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EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION
BY CHARLES WESLEY EMERSON
FOUNDER OF EMERSON COLLEGE OF ORATORY, BOSTON
A COMPILATION OF SELECTIONS ILLUSTRATING THE FOUR STAGES OF
DEVELOPMENT IN ART AS APPLIED TO ORATORY IN FOUR VOLUMES, WITH KEY
TO EACH CHAPTER
THIRTY-THIRD EDITION
VOLUME I--REVISED
TO MY STUDENTS Whose need has been my inspiration and whose
understanding my rich reward, these volumes are affectionately
DEDICATED
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION
ANIMATION
ANALYSIS
SMOOTHNESS
VOLUME
FORMING THE ELEMENTS
CHAPTER I.
THE TEA-KETTLE AND THE CRICKET Charles Dickens
THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN Robert Browning
GROUP OF LYRICS:
PIPPA PASSES Robert Browning
THE SNOWDROP Alfred Tennyson
THE THROSTLE Alfred Tennyson
ONE MORNING, OH, SO EARLY Jean Ingelow
FREEDOM John Ruskin
A LAUGHING CHORUS
THE CHEERFUL LOCKSMITH Charles Dickens
HOME THOUGHTS FROM ABROAD Robert Browning
LOCHINVAR Sir Walter Scott
THE POLISH WAR SONG James G. Percival
CHAPTER II.
THE VILLAGE PREACHER Oliver Goldsmith
TO THE DAISY William Wordsworth
PSALM XXIII David
EXTRACT FROM EULOGY ON
WENDELL PHILLIPS George William Curtis
THE BROOK Alfred Tennyson
OLD AUNT MARY'S James Whitcomb Riley
CHILD VERSE:
MY SHADOW Robert Louis Stevenson
THE SWING Robert Louis Stevenson
THE LAMPLIGHTER Robert Louis Stevenson
WAITING John Burroughs
CHAPTER III.
THE REVENGE Alfred Tennyson
THE OCEAN Lord Byron
SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS
AT CAPUA Rev. Elijah Kellogg
TELL TO HIS NATIVE MOUNTAINS, James Sheridan Knowles
BATTLE HYMN Karl Theodor Korner
SELF-RELIANCE Ralph Waldo Emerson
ADAMS AND JEFFERSON Daniel Webster
THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW Alfred Tennyson
SONNETS:
KEATS
WORDSWORTH
MILTON
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING
IS THERE FOR HONEST POVERTY Robert Burns
CHAPTER IV.
HAMLET TO THE PLAYERS William Shakespeare
THE BOY AND THE ANGEL Robert Browning
SPEECH AND SILENCE Thomas Carlyle
THE RICH MAN AND THE POOR
MAN Khemnitzer
GATHERING OF THE FAIRIES Joseph Rodman Drake
THE SONG OF THE RAIN Spectator
HEARTY READING Sidney Smith
IVRY Lord Macaulay
THE DAFFODILS William Wordsworth
CHEERFULNESS J. H. Friswell
APRIL IN THE HILLS Archibald Lampman
INTRODUCTION.
Teach me, then,
To fashion worlds in little, making form,
As God does, one with spirit,--be the priest
Who makes God into bread to feed the world.
--Richard Hovey.
The revised edition of the "Evolution of Expression" is issued in
response to frequent requests from teachers and students for a
formulation of those principles upon which natural methods in the
teaching of expression are based. It is hoped that the brief
explanatory text introducing each chapter may aid teacher and
pupil to avoid arbitrary standards and haphazard efforts,
substituting in their place, psychological law. Growth in
expression is not a matter of chance; the teacher who understands
nature's laws and rests upon them, setting no limit to the
potentialities of his pupil, waits not in vain for results.
No printed text, however, can take the place of a discerning
teacher. A knowledge of the philosophy of education in expression
avails little without the ability to create the genial atmosphere
conducive to the development of the student. The teacher is the
gardener, his service--his full service--is to surround the young
plant with favorable conditions of light and soil and atmosphere;
then stand out of its way while it unfolds its full blossom and
final fruitage.
The tendency of modern education is towards the discovery and
perfection of methods. The thought of leading educators is turned
from the what to the how; to the development of systems of
progressive steps through which the pupil may be led to a
realization of himself. This trend is best shown in the
multiplicity and excellence of recent pedagogical treatises and in
the appearance of carefully graded and progressive text-books. The
ancients believed that their heroes were born of gods and
goddesses. They knew of no means by which the mind could be
developed to the compass of greatness. The ancient theory to
account for greatness was preternatural birth; the modern theory
is evolution. To-day the interest of the child is awakened, his
mind is aroused, and then led onward in regular steps.
The study of all forms of art, so far as methods are concerned,
should be progressive. For correct guidance in our search for the
best methods, we must understand the order of the development of
the human mind. A child, before he arrives at an age where he can
be taught definitely, is simply a little palpitating mass of
animation. Soon he begins to show an attraction toward surrounding
objects. Next he begins to show a greater attraction for some
things than for others. His hands clutch at and retain certain
objects. He now enters the period of development where he makes
selections, and thus is born the power of choice. Objects which,
at first, appeared to him as a mass now begin to stand out clearly
one from another; to become more and more differentiated, while
the child begins to separate and to compare. Thus the brain of the
child passes through the successive stages from simple animation
to attraction, to selection or choice, to separation or analysis.
This principle of evolution, operating along the same lines, is
found in the race as in the individual. In all man's work he has
but recorded his own life or evolution. All history, all
religions, all governments, all forms of art bring their testimony
to this truth, and in each the scholar may find these successive
stages of development.
In the age of Phidias the art of sculpture reached its maturity.
No race and no people have ever surpassed the consummate
achievements of that period. But this perfection was the result of
a process of evolution. There had been graduated steps, and those
same steps must to-day be taken in the education of the artist.
Art had passed into its second period before authentic Greek
history began. The first stage was shown in that nation so justly
called the "Mother of Arts and Sciences." In Egypt we find
probably the first real manifestations of mind in art forms. They
are colossal exhibitions of energy, such as the Temple of Thebes,
seven hundred feet in length, statues seventy feet tall, monuments
rearing their heads almost five hundred feet in air.
"Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous
Of which the very ruins are tremendous."
To Assyria we turn in our search for the next step in the progress
of art. Here we find the artists making melodramatic efforts to
attract the attention and fascinate the mind with weird and
incongruous shapes of mongrel brutes and hydraheaded monsters.
Finding art at this point, the Greeks, true to their race
instinct, at once began to evolve from it higher forms. They soon
awoke to the perception that beauty itself is the true principle
of fascination. Reducing their new theory to practise, the Greek
artists turned their attention to perfecting the details of the
art they had borrowed. To works originally repellant from their
very crudeness, they supplied finish and perfection of the parts.
The ideal was still before them; the grotesque monsters might
fascinate the beholder, but, however skilfully executed, however
perfected in finish, the impression produced was but transitory,
and failed to satisfy the craving of the soul Beauty was found to
be the only abiding source of satisfaction. As the conceptions of
the past no longer satisfied the criterion which their own minds
had embraced, the Greek artists sought in nature herself for
models of that beauty, which, when placed in art forms, should be
a joy forever. The monsters of antiquity disappeared, and in their
places, came attempts to faithfully copy nature. To be sure, some
specimens of the art era from which the Greeks had just emerged
appeared at much later periods of their history; but these
creations, as in the case of the Centaur, were usually
representations of what were believed to be historical facts,
rather than fantastic creations designed by the artist to startle
the beholder. The Greek still gratified his passion for beauty of
detail, while he was pursuing his new-born purpose of copying
nature. It was not long before he found that nature, however
skilfully copied, could be perfectly mirrored to the eye of the
beholder only when presented as she appears to the mind of man.
This discovery budded and blossomed into the consummate flower of
true art, the fourth or suggestive era, which reached its acme in
the work of Phidias and his contemporaries. Every creation was the
expression of some state of mind. Everything was made as it
appeared to the eye of the poet, not as it might seem to the man
of no sentiment. The impression of the poetic mind found its
expression in art, and now the statues think, fear, hate, love.
The same general laws which have governed the rise of sculpture,
underlie the evolution of all forms of art. It is the purpose of
the present writing to hint at, rather than to trace, the four
stages of development in painting, music, and literature. To
follow the steps of progress in painting is somewhat more
difficult than to trace the evolution of sculpture or
architecture, on account of the perishable nature of the
materials. Music has unfolded with the unfolding of the human
mind, from the startling sounds of the savage,--exhibitions of
pure energy,--through efforts at fascination by the medium of
weird and unnatural combinations, and through attempts to
reproduce natural sounds, ever upward till it breathes the very
spirit of nature in a Haydn or a Beethoven.
We may follow the growth of the English drama through the same
process, from its dawning in the fantastic miracle plays with
their paraphernalia of heaven and hell, of gods, devils, angels,
and demons, to the creations' of "the thousand-souled
Shakespeare." In religion we see the same phases--from the worship
of life itself, of natural phenomena, through the panorama of
deities friendly and deities unfriendly, of gods many and of
devils many, until the human mind grasps the conception of Unity
in deity, and bows in worship before an Infinite Being of Love and
Providence.
In the history of government is written the same tale of
evolution, from manifestations of brute energy, seeking
gratification in subjugation for its own sake,--from the
government typified by the iron heel,--to the government which,
seeking the education and protection of all the people becomes a
school rather than a system of restraint.
Therefore the race, in its march from savagery to civilization,
may be considered as one man, showing, first, animation; next,
manifesting his objects of attraction; third, displaying his
purposes; and finally putting forth his wisdom in obedience to the
true, the beautiful, and the good.
These principles of natural evolution have been applied by the
writer to the study of oratory. The orator must illustrate in his
art the same steps of progress which govern the growth of other
arts. He may have developed the power of the painter, the
sculptor, the musician, yet if he would unfold the art of the
rhetorician, he must pass through the progressive gradations that
have marked the education of his powers in other departments. In a
single lifetime he may attain the highest art expression, yet he
cannot escape the necessity of cultivating his powers by the same
process of evolution which the race needed centuries to pass
through. It remains for the teacher, therefore, to so arrange the
methods of study as to enable the pupil to pursue the natural
order of education. In all things he must stimulate and not
repress normal growth.
There is an old notion sometimes found among theoretical educators
that the mind of a child is like a piece of paper upon which
anything may be written; a mould of clay upon which any impression
may be made; a block of stone in which the teacher, like the
famous sculptor of old, sees, in his poetic vision, an angel, and
then chips and hacks until that angel stands revealed. The theory
is absurdly and dangerously fallacious. Paper and clay are not
living organisms; the orator is not the statue chiselled from the
rough stone of human nature, or, if the teacher succeeds in so far
perverting nature as to hack and trim a human organism into the
semblance of a statue, the product of his work will stand forth a
living illustration of the difference between the genuine and the
spurious. The stone has no life. Life must be breathed into it,
and the sculptor may breathe into it such life as he chooses. The
gardener, on the other hand, must obey the laws of the life of the
plant he nurtures. He must so direct the forces of nature as to
help its inherent tendencies. A certain line of growth is written
in the structure of every species of plant. The plant may be
hindered or perverted in its development; it may be killed, but it
cannot be made to grow into the form of another plant.
The progress of the human mind can be illustrated only by that
which is vital, not by anything mechanical. Mind reacts upon
whatever is given to it according to the divine laws of its own
organism. The human mind, like the plant, must exhibit vitality in
abundance before it finds a higher and more complex manifestation.
The unskilled teacher, instead of inviting out the young pupil
along the line of his own organism, may, at the outset, paralyze
the unfolding mind by ill-advised dictation. There can be no true
teaching which does not involve growing, and growing in the way
intended by nature. The teacher must be something more than a
critic. The critic establishes criteria, protects the public, and,
in a measure, educates the public taste. When he is able to teach
others how to reach true criteria he becomes a teacher. Until he
can do this he has no place in the class room.
It will be observed that the four volumes of the "Evolution of
Expression" recognize the four general stages of man's
development: Volume I., representing the period when the
individual is engrossed with subjects or objects as a Whole, and
his passion for life is expressed through rude energy, size--the
Colossal; Volume II., when he delights in so presenting The Parts
to which he has been attracted, as to make them Effective in
attracting the attention of others; Volume III., when his
appreciation of the use or Service of the Parts carries him beyond
the melodramatic to the Realistic; and Volume IV., in which his
dawning perception of that higher service resulting from the
truthful Relationship of the Parts leads him beyond realism to
idealism, the Suggestive.
In choosing the selections for this and the accompanying volumes,
the aim has been to preserve the natural oneness between the study
of literature and that of expression, and to encourage the
appreciation of this unity in the minds of teacher and student. It
may be said that the greatest of the world's literature was
written for the ear, not for the eye, and its noblest influence is
felt only when it is adequately voiced by an intelligent and
sympathetic reader. It is the object of these volumes to foster in
the student a keener and deeper appreciation of the truth and
beauty of great prose and verse, and at the same time to enrich
his own and other lives by cultivating the power of expressing the
glories which are opened to his vision.
The arrangement of the selections is for the purpose of teaching
the art of reading according to the steps of natural evolution
hinted at in the foregoing pages, and in a way which experience
has found most prolific in practical results.
While no effort has been made to search for novelties, great care
has been taken to secure selections which, while of pure literary
merit, are especially adapted for drill in the several steps of
progress in reading. The power developed in the student through
carefully directed drill on these selections will enable him to
illuminate whatever other literature he may care to interpret. The
arrangement of the selections in small divisions or paragraphs has
been made for convenience in the work of the class room.
The "Evolution of Expression" does not offer art criteria by which
the work of an orator is to be measured; it presents rather a
system of education by which one may attain the plane of art in
expression. The teacher or student who desires a formulation of
laws which afford a standard of art criticism is referred to the
four volumes of "The Perfective Laws of Art," the text-book
succeeding the "Evolution of Expression."
The author wishes to express his sincere gratitude to George N.
Morang & Co., to Bobbs-Merrill Company, and to Houghton, Mifflin &
Co., for their courtesy in allowing him to reprint in this volume
selections from their publications.
THE WHOLE.
THE COLOSSAL PERIOD.
The body is one and hath many members, and all the members
of that one body, being many, are one body.--ST. PAUL.
How good is man's life, the mere living! How fit to employ
All the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy!
--BROWNING.
CHAPTER I.
ANIMATION.
(NOTE.--Let the teacher and student remember that the headings of
the chapters name effects rather than causes, signs rather than
things signified. They are not, therefore, objects of thought for
the student while practising; they are finger points for the
teacher; the criteria by which he measures his pupil's
development.)
Reading is a communication of thought; a transference of ideas
from one mind to other minds so as to influence their thinking in
a definite manner. The process is distinctively communicative,
involving two parties, speaker and audience, equally
indispensable. As well might the student of manual training
attempt his work without materials, to paint without paper or
canvas, carve without wood or stone, model without clay, as the
student of expression to read or speak without an audience. For
this reason in all his private practice as well as class drill,
the student should hold in mind an audience to whom he directs his
attention. The office of the teacher is to hold constantly before
the pupil these two mental concepts, his thought and his audience,
or his thought in relation to his audience. The pupil must be
taught to respond to the author's thought as to his own, and at
the same time he must be inspired with the desire to give that
thought to others. In his endeavor to awaken other minds his own
will be quickened. This mental quickening reports itself in
animation of voice and manner. Herein is illustrated a fundamental
law of development; what we earnestly attempt to do for another
that we actually do for ourselves. The constant endeavor of the
teacher, therefore, must be to inspire the pupil to serve his
audience through truth, the truth of his discourse. His attempt to
gain the attention of his hearers and to concentrate their minds
on this truth will secure such concentration of his own mind as
will stimulate his interest, and interest is always vital.
Let no one mistake loudness for animation. A whisper may be more
vital, more animated than a shout. The slightest quiver of a
muscle may reveal greater intensity of thought than the most
violent gesticulation. Yet since freedom and abandon of the agents
of expression are necessary to their perfect service, let the
teacher invite that freedom and abandon without fear of
sacrificing good taste. He is not to be regarded as an artist yet;
nor is it now profitable to measure him by the criteria of art.
Let the form of his expression be as crude as it may, only let it
be born of the thought. The student is learning to think on his
feet; and the act of mental concentration upon his author's
thought in relation to his audience is not at first a simple task.
Do not hurry him in his development. Remember that expression to
be truthful, must be spontaneous. The teacher needs only to hold
the right objects of thought before the pupil's mind, then stand
aside and let him grow in nature's own way. No thought of the HOW
should be allowed to enter the student's mind while he is
speaking, it is only the WHAT that concerns him. Form is born of
spirit; the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life.
The requirement of the present chapter is met when the student is
able to fix the attention of those who listen upon the central
idea or theme of the selection. The WHOLE or unit of thought
should be held before the pupil's mind, and by him, before the
mind of the audience, attention not yet being directed
specifically to PARTS.
ANALYSIS.
The basis of intelligent vocal interpretation of literature is
careful analysis. One cannot express shades of meaning that are
not in the mind; until one clearly perceives the motives and
relationships of the selection, he cannot reflect them to others.
Too much cannot be said upon the importance of thorough thought
and study of a selection previous to any effort toward expression.
It is needless to explain that one cannot give what he does not
possess; and it is equally self-evident that one gains by giving.
Long and thoughtful quiescent concentration should precede the
concentration of mind while speaking. The author's words are like
a gold mine which must be searched by thorough digging for the
nuggets of thought beneath. The pupil must live with his author,
see through his eyes, think with his intellect, feel with his
heart, and choose with his will, picturing to himself every scene,
putting himself in the place of every character described.
Like every organism every true work of art has organic unity; it
represents a unit of thought, the WHOLE, made up of essential
PARTS. Each part is a part of the whole, because in its own way it
reflects the whole. The perfect unity of an organism or of a work
of art results from the service rendered by each part to every
other part.
Here, then, is the logical order of analysis: first, the WHOLE or
unit of thought; second, the PARTS; third, the SERVICE, OR THE USE
OF THE PARTS; fourth, the RELATIONSHIP OF THE PARTS which is the
highest service and results in revelation. In determining this
higher service we are reconstructing our whole from the unit of
the selection to the revelation of truth resulting from the
relationship of parts; the analysis must culminate in synthesis,
else it would defeat its purpose. The end of literature, as in
other forms of art, is revelation. The end of analysis is to lead
to the perception of this revelation. In the earlier stages of
development the pupil's attention should not be directed toward
minute analysis. At this period his mind is engrossed with the
principal thought or unit of the composition,--the dominant theme
which is developed in every organic literary composition. Let his
mind rest upon this until he lives in the spirit of the theme
through a passion for reflecting it to others.
Inasmuch as an attempt to define always limits, it is a question
how far it will be profitable to formulate definite statements of
the whole, parts, etc. Written expression, as well as oral, is
individual. Each pupil may have a different formulation. Inasmuch,
however, as every author is possessed by a definite purpose,
we may suggest, for the guidance of the student, a tentative
analysis of a selection which may aid him in reflecting its truth
to an audience.
It is hoped that this brief study of one selection from each
chapter may be acceptable as a working basis, a hint of the
logical method of procedure rather than an arbitrary model. The
elaboration of these principles is without limit and must be left
to the teacher. It is the purpose here to give only simple
statements intended to be suggestive rather than final.
Example: "The Cheerful Locksmith." (Page 46.)
The Unit, or Whole for working basis: The character of the
Cheerful Locksmith.
The Parts:
(a) The sound he makes. Paragraphs 1, 2, 3, 7.
(6) His personal appearance. Paragraph 4.
(c) The appearance of objects around him. Paragraphs 5, 6.
The Service of the Parts:
(a) Serves the Whole by engaging the interest at once in the
Cheerful Locksmith, whom it introduces, and whose nature it
reflects.
(b) Serves by presenting a definite picture of him, radiating
cheer.
(c) Serves by revealing further his cheerful personality through
its effect upon surrounding objects.
The Relationship of the Parts:
(a) Foreshadows (b) and (c).
(b) Fulfils the expectation awakened in (a) and helps to prepare
the mind for (c).
(c) Is a natural outgrowth from (a) and (b).
Synthesis:
The revelation of truth through these relationships gives us a
"New Whole" which maybe stated thus: The spirit of cheerfulness,
radiating from the Locksmith's personality and expressed through
his work, is reflected by all around him.
The above analysis is suggested as a guide for study. A tentative
analysis of each selection might be offered here; but it is better
that the student develop his own powers of discrimination by doing
this preliminary work himself, directed, as far as necessary, by
the teacher. However, it is not essential that a formal analysis
of every selection be made; indeed, as has been already implied,
minute analysis may even defeat the end of these opening chapters.
The question of formal analysis may be left to the discretion of
the teacher, who must determine how far it serves his purpose in
each individual instance.
The criterion of Chapter I. does not demand an interpretation
based upon the complete analysis given above, which is intended as
an illustration of all analysis; if all the relationships
suggested above be reflected through an oral reading of "The
Cheerful Locksmith," the reader has attained the steps of
development embodied in Volume IV. However, in drill on the
selections in Volume I., the teacher should never think of
limiting the pupil to the significance of that volume; every
student should be encouraged to reflect as much of the truth,
literal and suggestive, as his degree of discernment and of
freedom will allow.
The immediate aim of drill on "The Cheerful Locksmith" should be a
hearty response to the spirit of the Whole, however much beyond
that may be achieved. The student must be inspired by an ardent
desire to awaken the interest of his audience in "The Cheerful
Locksmith," as does one who through introductory remarks presents
the "speaker of the evening."
It is to be thoughtfully noted that all the selections in this and
the three succeeding chapters have been chosen for their easy
adaptability to use in the first natural period of art--
expression, the Colossal period. They are selections with an
easily distinguishable theme. Throughout these chapters the mind
of the student should be engaged with the motif of the selection
as it first catches the mind. Nothing in later study can make up
for the loss of the first glow, the undefined answering response
to the animating spirit of a writer's message. His differentiated
meanings, his elaborations of theme for the purpose of increased
force, intensity or suggestion are but useless lumber to a mind
that has not throbbed in sympathy, scarce knowing why. It is just
here that almost all teaching in both literature and its
expression fails; there is not enough browsing--knee-deep, waist-
deep,--for the pure joy of it.
CHAPTER II.
SMOOTHNESS.
At first, the student may find it difficult to concentrate the
minds of his hearers upon his theme steadily and continuously. His
ability to do this may come spasmodically. This irregular mental
activity reports itself in unevenness of delivery; life appears in
gleams not in steady shining. But with continued effort to
concentrate other minds upon his subject, this unevenness gives
place to ease in delivery, to smoothness of voice. Continuity of
thought impels smoothness of expression. When a thought is held
steadily in the mind of the pupil, together with a dominating
purpose to communicate that thought to others, the tones of his
voice become evenly sustained and smooth.
Smoothness may be said to result from a sense of oneness with the
audience. So long as there is a gulf between the speaker and
audience, there is conscious and apparent effort in the address.
It is a growing love, a vital sympathy with the audience that
manifests itself in smoothness.
This second step grows in natural sequence out of the first. Out
of the abundance of life comes sweetness. In all the successive
steps of the pupil's evolution, he is constantly to add, never to
discard or lay aside any power previously gained. Rather than
outgrow it, he will grow in it. All that he will outgrow will be
his faults, his mannerisms, his limitations. As he gains freedom,
transcending limitations, his mannerisms will fall away from him;
he need never be made conscious that he has had them.
Analysis. Example, "The Village Preacher." The Unit, or Working
Whole: A village preacher who radiates the spirit of love.
The student's endeavor must be to reflect continuously the
overflowing love of the preacher's nature, which blessed all with
whom he came in contact. The audience should feel the presence of
the great-hearted man throughout the reading of the entire
selection, even when he is not described. For instance, he may be
foreshadowed in the introduction.
CHAPTER III.
VOLUME.
Out of the effort toward continued concentration is born the
perception of values. Dwelling upon the thought and striving to
hold it steadily in the minds of those who listen, the pupil
begins to perceive its greater value, and to realize that the
expression of this value will aid him in holding the attention of
his audience. His will becomes more definitely aroused. Feeling
his new power, he should be inspired to direct it definitely
toward his hearers. This new element of will directed through the
perception of value expresses itself in the added quality called
volume of voice.
Here, as everywhere, the discernment of the teacher must be relied
upon to detect the difference between true and mechanical
expression. Failure on the part of the pupil to perceive what is
desired may lead him to offer, as a counterfeit of volume, force
or loudness. Volume of voice, free from both, is the expression of
the growing appreciation of values.
Analysis. Example: "Spartacus to the Gladiators."
The Unit, or Whole: The personality of Spartacus revealed through
his effort to inspire his fellows with the spirit of liberty.
The theme which Spartacus presents is of universal value--the
spirit of liberty, dear to all mankind. This value must be
realized by the student, who must make the effort of Spartacus his
own effort, throughout the entire selection. The value of the
theme must be behind every spoken word, felt, if not uttered.
CHAPTER IV.
FORMING THE ELEMENTS.
The life manifested in the three previous chapters now begins to
take more definite thought form. The intellect seeing more
clearly, appeals to the intellects of those who listen that they
may think with greater sharpness and distinctness the thoughts
presented. By aiming to present these thoughts so as to be clearly
understood, distinctness and precision of utterance are gained.
The elements of speech become more perfectly and beautifully
chiseled. Thus keener thinking and greater care in presentation
serve in forming the elements and perfecting the articulation,
which need not be made a matter of mechanical drill.
Careless enunciation, which so mars the beauty of a speaker's
discourse, is usually due to careless thinking. Clear speaking
comes from clear thinking. Exceptional cases of long confirmed bad
habits, faultily trained ears, or defects in the vocal apparatus,
sometimes make technical drill to meet individual cases, a
necessary supplement to the persistent practice in earnest
revelation of thought. But in ordinary cases the speaker's
endeavor to impress his hearers with the parts which make up his
discourse will result, in due time, in accurate, distinct
articulation. With continued practice this perfection of speech
will become habitual. Spirit moulds form; this law cannot be
overemphasized. In this new stage of the pupil's development, as
always, the desired result proceeds as an effect from an inner
psychological cause; it is a natural and spontaneous outgrowth,
rather than a dull and lifeless form.
Analysis. Example: "The Song of the Rain." UNIT, OR WHOLE: The
beneficence of rain after a drought. Here the student should hold
the attention of the audience upon the distinct features of the
picture presented. He should make his hearers see and enjoy the
rain and appreciate the response of nature and of people to its
refreshing influence.
CHAPTER I
ANIMATION.
THE TEA-KETTLE AND THE CRICKET.
1. It appeared as if there were a sort of match, or trial of
skill, you must understand, between the kettle and the cricket.
And this is what led to it, and how it came about.
2. The kettle was aggravating and obstinate. It wouldn't allow
itself to be adjusted on the top bar; it wouldn't hear of
accommodating itself kindly to the knobs of coal; it would lean
forward with a drunken air, and dribble--a very idiot of a kettle
--on the hearth. It was quarrelsome, and hissed and sputtered
morosely at the fire.
3. To sum up all, the lid, resisting Mrs. Peerybingle's fingers,
first of all turned topsy-turvy, and then, with an ingenious
pertinacity deserving of a better cause, dived sideways in, down
to the very bottom of the kettle; and the hull of the Royal George
has never made half of the monstrous resistance in coming out of
the water which the lid of the kettle employed against Mrs.
Peerybingle before she got it up again.
4. It looked sullen and pig-headed enough, even then, carrying its
handle with an air of defiance, and cocking its spout pertly and
mockingly at Mrs. Peerybingle, as if it said, "i won't boil.
Nothing shall induce me!"
5. But Mrs. Peerybingle, with restored good-humor, dusted her
chubby little hands against each other, and sat down before the
kettle laughing. Meantime the jolly blaze uprose and fell,
flashing and gleaming on the little haymaker at the top of the
Dutch clock, until one might have thought he stood stock still
before the Moorish palace, and nothing was in motion but the
flame.
6. Now it was, observe, that the kettle began to spend the
evening. Now it was that the kettle, growing mellow and musical,
began to have irrepressible gurglings in the throat, and to
indulge in short vocal snorts, which it checked in the bud, as if
it hadn't quite made up its mind yet to be good company. Now it
was that, after two or three such vain attempts to stifle its
convivial sentiments, it threw off all moroseness, all reserve,
and burst into a stream of song so cozy and hilarious as never
maudlin nightingale yet formed the least idea of.
7. So plain, too! Bless you, you might have understood it like a
book; better than some books you and I could name, perhaps. With
its warm breath gushing forth in a light cloud, which merrily and
gracefully ascended a few feet, then hung about the chimney
corner, as its own domestic heaven, it trolled its song with that
strong energy of cheerfulness that its iron body hummed and
stirred upon the fire; and the lid itself, the recently rebellious
lid--such is the influence of a bright example--performed a sort
of jig, and clattered like a deaf and dumb young cymbal that had
never known the use of its twin brother.
8. That this song of the kettle's was a song of invitation and
welcome to somebody out of doors, to somebody at that moment
coming on towards the snug, small home and the crisp fire, there
is no doubt whatever. Mrs. Peerybingle knew it perfectly, as she
sat musing before the hearth.
9. "It's a dark night," sang the kettle, "and the rotten leaves
are lying by the way, and above all is mist and darkness, and
below all is mire and clay, and there's only one relief in all the
sad and murky air; and I don't know that it is one, for its
nothing but a glare of deep and angry crimson, where the sun and
wind together set a brand upon the clouds, for being guilty of
such weather; and the widest open country is a long, dull streak
of black; and there's hoar-frost on the finger-post, and thaw upon
the track; and the ice isn't water, and the water isn't free; and
you couldn't say that anything is what it ought to be; but he's
coming, coming, coming!--"
10. And here, if you like, the cricket did chime in with chirrup,
chirrup, chirrup of such magnitude, by way of chorus, with a voice
so astoundingly disproportionate to its size, as compared with the
kettle (size, you couldn't see it!)--that if it had then and there
burst itself, like an overcharged gun, if it had fallen a victim
on the spot, and chirruped its little body into fifty pieces, it
would have seemed a natural and inevitable consequence, for which
it had expressly labored.
11. The kettle had had the last of its solo performances. It
persevered with undiminished ardor; but the cricket took first
fiddle, and kept it. Good heaven, how it chirped! Its shrill,
sharp, piercing voice resounded through the house, and seemed to
twinkle in the outer darkness like a star.
12. There was an indescribable little thrill and tremble in it, at
its loudest, which suggested its being carried off its legs, and
made to leap again, by its own intense enthusiasm. Yet they went
very well together, the cricket and the kettle. The burden of the
song was still the same; and louder, louder, louder still they
sang it in their emulation.
13. There was all the excitement of a race about it. Chirp, chirp,
chirp! cricket a mile ahead. Hum, hum, hum--m--m! kettle making
play in the distance, like a great top. Chirp, chirp, chirp!
cricket round the corner. Hum, hum, hum-m-m! kettle sticking to
him in his own way; no idea of giving in. Chirp, chirp, chirp,
cricket fresher than ever. Hum, hum, hum-m-m! kettle slow and
steady. Chirp, chirp, chirp! cricket going in to finish him. Hum,
hum, hum-m-m! kettle not to be finished.
14. Until at last they got so jumbled together, in the hurry-
scurry, helter-skelter of the match, that whether the kettle
chirped and the cricket hummed, or the cricket chirped and the
kettle hummed, or they both chirped and both hummed, it would have
taken a clearer head than yours or mine to have decided with
certainty.
15. Of this there is no doubt; that the kettle and the cricket, at
one and the same moment, and by some power of amalgamation best
known to themselves, sent each his fireside song of comfort
streaming into a ray of the candle that shone out through the
window, and a long way down the lane. And this light, bursting on
a certain person, who, on the instant, approached towards it
through the gloom, expressed the whole thing to him literally in a
twinkling, and cried, "Welcome home, old fellow! welcome home, my
boy!"
This end attained, the kettle, being dead beat, boiled over, and
was taken off the fire.
CHARLES DICKENS.
THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN.
I.
Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,
By famous Hanover city;
The river Weser, deep and wide,
Washes its wall on the southern side;
A pleasanter spot you never spied;
But, when begins my ditty,
Almost five hundred years ago,
To see the townsfolk suffer so
From vermin was a pity.
II.
Rats!
They fought the dogs, and killed the cats,
And bit the babies in the cradles,
And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,
Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
And even spoiled the women's chats,
By drowning their speaking
With shrieking and squeaking
In fifty different sharps and flats.
III.
At last the people in a body
To the Town Hall came flocking;
"Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy;
And as for our Corporation,--shocking
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine
For dolts that can't or won't determine
What's best to rid us of our vermin!
You hope, because you're old and obese,
To find in the furry, civic robe ease?
Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking,
To find the remedy we're lacking,
Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!"
IV.
At this the Mayor and Corporation
Quaked with a mighty consternation.
An hour they sat in council.
At length the Mayor broke silence:
"For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell;
I wish I were a mile hence.
It's easy to bid one rack one's brain,
I'm sure my poor head aches again,
I scratched it so, and all in vain.
Oh, for a trap, a trap, a trap!"
Just as he said this, what should hap
At the chamber door but a gentle tap.
"Bless us!" cried the Mayor, "what's that?
Anything like the sound of a rat
Makes my heart go pit-a-pat."
V.
"Come in," the Mayor cried, looking bigger;
And in did come the strangest figure;
His queer long coat from heels to head
Was half of yellow and half of red.
And he himself was tall and thin,
With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,
And light, loose hair, yet swarthy skin--
No tuft on cheek, nor beard on chin,
But lips where smiles went out and in,
There was no guessing his kith or kin;
And nobody could enough admire
The tall man and his quaint attire.
VI.
Quoth one, "It's as my great-grand-sire,
Starting up at the trump of Doom's tone,
Had walked this way from his painted tomb-stone."
He advanced to the council-table:
And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able,
By means of a secret charm, to draw
All creatures living beneath the sun,
That creep, or swim, or fly, or run,
After me so as you never saw.
VII.
"And I chiefly use my charm
On creatures that do people harm,--
The mole, and toad, and newt, and viper,--
And people call me the Pied Piper;
Yet," said he, "poor Piper as I am,
In Tartary I freed the Cham
Last June from his huge swarm of gnats;
I eased in Asia the Nizam
Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats;
And, as for what your brain bewilders,
If I can rid your town of rats,
Will you give me a thousand guilders?"
"One? fifty thousand!" was the exclamation
Of the astonished Mayor and corporation.
VIII.
Into the street the piper stept,
Smiling first a little smile,
As if he knew what magic slept
In his quiet pipe the while;
And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,
You heard as if an army muttered;
And the muttering grew to a grumbling,
And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling,
And out of the houses the rats came tumbling,--
Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,
Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats,
Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,
Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,
Families by tens and dozens,
Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives,--
Followed the piper for their lives.
From street to street he piped advancing,
And step for step they followed dancing,
Until they came to the river Weser,
Wherein all plunged and perished.
IX.
You should have heard the Hamelin people
Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple.
"Go," cried the Mayor, "get long poles,
Poke out the nests, and block up the holes.
Consult with carpenters and builders,
And leave in our town not even a trace
Of the rats." When suddenly up the face
Of the Piper perked in the market place,
With, "First, if you please, my thousand guilders."
A thousand guilders; the Mayor looked blue
And so did the Corporation, too.
X.
"Beside," quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink,
"Our business was done at the river brink;
We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,
And what's dead can't come to life, I think.
A thousand guilders? Come, take fifty."
The Piper's face fell, and he cried,
"No trifling. Folks who put me in a passion
May find me pipe to another fashion."
XI.
Once more he stepped into the street
And to his lips again
Laid his long pipe of smooth, straight cane;
And ere he blew three notes
There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling,
Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling,
Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering,
And, like fowls in a barnyard when barley is scattering,
Out came the children running.
All the little boys and girls,
With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,
And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,
Tripping and skipping ran merrily after
The wonderful music--with shouting and laughter.
XII.
When, lo! as they reached the mountain's side,
A wondrous portal opened wide,
As if a cavern were suddenly hollowed;
And the piper advanced and the children followed,
And when all were in to the very last
The door in the mountain side shut fast.
Alas, alas for Hamelin!
XIII.
There came into many a burgher's pate
A text which says that heaven's gate
Opens to the rich at as easy rate
As the needle's eye takes the camel in!
The mayor sent east, west, north, and south
To offer the Piper by word of mouth,
Wherever it was men's lot to find him,
Silver and gold to his heart's content,
If he'd only return the way he went,
And bring the children behind him.
But soon they saw 'twas a lost endeavor,
And piper and dancers were gone forever.
XIV.
And the better in memory to fix
The place of the children's last retreat,
They called it the Pied Piper's Street--
Where any one playing on pipe or tabor
Was sure for the future to lose his labor.
And opposite the place of the cavern
They wrote the story on a column,
And on the great church window painted
The same, to make the world acquainted
How their children were stolen away;
And there it stands to this very day.
ROBERT BROWNING.
GROUP OF LYRICS.
PIPPA PASSES.
The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side'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 SNOWDROP.
Many, many welcomes
February fair-maid,
Ever as of old time,
Solitary firstling,
Coming in the cold time,
Prophet of the gay time,
Prophet of the May time,
Prophet of the roses,
Many, many welcomes
February fair-maid!
ALFRED TENNYSON.
THE THROSTLE.
I.
"Summer is coming, summer is coming.
I know it, I know it, I know it.
Light again, leaf again, life again, love again,"
Yes, my wild little Poet.
II.
Sing the new year in under the blue.
Last year you sang it as gladly.
"New, new, new, new!" Is it then so new
That you should carol so madly?
III.
"Love again, song again, nest again, young again,"
Never a prophet so crazy!
And hardly a daisy as yet, little friend,
See, there is hardly a daisy.
IV.
"Here again, here, here, here, happy year
O warble unchidden, unbidden!
Summer is coming, is coming, my dear,
And all the winters are hidden.
ALFRED TENNYSON
ONE MORNING, OH! SO EARLY!
I.
One morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved,
All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease;
'Twas a thrush sang in my garden, "Hear the story, hear the story!"
And the lark sang, "Give us glory!"
And the dove said, "Give us peace!"
II.
Then I listened, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved,
To that murmur from the woodland of the dove, my dear, the dove;
When the nightingale came after, "Give us fame to sweeten duty!"
When the wren sang, "Give us beauty!"
She made answer, "Give us love!"
III.
Sweet is spring, and sweet the morning, my beloved, my beloved;
Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the year's increase,
And my prayer goes up, "Oh, give us, crowned in youth with marriage glory,
Give for all our life's dear story,
Give us love, and give us peace!"
JEAN INGELOW.
FREEDOM.
1. No quality of Art has been more powerful in its influence on
public mind; none is more frequently the subject of popular
praise, or the end of vulgar effort, than what we call "Freedom."
It is necessary to determine the justice or injustice of this
popular praise.
2. Try to draw a circle with the "free" hand, and with a single
line. You cannot do it if your hand trembles, nor if it hesitates,
nor if it is unmanageable, nor if it is in the common sense of the
word "free." So far from being free, it must be under a control as
absolute and accurate as if it were fastened to an inflexible bar
of steel. And yet it must move, under this necessary control, with
perfect, untormented serenity of ease.
3. I believe we can nowhere find a better type of a perfectly free
creature than in the common house-fly. Nor free only, but brave;
and irreverent to a degree which I think no human republican could
by any philosophy exalt himself to. There is no courtesy in him;
he does not care whether it is king or clown whom he teases; and
in every step of his swift mechanical march, and in every pause of
his resolute observation, there is one and the same expression of
perfect egotism, perfect independence and self-confidence, and
conviction of the world's having been made for flies.
4. Strike at him with your hand, and to him, the mechanical fact
and external aspect of the matter is, what to you it would be if
an acre of red clay, ten feet thick, tore itself up from the
ground in one massive field, hovered over you in the air for a
second, and came crashing down with an aim. That is the external
aspect of it; the inner aspect, to his fly's mind, is of a quite
natural and unimportant occurrence--one of the momentary
conditions of his active life. He steps out of the way of your
hand, and alights on the back of it.
5. You cannot terrify him, nor govern him, nor persuade him, nor
convince him. He has his own positive opinion on all matters; not
an unwise one, usually, for his own ends; and will ask no advice
of yours. He has no work to do--no tyrannical instinct to obey.
The earthworm has his digging; the bee her gathering and building;
the spider her cunning network; the ant her treasury and accounts.
All these are comparatively slaves, or people of vulgar business.
6. But your fly, free in the air, free in the chamber--a black
incarnation of caprice, wandering, investigating, flitting,
flirting, feasting at his will, with rich variety of choice in
feast, from the heaped sweets in the grocer's window to those of
the butcher's back yard, and from the galled place on your cab-
horse's back, to the brown spot in the road, from which, as the
hoof disturbs him, he rises with angry republican buzz--what
freedom is like his?
7. Indeed, the first point we have all to determine is not how
free we are, but what kind of creatures we are. It is of small
importance to any of us whether we get liberty; but of the
greatest that we deserve it. Whether we can win it, fate must
determine; but that we will be worthy of it we may ourselves
determine; and the sorrowfulest fate of all that we can suffer is
to have it WITHOUT deserving it.
8. I have hardly patience to hold my pen and go on writing, as I
remember the infinite follies of modern thought in this matter,
centered in the notion that liberty is good for a man,
irrespectively of the use he is likely to make of it. Folly
unfathomable! unspeakable! You will send your child, will you,
into a room where the table is loaded with sweet wine and fruit--
some poisoned, some not?--you will say to him, "Choose freely, my
little child! It is so good for you to have freedom of choice; it
forms your character--your individuality! If you take the wrong
cup or the wrong berry, you will die before the day is over, but
you will have acquired the dignity of a Free child."
9. You think that puts the case too sharply? I tell you, lover of
liberty, there is no choice offered to you, but it is similarly
between life and death. There is no act, nor option of act,
possible, but the wrong deed or option has poison in it which will
stay in your veins thereafter forever. Never more to all eternity
can you be as you might have been had you not done that--chosen
that.
10. You have "formed your character," forsooth! No; if you have
chosen ill, you have De-formed it, and that forever! In some
choices it had been better for you that a red-hot iron bar struck
you aside, scarred and helpless, than that you had so chosen. "You
will know better next time!" No. Next time will never come. Next
time the choice will be in quite another aspect--between quite
different things,--you, weaker than you were by the evil into
which you have fallen; it, more doubtful than it was, by the
increased dimness of your sight. No one ever gets wiser by doing
wrong, nor stronger. You will get wiser and stronger only by doing
right, whether forced or not; the prime, the one need is to do
THAT, under whatever compulsion, until you can do it without
compulsion. And then you are a Man.
11. "What!" a wayward youth might perhaps answer, incredulously,
"no one ever gets wiser by doing wrong? Shall I not know the world
best by trying the wrong of it, and repenting? Have I not, even as
it is, learned much by many of my errors?" Indeed, the effort by
which partially you recovered yourself was precious: that part of
your thought by which you discerned the error was precious. What
wisdom and strength you kept, and rightly used, are rewarded; and
in the pain and the repentance, and in the acquaintance with the
aspects of folly and sin, you have learned SOMETHING; how much
less than you would have learned in right paths can never be told,
but that it IS less is certain.
12. Your liberty of choice has simply destroyed for you so much
life and strength, never regainable. It is true, you now know the
habits of swine, and the taste of husks; do you think your father
could not have taught you to know better habits and pleasanter
tastes, if you had stayed in his house; and that the knowledge you
have lost would not have been more, as well as sweeter, than that
you have gained? But "it so forms my individuality to be free!"
Your individuality was given you by God, and in your race, and if
you have any to speak of, you will want no liberty.
13. In fine, the arguments for liberty may in general be summed in
a few very simple forms, as follows:
Misguiding is mischievous: therefore guiding is.
If the blind lead the blind, both fall into the ditch: therefore,
nobody should lead anybody.
Lambs and fawns should be left free in the fields; much more bears
and wolves.
If a man's gun and shot are his own, he may fire in any direction
he pleases.
A fence across a road is inconvenient; much more one at the side
of it.
Babes should not be swaddled with their hands bound down to their
sides: therefore they should be thrown out to roll in the kennels
naked.
14. None of these arguments are good, and the practical issues of
them are worse. For there are certain eternal laws for human
conduct which are quite clearly discernible by human reason. So
far as these are discovered and obeyed, by whatever machinery or
authority the obedience is procured, there follow life and
strength. So far as they are disobeyed, by whatever good intention
the disobedience is brought about, there follow ruin and sorrow.
15. The first duty of every man in the world is to find his true
master, and, for his own good, submit to him; and to find his true
inferior, and, for that inferior's good, conquer him. The
punishment is sure, if we either refuse the reverence, or are too
cowardly and indolent to enforce the compulsion. A base nation
crucifies or poisons its wise men, and lets its fools rave and rot
in its streets. A wise nation obeys the one, restrains the other,
and cherishes all.
JOHN RUSKIN.
A LAUGHING CHORUS.
I.
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 low
From the millions of flowers under the ground--
Yes--millions--beginning to grow.
II.
"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 air of spring.
Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came
Of laughter soft and low
From the millions of flowers under the ground--
Yes--millions--beginning to grow.
III.
Oh, the pretty, brave things! through the coldest days,
Imprisoned in walls of brown,
They never lost heart, though the blast shrieked 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.
Yes--millions--beginning to grow.
THE CHEERFUL LOCKSMITH.
1. From the workshop of the Golden Key there issued forth a
tinkling sound, so merry and good-humored that it suggested the
idea of some one working blithely, and made quite pleasant music.
Tink, tink, tink--clear as a silver bell, and audible at every
pause of the streets' harsher noises, as though it said, "I don't
care; nothing puts me out; I am resolved to be happy."
2. Women scolded, children squalled, heavy carts went rumbling by,
horrible cries proceeded from the lungs of hawkers; still it
struck in again, no higher, no lower, no louder, no softer; not
thrusting itself on people's notice a bit the more for having been
outdone by louder sounds--tink, tink, tink, tink, tink.
3. It was a perfect embodiment of the still, small voice, free
from all cold, hoarseness, huskiness, or unhealthiness of any
kind. Foot-passengers slackened their pace, and were disposed to
linger near it; neighbors who had got up splenetic that morning,
felt good-humor stealing on them as they heard it, and by degrees
became quite sprightly; mothers danced their babies to its
ringing;--still the same magical tink, tink, tink came gaily from
the workshop of the Golden Key.
4. Who but the locksmith could have made such music? A gleam of
sun, shining through the unsashed window and checkering the dark
workshop with a broad patch of light, fell full upon him, as
though attracted by his sunny heart. There he stood working at his
anvil, his face radiant with exercise and gladness, his sleeves
turned up, his wig pushed off his shining forehead--the easiest,
freest, happiest man in all the world.
5. Beside him sat a sleek cat, purring and winking in the light,
and falling every now and then into an idle doze, as from excess
of comfort. The very locks that hung around had something jovial
in their rust, and seemed like gouty gentlemen of hearty natures,
disposed to joke on their infirmities.
6. There was nothing surly or severe in the whole scene. It seemed
impossible that any of the innumerable keys could fit a churlish
strong-box or a prison door. Storehouses of good things, rooms
where there were fires, books, gossip, and cheering laughter--
these were their proper sphere of action. Places of distrust, and
cruelty, and restraint they would have quadruple-locked forever.
7. Tink, tink, tink. No man who hammered on at a dull, monotonous
duty could have brought such cheerful notes from steel and iron;
none but a chirping, healthy, honest-hearted fellow, who made the
best of everything and felt kindly towards everybody, could have
done it for an instant. He might have been a coppersmith, and
still been musical. If he had sat in a jolting wagon, full of rods
of iron, it seemed as if he would have brought some harmony out of
it.
CHARLES DICKENS.
HOME THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD.
Oh, to be in England now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brush-wood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England--now!
And after April, when May follows
And the white-throat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops--at the bent spray's edge--
That's the wise thrush: he sings each song twice over
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
--Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!
EOBEBT BKOWNING.
LOCHINVAR.
I.
Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West,--
Through all the wide 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 war
Was 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 far
That 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 far
To 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 swung,
So 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.
POLISH WAR SONG.
I.
Freedom calls you! Quick, be ready,--
Rouse ye in the name of God,--
Onward, onward, strong and steady,--
Dash to earth the oppressor's rod.
Freedom calls, ye brave!
Rise and spurn the name of slave.
II.
Grasp the sword!--its edge is keen,
Seize the gun!--its ball is true:
Sweep your land from tyrant clean,--
Haste, and scour it through and through!
Onward, onward! Freedom cries,
Rush to arms,--the tyrant flies.
III.
By the souls of patriots gone,
Wake,--arise,--your fetters break,
Kosciusko bids you on,--
Sobieski cries awake!
Rise, and front the despot czar,
Rise, and dare the unequal war.
IV.
Freedom calls you! Quick, be ready,--
Think of what your sires have been,
Onward, onward! strong and steady,
Drive the tyrant to his den.
On, and let the watchword be,
Country, home, and liberty!
JAMES G. PERCIVAL.