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ERMINE 0WEN 
 
 MORAST & CO., PHOTOGRAPHERS, CLINTON, MO. 
 
READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 AND 
 
 IMPERSONATIONS 
 
 BY 
 
 EKMINE OWEN 
 
 CHAIR OF HISTORY AND ELOCUTION 
 North Missouri State Normal School 
 
 "^i 
 
 s 
 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE COLUMBIAN PUBLISHING CO. 
 1891 
 
^ 
 
 ^ .0* 
 
 V 
 
 Copyright, 1891, 
 
 BY 
 
 ERMINE OWES. 
 
In Kindly Remembrance of the 
 
 STUDENTS of the NORTH MISSOURI STATE NORMAL, 
 
 with whom 
 
 FOR EIGHT YEARS I HA VE BEEN ASSOCIA TED ; 
 
 with a particularly pleasant 
 
 REGARD FOR THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN MEMBERS 
 
 of my 
 
 EL C UTION CLA SSES ; 
 
 and in honest sympathy with all who 
 
 "WANT A PIECE TO SPEAK," 
 
 THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 
 
 Kirksvillk, Mo., Jan. 1, 1891. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Apostrophe to "Water Prof. Ferguson. 1 
 
 Como, or My Tiger Lily Joaquin Miller. 3 
 
 The New South H. W. Grady. 6 
 
 "Margery" N. Y. Graphic. 9 
 
 " Sharing Thanksgiving Dinner ". . . Mrs. Emma E. Meguire. 12 
 
 Baby's Name School-day Magazine. 15 
 
 The Fourth of July at Jonesville Josiah Allen's Wife. 16 
 
 The Voice of the Helpless Demorest's Monthly. 22 
 
 The Gin Fiend 23 
 
 First Soliloquy of a Rationalistic Chicken 25 
 
 The Sleep-walking Scene from "Macbeth " Shakespeare. 27 
 
 The Child-wife Charles Dickens. 27 
 
 Hiawatha's Wooing Longfellow. 32 
 
 The Famine Longfellow. 36 
 
 The Little Housekeeper 39 
 
 The Present Age W. E. Channing. 41 
 
 Mr. Horner on Grumble Corner N. Y. Independent. 42 
 
 " Flight of the Angel Gabriel " Prof. Ferguson. 44 
 
 Baby George MacDonald. 45 
 
 Nothing to Wear Wm. Allen Butler. 46 
 
 The Little Scheherezade 51 
 
 The Day of Peace. . E. T. Willet. 52 
 
 Uncrowned among the Nations J. D. Finney. 56 
 
 Adown the Field Together. Louise TJpham. 58 
 
 " The World for Sale " Balph Hoyt. 60 
 
 Thirteen and Dolly. St. Nicholas Magazine. 62 
 
 Edinburgh after Flodden W. E. Aytoun. 63 
 
 The Case of Mrs. Moll Harbour, in "YoitlJi's Companion." 67 
 
 The Dolls' Tea Party 72 
 
 The Victory of the Frosts Avanelle Holomes. 73 
 
 Lost in the Sea Fog ,..,..., ,.,... 75 
 
vi TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The Chariot Race Gen. Lew Wallace. 77 
 
 What Makes the Grasses Grow? St. Nicholas Magazine. 32 
 
 The Pleasures of Hope Thomas Campbell. 84 
 
 Boy Brittan Forceythe Willson. 87 
 
 The Fall of Jerusalem Geo. Croly. 90 
 
 The Harvest Alice La Due. 93 
 
 The Song of Steam 95 
 
 The Bride of the Greek Isle Mrs. Hemans. 97 
 
 Gates 100 
 
 The Race Problem Henry W. Grady. 102 
 
 Mormon Wife Number One, on the Arrival of Number 
 
 Twenty-one L. B. Cake. 106 
 
 The Dreamland Sea 108 
 
 Wee Joukydaidles James Smith. 108 
 
 Le Manage de Convenance Leigh Hunt. 109 
 
 My Ships at Sea Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 112 
 
 The Baby's Pillow Mrs. 8. T. Perry. 113 
 
 A Madman's Manuscript Charles Dickens. 114 
 
 Before and After School Rhode Island Schoolmaster. 118 
 
 Woman and the Rose , James Stewart. 119 
 
 Twickenham Ferry 121 
 
 Robin 121 
 
 Aunty Dolef id's Visit to Her Sick Friend 125 
 
 A Legend of Martha's Vineyard 127 
 
 King of Candy-Land Youth's Companion. 130 
 
 I Love, You Love 1 30 
 
 The Province of History James Ridpath. 131 
 
 Look Not upon the Wine When It Is Red L. R. Plietys. 134 
 
 Tbe Cheap Jack Charles Dickens. 135 
 
 The March of Time W. S. Walker. 141 
 
 The Children and the Angel George B. Griffith, 143 
 
 The Gran dame's Story Mrs. Henry. 144 
 
 The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille Longfellow. 150 
 
 How Ruby Played the Piano Geo. Wm. Bagby. 155 
 
 Napoleon 158 
 
 The Gospel Harpoon Homiletic Review. 160 
 
 Inasmuch Mary Glen. 162 
 
 A King among Men Harriet M. Spaulding. 165 
 
 Elsie's Thanksgiving -Margaret E. Sangster. 165 
 
 The Graveyard of the Ages 168 
 
 Mrs. Leo Hunter. Charles Dickens. 170 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. vii 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The Elf-child James Wlutcomb Riley. 173 
 
 Macbeth and the Dagger Shakespeare 174 
 
 Hamlet Ex-Gov. Davis of Minnesota. 175 
 
 Miracles 177 
 
 The Battle Schiller. 179 
 
 Mansie Wauch at the Play David Moir. 181 
 
 The Runaway Princess Emily H. Miller. 183 
 
 The Fate of Nina and Rieuzi 
 
 Adapted from Bulwer's " Last of the Tribunes." 186 
 
 The Child on the Judgment Seat Mrs. Elizabeth Charles. 188 
 
 May Days Waverly Magazine. 191 
 
 The Conquered Banner Father Ryan. 193 
 
 Robert E. Lee B. H. Hill. 195 
 
 The Puritans Macaulay. 195 
 
 Artist and Peasant Fannie L. Fancher. 198 
 
 Marse Phil Thomas Nelson Page. 199 
 
 A Little Mistake J. McDermott, in " Youth's Companion." 201 
 
 North and South George G. V t est. 203 
 
 Pansy Blossom 204 
 
 To the Memory of S. S. Cox W.J. Stone. 206 
 
 Gettysburg George William Curtis. 207 
 
 Jack Frost's Little Sister Youth's Companion. 209 
 
 A Democracy Hateful to Philip Demosthenes. 210 
 
 The End of the Play Wm. M. Thackeray. 212 
 
 Brutus on the Death of Caesar Shakespeare. 214 
 
 Autumn S. U. Dent. 215 
 
 What Constitutes a State ? Sir William Jones. 216 
 
 Baby Boys 217 
 
 Glaucus in the Roman Arena 
 
 Adapted from Bulwer's " Last Days of Pompeii." 218 
 
 Nydia Adapted from Bulwer's " Last Days of Pompeii." 221 
 
 At " The Literary " 
 
 James Whitcomb Riley, in^ " Century Magazine." 224 
 
 Sent Back by the Angels 
 
 ■. . . .Langbridge, in " The Voice Magazine." 226 
 
 Naughty Girl 231 
 
 The Way to Sleeptown S. W. Foss. 234 
 
 Iraph-m James Nicholson. 235 
 
 A Secret Lizzie M. Hadley. 237 
 
 The Stars and Stripes B. H. Hill. 238 
 
 The Little Gnome Laura Richards, in " St. Nicholas." 240 
 
viii TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Rob, the Pauper Will Carleton. 242 
 
 Buckingham Foiled Sir Walter Scott. 246 
 
 A Dream of Fair Women 
 
 Adapted from Tennyson's "Dream of Fair Women." 253 
 
 Index ,,,,, 259 
 
PEE FACE. 
 
 
 This " Collection of Recitations " has, for its ap- 
 pearance, the same reasons that books of this order 
 usually have — the necessities and experiences of the 
 class-room. 
 
 Partly for my own convenience, but more par- 
 ticularly in response to the continual call made by 
 students for something to recite, I have been in- 
 duced to prepare the present work, and to present 
 in an orderly collection a part of the large number 
 of literary gems that have accumulated on my hands 
 during my experience as a teacher. 
 
 To the habit of clipping from newspapers and 
 magazines, preserving political speeches and other 
 articles of merit in my private scrap-books, I am in- 
 debted for many of the rare selections here found. 
 This does not imply, however, that they are old and 
 hackneyed, or have " lost their savor." On the con- 
 trary, many of the pieces appear for the first time in 
 the form of a declamation, and in some cases hundreds 
 of pages have been read in order to secure a recita- 
 tion of, perhaps, not more than three pages. Students 
 will appreciate the fact that much of this work has 
 been done amid the arduous demands of the class- 
 room ; and will derive an added pleasure in recogniz- 
 ing those selections which have won the medals in 
 the various contests. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Recitations suitable for children are also given, 
 with the desire of making this book a valuable and 
 effective aid to both teacher and pupil in Friday- 
 afternoon exercises and evening entertainments. 
 
 While I feel justified in calling this a new book, I 
 have not omitted some of those masterpieces of 
 eloquence which, though old, never lose their interest, 
 nor grow stale by repetition. 
 
 Ermine Owen, 
 
 Chair of History and Elocution. 
 
 North Mo. State Normal School. 
 
ELOCUTIONARY MAXIMS. 
 
 " There is in souls a sympathy with sounds." 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 " Give me no more of body than shows soul." 
 
 Browning. 
 
 " Do not mistake perspiration for inspiration." 
 
 Warman. 
 
 "There must be impression before there can be expression." 
 
 Delsarte. 
 
 " Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this 
 special observance, that you overstep not the modesty of 
 nature." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 " Voices must go deeper into us than other things. I have often 
 fancied heaven might be made of voices." 
 
 George Eliot. 
 
 " The angels judge of man's feelings by the tones of his voice. Of 
 his thoughts by his articulation." 
 
 Sioedenborg. 
 
 " A stiff uniformity of speech is not only displeasing to the ear, 
 but disappointing in its every effect." 
 
 Betterton. 
 
 " Action is the predominant power in eloquence, and its chief 
 and most desirable advantage lies in a good voice." 
 
 Cicero. 
 
READINGS, RECITATIONS, AND 
 IMPERSONATIONS. 
 
 APOSTROPHE TO WATER. 
 
 We read of " the wine 
 
 That smacks of the vine 
 
 That grows by the beautiful river "— 
 
 But oh, did you ever consider the glories of God's 
 pure water? The scientist, looking back over the 
 history of our planet, traces, with admiration, the 
 part which water hath played in the great drama of 
 life — beautiful life upon the earth. Surely it hath 
 been the busiest thing in all this world of ours. 
 Evaporated again and again, it has sped as on angel 
 wings to and fro 'twixt earth and heaven, on its 
 mission of love and goodness. Now down to the 
 roots of the grasses it hath gone, to pump up the 
 green chlorophyll that paints their delicate fronds ; 
 then upon the sunbeams' path of gold it hath climbed 
 to the very clouds to paint the bow of beauty on the 
 sky, and to come down to earth again freighted with 
 corn and with abundance ; now down into the earth 
 it goes to pump up the sweet juices that fill the apple 
 fountain, and flake its delicate covering with ruby 
 and russet and brown ; now cooling the brow of the 
 sufferer when the fiery fever is upon him ; then up 
 to the very heavens again to float in mighty conti- 
 nents of clouds to and fro over the earth ; now 
 
2 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 resting upon the brow of the baptized babe ; now 
 down into the ocean depths, where the monsters of 
 the deep are kenneled ; then up on silver wings it 
 hath flown to its home in the sky, to flit along cloudy- 
 corridors of day, like some fair spirit winging its 
 way to the celestial city; now wreathing the beauti- 
 ful bridal veil that adorns fair blushing June ; now 
 weaving the snowy winding-sheet that drapes the 
 dying year ; now flashing in the dew-drop ; now fall- 
 ing in the rain ; now fretting the dainty frostwork 
 upon the window-pane ; now playing its harp iEolian 
 in the far-off depths of the meadow ; now thundering 
 in the billows that break upon the shore. 
 
 Thus on, ever on, in its unwearying work it has 
 gone ; never resting, never lingering, never fainting 
 on the way, this mighty toiler of the ages hath 
 builded up the beauty and strength of this fair 
 world of ours. Surely it hath been the Master 
 Builder of the Ages; pulling down old continents 
 that have fulfilled their day, and building up better 
 and brighter, while flinging over their stony steeps 
 the mantle of the beautiful. 
 
 For aught we know the very water in that goblet 
 formed a part of the original creation ; that it saw 
 the glories of Creation's morning and heard the voice 
 of Him who said, " Let there be light ! " It looked 
 upon the world when like a lovely jewel it first 
 flashed from the Creator's fingers. For aught we 
 know the water now flashing in that goblet may have 
 stood in sparkling dew upon Eden's first flowers, or 
 rested upon the brow of beautiful Eve, when, suffused 
 with blushes, and with pleasure, she stood for the 
 first time before her lordly husband. For aught we 
 know it may have formed a portion of those very 
 drops that pattered on the roof of the a'rk, or 
 formed the bow of promise that greeted the eyes of 
 the old patriarch when he came forth with his strange 
 caravan, or rested on the brow of the baptized Jesus, 
 when he came up from Jordan's wave ; and on, ever 
 on, they will go in their unwearying work, until at 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 3 
 
 last they form a portion of that cloud on which He 
 will appear " when He cometh to judge the world." 
 
 Oh water ! beautiful water ! Heaven's benisons 
 rest upon thee ! Thy home is in the sky ! — far up in 
 the beautiful blue, where angels walk in robes of 
 starry light. Thou comest to the earth in many a 
 fairy form of icicle and frosted snow. And when, in 
 the music of soft spring rain, I hear the patter of 
 thy tiny feet upon my window-pane, I bless thee, for 
 thou art full of corn and abundance. Thou comest 
 to earth on a mission of love, flowers spring up in 
 thy footprints. Wherever thou goestover the earth 
 it is as though an angel had shaken his glittering 
 pinions and heaven's own dew and sunlight had 
 fallen around. Everything that breathes doth bless 
 thee ! Eighteen hundred years have rolled around, 
 since some Oscan beauty took thee from the spark- 
 ling spring, to bathe her dark eyes, or wash the dust 
 from her black tresses, when, heated with love-making 
 and the sight of blood, she came by night from the 
 arena of the gladiators. Though eighteen hundred 
 years have passed away since thou wast taken from 
 thy mountain home, yet thou art crystal pure ; — as 
 pure to slake the thirst of the Neapolitan as ever 
 thou wast that of Diomede, or Glaucus, or Nydia 
 the Flower Girl. 
 
 Oh water ! — beautiful water ! Heaven's benisons 
 rest upon thee ! — Prof. Ferguson. 
 
 COMO, OR MY TIGER LILY. 
 
 The red-clad fishers row and creep, 
 Below the crags, as half asleep, 
 Nor ever make a single sound. 
 The walls are steep, the waves are deep, 
 And if a dead man should be found, 
 Why, who shall say but he was drowned? 
 
4 READINGS, RECITATION'S, 
 
 The lakes lay bright as bits of broken moon 
 Just newly set within the cloven earth. 
 The ripened fields drew round a golden girth 
 Far up the steeps and glittered in the noon. 
 And when the sun fell down from leafy shore, 
 Fond lovers stole in pairs to ply the oar. 
 The stars as large as lilies flecked the blue, 
 From the Alps the moon came wheeling through 
 The rocky pass the great Napoleon knew. 
 
 A gala night it was — the seasons prime, 
 We rode from castled lake to festal town, 
 To fair Milan. My friend and I, rode down 
 By night, when grasses waved in rippled rhyme, 
 And so, what theme but love at such a time ? 
 His proud lip curled the while with silent scorn 
 At thought of love, and then as one forlorn 
 He sighed, then bared his temples dashed with gray, 
 Then mocked — as one outworn and well blase*. 
 
 A gorgeous tiger lily — flaming red, 
 So full of battle — of the trumpet's flare, 
 Of old-time passion — upreared its head — 
 I galloped past — I leaned — I clutched it — Then 
 From out the long, strong grass I held it high 
 And cried : " Lo, this to-night shall deck her hair, 
 Through all the dance : And mark ! the man shall die 
 Who dares assault for good or ill design 
 The Citadel where I shall set this sign." 
 
 He spoke no spare word all the after while. 
 That scornful, cold, contemptuous smile of his ! 
 And in the hall the same old hateful smile ! 
 Why, better men have died for less insult than this ! 
 Then marvel not that when she graced the floor, 
 With all the beauties gathered from the four 
 Far quarters of the earth, and in her midnight hair 
 My tiger lily — marvel not — I say, 
 That he glared like some wild beast well at bay. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 5 
 
 Oh ! she shone fairer than summer star 
 Or curled sweet moon in middle destiny. 
 Oh, have you loved and truly loved, and seen 
 Aught else the while but your own stately queen? 
 Her presence it was majesty — so tall — 
 Her proud development encompassed all — 
 She rilled all space, I sought, I saw but her. 
 1 followed as some fervid worshipper. 
 
 Adown the dance she moved with matchless grace, 
 The world — my world moved with her ! 
 Suddenly, I questioned who her cavalier might be. 
 'Twas he ! his face was leaning to her face. 
 I clutched my blade. I sprang, I caught my breath, 
 And so stood leaning, cold, and still as death. 
 And they stood still. She blushed, then reached and 
 
 tore 
 The lily as she passed. All round the floor 
 She strewed its heart like bits of gushing gore. 
 'Twas he said, " heads not hearts were made to break." 
 He taught me this that night in splendid scorn. 
 I learned too well. The dance was done — Ere morn 
 We mounted — he and I, but no more spoke — 
 And this for woman's love ! My lily, worn 
 In her dark hair in pride — to then be torn 
 And trampled on for this bold stranger's sake! 
 Two men rode silent back toward the lake, 
 Two men rode silent down — but only one 
 Rode up at morn to meet the rising sun. 
 
 The walls are steep, the crags shall keep 
 Their everlasting watch profound. 
 The walls are steep, the waves are deep — 
 And if a dead man should be found 
 By red clad fishers in their round, 
 Why, who shall say but he was drowned ? 
 
 Joaquin Miller. 
 
READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 THE NEW SOUTH. 
 
 " There was a South of slavery and secession, — 
 that South is dead. — There is a South of union and 
 freedom, — that South, thank God, is living, breathing, 
 growing every hour." 
 
 Dr. Talmage has drawn for you with a master's 
 hand the picture of your returning armies. How, in 
 the pomp and circumstance of war, they came back 
 to you, with proud and victorious tread, reading their 
 glory in a nation's eyes ! I will tell you of another 
 ami}' that sought its home at the close of the late 
 war — an army that marched home in defeat and not 
 in victory — in pathos and not in splendor, but in glory 
 that equalled yours, and to hearts as loving as ever 
 welcomed heroes home. Think of the foot-sore Con- 
 federate soldier, as ragged, half-starved, he turned 
 his face southward from Appomattox, in April, 1865. 
 Having fought to exhaustion, he surrenders his 
 gun, wrings the hands of his comrades in silence, and 
 lifting his tear-stained and pallid face for the last 
 time to the graves that dot the old Virginia hills, 
 pulls his gray cap over his brow, and begins the slow 
 and painful journey. What does he find ? answer, 
 you, who went to your homes eager to find in the wel- 
 come you had justly earned, full payment for four 
 years' sacrifice. He finds the home he left so pros- 
 perous and beautiful in ruins, his farm devastated, his 
 slaves free, his barn empty, his money worthless, his 
 social system, feudal in its magnificence, swept awa}', 
 his comrades slain, and the burdens of others heavy 
 on his shoulders. Crushed by defeat, his very tra- 
 ditions are gone. 
 
 What does lie do — this hero in gray with heart of 
 gold ? Sit down in sullenness and despair ? not for a 
 day. Surely God, who has stripped him of his pros- 
 perity, inspired him in his adversity. Restoration 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 7 
 
 was swift. The soldier stepped from the trenches 
 into the furrow : horses that had charged federal 
 guns marched before the plow, and fields that ran 
 red with human blood in April, were green with 
 harvest in June, and there was little bitterness in all 
 this. Bill Arp struck the key-note when he said, 
 " Well, I killed as many of them as they did of me ; 
 and now I am going to work, and if the Yankees fool 
 with me any more I will whip 'em again." 
 
 Never was nobler duty confided to human hands 
 than the uplifting and upbuilding of the prostrate 
 and bleeding South, misguided perhaps, but beautiful 
 in her suffering — honest, brave, and generous 
 always. 
 
 When Lee surrendered, the South became, and 
 has since been loyal to this Union. She fought hard 
 enough to know she was whipped, and in the toad's 
 head of defeat she found her jewel. The shackles 
 that had held her in narrow limitations fell forever, 
 when the shackles of the negro slave were broken. 
 Under the old regime, the negroes were slaves to the 
 South, the South was a slave to the system. The old 
 South rested everything on slavery and agriculture, 
 unconscious that these could neither give nor main- 
 tain healthy growth. The new South presents a per- 
 fect democracy — a social system compact, and 
 closely knitted, less splendid on the surface, but 
 stronger at the core, a hundred farms for every plan- 
 tation, fifty homes for every palace. 
 
 The new South is enamored of her work. Her 
 soul is stirred with the breath of a new life. The 
 light of a grander day is falling fair on her face. She 
 is thrilling with the consciousness of glowing power 
 and prosperity, as she stands upright and full 
 statured, breathing the keen air and looking out 
 upon the expanding horizon, she understands that her 
 emancipation came because in the inscrutable wisdom 
 of God her honest purpose was crossed and her brave 
 armies were beaten. 
 
 The South has nothing for which to apologize. 
 
8 BEADING 8, BECITATIONS, 
 
 She believes that the late struggle between the 
 States was war and not rebellion, revolution and not 
 conspiracy, and that her convictions were as honest 
 as yours. She has nothing to take back. In my 
 native town of Athens is a monument that crowns its 
 central hills — a plain, white shaft. Deep cut into 
 its shining side is a name dear to me above the names 
 of men, — that of a brave and simple man, who died 
 in brave and simple faith. Not for all the glories of 
 New England, from Plymouth Rock all the way 
 down, would I exchange the heritage he left me in 
 his soldier's death. To the foot of that shaft I shall 
 send my children's children to reverence him who 
 ennobled their names with his heroic blood. But, sir, 
 speaking from the shadow of that memory, which I 
 honor as I do nothing else on earth, I say that the 
 cause in which he suffered, and for which he gave 
 his life, was adjudged by higher and fuller wisdom 
 than his or mine. And I am glad that the omnis- 
 cient God held the balance of battle in His Almighty 
 hand ; that human slavery was swept from the 
 American soil, and the American union saved from 
 the wreck of war. 
 
 This message, Mr. President, comes to you from 
 consecrated ground. The very soil of the State of 
 Georgia is as sacred as a battle ground of the Repub- 
 lic, and hallowed to you by the blood of your brothers, 
 who died for your victory, and hallowed to us by the 
 blood of those, who died hopeless, but undaunted in 
 defeat — sacred soil to all of us — rich with memories 
 that make us purer and stronger and better. Speak- 
 ing, an eloquent witness in its white peace and pros- 
 perity to the indissoluble union of the American States 
 and the imperishable brotherhood of the American 
 people. 
 
 Now what answer has New England to this mes- 
 sage ? Will she permit the prejudice of war to re- 
 main 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 their 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 9' 
 
 hearts which never felt the generous ardor of con- 
 flict it may perpetuate itself ? Will she withhold, 
 save in strained courtesy, the hand which straight 
 from his soldier's heart Grant offered to Lee at Ap- 
 poinattox? Will she make the vision of a restored 
 and happy people, which gathered about the couch 
 of your dying captain, filling his heart with grace, 
 touching 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, 
 a delusion and a cheat? If she does, the South must 
 accept with dignity its refusal. If she does not, then 
 standing, heart to heart and clasping hands, we will 
 remain citizens of the same country ; members of 
 the same government, all united now and united 
 forever. — H. W. Grady. 
 
 "MARGERY." 
 
 (Prize Recitation, June, 1887. N. Mo. State Normal.) 
 
 I met my brother at the train 
 
 And kissed him welcome home again, 
 
 O, I was proud his face to scan — 
 
 Home from the dreadful Rapidan ! 
 
 Two years had passed — two years that day 
 
 Since he had led his men away ; 
 
 Bright o'er his head the banner streamed, 
 
 Bright on his sword the sunlight gleamed. 
 
 We saw them, faintly through our tears, 
 
 We heard them send back answering cheers ; 
 
 And now, in flush of joy and pride, 
 
 Once more I had him at my side. 
 
 Across the green we strolled along, 
 
 And all the air seemed full of song, 
 
 As happy hundreds flocked about 
 
 Rejoicing in the muster out. 
 
 Just then a wail fell on the ear — 
 
 A wail it thrilled the soul to hear — 
 
10 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 " Charley ! Charley ! 
 Come home to me ! Come home to me ! " 
 
 " What's that ? " cried Tom, and clutched my arm 
 
 As if to hold me back from harm — 
 
 " What is that dreadful wailing, Kate ? 
 
 Wretched — heart-broken — desolate ! " 
 
 " Why Tom," said I, " that's Margery Hall, 
 
 We all have learned her hopeless call, 
 
 She married Charley just the day 
 
 Before his regiment marched away ; 
 
 At Christmas he would come again, 
 
 He said, as fled the flying train, 
 
 She waited trembling for the hour 
 
 And prayed that God would give her power 
 
 To bear the burden of her joy 
 
 When she should greet her gallant boy. 
 
 How sluggishly the dull months passed ! 
 
 But all the days crept by at last 
 
 And Christmas morning came ; she drest 
 
 In all her brightest things and best, 
 
 And ran to see the train come in. 
 
 Oh ! Here upon this bulletin 
 
 She read : 
 
 ' Killed by a rifle ball 
 In charge on Wagner — Sergeant Hall.' 
 
 " She fell and lay as she were dead, 
 And then it was her reason fled ; 
 On this one point — on others sane — 
 She looks for Charley home again. 
 She watches near this bulletin 
 Each time the trains come in. 
 She never smiles, she never weeps, 
 But still her tearless vigil keeps, 
 And always says ; ' He's on the way, 
 And he is due at home — to-day ! ' 
 And gazes at the morning sun 
 Counting her fingers, one by one. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 11 
 
 O, it is pitiful to see 
 How grandly patient she can be ; 
 She preens herself with ribbons rare 
 And braids fresh roses in her hair, 
 Then with serene and tranquil brow 
 Sings, Tom, just as you hear her now: 
 
 ' Charley ! Charley ! 
 Come home to me ! Come home to me !" 
 
 "Poor girl," said Tom, and shook his head; 
 
 " Poor girl — for Sergeant Hall is dead. 
 
 I saw him on that fearful night ; 
 
 He was the foremost in the fight 
 
 The Colonel called for men to leap 
 
 And storm Fort Wagner up the steep : 
 
 One stepped out first, alert and tall, 
 
 And grasped the colors — Sergeant Hall. 
 
 As he was waiting there, he set 
 
 Above the flag a silk rosette, 
 
 And then he smiled and said to me, 
 
 s For love, home and Margery ! ' 
 
 They faced the storm of shot and shell 
 
 And sprang into that blazing hell — 
 
 ' Forward ! ' I seem to see them yet ; 
 
 The flag is on the parapet, 
 
 It waves exultant on the crest, 
 
 Falls inward ! — God knows the rest ! 
 
 Poor fellow ! — where the squadron wheeled, 
 
 I saw him buried on the field ! " 
 
 As brother Tom rehearsed the tale 
 I marked beyond him, wan and pale, 
 Poor Margery bending close to hear, 
 And then she shouted, loud and clear : 
 
 " Charley ! Charley ! 
 Come home to me ! Come home to me ! " 
 " I saw a similar name to-day," 
 Said Tom, " There is a man, they say, 
 Whose name is Hall, and went from here 
 Has been in Andersonville a year ; 
 
12 READINGS, RECITATIONS. 
 
 Is now escaped, and on his way " 
 
 A shout ! A stalwart man, 
 Haggard and grim, and brown with tan, 
 Came bursting through the startled crowd 
 And swung his arms, and cried aloud ; 
 " Stand back ! I hear her sweet voice call ! 
 Where's Margery ? I am Sergeant Hall ! " 
 
 O, joy too great for life ! one cry 
 She uttered, piercing, wild and high, 
 Then all unconscious, dropped to rest, 
 Pallid and pulseless on his breast. 
 To rest! 
 
 To rest! 
 
 Her eyelids close ; 
 Her weary soul has found repose. 
 How calm her face ! How peaceful there 
 The roses sleep within her hair ! 
 Her weary waiting all is o'er, 
 Her gallant boy she'll greet no more, 
 Till there upon that blighter shore, 
 Again he'll clasp her — heart to heart, 
 Rejoicing in the muster out. 
 Till then from the parapet of Heaven, 
 She'll call unto him, morn and eve: 
 
 " Charley ! Charley ! 
 Come home to me ! Come home to me ! " 
 
 iV. Y. Graphic. 
 
 « SHARING THANKSGIVING DINNER." 
 
 Ah ! yes, it was hard, and what made it harder, 
 Was poor Granny's sickness. A destitute larder — 
 Thanksgiving Day here and no prospect ahead 
 Of a Thanksgiving feast — what wonder that Ned, 
 Who'd learned a few things in Dame Poverty's 
 
 school 
 (Could whistle when hungry, if that was the rule), 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 13 
 
 What wonder his courage had quite given way, 
 With Granny unable to get up that day ? 
 
 He sat on the steps where the sunbeams could find 
 
 him, 
 His jacket was thin, and the small room behind 
 Was chill, lacking fire. The poor child sat musing, 
 Like wise philosophers, like them abusing 
 The power which to some offers only distresses, 
 While others less worthy gain fortune's caresses. 
 
 His heart grew rebellious, and Granny's good teaching 
 
 Was fading away ; just as he was reaching 
 
 The point where blind fate takes the place of God's 
 
 will- 
 To the grown, malcontent ; to Ned, it was still 
 Just poor folk's bad luck — 'twas just then Granny 
 
 said, 
 "Why are you so quiet? Come here to me, Ned." 
 
 The old voice was feeble ; the face was serene 
 With patience and hope, but the boy's troubled mien 
 Gave pain to the kind heart. " Kneel here by my 
 
 bed, 
 And ask the dear Father to send us some bread." 
 "And turkey and jelly?" cried Ned, hungrily, 
 " Ah ! just as He pleases that portion must be, 
 But bread He has promised, that promise we plead. 
 And He will feed us who the ravens doth feed." 
 
 Ned's petition was o'er, he again sought the sun, 
 With a crust from the cupboard — alas ! the last one. 
 But now a sweet fragrance pervaded the air; 
 A fragrance unnoticed before the short prayer, 
 Attracted by odors that thrilled his starved senses, 
 He sniffed like a blood-hound, then leaping the 
 
 fences 
 That shut in the farm-house of rich neighbor Moore, 
 Quick gained he the back-yard. The kitchen's wide 
 
 door 
 
14 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Stood ajar, thus disclosing a glimpse to the child 
 Of dinner preparing that set him half wild. 
 One was beating fresh eggs, one stirring white cake, 
 While turkey and chicken stood ready to bake, 
 Pumpkin-pies, rich and spicy, were ranged side by 
 
 side, 
 With an odorous mass in the pudding-bag tied. 
 
 While gazing and longing, behold, the Moore geese 
 Had gathered around him, to capture a piece 
 Of the crust he still held. He shoved them away 
 But eagerly still they returned to the fray. 
 Till, how, who can tell us ? one goose most alert 
 Had knocked down and trampled his crust in the 
 dirt. 
 
 A cry of despair! All the dinner he had 
 In a moment was gone, the poor little lad 
 Fell prone on the ground in a passion of grief ; 
 Too crazed to observe that the prayed-for-relief 
 Was here at his hand, or that old farmer Moore 
 Had watched the whole scene from his sitting-room 
 door. 
 
 " Hello ! what's the matter ! Come ; get up my lad, 
 The goose stole your dinner f Well, now, that's too 
 
 bad! 
 You don't mean to say all the dinner you had ? 
 Well, well, which goose was it? That one by the 
 
 fence ; 
 He shall pay for it then ; and since he's no sense 
 To restore what he stole, my poor little man, 
 Do you just take the goose, and then you can plan 
 To get back your dinner the best way you can." 
 
 He led the child wondering before Grandma Moore : 
 " This child is half starved, wife, and right at our 
 
 door : 
 Thanksgiving to us, yes, but think, can it be 
 A happy Thanksgiving to poor widow Lee ? " 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 15 
 
 "God forgive me, I pray," the good woman said, 
 "For neglecting the widow and poor little Ned. 
 My joy was so great that I clean, clean forgot 
 The sorrow and hunger about me. For what, 
 With George home from college and Nanny's new 
 
 baby, 
 My heart's brimming over with thankfulness. Maybe 
 It's not too late yet." 
 
 Well, before you could ask it 
 A happy-faced boy and a bountiful basket, 
 Each tilled with the best by dear, kind Grandma 
 
 Moore, 
 Were helping each other toward Granny Lee's 
 
 door : 
 'Twas turkey and jelly — but what need to say? 
 'Twas more than Ned dreamed of for Thanksgiving 
 
 Day, 
 And we all must admit that Ned was the winner 
 When he ate up the goose to get back his dinner. 
 
 Mrs. Emma E. Meguire. 
 
 BABY'S NAME. 
 
 I would like to know the baby's name, if there is one 
 can tell it, 
 
 But I haven't seen a person yet, who could begin to 
 spell it, 
 
 I'd like to give the child a present, a fork or spoon, 
 you know, 
 
 But it ought to have initials on it, that's what pro- 
 vokes me so, 
 
 But its father calls it "Popsy's tarlin," "e'tweetents 
 and e'deary 
 
 Mustn't pull e tishes so on Popsy's head e geary." 
 
 Its mother calls it " Itty amtin." " Peshus ilty 
 teshure 
 
 Wassa masser itty vu ? Mamma's pitty peshure ! " 
 
16 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 And all the children call it " Tweet ! " " turn to itty 
 
 buvver ! 
 Nevey mindey, don't e ty, it tan do to muvver ! " 
 And all its aunties say it is, "a pessus itty teeter! 
 A itty 'ump of 'ovviness, an nuffin tan be feeter ! " 
 
 Its grandma says, " Of all e pets in all e wairl so 
 
 wide ; 
 A is'nt one so dood as iss, so brave and dignified ! " 
 Now is there one can tell me what all this gibberish 
 
 means? 
 Nothing but nonsense for his pains, is what an uncle 
 
 gleans, 
 But if you can tell the baby's name from all that 
 
 you have heard, 
 You'll have an uncle's heartfelt thanks if you'll 
 
 please to send him word. 
 
 School-day Magazine. 
 
 THE FOURTH OF JULY AT JONESVILLE. 
 
 The celebration was held in Josiah's sugarbush, 
 an' I meant to be on the ground in good season ; 
 for when I have jobs I dread, I'm for takin 'em by 
 the forelock, an' graplin' with 'em at once. But 
 as I was bakin' my last plum-puddin' an' chicken- 
 pie, the folks begun to stream by. I'd no idee so 
 many folks could be scairt up in Jonesville. Thinks 
 I to myself, I wonder if they'd flock out that way to 
 a prayer-meetin'. But they kep' a comin', all kinds 
 of folks in all kinds of vehicles, from a six horse 
 team, down to peaceable lookin' men an' wimmen 
 drawin' baby-wagons. 
 
 There was a stagin' built in 'most the center of 
 the grove for the leadin' men of Jonesville, and 
 some board seats all round it for the folks to set on. 
 As Josiah owned the ground he was invited to set 
 up onto the stagin' an' as I glanced up at that man 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 17 
 
 every little while throughout the da}-, thinks I 
 proudly to myself, "There may be nobler lookin' 
 men there, and men that would weigh more by the 
 steelyards, but there hain't a man there that's got 
 on a whiter shirt bosom than Josiah Allen has." 
 
 About noon Prof. Aspire Todd walked slowly 
 into the ground arm-in-arm with the editor of "The 
 Gimlet,"' old Mr. Bobbet follerin' close behind. As 
 they stepped up onto the stagin' the band struck 
 up " Hail to the chief, that in triumph advances," 
 as soon as it stopped playin' the editor came forrard 
 an' said : " Fellow-citizens of Jonesville, and the ad- 
 jacent and surroundin' country, I have the honor 
 of iutroducin' to you the orator of the day — Prof. 
 Aspire Todd, Esq." 
 
 Prof. Todd then came forrard and made a low bow : 
 "Brethren and sisters of Jonesville, friends and 
 patrons of Liberty, in mountin' upon this theater I 
 have thereby signified my desire and willingness to 
 address you. I am not here, fellow-citizens, to outrage 
 your feelins' by triflin' remarks. I am not here, male 
 patrons, to lead your noble, and you, female patrons, 
 your tender, footsteps into the flowery fields of use- 
 less rhetorical eloquence. I am not here, I trust, in 
 mephitical, and I hope not in a mentorial manner. 
 But I am here to present a few plain truths, in a 
 manner suitable to the most illimitable comprehen- 
 sion. My friends, we are, in one sense, but tenni- 
 folious blossoms of life; or if you will pardon the 
 tergiversation, we are all but mineratin' tennirosters 
 hoverin' upon an illinition of mythoplasm." " Jess 
 so ! " shouted old Bobbet — who was a settin' on a 
 bench right under the speaker's stand — " Jess so ! so 
 we be ! " 
 
 Prof. Todd looked down on him in a troubled kind 
 of a way, an' then went on : " If we are content to 
 moulder out our existence like fibrous veticulated 
 polypus, clingin' to the crustaceous courts of custom, 
 if we cling not like soarin' prytanes to the phantoms 
 that lower their scepters down through the murky 
 
18 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 waves of retrogression, endeavorin' to lure us upward 
 in the scale of progressive bein' — id what degree do 
 we differ from the acalphia ? Let us, then, noble 
 brethren, in the broad field of humanity, let us rise. 
 Let us prove that mind is superior to matter — Let us 
 prove ourselves superior to the acalphia." 
 
 " Yes, less prove ourselves." 
 
 Prof. Todd stopped stone still, an' his face got as 
 red as blood, he chinked several swallers of water 
 and then went on till most the last, when he wanted 
 the people of Jonesville to " drown black care in the 
 deep waters of oblivion, not mind her mad throes of 
 dissolvin' bein', but let the deep waters cover her black 
 head an' march onward ! " and then the old gentle- 
 man forgot himself, an' jumped right up and hollered 
 out — " Yes, drown the black cat ! Hold her head 
 under ! There'll be cats enough left after she's gone ! 
 Do as he tells ye — drown the black cat ! " 
 
 The next speaker was a large healthy-lookin' man 
 who talked against wimmen's rights. He didn't bring 
 up no new argyments but talked jest as they all do 
 who oppose 'em — about wimmen outragin' and de- 
 stroyin' their modesty, by bein' seen in the same 
 street with a man once every 'lection day. He talked 
 grand about how woman's weakness, aroused all the 
 shivelry an' nobility of aman'snater ! and how it was 
 his dearest and most sacred privilege an' happiness to 
 pertect her from even a summer's breeze, if it should 
 dare to blow too hard onto her beloved and delicate 
 form. Why, before he had got through, a stranger 
 from another world, who hadn't never seen a woman, 
 wouldn't a' had the least idea that they was made out 
 of the same kind of clay that a man was, but he'd a' 
 thought they was made out o' some sort o' thin gauze, 
 which was liable to blow away any minute, an' that 
 man's only employment was to stand an' watch 'em 
 for fear some zephyr'd get the advantage of 'em. He 
 called wimmen' every pretty name lie could think of, 
 an' says he, a waviu' his hands in a rapid eloquence, 
 "shall these weak, helpless creatures, these angels. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 19 
 
 these seraphims, these sweetly cooin' doves, whose 
 only mission is to sweetly coo — shall these rainbows, 
 these posies vote ? Never ! my brethren, will we lay 
 such hardships onto them. Never, never, never!" 
 
 Just as the folks was a concludin' their frantic 
 cheers over his speech, a thin, feeble-lookin' woman 
 come by where I sat, drawin' a large baby-wagon 
 with two children in it. She also carried one in her 
 arms, that was lame. She looked so beat out, and so 
 ready to drop down, that I got up and gave her my 
 seat, and says I, " You look ready to fall down." 
 
 " Am I too late — to hear— my husband's — speech ? " 
 
 " Is that your husband that's a laughin' an' talkin' 
 with that air pretty gal up there ? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " Wall, he's jest finished." She looked ready to 
 cry. An' as I took the lame child out of her breakin' 
 arms, says I, " This is too much for you, mum." 
 " Oh," says she, " I wouldn't mind gettin' 'em onto the 
 ground ; I hain't hed only three miles to bring 'em. 
 That wouldn't be much if it wasn't for the work I 
 hed to do before I come." 
 
 " Why, what did you have to do ? " 
 
 " Oh, I hed to fix him off, an' brush his clothes, 
 an' black his boots ; and then I did up all my work, 
 an' then I hed to go out and lay up six lengths o' 
 fence. The cattle got into the corn yesterday and he 
 was so busy writin' his piece he couldn't fix it — and 
 then I hed to mend his thick coat, in the wagon there, 
 he didn't know but he should want it to wear home. 
 He knew he wasgoin' to make a great exertion to-day 
 and he thought he should sweat some. He's dretful 
 easy to take cold." 
 
 " Why didn't he help you along with these 'ere 
 children ! " says I. " Oh, he said he had to make 
 a great effort, an' he wanted to have his mind free 
 and clear. He is one of the kind that can't have 
 their minds trammeled." 
 
 " It would do him good to be trammeled hard." 
 
 " Oh, mum, don't speak so of him." 
 
20 READINGS, RECITATIONS. 
 
 " Are you satisfied with his doin's ? "' 
 
 " Oh, yes. You would too, mum, if you knew how 
 beautiful he can talk." 
 
 I said no more ; for it is a rule of my life, not to 
 make no disturbances in families. But the looks I 
 cast at him and that air pretty gal, was cold enough 
 to a' froze 'em both into a male and female glazier. 
 
 The editor then came forward and said, " Before we 
 leave this festive grove, I am requested to announce 
 that a poem will be read by one of the fair young 
 ladies of our town, which is dedicated to the God- 
 dess of Liberty." Sophrony Gowdey then came for- 
 rard an' recited the follerin' lines. 
 
 " Before all causes East or West, 
 I love the Liberty cause the best, 
 
 I love its cheerful greetiu's. 
 No joys on earth can e'er compare 
 With those pure pleasures that we share 
 
 At Jonesville Liberty greetin's meetin's—— 
 
 Greet no, — meetin's. 
 At Jonesville Liberty meetin's. 
 
 To all the world I give my hand, 
 
 My heart is with that chosen band, 
 The Jonesville Liberty Brothers — 
 The Jonesville Liberty Brothers — 
 
 May every land preserved be, 
 
 Each land that dotes on Liberty, 
 Jonesville before all others." 
 
 Lawyer Nugent thengot up and said: "That 
 whereas—the speakin' was now foreclosed, he mo- 
 tioned they should adjourn sine die to the dinner table. 
 The dinner was good, but there was an awful crowd 
 round the tables an' I was glad I wore my old lawn 
 dress; for the children was thick, and so was the 
 bread and butter an' sass of all kinds. I jest plunged 
 right into the heat o' the battle, as you may say, an' 
 the spots on my dress skirt would a' been too much 
 fur anybody that couldn't count forty. 
 
 There was a number o' pieces o' toast drunk durin' 
 dinner. I can't remember 'em all, but among 'em 
 was these : " The Eagle of Liberty - — may her quills 
 
AND IM PERSONATIONS. 21 
 
 lengthen till the proud shudder of her wings shall 
 sweetly rest on every land." 
 
 "The 4th of July: — The star which our fathers 
 tore from the ferocious mane of the howling lion of 
 England, and set in the calm and majestic brow of 
 E Pluribus Unura. May it gleam brighter and 
 brighter, till the lion shall hide his dazzled eyes and 
 cower like a stricken lamb at the feet of E Pluribus." 
 
 The last piece o' toast was Lawyer Nugent's, an' I 
 s'pose when he got it off, he thought he was a gettin' 
 off suthin' great. "The fair sect: — First in war, 
 first in peace, and first in the hearts of their country- 
 men. May them that love the aforesaid flourish like 
 a green bay berry tree ; whereas — may them that 
 hate 'em dwindle down into as near nuthin' as the 
 bunnits of the aforesaid." 
 
 I went home a little while before the picnic broke, 
 an' if there ever was a beat-out creetur, I was. I 
 jest drapped my dilapidated form into a rocking-chair, 
 an says I, " There needn't be another word said ; 
 I'll never go to another 4th o' July as long as my 
 name is Josiah Allen's Wife." 
 
 " You haint patriotic enough, Samantha, you don't 
 love your country." 
 
 " What good's it done to the county to hev me all 
 torn to pieces ? Look at my dress ! Look at my 
 bunnit and cape ! Anybody ought to be iron-clad 
 to stand it ! Look at my dishes," says I. 
 
 " I guess the old heroes of the Revolution went 
 through more'n that." 
 
 " Wall, I hain't an old hero." 
 
 " Wall, ye can honor 'em, can't ye ? " 
 
 " Honor 'em ! Josiah Allen, what good's it done to 
 old Mr. Lafayette to hev my new earthen pie-plates 
 all smashed to bits? What good has it done to 
 Thomas Jefferson to have my lawn dress torn off me 
 this way? What honor has it been to George Wash- 
 ington to have my straw bunnit flatted down tight 
 to my head? I am sick of all this talk about 
 honorin' these old heroes, and goin' through all these 
 
22 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 performances to please 'em; fer if they're in heaven 
 they can get along without hearin' the Jonesville 
 brass band play, and if they ain't they are probably 
 where fireworks hain't much of a rarity. — Jonah 
 Allen's Wife. 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE HELPLESS. 
 
 I hear a wail from the woodland ; 
 
 A cry from the forests dim ; 
 A sound of woe from the sweet hedge-row, 
 
 From the willows and reeds that rim 
 The sedgy pools ; from the meadow grass, 
 
 I hear the fitful cry, alas ! 
 
 It drowns the throb of music, 
 
 The laughter of childhood sweet, 
 
 It seems to rise to the very skies, 
 As I walk the crowded street ; 
 
 When I wait on God in the house of prayer, 
 I hear the sad wail even there. 
 
 'Tis the cry of the orphaned nestlings, 
 'Tis the wail of the bird that sings 
 
 His song of grace in the archer's face ; 
 'Tis the flutter of broken wings ; 
 
 'Tis the voice of helplessness — the cry 
 Of many a woodland tragedy. 
 
 O, lovely, unthinking maiden, 
 
 The wing that adorns your hat 
 
 Has the radiance rare, that God placed there. 
 But I see in the place of that, 
 
 A mockery pitiful, deep, and sad, 
 Of all things happy and glad. 
 
 1 mother, you clasp your darling, 
 
 Close to your loving breast ; 
 Think of that other, that tender mother, 
 
 Brooding upon her nest 1 . 
 
AN1) IMPERSONATIONS. 23 
 
 In the little chirp from the field, and wood, 
 Does no sound touch your motherhood ? 
 
 That little dead bird on your bonnet, 
 
 Is it worth the cruel wrong ; 
 The beauty you wear so proudly there, 
 
 Is the price of the silenced song ; 
 The humming bird band on your velvet dress 
 
 Mocks your womanly tenderness. 
 
 I hear a cry from the woodland, 
 
 A voice from the forest dim ; 
 A sound of woe from the sweet hedgerow, 
 
 From the willows and reeds that rim 
 The sedgy pool ; from the meadow grass 
 
 I hear the pitiful sound, alas ! 
 
 Can you not hear it, my sister, 
 
 Above the heartless behest, 
 Of fashion that stands, with cruel hands, 
 
 Despoiling the songful nest? 
 Above the voice have you never heard 
 
 The voice of the helpless, hunted bird ? 
 
 Demoresfs Monthly. 
 
 THE GIN FIEND. 
 
 I. 
 
 The tfin Fiend cast his eyes abroad, 
 
 And look'd o'er all the land, 
 And number'd his myriad worshippers 
 
 With his bird-like, long right hand. 
 He took his place in the teeming street, 
 
 And watched the people go ; 
 Around and about, with a buzz and a shout, 
 
 Forever to and fro ; 
 
24 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 " And it's hip ! " said the Gin Fiend, "hip, hurra! 
 
 For the multitudes I see, 
 Who offer themselves in sacrifice, 
 
 And die for the love of me ! " 
 
 II. 
 
 There stood a woman on a bridge, 
 
 She was old, but not witli years — 
 Old with excess, and passion, and pain, 
 
 And she wept remorseful tears 
 As she gave to her babe her milkless breast ; 
 
 Then, goaded by its cry, 
 Made a desperate leap in the river deep, 
 
 In the sight of the passers-by ! 
 " And it's hip ! " said the Gin Fiend, " hip, hurra ! 
 
 She sinks ; — but let her be ! 
 In life or death, whatever she did, 
 
 Was all for the love of me ! " 
 
 in. 
 
 There watch'd another by the hearth, 
 
 With sullen face and thin ; 
 She utter'd words of scorn and hate 
 
 To one that stagger'd in. 
 Long had she watch'd, and when he came 
 
 His thoughts were bent on blood ; 
 He could not brook her taunting look, 
 
 And he slew her where she stood. 
 " And it's hip ! " said the Gin Fiend, "hip, hurra ! 
 
 My right good friend is he ; 
 He hath slain his wife, he hath given his life, 
 
 And all for the love of me ! " 
 
 IV. 
 
 And every day, in the crowded way, 
 
 He takes his fearful stand, 
 And numbers his myriad worshippers 
 
 With his bird-like, long right hand ; 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 25 
 
 And every day, the weak and strong, 
 
 Widows, and maids, and wives, 
 Blood-warm, blood-cold, young men and old, 
 
 Offer the Fiend their lives. 
 " And it's hip ! " he says, " hip ! hip ! hurra ! 
 
 For the multitudes I see ; 
 That sell their souls for the burning drink, 
 
 And die for the love of me ! " 
 
 FIRST SOLILOQUY OF A RATIONALISTIC 
 CHICKEN. 
 
 Most strange ! most queer ! 
 
 Though so excellent a change ! 
 
 Shades of the prison house, ye disappear ; 
 
 My fettered thoughts have won a wider range 
 
 And like my legs are free. 
 
 Free now, to pry and poke and peep and peer, 
 
 And make these mysteries out. 
 
 Shall a free-thinking chicken live in doubt ? 
 
 Yet now in doubt undoubtedly I am. 
 
 This problem's very heavy on my mind. 
 
 And I'm not one to either shirk or sham, 
 
 I won't be blinded, and I won't be blind. 
 
 Now let me see. First I would know 
 
 How I did get in there, then 
 
 Where was I of yore ? 
 
 Besides, why didn't I get out before ? 
 
 Dear me ! Here are three puzzles 
 
 Out of plenty more. 
 
 Enough to give me pip upon the brain, 
 
 But let me think again, 
 
 How do I know I ever was inside ? 
 
 Now I reflect, it is, I do maintain, 
 
 Less than my reason and beneath my pride 
 
 To think that I could dwell 
 
 In such a paltry, miserable cell 
 
 As that old shell. 
 
26 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Of course I couldn't. 
 
 How could I have been 
 
 Body and beak and feather, legs and wings, 
 
 And my deep heart's sublime imaginings 
 
 In there? 
 
 I meet the notion with profound disdain, 
 
 It's quite incredible, and I declare — 
 
 And I'm a chicken you can't deceive — 
 
 What I can't understand I won't believe. 
 
 Where did I come from then ? 
 
 Ah, where indeed ! 
 
 That is a riddle monstrous hard to read, 
 
 I have it ! Why, of course, 
 
 All things are molded by some plastic force, 
 
 Out of some atom, somewhere up in space. 
 
 Fortuitously concurrent anyhow, 
 
 There now, that's plain 
 
 As the beak upon my face. 
 
 What's that I hear ? 
 
 My mother cackling at me ? 
 
 Just her way 
 
 So ignorant and prejudiced, I say. 
 
 So far behind the wisdom of the day, 
 
 What's old, I can't revere. 
 
 Hark at her ! 
 
 " You're a silly chick, my dear, 
 
 That's quite as plain, alack, 
 
 As is the piece of shell upon your back ! " 
 
 How bigoted ! Upon my back indeed ! 
 
 I don't believe it's there ! 
 
 For I can't see it, 
 
 And I do declare, 
 
 For all her fond deceivin', 
 
 What I can't see, I never will believe in, 
 
 And that's all J 
 
AND LUrMUiSUNATIONS. 27 
 
 THE SLEEP-WALKING SCENE FROM 
 « MACBETH." 
 
 (Enter Lady Macbeth, rubbing her hands.') 
 
 Yet here's a spot ! Out ! out, damned spot ! out, 
 I say ! One, — two, — why then 'tis time to do it ! 
 Fie, my lord, fie ! a soldier and afeard ? What need 
 we fear who knows it, when there's none can call our 
 power to account ? — Yet who would have thought 
 the old man to have had so much blood in him ? 
 
 The Thane of Fife had a wife — Where is she now? 
 What ! Will these hands ne'er be clean? No more 
 o' that ! my lord, no more o' that ! You mar all 
 with this starting ! 
 
