Chapter VIII: Foreword (7)

Aunt Patience was a star, and dwelt apart. Aunt Eunice looked at her through a determined pair of spectacles, and worshiped while she gazed. The youngest sister lived in a dreamy state of honors to come, and had constant zoölogical visions of lions, griffins, and unicorns, drawn and quartered in every possible style known to the Heralds' College. The Reverend Hebrew Bullet, who used to drop in quite often and drink several compulsory glasses of home-made wine, encouraged his three parishoners in their aristocratic notions, and extolled them for what he called their "stooping-down to every-day life." He differed with the ladies of our house only on one point. He contended that the unicorn of the Bible and the rhinoceros of to-day were one and the same animal. My aunts held a different opinion.

In the sleeping-room of my Aunt Patience reposed a trunk. Often during my childish years I longed to lift the lid and spy among its contents the treasures my young fancy conjured up as lying there in state. I dared not ask to have the cover raised for my gratification, as I had often been told I was "too little" to estimate aright what that armorial box contained. "When you grow up, you shall see the inside of it," Aunt Mary used to say to me; and so I wondered, and wished, but all in vain. I must have the virtue of _years_ before I could view the treasures of past magnificence so long entombed in that wooden sarcophagus. Once I saw the faded sisters bending over the trunk together, and, as I thought, embalming something in camphor. Curiosity impelled me to linger, but, under some pretext, I was nodded out of the room.

Although my kinswomen's means were far from ample, they determined that Swiftmouth College should have the distinction of calling me one of her sons, and accordingly I was in due time sent for preparation to a neighboring academy. Years of study and hard fare in country boarding-houses told upon my self-importance as the descendant of a great Englishman, notwithstanding all my letters from the honored three came with counsel to "respect myself and keep up the dignity of the family." Growing-up man forgets good counsel. The Arcadia of respectability is apt to give place to the levity of football and other low-toned accomplishments. The book of life, at that period, opens readily at fun and frolic, and the insignia of greatness give the school-boy no envious pangs.

I was nineteen when I entered the hoary halls of Swiftmouth. I call them hoary, because they had been built more than fifty years. To me they seemed uncommonly hoary, and I snuffed antiquity in the dusty purlieus. I now began to study, in good earnest, the wisdom of the past. I saw clearly the value of dead men and mouldy precepts, especially if the former had been entombed a thousand years, and if the latter were well done in sounding Greek and Latin. I began to reverence royal lines of deceased monarchs, and longed to connect my own name, now growing into college popularity, with some far-off mighty one who had ruled in pomp and luxury his obsequious people. The trunk in Snowborough troubled my dreams. In that receptacle still slept the proof of our family distinction. "I will go," quoth I, "to the home of my aunts next vacation and there learn _how_ we became mighty, and discover precisely why we don't practice to-day our inherited claims to glory."

I went to Snowborough. Aunt Patience was now anxious to lay before her impatient nephew the proof he burned to behold. But first she must explain. All the old family documents and letters were, no doubt, destroyed in the great fire of '98, as nothing in the shape of parchment or paper implying nobility had ever been discovered in Snowborough, or elsewhere. _But_ there had been preserved, for many years, a suit of imperial clothes that had been worn, by their great-grandfather in England, and, no doubt, in the New World also. These garments had been carefully watched and guarded, for were they not the proof that their owner belonged to a station in life second, if second at all, to the royal court of King George itself? Precious casket, into which I was soon to have the privilege of gazing! Through how many long years these fond, foolish virgins had lighted their unflickering lamps of expectation and hope at this cherished old shrine!

I was now on my way to the family repository of all our greatness. I went up stairs "on the jump." We all knelt down before the well-preserved box; and my proud Aunt Patience, in a somewhat reverent manner, turned the key. My heart,--I am not ashamed to confess it now, although it is forty years since the quartet, in search of family honors, were on their knees that summer afternoon in Snowborough,--my heart beat high. I was about to look on that which might be a duke's or an earl's regalia. And I was descended from the owner in a direct line! I had lately been reading Shakespeare's _Titus Andronicus_; and I remembered, there before the trunk, the lines:

"O sacred receptacle of my joys,
Sweet cell of virtue and nobility!"

The lid went up, and the sisters began to unroll the precious garments, which seemed all enshrined in aromatic gums and spices. The odor of that interior lives with me to this day; and I grow faint with the memory of that hour. With pious precision the clothes were uncovered, and at last the whole suit was laid before my expectant eyes.

Reader! I am an old man now, and have not long to walk this planet. But whatever dreadful shock may be in reserve for my declining years, I am certain I can bear it; for I went through that scene at Snowborough, and still live!

When the garments were fully displayed, all the aunts looked at me. I had been to college; I had studied Burke's _Peerage_; I had been once to New York. Perhaps I could immediately name the exact station in noble British life to which that suit of clothes belonged. I could; I saw it all at a glance. I grew flustered and pale. I dared not look my poor deluded female relatives in the face.

"What rank in the peerage do these gold-laced garments and big buttons betoken?" cried all three.

"_It is a suit of servant's livery!_" gasped I, and fell back with a shudder.

That evening, after the sun had gone down, we buried those hateful garments in a ditch at the bottom of the garden. Rest there perturbed body-coat, yellow trousers, brown gaiters, and all!

"Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye!"

WHY MOLES HAVE HANDS

BY ANNE VIRGINIA CULBERTSON

One day the children came running to Aunt Nancy with a mole which one of the dogs had just killed. They had never seen one before and were very curious as to what it might be.

"Well, befo' de king!" said Nancy, "whar y'all bin livin' dat you nuver seed a mole befo'? Whar you come f'um mus' be a mighty cur'ous spot ef dey ain' have no moleses dar; mus' be sump'n wrong wid dat place. I bin mos' all over dish yer Sussex kyounty endurin' er my time, an' I ain' nuver come 'cross no place yit whar dey ain' have moleses.

"Moleses is sut'n'y cur'ous li'l creeturs," she continued. "I bin teckin' tickler notuss un 'em dis long time, an' dey knows mo'n you'd think fer, jes' ter look at 'em. Dough dey lives down un'need de groun', yit dey is fus'class swimmers; I done seed one, wid my own eyes, crossin' de branch, an' dey kin root 'long un'need de yearf mos' ez fas' ez a hoss kin trot on top uv hit. Y'all neenter look dat-a-way, 'kase hit's de trufe; dey's jes' built fer gittin' 'long fas' unner groun'. Der han's is bofe pickaxes an' shovels fer 'em; dey digs an' scoops wid der front ones an' kicks de dirt out de way wid der behime ones. Der strong snouts he'ps 'em, too, ter push der way thu de dirt."

"Their fur is just as soft and shiny as silk," said Janey.

"Yas," said Aunt Nancy, "hit's dat sof an' shiny dat, dough dey live all time in de dirt, not a speck er dirt sticks to 'em. You ses 'sof an' shiny ez silk,' but I tell you hit _is_ silk; silk clo'es, dat 'zackly w'at 'tis."

Ned laughed. "Who ever heard of an animal dressed in silk clothes?" he said.

"Nemmine," she answered, "you talks mighty peart, but I knows w'at I knows, an' dish yer I bin tellin' you is de sho'-'nuff trufe."

"Just see its paws," Janey went on, "why, they look exactly like hands."

"Look lak _han's_! _look_ lak han's! umph! dey _is_ han's, all thumbered an' fingered jes lak yo'n; an', w'at's mo', dey wuz onct human ban's; _human_, dey wuz so!"

"How could they ever have been human hands and then been put on a mole's body?" asked Ned. "I believe most things you say, Aunt Nancy, but I can't swallow that."

"Dar's a li'l boy roun' dese diggin's whar talkin' mighty sassy an' rambunkshus, seem ter me. I am' ax you ter swoller nuttin' 't all, but 'pears ter me y'all bin swollerin' dem 'ar ol' tales right an' lef, faster'n' I kin call 'em ter min', an' I am' seed none er you choke on 'em yit, ner cry, 'nuff said. I'se 'tickler saw'y 'bout dis, 'kase I done had hit in min' ter tell you a tale 'bout huccome moleses have han'ses, whar I larn f'um a ooman dat come f'um Fauquier kyounty, but now dat Mars' Ned 'pear ter be so jubous 'bout hit, I ain' gwine was'e my time on folks whar ain' gwine b'lieve me, nohows. Nemmine, de chillen over on de Thompson place gwine baig me fer dat tale w'en I goes dar ag'in, an', w'at's mo', dey gwine git hit; fer dey b'lieves ev'y wu'd dat draps f'um my mouf, lak 'twuz de law an' de gospil."

Of course, the children protested that they were as ready to hang upon her words as the Thompson children could possibly be, and presented their prior claim to the tale in such moving fashion that Aunt Nancy was finally prevailed upon to come down from her high horse and tell the story.

"I done tol' you," she said, "dat dem 'ar han's is human, an' I mean jes' w'at I ses, 'kase de moleses useter be folks, sho'-'nuff folks, dough dey is all swunk up ter dis size an' der han's is all dat's lef ter tell de tale. Yas, suh, in de ol' days, so fur back dat you kain't kyount hit, de moleses wuz folks, an' mighty proud an' biggitty folks at dat. Dey wan't gwine be ketched wearin' any er dish yer kaliker, er linsey-woolsey, er homespun er sech ez dat, ner even broadclawf, ner bombazine, naw suh! Dey jes' tricked derse'fs out in de fines' an' shinies' er silk, nuttin' mo' ner less, an' den dey went a-traipsin' up an' down an' hether an' yon, fer tu'rr folks ter look at an' mek 'miration over. Mo'n dat, dey 'uz so fine an' fiddlin' dey oon set foot ter de groun' lessen dar wuz a kyarpet spread down fer 'em ter walk on. Dey tells me hit sut'n'y wuz a sight in de worl' ter see dem 'ar folks walkin' up an' down on de kyarpets, trailin' an' rus'lin' der silk clo'es, an' curchyin' an' bobbin' ter one nu'rr w'en dey met up, but nuver speakin' ter de common folks whar walkin' on de groun', ner even so much ez lookin' at 'em. W'ats mo', dey wuz so uppish dey thought de yearf wuz too low down fer 'em even ter run der eyes over, so dey went 'long wid der haids r'ared an' der eyes all time lookin' up, stidder down. You kin be sho' dem gwines-on ain' mek 'em pop'lous wid tu'rr folks, 'kase people jes' natchelly kain't stan' hit ter have you th'owin' up to 'em dat you is better'n w'at dey is, w'en all de time dey knows you're nuttin' but folks, same 'z dem.

"Dey kep' gwine on so-fashion, an' gittin' mo' an' mo' pompered an' uppish, 'twel las' dey 'tracted de 'tention er de Lawd, an' He say ter Hisse'f, He do, 'Who is dese yer folks, anyhows, whar gittin' so airish, walkin' up an' down an' back an' fo'th on my yearf an' spurnin' hit so's't dey spread kyarpets 'twix' hit an' der footses, treatin' my yearf, w'at I done mek, lak 'twuz de dirt un'need der footses, an' 'spisin' der feller creeturs an' excusin' 'em er bein' common, an' keepin' der eyes turnt up all de time, ez ef dey wuz too good ter look at de things I done mek an' putt on my yearf? I mus' see 'bout dis; I mus' punish dese 'sumptious people an' show 'em dat one'r my creeturs is jez' ez low down ez tu'rr, in my sight.'

"So de Lawd He pass jedgment on de moleses. Fus' He tuck an' made 'em lose der human shape an' den He swunk 'em up ontwel dey 'z no bigger'n dey is now, dat 'uz ter show 'em how no-kyount dey wuz in His sight. Den bekase dey thought derse'fs too good ter walk 'pun de bare groun' He sont 'em ter live un'need hit, whar dey hatter dig an' scratch der way 'long. Las' uv all He tuck an' tuck 'way der eyes an' made 'em blin', dat's 'kase dey done 'spise ter look at der feller creeturs. But He feel kind er saw'y fer 'em w'en He git dat fur, an' He ain' wanter punish 'em too haivy, so He lef 'em dese silk clo'es whar I done tol' you 'bout, an' dese han's whar you kin see fer yo'se'fs is human, an' I reckon bofe dem things putt 'em in min' er w'at dey useter be an' rack 'em 'umble. Uver sence den de moleses bin gwine 'long un'need de groun', 'cordin ter de jedgmen' er de Lawd, an' diggin' an' scratchin' der way thu de worl', in trial an' tribilashun, wid dem po' li'l human han'ses. An' dat orter l'arn you w'at comes er folks 'spisin' der feller creeturs, an' I want y'all ter 'member dat nex' time I year you call dem Thompson chillen 'trash.'"

"I'd like to know what use moles are," said Ned, who was of rather an investigating turn of mind; "they just go round rooting through the ground spoiling people's gardens, and I don't see what they're good for; you can't eat them or use them any way."

"Sho', chil'!" said Aunt Nancy, "you dunno w'at you talkin' 'bout; de Lawd have some use fer ev'y creetur He done mek. Dey tells me dat de moleses eats up lots er bugs an' wu'ms an' sech ez dat, dat mought hurt de craps ef dey wuz let ter live. Sidesen dat, jes' gimme one'r de claws er dat mole, an' lemme hang hit roun' de neck uv a baby whar cuttin' his toofs, an' I boun' you, ev'y toof in his jaws gwine come bustin' thu his goms widout nair' a ache er a pain ter let him know dey's dar. Don't talk ter me 'bout de moleses bein' wufless! I done walk de flo' too much wid cryin' babies not ter know de use er moleses."

"You don't really believe that, do you?" asked Ned.

"B'lieve hit!" she answered indignantly; "I don' _b'lieve_ hit, I _knows_ hit. I done tol' you all de things a hyar's foot kin do; w'ats de reason a mole's foot ain' good fer sump'n, too? Ef folks on'y knowed mo' about sech kyores ez dat dar neenter be so much sickness an' mis'ry in de worl'. I done kyored myse'f er de rheumatiz in my right arm jes' by tyin' a eel-skin roun' hit, an' ev'yb'dy on dis plantation knows dat ef you'll wrop a chil's hya'r wid eel-skin strings hit's boun' ter mek hit grow. Ef you want de chil' hisse'f ter grow an' ter walk soon you mus' bresh his feet wid de broom. I oon tell you dis ef I hadn't tried 'em myse'f. You mus'n' talk so biggitty 'bout w'at you dunno nuttin' 't all about. You come f'um up Norf yonner, an' mebbe dese things don' wu'k de same dar ez w'at dey does down yer whar we bin 'pendin' on 'em so long."

A PSALM OF LIFE

BY PHOEBE CARY

Tell me not, in idle jingle,
Marriage is an empty dream,
For the girl is dead that's single,
And things are not what they seem.

Married life is real, earnest,
Single blessedness a fib,
Taken from man, to man returnest,
Has been spoken of the rib.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Nearer brings the wedding-day.

Life is long, and youth is fleeting,
And our hearts, if there we search,
Still like steady drums are beating
Anxious marches to the Church.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle;
Be a woman, be a wife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act--act in the living Present.
Heart within, and Man ahead!

Lives of married folks remind us
We can live our lives as well,
And, departing, leave behind us;--
Such examples as will tell;--

Such examples, that another,
Sailing far from Hymen's port,
A forlorn, unmarried brother,
Seeing, shall take heart, and court.

Let us then be up and doing,
With the heart and head begin;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor, and to win!

AN ODYSSEY OF K'S

BY WILBUR D. NESBIT

I've traveled up and down this land
And crossed it in a hundred ways,
But somehow can not understand
These towns with names chock-full of K's.
For instance, once it fell to me
To pack my grip and quickly go--
I thought at first to Kankakee
But then remembered Kokomo.
"Oh, Kankakee or Kokomo,"
I sighed, "just which I do not know."

Then to the ticket man I went--
He was a snappy man, and bald,
Behind an iron railing pent--
And I confessed that I was stalled.
"A much K'd town is booked for me,"
I said. "I'm due to-morrow, so
I wonder if it's Kankakee
Or if it can be Kokomo."
"There's quite a difference," growled he,
"'Twixt Kokomo and Kankakee."

He spun a yard of tickets out--
The folded kind that makes a strip
And leaves the passenger in doubt
When the conductor takes a clip.
He flipped the tickets out, I say,
And asked: "Now, which one shall it be?
I'll sell you tickets either way--
To Kokomo or Kankakee."
And still I really did not know--
I thought it might be Kokomo.

At any rate, I took a chance;
He struck his stamp-machine a blow
And I, a toy of circumstance,
Was ticketed for Kokomo.
Upon the train I wondered still
If all was right as it should be.
Some mystic warning seemed to fill
My mind with thoughts of Kankakee,
The car-wheels clicked it out: "Now, he
Had better be for Kankakee!"

Until at last it grew so loud,
At some big town I clambered out
And elbowed madly through the crowd,
Determined on the other route.
The ticket-agent saw my haste;
"Where do you wish to go?" cried he.
I yelled: "I have no time to waste--
Please fix me up for Kankakee!"
Again the wheels, now fast, now slow,
Clicked: "Ought to go to Kokomo!"

Well, anyhow, I did not heed
The message that they sent to me.
I went, and landed wrong indeed--
Went all the way to Kankakee.
Then, in a rush, I doubled back--
Went wrong again, I'd have you know.
There was no call for me, alack!
Within the town of Kokomo.

And then I learned, confound the luck,
I should have gone to _Keokuk_!

THE DEACON'S TROUT

BY HENRY WARD BEECHER

He was a curious trout. I believe he knew Sunday just as well as Deacon Marble did. At any rate, the deacon thought the trout meant to aggravate him. The deacon, you know, is a little waggish. He often tells about that trout. Sez he, "One Sunday morning, just as I got along by the willows, I heard an awful splash, and not ten feet from shore I saw the trout, as long as my arm, just curving over like a bow, and going down with something for breakfast. Gracious! says I, and I almost jumped out of the wagon. But my wife Polly, says she, 'What on airth are you thinkin' of, Deacon? It's Sabbath day, and you're goin' to meetin'! It's a pretty business for a deacon!' That sort o' cooled me off. But I do say that, for about a minute, I wished I wasn't a deacon. But 't wouldn't made any difference, for I came down next day to mill on purpose, and I came down once or twice more, and nothin' was to be seen, tho' I tried him with the most temptin' things. Wal, next Sunday I came along ag'in, and, to save my life I couldn't keep off worldly and wanderin' thoughts. I tried to be sayin' my catechism, but I couldn't keep my eyes off the pond as we came up to the willows. I'd got along in the catechism, as smooth as the road, to the Fourth Commandment, and was sayin' it out loud for Polly, and jist as I was sayin: '_What is required in the Fourth Commandment?_' I heard a splash, and there was the trout, and, afore I could think, I said: 'Gracious, Polly, I must have that trout.' She almost riz right up, 'I knew you wa'n't sayin' your catechism hearty. Is this the way you answer the question about keepin' the Lord's day? I'm ashamed, Deacon Marble,' says she. 'You'd better change your road, and go to meetin' on the road over the hill. If I was a deacon, I wouldn't let a fish's tail whisk the whole catechism out of my head'; and I had to go to meetin' on the hill road all the rest of the summer."

ENOUGH[2]

BY TOM MASSON

I shot a rocket in the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where
Until next day, with rage profound,
The man it fell on came around.
In less time than it takes to tell,
He showed me where that rocket fell;
And now I do not greatly care
To shoot more rockets in the air.

[Footnote 2: By permission of Life Publishing Company.]

THE FIGHTING RACE

BY JOSEPH I.C. CLARKE

"Read out the names!" and Burke sat back,
And Kelly drooped his head,
While Shea--they call him Scholar Jack--
Went down the list of the dead.
Officers, seamen, gunners, marines,
The crews of the gig and yawl,
The bearded man and the lad in his teens,
Carpenters, coal-passers--all.
Then knocking the ashes from out his pipe,
Said Burke, in an off-hand way,
"We're all in that dead man's list, by Cripe!
Kelly and Burke and Shea."
"Well, here's to the Maine, and I'm sorry for Spain!"
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.

"Wherever there's Kellys there's trouble," said Burke.
"Wherever fighting's the game,
Or a spice of danger in grown man's work,"
Said Kelly, "you'll find my name."
"And do we fall short," said Burke, getting mad,
"When it's touch and go for life?"
Said Shea, "It's thirty-odd years, be dad,
Since I charged to drum and fife
Up Marye's Heights, and my old canteen
Stopped a Rebel ball on its way.
There were blossoms of blood on our sprigs of green--
Kelly and Burke and Shea--
And the dead didn't brag." "Well, here's to the flag!"
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.

"I wish 'twas in Ireland, for there's the place,"
Said Burke, "that we'd die by right,
In the cradle of our soldier race,
After one good stand-up fight.
My grandfather fell on Vinegar Hill,
And fighting was not his trade;
But his rusty pike's in the cabin still,
With Hessian blood on the blade."
"Aye, aye," said Kelly, "the pikes were great
When the word was 'Clear the way!'
We were thick on the roll in ninety-eight--
Kelly and Burke and Shea."
"Well, here's to the pike and the sword and the like!"
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.

And Shea, the scholar, with rising joy,
Said "We were at Ramillies.
We left our bones at Fontenoy,
And up in the Pyrenees,
Before Dunkirk, on Landen's plain,
Cremona, Lille, and Ghent,
We're all over Austria, France, and Spain,
Wherever they pitched a tent.
We've died for England from Waterloo
To Egypt and Dargai;
And still there's enough for a corps or crew,
Kelly and Burke and Shea."
"Well, here is to good honest fighting blood!"
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.

"Oh, the fighting races don't die out,
If they seldom die in bed,
For love is first in their hearts, no doubt,"
Said Burke. Then Kelly said:
"When Michael, the Irish Archangel, stands,
The angel with the sword,
And the battle-dead from a hundred lands
Are ranged in one big horde,
Our line, that for Gabriel's trumpet waits,
Will stretch tree deep that day,
From Jehoshaphat to the Golden Gates--
Kelly and Burke and Shea."
"Well, here's thank God for the race and the sod!"
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.

THE ORGAN

BY HENRY WARD BEECHER

At one of his week night lectures, Beecher was speaking about the building and equipping of new churches. After a few satirical touches about church architects and their work, he went on to ridicule the usual style of pulpit--the "sacred mahogany tub"--"plastered up against some pillar like a barn-swallow's nest." Then he passed on to the erection of the organ, and to the opening recital.

"The organ long expected has arrived, been unpacked, set up, and gloried over. The great players of the region round about, or of distant celebrity, have had the grand organ exhibition; and this magnificent instrument has been put through all its paces in a manner which has surprised every one, and, if it had had a conscious existence, must have surprised the organ itself most of all. It has piped, fluted, trumpeted, brayed, thundered. It has played so loud that everybody was deafened, and so soft that nobody could hear. The pedals played for thunder, the flutes languished and coquetted, and the swell died away in delicious suffocation, like one singing a sweet song under the bed-clothes. Now it leads down a stupendous waltz with full brass, sounding very much as if, in summer, a thunderstorm should play, 'Come, Haste to the Wedding,' or 'Moneymusk.' Then come marches, galops, and hornpipes. An organ playing hornpipes ought to have elephants as dancers.

"At length a fugue is rendered to show the whole scope and power of the instrument. The theme, like a cautious rat, peeps out to see if the coast is clear; and, after a few hesitations, comes forth and begins to frisk a little, and run up and down to see what it can find. It finds just what it did not want, a purring tenor lying in ambush and waiting for a spring; and as the theme comes incautiously near, the savage cat of a tenor springs at it, misses its hold, and then takes after it with terrible earnestness. But the tenor has miscalculated the agility of the theme. All that it could do, with the most desperate effort, was to keep the theme from running back into its hole again; and so they ran up and down, around and around, dodging, eluding, whipping in and out of every corner and nook, till the whole organ was aroused, and the bass began to take part, but unluckily slipped and rolled down-stairs, and lay at the bottom raving and growling in the most awful manner, and nothing could appease it. Sometimes the theme was caught by one part, and dangled for a moment, then with a snatch, another part took it and ran off exultant, until, unawares, the same trick was played on it; and, finally, all the parts, being greatly exercised in mind, began to chase each other promiscuously in and out, up and down, now separating and now rushing in full tilt together, until everything in the organ loses patience and all the 'stops' are drawn, and, in spite of all that the brave organist could do--who bobbed up and down, feet, hands, head and all--the tune broke up into a real row, and every part was clubbing every other one, until at length, patience being no longer a virtue, the organist, with two or three terrible crashes, put an end to the riot, and brought the great organ back to silence."

MY GRANDMOTHER'S TURKEY-TAIL FAN

BY SAMUEL MINTURN PECK

It owned not the color that vanity dons
Or slender wits choose for display;
Its beautiful tint was a delicate bronze,
A brown softly blended with gray.
From her waist to her chin, spreading out without break,
'Twas built on a generous plan:
The pride of the forest was slaughtered to make
My grandmother's turkey-tail fan.

For common occasions it never was meant:
In a chest between two silken cloths
'Twas kept safely hidden with careful intent
In camphor to keep out the moths.
'Twas famed far and wide through the whole countryside,
From Beersheba e'en unto Dan;
And often at meeting with envy 'twas eyed,
My grandmother's turkey-tail fan.

Camp-meetings, indeed, were its chiefest delight.
Like a crook unto sheep gone astray
It beckoned backsliders to re-seek the right,
And exhorted the sinners to pray.
It always beat time when the choir went wrong,
In psalmody leading the van.
Old Hundred, I know, was its favorite song--
My grandmother's turkey-tail fan.

A fig for the fans that are made nowadays,
Suited only to frivolous mirth!
A different thing was the fan that I praise,
Yet it scorned not the good things of earth.
At bees and at quiltings 'twas aye to be seen;
The best of the gossip began
When in at the doorway had entered serene
My grandmother's turkey-tail fan.

Tradition relates of it wonderful tales.
Its handle of leather was buff.
Though shorn of its glory, e'en now it exhales
An odor of hymn-books and snuff.
Its primeval grace, if you like, you can trace:
'Twas limned for the future to scan,
Just under a smiling gold-spectacled face,
My grandmother's turkey-tail fan.

_HOW TO ENJOY THE ECSTASY THAT ACCOMPANIES SUCCESSFUL SPEAKING_

Before An Audience

OR

The Use of the Will in Public Speaking

By NATHAN SHEPPARD

_Talks to the Students of the University of St. Andrew and the University of Aberdeen_

This is not a book on elocution, but it deals in a practical common-sense way with the requirements and constituents of effective public speaking.

CAPITAL, FAMILIAR, AND RACY

"I shall recommend it to our three schools of elocution. It is
capital, familiar, racy, and profoundly philosophical."--_Joseph T.
Duryea, D.D._

REPLETE WITH PRACTICAL SENSE

"It is replete with practical sense and sound suggestions, and I
should like to have it talked into the students by the
author."--_Prof. J.H. Gilmore_, Rochester University.

"KNOCKS TO FLINDERS" OLD THEORIES

"The author knocks to flinders the theories of elocutionist, and
opposes all their rules with one simple counsel--'Wake up your
will.'"--_The New York Evangelist._

TO REACH, MOVE, AND INFLUENCE MEN

"He does not teach elocution, but the art of public speaking....
Gives suggestions that will enable one to reach and move and
influence men."--_The Pittsburg Chronicle._

_12mo, Cloth, 152 Pages. Price, 75 cents_

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers NEW YORK and LONDON

_FORCEFUL SPEAKING BY NEW METHODS_

THE ESSENTIALS OF ELOCUTION

_Revised, Enlarged, New Matter_

By ALFRED AYRES

_Author of "The Orthoepist," "The Verbalist," etc., etc._

A unique and valuable guide on the art of speaking the language so as to make the thought it expresses clear and impressive. It is a departure from the old and conventional methods which have tended so often to make mere automatons on the platform or stage instead of animated souls.

_HIGHLY PRAISED BY AUTHORITIES_

"It is worth more than all the ponderous philosophies on the
subject."--_The Lutheran Observer._

"It is a case where brevity is the soul of value."--_The Rochester
Herald._

"His suggestions are simple and sensible."--_The
Congregationalist._

"An unpretentious but really meritorious volume."--_Dramatic
Review._

"Mr. Ayres has made this subject a study for many years, and what
he has written is worth reading"--_The Dramatic News._

"It is brightly written and original."--_Richard Henry Stoddard._

_16mo, Cloth, 174 Pages, Tasteful Binding Deckle Edges. With Frontispiece. 75 cts._

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers NEW YORK and LONDON

HOW TO SPEAK IN PUBLIC

_A Most Suggestive and Practical Self-Instructor_

By GRENVILLE KLEISER

Author of "Power and Personality in Speaking," etc.

This new book is a complete elocutionary manual comprizing numerous exercises for developing the speaking voice, deep breathing, pronunciation, vocal expression, and gesture; also selections for practise from masterpieces of ancient and modern eloquence. It is intended for students, teachers, business men, lawyers, clergymen, politicians, clubs, debating societies, and, in fact, every one interested in the art of public speaking.

_OUTLINE OF CONTENTS_

Mechanics of Elocution Previous Preparation Mental Aspects Physical Preparation Public Speaking Mental Preparation Selections for Practise Moral Preparation Preparation of Speech

"Many useful suggestions in it."--_Hon. Joseph H. Choate_, New
York.

"It is admirable and practical instruction in the technic of
speaking, and I congratulate you upon your thorough work."--_Hon.
Albert J. Beveridge._

"The work has been very carefully and well compiled from a large
number of our best works on the subject of elocution. It contains
many admirable suggestions for those who are interested in becoming
better speakers. As a general text for use in teaching public
speaking, it may be used with great success."

_John W. Wetzel_, Instructor in Public Speaking, Yale University,
New Haven, Conn.

_12mo, Cloth. $1.25, Net; Post-paid, $1.40_

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers NEW YORK and LONDON

HOW TO DEVELOP

Power and Personality

IN SPEAKING

By GRENVILLE KLEISER

Author of "How to Speak in Public." Introduction by Lewis O. Brastow, D.D., _Professor Emeritus, Yale Divinity School_

This new book gives practical suggestions and exercises for Developing Power and Personality in Speaking. It has many selections for practise.

POWER.--Power of Voice--Power of Gesture--Power of Vocabulary--Power of Imagination--Power of English Style--Power of Illustration--Power of Memory--Power of Extempore Speech--Power of Conversation--Power of Silence--Power of a Whisper--Power of the Eye.

PERSONALITY.--More Personality for the Lawyer--The Salesman--The Preacher--The Politician--The Physician--The Congressman--The Alert Citizen.

"I give it my hearty commendation. It should take its place upon
the library shelves of every public speaker; be read carefully,
consulted frequently, and held as worthy of faithful obedience. For
lack of the useful hints that here abound, many men murder the
truth by their method of presenting it."--S. PARKES CADMAN, D.D.,
Brooklyn, N.Y.

"It is a book of value. The selections are fine. It is an excellent
book for college students."--WM. P. FRYE, _President pro tem. of
the United States Senate._

_12mo, Cloth, 422 pages. Price, $1.25, net; by mail, $1.40_

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers NEW YORK AND LONDON

How to Develop

Self-Confidence

in Speech and Manner

By GRENVILLE KLEISER

_Author of "How to Speak in Public"; "How to Develop Power and Personality in Speaking," etc._

The purpose of this book is to inspire in men lofty ideals. It is particularly for those who daily defraud themselves because of doubt, fearthought, and foolish timidity.

Thousands of persons are held in physical and mental bondage, owing to lack of self-confidence. Distrusting themselves, they live a life of limited effort, and at last pass on without having realized more than a small part of their rich possessions. It is believed that this book will be of substantial service to those who wish to rise above mediocrity, and who feel within them something of their divine inheritance. It is commended with confidence to every ambitious man.

_CONTENTS_

Preliminary Steps--Building the Will--The Cure of
Self-Consciousness--The Power of Right Thinking--Sources of
Inspiration--Concentration--Physical Basis--Finding
Yourself--General Habits--The Man and the Manner--The Discouraged
Man--Daily Steps in Self-Culture--Imagination and
Initiative--Positive and Negative Thought--The Speaking
Voice--Confidence in Business--Confidence in Society--Confidence in
Public Speaking--Toward the Heights--Memory Passages that Build
Confidence.

_12mo, Cloth. $1.25, net; by mail, $1.35_

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers NEW YORK AND LONDON

How to

ARGUE AND WIN

IN CONVERSATION, IN SALESMANSHIP, IN COMMITTEE-MEETINGS, IN JURY CASES, IN THE PULPIT, ON THE ROSTRUM, IN DEBATING SOCIETIES.

By GRENVILLE KLEISER

_Author of "How to Speak in Public," etc._

In this book will be found definite suggestions for training the mind in accurate thinking and in the power of clear and effective statement. It is the outcome of many years of experience in teaching men "to think on their feet." The aim throughout is practical, and the ultimate end is a knowledge of successful argumentation.

CONTENTS

Introductory--Truth and Facts--Clearness and Conciseness--The Use
of Words--The Syllogism--Faults--Personality--The Lawyer--The
Business Man--The Preacher--The Salesman--The Public
Speaker--Brief-Drawing--The Discipline of Debate--Tact--Cause and
Effect--Reading Habits--Questions for Solution--Specimens of
Argumentation--Golden Rules in Argumentation.

Note for Law Lecture _Abraham Lincoln_ Of Truth _Francis Bacon_ Of Practise and Habits _John Locke_ Improving the Memory _Isaac Watts_

"Mr. Kleiser offers no panacea (as the title might seem to imply).
Logic will not make a dunce a philosopher, neither will it insure
success where success is not deserved. But what he does offer the
honest debater in this practical book, is to put him in possession
of those laws of argumentation which lie at the bottom of sound
reasoning, based on fact."--_Times-Dispatch_, Richmond, Va.

_12mo, Cloth. $1.25, net; by mail, $1.35_

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers, NEW YORK AND LONDON

How to Read and Declaim

A COURSE OF INSTRUCTION IN READING AND DECLAMATION HAVING AS ITS PRIME OBJECT THE CULTIVATION OF TASTE AND REFINEMENT

By GRENVILLE KLEISER

_Formerly Instructor in Public Speaking at Yale Divinity School; Author of "How to Speak in Public," etc._

This eminently practical book is divided into five parts: