PRACTICEBOOK

LELAND POWERS SCHOOL

1909

IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 

 * * * * *

My gratitude to publishers who have generously permitted the reprinting ofcopyrighted selections, I would here publicly express. To Little, Brown &Company I am indebted for the use of the extract called "Eloquence, " whichis taken from a discourse by Daniel Webster; to Small, Maynard & Companyfor the poem "A Conservative, " taken from a volume by Mrs. Gilman, entitled "In This Our World;" to the Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company forthe poems by Mr. Burton; and to Longmans, Green & Company for the extractsfrom the works of John Ruskin. The selections from Sill and Emerson areused by permission of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin& Company, publishers of their works. 

The quotations under the headings "Exercises for Elemental VocalExpression" and "Exercises for Transition, " with a few exceptions, aretaken from "The Sixth Reader, " by the late Lewis B. Monroe, and are herereprinted through the courtesy of the American Book Company. 

LELAND POWERS. 

INDEX

 * * * * *

ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE, _Richard Burton_

BROOK, THE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_

CAVALIER TUNES _Robert Browning_ I. Give a Rouse. II. Boot and Saddle. 

COLUMBUS _Joaquin Miller_

COMING OF ARTHUR, THE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_

CONSERVATIVE, A _Charlotte Perkins Gilman_

EACH AND ALL _Ralph Waldo Emerson_

ELAINE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_

ELOQUENCE _Daniel Webster_

EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL EXPRESSION

EXERCISES FOR TRANSITION

FEZZIWIG BALL, THE _Charles Dickens_

FIVE LIVES _Edward Rowland Sill_

GREEN THINGS GROWING _Dinah Mulock Craik_

HERVÉ RIEL _Robert Browning_

IF WE HAD THE TIME _Richard Burton_

LADY OF SHALOTT, THE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_

LAUGHING CHORUS, A

LIFE AND SONG _Sidney Lanier_

LOCHINVAR _Sir Walter Scott_

MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNRISE _S. T. Coleridge_

MY LAST DUCHESS _Robert Browning_

MY STAR _Robert Browning_

PIPPA PASSES, Extracts from _Robert Browning_ I. Day. II. The Year's at Spring. 

RHODORA, THE _Ralph Waldo Emerson_

RING AND THE BOOK, THE, Extract from _Robert Browning_

SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, I. _Charles Dickens_

SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, II. _Charles Dickens_

SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV--"Falstaff's Recruits" _William Shakespeare_

SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN _Boucicault_

SELF-RELIANCE _Ralph Waldo Emerson_

TALE, THE--From The Two Poets of Croisic _Robert Browning_

TRUE USE OF WEALTH, THE _John Ruskin_

TRUTH AT LAST _Edward Rowland Sill_

WORK _John Ruskin_

EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL EXPRESSION. 

The exercises under each chapter have _primarily_ the characteristicsof that chapter, and _secondarily_ the characteristics of the othertwo chapters. 

CHAPTER I. 

VITALITY. 

MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF _Power, Largeness, Freedom, Animation, Movement_. 

1. "Ho! strike the flag-Staff deep, Sir Knight--ho! scatter flowers, fair maids: Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute--ho! gallants, draw your blades. "

 * * * * *

2. "Awake, Sir King, the gates unspar! Rise up and ride both fast and far! The sea flows over bolt and bar. "

 * * * * *

3. "I would call upon all the true sons of New England to co-operate withthe laws of man and the justice of heaven. "

 * * * * *

4. "Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane, And Volmond, emperor of Allemaine, Apparelled in magnificent attire, With retinue of many a knight and squire, On St. John's eve at vespers proudly sat, And heard the priest chant the Magnificat. "

 * * * * *

5. "Then the master, With a gesture of command, Waved his hand; And at the word, Loud and sudden there was heard All around them and below The sound of hammers, blow on blow, Knocking away the shores and spurs. And see! she stirs! She starts, --she moves, --she seems to feel The thrill of life along her keel, And, spurning with her foot the ground, With one exulting, joyous bound, She leaps into the ocean's arms!"

 * * * * *

6. "Under his spurning feet, the road Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, And the landscape sped away behind, Like an ocean flying before the wind. "

 * * * * *

7. "The wind, one morning sprang up from sleep, Saying, 'Now for a frolic! now for a leap! Now for a madcap galloping chase! I'll make a commotion in every place!'"

 * * * * *

8. "O hark! O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far, from cliff and scar, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!"

 * * * * *

9. "It is done! Clang of bell and roar of gun! Send the tidings up and down. How the belfries rock and reel! How the great guns, peal on peal, Fling the joy from town to town!"

 * * * * *

10. "O sacred forms, how proud you look! How high you lift your heads into the sky! How huge you are, how mighty and how free! Ye are the things that tower, that shine; whose smile Makes glad--whose frown is terrible; whose forms, Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear Of awe divine. "

CHAPTER II. 

MENTALITY. 

MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF _Reflection_ OR_Processes_ OF _Thought, Clearness, Definiteness_. 

1. "Beyond the street a tower, --beyond the tower a moon, --beyond the moona star, --beyond the Star, what?"

 * * * * *

2. "Once more: speak clearly, if you speak at all; Carve every word before you let it fall; Don't, like a lecturer or dramatic star, Try overhard to roll the British R; Do put your accents in the proper spot; Don't--let me beg you--don't say 'How?' for 'What?' And when you stick on conversation's burrs, Don't strew the pathway with those dreadful urs. "

 * * * * *

3. "To be, or not to be; that is the question:-- Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep, -- No more:"

 * * * * *

4. "I should say sincerity, a deep, great, genuine sincerity, is the firstcharacteristic of all men in any way heroic. Not the sincerity that callsitself sincere; that is . .. Oftenest self-conceit mainly. The great man'ssincerity is of the kind he cannot speak of, is not conscious of. "

 * * * * *

5. "_Brutus_. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius. 

 _Lucius_. I will, my lord. (_Exit_. )

 _Brutus_. It must be by his death: and for my part, I know no cause to spurn at him, But for the general. He would be crown'd:-- How that might change his nature, there's the question. It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; And that craves wary walking. Crown him?--That:-- And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, That at his will he may do danger with. "

 * * * * *

6. "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Wordwas God. The same was in the beginning with God. "

 * * * * *

7. "Just in proportion as the writer's aim, consciously or unconsciously, comes to be the transcribing, not of the world, not of mere fact, but ofhis sense of it, he becomes an artist; his work a _fine_ art, andgood art in proportion to the truth of his presentment of that sense. Truth! there can be no merit, no craft at all, without that. And further, all beauty is in the long run only _fineness_ of truth, or what wecall expression, the finer accommodation of speech to that vision within. "

 * * * * *

8. "For the Universe has three children, born at one time, which reappear, under different names, in every system of thought, whether they be calledcause, operation, and effect; or, theologically, the Father, the Spirit, and the Son; but which we call here, the Knower, the Doer, and the Sayer. These stand respectively for the love of truth, for the love of good, andfor the love of beauty. These three are equal. Each of these three has thepower of the others latent in him, and his own patent. "

CHAPTER III. 

MORALITY. 

MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF _Purpose, Love, Harmony, Poise, Values_. 

1. "My friend, if thou hadst all the artillery of Woolwich trundling atthy back in support of an unjust thing, and infinite bonfires visiblywaiting ahead of thee, to blaze centuries long for thy victory on behalfof it, I would advise thee to call halt, to fling down thy baton, and say, 'In Heaven's name, No!'"

 * * * * *

2. "Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies;-- Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower--but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is. "

 * * * * *

3. "Who but the locksmith could have made such music? A gleam of sunshining through the unsashed window and checkering the dark workshop witha broad patch of light fell full upon him, as though attracted by hissunny heart. "

 * * * * *

4. "_Portia_ You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, Such as I am; though for myself alone, I would not be ambitious in my wish, To wish myself much better; yet, for you, I would be trebled twenty times myself; A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;"

 * * * * *

5. "Listen to the water-mill; Through the livelong day, How the clicking of its wheels Wears the hours away! Languidly the autumn wind Stirs the forest leaves, From the fields the reapers sing, Binding up their sheaves; And a proverb haunts my mind, As a spell is cast; 'The mill can never grind With the water that is past. '"

 * * * * *

6. "Roaming in thought over the Universe, I saw the little that is goodsteadily hastening towards immortality. And the vast all that is calledevil I saw hastening to merge itself, and become lost and dead. "

 * * * * *

7. "We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a distance. Atsea, everything that breaks the monotony of the surrounding expanseattracts attention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that must have beencompletely wrecked; for there were the remains of handkerchiefs, by whichsome of the crew had fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent theirbeing washed off by the waves. 

"There was no trace by which the name of the ship could be ascertained. The wreck had evidently drifted about for many months; clusters ofshell-fish had fastened about it, and long sea-weeds flaunted at itssides. But where, thought I, are the crew? Their struggle has long beenover. They have gone down amidst the roar of the tempest. Their bones liewhitening among the caverns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like thewaves, have closed over them, and no one can tell the story of their end. "

 * * * * *

8. "Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar when I put out to sea; But such a tide as moving seems asleep, too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep turns again home. "

 * * * * *

9. "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations. Before themountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and theworld, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God. "

EXERCISES FOR TRANSITION. 

1. "O, how our organ can speak with its many and wonderful voices!-- Play on the soft lute of love, blow the loud trumpet of war, Sing with the high sesquialtro, or, drawing its full diapason, Shake all the air with the grand storm of its pedals and stops. "

 * * * * *

2. "The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory or the grave! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry!

 "Ah! few shall part where many meet! The snow shall be their winding sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulcher. "

 * * * * *

3. "Lo, dim in the starlight their white tents appear! Ride softly! ride slowly! the onset is near More slowly! more softly! the sentry may hear! Now fall on the foe like a tempest of flame! Strike down the false banner whose triumph were shame! Strike, strike for the true flag, for freedom and fame!"

 * * * * *

4. "Hush! hark! did stealing steps go by? Came not faint whispers near? No!--The wild wind hath many a sigh Amid the foliage sere. "

 * * * * *

5. "Her giant form O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm, Majestically calm, would go, Mid the deep darkness, white as snow! But gentler now the small waves glide, Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side. So stately her bearing, so proud her array, The main she will traverse for ever and aye. Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast. Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last!"

 * * * * *

6. "Hark! distant voices that lightly Ripple the silence deep! No; the swans that, circling nightly, Through the silver waters sweep. 

 "See I not, there, a white shimmer? Something with pale silken shrine? No; it is the column's glimmer, 'Gainst the gloomy hedge of pine. "

 * * * * *

7. "Hark, below the gates unbarring! Tramp of men and quick commands! ''Tis my lord come back from hunting, ' And the Duchess claps her hands. 