 Here's the smell of the blood still ! All the per- 
 fumes of Arabia cannot sweeten this little hand ! 
 Oh ! oh ! oh ! 
 
 Wash your hands ! put on your night-gown ! look 
 not so pale ! I tell you yet again Bauquo's buried ! 
 He cannot come out of his grave ! To bed ! to bed ! 
 There's knocking at the gate ! Come, come, come ! 
 Give me your hand !, What's done cannot be un- 
 done ! To bed ! To bed ! To bed ! — Shakespeare. 
 
 THE CHILD-WIFE. 
 
 (Prize Selection, June, 1888, N. Mo. State Normal.) 
 
 All this time I had gone on loving Dora harder 
 than ever. If I may so express it, I was steeped in 
 Dora. I was not merely over head and ears in love 
 with her, I was saturated through and through. I 
 took night walks to Norwood where she lived, and 
 perambulated round and round the house and garden 
 for hours together : looking through crevices in the 
 
28 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 palings, using violent exertions to get my chin above 
 the rusty nails on top, blowing kisses at the lights in 
 the windows and romantically calling on the night to 
 shield my Dora, — I don't exactly know from what, — 
 I suppose from mice, to which she had a great ob- 
 jection. 
 
 Dora had a discreet friend whose name was Miss 
 Mills. Dora called her Julia. She was the bosom 
 friend of Dora. Happy Miss Mills ! One day she 
 said to me : " Dora is coming to stay with me. She 
 is coming the day after to-morrow. If you would like 
 to call, I am sure papa would be happy to see you." 
 
 I spent three days in a luxury of wretchedness. At 
 last arrayed for the purpose at a vast expense, I 
 went to Miss Mills's fraught with a declaration. Mr. 
 Mills was not at home. 1 didn't expect he would be. 
 Nobody wanted him. Miss Mills was at home. And 
 I was shown into a room where she and Dora were. 
 Dora's little dog Jip was there. Miss Mills was copy- 
 ing music and Dora was painting flowers. What were 
 my feelings when I recognized flowers I had given 
 her ! Miss Mills was very glad to see me, and very 
 sorry her papa was not at home, though I thought we 
 all bore that with fortitude. Miss Mills was conver- 
 sational for a few minutes then got up and left the 
 room. 
 
 I began to think I would put it off till to-morrow. 
 
 " I hope your poor horse was not tired when he got 
 home from that picnic," said Dora, lifting up her 
 beautiful eyes. " It was a long way for him." 
 
 I began to think I would do it to-day. 
 
 " It was a long way for him, for he had nothing to 
 uphold him on his journey." 
 
 " Wasn't he fed, poor thing ? " 
 
 I began to think I would put it off till to-morrow. 
 
 " Ye — yes, he was well taken care of. I mean he 
 had not the unutterable happiness that I had in being 
 so near to you." 
 
 I saw now that I was in for it, and it must be done 
 on the spot. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 29 
 
 "I don't know why you should care for being near 
 me, or why you should call it a happiness. But of 
 course you don't mean what you say. Jip, you 
 naughty boy, come here ! " 
 
 1 don't know how I did it, but I did it in a minute. 
 I intercepted Jip. I had Dora in my arms. I was 
 full of eloquence. I never stopped for a word. I 
 told her how I loved her. I told her I should die 
 without her. I told her that I idolized and worshipped 
 her. Jip barked madly all the time, but my elo- 
 quence increased, and I said if she would like me to 
 die for her, she had but to say the word and I was 
 ready. I had loved her to distraction every minute, 
 day and night, since I first set eyes upon her. I loved 
 her at that minute to distraction. I should always love 
 her every minute to distraction. Lovers had loved 
 before, and lovers would love again ; but no lover had 
 ever loved, might, could, would or should love as I 
 loved Dora. The more I raved the more Jip barked. 
 Each of us in his own way got more mad every minute. 
 
 Well, well : Dora and I were sitting on the sofa, 
 by and by quiet enough, and Jip was lying in her 
 lap winking peacefully at me. It was off my mind. 
 I was in a state of perfect rapture. Dora and I 
 were engaged. 
 
 Being poor, I felt it necessary the next time I 
 went to my darling to expatiate upon that un- 
 fortunate drawback. I soon carried desolation into 
 the bosom of our joys — not that I meant to do it, 
 but that I was so full of the subject — by asking 
 Dora without the smallest preparation if she could 
 love a beggar. 
 
 " How can you ask me anything so foolish ? 
 Love a beggar ! " 
 
 " Dora, my own dearest, I am a beggar ! " 
 
 " How can you be such a silly thing as to sit there 
 telling such stories ? I'll make Jip bite you if you 
 are so ridiculous." 
 
 But I looked so serious that Dora began to cry, 
 
30 BEADING S, RECITATION S t _ 
 
 She did nothing but exclaim, Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! 
 And oh, she was so frightened ! and where was 
 Julia Mills ? And oh, take her to Julia Mills, and 
 go away, please ! until I was almost beside myself. 
 I thought I had killed her. I sprinkled water on 
 her face ; I went down on my knees ; I plucked at 
 my hair ; I besought her forgiveness, and implored 
 her to look up, which she finally did with a horrified 
 expression which I gradually soothed until it was 
 only loving and her soft pretty cheek was lying 
 against mine. 
 
 " Is your heart mine still, dear Dora ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Oh, yes ! it's all yours. Oh, don't be 
 dreadful." 
 
 " My dearest love, the crust well earned " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; but I don't want to hear any more 
 about crusts. And after we are married, Jip must 
 have his mutton chop every day at twelve or he'll 
 die." 
 
 I was charmed with her childish, winning way, 
 and I fondly explained to her that Jip should have 
 his mutton chop with his accustomed regularity. 
 
 Time passed on and Dora and I were married. 
 I doubt whether two young birds could have known 
 less about housekeeping than I and my pretty Dora 
 did. We had a servant of course. She kept house 
 for us. And an awful time of it we had with Mary 
 Ann. She was the cause of our first little quarrel. 
 
 " My dearest life," I said one day to Dora, " do 
 you think that Mary Ann has any idea of time ? " 
 
 "Why, Doady?" 
 
 " Because, my love, it is five, and we were to have 
 
 dined at four. Don't you think, my dear, it 
 
 would be better for you to remonstrate with Mary 
 Ann ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, please ! I couldn't, Doady ! " 
 
 " Why not, my love ? " 
 
 " Oh, because I'm such a little goose, and she 
 knows I am ! " 
 
 I thought this sentiment so incompatible with the 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 31 
 
 establishment of any system of check upon Mary 
 Ann that I frowned a little. 
 
 " My precious wife, we must be serious sometimes. 
 Come sit down on this chair close beside me. Now 
 let us talk sensibly. You know, my dear, it is not 
 exactly comfortable to have to go out without one's 
 dinner. Now is it? " 
 
 " N-n-n-no ! " 
 
 " My love, how you tremble ! " 
 
 " Because I know you are going to scold ! " 
 
 " My sweet, I am only going to reason ! " 
 
 " Oh, but reasoning is worse than scolding ! I 
 didn't marry to be reasoned with. If you meant to 
 reason with such a poor little creature as I, you 
 ought have told me so, you cruel boy ! " 
 
 " Dora, my darling ! " 
 
 " No, I am not your darling. Because you must 
 be sorry you married me, or else you wouldn't reason 
 with me ! " 
 
 " Now, my own Dora, you are childish and are talk- 
 ing nonsense. You must remember, I am sure, that 
 I was obliged to go out yesterday when dinner was 
 half over ; and that the day before, I was made quite 
 ill by being obliged to eat underdone veal in a hurry ; 
 to-day, I don't dine at all, and I am afraid to say 
 how long we waited for breakfast. I don't mean to 
 reproach you, my dear, but this is not comfortable." 
 
 " Oh, you cruel, cruel boy, to say I am a disagree- 
 able wife ! " 
 
 "Now, my dear Dora, you must know that I 
 never said that ! " 
 
 " You said I wasn't comfortable ! " 
 
 " I said the housekeeping was not comfortable ! " 
 
 " It's exactly the same thing ! and I wonder, I do, 
 at your making such ungrateful speeches. When 
 you know that the other day when you said you 
 would like a little bit of fish, I went out myself, 
 miles and miles, and ordered it just to surprise 3 r ou." 
 
 "And it was very kind of you, my own darling; 
 and I felt it so much, that I wouldn't on any account 
 
32 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 have mentioned that you bought a salmon, which 
 was too much for two, and that you paid one pound 
 six, which is more than we can afford." 
 
 " You enjoyed it very much, and you said I was a 
 mouse." 
 
 " And I'll say so again, my love, a thousand 
 times ! " 
 
 I said it a thousand times and went on saying it, 
 until Dora was comforted and once more smiled upon 
 me with those beautiful eyes. 
 
 " I am very sorry for all this, Doady," said Dora, 
 at last. " Will you call me a name I want you to 
 call me ? " 
 
 "What is it, my love?" 
 
 " It's a stupid name, — child-wife. When you are 
 going to be angry with me, say to yourself, ' It's 
 only my child-wife.' When I am very disappoint- 
 ing, say, ' I knew a long time ago that she would make 
 but a child-wife.' When you miss what you would 
 like me to be, and what I should like to be, and what 
 I think I never can be, say, w Still my foolish child- 
 wife loves me.' For indeed, I do, Doady." 
 
 I invoke the innocent figure I so dearly loved to 
 come out of the mists and shadows of the past, and 
 to turn its gentle head towards me once again, and 
 to bear witness that it was made happy by what I 
 answered. — Charles Dickens. 
 
 HIAWATHA'S WOOING. 
 
 {Prize Selection, at the North Mo. State Normal, June, 
 
 "As unto the bow the cord is, 
 So unto the man is woman, 
 Though she bends him, she obeys him, 
 Though she draws him, yet she follows, 
 Useless each without the other," 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 33 
 
 Thus my youthful Hiawatha 
 Said within himself and pondered, 
 Listless, longing, hoping, fearing, 
 Dreaming still of Minnehaha, 
 Of the lovely Laughing Water, 
 In the land of the Dakotas. 
 
 " Wed a maiden of your people," 
 Warning spake the old Nokomis, 
 " Go not eastward, go not westward, 
 For a stranger whom we know not ! 
 Like a fire upon the hearthstone 
 Is a neighbor's homely daughter, 
 Like the starlight or the moonlight 
 Is the handsomest of strangers ! " 
 
 Thus dissuading spake Nokomis, 
 And my Hiawatha answered 
 Only this : " Dear old Nokomis, 
 Very pleasant is the firelight 
 But I like the starlight better, 
 Better do I like the moonlight ! " 
 
 Gravely, then, said old Nokomis : 
 " Bring not here an idle maiden, 
 Bring not here a useless woman." 
 
 Smiling answered Hiawatha, 
 " In the land of the Dakotas 
 Lives the Arrow-maker's daughter 
 Minnehaha — Laughing Water, 
 I will bring her to your wigwam, 
 She shall run upon your errands, 
 Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight, 
 Be the sunlight of my people." 
 
 Thus departed Hiawatha 
 To the land of the Dakotas, 
 Striding over moor and meadow 
 Through interminable forests 
 Till he heard the cataract's laughter. 
 3 
 
34 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 
 
 Calling to him through the silence, 
 
 " Welcome, welcome, Hiawatha, Hiawatha ! " 
 
 On the outskirts of the forest, 
 'Twixt the shadow and the sunshine, 
 Herds of fallow deer were feeding, 
 But they saw not Hiawatha. 
 To his bow and arrow whispered, 
 " Fail not, swerve not ! " 
 Sent it singing on its errand 
 To the red heart of the roe-buck, 
 Threw the deer across his shoulder, 
 And sped forward without pausing. 
 
 At the doorway of his wigwam, 
 Sat the ancient Arrow-maker. 
 At his side in all her beauty 
 Sat the lovely Minnehaha. 
 Of the past the old man's thoughts were, 
 But the maiden's of the future. 
 He was thinking as he sat there, 
 Of the days when with such arrows 
 He had struck the deer and bison 
 Shot the wild-goose flying southward, 
 She was thinking of a hunter, 
 From another tribe and country, 
 Who one morning in the spring-time 
 Came to buy her father's arrows, 
 Would lie come again for arrows 
 To the Falls of Minnehaha? 
 
 Through their thoughts they heard a footstep, 
 Heard a rustling in the branches, 
 And with glowing cheek and forehead, 
 Hiawatha stood before them. 
 
 Straight the ancient Arrow-maker 
 Bade him enter at the doorway, 
 Saying as he rose to meet him, 
 " Hiawatha, you are welcome." 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 35 
 
 At the feet of Laughing Water 
 Hiawatha laid his burden, 
 And the maiden looked up at him, 
 Said with gentle look and accent, 
 " You are welcome, Hiawatha." 
 
 Then the lovely Laughing Water 
 Listened while the guest was speaking 
 Yea as in a dream she listened 
 To the words of Hiawatha, 
 As he told of old Nokomis 
 Who had nursed him in his childhood, 
 As he told of his companions 
 In the pleasant land and peaceful. 
 " That this peace may last forever, 
 And our hearts be more united, 
 Give me as my wife this maiden, 
 Minnehaha — Laughing Water." 
 " Yes — if Minnehaha wishes, 
 Let your heart speak, Minnehaha." 
 
 Then the lovely Laughing Water 
 
 Said, and blushed to say it, 
 
 " I will follow you, my husband." 
 
 This was Hiawatha's wooing, 
 Thus it was he won the daughter 
 Of the tribe of the Dokotas. 
 
 From the wigwam he departed 
 Leading with him Laughing Water. 
 Left the old man standing lonely 
 At the doorway of his wigwam, 
 While the Falls of Minnehaha 
 Called unto them from the distance 
 Crying to them from afar off — 
 "Fare-thee-well, O Minnehaha ! " 
 
 Pleasant was the journey homeward, 
 All the traveling winds went with them, 
 All the stars of night watched o'er them, 
 And the rabbit and the squirrel, 
 
BfiADltfGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Scampered from the path before them 
 Peeping, peeping from their burrows 
 Watched with curious eyes the lovers. 
 From the sky the sun benignant 
 Looked upon them through the branches, 
 Saying to them,"oh, my children, 
 Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, 
 Rule by love, O Hiawatha." 
 
 From the sky the moon looked at them, 
 Filled the mystic lodge with splendors, 
 Whispered to them,"oh, my children, 
 Day is restless, night is quiet, 
 Man imperious, woman feeble, 
 Rule by patience, Laughing Water." 
 
 Pleasant was the journey homeward, 
 All the birds sang loud and sweetly 
 Songs of happiness and hearts-ease, 
 Sang the bobolink from the meadow, 
 " Happy are you, Hiawatha 
 Having such a wife to love you, • 
 Happy are you, Minnehaha, 
 Having such a noble husband." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 THE FAMINE. 
 
 Oh, the long and dreary winter ! 
 Oh, the cold and cruel winter ! 
 Ever thicker, thicker, thicker 
 Froze the ice on lake and river ; 
 Ever deeper, deeper, deeper 
 Fell the snow o'er all the landscape. 
 
 Hardly from his buried wigwam 
 Could the hunter force a passage 
 Vainly walked he through the forest, 
 Sought for bird or beast and found none, 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 37 
 
 Saw no track of deer or rabbit, 
 In the ghastly gleaming forest 
 Fell, and could not rise for weakness, 
 Perished there from cold and hunger. 
 
 Oil, the famine and the fever ! 
 Oh, the wasting of the famine ! 
 Oh, the blasting of the fever ! 
 All the earth was sick and famished; 
 All the air and sky were hungry. 
 
 Into Hiawatha's wigwam 
 Came two other guests, as silent 
 As the ghosts were, and as gloomy; 
 Sat there without word of welcome, 
 In the seat of Laughing Water ; 
 Looked with haggard eyes and hollow, 
 At the face of Laughing Water. 
 And the foremost said : " Behold me ! 
 I am Famine, Bukadawin ! " 
 And the other said : " Behold me ! 
 I am Fever, Ahkosewin ! " 
 And the lovely Minnehaha 
 Shuddered as they looked upon her, 
 Lay down on her bed in silence, 
 Hid her face, but made no answer. 
 Lay there trembling, freezing, burning 
 At the fearful words they uttered. 
 
 Forth into the empty forest 
 Rushed the maddened Hiawatha, 
 On his brow the sweat of anguish 
 Started, but it froze and fell not, 
 And he cried with face uplifted, 
 In that bitter hour of anguish, 
 " Gitche Manito, the Mighty ! 
 Give your children food, O Father 1 
 Give us food or we must perish ! 
 Give me food for Minnehaha, 
 For in}* dying Minnehaha ! " 
 
 Through the far resounding forest 
 
38 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Through the forest vast and vacant, 
 Rang that cry of desolation, 
 But there came no other answer, 
 Than the echo of his crying, 
 " Minnehaha ! Minnehaha ! " 
 
 In the wigwam with Nokomis, 
 And the gloomy guests that watched her, 
 She was lying, the beloved, 
 She the dying Minnehaha. 
 " Hark ! " she said, " I hear a rushing, 
 Hear a roaring and a rushing, 
 Hear the Falls of Minnehaha 
 Calling to me from the distance ! " 
 " No, m} r child ! " said old Nokomis, 
 "'Tis the night wind in the pine trees!" 
 " Look ! " she said, " I see my father 
 Standing lonely at his doorway, 
 Beckoning to me from his wigwam ! " 
 " No, my child," said old Nokomis, 
 " 'Tis the smoke that waves and beckons ! 
 " Ah ! " she said, " the eyes of Pauguk 
 Glare upon me in the darkness, 
 I can feel his icy fingers 
 Clasping mine amid the darkness ! 
 Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " 
 
 And the desolate Hiawatha, 
 Far away among the mountains, 
 Heard that sudden cry of anguish, 
 Heard the voice of Minnehaha 
 Calling to him from the distance, 
 " Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " 
 Homeward hurried Hiawatha, 
 Empty-handed — heavy-hearted, 
 Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing ; 
 " Would that I had perished for you, 
 Would that I were dead as you are, 
 Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! " 
 
 And he rushed into the wigwam, 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 39 
 
 Saw his lovely Minnehaha 
 Lying dead and cold before him, 
 And his bursting heart within him 
 Uttered such a cry of anguish 
 That the forest moaned and shuddered. 
 
 Then he sat down still and speechless, 
 At the feet of Minnehaha, 
 At those willing feet that never 
 More would lightly run to meet him 
 Never more would lightly follow. 
 As in a swoon he sat there, 
 Speechless, motionless, unconscious 
 Of the daylight or the darkness. 
 Then they buried Minnehaha ; 
 In the snow a grave they made her, 
 Underneath the moaning hemlocks, 
 Wrapped her in her robes of ermine, 
 Covered her with snow-like ermine. 
 " Farewell ! " said he, " Minnehaha ; ' 
 Farewell, O my Laughing Water ! 
 All my heart is buried with you 
 All my thoughts go onward with you! 
 Come not back again to suffer 
 When the Famine and the Fever 
 Wear the heart and waste the body. 
 Soon my task will be completed, 
 Soon your footsteps I shall follow 
 To the Islands of the Blessed, 
 To the Land of the Hereafter." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPER. 
 
 O, dear ! I'se so dreff ul tired, been washin' so hard 
 
 mose all day; 
 S'pect these tlose had better be ironed, hope mamma 
 
 '11 keep Freddie away, 
 
40 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 
 
 He bovers me so, and '11 wake Lottie, 'fore it's time 
 
 to take her up. 
 Then she kies and kies so naughty, I dives her some 
 
 soofsin syrup. 
 
 Guess Dollie's tuttin' her toofies, tause she kies so 
 
 mose ever day ; 
 I'll buy her a wubber to bite on, I'se dot free cents 
 
 for the pay. 
 I must dit somebody's to hep me, I'se dot so much 
 
 works for to do ! 
 Dollie must have two or free dresses, and a cloak 
 
 made " a la Watteau." 
 
 Guess its about time to dit dinner, tause Lottie '11 
 
 want somesin to eat ; 
 My sakes ! I mose tut my finner, tryin' to slice that 
 
 cold meat. 
 I'll borrow some zerves of my mamma, 'tause her's 
 
 dot lots of 'em I know, 
 She teeps 'em up high in the tloset, I heard her 
 
 tell B'iget so. 
 
 I detlare ! this house does look awful ; I wonder 
 
 what mamma will say 
 'Bout the water I 'pilled on the tarpet, when I'se 
 
 taten' the tubs away. 
 B'ess me ! if Lottie hain't wakin', and kien and 
 
 kien to be taked ; 
 And I hain't dot dinner ready, the tookies ain't 
 
 more'n half baked. 
 
 O, dear ! this world's full of trouble, and baby's as 
 
 cross as a bear 
 With a sore head ; and my life is chuck full of sorrer 
 
 and tare» 
 Turn to your muzzer, you dear 'ittle wose-bud, you're 
 
 sweeter than whole lots of pinks, 
 Be a dood dirl now and keep very quiet and muzzer 
 
 will sing " Cap'n Jinks," 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 41 
 
 THE PRESENT AGE. 
 
 (Prize Declamation, May, 1S90, N. Mo. State Normal.) 
 
 The Present Age. In those brief words what a 
 world of thought is comprehended ! What infinite 
 movements ! What joys and sorrows ! What hope 
 and despair ! What faith and doubt! What silent 
 grief and loud lament ! What fierce conflicts and 
 subtle schemes of policy ! What private and public 
 revolutions ! 
 
 In the period through which many of us have 
 passed, what thrones have been shaken ! What 
 hearts have bled ! What millions have been butchered 
 by their fellow men! What hopes of philanthropy 
 have been blighted ! 
 
 At the same time what magnificent enterprises 
 have been achieved ! What new provinces won to 
 science and art ! What rights and liberties secured 
 to nations ! Aye — it is a privilege to have lived in 
 an age so stirring, so eventful ! It is an age never to 
 be forgotten. Its voice of warning and encourage- 
 ment is never to die. Its impression on history is 
 indelible. 
 
 Amid its events the American Revolution — the 
 first distinct, solemn assertion of the rights of men — 
 and the French Revolution — that volcanic force, 
 which shook the earth to its very centre — are never 
 to pass from men's minds. Over this age the night 
 will indeed gather more and more as time rolls away ; 
 but in that night two forms will appear. Washing- 
 ton and Napoleon ! The one a lurid meteor, the 
 other a benign, serene, and undecaying star. 
 
 Another American name will appear in history. 
 Your Franklin ; and the kite which brought light- 
 ning from heaven, will be seen sailing in the clouds 
 by remote posterity when the city where he dwelt 
 may be known only by its ruins. 
 
42 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 There is, however, something greater in the age 
 than its greatest men ; it is the appearance of a new 
 power in the world, the appearance of the multitude 
 on the stage, where as yet the few have acted their 
 parts alone. This influence is to endure to the end 
 of time. What more of the present is to survive? 
 Perhaps much of which we now take no note. The 
 glory of an age is often hidden from itself. Perhaps 
 some word has been spoken in our day which we 
 have not deigned to hear, but which is to grow clearer 
 and louder through all ages. Perhaps some silent 
 thinker among us is at work in his closet, whose 
 name is to fill the earth. Perhaps there sleeps in his 
 cradle some reformer who is to move the church, and 
 the world ; who is to open a new era in history, who 
 is to fire the human soul with new hope and new 
 daring. 
 
 What else is to survive the age ? That which the 
 age has little thought of, but which is living in us 
 all; I mean the soul, the immortal Spirit ! Of this, 
 all ages are the unfolding, and it is greater than all. 
 We must not feel in the contemplation of the vast 
 movements in our own and former times, as if we 
 ourselves were nothing. I repeat it, we are greater 
 than all. We are to survive our age, to comprehend 
 it, and to pronounce its sentence. — W. E. Channing. 
 
 MR. HORNER ON GRUMBLE CORNER. 
 
 I knew a man and his name was Horner, 
 Who used to live on Grumble Corner ; 
 Grumble Corner in Cross Patch Town, 
 And he never was seen without a frown. 
 He grumbled at this ; he grumbled at that; 
 He growled at the dog ; he growled at the cat ; 
 He grumbled at morning; he grumbled at night ; 
 And to grumble and growl was his chief delight. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 43 
 
 lie grumbled so much at his wife that she 
 
 Began to grumble as well as he ; 
 
 And all the children wherever they went, 
 
 Reflected their parents' discontent. 
 
 If the sky was dark and betokened rain, 
 
 Then Mr. Horner was sure to complain ; 
 
 And if there was never a cloud about, 
 
 He'd grumble because of a threatened drought 
 
 His meals were never to suit his taste ; 
 He grumbled at having to eat in haste ; 
 The bread was poor, or the meat was tough, 
 Or else he hadn't had half enough. 
 No matter how hard his wife might try 
 To please her husband, with scornful eye 
 He'd look around, and then, with a scowl 
 At something or other begin to growl. 
 
 One day as I loitered along the street, 
 My old acquaintance I chanced to meet, 
 Whose face was without the look of care 
 And the ugly frown that it used to wear. 
 " I may be mistaken, perhaps," I said, 
 As, after saluting, I turned my head ; 
 " But it is, and it isn't, the Mr. Horner 
 Who lived for so long on Grumble Corner ! " 
 
 I met him next day, and I met him again, 
 
 In melting weather, in pouring rain, 
 
 When stocks were up and when stocks were down ; 
 
 But a smile somehow had replaced the frown. 
 
 It puzzled me much ; and so one day 
 
 I seized his hand in a friendly way, 
 
 And said : " Mr. Horner, I'd like to know 
 
 What can have happened to change you so? " 
 
 He laughed a laugh that was good to hear, 
 For it told of a conscience calm and clear, 
 And he said, with none of the old-time drawl: 
 " Why, I've changed my residence, that is all ! " 
 
44 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 " Changed your residence ? " " Yes," said Horner, 
 " It wasn't healthy on Grumble Corner, 
 And so I moved : 'twas a change complete, 
 And you'll find me now on Thanksgiving Street!" 
 
 Now, every day, as I move along 
 
 The streets so filled with the busy throng, 
 
 I watch each face and can always tell 
 
 Where men and women and children dwell ; 
 
 And many a discontented mourner 
 
 Is spending his days on Grumble Coiner, 
 
 Sour and sad, whom I long to entreat 
 
 To take a house on Thanksgiving Street. 
 
 New York Independent. 
 
 "FLIGHT OF THE ANGEL GABRIEL." 
 
 Conceive, if you can, the splendors that must have 
 burst upon the eye of that fair Intelligence, as he 
 floats off from the Heavenly World, and directs his 
 flight toward the earth. On he speeds, through suns 
 and systems, and starry groups, while constellation 
 after constellation rises rapidly around him every- 
 where, greeting at every stage new glories, that call 
 forth new praises to Him who gave to his mighty pin- 
 ions their power. On the right he beholds a grand 
 star system, in form like unto a lily, glittering with the 
 dew of heaven ; on the left, another grand cluster 
 stands out against the black background of the sky, 
 like a vast pillar, on whose summit the light of the 
 " Beautiful Land " is playing. Another still is seen, 
 in form like unto a rose, as though blooming in the 
 garden of God ; while others still, resemble goblets, 
 sparkling to the brim with celestial light. On, he 
 speeds, while suns and systems blaze up in wild splen- 
 dor, then recede into the awful depths behind him. 
 At length one great, grand cluster appears, in form 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 45 
 
 like unto a ring, as though made of the finger of 
 Deity — 'tis the Milky Way, to which our sun belongs. 
 He speeds toward it, and passes in among its con- 
 stellations. 
 
 To the north he beholds Cassiopeia, on her five- 
 starred throne ; farther south great Orion appears 
 with his blazon belt and Sirius burning in his awful 
 lustre. Not far off the Pleiades appear, glittering 
 with supernal splendor, like a breast-plate on the 
 bosom of Deity — the Urim and Thummim of the Eter- 
 nal ! Far to the south the Southern Cross appears, 
 its blood-red stars typical of the blood shed upon 
 another cross 18 centuries ago. At length a brilliant 
 star catches his eye. "Tis our sun ! He speeds to- 
 ward it, and passes in among the planetary bodies. 
 First come Neptune and Uranus, then Saturn with 
 his many moons, and glittering ring systems. Then 
 he beholds great Jupiter — great Titan of the sky ! 
 and the little red planet Mars. Close to the sun 
 the little sparklers, Mercury and Vulcan, appear, and 
 Venus, quivering in the ambient air, till at length 
 one little blue star catches his eye — 'tis our earth. 
 He speeds toward it ; hovers 'round it for a moment, 
 like a humming-bird 'round a flower — dips into its 
 blue atmosphere : and alights at the feet of the as- 
 tonished Daniel at the hour of the evening oblation ! 
 Beloved, such may be life among the stars ! If so, 
 may such life be yours and mine. — Prof. Ferguson. 
 
 BABY. 
 
 Where did you come from, baby dear? 
 Out of the everywhere into the here. 
 
 Where did you get those eyes so blue ? 
 Out of the. sky as I came through. 
 
 What makes the light in them sparkle and spin ? 
 Some of the starry spikes left in. 
 
46 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Where did you get that little tear ? 
 I found it waitiug when I got here. 
 
 What makes your forehead so smooth and high ? 
 A soft hand stroked it as I went by. 
 
 What makes your cheeks like a warm white rose ? 
 I saw some thing better than any one knows. 
 
 Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? 
 Three angels gave me at once a kiss. 
 
 Where did you get this pearly ear ? 
 God spoke and it came out to hear. 
 
 Where did you get those arms and hands ? 
 Love made itself into bonds and bands. 
 
 Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? 
 From the same box as the cherubs' wings. 
 
 How did they all just come to be you ? 
 God thought about me, and so I grew. 
 
 But how did you come to us, you dear? 
 God thought about you, and so I am here. 
 
 MacDonald. 
 
 NOTHING TO WEAR. 
 
 Miss Flora McFlirasy of Madison Square, 
 
 Has made three separate journe}^ to Paris, 
 And her father assures me each time she was there 
 
 That she and her friend, Mrs. Harris, 
 Spent six consecutive weeks without stopping 
 In one continuous round of shopping. 
 Shopping alone and shopping together, 
 At all hours of the day and in all sorts of weather 
 For all manner of things that a woman could put 
 On the crown of her head, or the sole of her foot, 
 Or wrap round her shoulders, or fit round her waist, 
 Or that can be sewed on, or pinned or laced, 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 47 
 
 Or tied on with a string or stitched on with a bow, 
 In front or behind, above or below. 
 
 Dresses for home, and the street, and the hall, 
 Dresses for winter, spring, summer, and fall, 
 Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in, 
 Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in, 
 And dresses to do nothing at all in. 
 All of them different in color and pattern, 
 Silk, muslin, and lace, crape, velvet and satin. 
 Nothing to wear ! why I've heard her declare, 
 When at the same moment, she had on a dress, 
 That cost five hundred dollars, and not a cent less, 
 That she " had not a thing in the wide world to wear." 
 
 I should mention just here, that out of Miss Flora's 
 Two hundred and fifty or sixty adorers, 
 I had just been selected as he who should throw 
 All the rest in the shade, by the gracious bestowal, 
 On myself, after twenty or thirty rejections 
 Of those fossil remains, which she termed her affec- 
 tions. 
 Well, having thus wooed Miss McFlimsy and gained 
 
 her, 
 With the silks, crinolines and hoops that contained 
 
 her, 
 I had, as I thought, a contingent remainder, 
 At least in the property, and the best right 
 To appear as its escort, by day and by night. 
 And it being the week of the Stuckup's grand ball, 
 I considered it only my duty to call, 
 And see if Miss Flora intended to go. 
 
 She turned as I entered, " Why, Harry, you sinner, 
 I thought that you went to the Flashers to dinner." 
 " So I did," I replied, " but the dinner is swallowed 
 And digested, I trust, for 'tis now nine and more, 
 So, being relieved from that duty, I followed inclina- 
 tion, 
 Which leads me, you see, to your door. 
 
48 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 And now, will your ladyship so condescend 
 
 As just to inform me if you intend, 
 
 Your beauty, and grace, and presence to lend, 
 
 To the Stuckup's grand party to-morrow ? " 
 
 The fair Flora looked up with a pitiful air, 
 
 And answered quite promptly, "Why, Harry, my dear, 
 
 I should love above all things to go with you there, 
 
 But really, and truly, Tve nothing to wear." 
 
 " Nothing to wear f Go just as you are, 
 Wear the dress you have on, and you'll be by far, 
 I am sure, the most bright and particular star, 
 On the Stuckup horizon." I stopped, for her eye, 
 Notwithstanding this delicate onset of flattery, 
 Opened on me at once a most terrible battery 
 Of scorn and amazement. She made no reply, 
 But gave a slight turn to the end of her nose — 
 That pure Grecian feature — as much as to say, 
 " How absurd that any sane man should suppose 
 That a lady would go to a ball in the clothes, 
 No matter how fine, that she wears every day." 
 
 So I ventured again, " Wear your crimson brocade." 
 
 Second turn up of nose — " That's too dark by a shade." 
 
 " Your blue silk." " That's too heavy." 
 
 " Your pink then." " That's too light." 
 
 " Wear tulle over satin." " Oh, Harry, I can't endure 
 
 white." 
 " Your rose-color then, the best of the batch." 
 " But I haven't a thread of point-lace to match." 
 " Your brown moire antique." " Yes, and look like 
 
 a Quaker." 
 " Your pearl-colored." " I would, but that plaguy 
 
 dressmaker 
 Has had it a week." " Then that exquisite lilac, 
 In which you would melt the heart of a Shylock." 
 Here the nose took again that same elevation — 
 " I wouldn't wear that for the whole of creation ! " 
 "Why not? 'Tis lovely as can be." 
 " Yes, but dear me, that lean Sophronia Stuckup 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 49 
 
 Has one just like it, and I won't appear 
 Dressed like a chit of sixteen." 
 
 " Then that splendid purple, that sweet mazarin." 
 
 " Which most of all isn't fit to be seen," 
 
 Said the lady, becoming excited and flushed. 
 
 " Then wear," I exclaimed in a tone which quite 
 
 crushed 
 Opposition, "that gorgeous toilet which you sported 
 In Paris last spring at the grand presentation 
 When you quite turned the heads of the nation." 
 " I have worn it three times at the least calculation, 
 And that with the rest of my dresses is ripped up." 
 Here I ripped out something, perhaps rather rash, 
 Quite innocent though, — but to use an expression 
 More striking than classic, — It settled my hash, 
 And proved very soon the last act of our session. 
 
 " I wonder the ceiling doesn't fall down 
 
 And crush you, oh, you men have no feeling ; 
 
 You selfish, unnatural, illiberal creatures, 
 
 Who set yourselves up for patterns and preachers. 
 
 I have told you and shown you I've nothing to wear, 
 
 And its perfectly plain, you not only don't care 
 
 But you do not believe me, — here the nose went still 
 
 higher. 
 I suppose if you dared, sir, you'd call me a liar. 
 Our engagement is ended, sir, yes, on the spot, 
 You're a brute and a monster, and — I don't know 
 
 what." 
 I mildly suggested the words, Hottentot, 
 Pickpocket and cannibal — Tartar and thief, 
 As gentle expletives that might bring relief. 
 
 But this only proved as spark to the powder, 
 And the storm I had raised came faster and louder. 
 It blew and it rained, thundered, lightened and hailed 
 Interjections, verbs, pronouns, till language quite 
 failed 
 
 4 
 
50 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 To express the abusive, and then its arrears, 
 Were brought up all at once by a torrent of tears. 
 Well, I felt for the lady, and I felt for my hat, 
 And without going through the form of a bow, 
 Found myself in the entry I scarcely know how, 
 On doorstep and sidewalk, past lamp-post and square, 
 At home and upstairs in my own easy-chair, 
 Poked my feet into slippers, my fire into blaze, 
 And said to myself as I lit my cigar, 
 " Supposing a man had the wealth of a czar 
 Of the Russias to boot, could he ever be happy 
 Or have much to spare, 
 If he married a woman with nothing to wear ? " 
 
 Oh, ladies, dear ladies, the next sunny day, 
 Just trundle your hoops out of Broadway, 
 From its whirl and its bustle, its fashion and pride, 
 Its temples of trade towering high on each side, 
 To the alleys and lanes where misfortune and guilt, 
 Their children have gathered, their hovels have built ; 
 Where hunger and vice like twin beasts of prey, 
 Have hunted their victims to gloom and despair. 
 Raise the rich dainty dress and the fine, broidered skirt 
 Pick your delicate way through dampness and dirt, 
 Grope through the dark dens, climb the rickety stair 
 To the garret, where wretches, the young and the old, 
 Half-starved and half -naked lie crouched from the cold. 
 See those poor pinched limbs, those frost-bitten feet, 
 All bleeding and bruised from the stones of the street. 
 Hear the sharp cry of childhood — the deep groans 
 
 that swell 
 From the poor dying creatures that writhe on the 
 
 floor, 
 Hear the curses that sound like the echoes of hell, 
 As you sicken and shudder and fly from the door. 
 Then home to your wardrobes, and say, if you dare, 
 Spoiled children of fashion, you've nothing to wear. 
 
 And oh, if perchance there should be a sphere, 
 Where all is made right that so puzzles us here, 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 51 
 
 Where the glare and the glitter and tinsel of time 
 Fade and die in the light of that region sublime. 
 Where the soul, disenchanted of flesh and of sense, 
 Unscreened by its trappings and shows and pretense, 
 Must be clothed for the life and the service above 
 With purity, truth, faith, meekness, and love, 
 Oh, daughters of earth, foolish virgins, beware 
 Lest in that upper realm, you've nothing to wear. 
 
 Butler. 
 
 THE LITTLE SCHEHEREZADE. 
 
 I wantsh to tell you some stories ! 
 Pull one of your ears down — so ! 
 Don't smoke in befront of my face, pa, 
 I'll sit on this clicket — down low. 
 
 There once was a beautiful p'incess — 
 I'm too low enough ; you can't hear. 
 I'll climb up a-top on your shoulder, 
 And whisper it into your ear. 
 
 This p'incess kept sleeping and sleeping 
 Till somebody gave her a kiss 
 That woke her ; for she was enchanted ! 
 She'd waited whole years just for this. 
 
 Let me see ! — Oh — This beautiful p'incess- 
 She wasn't but 'bout big as me, — 
 This ain't the bess' p'ace to tell stories 
 Hop me down, and le's sit on your knee. 
 
 Ain't it fun ? And it rides just as easy — 
 What's that ? " Better stick to my text ? " 
 'Tain't sermons ! — it's stories ! and papa, 
 I — kind of — can't think — what comes next I 
 
52 HEADINGS, EECITATIONS, 
 
 " Don't believe I had any stories ? " 
 I had — suts a nice one ! but now 
 I shall just let you tell your own stories ! 
 Shan't tell you a single spec how 
 
 The p'incess grew up to a woman, — ■ 
 I thought you'd be solly ! don't cly ! 
 Next time you'll be patient and listen — 
 My dollies are calling — Good-bye ! 
 
 THE DAY OF PEACE. 
 
 Though at last our tears are banished, 
 And our garners are replenished, 
 Sixteen years have come and vanished 
 Since the nation's long roll beat ; 
 When from farm and town and village, 
 Leaving business, art and tillage, 
 Forth to scenes of strife and pillage 
 Trod our armies' fateful feet. 
 
 Four long years of fiercest fighting, 
 Only demons' eyes delighting, 
 And a bloody record writing, 
 Left us starved and sick and sore. 
 Four long years of wild disorder, 
 Spreading death from coast to border, 
 Brought at last the welcome order, 
 " Peace ! Stack arms ! we war no more ! " 
 
 Other years of dark suspicion, 
 While sweet Peace beheld her mission 
 Failing of its fair fruition, 
 And the land was cold and dead; 
 Years of jarring claims and races, 
 Hardened hearts and darkened faces, 
 Vacant hearths and desolate places, 
 Homes from which all hope had fled. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 53 
 
 Long the clouds so grim and leaden 
 All the face of nature deaden, 
 Till the dawn begins to redden 
 Signaling the day to all, 
 Then a breeze of better feeling 
 Freer trust and honest dealing, 
 Sweeps across the sky, revealing 
 Spaces through the gloomy pall. 
 
 From the depths so pure and holy 
 Come the star-beams, faintly, slowly, 
 Joyful gleams to high and lowly — 
 Thus our long lost stars return. 
 Slowly works the gracious planner, 
 Till upon our blessed banner, 
 In the old accustomed manner 
 All its glories shine and burn. 
 
 Peace, the giver of great blessing. 
 Now, our length and breadth possessing, 
 Full of comfort and caressing 
 Smiles from out the sky at last. 
 States united and co-equal 
 In their olden accents speak well 
 Of a bright and happy sequel 
 To the story of the past. 
 
 Past at length the nation's quarrel, 
 War has taught its wholesome moral, 
 Foemen meet to twine the laurel 
 For the heroes whom they fought. 
 Past the strife of race and color, 
 Lines of passion, growing duller, 
 Fade before the freer, fuller, 
 Better ways that God has wrought. 
 
 Sad was war, but sweet our peace is ; 
 
 Blest is sorrow when it ceases ; 
 
 With our hope our strength increases, 
 
54 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 And anew our race we run, 
 Sections tending to each other, 
 Just as brother grows to brother, 
 When the passions sink and smother, 
 And the day of strife is done. 
 
 Northland, Southland, Eastland, Westland, 
 None the worst, and none the best land, 
 All together form the best land, 
 Fused in war's fierce furnace heat. 
 Never more shall fate divide us, 
 Ne'er again the furies ride us, 
 Nor can any ill betide us, 
 While the Union's heart shall beat. 
 
 Oh, if peace could but restore us, 
 To this banner floating o'er us, 
 Brothers who have gone before us, 
 Whom to-day we meet to mourn! 
 But they see with clearer vision, 
 In their far-off homes elysian, 
 And partake of our fruition, 
 To a new existence born. 
 
 Nevermore in strife contending, 
 From the heaven above us bending, 
 While our praise and prayer ascending 
 Tell them they are not forgot. 
 Joyfully they now discover 
 That the white-robed angels hover 
 All their resting places over, 
 Hallowing each sacred spot. 
 
 Nevermore the gallant legions, 
 Yonder in the starry regions, 
 Strive for this or that allegiance. 
 All with them is peace and love. 
 We, as they, past our defilement, 
 Guiltless now of vain revilement, 
 Find at last our reconcilement; 
 Peace is here, as there above. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 55 
 
 Let us, then, tread softly, lightly, 
 And with garlands gleaming brightly, 
 Make the resting places sightly 
 Of our hemes "neath the sod. 
 All were ours, and all together, 
 Through the battles' bitter weather, 
 Loo ed for us their human tether; 
 All together went to God. 
 
 Let us fit our new condition, 
 So that never false ambition 
 Shall prevail against our mission, 
 Or disturb our high career ; 
 And remember in our weeping, 
 Though their bodies still are sleeping, 
 That our faithful dead are keeping 
 Watch above the living here. 
 
 Ours the hopes of saints and sages, 
 Ours to spread on history's pages 
 Records that to future ages 
 Show a people grand, sublime. 
 Ours to tell the sweetest story, 
 Ours to teach the truest glory, 
 Till the wheeling world grows hoary, 
 And we near the end of time. 
 
 Thus our gay and gleaming garlands, 
 Fairest fruits of near and far lands 
 Tell to those who dwell in star lands, 
 What is now and is to be. 
 Thus our deeds to-day are showing 
 How the breeze of peace is blowing, 
 And a future beyond knowing, 
 Waits the continent of the free. 
 
 E. T. Willet. 
 
56 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 UNCROWNED AMONG THE NATIONS. 
 
 She stands uncrowned among the nations ! Her 
 sufferings have been unexampled and her patient 
 endurance towers up among the facts that are 
 pyramids in history. After driving the Danish 
 viking into the seas, she has seen the Anglo-Norman 
 robber wave his banner o'er the loveliest spots in 
 her realm. But through treachery and famine, 
 through glory and disgrace, through persecution and 
 death, she remains after a thousand years, the un- 
 sullied Queen, upon whose bright escutcheon there 
 is not a stain save the silver dropping of her own 
 tears. 
 
 She stands uncrowned among the nations, a weep- 
 ing mother, whose only solace is wandering among 
 the tombs of her children. She rests her wearied 
 limbs beside the sarcophagus of O'Connell — and 
 over Glasnevin cemetery spreads a glorious Irish 
 twilight. Above — the sun retiring after his long 
 journey disrobes on the horizon's edge, and carelessly 
 scatters his garments of crimson, emerald and gold, 
 upon the floor of heaven. The lovely queen of 
 night glides forth upon the scene, and from her ebony 
 sieve shakes whole myriads of stars. Below — the 
 tall shafts of monumental granite throw their long 
 shadows, like a canopy of black spears, over the little 
 mounds at their feet, and the roses, and the lilies, 
 and the blue forget-me-nots in their circling guard of 
 shamrocks, awake from their vesper sleep, re-open 
 their petals, and telephone in odorous voices sweet 
 greetings to their shining sisters blossoming in the 
 infinite meadows of heaven. " The soul of the Liber- 
 ator hovers around the scene, and after paying the 
 tribute of a bended knee to the Lady of his Love 
 with a divine wand, he touches his skeleton body in 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 57 
 
 its marble shroud, and forth from the fleshless lips 
 come the true words he was so wont to use, 
 
 " Hereditary bondmen, know ye not 
 Who would be free themselves must strike the blow." 
 
 She stands uncrowned among the nations ! The 
 summer sunlight falls unheeded upon the curls of 
 her golden hair, and the winter frost, unnoted, scat- 
 ters his clusters of pearls upon her livery of mourn- 
 ing. But even amid the hail, the rain, and the storm, 
 she finds it ecstasy to sit beside the window of John 
 of Tuam and listen to the soft strains of her own 
 harp as it responds in melodious voice to the touch 
 of the fast withering fingers of the greatest of her 
 living sons. And when the songs of her ancient 
 bards in her own language as an accompaniment fall 
 tremulously from his aged lips, a delirium of mem- 
 ories crowd upon her and she vanishes into the night. 
 
 She stands uncrowned among the nations ! Kneel- 
 ing on the green sward of Robert Emmet's grave 
 and resting her head upon its unmarked headstone, 
 she clasps her hands around it and in an agony of 
 prayer, cries out, " O, my God, when shall his 
 epitaph be written ? " At the early morning she is in 
 Clare listening to Charles Stewart Parnell. She sees 
 at one end of the platform the Irish flag and at the 
 other the American. She is not satisfied — clad in 
 her royal robes, albeit of black, she ascends that 
 platform and taking in one hand her own banner of 
 green, and in the other the "Stars and Stripes," 
 under which her exiled children find so secure a 
 shelter, with her own deft fingers, she irrevocably 
 intertwines them, and upon their dual folds, in letters 
 of living light, she inscribes the prophetic device : 
 "These together shall conquer." 
 
 She stands uncrowned among the nations ! Doff- 
 ing her queenly garments, and in the attire of a felon, 
 she sits beside Michael Davitt in his lonely prison 
 Cell. Twining her arms about his neck with all a 
 
58 HEADINGS, BECITATIONS. 
 
 mother's fondness she sings to him the Irish lullabies 
 of his babyhood, and in accents mournful but em- 
 phatic bids him be patient for God is just. 
 
 She stands uncrowned among the nations ! The 
 most beautiful type the world has ever seen, a mother 
 of sons who have influenced human thought and 
 human action in every class and on every stage. As 
 did Abraham of old, she has offered up to God, for 
 seven hundred years, a holocaust of her children, 
 though He, as yet, has never averted the sacrificial 
 knife. She fashioned the brain of Burke, and silver- 
 tipped the tongue of Grattan. She gave Wellington 
 his sword, Swift his pen, and Moore his lyre. From 
 the superabundance of her jewels she presented 
 Spain with O'Donnell, Austria with Nugent, France 
 with Sarsfield, and America with Meagher. Yet 
 'with all her beauty and with all her intellect she 
 stands alone and uncrowned among the nations. 
 
 But when she is crowned, and the day is not far 
 distant, the tiara that encircles her forehead will be 
 all of diamonds ! Crowned with freedom, blessed 
 with happiness ! God speed the day ! 
 
 J. D. Finney. 
 
 ADOWN THE FIELD TOGETHER. 
 
 The blackbird pipes his solemn notes 
 
 Through copse and dreamy hollow ; 
 The air is fanned by myriad wings 
 
 Of the brown low-flying swallow; 
 As hand in hand, at twilight hour, 
 
 In the hazy autumn weather, 
 A lass and sun-brown harvester 
 
 Stroll down the field together. 
 
 All day he has bound the yellow sheaves 
 With a patient hand and willing, 
 
 For the wealth of his own new home is stored 
 In the granary he is filling ; 
 
AND IMPEUSONATIONS. 
 
 And all the gain or reward he asks, 
 Is to know that through the heather 
 
 A lad and lassie at set of sun, 
 Shall roam the field together. 
 
 What is it to happy hearts and young, 
 
 That the sere, sad leaves are falling? 
 They hear but the cheery voice of love 
 
 To his sweetheart gently calling ; 
 And close as he bound the yellow sheaves 
 
 In the gleaming Autumn weather, 
 Sly Cupid binds their tender hearts 
 
 With love's gold bands together. 
 
 The field of stubble will soon grow brown 
 
 The frosts will chill the meadows, 
 Highland and lowland — garden and lawn 
 
 Will fade in the deep'ning shadows ; 
 But, bright as the sun on a thousand hills, 
 
 Will seem the Autumn weather 
 When hand in hand to the dear old kirk 
 
 They wend their way together. 
 
 On and on the years shall roll, 
 
 And sweeter grows love's story, 
 Till head of brown, and head of gold 
 
 Shall lose youth's crown of glory ; 
 While adown the field of golden sheaves, 
 
 In the sombre Autumn weather, 
 A tottering man, a feeble dame, 
 
 Shall slowly walk together. 
 
 Ah ! Who will remember the harvest hour, 
 
 Of the youthful maid and lover, 
 When life's gray sheaves are bound at last 
 
 And life's brief dream is over? 
 When the fields shall o'er-run with weeds, 
 
 And none shall roam the heather, 
 While, side by side in the old kirk-yard 
 
 The twain shall rest together. 
 
 Louise JJpham. 
 
60 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 "THE WORLD FOR SALE." 
 
 The world for sale ! Hang out the sign, 
 Call every traveller here to me : 
 Who'll buy this brave estate of mine 
 And set me from earth's bondage free ? 
 'Tis going ! Yes, I mean to fling 
 This bauble from my soul away ; 
 I'll sell it, whatsoe'er it bring: 
 The world at auction here to-day ! 
 
 It is a glorious thing to see ; 
 
 Ah, it has cheated me sore ! 
 
 It is not what it seems to be. 
 
 For sale ! It shall be mine no more. 
 
 Come, turn it o'er and view it well; 
 
 I would not have you purchase dear : 
 
 'Tis going ! go — ing ! I must sell ! 
 
 Who bids ? — Who'll buy the splendid tear? 
 
 Here's wealth in glittering heaps of gold : 
 Who bids ? — But, let me tell you fair, 
 A baser lot was never sold : — 
 Who'll buy the heavy heaps of care ? 
 And here, spread out in broad domain, 
 A goodly landscape all may trace ; 
 Hall, cottage, tree, field, hill and plain — 
 Who'll buy himself a burial place? 
 
 Here's Love, the dreamy, potent spell 
 That beauty flings around the heart : 
 I know its power, alas ! too well : 
 'Tis going ! Love and I must parti 
 Must part ! — What can I more with Love ? 
 All over the enchanter's reign ; 
 Who'll buy the plumeless, dying dove, 
 An hour of bliss, an age of pain ? 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 61 
 
 And friendship, rarest gem of earth, 
 (Whoe'er hath found the jewel his?) 
 Frail, fickle, false and little worth : 
 Who bids for friendship — as it is ? 
 "Pis going ! go — ing ! Hear the call : 
 Once, twice and thrice ? — "lis very low ! 
 'Twas once my hope, my stay, my all; 
 But now the broken shaft must go ! 
 
 Fame ! Hold the brilliant meteor high. 
 How dazzling every gilded name ! 
 Ye millions, now's the time to buy! 
 How much for fame ? How much for fame? 
 Hear how it thunders ! Would you stand 
 On high Oi} r mpus, far renowned? 
 Now purchase, and a world command! 
 And be with a world's curses crowned. 
 
 Sweet star of hope ! with ray to shine 
 In every sad, foreboding breast 
 Save this desponding one of mine: 
 Who bids for man's last friend and best? 
 Ah, were not mine a bankrupt life, 
 This treasure should my soul sustain : 
 But Hope and I are now at strife, 
 Nor ever may unite again. 
 
 And song ! for sale my tuneless lute, 
 Sweet solace, mine no more to hold ; 
 The chords that charmed my soul are mute ; 
 I cannot wake the notes of old ! 
 Or e'en were mine a wizard shell, 
 Could chain a world in raptures high, 
 Yet now, a sad farewell ! farewell ! 
 Must on its last faint echoes die. 
 
 Ambition, fashion, show and pride, 
 I part from all forever now ; 
 Grief, in an overwhelming tide, 
 Has taught my haughty heart to bow 
 
62 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Poor heart ! distracted, ah, so long, 
 And still its aching throb to bear ; 
 Now broken, that was once so strong ! 
 Now heavy, once so free from care ! 
 
 No more for me life's fitful dream: 
 Bright visions, vanishing away ! 
 My bark requires a deeper stream, 
 My sinking soul a surer stay. 
 By Death — stern sheriff — all bereft, 
 I weep, yet humbly kiss the rod, 
 The best of all I still have left, 
 My Faith, my Bible, and my God. 
 
