ACT II.

SCENE: _Interior of Clyde Hall. Seats arranged at wings. Door pract.

in Flat, through which flowers are visible. Em’ly and Dingle

discovered standing C. Both are masked._

DINGLE.――By yonder fair moon whose radiance is reflected in a thousand

dewy gems; by the glorious splendors of this summer night, I adjure

you to remove that mask.

EM’LY.――Sir Knight, if eloquence could tempt me to reveal my face

before the proper time, then your words would win your wish. I am not

what you think I am. Knights woo not poor peasant maids, and I am

poor, and humble, too.

DINGLE.――The wealth of those bright eyes would make one rich though he

were a beggar.

EM’LY.――Flattery from friends is at best embarrassing; from strangers

it is wholly out of place.

DINGLE (_Aside_).――There’s no humbleness in that remark. (_Aloud_) I

crave your forgiveness; I am the last man in the world who would do an

ungallant act.

EM’LY (_Aside_).――You are among the latest who did. (_Aloud_) Are you

always mindful of a woman’s feelings? Do you treat them all with

gentle courtesy?

DINGLE (_Aside_).――There’s a little sarcasm in that; I wonder what she

means? (_Aloud_) Certainly! I would scorn, loathe, abhor a man who

could forget his duty in that regard.

EM’LY.――Even though she owed him money?

DINGLE.――Eh! (_Aside_) What is she driving at? (_Aloud_) Miss Clyde,

you are severe.

EM’LY.――If any one designated me as Miss Clyde they erred. Once more I

repeat that I am not Dorothy Clyde.

DINGLE (_Laughs_).――We will not discuss that point. I have danced with

you twice to-night, and I have danced with no one else; and yet I have

had the honor of twice dancing with the lady whose name you mentioned.

EM’LY.――The music has ceased. The guests will come this way. Excuse

me. [_Exits hastily L._]

DINGLE (_Looking L_).――O Jupiter, what a beauty! How lightly she trips

across the hall. Sweet Dorothy, thou hast won my heart.

[_Enter Dorothy R._]

But why does she persist in denying her identity? A servant

volunteered to point out both her and the Felton girl; she evidently

desires to――

DOROTHY (_Coughs_).

DINGLE (_Aside_).――The tenant’s daughter. I would recognize that

haughty minx though she were doubly masked.

DOROTHY.――Pardon me, sir; I would inquire the way to the banquet room.

DINGLE (_Aside_).――It will never do to let her recognize my voice; I

will assume a falsetto tone. (_Aloud_) You had better find a servant,

Miss Gypsy Queen; I am not posted in the commissary department.

DOROTHY.――I perceive that all knights are not Quixotes in gallantry.

Thanks, however, for your suggestion.

DINGLE (_Sarcastic bow_).――Don’t mention it, fair fortune-teller.

DOROTHY.――If you knew me you would try to be more courteous; thus have

you unmasked your nature, though your face is still unseen.

[_Exit L._]

DINGLE.――The saucy beggar! Well, in some natures poverty serves to

intensify pride; I will seek the Squire. (_Exits R._)

(_Enter Weatherspout and Miss Philp, Door F.; she leans upon his

arm._)

WEATHERSPOUT.――The night is lovely; years and years ago it was my

delight to wander forth beneath the moon’s soft rays――

MISS PHILP.――Years and years ago! There! you talk like a sexagenarian.

I will wager you what you will that you are under twenty-five! Aye,

that I know your name!

WEATHERSPOUT.――In a few minutes the guests will assemble and unmask;

if you guess my name I will anticipate that ceremony. Can you not

detect the tremor of age in my voice?

MISS PHILP (_Aside_).――The servant volunteered to tell me this man’s

name. He is merely assuming the ancient quaver. His form is as

straight as a pin oak. (_Aloud_) My eyes are not deceived, Mr. Morley

Dingle.

WEATHERSPOUT.――Not knowing the party for whom you take me, I am unable

to rate the value of your compliment.

MISS PHILP (_Aside_).――It is Dingle, sure! (_Aloud_) Then, holy Monk,

be my father confessor and learn that Mr. Morley Dingle is a perfect

Adonis, a gentleman of rare attainments, one whose name any woman

would be proud to――to――that is――include among her list of friends.

WEATHERSPOUT.――Or read upon her teaspoons――I comprehend.

MISS PHILP.――Of course I speak from hearsay only; I have not the

pleasure of a personal acquaintance with the gentleman; although I

think I have enjoyed his company this evening.

WEATHERSPOUT.――My child, you are mistaken; I am not Dingle. I am glad

for your sake that you are deceived. You will also be satisfied when

you have reflected upon the matter.

MISS PHILP (_Angrily_).――Do you know to whom you are talking?

WEATHERSPOUT.――Candidly, I do not.

MISS PHILP (_Aside_).――I see; he fears I will penetrate his disguise.

(_Aloud_) Oh, you are deep, very deep.

WEATHERSPOUT (_Offering his arm_).――Permit me to escort you to the

drawing-room.

MISS PHILP (_Takes his arm_).――What a dreamy, soul-inspiring night.

WEATHERSPOUT (_Yawning_).――Very. [_They exit L._]

SQUIRE (_From without_).――I will tell you. Step this way. (_Enter

Squire and Leslie R., each holding mask in hand_) Knowing that Dingle

was anxious to identify my daughter, and that Miss Philp was dying to

meet Dingle, I instructed a trusty servant to mislead them by making

certain remarks within their hearing. The thing has worked like a

charm, and the most ludicrous blunders have resulted.

LESLIE.――I thought that Dorothy was unusually interested in the

movements of certain couples. So the little rogue is a party to your

conspiracy!

SQUIRE.――The motive justifies the means; I desire to reclaim an

arrogant young man and a silly woman; both are difficult cases, yet I

hope to succeed.

LESLIE.――Some one is calling――hark!

MERCY (_Without_).――Quick! quick! Squire, quick! (_Enters L. running_)

Oh! oh! oh――!

SQUIRE.――Speak, girl, what is amiss?

MERCY.――Oh, sir, you wouldn’t joke if you knew the trouble. It may end

in bloodshed!

SQUIRE.――Who’s joking?

MERCY.――You asked me a conundrum.

SQUIRE.――Never!

MERCY.――You asked me what is a miss――every girl knows what a miss is.

[_Exits R. running._]

LESLIE.――The girl is mixed. [_Leslie and Squire mask._]

DINGLE (_Without_).――You shall apologize or fight. (_Enter L._) Ah,

here are gentlemen who will see fair play. Come on, sir, come on!

[_Enter Weatherspout L._]

WEATHERSPOUT.――Silence! Give me a chance to explain.

DINGLE (_Drawing sword_).――Retract, sir! Eat your words! (_Flourishes

sword_) Feast upon them! Swallow them!

WEATHERSPOUT.――Gentlemen, hear him! His tongue would madden an

auctioneer with envy.

DINGLE.――Ha! more insults! Hold me back! (_Makes a pass at

Weatherspout._) Let me dissect him!

[_Squire and Leslie take hold of Dingle._]

SQUIRE.――Remember where you are!

LESLIE.――Do nothing rash, sir!

WEATHERSPOUT.――Release him; I fear his jargon, not his blade; let me

explain, and if he then insists on satisfaction, I will thrash him

with my staff.

DINGLE.――My honor! (_Flourishes his sword_) must I submit to this!

SQUIRE.――Let the monk speak.

WEATHERSPOUT.――While standing on the porch enjoying the cool breeze,

my companion, a lady, playfully called me Dingle. I replied that the

air was filled with Dingles, whereupon this fellow sprang from behind

a bush, and would have throttled me, had I not sneezed in his face.

DINGLE.――What right had he to mention my name?

SQUIRE.――You are a masked knight――how should he know you are the

champion of one Dingle?

DINGLE (_Aside_).――What a donkey I have made of myself. (_Aloud_)

Gentlemen, there is a blunder here. Mr. Monk, I ask your pardon

(_Sheathes his sword_). I apologize.

[_Enter Mrs. Felton D. F. She pauses C._]

SQUIRE.――Gentlemen, you’ve raised the dead with your noise. Look!

WEATHERSPOUT.――Beg pardon, sir?

LESLIE.――Were you addressing me?

DINGLE.――What did you observe, sir?

SQUIRE.――I say it is a shame when even spirits cannot rest.

[_All look at each other for explanation._]

DINGLE.――My dear sir, you’ve indulged too freely in lobster salad;

you’ve got the nightmare.

SQUIRE (_Points at Mrs. Felton_).――Brave Sir Knight, look over your

shoulder.

DINGLE (_Turns slowly, sees Mrs. F., and runs off L._)

WEATHERSPOUT (_Same business_).

LESLIE.――Well, gentlemen――(_Turns and sees Mrs. F._) Ugh! (_Runs off

R._)

MRS. FELTON (_Removing pillow case from head_).――Is it possible that I

am such a hideous object that priests, soldiers and brigands flee from

my presence?

SQUIRE (_Removes mask_).――My dear Mrs. Felton, they were frightened

almost to death before you came; they were longing to disperse, and

you furnished the excuse.

MRS. FELTON.――This has been a night of excitement and pleasure to the

young folks; to me it has proved a season of consternation. One man

was so terrified on meeting me in the hall that he fell into a tub of

egg flip; another individual dropped the arm of his lady-love and ran

howling into the midst of the dancers.

SQUIRE.――When the guests behold your face, their fears will turn to

admiration.

MRS. FELTON.――Oh, now, really, Squire!

SQUIRE.――I have long sympathized with you in your bereavement; I have

observed your trials and sorrows with positive pain; sympathy often

ends in love――

MRS. FELTON (_Aside_).――Is he going to propose? (_Aloud_) Don’t,

don’t, Squire.

SQUIRE.――I repeat, sympathy often ends in love; Dorothy loves you

well.

MRS. FELTON (_Aside_).――Dorothy! (_Aloud_) She does, I am sure. Ahem!

SQUIRE (_Falls on his knee_).――And so does her father.

[_Enter Mercy L.; she pauses unobserved._]

MRS. FELTON (_Takes his hand_).――This is indeed an honor.

SQUIRE.――A true woman is an honor beyond price. I am the honored one

(_Look bashfully at each other_).

MERCY (_Aside_).――Well, if this isn’t the spooniest collection of

humans I ever was thrown among, then my name’s not Mercy. (_Aloud_)

Excuse me.

SQUIRE.―― } (_Start_) Eh! MRS. FELTON.――} Oh, my!

MERCY.――I’ve lost my mistress and I want to find her. It’s time to go

home.

SQUIRE.――The masqueraders are coming; (_Mrs. Felton and Squire mask_)

you will soon see your mistress. (_Waltz music in distance, to

continue until masqueraders enter, when change to march._) They are

now dancing the last waltz.

MRS. FELTON.――How sweetly the strains of music fall upon the ear.

SQUIRE (_Extending his arms_).――Do you waltz, my dear madam?