 "Slow and tired came the hunters; Stopped in darkness in the court. 'Ho, this way, ye laggard hunters! To the hall! What sport, what sport. '

 "Slow they entered with their master; In the hall they laid him down. On his coat were leaves and blood-stains, On his brow an angry frown. "

 * * * * *

8. "Now clear, pure, hard, bright, and one by one, like to hailstones, Short words fall from his lips fast as the first of a shower, -- Now in twofold column, Spondee, Iamb, and Trochee, Unbroke, firm-set, advance, retreat, trampling along, -- Now with a sprightlier springiness, bounding in triplicate syllables, Dance the elastic Dactylics in musical cadences on; Now, their voluminous coil intertangling like huge anacondas, Roll overwhelmingly onward the sesquipedalian words. "

SELECTIONS. 

 * * * * *

HERVÉ RIEL. 

On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, Did the English fight the French, --woe to France!And the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance, With the English fleet in view. 

'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase;First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville; Close on him fled, great and small, Twenty-two good ships in all; And they signalled to the place, "Help the winners of a race!Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick--or quicker still, Here's the English can and will!"

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board;"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they:"Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored, Shall the 'Formidable' here with her twelve and eighty guns, Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, And with flow at full beside? Now 'tis slackest ebb of tide. Reach the mooring? Rather say, While rock stands or water runs, Not a ship will leave the bay!"

 Then was called a council straight. Brief and bitter the debate:"Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in towAll that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, For a prize to Plymouth Sound?-- Better run the ships aground!" (Ended Damfreville his speech. ) "Not a minute more to wait! Let the captains all and eachShove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach! France must undergo her fate. Give the word!"--But no such word Was ever spoke or heard;For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all theseA captain? A lieutenant? A mate--first, second, third? No such man of mark, and meet With his betters to compete!But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet--A poor coasting pilot he, Hervé Riel the Croisickese. 

And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Hervé Riel;"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues?Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tellOn my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell, 'Twixt the offing here and Grève, where the river disembogues?Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for? Morn and eve, night and day, Have I piloted your bay, Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse than fifty Hogues!Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there's a way! Only let me lead the line, Have the biggest ship to steer, Get this 'Formidable' clear, Make the others follow mine, And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well, Right to Solidor, past Grève, And there lay them safe and sound; And if one ship misbehave, -- Keel so much as grate the ground, Why, I've nothing but my life, --and here's my head!" cries Hervé Riel. 

 Not a minute more to wait. "Steer us in, then, small and great!Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief. "Captains, give the sailor place! He is Admiral, in brief. " Still the north-wind, by God's grace! See the noble fellow's face As the big ship with a bound, Clears the entry like a hound, Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound! See, safe through shoal and rock, How they follow in a flock. Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, Not a spar that comes to grief! The peril, see, is past, All are harbored to the last, And just as Hervé Riel hollas "Anchor!"--sure as fate, Up the English come, too late. 

 So, the storm subsides to calm; They see the green trees wave On the heights o'erlooking Grève. Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. "Just our rapture to enhance, Let the English rake the bay, Gnash their teeth and glare askance As they cannonade away!Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!"Now hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance! Out burst all with one accord, "This is Paradise for hell! Let France, let France's king, Thank the man that did the thing!" What a shout, and all one word, "Hervé Riel!" As he stepped in front once more, Not a symptom of surprise In the frank blue Breton eyes, Just the same man as before. 

 Then said Damfreville, "My friend, I must speak out at the end, Though I find the speaking hard. Praise is deeper than the lips; You have saved the King his ships, You must name your own reward. Faith, our sun was near eclipse! Demand whate'er you will, France remains your debtor stillAsk to heart's content, and have! or my name's not Damfreville!"

 Then a beam of fun outbroke On the bearded mouth that spoke, As the honest heart laughed through Those frank eyes of Breton blue: "Since I needs must say my say, Since on board the duty's done, And from Malo roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?-- Since 'tis ask and have, I may-- Since the others go ashore-- Come! A good whole holiday!Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!" That he asked, and that he got--nothing more. Name and deed alike are lost: Not a pillar nor a post In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell; Not a head in white and black On a single fishing-smack, In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrackAll that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell. Go to Paris; rank on rank Search the heroes flung pell-mell On the Louvre, face and flank!You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Riel. So, for better and for worse, Hervé Riel, accept my verse! In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once moreSave the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore!

ROBERT BROWNING. 

 * * * * *

LOCHINVAR. 

I. 

Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West, --Through all the wild border his steed was the best!And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none, --He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 

II. 

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone;He swam the Eske river where ford there was none. But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late;For a laggard in love and a dastard in warWas to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

III. 

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, 'Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all:Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word)"Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

IV. 

"I long wooed your daughter--my suit you denied;Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by farThat would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar. "

V. 

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up;He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lip and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar;"Now tread we a measure?" said young Lochinvar. 

VI. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace;While her mother did fret and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by farTo have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar. "

VII. 

One touch to her hand and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near;So light to the croup the fair lady he swungSo light to the saddle before her he sprung:"She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and scar;They'll have fleet steeds that follow, " quoth young Lochinvar. 

VIII. 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee;But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

 * * * * *

EXTRACTS FROM PIPPA PASSES. 

1. "DAY. "

Day!Faster and more fast;O'er night's brim, day boils at last:Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brimWhere spurting and suppressed it lay, For not a froth-flake touched the rimOf yonder gap in the solid gray, Of the eastern cloud, an hour away;But forth one wavelet, then another curled, Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed, Rose, reddened, and its seething breastFlickered in bounds, grew gold, then overflowed the world. 

Oh Day, if I squandered a wavelet of thee, A mite of my twelve hours' treasure, The least of thy gazes or glances, (Be they grants thou art bound to or gifts above measure)One of thy choices or one of thy chances, (Be they tasks God imposed thee or freaks at thy pleasure)--My day, if I squander such labor or leisure, Then shame fall on Asolo, mischief on me!

ROBERT BROWNING. 

II. "THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING. "

The year's at the springAnd day's at the morn;Morning's at seven;The hillside's dew-pearled;The lark's on the wing;The snail's on the thorn:God's in his heaven--All's right with the world!

ROBERT BROWNING. 

 * * * * *

THE FEZZIWIG BALL. 

Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which pointedto the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his capaciouswaistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his organ ofbenevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovialvoice: "Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!"

A living and moving picture of Scrooge's former self, a young man, camebriskly in, accompanied by his fellow-prentice. 

"Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig. "No more work to-night. Christmas eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters up, before a man cansay Jack Robinson! Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here!"

Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or couldn'thave cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public lifeforevermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuelwas heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug and warm and dryand bright a ball-room as you would desire to see upon a winter's night. 

In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, andmade an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts theybroke. In came all the young men and women employed in the business. Incame the housemaid, with her cousin the baker. In came the cook, with herbrother's particular friend, the milkman. In they all came one afteranother; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, somepushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow. Away theyall went, twenty couple at once; hands half round and back again the otherway; down the middle and up again; round and round in various stages ofaffectionate grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrongplace; new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; alltop couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them. When this resultwas brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to Stop the dance, cried out, "Well done!" and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot ofporter especially provided for that purpose. 

There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, andthere was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of ColdRoast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mincepies, and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came afterthe Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley. "Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too;with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twentypair of partners, people who were not to be trifled with; people who_would_ dance, and had no notion of walking. 

But if they had been twice as many, --four times, --old Fezziwig would havebeen a match for them and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to _her_, shewas worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. A positive lightappeared to issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of thedance. You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, what would becomeof 'em next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all throughthe dance, --advance and retire, turn your partner, bow and courtesy, corkscrew, thread the needle and back again to your place, --Fezziwig"cut, "--cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs. 

When the clock struck eleven this domestic ball broke up. Mr. And Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and, shakinghands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him orher a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two 'prentices, they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and thelads were left to their beds, which were under a counter in the back shop. 

 * * * * *

THE BROOK. 

I. 

I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. 

II. 

By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges;By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges. 

III. 

I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. 

IV. 

With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow. 

V. 

I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river;For men may come, and men may go, But I go on forever. 

VI. 

I wind about and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling. 

VII. 

And here and there a foamy flake Upon me as I travelWith many a silvery water-break Above the golden gravel. 

VIII. 

I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I slide by hazel covers, I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers. 

IX. 

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows;I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows. 

X. 

I murmur, under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses, I linger by my shingly bars, I loiter round my cresses. 

XI. 

And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming river;For men may come, and men may go, But I go on forever. 

 * * * * *

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. 

A LAUGHING CHORUS. 

[Used by permission, from "Nature in Verse, " copyrighted, 1895, by Silver, Burdett & Company. ]

Oh, such a commotion under the ground When March called, "Ho, there! ho!"Such spreading of rootlets far and wide, Such whispering to and fro. And "Are you ready?" the Snowdrop asked; "'Tis time to start, you know. ""Almost, my dear, " the Scilla replied; "I'll follow as soon as you go. "Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came Of laughter soft and lowFrom the millions of flowers under the ground-- Yes--millions--beginning to grow. 

"I'll promise my blossoms, " the Crocus said, "When I hear the bluebirds sing. "And straight thereafter Narcissus cried, "My silver and gold I'll bring. ""And ere they are dulled, " another spoke, "The Hyacinth bells shall ring. "And the violet only murmured, "I'm here, " And sweet grew the breath of spring. Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came Of laughter soft and lowFrom the millions of flowers under the ground-- Yes--millions--beginning to grow. 

Oh, the pretty, brave things! through the coldest days, Imprisoned in walls of brown, They never lost heart though the blast shriek loud, And the sleet and the hail came down, But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress, Or fashioned her beautiful crown;And now they are coming to brighten the world, Still shadowed by winter's frown;And well may they cheerily laugh, "Ha! ha!" In a chorus soft and low, The millions of flowers hid under the ground-- Yes--millions--beginning to grow. 

 * * * * *

CAVALIER TUNES. 

1. GIVE A ROUSE. 

King Charles, and who'll do him right now?King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, King Charles!

Who gave me the goods that went since?Who raised me the house that sank once?Who helped me to gold I spent since?Who found me in wine you drank once?

_Cho_. King Charles, and who'll do him right now? King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, King Charles!

To whom used my boy George quaff else, By the old fool's side that begot him?For whom did he cheer and laugh else, While Noll's damned troopers shot him. 

_Cho_. King Charles, and who'll do him right now? King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, King Charles!

II. BOOT AND SADDLE. 

Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!Rescue my castle before the hot dayBrightens to blue from its silvery gray. 

_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!

Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say;Many's the friend there, will listen and pray"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay!"

_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!

Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay, Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundhead's array:Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay, _Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"

Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay, Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay!I've better counsellors; what counsel they?

_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"

ROBERT BROWNING. 

 * * * * *

ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE. 

From Stratford-on-Avon a lane runs westward through the fields a mile tothe little village of Shottery, in which is the cottage of Anne Hathaway, Shakespeare's sweetheart and wife. 

How often in the summer tide, His graver business set aside, Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed, As to the pipe of PanStepped blithsomely with lover's prideAcross the fields to Anne!

It must have been a merry mile, This summer-stroll by hedge and stile, With sweet foreknowledge all the whileHow sure the pathway ranTo dear delights of kiss and smile, Across the fields to Anne. 

The silly sheep that graze to-day, I wot, they let him go his way, Nor once looked up, as who should say:"It is a seemly man. "For many lads went wooing ayeAcross the fields to Anne. 

The oaks, they have a wiser look;Mayhap they whispered to the brook:"The world by him shall yet be shook, It is in nature's plan;Though now he fleets like any rookAcross the fields to Anne. "

And I am sure, that on some hourCoquetting soft 'twixt sun and shower, He stooped and broke a daisy-flowerWith heart of tiny span, And bore it as a lover's dowerAcross the fields to Anne. 

While from her cottage garden-bedShe plucked a jasmine's goodlihede, To scent his jerkin's brown instead;Now since that love began, What luckier swain than he who spedAcross the fields to Anne?

The winding path wheron I pace, The hedgerows green, the summer's grace, Are still before me face to face;Methinks I almost canTurn poet and join the singing raceAcross the fields to Anne!

RICHARD BURTON. 

 * * * * *

GREEN THINGS GROWING. 

The green things growing, the green things growing, The faint sweet smell of the green things growing!I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve, Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing. 

Oh the fluttering and the pattering of those green things growing!How they talk each to each, when none of us are knowing;In the wonderful white of the weird moonlightOr the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing. 

I love, I love them so--my green things growing!And I think that they love me, without false showing;For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much, With the soft mute comfort of green things growing. 

And in the rich store of their blossoms glowing, Ten for one I take they're on me bestowing:Oh, I should like to see, if God's will it may be, Many, many a summer of my green things growing!

But if I must be gathered for the angels' sowing, Sleep out of sight a while like the green things growing, Though dust to dust return, I think I'll scarcely mourn, If I may change into green things growing. 

DINAH MULOCK CRAIK. 

 * * * * *

THE TRUE USE OF WEALTH. 

1. There is a saying which is in all good men's mouths; namely, that theyare stewards or ministers of whatever talents are entrusted to them. Only, is it not a strange thing that while we more or less accept the meaning ofthat saying, so long as it is considered metaphorical, we never accept itsmeaning in its own terms? You know the lesson is given us under the formof a story about money. Money was given to the servants to make use of:the unprofitable servant dug in the earth, and hid his Lord's money. Well, we in our poetical and spiritual application of this, say that of coursemoney doesn't mean money--it means wit, it means intellect, it meansinfluence in high quarters, it means everything in the world exceptitself. 

2. And do you not see what a pretty and pleasant come-off there is formost of us in this spiritual application? Of course, if we had wit, wewould use it for the good of our fellow-creatures; but we haven't wit. Ofcourse, if we had influence with the bishops, we would use it for the goodof the church; but we haven't any influence with the bishops. Of course, if we had political power, we would use it for the good of the nation; butwe have no political power; we have no talents entrusted to us of any sortor kind. It is true, we have a little money, but the parable can'tpossibly mean anything so vulgar as money; our money's our own. 

3. I believe, if you think seriously of this matter, you will feel thatthe first and most literal application is just as necessary a one as anyother--that the story does very specially mean what it says--plain money;and that the reason we don't at once believe it does so, is a sort oftacit idea that while thought, wit and intellect, and all power of birthand position, are indeed given to us, and, therefore, to be laid out forthe Giver, --our wealth has not been given to us; but we have worked forit, and have a right to spend it as we choose. I think you will find thatis the real substance of our understanding in this matter. Beauty, we say, is given by God--it is a talent; strength is given by God--it is a talent;but money is proper wages for our day's work--it is not a talent, it is adue. We may justly spend it on ourselves, if we have worked for it. 

4. And there would be some shadow of excuse for this, were it not that thevery power of making the money is itself only one of the applications ofthat intellect or strength which we confess to be talents. Why is one manricher than another? Because he is more industrious, more persevering, andmore sagacious. Well, who made him more persevering and more sagaciousthan others? That power of endurance, that quickness of apprehension, thatcalmness of judgment, which enable him to seize opportunities that otherslose, and persist in the lines of conduct in which others fail--are thesenot talents?--are they not, in the present state of the world, among themost distinguished and influential of mental gifts?

5. And is it not wonderful, that while we should be utterly ashamed to usea superiority of body in order to thrust our weaker companions aside fromsome place of advantage, we unhesitatingly use our superiorities of mindto thrust them back from whatever good that strength of mind can attain?You would be indignant if you saw a strong man walk into a theatre orlecture-room, and, calmly choosing the best place, take his feebleneighbor by the shoulder, and turn him out of it into the back seats orthe street. You would be equally indignant if you saw a stout fellowthrust himself up to a table where some hungry children are being fed, andreach his arm over their heads and take their bread from them. 

6. But you are not the least indignant, if, when a man has stoutness ofthought and swiftness of capacity, and, instead of being long-armed only, has the much greater gift of being long-headed--you think it perfectlyjust that he should use his intellect to take the bread out of the mouthsof all the other men in the town who are in the same trade with him; oruse his breadth and sweep of sight to gather some branch of the commerceof the country into one great cobweb, of which he is himself the centralspider, making every thread vibrate with the points of his claws, andcommanding every avenue with the facets of his eyes. You see no injusticein this. 

7. But there is injustice; and, let us trust, one of which honorable menwill at no very distant period disdain to be guilty. In some degree, however, it is indeed not unjust; in some degree it is necessary andintended. It is assuredly just that idleness should be surpassed byenergy; that the widest influence should be possessed by those who arebest able to wield it; and that a wise man at the end of his career, should be better off than a fool. But for that reason, is the fool to bewretched, utterly crashed down, and left in all the suffering which hisconduct and capacity naturally inflict? Not so. 

8. What do you suppose fools were made for? That you might tread uponthem, and starve them, and get the better of them in every possible way?By no means. They were made that wise people might take care of them. Thatis the true and plain fact concerning the relations of every strong andwise man to the world about him. He has his strength given him, not thathe may crush the weak, but that he may support and guide them. In his ownhousehold he is to be the guide and the support of his children; out ofhis household he is still to be the father, that is, the guide andsupport, of the weak and the poor; not merely of the meritoriously weakand the innocently poor, but of the guilty and punishably poor; of the menwho ought to have known better--of the poor who ought to be ashamed ofthemselves. 

9. It is nothing to give pension and cottage to the widow who has lost herson; it is nothing to give food and medicine to the workman who has brokenhis arm, or the decrepit woman wasting in sickness. But it is something touse your time and strength in war with the waywardness and thoughtlessnessof mankind to keep the erring workman in your service till you have madehim an unerring one; and to direct your fellow-merchant to the opportunitywhich his dullness would have lost. 

10. This is much; but it is yet more, when you have fully achieved thesuperiority which is due to you, and acquired the wealth which is thefitting reward of your sagacity, if you solemnly accept the responsibilityof it, as it is the helm and guide of labor far and near. For you who haveit in your hands, are in reality the pilots of the power and effort of theState. It is entrusted to you as an authority to be used for good or evil, just as completely as kingly authority was ever given to a prince, ormilitary command to a captain. And according to the quantity of it youhave in your hands, you are arbiters of the will and work of the nation;and the whole issue, whether the work of the State shall suffice for theState or not, depends upon you. 

11. You may stretch out your sceptre over the heads of the laborers, andsay to them, as they stoop to its waving, "Subdue this obstacle that hasbaffled our fathers; put away this plague that consumes our children;water these dry places, plough these desert ones, carry this food to thosewho are in hunger; carry this light to those who are in darkness; carrythis life to those who are in death;" or on the other side you may say:"Here am I; this power is in my hand; come, build a mound here for me tobe throned upon, high and wide; come, make crowns for my head, that menmay see them shine from far away; come, weave tapestries for my feet, thatI may tread softly on the silk and purple; come, dance before me, that Imay slumber; so shall I live in joy, and die in honor. " And better thansuch an honorable death it were, that the day had perished wherein we wereborn. 

12. I trust that in a little while there will be few of our rich men, who, through carelessness or covetousness, thus forfeit the glorious officewhich is intended for their hands. I said, just now, that wealth ill-usedwas as the net of the spider, entangling and destroying; but wealthwell-used, is as the net of the sacred Fisher who gathers souls of men outof the deep. A time will come--I do not think it is far from us--when thisgolden net of the world's wealth will be spread abroad as the flamingmeshes of morning cloud over the sky; bearing with them the joy of thelight and the dew of the morning, as well as the summons to honorable andpeaceful toil. 

JOHN RUSKIN. 

 * * * * *

LIFE AND SONG. 

[This poem is taken from "The Poems of Sidney Lanier, " copyrighted 1891, and published by Charles Scribner's Sons. ]

If life were caught by a clarionet, And a wild heart, throbbing in the reed, Should thrill its joy and trill its fret, And utter its heart in every deed, "Then would this breathing clarionet Type what the poet fain would be;For none o' the singers ever yet Has wholly lived his minstrelsy, "Or clearly sung his true, true thought, Or utterly bodied forth his life, Or out of life and song has wrought The perfect one of man and wife;

"Or lived and sung, that Life and Song Might each express the other's all, Careless if life or art were long Since both were one, to stand or fall:

"So that the wonder struck the crowd, Who shouted it about the land:_His song was only living aloud, His work, a singing with his hand_!"

SIDNEY LANIER. 

 * * * * *

ELOQUENCE. 

1. When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasions, whengreat interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, nothing isvaluable in speech farther than as it is connected with high intellectualand moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness are the qualitieswhich produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist inspeech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshalled in everyway, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. 

2. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all mayaspire to it; they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like theoutbreaking of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studiedcontrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, andthe fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on thedecision of the hour. Then words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself then feelsrebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. 

3. Then patriotism is eloquent; then self-devotion is eloquent. The clearconception, outrunning deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firmresolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from theeye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, rightonward to his object, --this, this is eloquence; or rather it is somethinggreater and higher than all eloquence, --it is action, noble, sublime, god-like action. 

DANIEL WEBSTER. 

 * * * * *

TRUTH AT LAST. 