 Ralph Hoyt. 
 
 THIRTEEN AND DOLLY. 
 
 Oh, Dolly, dear Dolly, I'm thirteen to-day, 
 And surely 'tis time to be stopping my play ! 
 My treasures so childish must be put aside; 
 I think, Henrietta, I'll play that you died ; 
 I'm growing so old, that of course it won't do 
 To care for a dolly, — not even for you. 
 
 Almost a young lady, I'll soon wear a train, 
 And do up my hair; but I'll never be vain; 
 I'll study and study and grow very wise. — 
 Come, Dolly, sit up now, and open 3 T our eyes : 
 I'll tie on this cap with its ruffles of lace, 
 It always looks sweet round your beautiful face. 
 
 I'll bring out your dresses, so pretty and gay, 
 And fold them all smoothly and put them away : 
 This white one is lovely, with sash and pink bows- 
 Ah, I was so happy while making your clothes ! 
 And here is your apron, with pockets so small, 
 This dear little apron, 'tis nicest of all. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 63 
 
 And now for your trunk, I will lay them all in— 
 Oh Dolly, dear Dolly, how can I begin ! 
 How oft of our journeys I'll think with a sigh, 
 We've traveled together so much, you and I ! 
 All over the fields and the garden we went, 
 And played we were gypsies and lived in a tent. 
 
 We tried keeping house in so many queer ways, 
 Out under the trees in the warm summer days ! 
 We moved to the arbor and played that the flowers 
 Were housekeepers too, and were neighbors of ours. 
 We lived in the hay-loft and slid down the ricks, 
 And went out to call on the turkeys and chicks. 
 
 Now here is your cradle with lining of blue, 
 
 And soft little pillow — I know what I'll do 
 
 I'll rock you and sing my last lullaby song, 
 
 And I'll — No, I can't give you up ! 'Twill be wrong ! 
 
 So sad is my heart, and here comes a big tear — 
 
 Come back to my arms, oh, you precious old dear. 
 
 JSt. Nicholas Magazine. 
 
 EDINBURGH AFTER FLODDEN. 
 
 News of battle ! News of battle ! 
 
 Hark ! 'tis ringing down the street ; 
 And the archways and the pavement 
 Bear the clang of hurrying feet. 
 News of battle ! Who hath brought it? 
 
 News of triumph? Who should bring 
 Tidings from our noble army, 
 
 Greetings from our gallant King? 
 All last night we watched the beacons 
 
 Blazing on the hills afar, 
 Each one bearing as it kindled, 
 
 Message of the opened war. 
 
64 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 News of battle ! Who hath brought it? 
 
 All are thronging to the gate; 
 " Warder — warder ! open quickly ; 
 
 Man — is this a time to wait? " 
 And the heavy gates are opened: 
 
 Then a murmur, long and loud, 
 And a cry of fear and wonder 
 
 Bursts from out the bending crowd. 
 For they see in battered harness 
 
 Only one hard-stricken man ; 
 And his weary steed is wounded, 
 
 And his cheek is pale and wan ; 
 Spearless hangs a bloody banner 
 
 In his weak and drooping hand — 
 God ! Can that be Randolph Murray, 
 
 Captain of the city band ? 
 
 'Round him crush the people, crying, 
 
 " Tell us all ; oh, tell us true ! 
 Where are they who went to battle, 
 
 Randolph Murray, sworn to you? 
 Where are they, our brothers — children ? 
 
 Have they met the English foe? 
 Why art thou, alone, unfollowed ? 
 
 Is it weal or is it woe ? 
 By the God that made thee, Randolph ! 
 
 Tell us what mischance hath come." 
 
 Then he lifts his riven banner, 
 
 And the asker's voice is dumb. 
 While up rose the Provost — 
 
 A brave old man was he, 
 Of ancient name and knightly fame, 
 
 And chivalrous degree. 
 For, with a father's pride, 
 
 He saw his last remaining son 
 Go forth by Randolph's side, 
 With casque on head and spur on heel, 
 
 All keen to do and dare ; 
 And proudly did that gallant boy 
 
 Punedin's banner bear. 
 
ANT) IMPERSONATIONS. 65 
 
 Oh! woeful now was the old mail's look, 
 
 And lie spake right heavily — 
 " Now, Randolph, tell thy tidings, 
 
 However sharp they be ! 
 Woe is written on thy visage, 
 
 Death is looking from tlry face, 
 Speak ! though it be of overthrow, 
 
 It cannot be disgrace ! " 
 
 Randolph gave the riven banner 
 
 To the Provost's shaking hand, 
 Saying, " That is all I bring ye 
 
 From the bravest of the land. 
 Ay ! ye may look upon it — 
 
 It was guarded well and long, 
 By your brothers and your children, 
 
 By the valiant and the strong. 
 One by one they fell around it, 
 
 As the archers laid them low, 
 Grimly dying, still unconquered, 
 
 With their faces to the foe. 
 Ay ! ye may look upon it, — 
 
 There is more than honor there, 
 Else, be sure, I had not brought it 
 
 From the field of dark despair. 
 Never yet was royal banner 
 
 Steeped in such a costly dye; 
 It hath lain upon a bosom 
 
 Where no other shroud shall lie. 
 Sii'S ! I charge you, keep it holy ; 
 
 Keep it as a sacred thing, 
 For the stain ye see upon it 
 
 Was the life-blood of your King!" 
 
 Woe, and woe, and lamentation ! 
 
 What a piteous cry was there ! 
 Widows, maidens, mothers, children, 
 
 Shrieking, sobbing in despair! 
 Then the Provost uprose, 
 5 
 
66 READINGS, -RECITATIONS, 
 
 And his lip was ashen white; 
 But a flush was on his brow 
 
 And his eye was full of light. 
 " Thou hast spoken, Randolph Murray, 
 
 Like a soldier stout and true ; 
 Thou hast done a deed of daring 
 
 Had been perilled but by few, 
 For thou hast not shamed to face us, 
 
 Nor to speak thy ghastly tale. 
 Now, as my God shall judge me, 
 
 I hold it braver done, 
 Than hadst thou tarried in thy place, 
 
 And died above my son ! 
 Thou need'st not tell it ; he is dead. 
 
 God help us all this day ! 
 But speak — how fought the citizens 
 
 Within the furious fray ? 
 For by the might of Mary ! 
 
 'Twere something still to tell 
 That no Scottish foot went backward 
 
 When the Royal Lion fell ! " 
 
 "No one failed him ! He is keeping 
 
 Royal state and semblance still ; 
 Knight and noble lie around him, 
 
 Cold on Flodden's fatal hill. 
 Of the brave and gallant-hearted, 
 
 Whom you sent with prayers away, 
 Not a single man departed 
 
 From his monarch yesterday, 
 Had you seen them, O my Masters, 
 
 When the night began to fall, 
 Every stone a Scottish body, 
 
 Every step a corpse in mail ! 
 And behind it lay our monarch, 
 
 Clenching still his shivered sword; 
 By his side Montrose and Athole, 
 
 At his feet a Southern lord. 
 All so thick they lay together, 
 
AND lMl'KUsn.\.\TIONS. 67 
 
 When the stars lit up the sky, 
 That I knew not who were stricken, 
 
 Or who yet remained to die. 
 Few there were when Surrey halted, 
 
 And his wearied host withdrew ; 
 None but dying men around him 
 
 When the English trumpet blew. 
 Then I stooped, and took the banner 
 
 As you see it, from his breast, 
 And I closed our hero's eyelids, 
 
 And I left him to his rest. 
 In the mountains growled the thunder, 
 
 As I leaped the woful wall, 
 And the heavy clouds were settling 
 
 Over Flodden, like a pall." 
 
 W. E. Aytoun. 
 
 THE CASE OF MRS. MOLL. 
 
 Mrs. Rebecca Moll was one of those unfortunate 
 women who are always " ailin'." She was never free 
 from a " misery " of some kind, and never knew 
 what it was to see " a well day." Her conversation 
 chiefly referred to the diseases she was suffering 
 from, those she had had, and those she expected to 
 have. She loved to dwell upon the many times that 
 " four doctors had given her up," and when it was 
 confidently supposed that " eveiw breath would be 
 her last." Her friends were, indeed, somewhat scep- 
 tical in regard to the genuineness of Mrs. Rebecca 
 Moll's maladies. They doubted her oft-repeated 
 statement that she had had the small-pox, the genuine 
 Asiatic cholera, and the yellow fever; for it was 
 proved that on the day following that on which all 
 these diseases were at their height, Mrs. Moll had 
 walked three miles to a quilting; but when reminded 
 of this fact she said, calmly, " Some folks git over 
 sickness quicker'n others, and I'm one of that kind." 
 
68 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 
 
 There was one person who had firm faith in the gen- 
 uineness of all Mrs. Moll's maladies, and that person 
 was her patient and affectionate husband, Mr. Pliny- 
 Moll. " What my Becky has endoored no one but 
 me and her knows," he often said, earnestly. " Many 
 an' a-many's the time I've set by her sick bedside an' 
 said to myself, ' Is she a-breathin' or ain't she a-breath- 
 in' ? an' I've riz to my feet thinkin' I was a widow man 
 this time — yes, sir. An' ag'in when she's been sittin' 
 right in her chair I've looked at her an' said, ' You 
 dead, Becky Moll?' an' when she'd say, so feeble 
 like, ' I ain't quite, Pliny,' I've said to myself, ' Well, 
 it won't be long 'fore you will be, Becky Moll, if you 
 ain't better right forthwith an' faster! ' " 
 
 As they kept no servant, great domestic confusion 
 resulted when, as was frequently the case, Mrs. Moll 
 had to be almost carried to bed from the breakfast 
 table, leaving Mr. Moll to wash the dishes and attend 
 to other domestic duties. But Mr. Moll made no 
 complaint. "Poor Becky! Poor Becky ! it's a sight 
 harder on her than it is on me." 
 
 " I shall never get up again, Pliny, I'm done fer," 
 she said to her husband, one day. " I don't seem to 
 have the first mite of stren'th, an' I've a kind of a 
 feelin' of goneness all the time. There's somethin' 
 the matter of my back an' chist, an' it ain't long I'll 
 be a burden to you." 
 
 Old Doctor Philbrick was called. He seemed un- 
 able to understand the case of Mrs. Moll, but told 
 her anxious husband that he'd " have her around in 
 a few days." " No, you won't," said Mrs. Moll, res- 
 olutely. "Pliny might as well be made to under- 
 stand the truth, doctor, an' it can't be kept from me ! " 
 Doctor Philbrick did not have Mrs. Moll around as 
 he predicted. He came again and again, and seemed 
 at last to be greatly puzzled over the case. 
 
 "Seems as though she'd ought to git some stren'th," 
 said Pliny to the doctor. "Her appetite ain't failed 
 her yet ; she eats more'n I do — " " Plin Moll, that 
 ain't so ! " cried his wife, indignantly. " Doctor, it 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 69 
 
 gives me pain to swallow anything at all, and I don't 
 eat enough to keep a bird alive." 
 
 An elderly relative of Mr. Moll's called " Aunt 
 'Cindy " had by this time been installed as housekeeper 
 and nurse to Mrs. Moll, who steadily grew worse, 
 and now gave daily instructions as to how her funeral 
 should be conducted, and what Pliny should do when 
 Blie was gone. " You shan't go 'long as anything 
 kin be done fer you that ain't been done. An' there's 
 got to be a consultation over you, Becky." 
 
 " It won't do any good. All the doctors in creation 
 couldn't tell what's the matter of me. It's one of 
 them cases the medical perfession ain't got up to yet, 
 and there ain't no cure for it." Nevertheless, Mr. 
 Moll determined to have a consultation. " I've done 
 all I can do, Mr. Moll," said Doctor Philbrick, " I've 
 bled her and blistered her and poulticed her, and 
 given her a great deal and a great variety of medi- 
 cine, and yet she is no better. I really think there 
 should be a consultation." 
 
 So Doctor Peevy and Doctor Hobbson were called 
 in. " You've bled her, I reckon ? " said Doctor 
 Peevy. "Yes, half dozen times." "And blistered 
 her ? " asked Doctor Hobbson. " Yes, yes ; time and 
 again." Mrs. Moil seemed to enjoy the prospect of a 
 consultation. " I know that forty dozen consultations 
 wouldn't cure me. I've had so many diseases my 
 system is all wore out and I ain't a mite o' stren'th 
 left. I've endoored all one pore human frame kin 
 endoor, and I'm convinced that I've got an' incura- 
 ble complaint now. My grandmother's aunt lay in 
 bed two years, just as I'm doin', 'fore she died, and 
 Pliny had a second cousin go off jist as I'm goin', 
 and nobody knowed what ailded him. It runs in 
 the fam'ly and there's no use fightin' ag'in it. If I 
 live through the consultation it's 'bout all I expect 
 to do." 
 
 " Please put out your tongue, ma'am," said Doc- 
 tor Peevy, while Doctor Hobbson felt her pulse. 
 Then Mrs. Moll was put through such a long cate- 
 
70 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 chism of questions, and subjected to such a thump- 
 ing of the chest and pounding of the back that her 
 " feeble stren'th " was subjected to a severe strain. 
 The examination of the patient lasted for a full hour, 
 and then the trio of physicians withdrew to the 
 orchard a short distance from the house, to consult 
 together. 
 
 No sooner were the doctors out of the house than 
 Mrs. Moll called Aunt 'Cindy. " Where's Pliny?" 
 "I see him goin' out toward the medder lot when 
 the doctors come," replied Aunt 'Cindy. " He 
 seemed to be too worrited and uneasy to stay in the 
 house while this here powwow was goin' on." " Pore 
 man ! " said Mrs. Moll. " It'll be hard on him to 
 give me up, but he's got it to do. My stren'th is 
 goin' faster every day. I wish you'd tell Pliny I 
 want him, and then I'd like you to make me some 
 b'iled apple dumplin's and b'ile me a piece of cabbage. 
 I'm fagged out I've got to have somethin' for dinner." 
 
 There stood in the meadow lot a solitary oak tree, 
 to the shade of which Pliny always withdrew when 
 he was in the mood for solitary reflection. "I'm 
 afeered they'll do her no good," he said, with his 
 handkerchief to his eyes as he lay under the branches 
 of the tree. " Nothing but a maracle will help 
 Becky, now, and the age of maracles is gone. Poor 
 Becky ! " and little Mr. Moll was weeping softly in his 
 red cotton handkerchief when Aunt 'Cindy found 
 him. 
 
 " Well, Plin Moll, you ain't bellerin' ? What for ? 
 If there's anything to cry fer I ain't seen it nor yit 
 heerd it ! " " O, 'Cindy ! What do they say 'bout 
 Becky? Has she lived through it?" " Well, she's 
 alive enough to want cabbage and dumplin's for din- 
 ner, so I reckon there's a little m'tiality left. The 
 doctors are powwowin' out in the orchard, and Becky 
 wants you. You'd better come right in, and if I was 
 you, Plin Moll, I'd — for the land's sake ! the house is 
 on fire, as sure as I'm a livin' woman ! " 
 
 Mr. Moll rose to his feet with a bound, and ran 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 71 
 
 madly after the fleeing Aunt 'Cindy. They met the 
 doctors at the back gate, and all ran into the house, 
 Mr. Moll crying out: "She'll be scared and burned 
 to death ! Git Becky out first thing ! We're comin', 
 Becky ! Keep ca'm — we'll save you ! " The whole 
 party rushed into the front hall of the house, and 
 there they beheld a singular and unexpected sight. 
 It was Mrs. Moll half-way downstairs with a huge 
 feather-bed on her back ! " Becky Moll ! Why, 
 Becky, you'll " 
 
 " Now don't you lose your wits at this time when 
 you need 'em the most, Pliny," said Mrs. Moll, sharply. 
 " I'll manage this feather-bed, and you go up and 
 begin throwin' things out of the winders. Don't you 
 forgit my black silk dress. You doctors better pull 
 up the carpets, and 'Cindy, you git my gold band 
 chany tea-set out all right. I'll come back and 'tend 
 to my silver spoons and forks soon as I get this new 
 feather-bed out. Fly around, all of you ! There 
 ain't no time to lose ! Get my winter cloak, Pliny, 
 it's bran'-new, and it's got to do me five j'ears yit! 
 Here, Doctor Philbrick, you and Doctor Peevy carry 
 out the parlor sofy ! 'Cindy, 'Cindy, fly around! 
 Get ev'rything out of the pantry ! " Mrs. Moll had 
 been the last to leave the burning building. She 
 came rushing out with — a big blue-edged platter in 
 one hand, a pewter teapot in the other. Carrying 
 them to a place of safety, she climbed over the fence 
 and dropped down on the feather-bed, saying, as she 
 did so : •' Pliny, bring me a quilt or something to 
 throw over me ! I look scand'lous ! I'm-afeerd this'll 
 give me an awful back-set! Well, Doctor Philbrick, 
 what do you make out is the matter of me ? " 
 
 " There ain't nothing the matter of you, Becky 
 Moll ; that's what there ain't ! Ain't that so, Doctor 
 Peevy? " " Yes, it is, Hobbson thinks so, too, don't 
 you, Hobbson ? " " Of course I do ! " replied Doctor 
 Hobbson. This was far from the conclusion sit which 
 the learned doctors had arrived while in the orchard ; 
 but the opinions of the most learned men are subject 
 
72 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 to change. "I should think you'd be ashamed to 
 talk to a dyin' woman like that ! " 
 
 The household goods were carried into a small but 
 quite comfortable old house across the road. The 
 neighbors lent their assistance in arranging the furni- 
 ture, and by night Mr. and Mrs. Moll found them- 
 selves comfortably installed in their old home, with 
 most of their effects around them. Then Aunt 'Cindy 
 and Mr. Moll held a consultation. " See here, Pliny ; 
 I'm goin' home. I ain't goin' to stay here any longer 
 doing for a woman that's as well as 1 am, if she'd only 
 think so. I'm a believer in the mind cure for Becky ; 
 for if she only thought she was well she'd be well." 
 
 In fifteen minutes she was gone. Mr. Moll rose, 
 and went into the house and into the bedroom in 
 which Mrs. Moll was lying. 
 
 "Becky, Aunt 'Cindy's gone, and I reckon if you 
 want any supper to-night you'll have to git up and 
 gil it. I'm goin' out to milk the cows now, and I 
 wish you'd have some flannel cakes for supper when 
 I come in." When she heard Pliny speak now, she 
 knew that he meant all he said. She herself was very 
 hungry after her exertion at the fire, and Pliny found 
 her frying eggs and cakes, and making ail appetizing 
 cup of coffee when he came in with his pail of foamy 
 milk. 
 
 That was the last of her " incurable malady," and 
 the last of many of her other diseases. She died of 
 old age twenty -five years later. Harbour, in Youths' 
 Companion. 
 
 THE DOLLS' TEA PARTY. 
 
 The dolls had a tea party ; wasn't it fun? 
 In ribbons and lace they came, one by one. 
 We girls set the table and poured out the tea; 
 And each of us held up a doll on her knee. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 73 
 
 You never saw children behave half so well; 
 Why, nobody had any gossip to tell ! 
 And (can you believe it?) for badness, that day, 
 No dolly was sent from the table away. 
 
 One dolly, however, the proudest one there, 
 Was driven almost to the verge of despair, 
 Because she had met with a simple mishap 
 And upset the butter-plate into her lap. 
 The cups and the saucers, they shone lily-white; 
 We helped all the dollies, they looked so polite, 
 We had cake and jam from our own pantry shelves ; 
 Of course, we did most of the eating ourselves. 
 
 But housewives don't know when their cares may 
 
 begin. 
 The window was opened and pussy popped in; 
 She jumped on the table ; and what do you think ? 
 Down fell all the crockery there in a wink. 
 We picked up the pieces with many a sigh ; 
 Our party broke up and we all said good-bye ; 
 Do come to our next one ; but then we'll invite 
 That very bad pussy to keep out of sight. 
 
 THE VICTORY OF THE FROSTS. 
 
 One sweet September morn — so sweet a morn 
 As one might well believe was born in heaven, 
 I looked out from my window height, and saw 
 The silent, white encampment of the frosts, 
 Specking the green hill-side with many tints. 
 "There's war in that," I said ; " such bold array 
 Means death to all fair, fragile, helpless things." 
 
 And so I shut my window with a sigh, 
 
 And thought of the dead summer's holy realm 
 
 That she had left as autumn's legacy; 
 
74 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 And wondered if, amid bis groaning vats, 
 Gorged with the vineyard's and the orchard's wealth, 
 He would be mindful of the sweet, frail things 
 That had been left his charge by the dead Queen. 
 
 I looked again, when in the clear, blue sky, 
 The brave strong sun rode in high state at noon, 
 And lo ! of all that vast array, no tint 
 Lingered to mark the first alarm of war. 
 1 said, " The frost king feared to meet the sun, 
 And so, at his approach, has fled away." 
 
 Next morn I looked again, and lo ! again 
 
 The white tints glistened thickly, as before, 
 
 But when the sun approached, they all were gone. 
 
 So was it many morns ; but, ah ! one day 
 
 I looked out, and my heart sighed heavily, 
 
 For over all the landscape crimson stains 
 
 Told of the conflict and the victory ; 
 
 And then I knew that in the silent night 
 
 The stealthy, cruel frosts had done their work. 
 
 Oh ! it was pitiful and sad to see 
 
 The green crown of the ancient, kingly oak 
 
 All dabbled with the crimson stains of war, 
 
 While all around his feet lay, dead and pale, 
 
 The sweet things that he might not e'en protect, 
 
 Since he could not protect himself! I heard 
 
 Him sigh and whisper, oh ! so mournfully, 
 
 To the fair maple growing at his side, 
 
 Dabbled, like him, with blood, save that her stains 
 
 Were brighter, because womanly hearts do give 
 
 Their richest life-tide, if it be required. 
 
 And she, the maple, lifted up her hands, 
 
 And touched his forehead with a soft caress. 
 
 That seemed at once to soothe and strengthen him, 
 
 And so his sigh grew gentle and more low. 
 
 So I went out and kissed the crimson stains 
 Upon the meek, fair maple, and I pressed 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 
 
 Her bleeding hands against my weary brow, 
 And said, l% Baptize me with thy ebbing life, 
 That when the frosts of time slay all my bloom 
 I may be beautiful as thou art now," 
 Then she spread out her hands above my head, 
 And murmured softly, like a mother praying, 
 And sprinkled crimson on my bended head, 
 And tore a fragment from her blood-dyed robe, 
 And gave it me, a dear remembrancer 
 Of how a queen can, uncomplaining, die. 
 
 Avanelle Holomes. 
 
 LOST IN THE SEA FOG. 
 
 The night was dark upon the sea, and chill 
 
 The fog hung o'er the weary mariner, 
 
 As off New England's rocky shore 
 
 His frail barque tossed on the Atlantic wave. 
 
 No moon nor star looked down 
 
 To guide him o'er the trackless deep. 
 
 All, all was gloom ! 
 
 The deep, dense fog hung o'er him 
 
 Like a midnight pall over a silent world 
 
 Or a sable shroud o'er the newly dead. 
 
 No sound, save the moaning of the distant thunder, 
 
 The wild shriek of the ocean bird 
 
 Or the restless wave, dashing against the lonely 
 
 barque. 
 The thought of home ; of loved ones waiting there, 
 Had nerved the father's arm. 
 
 His wife, his boy, his humble cottage 
 On the distant shore, were dear to him, 
 The thought renewed his strength 
 And desperately he plied the oar, 
 While despair and hope alternate rose, 
 For the Father's love burned pure as " the star of 
 eve." 
 
76 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 And constant as the cynosure. 
 At last when exhausted, chilled, 
 The lost and stricken one, 
 Tossed on the midnight wave, 
 Fell upon his knees 
 And lifted up his voice in prayer. 
 
 " Oh God ! thou who hearest the mourner's sigh, 
 
 Thou, who reign'st supreme o'er all the world, 
 
 Hear ; oh, hear, my humble prayer,, 
 
 Father thou knowest what I would ask of thee, 
 
 If I must perish here, be thou their prop and stay, 
 
 And let me calmly die. 
 
 Yet, oh Father, if it please thee 
 
 I would live, gladly live, for them; 
 
 But Thy will, not mine." 
 
 " This way, my father ! " 
 
 " Hush ! hark ! What voice was that ? 
 
 It is — no it cannot be — but that voice — " 
 
 " This way, my father ! " 
 
 " It is ! it is my boy ! 
 
 I hear him, high on that rocky cliff. 
 
 I come ! I come ! Thy father comes. 
 
 God bless my boy." 
 
 Guided by that voice 
 
 The father reached the shore 
 
 And found his noble boy 
 
 Chilled, prostrate on that rocky cliff. 
 
 Where, through tho long, long weary night 
 
 He lay, sending out his clear sweet voice 
 
 O'er the darkened wave 
 
 To guide the wanderer home. 
 
 Enfolded in his father's arms, 
 
 The dying boy looked up, 
 
 And smiling through his tears, murmured low, 
 
 " Father, I thought that you would come." 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. r t 
 
 Gently the father bore to his cottage home 
 
 His little boy. Softly the shades of death 
 
 Settled upon that pallid brow, 
 
 Parents kneeled beside that lowly couch, 
 
 A father's tear was on his cheek, 
 
 And unseen angels hovering near 
 
 On snowy wings, bore away a mother's prayer 
 
 And a bright young spirit home to heaven. 
 
 And now when long, long years have passed 
 At the silent midnight hour, 
 An old man, with thin white locks 
 Is seen standing on that rocky cliff, 
 And he seems to hear an angel's voice 
 Calling from the pearly gates ajar. 
 " Come this way, my father, 
 
 Steer straight for me, 
 
 Here safely in heaven, 
 
 I'm waiting for thee." 
 
 THE CHARIOT RACE. 
 
 The circus at Antioch stood on the south bank 
 of the river. At the beginning of the third hour, 
 the audience was assembled. 
 
 Looking westward across the sanded arena, there 
 is a pedestal of marble, supporting three low conical 
 pillars of gray stone. Many an eye will be turned 
 toward those pillars, before the day is done, for they 
 are the first goal, and mark the beginning and end 
 of the race course. Behind the pedestal, leaving a 
 passage-way, commences a wall ten or twelve feet in 
 breadth and five or six feet in height, extending 
 thence two hundred yards. At the further extremity 
 of the wall, there is another pedestal surmounted with 
 pillars which mark the second goal. The racers will 
 enter the course on the right of the first goal, and 
 keep the wall all the time to their left. 
 
78 READINGS, KECTTATIONS, 
 
 At last a flourish of trumpets called for silence, 
 and instantly the gaze of over one hundred thousand 
 persons was directed towards the entrance. Slowly 
 across the arena the procession proceeds to make 
 circuit of the course. The first greeting of the 
 enthusiastic multitude was one of wild uproar, fol- 
 lowed by showers of wreaths and garlands tossed to 
 the charioteers, from the balcony. A horseman 
 accompanies each one of them except Ben-Hur, who 
 for some reason — possibly distrust — has chosen to go 
 alone ; so too they are all helmeted but him. Here 
 they come all abreast — Ben-Hur the Jew, Messala 
 the Roman. Also the Byzantine, Sidonian and 
 Corinthian. As the charioteers move on in the cir- 
 cuit the excitement increases, at the second goal the 
 people exhaust their flowers and rive the air with 
 screams. • 
 
 " Messala ! Messala ! " 
 
 " Ben-Hur ! Ben-Hur ! " 
 
 " Ah, by Bacchus! was he not handsome?" ex- 
 claimed a woman whose Romanism is betrayed by 
 the colors of scarlet and gold streaming from her hair. 
 "And how splendid his chariot! It is all ivory and 
 gold. Jupiter grant he wins ! " 
 
 "A hundred shekels on the Jew," screamed a 
 shrill voice. 
 
 " Nay, be thou not rash ! The children of Jacob 
 will bear poor chance in the Gentile sports." 
 
 a True, but saw you ever one more cool, and as- 
 sured ? And what an arm he has ! " 
 
 " And what horses ! " says a third. 
 
 " Yes, and he is even handsomer than the Roman ! " 
 exclaimed a pretty woman just behind the first 
 speakers. 
 
 " A hundred shekels on the Jew ! " 
 
 " Thou fool ! knowest thou not there are fifty 
 talents laid against him, six to one on Messala? Put 
 up thy shekels lest Abraham rise and smite thee ' " 
 
 " Ha ! Ha ! Cease thy bray. Knowest thou not 
 it was Messala betting on himself ! " 
 
AND IMPER&ONA T10NS. 79 
 
 Just then the spectator leaning fur over the balcony 
 and gazing into the pale rigid countenance of Ben-Hur, 
 knew that his mind was turned back upon the wrongs 
 and injuries of the past, and could see by the unusual 
 flush that now and then burned on his cheek, that he 
 felt within himself that his hour of triumph was near, 
 when he should humble the haughty Messala, who 
 years before had thrown his mother and sister into 
 prison and condemned him to work as a galley slave ! 
 
 Just then, a new party — Simonides, Ilderim, Bal- 
 thazar, Esther and Iras, entered and took their reserved 
 seats close by the balustrade overlooking the Arena. 
 Esther cast a frightened look over the Circus and drew 
 the veil closer about her face, while the Egyptian, let- 
 ting her veil fall upon her shoulders, gave herself up 
 to the intense interest of the occasion. 
 
 " Did you ever sec Messala ? " asked Iras. 
 
 The Jewess shuddered as she answered no. If not 
 her father's enemy, the Roman was Ben-Hur's. 
 
 " There, look ! " cried Iras pointing to Messala. " I 
 see him ! " answered Esther, looking at Ben-Hur. 
 
 Just then they were diverted by the tremulous 
 voice of old Ilderim a little behind them. 
 
 " Heaven help thee, Ben-Hur ! To none other than 
 thy strong arm and steady nerve would I have trusted 
 my beautiful Arabs. If they are beaten, I pray it be by 
 some other than Messala." 
 
 The competitors were now under view from nearly 
 every part of the Circus. The arena swam in a dazzle 
 of light. Up the vast assemblage arose, and leaping 
 upon the benches, filled the Circus with yells and 
 screams. 
 
 Just then Messala shook out his long lash, loosed 
 the reins, leaned forward, and with a triumphant 
 shout took the wall. 
 
 " Jove with us ! Jove with us ! " yelled all the 
 Roman faction in a frenzy of delight. 
 
 " He wins ! He wins ! " answered his associates, 
 seeing Messala speed on. 
 
 On swept the Corinthian, on the Byzantine, on the 
 Sidonian. 
 
80 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Esther covered her face with her hands. Where was 
 Ben-Hur? 
 
 " A hundred sestertii on the Jew ! " cried San- 
 ballat. 
 
 " Taken ! " answered Drusus. 
 
 " Another hundred on the Jew." 
 
 " Messala ! Jove with us ! " 
 
 " Another hundred on the Jew ! " 
 
 Esther dropped her hands, and with unconcealed 
 delight beheld Ben-Hur again to the front, coursing 
 freely forward along with the Roman. The race was 
 on ; the souls of the racers were in it. And now side 
 by side the two n eared the second goal. 
 
 " Down Eros, up Mars ! " shouted Messala, whirl- 
 ing his lash with practiced hand. " Down Eros, up 
 Mars," he repeated and caught the beautiful Arabs of 
 Ben-Hur, a cut the like of which they had never 
 known. The blow Avas seen by the excited multitude, 
 and from every quarter burst the indignant cry of 
 the people. The four sprang forward affrighted, no 
 hand had ever been laid upon them except in love. 
 The}*- had been nurtured most tenderly. Forward 
 they sprang as from death, and forward leaped the 
 car. 
 
 Where got Ben-Hur the large hand and mighty 
 grip which helped him now so well? Where, but 
 from the oar with which so long he had fought the 
 sea ? So he kept his place, and gave the four free 
 rein and called to them in soothing voice, tr} r ing 
 merely to guide them round the dangerous turn, and 
 before the fever of the people began to abate he had 
 backed the mastery, and was again moving side by side 
 with Messala. 
 
 Gradually the speed quickened. On all the benches 
 the spectators bent forward motionless. 
 
 " A hundred sestertii on the Jew ! " cried San- 
 ballat. 
 
 " I will take thy sestertii," answered a Roman. 
 
 " Do not so," interposed a friend. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 81 
 
 " Because Messala hath reached his utmost speed. 
 See him lean over his chariot-rim, his reins loose. 
 Look now at the Jew. By Hercules, the dog throws 
 all his weight on the bits. If the gods help not our 
 Roman he will be run away with by that Israelite. 
 No, not yet, look ! Jove with us ! " 
 
 If it were true that Messala had readied his utmost 
 speed, the effort was with effect. Slowly but cer- 
 tainly he was beginning to forge ahead. His horses 
 were running with their heads low down. Their bodies 
 appeared actually to skim the earth. How long could 
 they keep the pace? It was but the commencement 
 of the sixth round. On they dashed. As they neared 
 the second goal, Ben-Hur turned in behind the 
 Roman's car. 
 
 The joy of the Messala faction reached its bound ; 
 they screamed and howled. Esther scarcely breathed. 
 Iras alone seemed glad. When the turn was com- 
 pleted the two were abreast once more. As they 
 whirled by, Esther saw Ben-Hur's face again, and it 
 was whiter than before. Ilderim leaned forward, 
 and whispered, "Saw 3^011 how clean the Arabs 
 were, and fresh ? By the splendor of Jove, they 
 have not been running : but now watch ! " " Ben- 
 Hur ! Ben-Hur!" shouted the blunt voices of all 
 the factions but the Roman. 
 
 " Speed the Jew ; take the wall now." " On ! 
 loose the Arabs! give them rein and scourge." 
 
 " Let him not have the turn on thee, now or 
 never." 
 
 At that moment Ben-Hur leaned forward over his 
 Arabs and gave them the reins. Out flew the many 
 folded lash in his hand, over the backs of the 
 startled steeds , it writhed and hissed and hissed and 
 writhed again and again, and though it fell not, 
 there were both sting and menace in its quick report. 
 And instantly the Arabs answered with a leap that 
 landed them along side the Roman car. Messala 
 dared not look to see what the awakening portended. 
 Above the noises of the race, there was but one 
 
82 READINGS, 11ECITATI0NS, 
 
 voice, and that was Ben-Hur's as he called to tlie 
 gallant Arabs." 
 
 "On, Alair! On, Rigel ! what, Antares, dost 
 thou linger now ? Good horse — Oho, Aldebaran ! I 
 hear them singing in the tents. I hear the children 
 singing, and the women singing of the stars, of Alair, 
 Antares, Rigel, Aldebaran, victory, victory! and the 
 song will never end. Well done! Home tomorrow, 
 under the black tent-home! On, Antares! The 
 tribe is waiting for us and the master is waiting ! 
 'Tis done ! 'Tis done ! Ha, ha ! Steady ! The work 
 is done — so ho! Rest!" Ben-Hur turns the first 
 goal. And the race was won ! — Gen. Lew Wallace. 
 
 WHAT MAKES THE GRASSES GROW? 
 
 I closed my book, for nature's book 
 
 Was opening that day ; 
 
 And with a weary brain I took 
 
 My hat, and wandered toward the brook 
 
 That in the meadow lay, 
 
 And there beside the tiny tide, 
 
 I found a child at play. 
 
 Prone on the sward, its little toes 
 
 Wrought dimples in the sand, 
 
 Its cheeks were fairer than the rose, 
 
 I heard it murmur, " Mamma knows, 
 
 But I not understand." 
 
 While all unharmed a dainty blade 
 
 Of grass was in its hand. 
 
 "What wonldst thou know, my little one?" 
 
 Said I with bearing wise ; 
 
 For I, who thought to weigh the sun, 
 
 And trace the course where planets run, 
 
 And grasp their mysteries, 
 
 Unto a baby's questionings 
 
 Could surely make replies. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 83 
 
 " What wouldst thou know ? " again I said, 
 
 And gently bowing low 
 
 I stroked its half-uplifted head. 
 
 With chubby hand it grasped the blade 
 
 And answered : " Oo will know ; 
 
 For oo has whixers on oo face, 
 
 What makes the grasses grow? " 
 
 " Last fall," I said, "a grass-seed fell 
 
 To the earth and went to sleep. 
 
 All winter it slept in its cozy cell 
 
 Till spring came tapping upon its shell ; 
 
 Then it stirred and tried to peep 
 
 With its little green eye, right up to the sky, 
 
 And then it gave a leap. 
 
 " For the sun was warm, and the earth was fair, 
 
 It felt the breezes blow. 
 
 It turned its cheek to the soft, sweet air, 
 
 And a current of life so rich and rare 
 
 Came up from its roots below; 
 
 It grew and kept growing; and that, my child, 
 
 Is the reason the grasses grow." 
 
 " Oo ta.lks des like as if oo s'pose 
 
 I's a baby, and I don't know 
 
 'Bout nuffin' ! But babies and every one knows 
 
 That grasses don't think ; for they only grows. 
 
 My mamma has told me so. 
 
 What makes 'em start, an' get bigger an' bigger? 
 
 What is it that makes 'em grow f " 
 
 How could I answer in words so plain 
 
 That a baby could understand ? 
 
 Ah, how could I answer my heart ! 'Twere vain 
 
 To talk of the union of sun and rain 
 
 In the rich and fruitful land ; 
 
 For over them all was the mystery 
 
 Of will and guiding hand. 
 
84 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 What could I gather from learning more 
 
 Than was written so long ago ? 
 
 I heard the billows of science roar 
 
 On the rocks of truth from the mystic shore ; 
 
 And humbly bowing low 
 
 I answered alike the man and child ; 
 
 " God makes the grasses grow." 
 
 St. Nicholas. 
 
 THE PLEASURES OF HOPE. 
 
 At summer's eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow 
 Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below, 
 Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, 
 Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky? 
 Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear 
 More sweet than all the landscape smiling near? 
 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, 
 And robes the mountain in its azure hue. 
 Thus, with delight we linger, to survey 
 The promised joys of life's unmeasured way, 
 Thus from afar each dim-discovered scene 
 More pleasing seems than all the past hath been 
 And every form that fancy can repair 
 From dark oblivion, glows divinely there. 
 
 What potent spirit guides the raptured eye 
 To pierce the shades of dim futurity ? 
 With thee, sweet Hope, resides the heavenly light 
 That pours remotest rapture on the sight. 
 Thine is the charm of life's bewildered way 
 That calls each slumbering passion into play. 
 Waked by thy touch, I see the sister band, 
 On tiptoe, watching, start at thy command, 
 And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer, 
 To pleasure's paths, or glory's bright career. 
 Angel of Life ! thy glittering wings explore 
 Earth's loneliest bounds, and ocean's wildest shore. 
 
AND TMPEUS02TATI01T8. 85 
 
 Lo, to the wintry winds the pilot yields 
 
 His bark careering o'er unfathomed fields. 
 
 Now on Atlantic waves, he rides afar; 
 
 Now far he sweeps where scarce a summer smiles 
 
 On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles; 
 
 Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, 
 
 Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form. 
 
 Rocks, waves and winds thy shattered bark delay, 
 
 Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away. 
 
 But hope can here her moonlit vigils keep, 
 
 And sing to charm the spirit of the deep. 
 
 His native hills that rise in happier climes, 
 
 The grot that heard his song of other times, 
 
 His cottage home, his bark of slender sail, 
 
 His glassy lake and broomwood blossomed vale, 
 
 Rush on his thoughts. He sweeps before the wind, 
 
 Treads the loved shore he sighed to leave behind, 
 
 Meets at each step a friend's familiar face, 
 
 And flies at last to Helen's long embrace. 
 
 Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear, 
 
 And clasps with many a joy his children dear. 
 
 Say, can the world one generous thought bestow 
 To friendship weeping at the couch of Avoe ? 
 Ah, no ! but a brighter soothes the last adieu, 
 Souls of impassioned mould, she speaks to you. 
 " Weep not," she says, " at Nature's transient pain, 
 Congenial spirits part to meet again." 
 What plaintive sobs thy filial spirit drew ; 
 What sorrow choked thy long and last adieu, 
 Daughter of Conrad ? When he heard his knell 
 And bade his country and his child farewell, 
 Thrice the sad father tore thee from his heart, 
 And thrice returned to bless thee and to part. 
 "Oh, weep not thus," he cried, "Young Eleanor, 
 My bosom bleeds, but soon shall bleed no more, 
 Short shall this half-extinguished spirit burn, 
 And soon these limbs to kindred dust return. 
 But not, my child, with life's precarious fire, 
 The immortal ties of nature shall expire. 
 
86 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 These shall resist the triumph of decay, 
 When time is o'er, and. worlds have passed away. 
 Cold in the dust this perished heart may lie, 
 But its immortal life shall never die. 
 Farewell ! when strangers lift thy father's bier, 
 And place my nameless stone without a tear, 
 Who then will soothe thy grief when mine is o'er, 
 Who will protect thee, helpless Eleanor ? 
 Ah ! methinks the generous and the good 
 Will woo thee from the shades of solitude; 
 O'er friendless grief compassion shall awake, 
 And smile on innocence for mercy's sake." 
 
 Lo, at the couch where infant beauty sleeps, 
 
 Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps, 
 
 And weaves a song of melancholy joy, 
 
 "Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy ! 
 
 Bright as his manly sire the son shall be 
 
 In form and soul ; but ah, more blest than he. 
 
 And say, when summoned from the world and thee, 
 
 I lay my head beneath the willow tree, 
 
 Wilt thou, sweet mourner, at my stone appear 
 
 And soothe my parted spirit lingering near. 
 
 Oh ! wilt thou come at evening hour to shed, 
 
 The tears of memory, o'er my narrow bed? 
 
 So speaks affection ere the infant eye 
 
 Can look regard or brighten in reply. 
 
 Ah, how fondly looks admiring Hope the while, 
 
 At every artless tear and every smile. 
 
 Oh, say, without our hopes, without our fears, 
 Without the home that plighted love endears, 
 Without the smile from partial beauty won, 
 Oh, what were man ? — a world without a sun. 
 Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour, 
 There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower. 
 In vain the viewless seraphs lingering there, 
 At starry midnight charmed the silent air. 
 The world was sad, the garden was a wild, 
 And man, the hermit, sighed, till woman smiled. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 87 
 
 Auspicious Hope: in thy sweet garden grow 
 Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe. 
 Unfading hope, when life's last embers burn, 
 When soul to soul and dust to dust return, 
 Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour! 
 Oh, then thy kingdom comes, immortal power! 
 Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey, 
 The morning dreams of life's eternal day; 
 Then, then the triumph and the trance begin, 
 And all the Phoenix spirit burns within. 
 Cease every joy to glimmer on nry mind, 
 But leave, oh, leave the light of hope behind. 
 Eternal Hope ; when yonder spheres sublime 
 Pealed the first notes to sound the march of time, 
 Thy joyous youth began, but not to fade. 
 When all the sister planets have decayed, 
 When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow, 
 And heaven's last thunder shakes the world below, 
 Thou, undismayed, shall o'er the ruins smile, 
 And light thy torch on Nature's funeral pile. 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 BOY BRITTAN. 
 
 Boy Brttan — only a lad — a fair-haired boy. 
 
 Sixteen — in his uniform ! 
 
 fnto the storm — into the roaring jaws of grim Fort 
 
 Henry — 
 Boldly bears the Federal flotilla — into the battle 
 
 storm ! 
 Boy Brittan is Master's Mate aboard of the Essex — 
 There he stands buoyant and eagle-eyed, 
 By the brave Captain's side. 
 
 Ready to do and dare? Aye, aye, sir, always ready — 
 
 In his country's uniform ! 
 
 Boom ! boom ! and now the flag-boat sweeps 
 
 And now the Essex, into the battle-storm! 
 
88 READINGS, RECITATIONS. 
 
 Boom ! boom! till river, and fort and field 
 
 Are over-clouded by the battle's breath ; 
 
 Then from the fort a gleam and a crashing gun, 
 
 And the Essex is wrapt and shrouded in scalding 
 
 steam ! 
 
 But victory, victory ! 
 
 Unto God all praise be ever rendered, 
 
 Unto God all praise and glory be ! 
 
 See, Boy Brittan ; see ! They strike ! Hurrah ! 
 
 The Fort has surrendered ! Shout ! Shout ! my 
 
 warrior boy ! 
 And wave your cap and clap your hands for joy ! 
 Cheer answer cheer and bear the cheer about — 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! for the fiery Fort is ours ! 
 
 " Victory ! victory ! " is the shout 
 " The day is ours — thanks to the brave endeavor 
 Of heroes, boy, like thee ! 
 
 Glory and deathless love to all who shared with thee ! 
 And bravely endured and dared with thee. 
 The day is ours ! The day is ours forever ! 
 Glory and love for one and all — but for thee— 
 Home ! Home ! a happy " welcome, welcome home," 
 for thee ! 
 
 And kisses of love for thee — 
 
 And a mother's happy fears and a virgin's wreath of 
 
 flowers. 
 But suddenly wrecked and wrapt in seething steam, 
 The Essex slowly drifted out of the battle's storm ! 
 Slowly, slowly down — laden with the dead and the 
 
 dying 
 And there, among them, at the Captain's feet 
 The shot-marred form of a beautiful boy is lying. 
 There in his uniform. 
 
 Laurels and tears for thee, Boy, laurels and tears for 
 
 thee ! 
 Laurels of light moist with the precious dew 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 89 
 
 Of tlie inmost heart of the Nation's loving heart, 
 
 And blest by the balmy breath of the Beautiful and 
 the True ! 
 
 Moist, moist with the luminous breath of the sing- 
 ing spheres 
 
 And the Nation's starry tears; 
 
 And tremble-touched by the pulse-like gush and 
 start 
 
 Of the universal music of the heart, 
 
 And all deep sympathy ! 
 
 Laurels and tears for thee, Boy 
 
 Laurels of Light and tears of Love forevermore for 
 
 thee 
 And the mantle of Immortality ! 
 And the flowers of Love and immortal Youth, 
 And the tender heart-tokens of all truth — 
 And the everlasting victory ! 
 And the breath and bliss of Liberty, 
 And the loving kiss of Liberty ; 
 And the infinite love-span of the skies, 
 That cover the Valleys of Paradise. 
 
 For thee ! and all the braves who rest with thee ! 
 
 And for one and all who died with thee, 
 
 And now lie side b} 7 side with thee ! 
 
 And for every one who lives and dies 
 
 On the solid land or the heaving seas, 
 
 Dear warrior-boy — like thee. 
 
 O, the victory — the victory belongs to thee ! 
 
 God ever keeps the brightest crown for such as thee, 
 
 He gives it now for thee ! 
 
 O young and brave and early and thrice blest — 
 
 Thrice, thrice, thrice blest! 
 
 Thy country turns once more to kiss thy youthful 
 
 brow, 
 And takes thee gently — gently to her breast, 
 And whispers lovingly, u God bless thee — 
 Bless thee now — my darling, thou shalt rest." 
 
 Forceythe Willson, 
 
90 HEADINGS, EXCITATIONS, 
 
 THE FALL OF JERUSALEM. 
 
 (Prize Declamation, May, 18S9 ; N. Mo. State Normal.) 
 
 The fall of our illustrious and unhappy city was 
 supernatural. The destruction of the conquered 
 was against the first principles of Roman polity ; 
 and to the last hour of our national existence, Rome 
 held out offers of peace, and lamented our frantic 
 determination to be undone. But the decree was 
 gone forth from a mightier throne. During the 
 latter days of the siege, a hostility to which that of 
 man was as a grain of sand to the tempest that 
 drives it on — overpowered our strength and senses. 
 Fearful shapes and voices in the air ; visions startling 
 us from our short and troubled sleep ; lunacy in its 
 most hideous forms; sudden death in the midst of 
 vigor; the fury of the elements let loose upon our 
 unsheltered heads ; we had every terror and evil that 
 could beset human nature, but pestilence ; the most 
 probable of all in a chVv crowded with the famishing, 
 the diseased, the wounded, and the dead. Yet, 
 though the streets were covered with the unburied ; 
 though every wall and trench was streaming with 
 gore; though six hundred thousand corpses lay flung 
 over the rampart, naked to the sun — pestilence came 
 not ; if it had come, the enem} 7 would have been 
 scared away. But the "abomination of desolation," 
 the pagan standard, was fixed ; where it was to re- 
 main until the plough passed over the ruins of 
 Jerusalem ! 
 
 On one night, that fatal night ! no man laid his 
 head upon his pillow. Heaven and earth were in 
 conflict. Meteors burned above us ; the ground 
 shook under our feet ; the volcano blazed ; the wind 
 burst forth in irresistible blasts, and swept the living 
 and the dead in whirlwinds, far into the desert. We 
 heard the bellowing of the distant Mediterranean, 
 as if its waters were at pur side, swelled by a new 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 91 
 
 deluge. The lakes and rivers roared, and inun- 
 dated the land. The fiery sword shot out tenfold 
 fire. Showers of blood fell. Thunder pealed from 
 every quarter of the heaven. Lightning in immense 
 sheets, withering eye and soul, burned from the 
 zenith to the ground, and marked its track by forests 
 on flame, and the shattered summits of the hills. 
 Defence was now unthought of; for the mortal 
 hostility had passed from the mind. Our hearts 
 quaked for fear; but it was to see the powers of 
 Heaven shaken. All cast away the shield and the 
 spear, and crouched before the descending judgment. 
 We were conscience-smitten. Our cries of remorse, 
 anguish, and horror, were heard through the uproar 
 of the storm. We howled to the caverns to hide us ; 
 we plunged into the sepulchres to escape the wrath 
 that consumed the living ; we would have buried 
 ourselves under the mountains ! I knew the cause, 
 the unspeakable cause ; and knew that the last hour 
 of crime was at hand. A few fugitives, astonished 
 to see one man among them not sunk into the lowest 
 feebleness of fear, came round me, and besought me 
 to lead them to some place of safety, if such were 
 now to be found on the earth. I told them openly 
 that they were to die, and counselled them to die in 
 the hallowed ground of the temple. They followed 
 me, through streets encumbered with every shape of 
 human suffering, to the foot of Mount Moriah. But, 
 beyond that, we found advance impossible. Piles of 
 clouds, whose darkness was palpable, even in the 
 midnight in which we stood, covered the holy hill. 
 Still, not to be daunted by anything that man could 
 overcome, I cheered my disheartened band, and 
 attempted to lead the way up the ascent. But I 
 had scarcely entered the cloud, when I was swept 
 downward by a gust that tore the rocks in a flinty 
 shower around me. 
 
 Now came the last and most wondrous sign that 
 marked the fate of Israel. While I lay helpless, I 
 beard the whirlwind roar through the cloudy hill; 
 
92 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 the vapors began to revolve, and the clouds rose, 
 and rapidly shaped themselves into the forms of 
 battlements and towers. The sound of voices was 
 heard within, low and distant, yet strangely sweet. 
 The lustre brightened, and the airy building rose, 
 tower on tower, and battlement on battlement. 
 
 In awe that held us mute, we knelt and gazed 
 upon this more than mortal architecture, which con- 
 tinued rising and spreading, and glowing with serener 
 light, still soft and silvery, yet to which the broadest 
 moonbeam was dim. At last, it stood forth to earth 
 and heaven the colossal image of the first temple, 
 the building raised by the wisest man, and con- 
 secrated by the visible glory. All Jerusalem saw 
 the image ; and the shout that in the midst of their 
 despair ascended from its thousands and tens of 
 thousands, told what proud remembrances were there. 
 But a hymn was heard that might have hushed the 
 world. Never fell on my ear, never on the human 
 sense, a sound so majestic, yet so subduing ; so full 
 of melancholy, yet of grandeur. The cloudy portal 
 opened, and from it marched a host, such as man 
 never had seen before, such as man never shall see 
 but once again ; the guardian angels of the city of 
 David — they came forth glorious, but with woe in 
 all their steps ; the stars upon their helmets dim ; 
 their robes stained ; tears flowing down their celestial 
 beauty. " Let us go hence," was their song of sor- 
 row; "Let us go hence," was answered by the sad 
 echoes of the mountains. " Let us go hence," swelled 
 upon the night, to the farthest limits of the land. 
 The procession lingered long on the summit of the 
 hill. Then the thunder pealed; and they rose at 
 the command, diffusing waves of light over the ex- 
 panse of heaven. Their chorus was heard, still 
 magnificent and melancholy, when their splendor 
 was diminished to the brightness of a star. The 
 thunder roared again ; the cloudy temple was scat- 
 tered on the winds ; and darkness, the omen of her 
 graye, settled upon Jerusalem ! — Croly. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 93 
 
 THE HARVEST. 
 
 In a valley where the sunbeams 
 Like our father's blessings fall 
 Where repose the softest shadows 
 And the dove and cuckoo call, 
 Where the hay o'er meadows scattered, 
 Casts its fragrance to the air, 
 Dwells in peace a band of reapers, 
 Winnowing joy from sheaves of care. 
 
 Nature now is clad in verdure, 
 Filled her lap with fragrant flowers, 
 And the sweet-voiced birds of summer 
 Warble in their vine-clad bowers 
 Insects flitting, grasses waving, 
 In and out the brooklet flows 
 Bearing on its wayward journey 
 Sweetest tidings of repose. 
 
 Onward come the thrifty gleaners 
 At the glimmer of the dawn, - 
 In their beating hearts contentment — 
 On their lips the hymn of morn. 
 Awake ! awake ! the rosy light 
 In dawning splendor beams : 
 The sun arises from his sleep, 
 And earth in beauty gleams. 
 
 Bear they in their hands the sickle, 
 To the grain a dreaded foe ; 
 By its strength and man's united 
 Sheaf on sheaf will soon lie low. 
 All the glory of the harvest 
 Shines upon the valley plain, 
 And the laughing sunbeams hover 
 Oyer fields of golden grain. 
 
