Chapter III: Introduction (3)

Then I boo-hoo’d right out. All this while I was getting agonized; the brass knob on the stove got so hot that I had to sit on the narrer mantel-piece and hold on to nothing. I dussent move for fear I’d slip off.

Mr. Scruggins came round to the front door, but it was locked, and then he come to the window and opened it. I jumped down and run for the window, and hadn’t more’n got my head out afore I heard that critter a-coming after me. Gracious! but I was in a hurry; more haste, less speed, always; for the more I tried to climb quick the longer it took, and just as I got ready to jump down, that brute of a cow kotched me in the back and turned me over and over out of the window.

Well, when I got right side up, I looked at the window and there stood that cow, with her head between the white and red curtains, and another piece of my dress dangling on her horns.

Well, my husband and me was jest starting for the little alley that runs alongside of the house, when the cow give a bawl, and out of the window she come, whisking her tail, which had kotched fire on the Franklin stove, and it served her right.

Mr. Scruggins and me run into the alley in such haste we got wedged fast. Husband tried to get ahead, but I’d been in the rear long enough, and I wouldn’t let him. That dreadful cow no sooner seen us in the alley, than she made a dash, but thank goodness! she stuck fast, too.

Husband tried the gate, but that was fast, and there wasn’t nobody inside the house to open it. Mr. Scruggins wanted to climb over and unbolt it, but I wouldn’t let him. I wasn’t going to be left alone again with that desperate cow, even if she was fast; so I made him help me over the gate. Oh, dear, climbing a high gate when you’re skeered by a cow is a dreadful thing, and I know it!

Well, I got over, let husband in, and then it took him and me and four other neighbors to get that dreadful critter out of the alley. She bellered and kicked, and her calf bellered to her, and she bawled back again; but we got her out at last, and such a time! I’d had enough of her; husband sold her for twenty dollars next day. It cost him seventy-five cents to get her to market, and when he tried to pass off one of the five dollar bills he got, it turned out to be a counterfeit.

Mr. Scruggins said to his dying day that he believed the brother of the man that sold him the cow bought it back again. I believe it helped to worry my poor husband into his grave. Ah, my friends, you better believe I know what a cow is.

Mary, Queen of Scots.

[First Honor at Commencement of the Mt. Vernon Institute of
Elocution and Languages, 1885.]

I looked far back[169] into other years, and lo! in bright array,
I saw, as in a dream, the forms of ages passed away.
It was a stately convent, with its old and lofty walls,
And gardens with their broad green walks, where soft the footstep[170]
falls;
And o’er the antique dial stone[171] the creeping shadow passed,
And all around,[172] the noonday sun a drowsy radiance cast.
No sound of busy life was heard, save from the cloister[173] dim,
The tinkling[174] of the silver bell, or the sisters’ holy hymn.
And there[175] five noble maidens sat beneath the orchard trees,
In that first budding spring of youth, when all its prospects please;
And little recked they, when they sang, or knelt at vesper prayers,
That Scotland knew no prouder[176] names, held none more dear than
theirs:
And little even the loveliest thought, before the holy shrine,
Of royal blood and high descent from the ancient Stuart line!
Calmly her happy days flew on,[177] uncounted in their flight,
And as they flew, they left behind a long-continuing light.

The scene was changed. It was the court, the gay court of Bourbon,
And ’neath a thousand[178] silver lamps a thousand courtiers[179]
throng;
And proudly kindles Henry’s[180] eye――well pleased, I ween, to see
The land assemble all[181] its wealth of grace and chivalry;
But fairer far than all the rest who bask on fortune’s tide,
Effulgent in the light of youth, is she,[182] the new-made bride!
The homage of a thousand hearts――the fond deep love of one――
The hopes that dance around a life whose charms are but begun――
They lighten up her chestnut eye,[183] they mantle o’er her cheek,
They sparkle on her open brow, and high-souled joy bespeak;
Ah! who shall blame, if scarce that day, through all its brilliant
hours,
She thought of that quiet convent’s calm, its sunshine and its
flowers?

The scene was changed. It was a bark that slowly held its way,
And o’er its lee[184] the coast of France in the light of evening
lay;
And on its deck a lady sat, who gazed with tearful eyes
Upon the fast-receding hills,[185] that dim and distant rise.
No marvel that the lady wept――there was no land on earth[186]
She loved like that dear land, although she owed it not her birth;
It was her mother’s land, the land of childhood and of friends――
It was the land where she had found for all her griefs amends――
The land where her dead husband slept――the land where she had known
The tranquil convent’s hushed repose,[187] and the splendors of a
throne[188];
No marvel that the lady wept――it was the land of France――
The chosen home of chivalry, the garden of romance!
The past was bright, like those fair hills[189] so far beyond her
bark;
The future[190], like the gathering night, was ominous and dark[191]!
One gaze again――one long, last gaze――“Adieu, fair France, to
thee!”[192]
The breeze comes forth――she is alone on the unconscious sea!

