THE ONTARIO

High School Reader

PREFACE

After communication with many of the teachers who have been using the Principles and Practice of Oral Reading in their classes, the author has made a number of important additions and changes. In its amended form the book is published under the title of the "Ontario High School Reader."

As the book is intended for the teaching of oral reading it contains an introductory chapter on the Principles of Reading, and selections for practice, with appended notes. An effort has also been made to grade the selections in the order of their difficulty. Accordingly, a number of selections, each illustrating in a marked degree only one, or at most two, of the various elements of Vocal Expression, have been placed at the beginning; these should, of course, be taught before the more complex selections are attempted.

It is not intended that the pupil shall master the chapter on the principles before beginning to read the selections; he should become familiar with each topic as it is illustrated in the lesson. In dealing with each lesson the teacher should first ascertain the elements of vocal expression that it best exemplifies. He should then discuss these elements with the pupils, using the necessary paragraphs of the Introduction, and such black-board exercises as he may deem necessary, until he is satisfied that the pupils are ready to undertake the study of the selection. At the oral reading the pupils should be able to show their mastery of the principles thus taught. Toward the close of the course, they will naturally read connectedly the various sections of the Introduction, in order to obtain a comprehensive and systematic view of the principles.

To secure good reading, systematic drill on the exercises in Vowel Sounds and in Articulation is also necessary.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

[Pg 1]

PRINCIPLES OF READING

There are several reasons why every boy or girl should strive to become a good reader. In the first place, good oral reading is an accomplishment in itself. It affords a great deal of pleasure to others as well as to ourselves. In the second place, it improves our everyday speech and is also a preparation for public speaking; for the one who reads with distinctness and an accent of refinement is likely to speak in the same way, whether in private conversation or on the public platform. Moreover, it is only one step from reading aloud before the class to recitation, and another step from recitation to public speaking. Lastly, oral reading is the best method of bringing out and conveying to others and to oneself all that a piece of literature expresses. For example, the voice is needed to bring out the musical effects of poetry. The following lines will illustrate this point:

Here the music of the rhythm and the harmony between sound and sense would be almost entirely lost in silent reading.

The voice, too, is often the surest and most effective means of conveying differences of meaning and feeling in both prose and poetry. The following words from Hervé Riel (pp. 241-247) may be made to convey different meanings according to the intonation of the voice:

[Pg 2]

This may be read to express hesitation and deliberation, or, as is the evident intention, shewn by the context as well as by the punctuation, to express Hervé Riel's surprise and indignation that such a thought should be entertained.

Now in what does oral reading consist? It consists, first of all, in recognizing the words, pronouncing them correctly, and articulating them distinctly. The pupil in the First Book, who is learning to read, is trying to master this side of reading, which is the mechanical side. He cannot be too careful as to the habits of speech he forms; for correct position of the organs of speech and proper control of the breath make for correct pronunciation and distinct articulation, which are two of the foundation stones of good reading.

By correct pronunciation, we mean the pronunciation approved by a standard dictionary. Elegance and refinement of speech depend largely on the correct pronunciation of the vowel sounds. The vowel a, which is sounded in seven different ways in the English language, presents the greatest difficulty. Many people recognize at most, only the sound of a in at, ate, all, far, and mortal respectively. They ignore the sound as in air, and the shorter quantity of the Italian a in ask, giving the sound of a in ate to the former and of a in at or a in all or a in far to the latter. Another difficulty is that of distinguishing the sound of oo in roof, food, etc., from the sound of oo in book and good, and from the sound of u in such words as pure and duke.

Pronunciation, when perfectly pure, should be free from what we call provincialisms; that is, from any peculiarity of tone, accent, or vowel sound, which would mark the speaker as coming from any particular locality. If our pronunciation is perfectly pure, it does not indicate, in the slightest degree, the part of the country in which we have lived.

[Pg 3]Distinct articulation requires that each syllable should receive its full value, and that the end of a word should be enunciated as distinctly as the beginning. It depends largely on the way in which we utter the consonants, just as correct pronunciation depends on the enunciation of the vowels. Final consonants are easily slurred, especially in the case of words ending in two or more consonants, which present special difficulties of articulation. Such words are mends, seethes, thirsteth, breathed, etc. Sometimes, too, the careless reader fails to articulate two consonants separately when the first word ends with the consonant or consonant sound with which the second begins; for example, Sir Richard Grenville lay, Spanish ships; or when the first word ends with a consonant and the second begins with a vowel, as in eats apples, not at all, an ox, etc. On the other hand, too evident an effort to secure the proper enunciation of the sound elements should be avoided, since a stilted mode of utterance is thus produced.

Exercises for drill in the vowel sounds and in articulation are provided in Appendix A.

Oral reading, however, even in its earliest stages, consists in more than recognizing words, pronouncing them correctly, and articulating them distinctly. It includes thinking thoughts, seeing mental pictures, (which is only another form of thinking) and feeling varied emotions—all while the mechanical act of reading is going on. To illustrate, let us take a line from The Island of the Scots:

If we wish to read this line well, what must we do besides pronouncing the words correctly and articulating them distinctly? We must think about the meaning of what we read. [Pg 4]This includes two kinds of thinking. In the example we first think the picture presented by the words; that is, we make a mental image of the little band of Scots, hand in hand, trying to ford the swiftly flowing waters of the swollen river. This is called concrete thinking. At the same time we form some judgment based on the picture. We think of the great determination and courage these men showed in struggling forward in spite of the danger. This is called abstract thinking. But, as we have said, a reader does more than think in these two ways—he feels; and feeling, or emotion, comes of itself, if the reader thinks in the two ways described, for emotion is the result of thinking. Especially is it the result of concrete thinking; for what we see, even if only with the mind's eye, stirs our emotions more than that of which we think in the abstract.

While reading the line just quoted, there are three emotions which spring from the thinking. As we see these men struggling against the strong current we have an emotion of fear for them; then as we think of their determination and courage in the face of such great danger, an emotion of determination comes to us, for we identify ourselves with their fortunes; and lastly we are filled with admiration for their heroism. Thus we experience the three emotions of fear, determination, and admiration, while performing the mechanical act of reading the words. These emotions, together with the two kinds of thinking mentioned, affect the voice and the manner of reading, and determine what we call expression. If the words were simply repeated mechanically there would be no expression. Since expression involves the employment of so many different powers at one time, a mastery of the art of expression is much harder to acquire, than a mastery of merely the mechanical side of reading.

Accordingly, good vocal expression springs primarily from something within ourselves—that is, from our mental and emotional state. It cannot be acquired by mechanical imitation, whether of the reading of another, or of the movements, sounds, and gestures indicated in the subject [Pg 5]matter of what we read. Nevertheless it is very stimulating to hear a selection well read, not because a model is thus supplied for our imitation, but because we get a grasp of the selection as a whole, and because the voice, which possesses great power in stirring the imagination and the feelings, thus prepares within us the mental and emotional state necessary for the correct expression.

In the same way, imitation of the movements, sounds, and gestures, suggested by the subject matter may be a stimulus to thought and feeling when preparing a selection, since what we have actually reproduced is more real to us than what we have only imagined. After such preparation, imitation, if it enters into the reading at all, will be spontaneous, and not intentional and forced. In reading The Charge of the Light Brigade or The Ride from Ghent to Aix, we do not designedly hurry along to imitate rapidity of movement; but, rather, the imagination having been kindled by the picture, our pulse is quickened, and the voice moves rapidly in sympathy with the feelings aroused.

In the following extract (p. 216) the atmosphere is one of joy. The reader is moved through sympathy with Horatius, and his voice indicates the joy of the Romans, but he does not attempt to imitate vocally, or by gesture, the "shouts," "clapping," and "weeping":

Sometimes, as already stated, we imitate spontaneously:

[Pg 6]

Here we imitate spontaneously the movement expressive of sudden fear. Our action is prompted by our own fears for their safety.

Sometimes the feeling is still more complex. In reading the following we spontaneously reproduce Sextus' alternate hate and fear which, moreover, we tinge with our own contempt:

In reading the little poem from The Princess, (page 107) note how we are influenced by the tense emotion of the attendants who speak. We do not try to imitate them; but having made the scene stand out before us, we speak as we in imagination hear them, in an aspirated tone of voice:

In the last line it would savour of melodrama to try to impersonate the lady as she says:

The important point is to show intelligent sympathy with her speech, not to imitate her manner of uttering it.

On the other hand we must not make the mistake of supposing that if we get the thought and the emotion, the true vocal expression will follow. One who has a fine appreciation of a piece of literature may, notwithstanding, read it very indifferently. Even in conversation where we are interpreting vocally our own thoughts and feelings, we sometimes [Pg 7]misplace emphasis or employ the wrong inflection. How much more likely we are to fall into such errors when we attempt to interpret vocally from a book the thoughts of another.

In order to criticise ourselves or understand intelligent criticism, we must have a knowledge of the laws that govern speech—that is, we must know what properties of tone or what acts of the voice correspond to certain mental and emotional states. For example, the amount and character of thinking done while we read determines the rate of utterance; the purpose or motive of the thought and its completeness or incompleteness are indicated by an upward or downward slide of the voice; the nervous tension expresses itself in a certain key; the physical and mental energy, in a certain power or volume of the voice; and the character of the emotion is reflected in the quality. These principles of vocal expression are known technically as the elements of time, inflection, pitch, force, and quality. Closely connected with these elements are pause, grouping, stress, emphasis, shading, and perspective.

Pause. It must be quite clear that when we are reading silently, for the purpose of getting the thought for ourselves, our minds are at work as has been described. We shall now examine how this work done by the mind affects the voice and produces what we call good expression when we are reading aloud for the purpose of conveying thought to others. As an illustration we shall take an example from The Glove and the Lions:

In these lines there are certain words or phrases which stand out prominently, since they call up mental pictures, namely: "nobles," "benches round," "Count de Lorge," and [Pg 8]"one." In order to give time to make these mental pictures, we naturally pause after each one. At the end of the first line we combine the details, making a larger mental image, with the result that we make a long pause after "side." In reading the second line, the eye and the mind run ahead of the voice, and the reader, wishing to impress the listener with the new and important idea "Count de Lorge," pauses before it as well as after it. In the same way he pauses before the phrase, "he hoped to make his bride," to prepare the mind of the listener to receive the impression. Thus we see that, if the mind is working, a pause occurs after a word while we are making a mental image or trying to realize the idea more fully, and also often before we express an important idea, in order to prepare the mind of the listener for what is to come.

A very useful exercise in the study of pause is to image the pictures in selections such as the following:

Then, too, in passing from one idea or thought to another, the mind requires time to make the transition:

Here the mind passes in succession from the action of Lartius to that of Herminius and that of Horatius. A long pause is required after "beneath," "teeth," and "dust," with a shorter pause after "Seius" and after "thrust." Further, if the thoughts concern actions far apart, more time is required to make the transition, and hence a longer pause:

Note the transition in thought from the day on which these stirring events are supposed to have taken place to the present time. This is indicated by a long pause after "warm good-night."

Sometimes the mind requires time to fill in ideas suggested but not expressed:

Here, the tearing down of the flags between the morning and noon, is suggested to the mind; hence a long pause after "wind."

[Pg 10]

Where an ellipsis occurs and the meaning is not obvious, there is a pause to give time to realize the logical connection:

Note the pauses after "reign," and "English" (second example).

In such examples as the following where the meaning is obvious, the pauses after "them," "one," "weary," and "wounded," make prominent the important idea following:

When preparing to read a selection, it is of great importance to make the leading thoughts stand out clearly in the mind so that we may be able to present them one by one. The poem Barbara Frietchie (p. 113.) could be divided into paragraphs with some such titles as the following: (1) the town of Frederick and its surroundings, (2) the approach of the army, (3) the tearing down of the flags, (4) the raising of Barbara Frietchie's flag, (5) Stonewall Jackson and his men, and so on. Each of the paragraphs is a complete section of the poem, and requires a well-marked pause before passing on to the next one.

Grouping. In the extract from The Glove and the Lions, used above to illustrate pause, the mental pictures and important ideas are suggested in nearly every ease by a single word. Ideas are, however, suggested as often by groups of words as by single words. These groups are treated as single words, and may take pauses before or after them as the case may be. The reader, who is thinking as he [Pg 11]reads, will group together words that express one idea, or symbolize one picture, presenting these ideas and pictures to himself and to the listener one by one, and separating by a pause, of greater or less length, those not closely connected.

Here the double vertical lines mark off groups of words which express one idea or symbolize one picture, and which are therefore each separated from the other by a well-marked pause. The single vertical lines indicate a shorter pause between the subdivisions of each group. The phrase "an old ragged gray blouse patched on one side with a piece of green cloth sewed with twine" presents one picture by itself, and is separated from the context by a long pause, but each detail in this picture is presented in turn to the mind's eye, hence the shorter pauses after "blouse," "cloth," and "twine."

The reader should be careful not to allow pause and grouping to produce a jerky effect, thus interfering with the rhythm. This applies especially to poetry, which demands, in order to preserve the rhythm, that the caesural pause should not be slighted, and that there should be a more or less marked pause at the end of each line:

And they had trod the Pass once more, and stoop'd on either side

To pluck the heather from the spot where he had dropped and died.

[Pg 12] In the second line, the caesural pause occurs after "spot," but the phrase "from the spot where he had dropped and died" expresses one idea and must be given as a whole. The rhythm and the grouping appear to be at variance; but the difficulty is easily overcome by making the caesural pause shorter than the pause after "heather" which introduces the group, and at the same time, by not allowing the voice to fall on the word "spot."

The following affords another instance where the grouping appears to interfere with the rhythm:

"Of this gifted well" is evidently not connected in thought with "husband." It must be separated from "husband" by a pause and attached to "shall drink" at the beginning of the next line. To do this, it is not, however, necessary to omit the pause at the end of the line; for this would mar the effect of the rhythm. The difficulty is again overcome by making the pause at the end of the line shorter than the pauses which mark the grouping, and by not allowing the voice to fall on "well."

Time is the rate at which we read. It is fast or slow according to the number and the length of the pauses between words and phrases, and also according to the length of time the reader dwells on the words themselves. There is perhaps no more frequent criticism made on reading than that it is too fast. What does this mean? It means that the reader is not doing enough thinking as he repeats the words. Consequently, he does not dwell on words that are full of meaning, nor pause before and after words and phrases to make the mental picture and to grasp the thought more fully. Moreover, for the benefit of the listener, the reading should be slower than is required by the reader for himself. The [Pg 13]reader, with his eye on the page, can allow his eye and mind to run ahead of his voice, and can thus realize the thought in less time than the listener. The following line calls for a comparatively small amount of thinking:

High flew the spray above their heads, yet onward still they bore.

Here, there is little except what is on the surface, and the thoughts suggested by the words are of the kind to make the mind think rapidly. Hence the line is read in faster time than the average rate. Reading may, accordingly, be fast from one or both of two causes. First, when there is no background of thought for the mind to dwell upon, and second when the nature of the thoughts themselves, such as the narration of the rapid succession of events, impels to quick mental action. The following lines from Pibroch of Donuil Dhu (p. 61) will serve as an illustration:

So, too, reading may be slow from the exact opposite of these two reasons. First, when there is a great back-ground of thought suggested by the words, and second, when the reflective and meditative nature of the thought leads to slow action on the part of the mind. In some selections both of these conditions are present; in others only one of them. In The Day is Done (p. 63) there is little thought below the surface; but the reading is slow because the quiet, meditative nature of the thought tends to slow mental action:

[Pg 14]

Both conditions, however, exist in the lines from Barbara Frietchie which describe the effect produced on Stonewall Jackson by Barbara Frietchie's heroic action and daring speech:

A great many thoughts are suggested by these two lines. The heart of the gallant Southerner is touched at the sight of this weak, decrepit old woman with the courage and boldness of youth, ready to die for her principles. His stern features relax and a look of sadness passes over his face. The taunting words "spare your country's flag" have struck home. The tragic side of civil war is forced upon him—father fighting against son, and brother against brother, the sons of freedom firing at their own star-spangled banner. The sorrow and the shame of it all rise before him, and the crimson flush mounts to his brow. With this undercurrent of thought in the mind, it is impossible to read rapidly. Besides, the reflective nature of the thoughts themselves tends to make one repeat the words slowly.

Sometimes, again, reading is faster than the moderate rate because of the unimportance of the events or facts:

Note the lightness with which the unimportant details of conversation are skimmed over.

Inflection. If we listen to the speech of the people around us, we can easily detect an upward slide of the voice on some words, a downward slide on others, and on others again a combination of the two. This slide of the voice on words—generally on the accented syllable of an emphatic [Pg 15]word—is called inflection, and the various inflections are known as rising (/), falling (\), rising circumflex (\/), and falling circumflex (/\).

Each inflection has a definite and fixed meaning recognized by every one, and it is because of the laws of inflection that we can tell what meaning a speaker intends to convey when he uses certain words; for often the same words may carry two or three different meanings according to the inflection. The simple word "Yes," with an abrupt downward slide, expresses decided affirmation. When spoken with an upward slide, it expresses interrogation and is equivalent to "Is that really so?" When it has a combination of the downward and upward slide or a rising circumflex inflection, the meaning is no longer simple but complex. There is an assertion combined with doubt. It is equivalent to saying: "I think so but I am not really sure." In such a sentence as: "Do not say 'yes,'" where the idea "but say 'no,'" is merely implied, but not formally expressed, the word "yes" has a combination of the upward and downward slide or a falling circumflex inflection.

If we take an idea for its own sake, if it is independent and complete in itself, the voice has the downward slide or falling inflection on the words which stand for the central idea:

Each statement is complete in itself and has the falling inflection.

Sometimes there is a slight downward slide before the statement is completed, because the mind feels that the ideas [Pg 16]already expressed are of sufficient force to give them the value of completeness:

Note the momentary completeness on "ten," "cold," "bent," and "spent," requiring the falling inflection.

If on the other hand an idea is incomplete, either pointing forward to some other idea or being subordinate, the voice has the upward slide or rising inflection. The rising inflection, like the falling, may be long or short, more or less abrupt, according to the importance of the thought:

"She" points forward to the predicate "felt" and because of the importance of the idea it takes a long rising inflection; "with all a monarch's pride" being subordinate and incomplete also requires the voice to be kept up, but takes a shorter rising inflection.

It is of the greatest importance to know the exact purpose of the thought, so that the voice may, of itself, give the corresponding inflection:

The sense is evidently not complete in the first line, the intention being to emphasize the beauty of the garlands to be gathered, and not merely to state that they may be gathered [Pg 17]there. When the reader understands the exact meaning he will convey it by keeping the rising inflection on "garlands."