94 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Voice of gleaners, clash of sickles, 
 Songs that float from field and holrn, 
 Are the tunes of labor's anthem 
 Floating through the azure dome. 
 One by one the sheaves are falling, 
 One by one are cut and bound, 
 Like brave soldiers in the conflict 
 Fall to earth with glory crowned. 
 
 In far distant homes fond mothers 
 Weep in silence o'er their fears ; 
 O'er the sheaves the clouds keep vigil, 
 Mother Earth sheds dewy tears. 
 In the western sky low sinking 
 Sunbeams kiss the radiant stream ; 
 Day, that light would lull to slumber, 
 Dieth with the fading gleam. 
 
 To rest! to rest ! the reapers sing, 
 
 The pale-faced moon ascends the height; 
 
 O'er earth the misty twilight falls, 
 
 A shadow bridge 'twixt day and night. 
 
 Distant hills repeat the anthem 
 
 Echoes fainter, fainter grow, 
 
 As the far bell's distant tinklings 
 
 Still resound in music low. 
 
 So life's morning dawns in splendor 
 On our life-work's glorious field ; 
 Hope and love and truth and beauty 
 Here a bounteous harvest yield. 
 Youth, so light of heart and footsteps, 
 Cometh singing glad and free, 
 Age, fast fleeting, crowned with silver, 
 Totters slowly o'er the lea. 
 
 Gleaners golden sheaves are binding, 
 Soon the harvest will be o'er ; 
 Hearts o'er shattered hopes be grieving, 
 Idols — dust forever more ! 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 95 
 
 Work ! the nightfall draweth nearer, 
 Earthly pleasures fade away, 
 Death's dark sleep is fast approaching, 
 Ushering in eternal day. 
 
 Brothers, moments swift receding, 
 Bid us reap with steady hand, 
 Soon we'll turn our footsteps homeward, 
 To the heavenly harvest land, 
 Shining sheaves of love and labor 
 To the throne above we'll bear, 
 And our Father, all protecting, 
 Waits to greet his children there. 
 
 Alice La Due. 
 
 THE SONG OF STEAM. 
 
 (Suitable for Concert Recitation.) 
 
 Come ! Harness me down with your iron bands, 
 
 Be sure of your curb and rein ; 
 For I scorn the strength of your puny hands, 
 
 As a tempest scorns a chain ; 
 How I laughed as I lay concealed from sight 
 
 For many a countless hour, 
 At the childish boast of human might, 
 
 And the pride of human power. 
 
 When I saw an army upon the land, 
 
 A navy upon the sea, 
 Creeping along, a snail-like band, 
 
 Or waiting the wayward breeze, 
 I could not but think how the world would feel 
 
 As these were outstripped afar, 
 When I should be bound to the rushing keel, 
 
 Or chained to the flying car. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! They found me at last ! 
 
 They invited me forth at length, 
 And I rushed to my throne with thunder blast, 
 
 And I laughed in my iron strength. 
 
96 READINGS, HESITATIONS, 
 
 Oh, then ye saw a wondrous change 
 
 On the earth and ocean wide, 
 Where now my fiery armies range, 
 
 Nor wait for wind or tide. 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! the giant streams, 
 
 Or the mountain's steep decline, 
 Time— space — have yielded 10 my power; — 
 
 The world ! the world is mine ! 
 The ocean pales, where'er I sweep, 
 
 To hear my strength rejoice. 
 Even winds and lightnings are left behind, 
 
 They tremble at my voice. 
 
 In the darksome depths of the fathomless mine, 
 
 My tireless arm doth play, 
 Where the rocks never saw the sun decline, 
 
 Or the dawn of the glorious day. 
 I bring earth's glittering jewels up 
 
 From the hidden caves below, 
 And I make the fountain's granite cup 
 With a crystal gush o'erflow. 
 
 I blow the bellows, I forge the steel 
 
 In all the shops of trade ; 
 I hammer the ore, and turn the wheel 
 
 Where my arms of strength are made ; 
 I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint ; 
 
 I carry, I spin, I weave ; 
 And all my doings I put into print 
 
 On every Saturday eve. 
 
 I've no muscle to weary, no brain to decay, 
 
 No bones to be laid on the shelf. 
 And soon I intend you may go and play, 
 
 While I manage the world myself. 
 Then harness me down with your iron bands, 
 
 Be sure of your curb and rein, 
 For I scorn the strength of your puny hands, 
 
 As the tempest scorns a chain. 
 
 Cutler, 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 97 
 
 THE BRIDE OF THE GREEK ISLE. 
 
 Come from the woods with the citron-flowers, 
 
 Come with your lyres for the festal hours, 
 
 Maids of bright Scio ! They came, and the breeze 
 
 Bore their sweet songs o'er the Grecian seas ; — 
 
 They came, and Eudora stood robed and crowned, 
 
 The bride of the morn. 
 
 Jewels flashed out from her braided hair, 
 
 And pearls on her quivering bosom shone. 
 
 She looked on the vine at her father's door, 
 
 Like one that is leaving his native shore ; 
 
 She turned — and her mother's gaze brought back 
 
 Each hue of her childhood's faded track. 
 
 Oh ! hush the song, and let her tears 
 
 Flow to the dream of her early years ! 
 
 Holy and pure are the drops that fall 
 
 When the young bride goes from her father's hall; 
 
 She goes unto love yet untried and new, 
 
 She parts from love that hath still been true ; 
 
 She wept — yet laid her hand the while, 
 
 In his, that waited her dawning smile. 
 
 " Why do I weep ? — to leave the vine 
 Whose clusters o'er me bend, 
 A thousand thoughts of all things dear 
 Like shadows o'er me sweep, 
 I leave my sunny childhood here ; 
 Oh, therefore let me weep. 
 I leave thee, father, mother, I leave thee, too ! 
 On thy breast pouring out joy and woe 
 I have found that holy place of rest 
 Still changeless, — yet I go ! 
 Lips that have lulled me with your strain, 
 Eyes that have watched my sleep ! 
 Will earth give love like yours again? 
 Sweet mother! let me weep ! " 
 7 
 
98 READINGS, TtECTTATIONS, 
 
 But a changeful thing - is the human heart, 
 
 It is well ! the cloud on her soul that lay, 
 
 Hath melted in glittering drops away. 
 
 She turns to her lover, Ianthis the brave. 
 
 Mother ! On earth it must still be so, 
 
 Thou rearest the lovely to see them go ! 
 
 Still and sweet was the home that stood 
 
 In the flowering depths of a Grecian wood. 
 
 And thither Ianthis had brought his bride, 
 
 They lifted the veil from Eudora's face, 
 
 It smiled out softly in pensive grace. 
 
 Bring wine, bring odors ! the board is spread — 
 
 Bring roses ! a chaplet for every head ! 
 
 The wine-cups foamed, and the rose was showered 
 
 On the young and fair from the world embowered. 
 
 Hush ! be still ! — Was that no more 
 
 Than the murmur from the shore? 
 
 Silence ! — Did thick rain drops beat 
 
 On the grass like trampling feet? 
 
 Fling down the goblet! draw the sword ! 
 
 The groves are filled with a pirate horde ! 
 
 Through the dim olives their sabers shine 
 
 Now must the red blood stream for wine ! 
 
 The j'outh from the battle to banquet sprang, 
 
 The woods with the shriek of the maidens rang. 
 
 Eudora, Eudora! thou dost not fly ! 
 
 She saw but Ianthis before her lie, 
 
 With the blood from his breast in a gushing flow, 
 
 And a gathering film in his lifted eye, 
 
 That sought his young bride's mournfully. 
 
 She knelt down beside him, and her arms she wound 
 
 Like tendrils his drooping neck around 
 
 But they tore her hence in her wild despair, 
 
 Those fierce sea rovers. They left him there. 
 
 So closed the triumph of youth and love ! 
 
 Gloomy lay the shore that night, gloomy lay the shore 
 
 and still. 
 O'er the wave no gay guitar sent its floating music 
 
 far. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 99 
 
 But a A'oice of woe from the se;i-be;it locks arose, 
 As Eudora's mother stood gazing o'er the Egean flood. 
 With fixed and straining eye. Oh, was the spoiler's 
 
 vessel nigh ? 
 Yes, there becalmed in night so dark, brooding it 
 
 frowned, that evil bark, 
 And the heavy sound of its flapping sail, idly, vainly 
 
 wooed the gale. 
 Hushed was all else — had ocean's breast rocked e'en 
 
 Eudora to rest? 
 To rest ? Nay not rest ! What piercing cry 
 Bursts from the heart of the ship on high ? 
 What light through the heavens shoots from the deck 
 
 up? 
 'Tis fire ! there are wild forms hurrying to and fro, 
 There are shout and signal-gun and call, 
 And dashing of water — but fruitless all ! 
 Man may not fetter, nor ocean tame 
 The might and wrath of the rushing flame ! 
 It hath twined the mast, it hath touched the sails, 
 It hath taken the flag's high place in air. 
 
 The swimmers are plunging from stern and prow, 
 
 Eudora, Eudora! where, where art thou? 
 
 Mother ! who stands on the deck alone ! 
 
 The child of thy bosom ! and lo ! a brand 
 
 Blazing up high in her lifted hand, 
 
 Her veil flung back and her free dark hair, 
 
 Swayed by the flames as they rock and flare, 
 
 And her fragile form to its loftiest height 
 
 Dilated as if by the spirit's might, 
 
 And her eye with an eagle gladness fraught, 
 
 Oh ! could this work be of woman wrought? 
 
 Yes ! 'Twas her deed ! By that haughty smile 
 
 Ye know 'twas hers ! She hath kindled her funeral 
 
 pile, 
 That never might shame on that bright head be ! 
 Her blood was the Greek's ! It hath made her free ! 
 Proudly she stands like an Indian bride 
 On the pyre with the holy dead beside. 
 
100 READINGS, EECITATIONS, 
 
 One moment more and her hands are clasped, 
 Fallen is the torch the}^ had wildly grasped, 
 And her sinking knee unto Heaven is bowed, 
 And her last look raised through the smoke's dim 
 
 shroud, 
 And her lips as in prayer for her pardon move, — 
 Now the night gathers o'er youth and love. 
 
 Mrs. Remans. 
 
 GATES. 
 
 God bless the man who first invented gates ; 
 
 Front gates I mean. 
 
 The expression is not mine, 
 
 Old Sancho used it once upon a time. 
 
 And what the shrewd and honest fellow wrote, 
 
 I, with a poet's license, sure can quote. 
 
 Now who invented gates is quite a mystery. 
 
 In vain we ask the doctors, old and wise, 
 
 They slowly shake their heads and wink their eyes, 
 
 Answer our question with a solemn groan 
 
 Advising us to let such things alone. 
 
 In vain we search the volumed leaves of history — ■ 
 
 Thus baffled we put on our thinking cap. 
 
 When, lo ! — it must have been some Yankee chap, 
 
 Who cried, 'tis worse than going to the wars, 
 
 To clamber fences and to crawl through bars ! 
 
 Mankind 'tis certain wants one comfort more, 
 
 That want I will supply. The need is great. 
 
 He seized his jack-knife, and behold a gate ! 
 
 How useful is the gate in youthful years, 
 When time has laid upon the brow no care 
 Nor traced its furrowed lines of sorrow there. 
 How oft we sought the swinging old front gate, 
 That scarcely bent beneath our childish weight, 
 And there forgot our little griefs and fears. 
 Oh ! blessed golden years ! 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 101 
 
 When we were happier on the creaking gate, 
 
 Than the proud monarch in his car of state. 
 
 And through that gate, one glorious summer day 
 
 Our brother walked, in all a soldier's pride, 
 
 We, weeping, clustered round his maul}- side, 
 
 Then he was gone, and we could only pray. 
 
 There was a battle down in Tennessee ; 
 
 And gloriously the banner of the free 
 
 Was carried b}>- brave men with dauntless breast, 
 
 Till where the fight was like a raging hell, 
 
 In the front ranks of all our brother fell. 
 
 And we — well — you know the rest, 
 
 And through that same front gate, his form they 
 
 bore, 
 Our own dear brother had come back once more. 
 
 But the chief time when front gates are applied 
 
 Is at the witching hour of eventide, 
 
 For the bold lover and his lady fair 
 
 To meet — and — talk about the weather there. 
 
 This subject through, another course he claims, 
 
 Namely — to praise and call her pretty names. 
 
 Thus is it, ere the prosy lamps are lighted 
 
 Provided there are lamps along the street, 
 
 If not, why never mind it, sweet. 
 
 Their vows are pledged, and mutual love is plighted, 
 
 And secrets told, not meant for common ears, 
 
 No thought of how much the old gate hears ; 
 
 Old folks may laugh, and younger ones deride it — 
 
 What's that to me ? Of course I've never tried it. 
 
 Of course when lamps went out and hours grew 
 
 late, 
 I never leaned across the old front gate. 
 Dear old front gate, who has not known thee well ! 
 Strong man and maiden, old and young ! 
 Oh, that some power conld now unseal thy tongue; 
 What tales of joy or sadness couldst thou tell; 
 How many answers have vanquished hate 
 Across thy time-worn bars, dear old front gate — 
 Peace — fare thee well ! 
 
102 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 There is another gate we must all pass through, 
 When life is over and our time has fled, 
 When we lie sleeping with the silent dead ; 
 When will it come, friend, for me and you ? 
 Yes, there's another gate — all pearls and gold, 
 And they that enter lay all burdens down, 
 They see a city glorious to behold, 
 Where every habitant wears a crown of gold, 
 And by the King's own hand that crown is given, 
 Oh, grand last gate of all — the gate of heaven. 
 
 G-oodnow. 
 
 THE RACE PROBLEM. 
 
 The stoutest apostle of the church, they say, is the 
 missionary, and the missionary, wherever he unfurls 
 his flag, will never find himself in deeper need of 
 unction and address than I, bidden to-night to plant 
 the standard of a Southern Democrat in Boston's ban- 
 quet hall, and to discuss the problem of the races in 
 the home of Phillips and of Sumner. But, Mr. Presi- 
 dent, if a purpose to speak in perfect frankness and 
 sincerity ; if earnest understanding of the vast inter- 
 ests involved; if a consecrating sense of what dis- 
 aster must follow misunderstanding and estrange- 
 ment; if these may be counted to steady undisci- 
 plined speech and to strengthen an untried arm — then, 
 sir, I shall find the courage to proceed. 
 
 Far to the south, Mr. President, lies the fairest and 
 richest domain of this earth. It is the home of a 
 brave and hospitable people. A perfect climate above 
 a fertile soil, yields to the husbandman every product 
 of the temperate zone. There, by night the cotton 
 whitens beneath the stars, and by day the wheat locks 
 the sunshine in its bearded sheaf. That, sir, is the 
 picture and promise of my home. Hear one thing 
 more. My people, your brothers in the South — 
 brothers in blood, in destiny, in all that is best in our 
 past and future — are so beset with this problem that 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 103 
 
 their very existence depends on its right solution. 
 Nor are they wholly to blame for its presence. The 
 slaveships of the Republic sailed from your ports — 
 the slaves worked iii our fields. You will not defend 
 the traffic, nor I the institution. But I do here 
 declare that in its wise and humane administra- 
 tion, in lifting the slave to ihe heights of which he 
 had not dreamed in his savage home, and giving 
 him a happiness he has not yet found in freedom — 
 our fathers left their sons a saving and excellent 
 heritage. In the storm of war, this institution was 
 lost. I thank God as heartily as you do, that human 
 slavery is gone forever from American soil. But the 
 freed man remains, and with him a problem without 
 precedent or parallel. Note its appalling conditions. 
 Two utterly dissimilar races on the same soil — with 
 equal political and civil rights — almost equal in num- 
 bers, but terribly unequal in intelligence and responsi- 
 bility — each pledged against fusion — one for a cen- 
 tury in servitude to the other, and freed at last by a 
 desolating war — the experiment sought by neither 
 but approached by both with doubt — these are the 
 conditions. Under these, adverse at every point, we 
 are required to carry these two races in peace and 
 honor to the end. Never, sir, has such a task been 
 given to mortal stewardship. Never before this Re- 
 public has the white race divided on the rights of an 
 alien race. The red man was cut down as a weed, 
 because he hindered the way of the American citizen. 
 The yellow man was shut out of this Republic because 
 he was an alien and an inferior. The red man was 
 owner of the land — the } r ellow man highly civilized 
 and assimilable — but they hindered both sections and 
 are gone. But the black man, clothed with every 
 privilege of government, affecting but one section, is 
 pinned to the soil, and my people commanded to make 
 good at any hazard, and at any cost, his full and equal 
 heirship of American privilege and prosperity. It 
 matters not that every other race has been routed or 
 excluded, without rhyme or reason. It matters not 
 
104 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 that wherever the whites and blacks have touched, 
 in any era or in any clime, there has been irreconcilable 
 violence. It matters not that no two races however 
 similar have ever lived anywhere at any time, on the 
 same soil with equal rights, in peace. In spite of 
 these things we are commanded to make good this 
 change of American policy which has not, perhaps, 
 changed American prejudice — to make certain here 
 what has elsewhere been impossible between whites 
 and blacks — and to reverse, under the very worst 
 conditions, the universal verdict of racial history. 
 
 We give the world this year a crop of 7,500,000 
 bales of cotton, worth $450,000,000, and its cash 
 equivalent in grain, grasses, and fruit. This enormous 
 crop could not have come from the hands of sullen 
 and discontented labor. It comes from the peaceful 
 fields in which laughter and gossip rise above the hum 
 of industry, and contentment runs with the singing 
 plow. It is claimed that this ignorant labor is de- 
 frauded of its just hire. I present the tax books of 
 Georgia, which show that the negro, twenty -five years 
 ago a slave, has in Georgia alone $ 10,000.000 of assessed 
 property, worth twice that much. Does not that 
 record honor him and vindicate his neighbors ? What 
 people, penniless, illiterate, has done so well? For 
 every Afro-American agitator, stirring the strife in 
 which alone he prospers, I can show you a hundred 
 negroes, happy in their cabin homes, tilling their own 
 land by day, and at night taking from the lips of their 
 children the helpful message their State sends them 
 from the school-house door. And the school-house it- 
 self bears testimony. In Georgia we added last year 
 8250,000 to the school fund, making a total of more 
 than $1,000,000 — and this in the face of prejudice not 
 vet conquered — of the fact that the whites are assessed 
 for $368,000,000, the blacks for $10,000,000, and yet 
 49 per cent of the beneficiaries are black children 
 — and in the doubt of many wise men if education 
 helps or can help our problem. Charleston, with her 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 105 
 
 taxable value's cut half in two since 1860, pays more 
 in proportion for public .schools than Boston. Al- 
 though it is easier to give much out of much, than 
 little out of little, the South, with one-seventh of 
 the taxable property of the countiy, with relatively 
 larger debt, having received only one-tenth as much 
 of public lands, and having back of its tax books none 
 of the half billion of bonds that enrich the North, yet 
 gives nearly one-sixth of the public-school fund. The 
 negro vote can never control in the South, and it 
 would be well if partisans at the North would under- 
 stand this. 1 have seen the white people of a State 
 set about by black hosts until their fate seemed sealed. 
 But, sir, some brave man, banding them together, 
 would rise, as Elisha rose in beleaguered Samaria, and, 
 touching their eyes with faith, bid them look abroad 
 to see the very air " filled with the chariots of Israel 
 and the horsemen thereof." If there is any human 
 force that cannot be withstood, it is the power of the 
 banded intelligence and responsibility of a free com- 
 munity. Against it, numbers and corruption cannot 
 prevail. It cannot be forbidden in the law or divorced 
 in force. It is the unalterable right of every free com- 
 munity — the just and righteous safeguard against an 
 ignorant or corrupt suffrage. It is on this, sir, that 
 we rely in the South. Not the cowardly menace of 
 mask or shotgun ; but the peaceful majesty of intel- 
 ligence and responsibility, massed and unified for the 
 protection of its homes and the preservation of its 
 liberty. That, sir, is our reliance and our hope, and 
 against it all the powers of earth shall not prevail. 
 You may pass force bills, but they will not avail. 
 You may surrender your own liabilities to federal 
 election law — this old State which holds in its charter 
 the boast that it "is a free and independent common- 
 wealth " — it may deliver its election machinery into 
 the hands of the government it helped to create — but 
 never, sir, will a single state of this Union, North or 
 South, be delivered again to control of an ignorant 
 and inferior race. We wrested our State government 
 
106 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 from negro supremacy when the Federal drum beat 
 rolled closer to the ballot-box and Federal bayonets 
 hedged it deeper about than will ever again be permit- 
 ted in this free government. But, sir, though the can- 
 non of this Republic thundered in every voting district 
 of the South, we still should find in the mercy of God 
 the means and the courage to prevent its reestablish- 
 ment ! — Henry W. Grrady. 
 
 MORMON WIFE NUMBER ONE, ON THE 
 ARRIVAL OF NUMBER TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Our husband has brought home another wife, 
 
 'Twas lonesome with twenty round, 
 And so the church sealed in number twenty-one, 
 
 And now a new favorite is found. 
 She'll sit at the head of the table too, 
 
 Be foremost in everything. 
 Her whims will be law, and she'll be the first 
 
 To have a new bonnet next spring. 
 
 I married Joe Smith thirty years ago, 
 
 My Mormon belief was firm ; 
 But when he brought home a second wife more, 
 
 My conscience began to squirm. 
 For while the Smith family were always famed 
 
 For being of numerous breed, 
 The thought of him having a single wife more, 
 
 Was far from my Mormon creed. 
 
 I thought, when we married, us two was one, 
 
 One flesh should the twain ever be ; 
 Us wives now make twenty-odd kinds of flesh, 
 
 As bad as town hash can be. 
 Instead of my being a better half 
 
 And queen of his home and heart, 
 He has brought me to one twenty-first of one-half, 
 
 Or more than a forty-twoth part. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 107 
 
 I, once a whole woman, am dwindled down 
 
 To the forty-twoth part of u man. 
 And what will I do, it" he still goes on 
 
 Pursuing his Mormon plan ? 
 My children's mixed up with his other wives' 
 children, 
 
 Till now when a young one falls, 
 We twenty-odd mothers of ninety-three kids, 
 
 Can't tell whose it is that squalls. 
 
 He's married the sisters of wives he's got, 
 
 Till children can't tell 
 If ma is mother or auntie, or if their pa 
 
 Is father or uncle-in-law. 
 And I, who was first in his heart, am last, 
 
 Each year crowded further back. 
 I am growing old so fast, 
 
 And I'll die without getting a seal-skin sacque. 
 
 Last week I just asked him for twenty cents, 
 He looked at me cold and blank ; 
 
 Then pointing to us twei^-one wives, he sighed, 
 " D' ye think I'm a Rothschild's bank? " 
 
 And now here's one more to divide us, 
 She'll get the lion's share, 
 
 Except when she grabs at his old bald head, 
 She won't get her share of hair. 
 
 But some day the angel of God will come 
 
 And the poor man must go ; 
 How mournful the funeral rites will be 
 
 With all us widders in woe ; 
 Our forty-two eyes a sheddin' tears, 
 
 Our ninety-three children round, 
 How stylishly grand the procession will be 
 
 Stretched out to the burying-ground. 
 
 And when we are all lying side by side, 
 Smith's grave-yard will be immense ; 
 
 The children's white head-stones all in a row 
 Will look like a picket fence; 
 
108 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 And when the last trump that awakes the dead 
 Shall echo through heaven's dome, 
 
 Smith's family will climb up the golden stairs, 
 Like camp-meeting going home. 
 
 L. B. Cake, 
 
 THE DREAMLAND SEA. 
 
 What matter though my pilgrim feet 
 
 May never press the stranger's land, 
 Or wander lone where wild waves beat 
 
 With ceaseless moan on ocean's strand ? 
 For me expands a lovelier deep, 
 
 Whose isles in visioned beauty sleep ; 
 And never ocean waves could be 
 
 So bright as thine, fair dreamland sea. 
 
 My castle crowns the boldest steep 
 
 By warring winds and waters scarred, 
 That seaward leans, and o'er the deep 
 
 Keeps evermore unceasing ward. 
 Full-freighted with their wings of snow, 
 
 The white ships come, the white ships go; 
 While in the shade of cliff and towers 
 
 I dream away the gliding hours. 
 
 My fairy fleet that long has lain 
 
 Close moored in some enchanted bay, 
 Borne by fair gales across the main 
 
 Sails swifty on its homeward way. 
 My ships, my stately ships, I see ! 
 
 Full many a royal argosie, 
 Like white-winged birds they speeding come 
 
 And bring their garnered treasures home. 
 
 WEE JOUKYDAIDLES. 
 
 Wee Joukydaidles, toddlin' oot an' in ; 
 Oh, but she's a cutty, makin' sic a din ! 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 109 
 
 Aye so fu' o* mischief, and minds na what I say : 
 My very heart gangs loup, loup, fifty times a day ! 
 
 Wee Joukydaidles : where's she slumpin' noo ? 
 She's tumblin' i' the cruivie, and lauchin' to the soo, 
 Noo she sees my angry ee, an' aff she's like a hare ! 
 Lassie, when I get ye, I'll scud ye till ye're sair ! 
 
 Wee Joukydaidles : noo she's breakin' dishes ; 
 Noo she's soakiti' the burn, catchin' little fishes; 
 Noo she's i' the barn-yard, playin' wi' the fouls, 
 Feedin' them wi' butter-cakes, snaps an' sugars bools ! 
 
 James Smith. 
 
 LE MARIAGE DE CONVENANCE. 
 
 You have called for a glimpse of my trousseau? 
 
 How nice ! just step into my room ; 
 And Alice please draw back that curtain, 
 
 This place is as dark as a tomb ! 
 I'll ring for Lisette ; you don't know, girls, 
 
 What a bother this marrying brings ! 
 But it pays, after all, when it's over — 
 
 I have some such elegant things ! 
 
 This garnet and rose Uncle Arthur 
 
 Selected in Paris last June ; 
 Worth made it ! Just notice the trimming, 
 
 The lace, the exquisite galloon ! 
 This sack is a present from Flora ; 
 
 She's living in Paris, you know. 
 I waited on her when she married 
 
 Old Simons, a twelve-month ago. 
 
 They say that her rooms are palatial, 
 
 And all in such wonderful style ; 
 Quite a change — to a man with a million 
 
 From a thousand a year and Tom Lyle — 
 
110 HEADINGS, BECTTATTONS, 
 
 By the way, Colonel Harrison tells me 
 
 Poor Tom is a wreck of himself, 
 Has drank ever since she was married. 
 
 There's my bine moire antique on the shelf, 
 
 You need not unfold it, Lisette, 
 We see how it's made ; please to find me 
 
 That yellow-hued Honiton set. 
 You remember that queer old Aunt Hester 
 
 Who staid here last winter awhile, 
 And preached to me so about Flora 
 
 And sympathized so with Tom Lyle? 
 
 The lace, like herself, is old-fashioned, 
 
 But fit for the praise of a king. 
 She sent it, — confess that you think it 
 
 Right good in the clever old thing. 
 I've a set of magnificent diamonds 
 
 As pure as a cluster of tears ; 
 The gift of his precious old father — 
 
 They've been in the family for years. 
 
 And there are my rose-colored cameos, 
 
 Don't you see? by the pearls — just this side ; 
 I promise their match to whoever 
 
 Among you will be the next bride. 
 The wonderful dress of all dresses, 
 
 The robe of to-morrow, you know, 
 So perfectly stylish and splendid — 
 
 I've promised mamma not to show. 
 
 Claude says I'll be so bewildering 
 
 He'll forget to remember the ring. 
 Come, Alice, of what are you thinking ? 
 
 " Of the lover who loved me last spring? " 
 Bah ! fold up my dresses, Lisette, 
 
 And don't let my jewel-case fall ,' 
 It's well, Alice, some one remembers — 
 
 I never think of him at all. 
 

 AND IMPERSONATIONS, HI 
 
 Dear me, how lime Hies! I' nmsi hurry; 
 
 Claude said he was coming- at eight. 
 Good-night. They are gone ; and I alone in my 
 chamber, 
 
 Door locked and the close curtains drawn. 
 Alone with my jewels and laces, 
 
 A sobbing, a miserable thing, 
 Alone with the thoughts that possess me 
 
 Of that lover who loved me last spring. 
 
 God knows I believed that you loved me, 
 
 As we sat on the steps in the dark ; 
 I remember the words that you uttered — 
 
 I know that they mean nothing now. 
 And yet with the thought that you loved me, 
 
 My cheek caught the soft scarlet stain 
 Of the sweet, happy shame of the woman 
 
 Who loves and is loved back again. 
 
 And when you were gone and the moonlight 
 
 Rose softly and late o'er the scene, 
 I knelt in that dim, dewy garden, 
 
 In happy thanksgiving and prayer. 
 My life to your mood was a mirror — 
 
 God pity such mirrors as these ! — 
 My heart was a deep-thrilling organ, . 
 
 Your love was the hand on the keys. 
 
 Ah, dear, you were sure that I loved you 
 
 Although I said never a word, 
 Why, the wild heart that beat in my bosom 
 
 A child could have listened and heard. 
 And you said, laughing low, " Do you fancy 
 
 Your silence deceives me to-night?" 
 And I faltered and failed in the answer, 
 
 I would have made careless and light. 
 
 I had prayed for love's fruit and before me, 
 
 Behold ! it hung golden and fair ! 
 But how could I dream it had ripened 
 
 Beside the dead sea of despair I 
 
112 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 God gave it to me in its beauty ! 
 
 Within it the cold ashes lay. 
 1 have eaten that fruit and its knowledge 
 
 Stands bitterly by me to-day. 
 
 What have I left now but a memory, 
 
 And perhaps a pale flower or two ? 
 A dainty blue robe that was ruined 
 
 By sitting too long in the dew ; 
 A book that you brought me that evening 
 
 When you came in the storm and the rain ; 
 The ghost of a kiss on my forehead, 
 
 An anguish of lingering pain. 
 
 Oh ! life is a terrible drama ! 
 
 Each actor must play out his r61e ! 
 To-morrow I stand at the altar 
 
 With a lie on my lips and my soul ! 
 My God ! When I see on my finger 
 
 The gleam of that bright marriage ring, 
 Oh ! shelter my soul from the memory 
 
 Of the lover who loved me last spring. 
 
 Hunt. 
 
 MY SHIPS AT SEA. 
 
 If all the ships I have at sea 
 Should come a sailing home to me, 
 Ah well ! The harbor would not hold 
 So many sails as there would be, 
 If all my ships came in from sea. 
 
 If half my ships came in from sea 
 
 And brought their precious freight to me, 
 
 Ah well! I should have wealth as great 
 
 As any king that sits in state, 
 
 So rich the treasures that would be 
 
 In half my ships now out at sea. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 113 
 
 If just one ship I have at sea 
 
 Should come a sailing home to me, 
 
 Ah well ! The storm-cloud then might frown ; 
 
 Fur if the others all went down, 
 
 Still proud, and rich, and glad I'd be 
 
 If that one ship came in from sea. 
 
 If that one ship went down at sea, 
 
 And all the others came to me, 
 
 Weighed down with gems and wealth untold, 
 
 With riches, honor, glory, gold. 
 
 The poorest soul on earth I'd be 
 
 If that one ship went down at sea. 
 
 O skies, be calm ! O winds, blow free — 
 Blow all my ships safe home to me, 
 But if thou sendest some awreck 
 To never more come sailing back, 
 Send any, all that skim the sea, 
 But being my love ship home to me. 
 
 Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 
 
 THE BABY'S PILLOW. 
 
 " So tired, mamma ! " our darling one 
 Whispered when the day was done, 
 
 And climbed upon my knee. 
 " This is the nicest place to rest " — 
 His curly head upon my breast 
 
 He placed so trustfully. 
 We thoughtless mothers little know 
 How far each day the children go. 
 
 If we could measure all the miles 
 They travel, with their tears and smiles, 
 
 We would not chafe and fret 
 Because they leave their books and play 
 And come to us at close of day, 
 
114 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Their cheeks with tear-drops wet ; 
 Or think it such a grievous wrong 
 They ask for story or for song. 
 
 "So tired, mamma ! a stor}- tell 
 To Baby ; one he likes so well 
 
 About the ' blessing man' 
 Who had that gentle, loving look 
 And in his arms the children took; 
 
 Please, mamma, if you can." 
 And so I told the story o'er 
 As I had done so oft before. 
 
 But at the close that night I said, 
 
 " Christ had not where to lay his head 
 
 When he was tired, my child. 
 Foxes have holes, the birds have nests 
 And children have their mothers' breasts." 
 
 The baby's blue eyes mild 
 Looked into mine, and then they strayed 
 To where his own wee bed was made. 
 
 " I wish that I'd been there that time," 
 He gently said, I'd given mine — 
 
 My little pillow white — 
 I'd let him have it, too, to keep, 
 So he could have a place to sleep 
 
 As I do every night. 
 Mamma, do tell him, that I would 
 Give him my pillow if I could." 
 
 Mrs. S. T. Perry. 
 
 A MADMAN'S MANUSCRIPT 
 
 {Prize Recitation, June, 1S90. N. Mo. State Normal School.) 
 
 " Yes ! — a madman ! how that word would have 
 struck to my heart long years ago ! How it would 
 have roused the terror that used to come upon me 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 115 
 
 sometimes: sending the blood hissing and tingling 
 through my veins! 1 like it mow though! It's a 
 line name ! Show me the monarch whose angry 
 frown was ever feared like the glare of a madman's 
 eye. Ho ! ho ! ho ! It's a grand thing to be mad ! 
 To gnash one's teeth and howl through the long still 
 night to the merry ring of a heavy chain ! Hurrah 
 for the madman's house ! Oh, it's a rare place ! 
 
 I remember days when I was afraid of being mad; 
 when I used to start from my sleep, and fall upon 
 my knees, and pray to be spared from the curse of 
 my race. I knew that madness was mixed up with 
 my very blood ; that one generation had passed 
 •away without the pestilence appearing among them, 
 and that I was the first in whom it would revive. I 
 knew it must be so : that so it always had been, and 
 so it ever would be: and when I cowered in some 
 obscure corner of a crowded room, and saw men 
 whisper, and point and turn their eyes toward me, 
 I knew they were telling each other of the doomed 
 madman : and I slunk away again to mope in soli- 
 tude. 
 
 Large dusky forms crouched in the corners of the 
 room, and bent over my bed at night, tempting me 
 to madness. They told me in low whispers, that the 
 floor of the old house in which my father's father 
 died, was stained with his own blood, shed by his 
 own hand, in raging madness. I drove my fingers 
 into my ears, but they screamed into my head till 
 the room rang with it, that in one generation before 
 him the madness slumbered, but that his grandfather 
 had lived for years with his hands fettered to the 
 ground to prevent him tearing himself to pieces. I 
 knew they told the truth. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! At last it came upon me, and I wondered 
 how I ever could have feared it. I knew I was mad, 
 but they dicf not even suspect it. I low I used to 
 laugh for joy when I was alone and thought how 
 well I kept my secret, and how quickly my friends 
 
116 BEADING S, EEC IT A TI0N8, 
 
 would have fallen from me if they had known the 
 truth. Oh, it was a merry life ! 
 
 Riches became mine, wealth poured in upon me, 
 and I rioted in wealth enhanced a thousand-fold by 
 the consciousness of my well-kept secret. 
 
 How those three proud overbearing brothers hum- 
 bled themselves before me ! The old white-headed 
 father, too — such devoted friendship — he worshipped 
 me ! The old man had a daughter and the young 
 men a sister; and all the five were poor. I was rich, 
 and when I married the girl I saw a smile of triumph 
 play upon the faces of her needy relatives, as they 
 thought of their well-planned scheme and their fine 
 prize. It was for me to smile. They little thought 
 they had married her to a madman ! 
 
 Stay ! If they had known it, would they have 
 saved her ? A sister's happiness against her husband's 
 gold? In one thing I was deceived with all my 
 cunning. If I had not been mad I should have known 
 that the girl would rather have been placed stiff and 
 cold in a leaden coffin than borne an envied bride 
 to my rich glittering home. 
 
 But the girl was beautiful ! In the bright moonlight 
 nights when I start up from my sleep, and all is quiet 
 about me, I see, standing still and motionless in one 
 corner of this cell, a slight and wasted figure, with 
 long black hair, and eyes that fix their gaze on me. 
 Hush! that form is hers; the face is very pale and 
 the eyes are glassy bright : that figure never moves ; 
 it never frowns. 
 
 For nearly a year I saw that sweet face grow paler, 
 and never knew the cause. I found it out at last 
 though. She had never liked me. She despised my 
 wealth and hated the splendor in which she lived. 
 She loved another ! This I had never thought of. I 
 pitied — yes, I pitied the wretched life to which her 
 cold and selfish relations had doomed her. I resolved 
 to kill her! to free her from the pain in which she 
 daily lived ! Oh ! the pleasure of strapping the 
 razor day after day, feeling the sharp edge, and think- 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 117 
 
 ing of the gash one stroke of its thin bright edge 
 would make ' 
 
 At last the old spirits whispered in my ear that the 
 time had come. I grasped the blade firmly, rose softly 
 from the bed, and leaned over my sleeping wife. She 
 had been weeping ; traces of tears were still wet upon 
 her cheeks. I laid my hand softly on her shoulder. 
 She started, screamed, and woke. As she n eared 
 the door I bounded forward and clutched her by the 
 arm. Uttering shriek upon shriek, she sank to the 
 floor. I heard the tread of footsteps on the stair. I 
 replaced the razor in its usual drawer, unfastened the 
 door, and called loudly for help. 
 
 They came and placed her on the bed, where she 
 lay bereft of animation for hours. She died next 
 day. The old man followed her to the grave, and 
 the proud brothers dropped a tear upon the insensible 
 corpse of her whose sufferings they had regarded in 
 her lifetime with muscles of iron. 
 
 I was restless and disturbed, and I felt that before 
 long my secret must be known. But I ground my 
 teeth and struck my feet upon the ground, and drove 
 my sharp nails into my hands ; and no one knew that 
 I was a madman yet. I remember how I let it out 
 at last though. Ha ! ha ! I think I see their frightened 
 looks now ! 
 
 Let me see : — yes, I had been out. It was late at 
 night when I reached home and found the proudest of 
 the three proud brothers waiting to see me. " He had a 
 word to say to me." My recent dissipation, and strange 
 remarks made so soon after his sister's death, were 
 an insult to her memory. He wished to know whether 
 he was right in inferring that I meant to cast a 
 reproach upon her memory, and a disrespect upon 
 her family. It was due to the uniform he wore to 
 demand this explanation. His uniform ! ! A uniform 
 purchased with my money and his sister's misery! ! 
 
 I felt the madness rising within me. — " You were 
 very fond of your sister when she was alive — weren't 
 you ? You villain ! I've found you out ! I killed her ! 
 
118 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 I'm a madman ! Down with you ! Blood ! blood ! I 
 will have it ! " 
 
 I closed with him, and with a heavy crash we 
 rolled upon the floor. It was a fine struggle, that ; 
 for he was a strong man righting for his life, and I a 
 furious madman thirsting to destroy him. His 
 struggles grew weaker, and at last I knelt upon his 
 chest, and clasped his brawny throat firmly be- 
 tween both hands. His face grew purple, and his 
 eyes were starting from his head ; when the door was 
 suddenly burst open, and a crowd of people rushed 
 forward, crying aloud to each other to secure the 
 madman ! 
 
 My secret was out ; and my only struggle now was 
 for liberty. I gained my feet before a hand was on 
 me ; reached the door, dropped over the banisters, 
 and in an instant was in the street. Straight and 
 swift I ran, and no one dared stop me. I heard the 
 noise of feet behind. On I bounded, through marsh 
 and rivulet, over fence and wall. I was borne upon 
 the arms of demons, who swept along upon the wind, 
 and spun me round and round with a speed that 
 made my head swim, until at last they threw me from 
 them with a violent shock, and I fell heavily upon 
 the earth. When I awoke, I found myself here — 
 here in this gray cell, where the sunlight seldom 
 conies, and the moon steals in, in rays, which only 
 serve to show the dark shadows about me, and that 
 silent figure in its old, old corner. — Charles Dickens. 
 
 BEFORE AND AFTER SCHOOL. 
 
 {Before School.) 
 
 " Quarter to nine! Boys and girls, do you hear?" 
 " One more buckwheat, then — be quick, mother dear! 
 Where is my luncheon box ? " " Under the shelf, 
 In the very same place you left it yourself! " 
 
.WD mrEnsoxATioNS. 119 
 
 "I can't say my table !" "Oh, find me my hat!" 
 "One kiss for mamma, and sweet sis in her lap." 
 
 " Be good, dear! " "I'll try — 9 times 9's 81." 
 "Here's your mittens!" "All right." "Hurry up, 
 
 Bill ; let's run." 
 Bang of the door ! they are off, girls and boys, 
 And mother draws breath in the lull of their noise. 
 
 (After School.) 
 
 " Don't wake up the baby ! Come gently, my dear ! " 
 " O mother, I've torn my new dress. Just look here ! 
 I'm sorry ; I was only climbing the wall ! " 
 " O mother, my map was the nicest of all !" 
 "And Nelly in spelling went up to the head!" 
 " O, say, can't I go out on the hill with my sled ? " 
 " I've got such a toothache." " The teacher's un- 
 fair!" 
 " Is dinner most ready ? I'm just like a bear ! " 
 Be patient, worn mother, they're growing up fast. 
 These nursery whirlwinds, not long do thej^ last ; 
 A still, lonely house would be far worse than noise ; 
 Rejoice and be glad in your dear girls and boys. 
 
 Rhode Island Schoolmaster. 
 
 WOMAN AND THE ROSE. 
 
 Fair Flora on the terrace stands 
 
 With grace in every pose, 
 Green leaves of myrtle in her hands, 
 
 Crowned by one bright red rose. 
 
 Of human kind what may transcend 
 That maid, whose cheek red glows? 
 
 In floral worlds, what can contend 
 In beauty with the rose? 
 
120 HEADJNGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Pre-eminent each in its way 
 
 They traits in life expose, 
 Closely allied in their display, 
 
 This woman and the rose. 
 
 They are both tender, sweet, and fair, 
 
 They blush as they disclose — 
 Woman — charms, so chaste, so rare, 
 
 Charms so chaste, the rose. 
 
 Two lives thus blest, by love imbued, 
 
 One color on them glows, 
 And nature stamps similitude 
 
 On woman and the rose. 
 
 As girlhood buds to woman grown, 
 
 And bud to flower blows ; 
 Blooms woman where most love is shown 
 
 Most love where blooms the rose. 
 
 Thus as they bloom man's life to cheer, 
 Their summer comes and goes ; 
 
 Though woman counts hers by the year, 
 By days but counts the rose. 
 
 In their decay one germ remains, 
 
 The source of all their woes ; 
 In woman this the face explains, 
 
 In fading, this the rose. 
 
 And when at last life's race is run, 
 
 Funereal rites impose 
 Sad tributes to and from each one — 
 
 The woman and the rose. 
 
 How fitting then in death's dark trust 
 One grave should o'er them close, 
 
 And there should mingle the sweet dust 
 Of woman and the rose. 
 
 James Stewart, 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 121 
 
 TWICKENHAM FERRY. 
 
 " O-hoi-ye-ho ! Ho-ye-ho ! Who's for the ferry? 
 The briar's in bud, the sun's going down, 
 And I'll row ye so swift, and I'll row ye so steady, 
 And 'tis but a mile to Twickenham Town." 
 
 The ferryman's slim, and the ferryman's young, 
 And he's just a soft twang in the turn of his tongue, 
 And he's fresh as a pippin, and brown as a berry 
 And 'tis but a penny to Twickenham Town. 
 
 " O-hoi-ye-ho ! Ho-ye-ho ! I'm for the ferry ! 
 The briar's in bud ; the sun's going down, 
 And it's late as it is, and I haven't a penny, 
 Oh ! how shall I get me to Twickenham Town ? " 
 
 She'd a rose in her bonnet, and oh, she looked sweet 
 As the little pink flower that grows in the wheat, 
 With her cheeks like a rose, and her lips like a cherry, 
 " And sure and you're welcome to Twickenham 
 Town." 
 
 " O-hoi-ye-ho ! Ho-ye-ho ! I'm for the ferry ! " 
 "Aha ! But the briar's in bud, the sun's going down, 
 You're too late for the Ferry." 
 
 And he's not rowing swift, and he's not rowing stead)'', 
 You'd think 'twas a journey to Twickenham Town. 
 
 "Oho — and oho ! " "Ha ! ha ! you may call as you* will; 
 The moon is arising on Petersham Hill, 
 But with love like a rose in the stern of the wherry 
 There's danger in crossing to Twickenham Town." 
 
 ROBIN. 
 
 {Prize Recitation, Jan. 18S9. N. Mo. State Nownal) 
 Sell old Robin, did you say? 
 
 Well, I reckon not to-day. 
 
122 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 I have let you have jowv way 
 
 With the meadows and the fallows ; 
 
 Draining swamps, and filling hollows ; 
 
 And you're mighty deep, Don Alvoord, 
 
 But the sea itself has shallows ; 
 
 And there are some things you don't know. 
 
 No, you're not so green, of course, 
 
 As to feed a worn-out horse 
 
 Out of pity and remorse, very long. 
 
 But as long as I am master 
 
 Of a bit of shed or pasture, 
 
 Not for all the wealth of a Vanderbilt or Astor 
 
 Would I do old Robin there, such a wrong ! 
 
 He is old and lame, alas ! 
 
 Don't disturb him as you pass. 
 
 Let him lie there while he may, 
 
 And enjoy the summer weather. 
 
 We were young and gay together. 
 
 It was I who rode him first. Ah, the day ! 
 
 I was just a little chap in first coat and cap 
 
 And I left my mother's lap at the door. 
 
 See him start and prick his ears ! 
 
 I believe he understands every word ! 
 
 And once more, it may be, fancies 
 
 He carries me, and prances, 
 
 While my mother from the doorway, 
 
 Follows us with happy glances. 
 
 You may laugh, but poor old Robin 
 
 Does he know how I used to cling and crow, 
 
 As I rode him to and fro and around ? 
 
 Ah, the nag you so disdain 
 
 With scanty tail and mane 
 
 Then was taper-limbed and glossy, 
 
 As we rode away to school 
 
 In the morning fresh and cool. 
 
 One day, beside the pool, where he drank, 
 
 Leaning on my handsome trotter, 
 
 Glancing up across the water 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 123 
 
 To the judge's terraced orchard, 
 
 Mary I spied, the judge's daughter ! 
 
 In a frame of sunny boughs on the bank ! 
 
 Smiling down on horse and boy ; 
 
 Smiling down so sweet and co}', 
 
 That I thrilled with bashful joy, as she said, 
 
 *' Would you like to have some cherries? 
 
 There are nice ones on this terrace, 
 
 These are white-hearts, on this tree overhead." 
 
 Was it Robin, more than I 
 
 That pleased her girlish eye? 
 
 Half I fear! 
 
 Off she ran ; but not a great way ; — 
 
 Black-hearts, white-hearts, sweet-hearts straightway ! 
 
 Horse and boy were soon familiar 
 
 With that hospitable gateway, 
 
 And a happy fool was I for a year. 
 
 Lord forgive an only child ! 
 
 All the blessings on me piled 
 
 Only helped to make me wild and perverse. 
 
 Racing, idling, betting, tippling, 
 
 Wasted soon my last resources. 
 
 Father, happy in his grave, 
 
 Praying mother could not save. 
 
 Often Mary urged and pleaded, 
 
 And the good judge interceded, 
 
 Counseled, blamed, insisted, threatened. 
 
 Tears and threats were all unheeded 
 
 And I answered them in wrath ! 
 
 It was done ! to old Robin's back I sprung 
 
 And away ! no repentance, no compassion, 
 
 On I plunged in headlong fashion, 
 
 In a fierce, despairing passion, 
 
 Through the blind and raging gusts, 
 
 Mad as they. 
 
 From bad to worse was now my game, 
 My poor mother tried to shield me, 
 To reclaim me, Did her best. 
 
124 READINGS, RECITATIONS. 
 
 Creditors began to clamor, 
 I could only lie and stammer. 
 All we had was pledged for payment, 
 All was sold beneath the hammer, 
 Old Robin there along with the rest, 
 Laughing, jeering, I stood 
 Watching those who came to buy, 
 I looked on, but did not falter, 
 Till the last man had departed 
 Leading Robin by the halter. 
 Then to a lonely wood I fled 
 Hating heaven and all its mercies, 
 For my follies and reverses. 
 There I plunged in self-abasement, 
 There took refuge in self-curses. 
 
 As I wandered home that night, 
 
 Something far off caught my sight 
 
 In the lane, coining to the bars to meet me. 
 
 Some illusion sent to cheat me ? 
 
 No. 'Twas Robin ! My old Robin, 
 
 Dancing, whinnying to greet me, 
 
 With a small white paper tied to his mane. 
 
 The small missive I unstrung, 
 
 To old Robin's neck I clung 
 
 There I cried, and there I hung, 
 
 While I read, in a hand I knew was Mary's, 
 
 "One whose friendship never varies, 
 
 Sends this gift," 
 
 No name was signed, 
 
 But a painted bunch of cherries, 
 
 On the dainty note smiled instead. 
 
 There he lies now, gaunt, and stiff of limb. 
 
 But to her and me, the same dear old Robin. 
 
 Never, steed, I think was fairer ! 
 
 Still I see him the proud bearer 
 
 Of my pardon and salvation. 
 
 And he yet shall be a sharer in my joy. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 125 
 
 It is strange, that by the time, 
 I a man, and in my prime, 
 He should be guilty of the crime of old age. 
 But he shall have his rack and pasture, 
 And some years of comfort yet, I'll engage. 
 See that merry little lass tripping to and fro, 
 To pick up little hands full of grass 
 Which he chews? And that small urchin 
 Trying to climb up? and ride him, lying? 
 And as hard hearted as you, Dan. 
 What? Crying are you? Well you see 
 An old horse has some use, after all. 
 
 AUNTY DOLEFUL'S VISIT TO HER SICK 
 FRIEND- 
 
 How do you do, Cornelia ? I heard you were sick 
 and I thought I'd jest step in and cheer you up a 
 little. My friends often say, " I'm so glad to see you, 
 Aunty Doleful — you have such a flow of conversa- 
 tion — and then you're so lively." " Besides," I said 
 to myself as I come up them steps, " perhaps it's the 
 last time I shall ever see Cornelia Jane alive." 
 
 You don't mean to die yet, eh? Well, now, how 
 do you know? You think you're a getting better? 
 Yes, but there was poor Mrs. Jones a sitting up and 
 everybody a saying how smart she was, when all 
 of a sudden 'she was seized with a pain in her heart 
 and went off like a flash. 
 
 But you must be very quiet and not get anxious 
 or excited about anything. Of course things can't 
 go on jest the same as if you was downstairs, and I 
 wondered to myself as I come along if you knew 
 that your little Sammy was a sailing around in a tub 
 on the mill-pond, and that your little Tommy was 
 a letting your little Jimmie down from the veranda 
 roof in a clothes basket ? Why, what is the matter, 
 Cornelia? Oh, don't worry about the children; I 
 guess Providence will take care of 'em. You thought 
 
126 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Bridget was a watching 'em? Well, no, she isn't. 
 I saw her out at the back gate, as I come along, a 
 talking to a man. He looked to me like a burglar. 
 I've no doubt but she'll let him take the impression 
 of the door key in wax and then he'll get in and 
 murder you all, Cornelia. There was a whole family 
 murdered down to Kobble Hill last week for fifty 
 dollars. 
 
 Don't fidget so, Cornelia. It'll be bad for the baby. 
 Poor little dear — come to Aunty Doleful. Poor 
 little dear ! How strange it is, to be sure, that you 
 can't ever tell at this age, whether a child is going 
 to be deaf and dumb or a cripple. It might be all, 
 and you'd never know it. But them as have got 
 their senses don't make good use of 'em, that ought 
 to be your comfort, Cornelia, if it does turn out to 
 have anything dredful the matter with it. The wost 
 thing I see about the child, Cornelia, is its red head, 
 for of course now it'll have an awful temper and may 
 get hung some day. Poor little dear! 
 
 Well I reckon I'd better be a going now, Cornelia, 
 I have another sick friend and I shan't feel that my 
 duty's done till I call and cheer her up a little. 
 What? Do stay a little while longer? Well yes, 
 if it's any comfort to } t ou, Cornelia. 
 
 Oh, } T es ! I was about to forget to ask about your 
 husband's health. Well, but finds it pretty warm in 
 the city, heh f Well, I'd suppose he would. Why, do 
 you know that they are jest a drappin' down there 
 every day by the hundreds with sunstroke? You 
 must be prepared to have him brought home to you 
 any day. Anyway, a trav'lin' back and forth as he 
 does on them railway trains is jest a triflin' with 
 danger. Dear me, what dreadful things is forever 
 hanging over us. 
 
 Scarlet fever's broken out in the village, Cornelia. 
 Little Isaac Potter has it, and I saw your little 
 Sammy a playing with him last Saturday. W"ell, 
 really, I must be a going now. Why, what is the 
 matter, Cornelia? You don't look as well as you did 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 127 
 
 when T first come in. I don't believe you have a 
 good doctor. Do send him away and get somebody 
 else. Good-bye, Cornelia, if anything happens just 
 send for me immediately. If I can't do anything 
 else, I can help lay you out. — Dallas. 
 
 A LEGEND OF MARTHA'S VINEYARD. 
 
 Once rambling through the quaint old town, 
 
 I found some records musty, 
 And traced a half-forgotten tale 
 
 On pages dim and dusty. 
 The simple story touched my heart, 
 
 Its loyal pulses swelling, 
 And lingered in my thoughts until 
 
 I felt it worth the telling. 
 
 'Twas in those dark and troubled days 
 
 When future good discerning, 
 Our fathers bore the rebel brand, 
 
 A servile safety spurning. 
 The people of this little isle, 
 
 Were staunch as they were steady, 
 Theirs was the patriot's fearless trust, 
 
 And courage always ready. 
 
 But times as yet were sad and dark, 
 
 A night uncheered by morning, 
 And British strength its triumphs won, 
 
 Their best endeavors scorning. 
 One wintry day an English ship 
 
 By stress of tempest driven, 
 Sought shelter there, a sorry sight, 
 
 Her towering mainmast riven. 
 
 Shoreward the captain turned his 
 Perplexed — well-nigh despairing — 
 
 And saw a flag-staff on the green 
 The stars and stripes upbearing. 
 
128 READINGS, RECITATIONS. 
 
 A smile replaced his thoughtful frown; 
 
 " Ho, lads ! yon stick we'll borrow ; 
 That Yankee pole shall serve King George 
 
 Before this time to-morrow ! " 
 
 Later he stood upon the green, 
 
 And, careless of resistance, 
 The townsfolk heard him broach his plans 
 
 With insolent insistance. 
 Foremost among the little crowd 
 
 That grew and gathered near him, 
 Three school-girls stood with flashing eyes 
 
 And crimson cheeks, to hear him. 
 
 And when, at last, they turned away, 
 
 Each fair young face was wearing 
 A look of stern resolve, while low 
 
 They whispered words of daring. 
 If in their homes that night the girls 
 
 Were chid for absent seeming, 
 None guessed what weighty secrets filled 
 
 The hearts unuse4 to scheming. 
 
 'Twas midnight, and the little town 
 
 All tranquilly lay sleeping, 
 When through the silence and the gloom 
 
 Three slender forms went creeping. 
 Some breathless moments — they had gained 
 
 The flagstaff — then shone brightly 
 Their keen-edged axes, while their strokes 
 
 Fell fast and thick, if lightly. 
 
 Some words of cheer and hope they spake 
 
 To spur their strength so slender, 
 Then plied their hard, unwonted task, 
 
 Those heroines brave as tender. 
 Soon louder rang their strokes and words 
 
 Till tears with laughter blending, 
 They saw the shapely flag-staff fall, 
 
 Hewed, hacked, beyond all mending, 
 
ANT) ntPERSONATIONS. 129 
 
 Then, for the dawn was breaking fast, 
 
 They fled, too happy-hearted, 
 To heed the sting of muscles strained, 
 
 Or palms that bled and smarted. 
 But one turned back to gather up 
 
 With almost reverent maimer, 
 And kindling look, the flag she loved — 
 
 The striped and starry banner. 
 
 The morning sun displayed their work — 
 
 Amazed, the early risers 
 Looked on, and praised the ready thought 
 
 That baffled all surmisers. 
 Fierce was the English captain's wrath, 
 
 And bitter his reviling, 
 While half the town stood grouped around, 
 
 Nor cared to hide their smiling. 
 
 Their island held no other stick 
 
 Of timber for his using, 
 And so with merry scorn they met 
 
 His anger and abusing. 
 The youthful heroines of the day? 
 
 Their courage long was vaunted, 
 While friends and kinsfolk far and near 
 
 Their praises fondly chanted. 
 
 Alas, for fame! their very names 
 
 Have mouldered past retracing, 
 The time-worn record notes their deed, 
 
 Then stops — all else effacing. 
 Blazoned on no historic page, 
 
 They lack the patriot's glory, 
 Unless these humble lines may serve 
 
 To keep alive their story. 
 
 Corbett. 
 
J30 READINGS, BECITATIONS, 
 
 KING OF CANDY-LAND. 
 
 I had such a lovely dream last night, it was truly so 
 
 fine and grand ; 
 I thought I was king, all alone by myself, of a land 
 
 called Candy-Land ! 
 I dwelt in the great lemon cocoanut walls of a palace 
 
 just to my taste ; 
 With its furniture made out of all things nice from 
 
 taffy to jujube paste. 
 
 With rarest of candies at every turn, obedient slaves 
 
 would wait, 
 And my throne was studded with peppermint drops 
 
 and carved out of chocolate, 
 And O, 'twas such fun as I wandered through those 
 
 beautiful rooms alone, 
 To bite off a morsel of sofa or chair, or nibble a bit 
 
 of throne. 
 
 Youths' Companion. 
 
 I LOVE, YOU LOVE. 
 
 Old Jones, the village pedagogue, the grammar lesson 
 called one day, 
 
 Young Bess, a maid of sweet sixteen, began the well- 
 known words to say : 
 
 " First person I love," first she said, sly Tom beside 
 her whispered, " me ? " 
 
 " Second person you love," Bess went on, " aye, that 
 I do," said Tom, "love thee." 
 
 " Third person he loves," still said Bess. Tom whis- 
 pered, " Who's he ?" 
 
 " Oh ! Tom " said Bessie, pleading low, " do hold your 
 peace and let me be ! " 
 
 " No whispering ! " called the master loud, and frowned 
 upon the forward youth, 
 
 "First person we love," Bessie said. "By George," 
 Tom whispered, " that's the truth." 
 
AXb tAtPEkSONATIOWS. 131 
 
 The lesson o'er at last, poor Bess with cheeks all 
 
 crimson took her seat, 
 While Tom, sly fellow, tried in vain the maiden's 
 
 soft blue eyes to meet ; 
 And when the recess hour was come, Tom becered a 
 
 ... . oo 
 
 walk with coaxing tone, 
 And 'neath, the trees, Bess said again the lesson o'er — 
 for him alone. 
 
 THE PROVINCE OF HISTORY. 
 
 The concluding paragraphs of a historical work 
 may well be brief and simple. It is not permitted to 
 the writer of history to moralize at length upon the 
 events which are sketched by his pen. He is for- 
 bidden to conjecture, to imagine, to dream. He has 
 learned, albeit against his will, to moderate his en- 
 thusiasm, to curb his fancy, to be humble in the pres- 
 ence of facts. To him the scenery on the shore of the 
 stream that bears him onward — tall trees and giant 
 rocks — must pass but half observed, and for him the 
 sun and the south wind strive in vain to make entic- 
 ing pictures on the playful eddies of human thought. 
 None the less, he may occasionally pause to reflect; 
 he may ever and anon throw out an honest deduction 
 drawn from the events upon which his attention has 
 been fixed. Particularly is this true when he has 
 come to the end. 
 
 All of a sudden he anchors in the bay of the present, 
 and realizes that his voyage is done. In such a 
 moment there is a natural reversion of the thought 
 from its long and devious track across the fields, 
 valleys, and wastes of the past, and a strong dispo- 
 sition to educe some lesson from the events which he 
 has recorded. The first and most general truth in 
 history is that men ought to be free. If happiness 
 is the end of human race, then freedom is its con- 
 dition. And this freedom is not to be a kind of half- 
 escape from thraldom and tyranny, but ample and 
 absolute. The emancipation in order to be emanci- 
 
132 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 pat ion at all, must be complete. To the historian it 
 must ever appear strange that men have been so dis- 
 trustful of this central principle in the philosophy of 
 human history. The greatest fallacy with which the 
 human intellect has ever been beguiled, is that the 
 present has conceded to men all the freedom which 
 they are fit to enjoy. On the contraiy, no age has 
 done so. Every age has been a Czar, and every re- 
 former is threatened with Siberia. Nevertheless, in 
 the face of all this baleful opposition and fierce hos- 
 tility to the forward and freedom-seeking movement 
 of the race, the fact remains that to be free is the 
 prime condition of all the greatness, wisdom, and hap- 
 piness in the world. Whatever force, therefore, con- 
 tributes to widen the limits which timid fear or sel- 
 fish despotism has set as the thus-far of freedom is a 
 civilizing force and deserves to be augmented by the 
 individual will and personal endeavor of every lover 
 of mankind; and on the other hand, every force 
 which tends to fix around the teeming brains and 
 restless activities of men one of those so called neces- 
 sary barriers to their progress and ambition, is a force 
 of barbarism and cruelty, meriting the relentless an- 
 tagonism of every well-wisher of his kind. Let it be 
 remembered, then, that the battle is not yet ended, 
 the victory not yet won. The present is relatively 
 — not absolutely, thanks to the great warriors of hu- 
 manity — as much the victim of the enslaving forces 
 as was the past ; and it is the duty of the philan- 
 thropist, the sage, the statesman, to give the best of 
 his life and genius to the work of breaking down, and 
 not imposing, those bulwarks and barriers which super- 
 stition and conservatism have reared as the ramparts 
 of civilization, and for which an enlightened people 
 have no more need than for the Chinese wall. 
 
 Of all things that are incidentally needed to usher 
 in the promised democracy and brotherhood of man — 
 the coming new era of enlightenment and peace — 
 one of the most essential is toleration. It is a thing 
 which the world has never yet enjoyed — is just now 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 133 
 
 beginning to enjoy. Almost every page of the 
 ancient and mediaeval history of mankind has been 
 made bloody with some form of intolerance. Until 
 the present day the baleful shadow of this sin against 
 humanity has been upon the world. The proscriptive 
 vices of the Middle Age have flowed down with the 
 blood of the race and tainted the life that now is 
 with a suspicion and distrust of freedom. Liberty 
 in the minds of men has meant the privilege of 
 agreeing with the majority. Men have desired free 
 thought, but fear has stood at the door. It remains 
 for the present to build a highway, broad and free, 
 into every field of liberal inquiry, and to make the 
 poorest of men who walks therein more secure in 
 life and reputation than the soldier who sleeps 
 behind the rampart. Proscription has no part nor 
 lot in the modern government of the world. The 
 stake, the gibbet, and the rack, thumbscrews, swords, 
 and pillory have no place among the machinery of 
 civilization. Nature is diversified ; so are human 
 faculties, beliefs, and practices. Essential freedom 
 is the right to differ, and that right must be sacredly 
 respected. Nor must the privilege of dissent be 
 conceded witli coldness and disdain, but openly, cor- 
 dially, and with good will. No loss of rank, abate- 
 ment of character, or ostracism from society must 
 darken the pathway of the humblest of the seekers 
 after truth. The right of free thought, free inquiry, 
 and free speech to all men everywhere is as clear as 
 the noonday and bounteous as the air and the sea. 
 May the day soon dawn when every land, from 
 Orient to Occident, from pole to pole, from mountain 
 to shore, and from shore to the farthest island of the 
 sounding sea, shall feel the glad sunshine of freedom 
 in its breast; and when the people of all climes, 
 arising at last from the heavy slumbers and barba- 
 rous dreams which have so long haunted the be- 
 nighted minds of men, shall join in glad acclaim to 
 usher in the Golden Era of Humanity and the uni- 
 versal Monarchy of Man \—Rldpath. 
 
J 04 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 LOOK NOT UPON THE WINE WHEN IT 
 IS RED. 
 
 A wreck of humanity, tattered and torn, 
 
 Close by the wayside was sitting forlorn ; 
 
 The demon of drunkenness had left its trace, 
 
 On a withered and wrinkled though once handsome 
 
 face. 
 Life's lamp flickered faintly and with fitful flame ; 
 His breath with an effort of agony came, 
 Yet he spake, " Ere I die let me this warning give, 
 Young man, look at me ! Shun the tempter and 
 
 live." 
 
 " It was Christmas," he said, " I remember it well, 
 I took the first steps in the pathway to hell. 
 Oh! would that 1 never had seen that sad day, 
 Or the beautiful temptress that led me astray ! 
 'Twas Christmas ! ah, yes ! And her board loaded 
 
 down 
 With choicest of viands, befitting a crown. 
 The fair one with smile on her radiant face, 
 While every movement was beauty and grace, 
 
 " With jeweled hand filled the cup with red wine 
 Saying, ' Drink to my health in this juice of the 
 
 vine. 
 Yes, drink ; it is nectar, 'tis pure, it is old, 
 Each drop in the goblet is worth so much gold.' 
 I was no more than mortal, resistance was vain, 
 I drank the sweet draught and filled it again. 
 My brain was on fire, as I filled it once more, 
 Then reeling and stag'ring I passed from her door. 
 
 " Now, on to destruction I wandered away 
 Drinking deep of the poison by night and by day, 
 Till my fortune had faded : my friends were all gone, 
 And left but the wreck that you see, all alone. 
 The demon is dragging me down to my doom, 
 And in the hereafter where, where is my home ? 
 
AND HI PERSONATIONS. 135 
 
 I'm going, I know it, the cold hand I feel, 
 
 On my brow death already has set his dark seal." 
 
 A struggle, a groan, then his soul took its flight 
 From the cares of this world to eternity's night, 
 Oh, fair one, remember ; one, one thoughtless move 
 The wreck of a life, of a soul may yet prove, 
 Oh, raise not a beacon ; let no straggling ray 
 Lure one from the path of true virtue away. 
 Know this ; that if ever you tempt one with wine, 
 That much of thy poor victim's guilt will be 
 thine. 
 
 L. R. Phelps. 
 
 THE CHEAP JACK. 
 
 I am a Cheap Jack. My father was one before 
 me. So, being raised to the business, I fancy I know 
 pretty well what the ups and downs of a Cheap 
 Jack's life are. And it's my opinion there are more 
 downs than ups. 
 
 But I must tell you that I courted m}' wife from 
 the foot-board of the cart. I did indeed. She was 
 a Suffolk young woman, and it was in Ipswich mar- 
 ket-place right opposite the corn-chandler's shop. I 
 had noticed her up at the window. I had took to 
 her, and I had said to myself, " If not already dis- 
 posed of, I think I'll have that lot." So the next 
 Saturday that came round, I pitched the cart on the 
 same pitch, and I was in very high feather indeed, 
 keeping 'em laughing the whole of the time and get- 
 ting off the goods briskly. At last I took out of 
 my waistcoat pocket a small lot wrapped in soft paper, 
 and I put it this way — looking up at the window 
 where she was: "Nowhere, my blooming English 
 maidens, is an article, the last article of the present 
 evening's sale, which I offer to only you, the lovely 
 Suffolk Dumplings biling over with beauty. And I 
 won't take a bid of a thousand pounds for it from 
 any man alive. 
 
136 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Now what is it? Why, I'll tell you what it is. 
 It's made of fine gold, and it's not broke, though 
 there's a hole in the middle, and it's stronger than 
 any fetter that ever was forged, though it's smaller 
 than any finger in my set of ten. Now what else is 
 it? Why, it's a wedding ring. Now I'll tell you 
 what I'm going to do with it. I'm not going to 
 offer this lot for money ; but I mean to give it to the 
 next of you beauties that laughs, and I'll pay her a 
 visit to-morrow morning at exactly half-past nine 
 o'clock as the chimes go, and I'll take her out for a 
 walk to put up the banns. She laughed and got the 
 ring handed up straightway. And when I called in 
 the morning, she says, " O dear ! It's never you, and 
 you never meant it ? " " It's ever me," says I, " and I'm 
 ever yours, and I ever mean it." So we got married, 
 after being put up three times, — which, by the bye, 
 is quite in the Cheap Jack way again, and shows 
 once more how the Cheap Jack customs pervade 
 society. 
 
 Well, she wasn't a bad wife, but she had a temper. 
 If she could have parted with that one article at a 
 sacrifice, I wouldn't have swopped her away for any 
 other woman in England. Not that I ever did 
 swop her away, for we lived together till she died, 
 and that was thirteen years. Now my lords and 
 ladies and gentle folks all, I'll let you into a secret, 
 though you won't believe it. Thirteen year of tem- 
 per in a palace would try the worst of you ; but 
 thirteen year of temper in a cart would try the best 
 of you. You are kept so very close to it in a cart, 
 you see. There's thousands of couples among you 
 getting on like sweet ile upon a whetstone in houses 
 of four, five, and six apartments, that would go to 
 the Divorce Court in a cart. Whether the jolting 
 makes it worse, I don't undertake to decide ; but in 
 a cart it does come home to you, and stick to you. 
 Wiolence in a cart is so wiolent, and aggrawation in a 
 cart is so aggrawating. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 137 
 
 We might have had such a pleasant life ! A 
 room}- cart, with the large goods hung outside and 
 the bed slung underneath it when on the road, an 
 iron pot and a kettle, a fire place for the cold weather, 
 a chimney for the smoke, a hanging shelf and a cup- 
 hoard, a dog, and a horse. What more do you want? 
 You draw off upon a bit of turf in a green lane or by 
 the roadside, you hobble your old horse and turn him 
 grazing, you light your fire upon the ashes of the 
 last visitors, yon cook your stew, and you wouldn't 
 call the Emperor of Germany your father. But have 
 a temper in the cart, flinging hard looks, and harder 
 words at you, and where are you then ? Put a name 
 to your feelings. 
 
 Why, my dog knew as well when she was on the 
 turn as I did. How he knew it was a mystery to 
 me ; but the sure and certain knowledge of it would 
 wake him up out of his soundest sleep, and he would 
 give a howl and bolt. At such times I wished I was 
 him. 
 
 The worst of it was, we had a daughter born to us, 
 and I love children with all my heart. When she 
 was in her furies she beat the child. This got to be 
 so shocking, as the child got to be four or five year 
 old, that I have many a time gone on with my whip 
 over my shoulder at the old horse's head, sobbing 
 and crying worse than ever little Sophy did. For 
 how could I prevent it? Such a thing is not to be 
 tried with such a temper — in a cart — without coming 
 to a fight. It's in the natural size and formation of 
 a cart to bring it to a fight. And then, if I interfered 
 in the least, the poor child would get worse terrified 
 than before, as well as worse hurt generally, and her 
 mother would make complaints to the next people 
 we lighted on, and the word would go round: 
 " Here's a wretch of a Cheap Jack been a beating his 
 wife." 
 
 Little Sophy was such a brave child ! She grew 
 to be quite devoted to her poor father, though he 
 could do so little to help her. She had a wonderful 
 
138 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 quantity of shining dark hair, all curling natural 
 about her. It is quite astonishing to me now that I 
 didn't go tearing mad, when I used to see her run 
 from her mother before the cart, and her mother 
 catch her by her hair and pull her down by it and 
 beat her. 
 
 Such a brave child I said she was ! ah ! with rea- 
 son. " Don't you mind next time, father dear," she 
 would whisper to me with her little face still flushed 
 and her bright eyes still wet ; " if I don't cry out, 
 you may know I'm not much hurt. And even if I 
 do cry out, it will only be to get mother to let go 
 and leave off." 
 
 Yet in other respects her mother took great care of 
 her. Her clothes were always neat and clean, and 
 her mother was never tired of working at them. Such 
 is the inconsistency of things. Our being down in 
 the marsh country in unhealthy weather, I consider 
 the cause of little Sophy's taking bad low fever; 
 however, she took it, and once she got it she turned 
 away from her mother forever more. Whenever 
 her mother came near her, she would shiver and say, 
 " No, no, no," and would hide her face on my shoulder, 
 and hold me tighter round the neck. 
 
 The Cheap Jack business had been worse than ever 
 I had known it, and I was run dry of money, for 
 which reason, one night at that period of little 
 Sophy's being so bad, either we must have come to a 
 dead-lock for victuals and drink, or I must have 
 pitched the cart, as I did. 
 
 I could not get the dear child to lie down or leave 
 go of me for one moment, and indeed I hadn't the 
 heart to try, so I stepped out on the foot-board with 
 her holding round my neck. They all set up a laugh 
 when they see us, and one chuckle Joskin — that I 
 hated for it — made the bidding, " tuppence for her !" 
 
 " Now, you country boobies," says I — feeling as if 
 my heart would break — " I give you fair warning 
 that I'm a going to charm the money right out of 
 your pockets. And why ? Because I sell my goods 
 
AND IMPEIISOXATIONS. 139 
 
 for seventy-five per cent less than I give for 'em 
 Now, let's know what you want to-night and you. 
 shall have it. But first of all, shall I tell you why I 
 have got this little girl around my neck? You don't 
 want to know? Then you shall. She belongs to 
 the fairies. She's a fortune-teller. She can tell me 
 all about you in a whisper, and can put me up to 
 whether you're going to buy a lot or leave it. Now, 
 do you want a saw? No, she says you don't; 
 because you're too clumsy to use one. Else here's 
 a saw that would be a lifelong blessing to a handy at 
 four shillings — four shillings — at three and six — 
 going at three and six — at three — at two and six — 
 two and six — two and six. But none of you shall 
 have it at any price, on account of your well-known 
 awkwardness, which would make it manslaughter. 
 Now I'm a going to ask her what you do want. Then 
 I whispered, "Your head burns so that I am afraid 
 it hurts you bad, my pet," and she answered without 
 opening her heavy eyes, " just a little, father." 
 
 " Oh ! this little fortune-teller says its a memoran- 
 dum book you want. Then wy didn't you mention 
 it? Here it is. Look at it. Two hundred superfine, 
 hot-pressed, wire-wove pages — if you don't believe 
 me count 'em — ready ruled for your expenses — an 
 everlastingly pointed pencil to put 'em down with, a 
 double bladed pen-knife to scratch 'em out with, a 
 book of printed tables to calculate your income with, 
 and a camp-stool to sit down upon while you give 
 your mind to it! Stop! and an umbrella to keep 
 the moon off when you give your mind to it on a 
 pitch-dark night. Now I won't ask you how much 
 for the lot, but how little. How little are you think- 
 ing of? Don't be ashamed to mention it because my 
 fortune-teller knows already." 
 
 Then making believe to whisper, I kissed her and 
 she kissed me. 
 
 " Why, she saj's, you're thinking of as little as 
 three and threepence. With an income of forty 
 thousand a year — you grudge three and sixpence. 
 
140 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Well, then, I'll tell you my opinion. I so despise the 
 threepence, that I'd sooner take three shillings. 
 Three shillings — three shillings — going — going at 
 three shillings. There! Hand 'em over to the lucky 
 man." 
 
 Just then I touched little Sophy's face and asked 
 her if she felt faint or giddy. "Not very, father. It 
 will all be over soon." 
 
 Then turning from the pretty patient eyes, which 
 were opened now, I went on again in my Cheap Jack 
 style. "Where's the butcher?" (my sorrowful eye 
 had just caught sight of a fat young butcher on the 
 outside of the crowd). "She says the good luck is 
 the butcher's. Where is he?" Everybody handed 
 on the blushing butcher to the front, and there was 
 a roar, and the butcher felt obliged to put his hand 
 in his pocket and take the lot. 
 
 Then we had another lot, the counter part of that 
 one, and sold it sixpence cheaper, which was very 
 mucli enjoyed. Then we had the ladies' lot — tea-pot, 
 tea-caddy, half a dozen spoons, and a silver cup — and 
 all the time I was making similar excuses to give a 
 look and say a word or two to my poor child. It was 
 while the second ladies' lot was holding 'em enchained, 
 that I felt her lift herself on my shoulder to look 
 across the dark street. 
 
 " What troubles you darling ? " 
 
 "Nothing troubles me, father. I'm not at all 
 troubled. But don't I see a pretty churchyard over 
 there?" 
 
 " Yes, dear." 
 
 " Kiss me, father. Kiss me twice, dear father, and 
 lay me down to rest upon that churchyard grass, so 
 soft and green." 
 
 I staggered back into the cart with her head 
 dropped on my shoulder, and I says to her mother, 
 " Quick ! Shut the door ! Don't let those laughing 
 people see." 
 
 " What is the matter ? " she cries. 
 
 "Oh, woman, woman," I tells her, "you'll never 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 1 1 1 
 
 catch my little Sophy by the hair again, for she has 
 flown away from you !" — Charles J)ickens. 
 
 THE MARCH OF TIME. 
 
 Upon the golden span of to-day's bright shore we 
 
 stand, 
 And looking back through retrospection's vale, 
 Visions, sad and beautiful, woven in life's fitful 
 
 dream, before us rise. 
 'Tis spring, and o'er the earth the queen of beauty 
 
 walks ; 
 Boyish footprints on the hill-side and in the vale we 
 
 see, 
 As though but yesterday they had been made. 
 
 Fancies of youthful mirth flit before us 
 
 With the same freshness, once so real, 
 
 Ere from our sight they were hurried 
 
 By the remorseless flight of time. 
 
 A low-roofed cottage with a creeping vine peers forth, 
 
 And down the beaten path a mother leads her boy ; 
 
 And autumn with its " sere and yellow leaf," 
 
 Has tinged the forest trees, and given place 
 
 To winter stern, who holds all earth in fetters grim. 
 
 Gone are the bright visions, leaving in their stead 
 A lonely grave, and on the damp, decaying mould 
 An aged form is kneeling, within whose eye 
 We recognize the boy of long years ago ; 
 And as the moaning winds go by, 
 We catch the trembling cadence of his voice 
 As he sobs out the name of — mother ! 
 In one swift glance, we see how life begins 
 And where the pilgrimage will end ; 
 A myth, a dream, a vision, that a breath may e'en 
 dissolve. 
 
142 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Nations by that invisible power spring up 
 
 And people the broad universe, 
 
 Are born and live, to droop and die, 
 
 And generations, perchance, yet unborn, 
 
 In future ages upon their graves may look. 
 
 The mighty warriors that guarded once the gates of 
 
 Thebes 
 Or lined the banks of the Euphrates, 
 Had for their light the same sun and moon 
 And beaming stars that we do now behold ; 
 And they perchance ofttimes looked back to the 
 
 footprints, 
 And upon the resting places of their kindred dust. 
 
 Still onward sweeps the tide of years, 
 
 Sceptres, before whose imperial sway, 
 
 Nations paled, lie broken, empires, 
 
 Proud cities, massive gates, and mighty walls into 
 
 decay 
 Before the resistless march of time have crumbled. 
 A thousand fleets to-day ride high o'er ocean's waves, 
 To-morrow a thousand ghostly wrecks bestrew the 
 
 shore. 
 Yet the chariot wheels of time roll on, 
 And we still backward look o'er the desolating track 
 To that which was, or let our thoughts go onward, 
 Trying to peer into the unfathomable mysteries 
 Of the Great Beyond, to catch 
 A glimpse of that which is jet to be. 
 
 But Time, the great leveler of all things earthly. 
 Strides on, his footsteps never lag; 
 Suns rise and set, and through the realms of space 
 Glides the pale moon, bathing in her silvery light, 
 Mountains, rivers, and plains that reflected 
 Her glances when first the world began. 
 Seasons come and go, nor heed the fate of man, 
 But thank God, a hope, gathering strength 
 From that golden promise, within our hearts 
 Shines forth, whispering of a fairer land than this 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 14* 
 
 For those who love the Lord, 
 
 From whence there will be no looking hack. 
 
 W. S. Walker. 
 
 THE CHILDREN AND THE ANGEL. 
 
 Four playmates gathered by a rill, 
 
 A song in concert singing, 
 One crippled was, dear little Will, 
 
 Yet happy still his pure voice ringing. 
 
 The burden of their strain was love 
 For him who blessed a little child. 
 
 Lo ! on their vision from above, 
 
 There sudden flashed an angel mild! 
 
 "Dear children," low the angel spoke, 
 "Each whisper me with upturned brow, 
 
 What you would give for his sweet sake 
 Were the dear Saviour present now." 
 
 " Were all earth's richest jewels mine, 
 I'd fondly give each glowing gem," 
 
 The eldest said, " and all should shine 
 On Jesus' brow for diadem." 
 
 The next with trembling voice replied : 
 " I'd wreathe his cross with fairest flowers, 
 
 And, kneeling, kiss his wounded side 
 
 While ' tear-drops fell like summer showers. 
 
 "And I," said cunning little Maud, 
 " Would lift my lips for him to kiss ; 
 
 Instead of papa, I'd say : ' Dear Lord, 
 Thy name may all the angels bless.' " 
 
 The lame boy's pale, dejected face 
 
 The angel scanned with kindling smile, 
 
 As though his answer she might trace 
 In that soulful look, it wore the while. 
 
144 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 " One simple gift is all I have, 
 Its merits measured not by pelf 
 
 Baptized in prayer's all healing wave, 
 I'd freely give to him — myself I " 
 
 " O, precious one," the angel said, 
 While rapture rilled her azure eye, 
 
 " The victor's wreath shall crown thy brow 
 God loveth best thy wise reply." 
 
 Greorge B. Griffith. 
 
 THE GRANDAME'S STORY. 
 
 Once a poet went a-roaming, over mountain, hill 
 and dale, 
 
 And he paused before a cottage, nestling in a pleas- 
 ant vale ; 
 
 He was weary with his wandering, and he sought a 
 cool retreat 
 
 In the broad inviting shadows from the Summer's 
 noontide heat. 
 
 Where he found a group of children full of laughter 
 and of glee, 
 
 And their aged Grandame sitting 'neath a spreading 
 maple tree. 
 
 Grandma rested on the cushions folded in a rustic 
 chair, 
 
 And the shadows and the sunshine fell upon her sil- 
 ver hair ; 
 
 And the children, fair and blooming, full of graces 
 rare and sweet, 
 
 Sat upon the fragrant clover, twining garlands at 
 her feet. 
 
 All the glory of the harvest shone upon the valley 
 plain, 
 
 And in fields anear the reapers cut and bound the 
 ripened grain. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 145 
 
 And the clatter of the sickles, and the voices of the 
 men 
 
 Came to him like some grand anthem winding 
 through the sunny glen ; 
 
 'Twas a scene that touched his spirit with emotions 
 strangely sweet, 
 
 And he joined the children sitting at the aged Gran- 
 dame's feet. 
 
 They had talked about the harvest, he had joined 
 the children's play, 
 
 He hud told them of his travels, and of countries far- 
 away. 
 
 Then a silence fell between them, and they heard the 
 sound again 
 
 Of the sharply clanging reapers, and the voices of 
 the men. 
 
 Then the Grandame fell to musing, and the children 
 ceased their play, 
 
 For upon her gentle features an unwonted sadness lay. 
 
 " She's thinking up a story," said a little boy at last. 
 
 "Tell it, Grandma, tell a story ! " all the eager chil- 
 dren cried ; 
 
 " Please us, Grandame," and they clustered to her side. 
 
 And she answered to their pleading in a voice sub- 
 dued and low, 
 
 " There's a story I will tell you of a harvest long ago 
 
 That doth haunt me with its sadness, that returns 
 with keener pain, 
 
 When I hear them whet the sickles, when I see them 
 bind the grain." 
 
 So she wiped her misty glasses, stroked a wee head 
 crowned witli gold, 
 
 And in accents strangely tender, unto them this 
 story told. 
 
 " In a quiet, pensive valley, where the fairest sun- 
 beams fell, 
 
 Where reposed the softest shadows and the rose and 
 asphodel 
 
 10 
 
146 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Shook their rare and dreamy sweetness to the wind 
 
 that, glad and free, 
 In their bowers sang the chorus of the wild waves by 
 
 the sea, 
 Stood a wreath-embowered cottage that was very 
 
 fair to see 
 Where in love's supreme contentment dwelt a 
 
 family group of three. 
 
 " Sang the wife and mother Mary at her work that 
 
 golden morn, 
 Gayly sang the sturdy reapers as they reaped the 
 
 ripened corn ; 
 And a little boy who gamboled with a lamb the door 
 
 beside, 
 To the music of their voices with his happy song 
 
 replied. 
 Often Mary at the doorway stood and gazed upon 
 
 her boy, 
 While his rare and healthful beauty filled her mother 
 
 heart with joy. 
 
 " Once she stood thus, fondly smiling at his sweet 
 and winning grace, 
 
 As he leaned upon the lammie, looking down into 
 its face, 
 
 With an air of stern reproving, and a threatening 
 finger raised, 
 
 While the lammie, sad and wondering, almost plead- 
 ing, upward gazed, 
 
 When at last with ringing laughter, Willie started 
 to a bound, 
 
 While the lamb with gleeful rapture chased his foot- 
 steps round and round. 
 
 "Till in looking upward, Willie saw his mother's 
 
 smiling face, 
 And with steps that rang with gladness, sprang into 
 
 her fond embrace. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 147 
 
 Just one moment there she held him. with his head 
 
 upon her breast, 
 Then she left him, crowned with kisses, with his 
 
 mother's blessing blest. 
 Busy once again at labor, all her soul was filled with 
 
 joy, 
 
 As she thought upon the beauty of her gentle, lovely 
 boy. 
 
 " Onward passed the day in splendor, and the glori- 
 ous afternoon 
 
 Found the heart of mother Mary humming still the 
 pleasant tune, 
 
 And the lovely little valley, lying 'neath the shelter- 
 ing hill 
 
 Seemed to her a joy forever, but the air was strangely 
 still. 
 
 Not a sound besides the twitter of the swallows 'neath 
 the eaves, 
 
 And the chanting of the reapers as they bound the 
 golden sheaves. 
 
 " Then she hasted to the doorway, cast about an eager 
 
 look, 
 O'er the lawn, and o'er the meadow, down the course 
 
 of Willow brook, 
 But no trace of boy or lammie, only butterflies and 
 
 bees, 
 And a golden robin flitting out and in among the 
 
 trees. 
 ' Willie ! Willie ! Come, my darling ! ' but no 
 
 little Willie came, 
 ' Willie ! Willie ! Come to mamma ! ' All was 
 
 silent just the same. 
 
 " ' Willie ! Willie ! Whither straying, art thou sleep- 
 ing on the leaves? 
 
 Hast thou gone to watch the reapers binding up the 
 yellow sheaves ? ' 
 
148 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Fleet of foot, and wild of fancy, sped she to the 
 
 field away, 
 Asking of the startled reapers, ' Have you seen ray 
 
 boy to-day ? ' 
 ' He was here and watched the binding, bound that 
 
 tiny sheaf you see, 
 Then he led the lamb a frolic, full of laughter and of 
 
 glee.' 
 
 " ' Then he bound a bunch of lilies, with some bearded 
 
 heads of wheat, 
 For mother Mary, and with the lannnie hastened 
 
 home with flying feet.' 
 w When was this?' the mother whispered. 'It was 
 
 full three hours ago ; 
 It was in the heat of mid-day and the sun is getting 
 
 low.' 
 ' Oh my Willie ! Willie ! Willie ! where art thou? ' 
 
 the mother cried ; 
 ' Ernest, father, there's the forest, yonder is the 
 
 restless tide.' 
 
 " And the father dropped his sickle, and the reapers 
 left the grain, 
 
 And they searched the beach and forest, calling, call- 
 ing, but in vain. 
 
 Calling, ' Willie— Willie ! ' But the forest made 
 reply 
 
 With a deeper, sadder silence to the agonizing cry. 
 
 Then they looked amid the grasses, and they searched 
 the sandy shore 
 
 For the precious wayward footprints, looked them 
 sadly o'er and o'er. 
 
 "But they found no trace of Willie in the wood or on 
 the sand 
 
 Till at last there came a hunter bearing in his trem- 
 bling hand, 
 
 Just a bunch of withered lilies, and a dainty little 
 shoe 
 
 Soiled and wet with forest dampness, with a loosened 
 string of blue. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 149 
 
 He had found it in the forest, deep, and dark and 
 
 tangled wild, 
 This — the only token of the lamb or of the child. 
 
 "So the fearful search was ended, and within the cot- 
 tage lone, 
 
 Ernest sat with mother Mary, and he did not check 
 her moan. 
 
 For the sturdy reaper's spirit trembled like an aspen 
 leaf, 
 
 He was thinking of the fingers that had bound that 
 tiny sheaf, 
 
 Rosy fingers — dainty fingers — where their waxen 
 beauty now? 
 
 " In the night the winds went moaning, and a cold and 
 dreary rain 
 
 Pierced the wild depths of the forest, swept across the 
 valley plain, 
 
 And the restless sleeping Mary, weeping as the winds 
 went by, 
 
 In the pauses of the tempest heard a plaintive plead- 
 ing cry 
 
 ' Father ! father ! ' it repeated, ' father ! father ! ' o'er 
 and o'er ; 
 
 But they said it was the tempest, just the wind and 
 nothing more. 
 
 " ' Willie is in heaven, mother,' thus they said to soothe 
 
 her pain, 
 ' There, and there alone, sweet Mary, shalt thou see 
 
 thy boy again. 
 Lo ! it was the gentle Shepherd found thy little 
 
 wandering lamb, 
 And He took him to His bosom.' So at last her soul 
 
 was calm. 
 Once again it was the harvest, and the silent reaper's 
 
 reaped, 
 Mother Mary at her labor sang no song, but sighed 
 
 and wept. 
 
150 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 
 
 " When a hunter from the forest paused before the cot- 
 tage door, 
 
 Bearing in his hand a token of the boy that came no 
 more. 
 
 He had found it on the mountain, near the ruins of a 
 bower 
 
 Built of moss, and vines, and branches, that had 
 bloomed with many a flower, 
 
 Where they knew the little wanderer, weary with his 
 pleading cry, 
 
 Lay among his flowers and mosses, all alone, at last, 
 to die. 
 
 " And he brought the little token, all that now re- 
 mained of him, 
 
 Just one long and golden ringlet, twined about an 
 oaken limb ; 
 
 And they laid the golden ringlet, with a new and sad- 
 der grief 
 
 With the lilies and the slipper and the tiny wheaten 
 sheaf." 
 
 Mrs. Henry. 
 
 THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE. 
 
 At the foot of the mountain height 
 
 Where is perched Castel-Cuille, 
 
 Passed a merry company 
 
 Of rosy village girls, 
 
 All singing a happy strain, 
 
 " The road should blossom, the roads should bloom, 
 
 So fair a bride shall leave her home ! 
 
 Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, 
 
 So fair a bride shall pass to-day." 
 
 It is Baptiste and his affianced maiden 
 With garlands for the bridal laden! 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 151 
 
 But how comes it, that among 
 
 These youthful maidens fresh and fair, 
 
 So joyous with such laughing air, 
 
 Baptiste .stands sighing with silent tongue? 
 
 And yet the bride is fair and young ! 
 
 Oli. truly a maiden frail, I trow, 
 
 Never bore a loftier brow. 
 
 What ails Baptiste, what ill doth him oppress? 
 
 It is that half way up the hill, 
 
 In yon cot, dwelleth the blind girl still, 
 
 Daughter of a veteran old ; 
 
 And you must know one year ago 
 
 That Margaret the young and tender 
 
 Was the village pride and splendor, 
 
 And Baptiste her lover bold, 
 
 And for them the altar was prepared. 
 
 But alas ! the summer's blight, 
 
 The dread disease that none could stay, 
 
 The pestilence that walks by night 
 
 Took the young bride's sight away. 
 
 All, at the father's stern command was changed 
 
 Their peace was gone, but not their love estranged. 
 
 Wearied at home, ere long the lover fled. 
 
 Returned but three short days ago, 
 
 The golden chain they round him throw, 
 
 He is enticed, and onward led 
 
 To marry Angela, and yet 
 
 Is tl uniting ever of Margaret. 
 
 Then suddenly a maiden cried 
 
 " Here comes the cripple Jane ! " 
 
 And by a fountain side 
 
 A woman, bent and gray with years, 
 
 Under the mulberry-tree appears. 
 
 The maidens toward her run as fleet 
 
 As had they wings upon their feet. 
 
 It is that Jane is a soothsayer, wary and kind; 
 
 She telleth fortunes, and none complain. 
 
 She promises one a village swain 
 
152 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 And another a happy wedding day, 
 And all comes to pass as she avers; 
 She never deceives, she never errs. 
 
 But for this once, the village seer 
 
 Wears a countenance severe. 
 
 And from beneath her eyebrows thin and white, 
 
 Her eyes flashed like cannons bright, 
 
 She takes the young bride by the hand, 
 
 "Thoughtless Angela, beware! lest when 
 
 Thou weddest this false bridegroom 
 
 Thou diggest for thyself a tomb ! " 
 
 Saddened a moment, the bridal train 
 
 Resumed the dance and song again. 
 
 "The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, 
 
 So fair a bride shall leave her home ! 
 
 Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, 
 
 So fair a bride shall pass to-day ! " 
 
 By suffering worn and weary ; 
 
 But beautiful as some fair angel yet, 
 
 Thus lamented Margaret, 
 
 In her cottage lone and dreary: 
 
 '• He has arrived, arrived at last. 
 
 Yet Jane has named him not these three days past. 
 
 Arrived! Yet keeps aloof so far ! 
 
 And knows that of my night he is the star. 
 
 When lie is gone 'tis dark ! My soul is sad! 
 
 I suffer ! O my God ! come make me glad ! 
 
 Come, Baptiste! Keep the promise of that happier day 
 
 That 1 ma}^ keep the faith to thee I plighted. 
 
 True love, they say, in grief doth more abound ! 
 
 What then when one is blind ? 
 
 Who knows? Perhaps 1 am forsaken ! 
 
 Ah ! Woe is me ! Then bear me to m}^ grave ! 
 
 O God ! what thoughts in me waken — 
 
 Away ! away ! he will return ! I do but rave ! 
 
 He will return ! I need not fear ! 
 
 He swore it by our Saviour dear. 
 
 Some one comes ! Though blind, my heart can see ! 
 
 And that deceives me not! 'Tis he ! 'Tis he!" 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 1&5 
 
 Alas! 'tis only Paul, her brother, who thus cries: 
 
 " Angela, the bride, has passed ! 
 
 I saw the wedding guests go by! 
 
 Tell me, my sister, why were we not asked, 
 
 For all are there but you and I?" 
 
 m Angela married ! and not send 
 
 To tell her secret unto me! 
 
 speak! who may the bridegroom be?" 
 "My sister, 'tis Baptiste, thy friend!" 
 
 A cry she gave but nothing said, 
 
 Milky whiteness o'er her cheeks hath spread. 
 
 While an icy hand held her heart 
 
 Crushed, as in a vice, away 
 
 With a hop and a jump went Paul, 
 
 And as he whistled along the hall 
 
 Entered Jane, the crippled crone. 
 
 " Holy virgin ! thou art cold ! 
 
 Art chill as death, my little friend! 
 
 What ails thee sweet?" "Nothing, Jane ! 
 
 1 heard them singing home the bride 
 And as I listened to the song I thought — 
 
 Ah, leave me, Jane. I am weary and would rest." 
 
 Jane, shuddering, her hand doth press, 
 
 " Go pray to God that thou may'st love him less ! " 
 
 " The more I pray the more I love ; 
 
 It is no sin, for God is on my side." 
 
 Now rings the bell nine times reverberating 
 
 And the white daybreak stealing up the sky 
 
 Sees in two cottages two maidens 
 
 Waiting — how differently ! 
 
 Queen of a day, by flatterers caressed 
 
 The one puts on her cross and crown, 
 
 Decks with a huge bouquet her breast 
 
 Looks at herself, and cannot rest. 
 
 The other, blind, within her little room 
 Has neither crown nor flowers' perfume. 
 
154 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 But in their stead, for something gropes apart 
 
 That in a drawer's recess doth lie, 
 
 And 'neath her bodice of scarlet dye 
 
 Convulsive clasps it to her heart. 
 
 Then kneels upon the floor and 
 
 Whispers — " O God ! forgive me now ! " 
 
 And then, the orphan, young and blind, 
 
 Conducted b} r her brother's hand, 
 
 Toward the churchyard through paths unscanned, 
 
 With tranquil air her way doth wend. 
 
 " Paul, lay thy noisy rattle by 
 
 And tell me, where are we ?" 
 
 " We've reached the church, dear Margaret, 
 
 Come in, the bride will be here soon. 
 
 Thou tremblest ! O my God ! Art going to swoon ! " 
 
 And now arrives the bridal train 
 
 And with it brings the village throng. 
 
 In sooth, deceit maketh no mortal gay, 
 
 For lo ! Baptiste on this gala-day, 
 
 Mute as an idiot, sad as y ester-morning, 
 
 Thinks only of the beldame's words of warning. 
 
 Already the mass is said, 
 
 Baptiste receives the wedding ring, 
 
 Ere on the finger of the bride he leaves it 
 
 He must pronounce one word at least ! 
 
 'Tis spoken; and sudden at the groomsman's side, 
 
 "'Tis he ! " a well-known voice has cried. 
 
 And while the wedding guests all hold their breath, 
 
 "Baptiste," she said, "since thou hast wished my 
 
 death, 
 As holy water be my blood for thee ! " 
 And calmly in the air a knife suspended ! 
 Doubtless her guardian angel near attended, 
 For anguish did its work so well 
 That ere the fatal stroke descended, 
 Lifeless she fell ! 
 

 AND IMPERSONATIONS. 155 
 
 At eve instead of bridal verse, 
 
 The De Profundls filled the air. 
 
 Decked with flowers a simple hearse 
 
 To the churchyard forth they bear; 
 
 Village girls in robes of snow 
 
 Follow, weeping as they go. 
 
 Nowhere was a smile that day, no, 
 
 Ah no ! for each one seemed to say — 
 
 " The roads should mourn and be veiled in gloom, 
 
 So fair a corpse shall leave its home ! 
 
 Should mourn, and should weep, ah, well away! 
 
 So fair a corpse shall pass to-day ! " 
 
 Longfellow, 
 
 HOW RUBY PLAYED THE PIANO. 
 
 (Prize Recitation, Jan., 18S8. N. Mo. State Normal.) 
 
 Well, sir, he had the biggest, catty-cornedest old 
 pianner you ever laid eyes on ; somethin' like a dis- 
 tracted billiard table on three legs. The lid was 
 histed, and mighty well it was. If it hadn't been 
 he'd a tore the insides clean out and scattered 'em 
 to the four winds of heaven. 
 
 Played well ? I should say he did ; but don't inter- 
 rupt me. When he first sat down, he peared to keer 
 mighty little 'bout play in'. He tweedle-eedled a little 
 on the trebble, and troodle-oodled some on the base, 
 just a foolin' and a boxin' the thing's jaws for bein' in 
 his way. And I says to a man settin' next to me, says 
 I : " What sort a fool playin' is that ? " And he saj's, 
 " hush ! " Presently his hands commenced chasin' one 
 another up and down the keys like a passel of rats 
 scamperin' through a garret very swift. Parts of it 
 was sweet, though, and reminded me of a sugar squir- 
 rel turnin' the wheel of a candy cage. " Now," I says 
 to my neighbor, " he's showin' off; he thinks he's a 
 doin' of it now, but he ain't got no idee, no plan of 
 nothin'. Now if he'd play me a tune of some land or 
 
156 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 other, I'd — " But my neighbor says " heish," very im- 
 patient. 
 
 I was just about to git up and go home, bein' tired 
 of that foolishness, when I heard a little bird wakin' 
 up way off in the woods and call sleep}'-like to his 
 mate, and I looked up and see that Ruby was begin- 
 ning to take some interest in his business, and I sot 
 down again. It was the peep of day. The light 
 came faint from the East, the breezes blowed gentle 
 and fresh. Some more birds waked up in the orchard, 
 then some more in the trees near the house, and all 
 begun singin' together. People began to stir and the 
 gal opened the shutters. Just then the first beam 
 of the sun fell upon the blossoms a leetle more, and 
 the next thing it was broad day ; the sun fairly blazed, 
 and the birds sung like they'd split their little throats ; 
 all the leaves was a movin' and flashin' diamonds of 
 dew, and the whole wide world was bright and happy 
 as a king. It was a fine mornin' and I says to my 
 neighbor, " That's music, that is ! " But he glared at 
 me like he'd like to cut my throat. 
 
 Then the sun went down, it got dark, the wind 
 moaned and wept like a lost child for its dead mother, 
 and I could a got up then and there, and preached a 
 better sermon than any I ever listened to. There 
 wasn't anything in the world left to live for, not a 
 thing ! and yet I didn't want that music to stop one 
 bit. It was happier to be miserable than to be happy 
 without being miserable. 
 
 Then all of a sudden old Ruben changed his tune. 
 He ripped and he rared, he tipped and he tared, he 
 pranced and he charged like a grand entry at a cir- 
 cus. 'Peared to me that all the gas in the house was 
 turned on at once, things got so bright and I hilt up 
 my head ready to look any man in the face and not 
 afraid of nothin'. It was a circus and a brass band 
 and a big ball all goin' on at once. He lit into them 
 keys like a thousand of bricks ; he gave 'em no rest 
 day or night ; he set every livin' joint in me a goin' 
 and not bein' able to stand it no longer, I jumped 
 
AND IMPEItSONATIONS. lo7 
 
 sprang onto my seat, and just hollered: "G-o it 
 Rube!" 
 
 Every woman, man, and child in that house riz on 
 me and shouted, "Put him out! Put him out! put 
 him out ! " " Put your great grandmother's grizzly 
 gray greenish cat into the middle of next month! " 
 says I. " Tech me if }*ou dare ; 1 paid my money 
 and you just come anigh me ! " I would a fit any fool 
 that laid hands on me, for I was bound to hear Ruben 
 out, now, or die. 
 
 He had changed his tune again. He hop-light 
 ladies, and he tip-toed fine from end to end of the 
 key-board. He played soft and low and solemn. I 
 heard the church bells over the hills. The great 
 organ of eternity began to play from the world's 
 end to the world's end and all the angels went to 
 prayers. Then the music changed to water full of 
 feeling that couldn't be thought and began to drop- 
 drip, drop-drip, like tears of joy falling into a lake of 
 glory. Oh, it was sweeter than that. It was as 
 sweet as a sweetheart sweetened with white sugar, 
 mixed with powdered silver and seed-diamonds. I 
 tell you that audience cheered. Ruben lie kinder 
 bowed like he wanted to say : " much obleeged, but 
 I'd rather you wouldn't interrupt." 
 
 He stopped a moment or two to ketch breath. 
 Then he got mad. He run his fingers through his 
 hair, he shoved up his coat sleeves, he drug up his 
 stool, he leaned over, and sir, he just went for that 
 old pianner. He slapped her face, he boxed her jaws, 
 he pulled her nose, and he scratched her cheeks until 
 she fairly yelled. He knocked her down and 
 stamped on her shameful, and then he wouldn't let 
 her up. He ran a quarter stretch down the low 
 grounds of the base, till he got clean into the bowels 
 of the earth, and you heard thunder galloping after 
 thunder through the hollows and caves of perdition. 
 And then he fox-chased his right hand with the left 
 till he got clean out of the trible into the clouds, 
 whar the notes is finer than the pints of cambric 
 
158 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 needles and you couldn't hear no thin' but the shaders 
 of 'em, and then he wouldn't let her go. He forward 
 two'd, he crost over first gentleman, he chassade right 
 and left back to your place, all hands around, back 
 and forth, up and down, turned and tacked and tan- 
 gled into forty -eleven thousand double bow-knots. 
 
 And then he wouldn't let her go. He fetcht up 
 his right wing, he fetcht up his left wing, he fetcht up 
 his reserve, he fetcht up his center. He fired by file, 
 by platoons, by regiments and brigades. He opened 
 his cannon-siege guns down thar. Napoleons here- 
 twelve pounders yonder, big guns, little guns, middle- 
 sized guns, mines and magazines, battery and bomb 
 all a goin' at the same time. The house trembled, the 
 lights danced, the walls shuk, the floor come up, the 
 ceilin' come down, the sky split, the ground rocked. 
 Heavens and earth ! creation ! sweet potatoes ! 
 Moses! Roodle-oodle-oodle-oodle — ruddle-uddle-uddle 
 -uddle — raddle-addle-addle-addle — riddle-iddle-iddle- 
 iddle — reedle-eedle-eedle-eedle p-r-r-rlang ! bang ! 
 lang ! perlang ! p-r-r-r-rlang ! Bang ! ! ! With that 
 bang he lifted himself bodily into the air, and come 
 down with his knees, his ten fingers, his ten toes, his 
 elbows and his nose strikin' every single solitary key 
 on that pianner at the same time. The thing busted 
 and went off into seventeen hundred and fifty-seven 
 thousand five hundred and forty-two hemi-demi-semi- 
 quivers, aud I know'd no more. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 From the rock rudely rent by the billows' commotion 
 The haunt of the sea bird and home of the gale, 
 In glory bear forth o'er the waves of the ocean, 
 The hero who spoke and the nations turned pale. 
 Though hard was his fortune and mournful his story, 
 His fame shall beam brighter as time rolls away, 
 While the star, that keeps watch o'er the altar of glory, 
 Shall shed on his column his ne'er dying ray. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 159 
 
 Then bear him in pride with his death mantle o'er him, 
 And lay him to rest at the foot of Vendome. 
 Wave the banners of nations in triumph before him, 
 And welcome the dust of the mighty one home, 
 Though Moscow and Waterloo tarnish his splendor, 
 Still Jena, and Praga and Lodi remain, 
 And the eternal Alps shall forever remember, 
 How o'er them 'mid tempests he swept with his train 
 
 He spoke and the thrones of the kingdoms were 
 
 shaken ; 
 He raised his right arm and the mightiest quailed ; 
 He was vanquished and far on a lone isle forsaken ; 
 'Mid foemen he died while his countrymen wailed. 
 Then bear him in pride with his death mantle o'er him, 
 And lay him to rest at the foot of Vendome, 
 Wave the banners of nations in triumph before him, 
 And welcome the dust of Napoleon home. 
 
 " Head of the army ! " he cried in his last dying 
 vision, 
 
 While fancjr his eagles waved round him again, 
 
 Then passed to the judgment the soul of Ambition, 
 
 And a grave held what Europe could scarcely con- 
 tain. 
 
 Weep, Frenchman, in sorrow, who left him to perish ! 
 
 Weep blood for the hero who gave thee a name ; 
 
 In thy breast the proud deeds of the valiant one 
 cherish, 
 
 Whose exile forever shall trumpet thy shame. 
 
 Then bear him in pride with his death mantle o'er 
 
 him, 
 And lay him to rest at the foot of Vendome, 
 Wave Austerlitz's banner in triumph before him, 
 And welcome this dust of Napoleon home. 
 Mortality ! frail are the glories that linger, 
 Around thy brave sons when the death pall is spread. 
 Time, time rudely blots with his unsparing finger, 
 The tablet that blazons the deeds of the dead. 
 
160 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Then adieu to the grave 'neath the broad waving 
 
 willow, 
 Adieu to the prison isle's tempest crowned steeps, 
 In the heart of his country pile up his last pillow, 
 Where the trophies he won shall declare where he 
 
 sleeps. 
 Yes ; bear him in pride with his death mantle o'er 
 
 him, 
 And lay him to rest at the foot of Vendome, 
 Where the soldiers he cherished can fall down before 
 
 him, 
 And welcome the death conquered conqueror home. 
 
 THE GOSPEL HARPOON. 
 
 A sailor who had just returned from a whaling 
 voyage was taken by a friend to hear an eloquent 
 preacher. When they came out of the church, the 
 friend said : " Jack, wasn't that a fine sermon ? " 
 
 " Yes — it was. Ship-shape. The water lines were 
 graceful, the masts raked just high enough. The 
 sails and riggings were all right. But 1 didn't see any 
 harpoons. When a vessel goes on a whaling voyage, 
 the main thing is to get the whales. But they don't 
 come to you, because you have a fine ship, you must 
 go after them and harpoon them. Now it seems to 
 me that a preacher is a whale man. He is sent not 
 to interest and amuse the fish by sailing among them, 
 but to catch them. Jesus said to his disciples, ' I 
 will make you fishers of men.' Now how many ser- 
 mons like that do you thinK it would take to convict 
 a sinner and make him cry out, ' What must I do to 
 be saved ? ' *' 
 
 The friend said, "But, Jack, people now-a-days 
 don't like to be harpooned. They want to be interested 
 intellectually in the truth. They like to listen to 
 such expositions and illustrations as the Doctor gave 
 us this morning. Did you not see how attentive they 
 
ANT) TMPERSONATIQNS. 101 
 
 were? Surely ii isa grand thing to attract such an 
 audience to hear the gospel." 
 
 " To hear about the gospel, you mean. Now, I don't 
 object to the Doctor's exposition and illustrations. As 
 I said before they were all ship-shape ; but the trouble 
 was, when we sailed to the fishing ground, and the 
 whales had all gracefully come to the surface, instead 
 of manning the boats and striking for a haul, he made 
 a polite bow and appeared to say : ' I am very glad 
 to see so many whales. I must not do anything to 
 hurt or frighten them ; hope they will all admire my 
 ship and come again on my next voyage.' 
 
 " Do you think a ship-owner would send such a cap- 
 tain to Behring Sea a second time ? ftead in Acts 
 the report of Peter's first gospel sermon. He begins 
 with an able exposition of Old Testament prophesies 
 in regard to the incarnation and resurrection of Christ 
 and the out-pouring of the spirit, and then when he 
 had gained the attention of the crowd, he charged 
 home upon them with the words of Jesus, ' whom ye 
 have crucified ! ' That was hurling a harpoon. And 
 we are told that it was effective. They were pricked 
 to their hearts, and the gospel catch that day was 
 three thousands souls. No, no ! A sightly ship and 
 staunch boat are well enough in their place, but they 
 will be of little practical value to the gospel fisher- 
 man unless lie is liberally supplied with harpoons and 
 has the courage to wield them. 
 
 " It is all right to polish your harpoon, the more 
 polished the better! But after all it is not the polish 
 but the harpoon that does the work. If the whale- 
 men fail in that, the whole voyage and venture is a 
 failure, and I cannot but think it the same with the 
 preaching." — Homiletio Review. 
 
162 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 INASMUCH. 
 
 It was a rural school-house — old in sheltered nook, 
 The time, the noon recess. 
 
 The ruder sex with ball and bat and wild huzza, 
 Sent forth their boisterous glee, whilst with an equal 
 
 zest, 
 The gentler girls their leisure spent in quiet sports. 
 From out the senior class of five, four lovely girls, 
 Who fast were budding into woman's fair estate, 
 Had each about her grouped a knot of little ones, 
 Seeking to give them joy. Dear Docia just from town, 
 Had brought a store of goods to dress their waxen 
 
 dolls. 
 And, while she sewed a gown, or tied a ribbon bow, 
 No other drop was needed in the cup of bliss, 
 Full quaffed by happy hearts. And gleesome Kitty 
 
 too, 
 Her cortege bound with skipping rope and laughter 
 
 loud ; 
 And yet their noisy fun ne'er reached staid Hannah's 
 
 ear, 
 Who, prisoned willing in one corner of the yard, 
 Fast chained her eager captors with sweet fairy tales. 
 The other of the class of five, repulsive Ruth, 
 Deformed and sensitive, unloving and unloved, 
 Sad and discontented upon the door-sill crouched ; 
 Her hated crutches leaning 'gainst the outer wall, 
 Her burning cheek hard on the mouldy door frame 
 
 pressed, 
 And scalding tears fast raining o'er her folded hands. 
 "Ah me !" she murmured low, "had I but Docia's 
 
 wealth, 
 Or Kitty's agile limbs and gushing spirits, 
 Or Grace's beauty fair, or Hannah's unexhausted store 
 Of elfin love, I too might win from childish hearts, 
 Some boon of love to gild with warmth my frozen life, 
 'Tis selfish craving love without the giving love, 
 For teacher often says — and he's always right — 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 103 
 
 ' This sell must surely love itself in others' weal, 
 
 If we would win affections great, or love would feel.' 
 
 But what can Ruth, the cripple, do, save weep the fate 
 
 That made her so? Ah, me ! " 
 
 A scream, then a smothered sob, here 
 
 Broke the murmurs, and there came a whisper low. 
 
 " Please may I sit upon the step, and let you try 
 
 To pull this briar from my foot? I will not cry." 
 
 " Tins (nice, 111 try," thought Ruth, " what loving 
 
 deeds can do. 
 I will not pluck the thorn, then coldly push her off, 
 But will to little motherless outcast soft caresses give : 
 Perhaps, though love may not be shed on crippled 
 
 form 
 A cripple's heart may have the Master's smile." 
 She softly raised the sobbing child ; 
 And from her swollen foot the piercing briar drew, 
 And as she kissed the pearl drops from the pallid face, 
 An unknown joy through all her inner being thrilled. 
 Ere long the weary sufferer, eased from pain slept 
 
 deep, 
 While Ruth, her face aglow, bent watching o'er her 
 
 dreams. 
 And when at last the child grew restless in her sleep, 
 A loving kiss on sun-brown cheek was laid. 
 She dreamed — then woke. 
 
 M Dear Ruth, Pve been to heaven — to mother's home, 
 And oh! she was so glad her little girl had come. 
 I thought that in that joyous place, Elysium fair, 
 Oar teacher dear, and all who loved on earth, were 
 
 there, 
 ' Bring forth a crown, my child has loved and did not 
 
 hate,' 
 My mother quickly said. 
 
 But when an angel brought it me, composed of jew- 
 els rare, 
 My head so small, its heavy weight, I could not bear. 
 Our teacher's noble brow, then sure I thought, is 
 
 strong 
 To bear mv diadem — lonce atrain waswronsj: 
 
164 READINGS, REGIT A TIONS, 
 
 For 'mong the many lesser crowns lie wore with 
 
 grace 
 My larger jewels seemed to sparkle out of place. 
 Then, when perplexed, the angel knew not what to 
 
 do, 
 I thought that Jesus sweetly smiled and looked at 
 
 you, 
 And, Ruth, near by the throne we saw you standing 
 
 bright, 
 Leant on your crutches grown to amber light. 
 The angels woke me shouting praise for trials given. 
 That made you strong to wear a Royal crown in 
 
 heaven." 
 
 The noon now passed — the teacher came ; 
 With joy he saw the pauper child contented lie 
 In Ruth's embrace. 
 
 Mis hand he fondly laid in blessing on her head, 
 Whispering soft: " Inasmuch as you have done it 
 Unto this my lamb, so have you done it unto me." 
 With happy heart Ruth lowly bent above her book, 
 Rejoicing much. The teacher watched the sea shell 
 
 flush 
 That mantled o'er her cheek, and ever as she raised 
 Her calm, clear eyes of gentian blue, then let them 
 
 droop, 
 He fully read the echo of her beating heart ; 
 For thus that echo rose and wildly swelled, till, lost 
 In love, it broke, and then exultant died away. 
 " Ah me ! 
 Can I who late 
 Fain would no comfort see, 
 Save in an ever present hate, 
 Now wide unto my Master's " Inasmuch " expand 
 Till I can grateful see a Father's hand 
 In every stripe he loving deals, 
 And love without alloy 
 In the rod he wields ? 
 Oh joy ! " 
 
 Mary Glen. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 1JJ 
 
 A KING AMONG MEN. 
 
 You may talk of your emperors, poets, and seers, 
 You may speak of your palaces, princes, and peers, 
 But a theme far more loyal shall quicken my pen : 
 I sing of my father — a king among men. 
 His voice is as clear as the music of rills, 
 And his foot the bright dew dashes off from the hills, 
 And his eye, like a lion's, deep hid in its den, 
 Gleams steadfast and true — he's a king among men. 
 His brow is like marble— clean sculptured and bright, 
 In his hair, like the raven's, gleam stray locks of 
 
 white ; 
 Though his hands may be trembling and weary — 
 
 what then ? 
 I hail him a monarch — this king among men. 
 And his heart — you could never all day in the street 
 Find one that was truer — more patiently beat — 
 He's a theme that would quicken a livelier pen, 
 Oh ! would I could show you — this king among men. 
 " What makes him a king ? " you may slightingly 
 
 cry, 
 " 'Tis not broadcloth and velvet," I'm proud to re- 
 ply— 
 " 'Tis nobleness inborn — true manhood — so then 
 I mean what I say of this king among men. 
 I've a fancy — 'tis simple — but yet let me own 
 That when the gates open that lead to the throne, 
 Heaven's light on his brow, I may see him again, 
 And cry with the angels: " A king among men." 
 Harriet M. Spalding. 
 
 ELSIE'S THANKSGIVING. 
 
 Dolly, it's almost Thanksgiving. Do you know 
 
 what I mean, my dear ? 
 No? Well, I couldn't expect it ; you haven't been 
 
 with us a year, 
 
166 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 And you came with my auntie from Paris, far over 
 
 the wide blue sea, 
 And you'll keep your first Thanksgiving, my beauti 
 
 ful Dolly, with me. 
 
 I'll tell you about it, my darling, for grandma's ex- 
 plained it all, 
 
 So that I understand why Thanksgiving always 
 comes late in the fall, 
 
 When the nuts and the apples are gathered, and the 
 work in the fields is done, 
 
 And the fields, all reaped and silent, are asleep in 
 the autumn sun. 
 
 It is then that we praise our Father, who sends the 
 
 rain and the dew, 
 Whose wonderful loving-kindness is every morning 
 
 new ; 
 Unless we'd be heathen, Dolly, or worse, we must 
 
 sing and pray, 
 And think about good things, Dolly, when we keep 
 
 Thanksgiving Day. 
 
 But I like it very much better when from church 
 
 we all go home, 
 And the married brothers and sisters and the troops 
 
 of cousins come, 
 And we're ever so long at the table, and dance and 
 
 shout and play 
 In the merry evening, Dolly, that ends Thanksgiving 
 
 Day. 
 
 Now, let me whisper a secret : I've had a trouble to 
 
 bear ; 
 It made me feel quite old, dear, and perfectly crushed 
 
 with care; 
 'Twas about 1113^ prettiest kitten, tne white one with 
 
 spots of black — 
 I loved her devotedly, Dolly; I've been awfully 
 
 angry with Jack ; 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 167 
 
 So mad that I couldn't forgive him ; and I wouldn't 
 
 kiss him good-night, 
 For lie lost my kitt}' on purpose, shut up in a bag so 
 
 tight ; 
 He carried her miles and miles, dear, and dropped 
 
 her down in the dark ; 
 I wo uli I not wonder a bit, dear, if he took her to 
 Central Park. 
 
 And then he came home to supper, as proud as a boy 
 
 could be ; 
 I wonder, Dolly, this minute, how he dared to be 
 
 looking at me, 
 When I called my kitty and called her, and of course 
 
 she didn't come, 
 And Jack pored over his Latin as if he were deaf 
 
 and dumb. 
 
 When I found out what he had done, dear, it was 
 just like lead in my heart. 
 
 Though mamma is as kind as an angel, I knew she 
 would take his part. 
 
 Suppose kitty did chase the chickens, they might 
 have kept out of her way ; 
 
 I've been so sorrowful, Dolly, I've dreaded Thanks- 
 giving Day. 
 
 For I'll never pretend to be good, dear, when I feel 
 all wrong in my mind ; 
 
 And as for giving up kitty, I'm not in the least re- 
 signed. 
 
 And I've known with deep grief, Dolly — known it a 
 long time back — 
 
 That I couldn't keep Thanksgiving while I hated my 
 brother Jack. 
 
 For you cannot love God and praise him when 3^011 
 
 are cherishing anger this way, 
 I've tried hard to conquer it, Dolly — I gave Jack two 
 
 pears to-day ; 
 
1Q8 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 I've mended his mittens for him — why, who is this 
 
 creeping in ? 
 Wiry it's surely my own white kitten, so tired and 
 
 grimed and thin ! 
 
 And now we will keep Thanksgiving, Dolly and 
 
 kitty and I ; 
 I'll go to church in the morning; I'm so glad I'm 
 
 afraid I'll cry. 
 O kitty ! my lost, lost treasure, you have found your 
 
 own way back, 
 And now I'll forget my troubles, and be friends again 
 
 with Jack. 
 
 Margaret U. Sangster. 
 
 THE GRAVEYARD OF THE AGES. 
 
 The nineteenth century is the heir of all the ages ; 
 our inheritance the riches of every century ; our 
 legacy the fruits of every cycle. 
 
 Thoughts are the pioneers of civilization. Em- 
 pires that rise, and institutions that rule are but the 
 lengthened shadows of individual minds walking be- 
 fore the sun of immortal glory. 
 
 American progress is the result of the evolution of 
 six thousand years — the last and golden link in the 
 chain of cause and effect, whose outer ends bind us 
 fast to creation's throne. The framework of our coun- 
 try is built from the ruins of a dozen empires. The 
 fabric of our society is woven from the scattered 
 threads of the experience of six hundred centennials. 
 Well may we prostrate ourselves before the goddess 
 of liberty. Well may we bow in adoration at the 
 altar of Columbia — " Queen of the world, and child 
 of the skies," for every gem that sparkles on her 
 brow was once enshrined in the diadem of Minerva 
 or sparkled on the bosom of Clio. 
 
 Man is a creature of contradictions. Life and death 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. lf,9 
 
 lock arms in love. Tn every human breast two 
 opposite desires are striving for mastery. Hope, gay 
 goddess of the future, stands beside restless ambition 
 pointing to the golden future of the west and the 
 possibilities of life. Memory, clothed in sable robes, 
 silently sits beside some new-made grave, dreaming 
 of the days that are gone. 
 
 The Graveyard of the Ages ! 'Tis the Niobe of 
 nations ; the Arcana of time ; the Delphi of the 
 world ; the sacred spot where secret sorrow mourns 
 over the mistakes of life, and spirit meets spirit in 
 sweet and solemn thought. 
 
 Eveiy age is a volume, written by time and dedi- 
 cated to man. The centuries are its chapters, the 
 seasons its pages. Its lines are traced with human 
 blood ; its leaves are stained with human tears. 
 Every lesson the past has taught has cost a life, 
 Every experiment is supplemented with sorrow. 
 Every wreck upon the shoals of time is a lighthouse 
 to some future sailor. The ruins of cities are the 
 silent admonitions of death, the remains of nations — 
 warning voices speaking from the grave. 
 
 Tell me, thou reverend chronicler of the grave, can 
 all the illusions of ambition be realized? Can the 
 wealth of commerce secure to nations the permanence 
 of its possession ? Alas, Thebes thought so once, yet 
 her hundred gates have crumbled. So thought the 
 Athenians and the Spartans : yet the dust of Leoni- 
 das is trampled by the cringing slave. Though Ph id- 
 ins cut his name on the shield of Minerva, and 
 Byron left his inscription on the shield of Apollo, 
 millions of men, who were good and great, have gone 
 back again into the tongueless silence of the dream- 
 less dust, where scathing sorrow nor anxious care 
 never more can break their peaceful sleep. 
 
 Dreamer among the possibilities of life, do you 
 ever grow weary waiting for fortune to lift you upon 
 the pedestal of prominence? For untold ages the 
 New World, impatient, lay hidden behind the veil 
 creation dropped, till time proudly lifted the curtain, 
 
170 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 and the Old World gazed in silent awe upon her 
 beauteous sister world. 
 
 Do you ever grow tired of the dry routine of life? 
 Every age teaches some new lesson, every season 
 brings some new sorrow, every June some new joy. 
 Age on age rolls silently away. Humanity lives and 
 loves and dies. Yet Time — "Time, the tomb-builder, 
 holds his fierce career — and pauses not, like other 
 conquerors, to muse upon the fearful ruins lie hath 
 wrought." 
 
 Soon our own loved land shall go to join the sister- 
 hood of nations in the Graveyard of the Ages, 
 America, where persecuted libert} r found a peaceful 
 home, and free institutions flourished unmolested! 
 Oh, thou child of time ! prodigy of the Ages! Bethle- 
 hem's Star of the West! loving lips breathe benisons 
 on thy life, devoted hands wait ready to defend, and 
 young ambition registers a solemn vow that thou shalt 
 not be forgotten till memory's chain lies broken in 
 the dust, and hearts no longer love. — Wilhelm. 
 
 MRS. LEO HUNTER. 
 
 One morning, Sam Weller handed Mr. Pickwick 
 a card bearing the following inscription : 
 
 Mrs. Leo Hunter. 
 
 The Den, 
 
 Eatonswill. 
 
 " Person's a-waitin'," he said. 
 " Does the person want me, Sam ? " inquired Mr. 
 Pickwick. 
 
A XT) UIPETi SOX A TIONS. 1 7 1 
 
 " He wants you partickler, an' do one else'll do." 
 
 " But this is a lady's card." 
 
 " Given me by a genTm'n, hows'ever, an' he's 
 a-waitin' in the drawin'-rooni." 
 
 Mr. Pickwick hastened to the drawing-room, where 
 sat a grave man, who started up on his entrance, and 
 said, with an air of profound respect, " Mr. Pickwick, 
 I presume ? " 
 
 " The same." 
 
 " Allow me, sir, the honor of grasping your hand — 
 permit me, sir, if you will, to shake it." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " We have heard of your fame, sir. The noise of 
 your antiquarian discussion has reached the ears of 
 Mrs. Leo Hunter — my wife, sir; I am Mr. Leo Hun- 
 ter." The stranger paused, as if he expected that 
 Mr. Pickwick would be overcome by the disclosure ; 
 but, seeing that he remained perfectly calm, pro- 
 ceeded — " My wife, sir, Mrs. Leo Hunter, is proud to 
 number among her acquaintance all those who have 
 rendered themselves celebrated by their works and 
 talents. Permit me, sir, to place in a conspicuous 
 part of the list, the name of Mr. Pickwick and his 
 brother members of the club that derives its name 
 from him." 
 
 " I shall be extremely happy to make the acquaint- 
 ance of such a lady, sir." 
 
 " You shall make it, sir. To-morrow morning, sir, 
 we give a public breakfast — a fete champetre — to a 
 great number of those who have rendered themselves 
 celebrated by their works and talents. Permit Mrs. 
 Leo Hunter, sir, to have the gratification of seeing 
 you at the Den." 
 
 " With great pleasure." 
 
 " Mrs. Leo Hunter has manjr of these breakfasts, 
 sir ; ' feasts of reason,' sir, and ' flows of soul,' as some 
 one who wrote a sonnet to Mrs. Leo Hunter feelingly 
 and originally observed." 
 
 "Was he celebrated for his works and talents?" 
 
 "He was, sir ; all Mrs. Leo Hunter's acquaintance 
 
172 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 are ; it is her ambition, sir, to have no other acquaint- 
 ance." 
 
 " It is a very noble ambition." 
 
 " When I inform Mrs. Leo Hunter that that remark 
 fell from your lips, sir, she will, indeed, be proud. 
 You have a gentleman in your train, I think, sir, who 
 has produced some beautiful little poems." 
 
 " My friend, Mr. Snodgrass, has a great taste for 
 poetry." 
 
 "So has Mrs. Leo Hunter, sir. She dotes on 
 poetry. She adores it. I may say that her whole 
 soul and mind are wound up and entwined with it. 
 She has produced some delightful pieces herself, sir. 
 You may have met with her ' Ode to an Expiring 
 Frog.' " 
 
 •' I don't think I have." 
 
 " You astonish me, sir ; it created an immense 
 sensation. It was signed with an ' L ' and eight 
 stars, and appeared in a lady's magazine. It com- 
 mences — 
 
 " ' Can I view thee panting, lying 
 On thy stomach, without sighing — 
 Can I, unmoved, see thee dying 
 
 On a log, 
 
 Expiring frog? ' " 
 
 " Beautiful ! " said Mr. Pickwick. 
 " Fine," said Mr. Leo Hunter ; " so simple ! " 
 « Very." 
 
 " The next verse is still more touching. Shall I 
 repeat it ? " 
 
 " If you please." 
 
 " ' Say, have fiends, in shapes of boys, 
 With wild halloo and brutal noise, 
 Hunted thee from marshy joys, 
 With a dog, 
 Expiring frog ? ' " 
 
ANT) nrPETiSOyATIONR. 17'! 
 
 "Finely expressed," said Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 "All point, sir, all point; but you shall hear Mrs. 
 Leo Hunter repeat it. She can do justice to it, sir." 
 — Charles Dickens. 
 
 THE ELF-CHILD. 
 
 Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay, 
 An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the 
 
 crumbs away, 
 An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the 
 
 hearth an' sweep, 
 An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her 
 
 board an' keep ; 
 An' all us other children, when the supper things is 
 
 done, 
 We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest 
 
 fun 
 A-list'nin' to the witch tales 'at Annie tells about, 
 An' the gobble-uns 'at gits you ef you don't watch 
 
 out! 
 
 Onct they was a little boy, wouldn't say his 
 
 pray'rs — 
 An' when he went to bed at night, away upstairs. 
 His mamma heerd him holler, an' his daddy heerd him 
 
 bawl, 
 An' when they turn't the kivvers down he wasn't 
 
 there at all ! 
 An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby- 
 hole an' press, 
 An' seeked him up the chimney-flue, an' everywheres, 
 
 I guess, 
 But all they ever found was thist his pants an' 
 
 roundabout ! 
 An' the gobble-uns '11 git you ef you don't watch 
 
 out ! 
 
174 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 An' one time a little girl 'ud alius laugh an' grin, 
 An' make fun of ever' one an' all her blood-an-kin, 
 An' onct, when there " was company," an' ole folks 
 
 was there. 
 She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't 
 
 care ! 
 Air thist as she kicked her heels, an' turrit to run an' 
 
 hide, 
 They was two great, big, Black Things a-standin' by 
 
 her side, 
 An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she 
 
 knowed what she's about ! 
 An' the gobble-uns '11 gityou ef you don't watch out ! 
 
 An' little Orphant Annie says when the blaze is blue, 
 An' the lamp wick sputters, an' the wind goes 
 
 woo-oo ! 
 An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is 
 
 gray, 
 Au' the lightnin' bugs in dew isall squenchedaway — 
 You better mind your parents, an' your teachers, 
 
 fond an' dear, 
 An' cherish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's 
 
 tear, 
 An' he'p the po' an' needy ones 'at clusters all about, 
 Er the gobble-uns '11 git you ef you don't watch out ! 
 James Whitcomb Riley. 
 
 By permission of the Bowen-Merrill Pub. Co., Indianapolis. 
 
 MACBETH AND THE DAGGER. 
 
 Is this a dagger which I see before me, 
 The handle toward my hand ? • • • • Come, let me clutch 
 thee ; • • • • 
 
 I have thee not, and yet I see thee still 
 
 Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
 
 To feeling as to sight ? .... Or art thou but 
 
 A dagger of the mind, .... a false creation, 
 
AND IMPERSONATION 8. 175 
 
 Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ?. . . . 
 
 J see thee yet, in form as palpable 
 As this which now I draw. 
 Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going; 
 And such an instrument I was to use. 
 Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other -senses 
 
 Or else worth all the rest 
 
 I see thee still ; 
 And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, 
 
 Which was not so before 
 
 There's no such thing : 
 It is the bloody business which informs 
 Thus to mine eyes. . . . Now o'er the one half world 
 Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
 The curtain'' (1 sleeper; .... witchcraft celebrates 
 Pale Hecate's offerings ; and wither'd. murder, . . 
 Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, 
 Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 
 With Tarquin's ravishing strides, toward his design 
 
 Moves like a ghost 
 
 Thou sure and firm set earth, 
 Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
 Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, 
 And take the present horror from the time, 
 
 Which now suits with it Whiles I threat, he lives. 
 
 Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. 
 
 [A bell rings. 
 I go . . . and it is done. The bell invites me ... . 
 Hear it not, Duncan : for it is a knell 
 That summons thee ... to heaven ... or to hell. 
 
 Shakespeare, 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 Hamlet ! Wonderful art of the magician ! To 
 sway with a shadow a shadow's love, a shadow's grief, 
 a shadow's intellect and the madness of a shade ! To 
 make this phantasm not only what it is as such, but 
 to make its phantom mind a problem forever. For 
 
176 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 this Hamlet never was. The past held him not nor 
 shall we meet him "in the eonrt of heaven." He 
 mouldered with the creative brain under the chancel 
 of Stratford Church. 
 
 But, after all, is he unreal ? What is reality in such 
 cases! The fleshliest incubus is real: the grossest 
 prince who lives and dies is an actual being. But for 
 this earth his reality ends with his death. Seldom 
 does a vibration from him reach beyond his genera- 
 tion. A few years and no one hears him. As well 
 lay the ear over his grave to listen for his soliloquies. 
 
 Not so this ideal prince. He stands apparelled in 
 imperial robes — not a statue — but one of each succes- 
 sive generation ; not shunned like the Wandering Jew, 
 but loved and obeyed and pitied. He has no succes- 
 sor. His kingdom widens as years go on. He sets 
 up his monarchy in empires and republics alike ; in 
 Indian cities to survive their gods ; in Australasian 
 continents and islands. Ships gliding over lonely 
 seas hold him. He sways the mind in the long win- 
 ter of Arctic horror and in African deserts. 
 
 Is he not then a most enduring reality? No other 
 character in literature has this omnipresence and im- 
 mortality. Why is this so? It is because " Hamlet" 
 is man, and he is every man. He is kept alive by all 
 men, by that self-love and recognition which yearns 
 for and claims immortality as the heritage of every 
 human soul. We see in him our inmost parts, our 
 most evanescent spiritualism ; our most enduring 
 attributes. He is our life. We come face to face 
 with life. There it is all stretched before us, so 
 beautiful to see that we cannot think it has an end. 
 From the very dew and flowers of spring exhales a 
 poison which blasts us forever. 
 
 Our great purposes are beaten down by some 
 malign force; our wills become infirm; we resolve 
 that we will act the part of men, but fail to do it— 
 and we are " Hamlet." 
 
 We are snatched up from the accordant masses of 
 humanity, and are hurried to and fro as if the powers 
 
AND IMP /■: R S ONATIO .V S. 177 
 
 of the air were making their devilish sport with us 
 in the coldest regions of outer darkness — and we are 
 " Hamlet." 
 
 Love, Paphian at once and pure, comes toward us 
 like a dawn, garlanded and bearing wreaths of all the 
 flowers. But her face wans, her mind fades darkling 
 away ; the flowers fade, and she hands us fennel and 
 rue : rosemaries for remembrance, and pausies for 
 thought — all withered, and we are "Hamlet." 
 
 And then we change. Melanchoh r claims us. We 
 make delusions our familiars, and our home is dark- 
 ness. Life ends with no purpose accomplished — our- 
 selves a riddle — and we are " Hamlet" to the grave. 
 — Ex- Gov. Davis of Minnesota. 
 
 MIRACLES. 
 
 " An 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 shell 
 
 That had held the chick, so they said ? 
 
 And didn't I work half a day 
 
 To pack him in where he wouldn'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, 
 12 
 
178 READINGS, EXCITATIONS, 
 
 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;" 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 would break the shell. 
 Mamma smiled "All's well that ends well, 
 Be patient a while yet, mjr boy," " click — click," 
 And out popped the head of 'a dear little chick. 
 No room had it lacked, though snug was it 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 it there! 
 Nobody can tell how it came in the shell ; 
 Once out all in vain to pack it in again, 
 I think 'tis a miracle, mamma mine, 
 As much as that of the water and wine." 
 
 Mamma kissed her little boy, " It may be 
 
 That we try too much reasoning, you and I, 
 
 Yes, there are miracles wrought every day for our 
 
 eyes, 
 That we see without seeing or feeling surprise, 
 And we must take on trust what we can not ex- 
 plain, 
 From the flower to the seed ; from the seed to the 
 
 flower, 
 'Tis a world of miracles every hour. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 17'J 
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 Heavy and solemn, a cloudy column ! 
 Through the green plain they marching came. 
 Measureless spread, like a table dread, 
 For the wild grim dice of the iron game. 
 Looks are bent on the shaking ground, 
 Hearts beat low with a knelling sound; 
 Swift by the breasts that must bear the brunt 
 Gallops the major along the front ; 
 
 "Halt!" 
 And fettered they stand at the stark command, 
 And the warriors, silent, halt! 
 
 Proud in the blush of morning glowing, 
 
 What on the hill-top shines in flowing? 
 
 "See you the foeman's banners waving? " 
 
 " We see the foeman's banners waving ! " 
 
 " God be with you, children, and wife ! " 
 
 Hark to the music — the drum and fife — 
 
 How the} r ring through the ranks which they rouse 
 
 to the strife ! 
 Thrilling they sound with their glorious tone, 
 Thrilling they go through the marrow and bone ! 
 " Brothers, God grant when this life is o'er, 
 In the life to come that we meet once more ! " 
 
 See the smoke, how the lightning is cleaving asunder ! 
 Hark ! the guns, peal on peal, how they boom in their 
 thunder ! 
 From host to host, with kindling sound, 
 The shouting signal circles round ; 
 Ay, shout it forth to life or death, 
 Freer already breathes the breath ! 
 The war is waging, slaughter raging, 
 And heavy through the reeking pall 
 
 The iron death-dice fall ! 
 Nearer they close, foes upon foes. 
 " Ready ! " from square to square it goes. 
 
180 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 They kneel as one man, from flank to flank, 
 And the fire comes sharp from the foremost rank. 
 Many a soldier to earth is sent, 
 Many a gap by the balls is rent ; 
 O'er the corse before springs the hinder man, 
 That the line may not fail to the fearless van. 
 To the right, to the left, and around and around, 
 Death whirls in its dance on the bloody ground. 
 God's sunlight is quenched in the fiery fight, 
 Over the host falls a brooding night ! 
 Brothers, God grant, when this life is o'er, 
 In the life to come that we meet once more! 
 
 The dead men lie bathed in the weltering blood, 
 And the living are blent in the slippery flood, 
 And the feet, as they reeling and sliding go, 
 Stumble still on the corses that sleep below. 
 "What! Francis!" "Give Charlotte my last fare- 
 well." 
 As the dying man murmurs, the thunders swell. 
 
 " I'll give — O God ! are their guns so near? 
 Ho, comrades ! — yon volley ! — look sharp to the 
 
 rear ! — 
 I'll give thy Charlotte thy last farewell ; 
 Sleep soft ! where death thickest descendeth in rain, 
 The friend thou forsakest thy side may regain ! " 
 Hitherward, thitherward, reels the fight, 
 Dark and more darkly day glooms into night; 
 Brothers, God grant, when t/iis life is o'er, 
 In the life to come that ice meet once more! 
 
 Hark to the hoofs that galloping go ! 
 
 The adjutants ftying ! 
 The horsemen press hard on the panting foe, 
 
 Their thunder booms, in dying — 
 Victory ! 
 Terror has seized on the dastards all, 
 And their colors fall ! 
 
 Victory ! 
 Closed is the brunt of the glorious fight ; 
 And the day, like a conqueror, bursts on the night. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 181 
 
 Trumpet and fife swelling choral along, 
 The triumph already sweeps marching in song. 
 Farewell, fallen brothers ; though this life be o'er, 
 There's another in which we shall meet you once more ! 
 
 Schiller. 
 
 MANSIE WAUCH AT THE PLAY. 
 
 (Prize Recitation at the North Mo. State Normal, June, 1889.) 
 
 Mony a time an' often had I heard o' play-actin' 
 an' o' players makin' themselves kings and queens, 
 an' sayin' a great many wonderfu' things, but I had 
 never before an opportunity o' witnessin' the truth 
 o' these hearsays. -SoMaister Glen an' I determined 
 to run the risk o' our minister's rebuke for the trans- 
 gression, hopin' it would make na lastin' impression 
 on his mind, paid oor money at the door and were 
 soon inside the playhouse. Never, while I live an' 
 breathe, will I forget what we heard and saw that 
 nicht ! The place was crowded to the e'e, and richt 
 to the forehand o' us was a large green curtain. Just 
 in front o' it were eight or ten penny candles stuck in 
 a board, fastened to the ground, to let us see the 
 players' feet like when they came upon the stage, 
 while twa blind fiddlers played the bonniest ye ever 
 heard. Odds ! the very music was worth a sixpence 
 o' itself. 
 
 Just at the time that the fiddlers were playin' the 
 "Doonfa' o' Paris," a hand bell rang and up goes 
 the green curtain. The music stoppin', in comes a 
 decent old gentleman at his leisure, weel poothered, 
 wi' an auld-fashioned coat, wi' flap-pockets, broon 
 breeches, wi' buckles at the knee, an' silk stockin's 
 wi' gushets on a blue ground. I never saw a man 
 in sic distress. He stampit aboot, an' stampit aboot, 
 dadding the end o' his staff on the ground, and im- 
 plorin' all the pooers o' heaven an' yearth to help 
 him find his runawa' dauchter that had decampit wi' 
 
182 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 a puir loon o' a half-pay captain, that keppit her in 
 his arms frae her bedroom, window, up twa pair o 5 
 stairs. Every father an' heid o' a family maun ha'e 
 felt for a man in his situation, thus to be robbit of his 
 dear bairn, an' only dauchter, too, as he tell't us ower 
 an' ower again, as the saut, saut tears ran gushin' 
 doon his withered face. But the thing was absurd, 
 to suppose that we should ken anything aboot the 
 matter, havin' never seen either him or his dauchter. 
 Sae oot he gaed stampin' at the ither side, determined, 
 as he said, to fin' them oot, though he should follow 
 them to the warld's end. 
 
 Hardly was his back turned, an' before ye could 
 cry "Jack Robinson," incomes the birkie an' the very 
 young leddy the auld gentleman described, arm in 
 arm thegither. As true as death, before all the crood 
 o' folks, he pit his arm roon' her waist an' ca'd her 
 his sweetheart, an' love, an' dearie, an' darlin', an' 
 everything that is sweet. If they had been courtin' 
 in a close thegither, on a Friday nicht, they couldna' 
 ha'e said mair to yen anither. I thought sic shame 
 to be an e'ewitness to sic on-goin's, that I was obliged 
 at last to baud up my hat afore my face an' luik doon. 
 
 The faither lookit to be a rich auld bool, baith frae 
 his manner o' speakin', an' the rewards he seemed to 
 offer for the apprehension o' the dauchter ; but, to be 
 sure, when so many of us were present that had an 
 equal right to the spulzie, it wadna be a great deal 
 —a thoosand poonds — when dividit. Still, it were 
 worth the lookin' after ; so we just bidit a wee. Just 
 in the middle o' their fine goin's-on, the sound o' a 
 comin' fit was heard, an' the lassie, takin' guilt tae 
 hersel, cried oot — " Hide me, hide me, for the sake o' 
 gudeness, for yonder comes my auld faither ! " 
 
 Nae sooner said than done. In he clappit herintil 
 a closet ; and after shuttin' the door on her, sat doon 
 upon a chair, an' pretendit to be asleep in a moment. 
 The auld faither came booncing in, and seeing the 
 fellow asleep, he opened his een as fast as he had 
 steekit them. After blackguarding him up hill an' 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 183 
 
 doon dale, an' ca'ing him every name but a gentle- 
 man, lie haddit J lis staff o'er his crown, an', grippin' 
 him by the cruff o' the neck, askit him whaur was his 
 
 dauchter? The rascal had the brass to say at yence, 
 that he hadna seen his dauchter for a month ! Though 
 mair than a hunnert folk, sittin' in his company, had 
 seen him dan ting her with his arm roon' her waist, not 
 live minutes before. As a man, asafaither, as an elder 
 o' our kirk, I aye hated leeing, as a puir cowardly 
 sin; an' I thocht, that wha ever spoke first wad ha'e 
 the best richt to be entitled to the reward. So I rose 
 u,) an' said: "Dinna believe him, auld gentleman, 
 dinna believe him, freen'; he's tellin' a parcel o' lees. 
 It's no' worth arguin' aboot, or ca'in' witnesses. Just 
 open that press door, an' ye'll see whether I'm speak- 
 in' truth or no'." 
 
 Never did I witness sic an uproar an' noise as im- 
 mediately took place. The hail hoose was sae glad 
 that the scoondrel had been exposed, that they set 
 up sic a roar of laughter, an' thumpit awa' at sic a 
 rate wi' their feet, that doon fell the place they ca'd 
 the gallery. A rush to the door took place, in which 
 eveiything was overturnit — the door-keeper wheeled 
 away like wild-fire — the lights knockit oot, an' I 
 myself carried along till I found myself oot o' doors i' 
 the dark leanin' against the wa' on the opposite side o' 
 the road, dizzy and bruiset, but thankin' my lucky 
 stars that I was na killit on the spot. — David Moir. 
 
 THE RUNAWAY PRINCESS. 
 
 When on all the wood-paths brown 
 Red and gold the leaves drop down, 
 Through the warm, sweet sunshine straying, 
 To my ear the wind came, saying : 
 
 " Hearken ! can you understand ' 
 What's amiss in Fairyland ?" 
 Ding ! dong ! the bells are swinging, 
 Here's the town-crier ringing ! 
 
184 BEADTYGS, KECTTATION'R, 
 
 " Lost ! lest ! " yon hear him say, 
 " Stolen or strayed away ! 
 Strayed away from Buttercup-town, 
 The fair little Princess Thistledown ! " 
 
 All the court had gone to dine 
 Knights and lords" and ladies fine. 
 Through the open gateway straying 
 Came a troop of minstrels playing. 
 
 One was a fiddler, shrivelled and black ; 
 One had a banjo over his back ; 
 One was a piper, and one did naught 
 But dance to the tune, as a dancer ought. 
 
 First the fiddler drew his bow, 
 Struck a chord so soft and low — 
 Lords and ladies held their breath, 
 In a silence deep as death. 
 
 " Ting-a-ting," the banjo rang; 
 Up the lords and ladies sprang ; 
 Round about the piper pressed— 
 " Ho, good piper, pipe your best ! " 
 
 And they danced to the sound 
 
 In a merry-go-round, 
 
 For never before had a minstrel band, 
 
 Chanced to stray into fairyland. 
 
 They filled their pockets with silver money, 
 They fed them on barley cakes and honey ; 
 But when they were fairly out of town 
 They missed little Princess Thistledown. 
 
 " Call the crier ! ring the bells ! 
 Search through all the forest dells ! 
 Here is silver, here is gold, 
 Here are precious gems untold! 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 185 
 
 He who finds the child may take 
 Half the kingdom for her sake! " 
 
 Bim ! boom ! comes a blustering fellow, 
 Dressed in black velvet slashed with yellow; 
 lie's the king's trumpeter out on the track 
 Of i lie wandering minstrels to bring them back. 
 
 But the fiddler is telling his beads by the fire, 
 
 In a cap and a gown, like a grizzly old friar; 
 
 The man with a banjo is deaf as a post, 
 
 The jolly old piper as thin as a ghost ; 
 
 And the dancer is changed by some magic touch 
 
 To a one-legged beggar that limps on his crutch. 
 
 Then Mistress Gentian bent to look 
 At her own sweet image in the brook, 
 And whispered, " Nobod} r knows it, dear, 
 But I have the darling safely here." 
 
 And drooping her fringes low she said: 
 
 " I was tucking my babies into bed, 
 
 When the poor little Princess chanced to pass, 
 
 Sobbing, among the tangled grass ; 
 
 Her silver mantle was rumpled and torn, 
 
 Her golden slippers were dusty and worn ; 
 
 The bats had frightened her half to death, 
 The spiders had chased her quite out of breath ; 
 I fed her with honey, I washed her with dew, 
 I rocked her to sleep in my cradle of blue; 
 And I could tell, if I chose to say, 
 Who it was coaxed her to run away." 
 
 The mischievous wind the cradle swung, 
 
 (Song.) 
 " Sleep, little lady, sleep ! " he sung ; 
 " What would they say if they only knew 
 It was I who ran away with you ? 
 Sleep, little lady, sleep ! " 
 
 Emily E. Miller. 
 
186 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 
 
 THE FATE OF NINA AND RIENZI. 
 
 (Arranged especially for this collection.) 
 
 It was a summer's evening. Two youths, eac 
 with his arm around the form of his comrade, might 
 be seen walking by the banks of the Tiber. The 
 tender, boyish face of the younger suddenly blanched 
 with terror, as there appeared, beyond a neighboring 
 hill, a train of cavaliers, followed by a miscellaneous 
 crowd all armed with pike and mail, while high above 
 the plumes and pikes floated the blood-red banner of 
 the Orsini. A moment later, with a ciy of " Save 
 me ! save me ! " he sank to the ground, and Cola di 
 Rienzi saw his brother's blood flowing at his feet. 
 Kneeling by that bleeding clay, he sent up the wild 
 cry : — "Justice, justice. Will they notgive us justice? 
 So young, so gentle, so harmless ! " So saying, he bent 
 his head over the corpse, his lips moving as in prayer 
 or invocation. Then he arose — a new being — The 
 Liberator of Rome. 
 
 Years passed, and the death of the Roman boy was 
 forgotten in the growing fame and fortunes of the 
 elder brother. Rienzi speaks : " In the ruins of the 
 Forum I will make the last appeal to the people. 
 By this crucifix I pledge my faith — on this blade I 
 devote my life to the regeneration of Rome ! Death to 
 the tyranny! Life to the Republic!" 
 
 All Rome thrilled under the thunder of his im- 
 passioned utterances: "Oh, Romans, awake, I con- 
 jure you ! Let the memory of your former power, 
 3 r our ancient liberties, sink deep into } r our souls. Ye 
 are without lawful chiefs — and why ? Because you 
 are not without your law-defying tyrants. You have 
 made a mockery of your country, once the mistress 
 of the world ! You have steeped her lips in gall ! 
 Ye have set a crown of thorns upon her head ! In a 
 propitious hour if }*e seize it, in an evil one if ye 
 suffer the glorious opportunity to escape, has this re- 
 cord of the past been unfolded to your eyes. Rec- 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 187 
 
 ollect that the jubilee approaches. Let the moun- 
 tains exult around! "On her seven-hilled throne 
 renowned old Rome is crowned" — jubilate — "Now, 
 even now, a voice seems to whisper in my ear : 
 ' Pause not, tremble not, waver not ; for the eye of 
 the All-seeing is upon you, the hand of the All- 
 powerful shall protect.' " 
 
 He spoke as one inspired. They trembled and be- 
 lieved, as rapt from the spectacle he stood a moment 
 silent, his arm still extended, his dark, dilating eye 
 fixed upon space, his lips parted, his proud form 
 towering and erect above the herd. His own enthu- 
 siasm had kindled that of more humble and distant 
 hearers. " The Lord is with Italy and Rienzi ! " 
 they cried again and again, as the tribune turned 
 and sought the chamber of Nina, his proud, beautiful 
 wife. 
 
 Rome is regenerated. The people reign supreme. 
 From triumphal arches of drapery wrought with 
 silver and gold, inscribed with mottoes of welcome, 
 floated banners as if for victory. Rome once more 
 opened her arms to receive her tribune and his bride 
 — the regal Nina. " Way there — keep back — way — 
 make way for the most illustrious — the great 
 Senator of Rome. He comes ! He comes ! Rienzi ! 
 Rienzi ! Welcome to liberty and Rienzi ! " 
 
 It was the morning of the eighth of October, 
 thirteen hundred and fifty-four. Alas ! that the sun 
 should rise bright and glorious upon such a scene of 
 human desertion and misguided power ! Suddenly 
 there burst upon the ear cries of — " Death to the 
 tyrant ! death to the traitor ! down with him who 
 taxes the people ! " For it had come to this. 
 
 " Fly Rienzi ! Hasten Signora ! Thank Heaven 
 I can save ye yet ! The city is filled with armed 
 men — not thine. Senator, fly ! " 
 
 " Hist ! " whispered Rienzi. " Save Nina ! Never 
 shall mine enemies, never shall posterity, say that 
 
188 HEADINGS, BECITATIONS, 
 
 Rienzi abandoned Rome. Yes, now, Nina, we part. 
 If this is my last hour, may God shield and bless 
 thee ! " 
 
 "What! Part? Never! This is my place! I 
 am the wife of Cola di Rienzi, the great Senator, 
 and by his side will I live and die ! All Rome can- 
 not separate me from him ! " 
 
 Again from earth to heaven arose that ominous 
 shout — " Down with the tyrant ! " And once again 
 Rienzi vainly pleaded with Nina. " Be it so then ; 
 come, we will die together ! Listen ! But a few 
 days ago and ' Long live Rienzi ! ' was the cry. 
 Now, ' Beware lest the traitor escape disguised.' 
 
 " Enough, enough ! Let Rome perish ! I feel at 
 last that I am nobler than my country ! " Then in 
 a loud voice he cried — " I am the Senator ; who dare 
 touch the representative of the people ? " Silent he 
 stood, awaiting the issue. What lurid glare lights up 
 the morning sky ? The whole Capitol is in flames, with 
 Nina and Rienzi in their bridal chamber, now 
 the chamber of execution. " Die, traitor ! " and the 
 life of Rienzi flowed out at Nina's feet. Alone with 
 her dead she stood upon his funeral pyre. Ere yet 
 the sound of that thrilling cry had died upon the air, 
 down with a mighty crash thundered the whole wing 
 of the Capitol — a blackened and smouldering mass. 
 
 The lurid glare of the conflagration cast its reflec- 
 tion upon a smooth and placid stream, far in the dis- 
 tance, while, with a beauty, soft beyond all art of 
 painter and of poet, the sunlight quivered over the 
 autumnal herbage and hushed into tender calm the 
 waves of the golden Tiber. — Adapted from Bulwer's 
 " Last of the Tribunes" 
 
 THE CHILD ON THE JUDGMENT SEAT. 
 
 Where hast thon been toiling all day, sweetheart, 
 
 That thy brow is burdened and sad ? 
 The Master's work may make weary feet, 
 
 But it leaves the spirit glad, 
 
AND IMPERSONATION \ 189 
 
 Was thy garden nipped with the midnight frost, 
 
 Or scorched with the mid-day glare ? 
 Were thy vines laid low, or thy lilies crushed, 
 
 That thy face is so full of care ? 
 
 " No pleasant garden toils were mine. 
 
 I have sat on the judgment seat, 
 Where the Master sits at eve, and calls 
 
 The children around His feet." 
 
 How earnest thou on the judgment seat, 
 
 Sweetheart, who set thee there? 
 'Tis a lonely and lofty seat for thee, 
 
 And well might fill thee with care. 
 
 "I climbed on the judgment seat myself, 
 
 I have sat there alone all day, 
 For it grieved me to see the children round 
 
 Idling their life away. 
 
 " They wasted the Master's precious seed, 
 
 They wasted the precious hours ; 
 They trained not the vines, nor gathered the fruit, 
 
 And they trampled the sweet, meek flowers." 
 
 And what didst thou on the judgment seat, 
 
 Sweetheart, what didst thou there? 
 Would the idlers heed thy childish voice ? 
 
 Did the garden mend for thy care? 
 
 "Nay; and that grieved me more; I called and I 
 cried, 
 
 But they left me there forlorn ; 
 My voice was weak, and they heeded not, 
 
 Or they laughed my words to scorn." 
 
 Ah ! the judgment seat was not for thee, 
 
 The servants were not thine ; 
 And the eyes which fix the praise and the blame 
 
 See farther than thine or mine. 
 
190 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 The voice that shall sound there at eve, sweetheart, 
 
 Will not strive nor cry to be heard; 
 It will hush the earth, and hush the hearts, 
 
 And none will resist its word. 
 
 " Should I see the Master's treasures lost, 
 
 The gifts that should feed His poor, 
 And nut lift ray voice (be it as weak as it may), 
 
 And not be grieved sore ? " 
 
 Wait till the evening falls, sweetheart, 
 
 Wait till the evening falls ; 
 The Master is near and knoweth all, 
 
 Wait till the Master calls. 
 
 But how fared thy garden plot, sweetheart, 
 Whilst thou sat on the judgment seat? 
 
 Who watered thy roses, and trained thy vines, 
 And kept them from careless feet ? 
 
 " Nay ! that is saddest of all to me, 
 
 That is saddest of all ! 
 My vines are trailing, my roses are parched, 
 
 My lilies droop and fall." 
 
 Go back to thy garden plot, sweetheart, 
 
 Go back till the evening falls, 
 And bind thy lilies, and train thy vines, 
 
 Till for thee the Master calls. 
 
 Go make thy garden fair as thou canst, 
 
 Thou workest never alone ; 
 Perchance he whose plot is next to thine 
 
 Will see it, and mend his own. 
 
 And the next shall copy his, sweetheart, 
 
 Till all grows fair and sweet ; 
 And when the Master comes at eve, 
 
 Happy faces His coming will greet. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 191 
 
 Then shall thy joy be full, sweetheart, 
 
 In thy garden so fair to see, 
 In the Master's voice of praise to all, 
 
 In a look of His own for thee. 
 
 By the Author of the " Ootta Family:' 
 
 MAY DAYS. 
 
 In sweet May time, so long ago, 
 
 I stood by the big wheel, spinning tow, 
 
 Buzz, buzz, so very slow; 
 
 Dark rough logs from the ancient trees, 
 
 Fireplace wide for the children's glees. 
 
 Above the smoky boards and beams, 
 
 Down through the crevice poured golden gleams, 
 
 Till the wheel dust glimmered like diamond dreams ; 
 
 Mother busy with household cares, 
 
 Baby playing with upturned chairs, 
 
 Old clock telling how fast time wears. 
 
 These within. Out under the sky 
 Flecked mists were sailing, birds flitting by, 
 Joyous children playing " I spy." 
 Up from the earth curled leaves were coming, 
 Bees in the morning sunshine humming, 
 Away in the woods the partridge drumming, 
 
 O, how I longed to burst away, 
 From my dull task to the outer day ; 
 But we were poor and I must stay. 
 So buzz ! buzz ! — 'twas very slow, 
 Drawing threads from the shining tow, 
 When the heart was dancing so. 
 
 Then hope went spinning a brighter thread; 
 On, on, through life's long lane it led, 
 A path my feet should one day tread. 
 
192 READING*, RECITATIONS, 
 
 So -pleasant thoughts would time beguile, 
 Till my mother said, with beaming smile, 
 " My child may rest, 1 will reel awhile." 
 
 Rest! 'twas the rest that childhood takes, 
 
 Off over fences and fragrant brakes, 
 
 To the wilds, where the earliest woodland flings. 
 
 Spring of the year, and life's sweet spring, 
 
 Words are poor for the thoughts ye bring. 
 
 But ye come together to me no more, 
 Your twin steps rest on the field of yore, 
 Ye are mine on yonder immortal shore. 
 'Twas hard to leave those bright May days, 
 The mossy path, and leafy maze 
 For common work, and humdrum ways. 
 
 But my steps were turned, I was up the lane, 
 
 Back to the buzzing wheel again ; 
 
 My yarn had finished the ten knot skein, 
 
 And my gentle mother stroked my head : 
 
 " Your yarn is very nice," she said, 
 
 " It will make a beautiful tablespread. 
 
 " You are my good girl to work so well." 
 Great thoughts my childish heart would swell, 
 'Till the happy tears like rain drops fell. 
 I would toil for her, I would gather lore, 
 From many books a mighty store, 
 And pay her kindness o'er and o'er. 
 
 She should work no more at wheel or loom, 
 My earnings should give her a cozy room, 
 . Bright and warm for the winter's gloom, 
 A soft arm-chair for her weary hours, 
 Books and music, pictures, flowers. 
 
 So the sweet dream ran, as the wheel buzzed on, 
 'Till the golden gleams of light were gone, 
 And the chilling rain came dripping down. 
 
A x t> imp r. i: s NA Tin mrs. 193 
 
 All ! m\ in ;ii i lias it e'er been so, 
 Cold clouds shading Life's sunniest glow, 
 Warm hopes drowned in the cold wave's How 
 
 In the .same low room my mother pressed 
 Each child to her softly heaving breast, 
 And closed her eyes and went to rest. 
 The old walls crumbled long ago, 
 Mushed the big wheel's buzzing slow, 
 Worn to shreds is the shining tow. 
 
 Yet with the bursting leaves and flowers, 
 The gushing songs and pearly showers, 
 Life brightens as in childhood's hours, 
 And hope, this golden morn in May, 
 Spins golden threads that float away 
 To a heavenly home that is bright for aye. 
 
 Waverly Magazine. 
 
 THE CONQUERED BANNER. 
 
 (Prize Selection at North Mo. state Normal, Jan., 1889.) 
 
 Furl that banner, for 'tis weary, 
 'Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary, 
 Furl it, fold it, for it is best. 
 For there's not a man to wave it, 
 And there's not a sword to save it, 
 And there's not a hand to lave it 
 In the blood that heroes gave it, 
 Furl it, hide it ; let it rest. 
 
 Take that banner down, 'tis tattered; 
 Broken is its staff and shattered, 
 And the valiant hosts are scattered 
 Over whom it iloated high. 
 Oh ! 'tis hard for us to fold it, 
 Hard to think there's none to hold it, 
 Hard that those who once unrolled it 
 Now must furl it with a sigh. 
 
194 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Furl that banner — furl it sadly! 
 Once ten thousand hailed it gladly, 
 And ten thousand wildly — madly — 
 Swore it should forever wave — 
 Swore that foeman's sound could never 
 Hearts like theirs entwined dissever 
 Till that flag would wave forever, 
 O'er their freedom or their grave. 
 
 Furl it, for the hand that grasped it, 
 And the hearts that fondly clasped it 
 Cold and dead are lying now. 
 And the banner — it is trailing, 
 While around it sounds the wailing 
 Of its people in their woe. 
 For though conquered they adore it, 
 Love the cold dead hands that bore it ! 
 Weep for those who fell before it ! 
 Pardon those who trailed and tore it ! 
 Wildly — wildly they deplore it 
 Now to furl and fold it so. 
 
 Furl that banner — true 'tis gory, 
 But 'tis wreathed around with glory, 
 And 'twill live in song and story 
 Though its folds are in the dust. 
 For its fame on brightest pages, 
 Penned by poets and by sages, 
 Shall go sounding down the ages: 
 Furl its folds though now we must. 
 
 Furl that banner — softly — slowly — 
 Treat it gently— it is holy — 
 For it droops above the dead ! 
 Touch it not — unfold it never ! 
 Let it drop there — furled forever, 
 For its people's hopes are dead. 
 
 Father Ryan. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 195 
 
 ROBERT E. LEE. 
 
 When the future historian comes to survey the 
 character of Robert E. Lee, he will find it rising like 
 a huge mountain above the undulating plain of 
 humanity, and he will have to lift his eyes high, 
 high toward heaven to catch its summit. 
 
 He possessed every virtue of the other great com- 
 manders without their vices. He was a foe without 
 hate, a friend without treachery, a soldier without 
 cruelty, and a victim without murmuring. He was a 
 public officer without vice, a private citizen without 
 wrong, a Christian without hypocrisy, and a man 
 without guile. He was Caesar without Caesar's am- 
 bition, Frederick without Frederick's tyranny, Napo- 
 leon without Napoleon's selfishness, and Washington 
 without Washington's reward. He was obedient to 
 authority as a servant, and royal in authority as a 
 king. In life, gentle as a woman, in thought modest 
 and pure as a virgin ! Watchful as a Roman Vestal 
 in duty, submissive to law as Socrates, and grand in 
 battle as Achilles. — B. II. Hill. 
 
 THE PURITANS. 
 
 The Puritans — the most remarkable body of men, 
 perhaps, which the world has ever produced ! The 
 odious and ridiculous parts of their character lie on 
 the surface. He that runs may read them ; nor have 
 there been wanting attentive and malicious observers 
 to point them out. For many years after the Res- 
 toration they were the theme of unmeasured invective 
 and derision. They were not men of letters ; they 
 were, as a body, unpopular ; they could not defend 
 themselves ; and the public would not take them 
 under its protection. They were therefore abandoned 
 to the tender mercies of the satirists and the drama- 
 tists. The ostentatious simplicity of their dress, 
 their sour aspect, their stiff posture, their long 
 
196 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 graces, their Hebrew names, their contempt of 
 human learning, and their detestation of polite 
 amusement were, indeed, fair game for the laughers. 
 But it is not from the laughers alone that the 
 philosophy of human history is to be learnt. 
 
 Those who roused the people to resistance, who 
 formed, out of the most unpromising material, the 
 finest army that Europe had ever seen, who trampled 
 down king, church and aristocracy, who made the 
 name of England terrible to every nation on the face 
 of the earth, were no vulgar fanatics. 
 
 The Puritans were men whose minds had derived 
 a peculiar character from the daily contemplation of 
 superior beings and eternal interests. Not content 
 with acknowledging in general terms an overruling 
 Providence, they habitually ascribed every event to 
 the will of the Great Being, for whose power nothing 
 was too vast, for whose inspection nothing was too 
 minute. To know Him, to serve Him, to enjoy Him, 
 was with them the great end of existence. They 
 recognized no title to superiority but His favor 
 and confident of that favor, they despised all the 
 accomplishments and all the dignities of the world. 
 If they were unacquainted with the works of philoso- 
 phers and of poets, they were deeply read in the 
 oracles of God. If their names were not found 
 in the registers of heralds, they felt assured that 
 they were recorded in the Book of Life. If their 
 steps were not accompanied by a splendid train 
 of menials, legions of ministering angels had charge 
 over them. Their palaces were houses not made 
 with hands ; their diadems, crowns of glory which 
 should never fade away! On the rich and the 
 eloquent, on nobles and priests, they looked down 
 with contempt; for they esteemed themselves rich 
 in a more precious treasure and eloquent in a more 
 sublime language. The very meanest of them was 
 a being to whose fate a mysterious and terrible im- 
 portance belonged. For his sake empires had risen 
 and flourished and decayed. For his sake the 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 197 
 
 Almighty had proclaimed his will by the pen of the 
 evangelist and the harp of the prophet. It was for 
 him that the sun had been darkened, that the rocks 
 had been rent, that the dead had arisen, that all 
 nature had shuddered at the sufferings of her expir- 
 ing God. 
 
 The Puritan was made up of two different men, 
 the one all self-abasement, penitence, gratitude, pas- 
 sion ; the other proud, calm, inflexible, sagacious. 
 He prostrated himself in the dust before his Maker ; 
 but he set his foot on the neck of his king. In his 
 devotional retirement he prayed with convulsions, 
 and groans, and tears. He was half maddened by 
 glorious or terrible illusions. He heard the lyres of 
 angels or the tempting whispers of fiends. He caught 
 a gleam of the Beatific Vision, or woke screaming 
 from dreams of everlasting fire. Like Vane, he 
 thought himself intrusted with the sceptre of the 
 millennial year. Like Fleetwood, he cried in the bit- 
 terness of his soul that God had hid His face from 
 him. But when he took his seat in the council, or girt 
 on his sword for war, these tempestuous workings of 
 the soul had left no perceptible trace behind them. 
 People who saw nothing of the godly but their un- 
 couth visages, and heard nothing from them but 
 their groans and whining hymns, might laugh at 
 them. But those had little reason to laugh who en- 
 countered them in the hall of debate or in the field 
 of battle. These fanatics brought to civil and mili- 
 tary affairs an immutability of purpose and a cool- 
 ness of judgment, which some writers have thought 
 inconsistent with their religious zeal, but which were, 
 in fact, the necessary effects of it. The intensity of 
 their feelings on one subject made them tranquil on 
 every other. Death had lost its terrors, and pleasure 
 its charms. They had their smiles and their tears, 
 their raptures and their sorrows, but not for the 
 things of this world. Enthusiasm had made them 
 Stoics, had cleared their minds from every vulgar 
 passion and prejudice, and raised them above the 
 influence of danger and of corruption. — Maeaulay. 
 
198 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 
 
 ARTIST AND PEASANT. 
 
 " I wish, Mr. Painter, a picter — 
 
 A model o' beaut}' to me — 
 An' if ye can paint it like life, sir, 
 
 This stout bag of gold is yer fee. 
 The task will be naught, sure, for ye, sir: 
 
 A little brown hand full o' flowers ; 
 Wild roses, an' ferns, an' field blossoms, 
 
 Thet grow in thet meader o' ours. 
 On course, we'd prefer the whole picter, 
 
 With eyes all aglow, an' her hair 
 Full o' sunbeams, thet lingered caressin', 
 
 'S if loth tu escape from their lair. 
 No artist could paint that, I'm sure, sir, 
 
 The face o' thet baby o' ours ; 
 So joyous she held up thet hand, sir, 
 
 Sayin', 'Papa, I've dot 'oo some f'owers!' 
 We thought, p'r'aps the hand an' the flowers — 
 
 So purty the}' looked thet June day — 
 A master might make ' like as life,' sir, 
 
 If so, I'm right willin' tu pay." 
 
 " I think, my good man, I can do it, 
 
 The little one bring for your quest ; 
 One sitting, perhaps, will suffice me, 
 
 I'll do what I can — do my best. 
 And when she's before me, I'll try then, 
 
 Those eyes, and locks kissed by the sun ; 
 Perchance, the sweet babe in her beauty 
 
 You'll find on the canvas when done." 
 
 "What! bring her 'round here? Why, I can't, sir! 
 
 She lies with flowers clasped to her breast — 
 Clasped loose, in that little dead hand, sir, 
 
 The way we have laid her to rest ; 
 We thought p'r'aps ye might easy do it, 
 
 If told, or made plain to yer eye ; 
 Well-a-day ! there are things we would have, sir, 
 
 That money, though mighty, can't buy." 
 
 Fannie L. Fancher, 
 
AMD UirXlltiOJAlIONS. 199 
 
 MARSE PHIL. 
 
 Well, well, you is Marse Phil's son — yo' favor 'm 
 might'ly too ; — 
 We wuz like brothers, we wuz — me an' him; 
 You tried to fool d' ole nigger, but marster, 'twould n' 
 do— 
 Not ef you is done growed so tall an' slim. 
 
 Hi ! Lord ! Fse knowed you, honey, sence long befo' 
 you born — 
 I mean I'se knowed be fambly dat long; 
 An' dee's all white-folks, marster, dee hands white as 
 young corn ; 
 An' ef dee want to — could n' do no wrong. 
 
 You' gran'pa buyed my mammy at Gen'l Nelson's 
 sale ; 
 An' Deely she come out de same estate ; 
 An' blood is jes like pra'r is, hit tain' gwine nuver 
 fail- 
 Hit's sutney gwine to come out soon or late. 
 
 When I was born, you' gran'pa gi' me to young 
 Marse Phil, 
 
 To be his body-servant like, you know ; 
 An' we growed up togerr, like two stalks in one hill, 
 
 Bofe tasslin' an' den shootin' in de row. 
 
 Marse Phil was born in harves', an' I dat Christmas- 
 come, 
 My mammy missed bofe on we de same time ; 
 No matter what one got, suh, de urr one sho git 
 some, 
 We wuz two fibe-cent pieces in one dime. 
 
 We cotch ole hyahs togerr, an' 'possums, him an' 
 me ; 
 
 We fished dat mill-pawn over night an" day, 
 Rid horses to de water, treed coons up de same tree ; 
 
 An' when you see one, turr warn' fur away. 
 
200 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 When Marse Phil weut to college, 't wuz, " Sam — 
 Sam's got to go " — Ole rnarster say, " Dat boy's 
 a fool 'bout Sam." 
 Ole Mistis jest say, " Dear, Phil wants him." An', you 
 know, 
 Dat Dear hit use to sooth' him like a lamb. 
 
 So we all went to college, way down to Williamsbu'g, 
 But 'warn' much larnin' out o' books we got; 
 
 Dem urrs warn' no mo' to him 'n a' ole wormy lug — 
 Yes, suh, we wuz de ve'y top de pot. 
 
 An' ef he didn't study dem Latins an' sich things 
 
 He wuz de popularitest all de while ; 
 De ladies use' to call him a' " angel widout wings," 
 
 An' when he come I lay, dee use' to smile ! 
 
 You see he wuz ole marster's on'y chile — besides, 
 
 He had a body-servant at he will ; 
 An wid dat big plantation dee'd all like to be brides, 
 
 Dat is, ef dee could have de groom Marse Phil. 
 
 'Twuz dyah he meet young mistis, — she is you' ma, 
 of co'se ! 
 I disremembers now which mont' it wuz; 
 One night he come, an', says he, "Sam, I need new 
 clo'es ; " 
 An 1 I says, " Marse Phil, yes, suh, so you does." 
 
 Well, suh, he made dat tailor meek ev'ything bran' 
 new; 
 He would n' wear one stitch he had on han' — 
 Jes th'owed "em in de chip-box, an' says, " Sam, dem's 
 for you " — 
 Marse Phil, I tell you, wuz a gentleman ! 
 
 So Marse Phil cotes de mistis, an' Sam he cotes de 
 maid — 
 
 We al'ays sot we traps upon one parf ; [say'd, 
 
 An' when ole marster hear* we bofe was gwine, he 
 
 "All right; we'll have to kill de fatted calf." 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 201 
 
 An' dat wuz what dee did, suh ; de Prodigal was 
 home ;- — 
 Dee put de ring an' robe upon you' nia ; 
 Den you wuz born, young marster, an' den de storm 
 hit come — 
 An' den de darkness settled from afar. 
 
 De storm hit coined, an' wrenchted de branches from 
 de tree, 
 De war — you' pa — he's sleep dyah on de hill ; 
 An' dough I know, young marster, de war hit sot me 
 free, 
 I jes says, " Yes, but tell me whar's Marse Phil ? " 
 
 " A dollar " — thankee, marster, you sutney is his 
 son ; 
 His ve'y spi't-an-image, I declar' ! 
 What say, young marster ? Yes, suh, you say, it's 
 "jibe, not one." 
 You favors, honey, bofe you' Pa an' Ma ! 
 
 Thomas Nelson Page. 
 
 A LITTLE MISTAKE. 
 
 St. Nicholas was resting 
 
 From his Christmas work at last, 
 The gifts had all been given, 
 
 The holidays were past ; 
 And dozing in his arm-chair, 
 
 With his cat upon his knees, 
 The good Saint smoked his honest pipe, 
 
 And took his honest ease. 
 But something roused him quickly — 
 
 lie started from his seat, 
 A soldier bold, a maiden fair. 
 
 Were kneeling at his feet 
 "St. Nicholas," the maiden cried, 
 
 "Behold my fearful plight! 
 These wounds have been inflicted 
 
 Since that dreadful, dreadful night. 
 
202 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 When you left me in the stocking 
 
 Of a being I dare not name — " 
 She paused. The soldier raised his voice, 
 
 And said, " I blush, with shame 
 To stand before your saintship 
 
 In the dress you now behold, 
 But the way I have been treated 
 
 Makes my very blood run cold. 
 I've been nursed and kissed and coddled, 
 
 I've been rocked and sung to sleep, 
 Oh, were I not a soldier still, 
 
 I'd almost like to weep." 
 "Ah ! " mused the good St. Nicholas, 
 
 " I think I understand," 
 And he smiled a merry little smile, 
 
 And coughed behind his hand. 
 " 'Twas on that busy Christmas eve 
 
 When all was in a whirl 
 This doll was given to a boy, 
 
 This soldier to a girl." 
 And then aloud he gravely said, 
 
 " I grieve to see your pain, 
 But if you stay with me a year 
 
 All shall be well again. 
 Next Christmas eve, my children, 
 
 When you are well and strong, 
 I will put you in the stockings 
 
 Where you really do belong." 
 
 "I wonder where my soldier is ! " 
 
 Cried gentle little Moll, 
 And Bobby gazing round him sobbed, 
 
 " Where is my baby-doll ? " 
 
 But though they hunted high and low, 
 And searched both far and near, 
 
 The maiden and the soldier bold 
 Were seen no more that year. 
 
 J. McDermott, in " Youth's Companion** 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 203 
 
 NORTH AND SOUTH. 
 
 In vain do partisans, by false charges and unholy 
 appeals to the bitter memories of the past, attempt 
 to lash the North into fury against the South. 
 
 A few years since, when the yellow demon held 
 high carnival in the stricken South, a vessel freighted 
 by generous hearts and hands in the North floated 
 down the father of waters bearing aid to those who 
 were once enemies, but now of kin through the great 
 " touch of nature." 
 
 The commander of that vessel, a gallant Union 
 soldier, now sleeps upon the historic hills of Vicks- 
 burg, fit monuments to the memory of him, who died 
 not amidst martial music, or of "shot and shell and 
 saber stroke," but with a higher and nobler courage, 
 silently and calmly gave up his life for those he had 
 fought and conquered. In all history, what scene, 
 save one on the hills of Judea, is more sublime than 
 that upon the banks of the great river, where bearded 
 men and pallid women with loving and tender hands 
 laid in its last resting-place the body of that northern 
 soldier? Angels looked down with moistened eyes, 
 and from all nature arose that hymn of love which 
 once floated over the blue JEgean. 
 
 "Love, sons of earth, for love is earth's soft lore; 
 Look where you will, earth overflows with me; 
 Learn from the waves that ever kiss the shore, 
 And the winds nestling on the heaving sea." 
 
 Yes, love is stronger than hate, and in the grave 
 of that dead hero was buried the last vestige of 
 sectional strife. The North needs the South, and the 
 South needs the North. The South needs the energy 
 and wealth of the great North, whilst the North needs 
 the semi-tropical productions of the South. 
 
 The South asks for no pensions, no bounties, no 
 payment of its war debt. There is not a Confederate 
 
204 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 soldier worthy the name who would ask or receive 
 one cent from the federal government in pension or 
 bounty. All that the South asks is peace, lasting, 
 real, true peace — peace in which to build up its 
 ruined homes and industries — peace in which to pay 
 its proportion of the national debt. 
 
 What the country demands to-day is the develop- 
 ment of its material resources, and the protection of 
 its citizens in every right. The country is heartily and 
 thoroughly tired of sectional strife and sectional legis- 
 lation. Enveloped by a common nationality, united 
 by a common destiny, we should turn our backs upon 
 the sad memories of the past, and go resolutely for- 
 ward to the duties of the future. For on the brow 
 of that future, God has written in letters of light 
 and beauty, " One flag, one people, one country." 
 Pledging our unfaltering devotion to the interests of 
 country, we shall, if new interests arise, be found with 
 that great party which, bearing the constitution as 
 the gallant Douglas bore the Brace's heart, will, 
 when overpowered, fling it far into the midst of its 
 enemies, and falling, covered with wounds and glory, 
 protect the sacred treasure even in death. — George 
 a. Vest. 
 
 PANSY BLOSSOM. 
 
 Of all the bonny buds that blow 
 
 In fair or cloudy weather ; 
 
 Of all the flowers that come and go 
 
 The full twelve months together, 
 
 This little purple pansy brings 
 
 Thoughts of the saddest, sweetest things. 
 
 I had a little lover once 
 
 Who used to bring me posies ; 
 
 His eyes were blue as hyacinths, 
 
 His cheeks as red as roses ; 
 
 And everybody used to praise 
 
 His pretty looks and winsome ways. 
 

 AND IMPEJiSOYATIONS. 205 
 
 The girls who went to school with rne 
 
 Made little jealous speeches, 
 Because he brought me loyally 
 
 His biggest plums and peaches, 
 And always at the door would wait 
 To carry home my book and slate. 
 
 They couldn't see, with pout and fling, 
 
 The mighty fascination 
 About that little crooked-nose thing 
 
 To cause such admiration ! 
 As if there wer'n't a dozen girls 
 With bluer eyes and longer curls ! 
 
 And this I knew as well as they, 
 
 And never could see clearly, 
 Why more than Marion or May 
 
 I should be loved so dearly. 
 And so I asked him, why was this, 
 He only answered with a kiss. 
 
 And so I teased him, " Tell me why, 
 
 I want to know the reason." 
 Then from a flower bed close by — 
 
 The pansies were in season — 
 He plucked and gave a flower to me 
 With sweet and simple gravity. 
 
 " The garden is in bloom," lie said, 
 
 " With lilies pale and tender, 
 With roses and verbenas red, 
 
 And fuchsias' purple splendor, 
 But over and above the rest 
 This little heart's-ease suits me best." 
 
 " Am I your little heart's-ease then ? " 
 
 I asked with sudden pleasure. 
 He answered yes, and yes again, 
 
 Heart's-ease and dearest treasure, 
 That the big round world, and all the sea, 
 Held nothing half so sweet as me. 
 
206 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 I listened with a pleased delight, 
 Too rare for words to capture, 
 
 Nor ever dreamed what sudden blight 
 Would, come to chill my rapture. 
 
 Could I foresee the tender bloom 
 
 Of pansies, round a little tomb? 
 
 Life holds some stern experience, 
 
 As most of us discover, 
 And I've had other losses 
 
 Since first I lost that little lover ; 
 But oh, this purple pansy brings 
 Thoughts of the saddest, sweetest things. 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OP S. S. COX. 
 
 When Samuel S. Cox passed out from among men 
 into the endless shadow of that mystery we call death, 
 it was as if the evening star had slipped from tired 
 bands and fallen to shine no more. And what shall 
 we say of him now that he is gone? 
 
 The scope and character of his achievements differ 
 from those of most men we term great. Nearly all 
 great men have accomplished greatness by persistent 
 effort along some special line of thought or endeavor. 
 He was remarkable rather for the versatility of his 
 thought and the diversity of his endeavor. He was 
 a scholar of extensive research and splendid erudi- 
 tion : he was an author whose books enchant with 
 bewitching description and sparkle with noble gems 
 of thought. He was a statesman of unsullied patri- 
 otism and comprehensive grasp. He was an orator 
 whose scimitar flashed at the front of fiercest debate, 
 and whose eloquence swayed the multitude as storm- 
 winds the forests. He was an ambassador whose 
 culture, grave and gentle breeding made him a favor- 
 ite, and whose skill in diplomacy won him respect 
 while it dignified the Republic. And then how genial 
 and companionable he was ! How full of life — of the 
 
A YD TMPETi DONATIONS. 207 
 
 glad, rollicking joy of life ! lie sometimes seemed a 
 very boy, scattering joy and sunshine along the way. 
 
 But when sorrow folded her pallid wings and 
 brooded about the hearts of those lie loved, hew gen- 
 tle he was! In his presence sadness seemed less sad. 
 and a softer light crept in among the shadows, for 
 there was in his speech and act something so like the 
 delicate touch of woman's hand and the melting 
 music of woman's speech. Such was the man we 
 loved! and we loved him all the more, because we 
 knew that behind this native gentleness was the strong 
 masculine man, familiar with the philosophies of books 
 and trained to the responsibilities of great affairs, who, 
 when occasion required, could be stern, rugged, obsti- 
 nate, almost vengeful. 
 
 Such was the man we lament. lie lived a pure, un- 
 selfish, and useful life ; and he goes away into the 
 mystic summer land, leaving behind him a great name, 
 and taking with him the blessing of his race. He 
 went away without thought of fear, bearing a sweet 
 message from the world to those who should greet 
 him in the great beyond. — W. J. Stone. 
 
 GETTYSBURG. 
 
 The sun of Gettysburg rose on the first of July and 
 saw the army of the gray already advancing in line 
 of battle ; the army of the blue hastening eagerly 
 forward to this point ; and the unquailing lines so 
 long arrayed against each other, stood face to face. 
 Once more the inexpressible emotions of yearning 
 memory, of fond affection, of dread foreboding, of 
 high hopes, of patriotic enthusiasm and stern resolve 
 swept for a moment over thousands of brave hearts, 
 and the next instant the overwhelming storm of bat- 
 tle burst. For three long, proud, immortal days it 
 raged and swayed, the earth trembling, the air quiver- 
 ing, the sky obscured ; with shouting charge, and 
 rattling volley, and thundering cannonade piling the 
 
208 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 ground with bleeding blue and gray. Doubtful the 
 battle hung and paused. Then a formidable bolt 
 of war was forged on yonder wooded height, and 
 launched with withering blasts and roar of fire against 
 the foe. It reached and pierced the flaming line of 
 the embattled blue. It was the supreme moment of 
 the peril of the Union — the heroic crisis of the war. 
 But the fiery force was spent. In one last wild 
 tumultuous struggle, brave men dashed headlong 
 against men as brave, and the next moment that 
 awful bolt of daring courage was melted in the fer- 
 vent heat of an unequal valor, and the battle of 
 Gettysburg was fought. 
 
 If the rising sun of the 4th of July, 1863, looked 
 upon a sad and unwonted scene, a desolated battle- 
 field, upon which the combatants upon either side 
 had been American citizens, yet those combatants, 
 could they have seen aright, would have hailed that 
 day as more glorious than ever before. For from 
 that smoking and blood-drenched field, they would 
 have seen a more perfect union arising, with the Con- 
 stitution at last immutably interpreted, and they 
 would have heard anew the immortal pledge — govern- 
 ment of the people, for the people, by the people, shall 
 not perish from the earth. 
 
 The great question was settled. Other questions 
 indeed remain which will greatly try our wisdom and 
 our patriotism. But they will be appealed to the 
 ordeal of battle no more, they will be settled in those 
 peaceful, popular and parliamentary contentions 
 which befit a patriotic and intelligent republican 
 people. Then indeed the fleeting angel of this hour 
 and the hallowed spirits of this consecrated ground 
 will have yielded their most precious benediction ; 
 and in the field of Gettysburg as we now behold it, 
 the blue and the gray blending in happy harmony, 
 like the mingling hues of the summer landscape, we 
 may see the radiant symbol of the triumphant America 
 of our pride, our hope, and our joy. — Greorge William 
 Curtis. 
 
AND 1MFEUS0NATL0NS. 2U ( J 
 
 JACK FROST'S LITTLE SISTER. 
 
 This morning when all the rest had. gone down, 
 
 I stood by the window to see 
 The beautiful pictures which there in the night 
 
 Jack Frost had been making for me. 
 
 There were mountains and mills and bridges and 
 boats, 
 
 Some queer-looking houses and trees, 
 A hammock that swung by itself in the air, 
 
 And a giant cut off at the knees. 
 
 Then there was a steeple so crooked and high, 
 
 I was thinking it surely must fall, 
 When right down below it I happened to spy 
 
 The loveliest thing of them all — 
 
 The cutest and cunningest dear little girl, 
 
 I looked at her hard as I could ; 
 And she stood there so dainty, and looked back at 
 me 
 
 In a little white ulster and hood. 
 
 " Good morning," I whispered, for all in a flash 
 I knew 'twas Jack Frost's little sister ; 
 
 I was so glad to have her come visiting me, 
 I reached up quite softly and kissed her. 
 
 There ! — can you believe it ? — the darling was gone, 
 Killed dead in that one little minute ! 
 
 I never once dreamed that a kiss would do that, 
 Nor could there be any harm in it. 
 
 But I am so sorry ! for though I have looked 
 Fifty times at the window since then, 
 
 Half hoping to see her once more, yet I know 
 She never can come back aq;ain. 
 
LlO READINGS, UECITATIONS, 
 
 And it may be foolish, but all through the day 
 I have felt — and 1 knew that I should — 
 
 Just as if I had killed her, that dear baby-girl 
 In a little white ulster and hood. 
 
 Youth's Companion. 
 
 A DEMOCRACY HATEFUL TO PHILIP. 
 
 There are those among you, Athenians, who think 
 to confound a speaker by asking him, " What, then, 
 is to be done ? " To which I might reply, 
 "■Nothing that you are doing; everything that you 
 leave undone ! " And it would be an apt, 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, Athenians, admit the incontest- 
 able fact that Philip has violated his treaties and de- 
 clared war against you. On that point let us have 
 no further crimination or recrimination. And then 
 admit the fact that he is the mortalenemy of Athens, 
 of its very soil, of all within its Avails — ay, of those 
 even who most flatter themselves that they are high 
 in his good graces. What Philip most fears and 
 abhors is our liberty, our free democratic system. 
 For the destruction of that all his snares are laid, all 
 his projects are shaped. 
 
 Is he not consistent in this? Truly, he is well 
 aware that though he should subjugate all the rest 
 of Greece, his conquest would be insecure so long as 
 your democracy should stand. Well does he know 
 that should he experience one of those reverses to 
 which the lot of humanity is so liable, it would be 
 into your arms that ail of those nations now forcibly 
 held under his yoke would rush. Is there a tyrant 
 to drive 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 im- 
 patient so long as Athenian liberty is a spy upon his 
 evil days? lie sure, O my countrymen, that Philip 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 211 
 
 is your irreconcilable foe ; that it is against Athens 
 he musters all his armaments ; against Athens all his 
 schemes are laid. 
 
 What, then, as wise men convinced of these truths, 
 ought you to do? What but to shake off your fatal 
 lethargy, contribute according to your means, sum- 
 mon your allies to contribute and take measures to 
 maintain the troops already under arms, so that if 
 Philip has an army prepared to attack and subjugate 
 all the Greeks, you may have an army ready to suc- 
 cor them and to save ? Tell me not of the trouble 
 and expense which this will involve. I grant it all. 
 But consider the dangers that beset you, and how 
 much you will be the gainers by engaging heartily at 
 once in the general cause. 
 
 Verity, should some god assure you that however 
 inert and unconcerned you might remain, yet in the 
 end you should not be molested by Philip, still it 
 would be ignominious (bear witness, Heaven !), it 
 would be beneath you, beneath the dignity of your 
 State, beneath the glory of your ancestors, to sacrifice 
 to your own selfish repose the interests 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, ye; 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 wait you ? When will you put forth 
 your strength ? Wait you the constraint of necessity ? 
 What necessity? Can there be a more pressing one 
 for freemen than the prospect of dishonor? Do you 
 wait for that? It is here already; it presses, it 
 weighs on us even now. Now, did I say ? Long 
 since was it before us, face to face. Truly, there is 
 still another necessity in reserve— the necessity of 
 slaves — subjugation, blows, and stripes. Wait you for 
 them? The gods forbid! The very words are in 
 this place an indignity ! — Demosthenes. 
 
212 HEADINGS, HESITATIONS, 
 
 THE END OF THE PLAY. 
 
 The play is done — the curtain drops, 
 
 Slow fulling to the prompter's bell; 
 A moment yet the actor stops,' 
 
 And looks around to say farewell. 
 It is an irksome word and task ; 
 
 And when he's laughed and said his say, 
 He shows, as he removes the mask, 
 
 A face that's anything but gay. 
 
 One word ere yet the evening ends — 
 
 Let's close it with a parting rhyme, 
 And pledge a hand to all young friends, 
 
 As fits the merry Christmas-time ; 
 On life's wide scene you, too, have parts 
 
 That fate ere long shall bid you play ; 
 Good night! — with honest, gentle hearts, 
 
 A kindly greeting go alway ! 
 
 Good night ! — I'd say, the griefs, the joys, 
 
 Just hinted in this mimic page, 
 The triumphs and defeats of boys, 
 
 Are but repeated in our age ; 
 I'd say your woes were not less keen, 
 
 Your hopes more vain than those of men- 
 Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen 
 
 At forty-five played o'er again. 
 
 I'd say we suffer and we strive 
 
 Not less, nor more, as men than boys — 
 With grizzled beards at forty-five 
 
 As erst at twelve in corduroys ; 
 And if, in time of sacred youth, 
 
 We learned at home to love and pray, 
 Pray Heaven that early love and truth 
 
 May never wholly pass away. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 213 
 
 And in the world, as in the school, 
 
 I'dsay how fate may change and shift — 
 The prize be sometimes with the fool, 
 
 The race not always to the swift ; 
 The strong may yield, the good may fall, 
 
 The great man be a vulgar clown, 
 The knave be lifted over all, 
 
 The kind cast pitilessly down. 
 
 Who knows the inscrutable design ? 
 
 Blessed be He who took and gave ! 
 Why should your mother, Charles, not mine, 
 
 Be weeping at her darling's grave ? 
 We bow to Heaven that willed it so, 
 
 That darkly rules the fate of all, 
 That sends the respite or the blow, 
 
 That's free to give or to recall. 
 
 This crowns his feast with wine and wit — 
 
 Who brought him to that mirth and state? 
 His betters, see, below him sit, 
 
 Or hunger hopeless at the gate ; 
 Who bade the mud from Dives' wheel 
 
 To spurn the rags of Lazarus ? 
 Come, brother, in that dust we'll kneel, 
 
 Confessing Heaven that ruled it thus. 
 
 So each shall mourn in life's advance, 
 
 Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed — 
 Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance, 
 
 And longing passion unfulfilled; 
 Amen ! — whatever fate be sent, 
 
 Pray God the heart may kindly glow, 
 Although the head with cares be bent, 
 
 And whitened with the winter snow. 
 
 Come wealth or want, come good or ill, 
 Let young and old accept their part, 
 
 And bow before the awful will, 
 And bear it with an honest heart ; 
 
214 HEADINGS, HEC1TATI0NS, 
 
 Who misses, or who wins, the prize, 
 Go, lose or conquer as you can ; 
 
 But if you fail, or if you rise, 
 Be each, pray God, a gentleman. 
 
 A gentleman, or old or }^oung 
 
 (Bear kindly with my humble lays); 
 The sacred chorus first was sung 
 
 Upon the first of Christmas days ; 
 The shepherds heard it overhead — 
 
 The joyful angels raised it then ; 
 Glory to Heaven on high, it said, 
 
 And peace on earth to gentlemen. 
 
 My song save this is little worth ; 
 
 I lay the weary pen aside, 
 And wish you health and love and mirth, 
 
 As fits the solemn Christmas tide ; 
 As fits the holy Christmas birth, 
 
 Be this, good friends our carol still — 
 Be peace on earth — be peace on earth 
 
 To men of gentle will. 
 
 Wm. M. Thackeray. 
 
 BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF CESAR. 
 
 {Prize Selection at the N. Mo. Normal, 1891.) 
 
 Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my 
 cause, and be silent, that you may hear: believe me 
 for mine honor, and have respect to mine honor, that 
 you may believe : censure me in your wisdom, and 
 awake your senses, that you may the better judge. 
 
 If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend 
 of Caesar's, to him I say that Brutus's iove to Osesar 
 was no less than his. If, then, that friend demand 
 why Brutus rose against Csesar, this is my answer : 
 Not that I loved Csesar less but that I loved Rome 
 
AND IMPKHSOXATfoVs. L'l.l 
 
 I fail you rather Caesar were living, and die all 
 slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all free- 
 men ? 
 
 As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was 
 fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor 
 him ; but as lie was ambitious, I slew him. There is 
 tears, for his love; joy, for his fortune ; honor, for 
 his valor ; and death, for his ambition. 
 
 Who is here so base, that would be a bondman ? 
 If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who is 
 here so rude, that would not be a Roman ? If any, 
 speak ; for him have I offended. Who is here so 
 vile, that will not love his country ? If any, speak ; 
 for him have I offended. I pause for a reply. — [Citi- 
 zens cry out, " None, Brutus — none ! "] — None ! Then 
 none have I offended. 
 
 I have done no more to Caesar than you shall do to 
 Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the 
 Capitol ; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was 
 worthy ; nor his offences enforced, for which he 
 suffered death. 
 
 [Enter Antony and others with Cesar's body.'] 
 
 Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony; 
 who, though he had no hand in his death, shall re- 
 ceive the benefit of his dying — a place in the com- 
 monwealth : as which of you shall not? 
 
 With this I depart : That, as I slew my best lover 
 for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for 
 myself, when it shall please my country to need, 
 my death. — Shakespeare. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 These lovely days of autumn, 
 So swiftly gliding by, 
 
 May teach us, friends, a lesson, 
 If to learn it we will try. 
 
216 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 How beautiful the forests, 
 
 With their varied tints, that vie 
 
 With the changing hues of sunset 
 When the clouds are floating' high. ! 
 
 Could the biting frosts of autumn 
 To the wood such beauty bring, 
 
 If the leaves had not been growing 
 Through the summer and the spring? 
 
 Would the sunset's dying glory 
 Seem to us so passing fair, 
 
 If the thunderstorms of summer 
 Had not purified the air ? 
 
 Now your spring of life is passing, 
 Soon the summer will be here; 
 
 May its storms but serve to purify 
 The spirit's atmosphere ! 
 
 May the tender leaves of virtue 
 With unfailing vigor grow, 
 
 Telling of a life within you, 
 
 Which the world can never know. 
 
 Then will autumn come upon you 
 Like the autumn that we see 
 
 Calm and radiant with the promise 
 Of another life to be ! 
 
 8. U. Dent. 
 
 WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE? 
 
 What constitutes a State ? 
 Not high-raised battlement or labored mound, 
 
 Thick wall or moated gate ; 
 Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned: 
 
 Not bays and broad-arm ports, 
 Where, laughing atthe storm, rich navies ride! 
 
 Not starred and spangled courts, 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 217 
 
 Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride. 
 
 No ! Men — high-minded men — 
 With powers as far above dull brutes endued 
 
 In forest, brake, or den, 
 As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude ; 
 
 Men, who their duties know, 
 But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain; 
 
 Prevent the long-aimed blow, 
 And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain. 
 
 These constitute a state ; 
 And sovereign law, that state's collected will, 
 
 O'er thrones and globes elate 
 Sits empress : crowning good, repressing ill. 
 
 Smit b}^ her sacred frown, 
 The fiend discretion like a vapor sinks; 
 
 And e'en the all-dazzling crown 
 Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks. 
 
 Such was this heaven-loved isle ; 
 Than Lesbos fairer, and the Cretan shore ! 
 
 No more shall Freedom smile? 
 Shall Britons languish and be men no more? 
 
 Since all must life resign, 
 Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave 
 
 'Tis folly to decline, 
 And steal inglorious to the silent grave. 
 
 Sir William Jones, 
 
 BABY BOYS. 
 
 I can't see what our baby boy 
 
 Is dood for, anyway ; 
 He don't know how to walk or talk, 
 
 He don't know how to play. 
 He tears up ev'ry single zing 
 
 He possibly tan ; 
 He even tried to break, one day, 
 
 Mamma's bestest fan. 
 
 He's al'ays tumblin' 'bout ze floor, 
 An' gives us awful scares ; 
 
218 LEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 And when he goes to Led at night 
 
 He never says his prayers. 
 On Sunday, too, he musses up 
 
 My go-to-meetin' clothes, 
 And once I found him hard at work 
 
 A pinchin' Dolly's nose. 
 
 Ze ozzer da}^ zat naughty boy 
 
 — Now what j r ou s'pose you zink? — 
 Upset a dreat big bottle 
 
 Of my papa's writin' ink. 
 An' stead of kyin' dood and hard, 
 
 As course he ought to done, 
 He laughed, and crowed, and kicked his feet 
 
 As zough he sought 'twas fun. 
 
 He even tries to reach up high 
 
 An' pull zings off ze shelf. 
 An' he's al'ays want-in' you of course, 
 
 Jus when you wants youself. 
 I rather dess, I really do, 
 
 For how he pulls my turls, 
 Boy babaies was made a purpose, 
 
 For to 'noy us little dirls. 
 
 An' I wish zere wasn't no such zings 
 
 As naughty baby boys — 
 Why ! why, zats him akyin' now, 
 
 He makes a dreful noise 
 I dess I better run and see 
 
 For he has — boo-hoo-hoo ! 
 Fell down ze stairs and killed himself — 
 
 Whatever shall I do ! 
 
 GLAUCUS IN THE ROMAN ARENA. 
 
 " Bring fortli the lion and Glaucus the Athenian ! " 
 shouted the people louder than ever. 
 
 Glaucus and Olinthus had been placed together in 
 that gloomy and narrow cell in which the criminals 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 219 
 
 of the Arena awaited their last and fearful struggle. 
 The religion of the one, the pride of the other, the 
 conscious innocence of both, elevated the victim into 
 the hero. 
 
 " Hark ! nearest thou that shout?" said Olinthus. 
 
 " 1 hear ; my heart grows sick ; the gods support 
 me ! " 
 
 " The gods ! O rash young man, in this hour 
 recognise only the one God ! " 
 
 " Bring forth the lion and Glaucus the Athenian." 
 
 " Hush ! already they are clamoring for our 
 blood ! " 
 
 " O Heaven ! " cried the fervent Olinthus, " I 
 tremble not — I rejoice that the prison-house shall 
 soon be broken." 
 
 The door swung gratingly back — the gleam of 
 spears shot along the walls. 
 
 " Glaucus the Athenian, thy time is come ; the 
 lion awaits thee." 
 
 " I am ready. Olinthus, brother, bless me — and 
 farewell ! " 
 
 The Christian clasped the young heathen to his 
 breast — he kissed his cheek and forehead — he wept 
 aloud. 
 
 Glaucus tore himself away. 
 
 " Courage ! " said one ; " thou art young and active. 
 They give thee a weapon, despair not, and thou 
 mayst yet conquer ! " 
 
 And now when the Greek saw the eyes of ten 
 thousand Romans upon him, all fear was gone. A 
 red and haughty flush spread over the paleness of 
 his features, and he stood, the very incarnation, vivid 
 and corporeal, of the valor of his land — at once a 
 hero and a god ! 
 
 The lion had been kept without food for twenty- 
 four hours, and was now moving about its cage with 
 a restless uneasiness which the keeper attributed to 
 the pangs of hunger. Yet its bearing seemed rather 
 that of fear than of rage ; its roar was painful and 
 distressed; it hung its head—snuffed the air through, 
 
220 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 the bars — lay down — started again — and again ut- 
 tered its wild and far-resounding cries. 
 
 The crowd became impatient. The Editor slowly 
 gave the sign. The keeper cautiously removed the 
 grating, and the lion leaped forth with a mighty and 
 glad roar of release. 
 
 Glaucus had bent his limbs so as to give himself 
 the firmest posture at the expected rush of the lion. 
 With his small and shining weapon raised on high, he 
 stood waiting the attack. But, to the unutterable 
 astonishment of all, the beast seemed not even aware 
 of his presence. At half-speed it circled round and 
 round the arena, turning its vast head from side to 
 side with an anxious gaze as if seeking some avenue 
 only of escape ; once it tried to leap up the parapet 
 that divided it from the audience ; failing, it drooped 
 its tail along the sand, and crept with a low moan 
 into its cage. 
 
 The rage of the populace at this disappointment 
 was fast becoming uncontrollable, when a loud cry 
 was heard at one of the entrances of the arena. The 
 crowd gave way, and Sallust suddenly appeared on 
 the senatorial benches. Half exhausted, he shouted ; 
 "Remove the Athenian, — haste! he is innocent! 
 Arrest Arbaces the Egyptian. He is the murderer 
 of ApEecides!" 
 
 " Art thou mad, O Sallust ! What means this 
 raving ? " 
 
 " Remove the Athenian ! Quick ! or his blood be 
 on your head. Room there ! — Stand back ! People 
 of Pompeii, Arbaces is the murderer ! Here is the 
 witness, Calenus, the priest." 
 
 "A miracle! a miracle!" shouted the people. 
 "Arbaces to the lion ! Arbaces to the lion ! " 
 
 The maddened crowd, thirsty for blood, were rush- 
 ing upon the Egyptian, whose eyes at that moment, 
 beheld shooting above the Amphitheatre a strange 
 and awful apparition. He stretched his hand on 
 high, and shouted with a voice of thunder : " Behold, 
 how the gods protect the guiltless ! The fires of the 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 221 
 
 avenging Orcus burst forth against the false witness 
 of my accusers !" 
 
 The eyes of the crowd followed the gesture of the 
 Egyptian, and beheld, with dismay, vast vapors shoot- 
 ing from the summit of Vesuvius, followed by fires 
 that blazed with an intolerable glare ! There was a 
 dead, heart-sunken silence — through which there 
 suddenly broke the roar of the crouching lion — so 
 typical of the coming ruin. Then there arose on 
 high the universal shriek of women. Men stared at 
 each other and were dumb ; they felt the earth shake 
 beneath their feet, and beheld the mountain-cloud 
 rolling toward them, dark and rapid, like a torrent. 
 
 No longer thought the crowd of justice or Arbaces. 
 Each turned to fly — trampling recklessly over the 
 fallen — amidst groans, and oaths and prayers, the 
 enormous crowd poured forth. Whither should they 
 fly? But darker, and larger, and mightier spread 
 the cloud above them — a sudden and ghastly Night 
 rushing upon the realm of Noon. — Adapted from 
 Bulwer's Last Days of Pompeii. 
 
 NYDIA. 
 
 In proportion as the blackness gathered did the 
 lightnings around Vesuvius increase in their vivid and 
 scorching glare. In the pauses of the showers you 
 heard the rumbling of the earth beneath, and the 
 groaning waves of the tortured sea; or, lower still, 
 the grinding and hissing murmur of the escaping 
 gases through the chasms of the distant mountain. 
 Wild, haggard, ghastly with supernatural fears, 
 fugitive passed fugitive, crowds encountered crowds, 
 but without the leisure to speak, consult, or advise. 
 
 Through this awful scene did Glaucus make his 
 way, accompanied by lone and Nydia, the blind girl. 
 Suddenly, a rush of hundreds, in their path to the 
 sea, swept by them. Nydia was torn from the side 
 of Glaucus, who, with lone, was borne rapidly on- 
 
222 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 ward ; and when the crowd had passed, Nydia was 
 still separated from their side. Glaucus shouted her 
 name. No answer came. The} r retraced their steps 
 in vain. Their friend, their preserver, was lost. 
 Hitherto Nydia had been their guide. Her blindness 
 rendered the scene familiar to her alone. Accus- 
 tomed through a perpetual night to thread the wind- 
 ings of the city, she had led them unerringly towards 
 the sea-shore by which they had resolved to hazard 
 an escape. Now which way could they wend ? 
 
 " Alas ! " murmured lone, " I can go no farther ; my 
 steps sink among the scorching cinders. Fly, Glau- 
 cus, and leave me to my fate." 
 
 "Blessed lightning! See, lone, see ! the portico of 
 the Temple of Fortune is before us. Let us creep 
 beneath it for protection from the showers." 
 
 Meanwhile Nydia, when separated by the throng 
 from Glaucus and lone, had in vain endeavored to re- 
 gain them. In vain she raised that plaintive cry so 
 peculiar to the blind ; it was lost amidst a thousand 
 shrieks of more selfish terror. Weak, yet fearless, 
 supported by but one wish, she was a very emblem 
 of Psyche in her wanderings ; of Hope walking 
 through the Valley of the Shadow. On she moved 
 toward the sea-shore. At length a group of torch- 
 bearers rushing full against her, she was . thrown 
 down. 
 
 '* What ! " said a voice. " Is this the brave blind 
 girl ! By Bacchus, it is ! Up ! My Thessalian ! 
 So, so. Are you hurt ? That's well ! Come 
 along with us ! We are for the shore ! " 
 
 "0 Sallust! it is thy voice ! Glaucus — Glaucus! 
 have you seen him ? " 
 
 "No. He is doubtless out of the city by this 
 time. The god who saved him from the lion will 
 save him from the burning mountain." Just then, 
 Sosia passed with a torch, and its light falling on the 
 face of Nydia, he recognized the Thessalian. 
 
 " What avails thy liberty now, blind girl ? " said 
 the slave. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 223 
 
 " Who art lliou ? Canst thou tell me of Glaucus ? " 
 
 " Ay ; I saw him but a few moments since, couched 
 beneath the arch of the Forum — dead or dying." 
 
 Nydia uttered not a word: she slid from the side 
 of Sallust ; silently she glided through those behind 
 her and retraced her steps to the city. She gained 
 the Forum — the arch ! She stooped down — she felt 
 around — she called : " Glaucus — Glaucus ! " 
 
 A weak voice answered, " Who calls me ? " 
 
 "Arise! Follow me! Take my hand! Glaucus, 
 thou shalt be saved ! " 
 
 In wonder and sudden hope, Glaucus arose — 
 " Nydia still ? Ah ! then, thou art safe ! " 
 
 Half leading, half carrying lone, Glaucus followed 
 his guide. After many pauses and incredible per- 
 severance, they gained the sea. In darkness, with 
 others escaping the destruction, they put forth to 
 sea. Utterly exhausted, lone slept on the breast of 
 Glaucus. While Nydia lay at his feet, showers of 
 dust and ashes fell far and wide into the waves and 
 scattered the spray over the deck. 
 
 Softly, beautifully, dawned at last the light over 
 the trembling deep. In the silence of the general 
 sleep, Nydia rose gently. She bent over the face of 
 Glaucus — timidly and sadly she kissed his brow and 
 with her hair wiped from it the damps of the night. 
 " May the gods bless you, Athenian ! May you be 
 happy with your beloved lone ! — May you sometimes 
 remember Nydia! Alas! She is of no further use 
 on earth ! " 
 
 Turning away, she crept slowly along by the plat- 
 forms to the farther side of the vessel, and pausing, 
 bent low over the deep ; the cool spray dashed upward 
 on her feverish brow. "It is the kiss of death," 
 she said — " it is welcome ! " The balmy air played 
 through her waving tresses. She put them from her 
 face, and raised those eyes — so tender, though so sight- 
 less, to the sky whose soft face she had never seen. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " she said, half aloud, " I have saved him 
 — happy, happy thought ! It is the last glad thought 
 
224 BEADING S, RECITATION S, 
 
 I can ever know. Oh ! sacred sea ! I hear thy voice 
 invitingly — it hath a freshening and joyous call. 
 Rest — rest — rest ! — there is no other Elysium for a 
 heart like mine ! " 
 
 A sailor half dozing on the deck, heard a slight 
 splash on the waters. Drowsily lie looked up as the 
 vessel bounded merrily on, and fancied he saw some- 
 thing white above the waves ; but it vanished in an 
 instant. He lay down again, and dreamed of his 
 home and children. When Glaucusand lone awoke, 
 their first thought was of l^yclia, who was not to be 
 found. They guessed her fate in silence, and drawing 
 nearer to each other, wept as for a departed sister. — 
 Adapted from Bulwers Last Bay of Pompeii. 
 
 AT "THE LITERARY." 
 
 Folks in town, I reckon, thinks 
 They git all the fun they air 
 Runnin' loose 'round! — but, 'y jinks! 
 We got fun, and fun to spare 
 Right out here amongst the ash 
 And oak timber ever' where ! 
 Some folks else kin cut a dash 
 'Sides town-people, don't fergit ! — 
 'Specially in winter-time, 
 When they's snow, and roads is fit. 
 In them circumstances I'm 
 Resignated to my lot — 
 Which puts me in mind o' what 
 'Scalled " The Literary." 
 
 Us folks in the country sees 
 
 Lots o' fun ! — Take spellin '-school -, 
 
 Er ole hoe-down jamborees ; 
 
 Er revivals ; er ef you'll 
 
 Tackle taffy-pullin's you 
 
 Kin git fun, and quite a few! — 
 
 Same with huskin's, But all these 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 225 
 
 Kind o' frolieks they hain't new 
 By a hundred year er two, 
 Cipher on it as you please ! 
 But I'll tell you what I jest 
 Think walks over all the rest — 
 Any way it suits me best, — 
 That's " The Literary." ' 
 
 First they started it — " 'y gee ! " 
 
 Thinks-says I, " This settlement 
 
 'Sgittin' too high-toned fer me ! " 
 
 But when all begin to jine, 
 
 And I heerd Izory went, 
 
 I jest kind o' drapped in line 
 
 Like you've seen some sandy, thin, 
 
 Scrawny shoat put fer the crick 
 
 Down some pig-trail through the thick 
 
 Spice-bresh, where the whole drove's been 
 
 ' Bout six weeks ' fore he gets in ! 
 " Can't tell nothin'," I-says-ee, 
 " ' Bout it tel you go and see 
 Their blame ' Literary ! ' " 
 
 Very first night I was there 
 
 I was ' p'inted to be what 
 
 They call " Critic " — so's a fair 
 
 And square jedgment could be got 
 
 On the pieces 'at was read, 
 
 And on the debate, — " Which air 
 
 Most destructive element, 
 
 Fire er worter?" Then they hed 
 
 Compositions on " Content," 
 
 " Death," and " Botany ; " and Tomps, 
 
 He read one on "Dreenin ' Swamps" 
 
 I p'nounced the boss, and said, — 
 
 " So fer 'at's the best thing read 
 
 In ' The Literary ! ' " 
 
 Then they sung some — tel I called 
 
 Order, and got back ag'in 
 
 In the critic's cheer, and hauled 
 
226 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 All o' the p'foriners in. 
 Mancly Brizendine read one 
 I fergifc ; and Doc's was " Thought ; " 
 And Sarepty's, hern was " None 
 Air denied 'at knocks;" and Daut — 
 Fayette Strawnse's little niece — 
 She got up and spoke a piece : 
 Then Izory she read hern — 
 " Best thing in the whole concern," 
 I-says-ee ; "now le's adjourn 
 This here ' Literary ! ' ' : 
 
 They was some contendin' — yit 
 "We broke up in harmony. 
 
 Road out-side as white as grit, 
 And as slick as slick could be ! — 
 I'd fetched 'Zory in my sleigh, 
 And I had a heap to say 
 Driviu' back — in fact, I driv 
 ' Way around the old north way, 
 Where the Danbenspeckses live. 
 ' Zory alius — 'fore that night — 
 Never ' peared to feel jest right 
 In my company. — You see, 
 On'y thing on earth saved me 
 
 Was that " Literary. " 
 James Whitcomb Riley, in Century Magazine. 
 
 SENT BACK BY THE ANGELS. 
 
 (Prize Selection at North Mo. State Normal, Jan., 1890.) 
 
 " A little bit queer — mjr Mary ! 
 Her roof not quite in repair ! " 
 And it's that yon think with a nod and wink, 
 As you sit in my easy-chair ! 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 227 
 
 Drop it, I say, old feller — 
 Drop it, I tell you, do, 
 Or language, I doubt, I shall soon let out 
 I'd rather not use to you. 
 
 Shake hands, and I ax your pardon — 
 
 Twas chaffing, I knowed you were ; 
 But a hint, or a slur, or a joke on her 
 
 Is a thing as I can't abear. 
 