The scene was changed. It was an eve of raw and surly mood,
And in a turret chamber high[193] of ancient Holyrood
Sat Mary, listening[194] to the rain, and sighing with the winds,
That seemed to suit the stormy state of men’s uncertain minds.
The touch of care had blanched her cheek,――her smile was sadder now,
The weight of royalty had pressed too heavy on her brow;
And traitors to her councils[195] came, and rebels to the field;[196]
The Stuart SCEPTER well she swayed, but the SWORD she could not wield.
She thought of all her blighted hopes――the dreams of youth’s brief
day,
And summoned Rizzio[197] with his lute, and bade the minstrel play
The songs she loved in early years――the songs of gay Nevarre,
The songs, perchance, that erst were sung by gallant Chatelar;
They half beguiled her of her cares, they soothed[198] her into
smiles,
They won her thoughts from bigot zeal, and fierce domestic broils;
But hark![199] the tramp of armèd men! the Douglas’ battle cry!
They come, they come![200]――and lo! the scowl of Ruthven’s hollow eye!
And swords are drawn, and daggers gleam, and tears and words are
vain[201]――
The ruffian steel is in his heart[202]――the faithful Rizzio’s slain!
Then Mary dashed[203] aside the tears that trickling fell;
“Now for my father’s arm!”[204] she said, “my woman’s heart,
farewell!”[205]

The scene was changed. It was a lake, with one small lonely isle,
And there[206] within the prison-walls of its baronial pile,
Stern men stood menacing their Queen, till she should stoop to sign
The traitorous scroll that snatched the crown from her ancestral line.
“My lords, my lords!” the captive said, “were I but once more free,
With ten good knights on yonder shore[207], to aid my cause and me,
That parchment would I scatter[208] wide to every breeze that blows,
And once more reign a Stuart Queen o’er my remorseless foes!”
A red spot burned upon her cheek――streamed her rich tresses down,
She wrote the words――she stood erect――a _QUEEN WITHOUT A CROWN_!

The scene was changed. A royal host a royal banner[209] bore,
And the faithful of the land stood round[210] their smiling Queen
once more;
She stayed her steed upon a hill――she saw them marching by[211]――
She heard their shouts――she read success in every flashing eye.
The tumult of the strife begins――it roars――it dies away;[212]
And Mary’s troops and banners now, and courtiers――where are
they?[213]
Scattered and strown and flying[214] far, defenseless and
undone[215]――
Alas! to think what she has lost, and all that guilt has won!
――Away! away![216] thy gallant steed must act no laggard’s part;
Yet vain his speed――for thou dost bear the arrow in thy heart!

The scene was changed. Beside the block a sullen headsman[217]stood,
And gleamed the broad-axe in his hand, that soon must drip with blood.
With slow and steady step there came a lady[218] through the hall,
And breathless silence[219] chained the lips and touched the hearts
of all.
I knew that queenly form[220] again, though blighted was its bloom――
I saw that grief had decked it out――an offering for the tomb!
I knew the eye, though faint its light, that once so brightly shone:
I knew the voice, though feeble now, that thrilled with every tone.
I knew the ringlets, almost gray, once threads of living gold;
I knew that bounding grace of step――that symmetry of mould!
Even now I see[221] her far away, in that calm convent aisle,
I hear[222] her chant her vesper hymn, I mark her holy smile――
Even now I see[223] her bursting forth, upon the bridal morn,
A new star[224] in the firmament, to light and glory[225] born!
Alas! the change!――she placed her foot upon a triple throne,
And on the scaffold[226] now she stands――beside the block――ALONE!
The little dog that licks her hand――the last of all the crowd
That sunned themselves beneath her glance, and round her footsteps
bowed!

――Her neck is bared――the blow is struck――the soul has passed[227]
away!
The bright, the beautiful, is now a bleeding piece of clay![228]
The dog is moaning piteously; and, as it gurgles o’er,
Laps the warm blood that trickling runs unheeded to the floor![229]
The blood of beauty, wealth and power――the heart blood[230] of a
Queen――
The noblest of the Stuart race――the fairest earth has seen――
Lapped by a dog! Go, think of it, in silence and alone;
Then weigh against a grain[231] of sand the glories[232] of a throne!

