Chapter V: Act II (1)

SCENE: _Interior of Clyde Hall. Seats arranged at wings. Door pract. in Flat, through which flowers are visible. Em’ly and Dingle discovered standing C. Both are masked._

DINGLE.――By yonder fair moon whose radiance is reflected in a thousand dewy gems; by the glorious splendors of this summer night, I adjure you to remove that mask.

EM’LY.――Sir Knight, if eloquence could tempt me to reveal my face before the proper time, then your words would win your wish. I am not what you think I am. Knights woo not poor peasant maids, and I am poor, and humble, too.

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

EM’LY.――Flattery from friends is at best embarrassing; from strangers it is wholly out of place.

DINGLE (_Aside_).――There’s no humbleness in that remark. (_Aloud_) I crave your forgiveness; I am the last man in the world who would do an ungallant act.

EM’LY (_Aside_).――You are among the latest who did. (_Aloud_) Are you always mindful of a woman’s feelings? Do you treat them all with gentle courtesy?

DINGLE (_Aside_).――There’s a little sarcasm in that; I wonder what she means? (_Aloud_) Certainly! I would scorn, loathe, abhor a man who could forget his duty in that regard.

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

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

EM’LY.――If any one designated me as Miss Clyde they erred. Once more I repeat that I am not Dorothy Clyde.

DINGLE (_Laughs_).――We will not discuss that point. I have danced with you twice to-night, and I have danced with no one else; and yet I have had the honor of twice dancing with the lady whose name you mentioned.

EM’LY.――The music has ceased. The guests will come this way. Excuse me. [_Exits hastily L._]

DINGLE (_Looking L_).――O Jupiter, what a beauty! How lightly she trips across the hall. Sweet Dorothy, thou hast won my heart.

[_Enter Dorothy R._]

But why does she persist in denying her identity? A servant volunteered to point out both her and the Felton girl; she evidently desires to――

DOROTHY (_Coughs_).

DINGLE (_Aside_).――The tenant’s daughter. I would recognize that haughty minx though she were doubly masked.

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

DINGLE (_Aside_).――It will never do to let her recognize my voice; I will assume a falsetto tone. (_Aloud_) You had better find a servant, Miss Gypsy Queen; I am not posted in the commissary department.

DOROTHY.――I perceive that all knights are not Quixotes in gallantry. Thanks, however, for your suggestion.

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

DOROTHY.――If you knew me you would try to be more courteous; thus have you unmasked your nature, though your face is still unseen.

[_Exit L._]

DINGLE.――The saucy beggar! Well, in some natures poverty serves to intensify pride; I will seek the Squire. (_Exits R._)

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

WEATHERSPOUT.――The night is lovely; years and years ago it was my delight to wander forth beneath the moon’s soft rays――

MISS PHILP.――Years and years ago! There! you talk like a sexagenarian. I will wager you what you will that you are under twenty-five! Aye, that I know your name!

WEATHERSPOUT.――In a few minutes the guests will assemble and unmask; if you guess my name I will anticipate that ceremony. Can you not detect the tremor of age in my voice?

MISS PHILP (_Aside_).――The servant volunteered to tell me this man’s name. He is merely assuming the ancient quaver. His form is as straight as a pin oak. (_Aloud_) My eyes are not deceived, Mr. Morley Dingle.

WEATHERSPOUT.――Not knowing the party for whom you take me, I am unable to rate the value of your compliment.

MISS PHILP (_Aside_).――It is Dingle, sure! (_Aloud_) Then, holy Monk, be my father confessor and learn that Mr. Morley Dingle is a perfect Adonis, a gentleman of rare attainments, one whose name any woman would be proud to――to――that is――include among her list of friends.

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

MISS PHILP.――Of course I speak from hearsay only; I have not the pleasure of a personal acquaintance with the gentleman; although I think I have enjoyed his company this evening.

WEATHERSPOUT.――My child, you are mistaken; I am not Dingle. I am glad for your sake that you are deceived. You will also be satisfied when you have reflected upon the matter.

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

WEATHERSPOUT.――Candidly, I do not.

MISS PHILP (_Aside_).――I see; he fears I will penetrate his disguise. (_Aloud_) Oh, you are deep, very deep.

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

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

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

SQUIRE (_From without_).――I will tell you. Step this way. (_Enter Squire and Leslie R., each holding mask in hand_) Knowing that Dingle was anxious to identify my daughter, and that Miss Philp was dying to meet Dingle, I instructed a trusty servant to mislead them by making certain remarks within their hearing. The thing has worked like a charm, and the most ludicrous blunders have resulted.

LESLIE.――I thought that Dorothy was unusually interested in the movements of certain couples. So the little rogue is a party to your conspiracy!

SQUIRE.――The motive justifies the means; I desire to reclaim an arrogant young man and a silly woman; both are difficult cases, yet I hope to succeed.

LESLIE.――Some one is calling――hark!

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

SQUIRE.――Speak, girl, what is amiss?

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

SQUIRE.――Who’s joking?

MERCY.――You asked me a conundrum.

SQUIRE.――Never!

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

[_Exits R. running._]

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

DINGLE (_Without_).――You shall apologize or fight. (_Enter L._) Ah, here are gentlemen who will see fair play. Come on, sir, come on!

[_Enter Weatherspout L._]

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

DINGLE (_Drawing sword_).――Retract, sir! Eat your words! (_Flourishes sword_) Feast upon them! Swallow them!

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

DINGLE.――Ha! more insults! Hold me back! (_Makes a pass at Weatherspout._) Let me dissect him!

[_Squire and Leslie take hold of Dingle._]

SQUIRE.――Remember where you are!

LESLIE.――Do nothing rash, sir!

WEATHERSPOUT.――Release him; I fear his jargon, not his blade; let me explain, and if he then insists on satisfaction, I will thrash him with my staff.

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

SQUIRE.――Let the monk speak.

WEATHERSPOUT.――While standing on the porch enjoying the cool breeze, my companion, a lady, playfully called me Dingle. I replied that the air was filled with Dingles, whereupon this fellow sprang from behind a bush, and would have throttled me, had I not sneezed in his face.

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

SQUIRE.――You are a masked knight――how should he know you are the champion of one Dingle?

DINGLE (_Aside_).――What a donkey I have made of myself. (_Aloud_) Gentlemen, there is a blunder here. Mr. Monk, I ask your pardon (_Sheathes his sword_). I apologize.

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

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

WEATHERSPOUT.――Beg pardon, sir?

LESLIE.――Were you addressing me?

DINGLE.――What did you observe, sir?

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

[_All look at each other for explanation._]

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

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

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

WEATHERSPOUT (_Same business_).

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

MRS. FELTON (_Removing pillow case from head_).――Is it possible that I am such a hideous object that priests, soldiers and brigands flee from my presence?

SQUIRE (_Removes mask_).――My dear Mrs. Felton, they were frightened almost to death before you came; they were longing to disperse, and you furnished the excuse.

MRS. FELTON.――This has been a night of excitement and pleasure to the young folks; to me it has proved a season of consternation. One man was so terrified on meeting me in the hall that he fell into a tub of egg flip; another individual dropped the arm of his lady-love and ran howling into the midst of the dancers.

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

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

SQUIRE.――I have long sympathized with you in your bereavement; I have observed your trials and sorrows with positive pain; sympathy often ends in love――

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

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

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

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

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

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

SQUIRE.――A true woman is an honor beyond price. I am the honored one (_Look bashfully at each other_).

MERCY (_Aside_).――Well, if this isn’t the spooniest collection of humans I ever was thrown among, then my name’s not Mercy. (_Aloud_) Excuse me.

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

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

SQUIRE.――The masqueraders are coming; (_Mrs. Felton and Squire mask_) you will soon see your mistress. (_Waltz music in distance, to continue until masqueraders enter, when change to march._) They are now dancing the last waltz.

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

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

MERCY.――The idea!

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

MERCY.――Here they come!

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

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

MRS. FELTON.――Yes, they come.

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

[_Enter Dingle and Em’ly, Leslie and Dorothy, Weatherspout and Miss Philp, 2 L. E., followed by masqueraders; all countermarch to music, and take final positions as follows: Dingle and Em’ly R. C., Leslie and Dorothy L. C., Weatherspout and Miss Philp R., masqueraders form semi-circle in rear._]

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

(_All unmask._)

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

SQUIRE.――I will first present my daughter.

DINGLE (_Bows to Em’ly_).

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

DINGLE (_Aside_).――The widow’s daughter! (_Aloud to Em’ly_) Surely, this is a joke; are you not Miss Clyde?

DOROTHY.――No, sir; _my_ name is Dorothy Clyde, and the young lady at your side is the one who did _not_ hear your gallant views on the subject of arrears of rent.

DINGLE.――Do you mean to say――?

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

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

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

SQUIRE.――The ladies first. This is Miss Philp, my friends; this is Miss Felton, and last, but not least, this is my esteemed――ah――that is――my very esteemed friend, her mother. Now, Miss Philp, allow me to introduce to your kind consideration Mr. Morley Dingle, of Dingleton, Dingle Township, Pennsylvania.

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

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

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

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

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

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

DINGLE.――I have already a lady.

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

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

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

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

SQUIRE.――Ladies and gentlemen, this is my old chum, Caleb Weatherspout, and this is my future son-in-law, Leslie Raymore.

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

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

MERCY.――Must you go home alone?

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

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

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

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

(_All join hands._)

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

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

[_Curtain._]

――_Geo. M. Vickers_.

A Dog Story.

I.

He was strong and trim, and a good sized cur.
A giant of dogs; with soft silk fur,
Poised head, of an intellectual size,
And two straight, luminous hero eyes.
A tail whose gestures were eloquence;
A bark with a germ of common sense.
And this dog looked, upon the whole,
As if he had gathered some crumbs of soul
That fell from the feast God spreads for man――
Looked like a line of the human plan.
There went with his strong, well-balanced stride
A dignity oft to man denied.
God’s humblest brutes, where’er we turn,
Are full of lessons for man to learn.
That night that he crouched by the yielding door,
And two grim, murderous thieves, or more,
Had bribed the locks with their hooks of steel,
He fought with more than a henchman’s zeal
For sleeping loved ones’ treasures and life:――
He conquered rogue, and bullet, and knife.
That day that he walked by the river’s brink,
Thinking (if certain men can think),
And saw distress with a quick, sure eye,
And heard the half-choked drowning cry
A living life boat, soon he bore
The half-killed man to a welcome shore.
And when the wife of the rescued one
Wept him her love for the great deed done,
And fondled him in a warm embrace,
He talked with his honest, kind old face,
And said, “I have shown you nothing new;
It is what we live and love to do.
In lake or river, in sea or bay,
My race are rescuers every day;
In the snowy gulfs, ’mid hills above
My race brings life to the race we love.”

II.

He was sick and reeling――deadly faint;
He roamed the streets with a piteous plaint.
He had lips afoam, and eyes hard set;
He asked the mercy of all he met.
He drearily ran his death-strown race;
He found no pity in any face.
He glanced at an old friend with a moan,
There came to him back a well-aimed stone.
No cure for him in his strange distress,
No tender nursing and kind caress!
All fled or fought when he came near;
The world seemed mad with rage and fear.
He searched for an unfrequented way;
He would have prayed if a beast could pray.
For he who man had deified
Was now all mercy of man denied;
He who to save man’s life had flown
Now had to fight man for his own.

* * * * *

The soul of the humble brute has fled:
The grand old dog lies safely dead.
O, man-like brain, and God-like heart!
You were made to carry a noble part.
What spirit of vile Satanic breed
Had sowed in your veins the poison-seed
That turned to a curse your honest breath,――
That shaped your lips to a fount of death?
Sleep well old friend; your teeth of flame
Grew not from a soul of vice and shame.
Sleep well, old saint; not yours the will
To plant the world with the germs that kill.
Not yours the conscious guilt that lies
In men who ravage with open eyes.
You did, old dog, the best you knew,
And that is better than most men do;
And if ever I get to the great Just Place
I shall look for _your_ honest, kind old face.

――_Will Carleton._

Exercise in Pronunciation.

A jocund, sacrilegious son of Belial, who suffered from bronchitis, having exhausted his finances at the annual joust, in order to make good the deficit, resolved to ally himself to a comely, lenient and docile young lady of the Malay or Caucasian race. He accordingly purchased a calliope, a coral necklace of chameleon hue, and securing a suite of rooms at a hotel, he engaged the head waiter as his coadjutor. He then dispatched a letter of the most unexceptionable calligraphy extant, with a sentimental hemistich, inviting the young lady to an orchestral concert.

She was harassed, and with a truculent look revolted at the idea, refused to consider herself sacrificable to his desires, and sent a polite note of refusal, on receiving which, he procured a carbine and bowie knife, said that he would not now forge fetters hymeneal with the queen, went to an isolated spot, severed his jugular vein, and discharged the contents of his carbine into his abdomen, with a grimace at the raillery of his acquaintances. He succumbed and was irrefragably dead, and neither vagaries nor pageantry were permitted when he was conveyed to the mausoleum followed by his enervated canine.

The Moon.

Serenely, O moon, thou art beaming to-night,
Tracking the sea with thy silvery light;
Piercing the forest, thy beautiful rays
Are patching the ground in fantastical ways.

On city, on hamlet, on palace and hut,
On the far-stretching plain, in the deep mountain cut,
Thy mellow beams softly on all alike fall;
O, queen of the night, thou hast homage from all:

From the glistening dew, from the true lover’s sigh,
From the cricket’s shrill voice and the katy-did’s cry;
Thy heart-soft’ning power all races have felt;
To thy soothing appeal the most callous must melt.

O mute sympathizer, invoker of tales,
A fleet of heart secrets each night to thee sails.
To the shipwrecked at sea, when the storm clears away
And calm night succeeds the wild, boisterous day,
All huddled on raft, or faint clinging to spar,
There’s a hope in thy beams that no danger can mar.

When red in the east thou ascendest the sky,
And thy disc meets the half-naked savage’s eye,
He pauses, and feels as he views thy bright light
That a Greater than he is displaying His might.
Ere since by Omnipotence whirled into space,
Thou hast gladdened the night with thy radiant face.

To nations long dead, and unheard of by man,
Thou wast familiar when first they began,
Through their ages of splendor, their waning away,
Till their last mould’ring relic succumbed to decay.

And so, till Jehovah’s dread voice bids thee stay,
And the night is absorbed by Eternity’s day,
Thou shalt in thine orbit thy mission pursue,
A bright silver ship in an ocean of blue.

――_Geo. M. Vickers._

The Suicide.

The sun had set. The ruddy clouds
Had changed to gloomy gray,
And sweet, sad twilight soothed the hour
Forsaken by the day.

A village road, with nest-like cots,
And oaks, on either hand.
An old stone bridge, whose single arch,
A dark, deep river spanned:

And sounds of distant merry shouts
Were borne upon the breeze,
When, on the bridge there came a maid,
And sank upon her knees.

A maid? Perhaps a slighted wife――
Or neither――none could tell――
A stricken life――a broken heart,
About to bid farewell――

Farewell to that, which lacking hope,
Is but a dreary waste;
Where Nature’s brightest, fairest sweets
Grow bitter to the taste.

She rose――advanced unto the brink――
A wild, imploring prayer――
Alas! she stood, unloved――alone――
A statue of despair.

One plaintive wail, and then a plunge――
The wavelets laved the shore――
Then all was still. The river flowed
As smoothly as before.

――_Geo. M. Vickers._

The Felon’s Wife.

The scene was a court of justice, where criminals were tried,
And a woman and child[234] stood sobbing close by a prisoner’s side.
The man was the woman’s husband, the child their darling boy,
And they waited the dreadful sentence that would two fond lives
destroy.
The sunshine streamed through the window and fell on the judge’s
face,[235]
While the song of a bird in a tree-top[236] seemed harsh and out of
place;
Then the sunlight merged into shadow,[237] and the bird had ceased
to sing――
So quick are the fitful changes that fate and nature bring.

The ordeal soon was over, and the woman stood alone,
Alone with her tender offspring, with a heart that weighed like stone.
The convict’s tear still glistened like a gem on her pallid cheek,
And that tear-drop mutely told her what his white lips could not
speak.
’Twas a sad farewell, that parting, for it severed man and wife――
Doomed her to toil unaided; him to servitude for life:
But time soothes[238] the deepest sorrow, and love will hope and pray,
And soon like a dream grew the terrors of that sad and awful day.

* * * * *

’Tis night on the Mississippi, and a steamer, staunch and new,
Has stopped at a village landing her fuel to renew;
A man, the only passenger, steps[239] hurriedly on board,
And mates and crew stand ready, waiting the captain’s word:
“Haul in the gang-plank, lively! cast off your hawser, quick!”
Who――oo! blows the hoarse, loud whistle, for the fog hangs low[240]
and thick:
Dong! dong! rings the pilot’s signal; plash! plash! go the mammoth
wheels,
And into the gloomy shadows, like a monster swan she steals.[241]

A hundred souls are sleeping, and the engine’s throbbing drone[242]
Has lulled the weary look-out with its drowsy monotone.
Now the mist is lifting[243] slightly, and a light[244] gleams on
the shore――
’Tis gone; now the night grows blacker,[245] more dismal than before:
Who-oo! goes the whistle hoarsely, but the steamer plows along,
For the pilot knows his bearings and he softly hums a song.

Who――oo! comes a sound, and faintly, like an echo far away;
And the engine still is droning, still is heard the raining spray:
“Boat ahead, sir!”[246] calls the look-out; “Ay, ay, sir, boat ahead!”
Thus replies the watchful pilot as he glances at the red,[247]
Then turns to see the green[248] light, which the mist-clouds magnify
Till upon each wheelhouse, gleaming, stares a single monster eye.
Below the lights burn dimly, for all are locked in sleep,
Save the stewardess and a porter who silent vigil keep――
Who――oo! that’s close upon us! dong! quick goes the pilot’s bell,
The engineer springs promptly and handles his lever well:

“God help us! what has happened?” the frantic people cry,
While terror and wild confusion are seen in every eye:
Hark[249] to the trampling overhead! to the rudder’s rattling chain!
To the shrieks that come from the cabin, where the women still
remain!
One blinding flash![250] one shudder! now everything is still,
Save the swash[251] of the flowing river, and the sigh of the night
wind[252] chill.
The papers were full of the story, ’twas their theme for a day or
more,
Then the tale grew old and the world rolled on as smoothly as before.

In a lowly home by the river[253] live a woman and her son,
And the lines on their patient faces show what toil and care have
done:
They stand with a priest and surgeon, near the bed of a dying man,
And hark to his broken whispers, while his ashen face they scan:
His life had been worse than wasted, and his soul was black with sin,
And a seething hell of sorrow was raging his breast within――
“Yet――I’d――make――one――reparation――” and his trembling voice sinks
low――
“I――would――do――one――thing――of――honor――tho’ the last――before――I――go.”

From――the――wreck――of――the――smouldering――steamer――fate――bore――me――
bleeding――here,――
That――my――awful――retribution――to――these――victims――might――appear――
I――swear![254]――” and his voice grows louder, “if――you――search――that
――satchel――there――[255]
You――will――find――some――strange――confessions――and――the――proofs――of――
truth――they bear――”
On the wall[256] hangs a bag all blistered, which the woman hastes
to reach,
For she of all his hearers knows the purport of his speech.
“This[257] proves my husband’s innocence! Thank God for what you’ve
said!”
And she turns to the lonely passenger, only to find him dead.

* * * * *

Softly the sunbeams golden steal[258] by a prison bar
Lighting an empty dungeon whose iron door stands ajar;[259]
And the same sun lights a cottage,[260] with a warm and cheery glow,
Where three fond hearts united, with rapture overflow:
“O, husband,” the woman whispers, “I knew that you told me true;”
And he smiles and gently answers, “let us our vows renew;
Come, boy, kiss your new found mother, whom we’ll love to the end of
life,
For we’ve bid farewell forever to the grief-tried felon’s wife.”

――_Geo. M. Vickers._

GESTURES.
[234] H. O.
[235] Left H. O.
[236] A. L.
[237] B. P. H. O.
[238] P. H. O.
[239] H. F.
[240] B. P. H. O.
[241] H. F.
[242] P. H. F.
[243] Raise hand P.
[244] H. L.
[245] B. V. H. O.
[246] Look up.
[247] Look up to right.
[248] Look up to left.
[249] Raise hand to listen.
[250] V. H. O.
[251] P. Sw.
[252] A. O.
[253] H. O.
[254] Raise hand to swear.
[255] Ind. H. O.
[256] H. O.
[257] Fist raised as though holding satchel.
[258] P. Sw.
[259] H. O.
[260] Left H. O.

Little Christel.

Fräulein, the young school mistress, to her pupils said one day,
“Next week, at Pfingster holiday, King Ludwig rides this way;
And you will be wise my little ones, to work with a will at your
tasks,
That so you may answer fearlessly whatever question he asks.
It would be a shame too dreadful, if the king should have it to tell,
That Hansel missed in his figures, and Peterkin could not spell!”

“Oho! that never shall happen,” cried Hansel, and Peterkin too,
“We’ll show King Ludwig when he comes, what the boys in this school
can do.”
“And we,” said Gretchen and Bertha, and all the fair little maids,
Who stood in a row before her, with their hair in flaxen braids.
“We will pay such good attention to every word you say
That you shall not be ashamed of us when King Ludwig rides this way.”

She smiled, the young schoolmistress, to see that they loved her so,
And with patient care she taught them the things it was good to know.
Day after day she drilled them, till the great day came at last,
When the heralds going before him blew out their sounding blast;
And with music and flying banners, and the clatter of horses’ feet,
The King and his troops of soldiers rode down the village street.

Oh, the hearts of the eager children, beat fast with joy and fear,
And Fräulein trembled, and grew pale, as the cavalcade drew near;
But she blushed with pride and pleasure when the lessons came to be
heard,
For in all the flock of her boys and girls, not one of them missed
a word.
And King Ludwig turned to the teacher, with a smile and a gracious
look;
“It is plain,” said he, “that your scholars have carefully conned
their book.”

“But now let us ask some questions, to see if they understand;”
And he showed to one of the little maids an orange in his hand.
It was Christel, the youngest sister of the mistress fair and kind,――
A child with a face like a lily, and as lovely and pure a mind.
“What kingdom does this belong to?” as he called her to his knee;
And at once, “The vegetable,” she answered quietly.

“Good,” said the monarch kindly; and showed her a piece of gold;
“Now tell me what does this belong to, the pretty coin that I hold?”
She touched it with a careful finger――for gold was a metal rare――
And then, “The mineral kingdom!” she answered with confident air.
“Well done for the little mädchen!” and good King Ludwig smiled
At Fräulein and her sister, the teacher, and the child.

“Now answer me one more question,”――with a twinkle of fun in his
eye,――
“What kingdom do _I_ belong to?” For he thought she would make reply
“The animal;” and he meant to ask with a frown, if that was the thing
For a little child like her, to say to her lord and master, the King?
He knew not the artless wisdom that would set his wit at naught,
And the little Christel guessed nothing at all of what was in his
thought.

But her glance shot up at the question, and the brightness in her
face,
Like a sunbeam on a lily, seemed to shine all over the place.
“What kingdom do _you_ belong to?” her innocent lips repeat;
“Why, surely, the Kingdom of Heaven!” rings out the answer sweet.
And then for a breathless moment a sudden silence fell,
And you might have heard the fall of a leaf as they looked at little
Christel.

But it only lasted a moment; then rose as sudden a shout,――
“Well done, well done for little Christel!” and the bravos rang
about.
For the King in his arms had caught her, to her wondering, shy
surprise,
And over and over he kissed her, with a mist of tears in his eyes.
“May the blessing of God,” he murmured, “forever rest on thy head!
Henceforth, by his grace, my life shall prove the truth of what thou
hast said.”

He gave her the yellow orange, and the golden coin for her own,
And the school had a royal feast that day whose like they had never
known.
To Fräulein, the gentle mistress, he spoke such words of cheer,
That they lightened her anxious labor for many and many a year.
And because in his heart was hidden the memory of this thing,
The Lord had a better servant, the land had a better King.

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

The Ballad of Breakneck.

The sun shines out on the mountain[261] crest;
Far down the valley the shadows[262] fall;
All crimson and gold is the glowing west;[263]
And wheeling and soaring the eagles[264] call.
The good ship[265] rides with a filling sail;
The sailors are crying, “Away! away!
We must stem the tide ere the North wind fail;
The night and the breeze brook no delay.”

The young mate lingers upon the strand[266]
Near a dusky maiden with flushing cheek;
In his broad brown palm he holds her hand,
And eager and low are the words they speak.
“Weep[267] not, Nekama; I shall return;
Wait for me here on the mountain side;
When the woods in their autumn glory burn,
I shall come again to claim my bride.”

Slowly the Indian lifts her head;
Dry is her cheek, and clear her eye:
“Nekama[268] will wait as thou hast said:
The son of the pale-face cannot lie.
Seeking thy sails on the stream below,[269]
Under the shade of the tall pine-tree,[270]
When the beeches are gold and the sumachs glow,
From the mountain top I shall watch for thee.”

The sailors are calling; the broad sails flap;
From his neck Dirck loosens his great gold chain,
Flings[271] the gleaming links in Nekama’s lap,
Then springs[272] to the shallop’s stern again.
The stout ash bends to the rowers’ will,
Till the small boat reaches the vessel’s side,
Then he turns to Nekama waiting still,
Sad, but calm in her savage pride.

Sails the ship under high Cro’ Nest,[273]
Wearing and tacking in Martins’ Reach,[274]
While Dirck looks back with a man’s unrest;
And Nekama[275] lingers upon the beach.
Fade the sails to a vague white speck;
Loom the mountains, hazy and tall;
Dirck watches still from the vessel’s deck,
And the girl moves not, though the night-dews fall.

A year has passed, and upon the hills[276]
Scarlet and russet have faded to brown;
No sound is heard but the flowing rills,[277]
The summer’s voices are hushed[278] and gone.[279]
A late, sad crow[280] on a bare beech top
Caws and swings in an autumn wind;
The dead leaves fall, and the acorn’s drop[281]
Breaks the stillness and scares the hind.

Wrapped in her blanket Nekama stands,
Scans[282] the horizon with eager eye.
Late she lingers. She clasps[283] her hands,
And a sadness dims her wide dark eye.
Is it a mist[284] o’er the distant shore?
Look how the maiden’s[285] dusky face
Glows and brightens! a moment more,
And the white speck changes,[286] and grows apace.

He comes! he comes! From the wigwams near
Gather the braves[287] and the squaws again;
The men are decked with arrow and spear,
And the women of wampum and feathers vain.
Flecked is the river[288] with light canoes,
Laden with gifts for the welcome guest;
The spoils of the chase let him freely choose;
Close to the ship[289] are the frail barks pressed.

Brown and still as a bronze relief,
Shyly Nekama[290] keeps her place
Behind her father, the Mohawk chief,
Who, plumed and tall, with painted face,
Grasping a spear[291] in his nervous hand,
Looking in vain one face to see,
Turns and utters his proud demand:
“Dirck Brandsen[292] comes not: where lingers he?”

“Dirck stays in Holland,”[293] the sailors say;
“He has wedded a dame of wealth and state;
He sails no more for many a day――
God send us all like happy fate!”
Dark grows the brow of the angered sire:
“Can the white man lie like a Huron knave?”
The eyes of the maiden burn like fire,
But her mien is steady, her words are brave.

From her bosom she drags[294] the great gold chain;
Dashed[295] at the captain’s feet it lies:
“Take back to the traitor his gift again;
Nekama has learned how a pale-face lies!”
Proudly she steps[296] to her light canoe;
Bends her paddle at every stroke;
The graceful bark o’er the waters flew,
Nor wist they a woman’s heart had broke.

Up the mountain[297] Nekama hies;
Stands in the pine tree’s shade again;
Scans the scene with her wide wild eyes;
Moans like a creature in mortal pain.
The dark clouds crowd round the mountain peak,[298]
Caws the crow on the bough[299] o’erhead
The great limbs bend and the branches creak――
“Ah, why do I live?[300] He is false!”[301] she said.

A shriek is heard through the gathering storm;
A rushing figure darkens the air;
Out from the cliff[302] springs a slender form
And the maiden’s grief lies buried there.[303]
Towers the gray crag[304] grim and high;
Drips the blood from its rugged side;
Loud and shrill is the eagle’s call
O’er the muttering wash of the angry tide!

But Storm King[306] nods to old Cro’ Nest,[307]
Where the pine-trees nod, and the hoarse crows call,
Though the Mohawk sleeps ’neath that rocky crest,[308]
While the leaves on his ruined castles fall.
To-day on the Hudson sailing by,
Under the shadow of Breakneck Hill,
We tell the legend, and heave a sigh,
Where Nekama’s memory lingers still.

――_Harper’s Magazine._

GESTURES.
[261] Left A. O.
[262] P. H. F.
[263] H. L.
[264] Left A. Sw.
[265] H. F.
[266] H. O.
[267] Look to H. O.
[268] Look to Left H. O.
[269] H. O.
[270] A. O.
[271] Sp.
[272] H. F.
[273] A. O.
[274] Left H. F.
[275] H. O.
[276] Left A. O.
[277] H. L.
[278] P. H. O.
[279] Drop hand.
[280] Left A. O.
[281] Sp.
[282] Hand over eyes, and lean forward.
[283] Clasp hands.
[284] Left H. F.
[285] H. O.
[286] Left H. F.
[287] B. H. O.
[288] P. H. F.
[289] H. F.
[290] H.O.
[291] Sp.
[292] Turn to left.
[293] to right.
[294] Sp.
[295] D. F.
[296] H. O.
[297] A. O.
[298] B. Par. A. O.
[299] A. F.
[300] Wring hands.
[301] B. D. Cli.
[302] A. O.
[303] Ind. D. O.
[304] A. O.
[305] H. O.]
[306] Left A. O.
[307] A. O.
[308] Ind. A. O.

The Chemist to his Love.

I love thee, Mary, and thou lovest me,
Our mutual flame is like the affinity
That doth exist between two simple bodies:
I am Potassium to thine Oxygen;
’Tis little that the holy marriage vow
Shall shortly make us one. That unity
Is, after all, but metaphysical.
Oh, would that I, my Mary, were an Acid,
A living acid, and thou an alkali,
Endowed with human sense, that brought together,
We might coalesce unto one salt,
One homogeneous crystal. Oh, that thou
Wert Carbon, and myself were Hydrogen!
We would unite to form olefiant gas,
Or common Coal, or Naphtha. Would to Heaven
That I were Phosphorus, and thou wert Lime,
And we of Lime composed a Phosphuret!
I’d be content to be Sulphuric Acid,
So that thou might be Soda; in that case
We should be Glauber’s Salt. Wert thou Magnesia
Instead, we’d form the salt that’s named from Epsom.
Could’st thou Potassa be, I, Aquafortis,
Our happy union should be that compound form,
Nitrate of Potash,――otherwise Saltpetre.
And thus our several natures sweetly blent,
We’d live and love together, until death
Should decompose the fleshy tertium quid,
Leaving our souls to all eternity
Amalgamated. Sweet, thy name is Briggs
And mine is Johnson. Wherefore should not we
Agree to form a Johnsonate of Briggs?
We will. The day, the happy day is nigh,
When Johnson shall with beauteous Briggs combine.

A Wayward Life.

[An organ accompaniment, and singing by a concealed choir, will add very materially to the effect of this piece.]

’Tis a cold winter night, and the earth is robed in a gown of snow. The moon is partly hidden by the driving clouds, and but dimly lights the sleeping world.

The scene is a grave-yard. In the centre stands an old church. From its stained glass windows the warm light softly gleams. Slowly tottering along the narrow path is seen a human form; it is a rough old tramp, lonely, and almost bowed to the earth. He seeks among the tall, white tombs; now he sinks wearily down on a hard, rough mound. There is no marble slab to mark out the spot; only the drifted snow, only the bare leafless willow that moans and sighs above it.

Hark! he speaks; his voice is feeble; he mournfully cries, “Mother, I’ve come home to die with you. Here on your long-neglected grave, here let me pillow my head and fancy I sleep in your arms; and the soft music within that dear church, let me fancy ’tis your sweet voice as you lull me to sleep. I dare not enter yon church, where in youth I worshiped my God.”

See! he lays his head on that cold, hard mound, and sobs like a tired little child, “Oh, mother, I am weary, so weary of life, of toil so bitter and labor so hard. I long for rest, but I am afraid to die.” He pauses, he listens, for within the church a voice speaks slowly and reverently, “Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” The tramp replies, “Could I but know those words were meant for such a sinner as I!”――and heavy sobs convulse his poor, wretched frame.

Now the choir sings:

“Go tell it to Jesus, He knoweth thy grief,
Go tell it to Jesus, He’ll send thee relief;
Go gather the sunshine He sheds on the way,
He’ll lighten thy burden, go, weary one, pray.”

The wind moans piteously through the tall, gaunt trees, and he murmurs half inaudibly, “The prayers that were taught me in sweet boyhood years I then repeated with smiles, but now tears dim my eyes as I think of that patient mother who lies beneath this mound. I killed her! I broke her heart! But mother, oh, hear me to-night! With my poor, weary form I will guard you and sleep on your snow-covered grave. Could I know that when dead I could meet you in Heaven, I would rest calmly here on this rough pillow, but alas for my sins, so many, so vile! ’Tis only the pure and holy and good that ever dare hope they may enter therein.”

Each note of the organ peals out, full of tenderest pathos, each word from the singers comes clearly and plainly:

“Weary of earth and laden with my sin,
I look at Heaven and long to enter in;
But there no evil thing may find a home,
And yet I hear a voice that bids me come.”

Now he kneels in the snow and his head is bent low, he clasps his trembling hands, then with one yearning look towards Heaven, he sinks like a child, weary of play, sleepy and tired, on that snow-covered pillow, the pillow of death.

Now the flakes fall faster and faster still, they cover him gently, like a mother that covers her child, lest she waken it out of its slumber.

Now more holy than ever, grander than ever, the old organ peals out, and the choir sings:

“Safe in the arms of Jesus,
Safe on his gentle breast,
There by his love o’er-shadowed,
Sweetly my soul shall rest.”

――_Lizzie G. Vickers._

The Little Torment.

My name’s Jack. I’m eight years old. I’ve a sister Arathusa, and she calls me a little torment. I’ll tell you why: You know Arethusa has got a beau, and he comes to see her every night, and they turn the gas ’way, ’way down ’till you can’t hardly see. I like to stay in the room with the gas on full blaze, but Arathusa skites me out of the room every night. I checked her once, you better believe. You know she went to the door to let Alphonso in, and I crawled under the sofa. Then they came in, and it got awful dark, and they sat down on the sofa, and I couldn’t hear nothing but smack! smack! smack! Then I reached out and jerked Arethusa’s foot. Then she jumped and said, “Oh, mercy, what’s that?” and Alfonso said she was a “timid little creature.” “Oh, Alfonso, I’m happy by your side, but when I think of your going away it almost breaks my heart.” Then I snickered right out, I couldn’t help it, and Arathusa got up, went and peeked through the key-hole and said, “I do believe that’s Jack, nasty little torment, he’s always where he isn’t wanted.” Do you know this made me mad, and I crawled out from under the sofa and stood up before her and said, “you think you are smart because you wear a Grecian Bend. I guess I know what you’ve been doing, you’ve been sitting on Alphonso’s lap, and letting him kiss you like you let Bill Jones kiss you. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. If it hadn’t been for that old false front of yours, Pa would have let me have a velocipede like Tom Clifford’s. You needn’t be grinding them false teeth of yours at me, I ain’t a-going out of here. I ain’t so green as I look. I guess I know a thing or two. I don’t care if you are 28 years old, you ain’t no boss of me!”

The Stars.

Spanglets of heaven! Ye seem to me
The alphabet of immensity,
By which I read, in dazzling light,
The lofty name of the Infinite.
Shine on! Shine on! in your depths of blue,
’Till every heart can read it too,
And every raptured eye that’s bent
Up to the studded firmament,
Catches the glow of your ceaseless rays,
And glistens in the Eternal’s praise.

Beautiful stars! ’Neath your rich beams,
As down from heaven their glory streams,
When silence has sealed up the lips of Earth,
And thought, more wild than the winds, has birth,
I wander! I wander! with untold joy,
To feast my soul on the orb-lit sky;
And never did Chaldee, when taught to kneel
At the shrines of your splendor, more wildly feel
The torrents of bliss through his bosom flow,
As he upward gazed from the dust below.

Eyes of the universe! Gems divine!
Suns that bask in your own pure shine!
Countless guides of the awe-struck soul,
As inquiring it rushes from pole to pole:
I drink! I drink! at your fountains deep,
While the world is locked in the arms of sleep,
’Till filled with the Pythonic draught of light,
My intoxicate spirit deems all things bright;
And earth (and its deeds) is lost to me,
Eclipsed by your dazzling radiency.

――_Dublin University Magazine._

Why She didn’t Stay in the Poorhouse.

No, I didn’t stay in the poorhouse, and this is how, you see,
It happened at the very last, there came a way for me.
The Lord, he makes our sunniest times out of our darkest days,
And yet we fail most always to render His name the praise.
But, as I am goin’ to tell you, I have a home of my own,
And keep my house, an’――no, I’m not a-livin’ here alone.
Of course you wonder how it is, an’ I’m a-goin’ to tell
How, though I couldn’t change a jot, the Lord done all things well.
I’ve spoke of Charlie and Thomas, and Rebecca, “that lives out
West;”
An’ Isaac, not far from her, some twenty miles at best;
An’ Susan;――but not a single word I said about another one,――
Yet we had six; but Georgie! Ah! he was our wayward son,
An’ while his father was livin’ he ran away to sea,
An’ never sent a word or line to neither him nor me.
Each heart has some secret sorrow it hides in silence there,
An’ what we can freely speak of is never so hard to bear.
But I couldn’t talk of Georgie――he was too dear to blame,――
It seemed as if I couldn’t bear even to hear his name.
But when I took my pauper’s place in that old work-house grim,
My weary heart was every day a-cryin’ out for him.
For I’d tried the love of the others, and found it weak and cold,
An’ I kind o’ felt if Georgie knew that I was poor and old,
He’d help to make it better, and try to do his part,
For love and trust are last of all to die in a woman’s heart.
An’ he used to be always tellin’ when he was a man and strong,
How he’d work for father and mother; and he never done no wrong,
Exceptin’ his boyish mischief, an’ his runnin’ off to sea;――
So somehow now, out of them all, he seemed the best to me.
And so the slow days wore along, just as the days all go,
When we cling to some wild fancy that all the time we know
Is nothing but a fancy, yet we nurse it till ’twould seem
That the dream alone is real, and the real but a dream.
And so I clung to Georgie, or clung to my faith in him,
And thought of him the long days through, until my eyes were dim.
And my old heart ached full sorely to think that never again
I should see my boy until we stood before the Judge of men.
When one day a big brown-bearded man came rushin’ up to me,
Sayin’ “Mother! my God! have they put you here?” An’ then I see
’Twas Georgie, my boy, come back to me, and I knowed nothin’ more,
’Cause I got faint, and but for him, I’d fallen on the floor.
They say he swore some awful words,――I don’t know,――it may be;
But swear or not, I know my boy’s been very, very good to me.
An’ he’s bought the old home back again, an’ I’ve come here to stay,
Never to move till the last move,――the final goin’ away.
An’ I take a heap of comfort, for Georgie’s good an’ kind,
An’ the thought of bein’ a pauper ain’t wearin’ on my mind;
But still I never can forget until my dyin’ day,
That they put me in the poorhouse ’cause I was in the way.

“Bill” the Engineer.

“All ’board!” “Sphee-ee-chee――sphee-ee-choof!”
And the iron horse moves his steel-rimmed hoof,
And snorts from his chest his breath of steam,
With a quickening pulse and warning scream,
Moves out[309] with his freight of human lives――
A sinuous[310] chain of humming hives.

Anon the hum is a rattling din,
As the bright steel arms fly out and in,
Till naught is heard save a deafening jar,
As the train speeds[311] on like a shooting star,
With a lengthening trail[312] like a smoky pall,
Whose writhing folds envelope all.

“Stoke up!” shouts Bill, the engineer;
“We must rush this grade and the bottom clear
With a monstrous bulge, to pull up hill
T’other side――heavy train.” “All right, Bill!”
And the coal went in and the throttle out.
“Watch yo’ side the curve!” from Bill with a shout.

Adown the grade with open throttle
They swiftly glide as a flying shuttle――
Weaving in streaks of green and gray,
The warp and woof of bush and clay,
While steam and smoke and dust behind
Form mottled clouds in the tortured wind.

Through the cut[313] and into the vale――
Across the trestle that spans the swale;
There the willows swirl, and the rank weeds sway,
And the heron starts with a shriek away[314]――
Blown from her course――a shrill refrain,
’Mid the whirling gusts of the flying train.

* * * * *

Beyond the curve this side the hill,
There runs a creek――by the old saw-mill――
A covered bridge[315] and a water tank,
With the watchman’s shanty on this bank:
A quiet nook, for the mill is done,――
With crippled Jemmie it ceased to run.

Just round[316] the curve in the shady wood
That fringes the creek, his low hut stood,
Where Jemmie, the watch, spent his useful life,
With a lovely child and a loving wife.
Naught now came their peace to mar
Worse than a swift train’s rumbling jar.

To fame unknown, but to roadmen dear;
For Jemmie had watched from year to year――
And more than once did his vigil save
A train and its lives from a watery grave;
Since broken in purse and form at the mill
He worked on crutches――a good watch still!

* * * * *

“Hark![317] Tis the train! The mother’s ear
Leans to the sound; then a mortal fear
Freezes her veins――she sees not her child[318]!
“Oh, darling! Oh, Maggie!” in accents wild.
She starts[319] from the hut――now _feeling_ the way,
“_Keep Maggie in when the trains go by_.”

She strains her eyes[320] out toward the creek,
Where up the track, with an ashen cheek,
Hobbled the watch[321]――one pointing crutch
Where Maggie lay[322] in the engine’s clutch――
The wilting flowers across her breast;
She’d wearied to sleep in their eager quest.

“Save her, Mary![323] For God’s sake run!”
Came Jemmie’s voice like a signal gun;
The mother sprang like a startled deer,
But the rushing train[324] was now too near――
She saw, and swooned[325] with a piercing shriek
That echoed afar o’er the winding creek;

Ay, pierced the boom round the curve so near,[326]
And smote on the ear of the engineer;
“Great God! Down brakes! Quick! Reverse!”
And Bill was out[327] on the iron horse,
Treading his thrills o’er the roaring fires
With his nerves strung tense as electric wires.

Alas! the engine’s speed is too great;
The baby dreams in the path of fate!
Yet Bill knows the force and just the brace
To lift a pound in such a case;
With a rushing train and the child asleep,
’Tis a giants’ power his place must keep.

Still reaching forth with an iron grasp,
He does with his might this God-like task;
Bears the startled child on high[328]――
So happy to hear its frightened cry――
Then crushing it to his manly breast,[329]
Kisses its cheeks with a lover’s zest.

“More brakes!” calls Bill, for the mother’s seen,[330]
And the crutches and form of Jemmie between
His wife and the train――that’s crushed the life
From his child, he thinks――“I’ll die with my wife!”
But the train now slackens and stops apace――
Hard by a pallid upturned face.[331]

“Saved!” cries Bill, from the engine’s front;
“Saved!” echoes Jemmie, his crutches shunt;
“Saved!” shout the passengers, “Saved from death!”
“Saved?”[333] queries Mary, with conscious breath.
Then helped to her feet――“God bless you sir!”
And Bill’s grimy hand wipes back a tear.

“All ’board!” Sphee-ee-chee――sphee-ee-choof!
And the iron horse moves his steel-rimmed hoof;
And the train resumes its journey far.
Heroes have been, and heroes are――
Of battle and State, of travel and skill,
Of letters and art――but give us “Bill.”[334]

At the end of the road they gave him a purse
“I don’t want that!” and he muttered a curse;
But finally took it, and stowed it away,
And then threw[335] it to “Mag” as he passed next day.
It whirled through the air and struck by the stoop,
Where the three stood to greet him, a joyful group.

――_Bettersworth._

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

GESTURES.
[309] H. F.
[310] H. O.
[311] H. O. quick motion.
[312] Trace line of smoke with ind. fin. from H. O. to H. F.
[313] H. O. continuous gesture.
[314] A. O.
[315] H.O. continue with impulses to “_bank_.”
[316] H. O. sweep.
[317] Left listening.
[318] Look around distractedly.
[319] H. O.
[320] Hand over eyes.
[321] H. O.
[322] Ind. H. F.
[323] Throw both hands up.
[324] Left H. O.
[325] D. F.
[326] Left H. L.
[327] Left H. O.
[328] Raise hand as though lifting child.
[329] Hand on breast.
[330] D. O.
[331] D. L.
[332] A. O.
[333] Dazed manner.
[334] H. F. cordially.
[335] H. sweep.

The True Remedy.

Don’t say that times are pinching,
Don’t say that bread is dear;
Don’t say that our prospects darken,
And that worse times are near.

Times are not so very pinching,
Bread is not so very dear;
Countless stores of loaves are wasted,
Burned in whisky,――drowned in beer.