 And what if she has her fancies, 
 
 Why, so has us all, old chap ; 
 Not many's the roof as is regular proof, 
 
 If a bit of a whim's a gap. 
 
 She's up to the nines, my Mary — 
 
 Lord bless her, she keeps us right ! 
 And it's up with her gown and the house scrubbed 
 down, . 
 
 As certain as Friday night. 
 
 Six years we was wed and over 
 
 And never a cradle got, 
 And nowhere's, I swear, a more dotinger pair 
 
 On baby and tiny tot. 
 
 So when of a winter morning 
 
 At last we was ma and pa, 
 No ro}*al princess had the welcome, I guess, 
 
 As our little stranger had. 
 
 And didn't my Mary bless her ! 
 
 Just picter her, them as can, 
 A doin' her best with her mother's breast 
 
 For Alexandria a Ann ! 
 
 For that's what we named the baby 
 
 By way of a start in life, 
 From parties, I knew, as could help her through, 
 
 The Queen and my Uncle's wife. 
 
 And wasn't the baby feted ! 
 She lay in her bassinet 
 With muslin and lace on her tiny face 
 
228 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 As ever growecl smaller yet. 
 But it wasn't in lace or coral 
 To bribe her to linger here ! 
 I looks in her ej-es, — " She's off," I sighs — 
 " She's off to her proper sp'ere." 
 
 Here treasures was all around her, 
 But she was too wise and grave 
 
 For the pug on the shelf, and, as big as herself, 
 The doll as her grandma gave. 
 She wanted the stars for playthings, 
 Our wonderful six-weeks' guest ; 
 
 So, with one little sigh, she closed her eye, 
 And woke on a hangel's breast. 
 
 And how did the missis take it ? 
 
 Most terrible calm and mild ; 
 With a face a'most like a bloodless ghost 
 
 She covered the sleeping child. 
 
 There was me like a six-foot babby 
 
 A blubbering long and loud, 
 While she sat there in the rocking-chair, 
 
 A-sewing the little shroud. 
 
 I couldn't abide to see it — ■ 
 The look in her tearless eye ; 
 
 I touches her so, and I whispers low, 
 " My darlingest, can't you cry ? " 
 She gave me a smile for answer, 
 Then over her work she bowed, 
 
 And all through the night her needle bright 
 Was sewing a little shroud. 
 
 In the gray of a winter morning, 
 
 The mite of a coffin came, 
 But it had space, O Father of Grace, 
 
 To bury a mother's heart ! 
 
 Great God ! such a shaller coffin, 
 
 And yet so awful deep ! 
 I placed it there by the poor wife's chair, 
 
 And I thinks, " At last she'll weep." 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 2^9 
 
 But she rose with never a murmur, 
 As cam as a specter thin, 
 And — waxy and cold and so light to hold — 
 She places the baby in. 
 
 Then, moving with noiseless footfall, 
 
 She reaches from box and shelf 
 The little one's mug and the china pug, 
 
 And the doll that was big as herself. 
 
 Then — God ! it was dreadful to watch her— 
 
 All white in her crape-black gown, 
 With her own cold hands my Mary stands 
 
 And fastens the coffin down. 
 
 I carried the plaything coffin, 
 
 Tucked under my arm, just so ; 
 And she stood there at the head of the stair, 
 
 And quietly watched us go. 
 
 So parson he comes in his night-gown, 
 
 And says that as grass is man, 
 And earth had trust of the pinch of dust 
 
 That was Alexandrina Ann. 
 
 I was trying to guess the riddle 
 
 I never could answer pat — 
 What the wisdom and love as is planning above 
 
 Could mean by a life like that ; 
 
 And I'd got my foot on the doorstep, 
 
 When, scaring my mournful dream, 
 Shrill, wild and clear, there tore on my ear 
 
 The sound of a maniac scream. 
 
 The scream of a raving maniac, 
 
 But, Father of death and life ! 
 I listened and knew, the madness through 
 
 The voice of my childless wife. 
 
 One moment I clutched and staggered, 
 
 Then down on my bended knee, 
 And up to the sky my wrestling cry 
 
 Went up for my girl and me. 
 
230 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 I went to her room and found her ; 
 
 She sat on the floor, poor soul ! 
 Two burning streaks on her death-pale cheeks, 
 
 And eyes that were gleeds of coal. 
 
 And now she would shriek and shudder, 
 
 And now she would laugh aloud, 
 And now for a while, with an awful smile, 
 
 She'd sew at a little shroud. 
 
 Dear Lord, through the day and darkness, 
 Dear Lord, through the endless night, 
 
 I sat by her side, while she shrieked and cried, 
 And I thought it would ne'er be light. 
 And still, through the blackness thronging 
 With shapes that was dread to see, 
 
 My shuddering cry to the God on high 
 Went up for my girl and me. 
 
 At last through the winder, morning 
 Came glimmering, cold and pale ; 
 
 And, faint but clear, to my straining ear 
 Was carried a feeble wail. 
 I went to the door in wonder, 
 And there, in the dawning day, 
 
 All swaddled and bound in a bundle round, 
 A sweet little baby lay. 
 
 It lay on the frosty doorstep, 
 
 A pert little two months' child ; 
 Dumfounded and slow, I raised it so, 
 
 And it looked in my face and smiled. 
 
 And so as I kissed and loved it, 
 
 I grajuly growed aware 
 As the Father in bliss had sent us this, 
 
 The answer to wrestling prayer. 
 
 In wonder and joy and worship, 
 With tears that were soft and blest, 
 I carried the mite, and, still and white, 
 I laid it on Mary's breast. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 231 
 
 I didn't know how she'd take it, 
 So goes on an artful tack ; 
 "The little 'un cried for her mother's side. 
 And the hangels has sent her back ! " 
 
 My God ! I shall ne'er forget it, 
 
 Though spared for a hundred years — 
 The soft delight on her features white, 
 
 The rush of her blissful tears. 
 
 The eyes that was hard and vacant 
 
 Grew wonderful soft and mild, 
 As she cries, " Come rest on your mammy's breast, 
 
 My own little hangel child." 
 
 And so from that hour, my darling 
 Grew happy and strong and well ; 
 
 And the joy that I felt as to God I knelt 
 Is what I can noways tell. 
 There's parties as sneers and tells you 
 There's nothing but clouds up there : 
 
 I answers 'em so, " There's a God I know, 
 And a Father that heareth prayer." 
 
 And what if my Mary fancies 
 
 The babe is a child of light — 
 Our own little dear sent back to us here ? — 
 
 And mayn't she be somewheres right? 
 
 Here, Mary, my Darling, Mary ! 
 
 A friend has come into town ; 
 Don't mind her nose nor changing her clo'es, 
 
 But bring us the hangel down. 
 
 Langbridge, in " The Voice Magazine" 
 
 NAUGHTY GIRL. 
 
 I don't 'spect folks think I look so very purty in 
 this dress. I don't think I do neither. This is 'bout 
 the worstest dress I dot, but if it is the worstest 
 dress I dot, it's lots better than Mary Lee's Sunday 
 
232 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 dress. But then ray pa's lots richer'n hern. My pa's 
 dot so much money he could gist throw it away if he 
 wanted to — but he don't want to, and I don't blame 
 him much neither, so I don't. 
 
 Some people say I kin speak so nice, but I don't 
 think I kin. I'm going to speak a wee teeny little bit, 
 and let you see how I spoke my piece for my ma's 
 preachers t'huther day. Now this is going to be the 
 way what I spoke my piece. 
 
 (Make several boivs, forget, and begin again. Make gestures in 
 imitation of a child.) 
 
 " I love to see a little dog, 
 And pat him on the head, 
 
 So prettily he wags his tail 
 Whenever he is fed. 
 
 " Some little dogs are very good 
 
 And very useful too, 
 And do you know that they will do 
 
 What they are bid to do ? " 
 
 Don't 'spect you think that's such very good 
 speakin'. 'Tain't. That's about the very worstest 
 speakin' I kin speak. I kin speak lots better than 
 that, for a man told me I could speak as good as Mary 
 Sanderson. He said that when I spoke my piece what 
 I got the medal on, over here in this big red brick 
 school house. Mary Sanderson speaks in New York, 
 and pa says I kin go and hear her speak some day if 
 1 don't die too soon. Do you all know her ? 
 
 Now this is my medal piece. 
 
 " My country, 'tis of thee, 
 Sweet land of liberty, 
 
 Of thee I sing. 
 Land where my fathers died, 
 Land of the pilgrim's pride, 
 From every mountain side 
 
 Let freedom ring. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 233 
 
 "My native country thee, 
 Land of the noble free, 
 
 Thy name I love. 
 I love thy rocks and rills, 
 Thy woods and templed hills; 
 My heart with rapture thrills 
 
 Like that above." 
 
 Now that's fine speakin'. 
 
 I was walking down the street the other day and I 
 was sayin' to myself I don't believe I have such very 
 good sense anyhow — I was gist thin kin' that — and I 
 heard some one talkin' about me, so I went back to 
 hear what they was sayin'. And what do you think 
 I heard them say ? They says that's the very purtiest 
 little girl in this town — and they meant me. T'ain't 
 so neither, so it 'taint. I think I'm the very ugliest 
 girl in this whole town. 
 
 My ma's a Methodist, and when Conference comes 
 you ought to see the big preachers what comes to 
 our house. They come and stay nearly a week, and 
 goodness! how much they do eat. One of them— the 
 very biggest one too— took me on his knee and said I 
 was a daisy. I gist jumped off of his knee and said, 
 Who do you think you are talkin' 'bout anyway? 
 Why, you ole crank, if you don't watch out we'll fire 
 you out bodily. You bets you, I skeered him purty 
 bad. He never said a nuther word to me, you bets 
 you. He's dead now, and I'm so glad. 
 
 I bet you don't know Sim. He's my beau. We 
 have to hide behind the rose-bush every night and 
 hear my sister Jane and her beau sparkin' in the 
 hammock, so we kin take items. Then when we git 
 big, if Sim forgets, I'll know how. Oh, we've got 
 sparkin' down to a purty fine point. 
 
 Well, I guess I'll go and get on my new dress, and 
 let you see it. This is 'bout the worstest dress I dot, 
 but I could have lots better ones if I wanted 'em, but 
 I don't wan't want 'em. I've got sense enough not 
 to want things I can't git. 
 
234 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 That's all I have to tell you so I guess I'll go. 
 Good-bye. 
 
 [Arranged on hearing Miss Lucia Griffin recite " The Naughty 
 Girl"] 
 
 THE WAY TO SLEEPTOWN. 
 
 The town of Sleeptown is not far 
 
 In Timbuctoo or China, 
 For it's right near by in Blinkton county, 
 
 In the state of Drowsylina ; 
 It's just beyond the Thingumbob hills, 
 
 Not far from Nodville Center, 
 But you must be drawn thro' the Valley of Yawn, 
 
 Or the town you cannot enter, 
 And this is the way, 
 They say, they say, 
 
 That baby goes to Sleeptown ! 
 
 He starts from the city of Odearme, 
 
 Through Boohoo street he totters, 
 Until he comes to Dontcry Corners 
 
 By the shore of the Sleeping Waters ; 
 Then he comes to the Johnny-Jump-Up hills, 
 
 And the nodding Toddlebom mountains, 
 And straight does he go thro' the Vale of Heigho, 
 
 And drinks from the Drowsy Fountains. 
 And this is the way, 
 They say, they say, 
 
 That bab} r goes to Sleeptown ! 
 
 By Twilight Path thro' the Nightcap Hills 
 
 The little feet must toddle, 
 Thro' the dewy gloom of Flyaway Forest, 
 
 By the drowsy peaks of Noddle ; 
 And never a sound does baby hear, 
 
 For not a leaf does quiver, 
 From the Little Dream Gap in the Hills of Nap 
 
 To the Snoozequehanna River. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 235 
 
 And this is the way, 
 They say, they say, 
 That baby goes to Sleeptovvn ! 
 
 Aways he flies over Bylow Bridge, 
 
 Through Lullaby Lane to wander, 
 And on thro' the groves of Moonshine Valley 
 
 By the hill of Wayoffyonder ; 
 And then does the fairies' flying-horse 
 
 The sleepy baby take up — 
 Until they enter at Jumpoff Center 
 The Peekaboo Vale of Wakeup. 
 And this is the way, 
 They say, they say, 
 That baby conies from Sleeptown ! 
 
 S. W. Foss. 
 
 IMPH-M. 
 
 Ye've heard hoo the de'il, as he wauchel'd thro' Beith, 
 
 Wi' a wife in ilk oxter, an' yen in his teeth, 
 
 When some yen cried oot, "Willyetak' mine the 
 
 morn?" 
 He wagg'd his auld tail while he cockit his horn, 
 
 But only said, "Imph-m ; " 
 
 That usefu' word " Imph-m ; " 
 Wi' sic a big mouthf u', he couldna say Aye ! 
 
 When I was a laddie, lang syne, at the schule, 
 The maister aye ca'd me a dunce and a fule ; 
 For of a' that he said, I could ne'er understan', 
 Unless when he bawled, " Jamie, haud oot your han'! " 
 Then I gloomed, an' said, " Imph-m," 
 I glunched, an' said, " Imph-m," 
 I wasna owre proud, but owre dour to say A-y-e ! 
 
 Ae day a queer word as lang-nebbit's himsel', 
 He vowed he would thrash me if I wadna spell. 
 
236 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Quo' I, " Maister Quill," wi' a kin' o' a swither, 
 " I'll spell ye the word gif ye'll spell me anither — 
 
 Let's hear ye spell 'Imph-m,' 
 
 That common word ' Imph-m,' 
 That auld Scotch word ' Imph-m,' ye ken it means 
 A-y-e!" 
 
 Had ye seen hoo he glowered, hoo he scratched his big 
 
 pate, 
 An' shouted, " Ye villain, get oot o' my gate ! 
 Get aff tae yer seat ! ye're the plague o' the schule ! 
 The de'il o' me kens if yer maist rogue or fule ! " 
 
 But I only said, " Imph-m," 
 
 That decent word " Imph-m," 
 That auld-farran " Imph-m," that stan's for an A-y-e ! 
 
 An' when, a brisk wooer, I courted my Jean, 
 O' Avon's braw lassies the pride an' the queen, 
 When 'neath n^grey plaidie, wi' heart beatin' fain, 
 I spiered in a whisper if she'd " be my ain," 
 She blushed and said, "Imph-m," 
 That charming word " Imph-m," 
 A thousan' times better an' sweeter than Aye! 
 
 An' noo I'm a dad, wi' a hoose o' my ain — 
 A daintie bit wifie, an' mair than ae wean ; 
 But the warst o't is this — when a question I spier, 
 They pit on a luik sae auld-farran an' queer, 
 But only say, "Imph-m" — 
 That daft-like word, " Imph-m," 
 That vulgar word " Impb-m" — they winna say A-y-e ! 
 
 Sae I've gi'en owre the " Imph-m" — it's nae a nice 
 
 word ; 
 When printed on paper, it's perfect absurd; 
 An' gif ye're owre lazy to open yer jaw, 
 Jist haud yer tongue, an' say naething ava'; 
 But never say, " Imph-m," 
 That wretched word " Imph-m, v ' 
 It's ten times mair vulgar than even braid Aye. 
 
 James Nicholson. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 237 
 
 A SECRET. 
 
 "I'll tell you something," says little Belle, 
 " If you're certain, sure, you'll never tell. 
 
 " Well, then," whispers the little maid, 
 " My papa, a great, big man, 's afraid." 
 
 " Oh, isn't that funny enough? " laughed Sue. 
 " Your papa's afraid, and mine is, too. 
 
 " Not of bears or tigers or bumble-bees ; 
 
 It's something a thousand times worse than these. 
 
 " It's a terrible thing, that goes up and down 
 Through every city, village and town. 
 
 " And my papa says he almost knows 
 
 That things will be ruined wherever it goes." 
 
 " Yes, isn't it dreadful ? " says Belle, with a sigh. 
 " It will swear and, papa says, steal and lie. 
 
 " I s'pect it has horns and cloven feet ; 
 And, Sue! what do you s'pose it will eat?" 
 
 Then closer together drew each little maid, 
 Looking about as if half afraid 
 
 They might see this thing with cloven feet, 
 And find it liked little girls to eat. 
 
 And then they fancied they heard it roar, 
 As it gobbled them up and cried for more. 
 
 "Oh, its name," cries Belle, " is so dreadful, too; 
 Does your papa call it ' Republican,' Sue ?" 
 
 Sue shakes her head. " Oh, it can't be that, 
 For my papa calls it a 'Democrat.' " 
 
 Lizzie M. Hadley. 
 
238 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 THE STARS AND STRIPES. 
 
 Fellow Citizens : — It is with no ordinary pride 
 that I, who have opposed all these sectional parties, 
 can stand here in the city of Atlanta, in the very 
 center of all our sorrows, and raise my voice — fear- 
 ing no successful contradiction when I affirm that the 
 Union never made war upon the South. 
 
 It was not the Union, my countrymen, that slew 
 your children ; it was not the Union that burned your 
 cities ; it was not the Union that laid waste your 
 country, invaded your homes, and mocked at your 
 calamities ; it was not the Union that reconstructed 
 your states ; it was not the Union that disfranchised 
 intelligent citizens and denied them participation in 
 their own governments. No! No! Charge not these 
 wrongs upon the Union of your fathers. Every one 
 of these wrongs was inflicted by a diabolical section- 
 alism in the very teeth of every principle of the 
 American Union. 
 
 So, equally, I say the South never made war upon 
 the Union. There has never been an hour when nine 
 out of ten of us would not have given our lives for 
 this Union. We did not leave the Union because 
 we were dissatisfied with it ; we did not leave the 
 Union to make war on it. We left the Union because 
 a sectional party had seized it, and we hoped thereby 
 to avoid a conflict. But if war must come, we intended 
 to fight a sectional party and not the Union. There- 
 fore the late war, with all its disastrous consequences, 
 is the direct result of sectionalism in the North, and 
 of sectionalism in the South. And none, I repeat, 
 of these disasters are chargeable on the Union. 
 
 When unimpassioned reason shall review our past, 
 there is no subject in all our history, on which our 
 American Statesmanship, North and South, will be 
 adjudged to have been so unwise, so imbecile, and 
 so utterly deficient, as on that one subject which 
 stimulated these sectional parties into existence. 
 
ANT) IMPERSONATIONS. 239 
 
 Above all the din of these sectional quarrelings, I 
 would raise mv voice, and proclaim to all our people 
 that there is no right or liberty for any race of any 
 color in America, save in the preservation of that 
 great American Union according to the principles 
 symboled by that flag. Destroy the General Govern- 
 ment and the States will rush into anarchy. Destroy 
 the States and we will all rush into despotism and 
 slavery. Preserve the General Government, preserve 
 the States, and we shall preserve the rights and liber- 
 ties of all sections, of all races, for all time. 
 
 My countrymen, have you studied this wonderful 
 system of free government? To him who loves 
 liberty it is more enchanting than romance, more 
 bewitching than love, more elevating than any other 
 science. Our forefathers adopted this plan, with im- 
 provements in the details which cannot be found in 
 any other system. The snows which fall on Mount 
 Washington are not purer than the motives which 
 begot it. Have the motives which so inspired our 
 fathers become all corrupt in their children ? Are the 
 hopes that sustained them all poisoned in us? No! 
 forever No ! Patriots North, Patriots South ! Let us 
 hallow this year of Jubilee by burying all our sec- 
 tional animosities. Let us close our ears to the men 
 and parties that would teach us to hate each other. 
 Raise high the flag of our fathers ! Let Southern 
 breezes kiss it ; let Southern skies reflect it ! South- 
 ern patriots will love it ; Southern sons will defend 
 it; Southern heroes die for it ! 
 
 Flag of our Union, wave on, wave forever! But 
 wave over freemen, not over subjects ; wave over 
 states, not over provinces ! Wave over a Union of 
 equals, not over a despotism of lords and vassals ; 
 over a land of law, of liberty, of peace, and not of 
 anarchy, of oppression, and strife. — B. H. Hill. 
 
240 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 THE LITTLE GNOME. 
 
 Once there lived a little gnome, 
 
 Who had made his little home 
 Right down in the middle of the earth, earth, earth. 
 
 He was full of fun and frolic, 
 
 But his wife was melancholic, 
 And he never could divert her into mirth, mirth, 
 mirth. 
 
 He had tried her with a monkey, 
 
 And a parrot, and a donkey, 
 And a pig that squealed whene'er he pulled its tail, 
 tail, tail ; 
 
 But though he laughed himself 
 
 Into fits, the jolly elf, 
 Still his wifey's melancholy did not fail, fail, fail. 
 
 "I will hie me," said the gnome, 
 
 " From my worthy earthy home, 
 I will go among the dwellings of the men, men, men. 
 
 Something funny there must be 
 
 That will make her say ' He ! he ! ' 
 I will find it and will bring it her again, 'gain, 'gain." 
 
 So he traveled here and there 
 And he saw the Blinking Bear, 
 And the Pattypol, whose eyes are in his tail, tail, 
 tail; 
 And he saw the Linking Gloon, 
 Who was playing the bassoon, 
 And the Octopus a-waltzing with the whale, whale, 
 whale. 
 
 He saw the Chingo Chee, 
 
 And a lovely sight was he, 
 With a ringlet and a ribbon on his nose, nose, nose, 
 
 And the Baggie, and the Wogg, 
 
 And the Cantilunar Dog, 
 Who was throwing cotton flannel at his foes, foes, 
 foes. 
 
AND IMPEItSONATIONS. 24=1 
 
 All these the little gnome 
 
 Transported to his home, 
 And set them down before his weeping wife, wife, 
 wife, 
 
 But she only cried and cried, 
 
 And she sobby-wobbed and sighed, 
 Till she really was in danger of her life, life, life. 
 
 Then the gnome was in despair, 
 And lie tore his purple hair, 
 And he sat him down in sorrow on a stone, stone, 
 stone. 
 " I too," lie said, " will cry 
 Till I tumble down and die, 
 For I've had enough of laughing all alone, 'lone, 
 lone." 
 
 His tears they flowed away 
 Like a rivulet at play, 
 With a bubble, gubble, rubble, o'er the ground, 
 ground, ground. 
 But when this his wifey saw, 
 She loudly cried, " Haw ! haw ! 
 Here at last is something funny you have found, 
 found, found." 
 
 She laughed. " Ho ! ho ! he ! he ! " 
 And she chuckled loud with glee, 
 And she wiped away her little husband's tears, tears, 
 tears ; 
 And since then, through wind and weather, 
 They have said, " He ! he ! " together, 
 For several hundred thousand merry years, years, 
 years. 
 
 Laura Richards, in " St. Nicholas." 
 
242 BEADIXGS, UEC1TAT10NS, 
 
 ROB, THE PAUPER. 
 
 (From " Farm Legends" Copyright 1875 by Harper & Bros.) 
 
 Rob, the Pauper, is loose again 
 
 Through fields and woods he races ; 
 
 He shuns the women, he beats the men, 
 
 He kisses the children's frightened faces. 
 
 There is no. house by road or lane 
 
 He did not tap at the window pane, 
 
 And make more dark the dismal night, 
 
 And set the faces within all white. 
 
 Rob, the Pauper, is wild of eye, 
 
 Wild of speech and wild of thinking, 
 
 Yet there is something in his bearing 
 
 Not quite what a pauper should be wearing. 
 
 In every step is a shadow of grace, 
 
 The ghost of beauty haunts his face. 
 
 Rob, the Pauper, is crazed of brain, 
 
 The world is a lie to his shattered seeming ; 
 
 He hath broke him loose from his poorhouse cell, 
 
 He hath dragged him clear from rope and fetter. 
 
 They might have thought ! for they knew full well, 
 
 They could keep a half-caged panther better. 
 
 He hath crossed the fields, the woods, the street, 
 
 He hides in the swamp his wasted features. 
 
 He hath fallen into a slough of sleep, 
 
 A haze of the past bends softly o'er him. 
 
 His restless spirit a watch doth keep 
 
 As memory's canvas glides before him. 
 
 The bright past dawns through a cloud of dreams, 
 
 And once again in his prime he seems, 
 
 For over his heart sweepeth a vision 
 
 Like to this. 
 
 A cozy kitchen, a smooth cut lawn, 
 
 Himself on the door-stone idly sitting, 
 
 A blonde-haired woman about him flitting. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 243 
 
 She fondly stands beside him there, 
 
 And deftly toys with his coal-black hair, 
 
 And whispers to him, pleading-wise : 
 
 "0 Rob, why will yon plague my heart, why will 
 
 Yon try me so? Is she so fair, is she so sweet 
 
 That you must needs desert me ? 
 
 " I saw you kiss her twice and thrice 
 
 Behind the maple row, and each caress 
 
 You gave to her did like a dagger stab me. 
 
 Oh, why for her and for her smiles 
 
 Your heart a moment hunger? 
 
 What though her shape more trim than mine, 
 
 Her face a trifle younger? 
 
 She cannot look so young to you as I when we were 
 
 wed ; 
 She cannot speak more sweet to you 
 Than words that I have said ; 
 She cannot love you half so well as I, when all is 
 
 done, 
 And she is not your wedded wife — the mother of 
 
 your son. 
 
 " You say that I am overwise, 
 
 That I am jealous of you. 
 
 My jealous tongue but tells the more 
 
 The zest with which I love you. 
 
 Oh, we might be so peaceful here 
 
 With nothing of reproving ; 
 
 Oh, we might be so happy here, 
 
 With none to spoil our loving. 
 
 Why should a joy be more a joy 
 
 Because, forsooth, 'tis hid? 
 
 Why should a kiss be more a kiss 
 
 Because it is forbid ? 
 
 " Remember there are years to come, 
 
 And there are thorns of woe that you may grasp 
 
 If once you let the flowers of true love go." 
 
24-1 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Rob, the Pauper, awakes and runs; 
 A clamor cometh clear and clearer, 
 They are hunting him with dogs and guns, 
 They are every moment pressing nearer. 
 Through pits of stagnant pools he pushes, 
 Through the thick sumach's poison bushes, 
 He runs and stumbles and leaps and clambers, 
 From bog to bog, from slough to slough. 
 
 They have hunted him to the open field. 
 
 He is falling upon their worn-out mercies. 
 
 '\ ney loudly call to him to yield, 
 
 He hoarsely pays them back in curses. 
 
 He waves his cudgel with war-cry loud, 
 
 And breaks again from the crowd around him. 
 
 On — yet on — with speed he rushes, 
 
 He mounts a fence with a madman's ease 
 
 And this is something of what he sees : — 
 
 A lonely cottage, some tangled mullein, 
 
 A broken chimney cold and sullen. 
 
 The pauper falls on the dusty floor, 
 
 And there rings in his failing ears once more 
 
 A voice, as it might be, from the dead. 
 
 " O Rob, I have a word to say, a cruel word to you- 
 
 I cannot longer live a lie, 
 
 I cannot keep the secret locked 
 
 That long has been your due, 
 
 Not if you strike me to the ground 
 
 And spurn me in my falling. 
 
 He came to me when first a cloud 
 
 Across your smile was creeping, 
 
 He came to me, he brought to me 
 
 A slighted heart for keeping. 
 
 He would not see my angry frown, 
 
 He sought me day by day ; 
 
 I flung at him hot words of scorn, 
 
 I turned my face away. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 24" 
 
 I bade him dread my husband's rage, 
 
 When once his words were known, 
 
 He smiled at me and said 
 
 I had no husband of my own! 
 
 His words were over-true ; 
 
 They burned into my brain. 
 
 I could not rub them out again 
 
 Were I awake or sleeping. 
 
 I threw myself upon your heart, 
 
 I plead and prayed to stay ! 
 
 I held my hands to you for help, 
 
 You pushed them rude away I 
 
 He came to me again ! 
 
 He held his eager love to me 
 
 Whose weak, hungry heart deep desolation dreaded. 
 
 He bade me follow him 
 
 And see my erring fancy righted. 
 
 We crept along the garden glade 
 
 By moonbeams dimly lighted. 
 
 She silent sat' mid clustering vines, 
 
 Though much her eyes did speak, 
 
 And your black hair was tightly pressed 
 
 Unto her glowing cheek. 
 
 " It crazed me, but he soothed me sweet 
 
 With love's unnumbered charms ; 
 
 I, desolate, threw myself into his desolate arms. 
 
 Oh, Rob, you know how little worth, 
 
 When once a woman slips, 
 
 May be the striking down a hand 
 
 To keep herself from falling. 
 
 The night was dark, the stbrm had come, 
 
 The fancy stars of youth each hid its pale white face, 
 
 Till all was dark, and all was drear, 
 
 And all was black disgrace. 
 
 " Oh, Rob, good-bye ! " a solemn one— 
 
 'Tis till the Judgment day. 
 
 We might have been so peaceful here 
 
246 HEADINGS, HECITAT10NS, 
 
 With nothing of reproving ; 
 
 We might have been so happy here 
 
 With none to spoil our loving. 
 
 As I, a guilty one, might kiss a corpse's waiting brow, 
 
 I bend to you where you have fallen, 
 
 And calmly kiss you now. 
 
 As I, a wronged and injured one, 
 
 Might seek escape's glad door, 
 
 I wander forth into the world, 
 
 To enter here no more." 
 
 Rob, the Pauper, is lying in state 
 
 In a box of rough-planed boards, unpainted — 
 
 He waits at the poorhouse grave-yard gate, 
 
 For a home by human lust untainted. 
 
 They have gone to their homes anear and far, 
 
 Their joys and grief's, their loves and hating — 
 
 Some to sunder the ties that are, 
 
 And some to coming, and wooing and mating, 
 
 They will swiftly sail love's delicate bark 
 
 With never a helm in the dangerous dark ; 
 
 They will ne'er quite get it understood 
 
 That the Pauper's woes were for their good. 
 
 Carleton. 
 
 BUCKINGHAM FOILED. 
 
 In Sir Walter Scott's novel, " Peveril of the Peak," 
 the second Duke of Buckingham, Minister of Charles 
 I., young, gay, and voluptuous, became enamored 
 of the fair Alice Biidgeworth, and had her conducted 
 under guise of friendship to his palace, and detained 
 there against her will. Zarah, the dark-eyed, high- 
 spirited Mauritanian maiden, succeeded in releasing 
 her, and preserved the deception by remaining in the 
 stead of Alice to meet and foil the advances of the 
 Duke of Buckingham. Zarah, disguised in veil and 
 coquetish oriental costume, rises to meet the Duke 
 as he enters her apartment. 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 217 
 
 Duke. Fair mistress Alice, I am sensible how 
 deeply I ought to sue for pardon for the mistaken 
 zeal of my servants, who, seeing you deserted and 
 exposed without protection during an unlucky affray, 
 took it upon them to bring you under the roof of 
 one who would expose his life rather than suffer you 
 to sustain a moment's anxiety. Was it my fault that 
 those around me should have judged it necessary to 
 interfere for your preservation ; or that, aware of the 
 interest I must take in you, they have detained you 
 till I could myself, in personal attendance, receive 
 your commands? 
 
 Zarah. That attendance has not been speedily 
 rendered, my Lord. — I have been a prisoner for two 
 days — neglected, and left to the charge of menials. 
 
 Duke. How say you, lady? — neglected ! By heaven, 
 if the best in my household has failed in his duty, I 
 will discard him on the instant ! 
 
 Zarah. I complain of no lack of courtesy from 
 your servants, my lord ; but methinks it had been 
 but complaisant in the Duke himself to explain to 
 me earlier wherefore he has had the boldness to 
 detain me as a state prisoner. 
 
 Duke. And can the divine Alice doubt that, had 
 time and space, those cruel enemies to the flight of 
 passion, given permission, the instant in which you 
 crossed your vassal's threshold had seen its devoted 
 master at your feet, who hath thought, since he saw 
 you, of nothing but the charms which that fatal 
 morning placed before him at Chiffinch's? 
 
 Zarah. I understand then, my lord, that you have 
 been absent, and have had no part in the restraint 
 which has been exercised upon me ? 
 
 Duke. Absent on the King's command, lady, and 
 employed in the discharge of his duty. What could 
 I do? — The moment you left Chiffinch's, his majesty 
 commanded me to the saddle in such haste that 1 had 
 no time to change my satin buskins for riding boots. 
 If my absence has occasioned you a moment of 
 inconvenience, blame the inconsiderate zeal of those 
 
248 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 -who, seeing me depart from London, half distracted 
 at my separation from you, were willing to contribute 
 their unmannered, though well-meant exertions, to 
 preserve their master from despair, by retaining the 
 fair Alice within his reach. To whom, indeed, could 
 they have restored you ? He whom you selected as 
 your champion is in prison, or fled, — your father 
 absent from town, — your uncle in the North. To 
 Chiffinch's house you had expressed your well- 
 founded aversion ; and what fitter asylum remained 
 than that of your devoted slave, where you must 
 ever reign a queen ? 
 
 Zarah. An imprisoned one ? I desire not such 
 royalty. 
 
 Duke. Alas ! how wilfully (kneeling} you miscon- 
 strue me ! and what right can you have to complain 
 of a few hours' gentle restraint, — you, who destine so 
 many to hopeless captivity ! Be merciful for once, 
 and withdraw that envious veil ; for the divinities 
 are ever most cruel when they deliver their oracles 
 from such clouded recesses. Suffer at least my rash 
 hand 
 
 Zarah. I will save your Grace that unworthy 
 trouble. (Throws back her veil.} Look on me, my 
 Lord Duke, and see if these be indeed the charms 
 that have made on your Grace an impression so 
 powerful. (The Duke rises in amazement, and stands 
 as one 'petrified.') My Lord Duke, it seems the lift- 
 ing of my veil has done the work of magic upon 
 your Grace. Alas, for the captive princess whose 
 nod was to command a vassal so costly ! She runs, 
 methinks, no slight chance of being turned out of 
 doors, like a second Cinderella, to seek her fortune 
 among lackeys and lightermen. 
 
 Duke. I am astonished ! That villain, Jerning- 
 ham — I will have the scoundrel's blood ! 
 
 Zarah. Nay, never abuse Jerningham for the 
 matter; but lament your own unhappy engagements. 
 While you, my Lord Duke, were posting northward 
 in white satin buskins, to toil in the king's affairs, 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 249 
 
 the right and lawful princess sat weeping in sables 
 in the uneheered solitude to which your absence con- 
 demned her. Two days she was disconsolate in vain ; 
 on the third came an African enchantress to change 
 the scene for her, and the person for your Grace. 
 Methinks, my Lord, this adventure will tell but ill, 
 when some faithful squire shall recount or record the 
 
 gallant adventures of the second Duke of Bucking- 
 
 i 
 ham. 
 
 Duke. Fairly bit, and bantered to boot ! The 
 monkey has a turn for satire, too, by all that is 
 piquant. Hark ye, fair Princess, how dared you ad- 
 venture on such a trick as you have been accomplice 
 to? 
 
 Zarah. Dare, my Lord ! put the question to 
 others, not to one who fears nothing. 
 
 Duke. By my faith, I believe so ; for thy front is 
 bronzed by nature. What is your name and condi- 
 tion ? 
 
 Zarah. My condition I have told you: I am a 
 Mauritanian sorceress by profession, and my name is 
 Zarah. 
 
 Duke. But methinks that face, shape, and ej T es — 
 when didst thou pass for a dancing fairy? — some 
 such imp thou wert not many days since. 
 
 Zarah. My sister you may have seen — my twin sis- 
 ter; but not me, my Lord. 
 
 Duke. Indeed, that duplicate of thine, if it was 
 not thy very self, was possessed with a dumb spirit, 
 as thou with a talking one. I am still in the mind 
 that you are the same; and that Satan, always so 
 powerful with your sex, had art enough, on our for- 
 mer meeting, to make thee hold thy tongue. 
 
 Zarah. Believe what you will of it, my Lord, it 
 cannot change the truth. And now, my Lord, I bid 
 you farewell. Have you any commands to Mauri- 
 tania? 
 
 Duke. Tarry a little, my Princess ; and remem- 
 ber that you have voluntarily entered yourself as 
 pledge for another ; and are justly subjected to any 
 
250 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 penalty which it is my pleasure to exact. None 
 must brave Buckingham with impunity. 
 
 Zarah. I am in no hurry to depart if your Grace 
 has any commands for me. 
 
 Duke. What! Are you neither afraid of my re- 
 sentment nor of my love, fair Zarah? 
 
 Zarah. Of neither, by this glove. Your resent- 
 ment must be a pretty passion indeed, if it could 
 stoop to such a helpless object as I am ; and for your 
 love — Good lack ! Good lack ! 
 
 Duke. And why good lack, with such a tone of 
 contempt, good lady? Think you Buckingham can- 
 not love or has never been beloved in return ? 
 
 Zarah. He may have thought himself beloved ; 
 but by what slight creatures ! — things whose heads 
 could be rendered giddy by a playhouse rant — whose 
 brains were only filled with red-heeled shoes and 
 satin buskins — and who run altogether mad on the 
 argument of a George and a star. 
 
 Duke. And are there no such frail fair ones in 
 your climate, most scornful Princess? 
 
 Zarah. There are ; but men rate them as parrots 
 and monkeys — things without either sense or soul, 
 head or heart. The nearness we bear to the sun has 
 purified, while it strengthens, our passions. The 
 icicles of your frozen climate shall as soon hammer 
 hot bars into plowshares as shall the foppery and 
 folly of j-our pretended gallantry make an instant's 
 impression on a breast like mine. 
 
 Duke. You speak like one who knows what 
 passion is. Sit down, fair lady, and grieve not that 
 I detain you. You have known, then, what it is to 
 love? 
 
 Zarah. I know — no matter if by experience or 
 through the report of others — that to love as I would 
 love, would be to yield not an iota to avarice, not 
 one inch to vanity, not to sacrifice the slightest feel- 
 ing to interest or ambition ; but to give up all to 
 fidelity of heart and reciprocal affection. 
 
 Duke. And how many women, think you, are 
 Capable of feeling such disinterested passion ? 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 251 
 
 Zarah. More, by thousands, than men who merit 
 it. Alas ! How often do you see a woman pale, 
 wretched, ami degraded, still following with patient 
 constancy the footsteps of some predominating 
 tyrant, and submitting to all his injustice with the 
 endurance of a faithful and misused spaniel, which 
 prizes a look from his master, though the surliest 
 groom that ever disgraced humanity, more than all 
 the pleasures which the world besides can furnish 
 him ? Think what such would be to one who merited 
 and repaid her devotion. 
 
 Duke. Perhaps the very reverse, and for } T our simile, 
 I can see little resemblance. I cannot charge my 
 spaniel with any perfidity ; but for my mistresses — 
 to confess truth, I must always be in a cursed hurry 
 if I would have the credit of changing them before 
 they leave me. 
 
 Zarah. And they serve you but rightly, my Lord ; 
 for what are you ? — Nay, frown not ; for you must 
 hear the truth for once. Nature has done its part, 
 and made a fair outside, and courtl} 7 education hath 
 added its share. You are noble, it is the accident of 
 birth — handsome, it is the caprice of nature — gener- 
 ous, because to give is more easy than to refuse — well- 
 appareled, it is to the credit of your tailor — well- 
 natured in the main, because you have youth and 
 health — brave, because to be otherwise were to be 
 degraded — and witty, because you cannot help it. 
 
 Duke. (Glancing in mirror.') Noble and hand- 
 some and courtlike, generous, well-attired, good- 
 humored, brave, and witty ! — -You allow me more, 
 madam, than I have the slightest pretension to, and 
 surely enough to make my way, at some point at 
 least, to female favor. 
 
 Zarah. I have neither allowed you a heart nor a 
 head. Nay, do not redden as if you would fly at me. 
 I say not but nature may have given you both ; but 
 folly has confounded the one, and selfishness per- 
 verted the other. The man whom I call deserving 
 the name is one whose thoughts and exertions are 
 
252 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 
 
 for others, rather than for himself, — whose high pur- 
 pose is adopted on just principles, and never aban- 
 doned while heaven or earth affords means of ac- 
 complishing it. He is one who will neither seek an 
 indirect advantage hy a specious road, nor take an 
 evil path to gain a real good purpose. Such a man 
 were one for whom a woman's heart should beat con- 
 stant while he breathes, and break when he dies. 
 
 Duke. You speak as if you had yourself a heart 
 which could pay the full tribute to the merit which 
 you describe so warmly. 
 
 Zarah. And have I not ? (Laying her hand on her 
 bosom.') Here beats one that would bear me out in 
 what I have said, whether in life or death. 
 
 Duke. (Interested.') Were it in my power to de- 
 serve such faithful attachment, methinks it should be 
 my care to requite it. 
 
 Zarah. Your wealth, your titles, your reputation 
 as a gallant — all you possess, were too little to merit 
 such sincere affection. 
 
 Duke. Come, fair lady, do not be so disdainful. 
 Bethink you, that if your love be as pure as coined 
 gold, still a poor fellow like myself may offer you an 
 equivalent in silver. The quantity of my affection 
 must make up for the quality. 
 
 Zarah. But I am not carrying my affection to 
 market, my Lord, and therefore I need none, of the 
 base coin }'ou offer in exchange for it. 
 
 Duke. How do I know that, my fairest ? This is 
 the realm of Paphos — you have invaded it, with what 
 purpose you best know ; but I think with none con- 
 sistent with your present assumption of cruelty. 
 Come, come, eyes that are so intelligent can laugh 
 with delight, as well as gleam with scorn and anger. 
 You are here a waif on Cupid's Manor, and I must 
 seize on you in the name of the deity. 
 
 ^arah. Do not think of touching me, my Lord. 
 Approach me not, if you would hope to learn the 
 purpose of my being here. Your Grace may suppose 
 yourself a Solomon, if you please ; but I am no t- r av« 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 253 
 
 elling princess, come from distant climes, either to 
 flatter your pride or wonder at your glor}\ 
 
 Duke. A defiance ! by Jupiter ! 
 
 Zaralu You mistake the signal. I came not here 
 without taking sufficient precautions for my retreat. 
 
 Duke. You mouth it bravely ; but never fortress 
 so boasted its resources but the garrison had some 
 thoughts of surrender. Come, my fair Sorceress. 
 {Moves toivards her ; she, with a rippling laugh of defi- 
 ance, darts through an open window, and disappears 
 behind a neighboring thicket of shrubs.) 
 
 Duke. By all the powers of Hades, I will 3'et have 
 vengeance on that impudent little jilt. {Exit in great 
 passion.*) — Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN. 
 
 (Recitation, with Pantomime and Musical Accompaniment.) 
 
 Methought that I had wandered far 
 
 In an old wood ; fresh-washed in coolest dew ; 
 
 The maiden splendors of the morning star 
 
 Shook in the steadfast blue. 
 
 There was no motion in the dumb, dead air, 
 
 Not any song of bird or sound of rill ; 
 
 Gross darkness of the inner sepulchre 
 
 {Enter Helen of Tkoy in Grecian costume, 
 Air — " Annie Laurie") 
 
 Is not so deadly still 
 
 As that wide forest. 
 
 At length I saw a lady within call, 
 
 Stiller than chisell'd marble, standing there ; 
 
 A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, 
 
 And most divinely fair. 
 
 Her loveliness with shame and with surprise 
 
 Froze my swift speech : she, turning on my face 
 
 The star-like sorrows of immortal eyes, 
 
254 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 Spoke slowly in her place. 
 
 " I had great beauty : ask thou not my name ; 
 
 No one can be more wise than destiny. 
 
 Many drew swords and died. Where'er I came I 
 
 brought calamity." 
 " No marvel, sovereign lady ; in fair field 
 Myself for such a face had boldy died." 
 
 (Enter Iphigenia in Grecian costume. 
 Air — " PleyeVs Hymn."} 
 
 I answered free, and turning I appealed 
 
 To one that stood beside. 
 
 But she, with sick and scornful looks averse, 
 
 To her full height her stately stature draws : 
 
 " My youth," she said, " was blasted with a curse; 
 
 This woman was the cause. 
 
 I was cut off from hope in that sad place, 
 
 Which yet to name my spirit loathes and fears: 
 
 My father held his hand upon his face ; 
 
 I, blinded with my tears, 
 
 Still strove to speak : my voice was thick with sighs 
 
 As in a dream. Dimly I could descry 
 
 The stern, black-bearded kings with wolfish eyes, 
 
 Waiting to see me die. 
 
 The high masts flickered as they lay afloat; 
 
 The crowds, the temples, wavered, and the shore ; 
 
 The bright death quivered at the victim's throat, 
 
 Touched, and I knew no more." 
 
 Whereto the other with a downward brow; 
 
 " I would the white, cold, heavy-plunging foam, 
 
 Whirled by the wind, had rolled me deep below, 
 
 Then when I left my home." 
 
 {Exit Iphigenia and Helen op Troy. 
 
 (Enter Cleopatra in Oriental costume). 
 Air—-" My Country ' Tis of Thee. 
 
 Sudden I heard a voice that cried, "Come here, 
 That I may look on thee." 
 
AND IMPERSONATIONS. 255 
 
 Turning, I saw a stately form in costly robes and 
 
 coronet, 
 A queen with swarthy cheeks and bold, black eyes. 
 She, Hashing forth a haughty smile, began : 
 " I governed men by change, and so I swayed 
 All moods. 'Tis long since I have seen a man. 
 Once, like the moon, I made 
 The ever-shifting currents of the blood 
 According to my humor ebb and flow. 
 I have no men to govern in this wood : 
 That makes my only woe. 
 Nay — yet it chafes me that I could not bend 
 One will ; nor tame and tutor with mine eye 
 That dull, cold-blooded Csesar. Prythee, friend, 
 Where is Mark Antony ? 
 
 my life in Egypt! O the dalliance and the wit, 
 The flattery and the strife, 
 
 And the wild kiss, when fresh from war's alarms 
 My Hercules, my Roman Antony, 
 My mailed Bacchus leapt into my arms, 
 Contented there to die ! 
 
 1 died a queen. The Roman soldier found 
 Me lying dead, my crown about my brows, 
 A name forever! — lying robed and crowned 
 Worthy a Roman spouse." [Exit Cleopatra. 
 Slowly my sense undazzled. Then I heard 
 
 A noise of some one coming thro' the lawn, 
 
 And singing clearer than the crested bird, 
 
 That claps his wings at dawn. 
 
 As one who hearing an anthem sung, is charmed and 
 
 tied 
 To where he stands — so stood I, when that flow 
 
 (Enter Jephthah's daw/hter veiled inJeivish costume. 
 Air — "Back to My Mountain Horned} 
 
 Of music left the lips of her that died 
 
 To save her father's vow ; 
 
 The daughter of the warrior Gileadite, 
 
 A maiden pure ; as when she went along 
 
 From Mizpeh's tower'd, gate with welcome light, 
 
256 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 
 
 With timbrel and with song, 
 
 My words leapt forth. " Heaven heads the count of 
 
 crimes 
 With that wild oath." She rendered answer high. 
 " Not so, nor once alone: a thousand times 
 I would be born and die. 
 
 Single I grew, like some green plant, whose root 
 Creeps to the garden water pipes beneath, 
 Feeding the flower ; but ere my flower to fruit 
 Changed, I was ripe for death. 
 My God, my land, my father — these did move 
 Me from the bliss of life, that nature gave, 
 Lower'd softly with a threefold cord of love 
 Down to a silent grave. 
 How beautiful a thing it was to die 
 For God and for my sire ! 
 It comforts me in this one thought to dwell, 
 That I subdued me to my father's will ; 
 Because the kiss he gave me, ere I fell, 
 Sweetens the spirit still." 
 
 She locked her lips ; she left me where I stood ; 
 "Glory to God," she sang and passed afar. 
 
 [Exit Jephthah's daughter. 
 Losing her carol I stood pensively, 
 As one from a casement leans his head, 
 When midnight bells cease ringing suddenly, 
 And the old year is dead. 
 
 (Enter Rosamond. 
 Air — " Last Rose of Summer^) 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! " a low voice full of care, 
 
 Murmur'd beside me : " Turn and look on me : 
 
 I am that Rosamond, whom men call fair, 
 
 If what I was I be. 
 
 Would I had been some maiden coarse and poor ! 
 
 O me, that I should ever see the light ! 
 
 Those dragon eyes of anger'd Eleanor 
 
 Do hunt me, day and night." 
 
 \Mzi$ Rosamond. 
 
axd nrPERSoxATioxs. 257 
 
 Morn broadened on the borders of the dark, 
 Ere I saw her, who clasp'd in her last trance 
 
 {Enter Joan of Arc in Military costume of black 
 and tinsel, bearing a white banner on wliich ap- 
 pears, in golden letters, the word " France." 
 Air — " Marsellaise Hymn.''''') 
 
 Her murdered father's head, or Joan of Arc, 
 
 A light of ancient France. 
 
 " Maid of Orleans ! " I cried ; 
 
 " Martyr and saviour of thy ungrateful race." 
 
 Transfixed I gazed ! 
 
 Whilst round her, trooped 
 
 The other images of my dream so rare. 
 
 {Re-enter Representative Figures. 
 Air — " Horn, Sweet Home") 
 
 Breathless I stood. Did ever human eye such beauty 
 
 see ! 
 The fair group lingered a moment more — and was 
 
 gone — 
 I had awakened from a dream of fair women. 
 Adapted from Tennyson's " Bream of Fair Women." 
 
 1HE ENIX 
 
INDEX. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Ado wn the Field Together 58 
 
 Apostrophe to Water 1 
 
 Artist and Peasant 198 
 
 At " The Literary" 224 
 
 Aunty Dolef ill's Visit 125 
 
 Autumn 215 
 
 Baby's Pillow, The 113 
 
 Battle, The 179 
 
 Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille, The.... 150 
 
 BoyBrittan 87 
 
 Bride of the Greek Isle, The 97 
 
 Brutus on the Death of Caesar 214 
 
 Buckingham Foiled.. 246 
 
 Case of Mrs. Moll, The 67 
 
 Chariot Race, The 77 
 
 Cheap Jack, The 135 
 
 Child on the Judgment Seat, The. 188 
 
 Children and the Angel 143 
 
 Child-wife, The 27 
 
 Como 3 
 
 Conquered Banner, The 193 
 
 Day of Peace, The 52 
 
 Democracy Hateful to Philip 210 
 
 Dreamland Sea, The 108 
 
 Dream of Fair Women, A 253 
 
 Edinburgh after Flodden 63 
 
 End of the Play, The 212 
 
 Fall of Jerusalem, The 90 
 
 Famine, The 36 
 
 Fate of Nina and Rienzi 186 
 
 First Soliloquy of a Rationalistic 
 
 Chicken 25 
 
 Flight of the Angel Gabriel 44 
 
 Fourth of July at Jonesville, The. 16 
 
 Gates 100 
 
 Gettysburg 207 
 
 Gin Fiend, The... 23 
 
 Glaucus in the Roman Arena 218 
 
 Gospel Harpoon, The 160 
 
 Grandame's Story 144 
 
 Graveyard of the Ages, The 168 
 
 Hamlet 175 
 
 Harvest, The 93 
 
 Hiawatha's Wooing 32 
 
 How Ruby Played 155 
 
 I Love, You Love 130 
 
 Imph-m . . . ." 235 
 
 Inasmuch 162 
 
 King among: Men, A 165 
 
 Legend of Martha's Vineyard, A. . 127 
 
 Le Mariage de Con venance 109 
 
 Look Not upon the Wine When It 
 
 Is Red 134 
 
 Lost in the Sea Fog.. 75 
 
 Macbeth and the Dagger 174 
 
 Madman's Manuscript, The 114 
 
 Mansie Wauch and the Play 181 
 
 March of Time, The 141 
 
 Margery 9 
 
 Marse Phil 199 
 
 May Days 191 
 
 Mormon Wife Number One, on the 
 
 Arrival of Number Twenty -one 106 
 Mr. Horner of Grumble Corner.... 42 
 
 Mrs. Leo Hunter 170 
 
 My Ships at Sea 112 
 
 Napoleon 158 
 
 NewSouth, The 6 
 
 North and South 203 
 
 Nothing to Wear 46 
 
 Nydia 221 
 
 Pansy Blossom, The 204 
 
 Pleasures of Hope 84 
 
 Present Age, The 41 
 
 Province of History 131 
 
 Puritans, The 195 
 
 Race Problem, The 102 
 
 Robert E.Lee 195 
 
 Robin 121 
 
 Rob, the Pauper 242 
 
 SamuelS. Cox 206 
 
 Sent Back by the Angels . . 226 
 
 Sharing Thanksgiving Dinner 12 
 
 Sleep Walking Scene from Mac- 
 beth 27 
 
 Song of Steam, The 95 
 
 Stars and Stripes, The 238 
 
 Twickenham Ferry 121 
 
 Uncrowned among the Nations.. . 56 
 
 Victory of the Frosts, The 73 
 
 Voice of the Helpless, The 22 
 
 Wee Joukydaidles 108 
 
 What Constitutes a State? 216 
 
 What Makes the Grasses Grow?.. . 82 
 
 Woman and the Rose 119 
 
 World for Sale, The 60 
 
 Juvenile Selections. 
 
 Baby 45 
 
 Baby Bovs 217 
 
 Baby's Name, The 15 
 
 Before and After School 118 
 
 Doll's Tea Party, The 72 
 
 Elf-child, The 173 
 
 Elsie's Thanksgiving 165 
 
 Jack Frost's Little Sister 209 
 
 King of Candy-Land 130 
 
 Little finome. The 240 
 
 Little Housekeeper, The 39 
 
 Little Mistake, A 201 
 
 Little Scheherezade, The 51 
 
 Miracles 177 
 
 Naughty Girl 231 
 
 Runaway Princess, The 183 
 
 Secret, A 237 
 
 Thirteen and Dolly 62 
 
 Way to Sleeptown, The 234 
 
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