Does a man ever give up hope, I wonder, --Face the grim fact, seeing it clear as day?When Bennen saw the snow slip, heard its thunderLow, louder, roaring round him, felt the speedGrowing swifter as the avalanche hurled downward, Did he for just one heart-throb--did he indeedKnow with all certainty, as they swept onward, There was the end, where the crag dropped away?Or did he think, even till they plunged and fell, Some miracle would stop them? Nay, they tellThat he turned round, face forward, calm and pale, Stretching his arms out toward his native vale. As if in mute, unspeakable farewell, And so went down. --'Tis something if at last, Though only for a flash, a man may seeClear-eyed the future as he sees the past, From doubt, or fear, or hope's illusion free. 

EDWARD ROWLAND SILL. 

 * * * * *

WORK. 

1. What is wise work, and what is foolish work? What the differencebetween sense and nonsense, in daily occupation? There are three tests ofwise work:--that it must be honest, useful and cheerful. 

It is _Honest_. I hardly know anything more strange than that yourecognize honesty in play, and do not in work. In your lightest games, youhave always some one to see what you call "fair-play. " In boxing, you musthit fair; in racing, start fair. Your English watchword is"fair-_play_, " your English hatred, "foul-_play_. " Did it neverstrike you that you wanted another watchword also, "fair-_work_, " andanother and bitterer hatred, --"foul-_work_"?

2. Then wise work is _Useful_. No man minds, or ought to mind, itsbeing hard, if only it comes to something; but when it is hard and comesto nothing, when all our bees' business turns to spiders', and forhoney-comb we have only resultant cobweb, blown away by the nextbreeze, --that is the cruel thing for the worker. Yet do we ever askourselves, personally, or even nationally, whether our work is coming toanything or not?

3. Then wise work is _Cheerful_, as a child's work is. Everybody inthis room has been taught to pray daily, "Thy Kingdom come. " Now if wehear a man swearing in the streets we think it very wrong, and say he"takes God's name in vain. " But there's a twenty times worse way of takingHis name in vain than that. It is to _ask God for what we don'twant_. If you don't want a thing don't ask for it: such asking is theworst mockery of your King you can insult Him with. If you do not wish forHis kingdom, don't pray for it. But if you do, you must do more than prayfor it; you must work for it. And, to work for it, you must know what itis. 

4. Observe, it is a Kingdom that is to come to us; we are not to go to it. Also it is not to come all at once, but quietly; nobody knows how. "TheKingdom of God cometh not with observation. " Also, it is not to comeoutside of us, but in our hearts: "The Kingdom of God is within you. " Nowif we want to work for this Kingdom, and to bring it, and to enter intoit, there's one curious condition to be first accepted. We must enter intoit as children, or not at all; "Whosoever will not receive it as a littlechild shall not enter therein. " And again, "Suffer little children to comeunto me, and forbid them not, _for of such is the Kingdom ofHeaven_. "

5. Of _such_, observe. Not of children themselves, but of such aschildren. It is the _character_ of children we want and must gain. Itis modest, faithful, loving, and because of all these characters it ischeerful. Putting its trust in its father, it is careful fornothing--being full of love to every creature, it is happy always, whetherin its play or in its duty. Well, that's the great worker's characteralso. Taking no thought for the morrow; taking thought only for the dutyof the day; knowing indeed what labor is, but not what sorrow is; andalways ready for play--beautiful play. 

JOHN RUSKIN. 

 * * * * *

EXTRACT FROM "THE RING AND THE BOOK. "

Our human speech is naught, Our human testimony false, our fameAnd human estimation words and wind. Why take the artistic way to prove so much?Because, it is the glory and good of Art, That Art remains the one way possibleOf speaking truth, to mouths like mine, at least. How look a brother in the face and say"Thy right is wrong, eyes hast thou, yet art blind, Thine ears are stuffed and stopped, despite their length, And, oh, the foolishness thou countest faith!"Say this as silvery as tongue can troll--The anger of the man may be endured, The shrug, the disappointed eyes of himAre not so bad to bear--but here's the plague, That all this trouble comes of telling truth, Which truth, by when it reaches him, looks false, Seems to be just the thing it would supplant, Nor recognizable by whom it left;While falsehood would have done the work of truth. But Art, --wherein man nowise speaks to men, Only to mankind, --Art may tell a truthObliquely, do the thing shall breed the thought, Nor wrong the thought, missing the mediate word. So may you paint your picture, twice show truth, Beyond mere imagery on the wall, --So, note by note, bring music from your mind, Deeper than ever the Adante dived, --So write a book shall mean, beyond the facts, Suffice the eye, and save the soul besides. 

 * * * * *

SELF-RELIANCE. 

1. To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you inyour private heart is true for all men, --that is genius. 

Speak your latent conviction, and it shall be the universal sense; for theinmost in due time becomes the outmost, and our first thought is renderedback to us by the trumpets of the Last Judgment. Familiar as the voice ofthe mind is to each, the highest merit we ascribe to Moses, Plato andMilton is that they all set at naught books and tradition, and spoke notwhat men but what _they_ thought. 

2. A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light whichflashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmamentof bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without notice his thought, becauseit is his. In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts;they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty. 

3. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us than this. Theyteach us to abide by our spontaneous impression with good-humoredinflexibility then most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side. Else to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense precisely whatwe have thought and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to take withshame our own opinion from another. 

4. There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at theconviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he musttake himself for better for worse as his portion; that though the wideuniverse is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him butthrough his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him totill. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but heknows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried. 

5. Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact makes much impressionon him, and another none. This sculpture in the memory is not withoutpreestablished harmony. The eye was placed where one ray should fall, thatit might testify of that particular ray. 

6. We but half express ourselves, and we are ashamed of that divine ideawhich each of us represents. It may be safely trusted as proportionate andof good issues, so it be faithfully imparted, but God will not have hiswork made manifest by cowards. A man is relieved and gay when he has puthis heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or doneotherwise shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does notdeliver. In the attempt his genius deserts him; no muse befriends; noinvention, no hope. 

7. Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept theplace the divine providence has found for you, the society of yourcontemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so, and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age, betrayingtheir perception that the absolutely trustworthy was seated at theirheart, working through their hands, predominating in all their being. 

8. And we are now men, and must accept in the highest mind the sametranscendent destiny; and not minors and invalids in a protected corner, not cowards fleeing before a revolution, but guides, redeemers andbenefactors, obeying the Almighty effort and advancing on Chaos and theDark. 

RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 

 * * * * *

RHODORA. 

ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THIS FLOWER?

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook. The purple petals, fallen in the pool, Made the black water with their beauty gay;Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, And court the flower that cheapens his array. Rhodora! if the sages ask thee whyThis charm is wasted on the earth and sky, Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then Beauty is its own excuse for being:Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!I never thought to ask, I never knew:But in my simple ignorance, supposeThe self-same Power that brought me there brought you. 

RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 

 * * * * *

EACH AND ALL. 

Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown, Of thee from the hill-top looking down;The heifer that lows in the upland farm, Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm;The sexton, tolling his bell at noon, Deems not that great NapoleonStops his horse, and lists with delight, Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height;Nor knowest thou what argumentThy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. All are needed by each one;Nothing is fair or good alone. 

I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, Singing at dawn on the alder bough;I brought him home, in his nest, at even;He sings the song, but it cheers not now, For I did not bring home the river and sky;--He sang to my ear, --they sang to my eye. 

The delicate shell lay on the shore;The bubbles of the latest waveFresh pearls to their enamel gave, And the bellowing of the savage seaGreeted their safe escape to me. I wiped away the weeds and foam, I fetched my sea-born treasures home;But the poor, unsightly, noisome thingsHad left their beauty on the shoreWith the sun and the sand and the wild uproar. 

The lover watched his graceful maid, As 'mid the virgin train she strayed, Nor knew her beauty's best attireWas woven still by the snow-white choir. At last she came to his hermitage, Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage;--The gay enchantment was undone;A gentle wife, but fairy none. 

Then I said, "I covet truth;Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat;I leave it behind with the games of youth:"--As I spoke, beneath my feetThe ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, Running over the club-moss burrs;I inhaled the violet's breath;Around me stood the oaks and firs;Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground;Over me soared the eternal sky, Full of light and of deity;Again I saw, again I heard, The rolling river, the morning bird;--Beauty through my senses stole;I yielded myself to the perfect whole. 

RALPH WALDO EMERSON

 * * * * *

COLUMBUS. 

[This poem is taken from the complete works of Joaquin Miller, copyrighted, published by the Whitaker Ray Company, San Francisco. ]

Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the gates of Hercules;Before him not the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas. The good mate said, "Now must we pray, For lo! the very stars are gone. Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say!" "Why, say, 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'"

"My men grow mutinous by day, My men grow ghastly pale and weak. "The stout mate thought of home; a spray Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. "What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, If we sight naught but seas at dawn?""Why, you shall say at break of day, 'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'"

They sailed, and sailed, as winds might blow, Until at last the blanched mate said:"Why, now, not even God would know Should I and all my men fall dead. These very winds forget their way, For God from these dread seas has gone. Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say"-- He said, "Sail on! sail on! and on!"

They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: "This mad sea shows its teeth to-night. He curls his lips, he lies in wait With lifted teeth as if to bite!Brave Admiral, say but one good word: What shall we do when hope is gone?"The words leapt like a leaping sword, "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, And peered through darkness. Ah, that nightOf all dark nights! And then a speck-- A light! A light! A light! A light!It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! It grew to be Time's burst of dawn, He gained a world; he gave that world Its grandest lesson: "On! sail on!"

JOAQUIN MILLER. 

 * * * * *

MY LAST DUCHESS. 

FERRARA. 

That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I callThat piece a wonder, now; Frà Pandolf's handsWorked busily a day, and there she stands. Will't please you sit and look at her? I said. "Frà Pandolf" by design, for never readStrangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and passion of its earnest glance, But to myself they turned (since none puts byThe curtain I have drawn for you, but I)And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, How such a glance came there; so, not the firstAre you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas notHer husband's presence only, called that spotOf joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhapsFrà Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle lapsOver my Lady's wrist too much, " or "PaintMust never hope to reproduce the faintHalf-flush that dies along her throat;" such stuffWas courtesy, she thought, and cause enoughFor calling up that spot of joy. She hadA heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad, Too easily impressed; she liked whate'erShe looked on, and her looks went everywhereSir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast, The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious foolBroke in the orchard for her, the white muleShe rode with round the terrace--all and eachWould draw from her alike the approving speech, Or blush, at least. She thanked men, --good! but thankedSomehow--I know not how--as if she rankedMy gift of a nine-hundred-years-old nameWith anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blameThis sort of trifling? Even had you skillIn speech--(which I have not)--to make your willQuite clear to such an one, and say "Just this"Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, "Or there exceed the mark"--and if she letHerself be lessoned so, nor plainly setHer wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, --E'en then would be some stooping; and I chooseNever to stoop. Oh, Sir, she smiled, no doubt, Whene'er I passed her; but who passed withoutMuch the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;Then all smiles stopped together. There she standsAs if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meetThe company below, then. I repeatThe Count your Master's known munificenceIs ample warrant that no just pretenceOf mine for dowry will be disallowed;Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowedAt starting, is my object. Nay, we'll goTogether down, Sir. Notice Neptune, though, Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

ROBERT BROWNING. 

 * * * * *

"THE TALE. "

What a pretty tale you told me Once upon a time--Said you found it somewhere (scold me!) Was it prose or rhyme, Greek or Latin? Greek, you said, While your shoulder propped my head. 

Anyhow there's no forgetting This much if no more, That a poet (pray, no petting!) Yes, a bard, sir, famed of yore, Went where such like used to go, Singing for a prize, you know. 

Well, he had to sing, nor merely Sing, but play the lyre;Playing was important clearly Quite as singing; I desire, Sir, you keep the fact in mindFor a purpose that's behind. 

There stood he, while deep attention Held the judges round, --Judges able, I should mention, To detect the slightest soundSung or played amiss: such earsHad old judges, it appears!

None the less he sang out boldly, Played in time and tuneTill the judges, weighing coldly Each note's worth, seemed, late or soon, Sure to smile "In vain one triesPicking faults out: take the prize!"

When, a mischief! Were they seven Strings the lyre possessed?Oh, and afterwards eleven, Thank you! Well, sir--who had guessedSuch ill luck in store?--it happedOne of those same seven strings snapped. 

All was lost, then! No! a cricket (What "cicada"? Pooh!)--Some mad thing that left its thicket For mere love of music--flewWith its little heart on fireLighted on the crippled lyre. 

So that when (Ah, joy!) our singer For his truant stringFeels with disconcerted finger, What does cricket else but flingFiery heart forth, sound the noteWanted by the throbbing throat?

Ay and, ever to the ending, Cricket chirps at need, Executes the hand's intending, Promptly, perfectly, --indeedSaves the singer from defeatWith her chirrup low and sweet. 

Till, at ending, all the judges Cry with one assent"Take the prize--a prize who grudges Such a voice and instrument?Why, we took your lyre for harp, So it shrilled us forth F sharp!"

Did the conqueror spurn the creature, Once its service done?That's no such uncommon feature In the case when Music's sonFinds his Lotte's power too spentFor aiding soul development. 

No! This other, on returning Homeward, prize in hand, Satisfied his bosom's yearning: (Sir! I hope you understand!)--Said "Some record there must beOf this cricket's help to me!"

So he made himself a statue: Marble stood, life-size;On the lyre, he pointed at you, Perched his partner in the prize;Never more apart you foundHer, he throned, from him, she crowned. 

That's the tale: its application? Somebody I knowHopes one day for reputation Through his poetry that's--Oh, All so learned and so wiseAnd deserving of a prize!

If he gains one, will some ticket, When his statue's built, Tell the gazer "'Twas a cricket Helped my crippled lyre, whose liltSweet and low, when strength usurpedSoftness' place i' the scale, she chirped?

"For as victory was nighest, While I sang and played, --With my lyre at lowest, highest, Right alike, --one string that made'Love' sound soft was snapt in twainNever to be heard again, --

"Had not a kind cricket fluttered, Perched upon the placeVacant left, and duly uttered 'Love, Love, Love, ' whene'er the bassAsked the treble to atoneFor its somewhat sombre drone. "

But you don't know music! Wherefore Keep on casting pearlsTo a--poet? All I care for Is--to tell him a girl's"Love" comes aptly in when gruffGrows his singing. (There, enough!)

ROBERT BROWNING. 

 * * * * *

MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNRISE. 

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-starIn his steep course? So long he seems to pauseOn thy bald, awful head, O sovereign Blanc!The Arvé and Arveiron at thy baseRave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form, Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently! Around thee, and above, Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest itAs with a wedge. But when I look againIt is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity. 

O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon theeTill thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayerI worshipped the Invisible alone. Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, --So sweet we know not we are listening to it, --Thou, the mean while wast blending with my thought. Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy;Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, Into the mighty vision passing--there, As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven. 

Awake, my soul! not only passive praiseThou owest! not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy! Awake, Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!Green vales and icy cliffs! all join my hymn!

Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale!O, struggling with the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink, --Companion of the morning-star at dawn, Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawnCo-herald--wake! O wake! and utter praise!Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?Who filled thy countenance with rosy light?Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad!Who called you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns called you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jaggëd rocks, Forever shattered, and the same forever?Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury and your joy, Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam?And who commanded, --and the silence came, --"Here let the billows stiffen and have rest?"

Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's browAdown enormous ravines slope amain--Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge!Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!Who made you glorious as the gates of heavenBeneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sunClothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowersOf loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?

"God!" let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plain echo, "God!""God!" sing, ye meadow streams, with gladsome voiceYe pine groves, with your soft and soul-like soundsAnd they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, "God!"

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost!Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest!Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm!Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!Ye signs and wonders of the elements!Utter forth "God!" and fill the hills with praise!

Thou too, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peaksOft from whose feet the avalanche, unheardShoots downward, glittering through the pure sereneInto the depth of clouds that veil thy breast, --Thou too, again, stupendous mountain! thouThat, as I raise my head, awhile bowed lowIn adoration, upward from thy baseSlow traveling, with dim eyes suffused with tears, Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloudTo rise before me, --rise, oh, ever rise!Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth!Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hills, Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. 

S. T. COLERIDGE. 

 * * * * *

MY STAR. 

All that I know Of a certain starIs, it can throw (Like the angled spar)Now a dart of red, Now a dart of blue, Till my friends have said They would fain see, too

My star that dartles the red and the blue!Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled;They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it. What matter to me if their star is a world?Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it. 

ROBERT BROWNING. 

 * * * * *

A CONSERVATIVE. 

The garden beds I wandered by One bright and cheerful morn, When I found a new-fledged butterfly A-sitting on a thorn, A black and crimson butterfly, All doleful and forlorn. 

I thought that life could have no sting To infant butterflies, So I gazed on this unhappy thing With wonder and surprise, While sadly with his waving wing He wiped his weeping eyes. 

Said I, "What can the matter be? Why weepest thou so sore?With garden fair and sunlight free And flowers in goodly store--"But he only turned away from me And burst into a roar. 

Cried he, "My legs are thin and few Where once I had a swarm!Soft fuzzy fur--a joy to view-- Once kept my body warm, Before these flapping wing-things grew, To hamper and deform!"

At that outrageous bug I shot The fury of mine eye;Said I, in scorn all burning hot, In rage and anger high, "You ignominious idiot! Those wings are made to fly!"

"I do not want to fly, " said he, "I only want to squirm!"And he drooped his wings dejectedly, But still his voice was firm;"I do not want to be a fly! I want to be a worm!"

O yesterday of unknown lack! To-day of unknown bliss!I left my fool in red and black, The last I saw was this, --The creature madly climbing back Into his chrysalis. 

CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN. 

 * * * * *

FIVE LIVES. 

Five mites of monads dwelt in a round dropThat twinkled on a leaf by a pool in the sun. To the naked eye they lived invisible;Specks, for a world of whom the empty shellOf a mustard-seed had been a hollow sky. 

 One was a meditative monad, called a sage;And, shrinking all his mind within, he thought:"Tradition, handed down for hours and hours, Tells that our globe, this quivering crystal world, Is slowly dying. What if, seconds hence, When I am very old, yon shimmering domeCome drawing down and down, till all things end?"Then with a weazen smirk he proudly feltNo other mote of God had ever gainedSuch giant grasp of universal truth. 

 One was a transcendental monad; thinAnd long and slim in the mind; and thus he mused:"Oh, vast, unfathomable monad-Souls!Made in the image"--a hoarse frog croaks from the pool--"Hark! 'twas some god, voicing his glorious thoughtIn thunder music! Yea, we hear their voice, And we may guess their minds from ours, their work. Some taste they have like ours, some tendencyTo wiggle about, and munch a trace of scum. "He floated up on a pin-point bubble of gasThat burst, pricked by the air, and he was gone. 

 One was a barren-minded monad, calledA positivist; and he knew positively:"There is no world beyond this certain drop. Prove me another! Let the dreamers dreamOf their faint gleams, and noises from without, And higher and lower; life is life enough. "Then swaggering half a hair's breadth, hungrilyHe seized upon an atom of bug and fed. 

 One was a tattered monad, called a poet;And with shrill voice ecstatic thus he sang:"Oh, the little female monad's lips!Oh, the little female monad's eyes!Ah, the little, little, female, female monad!"

 The last was a strong-minded monadess, Who dashed amid the infusoria, Danced high and low, and wildly spun and doveTill the dizzy others held their breath to see. 

 But while they led their wondrous little livesÆonian moments had gone wheeling by. The burning drop had shrunk with fearful speed;A glistening film--'twas gone; the leaf was dry. The little ghost of an inaudible squeakWas lost to the frog that goggled from his stone;Who, at the huge, slow tread of a thoughtful oxComing to drink, stirred sideways fatly, plunged, Launched backward twice, and all the pool was still. 

EDWARD ROWLAND SILL. 

 * * * * *

THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 

[_Abridged_. ]

LEODOGRAN, the King of Cameliard, Had one fair daughter, and none other child;And she was fairest of all flesh on earth, Guinevere, and in her his one delight. 

 For many a petty king ere Arthur cameRuled in this isle and, ever waging warEach upon other, wasted all the land;And still from time to time the heathen hostSwarm'd over seas, and harried what was left. And so there grew great tracts of wilderness, Wherein the beast was ever more and more, But man was less and less. . . . 

 * * * * *

 And thus the land of Cameliard was waste, Thick with wet woods, and many a beast therein, And none or few to scare or chase the beast;So that wild dog and wolf and boar and bearCame night and day, and rooted in the fields, And wallow'd in the gardens of the King. 

 * * * * *

 . . . . . And King LeodogranGroan'd for the Roman legions here againAnd Caesar's eagle. . . . . 

 * * * * *

He knew not whither he should turn for aid. 

 But--for he heard of Arthur newly crown'd, . . . . . . . . . --the KingSent to him, saying, 'Arise and help us thou!For here between the man and beast we die. '

 And Arthur yet had done no deed of arms, But heard the call and came; and GuinevereStood by the castle walls to watch him pass;But since he neither wore on helm or shieldThe golden symbol of his kinglihood, But rode, a simple knight among his knights, And many of these in richer arms than he, She saw him not, or marked not, if she saw, One among many, tho' his face was bare. But Arthur, looking downward as he past, Felt the light of her eyes into his lifeSmite on the sudden, yet rode on, and pitch'dHis tents beside the forest. Then he draveThe heathen; after, slew the beast, and fell'dThe forest, letting in the sun, and madeBroad pathways for the hunter and the knightAnd so returned. 