MERCY.――The idea!

MRS. FELTON (_Retreating_).――Oh, no, no, no.

MERCY.――Here they come!

(_Squire and Mrs. Felton take position C. Mercy L. E._)

SQUIRE.――They come, my dear Mrs. Felton.

MRS. FELTON.――Yes, they come.

SQUIRE.――My dear madam, let them come.

[_Enter Dingle and Em’ly, Leslie and Dorothy, Weatherspout and Miss

Philp, 2 L. E., followed by masqueraders; all countermarch to music,

and take final positions as follows: Dingle and Em’ly R. C., Leslie

and Dorothy L. C., Weatherspout and Miss Philp R., masqueraders form

semi-circle in rear._]

SQUIRE (_Removing mask_).――As your host I bid you each and all unmask.

(_All unmask._)

MISS PHILP (_Astonished_).――Only look! (_Aside_) Old as sin!

SQUIRE.――I will first present my daughter.

DINGLE (_Bows to Em’ly_).

SQUIRE.――Ladies and gentlemen (_takes Dorothy’s hand_), this is Miss

Dorothy Clyde (_all bow_).

DINGLE (_Aside_).――The widow’s daughter! (_Aloud to Em’ly_) Surely,

this is a joke; are you not Miss Clyde?

DOROTHY.――No, sir; _my_ name is Dorothy Clyde, and the young lady at

your side is the one who did _not_ hear your gallant views on the

subject of arrears of rent.

DINGLE.――Do you mean to say――?

EM’LY.――She means to say that I am Em’ly Felton.

SQUIRE.――And that you are by no means a stranger to Dorothy.

MISS PHILP.――And Mr. Dingle, pray what has become of him?

SQUIRE.――The ladies first. This is Miss Philp, my friends; this is

Miss Felton, and last, but not least, this is my esteemed――ah――that

is――my very esteemed friend, her mother. Now, Miss Philp, allow me to

introduce to your kind consideration Mr. Morley Dingle, of Dingleton,

Dingle Township, Pennsylvania.

DOROTHY (_Aside_).――Dingle, dong, dingle.

DINGLE.――I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss.

MISS PHILP.――It is such a pleasure to place your name――

WEATHERSPOUT (_Aside_).――On your teaspoons, if you could.

MISS PHILP.――Among those of my chosen friends.

SQUIRE.――Perhaps it would give Mr. Dingle exquisite pleasure to escort

you home.

DINGLE.――I have already a lady.

DOROTHY (_To Dingle_).――Are you going to distrain the household

chattels?

DINGLE.――Not with such good collateral security. I was wrong. I deeply

regret my action.

DOROTHY.――Then the court has reversed its decision?

DINGLE.――Completely! The waiver is a fraud.

SQUIRE.――Ladies and gentlemen, this is my old chum, Caleb

Weatherspout, and this is my future son-in-law, Leslie Raymore.

WEATHERSPOUT.――Of the firm of Weatherspout & Raymore.

MISS PHILP.――Mercy, get my wrap, quick.

MERCY.――Must you go home alone?

WEATHERSPOUT.――Not by any means. I shall see you both safely home.

MISS PHILP (_Aside_).――He don’t look so aged after all. (_Aloud_) How

kind, sir.

SQUIRE.――Now that we have thrown off our masks, let us keep them off.

MRS. FELTON.――And let us clasp hands in the light of a perfect

understanding.

(_All join hands._)

LESLIE.――This is mainly due to Dorothy Clyde――

EM’LY (_Nods to Dorothy_).――The Squire’s Daughter.

[_Curtain._]

――_Geo. M. Vickers_.

[Illustration: “Backward, turn backward, O time, in your flight, Make

me a child again, just for to-night!”]

A Dog Story.

I.

He was strong and trim, and a good sized cur.

A giant of dogs; with soft silk fur,

Poised head, of an intellectual size,

And two straight, luminous hero eyes.

A tail whose gestures were eloquence;

A bark with a germ of common sense.

And this dog looked, upon the whole,

As if he had gathered some crumbs of soul

That fell from the feast God spreads for man――

Looked like a line of the human plan.

There went with his strong, well-balanced stride

A dignity oft to man denied.

God’s humblest brutes, where’er we turn,

Are full of lessons for man to learn.

That night that he crouched by the yielding door,

And two grim, murderous thieves, or more,

Had bribed the locks with their hooks of steel,

He fought with more than a henchman’s zeal

For sleeping loved ones’ treasures and life:――

He conquered rogue, and bullet, and knife.

That day that he walked by the river’s brink,

Thinking (if certain men can think),

And saw distress with a quick, sure eye,

And heard the half-choked drowning cry

A living life boat, soon he bore

The half-killed man to a welcome shore.

And when the wife of the rescued one

Wept him her love for the great deed done,

And fondled him in a warm embrace,

He talked with his honest, kind old face,

And said, “I have shown you nothing new;

It is what we live and love to do.

In lake or river, in sea or bay,

My race are rescuers every day;

In the snowy gulfs, ’mid hills above

My race brings life to the race we love.”

II.

He was sick and reeling――deadly faint;

He roamed the streets with a piteous plaint.

He had lips afoam, and eyes hard set;

He asked the mercy of all he met.

He drearily ran his death-strown race;

He found no pity in any face.

He glanced at an old friend with a moan,

There came to him back a well-aimed stone.

No cure for him in his strange distress,

No tender nursing and kind caress!

All fled or fought when he came near;

The world seemed mad with rage and fear.

He searched for an unfrequented way;

He would have prayed if a beast could pray.

For he who man had deified

Was now all mercy of man denied;

He who to save man’s life had flown

Now had to fight man for his own.

* * * * *

The soul of the humble brute has fled:

The grand old dog lies safely dead.

O, man-like brain, and God-like heart!

You were made to carry a noble part.

What spirit of vile Satanic breed

Had sowed in your veins the poison-seed

That turned to a curse your honest breath,――

That shaped your lips to a fount of death?

Sleep well old friend; your teeth of flame

Grew not from a soul of vice and shame.

Sleep well, old saint; not yours the will

To plant the world with the germs that kill.

Not yours the conscious guilt that lies

In men who ravage with open eyes.

You did, old dog, the best you knew,

And that is better than most men do;

And if ever I get to the great Just Place

I shall look for _your_ honest, kind old face.

――_Will Carleton._

Exercise in Pronunciation.

A jocund, sacrilegious son of Belial, who suffered from bronchitis,

having exhausted his finances at the annual joust, in order to make

good the deficit, resolved to ally himself to a comely, lenient and

docile young lady of the Malay or Caucasian race. He accordingly

purchased a calliope, a coral necklace of chameleon hue, and securing

a suite of rooms at a hotel, he engaged the head waiter as his

coadjutor. He then dispatched a letter of the most unexceptionable

calligraphy extant, with a sentimental hemistich, inviting the young

lady to an orchestral concert.

She was harassed, and with a truculent look revolted at the idea,

refused to consider herself sacrificable to his desires, and sent a

polite note of refusal, on receiving which, he procured a carbine and

bowie knife, said that he would not now forge fetters hymeneal with

the queen, went to an isolated spot, severed his jugular vein, and

discharged the contents of his carbine into his abdomen, with a

grimace at the raillery of his acquaintances. He succumbed and was

irrefragably dead, and neither vagaries nor pageantry were permitted

when he was conveyed to the mausoleum followed by his enervated

canine.

The Moon.

Serenely, O moon, thou art beaming to-night,

Tracking the sea with thy silvery light;

Piercing the forest, thy beautiful rays

Are patching the ground in fantastical ways.

On city, on hamlet, on palace and hut,

On the far-stretching plain, in the deep mountain cut,

Thy mellow beams softly on all alike fall;

O, queen of the night, thou hast homage from all:

From the glistening dew, from the true lover’s sigh,

From the cricket’s shrill voice and the katy-did’s cry;

Thy heart-soft’ning power all races have felt;

To thy soothing appeal the most callous must melt.

O mute sympathizer, invoker of tales,

A fleet of heart secrets each night to thee sails.

To the shipwrecked at sea, when the storm clears away

And calm night succeeds the wild, boisterous day,

All huddled on raft, or faint clinging to spar,

There’s a hope in thy beams that no danger can mar.

When red in the east thou ascendest the sky,

And thy disc meets the half-naked savage’s eye,

He pauses, and feels as he views thy bright light

That a Greater than he is displaying His might.

Ere since by Omnipotence whirled into space,

Thou hast gladdened the night with thy radiant face.

To nations long dead, and unheard of by man,

Thou wast familiar when first they began,

Through their ages of splendor, their waning away,

Till their last mould’ring relic succumbed to decay.

And so, till Jehovah’s dread voice bids thee stay,

And the night is absorbed by Eternity’s day,

Thou shalt in thine orbit thy mission pursue,

A bright silver ship in an ocean of blue.

――_Geo. M. Vickers._

The Suicide.

The sun had set. The ruddy clouds

Had changed to gloomy gray,

And sweet, sad twilight soothed the hour

Forsaken by the day.

A village road, with nest-like cots,

And oaks, on either hand.

An old stone bridge, whose single arch,

A dark, deep river spanned:

And sounds of distant merry shouts

Were borne upon the breeze,

When, on the bridge there came a maid,

And sank upon her knees.

A maid? Perhaps a slighted wife――

Or neither――none could tell――

A stricken life――a broken heart,

About to bid farewell――

Farewell to that, which lacking hope,

Is but a dreary waste;

Where Nature’s brightest, fairest sweets

Grow bitter to the taste.

She rose――advanced unto the brink――

A wild, imploring prayer――

Alas! she stood, unloved――alone――

A statue of despair.

One plaintive wail, and then a plunge――

The wavelets laved the shore――

Then all was still. The river flowed

As smoothly as before.

――_Geo. M. Vickers._

The Felon’s Wife.

The scene was a court of justice, where criminals were tried,

And a woman and child[234] stood sobbing close by a prisoner’s side.

The man was the woman’s husband, the child their darling boy,

And they waited the dreadful sentence that would two fond lives

destroy.

The sunshine streamed through the window and fell on the judge’s

face,[235]

While the song of a bird in a tree-top[236] seemed harsh and out of

place;

Then the sunlight merged into shadow,[237] and the bird had ceased

to sing――

So quick are the fitful changes that fate and nature bring.

The ordeal soon was over, and the woman stood alone,

Alone with her tender offspring, with a heart that weighed like stone.

The convict’s tear still glistened like a gem on her pallid cheek,

And that tear-drop mutely told her what his white lips could not

speak.

’Twas a sad farewell, that parting, for it severed man and wife――

Doomed her to toil unaided; him to servitude for life:

But time soothes[238] the deepest sorrow, and love will hope and pray,

And soon like a dream grew the terrors of that sad and awful day.

