though you had a host of mitres on your side, you banish God from your ecclesiastical Constitution, and freedom from your political. In vein shall men endeavor to make this the cause of the Church ; they aggravate the crime, by the endeavor to make their God their fellow in the injustice. Such rights are the rights of ambition ; they are the rights of conquest ; and, in your case, they have been the rights of suicide. They begin by attacking liberty ; they end by the loss of empire ! SATIRE ON THE PENSION SYSTEM, 1786.— Curran, John Philpot Curran was born in Newcastle, Ireland, July 24, 1750. His Senatorial career was confined to the Irish Parliament, and was entirely eclipsed by his reputation at the bar. "There never lived a greater advocate," says Charles Phillips ; "certainly never one more suited to the country in which his lot was cast. His eloquence was copious, rapid and ornate, and his power of mimicry beyond all description." In his boyhood he had a confusion in his utterance, from which he was called by his school-fellows ' ' Stut- tering Jack Curran." He employed every means to correct his elocution, and render it perfect. "He accustomed himself," says one of his biographers, "to speak very slowly, to correct his precipitate utter- ance. He practiced before a glass, to make his gestures graceful. He spoke aloud the most celebrated orations. One piece — the speech of Antony over the dead body of Caesar — he was never weary of repeating. This he recommended to his young friends at the bar as a model of eloquence. And while he thus used art to smooth a channel for his thoughts to flow in, no man's eloquence ever issued more freshly and sponta- neously from the heart. It was always the heart of the man that spoke." Curran died October 14, 181 7. THIS polygot of wealth, this museum of curiosities, the Pension List, embraces every link in the human chain, every description of men, women, and chil- dren, from the exalted excellence of a Hawke or a Rodney, to the debased situation of the lady who humbleth herself that she may be exalted. But the lessons it inculcates form its greatest perfection ; It teacheth, that Sloth and Vice may eat that bread which Virtue and Honesty may starve for after they have earned it. It teaches the idle and dissolute to look up for that support which they are too proud to stoop and earn. It directs the minds of men to an entire reliance on the ruling Power of the State, who feeds the ravens of the Royal aviary, that cry continually for food. It teaches them to imitate those saints on the Pension List, that are alike the lilies of the field ; they toil not, neither do they spin, and yet are arrayed like Solomon in 250 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. his glory. In fine, it teaches a lesson, which, indeed, they might have learned from Epictetus, that it is sometimes good not to be over-virtuous ; it shows, that, in proportion as our distresses increase, the munificence of the Crown in- creases also ; in proportion as our clothes are rent, the royal mantle is extended over us. Notwithstanding that the Pension List, like charity, covers a multitude of sins, give me leave to consider it as coming home to the mem- bers of this House ; — give me leave to say, that REPLY TO THREATS OF "T~ "T"E have been told this night, in express \ A / words, that the man who dares to do ML V his duty to his country in this House may expect to be attacked without these walls by the military gentlemen of the Castle. If the army had been directly or in- directly mentioned in the course of the debate, this extraordinary declaration might be attrib- utable to the confusion of a mistaken charge, or an absurd vindication ; but, without connection with the subject, a new principle of government is advanced, and that is — the bayonet ! And this is stated in the fullest house, and the most crowded audience, I ever saw. We are to be silenced by corruption within, or quelled by force of arms without. If the strength of num- bers or corruption should fail against the cause of the public, it is to be backed by assassina- tion. Nor is it necessary that those avowed principles of bribery and arms should come from any high personal authority; they have the Crown, in extending its charity, its liberal- ity, its profusion, is laying a foundation for the independence of Parliament ; for, hereafter, in- stead of orators or patriots accounting for their conduct to such mean and unworthy persons as freeholders, they will learn to despise them, and look to the first man in the State ; and they will, by so doing, have this security for their independence, — that while any man in the Kingdom has a shilling, they will not want one! VIOLENCE, 1790.— Curran. been delivered by the known retainers of Ad- ministration, in the face of that bench, and heard even without a murmur of dissent or dis- approbation. For my part, I do not know how it may be my destiny to fall ; — it may be by chance, or malady, or violence ; but, should it be my fate to perish the victim of a bold and honest dis- charge of my duty, I will not shun it. I will do that duty ; and, if it should expose me to sink under the blow of the assassin, and become a victim to the public cause, the most sensible of my regrets would be, that on such an altar there should not be immolated a more illustrious sacrifice. As to myself, while I live, I shall despise the peril. I feel in my own spirit the safety of my honor, and in my own and the spirit of the People do I feel strength enough to hold that Administration, which can give a sanc- tion to menaces like these, responsible for their consequences to the Nation and the individual. ON THE IRISH DISTURBANCE BILL.— Daniel O'Connell. Daniel O'Connell, the great Irish "agitator " or " liberator," as he was frequently called, was born in the county of Kerry, Ireland, in 1775. He died in 1847. " His was that marvellous admixture of mirth, pathos, drollery, earnestness and dejection," says Charles Phillips, "which, well compounded, form the true Milesian. He could whine and wheedle, and wink with one eye while he wept with the other. His fun was inexhaustible." O'Connell was apt to be too violent and vituperative in his denunciations, and they consequently failed of their effect. The abuse that is palpably exaggerated is not much to be feared. ~T" DO not rise to fawn or cringe to this House ; — I do not rise to supplicate you to be merciful toward the Nation to which I belong, — toward a Nation which, though subject to England, yet is distinct from it. It is a distinct Nation ; it has been treated as such by this country, as may be proved by history, and by seven hundred years of tyranny. I call upon this House, as you value the liberty of England, not to allow the present nefarious Bill to pass. In it are involved the liberties of Eng- land, the liberty of the Press, and of every other GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 251 institution dear to Englishmen. Against the Bill I protest, in the name of the Irish People, and in the face of Heaven. I treat with scorn the puny and pitiful assertions, that grievances are not to be complained of, — that our redress is not to be agitated ; for, in such cases, remon- strances cannot be too strong, agitation cannot be too violent, to show to the world with what injustice our fair claims are met, and under what tyranny the People suffer. The clause which does away with trial by jury, — what, in the name of Heaven, is it, if it is not the establishment of a revolutionary tribunal ? It drives the judge from his bench ; it does away with that which is more sacred than the Throne itself, — that for which your king reigns, your lords deliberate, your commons as- semble. If ever I doubted, before, of the suc- cess of our agitation for repeal, this Bill, — this infamous bill, — the way in which it has been received by the House ; the manner in which its opponents have been treated ; the personalities VIOLATION OF ENGLISH MY lord, the Irish Catholics never, never broke their faith ; they never violated their plighted promise to the English. I appeal to history for the truth of my assertion. My lord, the English never, never observed their faith -with us — they never performed their plighted promise ; the history of the last six hundred years proves the accuracy of my assertion. I will leave the older periods, and fix myself at the revolution. More than a hundred and twenty years have elapsed since the treaty of Limerick. That treaty has been honorably and faithfully performed by the Irish Catholics ; it has, been foully, disgracefully, and directly vio- lated by the English. English oaths and sol- emn engagements bound them to its perform- ance : it remains still of force and unperformed ; and the ruffian yell of English treachery, which accompanied its first violation, has, it seems, been repeated even in the senate-house at the .last repetition of the violation of that treaty. to which they have been subjected; the yells with which one of them has this night been greeted, — all these things dissipate my doubts, and tell me of its complete and early triumph. Do you think those yells will be forgotten ? Do you suppose their echo will not reach the plains of my injured and insulted country ; that they will not be whispered in her green valleys, and heard from her lofty hills? O, they will be heard there ! — yes ; and they will not be for- gotten. The youth of Ireland will bound with indignation, — they will say, "We are eight millions ; and you treat us thus, as though we were no more to your country than the isle of Guernsey or of Jersey ! ' ' I have done my duty. I stand acquitted to my conscience and my country. I have opposed this measure throughout ; and I now protest against it, as harsh, oppressive, uncalled for, un- just ; — as establishing an infamous precedent, by retaliating crime against crime ; — as tyran- nous, — cruelly and vindictively tyrannous ! PROMISES.— Daniel O'Connell. They rejoiced and they shouted at the perjuries of their ancestors ; at their own want of good faith or common sense. Nay, are there not men present, who can tell us, of their own knowledge, of another instance of English treachery? Was not the assent of many of the Catholics to the fatal — O ! the fatal measure of the union ! — purchased by the express and written promise of Catholic emancipation, made from authority by Lord Cornwallis, and confirmed by the prime min- ister, Mr. Pitt? And has that promise been performed? Or, has Irish credulity afforded only another instance of English faithlessness ? Now, my lord, I ask this assembly whether they can confide in English promises ? I say nothing of the solemn pledges of individuals. Can you confide in the more than punic faith of your hereditary taskmasters? Or shall we be accused of over-scrupulous jealousy, when we reject, with indignation, the contamination of English control over our Church ? 252 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. THE PRESS THE PROTECTION OF THE PEOPLE.— Daniel O'Connell. This extract is from O'Connell's famous speech at the trial of John McGee accused of libelling the Duke of Richmond in the Hibernian Journal. THE Attorney-General has talked of his impartiality ; he will suppress, he says, the licentiousness of the press. Gen- tlemen, the Attorney-General was waited on, and respectfully requested to prose- cute the Hibernian Journal upon the terms of having the falsehood of certain libelous asser- tions first proved to him. I need not tell you he refused. These are not the libelers he prosecutes. Contrast the situation of my client with that of the proprietor of the Hibernian Journal. The one is prosecuted with all the weight and influence of the. Crown, the other pensioned by the ministers of the Crown ; the one dragged to your bar for the sober discussion of political topics, the other hired to disseminate the most horrid calumnies. Let the Attorney-General now boast of his impartiality ; can you credit him on your oaths ? Let him talk of his veneration for the liberty of the press ; can you believe him in your consciences? Let him call the press the protection of the People against the Government. Yes, gentlemen, believe him when he says so ! Let the press be the protection of the People ! — he admits that it ought to be so. Will you find a verdict for him that shall con- tradict the only assertion upon which he and I, however, are both agreed ? Gentlemen, the Attorney-General is bound by this admission. It is part of his case, and he is the prosecutor here. It is a part of the evidence before you, for he is the prosecutor. Then, gentlemen, it is your duty to act upon that evidence, and to allow the press to afford some protection to the People. Is there amongst you any one friend to free- dom? Is there amongst you one man who esteems equal and impartial justice, who values the people's right as the foundation of private happiness, and who considers life as no boon without liberty? Is there amongst you one friend to the Constitution? — one man who hates oppression ? If there be, my client appeals to his kindred mind, and confidently expects an acquittal. There are amongst you men of great religious zeal— of much public piety. Are you sincere? Do you believe what you profess! With all this zeal, with all this piety, is there any conscienre amongst you? Is there any terror of violating your oaths? Be ye hypo- crites, or does genuine religion inspire you ? If you be sincere, if you have consciences, if your oaths can control your interests, then my client confidently expects an acquittal. If amongst you there be cherished one ray of pure religion, if amongst you there glow a single spark of liberty, if I have alarmed patriotism or roused the spirit of freedom in one breast amongst you, my client is safe, and his country is served. But, if there be none — if you be slaves and hypocrites — he will await your verdict, and despise it. THE REPEAL OF THE UNION, 1834.-5/^7. Richard Lalor Sheil was born in Dublin, Ireland, August 16, 1791, and died at Florence, Italy, where he held the post of British Minister, May 25, 1851. He was returned to the Imperial Parliament in 1829, and for twenty years was a prominent member of the House of Commons. A contemporary says of him : " His great earnestness and apparent sincerity, his unrivalled felicity of illustration, his extraordinary power of pushing the meaning of words to the utmost extent, and wringing from them a force beyond the range of ordinary expression, were such, that when he rose to speak, members took their places, and the hum of private conversation was hushed, in order that the House might enjoy the performances of an accomplished artist." His style of speaking was peculiar ; his gesticulation rapid, fierce and incessant; his enunciation remarkably quick and impetuous. His matter was uniformly well arranged and logical. T HE population of Ireland has doubled since the Union. What is the condi- tion of the mass of the People ? Has her capital increased in the same pro- portion ? Behold the famine, the wretchedness and pestilence, of the Irish hovel, and, if you have the heart to do so, mock at the calamities. of the country, and proceed in your demonstra- GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 253 tions of the prosperity of Ireland. The mass of the People are in a condition more wretched than that of any Nation in Europe ; they are worse housed, worse covered, worse fed, than the basest boors in the provinces of Russia ; they dwell in habitations to which your swine would not be committed ; they are covered with rags which your beggars would disdain to wear, and not only do they never taste the flesh of animals which crowd into your markets, but, while the sweat drops from their brows, they never touch the bread into which their harvests are converted. For you they toil, for you they delve ; they reclaim the bog, and drive the plough to the mountain's top, for you. And where does all this misery exist ? In a country teeming with fertility, and stamped with the beneficent intents of God ! When the famine of Ireland prevailed, — when her cries crossed the Channel, and pierced your ears, and reached your hearts, — the granaries of Ireland were bursting with their contents, and, while a People knelt down and stretched out their hands for food, the business of deportation, the absentee tribute, was going on ! Talk of the prosperity of Ireland ! Talk of the external magnificence of the poor-house, gorged with misery within ! But the Secretary for the Treasury exclaims : " If the agitators would but let us alone, and allow Ireland to be tranquil ! " — The agitators, foorsooth ! Does he venture — has he the intre- pidity — to speak thus? Agitators! Against deep potations let the drunkard rail ; — at Crock- ford's let there be homilies against the dice- box ; — let every libertine lament the progress of licentiousness, when his Majesty's ministers deplore the influence of demagogues, and Whigs complain of agitation ! How did you carry the Reform ? Was it not . by impelling the People almost to the verge of revolution ? Was there a stimulant for their passions, was there a pro- vocative for their excitement, to which you did not resort? If you have forgotten, do you think that we shall fail to remember your meet- ings at Edinburgh, at Paisley, at Manchester, at Birmingham? Did not three hundred thou- sand men assemble ? Did they not pass resolu- tions against taxes ? Did they not threaten to march on London ? Did not two of the cabinet ministers indite to them epistles of gratitude and of admiration? and do they now dare — have they the audacity — to speak of agitation ? Have we not as good a title to demand the resti- tution of our Parliament, as the ministers to insist on the reform of this House? IRISH ALIENS AND ENGLISH VICTORIES, 1837 .-Shell. The following brilliant appeal — one of the most eloquent in the annals of British oratory — is from Shell's speech on the Irish Municipal Bill, in the House of Commons, February 22, 1837. The episode was called forth by an unfortunate expression which Lord Lyndhurst had employed, some time before, in the House of Lords, in alluding to the Irish as " aliens, in blood and religion." During Sheil's speech, his Lordship was sitting under the gallery ; and it is recorded that Sheil shook his head indignantly at him, as he spoke. The effect upon the House was very marked. Nearly all the members turned towards Lord Lyndhurst ; and the shouts of the Ministerialists, encountered by the vehement outcries of the Conservatives, continued for some minutes. The latter half of this speech demands great rapidity of utterance in the ■delivery. The speaker should be in deepest earnestness. His whole being should writhe under the injustice felt ; his eye should burn with indignation and his manner be proudly defiant, demanding rights rather than asking favors ; his gesticulation should be positive and emphatic. I SHOULD . be suprised, indeed, if, while you are doing us wrong, you did not pro- fess your solicitude to do us justice From the day on which Strongbow set his foot the shore of Ireland, Englishmen were wanting in protestations of their deep anxiety to do us justice ; — even Strafford, the deserter of the People's cause, — the renegade upon never Wentworth, who gave evidence in Ireland of the spirit of instinctive tyranny which predominated in his character, — even Strafford, while he trampled upon our rights, and trod upon the heart of the country, protested his solicitude to do justice to Ireland ! What marvel is it, then, that gentlemen opposite should deal in such ve- hement protestations? There is, however, one 254 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. man, of great abilities, — not a member of this House, but whose talents and whose boldness have placed him in the topmost place in his party, — who, disdaining all imposture, and thinking it the best course to appeal directly to the religious and national antipathies of the People of this country, — abandoning all reserve, and flinging off the slender veil by which his political associates affect to cover, although they cannot hide, their motives, — distinctly and audaciously tells the Irish People that they are not entitled to the same privileges as Englishmen ; and pronounces them, in any particular which could enter his minute enu- meration of the circumstances by which fellow- citizenship is created, in race, identity and religion, to be aliens : — to be aliens in race, to be aliens in country, aliens in religion ! Aliens ! good God ! was Arthur, Duke of Wellington, in the House of Lords, — and did he not start up and exclaim: "Hold! I have seen the ALIENS DO THEIR DUTY ! ' ' The Duke of Wellington is not a man of an excitable temperament. His mind is of a cast too martial to be easily moved ; but, notwith- standing his habitual inflexibility, I cannot help thinking that, when he heard his Roman Catholic countrymen (for we are his countrymen) desig- nated by a phrase as offensive as the abundant vocabulary of his eloquent confederate could supply, — I cannot help thinking that he ought to have recollected the many fields of fight in which we have been contributors to his renown. ' ' The battles, sieges, fortunes that he has passed," ought to have come back upon him. He ought to have remembered that, from the earliest achievement in which he displayed that military genius which has placed him foremost in the annals of modern warfare, down to that last and surpassing combat which has made his name imperishable, — from Assaye to Waterloo, — the Irish soldiers, with whom your armies are filled, were the inseparable auxiliaries to the glory with which his unparalleled successes have been crowned. Whose were the arms that drove your bayonets at Vimiera through the phalanxes that never reeled in the shock of war before? What desperate valor climbed the steeps and filled the moats at Badajos ? All his victories should have rushed and crowded back upon his memory — Vimiera, Badajos, Salamanca, Albuera, Toulouse, and, last of all, the greatest . Tell me, — for you were there, — I appeal to the gal- lant soldier before me (Sir Henry Hardinge), from whose opinions I differ, but who bears, I know, a generous heart in an intrepid breast ; — tell me, — for you must needs remem- ber, — on that day when the destinies of man- kind were trembling in the balance, while death fell in showers, when the artillery of France was levelled with a precision of the most deadly science, — when her legions, in- cited by the voice and inspired by the example- of their mighty leader, rushed again and again to the onset, — tell me if, for an instant, when to hesitate for an instant was to be lost, the " aliens ' ' blenched ? And when, at length, the moment for the last and decided movement had arrived, and the valor which had so long been wisely checked was, at last, let loose, — when, with words- familiar, but immortal, the great captain com- manded the great assault, — tell me if Catholic Ireland with less heroic valor than the natives of this your own glorious country precipitated her- self upon the foe ? The blood of England, Scotland, and of Ireland, flowed in the same stream, and drenched the same field. When the chill morning dawned, their dead lay cold and stark together ; — in the- same deep pit their bodies were deposited ; the green corn of spring is now breaking from their commingled dust ; the dew falls from heaven. upon their union in the grave. Partakers in every peril, in the glory shall we not be permitted to participate ; and shall we be told, as a requital, that we are estranged from the noble country for whose salvation our life blood was poured out? GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 255 THE NATURE OF JUSTICE.— Sheridan. (From the speech on the trial of Warren Hastings, June 6th, 1788.) Richard Brinsley Sheridan was born in Dublin, September, 1751, and died July 7, 1816, in L,ondon. He distinguished himself greatly, in company with Burke, in the prosecution against Warren Hastings ; but the reports of his speeches at the trial are imperfect and conflicting. Sheridan's fame as a dramatist is quite equal to his Parliamentary reputation. Lord Byron was a great admirer of Sheridan and reckoned him as ranking with Pitt, Fox and Burke as an orator, while he surpassed them in certain respects. LET me call the attention of the court to the magnificent paragraph in which Mr. Hastings concludes his communi- cation. It will give you some idea of this man's notion of justice. "I hope," says Mr. Hastings, ' ' it will not be a departure from official language to say, that the majesty of justice ought not to be reproached without solicita- tion. She ought not to descend to inflame or provoke, but to withhold her judgment until she is called on to determine." Justice ought not to be approached without solicitation ! Justice ought not to descend ! But, my lords, do you, the judges of this land, and the expounders of its rightful laws, do you approve of this mockery, and call it justice ? No ! justice is not this halt and miserable object ; it is not the ineffective bauble of an Indian pagod; it is not the portentous phantom of despair; it is not like any fabled monster, formed in the eclipse of reason, and found in some unhallowed grove of superstitious darkness and political dismay ! No, my lords. In the happy reverse of all these, I turn from this disgusting caricature to the real image! Justice I have now before me, august and. pure — the abstract idea of all that would be perfect in the spirits and the aspirings of men ; where the mind rises, where the heart expands ; where the countenance is ever placid and benign ; where her favorite attitude is to stoop to the unfortunate, to hear their cry and to help them ; to rescue and relieve, to succor and save ; majestic from its mercy ; venerable from its utility ; uplifted with- out pride, firm without obduracy ; beneficent in each preference, lovely though in her frown ! On that justice I rely, deliberate and sure, abstracted from all party purpose and political speculation, not in words, but in facts. You, my lords, who hear me, I conjure, by those rights it is your best privilege to preserve ; by that fame it is your best pleasure to inherit; by all those feelings which refer to the first term in the series of existence, the original compact of our nature, our controlling rank in the creation. This is the call on all, to administer to truth. and equity, as they would satisfy the laws ; ay, as they would satisfy themselves with the most exalted bliss possible or conceivable for our nature, — the self-approving consciousness of virtue, when the condemnation we look for will be one of the most ample mercies accomplished for mankind since the creation of the world ! My lords, I have done. AGAINST POLITICAL JOBBING, 1794.— R. B. Sheridan. IS this a time for selfish intrigues, and the little dirty traffic for lucre and emolu- ment ! Does it suit the honor of a gen- tlemen to ask at such a moment ? Does it become the honesty of a minister to grant ? What ! in such an hour as this, — at a moment pregnant with the national fate, when, pressing as the exigency may be, the hard task of squeez- ing the money from the pockets of an impover- ished People, from the toil, the drudgery of the shivering poor, must make the most practiced collector's heart ache while he tears it from them — can it be that the people of high rank, and professing high principles — that they or their families should seek to thrive on the spoils. of misery, and fatten on the meals wrested from industrious poverty ? O, shame ! shame ! Is it intended to confirm the pernicious doctrine so industriously propagated, that all public men are impostors, and that every politician has his price ? Or, even where there is no principle in the bosom, why does not prudence hint to the 256 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. mercenary and the vain to abstain awhile, at least, .and wait the fitting of the times? Improvident impatience ! Nay, even from those who seem to have no direct object of office or profit, what is the language which their actions speak? "The Throne is in danger ! we will support the Throne ; but let us share the smiles of royalty !" "The order of nobility is in danger! I will fight for nobility," says the Viscount; "but my zeal would be greater if I were made an Earl ! ' ' i ' Rouse all the Marquis within me, ' ' exclaims the Earl ; ' ' the Peerage never turned forth a more undaunted champion in its cause than I shall prove ! " "Stain my green ribbon blue," cries out the illustrious Knight, "and the fountain of honor will have a fast and faithful servant ! ' ' What are the People to think of our sin- cerity? What credit are they to give to our professions ? Is this system to be persevered in ? Is there nothing that whispers to that right honorable gentleman that the crisis is too big, that the times are too gigantic, to be ruled by the little hackneyed and every- day means of ordinary corruption? Or, are we to believe that he has within himself a conscious feeling that disqualifies him from re- buking the ill-timed selfishness of new allies? Let him take care that the corruptions of the Government shall not have lost it the public heart ; that the example of selfishness in the few has not extinguished public spirit in the many / ON BEING FOu^D GUILTY OF HIGH TREASON.— Robert Emmett. On the 23d of June, 1803, a rebellion against the Government broke out in Dublin, in which Robert Emmett, at the time only twenty-three years of age, was a principal actor. It proved a failure. Emmett was arrested, having missed the opportunity of escape, it is said, by lingering to take leave of a daughter of Curran, the gifted orator, to whom he bore an attachment, which was reciprocated. On the 19th of Sep- tember, 1803, Emmett was tried for high treason at the Sessions House, Dublin, before Lord Norbury, one of the Chief Judges of the King's Bench, and others ; was found guilty, and executed the next day. Through his counsel, he had asked, at the trial, that the judgment of the Court might be postponed until the next morning. This request was not granted. The clerk of the Crown read the indictment, and announced the verdict found, in the usual form. He then concluded thus : " What have you, therefore, now to say, why judgment of death and execution should not be awarded against you, according to law ? " Standing forward in the dock, in front of the Bench, Emmett made the following impromptu address, which we give entire, dividing it only into passages of a suitable length for declamation. As a masterpiece of extemporaneous eloquence its counterpart cannot be found, perhaps, in any language. It entitles its author to rank among the great orators of earth. At his execution, Emmett displayed great fortitude. As he was passing out of his cell, on his way to the gallows, he met the turnkey, who had become much attached to him. Being fettered, Emmett could not give his hand; so he kissed the poor fellow on the cheek, who, overcome by the mingled condescension and tenderness of the act, fell senseless at the feet of the youthful victim, and did not recover till the latter was no longer among the living. Emmett's own fate is scarcely less pathetic than that of his promised bride. The story is touchingly told by Washington Irving under the title of " Broken Hearts," and may be found elsewhere in this volume. "T" ~T"HAT have I to say, why sentence of \ A / death should not be pronounced on ML m. me, according to law? I have nothing to say which can alter your predetermination, or that it would become me to say with any view to the mitigation of that -sentence which you are here to pronounce, and which I must abide. But I have that to say which interests me more than life, and which you have labored — as was necessarily your office in the present circumstances of this oppressed country — -to destroy. I have much to say, why my reputation should be rescued from the load of false accusation and calumny which has been heaped upon it. I do not imagine that, seated where you are, your minds can be so free from impurity as to receive the least impression from what I am going to utter. I have no hope that I can anchor my character in the breast of a Court constituted and trammelled as this is. I only wish, and it is the utmost I expect, that your Lordships may suffer it to float down your memories, untainted by the foul breath of pre- judice, until it finds some more hospitable har- bor, to shelter it from the rude storm by which it is at present buffeted. Were I only to suffer death, after being ad- judged guilty by your tribunal, I should bow in GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 257 silence, and meet the fate that awaits me, with- out a murmur. But the sentence of the law which delivers my body to the executioner will, through the ministry of that law, labor, in its ■own vindication, to consign my character to ob- loquy : for there must be guilt somewhere, — -whether in. the sentence of the Court, or in the •catastrophe, posterity must determine. A man in my situation, my Lords, has not only to encoun- ter the difficulties of fortune, and the force of power over minds which it has corrupted or sub- jugated, but the difficulties of established preju- dice : — the man dies, but his memory lives : that mine may not perish, that it may live in the respect of my countrymen, I seize upon this opportunity to vindicate myself from some of the charges alleged against me. When my spirit shall be wafted to a more friendly port, — when my shade shall have joined the bands of those martyred heroes who have shed their blood, on the scaffold and in the field, in defence of their ■country and of virtue, — this is my hope : I "wish that my memory and name may animate those who survive me, while I look down with complacency on the destruction of that perfidious Government which upholds its dominion by blas- phemy of the Most High, — which displays its power over man as over the beasts of the forest, — which sets man upon his brother, and lifts his jhand, in the name of God, against the throat of Jhis fellow, who believes or doubts a little more, or a little less, than the Government standard, — a Government which is steeled to barbarity by the cries of the orphans and the tears of the widows which it has made. (Following the foregoing paragraph, Lord Norbury said : ' ' The weakened enthusiasts who feel as you feel, are unequal to the accomplish- ments of their wild designs. ' ' In answer to which remark Emmett continued as follows : ) II. I appeal to the immaculate God, — to the throne of Heaven, before which I must shortly appear, — to the blood of the murdered patriots who have gone before, — that my conduct has 17p-s been, through all this peril, and through all my purposes, governed only by the convictions which I have uttered, and by no other view than that of the emancipation of my country from the super- inhuman oppression under which she has so long and too patiently travailed; and that I con- fidently and assuredly hope that, wild and chimerical as it may appear, there is still union and strength in Ireland to accomplish this noblest enterprise. Of this I speak with the confidence of intimate knowledge, and with the consolation that appertains to that confidence. Think not, my Lords, I say this for the petty gratification of giving you a transitory uneasiness ; a man who never yet raised his voice to assert a lie will not hazard his character with prosterity by asserting a falsehood on a subject so important to his coun- try, and on an occasion like this. Yes, my Lords ; a man who does not wish to have his epitaph written until his country is liberated will not leave a weapon in the power of envy, nor a pretence to impeach the probity which he means to preserve even in the grave to which tyranny consigns him. (Lord Norbury again interrupted by saying : ' ' You proceed to unwarrantable lengths, in order to exasperate and delude, and circulate danger- ous opinions for the purpose of mischief. ' ' To which Emmett replied with dignified sarcasm :) Again I say, that what I have spoken was not intended for your Lorhships, whose situation I commiserate rather than envy ; — my expressions were for my countrymen ; if there is a true Irish- man present, let my last words cheer him in the hour of his affliction — (Lord Norbury replied with great heat : " What you have hitherto said confirms and justi- fies the verdict of the jury." Emmett's rejoin- der was a withering rebuke : ) I have always understood it to be the duty of a judge, when a prisoner has been convicted, to pronounce the sentence of the law ; I have also understood that judges sometimes think it their duty to hear with patience, and to speak with humanity ; to exhort the victim of the laws, and to offer, with tender benignity, opinions of the 258 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. motives by which he was actuated in the crime of which he had been adjudged guilty. That a judge has thought it his duty so to have done, I have no doubt ; but where is the boasted freedom of your institutions, — where is the vaunted impar- tiality, clemency, and mildness of your courts of justice, — if an unfortunate prisoner, whom your policy, and not justice, is about to deliver into the hands of the executioner, is not suffered to explain his motives sincerely and truly, and to vindicate the principles by which he was actuated ? III. My lords, it may be a part of the system of angry justice to bow a man's mind, by humiliation, to the purposed ignominy of the scaffold ; but worse to me than the scaffold's shame, or the scaffold's terrors, would be the shame of such foul and unfounded imputations as have been laid against me in this Court. You, my Lord, are a judge. I am a supposed culprit. I am a man, — you are a man also. By a revolution of power, we might change places, though we never could change characters. If I stand at the bar of this Court, and dare not vindicate my character, what a farce is your justice ! If I stand at this bar, and dare not vindicate my character, how dare you calumniate it ? Does the sentence of death, which your unhallowed policy inflicts on my body, also condemn my tongue to silence, and my reputation to reproach ? Your executioner may abridge the period of my existence ; but while I exist, I shall not forbear to vindicate my character and motives from your aspersions. As a man to whom fame is dearer than life, I will make the last use of that life in doing justice to that reputation which is to live after me, and which is the only legacy I can leave to those I honor and love, and for whom I am proud to perish. As men, my Lord, we must appear, on the great day, at one common tribunal ; and it will then remain for the Searcher of all hearts to show a collective universe who are engaged in the most virtuous actions, or actuated by the purest motives, — my country's oppressors or — (Here Lord Norbury exclaimed : * ' Listen, sir to the sentence of the law." To which Emmett replied with great spirit : ) My Lord, shall a dying man be denied the legal privilege of exculpating himself, in the eyes of the community, of an undeserved reproach thrown upon him during his trial, by charging him with ambition, and attempting to cast away, for a paltry consideration, the liberties of his- country ? Why, then, insult me ? or, rather, why insult justice, in demanding of me why sen- tence of death should not be pronounced? I know, my Lord, that form prescribes that you should ask the question ; the form also presumes the right of answering ! This, no doubt, may be dispensed with ; and so might the whole cere- mony of the trial, since sentence was already pronounced at the Castle before your jury was impanelled. Your Lordships are but the priests of the oracle, and I submit to the sacrifice ; but I insist on the whole of the forms. ( Here Emmett paused and would have stopped, but the Court desired him to proceed, which he did ; discussing in the following masterly and eloquent manner the charges on which he had been arraigned : ) IV. I am charged with being an emissary of France. An emissary of France ! — and for what end ? It is alleged that I wished to sell the inde- pendence of my country ! And for what end ? Was this the object of my ambition? and is this the mode by which a tribunal of justice reconciles contradictions ? No ! I am no emissary. My ambition was to hold a place among the deliver- ers of my country, — not in power, nor in profit, but in the glory of the achievement. Sell my country's independence to France ! And for what ? For a change of masters ? No ; but for ambition ! O, my country ! was it personal ambition that could influence me ? Had it been, the soul of my actions, could I not, by my edu- cation and fortune, by the rank and consideration: of my family, have placed myself among the proudest of your oppressors ? My country was- my idol. To it I sacrificed every selfish, every endearing sentiment ; and for it I now offer up. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 259 my life ! O God ! No ! my Lord ; I acted as an Irishman, determined on delivering my coun- try from the yoke of a foreign and unrelenting tyranny, and from the more galling yoke of a domestic faction, its joint partner and perpetrator in the patricide, whose reward is the ignominy of existing with an exterior of splendor, and a consciousness of depravity. It was the wish of my heart to extricate my country from this doubly rivited despotism. I wished to place her inde- pendence beyond the reach of any power on earth. I wished to exalt her to that proud station in the world which Providence had fitted her to fill. Connection with France was, indeed, intended; but only as far as mutual interest would sanction or require. Were the French to assume any authority inconsistent with the purest indepen- dence, it would be the signal for their destruction. We sought aid of them ; and we sought it, as we had assurance we should obtain it, — as auxiliaries in war, and allies in peace. Were the French to come as invaders or enemies, uninvited by the wishes of the People, I should oppose them to the utmost of my strength. Yes, my countrymen, I would meet them on the beach, with a sword in one hand and a torch in the other. I would meet them with all the destructive fury of war ; and I would animate you to immolate them in their boats, before they had contaminated the soil. If they succeeded in landing, and if we were forced to retire before superior discipline, I would dispute every inch of ground, raze every house, burn every blade of grass before them, and the last intreachment of liberty should be my grave. What I could not do myself, if I should fall, I would leave in charge to my countrymen to accomplish ; because I should feel conscious that life, more than death, is unprofitable, when a foreign nation holds my country in subjection. But it was not as an enemy that the succors of France were to land. I looked, indeed, for the assistance of France ; but I wished to prove to France, and to the world, that Irishmen deserved to be assisted, that they were indignant at slavery, and ready to assert the independence and liberty of their country ! I wished to procure for my country the guarantee which Washington pro- cured for America, — to procure an aid which, by its example, would be as important as by its valor, — allies disciplined, gallant, pregnant with science and experience ; who would preserve the good and polish the rough points of our charac- ter ; who would come to us as strangers, and leave us as friends, after sharing our perils and elevating our destiny. These were my objects ; not to receive new task-masters, but to expel old tyrants. These were my views, and these only become Irishmen. It was for these ends I sought aid from France, because France, even as an enemy, could not be more implacable than the enemy already in the bosom of my country. (Here the court interrupted, but after an exciting parley Emmett was allowed to proceed. ) V. I have been charged with that importance, in the efforts to emancipate my country, as to be considered the keystone of the combination of Irishmen, or, as your Lordship expressed it, " the life and blood of the conspiracy." You do me honor overmuch. You have given to the subaltern all the credit of a superior. There are men engaged in this conspiracy who are not only superior to me, but even to your own conceptions of yourself, my Lord ; — men, before the splendor of whose genius and virtues I should bow with respectful deference, and who would think them- selves dishonored to be called your friends, — who would not disgrace themselves by shaking your blood-stained hand ! (This so exasperated Lord Norbury that he attempted to stop the speaker, but the enthusiasm was so great he dared not insist, and Emmett proceeded shaking his finger at Lord Norbury : ) What, my Lord, shall you tell me, on the pas- sage to the scaffold which that tyranny, of which you are only the intermediate minister, has erected for my murder, that I am accountable for all the blood that has been and will be shed, in this struggle of the oppressed against the oppres- sor? Shall you tell me this, and must I be so 260 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. very a slave as not to repel it ? I, who fear not to approach the Omnipotent Judge, to answer for the conduct of my bhort life, — am I to be appalled here, before a mere remnant of mortal- ity ? — by you, too, who, if it were possible to col- lect all the innocent blood that you have caused to be shed, in your unhallowed ministry, in one great reservoir, your Lordship might swim in it ! (This invective was so severe that the judge interfered, insisting that Emmettbe less personal. After a moment's pause the speaker composed himself and proceeded as follows : ) Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dishonor. Let no man attaint my mem- ory by believing that I could have engaged in any cause but that of my country's liberty and independence, or that I could have become the pliant minion of power in the oppression and the miseries of my countrymen. The proclamation of the Provisional Government speaks for my views. No inference can be tortured from it to coun- tenance barbarity or debasement at home, or subjection, humiliation or treachery, from abroad. I would not have submitted to a foreign oppres- sor, for the same reason that I would resist the domestic tyrant. In the dignity of freedom I would have fought upon the threshold of my country, and its enemy should enter only by passing over my lifeless corpse. And am I, who lived but for my country — who have subjected myself to the dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor, and now to the bondage of the grave, only to give my countrymen their rights, and my country her independence, — am I to be loaded with calumny, and not suffered to resent it ? No. God forbid ! (At this point Lord Norbury told Emmett that his principles were treasonable, that his father would not have countenanced such sentiments, that his language was unbecoming, to which Emmett replied with feeling : ) If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in the concerns and cares of those who were dear to them in this transitory life, O, ever dear and venerated shade of my departed father, look down with scrutiny upon the conduct of your suffering son, and see if I have, even for a moment, devi- ated from those principles cf morality and patri- otism which it was your care to instil into my youthful mind, and for which I am now to offer up my life ! My Lords, you seem impatient for the sacri- fice. The blood for which your thirst is not congealed by the artificial terrors which surround your victim ; — it circulates, warmly and unruf- fled, through the channels which God created for nobler purposes, but which you are bent to destroy, for purposes so grievous that they cry to Heaven. Be ye patient ! I have but a few words more to say. I am going to my cold and silent grave. My lamp of life is nearly extin- guished. My race is run. The grave opens to receive me, — and I sink into its bosom ! I have but one request to ask, at my departure from this world; — it is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my epitaph ; for, as no man who knows my motives dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them Let them and me repose in obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain uninscribed, until other times and other men can do justice to my character. When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, — then, and not till then, — let my epitaph be written ! I have done. . The above speech is given in full, because no subdivision of it could do justice to the orator on this great occasion. It may, of course, be spoken in sections, as divided. An excellent entertainment may be arraneed by costuming the participants in the dress of that day, and arranging the characters — Judges, Jurymen and Court Spectators — on the stage. ^ V/j V n H K NOTED IRISH ORATORS GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 261 GREAT AMERICAN ORATORS. RESISTANCE TO BRITISH AGGRESSION.— Patrick Henry. Patrick Henry was born May 29, 1736, in Hanover County, Virginia. His father was a native of Aber- deen, in Scotland. Patrick's education was scanty, and he entered upon the practice of the law after only six weeks of preparation. But his powers of eloquence were remarkable. He was elected repeatedly to the most important offices in the gift of the People of Virginia. In 1788, he was a member of the Conven- tion which met there to consider the Constitution of the United States, and exerted himself strenuously against its adoption. He died in 1799. The Virginia Convention having before them resolutions of a temporizing character towards Great Britain, March 23, 1775, Mr. Henry introduced others, manly and decided in their tone, and providing that the Colony should be immediately put in a state of defence. These counter resolutions he supported in the following memorable speech, the result of which was their adoption. Of the effect of this speech, Mr. Wirt says, that, when Henry took his seat, at its close, " No murmur of applause was heard. The effect was too deep. After the trance of a moment, several members started from their seats. The cry to arms ! seemed to quiver on every lip, and gleam from every eye. They became impatient of speech. Their souls were on fire for action." MR. PRESIDENT, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of Hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren, till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty ? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern our temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth, — to know the worst, and to pro- vide for it ! I have but one lamp, by which my feet are guided ; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And, judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry, for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House ? Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received ? Trust it not, sir ; it will prove a snare to your feet ! Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss ! Ask yourselves how ^"his gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike prepara- tions which cove 'Mir waters and darken our land. Are fleets , ]d armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be recon- ciled, that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation, — the last arguments to which Kings resort. I ask gentlemen, Sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it ? Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumu- lation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us ; they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them ? — Shall we try argu- ment? Sir, we have been trying that, for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capa- ble ; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble suppli- cation ? What terms shall we find which have not already been exhausted ? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sii, we have done everything that could be done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned, we have remonstrated, we have supplicated, we have prostrated ourselves be- fore the Throne, and have implored its inter- position to arrest the tyrannical hands of the Ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have 262 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. "been slighted, our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult, our supplications have been disregarded, and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the Throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free, — if we mean to preserve invio- THE WAR INEVITABLE, March, 1775. THEY tell us, sir, that we are weak, — un- able to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house ? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction ? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of People, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our late those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending, — if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, — we must fight ; I repeat it, sir, we must fight ! An appeal to arms, and to the God of Hosts, is all that is left us ! -( Continuation of the foregoing. ) — Patrick Henry. battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone ; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery ! Our chains are forged ! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston ! The war is inevitable : and let it come ! I repeat it, sir, let it come ! It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, peace, peace ! — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun ! The next gale that sweeps from the North will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms ! Our brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have ? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God ! I know not what course others may take ; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death ! FOR INDEPENDENCE, \116— Richard Henry Lee. Born 1732. Died 1794. THE time will certainly come when the fated separation between the mother country and these Colonies must take place, whether you will or no ; for so it is decreed by the very nature of things, — by the progressive increase of our population, the fertility of our soil, the extent of our territory, the industry of our countrymen, and the immen- sity of the ocean which separates the two coun- tries. And, if this be true, — as it is most true, — who does not say that the sooner it takes place, the better ; that it would be the height of folly, not to seize the present occasion, when British injustice has filled all hearts with indignation, inspired all minds with courage, united all opin- ions in one, and put arms in every hand ? And how long must we traverse three thousand miles of a stormy sea, to solicit of arrogant and inso- lent men either counsels or commands to regu- late our domestic affairs ? From what we have already achieved, it is easy to presume what we shall hereafter accomplish. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 263 Why do we longer delay, — why still deliber- ate? Let this most happy day give birth to the American Republic. Let her arise, not to •devastate and conquer, but to re-establish the xeign of peace and of the laws. The eyes of Europe are fixed upon us ; she demands of us a living example of freedom, that may contrast, by the felicity of the citizens, with the ever-increas- ing tyranny which desolates her polluted shores. She invites us to prepare an asylum where the unhappy may find solace, and the persecuted repose. She entreats us to cultivate a propitious soil, where that generous plant which first sprang up and grew in England, but is now withered by the poisonous blasts of Scottish tyranny, may revive and flourish, sheltering under its salubri- ous and interminable shade all the unfortunate of the human race. This is the end presaged by so many omens: — by our first victories; by the present ardor and union ; by the flight of Howe, and the pestilence which broke out among Dun- more' s people ; by the very winds which baffled the enemy's fleets and transports, and the terrible tempest which engulfed seven hundred vessels upon the coast of Newfoundland. If we are not this day wanting in our duty to country, the names of the American Legislators will be placed, by posterity, at the side of those of Theseus, of Lycurgus, and Romulus, of Numa, of the three Williams of Nassau, and of all those whose mem- ory has been, and will be, forever dear to virtuous men and good citizens ! THE GENERAL GOVERNMENT AND THE STATES.— Alexander Hamilton. Alexander Hamilton was born in Nevis, one of the West India Islands, in 1757. After some military -experience, he entered upon the study of the law, and rose to great eminence in the Councils of the Nation. With Madison and Jay, he wrote the 4i Federalist," and labored strenuously in behalf of the Constitution. He was the first Secretary of the Treasury of the United States. He was shot by Aaron Burr, in a duel, in 1804. The following speech was delivered in the Convention of New York, on the adoption of the Constitution, 1788. MR. CHAIRMAN, it has been advanced as a principle, that no Government but a Despotism can exist in a very extensive country. This is a mel- ancholy consideration, indeed. If it were founded on truth, we ought to dismiss the idea of a ^Republican Government, even for the State of New York. But the position has been misappre- hended. Its application relates only to demo- cracies, where the body of the people meet to transact business, and where representation is unknown. The application is wrong in respect to all representative Governments, but especially in relation to a Confederacy of States, in which the Supreme Legislature has only general powers, and the civil and domestic concerns of the Peo- ple are regulated by the laws of the several States. I insist that it never can be the interest or desire of the national Legislature to destroy the State Governments. The blow aimed at the members must give a fatal wound to the head, and the destruction of the States must be at once a polit- ical suicide. But imagine, for a moment, that a political frenzy should seize the Government; suppose they should make the attempt. Certain- ly, sir, it would be forever impracticable. This has been sufficiently demonstrated by reason and experience. It has been proved that the mem- bers of Republics have been, and ever will be, stronger than the head. Let us attend to one general historical example. In the ancient feudal Governments of Europe, there were, in the first place, a Monarch ; subor- dinate to him, a body of Nobles ; and subject to these, the vassals, or the whole body of the Peo- ple. The authority of the Kings was limited, and that of the Barons considerably independent. The histories of the feudal wars exhibit little more than a series of successful encroachments on the prerogatives of Monarchy. Here, sir, is one great proof of the superiority which the members in limited Governments pos- sess over their head. As long as the Barons enjoyed the confidence and attachment of the People, they had the strength of the country on their side, and were irresistible. I may be told in some instances the Barons were overcome : but how did this happen ? Sir, they took advan- 264 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. rage of the depression of the royal authority, and the establishment of their own power, to oppress and tyrannize over their vassals. As commerce enlarged, and wealth and civilization increased, the People began to feel their own weight and consequence ; they grew tired of their oppres- sions ; united their strength with that of their Prince, and threw off the yolk of Aristocracy. These very instances prove what I contend for. They prove that in whatever direction the popular weight leans, the current of power will flow ; whatever the popular attachments; be, there will rest the political superiority. Sir, can it be supposed that the State Gov- ernments will become the oppressors of the People? Will they forfeit their affections?' Will they combine to destroy the liberties and happiness of their fellow-citizens, for the sole purpose of involving themselves in ruin ? God forbid ! The idea, sir, is shocking ! It outrages every feeling of humanity, and every dictate of common sense ! THE BIRTHDAY OF WASHINGTON THE birthday of the " Father of his Country ! ' ' May it ever be freshly remembered by American hearts ! May it ever re awaken in them in filial vener- ation for his memory ; ever rekindle the fires of patriotic regard to the country he loved so well ; to which he gave his youthful vigor and his youthful energy, during the perilous period of the early Indian warfare ; to which he devoted his life, in the maturity of his powers, in the field ; to which again he offered the counsels of his wisdom and his experience, as President of the Convention that framed our Constitution ; which he guided and directed while in the Chair of State, and for which the last prayer of his earthly supplication was offered up, when it came the moment for him so well, and so grandly, and so calmly, to die. He was the first man of the time in which he grew. His memory is first and most sacred in our love ; and ever hereafter, till the last drop of blood shall freeze in the last American heart, his name shall be a spell of power and might. Yes, gentlemen, there is one personal, one vast felicity, which no man can share with him. It was the daily beauty and towering and match- less glory of his life, which enabled him to create his country, and, at the same time, secure an undying love and regard from the whole Ameri- can people. "The first in the hearts of his countrymen ! ' ' Yes, first ! He has our first and most fervent love. Undoubtedly there were Rufus Choate. Born 1799. Died 1858. brave and wise and good men, before his. day, in every colony. But the American Nation, as a Nation, I do not reckon tr> have begun before 1774. And the first love of that young America was Washington. The first word she lisped was his name. Her earliest breath spoke it. It still is her proud- ejaculation ; and it will be the last gasp of her expiring life ! Yes, Others of our great men have been appre- ciated, — many admired by all. But him we love. Him we all love. About and around him we call up no dissentient and discordant and dissatis- fied elements, — no sectional prejudice nor bias,. — no party, no creed, no dogma of politics. None of these shall assail him. Yes. When the storm of battle blows darkest and rages highest r the memory of Washington shall nerve every American arm, and cheer every American heart. It shall relume that Promethean fire, that sub- lime flame of patriotism, that devoted love of country, which his words have commended, which his example has consecrated. Well did Lo^ 1 Byron write : " Where may the wearied eye repose, When gazing on the great, Where neither guilty glory glows, Nor despicable state ? — Yes — one — the first, the last, the best, The Cincinnatus of the West, Whom Envy dared not hate, Bequeathed the name of Washington, To make man blush, there was but one. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 265 SANCTITY OF TREATIES, 1796.— Fisher Ames, Fisher Ames, one of the most eloquent of American Statesmen and writers, was born in Dedham, Massachusetts, 1758, and died July 4. 1808. He was 2 member of Congress during the eight years of Wash- ington's administration, of which he was the earnest and able champion. ~*W ~T"E are either to execute this treaty, \ A / or b rea k our faith. To expatiate on m V the value of public faith may pass with some men for declamation : to such men I have nothing to say. What is patriotism ? Is it a narrow affection for a spot where a man was born ? Are the very clods where we tread entitled to this ardent pre- ference, because they are greener ? No, sir ; this is not the character of the virtue. It soars higher for its object. It is an extended self-love, mingling with all the enjoyments of life, and twisting itself with the minutest filaments of the heart. It is thus we obey the laws of society, because they are the laws of virtue. In their authority we see, not the array of force and terror, but the venerable image of our country's honor. Every good citizen makes that honor his own, and cherishes it, not only as precious, but as sacred. He is willing to risk his life in its defence, and is conscious that he gains protec- tion while he gives it. What rights of a citizen will be deemed invio- lable, when a State renounces the principles that, constitute their security? Or, if his life should not be invaded, what would its enjoyments be, in a country odious in the eye of strangers, and dishonored in his own? Could he look with affection and veneration to such a country, as his parent ? The sense of having one would die within him ; he would blush for his patriotism, if he retained any, — and justly, for it would be a vice. He would be a banished man in his native land. I see no exception to the respect that is paid among Nations to the law of good faith. It is the philosophy of politics, the religion of Governments. It is observed by barbarians. A whiff of tobacco smoke, or a string of beads, gives not merely binding force, but sanctity, to treaties. Even in Algiers, a truce may be bought for money ; but when ratified, even Algiers is too wise, or too just, to disown and annul its obli- gation. THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.-/. Q. Adams. John Quincy Adams, the sixth President of the United States, and son of John Adams, the second President, was born at Quincy, Massachusetts, July ir, 1767. After studying law he entered political life, was appointed minister to the Netherlands by Washington, and filled many high offices, till he reached the highest, in 1825. He died in the Capitol, at Washington, while a member of the House of Representatives, j 848. His last words, as he fell in a fit, from which he did not recover, were, "This is the last of earth ! " THE Declaration of Independence ! The interest which, in that paper, has sur- vived the occasion upon which it was issued, — the interest which is of every age and every clime, — the interest which quick- ens with the lapse of years, spreads as it grows old, and brightens as it recedes, — is in the prin- ciples which it proclaims. It was the first solemn declaration by a Nation of the only legiti- mate foundation of civil Government. It was the corner-stone of a new fabric, destined to cover the surface of the globe. It demolished, at a stroke, the lawfulness of all Governments founded upon conquest. It swept away all the rubbish of accumulated centuries of servitude. It announced, in practical form, to the world, the transcendent truth of the inalienable sover- eignty of the People. It proved that the social compact was no figment of the imagination, but a real, solid, and sacred bond of the social union. From the day of this declaration, the People of North America were no longer the fragment of a distant empire, imploring justice and mercy from an inexorable master, in another hemis- phere. They were no longer children, appealing in vain to the sympathies of a heartless mother ; no longer subjects, leaning upon the shattered columns of royal promises, and invoking the faith . 266 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. of parchment to secure their rights. They were a Nation, asserting as of right, and maintaining by war, its own existence. A Nation was born in a day. " How many ages hence Shall this, their lofty scene, be acted o'er, In States unborn, and accents yet unknown ? " It will be acted o'er, fellow-citizens, but it can never be repeated. It stands, and must forever stand, alone ; a beacon on the summit of the mountain, to which all the inhabitants of the earth may turn their eyes, for a genial and saving light, till time shall be lost in eternity and this globe itself dissolve, nor leave a wreck behind. It stands forever, a light of admonition to the rulers of men, a light of salvation and redemption to the oppressed. So long as this planet shall be inhabited by human beings, so long as man shall be of a social nature, so long as Government shall be necessary to the great moral purposes of society so long as it shall be abused to the purposes of oppression, — so long shall this declaration hold out, to the sover- eign and to the subject, the extent and the bound- aries of their respective rights and duties, founded in the laws of Nature and of Nature's God. BRITISH INFLUENCE, \&\\.—John Randolph. Born 1773. Died 1S33. John Randolph, an eccentric Statesman, but a man of marked talents, was a Virginian by birth, and a descendant, in the seventh generation, from the celebrated Pocahontas, the daughter of Powhatan, a great Indian chief. IMPUTATIONS of British influence have been uttered against the opponents of this war. Against whom are these charges brought ? Against men who, in the war of the Revolution, were in the Councils of the Nation, or fighting the battles of your country ! And by whom are these charges made? By run- aways, chiefly from the British dominions, since the breaking out of the French troubles. The great autocrat of all the Russias receives the hom- age of our high consideration. The Dey of Algiers and his divan of Pirates are very civil, good sort of people, with whom we find no diffi- culty in maintaining the relations of peace and amity. ''Turks, Jews and Infidels," — Meli- melli or the Little Turtle, — barbarians and sav- ages of every clime and color, are welcome to our arms. With chiefs of banditti, negro or mulatto, we can treat and can trade. Name, however, but England, and all our antipathies are up in arms against her. Against whom? Against those whose blood runs in our veins ; in common with whom we claim Shakespeare, and Newton, and Chatham, for our countrymen ; whose form of government is the freest on earth, our own only excepted ; from whom every valu- able principle of our own institutions has been borrowed, — representation, jury trial, voting the . supplies, writ of habeas corpus, our whole civil and criminal jurisprudence ; against our fellow- Protestants, identified in blood, in language, in religion, with ourselves. In what school did the worthies of our land — the Washingtons, Henrys, Hancocks, Franklins, Rutledges, of America — learn those principles of civil liberty which were so nobly asserted by their wisdom and valor? American resistance to British usurpation has not been more warmly cherished by these great men and their compa- triots, — not more by Washington, Hancock and Henry, — than by Chatham, and his illustrious associates in the British Parliament. It ought to be remembered, too, that the heart of the English people was with us. It was a selfish and corrupt Ministry, and their servile tools, to whom we were not more opposed than they were. I trust that none such may ever exist among us ; for tools will never be wanting to subserve the pur- poses, however ruinous or wicked, of kings and ministers of state. I acknowledge the influence of a Shakespeare and a Milton upon my imagina- tion ; of a Locke, upon my understanding ; of a Sidney, upon my political principles ; of a Chat- ham, upon qualities which would to God I pos- sessed in common with that illustrious man ! of a Tillotson, a Sherlock, and a Porteus, upon my religion. This is a British influence which I can never shake off. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 267 ^T\ IN FAVOR OF A STATE LAW AGAINST DUELLING.-/^ Randolph. HE bill which has been read, Mr. Speaker, claims the serious attention of this House. It is one in which every citi- zen is deeply interested. Do not, I implore you, confound the sacred name of honor with the practice of duelling, — with that ferocious prejudice which attaches all the virtues to the point of the sword, and is only fitted to make oad men bold. In what does this prejudice consist? In an opinion the most extravagant and barbarous that ever took possession of the human mind ! — in the opinion that all the social duties are supplied by courage ; that a man is no more a cheat, no more a rascal, no more a cal- umniator, if he can only fight ; and that steel and gunpowder are the true diagnostics of inno- cence and worth. And so the law of force is made tfoe law of right ; murder, the criterion of honor ! To grant or receive reparation, one must kill or be killed ! All offences may be wiped out by blood ! If wolves could reason, would they be governed by maxims more atrocious than these ? But we are told that public opinion — the opin- ion of the community in which we live — upholds the custom. And, sir, if it were so, is there not more courage in resisting than in following a false public opinion? The man with a proper •self-respect is little sensitive to the unmerited contempt of others. The smile of his own con- science is more prized by him than all that the world can give or take away. Is there any guilt to be compared with that of a voluntary homicide? Could the dismal recollection of blood so shed cease ever to cry for vengeance at the bottom of the heart ? The man who, with real or affected gayety and coolness, goes to a mortal encounter with a fellow-being, is, in my eyes, an object of more horror than the brute beast who strives to tear in pieces one of his kind. True courage is constant, immutable, self- poised. It does not impel us, at one moment, to brave murder and death ; and, the next, to shrink pusillanimously from an injurious public opinion. It accompanies the good man every- where, — to the field of danger, in his country's cause ; to the social circle, to lift his voice in behalf of truth or of the absent ; to the pillow of disease, to fortify him against the trials of sick- ness, and the approach of death. Sir, if public opinion is unsound on this subject, let us not be participants in the guilt of upholding a barbarous custom. Let us affix to it the brand of legisla- tive rebuke and disqualification. Pass this bill and you do your part in arresting it. Pass this bill, and you place a shield between the man who refuses a challenge and the public opinion that would disgrace him. ON RECOGNIZING THE INDEPENDENCE OF GREECE, \S2A-.-Henry Clay. Henry Clay was born in Virginia, April 12, 1777. Died at Washington, June, 1852. He served success- ively in the Kentucky Legislature, State Senate, United States House of Representatives and Senate ; and was one of the four candidates for President in 1824, and also a candidate in 1844, being defeated both times. As an orator, Mr. Clay is, perhaps, second only to his great contemporary, Daniel Webster, in the history of American politics. ARE we so low, so base, so despicable, that we may not express our horror, articulate our detestation, of the most brutal and atrocious war that ever .stained the earth, or shocked high Heaven, with the ferocious deeds of a brutal soldiery, set on by the clergy and followers of a fanatical and inimi- cal religion, rioting in excess of blood and butch- ery, at the mere details of which the heart sick- ens ; If the great mass of Christendom can look coolly and calmly on, while all this is perpetrated on a Christian People, in their own vicinity, in their very presence, let us, at least, show that, in this distant extremity, there is still some sensibility and sympathy for Christian wrongs and sufferings ; that there are still feelings which can kindle into indigna- tion at the oppression of a People endeared 26S GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. to us by ever}- ancient recollection, and eveiy modern tie. But, sir, it is not first and chiefly for Greece that I wish to see this measure adopted. It will give them but little aid, — that aid purely of a moral kind. It is, indeed, soothing and solacing, in distress, to hear the accents of a friendly voice. We know this as a People. But, sir, it is prin- cipally and mainly for America herself, for the credit and character of our common country, that I hope to see this resolution pass ; it is for our own unsullied name that I feel. "What appearance, sir, on the page of history, would a record like this make : — "In the month of January, in the year of our Lord and Saviour 1824, while all European Christendom beheld with cold, unfeeling apathy the unexampled wrongs and inexpressible misery of Christian Greece, a proposition was made in the Congress of the United States, — almost the sole, the last, the greatest repository of human hope and of human freedom, the representatives of a Nation capable of bringing into the field a million of bayonets, — while the freemen of that nation were spontaneously expressing its deep-toned feeling, its fervent prayer for Grecian success ; while the whole Continent was rising, by one simultaneous motion, solemnly and anxiously supplicating ancF invoking the aid of Heaven to spare Greece, and to invigorate her arms ; while temples and senate - houses will be resounding with one burst of gen- erous sympathy; — in the year of our Lord and Saviour, — that Saviour alike of Christian Greece and of us, a proposition was offered in the American Congress, to send a messenger to Greece, to inquire into her state and condition, with an expression of our good wishes and our svmpathies ; — and it was rejected ! " Go home, if you dare, — go home, if you can, — to your constituents, and tell them that you voted it down ! Meet, if you dare, the appall- ing countenances of those who sent you here, and tell them that you shrank from the declaration of your own sentiments ; that, you cannot tell how, but that some unknown dread, some indescrib- able apprehension, some indefinable danger, affrighted you ; that the spectres of cimeters and crowns, and crescents, gleamed before you, and alarmed you ; and that you suppressed all the noble feelings prompted by religion, by liberty, by National independence, and by humanity ! I cannot bring myself to believe that such will be the feeling of a majority of" this House. ON THE EXPUNGING RESOLUTION, 1837.— Henry Clay. The Senate having, in 1S34, passed resolutions to the effect that President Jackson had assumed and exercised powers not granted by the Constitution, notice was given of a motion to expunge the same, which motion was taken complexion. up and carried in 1S37, when the majority of the Senate was of a different party "Y~ "T^HAT patriotic purpose is to be accom- \ i plished by this expunging reso- A^JL_ lution? Can you make that not to be which has been ? Can you eradi- cate from memory and history the fact that, in March, 1834, a majority of the Senate of the United States passed the resolution which excites your enmitv ? Is it your vain and wicked object to arrogate to yourselves that power of annihilating the past which has been denied to Omnipotence itself? Do you intend to thrust your hands into our hearts, and to pluck out the deeply-rooted convictions which are there? Or, is it your design merely to stigmatize us? You cannot stigmatize us! " Ne'er yet did base dishonor blur our name." Standing securely upon our conscious rectitude, and bearing aloft the shield of the Constitution- of our country, your puny efforts are impotent; and we defy all your power ! But why should I detain the Senate, or need- lessly waste my breath in fruitless exertions ? The decree has gone forth. It is one of urgency, too. The deed is to be done, — that foul deed, which, like the stain on the hands of the guilty Macbeth, all ocean's waters will never wash out. Proceed, then, to the noble work which lies, before you ; and, like other skillful executioners, do it quickly. And, when you have perpetrated STEPHEN A. DOUGLAS. SIR ROBERT WALPOLE, English Orator, Statesman, and Prime Minister LORD THOMAS B. MACAULAY, Scholar, Poet, Historian, and Orator. C e* CHARLES JAMES FOX, M WILLIAM PITT (The younger), The Demosthenes of the English Parliament. ^Eminent Orator and^^Mmi^ster^f England at the £ GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 269 it, go hjme to the People, and tell them what glorious honors you have achieved for our com- mon country. Tell them that you have extinguished one of the brightest and purest lights that ever burnt at the altar of civil liberty. Tell them that you have silenced one of the noblest batteries that ever thundered in defence of the Constitution, and that you have bravely spiked the cannon. Tell them that, henceforward, no matter what daring or outrageous act any President may per- form, you have forever hermetically sealed the mouth of the Senate. Tell them that he may fearlessly assume what power he pleases, — snatch from its lawful custody the Public Purse, com- mand a military detachment to enter the halls of the Capitol, overawe Congress, trample down the Constitution, and raze every bulwark of free- dom, — but that the Senate must stand mute, in silent submission, and not dare to lift an oppos- ing voice; that it must wait until a House of Representatives, humbled and subdued like itself, and a majority of it composed of the partisans of the President, shall prefer articles of impeach- ment. Tell them, finally, that you have restored the glorious doctrine of passive obedience and non-resistance ; and, when you have told them this, if the People do not sweep you from your places with their indignation, I have yet to learn the character of American freemen ! ON THE PROSPECT OF WAR WITH GREAT BRITAIN, 1811.— John C. Calhoun. John C. Calhoun, born in South Carolina, March, 1782 ; died at Washington in 1S50. A distinguished American statesman and orator, contemporary with Clay and Webster, both of whom he at times opposed in politics. He served as Vice-President with General Jackson, but resigned on account of his differences with the President. He is commonly considered as the father of secession, and it is not to be doubted that his radical views on State sovereignty contributed much toward fanning the name which later burst into open revolt of the Southern States. As an orator Calhoun's powers were great, and his varied accomplish- ments were equal to those of any statesman of his time. ¥ "T"E are told of the danger of war. We \ A / are ready to acknowledge its hazard ML \L and misfortune, but I cannot think that we have any extraordinary dan- ger to apprehend, — at least, none to warrant an acquiescence in the injuries we have received. On the contrary, I believe no war would be less danger- ous to internal peace, or the safety of the country. The gentleman is at a loss to account for what lie calls our hatred to England. He asks, How can we hate the country of Locke, of Newton, Hampden and Chatham ; a country having the same language and customs with ourselves, and ■descended from a common ancestry ? Sir, the laws of human affections are steady and uniform. If we have so much to attach us to that country, powerful, indeed, must be the cause which has overpowered it. Yes, sir ; there is a cause strong enough. Not that occult, courtly affec- tion which he has supposed to be entertained for France ; but continued and unprovoked insult and injury, — a cause so manifest, that the gentle- man had to exert much ingenuity to overlook it. But, in his eager admiration of that country, he has not been sufficiently guarded in his argu- ment. Has he reflected on the cause of that ad- miration ? Has he examined the reasons of our high regard for her Chatham ? It is his ardent patriotism, his heroic courage, which could not brook the least insult or injury offered to his coun- try, but thought that her interest and honor ought to be vindicated, be the hazard and expense what they might. I hope, when we are called on to admire, we shall also be asked to imitate. THE NOBLEST PUBLIC VIRTUE, 1841.— Henry Clay. THERE is a sort of courage, which, I frankly confess it, I do not possess, — a boldness to which I dare not aspire, a valor which I cannot covet. I cannot lay myself down in the way of the welfare and happiness of my country. That, 1 cannot, — I have not the courage to do. I cannot interpose the power with which I may be invested — a power conferred, not for my personal benefit, nor for my aggrandizement, but for my country's 270 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. good — to check her onward march to greatness and glory. I have not courage enough. I am too cowardly for that. I would not, I dare not, in the exercise of such a threat, lie down, and place my body across the path that leads my country to prosperity and happiness. This is a sort of courage widely different from that which a man may display in his private conduct and personal relations. Personal or private courage is totally distinct from that higher and nobler courage which prompts the patriot to offer himself a voluntary sacrifice to his country's good. Apprehensions of the imputation of the want of firmness sometimes impel us to perform rash and inconsiderate acts. It is the greatest courage to be able to bear the imputation of the want of courage. But pride, vanity, egotism, so unami- able and offensive in private life, are vices which partake of the character of crimes, in the conduct AGAINST THE FORCE IT is said that the bill ought to pass, because the law must be enforced. The law must be enforced 7 The imperial edict must be executed! It is under such sophistry, couched in general terms, without looking to the limitations which must ever exist in the practical exercise of power, that the most cruel end despotic acts ever have been covered. It was such sophistry as this that cast Daniel into the lions' den, and the three Innocents into the fiery furnace. Under the same sophistry the bloody edicts of Nero and Ca-lig'-u-la were executed. The law must be enforced! Yes, the act imposing the tea-tax ' ' must be exe- cuted." This was the very argument which impelled Lord North and his administration in that mad career which forever separated us from the British Crown. Under a similar sophistry, ' ' that religion must be protected, ' ' how many massacres have been perpetrated, and how many martyrs have been tied to the stake ! What ! acting on this vague abstraction, are you prepared to enforce a law, without considering whether it be just or unjust, constitutional or unconstitutional? Will you of public affairs. The unfortunate victim of these passions cannot see beyond the little, petty r contemptible circle of his own personal interests. All his thoughts are withdrawn from his country, and concentrated on his consistency, his firmness, himself! The high, the exalted, the sublime emotions of a patriotism which, soaring towards Heaven, rises far above all mean, low, or selfish things, and is absorbed by one soul-transporting thought of the good and the glory of one's country, are never felt in his impenetrable bosom. That patriotism which, catching its inspirations from the immortal God, and, leaving at an immeasurable distance below all lesser, grovelling, personal interests and feelings, animates and prompts to deeds of self-sacrifice, of valor, of devotion, and of death itself, — that is public virtue ; that is the noblest, the sublimest of all. public virtues ! BILL, 1833.— John C. Calhoun. collect money when it is acknowledged that it is not wanted ? He who earns the money, who digs it from the earth with the sweat of his brow, has a just title to it, against the universe. No one has a right to touch it without his consent, except his government, and that only to the extent of its legitimate wants ; — to take more is robbery ; and you purpose by this bill to enforce robbery by murder. Yes ! to this result you must come, by this miserable sophistry, this vague abstraction of enforcing the law, without a regard to the fact whether the law be just or unjust, constitutional or un- constitutional ! In the same spirit we are told that the Union must be preserved, without regard to the means. And how is it proposed to preserve the Union ?' By force. Does any man in his senses, believe that this beautiful structure, this harmonious aggregate of States, produced by the joint con- sent of all, can be preserved by force ? Its very- introduction would be the certain destruction of this Federal Union. No, no ! You cannot keep the States united in their constitutional and fed- eral bonds by force. Has reason fled from our GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 271. "borders ? Have we ceased to reflect ? It is madness to suppose that the Union can be pre- served by force. I tell you, plainly, that the Bill, should it pass, cannot be enforced. It will prove only a blot upon your statute-book, a reproach to the year, and a disgrace to the American Senate. I repeat that it will not be executed ; it will rouse the dormant spirit of the People, and open their eyes to the approach of despotism. The country has sunk into avarice and political corruption, from which nothing can arouse it but some measure on the part of the Government, of folly and madness, such as that now under consideration. SYMPATHY WITH SOUTH AMERICAN REPUBLICANISM, \823.- Webster. Daniel Webster — born in New Hampshire, 1782 ; died October 24, 1852 — is universally acknowledged to have been the greatest orator that ever lived in the Western Hemisphere. Less vehement than Calhoun, less persuasive than Clay, he was more grand and powerful than either. The public speeches and distin- guished services of Mr. Webster have been extensively published. Lack of space prevents the numerous extracts we should be pleased to insert. The selections made are representative of the sentiment of the man and style of his oratory. ~T~ "T"E are told that the country is deluded \ A / and deceived by cabalistic words. _JL jL Cabalistic words ! If we express an emotion of pleasure at the results of this great action of the spirit of political liberty ; if we rejoice at the birth of new republican Nations, we happen to speak of sister Republics, of the great American family of Nations, or of the political systems and forms of Government of this hemisphere, — then, indeed, do we impose on the judgment and feeling of the community by cabalistic words ! Sir, what is meant by this ? Is it intended that the People of the United States ought to be totally indifferent to the for- tunes of these new neighbors ? Is no change in the lights in which we are to view them, to be wrought, by their having thrown off foreign dominion, established independence, and insti- tuted, on our very borders, republican Govern- ments, essentially after our own example ? Sir, I do not wish to overrate — I do not over- rate — the progress of these new States, in the great work of establishing a well- secured popular liberty. I know that to be a great attainment, and I know they are but pupils in the school. But, thank God, they are in the school ! They are called to meet difficulties such as neither we nor our fathers encountered. For these we ought to make large allowances. What have we ever known like the colonial vassalage of these States? Sir, we sprang from another stock. We belong to another race. We have known nothing — we have felt nothing — of the political despotism of Spain, nor of the heat of her fires of in- tolerance. No rational man expects that the South can run the same rapid career as the North, or that an insurgent province of Spain is in the same condition as the English Colonies when they first asserted their independence. There is. doubtless, much more to be done in the first than in the last case. But, on that account, the honor of the attempt is not less ; and, if all diffi- culties shall be, in time, surmounted, it will be greater. The work may be more arduous, — it is not less noble, — because there may be more of ignorance to enlighten, more of bigotry to subdue, more of prejudice to eradicate. If it be a weak- ness to feel a strong interest in the success of these great revolutions, I confess myself guilty of" that weakness. If it be weak to feel that I am an American, — to think that recent events have not only opened new modes of intercourse but have created, also, new grounds of regard and sympathy, between ourselves and our neighbors : if it be weak to feel that the South, in her pres- ent state, is somewhat more emphatically a part: of America than when she lay, obscure, oppressed, and unknown, under the grinding bondage of a foreign power ; if it be weak to rejoice when r even in any corner of the earth, human beings are able to get up from beneath oppression, — to erect themselves, and to enjoy the proper hap- piness of their intelligent nature, — if this be weak, it is a weakness from which I claim no exemption. :272 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. SOUTH CAROLINA AND MASSACHUSETTS, January, 1830.— Webster. The two following passages by Mr. Webster are from his speeches in reply to Mr. Hayne, of South Carolina, in the Senate of the United States, January, 1830. This celebrated intellectual combat, between these distinguished men, grew out of a Resolution offered by Mr. Foote, directing the committee on Public Lands to inquire into the quantity of the public lands remaining unsold, and other matters connected there- with. This resolution afforded a text for a very irrelevant debate. Of the irrelevancy of Mr. Hayne's remarks, Mr. Webster said: " He has spoken of everything but the public lands. They have escaped his notice. To that subject, in all his excursions, he has not even paid the cold respect of a passing glance." Mr. Hayne had affirmed the right of the State to annul the Acts of Congress, had assailed New England, and provoked Mr. Webster by caustic personalities. This reply and great argument by Mr. Webster, in defense of the Union and the Constitution, was probably the most remarkable speech ever made in the American Congress. His peroration, comprised in the last paragraph, second division, for patriotic eloquence has not a counterpart, perhaps, in all history. The speech is the more remarkable for the fact that Mr. Webster had but a single night in which to make preparation. spring up beyond the little limits of my own State or neighborhood ; when I refuse, for any such cause, or for any cause, the homage due to American talent, to elevated patriotism, to sin- cere devotion to liberty and the country ; or, if I see an uncommon endowment of heaven, — if I see extraordinary capacity and virtue in any son of the South, — and if, moved by local prejudice, or gangrened by State jealousy, I get up here to abate the tithe of a hair from his just character and just fame, may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth ! Sir, let me recur to pleasing recollections ; let me indulge in refreshing remembrance of the past ; let me remind you that, in early times, no States cherished greater harmony, both of prin- ciple and feeling, than Massachusetts and South Carolina. Would to God that harmony might again return ! Shoulder to shoulder they went through the Revolution, hand in hand they stood round the administration of Washington, and felt his own great arm lean on them for sup- port. Unkind feeling, if it exist, — alienation and distrust, — are the growth, unnatural to such soils, of false principles since sown. They are weeds, the seeds of which that same great arm never scattered. Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts ; — she needs none. There she is, — behold her, and judge for yourselves. There is her history, — the world knows it by- heart. The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bun- ker Hill, — and there they will remain forever. The bones of her sons, fallen in the great strug- THE eulogium pronounced on the char- acter of the State of South Carolina, by the honorable gentleman, for her Revolutionary and other merits, meets ray hearty concurrence. I shall not acknowl- edge that the honorable member goes before me in regard for whatever of distinguished talent or distinguished character South Carolina has pro- •duced. I claim part of the honor, I partake in the pride of her great names. I claim them for •countrymen, one and all. The Laurenses, the Hutledges, the Pinckneys, the Sumpters, the 'Marions, — Americans all, — whose fame is no ■mure to be hemmed in by State lines, than their talents and patriotism were capable of being cir- cumscribed within the same narrow limits. In their day and generation, they served and hon- ored the country, and the whole country ; and their renown is of the treasures of the whole country. Him whose honored name the gen- tleman himself bears, — does he suppose me less •capable of gratitude for his patriotism, or sym- pathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes had first opened upon the light in Massachusetts, in- stead of South Carolina ? Sir, does he suppose it is in his power to exhibit a Carolina name so bright as to produce envy in my bosom ? No, sir ; increased gratification and delight, rather. Sir, I thank God, that, if I am gifted with little of the spirit which is said to be able to raise mortals to the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that other spirit, which would drag angels down. When I shall be found, sir, in my place here, in the Senate, or elsewhere, to sneer at public merit, because it happened to GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 273 gle for Independence, now lie mingled with the soil of every State from New England to Geor- gia, — and there they will lie forever. And, sir, where American liberty raised its first voice, .and where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives, in the strength of its man- hood, and full of its original spirit. If discord .and disunion shall wound it, — if party strife and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it, — if folly and madness, if uneasiness under salutary and necessary restraints, shall succeed to separate it from that Union by which alone its existence is made sure, — it will stand, in the end, by the side of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked ; it will stretch forth its arm, with what- ever vigor it may still retain, over the friends who gather round it ; and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amidst the proudest monuments of its own glory, and on the very spot of its origin ! LIBERTY AND UNION, 1S30.— Webster. {Continuation of the foregoing.) I PROFESS, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our Federal Union. It is to that Union we owe our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that Union we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our country. That Union we reached only by the discipline of our virtues, in the severe school of adversity. ' It had its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influences, these great interests imme- diately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its •duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings ; and although our terri- tory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread further and further, they have not outran its protection, or its benefits. It has been to us all a copious fountain of national, social, personal happiness. I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the Union to see what might lie hidden in the thrust me between the gentleman from Missouri and himself, in order to rescue the East from the contest it has provoked with the West, he shall not be gratified. Sir, I will not be dragged into the defence of my friend from Missouri. The South shall not be forced into a conflict not its own. ' The gentleman from Missouri is able to fight his own battles. The gallant West needs no aid from the South to repel any attack which may be made on them from any quarter. Let the gen- tleman from Massachusetts controvert the facts and arguments of the gentleman from Missouri, if he can ; and, if he win the victory, let him wear the honors. I shall not deprive him of his laurels- WAR OF 1812.— Hayne, 1830. the foregoing. ) the value of their interests involved in it, they would have found that they had everything to* loose, and nothing to gain. But, sir, with that generous devotion to coun- try so characteristic of the South, they only- asked if the rights of any portion of their fellow- citizens had been invaded ; and when told that Northern ships and New England seamen had been arrested on the common highway of Na- tions, they felt that the honor of their country was assailed ; and, acting on that exalted senti- ment "which feels a stain like a wound," they resolved to seek, in open war, for a redress of GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 275 those injuries which it did not become freemen to endure. Sir, the whole South, animated as by a common impulse, cordially united in declar- ing and promoting that war. South Carolina sent to your councils, as the advocates and sup- porters of that war, the noblest of her sons. How they fulfilled that trust, let a grateful country tell. Not a measure was adopted, not a battle fought, not a victory won, which contrib- uted, in any degree, to the success of that war, to which Southern councils and Southern valor did not largely contribute. Sir, since South Carolina is assailed, I must be suffered to speak it to her praise, that at the very moment when, in one quarter we heard it solemnly proclaimed ' ' that it did not become a religious and moral People to rejoice at the victories of our Army or our Navy, ' ' her Legislature unanimously " Resolved, That we will cordially support the Government in the vigorous prosecution of the war, until a peace can be obtained on honorable terms; and we will cheerfully submit to every pri- vation that may be required of us, by our Govern- ment, for the accomplishment of this object. ' ' South Carolina redeemed that pledge. She threw open her treasury to the Government. She put at the absolute disposal of the officers of the United States all that she possessed, — her men, her money, and her arms. She appropri- ated half a million dollars, on her own account, in defence of her maritime frontier ; ordered a brigade of State troops to be raised ; and, when left to protect herself by her own means, never suffered the enemy to touch her soil, without being instantly driven off or captured. Such, sir, was the conduct of the South — such the con- duct of my own State — in that dark hour " which tried men's souls ! " BURR AND BLENNERHASSETT.— William Wirt. William Wirt, one of the brightest ornaments of the American bar, was born at Bladensburg, Maryland, November 8, 1772. The most memorable case in which his talents as an advocate were exercised was the celebrated trial of Aaron Burr, in 1807, for treason, in which Wirt was retained as counsel for the Govern- ment. His exquisite description of the temptation of Blennerhassett by Burr is a most graceful and masterly specimen of forensic art. In 1817 Mr. Wirt was appointed Attorney-General of the United States. He died February iS, 1834. A PLAIN man, who knew nothing of the curious transmutations which the wit of man can work, would be very apt to wonder by what kind of legerde- main Aaron Burr had contrived to shuffle himself down to the bottom of the pack, as an acces- sory, and turn up poor Blennerhassett as princi- pal, in this treason. Who, then, is Aaron Burr, and what the part which he has borne in this transaction ? He is its author, its projector, its active executor. Bold, ardent, restless, and as- piring, his brain conceived it, his hand brought it into action. Who is Blennerhassett ? A native of Ireland, a man of letters, who fled from the storms of his own country, to find quiet in ours. On his ar- rival in America, he retired, even from the popu- lation of the Atlantic States, and sought quiet and solitude in the bosom of our western forests. But he brought with him taste, and science, and wealth ; and " lo, the desert smiled !" Possess- ing himself of a beautiful island in the Ohio, he rears upon it a palace, and decorates it with every romantic embellishment of fancy. A shrubbery, that Shenstone might have envied, blooms around him. Music, that might have charmed Calypso and her nymphs, is his. An extensive library spreads its treasures before him. A philosophical apparatus offers to him all the secrets and mysteries of nature. Peace, tran- quillity, and innocence, shed their mingled de- lights around him. And, to crown the enchant- ment of the scene, a wife, who is said to be lovely even beyond her sex, and graced with every accomplishment that can render it irre- sistible, had blessed him with her love, and made him the father of several children. The evidence would convince you, sir, that this is but a faint picture of the real life. In the midst of all this peace, this innocence, and this, tranquillity, — this feast of the mind, this pure banquet of the heart, — the destroyer comes. 276 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. He comes to turn this paradise into a hell. Yet the flowers do not wither at his approach, and no monitory shuddering through the bosom of their unfortunate possessor warns him of the ruin that is coming upon him. A stranger pre- sents himself. It is Aaron Burr. Introduced to their civilities by the high rank which he had lately held in his country, he soon finds his way to their hearts, by the dignity and elegance of his de- meanor, the light and beauty of his conversation, and the seductive and fascinating power of his address. The conquest was not difficult. Inno- cence is ever simple and credulous. Conscious of no designs itself, it suspects none in others. It wears no guard before its breast. Every door and portal and avenue of the heart is thrown open, and all who choose it enter. Such was the state of Eden, when the serpent entered its bowers! The prisoner, in a more engaging form, wind- ing himself inio the open and unpracticed heart of the unfortunate Blennerhassett, found but little difficulty in changing the native character of that heart and the object of its affection. By de- grees, he infuses into it the poison of his own ambition. He breathes into it the fire of his own courage ; a daring and desperate thirst for glory ; an ardor, panting for all the storm, and bustle, and hurricane of life. In a short time, the whole man is changed, and every object of his former delight relinquished. No more he enjoys the tranquil scene ; it has become flat and insipid to his taste. His books are aban- doned. His retort and crucible are thrown aside. His shrubbery blooms and breathes its fragrance upon the air in vain — he likes it not. His ear no longer drinks the rich melody of music ; it longs for the trumpet's clangor, and the cannon's roar. Even the prattle of his babes, once so sweet, no longer affects him ; and the angel smile of his wife, which hitherto touched his bosom with ecstasy so unspeakable, is now unfelt and unseen. Greater objects have taken possession of his soul. His imagination has been dazzled by vis- ions of diadems, and stars, and garters, and titles of nobility. He has been taught to burn with restless emulation at the names of great heroes and conquerors, — of Cromwell, and Caesar, and Bonaparte. His enchanted island is destined soon to relapse into a wilderness ; and, in a few months, we find the tender and beautiful partner of his bosom, whom he lately "permitted not the winds of ' ' summer ' ' to visit too roughly, ' ' — we find her shivering at midnight, on the wintry banks of the Ohio, and mingling her tears with the torrents that froze as they fell. Yet this unfortunate man, thus deluded from his interest and his happiness, — thus seduced from the paths of innocence and peace, — thus confounded in the toils which were deliberately spread for him, and overwhelmed by the master- ing spirit and genius of another, — this man, thus ruined and undone, and made to play a subor- dinate part in this grand drama of guilt and treason, — this man is to be called the principal offender ; while he, by whom he was thus plunged in misery, is comparatively innocent, a mere accessory ! Is this reason ? Is it law ? Is it humanity? Sir, neither the human heart nor the human understanding will bear a perversion so monstrous and absurd, so shocking to the soul ; so revolting to reason ! RELIEF FOR STARVING IRELAND, 1847.— 5. S. Prentiss. S. S. Prentiss was born in Maine, 1808 ; died in Mississippi, 1850. An eminent American orator and lawyer. In early manhood he moved to Mississippi, where he lived from 1832 to the time of his death. In 1837 he was elected to Congress. His reputation as an orator and advocate at the bar was superior to any lawyer in the Southwestern States. ~T~ T^ nave assembled, not to respond to \ A / shouts of triumph from the victori- 1l It ous army of the Union against Mexico in the West, but to answer the cry of want and suffering which comes from the East. The Old World stretches out her arms to the New. The starving parent suppli- cates the young and vigorous child for bread. There lies, upon the other side of the wide Atlantic, a beautiful island, famous in story and jzJZJZsls^C) J 4 -4*x%. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 277 in son^. Its area is not so great as that of the State of Louisiana, while its population is almost haljf that of the Union. It has given to the world more than its share of genius and of greatness. It has been prolific in statesmen, warriors and poets. Its brave and generous sons have fought successfully all battles but their own. In wit and humor it has no equal, while its harp, like its history, moves to tears, by its sweet but melancholy pathos.- Into this fair region God has seen fit to send the most terrible of all those fearful ministers who fulfil his inscrutable decrees. The earth has failed to give her increase ; the common mother has forgotten her offspring, and her breast no longer affords them their accustomed nourishment. Famine, gaunt and ghastly fam- ine, has seized a nation in its strangling grasp ; and unhappy Ireland, in the sad woes of the present, forgets, for a moment, the gloomy history of the past. O ! it is terrible in this beautiful world, which the good God has given us, and in which there is plenty for us all, that men should die of starvation ! You, who see, each day poured into the lap of your city, food sufficient to assuage the hunger of a nation, can form but an imperfect idea of the horrors of famine. In battle, in the fulness of his pride and strength, little recks the soldier whether the hissing bul- let sings his sudden requiem, or the cords of life are severed by the sharp steel. But he who dies of hunger wrestles alone, day after day, with his grim and unrelenting enemy. The blood recedes, the flesh deserts, the muscles relax, and the sinews grow powerless. At last, the mind, which, at first, had bravely nerved itself for the contest, gives way, under the mys- terious influences which govern its union with the body. Then he begins to doubt the existence of an overruling Providence ; he hates his fellow- men, and glares upon them with the longings of a cannibal, and, it may be, dies blaspheming ! Who will hesitate to give his mite to avert such awful results? Surely not the citizens of New Orleans, ever famed for deeds of benevolence and charity. Freely have your hearts and purses opened, heretofore, to the call of suffering humanity. Nobly did you respond to oppress ed Greece and to struggling Poland. Within Erin's borders is an enemy more cruel than the Turk, more tyrannical than the Russian, Bread is the only weapon that can conquer him. Let us, then, load ships with this glorious munition, and, in the name of our common humanity, wage war against this despot Famine. Let us, in God's name, " cast our bread upon the waters," and if we are selfish enough to desire it back again, we may recollect the promise, that it shall return to us after many days. THE VALUE OF THE UNION, 1847.— S. S. Prentiss. ~"Y~ "T"E cannot do with less than the whole % A / Union ; to us it admits of no divis- Ml It ion. In the veins of our children flows northern and southern blood ; how shall it be separated ; who shall put asunder the best affections of the heart, the noblest in- stincts of our nature ? We love the land of our adoption, so do we that of our birth. Let us ever be true to both; and always exert ourselves in maintaining the unity of our country, the in- tegrity of the Republic. Accursed, then, be the hand put forth to loosen the golden cord of Union; thrice accursed the traitorous lips, whether of northern fanatic or southern demagogue, which shall propose its severance. But no ! the Union cannot be dis- solved; its fortunes are too brilliant to be marred ; its destinies too powerful to be resisted. Here will be earth's greatest triumph, its most mighty development. And when the sons of the Pilgrims, still wandering from the bleak hills of the north, shall meet the sons of the cavaliers, and stand together upon the banks of the great river of the south, they will exclaim with min- gled pride and wonder, Lo ! this is our country ; when did the world ever witness so rich and magnificent — so great and glorious a Republic ! A people so free, brave, united, and happy ! 278 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. PUBLIC DISHONESTY.— Henry Ward Beecher. Henry Ward Beecher. Born 1813. Died 1887. A distinguished American preacher and orator, son ol the eminent Dr. Lyman Beecher. Mr. Beecher's fame is known throughout the literary world for breadth of mind, grasp of intellect, innate wit, and burning eloquence. The modern pulpit, perhaps, has not produced the equal of Henry Ward Beecher. A CORRUPT public sentiment produces dishonesty. A public sentiment in which dishonesty is not disgraceful ; in which bad men are respectable, are trusted, are honored, are exalted, is a curse to the young. The fever of speculation, the universal derangement of business, the growing laxness of morals is, to an alarming extent, introducing such a state of things. If the shocking stupidity of the public mind to atrocious dishonesties is not aroused ; if good men do not bestir themselves to drag the young from this foul sorcery ; if the relaxed bands of honesty are not tightened, and conscience tutored to a severer morality, our night is at hand — our midnight not far off. Woe to that guilty people who sit down upon broken laws, and wealth saved by injustice ! Woe to a gen- eration fed by the bread of fraud, whose chil- dren's inheritance shall be a perpetual memento of their father's unrighteousness; to whom dis- honesty shall be made pleasant by association with the revered memories of father, brother, and friend ! But when a whole people, united by a com- mon disregard of justice, conspire to defraud public creditors, and States vie with States in an infamous repudiation of just debts, by open or sinister methods ; and nations exert their sovereignty to protect and dignify the knavery of the commonwealth, then the confusion of domestic affairs has bred a fiend before whose flight honor fades away, and under whose feet the sanctity of truth and the religion of solemn compacts are stamped down and ground into the dirt. Need we ask the cause of growing dishonesty among the young, the increasing untrustworthiness of all agents, when States are seen clothed with the panoply of dis- honesty, and nations put on fraud for their garments ? Absconding agents, swindling schemes, and defalcations, occurring in such melancholy abundance, have at length ceased to be wonders, and rank with the common accidents of fire and flood. The budget of each week is incomplete without its mob and runaway cashier — its duel and defaulter, and as waves which roll to the shore are lost in those which follow on, so the villainies of each week obliterate the record of the last. Men of notorious immorality, whose dis- honesty is flagrant, whose private habits would disgrace the ditch, are powerful and popular. I have seen a man stained with every sin, except those which required courage ; into whose head I do not think a pure thought has entered for forty years ; in whose heart an honorable feeling would droop for very lonli- ness ; in evil, he was ripe and rotten ; hoary and depraved in deed, in word, in his present life and in all his past ; evil when by himself, and viler among men ; corrupting to the young ; to domestic fidelity, recreant ; to common honor, a traitor ; to honesty, an outlaw ; tc religion, a hypocrite — base in all that is worth; of man and accomplished in whatever is dis- graceful, and yet this wretch could go where he would- -enter good men's dwellings and purloin their votes. Men would curse him, yet obey him ; hate him, and assist him ; warn their sons against him, and lead them to the polls for him. A public sentiment which produces ignominious knaves cannot bree- 1 honest men. We have not yet emerged from a period in which debts were insecure ; the debtor legally protected against the rights of the creditor; taxes laid, not by the requirements of justice, but for political effect, and lowered to a dis- honest inefficiency, and when thus diminished, not collected ; the citizens resisting their own officers ; officers resigning at the bidding of GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 279 the electors ; the laws of property paralyzed ; bankrupt laws built up, and stay-laws uncon- stitutionally enacted, upon which the courts look with aversion, yet fear to deny them lest the wildness of popular opinion should roll back EULOGY ON GENERAL Part I. ANOTHER name is added to the roll of those whom the world will not wil- lingly let die. A few years since, storm-clouds filled his heaven, and obloquy, slander and bitter lies rained down upon him. The clouds are all blown away ; under a serene sky General Grant laid down his life and the whole nation wept. The path to his tomb is worn by the feet of innumerable pilgrims. The mildewed lips of slander are silent, and even criticism hesitates lest some incautious word should mar the history of the modest, gentle, magnanimous warrior. The whole nation watched his passage through humiliating misfor- tunes with unfeigned sympathy — the whole world •sighed when his life ended. At his burial the nns worded hands of those whom he had fought lifted his bier and bore him to his tomb with love and reverence. The South had laid the foundation of her indus- try, her commerce, and her very commonwealth upon slavery. It was slavery that inspired her councils, that engorged her philanthropy, that corrupted her political economy and theology, that disturbed all the ways of active politics — broke up sym- pathy between North and South. The hand that fired upon Sumter exploded the mine under the Flood Rock of slavery and opened the way to civilization. The spark that was there kindled ■fjll upon the North like fire upon autumnal prairies. Men came together in the presence of this universal calamity with sudden fusion; the whole land became a military school. But the Northern armies once organized, an amiable folly of conciliation began to show itself. Some peaceable way out of the war was hoped for. disdainfully upon the bench to despoil its dignity and prostrate its power. General suffering has made us tolerant of general dishonesty, and the gloom of our commercial disaster threatens to become the pall of our morals. GRANT.— Henry Ward Beecher. Generals seemed to fight so that no one should be hurt. The South had smelted into a glowing mass ; it believed in its course with an infatua- tion that would have been glorious if the cause had been better ; it put its whole soul into it and struck hard. For two years the war lingered, unmarked by great deeds. Lincoln, sad and sorrowful, felt the moderation of his generals and longed for a man of iron mould, who had but two words in his military vocabulary — victory or annihilation. He was coming ; he was heard from at Henry and Donelson. Three great names were rising to sight, — Sherman, Thomas, Sheridan, and, larger than any, Grant. At the opening of the war his name was almost unknown. It was with difficulty he could obtain a command. Once set forward, Donelson, Shi- loh, Vicksburg, Chattanooga, the Wilderness, Spottsylvania, Petersburg, Appomattox — these were his footsteps ! In four years he had risen, without political favor, from the bottom to the very highest command — not second to any living commander in all the world. His plans were large, his undiscouraged will was patient to- obduracy. He was not fighting for reputation, nor for thedisplay of generalship, nor for a future Presidency. He had but one motive, and that as intense as life itself — the subjugation of the rebellion and the restoration of the broken Union. He embodied the feelings of the com- mon people ; he was their perfect representative. Part II. The war was waged for the maintenance of the Union, the suppression of armed resistance, and, at length, for the eradication of slavery. Every step, from Donelson to Appomattox, evinced with. increasing intensity this as Grant's one terrible purpose. He never wavered, turned aside, or 280 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. dallied: he waded through blood to the horses' bridles. The moment that the South lay panting and helpless upon the ground, Grant carried himself with magnanimous and sympathetic considera- tion. He imposed no humiliating conditions, spared the feelings of his antagonists, sent home the disbanded Southern men with food and with horses for working their crops, and when a revengeful spirit in the Executive chair showed itself, and threatened the chief Southern generals, Grant, with a holy indignation, interposed him- self and compelled his superior to relinquish his rash purpose. He never forgot that the South was a part of the country. The tidings of his death, long expected, gave a shock to the whole world. Governments, rulers, eminent statesmen, and scholars from all civilized nations gave sincere tokens of sympathy. For the hour sympathy rolled as a wave over all our own land. It closed the last furrow of war,, it extinguished the last prejudice, it effaced the last vestige of hatred, and cursed be the hand that shall bring them back ! Johnson and Buckner on one side, Sherman and Sheridan upon the other, of his bier, he went, to his tomb, a silent symbol that liberty had conquered slavery, patriotism rebellion, and peace war. He rests in peace. No drum or cannon shall disturb his rest. Sleep, hero, untiL another trumpet shall shake the heavens and the earth — then come forth to glory in immortality ! THE CAUSE OF TEMPERANCE.- John B. Gough. John B. Gough. Born in England, 1817. Died 1886. The most celebrated temperance lecturer of the nineteenth century. Came to America in 1829. Was a book-binder ; acquired the habits of intemperance and sunk to the lowest depths of poverty and wretchedness. In 1840, he was induced to sign the pledge of total abstinence, and from 1843 to the time of his death devoted himself, without interruption, to lecturing on temperance in the United States, Canada, and the British Isles. Mr. Gough combines the qualities of the dramatic actor with those of a great orator. OUR enterprise is in advance of the public sentiment, and those who carry it on are glorious iconoclasts, who are going to break down the drunken Dragon wor- shipped by their fathers. Count me over the chosen heroes of this earth, and I will show you men that stood alone — ay, alone, while those they toiled, and labored, and agonized for, hurled at them contumely, scorn, and contempt. They stood alone ; they looked into the future calmly, and with faith ; they saw the golden beam inclining to the side of perfect justice ; and they fought on amid the storm of persecu- tion. In Great Britain they tell me when I go to see such a prison : ' ' Here is such a dungeon, in which such a one was confined;" " Here, among the ruins of an old castle, we will show you where such a one had his ears cut off, and where another was murdered." Then they will show me monuments towering up to the heavens. " There is a monument to such a one ; there is a monument to another. ' ' And what do I find ? That the one generation persecuted and howled at these men, crying, ''crucify them! crucify them ! ' ' and danced around the blazing fagots that consumed them ; and the next generation busied itself in gathering up the scatrered ashes- of the martyred heroes, and depositing them in the golden urn of a nation's history. O, yes ! the men that fight for a great enterprise are the men that bear the brunt of the battle, and " He who seeth in secret" — seeth the desire of his children, their steady purpose, their firm self- denial — "will reward them openly," though they may die and see no sign of the triumphs of their enterprise. Our cause is a progressive one. I read the first constitution of the first temperance society formed in the State of New York, in 1809, and one of the by-laws stated, "Any member of this association who shall, be convicted of intoxica- tion shall be fined a quarter of a dollar, except such act of intoxication shall take place on the Fourth of July, or any other regularly appointed military muster." We laugh at that now; but it was a serious matter in those days ; it was in. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 281. advance of the public sentiment of the age. The very men that adopted that principle were persecuted ; they were hooted and pelted through the streets, the doors of their houses were black- ened, their cattle mutilated. The fire of perse- cution scorched some men so that they left the work. Others worked on, and God blessed them. Some are living to-day ; and I should like to stand where they stand now, and see the mighty enterprise as it rises before them. They worked hard. They lifted the first turf — pre- pared the bed in which to lay the corner-stone. They laid it amid persecution and storm. They worked under the surface ; and men almost forgot that there were busy hands laying the solid foundation far down beneath. By-and-by they got the foundation above the surface, and then commenced another storm of persecution. Now we see the superstructure — pillar after pillar, tower after tower, column after column, with the capitals emblazoned with "Love, truth, sym- pathy, and good-will to men." Old men gaze upon it as it grows up before them. They will not live to see it completed, but they see in faith the crowning cope-stone set upon it. Meek- eyed women weep as it grows in beauty ; chil- dren strew the pathway of the workmen with flowers. We do not see its beauty yet — we do not see the magnificence of its superstructure yet — because it is in course of erection. Scaf- folding, ropes, ladders, workmen ascending and descending, mar the beauty of the building ; but by-and-by, when the hosts who have labored shall come up over a thousand battle-fields, waving with bright grain, never again to be crushed in the distillery — through vineyards, under trellised vines, with grapes hanging in all their purple glory, never again to be pressed into that which can debase and degrade man- kind — when they shall come through orchards, under trees hanging thick with golden, pulpy fruit, never to be turned into that which can injure and debase — when they shall come up to the last distillery and destroy it ; to the last stream of liquid death, and dry it up ; to the last weeping wife, and wipe her tears gently away; to the last little child, and lift him up to stand where God meant that man should stand ; to the last drunkard, and nerve him to burst the burning fetters and make a glorious accompani- ment to the song of freedom by the clanking of his broken chains — then, ah ! then will the cope-stone be set upon it, the scaffolding will fall with a crash, and the building will start in its wondrous beauty before an astonished world. The last poor drunkard shall go intO' it, and find a refuge there ; loud shouts of rejoicing shall be heard, and there shall be joy in heaven, when the triumphs of a great enterprise shall usher in the day of the tri- umphs of the cross of Christ. I believe it ; on my soul, I believe it. Will you help us ?' That is the question. We leave it with you. Good-night. WHAT IS A MINORITY 1—John B. Gough. "T~ "T^HAT is a minority? The chosen \ A / heroes of this earth have been in a _JljL minority. There is not a social, political, or religious privilege that you enjoy to-day that was not bought for you by the blood and tears and patient sufferings of the minority. It is the minority that have vindi- cated humanity in every struggle. It is a minority that have stood in the van of every moral conflict, and achieved all that is noble in the history of the world. v You will find that each generation has always been busy in gathering up the scattered ashes of the martyred heroes of the past, to deposit them in the golden urn of a nation's history. Look at Scotland, where they are erecting monuments — to whom ! To the Covenanters. Ah ! they were in a minority ! Read their history if you can without the blood tingling to the tips of your fingers. These were the minority that, through blood and tears and hootings and scourgings — dyeing the waters with their blood, and staining the heather with their gore — fought the glorius battle of religious freedom. '282 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. Minority ! If a man stand up for the right, though he eat, with the right and truth, a wretched crust ; if he walk with obloquy and scorn in the by-lanes and streets, while false- hood and wrong parade in silken attire, let him remember that wherever the right and truth are, there are always "Troops of beautiful, tall, angels" gathered round him ; and God Himself stands within the dim future and keeps watch over His own ! If a man stands for the right and truth, though every man's finger be pointed at him, though every woman's lip be curled at him in scorn, he stands in a majority, for God and good angels are with him, and greater are they that are for him than all that be against ! THE NEW SOUTH.—//. IV. Grady. (By permission of H. C. Hudgins, publisher of "Life of Grady.") Henry vVoodnn Grady was born in Athens, Ga., May 17, 185 1, and died in Atlanta, Ga., December 23, 1889. No written memorial can indicate the strong hold which this young orator had upon the Southern people. Although he died at the early age of thirty-eight, his fame was world-wide, and there was, perhaps, no man in the nation more honored and respected, both North and South, than was this phenome- nally gifted writer and speaker during the last few years of his life. On the 21st of December, 1887, Mr. Grady, in response to an urgent invitation, delivered an address at the banquet of the New England Club, New York, of which the following extract forms a closing part. This, and similar speeches, did much to wipe out the prejudices engenered by the war, bridge the bloody chasm, and draw the two sections into a closer union. Part I. •■*'/' ¥ "\HERE was a South of secession and slavery — that South is dead. There * is a South of Union and freedom — that South is living, breathing, grow- ing every hour. I accept the term, ' ' The New South, " as in mo sense disparaging to the Old. Dear to me is the home of my childhood and the traditions of my people. There is a New South, not through -protest against the Old, but because of new •conditions, new adjustments, and, if you please, new ideas and aspirations. It is to this that I address myself. You have just heard an elo- quent description of the triumphant armies of the North, and the grand review at Washington. I ask you, gentlemen, to picture, if you can, the foot-sore soldier, who, buttoning up in his faded gray jacket the parole which was taken, testimony to his children of his fidelty and faith, turned his face southward from Appomattox in April, 1865. Think of him as ragged, half- starved, heavy-hearted, enfeebled by want and wounds. Having fought to exhaustion, he surrenders his gun, wrings the hands of his comrades, and, lifting his tear-stained and pallid face for the last time to the graves that dot the old Virginia hills, pulls his gray cap over his brow and begins the slow and painful journey. What does he find? — let me ask you, who went to your homes eager to find all the welcome you had justly earned, full payment for your four years' sacrifice — what does he find, when he reaches the home he left four years before ? He finds his house in ruins, his farm devastated, his slaves freed, his stock killed, hi«» barns empty, his trade destroyed, his money worthless, his social system, feudal in its magnifi • cence, swept away, his people without law or legal status, his comrades slain, and the burdens of others heavy on his shoulders. Crushed by defeat, his very traditions gone, without money, credit, employment, material, or training — and, besides all this, confronted with the gravest problem that ever met human intelligence — the establishing of a status for the vast body of his liberated slaves. What does he do — this hero in gray with a heart of gold — does he sit down in sullenness and despair? Not for a day. Surely, God, who had scourged him in his prosperity, inspired him in his adversity ! As ruin was never before so overwhelming, never was restoration swifter. The soldiers stepped from the trenches into the furrow ; the horses that had charged upon General Sherman's line marched before the plow, and fields that ran red with human blood in April were green with the harvest in June. GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 283 Trom the ashes left us in 1864, we have raised a brave and beautiful city; and, somehow or other, we have caught the sunshine in the bricks and mortar of our homes and have builded therein not one single ignoble prejudice or memory. ■ It is a rare privilege, sir, to have had part, however humble, in this work. Never was nob- ler duty confided to human hands than the uplift- ing and upbuilding of the prostrate South — misguided, perhaps, but beautiful in her suffering, .and honest, brave, and generous always. On the record of her social, industrial, and political Testoration we await with confidence the verdict of the world. Part II. The old South rested everything on slavery and agriculture, unconscious that these could neither give nor maintain healthy growth. The new South presents a perfect democracy, the oligarchs leading into the popular movement — a social system compact and closely knitted, less splendid on the surface but stronger at the core — a hundred farms for every plantation, fifty liomes for every palace, and a diversified industry that meets the complex needs of this complex aje. The new South is enamored of her new work. Her soul is stirred with the breath of a new life. The light of a grander day is falling fair in her face. She is thrilling with the consciousness of growing power and prosperity. As she stands full-statured and equal among the people of the earth, breathing the keen air and looking out upon an expanding horizen, she understands that her emancipation came because in the inscrutable wisdom of God her honest pur- pose was crossed and her brave armies were beaten. This is said in no spirit of time-serving .and apology. The South has nothing to take back ; nothing for which she has excuses to make. In my native town of Athens is a monument that crowns its central hills — a plain white shaft. Deep cut into its shining sides is a name dear to me above the names of men, that of a brave and simple man who died in brave and simple faith. Not for all the glories of New England, from Plymouth Rock all the way, would I exchange the heritage he left me in his patriot's death. But, sir, speaking from the shadow of that mem- ory, which I honor as I do nothing else on earth, I say that the cause in which he suffered and for which he gave his life was adjudged by higher and fuller wisdom than his or mine, and I am glad that the omniscient God held the balance of battle in His almighty hand and that the Ameri- can Union was saved from the wreck of war. I stand here, Mr. President, to profess no new loyalty. When General Lee, whose heart was the temple of our hopes and whose arm was clothed with our strength, renewed his allegiance to the government at Appomattox, he spoke from a heart too great to be false, and he spoke for every honest man from Maryland to Texas. From that day to this, Hamilcar has nowhere in the South sworn young Hannibal to hatred and vengeance — but everywhere to loyalty and to love. Witness the soldier standing at the base of a Confederate monument above the graves of his comrades, his empty sleeve tossing in the April wind, adjuring the young men about him to serve as honest and loyal citizens the government against which their fathers fought. This message, delivered from that sacred presence, has gone home to the hearts of my fellows ! And, sir, I declare here, if physical courage be always equal to human aspirations, that they would die, sir, if need be, to restore this Republic their fathers fought to dissolve ! This message, Mr. President, comes to you from consecrated ground. What answer has New England to this message ! Will she permit the prejudices of war to remain in the hearts of the conquerors, when it has died in the hearts of the conquered ? Will she transmit this prejudice to the next generation, that in hearts which never felt the generous ardor of conflict it may perpet- uate itself? Will she withhold, save in strained courtesy, the hand which straight from his sol- dier's heart Grant offered to Lee at Appomattox? Will she make the vision of a restored and happy people, which gathered about the couch of your dying captain, filling his heart with peace, touch- 284 GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. ing his lips with praise, and glorifying his path to the grave — will she make this vision, on which the last sigh of his expiring soul breathed, a benediction, or a cheat and a delusion ? If she does, the South, never abject in asking for com- radeship, must accept with dignity its refusal. But if she does not refuse to accept in frankness and sincerity this message of good -will and friend- ship, then will the prophecy of Webster, delivered', to this very Society forty years ago amid tremen- dous applause, be verified in its fullest and final sense, when he said: "Standing hand to hand and clasping hands, we should remain united as we have been for sixty years, citizens of the same country, members of the same government, united, all united now and united forever. ' ' REGARD FOR THE NEGRO RACE.—//. IV. Grady. (By permission of H. C. Hudgins, publisher of "Life of Grady." Extract from speech on the Race Problem, at annual banquet of the Boston Merchants' Association, December, 1889.) THE resolute, clear-headed, broad-minded men of the South — the men whose genius made glorious every page of the first seventy years of American history — whose courage and fortitude you tested in four years of the fiercest war — reakze, as you cannot, what this race problem means — what they owe to this kindly and dependent race. Nor are they wholly to blame for the presence of slavery. The slave-ships sailed from your ports — the slaves once worked in your fields, and you sold them to the South. Neither of us now defends the traffic, nor the institution. The love the whites of the South feel for the negro race you cannot measure nor comprehend. As I attest it here, the spirit of my old black mammy from her home up there looks down to bless, and through the tumult of this night steals the sweet music of her croonings as thirty years ago she held me in her black arms and led me smiling into sleep. This scene vanishes as I speak, and I catch a vision of an old Southern home, with its lofty pillars, and its white pigeons fluttering down through the golden air. I see women with strained and anxious faces, and children alert yet helpless. I see night come down with its dangers and its apprehensions, and in a big homely room I feel on my tired head the touch of loving hands — now worn and wrinkled, but fairer to me yet than the hands of mortal woman, and stronger yet to lead me than the hands of mortal man — as they lay a mother's bless- ing there while at her kness — the truest altar I yet have found — I thank God that she is- safe in her sanctuary, because her slaves, sen- tinel in the silent cabin or guard at her chamber door, puts a black man's loyalty between her and danger. I catch another vision. The crisis of battle — a soldier struck, staggering, fallen. I see a. slave, scuffling through the smoke, winding his black arms about the fallen form, reckless of the hurtling death — bending his trusty face to catch the words that tremble on the stricken lips, so wrestling meantime with agony that he would lay down his life in his master's stead. I see him by the weary bedside, ministering with, uncomplaining patience, praying with all his- humble heart that God will lift his master up r until death comes in mercy and in honor to still, the soldier's agony and seal the soldier's life. I see him by the open grave, mute, motionless, uncovered, suffering for the death of him who' in life fought against his freedom. I see him when the mound is heaped and the great drama, of his life is closed, turn away and with down- cast eyes and uncertain step start out into new and strange fields, faltering, struggling, but moving on, until his shambling figure is lost in the light of this better and brighter day. And from the grave comes a voice saying, "Follow him! Put your arms about him in his need, even as he put his about me. Be his friend as he was mine." And out into this new world — strange to me as to him, dazzling, be- wildering both — I follow ! And may God forget my people — when they forget these. /' • m M m | ' JB 1 1 W i ■■j^jjgjff?. .■.■■.■■■■ If-; • y P-"V„«..!: y ■ ' ~J*^*0? GREAT ORATORS AND THEIR ORATIONS. 285, THE WORLD WE LIVE IN.— T. De Witt Talmage. (Extract from a Lecture. ) T. De Witt Talmage. Born 1832. One of the most eminent orators of the American pulpit. Mr. 'Talmage 's power as a delineator, or word painter, is, perhaps, unequalled in modern times. His sermons ."have been printed in the leading weekly newspapers throughout the world. No preacher has ever enjoyed the distinction of speaking to so many auditors through the public press. Mr. Talmage has traveled, lectured, and preached throughout the world. Few public speakers have spoken more directly to the hearts »of the people. His happy way of putting wholesome truth so it both amuses and instructs, without 'offending, is illustrated in the following selection : Part I. IF you or I had been consulted as to which of all the stars we would choose to walk upon, we could not have done a wiser thing than to select this. I have always been glad that I got aboard this planet. The best color that I -can think of for the sky is blue, for the foliage is green, for the water is crystalline flash. The mountains are just high enough, the flowers suf- ficiently aromatic, the earth right for solidity .and growth. The human face is admirably adap- ted for its work — sunshine in its smile, tempest >in its frown ; two eyes, one more than absolutely .necessary, so that if one is put out we still can look upon the sunrise and the faces of our friends. •One nose, which is quite sufficient for those who -walk among so many city nuisances, being an -organ of two stops, and adding dignity to the ;human face, whether it have the graceful arch of the Roman, or turn up toward the heavens with •celestial aspirations in the shape of a pug, or •wavering up or down, now as if it would aspire, now as if it would descend, until suddenly it ?shies off into an unexpected direction, illustrat- ing the proverb that it is a long lane which has no turn. People are disposed, I see, to laugh rabout the nose, but I think it is nothing to be sneezed at. Standing before the grandest architectural achievements, critics have differences of opin- ion ; but where is the blasphemer of his God who would criticize the arch of the sky, or the crest of a wave, or the flock of snow-white, fleecy clouds driven by the shepherd of the wind across the hilly pastures of the heavens, or the curve of a snow bank, or the burning cities of the sunset, or the fern-leaf pencilings of frost etter than I did, under the circumstances in which I found myself during the war. If I had never held command, if I had fallen, if all our generals had fallen, there were ten thousand behind us who would have done our work just as well, who would have followed the content to the end, and never surrendered the Union. Therefore, it is a mistake and a reflection upon the People to attribute to me, or to any number of us who hold high commands, the salvation of the Union. We did our work as well as we could, so did hundreds of thousands of otheFS- We demand no credit for it, for we should have been unworthy of our country and of the American name if we had not made every sacri- fice to save the Union. What saved the Union was the coming forward of the young men of the nation. They came from their homes and fields, as they did in the time of the Revolu- tion, giving everything to the country. To their devotion we owe the salvation of the Union. The humblest soldier who earned a musket is entitled to as much credit for the results of the war as those who were in com- mand. So long as our young men are animated by this spirit there will be no fear for the Union. CROMWELL ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES I.— Adapted from Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. BY what law fell King Charles ? By all the laws He left us ! And I, Cromwell, here proclaim it. Sirs, let us, with a calm and sober eye, Look on the spectre of this ghastly deed. Who spills man's blood, his shall by man be shed ! *Tis Heaven's first law ; to that law we had come, — None other left us. Who, then, caused the strife That crimsoned Naseby's field, and Marston's moor? It was the Stuart ; — so the Stuart fell ! A victim, in the pit himself had digged ! He died not, Sirs, as hated Kings have died, In secret and in shade, — no eye to trace The one step from their prison to their pall ; He died i' the eyes of Europe, — in the face Of the broad heaven ; amidst the sons of Eng- land, Whom he had outraged ; by a solemn sentence, Passed by a solemn Court. Does this seem guilt ? You pity Charles ! 'tis well ; but pity more The tens of thousand honest humble men, Who, by the tyranny of Charles compelled To draw the sword, fell butchered in the field ! Good Lord ! when one man dies who wears a Crown, How the earth trembles, — how the Nations gape, Amazed and awed ! — but when that one man's victims, Poor worms, unclothed in purple, daily die, In the grim cell, or on the groaning gibbet, 318 SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. Or on the civil field, ye pitying souls Drop not one tear from your indifferent eyes ! He would have stretched his will O'er the unlimited empire of men's souls, Fettered the Earth's pure air, — for freedom is That air, to honest lips, — and here he lies. In dust most eloquent, to after time A never-silent oracle for Kings ! Was this the hand that strained within its grasp So haught a sceptre ? — this the shape that wore Majesty like a garment ? Spurn that clay, — It can resent not ; speak of royal crimes, And it can frown not ; schemeless lies the brain Whose thoughts were sources of such fearful deeds. What things are we, O Lord, when, at thy will, A worm like this could shake the mighty world ! A few years since, and in the port was moored s WARREN'S TAND ! the ground's your own, my braves ! Will ye give it up to slaves ? Will you look for greener graves? Hope ye mercy still ? What's the mercy despots feel? Hear it in that battle peal ! Read it on yon bristling steel ! Ask it — ye who will. Fear ye foes who kill for hire ? Will ye to your homes retire? Look behind you ! they're afire \ And, before you, see A bark to far Columbia's forests bound ; And I was one of those indignant hearts Panting for exile in the thirst for freedom. Then, that pale clay (poor clay, that was a King !) Forbade my parting, in the wanton pride Of vain command, and with a fated sceptre Waved back the shadow of the death to come. Here stands that baffled and forbidden wanderer, Loftiest amid the wrecks of ruined empire, Beside the coffin of a headless King ! He thralled my fate, — I have prepared his doom ; — He made me captive, — lo ! his narrow cell ! So hands unseen do fashion forth the earth Of our frail schemes into our funeral urns ; So, walking dream-led in Life's sleep, our steps Move blindfold to the scaffold or the Throne ! ADDRESS. Who have done it ! — From the vale On they come ! — and will ye quail? — Leaden rain and iron hail Let their welcome be ! In the God of battles trust ! Die we may — and die we must : — But, oh, where can dust to dust Be consigned so well, As where heaven its dews shall shed On the martyred patriot's bed, And the rocks shall raise their head, Of his deeds to tell ? PlERPONT. PART VI. Miscellaneous Selections CONTAINING CHOICE READINGS, RECITATIONS, DECLAMATIONS AND DIALOGUES EMBRACING PATRIOTIC, MARTIAL, RELIGIOUS, TEMPERANCE, DRAMATIC, DESCRIPTIVE, PATHETIC, HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC SELECTIONS, SUITABLE FOR LYCEUMS, SCHOOLS AND GENERAL OCCASIONS THE RED KING'S WARNING. Historians relate that the death of William Rufus, in the New Forest, was preceded by several predic- tions clearly announcing his fate. "T" "TTTH hound and horn the wide New For- ^^ est rung, When William Rufus, at the bright noon -day, Girt by his glittering train, to saddle sprung, And to the chase spurred forth his gallant gray. O'er hill, o'er dale, the hunters held their track; But that gray courser, fleeter than the wind, Was foremost still — and as the king looked back, Save Tyrrell, all were far and far behind. Slow through a distant pass the train denied ; Alone the king rode on — when in mid course, Lo ! rushed across his path a figure wild, And on his bridle-rein with giant force Seized* then swift pointing to a blighted oak, Thus to the astonished king his warning spoke : "Curb thy race of headlong speed ! Backward, backward, turn thy steed ! Death is on thy onward track, — Turn, O, turn thy courser back ! "See'st thou, King, yon aged tree, — Blighted now, alas ! like me ? Once it bloomed in strength and pride, And my cottage stood beside ; * The right hand should be here thrust forward, as in the act of grasping the bridle, while the other hand should be extended, pointing to the supposed object. There should be i suspensive pause at "Seized." : Till on Hastings' fatal field England's baleful doom was sealed ! Till the Saxon stooped to own Norman lord on English throne ! : Where the forest holds domain, Then were fields of golden grain ; Hamlets then and churches stood Where we see the wide waste wood. : But the Norman king must here Have his wood to hunt his deer. What were we ? He waved his hand ; . And we vanished from the land. Fiercely burned my rising ire When I saw our cots on fire ! When ourselves were forced to fly, Or to beg, or rob, or die ! 'Then on William's head abhorred, Then my deepest curse I poured. Turning to this aged oak, Thus in madness wild I spoke : Powers of Hell, or Earth, or Air, Grant an injured Saxon's prayer !■ Ne'er may one of William's race Pass alive this fatal place ! •' Powers of Hell, or Earth, or Air, Give a sign ye grant my prayer ! Give ! O, give ! ' While yet I spoke, Lightning struck yon witness oak ! 319 320 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Shun, O King ! thy certain lot !- Fly with speed the fatal spot ! — Here to death thy uncle passed y Here thy nephew breathed his last ! "Yes, my curse has worked too well ! Sorrow seized me when they fell. Would, O would I might revoke What in madness wild I spoke ! " Monarch ! to my words give heed, Backward, — backward turn thy steed ! Danger, death, beset thee round ; Chase not on the fated ground ! ' ' '"Away," fierce William cried, " ill-boding seer ! Think' st thou to strike thy sovereign's heart with fear? — Think' st thou with idle threats to bar my way ? — — I scorn thy warning ! — On my gallant gray !" He plunged his spurs deep in his courser's side, When from the blighted oak as he advanced, Right to the monarch's heart an arrow glanced : The blood gushed forth, — he fell ! he groaned ! he died ! Anon, {altered). CCEUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER. The body of Henry II. lay in state in the abbey- church of Fontevrault, where it was visited by Richard Cceur de Lion, who, on beholding it, was struck with horror and remorse, and bitterly reproached himself for that rebellious conduct which had been the means of bringing his father to an untimely death. TORCHES were blazing clear, Hymns pealing deep and slow, Where a king lay stately on his bier In the church of Fontevrault/ Banners of battle o'er him hung, And warriors slept beneath, And light as noon's broad light was flung On the settled face of death, — On the settled face of death A strong and ruddy glare ; Though dimmed at times by the censer's breath, Yet it fell still brightest there ; As if each deeply furrowed trace Of earthly years to show. Alas ! that sceptred mortal's race Had surely closed in woe ! The marble floor was swept By many a long dark stole, As the kneeling priests, round him that slept, Sang mass for the parted soul ; And solemn were the strains they poured Through the stillness of the night, With the cross above, and the crown and sword, And the silent king in sight. There was heard a heavy clang, As of steel-girt men the tread, And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang With a sounding thrill of dread ; And the holy chant was hushed awhile, As by the torch's flame, A gleam of arms up the sweeping aisle With a mail-clad leader came. He came with haughty look, An eagle glance and clear ; But his proud heart through its breast-plate shook When he stood beside the bier ! He stood there still with a drooping brow, And clasped hands o'er it raised; For his father lay before him low, It was Cceur de Lion gazed ! And silently he strove With the workings of his breast ; But there's more in late repentant love Than steel may keep suppressed ! And his tears brake forth, at last, like rain, Men held their breath in awe, For his face was seen by his warrior-train, And he recked not that they saw. He looked upon the dead, And sorrow seemed to lie,— A weight of sorrow, even like lead, Pale on the fast-shut eye. He stooped and kissed the frozen cheek, And the heavy hand of clay, Till bursting words — yet all too weak — Gave his soul's passion way. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 321 "O father! is it vain, This late remorse and deep ? Speak to me, father, once again ! I weep, — behold, I weep ! Alas ! my guilty pride and ire. Were but this work undone, I would give England's crown, my sire, To hear thee bless thy son. " Speak to me ! mighty grief Ere now the dust hath stirred ! Hear me, but hear me !— father, chief, My king, I must be heard ! Hushed, hushed, — how is it that I call, And that thou answerest not? When was it thus, woe, woe for all The love my soul forgot ! ' ' Thy silver hairs I see, So still, so sadly bright ! And father, father ! but for me, They had not been so white ! I bore thee down, high heart, at last ! No longer couldst thou strive ; — Oh, for one moment of the past, To kneel and say, — ' Forgive !' ' ■ Thou wert the noblest king On royal throne e'er seen ; And thou didst wear in knightly ring, ' Of all, the stateliest mien ; And thou didst prove, where spears are proved, In war, the bravest heart. Oh, ever the renowned and loved Thou wert, — and there thou art ! " Thou that my boyhood's guide Didst take fond joy to be ! The times I've sported at thy side, And climbed thy parent knee \ And there before the blessed shrine, My sire, I see thee lie ; How will that sad still face of thine Look on me till I die !" Felicia Hemans. 21 -v. CATO OVER THE DEAD BODY OF HIS SON. The opening line of the following should be uttered with emotion, and with eyes and hands elevated. At the second line the speaker may take a step forward, as if to meet the body. He is to imagine friends around him, and, in places, to ad- dress them. The beautiful climax, beginning "The mistress of the world," etc., should be spoken with animation ; the voice rising at each successive step of the climax. In the sixth line from the end of the - extract, at the words "brave youth," the speaker may point to where the dead body is supposed to lie. THANKS to the Gods ! my boy has done his duty. Welcome, my son ! here lay him down, my friends, Full in my sight ; that I may view at leisure The bloody corse, and count those glorious wounds. How beautiful is Death when earned by Virtue ! Who would not be that youth / what pity is it That we can die but once to serve our country ! Why sits this sadness on your brows, my friends ? I should have blushed if Cato's house had stood Secure and flourished in a civil war. Portius, behold thy brother, and remember Thy life is not thy own, when Rome demands it. Alas, my friends ! Why mourn you thus ? Let not a private loss Afflict your hearts. 'Tis Rome requires our tears. The mistress of the world, the seat of empire The nurse of heroes, the delight of gods, That humbled the proud tyrants of the earth, And set the nations free, — Rome is no more ! O, liberty ! O virtue ! O, my country ! Whate'er the Roman virtue has subdued, The sun's whole course, the day and year, are Caesar's ! For him the self-devoted Decii died, The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquered : Even Pompey fought for Caesar. O, my friends ! How is the toil of fate, the work of ages, The Roman empire fallen ! O, cursed ambition ! Fallen into Caesar's hands ! our great forefathers Had left him naught to conquer but his country. 322 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Lose not a thought on me, — I'm out of danger : Heaven will not leave me in the victor's hand. Caesar shall never say, ' ' I conquered Cato ! ' ' But, O ! my friends, your safety fills my heart With anxious thoughts : a thousand secret terrors Rise in my soul : how shall I save my friends ? 'Tis now, O Caesar, I begin to fear thee ! Farewell, my friends ! If there be any of you Who dare not trust the victor's clemency, Know, there are ships prepared by my command (Their sails already opening to the winds) That shall convey you to the wished for port. Is there aught else, my friends, I can do for you? The conqueror draws near. Once more, fare- well ! If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet In happier climes, and on a safer shore, Where Caesar never shall approach us more. There the brave youth, with love of virtue fired, Who greatly in his country's cause expired, Shall know he conquered. The firm patriot there, Who made the welfare of mankind his care, Though still by Faction, Vice, and Fortune crost, Shall find the generous labor — was not lost. Addison. OESAR'S MESSAGE TO CATO. (Dialogue between Decius and Cato.) Decius. Caesar sends health to Cato. Cato. Could he send it To Cato's slaughtered friends, it would be wel- come. Are not your orders to address the Senate ? Dec. My business is with Cato, Caesar sees The straits to which you're driven ; and, as he knows Cato's high worth, is anxious for your life. Cato. My life is grafted on the fate of Rome. Would he save Cato ? Bid him spare his country. Tell your dictator this : and tell him, Cato Disdains a life which he has power to offer. Dec. Rome and her senators submit to Caesar ; Her generals and her consuls are no more, Who checked his conquests, and denied his triumphs. Why will not Cato be this Caesar's friend? Cato. Those very reasons thou hast urged for- bid it. Dec. Cato, I've orders to expostulate, And reason with you, as from friend to friend. Think on the storm that gathers o'er your head, And threatens every hour to burst upon it ; Still may you stand high in your country's honors : Do but comply and make your peace with Caesar, Rome will rejoice, and cast its eyes on Cato, As on the second of mankind. Cato. No more ; I must not think of life on such conditions. Dec. Caesar is well acquainted with your vir- tues, And therefore sets this value on your life : Let him but know the price of Cato's friendship, And name your terms. Cato. Bid him disband his legions, Restore the commonwealth to liberty, Submit his actions to the public censure, And stand the judgment of a Roman Senate ; Bid him do this, and Cato is his friend. Dec. Cato, the world talks loudly of your wisdom — Cato. Nay, more, — though Cato's voice was ne'er employed To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes, Myself will mount the Rostrum in his favor, And strive to gain his pardon from the people. Dec. A style like this becomes a conqueror. Cato. Decius, a style like this becomes a Roman. Dec. What is a Roman, that is Caesar's foe? Cato. Greater than Caesar, he's a friend to virtue. Dec. Consider, Cato, you're in Utica, And at the head of your own little Senate ; You don't now thunder in the Capitol, With all the mouths of Rome to second you. Cato. Let him consider that who drives us hither ; 'Tis Caesar's sword has made Rome's Senate little, MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 323 And thinned its ranks. Alas ! thy dazzled eye Beholds this man in a false glaring light, Which conquest and success have thrown upon him; Didst thou but view him right, thou'dst see him black With murder, treason, sacrilege, and — crimes That strike my soul with horror but to name them. I know thou look'st on me as on a wretch Beset with ills, and covered with misfortunes ; But, as I love my country, millions of worlds Should never buy me to be like that Caesar. Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to Caesar, For all his generous cares and proffered friend- ship? Cato. His cares for me are insolent and vain : Presumptuous man ! the gods take care of Cato. Would Caesar show the greatness of his soul, Bid him employ his care for these my friends, And make good use of his ill-gotten power, By sheltering men much better than himself. Addison. CATILINE'S DEFIANCE To the Roman Senate on the following decree being read by the Consul : " L,ucius Sergius Catiline, by the decree of the Senate, you are declared an enemy and an alien to the State, and banished from the territory of the Commonwealth." BANISHED from Rome ! — what's banished but set free From daily contact of the things I loathe? "Tried and convicted traitor!"* — Who says this? Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head ? Banished? — I thank you for't. It breaks my chain ! I held some slack allegiance till this hour — But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords ! I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, To leave you in your lazy dignities. But here I stand and scoff you : — here I fling *Here he quotes the words of Cicero against him. Hatred and full defiance in your face. Your Consul's merciful. For this all thanks. He dares not touch a hair of Catiline. ' ' Traitor ! " I go — but I return. This — trial ! Here I devote your Senate ! I've had wrongs, To stir a fever in the blood of age, Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel. This day's the birth of sorrows ! — This hour's work Will breed proscriptions. — Look to your hearths, my lords, For there henceforth shall sit, for household gods, Shapes hot from Tar'tarus ! — all shames and crimes ; — Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; Naked Rebellion, with the torch and ax, Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones ; Till Anarchy comes down on you like Night, And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave ! Rev. George Croly. THE FOUR KISSES. (By permission of the Author.) A BABY on a woman's breast, Has fallen asleep in peaceful rest ; With tender care she lays it down, Draws o'er its feet the tiny gown ; Then, thrilled with love, with holy bliss. Bends low and gives A mother's kiss. With blushing cheeks, with downcast eyes A maiden struggles, softly sighs, Then yields. And from her fancy's flow Drinks deep the joy that angels know ; Thus two hearts learn the rapturous bliss That comes to all, with Love's first kiss. A troop halts at a cottage door, A young wife craves one moment more ; Her husband draws her to his side, " Thou art," says he, "a. soldier's bride; O love, I can but give thee this — And this — and this — My farewell kiss." 324 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. The lamps shed forth a tender light Upon a sweet face, cold and white ; The flowers lie strewn, the dirge is sung, The rite is o'er, the bell has rung : God help them, by that dread abyss, Who sobbing press The last sad kiss. Geo. M. Vickers. i'HE DRUMMER BOY. (Pathetic. An incident of the Crimean War. ) "^VAPTAIN GRAHAM, the men were sayin' V^ Ye would want a drummer lad, So I've brought my boy Sandie, Tho' my heart is woful sad ; But nae bread is left to feed us, And no siller to buy more, For the gudeman sleeps forever, Where the heather blossoms o'er. " Sandie, make your manners quickly, Play your blithest measure true — Give us ' Flowers of Edinboro',' While yon fifer plays it too. Captain, heard ye e'er a player Strike in truer time than he ? " " Nay, in truth, brave Sandie Murray Drummer of our corps shall be. ' ' " I give ye thanks — but, Captain, maybe Ye will hae a kindly care For the friendless, lonely laddie, When the battle wark is sair ; For Sandie' s aye been good and gentle, And I've nothing else to love, Nothing — but the grave off yonder, And the Father up above. ' ' Then her rough hand gently laying On the curl-encircled head, She blest her boy. The tent was silent, And not another word was said ; For Captain Graham was sadly dreaming Of a benison long ago, Breathed above his head, then golden, Bending now, and touched with snow. "Good-bye, Sandie." " Good-bye, mother ; I'll come back some summer day ; Don't you fear — they don't shoot drummers Ever. Do they, Captain Gra — ? One more kiss — watch for me, mother, You will know 'tis surely me, Coming home — for you will hear me Playing soft the reveille." After battle. Moonbeams ghastly Seemed to link in strange affright, As the scudding clouds before them Shadowed faces dead and white ; And the night wind softly whispered, When low moans its light wing bore — Moans that ferried spirits over Death's dark wave to yonder shore. Wandering where a footstep careless Might go splashing down in blood, Or a helpless hand lie grasping Death and daisies from the sod — Captain Graham walked swift onward, While a faintly-beaten drum Quickened heart and step together : " Sandie Murray ! See, I come ! "Is it thus I find you, laddie? Wounded, lonely, lying here, Playing thus the reveille ? See — the morning is not near. ' ' A moment paused the drummer boy, And lifted up his drooping head : " Oh, Captain Graham, the light is coming, 'Tis morning, and my prayers are said. " Morning ! See, the plains grow brighter — Morning — and I'm going home ; That is why I play the measure, Mother will not see me come ; But you'll tell her, won't you, Captain—" Hush, the boy has spoken true ; To him the day has dawned forever, Unbroken by the night's tattoo. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 325 TO A SKELETON. The MSS. of this poem was found in the Museum oi the Royal College of Surgeons, in London, near a perfect human skeleton, and sent by the curator to the Morning Chronicle for publication. It excited so much attention that every effort was made to dis- cover the author, and a responsible party went so far as to offer fifty guineas for information that would discover its origin. The author preserved his incog- nito, and, we believe, has never been discovered. BEHOLD this ruin ! 'Twas a skull, Once of ethereal spirit full. This narrow cell was life's retreat, This space was thought's mysterious seat. What beauteous visions filled this spot, What dreams of pleasure long forgot ? Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear, Have left one trace of record here. Beneath this mouldering canopy Once shone the bright and busy eye ; But start not at the dismal void ; If social love that eye employed, If with no lawless fire it gleamed, But through the dews of kindness beamed, — That eye shall be forever bright When stars and sun are sunk in night. Within this hollow cavern hung The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue ; If falsehood's honey it disdained, And when it could not praise was chained ; If bold in virtue's cause it spoke, Yet gentle concord never broke, — This silent tongue shall plead for thee When time unveils eternity ! Say, did these fingers delve the mine, Or with the envied rubies shine ? To hew the rock or wear a gem Can little now avail to them. But if the page of truth they sought, Or comfort to the mourner brought, These hands a richer meed shall claim Than all that wait on wealth and fame. Avails it whether bare or shod These feet the paths of duty trod ? If from the bowers of ease they fled, To seek affliction's humble shed ; If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned, And home to virtue's cot returned, — These feet with angel wings shall vie, And tread the palace of the sky ! BETTY AND THE BEAR. (Humorous.) IN a pioneer's cabin out West, so they say, A great big black grizzly trotted one day, And seated himself on the hearth, and began, To lap the contents of a two-gallon pan Of milk and potatoes, — an excellent meal, — And then looked about to see what he could steal. The lord of the mansion awoke from his sleep, And, hearing a racket, he ventured to peep Just out in the kitchen, to see what was there, And was scared to behold a great grizzly bear. So he screamed in alarm to his slumbering /row, " Thar's a bar in the kitching as big's a cow !" < 'A what ?" " Why a bar ! " < < Well, murder him, then !" " Yes, Betty, I will, if you'll first venture in." So Betty leaped up, and the poker she seized, While her man shut the door, and against it he squeezed. As Betty then laid on the grizzly her blows, Now on his forehead, and now on his nose, Her man through the key-hole kept shouting within, " Well done, my brave Betty, now hit him agin, Now a rap on the ribs, now a knock on the snout, Now poke with the poker, and poke his eyes out. ' ' So, with rapping and poking, poor Betty alone, At last laid Sir Bruin as dead as a stone. Now when the old man saw the bear was no more, He ventured to poke his nose out of the door, And there was the grizzly, stretched on the floor. Then off to the neighbors he hastened, to tell All the wonderful things that that morning befell ; And he published the marvellous story afar, How "me and my Betty jist slaughtered a bar I O yes, come and see, all the neighbors hev sid it, Come see what we did, me and Betty, we did it. ' ' 326 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. FAREWELL. (By permission of Geo. M. Vickers, the Author.) {Let the first stanza of the song be sung by a quartette. The music then ceases, while two stanzas of the poem, "Farewell" is recited. As the speaker closes the second stanza, the quartette immediately sings the second stanza ; and, as they sing the words " ever bind me, " the speaker resumes his recitation, and speaks the last two stanzas, during which some soft accompaniment may be played on the instrument. ) "T "T1TH white sails set the vessels glide _\fa[ Fast onward o'er the drifting tide. 'Tis now while near and yet in view That still is heard the fond adieu ; 'Tis now that lips and gestures tell The heart's good-by, the sad farewell ! To-night, when sails to sight are lost And gloomy darkness veils the coast ; To-night, when children fast asleep Forget who sails the lonely deep, To one will sound, like funeral knell, Her husband's dreaded word, farewell. The helmsman as he grasps the wheel The sea spray on his cheek can feel, And to his mind each drop appears The moisture of his loved ones' tears ; And in a song he tries to quell The sadness of their sweet farewell. Each day the word farewell is said, The silent, parting tear is shed ; And so each day warm hearts unite, Some home is reached, some eye made bright What glooms the word is, none can tell Which time 'twill be a last farewell. THE AMERICAN'S FAREWELL. G. M. V. QUARTETTE. GEO. M. VICKERS. This beautiful quartette is the first American farewell song ever written, and furnishes something that has long been wanted by tourists and others departing from our shores. In the event of a war with a foreign country, it would have a peculiar significance to our soldiers and sailors. The author, Geo. M. Vickers, has composed many patriotic songs, among them being " Guard the Flag," " Columbia, My Country," the nev music for "America," etc. dt ee* m * -m- VT 1. Fare - well, fare-well, my 2. Fare - well, fare-well, each Hfe m t^^t^rS. m Moderato con espressione. ^^ I Liz: — I :e : -<^jZ Piano, p r^ J^ Sees ••U-ff-' ^=3=3=2. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 327 ■*-*■ 3=3f&=&=^. *=? T own dear land, This heart will ne'er de - ceive thee, And as I watch thy fad - ing strand I faith-ful heart, What joy when-e'er I met thee; And, oh, what pain it is to part, Yet *=T- ^==2 * ±= ^— J-— -t: m :g=p— fczg =*= ~T * ^^ i ^ 1 1 r i 4 I- ^^t :3=W -*— *- ?=- F=FEg ^=£ £tE^ 5 sigh be-cause I leave thee ; The home I prize, the tear - ful eyes, The ties I leave be- I shall ne'er for - get thee ! A - mer - i - ca, how sweet thy name ; Still true thou'lt ev-er gfe*i=Si fttpc w — *1 h^ -m— '- — w- ym ^— [— \-wr% ■v-t Pi 3W: -^-^ ^2: H— =tf =s=a=r=g= — >— i — 1- $=s p=S=z=S=* *-f I h ^=p: « H*=£ :*=*: -*— *" U^- & Bit. hind find -£2. me, me Though years I roam 'neath for - eign skies, To thee in love shall ev - er bind me. ; O land a - glow with freedom's flame, To thee my love shall ev - er bind me. > - - - . >* Copyright, 1896, by Geo. M. Vickers, Phila. 328 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. THE SOLDIER'S PARDON. (Suited to Soldier's reunion.) T" TTLD blew the gale in Gibraltar one night, \\[ As a soldier lay stretched in his cell ; And anon, 'mid the darkness, the moon's silver light On his countenance dreamily fell. Naught could she reveal, but a man true as steel, That oft for his country had bled ; And the glance of his eye might the grim king defy, For despair, fear, and trembling had fled. But in rage he had struck a well-merited blow At a tyrant who held him in scorn ; And his fate soon was sealed, for alas ! honest Joe Was to die on the following morn. Oh ! sad was the thought to a man that had fought 'Mid the ranks of the gallant and brave, — To be shot through the breast at a coward's be- hest, And laid low in a criminal's grave ! The night call had sounded, when Joe was aroused By a step at the door of his cell ; 'Twas a comrade with whom he had often caroused, That now entered to bid him farewell. 'Ah, Tom ! is it you come to bid me adieu? ' Tis kind, my lad ! give me your hand ! Nay — nay — don't get wild, man, and make me a child !— I'll be soon in a happier land !" With hands clasped in silence, Tom mournfully said, " Have you any request, Joe, to make ? — Remember by me ' twill be fully obeyed : Can I anything do for your sake ?" "When it's over, to-morrow!" he said, filled with sorrow, " Send this token to her whom I've sworn All my fond love to share ! " ■ —'twas a lock of his hair, And a prayer-book, all faded and worn. "Here's this watch for my mother; and when you write home, ' ' — And he dashed a bright tear from his eye — " Say I died with my heart in old Devonshire, Tom, Like a man, and a soldier ! — Good bye !" Then the sergeant on guard at the grating ap- peared, And poor Tom had to leave the cold cell; By the moon's waning light, with a husky " Good night ! God be with you, dear comrade ! — farewell !" Gray dawned the morn in a dull cloudy sky, When the blast of a bugle resounded ; And Joe ever fearless, went forward to die, By the hearts of true heroes surrounded. "Shoulder arms" was the cry as the prisoner passed by : "To the right about — march!" was the word ; And their pale faces proved how their comrade was loved, And by all his brave fellows adored. Right onward they marched to the dread field of doom : Sternly silent, they covered the ground ; Then they formed into line amid sadness and gloom, While the prisoner looked calmly around. Then soft on the air rose the accents of prayer, And faint tolled the solemn death-knell, As he stood on the sand, and with uplifted hand, Waved the long and the lasting farewell. " Make ready ! ' ' exclaimed an imperious voice : "Present!" struck a chill on each mind ; Ere the last word was spoke, Joe had cause to rejoice, For " Hold ! — hold !" cried a voice from be- hind. MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 329 Then wild was the joy of them all, man and boy, As a horseman cried, " Mercy ! — Forbear!" With a thrilling " Hurrah ! — a free pardon ! — huzzah ! ' ' And the muskets rang loud in the air. Soon the comrades were locked in each other's embrace : No more stood the brave soldiers dumb : With a loud cheer they wheeled to the right- about-face, Then away at the sound of the drum ! And a brighter day dawned in sweet Devon's fair land, Where the lovers met never to part ; And he gave her a token— true, warm, and un- broken — The gift of his own gallant heart ! James Smith. THE LAST STATION. ( Pathetic reading. ) HE had been sick at one of the hotels for three or four weeks, and the boys on the road dropped in daily to see how he got along, and to learn if they could render him any kindness. The brakeman was a good fellow, and one and all encouraged him in the hope that he would pull through. The doctor didn't regard the case as dangerous ; but the other day the patient began sinking, and it was seen that he could not live the night out. A dozen of his friends sat in the room when night came, but his mind wandered, and he did not recognize them. r It was near one of the depots, and after the great trucks and noisy drays had ceased rolling by, the bells and short, sharp whistles of the yard-engines sounded painfully loud. The patient had been very quiet for half an hour, when he suddenly unclosed his eyes and shouted : " Kal-a-ma-zoo ! " One of the men brushed the hair back from the cold forehead, and the brakeman closed his eyes, and was quiet for a time. Then the wind whirled around the depot and banged the blinds on the window of his room, and he lifted his hand, and cried out : ' ' Jack-son ! Passengers going north by the Saginaw Road change cars ! ' ' The men understood. The brakeman thought he was coming east on the Michigan Central. The effort seemed to have greatly exhausted him, for he lay like one dead for the next five minutes, and a watcher felt for his pulse to see if life had not gone out. A tug going down the river sounded her whistle loud and long, and the dying brakeman opened his eyes and called out : "Ann Arbor! " He had been over the road a thousand times, but had made his last trip. Death was drawing a spectral train over the old track, and he was brakeman, engineer and conductor. One of the yard-engines uttered a shrill whistle of warning, as if the glare of the head- light had shown to the engineer some stranger in peril, and the brakeman called out : " Yp-silanti ! Change cars here for the Eel River Road! " " He is coming in fast," whispered one of the men. "And the end of his ' run' will be the end of his life, ' ' said a second. The dampness of death began to collect on the patient's forehead, and there was that ghastly look on the face that death always brings. The slamming of a door down the hall startled him again, and he moved his head, and faintly said : "Grand Trunk Junction ! Passengers going east by the Grand Trunk change cars ! ' ' He was so quiet after that that all the men gathered around the bed, believing that he was dead. His eyes closed, and the brakeman lifted his hand, moved his head, and whispered : "De— " Not "Detroit," but Death! He died with the half-uttered whisper on his lips. And the headlight on death's engine shone full in his face, and covered it with such pallor as naught but death can bring. 330 She was one of those wretched creatures Whose lives are made up of sin, Whose crimes are all seen on the surface, Bnt none of the good within. Tom Scott was the judge .and spokesman, And he briefly lined out his case That the woman was guilty of murder, Cowardly, cruel and base. A man had been found in a thicket With a bullet-hole through his head ; Still the blood from the wound was flowing But the spark of his life had fled : While the party that found him wondered Who fired the fatal shot, This woman was silently stealing . Away from the dreadful spot. - No doubt she'd have robbed the body, But, hearing them, took alarm ; In her hand she still held this pistol, It was empty, the barrel was warm. When the witnesses asked why she did She uttered a piercing shriek, But in spite of their threats and questions Not a wor,d would the woman speak. An old man, pale and grizzled, Then pushed to the open place In the circle of angry miners, And glanced at each threatening face. " Let me speak, for I am a witness, And my strength is failing fast, Let me speak for the sake of justice Ere the power to speak is past. CT €i i " Stop f Let us look behind us, Through the mist of time and tears, Till we view the golden sunlight That in by-gone days appears , Far away in the past a maiden, The pride of her happy home, Sings only of love's devotion, Dreams only of joys to come. " Her heart has been won by a stranger, Who calls her his love, his life, And vows that he woos with honor, That he'll make her his darling wife ; But the old folks' hearts are heavy, For they see that he seems not true ; In spite of his words soft spoken, They fear that their child will rue. 11 One morning they found a letter, On the open Bible it lay ; It asked for their kind forgiveness And told that she'd gone away. The mother was broken-hearted, And the grief of them both was wild ; But the father kneeled down by the Bible, And swore that he'd find his child. Twas the old, oft-told sad story Of a woman's unbounded love, A tale of a cruel deception, Of a fiend that no tears could move. At last she was left to wander, Thousands of miles away From her childhood home and loved ones, With no place her poor head to lay. ,>Ji I •^£- •'But her father for years had sought her, Wondering where she could be, Till he suddenly came upon her 'Mid those rocks that you all can see : In the road through the thicket below them, He found her in deadly strife, Trying to flee from the villain Who promised to make her his v !■&. " The father in terror shouted, Then the fiend, in his rage and ..ear, Leveled his pistol and fired, And the bullet — it struck me here." Then the old man bared his bosom And a ghastly wound revealed ; His voice was becoming weaker, Like a drunken man he reeled. Two miners then sprang beside him And seated him on the ground. Then the jury and those about them Leaned forward to catch each sound. " / am that poor girl's father, '' The old man whispered in pain, " And to save her I shot that monster, Or my child he would quick have sl a i n, " When he fell she grasped his pistol, And speeded for help away ; 'Twas then that these miners saw her, Where the dead man's body lay. I was there, but too weak to utter A word or a feeble cry, But their hands could with ease have touched me As they silently passed me by." ry\ eg ^ TtiT 1 Tom Scott then addressed the jury, He told them the case was clear, And he turned to the weeping woman To conceal an uprising tear ; In his face there was just enough shadow To soften his bright blue eye, In his voice there was just enough sadness To hint at a pain gone by. " Is she guilty ? " he asked the jury, In tones that were soft and low, But the answer came swift as lightning In a thundering, mighty "No!" The village is gone, and the actors — God knows if one living there be ; And in Dead Man's Gulch, so gloomy, But one lonely grave you'll MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 333 I LADY CLARE. T was the time when lilies blow, And clouds are highest up in air, Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe, To give his cousin, Lady Clare. I trow they did not part in scorn ; Lovers long betrothed were they ; They two will wed the morrow morn ; God's blessing on the day ! " x Ie does not love me for my birth, Nor for my lands so broad and fair ; He loves me for my own true worth, And that is well, ' ' said Lady Clare. In there came old Alice, the nurse, Said, ' ' Who was this that went from thee ? ' ' "It was my cousin," said Lady Clare, "To-morrow he weds with me." "Oh, God be thank' d," said Alice the nurse, " That all comes round so just and fair, Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands, And you are not the' Lady Clare. ' ' "Are you out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse ? ' ' Said Lady Clare, " that ye speak so' wild ? ' ' "As God's above," said Alice the nurse, ' ' I speak the truth ; you are my child. " The old Earl's daughter died at my breast I speak the truth, as I live by bread ! I buried her like my own sweet child, And put my child in her stead." "Falsely, falsely have ye done, Oh mother," she said ; "if this be true, To keep the best man under the sun So many years from his due. ' ' " Nay, now, my child," said Alice the nurse, ' ' But keep the secret for your life, And all you have will be Lord Ronald's When you are man and wife." " If I'm a beggar born," she said, ' ' I will speak out, for I dare not lie. Pull off, pull off the brooch of gold, And fling the diamond necklace by. ' ' " Nay, now, my child," said Alice the nurse, " But keep the secret all you can." She said, " Not so ; but I will know If there be any faith in man. ' ' ' ' Nay, now, what faith ? ' ' said Alice the nurse, " The man will cleave unto his right." ' 'And he shall have it, ' ' the lady replied, " Though I should die to-night." " Yet give one kiss to your mother dear ! Alas, my child, I sinned for thee." "Oh, mother, mother, mother," she said, " So strange it seems to me. " Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear, My mother dear, if this be so, And lay your hand upon my head, And bless me, mother, ere I go. ' ' She clad herself in a russet gown, She was no longer Lady Clare : She went by dale, and she went by down, With a single rose in her hair. The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought Leapt up from where she lay, Dropt her head in the maiden's hand, And follow' d her all the way. Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower ; " Oh, Lady Clare you shame your worth ! Why come you drest like a village-maid, That are the flower of the earth ? ' ■ " If I come drest like a village-maid, I am but as my fortunes are : I am a beggar-born, ' ' she said, "And not the Lady Clare." " Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, " For I am yours in word and in deed, Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, " Your riddle is hard to read." 334 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. Oh, and proudly stood she up ! Her heart within her did not fail ; She look'd into Lord Ronald's eyes, And told him all her nurse's tale. He laughed a laugh of merry scorn ; He turn'd and kiss'd her where she stood ; " If you are not the heiress born, And I," said he, " the next in blood — " If you are not the heiress born, And I," said he, " the lawful heir, We two will wed to-morrow morn, And you shall still be Lady Clare. ' ' Alfred Tennyson. PUTTING UP O 5 THE STOVE; Or, The Rime of the Economical Householder. ( Humorous. ) THE melancholy days have come that no householder loves, Days of taking down of blinds and put- ting up of stoves ; The lengths of pipe forgotten lie in the shadow of the shed, Dinged out of symmetry they be and all with rust are red ; The husband gropes amid the mass that he placed there anon, And swears to find an elbow-joint and eke a leg are gone. So fared it with good Mister Brown, when his spouse remarked : ' ' Behold ! Unless you wish us all to go and catch our deaths of cold, Swift be yon stove and pipes from out their storing place conveyed, And to black-lead and set them up, lo ! I will lend my aid." This, Mr. Brown, he trembling heard, I trow his heart was sore, For he was married many years, and had been there before, And timidly he said, " My love, perchance, the better plan 'Twere to hie to the tinsmith's shop and bid him send a man ?' ' His spouse replied indignantly : " So you would have me then To waste our substance upon riotous tinsmith's journeymen ? 'A penny saved is twopence earned,' rash prodi- gal of pelf, Go ! false one, go ! and I will black and set it up myself." When thus she spoke the husband knew that she had sealed his doom \ " Fill high the bowl with Samian lead and gim ne down that broom," He cried ; then to the outhouse marched. Apart the doors he hove And closed in deadly conflict with his enemy, the stove. Round i. They faced each other ; Brown, to get an open- ing sparred Adroitly. His antagonist was cautious — on its guard. Brown led off with his left to where a length of stove-pipe stood, Aud nearly cut his fingers off. ( The stove al- lowed first blood. ) Round 2. Brown came up swearing, in Graeco-Roman style Closed with the stove, and tugged and strove at it a weary while ; At last the leg he held gave way ; flat on his back fell Brown, And the stove fell on top of him and claimed the First Knock-down. * * * The fight is done and Brown has won \ his hands are rasped and sore, And perspiration and black lead stream from his every pore ; Sternly triumphant, as he gives his prisoner a shove, He cries, " Where, my good angel, shall I put this blessed stove ? ' ' MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 335 And calmly Mrs. Brown to him she indicates the spot, And bids him keep his temper, and remarks that he looks hot, And now comes in the sweat o' the day ; the Brown holds in his gripe And strives to fit a six-inch joint into a five- inch pipe ; He hammers, dinges, bends, and shakes, while his wife scornfully Tells him how she would manage if only she were he. At last the joints are joined, they rear a pyramid in air, A tub upon the table, and upon the tub a chair, And on chair and supporters are the stovepipe and the Brown, Like the lion and the unicorn, a-fighting for the crown ; While Mistress Brown, she cheerily says to him, " I expec' 'Twould be just like your cJ.amsiness to fall and break your neck. ' ' Scarce were the piteous accents said before she was aware Of what might be called " a miscellaneous music in the air. ' ' And in wild crash and confusion upon the floor rained down Chairs, tables, tubs, and stovepipes, anathemas, and — Brown. There was a moment's silence — Brown had fallen on the cat ; She was too thick for a book-mark, but too thin for a mat, And he was all wounds and bruises, from his head to his foot, And seven breadths of Brussels were ruined with the soot. "O wedded love, how beautiful, how sweet a thing thou art ! " Up from her chair did Mistress Brown, as she saw him falling, start, And shrieked aloud as a sickening fear did her inmost heartstrings gripe, "Josiah Winterbotham Brown, have you gone and smashed that pipe?" Then fiercely starts that Mister Brown, as one that had been wode, And big his bosom swelled with wrath, and red his visage glowed ; Wild rolled his eye as he made reply (and his voice was sharp and shrill), " I have not, madam, but, by — by — by the nine gods, I will ! ' ' He swung the pipe above his head ; he dashed it on the floor, And that stovepipe, as a stovepipe, it did exist no more ; Then he strode up to his shrinking wife, and his face was stern and wan, And in a hoarse, changed voice he hissed : " Send for that tinsmith' 's man /' ' H DE YALLER CHINEE. (Philosophically discussed by a colored man. ) E kin pick up a libbin' wharebber he goes By wukin' de railroad an' washin' ole clo'es; He kin lib 'bout as cheap as a leatherwing bat, For he watches de rat market keen as a cat ; An' his boa'd an' his rations is pretty nigh free, For a mighty smart hoss is de yaller Chinee. Den, he's not gwine to keer, whar you put him to stay, An' his eatin' don't cost but a nickel a day ; An' he won't gib a straw fur de finest hotel, When a slab-sided shanty will suit him as well ; An' empty ole box, or a holler gum tree, I's a big boa' din '-house for de yaller Chinee. An', he eats little mice, when de black-berries fail, Till de ha'r on his head gits de shape ob a tail ; An' I know by his clo'es an' his snurT-cullud face, Dat he comes fum a scrubby an' one-gallus race ; 336 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. And I's trabbled a heap, but I nebber did see Sich a curisome chap as de yaller Chinee. Dis country was made for de whites an' de blacks, For dey hoes all de corn an' pays all de tax ; You may think what you choose, but de 'sertion is true, Dat de orf-cullud furriner nebber will do ; For dar's heap o' tough people fum ober de sea, But de disgustinest sort is de yaller Chinee. When de bumble-bee crawls in de dirtdobber's hole, To warm up his fingers, an' git out ob de cole, Dar's gwine to be fuss in de family, sho' ! An' one ob de critters must pack up an' go ; An' de chinerman's gwine to diskiver right soon Dat de rabbit can't lib in a stump wid de coon. When de pecker-wood camps on de morkin- bird's nes', You kin tell pretty quick which kin tussle de bes' ; Dar's a mighty good chance ob a skirmish ahead When de speckled dog loafs 'round de Tommy- cat's bed ; An' dar's gwine to be racket wuf waitin' to see When de wukin'-man butts 'gin de yaller Chinee. FIVE CHAPTERS OF REAL LIFE. (Humorous reading. ) Chapter I. (Mr. and Mrs. Scadds, alone. ) MR. SCADDS. How often is that upstart of a Mr. Hunker coming here to see our Mildred ? Mrs. Scadds. I'm sure he's a very nice young — Mr. Scadds. Nice nothing ! Besides, he's as poor as Job's turkey, and Mildred is too young to have steady company. How often does he come ? I say six times a week and twice on Sunday. Mrs. Scadds. George, dear, remember that Mildred is older now than I was when we mar- ried ; and Mr. Hunker could not possibly have less money than we had, l'ove. Mr. Scadds. That has nothing to do with it-- not a thing. I'll put a stop to this sort of thing, so I will. I'll get a bull-dog, and turn him loose in the front yard every night. Not a soul shall approach the house after dark. I'll see what effect that'll have on him. Chapter II. (Miss Scadds and Mr. Hunker, alone. ) Miss Scadds. Before you go, Mr. Hunker, I think I ought to tell you of something papa in- tends to do. Mr. Hunker. What is it, Miss Scadds ? Miss Scadds. He's is going to buy a bull-dog ! Mr. Hufiker. I didn't know your papa was a dog fancier. Miss Scadds. He isn't; he detests dogs. Mr. Hunker. Then why does he intend to make such a purchase ? Miss Scadds. He's going to get a fierce bull- dog, so mamma tells me — and turn the ferocious beast loose in the front yard every night. Mr. Hu?iker. Afraid of burglars, is he ? Miss Scadds. N-n-no. The fact is, it is to keep you away. There. I thought I'd better tell you, Harry — er — Mr. Hunker, I mean. Mr. Hunker. My little girl — er, I mean Miss Scadds — you were afraid I would he torn to pieces by its cruel fangs, were you? I'm very glad you told me about it ; I'll be on my guard. (Looking al his watch. ) How late is it ? Time flies so rapidly in your company. Good-night, Mil — er— Miss Scadds. Chapter III. (Mr. Scadds, at the dog dealer* s.*) Mr. Scadds (to dog dealer') . I want the biggest, most ferocious bull-dog you have in the house, sir. Cridge (dog dealer). Something game, eh? Mr. Scadds. Yes ; the gamiest kind of game ! Cridge. Want to indulge in some sport, sir ? Mr. Scadds. Sport ? Cridge. Yes, sir; a dog that'll fight any dog in the country, sir. Chew him right up, sir? Mr. Scadds. Oh ! no ! I want a dog to turn loose in front of the house every night. A dog MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 337 that won't let any person except a member of the family approach. Cridge. Oh ! yes, sir. You want a watch- dog, eh? Mr. Scadds. That's it ; and I want a dog that knows his business, too, and won't be bamboozled by tramps and — and by any one else. Cridge. Well, sir ; I've a dog that will do just what you want. He was brought in only this morning by a gentleman who would not sell him except for the reason that he doesn't need him any more. He's watchful, and you can trust him, sir. Mr. Scadds. Let me see him. Cridge. Here he is, sir. Mr. Scadds. What a savage-looking beast ! Why, I'm afraid of him, myself! Cridge. He's very intelligent, sir; and he'll learn to know you and the rest of the family in a day. Then, sir, you'll have a dog to be proud of, and one you can trust. Mr. Scadds. What is his price ? Cridge. Two hundred dollars, sir. Mr. Scadds. Well, bring him over to the house about six o'clock, and introduce him to his new friends. Chapter IV. ( Mr. and Mrs. Scadds, a month later. ) Mr. Scadds. Well, my dear, I suppose that bull-dog of ours keeps young Hunker away pretty effectually, doesn' t he ? Mrs. Scadds. I'm afraid not, George, dear. Mr. Scadds. What's that? Mrs. Scadds. The fact is, the dog and Mr. Hunker are great friends, which I think shows that Mr. Hunker is a man we ought to encour- age, for you know that do'gs are good judges of human — Mr. Scadds. Good judges of fiddlesticks ! ( Takes up his hat and leaves the house in a hurry. ) Chapter V. ( Mr. Scadds' second visit to Mr. Cridge. ) Mr. Scadds. Look here, Cridge, who was the gentleman who sold that bull -dog to you that I 22P-S bought a month ago and paid you two hundred dollars for? Cridge. Young Mr. Hunker, sir. Why? Mr. Scadds (in a towering rage). ! * ! *** — MM! THE OBLIGING DRUGGIST. 4 * "T HAVE determined to die, ' ' he said, as he I entered the drug-store, and brought his fist down on the counterwith force enough to make the candy bottles dance. ' ' I have re- solved to make away with myself. Apothecary, mix me a powerful potion, which will finish my earthly career. Give me something against which antidotes are of no avail, and which the stomach- pump is powerless to withdraw. Do you under- stand ?' ' "Yes, sir," replied the druggist, as he took down a bottle containing some whitish powder. " This is the strongest poison known. I'll give you ten grains of it, which will be quite enough for your purpose." The druggist proceeded to weigh the powder and wrap it up, saying as he did so : " I would advise you to take this powder to your room, first being careful to make your will, and do such other matters as you deem necessary, for after you have swallowed the potion you will not be able to do anything before it begins to take effect. Immediately on swallowing it, first dissolving the contents of the paper in a spoonful of water, you will feel a sort of cold chill run up your spine. Then your arms will begin to shake, and your knees will knock together. Presently you will be unable to stand, and you will sink into a chair. Your eyes will then pain you. Sharp twinges will run through the eyeballs, and in about half a minute total blindness will follow. Presently gripes will seize the stomach, and you will bend forward in agony. Racking headaches will be added to your other sensations, followed by intense pains in the ears, like ordinary ear- ache intensified a thousand times. Twinges like those of the gout seize the extremities, the chills of the spinal cord become unbearable, the tongue protrudes, and the patient falls from the chair on 338 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. his face, and unconsciousness follows, which last a few minutes, until death supervenes. Twenty- five cents, please." The package was ready, but the customer did not take it. MR. PICKWICK IN THE WRONG ROOM. " "T^vEAR me, it's time to go to bed. It will 1/ never do, sitting here. I shall be pale to-morrow, Mr. Pickwick!" At the bare notion of such a calamity, Mr. Peter Magnus rang the bell for the chamber- maid ; and the striped bag, the red bag, the leather hat-box and the brown-paper parcel having been conveyed to his bed-room, he retired in company with a japanned candlestick to one side of the house, while Mr. Pickwick and another japanned candlestick were con- ducted through a multitude of tortuous windings to another. "This is your room, sir," said the chamber- maid. < < Very well, ' ' replied Mr. Pickwick, looking round him. It was a tolerably large double- bedded room, with a fire ; upon the whole a more comfortable-looking apartment than Mr. Pickwick's short experience of the accommoda- tions of the Great White Horse had led him to expect. " Nobody sleeps in the other bed, of course," said Mr. Pickwick. "Oh, no, sir." " Very good. Tell my servant to bring me up some hot water at half-past eight in the morning, and that I shall not want him any more to-night." < ' Yes, sir. ' ' And bidding Mr. Pickwick good-night, the chambermaid retired, and left him alone. Mr. Pickwick sat himself down in a chair before the fire, and fell into a train of rambling meditations, when he recollected he had left his watch on the table down-stairs. The possibility of going to sleep, unless it were ticking gently beneath his pillow, or in his watch-pocket over his head, had never entered Mr. Pickwick's brain. So as it was pretty late now, and he was unwill- ing to ring his bell at that hour of the night, he slipped on his coat, of which he had just divested himself, and taking the japanned can- dlestick in his hand, walked quietly down-stairs. The more stairs Mr. Pickwick went down, the more stairs there seemed to be to descend, and again and again, when Mr. Pickwick got into some narrow passage, and began to congratulate himself on having gained the ground-floor, did another flight of stairs appear before his aston- ished eyes. At last he reached a stone hall, which he remembered to have seen when he entered the house. Passage after passage did he explore ; room after did he peep into ; at length, just as he was on the point of giving up the search in despair, he opened the door of the identical room in which he had spent the even- ing, and beheld his missing property on the table. Mr. Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, and proceeded to retace his steps to his bed- chamber. If his progress downwards had been attended with difficulties and uncertainty, his journey back was infinitely more perplexing. He was reduced to the verge of despair, when an open door attracted his attention. He peeped in — right at last. There were the two beds, whose situation he perfectly remembered, and the fire still burning. His candle, not a long one when he first received it, had flickered away in the drifts of air through which he had passed, and sank into the socket, just as he closed the door after him. ' ' No matter, ' ' said Mr. Pickwick, "I can undress myself just as well by the light of the fire." " It is the best idea, " said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiling till he almost cracked the night-cap strings. "It is the best idea, my los- ing myself in this place, and wandering about those staircases, that I ever heard of, Droll, droll, very droll." Here Mr. Pickwick smiled again, a broader smile than before, and was about to continue the process of undressing in the best humor, when he was suddenly stopped by a most unexpected interruption : to wit, the MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 339 entrance into the room of some person with a candle, who, after locking the door, advanced to the dressing-table, and set down the light upon it. Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standing before the dressing -glass was a middle-aged lady in yellow curl-papers, busily engaged in brushing what ladies call their "back hair." However the unconscious middle-aged lady came into that room, it was quite clear that she contemplated remaining there for the night ; for she had brought a rushlight and shade with her, which, with praiseworthy pre- caution against fire, she had stationed in a basin on the floor, where it was glimmering away like a gigantic lighthouse, in a particularly small piece of water. "Bless my soul," thought Mr. Pickwick, " how very dreadful ! " ' ' Hem ! ' ' said the lady ; and in went Mr. Pickwick's head with automaton-like rapidity. ' ' I never met with anything so awful as this, ' ' thought poor Mr. Pickwick, the cold per- spiration starting in drops upon his night-cap. "Never! This is fearful." It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see what was going forward. So out went Mr. Pickwick's head again. The prospect was worse than before. The middle-aged lady had finished arranging her hair, and carefully enveloped it in a muslin night-cap with a small plaited border, and was gazing pensively on the fire. " This matter is growing alarming," reasoned Mr. Pickwick with himself. "I can't allow things to go on in this way. By the self-pos- session of that lady, it's clear to me that I must have come into the wrong room. If I call out, she'll alarm the house, but if I remain here, the consequence will be still more frightful. ' ' He shrank behind the curtains, and called out very loudly: "Ha-hum!" That the lady started at this unexpected sound was evident, by her falling up against the rush- light shade ; that she persuaded herself it must have been the effect of imagination was equally clear, for when Mr. Pickwick, under the impres- sion that she had fainted away stone-dead from fright, ventured to peep out again, she was gazing pensively on the fire as before. " Most extraordinary female this," thought Mr. Pickwick, popping in again. " Ha-hum " "Gracious Heaven !" said the middle-aged lady, "what's that?" "It's — it's — only a gentleman, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick from behind the curtains. "A gentleman ! " said the lady, with a terrific scream. "It's all over," thought Mr. Pickwick. "A strange man! " shrieked the lady. An- other instant and the house would be alarmed. Her garments rustled as she rushed towards the door. " Ma'am ! " said Mr. Pickwick, thrusting out his head, in the extremity of his desperation, "ma'am ! " ' ' Wretch, ' ' said the lady, covering her eyes with her hands, ' ' what do you want here ? ' ' "Nothing, ma'am — nothing whatever, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, earnestly. " Nothing ! " said the lady, looking up. "Nothing, ma'am, upon my honor,"' said Mr. Pickwick, nodding his head so energetically that the tassel of his night- cap danced again. " I am almost ready to sink, ma'am, because of the confusion of addressing a lady in my night- cap (here the lady hastily snatched off her's), but I can't get it off, ma'am (here Mr. Pickwick gave it a tremendous tug in proof of the state- ment). It is evident to me, ma'am, now, that I have mistaken this bed-room for my own. I had not been here five minutes, ma'am, when you suddenly entered it. ' ' " If this improbable story be really true, sir," said the lady, sobbing violently, "you will leave it instantly. ' ' "I will, ma'am, with the greatest pleasure," replied Mr. Pickwick. "Instantly, sir," said the lady. "Certainly, ma'am," interposed Mr. Pick- wick, very quickly. "Certainly, ma'am. I — 340 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. I — am very sorry, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, making his appearance at the bottom of the; bed, " to have been the innocent occasion of this alarm and emotion ; deeply sorry, ma'am." The lady pointed to the door. "I am exceedingly sorry, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, bowing very low. ' ' If you are, sir, you will at once leave the room," said the lady. " Immedaately ma'am ; this instant, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, opening the door, and drop- ping both his shoes with a loud crash in so doing. "I trust, ma'am," resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering up his shoes, and turning round to bow again, "I trust, ma'am, that my unblem- ished character, and the devoted respect I enter- tain for your sex, will plead as some slight excuse for this — ' ' But before Mr. Pickwick could con- clude the sentence, the lady had thrust him into the passage, and locked and bolted the door be- hind him. Charles Dickens. MANIFEST DESTINY. (Humorous reading. By Josh Buying. ) MANIFEST destiny iz the science ov going tew bust, or enny other place before yu git thare. I may be rong in this centi- ment, but that iz the way it strikes me ; and i am so put together that when enny thing strikes me i immejiately strike back, Manifest destiny mite perhaps be blocked out agin as the con- dishun that man and things find themselfs in with a ring in their nozes and sumboddy hold ov the ring. I may be rong agin, but if i am, awl i have got tew sa iz, i don't kno it, and what a man don't kno ain't no damage tew enny boddy else. The tru way that manifess destiny had better be sot down iz, the exact distance that a frog kan jump down hill with a striped snake after him ; i don't kno but i may be rong onst more, but if the frog don't git ketched the des- tiny iz jist what he iz a looking for. When a man falls into the bottom ov a well and makes up hiz minde tew stay thar, that ain' t manifess destiny enny more than having yure hair cut short iz \ but if he almoste gits out and then falls down in agin 16 foot deeper and brakes off hiz neck twice in the same plase and dies and iz buried thare at low water, that iz manifess des- ting on the square. Standing behind a cow in fly time and gitting kicked twice at one time, must feel a good deal like manifess destiny. Being about 10 seckunds tew late tew git an ex- press train, and then chasing the train with yure wife, and an umbreller in yure hands, in a hot day, and not getting az near tew the train az you waz when started, looks a leetle like manifess destiny on a rale rode trak. Going into a tem- pranse house and calling for a little old Bourbon on ice, and being told in a mild way that " the Bourbon iz jist out, but they hav got sum gin that cost 72 cents a gallon in Paris," sounds tew me like the manifess destiny ov moste tempranse houses. Mi dear reader, don't beleave in manifess des- tiny until you see it. Thar is such a thing az manifess destiny, but when it occurs it iz lik the number ov rings on the rakoon's tale, ov no great consequense onla for ornament. Man wan't made for a machine, if he waz ; ;+ waz a locomotift machine, and manifess destiny must git oph from the trak when the bell rings or git knocked higher than the price ov gold. Manifess destiny iz a disseaze, but it iz eazy tew heal ; i have seen it in its wust stages cured bi sawing a cord ov dri hickory wood, i thought i had it onse, it broke out in the shape ov poetry ; i sent a speciment ov the disseaze tew a magazine, the magazine man wrote me next day az follers, ' ' Dear Sir : Yu may be a phule, but you are no poeck. Yures, in haste." MRS. CAUDLE NEEDS SPRING CLOTHING. IF there is anything in the world that I hate — and you know it — it is, asking you for money. I am sure for myself, I'd rather go without a thing a thousand times, and I do, the more shame for you to let me. WJiat do I want now ? As if you didn't know ! I'm sure, if I'd any money of my own, I'd never ask you for a farthing — never! It's painful to me, MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 341 gracious knows ! What do you say ? If if s pain- ful, why so often do it ? I suppose you call that a joke — on,e of your club-jokes ! As I say, I only wish I'd any money of my own. If there is anything that humbles a poor woman, it is coining to a man's pocket for every cent. It's dreadful ! Now, Caudle, you shall hear me, for it isn't often I speak. Pray, do you know what month it is? And did you see how the children looked at church to-day— like nobody else's children ? Wliat was the matter with them ? Oh ! Caudle, how can you ask! Weren't they all in their thick merinoes and beaver bonnets ? What do you say? What of it? What! You'll tell me that you didn't see how the Briggs girls, in their new chips, turned their noses up at 'em? And you didn't see how the Browns looked at the Smiths, and then at our poor girls, as much as to say, ' ' Poor creatures ! what figures for the first of May!" You didri 't see it / The more shame for you ! I'm sure, those Briggs girls— the little minxes ! — put me in such a pucker, I could have pulled their ears for 'em over the pew. What do you say ! /ought to be ashamed to own it? Now, Caudle, it's no use talking; those children shall not cross over the threshold next Sunday if they haven't things for the sum- mer. Now mind — they shan't ; and there's an end of it ! P m always wanting money for clothes ? How can you say that? I'm sure there are no chil- dren in the world that cost their father so little ; but that's it — the less a poor woman does upon, the less she may. Now, Caudle, dear ! What a man you are ! I know you'll give me the money, because, afier all, I think you love your children, and like to see 'em well dressed. It's only natural that a father should. How much money do 1 want? Let me see, love. There's Caroline, and Jane, and Susan, and Mary Ann, and — What do you say? I needn' 't count ' 'em ? You know how many there are / That's just the way you take me up ! Well, how much money will it take? Let me see — I'll tell you in a minute. You always love to see the dear things like new pins. I know that, Caudle ; and though I say it, bless their little hearts ! they do credit to you, Caudle. How much? Now, don't be in a hurry ! Well, I think, with good pinching — and you know, Caudle, there's never a wife who can pinch closer than I can — I think, with pinching, I can do with a hundred dollars. What did you say? Hundred fiddlesticks ? What! You won't give half the money ? Very well, Mr. Caudle ; I don't care; let the children go in rags; let them stop from church, and grow up like heathens and cannibals ; and then you'll save your money, and, I suppose, be satisfied. What do you say ? Fifty dollars enough ? Yes, just like you men ; you think things cost nothing for women ; but you don't care how much you lay out upon yourselves. They only want frocks and bonnets ? How do you know what they want ! How should a man know anything at all about it And you won't give more than fifty dollars ? Very well. Then you may go shop- ping with it yourself, and see what you' 11 make of it? I'll have none of your fifty dollars, I ran tell you — no, sir ! No, you've no cause to say that. 7 don't want to dress the children up like countesses ? You often throw that in my teeth, you do ; but you know it's false, Caudle; you know it ! I only wish to give 'em proper notions of themselves; and what, indeed, can the poor things think, when they see the Briggses, the Browns, and the Smiths, — and their fathers don't make the money you do, Caudle — when they see them as fine as tulips ? Why, they must think themselves no- body. However, the hundred dollars I zw//have, if I've any ; or not a cent ! No, sir ; no, — I don't want to dress up the children like pea- cocks and parrots ! I only want to make ' em respectable. What do you say? You' 11 give me seventy -five dollars ? No, Caudle, no, not a cent will I take under a hundred. If I did, it would seem as if I wanted to waste your money ; and I am sure, when I come to think of it, one hundred dollars will hardly do ! 342 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. KENTUCKY PHILOSOPHY. Y (i)"\ "7"OU Wiyum, come 'ere, suh, disinstunce. Wut dat you got under dat box ? I do' want no foolin' — you hear me ? Wut you say ? Ain't nothin' but rocks? Pears ter me you's owdashus p'ticler. S'posin' dey's uv a new kine. I'll des take a look at dem rocks. Hi-yi ! der you tink dat I's bline ? (2) I calls dat a plain watermillion, You scamp ; an' I knows whar it giowed It cum fum de Jimmerson cawn fiel' , Dar on ter side er de road. You stole it, you rascal — you stole it. I watched you fum down in de lot, En time I gits th'ough wid you, nigger, You wont eb'n be a grease spot. (3) I'll fix you. Mirandy ! Mirandy ! Go cut me a hick'ry — make 'ase, En cut me de toughes' en keenes' You c'n fine anywhah on de place. I'll larn you, Mr. Wiyum Joe Vetters Ter lie en ter steal, you young sinner ! Disgracin yo' ole Christian mammy, En makin' her leave cookin' dinner ! (4) Now, ain't you ashamed er yo'se'f, sur? I is. I's 'shamed youse my son ! En de holy accorgian angel He's 'shamed er wut youse done. En he's tuk it down up yander, In coal-black, blood-red letters — ft One watermillion stoled By Wiyum Josephus Vetters. ' ' (5) En whut you s'posen Br'er Bascom, You teacher at Sunday-School, ' Ud say if he knowed how youse broke De good Lawd's Gol'n Rule ? Boy, whah's de raisin' I gib you ? Is you boun fuh ter be a black villiun ? I's s' prised dat a chile er you mammy 'Ud steal any man's watermillion. (6) En I's now gwine ter cut it right open, En you shian't have nary bite, Fuh a boy who'll steal watermillions — En dat in de day's broad light — Ain't — Lawdy ! it's green ! Mirandy ! Mirandy ! come on wi' dat switch ! Well, stealin' a g-r-e-e-n watermillion ! Who ebber heered tell er sich ? (7) Cain't tell w'en dey's ripe ? W'y you thump um, En w'en they go pank dey is green ; But w'en dey go punk, now you mine me, Dey's ripe — en dats des' wut I mean. En nex' time you hook watermillions — You heered me, you ig-namp, you hunk, Ef you do' want a lickin all over, Be sho' dat dey allers go " punk !" MOLLIE'S LITTLE RAM. (Parody on " Mary's Little Lamb.") MOLLIE had a little ram as black as a rub- ber shoe, and everywhere that Mollie went he emigrated too. He went with her to church one day — the folks hilarious grew, to see him walk demurely into Deacon Allen's pew. The worthy deacon quickly let his angry pas- sions rise, and gave it an un- Christian kick be- tween the sad brown eyes. This landed rammy in the aisle ; the deacon followed fast, and raised his foot again ; alas ! that first kick was his last. For Mr, Sheep walked slowly back, about a rod 'tis said, and ere the deacon could retreat, it stood him on his head. The congregation then arose, and went for that ere sheep. Several well directed butts just piled them in a heap. Then rushed they all straight for the door with curses long and loud, while rammy struck the hindmost man, and shoved him through the crowd. The minister had often heard that kindness would subdue the fiercest beast. "Aha!" he said, "I'll try that game on you." MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 343 And so he gently, kindly called: "Come Rammy, Rammy, Ram ; to see the folks abuse you so, I grieved and sorry am ! ' ' With kind and gentle words he came from that tall pulpit down, saying, ' ' Rammy, Rammy, Ram— best sheep in the town." The ram quite dropped his humble air, and rose from off his feet, and when the parson lit, he was beneath the hindmost seat. As he shot out the door, and closed it with a slam, he named a California town. I think 'twas Yuba-Dam. SOCRATES SNOOKS. MISTER Socrates Snooks, a lord of crea- don, The second time entered the married relation : Xantippe Caloric accepted his hand, And they thought him the happiest man in the land. But scarce had the honeymoon passed o'er his head, When one morning to Xantippe, Socrates said, 1 ' I think, for a man of my standing in life, This house is too small, as I now have a wife ; So, as early as possible, carpenter Carey Shall be sent for to widen my house and my dairy." "Now, Socrates, dearest," Xantippe replied, " I hate to hear everything vulgarly myd ; Now, whenever you speak of your chattels again, Say, our cow-house, our barn-yard, our pig-pen." " By your leave, Mrs. Snooks, I will say what I please Of my houses, my lands, my gardens, my trees. ' ' " Say our," Xantippe exclaimed in a rage. "I won't, Mrs. Snooks, though you ask it an age!" Oh, woman ! though only a part of man's rib, If the story in Genesis don't tell a fib, Should your naughty companion e'er quarrel with you, You are certain to prove the best man of the two. In the following case this was certainly true ; For the lovely Xantippe just pulled of! her shoe, And laying about her, all sides at random, The adage was verified — "Nil desperandum." Mister Socrates Snooks, after trying in vain, To ward off the blows which descended like rain — Concluding that valor's best part was discretion — Crept under the bed like a terrified Hessian ; But the dauntless Xantippe, not one whit afraid, Converted the siege into a blockade. At last, after reasoning the thing in his pate, He concluded ' twas useless to strive against fate : And so, like a tortoise protruding his head, Said, "My dear, may we come out from under our bed ? ' ' "Hah! hah!" she exclaimed, "Mr. Socrates Snooks, I perceive you agree to my terms by your looks : Now, Socrates — hear me — from this happy hour, If you'll only obey me, I'll never look sour." 'Tis said the next Sabbath, ere going to church, He chanced for a clean pair of trousers to search, Having found them, he asked, with a few ner- vous twitches, " My dear, may we put on our new Sunday breeches ? ' ' THE PILGRIMS. THEY were practical statesmen, these Pil- grims. They wasted no time theorizing upon methods, but went straight at the mark. They solved the Indian problem with shot-guns, and it was not General Sherman, but Miles Standish, who originated the axiom that the only good Indians are the dead ones. They were bound by neither customs nor traditions, nor committals to this or that policy. The only question with them was, Does it work? The success of their Indian experiment ' led them to try similar methods with witches, Quakers, and Baptists. Their failure taught them the differ- ence between mind and matter. A dead savage 344 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. was another wolf under ground, but one of themselves persecuted or killed for conscience sake sowed the seed of discontent and disbelief. The effort to wall in a creed and wall out liberty was at once abandoned, and to-day New England has more religions and not less religion, but less bigotry, than any other community in the world. In an age when dynamite was unknown, the Pilgrim invented in the cabin of the Mayflower the most powerful of explosives. The declara- tion of the equality of all men before the law has rocked thrones and consolidated classes. It separated the colonies from Great Britain and created the United States. It pulverized the chains of the slaves and gave manhood suffrage. It devolved upon the individual the functions of government and made the people the sole source of power. It substituted the cap of liberty for the royal crown in France, and by a bloodless revolution has added to the con- stellation of American republics, the star of Brazil. But with the ever-varying conditions incident to free government, the Puritan's talent as a political mathematician will never rust. Problems of the utmost importance press upon him for solution. When, in the effort to regu- late the liquor traffic, he has advanced beyond the temper of the times and the sentiment of the people in the attempt to enact or enforce prohibition, and either been disastrously defeated or the flagrant evasions of the statutes have brought the law into contempt, he does not despair, but tries to find the error in his calculation. If gubernatorial objections block the way of high license he will bombard the executive judgment and conscience by a proposition to tax. The destruction of homes, the ruin of the young, the increase of pauperism and crime, the added burdens upon the taxpayers by the evils of intemperance, appeal with resistless force to his training and traditions. As the power of the saloon increases the difficulties of the task, he becomes more and more certain that some time or other and in some way or other he will do that sum too. Chauncey M. Depew. WASHINGTON. (From speech at Dinas Island. By Charges Philips. Born, 1788; died, 1859.) IT is the custom of your board, and a noble one it is, to deck the cup of the gay with the garland of the great \ and surely, even in the eyes of its deity, his grape is not the less lovely when glowing beneath the foliage of the palm-tree and the myrtle. Allow me to add one flower to the chaplet, which, though it sprang in America, is no exotic. Virtue planted it, and it is naturalized everywhere. I see you antici- pate me — I see you concur with me, that it mat- ters very little what immediate spot maybe the birth-place of such a man as Washington. No people can claim, no country can appropriate him ; the boon of Providence to the human race, his fame is eternity, and his residence creation. Though it was the defeat of our arms, and the disgrace of our policy, I almost bless the con- vulsion in which he had his origin. If the heavens thundered and the earth rocked, yet, when the storm passed, how pure was the climate that it cleared ; how bright in the brow of the firmament was the planet which it revealed to us ! In the production of Washington, it does really appear as if nature was endeavoring to im- prove upon herself, and that all the virtues of the ancient world were but so many studies prepara- tory to the patriot of the new. Individual instances no doubt there were ; splendid exem- plifications of some single qualification. Caesar was merciful, Scipio was continent, Hannibal was patient ; but it was reserved for Washington to blend them all in one, and like the lovely chef-d' ceuvre of the Grecian artist, to exhibit in one glow of associated beauty, the pride of every model, and the perfection of every master. As a general, he marshalled the peasant into a veteran, and supplied by discipline the absence of experi- ence -j as a statesman, he enlarged the policy of the cabinet into the most comprehensive system of general advantage ; and such was the wisdom of his views, and the pilosophy of his counsels, that to the soldier and the statesman he almost added the character of the sage ! a conqueror, he MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 345 was untainted with the crime of blood ; a revolu- tionist, he was free from any stain of treason ; for aggression commenced the contest, and his country called him to the command. Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory returned it. If he had paused here, history might have doubted what station to assign him, whether at the head of her citizens or her soldiers, her heroes or her patriots. But the last glorious act crowns his career, and banishes all hesita- tion. Who, like Washington, after having eman- cipated a hemisphere, resigned its crown, and preferred the retirement of domestic life to the adoration of a land he might be almost said to have created ? " How shall we rank thee upon glory's page, Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage ; All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee, Far less than all thou hast forborne to be !" Such, sir, is the testimony of one not to be accused of partiality in his estimate of America. Happy, proud America ! the lightnings of heaven yielded to your philosophy ! The temptations of earth could not seduce your patriotism ! NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. IF Napoleon's fortune was great, his genius was transcendent; decision flashed upon his counsels ; and it was the same to decide and to perform. To inferior intellects, his combi- nations appeared perfectly impossible, his plans perfectly impracticable ; but, in his hands, sim- plicity marked their development, and success vindicated their adoption. His person partook the character of his mind — if the one never yielded in the cabinet, the other never bent in the field. Nature had no obstacles that he did not sur- mount — space no opposition that he did not spurn ; and whether amid Alpine rocks, Arabian sands, or polar snows, he seemed proof against peril, and empowered with ubiquity ! The whole continent of Europe trembled at behold- ing the audacity of his designs, and the miracle of their execution. Skepticism bowed to the prodigies of his performance ; romance assumed the air of history ; nor was there aught too in- credible for belief, or too fanciful for expectation, when the world saw a subaltern of Corsica waving his imperial flag over her most ancient capitals. All the visions of antiquity became common places in his contemplation ; kings were his peo- ple — nations were his outposts ; and he disposed -of courts, and crowns, and camps, and churches, and cabinets, as if they were the titular digni- taries of the chess-board ! Through this pantomime of his policy, fortune played the clown to his caprices. At his touch, crowns tumbled, beggars reigned, systems van- ished, the wildest theories took the color of his whim, and all that was venerable, and all that was novel, changed places with the rapidity of a drama. Even apparent defeat assumed the appearance of victory — his flight from Egypt con- firmed his destiny — ruin itself only elevated him to empire. Amid all these changes he stood immutable as adamant. It mattered little whether in the field or the drawing-room — with the mob or the levee — wearing the Jacobin bonnet cr the iron crown — banishing a Braganza, or espousing a Hapsburgh — dictating peace on a raft to the Czar of Russia, or contemplating defeat at the gallows of Leipsic — he was the same military despot ! Charles Phillips. ANALYSIS OF THE CHARACTER OF BONAPARTE. (Continuation of the foregoing.) CRADLED in the camp, Bonaparte was to the last hour the darling of the army; and whether in the camp or the cabinet, he never foorsook a friend or forgot a favor. Of all his soldiers, not one abandoned him till affection was useless ; and their first stipulation was for the safety of their favorite. They knew well that if he was lavish of them, he was prodigal of himself; and that if he ex- posed them to peril, he repaid them with plun- der. For the soldier, he subsidized every people ; to the people he made even pride pay tribute. The victorious veteran glittered with 346 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. his gains ; and the capital, gorgeous with the spoils of art, became the miniature metropolis of the universe. In this wonderful combination, his affectation of literature must not be omitted. The jailer of the press, he affected the patron- age of letters — the proscriber of books, he en- couraged philosophy — the persecutor of authors and the murderer of printers, he yet pretended to the protection of learning ! — the assassin of Palm, the silencer of De Stael, and the de- nouncer of Kotzebue, he was the friend of David, the benefactor of De Lille, and sent his academic prize to the philosopher of England. Such a medley of contradictions, and at the same time such an individual consistency, were never united in the same character. A royalist — a republican and an emperor — a Mohammedan — a Catholic and a patron of the synagogue — a subaltern and a sovereign — a traitor and a tyrant — a Christian and an infidel — he was, through all his vicissitudes, the same stern, im- patient, inflexible original — the same mysterious incomprehensible self — the man without a model, and without a shadow. His fall, like his life, baffled all speculation. In short, his whole history was like a dream to the world, and no man can tell how or why he was awakened from the reverie. That he has done much evil, there is little doubt ; that he has been the origin of much good, there is just as little. Through his means, intentional or not, Spain, Portugal, and France have arisen to the blessings of a free constitu- tion ; superstition has found her grave in the ruins of the inquisition ; and the feudal system, with its whole train of tyrannic satellites, has fled forever. Kings may learn from him that their safest study, as well as their noblest, is the interest of the people ; the people are taught by him that there is no despotism so stupendous against which they have not a recourse ; and to those who would rise upon the ruins of both, he is a living lesson, that if ambition can raise them from the lowest station, it can also prostrate them from the highest. Charles Phillips. ADDRESS TO THE YOUNG MEN OF ITALY. (By J. Mazzini. Born, 1808 ; died, 1872. An eminent Italian patriot, orator and writer.) The following extract, translated from the Italian, is from an impassioned address, delivered by Mazzini, at Milan, on the 25th of July, 1848, at the request of a National Association, on the occasion of a solemn commemoration of the death of the brothers Ban- diera, and their fellow-martyrs, at Cosenza. T ^THEN I was commissioned by you, young y\/ men, to proffer in this temple a few words consecrated to the memory of the brothers Bandiera, and their fellow-martyrs, at Cosenza, I thought that some one of those who heard me might perhaps exclaim, with noble in- dignation, "Why thus lament over the dead? The martyrs of liberty are only worthily honored by winning the battle they have begun. Cosenza the land where they fell, is enslaved ; Venice the city of their birth, is begirt with strangers Let us emancipate them ; and, until that moment let no words pass our lips, save those of war. ' But another thought arose, and suggested to me Why have we not conquered ? Why is it that whilst our countrymen are fighting for independ ence in the North of Italy, liberty is perishing in the South ? Why is it that a war which should have sprung to the Alps with the bound of a lion has dragged itself along for four months with the slow, uncertain motion of the scorpion sur- rounded by the circle of fire ? How has the rapid and powerful intuition of a People newly arisen to life been converted into the weary, helpless effort of the sick man, turning from side to side ? Ah ! had we all arisen in the sanctity of the idea for which our martyrs died ; had the holy standard of their faith preceded our youth to battle ; had we made of our every thought an action, and of our every action a thought ; had we learned from them that liberty and independence are one ; — we should not now have war, but vic- tory. Cosenza would not be compelled to vener- ate the memory of her martyrs in secret, nor Venice be restrained from honoring them with a monument ; and we, here gathered together, might gladly invoke those sacred names, without MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 347 uncertainty as to our future destiny, or a cloud of sadness on our brows ; and might say to those precursor souls, ' ' Rejoice, for your spirit is in- carnate in your brethren, and they are worthy of you. ' ' Could Attilio and Emilio Bandiera, and their fellow-martyrs, now arise from the grave and speak to you, they would, believe me, ad- dress you, though with a power very different from that given to me, in counsel not unlike that which now I utter. Love ! Love is the flight of the soul towards God ; towards the great, the sublime, and the beautiful, which are the shadow of God upon earth. Love your family ; the partner of your life j those around you, ready to share your joys and sorrows ; the dead, who were dear to you, and to whom you were dear. Love your country. It is your name, your glory, your sign among the Peoples. Give to it your thought, your counsel, your blood. You are twenty-four millions of men, endowed with active, splendid faculties ; with a tradition of glory, the envy of the Nations of Europe ; an immense future is before you, — your eyes are raised to the loveliest heaven, and around you smiles the loveliest land in Europe ; you are encircled by the Alps and the sea, boundaries marked out by the finger of God for a people of giants. And you must be such, or nothing. Let not a man of that twenty-four millions remain excluded from the fraternal bond which shall join you together; let not a look be raised to that heaven, which is not that of a free man. Love humanity. You can only ascertain your own mission from the aim placed by God before humanity at large. Beyond the Alps, beyond the sea, are other Peoples, now fighting, or pre- paring to fight, the holy fight of independence, of nationality, of liberty ; other Peoples striv- ing by different routes to reach the same goal. Unite with them, — they will unite with you. And love, young men, love and reverence the Idea ; it is the country of the spirit, the city of the soul, in which all are brethren who believe in the inviolability of thought, and in the dig- nity of our immortal natures. From that high sphere spring the principles which alone can redeem the Peoples. Love enthusiasm, — the pure dreams of the virgin soul, and the lofty visions of early youth ; for they are the per- fume of Paradise, which the soul preserves in issuing from the hands of its Creator. Respect, above all things, your conscience ; have upon your lips the truth that God has placed in your hearts; and, while working together in harmony in all that tends to the emancipation of our soil, even with those who differ from you, yet ever bear erect your own banner, and boldly promul- gate your faith. Such words, young men, would the martyrs of Cosenza have spoken, had they been living amongst you. And here, where, perhaps, in- voked by our love, their holy spirits hover near us, I call upon you to gather them up in your hearts, and to make of them a treasure amid the storms that yet threaten you ; but which, with the name of our martyrs on your lips, and their faith in your hearts,, you will overcome. God be with you- Mid bless Italy ! APPEAL TO THE JURY. (Trial of O'Mullan.) I AM told they triumph much in this con- viction. I seek not to impugn the verdict of that jury ; I have no doubt they acted conscientiously. It weighs not with me that every member of my client's creed was care- fully excluded from that jury — no doubt they acted conscientiously. It weighs not with me that every man impaneled on the trial of the priest were exclusively Protestant, and that, too, in a city so prejudiced, that not long ago, by their corporation law, no Catholic dared breathe the air of heaven within its walls — no doubt they acted conscientiously . It weighs not with me, that not three days previously, one of that jury was heard publicly to declare, he wished he could persecute the papist to his death — no doubt they acted conscientiously. It weighs not with me that the public mind had been so inflamed by the exasperation of this libeler that an im- partial trial was utterly impossible. Let them 348 MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. enjoy their triumph. But for myself, knowing him as I do, here in the teeth of that convic- tion, I declare it, I would rather be that man, so aspersed, so imprisoned, so persecuted, and have his consciousness, than stand the highest of of the courtliest rabble that ever crouched before the foot of power, or fed upon the people-plundered alms of despotism. Oh ! of short duration is such demoniac triumph. Oh ! blind and groundless is the hope of vice, imag- ining that its victory can be more than for the moment. This very day I hope will prove that if virtue suffers, it is but for a season ; and that sooner or later, their patience tried, and their purity testified, prosperity will crown the in- terests of probity and worth. Charles Phillips. A REVOLUTIONARY SERMON.* SOLDIERS and countrymen : We have met this evening perhaps for the last time. We have shared the toil of the march, the peril of the fight, the dismay of the retreat ; alike we have endured toil and hunger, the contumely of the internal foe, the outrage of the foreign oppressor. We have sat night after night beside the same camp-fire, shared the same rough soldier's fare ; we have together heard the roll of the reveille which called us to duty, or the beat of the tattoo which gave the signal for the hardy sleep of the sol- dier, with the earth for his bed, and a knapsack for his pillow. And now, soldiers and brethren, we have met in this peaceful valley, on the eve of battle, while the sunlight is dying away beyond yonder heights, the sunlight that to-morrow morn will glimmer on scenes of blood. We have met amid the whitening tents of our encampment ; in times of terror and gloom have we gathered together — God grant it may not be for the last time ! It is a solemn time. It was but a