Similar to the foregoing is the following:

The sense is not complete until we read the second line. The rising inflection on "country" indicates this and connects the first line with the second, bringing out the meaning, that every wife in the west country has heard of the Well of St. Keyne.

Sometimes we have a series of rising inflections, all pointing forward to the leading statement which is to follow and which is necessary to complete the sense, for example:

Incompleteness may be suggested by a negative statement or its equivalent:

Note the rising inflection on these negative clauses.

[Pg 18]

On the same principle the rising inflection is used on the negative statements of persuasive argument as in the Apology of Socrates (p. 145).

Doubt and hesitation also imply incompleteness:

Note the rising inflection on the first two lines where the lady is still in doubt as to what shall be the test of De Lorge's love, and the falling inflection on the last one when she has reached a decision.

Pleading and entreaty also convey a sense of incompleteness and take the rising inflection:

A direct interrogation, that is, one that can be answered by "Yes" or "No", implies incompleteness in the mind of the questioner and requires a decided rising inflection:

[Pg 19]

Questions that require an explanatory answer and cannot be answered by "Yes" or "No," do not convey an idea of incompleteness, being merely equivalent to the statement of a desire for certain information. Consequently they take the falling inflection:

The purpose or motive of a question must be considered. We must know whether the question is asked for information, or whether its purpose is to give information; that is, whether it is only another way of making an assertion—what is sometimes called a question of appeal. When Shylock asks Portia: "Shall I not have barely my principal?" he does so with the direct purpose of learning his sentence. His question can be answered by "Yes" or "No" and the rising inflection is used. But when he asks: "On what compulsion must I?" he means simply to give the information that there is no power on earth to compel him. This is a complete thought, hence the falling inflection. Other examples are:

Have you e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

The opposite inflections on antithetical words or phrases are also due to this law of completeness and incompleteness. The first part of the antithesis usually has the rising [Pg 20]inflection marking incompleteness, and the second, the falling, marking completeness.

Similarly, in a series of words or phrases parallel in construction, all have the rising inflection but the last:

If one part of the antithesis is a negation, it takes the rising inflection, whether it comes first or second. This is owing to the fact that, as illustrated above, a negation implies incompleteness. The other part then takes the falling inflection:

Often only one part of the antithesis is expressed, the contrast being implied. In such a case, the voice brings out the contrast by placing a combination of the two inflections of the regularly expressed antithesis on the one word [Pg 21]which does duty for both parts: Cassius says: "I said an elder soldier, not a better" in reply to Brutus' speech—"You say you are a better soldier." The antithesis is fully expressed, and the voice places the falling inflection on "elder" and the rising inflection on "better." If Cassius had omitted the words "not a better," the very same meaning could have been conveyed by placing a combination of the rising and the falling inflection or a falling circumflex on the word "elder," thus—"I said an êlder soldier." In the next line he goes on to say "Did I say bĕtter?" Here, there is an implied contrast with "elder," which is expressed by a combination of the falling and the rising inflection or a rising circumflex. From these two examples, we can see that the law of completeness and incompleteness holds good with the compound or circumflex inflection, just as it does with the simple inflection, and determines whether the circumflex shall be rising or falling.

A very common mistake in reading is to use the circumflex inflection in emphasizing a word, thus making a contrast where none is intended. "Ramped and roared the lions" with a falling circumflex inflection on "lions," instead of a simple falling inflection, suggests that the tigers or some other animals did not ramp and roar. For similar reasons, avoid the circumflex when emphasizing "hand" and "feet" in "put a ring on his hand and shoes on his feet."

As has already been stated, it is necessary to know the motive behind the words. When Shylock says: "O wise and upright judge," his intention is evidently to bestow sincere praise. The reader, knowing this, instinctively gives a straight slide. Later, when Gratiano says: "O upright judge, O learned judge!" his intention is to taunt and hold up to ridicule; there is a double meaning conveyed, which finds its natural expression in a curved inflection.

Compare the curved inflections in the cobbler's speeches in Act I. Scene I, of Julius Cæsar (p. 133) when he is fencing with Marullus, with the straight inflections of his final speech [Pg 22]when he has thrown aside his raillery and speaks with sincerity:

Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself

in more work. But, indeèd, sir, we make hòliday to

see Caèsar, and to rejoìce in his triùmph.

One writer has said: "Where there is simple and genuine thought, deep and sincere feeling, wherever the eye is single, the inflections of the voice are straight; a crook in the mind however is indicated by a crook in the voice."

Pitch is the key of the voice. A change of pitch is a leap from one key to another during silence. Inflection, as we have seen, is a gradual change in the key while the voice is speaking. The pitch or key depends upon the muscular tension of the vocal chords, which act like the strings of a musical instrument: the greater the tension, the higher the key. Muscular tension implies nervous tension and this is dependent upon the mental state. If the mind is calm, the nervous and muscular tension is normal, and the speaker uses the key habitual to him in his ordinary speech. If the mental state is one of excitement, the key is higher because of greater nervous and muscular tension. If, on the other hand, the mental state is one of depression, the key is lower because of relaxed muscular tension.

In The Defence of the Bridge (p. 206) the Romans, seeing the danger of the heroes, are wrought up to a high state of nervous tension which finds its natural expression in the high-pitched voice:

Contrast with this the lower key of Horatius, who is calm and self-controlled:

[Pg 23]

Observe the gradual rise in pitch with the increase of tension or excitement in the following:

In the following lines, where the Douglas holds communion with himself, the tension is low chiefly because of his great mental depression, and, consequently, he speaks in a low key:

The low pitch is also partly due to the fact that the Douglas is speaking to himself, and has no desire to communicate his thoughts to another; for the effort to communicate thought causes increased tension.

Again, it requires greater effort to address a person who is at a distance than one close at hand, or to address a large [Pg 24]audience than a small one. Observe the comparatively high pitch in which Antony (p. 225) begins his oration:

If the reader wishes to give prominence to a thought, the effort put forth causes muscular tension, resulting in a higher pitch. On the other hand, a thought, which the reader regards as not of special importance to the listener, finds expression in lower pitch, more as if he were addressing himself:

Observe the lower pitch of the subordinate clauses in the first four lines, and the higher pitch in the last two lines which project the leading thought.

Similarly, the narrative clause "said the schoolmaster" which interrupts the direct speech is read in lower pitch and is separated by a marked pause before and after.

Parenthetical expressions, also for the same reason, are read in lower pitch.

Passages which are collateral or co-ordinate in construction, and equally balanced, will find their natural vocal expression in the same pitch and, of course, the pitch varies as the attitude of the mind changes:

The first two lines have the same pitch, because there is no difference in intensity of feeling or in the mental conception. There is, however, an entire change of thought beginning with "the sun." This is accompanied by a change of pitch.

Force. Force is vocal energy; in other words, it is the power or volume of the voice, and is determined by the amount of physical and mental energy exerted by the speaker.

The language of everyday conversation, when not marked by intensity of feeling or purpose, requires only a moderate amount of physical and mental energy and is expressed by moderate force. Intensity of feeling or purpose, on the other hand, is accompanied by a great expenditure of energy, and finds its natural outlet in strong force. In the following lines, (p. 132) the king's emphatic approval of De Lorge's action and his vehement condemnation of the lady's vanity find expression in strong force:

"In truth!" cried Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat:

"No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that!"

[Pg 26]

Compare the moderate amount of energy expended in uttering the narrative clauses "cried Francis," "and he rose from where he sat," and "quoth he," which should be read with moderate force.

More physical energy is expended in making one's self understood at a distance than near at hand, and in addressing a large audience than a small one; hence strong force is used in the following where it is accompanied by a loud tone of voice:

But strong force does not necessarily imply a loud tone of voice:

Here Sextus gives vent to his concentrated hate for Horatius and speaks with strong force, but not in a loud tone of voice.

The effort to influence the mind and action of others draws on a great fund of mental energy; hence commands, persuasion, and argument, all find their vocal expression in strong force. Hervé Riel, urging the captains to allow him to pilot the ships, speaks with strong force:

Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there's a way!

Only let me lead the line,

When the mental or physical energy is at a low ebb we speak with weak force:

For the same reason such poems as The Day is Done, (p. 63) and Part IV, of The Lady of Shalott, (p. 200) are read with gentle force.

A change in force often accompanies a change in pitch. The lower pitch of parenthetical expressions, and narrative clauses which interrupt direct discourse, is accompanied by weaker force, and the higher pitch resulting from the efforts to make one's self heard at a distance is accompanied by stronger force.

Stress is force applied to the vowel sound. When we are taken by surprise and give expression to it by means of the one word "Oh," we apply the force or volume of the voice to the beginning of the vowel sound. This is called initial or radical stress (>) to a statement, or to insist on a refusal to some persistent request we say "No," gradually increasing the force of the voice to the last part of the vowel sound. This is called final or vanishing stress (<). Again, if our minds are uplifted with wonder and delight at something we have heard or seen, we exclaim "Oh" applying the force to the middle of the vowel sound. This swell of the vowel sound is called median stress (<>).

It has already been pointed out that force depends upon the amount of energy. The above examples show that stress or the location of force depends upon the kind of mental energy, or the attitude of mind, whether it be that of abruptness, of insistence, or of uplift.

All speech has a slight tendency toward initial stress, because the effort made by the vocal chords to articulate sound is characterized by abruptness. If, in addition, the mental energy of the speaker possesses abruptness through sudden impulse or emotion, or through unconscious imitation [Pg 28]of sound or movement, the initial stress is very prominent:

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

If the speaker desires to impress on others his own feelings or convictions, the final stress is the result. Such insistence is found in the expression of anger, scorn, indignation, and determination:

In the first two lines Hervé Riel wishes to make others feel his own indignation at the thought of burning the fleet. In the last two, he tries to impress them with his conviction that there is a way out of the difficulty. Hence the final stress in each case.

Sometimes the speaker tries to enforce his own opinion by peevishness, whining, or complaining, with the result that he uses the final stress:

If the mental energy or mental attitude is one of uplift or exaltation, expressing itself in adoration of the Deity, or in admiration and love of the beautiful, or in sympathy and tenderness toward mankind, the median stress is used:

Bless the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless his holy name.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean—roll!

Determination and settled conviction in the speaker's mind, especially when accompanied by a marked degree of dignity, calmness, and self-control, cause equal stress on every part of the vowel sound. This is called thorough stress:

It is the stress of quiet strength and great reserve force:

In a more marked degree, it is also the stress used in calling:

Then rose a warning cry behind, a joyous shout before:

"The current's strong,—the way is long,—they'll never reach the shore!

See, see! they stagger in the midst, they waver in their line!

Fire on the madmen! break their ranks, and whelm them in the Rhine!"

[Pg 30]

If the speaker's attitude of mind is not straightforward and sincere, if he speaks with a double meaning, in irony or sarcasm, the stress is a combination of the radical and final, known as compound stress (><). This is analogous to the compound inflection. See page 21.

Accordingly, the compound stress is used when the intention is to taunt or to ridicule:

Emphasis—The importance of an idea, whether this idea is expressed by a single word, or by a phrase or clause, is indicated by a variation of pitch, force, or time. This change in pitch, force, or time, by attracting attention to that idea, is a means of emphasis. It is the new idea, or the idea which is important through contrast either expressed or implied, which will attract the reader's attention and which he will make prominent in this way:

"better soldier," "appear," and "true" are central ideas; they express important ideas not mentioned before. When Cassius replies he at once throws the idea of "soldier" in the back-ground and emphasizes "better" by contrasting it with [Pg 31]"elder." He also introduces the new idea "wrong" which he makes still more emphatic by repetition. Brutus also introduces the new idea "please me well" which he makes emphatic by repeating it in the word "glad." Other examples of words and phrases becoming more emphatic through repetition are:

In the case of a climax, the emphasis grows stronger on each member of the series:

"Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief.

It is enthronéd in the hearts of Kings,

It is an attribute to God himself.

When a wind from the lands they had ruin'd awoke from sleep,

And the water began to heave and the weather to moan,

And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew,

And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew,

Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and their flags.

However, if a word is repeated, it is not necessarily emphatic each time:

The German heart is stout and true, the German arm is strong;

The German foot goes seldom back where armèd foemen throng.

[Pg 32]

In the phrase "The German heart" the chief emphasis is on "heart," with a slighter emphasis on German. The emphasis is then transferred to "arm" and "foot" through contrast with "heart." To emphasize "German" again would weaken the effect.

Compare the repetition, in the following, of the syllable "un," also of the phrase "this year":

Words and phrases are emphatic quite as often through contrast implied as through contrast expressed. It is evident that such a sentence as: "Will you ride to town to-day?" may have a number of different meanings according to the words emphasized. This difference of meaning is due to an implied contrast. If "you" is emphatic, it is because there is a mental contrast between "you" and some other person. If "ride" is emphatic, it is because riding is being contrasted with walking or driving and so on. The following contain examples of emphasis through implied contrast:

Great things were ne'er begotten in an hour.

But now no sound of laughter was heard among the foes.

As already shown on page 21, the emphasis, in the case of implied contrast, is brought out by the circumflex inflection.

[Pg 33]

Shading and Perspective. These deal with the relative importance of words, phrases, or clauses. According as an idea suggested by a word or group of words is regarded as principal or subordinate, the voice either projects it or holds it in the back-ground as an artist shades his picture:

And, though the legend does not live,—for legends lightly die—

The peasant, as he sees the stream in winter rolling by,

And foaming o'er its channel-bed between him and the spot

Won by the warriors of the sword, still calls that deep and dangerous ford

The Passage of the Scot.

The principal statement, "The peasant still calls that deep and dangerous ford the Passage of the Scot," is projected or emphasized by higher pitch and stronger force, the thought being sustained, and the connection made between "The peasant" and "still calls" by means of the rising inflection. The subordinate statements, "though the legend does not live" and "as he sees the stream in winter rolling by ... sword," are kept in the back-ground by slightly lower pitch and moderate force. The parenthetical clause, "for legends lightly die," is subordinate to the subordinate statement and is thrown still more into the back-ground in the same way as the preceding.

Strictly speaking, the term "shading" is used to indicate the value of individual phrases or clauses; "perspective," to indicate the values of several phrases or clauses viewed relatively.

The quality, or timbre, of the voice reveals the speaker's emotions, their character, number, and intensity. The voice is affected by the muscular texture of the throat, just as the tone of an instrument is affected by the texture of the material of which it is made. This muscular texture is affected by nerve and muscular vibrations which are caused by emotion, the result of mental impressions. Whatever be the [Pg 34]quality of voice peculiar to the individual, it is greatly modified by his emotions. The man of few emotions has few vocal vibrations; hence his monotonous voice. The man whose emotions are habitually cruel, has a harsh, hard muscular texture through contraction of the muscles; hence the hard voice. It is plain that the natural voice is an index to the character. If the imagination and soul are cultivated, the voice will gain in richness and fulness. If, in reading that which expresses the sublime, noble, and grand, the imagination is kindled, the voice will express by its vibrations the largeness of our conception. This full, rich voice is called the orotund:

For as the heaven is high above the earth, so great is his mercy toward them that fear him.

As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us.

In thinking of what is stern, severe, harsh, cruel, or base, the muscles of the throat contract and produce the rigid, throaty tone known as the guttural:

Certain states of mind, such as awe, caution, secrecy, fear, etc., produce in greater or less degree an aspirated or "breathy" quality, called the whisper or aspirate:

The atmosphere of hush and repose expresses itself by a partial whisper:

It must not be supposed that the whisper is always associated with moderate or with weak force as in the preceding examples. Strong force is used with the whisper to express intensity of feeling or vehemence:

Whispering with white lips: the foe! they come! they come!

Hush, I say, hush!

Other emotional states have their corresponding qualities of voice, such, for example, as the quality of oppressed feeling and the quality expressing agitation.

To conclude: it must be carefully borne in mind that the reader should never strive to produce a certain quality apart from the emotion which should precede. By force alone, for example, he will succeed in producing mere sound without the quality. Nor are any of the examples given above, in dealing with the various elements of vocal expression, intended for practice in voice gymnastics apart from the preliminary state of which they are the vocal expression. They are intended merely as illustrations of the laws which govern correct speech.

[Pg 36]

THE HIGH SCHOOL READER

THE BANNER OF ST. GEORGE

—By permission of the publishers, Novello & Co.

[Pg 38]

JEAN VALJEAN AND THE BISHOP

At the bishop's house, his housekeeper, Mme. Magloire was saying:

"We say that this house is not safe at all; and, if Monseigneur will permit me, I will go on and tell the locksmith to come and put the old bolts in the door again. I say, than a door which opens by a latch on the outside to the first comer, nothing could be more horrible; and then Monseigneur has the habit of always saying: 'Come in,' even at midnight. But, my goodness, there is no need to even ask leave——"

At this moment there was a violent knock on the door.

"Come in!" said the bishop.

The door opened.

It opened quickly, quite wide, as if pushed by some one boldly and with energy.

A man entered.

That man we know already; it was the traveller we have seen wandering about in search of a lodging.

He came in, took one step, and paused, leaving the door open behind him. He had his knapsack on his back, his stick in his hand, and a rough, hard, and fierce look in his eyes. He was hideous.

The bishop looked upon the man with a tranquil eye. As he was opening his mouth to speak, doubtless to ask the stranger what he wanted, the man, leaning with both hands on his club, glanced from one to another in turn, [Pg 39]and, without waiting for the bishop to speak, said, in a loud voice:

"See here! my name is Jean Valjean. I am a convict; I have been nineteen years in the galleys. Four days ago I was set free, and started for Pontarlier; during these four days I have walked from Toulon. To-day I have walked twelve leagues. When I reached this place this evening I went to an inn, and they sent me away on account of my yellow passport, which I had shown at the Mayor's office, as was necessary. I went to another inn; they said, 'Get out!' It was the same with one as with another; nobody would have me. I went to the prison and the turnkey would not let me in. I crept into a dog kennel, the dog bit me, and drove me away as if he had been a man; you would have said that he knew who I was. I went into the fields to sleep beneath the stars, there were no stars. I thought it would rain, and there was no good God to stop the drops, so I came back to the town to get the shelter of some doorway. There in the square I laid down upon a stone; a good woman showed me your house, and said: 'Knock there!' I have knocked. What is this place? Are you an inn? I have money; my savings, one hundred and nine francs and fifteen sous, which I have earned in the galleys by my work for nineteen years. I will pay. What do I care? I have money, I am very tired—twelve leagues on foot—and I am so hungry. Can I stay?"

"Mme. Magloire," said the bishop, "put on another plate."

The man took three steps and came near the lamp which stood on the table. "Stop," he exclaimed; as if he had not been understood; "not that, did you understand me? I am a galley slave—a convict—I am just [Pg 40]from the galleys." He drew from his pocket a large sheet of yellow paper, which he unfolded. "There is my passport, yellow, as you see. That is enough to have me kicked out wherever I go. Will you read it? See, here is what they have put on my passport: Jean Valjean, a liberated convict; has been nineteen years in the galleys; five years for burglary; fourteen years for having attempted four times to escape. This man is very dangerous. There you have it! Everybody has thrust me out; will you receive me? Is this an inn? Can you give me something to eat and a place to sleep? Have you a stable?"

"Mme. Magloire," said the bishop, "put some sheets on the bed in the alcove."

The bishop turned to the man:

"Monsieur, sit down and warm yourself; we are going to take supper presently, and your bed will be made ready while you sup."

At last the man quite understood; his face, the expression of which till then had been gloomy, and hard, now expressed stupefaction, doubt and joy, and became absolutely wonderful. He began to stutter like a madman.

"True? What? You will keep me? you won't drive me away—a convict? You call me monsieur and don't say, 'Get out, dog!' as everybody else does. I shall have a supper! a bed like other people, with mattress and sheets—a bed! It is nineteen years that I have not slept on a bed. You are good people! Besides, I have money; I will pay well. I beg your pardon, M. Innkeeper, what is your name? I will pay all you say. You are a fine man. You are an innkeeper, is it not so?"

"I am a priest who lives here," said the bishop.

[Pg 41]

"A priest," said the man. "Oh, noble priest! Then you do not ask any money?"

"No," said the bishop, "keep your money. How much have you?"

"One hundred and nine francs and fifteen sous," said the man.

"One hundred and nine francs and fifteen sous. And how long did it take you to earn that?"

"Nineteen years."

"Nineteen years!"

The bishop sighed deeply, and shut the door, which had been left wide open.

Mme. Magloire brought in a plate and set it on the table.

"Mme Magloire," said the bishop, "put this plate as near the fire as you can." Then turning toward his guest he added: "The night wind is raw in the Alps; you must be cold, monsieur."

Every time he said the word monsieur with his gentle, solemn and heartily hospitable voice, the man's countenance lighted up. Monsieur to a convict is a glass of water to a man dying of thirst at sea.

"The lamp," said the bishop, "gives a very poor light."

Mme. Magloire understood him, and, going to his bedchamber, took from the mantel the two silver candlesticks, lighted the candles and placed them on the table.

"M. le Curé," said the man, you are good; "you don't despise me. You take me into your house; you light your candles for me, and I haven't hid from you where I come from, and how miserable I am."

The bishop touched his hand gently and said: "You need not tell me who you are. This is not my house; it [Pg 42]is the house of Christ. It does not ask any comer whether he has a name, but whether he has an affliction. You are suffering; you are hungry and thirsty; be welcome. And do not thank me; do not tell me that I take you into my house. This is the home of no man except him who needs an asylum. I tell you, who are a traveller, that you are more at home here than I; whatever is here is yours. What need have I to know your name? Besides, before you told me, I knew it."

The man opened his eyes in astonishment.

"Really? You knew my name?"

"Yes," answered the bishop, "your name is my brother."

"Stop, stop, M. le Curé," exclaimed the man, "I was famished when I came in, but you are so kind that now I don't know what I am; that is all gone."

The bishop looked at him again and said:

"You have seen much suffering?"

"Oh, the red blouse, the ball and chain, the plank you sleep on, the heat, the cold, the galley's screw, the lash, the double chain for nothing, the dungeon for a word—even when sick in bed, the chain. The dogs, the dogs are happier! nineteen years! and I am forty-six, and now a yellow passport. That is all."

"Yes," answered the bishop, "you have left a place of suffering. But listen, there will be more joy in heaven over the tears of a repentant sinner than over the white robes of a hundred good men. If you are leaving that sorrowful place with hate and anger against men, you are worthy of compassion; if you leave it with good-will, gentleness, and peace, you are better than any of us."

—Victor Hugo

[Pg 43]

THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE

—Robert Southey

[Pg 46]

FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

[Pg 47]

And now abideth faith, hope and charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.

THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

[Pg 52]

THE VICAR'S FAMILY USE ART

1. Whatever might have been Sophia's sensations, the rest of the family was easily consoled for Mr. Burchell's absence by the company of our landlord, whose visits now became more frequent, and longer. Though he had been disappointed in procuring my daughters the amusements of the town, as he designed, he took every opportunity of supplying them with those little recreations which our retirement would admit of. He usually came in the morning; and while my son and I followed our occupations abroad, he sat with the family at home, and amused them by describing the town, with every part of which he was particularly acquainted. He could repeat all the observations that were retailed in the atmosphere of the play-houses, and had all the good things of the high wits by rote, long before they made their way into the jest-books. The intervals between conversation were employed in teaching my daughters piquet, or sometimes in setting my two little ones to box, to make them sharp, as he called it; but the hopes of having him for a son-in-law, in some measure blinded us to all his imperfections. It must be owned, that my wife laid a thousand schemes to entrap him; or, to speak it more tenderly, used every art to magnify the merit of her daughter. If the cakes at tea ate short and crisp, they were made by Olivia; if the gooseberry wine was well knit, the gooseberries were of her gathering; [Pg 53]it was her fingers that gave the pickles their peculiar green; and in the composition of a pudding, it was her judgment that mixed the ingredients. Then the poor woman would sometimes tell the Squire that she thought him and Olivia extremely of a size, and would bid both stand up to see which was tallest. These instances of cunning, which she thought impenetrable, yet which everybody saw through, were very pleasing to our benefactor, who gave every day some new proofs of his passion, which, though they had not risen to proposals of marriage, yet we thought fell but little short of it; and his slowness was attributed sometimes to native bashfulness, and sometimes to his fear of offending his uncle. An occurrence, however, which happened soon after, put it beyond a doubt that he designed to become one of our family; my wife even regarded it as an absolute promise.

2. My wife and daughters happening to return a visit at neighbour Flamborough's, found that family had lately got their pictures drawn by a limner, who travelled the country, and took likenesses for fifteen shillings a head. As this family and ours had long a sort of rivalry in point of taste, our spirit took the alarm at this stolen march upon us; and notwithstanding all I could say, and I said much, it was resolved that we should have our pictures done too. Having, therefore, engaged the limner—for what could I do?—our next deliberation was to shew the superiority of our taste in the attitudes. As for our neighbour's family, there were seven of them, and they were drawn with seven oranges—a thing quite out of taste, no [Pg 54]variety in life, no composition in the world. We desired to have something in a brighter style; and after many debates, at length came to an unanimous resolution of being drawn together, in one large historical family piece. This would be cheaper, since one frame would serve for all, and it would be infinitely more genteel; for all families of any taste were now drawn in the same manner. As we did not immediately recollect an historical subject to hit us, we were contented each with being drawn as independent historical figures. My wife desired to be represented as Venus, and the painter was desired not to be too frugal of his diamonds in her stomacher and hair. Her two little ones were to be as Cupids by her side; while I, in my gown and band, was to present her with my books on the Whistonian controversy. Olivia would be drawn as an Amazon, sitting upon a bank of flowers, dressed in a green joseph richly laced with gold, and a whip in her hand. Sophia was to be a shepherdess, with as many sheep as the painter could put in for nothing; and Moses was to be dressed out with an hat and white feather. Our taste so much pleased the Squire that he insisted on being put in as one of the family, in the character of Alexander the Great, at Olivia's feet. This was considered by us all as an indication of his desire to be introduced into the family, nor could we refuse his request. The painter was therefore set to work, and as he wrought with assiduity and expedition, in less than four days the whole was completed. The piece was large, and it must be owned he did not spare his colours; for which my wife gave him great encomiums. We were all perfectly satisfied with his performance; but an unfortunate circumstance [Pg 55]which had not occurred till the picture was finished, now struck us with dismay. It was so very large that we had no place in the house to fix it. How we all came to disregard so material a point is inconceivable; but certain it is, we had been all greatly remiss. The picture, therefore, instead of gratifying our vanity, as we hoped, leaned, in a most mortifying manner, against the kitchen wall, where the canvas was stretched and painted, much too large to be got through any of the doors, and the jest of all our neighbours. One compared it to Robinson Crusoe's long-boat, too large to be removed; another thought it more resembled a reel in a bottle; some wondered how it could be got out. but still more were amazed how it ever got in.

3. But though it excited the ridicule of some, it effectually raised more malicious suggestions in many. The Squire's portrait being found united with ours, was an honour too great to escape envy. Scandalous whispers began to circulate at our expense, and our tranquillity was continually disturbed by persons, who came as friends, to tell us what was said of us by enemies. These reports we always resented with becoming spirit; but scandal ever improves by opposition.

4. We once again, therefore, entered into a consultation upon obviating the malice of our enemies, and at last came to a resolution which had too much cunning to give me entire satisfaction. It was this: as our principal object was to discover the honour of Mr. Thornhill's addresses, my wife undertook to sound him, by pretending to ask his advice in the choice of an husband for her eldest daughter. If this was not [Pg 56]found sufficient to induce him to a declaration, it was then resolved to terrify him with a rival. To this last step, however, I would by no means give my consent, till Olivia gave me the most solemn assurances that she would marry the person provided to rival him upon this occasion, if he did not prevent it by taking her himself. Such was the scheme laid, which, though I did not strenuously oppose, I did not entirely approve.

5. The next time, therefore, that Mr. Thornhill came to see us, my girls took care to be out of the way, in order to give their mamma an opportunity of putting her scheme in execution; but they only retired to the next room, whence they could overhear the whole conversation. My wife artfully introduced it, by observing, that one of the Miss Flamboroughs was like to have a very good match of it in Mr. Spanker. To this the Squire assenting, she proceeded to remark, that they who had warm fortunes were always sure of getting good husbands: "But heaven help," continued she, "the girls that have none! What signifies beauty, Mr. Thornhill? or what signifies all the virtue, and all the qualifications in the world, in this age of self-interest? It is not, What is she? but, What has she? is all the cry."

6. "Madam," returned he, "I highly approve the justice, as well as the novelty, of your remarks, and if I were a king, it should be otherwise. It should then, indeed, be fine times for the girls without fortunes: our two young ladies should be the first for whom I would provide."

7. "Ah, sir," returned my wife, "you are pleased to be facetious: but I wish I were a queen, and then I [Pg 57]know where my eldest daughter should look for an husband. But now that you have put it into my head, seriously, Mr. Thornhill, can't you recommend me a proper husband for her? She is now nineteen years old, well grown and well educated, and, in my humble opinion, does not want for parts."

8. "Madam," replied he, "if I were to choose, I would find out a person possessed of every accomplishment that can make an angel happy. One with prudence, fortune, taste, and sincerity; such, madam, would be, in my opinion, the proper husband."—"Ay, sir," said she, "but do you know of any such person?"—"No, Madam," returned he, "it is impossible to know any person that deserves to be her husband: she's too great a treasure for one man's possession: she's a goddess! Upon my soul, I speak what I think, she's an angel!"—"Ah, Mr. Thornhill, you only flatter my poor girl: but we have been thinking of marrying her to one of your tenants, whose mother is lately dead, and who wants a manager; you know whom I mean, Farmer Williams; a warm man, Mr. Thornhill, able to give her good bread; and who has several times made her proposals" (which was actually the case); "but, sir," concluded she, "I should be glad to have your approbation of our choice."—"How, Madam," replied he, "my approbation!—my approbation of such a choice! Never. What! Sacrifice so much beauty, and sense, and goodness, to a creature insensible of the blessing! Excuse me, I can never approve of such a piece of injustice. And I have my reasons."—"Indeed, sir," cried Deborah, "If you have your reasons, that's another affair; but I should be glad to know those [Pg 58]reasons."—"Excuse me, Madam," returned he, "they lie too deep for discovery" (laying his hand upon his bosom); "they remain buried, rivetted here."

9. After he was gone, upon a general consultation, we could not tell what to make of these fine sentiments. Olivia considered them as instances of the most exalted passion; but I was not quite so sanguine; yet, whatever they might portend, it was resolved to prosecute the scheme of Farmer Williams, who, from my daughter's first appearance in the country, had paid her his addresses.

—Oliver Goldsmith

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM

—Thomas Campbell

VAN ELSEN

-Frederick George Scott (By permission)

PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU

—Sir Walter Scott

[Pg 63]

THE DAY IS DONE

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

[Pg 65]

THE SCHOOLMASTER AND THE BOYS

1. The schoolmaster had scarcely arranged the room in due order, and taken his seat behind his desk, when a white-headed boy with a sunburnt face appeared at the door, and stopping there to make a rustic bow, came in and took his seat upon one of the forms. The white-headed boy then put an open book, astonishingly dog-eared, upon his knees, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, began counting the marbles with which they were filled. Soon afterwards another white-headed little boy came straggling in, and after him a red-headed lad, and after him two more with white heads, and then one with a flaxen poll, and so on until there were about a dozen boys in all, with heads of every colour but gray, and ranging in their ages from four years old to fourteen years or more; for the legs of the youngest were a long way from the floor when he sat upon the form, and the eldest was a heavy, good-tempered, foolish fellow, about half a head taller than the schoolmaster.

2. At the top of the first form—the post of honour in the school—was the vacant place of the little sick scholar, and at the head of the row of pegs on which the hats and caps were hung, one peg was left empty. No boy attempted to violate the sanctity of seat or peg, but many a one looked from the empty spaces to the schoolmaster, and whispered to his idle neighbour behind his hand.

3. Then began the hum of conning over lessons and getting them by heart, the whispered jest and stealthy [Pg 66]game, and all the noise and drawl of school; and in the midst of the din sat the poor schoolmaster, the very image of meekness and simplicity, vainly attempting to fix his mind upon the duties of the day, and to forget his little sick friend. But the tedium of his office reminded him more strongly of the willing scholar, and his thoughts were rambling from his pupils—it was plain. None knew this better than the idlest boys, who, growing bolder with impunity, waxed louder and more daring—eating apples under the master's eye, pinching each other in sport or malice, and cutting their autographs in the very legs of his desk. The puzzled dunce, who stood beside it to say his lesson out of book, looked no longer at the ceiling for forgotten words, but drew closer to the master's elbow and boldly cast his eyes upon the page. If the master did chance to rouse himself and seem alive to what was going on, the noise subsided for a moment, and no eyes met his but wore a studious and deeply humble look; but, the instant he relapsed again, it broke out afresh, and ten times louder than before.

4. Oh, how some of those idle fellows longed to be outside, and how they looked at the open door and window, as if they half meditated rushing violently out, plunging into the woods, and being wild boys and savages from that time forth. What rebellious thoughts of the cool river, and some shady bathing-place beneath willow-trees with branches dipping in the water, kept tempting and urging that sturdy boy, who sat fanning his flushed face with a spelling-book wishing himself a whale, or a fly, or anything but a boy at school on that hot, broiling day!

5. Heat! Ask that other boy, whose seat being [Pg 67]nearest the door gave him opportunities of gliding out into the garden and driving his companions to madness by dipping his face into the bucket of the well and then rolling on the grass—ask him if there were ever such a day as that, when even the bees were diving deep down into the cups of flowers and stopping there, as if they had made up their minds to retire from business and be manufacturers of honey no more. The day was made for laziness, and lying on one's back in green places, and staring at the sky till its brightness forced one to shut one's eyes and go to sleep; and was this a time to be poring over musty books in a dark room, slighted by the very sun itself? Monstrous!

6. The lessons over, writing-time began; and there being but one desk and that the master's, each boy sat at it in turn and laboured at his crooked copy, while the master walked about. This was a quieter time; for he would come and look over the writer's shoulder, and tell him mildly to observe how such a letter was turned in such a copy on the wall, and bid him take it for his model. Then he would stop and tell them what the sick child had said last night, and how he had longed to be among them once again; and such was the schoolmaster's gentle and affectionate manner that the boys seemed quite remorseful that they had worried him so much, and were absolutely quiet; eating no apples, cutting no names, inflicting no pinches, for full two minutes afterwards.

7. "I think, boys," said the schoolmaster, when the clock struck twelve, "that I shall give an extra half-holiday this afternoon."

8. At this intelligence the boys, led on and headed by the tall boy, raised a great shout, in the midst of which [Pg 68]the master was seen to speak, but could not be heard. As he held up his hand, however, in token of his wish that they should be silent, they were considerate enough to leave off, as soon as the longest-winded among them were quite out of breath.

9. "You must promise me first," said the schoolmaster, "that you 'll not be noisy, or, at least, if you are, that you'll go away and be so—away out of the village, I mean. I'm sure you wouldn't disturb your old playmate and companion."

10. There was a general murmur in the negative.

11. "Then, pray, don't forget—there's my dear scholars," said the schoolmaster—"what I have asked you, and do it as a favour to me. Be as happy as you can, and likewise be mindful that you are blessed with health. Good-bye, all!"

12. "Thank you, sir," and "Good-bye, sir," were said a great many times in a variety of voices, and the boys went out very slowly and softly.

13. But there was the sun shining and there were the birds singing, as the sun only shines and the birds only sing on holidays and half-holidays; there were the trees waving to all free boys to climb and nestle among their leafy branches; the hay, entreating them to come and scatter it in the pure air; the green corn, gently beckoning toward wood and stream; the smooth ground rendered smoother still by blending lights and shadows, inviting to runs and leaps, and long walks no one knows whither. It was more than boy could bear, and with a joyous whoop the whole company took to their heels and spread themselves about, shouting and laughing as they went.

14. "It's natural, thank heaven!" said the poor [Pg 69]schoolmaster, looking after them. "I'm very glad they didn't mind me!"

—Charles Dickens

[Pg 70]

THE KNIGHTS' CHORUS

—Alfred Tennyson

[Pg 71]

THE NORTHERN STAR

—Unknown

THE INDIGO BIRD

—Ethelwyn Wetherald (By permission)

THE PASTURE FIELD

—Ethelwyn Wetherald (By permission)

[Pg 75]

SHIPWRECKED

1. The time I spent upon the island is still so horrible a thought to me that I must pass it lightly over. In all the books I have read of people cast away, either they had their pockets full of tools, or a chest of things would be thrown upon the beach along with them, as if on purpose. My case was very much different. I had nothing in my pockets but money and Alan's silver button; and being inland bred, I was as much short of knowledge as of means.

2. I knew indeed that shellfish were counted good to eat; and among the rocks of the isle I found a great plenty of limpets, which at first I could scarcely strike from their places, not knowing quickness to be needful. There were, besides, some of the little shells that we call buckies; I think periwinkle is the English name. Of these two I made my whole diet, devouring them cold and raw as I found them; and so hungry was I that at first they seemed to me delicious.

3. Perhaps they were out of season, or perhaps there was something wrong in the sea about my island. But at least I had no sooner eaten my first meal than I was seized with giddiness and retching, and lay for a long time no better than dead. A second trial of the same food (indeed, I had no other) did better with me and revived my strength.

4. But as long as I was on the island, I never knew what to expect when I had eaten; sometimes all was [Pg 76]well, and sometimes I was thrown into a miserable sickness; nor could I ever distinguish what particular fish it was that hurt me. All day it streamed rain; there was no dry spot to be found; and when I lay down that night, between two boulders that made a kind of roof, my feet were in a bog.

5. From a little up the hillside over the bay I could catch a sight of the great ancient church and the roofs of the people's houses in Iona. And on the other hand, over the low country of the Ross, I saw smoke go up, morning and evening, as if from a homestead in a hollow of the land.

6. I used to watch this smoke, when I was wet and cold and had my head half-turned with loneliness, and think of the fireside and of the company till my heart burned. Altogether, this sight I had of men's homes and comfortable lives, although it put a point on my own sufferings, yet it kept hope alive, and helped me to eat my raw shellfish (which had soon grown to be a disgust), and saved me from the sense of horror I had whenever I was quite alone with dead rocks, and fowls, and the rain, and the cold sea.

7. Charles the Second declared a man could stay outdoors more days in the year in the climate of England than in any other. That was very like a king with a palace at his back and changes of dry clothes. But he must have had better luck on his flight from Worcester than I had on that miserable isle. It was the height of summer; yet it rained for more than twenty-four hours, and did not clear until the afternoon of the third day.

8. There is a pretty high rock on the north-west of Earraid, which (because it had a flat top and overlooked the Sound) I was much in the habit of frequenting; not [Pg 77]that I ever stayed in one place, save when asleep, my misery giving me no rest. Indeed, I wore myself down with continual and aimless goings and comings in the rain.

9. As soon, however, as the sun came out, I lay down on the top of that rock to dry myself. The comfort of the sunshine is a thing I cannot tell. It set me thinking hopefully of my deliverance, of which I had begun to despair; and I scanned the sea and the Ross with a fresh interest. On the south of my rock a part of the island jutted out and hid the open ocean so that a boat could thus come quite near me upon that side and I be none the wiser.

10. Well, all of a sudden, a coble, with a brown sail and a pair of fishers aboard of it, came flying round that corner of the isle, bound for Iona. I shouted out, and then fell on my knees on the rock and prayed to them. They were near enough to hear—I could even see the colour of their hair—and there was no doubt but they observed me, for they cried out in the Gaelic tongue, and laughed. But the boat never turned aside, and flew right on, before my eyes, for Iona.

11. I could not believe such wickedness, and ran along the shore from rock to rock, crying on them piteously; even after they were out of reach of my voice I still cried and waved to them; and when they were quite gone I thought my heart would burst.

12. The next day (which was the fourth of this horrible life of mine) I found my bodily strength run very low. But the sun shone, the air was sweet, and what I managed to eat of the shellfish agreed well with me and revived my courage.

13. I was scarce back on my rock (where I went [Pg 78]always the first thing after I had eaten) before I observed a boat coming down the Sound, and with her head, as I thought, in my direction.

14. I began at once to hope and fear exceedingly; for I thought these men might have thought better of their cruelty and be coming back to my assistance. But another disappointment, such as yesterday's, was more than I could bear. I turned my back accordingly upon the sea, and did not look again till I had counted many hundreds.

15. The boat was still heading for the island. The next time I counted the full thousand, as slowly as I could, my heart beating so as to hurt me. And then it was out of all question. She was coming straight to Earraid. I could no longer hold myself back, but ran to the seaside and out, from one rock to another, as far as I could go. It is a marvel I was not drowned; for when I was brought to a stand at last my legs shook under me, and my mouth was so dry I must wet it with the sea water before I was able to shout.

16. All this time the boat was coming on; and now I was able to perceive it was the same boat and the same two men as yesterday. This I knew by their hair, which the one had of bright yellow and the other black. But now there was a third man along with them, who looked to be of a better class.

17. As soon as they were come within easy speech, they let down their sail and lay quiet. In spite of my supplications, they drew no nearer in, and what frightened me most of all, the new man tee-heed with laughter as he talked and looked at me.

18. Then he stood up in the boat and addressed me a long while, speaking fast and with many wavings of [Pg 79]his hand. I told him I had no Gaelic; and at this he became very angry, and I began to suspect he thought he was talking English. Listening very close, I caught the word "whateffer" several times; but all the rest was Gaelic, and might have been Greek and Hebrew for me.

19. "Whatever," said I, to show him I had caught a word. "Yes, yes—yes, yes," said he; and then he looked at the other men as much as to say, "I told you I spoke English," and began again as hard as ever in the Gaelic.

20. This time I picked out another word, "tide." Then I had a flash of hope. I remembered he was always waving his hand toward the mainland of the Ross.

21. "Do you mean when the tide is out?"—I cried, and could not finish.

22. "Yes, yes," said he. "Tide."

23. At that I turned tail upon their boat (where my adviser had once more begun to tee-hee with laughter), leaped back the way I had come, from one stone to another, and set off running across the isle as I had never run before. In about half an hour I came upon the shores of the creek, and, sure enough, it was shrunk into a little trickle of water, through which I dashed, not above my knees, and landed with a shout on the main island.

24. A sea-bred boy would not have stayed a day on Earraid, which is only what they call a tidal islet, and, except, in the bottom of the neaps, can be entered and left twice in every twenty-four hours, either dry-shod, or, at the most, by wading. Even I, who had seen the tide going out and in before me in the bay, and even watched for the ebbs, the better to get my shellfish[Pg 80]—even I (I say), if I had sat down to think, instead of raging at my fate, must have soon guessed the secret and got free.

25. It was no wonder the fishers had not understood me. The wonder was rather that they had ever guessed my pitiful illusion, and taken the trouble to come back. I had starved with cold and hunger on that island for close upon one hundred hours. But for the fishers, I might have left my bones there, in pure folly. And even as it was, I had paid for it pretty dear, not only in past sufferings but in my present case, being clothed like a beggar man, scarce able to walk, and in great pain of my sore throat.

26. I have seen wicked men and fools—a great many of both—and I believe they both get paid in the end; but the fools first.

—Robert Louis Stevenson (By arrangement)

ON HIS BLINDNESS

—Milton

BRIGGS IN LUCK

From "Doctor Birch and his Young Friends"

   Enter the Knife-boy. Hamper for Briggses!
   Master Brown. Hurray, Tom Briggs! I'll lend you my knife.

If this story does not carry its own moral, what fable does, I wonder? Before the arrival of that hamper, Master Briggs was in no better repute than any other young gentleman of the lower school; and in fact I had occasion myself, only lately, to correct Master Brown for kicking his friend's shins during the writing-lesson. But how this basket, directed by his mother's house-keeper, and marked "GLASS WITH CARE," whence I concluded that it contained some jam and some bottles [Pg 82]of wine probably, as well as the usual cake and game-pie, and half a sovereign for the elder Master B., and five new shillings for Master Decimus Briggs—how, I say, the arrival of this basket alters all Master Briggs's circumstances in life, and the estimation in which many persons regard him!

If he is a good-hearted boy, as I have reason to think, the very first thing he will do, before inspecting the contents of the hamper, or cutting into them with the knife which Master Brown has so considerately lent him, will be to read over the letter from home which lies on top of the parcel. He does so, as I remarked to Miss Raby (for whom I happened to be mending pens when the little circumstance arose), with a flushed face and winking eyes. Look how the other boys are peering into the basket as he reads—I say to her, "Isn't it a pretty picture?" Part of the letter is in a very large hand. That is from his little sister. And I would wager that she netted the little purse which he has just taken out of it, and which Master Lynx is eyeing.

"You are a droll man, and remark all sorts of queer things," Miss Raby says, smiling, and plying her swift needle and fingers as quick as possible.

"I am glad we were both on the spot, and that the little fellow lies under our guns as it were, and so is protected from some such brutal school-pirate as young Duval for instance, who would rob him, probably, of some of those good things; good in themselves, and better because fresh from home. See, there is a pie as I said, and which I daresay is better than those which are served at our table (but you never take any notice of these kind of things, Miss Raby), a cake, of course, a bottle of currant wine, jam-pots, and no end of pears [Pg 83]in the straw. With this money little Briggs will be able to pay the tick which that impudent child has run up with Mrs. Ruggles; and I shall let Briggs Major pay for the pencil-case which Bullock sold to him.—It will be a lesson to the young prodigal for the future.

"But, I say, what a change there will be in his life for some time to come, and at least until his present wealth is spent! The boys who bully him will mollify toward him and accept his pie and sweetmeats. They will have feasts in the bedroom; and that wine will taste more deliciously to them than the best out of the Doctor's cellar. The cronies will be invited. Young Master Wagg will tell his most dreadful story and sing his best song for a slice of that pie. What a jolly night they will have! When we go the rounds at night, Mr. Prince and I will take care to make a noise before we come to Briggs's room, so that the boys may have time to put the light out, to push the things away, and to scud into bed. Doctor Spry may be put in requisition the next morning."

"Nonsense! you absurd creature," cries out Miss Raby, laughing; and I lay down the twelfth pen very nicely mended.

"Yes; after luxury comes the doctor, I say; after extravagance, a hole in the breeches pocket. To judge from his disposition, Briggs Major will not be much better off a couple of days hence than he is now, and, if I am not mistaken, will end life a poor man. Brown will be kicking his shins before a week is over, depend upon it. There are boys and men of all sorts, Miss R.—there are selfish sneaks who hoard until the store they daren't use grows mouldy—there are spendthrifts who fling away, parasites who flatter and lick its shoes, and [Pg 84]snarling curs who hate and envy good fortune."

I put down the last of the pens, brushing away with it the quill chips from her desk first, and she looked at me with a kind, wondering face. I brushed them away, clicked the pen-knife into my pocket, made her a bow, and walked off—for the bell was ringing for school.

—William Makepeace Thackeray

THE LAUGHING SALLY

—Charles G. D. Roberts (By arrangement)

THE PRODIGAL SON

A certain man had two sons: And the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living.

And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living. And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want. And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him. And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants.

[Pg 89]

And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry; For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry.

Now his elder son was in the field: and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard musick and dancing. And he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant. And he said unto him, Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound. And he was angry, and would not go in: therefore came his father out, and intreated him. And he answering said to his father, Lo, these many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment; and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends: But as soon as this thy son was come, which hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf. And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad, for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.

CHRISTMAS AT SEA

—Robert Louis Stevenson (By arrangement)

THE EVENING WIND

—William Cullen Bryant

PARADISE AND THE PERI

From "Lalla Rookh"

—Thomas Moore

THE LADY OF SHALOTT

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

—Alfred Tennyson

HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD

From "The Princess"

—Alfred Tennyson

THE SKY

From "Modern Painters"

1. It is a strange thing how little in general people know about the sky. It is the part of creation in which nature has done more for the sake of pleasing man, more for the sole and evident purpose of talking to him and teaching him, than in any other of her works, and it is just the part in which we least attend to her.

2. There are not many of her other works in which some more material or essential purpose than the mere pleasing of man is not answered by every part of their organization; but every essential purpose of the sky might, so far as we know, be answered, if once in three days, or thereabouts, a great ugly black rain-cloud were brought up over the blue, and everything well watered, and so all left blue again till next time, with perhaps a film of morning and evening mist for dew.

3. And instead of this, there is not a moment of any day of our lives, when nature is not producing scene after scene, picture after picture, glory after glory, and working still upon such exquisite and constant principles [Pg 109]of the most perfect beauty, that it is quite certain it is all done for us, and intended for our perpetual pleasure. And every man, wherever placed, however far from other sources of interest or of beauty, has this doing for him constantly.

4. The noblest scenes of the earth can be seen and known but by few; it is not intended that man should live always in the midst of them, he injures them by his presence, he ceases to feel them if he be always with them; but the sky is for all; bright as it is, it is not "too bright, nor good, for human nature's daily food"; it is fitted in all its functions for the perpetual comfort and exalting of the heart, for the soothing it and purifying it from its dross and dust. Sometimes gentle, sometimes capricious, sometimes awful, never the same for two moments together; almost human in its passions, almost spiritual in its tenderness, almost divine in its infinity, its appeal to what is immortal in us, is as distinct, as its ministry of chastisement or of blessing to what is mortal, is essential.

5. And yet we never attend to it, we never make it a subject of thought, but as it has to do with our animal sensations; we look upon all by which it speaks to us more clearly than to brutes, upon all which bears witness to the intention of the Supreme, that we are to receive more from the covering vault than the light and the dew which we share with the weed and the worm, only as a succession of meaningless and monotonous accidents too common and too vain to be worthy of a moment of watchfulness, or a glance of admiration. If in our moments of utter idleness and insipidity, we turn to the sky as a last resource, which of its phenomena do we speak of?

[Pg 110]6. One says it has been wet, and another it has been windy, and another it has been warm. Who, among the whole chattering crowd, can tell me of the forms and the precipices of the chain of tall white mountains that girded the horizon at noon yesterday? Who saw the narrow sunbeam that came out of the south, and smote upon their summits until they melted and mouldered away in a dust of blue rain? Who saw the dance of the dead clouds when the sunlight left them last night, and the west wind blew them before it like withered leaves?

7. All has passed, unregretted as unseen; or if the apathy be ever shaken off, even for an instant, it is only by what is gross, or what is extraordinary; and yet it is not in the broad and fierce manifestations of the elemental energies, not in the clash of the hail, nor the drift of the whirlwind, that the highest characters of the sublime are developed. God is not in the earthquake, nor in the fire, but in the still, small voice.

8. They are but the blunt and the low faculties of our nature, which can only be addressed through lamp-black and lightning. It is in quiet and subdued passages of unobtrusive majesty, the deep, and the calm, and the perpetual,—that which must be sought ere it is seen, and loved ere it is understood,—things which the angels work out for us daily, and yet vary eternally, which are never wanting, and never repeated, which are to be found always yet each found but once; it is through these that the lesson of devotion is chiefly taught, and the blessing of beauty given.

—John Ruskin

(By arrangement with George Allen, Publisher)

THE RETURN OF THE SWALLOWS

—Edmund William Gosse

BARBARA FRIETCHIE

—John Greenleaf Whittier

BLESS THE LORD, O MY SOUL

Psalm ciii

—As arranged by Richard G. Moulton

THE ETERNAL GOODNESS

—John Greenleaf Whittier

THE KING OF GLORY

Psalm xxiv

(Anthems for the Inauguration of Jerusalem)

I.—At the Foot of the Hill

first choir

second choir

II.—Before the Gates

first choir

second choir

first choir

first choir

second choir

first choir

—As arranged by Richard G. Moulton

THE FOUR-HORSE RACE

From "Black Rock"

1. The great event of the day, however, was to be the four-horse race, for which three teams were entered—one from the mines driven by Nixon, Craig's friend, a citizens' team, and Sandy's. The race was really between the miners' team and that from the woods, for the citizens' team, though made up of speedy horses, had not been driven much together, and knew neither their driver nor each other. In the miners' team were four bays, very powerful, a trifle heavy perhaps, but well matched, perfectly trained, and perfectly handled by their driver. Sandy had his long rangy roans, and for leaders, a pair of half-broken pinto bronchos. The pintos, caught the summer before upon the Alberta prairies, were fleet as deer, but wicked and uncertain. They were Baptiste's special care and pride. If they would only run straight, there was little doubt that they would carry the roans and themselves to glory; but one [Pg 122]could not tell the moment they might bolt or kick things to pieces.

2. Being the only non-partisan in the crowd, I was asked to referee. The race was about half a mile and return, the first and last quarters being upon the ice. The course, after leaving the ice, led up from the river by a long, easy slope to the level above; and at the further end, curved somewhat sharply around the Old Fort. The only condition attaching to the race was, that the teams should start from the scratch, make the turn of the Fort, and finish at the scratch. There were no vexing regulations as to fouls. The man making the foul would find it necessary to reckon with the crowd, which was considered sufficient guarantee for a fair and square race. Owing to the hazards of the course, the result would depend upon the skill of the drivers quite as much as the speed of the teams. The points of hazard were at the turn round the Old Fort, and at a little ravine which led down to the river, over which the road passed by means of a long, log bridge or causeway.

3. From a point upon the high bank of the river, the whole course lay in open view. It was a scene full of life and vividly picturesque. There were miners in dark clothes and peak caps; citizens in ordinary garb; ranch-men in wide cowboy hats and buckskin shirts and leggings, some with cartridge-belts and pistols; a few half-breeds and Indians in half-native, half-civilized dress; and scattering through the crowd, the lumbermen with gay scarlet and blue blanket coats, and some with knitted tuques of the same colour. A very good-natured but extremely uncertain crowd it was. At the head of each horse stood a man, but at the pintos' heads Baptiste stood alone, trying to hold down the off-leader, thrown [Pg 123]into a frenzy of fear by the yelling of the crowd.

4. Gradually all became quiet, till, in the midst of absolute stillness, came the words: "Are you ready?" then the pistol-shot, and the great race had begun. Above the roar of the crowd came the shrill cry of Baptiste, as he struck his broncho with the palm of his hand, and swung himself into the sleigh beside Sandy, as it shot past.

5. Like a flash the bronchos sprang to the front, two lengths before the other teams; but, terrified by the yelling of the crowd, instead of bending to the left bank up which the road wound, they wheeled to the right and were almost across the river before Sandy could swing them back into the course.

6. Baptiste's cries, a curious mixture of French and English, continued to strike through all other sounds, till they gained the top of the slope to find the others almost a hundred yards in front, the citizens' team leading, with the miners' following close. The moment the pintos caught sight of the teams before them, they set off at a terrific pace and steadily devoured the intervening space. Nearer and nearer the turn came, the eight horses in front, running straight and well within their speed. After them flew the pintos, running savagely with ears set back, leading well the big roans, thundering along and gaining at every bound. And now the citizens' team had almost reached the Fort, running hard and drawing away from the bays. But Nixon knew what he was about, and was simply steadying his team for the turn. The event proved his wisdom, for in the turn the leading team left the track, lost a moment or two in the deep snow, and before they could regain the road, the bays had swept superbly past, [Pg 124]leaving their rivals to follow in the rear. On came the pintos, swiftly nearing the Fort. Surely at that pace they cannot make the turn. But Sandy knows his leaders. They have their eyes upon the teams in front, and need no touch of rein. Without the slightest change in speed the nimble-footed bronchos round the turn, hauling the big roans after them, and fall in behind the citizens' team, which is regaining steadily the ground lost in the turn.

7. And now the struggle is for the bridge over the ravine. The bays in front, running with mouths wide open, are evidently doing their best; behind them, and every moment nearing them, but at the limit of their speed too, come the lighter and fleeter citizens' team; while opposite their driver are the pintos, pulling hard, eager and fresh. Their temper is too uncertain to send them to the front; they run well following, but when leading cannot be trusted, and besides, a broncho hates a bridge; so Sandy holds them where they are, waiting and hoping for his chance after the bridge is crossed. Foot by foot the citizens' team creep up upon the flank of the bays, with the pintos in turn hugging them closely, till it seems as if the three, if none slackens, must strike the bridge together; and this will mean destruction to one at least. This danger Sandy perceives, but he dare not check his leaders. Suddenly, within a few yards of the bridge, Baptiste throws himself upon the lines, wrenches them out of Sandy's hands, and, with a quick swing, forces the pintos down the steep side of the ravine, which is almost sheer ice with a thin coat of snow. It is a daring course to take, for the ravine, though not deep, is full of undergrowth, and is partially closed up by a brush heap at the further end. [Pg 125]But with a yell, Baptiste hurls his four horses down the slope, and into the undergrowth. "Allons, mes enfants! Courage! vite, vite!" cries their driver, and nobly do the pintos respond. Regardless of bushes and brush heaps, they tear their way through; but as they emerge, the hind bob-sleigh catches a root, and, with a crash, the sleigh is hurled high into the air. Baptiste's cries ring out high and shrill as ever, encouraging his team, and never cease till, with a plunge and a scramble, they clear the brush heap lying at the mouth of the ravine, and are out on the ice on the river, with Baptiste standing on the front bob, the box trailing behind, and Sandy nowhere to be seen.

8. Three hundred yards of the course remain. The bays, perfectly handled, have gained at the bridge, and in the descent to the ice, and are leading the citizens' team by half a dozen sleigh lengths. Behind both comes Baptiste. It is now or never for the pintos. The rattle of the trailing box, together with the wild yelling of the crowd rushing down the bank, excites the bronchos to madness, and, taking the bits in their teeth, they do their first free running that day. Past the citizens' team like a whirlwind they dash, clear the intervening space, and gain the flanks of the bays. Can the bays hold them? Over them leans their driver, plying for the first time the hissing lash. Only fifty yards more. The miners begin to yell. But Baptiste, waving his lines high in one hand, seizes his tuque with the other, whirls it above his head and flings it with a fiercer yell than ever at the bronchos. Like the bursting of a hurricane the pintos leap forward, and with a splendid rush cross the scratch, winners by their own length.

—By arrangement with the Westminster Co., Limited,

and Rev. C. W. Gordon (Ralph Connor)

[Pg 126]

MRS. MALAPROP'S VIEWS

From "The Rivals"

The scene is Mrs. Malaprop's lodgings at Bath. Present, Lydia Languish.
Enter Mrs. Malaprop and Sir Anthony Absolute.

Mrs. Malaprop.—There, Sir Anthony, there sits the deliberate simpleton who wants to disgrace her family, and lavish herself on a fellow not worth a shilling.

Lydia.—Madam, I thought you once—

Mrs. Malaprop.—You thought, miss! I don't know any business you have to think at all: thought does not become a young woman. But the point we would request of you is, that you will promise to forget this fellow; to illiterate him, I say, quite from your memory.

Lydia.—Ah, madam! our memories are independent of our wills. It is not so easy to forget.

Mrs. Malaprop.—But I say it is, miss! there is nothing on earth so easy as to forget, if a person chooses to set about it. I'm sure I have as much forgot your poor dear uncle as if he had never existed—and I thought it my duty so to do; and let me tell you, Lydia, these violent memories don't become a young woman.

Sir Anthony.—Why, sure she won't pretend to remember what she's ordered not! Ay, this comes of her reading!

[Pg 127]

Lydia.—What crime, madam, have I committed to be treated thus?

Mrs. Malaprop.—Now don't attempt to extirpate yourself from the matter; you know I have proof controvertible of it. But tell me, will you promise to do as you're bid? Will you take a husband of your friends' choosing?

Lydia.—Madam, I must tell you plainly that had I no preference for any one else, the choice you have made would be my aversion.

Mrs. Malaprop.—What business have you, miss, with preference and aversion. They don't become a young woman; and you ought to know that as both always wear off, 'tis safest in matrimony to begin with a little aversion. I am sure I hated your poor dear uncle before marriage as if he'd been a blackamoor; and yet, miss, you are sensible what a wife I made? and when it pleased Heaven to release me from him, 'tis unknown what tears I shed! But suppose we were going to give you another choice, will you promise us to give up this Beverley?

Lydia.—Could I belie my thoughts so far as to give that promise, my actions would certainly as far belie my words.

Mrs. Malaprop.—Take yourself to your room. You are fit company for nothing but your own ill-humours.

Lydia.—Willingly, ma'am—I cannot change for the worse.(Exit)

Mrs. Malaprop.—There's a little intricate hussy for you!

Sir Anthony.—It is not to be wondered at, ma'am: [Pg 128]all this is the natural consequence of teaching girls to read. Had I a thousand daughters, by heaven I'd as soon have them taught the black art as their alphabet!

Mrs. Malaprop.—Nay, nay, Sir Anthony: you are an absolute misanthropy.

Sir Anthony.—In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop, I observed your niece's maid coming forth from a circulating library! She had a book in each hand; they were half-bound volumes with marble covers! From that moment I guessed how full of duty I should see her mistress!

Mrs. Malaprop.—Those are vile places indeed!

Sir Anthony.—Madam, a circulating library in a town is an evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge,—it blossoms through the year! And depend on it, Mrs. Malaprop, that they who are so fond of handling the leaves will long for the fruit at last.

Mrs. Malaprop.—Fy, fy, Sir Anthony! you surely speak laconically.

Sir Anthony.—Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in moderation now, what would you have a woman know?

Mrs. Malaprop.—Observe me, Sir Anthony. I would by no means wish a daughter of mine to be a progeny of learning; I don't think so much learning becomes a young woman: for instance, I would never let her meddle with Greek, or Hebrew, or algebra, or simony, or fluxions, or paradoxes, or such inflammatory branches of learning; neither would it be necessary for her to handle any of your mathematical, astronomical, diabolical instruments. But, Sir Anthony, I would send her at nine years old to a boarding-school, in order to learn a little ingenuity and artifice. Then, sir, she [Pg 129]should have a supercilious knowledge in accounts; and as she grew up I would have her instructed in geometry, that she might know something of the contagious countries: but above all, Sir Anthony, she should be mistress of orthodoxy, that she might not misspell and mispronounce words so shamefully as girls usually do; and likewise that she might reprehend the true meaning of what she is saying. This, Sir Anthony, is what I would have a woman know; and I don't think there is a superstitious article in it.

Sir Anthony.—Well, well, Mrs. Malaprop, I will dispute the point no further with you; though I must confess that you are a truly moderate and polite arguer, for almost every third word you say is on my side of the question. But, Mrs. Malaprop, to the more important point in debate: you say you have no objection to my proposal?

Mrs. Malaprop.—None, I assure you. I am under no positive engagement with Mr. Acres; and as Lydia is so obstinate against him, perhaps your son may have better success.

Sir Anthony.—Well, madam, I will write for the boy directly. He knows not a syllable of this yet, though I have for some time had the proposal in my head. He is at present with his regiment.

Mrs. Malaprop.—We have never seen your son, Sir Anthony; but I hope no objection on his side.

Sir Anthony.—Objection! let him object if he dare! No, no, Mrs. Malaprop, Jack knows that the least demur puts me in a frenzy directly. My process was always very simple: in their younger days, 'twas "Jack, do this"; if he demurred I knocked him down, and if he [Pg 130]grumbled at that I always sent him out of the room.

Mrs. Malaprop.—Ay, and the properest way, o'my conscience! Nothing is so conciliating to young people as severity. Well, Sir Anthony, I shall give Mr. Acres his discharge, and prepare Lydia to receive your son's invocations; and I hope you will represent her to the captain as an object not altogether illegible.

Sir Anthony.—Madam, I will handle the subject prudently. Well I must leave you; and let me beg you, Mrs. Malaprop, to enforce this matter roundly to the girl. Take my advice—keep a tight hand: if she rejects this proposal, clap her under lock and key; and if you were just to let the servants forget to bring her dinner for three or four days, you can't conceive how she'd come about.(Exit)

Mrs. Malaprop.—Well, at any rate I shall be glad to get her from under my intuition. She has somehow discovered my partiality for Sir Lucius O'Trigger: sure Lucy can't have betrayed me! No, the girl is such a simpleton, I should have made her confess it. (Calls) Lucy! Lucy!—Had she been one of your artificial ones, I should never have trusted her.

—Richard Brinsley Sheridan

[Pg 131]

THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS

—Leigh Hunt

[Pg 133]

THE FICKLENESS OF A ROMAN MOB

From "Julius Cæsar" Act I. Scene i.

Enter Flavius, Marullus, and certain Commoners over the Stage.

[Exeunt all the Commoners]

[Exeunt]
—Shakespeare

[Pg 136]

SIR PETER AND LADY TEAZLE

From "The School for Scandal"

Sir Peter.—Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll not bear it!

Lady Teazle.—Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not, as you please; but I ought to have my own way in everything, and, what's more, I will, too. What though I was educated in the country, I know very well that women of fashion in London are accountable to nobody after they are married.

Sir Peter.—Very well, ma'am, very well; so a husband is to have no influence, no authority?

Lady Teazle.—Authority! No, to be sure: if you wanted authority over me, you should have adopted me and not married me: I am sure you were old enough.

Sir Peter.—Old enough!—ay, there it is. Well, well, Lady Teazle, though my life may be made unhappy by your temper, I'll not be ruined by your extravagance!

Lady Teazle.—My extravagance! I'm sure I'm not more extravagant than a woman of fashion ought to be.

Sir Peter.—No, no, madam, you shall throw away no more sums on such unmeaning luxury. To spend as much to furnish your dressing room with flowers in winter as would suffice to turn the Pantheon into a greenhouse, and give a fête champêtre at Christmas!

Lady Teazle.—And am I to blame, Sir Peter, because flowers are dear in cold weather? You should find fault with the climate, and not with me. For my [Pg 137]part, I'm sure I wish it was spring all the year round, and that roses grew under our feet!

Sir Peter.—Oons! madam—if you had been born to this, I shouldn't wonder at your talking thus; but you forget what your situation was when I married you.

Lady Teazle.—No, no, I don't; 'twas a very disagreeable one, or I should never have married you.

Sir Peter.—Yes, yes, madam, you were then in somewhat a humbler style—the daughter of a plain country squire. Recollect, Lady Teazle, when I saw you first sitting at your tambour, in a pretty figured linen gown, with a bunch of keys at your side, your hair combed smooth over a roll, and your apartment hung round with fruits in worsted, of your own working.

Lady Teazle.—Oh, yes! I remember it very well, and a curious life I led. My daily occupation to inspect the dairy, superintend the poultry, make extracts from the family receipt book, and comb my aunt Deborah's lap-dog.

Sir Peter.—Yes, yes, ma'am, 'twas so indeed.

Lady Teazle.—And then, you know, my evening amusements! To draw patterns for ruffles, which I had not materials to make up; to play Pope Joan with the curate; to read a sermon to my aunt; or to be stuck down to an old spinet to strum my father to sleep after a fox chase.

Sir Peter.—I am glad you have so good a memory. Yes, madam, these were the recreations I took you from; but now you must have your coach—vis-à-vis—and three powdered footmen before your chair; and, in the summer, a pair of white cats to draw you to Kensington Gardens. No recollection, I suppose, when you were [Pg 138]content to ride double, behind the butler, on a docked coach horse.

Lady Teazle.—No—I swear I never did that: I deny the butler and the coach horse.

Sir Peter.—This, madam, was your situation; and what have I done for you? I have made you a woman of fashion, of fortune, of rank,—in short, I have made you my wife.

Lady Teazle.—Well, then, and there is but one thing more you can make me to add to the obligation, that is—

Sir Peter.—My widow, I suppose?

Lady Teazle.—Hem! hem!

Sir Peter.—I thank you, madam—but don't flatter yourself, for, though your ill conduct may disturb my peace of mind, it shall never break my heart, I promise you: however, I am equally obliged to you for the hint.

Lady Teazle.—Then why will you endeavour to make yourself so disagreeable to me, and thwart me in every little elegant expense.

Sir Peter.—Oons! madam, I say, had you any of these little elegant expenses when you married me?

Lady Teazle.—Lud, Sir Peter! would you have me be out of the fashion?

Sir Peter.—The fashion, indeed! what had you to do with the fashion before you married me?

Lady Teazle.—For my part, I should think you would like to have your wife thought a woman of taste.

Sir Peter.—Ay—there again—taste! Zounds! madam, you had no taste when you married me!

Lady Teazle.—That's very true, indeed, Sir Peter! [Pg 139]and, after having married you, I should never pretend to taste again, I allow. But now, Sir Peter, since we have finished our daily jangle, I presume I may go to my engagement at Lady Sneerwell's.

Sir Peter.—Ay, there's another precious circumstance—a charming set of acquaintance you have made there.

Lady Teazle.—Nay, Sir Peter, they are all people of rank and fortune, and remarkably tenacious of reputation.

Sir Peter.—Yes, they are tenacious of reputation with a vengeance; for they don't choose anybody should have a character but themselves! Such a crew! Ah! many a wretch has rid on a hurdle who has done less mischief than these utterers of forged tales, coiners of scandal, and clippers of reputation.

Lady Teazle.—What! would you restrain the freedom of speech?

Sir Peter.—Ah! they have made you just as bad as any one of the society.

Lady Teazle.—Why, I believe I do bear a part with a tolerable grace.

Sir Peter.—Grace indeed!

Lady Teazle.—But I vow I bear no malice against the people I abuse: when I say an ill-natured thing, 'tis out of pure good humour: and I take it for granted they deal exactly the same with me. But, Sir Peter, you know you promised to come to Lady Sneerwell's too.

Sir Peter.—Well, well, I'll call in, just to look after my own character.

Lady Teazle.—Then, indeed, you must make haste after me, or you'll be too late. So good-bye to ye. (Exit)

Sir Peter.—So—I have gained much by my intended [Pg 140]expostulation! Yet with what a charming air she contradicts everything I say, and how pleasantly she shows her contempt for my authority! Well, though I can't make her love me, there is great satisfaction in quarrelling with her; and I think she never appears to such advantage as when she is doing everything in her power to plague me. (Exit)

—Richard Brinsley Sheridan

THE PARTING OF MARMION AND DOUGLAS

From "Marmion"

—Sir Walter Scott

COLUMBUS

—Joaquin Miller

—By permission of the publishers, Whitaker & Ray-Wiggin Co.

FROM THE "APOLOGY" OF SOCRATES

From "The Dialogues of Plato"

1. Not much time will be gained, O Athenians, in return for the evil name which you will get from the detractors of the city, who will say that you killed Socrates, a wise man; for they will call me wise, even although I am not wise, when they want to reproach you. If you had waited a little while, your desire would have been fulfilled in the course of nature. For I am far advanced in years, as you may perceive, and not far from death. I am speaking now only to those of you who have condemned me to death. And I have another thing to say to them: You think that I was convicted through deficiency of words—I mean, that if I had thought fit to leave nothing undone, nothing unsaid, I might have gained an acquittal. Not so; the deficiency [Pg 146]which led to my conviction was not of words—certainly not. But I had not the boldness or impudence or inclination to address you as you would have liked me to address you, weeping and wailing and lamenting, and saying and doing many things which you have been accustomed to hear from others, and which, as I say, are unworthy of me. But I thought that I ought not to do anything common or mean in the hour of danger; nor do I now repent of the manner of my defence, and I would rather die having spoken after my manner, than speak in your manner and live. For neither in war nor yet at law ought any man to use every way of escaping death. For often in battle there is no doubt that if a man will throw away his arms, and fall on his knees before his pursuers, he may escape death; and in other dangers there are other ways of escaping death, if a man is willing to say and do anything. The difficulty, my friends, is not in avoiding death, but in avoiding unrighteousness; for that runs faster than death. I am old and move slowly, and the slower runner has overtaken me, and my accusers are keen and quick, and the faster runner, who is unrighteousness, has overtaken them. And now I depart hence, condemned by you to suffer the penalty of death, and they too go their ways, condemned by the truth to suffer the penalty of villainy and wrong; and I must abide by my reward—let them abide by theirs. I suppose that these things may be regarded as fated,—and I think that they are well.

2. And now, O men who have condemned me, I would fain prophesy to you; for I am about to die, and that is the hour in which men are gifted with prophetic power. And I prophesy to you who are my murderers, [Pg 147]that immediately after my death punishment far heavier than you have inflicted on me will surely await you. Me you have killed because you wanted to escape the accuser, and not to give an account of your lives. But that will not be as you suppose: far otherwise. For I say that there will be more accusers of you than there are now; accusers whom hitherto I have restrained: and as they are younger they will be more severe with you, and you will be more offended at them. For if you think that by killing men you can avoid the accuser censuring your lives, you are mistaken; that is not a way of escape which is either possible or honourable; the easiest and the noblest way is not to be crushing others, but to be improving yourselves. This is the prophecy which I utter before my departure to the judges who have condemned me.

3. Friends, who would have acquitted me, I would like also to talk with you about this thing which has happened, while the magistrates are busy, and before I go to the place at which I must die. Stay then a while, for we may as well talk with one another while there is time. You are my friends, and I should like to show you the meaning of this event which has happened to me. O my judges—for you I may truly call judges—I should like to tell you of a wonderful circumstance. Hitherto the familiar oracle within me has constantly been in the habit of opposing me even about trifles, if I was going to make a slip or error about anything; and now, as you see, there has come upon me that which may be thought, and is generally believed to be, the last and worst evil. But the oracle made no sign of opposition, either as I was leaving my house and going out in the morning, or when I was going up into this court, or while I was [Pg 148]speaking, at anything which I was going to say; and yet I have often been stopped in the middle of a speech, but now in nothing I either said or did touching this matter has the oracle opposed me. What do I take to be the explanation of this? I will tell you. I regard this as a proof that what has happened to me is a good, and that those of us who think that death is an evil are in error. This is a great proof to me of what I am saying, for the customary sign would surely have opposed me had I been going to evil and not to good.

4. Let us reflect in another way, and we shall see that there is a great reason to hope that death is a good, for one of two things: either death is a state of nothingness and utter unconsciousness, or, as men say, there is a change and migration of the soul from this world to another. Now if you suppose that there is no consciousness, but a sleep like the sleep of him who is undisturbed even by the sight of dreams, death will be an unspeakable gain. For if a person were to select the night in which his sleep was undisturbed even by dreams, and were to compare with this the other days and nights of his life, and then were to tell us how many days and nights he had passed in the course of his life better and more pleasantly than this one, I think that any man, I will not say a private man, but even the great king will not find many such days or nights, when compared with the others. Now if death is like this, I say that to die is gain; for eternity is then only a single night. But if death is the journey to another place, and there, as men say, all the dead are, what good, O my friends and judges, can be greater than this? If indeed when the pilgrim arrives in the world below, he is delivered from the professors of justice in this world, and finds the true [Pg 149]judges who are said to give judgment there, Minos and Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus, and Triptolemus, and other sons of God who were righteous in their own life, that pilgrimage will be worth making. What would not a man give if he might converse with Orpheus and Musaeus and Hesiod and Homer? Nay, if this be true, let me die again and again. I, too, shall have a wonderful interest in a place where I can converse with Palamedes, and Ajax the son of Telamon, and other heroes of old, who have suffered death through an unjust judgment; and there will be no small pleasure, as I think, in comparing my own sufferings with theirs. Above all, I shall be able to continue my search into true and false knowledge; as in this world, so also in that; I shall find out who is wise, and who pretends to be wise and is not. What would not a man give, O judges, to be able to examine the leader of the great Trojan expedition; or Odysseus, or Sisyphus, or numberless others, men and women too! What infinite delight would there be in conversing with them and asking them questions! For in that world they do not put a man to death for this; certainly not. For besides being happier in that world than in this, they will be immortal, if what is said is true.

5. Wherefore, O judges, be of good cheer about death, and know this of a truth—that no evil can happen to a good man, either in life or after death. He and his are not neglected by the gods; nor has my own approaching end happened by mere chance. But I see clearly that to die and be released was better for me; and therefore the oracle gave no sign. For which reason, also, I am not angry with my accusers or my condemners; they have done me no harm, although neither of [Pg 150]them meant to do me any good; and for this I may gently blame them.

6. Still I have a favour to ask of them. When my sons are grown up, I would ask you, O my friends, to punish them and I would have you trouble them, as I have troubled you, if they seem to care about riches, or anything, more than about virtue; or if they pretend to be something when they are really nothing,—then reprove them, as I have reproved you, for not caring about that for which they ought to care, and thinking that they are something when they are really nothing. And if you do this, I and my sons will have received justice at your hands.

7. The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways—I to die, and you to live. Which is better God only knows.

—Benjamin Jowett

[Pg 151]

HIGHLAND HOSPITALITY

From "The Lady of the Lake"

—Sir Walter Scott

THE OUTLAW

From "Rokeby"

—Sir Walter Scott

[Pg 157]

OF STUDIES

From the "Essays"

Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their chief use for delight, is in privateness and retiring; for ornament, is in discourse; and for ability, is in the judgment and disposition of business. For expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars, one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots, and marshalling of affairs, come best from those that are learned.

To spend too much time in studies, is sloth; to use them too much for ornament, is affectation; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humour of a scholar. They perfect nature and are perfected by experience: for natural abilities are like natural plants, [Pg 158]that need pruning by study; and studies themselves do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded in by experience.

Crafty men contemn studies; simple men admire them; and wise men use them; for they teach not their own use; but that is a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation. Read not to contradict and confute; nor to believe and take for granted; nor to find talk and discourse; but to weigh and consider.

Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others; but that would be only in the less important arguments, and the meaner sort of books; else distilled books are like common distilled waters, flashy things.

Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man; and writing an exact man. And therefore, if a man write little, he had need have a good memory, if he confer little, he had need have a present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know that he doth not.

If a man's wit be wandering, let him study the mathematics; for in demonstrations, if his wit be called away never so little, he must begin again; if his wits be not apt to distinguish or find differences, let him study the schoolmen; if he be not apt to beat over matters, and to call up one thing to prove and illustrate another, let him study the lawyers' cases. So every defect of the mind may have a special receipt.

—Lord Bacon

[Pg 159]

THE INFLUENCE OF ATHENS

From essay "On Mitford's History of Greece"

If we consider merely the subtlety of disquisition, the force of imagination, the perfect energy and elegance of expression, which characterize the great works of Athenian genius, we must pronounce them intrinsically most valuable. But what shall we say when we reflect that from hence have sprung, directly or indirectly, all the noblest creations of the human intellect; that from hence were the vast accomplishments and the brilliant fancy of Cicero, the withering fire of Juvenal, the plastic imagination of Dante, the humour of Cervantes, the comprehension of Bacon, the wit of Butler, the supreme and universal excellence of Shakespeare?

All the triumphs of truth and genius over prejudice and power, in every country and in every age, have been the triumphs of Athens. Wherever a few great minds have made a stand against violence and fraud, in the cause of liberty and reason, there has been her spirit in the midst of them; inspiring, encouraging, consoling;—by the lonely lamp of Erasmus, by the restless bed of Pascal, in the tribune of Mirabeau, in the cell of Galileo, on the scaffold of Sidney.

But who shall estimate her influence on private happiness? Who shall say how many thousands have been [Pg 160]made wiser, happier, and better, by those pursuits in which she has taught mankind to engage; to how many the studies which took their rise from her have been wealth in poverty, liberty in bondage, health in sickness, society in solitude?

Her power is, indeed, manifested at the bar, in the senate, in the field of battle, in the schools of philosophy. But these are not her glory. Wherever literature consoles sorrow, or assuages pain; wherever it brings gladness to eyes which fail with wakefulness and tears, and ache for the dark house and the long sleep,—there is exhibited, in its noblest form, the immortal influence of Athens.

The dervish, in the Arabian tale, did not hesitate to abandon to his comrade the camels with their loads of jewels and gold, while he retained the casket of that mysterious juice which enabled him to behold at one glance all the hidden riches of the universe. Surely it is no exaggeration to say that no external advantage is to be compared with that purification of the intellectual eye which gives us to contemplate the infinite wealth of the mental world, all the hoarded treasures of its primeval dynasties, all the shapeless ore of its yet unexplored mines. This is the gift of Athens to man.

Her freedom and her power have, for more than twenty centuries, been annihilated; her people have degenerated into timid slaves; her language, into a barbarous jargon; her temples have been given up to the successive depredations of Romans, Turks, and Scotchmen; but her intellectual empire is imperishable.

And when those who have rivalled her greatness shall have shared her fate; when civilization and know[Pg 161]ledge shall have fixed their abode in distant continents; when the sceptre shall have passed away from England; when, perhaps, travellers from distant regions shall in vain labour to decipher on some mouldering pedestal the name of our proudest chief, shall hear savage hymns chaunted to some misshapen idol over the ruined dome of our proudest temple, and shall see a single naked fisherman wash his nets in the river of the ten thousand masts,—her influence and her glory will still survive,—fresh in eternal youth, exempt from mutability and decay, immortal as the intellectual principle from which they derived their origin, and over which they exercise their control.

—Macaulay

NATIONAL MORALITY

1. I believe there is no permanent greatness to a nation except it be based upon morality. I do not care for military greatness or military renown. I care for the condition of the people among whom I live. There is no man in England who is less likely to speak irreverently of the Crown and Monarchy of England than I am; but crowns, coronets, mitres, military display, the pomp of war, wide colonies, and a huge empire, are, in my view, all trifles light as air, and not worth considering, unless with them you can have a fair share of comfort, contentment, and happiness, among the great body of the people. Palaces, baronial castles, great halls, stately mansions, do not make a nation. [Pg 162]The nation in every country dwells in the cottage; and unless the light of your Constitution can shine there, unless the beauty of your legislation and the excellence of your statesmanship are impressed there on the feelings and condition of the people, rely upon it, you have yet to learn the duties of government.

2. I have not pleaded, as you have observed, that this country should remain without adequate and scientific means of defence. I acknowledge it to be the duty of your statesmen, acting upon the known opinions and principles of ninety-nine out of every one hundred persons in the country, at all times, with all possible moderation, but with all possible efficiency, to take steps which shall preserve order within and on the confines of your kingdom. But I shall repudiate and denounce the expenditure of every shilling, the engagement of every man, the employment of every ship which has no object but intermeddling in the affairs of other countries and endeavouring to extend the boundaries of an Empire which is already large enough to satisfy the greatest ambition, and I fear is much too large for the highest statesmanship to which any man has yet attained.

3. The most ancient of profane historians has told us that the Scythians of his time were a very warlike people, and that they elevated an old scimitar upon a platform as a symbol of Mars, for to Mars alone, I believe, they built altars and offered sacrifices. To this scimitar they offered sacrifices of horses and cattle, the main wealth of the country, and more costly sacrifices than to all the rest of their gods. I often ask myself whether we are at all advanced in one respect beyond those Scythians. What are our contributions to charity, to education, to morality, to religion, to justice, and to [Pg 163]civil government, when compared with the wealth we expend in sacrifices to the old scimitar?

4. Two nights ago I addressed in this hall a vast assembly composed to a great extent of your countrymen, who have no political power, who are at work from the dawn of the day to the evening, and who have therefore limited means of informing themselves on these great subjects. Now I am privileged to speak to a somewhat different audience. You represent those of your great community who have a more complete education, who have on some points greater intelligence, and in whose hands reside the power and influence of the district. I am speaking, too, within the hearing of those whose gentle nature, whose finer instincts, whose purer minds, have not suffered as some of us have suffered in the turmoil and strife of life. You can mould opinion, you can create political power,—you cannot think a good thought on this subject and communicate it to your neighbours,—you cannot make these points topics of discussion in your social circles and more general meetings, without affecting sensibly and speedily the course which the government of your country will pursue. May I ask you, then, to believe, as I do most devoutly believe, that the moral law was not written for men alone in their individual character, but that it was written as well for nations, and for nations great as this of which we are citizens. If nations reject and deride that moral law, there is a penalty which will inevitably follow. It may not come at once, it may not come in our lifetime; but, rely upon it, the great Italian is not a poet only, but a prophet, when he says:

[Pg 164]

5. We have experience, we have beacons, we have landmarks enough. We know what the past has cost us, we know how much and how far we have wandered, but we are not left without a guide. It is true, we have not, as an ancient people had, Urim and Thummin—those oraculous gems in Aaron's breast—from which to take counsel, but we have the unchangeable and eternal principles of the moral law to guide us, and only so far as we walk by that guidance can we be permanently a great nation, or our people a happy people.

—The Right Honourable John Bright

HAMLET'S ADVICE TO THE PLAYERS

Act III. Scene 2

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to
you, trippingly on the tongue: but if you mouth it, as
many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier
spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with
torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirlwind of5
[Pg 165]passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that
may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul to
hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to
tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings,10
who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but
inexplicable dumb-shows and noise: I would have such
a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant; it out-herods
Herod: pray you, avoid it.

Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion15
be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to
the action; with this special observance, that you o'erstep
not the modesty of nature: for anything so overdone
is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the
first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror20
up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her
own image, and the very age and body of the time his
form and pressure. Now, this overdone or come tardy
off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make
the judicious grieve; the censure of the which one25
must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of
others. O, there be players that I have seen play, and
heard others praise, and that highly, not to speak it
profanely, that neither having the accent of Christains
nor the gait of Christain, pagan, nor man, have so30
strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of
nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them
well, they imitated humanity so abominably.

—Shakespeare

ROSABELLE

From "The Lay of the Last Minstrel"

—Sir Walter Scott

THE ISLAND OF THE SCOTS

December, 1697

—William Edmondstoune Aytoun

[Pg 178]

CRANFORD SOCIETY

From "Cranford"

In the first place, Cranford is in possession of the Amazons; all the holders of houses above a certain rent are women. If a married couple come to settle in the town, somehow the gentleman disappears; he is either fairly frightened to death by being the only man in the Cranford evening parties, or he is accounted for by being with his regiment, his ship, or closely engaged in business all the week in the great neighbouring commercial town of Drumble, distant only twenty miles on a railway. In short, whatever does become of the gentlemen, they are not at Cranford. What could they do if they were there? The surgeon has his round of thirty miles, and sleeps at Cranford; but every man cannot be a surgeon. For keeping the trim gardens full of choice flowers without a weed to speck them; for frightening away little boys who look wistfully at the said flowers through the railings; for rushing out at the geese that occasionally venture into the gardens if the gates are left open; for deciding all questions of literature and politics without troubling themselves with unnecessary reasons or arguments; for obtaining clear and correct knowledge of everybody's affairs in the parish; for keeping their neat maidservants in admirable order; for kindness (somewhat dictatorial) to the poor, and real tender good offices to each other whenever they are in distress—the ladies of Cranford are quite sufficient. "A man," as one of them observed to me once, "is so [Pg 179]in the way in the house!" Although the ladies of Cranford know all each other's proceedings, they are exceedingly indifferent to each other's opinions. Indeed, as each has her own individuality, not to say eccentricity, pretty strongly developed, nothing is so easy as verbal retaliation; but, somehow, good-will reigns among them to a considerable degree.

Then there were rules and regulations for visiting and calls; and they were announced to any young people who might be staying in the town, with all the solemnity with which the old Manx laws were read once a year on the Tinwald Mount.

"Our friends have sent to inquire how you are after your journey to-night, my dear" (fifteen miles in a gentleman's carriage). "They will give you some rest to-morrow; but the next day, I have no doubt, they will call; so be at liberty after twelve—from twelve to three are our calling hours."

Then, after they had called—

"It is the third day, I dare say your mamma has told you, my dear, never to let more than three days elapse between receiving a call and returning it; and also, that you are never to stay longer than a quarter of an hour."

"But am I to look at my watch? How am I to find out when a quarter of an hour has passed?"

"You must keep thinking about the time, my dear, and not allow yourself to forget it in conversation."

As everybody had this rule in their minds, whether they received or paid a call, of course no absorbing subject was ever spoken about. We kept ourselves to short sentences of small talk, and were punctual to our time.

[Pg 180]

I imagine that a few of the gentlefolks of Cranford were poor, and had some difficulty in making both ends meet; but they were like the Spartans, and concealed their smart under a smiling face. We none of us spoke of money, because that subject savoured of commerce and trade; and though some might be poor, we were all aristocratic. The Cranfordians had that kindly esprit de corps which made them overlook all deficiencies in success when some among them tried to conceal their poverty. When Mrs. Forrester, for instance, gave a party in her baby-house of a dwelling, and the little maiden disturbed the ladies on the sofa by a request that she might get the tea-tray out from underneath, every one took this novel proceeding as the most natural thing in the world, and talked on about household forms and ceremonies as if we all believed that our hostess had a regular servants' hall, second table, with house-keeper and steward, instead of the one little charity-school maiden, whose short ruddy arms could never have been strong enough to carry the tray upstairs, if she had not been assisted in private by her mistress, who now sat in state, pretending not to know what cakes were sent up, though she knew, and we knew, and she knew that we knew, and we knew that she knew that we knew, she had been busy all morning making tea-bread and sponge-cakes.

There were one or two consequences arising from this general but unacknowledged poverty, and this very much acknowledged gentility, which were not amiss, and which might be introduced into many circles of society to their great improvement. For instance, the inhabitants of Cranford kept early hours, and clattered home [Pg 181]in their pattens, under the guidance of a lantern-bearer, about nine o'clock at night; and the whole town was abed and asleep by half-past ten. Moreover, it was considered "vulgar" (a tremendous word in Crawford) to give anything expensive, in the way of eatable or drinkable, at the evening entertainments. Wafer bread-and-butter and sponge-biscuits were all that the Honourable Mrs. Jamieson gave; and she was sister-in-law to the late Earl of Glenmire, although she did practise such "elegant economy."

"Elegant economy!" How naturally one falls back into the phraseology of Cranford! There, economy was always "elegant," and money-spending always "vulgar and ostentatious;" a sort of sour-grapeism which made us very peaceful and satisfied. I never shall forget the dismay felt when a certain Captain Brown came to live at Cranford, and openly spoke about his being poor—not in a whisper to an intimate friend, the doors and windows being previously closed, but in the public street, in a loud military voice, alleging his poverty as a reason for not taking a particular house. The ladies of Cranford were already rather moaning over the invasion of their territories by a man and a gentleman. He was a half-pay captain, and had obtained some situation on a neighbouring railway, which had been vehemently petitioned against by the little town; and if, in addition to his masculine gender, and his connection with the obnoxious railway, he was so brazen as to talk of being poor—why, then, indeed, he must be sent to Coventry. Death was as true and as common as poverty; yet people never spoke about that loud out in the streets. It was a word not to be mentioned to ears [Pg 182]polite. We had tacitly agreed to ignore that any with whom we associated on terms of visiting equality could ever be prevented by poverty from doing anything that they wished. If we walked to or from a party, it was because the night was so fine, or the air so refreshing, not because sedan-chairs were expensive. If we wore prints instead of summer silks, it was because we preferred a washing material; and so on, till we blinded ourselves to the vulgar fact that we were, all of us, people of very moderate means. Of course, then, we did not know what to make of a man who could speak of poverty as if it was not a disgrace. Yet, somehow, Captain Brown made himself respected in Cranford, and was called upon, in spite of all resolutions to the contrary.

—Mrs. Gaskell

SIR GALAHAD

—Alfred Tennyson

[Pg 186]

SONG FOR SAINT CECILIA'S DAY

November 22, 1687

[Pg 188]

Grand Chorus

—John Dryden

[Pg 189]

THE DAY WAS LINGERING

—Charles Heavysege

ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER

—John Keats

GREAT THINGS WERE NE'ER BEGOTTEN IN AN HOUR

—Sir Daniel Wilson (By permission)

A WOOD LYRIC

—William Wilfred Campbell (By permission)

[Pg 193]

TO NIGHT

—Percy Bysshe Shelley

THE OPENING SCENE AT THE TRIAL OF WARREN HASTINGS

From "Essay on Warren Hastings"

On the 13th of February, 1788, the sittings of the Court commenced. There have been spectacles more dazzling to the eye, more gorgeous with jewelry and cloth of gold, more attractive to grown-up children, than that which was then exhibited at Westminster; but, perhaps, there never was a spectacle so well calculated to strike a highly cultivated, a reflecting, an imaginative mind. All the various kinds of interest which belong to the near and to the distant, to the present and to the past, were collected on one spot and in one hour. All the talents and all the accomplishments which are developed by liberty and civilization were now displayed with every advantage that could be derived both from co-operation and from contrast. Every step in the proceedings carried the mind either backward, through many troubled centuries, to the days when the founda[Pg 195]tions of our constitution were laid; or far away, over boundless seas and deserts, to dusky nations living under strange stars, worshipping strange gods, and writing strange characters from right to left. The High Court of Parliament was to sit, according to forms handed down from the days of the Plantagenets, on an Englishman accused of exercising tyranny over the lord of the holy city of Benares and over the ladies of the princely house of Oude.

The place was worthy of such a trial. It was the great hall of William Rufus, the hall which had resounded with acclamations at the inauguration of thirty kings, the hall which had witnessed the just sentence of Bacon and the just absolution of Somers, the hall where the eloquence of Strafford had for a moment awed and melted a victorious party inflamed with just resentment, the hall where Charles had confronted the High Court of Justice with the placid courage which has half redeemed his fame.

Neither military nor civil pomp was wanting. The avenues were lined with grenadiers. The streets were kept clear by cavalry. The peers, robed in gold and ermine, were marshalled by the heralds under Garter King-at-Arms. The judges in their vestments of state attended to give advice on points of law. Near a hundred and seventy lords, three fourths of the Upper House as the Upper House then was, walked in solemn order from their usual place of assembling to the tribunal. The junior Baron present led the way, George Eliott, Lord Heathfield, recently ennobled for his memorable defence of Gibraltar against the fleets and armies of France and Spain. The long procession was closed by the Duke of Norfolk, Earl Marshal of the realm, by [Pg 196]the great dignitaries, and by the brothers and sons of the King. Last of all came the Prince of Wales, conspicuous by his fine person and noble bearing.

The gray old walls were hung with scarlet. The long galleries were crowded by an audience such as has rarely excited the fears or the emulation of an orator. There were gathered together, from all parts of a great, free, enlightened and prosperous empire, grace and female loveliness, wit and learning, the representatives of every science and of every art. There were seated round the Queen, the fair-haired young daughters of the house of Brunswick. There the Ambassadors of great Kings and Commonwealths gazed with admiration on a spectacle which no other country in the world could present. There Siddons, in the prime of her majestic beauty, looked with emotion on a scene surpassing all the imitations of the stage. There the historian of the Roman Empire thought of the days when Cicero pleaded the cause of Sicily against Verres, and when, before a senate which still retained some show of freedom, Tacitus thundered against the oppressor of Africa.

There were seen, side by side, the greatest painter and the greatest scholar of the age. The spectacle had allured Reynolds from that easel which has preserved to us the thoughtful foreheads of so many writers and statesmen, and the sweet smiles of so many noble matrons. It had induced Parr to suspend his labours in that dark and profound mine from which he had extracted a vast treasure of erudition—a treasure too often buried in the earth, too often paraded with injudicious and inelegant ostentation; but still precious, massive, and splendid. There appeared the voluptuous charms of her to whom the heir of the throne had in [Pg 197]secret plighted his faith. There too was she, the beautiful mother of a beautiful race, the Saint Cecilia, whose delicate features, lighted up by love and music, art has rescued from the common decay. There were the members of that brilliant society which quoted, criticised, and exchanged repartees under the rich peacock hangings of Mrs. Montague. And there the ladies, whose lips, more persuasive than those of Fox himself, had carried the Westminster election against palace and treasury, shone round Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire.

The Serjeants made proclamation. Hastings advanced to the bar and bent his knee. The culprit was indeed not unworthy of that great presence. He had ruled an extensive and populous country, had made laws and treaties, had sent forth armies, had set up and pulled down princes. And in his high place he had so borne himself that all had feared him, that most had loved him, and that hatred itself could deny him no title to glory except virtue. He looked like a great man and not like a bad man. A person small and emaciated, yet deriving dignity from a carriage which, while it indicated deference to the court, indicated also habitual self-possession and self-respect; a high and intellectual forehead; a brow pensive, but not gloomy; a mouth of inflexible decision; a face pale and worn, but serene, on which was written, as legibly as under the picture in the council-chamber at Calcutta, Mens aequa in arduis; such was the aspect with which the great Proconsul presented himself to his judges.

His counsel accompanied him, men all of whom were afterwards raised by their talents and learning to the highest posts in their profession—the bold and strong-[Pg 198]minded Law, afterwards Chief-Justice of the King's Bench; the more humane and eloquent Dallas, afterwards, Chief-Justice of the Common Pleas; and Plomer, who, near twenty years later, successfully conducted in the same high court the defence of Lord Melville, and subsequently became Vice-chancellor and Master of the Rolls.

But neither the culprit nor his advocates attracted so much notice as the accusers. In the midst of the blaze of red drapery, a space had been fitted up with green benches and tables for the Commons. The managers, with Burke at their head, appeared in full dress. The collectors of gossip did not fail to remark that even Fox, generally so regardless of his appearance, had paid to the illustrious tribunal the compliment of wearing a bag and sword. Pitt had refused to be one of the conductors of the impeachment; and his commanding, copious, and sonorous eloquence was wanting to that great muster of various talents. Age and blindness had unfitted Lord North for the duties of a public prosecutor; and his friends were left without the help of his excellent sense, his tact, and his urbanity.

But in spite of the absence of these two distinguished members of the Lower House, the box in which the managers stood contained an array of speakers such as perhaps had not appeared together since the great age of Athenian eloquence. There were Fox and Sheridan, the English Demosthenes and the English Hyperides. There was Burke, ignorant, indeed, or negligent of the art of adapting his reasonings and his style to the capacity and taste of his hearers, but in amplitude of comprehension and richness of imagination superior to every orator, ancient or modern.

[Pg 199]

There, with eyes reverentially fixed on Burke, appeared the finest gentleman of the age—his form developed by every manly exercise, his face beaming with intelligence and spirit—the ingenious, the chivalrous, the high-souled Windham. Nor, though surrounded by such men, did the youngest manager pass unnoticed. At an age when most of those who distinguish themselves in life are still contending for prizes and fellowships at college, he had won for himself a conspicuous place in Parliament. No advantage of fortune or connection was wanting that could set off to the height his splendid talents and his unblemished honour. At twenty-three he had been thought worthy to be ranked with the veteran statesmen who appeared as the delegates of the British Commons at the bar of the British nobility. All who stood at the bar, save him alone, are gone—culprit, advocates, accusers. To the generation which is now in the vigour of life, he is the sole representative of a great age which has passed away. But those who, within the last ten years, have listened with delight till the morning sun shone on the tapestries of the House of Lords, to the lofty and animated eloquence of Charles, Earl Grey, are able to form some estimate of the powers of a race of men among whom he was not the foremost.

The charges, and the answers of Hastings, were first read. The ceremony occupied two whole days, and was rendered less tedious than it would otherwise have been by the silver voice and just emphasis of Cowper, the clerk of the court, near relation of the amiable poet. On the third day Burke rose. Four sittings were occupied by his opening speech, which was intended to be a general introduction to all the charges. With an exuberance of [Pg 200]thought and splendour of diction which more than satisfied the highly raised expectations of the audience, he described the character and institutions of the natives of India; recounted the circumstances in which the Asiatic empire of Britain had originated; and set forth the constitution of the Company and of the English Presidencies. Having thus attempted to communicate to his hearers an idea of Eastern society, as vivid as that which existed in his own mind, he proceeded to arraign the administration of Hastings, as systematically conducted in defiance of morality and public law.

The energy and pathos of the great orator extorted expressions of unwonted admiration from the stern and hostile Chancellor, and, for a moment, seemed to pierce even the resolute heart of the defendant. The ladies in the galleries, unaccustomed to such displays of eloquence, excited by the solemnity of the occasion, and perhaps not unwilling to display their taste and sensibility, were in a state of uncontrollable emotion. Handkerchiefs were pulled out, smelling-bottles were handed round; hysterical sobs and screams were heard; and Mrs. Sheridan was carried out in a fit. At length the orator concluded. Raising his voice till the old arches of Irish oak resounded: "Therefore," said he, "hath it with all confidence been ordered by the Commons of Great Britain, that I impeach Warren Hastings of high crimes and misdemeanours. I impeach him in the name of the Commons' House of Parliament, whose trust he has betrayed. I impeach him in the name of the English nation, whose ancient honour he has sullied. I impeach him in the name of the people of India, whose rights he has trodden under foot and whose country he has turned into a desert. Lastly in the name of human [Pg 201]nature itself, in the name of both sexes, in the name of every age, in the name of every rank, I impeach the common enemy and oppressor of all."

—Macaulay

PERORATION OF OPENING SPEECH AGAINST WARREN HASTINGS

1. In the name of the Commons of England, I charge all this villainy upon Warren Hastings, in this last moment of my application to you.

2. My Lords, what is it that we want here to a great act of national justice. Do we want a cause, my Lords? You have the cause of oppressed princes, of undone women of the first rank, of desolated provinces, and of wasted kingdoms.

3. Do you want a criminal, my Lords? When was there so much iniquity ever laid to the charge of any one? No, my Lords, you must not look to punish any other such delinquent from India. Warren Hastings has not left substance enough in India to nourish such another delinquent.

4. My Lords, is it a prosecutor you want? You have before you the Commons of Great Britain as prosecutors; and I believe, my Lords, that the sun, in his beneficent progress round the world, does not behold a more glorious sight than that of men, separated from a remote people by the material bounds and barriers of nature, united by the bond of a social and moral community—all the Commons of England resenting, as [Pg 202]their own, the indignities and cruelties that are offered to all the people of India.

5. Do we want a tribunal? My Lords, no example of antiquity, nothing in the modern world, nothing in the range of human imagination, can supply us with a tribunal like this. My Lords, here we see virtually, in the mind's eye, that sacred majesty of the Crown, under whose authority you sit and whose power you exercise. We have here all the branches of the royal family, in a situation between majesty and subjection, between the sovereign and the subject—offering a pledge in that situation, for the support of the rights of the Crown and the liberties of the people, both which extremities they touch.

6. My Lords, we have a great hereditary peerage here; those who have their own honour, the honour of their ancestors, and of their posterity, to guard, and who will justify, as they always have justified, that precision in the Constitution by which justice is made an hereditary office. My Lords, we have here a new nobility, who have risen and exalted themselves by various merits, by great civil and military services, which have extended the fame of this country from the rising to the setting sun. My Lords, you have here, also, the lights of our religion; you have the bishops of England. My Lords, you have that true image of the primitive church in its ancient form, in its ancient ordinances, purified from the superstitions and vices which a long succession of ages will bring upon the best institutions.

7. My Lords, these are the securities which we have in all the constituent parts of the body of this House. We know them, we reckon, we rest upon them, and commit safely the interests of India and of humanity [Pg 203]into your hands. Therefore, it is with confidence that, ordered by the Commons, I impeach Warren Hastings, Esquire, of high crimes and misdemeanours. I impeach him in the name of the Commons of Great Britain in Parliament assembled, whose parliamentary trust he has betrayed. I impeach him in the name of all the Commons of Great Britain, whose national character he has dishonoured. I impeach him in the name of the people of India, whose laws, rights, and liberties he has subverted, whose property he has destroyed, whose country he has laid waste and desolate. I impeach him in the name and by virtue of those eternal laws of justice which he has violated. I impeach him in the name of human nature itself, which he has cruelly outraged, injured and oppressed, in both sexes, in every age, rank, situation, and condition of life.

—Edmund Burke

THE SONG MY PADDLE SINGS

—E. Pauline Johnson (Tekahionwake)

(By arrangement with the Author)

[Pg 206]

THE DEFENCE OF THE BRIDGE

From "Horatius"

—Macaulay

[Pg 217]

ON THE DEATH OF KING EDWARD VII

Delivered in the British House of Commons, May 12th, 1910

The late King, who has been suddenly taken away from us, had, at the time of his death, not yet completed the tenth year of his reign. Those years were crowded with moving and stirring events, both abroad, in the Empire, and here at home. In our relations with foreign countries they have been years of growing friendships, of new understandings, of stronger and surer safeguards for the peace of mankind. Within the Empire during the same time the sense of interdependence, the consciousness of common interests and common risks, the ever-tightening bonds of corporate unity have been developed and vivified as they had never been before. Here at home, as though it were by way of contrast, controversial issues of the gravest kind—economic, social, and constitutional—have ripened into a rapid maturity.

Sir, in all these multiform manifestations of our national and imperial life, history will assign a part of singular dignity and authority to the great Ruler whom we have lost. In external affairs his powerful personal influence was steadily and zealously directed to the avoidance not only of war, but of the causes and pretexts of war, and he well earned the title by which he will always be remembered, "the Peacemaker of the World."

Within the boundaries of his own Empire, by his intimate knowledge of its component parts, by his broad [Pg 218]and elastic sympathy not only with ambitions, and aspirations, but with the sufferings and the hardships of his people, by his response to any and every appeal whether to the sense of justice or the spirit of compassion, he won a degree of loyalty, affection, and confidence which few Sovereigns have ever enjoyed. At home, we all recognize that, above the din and dust of our hard-fought controversies, detached from party and attached only to the common interests, we had in him an arbiter ripe in experience, judicial in temper, at once a reverent worshipper of our traditions and a watchful guardian of our constitutional liberties.

One is tempted, indeed constrained, on such an occasion as this to ask what were the qualities which enabled a man called comparatively late in life to new duties of unexampled complexity—what were the qualities which in practice proved him so admirably fitted to the task, and have given him an enduring and illustrious record among the rulers and governors of the nations? I should be disposed to assign the first place to what sounds a commonplace—but in its persistent and unfailing exercise is one of the rarest of virtues—his strong, abiding, dominating sense of public duty.

King Edward, be it remembered, was a man of many and varied interests. He was a sportsman in the best sense, an ardent and discriminating patron of the Arts, and as well equipped as any man of his time for the give-and-take of social intercourse; wholly free from the prejudices and narrowing rules of caste; at home in all companies; an enfranchised citizen of the world. To such a man, endowed as he was by nature, placed where he was by fortune and by circumstances, there [Pg 219]was open, if he had chosen to enter it, an unlimited field for self-indulgence. But, Sir, as every one will acknowledge who was brought into daily contact with him in the sphere of affairs, his duty to the State always came first. In this great business community there was no better man of business, no man by whom the humdrum obligations—punctuality, method, preciseness, and economy of time and speech—were more keenly recognized or more severely practised. I speak with the privilege of close experience when I say that wherever he was, whatever may have been his apparent preoccupations, in the transactions of the business of the State there were never any arrears, there was never any trace of confusion, there was never any moment of avoidable delay.

Next to these, Sir—I am still in the domain of practice and administration—I should put his singular, perhaps an unrivalled, tact in the management of men, and a judgment of intuitive shrewdness as to the best outlet from perplexed and often baffling situations. He had, in its highest and best development, the genius of common sense. These rare gifts of practical efficiency were, during the whole of his Kingship, yoked to the service of a great ideal. He was animated every day of his Sovereignty by the thought that he was at once the head and the chief servant of that vast complex organism which we call the British Empire. He recognized in the fullest degree both the powers and the limitations of a Constitutional Monarch. Here, at home, he was, though no politician, as every one knows, a keen Social Reformer. He loved his people at home and over the seas. Their interests were his interests; [Pg 220]their fame was his fame. He had no self apart from them.

I will not touch for more than a moment on more delicate and sacred ground—on his personal charm, the warmth and wealth of his humanity; his unfailing considerateness for all who in any capacity were permitted to work for him. I will only say, in this connection that no man in our time has been more justly beloved by his family and his friends, and no Ruler in our or in any time has been more sincerely true, more unswervingly loyal, more uniformly kind to his advisers and his servants. By the unsearchable counsels of the Disposer of Events he has been called suddenly, and without warning, to his account. We are still dazed under the blow which has befallen us. It is too soon, as yet, even to attempt to realize its full meaning, but this, at least, we may say at once and with full assurance, that he has left to his people a memory and an example which they will never forget, a memory of great opportunities greatly employed, and an example which the humblest of his subjects may treasure and strive to follow, of simplicity, courage, self-denial, tenacious devotion up to the last moment of conscious life to work, to duty, and to service.

—The Right Honourable Herbert Henry Asquith

[Pg 221]

THE HEROES OF MAGERSFONTEIN

Dec. 11, 1899

1. During the night it was considered expedient that the Highland Brigade, 4,000 strong, under General Wauchope, should get close enough to the lines of the foe to make it possible to charge the heights. At midnight the gallant but ill-fated men moved cautiously through the darkness toward the kopje where the Boers were most strongly intrenched. They were led by a guide who was supposed to know every inch of the country, out into the darkness of an African night.

2. So onward until three of the clock on the Monday. Then out of the darkness a rifle rang sharp and clear, a herald of disaster—a soldier had tripped in the dark over the hidden wires laid down by the enemy. In a second, in the twinkling of an eye, the searchlights of the Boers fell broad and clear as the noonday sun on the ranks of the doomed Highlanders, though it left the enemy concealed in the shadows of the frowning mass of hills behind them. For one brief moment the Scots seemed paralysed by the suddenness of their discovery, for they knew that they were huddled together like sheep within fifty yards of the trenches of the foes.

3. Then clear above the confusion rolled the voice of the General: "Steady, men, steady!"—and like an echo to the veterans out came the crash of nearly a thousand rifles not fifty paces from them. The Highlanders reeled before the shock like trees before the tempest; their best, their bravest, fell in that wild hail of lead. General Wauchope was down, riddled with bullets; yet gasping, [Pg 222]dying, bleeding from every vein, the Highland chief raised himself on his hands and knees and cheered his men forward. Men and officers fell in heaps together.

4. The Black Watch charged, and the Gordons and the Seaforths, with a yell that stirred the British camp below, rushed onward to death or disaster. The accursed wires caught them around the legs until they floundered like trapped wolves, and all the time the rifles of the foe sang the song of death in their ears. They fell back broken and beaten, leaving nearly 1,300 dead and wounded, just where the broad breast of the grassy veldt melts into the embrace of the rugged African hills; and an hour later, the dawning came of the dreariest day that Scotland has known for a generation past.

5. Of her officers, the flower of her chivalry, the pride of her breeding, but few remained to tell the tale—a sad tale truly, but one untinted with dishonour nor smirched with disgrace, for up these heights under similar circumstances, even a brigade of devils could scarce have hoped to pass. All that mortal man could do the Scots did; they tried, they failed, they fell, and there is nothing left us now but to revere their memory and give them a place of honour in the pages of history.

6. Three hundred yards to the rear of the little township of Modder River, just as the sun was sinking in a blaze of African splendour, on the evening of Tuesday, the 12th of December, a long shallow grave lay exposed in the breast of the veldt. To the westward, the broad river fringed with trees runs murmuringly; to the eastward, the heights still held by the enemy, scowled menacingly; north and south the veldt undulated peacefully; a few paces to the northward of that grave, fifty [Pg 223]dead Highlanders lay dressed as they had fallen on the field of battle: they had followed their chief to the field, and they were to follow him to the grave.

7. How grim and stern these men looked as they lay face upward to the sky, with great hands clutched in the last agony, and brows still knit with the stern lust of the strife in which they had fallen. The plaids, dear to every Highland clan, were represented there, and out of the distance came the sound of pipes. It was the General coming to join his men. There, right under the eyes of the enemy, moved with slow and solemn tread all that remained of the Highland Brigade. In front of them walked the chaplain, with bared head, dressed in his robes of office; then came the pipers with their pipes, sixteen in all, and behind them, with arms reversed, moved the Highlanders, dressed in all the regalia of their regiments, and in the midst the dead General, borne by four of his comrades. Out swelled the pipes to the strains of "The Flowers of the Forest," now ringing proud and high until the soldier's head went back in haughty defiance—and eyes flashed through tears like sunlight on steel, now sinking to moaning wail like a woman mourning for her first-born, until the proud heads drooped forward till they rested on heaving chests, and tears rolled down the wan and scarred faces, and the choking sobs broke through the solemn rhythm of the march of death.

8. Right up to the grave they marched, then broke away in companies, until the General lay in the shallow grave with a Scottish square of armed men around him. Only the dead man's son and a small remnant of his officers stood with the chaplain and the pipers, while the solemn service of the church was spoken.

[Pg 224]

9. Then once again the pipes pealed out, and "Lochaber No More" cut through the stillness like a cry of pain until one could almost hear the widow in her Highland home mourning for the soldier she would welcome back no more.

10. Then, as if touched with the magic of one thought, the soldiers turned their tear-damped eyes from the still form in the shallow grave toward the height where Cronje, the Lion of Africa, and his soldiers stood. Then every cheek flushed crimson, and strong jaws set like steel, and the veins on the hands that clasped the rifle handles swelled almost to bursting with the fervour of the grip, and that look from those silent, armed men spoke more eloquently than ever spoke the tongues of orators. For on each frowning face the spirit of vengeance sat, and each sparkling eye asked silently for blood.

11. At the head of the grave, at the point nearest the enemy, the General was laid to sleep, his officers grouped around him, while in line behind him, his soldiers were laid in a double row wrapped in their blankets. No shots were fired over the dead men resting so peacefully, only the salute was given, and then the men marched campwards as the darkness of an African night rolled over the far-stretching breadth of the veldt.

—From "The London Daily News" (By permission)

[Pg 225]

THE FUNERAL OF JULIUS CÆSAR

From "Julius Cæsar," Act III. Scene ii.

The Forum. Enter Brutus, Cassius, and a throng of Citizens.

All. We will be satisfied; let us be satisfied.

Bru. Then follow me, and give me audience, friends.—
Cassius, go you into the other street,
And part the numbers.—
Those that will hear me speak, let them stay here;
Those that will follow Cassius, go with him;
And public reasons shall be rendered
Of Cæsar's death.

1 Cit.I will hear Brutus speak.

2 Cit. I will hear Cassius; and compare their reasons,
When severally we hear them rendered.10

[Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizens. Brutus goes into the rostrum.]

3 Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended: silence!

Bru. Be patient till the last.
Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my cause;
and be silent, that you may hear: believe me for mine
honour; and have respect to mine honour, that you may
believe: censure me in your wisdom; and awake your
senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any
in this assembly, any dear friend of Cæsar's, to him I
say, that Brutus' love to Cæsar was no less than his. If
then that friend demand why Brutus rose against Cæsar,20
this is my answer.—Not that I loved Cæsar less, but that
I loved Rome more. Had you rather Cæsar were living,
and die all slaves, than that Cæsar were dead, to live
[Pg 226] all free men? As Cæsar loved me, I weep for him; as
he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I
honour him: but, as he was ambitious, I slew him.
There is tears for his love; joy for his fortune; honour
for his valour; and death for his ambition. Who is here
so base that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for
him have I offended. Who is here so rude that would30
not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended.
Who is here so vile that will not love his country? If
any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.

All. None, Brutus, none.

Bru. Then none have I offended. I have done no more
to Cæsar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of
his death is enrolled in the Capitol; his glory not extenuated,
wherein he was worthy; nor his offences enforced,
for which he suffered death.40

[Enter Antony and others, with Cæsar's body.]

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony: who,
though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the
benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth; as
which of you shall not? With this I depart,—that, as
I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the
same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country
to need my death.

All. Live, Brutus, live! live!

1 Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto his house.

2 Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors.50

3 Cit. Let him be Cæsar.

4 Cit. Cæsar's better parts
Shall now be crown'd in Brutus.
[Pg 227] 1 Cit. We'll bring him to his house with shouts and
clamours.

Bru. My countrymen,—

2 Cit.         Peace! silence! Brutus speaks.

1 Cit. Peace, ho!

Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone,
And, for my sake, stay here with Antony:
Do grace to Cæsar's corpse, and grace his speech60
Tending to Cæsar 's glories; which Mark Antony,
By our permission, is allow'd to make.
I do entreat you, not a man depart,
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [Exit]

1 Cit. Stay, ho! and let us hear Mark Antony.

3 Cit. Let him go up into the public chair;
We'll hear him.—Noble Antony, go up.

Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholding to you.

[He goes up into the rostrum.]

4 Cit. What does he say of Brutus?

3 Cit.        He says, for Brutus' sake,70
He finds himself beholding to us all.

4 Cit. 'T were best to speak no harm of Brutus here.

1 Cit. This Cæsar was a tyrant.

3 Cit.         Nay, that's certain:
We are blest that Rome is rid of him.

2 Cit. Peace! let us hear what Antony can say.

Ant. You gentle Romans,—

All.        Peace, ho! let us hear him.

Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.80
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Cæsar. The noble Brutus
[Pg 228] Hath told you, Cæsar was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Cæsar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest,—
For Brutus is an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable men.—
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.90
He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
But Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.100
You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?
O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,110
And men have lost their reason!—Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

1 Cit. Methinks there is much reason in his sayings.

2 Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter,
[Pg 229]
Cæsar has had great wrong.

3 Cit. Has he, masters?
I fear there will a worse come in his place.

4 Cit. Mark'd ye his words? He would not take the
crown;
Therefore 't is certain he was not ambitious.120

1 Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it.

2 Cit. Poor soul! his eyes are red as fire with weeping.

3 Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome than Antony.

4 Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to speak.

Ant. But yesterday the word of Cæsar might
Have stood against the world: now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.
O masters! if I were dispos'd to stir
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,130
Who, you all know, are honourable men;
I will not do them wrong; I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you,
Than I will wrong such honourable men.
But here's a parchment, with the seal of Cæsar;
I found it in his closet, 'tis his will:
Let but the commons hear this testament,—
Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,—
And they would go and kiss dead Cæsar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood.140
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,
And, dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it as a rich legacy
Unto their issue.

4 Cit. We'll hear the will: read it, Mark Antony.

All. The will, the will! we will hear Cæsar's will.
[Pg 230]
Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it;
It is not meet you know how Cæsar lov'd you.
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men;
And, being men, hearing the will of Cæsar,150
It will inflame you, it will make you mad:
'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs;
For, if you should, O, what would come of it!

4 Cit. Read the will; we'll hear it, Antony;
You shall read us the will,—Cæsar's will.

Ant. Will you be patient? will you stay awhile?
I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it.
I fear I wrong the honourable men
Whose daggers have stabb'd Cæsar-, I do fear it.

4 Cit. They were traitors: honourable men!160

All. The will! the testament!

2 Cit. They were villains, murderers: the will! read
the will!

Ant. You will compel me, then, to read the will?
Then make a ring about the corpse of Cæsar,
And let me show you him that made the will.
Shall I descend? and will you give me leave?

All. Come down.

2 Cit. Descend.

3 Cit. You shall have leave.

[He comes down from the rostrum.]

4 Cit. A ring; stand round.170

1 Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body.

2 Cit. Room for Antony!—most noble Antony.

Ant. Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off.

All. Stand back! room! bear back!

Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this mantle; I remember
[Pg 231]The first time ever Cæsar put it on;
'T was on a summer's evening, in his tent,
That day he overcame the Nervii:—
Look! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through:180
See, what a rent the envious Casca made:
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd;
And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæsar follow'd it,
As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no;
For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel:
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cæsar lov'd him!
This was the most unkindest cut of all;
For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,190
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,
Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty heart;
And, in his mantle muffling up his face,
Even at the base of Pompey's statue,
Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell.
O, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.
O, now you weep; and I perceive, you feel
The dint of pity: these are gracious drops.200
Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but behold
Our Cæsar's vesture wounded? Look you here.
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.

1 Cit. O piteous spectacle!

2 Cit. O noble Cæsar!

3 Cit. O woeful day!

4 Cit. O traitors, villains!

1 Cit. O most bloody sight!
[Pg 232]
2 Cit. We will be revenged.

All. Revenge! About,—seek,—burn,—fire,—kill,—slay!210
Let not a traitor live!

Ant. Stay, countrymen.

1 Cit. Peace there! Hear the noble Antony.

2 Cit. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die with
him.

Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny.
They that have done this deed are honourable;
What private griefs they have, alas! I know not,
That made them do it; they are wise and honourable,
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.220
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts:
I am no orator, as Brutus is;
But as you know me all, a plain blunt man,
That love my friend; and that they know full well
That gave me public leave to speak of him.
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
To stir men's blood: I only speak right on;
I tell you that which you yourselves do know;
Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths,230
And bid them speak for me: but were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cæsar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.

All. We'll mutiny!

1 Cit. We'll burn the house of Brutus!
[Pg 233]
3 Cit. Away, then! come, seek the conspirators.

Ant. Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak.

All. Peace, ho! Hear Antony, most noble Antony.240

Ant. Why, friends, you go to do you know not what:
Wherein hath Cæsar thus deserv'd your loves?
Alas, you know not: I must tell you then:
You have forgot the will I told you of.

All. Most true;—the will!—let's stay, and hear the
will.

Ant. Here is the will, and under Cæsar's seal.
To every Roman citizen he gives,
To every several man, seventy-five drachmas.

2 Cit. Most noble Cæsar!—we'll revenge his death.

3 Cit. O royal Caesar!250

Ant. Hear me with patience.

All. Peace, ho!

Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks,
His private arbours, and new-planted orchards,
On this side Tiber; he hath left them you,
And to your heirs for ever,—common pleasures,
To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves.
Here was a Cæsar! when comes such another?

1 Cit. Never, never!—Come, away, away!
We'll burn his body in the holy place,260
And with the brands fire the traitors' houses.
Take up the body.

2 Cit. Go, fetch fire.

3 Cit. Pluck down benches.

4 Cit. Pluck down forms, windows, anything.

[Exeunt all, with the body.]

Ant. Now let it work! Mischief, thou art afoot,
Take thou what course thou wilt!

—Shakespeare

[Pg 234]

THE REVENGE

A Ballad of the Fleet, 1591

—Alfred Tennyson

HERVÉ RIEL

—Robert Browning

(By permission of the owner of the copyright and Smith, Elder & Co.)

THE HANDWRITING ON THE WALL

Daniel V

Belshazzar the king made a great feast to a thousand of his lords, and drank wine before the thousand. Belshazzar, whiles he tasted the wine, commanded to bring the golden and silver vessels which his father Nebuchadnezzar had taken out of the temple which was in Jerusalem; that the king, and his princes, his wives, and his concubines, might drink therein. Then they brought the golden vessels that were taken out of the temple of the house of God which was in Jerusalem; and the king, and his princes, his wives, and his concubines, drank in them. They drank wine, and praised the gods of gold, and of silver, of brass, of iron, of wood, and of stone.

In the same hour came forth fingers of a man's hand, and wrote over against the candlestick upon the plaister of the wall of the king's palace: and the king saw the part of the hand that wrote. Then the king's countenance was changed, and his thoughts troubled him, so that the joints of his loins were loosed, and his knees smote [Pg 249]one against another. The king cried aloud to bring in the astrologers, the Chaldeans, and the soothsayers. And the king spake, and said to the wise men of Babylon, Whosoever shall read this writing, and shew me the interpretation thereof, shall be clothed with scarlet, and have a chain of gold about his neck, and shall be the third ruler in the kingdom. Then came in all the king's wise men: but they could not read the writing, nor make known to the king the interpretation thereof. Then was the king Belshazzar greatly troubled, and his countenance was changed in him, and his lords were astonied.

Now the queen by reason of the words of the king and his lords came into the banquet house: and the queen spake and said, O king, live for ever: let not thy thoughts trouble thee, nor let thy countenance be changed: There is a man in thy kingdom, in whom is the spirit of the holy gods; and in the days of thy father light and understanding and wisdom, like the wisdom of the gods, was found in him; whom the king Nebuchadnezzar thy father, the king, I say, thy father, made master of the magicians, astrologers, Chaldeans, and soothsayers; Forasmuch as an excellent spirit and knowledge and understanding, interpreting of dreams, and shewing of hard sentences, and dissolving of doubts, were found in the same Daniel, whom the king named Belteshazzar: now let Daniel be called, and he will shew the interpretation.

Then was Daniel brought in before the king. And the king spake and said unto Daniel, Art thou that Daniel, which art of the children of the captivity of Judah, whom the king my father brought out of Jewry? I have even heard of thee, that the spirit of the gods is in thee, and that light and understanding and excellent [Pg 250]wisdom is found in thee. And now the wise men, the astrologers, have been brought in before me, that they should read this writing, and make known unto me the interpretation thereof: but they could not shew the interpretation of the thing: And I have heard of thee, that thou canst make interpretations, and dissolve doubts: now if thou canst read the writing, and make known to me the interpretation thereof, thou shalt be clothed with scarlet, and have a chain of gold about thy neck, and shalt be the third ruler in the kingdom.

Then Daniel answered and said before the king, Let thy gifts be to thyself, and give thy reward to another; yet I will read the writing unto the king, and make known to him the interpretation. O thou king, the most high God gave Nebuchadnezzar thy father a kingdom, and majesty, and glory, and honour: And for the majesty that he gave him, all people, nations, and languages, trembled and feared before him: whom he would he slew; and whom he would he kept alive; and whom he would he set up; and whom he would he put down. But when his heart was lifted up, and his mind hardened in pride, he was deposed from his kingly throne, and they took his glory from him: And he was driven from the sons of men; and his heart was made like the beasts, and his dwelling was with the wild asses: they fed him with grass like oxen, and his body was wet with the dew of heaven; till he knew that the most high God ruled in the kingdom of men, and that he appointeth over it whomsoever he will. And thou, his son, O Belshazzar, hast not humbled thine heart, though thou knewest all this; But has lifted up thyself against the Lord of heaven; and they have brought the vessels of his house before thee, and thou, and thy lords, thy [Pg 251]wives, and thy concubines, have drunk wine in them; and thou hast praised the gods of silver, of gold, of brass, iron, wood, and stone, which see not, nor hear, nor know: and the God in whose hand thy breath is, and whose are all thy ways, hast thou not glorified: Then was the part of the hand sent from him; and this writing was written.

And this is the writing that was written, MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN. This is the interpretation of the thing: MENE; God hath numbered thy kingdom, and finished it. TEKEL; Thou art weighed in the balances, and art found wanting. PERES; Thy kingdom is divided, and given to the Medes and Persians. Then commanded Belshazzar, and they clothed Daniel with scarlet, and put a chain of gold about his neck, and made a proclamation concerning him, that he should be the third ruler in the kingdom.

In that night was Belshazzar the king of the Chaldeans slain. And Darius the Median took the kingdom, being about threescore and two years old.

PAUL'S DEFENCE BEFORE KING AGRIPPA

Acts xxvi

1. Then Agrippa said unto Paul, Thou art permitted to speak for thyself. Then Paul stretched forth the hand, and answered for himself: I think myself happy, King Agrippa, because I shall answer for myself this [Pg 252]day before thee touching all the things whereof I am accused of the Jews: especially because I know thee to be expert in all customs and questions which are among the Jews: wherefore I beseech thee to hear me patiently.

2. My manner of life from my youth, which was at the first among mine own nation at Jerusalem, know all the Jews; which knew me from the beginning, if they would testify, that after the most straitest sect of our religion I lived a Pharisee. And now I stand and am judged for the hope of the promise made of God unto our fathers: unto which promise our twelve tribes, instantly serving God day and night, hope to come. For which hope's sake, King Agrippa, I am accused of the Jews.

3. Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that God should raise the dead? I verily thought with myself, that I ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth. Which thing I also did in Jerusalem: and many of the saints did I shut up in prison, having received authority from the chief priests; and when they were put to death, I gave my voice against them. And I punished them oft in every synagogue, and compelled them to blaspheme; and being exceedingly mad against them, I persecuted them even unto strange cities.

4. Whereupon as I went to Damascus with authority and commission from the chief priests, at midday, O king, I saw in the way a light from heaven, above the brightness of the sun, shining round about me and them which journeyed with me. And when we were all fallen to the earth, I heard a voice speaking unto me, and saying in the Hebrew tongue, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me? It is hard for thee to kick against the [Pg 253]pricks. And I said, Who art thou, Lord? And he said, I am Jesus whom thou persecutest. But rise, and stand upon thy feet: for I have appeared unto thee for this purpose, to make thee a minister and a witness both of these things which thou hast seen, and of those things in the which I will appear unto thee; delivering thee from the people, and from the Gentiles, unto whom now I send thee, to open their eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God, that they may receive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them which are sanctified by faith that is in me.

5. Whereupon, O King Agrippa, I was not disobedient unto the heavenly vision: but shewed first unto them of Damascus, and at Jerusalem, and throughout all the coasts of Judæa, and then to the Gentiles, that they should repent and turn to God, and do works meet for repentance. For these causes the Jews caught me in the temple, and went about to kill me. Having therefore obtained help of God, I continue unto this day, witnessing both to small and great, saying none other things than those which the prophets and Moses did say should come: that Christ should suffer, and that he should be the first that should rise from the dead, and should shew light unto the people, and to the Gentiles.

6. And as he thus spake for himself, Festus said with a loud voice, Paul, thou art beside thyself; much learning doth make thee mad. But he said, I am not mad, most noble Festus; but speak forth the words of truth and soberness. For the king knoweth of these things, before whom also I speak freely: for I am persuaded that none of these things are hidden from him; for this thing was not done in a corner. King Agrippa, believ[Pg 254]est thou the prophets? I know that thou believest. Then Agrippa said unto Paul, Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian. And Paul said, I would to God, that not only thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both almost, and altogether such as I am, except these bonds.

7. And when he had thus spoken, the king rose up, and the governor, and Bernice, and they that sat with them: And when they were gone aside, they talked between themselves, saying, This man doeth nothing worthy of death or of bonds. Then said Agrippa unto Festus, This man might have been set at liberty, if he had not appealed unto Cæsar.

THE STRANDED SHIP

—Charles G. D. Roberts (By arrangement)

[Pg 258]

SIR PATRICK SPENS