 For while he linger'd there, A doubt that ever smoulder'd in the heartsOf those great lords and barons of his realmFlashed forth and into war; for most of these, Colleaguing with a score of petty kings, Made head against him crying: "Who is heThat should rule us? Who hath proven himKing Uther's son?"

 And, Arthur, passing thence to battle, feltTravail, and throes and agonies of the life, Desiring to be join'd with Guinevere, And thinking as he rode: "Her father saidThat there between the man and beast they die. Shall I not lift her from this land of beastsUp to my throne and side by side with me?What happiness to reign a lonely king?

 * * * * *

 . . . . But were I join'd with her, Then might we live together as one life, And reigning with one will in everythingHave power on this dark land to lighten it, And power on this dead world to make it live. "

 * * * * *

 When Arthur reached a field of battle brightWith pitch'd pavilions of his foe, the worldWas all so clear about him that he sawThe smallest rock far on the faintest hill, And even in high day the morning star. 

 * * * * *

 . . . . But the Powers who walk the world, Made lightnings and great thunders over him, And dazed all eyes, till Arthur by main might, And mightier of his hands with every blow, And leading all his knighthood, threw the kings. 

 * * * * *

So like a painted battle the war stoodSilenced, the living quiet as the dead, And in the heart of Arthur joy was lord. 

 * * * * *

 Then quickly from the foughten field he sent . . . . . . . . . Sir Bedivere . . . . . . . . . To King Leodogran, Saying, "If I in aught have served thee well, Give me thy daughter Guinevere to wife. "

 Whom when he heard, Leodogran in heartDebating--"How should I that am a king, However much he holp me at my need, Give my one daughter saving to a king, And a king's son"?--lifted his voice, and call'dA hoary man, his chamberlain, to whomHe trusted all things, and of him requiredHis counsel: "Knowest thou aught of Arthur's birth?"

 * * * * *

Then while the King debated with himself, * * * * *

 . . . . . There came to Cameliard, * * * * *

Lot's wife, the Queen of Orkney, Bellicent;Whom . . . . . . . . The KingMade feast for, as they sat at meat:

 * * * * *

'Ye come from Arthur's court. Victor his menReport him! Yea, but ye--think ye this king--So many those that hate him, and so strong, So few his knights, however brave they be--Hath body enow to hold his foeman down?'

 'O King, ' she cried, 'and I will tell thee: few, Few, but all brave, all of one mind with him;For I was near him when the savage yellsOf Uther's peerage died, and Arthur satCrowned on the dais, and all his warriors cried, "Be thou the King, and we will work thy willWho love thee, " Then the King in low deep tones, And simple words of great authority, Bound them by so straight vows to his own selfThat when they rose, knighted from kneeling, someWere pale as at the passing of a ghost, Some flush'd, and others dazed, as one who wakesHalf blinded at the coming of a light. 

'But when he spake, and cheer'd his Table RoundWith large, divine, and comfortable words, Beyond my tongue to tell thee--I beheldFrom eye to eye thro' all their Order flashA momentary likeness of the King;

 * * * * *

 'And there I saw mage Merlin, whose vast witAnd hundred winters are but as the handsOf loyal vassals toiling for their liege. 

 'And near him stood the Lady of the Lake, Who knew a subtler magic than his own--Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. She gave the King his huge cross-hilted sword, Whereby to drive the heathen out: a mistOf incense curl'd about her, and her faceWellnigh was hidden in the minster gloom;But there was heard among the holy hymnsA voice as of the waters, for she dwellsDown in a deep--calm, whatsoever stormsMay shake the world--and when the surface rolls, Hath power to walk the waters like our Lord. '

 Thereat Leodogran rejoiced, but thoughtTo sift his doubtings to the last, and ask'd, Fixing full eyes of question on her face, 'The swallow and the swift are near akin, But thou art closer to this noble prince, Being his own dear sister;'

 * * * * *

 . . . . . . . . 'What know I?For dark my mother was in eyes and hair, And dark in hair and eyes am I; . . . . . . Yea and dark was Uther too, Wellnigh to blackness; but this king is fairBeyond the race of Britons and of men. 

 'But let me tell thee now another tale:

 * * * * *

 . . . . . . . . On the nightWhen Uther in Tintagil past awayMoaning and wailing for an heir, MerlinLeft the still King, and passing forth to breathe, * * * * *

Beheld, so high upon the dreary deepsIt seem'd in heaven, a ship, the shape thereofA dragon wing'd and all from stem to sternBright with a shining people on the decks, And gone as soon as seen. . . . . . He . . . . . . Watch'd the great sea fall, Wave after wave, each mightier than the last, Till last, a ninth one, gathering half the deepAnd full of voices, slowly rose and plungedRoaring, and all the wave was in a flame:And down the wave and in the flame was borneA naked babe, and rode to Merlin's feet, Who stoopt and caught the babe, and cried, "The King!"

 * * * * *

And presently thereafter follow'd calm, Free sky and stars: "And this same child, " he said, "Is he who reigns. " . . . . 

 * * * * *

 . . . . . . And ever since the LordsHave foughten like wild beasts among themselves, So that the realm has gone to wrack; but now, This year, when Merlin--for his hour had come--Brought Arthur forth, and sat him in the hall, Proclaiming, "Here is Uther's heir, your King, "A hundred voices cried: "Away with him!No king of ours!" . . . . . 

 * * * * *

 . . . . Yet Merlin thro' his craft, And while the people clamor'd for a king, Had Arthur crown'd; but after, the great lordsBanded, and so brake out in open war. 

 * * * * *

 . . . . And Merlin in our timeHath spoken also, . . . . . Tho' men may wound him that he will not die, But pass, again to come, and then or nowUtterly smite the heathen under foot, Till these and all men hail him for their king. '

 . . . . . King Leodogran rejoiced, But musing 'Shall I answer yea or nay?'Doubted, and drowsed, nodded and slept, and saw, Dreaming a slope of land that ever grew, Field after field, up to a height, the peakHaze-hidden, and thereon a phantom king, Now looming, and now lost; and on the slopeThe sword rose, the hind fell, the herd was driven, Fire glimpsed; and all the land from roof and rick, In drifts of smoke before a rolling wind, Stream'd to the peak, and mingled with the hazeAnd made it thicker; while the phantom kingSent out at times a voice; and here or thereStood one who pointed toward the voice, the restSlew on and burnt, crying, 'No king of ours, No son of Uther, and no king of ours;'Till with a wink his dream was changed, the hazeDescended, and the solid earth becameAs nothing, but the king stood out in heaven, Crown'd. And Leodogran awoke, and sent

 * * * * *

Back to the court of Arthur answering yea. 

 Then Arthur charged his warrior whom he lovedAnd honor'd most, Sir Lancelot, to ride forthAnd bring the Queen, and watched him from the gates:And Lancelot past away among the flowers--For then was latter April--and return'd--Among the flowers, in May, with Guinevere. To whom arrived, by Dubric the high saint, Chief of the church in Britain, and beforeThe stateliest of her altar-shrines, the KingThat morn was married, while in stainless white, The fair beginners of a noble time, And glorying in their vows and him, his knightsStood around him, and rejoicing in his joy. Far shone the fields of May thro' open door, The sacred altar blossom'd white with May, The sun of May descended on their King, They gazed on all earth's beauty in their Queen, Roll'd incense, and there past along the hymnsA voice as of the waters, while the twoSware at the shrine of Christ a deathless love. And Arthur said, 'Behold, thy doom is mine. Let chance what will, I love thee to the death!'To whom the Queen replied with drooping eyes, 'King and my Lord, I love thee to the death!'And holy Dubric spread his hands and spake:'Reign ye, and live and love, and make the worldOther, and may the Queen be one with thee, And all this Order of thy Table RoundFulfil the boundless purpose of their King!'

 * * * * *

And Arthur's knighthood sang before the King:--

 '_Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May!!Blow trumpet, the long night hath roll'd away!Blow thro' the living world--"Let the King reign_!"

 '_Shall Rome or Heathen rule in Arthur's realm?Flash brand and lance, fall battle-axe on helm, Fall battle-axe, and flash brand! Let the King reign_!

 '_Strike for the King and live! his knights have heardThat God hath told the King a secret word. Fall battle-axe and flash brand! Let the King reign_!

 * * * * *

 '_Strike for the King and die! and if thou diest, The king is king, and ever wills the highest. Clang battle-axe, and clash brand! Let the King reign_!

 * * * * *

 '_The King will follow Christ, and we the King, In whom high God hath breathed a secret thing. Fall battle-axe, and clash brand! "Let the King reign_!"

And Arthur and his knighthood for a spaceWere all one will, and thro' that strength the KingDrew in the petty princedoms under him, Fought, and in twelve great battles overcameThe heathen hordes, and made a realm and reign'd. 

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. 

 * * * * *

ELAINE. 

Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable, Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, High in her chamber up a tower to the eastGuarded the sacred shield of Lancelot;Which first she placed where morning's earliest rayMight strike it, and awaken her with the gleam;Then fearing rust or soilure, fashion'd for itA case of silk, and braided thereuponAll the devices blazon'd on the shieldIn their own tinct, and added, of her wit, A border fantasy of branch and flower, And yellow-throated nestling in the nest. Nor rested thus content, but day by dayLeaving her household and good father, climb'dThat eastern tower, and entering barr'd the door, Stript off the case, and read the naked shield, Now guess'd a hidden meaning in his arms, Now made a pretty history to herselfOf every dint a sword had beaten in it, And every scratch a lance had made upon it, Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh;That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle;That at Cearleon; this at Camelot;And ah, God's mercy what a stroke was there!And here a thrust that might have kill'd, but GodBroke the Strong lance and roll'd his enemy down, And saved him; so she lived in fantasy. 

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

 * * * * *

THE LADY OF SHALOTT. 

PART I. 

On either side the river lieLong fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky;And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd CamelotAnd up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blowRound an island there below, The Island of Shalott. 

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes, dusk and shiverThro' the wave that runs for everBy the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The lady of Shalott. 

By the margin, willow-veil'd, Slide the heavy barges trail'dBy slow horses; and unhail'dThe shallop flitteth silken-sail'd Skimming down to Camelot:But who hath seen her wave her hand?Or at the casement seen her stand?Or is she known in all the land, The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping earlyIn among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly, From the river winding clearly, Down to tower'd Camelot;And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott. "

PART II. 

There she weaves by night and dayA magic web with colors gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott. 

And moving thro' a mirror clearThat hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot;There the river eddy whirls, And there the surly village-churls, And the red cloaks of market-girls, Pass onward from Shalott. 

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, Goes by to tower'd Camelot;And sometimes thro' the mirror blueThe knights come riding two and two;She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott. 

But in her web she still delightsTo weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nightsA funeral, with plumes and lights, And music, went to Camelot:Or when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed:"I am half sick of shadows" said The Lady of Shalott. 

PART III. 

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'dTo a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott. 

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we seeHung in the Golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot;And from his blazon'd baldric slungA mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armor rung, Beside remote Shalott. 

All in the blue unclouded weatherThick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather. The helmet and the helmet-featherBurned like one burning flame together, As he rode down to Camelot;As often through the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over still Shalott. 

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;From underneath his helmet flow'dHis coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot. From the bank and from the riverHe flashed into the crystal mirror, "Tirra lirra" by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. 

She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She looked down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide;The mirror cracked from side to side;"The curse is come upon me, " cried The Lady of Shalott. 

PART IV. 

In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods are waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot;Down she came and found a boatBeneath a willow left afloat, And round about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott. 

And down the river's dim expanseLike some bold seer in a trance, Seeing all his own mischance--With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the dayShe loosed the chain, and down she lay;The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott. 

Lying, robed in snowy whiteThat loosely flew to left and right--The leaves upon her falling light--Thro' the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot;And as the boat-head wound alongThe willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott. 

Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Til' her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darken'd wholly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. For ere she reached upon the tideThe first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died. The Lady of Shalott. 

Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and burgher, lord and dame, And round the prow they read her name _The Lady of Shalott_. 

Who is this? and what is here?And in the lighted palace nearDied the sound of royal cheer;And they crossed themselves for fear, All the knights at Camelot:But Lancelot mused a little space;He said "She has a lovely face;God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott. "

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. 

 * * * * *

IF WE HAD THE TIME. 

If I had the time to find a placeAnd sit me down full face to face With my better self, that cannot show In my daily life that rushes so:It might be then I would see my soulWas stumbling still towards the shining goal, I might be nerved by the thought sublime, -- If I had the time!

If I had the time to let my heartSpeak out and take in my life a part, To look about and to stretch a hand To a comrade quartered in no-luck land;Ah, God! If I might but just sit stillAnd hear the note of the whip-poor-will, I think that my wish with God's would rhyme-- If I had the time!

If I had the time to learn from youHow much for comfort my word could do; And I told you then of my sudden will To kiss your feet when I did you ill;If the tears aback of the coldness feignedCould flow, and the wrong be quite explained, -- Brothers, the souls of us all would chime, If we had the time!

RICHARD BURTON. 

 * * * * *

A SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV. "FALSTAFF'S RECRUITS. "

_Introduction_. --Sir John Falstaff has received a commission from theKing to raise a company of soldiers to fight in the King's battles. Afterdrafting a number of well-to-do farmers, whom he knows will pay him snugsums of money rather than to serve under him, he pockets their money andproceeds to fill his company from the riff-raff of the country throughwhich he passes. 

The scene is a village green before Justice Shallow's house. The Justicehas received word from Sir John that he is about to visit him, and desireshim to call together a number of the villagers from which recruits may beselected. 

These villagers are now grouped upon the green, with Justice Shallowstanding near. 

Bardolph, Sir John Falstaff's corporal, enters and addresses JusticeShallow. 

_Bardolph_. --Good morrow, honest gentlemen. I beseech you, which isJustice Shallow?

_Shallow_. --I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire of this county, and one of the King's justices of the peace. What is your good pleasurewith me?

_Bardolph_. --My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, SirJohn Falstaff, a tall gentlemen, by heaven, and a most gallant leader. 

_Shallow_. --He greets me well, sir. I knew him a good backsword man. How doth the good Knight now? Look! here comes good Sir John. _(EnterFalstaff_. ) Give me your good hand, give me your worship's good hand. By my troth you look well and bear your years very well; welcome, good SirJohn. 

_Falstaff_. --I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert Shallow. Fie, this is hot weather, gentlemen. Have you provided me with half adozen sufficient men?

_Shallow_. --Marry have we, sir. 

_Falstaff_. --Let me see them, I beseech you. 

_Shallow_. --Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Letme see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so, so, so, so; yea, marrysir. --Ralph Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let them do so, let them doso. Let me see; where is Mouldy?

_Mouldy_. --Here, an't please you. 

_Shallow_. --What think you, Sir John? A good limbed fellow: young, strong, and of good friends. 

_Falstaff_. --Is thy name Mouldy?

_Mouldy_. --Yea, an't please you. 

_Falstaff_. --'Tis the more time thou wert used. 

_Shallow_. --Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! Things that aremouldy lack use; very singular good! Well said, Sir John, very well said. Shall I prick him, Sir John?

_Falstaff_. --Yes, prick him. 

_Mouldy_. --I was pricked well enough before, an' you could have letme alone; my old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry andher drudgery; you need not to have pricked me; there are other men fitterto go out than I. 

_Shallow_. --Peace, fellow, peace! Stand aside; know you where youare? For the next, Sir John; let me see. --Simon Shadow?

_Falstaff_. --Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. He's like tobe a cold soldier. 

_Shallow_. --Where's Shadow?

_Shadow_. --Here, sir. 

_Falstaff_. --Shadow, whose son art thou?

_Shadow_. --My mother's son, sir. 

_Falstaff_. --Thy mother's son! Like enough, and thy father's shadow. Prick him. Shadow will serve for summer. 

_Shallow_. --Thomas Wart!

_Falstaff_. --Where's he?

_Wart_. --Here, sir!

_Falstaff_. --Is thy name Wart?

_Wart_. --Yea, sir. 

_Falstaff_. --Thou art a very ragged wart. 

_Shallow_. --Ha, ha, ha! Shall I prick him down, Sir John?

_Falstaff_. --It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon hisback and the whole frame stands upon pins; prick him no more. 

_Shallow_. --Ha, ha, ha! you can do it, sir; you can do it; I commendyou well. --Francis Feeble. 

_Feeble_. --Here, sir. 

_Falstaff_. --What trade art thou, Feeble?

_Feeble_. --I'm a woman's tailor, sir. 

_Falstaff_. --Well, good woman's tailor, wilt thou make as many holesin an enemy's battle as thou hast done in a woman's petticoat?

_Feeble_. --I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more. 

_Falstaff_. --Well said, good woman's tailor! Well said, courageousFeeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove, or most magnanimousmouse. Prick me the woman's tailor well, Master Shallow; deep, MasterShallow. 

_Feeble_. --I would Wart might have gone, too, sir. 

_Falstaff_. --I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst mendhim and make him fit to go. Let that suffice, most forcible Feeble. 

_Feeble_. --It shall suffice, sir. 

_Falstaff_. --I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next?

_Shallow_. --Peter Bullcalf, o' the green. 

_Falstaff_. --Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf. 

_Bullcalf_. --Here, sir. 

_Falstaff_. --Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf tillhe roar again. 

_Bullcalf_. --O Lord! Good my lord captain, --

_Falstaff_. --What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked?

_Bullcalf_. --O Lord, sir! I'm a diseased man. 

_Falstaff_. --What disease hast thou?

_Bullcalf_. --A terrible cold, sir, a cough, sir. 

_Falstaff_. --Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown. We will haveaway with thy cold. Is here all?

_Shallow_. --Here is two more than your number. You must have but fourhere, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner. 

_Falstaff_. --Come, I will go drink with you. 

(_Exit Sir John and Justice Shallow_. )

_Bullcalf_. --(_Approaching Bardolph_. ) Good Master CorporateBardolph, stand my friend; and here's four Harry ten shillings in Frenchcrowns for you. In very truth, sir, I'd as lief be hanged, sir, as to go;and yet for mine own part, sir, I do not care; but rather because I amunwilling, and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my friends;else, sir, I did not care, for my own part, so much. 

_Bardolph_. --(_Pocketing the money_. ) Go to; stand aside. 

_Feeble_. --By my troth, I care not. 

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

 * * * * *

A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD. 

AT THE LODGINGS OF MR. AND MRS. MICAWBER. 

_Introduction_. --The scene opens in the lodgings of Mr. And Mrs. Micawber. Mr. Micawber at this time is suffering under, what he terms, "Atemporary pressure of pecuniary liabilities, " and is out looking forsomething to turn up. 

Mrs. Micawber is at home attending to the twins, one of which she isholding in her arms, the other is in the cradle near by, and various ofthe children are scattered about the floor. 

Mrs. Micawber has been bothered all the morning by the calling ofcreditors;--at last she exclaims, as she trots the babe in her arms:--

(_Mrs. Micawber_. ) Well, I wonder how many more times they will becalling! However, it's their fault. If Mr. Micawber's creditors won't givehim time, they must take the consequences. Oh! there is some one knockingnow! I believe that's Mr. Heep's knock. It _is_ Mr. Heep! Come in, Mr. Heep. We are very glad to see you. Come right in. 

_Heep_. --Is Mr. Micawber in?

_Mrs. Mic_. --No, Mr. Heep. Mr. Micawber has gone out. We make nostranger of you, Mr. Heep, so I don't mind telling you Mr. Micawber'saffairs have reached a crisis. With the exception of a heel of Dutchcheese, which is not adapted to the wants of a young family, --andincluding the twins, --there is nothing to eat in the house. 

_Heep_. --How dreadful! (_Aside_. ) The very man for my purpose. (_Explanation_. At this moment there is a noise heard on the landing. Micawber himself rushes into the room, slamming the door behind him. )

_Micawber_. --(_Not seeing Heep_. ) The clouds have gathered, thestorm has broken, and the thunderbolt has fallen on the devoted head ofWilkins Micawber! Emma, my dear, the die is cast. All is over. Leave me inmy misery!

_Mrs. Mic_. --I'll never desert my Micawber!

_Mic_. --In the words of the immortal Plato, "It must be so, Cato!"But no man is without a friend when he is possessed of courage and shavingmaterials! Emma, my love, fetch me my razors! (_Recovers himself_)sh--sh! We are not alone! (_Gayly_) Oh, Mr. Heep! Delighted to seeyou, my young friend! Ah, my dear young attorney-general, in prospective, if I had only known you when my troubles commenced, my creditors wouldhave been a great deal better managed than they were! You will pardon themomentary laceration of a wounded spirit, made sensitive by a recentcollision with a minion of the law, --in short, with a ribald turncockattached to the waterworks. Emma, my love, our supply of water has beencut off. Hope has sunk beneath the horizon! Bring me a pint of laudanum!

_Heep_. --Mr. Micawber, would you be willing to tell me the amount ofyour indebtedness?

_Mic_. --It is only a small matter for nutriment, beef, mutton, etc. , some trifle, seven and six pence ha'penny. 

_Heep_. --I'll pay it for you. 

_Mic_. --My dear friend! You overpower me with obligation! Shall Iadmit the officer? (_Turns and goes to the door, opens it_. ) Entermyrmidon! Hats off, in the presence of a solvent debtor and a lady. (_Heeps pays the officer and dismisses him_. )

_Heep_. --Now, Mr. Micawber, I suppose you have no objection togiving me your I. O. U. For the amount. 

_Mic_. --Certainly not. I am always ready to put my name to anyspecies of negotiable paper, from twenty shillings upward. Excuse me, Heep, I'll write it. (_Goes through motion of writing it on leaf ofmemo, book. Tears it out and hands it to Heep_. ) I suppose this isrenewable on the usual term?

_Heep_. --Better. You can work it out. I come to offer you theposition of clerk in my partner's office--the firm of Wickfield andHeep. 

_Mic_. --What! A clerk! Emma, my love, I believe I may have nohesitation in saying something has at last turned up!

_Heep_. --You will excuse me, Mrs. Micawber, but I should like tospeak a few words to your husband in private. 

_Mrs. Mic_. --Certainly! Wilkins, my love, go on and prosper!

_Mic_. --My dear, I shall endeavor to do so to an unlimited extent!Ah, the sun has again risen--the clouds have passed--the sky is clear, andanother score may be begun at the butcher's. --Heep, precede me. Emma, mylove. _Au Revoir_. 

(_A gallant bow to Mrs. Micawber_. )

 * * * * *

A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD. 

 CHARACTERS. 

 OLD FISHERMAN PEGGOTTY, HAM PEGGOTTY, DAVID COPPERFIELD. 

_Introduction_. --The scene is the interior of the "Old Ark"; the timeis evening. The rain is falling outside, yet inside the old ark all issnug and comfortable. The fire is burning brightly on the hearth, andMother Gummidge sits by it knitting. Ham has gone out to fetch littleEm'ly home from her work, --and the old fisherman sits smoking hisevening pipe by the table near the window. They are expecting Steerforthand Copperfield in to spend the evening. Presently a knock is heard andDavid enters. Old Peggotty gets up to greet him. 

_Old Peg_. --Why! It's Mas'r Davy? Glad to see you, Mas'r Davy, you'rethe first of the lot! Take off that cloak of yours if it's wet and drawright up to the fire. Don't you mind Mawther Gummidge, Mas'r Davy; she'sa-thinkin' of the old 'un. She allers do be thinkin of the old 'un whenthere's a storm a-comin' up, along of his havin' been drowned at sea. Well, now, I must go and light up accordin' to custom. (_He lights acandle and puts it on the table by the window_. ) Theer we are! Theer weare! A-lighted up accordin' to custom. Now, Mas'r Davy, you're a-wonderin'what that little candle is for, ain't yer? Well, I'll tell yer. It's formy little Em'ly. You see, the path ain't o'er light or cheerful arterdark, so when I'm home here along the time that Little Em'ly comes homefrom her work, I allers lights the little candle and puts it there on thetable in the winder, and it serves two purposes, --first, Em'ly sees it andshe says: "Theer's home, " and likewise, "Theer's Uncle, " fur if I ain'there I never have no light showed. Theer! Now you're laughin' at me, Mas'rDavy! You're a sayin' as how I'm a babby. Well, I don't know but I am. (_Walks towards table_. ) Not a babby to look at, but a babby toconsider on. A babby in the form of a Sea Porky-pine. 

See the candle sparkle! I can hear it say--"Em'ly's lookin' at me! LittleEm'ly's comin'!" Right I am for here she is! (_He goes to the door tomeet her; the door opens and Ham comes staggering in_. )

_Ham_. --She's gone! Her that I'd a died fur, and will die fur evennow! She's gone!

_Peggotty_. --Gone!!

_Ham_. --Gone! She's run away! And think how she's run away when Ipray my good and gracious God to strike her down dead, sooner than let hercome to disgrace and shame. 

_Peggotty_. --Em'ly gone! I'll not believe it. I must haveproof--proof. 

_Ham_. --Read that writin'. 

_Peggotty_. --No! I won't read that writin'--read it you, Mas'r Davy. Slow, please. I don't know as I can understand. 

_David_. --(_Reads_) "When you see this I shall be far away. "

_Peggotty_. --Stop theer, Mas'r Davy! Stop theer! Fur away! My LittleEm'ly fur away! Well?

_David_. --(_Reads_) "Never to come back again unless he bringsme back a lady. Don't remember, Ham, that we were to be married, but tryto think of me as if I had died long ago, and was buried somewhere. Mylast love and last tears for Uncle. "

_Peggotty_. --Who's the man? What's his name? I want to know the man'sname. 

_Ham_. --It warn't no fault of yours, Mas'r Davy, that I know. 

_Peggotty_. --What! You don't mean his name's Steerforth, do you?

_Ham_. --Yes! His name is Steerforth, and he's a cursed villain!

_Peggotty_. --Where's my coat? Give me my coat! Help me on with it, Mas'r Davy. Now bear a hand theer with my hat. 

_David_. --Where are you going, Mr. Peggotty?

_Peggotty_. --I'm a goin' to seek fur my little Em'ly. First, I'mgoing to stave in that theer boat and sink it where I'd a drownded him, asI'm a living soul; if I'd a known what he had in him! I'd a drownded him, and thought I was doin' right! Now I'm going to seek fur my Little Em'lythroughout the wide wurrety!

 * * * * *

A SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN. 

_Introduction_. --This scene introduces the followingcharacters:--Conn, the Shaughraun, a reckless, devil-may-care, true-hearted young vagabond, who is continually in a scrape from hisdesire to help a friend and his love of fun; his mother, Mrs. O'Kelly; hissweetheart, Moya Dolan, niece of the parish priest. 

It is evening. Moya is alone in the kitchen. She has just put the kettleon the fire when Mrs. O'Kelly, Conn's mother, enters. 

_Mrs. O'K_. --Is it yourself, Moya? I've come to see if that vagabondof mine has been around this way. 

_Moya_. --Why should he be here, Mrs. O'Kelly? Hasn't he a home of hisown?

_Mrs. O'K_. --The Shebeen is his home when he is not in jail. Hisfather died o' drink, and Conn will go the same way. 

_Moya_. --I thought your husband was drowned at sea?

_Mrs. O'K_. --And bless him, so he was. 

_Moya_. --Well, that's a quare way o' dying o' drink. 

_Mrs. O'K_. --The best of men he was, when he was sober--a betthernever drhawed the breath o' life. 

_Moya_. --But you say he never was sober. 

_Mrs. O'K_. --Niver! An' Conn takes afther him!

_Moya_. --Mother, I'm afeared I shall take afther Conn. 

_Mrs. O'K_. --Heaven forbid, and purtect you agin him! You a gooddacent gurl, and desarve the best of husbands. 

_Moya_. --Them's the only ones that gets the worst. More betokenyoursilf, Mrs. O'Kelly. 

_Mrs. O'K_. --Conn niver did an honest day's work in his life--butdhrinkin' and fishin', an' shootin', an' sportin', and love-makin'. 

_Moya_. --Sure, that's how the quality pass their lives. 

_Mrs. O'K_. --That's it. A poor man that sports the sowl of agintleman is called a blackguard. 

(_At this moment Conn appears in the doorway_. )

_Conn_. --(_At left_. ) Some one is talkin' about me! Ah, Moya, Darlin', come here. (_Business as if he reached out his hands to Moya ashe comes forward to meet her, and passes her over to his left so he seemsto stand in center between Moya on left and Mrs. O'Kelly on right_. )Was the old Mother thryin' to make little o' me? Don't you belave a wordthat comes out o' her! She's jealous o' me. (_Laughing as he shakes hisfinger at his mother_. ) Yes, ye are! You're chokin' wid it this veryminute! Oh, Moya darlin', she's jealous to see my two arms about ye. Butshe's proud o' me. Oh, she's proud o' me as an old him that's got a duckfor a chicken. Howld your whist now Mother! Wipe your mouth and give me akiss. 

_Mrs. O'K_. --Oh, Conn, what have you been afther? The polls have beenin the cabin today about ye. They say you stole Squire Foley's horse. 

_Conn_. --Stole his horse! Sure the baste is safe and sound in hispaddock this minute. 

_Mrs. O'K_. --But he says you stole it for the day to go huntin'?

_Conn_. --Well, here's a purty thing, for a horse to run away wid aman's characther like this! Oh, Wurra! may I never die in sin, but thiswas the way of it. I was standin' by owld Foley's gate, whin I heard thecry of the hounds coming across the tail of the bog, an' there they wor, my dear, spread out like the tail of a paycock, an' the finest dog fox yeever seen a sailin' ahead of thim up the boreen, and right across thechurchyard. It was enough to raise the inhabitints out of the ground!Well, as I looked, who should come and put her head over the gate besoideme but the Squire's brown mare, small blame to her. Divil a word I said toher, nor she to me, for the hounds had lost their scent, we knew by theiryelp and whine as they hunted among the gravestones. When, whist! the foxwent by us. I leapt upon the gate, an' gave a shriek of a view-halloo tothe whip; in a minute the pack caught the scent again, an' the whole fieldcame roaring past. 

The mare lost her head entoirely and tore at the gate. "Stop, " says I, "yedivil!" an' I slipt a taste of a rope over her head an' into her mouth. Now mind the cunnin' of the baste, she was quiet in a minute. "Come home, now, " ses I. "aisy!" an' I threw my leg across her. 

Be jabbers! No sooner was I on her back than--Whoo! Holy Rocket! she wasover the gate, an' tearin' afther the hounds loike mad. "Yoicks!" ses I;"Come back you thafe of the world, where you takin' me to?" as she carriedme through the huntin' field, an' landed me by the soide of the masther ofthe hounds, Squire Foley himself. 

He turned the color of his leather breeches. 

"Mother o'Moses!" ses he, "Is that Conn, the Shaughraun, on my brownmare?"

"Bad luck to me!" ses I, "It's no one else!"

"You sthole my horse, " ses the Squire. 

"That's a lie!" ses I, "for it was your horse sthole me!"

_Moya_. --(_Laughing_. ) And what did he say to that, Conn?

_Conn_. --I couldn't stop to hear, Moya, for just then we took a stonewall together an' I left him behind in the ditch. 

_Mrs. O'K_. --You'll get a month in jail for this. 

_Conn_. --Well, it was worth it. 

BOUCICAULT.