_H. G. Bell._

GESTURES.
[169] H. F.
[170] P. D. O.
[171] H. O.
[172] b. H. O.
[173] Left H. O.
[174] Hand raised to listen.
[175] H. O.
[176] A. O.
[177] H. sweep.
[178] b. A. O.
[179] b. H. O.
[180] H. O.
[181] b. H. O.
[182] H. O.
[183] H. O. sustained with slight impulses from the wrist upon each
clause.
[184] H. L.
[185] H. B.
[186] D. F.
[187] P. F.
[188] A. O.
[189] H. B.
[190] H. F.
[191] b. V. H. O.
[192] Sweep from face to H. B. (must be graceful or leave out).
[193] A. F.
[194] Incline head to listen.
[195] H. F.
[196] H. O.
[197] Left H. L.
[198] P. H. sweep.
[199] Raise hand to listen.
[200] H. F.
[201] D. L.
[202] P. ind. D. F.
[203] Special.
[204] Cli. raised.
[205] H. L.
[206] Left H. O.
[207] H. O.
[208] b. H. O.
[209] A. F.
[210] b. H. O.
[211] H. sweep.
[212] H. L.
[213] b. H. O.
[214] H. L.
[215] D. L.
[216] Left H. L.
[217] H. F.
[218] Left H. O.
[219] b. P. H. O.
[220] Left H. O.
[221] H. O.
[222] Listen.
[223] H. O.
[224] Ind. A. O.
[225] A. sweep.
[226] H. F.
[227] A. F.
[228] H. F.
[229] D. F.
[230] Ind. H. F.
[231] D. O.
[232] A. O.

The Yankee Still Ahead.

A Yankee, visiting London, and passing along one of the principal thoroughfares of trade and travel, stopped to look at some beautiful specimens of writing paper exposed for sale in a shop window; he gazed long and earnestly at the gorgeous display, when presently he turned and encountered the proprietor of the establishment standing at the door. The Yankee politely said:

“Will ye tell me what ye du with them nice bits of paper?”

“Yes, we keep them to tie up gape-seed in,” was the snappish response.

“Oh, ye du, du ye?” said Jonathan, with a sly twinkle in his eye, as he walked on. Passing down the street a short distance our indignant Yankee accosted another merchant, to whom he said: “Mister, can ye tell me what that feller duz for a livin’ what keeps them nice bits o’ paper in his winder?”

“Yes, sir; he writes letters for persons who desire his assistance.”

“Du ye think he’d write a letter for me if I’d pay him fur it?”

“Certainly he would, and be glad of the chance.”

Our bright-eyed hero thanked him, and turned abruptly away, walking briskly in the direction from which he came. The shop was soon reached, and, fortunately, the same individual stood on the door-step. The Yankee lost no time in addressing the cockney, and thus at once began:

“I say, mister, I heerd that ye write letters fur folks what can’t write; what’ll ye tax me to write a letter to my uncle Peter?”

“I will charge you five shillings,” he said, in such a changed tone of voice that the Yankee had to look again to see that he had not mistaken the person.

“Will ye write jest what I tell ye tu, and spell all the words right?”

“To be sure I will.”

“And if ye don’t, I won’t pay ye; will ye agree to that?”

“As I understand my business _thoroughly_, of course I will agree to that.”

“Wall, then, ye may commence.”

The scribe arranged his paper, ink and pen, and pronounced himself ready.

“My dear uncle Peter:――ready fur more?”

“Yes.”

“‘Rived here in London last week,――have ye got that deown?”

“Yes, go on.”

“Thought I’d take a stroll through the woods,――got that deown and spelt right?”

“Yes, yes; go on, and do not bother me so.”

“I pay ye five shillings by-and-bye, don’t I?”

“Yes, but you have no need to detain me so if you do.”

“Wall, I walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and――”

“What’s the use of saying it over so many times?”

“None o’ your business,――I _pay_ ye five shillings,――and walked and walked and walked――”

“See here, this page is full of the words ‘and walked.’”

“Turn over then,――and walked and walked, and I couldn’t find any woods. Have ye got all that deown and spelt right?”

“Yes, but why don’t you go on.”

“Jest then I stopped to think what I should du, or where to go,――got that all deown?”

(Snappishly) “Yes.”

“Wall, then I seen a sign, and on it wuz: ‘Teams to hire,’ so I went up and told the man to give me a fust-rate team with a hoss I could easy manage myself. My! but you write fast. Is all that deown?” (Surprised).

“It is, and I would like to have the rest of your letter, sir.”

