PSYCHOLOGY OF TH 
 
 SPOKEN WORD 
 
 DELBERT MOYER STALEY 
 
 STUWES IN ENGLISH LITFUATURE 
 
The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027184435 
 
Cornell University Library 
 pt4 4111.S78 
 
PSYCHOLOGY OF THE 
 SPOKEN WORD 
 
 BY 
 
 DELBERT MOYER STALEY 
 
 Founder and President of The College of the Spoken Word; 
 Former Professor of Elocution at St. John's Eccle- 
 siastical Seminary, Boston, Mass., Novitiate 
 House, Tewkesbuiy, Mass., Former Coach 
 for the Komjans Society, Brown Uni- 
 versity, < and Educational Direc- 
 tor, Cambridge Y.M.CiA. 
 Cambridge, Mass. 
 
 BOSTON: RICHARD O. BADGER 
 TsE Copp CiiABK Co., jsaarED, Toronto 
 
 iiwIIHJIBgW^ 
 
 Ja 
 
Copyri^t 1914, iy Delbtrt Idoyer StaUy 
 All rights reserved 
 
 (\.35<^5o*) 
 
 The GorhQm Press, B<nUm, U-S-A- 
 
TO MY 
 
 PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE 
 
 STUDENTS 
 
 THIS 
 
 MT BTEST BOOK I 
 
 LOVINGLY DEDICATE 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Paet I 
 
 Grammar of the Spoken Word 
 
 I. Inflection 13 
 
 n. Pitch 23 
 
 ni. Pausation 28 
 
 IV. Pulsation 30 
 
 V. Colorization 31 
 
 VI. Rhythm 34 
 
 Paet U 
 
 Technique of the Spoken Word 
 
 I. Memorizing 39 
 
 n. ManipTilation versus Assimilation 40 
 
 m. Planes 42 
 
 IV. Music with Speech 44 
 
 f ,V. Alliteration 46 
 
 VI. Emphasis 49 
 
 Vn. Accentuation 51 
 
 Vm. Transition 52 
 
 IX. Phrasing 54 
 
 X. Antithesis 58 
 
 XI. Central Symbols 60 
 
 Xn. Sustention 61 
 
 Xm. Relation 63 
 
 XIV. Pivotal Power 63 
 
 XV. Universal versus Personal 64 
 
 XVI. Plane Song 65 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 XVII. Unity 69 
 
 XVIII. Bible and Hynm Reading 70 
 
 XIX. Mood 75 
 
 XX. Atmosphere 76 
 
 pabt m 
 
 Forms of Poetry 
 
 I. Didactic Poetry 81 
 
 II. Pastoral Poetry 82 
 
 III. Descriptive Poetry 83 
 
 IV. Narrative Poetry 89 
 
 V. Lyric Poetry 101 
 
 VI. The Ode 105 
 
 VII. The Sonnet 108 
 
 VIII. The Ballad 109 
 
 IX. The Apostrophe Ill 
 
 X. The Monologue 114 
 
 XI. The Soliloquy 123 
 
 XII. Epic Poetry 136 
 
 XIII. Elegiac Poetry 139 
 
 XIV. Dramatic Poetry 141 
 
 XV. Satirical Poetry 142 
 
 XVI. The Lampoon 144 
 
 XVII. The Epitaph 144 
 
 Part IV 
 Figures of Speech 
 
 I. Simile 150 
 
 II. Metaphor 150 
 
 III. Allegory 151 
 
 IV. Metonomy 164 
 
 V. Synecdoche 155 
 
 VI. Personification 155 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 VII. Apostrophe 156 
 
 Vin. Hyperbole 157 
 
 IX. Interrogation 157 
 
 X. Exclamation 158 
 
 XI. Antithesis 159 
 
 Xn. Epigram 159 
 
 Xni. Irony 159 
 
 XIV. Climax 160 
 
 XV. Anti-climax 161 
 
 XVI. Euphemism 161 
 
 XVII. Litotes 161 
 
 XVni. Alliteration 162 
 
 XIX. AUusion 162 
 
 XX. Vision 162 
 
 Part V 
 Prosody 
 
 I. Iambic 166 
 
 n. Trochaic 166 
 
 m. Dactylic 167 
 
 rV. Anapestic 167 
 
 V. Amphibrachic 167 
 
 VI. Mixed Verse 168 
 
 Vn. Spondee 168 
 
 Vm. Blank Verse 168 
 
 IX. Metrical Feet 169 
 
 Part VI 
 
 Mother Goose Melodies 178 
 
 Children's Selections 179 
 
 Advanced Readings for Class Use 198 
 
 Index 365 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 THE request of over five thousand people who 
 have been my students, has led me to issue the 
 principles of my practical work upon the 
 Spoken Word. This volume contains facts, 
 some of which are new and some old to the public. 
 
 There may be some statements in this volume similar 
 to those made in other books pubUshed, yet upon close 
 examination you will find them vastly dififerent from any- 
 thing heretofore presented. 
 
 I have endeavored in as concise a manner as possible, 
 to make clear the steps pertaining to delivery, and to 
 present them with some understanding and differentiation 
 together with the different forms of poetry. 
 
 I do not consider this volume perfect or in any way 
 complete, as I am fully aware that I am dealing with an 
 Art; and in the language of John J. Enneking, the great 
 landscapist, — "Where art begins, language leaves off." 
 I, therefore, to use a phrase from Disraeli, have refrained 
 from any exuberance of language, and instead of talking 
 about the subject, I have tried to tell what the subject is. 
 The reader will observe that the law: "Have something to 
 say, say it, and stop, " — ^has to the best of my ability been 
 adhered to in compiling this book. 
 
 To Miss Helen Colony Culver, for her tmtiring and 
 faithful assistance in helping me to arrange this book and 
 to prepare it for the press, also for her wise suggestions 
 from time to time, I wish to express my heart-felt thanks. 
 
POBEWOED 
 
 For the tmidljr su^esticms and hsigSxji jcxidasai, dne 
 £q)preciatioii is esbesided to Mrs. Mabd Atfaalane Hazdy. 
 
 ¥oi the use ci sdectums herein contained, I wish to 
 express my profoinidest graljliide and caaaderaixm for 
 the most exoeOrait comtesies extended by Lothrcq*, Lee 
 & Sh^h»d Co^ for the sdectioiis "Toossaint L'Onver- 
 tme," Iqr Waidefl Hiillips, "Bock Me to Sleep," by 
 Elizabeth Akeis AUrai, and the poems l^ Sam Walter 
 Foss; also the courtesy d the author, Mr. Chades FoDen 
 Adams for the jxiems from Ms book, aititled "Yawcob 
 Stianss;" "The House by the Side of the Boad" by Sam 
 Walter Foss, frtsn the book, "Dreams in Homequm;" 
 P. J. EJennedy & S(His,forthepriviI^e of using the sdecticm 
 "Boiy OTJore" by Samnd Lover; Small, Maynaid & 
 Co., for the use of the selections "Aunt flaw's Pet Jug, " 
 and "The Stock in the Tie Up" by Hohnan F. Day; 
 Houghton Mifflin & Co., "The Wreck of the Hesperus;" 
 J. B. Lippincott & Co^ for the poems "Sheridan's Kde," 
 "Hie Qosing Scene," and "Lwd Oin's Dao^der;'* 
 and Bose Hartwick Thorpe for the poiril^e c£ using her 
 poem "Drifted Out to Sea." "My Shqjs" by EBa 
 Wheder Wilcox. Extracts from speedies d Theodore 
 BoosevdL 
 
 I wish to express my thanks to Miss IVfhinie C. Qaik 
 for her kindness in reading and criticising the woik. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 AFTER years of careful study and due con- 
 sideration of the subject now presented, I can 
 assure you that it is not the result of conceit, 
 nor wiUi the feeling of "knowing it all," that 
 I attempt to present a subject which many have written 
 upon and discussed not a little; but, it is with trepidation, 
 that I submit for your consideration this book, "The 
 Psychology of the Spoken Word." I mean by the Psy- 
 chology of the Spoken Word — the process of the mind's 
 activity in presenting different forms of literature to the 
 general public; and in dealing with this subject, I find that 
 it entails a rather imusual, broad, and lengthy discussion, 
 by which I have been obliged to treat rather extensively 
 the GRAMMAR OF THE SPOKEN WORD and the 
 FORMS OF POETRY; and in order to carry out the 
 fundamental principles which are sometimes sadly neg- 
 lected, I have devoted a portion to PROSODY and to 
 FIGURES OF SPEECH. 
 
 Again I find the old Biblical statement: "Whosoever 
 shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child shall 
 in no wise enter therein," especially appUcable here; for 
 neither can you enter the kingdom of the Spoken Word, 
 except you become "as a little child." And I therefore 
 have devoted another portion to the matter of child poems 
 and Mother Gioose melodies. In the presentation of the 
 GRAMMAR OF THE SPOKEN WORD, I invite your 
 attention to the first step. 
 
PART I 
 
THE GRAMMAR OF THE SPOKEN WORD 
 /. Inflection 
 
 INFLECTION is the change of pitch from one 
 definite pitch to another definite pitch with no 
 apparent interval of pitch. It is upon every word, 
 but is especially noticeable upon each successive 
 thought word. What I mean by thought word is, that in 
 each idea, there is one word, rarely two, which, when 
 connected with successive individual thought word or 
 words, forms the positive chain of the theme; while the 
 other less important words are thrown in, in order to em- 
 bellish the theme and to help direct the mind, and assist 
 in making clear the story told. Therefore, the inflection 
 falls upon this thought word in each successive idea, and 
 when the mind is fully concentrated, and trained to respond 
 truthfully in its activity, it will reveal the attitude of the 
 speaker's mind towards his subject and his auditor. 
 There are four kinds of infiection ; — 
 
 A. Long. The long inflection is usually used in com- 
 mands or intense speeches. 
 In order to differentiate what is meant by long and 
 straight inflection, I would say that technically the only 
 difference is in the gamut of pitch. In the long inflection 
 the voice should travel over the length of an octave. 
 Where the tone begins and where it leaves off, the musical 
 ear will detect just how far the voice has traveled. Some 
 
 18 
 
14 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 have gone so far as to record the melody of speech by long 
 lines upon paper, after which they have attempted to 
 transcribe them into music; but all such attempts failed, 
 primarily because there is no instrument which wiU record 
 these delicate graded tones. While the violin is capable 
 of many deUcate shadings, yet even that instrument fails 
 in its attempt to reproduce the spioken word. Example: — ' 
 
 Antony's speech to eoman citizens 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; 
 
 I come to buiy Caesar, not to praise him. 
 
 The evil that men do lives after them. 
 
 The good is oft interred with their bones; 
 
 So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 
 
 Hath told you Caesar was ambitious: 
 
 If it were so, it was a grievous fault. 
 
 And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. 
 
 Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest — 
 
 For Brutus is an honorable man; 
 
 So are they all, all honorable men — 
 
 Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
 
 He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 
 
 But Brutus says he was ambitious; 
 
 And Brutus is an honorable man. 
 
 He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
 
 Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 
 
 Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? 
 
 When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept; 
 
 Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: 
 
 Yet Brutus says he was ambitious: 
 
 And Brutus is an honorable man. 
 
 You all did see that on the Lupercal 
 
 I thrice presented him with a langly crown, 
 
 Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition? 
 
 Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; 
 
 And, sure, he is an honorable man. 
 
 I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 15 
 
 But here I am to speak what I do know. 
 
 You all did love Mm once, not without cause: 
 
 What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him? 
 
 O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts. 
 
 And men have lost their reason. Bear with me; 
 
 My heart is in the coflSn there with Caesar, 
 
 And I must pause till it comes back to me. " 
 
 Length of Inflection: — 
 
 "On! ye brave. 
 
 Who rush to glory, or the grave! 
 Wave, Munich, all thy baimers wave! 
 And charge with all thy chivalry! 
 Few, few shall part where many meet! 
 The snow shall be their winding sheet. 
 And every turf beneath their feet 
 Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. " 
 
 "Bathing in simlight the fortress. 
 Turning to gold the grim walls. 
 While louder and clearer and higher 
 Rings the song of the waterfalls." 
 
 "Go home, if you dare, to your constituents, and tell 
 them that you voted it down! Meet those who sent you 
 here, and tell them that you shrank from the declaration 
 of your own sentiments; that you cannot tell how, but 
 that some unknown dread, some indefinable danger 
 affrighted you — ^that the spectres of cimeters, and crowns 
 and crescents, gleamed before you, and alarmed you; and 
 that you suppressed all the noble feelings prompted by 
 religion, by liberty, by national independence, and by 
 humanity!" 
 
 "Oh! thoughts ineffable! Oh! visions blest! 
 
 Though worthless our conceptions all of thee. 
 Yet shall thy shadowed image fill our breast. 
 
 And wait its homage to thy Deity. 
 God! thus alone my lonely thoughts can soar; 
 
 Thus seek Thy presence. Being wise and good! 
 'Midst Thy vast works admire, obey, adore!" 
 
16 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 And these are suns! — Vast, central, living fires, 
 
 Lords of dependent systems, kings of worlds 
 
 That wait as satellites upon their power, 
 
 And flourish in their smile. Awake, my soul. 
 
 And meditate the wonder! Coimtltes suns 
 
 Blaze round thee, leading forth their coimtless worlds !- 
 
 Worlds, in whose bosoms living things rejoice. 
 
 And drink the bliss of being from the fount 
 
 Of all-pervading love! What mind can know. 
 
 What tongue can utter, all their multitudes, — 
 
 Thus numberless in numberless abodes? 
 
 TWENTY-FOURTH PSALM 
 
 The earth is the Lord's, and the fullness thereof. 
 The world and they that dwell therein; 
 For he hath founded it upon the seas. 
 And established it upon the floods. 
 
 First Choir 
 
 Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? 
 And who shall stand in his holy place? 
 
 Second Choir 
 
 He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; 
 Who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, 
 And hath not sworn deceitfully. 
 
 All 
 
 He shall receive a blessiag from the Lord, 
 And righteousness from the God of his salvation. 
 This is the generation of them that seek after him. 
 That seek Thy face, O God of Jacob. 
 
 AU Without 
 
 Lift up your hands, O ye gates! 
 
 And be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors! 
 
 And the King of Glory shall come in. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 17 
 
 Choir Within 
 Who is the King of Glory? 
 
 Choir Without 
 
 The Lord strong and mighty; 
 The Lord mighty in battle. 
 
 Choir Without 
 
 Lift up your heads, O ye gates! 
 
 Yea, lift them up, ye everlasting doors! 
 
 And the King of Glory shall come in. 
 
 Choir Within 
 Who is this King of Glory? 
 
 AU Without 
 The Lord of Hosts, He is the King of Glory. 
 
 B. Straight. The straight inflection is used in digni- 
 fied, judicial, or busiaess speeches. 
 
 The Straight inflection has comparatively little range. 
 The gamut through which the tone travels ia the thought 
 word which reveals straight inflections, will be found to 
 cover very few and sometimes no more than two notes, 
 and although the change is very subtle in many straight 
 inflections, yet the well timed ear will be able to detect the 
 pitch, at the start, and the gradation of the inflection. 
 Examples: — 
 
18 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 poktia's speech 
 
 From the Merchant of Venice. 
 
 "The quality of mercy is not strained; 
 
 It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
 
 Upon the place beneath; it is twice blessed; 
 
 It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 
 
 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes 
 
 The throned monarch better than his crown: 
 
 His sceptre shows the force of temporal power. 
 
 The attribute to awe and majesty, 
 
 Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of Idngs; 
 
 But mercy is above this sceptred sway. 
 
 It is enthroned in the hearts of kings. 
 
 It is an attribute to God himself; 
 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
 
 When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
 
 Though justice be thy plea, consider this, — 
 
 That in the course of justice, none of us 
 
 Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; 
 
 And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
 
 The deeds of mercy. I have spoke this much. 
 
 To mitigate the justice of thy plea; 
 
 Which, if thou follow, this strict court of Venice 
 
 Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there." 
 
 "I hope, sir, that gentlemen will deKberately siuT^ey 
 the awful isthmus on which we stand. They may bear 
 down all opposition. They may carry the measure 
 triumphantly through this house. But if they do, sir, 
 in my humble judgment, it will be a triumph of the 
 military over the civil authority — a triumph over the 
 powers of this house — a triumph over the constitution of 
 the land — ^and I pray, sir, most devoutly, that it may 
 not prove, in its ultimate effects and consequences, a 
 triumph over the hberties of the people. " 
 
 "Gentlemen of the Jury, the evidence to which you 
 have so faithfully listened during this week, shows that 
 this prisoner must be guilty either of manslaughter or 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 19 
 
 his freedom. I charge you to think well and carefully 
 weigh the evidence you have in hand before making 
 your report to the court. " 
 
 "The vengeance which the French took of the Swiss, 
 for their determined opposition to the invasion of their 
 country, was decisive and terrible. The soldiers dis- 
 persed over the country, carried fire, and sword, and 
 robbery, into the most tranquil and hidden valleys of 
 Switzerland. From the depths of sweet retreats echoed 
 the shrieks of murdered men, stabbed in their humble 
 dwellings, under the shadows of the high mountains, in 
 the midst of those scenes of nature which make solemn 
 and pure the secret thought of man, and appall him with the 
 majesty of God. The flying peasants saw, ia the midst 
 of the night, their implements of husbandry, and the 
 hopes of the future year, expiring in one cruel conflagra- 
 tion." 
 
 C. Abrupt. The short or abrupt inflection is used in 
 petulant speeches, also in light or insipid conversa- 
 tion where no weighty matters are being discussed, 
 usually over the afternoon tea-cups. 
 Abrupt inflection may or may not have the same length 
 as is contained in a long inflection, tonically speaking; but 
 the movement of the inflected sound is so increased that 
 it seems to shorten it; hence the differentiation between 
 long or short or abrupt inflection. Examples : — 
 
 Speed, Malise, SPEED!— The dun-deer's hide 
 
 On fleeter foot was never tied; 
 
 Speed, Malise, SPEED ! such cause of haste 
 
 Thine active sinews never braced; 
 
 Bend 'gainst the steepy-hill thy breast — 
 
 RUSH down like torrent from its crest! 
 
 Scott. 
 
20 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Unhand, me, gentlemen! 
 By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me! 
 I say away! — Go on; I'll follow thee! 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 O, that the slave had forty thousand lives ! 
 One is too poor, too weak, for my revenge ! 
 Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell! 
 Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearty throne 
 To tyrannous hate! 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Strike tiU the last armed foe expires! 
 Strike for your altars and your fires! 
 Strike for the green graves of your sires ! 
 God, and your native land! 
 
 Pierpont. 
 
 How iU this taper bums! Ha! who comes here? 
 I think it is the weakness of muie eyes. 
 That shapes this monstrous apparition! 
 It comes upon me! — ^Art thou anything? 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Have mercy, Heaven! — ^Ha! soft! 'twas but a dream! 
 But then so terrible, it shakes my soul! 
 Cold drops of sweat hang on my trembling flesh! 
 My blood grows chilly, and I freeze with horror ! 
 
 D. Circumflex. The circumflex inflection is used in 
 
 undignified speeches, also in the mental attitude of 
 
 prevarication. 
 
 Circumflex inflection is very readily understood because 
 
 of the twisting of the tone from the time of its beginning 
 
 to the close, and each wLQ unconsciously realize that the 
 
 inflections of the undignified or the prevaricating mind 
 
 are continually twisting and turning until it is difficult to 
 
 realize definitely what is meant by the speech. Examples: 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 21 
 
 ELDER FOBD's TWO CANDIDATES 
 
 S. W. Foss. 
 
 Now I don't want to brag at all; but this is my idee; 
 
 It takes a purty scrumptious man to git ahead er me. 
 
 I've got a brain for planning things, I've got an eye that's 
 peeled. 
 
 And the chap who gits ahead of me hez kep himself con- 
 cealed. 
 
 I opened up my grocery-store down here two year ago, 
 An' thought if I should jine the church, I'd have a better 
 
 show; 
 For this is a religious place, an' I seen very well 
 The piouser a feller was, the more goods he would sell. 
 
 So I applied to jine the church, let no time run to waste. 
 "This is a soUum step," they said, "an' shouldn' be took 
 
 in haste." 
 "Go home an' pray about this thing. Go pray," says 
 
 Elder Ford, 
 "An' talk it over prayerfully an' deeply with the Lord." 
 
 I see they didn' want me then; but this is my idee; 
 It takes a purty scrumptious man to git ahead er me. 
 "I'll come and see ye later, sir," sez I to Elder Ford, 
 "Wen I've talked it over prayfully an' deeply with the 
 Lord." 
 
 So two weeks later I appeared before the church t^'in 
 An' asked politely as I could if they would let me in. 
 "I've talked it over with the Lord," said I, "for many 
 
 a day." 
 "An' what, pray tell," asked Elder Ford, "what did the 
 
 good Lord say?" 
 
 "I'm tryin' to git in, " sez I, "to the church of Elder Ford, 
 An' they won't let me in at all. " 'Don't worry' sez the 
 Lord. 
 
n THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 'You are not the only one,' sez he, 'they've laid upon the 
 shelf. 
 
 'I've tried ten years without success to git in there my- 
 self."* 
 
 "Knock, knock! Who's there, in the other devil's Hame? 
 Faith here's an equivocator that could swear in both the 
 scales against either scale; who committed treason enough 
 for God's sake, yet could not equivocate to Heaven. O, 
 come in, equivocator. " 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 "He will come straight. Look you lay home to him: 
 Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with. 
 And that your grace hath screened and stood between 
 Much heat and him. I'll sconce me even here. 
 Pray you, be roimd with him." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 "Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from this 
 
 Jew my master. 
 The fiend is at mine elbow, and tempts me, saying to me, 
 
 •Gobbo, 
 Launcelot Gobbo, good Laimcelot,' or "good Gobbo,' or 
 
 ' good Launcelot 
 Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away.'" 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 "I couldn't help a-methinldn' to myself several times. 
 It duz seem to me that there hain't a question a-comin' 
 up before that Conference that is harder to tackle than 
 this plasterin' and the conundrum that is up before tis 
 Jonesville wimmen how to raise 300 dollars out of nuthin', 
 and to make peace in a meetin' house where anarky is now 
 rainih' down. 
 
 But I only thought these thoughts to myself, fur I knew 
 every woman there wuz peacible and law abidin' and there 
 wazn't one of 'em but what would rather fall offen her barell 
 then go agin the rules of the Methodist Meetin' House. 
 
 The second night of my arjuous labors on the meetin' 
 ouse, Josiah began wild and eloquent about wimmen be- 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 23 
 
 in' on Conferences, and mountin' rostrums. And sez he, 
 "'That is suthin' that we Methodist men can't stand.'" 
 
 Marietta Holley. 
 
 II. Pitch 
 
 Pitch is the melodic response of voice to mind from one 
 central thought word or key to another central thought 
 word or key; that is, every idea awakens a pecuUar feeling 
 of its own and the voice naturally will respond in different 
 keys; as, for instance, in a degree of sorrow or melancholy, 
 the voice will have a minor key; while in love, it will have 
 a major key; also, in joy. In other words, every idea, if 
 truthfully enjoyed and lived, will have a key of its own 
 and the voice will respond in these various keys, thus re- 
 vealing the grasp of the mind on each successive idea. 
 
 Pitch occurs between ideas, and it shows change of 
 thought. Therefore, one cannot have inflection without 
 change of pitch, but may have change of pitch with little 
 or no inflection. 
 
 In Robert Loxiis Stevenson's "Where Go the Boats?" 
 the reader will observe if he concentrates his thought 
 definitely upon the first idea, "Dark brown is the river," 
 that the voice will be concentrated in one definite place, 
 according to the degree of understanding of what is meant 
 by "Dark brown is the river. " Then when the next idea 
 presents itself, "Golden is the sand," the voice naturally 
 becomes illuminated by this idea of brilliancy and the 
 result is a change of key, and on in the next idea where it 
 "Flows along forever," there is a sort of suspension of 
 suggested continuity, and again the voice takes another 
 key, and so on throughout the entire poem, which is quoted 
 in full below, you will find this very apparent. As many 
 students have found comfort in its interpretation, I take 
 pleasure in submitting it for the general public. 
 
24 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 "Dark brown is the river" of experience. "Golden 
 sands" of comfort are thrown in, as we go along, and it 
 "flows along forever" that is, the stream of experience, 
 that seems to start to-day for us, has been going on from 
 the beginning of time, and as time never had a beginning 
 and will never have an end, so this stream "flows along 
 forever. " "With trees on either hand, " these trees lend- 
 ing their protection for resting places from the heat of the 
 sun during the day's labor. "Green leaves a-floating," 
 these green leaves are the individual aspirations of every 
 young man and woman in the world, and though they are 
 green or new leaves, still, to each one they are "castles of 
 the foam." "Boats of mine a-boating;" they are indeed 
 the great boats to us who are started out on this river of 
 experience, and in the language of Robert Browning in 
 his reference to youth, he says, " Mine be some transfigured 
 flame which transcends them all." Each feels that he or 
 she in launching this boat upon this river of time wiU send 
 it in climes and regions where no one else has dared to 
 venture. In the last Kne of this verse comes the great 
 question which so perplexes the youth: — "Where will all 
 come home?" that is, where shall this great dream, "boats 
 of mine, " come home; when shall I realize this great imder- 
 taking? 
 
 "On goes the river, and out past the mill;" this river 
 continually goes on, and on, and on, until it comes to, and 
 goes out past this mill of grinding. These many days and 
 years which are spent in toil in the burning of the mid- 
 night oil and concentration upon the plans, have been steps 
 which lead toward the realization of his dream or idea. 
 Yet, each must do so much grinding in this world of experi- 
 ence; and unless those grindings come, the preparation for 
 the launching and sending forward of their boats will be 
 at fault, and only discouragement and sorrow will result. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 25 
 
 "Away down the valley;" and many times in our 
 struggle to accomplish these great ideals, each one goes 
 down into the valley of discouragement. "Away down 
 the hiU;" of despair and then there comes the consolation 
 in these few lines, "Away down the river a hundred miles 
 or more, ' ' "Other little children shall bring my boat ashore. " 
 How wonderful it is to know that we are the other little 
 children bringing to shore the boats that were launched 
 by some loved one or dear friend, perhaps a hundred years 
 before; and what a great satisfaction to know that we have 
 a part in launching a boat which must be of use to bear a 
 rich store of precious gems of knowledge, information and 
 inspiration for those other Httle children who will bring 
 the boat ashore. 
 
 UP HILL 
 
 Christina G. Rossetti. 
 
 Does the road wind up hill all the way? 
 
 Yes, to the very end. 
 Will the day's journey take the whole long day? 
 
 From morn to night, my friend. 
 
 But is there for the night a resting place? 
 
 A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. 
 May not the darkness hide it from my face? 
 
 You cannot miss that inn. 
 
 Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? 
 
 Those who have gone before. 
 Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? 
 
 They will not keep you standing at that door. 
 
 Shall I find comfort, travel sore and weak? 
 
 Of labor you shall find the sum. 
 Will there be beds for me and all who seek? 
 
 Yea, beds for all who come. 
 
26 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 EIENZI TO THE ROMANS 
 
 Mary Russell Mitford. 
 
 Mary Russell Mitford, the author, was bom in 1786 
 in England; died 1855. The following is taken from the 
 play of "Rienzi," (Cola di Rienzi, a Roman tribune, was 
 born at Rome in 1313, and died in 1354,) and is founded 
 upon a speech made by Rienzi in 1347, when he proposed, 
 after the assassination of his brother by a Roman noble, 
 a set of laws for the better government and protection of 
 the common people of Rome. — • 
 
 "I come not here to talk. You know too well 
 The story of our thralldom. We are slaves ! 
 The bright sun rises to his course, and lights 
 A race of slaves! He sets, and his last beams 
 Fall on a slave; not such as, swept along 
 By the full tide of power, the conqueror led 
 To crimson glory and undying fame, — 
 But base, ignoble slaves; slaves to a horde 
 Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords. 
 Rich in some dozen paltry villages; 
 Strong in some hundred spearmen; only great 
 In that strange spell, — a name! 
 
 Each hour dark fraud. 
 Or open rapine, or protected murder. 
 Cries out against them. But this very day. 
 An honest man, my neighbor, — ^there he stands, — 
 Was struck — struck like a dog, by one who wore 
 The badge of Ursini! because, forsooth. 
 He tossed not high his ready cap in air. 
 Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts. 
 At sight of that great ruffian! Be we men. 
 And suffer such dishonor? Men, and wash not 
 The stain away in blood? Such shames are common. 
 I had a brother once — a gracious boy, 
 Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope. 
 Of sweet and quiet joy; there was the look 
 Of heaven upon his face, which limners give 
 To the beloved disciple. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 27 
 
 How I loved 
 That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years, 
 Brother at once and son! He left my side, 
 A summer bloom on his fair cheek; a smile 
 Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour 
 That pretty, harmless boy was slain! I saw 
 The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried 
 For vengeance! Rouse, ye Romans! Rouse, ye slaves. 
 Have ye brave sons? — Look in the next fierce brawl 
 To see them die. Have ye fair daughters.'' Look 
 To see them live, torn from your arms, disdained 
 Dishonored; and, if ye dare call for justice. 
 Be answered by the lash. 
 
 Yet this is Rome 
 That sat on her seven hiUs, and from her throne 
 Of beauty ruled the world! And we are Romans. 
 Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman 
 Was greater than a king! 
 
 And once again, — 
 Hear me, ye walls that echo to the tread 
 Of either Brutus! Once again, I swear 
 The eternal city shall be free. Her sons 
 Shall walk with princes ere to-morrow's dawn 
 The tyrants — 
 
 Hark— the bell, the bell! 
 That to the city and the plain. 
 Proclaim the glorious tale 
 Of Rome reborn, and freedom. 
 See the clouds are swept away, and the moon's boat of 
 
 light 
 Sails in the clear blue sky, and million stars 
 Look out on us, and smile — 
 Hark! that great voice 
 
 Hath broke our bondage. Look, without a stroke 
 The capitol is won — ^the gates unfold— 
 The keys are at our feet. Alberti, friend — 
 How shall I pay the service? Citizens! 
 J'irst to possess the palace citadel — 
 
28 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 The famous strength of Rome, then to sweep on, 
 
 Triximphant through her streets. 
 
 Oh, glorious wreck 
 
 Of gods and csesara ! thou shalt reign again 
 
 Queen of the world; and I, — come on, come on. 
 
 My people! 
 
 III. Pausation 
 
 Fausation is the suspension of speech and continuity of 
 thought. It is the process of the mind in the struggle for 
 the birth of a new idea; and in proportion as the mind has 
 recreated a new idea by the laws of association (memory), 
 will the voice show spontaneously this mental change; 
 and thus, one who has had some experience in life will be 
 able to present the lines he is giving to his audience more 
 truthfully. Therefore, the length and frequency of pauses 
 show the intensity of thinking. It is the lifting of a ham- 
 mer before the blow is struck. It is the groping in the 
 imknown for the known. Pausation is the opportunity 
 for the speaker to receive the new idea, and the auditor to 
 understand or receive the spoken idea. One does not 
 pause in order to think. The pausation is brought in only 
 to allow the imagination to play upon the new or conceived 
 successive idea, and to give it true color and setting. 
 
 In the following psalm, you will note the desire of the 
 individual, if he is concentrating fully upon the successive 
 ideas, such as: — "The Lord is My Shepherd" to pause 
 after having made that one declaration! It seems as 
 though the mind acts and reacts, and in its reaction doubles 
 its force, thereby creating the new idea in its cessation 
 of speech, "I shall not want. " Then comes the next great 
 idea of giving you the privilege in the command, "He 
 maketh me to he down. " Then comes the pause, and the 
 question immediately arises in your mind, where? and the 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 29 
 
 answer comes directly, "In green pastures. " Then, again, 
 in this pause comes the question of the idea that "He 
 leadeth me, " and the question then comes in the mind : — 
 Where does He lead me? In what place will He lead me? 
 The answer then immediately comes, which is bom out of 
 that pause, "beside the still waters." Then comes, "He 
 restoreth my soul." Again comes the question of further 
 leading each one: — "He leadeth me in paths." What 
 kinds of paths? "of righteousness." Then comes the 
 question — Why does He lead me in paths of righteousness, 
 and the answer comes out of the silence, "for His name's 
 sake." Then, the mind changes and gets more personal; 
 "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of 
 death;" then comes the great answer of that great situa- 
 tion: — "I will fear no evil." Then comes another pause 
 which creates interrogation; and this is answered, "for 
 Thou art with me;" again, the mind questions through 
 pause: — ^In what way is He with me? "Thy rod — and 
 something else — ^Thy staflF; " the mind then asks, what are 
 they for and what will they do? And out of the silence 
 comes: — "They comfort me;" and after the comfort comes, 
 "Thou preparest the table before me." Then, in the 
 Master's endeavor to show His preference or loyalty, and 
 appreciation of the earnest speaker, "He places it in the 
 presence of mine enemies." Then He bestows the great 
 honor which is symboUcal of His blessings upon them by 
 "Anointing my head with oil." Again comes the signi- 
 ficant pause in the mind, which should reveal a most mar- 
 velous transformation of the speaker, for "my cup runneth 
 over. " This pause previous to the birth of the new idea 
 should create in the voice a joy akin to sorrow, following 
 which he should be dominated by the most wonderful 
 assurance that it is possible for man to conceive. In the 
 declaration of not only "Surely goodness," but also "and 
 
30 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 mercy will follow me all the days of my life:" and now 
 comes the call for a decision in not only the mind of the 
 speaker, but of every auditor within the scope of his voice: 
 — "For I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. " 
 
 IV. Pulsation 
 
 Pulsation is the rhythmic footfall of the mind upon the 
 central thought word of each successive idea; that is, in 
 every idea there is a central word, which is the germ word; 
 and which reveals more of the truth contained in that idea 
 than any other word, and the mind naturally will grasp 
 that central thought word ; and in its successive concentrated 
 efforts to seize the thought word, the voice naturally shows 
 that word to be more important than the other words in 
 that idea, thus forming links, which make the chain of the 
 story. 
 
 "Build to-day, then, strong and sure, with a firm and 
 
 ample base; 
 And ascending and secure shall to-morrow find its place. 
 Thus alone can we attain to those turrets, where the eye 
 Sees the world as one vast plaia, and one boimdless 
 
 reach of slqr." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 "Worcester, get thee gone, for I do see 
 Danger and disobedience in thine eyes. 
 You have good leave to leave us; when we need 
 Your use and counsel, we shall send for you." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 "Being above all beings! Mighty One, 
 Whom none can comprehend, and none explore. 
 Who fiU'st existence with Thyself alone, — 
 Embracing all, supporting, ruling o'er, — 
 Being whom we call God, and know no more! 
 
 Derzhavin. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 81 
 
 BBEAK, BBBAK, BREAK 
 
 Alfred Tennyson, 
 
 "Break, break, break, 
 
 On thy cold, gray stones, O Sea! 
 And I would that my tongue could utter 
 
 The thoughts that arise in me. 
 
 O well for the fisherman's boy. 
 
 That he shouts with his sister at play! 
 
 O well for the sailor-lad. 
 That he sings in his boat on the bay! 
 
 And the stately ships go on 
 
 To their haven under the hill: 
 But oh! for the touch of a vanished hand. 
 
 And the soimd of a voice that is still! 
 
 Break, break, break. 
 
 At the foot of thy crags, O sea! 
 But the tender grace of a day that is dead 
 
 Will never come back to me." 
 
 V. Colorization 
 
 Colorization reveals the soul of the symbol, as for in- 
 stance, when we say a thing is black, there should be some 
 color of darkness or blackness in the voice. When we say 
 that we hate a man, there should be the element of hate in 
 the voice; not as is spoken by the majority of people. 
 They will come to you and say, "I hate you," whereas 
 they mean, "I love you." One will say, "I am very 
 happy" with tears rolling down his cheeks, which is an 
 absolute falsehood. There is no way to reveal the abso- 
 lute appreciation and understanding of an idea so well as 
 through colorization. No one will be able to thoroughly 
 Pippreciate, and follow a speaker imlesg tha^t speaker b^ 
 
32 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 colorization. While this is exceedingly important, it is no 
 more so than all other steps in the Grammar of the Spoken 
 Word. It is an identification of the speaker with the 
 author's imderstanding and feelings. 
 
 HUSKS 
 
 Mrs. WeUington. 
 
 "Why is it, that Life has a depth and a fulness 
 
 A wealth and a richness, and beautiful sparkle for some 
 
 happy souls. 
 While others find only the husks.? 
 
 And truly for some, 
 
 Lite's a strain of rich music. 
 
 An echo so joyous of notes glad and cheery 
 
 That they scarce ever dream of the thousands. 
 
 Who get but the husks. 
 
 Why is it that Love sheds its daintiest halo 
 
 And brightens life's prose. 
 
 To the sweetest of idyls 
 
 And floods us with joy-dreams, — 
 
 While thousands are finding but husks. 
 
 Then if we would make life 
 
 A beautiful pictiu-e all flashing and sparkling 
 
 'Mid radiance of sun-light 
 
 'Tis e'en but our choice to make gladn^s. 
 
 Or get but the husks." 
 
 "Oh, somewhere, somewhere, God unknown, ejust and be! 
 I am dying; I am all alone; I must have Thee. 
 God! God! my sense, my soul, my all dies in the cry.— 
 gaw'st thou the faint star flame and fall.'' Ah, it was I." 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 33 
 
 "Could you come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, 
 
 In the old likeness that I knew, 
 I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas, 
 
 Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. 
 Stretch out yoiu* hand to me, Douglas, Douglas, 
 
 Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew; 
 As I lay my hand on your dead heart, Douglas, 
 
 Douglas, Douglas, tender and true." 
 
 Mrs. Craik. 
 
 FEOM OTHELLO 
 
 "Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors. 
 
 My very noble and approved good masters. 
 
 That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter. 
 
 It is most true; true, I have married her: 
 
 The very head and front of my offending 
 
 Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech. 
 
 And little blest with the soft phrase of peace; 
 
 For siace these arms of mine had seven years' pith. 
 
 Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used 
 
 Their dearest action in the tented field; 
 
 And little more of this great world can I speak. 
 
 More than pertains to feats of broil and battle; 
 
 And therefore little shall I grace my cause 
 
 In speakiag for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience, 
 
 I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver 
 
 Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms. 
 
 What conjuration and what mighty magic — 
 
 For such proceeding I am charged withal — 
 
 I won his daughter." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 SOMEWHERE 
 
 Bert Moyer. 
 
 Somewhere a hand hath worthy action done, — 
 Somewhere within the gloom, a ray of light has run. 
 Somewhere among the multitude was heaven's joy begun. 
 Somewhere, aye, somewhere. 
 
34 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Somewhere 'mid chaos and despair, prayers were breathed; 
 Somewhere an answer to a breaking heart bequeathed; 
 Somewhere sin's sword was crushed, — ^its harm forever 
 sheathed. 
 Somewhere, aye, somewhere. 
 
 Somewhere in thy life, this somewhere's bound to be. 
 Somewhere in thy Hf e, the true light thou shalt see. 
 Somewhere to thy understandiQg true joy will flee, — 
 Somewhere, aye, somewhere. 
 
 Somewhere, a worthy deed will be for thy hand. 
 Somewhere, sometime 'twiU heal heart's severed band — 
 Somewhere, thy sia will cease, for aye, at thy command 
 SOMEWHERE, AYE, SOMEWHERE. 
 
 VI. Rhythm 
 
 Rhythm is the value shower. As each idea is weighted 
 or freighted, thus it will move. As it has Uttle or no 
 thought or feeling, it will rattle on like an empty wagon 
 or a shallow brook. Whereas, the idea weighted with 
 thought and feeling, a part of one's very being, will roll 
 forth into the realm of understanding as a freighted wagon 
 upon the ground or a loaded vessel upon the high seas. 
 
 THE CHAKGE OF THE LIGHT BBIGADE AT BALAKLAVA 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
 Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Poet. Born 1809, in England. 
 Balaklava is a small Greek fishing village with 700 inhab- 
 itants in the Crimea. During the "Crimean War" be- 
 tween France, England and Turkey on the one side and 
 Russia on the other, it was the scene of the famous cavalry 
 charge described below, on the 25th of October, 1854. 
 Who it was that "had blundered" will never be known. 
 Lord Raglan, commander of tkf P^jtist Army, denied 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 35 
 
 that he gave the order. Lord Lucan, the cavalry com- 
 mander, said that he received the order from Capt. Nolan 
 of Lord Raglan's staff. Capt. Nolan was killed in the 
 charge. — 
 
 Half a league, half a league. 
 
 Half a league onward. 
 All in the valley of Death 
 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 "Forward, the Light Brigade! 
 
 Charge for the guns!" he said: 
 Into the valley of Death 
 
 Rode the six himdred. 
 
 "Forward, the Light Brigade!" 
 Was there a man dismayed? 
 Not though the soldiers knew 
 
 Some one had blundered: 
 Theirs not to make reply. 
 Theirs not to reason why. 
 Theirs but to do and die: 
 Lito the valley of Death 
 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 Cannon to right of them, 
 Cannon to left of them, 
 Cannon in front of them 
 
 Volleyed and thundered; 
 Stormed at with shot and shell. 
 Boldly they rode and well. 
 Into the jaws of Death, 
 Into the mouth of Hell 
 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 Flashed all their sabres bare. 
 Flashed as they turned in air, 
 Sabring the gimners there. 
 Charging an army, while 
 All the world wondered: 
 Plunged in the battery-smoke 
 Right through the line they broke; 
 
36 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Cossack and Russian 
 Reeled from the sabre-stroke 
 
 Shattered and sundered. 
 Then they rode back, but not — 
 
 Not the six hundred. 
 
 Cannon to right of them, 
 Cannon to left of them, 
 Cannon behind them 
 
 Volleyed and thundered; 
 Stormed at with shot and shell. 
 While horse and hero fell. 
 They that had fought so well 
 Came through the jaws of Death, 
 Back from the mouth of Hell, 
 All that was left of them. 
 
 Left of six hundred. 
 
 When can their gloiy fade? 
 Oh, the wild charge they made! 
 
 All the world wondered. 
 Honor the charge they made! 
 Honor the Light Brigade, 
 
 Noble six htmdred! 
 
PART II 
 
TECHNIQUE OF THE SPOKEN WORD 
 I. Memorizing 
 
 THE continual interrogation of, "how can I 
 memorize more readily?" confronts daily the 
 teacher of the Spoken Word. First of all the 
 selection must be read through for the pur- 
 pose of finding out the correct pronunciation of each 
 word, and its meaning; secondly, the story or poem 
 should be read through at one sitting in order to get a 
 clear concept of the story, its environment, and its setting. 
 There are several methods by which a selection may 
 be memorized, one of the most prevalent and ineffective 
 is to begin repeating over and over again; another method 
 and not a bad one, is continually reading the selection 
 imtil the student finds that it is entirely memorized. 
 Better than either of these methods, I have found through 
 my own experience and through the students that the 
 following was most practicable. 
 
 If the matter with which you are dealing is some part of 
 a Descriptive or Lyrical poem, endeavor to know what 
 each idea means and how it leads into the next idea; also 
 how it is associated with other ideas throughout the whole 
 selection as one would acquaint one's seK with the different 
 points of interest in making a journey down a certain 
 street or highway in order to reach some particular point 
 of interest. As for instance, in traveling from the Trinity 
 Place Station to the Public Library, one passes first on 
 
40 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 the left, the new Toy theater, also a flower shop; 
 on the right. The Copley Plaza Hotel, and again on the 
 left, S. S. Pierce & Company's store, and directly in front 
 of you towers your great idea, the central thought word 
 in the first verse of your walk, The Public Library the 
 point of interest. 
 
 II. Manipulation versus Assimilation 
 
 You will observe in the chapter on memorizing several 
 methods in which to assimilate a character, one of which 
 will bear repetition. My earnest advice through succes- 
 sive years of experience is to be, not to do the thing, and 
 in order to be, it is necessary for you to live and become 
 the very character you wish to impersonate. 
 
 We read the following definition in Webster's Unabridged 
 Dictionary, — to be, or to become similar or like, to absorb, 
 or to be converted by the process of assimilation, that is, 
 you must so concentrate upon an idea in its true situation 
 until you actually reflect the character and atmosphere 
 which you wish to portray, then there will be no possibility 
 of confusion either on your part of assuming the charac- 
 ter, or your auditor to understand what character in the 
 play you are endeavoring to portray. 
 
 Do not allow yourself to yield to the cheap whims of a 
 fickle pubKc with the "try to please" plan, to read as is 
 taught in some of our otherwise good institutions in ten 
 of twenty lessons through the pitiless path of manipulation 
 or imitation and putting down in your selection where you 
 should raise your hand, weep, cry, etc., enumerated with 
 a certain number of marks or signs which co-respond to 
 the picture df some girl draped in a Grecian gown posed 
 for the purpose, and who is endeavoring to "look the 
 part. " When the student endeavors to follow these cook- 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 41 
 
 book directions, the result to the thinking mind is not 
 only disastrous, but disgusting. It brings disgrace and 
 degradation upon one of the noblest arts that ought to 
 ennoble. Beware, O, beware of manipulation and imi- 
 tation! 
 
 In memorizing a narrative poem, the speaker whom the 
 interpreter wishes to impersonate, should step out of the 
 narration and apparently shake hands in the clash of 
 meeting; and each of these characters in turn should be 
 assimilated through the following process, that is, endeavor 
 to think definitely just exactly what this character would 
 look like if he were to walk before you upon the stage of 
 life. By allowing this concept to so dominate you, you 
 can pass about your room or house, and perform your 
 commonplace duties, as cleaning the room, sweeping, 
 dusting, driaking, etc.; and you will be making discoveries 
 from minor to major things in this conceivable character. 
 Then when the time arrives for you to suggest through 
 impersonation these different characters, they will appear 
 before you in their successive situations as though they 
 were unconsciously performing their daily duties and 
 meeting the battles of lite; each will then be real persons, 
 entities whom every auditor from the littlest to the white- 
 rose decked-browed-person in the audience will be able to 
 comprehend without the least difficulty; and when the 
 student has reached this stage of perfection, one will see 
 little or no nosing the interlocutor, but in the language of 
 our constituency, "Why, your readings seem bits from 
 every day life!" 
 
42 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 III. Planes 
 
 There are several planes upon which a passage may be 
 rendered. I will speak of four: 
 
 1. Commonplace. 
 
 2. Animal or Physical. 
 
 3. Intellectual. 
 
 4. Ideal. 
 
 1. Commonplace. 
 
 The commonplace is one which is familiar to all intel- 
 lectual, or rather, thinking people. In fact, it is the plane 
 upon which most people speak, not excepting the major- 
 ity of Readers, Lecturers, Teachers, and Preachers. The 
 Exhorter and the Political Speaker are exceptions. They, 
 as a rule, step one step higher, and reach into another 
 plane, although a very small degree higher. This com- 
 monplace plane, which is so objectionable to the listener, 
 and has brought no Uttle degradation upon the subject of 
 the Spoken Word, is one in which the speaker merely pro- 
 noimces the words from a book, giving them little or no 
 color, no feeling, showing but sHght appreciation; or re- 
 peats words which he has committed to memory, word 
 for word, line for line, paragraph for paragraph, sometimes 
 drifting into a mood, which will give him a sort of sing- 
 song interpretation, and is exceedingly lulling and pacify- 
 ing to the listeners, usually putting them to sleep. 
 
 2. Animal or Physical. 
 
 The animal or physical plane, in which men are using 
 "sledge hammers to drive tacks" might be explained as 
 the plane which touches the pocket-book or self. In this 
 "much speaking" there is a tendency to self -emulation 
 or self-aggrandizement, either of which is a very low plane. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 43 
 
 When we hear the stiimp-speaJdng politician haranguing 
 an audience upon some petty point, drifting away "in the 
 intoxication of his own exuberance" of loudness and 
 noise, one may sigh in the language of Oliver Wendell 
 Holmes: "Oh, for the poultice of silence, to heal the blows 
 of sound. " In some degree, this physical or animal force 
 is one of the most valuable assets to the speaker, but with- 
 out the guiding hand of iuteUigence and the up-lifting arms 
 of soul, the man's speech will be wafted on the air to fade 
 like the mists before the sunlight of Reason iuto the realm 
 of forgetfxilness and nothingness. 
 
 3. Intellectual. 
 
 As one ascends the great moimtains, he finds the air 
 becoming more rarefied; so, the ascent ia the Art of the 
 Spoken Word: as we rise to the intellectual plane, we come 
 to a level which is most valuable and has everything to do 
 with the truthfulness of that which we interpret. Never- 
 theless, if the individual concentrates fully and has an 
 excellent appreciation of his idea and is able to dissect it 
 and place each particular idea under the scalpel-knife of 
 intellectual dissection and vivisection, it will fall inert and 
 dead on the imderstandiug. Therefore, the wholly iutel- 
 lectually interpreted passage has its use, and every poem 
 or article of prose should be thus handled at the beginning; 
 but not for the entertainment and instruction of the 
 general pubKc. 
 
 4. Ideal. 
 
 In observing the usual idealist, we find an individual 
 too reticent, too retiring, and apparently too rarefied for 
 the average audience and society with whom he is obUged 
 to associate from time to time. It is a plane which leads 
 Humanity into a realm or atmosphere which will eliminate 
 all grosser experiences, in so far as they are personally con- 
 cerned. For, dwelling in this i(iefil atmosphere, they dq 
 
44 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 not allow the lower conditions or things to touch them; 
 they simply throw them ofi and hold fast to the hand 
 which sustains and bears them up. This condition is 
 most excellent for the individual who is able to forego all 
 associations of the world, and remain shut off in some 
 secluded spot, dwelling wholly in thoughts which uplift 
 and sustain the ideal. 
 
 Therefore, to render a passage truthfully, one must 
 absolutely forsake the commonplace plane; he must also 
 be a good, healthy animal having sufficient physical force 
 so as to show no signs of weakness; then his intellect 
 must be well trained with definite, positive, and spon- 
 taneous convictions, and he must have a steadfast faith 
 in God and his message, then his ideal suggestions will 
 be full and free, lifting voice, face, — ^all into a truthful 
 and harmonious rendering. 
 
 IV. Music vnth Speech 
 
 No one has ever found it possible to successfully blend 
 any two arts; and occasionally we find a painter who 
 through his weakness and lack of imderstanding, attempts 
 to blend sculpture with painting. Many attempts have 
 been made in this direction and all have seemed to be 
 despicable failures. We may combine, but not blend. 
 
 It is imfortimate indeed, to hear a reader attempting 
 to interpret some narrative in which he endeavors to sug- 
 gest a song that was sung; and at the point of his represen- 
 tation the individual attempts through a poor, and un- 
 trained voice, or even a trained voice, to sing the song that 
 was presumably simg by the character in the selection. 
 Immediately the majority of the audience begin to criticise 
 either the speech or the song, and justly so, for the speaker, 
 in attempting to do any trickery or yeUawcuting on this 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 45 
 
 plane, calls attention upon himself rather than to the sub- 
 ject where the auditors should be held. 
 
 Again other readers will move along by routine until 
 they come to a precious spot which some artistic writer 
 has suggested should be simg or attimed to an instrument, 
 and at this stage in a selection, you will hear in the wings 
 or back of the platform, a voice pipe up and sing the song — 
 or a violin — or a piano; and sometimes both play the tune 
 in the backgroimd, while the individual, very much out of 
 tune, drags out the words as one might a cat by the tail. 
 
 Apropos of such so-called "interpretation" I was particu- 
 larly interested, and not a little amused at the presentation 
 of Edgar Allen Poe's poem, "The Bells." The young 
 lady, although very graceful in her movements, proceeded 
 not only to swing around, representing the different bells, 
 but also tried to imitate them with her voice, thus repre- 
 senting great activity of bending, gesticulating, and sawing 
 of the air. Before she had finished I felt like quoting 
 again Oliver Wendell Holmes: "Oh, for the poultice of 
 silence, to heal the blows of sound. " 
 
 The matter of representing speech such as is illustrated 
 from time to time in schools of expression and oratory, as 
 in rendering old Ballads and when they reach the chorus, 
 most of the leading teachers attempt that which is labelled 
 by some, "representative expression" or "representative 
 oratorical expression. " This labelling system is a danger- 
 ous one, and while one may occasionally strike the key- 
 note and give a fair suggestion of the thing to be presented, 
 there remains nevertheless, an ever present ill taste id the 
 intelligent mouth of the understanding listener. This 
 form of speech is one that requires the most careful, con- 
 centrated understanding of the thing to be presented, and 
 it can only by handled by "one who knows." 
 
 My advice to the novice would be to refrain from any 
 
46 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 rushing in "where angels fear to tread." In rendering the 
 poem entitled "The Bell Buoy," or "The Bugle Song" or 
 Longfellow's "Clock on the Stairs," it would be well on 
 the part of the imtraihed and ignorant individual to re- 
 frain from attempting to represent "The Bell Buoy," 
 "The Bugle," or "The Old Clock." 
 
 THE BtTGLE SONG 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
 The splendor falls on castle walls 
 
 And snowy summits old in stoiy: 
 The long light shakes across the lakes. 
 And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
 Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. 
 Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 
 
 O hark, hear! how thin and clear. 
 And thinner, clearer, farther going! 
 O sweet and far from cliflf and scar 
 The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! 
 Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: 
 Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 
 
 O love, they die in yon rich sky. 
 They faint on hill, or field, or river: 
 Our echoes roll from soul to soul. 
 
 And grow forever and forever. 
 Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. 
 And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 
 
 V. Alliteration 
 
 Every student or interpreter of Uterature should practice 
 enough on aUiteration so as to enable him to speak rapidly 
 any passage or passages without running the vowels and 
 thg ppnspnaiit§ together; for the one essential thing above 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 
 
 47 
 
 all others that the American Republic requires is imder- 
 standing what is being said without too much of a struggle 
 on the part of the listener. I submit the following ex- 
 amples: — 
 
 Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled prickled peppers. 
 If Peter Piper picked a peck of piclded prickled peppers. 
 Where is the peck of pickled prickled peppers that Peter 
 Piper picked? 
 
 Brovming. 
 
 Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, 
 Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats. 
 Grave old plodders, gay young friskers. 
 
 Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins. 
 Pointing tails and prickling whiskers. 
 
 Families by tens and dozens. 
 Brothers, sisters, husbands,' wives — 
 Followed the Piper for their lives. 
 
 Brovming. 
 
 Dividing and ghdrng and sliding, 
 And falling and brawling and sprawling. 
 And driving and riving and striving. 
 And sprinkliug and twinkling and wrinkling. 
 And sounding and bounding and rounding. 
 And bubbling and troubling and doubling. 
 And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling. 
 And clattering and battering and shattering; 
 
 Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting. 
 Delaying and straying and playing and spraying. 
 Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing, 
 Recoiling, turmoiling, and toiling and boiling. 
 And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming, 
 And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping. 
 And curling and whirling and purling and twirling, 
 And thiunping and pumping and bumping and jumping, 
 And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing. 
 
 Southey. 
 
48 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Theophilus Thistle, the thistle sifter, thoroughly sifted a 
 
 siftf ul of thistles : 
 A siftful of thistles Theophilus Thistle, the thistle sifter, 
 
 thoroughly sifted. 
 If Theophilus Thistle, the thistle sifter, thoroughly sifted 
 
 a siftful of thistles. 
 Where is the siftful of thistles Theophilus Thistle, the 
 
 thistle sifter, sifted? 
 
 What noise annoys a noisy oyster? A noisy noise annoys 
 a noisy oyster. 
 
 Fresh fried fish freely flavored frizzling finely. 
 
 Susan shineth shoes and socks, socks and shoes shineth 
 
 Susan: 
 She ceaseth shining shoes and socks, for socks and shoes 
 
 shock Susan. 
 
 A cup of cofifee in a copper pot. 
 
 Three gray geese in a green field grazing. Gray were the 
 geese and green was the grazing. 
 
 The sea ceaseth and it sufficeth us. 
 
 She sells sea shells, sells she. 
 
 She stood in an arbor welcoming him in. 
 
 All he holds are old whole hold-alls. 
 
 A big black bootblack blacked Bertie Black's black boots 
 with black-backed brush and blue black blacking. 
 
 The unceremoniousness of their communicability is wholly 
 inexplicable. 
 
 Most hypocritically he managed his part in the counter- 
 revolutionary movement. 
 
THE SPOKEN WOED 49 
 
 Authoritatively and peremptorily he forbade all com- 
 munication. 
 
 Such extraordinary untractableness manifested anything 
 but disinterestedness. 
 
 The blind man bewailed the blast. 
 
 Who can say crackers, crime, cruelty, crucible? 
 
 I think it is my duty to do my duty, when it is my duty 
 to do my duty. 
 
 Her rough and rugged rocks, that rear their hoary heads 
 high in the air. 
 
 I never saw such a saw as this saw, saw six sleek slim 
 saplings; 
 
 We wistfully watched wrathful waters wildly play. 
 
 Lamely limped the lonely lion along the lane. 
 
 I say that that, that that man said, is not that, that that 
 man told him. 
 
 When a twister twisting would twist him a twist. 
 For twisting a twist three twists he will twist; 
 But if one of the twists untwists from the twist. 
 The twist imtwisting untwists the twist. 
 
 Robert Rowley rolled a round roll round; 
 
 A round roU Robert Rowley rolled round, roimd; 
 
 Where rolled the round roll, Robert Rowley rolled? 
 
 VI. Emphasis 
 
 Emphasis is the body or the mechanical part of inter- 
 pretation, where the speaker wishes to make a certain 
 
50 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 word or idea stand out clearly in the minds of his auditors, 
 and is often accomplished at the expense of all speech form. 
 
 REPLY TO HAYNE 
 
 Daniel Webster. 
 
 I have not allowed myseK, Sir, to look beyond the 
 Union to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess 
 behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of pre- 
 serving Uberty when the bonds that unite us together 
 shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself 
 to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, 
 with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss 
 below; nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the 
 affairs of this government, whose thoughts should be 
 mainly bent on considering, not how the Union may be 
 best preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition 
 of the people when it should be broken up and destroyed. 
 While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying 
 prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. 
 Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the veU. God grant 
 that, in my day at least, that curtain may not rise! God 
 grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies 
 behind! When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the 
 last time the sim in heaven, may I not see him shining on 
 the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious 
 Union; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a 
 land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in frater- 
 nal blood! Let their last feeble and lingering glance 
 rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the repubhc, now 
 known and honored throughout the earth, still full high 
 advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original 
 lustre, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star 
 obscured, bearing for its motto no such miserable inter- 
 rogatory as "What is all this worth.''" nor those other 
 words of delusion and folly, "Liberty first and Union 
 afterwards;" but everywhere, spread all over in characters 
 of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float 
 over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under 
 the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 51 
 
 true American heart — ^Liberty and Union, now and for- 
 ever, one and inseparable! 
 
 VII. Accentuation 
 
 We read in many books, page after page, chapter after 
 chapter, upon the subject of Accentuation, but get Kttle 
 or no light. While it is a sort of wiU-of-the-wisp subject 
 and was first treated nearly a century ago, it is, neverthe- 
 less, a positive step, worthy of profound respect and due 
 consideration, from the teacher or student wishing to teach 
 or interpret Literature. This step is very closely allied 
 to the step named colorization in the Grammar of the Spoken 
 Word; and as colorization is the soul-revealing step and 
 has to do with giving the Symbol Life, this step deals 
 primarily with each idea and serves to create a back- 
 groimd for word-painting. 
 
 In order to master this step, it is positively necessary 
 for the speaker to become conscious of the whole situa- 
 tion, and through his appreciation of, and living into this 
 situation, he will be enabled to reflect the actual, which, 
 in some degree, may seem ideal. 
 
 A BALLAD 
 
 Sidney Lanitr. 
 
 Into the woods my Master went. 
 
 Clean forspent, forspent. 
 Into the woods my Master came. 
 Forspent with love and shame. 
 But the oUves they were not blind to him. 
 The little gray leaves were kind to him; 
 The thom-tree had a mind to him 
 When into the woods he came. 
 
53 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Out of the woods my Master went, 
 And he was well content. 
 Out of the woods my Master came. 
 Content with death and shame. 
 When Death and Shame would woo him last. 
 From under the trees they drew him last, 
 'Twas on a tree they slew him — ^last. 
 When out of the woods he came. 
 
 VIII. Transition 
 
 The great mistake made by most public speakers and 
 interpreters of literature, is the failure to make a transition 
 at the proper time and in the proper way. As it is essential 
 that a transition should be made between each idea which 
 deals wholly with the mental activities and is primarily 
 mental; the next and the greater transition is the one made 
 first, mentally, and then physically, between situations. 
 In order to do this, it means that the mind should grasp 
 the new situation so thoroughly as not only to stir the 
 body by the new thrill caused by the new concept in the 
 mind, as when it receives the new idea, but also, the new 
 situation should stir the body to such an extent that it 
 becomes a law of locomotion, and should cause the individ- 
 ual to actually step, — or even suggest any motion in order 
 to convey the meaning implied by the thought movement. 
 
 THE EVE OF WATERLOO 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 There was a sound of revelry by night. 
 And Belgium's capital had gathered then 
 Her beauty and her chivaJry, and bright 
 The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men 
 A thousand hearts beat happily; and when 
 Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 53 
 
 Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again. 
 
 And aU. went merry as a marriage-bell; 
 
 But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! 
 
 Did ye not hear it? No ; 'twas but the wind 
 
 Or the car rattling o'er the stony street. 
 
 On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; 
 
 No sleep till mom, when youth and pleasure meet 
 
 To chase the glowing hours with flying feet; 
 
 But hark! — ^that heavy sound breaks in once more. 
 
 As if the clouds its echo would repeat; 
 
 And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! 
 
 Arm! arm! it is — ^it is — ^the cannon's opening roar! 
 
 And then and there was hurrying to and fro. 
 And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress. 
 And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
 Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; 
 And there were sudden partiags, such as press 
 The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
 Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess 
 If evermore should meet those mutual eyes. 
 Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise! 
 
 And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed. 
 The mustering squadron, and the clattering car. 
 Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
 And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; 
 And the deep thunder, peal on peal afar; 
 And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
 Roused up the soldier ere the mormng star; 
 While thronged the citizens with terror dumb. 
 Or whispering, with white lips, — "The foe! They come! 
 they come!" 
 
 You will observe iq the above poem after the liae "And 
 all went merry as a marriage bell" there should be a transi- 
 tion of the whole body and upon the feet before the next 
 line is b^un, — "But hush, hark, "which carries through to 
 
54 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 the end of the line. "Did ye not hear it?" Another 
 transition arrives at this point in the reply to the other 
 speakers, and so on throughout the entire poem. 
 
 BENOUNCEMENT 
 
 Meynell. 
 
 I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong, 
 
 I shun the thought that lurks in all deKght — 
 
 The thought of thee — and in the blue Heaven's height. 
 
 And in the sweetest passage of a song. 
 
 Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throng 
 
 This breast, the thought of thee waits, hidden yet bright; 
 
 But it must never, never come in sight; 
 I must stop short of thee the whole day long. 
 But when sleep comes to close each difficult day, 
 When night gives pause to the long watch I keep. 
 And all my bonds I needs must loose apart. 
 Must doff my wiU as raiment laid away. 
 With the first dream that comes with the first sleep 
 I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart. 
 
 IX. Phrasing 
 
 Phrasing is the separation and grouping of ideas so as 
 to arrange them in successive steps or waves, showing 
 continuity of thought. It is closely aUied to pausing. 
 Ideas come by irregular pulsations; no two ideas receive 
 the same impetus, and in being recreated, if truthful, will 
 never be presented with the same degree of intensity; but 
 like the successive gust of wind playing upon the pine 
 needles, in the forest, or the succeeding splash of waves 
 upon the coast, each idea should spontaneously breathe 
 forth after having been truly conceived. It is the systole 
 and dyastole of nature in all her fornis of life. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 55 
 
 The importaxice of grouping ideas so as to carry the 
 thought and keep it sustained until the end of the phrase 
 is reached, should receive the most careful attention and 
 most thorough concentration, for in this matter of phras- 
 ing, the speaker usually meets his " Waterloo. " The mere 
 enumeration of ideas, as you might a series of white beans 
 distributed upon a table, is nothing more nor less than a 
 mechanical " modus operandi, " and this mechanical process 
 is the one thing among all others which has brought dis- 
 grace upon the noble profession of the Spoken Word. 
 
 The imitative method, promulgated in many of the 
 older institutions, wherein the teacher reads the poem and 
 phrases it, either good, bad or indifferently, after which the 
 students do their best to imitate the teacher, is destruc- 
 tive; because when the students are set adrift with their 
 diplomas, to go forth to procure for themselves a position 
 in some private or high school, seminary, or college, and 
 when they are brought face to face with some new line of 
 Literature which they have never heard their teacher 
 read, there comes to pass the most despicable thing that 
 is possible for a person to perpetrate upon a child or an 
 untrained mind: — the attempt to bluff or cover up ignor- 
 ance with some pretty mimicry or affected gestures which 
 will eventually turn all thinking minds into disgust and 
 consequent degradation. In the following extract which 
 I have separated by double dashes, you will note the suc- 
 cessive new phrases: — 
 
 With wan, — ^fevered face — tenderly lifted to the cooling 
 breeze, — he looked out wistfully upon the ocean's changing 
 wonders; — on its fair sails — ^whitening in the morning 
 light; — on its restless waves, — ^roUing shoreward — to break 
 — and die — ^beneath the noonday sun; — on the red clouds 
 of evening, — arching low^ — to the horizon; — on the serene 
 and shining pathway — of the stars. q^^^ -^ Curds. 
 
56 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 The new South is enamored of her new work. Her 
 soul is stirred with the breath of a new life. The light 
 of a grander day is falling fair on her face. She is thrilling 
 with the consciousness of growing power and prosperity. 
 As she stands upright, full statured and equal, among the 
 people of the earth, breathing the keen air and looking 
 out upon the expanded horizon, she understands that her 
 emancipation came because, through the inscrutable 
 wisdom of God, her honest purpose was crossed and her 
 brave armies were beaten. 
 
 Henry W. Grady. 
 
 The widespread Republic is the true monument to 
 Washington. Maintain its independence; uphold its 
 constitution; preserve its union; defend its liberty. Let 
 it stand before the world in all its original strength and 
 beauty, securing peace, order, equality, and freedom to 
 all within its boundaries, and shedding Ught and hope and 
 joy upon the pathway of human liberty throughout the 
 world, and Washington needs no other monument. Other 
 structures may fitly test our veneration for him; this, this 
 alone can adequately illustrate his services to man-kind. 
 Nor does he need even this. The Republic may perish, 
 the wide arch of our ranged Union may fall, star by star 
 its glories may expire, stone by stone its column and its 
 capitol may crumble, all other names which adorn its 
 annals may be forgotten, but, as long as human hearts 
 shall anywhere plead for true, rational, constitutional 
 liberty, tiiose hearts shall enshrine the memory, and those 
 tongues prolong the fame, of George Washington. 
 
 Robert C. Winthrop. 
 
 INCIDENT or THE FRENCH CAMP 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 You know, we French stormed Ratisbon : 
 
 A mile or so away. 
 On a Uttle mound. Napoleon 
 
 Stood on our storming-day; 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 57 
 
 With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, 
 
 Legs wide, arms locked behind. 
 As if to balance the prone brow 
 
 Oppressive with its mind. 
 
 Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans 
 
 That soar, to earth may fall. 
 Let once my army leader Lannes 
 
 Waver at yonder wall, — " 
 Out 'twixt the battery-smoke there flew 
 
 A rider, bound on bound 
 Full galloping; nor bridle drew 
 
 Until he teached the mound. 
 
 Then off there flung in smiling joy. 
 
 And held himself erect 
 By just his horse's mane, a boy: 
 
 You hardly could suspect — 
 (So tight he kept his lips compressed. 
 
 Scarce any blood came through) 
 You looked twice ere you saw his breast 
 
 Was all but shot in two. 
 
 "Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace 
 
 We've got you Ratisbon! 
 The Marshal's in the market-place. 
 
 And you'll be there anon 
 To see yoiir flag-bird flap his vans 
 
 Where I, to heart's desire. 
 Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans 
 
 Soared up again Kke fire. 
 
 The chief's eye flashed; but presently 
 
 Softened itself, as sheathes 
 A film the mother-eagle's eye 
 
 When her bruised eaglet breathes. 
 "You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride 
 
 Touched to the quick, he said: 
 "I'm killed, su-e!" and his chief beside. 
 
 Smiling the boy fell dead. 
 
58 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 X. Antithesis 
 
 The arrangement of one idea in contrast to another, or 
 the arrangement of the thought symbol in the idea to show 
 either direct or imphed opposition in the next thought 
 symbol, is a step most important to people in every pro- 
 fession, — ^primarily the preacher, orator, lecturer, and 
 lawyer. It is through the means of Antithesis that we are 
 enabled to awaken the joy and sorrow, love and hate, 
 comparable to the shadow and highlight in the painting, 
 the loudness and delicacy in the musical realm, the minor 
 and major chords, the outer simJight and shadow, or the 
 day and the night as represented in His universe. In the 
 following selections we have excellent illustrations of this 
 wonderful contrast: — 
 
 Some doubt the courage of the negro. Go to Hayti, 
 and stand on those fifty thousand graves of the best 
 soldiers France ever had, and ask them what they think 
 of the negro's sword. 
 
 I would call him Napoleon, but Napoleon made his way 
 to empire over broken oaths and through a sea of blood. 
 This man never broke his word. I would call him Crom- 
 well, but CromweU was only a soldier, and the state he 
 founded went down with him into his grave. I would 
 call him Washington, but the great Virginian held slaves. 
 This man risked his empire rather than permit the slave 
 trade in the humblest village of his dominions. 
 
 You think me a fanatic, for you read history, not with 
 your eyes, but with your prejudices. But fifty years 
 hence, when Truth gets a hearing, the Muse of history 
 wiU put Phocion for the Greek, Brutus for the Roman, 
 Hampden for England, Fayette for France, choose Wash- 
 ington as the bright consummate flower of our earlier 
 civiUzation, then, dipping her pen in the sunlight, will 
 write in the clear blue, above them all, the name of the 
 soldier, the statesman, the martyr, Toussaint L'Ouverture. 
 
 PhiUvps. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 59 
 
 To be a patriot is to love one's country; it is to be ready 
 and willing, if need comes, to die for the country, as a 
 good seaman would die to save his ship and his crew. 
 
 Yes! To love our country, to work so as to make it 
 strong and rich, to support its government, to obey its 
 laws, to pay fair taxes iuto the treasury, to treat our 
 fellow-citizens as we like to be treated ourselves, — this is 
 to be good American patriots. 
 
 F. Dole. 
 
 But, my lords, who is the man that, in addition to the 
 disgrace and mischiefs of the war, has dared to authorize 
 and associate to our arms the tomahawk and scalping- 
 knife of the savage.'' — to call into civilized alliance the 
 wild and inhuman inhabitants of the woods i* — to delegate 
 to the merciless Indian the defence of disputed rights, 
 and to wage the horrors of his barbarous war against our 
 brethren? My lords, these enormities cry aloud for redress 
 and punishment. 
 
 Pitt. 
 
 THE hunter's song 
 
 Barry Cornwall. 
 
 Rise! sleep no more! 'Tis a noble morn. 
 The dews hang thick on the fringed thorn, 
 And the frost shrinks back, like a beaten hound. 
 Under the steaming, steaming ground. 
 Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by. 
 And leave us alone in the clear gray sky. 
 Our horses are ready and steady. So, ho! 
 I'm gone like a dart from the Tartar's bow. 
 
 Hark! hark! Who calleth the maiden Morn 
 
 From her sleep in the woods and the stubble corn? 
 
 The horn! the horn! 
 
 The merry, sweet ring of the hunter's horn. 
 
 Now, through the copse where the fox is found. 
 And over the stream at a mighty bound. 
 And over the high lands and over the low. 
 
60 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 O'er furrows, o'er meadows, the hunters go. 
 Away: as a hawk flies full at his prey. 
 So flieth the hunter, — away, away! 
 From the burst at the cover till set of sun. 
 When the red fox dies, and the day is done. 
 
 Hark! hark! What sound on the wind is borne? 
 
 'Tis the conquering voice of the hunter's horn! 
 
 The horn! the horn! 
 
 The merry, bold voice of the himter's horn! 
 
 Sound, sound the horn! To the hunter good 
 What's the gully deep or the roaring flood? 
 Right over he bounds, as the wild stag bounds. 
 At the heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds. 
 Oh! what dehght can a mortal lack. 
 When once he is firm on his horse's back. 
 With his stirrups short, and his snaffle strong. 
 And the blast of the horn for his morning song? 
 
 Hark! hark! Now home and dream till morn 
 
 Of the bold, sweet sound of the hunter's horn. 
 
 The horn! the horn! 
 
 Oh! the sound of all sounds is the hunter's horn. 
 
 XI. Central Symbols 
 
 The symbol in each successive idea which expresses the 
 real thought of that idea should be brought out in such a 
 manner as to have it breathe to the listener the breath of 
 life for which it stands. 
 
 While there is one symbol in each idea expressing the 
 body of it, there is one great symbol in each group of ideas 
 which conveys the summing up of the several others; and 
 in order to bring this out, the Pausation, Pulsation 
 and Colorization must be thoroughly understood by the 
 speaker in order to get the true interpretation. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 61 
 
 MANS MORTALITY 
 
 Simon Wastell. 
 
 Like as the damask rose you see. 
 
 Or like the blossom on the tree. 
 
 Or like the dainty flower in May, 
 
 Or like the morning of the day. 
 
 Or like the sun, or like the shade. 
 
 Or like the gourd which Jonas had, — 
 
 E'en such is man: — whose thread is spun. 
 
 Drawn out, and cut, and so is done, — 
 
 The rose withers, the blossom blasteth. 
 
 The flower fades, the morning hasteth. 
 
 The sun sets, the shadow flies, 
 
 The gourd consumes, — and man he dies. 
 
 Like to the grass that's newly sprung. 
 
 Or like a tale that's new begim. 
 
 Or like the bird that's here to-day, 
 
 Or like the purl'd dew of May, 
 
 Or like an hour, or like a span. 
 
 Or hke the singing of a swan, — 
 
 E'en such is man: — ^who lives by breath. 
 
 Is here, now there, in life and death. — 
 
 The grass withers, the tale is ended, 
 
 The bird is flown, the dew ascended. 
 
 The hour is short, the span is long. 
 
 The swan's near death, — Oman's life is done. 
 
 XII. Sustention 
 
 Of all steps contained in the subject ofthe Spoken Word, 
 there is none equal to the mastery of sustention for the 
 purpose of bringing out the thought contained in the 
 selections and to give it the professional and artistic finish; 
 for instance, in reading the following extract, a portion from 
 Shakespeare's Julius Caesar in Brutus' reply to Cassius' 
 exclamation. Chastisement, — 
 
2 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 What, shall one of us, 
 
 That struck the foremost man of all this world 
 But for supporting robbers, shall we now 
 Contaminate our fingers with base bribes. 
 And sell the mighty space of our large honors 
 For so much trash as may be grasped thus? 
 I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon. 
 Than such a Roman. 
 
 The voice will naturally start upon some pitch whether 
 it be high, low, or intermediate, which is purely accidental, 
 and the tone or rather the melody is continued until it 
 reaches the line, "I'd rather be a dog," where it has for 
 the first time a sort of stopping place and its first downfall, 
 and then like the final wave which lashes the coast, it makes 
 one final leap on the word "moon" and falls upon the 
 word "Roman." 
 
 EXTRACT TBOM PATKICK HENRY 
 
 Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by 
 lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive 
 phantom of hope, until our enemy shall have bound us 
 hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper 
 use of those means which the God of nature hath placed 
 in our power. 
 
 In the preceding ejctract the voice continues to climb 
 in its melodic responsiveness until it reaches the word 
 "Sir;" and thus in all literature, we find this wonderful 
 sustention which if thoroughly understood and mastered, 
 all sing-songy false-melodies, and choppy interpretations 
 will be eliminated. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 63 
 
 XIII. Relation 
 
 This subject is of great importance because of its final 
 significance; it should be divided as follows: 
 
 1. Helation of idea. In the relation of ideas, thpy 
 should be so thoroughly separated, yet delicately con- 
 nected, as to keep a tnie melody in speech; for there is, or 
 rather should be, a perfect melody running through all 
 speech regardless of whether it be prose or poetry. 
 
 2. Relation of narration and participation. In nar- 
 rating a story of any particular incident in which the 
 speaker or narrator attempts to describe the act of an- 
 other, he should keep his auditor's attention upon the thing 
 described rather than to have it centered upon himself. 
 Whpp the speaker allows himself to participate in an act 
 where he is describing what the person did, he is a,ttempting 
 an impossibility which will reflect discredit and no little 
 condemnation upon him, from the intelligent observer. 
 He may enter in so far as his imagination, voice and gesture 
 are capable, so long as he does not attempt to be the 
 thing which he is describing. 
 
 3. Relation gf subject, speaker and auditor. This 
 relation will be fully ejcplained under the forms of delivery 
 in the Forms of Poetry. 
 
 XIV. Pivotal Power 
 
 One of the great difficulties which lessens the power of 
 the impersonator is his constant nosing his interlocutor. 
 When a speaker }» some definite situation talks to another, 
 there is a typical relation which should always be adhered 
 to; for you will find in the natural course of events in this 
 lif?, that when one speR,ks to another, he usually concen- 
 trates his attention momentarily upon thp one whom he is 
 
64 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 addressing, and then naturally radiates or pivots from 
 this person into or toward his audience. This gravitation 
 toward, or radiation from, is constant, and a positive 
 factor in the realm of good impersonation. 
 
 Take a series of speeches such as you will find in all 
 good plays, and especially where there is excellent repartee; 
 the shifting of the interrogated, caused by the interrogator, 
 is very interesting and not a little amusing. Therefore, 
 the impersonator must in his transition from character to 
 character, (which should be complete from the tip of his 
 toes to the crown of his head,) show by his interpretation 
 the actual living character through his interpretative sug- 
 gestion. Then he will awaken in the imagination of his 
 hearers a truthful picture of the scene and characters which 
 he is endeavoring to represent. Above all things avoid 
 nosing your interlocutor. This is exceedingly amateurish 
 and shows the crude work of the beginner. 
 
 XV. Universal Versus Personal 
 
 One has said, "An artist can never be great until he 
 transcends his own personality, " and no student will ever 
 attain any great heights in the subject of the Spoken 
 Word, until he or she is able to rise above the personal 
 plane and get into the realm of Universality; for aU inter- 
 pretation, or writing, or music, or painting, or sculpture, 
 which is done for the personal gratification and ends alone, 
 dies with the individual; and when the artisan becomes 
 the artist, he has touched the hem of the garment of Uni- 
 versality and through his humility he climbs to the feet of 
 the God of Art. So when the speaker can rise through 
 his intellectual pursuit to speak to the Universal mind or 
 intelligence, not individuals, he will then be able to secure 
 the response of all listeners. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 65 
 
 XVI. Plane Song 
 
 Plane song or chanting is the link which unites speech 
 and song. Back in the early ages at the time of Pope 
 Gregory, he conceived the idea of placing the melody of 
 speech upon, above, and below a single line with certain 
 dots or characters, and after some time he added another 
 line and still another, until it has finally grown from 
 speech into music with a stafif of five lines and four spaces. 
 
 This chanting, while utilized in many churches, as a 
 mode of expression at different intervals of a regular 
 church service, or ceremony, is most excellent practice 
 to develop control of breath and good tone. It provides 
 the three fundamental steps underlying all good speaking 
 or singing, namely: — Passivity of throat and face; stability 
 of chest, and activity of the diaphragm. The following 
 poems will be found very useful for chanting purposes: — 
 
 SONG OF THE BBOOK 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
 I come from haunts of coot and hern: 
 
 I make a sudden sally. 
 And sparkle out among the fern. 
 
 To bicker down a valley. 
 
 By thirty hiUs I hurry down. 
 
 Or sKp between the ridges. 
 By twenty thorps, a little town. 
 
 And half a hundred bridges. 
 
 Till last by Pliilip's farm I flow 
 
 To join the brimming river; 
 For men may come and men may go. 
 
 But I go on forever. 
 
66 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 I chatter over stony ways. 
 In little sharps and trebles; 
 
 I bubble into eddying bays, 
 I babble on the pebbles. 
 
 With many a curve my banks I fret 
 By many a field and fallow; 
 
 And many a fairy foreland set 
 With willow-weed and mallow. 
 
 I chatter, chatter, as I flow 
 To join the brimming river; 
 
 For men may come and men may go. 
 But I go on forever. 
 
 I wind about, and in and out. 
 With here a blossom sailing. 
 
 And here and there a lusty trout, 
 And here and there a grayling. 
 
 And here and there a foamy flake 
 
 Upon me, as I travel 
 With many a silvery waterbreak 
 
 Above the golden gravel. 
 
 And draw them all along, and flow 
 To join the brimming river; 
 
 For men may come and men may go. 
 But I go on forever. 
 
 I steal by lawns and grassy plots; 
 
 I slide by hazel covers; 
 I move the sweet forget-me-nots 
 
 That grow for happy lovers. 
 
 I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance. 
 Among my skimming swallows; 
 
 I make the netted sunbeam dance 
 Against my sandy shallows. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 67 
 
 I murmur under moon and stars 
 
 In brambly wildernesses; 
 I linger by my shingly bars; 
 
 I loiter round my cresses. 
 
 And out again I curve and flow 
 
 To join the brimming river; 
 For men may come and men may go. 
 
 But I go on forever. 
 
 THE BELLS OF BHANDON 
 
 Francis Mahony. 
 
 With deep affection and recollection, 
 
 I often think of those Shandon bells. 
 Whose sound so wild would, in the days of childhood. 
 
 Fling round my cradle their magic spells. 
 
 On this I ponder where'er I wander. 
 And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee, — 
 
 With thy bells of Shandon, that sound so grand, on 
 The pleasant waters of the river Lee. 
 
 I've heard bells chiming full many a cUme in. 
 
 Tolling sublime in cathedral shrine; 
 While at a gKb rate, brass tongues would vibrate; 
 
 But all their music spoke naught like thine. 
 
 For memory dwelling, on each proud swelling 
 Of thy belfry, knelling its bold notes free. 
 
 Made the bells of Shandon sound far more grand, on 
 The pleasant waters of the river Lee. 
 
 I've heard bells tolling old Adrian's Mole in. 
 
 Their thimder rolling from the Vatican; 
 And cymbals glorious swinging uproarious 
 
 In the gorgeous turret of Notre Dame; 
 
 But thy soimds were sweeter than the dome of Peter 
 Flings o'er the Tiber, pealing solemnly. 
 
68 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Oh! the bells of Shandon sound far more grand, on 
 The pleasant waters of the river Lee. 
 
 There's a bell in Moscow; while, on tower and kiosk- 
 
 In Saint Sophia the Turkman gets. 
 And loud in air calls men to prayer. 
 
 From the tapering summits of tall minarets. 
 
 Such empty phantom I freely grant them; 
 
 But there's an anthem more dear to me: 
 'Tis the bells of Shandon that sound so grand, on 
 
 The pleasant waters of the river Lee. 
 
 THOSE EVENING BELLS 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 Those evening bells! those evening bells! 
 How many a tale their music tells 
 Of youth and home, and that sweet time 
 When last I heard their soothing chime! 
 
 Those joyous hours are passed away; 
 And many a heart that then was gay 
 Within the tomb now darkly dwells. 
 And hears no more those evening bells. 
 
 And so 'twill be when I am gone, — 
 That tuneful peal will still ring on; 
 While other bards shall walk these dells. 
 And sing your praise, sweet evening bells. 
 
 I BEMEMBEB, I BEMEMBEB 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 
 The house where I was born. 
 The little window where the sim 
 
 Came peeping in at morn. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 69 
 
 He never came a wink too soon, 
 
 Nor brought too long a day; 
 But now I often wish the night 
 
 Had borne my breath away! 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 
 The roses, red and white. 
 The violets, and the lily-cups, — 
 
 Those flowers made of light! 
 The lilacs where the robin built. 
 
 And where my brother set 
 The laburnum on his birthday, — 
 
 The tree is living yet! 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 
 Where I was used to swing. 
 And thought the air must rush as fresh 
 
 To swallows on the wing; 
 My spirit flew in feathers then. 
 
 That is so heavy now. 
 And summer pools could hardly cool 
 
 The fever on my brow! 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 
 The fir-trees dark and high; 
 I used to think their slender tops 
 
 Were close against the sky. 
 It was a childish ignorance. 
 
 But now 'tis little joy 
 To know I'm farther off from heaven 
 
 Than when I was a boy. 
 
 XVII. Unity 
 
 The Teacher very often finds that the Student who 
 has mastered the Grammar of the Spoken Word and the 
 Technique, pushes out some words in his reading so that 
 they seem to stand apart from the selections and there 
 seems to be little or no connection when the word picture 
 
70 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 is complete. Wrong delivery is sometimes brought about 
 because of physiological conditions; or it may be the 
 result of untrained organs; or it may be through mechanical 
 training of olden days, which at the present time is not a 
 little prevalent among students. I refer to the super- 
 fluous use of the pencil in underscoring certain words or 
 making an upward or downward sign to signify a rise or 
 fall of the voice. 
 
 All such mechanical propositions have worked and for- 
 ever will work destruction upon all natural interpretation. 
 There should be a perfect blending and grading up to the 
 supreme peaks, as well as a gradual descent into the 
 subordinate abysses; no jumping from peak to peak, or 
 from valley to valley without the ascent and the descent, 
 for such mental contortions create havoc not only in the 
 mind of the speaker but in the Auditor's mind as well. 
 When the individual has a Harmonious, Unified imder- 
 standing, a well controlled mind, voice, and body, he 
 must necessarily present the Forms of Literature in such 
 a harmonious and unified manner that the listener, how- 
 ever ignorant, will unconsciously pay tribute to the Artist 
 apart from the Artisan, the Master, from the Mechanic. 
 
 XVI. Bible and Hymn Reading 
 
 In order to read the Scripture, it will be foimd absolutely 
 essential to master all the steps in the Grammar of the 
 Spoken Word; and in order to make all Scripture or Hymn 
 reading effective as in all other good reading, it will require 
 an identification on the part of the reader; also an absolute 
 belief and imderstanding in what he is endeavoring to 
 interpret. The accomplishment of this is no easy task 
 and it will require considerable concentration and prayer 
 upon the particular passages which the individual may 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 71 
 
 wish to interpret. The Scripture, being the true founda- 
 tion and example of all secular literature, it will be readily 
 Xuiderstood by the thinker that he must not only be 
 familiar with the Grammar of the Spoken Word, but also 
 the different forms of poetry and how they should be 
 delivered. 
 
 While there should be the ideal suggestion in the voice 
 and manner of the speaker, yet he should under no circum- 
 stances allow himself to drift into a time or mood, for the 
 one thing, above aU others, which Scripture stands for, is 
 to uplift and ennoble humanity. I take pleasure in sub- 
 mitting some portion of Scriptures; also a few hymns which 
 have received the stamp of time's approval and the Littera- 
 teur's highest recognition. 
 
 TWENTY-THIKD PSAUM 
 
 The Lord is my shepherd : I shall not want. 
 
 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth 
 me beside the still waters. 
 
 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of 
 righteousness for his name's sake. 
 
 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of 
 death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod 
 and thy staff they comfort me. 
 
 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of 
 mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup 
 runneth over. 
 
 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days 
 of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for 
 ever. 
 
 Psalm 91. 
 
 SECURITY OF THE GODLY 
 
 He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High 
 shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. 
 
n THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 I will say of the Lord: He is my refuge and my fort- 
 ress: my God: in him will I trust. 
 
 Surely he shall deUver thee from the snare of the fowler 
 and from the noisome pestilence. 
 
 He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his 
 wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and 
 buckler. 
 
 Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor 
 for the destruction that wasteth at noonday. 
 
 A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at 
 thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee. 
 
 Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the 
 reward of the wicked. 
 
 Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, 
 even the most High, thy habitation: 
 
 There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague 
 come nigh thy dwelling. 
 
 For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep 
 thee in all thy ways. 
 
 They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash 
 thy foot against a stone. 
 
 Thou shalt tread upon the Kon and adder: the yoimg 
 lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under feet. 
 
 Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will 
 I deliver him: I will set him on high, because he hath 
 known my name. 
 
 He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will 
 be with him in trouble: I will deUver him, and honour 
 him. 
 
 With long life will I satisfy him, and show him my 
 salvation. 
 
 Psalm 121. 
 
 A SONG OF DEGREES 
 
 I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence 
 cometh my help. 
 
 My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven 
 and earth. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 73 
 
 He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth 
 Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep. 
 
 The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy 
 right hand. 
 
 The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by 
 night. 
 
 The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall 
 preserve thy soul. 
 
 The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming 
 in from this time forth, and even for evermore. 
 
 Psalm 19. 
 
 TO THE CHIEF MUSICIAN, A PSALM OF DAVID 
 
 The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firma- 
 ment showeth his handywork. 
 
 Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night 
 showeth knowledge. 
 
 There is no speech nor language, where their voice is 
 not heard. 
 
 Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their 
 words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a 
 tabernacle for the sun. 
 
 Which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, 
 and rejoiceth as a strong man to rim a race. 
 
 His going forth is from the end of the heaven, and his 
 circuit unto the ends of it: and there is nothing hid from 
 the heat thereof. 
 
 The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul: the 
 testimony of the Lord is sure, making wise the simple. 
 
 The statutes of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart: 
 the commandment of the Lord is pure, enlightening the 
 eyes. 
 
 The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring forever; the judg- 
 ments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether. 
 
 More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than much 
 fine gold: sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb. 
 
 Moreover by them is thy servant warned: and in keep- 
 ing of them there is great reward. 
 
74 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Who can understand his errors? cleanse thou me from 
 secret faults. 
 
 Keep back thy servant also from presumptuous sins; 
 let them not have dominion over me: then shall I be up- 
 right, and I shall be innocent from the great transgression. 
 
 Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my 
 heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength, 
 and my redeemer. 
 
 Hymns 
 
 KOCK OF AGES 
 
 Rock of ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in Thee; 
 Let the water and the blood, from Thy riven side which 
 
 flowed. 
 Be of sin the double cure, save me from its guilt and pow'r. 
 
 Not the labor of my hands, can fulfil Thy law's demands, 
 Could my zeal no respite know, could my tears forever 
 
 flow, 
 All for sin could not atone; Thou must save and Thou 
 
 alone. 
 
 Nothing in my hands I bring, simply to Thy cross I cling. 
 Naked, come to Thee for dress, helpless look to Thee for 
 
 grace; 
 Foul, I to the fountain fly, wash me. Saviour, or I die. 
 
 While I draw this fleeting breath, when mine eyes shall 
 close in death. 
 
 When I soar to worlds unknown, see Thee on Thy judg- 
 ment throne, 
 
 Rock of Ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in Thee. 
 
 NEAEEB MT GOD TO THEE 
 
 Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee! 
 
 E'en though it be a cross, that raiseth me; 
 
 Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee, 
 
 Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 75 
 
 Tho' like a wanderer, the sun gone down. 
 Darkness be over me, my rest a stone; 
 Yet in my dreams I'd be, nearer, my God, to Thee, 
 Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee. 
 
 There let the way appear, steps mito heav'n; 
 All that Thou sendest me, in mercy giv'n; 
 Angels to beckon me, nearer, my God, to Thee, 
 Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee. 
 
 Then, with my waking thoughts, bright with Thy praise. 
 Out of my stony griefs Bethel I'll raise; 
 So by my woes to be, nearer, my God, to Thee, 
 Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee. 
 
 Or if on joyful wiag, cleaving the sky. 
 
 Sun, moon, and stars forgot, upward I fly; 
 
 Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee, 
 
 Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee. 
 
 XIX. Mood 
 
 How humiliating it is to be seated in an audience when 
 the speaker ascends the rostrum, or the platform, and be- 
 gins his discourse upon some interesting subject, hardly 
 is your attention gained before he begins to drift into 
 a sing-song tune. A nonchalant attitude seems to creep 
 over you and for the moment, all thinking on your part 
 has stopped; the speaker has ceased to think, and his 
 pulse becomes regular because it has discontinued its 
 Rythmical action. There are no more flighty ascents into 
 the realm of security and trust because the speaker's 
 imaginative car has ceased to soar; no more depressions 
 and chokings with sobs, becatise the speaker is no longer 
 moved by the sorrowful suggestion of the writer, in short, 
 the speaker has fallen into a lamentable mood. 
 
76 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 What is a Mood? A Mood is a stagnant, or inactive 
 condition of the mind, something akin to a muddy pool, 
 in which no "color" but a muddy one can enter. It is 
 personal, and the speaker who does not live into each 
 successive idea, is drifting in his boat of selfishness on 
 the sea of non-thought which will soon bring disaster to 
 him. 
 
 There are various kinds of Moods, so numerous, that 
 it would be impossible to enmnerate them. However, 
 we have — ^First, the Mood of Indifference, one of the 
 most despicable that could ever pervade the hiunan in- 
 telligence; Second, the Sad, or Self -Pitying Mood in which 
 the individual whines his ideas, and each tune seems to 
 say, "Nobody cares for me," or "Will somebody please 
 pity me?"; Third, the Happy Mood where (no matter 
 what the circumstances are, even though it may be the 
 deepest sorrow or rushing into the presence of the Al- 
 mighty) one would think that the speaker had been pre- 
 sented with a fortune and coidd not recover from its effect 
 or that the sweetheart was expected on the next train 
 Fourth, the Sanctimonious Mood, akin to the sad, or 
 morose kind. With these individuals, it would make no 
 difference whether they are speaking of God or the Devil; 
 there would be apparently as much reverence for one as 
 the other, and the society of either would be equally 
 entertaining; Fifth, the Patriotic Mood where the in- 
 dividual fearful lest the enemy storm his battlements, 
 seems to be armed "cap-a-pie" and tragically rushes from 
 one idea to another — even though the ideas presented 
 may be the most delicate and refined — as though he were 
 on the battlefield. Above all things, conquer your Moods, 
 and in the language of the writer of old, — "Better is he 
 that ruleth his spirit, than he that taketh a city. " 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 77 
 
 XX. Atmosphere 
 
 How delightful it is to be seated in an audience, and 
 listen to a lecture, reading, or the interpretation of some 
 old Classic Lore when the speaker seems to be the em- 
 bodiment of joy; the epitome of sorrow; the enchantment 
 of Love; the Adonis of Beauty; the American Eagle of 
 Patriotism; the pudicity of Purity; the entity of Ideals 
 and the sublimification of the Sublime. After having 
 spent an hour in such society, one feels that he has foimd 
 the "Elixir of Life"; for such a speaker builds for you a 
 heavenly atmosphere in which myriads of starry ideals 
 are couched in resplendent array; and one feels like re- 
 peating a line from the wonderful old Bard, Robert 
 Browning, "How good to live and learn!" 
 
 GAFFER GRAT 
 
 Hohrojt. 
 
 "Ho! why dost thou shiver and shake, Gaflfer Gray? 
 And why does thy nose look so blue?" — 
 
 " 'Tis the weather that's cold, 
 
 'Tis I'm grown very old. 
 And my doublet is not very new, — ^Well-a-day!" 
 
 "Then line thy warm doublet with ale. Gaffer Gray, 
 And warm thy old heart with a glass ! " 
 "Nay, but credit I've none. 
 And my money's all gone; 
 Then say how may that come to pass? — ^Well-a-day !" 
 
 "Hie away to the house on the brow. Gaffer Gray, 
 And knock at the jolly priest's door. " 
 "The priest often preaches 
 
 Against worldly riches. 
 But ne'er gives a mite to the poor, — ^Well-a-day!" 
 
78 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 "The lawyer lives under the hill. Gaffer Gray; 
 Warmly fenced both in back and in front. " 
 "He will fasten his locks 
 
 And threaten the stocks. 
 Should he ever more find me in want; — Well-a-day !" 
 
 "The squire has fat beeves and brown ale. Gaffer Gray; 
 And the season will welcome you there." 
 "His fat beeves and his beer 
 
 And his merry new year. 
 Are all for the flush and the fair, — ^Well-a-day!" 
 
 "My keg is but low, I confess. Gaffer Gray; 
 What then? while it lasts, man, we'U live!" 
 "The poor man alone. 
 
 When he hears the poor moan, 
 Of his morsel a morsel will give, — ^Well-a-day!" 
 
PART III 
 
FORMS OF POETRY 
 /. Didactic Poetry 
 
 DIDACTIC poetry is that form of poetry 
 which aims chiefly to give iastruction, but 
 all poetiy of a meditative kind. . The poetry 
 of this sort in English is very abmidant 
 — ^Bryant's "Thanatopsis," (^ampbell's "Pleasures of 
 Hope," Young's "Night Thoughts," Pope's "Essay on 
 Man," etc. 
 
 The moral power is what tyrants have most cause to 
 dread. It addresses itself to the thought and the judg- 
 ment of men. No physical force can arrest its progress. 
 Its approaches are unseen, but its consequences are 
 deeply thought. It enters garrisons most strongly forti- 
 fied, and operates in the palaces of kings and emperors. 
 We should cherish this power, as essential to the preserva- 
 tion of oiu" government, and as the most efficient means of 
 ameliorating the political condition of our race. And this 
 can only be done by a reverence for the laws, and by the 
 exercise of an elevated patriotism. 
 
 The old philosopher we read of, might not have been 
 dreaming when he discovered that the order of the sky 
 was like a scroll of written music, and that two stars 
 (which are said to have appeared centuries after his death, 
 in the very places he mentioned) were wanting to com- 
 plete the harmony. We know how wonderful are phe- 
 nomena of color; how strangely like consummate art the 
 strongest dyes are blended in the plumage of birds, and 
 in the cups of flowers; so that, to the practised eye of the 
 
 81 
 
82 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 painter, the harmony is inimitably perfect. It is natural 
 to suppose every part of the Universe equally perfect; 
 and it is a glorious and elevating thought, that the stars 
 of heaven are moving on continually to music; and that 
 the sounds we daily listen to are but parts of a melody 
 that reaches to the very center of God's illimitable spheres. 
 
 II. Pastoral Poetry 
 
 Pastoral poetry (from the Latin word pastor, a shepherd) 
 is that form of poetry dealing with shepherd or rustic life. 
 Some of the writers of pastoral poetry were Theocritus 
 among the Greeks, and Virgil among the Latins. 
 
 THE aOLITABT BEAPEB 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 Behold her, single in the field. 
 
 Yon solitary Highland lass! 
 Reaping and singing by herself; 
 
 Stop here, or gently pass! 
 Alone she cuts and binds the grain. 
 And sings a melancholy strain; 
 Oh, listen! for the vale profound 
 Is overflowing with the sound. 
 
 No nightingale did ever chaunt 
 
 More welcome notes to weary bands 
 
 Of travelers in some shady haunt. 
 Among Arabian sands : 
 
 A voice so thrilKng ne'er was heard 
 
 In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird, 
 
 Breaking the silence of the seas 
 
 Among the farthest Hebrides. 
 
 Will no one tell me what she sings? — 
 Perhaps the plaintive niunbers flow 
 
 For old, unhappy, far-off things. 
 And battles long ago: 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 83 
 
 Or is it some more humble lay. 
 Familiar matter of to-day? 
 Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain. 
 That has been, and may be again? 
 
 Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang 
 As if her song could have no ending; 
 
 I saw her singing at her work. 
 And o'er the sickle bending: — ■ 
 
 I hstened, motionless and still; 
 
 And as I mounted up the hill. 
 
 The music in my heart I bore 
 
 Long after it was heard no more. 
 
 ///. Descriptive Poetry 
 
 Poetic literature is the record of human experience in 
 rhythmic form. Descriptive poetry is that form of poetry 
 which describes scenes or objects. It is ideal word paint- 
 ing. The descriptive poem should be rendered directly to 
 the audience. 
 
 THE CLOSING SCENE 
 
 T. Buchanan Read. 
 
 Within the sober realms of the leafless trees. 
 The russet year inhaled the dreamy air; 
 
 Like some tanned reaper in the hour of ease. 
 When all the fields are lying brown and bare. 
 
 The gray barns looking from their hazy hills, 
 O'er the dun waters widening in the vales. 
 
 Sent down the air a greeting to the mills. 
 On the dull thunder of alternate flails. 
 
 All sights were mellowed and all sounds subdued. 
 The lulls seemed farther and the streams sang low, 
 
 As in a dream the distant woodman hewed 
 His winter log, with many a muffled blow. 
 
84 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 The embattled forests, erewhile armed with gold. 
 Their banners bright with every martial hue. 
 
 Now stood like some sad, beaten host of old. 
 Withdrawn afar in Time's remotest blue. 
 
 On sombre wings the vulture tried his flight; 
 
 The dove scarce heard his sighing mate's complaint; 
 And hke a star slow drowning in the light. 
 
 The village church vane seemed to pale and faint. 
 
 The sentinel cock upon the hillside crew — 
 Crew twice — and all was stiller than before; 
 
 Silent, till some replying warder blew 
 His alien horn, and then was heard no more. 
 
 Where erst the hay within the elm's tall crest. 
 
 Made garrulous trouble round her unfledged young. 
 
 And where the oriole hung her swaying nest. 
 By every Hght wind like a censer swung. 
 
 Where sung the noisy martins of the eaves, 
 
 The busy swallows circling ever near. 
 Foreboding, as the rustic mind beheves. 
 
 An early harvest and a plenteous year. 
 
 Where every bird that walked the vernal feast 
 Shook the sweet slimiber from its wings at morn. 
 
 To warn the reaper of the rosy East; 
 AH now was sunless, empty and forlorn. 
 
 Alone, from out the stubble, piped the quail; 
 
 And croaked the crow through all the dreary gloom; 
 Alone, the pheasant, drumming in the vale. 
 
 Made echo in the distant cottage loom. 
 
 There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers, 
 
 The spiders wove their thin shrouds night by night. 
 
 The thistle-down, the only ghost of flower. 
 
 Sailed slowly by — passed noiseless out of sight. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 85 
 
 Amid this — in this most dreary air, 
 
 And where the woodbine shed upon the porch 
 
 Its crimson leaves, as if the year stood there. 
 Firing the floor with its inverted torch; 
 
 Amid all this — ^the centre of the scene. 
 
 The white-haired matron, with monotonous tread. 
 
 Plied the swift wheel, and with her joyless mien. 
 Sat like a fate, and watched the flying thread. 
 
 She had known sorrow — ^he had walked with her. 
 Oft supped and broke with her the ashen crust. 
 
 And in the dead leaves still she heard the stir 
 Of his thick mantle trailing in the dust. 
 
 While yet her cheek was bright with summer bloom. 
 Her country summoned, and she gave her all, 
 
 And twice war bowed to her his sable plume — 
 Re-gave the sword to rust upon the wall. 
 
 Re-gave the sword, but not the hand that drew 
 
 And struck for Hberty the dying blow; 
 Nor him who, to his sire and country true. 
 
 Fell 'mid the ranks of the invading foe. 
 
 Long, but not loud, the dropping wheel went on. 
 
 Like the low murmur of a hive at noon; 
 Long, but not loud, the memory of the gone 
 
 Breathed through her lips a sad and tremulous tune. 
 
 At last the thread was snapped — ^her head was bowed. 
 Life dropped the distaff through her hands serene, 
 
 And loving neighbors smoothed her careful shroud, 
 While Death and Winter closed the Autumn scene. 
 
86 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 THE PILGRIM FATHERS 
 
 Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 
 
 The breaking waves dashed high on a stern and rock- 
 bound coast. 
 
 And the woods against a stormy sky, their giant branches 
 tossed, 
 
 And the heavy night hung dark the hills and waters o'er. 
 
 When a band of exiles moored their bark on the wild New 
 England shore. 
 
 Not as the conqueror comes, they, the true-hearted came, — 
 Not with the roll of stirring drums, and the trumpet that 
 
 sings of fame: 
 Not as the flying come, in silence and in fear, — 
 They shook the depths of the desert's gloom with their 
 
 hymns of lofty cheer. 
 
 Amidst the storm they sang, and the stars heard and the 
 
 sea! 
 And the sounding aisles of the dim wood rang to the anthems 
 
 of the free ! 
 The ocean-eagle soared from his nest by the white waves' 
 
 foam, 
 And the rocking pines of the forest roared; — ^this was their 
 
 welcome home. 
 
 There were men with hoary hair amidst that pilgrim band; 
 Why had they come to wither there, away from their 
 
 childhood's land? 
 There was woman's fearless eye, lit by her deep love's 
 
 truth; 
 There was manhood's brow serenely high; and the fiery 
 
 heart of youth. 
 
 What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? 
 The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? — ^They sought a 
 
 faith's pure shrine! 
 Ay, call it holy ground, the soil where first they trod! 
 They have left unstained what there they found, — ^freedom 
 
 to worship God! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 87 
 
 THE SEA 
 
 Barry Cornwall. 
 
 The sea, the sea, the open sea. 
 
 The blue, the fresh, the ever free; 
 
 Without a mark, without a bound. 
 
 It runneth the earth's wide regions round; 
 
 It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies. 
 
 Or like a cradled creature lies. 
 
 I'm on the sea, I'm on the sea, 
 
 I am where I would ever be. 
 
 With the blue above and the blue below. 
 
 And silence wheresoe'er I go. 
 
 If a storm should come and awake the deep. 
 
 What matter? I shall ride and sleep. 
 
 I love, oh! how I love to ride 
 
 On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide. 
 
 Where every mad wave drowns the moon. 
 
 And whistles aloft its tempest tune, 
 
 And tells how goeth the world below. 
 
 And why the southwest wind doth blow! 
 
 I never was on the dull, tame shore 
 
 But I loved the great sea more and more. 
 
 And backward flew to her billowy breast. 
 
 Like a bird that seeketh her mother's nest, — 
 
 And a mother she was and is to me. 
 
 For I was born on the open sea. 
 
 The waves were white, and red the morn. 
 
 In the noisy hour when I was born; 
 
 The whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled. 
 
 And the dolphins bared their backs of gold; 
 
 And never was heard such an outcry wild, 
 
 As welcomed to life the ocean child. 
 
 I have Hved, since then, in calm and strife. 
 
 Pull fifty summers a rover's life. 
 
 With wealth to spend, and a power to range. 
 
 But never have sought or sighed for change: 
 
 And death, whenever he comes to me. 
 
 Shall come on the wide, unbounded sea! 
 
88 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 THE VOYAGE 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
 We left behind the painted buoy. 
 
 That tosses at the harbor-mouth; 
 And madly danced our hearts with joy. 
 
 As fast we fleeted to the South; 
 How fresh was every sight and sound 
 
 On open main or winding shore! 
 We knew the merry world was roimd, 
 
 And we might sail for evermore. 
 
 How oft we saw the Sun retire. 
 
 And burn the threshold of the night, 
 Fall from his Ocean-lane of fire. 
 
 And sleep beneath his piUar'd Ught! 
 How oft the purple-skirted robe 
 
 Of twilight slowly downward drawn. 
 As thro' the slumber of the globe 
 
 Again we dash'd into the dawn! 
 
 hundred shores of happy climes 
 
 How swiftly stream'd ye by the bark! 
 At times the whole sea burn'd, at times 
 
 With wakes of fire we tore the dark; 
 At times a craven craft would shoot 
 
 From havens hid in fairy bowers. 
 With naked limbs and flowers and fruit; 
 
 But we nor paused for fruit or flowers. 
 
 For one fair vision ever fled 
 
 Down the waste waters day and night. 
 And still we foUow'd where she led. 
 
 In hope to gain upon her flight. 
 Her face was evermore vmseen. 
 
 And fixt upon the far sea-line; 
 But each man murmur 'd, "O my Queen, 
 
 I follow till I make thee mine." 
 
 And never sail of ours was furl'd. 
 Nor anchor dropt at eve or mom; 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 8& 
 
 We loved the glories of the world. 
 
 But laws of nature were our scorn; 
 For blasts would rise and rave and cease, 
 
 But whence were those that drove the sail 
 Across the whirlwind's heart of peace. 
 
 And to and thro' the counter gale? 
 
 Again to colder chmes we came. 
 
 For still we followed where she led; 
 Now mate is blind and captain lame. 
 
 And half the crew are sick or dead. 
 But blind or lame or sick or sound 
 
 We follow that which flies before: 
 We know the merry world is roimd. 
 
 And we may sail for evermore. 
 
 IV. Narrative Poetry 
 
 Narrative poetry deals with events in which persons 
 enter and speak. The thread of narration is carried direct- 
 ly to the audience, upon which are hung incidents. These 
 incidents require impersonation and are kept within the 
 frame, that is, upon the platform and have nothing to do 
 with the audience — only indirectly. The impersonation 
 or the speeches of the characters which come up in the 
 story, should be held in direct relation to each successive 
 interlocutor, and in no way, or at no time should the speech 
 come directly to the audience. While the speaker imper- 
 sonating the character comes through radiation to the 
 audience, which it should naturally do, it is not, neither 
 should it be, a direct talk to the audience. Thus, the 
 speaker's audience is the one or more characters upon the 
 platform. 
 
90 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 LORD TTLLIN's DATIQHTEK 
 
 Thomas Campbell. 
 A chieftain to the Highland bound. 
 
 Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry! 
 And I'll give thee a silver pound 
 
 To row us o'er the ferry!" 
 
 "Now, who be ye would cross Lochgyle, 
 This dark and stormy water?" 
 
 "Oh! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle. 
 And this Lord Ullin's daughter. 
 
 "And fast before her father's men 
 Three days we've fled together; 
 
 For should he find us in the glen. 
 My blood would stain the heather. 
 
 "His horsemen hard behind us ride; 
 
 Should they our steps discover. 
 Then who will cheer my bonny bride 
 
 When they have slain her lover?" 
 
 Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 
 
 "I'll go, my chief — ^I'm ready. 
 It is not for your silver bright. 
 
 But for your winsome lady: 
 
 "And by my word! the bonny bird 
 
 In danger shall not tarry; 
 So, though the waves are raging white, 
 
 I'll row you o'er the ferry." 
 
 By this the storm grew loud apace; 
 
 The water-wraith was shrieking; 
 And in the scowl of heaven each face 
 
 Grew dark as they were speaking. 
 
 But stiU as wilder blew the wind. 
 
 And as the night grew drearer, 
 Adown the glen rode armed men — 
 
 Their trampling sounded nearer. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 91 
 
 "Oh! haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, 
 "Though tempests round us gather; 
 I'll meet the raging of the skies. 
 But not an angry father." 
 
 The boat has left a stormy land, 
 
 A stormy sea before her — 
 When, oh! too strong for human hand. 
 
 The tempest gathered o'er her. 
 
 And still they rowed amidst the roar 
 
 Of waters fast prevailing — 
 Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore; 
 
 His wrath was changed to wailing. 
 
 For sore dismayed through storm and shade. 
 
 His child he did discover; 
 One lovely hand she stretched for aid. 
 
 And one was round her lover. 
 
 "Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, 
 
 "Across this stormy water; 
 And I'll forgive your Highland chief. 
 
 My daughter! — Oh! my daughter!" 
 
 'Twas vain; — the loud waves lashed the shore. 
 
 Return or aid preventing; 
 The waters wild went o'er his child, 
 
 And he was left lamenting. 
 
 THE WKBCK OF THE HESPEEUS 
 
 Henry W. Longfellow. 
 
 It was the schooner Hesperus that sail'd the wintry sea; 
 And the skipper had taken his little daughter to bear him 
 
 company. 
 Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, her cheeks like the 
 
 dawn of day, 
 And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds that ope in 
 
 the month of May. 
 
92 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 The skipper, he stood beside the hehn, his pipe was in 
 his mouth. 
 
 And he watch'd how the veering flaw did blow the smoke 
 now west, now south. 
 
 Then up and spake an old sailor, — ^had sail'd the Spanish 
 main, — 
 
 "I pray thee, put into yonder port, for I fear a hurri- 
 cane." 
 
 "Last night the Moon had a golden ring, and to-night no 
 Moon we see!" 
 
 The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, and a scorn- 
 ful laugh laugh'd he. 
 
 Colder and louder blew the wind, a gale from the north- 
 east; 
 
 The snow fell hissing in the brine, and the billows f roth'd 
 like yeast. 
 
 Down came the storm, and smote amain the vessel in its 
 
 strength; 
 She shudder'd and paused, like a frighten'd steed, then 
 
 leaped her cable's length. 
 "Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, and do 
 
 not tremble so; 
 For I can weather the roughest gale, that ever wind did 
 
 blow." 
 
 He wrapp'd her warm in his seaman's coat against the 
 
 stinging blast; 
 He cut a rope from a broken spar, and bound her to the 
 
 mast. 
 "0 father! I hear the church-bells ring, O say, what may 
 
 it be?" 
 "'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!" and he steer'd 
 
 for the open sea. 
 
 "O father! I hear the sound of guns, O say, what may it 
 
 be?" 
 "Some ship in distress, that cannot live in such an angry 
 
 sea." 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 93 
 
 "O father! I see a gleaming light, O say, what may it be?" 
 But the father answer'd never a word, a frozen corpse was 
 he. 
 
 Lash'd to the helm, all stiff and stark, with his face tum'd 
 
 to the skies. 
 The lantern gleam'd through the gleaming snow on his 
 
 fixed and glassy eyes. 
 Then the maiden clasp'd her hands and pray'd, that savfed 
 
 she might be; 
 And she thought of Christ, who still'd the wave on the 
 
 Lake of Galilee. 
 
 And fast thro' the midnight dark and drear, thro' the 
 
 whistling sleet and snow, 
 Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept towards the reef 
 
 of Norman's woe. 
 And ever, the fitful gusts between, a sound came from the 
 
 land; 
 It was the soimd of the trampling surf on the rocks and 
 
 the hard sea-sand. 
 
 The breakers were right beneath her bows, she drifted 
 
 a dreary wreck, 
 And a whooping billow swept the crew like icicles from her 
 
 deck. 
 She struck where the white and fleecy waves look'd soft as 
 
 carded wool. 
 But the cruel rocks, they gored her side like the horns of an 
 
 angry bull. 
 
 Her rattling shrouds, all sheath'd in ice, with the masts 
 
 went by the board; 
 Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank. Ho! hoi- the 
 
 breakers roar'd! 
 At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, a fisherman stood 
 
 aghast, 
 To see the form of a maiden fair lash'd close to a drifting 
 
 mast. 
 
94 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 The salt sea was frozen on her breast, the salt tears in her 
 eyes; 
 
 And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, on the bil- 
 lows fall and rise. 
 
 DRIFTED OUT TO SEA 
 
 Rose Hariwick Thorpe. 
 
 Two Kttle ones, grown tired of play. 
 Roamed by the sea one summer day. 
 Watching the great waves come and go. 
 Prattling, as children will, you know. 
 Of dolls and marbles, kites and strings; 
 Sometime hinting at graver things. 
 
 At last they spied within their reach 
 An old boat cast upon the beach. 
 Helter-skelter, with merry din. 
 Over its sides they clambered in — 
 Ben, with his tangled, nut-brown hair, 
 Bess, with her sweet face flushed and fair. 
 
 Rolling in from the briny deep. 
 Nearer, nearer, the great waves creep. 
 Higher, higher, up the sands. 
 Reaching out with their giant hands, 
 Grasping the boat with boisterous glee. 
 Tossing it up and out to sea. 
 
 The sun went down 'mid clouds of gold; 
 Night came, with footsteps damp and cold; 
 Day dawned; the hours crept slowly by: 
 And now, across the sunny slgr, 
 A black cloud stretches far away. 
 And shuts the golden gates of day. 
 
 A storm comes on with flash and roar. 
 While all the sky is shrouded o'er; 
 The great waves, rolling from the West, 
 Bring night and darkness on their breast, 
 Still floats the boat through driving storm, 
 Protected by God's powerful arm. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 95 
 
 The home-bound vessel, Seabird, lies 
 In ready trim, 'twixt sea and skies. 
 Her captain paces restless now; 
 A troubled look upon his brow. 
 While all his nerves with terror thrill; 
 The shadow of some coming ill. 
 
 The mate comes up to where he stands. 
 And grasps his arm with eager hands; 
 "A boat has just swept past," said he, 
 "Bearing two children out to sea; 
 'Tis dangerous now to put about. 
 Yet they cannot be saved without." 
 
 "Naught but their safety will suffice; 
 They must be saved!" the captain cries; 
 "By every thought that's just and right. 
 By lips I hoped to kiss to-night, 
 I'll peril vessel, life, and men, 
 And God will not forsake me then." 
 
 With anxious faces, one and all, 
 
 Each man responded to the call; 
 
 And when at last through driving storm. 
 
 They lifted up each httle form. 
 
 The captain started with a groan, 
 
 "My God!" he cried, "they are my own." 
 
 FOREIGN VIEWS OF THE STATUE 
 
 Fred Emerson Brooks. 
 
 On the deck of a steamer that came up the Bay, 
 Some garrulous foreigners gathered one day 
 To vent their opinions on matters and thmgs 
 
 On this side the Atlantic, 
 
 In language pedantic. 
 'Twas much the same gathering that any ship brings. 
 
 ''Ah, look !' ' said the Frenchman, with pride his Ups curled ; 
 "See ze Liberte Statue enUghten ze world! 
 
96 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Ze grandest colossal zat evair vas known! 
 
 Thus Bartholdi, he speak: 
 
 Vive la France — ^Amerique! 
 La belle France make ze statue, and God make ze stone!" 
 
 Said the Scotchman: "Na need o' yer spakin' sae free! 
 The thing is na sma', sir, that we canna see. 
 Do ye think that wi'oot ye the folk couldna teU? 
 
 Sin' 'tis Liberty Statye, 
 
 I ken na why that ye 
 Did na keep it at hame to enlighten yoursel!" 
 
 The Englishman gazed through his watch-crystal-eye: 
 "Upon 'onor, by Jove, it is too beastly high! 
 A monstwosity, weally, too lawge to be seen! 
 ■ In pwoportion, I say, 
 It's too lawge faw the Bay. 
 So much lawger than one we've at 'ome of the Queen!" 
 
 An Italian next joined the colloquial scrimmage: 
 
 "I dress-a monkey just like-a de image, 
 
 I call-a 'Bartholdi' — ^Frenchman got-a spunlqr — 
 
 Call-a me 'Macaroni,' 
 
 Lose-a me plendy moany! 
 He break-a my organ and keel-a my monkey! 
 
 "My-a broder a feesherman; hear-a what he say: 
 No more-a he catch-a de feesh in de Bay. 
 He drop-a de sein — ^be no get-a de weesh. 
 
 When he ma-a de grab-a. 
 
 Only catch-a de crab-a, 
 De big-a French image scare away all de feesh!" 
 
 "By the home rule!" said Pat: "and is that Libertee? 
 
 She's the biggest owld woman that iver I see! 
 
 Phy don't she sit down? 'Tis a shame she's to stand. 
 
 But the truth is, Oi'm towld, 
 
 That the sthone is too cowld. 
 Would ye moind the shillalah she howlds in her hand!" 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 97 
 
 Said the Cornishman: "That's no a 'shillalah,' ye scamp! 
 
 Looaks to I Hke Diogenes 'ere wi' is laamp, 
 
 Searchin' haard fur a 'onest maan." "Faith, that is true," 
 
 Muttered Pat, "phat ye say. 
 
 Fur he's lookin' my way. 
 And by the same favor don't recognize you!" 
 
 "Shust vait unt I dolt you," said Hans; "vat is der matter; 
 It vas von uf dem mermaits coomed ouwd fun der vater; 
 Unt she hat nodding on; unt der vintry vind plows, 
 
 Unt fur shame, unt fur pidy, 
 
 She vent to der cidy, 
 Unt buyed her a suit fun der reaty-made clo's." 
 
 "Me no sabee you Foleners; too muchee talkee! 
 You no likee Idol, you heap takee walkee. 
 Him allee some Chinaman velly big Joshee. 
 
 Him Unclee Sam gal-ee; 
 
 Catch um lain, no umblalee! 
 Heap velly big shirtee — ^me no likee washee!" 
 
 "Oh!" cried Sambo amazed: "Dat's de cullud man's Lor'! 
 He's cum back to de earf ; somefin he's lookin' for. 
 Alius knowed by de halo surroundin' he's brow; 
 
 Jess you looken dat crown! 
 
 Jess you looken dat gown! 
 Lor' 'a massy, I knows I's gone nigga' now!" 
 
 Said the Yankee: "I've heerd ye discussin' her figger; 
 And I reckon you strangers haint seen nuthing bigger. 
 Wall, I haint much on boastin' but I'll go my pile. 
 
 When you furreners cum 
 
 You'll find her to huml 
 Dew I mean what I say? Wall, somewhat — ^I should 
 smile!" 
 
 ARNOLD WINKEIBEID 
 
 James Montgmery. 
 "Make way for Liberty!" — ^he cried; 
 Made way for Liberty, and died! 
 In arms the Austrian phalanx stood, 
 
98 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 A living wall, a human wood! 
 
 Impregnable their front appears. 
 
 All horrent with projected spears. 
 
 Opposed to these, a hovering band 
 
 Contended for their fatherland; 
 
 Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke 
 
 From marJy necks the ignoble yoke: 
 
 Marshalled once more at Freedom's call. 
 
 They came to conquer or to fall. 
 
 And now the work of life and death 
 
 Hung in the passing of a breath; 
 
 The fire of conflict burned within; 
 
 The battle trembled to begin; 
 
 Yet, while the Austrians held their ground, 
 
 Point for attack was nowhere found. 
 
 Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed. 
 
 The unbroken Une of lances blazed; 
 
 That line 'twere suicide to meet 
 
 And perish at their tyrant's feet. 
 
 How could they rest within their graves. 
 
 To leave their home the haunts of slaves? 
 
 Would they not feel their children tread 
 
 With clanldng chains, above their head? 
 
 It must not be: this day, this hoiu", 
 Annihilates the invaders' power! 
 All Switzerland is in the field. 
 She will not fly; she cannot yield; 
 She must not fall; her better fate 
 Here gives her an immortal date. 
 Few were the numbers she could boast; 
 But every freeman was a host. 
 And felt as 'twere a secret known 
 That one should turn the scale alone; 
 While each unto himself was he 
 On whose sole arm hung victory. 
 
 It did depend on one, indeed; 
 Behold him — ^Arnold Winkelreid; 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 99 
 
 There sounds not to the trump of Fame 
 
 The echo of a nobler name. 
 
 Uimiarked, he stood among the throng, 
 
 In rumination deep and long. 
 
 Till you might see, with sudden grace, 
 
 The very thought come o'er his face; 
 
 And, by the motion of his form. 
 
 Anticipate the bursting storm; 
 
 And, by the uplifting of his brow. 
 
 Tell where the bolt would strike and how. 
 
 But 'twas no sooner thought than done — 
 The field was in a moment won! 
 "Make way for Liberty!" he cried; 
 Then ran with arms extended wide. 
 As if his dearest friend to clasp; 
 Ten spears he swept within his grasp. 
 "Make way for Liberty!" he cried; 
 Their keen points met from side to side. 
 He bowed amongst them hke a tree. 
 And thus made way for Liberty. 
 
 Swift to the breach his comrades fly — 
 
 "Make way for Liberty!" they cry; 
 
 And through the Austrian phalanx dart. 
 
 As rushed Qie spears through Arnold's heart; 
 
 While, instantaneous as his fall. 
 
 Rout, ruin, panic scattered all: 
 
 An earthquake could not overthrow 
 
 A city witii a surer blow. 
 
 Thus Switzerland again was free; 
 
 Thus death made way for Liberty. 
 
 BUNKER HILL 
 
 George H. Calvert. 
 
 "Not yet, not yet; steady, steady!" 
 On came the foe, in even fine: 
 Nearer and nearer to thrice paces nine. 
 
 We looked into their eyes. "Ready!" 
 
100 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 A sheet of flame ! A roll of death ! 
 
 They fell by scores; we held our breath! 
 
 Then nearer still they came; 
 
 Another sheet of flame ! 
 And brave men fled who never fled before. 
 
 Immortal fight! 
 
 Foreshadowing flight 
 Back to the astounded shore. 
 
 Quickly they raUied, reinforced. 
 Mid louder roar of ship's artillery. 
 And bursting bombs and whistling musketry 
 
 And shouts and groans, anear, afar. 
 
 All the new din of dreadful war. 
 
 Through their broad bosoms calmly coursed 
 
 The blood of those stout farmers, aiming 
 
 For freedom, manhood's birthrights claiming 
 
 Onward once more they came: 
 
 Another sheet of deathful flame! 
 
 Another and another still; 
 They broke, they fled: 
 Again they sped 
 Down the green, bloody hill. 
 
 Howe, Burgoyne, Clinton, Gage, 
 
 Stormed with commander's rage. 
 
 Into each emptied barge 
 They crowd fresh men for a new charge 
 
 Up that great hill. 
 Again their gallant blood we spill; 
 
 That volley was the last: 
 Our powder failed. 
 On three sides fast 
 
 The foe pressed in; nor quailed 
 A man. Their barrels empty, with musket-stocks 
 
 They fought and gave death-dealing knocks. 
 
 Till Prescott ordered the retreat. 
 Then Warren fell; and through a leaden sleet. 
 
 From Bunker Hill and Breed, 
 Stark, Putnam, Pomeroy, Knowlton, Bead, 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 101 
 
 Led off the remnant of those heroes true. 
 The foe too shattered to pursue, 
 The ground they gained; but we 
 The victory. 
 
 The tidings of that chosen band 
 Flowed in a wave of power 
 Over the shaken, anxious land. 
 To men, to man, a sudden dower. 
 From that staunch, beaming hour 
 History took a fresh, higher start; 
 And when the speeding messenger, that bare 
 The news that strengthened every heart. 
 Met near the Delaware 
 Riding to take command. 
 The leader, who had just been named. 
 
 Who was to be so famed, 
 The steadfast, earnest Washington 
 
 With hand uplifted cries. 
 His great soul flashing to his eyes, 
 "Our liberties are safe; the cause is won," 
 A thankful look he cast to heaven, and then 
 His steed he spurned, in haste to lead such noble men. 
 
 V. Lyric Poetry 
 
 The usual definition of a lyric given in different diction- 
 aries seems to coincide with this one statement at least; 
 namely, — a poem which may be set to music, or a poem 
 sung with the lyre accompaniment. Consequently the 
 word lyric comes from the word lyre, suggesting music or 
 musical rhythm. Therefore the poem must have primarily 
 a rhythmic, musical pulsation. A lyric is the universal 
 expression of the individual idea in rhythmic form. It is 
 always written in the first person, and must be written 
 about a universal thing. It is the individual expression 
 of a concrete idea, that is, if we take for example Words- 
 worth's poem, "To the Cuckoo." Should the speaker 
 
102 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 imagine a little bird perched upon a bough and speak to 
 that one little bird, he would, at least, become somewhat 
 patronizing; but when Wordsworth says, "Oh, blithe 
 newcomer!" meaning the cuckoo, he refers to the cuckoo 
 of the world, the universal bird, and therefore it awakens 
 the imagination and makes you live with him into the 
 appreciation of this wonderful bird which is singing its 
 melody around the world. Therefore, the lyric is exceed- 
 ingly imaginative, joyous, and spontaneous and should be 
 rendered directly or indirectly to the audience. 
 
 THE SKTLAHK 
 
 James Hogg, 
 
 Bird of the wilderness. 
 
 Blithesome and cumberless. 
 Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! 
 
 Emblem of happiness. 
 
 Blest is thy dwelling-place: 
 Oh, to abide in the desert with thee! 
 
 Wild is thy lay, and loud. 
 
 Far in the downy cloud; 
 Love gives it energy, love gave it birth! 
 
 Where, on thy dewy wing — 
 
 Where art thou journeying? 
 Thy lay is in heaven; thy love is on earth. 
 
 O'er fell and fountain sheen, 
 
 O'er moor and mountain green, 
 O'er the red streamer that heralds the day 
 
 Over the cloudlet dim. 
 
 Over the rainbow's rim, 
 Musical cherub, soar singing away! 
 
 Then when the gloaming comes, 
 
 Low in the heather blooms. 
 Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! 
 
 Emblem of happiness, 
 
 Blest is thy dwelling place — 
 Oh, to abide in the desert with thee! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 103 
 
 LTRIC 
 
 David M. Moir. 
 
 Awake ere the morning dawn, — skylark, arise! 
 
 The last of the stars hath waxed dim in the skies; 
 
 The peak of the mountain is purpled in light. 
 
 And the grass with the night dew is diamonded white; 
 
 The yoimg flowers at morning's call open their eyes — 
 
 Then up ere the break of day, skylark, arise! 
 
 Earth starts like a sluggard half roused from a dream; 
 Pale and ghost-like the mist floats away from the stream, 
 And the cataract hoarsely, that all the night long 
 Poured forth to the desolate darkness its song. 
 Now softens to music as brighten the skies — 
 Then up ere the dawn of day, skylark, arise! 
 
 Arise from the clover, and up to the cloud, 
 Ere the sun leaves his chamber in majesty proud, 
 And, ere his light lowers to earth's meaner things. 
 Catch the stainless effulgence of heaven on thy wings. 
 While thy gaze as thou soarest and singest shall feast 
 On the innermost shrine of the uttermost east. 
 
 Up, up with a loud voice of singing! the bee 
 
 WUl be out to the bloom, and the bird to the tree; 
 
 The trout to the pool, and the par to the rill, 
 
 The flock to the plain, and the deer to the hill; 
 
 Soon the marsh will resound to the plover's lone cries — 
 
 Then up ere the dawn of day, skylark, arise! 
 
 Up, up with thy praise-breathing anthem! alone 
 The drowsyhead, man, on his bed slumbers prone; 
 The stars may go down, and the sun from the deep 
 Burst forth, still his hands they are folded in sleep, 
 Let the least in creation the greatest despise — 
 Then up to heaven's threshold, blithe skylark, arise! 
 
104 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 TO THE CUCKOO 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 O blithe new-comer! I have heard, 
 
 I hear thee and rejoice. 
 O cuckoo! shall I call thee bird. 
 
 Or but a wandering voice? 
 
 While I am lying on the grass 
 
 Thy twofold shout I hear; 
 From Mil to hill it seems to pass. 
 
 At once far off and near. 
 
 Though babbling only to the vale. 
 
 Of sunshine and of flowers. 
 Thou bringest imto me a tale 
 
 Of visionary hours. 
 
 Thrice welcome, darling of the spring! 
 
 Even yet thou art to me 
 No bird, but an invisible thing, 
 
 A voice, a mystery; 
 
 The same whom in my schoolboy days 
 
 I listened to; that cry 
 "Which made me look a thousand ways 
 
 In bush, and tree, and sky. 
 
 To seek thee did I often rove 
 
 Through woods and on the green: 
 And thou wert stiU a hope, a love; 
 
 Still longed for, never seen. 
 
 And I can Ksten to thee yet; 
 
 Can he upon the plain 
 And listen, till I do beget 
 
 That golden time again. 
 
 O blessed bird ! the earth we pace 
 
 Again appears to be 
 An unsubstantial, faery place; 
 
 That is fit home for thee! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 105 
 
 CROSSING THB RfVB 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
 Sunset and evening star. 
 
 And one clear call for me! 
 And may there be no moaning of the bar, 
 
 When I put out to sea. 
 
 But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 
 
 Too full for sound and foam. 
 When that which drew from out the boundless deep 
 
 Turns again home. 
 
 Twilight and evening bell. 
 
 And after that the dark! 
 And may there be no sadness of farewell. 
 
 When I embark; 
 
 For though from out our bourne of Time and Place 
 
 The flood may bear me far, 
 I hope to see my Pilot face to face 
 
 When I have crost the bar. 
 
 ri. The Ode 
 
 The Ode is the universal expression of the individual 
 idea in rhythmic form, personally, that is, the greater part 
 of the ode resembles in many respects the Lyric, is filled 
 with tlie same spirit, except that there is always a personal 
 touch of regret or sorrow whicli enters into an ode, and 
 differentiates it from the IjTic; illustration: — Shelley's 
 " Ode to the West Wind. " The portion which changes the 
 "Ode to the West Wind," and makes it primarily an ode 
 rather than a lyric, is where tlie personal touch comes m 
 the line. — "I fall upon the tbonis of life; I bleed." This 
 transforms the buoyant, happy thought into one of regret 
 and tlms changes its form. 
 
106 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 The Ode should be deUvered either directly or indirectly 
 to the audience with the element of absolute spontaneity, 
 regardless of any surroundings or conditions, allowing the 
 mind to dwell wholly upon the thought and the atmosphere 
 created by the poem, vaitil the interpreter becomes a part 
 of it. 
 
 ODE TO THE WEST WIND 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 O Wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being. 
 Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves de^ 
 Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing. 
 Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red. 
 Pestilence-stricken multitudes: thou 
 Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed 
 The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low. 
 Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
 Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow 
 Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill 
 (Driving sweet buds like flocli to feed in air) 
 With living hues and odours plain and hill : 
 Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; 
 Destroyer and preserver; Hear, oh, hear! 
 
 Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep siy's commotion. 
 
 Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed. 
 
 Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean, 
 
 Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread 
 
 On the blue surface of thine airy surge. 
 
 Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 
 
 Of some fierce Maenad, ev'n from the dim verge 
 
 Of the horizon to the Zenith's height — 
 
 The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge 
 
 Of the dying year, to which this closing night 
 
 Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre. 
 
 Vaulted with all thy congregated might 
 
 Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere 
 
 Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst: Oh, hear! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 107 
 
 Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams 
 The blue Mediterranean, where he lay. 
 Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams. 
 Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay. 
 And saw in sleep old palaces and towers 
 Quivering within the wave's intenser day, 
 AH overgrown with azure moss and flowers 
 So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou 
 For whose path the Atlantic's level powers 
 Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below 
 The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear 
 The sapless foKage of the ocean, know 
 Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear. 
 And tremble and despoU themselves: Oh, hear! 
 
 K I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; 
 
 If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; 
 
 A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 
 
 The impulse of thy strength, only less free 
 
 Than Thou, O uncontrollable! If even 
 
 I were as in my boyhood, and could be 
 
 The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven. 
 
 As then, when to outstrip the skyey speed 
 
 Scarce seem'd a vision, I would ne'er have striven 
 
 As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need, 
 
 lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud ! 
 
 1 fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed! 
 
 A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd 
 One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud. 
 
 Make me thy lyre, ev'n as the forest is: 
 What if my leaves are falling Hke its own ! 
 The tumult of thy mighty harmonies 
 Will take from both a deep autumnal tone. 
 Sweet though in sadness. Be thou. Spirit fierce. 
 My spirit! be thou me, impetuous one! 
 Drive my dead thoughts over the universe 
 Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth; 
 And, by the incantation of this verse, 
 Scatter, as from an unextingujsh'd h^^tb 
 
108 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Ashes and sparks, my words among mai^d! 
 Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth 
 The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wmd, 
 If Whiter comes, can Sprmg be far behmdt' 
 
 VII. The Sonnet 
 
 A sonnet is a short poem of fourteen lines, an octave 
 and a sestet. The first eight lines give what is considered 
 the body, and the remaining six lines, the soul, or the first 
 eight lines might be considered the statement of proposi- 
 tion, and the remaining six lines the application. In some 
 of Shakespeare's sonnets we find a deviation from the 
 general proposition laid down by the poets, in which the 
 proposition is made ia the first twelve, and the application 
 in the last two lines. The form is often compared with the 
 sky-rocket — ^the last lines being the showering thoughts. 
 
 TO SCIENCE 
 
 Edgar Alien Poe. 
 
 Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art! 
 
 Who alterest all things with thy peeriag eyes. 
 Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart. 
 
 Vulture, whose wings are dull realities? 
 How should he love thee? or how deem thee vrise. 
 
 Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering 
 To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies. 
 
 Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing? 
 Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car? 
 
 And driven the Hamadryad from the wood 
 To seek a shelter in some happier star? 
 
 Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood. 
 The Elfin from the green grass, and from me 
 The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree? 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 109 
 
 From fairest creatures we desire increase. 
 That thereby beauty's rose might never die. 
 But as the riper should by time decease. 
 His tender heir might bear his memory: 
 But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, 
 Feed'st thy light flame with self-substantial fuel. 
 Making a famine where abundance lies. 
 Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. 
 Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament 
 And only herald to the gaudy spring. 
 Within thine own bud buriest thy content 
 And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding. 
 Pity the world, or else this glutton be. 
 To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 That you were once unkind befriends me now 
 And for that sorrow which I then did feel 
 Needs must I under my transgression bow, 
 Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel. 
 For if you were by my unkindness shaken. 
 As I by yours, you've pass'd a hell of time ; 
 And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken 
 To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime. 
 0, that our night of woe might have remember'd 
 My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits. 
 And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd 
 The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits ! 
 
 But that your trespass now becomes a fee; 
 
 Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 VIII. The Ballad 
 
 The Ballad is one of the oldest forms of poetry. It was 
 originally recited with music, and in all probability each 
 chorus was a dance. The Ballad had its origin with the 
 Italian, and it was several hundred years before the Ballad 
 was introduced into England. It is a cousin to narrative 
 verse. 
 
no THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 THE WEE WEE MAN 
 
 As I was wa'king all alane, 
 
 Between a water and a wa', 
 There I spy'd a wee wee man, 
 
 And he was the least that e'er I saw. 
 
 His legs were scant a shathmont's length, 
 And sma' and Umber was his thie. 
 
 Between his e'en there was a span. 
 
 And between his shoulders iJiere was three. 
 
 He took up a meikle stane. 
 And he flang't as far as I could see; 
 
 Though I had been a Wallace wight, 
 I couldna liften't to my knee. 
 
 "O wee wee man, but thou be Strang! 
 
 tell me where thy dwelling be?" 
 "My dwelling's down at yon bonny bower; 
 
 O will you go with me and see?" 
 
 On we lap, and awa' we rade. 
 
 Till we cam' to yon bonny green; 
 We lighted down for to bait our horse, 
 
 And out there cam' a lady sheen. 
 
 Four and twenty at her back, 
 And they were a' dad out in green. 
 
 Though the King o' Scotland had been there. 
 The warst o' tiiem might hae been his Queen. 
 
 On we lap, and awa* we rade. 
 
 Till we cam' to yon bonny ha', 
 Where the roof was o' the beaten gowd. 
 
 And the floor was o' the crystal a'. 
 
 When we cam' to the stair foot. 
 Ladies were dancing, jimp and sma'; 
 
 But in the twinkling of an e'e. 
 My wee wee tnnij. was clean awa'. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 111 
 
 IX. The Apostrophe 
 
 Apostrophe turns the mind away from animate to in- 
 animate things, and the speaker talks to them as though 
 they were animate; the dead as though li'sang. For in- 
 stance, the human being becomes discouraged with and 
 di^usted at the ways and actions of his feUow-men, he 
 turns to God's handiwork and creates in his own imagina- 
 tion, people out of trees, rocks, hills, valleys, and the great 
 ocean; for in them and through them he finds a sjrmpathy 
 and a response which his fellow-men deny him. It is like 
 the monologue, in some res|)ects, and only differs in one 
 way, that is, the monologue imagines the animate as an 
 interiocutor and the apostrophe has the inanimate for its 
 interlocutor. Therefore, in rendering the Apostrophe, it 
 will be necessary to speak to this inanimate thing at some 
 imagined particular place, and the speaker must for the 
 time being, cany himself to this spot and speak to his 
 inanimate friend oblivious of his surroundings. Some 
 fine examples from the Bible: — King David, on hearing 
 of the death of Absalom, exclaims: "O, my son Absalom, 
 ray son, my son !" Another apostrophe more extended, and 
 equally beautiful, is the lament of David over the death 
 of Jonathan. (2 Sam. 1: 21-27.) 
 
 THE OCEAN 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — ^roll! 
 
 Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; 
 Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 
 
 Stops with the shore; — upon the watery plain 
 
 The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
 A shadow of man's ravage, save his own. 
 
 When for a moment, like a drop of rain. 
 He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan. 
 Without a grave, unknelled, imco£5ned, and unknown. 
 
112 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 His steps are not upon thy paths — thy fields 
 
 Are not a spoil for him — ^thou dost arise 
 And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields 
 
 For earth's destruction thou dost all despise. 
 
 Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies. 
 And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray. 
 
 And howling, to his gods, where haply lies 
 His petty hope in some near port or bay. 
 And dashed him again to earth: there let him lay. 
 
 The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
 
 Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake 
 And monarchs tremble in their capitals, — 
 
 The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
 
 Their clay creator the vain title take 
 Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war, — 
 
 These are thy toys, and as the snowy flake. 
 They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
 Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. 
 
 Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee — 
 Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they. 
 
 Thy waters wasted them while they were free. 
 And many a tyrant since: their shores obey 
 The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay 
 
 Has dried up realms to deserts; — ^not so thou. 
 Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play. 
 
 Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow; 
 
 Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 
 
 Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
 
 Classes itself in tempests: in all time, 
 Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm. 
 
 Icing the pole, or in the torrid dime 
 
 Dark-heaving; — ^boundless, endless, and sublime; 
 The image of eternity, the throne 
 
 Of the Invisible: even from out thy slime 
 The monsters of the deep are made; each zone 
 Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 113 
 
 And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy 
 
 Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
 Borne, like thy bubbles, onward; from a boy 
 
 I wantoned with thy breakers — they to me 
 
 Were a delight; and if the freshening sea 
 Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear. 
 
 For I was as it were a child of thee. 
 And trusted to thy billows far and near. 
 And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. 
 
 TELL TO HIS NATIVE MOUNTAINS 
 
 James Sheridan Knowles. 
 
 Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again! 
 
 I hold to you tiie hands you first beheld. 
 
 To show they still are free. Methinks I hear 
 
 A spirit in your echoes answer me. 
 
 And bid yoiu: tenant welcome home again! 
 
 O sacred forms, how proud you look ! 
 How high you lift your heads into the sky! 
 How huge you are! how mighty and how free! 
 How do you look, for all your bared brows. 
 More gorgeously majestical than kings 
 Whose loaded coronets exhaust the mine. 
 
 Ye are the things that tower, that shine; whose smile 
 Makes glad — ^whose frown is terrible; whose forms. 
 Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear 
 Of awe divine; whose subject never kneels 
 In mockery, because it is your boast 
 To keep hun free! 
 
 Ye guards of hberty, 
 I'm with you once again! I call to you 
 With all my voice ! I hold my hands to you 
 To show they still are free. I rush to you 
 As though I could embrace you! 
 
114 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 The hour 
 Will soon be here. Oh, when will Liberty 
 Once more be here? Scaling yonder peak, 
 I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow; 
 O'er the abyss his broad-expanded wings 
 Lay calm, and motionless upon the air 
 As if he floated there without their aid, 
 By the sole act of his unlorded will. 
 That buoyed him proudly up. 
 
 Listinctively 
 I bent my bow; yet kept he rounding still 
 His airy circle, as in die delight 
 Of measuring the ample range beneath 
 And round about; absorbed, he heeded not 
 The death that threatened him. I could not shoot. 
 'Twas liberty. I turned my bow aside. 
 And let him soar away. 
 
 X. The Monologue 
 
 A monologue is a poem written to convey some person's 
 relation of opinion to some other person or persons, and in 
 delivering a monologue the interpreter should first know 
 what kind of character is speaking. He must further 
 know in what situation or environment the characters are 
 placed. He must know something of the construction or 
 rhythm of the poem with which he is dealing. He must 
 also know all the poetical allusions, and although he may 
 realize exactly the kind of character and age and national- 
 ity, yet, this must only be suggested. It is not necessary, 
 neither is it truthful, to render a monologue in costume 
 or make up unless he has all the other things, of which, to 
 which, and about which, he speaks or refers to in his inter- 
 pretation, and should he have all of the accessories, then 
 it is no longer a monologue, but becomes a play. A 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 115 
 
 monologist is a man or woman giving you a "piece of his 
 mind" and talk. 
 
 The unfortmiate degradation in the art of the Spoken 
 Word comes very often in the rendering of a monologue. 
 For some lady will attempt to give a scene which possibly 
 may transpire in a seat at a theatre, as is told in some of 
 the cheaper and minor monologues. In such a case, the 
 untutored reader will sometimes seat herself in a chair and 
 put another chair in front of her to indicate one in which 
 is seated a woman, who has difficulty in seeing what is 
 going on upon the stage because of the dimensions of the 
 woman's hat in front of her. The inconsistency of such a 
 rendering shows gross ignorance and absolute non-con- 
 centration; for, if the woman in rendering is supposed to 
 be the woman at the opera, she, of course, should have all 
 of her opera paraphernalia; she should have a woman on 
 a chair in front of her with a hat on, of the unusual 
 dimensions; and there should be a show going on in front 
 of her, and all of the necessary properties which would 
 require the setting which she mentions, otherwise, there 
 is no consistency, and it is far better to suggest all than to 
 have a part and suggest the rest. 
 
 A person in attempting to render a Browning monologue 
 will find it quite impossible and inconsistent to attempt 
 in any degree to use any properties in the rendition. Of 
 course, it is a temptation of the student who is lame in 
 understanding, to find all the properties that it is possible 
 for him to conjure, and lean upon them in the absence of 
 the absolute. 
 
 The monologue, like the play, indicates that something 
 has happened which leads up to the speech of some definite 
 character. The monologue should be rendered definitely 
 by a character solely to the other character or characters 
 which are upon the platform with him or inside the pro- 
 
116 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 scenium, but there should be nothing in the monologue to 
 carry him out of that relation. Though he radiates to 
 a part of the audience, yet he should have no cognizance 
 of any person or persons in the audience, neither should 
 he become familiar in any degree with any person or per- 
 sons in the audience. 
 
 EVELYN HOPE 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! 
 
 Sit and watch by her side an hour. 
 That is her book-shelf, this her bed; 
 
 She plucked that piece of geranium-flower. 
 Beginning to die too, in the glass; 
 
 Little has yet been changed, I think: 
 The shutters are shut, no light may pass 
 
 Save two long rays thro' the hmge's chink. 
 
 Sixteen years old when she died! 
 
 Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name; 
 It was not her time to love; beside. 
 
 Her life had many a hope and aim. 
 Duties enough and Uttle cares. 
 
 And now was quiet, now astir. 
 Till God's hand beckoned imawares, — 
 
 And the sweet white brow is all of her. 
 
 Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope? 
 
 What, your soul was pure and true. 
 The good stars met in your horoscope. 
 
 Made you of spirit, fire and dew — 
 And, just because I was thrice as old 
 
 And our paths in the world diverged so wide, 
 Each was naught to each, must I be told? 
 
 We were fellow mortals, naught beside? 
 
 No, indeed! for God above 
 
 Is great to grant, as mighty to make. 
 And creates the love to reward the love: 
 
 I claim you still, for my own love's sake! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 117 
 
 Delayed it may be for more lives yet, 
 
 Thro' worlds I shall traverse, not a few: 
 Much is to learn, much to forget 
 
 Ere the time be come for taking you. 
 
 But the time will come, at last it wiU, 
 
 When, Evelyn Hope, what meant (I shall say) 
 In the lower earth, in the years long still. 
 
 That body and soul so pure and gay? 
 Why your hair was amber, I shall divine. 
 
 And your mouth of your own geranium's red — 
 And what you would do with me, in fine. 
 
 In the new life come in the old one's stead. 
 
 I have lived (I shall say) so much since then. 
 
 Given up myself so many times. 
 Gained me the gaias of various men. 
 
 Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; 
 Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope. 
 
 Either I missed or itself missed me: 
 And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope! 
 
 What is the issue? Let us see! 
 
 I loved you, Evelyn, all the while! 
 
 My heart seemed full as it could hold; 
 There was place and to spare for the frank young smile. 
 
 And the red young mouth, and the hair's yoimg gold. 
 So hush, — ^I will give you this leaf to keep: 
 
 See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand! 
 There, that is our secret: go to sleep! 
 
 You will wake, and remember, and understand. 
 
 A DREAM WITHIN A DEEAM 
 
 Edgar Allen Foe. 
 
 Take this kiss upon the brow! 
 And, in parting from you now. 
 This much let me avow — 
 You are not wrong, who deem 
 That my days have been a dream: 
 
118 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Yet if hope has flown away 
 
 In a night, or in a day. 
 
 In a vision, or in none. 
 
 Is it therefore the less gone? 
 
 All that we see or seem 
 
 Is but a dream within a dream. 
 
 I stand amid the roar 
 Of a smrf -tormented shore. 
 And I hold within my hand 
 Grains of the golden sand — 
 How few ! yet how they creep 
 Through my fingers to the deep. 
 While I weep — ^while I weep ! 
 O God! can I not grasp 
 Them with a tighter clasp? 
 O God ! can I not save 
 One from the pitiless wave? 
 Is all that we see or seem 
 But a dream within a dream? 
 
 FLOWEK IN THE CBANNIED WALL 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
 Flower in the crannied wall, 
 I pluck you out of the crannies; — 
 Hold you here, root and all, in my hand. 
 Little flower — ^but if I could understand 
 What you are, root and ail, and all in all, 
 I should know what God and man is. 
 
 A woman's last word 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 Let's contend no more. Love, 
 
 Strive nor weep: 
 All be as before. Love, 
 
 — Only sleep! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 119 
 
 What so wild as words are? 
 
 I and thou 
 In debate, as birds are, 
 
 Hawk on bough! 
 
 See the creature stalking 
 
 While we speak! 
 Hush and hide the talking. 
 
 Cheek on cheek. 
 
 What so false as truth is. 
 
 False to thee? 
 Where the serpent's tooth is. 
 
 Shun the tree — 
 
 Where the apple reddens. 
 
 Never pry — 
 Lest we lose our Edens, 
 
 Eve and I. 
 
 Be a god and hold me 
 
 With a charm! 
 Be a man and fold me 
 
 With thine arm! 
 
 Teach me, only teach, Love! 
 
 As I ought 
 I will speak thy speech. Love, 
 
 Think thy thought- 
 Meet, if thou require it, 
 
 Both demands. 
 Laying flesh and spirit 
 
 Id. tiiy hands. 
 
 That shall be to-morrow. 
 
 Not to-night: 
 I must bury sorrow 
 
 Out of sight: 
 
120 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 — ^Must a little weep. Love, 
 
 (Foolish me!) 
 And so fall asleep. Love, 
 
 Loved by thee. 
 
 THE OLD MAN GOES TO TOWN 
 
 J . G. Swinnerton. 
 
 Well, wife, I've been to 'Frisco, an' I called to see the boys. 
 I'm tired, an' more'n half deafened with the travel an' 
 
 the noise; 
 So I'll sit down by the chimbly, and rest my weary bones, 
 And tell how I was treated by our 'ristocratic sons. 
 
 As soon's I reached the city, I himted up our Dan — 
 Ye know he's now a celebrated wholesale business man. 
 I walked down from the depo' — ^Dan keeps a coimtry seat — 
 An' I thought to go home with him, an' rest my weary feet. 
 
 All the way I kep'a thinkin' how famous it 'ud be 
 
 To go 'round the town together — ^my grown-up boy an' 
 
 me — 
 An' remember the old times, when my little "curly head" 
 Used to cry out, "Good-night, papa!" from his little 
 
 tnmdle-bed. 
 
 I never thought a minit that he wouldn't want to see 
 His gray an' worn old father, or would be ashamed of me. 
 So when I seen his office, with a sign writ out in gold, 
 I walked in 'ithout knocking, — ^but the old man was too 
 bold. 
 
 Dan was settin' by a table, an' a-writin' in a book. 
 He knowed me in a second; but he give me siu:h a look! 
 He never said a word o' you, but axed about the grain, 
 An' ef I thought the valley didn't need a little rain. 
 
 I didn't stay a great while, but inquired after Rob. 
 
 Dan said he lived upon a hill — I think they call it Nob. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 121 
 
 An' when I left, Dan, in a tone that almost broke me down. 
 Said, "Call an' see me, won't ye, whenever you're in 
 town?" 
 
 It was ruther late that evenin' when I found our Robert's 
 
 house; 
 There was music, lights and dancin' and a mighty big 
 
 carouse. 
 At the door a nigger met me, an' he grinned from ear to ear, 
 Sayin' "Keerds ob invitation, or you nebber git in here." 
 
 I said I was Rob's father; an', with another grin, 
 The nigger left me stan'in' and disappeared within, 
 Rob came out on the porch — ^he didn't order me away; 
 But said he hoped to see me at his office the next day. 
 
 Then I started fur the tavern, fur I knowed there, anyway. 
 They wouldn't turn me out so long's I'd money fur to pay. 
 An' Rob an' Dan had left me about the streets to roam. 
 An' neither of 'em axed me if I'd money to git home. 
 
 It may be the way o' rich folks — I don't say 'at it is not — 
 But we remember some things Rob an' Dan have quite 
 
 forgot. 
 We didn't quite expect this, when, twenty years ago. 
 We mortgaged the old homestead to give Rob an' Dan a 
 
 show. 
 
 I didn't look fur Charley, but I happened just to meet 
 Him with a lot o' friends o' his'n, a-comin' down the street. 
 I thought I'd pass on by him, for fear oTir youngest son 
 Would show he was ashamed o' me, as Rob an' Dan had 
 done. 
 
 But soon as Charley seen me, he, right afore 'em all, 
 Said: "God bless me, there's my father!" as loud as he 
 
 could bawl. 
 Then he introduced me to his frien's, and sent 'em all away, 
 Tellin* 'em he'd see 'em later, but was busy for that day. 
 
122 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Then he took me out to dinner, an' he axed me about the 
 
 house, 
 About you an' Sally's baby, an' the chickens, pigs, an' 
 
 cows; 
 He axed about his brothers, addin' that 'twas ruther queer. 
 But he hadn't seen one uv 'em fur mighty nigh a year. 
 
 Then he took me to his lodgin', in an attic four stairs 
 
 high- 
 He said he hked it better 'cause 'twas nearer to the sky. 
 An' he said: "I've only one room, but my bed is pretty 
 
 wide;" 
 An' so we slep' together, me an' Charley, side by side. 
 
 Next day we went together to the great Medianics's Fair, 
 An' some o' Charley's picters was on exhibition there. 
 He said if he could sell 'em, which he hoped to, pretty 
 
 soon, 
 He'd make us all a visit, an' "be richer than Muldoon." 
 
 An' so two days an' nights we passes, an', when I come 
 
 away. 
 Poor Charley said the time was short, an' begged me fur 
 
 to stay. 
 Then he took me in a buggy an' druv' me to the train. 
 An' said in just a Httle while he'd see us all again. 
 
 You know we thought our Charley would never come to 
 
 much; 
 He was always readin' novels an' poetry an' such. 
 There was nothing on the farm he ever seemed to want to 
 
 do. 
 An' when he took to paintin' he disgusted me clear through! 
 
 So we gave to Rob and Dan all we had to call our own. 
 An' left poor Charley penniless to make his way alone; 
 He's only a poor painter; Rob and Dan axe rich as sin; 
 But Charley's worth the pair of 'em, with all their gold 
 thrown in. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 123 
 
 Those two grand men, dear wife, were once our prattling 
 
 babes — an' yet 
 It seems as if a mighty gulf 'twixt them an' us is set; 
 An' they'll never know the old folks till life's troubled 
 
 jovu^ey's past. 
 An' rich an' poor are equal underneath the sod at last. 
 
 An' maybe when we all meet on the resurrection morn. 
 With our earthly glories fallen, like the husks from the 
 
 ripe corn. 
 When the righteous Son of Man the awful sentence shall 
 
 have said. 
 The brightest crown that's shining there may be on 
 
 Charley's head. 
 
 XI. The Soliloquy 
 
 Soliloquy, closely related to monologue, is a man think- 
 ing aloud, and in so far as his consciousness is concerned, 
 he should be, and ever is, to himseK, alone, for the conscious 
 presence of any person, imaginative or otherwise, makes 
 it either a drama or a monologue. The soliloquy must be 
 studied well, and the cause which brings about the solilo- 
 quy, in order to know exactly the kind of character and 
 what state of mind the character is in, which causes him to 
 thus express his thoughts aloud. It is the external rising in 
 concrete form of activities of the sub-conscious mind. 
 The soliloquy should be rendered wholly regardless of the 
 audience, and many times carries the speaker back directly 
 to the audience. So, as the man feels, he should be the 
 passive vehicle through which his sub-conscious mind is 
 speaking. 
 
124 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 HAMLET 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 To be, or not to be: that is the question: 
 
 Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
 
 The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. 
 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. 
 
 And by opposing end them. To die: to sleep; 
 
 No more; and by a sleep to say we end 
 
 The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
 
 That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation 
 
 Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; 
 
 To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; 
 
 For in that sleep of death what dreams may come. 
 
 When we have shuffled off this mortal coU, 
 
 Must give us pause: there's the respect 
 
 That makes calamity of so long life; 
 
 For who would bear the whips and scorns of time. 
 
 The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contiunely. 
 
 The pangs of despised love, the law's delay. 
 
 The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes. 
 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 
 With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear. 
 
 To grunt and sweat under a weary hfe. 
 
 But that the dread of something after death. 
 
 The undiscover'd country from whose bourn 
 
 No traveller returns, puzzles the will. 
 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we have 
 
 Than fly to others that we know not of? 
 
 Thus conscience does make cowards of us all. 
 
 And thus the native hue of resolution 
 
 Is sicklied o'er with the paJe cast of thought. 
 
 And enterprises of great pitch and moment 
 
 With this regard their currents turn awry 
 
 And lose the name of action. Soft you now ! 
 
 The fair OpheUa! Nymph, in thy orisons 
 
 Be all my sins remember'd. 
 
 O that this too, too solid flesh would melt. 
 Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 125 
 
 Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd 
 
 His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! God! O God! 
 
 How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable 
 
 Seem to me all the uses of this world! 
 
 Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden 
 
 That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature 
 
 Possess it merely. That it should come to this! 
 
 But two months dead ! nay, not so much, not two; 
 
 So excellent a king; that was, to this, 
 
 Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother. 
 
 That he might not beteem the winds of heaven 
 
 Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! 
 
 Must I remember? why, she would hang on him. 
 
 As if increase of appetite had grown 
 
 By what it fed on; and yet, within a month, — 
 
 Let me not think on't — ^Frailty, thy name is woman! — 
 
 A httle month ! or ere those shoes were old 
 
 With which she foUow'd my poor father's body. 
 
 Like Niobe, all tears; — ^why she, even she, — 
 
 O God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason. 
 
 Would have mourned longer, — married with my uncle, 
 
 My father's brother, but no more like my father 
 
 Than I to Hercules; within a month. 
 
 Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears 
 
 Had left the flushing in her galled eyes. 
 
 She married. O most wicked speed, to post 
 
 With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! 
 
 It is not, nor it cannot come to good! — 
 
 But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue! 
 
 Now I am alone. 
 O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! 
 Is it not monstrous that this player here. 
 But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, 
 Could force his soul so to his own conceit 
 That from her working all his visage wann'd; 
 Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, 
 A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
 With. forms to his conceit? a,nd all for nothing! 
 For Hecuba! 
 What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
 
126 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 That he should weep for her? What would he do. 
 
 Had he the motive and the cue for passion 
 
 That I have? He would drown the stage with tears 
 
 And cleave the general ear with horrid speech. 
 
 Make mad the guilty and appall the free, 
 
 Confotmd the ignorant, and amaze indeed 
 
 The very faculties of eyes and ears. 
 
 Yet I, 
 
 A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak. 
 
 Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause. 
 
 And can say nothing; no, not for a king. 
 
 Upon whose property and most dear Ufe 
 
 A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward? 
 
 Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? 
 
 Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face? 
 
 Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the throat. 
 
 As deep as to the limgs? who does me this? 
 
 Ha! 
 
 'Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be 
 
 But I am pigeon-Uver'd and lack gall, 
 
 To make oppression bitter, or ere this 
 
 I should have fatted all the region kites 
 
 With this slave's offal: bloody, bawdy villain! 
 
 O vengeance! 
 
 Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave. 
 
 That I, the son of a dear father murder'd. 
 
 Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell. 
 
 Must, like a trull, unpack my heart with words. 
 
 And fall a-cursing, like a very drab, 
 
 A scullion! 
 
 Fie upon't! foh! About my brain! Hum, I have heard 
 
 That guilty creatures, sitting at a play. 
 
 Have by the very cunning of the scene 
 
 Been struck so to the soul that presently 
 
 They have proclaim'd their malefactions; 
 
 For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak 
 
 With most miraculous organ. I'U have these players 
 
 Play something like the murder of my father 
 
 Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks; 
 
 I'll tent him to the quick: if he but blench, 
 
 I know my course. The spirit that I have seen 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 127 
 
 May be the devil; and the devil hath power 
 To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps 
 Out of my weakness and my melancholy, 
 As he is very potent with such spirits. 
 Abuses me to damn me. I'll have founds 
 More relative than this. The play's the thing 
 Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king. 
 
 Augustin Daly. 
 Characters. 
 
 Rudolf, the magistrate's son. 
 Lbah, a Jewish maiden. 
 
 Scene — A village churchyard at night. Enter Leah, 
 slowly, her hair streaming over her shoulders. 
 
 Leah, a Jewess, with certain others of her race, strays 
 into an Austrian village where she meets Rudolf, son of a 
 peasant, who falls violently in love with her. He is after- 
 ward deceived into beUeving that Leah was an adventuress, 
 and that she had accepted money to renounce her love for 
 him. He then makes an offer of marriage to Madalene, to 
 whom he was previously attached. The scene here pre- 
 sented introduces Leah just prior to the wedding. 
 
 Leah. — (solus) What seek I here! I know not; yet I feel 
 I have a mission to fulfil. I feel that the cords of my soul 
 are stretched to their utmost effort. Already seven days! 
 So long! As the dead lights were placed about the body 
 of Abraham, as the friends sat nightly at his feet and 
 watched, {slowly sinking down) so have I sat for seven 
 days, and wept over the corpse of my love! {with painful 
 intensity). What have I done? Am I not a child of 
 man? Is not love the right of all — ^like the air, the 
 light? And if I stretch my hands towards it, was it a 
 crime? When I first saw him — ^first heard the sound of 
 his voice, something woup4 itself around my heart, Then 
 
ns THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 first I knew why I was created, and for the first tune was 
 thankful for my hfe. (laying her hand on her brow) 
 Collect thyself, mind, and think! What has happened? 
 I saw him yesterday—^ no! eight days ago! He was full 
 of love. "You'll come," said he. I came. I left my 
 people. I tore the cords that bound me to my nation and 
 came to him. He cast me forth into the night. And yet, 
 my heart, you throb still. The earth still stands, the sun 
 still shines, as if it had not gone down forever for me. 
 (low) By his side stood a handsome maiden, and drew him 
 away with caressing hands. It is her he loves, and to the 
 Jewess he dares offer gold, (starting up) I will seek him! 
 I will gaze on his face — (church lit up, windows Ulumin- 
 ated, organ heard soft) that deceitful, beautiful face. I 
 will ask him what I have done that — (hides her head in 
 her hands and weeps, organ swells louder and then sub- 
 sides again to low music). Perhaps he loves me still. 
 Perhi^ps his soid, Uke mine, pines in nameless agony, and 
 yearns for reconciliation. (Mumo soft) Why does my 
 hate melt away at this soft voice with which Heaven calls 
 to me. Tha.t grand music, (listening) I hear voices, it 
 soimds Uke a nuptial benediction; perhaps it is a loving 
 bridal pair, (clasping her hands, and raising them on 
 high) Amen — amen! to that benediction, whoever you 
 may be. (Music stops) I, poor desolate one, would 
 like to see their happy faces — ^I must — this window. Yes, 
 here I can see into the church, (goes to vxindow, looks in, 
 screams and comes down — speaks very fa^t) Do I dream? 
 Kind Heaven, that prayer, that amen, you heard it not. 
 I call it back. You did not hear my blessing. You were 
 deaf. Did no blood-stained dagger drop down upon them ? 
 'Tis he! Revenge! (throws off her mantle, disclosing 
 white robe beneath — bares her arm, and rushes to the 
 tittle door, but halts). No! Thou shalt judge! Thine, 
 Jehovah, is the vengeance. Thou alone canst send it. 
 (stands beside broken column, rests her left arm upon it, 
 letting the other fall by her side.) 
 
 (Enter Rudolf from the little door of the church, vnth rose 
 rereqih in his hand.) 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 129 
 
 RtTDOLF. — I am at last alone. I cannot endure the joy 
 and merriment around me. How like mockery sounded 
 the pious words of the priest. As I gazed toward the 
 church windows, I saw a face, heard a muffled cry; I 
 thought it was her face, her voice. 
 
 Leah. — (coldly) Did you think so? 
 
 RuD. — Leah! Is it you? 
 
 Leah. — Yes. 
 
 RtJD. — (tenderly) Leah — 
 
 Leah. — ( vdth a gesture of contempt.) Silence, perjured 
 one! Can the tongue that lied still speak? The breath 
 that called me wife now swear faith to another? Does it 
 dare to mix with the pure air of heaven? Is this the man 
 I worshipped? whose features I so fondly gazed upon? 
 Ah! (shuddering) no! — no! The hand of heaven has 
 crushed, beaten, and defaced them! The stamp of 
 divinity no longer rests there! (walking away.) 
 
 RuD. — Leah! hear me! 
 
 Leah. — (turning fiercely.) Ha! You call me back? I 
 am pitiless now. 
 
 Run. — You broke faith first. You took the money. 
 
 Leah. — Money! What money? 
 
 RuD. — ^The money my father sent you. 
 
 Leah. — Sent me money! For what? 
 
 Run. — (hesitating.) To induce you to release me — ^to — 
 
 Leah. — That I might release you. And you knew it? 
 You permitted it. 
 
 RuD. — I staked my life that you would not take it. 
 
 Leah. — ^And you believed I had taken it! 
 
 Rtjd. — ^How could I believe otherwise? I-^ 
 
 Leah. — (with rage) And you believed I had taken it. 
 Miserable Christian and you cast me off. Not a question 
 was the Jewess worth, (subdued, but vindictive.) This, 
 then, was thy work; this the eternity of love that you 
 promised me. (falls on her knees.) Forgive me. Heaven, 
 that I forget my nation to love this Christian. Let that 
 love be lost in hate. Love is false, unjust — hate endless, 
 eternal. 
 
 Rtjd. — Cease these gloomy words of vengeance. I have 
 wronged you — I feel it without your reproaches. I have 
 
130 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 sinned, but to sin is human, and it would be but human to 
 forgive. 
 
 Leah. — ^You would tempt me again? I do not know that 
 voice. 
 
 RuD. — I will make good the evil I have done. Aye! an 
 hundred fold. 
 
 Leah. — (bitterly) Aye, crush the flower, grind it under 
 foot, then make good the evil you have done, (fiercely.) 
 No, no ! An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a heart for 
 a heart! 
 
 RuD. — ^Hold, fierce woman, I will beseech no more! 
 Do not tempt Heaven, let it be the judge between us! If 
 I have sinned through love, see that you do not sin through 
 hate. 
 
 Leah. — ^Blasphemer! and you dare call on Heaven! 
 What commandment have you not broken? Thou shalt 
 not swear falsely — ^you broke faith with me! Thou shalt 
 not steal — you stole my heart. Thou shalt not kill — 
 what of life have you left me? 
 
 RuD. — (advancing toward her.) Hold, hold! No more. 
 
 Leah — (repelling him.) The old man who died because 
 I loved you; the woman who himgered because I followed 
 you; the infant who died of thirst because of you; may they 
 follow you in dreams, and be a drag upon your feet forever. 
 May you wander as I wander, suffer shame as I now suffer 
 it. Cursed be the land you till, may it keep faith with 
 you, as you kept faith with me! Cursed be the unborn 
 fruit of thy marriage! May it wither as my yoimg heart 
 has withered; and should it ever see the hght, may its 
 brows be blackened by the mark of Cain, and may it 
 vainly pant for nourislunent on its dying mother's breast! 
 (snatching the wreath from his uplifted hand.) Cursed, 
 thrice cursed may you be evermore, and as my people on 
 Moimt Ebal spoke, so speak I thrice. Amen! Amen! 
 Amen! 
 
 (Rudolf, who has been standing, as if petrified, drops on 
 his knees, as curtain falls.) 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD ISl 
 
 UACBETH 
 
 Scene V. — Inverness. A room in Macbeth' s Castle. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter. 
 
 Lady M. — ^They met me in the day of success; and I 
 have learned by the perfectest report, they have more in 
 them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire 
 to question them further, they made themselves air, into 
 which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder 
 of it, came missives from the king, who all-haUed me 
 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title before, these weird 
 sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of 
 time, with 'Hail king that shalt be!' This have I thought 
 good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that 
 thou mightest not lose the dues of rejoicing by being 
 ignorant of what greatness is promised to thee. Lay it 
 to thy heart, and farewell. 
 Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be 
 What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy nature; 
 It is too full o' the milk of human kindness 
 To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great; 
 Art not without ambition: but without 
 The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly. 
 That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false. 
 And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'dst have, great Glamis, 
 That which cries 'Thus thou must do, if thou have it;' 
 And that which rather thou dost fear to do 
 Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither. 
 That I may pour my spirits in thine ear. 
 And chastise with the valour of my tongue 
 All that impedes thee from the golden round, 
 Which Fate and metaphysical aid doth seem 
 To have thee crowned withal. — 
 
 Enter an Attendani. 
 
 What is your tidings? 
 
 Att. — The king comes here to-night. 
 Lady M. Thou'rt mad to say it. — ' 
 
132 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Is not thy master with him? who, wer't so. 
 Would have informed for preparation. 
 
 Att. — ^So please you, it is true: our thane is coming: 
 One of my fellows had the speed of him. 
 Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more 
 Than would make up his message. 
 
 Lady M. — Give him tending; 
 
 He brings great news. (Exit Attendant.) TTie raven 
 
 himself is hoarse 
 That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
 Under my battlements. Come, you spirits 
 That tend on naortal thoughts, unsex me here. 
 And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full 
 Of direst cnidty ! make thick my blood. 
 Stop up the access and passage to remorse. 
 That no compunctions visitings of nature 
 Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 
 ,The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts. 
 And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers. 
 Wherever in your sightless substances 
 You w^ on nature's mischief! Come, thick night. 
 And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of heU, 
 That my keen knife see not the womid it makes. 
 Nor heaven peep through the blankets of the dark. 
 To cry, "Hold, hold!' 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor! 
 Greater than both, by the all-hail here^ter! 
 Thy letters have transported me beyond 
 Thik ignorant present, and I fed e'oi now 
 The future in the instant. 
 
 Macbkth. — My dearest love, 
 
 Duncan comes here to-night. 
 
 Ladt M. — And when goes hence? 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 13S 
 
 Macbeth. — ^To-morrow, as he purposes. 
 
 Lady M. — O, never 
 
 Shall siin that morrow see. 
 Your face, my thane, is as a book where men 
 May read strange matters; to beguile the time. 
 May look the time; bear welcome in your eye. 
 Your hand, your tongue; look like the innocent flower. 
 But be the serpent imder't. He that's coming 
 Must be provided for: and you shall put 
 This night's great business into my despatch; 
 Which shaD to all our nights and days to come 
 Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. — 
 
 Macbeth. — Only look up clear; 
 
 To alter favour ever is to fear: — 
 Leave all the rest to me. 
 
 {Exemt.) 
 
 SELF-DEPEISTDENCE 
 
 Matthew Arnold. 
 
 Weary of myseK , and sick of asking. 
 What I am, and what I ought to be. 
 At this vessel's prow I stmid, which bears me 
 Forward, forward, o'er the starht sea. 
 
 And a look of passionate desire 
 
 O'er the sea and to the stars I send; 
 
 "Ye who from my childhood up have calm'd me. 
 
 Calm me, ah, compose me to the end!" 
 
 "Ah, once more," I cried "ye stars, ye waters. 
 On my heart your mighty charm renew; 
 Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you. 
 Feel my sold becoming vast like you!" 
 
 From the intaise, clear, star-sown vault of heaven. 
 Over the lit sea's imquiet way. 
 In the rustling night ait came the answer, — 
 "Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as th^. 
 
134 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 "Unaff righted by the silence round them, 
 Undistracted by the sights they see. 
 These demand not that the things without them 
 Yield them love, amusement, sympathy. 
 
 "And with joy the stars perform their shining. 
 And the sea its long moon-silver'd roll; 
 For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting 
 All the fever of some differing soul. 
 
 "Bounded by themselves, and unregardful 
 In what state God's other works may be. 
 In their own tasks all their powers pouring, 
 These attain the mighty life you see." 
 
 air-bom voice! Long since, severely clear, 
 A cry Uke thine in mine own heart I hear: 
 "Resolve to be thyself; and know that he 
 Who finds himself loses his misery!" 
 
 BOCK ME TO SLEEP 
 
 Elizabeth A. Alien, 
 
 Backward, turn backward, O time, in your flight. 
 Make me a child again just for to-night! 
 Mother, come back from the echoless shore. 
 Take me again to your heart as of yore; 
 Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care. 
 Smooth the few silver thread out of my hair: 
 Over my slumbers your loving watch keep, 
 Rock me to sleep. Mother, rock me to sleep. 
 
 Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years! 
 
 I am so weaiy of toil and of tears — 
 
 Toil without recompense, tears all in vain — 
 
 Take them and give me my childhood again! 
 
 I have grown weary of dust and decay — 
 
 Weary of flinging my soul wealth away; 
 
 Weary of sowing for others to reap; 
 
 Rock me to sleep, Mother, rock me to sleep. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 185 
 
 Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue. 
 Mother, Mother, my heart calls for you! 
 Many a summer the grass has grown green 
 Blossomed and faded, our faces between; 
 Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain. 
 Long I to-night for your presence again. 
 Come from the silence so long and so deep; 
 Rock me to sleep. Mother — ^rock me to sleep. 
 
 Over my heart in the days that are flown 
 No love like mother love ever has shone; 
 No other worship abides and endures — 
 Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours, 
 None like a mother can charm away pain. 
 From the sick soul and the world weary brain. 
 Slumber's soft calm o'er my heavy lids creep; 
 Rock me to sleep. Mother, rock me to sleep. 
 
 Come, let your brown hair just lighted with gold. 
 Fall on your shoulders again as of old; 
 Let it drop over my fordiead to-night. 
 Shading my faint eyes away from the light; 
 For with its sunny edged shadows once more 
 Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore; 
 Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep — 
 Rock me to sleep. Mother, rock me to sleep! 
 
 Mother, dear mother, the years have been long, 
 Since I last listened your lullaby song. 
 Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem 
 Womanhood's years have been only a dream. 
 Clasped to your breast in a loving embrace. 
 With your light lashes just sweeping my face, 
 Never hereafter to wake or to weep — 
 Rock me to sleep. Mother, rock me to sleep. 
 
136 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 XII. Epic Poetry 
 
 The Epic is the recital of some great and heroic enter- 
 prise, having for its main theme some great hero. It is 
 told in twenty-four cantos or books. There are three or 
 four secular and two sacred epics. The secular are: 
 Homer's "Hiad," and "Odyssey," in Greek, and Milton's 
 "Paradise Lost, " in EngUsh; and possibly Dante's "Divine 
 Comedy. " The sacred epics are the New and Old Testa- 
 ments. Some others are Virgil's "Aeneid" in Latin; 
 "Cid" in Spanish; "Nibelungen" in German. These 
 epics should be rendered similarly to the narrative poem 
 which is freighted with a heroic spirit and triumphal 
 atmosphere, and should be carried directly to the audience 
 excepting as in the narrative poem, the speeches of the 
 different characters therein represented. 
 
 ADAM S MORNING HYMN IN PARADISE 
 
 MHion. 
 
 These are thy glorious works. Parent of good, 
 
 AlmigMy, thine this universal frame. 
 
 Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then! 
 
 Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens 
 
 To us invisible, or dimly seen 
 
 In these thy lowest works; yet these declare 
 
 Thy goodness beyond thou^t, and power divine. 
 
 Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of Ught, 
 
 Angels; for ye behold him, and with songs 
 
 And choral symphonies, day without night. 
 
 Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in Heaven, 
 
 On earth join, all ye creatures, to extol 
 
 Him first, him last, him midst, and without end. 
 
 Fairest of stars, last in the train of night. 
 
 If better thou belong not to the dawn. 
 
 Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling mom 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 187 
 
 With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere. 
 
 While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. 
 
 Thou sun, of this great world both eye and soul, 
 
 Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise 
 
 In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st. 
 
 And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall'st. 
 
 Moon, that now meets the orient sim, now fliest, 
 
 With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies. 
 
 And ye five other wandering fires that move 
 
 In mystic dance not without song, resound 
 
 His praise, who out of darkness called up light. 
 
 Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth 
 
 Of Natiu-e's womb, that in quaternion run 
 
 Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix 
 
 And nourish all things, let your ceaseless change 
 
 Vary to our great Maker still new praise. 
 
 Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise 
 
 From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray. 
 
 Till the Sim. paint your fleecy skirts with gold. 
 
 In honor to the world's great Author rise. 
 
 Whether to deck with clouds the uncolored sky. 
 
 Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers. 
 
 Rising or falling, still advance his praise. 
 
 His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow. 
 
 Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines. 
 
 With every plant, in sign of worship wave. 
 
 Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow. 
 
 Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. 
 
 Join voices, all ye living sotils; ye birds. 
 
 That singing up to Heaven-gate ascend. 
 
 Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise. 
 
 Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk 
 
 The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep, 
 
 Witness if I be silent, morn or even. 
 
 To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade, 
 
 Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise. 
 
 Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still 
 
 To give us only good; and if the night 
 
 Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed, 
 
 Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark. 
 
138 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 HBCTOB's mSESAL BIT18 
 
 Trans, by George Chapnum. 
 
 Close of the Iliad— aariv. 777-804. 
 
 These words made even the conunons mourn, to Tiiiom the 
 
 king said: — "Friends, 
 Xow fetch wood for our funeral fire, nor fear the foe in- 
 tends 
 Ambush, or any violence: Achilles gave his word. 
 At my dismission that twelve d^s he would keep sheathed 
 
 his sword. 
 And all men's else." Thus oxen, mules, in chariots 
 
 straight th^ put. 
 Went forth, and an unmeasured pile of sylvan matter cut. 
 Nine days employed in carriage, but whsa the tenth mom 
 
 shined 
 On wretched mortals, then they brought the iirtoAi^ 
 
 divined 
 Forth to be burned. Troy swum in tears. Upon the 
 
 pile's most hei^t 
 They laid the person, and gave fire. All day it burned, 
 
 allni^t. 
 But when the eleventh mom let on earth her rosy fingers 
 
 shine. 
 The people flocked about the pile, and first with blackish 
 
 wine 
 Quenched all the flames. His brothers then, and friends, 
 
 the snowy bones 
 Gathered into an urn of gcAA, still pouring on their moans. 
 Then wrapt they in soft purple veils the rich urn, digged 
 
 a pit. 
 Graved it, rammed vp the grave with stones, and quickly 
 
 built to it 
 A sepulchie. But while that work and aU the funeral 
 
 rites 
 Were in performance, guards w«« held at aU parts, days 
 
 and nights. 
 For fear of fdbe surprise before they had imposed the crown 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 139 
 
 To these solemnities. The tomb advanced once, all the 
 
 town 
 In Jove-nursed Priam's court partook a passing sumptuous 
 
 feast : 
 And so horse-taming Hector's rites gave up his soul to rest. 
 
 odtsset: VI. — BOOK vin. 454-468. 
 
 Trans, by Wm. Cvllen Bryant. 
 
 Him then the maidens bathe and rub with oil. 
 And in rich robe and tunic clothe with care. 
 
 He from the bath, cleansed from the dust of toil. 
 Passed to the drinkers; and Nausicaa there 
 Stood, molded by the gods exceeding fair. 
 
 She, on the roof -tree pillar leaning, heard 
 Odysseus; turning she beheld him near. 
 
 Deep in her breast admiring wonder stirred. 
 And in a low sweet voice she spake this winged word: — 
 
 "Hail, stranger guest! when fatherland and wife 
 
 Thou shalt revisit, then remember me. 
 
 Since to me first thou owest the price of life." 
 And to the royal virgin answered he: — 
 "Child of a generous sire, if willed it be 
 
 By Thunderer Zeus, who all dominion hath. 
 That I my home and dear return yet see. 
 
 There at thy shrine will I devote my breath. 
 There worship thee, dear maid, my savior from dark 
 death." 
 
 XIII. Elegiac Poetry 
 
 The Elegiac poetry being of a sad and mournful nature, 
 celebrating the virtues of one deceased, is rarely, if ever, 
 written in any other measure than the Iambic. The slow 
 and stately tread of the thought as regards wonderful and 
 virtuous triumphs could find no measure which would as 
 
140 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 truthfully portray the thoughts of the speaker equal to 
 those of Iambic. 
 
 The most celebrated elegies written are: Milton's 
 "Lycidas," Gray's "Elegy Written in a Country Church 
 Yard," Tennyson's "In Memoriam," and Shelley's "Adon- 
 ais." 
 
 The Elegy should be rendered directly to the audience, 
 that is, speaking to intelligence, not to individuals, and is 
 primarily a plea, and it also should be a pleading with 
 intelligence for a sympathetic participation in the griefs 
 and sorrows of the speaker for his friend who has departed 
 this life. 
 
 ELEGY IN A COTJNTBT CHXJHCHYAKD 
 
 Thomas Gray. 
 
 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade. 
 Where heaves the turf in many a moldering heap. 
 
 Each in his narrow cell forever laid. 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 
 
 The breezy call of incense-breathing mom. 
 
 The swaJlow twittering from the straw-built shed. 
 
 The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn. 
 No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 
 
 For them no more the blazing hearth shall bum. 
 Or busy housewife ply her evening care; 
 
 No children run to lisp their sire's return. 
 Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 
 
 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield. 
 
 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; 
 
 How jocund did they drive their team afield! 
 
 How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 141 
 
 Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 
 
 Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
 The short and simple annals of the poor. 
 
 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth ere gave. 
 
 Await alike the inevitable hour — 
 
 The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 
 
 XIV. Dramatic Poetry 
 
 Dramatic poetry ranks with the Epic in dignity and 
 excellence. Like the Epic, the Drama, at least in its 
 higher forms, must have some great and heroic transaction 
 for its subject; it must even more than the Epic, maintain 
 Unity in the action; it must have one leading character 
 hero; it must have some complication of plot. 
 
 In its form, the Drama is essentially unlike the Epic 
 and aU other narrative poems. What they narrate as 
 having been done, the Drama represents as actually doing 
 before our eyes. Li the Drama, the action is carried on 
 solely by means of dialogue between the actors. In Epic 
 poetry, indeed, the narrative often becomes dramatic, and 
 takes the form of dialogue; but ia the Drama, the form is 
 exclusively that of dialogue. 
 
 The two principal kinds of drama are Tragedy and 
 Comedy. Tragedy is more akin to the Epic, being serious 
 and dignified, and having for its subject some great trans- 
 action. It imdertakes to delineate the strongest passions, 
 and to move the soul of the spectator in the highest degree. 
 It is especially conversant with scenes of suffering and. 
 violence, and ends almost uniformly with the death of the 
 persons in whom the spectator is most interested. 
 
142 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Comedy, on the other hand, aims to amuse, and seeks 
 chiefly the topics of common life. It deals largely in 
 ridicule and satire, and often ends in the marriage or other 
 good fortmie of the principal personages. 
 
 Among the Greek dramatists are Aeschylus, Euripides, 
 Sophocles, and Aristophanes; and in English Literature, 
 Shakespeare, who perhaps is the greatest in all literature. 
 His plays are nimierous, and are divided into Tragedies, 
 Comedies, and Histories. These last are dramatic repre- 
 sentations of portions of English history, and are mainly 
 tragic in their character, though having a large comic 
 element. 
 
 MA.CBETH 
 
 Act rV. Sc. iii. 
 
 ShaJcespeare. 
 
 Macduff — Fit to govern! 
 
 No, not to live. O nation miserable! 
 With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd, 
 When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again. 
 Since that the truest issue of thy throne 
 By his own interdiction stands accursed. 
 And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father 
 Was a most sainted king: the queen tiiat bore thee, 
 Oftener upon her knees than on her feet. 
 Died every day she lived. Fare thee well! 
 These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself 
 Have banish'd me from Scotland. O my breast. 
 Thy hope ends here! 
 
 XV. Satirical Poetry 
 
 A Satire is a poem intended to hold up the follies of men 
 to ridicule. It aims to reform mgp oply by appealing to 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 143 
 
 their sense of shame. It is impersoneJ, or personal, ex- 
 posing faults in general, rather than exposing individuals. 
 
 Dear Sir, — ^You wish to know my notions 
 
 On sartin pints thet rile the land: 
 There's nothm' thet my natur so shuns 
 
 Ez bein' mum or underhand; 
 I'm a straight-spoken kind o' creetur 
 
 Thet blurts right out wut's in his head. 
 An' ef I've one pecooler feetur, 
 
 It is a nose that wimt be led. 
 
 So, to begin at the beginnin'. 
 
 An' come directly to the pint, 
 I think the country's imderpinnin' 
 
 Is some considTble out o' jint; 
 I ain't agoin' to try your patience 
 
 By tellin' who done this or thet, 
 I don't make no insinooations, 
 
 I jest let on I smell a rat, 
 
 Thet is, I mean, it seems to me so. 
 
 But, ef the public think I'm wrong, 
 I wunt deny but wut I be so, — 
 
 An', fact, it don't smell very strong; 
 My mind's tu fair to lose its balance 
 
 An' say wich party hez most sense; 
 There may be folks o' greater talence 
 
 Thet can't set stiddier on the fence. 
 
 I'm an eclectic; ez to choozin' 
 
 'Twixt this an' thet, I'm plaguy lawth; 
 I leave a side that looks like losin'. 
 
 But (wile there's doubt) I stick to both; 
 I stan' upon the Constitution, 
 
 Ez preudunt statesmim say, who've planned 
 A way to git the most profusion 
 
 O' chances ez to ware they'll stand. 
 
 Biglow Papers. 
 
144 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 XVI. The Lampoon 
 
 A lampoon attacks individuals. Examples: — 
 
 "Let him be gallows-free by my consent. 
 And nothing suffer, since he nothing meant; 
 Hanging supposes hiunan soul and reason, — 
 This animaJ's below committing treason: 
 Shall he be hanged who never could rebel? 
 
 ***** 
 
 Let him rail on; let his invective Muse 
 Have four-and-twenty letters to abuse. 
 Which if he jumbles to one line of sense. 
 Indict him of a capital offense." 
 
 "Drink, swear, and roar, forbear no lewd delight 
 Fit for thy bulk; do anything but write. 
 Thou art of lasting make, like thoughtless men; 
 A strong nativity — ^but for the pen; 
 Eat opium, mingle arsenic in thy drink, 
 Still thou mayest live, avoiding pen and ink. 
 I see, I see, 'tis cbimsel given in vain. 
 For treason, botched in rhyme, will be thy bane; 
 Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck; 
 'Tis fatal to thy fame and to thy neck." 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 XVII. The Ejntaph 
 
 The Epitaph is similar in some degree to the ^Ifegy, 
 but it is only for the passer-by to read, scarcely ever voiced 
 from the platform. It is usually placed on tombstones as 
 silent reminders from the dead to the living, although the 
 dead may or may not have originated the thought, as 
 many times we find various epitaphs which it would seem 
 could have been conceived only by some perverted mind. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 145 
 
 Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, 
 A Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown; 
 
 Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, 
 A Melancholy marked him for her own. 
 
 Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; 
 
 Heaven did a recompense as largely send: 
 He gave to Misery all he had, — a tear; 
 
 He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend. 
 
 No farther seek his merits to disclose. 
 
 Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 
 
 There they alike in trembling hope repose, — 
 The Bosom of his Father and his God. 
 
 TWO HUNDRED YEARS 
 
 John Pierpont. 
 Two hundred years! — two himdred years! 
 
 How much of human power and pride, 
 What glorious hopes, what gloomy fears. 
 
 Have sunk beneath their noiseless tide! 
 
 The red man, at his horrid rite. 
 
 Seen by the stars at night's cold noon, 
 
 His bark canoe its track of light 
 
 Left on the wave beneath the moon — 
 
 His dance, his yell, his council fire, 
 
 The altar where his victim lay, 
 His death song, and his funeral pyre. 
 
 That still, strong tide hath borne away. 
 
 And that pale pilgrim band is gone, 
 That on this shore with trembling trod. 
 
 Ready to faint, yet bearing on 
 The ark of freedom and of God. 
 
 And war — ^that since o'er ocean came. 
 And thundered loud from yonder hill. 
 
 And wrapped its foot in sheets of flame 
 To blast that ark — its storm is still. 
 
146 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Chief, sachem, sage, bards, heroes, seers. 
 That live in story and in song. 
 
 Time, for the last two hundred years. 
 Has raised, and shown, and swept along. 
 
 'Tis like a dream when one awakes — 
 This vision of the scenes of old; 
 
 'Tis like the moon, when morning breaks, 
 'Tis like a tale romid watch-fires told. 
 
 God of our fathers, — in whose sight 
 The thousand years that swept away 
 
 Man, and the traces of his might. 
 Are but the break and close of day. 
 
 Grant us that love of truth sublime. 
 That love of goodness and of thee. 
 
 Which makes thy children, in aU time. 
 To share thine own eternity. 
 
PART IV 
 
FIGURES OF SPEECH 
 
 BECAUSE of the apparent lack of understanding 
 of the average graduate of high schools, semina- 
 ries, and colleges, I take pleasure in submitting 
 the chapters on Figures of Speech and Prosody. 
 There is no question as to the usefulness to the student of 
 the Spoken Word of these two important subjects, and 
 while every graduate of the above institutions may have 
 considerable knowledge of these subjects, yet I find them, 
 with very few exceptions, insufficient for mastery in our 
 specific line of work. 
 
 An architect in order to be successful in presenting his 
 plans to the master builder, must know considerable, in 
 fact, all about the construction of a building; so with the 
 interpreter or the teacher of interpretation of the Spoken 
 Word, he or she should have an actual knowledge of the 
 matter in hand in order to give a lucid and compleite 
 knowledge to the auditor or the pupil. In fact one will 
 never thoroughly understand Figures of Speech and 
 Prosody until they are put into practical use. Great 
 stress is placed upon this part in the extemporaneous 
 speaking, debating, and the interpretative classes; also 
 in the class of poetry and short story writing, in which 
 classes we find through actual use and application of the 
 principles laid down in this book, that the students 
 become creative speakers and writers of the Spoken Word. 
 In connection with this* subject, I would advise students 
 to consult Webster's International Dictionary; also to 
 
 149 
 
150 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 have for reference several good rhetorics and language 
 books. 
 
 Figures that are based on resemblance are: Simile, 
 Metaphor, and Allegory, Personification and Apostrophe, 
 to a greater or less extent, are also suggested by resem- 
 blance. 
 
 I. Simile 
 
 A simile gives a clear and lucid conception of an obscure 
 object or action, by comparing it with something well 
 known to the reader, and, by presenting some phase of the 
 thing in a new and unexpected light, it not infrequently 
 surprises and pleases . Examples : — 
 
 1. The staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam. 
 
 Sam. XVII. 
 
 2. I have compared one with the other, though very 
 unlike, like all similes. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 3. The feeling of unhappiness covered him as water 
 covers a log. 
 
 Kipling. 
 
 4. Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep. 
 
 5. It came o'er my ear like the sweet soimd 
 That breathes upon a bank of violets. 
 Stealing and giving color. 
 
 II. Metaphor 
 
 The fact that a metaphorical figure is founded upon 
 the resemblance which one object bears to another, allies 
 it very closely to a simile; that is, a metaphor (as the 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 151 
 
 International Dictionary says) imaginatively identifies 
 one object with another, and ascribes to the first the 
 qualities of the second; whfereas the simile declares that A 
 is like B, the metaphor assumes that A is B. A metaphor 
 may usually be expanded into a simile, and a simile may 
 be condensed into a metaphor, as: "Phil Sheridan fought 
 hke a lion," contains a simile. "He was a lion in the 
 fight, " contains a metaphor. 
 
 The metaphor, of all figures of speech, comes nearest 
 to painting, as it enables one to clothe at will the most 
 abstract ideas with life, form, color, and motion. Ex- 
 amples : — ■ 
 
 1. The Spirit of man is the candle of the Lord. 
 
 Proverbs. 
 
 2. The ship plows the sea. 
 
 3. He is a lion in a fight. 
 
 4. The sunshine filters through the leaves. 
 
 5. "Israel is a vine brought from Egypt." 
 
 III. Allegory 
 
 Allegory is the description of one thing under the image 
 of another, a sort of extended metaphor. "An allegory 
 is like two trains (of thought) running in the same direc- 
 tion on parallel tracks." The allegory differs from the 
 metaphor in this respect: in the metaphor both subjects 
 are mentioned, the one to be illustrated as well as the one 
 that is employed as a figure to illustrate it, while in alle- 
 gory, the subject should never be mentioned. Allegory 
 usually extends through several sentences, and sometimes 
 
152 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 through an entire book, as in the case of the Book of 
 Jonah, of Pilgrim's Progress, and of Edmund Spenser's 
 "Faery Queene." The short allegory is sometimes called 
 a "fib, " or parable, depending not a little upon the nature 
 of the subject. Example: — 
 
 BELPHEOBE THE HUNTRESS 
 
 From the Faery Queene. 
 
 Eftsoones there stepped forth 
 
 A goodly lady clad in hunter's weed. 
 That seem'd to be a woman of great worth, 
 And by her stately portance born of heavenly birth. 
 
 Her face so fair, as flesh it seemed not. 
 
 But heavenly portrait of bright angel's hue. 
 Clear as the sky, withouten blame or blot. 
 
 Through goodly mixture of complexions due; 
 
 And in her cheeks the vermeil red did shew 
 Like roses in a bed of KUies shed. 
 
 The which ambrosial odours from them threw. 
 And gazers' sense with double pleasure fed. 
 Able to heal the sick and to revive the dead. 
 
 In her fair eyes two living lamps did flame. 
 Kindled above at th' heaventy Maker's light, 
 
 And darted flery beams out of the same. 
 
 So passing persaimt and so wondrous bright. 
 That quite bereaved the rash beholder's sight: 
 
 In them the blinded god his lustful fire 
 To kindle oft essay 'd, but had no might; 
 
 For, with dread majesty and awful ire, 
 She broke his wanton darts, and quendied base desire. 
 
 Her ivory forehead full of bounty brave. 
 Like a broad table did itself dispread, 
 
 For Love his lofty trimnphs to engrave. 
 And write the battles of his great godhead: 
 All good and honour might therein be read; 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 153 
 
 For there their dwelling was. And when she spake, 
 
 Sweet words like droppitig honey she did shed; 
 And twixt the pearls and rubies softly brake 
 A silver sound, that heavenly music seem'd to make. 
 
 Upon her eyelids many graces sate. 
 
 Under the shadow of her even brows. 
 Working belgrades and amorous retrate; 
 
 And every one her with a grace endows, 
 
 And every one with meekness to her bows: 
 So glorious mirror of celestial grace. 
 
 And sovereign monument of mortal vows. 
 How shall frail pen describe her heavenly face. 
 For fear, through want of skill, her beauty to disgrace? 
 
 So fair, and thousand thousand times more fair. 
 She seem'd, when she presented was to sight: 
 
 And was clad for heat of scorching air. 
 All in a silken Camus, lily white, 
 Purfled upon with many a folded plight. 
 
 Which all above besprinkled was throughout 
 With golden aygulets that glist'red bright. 
 
 Like twinkling stars; and all the skirt about 
 Was hemm'd with golden fringe 
 
 Her yellow locks, crisped like golden wire. 
 About her shoulders were loosely shed. 
 
 And when the wind amongst them did inspire. 
 They waved like a pennon wide dispread. 
 And low behind her back were scattered; 
 
 And whether art it were or heedless hap. 
 As through the flow'ring forest rash she fled, 
 
 In her rude hairs sweet flow'rs themselves did lap. 
 And flourishing fresh leaves and blossoms did enwrap. 
 
 Such as Diana by the sandy shore 
 
 Of swift Eurotas, or on Cynthrus green. 
 
 Where aU the nymphs have her imwares forlore, 
 Wand'reth alone with bow and arrows keen, 
 To seek her game; or as that famous queen 
 
154 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Of Amazons, whom Pyrrhus did destroy 
 The day that first of Priam she was seen, 
 Did show herself in great triumphant joy, 
 To succour the weak state of sad afflicted Troy. 
 
 PARABLE 
 
 And he spake this parable unto them, saying. 
 
 What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose 
 one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the 
 wilderness, and go after that which is lost, imtil he find 
 it? 
 
 And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, 
 rejoicing. 
 
 And when he cometh home, he calleth together his 
 friends and neighbours, saying unto them. Rejoice with 
 me; for I have found my sheep which was lost. 
 
 I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over 
 one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and 
 nine just persons, which need no repentance. 
 
 Figures based upon Relation and Association are: 
 Metonomy and Synecdoche. 
 
 IV. Metonomy 
 
 Metonomy means change of name, that is, giving the 
 name of one object in the place of another object. Ex- 
 amples: — 
 
 1. The drunkard loves his bottle. 
 
 2. Man shall live by the sweat of his brow. 
 
 3. Since he was obliged to Kve by his pen, he could 
 set but a poor table. 
 
 4. The Lord shall comfort Zion. 
 
 5. The kettle boils. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 155 
 
 V. Synecdoche 
 
 Synecdoche is the change of name from one object to 
 another which literally expresses something more or some- 
 thing less than is intfended. Examples : — 
 
 1. His meat was locusts and wild honey. 
 
 2. He never knew the joys of the paternal hearth. 
 
 3. The colt will be three years old next grass. 
 
 4. The ways of the Almighty are past finding out. 
 
 5. He may be a Cincinnatus or a Washington. 
 
 Note: — In the Synonyms we find that Metonomy and 
 Synecdoche alike iavolve the substitution for one idea of 
 another closely aUied to it. The technical distinction in 
 the two, which may be seen in the definitions, is now little 
 noted, and the tendency now is to allow Metonomy to do 
 duty for both. 
 
 Figures based on Imagination are: Personification, 
 Apostrophe, and Hyperbole. 
 
 VI. Personification 
 
 Personification consists in attributing to an object some 
 of the qualities, actions, thoughts, or feelings of the human 
 being. Examples: — 
 
 1. The laughing hours have chased away the night. 
 
 2. Let the floods clap their hands, let the hills be 
 joyful together before the Lord. 
 
 3. To Truth's house there is a single door: experience. 
 
156 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 4. "The mountains sing together, the hills rejoice and 
 clap their hands." 
 
 5. Doth not Wisdom cry? and Understaading put forth 
 her voice? 
 
 Note: — ^It is only the highest degree of imagination 
 which requires the capital letter. 
 
 VII. A'postrophe 
 
 Consult page 111 on Apostrophe. Examples: — 
 
 1. O Nature, how fair is thy face! 
 
 2. Bless the Lord, O my soul! and forget not all his 
 benefits. 
 
 3. death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is 
 thy victory? 
 
 4. O mighty Csesar! dost thou he so low? 
 
 Are aJI thy conquests, glories, trimnphs, spoils. 
 Shrunk to this little measure? 
 
 Note: — ^The chief difiFerence between Apostrophe and 
 Personification is that in Apostrophe, the object is spoken 
 to, in Personification, the object is spoken of. Examples 
 of both Apostrophe and Personification: — 
 
 1. O river, gentle river! gliding on 
 
 In silence underneath the starless slg^! 
 Thine is a ministry that never rests 
 Even while the living slumber. 
 
 2. "Put on thy strength, O Zion; put on thy beautiful 
 garments, O Jerusalem, the holy city." 
 
 3. And if, in tales our fathers told, our mothers sung. 
 Tradition wears a snowy beard, Romance is always 
 
 young. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 157 
 
 VIII. Hyperbole 
 
 Hyi)erbole is a figure of suggestion, the object being to 
 make the thought more effective by over-stating it. Many 
 of the youthful statements of boys and girls, which are 
 sometimes called fibs, are nothing more or less than Hyper- 
 boles. It is well to guard against such extravagant state- 
 ments even in childhood, unless the parent wishes to make 
 of his boy or girl a writer of fiction; for there is only a 
 slight step between a hyperbole and a falsehood, as might 
 be shown in the following statements : I just love to eat ; 
 Isn't that a magnificent boimet? Just too sweet for any- 
 thing; I am awfully tired; the man towered like a moim- 
 tain; a goi^eous pair of gloves, etc. Examples : — 
 
 1. The waves are mountain high. 
 
 2. The triumph of the wicked is short, and the joy of 
 the hypocrite but for a moment, though his excellency 
 mount up to the heavens, and his head reach the clouds. 
 
 3 Then went out to him Jerusalem, and all Judea, 
 and all the region round about Jordan, and were baptized 
 of him in Jordan, confessing their sins. 
 
 'The above statements, unless used under the excitement 
 of strong feeling and the restraint of sound judgment, will 
 degenerate into rant and bombast, and make the author 
 appear ridiculous. 
 
 Figures based on Surprise or Admiration: Interrogation 
 and Exclamation. 
 
 IX. Interrogation 
 
 The figure of Interrogation aims to impress a truth more 
 vigorously by putting its opposite in the form of a question. 
 Examples: — 
 
158 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 1. Hast thou a star to guide thy path? 
 
 2. Shall we always be youthful, and laughing, and gay? 
 
 S. Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard 
 his spots? 
 
 X. Exclamation 
 
 By using a figure of Exclamation, one expresses a burst 
 of feeling rather than expressing a thought; and from the 
 fact that both the Interrogation and the Exclamation 
 grow out of an intense feeling of surprise, approbation, 
 admiration, or disgust, it is considered a close partner to 
 an interrogation. Many feeble writers make a common 
 mistake by imagining that a passage becomes emotional 
 by merely placing an exclamation point here and there 
 in a sentence, although the thought itself is perfectly simple 
 and commonplace. Such a iise of the figure makes the 
 composition frigid, and chilling in style. Examples: — 
 
 1. ADanielcome to judgment! yea, a Daniel! O wise 
 young judge, how I do honor thee! 
 
 2. Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard! 
 
 3. Jump far out, boy, into the wave! 
 
 Antithesis, Epigram, Irony, and Climax: These figures 
 hke the Interrogation, Exclamation, and Hyperbole, in 
 order to retain their good effect, should be used sparingly; 
 because they are less important than most of the previous 
 figures mentioned, though they demand delicate shading. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 159 
 
 XI. Antithesis 
 
 Antithesis, by placing two things in striking contrast, 
 gives the figure force and ia so doing, the contrasted mem- 
 bers should be constructed as nearly alike as possible. 
 Grammatically 'flie chief words should be set over against 
 each other and should be the same part of speech: noun 
 against a notm, verb against a verb, and adjective against 
 an adjective. 
 
 1. The fool doth think he is wise; but the wise man 
 knows himself to be a fool. 
 
 2. The prodigal robs his heir, the miser robs himself. 
 
 3. So, also is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown 
 in corruption: it is raised in incorruption: it is sown in 
 weakness: it is raised in power: it is sown a natural body: 
 it is raised a spiritual body. 
 
 XII. Epigram 
 
 An Epigram is a brief sentence conveying much thought 
 where words seem to contradict the real meaning. Use 
 them sparingly. Examples : — 
 
 1. The child is father to the man. 
 
 2. Language is the art of concealing. 
 
 3. The days of the splendid triumph of Christian Law 
 by Christian arms were the days of the greatest defeat of 
 our religion. 
 
 XIII. Irony 
 
 Irony is a figure in which the writer of speaker, by stat- 
 ing the opposite, aims to ejfpress a thoughts the intended 
 
160 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 meaning being cleaxly understood by associated circum- 
 stances. Examples: — 
 
 1. "Here imder leave of Brutus and the rest, 
 (For Brutus is an honorable man. 
 
 So are they all, all honorable men) 
 Come I to speak in Caesar's fimeral. 
 He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 
 (But Brutus says he was ambitious; 
 And Brutus is an honorable man.)" 
 
 2. And it came to pass at noon, that Elijah mocked 
 them and said, "Cry aloud: for he is a god: either he is 
 talking, or he is pursuing, or he is in a journey, or p»erad- 
 venture he sleepeth and must be awakened." 
 
 3. No doubt but that ye are the people, and wisdom 
 shall die with you. 
 
 XIV. Climax 
 
 CKmax is a figure that has for its aim to carry the mind 
 forward step by step, to a culminating point, through 
 arranging successive statements with reference to their 
 increasing importance. By reversing this method, the 
 result is burlesque. Example: — 
 
 1. The cloud capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, the 
 solemn temple, the great globe itself, yea, all which it 
 inherit, shall dissolve. 
 
 2. A picture of a nation long enslaved, now disen- 
 thralled, redeemed, restored, reformed, purified by his 
 power, — this was the picture presented to his imagination. 
 
 Anti-climax, Euphemism, Litotes, AUiteration, Allusion, 
 pjid Vision have been classiBed by later writers as figures. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 161 
 
 XV. Anii-Climax 
 
 Anti-climax is gained by arranging clauses so tiaat the 
 succeeding ones diminish in importance. The tendency 
 will be humorous, and is Intimate, if it is intended; but 
 if unintentional, woe to the writer or speaker! 
 ISxamples: — 
 
 1. "V^ien <3eorge the Fovufth was still reigning over the 
 privacies of Windsor, when the Duke of Wellington was 
 prime minister, and Mr. Vincy was mayor of the old cor- 
 poratica^ in Middlemarch, etc. 
 
 2 Anti-climax unintentional. 
 
 1. He lost his wife, his child, his household goods, and 
 his dog, at one fell swoop. 
 
 2. What were the results of this conduct? — ^beggary! 
 dishonor! utter ruin! and a broken leg! 
 
 XVI. Euphemism 
 
 Euphemism is a figure in which disagreeable tMngs are 
 mentioned under names supposed to be inoffensive. Ex- 
 ample: — 
 
 1. "His face and hands showed that they had long been 
 strangers." 
 
 XVII. lAtotes 
 
 Litotes is a figure in which a statement is made by deny- 
 ing the opposite. Example : — 
 
 I. Oas of the great, the immortal names 
 That were not bom to die. 
 
162 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 XVIII. AUiteraiion 
 See page 46. 
 
 XIV. Allusion 
 
 Allusion may be called a metaphor in disguise. It refers 
 to well known events in history or well known expressions. 
 One needs to be well read to recognize this fine figure. 
 Examples: — 
 
 1. "The self-seeking will betray his friend with a Judas 
 kiss." 
 
 S. "This is a new kingdom of science, this embryology, 
 but you have to enter it through a straight gate and a 
 narrow way." 
 
 XX. Vision 
 
 Vision is a vivid use of the imagination in recalling or 
 anticipating events, and making them appear as though 
 they were present. Some of the books of the Bible, espe- 
 cially Ezekiel, also Revelations, are written from this view- 
 point. Much of the book of Ezekiel is a vision of the 
 remote and the future; also the book of Bevelation. Car- 
 lyle, among historical writers, seems to be the one most 
 given to the use of vision. Not infrequently he represents 
 himself as mingling with the actors in a prominent histori- 
 cal event. It is like Apostrophe, in one respect. 
 
 Example: — 
 
 1. In the war against Charles I: 
 
 "Basing is black ashes, then: and Longford is ours, the 
 garrison to march forth to-morrow at twelve of the clock, 
 being the 18th instant. And now the question is. Shall 
 we attack Dennington, or not?" 
 
PART V 
 
PROSODY 
 
 PROSODY in as simple form as possible, might 
 be stated as follows: The grammatical rules 
 which govern versification. The word verse is 
 derived from the stem "vers," which means 
 to turn, and is so called because when the writer has 
 written a certain number of syllables, he turns, as it 
 were, and commences a new line. Originally, the word was 
 applied only to a line of poetry; it is now, however, used to 
 designate the general structure of poetry, as well as a group 
 of lines of i)oetry, and even one of the subdivisions of a 
 chapter of the Bible. The chief distinction between verse 
 and prose is that the former is marked by the recurrence 
 at regular intervals of syllables that must be accented by 
 the voice in reading. This regular recurrence of accent is 
 called rhythm. The word rhythm comes from a Greek 
 word meaning measured motion. 
 
 A foot is a group of two or three syllables upon one of 
 which the accent or stress of the voice falls in reading. 
 Bhythm is essential to verse. Rhyme, on the other hand, 
 is not essential, but is very generally used, as an additional 
 ornament. 
 
 Meter, or measure, is determined by the number and 
 kind of feet in a line, as for instance : A line with one foot 
 would be called monometer; of two feet, dimeter; of three 
 feet, trimeter; of four feet, tetrameter; of five feet, penta- 
 meter; of six feet, sexameter; of seven feet, heptameter; of 
 eight feet, octameter, 
 
 165 
 
166 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Note: — ^If a verse has a syllable more than the regular 
 measure, it is called hypermeter ; if a syllable less, catalactic. 
 
 I would earnestly advise all students of thie Spoken 
 Word to thoroughly understand the meter of the poem 
 which they contemplate interpreting, as it is impossible 
 to interpret poetry distinctly and correctly without this 
 knowledge. Many men and women have attempted to 
 interpret Shakespeare's "Midsummer Night's Dream," 
 and have fallen upon the rocks of failure chiefly because 
 they did not understand the wonderful change of meter 
 in this poetic construction of that most wonderful play. 
 I take pleasvtre in submitting a few examples of the differ- 
 ent meters, below: 
 
 I. Iambic. — Short and long 
 
 Iambic Pentameter 
 
 There is a pleasure in the pathless woods. 
 
 There is a rapture on the lonely shore. 
 
 There is society where none intaides 
 
 By the deep sea, and music in its roar: 
 
 I love not man the less, but nature more. 
 
 From these our interviews, in which I steal 
 
 From all I may be, or have been before. 
 
 To mingle with the universe, and feel 
 
 What I can ne'er express, yet cannot aU conceal. 
 
 II. Trochaic. — Long and short 
 
 Trochaic 
 
 Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and 
 
 weary. 
 Over many a quaint and curious volume of foi^otten lore. 
 While I nodded nearly napping, suddenly there came a 
 
 tapping. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 167 
 
 As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber 
 
 door. 
 " 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber 
 
 door — 
 Only this and nothing more." 
 
 ///. Jiactj/fic. — 1.0)11/ atitf tiro short 
 
 Dactylic Dimeter 
 
 Cannon to. right of them. 
 Canon to left of them. 
 Cannon in front of them. 
 Volleyed and thundered: 
 Stormed at with shot and shell. 
 Boldly they rode and well. 
 Into the jaws of Death, 
 Lito the mouth of Hell, 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 IV. Anapestic. — Ttco shorts and one long 
 
 Anapestic Tetrameter 
 
 I am fond of the swallow, I learn from her flight. 
 Had I skill to improve it, a lesson of love; 
 How seldom on earth do we see her alight ! 
 She dwells in the skies, she is ever above. 
 
 Amphibrachic; — trisyllabic foot, having the accent on the 
 middle syllable (amphi — on both sides, and brachys — 
 short.) 
 
 V. Amj^nbrachic Tetrameter 
 
 There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin, 
 The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chiB — 
 
168 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 VI. Mixed Verse. — Mixed meter 
 
 There be none of Beauty's daughters 
 With a magic like thee: 
 
 And like music on the waters 
 Is thy sweet voice to me. 
 
 VII. Spondee 
 
 We have a fifth kind of foot, consisting of two 
 syllables, both accented, as twilight, lampUght, outside, 
 etc. Such a foot is called a spondee. But we have no 
 whole lines made up of spondees and consequently we have 
 no such thing as spondaic verse. 
 
 VIII. Blank Verse. — Verse that does not rhyme 
 
 Most of oiu" blank verse is Iambic pentameter. In this 
 are written Milton's Paradise Lost, the plays of Shakes- 
 peare, and the greater part of the rest of our heroic and 
 dramatic verse. However, blank verse may be written in 
 any number of feet or in any measure. 
 
 So commonly has Iambic been used that many students 
 think Iambic the only form. The failure of the interpreter 
 to understand this blank verse construction is often the 
 cause of failure to interest his auditors. It is unfortimate 
 indeed that the high schools in the pubhc and private school 
 system of the world, do not lay greater stress upon prosody; 
 did they do so, without doubt many indifferent or even 
 fairly good writers would be ranked among the Kterary 
 Ughts of the world; for we hope the time is at hand, when 
 this country should produce one great poet who wiU be fit 
 to shine among the great stars of foreign constellations. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 169 
 
 IX. Metrical Feet 
 
 Samuel T. Coleridge. 
 
 Trochee trips from long to short; 
 
 From long to short long in solemn sort 
 
 Slow Spondee stalks; strong feet, yet ill able 
 
 Ever to come up with Dactyl trissyllable. 
 
 Iambics march from short to long; — - 
 
 With a leap and a bound the swift Anapests throng; 
 
 One syUable long, with one short at each side. 
 
 Amphibrachys hastes with a stately stride; 
 
 First and last being long, middle short, Amphimacer 
 
 Strikes his thundering hoofs like a proud highbred racer. 
 
PART VI 
 
MOTHER GOOSE MELODIES 
 
 POSSIBLY no person in this or any other en- 
 Hghtened country, has ever reached the age of 
 maturity without having heard the mother sing 
 or recite some Mother Goose Melody while 
 endeavoring to , lull her children to repose; I know 
 of no greater method of awakening tJie appreciation of 
 individual ideas than by carefully reading that old classic, 
 "The House that Jack Built," and I therefore submit a 
 few of these melodies for Class use; also selections for 
 children. — 
 
 THE HOUSE THAT JACK BTJILT 
 
 This is the house that Jack built. 
 
 This is the malt 
 
 That lay in the house that Jack built. 
 
 This is the rat, 
 
 That ate the malt 
 
 That lay in the house that Jack built. 
 
 This is the cat. 
 
 That killed the rat, 
 
 That ate the malt 
 
 That lay in the house that Jack built. 
 
 This is the dog. 
 That worried the cat, 
 That killed the rat. 
 That ate the malt 
 
 That lay in the house that Jack built. 
 173 
 
174 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 This is the cow with the crumpled horn. 
 
 That tossed the dog. 
 
 That worried the cat. 
 
 That killed the rat, 
 
 That ate the malt 
 
 That lay in the house that Jack built. 
 
 This is the maiden all forlorn. 
 
 That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, 
 
 That tossed the dog. 
 
 That worried the cat, 
 
 That killed the rat. 
 
 That ate the malt 
 
 That lay in the house that Jack built. 
 
 DING, DONG BELL 
 
 Ding, dong bell. 
 
 Pussy's in the well! 
 
 Who put her in? — 
 
 Little Tommy Green. 
 
 Who pulled her out? — 
 
 Little Johnny Stout. 
 
 What a naughty boy was that 
 
 To drown poor pussy cat. 
 
 Who never did any harm 
 
 But killed the mice in his father's bam. 
 
 DOGS IN THE GABDEN 
 
 Dogs in the garden, catch 'em Towser: 
 Cows in the cornfield, run, boys, run; 
 Cats in the cream-pot, run, girls, run; 
 Fire on the mountains, run, boys, run. 
 
 I T.nna LITTLE PUSSY 
 
 I like little pussy, her coat is so warm 
 And if I don't hurt her she'll do me no harm; 
 So I'll not pull her tail, nor drive her away, 
 Put Pussy and I veiy gently will play. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 175 
 
 MEEBY ABB THE BELLS 
 
 Merry are the bells, and merry would they ring, 
 Merry was myself, and meriy could I sing; 
 With a merry ding-dong, happy, gay, and free. 
 And a merry sing-song, happy let ils be! 
 
 Waddle goes your gait, and hollow are your hose. 
 Noddle goes your pate, and purple is your nose. 
 Merry is your sing-song, happy, gay, and free. 
 With a merry ding-dong, happy let us be! 
 
 Merry have we met, and merry have we been. 
 Merry let us part, and merry meet again; 
 With a merry sing-song, happy, gay, and free. 
 And a merry ding-dong, happy let us be! 
 
 JACK AND JILL 
 
 Jack and Jill went up the hill. 
 To fetch a pail of water; 
 Jack fell down and broke his crown 
 And Jill came tumbling after. 
 
 Up Jack got and home did trot. 
 As fast as he could caper; 
 Dame Jill had a job to plaster his knob, 
 With vinegar and brown paper. 
 
 TOM, TOM, THE PIPEb's SON 
 
 Tom, Tom, the piper's son. 
 
 Stole a pig, and away he run! 
 
 The pig was eat, and Tom was beat, 
 
 And Tom went roaring down the street. 
 
 Tom, Tom, the piper's son, 
 He learned to play when he was young; 
 But all the tune that he could play 
 Was "Over the hills and far away." 
 
176 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 COCK A DOODLE DOO 
 
 Cock a doodle doo! 
 
 JIj- dame has lost her shoe; 
 
 My master's lost his fiddle stick. 
 
 And don't know what to do. 
 
 Cock a doodle doo! 
 
 Dame has lost her shoe; 
 
 Gone to bed and scratched her head. 
 
 And can't teU what to do. 
 
 MART HAD A LITTLE UCUB 
 
 Mary had a httle lamb. 
 Its fleece was white as snow; 
 And everj-where that Mim- went. 
 The lamb was sure to go. 
 
 He followed her to school one day; 
 That was against the rule; 
 It made the children laugh and play 
 To see a lamb in schocJ. 
 
 And so the teacher turned him out. 
 But still he lingered near. 
 And waited patiently about 
 Till Mary did appear. 
 
 OLD KIXG COLE 
 
 Old King Cole was a merry old soul, 
 
 A merry old soul was he. 
 
 He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl 
 
 And he called for his fiddlers three. 
 
 LITTLE MISS MUFFET 
 
 Little IVJSss Muffet, 
 Slie sat on a tuffet. 
 Eating of ciuxls and whey; 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 177 
 
 There came a big spider 
 Who sat down beside her. 
 And frightened Miss MufiFet away. 
 
 LITTLE JACK HOENER 
 
 Little Jack Homer sat in a comer. 
 
 Eating a Christmas pie; 
 
 He put in his thumb, and he took out a plum. 
 
 And said, "What a good boy am I!" 
 
 SIMPLE SIMON 
 
 Simple Simon met a pieman, 
 Going to the fair. 
 Says Simple Simon to the Pieman, 
 "Let me taste your ware." 
 
 Says the Pieman to Simple Simon, 
 "Show me first your penny." 
 Says Simple Simon to the Pieman, 
 "lideed I haven't any." 
 
 THE OLD WOMAN IN THE SHOE 
 
 There was an old woman who lived in a shoe. 
 
 She had so many children she didn't know what to do. 
 
 She gave them some broth without any bread. 
 
 She whipped them all round and sent them to bed. 
 
 COME MT CHILDBEN, COMB AWAT 
 
 Come, my children, come away. 
 For the sim shines bright to-day; 
 Little children, come with me. 
 Birds and brooks and posies see; 
 
178 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Get your hats and come away. 
 For it is a pleasant day. 
 
 Everything is laughing, singing. 
 All the pretty flowers are springing; 
 See the kitten, fuU of fun. 
 Sporting in the brilliant sun; 
 Children too may sport and play. 
 For it is a pleasant day. 
 
 Bring the hoop, and bring the ball. 
 
 Come with happy faces all; 
 
 Let us make a merry ring. 
 
 Talk and laugh, and dance and sing. 
 
 Quickly, quickly, come away. 
 
 For it is a pleasant day. 
 
 AS I WALKED BY MYSELF 
 
 As I walked by myself. 
 
 And talked to myself. 
 
 Myself said unto me. 
 
 Look to thyself, take care of thyself. 
 
 For nobody cares for thee. 
 
 I answered myself. 
 
 And said to myself 
 
 Li the self-same repartee. 
 
 Look to thyself, or not look to thyself. 
 
 The self-same will be. 
 
 LITTLE BOY BLTJE 
 
 Little boy blue, come blow your horn. 
 
 The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the com; 
 
 Where's the little boy that tends the sheep? 
 He's under the haycock, fast asleep. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 179 
 
 Go wake him, go wake him. Oh! no, not I; 
 For if I awake him, he'll certainly cry. 
 
 WHEN THE WIND IS IN THE EAST 
 
 When the wind is in the east, 
 "Tis neither good for man or beast; 
 When the wind is in the north. 
 The skiKul fisher goes not forth; 
 When the wind is in the south, 
 It blows the bait in the fishes' mouth; 
 When the wind is in the west. 
 Then it's at the very best. 
 
 CHILDREN'S SELECTIONS 
 
 THE OLD OWL AND THE BELL 
 
 Geo. MacDonald. 
 
 "Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!" 
 
 Sang the Bell to himself in his house at home. 
 
 Up in the tower, away and unseen. 
 
 In a twihght of ivy, cool and green; 
 
 With his Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome! 
 
 Singing bass to himseU in his house at home. 
 
 Said the owl to himself, as he sat below 
 On a window ledge, like a ball of snow, 
 "Pest on that feUow, sitting up there. 
 Always calling the people to prayer! 
 With his Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome! 
 Mighty big in his house at home! 
 
 "I will move," said the owl. "But it suits me well; 
 And one may get used to it, — ^who can tell?" 
 
180 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 So he slept in the day with aJl his might. 
 And rose and flapped in the hush of ni^t. 
 When the bell was asleep in his tower at home, 
 Dreaming over his Bing, Bang, Bome! 
 
 For the owl was bom so poor and gented. 
 
 He was forced from the first to pick and steal; 
 
 He scorned to work for honest bread — 
 
 "Better have never been hatched," he said. 
 
 So he slept all day; for he dated not roam 
 
 TiU the night had silenced the Bing, Bang, Bome! 
 
 HE TOOK A HEADEH 
 
 Charlea F. Adams. 
 
 They met in a field, 'mid the blooming heather; 
 A punster, a ram and an old beU-wether. 
 
 No cry of alarm did the young man utter. 
 He simply murmured: 'Til pass the butter." 
 
 "And I'll butt the passer," obsra^ed the ram, 
 "I am't any Mary's Kttle lamb." 
 
 " 'That tired feeling* Fll o'er him bring. 
 So often caused by 'a forward spring.' 
 
 "Ill give him 'a header' he will not like." 
 
 And he "cast sheq)'8 eyes" at the youth and bike. 
 
 Sheep, bike and punster lay minted together; 
 The youth was "a little under the wether." 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 181 
 
 AT.T. IN HIS EYE 
 
 Charles F. Adams. 
 
 He jumped on board the railway train. 
 And cried, "Farewell! Lucinda Jane, 
 
 My precious, sweet Lucinda!" 
 Alas ! how soon he changed his cry. 
 And, while the tear stood in his eye. 
 
 He said, "Confound Loose Cinder!" 
 
 FALL POETRY 
 
 Charles F. Adams. 
 
 A certain young woman, named Hannah, 
 Slipped down on a piece of banana; 
 
 She shrieked, and oh-my'd! 
 
 And more stars she spied 
 Than belongs to the star-spangled banner. 
 
 A gentleman sprang to assist her. 
 And picked up her muff and her wrister. 
 
 "Did you fall, ma'am?" he cried; 
 
 "Do you think," she rephed, 
 "I sat down for the fxm of it. Mister?" 
 
 HOME MEMOEIES 
 
 Charles F. Adams. 
 
 "Be it ever so humble. 
 There's no place like home!" 
 
 I'm sitting again 'neath the old ehn-tree's shade. 
 And viewing the fields where in childhood I strayed; 
 The breeze fans my cheek, and the birds go and come. 
 While I listen, entranced, to the bee's soothing hum. 
 
 Hum, hum — sweet, sweet hum! 
 Tho' it ever so humble-bee — 
 — !! — !! . . . He's stung me I vum! 
 
182 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 COUNTRY SOUNDS 
 
 Charles F. Adams. 
 
 The humming of the bees, 
 
 Waited on the scented breeze, 
 And the robin's tender notes are very fine; 
 
 But sweeter, far, to me 
 
 Than the humming of the bee 
 Is the melting tender loin' of the kine. 
 
 THE LOVERS LAMENT 
 
 Charles F. Adams. 
 
 "I'm sitting on this tile, Mary," 
 
 He said, in accents sad. 
 Removing from the rocking-chair 
 
 The best silk hat he had; 
 And while he viewed the shapeless mass. 
 
 That erst was trim and neat. 
 He murmured, "Would it had been felt 
 
 Before I took my seat!" 
 
 IT 
 
 Samuel Walter Foss. 
 
 "I don't want to play, if I've got to be Tt' " 
 And Bobby looked fiercely sublime; 
 
 "There's no fun a bit when you have to be Tt', 
 And I have to be Tt' all the time." 
 
 Ah, Bobby my brave one go in and be "It"; 
 
 Tis a fate that no soul can escape. 
 For youngster and man of the whole human clan 
 
 Are "It" in some manner or shape. 
 
 For fate plays at tag with the whole human race. 
 And the shoulders of all men are hit. 
 
 And all hears his cry as he "tags" and goes by. 
 His clamor of "Tag ! You are Tt' ! " 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 188 
 
 And life-tag's a game that is well worth the play. 
 
 And the strong soul is glad to be hit, 
 And new light fiUs his eye; he hears his Fate cry 
 
 Its challenge of "Tag! You are 'It'! " 
 
 So Bobby my brave one, begin the long game, 
 
 And don't sulk or grumble a bit. 
 And count it all praise to the end of your days 
 
 When your Fate exclaims, "You are 'It'! " 
 
 JOHNNY S POCKET 
 
 Anonymous, 
 
 Do you know what's in my pottet? 
 
 Such a lot o' treasiuTS in it! 
 
 Listen, now, while I bedin' it; 
 
 Such a lot o' sings it hold. 
 
 And all tkere is you sail be told, — 
 Everysin' dat's in my pottet 
 And when, and where, and how I dot it. 
 
 First of all, here's in my pottet 
 
 A beauty shell; I picked it up; 
 
 And here's the handle of a cup 
 
 That somebody has broke at tea; 
 
 The shell's a hole in it, you see; 
 Nobody knows that I have dot it, 
 I keep it safe here in my pottet. 
 
 And here's my ball, too, in my pottet. 
 And here's my pennies, one, two, three. 
 That Aunt Mary gave to me; 
 To-morrow day I'D buy a spade 
 When I'm out walking with the maid. 
 I can't put dat here in my pottet. 
 But I can use it when I've dot it. 
 Here's some more sin's in my pottet! 
 Here's my lead, and here's my string, 
 And once I had an iron ring. 
 
184 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 But through a hole it lost one day; 
 
 And here is what I always say — 
 A hole's the worst sin' in a pottet — 
 Have it mended when you've dot it. 
 
 THE LOST DOLL 
 
 Charles Kingsley. 
 
 I once had a sweet little doll, dears, 
 
 The prettiest doU in the world; 
 Her cheeks were so red and white, dears. 
 
 And her hair was so charmingly curled. 
 But I lost my poor little doll, dears. 
 
 As I played on the heath one day; 
 And I cried for her more than a week, dears. 
 
 But I never could find where she lay. 
 
 I found my poor little doll, dears. 
 
 As I played on the heath one day; 
 Folks say she is terribly changed, dears. 
 
 For her paint is all washed away. 
 And her arms trodden off by the cows, dears. 
 
 And her hair not the least bit curled; 
 Yet for old times sake's, she is stiU, dears. 
 
 The prettiest doU in the world. 
 
 CHARLEYS OPINION OF BABY 
 
 Muzzer's bought a baby 
 
 'Ittle bit's of zing; 
 Zink I mos could put him 
 
 Froo my rubber ring. 
 
 Dot all my nice kisses. 
 Dot my place in bed; 
 
 Mean to take my drumstick 
 And beat him on ze head. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 185 
 
 Ain't he awful ugly? 
 
 Ain't he awful pink? 
 Just come down from Heaven, 
 
 Dat's a fib, I zink. 
 
 Doctor told anozzer 
 
 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, 
 
 Aint got any hair. 
 
 Send me off wiz Biddy 
 
 Ev'ry single day; 
 Rim away and play, Chariley, 
 
 lim away ana piay. 
 Go away and play. 
 
 SIGNS 
 
 Inez C. Parker. 
 
 Listen, how dat dog keep a 
 
 Howlin' when 'e bahk! 
 And a whippo' will's a cryin' 
 
 Out yandeh in the daihk. 
 An' jes' heah dat ole hoot-owl 
 
 Keep on a sayin' "who — who" — 
 Chah! I feels so trembly 
 
 I don' know what to do. 
 
 Win's a sighin' lonesome 
 
 Lack dey's somep'n what it dread, 
 De aiah seem full of whispeJbs — 
 
 Ise 'fraid to turn meh head! 
 Dey's somep'n gwine a-happin. 
 
 Dey am jes' sho's you's bohn! 
 Dey's somep'n gwine a-happin; 
 
 Sho's Gab<el gwine to Mow 'is hohn. 
 
186 THE PSYCHOIX)GY OF 
 
 So chillun be ready an' watchin'; 
 
 Keep yo' lamps aJl buhnin' high, 
 Kaze, sho's you heah me taUdn', 
 
 An' when Deff comes a caUin,' 
 And face to face you meets 
 
 You mus' be sho you's fittin', 
 Foh to walk dem goldin streets. 
 
 Night win' is a singin' 
 
 Right mo'nful t£oo de trees. 
 Stabs is bhnkin' sleepy, 
 
 Dey's rheumatics in meh knees; 
 A yelleh ring's a glimm'rin'. 
 
 Bight hazy roimd de moon — 
 Dey's gwine a be bad weddeh 
 
 I tell you mighly soon. 
 
 While ago, out in the street, dah, 
 
 A cat nm crosst meh way — 
 Bad luck gwine to f olleh 
 
 Befo anoddeh day. 
 Meh lef ' yeah been a buhnin' 
 
 All day, jes' hahd's it could — 
 Somebody's talkin' "bout me. 
 
 An' ain't sayin' nothin' good. 
 
 Las' night I dremp I seed 
 
 A fun'al passin' slow — 
 Dat means we's gwine a heah about 
 
 A weddin* mighty sho. 
 An' look heah, on dis coffee. 
 
 At de bubbles swimmin' 'roun' — 
 Ise gwine a git some money 
 
 Befo' long, I'll be boun'. 
 
 Lawse! dah go de dish-rag, 
 
 A droppin' on de flo' — 
 Somebody's gwine a come heah 
 
 To visit soon, Ise sho. 
 I mus' pic' up dat pin yandeh; 
 
 Hits de fust I see to-day — 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 187 
 
 T'ank de Lawd! hit's fetchin' good luck, 
 Kaze de p'int am turned dis way. 
 
 So chillun — ^but I sees you's laflBn' 
 
 Lack you always does at me; 
 You all says signs ain' nothin'; 
 
 But, by and by, you'll see 
 Dat's ev'ryting Ise sayin'. 
 
 Am gwine, foh sho, come true; 
 Den you'll fin' who's de wises' 
 
 A'nt Lizy Jane, ah you. 
 
 THE PUZZLED DUTCHMAN 
 
 Charles F. Adams. 
 
 I'm a proken-hearted Deutscher, 
 Vol's villed mit crief und shame, 
 
 I dells you vot der drouple ish: 
 I doosn't know my name. 
 
 You dinks dis fery vuimy, eh? 
 
 Ven you der schtory hear. 
 You vill not vonder den so mooch, 
 
 It vas so schtrange \md queer. 
 
 Mine moder had two leedle twins; 
 
 Dey vas me und mine broder; 
 Ve lookt so fery mooch alike, 
 
 No von knew vich vrom toder. 
 
 Von o£E der poys was "Yawcob," 
 
 Und "Hans" der oder's name: 
 But den it made no tifferent: 
 
 We both got called der same. 
 
 Veil! von off us got tead — 
 
 Yaw, Mynheer, dot ish so! 
 But vedder Hans or Yawcob, 
 
 Mine moder she don'd know. 
 
188 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Und so I am in drouples: 
 I gan't kit droo mine hed 
 
 Vedder I'm Hans vot's lifing, 
 Or Yawcob vot is tead! 
 
 KITTENS AND BABIES 
 
 Anonymoiis. 
 
 There were two kittens, a black and a gray. 
 And grandmama said, with a frown, 
 
 "It will never do to keep them both. 
 The black one we'd better drown." 
 
 "Don't cry, my dear," to tiny Bess, 
 
 "One kitten's enough to keep; 
 Now nm to nurse, for 'tis growing late. 
 
 And time you were fast asleep." 
 
 The morrow dawned, and rosy and sweet 
 
 Came httle Bess from her nap. 
 The nurse said, "Go into mama's room 
 
 And look in grandma's lap." 
 
 "Come here," said grandma, with a smile. 
 From the rocking-chair where she sat. 
 
 "God has sent you two little sisters; 
 Now! what do you think of that?" 
 
 Bess looked at the babies a moment. 
 With their wee heads, yellow and brown. 
 
 And then to grandma, soberly said, 
 "Which one are you going to drown?" 
 
 NEDDY S THANKSGIVING 
 
 Anonymous. 
 I went out to see my dra'ma. 
 
 One tole Fanksgiving day; 
 I shooked, and feezed, and chattered. 
 
 All along the way. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 189 
 
 Dra'ma was knitten stockings, 
 
 An' so I tried to knit; 
 Dot hold of the wrong thread 
 
 An' undid it every bit. 
 
 Next day I tried to tackle 
 
 A piggy for a horse; 
 I tumbled in the pig-pen. 
 
 My, wasn't dra'ma cross. 
 
 I wasn't to blame 
 
 'Cause my new dress was white; 
 If mama'd made it pig color. 
 
 It wouldn't have hurt a mite. 
 
 My dra'ma's got a big room 
 
 AH filled wif pans of milk; 
 One day I left in pussy, 
 
 She's ist as soft as silk. 
 
 Pussy likes the thick cream 
 
 The best of anyfing; 
 I sat her down aside a pan. 
 
 You ought to heard her sing. 
 
 All along the shelf she ran. 
 
 An' wif her 'ittle nose 
 Made blue holes in every pan. 
 
 'Twas just for fun I s'pose. 
 
 But dra'ma's awful stingy, 
 
 She drived us bof away. 
 And said she'd mind to send me home. 
 
 Afore another day. 
 
 Sometimes the pussy's naughty. 
 
 One day she caught a mouse. 
 An' chased, and teased and bited it. 
 
 All around the house. 
 
 I hit her wif the tater masher 
 Every time she turned; 
 
190 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 At last I got poor mousey 
 An' I hid him in the chum. 
 
 Who ever fought dat cream would drown? 
 
 I fought 'twas only rivers; 
 Next day when dra'ma chiuned, 
 
 Zat mouse was drownded all to slivers. 
 
 Zay gave the butter to the pigs. 
 
 And putted me to bed; 
 And hit poor pussy awful 
 
 Wight on her pitty head. 
 
 One day I saw a tub of milk, — 
 
 We keeps ours in a tin; 
 I fought 'twas good for nossin' 
 
 And so I got right in. 
 
 I'd ist got nicely settled, — 
 
 My feets was pitty feezed; 
 When in came dra'ma screamin' 
 
 "Zat feller's in my cheese!" 
 
 She jumped me out pitty quick 
 Wight on the cold stone floor; 
 
 She called my new boots dirty 
 An' she locked the dairy door. 
 
 I bin awful good to dra'ma 
 Ain't rais^ a mite of dust; 
 
 But I'm goin' home to-morrer, 
 'Cause dra'ma says I must. 
 
 TEENET, WEENET LITTLE FELLOWS 
 
 Anonymous. 
 Teeney weeney Httle fellows 
 Can't have no fun at all 
 Jus' when they is playin' hardest 
 Hear some body call, — 
 "Johnny." Have to leave our play and go home 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 191 
 
 So Ma can tell us: "Don't go far away now Johnny." 
 It jest makes me so mad! 
 
 Teeney weeney little fellows, 
 
 Pas is awful queer 
 
 Evry night right after supper 
 
 Mostly always hear, — 
 
 "You go right off to bed now Johnny." 
 
 Then Pa gets his over-coat 
 
 And says to Ma: "Ahm — ^hm — ^Don't wait 
 
 I'm going to the club 
 
 And reckon I'll be late." 
 
 It jest makes me so mad! 
 
 Teeney weeney little fellows. 
 
 Don't they catch it though, / 
 
 What a time they has with sisters 
 
 Specially when they go 
 
 "Ma, ma, make Johnny go right up stairs." 
 
 Then the beau don't give no nickels. 
 
 Cause ma makes me go. 
 
 It jest makes me so mad! 
 
 Teeney weeney little fellers 
 
 Sometimes can't keep still. 
 
 Specially when their biggest brothers 
 
 Starts in to yell: 
 
 "Johnny did you use my shavin' brush 
 
 To clean your shoes? 
 
 Just wait until I catch you Johnny!" 
 
 That's the way with biggest brothers, 
 
 Ev'ry thing that's did, 
 
 Flies right oflf and goes to work 
 
 And blames it on the kid. 
 
 Say ! It jest makes me so mad. 
 
 SOAP, THE OPPBESSOH 
 
 Surges Johnson. 
 
 The folks at my house half the time are thinkin' about 
 dirt; 
 
192 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 It sort of gives 'em horrors, and they act as if it hurt, 
 The sight of just a little makes *em daffy as can be — 
 They're always washin' sumthin,' an' half the time it's me. 
 
 It ain't because I wet my feet that gives me colds an' 
 
 such; 
 'Tain't runnin' round that keeps me thin — ^it's 'cause I'm 
 
 washed so much. 
 It does no good to tell 'em, they're so stubbum. But I 
 
 hope 
 That some day they'll discover what deceitful stuff is soap. 
 
 I tell you, very often when my hands was clean and white 
 I've gone along to wash 'em, 'cause it did no good to fight; 
 When I've stuck 'em in the basin it was plain enough to see 
 The soap would make the water as dirty as could be. 
 
 If folks would give me half a chance, with soap that didn't 
 
 cheat, 
 I guess they'd be surprised to find I'm nachm-ally neat. 
 I'd take on flesh and leave off havin' colds and such, I 
 
 know — 
 An' no one could complain about the parts of me that show. 
 
 I VB OFTEN HEABD MT PAPA SAT 
 
 Anonymoits. 
 
 I've often heard my papa say 
 
 He wished he was a boy; 
 
 That life would be one grand sweet song 
 
 With nuthin' left but joy. 
 
 If that is reaUy what he thinks, 
 I wish he'd take a tiy, 
 And if he had to keep it up, 
 I bet that Pfli woul4 4ie- 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 19S 
 
 He couldn't snoozle down in bed 
 Till it was after eight. 
 An' than git op as mad as hops 
 'Cause Ma had caQed him late. 
 
 He couldn't spit the coffee out. 
 An' call it poisoned slush. 
 An' say the ^gs weren't fit to eat. 
 An' ask who burnt the mush. 
 
 Fer if he tried such things as these, 
 Ma'd yank him by the hair. 
 An' Sx him so he'd rather stand 
 Than sit upon a chair. 
 
 He couldn't come home late at ni^t. 
 An' then b^in to scold. 
 Because he'd made us wait so long 
 The grab had gotten cold. 
 
 He couldn't shove his plate away 
 An' say he wam't no hog: 
 He couldn't swear, he couldn't smoke. 
 He couldn't kick the dog. 
 
 He couldn't rush out to the dub. 
 An' have a little game. 
 An' then come home in such a way 
 He didn't know his name. 
 
 If he could be a boy again, 
 
 I think it might suit ma. 
 
 But you can bet your button boots 
 
 It wouldn't do for Pa! 
 
 THE TlAT.n HEADED BIAN. 
 
 The other day, a woman accompanied by her son, a 
 very small boy, boarded the train at Little Rock. The 
 
194 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 woman had a care worn expression on her face, and many 
 of the rapid questions asked by the boy were answered by 
 imconscious sighs. 
 
 "Ma," said the boy, "That man's like a baby, ain't he?" 
 pointing to a bald-headed man sitting just in front of them. 
 
 "Hush!" 
 
 "Why must I hush?" 
 
 After another silence the boy exclaimed: "Ma, what's 
 the matter of that man's head?" 
 
 "Hush, I tell you; he's bald!" 
 
 "What's bald?" 
 
 "His head hasn't got any hair on it." 
 
 "Did it come off?" 
 
 "I guess so." 
 
 "Will mine come off?" 
 
 "Sometime, maybe." 
 
 "Will you care?" 
 
 "Don't ask so many questions!" 
 
 Another silence ; the boy exclaimed : ' 'Ma, look at the flies 
 on that man's head!" 
 
 "If you don't hush I'll whip you when we get home." 
 
 "Look, there's another fly! Look at 'em fight! Look 
 at 'em!" 
 
 "Madam," said the man, turning suddenly aroimd, 
 "what's the matter with that yoimg hyena?" 
 
 The woman blushed stammered out something and 
 attempted to smooth back the boy's hair. 
 
 "One fly — ^two flies — ^three flies!" said the boy, following 
 with his eyes a basket of oranges carried by a newsboy. 
 
 "Look here, you yoimg hedgehog, if you don't stop, I'll 
 call the conductor and have you put off the train !" 
 
 The poor woman, not knowing what else to do, boxed 
 the boy's ears and gave him an orange to keep him from 
 crying. 
 
 "Ma," said the boy, after another short silence, "have 
 I got red marks on my head? Mister, does it hurt to be 
 bald-headed?" 
 
 "Youngster," said the man, "if you'll keep still I'll give 
 you a quarter." 
 
 The boy promised and the money was paid over. 
 
THE^SPOKEN WORD 195 
 
 "This is my bald-headed money," said the boy. 
 "When I get bald-headed, I'm goin' to give little boys 
 money. Mister, do all bald-headed men have money?" 
 
 The annoyed man threw aside his newspaper, arose 
 and exclaimed: "Madam, hereafter when you travel leave 
 that young hedgehog at home! If I can't find another seat 
 on this train, I'll ride on the cow-catcher rather than re- 
 main here longer!" 
 
 "The bald-headed man is gone," said the boy, and as 
 the woman leaned back a tired sigh escaped her lips. 
 
 who's atoaid? 
 
 MoTHEB — ^Now, lie still MoUy dear, and don't kick 
 the cover off! 
 
 Molly — ^Mama, will you leave a teenty-weenty light 
 burning to-night? 
 
 Mama. — ^Why, I expect so! Daddy and I will be just 
 down stairs; if you are frightened you can call. 
 
 Jimmy — ^Ah — she's the biggest fraidy cat. 
 
 Mother — No, James, none of that! I want no quarrel- 
 ing or no talking, I want you to go straight to sleep. 
 
 {Mama turns down the light low, Idsses them, and goes out) 
 
 Molly — ^I wish Susie Jones' mother was my mother, 
 she'd leave the light going full tilt every night, Susie told 
 me so! 
 
 Jimmy — ^I bet she does not! Susie's the biggest story- 
 teller in the world, next to you. 
 
 Molly — ^Why, I am not a stoiy-teUer, Jimmy Baker! 
 
 Jimmy — You are too, and you're a tattle tale. 
 
 Molly — ^You are — ^I am not — ^I am not. 
 
 Jimmy — Sh', do you want mama to come here and whip 
 you? 
 
 {Silence for awhile) 
 
 MoLLY—Jimmy, will you tell me a story? 
 
 Jimmy — No, I'm goin' to sleep. What'll you give me 
 ifldo? 
 
196 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 MoLLT — ^I'll ^ve you a — ^a — a 
 
 Jimmy — ^Will you give me your new jumping rope? 
 
 MoiiLT — Oh, Jimmy, not my new one! 1*11 give you 
 my old one! It's a'mos' as good — it's better'n my new 
 one! 
 
 Jimmy — ^No; I want the new one with the handles to 
 make a harness with! 
 
 M01J.T — Oh, Jimmy! 
 
 Jimmy — (crossly) Well, now, you don't have to, if you 
 don't want. 
 
 Molly — (meekly) Well, I will, but you won't tell one 
 with bears in it, will you? 
 
 Jimmy — ^Aw, you big Fraidy-cat! Who's afraid? 
 
 Once upon a time there was a boy 'at lived in — now — 
 Chicago, and one day he was sassy to his father, and 
 runned away — 
 
 Molly — ^Who — his father did? 
 
 Jimmy — ^No, of course not — ^the boy did! If you're 
 goin' to interup' I ain't a goin' to tell it! He didn't like 
 Chicago, anyway, 'cause he had to go to school there, so 
 he ist up an* walked off to New York! An' when he got 
 to New York there was a pirate ship, there at New York 
 an* he got right on, and went off to sea. All the pirates 
 wuz black, an' big as — oh, they wuz awful big — 
 
 Molly — ^How big — ^big as papa? 
 
 Jimmy — ^Big as papa! Why they wuz giantses. Don't 
 you interupt again. An' every pirate had a carving knife, 
 and a gun, and a revolver — 
 
 Molly — ^What for? 
 
 Jimmy — ^Why, to kill people with, you silly! An' when 
 they foimd the little boy was on the ship they hauled him 
 out an' licked him with the end of a rope. 
 
 Molly — ^Is that worse than the back of a brush? 
 
 Jimmy — ^Ah, lots worse! B-b-b but the little boy didn't 
 yell none when they licked him — ^he didn't yell none, so 
 they made him the captain of the ship, 'cause he didn't 
 yell none and he said 'at they go to "Cubey libree" and 
 fight the Philippenseane! An' they did. But while 
 they were goin' there was a big shark. 
 
 Molly — ^What's a shark? 
 
THE SPOKEN WOBD 197 
 
 JiUMT — Don't you know wb&t a sbsrk is? Why, it's 
 a big fish — as big as — as — as — as five d^ahants! with 
 a month as big as — this whcde house! an' teef as Iraig as 
 from hrae to the comer; an' if it \ranted to — it could 
 swallow iq> all the houses m this block! 
 
 Moi<LT — (tn cm aaaious lone said JainSy) Jimmy — 
 Can't I get into your bed? 
 
 JnofY — Now, don't interupt! When the shark saw 
 the pirate shq> he swammed ri^t up, and gobbled the 
 diqidown! 
 
 Molly — (doubtfuBy) Why, Jimmy Baker! 
 
 JmHT — Don't you bdieve that? Itat's in the Bible, 
 and as soon as the boy got out, he b^an swimming — oh, 
 he was ist swimming ftn' two nionths! 
 
 MoLLT — Without nothin' to eat? 
 
 JnofT — Oh, he ate the fishes! An' pretty soon when he 
 was swimming along, he came to a beautiful island, an' 
 he wmt li^t on it and there was a b-e-e-u-t-i-f-u-1 piin- 
 cess! 
 
 MoLLT — What did she have on? 
 
 Jnorr — She had on y^ow curis an' a crown, an' pink 
 ti^ts, like the girl at the circus I An' when she saw the 
 boy, she said that if he'd kill all the bears on the island, 
 she'd many him and he'd be king or something! so he 
 said he wcHild, an' he waited till it wuz 'mos dark, an* 
 thai he built a fire. 
 
 Molly — ^Where wuz the princess? 
 
 JnocY — She wuz in to supper of course. He made a 
 file and ihea pretty soon he saw two great big shinin' 
 eyes, and a great mouf 'at wait — (Woo-Woo!) 
 
 Molly — Jimmy! Jimmy! What's that over in the cor- 
 ner? Its got fioy ^es! 
 
 JnoiY — ^W-W-W-wiiae? I don't see anything. 
 
 Molly — It's a movin' its a ocHning after us, it's a bear! 
 Mama! Mama! 
 
 JnacY — ^Bflama! Mama! 
 
198 THE PSYCaaOLOGY OP 
 
 ADVANCED READINGS FOR CLASS USE 
 
 LEAJD KINDLY UGHT 
 
 John Henry Newman. 
 
 Lead, kiiully Light, amid th'eocircling ^oom. 
 
 Lead thou me on; 
 The night is dark, and I am far from home, 
 
 L^d thou me on. 
 Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see 
 The distant scene; one step enou^ for me. 
 
 I was not ever thus, nor pray'd that Thou 
 
 Should'st lead me on; 
 I lov'd the garish day; and, spite of fears. 
 Pride rul'd my will: remember not past years. 
 
 So long Thy pow'r has blest me, sure it still 
 
 Will lesA me on 
 O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till 
 
 The night is gone. 
 And with tibe mom those angel faces smile. 
 Which I have loVd long since, and lost awhile. 
 
 THE VISION OF SIR LtATTNFAL 
 
 James Rusadl LowdL. 
 
 Earth gets its price for what EarUi ^es us: 
 
 The heggax is taxed for a comer to die in, 
 The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us. 
 
 We bargain for the graves we lie in; 
 At the devil's booth are all things sold. 
 
 Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold; 
 For a cap and bells our lives we pay. 
 
 Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking: 
 'TIS heaven alone that is given away, 
 
 'Tis only God may be had for the asking; 
 No price is set on the lavish summer; 
 June may be had l^ the poorest comer. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 199 
 
 And what is so rare as a day in June? 
 
 Then, if ever, come perfect days; 
 Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune. 
 
 And over it softly her warm ear lays; 
 Whether we look, or whether we listen. 
 
 We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; 
 Every clod feels a stir of might. 
 
 An instinct within it that reaches and towers. 
 And groping blindly above it for Ught, 
 
 Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers; 
 The flush of life may well be seen 
 
 Thrilling back over hills and valleys; 
 The cowslip startles in meadows green. 
 
 The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice. 
 And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean 
 
 To be some happy creature's palace; 
 The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 
 
 Atilt Hke a blossom among the leaves. 
 And lets his iUumined being o'errun 
 
 With the deluge of summer it receives; 
 His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings. 
 And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings; 
 He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest, — 
 In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best? 
 
 Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how; 
 Everything is happy now. 
 
 Everything is upward striving; 
 'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true 
 As for grass to be green or skies to be blue, 
 
 'Tis the natural way of Hving. 
 
 There was never a leaf on bush or tree. 
 The bare boughs rattled shudderingly; 
 The river was dumb and could not speak. 
 
 For the weaver Winter its shroud had spun; 
 A single crow on the tree-top bleak 
 
 From his shining feathers shed off the cold sun; 
 
200 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Again it was morning, but shnnik and cold. 
 As if her veins were sapless and old, 
 
 And she rose up decrepitly 
 For a last dim look at earth and sea. 
 
 Sir Launf al turned from his own hard gate, 
 
 For another heir in his earldom sate: 
 
 An old, bent man, worn out and frail. 
 
 He came back from seeking the Holy Grail. 
 
 Little he recked of his earldom's loss. 
 
 No more on his surcoat was blazoned the cross; 
 
 But deep in his soul the sign he wore. 
 
 The badge of the suffering and the poor. 
 
 Sir Laimfal's raiment thin and spare 
 Was idle mail 'gainst the barbed air. 
 For it was just at the Christmas-time; 
 So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime. 
 And sought for a shelter from cold and snow 
 In the Kght and warmth of long ago. 
 He sees the snake-Uke caravan crawl 
 O'er the edge of the desert, black and small. 
 Then nearer and nearer, till, one by one. 
 He can coimt the camels in the sun. 
 As over the red-hot sands they pass 
 To where, in its slender necklace of grass. 
 The little spring laughed and leapt in the shade. 
 And with its own self like an infant played. 
 And waved its signal of pahns. 
 
 "For Christ's sweet sake, I beg an alms:" 
 
 The happy camels may reach the spring. 
 
 But Sir Launfal sees only the grewsome thing, — 
 
 The leper, lank as the rain-blanched bone. 
 
 That cowers beside him, a thing as lone 
 
 And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas 
 
 In desolate horror of his disease. 
 
 And Sir Launfal said, "I behold in thee 
 
 An image of Him who died on the tree; 
 
 Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns. 
 
 Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 201 
 
 And to thy life were not denied 
 The wounds in the hands and feet and side: 
 ' Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me; 
 Behold, through lum, I give to thee!" 
 
 Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes 
 And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he 
 
 Remembered in what a haughtier guise 
 He had flung an alms to leprosie. 
 
 When he girt his young life up in gilded mail 
 
 And set forth in search of the Holy Grail. 
 
 The heart within him was ashes and dust : 
 
 He parted in twain his single crust. 
 
 He broke the ice on the streamlet's brink, 
 
 And gave the leper to eat and drink; 
 
 'Twas a moldy crust of coarse brown bread, 
 
 'Twas water out of a wooden bowl, — 
 
 Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed. 
 And 'twas red wine he drank with his thirsty soul. 
 
 As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face, 
 
 A light shone round about the place; 
 
 The leper no longer crouched at his side, 
 
 But stood before him glorified. 
 
 Shining and tall and fair and straight 
 
 As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate, — 
 
 Himself the Gate whereby men can 
 
 Enter the temple of God in Man. 
 
 The castle gate stands open now. 
 
 And the wanderer is welcome to the hall 
 
 As the hang-bird is to the elm-tree bough; 
 No longer scowl the turrets tall. 
 
 The summer's long siege at last is o'er: 
 
 When the first poor outcast went in at the door, 
 
 She entered with him in disguise. 
 
 And mastered the fortress by surprise; 
 
 There is no spot she loves so well on ground; 
 
 She lingers and smiles there the whole year round; 
 
202 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 The meanest serf on Sir Launfal's land 
 
 Has hall and bower at his command; 
 
 And there's no poor man in the North Countree 
 
 But is lord of the earldom as much as he. 
 
 LADY CIiAKA VEBE DE VEKE 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 Of me you shall not win renown: 
 You thought to break a country heart 
 
 For pastime, ere you went to town. 
 At me you smiled, but unbeguiled 
 
 I saw the snare, and I retired: 
 The daughter of a himdred Earls, 
 
 You are not one to be desired. 
 
 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 I know you proud to bear your name. 
 Your pride is yet no mate for mine. 
 
 Too proud to care from whence I came. 
 Nor would I break for your sweet sake 
 
 A heart that doats on truer charms. 
 A simple maiden in her flower 
 
 Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms. 
 
 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 Some meeker pupil you must find. 
 For were you queen of all that is, 
 
 I could not stoop to such a mind. 
 You sought to prove how I could love. 
 
 And my disdain is my reply. 
 The Hon on your old stone gates 
 
 Is not more cold to you than I. 
 
 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 You put strange memories in my head. 
 Not thrice your branching limes have blown 
 
 Since I beheld young Laiu-ence dead. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 203 
 
 O, your sweet eyes, your low replies: 
 
 A great enchantress you may be; 
 But there was that across his throat 
 
 Which you had hardly cared to see. 
 
 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 When thus he met his mother's view. 
 She had the passions of her kind, 
 
 She spake some certain truths of you. 
 Indeed I heard one bitter word 
 
 That scarce is fit for you to hear; 
 Her manners had not that repose 
 
 Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere 
 
 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 There stands a spectre in your hall: 
 The guilt of blood is at your door: 
 
 You changed a wholesome heart to gaU. 
 You held your course without remorse. 
 
 To make him trust his modest worth, 
 And, last, you fix'd a vacant stare. 
 
 And slew him with your noble birth. 
 
 Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 From yon blue heavens above us bent 
 The gardener Adam and his wife 
 
 Simle at the claims of long descent. 
 Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 
 
 'Tis only noble to be good. 
 Kind hearts are more than coronets. 
 
 And simple faith than Norman blood. 
 
 I know you, Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 You pine among your halls and towers: 
 The languid light of your proud eyes 
 
 Is wearied of the rolhng hours. 
 In glowing health, with boundless wealth. 
 
 But sickraiing of a vague disease. 
 You know so ill to deal with time, 
 
 You needs must play such pranks as these. 
 
204 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Clara, Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 If Time be heavy on your hands, 
 Are there no beggars at your gate. 
 
 Nor any poor about your lands? 
 Oh! teach the orphan-boy to read. 
 
 Or teach the orphan-girl to sew. 
 Pray Heaven for a human heart. 
 
 And let the foolish yeoman go. 
 
 HANS AND FRITZ 
 
 Charles F. Adams. 
 
 Hans and Fritz were two Deutchers who Hved side by side. 
 Remote from the world, its deceit and its pride: 
 With their pretzels and beer the spare moments were spent. 
 And the fruits of their labor were peace and content. 
 
 Hans purchased a horse of a neighbor one day. 
 And, lacking a part of the Geld, — as they say, — 
 Made a call upon Fritz to solicit a loan 
 To help him to pay for his beautiful roan. 
 
 Fritz kindly consented the money to lend. 
 And gave the required amount to his friend; 
 Remarking, — his own simple language to quote, — 
 "Berhaps it vas bedder ve make us a note." 
 
 The note was drawn up in their primitive way, — 
 "I, Hans, gets from PVitz feefty tollars to-day;" 
 When the question arose, the note being made, 
 "Vich von holds dot baper until it vas baid?" 
 
 "You geeps dot," says Fritz, "imd den you vill know 
 You owes me dot money." Says Hans, "Dot ish so; 
 Dot makes me remempers I haf dot to bay, 
 Und I prings you der note imd der money some day." 
 
 A month had expired, when Hans, as agreed. 
 Paid back the amount, and from debt he was freed. 
 Says Fritz, "Now dot settles us." Hans repKes, "Yaw: 
 Now who dakes dot baper accordings by law?" 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 205 
 
 "I geeps dot now, aind't it?" says Fritz; "den, you see, 
 I alvays remempers you baid dot to me." 
 Says Hans, "Dot ish so: it vas now shust so blain, 
 Dot I knows vot to do ven I porrows again." 
 
 MINE SBILDBEN 
 
 Charles F. Adams. 
 
 Oh, dhose shildren, dhose shildren, dhey boddher mine 
 
 life! 
 Vhy don'd dhey keep qviet, like Katrine, mine vife? 
 Vot makes dhem so shock fool off mischief, I vunder, 
 A-shumping der room roundt mit noises like dunder? 
 Hear dot! Vas dhere anyding make sooch a noise 
 As Yawcob und Otto, mine two leedle poys? 
 
 Ven I dake oup mine pipe for a goot qviet shmoke 
 Dhey crawl me all ofer, und diriJi id a shoke 
 To go droo mine bockets to see vot dhey find, 
 Und if mit der latch-key mine vatch dhey can vind. 
 I'd dakes someding more as dheir fader und moder 
 To qviet dot Otto imd his leedle broder. 
 
 Dhey shtub oudt dheir boots, und vear holes in der knees 
 Off dheir drousers und shtockings, und sooch dings as 
 
 dhese. 
 I dink if dot Croesus vas lifing to-day, 
 Dhose poys make more bills as dot Kaiser could pay; 
 I find me qvick oudt dot some riches dake vings, 
 Ven each gouple a tays I must buy dhem new dings. 
 
 I pring dhose two shaf ers some toys efry tay. 
 
 Pecause "Shonny Schwartz has sooch nice dings," dhey 
 
 say, 
 "Und Shonny Schwartz' barents vas poorer as ve" — 
 Dot's vot der young rashkells vas saying to me. 
 Dot oldt Santa Klaus, mit a shleigh fool off toys, 
 Don'd gif sadisfactions to dhose greedy poys. 
 
206 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Dh^ kick der clothes oflf vhen ashleep in dheir ped, 
 Und get so mooch croup dot dhey ahnosdt vas dead; 
 Budt id don'd made no tifferent: before id vas light 
 Dhey vas oup in der morning mit pillows to fight; 
 I dink id was beddher you don'd got some ears 
 Vhen dhey blay "Holdt der Fort," tmd dhen gif dree 
 cheers. 
 
 Oh, dhose shildren, dhose shUdren, dhey boddher mine 
 
 hfe!— 
 But shtop shust a leedle. If Katrine, mine vife, 
 Und dhose leedle shildren, dhey don't been around, 
 Und all droo der house dhere vas neffer a sound — 
 Vdl, poys, vhy you look oup dot vay mit surbrise? 
 I guess dhey see tears in dheir old fader's eyes. 
 
 THE TOTING TKAMP 
 
 Charles F. Adams. 
 
 Hello, thar, stranger! Whar yer frum.'' 
 Come in and make yerself ter hum! 
 We're common folks — ain't much on style; 
 Come in and stop a httle while; 
 'Twon't do no harm ter rest yer some. 
 
 Youngster, yer pale, and don't look well! 
 What, way frum Hosting.'' Naow, dew teU ! 
 Why, that's a hundred mile or so; 
 What started yer, I'd Hke ter know. 
 On sich a tramp; got goods ter sell.? 
 
 No home — ^no friends.'' Naow that's too bad! 
 Wall, cheer up, boy, and don't be sad — 
 Wife, see what yer can find ter eat. 
 And put the coffee on ter heat — 
 We'll fix yer up all right, my lad. 
 
 Willing ter work, can't git a job, 
 And not & penny in yer fob? 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 207 
 
 Wall, naow, that's rough, I dew declare! 
 What, tears? Come, youngster, I can't bear 
 Ter see yer take on so, and sob. 
 
 How came yer so bad oflF, my son? 
 
 Father was killed? 'Sho'; whar? Bull Run? 
 
 Why, I was in that scrimmage, lad. 
 
 And got used up, too, pretty bad; 
 
 I shan't forgit old 'sixty-one! 
 
 So yer were left in Bosting, hey? 
 A baby when he went away — 
 Those Bosting boys were plucky, wife, 
 Yer know one of 'em saved my life, 
 Else I would not be here to-day. 
 
 'Twas when the "Black Horse Cavalcade" 
 Swept down upon our small brigade 
 I got the shot that made me lame. 
 When down on me a trooper came. 
 And this 'ere chap struck up his blade. 
 
 Poor feller! He was stricken dead; 
 The trooper's sabre cleaved his head. 
 Joe Billings was my comrade's name; 
 He was a Bosting boy, and game! 
 I almost wished I'd died instead. 
 
 Why lad! what makes yer tremble so? 
 Your father! what, my comrade Joe? 
 And you his son? Come ter my heart! 
 My home is yours; I'll try, in part, 
 Ter pay his boy the debt I owe. 
 
208 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 MOTHEk's DOUGHNtTTS 
 
 El Dorado, 1851. 
 
 Charles F. Adams. 
 
 I've jest bin down ter Thompson's, boys, 
 
 'N f eelin' kind o' blue, 
 I thought I'd look in at "The Ranch," 
 
 Ter find out what wuz new. 
 When I seen this sign arhangin' 
 
 On a shanty by the lake: 
 "Here's whar yer gets yer doughnuts 
 
 Like yer mother used ter make." 
 
 I've seen a grizzly show his teeth; 
 
 I've seen Kentucky Pete 
 Draw out his shooter 'n' advise 
 
 A "tenderfoot" ter treat; 
 But nuthin' ever tuk me down, 
 
 'N made my benders shake. 
 Like that sign about the doughnuts 
 
 Like my mother used ter make. 
 
 A sort o' mist shut out the ranch, 
 
 'N standin' thar instead 
 I seen an old white farm-house. 
 
 With its doors all painted red. 
 A whiflF came through the open door — 
 
 Wuz I sleepin' or awake? 
 The smell wuz that of doughnuts 
 
 Like my mother used ter make. 
 
 The bees wuz hummin' roimd the porch 
 
 Whar honeysuckles grew; 
 A yellow dish of apple sass 
 
 Wuz sittin' thar in view; 
 'N on the table by the stove 
 
 An old-time "johnny-cake," 
 'N a platter fxdl of doughnuts 
 
 Like my mother used ter make. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 209 
 
 A patient form I seemed ter see, 
 
 In tidy dress of black; 
 I almost thought I heard the words, 
 
 "When will my boy come back?" 
 'N then — the old sign creaked; 
 
 But now it wuz the boss who spake, 
 "Here's whar yer gets yer doughnuts 
 
 Like yer mother used ter make." 
 
 Well, boys, that kind o' broke me up, 
 
 'N ez I've "struck pay gravel," 
 I ruther think I'll pack my kit. 
 
 Vamose the ranch, 'n' travel. 
 I'll make the old folks jubilant, 
 
 'N, ef I don't mistake, 
 I'll try some o' them doughnuts 
 
 Like my mother used ter make. 
 
 TAWCOB S DKIBULATIONS 
 
 Charles F. Adams. 
 
 Maybe dot you don'd rememper, 
 
 Eighdeen — dwendy years ago, 
 How I dold aboudt mine Yawcob — 
 
 Dot young rashkell, don'd you know. 
 Who got sdSken-box und measles; 
 
 Filled mine bipe mit Limburg scheeze; 
 Cut mine cane up indo dhrum-schticks, 
 
 Und blay all sooch dricks as dhese. 
 
 Veil! dhose times dhey vas been ofer, 
 
 Und dot son off mine, py shings! 
 Now vas taller as hees fader, 
 
 Und vas oup to all sooch dhings 
 Like shimnastic dricks und pase-pall; 
 
 Und der oder day he say 
 Dot he boxes mit "adthledics," 
 
 Somevheres ofer on Back Bay. 
 
210 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Times vas deeiereat, now, I dold 700, 
 
 As vhen he vas been a lad; 
 Dhen Katrine she make hees drowsers 
 
 Vrom der (ddt vones ofiF hees dad; 
 Dhey vas cat so full nnd haggy 
 
 Dot id dook more as a forf 
 To find oiidt eeS he vas going. 
 
 Or vas coming home vrom schooL 
 
 Now, dhere vas no making ofer 
 
 Off mine dothes to make a suit 
 For dot poy — der times vas sdi^iged; 
 
 "Der leg vas on der oder boot;" 
 For vhen hees drowsers dhey gets dhin, 
 
 Und sort off "sdhlazy" roondt der knee. 
 Dot Mrs. Strauss she dake der sceessors 
 
 Und she cuts dhem down for me. 
 
 Shnst der oder day dot Yawcob 
 
 Giif e me von eleodric shoc^ 
 Vhen he say he vants fife-hnndord 
 
 To invesht in railroadt schtock. 
 Dhen I ddl him id vas beddher 
 
 Dot he leaf der schtocks alone. 
 Or some f eOer dot vas achmazdtor 
 
 D^e der meat und leaf der bone. 
 
 Und vhen I vas got oxcited, 
 
 Und say he get "8cliwq>ed'' und iooied, 
 Dhen he say he haf a "pointer" 
 
 Vrom soom friendts c^ Sage and Gould; 
 Und dot he vas oti "rock bottom;" 
 
 Had der "made track" aa "Atdi " 
 
 Dot vas too mooch for hees fader, 
 
 Und I coom oup to der scratdi. 
 
 Dhen in bditics he dabbles, 
 
 Und all qvesdknis, great und sdmiall. 
 
 Make no deefaeot to dot Yawcob — 
 For dot poy he knows id alL 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 211 
 
 Und he say dot dhose oldt fogies 
 
 Must be laid cup on der shelf, 
 Und der governors und mayors 
 
 Should pe young men — like himself. 
 
 Veil! I vish I vas dransborted 
 
 To dhose days off long ago, 
 Vhen dot schafer beat der miLk-ban 
 
 Und schkydoodled droo der schnow. 
 I could schtand der mumbs und measles, 
 
 Und der ruckshuns in der house; 
 Budt mine presendt dribulations 
 
 Vas too mooch for Meester Strauss. 
 
 WAKIN THE YOUNG TINS 
 
 John Boss. 
 
 Scene. — {The old man from the foot of the stairs, 5 A. M.) 
 
 BEE-ULL! Bee-ull! O Bee-ull! my gracious, 
 Air you still sleepin'? 
 Th' hour hand's creepin' 
 Nearder five. 
 (Wal' blast it ef this ain't vexatious!) 
 
 Don't ye hyar them cattle callin'? 
 An' th' ole red steer a-bawlin'? 
 Come, look alive! 
 Git up! Git up! 
 
 Mar'aim! Mar'ann! (Jist hyar her snorin'! — ) 
 Mar'ann! it's behoovin' 
 Thet you be a-movin'! 
 
 Brisk, I say! 
 Hyar the kitchen stove a-roarin'? 
 The kittle's a-spilin' 
 To git hisse'f bilin'. 
 It's comin' day. 
 Git up! Git up! 
 
212 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Jule, O Jule! Now whut is ailin'? 
 You want ter rest? 
 War I'll be blest! 
 S'pose them cows 
 'LI give down 'ithout you pailin'? 
 
 You must be goin' crazy; 
 Er, more like, gittin' lazy. 
 Come, now, rouse! 
 Git up! Git up! 
 
 Jake, you lazy varmint! Jake! Hey, Jake! 
 What you layin theer fer? 
 You know the stock's ter keer fer; 
 So, hop out! 
 (Thet boy is wusser'n a rock ter wake!) 
 Don't stop to shiver, 
 But jist imkiver, 
 An' pop out! 
 Git up! Git up! 
 
 Young uns! Bee-ull! Jake! Mar'ann! Jule! 
 (Wal, blast my orn'ry skin! 
 They've gone ter sleep agin, 
 Fer all my tellin'!) 
 See hyar, I hain't no time ter fool! 
 It's the las' warnin' 
 I'll give this mornin'. 
 I'm done yellin'! 
 Git up! Git up! 
 
 Wal' whut's th' odds — an hour, more or less? 
 B'lieve it makes 'em stronger 
 Ter sleep a leetle longer 
 Thar in bed. 
 The times is comin' fas' enough, I guess. 
 When I'll wish, an' wish 'ith weepin'. 
 They was back up yender sleepin*, 
 Overhead, 
 Ter git up. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 213 
 
 THE STOCK IN THE TIE-TTP 
 
 Holman F. Day. 
 
 I'm workin' this week in the wood lot; a hearty old job, 
 
 you can bet; 
 I finish my chores with a lamtem, and marm has the table 
 
 all set 
 By the time I get in with the milkin'; and after I wash at 
 
 the sink. 
 And marm sets a saucer o' strainin's for the cat and 
 
 kittens to drink. 
 Your unde is ready for supper, with an appetite whet to an 
 
 edge 
 That'll cut like a bush-scythe in swale-grass, and couldn't 
 
 be dulled on a ledge. 
 And marm, she slats open the oven, and pulls out a heapin' 
 
 full tin 
 Of the rippin'est cream-tartar biskit a man ever pushed at 
 
 his chin. 
 We pile some more wood on the fire, and open the damper 
 
 full blare. 
 And pull up and pitch into supper — and comfort — and 
 
 taste good — wal, there! 
 And the wind swooshes over the chimbly, and scrapes at 
 
 the shinies cross grain. 
 But good double winders and bankin' are mighty good 
 
 friends here in Maine. 
 I look 'crost the table to mother, and marm she looks 
 
 over at me. 
 And passes another biskit and says, "Won't ye have 
 
 some more tea?" 
 And while I am stirrin' the sugar, I relish the sound of the 
 
 storm. 
 For, thank the* good Lord, we are cosy and the stock in 
 
 the tie-up is warm. 
 
 I tell ye, the song o' the fire and the chirruping hiss o' the 
 
 tea. 
 The roar of the wind in the chimbly, they sound dreadful 
 
 cheerful to me. 
 
214 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 But they'd harrer me, plague me, and fret me, unless as 
 
 I set here I knew 
 That the critters are mimchin' their fodder and bedded 
 
 and comf 'table too. 
 These biskits are light as a feather, but, boy, they'd be 
 
 heavier'n lead 
 If I thought that my bosses was shiv'rin', if I thought that 
 
 my cattle warn't fed. 
 There's men in the neighborhood 'round me who pray 
 
 somew'at louder than me. 
 They wear better clothes, sir, on Simday — chip in for the 
 
 heathen Chinee, 
 But the cracks in the sides o' their tie-ups are wide as the 
 
 door o' their pew. 
 And the winter comes in there a-howlin', with the sleet and 
 
 the snow peltin' through. 
 
 Step in there, sir, ary a momin' and look at their critters! 
 
 'Twould seem 
 As if they were bilers or engines, and all o' them chock 
 
 full o' steam. 
 I've got an old-fashioned religion that caJkalates Sxmday's 
 
 for rest. 
 But if there warn't time, sir, on week days to batten a 
 
 tie-up, I'm blest 
 I'd use up a Sunday or such-like, and let the dmned heathen 
 
 folks go 
 While I fastened some boards on the lintel to keep out the 
 
 frost and the snow. 
 I'd stand all the frowns of the parson before I'd have 
 
 courage to face 
 The dumb holler eyes o' the critters hooked up in a frosty 
 
 old place. 
 And I'll bet ye that in the Hereafter the men who have 
 
 stayed on tJieir knees 
 And let some poor, fuzzy old cattle stand out in a tie-up 
 
 and freeze. 
 Will find that the heat o' the Hot Place is keyed to an 
 
 extra degree 
 For the men who forgot to consider that critters have 
 
 feelin's same's we. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 215 
 
 I dasn't go thinkin' o' tie-ups where winter goes whistlin' 
 
 through, 
 Where cattle are humped at their stanchions with scarcely 
 
 the gumption to moo. 
 But I'm glad for the sake of Hereafter that mine ain't the 
 
 sin and the guilt, 
 And I tell you I relish my feelin's when I pull up the big 
 
 patchwork quilt. 
 I can laugh at the pelt o' the snowflakes, and grin at the 
 
 slat o' the storm. 
 And thank the good Lord I can sleep now; the stock in the 
 
 tie-up is warm. 
 
 THE ANGELS OF BUElSrA VISTA 
 
 John G. Whittier. 
 
 Speak and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far 
 
 away, 
 O'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array, 
 Who is losing? who is winning? are they far or come they 
 
 near? 
 Look abroad, and tell us, sister, whither rolls the storm 
 
 we hear. 
 
 "Down the hills of Angostura still the storm of battle rolls : 
 Blood is flowing, men are dying; God have mercy on their 
 
 souls!"— 
 Who is losing? who is winning? — "Over hill and over plain, 
 I see but smoke of cannon clouding through the mountain 
 
 rain." 
 
 Holy mother! keep our brothers! Look, Ximena, look 
 
 once more, — 
 "StUl I see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as before. 
 Bearing on, in strange confusion, friend and foeman, foot 
 
 and horse. 
 Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its 
 
 mountain course." 
 
216 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Look forth once more, Ximena! — "Ah, the smoke has rolled 
 
 away; 
 And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of 
 
 gray. 
 Hark! that sudden blast of bugles! there the troop of 
 
 Minon wheels; 
 There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at 
 
 their heels. 
 
 "Jesu, pity! how it thickens! now retreat and now advance! 
 Right against the blazing camion shivers Puebla's charging 
 
 lance! 
 Down they go, the brave young riders; horse and foot 
 
 together fall: 
 Like a plowshare in the fallow, through them plows the 
 
 Northern ball." 
 
 Nearer came the storm and nearer, rolling fast and fright- 
 ful on. 
 
 Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us, who has lost and who 
 has won? — 
 
 "Alas! alas! I know not: friend and foe together fall. 
 
 O'er the dying rush the living: pray, my sisters, for them 
 all! 
 
 "Lo! the wind the smoke is hfting — ^Blessed Mother, save 
 
 my brain ! 
 I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of 
 
 slain. 
 Now they stagger, blind and bleeding; now they fall, and 
 
 strive to rise: 
 Hasten, sisters, haste and save them, lest they die before 
 
 our eyes! 
 
 "O my heart's love! O my dear one! lay thy poor head 
 
 on my knee: 
 Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? Canst thou hear 
 
 me? canst thou see? 
 O my husband, brave and gentle! O my Bemal, look once 
 
 more 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 217 
 
 On the blessed cross before thee! Mercy! mercy! all is 
 o'er!" 
 
 Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena; lay thy dear one down to 
 
 rest; 
 Let his hands be meekly folded, lay the cross upon his 
 
 breast; 
 Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses 
 
 said: 
 To-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid. 
 
 Close beside her, faintly moaning, fair and young, a soldier 
 
 lay. 
 Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow his 
 
 life away: 
 But as tenderly before him the lorn Ximena knelt. 
 She saw the Northern eagle shining on his pistol-belt. 
 
 With a stifled cry of horror straight she turned away her 
 
 head; 
 With a sad and bitter feeling looked she back upon her 
 
 dead: 
 But she heard the youth's low moaning, and his struggling 
 
 breath of pain. 
 And she raised the cooling water to his parching lips again. 
 
 Whispered low the dying soldier, pressed her hand and 
 
 faintly smiled: 
 Was that pitying face his mother's? did she watch beside 
 
 her child? 
 AU his stranger words with meaning her woman's heart 
 
 supplied: 
 With her kiss upon her forehead, "Mother!" murmured 
 
 he, and died! 
 "A bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who led thee forth, 
 From some gentle, sad-eyed mother, weeping lonely in the 
 
 North!" 
 Spake the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with 
 
 her dead. 
 And turned to soothe the living, and bind the wounds 
 
 which bled. 
 
218 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Look forth once more, Ximena! — "Like a cloud before 
 the wind 
 
 Rolls the battle down the mountains, leaving blood and 
 death behind: 
 
 Ah! they plead in vain for mercy; in the dust the wounded 
 strive: 
 
 Hide your faces, holy angels! O thou Christ of God, for- 
 give!" 
 
 Sink, Night, among thy mountains! let the cool gray 
 
 shadows fall : 
 Dying brothers, fighting demons, drop thy curtain over 
 
 all! 
 Through the thickening winter twilight, wide apart the 
 
 battle rolled; 
 In its sheath lie sabre rested, and the cannon's lips grew 
 
 cold. 
 
 But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pursued. 
 Through that long, dark night of sorrow, worn and faint 
 
 and lacking food; 
 Over weak and suffering brothers, with a tender care they 
 
 hung. 
 And the dying foeman blessed them in a strange and 
 
 Northern tongue. 
 
 Not wholly lost, Father! is this evil world of ours: 
 Upward, through its smoke and ashes, spring afresh the 
 
 Eden flowers; 
 From its smoking hell of battle. Love and Pity send their 
 
 prayer. 
 And still thy white-winged angels hover dimly in our air! 
 
 THE SUMMONS 
 
 John Greenleaf Whittier. 
 
 My ear is full of summer sounds, 
 
 Of summer sights my languid eye; 
 Beyond the dusty village bounds 
 I loiter in my daily rounds. 
 
 And in the noontime shadows lie. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 219 
 
 I hear the wild bee wind his horn. 
 
 The bird swings on the ripened wheat, 
 
 The long green lances of the corn 
 
 Are tilting in the winds of morn. 
 The locust shrills his song of heat. 
 
 Another sound my spirit hears — 
 A deeper sound that drowns them all: 
 
 A voice of pleading choked with tears, 
 
 The call of human hopes and fears. 
 The Macedonian cry to Paul. 
 
 The storm-bell rings, the trumpet blows; 
 
 I know the word and countersign: 
 Wherever Freedom's vanguard goes. 
 Where stand or fall her friends or foes, 
 
 I know the place that should be mine. 
 
 Shamed be the hands that idly fold. 
 And lips that woo the reed's accord. 
 
 When laggard Time the hour has tolled 
 
 For true with false and new with old 
 To fight the battles of the Lord! 
 
 O brothers! blest by partial Fate 
 
 With power to match the will and deed. 
 To him your summons comes too late 
 Who sinks beneath his armor's weight, 
 And has no answer but God-speed! 
 
 THE FALL OF D ASSAS 
 
 Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 Alone, though gloomy forest shades, a soldier went by 
 
 night; 
 No moonbeam pierced the dusky glades, no star shed 
 
 guiding light; 
 Yet, on his vigil's midnight round, the youth all cheerly 
 
 passed, 
 Unchecked by aught of boding sound that muttered in 
 
 the blast. 
 
220 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Where were his thoughts that lonely hour? In his far 
 
 home, perchance, 
 His father's hall, his mother's bower, 'midst the gay vines 
 
 of France. 
 Hush! hark! did stealing steps go by? Came not faint 
 
 whispers near? 
 No! The wild wind hath many a sigh, mid the foliage sere. 
 Hark! yet again! — and from his hand what grasp hath 
 
 wrenched the blade? 
 O, single midst a hostile band, young soldier, thou'rt 
 
 betrayed! 
 "Silence!" in imdertones they cry; "no whisper — ^not a 
 
 breath! 
 The sound that warns thy comrades nigh shall sentence 
 
 thee to death." 
 
 Still at the bayonet's point he stood, and strong to meet 
 
 the blow; 
 And shouted, 'midst his rushing blood, "Arm! arm! 
 
 Auvergne ! the foe !" 
 The stir, the tramp, the bugle-call, he heard their tumults 
 
 grow; 
 And sent his dying voice through all, — "Auvergne! 
 
 Auvergne! the foe!" 
 
 GOD 
 
 Derzhaven. 
 O Thou eternal One! whose presence bright 
 All space doth occupy, all motion guide — 
 Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight! 
 Thou only God — there is no God beside! 
 Being above all beings! Mighty One, 
 Whom none can comprehend, and none explore, 
 Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone, — 
 Embracing all, supporting, ruling o'er, — 
 Being whom we call God, and know no more! 
 
 In its sublime research, philosophy 
 May measure out the ocean-deep, — may coimt 
 The sands or the sun's rays— but, God! for Thee 
 There is no weight nor measure; none can mount 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 231 
 
 Up to Thy mysteries; Reason's brightest spark, 
 Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would try 
 To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark: 
 And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high, 
 Even like past moments in eternity. 
 
 Thou from primeval nothingness didst call 
 
 First chaos, then existence — ^Lord! in Thee 
 
 Eternity had its foundation; all 
 
 Sprung forth from Thee — of light, joy, harmony. 
 
 Sole Origin — all life, all beauty Thine; 
 
 Thy word created all, and doth create; 
 
 Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine; 
 
 Thou art, and wert, and shalt be! Glorious! Great! 
 
 Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate! 
 
 Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround — 
 
 Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath! 
 
 Thou the beginiiing with the end hast bound. 
 
 And beautifully mingled life and death! 
 
 As sparks mount upward from the fiery blaze. 
 
 So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from Thee 
 
 And as the span^es in the sunny rays 
 
 Shine roimd the silver snow, the pageantry 
 
 Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy praise. 
 
 A milUon torches, lighted by Thy hand. 
 Wander unwearied through the blue abyss — 
 They own Thy power, accomplish Thy command. 
 All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. 
 What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light — 
 A glorious company of golden streams — 
 Lamps of celestial ether burning bright — 
 Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams? 
 But Thou to these art as the noon to night. 
 
 Yes! as a drop of water in the sea. 
 
 All this magnificence in Thee is lost: — 
 
 What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee? 
 
 And what am I then? — ^Heaven's unnumbered host. 
 
 Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed 
 
222 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 In all the glory of sublimest thought. 
 Is but an atom in the balance, weighed 
 Against Thy greatness — ^is a cipher brought 
 Against infinity! What am I then? Naught! 
 
 Naught! But the effluence of Thy light divine. 
 Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too; 
 Yes! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine 
 As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew. 
 Naught! but I Uve, and on hope's pinions fly 
 Eager towards Thy presence; for in Thee 
 I live, and breathe, and dwell; aspiring high. 
 Even to the throne of Thy divinity. 
 I am, O God! and surely Thou must be! 
 
 Thou art! — directing, guiding all — ^Thou art! 
 
 Direct my imderstanding, then, to Thee; 
 
 Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart; 
 
 Though but an atom midst immensity. 
 
 Still I am something, fashioned by Thy hand! 
 
 I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth — 
 
 On the last verge of mortal being stand. 
 
 Close to the realms where angels have their birth. 
 
 Just on the boimdaries of the spirit-land! 
 
 The chain of being is complete in me — 
 In me is matter's last gradation lost, 
 And the next step is spirit — Deity! 
 I can command the hghtning, and am dust! 
 A monarch and a slave — a worm, a god! 
 Whence came I here, and how.? so marvellously 
 Constructed and conceived? unknown! this clod 
 Lives surely through some higher energy; 
 For from itself alone it could not be! 
 
 Creator, yes! Thy wisdom and Thy word 
 Created me! Thou source of life and good! 
 Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord! 
 Thy Kght, Thy love, in their bright plenitude 
 Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring 
 Over the abyss of death; and bade it wear 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 223 
 
 The gannents of eternal day, and wing 
 Its heavenly flight beyond this Uttle sphere. 
 Even to its source — ^to Thee — ^its Author there. 
 
 O thoughts ineffable! O visions blest! 
 Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee, 
 Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast, 
 And waft its homage to Thy Deity. 
 God! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar. 
 Thus seek Thy presence — ^Being wise and good! 
 'Midst Thy vast works admire, obey, adore; 
 And when the tongue is eloquent no more 
 The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude. 
 
 A LEGEND OF BBEGENZ 
 
 Adelaide A. Procter. 
 
 Girt round with rugged mountains the fair Lake Constance 
 
 Ues; 
 In her blue heart reflected shine back the starry skies; 
 And watching each white cloudlet float silently and slow. 
 You think a piece of heaven lies on our earth below! 
 
 Midnight is there; and Silence enthroned in Heaven, looks 
 
 down 
 Upon her own calm mirror, upon a sleeping town; 
 For Bregenz, that quaint city upon the Tyrol shore. 
 Has stood above Lake Constance, a thousand years and 
 
 more. 
 
 Her battlements and towers, from off their rocky steep. 
 Have cast their trembling shadows for ages on the deep; 
 Mountain, and lake, and valley, a sacred legend know. 
 Of how the town was saved one night, three hundred years 
 ago. 
 
 Far from her home and kindred, a Tyrol meid had fled. 
 To serve in the Swiss valleys, and toil for daily bread; 
 And every year that fleeted so silently and fast 
 Seemed to bear farther from her the memory of the past. 
 
«24 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 She served kind, gentle masters, nor asked for rest or 
 
 change; 
 Her friends seemed no more new ones, their speech seemed 
 
 no more strange; 
 And when she led her cattle to pasture every day. 
 She ceased to look and wonder on which side Bregenz lay. 
 
 She spoke no more of Bregenz, with longing and with 
 
 tears; 
 Her Tyrol home seemed faded in a deep naist of years; 
 She heeded not the nunors of Austrian war or strife; 
 Each day she rose contented to the calm toils of life. 
 
 Yet, when her master's children would clustering roimd 
 
 her stand. 
 She sang them the old ballads of her own native land; 
 And when at mom and evening she knelt before God's 
 
 throne, 
 The accents of her childhood rose to her lips alone. 
 
 And so she dwelt: the valley more peaceful year by year; 
 When suddenly strange portents of some great deed 
 
 keemed near. 
 The golden corn was bending upon its fragile stalk. 
 While farmers, heedless of their fields, paced up and down 
 
 in talk. 
 
 The men seemed stern and altered, with looks cast on the 
 
 ground; 
 With anxious faces, one by one, the women gathered round; 
 All talk of flax, or spiiming, or work, was put away: 
 The very children seemed afraid to go alone to play. 
 
 One day, out in the meadow, with strangers from the 
 
 town. 
 Some secret plan discussing, the men walked up and down. 
 Yet now and then seemed watching a strange, uncertain 
 
 gleam. 
 That looked like lances mid the trees that stood below the 
 
 stream. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 225 
 
 At eve they all assembled, then care and doubt were fled; 
 With jovial laugh they feasted, the board was nobly spread. 
 The dder of the village rose up, his glass in hand. 
 And cried, "We drink the downfall of an accursed land! 
 
 "The night is growing darker, ere one more day is flown, 
 Bregenz, our foeman's stronghold, Bregenz shall be our 
 
 own!" 
 The women shrank in terror (yet pride, too, had her part). 
 But one poor Tyrol maiden felt death within her heart. 
 
 Before her stood fair Br^enz; once more her towers arose; 
 What were the friends beside her? Only her country's 
 
 foes! 
 The faces of her kinsfolk, the days of childhood flown. 
 The echoes of her mountains, reclaimed her as their 
 
 own! 
 
 Nothing she heard aroimd her (though shouts rang forth 
 
 again). 
 Gone were the green Swiss valleys, the pasture and the 
 
 plain; 
 Before her eyes one vision, and in her heart one cry. 
 That said, "Go forth, save Bregenz, and then, if need be, 
 
 die!" 
 
 With trembling haste and breathless, with noiseless step 
 
 she sped; 
 Horses and weary cattle were standing in the shed; 
 She loosed the strong white charger, t£at fed from out her 
 
 hand. 
 She mounted, and she turned his head toward her native 
 
 land. 
 
 Out — out into the darkness — faster, and still more fast; 
 The smooth grass flies behind her, the chestnut wood is 
 
 She looks up; the clouds are heavy: why is her steed so 
 
 slow?— 
 Scarcely the wind beside them can pass them as they go. 
 
226 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 "Faster!" she cried, "oh, faster!" Eleven the church 
 
 bells chime; 
 "0 God," she cries, "help Bregenz, and bring me there in 
 
 time!" 
 But louder than bells ringing, or lowing of the kine. 
 Grows nearer in the mic^ight the rushing of the Rhine. 
 
 Shall not the roaring waters their headlong gallop check? 
 The steed draws back in terror, she leans upon his neck 
 To watch the flowing darkness; the bank is high and steep; 
 One pause — ^he staggers forward, and plunges in the deep . 
 
 She strives to pierce the darkness, and looser throws the 
 
 rein; 
 Her steed must breast the waters that dash above his mane. 
 How gallantly, how nobly, he struggles through the foam. 
 And see — ^in the far distance, shine out the Ughts of home! 
 
 Up the steep bank he bears her, and now th^ rush again 
 Towards the heights of Bregenz, that tower above the plain. 
 They reach the gate of Bregenz, just as the michiight 
 
 rings, 
 And out come serf and soldier to meet the news she brings. 
 
 Bregenz is saved! Ere dayHght her battlements are 
 
 manned; 
 Defiance greets the army that marches on the land. 
 And if to deeds heroic should endless fame be paid, 
 Bregenz does well to honor the noble Tyrol maid. 
 
 Three himdred years are vanished, and yet upon the hill 
 An old stone gateway rises, to do her honor still. 
 And there, when Bregenz women sit spinning in the shade, 
 They see in quaint old carving the Charger and the Maid. 
 
 And when, to guard old Bregenz, by gateway, street, and 
 
 tower. 
 The warder paces all night long, and calls each passing 
 
 hour; 
 "Nine," "ten," "eleven," he cries aloud, and then, (0 
 
 crown of fame!) 
 When midnight pauses in the skies he calls the maiden's 
 
 name. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 227 
 
 O! now our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day. 
 We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array; 
 With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, 
 And Appenzei's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish 
 
 spears. 
 There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our 
 
 land; 
 And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a tnmcheon in his 
 
 hand: 
 And as we look'd on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled 
 
 flood. 
 And good Coligni's hoary hair, all dabbled with his blood; 
 And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war. 
 To fight for His own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. 
 
 Macavlay. 
 
 In peace. Love tunes the shepherd's reed; 
 
 In war, he mounts the warrior's steed; 
 
 In halls, in gay attire is seen; 
 
 In hamlets, dances on the green. 
 
 Love rules the court, the camp, the grove. 
 
 And men below, and saints above; 
 
 For love is heaven, and heaven is love. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 There is a time in every man's education when he arrives 
 at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation 
 is suicide; that he must take himself, for better or for worse, 
 as his portion; that, though the wide universe is full of 
 good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but 
 through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is 
 given him to till. Emerson. 
 
 In the hush of the autumn night I hear the voice of the sea. 
 In the hush of the autumn night it seems to say to me — 
 Mine are the winds above, mine are the caves below, 
 Mine are the dead of yesterday and the dead of long ago! 
 And I think of the fleet that sailed from the lovely 
 
 Gloucester shore. 
 I think of the fleet that sailed and came back nevermore! 
 
 T. B. Aldrich. 
 
228 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 "Halt!" — ^the dust-brown ranks stood fast; 
 "Fire!" — out blazed the rifle-blast. 
 It shiver'd the window, pane and sash, 
 It rent the banner with seam and gash. 
 Quick, as it fell from the broken staff. 
 Dame Barbara snatch'd the silken scarf. 
 
 Whittier. 
 
 All are but parts of one stupendous whole. 
 Whose body Nature is, and God the soul. 
 That changed through all, and yet in all the same. 
 Great in the earth as in the ethereal frame. 
 Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze. 
 Glows in the stars and blossoms in the trees. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother 
 
 dear; 
 To-morrow'll be the happiest of all the glad new year; — 
 Of all the glad new year, mother, the maddest, merriest 
 
 day;— 
 For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen 
 
 o' the May. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 A hurry of hoofs in a village street, 
 
 A shape in the mooidight, a bulk in the dark. 
 
 And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark 
 
 Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet: 
 
 That was all. And yet, through the gloom and the light. 
 
 The fate of a nation was riding that night; 
 
 And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight. 
 
 Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, 
 He swam the Eske River where ford there was none. 
 But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate. 
 The bride had consented, the gallant came late: 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 229 
 
 For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 
 Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 A song, oh, a song for the merry May! 
 The cows in the meadow, the lambs at play. 
 The chorus of birds in the maple-tree 
 And a world in blossoms for you and me. 
 
 Begone! 
 Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, 
 Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 
 That needs must light on this ingratitude. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Slow fades the vision of the sky, the golden water pales. 
 And over all the valley land, a gray-winged vapor sails. 
 I go the common way of all; the sunset fires will burn. 
 The flowers will blow, the river flow, when I no more return. 
 No whisper from the motmtain pine, nor lapsing stream 
 
 shall tell 
 The stranger, treading where I tread, of him who loved 
 
 them well. 
 But beauty seen is never lost, God's colors all are fast; 
 The glory of this sunset neaven into my soul has passed — ■ 
 A sense of gladness unconfined, to mortal date or clime: 
 As the soul liveth, it shall live, beyond the years of time. 
 Beside the mystic asphodels shall bloom the home-bume 
 
 flowers. 
 And new horizons flush and glow, with sunset hues of ours. 
 
 Whittier. 
 t 
 All in a hot and copper sky the bloody Sun, at noon. 
 Right up above the mast did stand, no bigger than the 
 
 Moon. 
 Water, water, everywhere, and all the boards did shrink; 
 Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink. 
 The very deep did rot: O Christ I that ever this should be ! 
 Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs upon the slimy sea. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
230 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 O larks, sing out to the thrushes. 
 And thrushes, smg to the sky! 
 
 Smg from your nests in the bushes. 
 And sing wherever you fly; 
 
 Remember March, the ides of March remember: 
 Did not great JuUus bleed for justice' sake? 
 What villain touch'd his body, that did stab. 
 And not for justice? What, shall one of us. 
 That struck the foremost man of all this world 
 But for supporting robbers, shall we now 
 Contaminate our fingers with base bribes. 
 And sell the mighty space of our large honors 
 For so much trash as may be grasped thus? 
 I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon. 
 Than such a Roman. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Come live with me, and be my love. 
 And we will all the pleasure prove 
 That hills and valleys, dale and field, 
 And all the craggy mountains yield. 
 
 Marlowe. 
 
 Hurrah! hurrah! the west wind 
 Comes freshening down the bay! 
 
 The rising sails are filling. 
 Give way, my lads, give way. 
 
 Whittier. 
 
 The Wildgrave winds his bugle horn. 
 
 To horse! halloo, halloo! 
 His fiery courser snuffs the mom. 
 
 And thronging serfs their lord pursue. 
 The eager pack, from couples freed, 
 
 Dash through the brush, the brier, the brake; 
 While answering hoimd, and horn, and steed. 
 
 The mountain echoes startling wake. 
 
 ScoU. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 231 
 
 Come, all ye jolly shepherds. 
 
 That whistle down the glen! 
 I'll tell ye of a secret 
 
 That courtiers dinna ken: 
 What is the greatest bliss 
 
 That the tongue o' man can name? 
 'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie 
 
 When the kye comes hame. 
 
 Eogg. 
 
 We wander'd to the Pine Forest that skirts the Ocean's 
 
 foam; 
 The lightest wind was in its nest, the tempest in its home. 
 The whispering waves were half asleep, the clouds were 
 
 gone to play. 
 And on the bosom of the deep the smile of Heaven lay; 
 It seem'd as if the hour were one sent from beyond the 
 
 skies 
 Which scatter'd from above the sun a light of Paradise! 
 We paused amid the pines that stood the giants of the 
 
 waste. 
 Tortured by storms to shapes as rude as serpents inter- 
 laced, — 
 And soothed by every azure breath that under heaven is 
 
 blown 
 To harmonies and hues beneath, as tender as its own: 
 Now all the tree-tops lay asleep, like green waves on the 
 
 sea 
 As still as in the silent deep the ocean-woods may be. 
 
 We paused beside the pools that lie under the forest bough; 
 Each seem'd as 'twere a little sky, gulf'd in a world below; 
 A firmament of purple light, which in the dark earth lay, 
 More boundless than the depth of night, and purer than 
 
 the day — 
 In which the lovely forests grew as in the upper air, 
 More perfect both in shape and hue than any spreading 
 
 there. 
 There lay the glade and neighboring lawn, and through 
 
 the dark green wood 
 
232 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Tlie white sun twinkling like the dawn oat of speckled 
 
 doud. 
 Sweet views which in our world above can never wdl be 
 
 Were imagined by the water's love of that fair forest green : 
 And all was interfused beneath with an Elysian ^ow. 
 An atmosphere without a breath, a softer day bdow. 
 
 Shdley. 
 
 My pipe is lit, and all is snog; old Puss is in her elbow 
 chair, and Tray is sitting on the rug. Last night I had 
 a curious dream: Miss Susan Bates was Mistress Mogg. 
 What d'ye think of that, my Cat? What d'ye think of 
 that, my Dog? 
 
 Eood. 
 
 And I have f dt 
 A presence that disturbs me with a joy 
 Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime 
 Of something far more deeply interfused. 
 Whose dweDmg is the light of setting suns. 
 And the round ocean and the living air. 
 And the blue sky, and in the mind c^ man: 
 A motion and a spirit, that impels 
 AJl thinking things, all objects of all thought. 
 And roUs through all things. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled din 
 Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring 
 
 culverin! 
 The fiery duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain. 
 With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and AJmayne. 
 Now, by the Ups of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, 
 Charge for the golden lilies now, — ^upon them with the 
 
 lance! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 288 
 
 A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in 
 rest 
 
 A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow- 
 white crest. 
 
 And in they burst, and on they rushed, while Uke a guiding 
 star. 
 
 Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. 
 
 Macavlay. 
 
 Hail to the chief who in triumph advances! 
 
 Honored and blessed be the evergreen pine! 
 Long may the tree in his banner that glances, 
 Flourish the shelter and grace of our line! 
 Heaven send it happy dew. 
 Earth lend it sap anew, 
 Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, 
 While every Highland glen 
 Sends our shouts back again, 
 "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" 
 
 Scott. 
 
 Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings. 
 
 And Phoebus 'gins arise. 
 His steed to water at those springs 
 
 On chaliced flowers that lies; 
 And winldiig Mary-buds begin 
 
 To ope their golden eyes; 
 With every thing that pretty bin. 
 
 My lady sweet, arise; 
 Arise, arise! 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 O Time and Change! with hair as gray 
 As was my sire's that winter day. 
 How strange it seems, with so much gone 
 Of life and love, to still live on! 
 
 Whittier. 
 
834 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Victorious men of earth, no more 
 
 Proclaim how wide your empires are; 
 Though you bind in every shore 
 
 And yoiu" triumphs reach as far 
 As night or day, 
 
 Yet you, proud monarchs, must obey 
 And mingle with forgotten ashes, when 
 
 Death calls ye to &e crowd of common men. 
 
 We charge him with having broken his coronation oath; 
 and we are told that he kept his marriage vow ! We accuse 
 him of having given up his people to the merciless inflic- 
 tions of the most hot-headed and hard-hearted of prelates; 
 and the defense is, that he took his little son on his knee, 
 and kissed him! We censure him for having violated the 
 articles of the Petition of Right, after having, for good 
 and valuable consideration, promised to observe them; 
 and we are informed that he was accustomed to hear 
 prayers at six o'clock in the morning! It is to such con- 
 siderations as these, together with his Vandyke dress, his 
 handsome face, and his peaked beard, that he owed, we 
 verily believe, most of his popularity with the present 
 generation. 
 
 Macaulay. 
 
 THE LESSONS OF NATURE 
 
 Drummond. 
 
 Of this fair volume which we World do name 
 
 If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care. 
 
 Of him who it corrects, and did it frame. 
 
 We clear might read the art and wisdom rare: 
 
 Find out his power which wildest powers doth tame. 
 
 His providence extending everywhere. 
 
 His justice which proud rebels doth not spare. 
 
 In every page, no period of the same. 
 
 But silly we, like foolish children, rest 
 
 Well pleased with colour'd vellum, leaves of gold. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 236 
 
 Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is best. 
 On the great writer's sense ne'er taking hold; 
 Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught. 
 It is some picture on the margin wrought. 
 
 Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks, — 
 Ere I own a usurper, I'll couch with the fox; 
 And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee, 
 You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood. 
 
 When fond recollection presents them to view! 
 The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood, 
 
 And every loved spot that my infancy knew; — 
 The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it, 
 
 The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell; 
 The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it. 
 
 And e'en the rude bucket which himg in the well. 
 The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. 
 
 The moss-covered bucket which himg in the well. 
 
 Woodtvorth. 
 
 Away! away! our fires stream bright 
 
 Along the frozen river. 
 And their arrowy sparkles of brilliant light 
 
 On the forest branches quiver. 
 Away! away to the rocky glen. 
 
 Where the deer are wildly bounding! 
 And the hills shall echo in gladness again. 
 
 To the himter's bugle sounding. 
 
 The rippUng water, with its drowsy tone. 
 The tall elms towering in their stately pride. 
 
 And — sorrow's type — ^the willow, sad and lone. 
 Kissing in graceful woe the murmuring tide; 
 
236 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 The gray church-tower; and dimly seen beyond. 
 The faint hills gilded by the parting sim; 
 
 All were the same, and seemed with greeting fond 
 To welcome me, as they of old had done. 
 
 The night is mother of the day. 
 
 The winter of the spring; 
 And ever upon old decay 
 
 The greenest mosses cling. 
 Behind the cloud the starlight lurks. 
 
 Through showers the sunbeams fall; 
 For Grod, who loveth all His works. 
 
 Has left His hope with all. 
 
 WhitUer. 
 
 The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake 
 
 Our thirsty souls with rain; 
 The blow most dreaded faUs to break 
 
 From off our limbs a chain; 
 And wrongs of man to man but make 
 
 The love of God more plain. 
 As through the shadowy lens of even 
 The eye looks farthest into heaven. 
 On gleams of star and depths of blue 
 The glaring sunshine never knew. 
 
 The coldest gazer's heart grew warm, 
 
 And felt no more its indecision; 
 For every soul which saw that form 
 
 Grew larger to contain the vision. 
 "Him have I seen, " the boy exclaimed; 
 "Yes, him! what needs he to be named? 
 The world has only one broad sun. 
 And Freedom's world but Washington!" 
 
 Reed. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 937 
 
 She lean'd far out on the window-sill. 
 And shook it forth with a royal will. 
 "Shoot, if you must, this old gray head. 
 But spare your country's flag, " she said. 
 A shade of sadness, a blush of shame. 
 Over the face of the leader came; 
 The nobler nature within him stirr'd 
 To life at that woman's deed and word. 
 "Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
 Dies like a dog! March on!" he said. 
 All day long through Frederick street 
 Sounded the tread of marching feet; 
 All day long that free flag toss'd 
 Over the heads of the marching host. 
 
 Whittier. 
 
 You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes. 
 
 How many soever they be. 
 And let the brown meadow-lark's note as he ranges 
 
 Come over, come over to me. 
 
 Ingelow. 
 
 Nobody looks at the clouds with a love that equals mine; 
 
 I know them in their beauty, in the mom or the even- 
 shine. 
 I know them, and possess them, my castles in the air. 
 
 My palaces, cathedrals, and hanging gardens fair. 
 
 SHBKIDANS BIDE 
 
 Thomas B. Bead. 
 
 Up from the south at break of day. 
 Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay 
 The affrighted air with a shudder bore, 
 Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, 
 The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, 
 Telling the battle was on once more. 
 And Sheridan twenty miles away. 
 
2S8 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 And wider still those billows of war 
 Tliunder'd along the horizon's bar; 
 And louder yet into Winchester roll'd 
 The roar of that red sea imcontroll'd. 
 Making the blood of the listener cold. 
 As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray. 
 And Sheridan twenty miles away. 
 
 But there is a road from Winchester town, 
 A good broad highway leading down: 
 And there, through the flush of the morning light, 
 A steed as black as the steeds of night 
 Was seen to pass, as with eagle fli^t. 
 As if he knew the terrible need. 
 He stretch'd away with his utmost speed; 
 TTills rose and fell; but his heart was gay. 
 With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 
 
 Still sprang from those swift hoofs, thundering south 
 The dust like smoke from the cannon's mouth. 
 Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster. 
 Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. 
 The heart of the steed and the heart of the master 
 Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls. 
 Impatient to be where the battlefield calls ; 
 Every nerve of the charger was strained to fuU play 
 Vfiih Sheridan only ten miles away. 
 
 Under his spuming feet, the road, 
 like an arrowy Alpine river flow'd. 
 And the landscape sped away behind 
 like an ocean flying before tJie wind; 
 And the steed, Vke a bark fed with furnace fire. 
 Swept on, with his wild eye full of ire. 
 But, lo ! he is nearing his heart's desire; 
 He is snu£Sng the smoke of the roaring fray. 
 With Sheridan only five miles away. 
 
 The first that the general saw were the groups 
 Of stragglexs, and then the retreating troops; 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 239 
 
 What was done? what to do? a glance told him both. 
 Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath, 
 He dash'd down the line 'mid a storm of huzzas, 
 And the wave of retreat checked its course there, 
 
 because 
 The sight of the master compell'd it to pause. 
 With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; 
 By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play. 
 He seem'd to the whole great army to say: 
 "I have brought you Sheridan all the way 
 From Winchester, down to save the day." 
 
 Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan! 
 
 Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man. 
 
 And when their statues are placed on high, 
 
 Under the dome of the Union sky. 
 
 The American soldier's Temple of Fame, 
 
 There with the glorious general's name 
 
 Be it said, in letters both bold and bright: 
 
 "Here is the steed that saved the day 
 By carrying Sheridan into the fight, 
 
 From Winchester, — ^twenty miles away!" 
 
 THE HIGH TIDE AT GETTYSBUBG 
 
 W. H. Thompson. 
 
 A cloud possessed the hollow field. 
 The gathering battle's smoky shield. 
 Athwart the gloom the lightning flashed 
 And through the cloud some horsemen dashed. 
 And from the heights the thunder pealed. 
 
 Then at the brief command of Lee 
 Moved out that matchless infantry. 
 With Pickett leading grandly down. 
 To rush against the roaring crown 
 Of those dread heights of destiny. 
 
240 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Far heard above the angry guns 
 
 A cry across the tumult runs, — 
 
 The voice that rang through Shiloh's woods 
 
 And Chickamauga's solitudes. 
 
 The fierce South cheering on her son! 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Fold up the banners! Smelt the guns! 
 Love rules. Her gentler purpose runs. 
 A mighty mother turns in tears 
 The pages of her battle years, 
 Lamenting all her fallen sons! 
 
 ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK 
 
 Charles F. Tiffany. 
 
 The sun had dropped into the distant west. 
 The cannons ceased to roar, which tells of rest. 
 Rest from the shedding of a nation's blood. 
 Rest to lay their comrades 'neath the sod. 
 
 'Twas early spring, and calm and still the night. 
 The moon had risen, casting softest light; 
 On either side of stream the armies lay. 
 Waiting for morn, to then renew the fray. 
 
 So near together a sound was heard by all. 
 Each could hear the other's sentry call. 
 The bivouac fires burned brightly on each hill. 
 And save the tramp of pickets all was still. 
 
 The Rappahannock silently flows on 
 Between the hills so fair to look upon, 
 Whose dancing waters, tinged with silver light. 
 Vie in their beauty with the starry night. 
 
 But Ust! from Northern hill there steal along 
 The softest strains of music and of song. 
 The "Starry Banner," our nation's glorious air. 
 Which tells to all of gallant flag "still there." 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 241 
 
 Then "Hail Columbia" a thousand voices sing 
 With all their soul, which makes the hill tops ring. 
 From fire to fire, from tent to tent then flew 
 The welcome words, "Lads sing the 'Boys in Blue' ! " 
 
 And well they sang. Each heart was filled with joy, 
 From first in rank to little drummer boy; 
 Then loud huzzas, and wildest cheers were given, 
 Which seemed to cleave the air and reach to Heaven. 
 
 The lusty cheering reached the Southern ear, — 
 Men who courted danger, knew no fear. 
 Whilst talking of their scanty evening meal, 
 And each did grasp his trusty blade of steel. 
 
 Those very strains of music which of yore 
 
 Did raise the blood, are felt by them no more. 
 
 How changed! What now they scorn and taimt and jeer. 
 
 Was once to them as sacred, just as dear; 
 
 And when the faintest echo seemed to die. 
 The last huzza been wafted to the sky. 
 The boys in blue had lain them down to rest. 
 With gun and bayonet closely held to breast, — 
 
 There came from Southern hill with gentle swell 
 The air of "Dixie," which was loved so well 
 By every one who wore the coat of gray. 
 And still revered and cherished to this day. 
 
 In Dixie's land they swore to live and die 
 That was their watchword, that their battle cry. 
 Then rose on high the wild Confederate yell. 
 Resounding over every hill and dell: — 
 
 Cheer after cheer went up that starry night 
 From men as brave as ever saw the light. 
 Now all is still. Each side had played its part, 
 How simple songs will fire a soldier's heart! 
 
242 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 But hark! From Rappahannock stream there floats 
 
 Another air; but, ah! how sweet the notes — 
 
 Not those which lash men's passions into foam. 
 
 But, richest gem of song, 'twas "Home, Sweet Home," 
 
 Played by the band, which reached the very soul. 
 And down the veteran's cheeks the tear-drop stole. 
 Men who would march to every cannon's mouth 
 Wept like children, from both North and South. 
 
 Beneath those well worn coats of gray and blue 
 Were generoxis, tender hearts, both brave and true. 
 The sentry stopped and rested on his gun. 
 While back to home his thoughts did swiftly run. 
 
 Thinking of loving wife and children there. 
 With no one left to guide them, none to care. 
 Stripling lads not strong enough to bear 
 The weight of sabre, or the knapsack wear. 
 
 Tried to stop with foolish, boyish pride 
 The starting tear; as well try stop the tide 
 Of ceaseless rolling ocean, just as well. 
 As stop those tears which fast and faster fell. 
 
 Then, lo, by mutual sympathy there rose 
 
 A shout tremendous, forgetting they were foes, 
 
 A simultaneous shout, which came from every voice. 
 
 And seemed to make the very heavens rejoice. 
 
 Sweet music's power! one chord doth make us wild. 
 But change the strain, we weep as little child; 
 Touch yet another, men charge the battery gun. 
 And by those martial strains — a victory's won; 
 It matters not from whence, how far you roam. 
 No heart so cold that does not love "Sweet Home. " 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 243 
 
 TIC0NDEB06A 
 
 J. B. Wilson. 
 
 The cold gray light of the dawning 
 
 On old Carillon falls, 
 And dim in the mist of the morning 
 
 Stand the grim old fortress walls. 
 No sound disturbs the stillness 
 
 Save the cataract's meUow war. 
 Silent as death is the fortress, 
 
 Silent the misty shore. 
 
 But up from the wakening waters 
 
 Comes the cool, fresh morning breeze, 
 Lfting the banner of Britain, 
 
 And whispering to the trees 
 Of the swift gliding boats on the waters 
 
 That are nearing the fog-shrouded land, 
 With the old Green Mountain Lion, 
 
 And his daring patriot band. 
 
 But the sentinel at the postern 
 
 Heard not the whisper low; 
 He is dreaming of the banks of the Shannon 
 
 As he walks on his beat to and fro, 
 Of the starry eyes in Green Erin 
 
 That were dim when he marched away. 
 And a tear down his bronzed cheek courses, 
 
 'Tis the first for many a day. 
 
 A sound breaks the misty stillness, 
 
 And quickly he glances aroimd; 
 Through the mist, forms like towering giants 
 
 Seem rising out of the ground; 
 A challenge, the firelock flashes; 
 
 A sword cleaves the quivering air. 
 And the sentry lies dead by the postern, 
 
 Blood staining his bright yellow hair. 
 
 Then, with a shout that awakens 
 All the echoes of hillside and glen. 
 
244 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Through the low, frowning gate of the fortress. 
 Sword in hand, rush the Green Mountain men. 
 
 The scarce wakened troops of the garrison 
 Yield up their trust pale with fear; 
 
 And down comes the bright British bamier. 
 And out rings a Green Moimtain cheer. 
 
 Flushed with pride, the whole eastern heavens 
 
 With crimson and gold are ablaze; 
 And up springs the sim in his splendor 
 
 And flings down his arrowy rays. 
 Bathing in sunlight the fortress. 
 
 Turning to gold the grim walls. 
 While louder and clearer and higher 
 
 Rings the song of the waterfalls. 
 
 Since the taking of Ticonderoga 
 
 A century has roUed away; 
 But with pride the nation remembers 
 
 That glorious morning in May. 
 And the cataract's sUveiy music 
 
 Forever the story teUs, 
 Of the capture of old CariUon, 
 
 The chime of the silver bells. 
 
 HOHT OMOEE 
 
 Samuel Lover. 
 
 Young Roiy O'More comi:ed Kathleen bawn; 
 He was bold as the hawk, and she soft as the dawn; 
 He wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to please. 
 And he thought the best way to do that was to tease. 
 "Now, Rory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would cry. 
 Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye — 
 "With your trid^, I don't know, in throth, what I'm 
 about; 
 
 Faith, you've teased till I've put on my cloak inside out. " 
 "Och! jewel," says Rory, "that same is the way 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 245 
 
 You've thrated my heart for this many a day; 
 And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure? 
 For 'tis all for good luck, " says bold Roiy O'More. 
 
 "Indeed, then," says Kathleen, "don't think of the like. 
 For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike; 
 The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound," 
 "Faith!" says Roiy, "I'd rather love you ^an the 
 groimd. " 
 
 "Now, Rory, I'll cry if you don't let me go; 
 Sure, I dream ev'iy night that I'm hating you so!" 
 "Och!" says Rory, "that same I'm delighted to hear. 
 For dhrames always go by conthrairies, my dear. 
 Och ! jewel, keep dhraming that same till you die. 
 And bright morning will give dirty night the black lie! 
 And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure? 
 Since 'tis all for good luck, " says bold Rory O'More. 
 "Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teased me enough; 
 Sure, I've thrashed for your sake Dinny Grimes and Jim 
 
 Duff; 
 And I've made myself, drinking your health, quite a 
 
 baste. 
 So I think, after that, I may talk to the priest. " 
 
 Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm roimd her neck. 
 So soft and so white, without freckle or speck; 
 And he looked in her eyes, that were beaming with light. 
 And he kissed her sweet lips — don't you think he was 
 
 right? 
 "Now, Rory, leave off, sir — ^you'll hug me no more — 
 That's eight times today you have kissed me before." 
 "Then here goes another," says he, "to make sure, 
 For there's luck in odd numbers," says Roiy O'More. 
 
246 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 THE BABON's last BANQUET. 
 
 Albert G. Greene. 
 
 O'er a low couch the setting sun 
 
 Had thrown its latest ray, 
 Where in his last strong agony 
 
 A dying warrior lay. 
 The stem old Baron Rudiger, 
 
 Whose frame had ne'er been bent 
 By wasting pain, till time and toil 
 
 Its iron strength had spent. 
 
 "They come around me here and say 
 
 My days of lite are o'er. 
 That I shall mount my noble steed 
 
 And lead my band no more; 
 They come, and to my beard they dare 
 
 To tell me now, that I, 
 Their own liege lord and master bom, — 
 
 That I — ^ha! ha! must die. 
 
 "And what is Death? I've dared him oft 
 
 Before the Pajmim spear, — 
 Think ye he's enter'd at my gate. 
 
 Has come to seek me here? 
 I've met him faced him, scom'd him, 
 
 ^Mien the fight was raging hot, — 
 I'll try his mi^t — ^I'll brave his power; 
 
 Defy, and fear him not. 
 
 "Ho! sound the tocsin from my tower. 
 
 And fire the culverin, — 
 Bid each retainer arm with speed, — 
 
 Call every vassal in; 
 Up with my banner on the wall, — 
 
 The banquet board prepare, — 
 Throw wide the portal of my hall. 
 
 And bring my armor there!" 
 
 A himdred hands were busy then, — 
 The banquet forth was spread, — 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 247 
 
 And rung the heavy oaken floor 
 
 With many a martial tread, 
 While from the rich, dark tracery 
 
 Along the vaulted wall. 
 Lights gleam'd on harness, plume, and spear, 
 
 O'er the proud old Gothic hall. 
 
 Fast hurrying through the outer gate, 
 
 The mail'd retainers pour'd, 
 On through the portal's frowning arch. 
 
 And throng'd around the board. 
 While at its head, within his dark, 
 
 Carved oaken chair of state. 
 Armed cap-a-pie, stem Rudiger, 
 
 With girded falchion, sate. 
 
 "Fill every beaker up, my men. 
 
 Pour forth the cheering wine; 
 There's Ufe and strength in every drop, — 
 
 Thanksgiving to the vine! 
 Are ye all there, my vassals true? — 
 
 IVUne eyes are waxing dim; 
 Fill round, my tried and fearless ones. 
 
 Each goblet to the brim. 
 
 "Ye're there, but yet I see ye not. 
 
 Draw forth each trusty sword, — 
 And let me hear your faithful steel 
 
 Clash once around my board: 
 I hear it faintly: — ^Louder yet! — 
 
 What clogs my heavy breath? 
 Up aU, — and shout for Rudiger, 
 
 'Defiance unto Death!' " 
 
 Bowl rang to bowl, steel clang'd to steel. 
 
 And rose a deafening cry 
 That made the torches flare around. 
 
 And shook the flags on high: — 
 "Ho! cravens, do ye fear him? — 
 
 Slaves, traitors! have ye flown? 
 Ho ! cowards, have ye left me 
 
 To meet him here alone? 
 
248 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 "But I defy him: — let him come!" 
 
 Down rang the massy cup. 
 While from its sheath the r^uly blade 
 
 Came flashing halfway up; 
 And, with the black and heavy plumes 
 
 Scarce trembling on his head. 
 There in his dark, carved oaken chair 
 
 Old Budiger sat, deadl 
 
 OPT IN THE STILLY NIGHT 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 Oft in the stilly night 
 
 Ere slumber's chain has bound me. 
 Fond Memory brings the U^it 
 Of other days around me: 
 The smiles, the tears. 
 Of boyhood's years. 
 The words of love thrai spoken; 
 The eyes that shone. 
 Now dimmed and gone. 
 The cheerful hearts now broken! 
 Thus in the stilly night 
 
 Ere slumber's cham has boimd me. 
 Sad Memory brings the light 
 Of other days around me. 
 
 When I remember all 
 
 The friends so linked together 
 I've seen around me fall 
 
 Like leaves in wintry weather, 
 I feel like one 
 Who treads alone 
 Some banquet-hall deserted. 
 Whose l^ts are fled. 
 Whose garlands dead. 
 And all but he departed! 
 Thus in the stilly night 
 
 Ere slimiber's chain has bound me. 
 Sad Memory brings the li^t 
 Of other days around me. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 249 
 
 GO WHERE GLOKY WAITS THEE 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 Go where glory waits thee, 
 But, while fame elates thee, 
 
 O, still remember me! 
 When the praise thou meetest 
 To thine ear is sweetest, 
 
 0, then remember me! 
 Other arms may press thee 
 Dearer friends caress thee, 
 All the joys that bless thee. 
 
 Sweeter far may be; 
 But when friends are nearest 
 And when joys are dearest, 
 
 O, then remember me! 
 When at eve thou rovest 
 By the star thou lovest, 
 
 O, then remember me ! 
 Think, when home returning. 
 Bright we've seen it burning, 
 
 O, thus remember me! 
 Oft as summer closes. 
 On its lingering roses. 
 
 Once so loved by thee. 
 Think of her who wove them. 
 Her who made thee love them, 
 
 0, then remember me! 
 
 When, around thee dying. 
 Autumn leaves are Ijnng, 
 
 O, then remember me! 
 And, at night, when gazing 
 On the gay hearth blazing, 
 
 0, still remember me! 
 Then should music, stealing 
 All the soul of feeling. 
 To thy heart appeaflng, 
 
 Draw one tear from thee; 
 Then let memory bring thee 
 Strains I used to sing thee, — 
 
 O, then remember me! 
 
250 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 DBIKK TO ME 0>rLT ■WTEH THIKE ETBS 
 
 Trandation by Ben Jonson. 
 
 Drink to me onty 'srith. thine ^es. 
 
 And I will pledge with mine; 
 Or leave a kiss ■within the cup. 
 
 And 111 not look for wine. 
 Tte thirst that from the soul doth rise 
 
 Doth ask a drink divine; 
 But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 
 
 I woold not change for thine. 
 
 I sent thee late a rosy wreath. 
 
 Not so mudi honoring thee 
 As giving it a hope that there 
 
 It could not withered be; 
 But thou tiieieon didst onhr breathe 
 
 And sent'st it back to me; 
 Since when it grows, and smells, I swear. 
 
 Not of itself but thee! 
 
 O MABT, GO A^O) r*T.T. TtTR CATTLE HOHE? 
 
 Charles Kingdey. 
 
 "O Maiy, go and call the cattle home. 
 
 And cadi the cattle hon^. 
 
 And call the cattle home. 
 Across the sands o' Dee!" 
 The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam. 
 
 And all alone went she. 
 
 The creeping tide came up along the sand. 
 
 And o'er and o'er the sand. 
 
 And round and round the sand. 
 As far as eye could see; 
 The blinding mist came down and hid the land; 
 
 And never home came she. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 251 
 
 " 0, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair, — ■ 
 
 A tress o' golden hair, 
 
 O' drowned maiden's hair, — 
 Above the nets at sea? 
 Was never salmon yet that shone so fair. 
 
 Among the stakes on Dee. " 
 
 They rowed her in across the rolling foam, — 
 
 The cruel, crawling foam. 
 
 The cruel, hungry foam, — 
 To her grave beside the sea. 
 But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home 
 
 Across the sands o' Dee. 
 
 IT MAKES A FELLOW HUNGRY 
 
 {Chicago Tribune.) 
 
 It makes a fellow himgry just to think about the bread 
 Of honest old-time baking, on which in youth he fed — 
 The loaf that showed the traces of the pan's intense caress. 
 But bulged above those wrLokles as if spreading out to bless 
 The ones who gazed upon it with a joyous appetite 
 That reveled in the prospects of the slices thick and Hght. 
 
 Today the chemists make it, and the flour is analyzed : 
 The bread is scientific, and is properly devised; 
 The baker's wagon brings it — it is conscienceless and hard; 
 The cooking schools concoct it by the rules upon a card; 
 Exactness and precision guide the baking, it is said. 
 But, oh, they never equal the old-fashioned loaf of bread! 
 
 Sometimes there comes a fancy from the mists of yester- 
 days 
 
 That holds the yeasty perfume of the dough set out to 
 raise. 
 
 And then we heard the patting on the floury mixing- 
 board. 
 
 And see the old time oven with its load of goodness stored. 
 
 And when the door is opened, what a satisfying gust 
 
 Of pungent rich aroma floated from the browning crust ! 
 
252 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 The breakfast foods replace it — ^there are foods you needn't 
 
 chew. 
 And foods that give the stomach not a single thing to do. 
 And foods with wondrous titles, that have leaped to sud- 
 den fame — 
 The old time bread was splendid, with the same old fash- 
 ioned name; 
 It held the balm of summer and the glory of the wheat 
 And breathed an invitation that would make you come 
 and eat. 
 
 The good old times are going, and the good old bread is 
 
 gone! 
 The thick-cut sUce of "home made" with the wealth of 
 
 jam thereon! 
 The piece of bread and butter that was such a boyhood 
 
 boon 
 And filled the void that clamored in the himgiy afternoon ! 
 And, oh, Lucullan fancy! You were fit for any fate 
 When home made bread was floating in the gravy on your 
 
 plate! 
 
 Its crumb was always flaky and its crust was never burned: 
 Your mother used to make it (but your sister never 
 
 learned). 
 The constant march of progress hurls our cherished things 
 
 afar — 
 The home made bread no longer flanks the apple butter 
 
 jar — 
 No more the tang of spices tells that something good is 
 
 spread 
 A'top a tempting portion of the good old-fashioned bread. 
 
 THE FOUNTAIN 
 
 Into the sunshiae, 
 Full of the light. 
 
 Leaping and flashing 
 IVom morn till night. 
 
 James R. Lowell. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 253 
 
 Into the moonlight, 
 
 Whiter than snow, 
 Waving so flower-like 
 
 When the winds blow, — 
 
 Into the starlight 
 
 Rushing in spray, 
 Happy at midnight, 
 
 Happy by day, — 
 
 Ever in motion. 
 
 Blithesome and cheery, 
 Still climbing heavenward, 
 
 Never aweary, — 
 
 Glad of all weathers 
 
 Still seeming best, 
 Upward or downward. 
 
 Motion thy rest, — 
 
 Full of a natxu« 
 
 Nothing can tame, 
 Changed every moment. 
 
 Ever the same, — 
 
 Ceaseless aspiring. 
 
 Ceaseless content. 
 Darkness or sunshine 
 
 Thy element, — 
 
 Glorious Fountain! 
 
 Let my heart be 
 Fresh, changeful, constant. 
 
 Upward, like thee! 
 
 THOUGHT 
 
 Christopher Pearse Cranch. 
 
 Thought is deeper than all speech. 
 
 Feeling deeper than all thought; 
 Souls to souls can never teach 
 
 What imto themselves was taught. 
 
254 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 We axe spirits clad in veils; 
 
 Man by man was never seen; 
 All our deep communing fails 
 
 To remove the shadowy screen. 
 
 Heart to heart was never known; 
 
 Mind with mind did never meet; 
 We are columns left alone 
 
 Of a temple once complete. 
 
 like the stars that gem the sky. 
 Far apart, though seeming near. 
 
 In our light we scattered lie; 
 All is thas but starlight here. 
 
 What is social company 
 
 But a babbling summer stream? 
 
 What our wise philosophy 
 But the glandng of a dream? 
 
 Only when the sun of love 
 
 Melts the scattered stars of thought. 
 Only when we Hve above 
 
 What the dim-eyed world hath taught. 
 
 Only when our souls are fed 
 
 By the fount which gave them birth. 
 
 And by inspiration led 
 
 Which they never drew from earth. 
 
 We, like parted drops of rain. 
 Swelling till they meet and run. 
 
 Shall be all absorbed again. 
 Melting, flowing into one. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 255 
 
 MAT MORN SONG 
 
 Wm. Motherwell. 
 
 The grass is wet with shimng dews. 
 
 Their silver bells hang on each tree. 
 While opening flower and bursting bud 
 
 Breathe incense forth unceasingly; 
 The mavis pipes in greenwood shaw. 
 
 The throstle glads the spreading thorn. 
 And cheerily the bUthesome lark 
 Salutes the rosy face of mom. 
 'Tis early prime: 
 
 And hark! hark! hark! 
 His merry chime 
 Chirrups the lark; 
 Chirrup! chirrup! he heralds in 
 The jolly sim with matin hymn. 
 
 Come, come, my love! and May-dews shake 
 
 In pailfuls from each drooping bough; 
 They'll give fresh lustre to the bloom 
 
 That breaks upon thy young cheek now. 
 O'er hiU and dale, o'er waste and wood, 
 
 Aurora's smiles are streaming free; 
 With earth it seems brave hoKday, 
 In heaven it looks high jubilee. 
 And it is right. 
 
 For mark, love, mark! 
 How bathed in light 
 Chirrups the lark; 
 Chirrup! chirrup! he upward flies. 
 Like holy thoughts to cloudless skies. 
 
 They lack all heart who cannot feel 
 
 The voice of heaven within them thrill, 
 In summer mom, when moimting high 
 
 This merry minstrel sings his fill. 
 Now let us seek yon bosky dell 
 
 Where brightest wild-flowers choose to be. 
 And where its clear stream murmurs on. 
 
 Meet type of our Ipye's purity. 
 
456 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 No witness there. 
 And o'er us, hark! 
 High in the air 
 Chirrups the lark; 
 Chirrup! chirrup! away soars he. 
 Bearing to heaven my vows to thee! 
 
 A MASTERPIECE OF PRAYEB 
 
 Samuel Walter Foss. 
 
 Wen our new church was dedicated we had a jubilee, 
 They chose a lot of speakers, but were bound they wouldn't 
 
 choose me. 
 They knowed my faculty for speech, — ^how I could lift and 
 
 soar, 
 An' how I had the gift of tongues as few men had before. 
 But they was narrer, jealous souls, an' 'fraid of my renown. 
 An' meant to choke me off the list an' keep my genius down. 
 
 But I got even with 'em. See? Purtended I didn't care. 
 But said I'd like to dose the day with a few words of 
 
 prayer 
 An' so they put me down to pray — ^thought that would 
 
 shet me off. 
 An' stuck it on the programme there, "A Prayer," by 
 
 Deacon Croff . 
 So I sot still an' waited, till they all had their say, — 
 An' lien to dose the progrtimme up they called on me to 
 
 pray. 
 
 Well, did I pray? I guess so. They got it fair and square. 
 It wam't ten weeks for nothin' I had studied on that 
 
 prayer: 
 It wam't ten weeks for nothin' I'd rehearsed it in the bam : 
 An' I jest put it to them good without a haw or hem — 
 No crowd was ever prayed to quite the way I prayed to 
 
 them. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 257 
 
 Wen you pray an' want to fetch 'em, an' jest stir 'em 
 
 through and through, 
 Wy you've got to make a study of the crowd you're 
 
 prayin' to. 
 Well, I knew my crowd exactly, an I knew jest what would 
 
 suit; 
 I knew the crowd I prayed to and I knew my prayer to 
 
 boot. 
 An' I stood for twenty minutes there without a pause or 
 
 rest 
 An' I socked it to the audience an' prayed like all possesst. 
 
 But them programme men sot on the platform there 
 An' the narrer, jealous critters were the pictures of despair. 
 But I kep' on a-prayin' for my mind was made up firm. 
 An' now an' then I'd give a peek to see the cusses squirm. 
 You'd ought to seen the dum things wince, an' w'en I 
 
 closed my prayer 
 No madder set of fellers, sir, was livin' anywhere. 
 
 THE LOGIC OF THE GTXN 
 
 Samuel WaUer Foss. 
 
 He wrote in letters plain to see. 
 
 That all could understand; 
 All Persons Carrying Firearms 
 
 Forbidden On This Land. 
 And through his hundred-acre woods. 
 
 To stay through calm and breeze. 
 He nailed his minatory sign 
 
 Upon two hundred trees. 
 So ail who wandered through those wUds 
 
 Could read and understand; 
 All Persons Carrying Firearms 
 
 Forbidden On This Land. 
 
 Ben Bean, the Nimrod of the town. 
 Went shooting through the land; 
 
 His vocal musket banged in tones 
 That all could understand. 
 
«58 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 And when the owner of the woods 
 
 Who placed the warning signs, 
 Went after Ben and talked to him 
 
 Of penalties and fines 
 "Do you not see these signs? " said he, 
 
 "A child can understand, 
 'All persons carrying firearms forbidden on this 
 land?' " 
 
 "But how'll you get me off," asked Ben, 
 
 And spoke without a wince, 
 "A person carrying firearms 
 
 Am't easy to convince. " 
 "Go off!" the farmer cried; "Begone!" 
 
 " Come drive me off, " Ben said. 
 And raised his musket toward the man. 
 
 And aimed it at his head. 
 "Why, I have right upon my side," 
 
 The farmer said, "Now run!" 
 "You may have right I don't deny 't 
 
 But I have got the gun. " 
 
 And there are empires, just like Ben, 
 
 Who hunt the world aroimd. 
 Whose purpose 'tis to use the world 
 
 For their own hunting-ground. 
 And there's no potentate or power, 
 
 No premier or prince, 
 Who's well equipped with firearms. 
 
 That's easy to convince. 
 And when their victims prate of rights 
 
 They say to every one, 
 "You may have right, I don't deny 't. 
 
 But I have got the gun. " 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 259 
 
 MILTON ON HIS BLINDNESS 
 
 From Paradise Lost. 
 
 Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first-bom. 
 
 Or of tiie Eternal co-eternal beam ! 
 May I express thee unblamed? since God is light. 
 
 And never but in unapproached light 
 Dwelt from eternity — dwelt then in thee. 
 
 Bright effluence of bright essence increate! 
 Or hear'st thou rather pure ethereal stream. 
 
 Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the sun. 
 Before the heavens, thou wert, and at the voice 
 
 Of Grod, as with a mantle, didst invest 
 The rising world of waters dark and deep. 
 
 Won from the void and formless Infinite! 
 Thee I revisit now with bolder wing. 
 
 Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained 
 In that obscure sojotim, while in my flight. 
 
 Through utter and through middle darkness borne. 
 With other notes than to the Orphean lyre 
 
 I simg of chaos and eternal night. 
 Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down 
 
 The dark descent, and up to reascend. 
 Though hard and rare. Thee I revisit safe. 
 
 And feel thy sovran vital lamp ; but thou 
 Revisit'st not these eyes, that roU in vain 
 
 To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn; 
 So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs. 
 
 Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more 
 Cease I to wander where the Muses haimt 
 
 Clear spring, or shady grove, or s\umy hill, 
 Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief 
 
 Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath. 
 That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow. 
 
 Nightly, I visit: nor sometimes forget 
 Those other two equalled to me in fate. 
 
 So were I equalled with them in renown. 
 Blind Thamyris and blind Maeonides, 
 
 And Tiresias and Phineus, prophets old; 
 Then feed on thoughts that voluntary move 
 
 Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird 
 
260 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Sings darkling, and, in shadiest covert hid. 
 
 Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year 
 Seasons return; but not to me returns 
 
 Day, or the sweet approach of even or mom 
 Or sights of vernal bloom, or summer's rose. 
 
 Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; 
 But cloud instead and ever during dark 
 
 Siu-roimds me, from the cheerful ways of men 
 Cut off, and, for the book of knowledge fair. 
 
 Presented with a imiversal blank 
 
 Of Nature's works, to me expunged and rased. 
 And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. 
 
 So much the rather thou. Celestial Light, 
 
 Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers 
 
 Irradiate; there plant eyes; aU mist from thence 
 Puj-ge and disperse, that I may see and tell 
 
 Of things invisible to mortal sight. 
 
 ATTNT SHAW S PET JTTG 
 
 Holman Day. 
 
 Now there was Uncle Elnathan Shaw, 
 — Most regular man you ever saw ! 
 Just half-past four in the afternoon 
 He'd start and whistle that old jig time. 
 Take the big blue jug from the but'ry shelf 
 And trot down cellar, to draw himself 
 Old cider enough to last him through 
 The winter ev'nin' . Two quarts would do. 
 — Just as regular as haK-past four 
 Come round, he'd tackle that cellar door. 
 As he had for thutty years or more. 
 
 And as regular, too, as he took that jug 
 
 Aunt Shaw would yap through her old cross mug, 
 
 "Now, Nathan, for goodness' sake take care! 
 
 You alius trip on the second stair; 
 
 It seems as liough you were just possessed 
 
 To break that jug. It's the very best 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 261 
 
 There is in town and you know it, too, 
 And 'twas left to me by my great-aunt Sue. 
 For goodness' sake, why don't yer lug 
 A tin dish down, for ye'll break that jug?" 
 Alius the same, suh, for thirty years, 
 Alius the same old twits and jeers 
 Slammed for the nineteenth thousand time 
 And still we wonder, my friend, at crime. 
 
 But Nathan took it meek's a pup 
 And the worst he said was "Please shut up. " 
 You know what the Good Book says befell 
 The pitcher. that went to the old-time well; 
 Wal, whether 'twas that or his time had come, 
 Or his stiff old limbs got weak and numb 
 Or whether his nerves at last giv' in 
 To Aunt Shaw's everlasting chin — 
 One day he sKpped on that second stair. 
 Whirled round and grabbed at the empty air 
 And clean to the foot of them stairs, ker-smack, 
 He bumped on the bulge of his humped old back 
 And he'd hardly finished the final bump 
 When old Aunt Shaw she giv' a jump 
 And screamed downstairs as mad's a bug 
 "Dod-rot your hide, did ye break my jug? " 
 
 Poor Uncle Nathan lay there flat 
 
 Knocked in the shape of an old cocked hat. 
 
 But he rubbed his legs, brushed off the dirt 
 
 And found after all that he wam't much hurt. 
 
 And he'd saved the jug, for his last wild thought 
 
 Had been of that; he might have caught 
 
 At the cellar shelves and saved his fall. 
 
 But he kept his hands on the jug through all. 
 
 And now as he loosed his jealous hug 
 
 His wife just screamed, "Did ye break my jug?" 
 
 Not a single word for his poor old bones 
 Nor a word when she heard his awful groans. 
 But the blamed old hard-shelled turtle just 
 Wanted to know if that jug was bust. 
 
262 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Old Uncle Nathan he let one roar 
 
 And he shook his fist at the cellar door; 
 
 "Did ye break my jug?" she was yellin' still. 
 
 "No, dum yer pelt, but I swow I wiU. " 
 
 And you'd thought that the house was a-going to fall 
 
 When the old jug smashed on the cellar wall. 
 
 BATTLE HYMN OF THE KEPUBLIC 
 
 Jvlia Ward Howe. 
 
 Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; 
 He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath 
 
 are stored; 
 He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible, quick 
 
 sword ! 
 
 His truth is marching on. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! 
 Glory, glory, hallelujah ! His truth is marching on. 
 
 I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling 
 
 camps; 
 They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and 
 
 damps; 
 I have read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring 
 
 lamps: 
 
 His day is marching on. 
 
 He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call 
 
 retreat; 
 He is sifting out the hearts of men before His ju(^ment 
 
 seat; 
 be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet! 
 Our God is marching on. 
 
 In the beauty of the lilies Christ was bom across the sea. 
 With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me; 
 As He (fied to make men holy, let us die to make men free. 
 While God is marching on. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 263 
 
 THE AMERICAN FLAG 
 
 A thoughtful mind, when it sees a nation's flag, sees not 
 the flag only, but the nation itself. And whatever may be 
 its symbols, its insignia, he reads chiefly in the flag, the 
 government, the history, which belongs to the nation that 
 sets it forth. 
 
 When the French Tricolor roUs out to the wind, we see 
 France. When the new found Itahan flag is unfurled, we 
 see resurrected Italy. When the other three cornered 
 Himgarian flag shall be lifted to the wind, we shall see in 
 it the long buried, but never dead principles of Hungarian 
 liberty. When the United crosses of St. Andrew and St. 
 George on a fiery ground set forth the banner of Old Eng- 
 land, we see not the cloth merely; there rises up before the 
 mind the noble aspect of that monarchy, which, more than 
 any other on the globe, has advanced its banner for Uberty, 
 law and national prosperity. 
 
 This nation has a banner too; and whenever it streamed 
 abroad, men saw daybreak bursting on their eyes, for the 
 American flag has been the symbol of hberty, and men 
 rejoice in it. Not another flag on the globe had such an 
 errand, carrying everywhere, the world aroimd, such hope 
 for the captive and such glorious tidings. 
 
 The stars upon it were to the pining nations like the 
 morning stars of Grod, and the stripes upon it were beams 
 of morning Hght. 
 
 As at early dawn the stars stand first, and then it grows 
 Hght, and then as the sim advances the Hght breaks into 
 banks and streaming lines of color, the glowing red and 
 intense white striving together and ribbing the horizon 
 with bars effulgent, so on the American Flag, stars and 
 beams of many colored Hghts shine out together. And 
 where ever the flag comes, and men behold it, they see in 
 its sacred emblazonry, no rampant Hon, and fierce eagle, 
 but only light, and every fold significant of Hberty. 
 
 The History of this banner is aU on one side. Under 
 it rode Waslungton and his armies; before it Burgoyne 
 laid down his arms. It waved on the Highlands at West 
 Point; it floated over Old Fort Montgomery. When 
 
264 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Arnold would have surrendered these valuable fortresses 
 and precious legacies, his night was turned into day, and 
 his treachery was driven away, by the beams of light from 
 this starry banner. 
 
 It cheered our army, driven from New York, in their 
 solitary pilgrimage through New Jersey. It streamed in 
 Ught over Valley Forge and Morristown. It crossed the 
 waters roUing with ice at Trenton; and when its stars 
 gleamed in the cold morning with victory, a new day of 
 hope dawned on the despondency of the nation. And 
 when, at length, the long years of war were drawing to a 
 close, underneath the folds of this immortal banner sat 
 Washington while Yorktown surrendered its host, and our 
 Revolutionary struggle ended with victory. 
 
 Let us, then, twine each thread of the glorious tissue of 
 our coimtry's flag about our heart strings ; and looking upon 
 our homes and catching the spirit that breathes upon us 
 from the battle fields of our fathers, let us resolve, come 
 weal or woe, we wiU, in life or death, now and forever, 
 stand by the stars and stripes. They have been unfurled 
 from the snows of Canada to the plains of New Orleans, 
 in the halls of the Montezumas and amid the solitude of 
 every sea; and everywhere, as the luminous symbol of 
 resistless and beneficent power, they have led the brave to 
 victory and to glory. They have floated over our cradles; 
 let it be our prayer and our struggle that they shall float 
 over our graves. In this consists ovu- hope, and without 
 it there can be no future for our nation. 
 
 THE FLAG GOES BY 
 
 Henry Hotcomb Bennett. 
 
 Hats off! 
 Along the street there comes 
 A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, 
 A flash of color beneath the sky: 
 
 Hats off! 
 The Flag is passing by! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 265 
 
 Blue and crimson and white it shines. 
 Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines. 
 
 Hats off! 
 The Colors before us fly; 
 But more than the Flag is passing by. 
 
 Sea-fights and land-fights, grim and great, 
 Fought to make and to save the State; 
 Weary marches, and sinking ships; 
 Cheers of victory on dying lips; 
 
 Days of plenty and years of peace; 
 March of a strong land's swift increase; 
 Equal justice, right and law. 
 Stately honor and reverend awe; 
 
 Sign of a Nation, great and strong 
 To ward her people from foreign wrong: 
 Pride and glory and honor, all 
 Live in the Colors to stand or fall. 
 
 Hats off! 
 Along the street there comes 
 A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums; 
 And loyal hearts are beating high: 
 
 Hats off! 
 The Flag is passing by ! 
 
 we'll stand by the flag 
 
 F. E. Belden. 
 
 We'll stand by the flag of our country, 
 Columbia's banner of glory; 
 Her stars as they shine, 
 Her stripes as they line, 
 Tell Uberty's grand old story. 
 
266 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 CHOEUS 
 
 We'll stand by the flag, 
 
 Our beautiful flag. 
 
 In union none can sever; 
 
 We'll honor the flag. 
 
 Oar liberty flag; 
 
 We'll stand by our flag forever! 
 
 We've learned of the deeds of our fathers 
 From hist'ry's dull gloomy pages. 
 But here are the stars 
 They bore thro' the wars. 
 In splendor to shine for ages. 
 
 THE LAST OF THE BED MEN 
 
 W. F. Bryant. 
 
 The sun's last ray was glowing fair, on crag and tree and 
 
 flood; 
 And fell in mellow softness where the lonely Indian stood. 
 Beneath his eye, in Uving gold, the broad Pacific lay; 
 Unruffled there, a skiff might hold its bright and fearless 
 
 way. 
 
 Far, far behind him, moxmtains blue in shadowy distance 
 melt; 
 
 And far beyond, the dark woods grew, where his fore- 
 fathers dwelt ! 
 
 No breathing sound was in the air, as, leaning on his bow, 
 
 A lone and weary pilgrim there, he murmured stem and 
 low: 
 
 " Far by Ohio's mighty stream, bright star, I've worshipped 
 
 thee! 
 My native stream — ^its bosom ne'er the red man more may 
 
 see! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 267 
 
 The pale-face rears his wigwam where our Indian hunters 
 
 roved; 
 His hatdiet fells the forest fair our Indian maidens loved. 
 
 "A thousand warriors bore in war the token of my sires; 
 On all the hills were seen afar their blazing council-fires ! 
 The foeman heard their war-whoop shrill, and held his 
 
 breath in fear; 
 And in the wood, and on the hill, their arrows pierced the 
 
 deer. 
 
 "Where are they now? — ^The stranger's tread is on their 
 
 silent place! 
 Yon fadmg light on me is shed, — ^the last of all my race! 
 Where are they now? — In summer's Hght go seek the 
 
 winter's snow! 
 Forgotten is our name and might, and broken is our bow! 
 The white man came; his bayonets gleam where Sachems 
 
 held their sway; 
 And, like the shadow of a dream, our tribe has passed 
 
 away!' 
 
 MCTUEES OF MEMOKT 
 
 Alice Gary. 
 
 Among the beautiful pictures 
 
 That hang on Memory's wall 
 Is one of a dim old forest. 
 
 That seemeth best of all; 
 Not for its gnarled oaks olden. 
 
 Dark with the mistletoe; 
 Not for the violets golden 
 
 That sprinkle the vale below; 
 Not for the milk-white lilies 
 
 That lean from the fragrant ledge. 
 Coquetting all day with the sunbeams, 
 
 And stealing their golden edge; 
 Not for the vines on the upland. 
 
 Where the bright red berries rest, 
 Nor the pinks, nor the pale sweet cowslip, 
 
 It seemeth to me the best. 
 
268 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 I once had a little brother. 
 
 With eyes that were dark and deep; 
 In the lap of that old dim forest 
 
 He lieUi in peace asleep: 
 light as the down of the thistle. 
 
 Free as the winds that blow. 
 We roved there the beautiful summers. 
 
 The summers of long ago; 
 But his feet on the hills grew weaiy. 
 
 And, one of the autumn eves, 
 I made for my httle brother 
 
 A bed of the yellow leaves. 
 Sweetly his pale arms folded 
 
 My neck in a meek embrace. 
 As the light of immortal beauty 
 
 Silently covered his face; 
 And when the arrows of sunset 
 
 Lodged in the tree-tops bright. 
 He fell, in his saint-like beauty. 
 
 Asleep by the gates of Kght. 
 Therefore, of all the pictures 
 
 That hang on Memory's wall. 
 The one of tiie dim old forest 
 
 Seemeth the best of all. 
 
 OF SUCH IB THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN 
 
 A. Charles Simnbume. 
 
 "Of such is the kingdom of heaven:" 
 
 No glory that ever was shed 
 From the crowning star of the seven 
 
 That crown the north world's head. 
 
 No word that ever was spoken 
 
 Of human or godlike tongue. 
 Gave ever such godlike token 
 
 Since human harps were strung. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 269 
 
 No sign that ever was given 
 
 To faithful or faithless eyes. 
 Showed ever beyond clouds riven 
 
 So clear a Paradise. 
 
 Earth's creeds may be seventy times seven. 
 
 And blood have defied each creed: 
 If of such be the kingdom of heaven. 
 
 It must be heaven indeed. 
 
 ROBERT OF LINCOLN 
 
 William CvUen Bryant. 
 
 Merrily swinging on brier and weed. 
 Near to the nest of his Uttle dame. 
 Over the mountain-side or mead, 
 
 Robert; of Lincoln is telling his name: — 
 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
 Spink, spank, spink; 
 Snug and safe is that nest of ours. 
 Hidden among the summer flowers. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest. 
 
 Wearing a bright black wedding-coat; 
 White are his shoulders and white his crest. 
 Hear him call in his merry note: — 
 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
 Spink, spank, spiok; 
 Look what a nice new coat is mine. 
 Sure there was never a bird so fine. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife. 
 
 Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings. 
 Passing at home a patient life. 
 
 Broods in the grass while her husband sings : — 
 Bob-o'-liui, bob-o'-link, 
 Spink, spank, spink; 
 
270 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Brood, kind creature; you need not fear 
 Thieves and robbers while I am here. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Modest and shy as a nun is she; 
 
 One weak chirp is her only note. 
 Braggart and prince of braggarts is he. 
 Pouring boasts from his little throat; 
 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'olink, 
 Spiak, spank, spink; 
 Never was I afraid of man; 
 Catch me cowardly knaves if you can! 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Six white eggs on a bed of hay, 
 
 Flecked with purple, a pretty sight! 
 There as the mother sits all day, 
 Robert is singing with all his might; — 
 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
 Spink, spank, spink; 
 Nice good wife, that never goes out. 
 Keeping house while I frolic about. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Soon as the little ones chip the shell. 
 
 Six wide mouths are open for food; 
 Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well. 
 Gathering seeds for the himgry brood. 
 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
 Spink, spank, spink; 
 This new life is likely to be 
 Hard for a gay young fellow like me. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Robert of Lincoln at length is made 
 
 Sober with work, and silent with care; 
 Off is his holiday garment laid, 
 Half forgotten that merry air: 
 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-Unk, 
 Spink, spank, spinkj 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 271 
 
 Nobody knows but my mate and I 
 Where our nest and our nestlings lie. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 Summer wanes; the children are grown; 
 
 Pun and frolic no more he knows; 
 Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone; 
 OflF he flies, and we sing as he goes : — 
 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
 Spink, spank, spink; 
 When you can pipe that merry old strain, 
 Robert of Lincoln, come back again. 
 Chee, chee, chee. 
 
 BILL AND JOE 
 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
 
 Come, dear old comrade, you and I 
 Will steal an hour from days gone by. 
 The shining days when life was new, 
 And all was bright with morning dew, — 
 The lusty days of long ago. 
 When you were Bill and I was Joe. 
 
 Your name may flaimt a titled trail 
 Proud as a cockerel's rainbow tail. 
 And mine as brief appendix wear 
 As Tam O'Shanter's luckless mare: 
 To-day, old friend, remember still 
 That I am Joe and you are Bill. 
 
 You've won the great world's envied prize. 
 
 And grand you look in people's eyes, 
 
 WithH-0-N.andLL.p., 
 
 In big brave letters, fair to see: 
 
 Your fist, old fellow! off they go! — 
 
 How are you. Bill? How are you, Joe? 
 
272 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 You've worn the judge's ermined robe; 
 You've taught your name to half the globe; 
 You've sung mankind a deathless strain; 
 You've made the dead past live again: 
 The world may call you what it wUl, 
 But you and I are Joe and Bill. 
 
 The chaffing young folks stare, and say, 
 "See those old buffers, bent and gray, — 
 They talk like fellows in their teens! 
 Mad, poor old boys ! That's what it means, " 
 And shake their heads: they little know 
 The throbbing hearts of Bill and Joe! — 
 
 How Bill forgets his hour of pride, 
 While Joe sits smiling at his side; 
 How Joe, in spite of time's disguise. 
 Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes, — 
 Those calm, stem eyes that melt and fill 
 As Joe looks fondly up at Bill. 
 
 Ah! pensive scholar, what is fame? 
 A fitful tongue of leaping flame; 
 A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust. 
 That lifts a pinch of mortal dust : 
 A few swift years, and who can show 
 Which dust was Bill and which was Joe? 
 
 The weaiy idol takes his stand. 
 Holds out his bruised and aching hand. 
 While gaping thousands come and go, — 
 How vain it seems, this empty show! 
 Till all at once his pulses thriU; — 
 'Tis poor old Joe's "God bless you. Bill!" 
 
 And shall we breathe in happier spheres 
 The names that pleased our mortal ears, — ' 
 In some sweet lull of harp ajid song 
 For earth-bom spirits none to long. 
 Just whispering of the world below 
 Where this was Bill and that was Joe? 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 273 
 
 No matter; while our home is here 
 No sounding name is half so near; 
 When fades at length our lingering day. 
 Who cares what pompous tombstones say? 
 Read on the hearts that love us still. 
 Hie jacet Joe. Hie jacet Bill. 
 
 EACH AND ALL 
 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
 
 Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown 
 Of thee from the hill-top looking down; 
 The heifer that lows in the upland farm. 
 
 Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm; 
 
 The sexton tolling his bell at noon. 
 
 Deems not that great Napoleon 
 
 Stops his horse, and lists with delight. 
 
 Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height; 
 
 Nor knowest thou what argument 
 
 Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. 
 
 All are needed by each one; 
 
 Nothing is fair or good aJone. 
 
 I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, 
 Singing at dawn on the alder bough; 
 
 I brought him home, in his nest, at even; 
 
 He sings the song, but it cheers not now. 
 
 For I did not briug home the river and sky; — 
 
 He sang to my ear, — ^they sang to my eye. 
 
 The delicate shells lay on the shore; 
 
 The bubbles of the latest wave 
 
 Fresh pearls to their enamel gave. 
 
 And the bellowing of the savage sea 
 
 Greeted their safe escape to me. 
 
 I wiped away the weeds and foam, 
 
 I fetched my sea bom treasures home; 
 
 But the poor unsightly, noisome things 
 
 Had left their beauty on the shore 
 
 With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar. 
 
 The lover watched his graceful maid, 
 
 As mid the Virgin train she strayed. 
 
274 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Nor knew her beauty's best attire 
 
 Was woven still by the snow white choir. 
 
 At last she came to his hermitage, 
 
 Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage; 
 
 The gay enchantment was undone — 
 
 A gentle wife, but fairy none. 
 
 Then I said, "I covet truth: 
 
 Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat; 
 I leave it behind with the games of youth:" — 
 
 As I spoke, beneath my feet 
 The ground-piae curled its pretty wreath. 
 Running over the club-moss burrs; 
 I inhaled the violets breath; 
 Aroimd me stood the oaks and firs; 
 Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground; 
 Over me soared the eternal sky. 
 Full of light and of Deity; 
 Again I saw, again I heard. 
 The rolling river, the morning bird; — 
 Beauty through my senses stole; 
 I yielded myseK to the perfect whole. 
 
 MY HEAKT AND I 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 Enough! we're tired, my heart and I. 
 We sit beside the headstone thus. 
 And wish that name were carved for us. 
 
 The moss reprints more tenderly 
 The hard types of the mason's knife. 
 As heaven's sweet life renews earth's life 
 
 With which we're tired, my heart and I. 
 
 You see we're tired, my heart and I. 
 
 We dealt with books, we trusted men. 
 
 And in our own blood drenched the pen. 
 As if such colors could not fly. 
 
 We walked too straight for fortune's end, 
 
 We loved too true to keep a friend : 
 At last we're tired, my heart and I. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 276 
 
 How tired we feel, my heart and I! 
 
 We seem of no use in the world; 
 
 Our fancies hang gray and uncurled 
 About men's eyes indifferently; 
 
 Our voice, which thrilled you so, will let 
 
 You sleep ; our tears are only wet : 
 What do we here, my heart and I? 
 
 So tired, so tired, my heart and I! 
 
 It was not thus in that old time 
 
 When Ralph sat with me 'neath the Hme 
 To watch the simset from the sky. 
 
 "Dear love, you're looking tired," he said; 
 
 I, smiling at him, shook my head: 
 'Tis now we're tired, my heart and I. 
 
 So tired, so tired, my heart and I! 
 
 Though now none takes me on his arm 
 
 To fold me close and kiss me warm 
 Till each quick breath end in a sigh 
 
 Of happy languor. Now, alone, 
 
 We lean upon this graveyard stone, 
 Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I. 
 
 Tired out we are, my heart and I. 
 Suppose the world brought diadems 
 To tempt us, crusted with loose gems 
 
 Of powers and pleasures? Let it try. 
 We scarcely care to look at even 
 A pretty child, or God's blue heaven. 
 
 We feel so tired, my heart and I. 
 
 Yet who complains? My heart and I? 
 
 In this abimdant earth, no doubt. 
 
 Is little room for things worn out: 
 Disdain them, break them, throw them by! 
 
 And if, before the days grew rough. 
 
 We once were loved, used, — ^well enough 
 I think we've fared, my heart and I. 
 
276 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 A LAUGHING CHOEUS 
 
 Oh, such, a commotion under the ground 
 
 When March called, "Ho, there! ho!" 
 Such spreading of rootlets far and wide. 
 
 Such whispering to and fro. 
 And "Are you ready?" the Snow-drop asked, 
 
 " 'Tis time to start, you know. " 
 "Almost, my dear," the Scilla replied: 
 
 "I'U follow as soon as you go." 
 Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came" 
 
 Of laughter soft and low 
 From the nuUions of flowers under the groimd — 
 
 Yes — millions — ^beginning to grow. 
 
 "I'll promise my blossoms," the Crocus said, 
 
 " When I hear the bluebirds slug. " 
 And straight thereafter. Narcissus cried, 
 
 "My sUver and gold I'll bring." 
 "And ere they are dulled," another spoke, 
 
 "The Hyacmth bells shall ring." 
 And the violet only murmured, "I'm here." 
 
 And sweet grew the air of spring. 
 Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came 
 
 Of laughter soft and low 
 From the millions of flowers under the groimd — • 
 
 Yes — milhons — ^beginning to grow. 
 
 Oh, the pretty, brave things! through the coldest 
 days, 
 
 Imprisoned in walls of brown. 
 They never lost heart though the blast shrieked 
 loud. 
 
 And the sleet and the hail came down. 
 But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress, 
 
 Or fashioned her beautiful crown; 
 And now they are coming to brighten the world. 
 
 Still shadowed by winter's frown; 
 And well may they cheerily laugh, "Ha! ha!" 
 
 In a chorus soft and low. 
 The milhons of flowers hid under the ground — 
 
 Yes — ^milhons — beginning to grow. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 277 
 
 THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 
 
 F. M. Finch. 
 
 Memorial day originated in the South. The 
 women of Columbus, Mississippi, animated by noble senti- 
 ments, have shown themselves impartial in their offerings 
 made to the memory of the dead. They strewed flowers 
 alike on the graves of the Confederates and of the National 
 soldiers. 
 
 By the flow of the inland river, 
 
 Whence the fleets of iron have fled. 
 Where the blades of the grave grass quiver, 
 Asleep are the ranks of the dead: — 
 Under the sod and the dew. 
 
 Waiting the judgment day. 
 Under the one, the Blue, 
 Under the other, the Gray. 
 
 These in the robings of glory. 
 
 Those in the gloom of defeat. 
 All with the battle blood gory. 
 In the dusk of eternity meet: — 
 Under the sod and the dew. 
 
 Waiting the judgment day; 
 Under the laurel, the Blue, 
 Under the wiUow, the Gray. 
 
 From the silence of sorrowful hours 
 
 The desolate mourners go. 
 Lovingly laden with flowers, 
 
 Alike for the friend and the foe: — 
 Under the sod and the dew. 
 
 Waiting the judgment day; 
 Under the roses, the Blue, 
 Under the liUies, the Gray. 
 
 So, with an equal splendor. 
 
 On forest and field of grain, 
 With an equal murmur falleth 
 
 The cooling drip of the rain: — 
 
278 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 Waiting the judgment day; 
 
 Wet with the rain, the Blue, 
 Wet with the rain, the Gray. 
 
 No more shall the war-cry sever. 
 
 Or the winding rivers be red; 
 They banish our anger forever 
 
 When they laurel the graves of our dead! 
 Under the sod and the dew. 
 
 Waiting the judgment day; 
 Love and tears for the Blue, 
 Tears and love for the Gray. 
 
 SAY SOMETHING GOOD 
 
 Pick out the folks you like the least and watch 'em for 
 
 awhile. 
 They never waste a kindly word, they never waste a smile; 
 They criticize their fellowmen at every chance they get. 
 They never found a human soul just to suit their fancy yet; 
 From them I guess you'd learn some things, it they were 
 
 pointed out. 
 Some things that every one of us should know a lot about. 
 When some one "knocks" a brother, pass aroimd the 
 
 loving cup — 
 Say something good about him if you have to make it up. 
 
 It's safe to say that every man God made holds trace of 
 
 good 
 That he would fain exhibit to his feUows if he could; 
 That kindly deeds in many a soul are hibernating there, 
 Awaiting the encouragement of other souls that dare 
 To show the best that's in them; and a Universal move 
 Would start the whole world running in a hopeful, helpful 
 
 groove. 
 Say something sweet to paralyze the knocker on the spot — 
 Speak kindly of his victim if you know the man or not. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 279 
 
 The eyes that peek and peer to find the worst a brother 
 
 holds, 
 The tongue that speaks in bitterness, that frets and fumes 
 
 and scolds; 
 The hands that bruise the fallen, though their strength 
 
 was made to raise 
 The weakUngs who have stumbled at the parting of the 
 
 ways — 
 All these should be forgiven, "for they know not what they 
 
 do," 
 Their hindrance makes a greater work for wiser ones like 
 
 you. 
 So, when they scourge a wretched one who's drained sin's 
 
 bitter cup. 
 Say something good about him if you have to make it up. 
 
 THE OLD, OLD SONG 
 
 Kingsley. 
 
 When all the world is young, lad, and all the trees are 
 
 green; 
 And every goose a swan, lad, and every lass a queen; 
 Then hey for boot and horse, lad, and round the world 
 
 away; 
 Young blood must have its course, lad, and every dog his 
 
 day. 
 
 When all the world is old, lad, and all the trees are brown ; 
 And all the sport is stale, lad, and all the wheels run down; 
 Creep home and take your place there, the spent and 
 
 maimed among; 
 God grant you find one face there you loved when all was 
 
 young. 
 
 THE BONNETS OF BONNIE DUNDEE 
 
 Scott. 
 
 To the lords of convention 't was Claverhouse spoke, 
 "Ere the king's crown shall fall there are crowns 
 to be broke; 
 
280 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 So let each cavalier who loves honor and me 
 Come follow the bonnets of bonnie Dundee!" 
 
 Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can; 
 Come saddle your horses, and call up your men; 
 Come open the Westport, and let us gang free. 
 And it's room for the bonnets of bonnie Dundee! 
 
 Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street. 
 
 The beUs are rung backward, the drums they are 
 
 beat; 
 But the Provost, douce man, said, "Just e'en let 
 
 him be. 
 The gude toun is well quit of that deil of Dundee!" 
 
 As he rode doun the sanctified bends of the Bow 
 
 Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow; 
 
 But the yoimg plants of grace they looked cowthie 
 
 and slee. 
 Thinking, Luck to thy bonnet, thou bonnie Dundee! 
 
 With sour-featured whigs the grass-market was 
 
 thranged 
 As if half the west had set tryst to be hanged; 
 There was spite in each look, there was fear in each 
 
 ee. 
 As they watched for the bonnets of bonide Dundee. 
 
 These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears. 
 
 And lang-hafted gullies to kill cavaliers ; 
 
 But they shrimk to close-heads, and the causeway 
 
 was free 
 At the toss of the bonnet of bonnie Dxmdee. 
 
 He spurred to the foot of the proud castle rock, 
 And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke: 
 "Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words 
 
 or three. 
 For the love of the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. " 
 
 The Gordon demands of him which way he goes, — 
 "Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 281 
 
 Your grace in short space shall hear tidings of me, 
 Or that low lies the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. 
 
 "There are hills beyond Pentland and lands beyond 
 
 Forth; 
 If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in 
 
 the north; 
 There are wild Duniewassals three thousand times 
 
 three 
 Will cry 'Hoigh!' for the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. 
 
 "There's brass on the target of barkened bull-hide. 
 There's steel in the scabbard that dangles beside; 
 The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall flash 
 
 free. 
 At a toss of the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. 
 
 "Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks; 
 Ere I own a usurper, I'll couch with the fox; 
 And tremble, false whigs, in the midst of your glee. 
 You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me. " 
 
 He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were 
 
 blown, 
 The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen rode 
 
 on. 
 Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's lea 
 Died away the wild war-notes of bonnie Dundee. 
 
 THE RISING IN 1776 
 
 T. B. Read. 
 
 Out of the North the wild news came. 
 Far flashing on its wings of flame. 
 
 Swift as the boreal light which flies 
 
 At midnight through the startled skies. 
 
 And there was tumult in the air. 
 
 The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat. 
 
 And through the wide land everywhere 
 The answering tread of hurrying feet. 
 
282 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 While the first oath of Freedom's gun 
 Came on the blast from Lexington; 
 And Concord, roused, no longer tame, 
 Forgot her old baptismal name. 
 Made bare her patriot arm of power. 
 And swelled the discord of the hour. 
 
 The pastor came; his snowy locks 
 
 Hallowed his brow of thought and care; 
 And calmly, as shepherds lead their fiocks. 
 
 He led into the house of prayer. 
 The pastor rose; the prayer was strong; 
 The psalm was warrior David's song: 
 The text, a few short words of might, — 
 "The Lord of hosts shall arm the right!" 
 
 He spoke of wrongs too long endured. 
 Of sacred rights to be secured; 
 Then from his patriot tongue of flame 
 The startling words for freedom came. 
 The stirring sentences he spake 
 Compelled the heart to glow or quake. 
 And, rising on his theme's broad wing. 
 
 And grasping in his nervous hand 
 
 The imaginary battle-brand. 
 In face of death he dared to fling 
 Defiance to a tyrant king. 
 
 Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed 
 In eloquence of attitude. 
 Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher; 
 Then swept his kindling glance of fire 
 From startled pew to breathless choir; 
 When suddenly his mantle wide 
 His hands impatient flung aside. 
 And, lo! he met their wondering eyes 
 Complete in all a warrior's guise. 
 
 A moment there was awful pause, — 
 
 When Berkeley cried, "Cease, traitor! cease! 
 
 God's temple is the house of peace!" 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 283 
 
 The other shouted, "Nay, not so. 
 When God is with our righteous cause; 
 His holiest places then are ours. 
 His temples are our forts and towers. 
 
 That frown upon the tyrant foe; 
 In this, the dawn of freedom's day, 
 There is a time to fight and pray!" 
 
 And now before the open door — 
 
 The warrior priest had ordered so — 
 The enlisting trumpet's sudden roar. 
 Rang through the chapel, o'er and o'er. 
 
 Its long reverberating blow. 
 So loud and clear, it seemed the ear 
 Of dusty death must wake and hear. 
 And there the startling drum and fife 
 Fired the living with fiercer life; 
 While overhead, with wild increase, 
 Forgetting its ancient toll of peace, 
 
 The great bell swimg as ne'er before: 
 It seemed as it woidd never cease; 
 And every word its ardor flung 
 From oflF its jubilant iron tongue 
 Was "War! War! War!" 
 
 "Who dares" — this was the patriot's cry, 
 As striding from the desk he came — 
 "Come out with me, in Freedom's name. 
 For her to live, for her to die?" 
 A hundred hands flung up reply, 
 A hundred voices answered, "I!" 
 
 TO MAET IN HEAVEN 
 
 Bums. 
 
 Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, 
 That lov'st to greet the early mom. 
 
 Again thou usher'st in the day 
 My Mary from my soul was torn. 
 
884 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 O Mary! dear departed shade! 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest? 
 Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? 
 
 That sacred hour can I forget? 
 
 Can I forget the hallow'd grove. 
 Where by the winding Ayr we met. 
 
 To live one day of parting love? 
 Eternity will not efface 
 
 Those records dear of transports past; 
 Thy image at our last embrace; 
 
 Ah! little thought we 'twas our last. 
 
 Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, 
 
 O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning green: 
 The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar, 
 
 Twin'd am'rous roimd the raptur'd scene. 
 The flowers sprang wanton to be prest. 
 
 The birds sang love on ev'ry spray, — 
 Till too, too soon, the glowing west 
 
 Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. 
 
 Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes. 
 
 And fondly broods with miser care! 
 Time but th' impression deeper makes. 
 
 As streams their channels deeper wear. 
 My Mary! dear departed shade! 
 
 Where is thy blissful place of rest? 
 Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? 
 
 SONG FROM PIPPA PASSES 
 
 The year's at the spring. 
 And day's at the morn; 
 Morning's at seven; 
 The hill-side's dew-pearled; 
 The lark's on the wing; 
 The snail's on the thorn; 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 886 
 
 God's in His heaven — 
 All's right with the world! 
 
 MY STAK 
 
 All that I know 
 
 Of a certain star 
 Is, it can throw 
 
 (Like the angled spar) 
 Now a dart of red, 
 
 Now a dart of blue; 
 Till my friends have said 
 
 They would fain see, too. 
 My star that dartles the red and the blue! 
 
 Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled: 
 They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it. 
 
 What matter to me if their star is a world? 
 Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it. 
 
 MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNEISE 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star 
 In his steep course? So long he seems to pause 
 On thy bald, awful head, sovereign Blanc! 
 The Arve and Arveiron at thy base 
 Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form, 
 Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines. 
 How silently ! Around thee, and above. 
 Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black. 
 An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it 
 As with a wedge. But when I look again 
 It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine. 
 Thy habitation from eternity. 
 
 dread and silent Moimt! I gazed upon thee 
 Till thou, still present to the bodily sense. 
 
 Didst vanish from my thought! entranced in prayer 
 
 1 worshipped the Invisible alone. 
 
286 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody; — 
 
 So sweet we know not we are listening to it, — 
 
 Thou, the mean while wast blending with my thought. 
 
 Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy; 
 
 Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused. 
 
 Into the mighty vision passing — there. 
 
 As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven. 
 
 Awake, my soul ! not only passive praise 
 Thou owest ! not alone these swelling tears. 
 Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! 
 Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! 
 Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm ! 
 Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! 
 Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! 
 Utter forth "God!" and fill the hills with praise! 
 
 Thou too, hoar mount ! with thy sky-pointing peaks. 
 Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard 
 Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene 
 Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast, — 
 Thou too, again, stupendous mountain! thou 
 That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low 
 In adoration, upward from thy base 
 Slow travelling, with dim eyes suffused with tears. 
 Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud. 
 To rise before me, — rise, oh, ever rise! 
 Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth! 
 Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hills, 
 Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, 
 Great Hierarch ! tell thou the silent sky. 
 And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, 
 Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 287 
 
 JULIUS CAESAB — OPENING SCENE 
 
 Enter Flavins, Marullus, and a Throng of Citizens. 
 
 Flav. — ^Hence! home, you idle creatures, get you home! 
 Is this a holiday ? What ! know you not. 
 Being mechanical, you ought not walk 
 Upon a laboring-day without the sign 
 Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou? 
 
 1 CiT. — ^Why, sir, a carpenter. 
 
 Mak. — Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? 
 What dost thou with thy best apparel on? — 
 You, sir; what trade are you? 
 
 2 CiT. — ^Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am 
 but, as you would say, a cobbler. 
 
 Mae. — ^But what trade art thou? Answer me directly. 
 
 2 CiT. — ^A trade, sir, that I hope I may use with a safe 
 conscience; which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. 
 
 Mab. — ^What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, 
 what trade? 
 
 2 CiT. — ^Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me : yet, 
 if you be out, sir, I can mend you. 
 
 Mab. — ^What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou 
 saucy fellow! 
 
 2 CiT. — Why, sir, cobble you. 
 
 Flat. — Thou art a cobbler, art thou? 
 
 2 CiT. — Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: I 
 meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, 
 but with awl. I am indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; 
 when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper 
 men as ever trod upon neat's-leather have gone upon my 
 handiwork. 
 
 Flav. — But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? Why 
 dost thou lead these men about the streets? 
 
 2 CiT. — -Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself 
 into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday, to 
 see Caesar, and to rejoice in his triumph. 
 
 Mab. — Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he 
 home? 
 
 What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
 
 To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels? 
 
288 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things ! 
 
 O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, 
 
 Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft 
 
 Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements. 
 
 To towers ajid windows, yea, to chimney -tops. 
 
 Your infants In your arms, and there have sat 
 
 The livelong day, with patient expectation. 
 
 To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome. 
 
 And when you saw his chariot but appear. 
 
 Have you not made an universal shout. 
 
 That Tiber trembled underneath her banks. 
 
 To hear the replication of your sounds 
 
 Made in her concave shores? 
 
 And do you now put on your best attire? 
 
 And do you now cull out a holiday? 
 
 And do you now strew flowers in his way 
 
 That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? 
 
 Begone! 
 
 Rim to your houses, fall upon your knees. 
 
 Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 
 
 That needs must light on this ingratitude. 
 
 PERORATION OF CLOSING SPEECH AGAINST HASTINGS 
 
 Burhe. 
 
 My Lords, at this awful close, in the name of the Com- 
 mons,, and surrounded by them, I attest the retiring, I 
 attest the advancing generations, between which, as a 
 link in the great chain of eternal order, we stand.— We 
 caU' this Nation, we call the World to witness, that the 
 Commons have shrunk from no labor; that we have been 
 guilty of no prevarication, that we have made no compro- 
 mise with crime; that we have not feared any odium what- 
 soever, in the long warfare which we have carried on with 
 the crimes — with the vices — with the exorbitant wealth — 
 with the enormous and overpowering influence of Eastern 
 corruption. 
 
 My Lords, jour House yet stands; it stands as a great 
 edifi(f|e; but 1^ pe say that it stands in ruins that have 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 289 
 
 been made by the greatest moral earthquake that ever 
 convulsed and shattered this globe of ours. My Lords, it 
 has pleased Providence to place us in such a state that we 
 appear every moment to be on the verge of some great 
 mutations. There is one thing, and one thing only, which 
 defies all mutation; that which existed before the world, 
 and will survive the fabric of the world itself, — I mean 
 justice; that justice which, emanating from the Divinity, 
 has a place in the breast of every one of us, given us for 
 our guide in regard to ourselves, and with regard to others, 
 and which will stand, after this globe is burned to ashes, 
 our advocate or our accuser before the great Judge, when 
 He comes to call upon us for the tenor of a well-spent life. 
 
 My Lords, the Commons will share in every fate with 
 your Lordships; there is nothing sinister which can happen 
 to you, in winch we shall not be involved; and, if it should 
 so happen, that we shall be subjected to some of those 
 frightful changes which we have seen; if it should happen 
 that your Lordships, stripped of all the decorous distinc- 
 tions of human society, should, by hands at once base and 
 cruel, be led to those scaffolds and machines of murder 
 upon which great kings and glorious queens have shed 
 their blood, amidst the prelates, amidst the nobles, amidst 
 the magistrates, who supported their thrones, — may you 
 in those moments feel that consolation which I am per- 
 suaded they felt in the critical moments of their dreadful 
 agony! 
 
 My Lords, there is a consolation, and a great consolation 
 it is, which often happens to oppressed virtue and fallen 
 dignity; it often happens that the very oppressors and 
 persecutors themselves are forced to bear testimony in its 
 favor. The ParUament of Paris had an origin very, very 
 similar to that of the great court before which I stand; 
 the Parliament of Paris continued to have a great resem- 
 blance to it in its Constitution, even to its fall; the Parlia- 
 ment of Paris, my Lords, — ^was; it is gone! It has passed 
 away; it has vanished like a dream ! 
 
 It fell pierced by the sword of the Comptede Mirabeau. 
 And yet that man, at the time of his inflicting the death- 
 wound of that Parliament, produced at once the shortest 
 and the grandest funeral oration that ever was or could be 
 
290 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 made upon the departure of a great court of magistracy. 
 When he pronounced the death sentence upon that 
 ParUament, and inflicted the mortal wound, he declared 
 that his motives for doing it were merely political, and 
 that their hands were as pure as those of justice itself, 
 which they administered — a, great and glorious ejcit, my 
 Lords, of a great and glorious body! 
 
 My Lords, if you must fall, may you so fall! But, if 
 you stand, and stand I trust you will, together with the 
 fortunes of this ancient monarchy, — ^together with the 
 ancient laws and Kberties of this great and illustrious 
 kingdom, — ^may you stand as unimpeached in honor as 
 in power; may you stand, not as a substitute for virtue, 
 but as an ornament of virtue, as a security for virtue; may 
 you stand long, and long stand the terror of tyrants; may 
 you stand the refuge of afflicted Nations; may you stand 
 a sacred temple, for the perpetual residence of an inviolable 
 justice! 
 
 WARHENS ADDBESS AT BUNKER BUjL 
 
 Pierpont. 
 
 Stand! the groimd's your own, my braves! 
 
 Will ye give it up to slaves? 
 Will ye look for greener graves? 
 
 Hope ye mercy still? 
 What's lie mercy despots feel? 
 Hear it in that battle peal! 
 Read it on yon bristling steel! 
 
 Ask it — ^ye who will. 
 
 Fear ye foes who kill for hire? 
 Will ye to your homes retire? 
 Look behind you! they're a-fire! 
 And, before you, see — • 
 
 Who have done it! — ^from the vale 
 On they come! — and will ye quail? — 
 Leaden rain and iron hail 
 Let their welcome be! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 291 
 
 In the God of battles trust! 
 
 Die we may, — and die we must — 
 
 But, oh! where can dust to dust 
 
 Be consigned so well. 
 As where heaven its dews shall shed 
 On the martyred patriot's bed. 
 And the rocks shall raise their head. 
 
 Of his deeds to tell! 
 
 A LAUGHING SONG 
 
 Blake. 
 
 When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy. 
 And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; 
 When the air does laugh with our merry wit, 
 And the green hill laughs with the noise of it^ 
 
 When the meadows laugh with lively green. 
 And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene: 
 When Mary, and Susan, and Emily, 
 With their sweet round mouths sing, "Ha, ha, he!" 
 
 When the painted birds laugh in the shade. 
 Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread: 
 Come live, and be merry, and join with me 
 To sing the sweet chorus of "Ha, ha, he!" 
 
 THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STATES 
 
 LongfeUow. 
 
 Somewhat back from the village street 
 Stands the old-fashioned coimtiy-seat; 
 Across its antique portico 
 Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw; 
 And, from its station in the hall. 
 An ancient timepiece says to all, 
 " Forever — ^never ! 
 Never — ^forever ! " 
 
292 THE PSYCHOIX)GY OF 
 
 Half-way up the stairs it stands. 
 And points and beckons with its hands 
 From its case of massive oak, 
 Like a monk who, under his cloak. 
 Crosses himself, and sighs, alas! 
 With sorrowful voice to all who pass, 
 " Forever — ^never ! 
 Never — ^forever ! " 
 
 By day its voice is low and light; 
 But in the silent dead of night, 
 Distinct as a passing footstep's fall. 
 It echoes along the vacant hall. 
 Along the ceiling, along the floor. 
 And seems to say at each chamber door, 
 " Forever — ^never ! 
 Never — ^forever ! ' ' 
 
 Through days of sorrow and of mirth. 
 Through days of death and days of birth, 
 Through every swift vicissitude 
 Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood. 
 And as if, hke God, it all things saw. 
 It calmly repeats those words of awe, 
 " Forever — ^never ! 
 Never — forever ! ' ' 
 
 In that mansion used to be 
 Free-hearted Hospitality; 
 His great fires up the chimney roared; 
 The stranger feasted at his board; 
 But, like the skeleton at the feast. 
 That warning timepiece never ceased, — 
 ' 'Forever — never ! 
 Never — ^forever ! " 
 
 There groups of merry children played; 
 There youths and maidens dreaming strayed; 
 Oh, precious hours ! oh, golden prime 
 And affluence of love and time! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 29S 
 
 Even as a miser counts his gold. 
 Those hours the ancient timepiece told, — 
 ' ' Forever — never ! 
 Never — ^forever!" 
 
 From that chamber, clothed in white, 
 The bride came forth on her wedding night; 
 There, in that silent room below. 
 The dead lay, in his shroud of snow; 
 And, in the hush that followed the prayer. 
 Was heard the old clock on the stair, — ■ 
 " Forever — ^never ! 
 Never — ^forever ! ' ' 
 
 All are scattered, now, and fled, — 
 Some are married, some are dead; 
 And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
 "Oh, when shall they all meet again?" 
 As in the days long since gone by. 
 The ancient timepiece makes reply, 
 " Forever — ^never ! 
 Never^— forever ! ' ' 
 
 Never here, forever there. 
 Where all parting, pain, and care. 
 And death, and time, shall disappear, — 
 Forever there, but never here! 
 The horologe of Eternity 
 Sayeth this incessantly, 
 "Forever — ^never ! 
 Never—forever ! ' ' 
 
 PKOBPICE 
 
 Browning. 
 
 Fear death? — to feel the fog in my throat. 
 
 The mist in my face, 
 When the snows begin, and the blasts denote 
 
 I am nearing the place, 
 
294i THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 The power of the night, the press of the storm. 
 
 The post of the foe, 
 Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form. 
 
 Yet the strong man must go ; 
 For the journey is done and the summit attained, 
 
 And the barriers fall. 
 Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be 
 gained. 
 
 The reward of it all. 
 I was ever a fighter, so — one fight more. 
 
 The best and the last! 
 
 I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and 
 forbore. 
 
 And bade me creep past. 
 No ! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers. 
 
 The heroes of old. 
 Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears 
 
 Of pain, darkness, and cold. 
 For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave. 
 
 The black miaute's at end, 
 And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave. 
 
 Shall dwindle, sheSl blend. 
 Shall change, shall become first a peace out of 
 pain, 
 
 Then a light, then thy breast, 
 Oh, thou soul of my soid! I shall clasp thee again, 
 
 And with God be the rest! 
 
 CICELY AND THE BEAHS 
 
 Anonymna. 
 
 "Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! ding-dong!" The bell- 
 man's voice is loud and strong; so is his bell: "Oh, yes! 
 ding-dong!" He wears a coat with golden lace; see how 
 the people of the place come running to hear what the bell- 
 man says! "Oh, yes! Sir Nicholas Hildebrand has just 
 returned from the Holy Land, and freely offers his heart 
 and hand — Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! dmg-dong!" all the 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 295 
 
 women hurry along, maids and widows, a dattering throng. 
 "Oh sir, you are hard to understand! To whom does he 
 offer his heart and hand? Explain your meaning, we do 
 command!" "Oh, yes! ding-dong! you shall understand! 
 Oh, yes! Sir Nicholas Hildebrand invites the ladies of 
 this land to feast with him, in his castle strong, this very 
 day at three. Ding-dong! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes, 
 ding-dong! " Then all the women went off to dress, Mary, 
 Margaret, Bridget, Bess, Patty, and more than I can guess. 
 They powdered their hair with golden dust, and bought 
 new ribbons — ^they said they must^ — ^but none of them 
 painted, we will trust. Long before the time arrives, all 
 the women that coidd be wives are dressed within an inch 
 of their lives. Meanwhile Sir Nicholas Hildebrand had 
 brought with him from the Holy Land a couple of bears — 
 Oh, that was grand! He tamed the begjs, and they loved 
 him true: whatever he told them they would do — hark! 
 't is the town clock striking two! 
 
 PATRIOTISM 
 
 Webster. 
 
 Thus, gentlemen, we see that a man's country is not a 
 certain area of land, — of mountains, rivers, and woods, — 
 but it is principle; and patriotism is loyalty to that prin- 
 ciple. 
 
 In poetic minds and in popular enthusiasm this feeling 
 becomes closely associated with the soil and symbols of the 
 country. But the secret sanctification of the soil and the 
 symbol is the idea which they represent, and this idea the 
 patriot worships through the name and the symbol, as a 
 lover kisses with rapture the glove of his mistress and 
 wears a lock of her hair upon his heart. 
 
 So, with passionate heroism, of which tradition is never 
 weary of tenderly telling, Arnold Von Winkelried gathers 
 into his bosom the sheai of foreign spears, that his death 
 may give life to his country. So Nathan Hale, disdaining 
 no service that his country demands, perishes untimely, 
 with no other friend than God and the satisfied sense of 
 duty. So George Washington, at once comprehending the 
 
296 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 scope of the destiny to which his country was devoted, 
 with one hand put aside the crown, and with the other sets 
 his slaves free. So, through all history from the beginning, 
 a noble army of martyrs has fought that George Wash- 
 ington be appointed commander of the forces raised, or to 
 be raised, for defence of American liberty, may my right 
 hand forget her cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof 
 of my mouth, if I hesitate or waver in the support I give 
 him. 
 
 "Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs, but I see, 
 I see clearly, through this day's business. You and I in- 
 deed may rue it. We may not live to the time when this 
 Declaration shall be made good. We may die; die, colon- 
 ists; die, slaves; die, it may be, ignominiously and on the 
 scaffold. Be it so; be it so! If it be the pleasure of 
 Heaven that my coimtry shall require the poor offering of 
 my life, the victim shall be ready at the appointed hour of 
 sacrifice, come when that hour may. But while I do Kve, 
 let me have a country, or at least the hope of a country, 
 and that a free country. 
 
 "But, whatever may be our fate, be assured, be assured, 
 that this Declaration will stand. It may cost treasure, 
 and it may cost blood; but it wiU stand, and it will richly 
 compensate for both. Through the thick gloom of the 
 present, I see the brightness of the future, as the sun in 
 heaven. We shall make this a glorious, an immortal day. 
 When we are in our graves, our children will honor it. 
 They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, with festivity, 
 with bonfires, and illuminations. On its annual rfetum 
 they will shed tears, copious, gushiag tears, not of sub- 
 jection and slavery, not of agony and distress, but of exulta- 
 tion, of gratitude, and of joy. Sir, before God, I believe 
 the hour is come. My judgment approves this measure, 
 and my whole heart is in it. All that I have, and all that 
 I am, and all that I hope, in this life, I am now ready here 
 to stake upon it; and I leave off, as I began, that live or 
 die, survive or perish, I am for the Declaration. It is my 
 living sentiment, and by the blessing of God it shall be my 
 dying sentiment, Independence now, and Independence 
 forever. " 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 297 
 
 THE INTERVIEWER 
 
 Mark Twain. 
 (Enter Reporter of the daily thunderstorm) 
 
 ^ Interviewer — Hoping its no harm, I've come to inter- 
 view you. 
 
 Author — Come to what? 
 
 Int. — Interview you. 
 
 A.— Ah, I see. Yes — ^yes. Um. Yes — ^yes. I say, — 
 how do you spell it? 
 
 Int. — Spell what? 
 
 A. — Interview. 
 
 Int. — Oh, my goodness! What do you want to spell it 
 for? 
 
 A. — I don't want to spell it; I want to know what it 
 means. 
 
 Int. — ^Well, this is astonishing, I must say. I can tell 
 you what it means, if you — if you — ■ 
 
 A. — Oh, all right! That will answer, and much obliged 
 to you. 
 
 Int. — I-n— in, t-e-r— ter, inter. 
 
 A. — ^Then you spell it with an I? 
 
 Int. — Why certainly. 
 
 A. — Oh, that is what took me so long! 
 
 Int. — Why, my dear sir, what did you propose to spell 
 it with? 
 
 A. — Well, I— I— 1~ hardly know. I had the unabridged; 
 and I was ciphering around in the back end, hoping I 
 might tree her among the pictures. But it's a very old 
 edition. 
 
 Int. — Why, my friend, they would not have a picture 
 of it, even the latest e — My dear sir, I beg your pardon, 
 I mean no harm in the world; but you do not look as — as 
 intelligent as I had expected you would. No harm, — 'I 
 mean no harm at all. 
 
 A. — Oh, don't mention it! It has often been said, and 
 by people who would not flatter, and who could have no 
 inducement to flatter, that I am quite remarkable in that 
 way. Yes — yes — ^they always speak of it with rapture. 
 
 Int. — I can easily imagine it. But about this interview. 
 
298 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 You know it is the custom now to interview any man who 
 has become notorious. 
 
 A.— Indeed? I had not heard of it before. It must be 
 very interesting. What do you do it with? 
 
 Int. — ^Ah, well — ^well — ^well— this is disheartening. It 
 ought to be done with a club, in some cases ; but customarily 
 it consists in the interviewer asking questions, and the 
 interviewed answering them. It is all the rage now. Will 
 you let me ask you certain questions calculated to bring 
 out the salient points of your pubUc and private history? 
 
 A. — Oh, with pleasiue, — ^with pleasure! I have a very 
 bad memory, but I hope that you will not mind that. 
 That is to say, it is an irregular memory, singularly irregu- 
 lar. Sometimes it goes at a gallop, and then again it will 
 be as much as a fortnight passing a given point. This is a 
 great grief to me. 
 
 Int. — Oh, it is no matter, so you will try to do the best 
 you can! 
 
 A. — I will put my whole mind upon it. 
 
 Int. — ^Thanks. Are you ready to begin? 
 
 A. — ^Ready. 
 
 Int. — ^How old are you? 
 
 A. — ^Nineteen in June. 
 
 Int. — Indeed, I would have taken you to be thirty-five 
 or six. Where were you bom? 
 
 A. — ^In Missouri. 
 
 Int. — When did you begin to write? 
 
 A.— In 1836. 
 
 Int. — Why, how could that be, if you are only nineteen 
 now? 
 
 A. — ^I don't know. It does seem curious, somehow. 
 
 Int. — It does indeed. What was the date of your birth? 
 
 A.— Monday, October 31, 1693. 
 
 Int. — What! Impossible! That would make you a 
 himdred and eighty years old. How do you account for 
 that? 
 
 A. — I don't account for it at all. 
 
 Int. — But you said at first you were only nineteen; and 
 now, you make yomrself out to be one hundred and eighty. 
 It is an awful discrepancy. 
 A. — ^Why, have you noticed that? {Shaking hands.) 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 299 
 
 Many a time it has seemed to me Kke a discrepancy; but 
 somehow I could not make up my mind. How quick you 
 notice a thing! 
 
 Int, — ^Thank you for the compUment, as far as it goes. 
 Had you, or have you, any brothers or sisters? 
 
 A.— Eh? I— I— I— I think so— yes— but I don't re- 
 member. 
 
 Int. — ^Well, that is the most extraordinary statement I 
 ever heard. 
 
 A. — ^Why, what makes you think that? 
 
 Int. — ^How could I think otherwise? Why look here. 
 Who is this a picture of on the wall? Isn't that a brother 
 of yours? 
 
 A. Oh, yes, yes, yes. Now you remind me of it, that 
 was a brother of mine. That's WilHam, — ^Bill we called 
 him. Poor old Bill. 
 
 Int. — ^Why, is he dead, then? 
 
 A. — ^Ah, well I suppose so. We could never tell. There 
 was a great mystery about it. 
 
 Int. — ^That is sad, very sad. He disappeared then? 
 
 A. — ^Well, yes, in a sort of a general way. We buried 
 him. 
 
 Int. — ^Buried him! Buried him without knowing 
 whether he was dead or not? 
 
 A.— Oh, no! He was dead enough. 
 
 Int. — ^Well, I confess that I can't understand this. If 
 you biu-ied him, — and you knew he was dead — 
 
 A. — ^No, no. We only thought he was. 
 
 Int. — Oh, I see! He came to life again? 
 
 A. — ^No, he didn't. 
 
 Int. — ^Well, I never heard anything like this. Some- 
 body was dead. Somebody was buried. Now, where was 
 the mystery? 
 
 A.— Ah, that's just it. That's it exactly. You see we 
 were twins, — defunct and I : and we got mixed in the bath- 
 tub when we were only two weeks old, and one of us was 
 drowned. But we didn't know which. Some think it was 
 BiU; some think it was me. 
 
 Int. — ^Well, that is remarkable. What do you think? 
 
 A. — Goodness knows. I would give whole worlds to 
 know. This solemn, this awful mystery has cast a gloom 
 
300 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 over my whole life. But I will tell you a secret now, which 
 I never have revealed to any creature before. One of us 
 had a pecuKar mark, a large mole on the back of his left 
 hand ; that was me. That was the child that was drowned. 
 
 Int. — ^Veiy well; then I don't see that there is any 
 mystery about it, after all. 
 
 A. — ^You don't? Well, I do. Anyway, I don't see how 
 they could ever have been such a blundering lot as to go 
 and bury the wrong child. But 'sh ; don't mention it where 
 the family can hear of it. Heaven knows they have heart- 
 breaking troubles enough without adding this. 
 
 THE BOYS 
 
 Hohnes. 
 
 Has there any old fellow got mixed with the boys? 
 If there has, take him out, without maJdng a noise. 
 Hang the almanac's cheat and the catalogue's spite! 
 Old Time is a liar; we're twenty to-night! 
 
 We're twenty! We're twenty! Who says we are more? 
 He's tipsy, — ^young jackanapes! — show him the door! 
 "Gray temples at twenty?" — ^Yes! white if we please; 
 Where the snow-flakes fall thickest there's nothing can 
 freeze ! 
 
 Was it snowing I spoke of? Excuse the mistake! 
 Look close, — ^you will see not a sign of a flake! 
 We want some new garlands for those we have shed, 
 And these are white roses in place of the red. 
 
 We've a trick, — ^we young fellows, — ^you may have been 
 
 told. 
 Of talking (in public) as if we were old; 
 That boy we call "Doctor," and this we call "Judge!" 
 It's a neat little fiction, — of course it's all fudge. 
 
 That fellow's the "Speaker," the one on the right; 
 "Mr. Mayor," my young one, how are you to-night? 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 301 
 
 That's our "Member of Congress," we say when we chaff; 
 There's the "Reverend" — what's his name! — don't make 
 me laugh. 
 
 That boy with the grave mathematical look 
 Made believe he had written a wonderful book, 
 And the Royal Society thought it was true! 
 So they chose him right in, — a good joke it was, too! 
 
 There's a boy, we pretend, with a three-decker brain. 
 That could harness a team with a logical chain; 
 When he spoke for our manhood in syllabled fire, 
 We called him "The Justice," but now he's the "Squire." 
 
 And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith; 
 Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith; 
 But he shouted a song for the brave and the free, — 
 Just read on his medal, "My country, of thee!" 
 
 You hear that boy laughing? You think he's all fun; 
 But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done; 
 The children laugh loud as they troop to his call. 
 And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all. 
 
 Yes, we're boys, — always playing with tongue or with pen; 
 And I sometimes have asked. Shall we ever be men? 
 Shall we always be youthful, and laughing, and gay. 
 Till the last dear companion drops smiling away? 
 
 Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray! 
 The stars of its winter, the dews of its May ! 
 And when we have done with our life-lasting toys. 
 Dear Father, take care of Thy children, the boys! 
 
302 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 JULIET DRINKING THE POTION 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again. 
 
 I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins. 
 
 That almost freezes up the heat of life: 
 
 I'll call them back again to comfort me: — 
 
 Nurse! — ^What should she do here? 
 
 My dismal scene I needs must act alone. 
 
 Come, vial. 
 
 What, if this mixture do not work at all? 
 
 Must I of force be married to the county? — 
 
 No, no; this shall forbid it: lie thou there. 
 
 What if it be a poison, which the friar 
 
 Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead; 
 
 Lest in this marriage he should be dishonor'd. 
 
 Because he married me before to Romeo? 
 
 I fear it is; and yet, methinks, it should not. 
 
 For he hath still been tried a holy man: 
 
 I will not entertain so bad a thought — 
 
 How if, when I am laid into the tomb, 
 
 I wake before the time that Romeo 
 
 Come to redeem me? there's a fearfid point! 
 
 Shall I not then be stifled in the vault. 
 
 To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in. 
 
 And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? 
 
 Or, if I live, is it not very like. 
 
 The horrible conceit of death and night. 
 
 Together with the terror of the place. 
 
 As in a vault, an ancient receptacle. 
 
 Where, for these many hundred years, the bones 
 
 Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd; 
 
 Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth. 
 
 Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say, 
 
 At some hours in the night spirits resort; 
 
 Alack, alack! is it not like, that I, 
 
 So early waking; what with loathsome smells. 
 
 And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, 
 
 That living mortals, hearing them, run mad, — 
 
 O! if I wake, shall I not be distraught, 
 
 Eoyironed with all these hideous fears? 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 303 
 
 And madly play with my forefathers' joints? 
 And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? 
 And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone. 
 As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? 
 O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost 
 Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body 
 Upon a rapier's point. Stay, Tybalt, stay! 
 Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee. 
 
 THE SONG OF THE CAMP 
 
 Bayard Taylor. 
 
 "Give us a song!" the soldiers cried, 
 
 The outer trenches guarding. 
 When the heated guns of the camps allied 
 Grew weary of bombarding. 
 
 The dark Redan, in silent scoff. 
 Lay, grim and threatening, under; 
 
 And the tawny mound of the Malakoff 
 No longer belched its thunder. 
 
 There w£is a pause. A guardsman said: 
 
 "We storm the forts to-morrow; 
 Sing while we may, another day 
 
 Will bring enough of sorrow." 
 
 They lay along the battery's side. 
 
 Below the smoking cannon; 
 Brave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde, 
 
 And from the banks of Shannon. 
 
 They sang of love and not of fame; 
 
 Forgot was Britain's glory; 
 Each heart recalled a different name, 
 
 But all sang "Annie Laurie. " 
 
 Voice after voice caught up the song. 
 
 Until its tender passion 
 Rose like an anthem, rich and strong, — 
 
 Their battle-eve confession. 
 
304 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Dear girl, her name he dared not speak, 
 But, as the song grew louder. 
 
 Something upon the soldier's cheek 
 Washed off the stains of powder. 
 
 Beyond the darkening ocean burned 
 The bloody sunset's embers. 
 
 While the Crimean valleys learned 
 How English love remembers. 
 
 And once again a fire of hell 
 
 Rained on the Russian quarters. 
 
 With scream of shot, and burst of shell. 
 And bellowing of the mortars! 
 
 And Irish Nora's eyes are dim 
 For a singer, dumb and gory; 
 
 And English Mary mourns for him 
 Who sang of "Annie Laurie." 
 
 Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest 
 Your truth and valor wearing: 
 
 The bravest are the tenderest, — 
 The loving are the daring. 
 
 THE SOLDIERS KEPEIEVE 
 
 Mrs. Robbins. 
 
 "I thought, Mr. Allen, when I gave my Bennie to his 
 country, that not a father in all tins broad land made so 
 precious a gift, — no, not one. The dear boy only slept a 
 minute — ^just one little minute — ^at his post: I know that 
 was all, for Bennie never dozed over a duty. How prompt 
 and trustworthy he was! I know he fell asleep only one 
 little second; — ^he was so young, and not strong, that boy 
 of mine ! Why, he was as tall as I and only eighteen ! and 
 now they shoot him because he was foimd asleep when 
 doing sentinel duty! Twenty-four hours, the telegram 
 said, — only twenty-four hours. Where is Bennie now?" 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 305 
 
 "We will hope with his Heavenly Father," said Mr. 
 Allen. 
 
 "Yes, yes, let us hope: God is very merciful. 
 
 " 'I should be ashamed, father,' Bennie said, 'when I 
 was a man, to think I never used this great right arm,' — 
 and he held it out so proudly before me, — 'for my country, 
 when it needed it. Palsy it rather than keep it at the 
 plough.' 
 
 " 'Go, then, my boy!' I said, 'and God keep you!' God 
 has kept him, I think, Mr. Allen;" and the farmer repeated 
 those last words slowly, as if, in spite of his reason, his 
 heart doubted them. 
 
 "Like the apple of his eye, Mr. Owen, doubt it not!" 
 
 Blossom sat near them, listening with blanched cheeks. 
 She had not shed a tear. Her anxiety had been so con- 
 cealed that no one had noticed it. She had occupied her- 
 self mechanically in the household cares. Now she an- 
 swered a gentle tap at the kitchen door, opening it to re- 
 ceive from a neighbor's hand a letter. "It is from him," 
 was all she said. 
 
 It was like a message from the dead! Mr. Owen took 
 the letter, but could not break the envelope on accoimt of 
 his trembling fingers, and held it toward Mr. Allen, with 
 the helplessness of a child. The minister opened it and 
 read as follows:-— 
 
 "Dear Father: — When this reaches you, I shall be in 
 eternity. At first, it seemed awful to me; but I have 
 thought about it so much now that it has no terror. They 
 say that they will not bind me, nor blind me; but that I 
 may meet my death like a man. I thought, father, that 
 it might have been on the battle-field, for my country, and 
 that, when I fell, it would be fighting gloriously; but to be 
 shot down like a dog for nearly betraying it, — ^to die for 
 neglect of duty! O father, I wonder the very thought 
 does not kill me! But I shall not disgrace you. I am 
 going to write you all about it; and when I am gone, you 
 may tell my comrades; I cannot now. 
 
 "You know I promised Jemmie Carr's mother I would 
 look after her boy; and, when he fell sick I did all I could 
 for him. He was not strong when he was ordered back 
 into the ranks, and the day before that night, I carried all 
 
306 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 his baggage, besides my own, on our march. Toward 
 night we went in on double quick, and the baggage began 
 to feel very heavy. Everybody was tired; and as for 
 Jemmie, if I had not lent him an arm now and then, he 
 would have dropped by the way. 
 
 "I was all tired out when we came into camp; and then 
 it was Jemmie's turn to be sentry, and I would take his 
 place; but I was too tired, father. I could not have kept 
 awake if a gun had been pointed at my head; but I did not 
 know it imtil — well, until it was too late. " 
 
 "God be thanked!" interrupted Mr. Owen, reverently. 
 " I knew Bennie was not the boy to sleep carelessly. " 
 
 " They tell me to-day that I have a short reprieve — ^given 
 to me by circumstances — 'time to write to you,' our good 
 colonel says. Forgive him, father, he only does his duty; 
 he would gladly save me if he could; and do not lay my 
 death up against Jemmie. The poor boy is broken-heart- 
 ed, and does nothiag but beg and entreat them to let him 
 die in my stead. 
 
 " I can't bear to think of mother and Blossom. Comfort 
 them, father! Tell them I die as a brave boy should, and 
 that, when the war is over, they wiU not be ashamed of 
 me, as they must be now. God help me; it is very hard to 
 bear! Good-by, father! 
 
 "To-night, in the early twilight, I shall see the cows aU 
 coming home from pasture, and precious httle Blossom 
 standing on the back stoop, waiting for me, — ^but I shall 
 never, never come ! God bless you all ! Forgive your poor 
 Bennie. " 
 
 Late that night the door of the "back stoop" opened 
 softly and a little figure glided out and down the foot-path 
 to the road that led by the mill. She seemed rather flying 
 than walldng, turning her head neither to the right nor 
 the left, looking only now and then to Heaven, and folding 
 her hands, as if in prayer. 
 
 Two hours later the same young girl stood at Mill Depot 
 watching the coming of the night train; and the conductor 
 as he reached down to lift her into the car, wondered at the 
 tear stained face that was upturned toward the dim lantern 
 he had in his hand. A few questions and ready answers 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 307 
 
 told him all; and no father could have cared more tenderly 
 for his only child than he did for our little Blossom. 
 
 She was on her way to Washington to ask President 
 Lincoln for her brother's life. She had stolen away, leav- 
 ing only a note to tell her father where and why she had 
 gone. She had taken Bennie's letter with her. No good, 
 kind heart, like the President's, could refuse to be melted 
 by it. The next morning they reached New York, and the 
 conductor hurried her on to Washington. Every minute, 
 now, might be the means of saving her brother's life. And 
 so, in an incredibly short time. Blossom reached the capital, 
 and hastened immediately to the White House. 
 
 The President had but just seated himself at his morn- 
 ing's task of looking over and signing important papers, 
 when, without one word of announcement, the door softly 
 opened, and Blossom, with downcast eyes and folded 
 hands, stood before him. 
 
 "Well, my child," he said, in his pleasant, cheerful tone 
 "what do you want so bright and early in the morning?" 
 
 "Bennie's life, please, sir," faltered Blossom. 
 
 "Bennie? Who is Bennie? " 
 
 "My brother, sir. They are going to shoot him for 
 sleeping at his post." 
 
 "Oh, yes," and Mr. Lincoln ran his eye over the papers 
 before him. "I remember! It was a fatal sleep. You 
 see, chUd, it was at a time of special danger. Thousands 
 of lives might have been lost through his culpable negli- 
 gence. " 
 
 "So my father said," replied Blossom, gravely; "but 
 poor Bennie was so tired, sir, and Jemmie so weak. He 
 did the work of two, sir, and it was Jemmie's night, not 
 his; but Jemmie was too tired, and Bennie never thought 
 about himself — that he was tired too." 
 
 "What is this you say, child? Come here; I do not 
 understand;" and the kind man caught eagerly, as ever, 
 at something to justify the offence. 
 
 Blossom went to him: he put his hand tenderly on her 
 shoulder, and turned up the pale, anxious face toward his. 
 How tall he seemed, and he was President of the United 
 States too. A dim thought of this kind passed through 
 Blossom's mind; but she told her simple and strai^tfor- 
 
308 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 ward story, and handed Mr. Lincoln Bennie's letter to 
 read. 
 
 He read it carefully; then, taking up his pen, wrote a 
 few hasty lines, and rang his bell. Blossom heard this 
 order given: "Send this dispatch at once. " 
 
 The President then turned to the girl and said: "Go 
 home, my child, and tell that father of yours, who could 
 approve his country's sentence, even when it took the life 
 of a child hke that, that Abraham Lincoln thinks the life 
 far too precious to be lost. Go back, or — ^wait imtil to- 
 morrow; Bennie will need a change after he has so bravely 
 faced death; he shall go with you." 
 
 " God bless you, sir, " said Blossom; and who shall doubt 
 that God heard and registered the request? 
 
 Two days after this interview, the young soldier came 
 to the White House with his little sister. He was called 
 into the President's private room, and a strap fastened 
 upon his shoulder. Mr. Lincoln then said: "The soldier 
 that could carry a sick comrade's baggage, and die for the 
 act without complaining deserves well of his coimtry. " 
 
 Then Bennie and Blossom took their way to their Green 
 Mountain home. A crowd gathered at the Mill Depot to 
 welcome them back; and as farmer Owen's hand grasped 
 that of his boy, tears flowed down his cheeks, and he was 
 heard to say fervently, "The Lord be praised." 
 
 Scenes from "the btvals' 
 
 Capt. a. — ^Now for a parental lecture. I hope he has 
 heard nothing of the business that has brought me here. 
 I wish the gout had held him fast in Devonshire, with all 
 my soul! 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony. 
 
 Capt. A — Sir, I am delighted to see you here, and look- 
 ing so well! — ^your sudden arrival at Bath made me ap- 
 prehensive for your health. 
 
 SiB. A. — Very apprehensive, I dare say, Jack. — ^What, 
 you are recruiting here, hey? 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 309 
 
 Capt. a. — Yes, sir, I am on duty. 
 
 SiK. A. — Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, though I did 
 not expect it; for I was going to write to you on a little 
 matter of business. — ^Jack, I have been considering that 
 I grow old and infirm, and shall probably not trouble 
 you long. 
 
 Capt. A. — Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look more 
 strong and hearty, and I pray fervently that you may 
 continue so. 
 
 Sib. a. — I hope your prayers may be heard, with all my 
 heart. Well, then, Jack, I have been considering that 
 I am so strong and hearty, I may continue to plague you 
 a long time. — Now, Jack, I am sensible that the income 
 of your commission, and what I have hitherto allowed 
 you, is but a small pittance for a lad of your spirit. 
 
 Capt. A. — Sir, you are very good. 
 
 Sm. A. — ^And it is my wish, while yet I live, to have my 
 boy make some figure in the world. — I have resolved, 
 therefore, to fix you at once in a noble independence. 
 
 Capt. A. — ^Sir, your kindness overpowers me. — ^Yet, 
 sir, I presume you would not wish me to quit the army? 
 
 Sffi A. — Oh! that shall be as your wife chooses. 
 
 Capt. A. — My wife, sir! 
 
 Sir a. — ^Ay, ay, settle that between you, — settle that 
 between you. 
 
 Capt. A. — ^A wife, sir, did you say? 
 
 Sir a. — ^Ay, a wife: why, did not I mention her before? 
 
 Capt. A. — Not a word of her, sir. 
 
 Sir a. — Oddso! I mustn't forget her, though. — ^Yes, 
 Jack, the independence I was talking of, is by a marriage, 
 — the fortune is saddled with a wife, — but, I suppose, 
 that makes no difference? 
 
 Capt. A. — Sir ! sir ! you amaze me ! 
 
 Sir a. — ^Why, what's the matter with the fool? Just 
 now you were all gratitude and duty. 
 
 Capt. A. — I was, sir, — ^you talked to me of independence 
 and a fortune, but not a word of a wife. 
 
 Sir a. — Why, what difference does that make? Odds 
 life, sir! if you have the estate, you must take it with the 
 live stock on it, as it stands. 
 
 Capt. A. — Pray, sir, who is the lady? 
 
310 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Sm A. — What's that to you, sir? — Come, give me your 
 promise to love, and to majrry her directly. 
 
 Capt. a. — Sure, sir, this is not very reasonable, to 
 summon my affections for a lady I know nothing of! 
 
 Sib a. — I am sure, sir, 'tis more imreasonable in you to 
 object to a lady you know nothing of. 
 
 Capt. A. — You must excuse me, sir, if I tell you, once 
 for all, that in this point I cannot obey you. 
 
 Sm A. — Hark ye, Jack! — I have heard you for some 
 time with patience! — I have been cool — quite cool; but take 
 care — you know I am compliance itself — ^when I am not 
 thwarted; no one more easily led — when I have my own 
 way; — ^but don't put me in a frenzy. 
 
 Capt. A. — Sir, I must repeat it — ^in this, I cannot obey 
 you. 
 
 SiH A. — ^Now, hang me, if ever I call you Jack again 
 while I live! 
 
 Capt. A. — ^Nay, sir, but hear me. 
 
 Sm A. — Sir, I won't hear a word — ^not a word! not one 
 word! so give me yotir promise by a nod — ^and I'll tell you 
 what, Jack — I mean you dog — if you don't, by — 
 
 Capt. A. — What, sir, promise to link myself to some 
 mass of ughness ! 
 
 Sm A. — Zounds! sirrah! the lady shall be as ugly as I 
 choose: she shall have a hump on each shoulder; she shall 
 be as crooked as the crescent; her one eye shall roll like 
 the bull's in Cox's Museum; she shall have a skin like a 
 mummy, and the beard of a Jew, — she shall be all this, 
 sirrah! — ^yet I'll make you ogle her all day, and sit up all 
 night, to write sonnets on her beauty. 
 
 Capt. A. — This is reason and moderation indeed! 
 
 Sm A. — ^None of yoiu' sneering, puppy! no grinning, 
 jackanapes ! 
 
 Capt. A. — ^Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humor 
 for mirth in my life. 
 
 Sm A. — 'Tis false, sir; I know you are laughing in your 
 sleeve; I know you'll grin when I am gone, sirrsSi! 
 
 Capt. A. — Sir, I hope I know my duty better. 
 
 Sm A. — ^None of your passion, sir! none of your violence, 
 if you please. It won't do with me, I promise you. 
 
 Capt. A. — ^Indeed, sir, I never was cooler in my life. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 811 
 
 Sm A. — 'T is a lie! — ^I know you are in a passion in 
 your heart; I know you are, you hypocritical young dog; 
 but it won't do. 
 
 Capt. a. — ^Nay, sir, upon my word — ■ 
 
 Sib a. — So you will fly out! Can't you be cool, like 
 me?— What good can passion do? — ^passion is of no service, 
 you impudent, insolent, overbearing reprobate! — There, 
 you sneer again! — don't provoke me! but you rely upon 
 the mildness of my temper — ^you do, you dog! You play 
 upon the meekness of my disposition! Yet take care — ■ 
 the patience of a saint may be overcome at last! — but 
 mark! — I give you six hours and a half to consider of this: 
 if you then agree, without any condition, to do everything 
 on earth that I choose, why — confound you, I may in 
 time forgive you. If not, zounds ! don't enter the same 
 hemisphere with me! don't dare to breathe the same air, 
 or use the same light with me; but get an atmosphere and 
 a sun of your own! I'll strip you of your commission; 
 I'll lodge a five-and-three-pence in the hands of trustees, 
 and you shall live on the interest. I'll disown you; I'll 
 disinherit you, and, hang me ! if ever I call you Jack again ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Capt. A. — Mild, gentle, considerate father! I kiss your 
 hands. 
 
 n 
 
 Capt. A. — 'Tis just as Fag told me, indeed! — ^Whimsical 
 enough, 'faith! My father wants to force me to marry 
 the very girl I am plannLag to run away with! He must 
 not know of my connection with her yet awhile. He has 
 too summary a method of proceeding in these matters; 
 however, I'll read my recantation instantly. My con- 
 version is something sudden, indeed; but I can assure him, 
 it is very sincere. — So, so, here he comes — ^he looks plaguy 
 gruflF! 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony. 
 
 SiB A. — No — I'll die sooner than forgive him! Die, 
 did I say? I'll live these fifty years to plague him. At 
 our last meeting his impudence had almost put me out of 
 
813 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 temper — an obstinate, passionate, self-willed boy! Who 
 can he take after? This is my return for putting him, at 
 twelve years old, into a marching regiment, and allowing 
 him fifty pounds a year, besides his pay, ever since! But 
 I have done with him — he's anybody's son for me — ^I 
 never will see him more — ^never — ^never — ^never — ^never. 
 
 Capt. a. — ^Now for a penitential face! 
 
 Sm A. — Fellow, get out of my way! 
 
 Capt. A. — Sir, you see a penitent before you. 
 
 SiK A. — I see an impudent scoundrel before me. 
 
 Capt. A.^A sincere penitent. I am come, sir, to ac- 
 knowledge my error, and to submit entirely to your will. 
 
 SiH A.— What's that? 
 
 Capt. A. — I have been revolving, and reflecting, and 
 considering on your past goodness, and kindness, and 
 condescension to me. 
 
 SikA.— Well,sir! 
 
 Capt. A. — I have been likewise weighing and balancing 
 what you were pleased to mention concerning duty, and 
 obedience, and authority. 
 
 Sir a. — Why, now, you talk sense, absolute sense; I 
 never heard anything more sensible in my life. Con- 
 found you, you shall be Jack again! 
 
 Capt. A. — I am happy in the appellation. 
 
 SiK A. — Why, then. Jack, my dear Jack, I will now 
 inform you who the lady really is. Nothing but your 
 passion and violence, you silly fellow, prevented me telling 
 you at first. Prepare, Jack, for wonder and rapture — 
 prepare! What think you of Miss Lydia Languish? 
 
 Capt. A. — Languish! What, the Languishes of Wor- 
 cestershire! 
 
 SiB A. — Worcestershire! No! Did you never meet Mrs. 
 Malaprop and her niece, Miss Languish, who came into 
 our country just before you were last ordered to your 
 regiment? 
 
 Capt. A. — Malaprop! Languish! I don't remember ever 
 to have heard the name before. Yet, stay: I think I do 
 recollect something. Languish-;-Languish ! She squints, 
 don't she? A little red-haired girl? 
 
 Sir a. — Squints! A red-haired girl! Zoimds, no! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD SIS 
 
 Capt. a. — ^Then I must have forgot: it can't be the same 
 person. 
 
 SiK A. — 'Jack, Jack! what think you of blooming, love- 
 breathing seventeen? 
 
 Capt. A. — ^As to that, sir, I am quite indifferent; if I 
 can please you in the matter, 'tis all I desire. 
 
 Sib a. — ^Nay, but Jack, such eyes! such eyes! so in- 
 nocently wild! so bashfully irresolute! Not a glance but 
 speaks and kindles some thought of love! Then, Jack, 
 her cheeks! her cheeks. Jack! so deeply blushing at the 
 insinuations of her telltale eyes! Then, Jack, her lips! 
 Oh, Jack, lips, smiling at their own discretion! and, if not 
 smiling, more sweetly pouting — more lovely in suUenness ! 
 Then, Jack, her neck! Oh! Jack! Jack! 
 
 Capt. A. — ^And which is to be mine, sir; the niece, or the 
 aunt? 
 
 SiE A. — ^Why, you unfeeling, insensible puppy, I despise 
 you! When I was of your age, such a description would 
 have made me fly like a rocket! The aunt, indeed! Odds 
 life ! when I ran away with your mother, I would not have 
 touched anything old or ugly to gain an empire! 
 
 Capt. A. — Not to please your father, sir? 
 
 SiH. A. — ^To please my father — zounds! not to please — 
 Oh! my father? Oddso! yes, yes! if my father, indeed, had 
 desired — ^that's quite another matter. Though he wasn't 
 the indulgent father that I am. Jack. 
 
 Capt. A. — I dare say not, sir. 
 
 Sir a. — But, Jack, you are not sorry to find your mis- 
 tress is so beautiful? 
 
 Capt. A. — Sir, I repeat it, if I please you in this affair, 
 'tis all I desire. Not that I think a woman the worse for 
 being handsome; but, sir, if you please to recollect, you 
 before hinted something about a hump or two, one eye, 
 and a few more graces of that kind. Now, without being 
 very nice, I own I should rather choose a wife of mine 
 to have the usual number of limbs, and a Hmited quantity 
 of back; and though one eye may be very agreeable, yet, 
 as the prejudice has always run in favor of two, I would 
 not wish to affect a singularity in that article. 
 
 Sib a.— What a phlegmatic sot it is ! Why, sirrah, you 
 are an anchorite! a vile, insensible stock! You a soldier! 
 
314 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 you're a walking block, fit only to dust the company's 
 regimentals on! Odds life, I've a great mind to marry the 
 girl myself! 
 
 Capt. a. — I am entirely at your disposal, sir; if you 
 should think of addressing Miss Languish yourself, I 
 suppose you would have me marry the aunt; or if you 
 should change your mind, and take the old lady, 'tis the 
 same to me — I'll marry the niece. 
 
 Sir a. — Upon my word. Jack, thou art either a very 
 great hypocrite, or — but, come, I know your indifference 
 on such a subject must be all a lie — ^I'm sure it must. 
 Come, now, hang your demure face; come, confess. Jack, 
 you have been lying, haven't you? You have been play- 
 ing the hypocrite, hey? I'll never forgive you, if you 
 haven't been lying and playing the hypocrite. 
 
 Capt. A. — I am soriy, sir, that the respect and duty 
 which I bear to you shoiUd be so mistaken. 
 
 Sir a. — ^Respect and duty! But come along with me. 
 I'll write a note to Mrs. Malaprop, and you shall visit 
 the lady directly. Her eyes shall be the Promethean 
 torch to you — come along, I'll never forgive you, if you 
 don't come back stark mad with rapture and impatience — 
 if you don't, 'egad, I'll marry the girl myself! (Exeunt) 
 
 Sheridan. 
 
 PERORATION OF OPENING SPEECH AGAINST HASTINGS 
 
 Bwke. 
 
 In the name of the Commons of England, I charge all 
 this villany upon Warren Hastings, in this last moment of 
 my application to you. 
 
 My Lords, what is it that we want here to a great act of 
 national justice? Do we want a cause, my Lords? You 
 have the cause of oppressed princes, of imdone women of 
 the first rank, of desolated provinces, and of wasted 
 kingdoms. 
 
 Do you want a criminal, my Lords? When was there 
 so much iniquity ever laid to the charge of any one? No, 
 my Lords, you must not look to punish any othCT such 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 315 
 
 delinquent from India. Warren Hastings has not left sub- 
 stance enough, in India to nourish such another delinquent. 
 
 My Lords, is it a prosecutor you want? You have before 
 you the Commons of Great Britain as prosecutors; and I 
 believe, my Lords, that the sun, in his beneficent progress 
 round the world, does not behold a more glorious sight 
 than that of men, separated from a remote people by the 
 material botmds and barriers of nature, united by the bond 
 of a social and moral community — all the Commons of 
 England resenting, as their own, the indignities and cruel- 
 ties, that are oflEered to aJl the people of Lidia. 
 
 Do we want a tribunal? My Lords, no example of 
 antiquity, nothing in the modem world, nothing in the 
 range of human imagination, can supply us with a tribimal 
 like this. My Lords, here we see virtually, in the mind's 
 eye, that sacred majesty of the Crown, under whose 
 authority you sit and whose power you exercise. 
 
 We have here all the branches of the royal family, in a 
 situation between majesty and subjection, between the 
 sovereign and the subject — offering a pledge, in that 
 situation, for the support of the rights of the Crown and 
 the liberties of the people, both which extremities they 
 touch. 
 
 My Lords, we have a great hereditary peerage here; 
 those who have their own honor, the honor of their an- 
 cestors, and of their posterity, to guard, and who will 
 justify, as they always have justified, that provision in 
 the Constitution by which justice is made an hereditary 
 oflBice. 
 
 My Lords, we have here a new nobility, who have risen, 
 and exalted themselves by various merits, by great civil 
 and military services, which have extended the fame of 
 this country from the rising to the setting sun. 
 
 My Lords, you have here, also, the lights of our religion; 
 you have the bishops of England. My Lords, you have 
 that true image of the primitive Church in its ancient 
 form, in its ancient ordinances, purified from the super- 
 stitions and the vices which a long succession of ages will 
 bring upon the best institutions. 
 
 My Lords, these are the securities which we have in all 
 the constituent parts of the body of this House. We 
 
S16 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 know them, we reckon, we rest upon them, and commit 
 safely the interests of India and of humanity into your 
 hands. Therefore, it is with confidence, that, ordered by 
 the Commons, 
 
 I impeach Warren Hastings, Esquire, of high crimes 
 and misdemeanors. 
 
 I impeach him in the name of the Commons of Great 
 Britain, in Parliament assembled, whose parhamentary 
 trust he has betrayed. 
 
 I impeach him in the name of aU the Commons of Great 
 Britain, whose national character he has dishonored. 
 
 I impeach him in the name of the people of India, whose 
 laws, rights, and liberties he has subverted, whose property 
 he has destroyed, whose country he has laid waste and 
 desolate. 
 
 I impeach him in the name, and by virtue of those 
 eternal laws of justice which he has violated. 
 
 I impeach him in the name of human nature itself, 
 which he has cruelly outraged, injured, and oppressed, in 
 both sexes, in everv age, rank, situation, and condition of 
 life. 
 
 AUX ITALIENS 
 
 Bulwer-Lytton. 
 At Paris it was, at the Opera there; 
 
 And she looked like a queen in a book, that night. 
 With the wreath of pearl in her raven hair. 
 
 And the brooch on her breast, so bright. 
 Of all the operas that Verdi wrote. 
 
 The best, to my taste, is the Trovatore; 
 And Mario can soothe with a tenor note 
 
 The souls in purgatory. 
 
 The moon on the tower slept soft as snow; 
 
 And who was not thrilled in the strangest way. 
 As we heard him sing, while the gas burned low, 
 
 "Non ti scordar di me?" 
 The Emperor there, in his box of state. 
 
 Looked grave, as if he had just then seen 
 The red flag wave from the city gate. 
 
 Where his eagles in bronze had been. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 317 
 
 The Empress, too, had a tear in her eye: 
 
 You'd have said that her fancy had gone back again, 
 For one moment, imder the old blue sky, 
 
 To the old glad life in Spain. 
 Well! there in our front-row box we sat 
 
 Together, my bride-betrothed and I; 
 My gaze was fixed on my opera hat, 
 
 And hers on the stage hard by. 
 
 And both were silent, and both were sad. 
 
 Like a queen, she leaned on her full white arm. 
 With that regal, indolent air she had; 
 
 So confident of her charm ! 
 I have not a doubt she was thinking then 
 
 Of her former lord, good soul that he was ! 
 Who died the richest and roundest of men, 
 
 The Marquis of Carabas. 
 
 I hope that to get to the kingdom of heaven 
 
 Through a needle's eye he had not to pass; 
 I wish him well for the jointure given 
 
 To my lady of Carabas. 
 Meanwhile I was thinking of my first love. 
 
 As I had not been thinking of aught for years. 
 Till over my eyes there began to move 
 
 Something that felt like tears. 
 
 I thought of the dress that she wore last time. 
 
 When we stood, 'neath the cypress-trees, together, 
 Li that lost land, in that soft clime. 
 
 In the crimson evening weather; 
 Of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot). 
 
 And her warm white neck in its golden chain. 
 And her full, soft hair, just tied in a knot. 
 
 And falling loose again; 
 
 And the jasmin-flower in her fair young breast; 
 
 Oh, the faint, sweet smell of that jasmin-flower! 
 And the one bird singing alone to his nest, 
 
 And the one star over the tower. 
 
318 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 I thought of our little quarrels and strife. 
 
 And the letter that brought me back my ring, 
 
 And it all seemed then, in the waste of life. 
 Such a very little thing! 
 
 For I thought of her grave below the hiU 
 
 Which the sentinel cypress-tree stands over. 
 And I thought . . . "were she only living still, 
 
 How I could forgive her and love her!" 
 And I swear, as I thought of her thus, in that hour, 
 
 And of how, after all, old things were best, 
 That I smelt the smell of that jasmin-flower. 
 
 Which she used to wear in her breast. 
 
 It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet. 
 
 It made me creep, and it made me cold! 
 Like the scent that steals from the crumbling sheet 
 
 When a mummy is half unrolled. 
 And I turned and looked. She was sitting there 
 
 In a dim box, over the stage; and drest 
 In that muslin dress, with that full soft hair. 
 
 And that jasmin in her breast! 
 
 I was here, and she was there. 
 
 And the glittering horseshoe curved between — 
 From my bride-betrothed, with her raven hair. 
 
 And her sumptuous, scornful mien. 
 To my early love, with her eyes down cast. 
 
 And over her primrose face the shade 
 (In short, from the Future back to the Past, 
 
 There was but one step to be made.) 
 
 To my early love from my futiu-e bride 
 
 One moment I looked. Then I stole to the door, 
 I traversed the passage; and down at her side 
 
 I was sitting, a moment more. 
 My thinking of her, or the music's strain. 
 
 Or something which never will be exprest. 
 Had brought her back from the grave again 
 
 With the jasmin in her breast. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 319 
 
 She is not dead, and she is not wed! 
 
 But she loves me now, and she loved me then ! 
 And the very first word that her sweet lips said, 
 
 My heart grew youthful again. 
 The Marchioness there, of Carabas, 
 
 She is wealthy, and young, and handsome still. 
 And but for her . . . well, we'll let that pass — 
 
 She may marry whomever she will. 
 
 But I will marry my own first love. 
 
 With her primrose face; for old things are best. 
 And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above 
 
 The brooch in my lady's breast. 
 The world is filled with folly and sin, 
 
 And love must cling where it can, I say; 
 For Beauty is easy enough to win. 
 
 But one isn't loved every day. 
 
 And I think in the Kves of most women and men. 
 
 There's a moment when all would go smooth and even. 
 If only the dead could find out when 
 
 To come back and be forgiven. 
 But oh, the smell of that jasmin flower ! 
 
 And oh, that music! and oh, the way 
 That voice rang out from the donjon tower 
 
 Non ti scordar di me, 
 
 Non ti scordar di mel 
 
 THE PETRIFIED PERN 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 In a valley, centuries ago. 
 
 Grew a little fern leaf, green and slender, 
 Veining delicate and filDres tender; 
 
 Waving when the wind crept down so low. 
 
 Rushes tall, and moss, and grass grew round it. 
 Playful simbeams darted in and found it. 
 Drops of dew stole in by night, and crowned it, 
 But no foot of man e'er trod that way; 
 Earth was young, and Jteeping holiday. 
 
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Monster fishes swam the silent main, 
 
 Stately forests waved their giant branches, 
 Moimtains hurled their snowy avalanches. 
 
 Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain; 
 Nature revelled in grand mysteries, 
 But the little fern was not of these, 
 Did not number with the hills and trees; 
 Only grew and waved its wild sweet way. 
 None ever came to note it day by day. 
 
 Earth one time put on a frolic mood. 
 
 Heaved the rocks and changed the mighty motion 
 
 Of the deep, strong currents of the ocean. 
 Moved the plain and shook the haughty wood. 
 
 Crushed the Uttle fern in soft moist clay, — 
 
 Covered it, and hid it safe away. 
 
 Oh, the long, long centuries since that day! 
 
 Oh, the agony! Oh, life's bitter cost. 
 
 Since that useless little fern was lost! 
 
 Useless? Lost? There came a thoughtful man. 
 
 Searching Natvu-e's secrets, far and deep; 
 
 From a fissure in a rocky steep 
 He withdrew a stone, o'er which there ran 
 
 Fairy pencillings, a quaint design, 
 
 Veinings, leafage, fibres clear and fine. 
 
 And the fern's life lay in every line ! 
 
 So, I think God hides some souls away. 
 
 Sweetly to surprise us, the last day. 
 
 OTTH HERITAGE FROM WASHINGTON AND LINCOLN 
 
 Theodore Roosevelt. 
 
 Without Washington we should probably never have 
 won our independence of the British Crown, and we should 
 almost certainly have failed to become a great nation, 
 remaining instead a cluster of jangling little communities. 
 Without Lincoln we might perhaps have failed to keep the 
 poUtical unity we had won. Yet the nation's debt to 
 these men is not confine4 to what it owes them for its 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 321 
 
 material well-being, incalculable though this debt is. 
 Beyond the fact that we are an independent and united 
 people, with half a continent as our heritage, lies the fact 
 that every American is richer by the heritage of the noble 
 deeds and noble words of Washington and Lincoln. 
 
 It is not only the country which these men helped to 
 make and helped to save that is ours by inheritance; we 
 inherit also all that is best and highest in their characters 
 and in their lives. We inherit from Lincoln and from the 
 might of Lincoln's generation not merely the freedom of 
 those who once were slaves; for we inherit also the fact of 
 freeing them, we inherit the glory and the honor and the 
 wonder of the deed that was done, no less than the actual 
 results of the deed when done. As men think over the 
 real nature of the triumph then scored for human kind 
 their hearts shall ever throb as they cannot over any vic- 
 tory won at less cost than ours. We are the richer for 
 each grim campaign, for each hard fought battle. We are 
 the richer for valor displayed alike by those who fought 
 so valiantly for the right and by those who, no less val- 
 iantly, fought for what they deemed the right. We have 
 in us nobler capacities for what is great and good, because 
 of the infinite woe and suffering, and because of the splen- 
 did ultimate triumph. 
 
 OtJB DEBT TO THE NATION S HEBOES 
 
 Theodore Roosevelt. 
 
 Every feat of heroism makes us forever indebted to the 
 man who performed it. The whole nation is better, the 
 whole nation is braver, because Farragut, lashed in the 
 rigging of the Hartford, forged past the forts and over the 
 imseen death below, to try his wooden stem against the 
 ironclad huU of the Confederate ram; because Gushing 
 pushed his little torpedo boat through the darkness to 
 sink beside the sinking Albemarle. All daring and courage, 
 all iron endurance of misfortune, all devotion to the ideal 
 of honor and the glory of the flag make for a finer and 
 nobler type of manhood. All of us lift our heads higher 
 because tiiiose of our countrymen whose trade it is to meet 
 
322 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 danger, have met it well and bravely. All of us are poorer 
 for every base or ignoble deed done by an American, for 
 every instance of selfishness or weakness or folly on the 
 part of the people as a whole. If ever we had to meet 
 defeat at the hands of a foreign foe, or had to submit 
 tamely to wrong or insult, every man among us worthy of 
 the name of American would feel dishonored and debased. 
 On the other hand, the memory of every triumph won by 
 Americans, by just so much helps to make each American 
 nobler and better. Every man among us is more fit to 
 meet the duties and responsibilities of citizenship, because 
 of the perils over which, in the past, the nation has tri- 
 umphed; because of the blood and sweat and tears, the 
 labor and the anguish through which, in the days that 
 have gone, our forefathers moved on to triumph. 
 
 TOUSSAINT L OUVERTTTBB. 
 
 Wendell Phillips. 
 
 If I were to teU you the story of Napoleon, I should take 
 it from the lips of Frenchmen, who find no language rich 
 enough to paint the great captain of the nineteenth century. 
 Were I to tell you the story of Washington, I should take 
 it from your hearts, — ^you, who think no marble white 
 enough on which to carve the name of the Father of his 
 country. But I am to tell you the story of a negro, 
 Toussaint L'Ouverture, who has left hardly one written 
 line. I am to glean it from the reluctant testimony of 
 his enemies, men who despised him because he was a negro 
 and a slave, and hated him because he had beaten them in 
 battle. 
 
 Cromwell manufactured his own army. Napoleon, at 
 the age of twenty-seven, was placed at the head of the best 
 troops Europe ever saw. Cromwell never saw an army 
 till he was forty; this man never saw a soldier till he was 
 fifty. Cromwell manufactiu'ed his own army — out of 
 what? Englishmen,— the best blood in Evirope. Out 
 of the middle class of Englishmen, — ^the best blood of the 
 island. And with it he conquered what.? Englishmen, 
 — their equals. This man manufactured his army out 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 323 
 
 of what? Out of what you call the despicable race of 
 negroes, debased, demoralized by two hundred years of 
 slavery, one himdred thousand of them imported into 
 the island within four years, unable to speak a dialect 
 intelligible even to each other. Yet out of this mixed, and, 
 as you say, despicable mass he forged a thunderbolt, and 
 hurled it at what? At the proudest blood in Europe, 
 the Spaniard, and sent him home conquered; at the most 
 warlike blood in Europe, the French, and put them under 
 his feet; at the pluckiest blood in Europe, the English, 
 and they skulked home to Jamaica. Now, if Cromwell 
 was a general, at least this man was a soldier. 
 
 Now, blue-eyed Saxon, proud of your race, go back with 
 me to the commencement of the century, and select what 
 statesman you please. Let him be either American or 
 European; let him have a brain the result of six generations 
 of culture; let him have the ripest training of imiversity 
 routine; let him add to it the better education of practical 
 life; crown his temples with the silver locks of seventy 
 years, and show me the man of Saxon lineage for whom 
 his most sanguine admirer will wreathe a laurel, rich as 
 embittered foes have placed on the brow of this negro, — 
 rare military skill, profound knowledge of human nature, 
 content to blot out all party distinctions, and trust a 
 state to the blood of its sons, — anticipatiag Sir Robert 
 Peel fifty years, and taking his station by the side of Roger 
 Williams, before any Englishman or American had won 
 the right; and yet this is the record which the history of 
 rival States makes up for this inspired black of St. Dom- 
 ingo. 
 
 Some doubt the courage of the negro. Go to Hayti, 
 and stand on those fifty thousand graves of the best sol- 
 diers France ever had, and ask them what they think of 
 the negro's sword. I would call him Napoleon, but Na- 
 poleon made his way to empire over broken oaths and 
 through a sea of blood. This man never broke his word. 
 I would call him Cromwell, but Cromwell was only a 
 soldier, and the state he foimded went down with him 
 into his grave. 
 
 You think me a fanatic, for you read history, not with 
 your eyes but with your prejudices. But fifty years 
 
324 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 hence, when Truth gets a hearing, the Muse of history 
 shall put Phocion for the Greek, Brutus for the Roman, 
 Hampden for England, Fayette for France, choose Washing- 
 ton as the bright consummate flower of our earlier civiliza- 
 tion, then, dipping her pen in the sunlight, will write in the 
 clear blue, above them all, the name of the soldier, the 
 statesman, the martyr, Toussaint L'Ouverture. 
 
 THE BLTJEBIED 
 
 Emily H. MiUer. 
 
 I know the song that the bluebird is singing. 
 Out in the apple-tree where he is swinging. 
 Brave little fellow! the skies may be dreary, — 
 Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery. 
 
 Hark! how the music leaps out from his throat! 
 Hark! was there ever so merry a note? 
 Listen awhile, and you'll hear what he's saying. 
 Up in the apple-tree, swinging and swaying. 
 
 "Dear little blossoms down imder the snow. 
 You must be weary of winter, I know; 
 Hark while I sing you a message of cheer! 
 Summer is coming, and spring-time is here! 
 
 "Little white snow-drop! I pray you arise; 
 Bright yellow crocus! come, open your eyes; 
 Sweet Uttle violets, hid from the cold. 
 Put on your mantles of purple and gold; 
 Daffodils! daffodils! say, do you hear? — 
 Summer is coming, and spring-time is here!" 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 325 
 
 America's duty to resist 
 
 Patrick Henry. 
 
 It is natural for man to indulge in the illusions of hope. 
 We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and 
 listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into 
 beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great 
 and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be 
 of the number -of those who, having eyes, see not, and 
 having ears, hear not the things which so nearly concern 
 their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish 
 of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth, 
 — to know the worst, and to provide for it. 
 
 I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided; and 
 that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of 
 judging of the future but by the past; and, judging by the 
 past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of 
 the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those 
 hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace 
 themselves, and the House? Is it that insidious smile 
 with which our petition has been lately received? Trust 
 it not, Sir; it will prove a snare to your feet: suffer not 
 yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. 
 
 Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our peti- 
 tion comports with those warlike preparations which cover 
 our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies 
 necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we 
 shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, that force 
 must be called in to win back our love? Let us not de- 
 ceive ourselves, Sir; these are the implements of war and 
 subjugation, — the last arguments to which kings resort. 
 
 I ask, gentlemen. Sir, what means this martial array, 
 if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can 
 gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it ? Has Great 
 Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world to call for 
 all this accumulation of armies and navies? No, Sir, she 
 has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for 
 no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us 
 those chains which the British ministry have been so long 
 forging. And what have we to oppose them? Shall we 
 try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last 
 
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the sub- 
 ject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every 
 light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. 
 Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? 
 What terms shall we find which have not been already 
 exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you. Sir, deceive our- 
 selves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be 
 done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We 
 have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have sup- 
 plicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, 
 and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical 
 hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have 
 been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional 
 violence and insult; our supplications have been disre- 
 garded; and we have been spurned with contempt from 
 the foot of the throne. 
 
 In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond 
 hope of peace and reconciUation. There is no longer any 
 room for hope. If we wish to be free, if we mean to pre- 
 serve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we 
 have been so long contending, if we mean not basely to 
 abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long 
 engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to 
 abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be 
 obtained, we must fight! I repeat it Sir, we must fight! 
 An appeal to arms, and to the God of Hosts, is all that is 
 left us. 
 
 They tell us. Sir, that we are weak — ^unable to cope with 
 so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be 
 stronger? Will it be the next week — or the next year? 
 Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a 
 British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we 
 gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we 
 acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely 
 on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope 
 until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, 
 we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means 
 which the God of nature has placed in our power. 
 
 Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of 
 liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, 
 are invincible imder any force which our enemy can send 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 327 
 
 against us. Beside, Sir, we shall not fight our battles 
 alone. There is a just God, who presides over the destinies 
 of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles 
 for us. The battle. Sir, is not to the strong alone; it is 
 to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, Sir, we 
 have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, 
 it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no 
 retreat but in submission and slavery. Our chains are 
 forged^ — ^their clanking may be heard on the plains of 
 Boston. The war is inevitable; and let it come! I re- 
 peat it. Sir — ^let it come! 
 
 It is in vain. Sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen 
 may cry peace! peace! but there is no peace. The war is 
 actually begim! The next gale that sweeps from the 
 north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! 
 Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here 
 idle.'' What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they 
 have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased 
 at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty 
 God! I know not what course others may take; but as 
 for me, give me liberty, or give me death! 
 
 THE SUNSET-SONG 
 
 Elizabeth A. Allen. 
 
 Is it a dream? The day is done, 
 
 The long, warm, fragrant summer day; 
 
 Afar beyond the Mis, the sun 
 In purple splendor sinks away; 
 
 The fire-fly lights her floating spark. 
 While here and there the first large stars 
 
 Look out, impatient for the dark; 
 The cows stand waiting by the bars; 
 A group of children saunters by 
 Toward home, with lau^ and sportive word. 
 
 One pausing, as she hears the high 
 
 Soft prelude of an imseen bird — 
 "Sweet — sweet — sweet — 
 Sorrowful — sorrowful — sorrowful !" 
 
328 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Hist! how that clear, aerial tone 
 
 Makes all the hearkening woodland still! 
 Dear twilight voice that sings alone! 
 
 And all the child's quick pulses thrill; 
 Forgotten in her heedless hand 
 
 The half -filled berry-basket swings; 
 What cares she that the merry band 
 
 Goes on and leaves her there? He sings! 
 Sings as a seraph shut from heaven. 
 
 And vainly seeking entrance there, 
 Might pour upon the listening even 
 
 His love and longing and despair, — 
 "Sweet — sweet — sweet — 
 Sorrowful — sorrowful — sorrowful !" 
 
 Deep in the wood whose giant pines 
 
 Tower dark against the western sky. 
 While sunset's last faint crimson shines, 
 
 He trills his marvellous ecstacy; 
 With soul and sense entranced, she hears 
 
 The wondrous pathos of his strain. 
 While from her eyes unconscious tears 
 
 Fall softly, born of tenderest pain. 
 What cares the rapt and dreaming child 
 
 That duskier shadows gather round? 
 She only hears that flood of wild 
 
 Melodious, melancholy sound, — 
 "Sweet — sweet — sweet — 
 Sorrowful — sorrowful — sorrowful !" 
 
 O wondrous spirit of the wood ! 
 
 No skylark, bearing up to heaven 
 His morning-hymn of gratitude, — 
 
 No nightingale, that chants at even 
 Amid the red pomegranate-blooms, — 
 
 No bulbul, in his fragrant dell 
 Where Persia's rose-fields, breathe perfumes. 
 
 Knows half the passionate tale you tell 
 To hearts which never can forget! 
 
 O lonely voice among the pines. 
 She hears your ringing music yet. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 329 
 
 When sunset's last faint crimson shines, — 
 "Sweet — sweet — sweet — 
 Sorrowful — sorrowful — sorrowful !" 
 
 Down from immeasurable heights 
 
 The clear notes drop like crystal rain, — 
 The echo of all lost delights. 
 
 All youth's high hopes, all hidden pain. 
 All love's soft music, heard no more. 
 
 But dreamed-of and remembered long; — 
 Ah, how can mortal bird outpour 
 
 Such human heart-break in a song? 
 What can he know of lonely years. 
 
 Of idols only raised to fall. 
 Of broken faith and secret tears? 
 
 And yet his song repeats them all, — 
 "Sweet — sweet — sweet — 
 Sorrowful — sorrowful — sorrowful !" 
 
 Ah, still among Maine's darkling pines. 
 
 Lofty, mysterious, remote. 
 While sunset's last faint crimson shines. 
 
 That singer's resonant echoes float; 
 And she, the child of long ago. 
 
 Who listened till the west grew gray 
 Has learned in later days to know 
 
 The meaning of his mystic lay; 
 And often still in waking dreams 
 
 Of youth's lost summer-times, she hears 
 Again that thrilling song, which seems 
 
 The voice of dead and buried years, — 
 "Sweet — sweet — ^sweet — 
 Sorrowful — ^sorrowful — sorrowful !" 
 
 BESIDE THE SEA 
 
 Elizabeth Ahers Allen. 
 
 O sun, that sinkest slow behind the sea. 
 The sea that like my soul can find no rest. 
 
 Carry a message to my love for me! 
 
 His sails long since grew dim against the west. 
 
S30 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Leaving behind the one whom he loved best, 
 fVho loved him utterly. 
 
 Tell him the ring that on a golden night — 
 — Alas, these self -same hues were in the sky! — 
 
 He gave me, in the sweet uncertain hght. 
 Placing it on my finger tenderly. 
 
 Kissing it close, and saying, "TUl we die," 
 Has never grown less bright. 
 
 Worn smooth by kisses, washed with many tears. 
 It keeps our troth-plight ever fresh and new; 
 
 Not once removed in all these wasting years. 
 It holds my heart to his, and keeps me true. 
 And every lengthening month, the seasons through, 
 His memory more endears. 
 
 The name he wrote has melted in the brine. 
 
 And storm has swept his footprints from the sands. 
 
 As time his image from all hearts but mine; 
 But wind, nor rain, nor toil in many lands 
 Has worn his farewell kisses from my hands. 
 Nor wrought my faith's decline. 
 
 O moon, that risest from behind the sea, 
 Calm as a steadfast soul that has no fears. 
 
 Bring some sweet tidings from my love to me! 
 Tell me he loves me still, despite the years, — 
 Tell me this long, long pain, these patient tears. 
 Not all in vain must be ! 
 
 O sighing wind, that wanderest long and late 
 Wherever the discovering daylight shines. 
 
 Seek him, wherever he be swept by fate. 
 In olive shades, in valleys veiled with vines, 
 Or where the snow-fall shrouds the lonesome pines. 
 And tell him that I wait ! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 331 
 
 THE SWEETEST SONGS ABE NEVER SUNG 
 
 Elizabeth A. Allen. 
 
 The sweetest songs are never sung. 
 
 The tenderest words are never said; 
 They fail upon the faltering tongue. 
 
 And feebler notes are breathed instead; 
 In vain we seek, with ardent soul, 
 
 The noblest end, the loftiest good; 
 We never touch the highest goal. 
 
 But fall far short of what we would. 
 
 The deepest love is never told; 
 
 No tongue its fervor can express; 
 Mere language is too dull and cold 
 
 To speak its strength and tenderness; 
 Thus truest hearts unvalued pass. 
 
 No mortal knows their priceless worth, 
 And so they Uve and die, alas, 
 
 Alone, — ^the rarest of the earth! 
 
 Our dearest dreams fade imfulfilled; 
 
 Our brightest hopes evade pursuit; 
 By common cares choked down and killed. 
 
 Our best ambitions fail of fruit; 
 Alas, for all our fond desire, 
 
 Our empty pride, our fooUsh boast — 
 We pray, and labor, and aspire, 
 
 Yet never reach the uttermost! 
 
 THE NIGHT WIND 
 
 Elizabeth A. Allen. 
 
 The night wind cries at the shutter. 
 
 And knocks at the bolted door, 
 It waUs at the curtained window 
 
 As waves wail on the shore; 
 It moans and sobs in the chimney. 
 
 It whispers along the eaves. 
 And in every nook and crevice 
 
 It murmurs, complains, and grieves. 
 
832 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 "I am here," it sighs, "to tell you 
 
 Of every grief you have known; 
 Of the ache of hopeless waiting, 
 
 Of the pain endured alone; 
 Of the happiness that missed you. 
 
 Of the peace that might have been; 
 Of the dreams which fled with moming,- 
 
 Open, and let me in!" 
 
 Ah, whence did it learn the stories 
 
 It tells in the lonesome nights. 
 Of trial, and grief, and losses. 
 
 Old sorrows and dead delights? 
 Of poverty, toil, and heart-break. 
 
 Of bitterness, blight, and tears. 
 The ever increasing biu:den 
 
 Of life and the lapsing yeaxs? 
 
 It whispers of faith mistaken. 
 
 Of falsehood and shghted trust. 
 Of sacraments sealed in sorrow. 
 
 Of idols which lie in dust; 
 It tells them over and over. 
 
 The stories of woe and pain. 
 And makes me listen and tremble 
 
 And suffer them all again. 
 
 Oh, wind of the lonesome midnight! 
 
 I hear you, and dread to hear; 
 I listen to all you utter. 
 
 And shiver with shrinking fear : 
 Why scourge me with wild upbraiding? 
 
 And wherefore, with cruel art, 
 Re-echo it over and over. 
 
 The anguish I know by heart? 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 388 
 
 ONCE AGAIN 
 
 John GrabUl. 
 
 Once again with tears and prayers, 
 Once again with flowers fair; 
 Eiieeling by the soldier's grave — 
 Where, in silence, sleeps the brave— ^ 
 O'er the mound a wreath we place 
 Remembering still the dead one's face. 
 
 Once again we come to shed. 
 Tears of sorrow above the dead 
 Parents, sons and daughters, all. 
 Up from the depths of memory call, 
 Youthful forms, with hopes as bright 
 As ever welcomed the morning light. 
 
 Once again, and thus live over. 
 
 In fancy, days and years before 
 
 The tide of death swept through the land. 
 
 And stilled forever heart and hand; 
 
 When all was peace, and joy and love. 
 
 And skies were clear and blue above. 
 
 Once again, though years have passed. 
 
 Since the cannon's roar and bugle's blast 
 
 Filled every patriot soul with fire. 
 
 And side by side stood son and sire — 
 
 The crumbling trenches yet can tell 
 
 How brave men fought — ^how brave men fell. 
 
 Once again — oh, haUowed shrine — 
 Sacred spot where virtues shine — 
 Mourners come with garlands sweet. 
 And with solemn music meet 
 Round the graves to scatter, free. 
 Blossoms and buds from bush mA tree. 
 
334 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Once again, O God, look down. 
 Where they rest in peace alone; 
 Never forget, as time rolls by — 
 But with earnest prayer and tearful eye 
 O'er each mound a wreath we place. 
 Remembering e'er the dead one's face. 
 
 A WOMAN OF THE STREETS, 
 
 Charles H. Towne. 
 
 I wish I had not seen them — 
 
 Peach bloom, pear bloom and blossom white. 
 
 Swaying in the wind Uke candles in the night. 
 
 I wish I had not seen them hanging on the bough — 
 
 For I am in my city chains, city weary now. 
 
 I wish I had not seen them — 
 
 Long, long lanes, and hawthorn rows of glory. 
 
 Bright-bannered mornings with the good God's ancient 
 
 story 
 Writ in red embroidery on the far, high hills — 
 I wish I had not seen them, for now their memory kills. 
 
 I wish I had not seen them — 
 The ranks of scarlet poppies dancing in the corn 
 When the world lay easy on the heart of the mom; 
 And the shining battaUons of the surging rain — 
 I wish I had not seen them, for they bring me pain. 
 
 The hard, grim stones in the gray old town. 
 The dull days, the sad days, they weigh me down. 
 But heavier is my soul for the lost things good and sweet — 
 Oh, I wish I could not see them when I walk the iron 
 street! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 335 
 
 HOHENLINDEN 
 
 Thomas Campbell. 
 
 On Linden, when the sun was low. 
 All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, 
 And dark as winter was the flow 
 Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 
 
 But Linden saw another sight, 
 When the drum beat at dead of night. 
 Commanding fires of death to hght 
 The darkness of her scenery. 
 
 By torch and trumpet fast arrayed. 
 Each horseman drew his battle blade. 
 And furious every charger neighed. 
 To join the dreadful revelry. 
 
 Then shook the hills with thunder riven. 
 Then rushed the steed to battle driven, 
 And louder than the bolts of heaven. 
 Far flashed the red artillery. 
 
 But redder yet that light shall glow. 
 On Linden's hills of stained snow. 
 And bloodier yet the torrent flow 
 Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 
 
 'Tis mom, but scarce yon level sun 
 Can pierce the war-clouds, rolUng dun. 
 Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, 
 Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 
 
 The combat deepens. On, ye brave. 
 Who rush to glory, or the grave! 
 Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave! 
 And charge with all thy chivalry! 
 
 Few, few, shall part where many meet! 
 The snow shall be their winding sheet. 
 And every turf beneath their feet 
 Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 
 
386 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 o captain! my captain 
 
 Walt Whitman. 
 
 Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done. 
 
 The ship has weather'd every rock, the prize we sought 
 
 is won. 
 The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, 
 Wldle follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and 
 
 daring; 
 
 But heart! heart! heart! 
 
 Oh, the bleeding drops of red. 
 Where on the deck my Captain lies, 
 
 Fallen cold and dead. 
 
 O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; 
 
 Eise up, — ^for you the flag is flung, — ^for you the bugle 
 
 trills; 
 For you boquets and ribbon'd wreaths, — for you the 
 
 shores a-crowding. 
 For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces 
 
 turning; 
 
 Here, Captain! dear father! 
 
 This arm beneath your head! 
 It is some dream that on the deck 
 
 You've fallen cold and dead. 
 
 My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and stiU; 
 My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse or will; 
 The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and 
 
 done; 
 From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; 
 
 Exult, O shores! and ring, O bells! 
 
 But I, with mournful tread. 
 Walk the deck my Captain lies, 
 
 Fallen cold and dead. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 337 
 
 THE SANDPIPER 
 
 Celia Thaxter. 
 
 Across the narrow beach we flit. 
 
 One Httle sandpiper and I, 
 And fast, I gathered bit by bit. 
 
 The scattered driftwood bleached and dry. 
 The wild waves reach their hands for it. 
 
 The wild wind raves, the tide runs high. 
 As up and down the beach we flit, — 
 
 One little sandpiper and I. 
 
 Above our heads the sullen clouds 
 
 Scud black and swift across the sky; 
 Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds 
 
 Stand out the white lighthouses high. 
 Almost as far as eye can reach 
 
 I see the close-reefed vessels fly. 
 As fast we flit along the beach, 
 
 One little sandpiper and I. 
 
 I watch him as he skims along. 
 
 Uttering his sweet and mournful cry. 
 He starts not at my fitful song. 
 
 Or flash of fluttering drapery. 
 He has no thought of any wrong; 
 
 He scans me with a fearless eye. 
 Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong. 
 
 The little sandpiper and I. 
 
 Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night. 
 
 When the loosed storm breaks furiously? 
 My driftwood fire will bum so bright! 
 
 To what warm shelter canst thou fly? 
 I do not fear for thee, though wroth 
 
 The tempest rushes through the sky; 
 For are we not God's children both. 
 
 Thou, httle sandpiper, and I? 
 
838 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 THE PATRIOT 
 An Old Story. 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 It was roses, roses, all the way, 
 
 With myrtle mixed in my path like mad: 
 The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway. 
 
 The church-spires flamed, such flags they had, 
 A year ago on this very day. 
 
 The air broke into a mist with bells. 
 The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries. 
 
 Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise repels — 
 But give me your sun from yonder skies!" 
 
 They had answered "And afterward, what else?" 
 
 Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun 
 To give it my loving friends to keep! 
 
 Naught man could do, have I left undone: 
 And you see my harvest, what I reap 
 
 This very day, now a year is run. 
 
 There's nobody on the house-tops now — 
 Just a palsied few at the windows set; 
 
 For the best of the sight is, all allow. 
 At the Shambles' Gate — or, better yet. 
 
 By the very scaffold's foot, I trow. 
 
 I go in the rain, and, more than needs, 
 A rope cuts both my wrists behind; 
 
 And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds. 
 For they fling, whoever has a mind. 
 
 Stones at me for my year's misdeeds. 
 
 Thus I entered, and thus I go! 
 
 In triumphs, people have dropped down dead. 
 "Paid by the world, what dost thou owe 
 
 Me?" — God might question; now instead, 
 'Tis God shall repay: I am safer so. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 339 
 
 HABITS OF BIBDS 
 
 Henry Ward Beecher. 
 
 It is not given to all birds alike to soar high, or to con- 
 tinue long upon the wing. The wing must be shapely, the 
 muscle must be ample, the nerve strong, if a bird is to 
 hang long in the air without weariness. Small birds, with 
 short and blunt wings, are always near the ground. Quails 
 and partridges, grouse and woodcock, love the earth, and 
 run upon the ground with more delight than they fly in the 
 air. Therefore they and their nests are easily found by 
 their enemies, — ^the rat, the weasel, the polecat, and the 
 swine, and other hunters, of whom there are many. 
 
 Small birds, such as finches, sparrows, thrushes, build 
 low and fly low. Their courses are neither wide nor 
 daring. They hop along the twigs in hedges, or hover, 
 giggling and simple hearted, ia low-branched trees. In 
 fence rows cats lurk for them, and in the woods small 
 hawks, bluejays, and shrikes devour them. Even dark- 
 ness does not cover them from the goggle-eyed owl, whose 
 soft wings are as noiseless as death. 
 
 Then come bolder birds, that seldom descend below the 
 tops of forests, that live high up above mousing enemies, 
 and are more familiar with the sun than with the shade. 
 And higher than all are the long-winged birds, that hang 
 over the ocean, that beat about in storms, — gulls, petrels, 
 or, still higher, falcons, condors, eagles, that brood upon 
 the sunlight and lie upon the mere air as if it were water 
 under their breasts, and they were fowl swinging on the 
 sea; in these glorious soUtudes they live secure. 
 
 Noises never rise so high; storms and thunder sound 
 below them; the sun comes earlier to them, and lingers 
 later; their days are longer. There are no fences there, 
 parceling out the great domain. No trees or forest shadow 
 the empyrean; no mountains divide it, nor rivers water it. 
 Only the Sun himself inhabits there, — solitary, though the 
 father of multitudes, — dropping down showers of light, 
 which he does not see, and giving life to infinite broods that 
 never knew, nor are known of, their father, who through 
 ages is giving and forgetting, begetting and forsaking, 
 creating and devouring. 
 
340 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 And yet no wing was ever framed that could soar for- 
 ever. The gull at last alights; the falcon builds a nest, 
 and seeks it; the eagle has a home among the rocks. Only 
 man's thoughts ride higher than the eagle's wing, higher 
 than the sun, and walk in the celestial city, where is no 
 night, nor weariness, nor sorrow. But even Faith itself 
 may not always abide in these high delights; the heart 
 must come back to its nest. 
 
 BIRDS OF PASSAGE 
 
 Felicia Hemans. 
 
 Birds, joyous birds of the wandering wing! 
 Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring? 
 "We come from the shores of the green old Nile, 
 From the land where the roses of Sharon smile. 
 From the palms that wave through the Indian sky. 
 From the myrrh-trees of glowing Araby. 
 
 "We have swept o'er the cities in' song renowned; 
 
 Silent they lie, with the deserts around. 
 
 We have crossed proud rivers, whose tide hath rolled 
 
 All dark with the warrior blood of old; 
 
 And each worn wing hath regained its home. 
 
 Under peasant's roof-tree, or monarch's dome." 
 
 And what have ye found in the monarch's dome. 
 
 Since last ye traversed the blue sea's foam.'' 
 
 "We have found a change, we have found a pall. 
 
 And a gloom o'ershadowing the banquet-hall. 
 
 And a mark on the floor as of life-drop spilt; 
 
 Naught looks the same, save the nest we built!" 
 II.. 
 
 O joyous birds, it hath still been so; 
 
 Through the hallS of kings doth the tempest go! 
 
 But the huts of the hamlet lie still and deep. 
 
 And the hills o'er their quiet vigil keep. 
 
 Say, what have ye found in the peasant's cot. 
 
 Since last ye parted from that sweet spot.!* 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 341 
 
 "A change we have found there, — and many a change! 
 
 Faces and footsteps, and all things strange! 
 
 Gone are the heads of the silvery hair. 
 
 And the young that were, have a brow of care, 
 
 And the place is hushed where the children played; 
 
 Naught looks the same, save the nest we made!" 
 
 Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth. 
 Birds that o'er-sweep it, in power and mirth! 
 Yet through the wastes of the trackless air 
 Ye have a guide, and shall we despair? 
 Ye over desert and deep have passed; 
 So may we reach our bright home at last. 
 
 THE DEATH-BED OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 George Lippard, Pennsylvania. 
 
 Note. — Benedict Arnold, a talented American military 
 officer, whose early brilliant exploits are obscured by his 
 attempts to betray his native country, was bom in Con- 
 necticut in 1741 and died in London in 1801. 
 
 Fifty years ago, in a rude garret, near the loneliest 
 suburbs of the city of London, lay a dying man. He was 
 but half dressed, though his legs were concealed in long, 
 military boots. A^ aged minister stood beside the rough 
 couch. The form was that of a strong man grown old 
 through care more than age. There was a face that you 
 might look upon but once, and yet wear it in your memory 
 forever. 
 
 But look! those strong arms are clutching at the vacant 
 air; the death sweat stands, in drops on that bold brow — 
 the man is dying. Throb — ^throb — throb — ^beats the death 
 watch in the shattered wall. "Would. you die in the faith 
 of the Christian?" faltered the preacher, as he knelt there 
 on the damp floor. 
 
 The white lips of the death-stricken man trembled but 
 made no sound. Then with the strong agony of death 
 
34,2 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 upon him, he rose into a sitting posture. For the first 
 time he spoke. "Christian!" he echoed, in that deep tone 
 which thrilled the preacher to the heart: "Will that faith 
 give me back my honor?" 
 
 Suddenly the dying man arose; he tottered along the 
 floor. With those white fingers, whose nails were blue 
 with the death-chill, he threw open a valise. He drew 
 from thence a faded coat of blue, faced with silver, and 
 the wreck of a battle-flag. 
 
 "Look ye, priest! this faded coat is spotted with my 
 blood!" he cried as old memories seemed stirring at his 
 heart. "This coat I wore when I first heard the news of 
 Lexington; this coat I wore when I planted the banner of 
 the stars on Ticonderoga! that bullet-hole was pierced in 
 the fight of Quebec; and now, I am a — ^let me whisper in 
 your ear — traitor!" He hissed that single burning word 
 into the minister's ear. "Now help me, priest! help me to 
 put on this coat of blue; for you see there is no one here 
 to wipe the cold drops from my brow; no wife, no child; 
 I must meet death alone; but I will meet him, as I have met 
 him in battle, without a fear!" 
 
 The awe-stricken preacher started back from the look 
 of the dying man, while throb — ^throb — ^throb — ^beats the 
 death watch in the shattered wall. "Hush! silence along 
 the lines there!" he muttered, in that wild, absent tone, as 
 though speaking to the dead. "Silence along the lines! 
 not a word, not a word, on peril of your lives ! Hark you, 
 Montgomery! we will meet in the center of the town! we 
 will meet there in victory or die! Hist! silence, my men, 
 not a whisper, as we move up those steep rocks! Now 
 on, my boys — now on! Men of the wilderness we will 
 gain the town! Now up with the banner of the stars, up 
 with the flag of freedom, though the night is dark, and the 
 snow falls ! Now ! now, one more blow and Quebec is ours !" 
 
 Who is this strange man lying there alone, in this rude 
 garret; this man, who, in all his crimes, still treasured up 
 that blue uniform, that faded flag? Who is this being of 
 horrid remorse? 
 
 Let us look at that parchment and flag. The aged 
 minister xmroUs that faded flag; it is a blue banner gleam- 
 ing with thirteen stars. He unrolls that parchment; it is 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 343 
 
 a colonel's coinmission in the Continental army, addressed 
 to Benedict Arnold. And there, in that rude hut, unknown 
 unwept, in all the bitterness of desolation, Kes the corpse 
 of the patriot and the traitor. 
 
 THE FIEST VIEW OF THE HEAVENS. 
 
 Ormsby MacKnight Mitchell. 
 
 Note. — ^Mitchell was astronomer, author, lawyer, lect- 
 urer, and naajor-general United States Army. Born 1809, 
 Kentucky; died 1862, South Carolina. 
 
 Often have I swept backward, in imagination, six 
 thousand years, and stood beside our great ancestor, as 
 he gazed for the first time upon the going down of the sun. 
 What strange sensations must have swept through his 
 bewildered mind, as he watched the last of the departing 
 ray of the sinking orb, unconscious whether he should 
 ever behold its return. 
 
 Wrapt in a maze of thought, strange and startling, he 
 suflFers his eye to linger long about the point at which the 
 sun has slowly faded from view. A mysterious darkness 
 creeps over the face of nature; the beautiful scenes of 
 earth are slowly fading, one by one, from his dimmed 
 vision. 
 
 A gloom deeper than that which covers earth steals 
 across the mind of earth's solitary inhabitant. He raises 
 his inquiring gaze towards heaven; and lo! a silver crescent 
 of light, clear and beautiful, hanging in the western sky, 
 meets his astonished gaze. 
 
 The young moon charms his untutored vision and leads 
 him upwards to her bright attendants, which are now 
 stealing, one by one, from out the deep blue sky. The 
 soHtary gazer bows, wonders, and adores. 
 
 The hours glide by; the silver moon is gone; the stars 
 are rising, slowly ascending the heights of heaven, and 
 solemnly sweeping downward in the stillness of the night. 
 A faint streak of rosy light is seen in the east; it brightens; 
 the stars fade; the planets are extinguished; the eye is 
 fixed in mute astonishment on the growing splendor, till 
 
S44 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 the first rays of th.e returning sun dart their radiance on 
 the young earth and its solitary inhabitant. 
 
 The curiosity excited on thas solemn night, the con- 
 sciousness that in the heavens God had declared his glory, 
 the eager desire to comprehend the mysteries that dweU 
 in their bright orbs, have clung, through the long lapse of 
 six thousand years, to the descendants of him who first 
 watched and wondered. In this boundless field of investi- 
 gation, human genius has won its most signal victories. 
 
 Generation after generation has rolled away, age after 
 age has swept silently by; but each has swelled by its 
 contributions the stream of discovery. Mysterious move- 
 ments have been unravelled; mighty laws have been re- 
 vealed; one barrier after another has given way. to the 
 force of intellect; until the mind, majestic in its strength, 
 has mounted, step by step, up the rocky height of its 
 self-built pyramid, from whose star crowned simunit it 
 looks out upon the grandeur of the universe self-clothed 
 with the presence of a God. 
 
 THE DEDICATION OF GBTTYSBUBG CEMETERY 
 
 Abraham Lincoln. 
 
 Note. — ^Abraham Lincoln, Statesman, President of the 
 United States. B. 1809, Kentucky; lived in Illinois and 
 Washington, D. C; d. Washington, D. C, 1865. 
 
 The battle of Gettysburg was fought July 1-3, 1863, 
 between the Union and Confederate forces under General 
 Meade and General Lee. It proved to be one of the most 
 decisive battles of the Civil War. "At the dedication of 
 the cemetery, in which the slain of this battle was buried, 
 November 19, 1863, President Lincoln dehvered this brief 
 address." 
 
 Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought 
 forth upon our continent a new nation, conceived in liber- 
 ty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are 
 created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, 
 testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived 
 and so dedicated, can long endure. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 345 
 
 We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have 
 met to dedicate a portion of it as the final resting-place of 
 those who here gave their lives that that nation might 
 live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should 
 do this. But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we 
 cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The 
 brave men, Uving and dead, who struggled here have con- 
 secrated it far beyond our power to add or detract. The 
 world will httle note nor long remember, what we say 
 here; but it can never forget what they did here. 
 
 It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated to the 
 imfinished work that they have thus far so nobly carried 
 on. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great 
 task remaining before us;^ — ^that from these honored dead 
 we take increased devotion to that cause for which they 
 here gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here 
 highly resolve that the dead shall not have died in vain; 
 that the nation shall, under God, have a new birth of 
 freedom, and that government of the people, by the people 
 and for the people, shall not perish from the earth. 
 
 MY SHIPS 
 
 Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 
 
 If all the ships I have at sea 
 Should come a-saUing home to me. 
 Ah, well! the harbor could not hold 
 So many sails as there would be 
 If all my ships came in from sea. 
 
 If half my ships came home from sea 
 And brought their precious freight to me. 
 Ah, well! I should have wealth as great 
 As any king who sits in state — 
 So rich the treasures that would be 
 In half my ships now out at sea. 
 
 If just one ship I have at sea 
 Should come a-sailing home to me. 
 
346 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Ah, well! the storm-clouds then might frown; 
 For if the others all went down. 
 Still rich and proud and glad I'd be 
 If that one ship came back to me. 
 
 If that one ship went down at sea. 
 
 And all the others came to me. 
 
 Weighed down with gems and wealth untold. 
 
 With glory, honors, riches, gold. 
 
 The poorest soul on earth I'd be 
 
 If that one ship came not to me. 
 
 O skies, be calm! winds, blow free — 
 Blow all my ships safe home to me! 
 But if thou sendest some a-wrack. 
 To never more come sailing back. 
 Send any— ^11 that skim the sea. 
 But bring my love-ship home to me. 
 
 MEMOBIAL DAT 
 
 Kate B. Sherwood. 
 
 O comrades, on each lonely grave we place one flower 
 
 to-day. 
 More sweet than any that shall bloom upon the heart of 
 
 May; 
 More flush in blue and crimson, with starry splendor 
 
 crowned. 
 Because the thunders raged above, the darkness hemmed 
 
 around; 
 The flower that our fathers saw, a hundred years before, 
 A tiny tendril springing by the lonely cabin door; 
 'Twas sown in fears, 'twas wet with tears, till, lo, it burst 
 
 in view. 
 The symbol of a nation's hopes — ^the Red, the White, the 
 
 Blue. 
 
 Ah, not in anger, not in strife, we come with laden hands; 
 The crimson retinues of war are off in other lands; 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 347 
 
 We bring the blossoms we have nursed their honeyed 
 
 breath 
 Where erst the reeling ranks of wrath unbarred the gates 
 
 of death; 
 We lift the dear dead faces of our heroes to the light; 
 We raise the pallid hands of theirs, we clasp and hold 
 
 them tight; 
 We say: O brothers, rise and see the peace you helped to 
 
 woo. 
 Whose snowy pinions hover o'er the Red, the White, the 
 
 Blue. 
 
 Not yours, O silent comrades, the ecstacy of strife. 
 The haughty exaltation that roimds the hero's life; 
 Not yours the flash of sabre, the shouts of the advance. 
 The gleam of thrusting bayonets that shiver as they 
 
 glance; 
 Not yours upon the parapet your banner to unfurl. 
 To (fie with victory on your lips, as back your feet they 
 
 hurl; 
 The whisper of a kindling hope, while gayly over you 
 The silken folds are dancing out — the Red, the White, the 
 
 Blue. 
 
 Nay, to your homesick vision the Mask of Death was up. 
 His icy breath was round you, his draught was in the cup; 
 A terror walks at noonday; the dreams that throng the 
 
 night 
 But take the wings of morning and vanish ere the light. 
 But oh, our fallen heroes, one gleam of heaven shines 
 Upon the ghastly phalanxes, along the ragged lines. 
 And eyes grown dim with wMching are ht with courage 
 
 new, — 
 They've heard the tramp of comrades, with the Red, the 
 
 White, the Blue. 
 
 O comrades of the prison, ye have not died in vain, 
 For lo, the march of harvests where War has trod the 
 plain! 
 
360 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 Give us Men! 
 
 Men, who, when the tempest gathers. 
 
 Grasp the standard of their fathers 
 
 In the thickest fight. 
 Men who strike for home and altar, 
 (Let the coward cringe and falter) 
 
 God defend the right! 
 True as truth though lorn and lonely. 
 Tender as the brave are only; 
 Men who tread where saints have trod. 
 Men for Country — Home — ^and God; 
 
 Give us Men — I say again — again, 
 Give us Men! 
 
 BERNARDO DEL CABPIO 
 
 Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 The warrior bowed his crested head and tamed hi." heart 
 
 of fire. 
 And sued the haughty king to free his long imprisoned 
 
 sire: 
 "I bring thee here my fortress keys, I bring my captive 
 
 train: 
 I pledge thee faith; — ^my liege, my lord, oh, break my 
 
 father's chain!" 
 "Rise! rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man 
 
 this day; 
 Mount thy good steed, and thou and I will meet him on 
 
 his way." 
 Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed; 
 And urged as if with lance in rest, his charger's foamy 
 
 speed. 
 And lo! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glitter- 
 ing band. 
 With one that 'mid them stately rode, like a leader in the 
 
 land. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 351 
 
 "Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, 
 
 is he. 
 The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long 
 
 to see." 
 His proud breast heaved, his dark eye flashed, his cheeks' 
 
 hue came and went; 
 
 He reached that gray haired chieftain's side, and there 
 
 dismoimting bent — 
 A lowly knee to earth he bent — ^his father's hand he took; 
 What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook? 
 That hand was cold! a frozen thing! — ^it dropped from his 
 
 like lead; 
 He looked up to the face above — ^the face was of the dead! 
 A plume waved o'er his noble brow — ^that brow was fixed 
 
 and white! 
 He met at length his father's eyes—but in them was no 
 
 sight! 
 Up from the ground he sprang, and gazed; but who can 
 
 paint that gaze? 
 They hushed their very hearts who saw its horror and 
 
 amaze: 
 They might have chained him, as before that stony form 
 
 he stood; 
 For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his hp 
 
 the blood. 
 "Father!" at length he murmured low, and wept like 
 
 childhood then — 
 Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike 
 
 men. 
 
 He thought on all his glorious hopes, on all his young re- 
 nown. 
 
 Then flung the falchion from his side, and in the dust sat 
 down; 
 
 There, covering with his steel-gloved hand his darkly 
 mournful brow, 
 
 "No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the sword 
 for now; 
 
 My king is false! my hope betrayed! my father — oh, the 
 worth. 
 
352 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth! 
 I thought to stand where banners wave, my sire, beside 
 
 thee yet; 
 I would that there, on Spain's free soil, our kindred blood 
 
 had met; 
 Thou wouldst have known my spirit then, for thee my 
 
 fields were won — 
 And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou 
 
 hadst no son!" 
 He started from the ground once more and seized the 
 
 monarch's rein. 
 Amid the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train. 
 With a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse 
 
 led, 
 And sternly set them face to face — the king before the 
 
 dead! 
 "Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to 
 
 kiss? 
 Be still! and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me, what is 
 
 this? 
 The look, the voice, the heart I sought — give answer, 
 
 where are they? 
 If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through 
 
 this cold clay. 
 Into these glassy eyes put Ught: be still, keep down thine 
 
 ire; 
 Bid those white Kps a blessing speak — ^this earth is not 
 
 my sire ! 
 Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood 
 
 was shed! 
 Thou canst not, and a king? his dust be mountains on thy 
 
 head!" 
 He loosed the steed — ^his slack hand fell; — ^upon the silent 
 
 face 
 He cast one long, deep troubled glance, then turned from 
 
 that sad place. 
 Despair, and grief, and baffled love, o'erwhelmed his soul 
 
 at last — 
 The time for Vengeance will arrive, when Sorrow's hour 
 
 is past. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 353 
 
 BEBNABDO AND ALPHONSO 
 
 John G. Lockhart. 
 11 
 
 With some good ten of his chosen men, Bernardo hath 
 
 appeared 
 Before them all, in the palace hall, the lying king to beard; 
 With cap in hand and eye on groimd, he came in reverent 
 
 guise, 
 But ever and anon he frown'd, and flame broke from his 
 
 eyes. 
 "A curse upon thee," cries the king, "who comest unbid to 
 
 me; 
 But what from traitor's blood should spring save traitor 
 
 like to thee! 
 His sire, lords, had a traitor's heart; perchance our cham- 
 pion brave 
 May think it were a pious part to share Don Sancho's 
 
 grave." 
 
 "Whoever told this ta,le, the king has rashness to repeat," 
 Cries Bernardo, "here my gage I fling before the Uar's feet! 
 No treason was in Sancho s blood, no stain in mine doth 
 
 lie — 
 Below the throne what knight will own the coward cal- 
 umny? 
 The blood that I Uke water shed, when Roland did advance 
 By secret trjiitors, hired and led, to miake us slaves of 
 
 France. — 
 The life of King Alphonso, I saved at Roncesval — 
 Your words, lord King, are recompense abundant for it 
 
 all! 
 Your horse was down — ^your hope was flown — I saw the 
 
 falchion shine 
 That soon had drunk your royal blood, had I not ventured 
 
 mine; 
 But memory soon of service done deserteth the ingrate. 
 And you've thanked the son for life and crown by the 
 
 father's bloody fate. 
 
354 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 You swore upon your kingly fate to set Don Sancho free. 
 But, curse upon your paltering breath! the light he ne'er 
 
 did see; 
 He died in dungeon cold and dim, by Alphonso's base 
 
 decree, 
 And visage blind and stiffn'd limb were all they gave to me. 
 The king that swerveth from his word hath stain'd his 
 
 purple black — 
 No Spanish lord will draw the sword behind a Kar's back; 
 But noble vengeance shall be mine; an open hate I'll show — 
 The king hath injured Carpio's line, and Bernardo is his 
 
 foe." 
 "Seize — seize him!" — loud the king doth scream; "there are 
 
 a thousand here. 
 Let his foul blood this instant stream — what! catiffs, do 
 
 you fear.'' 
 Seize! Seize the traitor!" But not one to move a finger 
 
 dareth — 
 Bernardo standeth by the throne, and calm his sword he 
 
 bareth: 
 He drew the falchion from the sheath and held it up on 
 
 high. 
 And all the hall was still as death; cries Bernardo, "Here 
 
 ami; 
 And here's the sword that owns no lord excepting Heaven 
 
 and me; 
 Fain would I know who dares its point — ^King, Condd, 
 
 or Grandee?" 
 Then to his mouth the horn he drew — (it hung below his 
 
 cloak) — 
 His ten true men the signal knew, and through the ring 
 
 they broke; 
 With helm on head and blade in hand, the knights the 
 
 circle brake; 
 And back the lordlings 'gan to stand, and the false king 
 
 to quake. 
 "Ha! Bernardo," quoth Alphonso, "What means this war- 
 
 hke guise? 
 You know fuU well I jested — ^you know your worth I 
 
 prize." 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 355 
 
 But Benardo turned upon his heel, and smiling passed 
 
 away; 
 Long rued Alphonso and Castile the jesting of that day. 
 
 BERNAEDO S REVENGE 
 
 Anonymous. 
 Ill 
 
 What tents gleam on the green hill side, like snow in the 
 
 sunny beam? 
 What gloomy warriors gather there, like a surly mountain 
 
 stream? 
 These, for Bernardo's vengeance, have come like a stormy 
 
 blast, 
 The rage of their long cherished hate on a cruel king to 
 
 cast. 
 "Smiters of tyranny," cries their chief, "see yonder 
 
 slavish host. 
 We shajl drench the field with their craven blood, or 
 
 freedom's hopes are lost. 
 You know I come for a father's death, my filial vow to pay. 
 Then let the 'Murdered Sancho!' be your battle cry to-day. 
 On, on! for the death of the tyrant king!" "Hurrah!" was 
 
 the answering cry; 
 "We follow thee to victory, or follow thee to die!" 
 The battlefield — ^the charge — the shock — ^the quivering 
 
 struggle now — 
 The rout — the shout! — ^while lightnings flash from Bernar- 
 do's angry brow. 
 The chieftain's arm has need of rest, his brand drips red 
 
 with gore. 
 But one last sacrifice remains, ere his work of toil is o'er. 
 The king, who looked for victory, from his large and well- 
 trained host. 
 Now flies for safety from the field, where all his hopes are 
 
 lost; 
 But full in front, with blood-red sword, a warrior appears. 
 And the war-cry "Murdered Sancho!" rings in the tyrant's 
 
 ears. 
 
356 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 "Ha! noble king, have we met at last?" with scornful lip 
 
 he cries; 
 "Don Sancho's son would speak with you, once more 
 
 before he dies; 
 Your kindness to my sainted sire is graven on my heart, 
 And I would show my gratitude once more before we part. 
 Draw! for the last of Sancho's race is ready for your 
 
 sword : — 
 Bernardo's blood should flow by him by whom his sire's 
 
 was poured ! 
 What wait you for, vile, craven wretch? it was not thus 
 
 you stood 
 When laying out your fiendish plans to spill my father's 
 
 blood. 
 Draw! for I will not learn from thee the assassin's coward 
 
 trade, 
 I scorn the lesson you have taught — ^unsheath your 
 
 murderous blade!" 
 
 Roused by Bernardo's fiery taimts, the king at length 
 
 engaged: 
 He fought for life, but aU in vain; unequal strife he waged ! 
 Bernardo's sword has pierced his side — ^the tyrant's reign 
 
 is o'er — 
 "Father, I have fulfilled my vow, I thirst for blood no 
 
 more." 
 
 LITTLE BREECHES 
 
 Col. John Hay. 
 
 I don't go much on religion, 
 I never ain't had no show. 
 But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir. 
 On the handful of things I know. 
 I don't pan out on the prophets. 
 And free-will, an' that sort of thing: 
 But I believe in God an' the Angels, 
 Ever since one night last spring. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 357 
 
 I come into town with some turnips, 
 And my little Gabe came along; 
 No four-year-old in the county 
 Could beat him, for purty an' strong; 
 Peart, an' chipper, an' sassy, 
 AUus ready to swear an' fight; 
 An' I'd learnt him to chaw terbaccer 
 Jest to keep his milk teeth white. 
 
 The snow came down like a blanket 
 As we passed by old Taggart's store; 
 I went in for a jug of molasses, 
 And I left the old team at the door: 
 They skeered at something an' started, 
 I heard one little squall. 
 And so-to-split over the prairie 
 Went team. Little Breeches, an' all. 
 
 Hell-to-split over the prairie — 
 I was almost froze with skeer; 
 But we mustered up some torches. 
 And we searched for 'em far an' near. 
 At last we found bosses an' wagon 
 Snowed under a soft white mound. 
 Upset, dead-beat — ^but of little Gabe 
 No hide or hair was found. 
 
 Now here all hope soured on me. 
 
 Of my fellow-critter's aid, 
 
 I jest dropped down on my marrow bones. 
 
 Crotch deep in the snow, an' I prayed. 
 
 At last the torches they all gin' out, 
 
 An' me 'n Isrial Parr 
 
 Went off for some wood to a sheep-fold 
 
 That he said was somewhere thar. 
 
 We found it last, a Kttle place 
 Where they shut up the lambs at night. 
 I peeped in, an' saw 'em all huddled thar 
 So warm, so sleepy, an' white. 
 
358 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 And thar sot Little Breeches, an' chirped 
 
 As peart as ever you see, 
 
 "I want a chew of terbaccer. 
 
 An' that's what's the matter with me!" 
 
 How did he git thar? Angels. 
 
 He never could walk so far: 
 
 They jest scooped down, an' they toted him 
 
 To where it was safe an' warm. 
 
 An' I think that savin' a little child. 
 
 And bringin' him back to his own. 
 
 Is a durned sight better bizness 
 
 Than loafin' 'round the throne. 
 
 EECESSIONAL 
 
 Rvdyard Kipling. 
 
 God of our fathers, known of old — 
 Lord of our far-flung battle line 
 Beneath whose awful Hand we hold 
 Dominion over palm and pine — 
 Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet. 
 Lest we forget — ^lest we forget. 
 
 The tumult and the shouting dies — 
 The captains and the kings depart — 
 Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, 
 An humble and a contrite heart. 
 Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet. 
 Lest we forget — ^lest we forget! 
 
 Far called our navies melt away — 
 On dune and headland sinks the fire — 
 Lo, all our pomp of yesterday 
 Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! 
 Judge of the Nations, spare us yet. 
 Lest we forget — ^lest we forget! 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 359 
 
 If, drunk with sight of power, we loose. 
 Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe 
 Such boasting as the Gentile use 
 Or lesser breeds without the law — 
 Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet. 
 Lest we forget — ^lest we forget! 
 
 AMERICA OK THE NATIONAL HYMN 
 
 Rev. S. F. Smith. 
 
 My country, 'tis of thee. Sweet land of liberty. 
 
 Of thee I sing. 
 Land where my fathers died. 
 Land of the pilgrims' pride. 
 From ev'ry moimtain side 
 Let freedom ring! 
 
 My native country thee. Land of the noble free. 
 
 Thy name I love; 
 I love thy rocks and rills. 
 Thy woods and templed hiUs; 
 My heart with rapture thrills 
 Like that above. 
 
 Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees. 
 
 Sweet freedom's song; 
 Let mortal tongues awake; 
 Let all that breathe partake; 
 Let rocks their silence break. 
 The soimd prolong. 
 
 Our fathers' God, to thee. Author of liberty. 
 
 To thee we sing: 
 Long may our land be bright 
 With freedom's holy light; 
 Protect us by thy might. 
 Great God, our King! 
 
360 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 STAR SPANGLED BANNER 
 
 Frands Scott Key. 
 
 Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light. 
 
 What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming. 
 
 Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous 
 
 fight. 
 O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming? 
 And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air. 
 Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there, 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave. 
 O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 
 
 On the shore dimly seen thro' the mist^s of the deep. 
 Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes. 
 What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep. 
 As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? 
 Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam. 
 In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream: 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 'Tis the star-spangled banner: oh, long may it wave. 
 O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 
 
 And where is that band who so vaimtingly swore, 
 
 That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion, 
 
 A home and a country should leave us no more? 
 
 Their blood has wash'd out their foul footsteps' pollution. 
 
 No refuge could save the hireling and slave 
 
 From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave: 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave. 
 O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 361 
 
 Oh, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand 
 Between their loved home and wild war's desolation; 
 Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land 
 Praise the pow'r that hath made and preserv'd us a nation ! 
 Then conquer we must, when oiu- cause it is just. 
 And this be our motto: "In God is our trust!" 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
 O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 
 
 JOHN ANDEBSON, MY JO 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, John, 
 When we were first acquent. 
 Your locks were like the raven. 
 Your bonnie brow was brent; 
 But now your brow is beld, John, 
 Your locks are like the snaw: 
 But blessings on your frosty pow, 
 John Anderson, my jo. 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, John, 
 We climb the hill thegither; 
 And monie a canty day, John, 
 We've had wi' ane anither: 
 Now we maun totter down, John, 
 But hand in hand we'll go, 
 And sleep thegither at the foot, 
 John Anderson, my jo. 
 
 MEETING AT NIGHT 
 
 The gray sea and the long black land; 
 
 And the yellow half-moon large and low; 
 And the startled little waves that leap 
 
 Bums. 
 
 Brovming. 
 
362 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
 
 In fiery ringlets from their sleep. 
 
 As I gain the cove with pushing prow. 
 
 And I quench its speed i' the slushy sand. 
 
 Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach; 
 Three fields to cross tiU a farm appears; 
 A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch 
 And blue spmt of a lighted match. 
 And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears, 
 Than the two hearts beating each to each! 
 
 THE HOUSE BY THE SIDE OF THE EOAD 
 
 S. W. Foss. 
 
 There are hermit souls that live withdrawn 
 
 In the peace of their self content; 
 There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart, 
 
 In a feUowless firmanent; 
 There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths 
 
 Where highways never ran; — 
 But let me live by the side of the road 
 
 And be a friend to man. 
 Let me live in a house by the side of the road. 
 
 Where the race of men go by — 
 The men who are good and the men who are bad. 
 
 As good and as bad as I. 
 I would not sit in the scorner's seat. 
 
 Or hurl the cynic's band; — 
 Let me live in a house by the side of the road 
 
 And be a friend to man. 
 
 I see from my house by the side of the road. 
 
 By the side of the highway of life. 
 The men who press with the ardor of hope. 
 
 The men who are faint with the strife. 
 But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears- 
 
 Both parts of an infinite plan; — 
 
THE SPOKEN WORD 363 
 
 Let me live in my house by the side of the road 
 
 And be a friend to man. 
 I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead 
 
 And mountains of wearisome height; 
 That the road passes on through the long afternoon 
 
 And stretches away to the night. 
 But still I rejoice when the travellers rejoice. 
 
 And weep with the strangers that moan, 
 Nor live in my house by the side of the road 
 
 Like a man who dwells alone. 
 
 Let me live in my house by the side of the road 
 
 Where the race of men go by — • 
 They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are 
 strong. 
 
 Wise, foolish — so am I. 
 They why should I sit in the scorner's seat 
 
 Or hurl the cynic's ban? — n 
 Let me live in my house by the side of the road 
 
 And be a friend to man. 
 
INDEX 
 
 A 
 
 Accentuation, 51 
 
 Adam's Morning Hymn in Para- 
 dise, Milton, 136 
 
 Advanced Readings for Class use, 
 198 
 
 All are but parts of one stupendous 
 whole. Pope, 228 
 
 Allegory, 151 
 
 All in a hot and copper sky, Col- 
 eridge, 229 
 
 All in his eye, Charles F. Adams, 
 181 
 
 Alliteration, 46 
 
 Allusion, 162 
 
 America, Rev. S. T. Smith, 359 
 
 American Flag, The, 263 
 
 America's Duty to Resist, Patrick 
 Henry, 325 
 
 Amphibrachic, 167 
 
 Anapestic, 167 
 
 Anderson, John, My Jo, Bums, 
 361 
 
 Angels of Buena Vista, Whitlier, 
 215 
 
 Anti-climax, 161 
 
 Antithesis, 58, 159 
 
 Anthony's Speech to Roman Citi- 
 zens, Shakespeare, 14 
 
 Apostrophe, The, 111, 156 
 Arnold Winkelreid, Montgomery, 
 
 97 
 As I Walked by Myself, Mother 
 
 Goose, 178 
 Assimiliation, 40 
 Atmosphere, 77 
 Aunt Shaw's Pet Jug, Holman F, 
 
 Day, 260 
 Auz Italiens, Bulwer Lytion, 316 
 
 Away,away our fires stream bright, 
 
 235 
 Away to the hills, to the caves, 
 
 Scott, 235 
 
 B 
 
 Bald Headed Man, 139 
 
 Ballad, A, Sidney Lanier, 51 
 
 Ballad, The, 109 
 
 Baron's I^ast Banquet, The, Al- 
 bert 0. Green, 246 
 
 Battle Hymn of the Republic, 
 Julia Ward Howe, 262 
 
 Be gone! Run to your houses, 
 Shakespeare, 229 
 
 Bells of Shandon, The, Francis 
 Mahony, 67 
 
 Belphoebe, The Huntress, Edmund 
 Spenser, 152 
 
 Bernardo and Alphonso, H, J. G. 
 Lockhart, 353 
 
 Bernardo Del Carpio I, Felicia 
 Hemans, 350 
 
 Bernardo's Revenge UI, Anony- 
 mous, 355 
 
 Beside the Sea, Elizabeth A. Allen, 
 329 
 
 Bible and Hymn Reading, 70 
 
 Bill and Joe, Whittier, 271 
 
 Birds of Passage, Mrs. Hemans, 
 340 
 
 Blank Verse, 168 
 
 Blue and the Gray, The, F. M. 
 Finch, 277 
 
 Boys, The, Holmes, 300 
 
 Bonnets of Bonnie Dimdee, The, 
 Scott, 279 
 
 Bluebird, The, Emily Miller, 324 
 
 Break, Break, Break, Tennyson, 31 
 
 Bugle Song, The, Tennyson, 46 
 
 Bunker Hill, George H. Calvert, 99 
 
 365 
 
366 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Captain! My Captain, O, Walt 
 
 Whitman, 336 
 Central Symbols, 60 
 Charge of the Light Brigade, 
 
 Tennyson, 34 
 Charley's Opinion of Baby, 184 
 Children's Selections, 179 
 Cicely and the Bears, 294 
 Climax, 160 
 Clock on the Stairs, The Old, 
 
 Longfellow, 291 
 Closing Scene, The, T. B. Read, 83 
 Clouds which rise with thunder. 
 
 The, 236 
 Cock a Doodle Doo, Mother Goose, 
 
 176 
 Coldest gazer's heart. The, Read, 
 
 236 
 Colorization, 31 
 Come, all ye jolly shepherds, Uogg, 
 
 231 
 Comedy, 142 
 Come live with me, and be my love, 
 
 Marlowe, 230 
 Come, My Children, Come Away, 
 
 Mother Goose, 177 
 Coimtry Sounds, Charles F. Adams, 
 
 182 
 Crossing the Bar, Tennyson, 105 
 
 D 
 
 Dactylic, 167 
 
 Deathbed of Benedict Arnold, 
 
 The, George Lippard, 341 
 Dedication of Gettysburg Ceme- 
 
 teiy, Abraham Lincoln, 344 
 Descriptive Poetry, 83 
 Didactic Poetry, 81 
 Ding, Dong Bell, Mother Goose, 174 
 Dogs in the Garden, Mother Goose, 
 
 174 
 Dramatic Poetry, 141 
 Dream Within a Dream, A, Edgar 
 
 A. Foe, 117 
 Drifted Out to Sea, Rose H. Thorpe, 
 
 94 
 Drink to Me Only with Thine 
 
 Eyes, Ben Jonson, 250 
 
 E 
 
 Each and All, Ralph W. Emerson, 
 
 273 
 Elder Ford's Two Candidates, S. 
 
 W. Foss, 21 
 Elegiac Poetry, 139 
 Elegy in a Country Church Yard, 
 
 Gray, 140 
 Emphasis, 49 
 Epic Poetry, 136 
 Epigram, The, 159 
 Epitaph, 144 
 Euphemism, 161 
 Evelyn Hope, Browning, 116 
 Eve of Waterloo, Byron, 62 
 Evening Bells, Those, Moore, 68 
 Exclamation, 158 
 
 Fall of D'Assas, The, Mrs. Hemans, 
 
 219 
 Fall Poetry, Charles F. Adams, 181 
 Figures of Speech, 149 
 First View of the Heavens, The, 
 
 Mitchell, 343 
 Flag Goes By, The, Bennett, 264 
 Flower in the Crannied Wall, 
 
 Tennyson, 118 
 Foreign Views of the Statue, Fred 
 
 E. Brooks, 96 
 Forms of Poetry, 81 
 Fountain, The, James R. Lowell, 
 
 252 
 
 G 
 Gaffer Gray, Hohroft, 77 
 Give us Men, 349 
 Go Where Glory Awaits Thee, 
 
 Thomas Moore, 249 
 God, Derzhaven, 220 
 Grammar of the Spoken Word, 13 
 
 Habits of Birds, Beecher, 339 
 Hail to the Chief, Scott, 233 
 "Halt," the dust-brown ranks 
 
 stood fast, Whittier, iiS 
 Hamlet Soliloquy, Shakespeare, 124 
 
INDEX 
 
 367 
 
 Hans and Fritz, Charles F. Adams, 
 
 204 
 Hark, hark the lark, Shakespeare, 
 
 233 
 Hector's Funeral Rites, Homer, 188 
 Henry, Patrick, Extract from, 62 
 He Took a Header, Charles F. 
 
 Adams, 180 
 He stayed not for brake, Scott, 228 
 High Tide at Gettysburg, The, 
 
 W. B. Thompson, 239 
 Hohenlinden Campbell, 335 
 Home Memories, CAoHm F. Adams, 
 
 181 
 House by the Side of the Road, 
 
 The, S. W. Foss, 362 
 House That Jack Built, The, 
 
 Mother Goose, 173 
 How dear to my heart are the 
 
 scenes, Woodworth, 235 
 Hunter's Song, The, Barry Corn- 
 wall, 59 
 Hurrah! Hurrah! the West Wind, 
 
 Whiaier, 230 
 Husks, Mrs. Wellington, 82 
 Hurrah! the foes are moving! 
 
 Macavlay, 232 
 Hurry of Hoofs, A, Longfellow, 228 
 Hymn Reading, Bible and, 70 
 Hyperbole, 167 
 
 I Like Little Pussy, Mother Goose, 
 
 174 
 I Remember, I Remember, Hood, 
 
 68 
 Iambic, 166 
 Incident of the French Camp, 
 
 Brovming, 56 
 Inflection, 13 
 In peace. Love times the shepherd's 
 
 reed, Scott, 227 
 Interrogation, 157 
 Interviewer, The, Mark Twain, 297 
 In the hush of the autumn night, 
 
 T. B. Aldrich, 227 
 Irony, 159 
 It, Sam W. Foss, 182 
 
 It Makes a Fellow Hungry, Chi- 
 cago Tribune, 251 
 
 I've Often Heard my Papa Say, 
 192 
 
 Jack and Jill, Mother Goose, 175 
 
 Johnny's Pocket, 183 
 
 Juliet, Romeo and Juliet, Shakes- 
 peare, 302 
 
 Julius Caesar, Opemng Scene, 
 Shakespeare, 287 
 
 K 
 
 Kittens and Babies, 18S 
 
 Lady Clara Vere De Vere, Tenny- 
 son, 202 
 
 Lampoon, The, 144 
 
 Larks, sing out to the thrushes, O, 
 230 
 
 Last of the Red Men, The, W. F. 
 Bryant, 266 
 
 Laughing Chorus, A, 276 
 
 Laughing Song, A, Blake, 291 
 
 Lead, Kindly Light, Cardinal New- 
 man, 198 
 
 Leah, Scene from, Augustin Daly, 
 127 
 
 Legend of Bregenz, A., Proctor, 223 
 
 Lessons of Nature, The, Drummond 
 234 
 
 Litotes, 160 
 
 Little Boy Blue, Mother Goose, 178 
 
 Little Breeches, Hay, 356 
 
 Little Jack Homer, Mother Gopse, 
 177 
 
 Little Miss Muffet, Mother Goose, 
 176 
 
 Logic of the Gun, The, S. W. Foss, 
 257 
 
 Lord Ullin's Daughter, Campbell, 
 90 
 
 Lost Doll, The, Charles Kingsley, 
 184 
 
S68 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Lover's Lament, The, Charles F. 
 
 Adams, 188 
 Ljrrie, Darid M. Moir, 103 
 I^c Poetry, 101 
 
 M 
 
 Macbeth, Shakespeare, 131, 142 
 Manipulation vs. Assimilation, 40 
 Man's Mortality, WastM, 61 
 Maiy, Go and Call the Cattle 
 
 Home, O, Kingsleg, iSO 
 Mary Had a Little Lamb, Mother 
 
 Goose, 176 
 Masterpiece of Prayer, A, S. IF. 
 
 Foss, 856 
 May Mom Song, Wm. MotherweU, 
 
 255 
 Meeting at Night, Browning, 861 
 Memorising, 89 
 Memorial Day, Kate B. Shenrood, 
 
 846 
 Memorial Day, Uninotm, 848 
 Metonomy, 154 
 Meny are the Bells, Mother Goose, 
 
 175 
 Metaphor, 150 
 Metrical Feet, 169 
 Milton on his Blindness, 259 
 Mine Shildren, C. F. Adams, 205 
 Mixed Verse, 168 
 Monologue, The, 114 
 Mont Blanc Before Sunrise, Cole- 
 ridge, 285 
 Mood, 75 
 
 Mother Goose Melodies, 173 
 Mother's Doughnuts, C.F.Adams, 
 
 203 
 Music with Speech, 44 
 My Heart and I. Elisabeth B. 
 
 Brooming, 274 
 My pipe is lit, and all is snug. 
 
 Hood, iSi 
 My Ships, Ella Wheder Wilcox, 345 
 My Star. 285 
 
 N 
 
 Narrative Poetry, 89 
 
 Nearer My God to Thee, SaroA F. 
 
 Adams, 74 
 Neddy's Thanksgiving, 188 
 
 Night is Mother of the Day, The. 
 
 Wkitiier. i36 
 Night Wind, The, E. A. AUen, 331 
 Nobody looks at the douds, 837 
 Now I am Alone, Hamlet, Shaken 
 
 peare, 125 
 Now our hearts are beating, O! 
 
 Macatday, 227 
 
 O 
 
 O Captain! My Captain, WaH 
 
 WhitmoH, 336 
 Ocean. The, Bgrm, 111 
 Ode, The, 105 
 
 Ode to the West Wind. ShelUg, 106 
 Of Such b the Kingdom of Heavoi. 
 
 Swinburne, 268 
 Oft in the Stilly Night, Moore, 248 
 Odyssey, The, Homer, 189 
 Old Clock on the Stairs, The. 
 
 Longifdlow, 291 
 Old £^ Cole, Mother Goose. 176 
 Old Man Goes to Town, Stcirmer- 
 
 tOH, 120 
 Old, Old Song, The. Kiugsltnf. 279 
 Old Owl and the Bdl. The, George 
 
 MacDonald, 179 
 Old Woman in the Shoe. The, 
 
 Mother Goose, 177 
 O Mary, Go and Call the Cattle 
 
 Home, Kingsl^, 250 
 On the Rappahannock, 240 
 Once Again, John GrabiU, 388 
 Othello, From, S3 
 O Time and Change. Wkittier, 233 
 Our Heritage from Washington 
 
 and Lincc^, Roosevelt, 820 
 Our Debt to the Nation's Heroes. 
 
 Roosetelt, 321 
 
 Parable. Bible, 154 
 Pastoral PoeUy, 88 
 Patriotism, WeMer, 295 
 Patriot. The. Brmming, 388 
 Pausation. 28 
 Personification, 155 
 Peroration of Closing Speech A- 
 gainst Hastings, Burke, 288 
 
INDEX 
 
 S69 
 
 Fbniiatian of Opening ^eech A- 
 gainst TTastngi. Bwita, 3U 
 
 PetzifiedFem. Hie', Amomfwuna, 
 319 
 
 I%iasrag,51i 
 
 Kctnies of Memot^. Alia Cnjf, 
 
 FOgrim FWtlKis. Tbe, Mn. 
 ffcauDU. 86 
 
 F|h» Basses. Songs tram. iSl 
 
 Pitch. 2S 
 
 FiviiUlFow»,63 
 
 Fiuie Song, 6S 
 
 FIUKS.4S 
 
 Foeby. Fmms a£. 79 
 
 Fbitia's ^Kedi, O'^x^'i't of Ven- 
 ice). Skdsaptan, 18 
 
 Pr^«>ce that Astmbs me. A, 
 
 Prosody, 165 
 Fsafan 19 Bible, 73 
 Fsafan 131 Bible, T2 
 Ro^iice;, BnmToms, 293 
 Pdlsatian.SO 
 
 Puded Dntdnnan, The, ChaHes 
 F.Adaau.lSi 
 
 Rece^ona]. KijUmt. 258 
 
 Bdati<Hi,63 
 
 Bemember Maicb, die ides <rf 
 
 Maidi, Siainpenre. 230 
 BenoDnconeot, MejmdL, 54 
 Bei4j'toQsyne.Da*ie{Tr<&<<cr, 50 
 BlQ^nn. S4 
 Bieozi to the B<Hnaiis. Maerg R. 
 
 Mitford.i6 
 Bipfiling Water. Ibe. £S5 
 Bsnig in 1776. The. T. B. Bead, 
 
 2S1 
 Rivals, T3ie, Scenes bom, Sierubii, 
 
 SOS 
 Bobert of liacofai. Wm. Cutten 
 
 Bryamt,»W 
 Bock me U> Sleqi, BismbeA A. 
 
 Attat, 131 
 Rock of Ages. KUe, 74 
 Rorv OnioK. Sammd Lorer, 244 
 
 San44>», The. CeKa TTuabr, 337 
 
 SathicalPb^iy.l4^ 
 
 Say Samsung Good. AmtrngmiHa 
 
 27S 
 Sea, The, Barry ContmO, S7 
 Security U the Godty. BibU, 71 
 SdectiiHis for Oass rse, 227 
 SeU Dqiendence. UatOar AnoU, 
 
 ISS 
 She leaned far out oo the irindow 
 
 sin. IFUtKer, 237 
 Shexidan's Bide. T. B. Read, 237 
 Shqis. lify. SOm WkeeUr WHeor, 
 
 345 
 Sgns, Inez Poriber. 1S5 
 Simile. 150 
 
 Smj^ Snnon. MoAer Goom, 1 1 • 
 Skyluk. The. Hogf. 1<H 
 Siov {ades the -viacm of the diy. 
 
 WUtlier.SSa 
 Soap, the Oppressor, Bnyei Jalat- 
 
 «M,191 
 
 Saldi»'s Befnero^ The, Mn. 
 
 Robbua.SI» 
 Sdiloquy. The, 123 
 Solitary Reaper, The, WmdsKorlh, 
 
 S2 
 Somewhoe. Bert Moger, S3 
 Song (^ D^rees. BiUs, 72 
 Smg of the Csasp, Bagaid Ta^Ur. 
 
 303 
 Song of the Brook, Temmgton, 65 
 Song, ah,a song for the merry May. 
 
 A. 229 
 Soonet,The, 1(S 
 ^mken Word. The Giammar of, 13 
 ^poboi Word. Technique d, 39 
 Sp(mdee.l68 
 ^ar Spugled Banner. The. Fm- 
 
 as S. Keg, SeO 
 SloA m the Tfe Tp. The. l>a», 213 
 Sommuis, The. WUttur, 218 
 Simset Soog. The, E. A. Allen, 327 
 SustentioD, 61 
 Sweetest Songs are Xever Song, 
 
 The. E. A. AOai, 331 
 Synecdoche. 155 
 
370 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Technique of the Spoken Word, 39 
 Teeney Weeney Little Fellows, 190 
 Tell to his Native Mountains, 
 
 Kntyides, 113 
 The White Sun, Shelley, 238 
 There is a time in every man's 
 
 education, Emerson, 227 
 Those Evening Bells, Mxxrre, 68 
 Thought, P. Cranch, 253 
 Thousand spurs are striking deep, 
 
 A, Macavlay, 233 
 Ticonderoga, /. B. WiUon, 243 
 Tune and change, O, Whiltier, 233 
 To Be or Not to Be. (Hamlet), 
 
 Shakespeare, 124 
 To the Cuckoo, Wordswcyrth, 104 
 To Mary in Heaven, Burns, 283 
 Tom, Tom the Piper's Son, Mother 
 
 Goose, 175 
 To Science, Poe, 108 
 To the Chief Musician. Bible, 73 
 Transition, 52 
 Trochaic. 166 
 
 Toussaint L'Overture, Phillips, 322 
 Twenty-fourth Psahn, Bible, 16 
 Twenty-third Psahn, BiMe, 71 
 Two Hundred Years, John Pier- 
 
 pont, 145 
 
 U 
 
 Universal versus Personal, 64 
 
 Unity, 69 
 
 Up Hill, Christina Rossetti, 25 
 
 Victorious men of earth, 234 
 
 Virion, 162 
 
 Vbion of Sir Launfal. The, Lowell. 
 
 198 
 Voyage, The, Tennyson, 88 
 
 W 
 
 Vvakin' the Young Uns, Boss, 211 
 Wanen's Address at Bunker Hill, 
 
 Pierpont, 290 
 We charge him, Macaulay, 234 
 We'U Stand by the Flag, Belden, 
 
 265 
 We wandered to the pine forest, 
 
 Shelley, 231 
 Wee Wee Man, The, 110 
 When the Wind is in the East, 
 
 Mother Goose, 179 
 Who's Afraid, 195 
 Wildgiave winds his bugle horn. 
 
 The, Scott, 230 
 Woman's last Word, A, Brouming, 
 
 lis 
 
 Woman of the Streets. A, Towne, 
 
 334 
 Wreck of the Hesperus, LemgfeOou!, 
 
 91 
 
 You bells in the steeple ring, Inge- 
 low, 237 
 
 You must wake and call me early, 
 Tennyson, 228 
 
 Young Tramp. The, C. F. Adams, 
 206 
 
 Yawcob's Dribulations, C. F. 
 Adams, 209