SCENE I. _Sea-shore, with the castle on the rocks.

MEG.――So, so; his death is purposed; and they have chosen the scene of one murder to commit another. Right! the blood spilt on that spot has long cried for vengeance, and it shall fall upon them. Sebastian, speed to Dinmont and the youth; tell them not to separate for their lives――guide them to the glen near the tower; there let them wait till Glossin and Hatteraick meet in the cavern, and I will join them. Away, and do my bidding! (_Exit Sebastian._) Now to send to Mannering; I must remain on the watch myself――Gabriel I dare not trust. Ha! who comes now? ’Tis Abel Sampson, Henry Bertram’s ancient tutor! It shall be so. (_Advance._) Stop! I command ye!

LUCY.――She’s mad!

MEG.――No; I am not mad! I’ve been imprisoned for mad, scourged for mad, banished for mad; but mad I am not! Halt, and stand fast, or ye shall rue the day while a limb of you hangs together! Stay, thou tremblest! (_Take out an old black whiskey bottle and hold it out to Sampson, left._) Drink of this and put some heart in ye, or I will―― Can your learning tell you what that is, eh? Will you remember my errand now? Ay! then tell Colonel Mannering, if ever he owed a debt to the house of Ellangowan, and hopes to see it prosper, he must come instantly, armed and well attended, to the glen, below the tower of Derncleugh, and fail not on his life! You know the spot! Ay, Abel Sampson, there blazed my hearth for many a day! and there, beneath the willow that hung its garlands over the brook, I’ve sat and sung to Harry Bertram, songs of the old time. That tree is wither’d now, never to be green again, and old Meg Merrilies will never, never sing blythe songs more. But I charge you, Abel Sampson, when the heir shall have his own――as soon as he shall――that you tell him not to forget Meg Merrilies, but to build up the old walls in the glen for her sake, and let those that live there be too good to fear the beings of another world, for, if ever the dead come back among the living, I will be seen in that glen many a night after these crazed old bones are whitened in the mouldering grave! ha! ha! (_Laugh and stagger back._)

I have said it, old man! ye shall see him again, and the best lord he shall be that Ellangowan has seen these hundred years. But you’re o’er long here. To Mannering! Away! and bid him come to that spot instantly, or the heir of Ellangowan may perish forever! Away, away! (_Exit while speaking the last two words._)

――_Sir Walter Scott._

The Dukite Snake.

Well, mate, you’ve asked me about a fellow You met to-day in a black and yellow Chain-gang suit, with a peddler’s pack, Or with some such burden strapped to his back. Did you meet him square? No, passed you by?[1210] Well, if you had, and had looked in his eye, You’d have felt for your irons then and there; For the light of his eye is a madman’s glare. Some eight years back, in the spring of the year, He came from Scotland and settled here.[1211]

A splendid young fellow he was just then, And one of the bravest and truest of men. In a year his wife came, and he showed her round His sandal-wood and his crops in the ground, And spoke of the future; they cried for joy, The husband’s arm clasping his wife and boy.

Well, friend, if a little of heaven’s best bliss Ever comes from the upper world[1212] to this, It came into that manly bushman’s life, And circled him round with the arms of his wife.

God bless that bright memory! Even to me, A rough, lonely man, did she seem to be, While living, an angel[1213] of God’s pure love, And now I could pray to her face above. And David――he loved her as only a man With a heart as large as was his heart, can. I wondered how they could have lived apart, For he was her idol, and she was his heart.

Friends, there isn’t much more of the tale to tell; I was talking of angels awhile since. Well, Now I’ll change to a devil――ay, to a devil![1214] You needn’t start; if a spirit of evil Ever came to this world its hate to slake On mankind, it came as a dukite snake, Now, mark[1215] you, these dukites don’t go alone; There’s another near when you see but one; And beware you of killing that one you see Without finding the other; for you may be More than twenty miles from the spot that night, When camped, but you’re tracked by the lone dukite, That will follow[1216] your trail like death or fate, And kill you as sure as you killed its mate.

Well, poor Dave Sloane had his young wife here Three months; ’twas just this time of the year. He had teamed some sandal-wood to the Vasse, And was homeward bound when he saw on the grass[1217] A long red snake.[1218] He had never been told Of the dukite’s ways; he jumped to the road, And smashed[1219] its flat head with the bullock goad. He was proud of the red skin, so he tied Its tail to the cart, and the snake’s blood dyed The bush on the path he followed that night. He was early home, and the dead dukite Was flung at the door to be skinned next day. At sunrise next morning he started away To hunt up his cattle. A three hours’ ride Brought him back; he gazed on his home with pride And joy in his heart; he jumped from his horse And entered――to look on[1220] his young wife’s corse, And his dead child clutching its mother’s clothes As in fright; and there, as he gazed, arose, From her breast, where ’twas resting, the gleaming head Of the terrible dukite, as if it said, “I’ve had vengeance, my foe! you took all I had!” And so had the snake: David Sloane was mad!

I rode to his hut just by chance that night, And there[1221] on the threshold the clear moonlight Showed the two snakes dead. I pushed in[1222] the door; The dead were stretched[1223] on the moonlit floor; The man held the hand of his wife, his pride, His poor life’s treasure, and crouched[1224] by her side. I touched and called him; he heeded me not; So I dug her grave in a quiet spot, And lifted them both, her boy on her breast, And laid them down in the shade to rest. Then I tried to take my poor friend away, But he cried so woefully, “Let me stay[1225] Till she comes again!” that I had no heart To try to persuade him then to part From all that was left to him here――her grave; So I stayed by his side that night, and save One heart-cutting cry, he uttered no sound――

O God! that wail――like the wail of a hound! ’Tis six long years since I heard that cry, But ’twill ring in my ears till the day I die. Since that fearful night no one has heard Poor David Sloane utter sound or word. You have seen to-day how he always goes;[1226] He’s been given that suit of convict’s clothes By some prison officer. On his back You noticed a load like a peddler’s pack? Well, that’s what[1227] he lives for; when reason went, Still memory lived, for his days are spent In searching for dukites; year by year That bundle of skins is growing. ’Tis clear That the Lord out of evil some good still takes; For he’s clearing[1228] this bush of the dukite snakes.

――_J. Boyle O’Reilly._

GESTURES. [1210] H. Sw. [1211] H. O. [1212] A. O. [1213] Look up. [1214] Ind. D. O. [1215] Ind. H. F. [1216] P. D. F. Sw. [1217] D. F. [1218] Trace with finger. [1219] Sp. [1220] P. D. F. [1221] D. F. [1222] V. H. F. [1223] P. D. Sw. [1224] P. D. F. [1225] Clasp hands. [1226] H. Sw. [1227] H. O. [1228] V. H. Sw.

Mad.

This piece won the Post-Graduate medal at the Ninth Annual Commencement of the Mt. Vernon Institute of Elocution and Languages, 1892.

’Twas many years since I had left my home To travel distant lands, but time sped on;[1229] Again with eagerness and wonderment I sought the cherish’d haunts[1230] and friends of yore. One man whom I remember’d as a boy, Whose piercing eyes, pale face, and silken locks Had oft comment attracted, now I found In mad-house pent. He recognized my face, Although he would anon bewilder’d gaze. In changing tones which shed a ling’ring light[1231] Awhile upon his soul, but swiftly turn’d To fierce embitter’d grief, he told me there His all-absorbing tale. ’Twas thus he spoke: “They call me mad. And hour by hour I’m watch’d By lurking keepers, who with looks askance,[1232] Would search my thoughts, and deem themselves unseen, For when I would return their gaze, they droop Their eyes, and with a heedless air pass by.[1233] They call me mad, and so deny[1234] my right To liberty enjoy’d by other men. They call me mad! but know they[1235] what they mean?

“Yea, if vividly to recall the past, And linger with emotions deep and fond On all that yielded life a moment’s joy, And now lies garner’d in sweet Mem’ry’s store―― If this[1236] betokens madness――I am mad. Or if to know with what dear promise youth Was robed――how cherish’d were the constant thoughts Of happiness to come in future years―― And feel how treach’rous was the fate that crush’d[1237] Those thoughts and bade me dare to seek revenge[1238]―― If this may madness prove, then I am mad. And this is why,[1239] forsooth, they deem me so!

“Even now the recollection of the past, In varied visions, float[1240] before mine eyes, And thoughts of old afflictions make me feel How blest[1241] I might have been――how sad I am![1242]

“A group of children trotting[1243] off to school, While two[1244] amongst the rest, a boy and girl, Go hand in hand, and prattle as they go, Then fondly kiss and part, till, school-time o’er, They meet and kiss again, and hand in hand Return to home,[1245] recounting all they’ve learnt. Anon they paddle in the rippling brook,[1246] Their merry voices striving to out-do The babble of the water ’neath their feet; Or, roaming in the fields,[1247] they mimic birds[1248] That seem to sing a sweet accomp’niment To happy childhood passing thus away.

“The glad years speed[1249] along. Those children twain Have ripen’d ’neath the influence of time, For life has but reveal’d its summer days To him[1250] of impulse strong and keen-sensed soul―― To her[1251] of beauteous face and loving heart, And each is happy in the other’s love.

“And this glad pair in childhood and in youth Was Cousin Ruth and I. Oh! it was joy To loiter arm in arm on summer eves By hedge-rows,[1252] or through fields[1253] of long-grown grass Where breath’d sweet-scented breezes all around,[1254] And birds sang anthems to the dying day; Or wonder where the murm’ring river ran,[1255] While tales of love gave birth to cheerful smiles. And just as pleasant in the winter-tide To tread the hard, crisp roads; and watch the stars, That look’d like angel-lovers gladd’ning Earth, While we humm’d homely airs, and never dreamt That aught but death could e’er divide our hearts.

“Ah! Death assumed most unsuspected guise―― The guise of one whom I deemed friend, alas! And whom I’d make my confidant of hopes To be fulfill’d in future happy days. You know[1256] the rest. My friend became my foe, And won the heart of her I loved, though that I might have brook’d in silence and in pain, But he a villain[1257] proved, and mock’d[1258] her tears. I learnt the truth; then sought,[1259] and found him, too, Though not alone, as my heart wish’d. Arose Within my breast[1260] the promptings of wild hate, And, like a furied fiend, with fierce intent I grasp’d[1261] his throat and dash’d[1262] him to the ground, And would have slain[1263] him there had those around Not dragg’d my tight’ning fingers from his flesh.

“Thus foil’d, a sudden impulse seized my soul, And hate[1264] intense begat intenser love.[1265] From those who held me I sprang forth,[1266] then rush’d To find my Ruth and clasp[1267] her to my breast; I yearn’d, at least, to heal her sorrow’d heart, Forget her wrong, and love her as of old. But when I found her, my poor girl was dead; There[1268] on the cruel river’s bank she lay, The water dripping[1269] from her golden hair―― Those golden ringlets I had fondled oft! I clasp’d her hand[1270] and gazed into her eyes, Whose steadfast stare seemed now to pierce me through, And placed my lips against her clay-cold cheek Till presently they bore her[1271] from my sight.

“Night came; the wand’ring wind was wailing wild, And dreary rains were lashing[1272] all the land; I felt them not, I only felt the fire That raged within my soul,[1273] and wander’d on[1274] With pale and haggard features, glaring, blood-shot eyes, Dishevell’d hair, clench’d fists,[1275] and boiling blood! Amid the chaos of my brain[1276] one thought Usurp’d despotic sway, and led me on And on, with purpose fix’d and fierce――to kill,[1277] To murder[1278] him who slew my only love!

“Ere long I found the thing I sought――alone! I heard[1279] the sound of voices, heard them say ‘Good-night,’ ‘Good-night.’ One voice I knew; ’twas his! I cowered low,[1280] till, with quick step, he pass’d, Then, silent as a tiger, follow’d[1281] swift. When he had gain’d the meadow he must cross, I quicken’d pace, and saw him speed before――[1282] ‘Hillo, hillo!’ I cried; he stood to hear, And ere a moment pass’d I reach’d his side. There was a look of terror in his face, And seeing me he scream’d, and would have fled, But, with a grasp of steel, I clutch’d[1283] his throat, And, though he craved for mercy, strangled him, And crush’d[1284] the reptile’s form beneath my foot, Then left him[1285] lying on the meadow path, And onward[1286] swiftly sped――I know not where, Until, o’ercome by agony of heart, Upon the grass[1287] in dark despair I fell! My throat[1288] was parch’d, a mist[1289] came o’er my eyes, My head was rack’d, the blood forsook my veins, And coldness, by degrees, my senses numb’d.[1290]

“When I awoke as ’twere from a long dream Of agonizing thought, I was confined Within these walls,[1291] and knew they call’d me mad.”

GESTURES. [1229] H. Sw. [1230] H. F. [1231] P. H. F. [1232] Eyes Sp. [1233] H. Sw. [1234] D. L. [1235] H. O. [1236] H. F. [1237] P. D. O. [1238] Cli. raised. [1239] H. O. [1240] V. H. Sw. [1241] B. H. O. [1242] Drop hands hopelessly. [1243] H. Sw. [1244] Ind. H. O. [1245] Left H. Sw. [1246] D. F. [1247] H. Sw. [1248] Look up. [1249] H. Sw. [1250] H. O. [1251] Left H. O. [1252] H. O. [1253] Imp. [1254] B. H. O. [1255] H. Sw. [1256] H. F. [1257] Cli. D. [1258] P. Ind. H. O. [1259] H. F. [1260] To breast. [1261] - [1262] B. Sp. [1263] Ind. D. F. [1264] B. Cli. D. [1265] B. H. O. [1266] H. F. [1267] B. Sp. [1268] D. F. [1269] Turn to P. [1270] Sp. [1271] Left H. Sw. [1272] B. P. H. O. [1273] To breast. [1274] H. Sw. [1275] B. Cli. [1276] To head. [1277] Ind. H. O. [1278] Cli. D. O. [1279] Lis. to left. [1280] Bend body. [1281] H. Sw. [1282] H. F. [1283] B. Sp. [1284] B. P. D. F. [1285] D. O. [1286] H. F. [1287] P. D. F. [1288] To throat. [1289] To eyes. [1290] P. D. O. [1291] B. H. O.

A Woman’s Vengeance.

I thank[1292] you for your sympathy, But help! No,[1293] there is none for me. For what I’ve done I feel no sting Of penitence, nor can time bring One pang of sorrow. You may think Me hard, unfeeling, and may shrink[1294] From me with loathing when I say, I’m glad my bullet found the way Into his heart; and I would do The same again, and glory,[1295] too, In having done it. Penalty! For what they now may do with me I care but little.[1296] He is dead, And that ends all. What made me do the deed? The old, Old[1297] time-worn story of man’s cold And heartless cruelty; of wrongs Heaped on her head,[1298] to whom belongs At least respect,[1299] if nothing more. I met him――him, my husband――just Five years ago. My God! what trust I placed in his fair words, so soft, So sweet, so full of love. But love is blind, And I was madly so. The first two years Were full[1300] of joy――joy without tears. My life was of peaceful love. But, ah! the change came sudden, fast; My summer sun was overcast.[1301] The godlike being that I thought Of all mankind[1302] most perfect wrought, Tore off[1303] the mask that hid his face, And, to my horror,[1304] in his place Revealed a demon,[1305] blackest-hued, Remorseless, pitiless, imbued With all the wickedness that heart Can hold, or shameless sin[1306] impart The loving words to curses[1307] turned; My fond advances all were spurned.[1308] I soon became for him a thing To tread upon――a clod to fling[1309] From out his path. I took my child And fled[1310] one night, half maddened, wild, Far from his sight――I cared not where So I again his face might ne’er Behold. But soon once more with words That seemed to me like songs of birds[1311] He sought me out, and with eyes Filled with repentant tears, implored Forgiveness; and I――fool![1312] ignored[1313] The past, forgot my woes, and went Back to his home with heart content. O Heaven![1314] could I have but foreseen, Could I have known he did not mean To keep the vows so freely made! Once more his promises were cast Aside,[1315] as idle words, and worse Than e’en before――a daily curse[1316] My life became. Then came at last the final blow―― The worst that love can contemplate, And which can turn that love to hate.[1317] One night, when he had gone from me, I found a letter which he carelessly Had overlooked. The script[1318] was small And neat――a woman’s hand! A wall Of fire outstretched[1319] before my eyes; A nameless horror seemed to rise. No, no! this could not be. He might Be bad, be dead to sense of right, But false! O Heaven![1320] The dreadful thought Surged in my brain.[1321] I crushed[1322] it, fought[1323] It down with frenzied eagerness. The note was open; chilled, nerveless, I drew it[1324] from its fold and read, [1325]“This night to meet him,” so it said. This night! how throbbed[1326] my aching head! Her house it gave――the place, the hour―― I seemed renewed with sudden power. He[1327] would be there, and so would I.[1328] I cast[1329] the hated letter by; My child from off the floor I clasped, And from the bureau drawer I grasped A loaded pistol that would right My wrong. So out[1330] into the night, Into the raging storm, I fled, My babe clasped[1331] in my arms. I could but repeat, “False! false! I’ll be revenged!”[1332] My soul Now stirred and roused beyond control, Was filled with one desire alone, And that was that he should atone[1333] For this――to woman――foulest[1334] wrong. So through the night I sped along Until I reached her house. And then I heard[1335] A voice within――his voice! Each word In sweet and loving tenderness, And accents that _my_[1336] heart should bless Were lavished on _her_[1337] listening ears. I listened, listened,[1338] all unseen, Until I thought I should go wild.[1339] Then, with a desperate hand, flung wide[1340] The casement. With a bound, beside The two[1341] I stood. She started――screamed; He turned[1342] and saw me, and then seemed A moment as if turned to stone; And as his baseness I made known, She――poor thing――with a long, low cry, Sank[1343] to the floor despairingly. Then, like a fiend let loose from hell, He toward[1344] me leaped with one fierce yell, And grasping[1345] quick a heavy chair Cried, “Curse you!” whirled it high[1346] in air. I sprang aside[1347] in sudden dread; The blow fell full upon the head Of my sweet child, that lifeless dropped Back in my arms. My heart throbs[1348] stopped; A red mist swam[1349] before my sight; I could not scream, try as I might. I grasped the pistol[1350] from my breast, _And then I killed[1351] him!_ All the rest For days to me was blank;[1352] and when―― O Heaven! why did I not die then? At last my sense came back. I would Have taken my own life if I could. But it perhaps was better[1353] so; God will not judge me hard, I know. And when, in answer to His call, I stand within the heavenly hall,[1354] And the Blessed One Says, “Why hast thou transgressed my laws?” My babe shall plead its mother’s[1355] cause.

――_Thomas F. Wilford._

GESTURES. [1292] Bow head. [1293] V. Con. [1294] B. V. to right. [1295] A. O. [1296] Shrug shoulders. [1297] H. B. [1298] P. H. O. [1299] H. O. [1300] B. H. O. [1301] V. A. O. [1302] B. H. O. [1303] V. Sp. [1304] B. V. to R. [1305] Ind. D. O. [1306] P. D. O. [1307] Cli. D. [1308] V. H. O. [1309] Left D. Sw. [1310] H. L. [1311] A. O. [1312] B. Cli. D. [1313] V. H. O. [1314] Clasp hands. [1315] V. H. L. [1316] B. Cli. D. [1317] P. D. O. [1318] Look in left hand. [1319] V. H. Sw. [1320] Clasp to breast. [1321] To head. [1322] B. P. D. [1323] B. Cli. D. [1324] Sp. [1325] Trace on left hand. [1326] Hand to head. [1327] H. O. [1328] To self. [1329] Left Sp. [1330] H. F. [1331] B. Sp. [1332] Cli. raised. [1333] D. F. [1334] B. Cli. D. [1335] Lis. [1336] To self. [1337] H. O. [1338] Lean to R. and raise hand. [1339] To head. [1340] B. V. Sp. [1341] H. F. [1342] Look to left. [1343] B. D. F. [1344] Left H. O. [1345] - [1346] B. Sp. [1347] Start back. [1348] R. hand to heart. [1349] Left V. Sw. [1350] Sp. [1351] Ind. H. F. [1352] B. V. H. F. [1353] B. H. O. [1354] A. O. [1355] To self.

The Dream of Aldarin.

Arranged by Laura Coleman, who won with it the first gold graduating medal at the Eighth Commencement of the Mt. Vernon Institute of Elocution and Languages, 1891.

A chamber with a low, dark ceiling,[1356] supported by massive rafters[1357] of oak; floors[1358] and walls[1359] of dark stone, unrelieved by wainscot or plaster――bare, rugged, and destitute.

A dim, smoking light,[1360] burning in a vessel of iron, threw[1361] its red and murky beams over the fearful contents of a table. It was piled high[1362] with the unsightly forms of the dead. Prostrate among these mangled bodies, his arms flung carelessly[1363] on either side, slept and dreamed Aldarin[1364]――Aldarin, the Fratricide.

He hung on the verge of a rock, a rock of melting bitumen, that burned his hands to masses of crisped and blackened flesh. The rock projected over[1365] a gulf, to which the cataracts of earth might compare as the rivulet[1366] to the vast ocean.[1367] It was the Cataract of Hell. He looked below. God of Heaven,[1368] what a sight! Fiery waves, convulsed and foaming, with innumerable whirlpools[1369] crimsoned by bubbles of flame. Each whirlpool swallowing millions[1370] of the lost. Each bubble bearing on its surface the face of a soul, lost[1371] and lost forever.[1372]

Borne on by[1373] the waves, they raised[1374] their hands and cast their burning eyes to the skies, and shrieked the eternal death-wail of the lost.

Over this scene, awful and vast, towered a figure[1375] of ebony blackness, his darkened brow concealed[1376] in the clouds, his extended arms grasping[1377] the infinitude of the cataract, his feet resting upon islands of bitumen far in the gulf[1378] below. The eyes of the figure were fixed upon Aldarin,[1379] as he clung with the nervous clasp of despair to the rock, and their gaze curdled[1380] his heated blood.

He was losing his grasp; sliding and sliding from the rock, his feet hung over[1381] the gulf. There was no hope for him. He must fall――fall[1382]――and fall forever. But lo! a stairway,[1383] built of white marble, wide, roomy, and secure, seemed to spring from the very rock to which he clung, winding upward from the abyss, till it was lost in the distance far, far above. He beheld two figures slowly descending[1384]――the figure of a warrior[1385] and the form of a dark-eyed woman.[1386] He knew those figures; he knew them well. They were his victims! Her face, his wife’s! beautiful as when he first wooed her in the gardens of Palestine;[1387] but there was blood[1388] on her vestments, near the heart, and his lip was spotted with one drop of that thick, red blood. “This,” he muttered, “this, indeed, is hell,[1389] and yet I must call for aid――call to them!”[1390] How the thought writhed like a serpent round his very heart.

He drew himself along the rugged rock, clutching[1391] the red-hot ore in the action. He wanted but a single inch, a little inch and he might grasp the marble of the stairway. Another and a desperate effort. His fingers clutched it,[1392] but his strength was gone. He could not hold it in his grasp. With an eye of horrible intensity he looked above. “Thou wilt save me,[1393] Ilmerine, my wife. Thou wilt drag me up to thee.” She stooped. She clutched his blackened fingers and placed them around the marble.[1394] His grasp was tight and desperate. “Julian, O Julian! grasp this hand.[1395] Aid me, O Julian! my brother!” The warrior stooped, laid hold on his hand, and drawing it toward the casement, wound it around[1396] another piece of marble. But again his strength fails. [1397]“Julian, my brother; Ilmerine, my wife, seize me! Drag me from this rock of terror! Save me! O save me!”[1398] She stooped. She unwound finger after finger. She looked at his horror-stricken face and pointed to the red wound in her heart.[1399] He looked toward the other face. “Thou, Julian,[1400] reach me thy hand. Thy hand, or I perish!” The warrior slowly reached forth his hand from beneath the folds of his cloak. He held before the eyes of the doomed a goblet of gold.[1401] It shone and glimmered through the foul air like the beacon fire of hell.

“Take it away![1402] ’Tis the death bowl!” shrieked Aldarin’s livid lips. “I murdered thee. Thou canst not save.” He drew back from the maddening sight. He lost his hold, he slid from the rock, he fell.[1403]

[1404]Above, beneath, around, all[1405] was fire, horror,[1406] death; and still he fell.[1407] “Forever and forever,” rose the shrieks of the lost. All hell groaned aloud, “Ever, ever. Forever and forever,” and his own soul muttered back, “This――this――is――hell!”[1408]

――_George Lippard._

GESTURES. [1356] A. O. [1357] B. A. O. [1358] D. O. [1359] H. O. [1360] H. F. [1361] P. H. Sw. [1362] P. Sp. [1363] Sp. [1364] H. F. [1365] P. D. F. [1366] D. O. [1367] H. Sw. [1368] B. V. H. O. and look down. [1369] Sp. P. D. F. [1370] B. D. O. [1371] D. F. [1372] Imp. [1373] H. Sw. [1374] B. Sp. [1375] Ind. H. F. [1376] V. A. F. [1377] B. P. H. O. [1378] D. F. [1379] Ind. D. F. [1380] B. to heart. [1381] P. D. F. [1382] P. D. Sp. [1383] Trace upward with finger. [1384] Trace downward with finger. [1385] H. F. [1386] Imp. [1387] H. L. [1388] Ind. H. F. [1389] Cli. D. [1390] H. F. [1391] Sp. [1392] Sp. [1393] B. Cla. [1394] Sp. [1395] A. F. [1396] Sp. [1397] B. extended. [1398] Imp. [1399] To self. [1400] Left A. F. [1401] L. Sp. [1402] B. V. H. F. [1403] D. F. [1404] Look around. [1405] B. H. O. [1406] Turn to vertical. [1407] B. D. F. [1408] B. Cli. A.

The Death of Uncle Tom.

Adapted by C. R. Bechtel.

The escape of Cassy and Emmeline irritated the before surly temper of Legree to the last degree; and his fury, as was to be expected, fell upon the defenceless head of Tom. When he hurriedly announced the tidings among his hands, there was a sudden light in Tom’s eye, a sudden upraising of his hands, that did not escape him. He saw that he did not join the muster of the pursuers. He thought of forcing him to do it, but, having had, of old, experience of his inflexibility when commanded to take part in any deed of inhumanity, he would not, in his hurry, stop to enter into any conflict with him.

Tom, therefore, remained behind, with a few who had learned of him to pray, and offered up prayers for the escape of the fugitives.

When Legree returned, baffled and disappointed, all the long-working hatred of his soul toward his slave began to gather in a deadly and desperate form.

“Well, Tom!” said Legree, walking up and seizing him grimly by the collar of his coat, and speaking through his teeth, in a paroxysm of determined rage, “do you know, I’ve made up my mind to kill you?”

“It’s very likely, Mas’r,” said Tom, calmly.

“I have,” said Legree, with grim, terrible calmness, “done――just―― that――thing, Tom, unless you’ll tell me what you know about these yer gals!”

Tom stood silent.

“D’ye hear?” said Legree, stamping, with a roar like that of an incensed lion. “Speak!”

“I han’t got nothing to tell, Mas’r,” said Tom, with a slow, firm, deliberate utterance.

“Do ye dare to tell me, ye old black Christian, ye don’t know?” said Legree.

Tom stood silent.

“Speak!” thundered Legree, striking him furiously. “Do you know anything?”

“I know, Mas’r, but I can’t tell anything. I can die!”

Legree drew in a long breath, and, suppressing his rage, took Tom by the arm, and, approaching his face almost to his, said in a terrible voice, “Hark’e, Tom! ye think, ’cause I’ve let ye off before, I don’t mean what I say; but this time I’ve made up my mind, and counted the cost. You’ve always stood it out agin me; now I’ll conquer ye or kill ye!――one or t’other. I’ll count every drop of blood there is in you, and take ’em, one by one, till ye give up!”

Tom looked up at his master, and answered, “Mas’r, if you was sick, or in trouble, or dying, and I could save ye, I’d give ye my heart’s blood; and if taking every drop of blood in this poor old body would save your precious soul, I’d give ’em freely, as the Lord gave His for me. O Mas’r! don’t bring this great sin on your soul! It will hurt you more than ’twill me! Do the worst you can――my troubles’ll be over soon; but, if ye don’t repent, yours won’t never end!”

Like a strange snatch of heavenly music heard in the lull of a tempest, this burst of feeling made a moment’s blank pause.

Legree stood aghast and looked at Tom, and there was such a silence that the tick of the old clock could be heard measuring, with silent touch, the last moments of mercy and probation to that hardened heart.

It was but a moment. There was one hesitating pause――one irresolute, relenting thrill――and the spirit of evil came back with sevenfold vehemence, and Legree, foaming with rage, smote his victim to the ground.

* * * * *

Two days after, a young man drove a light wagon up through the avenue of China-trees fronting Legree’s house, and, throwing the reins hastily on the horse’s neck, sprang out and inquired for the owner of the place.

It was George Shelby, the son of Tom’s former master.

He was soon introduced into the house, where he found Legree in the sitting-room.

Legree received the stranger with a kind of surly hospitality.

“I understand,” said the young man, “that you bought, in New Orleans, a boy named Tom. He used to be on my father’s place, and I came to see if I couldn’t buy him back.”

Legree’s brow grew dark, and he broke out, passionately:

“Yes, I did buy such a fellow, and a fine bargain I had of it, too! The most rebellious, saucy, impudent dog! Set up my niggers to run away; got off two gals worth eight hundred or a thousand dollars apiece. He owned to that, and when I bid him tell me where they was, he up and said he knew, but he wouldn’t tell, and stood to it, though I gave him the cussedest flogging I ever gave nigger yet. I b’lieve he’s trying to die, but I don’t know as he’ll make it out.”

“Where is he?” said George, impetuously. “Let me see him.”

The cheeks of the young man were crimson and his eyes flashed fire, but he prudently said nothing as yet.

“He’s in dat ar shed,” said a little fellow, who stood holding George’s horse.

Legree kicked the boy and swore at him, but George, without saying another word, turned and strode to the spot.

Tom had been lying two days since the fatal night, not suffering, for every nerve of suffering was blunted and destroyed. He lay, for the most part, in a quiet stupor, for the laws of a powerful and well-knit frame would not at once release the imprisoned spirit. By stealth, there had been there, in the darkness of the night, poor desolated creatures, who stole from their scanty hours’ rest that they might repay to him some of those ministrations of love in which he had always been so abundant. Truly, those poor disciples had little to give――only the cup of cold water――but it was given with full hearts.

When George entered the shed, he felt his head giddy and his heart sick.

“Is it possible――is it possible?” said he, kneeling down by him. “Uncle Tom, my poor, poor old friend!”

Something in the voice penetrated to the ear of the dying. He moved his head gently, smiled, and said――

“Jesus can make a dying bed Feel soft as downy pillows are.”

Tears, which did honor to his manly heart, fell from the young man’s eyes, as he bent over his poor friend.

“Oh! dear Uncle Tom! do wake――do speak once more! Look up! Here’s Mas’r George――your own little Mas’r George. Don’t you know me?”

“Mas’r George!” said Tom, opening his eyes, and speaking in a feeble voice. “Mas’r George!” He looked bewildered.

Slowly the idea seemed to fill his soul, and the vacant eye became fixed and brightened, the whole face lighted up, the hard hands clasped, and tears ran down the cheeks.

“Bless the Lord! it is――it is――it’s all I wanted! They haven’t forgot me. It warms my soul; it does my old heart good! Now I shall die content! Bless the Lord, oh! my soul!”

“You sha’n’t die! you mustn’t die, nor think of it. I’ve come to buy you, and take you home,” said George, with impetuous vehemence.

“Oh! Mas’r George, ye’re too late. The Lord’s bought me, and is going to take me home, and I long to go. Heaven is better than Kintuck.”

“Oh! don’t die! It’ll kill me!――it’ll break my heart to think what you’ve suffered――and living in this old shed here! Poor, poor fellow!”

“Don’t call me poor fellow!” said Tom, solemnly. “I have been poor fellow, but that’s all past and gone now. I’m right in the door, going into glory! Oh! Mas’r George! Heaven has come! I’ve got the victory!――the Lord Jesus has given it to me! Glory to His name!”

At this moment the sudden flush of strength which the joy of meeting his young master had infused into the dying man gave way. A sudden sinking fell upon him; he closed his eyes; and that mysterious and sublime change passed over his face that told the approach of other worlds.

He began to draw his breath with long, deep inspirations, and his broad chest rose and fell heavily. The expression of his face was that of a conqueror.

“Who――who――who shall separate us from the love of Christ?” he said, in a voice that contended with mortal weakness, and, with a smile, he fell asleep.

There is no monument to mark the last resting-place of our friend. He needs none! His Lord knows where he lies, and will raise him up, immortal, to appear with Him when He shall appear in His glory.

Pity him not! Such a life and death is not for pity! Not in the riches of omnipotence is the chief glory of God, but in self-denying, suffering love! And blessed are the men whom He calls to fellowship with Him, bearing their cross after Him with patience. Of such it is written: “Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

――_Harriet Beecher Stowe._

“Swore Off.”

This piece won the class medal at the Ninth Annual Commencement of the Mt. Vernon Institute of Elocution and Languages, 1892.

_Sit on chair at right side of a common table._

Boys, take another![1409] To-night we’ll be gay, For to-morrow, you know, is the New Year’s Day, And I promised my Bessie to-night should be The very last night I stayed on this spree. I’ve been a good fellow――spent lots of “tin” In sampling and drinking both whiskey and gin; And yet I remember,[1410] a long while ago, When the sight of a drunken man frightened me so. I ran for a square.[1411] I remember quite well When I even detested[1412] the very smell Of the accursed stuff. I sometimes think ’Twas the devil[1413] who tempted me to take the first drink. But why look back with remorse or regret? I mustn’t remember[1414]――I want to forget. [1415]Landlord, the bottle![1416] That’s pretty good stuff; Though I reckon I’ve seen and tasted enough. It’s a year since I’ve drawn a sober breath. The doctors all say I will go to my death If I do not leave off――you may laugh and scoff; But somehow or other, between me and you, I believe what the doctors tell me is true, For at night when I try to be closing my eyes, Such horrible visions[1417] before me arise That I cannot rest, and I walk[1418] the floor And long for the sleep that is mine no more. To-night it winds up. Laugh on,[1419] but you’ll see[1420] That this is the very last night of my spree. I’ve promised my Bessie, and further, I swore―― She’s got the paper――to taste it no more After to-night. When I told her I’d sign, The look on her face made me think of the time When she stood at the altar,[1421] a beautiful bride, And I looked on my choice with a good deal of pride. Ah! many’s the time since I’ve been on this spree, I’ve seen this good woman get down[1422] on her knee And ask God, in His goodness, have mercy on me. To-night it ends up. Do you hear[1423] what I say?―― I’m a man[1424] once again from the New Year’s Day. Take one with you? Why, I certainly will――[1425] To-night is my last, and I’ll be drinking my fill. “Good luck and good health!”――[1426] strange wishes to make O’er each glass of whiskey and gin that we take. Good luck! Well, now, fellows, be still,[1427] and we’ll see The good luck I’ve had since I started this spree. What with losing the job where I first learned my trade―― I’ve had twenty since, and I’m much afraid The reason for losing them all is this glass.[1423] The story of shame and disgrace let us pass;[1429] I’ll sum up the whole. You all know[1430] it’s true I could own a nice home――now the rent’s overdue, Yet, during this time――it is true,[1431] what I say―― I wished myself luck at least ten times a day, And as for good health! Now, do you think it right,[1432] When you know it’s destroying your appetite, To call it good health? Why, I’ve not tasted food For days at a time. Do you call my health good? One with the landlord?[1433] To be sure, ev’ry time―― His till has held many a dollar of mine. Come! set up the poison! To-night is the last―― Then I’ll look upon rum as a thing of the past[1434] Well, here’s to you,[1435] land―― Ah! you’d play me a trick![1436] Take off[1437] that red wig with the horns very quick, Or I’ll put down this glass and be leaving the place. Boys, look[1438] at the way he’s distorting his face! Look![1439] look![1440] it’s the devil――a good masquerade[1441] For those who engage in the rum-selling trade. Go on[1442] with the game!――you’ll find I’m not afraid―― Ha, ha, ha, ha! at your by-play I scoff―― Whose blood-hound is this?[1443] Keep him off![1444] Keep him off![1445] Get out,[1446] you big brute! Don’t you fellows see[1447] He’s wicked? Will bite? That he’s snapping at me? My God![1448] see his fangs! all reeking with gore―― [1449]Help! landlord, help! fell[1450] this brute to the floor. Ah! he’s gone! Take another![1451] my nerves are unstrung, Quick! Give me the bottle[1452] ere the midnight is rung, [1453]Ah! whiskey’s[1454] the stuff that will make me feel gay, And I’ve said I’ve sworn off from the New Year’s Day―― Quick! give me the bottle! Curse you![1455] don’t refuse, Or I’ll pull you apart,[1456] if my temper I lose―― Now give me a glass! Come, boys, take a drink![1457] It’s the last you’ll be taking with me, so I think―― O God! what is this?[1458] See, boys――it’s a snake! Look! the bottle is full――hear the hissing they make―― They crawl[1459] from its neck. For God’s sake, a drink! Thanks! Boys, here’s luck![1460] (_Midnight hour strikes._) ’Tis the New Year, I think. My oath[1461]――yes my oath! Is this sound I hear[1462] The hour of midnight? Aye, it is the New Year. (_Throws glass from him._) Begone from my sight, thou demon of hell! Boys, here they come![1463] there they go! Ah, the spell Is o’er. I’m afire![1464] See! It shoots[1465] from my eyes! I am burning within![1466] There[1467] the red demon lies. What angel is this?[1468] ’Tis my Bessie to see If my word has been kept about ending this spree―― No, no, it is black![1469] ’Tis the devil’s device―― He’s claiming a soul as a sacrifice. Great God! Is this death?[1470] The blood-hound again! Take him off![1471] Take him off![1472] Do I call you in vain? He clutches my throat[1473]――he chokes out my life![1474] Won’t some of you fellows go after my wife? Must I die here alone? See! they beckon to me. Oh! if Bessie, my heart-broken wife, could but see That I kept my word. Won’t――you――kindly――say I “swore off” for good on the New Year’s Day.[1475]

――_J. N. Fort._

GESTURES. [1409] Raise glass in left hand. [1410] Lean head on left hand. [1411] H. Sw. [1412] V. H. O. [1413] Ind. D. O. [1414] Rise and walk. [1415] Call to left and sit. [1416] Motion of pouring out liquor and drinking. [1417] V. H. F. [1418] H. Sw. [1419] H. O. [1420] Ind. H. O. [1421] H. F. [1422] D. F. [1423] H. O. [1424] Stand up, thumb in armhole. [1425] Sit. [1426] Raise glass in left hand. [1427] P. H. O. [1428] Point to left hand. [1429] P. Sw. [1430] H. O. [1431] H. O. emphatic. [1432] Hand on knee. [1433] To left. [1434] H. B. [1435] Raise left hand with glass. [1436] Half rise. [1437] V. Sp. [1438] Point to left. [1439] - [1440] Imps. [1441] Sit. [1442] H. Sw. [1443] Rise suddenly, get behind chair, and look down to right. [1444] B. V. to R. [1445] Imp. [1446] V. Sp. [1447] Ind. D. O. [1448] B. Cli. up. [1449] To left. [1450] Cli. D. O. [1451] Sit. [1452] Sp. [1453] Drink. [1454] Left Sp. [1455] Cli. Sp. [1456] B. Cli. Sp. [1457] Raise glass. [1458] Point to glass. [1459] Sp. [1460] Drink. [1461] Raise hand, palm front. [1462] Listen. [1463] Point here and there. [1464] B. to head. [1465] B. Sp. [1466] B. to breast. [1467] Ind. D. O. [1468] Look to left. [1469] Left V. H. O. [1470] B. on breast. [1471] B. V. H. Par. to R. [1472] Imp. [1473] B. to throat. [1474] Sit. [1475] Let head drop on left arm on table and the whole body relax.

The Unknown Speaker.

It is the Fourth Day of July, 1776.

In the old State-house[1476] in the city of Philadelphia are gathered half a hundred men to strike[1477] from their limbs the shackles of British despotism. There is silence[1478] in the hall――every face is turned toward the door[1479] where the committee of three, who have been out all night penning a parchment, are soon to enter. The door opens, the committee appears.[1480] That tall man[1481] with the sharp features, the bold brow, and the sand-hued hair, holding the parchment in his hand, is a Virginia farmer, Thomas Jefferson. That stout-built man[1482] with stern look and flashing eye, is a Boston man, one John Adams. And that calm-faced man[1483] with hair drooping in thick curls to his shoulders, that[1484] is the Philadelphia printer, Benjamin Franklin.

The three advance to the table.[1485]

The parchment is laid[1486] there.

Shall it be signed or not? A fierce debate ensues. Jefferson[1487] speaks a few bold words. Adams[1488] pours out his whole soul. The deep-toned voice of Lee[1489] is heard, swelling[1490] in syllables of thunder-like music. But still there is doubt, and one pale-faced man whispers something about “axes,[1491] scaffolds, and gibbet.”

“Gibbet?” echoes a fierce, bold voice through the hall. “Gibbet? They may stretch our necks on all[1492] the gibbets in the land; they may turn every rock[1493] into a scaffold; every tree[1494] into a gallows; every home[1495] into a grave, and yet the words of that parchment[1496] there can never[1497] die! They may pour our blood[1498] on a thousand scaffolds, and yet from every drop that dyes the axe a new champion of freedom will spring[1499] into birth. The British King may blot out[1500] the stars of God from the sky, but he cannot blot out His words written on that parchment[1501] there. The works[1502] of God may perish; His words, never![1503]

“The words of this declaration will live in the world long after our bones are dust. To the mechanic[1504] in his workshop they will speak hope; to the slave[1505] in the mines, freedom; but to the coward kings,[1506] these words will speak in tones of warning[1507] they cannot choose but hear.

“They will be terrible as the flaming syllables on Belshazzar’s wall![1508] They will speak in language startling as the trump of the Archangel[1509] saying: ‘You have trampled on mankind long enough! At last the voice of human woe has pierced[1510] the ear of God, and called His judgment down! You have waded[1511] to thrones through rivers of blood; you have trampled[1512] on the necks of millions of fellow-beings. Now kings, now purple hangmen, for you[1513] come the days of axes and gibbets and scaffolds.’

“Such is the message of that declaration to mankind,[1514] to the kings of the earth. And shall we falter now? And shall we start back[1515] appalled when our feet touch the very threshold[1516] of Freedom?

“Sign[1517] that parchment! Sign,[1518] if the next moment the gibbet’s rope is about your neck! Sign,[1519] if the next minute this hall rings[1520] with the clash of the falling axes! Sign[1521] by all your hopes in life or death, as men, as husbands,[1522] as fathers,[1523] brothers,[1524] sign your names to the parchment, or be accursed[1525] forever!

“Sign, and not only for yourselves, but for all ages,[1526] for that parchment will be the text-book of freedom,[1527] the Bible[1528] of the rights of men forever. Nay,[1529] do not start and whisper with surprise! It is truth,[1530] your own hearts witness it; God[1531] proclaims it. Look at this strange history of a band[1532] of exiles and outcasts, suddenly transformed into a people,[1533] a handful of[1534] men, weak in arms, but mighty[1535] in God-like faith; nay, look at your recent achievements, your Bunker Hill,[1536] your Lexington,[1537] and then tell me, if you can,[1538] that God has not given America to be free!

“It is not given to our poor human intellect to climb to the skies,[1539] and to pierce[1540] the councils of the Almighty One. But methinks I stand among the awful clouds[1541] which veil[1542] the brightness of Jehovah’s throne.

“Methinks I see the recording angel[1543] come trembling up to that throne to speak his dread message. ‘Father,[1544] the old world is baptized[1545] in blood. Father, look with one glance of Thine eternal eye, and behold evermore that terrible[1546] sight, man trodden beneath the oppressor’s feet, nations lost in blood, murder and superstition walking hand in hand over the graves of the victims, and not a single voice[1547] to whisper hope to man!’

“He stands there,[1548] the angel, trembling with the record of human guilt. But hark![1549] The voice of Jehovah speaks from out the awful cloud: ‘Let there be light again! Tell my people, the poor and oppressed, to go out from the old world, from oppression and blood, and build my altar in the new!’

“As I live, my friends, I believe that to be His voice! Yes, were my soul trembling on the verge[1550] of eternity, were this hand[1551] freezing in death, were this voice choking[1552] in the last struggle, I would still, with the last impulse of that soul, with the last wave[1553] of that hand, with the last gasp of that voice, implore[1554] you to remember this truth――God has given America to be free![1555] Yes, as I sank[1556] into the gloomy shadows of the grave, with my last faint whisper I would beg you to sign[1557] that parchment for the sake of the millions whose very breath is now hushed[1558] in intense expectation as they look up to you for the awful words, ‘You are free!’”[1559]

The unknown speaker fell exhausted in his seat, but the work was done. A wild murmur runs[1560] through the hall. “Sign!” There is no doubt now. Look how they rush forward![1561] Stout-hearted John Hancock has scarcely time to sign his bold name before the pen is grasped by another,[1562] another,[1563] and another.[1564] Look how the names blaze[1565] on the parchment! Adams and Lee, Jefferson and Carroll, Franklin and Sherman!

And now the parchment is signed.

Now, old man[1566] in the steeple, now bare your arm and let the bell speak![1567] Hark[1568] to the music of that bell! Is there not a poetry in that sound, a poetry more sublime than that of Shakespeare[1569] and Milton? Is there not a music in that sound that reminds you of those sublime tones which broke from angel lips when the news of the child Jesus burst on the hill-tops of Bethlehem?[1570] For the tones of that bell now come pealing, pealing, pealing.[1571] “Independence now[1572] and Independence forever.”[1573]

GESTURES. [1476] H. O. [1477] B. D. L. [1478] P. H. O. [1479] Left H. O. [1480] Left H. O. [1481] Left Ind. H. O. [1482] Left Ind. H. O. [1483] Left H. O. [1484] Left Ind. H. O. [1485] Right hand sweep from left to H. F. [1486] P. H. F. [1487] H. O. [1488] Left H. O. [1489] H. F. [1490] H. Sw. [1491] Hand to mouth, sustained. [1492] B. H. O. [1493] D. O. [1494] H. O. [1495] Left H. O. [1496] Ind. H. F. [1497] Ind. D. F. [1498] B. D. F. [1499] Raise P. [1500] V. A. Sw. [1501] Ind. H. F. [1502] H. O. [1503] D. O. [1504] H. O. [1505] Left D. O. [1506] P. Ind. H. O. [1507] Ind. Impulses. [1508] Trace as though on wall. [1509] A. O. [1510] Ind. A. O. [1511] B. H. F., palms facing. [1512] B. P. D. O. [1513] H. O. [1514] H. Sw. [1515] Sp. body. [1516] D. F. [1517] - [1518] - [1519] Ind. H. F. [1520] A. Sw. [1521] Ind. H. F. [1522] H. O. [1523] - [1524] Impulses. [1525] Cli. D. [1526] B. H. O. [1527] A. O. [1528] H. O. [1529] V. H. F. [1530] H. F. [1531] A. O. [1532] H. F. [1533] H. O. [1534] H. F. [1535] Cli. raised. [1536] H. O. [1537] Imp. [1538] H. F. [1539] A. O. [1540] Ind. A. O. [1541] B. A. O. [1542] B. V. A. O. [1543] A. O. [1544] A. O., sustained to victims; eyes follow this gesture. [1545] Left P. D. L. [1546] Left V. D. L. [1547] B. D. L. [1548] A. O. [1549] Lis. to R. A., sustained during and to end of quotation. [1550] D. F. [1551] H. F. [1552] To throat. [1553] Sp. [1554] B. H. F. [1555] B. H. O. [1556] B. D. F. [1557] Ind. H. F.] [1558] B. P. H. O. [1559] B. H. O. [1560] H. Sw. [1561] H. F. [1562] - [1563] - [1564] Imps. [1565] Trace with finger. [1566] A. F. [1567] A. Sw. [1568] Lis. [1569] Left H. L. [1570] Left H. B. [1571] A. Sw. [1572] H. F. [1573] H. Sw.

JUVENILES.

The Boy and the Boot.

“Bother!” was all that John Clatterby said; His breath came quick and his cheeks were red, He flourished his elbows and looked absurd, While, over and over, his “Bother!” I heard.

Harder and harder he tugged and worked; Vainly and savagely still he jerked; The boot, half on, would dawdle and flap, “Bother!” and then he burst the strap.

Redder than ever his hot cheek flamed; Louder than ever he fumed and blamed; He wiggled his heel and he tugged at the leather Till his knees and his chin came bumping together.

“My boy,” said I, in a voice like a flute, “Why not first try your troublesome boot On the other foot?” “I’m a goose!” laughed John, As he stood, in a flash, with his two boots on.

In half the affairs of this every-day life (As that same day I said to my wife), Our troubles come from trying to put The _left-hand_ boot on the _right-hand_ foot.

Farewell Old Shoe.

To be addressed to an old shoe which the speaker holds in his hand.

Adieu! adieu! My poor old shoe! What comfort I have had with you! My _sole_ companion day by day, You’ve cheered and soothed my weary way!

A fond adieu, My dear old shoe! Most faithful friend I’ve found in you! Alike, midst fair or wintry weather, We’ve shared life’s pilgrimage together.

Now rent and torn, And sadly worn, Of every trace of beauty shorn. ’Tis with an honest, heart-felt sigh I feel that I must throw you by.

A sad adieu! Poor worn-out shoe! What sorry plights you’ve borne me through! And, oh! it tears my tender heart To think that you and I must part.

Once more, adieu! My faithful shoe! I ne’er shall find the likes o’ you, And I will bless your memory For all the good you’ve been to me.

No other boot Can ever suit As you have done my crippled feet! No other shoe can ever be The tried, true friend you’ve been to me.

A last adieu, Dear cast-off shoe! Whatever may become of you, Accept, dear, easiest, best of shoes, This farewell offering of my muse.

Tale of a Dog and a Bee.

Great big dog, Head upon his toes; Tiny little bee Settles on his nose.

Great big dog Thinks it is a fly, Never says a word, Winks mighty sly.

Tiny little bee Tickles doggie’s nose―― Thinks like as not ’Tis a blooming rose.

Dog smiles a smile, Winks his other eye, Chuckles to himself How he’ll catch a fly.

Then he makes a snap, Mighty quick and spry, Gets the little bug, But doesn’t catch the fly.

Tiny little bee, Alive and looking well, Great big dog, Mostly gone to swell.

MORAL.

Dear friends and brothers all, Don’t be too fast and free, And when you catch a fly Be sure it ain’t a bee.

Little Foxes.

Among my tender vines I spy, A little fox named “By-and-By.”

Then set upon him, quick, I say, The swift young hunter “Right Away.”

Around each tender vine I plant, I find the little fox “I Can’t!”

Then fast as ever hunter ran, Chase him with brave and bold “I Can.”

“No Use in Trying!” lags and whines, This fox among my tender vines.

Then drive him low and drive him high, With this good hunter, named “I’ll Try.”

Among the vines in my small lot, Creeps in the fox “Oh, I Forgot.”

Then hunt him out and to his den, With “I-Will-Not-Forget-Again.”

A little fox is hidden there Among my vines, named “I Don’t Care.”

Then let “I’m Sorry,” hunter true, Chase him far from vines and you.

For a Little Girl.

I love my papa, that I do, And mamma says she loves him too; And both of them love me, I know, A thousand ways their love they show. But papa says he fears some day With some mean scamp I’ll run away.

An Oration for a Boy.

I rise to make this short oration, Without the least equivocation, Or any false exaggeration, And hope to win your approbation―― If not your warmest admiration. I want to make a revelation, Just for the sake of exultation, Without a long enumeration, In reference to education; For, since our school association We feel a high appreciation Of teachers’ kind administration. Whate’er may be our destination, We’ll have the pleasing consolation Of living in high estimation With all our teachers, in relation With every day’s assimilation. I hope you’ll have the penetration To see this is my own creation, And quite a novel adaptation. Please pardon the conglomeration, For I’m scared like all the nation, Therefore accept my resignation.

“They Say.”

The subject of my speech is one We hear of every day―― ’Tis simply all about the fear We have of what “_they say_!”

How happy all of us could be, If, as we go our way, We did not stop to think and care So much for what “_they say_.”

We never dress to go outside, To church, to ball, or play, But everything we wear or do Is ruled by what “_they say_.”

Half of the struggles we each make To keep up a display, Might be avoided, were it not For dread of what “_they say_.”

The half of those who leave their homes For Long Branch and Cape May Would never go, if it were not For fear of what “_they say_.”

One reason why I’m now so scared (Pardon the weakness, pray!) Is that I’m thinking all the while, “Of _me_ what will ‘_they say_?’”

But so ’twill be, I judge, as long As on the earth folks stay―― There’ll always be, with wise and fools, That dread of what “_they say_.”

Nobody’s Dog.

Only a dirty black and white dog! You can see him any day, Trotting meekly from street to street. He almost seems to say, As he looks in your face with wistful eye, “I don’t mean to be in your way.”

His tail hangs drooping between his legs; His body is thin and spare; How he envies the sleek and well-fed dogs That thrive on their masters’ care! And he wonders what they must think of him, And grieves at his own hard fare.

Sometimes he sees a friendly face―― A face that he seems to know; And he thinks he may be the master That he lost so long ago; And even dares to follow him home, For he loved his master so.

Poor Jack! He’s only mistaken again, And stoned and driven back; But he’s used to disappointments now, And takes up his beaten track; Nobody’s dog, for nobody cares For poor, unfortunate Jack.

Johnny’s Soliloquy.

It seems to be father’s greatest joy To tell what he did when he was a boy. Nothing very wonderful, so far’s I can see; And it seems pretty rough on a fellow like me, When I’ve worked like a man all the long summer day―― And boys can get tired, I don’t care what they say―― To have father declare, in his evening chat, “When I was a boy I did better than that.

“I was bound out when I was a boy, Had never a play-day, a book, or a toy. I earned my first suit when I was of age, By working at odd hours for old Deacon Gage; I often went barefoot, having seldom a hat, And as for a coat, I was too poor for that. Of course I had extra clothes for cold weather, But the clothes were not broadcloth, nor the boots patent leather.”

Then he talks of this and that wonderful feat, With little to wear and little to eat; How he never went either to church or to school, Just picked up his learning without guide or rule. And says: “John, to be sure, is easy to learn, And always stands first at the close of the term. But if I’d his chance at books in my day, I don’t think you’d have found me always at play.”

Now I am just as willing as can be to work, Nobody can call me a bit of a shirk; I don’t ask for fine clothes or frequent play-days, For I know father’s money has plenty of ways: But when I’ve done as well as I can, They might treat me as though I’d some day be a man. I’m so tired of the song father always has sung: “I did better than that when I was young.”

The Wind in a Frolic.

The wind one morning sprang up from sleep, Saying, “Now for a frolic! now for a leap! Now for a mad-cap galloping chase! I’ll make a commotion in every place!”

So it swept with a bustle right through a great town, Creaking the signs, and scattering down Shutters; and whisking, with merciless squalls, Old women’s bonnets and gingerbread stalls; There never was heard a much lustier shout, As the apples and oranges tumbled about; And the urchins, that stand with their thievish eyes Forever on watch, ran off each with a prize. Then away to the field it went blustering and humming, And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming; It plucked by the tails the grave matronly cows, And tossed the colts’ manes all over their brows, Till, offended at such a familiar salute, They all turned their backs and stood sulkily mute. So on it went, capering, and playing its pranks, Whistling with reeds on the broad river’s banks, Puffing the birds as they sat on the spray, O’er the traveler’s grave on the king’s highway. It was not too nice to hustle the bags Of the beggar, and flutter his dirty rags; ’Twas so bold that it feared not to play its joke With the doctor’s wig or the gentleman’s cloak. Through the forest it roared, and cried, gayly, “Now, You sturdy old oaks, I’ll make you bow!” And it made them bow without more ado, Or cracked their great branches through and through. Then it rushed like a monster, on cottage and farm, Striking their dwellers with sudden alarm, So they ran out like bees when threatened with harm. There were dames with their kerchiefs tied over their caps, To see if their poultry were free from mishaps; The turkeys they gobbled, the geese screamed aloud, And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd; There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on, Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be gone. But the wind it swept on, and met in a lane With a school-boy, who panted and struggled in vain: For it tossed him and twirled him, then passed, and he stood With his hat in a pool, and his shoe in the mud. Then away went the wind in its holiday glee! And now it was far on the billowy sea; And the lordly ships felt its staggering blow, And the little boats darted to and fro:―― But lo! night came, and it sank to rest On the sea-bird’s rock in the gleaming west, Laughing to think, in its fearful fun, How little of mischief it had done!

――_William Howitt._

The Speckled Hen.

Dear Brother Ben, I take my pen To tell you where, and how, and when, I found the nest of our speckled hen. She never would lay in a sensible way, Like other hens, in the barn on the hay; But here and there and everywhere, On the stable floor, and the wood-house stair, And once, on the ground her eggs I found. But yesterday I ran away, With mother’s leave, in the barn to play. The sun shone bright on the seedy floor, And the doves so white were a pretty sight As they walked in and out of the open door, With their little red feet and feathers neat. Cooing and cooing more and more. Well, I went out to look about On the platform wide, where, side by side, I could see the pig-pens in their pride; And beyond them both, on a narrow shelf, I saw the speckled hen hide herself Behind a pile of hoes and rakes And pieces of boards and broken stakes. “Ah, ha! old hen, I have found you now, But to reach your nest I don’t know how, Unless I could climb or creep or crawl Along the edge of the pig-pen wall.” And while I stood in a thoughtful mood, The speckled hen cackled as loud as she could, And flew away, as much as to say, “For once my treasure is out of your way.” I didn’t wait a moment then; I couldn’t be conquered by that old hen! But along the edge of the slippery ledge I carefully crept, for the great pigs slept, And I dared not even look to see If they were thinking of eating me. But all at once, oh! what a dunce! I dropped my basket into the pen, The one you gave me, Brother Ben; There were two eggs in it, by the way, That I found in the manger under the hay, Then the pigs got up and ran about With a noise between a grunt and a shout, And when I saw them rooting, rooting, Of course I slipped and lost my footing, And tripped, and jumped, and finally fell Right down among the pigs, pell-mell. For once in my life I was afraid, For the door that led out into the shed Was fastened tight with an iron hook, And father was down in the fields by the brook, Hoeing and weeding his rows of corn, And here was his Dolly, so scared and forlorn. But I called him, and called him, as loud as I could, I knew he would hear me――he must and he should―― “O father! O father! (Get out, you old pig.) O father! oh! oh!” for their mouths were so big. Then I waited a minute and called him again, “O father! O father! I am in the pig-pen!” And father did hear, and he threw down his hoe, And scampered as fast as a father could go. The pigs had pushed me close to the wall, And munched my basket, eggs and all, And chewed my sun-bonnet into a ball. And one had rubbed his muddy nose All over my apron, clean and white; And they sniffed at me, and stepped on my toes, But hadn’t taken the smallest bite, When father opened the door at last, And oh! in his arms he held me fast.

――_E. W. Denison._

The New Baby.

Muzzer’s bought a baby―― Ittle bits of zing; Zink I mos’ could put him Froo my rubber ring.

Ain’t he awful ugly? Ain’t he awful pink? Just come down from Heaven!―― Dat’s a fib, I zink.

Doctor told annuzer Great big awful lie; Nose ain’t out of joyent―― Dat ain’t why I cry.

Zink I ought to love him? No, I won’t――so zere! Nassy, crying baby―― Ain’t got any hair.

Send me off wiz Biddy Every single day; “Be a good boy, Charley―― Run away and play.”

Dot all my nice kisses―― Dot my place in bed; Mean to take my drumstick And hit him on ze head.

Katie’s Wants.

Me want Christmas tree, Yes, me do; Want an orange on it, Lots of candy, too.

Want some new dishes, Want a red pail, Want a rocking-horse With a very long tail.

Want a little watch That says, “Tick, tick!” Want a newer dolly, ’Cause Victoria’s sick.

Want so many things Don’t know what to do; Want a little sister, Little brother, too.

Won’t you buy ’em, mamma? Tell me why you won’t? Want to go to bed? No, me don’t.

――_Eva M. Tappan._

Queer Little Stitches.

Oh! queer little stitches, You surely are witches, To bother me so! I’m trying to plant you: Do stay where I want you, All straight in a row.

Now keep close together! I never know whether You’ll do as I say. Why can’t you be smaller? You really grow taller, Try hard as I may!

There! now my thread’s knotted, My finger is dotted With sharp needle-pricks! I mean to stop trying; I cannot help crying; Oh! dear, what a fix!

Yes, yes, little stitches, I _know_ you are witches―― I’m sure of it now―― Because you don’t bother Grown people like mother When _they_ try to sew.

You love to bewilder Us poor little “childer” (As Bridget would say), By jumping and dancing, And leaping and prancing, And losing your way.

Hear the bees in the clover! Sewing “over and over” They don’t understand. I wish I was out there And playing about there In that great heap of sand!

The afternoon’s going; I _must_ do my sewing Before I can play. Now behave, little stitches, Like good-natured witches, The rest of the day.

I’d almost forgotten About waxing my cotton, As good sewers do; And――oh! what a memory!―― Here is my emery To help coax it through.

I’m so nicely provided I’ve really decided To finish the things. There’s nothing like trying; My needle is flying As if it had wings.

There, good-bye, little stitches! You obstinate witches, You’re punished, you know. You’ve been very ugly, And now you sit snugly Along in a row.

The Nose Out of Joint.

Oh! a comical thing is a nose out of joint! There is a wee chap Who met this mishap; He looked very glum, And grew almost dumb; Then he stood in a corner to pout, No doubt, Decidedly hurt and put out.

Oh! the innocent cause of a nose out of joint! He tried to appear In excellent cheer. In one eye a smile, A tear all the while In the other, led one to believe, And grieve, That clearly he tried to deceive!

Oh! the innocent cause of the nose out of joint! Ten pink little toes, A wee, funny nose, And eyes, bright and new, Of robin’s egg blue, And up-stairs in a soft cradle-nest, At rest, With tiniest hands on its breast!

Oh! the wonderful cure of a nose out of joint! A mother’s fond call, A gentle footfall; A sweet word of joy, A kiss for her boy, And a shy little brotherly peep, And deep Spring, love for the baby asleep.

――_George Cooper._

Valedictory.

It now, kind friends, devolves on me To speak our Val-e-dic-to-ry; You’ve seen our Exhibition through, We’ve tried to please each one of you―― And if we’ve failed in any part, Lay it to _head_, and not to _heart_; For we have striven, night and day, To study well both speech and play. We hope, within another year, Again before you to appear. But e’er we part――before you go―― We wish you one and all to know We thank you for your presence here―― Such kindness does our bosoms cheer, And causes every boy to feel He ought to study with more zeal; While all the girls it will inspire With an ambition to rise higher. We feel much more than words can tell―― Accept our heart-felt thanks――farewell!

Presentation Speech.

DEAR TEACHER:

I have been requested by the young ladies of this school (or institution) to offer you a slight token of our affection and regard. I cannot tell you how delighted I am to be the means of conveying to you the expression of our united love. What we offer you is a poor symbol of our feelings, but we know you will receive it kindly, as a simple indication of the attachment which each one of us cherishes for you in her heart of hearts. You have made our lessons pleasant to us――so pleasant that it would be ungrateful to call them tasks. We know that we have often tried your temper and forbearance, but you have dealt gently with us in our waywardness, teaching us, by example as well as precept, the advantages of magnanimity and self-control. We will never forget you. We shall look back to this school (or institution) in after life, not as a place of penance, but as a scene of mental enjoyment, where the paths of learning were strewn with flowers; and whenever memory recalls our school-days, our hearts will warm toward you as they do to-day. I have been requested by my school-mates not to address you formally, but as a beloved and respected friend. In that light, dear teacher, we all regard you. Please accept, with our little present, our earnest good wishes. May you always be as happy as you have endeavored to make your pupils, and may they――nothing better could be wished for them――be always as faithful to their duties to others as you have been in your duties to them.

Little Millie’s Declamation.

See my pretty ruffled dress! See my tienty locket! ’Spects I’m most a lady now, ’Cause I got a pocket. Those down here are my blue shoes, That I walk my feet in; ’Cause it wouldn’t do to wear Copper toes to meetin’.

See my pictured hanker_fust_ Sunday days I has it! I can blow a noise in church Most like papa does it. Papa’s hitchin’ Jack and Gray, And they keep a prancin’; Horses don’t wear Sunday clothes―― They don’t know they’re dancin’.

Grandpa used to go with us―― Now he’s gone to heaven; Guess he’s at the angel church, Up where God is livin’. I don’t take no cakes along―― Never thing of eatin’; Don’t you want a nice clean kiss ’Fore we go to meetin’.

The Only Child.

Which is my nicest plaything? I really cannot tell; I have a china dolly, I have a silver bell.

I have a string of beads; My mother often tells me I have all a baby needs. But if I had a brother As big as cousin Ben, Or if I had a sister Like little Lilly Fen, We should have _such_ times together, ’Twould drive the neighbors wild―― Oh! it’s very lonesome To be an only child!

Lulu’s Complaint.

I’se a poor ’ittle sorrowful baby, For B’idget is ’way down stairs: My titten has scatched my fin’er, And Dolly won’t say her p’ayers.

I hain’t seen my bootiful mamma Since ever so long ado; An’ I ain’t her tunninest baby No londer, for B’idget says so.

Mamma dot anoder _new baby_, Dod dived it――He did――yes’erday; An’ it kies, it kies――oh! so defful! I wis’ He would take it away.

I don’t want no “sweet ’ittle sister;” I want my dood mamma, I do; I want her to tiss me and tiss me, An’ tall me her p’ecious Lulu.

I dess my dear papa will bin’ me A ’ittle dood titten some day; Here’s nurse wid my mamma’s new baby; I wis’ she would tate it away.

Oh! oh! what tunnin’ red fin’ers! It sees me ’ite out of its eyes; I dess we will teep it and dive it Some can’y whenever it kies.

I dess I will dive it my dolly To play wid ’mos’ every day; An’ I dess, I dess――Say, B’idget, Ask Dod not to tate it away.

Little Tommie’s First Smoke.

I’ve been sick.

Mamma said ’mokin’ was a nasty, dirty, disgraceful habit, and bad for the window curtains.

Papa said it wasn’t. He said all wise men ’moked, and that it was good for rheumatism, and that he didn’t care for the window curtains, not a――that thing what busts and drowns people; I forgot its name. And he said women didn’t know much anyway, and that they couldn’t reason like men.

So next day papa wasn’t nice a bit――that day I frew over the accawarium, and papa ’panked me――and I felt as if I had the rheumatism ever’ time I went to sit down, and so I just got papa’s pipe and loaded it and ’moked it, to cure rheumatism where papa ’panked me.

And they put mustard plaster on my tummick till they most burned a hole in it, I guess.

I fink they fought I was going to die.

I fought so too.

Mamma said I was goin’ to be a little cherub, but I fought I was goin’ to be awful sick. Nurse said I was goin’ to be a cherub, too――then she went to put a nuzzar mustard plaster on. I didn’t want her to, and she called me somefing else. I guess that was ’cause I frew the mustard plaster in her face.

I don’t want to be a cherub anyway; I’d rather be little Tommie for a while yet.

But I wont ’moke any more.

I guess mamma was right. Maybe I’m sumfin’ like a window curtain. ’Mokin’ isn’t good for me.

The Elf-Child.

Little Orphant Annie’s come to our house to stay, An’ wash the cups an’ saucers up, and brush the crumbs away, An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep, An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board and keep; An’ all us other children, when the supper things is done, We set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun A-list’nin’ to the witch tales ’at Annie tells about, An’ the gobble-uns ’at gits you Ef you Don’t Watch Out!

Once they was a little boy wouldn’t say his pray’rs-- An’ when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs, His mammy heard him holler, an’ his daddy heard him bawl, An’ when they turn the kivvers down he wasn’t there at all! An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby-hole, an’ press, An’ seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an’ everywheres, I guess, But all they ever found was this--his pants an’ round-about-- An’ the gobble-uns ’ll git you Ef you Don’t Watch Out!

An’ one time a little girl ’ud allus laugh an’ grin, An’ make fun of ever’ one an’ all her blood an’ kin. An’ onct, when they was “company,” an’ old folks was there, She mocked ’em, an’ shocked ’em, an’ said she didn’t care! An’ jist as she kicked her heels an’ turn’t to run an’ hide, They was two great Big Black Things a-standin’ by her side, An’ they snatched her through the ceilin’, ’fore she knowed what she’s about! An’ the gobble-uns ’ll git you Ef you Don’t Watch Out!

An’ little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, An’ the lampwick sputters, an’ the wind goes Woo-oo! An’ you hear the crickets quit, an’ the moon is gray, An’ the lightnin’-bugs in dew is all squenched away-- You better mind your parents and yer teachers fond an’ dear, An’ cherish them ’at loves you, and dry the orphant’s tear, An’ he’p the po’ an’ needy ones ’at clusters all about, Er the gobble-uns ’ll git you Ef you Don’t Watch Out!

CONTENTS.

DRAMATIC. PAGE Ballad of Breakneck, The, 134 Ben Hassan’s Dream, 234 Ben-Hur’s Chariot Race, 301 Corsican, The, 277 Dream of Aldarin, The, 368 Dream of Eugene Aram, The, 337 Dying to Win, 10 Felon’s Wife, The, 127 Fra Giacomo, 271 Jingles, 158 Lost in the Mountains, 195 Mad, 358 Nell, 292 Nydia, the Blind Girl of Pompeii, 333 Old Actor’s Story, The, 227 Sir Rupert’s Wife, 22 Spanish Mother, The, 59 Swore Off, 376 Uncle Ned’s Tale, 254 Woman’s Vengeance, A, 363

PATHETIC.

Back to Griggsby’s, 154 Crazy Nell, 21 Dead Letter, The, 4 Death of Uncle Tom, The, 371 Dog Story, A, 122 Dolores, 308 Dukite Snake, The, 354 Enguerrande’s Child, 209 Ivy-Clad Ruin, 265 Mary, Queen of Scots, 73 Moon, The, 125 New Mother, A, 166 Not in the Ranks, 225 Old Spinster, The, 156 One Day Solitary, 346 Roderick Lee, 51 Suicide, The, 126 Tommy’s Death-Bed, 82 Waiting for the Mail, 300 Wayward Life, A, 140 Why She Didn’t Stay in the Poor-House, 144 Yes, I’m Guilty, 266

HUMOROUS.

Book-Agent Beats the Bandit, The, 223 Charlie’s Story, 237 Chemist to His Love, The, 138 Engineer’s Ride on a Piano, The, 64 Experience with a Refractory Cow, 70 Going to Market, 85 Holding a Baby, 57 How “Ruby” Played, 327 Humors of Elocution, 41 I’m Getting Too Big to Kiss, 299 Lecture by One of the Sex, 206 Little Torment, The, 142 Meeting at Wendletown, The, 178 Merry Mike, 220 Pa, 8 Reason Why, The, 43 Ruling Passion, The, 297 Studying for the Contest, 19 Thora, 317 Village Choir, The, 222 Wanted, a Wife, 153 Yankee Still Ahead, The, 79

PATRIOTIC.

Gallant Fifty-first, The, 3 Last Salute, The, 17 Proud Flag of Freedom, The, 194 Soldier’s Offering, A, 296 Unknown Speaker, The, 380 Valley Forge, 325 World’s Hero, The, 66

DIALOGUES AND DRAMAS.

All Wrong, 283 Civilization, 30 Crowning of the Sunday-School Angel, 88 Dorothy Clyde, 102 Getting Ready, 32 Meg Merrilies, 350 Merry Sunflower, 86 Months, The, 238 Petruchio’s Widow, 181 Scene from “Merchant of Venice,” 313

JUVENILES.

Boy and The Boot, The, 387 Elf-Child, The, 411 Farewell, Old Shoe, 388 For a Little Girl, 391 Johnny’s Soliloquy, 394 Katie’s Wants, 401 Little Foxes, 390 Little Millie’s Declamation, 407 Little Tommie’s First Smoke, 410 Lulu’s Complaint, 409 New Baby, The, 400 Nobody’s Dog, 393 Nose Out of Joint, The, 404 Only Child, The, 408 Oration for a Boy, An, 408 Presentation Speech, 406 Queer Little Stitches, 402 Richard Dingle’s Speech, 175 Speckled Hen, The, 397 Tale of a Dog and a Bee, 389 They Say, 392 Unfinished Prayer, The, 412 Valedictory, 405 Wind in a Frolic, The, 396

MISCELLANEOUS.

Bill, the Engineer, 146 Calls of The Bells, The, 99 Contrasts in Shakespeare, 215 Coquette, The, 67 Echo and the Ferry, 46 Enchanted Shirt, The, 268 Exercise in Pronunciation, 124 Go Fan Yourself, 291 Grain of Truth, A, 276 Hints on Expression, 87 King’s Kiss, The, 214 Legend of the Wissahickon, 161 Little Brown Eyes, 12 Little Christel, 131 Maiden Song, 201 Notation of Gestures, 2 Nothing to Wear, 44 Read This if You Can, 262 Six O’Clock, 236 Stars, The, 143 True Remedy, The, 151 Word Pictures, 176

Transcriber’s Note

This book was written in a period when many words had not become standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been left unchanged unless indicated below. Dialect and misspelled words were not corrected, unless indicated below.

“The Unfinished Prayer,” listed in the Contents on page 412, was not included in the original book.

Illustrations were moved to the nearest break between works. Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside down, missing or partially printed letters, were corrected. Apostrophes and diacriticals were adjusted as needed. Final stops missing at the end of sentences and abbreviations were added. Duplicate letters at line endings or page breaks were removed.

Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the end of the work to which they pertain. Anchors [1], [305], and [332] were not printed in the original. There are two anchors [456] and [781]. Footnotes resolve to the first of each. Anchor [1151] was added to title of “One Day Solitary” as the footnote applies to whole poem. There are two footnotes numbered [356]; the second is noted [356a]. Duplicate of footnote [646] was deleted.

Spelling corrections:

[whipers] whispers we spoke [fogotten] forgotten it. [he] she lingers [Wherfore] Wherefore should not we Our brave commander, [Jaques] Jacques [Elecution] Elocution and Languages [Their’s] Theirs not to reason why [nesttings] nestlings watching them [They’re] They’ve wrought their fill [couched] crouched beneath the arch