“Wall, that hoss started off all right, but in less than two minutes she got stubborner than any mule; and I hed to get eout, and lick her and kick her and prick her and lick her and kick her and prick her, (continue to repeat these words very rapidly), and she wouldn’t go. Is that all deown, and spelt right?”

“You are only losing time, sir, in repeating that last phrase.”

“That’s my business,――When I see’d she wouldn’t go fur lickin’, I tried to coax her, and coaxed and coaxed and coaxed and coaxed and coaxed, but she wouldn’t go; then I got crosslike and went――” (here the Yankee makes a chirruping sound which bids defiance to orthography).

“I can’t spell that,” said the Englishman.

“Oh, ye can’t spell that, can’t ye? Then ye needn’t write any more for me.”

“Need not write any more!”

“No more,” was the composed reply of the Yankee, as he laid his hand over his fat pocket and said:

“I ’spose ye remember our agreement?”

“Yes, I do, but what’s to be done with all this paper?”

“Keep it to tie up gape-seed in. Good bye, sir!” and the Yankee made a speedy exit.

_Arranged by S. Anna Gesemyer._

Tommy’s Deathbed.

But hush! the voice from the little bed,
And the watchful mother bent her head.
“Mammy, I know that I’m soon to die
And I want to wish them all good-bye.

I shouldn’t like any here to say,
‘He didn’t shake hands when he went away;
He was glad to be off to his harp and wings
And couldn’t remember his poor old things.’

In Heaven I never should feel content
If I hadn’t been kind before I went;
So let me take leave of them, great and small,
Animals, people and toys and all.”

So the word went forth, and in no great while
The servants entered in solemn file――
The stout old cook, and the housemaid, Rose,
And the aproned boy, with his smutted nose.

So each of the women, with streaming cheek,
Bent over and kissed him and could not speak;
But he said that they must not grieve and cry,
For they’d meet again in the happy sky.

’Twas longer and harder to deal with Jim――
The child grew grave as he looked at him,
For he thought to himself, “He bets and swears,
And I hardly believe that he says his prayers.

Oh, Jim, dear Jim, if you do such things
You’ll never be dressed in a harp and wings.”
He talked to the boy as a father should,
And begged him hard to be grave and good.

The lad lounged out with a brazen air
And whistled derisively down the stair.
But they found him hid in the hole for coal,
Sobbing and praying in grief of soul.

Old “Rover” came next, sedate and good,
And gazed at his master and understood;
Then up we carried, in order due,
“Maria,” the cat, and her kittens two.

Proud purred the mother, and arched her back,
And vaunted her kittens, one white, one black;
And the sweet white kitten was good and still,
But the black one played with his nightgown’s frill.

He stroked them all with his poor weak hand.
But he felt they could not understand.
He smiled, however, and was not vext,
And bade us bring him the rabbit next.

He welcomed “Punch” with a loving smile,
And hugged him close in his arms awhile;
And we knew (for the dear child’s eyes grew dim)
How grievous it was to part with him.

His mother he bade, with tearful cheek,
Give “Punch” his carrot three days a week,
With lettuce-leaves on a cautious plan,
And only just moisten his daily bran.

Then next we brought to him, one by one,
His drum and his trumpet, his sword and gun;
And we lifted up for his fondling hand
His good gray steed on the rocking-stand.

Then close to his feet we placed a tray,
And we set his armies in array;
And his eyes were bright with fire and dew
As we propped him up for his last review.

His ark came next, and pair by pair,
Passed beasts of the earth and fowls of the air;
He kissed good Japheth, and Ham, and Shem,
And waved his hands to the rest of them.

But we saw that his eyes had lost their fire,
And his dear little voice began to tire;
He lay quite still for a little while,
With eyes half-closed and a peaceful smile.

Then “Mammy,” he said, and never stirred,
And his mother bent for the whispered word;
“Give him his carrot each second day,”
Our Tommy murmured, and passed away.

Going to Market.

Oh, dear! these are dull times. What is a body to do? Bills cannot be collected, the season for business is over, and prospects for relief look decidedly blue. How can a woman buy a Saturday’s marketing for eight persons with only five dollars? The idea is preposterous! I could cry my eyes out with perplexity, but what’s the use?

Moses Flint is a good husband; he dotes on me, I know; yet he has no more idea of the cost of a shoulder of mutton than a Kickapoo Indian has of a sewing machine. Well, there’s no use of standing here talking about it; it must be done, but how? Oh, my poor head!

One pound of butter, fifty cents; observe――sixteen ounces of butter for eight persons, just two ounces apiece, to last until Monday morning. Why, Moses himself eats two ounces at a meal! The thought distracts me. Butter, fifty; potatoes, twenty-five; onions, fifteen; he _will_ have onions on Sunday; won’t eat ’em through the week; says they interfere with his business; but it makes no difference the day he spends with me. I wonder if my nostrils are better adapted to smell onions than those of his customers? Men are strange mortals, anyhow; my Moses will get shaved and polish his boots to go to the lodge, but let me ask him to go with me to the dressmakers, or to the Muggins’, and he won’t even put on a clean collar. The lodge must be a very _particular_ place.

Cabbage for slaw, ten; there is a dollar gone already. A pair of chickens, one dollar and fifty cents; rabbits would be cheaper, but he insists on chickens. It provokes me so. Last Sunday every blessed one wanted a drum-stick; of course two fowls have but four drum-sticks, therefore, as intimated before, only four got the four, which left the other four to envy the lucky four who got the four drum-sticks, and to content themselves with breasts and wings. For my part, I got only a neck and a gizzard. Well, I’ll do the best I can, but I’ll manage to squeeze out enough for two yards of that cherry-colored ribbon at Jones’, dinner or no dinner, or my name isn’t Sarah Flint.

――_Geo. M. Vickers._

The Merry Sunflower.

With a little ingenuity and with six musical voices this piece may be made a very pleasing and attractive feature in an evening’s entertainment. Procure a piece of sheeting at least six feet in length by five in width. Fasten the lower lengthwise edge to the floor of the stage, and the upper edge, by means of cords or other fastenings, to the ceiling. Cut three holes about the height of a person’s face in standing and of the shape and size of the face, and three others at kneeling height; then around these holes paint or paste on paper to represent the petals of immense sunflowers, with stalks attached. The singer’s faces occupy the holes, and the words are sung to the air of “The Little Brown Jug.”

1ST VOICE.

Oh, I’m a namesake of the Sun,
Prized and loved by every one.

2D VOICE.

Quite tall and stately here am I,
Oscar Wilde for me would sigh.

_Chorus._

Oh, proud the rose and pink may be,
Still they’re naught compared with me;
We look down on all the rest,
Thus of flowers we are the best.

3D VOICE.

Yes, you’re a beauty, so am I,
Sitting on my throne so high!

4TH VOICE.

Rich black and yellow, gold and brown,
Who’s not heard of my renown?

_Chorus._

5TH VOICE.

Mister Sol he flirts with me,
Tries his best my face to see!

6TH VOICE.

Here list’ning to the warbler’s song
Rock I all the summer long.

_Chorus._

Hints on Expression.

Expression consists in so modulating the voice by means of the different degrees of pitch, force, rate, and rhetorical pause, as to perfectly convey every shade of meaning contained in the sentiment; in other words, it is _painting with sound_. As perfect a picture can be conveyed to the ear by means of voice as to the eye through color; and in order to utilize this life-coloring of modulation in reading, you must first acquire a thorough conception of the meaning of the author; try to place yourself in sympathy with the sentiments you are to utter, adopt them and put them into your own words, notice how you express them, what degrees of force come natural to them, what pitch and slides, degrees of rate, what pauses between words and _upon_ words best bring out their meaning, and then take up again the author’s words, and try to give them as nearly as possible like your own; you will find the battle is half won. One of the greatest obstacles in the way of giving true expression is the presence of the printed page before the eye. The words are repeated one after the other mechanically, while the thoughts are perhaps upon another subject. An artist cannot paint a picture without first drawing it in his mind; so we cannot paint a word picture unless its impression is made upon the brain; hence the key to expression consists in _understanding what you read_.

A future number will contain directions for the remedy of unmanageable voices.

――_F. Lizzie Peirce._

The Crowning of the Sunday-School Angel.

MUSICAL DIALOGUE WITH TABLEAU.

CHARACTERS.

THE GUARD, _Gentleman_.

THE ANGEL OF ORDER, }
THE ANGEL OF LITERATURE, }
THE ANGEL OF MUSIC, } _Ladies_.
THE ANGEL OF LOVE, }
THE ANGEL OF THE WORD OF GOD. }

TWO RAGGED CHILDREN, } _A small boy_.
} _A little girl_.

A CHORUS OF SUNDAY-SCHOOL SCHOLARS.

PREPARATIONS.――_A large Gothic chair raised one step or more from the floor of the pulpit for a throne. A crown (made of pasteboard and covered with gold paper will answer), placed on_ _the top of the chair. A scepter is needed. The ladies taking the parts should be dressed in white; they may each wear a long flowing veil of illusion or other light material, with star on the forehead. The veil should not cover the face, but fall back over the shoulders._

THE GUARD _should wear a Knight Templar or other suitable uniform, and should take charge of and guard the throne before_ ORDER _presents herself._

THE ANGEL OF ORDER _(comes up the aisle, with a bell or some emblem of order in her hand, and ascending the pulpit advances towards the throne and addresses the Guard as follows)_:

I am the Angel of Order; “Order is heaven’s first law,”――a glorious law, seen in those beauteous isles of light that come and go, as circling months fulfil their high behest. Nor less on earth discerned mid rocks snow-clad or wastes of herbless sand.

Throughout all climes, beneath all varying skies, fixing for e’en the smallest flower that blooms, its place of growth.

I am the child of beauty and wisdom. My attendants are comfort, neatness, and activity. I come to be the angel of the Sunday-school. Let me occupy this throne and issue my decrees, and confusion will be unknown; officers, teachers and scholars shall be under my control.

All the regulations essential to a proper conducting of the school shall be enforced. Punctuality in attendance, propriety in behavior, attention to instruction, and obedience to rules shall be insisted upon. I will have a place for everything, and everything shall be in its place.

GUARD (_replies_).――Angel of Order, I welcome thee; what thou hast said is true; what would this universe be without thy mighty presence? Were thy power abolished but for a moment, “the war of elements, the wreck of matter and the crush of worlds” would be the immediate and inevitable result. Thou art needed everywhere, and we must have thee in our school, but thou canst not be the Supreme Angel of the school. Stand here upon the right of the throne (_conducts her to the right of the throne_).

THE ANGEL OF LITERATURE (_comes up the aisle with books, papers and tracts in her hand, ascending the pulpit, advances toward the throne, and addresses the Guard as follows_):

I am the Angel of Literature. The written thoughts and emotions of men constitute my domain. The pen and the press are the instruments of my progress, and are mightier than the sword. I, too, am an applicant for this throne. Give me authority and I will supply the school with books and papers, with leaves and tracts,――of these there shall be no lack. The library shall be replenished from time to time with entertaining, instructive and religious volumes,――well bound and beautiful. And all will be glad for my presence and rejoice in my power (_advances toward the throne_).

GUARD (_replies_).――Angel of Literature, I greet thee also with pleasure. Thy sphere is a noble one, and thy mission worthy. The mind must be stored with knowledge and stimulated with truth. It is thine to impart information and administer culture,――to aid in the education of our race. We give thee a place in our school, but cannot crown thee as its Ruling Angel. Stand here upon the left (_leads her to the left of the throne_).

THE ANGEL OF MUSIC (_comes up the aisle starting from the vestibule of the church, having in her hand a harp, or other instrument, and a roll of music, singing_):

_Solo, by Angel of Music._

There are little children singing round the throne,
In that heav’nly land, In that heav’nly land,
They are singing round the bright eternal throne,
The great white throne of God.

_Chorus by the School._

We shall meet them in their bright eternal home,
We will sing with them around the great white throne,
We will sing of Him who died,
Of our Saviour crucified,
Round the great white throne of God.]

From the New Silver Song, by permission of W. W. WHITNEY.

THE ANGEL OF MUSIC (_advances toward the Guard, and addresses him as follows_):

I am the Angel of Music. Melody and Harmony are my children. I open my mouth in song and my voice trembles with sweet sounds. I touch the keys of the instrument and the air is full of delightful strains. I give strength to the weak; encourage the wavering; cheer the sick, and assist in the triumph of the dying. I make heaven jubilant with anthems of praise. My voice is heard on earth in the lullabys of the nursery, in the songs of childhood, in the hymns of the sanctuary and in the ballads of the nation. My power is felt by the refined and the savage.

Let me be the ruling angel of the Sunday-school. I will furnish each department with an organ. I will teach all to sing. The tunes and the time shall be perfect, and no discord shall be heard amid the blended notes. Books of music shall be in abundance and all hearts shall thrill with gladness.

_Chorus by the School._

We love to sing together, we love to sing together,
Our hearts and voices one;
To praise our heav’nly Father,
To praise our heav’nly Father,
And His eternal Son;
We love, we love, we love, we love,
We love to sing together,
We love, we love, we love, we love,
We love to sing together.

Copyrighted, 1859, in Oriola, by W. B. BRADBURY; used by permission
of BIGLOW & MAIN.]

GUARD (_replies_).――Angel of Music, I have listened to thy song, and its sweetness has captivated my soul. Surely thy work is sublime and thy influence great.

“Music the fierest grief can charm,
And fate’s severest rage disarm;
Music can soften pain to ease,
And make despair and madness please;
Our joys below it can improve,
And antedate the bliss above.”

We cheerfully assign thee a place in our midst, but thou canst not be the Supreme Angel of the school (_leads her to the right of the throne_).

THE ANGEL OF LOVE (_comes up the aisle leading a little boy and girl, each wearing a loose, ragged garment that can be easily thrown off. She advances toward the Guard and addresses him as follows_):

I am the Angel of Love. I dwell in the bosom of God and in the hearts of men. Heaven is the scene of my highest manifestation, but I breathe benedictions on the earth. I relieve the needy and cheer the disconsolate with words and deeds of sympathy. The light of my smile kindles a radiance in many dark places of sorrow. My scepter subdues the hardest heart, and my speech often wins the prodigal back to his father’s house. I make home happy and bless the church with prosperity. I am a candidate for this throne. Give me place, and I will cause with magic power springs of happiness to rise, and flowers of social delight to bloom in the pathway of all; the aged and the young shall alike rejoice, and the entire school shall witness how good and pleasant it is to dwell together in unity. Besides this, I will go out into the highways and hedges, into the lanes and alleys; visit the abodes of the poor and the haunts of ignorance, and will gather the children in that they may be enriched with the treasures of grace, and made wise unto salvation.

QUARTETTE.
Gather them in, gather them in,
Gather the children in.

v.1. {Gather them in from the broad highway, gather them in,
v.2. {Gather them in from the prairies vast, gather them in,

v.1. gather them in; Gather them in, in this gospel day,
v.2. gather them in; Gather them in of every cast,

v.1 gather, gather them in.}
v.2.gather, gather them in.}

[After v.1., repeat for v.2, above]

FULL CHORUS.
Gather them in, let the house be full,
Gather them into the Sunday School,
Gather them in, gather them in,
Gather the children in.

Copyrighted, 1861, in Golden Chain, by W. B. BRADBURY; used by
permission of BIGLOW & MAIN.]

GUARD.――Angel of Love, fairest daughter of the skies, thy smile is radiant with blessing, and thy coming is ever a benediction. Without thee, this world would be a wilderness, drear and cold, where naught but cruelty and sorrow would abound. Truly thou art welcome. Let thy voice be heard and thy power be felt among us. Bind our hearts together with a threefold cord which cannot be broken, and may the glory of thy presence surround us ever as with a halo; but to thee, as to all who have preceded thee, I am compelled to say, thy place is not upon the throne, as the ruling angel of the Sunday-school. GUARD (_leads her to the left, beside the Angel of Literature; the boy and girl during the singing having thrown off their ragged garments, take their places one on each side of her_).

THE ANGEL OF THE WORD OF GOD (_comes up the aisle, carrying a Bible in her arms, and advancing toward the Guard, addresses him as follows_):

I am the Angel of the Word of God; Order is indispensible, Literature is needed, Music is to be desired, Love must ever abide. Each has her place and her work, but higher than all, and the inspirer of all, is the Bible. I come as the lamp of truth to a benighted world; the bearer of intelligence from the throne of God――a revelation to men of duty and destiny. I come as the chart and compass to guide men safely over the sea of life to the desired haven. My mission is to instruct both adults and children in the way of holiness that leads to heaven. I teach the sublime truths of faith and salvation――of God and immortality.

Wherever I go, the wilderness and solitary places are glad for me, and the deserts rejoice and blossom as the rose.

If all would heed my words and partake of my spirit, the whole world would soon recover the charms of Eden.

Instead of sin and misery, there would be everywhere purity and bliss. I come to train these children and youth in the ways of piety, and develop in them the elements of true manhood and womanhood; to qualify them for usefulness here, and blessedness hereafter. I wish to be crowned the angel of the Sunday-school.

GUARD.――Angel of the Word of God, All Hail! A thousand welcomes. For thee we have waited long and rejoice in thy coming. Thou hast said well――Order is indispensible. Literature is needed. Music is to be desired. Love must ever abide. These are thy handmaids and shall remain with us, but thou shalt be supreme. Ascend the throne (_she takes her place on the throne_). On thy head I put this crown. In thy hand I place this scepter. Rule thou over us. Fill our minds with thy wisdom, our hearts with thy spirit, that our lives may show forth the praise of Him who created us, and redeemed us by the blood of His Son. Order, Literature, Music, Love, these shall assist thee, and our School shall be a Bible School. Thou art the Angel of the Sunday-school!

TABLEAU.

THE GUARD.――(_Standing immediately in front of the throne, will sheath his sword, take off his hat, and say_):

Order, Literature, Music, Love, let us bow in token of our submission to the Word of God. (_They all kneel and the Angel of the Word of God holds the Bible out on her hand while the school rises and sings_):

FULL CHORUS.

1. The Bible! the Bible! more precious than gold,
The hopes and the glories its pages unfold,
It speaks of a Saviour, and tells of his love,
It shows us the way to the mansions above.

CHORUS.
Hallelujah, Amen! Hallelujah, Amen!
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Amen!

2. The Bible! the Bible! the valleys shall ring,
And hillstops re-echo the notes that we sing,
Our banners, inscribed with its precepts and rules,
Shall long wave in triumph the joy of our school.

CHORUS.
Hallelujah, Amen! Hallelujah, Amen!
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Amen!

From the Sabbath Bell, No. 1, by permission of BIGLOW & MAIN owners
of Copyright.]

CURTAIN.

Rev. D. W. GORDON.

[233]The Calls of the Bells.

[Represent bell tones with the voice upon the italicized words.]

“_In union and in freedom dwell!_”
Peals forth a brave, time-honored bell.
“_To all proclaim sweet liberty
Throughout the land――the land is free!_”
In the tower let it cheerily swing,
And make the whole world hear it ring
“_The tyrants knell, the knell, the knell_,”
It is the Independence Bell.

At dawn of day, to break the spell
Of sleep, the watchman rings a bell.
The rough bell in the dusky tower,
With rude tongue calls the signal hour.
Oh, how it _rings, and swings and clangs_,
Shaking the old roof where it hangs!
The sound _foretells, foretells, foretells_
The toils that follow morning bells.

In ringing notes that rise and swell,
In startling sharpness sounds a bell.
To boys and girls, it seems to speak
Of German, Latin, French and Greek;
The lads and lassies know it well,
It is the famed Academy bell.
_Read well, think well, learn well, do well_,
In haste exclaims the scholars’ bell.

In stout hands, jangling as it fell,
Near a white apron rang a bell.
Its tones are sounds that all may know,
It gives the languid pulse a glow,
It _tinkles_, _jingles_, _rings_ and _sings_,
And talks of sweet and savory things,
_The roast, the broil and on the shell_,
It is the dinner bell, “sweet-bell.”

A great white sheet in silence fell,
Followed by the tinkling of a bell.
How wide and white the snow-lit scene!
Wrapped in warm furs two lovers lean,
Bringing their beating hearts so near,
Responsive throbbings they might hear,
And the fond story that love tells,
But for the _bells, sleigh bells, sleigh bells_.

Sweet music comes from hill and dell,
A charm of sound from a sweet bell;
In softest harmony the tones
Ring in the sweetest honey-moons.
May no harsh speech come from the lips
To shade the fair moon with eclipse.
Its melody in love-tones tells
Of bride and groom and wedding bells.

From far and near, where virtue dwells,
There comes the sound of sacred bells,
Soft choral chimes, one day in seven:
Voices of love from the vast heaven.
Their varied tones in sweetness blend,
And like a psalm of praise ascend,
_And each glad heart in rapture swells_,
Responsive to the Sabbath Bells.

Flaming like lurid light of hell,
Startled at midnight by the bell,
Oh, merciless, disastrous fire,
That spreads and rises, higher, higher, higher!
Crackling in speech like flames in fir,
That needs not the interpreter.
The thrilling warning _peals and swells_,
It is the fire alarm of bells.

There comes at last a saddening knell,
Startling our sluggish souls. The bell
Reminds us of the close of time,
And warns us with its solemn chime.
E’en the sad bell seems short of breath,
When _tolling_ in slow tones of death!
Let’s hope that _all is well, is well_
When tolls at last the funeral bell.

――_Geo. W. Bungay._

[233] Published by special permission from the author.]

Dorothy Clyde;

OR, THE SQUIRE’S DAUGHTER. A COMEDY IN TWO ACTS.

CHARACTERS:

BARTON CLYDE, _a country squire_.
LESLIE RAYMORE, _a clerk_.
MORLEY DINGLE, _a rich man’s son_.
CALEB WEATHERSPOUT, _an old bachelor_.
DOROTHY, _the Squire’s daughter_.
MRS. FELTON, _a poor widow_.
EM’LY, _her only child_.
PARTHENIA PHILP, _an heiress_.
MERCY, _her maid_.

MASQUERADERS.

SCENE: A Pennsylvania village. TIME: The present.

Act I. Interior of widow’s cottage.

Act II. The masquerade.

COSTUMES: _For first act――modern. For second act――Squire, sailor; Raymore, Chinese; Dingle, knight; Weatherspout, monk; Dorothy, gypsy; Mrs. Felton, ghost; Em’ly, peasant; Miss Philp, duchess; Mercy, French maid. Masqueraders to suit fancy._