* * * * *

’Tis night on the Mississippi, and a steamer, staunch and new,

Has stopped at a village landing her fuel to renew;

A man, the only passenger, steps[239] hurriedly on board,

And mates and crew stand ready, waiting the captain’s word:

“Haul in the gang-plank, lively! cast off your hawser, quick!”

Who――oo! blows the hoarse, loud whistle, for the fog hangs low[240]

and thick:

Dong! dong! rings the pilot’s signal; plash! plash! go the mammoth

wheels,

And into the gloomy shadows, like a monster swan she steals.[241]

A hundred souls are sleeping, and the engine’s throbbing drone[242]

Has lulled the weary look-out with its drowsy monotone.

Now the mist is lifting[243] slightly, and a light[244] gleams on

the shore――

’Tis gone; now the night grows blacker,[245] more dismal than before:

Who-oo! goes the whistle hoarsely, but the steamer plows along,

For the pilot knows his bearings and he softly hums a song.

Who――oo! comes a sound, and faintly, like an echo far away;

And the engine still is droning, still is heard the raining spray:

“Boat ahead, sir!”[246] calls the look-out; “Ay, ay, sir, boat ahead!”

Thus replies the watchful pilot as he glances at the red,[247]

Then turns to see the green[248] light, which the mist-clouds magnify

Till upon each wheelhouse, gleaming, stares a single monster eye.

Below the lights burn dimly, for all are locked in sleep,

Save the stewardess and a porter who silent vigil keep――

Who――oo! that’s close upon us! dong! quick goes the pilot’s bell,

The engineer springs promptly and handles his lever well:

“God help us! what has happened?” the frantic people cry,

While terror and wild confusion are seen in every eye:

Hark[249] to the trampling overhead! to the rudder’s rattling chain!

To the shrieks that come from the cabin, where the women still

remain!

One blinding flash![250] one shudder! now everything is still,

Save the swash[251] of the flowing river, and the sigh of the night

wind[252] chill.

The papers were full of the story, ’twas their theme for a day or

more,

Then the tale grew old and the world rolled on as smoothly as before.

In a lowly home by the river[253] live a woman and her son,

And the lines on their patient faces show what toil and care have

done:

They stand with a priest and surgeon, near the bed of a dying man,

And hark to his broken whispers, while his ashen face they scan:

His life had been worse than wasted, and his soul was black with sin,

And a seething hell of sorrow was raging his breast within――

“Yet――I’d――make――one――reparation――” and his trembling voice sinks

low――

“I――would――do――one――thing――of――honor――tho’ the last――before――I――go.”

From――the――wreck――of――the――smouldering――steamer――fate――bore――me――

bleeding――here,――

That――my――awful――retribution――to――these――victims――might――appear――

I――swear![254]――” and his voice grows louder, “if――you――search――that

――satchel――there――[255]

You――will――find――some――strange――confessions――and――the――proofs――of――

truth――they bear――”

On the wall[256] hangs a bag all blistered, which the woman hastes

to reach,

For she of all his hearers knows the purport of his speech.

“This[257] proves my husband’s innocence! Thank God for what you’ve

said!”

And she turns to the lonely passenger, only to find him dead.

* * * * *

Softly the sunbeams golden steal[258] by a prison bar

Lighting an empty dungeon whose iron door stands ajar;[259]

And the same sun lights a cottage,[260] with a warm and cheery glow,

Where three fond hearts united, with rapture overflow:

“O, husband,” the woman whispers, “I knew that you told me true;”

And he smiles and gently answers, “let us our vows renew;

Come, boy, kiss your new found mother, whom we’ll love to the end of

life,

For we’ve bid farewell forever to the grief-tried felon’s wife.”

――_Geo. M. Vickers._

GESTURES.

[234] H. O.

[235] Left H. O.

[236] A. L.

[237] B. P. H. O.

[238] P. H. O.

[239] H. F.

[240] B. P. H. O.

[241] H. F.

[242] P. H. F.

[243] Raise hand P.

[244] H. L.

[245] B. V. H. O.

[246] Look up.

[247] Look up to right.

[248] Look up to left.

[249] Raise hand to listen.

[250] V. H. O.

[251] P. Sw.

[252] A. O.

[253] H. O.

[254] Raise hand to swear.

[255] Ind. H. O.

[256] H. O.

[257] Fist raised as though holding satchel.

[258] P. Sw.

[259] H. O.

[260] Left H. O.

Little Christel.

Fräulein, the young school mistress, to her pupils said one day,

“Next week, at Pfingster holiday, King Ludwig rides this way;

And you will be wise my little ones, to work with a will at your

tasks,

That so you may answer fearlessly whatever question he asks.

It would be a shame too dreadful, if the king should have it to tell,

That Hansel missed in his figures, and Peterkin could not spell!”

“Oho! that never shall happen,” cried Hansel, and Peterkin too,

“We’ll show King Ludwig when he comes, what the boys in this school

can do.”

“And we,” said Gretchen and Bertha, and all the fair little maids,

Who stood in a row before her, with their hair in flaxen braids.

“We will pay such good attention to every word you say

That you shall not be ashamed of us when King Ludwig rides this way.”

She smiled, the young schoolmistress, to see that they loved her so,

And with patient care she taught them the things it was good to know.

Day after day she drilled them, till the great day came at last,

When the heralds going before him blew out their sounding blast;

And with music and flying banners, and the clatter of horses’ feet,

The King and his troops of soldiers rode down the village street.

Oh, the hearts of the eager children, beat fast with joy and fear,

And Fräulein trembled, and grew pale, as the cavalcade drew near;

But she blushed with pride and pleasure when the lessons came to be

heard,

For in all the flock of her boys and girls, not one of them missed

a word.

And King Ludwig turned to the teacher, with a smile and a gracious

look;

“It is plain,” said he, “that your scholars have carefully conned

their book.”

“But now let us ask some questions, to see if they understand;”

And he showed to one of the little maids an orange in his hand.

It was Christel, the youngest sister of the mistress fair and kind,――

A child with a face like a lily, and as lovely and pure a mind.

“What kingdom does this belong to?” as he called her to his knee;

And at once, “The vegetable,” she answered quietly.

“Good,” said the monarch kindly; and showed her a piece of gold;

“Now tell me what does this belong to, the pretty coin that I hold?”

She touched it with a careful finger――for gold was a metal rare――

And then, “The mineral kingdom!” she answered with confident air.

“Well done for the little mädchen!” and good King Ludwig smiled

At Fräulein and her sister, the teacher, and the child.

“Now answer me one more question,”――with a twinkle of fun in his

eye,――

“What kingdom do _I_ belong to?” For he thought she would make reply

“The animal;” and he meant to ask with a frown, if that was the thing

For a little child like her, to say to her lord and master, the King?

He knew not the artless wisdom that would set his wit at naught,

And the little Christel guessed nothing at all of what was in his

thought.

But her glance shot up at the question, and the brightness in her

face,

Like a sunbeam on a lily, seemed to shine all over the place.

“What kingdom do _you_ belong to?” her innocent lips repeat;

“Why, surely, the Kingdom of Heaven!” rings out the answer sweet.

And then for a breathless moment a sudden silence fell,

And you might have heard the fall of a leaf as they looked at little

Christel.

But it only lasted a moment; then rose as sudden a shout,――

“Well done, well done for little Christel!” and the bravos rang

about.

For the King in his arms had caught her, to her wondering, shy

surprise,

And over and over he kissed her, with a mist of tears in his eyes.

“May the blessing of God,” he murmured, “forever rest on thy head!

Henceforth, by his grace, my life shall prove the truth of what thou

hast said.”

He gave her the yellow orange, and the golden coin for her own,

And the school had a royal feast that day whose like they had never

known.

To Fräulein, the gentle mistress, he spoke such words of cheer,

That they lightened her anxious labor for many and many a year.

And because in his heart was hidden the memory of this thing,

The Lord had a better servant, the land had a better King.

――_Mrs. Mary E. Bradley, in “Wide Awake.”_

The Ballad of Breakneck.

The sun shines out on the mountain[261] crest;

Far down the valley the shadows[262] fall;

All crimson and gold is the glowing west;[263]

And wheeling and soaring the eagles[264] call.

The good ship[265] rides with a filling sail;

The sailors are crying, “Away! away!

We must stem the tide ere the North wind fail;

The night and the breeze brook no delay.”

The young mate lingers upon the strand[266]

Near a dusky maiden with flushing cheek;

In his broad brown palm he holds her hand,

And eager and low are the words they speak.

“Weep[267] not, Nekama; I shall return;

Wait for me here on the mountain side;

When the woods in their autumn glory burn,

I shall come again to claim my bride.”

Slowly the Indian lifts her head;

Dry is her cheek, and clear her eye:

“Nekama[268] will wait as thou hast said:

The son of the pale-face cannot lie.

Seeking thy sails on the stream below,[269]

Under the shade of the tall pine-tree,[270]

When the beeches are gold and the sumachs glow,

From the mountain top I shall watch for thee.”

The sailors are calling; the broad sails flap;

From his neck Dirck loosens his great gold chain,

Flings[271] the gleaming links in Nekama’s lap,

Then springs[272] to the shallop’s stern again.

The stout ash bends to the rowers’ will,

Till the small boat reaches the vessel’s side,

Then he turns to Nekama waiting still,

Sad, but calm in her savage pride.

Sails the ship under high Cro’ Nest,[273]

Wearing and tacking in Martins’ Reach,[274]

While Dirck looks back with a man’s unrest;

And Nekama[275] lingers upon the beach.

Fade the sails to a vague white speck;

Loom the mountains, hazy and tall;

Dirck watches still from the vessel’s deck,

And the girl moves not, though the night-dews fall.

A year has passed, and upon the hills[276]

Scarlet and russet have faded to brown;

No sound is heard but the flowing rills,[277]

The summer’s voices are hushed[278] and gone.[279]

A late, sad crow[280] on a bare beech top

Caws and swings in an autumn wind;

The dead leaves fall, and the acorn’s drop[281]

Breaks the stillness and scares the hind.

Wrapped in her blanket Nekama stands,

Scans[282] the horizon with eager eye.

Late she lingers. She clasps[283] her hands,

And a sadness dims her wide dark eye.

Is it a mist[284] o’er the distant shore?

Look how the maiden’s[285] dusky face

Glows and brightens! a moment more,

And the white speck changes,[286] and grows apace.

He comes! he comes! From the wigwams near

Gather the braves[287] and the squaws again;

The men are decked with arrow and spear,

And the women of wampum and feathers vain.

Flecked is the river[288] with light canoes,

Laden with gifts for the welcome guest;

The spoils of the chase let him freely choose;

Close to the ship[289] are the frail barks pressed.

Brown and still as a bronze relief,

Shyly Nekama[290] keeps her place

Behind her father, the Mohawk chief,

Who, plumed and tall, with painted face,

Grasping a spear[291] in his nervous hand,

Looking in vain one face to see,

Turns and utters his proud demand:

“Dirck Brandsen[292] comes not: where lingers he?”

“Dirck stays in Holland,”[293] the sailors say;

“He has wedded a dame of wealth and state;

He sails no more for many a day――

God send us all like happy fate!”

Dark grows the brow of the angered sire:

“Can the white man lie like a Huron knave?”

The eyes of the maiden burn like fire,

But her mien is steady, her words are brave.

From her bosom she drags[294] the great gold chain;

Dashed[295] at the captain’s feet it lies:

“Take back to the traitor his gift again;

Nekama has learned how a pale-face lies!”

Proudly she steps[296] to her light canoe;

Bends her paddle at every stroke;

The graceful bark o’er the waters flew,

Nor wist they a woman’s heart had broke.

Up the mountain[297] Nekama hies;

Stands in the pine tree’s shade again;

Scans the scene with her wide wild eyes;

Moans like a creature in mortal pain.

The dark clouds crowd round the mountain peak,[298]

Caws the crow on the bough[299] o’erhead

The great limbs bend and the branches creak――

“Ah, why do I live?[300] He is false!”[301] she said.

A shriek is heard through the gathering storm;

A rushing figure darkens the air;

Out from the cliff[302] springs a slender form

And the maiden’s grief lies buried there.[303]

Towers the gray crag[304] grim and high;

Drips the blood from its rugged side;

Loud and shrill is the eagle’s call

O’er the muttering wash of the angry tide!

But Storm King[306] nods to old Cro’ Nest,[307]

Where the pine-trees nod, and the hoarse crows call,

Though the Mohawk sleeps ’neath that rocky crest,[308]

While the leaves on his ruined castles fall.

To-day on the Hudson sailing by,

Under the shadow of Breakneck Hill,

We tell the legend, and heave a sigh,

Where Nekama’s memory lingers still.

――_Harper’s Magazine._

GESTURES.

[261] Left A. O.

[262] P. H. F.

[263] H. L.

[264] Left A. Sw.

[265] H. F.

[266] H. O.

[267] Look to H. O.

[268] Look to Left H. O.

[269] H. O.

[270] A. O.

[271] Sp.

[272] H. F.

[273] A. O.

[274] Left H. F.

[275] H. O.

[276] Left A. O.

[277] H. L.

[278] P. H. O.

[279] Drop hand.

[280] Left A. O.

[281] Sp.

[282] Hand over eyes, and lean forward.

[283] Clasp hands.

[284] Left H. F.

[285] H. O.

[286] Left H. F.

[287] B. H. O.

[288] P. H. F.

[289] H. F.

[290] H.O.

[291] Sp.

[292] Turn to left.

[293] to right.

[294] Sp.

[295] D. F.

[296] H. O.

[297] A. O.

[298] B. Par. A. O.

[299] A. F.

[300] Wring hands.

[301] B. D. Cli.

[302] A. O.

[303] Ind. D. O.

[304] A. O.

[305] H. O.]

[306] Left A. O.

[307] A. O.

[308] Ind. A. O.

[Illustration: “Hide your faces, Holy Angels!”]

The Chemist to his Love.

I love thee, Mary, and thou lovest me,

Our mutual flame is like the affinity

That doth exist between two simple bodies:

I am Potassium to thine Oxygen;

’Tis little that the holy marriage vow

Shall shortly make us one. That unity

Is, after all, but metaphysical.

Oh, would that I, my Mary, were an Acid,

A living acid, and thou an alkali,

Endowed with human sense, that brought together,

We might coalesce unto one salt,

One homogeneous crystal. Oh, that thou

Wert Carbon, and myself were Hydrogen!

We would unite to form olefiant gas,

Or common Coal, or Naphtha. Would to Heaven

That I were Phosphorus, and thou wert Lime,

And we of Lime composed a Phosphuret!

I’d be content to be Sulphuric Acid,

So that thou might be Soda; in that case

We should be Glauber’s Salt. Wert thou Magnesia

Instead, we’d form the salt that’s named from Epsom.

Could’st thou Potassa be, I, Aquafortis,

Our happy union should be that compound form,

Nitrate of Potash,――otherwise Saltpetre.

And thus our several natures sweetly blent,

We’d live and love together, until death

Should decompose the fleshy tertium quid,

Leaving our souls to all eternity

Amalgamated. Sweet, thy name is Briggs

And mine is Johnson. Wherefore should not we

Agree to form a Johnsonate of Briggs?

We will. The day, the happy day is nigh,

When Johnson shall with beauteous Briggs combine.

A Wayward Life.

[An organ accompaniment, and singing by a concealed choir, will add

very materially to the effect of this piece.]

’Tis a cold winter night, and the earth is robed in a gown of snow.

The moon is partly hidden by the driving clouds, and but dimly lights

the sleeping world.

The scene is a grave-yard. In the centre stands an old church. From

its stained glass windows the warm light softly gleams. Slowly

tottering along the narrow path is seen a human form; it is a rough

old tramp, lonely, and almost bowed to the earth. He seeks among the

tall, white tombs; now he sinks wearily down on a hard, rough mound.

There is no marble slab to mark out the spot; only the drifted snow,

only the bare leafless willow that moans and sighs above it.

Hark! he speaks; his voice is feeble; he mournfully cries, “Mother,

I’ve come home to die with you. Here on your long-neglected grave,

here let me pillow my head and fancy I sleep in your arms; and the

soft music within that dear church, let me fancy ’tis your sweet voice

as you lull me to sleep. I dare not enter yon church, where in youth I

worshiped my God.”

See! he lays his head on that cold, hard mound, and sobs like a tired

little child, “Oh, mother, I am weary, so weary of life, of toil so

bitter and labor so hard. I long for rest, but I am afraid to die.” He

pauses, he listens, for within the church a voice speaks slowly and

reverently, “Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I

will give you rest.” The tramp replies, “Could I but know those words

were meant for such a sinner as I!”――and heavy sobs convulse his poor,

wretched frame.

Now the choir sings:

“Go tell it to Jesus, He knoweth thy grief,

Go tell it to Jesus, He’ll send thee relief;

Go gather the sunshine He sheds on the way,

He’ll lighten thy burden, go, weary one, pray.”

The wind moans piteously through the tall, gaunt trees, and he murmurs

half inaudibly, “The prayers that were taught me in sweet boyhood

years I then repeated with smiles, but now tears dim my eyes as I

think of that patient mother who lies beneath this mound. I killed

her! I broke her heart! But mother, oh, hear me to-night! With my

poor, weary form I will guard you and sleep on your snow-covered

grave. Could I know that when dead I could meet you in Heaven, I would

rest calmly here on this rough pillow, but alas for my sins, so many,

so vile! ’Tis only the pure and holy and good that ever dare hope they

may enter therein.”

Each note of the organ peals out, full of tenderest pathos, each word

from the singers comes clearly and plainly:

“Weary of earth and laden with my sin,

I look at Heaven and long to enter in;

But there no evil thing may find a home,

And yet I hear a voice that bids me come.”

Now he kneels in the snow and his head is bent low, he clasps his

trembling hands, then with one yearning look towards Heaven, he sinks

like a child, weary of play, sleepy and tired, on that snow-covered

pillow, the pillow of death.

Now the flakes fall faster and faster still, they cover him gently,

like a mother that covers her child, lest she waken it out of its

slumber.

Now more holy than ever, grander than ever, the old organ peals out,

and the choir sings:

“Safe in the arms of Jesus,

Safe on his gentle breast,

There by his love o’er-shadowed,

Sweetly my soul shall rest.”

――_Lizzie G. Vickers._

The Little Torment.

My name’s Jack. I’m eight years old. I’ve a sister Arathusa, and she

calls me a little torment. I’ll tell you why: You know Arethusa has

got a beau, and he comes to see her every night, and they turn the gas

’way, ’way down ’till you can’t hardly see. I like to stay in the room

with the gas on full blaze, but Arathusa skites me out of the room

every night. I checked her once, you better believe. You know she went

to the door to let Alphonso in, and I crawled under the sofa. Then

they came in, and it got awful dark, and they sat down on the sofa,

and I couldn’t hear nothing but smack! smack! smack! Then I reached

out and jerked Arethusa’s foot. Then she jumped and said, “Oh, mercy,

what’s that?” and Alfonso said she was a “timid little creature.” “Oh,

Alfonso, I’m happy by your side, but when I think of your going away

it almost breaks my heart.” Then I snickered right out, I couldn’t

help it, and Arathusa got up, went and peeked through the key-hole and

said, “I do believe that’s Jack, nasty little torment, he’s always

where he isn’t wanted.” Do you know this made me mad, and I crawled

out from under the sofa and stood up before her and said, “you think

you are smart because you wear a Grecian Bend. I guess I know what

you’ve been doing, you’ve been sitting on Alphonso’s lap, and letting

him kiss you like you let Bill Jones kiss you. You ought to be ashamed

of yourself. If it hadn’t been for that old false front of yours, Pa

would have let me have a velocipede like Tom Clifford’s. You needn’t

be grinding them false teeth of yours at me, I ain’t a-going out of

here. I ain’t so green as I look. I guess I know a thing or two. I

don’t care if you are 28 years old, you ain’t no boss of me!”

The Stars.

Spanglets of heaven! Ye seem to me

The alphabet of immensity,

By which I read, in dazzling light,

The lofty name of the Infinite.

Shine on! Shine on! in your depths of blue,

’Till every heart can read it too,

And every raptured eye that’s bent

Up to the studded firmament,

Catches the glow of your ceaseless rays,

And glistens in the Eternal’s praise.

Beautiful stars! ’Neath your rich beams,

As down from heaven their glory streams,

When silence has sealed up the lips of Earth,

And thought, more wild than the winds, has birth,

I wander! I wander! with untold joy,

To feast my soul on the orb-lit sky;

And never did Chaldee, when taught to kneel

At the shrines of your splendor, more wildly feel

The torrents of bliss through his bosom flow,

As he upward gazed from the dust below.

Eyes of the universe! Gems divine!

Suns that bask in your own pure shine!

Countless guides of the awe-struck soul,

As inquiring it rushes from pole to pole:

I drink! I drink! at your fountains deep,

While the world is locked in the arms of sleep,

’Till filled with the Pythonic draught of light,

My intoxicate spirit deems all things bright;

And earth (and its deeds) is lost to me,

Eclipsed by your dazzling radiency.

――_Dublin University Magazine._

Why She didn’t Stay in the Poorhouse.

No, I didn’t stay in the poorhouse, and this is how, you see,

It happened at the very last, there came a way for me.

The Lord, he makes our sunniest times out of our darkest days,

And yet we fail most always to render His name the praise.

But, as I am goin’ to tell you, I have a home of my own,

And keep my house, an’――no, I’m not a-livin’ here alone.

Of course you wonder how it is, an’ I’m a-goin’ to tell

How, though I couldn’t change a jot, the Lord done all things well.

I’ve spoke of Charlie and Thomas, and Rebecca, “that lives out

West;”

An’ Isaac, not far from her, some twenty miles at best;

An’ Susan;――but not a single word I said about another one,――

Yet we had six; but Georgie! Ah! he was our wayward son,

An’ while his father was livin’ he ran away to sea,

An’ never sent a word or line to neither him nor me.

Each heart has some secret sorrow it hides in silence there,

An’ what we can freely speak of is never so hard to bear.

But I couldn’t talk of Georgie――he was too dear to blame,――

It seemed as if I couldn’t bear even to hear his name.

But when I took my pauper’s place in that old work-house grim,

My weary heart was every day a-cryin’ out for him.

For I’d tried the love of the others, and found it weak and cold,

An’ I kind o’ felt if Georgie knew that I was poor and old,

He’d help to make it better, and try to do his part,

For love and trust are last of all to die in a woman’s heart.

An’ he used to be always tellin’ when he was a man and strong,

How he’d work for father and mother; and he never done no wrong,

Exceptin’ his boyish mischief, an’ his runnin’ off to sea;――

So somehow now, out of them all, he seemed the best to me.

And so the slow days wore along, just as the days all go,

When we cling to some wild fancy that all the time we know

Is nothing but a fancy, yet we nurse it till ’twould seem

That the dream alone is real, and the real but a dream.

And so I clung to Georgie, or clung to my faith in him,

And thought of him the long days through, until my eyes were dim.

And my old heart ached full sorely to think that never again

I should see my boy until we stood before the Judge of men.

When one day a big brown-bearded man came rushin’ up to me,

Sayin’ “Mother! my God! have they put you here?” An’ then I see

’Twas Georgie, my boy, come back to me, and I knowed nothin’ more,

’Cause I got faint, and but for him, I’d fallen on the floor.

They say he swore some awful words,――I don’t know,――it may be;

But swear or not, I know my boy’s been very, very good to me.

An’ he’s bought the old home back again, an’ I’ve come here to stay,

Never to move till the last move,――the final goin’ away.

An’ I take a heap of comfort, for Georgie’s good an’ kind,

An’ the thought of bein’ a pauper ain’t wearin’ on my mind;

But still I never can forget until my dyin’ day,

That they put me in the poorhouse ’cause I was in the way.

“Bill” the Engineer.

“All ’board!” “Sphee-ee-chee――sphee-ee-choof!”

And the iron horse moves his steel-rimmed hoof,

And snorts from his chest his breath of steam,

With a quickening pulse and warning scream,

Moves out[309] with his freight of human lives――

A sinuous[310] chain of humming hives.

Anon the hum is a rattling din,

As the bright steel arms fly out and in,

Till naught is heard save a deafening jar,

As the train speeds[311] on like a shooting star,

With a lengthening trail[312] like a smoky pall,

Whose writhing folds envelope all.

“Stoke up!” shouts Bill, the engineer;

“We must rush this grade and the bottom clear

With a monstrous bulge, to pull up hill

T’other side――heavy train.” “All right, Bill!”

And the coal went in and the throttle out.

“Watch yo’ side the curve!” from Bill with a shout.

Adown the grade with open throttle

They swiftly glide as a flying shuttle――

Weaving in streaks of green and gray,

The warp and woof of bush and clay,

While steam and smoke and dust behind

Form mottled clouds in the tortured wind.

Through the cut[313] and into the vale――

Across the trestle that spans the swale;

There the willows swirl, and the rank weeds sway,

And the heron starts with a shriek away[314]――

Blown from her course――a shrill refrain,

’Mid the whirling gusts of the flying train.

* * * * *

Beyond the curve this side the hill,

There runs a creek――by the old saw-mill――

A covered bridge[315] and a water tank,

With the watchman’s shanty on this bank:

A quiet nook, for the mill is done,――

With crippled Jemmie it ceased to run.

Just round[316] the curve in the shady wood

That fringes the creek, his low hut stood,

Where Jemmie, the watch, spent his useful life,

With a lovely child and a loving wife.

Naught now came their peace to mar

Worse than a swift train’s rumbling jar.

To fame unknown, but to roadmen dear;

For Jemmie had watched from year to year――

And more than once did his vigil save

A train and its lives from a watery grave;

Since broken in purse and form at the mill

He worked on crutches――a good watch still!

* * * * *

“Hark![317] Tis the train! The mother’s ear

Leans to the sound; then a mortal fear

Freezes her veins――she sees not her child[318]!

“Oh, darling! Oh, Maggie!” in accents wild.

She starts[319] from the hut――now _feeling_ the way,

“_Keep Maggie in when the trains go by_.”

She strains her eyes[320] out toward the creek,

Where up the track, with an ashen cheek,

Hobbled the watch[321]――one pointing crutch

Where Maggie lay[322] in the engine’s clutch――

The wilting flowers across her breast;

She’d wearied to sleep in their eager quest.

“Save her, Mary![323] For God’s sake run!”

Came Jemmie’s voice like a signal gun;

The mother sprang like a startled deer,

But the rushing train[324] was now too near――

She saw, and swooned[325] with a piercing shriek

That echoed afar o’er the winding creek;

Ay, pierced the boom round the curve so near,[326]

And smote on the ear of the engineer;

“Great God! Down brakes! Quick! Reverse!”

And Bill was out[327] on the iron horse,

Treading his thrills o’er the roaring fires

With his nerves strung tense as electric wires.

Alas! the engine’s speed is too great;

The baby dreams in the path of fate!

Yet Bill knows the force and just the brace

To lift a pound in such a case;

With a rushing train and the child asleep,

’Tis a giants’ power his place must keep.

Still reaching forth with an iron grasp,

He does with his might this God-like task;

Bears the startled child on high[328]――

So happy to hear its frightened cry――

Then crushing it to his manly breast,[329]

Kisses its cheeks with a lover’s zest.

“More brakes!” calls Bill, for the mother’s seen,[330]

And the crutches and form of Jemmie between

His wife and the train――that’s crushed the life

From his child, he thinks――“I’ll die with my wife!”

But the train now slackens and stops apace――

Hard by a pallid upturned face.[331]

“Saved!” cries Bill, from the engine’s front;

“Saved!” echoes Jemmie, his crutches shunt;

“Saved!” shout the passengers, “Saved from death!”

“Saved?”[333] queries Mary, with conscious breath.

Then helped to her feet――“God bless you sir!”

And Bill’s grimy hand wipes back a tear.

“All ’board!” Sphee-ee-chee――sphee-ee-choof!

And the iron horse moves his steel-rimmed hoof;

And the train resumes its journey far.

Heroes have been, and heroes are――

Of battle and State, of travel and skill,

Of letters and art――but give us “Bill.”[334]

At the end of the road they gave him a purse

“I don’t want that!” and he muttered a curse;

But finally took it, and stowed it away,

And then threw[335] it to “Mag” as he passed next day.

It whirled through the air and struck by the stoop,

Where the three stood to greet him, a joyful group.

――_Bettersworth._

Published by permission of T. J. Carey, Editor of “Excelsior Readings

and Recitations.”

GESTURES.

[309] H. F.

[310] H. O.

[311] H. O. quick motion.

[312] Trace line of smoke with ind. fin. from H. O. to H. F.

[313] H. O. continuous gesture.

[314] A. O.

[315] H.O. continue with impulses to “_bank_.”

[316] H. O. sweep.

[317] Left listening.

[318] Look around distractedly.

[319] H. O.

[320] Hand over eyes.

[321] H. O.

[322] Ind. H. F.

[323] Throw both hands up.

[324] Left H. O.

[325] D. F.

[326] Left H. L.

[327] Left H. O.

[328] Raise hand as though lifting child.

[329] Hand on breast.

[330] D. O.

[331] D. L.

[332] A. O.

[333] Dazed manner.

[334] H. F. cordially.

[335] H. sweep.

The True Remedy.

Don’t say that times are pinching,

Don’t say that bread is dear;

Don’t say that our prospects darken,

And that worse times are near.

Times are not so very pinching,

Bread is not so very dear;

Countless stores of loaves are wasted,

Burned in whisky,――drowned in beer.

Don’t say that the harvest failed us,――

“Under average,” “short,” or “light;”

Don’t say that the Bounteous Giver

Gave not as you think he might.

God is bountiful, and giveth

As becomes the Godhead’s hand;

Food for man and beast providing,

Scattering plenty o’er the land.

Man himself, the food destroyer,

Spurns and wastes the bounties given;

Turns to famine God’s abundance,

Robs his brothers, blasphemes heaven.

Don’t say that _this_ is fearful,

Killing men and burning corn;

War is raging here among us,

Day and night, and eve and morn.

Noiselessly and never ending,

In a quiet, legal way,

Murdering, starving, scourging, blasting,

All the year and every day!

Take your grain in million quarters,

Sink it in the lonely main,

There to feed the gaping fishes,

Never to be seen again;

Hide it in earth’s drearest caverns,

Burn it in the mid-day sun:――

That were mercy, that were worship,

When compared with what is done,――

Taking bread from hungry children,

And from starving, weeping wives;

Turning it to direst poison;

Demonizing human nature,

Dwarfing it in moral stature,

Blotting out each God-like feature,

Shortening, tort’ring human lives!

We say, something must be done;

Government must interfere,――

Take the “short and simple method;”

Stop the whisky, stop the beer!

You can stop them if you will.

’Tis a small thing, will you do it?

’Tis your country calls you to it;

Stop the traffic――shut the still.

――_Temperance Speaker._

[Illustration: “But she, forsooth, must charm a man.”]

Wanted――A Wife.

I do wish somebody would tell me how to get a wife. For the last ten

years I’ve been continually proposing, at all sorts of times, in all

sorts of places, to all sorts of girls, and in all sorts of positions.

I have knelt in the clear moonlight, while the soft zephyrs of June

fanned my heated brow, and with my hands on my heart made the most

passionate appeal romantic maiden could desire. I have proposed in the

giddy mazes of the waltz; I have besought a fair girl to be mine while

skating, reminding her at the time that the path of life was far too

slippery to be trodden alone; I have popped the question on the

stairs, and in fact everywhere I could; the last time being in the

surf at Long Branch, where I begged the object of my affections to let

us breast the waves of life together.

But it’s of no earthly use! No one will have me except some

superannuated female, and I’m not partial to aged charmers, though,

goodness knows, I want a wife almost bad enough to take one. I’ve

hardly a button on any of my shirts, or other undergarments, and am

consequently obliged to fasten them with pins, (which occasionally

prick me at most inconvenient times). My toes are poking out of my

socks, and my fingers out of my gloves, while to crown all, I, who am

a great lover of cleanliness, am forced to sit in a horribly dirty

room. I have changed my boarding house ever so many times, but it

does’nt make a particle of difference. My landlady always says it

isn’t her business to “clean up” after me; the servants invariably

remark that its no business of theirs, and I’m sure nobody can say

that I ought to get a broom and dustpan and keep my own room clean.

My washerwoman is everlastingly cheating me, besides continually

suppressing various articles of clothing; and when I mildly inquire

where they have gone to, she solemnly swears she never had them;

though I could swear equally solemnly that she had. Then she cuts the

pearl buttons off my shirts, and declares they came off in “the wash;”

and if I venture timidly to suggest that she should put them on again,

she thanks God that all the gentlemen are not as mean as I am.

Oh, dear! It’s very hard upon a poor fellow not to be able to get a

wife when he wants one! I’m not so very bad looking either; to be sure

I squint a little, but then that peculiarity is sometimes admired, and

if it were not, surely some kind-hearted girl might shut her eyes to

the fact and confer upon me the inestimable benefit of becoming my

partner for life. I’m not bad-tempered, and don’t drink nor smoke. I’m

only thirty, and though I now belong to a club, I’ll promise to give

it up if required. I possess enough money to keep a wife comfortably;

have a good disposition; and what more could a girl ask. If, after

trying six months longer, I cannot induce any girl to have me, I will

emigrate to some tropical climate where clothes are almost

superfluous, and washerwomen unknown, and consequently where a wife

will not be one of the absolute necessities of civilized life.

Back to Griggsby’s.

Pap’s got his patent-right, and rich as all creation;

But where’s the peace and comfort that we all had before?

Let’s go a-visitin’ back to Griggsby’s station――

Back where we used to be so happy and so pore!

The like of us a-livin’ here! It’s jest a mortal pity

To see us in this great, big house, with carpets on the stairs,

And the pump right in the kitchen! And the city! city! city!

And nothin’ but the city all around us everywheres!

Climb clean above the roof and look from the steeple,

And never see a robin, nor a beech or ellum tree!

And right here in ear-shot of at least a thousan’ people,

And none that neighbors with us, or we want to go and see!

Let’s go a-visitin’ back to Griggsby’s station――

Back where the latch-string’s a-hangin’ from the door;

And every neighbor round the place is dear as a relation――

Back where we used to be so happy and so pore!

I want to see the Wiggenses, the whole kit and bilin’

A-drivin’ up from Shallow Ford to stay the Sunday through;

And I want to see them hitchin’ at their son-in-law’s and pilin’

Out there at Lizy Ellen’s, like they used to do!

I want to see the piece quilts the Jones girls is makin’,

And I want to pester Laury ’bout their freckled hired hand,

And joke her ’bout the widower she come purt’ nigh a-takin’,

Till her pap got his pension ’lowed in time to save his land.

Let’s go a-visitin’ back to Griggsby’s station――

Back where there’s nothin’ aggervatin’ anymore,

Shet away safe in the wood around the old location――

Back where we used to be so happy and so pore!

I want to see Mirandy and help her with her sewin’,

And hear her talk so lovin’ of her man that’s dead and gone

And stand up with Emanuel to show me how he’s growin’,

And smile as I have saw her, ’fore she put her mournin’ on.

And I want to see the Samples on the old lower Eighty――

Where John, our oldest boy, he was took and buried, for

His own sake and Katy’s――and I want to cry with Katy

As she reads all his letters over, writ from the war.

What’s in all this grand life and high situation,

And nary pink nor hollyhawk bloomin’ at the door――

Let’s go a-visitin’ back to Griggsby’s Station――

Back where we used to be so happy and so pore!

――_J. W. Riley._

The Old Spinster.

No, she never was married, but was to have been――

At the time she was running the loom――

But the fact’ry burned down, some were mangled and scarred,

And her lover was never her groom,

As he wedded a handsomer girl.

To the stranger, old Rachel was ugly indeed,

For her features were grim and distorted;

Tho’ in years long gone by she was lovely and fair,

As the hopes of her life that were thwarted

By the dreadful mishap in the mill.

But beneath the plain calico gown that she wore,

Beat a heart that was loving and tender――

As the villagers knew――and man, woman or child

’Gainst the merest rude speech would defend her

So well was the poor woman loved.

And right many’s the maid, who, bewailing her woe,

Has told Rachel the slight that distressed her,

Only soon to trip on with a happier look,

While the silly goose inwardly blessed her,

For her comforting words and advice.

Then the urchins have gone to her, covered with mud,

Afraid to go home――perhaps crying――

But old Rachel (the remedy) washed out the stains,

And they laughed while their garments were drying,

In the yard at the back of her cot.

When the villagers slept, and the cricket and owl,

And the rustling of leaves were unheeded,

In the room of the sick, by the flickering light

Was she seen, where her presence was needed,

While her gaunt shadow danced on the wall.

And the out-casts who begged at her door for a crust,

Ere they went on their wearisome ways,

Felt that one thought them human and pitied their fate,

Who recalled the remembrance of earlier days,

And who reckoned them not by their rags.

But the weight of her grief which was never revealed,――

Save to Jesus――the friend of the lowly――

Bore her down――and the sands of her desolate life,

Which for years had been ebbing out slowly,

Ceased to run――and her spirit was freed.

When the villagers stood at the side of her grave,

When the gray-headed preacher’s voice faltered,

When the tears trickled down the bronzed cheeks of the men――

Oh! her beauty seemed fresh and unaltered

As when happy she worked in the mill.

And oft where she lies a bent form can be seen

When the twilight is deep’ning its shadows:

And the sweetest of flow’rets are found on her tomb,

All fresh from the dew-gleaming meadows;

Yet who gathers them no one can tell.

――_Geo. M. Vickers._

A String of Broken Beads; or, Jingles from Favorite Authors.

Oh, with what pride I used

To walk these hills, and look up to my God,

And bless him that the land was free. ’Twas free――

From end to end, from cliff to lake, ’twas free!

Free as our torrents are that leap our rocks,

And plow our valleys, without asking leave!

Or as our peaks that wear their caps of snow

In very presence of the Light Brigade.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them,

All a gwine into the ark.

And there was the elephant-ah, that g-r-e-a-t animal-ah of which

Goldsmith describes in his Animated Nater-ah, which is as big as a

house-ah, and his bones as big as a tree-ah, depending somewhat upon

the size of the tree-ah; and there was Shem, and there was Ham, and

there was Japhet-ah, a-l-l a-gwine into the show-room.

The auctioneer then in his labor began;

And called out aloud as he held up a man,

How much for a bachelor, who wants to buy?

In a twinkling each maiden responded, “I――I!”

In short, at a hugely extravagant price,

The bachelors all were sold off in a trice,

And forty old maidens――some younger, some older――

Each lugged an old bachelor home on her shoulder.

But scarce had the honeymoon passed o’er their heads,

When one morning to Zantippe, Socrates said,

“I think for a man of my standing in life,

This house is too small as I now have a wife:

So without further delay Carpenter Cary

Shall be sent for to widen my house and my dairy.”

“Now, Socrates, dearest,” Zantippe replied,

“I hate to hear everything vulgarly my’d;

Now, whenever you speak of your chattles again,

Say _our_ cowhouse, _our_ barn-yard; _our_ pig-pen.”

“By your leave Mrs. Snooks, I’ll say what I please

Of _my_ houses, _my_ lands, _my_ gardens, _my_ trees.”

Then he thought of his sisters, proud and cold,

And his mother vain of her rank and gold.

So, closing his heart, the judge rode on,

And Maud was left in the fields alone.

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,

When he hummed in court the Bugle Song.

Oh, love, they die in yon fair sky,

They faint on field, and hill, and river;

Our echoes roll from soul to soul,

And grow forever and forever.

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,

Answer, echoes, answer.

Hark! how the sign-board creaks! the blast howls by!

Moan! moan! a dirge swells through the angry sky!

Ha! tis his knock! he comes, he comes once more――

Ha, ha! Take that! and that! and that!

Ha, ha! So, through your coward throat

The full day shines!... Two fox tails float

And drift and drive adown the stream;

Therefore, my bruddren, if you’s a-gwine to git saved, you’s got to

git aboard de Ship of Faith. Dere ain’t no udder way my bruddren. Dere

ain’t no gitting up de back stairs, nor goin’ ’cross lots, you’s got

to git aboard de Ship of Faith, for

Me thought I heard a voice cry ‘Sleep no more!’ to all the house,

Glamis hath murdered sleep, and therefore,

Cawdor shall sleep no more!

Then, methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censor,

Swung by seraphim, whose footfalls twinkled on the tufted floor.

“Wretch,” I cried, “Thy God hath lent thee by these angels he hath

sent thee

Respite――respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!

Quaff, oh, quaff, this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!’

Quoth the raven――Good night.

――_Arranged by F. Lizzie Peirce._

The Legend of Wissahickon.

While yet the Pale-face ne’er had peeped

Within that tranquil vale,――where steeped

In sombre, fir-clothed heights,[336] and bound

On either side[337] with moss-grown ground

And craggy cliff,[338] a goodly stream,[339]

With many a rippling noontide gleam,

Nor ceased her daily tithes to pay

To good Queen Ocean[340] far away――

Deep sheltered from the hostile world

The smoke from many a tent up-curled,

Where, round the wigwam fire, red dames

Talked o’er their tawny lords’ brave names,

While they, with feathered death and bow

And trackless step, now quick, now slow,

Gave chase, in neighboring hills,[341] the game,

There pasturing heedless, till death came

In one fell dart. Life surely here――

With naught but Manitou[342] to fear――

Seemed sweet to those blest sons of men;

Yet it did find its cares e’en then,

For lo![343] at last there came a day

Of sorrow and of dread dismay,

When from a lowering cloud that spread[344]

Across the summer blue o’erhead,

Their God-chiefs awful voice was heard,

As like the thunder rolled each word:

“My children, I am called away

Where other souls my presence pray,

But ere I leave ye I must ask

One boon of all,――a simple task

’Twill be to those whose faith hath borne

The tests of fiery stake or thorn.

Yet some I know among ye, who

Will find it hard to sin eschew

When left alone, and all must know,

An evil spirit dwells below

These rocks, and ever guards his chance

To tempt ye, with his fiendish dance

And wicked ways, to but forsake

My laws for aught that he may make;

Lo, should he rise when I am gone,

Let no temptation lead ye on

To overstep the bounds here set

About your hunting grounds, nor let

Aught of shape, however fair

And good it seems, entice ye where

My word hath said ye nay.”

Thus said,

The cloudy spirit, then vanished

Into the air from whence it grew;

And now a wild commotion[345] flew

Throughout the warriors gathered there;

And wondered all how soon, and where,

This new-brought ill its face should show,

To tempt their Eve-like hearts; when lo!

Ere two short days had dragged away,

Within a distant wood,[346] where lay

Soft twilight[347] ever ’mong the trees,

Strange music stirred, and on the breeze

Of evening came wild shouts of mirth,[348]

That seemed to wake the very earth,[349]

So boisterous were they, and, alas!

The youths could not a moment pass

Till they with stealthy steps were brought

Close to that God-forbidden spot;

And there, as o’er a lofty brow

That hemmed the darksome glade, they now

Did creep,[350] behold! a wondrous sight,[351]

Such as their soul’s most fancied flight

Had ne’er conceived of, met their eyes,

Even like some glimpse of paradise:

A Pale-face spirit,[352] lank and grim,

With horns and claws that gave to him

A weird, unearthly look, sat high

Upon a rock that towered nigh;

And while below[353] fair damsels played

Wild antics through the woodland shade,

He to loud fits of mirth gave vent,

As near the maidens came and went,

And cast before him laurels wreathed

In crowns; then――ere the watchers breathed,

Lest they should be discovered there――

Lo! quick as lightning ’thwart the air,

The fiendish god turned full to view,

And ere the astonished gazers knew,

Close by their side[354] with devilish smile

He stood, and thus addressed them,[355] while

With spell-bound gaze――their eyes made dim

With fascination――now from him

From whom they had no power to go,

Did wander to the scene below,[356]

Where still,――though now the sun had gone――

To music soft, the dance went on:――

“Would’st thou, oh man, to pleasure blind,

Seeking a gift thou ne’er shalt find,

Led by a promise far astray[357]

Along that hard and narrow way,

Would’st thou no more sad anguish know,

Nor lose the chase with feeble bow?

Would’st thou be free,[358] and tread once more

The grounds your fathers roamed of yore?

Wouldst thou find game in every copse

And stream,[359] and gather plenteous crops

In autumn, yet know naught of care

Nor labor, but with damsels fair[360]

And waxen, pass life’s endless days

Along my smooth and flower-girt ways?

Would’st thou, in fine, the height of bliss[361]

Attain? I offer[362] ye all this,

And more; come, follow me.”

He ceased,

And like some semi-human beast,

His blood-cast eye the crowd scanned o’er,

Where some, entranced, could hear no more,

But, weak of heart, with outstretched hand,

Forgetting quite their God’s command

Of yester morn, were quickly led

Adown the cliff[363] with dizzy head

And burning brain, and those, alas!

From mortal view for aye did pass;

But some there were who still delayed,

Not resolute and half afraid

To follow; lingering there they stood

Till lo! the dawn[364] crept through the wood;

And on its gentle face, behold![365]

A strange-shaped cloud, fringed round[366] with gold,

Came darkly flitting through the sky,

Till seemingly it had drawn nigh

Above[367] that gathering in the vale.

Then quick the subtle fiend turned pale,

As from the frowning mists o’erhead

A mighty voice and angry said:――

“Depart, ye tempter of the night!

Hence! Dare ye show your face in light?

Did I not bid thee well beware

Lest thou shouldst fall in thine own snare?”

The spirit fled,[368] but scarce had left

His seat, when some great earthquake cleft

The rock beneath his feet in twain,

And deep he plunged[369] between. In vain

He strove to rise again, for quick

The waters from a hillside creek[370]

O’erran that pool,[371] that marks to-day

The spot where Satan passed away.

Then kindly smiled the Manitou

On those around, and said:――

“To you

My children, who have yet withstood

The things of evil for the good;

To you whose faith has ne’er been turned

Astray by sin, well have ye earned

The joys foretold; so now go forth;

The boundless woods from south to north,

From east to west, are yours to roam

For aye, till I shall call ye home.”

――_John L. Cooper._

GESTURES.

[336] A. O.

[337] B. H. O.

[338] A. O.

[339] D. F.

[340] Left. H. L.

[341] H. O.

[342] Ind. fin. A. O.

[343] Raise hand.

[344] V. A. O.

[345] B. H. L.

[346] H. F.

[347] P. H. F.

[348] H. F.

[349] D. F.

[350] P. D. F.

[351] B. H. O.

[352] Left. A. F.

[353] D. F.

[354] Left. H. L.

[355] Look to left.

[356] D. F.

[356] Speak to H. O.

[357] H. O.

[358] B. H. O.

[359] Left. H. O.

[360] D. F.

[361] Ind. fin. A. O.

[362] B. O. H.

[363] D. F.

[364] H. L.

[365] A. L.

[366] A. Sw.

[367] A. F.

[368] Left. H. O.

[369] Left. D. O.

[370] Left. H. L.

[371] Left. D. O.]

[Illustration: “To hear, to heed, to wed,

Fair lot that maidens choose,

Thy mother’s tenderest words are said,

Thy face no more she views.”]

A New Mother.

I was with my lady when she died:

I it was who guided her weak hand,

For a blessing on each little head,

And laid her baby by her on the bed,

Heard the words they could not understand.

And I drew them round my knee at night,

Hushed their childish glee, and made them say,

They would keep her words with loving tears,

They would not forget her dying fears,

Lest the thought of her should fade away.

I, who guess’d what her last dread had been,

Made a promise to that still, cold face,

That her children’s hearts, at any cost,

Should be with the mother they had lost,

When a stranger came to take her place.

And I knew so much: for I had lived

With my lady since her childhood: known

What her young and happy days had been,

And the grief no other eyes had seen――

I had watch’d and sorrow’d for alone.

Ah! she once had such a happy smile!

I had known how sorely she was tried:

Six short years before, her eyes were bright

As her little blue-eyed May’s that night,

When she stood by her dead mother’s side.

No――I will not say he was unkind;

But she had been used to love and praise.

He was somewhat grave: perhaps, in truth,

Could not weave her joyous, smiling youth

Into all his stern and serious ways.

She, who should have reigned a blooming flower,

First in pride and honor as in grace――

She, whose will had once ruled all around,

Queen and darling of us all――she found

Change enough in that cold, stately place.

Yet she would not blame him, even to me,

Though she often sat and wept alone;

But she could not hide it near her death,

When she said with her last struggling breath,

“Let my babies still remain my own!”

I it was who drew the sheet aside,

When he saw his dead wife’s face. That test

Seem’d to strike right to his heart. He said,

In a strange, low whisper, to the dead,

“God knows, love, I did it for the best!”

And he wept――O yes, I will be just――

When I brought the children to him there,

Wondering sorrow in their baby eyes;

And he sooth’d them with his fond replies

Bidding me give double love and care.

Ah, I loved them well for her dear sake:

Little Arthur, with his serious air;

May, with all her mother’s pretty ways,

Blushing, and at any word of praise

Shaking out her sunny golden hair.

And the little one of all――poor child!

She had cost that dear and precious life.

Once Sir Arthur spoke my lady’s name,

When the baby’s gloomy christening came,

And he call’d her “Olga――like my wife.”

Save that time he never spoke of her.

He grew graver, sterner every day:

And the children felt it, for they dropp’d

Low their voices, and their laughter stopp’d

While he stood and watch’d them at their play.

No, he never nam’d their mother’s name.

But I told them of her: told them all

She had been, so gentle, good and bright;

And I always took them every night

Where her picture hung in the great hall.

There she stood: white daisy’s in her hand,

And her red lips parted as to speak

With a smile; the blue and sunny air

Seem’d to stir her floating golden hair,

And to bring a faint blush on her cheek.

Well, so time pass’d on; a year was gone,

And Sir Arthur had been much away,

When the news came! I shed many tears

When I saw the truth of all my fears

Rise before me on that bitter day.

Any one but her I could have borne!

But my lady lov’d her as her friend,

Through their childhood and their early youth,

How she used to count upon the truth

Of this friendship that would never end!

Older, graver than my lady was,

Whose young, gentle heart on her relied,

She would give advice, and praise, and blame,

And my lady lean on Margaret’s name,

As her dearest comfort, help and guide.

I had never liked her, and I think

That my lady grew to doubt her too

Since her marriage; for she named her less,

Never saw her, and I used to guess

At some secret wrong that I never knew.

That might be or not. But now, to hear

She would come and reign here in her stead,

With the pomp and splendor of a bride:

Would no thought reproach her in her pride

With the silent memory of the dead?

Lo the day came, and the bells rang out,

And I laid the children’s black aside;

And I held each little trembling hand,

As I strove to make them understand,

They must greet their father’s new-made bride.

Ah, Sir Arthur might look grave and stern,

And his lady’s eyes might well grow dim,

When the children shrank in fear away,――

Little Arthur hid his face, and May

Would not raise her eyes, or speak to him.

When Sir Arthur bade them greet “their mother,”

I was forced to chide, yet proud to hear

How my little loving May replied,

With her mother’s pretty air of pride,――

“Our dear mother has been dead a year!”

Ah! the lady’s tears might well fall fast,

As she kiss’d them, and then turned away.

She might strive to smile or to forget,

But I think some shadow of regret

Must have risen to blight her wedding-day.

She had some strange touch of self-reproach;

For she used to linger day by day

By the nursery door or garden gate

With a sad, calm, wistful look, and wait

Watching the children at their play.

But they always shrank away from her

When she strove to comfort their alarms,

And their grave, cold silence to beguile:

Even little Olga’s baby smile

Quiver’d into tears when in her arms.

I never could chide them; for I saw

How their mother’s memory grew more deep

In their hearts. Each night I had to tell

Stories of her whom I loved so well

When a child, to send them off to sleep.

But Sir Arthur――O, this was too hard!――

He who had been always stern and sad

In my lady’s time, seem’d to rejoice

Each day more; and I could hear his voice

Even, sounding younger and more glad.

He might perhaps have blamed them; but his wife

Never failed to take the children’s part.

She would stay him with her pleading tone,

Saying she would strive, and strive alone,

Till she gained each little wayward heart.

And she strove indeed, and seem’d to be

Always waiting for their love, in vain;

Yet when May had most their mother’s look,

Then the lady’s calm, cold accents shook

With some memory of reproachful pain.

Little May would never call her mother:

So one day, the lady bending low,

Kiss’d her golden curls, and softly said,

“Sweet one, call me Margaret, instead,――

Your dear mother used to call me so.”

She was gentle, kind, and patient too,

Yet in vain: the children held apart.

Ah, their mother’s gentle memory dwelt

Near them, and her little orphans felt

She had the first claim upon their hearts.

So three years pass’d; then the war broke out;

And a rumor seemed to spread and rise;

First we guess’d what sorrow must befall,

Then all doubt fled, for we read it all

In the depths of her despairing eyes.

Yes; Sir Arthur had been called away

To that scene of slaughter, fear, and strife,

Now he seemed to know with double pain

The cold, bitter gulf that must remain

To divide his children from his wife.

Nearer came the day he was to sail,

Deeper grew the coming woe and fear,

When one night, the children at my knee,

Knelt to say their evening prayer to me,

I looked up and saw Sir Arthur near.

There he waited till their low “Amen;”

Stopp’d their rosy lips raised for “good night!”

Drew them with a fond clasp, close and near,

As he bade them stay with him, and hear

Something that would make his heart more light.

Little Olga crept into his arms;

Arthur leant upon his shoulder; May

Knelt beside him, with her earnest eyes

Lifted up in patient, calm surprise――

I can almost hear his words to-day.

“Years ago, my children, years ago,

When your mother was a child, she came

From her northern home, and here she met

Love for love, and comfort for regret,

In one early friend,――you know her name.

“And this friend――a few years older――gave

Such fond care, such love, that day by day

The new home grew happy, joy complete,

Studies easier, and play more sweet,

While all childish sorrows pass’d away.

“And your mother――fragile, like my May――

Leant on this deep love,――nor leant in vain.

For this friend (strong, generous, noble heart!)

Gave the sweet and took the bitter part,

Brought her all the joy, and kept the pain.

“Years pass’d on, and then I saw them first:

It was hard to say which was most fair,

Your mother’s bright and blushing face,

Or the graver Margaret’s stately grace;

Golden locks, or braided raven hair.

“Then it happen’d by a strange, sad fate,

One thought entered into each young soul:

Joy for one――if for the other pain;

Loss for one,――if for the other gain,

One must lose, and one possess the whole.

“And so this――this――what they car’d for――came

And belong’d to Margaret: was her own.

But she laid the gift aside, would take

Pain and sorrow for your mother’s sake,

And none knew it but herself alone.

“Then she travell’d far away, and none

The strange mystery of her absence knew,

Margaret’s secret thought was never told:

Even your mother thought her changed and cold,

And for many years I thought so too.

“She was gone; and then your mother took

That poor gift which Margaret cast aside:

Flower, or toy, or trinket, matters not――

What it was had better be forgot;

It was just then she became my bride.

“Margaret is my dear and honored wife,

And I hold her so. But she can claim

From your hearts dear ones, a loving debt

I can neither pay, nor yet forget:

You can give it in your mother’s name.”

Next day was farewell――a day of tears;

Yet Sir Arthur as he rode away,

And turned back to see his lady stand

With the children clinging to her hand,

Look’d as if it were a happy day.

Ah, they lov’d her soon! The little one

Crept into her arms as to a nest;

Arthur always with her now; and May

Growing nearer to her every day:――

Well, I loved my own dear lady best.

――_Adelaide Proctor._

Richard Dingle’s Speech.

I am Master Richard Dingle,

Tho’ my comrades call me Dick,

And I have a purpose single,

Which I’ll mention very quick.

Every day I get a lecture

For behaving very wrong;

And with wise looks some conjecture

That I’ll never get along.

But what’s past my mind’s construing

Is, that all these busy elves

Scold and thrash poor me for doing

What they daily do themselves!

Master Meekly says ’tis fearful,

To be crushing harmless flies,

Yet can he, with gun, quite cheerful

Seek the bird that bleeding lies.

Others say: “Look here, Dick Dingle,

Love of gold is vain and vile.”

Yet when they detect its jingle,

Why, somehow they always smile.

Doctor Blacktooth says tobacco

Is not even fit for brutes,

Yet to make his teeth still blacker

Smokes the rankest of cheroots!

Now it seems to me the purest

Seldom scold us when they teach,

For they know the way that’s surest

Is to practice what they preach!

――_Geo. M. Vickers._

Word Pictures.

In fulfillment of our promise in a former number, we will now endeavor

to give a few ideas upon the important subject of “suiting the action

to the word.” Gestures are of two kinds, curved and straight, or

emphatic and descriptive.

In the preparation for emphatic gestures the hand should be brought up

on the oblique to different degrees of elevation, depending upon the

force of emphasis, and then given a stroke on whatever line the sense

requires.

Descriptive gestures require the curved preparation, _i. e._, the hand

is brought in front of the body in the direction of the opposite

shoulder, and then a graceful sweep is made in the line desired.

In the preparation of a selection for recitation, the first requisite

is to lay out your picture, and locate every object that is mentioned;

let it be firmly set in your mind so that you will not change the

position of any portion of the scene during the course of the

recitation.

A very fine piece for practice upon this is the “Ballad of Breakneck,”

in the present number. Suppose you turn to it and imagine yourself to

be standing upon the banks of the Hudson, in a position commanding the

view down the river; by examining the marked gestures you will be able

to locate the entire scene. In the delivery of a piece, always try to

see with your mind’s eye what you are describing to your audience, and

if the object is supposed to be in sight, let the eye follow the

gesture; this, however, should be avoided in emphatic GESTURES, or

where the thing described is supposed to be hidden from view.

The following rules will serve as a guide in deciding the directions

that gestures should take:

_Front_ gestures express unity, personality, direct address, and

forward motion; also refer to the future.

_Oblique_ gestures express plurality, general assertion, and are used

in addressing numbers.

_Lateral_ gestures express vastness in time, numbers, space or idea;

also casting away, and negation.

_Backward_ gestures express remoteness in time or space.

_Descending_ gestures pertain to the will, express determination and

emphasis.

_Horizontal_ gestures pertain to the intellect, and are used in

argument and address.

_Ascending_ gestures pertain to the imagination, and express

exultation.

――_F. Lizzie Peirce._

The Meeting at Wendletown.

’Twas early in the winter when first the talk began

About the rights of women and the cruelty of man,

Sech talk was new in Wendeltown, it scared us all to hear

How ignorant we women was about our proper speer;

And how we’d toiled and pinched and saved, and nothing better knew,

While our husbands did the thinking and held the pursestrings too.

Miss Harper come and tell us this――a lecturer――you know.

Law me! how beautiful she talked; her words jest seemed to flow

As smooth and easy as the brook――she looked and moved so quiet;

But she fairly shook old Wendletown, she raised up sech a riot;

And when I heerd her tell about us women’s “wasted years,”

Although I’m old and tough, you’d think, I couldn’t keep from tears.

Soon all the wives and mothers too, began to see quite plain

That jest to bake and churn and mend was laboring in vain:

While Mrs. Cap’n Brown she come and sez, sez she to me,

“I’m going to have a high career,” whatever that may be.

But Miss Harper hed to leave us, so she advertised one day

That she’d lecture in the school-house once before she went away.

Well, the room was packed that evening and Miss Harper did her best,

Her gift of speech was wonderful,――that all the men confessed――

She soared, way up into the clouds, and back to earth again,

And showed us most convincin’ly the worthlessness of men!

Her speech was drawing to a close, and she was jest a saying:

“Dear sisters, spurn your tyrant, man, and scorn the part he’s

playing;

Let _him_ perform the menial tasks he’s set for you so long,

While _you_ stand on the mountain tops, rejoicing free and strong!”

Joe Hale was setting close at hand, right in the foremost row,

And on his knees his little child, ’bout two year old or so:

Joe was a poor, lone widower, his wife was dead and gone,

His home was near the school-house, and I ’spose he felt forlorn,

So he’d come and brought the baby, though the reason why I knew――

His hired girl had slipped away to hear the lecture too.

And jest that very minute, when the room was still as death,

And you might have heerd a pin drop as Miss Harper stopped for breath,

That little toddling thing slid from off her father’s knee,

Crept close up to the lecturer’s desk and said: “Does ’ou love me?”

Poor Joe jest turned a fiery red, and tried to snatch the child;

But Miss Harper she leaned over and looked at him and smiled;

Then dropping all her papers, in the twinkling of an eye,

She clasped the little one, who gave a wondering, happy cry,

And laid her little curly head right down upon her breast,

With both arms clinging round her neck, as if she’d found her rest!

It’s as fresh now as a picter, though it happened months ago,

How she held that little baby girl a whispering soft and low;

Her eyes as bright and smiles a-coming and a-going,

While all the sound that you could hear was jest the child a-crowing.

Up to this time astonishment had kept the folks all still;

But some one shouted out――“Three cheers and give ’em with a will!

It’s plain enough Miss Harper has found _her_ proper speer,

And man, the tyrant’s conquered! Now boys a rousing cheer!”

That meeting broke up in a tumult, but Joe was waiting there;

He’s a manly, handsome fellow, and when I saw the pair

Go walking off together, I sez, sez I, “It needs no witch to tell

What’s coming next.” And warn’t I right? Folks laughed and talked a

spell,

But we all danced at the wedding! Law! how she settled down!

There ain’t no better housewife than Mrs. Hale in all this town.

[Illustration: “Oh, my heart’s love! oh, my dear one!

Lay thy poor head on my knee.”]

Petruchio’s Widow.

A SHAKESPERIAN TRAVESTY

IN ONE ACT.

CHARACTERS.

MR. ROMEO MONTAGUE, _an unlucky suitor_. MR. MOSES SHYLOCK, _a

pawnbroker_. MRS. KATE PETRUCHIO, _a dashing widow_. MISS HELENA,

_an affectionate spinster_. MRS. DESDEMONA OTHELLO, _an unhappy

neighbor_. MRS. JESSICA LORENZO, _an ungrateful daughter_.

SCENE:――_A parlor; door pract. C. flat; window L. flat, open; table

beneath window; rocking chair R. C.; chairs at wings; Mrs. Petruchio

discovered standing in door._

MRS. PET.――’Tis a good thing that Jessica has finished dusting this

parlor; no nonsense will I tolerate from man, woman, or child within

this domicile. (_Enters and throws herself in rocking chair._)

Petruchio ran affairs while living; but, in his demise――poor fellow――I

re-inherited the freedom of my tongue. (_Calls_) Jessica!

JESSICA (_from without_).――I am here; please wait; don’t scold; here I

am. (_Enters L._) Your pleasure, madam.

MRS. PET.――Have you washed the front steps, scrubbed the pavement and

wrung out the clothes that were wet by the rain?

JESSICA.――Alas! all these, and more, have I done. I have picked the

beans, mixed the batter for muffins, put the mackerel in soak for

breakfast, and――――

MRS. PET.――Enough! Why thus parade before my fancy’s eye the coarse

details of cookery. I tell you ’tis scarce an hour since I ate――the

subject is distasteful.

JESSICA.――But, madam, you asked me what――――

MRS. PET. (_stamps foot_).――Silence!

JESSICA.――You are dreadfully cross. When I came to you and told you

the story of my life, how I eloped with poor, dear Lorenzo, who was

all a woman could ask, while the money I took from father lasted――――

MRS. PET.――And who hastily departed simultaneously with the last

ducat――――

JESSICA.――Do not wound my spirit. I repeat, you promised to give me

shelter, to shield me, treat me kindly――――

MRS. PET.――Shut up! move! Lorenzo, you say, has gone to Padua to seek

a position as pen-wiper to Ballario; believe it not; he is in Venice

suing for a divorce before the Duke. Unhappy woman, move!

JESSICA (_aside_).――As Jessica Shylock I was envied as a rich man’s

child; as Jessica Lorenzo I am――――

MRS. PET.――What’s the use of whining; you will never see Lorenzo more.

JESSICA.――

There is a tide in the affairs of men――

If men, then women, too――

Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune;

Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows and in miseries;

And we must take the current when it serves,

Or lose our ventures!

I leave for Venice this very night!

MRS. PET.――Away to the kitchen and put on the beans!

JESSICA (_looks off L_).

MRS. PET.――

Alas! how is it with you,

That you do bend your eye on vacancy

And with the incorporal air do hold discourse?

Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep!