{"1": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4598", "width": "3299", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "Class I j\\nBook..\\nCopyright!\\nCOPYRIGHT DEPOS1E", "height": "4216", "width": "3208", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4388", "width": "3072", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4356", "width": "3160", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4388", "width": "3092", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "A GROUP op.\\nIE AT- AMERICAN ORATORS", "height": "4420", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": ",jj m i n i ii i n \u00e2\u0096\u00a0i n iiii urn\\nThe Standard American\\nSpeaker Entertainer\\n61 f\\nRECITATIONS, READINGS, FLAYS, DRILLS, TABLEAUX, Etc., Etc.\\nTogether with\\nRules for Physical Culture and for the Training of the Voice and the\\nUse of Gesture, according to the Delsarte System\\nby\u00e2\u0080\u0094 y\\nFRANCES PUTNAM FOGLE, B.E.,\\nCumnock School of Oratory, Northwestern University, Evanston, 111.\\nALSO\\nNew and Original Musical Compositions for Special Entertainments, etc.,\\nwith many Old Favorites Compiled and written\\nGEORGE M. VICKERS, A.M.,\\nAuthor of Guard the Flag, Ballads of the Occident. Et\\nA Complete Hand-Book of Entertainment for\\nAll Ages and Occasions\\nILLUSTRATED WITH\\nAttitudes, Special Poses, etc., of some of the World s most Noted\\nImpersonators, Elocutionists and Actors.\\nUNION BOOK AND BIBLE HOUSE\\nPHILADELPHIA, PA.", "height": "4412", "width": "3080", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "52424\\n|l_!Or*wy of Oon\u00c2\u00abf\\nSEP 27 1900\\nSECOND COPY.\\nDelivered to\\nORDER DIVISION,\\nOCT 17 1900\\nrt.\\n^mmm Q mmmm^m-e\\n^pmmm^mmmmmm^m^\\nEntered according to Act of Congress in the year 1900, by\\nW. E. SCUUU\\nin the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.\\nALL RIGHTS ]:ESK.K^7 ilI\\nJ", "height": "4368", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION\\nIN presenting this work to the public, the publishers beg to state that it has been\\nprepared expressly to meet a practical need. There are many speaker books, yet\\nthere seems to be an almost universal demand for a volume combining appropriate\\nselections for declamation, recitation, reading, dialogues, tableaux, plays, musical num-\\nbers, etc., which shall be suitable alike for the home, school, church, temperance,\\npatriotic, social and all ordinary entertainments.\\nThere is hardly a community where such entertainments are not of frequent occur-\\nrence, and, we might say in nine- tenths of them, the chief difficulty is to find persons\\nwith ability or training to take part. A second difficulty also arises in making up a pro-\\ngramme of suitable selections. This volume will be found a help in overcoming both\\nthese obstacles. It furnishes for the teacher and the individual a method of simple\\ntraining which enables them to train others or prepare themselves to speak easily and\\ngracefully and at the same time places the material at their hands from which to\\nmake suitable selections.\\nMiss Frances Putnam Pogle, B.E., of the Cumnock School of Oratory, of Chicago,\\nwho prepares the departments of PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT AND DEL-\\nSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION, is one of the most successful teachers of\\nthese specialties. She has devoted years to the study, practice and teaching of\\nelocution as an art. She begins by training the body to make itself a willing, grace-\\nful and obedient servant to the will and the emotions of the speaker. Next she\\ntrains the mind to abandon itself to the spirit of the selection in hand, forgetful of\\nself and surroundings, the speaker becoming for the time the real character or soul\\nof the lines rendered.\\nThe Delsartean method has been thoroughly mastered by Miss Pogle. Her\\ninstructor was trained by the famous Delsarte himself. Elocutionists and orators\\neverywhere declare it is the only system by which to discover and develop those\\ntrue powers of eloquence which, Webster declares, Labor and learning may toil for\\nin vain. Words and phrases cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the\\nsubject and in the occasion, and come from the speaker as naturally as the\\nbreaking out of a fountain from the earth. Miss Pogle s method of teaching this\\nsubject is remarkable for its simplicity. The common-school child can follow her", "height": "4388", "width": "3044", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION\\neasy conversational description and instruction. It is written in the author s simple\\nand familiar manner of teaching individuals by correspondence. Possessors of this\\nbook will feel as if they were her personal pupils as they really will be following\\nthe instructions of a letter written personally to themselves.\\nThis series of lessons will be found of incalculable value to those who have\\nnot had a course at a school of elocution and physical culture. Even reading the\\npages over in a casual way will be found interesting and beneficial, while a short\\nperiod each day devoted to study and practice will make any ambitious young\\nman or woman more than a fair elocutionist, besides repaying the student with\\ngeneral benefit both mentally and physically.\\nMr. George M. Vickers needs no introduction to the American people. Every\\nchild in the public schools sings his famous song, Guard the Flag, and there are\\nfew elocutionists of note who do not number in their repertoire one or more of this\\nauthor s poetic productions, for they are to be found in many of the best books of\\nselections. His Poems of the Occident. which recently appeared, has many new\\nnumbers, never before published, and the best of those for recitation are to be found\\nin this volume. The special Musical Department in the work is also prepared by\\nMr. Vickers, and contains several of his newest and most popular songs. Columbia,\\nMy Country, is of national reputation, the author having received special testimonials\\nfrom President McKinley, the governors of many states, and others high in the public\\nservice, voicing their appreciation of the patriotic sentiment expressed in both words\\nand music. The New Dixie, also found in this volume, is a grand musical tribute\\nto the South, breathing a patriotic spirit of reconciliation from a Northern soldier to those\\nwho wore the gray. The music, while new, has the same dashing time of the famous old\\nDixie Land, and the words may be sung to that thrilling Southern air when so\\ndesired. The Public School, a new and rousing school song, with a grand chorus, is\\nfast finding its way into all the schools of the land. The Little Foresters, a\\nmusical sketch for Arbor Day entertainment, and The Musical Asters, a flower song\\nwith special settings, are both designed for several singers, and, with others, were\\nprepared exclusively for this volume, and cannot be found elsewhere.\\nThe general selections for the book are divided into departments, those relating\\nto PATRIOTISM AND WAR, leading, in deference to the prominence of these\\ntwo subjects at present, as well as to the duty of patriotism upon every citizen and\\nour obligation to teach it to the young. The remaining departments, NARRA-\\nTIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE, HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC, RELIGIOUS,\\nMORAL AND DIDACTIC, PATHETIC, TEMPERANCE READINGS, etc.,\\nembrace the best selections and cuttings to be obtained from a wide field of research\\nin both ancient and modern literature. The classifying of all the selections under\\ntheir proper headings renders the work of choosing suitable pieces of any character\\neasy.\\nAttention is particularly called to the department of ENCORE SELECTIONS/\\nso much sought after by popular reciters also to THE LITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER,\\na department of the work devoted entirely to bright speeches for children\u00e2\u0080\u0094 enabling\\nmamma to find something pretty for the child to speak in a few moments.", "height": "4380", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION\\nHAPPY QUOTATIONS is another department which, with the suggestions as\\nto the manner of using them, will also be found both helpful and entertaining to old\\nand young.\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS are also grouped together in a\\ndepartment devoted exclusively to that class of selections and, the SHAKESPEAREAN\\nDEPARTMENT, in which representative cuttings from the great plays of the\\nworld s greatest playwright are presented, will prove of special value to those who aspire\\nto the higher levels of the dramatic art.\\nThus it will be seen that the work, while most comprehensive, including altogether\\nmore than 1,000 selections, suited alike to all ages and to all occasions, is so classified\\nand arranged as to make it of the greatest possible convenience and availability in\\nthe practical using.\\nWe trust that the labor expended upon it, and the efficient and original manner\\nin which it has been executed and arranged for the practical use of the masses may\\nbe rewarded by the cordial reception which this new and originally planned work\\ndeserves at the hands of the public.\\nRespectfully.\\nTHE PUBLISHERS.", "height": "4368", "width": "3092", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4384", "width": "3216", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "TABLE OF CONTENTS\\nPiiR/r I\\nPHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT\\nPreface\\nMilitary Position\\nRelaxing Exercises for the Hand\\nFoot\\nHead\\nWhole Arm\\nWhole Leg\\nTrunk and Arms\\nthe Whole Body\\n27 Exercises for Strengthening the Arms 31\\n29 Legs 32\\n29 for Making the Feet Strong and\\n29 Pliable 33\\n29 to Strengthen the Hands 33\\n30 for Strengthening the Back 33\\n30 Putting the Shoulders in\\n30 Their Proper Place 34\\n31 to Strengthen the Body as a\\nWhole 35\\nPart II\\nDELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\nSketch of Delsarte 37\\nThe Correct Position for Reciting 39\\nWalking 39\\nExercises for Poise and to Properly\\nPlace the Weight 40\\nExercise to Acquire a Narrow Base 41\\nExercise to Avoid Bending the Front\\nKnee 41\\nPivoting Exercises 41\\nExercises to Give Lightness to Body 42\\nExercise to Add Dignity to Walk, or\\nStage Walk 42\\nExercise for Bo-wing. Front, Street\\nBow and Stage Bow 42\\nExercise in Walking Backwards 43\\nHow to Pick up Anything 43\\nHow to Sit 44\\nHow to Rise 44\\nHow to Go Up and Down Stairs 45\\nGesture 45\\nDelsarte s Laws of Gesture 46\\nExercise for Harmonic Poise of Arms\\nand Hands 47\\nBreathing 48\\nBreathing Exercises 48\\nFocusing the Tone 49\\nExercise for Focusing Tone 50\\nLoudness 50\\nDistinctness 51\\nDifficult Sentences 51\\nWords in Which Long U is often Mis-\\npronounced 53\\nWords in which Short Italian A is often\\nMispronounced 53\\nFlexibility of the Voice 54\\nSlowness 55\\nDifferent Styles of Reading 56\\nI. Styles of Reading in the Natural\\nVoice 56\\na. Pathos 56\\nb. Solemnity 57\\nSerenity, Beauty and Love 57\\nCommon Reading 57\\nGayety 59\\nHumor 59\\nII. Styles of Reading in the Oro-\\ntund Voice 61\\na. Effusive Orotund 61\\nb. Expulsive Orotund 62\\nExplosive Orotund 63\\n.64\\nc.\\nd.\\ne.\\nc.\\nRemarks by the Editor", "height": "4380", "width": "3160", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "TABLE OF CONTENTS\\nPart III\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nAmerica 66\\nAmerica, an Aggregate of Nations 81\\nAmerican Union, a Geographical Neces-\\nsity, The 81\\nAdmiral Susan Jane 1 30\\nAmerican Flag, The 131\\nBattle Hymn of the Republic, The 83\\nBlack Regiment, The 91\\nBoer Swan Song, The 91\\nBoer National Hymn 91\\nBaby and the Soldiers, The 99\\nBlue and the Gray, The 104\\nBattle of Manila Bay no\\nBound in Honor to Grant Philippine\\nIndependence 117\\nBernardo Del Carpo 124\\nBoer Prayers at British Graves .130\\nColumbia, the Land of the Brave 72\\nCamp Calls 92\\nCharge of the Light Brigade 98\\nCuster s Last Charge 108\\nDevotion to Patriotic Duty 65\\n11 Dixie up-to-date 90\\nDirge of the Drums 93\\nDo not Cheer 112\\nDixie Doodle 114\\nDying Captain, The. 119\\nDecoration Day 134\\nFourth of July, The 94\\nFitzhugh Lee 109\\nFreedom s Flag 135\\nGerman s Fatherland, The 87\\nGerman Battle Prayer 87\\nGod Save the King 88\\nGod Save the Queen 88\\nGustavus Vasa to the Dalecarlians 99\\nGreater Republic, The 114\\nGeneral Robert E. Lee 128\\nHeroic Example has Power 71\\nHail, Columbia, Happy Land 72\\nHero of the Commune, The 95\\nHero Down Below, The 113\\nHome Voyage, The 127\\nInternational Sympathies on the Increase 7 1\\nIncident of the French Camp 96\\nIncident of the War, An 102\\nI Want to Go Home 129\\nLove of Country, The 65\\nLiberty and Union One and Inseparal !e 83\\nLincoln s Address at Gettysburg .101\\nLand of our Forefathers, The 120\\nLegend of the Declaration A 128\\nMarseilles Hymn 84\\nMarching to Cuba 89\\nMaine, Red, White and Blue, The 89\\nMother s Lament, A 93\\nMen Always Fit for Freedom 95\\nMarco Bozzaris 97\\nMerrimac, The. 112\\nMan who Does the Cheerin The .122\\nMother and Poet 133\\nMassachusetts 136\\nNapoleon s Farewell to his Army at\\nFontainebleau, 1814 96\\nNew Rosette, The 107\\nNew Alabama, The 112\\nNo Dishonor to Haul Down the Flag .118\\nOn Taxing America 72\\nOur Heroes 90\\nObjection to the Mexican War 99\\nOn the Force Bill 100\\nPatriotism Assures Public Faith 66\\nPatriotism Inculcates Public Virtue 67\\nPatriotism Broad as Humanity 68\\nPlea for Universal Peace, A 78\\nParody on Auld Lang Syne, A 92\\nPeaceable Secession Impossible .101\\nProphetic Toast to Commodore Dewey no\\nPicture of War 123\\nPrivate Jones 129\\nQueen of Prussia s Ride, The 97\\nRecessional, The 88\\nReign of Peace Foreshadowed, The 77\\nResistance to British Aggression 73\\nRevolutionary Sermon, A 74\\nRepublic, the Strongest Government, A 78\\nReveille 93\\nRifleman s Fancy Shot, The 101\\nRienzi to the Roman Conspirators in\\n1347 J 3 2\\nRoman Sentinel, The 125\\nSaul Before his Last Battle 94\\nSpirit of the Age Adverse to War, The 76\\nSpanish Patriot s Song, The 84\\nSheridan s Ride 103\\nSong of our Fleets 123\\nSoldier s Offering, A 130\\nStar-Spangled Banner, The 76", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "TABLE OF CONTENTS\\nPAGE\\nTrue Patriotism is Unselfish 66\\nThey ll Never Get Home in\\nTo the Flying Squadron 122\\nUnion Linked with Liberty 82\\nValley Forge 121\\nWar Inevitable, March, 1775, The 74\\nWashington to His Soldiers 94\\nWrap the Flag Around Me, Boys .104\\nPAGE\\nWar Ship Dixie, The in\\nWheeler at Santiago 113\\nWar the Game of Tyrants 120\\nWashington s Birthday 127\\nWe ll Fling the Starry Banner Out 128\\nWho Will Care for Mother, Now? .129\\nYankee Dewey 9\u00c2\u00b0\\nF^RT IV\\nNARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\nAfter the Battle 150\\nAunt Polly Green 167\\nBurning Ship, The 144\\nBells, The 158\\nBill Mason s Ride 164\\nCurfew Must Not Ring To-night .143\\nChanging Color 170\\nDiamond Wedding, The 145\\nDeath of Fagin 148\\nDeath of the Old Squire, The .160\\nDaniel Periton s Ride 165\\nFairy Tale, A 150\\nFireman, The 159\\nFire-Fiend, The 169\\nGlacier Bed, The 154\\nGladiator, The 162\\nLittle Breeches 165\\nLittle Meg and I 171\\nMarried for Love 147\\nPompeii 168\\nRaven, The 137\\nRodney s Ride 157\\nSkeleton in Armor, The 139\\nSong of the Shirt, The 146\\nSioux Chief s Daughter, The 163\\nTom 149\\nTrystingWell 155\\nPart V\\nPATHETIC READINGS\\nAged Prisoner, The 173\\nBridge, The 192\\nChapter From the Annals of the Poor, A 1 73\\nDeath of Little Nell 174\\nDying Boy, The 183\\nDying Alchemist, The 191\\nGood-Night, Papa 175\\nGambler s Wife, The 186\\nIn the Bottom Drawer 179\\nLimpy Tim 182\\nNobody s Child 190\\nOur Folks 180\\nOld Man s Vigil, The 181\\nOn the Other Train 185\\nOld Spinster, The 189\\nPoor Little Jim 176\\nPoor Little Joe 179\\nProgress of Madness, The 184\\nSinger s Climax, The 183\\nTo Mary in Heaven 182\\nPart VI\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nAdmiral Von Diederichs 216\\nAn Apostrophe to Aguinaldo .216\\nBaby in Church 194\\nBuck Fanshaw s Funeral 207\\nBaby s First Tooth, The 220\\nBell- Wether and the Deacon, The .225\\nBaby s Soliloquy 227\\nBill Nye on Hornets 232", "height": "4388", "width": "3168", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "TABLE OF CONTENTS\\nPAGE\\nCase of Gunn vs. Barclay 204\\nCasey at the Bat 205\\nComet, The 212\\nCounting Eggs 220\\nChristopher Columbus 229\\nDe Campane of Nineteen-Hundred .195\\nDer Drummer 206\\nDying Confession of Paddy McCabe, The 210\\nDrummer, The 217\\nElder Lamb s Donation 241\\nExperience with a Refractory Cow 242\\nGirl s Conversation Over the Tele-\\nphone, A 230\\nHelen s Babies on Noah s Ark 198\\nHow Ruby Played 200\\nHans and Fritz 209\\nInterviewer, The 236\\nKentucky Philosophy 199\\nLeedle Yawcob Strauss 209\\nMan and the Mosquito 196\\nMollie s Little Ram 211\\nManifest Destiny 211\\nMark Antony s Original Oration .219\\nMark Twain Introduces Himself 232\\nMost Obliging Little Sister, A .226\\nPAGE\\nMiss January June s Lecture on Wom-\\nan s Rights 229\\nMiss Malony on the Chinese Question 238\\nMrs. Caudle Has Taken Cold .240\\nOwl-Critic, The .203\\n01 Pickett s Nell 215\\nPaddy s Reflections on Cleopatra s\\nNeedle 206\\nPhotogragh Album, The 234\\nReverie in Church 197\\nRequiem on the Ahkoond of Swat 244\\nSerenade to Spring, A 221\\nSermon for the Sisters 231\\nSchool Girl s Declaration of Independ-\\nence, A 242\\nThen Ag in 218\\nTheology in the Quarters 222\\nTerry O Milligan, the Irish Philosopher 233\\nWiddy O Shane s Rint, The 193\\nWas It Job That Had Warts on Him 194\\nWhen We Get There 202\\nWhen Huldy Spects Her Beau .205\\nWhat the Little Girl Said 222\\nYankee in Love, A 228\\nZeb White s Unlucky Argument .234\\nPart VII\\nRELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\nApostrophe to the Mountains, An .256\\nAdvice to Young Men 262\\nApostrophe to Niagara 265\\nAdvice to a Young Man 267\\nAfter Twenty Years 269\\nBrotherhood of Man, The 247\\nBooks of the Old Testament, The 251\\nBuilding and Being 251\\nBrought in Pa s Prayers 252\\nBravest of Battles, The 263\\nClipping the Bible 246\\nChristian Martyr, The 247\\nCynic, The 262\\nCrucifixion, The 246\\nDon t Be in a Hurry 264\\nDon t Fret 272\\nFuneral, The 265\\nForgiveness 267\\nGod is Calling Me 246\\nGlories of the Life Beyond, The J .251\\nGood Old Mothers 265\\nGood Nature 271\\nHow Prayer Was Answered 253\\nHow the Organ Was Paid For 255\\nInfluence of Small Things 264\\nLast Hymn, The 263\\nLife is What We Make It 271\\nMy Creed, 245\\nNew Ten Commandments, A 248\\nNo Religion Without Mysteries 253\\nNo Sects in Heaven 257\\nOh, Why Should the Spirit of Mortal\\nBe Proud 248\\nOne Touch of Nature 257\\nPapa s Letter 261\\nPegging Away 270\\nRizpah 254\\nShall We Know Each Other There 255\\nStick to Your Bush 269\\nTact and Talent 268\\nUniversal Prayer, The 245\\nWanted\u00e2\u0080\u0094 A Minister s Wife 266\\nWe are not Always Glad When We\\nSmile 270", "height": "4388", "width": "3252", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "TABLE OF CONTENTS\\nFaro- VIII\\nTEMPERANCE READINGS\\nAppeal for Temperance 276\\nBrave Boy, A 280\\nCost of the First Drink 274\\nDrunkard s Daughter, The 282\\nFace on the Floor, The 274\\nMen Behind the Vote, The 276\\nNew Declaration of Independence, A 277\\nPower of Habit, The 277\\nPledge With Wine 283\\nTwo Glasses, The 281\\nWater and Rum 273\\nWhat is a Minority 279\\nPart IX\\nLITTLE FOLK S SPEAKER\\nAmong the Animals 292\\nAddress to a Teacher, An 299\\nArmy Diet 309\\nBaby, The 287\\nBoy s Mother, A 288\\nBlue and the Gray, The 294\\nBest of Menageries 299\\nBluebell s Reward, The 301\\nBoy Who Didn t Pass, The 301\\nBoy s Lecture on Knives, A 302\\nBoys Wanted 303\\nBaby s Logic 303\\nBlessed Ones, The 305\\nChristmas Has Come 292\\nChildren s Day 297\\nClosing Address 299\\nDoll Rosy s Bath 290\\nDialogue for Two Boys 294\\nDays of the Week 304\\nEaster Bonnet, An 307\\nFirst Pair of Breeches, The 298\\nFourth of July Record, A 304\\nFairy People s Spinning, The .311\\nGrandmother s Chair 288\\nGood Country, A 289\\nGeorge Washington 303\\nGrandpa s Aversion to Slang .312\\nHow the Sermon Sounded to Baby 287\\nHer Papa 309\\nIf I Were You 305\\nJohnny s Opinion of Grandmothers .310\\nKatie s Wants 289\\nLament of a Little Girl 288\\nLittle Girl s Speech About Herself, A 288\\nLulu s Complaint 291\\nLittle Tommie s First Smoke .291\\nLittle Boy s Wonder, A 291\\nLittle Kitty 292\\nLittle Boy s Lecture, A 294\\nMeaning of the American Flag, The .289\\nMary and the Swallow 292\\nMissionary Hen, The 307\\nNew Baby, The 290\\nOnly Child, The 290\\nOpening Address, An 298\\nPrice He Paid, The 310\\nQueer Little House, The 301\\nQuestions About Women 307\\nRemember, Boys Make Men 306\\nRough Rider at Home, A 308\\nSchool Girl s Presentation Speech 297\\nSchool Idyl, A 304\\nSong of the Rye 308\\nSpanish War Alphabet 309\\nThat s Baby 290\\nThey Say 293\\nTime Enough 293\\nTwenty-third Psalm 305\\nTale of a Dog and a Bee 306\\nTrue Bravery 311\\nValedictory 299\\nVacation Time 300\\nWhy I d Rather be a Boy 288\\nWhy Betty Didn t Laugh 289\\nWords of Welcome 298\\nWhen Mamma was a Little Girl 298\\nWatermillion 298\\nWhat a Boy Can Do 303\\nWhat to Drink 305\\nWhen Father Carves the Duck 306", "height": "4356", "width": "3168", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "TABLE OF CONTENTS\\nPart X\\nENCORES\\nAvast, There George 314\\nAunt Jemima s Courtship 315\\nAin t He Cute 320\\nBonaparte to the Boer 317\\nDad s Swore Off 321\\nDid You Ever See 320\\nFarewell, Old Shoe 322\\nFrom Sublime to Ridiculous 321\\nGrandpapa s Spectacle s 322\\nHe Came 316\\nIndian Mixed Oratory 314\\nJust My Luck 313\\nLittle Orphant Roberts 317\\nLost Penny, The 319\\nMother s Advice, A 314\\nMrs. Lofty and I 315\\nMaiden s Ideal of a Husband, A 320\\nMarchin Wid De Ban 321\\nNew Lest We Forget, The 317\\nOld Cane Pole, The 319\\nOnly a Baby s Hand 318\\nPoor Indian, The 313\\nTrouble Borrowers 319\\nTotal Annihilation 320\\nUnfinished Still 315\\nVillage Choir, The 316\\nPart XI\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nCreed of the Bells, The 325\\nCaesar s Message to Cato 344\\nCourtship Under Difficulties 350\\nChristmas Eve (A Pantomime) .358\\nCastles in the Air 359\\nDream of Fair Women A 345\\nFailed 327\\nFarmer s Kitchen Before Thanksgiving 358\\nGustavus Vasa, From 341\\nGoin Somewhere 352\\nGipsy Camp (Tableau) 357\\nHome Scene in the Chaplain s Family, A323\\nHallowed by Thy Name (Tableau) .358\\nLochiel s Warning 343\\nLove in the Kitchen 356\\nMary Stuart, Queen of Scotland 336\\nPolish Boy, The 326\\nPageant of the Months 329\\nPat s Excuse 335\\nPeasant Boy, From the 339\\nResolve of Regulus, The 328\\nSigning the Pledge (Tableau) .358\\nSam Weller s Valentine (Tableau) 358\\nScripture Tableau 358\\nScripture Scene (Tableau) 358\\nTwo Flower (Flour) Girls (Tableau) 358\\nUncle Pete 334\\nWoman s Rights (Tableau) 357\\nPart XII\\nSHAKESPEAREAN DEPARTMENT\\nAntony and Ventidius From Antony\\nand Cleopatra 372\\nCoriolanus and Aufidius 374\\nLost Reputation From Othello 365\\nMark Antony to the People on Caesar s\\nDeath 369\\nOthello s Apology From Othello .362\\nQuarrel of Brutus and Cassius From\\nJulius Ccssar 370\\nSeven Ages of Man 376\\nTrial Scene From Merchant of Venice 366", "height": "4416", "width": "3264", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "TABLE OF CONTENTS\\nPart XIII\\nMUSICAL DEPARTMENT\\nAmerica My Country, tis of Thee 399\\nChristmas Song, A 382\\nColumbia the Gem of the Ocean .383\\nColumbia, My Country 385\\nLittle Foresters, The 377\\nMusical Asters, The 387\\nNew Dixie, The 400\\nOld-Fashioned Flowers 379\\nOld Oaken Bucket, The 392\\nOur Army and Navy 394\\nPublic School, The 402\\nStar-Spangled Banner 389\\nStars and Stripes Forever, The 390\\nYankee Doodle 396\\nPart XIV\\nHELPFUL QUOTATIONS\\nAddison, Joseph 406\\nBacon, Lord 405\\nBurns, Robert 408\\nBonaparte, Napoleon 408\\nByron, Lord 409\\nBryant, William Cullen 409\\nBeecher, Henry Ward 412\\nBrowning, Elizabeth Barrett 413\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2Burnett, Frances Hodgson 414\\nConfucius 404\\nCicero 404\\nCervantes 405\\nCowper, William 408\\nCampbell, Thomas 409\\nCarlyle, Thomas 410\\nCross, Mrs. Marian Lewes 413\\nChilds, Lydia Maria 413\\nCook, Eliza 413\\nCary, Alice 413\\nCary, Phoebe 413\\nDante 405\\nDodge, Mary Abigail 414\\nEmerson, Ralph Waldo 410\\nFuller, Thomas 407\\nFranklin, Benjamin 407\\nGoldsmith, Oliver 408\\nGladstone, William Ewart 412\\nGough, John B 412\\nHood, Thomas 410\\nHugo, Victor 410\\nHolmes, Oliver Wendell 411\\nHule, Sarah Jane 413\\nJohnson, Ben 406\\nJohnson. Dr. Samuel 407\\nJefferson, Thomas 408\\nJackson, Andrew 408\\nKeats, John 409\\nLongfellow, Henry W 410\\nLincoln, Abraham 412\\nLowell, James Russell 412\\nLippincott, Sara J 414\\nMohammed 404\\nMilton, 407\\nMontgomery, James 409\\nMann, Horace 410\\nPlutarch 405\\nPenn, William 406\\nPope, Alexander 407\\nPayne, John Howard 410\\nRaleigh, Sir Walter 405\\nSolon 404\\nShakespeare 405\\nScott, Sir Walter 409\\nSigourney, Lydia H 413\\nSangster, Margaret E 414\\nTennyson, Alfred 411\\nVoltaire 407\\nWashington, George 408\\nWebster, Daniel 408\\nWellington, Duke of 409\\nWordsworth, William 409\\nWhittier, John G 411\\nWilcox, Ella Wheeler 414\\nPart XV\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nApostrophe to John Chinaman\\nArsenal at Springfield, The\\nBijah s Story\\n419\\n428\\n427\\nBrutus over the Body of Lucretia\\nCicero and Demosthenes Compared\\nCasabianca\\n43o\\n430\\n446", "height": "4388", "width": "3160", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "TABLE OF CONTENTS\\nPAGE\\nDecorating the Graves of our Heroic Dead 4 1 5\\nDecoration Day 416\\nDolly s Birthday 423\\nDifficulty of Rhyming, The 441\\nIn Marget s Garden 421\\nIchabod 445\\nKiss in the Tunnel, The 434\\nKeeping House for Two 441\\nKing Wheat 442\\nLast Leaf, The 429\\nLightkeeper s Daughter, The 440\\nMan Without the Hoe, The 423\\nMemorial Day 416\\nMosaics 443\\nNell 438\\nOde to Embonpoint 420\\nPAGE\\nOur Sermon Taster 425\\nOur Banner 428\\nOnly the Clothes She Wore 43 1\\nOld Glory 444\\nPresident Kruger s Address at the\\nFuneral of General Joubert 424\\nParody on Casabianca, A 446\\nSalvation and Morality 427\\nSchooling a Husband 432\\nSupposed Speech of Regulus 437\\nToussaint L Ouverture .417\\nTwo Gentlemen of Kentucky .418\\nThem Yankee Blankits 433\\nTwilight Story 442\\nUgly Sam 435\\nWill New Year Come To-night 436\\nPart XVI\\nPROGRAMMES\\n1 A Fourth of July Entertainment 448\\n2. Washington s Birthday Entertainment 449\\n3. School Entertainment or Exhibition 450\\n4. Christmas Entertainment 451\\n5. A Parlor Entertainment 452", "height": "4348", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS, PORTRAITS, TABLEAUX,\\nACTING SCENES, ETC.\\nPAGE\\nAdoration 354\\nBullet Through the Arm, A 79\\nCourage of Faith, The 69\\nClara Liptnan and Louis Mann 213\\nCharlie Davidson, the Noted Boy Soprano 223\\nChild of the North Star 295\\nDrawing for the Fray 80\\nForbidden Correspondence Found 79\\nFaith in the Red, White and Blue 286\\nFannie Davenport in Cleopatra 364\\nGreat American Orators Frontispiece\\nGroup from Kl Capitan, A 141\\nGroup from Shenandoah, A 353\\nHacket as Prince Rupert 285\\nHenry Miller and Mayant Anglin 250\\nI ve a Mind to Call Him Back 188\\nI m a Little Flower Girl 286\\nJessie Miller, the Fair Young Cornetist 223\\nLuxury Without Love 178\\nLittle Lord Fauntleroy 295\\nMadam, I m at your Service 116\\nMeeting of Leander and Hero, The 151\\nMaud Adams and Robert Bdeson 250\\nMarie Burroughs 285\\nMercutio, the Friend of Romeo 363\\nNathan Hale and his Pupil 106\\nNat Goodwin 106\\nNever to Meet Again 260\\nOld Love Letters 105\\nOnce There Was a Little Kitty 152\\nPleasing Pose, A 178\\nQueen Louise and her Sons 115\\nQuite Absorbed 177\\nReady to Fight 354\\nRichard Mansfield in Beau Brummel 364\\nSoldier s Proposal, The 70\\nSacrifice of Iphigenia The 259\\nStrictly Confidential 296\\nSongs of Long Ago 224\\nTelephone Girl, The 80", "height": "4376", "width": "3164", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\\nPAGE\\n1 This dagger shall avenge me 116\\nToo Many For Him 214\\nVicar and Olivia, The 187\\nVirgin and the Child, The 249\\nWatching the Charge 69\\nWhen we Went a Maying 142\\nWilson and Broderick 213\\nWilliam Gillette and Katherine Florence 353\\nSPECIAL POSES\\nILLUSTRATING ATTITUDES, GESTURES, ETC., APPEARING IN PART H.\\nDELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\nAnxious- Solicitous 60\\nAnger 54\\nBeckoning Summoning 63\\nCourtesy, The 51\\nCommand, Stop! 57\\nCommand, Go 57\\nCoquetry 51\\nExhaustion 59\\nFear 56\\nFlight 50\\nGrief or Hearing Bad News 58\\nHatred or Aversion 53\\nHorror 55\\nJoy or Gladness 49\\nLonging Pleading 62\\nMeditation 61\\nMirth 52\\nMimicry 64\\nPhysical Pain 59\\nRidicule 52\\nRevenge 53\\nRejection 56\\nSecrecy 56\\nScorn Independence 58\\nSalutation 63\\nSauciness 64\\nSilence 62\\nSupplication 54\\nUncertainty 60\\nVanity 61\\nWatching 49\\nWelcome Delight 5\u00c2\u00b0", "height": "4376", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "Part I\\nPHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT\\nBy FRANCES PUTNAM POGLE\\nWhat do we mean by Physical\\nDevelopment It is the training\\nof the bodily organs and powers\\nwith a view to the promotion of health and\\nvigor, or strength.\\nToo much stress cannot be laid upon\\nphysical development when one begins to\\nstudy Elocution.\\nTo begin with, the first requirement for\\npublic speaking is physical strength.\\nBecause in order to become a successful\\npublic speaker one must be strong enough\\nto withstand not only the nervous strain un-\\nder which such an one is constantly labor-\\ning, but also the physical strain which of\\nnecessity must come to the body from long\\nstanding and constant activity in changing\\nfrom one character to another during an\\nevening s program.\\nBesides, one cannot possibly lose himself\\nin a selection unless the body is free from\\npain, and perfectly at ease.\\nThe least pain or awkwardness in any part\\nof the body, the mind concentrates itself\\nupon that one part to the exclusion of all\\nelse, and, instead of decreasing, the pain\\nor awkwardness increases by much thinking\\non, until the infection spreads over the whole\\nbody and finally takes entire possession of\\nthe mind as well.\\nThe result is a failure, in which the reci-\\ntation has degenerated into mere\\nWords words, words I\\nas Hamlet says.\\nWhat was the cause of the failure\\nOne little part of the body which was not\\nup to the standard Nothing to speak of\\nbut enough to spoil the good effect of all\\nthe stronger parts. As a chain is only as\\nstrong as its weakest link, so the human\\nbody is only as strong, and, shall we say as\\ngraceful? as its weakest part. Shakespeare\\nhas it\\nSo, oft it chances in particular men,\\nCarrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,\\nTheir virtues else be they as pure as grace,\\nShall in the general censure take corruption\\nFrom that particular fault.\\nThe Doctor s Test.\\nAfter looking at a rather dyspeptic patient\\na moment, an eccentric physician said very\\nabruptly, Where is your stomach\\nHere! said the patient, promptly,\\nthough looking bewildered by the question.\\nHow do you know said he.\\nWhy, because that s where the pain is\\nwhenever I swallow anything.\\nThen my supposition was correct, de-\\nclared the doctor. I thought you had dys-\\npepsia the moment I laid eyes on you, but\\nthought I d test you to make sure.\\nAs the patient looked puzzled, he con-\\ntinued You see, a person who has a good\\nstomach oughtn t to know that he has one,\\nmuch less where it is.\\nThe doctor s rule for a good stomach is\\nmy rule for a good body.\\nOn getting up to recite, if you feel that\\nyou have a body, then there is something\\nwrong With it. When your body has reached\\nthe state where it is not a subject of consid-\\neration to you, then and not until then, will\\nyou be able to do your best work.\\nAfter all, the body is merely the veil\\nthrough which the soul shines, or the glass\\n27", "height": "4388", "width": "3160", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "28\\nPHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT\\nthrough which the sun shines, If the veil\\nis marred in any way, the attention of the\\noutsider is drawn to the mar, while the soul\\nwhich shines through is unnoticed or, if\\nthe pane is blemished, the beautiful sun-\\nshine comes through but dimly, and then in\\ndistorted shadows.\\nIs it possible ever to attain to the state\\nwhere one is unconscious of the body\\nYes but only after long and careful\\nwork. In order to reach that condition you\\nmust pass through one of extreme and pain-\\nful self-consciousness, but it will pay in the\\nend. In order to reach heaven, one must\\npass through the valley of the shadow of\\ndeath Most of the things worth having\\non earth are only the result of great and\\npainful effort. Ask any one who has ever\\nseen it, if the view from the top of Mt. Blanc\\nis not worth the struggle up its side. So do\\nnot be discouraged, but as Emerson says\\nHitch your wagon to a star\\nAll great orators and actors have had\\nphysical defects to overcome.\\nLook at Demosthenes Who does not\\nknow the story of his patient and successful\\nefforts to overcome his life-long habit of car-\\nrying one shoulder lower than the other\\nOne of my earliest recollections is the pic-\\nture of that great orator reciting in front of\\nhis mirror with the sharp -edged sword placed\\nso that it would cut into the flesh every time\\nhis shoulder should sink to its old level.\\nAbraham Lincoln, with his loose-jointed\\nframe and homely face, was by nature the\\nembodiment of awkwardness but when\\nroused to the pitch of eloquence the beauty\\nof his soul transfigured him, until his every\\nmove was strength, grace and dignity\\nAnd so I might go down the long line of\\nfamous speakers, pointing out some fault or\\nfaults in each, which had to be overcome be-\\nfore greatness was attained.\\nFor the sake of illustration let us liken\\nthe body to a garden. What does the ex-\\npert gardener do before planting his seed\\nHe begins by pulling out or cutting down\\nthe weeds, which, if allowed to grow, would\\nsoon overrun the whole garden, choking out\\nthe seed which he intends to plant in the\\nfuture. Then he plows or spades the earth\\nin order to loosen it after which it is ready\\nfor the planting.\\nHow does he plant his seeds By simply\\nthrowing them upon the surface of the soil,\\nand then paying no more attention to them\\nNo, he plants them carefully, seeing that they\\nare covered with earth and then he tends\\nthem day after day, until the fruit ripens\\nunder his care into perfect growth and sym-\\nmetry, and is ready for use.\\nTo one who would be an effective speaker\\nthe mental faculties are the gardeners, the\\nbody is the garden the weeds are the faults\\nof carriage and bad habits formed in years\\nof thoughtlessness the instruments with\\nwhich he loosens the soil are the relaxing\\nexercises the loosened soil is the body when\\nit has become free of faults the seeds are\\nthe principles for obtaining strength, ease\\nand grace, without which nothing can be\\ntruly beautiful the careful planting is the\\nputting in of these principles by steady\\npracticing of exercises which will take root\\nin the body the careful tending after the\\nseeds have taken root, is the watchfulness of\\nthe mind to see that the body does not break\\nthe laws of nature and the ripened fruit is\\nthe body which has become so thoroughly\\ndeveloped and perfected under long and care-\\nful training that it is no longer an impedi-\\nment, but the instrument through which the\\nsoul works its will.\\nTo quote from a former figure, the blem-\\nish in the glass, the mar in the veil, are\\ngone, and now we see the sublime spectacle\\nof the workings of a human soul.\\nFollowing the wise leading of the gar-\\ndener, I will begin by trying to weed out\\nyour faults and bad habits of carriage.\\nIn the first place, have you any bad habits\\nor peculiarities which need to be corrected\\nLet me tell you right here that not one in a\\nhundred is free from some, and, in most\\ncases, many, defects of carriage. Some-\\ntimes it is one thing, sometimes another,\\nbut usually the fault lies with the hands,\\nfeet, head, abdomen, shoulders, or the plac-\\ning of the weight.\\nBy watching yourself you can soon tell if\\nyou have any faults to overcome. When\\nyou enter your friend s parlor, if you feel as\\nif you do not know what to do with your\\nhands or feet, then the trouble lies with\\nthem. If any other part feels too promi-\\nnent or heavy, then the trouble lies there.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "PHYSICAL DEVEL0PMEN7\\n29\\nTo relieve stiffness and awkwardness of\\nany part of the body, I should advise\\nthorough practice in the following relaxing\\nexercices.\\nI shall frequently use the term Military\\nPosition. By it, I mean\\n{Military Position.)\\ni Heels together, with toes at an angle\\nof forty -five degrees.\\n2. Head erect.\\n3. Shoulders well up.\\n4. Arms close at sides,\\n5 Knees stiff.\\n6. Weight on the balls of the feet.\\n7. Abdomen back in place.\\n8. Chest up.\\nRelaxing Exercises for the Hand.\\n1 Military position.\\n2. Clasp the left wrist firmly with the\\nright hand, at the same time letting the left\\nhand hang as if dead or relaxed.\\n3 By moving right hand and arm, shake\\nleft hand violently up and down, round and\\nround in every direction, until it feels numb,\\nor, as if all the blood in the body were in it.\\n(Be sure that the right hand and arm are\\ndoing all the work.)\\n4. Reverse the movement, making left\\nhand do the work and right hand hang\\nrelaxed, etc.\\n{Repeat ten times.)\\nII.\\n1. Military position.\\n2. L,ean the body forward and dip the\\ntips of the fingers into an imaginary basin\\nof water.\\n3. Shake the water off violently.\\n{Repeat twenty times.)\\nIII.\\n1 Military position\\n2. Clench hands tightly at sides, arms\\nbeing tense and strained.\\n3. Hold strained position while count-\\ning twenty.\\n4. Relax arms and hands.\\n{Repeat fifteen times.)\\nRelaxing Exercises eor the Foot.\\nI.\\n1. Military position.\\n2. Right foot forward.\\n3. 14ft right foot off the floor, bending\\nthe leg at the knee.\\n4. Relax right foot.\\n5. Shake right foot violently as if shak-\\ning off water.\\n6. Right foot back to place.\\n7. Reverse the movement, putting left\\nfoot forward, etc.\\n{Repeat eight times.)\\nII.\\n1. Military position.\\n2. Place hands on hips.\\n3. Lift right leg, bending it at knee, and\\nletting lower leg hang relaxed.\\n4. By quickly raising and depressing\\nupper leg, swing the relaxed lower leg\\nbackward and forward in a movement\\nresembling the pawing of a horse.\\n5. Reverse the movement.\\n{Repeat five times.)\\nRelaxing Exercises for the Head.\\nI.\\n1 Military position\\n2 Press the head back as far as possible\\nuntil the muscles under the chin and at the\\nback of the neck feel strained.\\n3. Relax those muscles, letting the head\\nhang back, relaxed.\\n4. Bring the head to place.\\n5 Press the head as far as possible to\\nthe right until the muscles at the left and\\nright sides of the neck feel strained.\\n6. Relax the muscles.\\n7 Reverse this movement pressing head\\nto left, etc.\\n8. Press head forward as far as possible,\\nand relax.\\n9. Press head straight up as far as pos-\\nsible, and relax.\\n{Repeat this movement all the way through\\nfour times.)", "height": "4384", "width": "3152", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "3Q\\nPHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT\\nII.\\ni. Feet in military position, hands on\\nhips.\\n2. Close eyes and slowly relax the head,\\nletting it fall forward on the breast.\\n3. Imagine life cut off at the neck, and\\nthe head simply attached with a string.\\n4. By moving the trunk in a circular\\ndirection, let the head roll around of itself,\\nmaking several circuits of the body. Be\\nsure that the head does none of the work.\\nRelaxing Exercises of the Whole\\nArm.\\nI.\\n1 Stand with left foot at walking step in\\nadvance of right, letting right arm hang\\nrelaxed at side, and placing left hand on\\nhip.\\n2. Move the body forward and back,\\nshifting the weight first to forward foot and\\nthen to back, and bending the knees more\\nand more each time. If the arm is perfectly\\nrelaxed it will swing forward and back,\\ngoing a little higher each time, until at last\\nit moves clear around in a circle parallel to\\nthe body.\\n3. Reverse the movement, placing right\\nfoot forward, and relaxing left arm.\\n4. Double the movement, letting both\\narms hang relaxed, etc.\\n{Repeat this movement five times.)\\nII.\\n1. Military position.\\n2. Keeping body perfectly rigid, raise\\narms straight over head.\\n3. Hold arms erect while counting\\ntwenty.\\n4. Let them drop relaxed at sides.\\n{Repeat this movement five times.)\\nRelaxing Exercises for the Whole\\nLeg.\\nI.\\n1 Stand with the left foot on a thick\\nbook or a small elevation. Balance weight\\ncarefully on it.\\n2. Let right leg hang relaxed. (If it is\\nentirely relaxed, the toe will point down-\\nward.)\\n3. Move the body forward and backward\\nbending slightly at hips. This action of\\nthe upper body ought to swing the leg, if it\\nis relaxed, very gradually higher and higher\\nuntil it moves like a pendulum.\\n4. Reverse the movement.\\n{Repeat five times.)\\nII.\\n1 Military position.\\n2. Lift right leg straight out in front,\\nhaving whole leg and foot tense, with toe\\npointing away from the body.\\n3. Hold this position while counting\\nfour.\\n4. Let the leg drop relaxed.\\n5. Reverse this movement, lifting left\\nleg, etc.\\n{Repeat this eight times.)\\nIII.\\n1 Lie flat on the floor.\\n2 Lift right foot up as far as possible.\\n3. Hold strained attitude while counting\\ntwenty-five.\\n4. Let it drop relaxed.\\n5. Reverse the movement, using left\\nfoot.\\n{Repeat ten times.)\\nRelaxing Exercises for Trunk and\\nArms.\\n(To be taken without tight or stiff clothing.)\\ni. Take a rather wide base, letting arms\\nhang relaxed at sides.\\n2. Slowly relax face, letting eyes close\\nand chin drop.\\n3. Slowly relax head, letting it drop\\nforward on the breast.\\n4. Slowly relax shoulders and spine,\\nletting the head, arms and trunk sink grad-\\nually until the whole upper body hangs\\nlifelessly to the hips.\\n5. Hold this position while you can\\ncount thirty.\\n6. Shift weight from right to left and\\nback, repeating the movement until the\\nrelaxed trunk, arms and head swing from\\nside to side.\\n7. Slowly energize, letting the life steal\\nupward through the spine, then shoulders,\\nthen head, then face and lifting the body", "height": "4408", "width": "3292", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT\\n3i\\ninto correct position, i. e. hips and abdo-\\nmen back in place, and shoulders well\\ndrawn up, instead of being thrown back.\\nThis movement, especially, is often given\\nby prominent nerve specialists to their\\npatients as being fine for the nerves of the\\nback, which are the most delicate of the body.\\nRelaxing Exercises for the whole\\nBody.\\n{All tight or stiff clothing should be removed for this move-\\nment.)\\ni. Lie flat on the back on the floor,\\nwith arms at sides, and eyes closed.\\n2 Lift the head and hold it off the floor\\nwhile you count ten.\\n3. Let it drop, relaxed.\\n4. Lift right leg and hold aloft while\\ncounting twenty.\\n5. L,et it drop relaxed.\\n6. Lift left leg, and hold aloft while\\ncounting twenty.\\n7. Let it drop relaxed.\\n8. Lift right arm straight up while you\\ncount thirty.\\n9. Let it drop, relaxed.\\n10. Lift left arm straight up while you\\ncount thirty.\\n1 1 Let it drop, relaxed.\\n12. Lie quietly five minutes until thor-\\noughly relaxed.\\nThis exercise is often given to produce\\nsleep, and is much more restful to the\\nbody and mind than two hours of unre-\\nlaxed sleep. If you are at all nervous, lie\\ndown quietly and relax yourself. It will\\nsoothe you more than any amount of rest-\\nless turning and twisting in trying to get to\\nsleep.\\nBefore giving a recital I always go\\nthrough with the relaxing exercises, and\\nthen lie down quietly for thirty minutes.\\nIt makes me feel delightfully refreshed.\\nThis completes the first of relazing exer-\\ncises. Remember that unless you practice\\nthem faithfully, you will continue in your\\nold faults. This is the only way to cure\\nthem. As you cannot build a symmetrical\\nhouse without a foundation, so you cannot\\nbuild a symmetrical body without the relax-\\ning exercises. In fact, they are the foun-\\ndation of the house of strength, ease and\\ngrace. No teacher of elocution could com-\\nmit a greater crime toward a pupil than to\\ngive him gesture work before curing him\\nof his faults of carriage Such teachers\\nbring ridicule upon our art, which is the\\noldest in the world, the art of expression.\\nNow that we have laid the foundation,\\nlet us put up the framework. For what\\ndoes the framework stand Beauty No\\nGrace No For what, then\\nFor strength.\\nIf the reader has access to a gymnasium\\nI should advise the use of the Indian clubs,\\ndumb-bells, parallel bars, chest bars, vault-\\ning pole, punch-bag, rings and turning\\npole, for developing physical strength. I\\nmight say right here that this advice is to\\nwomen and girls as well as to men and\\nboys. All of the above-mentioned appara-\\ntus can be used as well and as profitably by\\nthe one sex as by the other, if the women\\nare properly dressed and do not go to an\\nexcess.\\nOne of the greatest pleasures I have ever\\nknown was in conquering the different appa-\\nratus until I could use them as well as any\\nboy in the gymnasium.\\nIf you have not access to a gymnasium,\\nyou can do a great deal to develop your\\nstrength by using the following exercises\\nExercises for Strengthening the\\nArms.\\nCaution. Every move of tbe following exercises must be\\nmade wtih energy.\\na.\\n1. Military position and hands closed\\nfirmly at sides.\\n2. Right hand at chest.\\n3. Right hand back at side.\\n4. Repeat.\\n5. Left hand the same.\\n6. Both hands the same.\\n1. Both hands clenched on chest.\\n2. Right hand shoot straight out in\\nfront at shoulder.\\n3. Back to chest.\\n4. Repeat.\\n5. Left hand the same.\\n6. Both hands the same.", "height": "4388", "width": "3152", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "32\\nPHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT\\nc.\\ni. Both clenched hands on shoulders.\\n2 Right hand s traight up\\n3. Back to shoulder.\\n4. Repeat.\\n5. Left hand same.\\n6. Both hands same.\\nII.\\nAnvil Movement\\n1 Place clenched fists one on top of the\\nother at arm s length in front, about on a\\nlevel with the waist line, so that the thumb\\nof the right hand touches the little finger of\\nthe left.\\n2. Drop the right hand in a circular\\nmovement, bringing it around with all its\\nforce and striking the clenched left hand on\\ntop, send it round to come back and strike\\nthe right, which repeats the movement as\\nbefore. This must be done in such a way\\nthat anyone looking at you from the side\\nsees each arm perform a perfect circle.\\nIII.\\n(To be practiced with care, being sure to keep the back rigid.)\\ni. Military position.\\n2 Taking a chair by the top of back in\\nthe right hand, raise it slowly at full arm till\\non a level with the shoulder.\\n3. Lower it slowly to ground.\\n4. Use the left hand and arm.\\n5. Put the chair in front of you, and lift\\nit with both hands, being careful not to bend\\nat the waist line.\\nSuggestion. A pail may be ijsed, beginning at first with\\nv a little water in it, and increasing amonnt slowly.\\n2. Right foot forward in a diagonal line,\\nputting weight onto it at same time.\\naly a\\nIV.\\n1. Take hold of anything from which\\nyou can hang, a short distance from the\\nground.\\n2. Try to draw your chin up to your\\nhands.\\n{Repeat this five times.)\\nExercises for Strengthening the\\nLegs.\\n1. Feet in military position, hands on\\nhips.\\nBack to place.\\nRepeat.\\nLeft foot same.\\nRight foot forward and back.\\nLeft foot forward and back.\\nRight foot forward and back.\\nLeft foot forward and back.\\nIn this movement be sure to shift the weight with each move\\nof the feet,\\nII.\\n1 Place hands on hips.\\n2 Run on toes round and round a large\\nroom or out of doors, being sure to touch\\nmerely the ball of the foot.\\nIII.\\n1 Heels together, body erect and lightly\\npoised over the balls of the feet, and hands\\nheld out in balancing attitude.\\n2. Bend the knees slightly.\\n3. Jump straight up into the air, coming\\ndown on toes with heels still together\\n4. Sink heels slowly to ground, but keep\\nweight poised over balls of the feet.\\n{Repeat ten times.)\\nIV.\\n1 Place your back against a flat surface,\\nsay a door, being sure to see that your head\\nand heels also touch the door, and that your\\nhands are flat at sides.\\n2. Without removing head from door,\\ndrop straight down as far as possible, bend-\\ning the body nowhere except at knees.\\n3. Raise the body in same way.\\n{Repeat four times.)\\n(This movement, as you will find upon trial, is very difficult,\\nand takes much practice before satisfactorily performed.)\\nV.\\nMilitary position.\\nRaise right foot and kick violently.\\nRight foot back to place.\\nRaise left foot and kick violently.\\nLeft foot back to place.\\n{Repeat ten times?)\\nVI.\\n1 Feet in military position, hands on\\nhips.", "height": "4380", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT\\n33\\n2. Right foot forward.\\n3. Shift weight to it.\\n4. Bend right knee, sinking almost to\\nfloor, and keeping body perfectly erect.\\n5. Rise slowly, keeping weight on the\\nball of the front foot.\\n6. Shift weight to back foot.\\n7. Right foot back to place.\\n8. Reverse the movement, placing left\\nfoot forward, etc.\\n{Repeat jive times\\nExercises for Making the Feet Strong\\nand Peiabee.\\nI might remark here that it is very im-\\nportant to use the joints of the feet, if one\\ndesires to become a graceful walker. Noth-\\ning is more ungraceful than that flat-footed\\nwalk which one so often sees on the street.\\nSiddons Opinion.\\nIt is said of the great Siddons that at one\\ntime a young actor who had taken the peo-\\nple of England by storm, came to her to ask\\nfor her patronage. She put him upon the\\nstage, watched him go through one scene of\\nHamlet, and then told him quietly but firmly\\nthat she had no place for him in her com-\\npany. When asked her reason for this deci-\\nsion, she remarked My dear young sir,\\nyou walk as if your feet had no j oints Every\\ntime your foot falls flatly on the plank, it\\nsends a cold shiver all over me. Could I,\\nthink thee, fall in love with a flat-footed\\nHamlet Godzooks, no I prithee, go\\nlimber up thy joints\\nWe cannot afford to slight the opinion of\\nso great an artist as Siddons, therefore let us\\ncome to the point.\\nI.\\n1. Heels together, hand on hips, weight\\non balls of feet.\\n2. Rise on toes slowly, counting one,\\ntwo, three.\\n3. Hold position, counting one, two,\\nthree.\\n4. Sink slowly to first position, counting\\none, two, three.\\n{Repeat Jive times, being sure to see that\\nyour body rises and sinks gradually but firmly\\nnot in an uncertain manner.\\nExercises to Stengthen the Hand.\\nI.\\n1 Clench and open hand forcibly as if\\ngrasping and unwillingly releasing some-\\nthing with which you do not wish to part.\\n2. Do this first with one hand and then\\nthe other.\\n{Repeat twenty times.)\\nII.\\n1 Beginning at the centre of the palm,\\nmake the life and force flow gradually out-\\nward to the tips of the fingers and thumb,\\nopening the hand slowly and forcibly at the\\nsame time.\\n2. Close the hand in the same way, let-\\nting the life slowly flow from the finger-tips\\nback to the centre of the palm.\\n3. Work on this movement until the\\nhands are so thoroughly under the control\\nof the will that the movement resembles the\\nopening and closing of the petals of a\\nflower.\\nExercises for Strengthening the\\nBack.\\nThere is a warning I should give, and\\nperhaps this is the best place for it. It is\\nWomen, be careful of your backs\\nThe most delicate and most easily injured\\npart of a woman s body is the region around\\nthe waist line, just at the middle of the\\nback. Why is it delicate? Because it is\\nso terribly abused. Every time a woman\\nputs on her hat, or ties her veil, or combs\\nher hair, I will venture she misuses her\\nback How do women stand when they per-\\nform those functions They stand, as a\\nrule, with their shoulders bent back, their\\nabdomens protuding and their weight thrown\\nway back on their heels. How should they\\nstand They should stand with their shoul-\\nders erect, their backs either perfectly\\nstraight or bent slightly to the front, their\\nabdomens back in place, and their weight\\nalways on the balls of the feet.\\nMy dear reader, if you are a woman, try\\nto do these things properly next time, and\\nsee how much easier it is to do them with the\\ncorrect than with the 1 incorrect poise. Also\\nremember that it is just as important to", "height": "4388", "width": "3160", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "34\\nPHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT\\ncarry yourself properly in your home as it is\\non the streets, and, indeed, I might say\\nmore important, for more of your time is\\nspent at home than on the streets. Have\\nyou ever known a woman who didn t care\\nanything about her appearance at home, and\\nwho went around the house with her should-\\ners and abdomen entirely out of place, but\\nwho straightened up considerably and made\\na fairly good appearance on the street? I\\nam sure you will not have to look far to\\nfind such a one. Very likely that woman\\nwas continually complaining of headaches\\nand backaches. No wonder I With such\\ntreatment the wonder is that she was ever\\nfree from them.\\nHalf of the nervous disorders come, not\\nso much from overwork, as from carelessness\\nin the use of the body. Whenever I see a\\nman or woman pounding along down the\\nstreet, with the body all out of poise and the\\nweight on the heels, it makes me shudder\\nfor I think how every step jars the delicate\\nspine which, in turn, jars the base of the\\nbrain. What wonder that headache is the\\nresult\\nProfessor Paine, of astronomical fame,\\nalways walks on the tips of his toes. It looks\\nrather peculiar to see a tall, thin person like\\nthe professor tiptoeing down the street, and\\nthe first time I saw him I was decidedly\\namused, though I instantly knew why he\\nwas doing it. His nervous system is very\\ndelicate, and he walks in this way in order\\nto save his spine and brain from jarring. If\\nhe had only known, he could have accom-\\nplished the same result without making him-\\nself so conspicuous. One can walk with the\\nentire weight on the balls of the feet just as\\nwell when the heels are touching the ground,\\nas when they are not. In fact, that is ex-\\nactly where one should always carry the\\nweight.\\nAll of the movements I have given, work\\ntoward strengthening the back, inasmuch\\nas the spine is to be held rigidly through\\nmost of them, and this very rigidity is of\\nitself strength-giving. The relaxing move-\\nment for the trunk, head and arms is espe-\\ncially good for that purpose, as, when the\\nbody is relaxed, the back is rested, and,\\nwhen the spine is slowly energized, the\\nback is made to use each vertebra separately.\\nTherefore the back is made pliable and yet\\nstrong for it does all the work of lifting\\nthe heavy and apparently lifeless trunk,\\nhead and arms.\\nI.\\n(Before beginning this movement all stays and tight garments\\nmust be removed.)\\ni. Place the feet a slight distance\\napart.\\n2. Without bending the knees, bow the\\nbody forward, and very slowly down, down,\\nwith hands extended as if pressing some-\\nthing to the floor.\\n3. When you have reached your limit,\\nrise slowly with palms turned upward as if\\npressing something toward the ceiling.\\n4. When your hands are on a level with\\nyour shoulders, turn the palms down and\\nrepeat the movement.\\n{Repeat ten times.)\\nII.\\n1. Military position.\\n2. Raise arms straight over head.\\n3 Quickly sway the body forward at the\\nhips, and swing arms forcibly in a circular\\nmovement downward, trying to touch the\\nfloor.\\n4. Raising the body quickly, repeat the\\nmovement.\\n{Repeat ten times.)\\nIII.\\n1. Military position!\\n2. Place right foot forward and shift\\nweight to it.\\n3. Rise on tiptoe, and at the same time\\nlift the arms, reaching up as far as possible,\\nbeing certain not to bend back, but to reach\\nforward and upward.\\n4. Sink back to place, letting arms fall\\nrelaxed at sides.\\n{Repeat ten times.)\\n(This is one of the best exercises of iwhich I know, for length-\\nening the waist line. If properly done, it is one of the best for\\nstrengthening the back. If improperly done it is one of the\\nworst.)\\nExercises for Putting the Shoulders\\nin their Proper Place.\\n1. Military position.\\n2. Place the tips of the fingers on the\\ntops of the shoulders.", "height": "4388", "width": "3248", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT\\n35\\n3. Keeping the fingers in their places,\\nrevolve the elbows slowly toward the front,\\nmaking them perform circles of which the\\nshoulders are the centres, and which are as\\nnearly parallel to the sides of the body as\\npossible.\\nSuggestion This movement will be more easily arrived at\\nif you imagine yourself standing between two black boards\\nwhich are very close to you. Then imagine that the point of\\neach elbow is a piece of crayon, and try to perform the largest\\nand most perfect circles possible, using your shoulders as the\\ncentres.\\n{Repeat the wovement ten times.)\\nReverse the movement, making the elbows\\nstart over and toward the back.\\n{Repeat the movement ten times.)\\nThe idea in this movement is to make\\nthe elbows come as nearly as possible\\nier in the back\\nII.\\n1 Place yourself in the corner of a room\\nso that you are a foot and a-half from and\\nfacing the angle.\\n2 Place the palms of your hands so that\\nthey are on the two surfaces forming the\\nangle, at about a foot and a half from the\\nline of intersection, and so that they (the\\nhands) are on an exact level with the\\nshoulders, and with the fingers pointing up.\\n3. Keeping the whole body (with the\\nexception of the arms) perfectly rigid, and\\nmaking the elbows move on a level with\\nthe shoulders, press your face forward until\\nit rests in the angle formed by the intersect-\\ning walls.\\n{Repeat ten times.)\\n(This exercise is not only good for properly placing the should-\\nders, but also for strengthening theback and arms, and for widen-\\ning the chest line across the front while narrowing it across the\\nback. At first it is apt to lame the muscles of the arms, chest,\\nand back but if continued for several days, the lameness will\\nvanish.)\\nIII.\\ni. Military position.\\n2. Raise the arms straight up in front\\ntill the palms of the hands touch on a level\\nwith the shoulders.\\n3. Keeping the body perfectly rigid and\\nerect, swing the arms quickly around to the\\nsame relative position in the back, making\\nthe backs of the hands meet on a level with\\nthe shoulders.\\n{Repeat the movement ten times.)\\n(This movement is always impossible to a beginner, but after\\nthree or four days practice, comes very easily.)\\nIV.\\n1. Place your back firmly against a\\ndoor, so that your shoulders and head touch\\nthe door.\\n2. Interlace your fingers behind your\\nneck, being sure to see that neither your\\nhead nor shoulders leave the door.\\n3. While in this position make your\\nelbows touch the same surface which your\\nhead and shoulders touch.\\n4. When your shoulder-blades are per-\\nfectly flat keep the same position, only walk\\nabout for five minutes.\\n(This movement, if practiced faithfully, will entirely do away\\nwith protruding or prominent shoulder-blades.)\\nNow that I have given exercises to\\nstrengthen each of the separate parts of the\\nbody, I shall give one which will test and\\ndevelop the strength of the body as a whole\\nor unit.\\nExercises to Strengthen the Body as\\na Whole.\\n1 Stand erect, with your feet a very lit-\\ntle distance apart.\\n2. Bend over until the palms of the\\nhand are flat on the floor, and then, by mov-\\ning one hand before the other (keeping the\\nfeet where they are), advance your body\\nalong the floor until it is extended at full\\nlength, the weight resting entirely upon the\\ntoes and hands, and the whole body as rigid\\nas a bar of iron.\\n3. Still keeping the body rigid, slowly\\nbend the arms at the elbows until the face\\ntouches the floor between the hands.\\n4. Raise the body slowly until the arms\\nare straight.\\n5 Repeat the raising and lowering pro-\\ncess three times.\\n6. Slowly move the hands toward the\\nfeet, the body having meantime bent itself\\ndouble.\\n7. Rise to upright position.\\nIn our house of beauty we have laid the\\nfoundation by means of the relaxing exer-\\ncises, and built the framework by means of\\nthe strengthening exercises so we must\\nnow begin to put up the walls and build the\\nroof, or, in other words, teach you to stand,\\nto walk, and to do many other ordinary", "height": "4388", "width": "3152", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "36\\nPHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT\\nthings, properly and gracefully, for there is\\na good and a bad way to do everything.\\nThose who are acquainted with the de-\\nlightful little story, The Birds Christmas\\nCarol, by Kate Douglas Wiggin, will\\ndoubtless remember Mrs. Ruggles saying\\nto the children before they started for their\\nChristmas party, I wish I could git it into\\nyer heads that taint so much what yer say,\\nas the way yer say it Mrs. Ruggles was\\na philosopher She had discovered the\\nsecret of society i\\nI say to you, It isn t so much what you\\ndo, as the way you do it.\\nRemember that you are being judged\\nat all times and in all places. You may\\nhand a beggar a penny and he will know\\nyou are a lady, while your next door\\nneighbor may throw him a dollar and be\\njudged just what he is, a commoner.\\nNot that the dollar isn t appreciated, but\\ntaint so much what you do, as the way\\nyou do it\\nThe exercises which are to follow, though\\nthey oome under the head of Physical Cul-\\nture, are classified under the more specific\\nbranch called Delsarte. {See next di-\\nvision.}", "height": "4384", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "Part II\\nDELSARTE TRAINING and ELOCUTION\\nBy FRANCES PUTNAM POGLE\\nI never hear that name that I do not feel\\nreverence for the man who bore it.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2Sketch of Delsarte.\\nMany years ago, in the early part of the\\nnineteenth century, there was born in a little\\nvillage in France, a child who was destined\\nto become one of the most famous men of\\nhis times Francois Delsarte.\\nAs is almost always the case with men of\\ngenius, his early life was anything but plea-\\nsant. His father, a physician, was posses-\\nsed of a proud, hard nature, which was not\\nimproved by constant worrying over money\\nmatters.\\nWhenever anything went wrong, the\\nfather s spite was vented on his wife and\\nsons. In fact, matters went from bad to\\nworse, until one day the mother, feeling\\nthat anything was preferable to her past\\nlife, took her two small children and went\\nto reside in Paris.\\nMadame Delsarte was a woman of marked\\nabilities, and, had she lived, would, doubt-\\nless, have done much to encourage her\\nelder son in his struggles to develop his\\ntalents but shortly after reaching her desti-\\nnation, her sad career was brought to an\\nabrupt close, and her two children were left\\nshelterless in the streets of Paris.\\nThe younger child, a frail little fellow,\\nwas not long in following his mother, and\\nthus we find Francois, at the age of ten,\\nalone and penniless.\\nA poor old rag-picker, finding the little\\nfellow numbed with cold and weak from\\nhunger, took him to his miserable home\\nand cared for him. The next two years of\\nDelsarte s life were spent in helping his pro-\\ntector to gain a meagre livelihood.\\nNot much chance to develop genius here!\\nSo it seems, but, nevertheless, it was during\\nthese two years that Delsarte s great passion\\nfor music began to show itself. Many a\\nnight, after a hard day s work, the poor lit-\\ntle rag-picker would be seen following some\\nfavorite street band from place to place, sit-\\nting with rapt face until the music ceased,\\nand then trudging patiently behind the\\nmusicians until they played again.\\nOne day Bambini, the great teacher, found\\na small ragged boy making peculiar marks\\nupon the sand in the gardens of the Tuile-\\nries.\\n1 What are you doing my child said\\nthe old professor, interested to know what\\nwas meant by the figures.\\n1 Writing down the music that band is\\nplaying, somewhat impatiently replied the\\nyoungster, not knowing to whom he was\\nspeaking, and being anxious not to lose any\\nof the tune.\\nWho taught you said Bambini.\\nNobody, sir I taught myself.\\nThus it was that Bambini discovered\\nDelsarte. The kind-hearted master took\\nthe child home and taught him until the\\npupil outstripped the teacher.\\nAt 14, Delsarte entered the Conservatory,\\nwhere he developed a style entirely different\\nfrom that of his instructors.\\nMalibran, the great singer, encouraged\\nhim in bis methods, and later on, by sheer\\npluck and indomitable will, Delsarte gained\\na position as principal singer in the Opera\\nComique.\\n37", "height": "4388", "width": "3144", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "38\\nDELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\nAfter four years of almost unprecedented\\nsuccess on the stage, he had the greatest\\nsorrow of his life he lost his voice. Though\\nterribly shaken by this calamity, he cour-\\nageously went to work at something which\\nhad always interested him the study of the\\nhuman body and its capabilities of expres-\\nsion.\\nHis manner had always been distin-\\nguished for its courtliness, and, in fact, dur-\\ning his operatic career, people had been\\nattracted to him as much by his imperial\\ngestures and wonderful grace of person, as\\nby his magnificent voice; so, now that the\\none was gone, he decided to make use of\\nthe other.\\nThe first thing that he did was to make a\\nthorough study of anatomy and physiology\\nin order that he might know all of the uses\\nand capabilities of the muscles. Then he\\nbegan to study the effect of the different\\nemotions upon the body and, in seeking\\nhis subjects for experiment and study, he\\nwent through the whole gamut of the social\\nscale, from the highest to the lowest. In\\norder to make his deductions, not from one\\nclass of individuals, but from all classes,\\nhe studied his friends, who were among the\\nhighest in rank, and also spent a great deal\\nof time visiting the hospitals and prisons.\\nAmong his pupils were the great Rachel,\\nSontag and Macready on the stage and\\nPere Hyacinthe in the pulpit, besides mem-\\nbers of most of the royal families of Europe,\\nwho sought his instruction in order to make\\nthemselves more attractive.\\nMany persons are under the impression\\nthat Delsarte taught a new way to stand,\\nsit, walk, and so forth but he did no such\\nthing. He taught the best way to do these\\nthings in order to obtain the most ease and\\ngrace. Surely no one would be better able\\nto do this than the man who made the art\\nof expression his life study.\\nWhat do we mean by Delsarte when\\nwe speak of it in the abstract\\nDelsarte is the study of the human body\\nwith a view to making it respond easily and\\ngracefully to the promptings of the soul, or,\\nin other words, Delsarte is the art of expres-\\nsion.\\nIs it positively necessary to study Del-\\nsarte in order to become expressive Look\\nabout you and see for yourself. Does your\\nmother have any difficulty in expressing\\nher anger Do you feel at a loss to express\\nyour indignation when you see any one\\nstoning a poor dog Does the baby stop to\\nwonder how it can let you know that it has\\ncut its finger Not a bit of it. The diffi-\\nculty lies in controlling your expression, so\\nas to make yourself understood. The ques-\\ntion is not, can you express your feelings,\\nbut are you able to express them easily\\nand gracefully.\\nEmotions are expressed in different ways\\nby different people, as, for instance, anger.\\nSome express anger by tapping the floor\\nwith the foot, others by protruding the\\nlower lip, and others in still different ways\\nbut there are certain general characteristics\\nwhich always appear in an angry person,\\nsuch as the clenching of the hands, the\\nstraightening of the figure to its full height,\\nthe terseness of all the muscles, the disten-\\nsion of the nostrils, and the widening of the\\neyes.\\nSo it is with all emotions, and it is the\\nstudy of these general characteristics that\\nenables one to sink the individual in the\\ntype, a feat which is absolutely necessary\\nin order to become a good elocutionist.\\nThere is nothing more detrimental to a pub-\\nlic reader than to have mannerisms which\\nhe carries into his character sketches. He\\nmust absolutely lose himself in the charac-\\nter which he wishes to represent. Another\\nthing to remember is this in expressing a\\nsentiment, you must do it in such a way\\nthat it will appeal to the instincts of every\\none in your audience as being the right\\nexpression. The only way to do this is to\\nmake use of the general characteristics.\\nBut, you say, How shall we know\\nwhat are the general characteristics\\nMy answer is, By keeping your eyes open,\\nand by comparing the effects of the same\\nemotion upon different people. In order\\nto become a good impersonator, you must\\nlearn to notice everything that goes on\\naround you. If you see a peculiar expres-\\nsion on any face, go home and try to- imitate\\nit. It is very seldom that I leave a street\\ncar, or return home from down-town with-\\nout two or three examples which I mean to\\nimitate as soon as I reach my room. In", "height": "4388", "width": "3248", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\n39\\ntime, you will find that the study of faces is\\none of the most interesting occupations you\\nhave. There is a great pleasure in con-\\nquering a set of unruly muscles and making\\nthem do as you wish.\\nHowever, before trying to take on other\\npeople s characters and carriage, you must\\nbe perfectly sure of your own. Your body\\nmust be so thoroughly trained that it is\\nunder control, and will respond instantly\\nand gracefully to the slightest emotion or\\nvolition. It must be so perfectly trained\\nthat an ungraceful or unsympathetic action\\nwould be impossible to it.\\nHow can you accomplish this result\\nBy constantly watching yourself and cor-\\nrecting every mistake immediately after it is\\nmade. We are mere creatures of habit, and\\nif you never let a faulty action pass, by-\\nand-by your body will form the habit of do-\\ning these things correctly, and then you will\\ndo them without thinking. You must be\\nso sure of it that it never causes you a qualm\\nor, in other words, you must be thoroughly\\nmaster of your body before you can become\\nunconscious of it.\\nHave you never visited a reading class\\nwhen you have thought to yourself, How\\nawkward these children are Yet, ten to\\none, if you had seen these same children\\non the playground during the recess period,\\nyou would have thought exactly the oppo-\\nsite. Why is it Because the moment the\\nchild had a book put into his hand, and\\nwas told to stand up and read, he\\nbecame self-conscious.\\nWhat is stage-fright\\nIt is merely another form of self-con-\\nsciousness, uncertainty as to appearance\\nand correctness of poise. Therefore it is\\nvery important that you should know\\nexactly how to poise yourself so that when\\nyou get up to recite, you will not be bothered\\nby such questions as, Am I standing\\nright or Is my position graceful\\nbut you will know that it is all right.\\nThe Correct Position for Reciting.\\nStand easily, with one foot in advance of\\nthe other about the distance of a walking\\nstep, with the arnib relaxed at sides and the\\nhands falling naturally slightly in front of\\nthe hips. Let the head and shoulders be\\nheld easily erect, being careful to avoid all\\nappearance of stiffness or angularity. The\\nweight must be kept over the balls of the\\nfeet, and shifted easily from one foot to the\\nother, according to the emotion or character\\nrepresented.\\nThere are three principal positions to be\\nused in recitations the objective, the nor-\\nmal or neutral and the subjective. The ob-\\njective is with the weight poised over the\\nfront foot, and is used in all descriptive\\nreading and in the emotions that are di-\\nrected against things outside of your own\\nbody. The normal or neutral is with the\\nweight poised over both feet, and is used to\\nexpress uncertainty or doubt. The subjec-\\ntive position is with the weight poised over\\nthe back foot, and denotes deep thought or\\nmeditation, fear and all emotions directed\\ntoward self.\\nUnless you change your position with an\\nobject in view, avoid unnecessary shifting of\\nweight, as it indicates nervousness.\\nBe sure to keep a narrow base, as nothing\\nwill spoil your appearance on the platform\\nmore than standing with a broad base.\\nThere is a saying of Delsarte s that runs\\nsomething like this A wide base indicates\\nconscious weakness a narrow base, con-\\nscious strength. For examples to prove\\nthis rule, we need not seek far. For instance,\\nnotice a child just beginning to walk. It\\nis weak and uncertain of itself, and there-\\nfore takes wide base. So does an intoxicated\\nperson, or one who is old and feeble. For\\nan example of conscious strength and a\\nnarrow base, take the runner, or the statue,\\nFlying Mercury. In both cases the\\nweight of the whole body rests upon the toe\\nof one foot.\\nAnother suggestion which should always\\nbe heeded is this Do not let the front knee\\nbe bent when your weight is on the back\\nfoot. Whenever this happens it, gives an\\nawkward, humpish appearance to the whole\\nbody.\\nThe chest should be held well up, but not\\nto the extent of giving a conceited look to\\nthe reader.\\nWalking.\\nAn easy, graceful walk is so great a charm\\nto one s personal appearance that no one", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "4Q\\nDELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\ncan afford to slight it. Nothing gives one\\na greater appearance of good breeding or\\nself-possession\\nHave you ever seen a woman stumble\\ninto a room as if dumped out of a bag\\nContrast this entrance with the easy, digni-\\nfied entrance of some other guest, and the\\nforce of this suggestion will come home to\\nyou.\\nOne should never hurry into a room as if\\nafraid the door would be shut if not there\\nin time nor should one slink into a room\\nas if wishing to get in without being seen\\nbut walk in easily and naturally, as if\\nentering your own parlor.\\nThe same caution should be observed in\\ntaking the floor for reciting. Walk to your\\nplace naturally, forgetting none of the little\\ncourtesies of polite society, as if you were\\ngoing to take a chair or do any other ordi-\\nnary thing. Nothing is more ridiculous\\nthan a stilted or conceited manner, and\\nnothing more to be avoided than a fright-\\nened, flurried appearance.\\nThis easy manner can be cultivated and\\nacquired in time by perseverance.\\nI shall never forget an experience that\\nI had at a temperance entertainment. It\\nwas given in a friend s parlors for the\\nbenefit of the W. C. T. U.\\nWhen the programme was about half\\nfinished, a number was announced, and,\\nsailing up the centre aisle, came a girl of\\nabout twenty. Her face had on it an\\nexpression of sneering contempt which\\nplainly said, I know I am foolish to recite\\nat this place. Nonet)f you are capable of\\nentering into my high sentiments. She\\nwas followed by a chorus of very audible\\ngroans.\\nImagine the sympathy felt by the audi-\\nence for her when she began to recite,\\nthat beautiful, humble old poem of John\\nKnox, Why should the spirit of mortal\\nbe proud.\\nI echoed the sentiments of a young fellow\\nwho sat in the same row with me. Turn-\\ning to one of his neighbors he said rather\\nforcibly, Well if that s elocution,\\nexcuse me\\nYou cannot afford to lose the sympathy\\nof your audience as did this young woman,\\nsp beware\\nCorrect position in walking is the same as\\nin standing but there are some suggestions\\nwhich are important to remember.\\ni In walking, swing the leg as a unit\\nfrom the hip, and never bend the knee of\\nthe forward foot.\\n2 Dignity is added to the walk by keep-\\ning the toe of the back foot on the ground\\nas long as possible. This is what is called\\nthe stage walk.\\n3. The arms should never swing beyond\\nthe draperies, and, if relaxed, they will not\\ndo so.\\n4. Be very careful not to break at the\\nwaist line, as that gives a slouchy appear-\\nance. The trunk from the hips up, should\\nbe perfectly rigid.\\n5. Walk so that if you should strike a\\nwall, your chest would strike first. In\\nother words, your chest should always lead,\\nand the head, feet and rest of the body\\nshould follow.\\n6. Avoid walking with a jerk. The\\nmovement should be continuous and even.\\n7. Do not swing the hips from side to\\nside, as it gives an extremely vulgar effect.\\n8. If you are going in one direction, and\\nwant to turn suddenly about, do not take\\nthree or four steps to turn yourself, but pivot.\\nExercises for Poise and to Properly\\nPlace the Weight.\\n1. Military position.\\n2. Rise slowly on toes, counting one,\\ntwo, three.\\n3. Sink slowly back until heels touch\\nfloor, counting one, two, three, as before,\\nand keeping weight on the balls of the feet.\\n{Repeat twenty tiniest)\\nII.\\nFlying Mercury Movement.\\n1. Military position.\\n2. Right foot forward at an angle of\\nforty-five degrees from the front.\\n3. Shift weight to right foot.\\n4. Rise with weight poised upon the toe\\nof the right foot, at the same time lifting\\nthe left foot off the floor, and raising right\\narm diagonally at front and just over the.", "height": "4388", "width": "3320", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "DELS ARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\n4i\\nright foot, till on a level with the shoulder,\\nwhile at the same time left arm rises diago-\\nnally at back.\\n5. I+ower heels and arms to place, and\\nbring right foot back to military position.\\nReverse the movement, putting left foot\\nforward, etc.\\n{Repeat five times with each foot.)\\nthe head following the direction of the\\nweight and the trunk taking the opposite\\ndirection.\\n3. Reverse the movement, gradually\\nwithdrawing the weight from the right leg,\\ngive it over to the left, the head and trunk\\nmoving in opposition as before.\\n{Repeat twenty times.)\\nIII.\\n1. Stand in position, the heels a few\\ninches apart, the toes pointing outward.\\n2. With a springy, dancing movement\\nof the body, take a step forward and back\\nto place first with the right foot, then with\\nthe left springing lightly on the balls of the\\nfeet as in waltzing and marking time\\nrhythmically, one, two forward and back\\nto place on the right foot three, four\\nforward and back to place on the left.\\n3. Repeat the movement backwards,\\none, two, backward and forward to place\\non the right foot three, four, backward\\nand forward to place on the left foot.\\n4. Continue the movement to the right\\nand to the left, pointing the toes of the foot\\non which the step is taken, obliquely from\\nthe body, and marking time as before.\\n{Repeat jive times?)\\nIV.\\nPendulum Movement.\\n1. Stand with the feet slightly apart,\\nthe weight resting equally on both feet,\\n2. Slowly sway the body forward until\\nits weight rests entirely on the balls of the\\nfeet, but without lifting the heels from the\\nfloor.\\n3. In the same manner sway backward\\nas far as possible with the weight entirely\\non the heels.\\nAvoid over-balancing in the movement,\\nand bend no part of the body except the\\nankle joints.\\nV.\\n1. Stand with the feet slightly apart,\\nthe weight resting equally on both feet.\\n2. Withdraw the weight gradually from\\nthe left leg, giving it entirely to. the right,\\nExercise to Acquire a Narrow Base.\\n1 Select either a crack in the floor or a\\nseam in a carpet.\\n2. Stand in military position directly\\nover this line so that it runs between the\\ntwo feet and touches the heels exactly at\\nthe line where they meet, and divides the\\nangle between the two feet in halves.\\n3. Keeping the feet in the same rela-\\ntive position to the line, walk slowly for-\\nward, being sure to see that the heels\\ndo not cross the line but just touch it each\\ntime.\\nExercise to Avoid Bending the Front\\nKnee.\\n1. Military position, hands on hips.\\n2. Shift weight to left foot.\\n3. Without bending the right leg at the\\nknee, swing it forward as a unit from the\\nhip, counting one.\\n4. Then swing it back as far as it will\\ngo, counting two.\\n5. Repeat this three times and on the\\nfourth, take a step putting weight into\\nright foot and leaving left foot free.\\n6. Reverse the first movement, swing-\\ning left leg forward and back three times,\\nand stepping on the fourth swing.\\n{Repeat this movement, walking slowly all\\naround the room.)\\nPivoting Exercises.\\nI.\\n1. Feet a slight distance apart, weight\\non the balls of the feet.\\n2. Put weight on left foot.\\n3. Pivot from left to right at same time\\nshifting the weight to right foot and lifting\\nleft foot from floor,", "height": "4388", "width": "3152", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "42\\nDELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\n4. Pivot from right to left, at same time\\nshifting weight to left foot and raising right\\nfoot from the floor.\\n{Repeat twenty times.)\\nSuggestion Of course all pivoting is to\\nbe done on the toes, not on the heels.\\nII.\\n1. Military position.\\n2. Right foot diagonally forward.\\n3. Shift weight to right foot.\\n4. Pivot from forward foot to back foot,\\nshifting weight at same time and taking\\nright foot off the floor. (If you have done\\nthis correctly, you ought to be facing diago-\\nnally opposite to where you first faced).\\n5. Pivot from left foot to right foot,\\nshifting weight to right foot at same time\\nand lifting left foot off the ground.\\n{Repea t twenty times?)\\nIII.\\nWalk from one side of the room to the\\nother, and when you have reached the other\\nside, pivot on the forward foot and walk\\nback, pivoting when reaching the opposite\\nwall, etc.\\nExercises to Give Lightness to Body.\\nI.\\n1. Military position, hands on hips.\\n2. Cross right foot in front of left,\\ntouching merely the toe of the right foot to\\nthe floor.\\n3. Rise on toes and pivot clear around\\nto left, coming back with right foot crossed\\nbehind left foot.\\n4. Right foot back to military position.\\n5. Reverse the movement, crossing left\\nfoot over right and pivoting to right.\\n{Repeat twenty times.)\\nII.\\n1. Military position.\\n2. Right foot diagonally forward.\\n3. Shift weight to it.\\n4. Pivot from right to left foot and kneel\\nat same time over the strong {or left) foot.\\n5. Rise on left foot, keeping all the\\nweight on it.\\n6. When erect, pivot and shift weight\\nfrom left back to right foot, kneeling at same\\ntime over right foot.\\n7. Rise on right foot, keeping all the\\nweight on it.\\n8. When erect, pivot and shift weight, etc.\\n{Repeat this movement ten times with each\\nfoot.)\\nExercise to Add Dignity to Wale, or\\nStage Walk.\\n{During this exercise count one, two, three.)\\n1. Military position.\\n2 Swing right foot forward from the hip\\nabout the distance of a walking step.\\n3 Shift weight to right foot keeping the\\ntoe of the left foot on the floor and giving a\\nforward impetus with it.\\n4. Swing left foot forward from the hip\\nthe distance of a walking step.\\n5. Shift weight to left foot, keeping the\\ntoe of the right foot on the floor and giving\\na forward impetus with it.\\n{Repeat forty times.)\\nNote. In standing and walking one adds dignity to the ap-\\npearance by keeping as tall as possible.\\nAlong with walking should be considered\\nwhat I think is very important bowing.\\nThe old ceremonious bow is now out of\\nvogue, and in its place we have a much\\nmore graceful substitute. The proper\\nbow at the present time is a slight incli-\\nnation of the whole body from the ankle\\nupward.\\nA nod of the nead is ill-bred.\\nThe side bow should be made over the\\nweak foot {i. e., the foot on which the weight\\ndoes not rest).\\nThe front bow {which is also the stage bow)\\nshould be made over the strong foot.\\nExercises for Bowing. Front, Street\\nBow and Stage Bow.\\nI.\\n1. Military position.\\n2 Put right foot forward, shifting weight\\nto it, and, at same time, bowing over it to\\nsome imaginary approaching person.", "height": "4388", "width": "3244", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\n43\\n3. Reverse the movement, bowing over\\nleft foot, etc.\\n4. Take it in connection with the walk-\\ning exercises.\\nNotk. In this exercise when the climax of the bow is\\nreached, the body should have the form of a crescent, with the\\nfeet and chest as its tips, and the head held back in opposition to\\nthe trunk. When bowing to a person the courteous thing is to\\nlook in his eyes.\\nSidk, Street-Bow.\\n(To be used when passing a person at close quarters.)\\ni. Military position.\\n2. Right foot forward, putting weight\\ninto it at same time.\\n3. Bow from the ankle to the left over\\nthe left foot {which is also the weak foot)\\n4. Reverse the movement, bowing over\\nthe right foot.\\n5. Take this in connection with the\\nwalking exercises, being careful not to im-\\npede the progress by the bow.\\nThe Comedy Bow.\\nThis is frequently made on the stage after\\none has made a particularly good hit in\\nsome funny selection, and is loudly ap-\\nplauded. It consists simply in a nod of the\\nhead with the face looking jauntily over\\nthe shoulder, which is turned toward the\\naudience. All that the audience sees in this\\nbow is the back with the face peeping over\\nits shoulder.\\nExercise in Waeking Backwards.\\nNote. Often after bowing at the end of a selection, one has\\nto go back a number of paces in order to reach the stairs leading\\nfrom the rostrum or stage. In this case one should never turn\\nthe back ro the audience, but should walk backwards till on a\\nline with the steps and then walk off.\\ni. Military position.\\n2. Place right foot back, touching the\\ntoe to the floor, at the same time bowing\\nthe body forward from the ankle over the\\nleft foot, which is also the strong foot.\\n3. Shift weight slowly to the back foot,\\nat the same time lifting the heel of the front\\nfoot and straightening the body back until\\nit forms a straight line from the crown of the\\nhead to the toe of the front foot, which just\\ntouches the floor.\\n4. Place left foot back and repeat the\\nmovement. Keep on walking backward\\nuntil the movement comes easily.\\nRemember that in these movements the\\nhead moves with the weight, and in opposition\\nto the trunk, the same as in the bows.\\nHow to Pick Up Anything.\\nOften I have seen people make themselves\\nridiculons, if not positively vulgar, by\\nbending over to pick up something, when\\nthey might have done it gracefully and much\\nmore easily, if they had only known how.\\nNever bend over from the hips to pick\\nanything up but always keep the trunk\\nstraight and bend the knees. This is so very\\nimportant that I have decided to give\\nspecial exercises for it.\\nI.\\n1. Military position.\\n2. Place your left foot forward and put\\nthe weight on it.\\n3. Drop your handkerchief on the floor\\nat your right side.\\n4. Without bending at the hips or waist,\\nquickly drop straight down, keeping the\\nweight still on the left foot, using the right\\nfoot merely to steady yourself; and, picking\\nup the handkerchief in the right hand, rise\\nquickly to first position. In this way the\\nleft leg does all the work, and none of the\\nvulgar parts of the body are brought into\\nprominence.\\n5. Reverse the movement putting the\\nright foot forward and dropping handker-\\nchief to the left.\\n{Repeat ten times.)\\nII.\\n1. Repeat the last movement, only\\nthrowing your handkerchief to a distance\\nand then walking up to it, managing your\\nsteps so that the weak foot will always be\\nnext to the handkerchief.\\n2. Practice this with someone else,\\nhaving her drop her handkerchief, and you\\npick it up for her. In this exercise, in\\norder to get the best effect you should be\\nstanding at a distance when the handker-\\nchief is dropped. Be sure, after rising, in\\nhanding the handkerchief to the owner, to\\nbow slightly and act as if it were a pleasure,", "height": "4388", "width": "3148", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "44\\nDELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\nsaying Allow me, Permit me, or\\nsomething to that effect.\\nThe receipient of the handkerchief should\\nalso bow slightly and render thanks.\\nOur reason for introducing details which\\npertain to social life, in connection with a\\ntalk on Delsarte, consists in the fact that\\nDelsarte is not applicable to the stage or\\nrostrum alone, but to everyday life as well.\\nBesides, if one does not perform these little\\noffices correctly in everyday life, he will\\nbe certain to do them incorrectly before\\nthe public, when subject to a nervous\\nstrain.\\nHow to Sit.\\nSuggestions on this subject are important,\\ninasmuch as, not more than one person in\\na hundred takes a chair gracefully. The\\nother ninety-nine either flounce, plump or\\nbounce into it. Settle into your chair\\nslowly and steadily. If there are arms to\\nthe chair, one hand may rest lightly on one\\nof them. In other words, bow into the\\nchair, or, as Delsarte says, melt into it.\\nAlways sit well back into the chair so\\nthat the back will not be bent, and keep the\\nweight poised over the forward part of the\\nlap, or toward the knees so that the trunk\\nmay be easily revolved in any direction,\\nand the sitter may rise without giving a\\njerk at the start.\\nI have seen people take hold of the arms\\nof a chair and actually pull themselves up\\nby the strength of their arms. That is very\\nwrong. The arms should do none of the\\nwork in sitting or rising. It should be\\ndone by the trunk and legs.\\nNever cross the legs, nor let the knees\\nfall far apart. This gives as vulgar an\\neffect to the body in sitting as a w T ide base\\ndoes in standing. Let the knees fall close\\ntogether with one foot in advance of the\\nother.\\nNever show the soles of the feet. The\\ntoe of the advanced foot should always\\ntouch the floor.\\nThe same caution about the waist line\\nshould be observed in sitting as in standing\\nand walking. Be careful not to break at\\nthe waist line. Doing so, throws the circles\\nout of oosition\\nThe Circles op the Body.\\nDelsarte says we are to imagine that there\\nare circles drawn around the body at the\\nears, at the neck, at the chest, at the waist,\\nat the hips and at the ankles. These\\ncircles are always to be kept parallel. The\\nmoment one dips towards another, the body\\nis out of poise. For instance, suppose that\\nyou are in the habit of walking with your\\nhead bent forward. Then the circle around\\nyour ears dips toward the circle around\\nyour neck. If you are in the habit of\\nstanding with your abdomen thrust forward,\\nthe circle around your hips slants upward\\nin front towards the circle around the\\nwaist.\\nThis idea of the circles is a great help in\\nkeeping the correct poise. The circles may\\nchange their relative positions in, any way,\\njust so they do not lose their parallel posi-\\ntion, i. e., one circle may go in front of\\nanother, or back of another, as in sitting,\\nwhen the circle around the ankles goes in\\nfront of the other circles or, as in lying\\ndown, when the circles may all be perpen-\\ndicular but still parallel.\\nExercise in Sitting.\\ni Stand about six inches from a chair\\nwith your back towards it, and your hands\\nclasped loosely, about on a level with the\\nhips.\\n2 Weight on the left foot right foot\\nback till it touches the chair.\\n3. Shift weight to back foot, and at\\nsame time bend at hips and sink slowly into\\nthe chair, letting the body bow forward\\nwith the head moving in opposition to the\\ntrunk.\\n4. When the body touches the chair, the\\nback begins slowly at waist-line to touch the\\nekair-ba.c k, the movement flowing slowly\\nupward through the spine till it reaches the\\nhead, which is the last to touch.\\nHow to Rise.\\nAs you bowed yourself into your chair,\\nso you must bow yourself out of it. The\\nchest should be the first part to intimate the\\ndesire to rise. It bows forward, while the", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\n45\\nhead moves back. Then, without jerkiness,\\nthe weight of the whole body is put onto\\nthe back leg, which rests against the chair,\\nand the body lingeringly leaves the chair,\\ngradually shifting weight to the front foot\\nand bringing the body erect, lightly poised\\nover the front foot.\\nExercise for Rising.\\ni. Sit with the right leg touching the\\nrungs of the chair, and hands loosely\\nclasped in lap with every part of the back\\ntouching the chair-back.\\n2. Advance the chest, letting the head\\nfollow T slowly.\\n3. Putting entire weight of the body on\\nthe back foot, rise slowly and steadily, let-\\nting the chest and head come to place\\njust as the hips and knees become straight.\\n4. Gradually shift the weight to the front\\nfoot, making the body as tall as possible,\\nwith merely the toe of the back foot touch-\\ning the floor.\\n{Repeat.)\\nHow to Go Up and Down Stairs.\\n(The following suggestions are important, not only for grace,\\nbut for health. No wonder people have back- and headache from\\nrunning up and down stairs\\nIn the first place, one should never run\\nup or down stairs, Don t go faster than a\\nwalk.\\nThe following exercises give the best ad-\\nvice so far discovered by physical culturists\\nand physicians\\nExercise for Going Up Stairs.\\nNote. The body should be kept perfectly erect throughout\\nthe entire exercise.\\ni Stand with the weight on the balls of\\nthe feet.\\n2. Place right foot flat upon the step\\nabove, keeping the weight opon the left foot.\\n3. Rise upon the toe of the left foot, at\\nsame time giving a little upward impetus\\nwith it which elevates the body and shifts\\nthe weight to the right foot, while the left\\nfoot goes up two steps to the next step above\\nthe right.\\n4. Rise upon the toe of the right foot, at\\nsame time giving a little upward impetus\\nwith it which elevates the body and shifts\\nthe weight to the left foot, while the right\\nfoot goes up two steps to the next step above\\nthe left.\\nIn this way, the calf of the leg, the ankle,\\nand the foot, do all the work.\\nExercise for Going Down Stairs.\\nNote. The body should be held easily erect during this en-\\ntire exercise.\\n1. Standing on the top step, bend the\\nright knee till the toe of the left foot touches\\nthe next step below, then shift weight grad-\\nually to it, at same time gradually lowering\\nthe left heel to step.\\n2. In the same way bend the left knee\\ntill the toe of the right foot touches the\\nnext step below, then gradually shift weight\\nto it, at same time gradually lower right heel\\nto step.\\nGesture.\\nGesture is the language of nature.\\nBefore the little child can speak, it reaches\\nout for anything that it wants, or shoves\\naway anything that it does not want.\\nOn consideration, you will find that the\\nnearer a people live to the heart of nature,\\nthe more expressive become their bodies and\\nthe less expressive become their tongues.\\nTheir language is more one of signs and less\\none of speech, as, for instance, in the case\\nof the Indians.\\nThen, again, gesture varies with climate\\nand race. In the colder climates the ges-\\ntures are more the result of mental ef-\\nfort, and, therefore, are slower and calmer,\\nwhile in the warmer climates they are the\\nresult of emotion, and, therefore, are quicker\\nand more passionate.\\nThe French, as a class, gesture a great\\ndeal. They belong to the Latin Race.\\nTheir next-door neighbors, the Germans,\\nare, as a rule, very undemonstrative. They\\nbelong to the Teutonic Race. However,\\ngesture belongs, more or less, to all peoples,\\nand, hence, is very important to one who\\ndesires to impersonate characters.\\nThere are some general rules in regard to\\ngesture which it is well to remember.\\n1. In the first place, let your gestures\\nspring out of the thought or feeling.", "height": "4388", "width": "3148", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "4 6\\nDELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\nNever make a meaningless gesture. None\\nat all is better than that.\\n2. In a recitation in which more than\\none person is talking, make each talk in\\na different direction but never straight\\nto the front. Your own character reserves\\nthat direction for use in the descriptive\\nparts.\\n3. In a descriptive reading, always place\\nthe thing or action, described, on one side\\nor the other, at an angle of about forty-five\\ndegrees from the front, and then look from\\nit to the audience, making them see it as\\nyou do.\\n4. If you are representing the conversa-\\ntion between a child and a grown person,\\nmake the child look tip in one direction, and\\nthe grown person look down in the other\\ndirection, just as in real life, and assume\\nthe character each time before you make it\\nspeak\\n5. Be careful not to make your gestures\\ntoo realistic. Remember that elocution\\nand Delsarte are the arts of expression\\nand that the word art means the thing\\nidealized or made attractive. To illustrate,\\ntake the attitude of prayer. The realistic\\nrepresentation would be the kneeling pos-\\nture but the idealistic or artistic repre-\\nsentation would be with the head bowed in\\na humble attitude with hands crossed or\\nfolded on breast, and with the whole figure\\ndrooping, but not kneeling. You must\\nalways leave something to the imagination\\nof your audience.\\n6. Unless you see what you are describ\\ning or pointing out, you can never make\\nyour audience see it. First see the thing\\nyourself and then make them see it.\\n7. Before making any character gesture,\\nbe sure that your whole body has taken on\\nthat character.\\n8. Gestures should always have the\\nappearance of being unstudied and spon-\\ntaneous. In order to accomplish this result,\\nyou must become so accustomed to them\\nbeforehand that they will come without\\nforethought whenever you recite that selec-\\ntion. A little learning is a dangerous\\nthing, you know.\\n9. Remember that in good gestures, the\\nwhole body must act in harnony. No\\nmatter how graceful one part may be, if the\\nother parts are awkward, then the whole\\ngesture is spoiled.\\n10. Make your gestures speak so plainly\\nthat they can be understood without lan-\\nguage.\\n11. Every gesture has three parts to it,\\nand one is as important as another. They\\nare the approach, the climax and the finish.\\nTo illustrate what is meant by these terms,\\nlook at the poses in connection with this\\narticle. Each picture represents the climax\\nof that particular gesture. The movement\\nnecessary to reach that attitude was the\\napproach and the movement necessary\\nto bring the body back to its normal poise,\\nwas the finish. In the approach and\\nfinish of a gesture, the arms and hands\\nshould always move in curves. The climax\\nis denoted by an acceleration of movement\\nfollowed by an abrupt stop.\\n1 2 Let your strong and artistic gestures\\nbe full-armed, with the elbow either per-\\nfectly straight or else slightly curved, but\\nnever angular.\\n13. In comic gestures it is frequently\\nallowable to use only the forearm and\\nhand.\\n14. In all gesture the wrist should lead,\\nand the hand, trail.\\nDeesarte s Laws of Gesture.\\n1 The velocity of any agent is in\\nproportion to the mass moved and the force\\nmoving. By this Delsarte means that all\\nweighty ideas or grave emotions require\\nslow gestures moving through large space,\\nwhile all lighter sentiments are expressed\\nby rapid movements through short space.\\n2. All gesture must have direction.\\nUnless they have, they will be wavering\\nand, therefore, weak.\\n3 Movements in the same direction\\nshould be successive. This applies to\\nsuch poses as Longing, Supplication,\\netc, where the head, body and arms move\\nin the same general direction. In such\\ncases, the movement should always be suc-\\ncessive, i. e., one part taking its place, then\\nanother, etc. Of course, the succession\\nshould be so rapid that it is barely per-\\nceptible. For instance in Longing, first\\nthe eyes turn toward the thing longed for,", "height": "4388", "width": "3248", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "DELS ARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\n47\\nthen the whole body sways towards it, and\\nthen the arms reach for it.\\n4. Movements in opposite directions\\nshould be instantaneous, as in Com-\\nmand, Go! Rejecting, etc. In both\\nof these poses the head moves in opposition\\nto the hand and arm, therefore all parts\\ncome to the position instantaneously.\\n5. In gesture, the eye always leads.\\nIn other words, you look at, or away from\\na thing or person, and then the body follows\\nthe lead of the eye.\\nExercises for Harmonic Poise of Arms\\nand Hands.\\nFeather Movements.^\\n1. Stand with body easily erect, arms\\nextended at full length, hands (palms down-\\nwards) relaxed, about on a level with the\\nhips.\\n2. Keeping the wrists close together,\\nraise arms slowly, letting hands hang re-\\nlaxed.\\n3. When over the head, let the hands\\nfall back, and lower the arms slowly, letting\\nwrists lead and hands trail.\\n(Repeat twenty times.)\\n3, When they have reached the farthest\\npossible distance apart let the hands fall\\nback and the wrists lead toward each other\\non a line a little higher from the floor.\\n4. When they meet, repeat the move-\\nment, each time raising the line of action\\nuntil it has reached the farthest possible\\ndistance from the floor, then descend in the\\nsame way.\\nIV.\\n1. With wrists leading, hands trailing,\\npull imaginary candy on a diagonal line,\\nwith the right hand going up, and the left\\nhand, down.\\n(Repeat ten times.)\\n2. Reverse the movement, having left\\nhand going up and right hand down.\\n(Repeat ten times.)\\nV.\\n(In this movement, the hands close as\\nthe arms go up, and open as the arms go\\ndown.)\\n1. With hands out at sides, imitate the\\nflying movements of a bird letting the arms\\nfloat slowly up, hands trailing relaxed.\\n2. Arms float slowly down, hands trail-\\ning back.\\nII.\\n1. Standing easily erect, trace a large\\nfigure eight upon the opposite wall with the\\nindex finger of the right hand, letting the\\nwrist lead in all directions and the hand\\ntrail.\\n2. Trace figure eight with left hand.\\n3. Trace figure eight with both hands,\\nfirst keeping them moving in opposite direc-\\ntions, and then parallel.\\nIII.\\nNote Be careful to see that there are no angles in this\\nmovement.\\n1. Palms together in front on a level\\nwith the hips.\\n2. L,et them separate, going in opposite\\ndirections, wrists leading, hands trailing.\\nVI.\\n1 Imagine feathers to be floating around\\nyou, and press them down so carefully that\\nthey will not stick to your fingers. (In this\\nmovement, when the hand goes down, the\\nfingers should go back and when the hand\\ngoes up, the fingers should trail.)\\n2. Turn the palms up. Press feathers\\nup.\\n3. Turn the backs of the hands to-\\ngether, and press feathers out.\\n4. Press the feathers together.\\nVII.\\n1. Place hands on chest with tips of\\nfingers clustered around thumbs.\\n2. As the arms open outward slowly,\\n(wrists leading,) the hands slowly open.", "height": "4384", "width": "3152", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "4 8\\nDELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\n3. As the arms come back to first posi-\\ntion (wrists leading) hands slowly close.\\n{Repeat twenty times.\\nVIII.\\n1. Hands extended out in front on a\\nlevel with the waist, with palms toward each\\nother but about a foot apart.\\n2. Letting wrists lead and hands trail,\\nmove both arms to the right.\\n3. Wrists still leading, hands trailing,\\nmove both arms to the left.\\nRepeating many times until the move-\\nment is light and airy, being careful that no\\nangles are formed at the right and left.\\nX.\\n1. Place right foot forward and shift\\nweight to it.\\n2. Bow the body forward over the right\\nfoot, letting chest lead and head follow, and\\nat the same time raising right hand to lips\\nas if to drink from the palm, (wrist leading,\\nhand trailing.)\\n3. Letting the hand turn palm down-\\nward, and trail to place, raise the body\\nslowly to first position, timing the move-\\nment so that hand and body come to posi-\\ntion at same time\\nReverse the movement.\\n{Repeat ten times.)\\nIX.\\n1 Slowly bow the head on the chest, at\\nthe same time raising the arms, wrists\\nleading.\\n2. Slowly raise the head, and lower the\\narms, wrists leading.\\nXI.\\n1. Move the body and head to right,\\nwhile hands move to left, as in the pose,\\nHatred.\\n2. Reverse the movement.\\n{Repeat ten times.)\\nELOCUTION\\nAccording to the Latin, the word elocu-\\ntion means to speak out, from ^mean-\\ning out, and loqui meaning to speak.\\nThe English meaning follows the Latin\\nexactly so there we have it, Elocution\\nmeans, to speak out.\\nIn beginning the study with new pupils,\\nthe first thing I observe is the manner in\\nwhich they breathe.\\nBreathing.\\nYou should breathe deeply, or so that the\\nlowest cells of the lungs can receive some\\nfresh air with every inhalation. The ex-\\npansion and contraction of the lungs should\\ntake place more in the lower, than in the\\nupper parts. In fact, the chest should be\\nused merely as a sounding board, or reso-\\nnance cavity, through which the breath has\\nto pass. This deep, even breathing is what\\ngives the clear, ringing tones to the voice.\\nWithout it, a voice will not carry. It is\\nwhat enables orators to speak for hours at a\\ntime without apparent effort. We find the\\ndeep breathing more frequently in men than\\nin women, probably because the former\\nwear looser clothing.\\nBreathing Exercises.\\nI.\\n1. Body erect, press hands firmly on\\nsides just at waist line.\\n2. Inhale slowly through the nose,\\nmaking hands move out perceptibly by\\nexpansion of the lower lungs.\\n3. Exhale slowly through the mouth,\\nas if blowing something to cool it, making\\nhands come closer together by contraction\\nof the lower lungs.\\n{Repeat ten times?)", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "DELS ARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\n49\\nWATCHING\\nII.\\n1. Hands in same position.\\n2. Take the same exercise, only inhal-\\ning and exhaling violently.\\n{Repeat ten times.)\\nIll\\ni. Arms at sides.\\n2 Raise the arms slowly at sides till the\\nhands meet over head, at same time inhal-\\ning slowly.\\n3. Lower the arms to piace, exhaling\\nslowly.\\n{Repeat ten times.}\\nIV.\\n1. Hands on chest.\\n2. As the arms slowly open outward,\\nfill the lungs to their utmost capacity.\\n3. As the hands come back to chest,\\nexpell the breath slowly.\\n{Repeat ten times.}\\n1. Hands, pressing sides at waist line,\\ntake in a deep breath.\\n2 Pronounce the word One slowly\\nand clearly.\\n3. Inhale slowly.\\n4. Pronounce One\\n{Repeat twenty times, taking breath between\\nthe words each time^)\\nVI.\\nTake same exercise, using the word\\nWar!\\nFocusing the Tone.\\nAnother thing to be careful about, is the\\nfocusing of the tone. Unless you are par-\\nticular about this your words will be muf-\\nfled and throaty.\\nThough you may not know it, you can\\nthrow your tone almost any place within a\\ncertain limit. Aim your voice at one of\\nthe upper corners of a room and see if you\\ncannot make that corner ring. In reciting,\\none should always throw the voice to the\\nJOY or GLADNESS", "height": "4388", "width": "3152", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "5\u00c2\u00b0\\nDELS ARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\nWELCOME\u00e2\u0080\u0094 DELIGHT\\nfarthest corners of the room. The voice\\nneed not necessarily be loud but it must\\nbe firm and resonant.\\nTo focus your tone properly, take any\\nword which begins with m, as more or man,\\nand say it slowly, holding on to the m until\\nthe sound rings in the upper part of the\\nhead, and makes the lips tingle; in other\\nwords, think ox focus the tone at the lips.\\nMany people waste breath by letting the\\ntone come up in a slip shod manner, and\\nstrike the roof of the mouth, from which\\nit has to rebound in order to reach the lips.\\nWhen the tone rebounds, much of it goes\\ndown the throat again and muffles the next\\ntone. Throw your tone like a ball, letting\\nit make a curve at the back of the mouth and\\nbe free of obstacles until it reaches the lips.\\nYou will be materially helped in focusing\\nyour tone, if you place your lips in posi-\\ntion to say the word, before you say it.\\n2. Take a deep breath, filling lower\\nlungs.\\n3 Place lips in position to say the word\\nboat.\\n4. Say it quickly and loudly, making\\nthe last letter sound as distinctly as the\\nfirst.\\n5. Take breath.\\n6. Repeat word.\\nNote This exercise may be used taking the vowels, or any-\\nshort word in the same way.\\nIyOUDNKSS.\\nTo acquire loudness of voice, there is\\nnothing better than sustained shouting.\\nI.\\nImagine yourself on a storm-tossed boat,,\\nwatching for a rescuing sail. You see one,\\nand, putting your hand to your mouth, you\\nshout as loudly and clearly as you can (for\\nyour life depends upon it.)\\n1 Ship ahoy\\n{Repeat five times.)\\nExercise for Focusing Tone.\\npressing on sides at waist\\nr Hands\\nline.\\nFLIGHT", "height": "4388", "width": "3312", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\n5i\\nMONOSYLLABLES AND DIFFICULT WORDS\\nNote. Consulta Standard dictionary for correct pronunciation.\\nTHE COURTESY OF YE OLDEN TIMES\\nII.\\nPractice the street cries, imagining your-\\nself a vender.\\nSuch calls as Charcoal Appo\\netc.\\nSuggestion. Practice as much as possible in a large room.\\nDistinctness.\\nMany people are very indistinct in their\\nspeech for the simple reason that they are\\nslovenly in pronunciation. They are very\\napt to omit a letter or an entire syllable\\nfrom a word, thereby making it indistinct\\nor perhaps they have a habit of letting the\\nvoice fall at the end of a word, thereby\\ncausing it to be inaudible.\\nRemember that it is just as important to\\npronounce the last letter or syllable dis-\\ntinctly, as the middle or first.\\nA good way to cure this is to practice,\\nat first slowly and distinctly, and then\\nquickly and distinctly, difficult combina-\\ntions of consonants in words, and difficult\\ncombinations of words in sentences.\\nTry the following list of\\nWrong st,\\nHeal st,\\nRunn st,\\nRoll dst,\\nRewardst,\\nThrong dst,\\nCharm dst,\\nLearn dst,\\nPublicist,\\nPhysicist,\\nLucubration,\\nLugubrious,\\nDeglutition\\nApocrypha,\\nArticulately,\\nAffability,\\nChronological,\\nCircumlocution,\\nDietetically,\\nDisinterestedly.\\nDifficult Sentences.\\n1. Amos Ames, the amiable aeronaut,\\naided in an aerial enterprire at the age of\\neighty-eight.\\n2 A big black bug bit a big black bear.\\n3. Bring a bit of buttered bran bread.\\n4. Geese cackle, cattle low, crows caw,\\ncocks crow.\\n5 Kight great gray geese grazing gaily\\ninto Greece.\\n6. Eight great gray geese in a green\\nfield grazing.\\ncoquetry", "height": "4384", "width": "3160", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "52\\nDELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\nRIDICULE\\n7. Loving Lucy likes light literature.\\n8. Peter cut the pulpy pumpkin and\\nput it in a pipkin.\\n9. Round the rough and rugged rock\\nthe ragged rascal ran.\\n10. Say, Susan, should such a shapely\\nsash shabby stitches show\\n1 1 She sells sea-shells at the seashore.\\nShall Susan sell sea-shells\\n1 2 Some shun sunshine. Shall she shun\\nsunshine\\n13-\\n14.\\n15\\n16.\\n17\\nThe sun shines on the shop signs.\\nSwan swam over the sea,\\nSwim, swan, swim,\\nSwan swam back again,\\nWell swam, swan\\nAmidst the mists and coldest frosts,\\nWith stoutest wrists and loudest\\nboasts,\\nHe thrusts his fists against the posts\\nAnd still insists he sees the ghosts.\\nSix long, slim, sleek, slender sap-\\nlings.\\nSix thick thistle-sticks and fine\\n18. What whim led White Whitney to\\nwhittle, whistle, whisper, and whimper,\\nnear the wharf where a floundering whale\\nmight wheel and whirl\\n19. Peter Prangle, the prickly, prangly\\npear-picker, picked three pecks of prickly,\\nprangly pears from the prickly, prangly\\npear-trees on the pleasant prairies.\\n20. Theophilus Thistle, the successful\\nthistle-sifter, in sifting a sieve full of unsifted\\nthistles, thrust three thousand thistles\\nthrough the thick of his thumb. Now, if\\nTheophilus Thistle, the successful thistle-\\nsifter, in sifting a sieve full of unsifted this-\\ntles, thrust three thousand thistles through\\nthe thick of his thumb, see that thou, in\\nsifting a sieve full of unsifted thistles, thrust\\nnot three thousand thistles through the\\nthick of thy thumb. Success to the suc-\\ncessful thistle sifter.\\nBeside these difficult combinations of\\nconsonants, there are many difficult combi-\\nnations of vowels and consonants which\\noften make a short word harder to pro-\\nnounce than a long one. For instance,\\ncomparatively few people pronounce the\\nwhite-wine vinegar with veal.\\nMIRTH", "height": "4388", "width": "3308", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\n53\\nREVENGE\\nlong u correctly when it comes after d, t,\\nn, r and s. It should be pronounced exactly\\nlike u in beauty, but most people pronounce\\nit like long oo. Instead of saying duty, they\\nsay dooty.\\nWORDS IN WHICH LONG U IS OFTEN\\nMISPRONOUNCED\\nTuesday,\\nEndure,\\nDuel,\\nTumor,\\nLudicrous,\\nNumerous,\\nAltitude,\\nDubious,\\nTumult,\\nLuke,\\nNeutral,\\nDupe,\\nDuke,\\nTune,\\nLuminous,\\nBe careful of the\\nNew (ew-u,)\\nBlue,\\nDude,\\nInstitute,\\nLubricate,\\nLure,\\nAssume,\\nDuty,\\nTube,\\nLucid,\\nSuit,\\nDue,\\nDew (ew-u,)\\nNuisance.\\nshort Italian a\\nWe have no difficulty with the loyig\\nItalian a (marked a) as in father, arm,\\ncalm, etc., but when we come to the short\\nItalian a we are apt to pronounce it like\\nshort a. For instance, instead of saying\\nask we say as k.\\nPronounce the word arm, slowly. Pro-\\nnounce the a alone just as it was in arm.\\nSay the same a very quickly. This last is\\nthe short Italian a, a beautiful sound. It is\\nthe same as the long Italian a in quality,\\nbut shorter in quantity.\\nWORDS IN WHICH SHORT ITALIAN A IS\\nOFTEN MISPRONOUNCED.\\nNote Each word should be pronounced quickly.\\nQuaff. Flask\\nChaff, Task,\\nClass, Bask,\\nPass, Waft,\\nMass, Draft,\\nGrass, Shaft,\\nLass, Aft,\\nCask, Daft,\\nAsk, After.\\nHATRED or AVERSION", "height": "4388", "width": "3144", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "54\\nDELS ARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\nANGER\\nMask, Asp,\\nRasp, Fast,\\nGasp, Dance,\\nHasp, Chance,\\nGrasp, Glance,\\nCast, Trance,\\nVast, Slant,\\nMast, Pant,\\nLast, Chant,\\nPast, Grant.\\nPastor,\\nIn such words as adventure, nature, litera-\\nture and furniture be careful not to pronounce\\nthe before the long u as if it were eh. For\\ninstance, do not say literachure ,but/iterat-ure\\nBy putting the at the end of the syllable\\npreceding the u, instead of attaching it to the\\nu, the proper result is more easily attained\\nThe only way to pronounce these words\\nproperly is to make a list of them and prac-\\ntice until you are sure of the pronunciation.\\nFlexibility of the Voice.\\nOften one will read along without ever\\nlowering or raising the pitch of the voice.\\nThis produces a monotonous effect.\\ni. In order to cure this defect, practice\\non the vowels, first at the natural talking\\npitch, then a half-tone higher, and so on\\nuntil you get to your highest limit. Then\\ngo back to the conversational pitch and\\nlower the voice a half-tone at a time until\\nyou come to the lowest level. Work more\\non the high and low tones in this exercise\\nas these are always the weakest.\\n2. Take any word, as, for instance yes,\\nand pronounce it in such ways that it will\\nexpress surprise, positiveness, suspense,\\ndoubt, unwillingness, eagerness, etc.\\n3 Express the following sentence begin-\\nning at your highest pitch, and making the\\nvoice go down a note with each word. It is\\nmeant to express incredulity and amazement.\\nDid\\nyou\\nbelieve\\nwhat\\nhe\\nsaid\\nto be\\ntrue?\\nsupplication", "height": "4388", "width": "3296", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\n55\\nFEAR\\n4. Read or rather say the following\\na. Good ing\\nmorn\\nb. I saw\\nI came\\nI conquered\\n5. In enumerating a number of things\\nthe voice should have the upward slide on\\nevery one except the last, where it has the\\ndownward slide.\\n6. In making comparisons, the first part\\nshould always have the upward slide, the\\nsecond part should have the downward.\\n7. One of the most effective ways of\\nemphasizing, is to change the pitch on the\\nimportant word in the following\\nreally\\nDid you do it?\\nPractice on all of these exercises and on\\nothers following the same tendency i. e. to\\nmake the voice flexible.\\nSlowness.\\nNever recite fast, except in two or three\\ncases which will be mentioned hereafter.\\nThough I have not put this caution near\\nthe first, yet, to me, it is one of the most im-\\nportant.\\nTo begin with, when you get up to recite,\\nalways take time to place your audience,\\nand give them time to become quiet, before\\nyou so much as open your lips. Then an-\\nnounce your subject and the author if you\\nknow by whom your selection was written.\\nThis always gives time to collect your\\nthoughts and begin well, which is very im-\\nporla?it. If you begin well you hold your\\naudience from the first, and do not have to\\nwork to gain their attention\\nAfter announcing your subject and\\nauthor, pause a second and then begin very\\nslowly. Remember that the ideas you are\\npresenting are comparatively new to your\\naudience, and give them a second s time in\\nwhich to recover from one volley, before\\nyou fire another point-blank at them.\\nThen there is another thing to be consid-\\nered. In a large room you will have to go\\nslowly on account of the echo, for every\\ngood-sized room has it. No matter how\\nHORROR", "height": "4388", "width": "3156", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "56\\nDELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\nSECRECY\\nclearly or loudly you speak, if you do not\\nspeak slowly enough for the echo of one\\nword to die before you utter another, the\\nsound will be blurred and those in the rear\\nof your audience will not be able to under-\\nstand you. Again remember that often a\\npause is more eloquent than words, and that\\nnothing will emphasize a thought more\\nstrongly than to pause before or after it or\\nboth before and after it. For instance, in\\nDaniel Webster s Supposed Speech of\\nJohn Adams, what could be more effective\\nthan the pauses in the last sentence In-\\ndependence now and independence for\\never.\\nDifferent Styles of Reading.\\nNow that we have considered the qualifi-\\ncations of a public speaker, let us discuss\\nthe different styles of reading and the proper\\nrendition of each.\\nWe divide all styles of reading into two\\ngeneral classes that in which the natural\\nvoice is used and that in which the Orotund\\nvoice is employed.\\ni Styles of Reading in the Natural\\nVoice.\\nThe natural voice is the ordinary talking\\nvoice, purified of all defects.\\nGreat care should be taken to make this\\nas clear, distinct and musical as possible,\\navoiding all nasal or throaty tenden-\\ncies.\\na. Pathos.\\nThe first style to be mentioned under this\\nclass is Pathos.\\nIn the rendering of Pathos, not only the\\nnatural voice is required, but also the\\nEffusive Utterance, by which we mean that\\nthe sound must flow from the mouth, not\\njerkily, but in a continuous stream. In\\nthe Effusive Utterance the breathing must\\nbe so even and deep that it is imperceptible.\\nTo acquire this style, practice on pathetic\\nselections, letting yourself be swayed by the\\nemotion\\nREJECTION", "height": "4384", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\n57\\nCOMMAND\u00e2\u0080\u0094 STOP\\nPractice Selections\\nLittle Homer s State\\nBy Eugene Field.\\nLittle Boy Blue\\nBy Eugene Field.\\nb. Solemnity.\\nThe requirements for rendering Solemnity\\nare Natural Voice, Effusive Utterance, and\\nLow Pitch.\\nTo find the Low Pitch, say the word one\\nin your ordinary talking pitch and descend\\nfour notes.\\nPractice Selection\\nThe Blue and the Gray.\\nc. Serenity, Beauty and Love.\\nThe requirements for this style of reading\\nare Natural Voice, Effusive Utterance, and\\nHigh Pitch. By High Pitch, we mean four\\nnotes above the conversational tone. Much\\ncare should be taken to make the sound\\ncome gently and continuously from the lips,\\nas a false note is very perceptible.\\nPractice Selection\\nSandolphon,\\nBy Longfellow,\\nd. Common Reading.\\nUnder this head come three divisions,\\nnarrative, descriptive and didactic recita-\\ntions. As two-thirds of all reading matter\\nare included under Common Reading, we\\nshould give especial attention to the render-\\ning of it.\\nThe requirements necessary to read these\\nthree styles well, are Purity of Tone,\\nNatural Voice, Variety of Tone, and Dis-\\ntinctness of Enunciation.\\nLet your voice run up and down the\\nscale do not keep it always on the same\\nnote. If you do, your reading will be\\nmonotonous.\\nEvery tone should fall from your lips as\\nclearly and musically as the tinkle of a\\ndrop of water in a silver basin. Round\\nout your words, pronouncing every syllable\\nand letter. For instance, do not pronounce\\nCOMMAND\u00e2\u0080\u0094 GO", "height": "4388", "width": "3152", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": ".58\\nDELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\nSCORN\u00e2\u0080\u0094 INDEPENDENCE\\nthe word kept as if it were spelled kep nor\\nand as if it were spelled an. When you\\ncome to a difficult sentence, read it very\\nslowly.\\nPractice Selection\\nSCENE AT DR. BLIMBER S\\nAt length Mr. Dombey, one Saturday,\\nwhen he came down to Brighton to see\\nPaul, who was then six years old, resolved\\nto make a change, and enroll him as a small\\nstudent under Dr. Blimber.\\nWhenever a young man was taken in\\nhand by Doctor Blimber, he might consider\\nhimself sure of a pretty tight squeeze.\\nThe Doctor only undertook the charge of\\nten young gentlemen, but he had always\\nready a supply of learning for a hundred,\\nand it was at once the business and delight\\nof his life to gorge the unhappy ten with it.\\nIn fact Dr. Blimber s establishment was\\na great hot-house, in which there was a\\nforcing apparatus incessantly at work. All\\nthe boys blew before their time. Mental\\ngreen peas were produced at Christmas,\\nand intellectual asparagus all the year\\naround. No matter what a young gentle-\\nman was intended to bear, Dr. Blimber\\nmade him bear to pattern, somehow or\\nother.\\nThis was all very pleasant and ingenious,\\nbut the system of forcing was attended\\nwith its usual disadvantages. There was\\nnot the right laste about the premature\\nproductions and they didn t keep well.\\nMoreover, one young gentleman, with a\\nswollen nose and an exceedingly large head\\n(the oldest of the ten who had gone\\nthrough everything) suddenly left off\\nblowing one day, and remained in the\\nestablishment a mere stalk. And people\\ndid say that the Doctor had rather overdone\\nit with young Toots, and that when he\\nbegan to have whiskers he left off having\\nbrains.\\nThe Doctor was a portly gentleman in a\\nsuit of black, with strings at his knees,\\nstockings below them. He had a bald\\nGRIEF, or HEARING BAD NEWS", "height": "4388", "width": "3308", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\n59\\nPHYSICAL PAIN\\nhead, highly polished a deep voice and a\\nchin so very double, that it was a wonder how\\nhe ever managed to shave into the creases.\\nHis daughter, Miss Blirnber, although a\\nslim and graceful maid, did no soft violence\\nto the gravity of the Doctor s house.\\nThere was no light nonsense about Miss\\nBlirnber. She kept her hair short and\\ncrisp, and wore spectacles, and she was\\ndry and sandy with working in the gra\\\\es\\nof deceased languages. None of your live\\nlanguages for Miss Blirnber. They must\\nbe dead, stone dead, and then Miss\\nBlirnber dug them up like a Ghoul. Mrs.\\nBlirnber, her mamma, was not learned\\nherself, but she pretended to be, and that\\nanswered just as well. She said at even-\\ning parties, that if she could have known\\nCicero, she thought she could have died\\ncontented.\\nAs to Mr. Feeder, B. A., Dr. Blirnber s\\nassistant, ,he was a kind of a human hand-\\norgan, with a little list of tunes at which\\nhe was continually working, over and over\\nagain without any variation. Dickens.\\ne. Gayety.\\nThe requirements for rendering Gayety\\nare a very High Pitch, a Quick Movement,\\nand a great Variety of Tone. There must\\nbe an airy lightness about all selections of\\nthis style and flexibility of the voice is\\npositively necessary.\\nPractice Selection\\nWynken, Blynken, and Nod.\\nBy Eugene Field.\\nHumor.\\nThe good rendition of Humor depends so\\nmuch upon the quickness to perceive a good\\npoint and the skill to turn it to account,\\nthat it is dangerous to attempt it unless one\\nhas a keen sense of humor in his own\\nnature.\\nThe upper tones of the voice belong par-\\nticularly to Humor, as do also sudden flights\\nfrom a low to a high note, or from a high to\\na low note on the musical scale. These\\nEXHAUSTION", "height": "4388", "width": "3148", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "6o\\nDELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\nUNCERTAINTY\\nsudden nights of the voice always produce\\nmirth. Lightness of touch is also essential\\nto Humor.\\nIn the descriptive parts let your face and\\nvoice express your own enjoyment of the fun.\\nPractice Selection\\nTHE LOW=BACKED CAR.\\nWHEN first I saw sweet Peggy,\\nT was on a market day\\nA low-backed car she drove, and ^at\\nUpon a truss of hay\\nBut when that hay was blooming grass,\\nAnd decked with flowers of spring,\\nNo flower was there that could compare\\nWith the blooming girl I sing.\\nAs she sat in the low-backed car,\\nThe man at the turnpike bar\\nNever asked for the toll,\\nBut just rubbed his owld poll,\\nAnd looked after the low-backed car.\\nIn battle s wild commotion,\\nThe proud and mighty Mars\\nWith hostile scythes demands his tithes\\nOf death in warlike cars\\nWhile Peggy, peaceful goddess,\\nHas darts in her bright eye,\\nThat knock men down in the market town\\nAs right and left they fly\\nWhile she sits in her low-backed car,\\nThan battle more dangerous far,\\nFor the doctor s art\\nCannot cure the heart,\\nThat is hit from that low-backed car.\\nSweet Peggy round her car, sir,\\nHas strings of ducks and geese,\\nBut the scores of hearts she slaughters\\nBy far outnumber these\\nWhile she among her poultry sits.\\nJust like a turtledove,\\nWell worth the cage, I do engage,\\nOf the blooming god of Love\\nWhile she sits in her low-backed car,\\nThe lovers come near and far,\\nAnd envy the chicken\\nThat Peggy is pickin,\\nAs she sits in her low -backed car.\\nANXIOUS\u00e2\u0080\u0094 SOLICITOUS", "height": "4380", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\n61\\nMEDITATION\\nO, I d rather own that car, sir,\\nWith Peggy by my side,\\nThan coach and four, and gold galore,\\nAnd a lady for my bride\\nFor the lady would sit forninst me,\\nOn a cushion made with taste.\\nWhile Peggy would sit beside me,\\nWith my arm around her waist,\\nWhile we drove in the low-backed car,\\nTo be married by Father Mahar\\nO, my heart would beat high\\nAt her glance and her sigh,\\nThough it beat in a low-backed car.\\nSamuel Lover.\\nII.\\nStyles oe Reading in the Orotund\\nVoice.\\nThe Orotund Voice is that which is used in\\nall impassioned selections. The difference\\nbetween the Orotund and the natural voice,\\nis that the former is stronger, deeper and\\nmore resonant than the latter.\\nWhen excited by passion of any sort, the\\nvoice naturally grows stronger and deeper,\\nbecause the breathing muscles act in response\\nto the brain and expell the breath more\\nforcibly, thereby causing more resonance\\nin the cavities of the chest and head.\\nThe Orotund voice is very common in ordi-\\nnary life. Notice two men talking quietly\\ntogether. They disagree about something\\nand become angry What is the result?\\nInstantly their voices grow louder until\\nthey are fairly shouting at each other.\\nSo, often you find a bereaved person\\nshrieking to relieve his feelings. As soon\\nas the pent-up emotion is expended, he\\nbecomes quiet and the voice sinks to its\\nnsual tone.\\nThree Divisions.\\nThe Orotund voice has three sub-divi-\\nsions, Effusive, Expulsive and Explosive.\\na. Effusive Orotund.\\nThis is used in rendering all grand, sub-\\nlime and reverential styles as, for instance,\\nvanity", "height": "4388", "width": "3140", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "62\\nDELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\nLONGING\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PLEADING\\nin prayers, in Bible readings, in hymns, and\\nin everything which expresses awe, despair,\\nwonder, reverence and horror.\\nThe voice should be pitched low, and, in\\nextreme horror, very low.\\nThe tones should flow in long, deep, and\\ncontinuous sound from the lips. There\\nmust be no hurried, false, or harsh notes.\\nPractice Selection\\nFrom \u00e2\u0099\u00a6THE LAUNCHING OF THE SHIP\\nThou, too, sail on, O Ship of State\\nSail on, O Union, strong and great\\nHumanity with all its fears,\\nWith all the hopes of future years,\\nIs hanging breathless on thy fate\\nWe know what master laid thy keel,\\nWhat workman wrought thy ribs of steel,\\nWho made each mast, and sail and rope,\\nWhat anvils rang, what hammers beat,\\nIn what a forge and what a heat,\\nWere shaped the anchors of thy hope\\nFear not each sudden sound and shock\\nTis of the wave and not the rock\\nTis but the napping of the sail\\nAnd not a rent made by the gale\\nIn spite of rock and tempest s roar,\\nIn spite of false lights on the shore,\\nSail on, nor fear to brave the sea\\nOur hearts, our hopes, are all with thee\\nOur hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears\\nOur faith triumphant o er our fears,\\nAre all with thee, are all with thee\\nLongfellow\\nb. Expulsive Orotu?id\\nThis is the voice used in all oratorical\\nstyles, whether in prose or verse. It differs\\nfrom the Effusive Orotund only in that\\nwhile the voice flows continuously from the\\nmouth in the latter, in the former it is gath-\\nered up into short shouts, which issue from\\nthe mouth in the shape of a cone with the\\napex at the lips. Breath must be taken\\nafter each word, though not perceptibly.\\nBreathing exercises V. and VI. are good\\nto develop this voice.\\nSILENCE", "height": "4388", "width": "3216", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\nS\\nSALUTATION\\nPractice Selection\\nToussaint 1/ Overture,\\nBy Wendell Phillips.\\nc. Explosive Orotund.\\nThis is used in all abrupt and startling\\nstyles of reading, as in anger, fear, alarm,\\nhurry, etc.\\nIt s chief characteristics are quickness of\\nspeech, highness of pitch, and clear, sharp,\\nexplosiveness of utterance. There is no\\nvanish at all to the tones. They burst\\nfrom the mouth violently, and the lips\\ninstantly cut off the sound, as sharply as if\\nwith a knife.\\nIn order to acquire this style, practice on\\nthe words stop, go, fire, halt or any other\\nshort words that mean a good deal, speak-\\ning them loudly, sharply, meaningly.\\nPractice Selection\\nThe Charge of the Light Brigade\\nBy Tennyson.\\nThis closes our talk on styles, and now,\\nfor a moment, let us turn our attention to\\nthe general topic of Elocution. There are\\nseveral cautions which I have reserved\\nuntil the last, because of their importance.\\nIn the first place, always speak to your\\naudience, not at them, L,ook them straight\\nin the eyes, except where you have several\\ncharacters to represent^ and then look at\\nthem in the bits of description. There is\\nnothing which will bring you into closer\\ntouch with your audience.\\nI need not warn you against affectation.\\nThat goes without saying. Nothing has\\na greater charm than an easy, natural-\\nmanner.\\nProfessor Cummock used to give us an\\nexercise for daily practice. It was\\nTwo minutes deep breathing.\\nreading.\\nshouting.\\ncommon reading.\\nFour oratory.\\nThis is very good for the voice and will\\ndo wonders in a short time.\\nRemember that the great thing in every\\nselection is to bring out the meaning.\\nBECKONING or SUMMONING", "height": "4388", "width": "3132", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "o 4\\nDELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION\\nSAUC1NESS\u00e2\u0080\u0094 DON T CARE\\nIn closing, let me remark that all I have\\nsaid heretofore, will count as nothing, if\\nyou do not possess the key which unlocks\\nall hearts, feeling\\nRemarks by the Editor\\nIn common with the highest authorites on\\nelocution and oratory, Miss Pogle believes\\nand teaches that no two persons would ex-\\npress the same emotion by the same gesticu-\\nlation, any more than they would do so in\\nthe same words. Therefore, the attitudes\\nshown in the preceding pages should be\\ntaken merely as suggestions for the expres-\\nsion of the sentiments or emotions indicated.\\nIt is impossible to harness the expression\\nof passion to a schedule.\\nAnd yet gesticulation can and should be\\ncultivated by the proper training of the\\nbody and muscles, under the foregoing\\nrules, to act in natural and graceful har-\\nmony with the mind. The arms and the body\\nmay be made to talk quite as naturally and\\noft times far more eloquently, than the voice.\\nThe writer will never forget an instance\\nof the power of gesticulating which came\\nunder his own observation. The distin-\\nguished lawyer and senator, Daniel W.Voor-\\nhees, was defending a man tried for murder\\nin a Kentucky court. After giving the prose-\\ncuting witness an unmerciful flaying, he\\nclosed his address with the sentence His\\npath lies downward. That may seem to\\nthe reader rather a feeble climax, but as the\\norator uttered these four words, with a deep\\nthrilling tone that reverberated through the\\ncourt room like a clarion note, he gradually\\nraised his right arm, palm downward, from\\nhis hip to above the level of his head. His\\neyes were fixed upon the floor, and the feel-\\ning that he was staring into some profound,\\nunmeasurable abyss was flashed like magic\\ninto the brain of every one present. The\\neffect was tremendous. There was no par-\\nticular reason why such a gesture should\\nhave expressed depth, but it did. It was\\nthe soul of the orator in the gesture and,\\nafter all, that is the true genius of gesticu-\\nlation.\\nMIMICRY", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "PART III\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n^T^his department has for its object the introduction of such selections as contain\\nsentiments calculated to inspire and foster patriotism of that true character which\\nis the foundation of good citizenship from a new world standpoint. For this reason\\nthe extracts are mainly American in character.\\nSelf-love is in alliance with the principle which endears home, kindred and native\\nland to every human heart, and the love of a child for his home, parents, brothers and\\nsisters should find its counterpart in the love of the man for his country and illus-\\ntrious countrymen.\\nIt is not possible or intended, however, in this department to do more than intro-\\nduce representative selections, varied in character, suitable for recitation and enter-\\ntainment, and in a general way calculated to inspire and foster in youthful hearts the\\nlove of country.\\nTHE LOVE OF COUNTRY.\\nBREATHES there a man with soul so dead,\\nWho never to himself hath said,\\nThis is my own, my native land\\nWhose heart hath ne er within him burned,\\nAs home his footsteps he hath turned,\\nFrom wandering on a foreign shore\\nIf such there breathe, go, mark him well\\nFor him no minstrel raptures swell\\nHigh though his titles, proud his name,\\nBoundless his wealth as wish can claim\\nDespite those titles, power, and pelf,\\nThe wretch, concentred all in self\\nIyiving, shall forfeit fair renown,\\nAnd, doubly dying, shall go down\\nTo the vile dust, from whence he sprung,\\nUnwept, unhonored, and unsung.\\nSir Walter Scott.\\nDEVOTION TO PATRIOTIC DUTY.\\nYoung men of America You on\\nwhom rests the future of the Repub-\\nlic You, who are to become not\\nonly our citizens but our lawmakers Re-\\nmember your responsibilities, and, remem-\\nbering, prepare for them.\\nAs the great universe is order and har-\\nmony only through the perfection of its\\nlaws, so in life and human government, the\\nhappiness and prosperity of a people depend\\non the orderly subservience of act and\\nthought to the good of the whole.\\nBe great, therefore, in small things. If\\nit is your ambition to be a citizen rever-\\nenced for his virtues, remember that nothing\\nis more admirable than devotion to duty,\\nand the more admirable as that duty leads\\nto self-sacrifice in others behalf.\\nIn whatever position in life you are\\nplaced be true to the trust reposed in you\\nthen the Republic is safe. Go forth, with a\\nheart glowing, not with the fires of a lordly\\nambition, to ride to power over opposition\\nand against the wishes of your fellow-men\\nbut with the flame of an honest purpose to\\nbe a good citizen and an ornament to the\\nstate that gave you birth. Then indeed,\\nshall you be great. D.N. Shelley.\\n65", "height": "4384", "width": "3148", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "66\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nM\\nAMERICA.\\ny country, tis of thee,\\nSweet land of liberty,\\nOf thee I sing\\nLand where my fathers died,\\nLand of the pilgrims pride,\\nFrom every mountain -side\\nLet freedom ring.\\nMy native country, thee,\\nLand of the noble free,\\nThy name I love\\nI love thy rocks and rills,\\nThy woods and templed hills\\nMy heart with rapture thrills\\nLike that above.\\nLet music swell the breeze,\\nAnd ring from all the trees\\nSweet freedom s song\\nLet mortal tongues awake,\\nLet all that breathe partake,\\nLet rocks their silence break,\\nThe sound prolong.\\nOur fathers God, to Thee,\\nAuthor of liberty,\\nTo Thee we sing\\nLong may our land be bright\\nWith freedom s holy light\\nProtect us by Thy might,\\nGreat God, our King.\\nSamuel Francis Smith.\\nTRUE PATRIOTISM IS UNSELFISH.\\nRight and wrong, justice and crime,\\nexist independently of our country.\\nA public wrong is not a private right\\nfor any citizen The citizen is a man bound\\nto know and do the right, and the nation is\\nbut an aggregation of citizens. If a man\\nshould shout, My country, by whatever\\nmeans extended and bounded my country,\\nright or wrong he merely repeats the\\nwords of the thief who steals in the street,\\nor of the trader w T ho swears falsely at the\\ncustomhouse, both of them chuckling,\\nMy fortune however acquired.\\nThus, gentlemen, we see that a man s\\ncountry is not a certain area of land\u00e2\u0080\u0094 of\\nmountains, rivers and woods but it is\\nprinciple and patriotism is loyalty to that\\nprinciple.\\nIn poetic minds and in popular enthusi-\\nasm, this feeling becomes closely associated\\nwith the soil and symbols of the country.\\nBut the secret sanctification of the soil and\\nthe symbol, is the idea which they repre-\\nsent and this idea, the patriot worships,\\nthrough the name and the symbol, as a\\nlover kisses with rapture the glove of his\\nmistress and wears a lock of her hair upon\\nhis heart.\\nSo, with passionate heroism, of which\\ntradition is never weary of tenderly telling,\\nArnold von Winkelried gathers into his\\nbosom the sheaf of foreign spears, that his\\ndeath may give life to his country. So\\nNathan Hale, disdaining no service that his\\ncountry demands, perishes untimely, with\\nno other friend than God and the satisfied\\nsense of duty. So George Washington, at\\nonce comprehending the scope of the destiny\\nto which his country was devoted, with one\\nhand puts aside the crown, and with the\\nother sets his slaves free. So, through all\\nhistory from the beginning, a noble army\\nof martyrs has fought fiercely and fallen\\nbravely for that unseen mistress, their\\ncountry. So, through all history to the\\nend, as long as men believe in God, that\\narmy must still march and fight and fall,\\nrecruited only from the flower of mankind,\\ncheered only by their own hope of humanity,\\nstrong only in their confidence in their\\ncause. Gkorgk William Curtis.\\npatriotism assures public faith.\\nTo expatiate on the value of public faith,\\nmay pass, with some men, for decla-\\nmation to such men I have nothing\\nto say. To others I will urge, can any\\ncircumstance mark upon a people more\\nturpitude and debasement, than the want of\\nit Can anything tend more to make men\\nthink themselves mean, or degrade to a\\nlower point their estimation of virtue, than\\nsuch a standard of action\\nIt would not merely demoralize mankind\\nit tends to break all the ligaments of society,\\nto dissolve that mysterious charm which\\nattracts individuals to the nation, and to\\ninspire, in its stead, a repulsive sense of\\nshame and disgust.", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n6 7\\nWhat is patriotism Is it a narrow\\naffection for the spot where a man was\\nborn Are the very clods where we tread\\nentitled to this ardent preference because\\nthey are greener? No, sir, this is not the\\ncharacter of the virtue and it soars higher\\nfor its object. It is an extended self-love,\\nmingling with all the enjoyments of life and\\ntwisting itself with the minutest filaments\\nof the heart. It is thus we obey the laws\\nof society, because they are the laws of\\nvirtue. In their authority we see, not\\nthe array of force and terror, but the vener-\\nable image of our country s honor. Every\\ngood citizen makes that honor his own,\\nand cherishes it not only as precious,\\nbut as sacred. He is willing to risk\\nhis life in its defence, and is conscious\\nthat he gains protection while he gives\\nit. For what rights of a citizen will be\\ndeemed inviolable, when a state renounces\\nthe principles that constitute their security\\nOr if his life should not be invaded, what\\nwould its enjoyments be, in a country\\nodious in the eyes of strangers and dishon-\\nored in his own Could he look with affec-\\ntion and veneration to such a country, as\\nhis parent The sense of having one would\\ndie within him he would blush for his\\npatriotism, if he retained any, and justly,\\nfor it would be a vice. He would be a\\nbanished man in his native land.\\nI see no exception to the respect that is\\npaid among nations to the law of good\\nfaith. If there are cases in this enlightened\\nperiod, when it is violated, there are none\\nwhen it is decried. It is observed by bar-\\nbarians a whiff of tobacco-smoke, or a\\nstring of beads, gives not merely binding\\nforce, but sanctity, to treaties. Even in\\nAlgiers, a truce may be bought for money\\nbut when ratified, even Algiers is too wise,\\nor too just, to disown and annul its obliga-\\ntion. Thus we see, neither the ignorance of\\nsavages, nor the principles of an association\\nfor piracy and rapine, permit a nation to\\ndespise its engagements. If, sir, there\\nconld be a resurrection from the foot of the\\ngallows, if the victims of justice could live\\nagain, collect together, and form a society,\\nthey would, however loath, soon find\\nthemselves obliged to make justice, that\\njustice under which they fell, the funda-\\nmental law of their state. They would per-\\nceive it was their interest to make others\\nrespect, and they would therefore soon pay\\nsome respect themselves to the obligations\\nof good faith.\\nIt is painful, I hope it is superfluous, to\\nmake even the supposition that America\\nshould furnish the occasion of this oppro-\\nbrium. No, let me not even imagine that a\\nrepublican government sprung, as our own\\nis, from a people enlightened and uncor-\\nrupted, a government whose origin is right,\\nand whose daily discipline is duty, can,\\nupon solemn debate, make its option to be\\nfaithless, can dare to act what despots dare\\nnot avow, what our own example evinces\\nthe states of Barbary are unsuspected of.\\nNo let me rather make the supposition\\nthat Great Britain refuses to execute the\\ntreaty after we have done everything to\\ncarry it into effect. Is there any language\\nof reproach pungent enough to express your\\ncommentary on the fact What would you\\nsay, or rather what would you not say?\\nWould you not tell them, wherever an Eng-\\nlishman might travel, shame would stick to\\nhim, he would disown his country You\\nwould exclaim, England, proud of your\\nwealth and arrogant in the possession of\\npower, blush for these distinctions, which\\nbecome the vehicles of your dishonor. Such\\na nation might truly say to corruption,\\nThou art my father, and to the worm, Thou\\nart my mother and my sister. We should\\nsay of such a race of men, their name is a\\nheavier burden than their debt.\\nFisher Ames.\\nPATRIOTIsn INCULCATES PUBLIC VIRTUE.\\nTHERE is a sort of courage to which I\\nfrankly confess it I do not lay claim;\\na boldness to which I dare not aspire;\\na valor which I cannot covet. I cannot\\nlay myself down in the way of the welfare\\nand happiness of my country. That, I can-\\nnot, I have not the courage to do. I cannot\\ninterpose the power with which I may be\\ninvested a power conferred, not for my\\npersonal benefit or aggrandizement, but for\\nmy country s good to check her onward\\nmarch to greatness and glory. I have not\\ncourage enough I am too cowardly for that J", "height": "4388", "width": "3132", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "68\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nI would not, I dare not, lie down and\\nplace my body across the path that leads\\nmy country to prosperity and happiness.\\nThis is a sort of courage widely different\\nfrom that which a man may display in his\\nprivate conduct and personal relations.\\nPersonal or private courage is totally dis-\\ntinct from that higher and nobler courage\\nwhich prompts the patriot to offer himself\\na voluntary sacrifice to his country s good.\\nApprehensions of the imputation of the\\nwant of firmness sometimes impel us to\\nperform rash and inconsiderate acts. It is\\nthe greatest courage to be able to bear the\\nimputation of the want of courage. But\\npride, vanity, egotism, so unamiable and\\noffensive in private life, are vices which\\npartake of the character of crimes, in the\\nconduct of public affairs. The unfortunate\\nvictim of these passions cannot see beyond\\nthe little, petty, contemptible circle of his\\nown personal interests. All his thoughts\\nare withdrawn from his country and con-\\ncentrated on his consistency, his firmness,\\nhimself\\nThe high, the exalted, the sublime emo-\\ntions of a patriotism which, soaring towards\\nheaven, rises far above all mean, low, or\\nselfish things, and is absorbed by one soul-\\ntransporting thought of the good and glory\\nof one s country, are never felt in his impene-\\ntrable bosom. That patriotism which,\\ncatching its inspiration from on high, and\\nleaving at an immeasurable distance below\\nall lesser, grovelling, personal interests and\\nfeelings, animates and prompts to deeds of\\nself-sacrifice, of valor, of devotion, and of\\ndeath itself, that is public virtue that is\\nthe noblest, the sublimest of all public vir-\\ntues Henry Clay.\\nPATRIOTISM BROAD AS HUHANITY.\\nIT is the opinion of many, that self-love\\nis the grand impelling spring in the\\nhuman machine. This sentiment is\\neither utterly false, or the principle, as dis-\\ntinguished in some actions, becomes so\\nexceedingly refined, as to merit a more\\nengaging name. If the man who weeps in\\nsecret for the miseries of others and pri-\\nvately tenders relief, who sacrifices ease,\\nproperty, health, and even life, to save his\\ncountry, be actuated by self-love, it is a\\nprinciple only inferior to that which\\nprompted the Saviour of the world to die\\nfor man, and is but another name for per-\\nfect disinterestedness.\\nPatriotism, whether we reflect upon the\\nbenevolence which gives it birth, the mag-\\nnitude of its object, the happy effect which\\nit produces, or the height to which it exalts\\nhuman character, by the glorious action of\\nwhich it is the cause, must be considered\\nas the noblest of all the social virtues.\\nThe patriot is influenced by love for his\\nfellow-men and an ardent desire to preserve\\nsacred and inviolate their natural rights.\\nHis philanthropic views, not confined to\\nthe small circle of his private friends, are\\nso extensive, as to embrace the liberty and\\nhappiness of a whole nation. That he may\\nbe instrumental, under heaven, to maintain\\nand secure these invaluable blessings to his\\ncountry, he devotes his wealth, his fame,\\nhis life, his all. Glorious sacrifice What\\nmore noble\\nTo the honor of humanity, the histories\\nof almost every age and nation are replete\\nwith examples of this elevated character.\\nEvery period of the world has afforded its\\nheroes and its patriots men who could\\nsoar above the narrow views and grovelling\\nprinciples which actuate so great a part of\\nthe human species, and drown every selfish\\nconsideration in the love of their country.\\nBut we need not advert to the annals of\\nother ages and nations, as the history of\\nour own country points with so much\\npleasure, veneration, and gratitude to the\\nillustrious Washington. Before him the\\nheroes of antiquity, shorn of their beams,\\nlike stars before the rising sun, hide their\\nheads with shame. Uniting in his char-\\nacter the enterprising spirit of Hannibal,\\nthe prudent wisdom of Fabius, the disin-\\nterestedness of Cincinnatus, and the mili-\\ntary talents of the Scipios, he could not\\nfail to succeed in the glorious undertaking\\nof giving liberty and happiness to a people\\nwho dared to be free. Whilst he lived, he\\nproved a rich blessing to his country, a\\nbright example to the dawning patriotism\\nof the Old World, the terror of despotism,\\nand the delight and admiration of all man-\\nkind. Increase Cook. (1796.)", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "in 2. J-\\na a. PI\\nSO\\n^0\\np\\nn\\nS uc\\nS.S -n\\nft 3 _J", "height": "4388", "width": "3140", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "(70;\\nTHE SOLDIER S PROPOSAL\\nTableau, Love and Patriotism", "height": "4260", "width": "3208", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n7i\\nHEROIC EXAMPLE HAS POWER.\\nWE must not forget the specific and\\ninvaluable influence exerted on the\\nspirit of a people by those examples\\nof signal heroism and chivalrous devotion\\nfor which a magnanimous war gives occa-\\nsion, and which it exalts, as peace cannot,\\nbefore men s minds.\\nAlmost five centuries ago, under the\\ntumbling walls of Sempach, where Leopold\\nstood with four thousand Austrians to crush\\nthe fourteen hundred Swiss who dared to\\nconfront him, one, springing upon the foe\\nwith wide-spread arms, gathered into his\\nbreast a sheaf of spears, and made a way\\nabove his body for that triumphant valor\\nwhich pierced and broke the horrio. ranks,\\nand set a new and bloody seal to the right-\\nful autonomy of the mountain republic.\\nThe hardy Switzers will not forget the\\ndaring deed and magic name of Arnold\\nvon Winkelried\\nBefore Herodotus wrote his history, be-\\nfore Nehemiah rebuilt Jerusalem, before\\nCincinnatus was dictator at Rome, under\\nthe shadow of Mount iEtna, a thousand\\nmen, Spartans and Thespians, fell, to a\\nman, unwilling to retreat before the in-\\nvader. It is not even irreverent to say,\\nthat, save one cross, beneath which Earth\\nherself did shiver, no other hath lifted its\\nhead so high, or flung its arms so wide\\nabroad to scatter inspiring influence, as did\\nthat cross on which the Persian nailed, in\\nfury, the dead L,eonidas\\nSuch examples as these become powers\\nin civilization. History hurries from the\\ndrier details, and is touched with enthusi-\\nasm as she draws near to them. Eloquence\\ndelights to rehearse and impress them\\nThe songs of a nation repeat their story,\\nand make their triumph sound again\\nthrough the silver cymbals of speech,\\nlegends prolong and art commemorates\\nthem. Language itself takes new images\\nfrom them and words, that are themselves\\nhalf battles, are suddenly born at their\\nrecital. The very household life is exalted\\nand the humblest feels his position higher,\\nand expresses his sense of it in a more\\ndauntless bearing, as he sees that heroism\\nstill lives in the world that men of his\\nown race and stuff, perhaps of his own\\nneighborhood, even, have faced, so calmly,\\nsuch vast perils.\\nRichard Salter Storrs, Jr. (1863.)\\nINTERNATIONAL SYMPATHIES ON THE\\nINCREASE.\\nIN many respects, the nations of Chris-\\ntendom, collectively, are becoming\\nsomewhat analogous to our own Fed-\\neral republic. Antiquated distinctions are\\nbreaking away, and local animosities are\\nsubsiding. The common people of differ-\\nent countries are knowing each other better,\\nesteeming each other more, and attaching\\nthemselves to each other, by various mani-\\nfestations of reciprocal good will. It is\\ntrue, every nation has still its separate\\nboundaries and its individual interests\\nbut the freedom of commercial intercourse\\nis allowing those interests to adjust them-\\nselves to each other, and thus rendering\\nthe causes of collision of vastly less frequent\\noccurrence. Local questions are becoming\\nof less, and general questions of greater,\\nimportance. Thanks be to God, men have\\nat last begun to understand the rights, and\\nfeel for the wrongs, of each other Moun-\\ntains interposed, do not so much make\\nenemies of nations. Let the trumpet of\\nalarm be sounded, and its notes are now\\nheard by every nation, whether of Europe\\nor America. Let a voice borne on the\\nfeeblest breeze tell that the rights of man\\nare in danger, and it floats over valley and\\nmountain, across continent and ocean, until\\nit has vibrated on the ear of the remotest\\ndweller in Christendom. L,et the arm of\\nOppression be raised to crush the feeblest\\nnation on earth, and there will be heard\\neverywhere, if not the shout of defiance, at\\nleast the deep-toned murmur of implacable\\ndispleasure. It is the cry of aggrieved,\\ninsulted, much-abused man. It is human\\nnature waking in her might from the slum-\\nber of ages, shaking herself from the dust\\nof antiquated institutions, girding herself\\nfor the combat, and going forth conquering\\nand to conquer and woe unto the man,\\nwoe unto the dynasty, woe unto the party,\\nand woe unto the policy, on whom shall\\nfall the scath of her blighting indignation\\nFrancis Wayland.", "height": "4376", "width": "3152", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "7 2\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nCOLUMBIA, THE LAND OF THE BRAVE.\\nO Columbia, the gem of the ocean,\\nThe home of the brave and the free,\\nThe shrine of each patriot s devotion,\\nA world offers homage to thee.\\nThy mandates make heroes assemble,\\nWhen liberty s form stands in view,\\nThy banners make tyranny tremble,\\nWhen borne by the Red, White and Blue.\\nChorus:\\nWhen borne by the Red, White and Blue,\\nWhen borne by the Red, White and Blue,\\nThy banners make tyranny tremble,\\nWhen borne by the Red, White and Blue.\\nWhen war winged its wide desolation,\\nAnd threatened the land to deform,\\nThe ark then of freedom s foundation,\\nColumbia, rode safe through the storm,\\nWith the garlands of victory around her,\\nWhen so proudly she bore her brave crew,\\nWith her flag proudly floating before her,\\nThe boast of the Red, White, and Blue.\\nChorus.\\nThe wine-cup, the wine-cup bring hither,\\nAnd fill you it true to the brim.\\nMay the wreaths they have won never wither,\\nNor the stars of their glory grow dim.\\nMay the service united ne er sever,\\nBut they to their colors prove true\\nThe Army and Navy forever\\nThree cheers for the Red, White, and Blue\\nDavid T. Shaw.\\nHAIL, COLUMBIA, HAPPY LAND.\\nHail, Columbia, happy land\\nHail, ye heroes, heaven -born band,\\nWho fought and bled in freedom s\\ncause,\\nWho fought and bled in freedom s cause,\\nAnd, when the storm of war was gone,\\nEnjoyed the peace your valor won\\nLet independence be your boast\\nEver mindful what it cost,\\nEver grateful for the prize,\\nLet its altars reach the skies.\\nChorus\\nFirm, united, let us be,\\nRallying round our liberty,\\nAs a band of brothers joined,\\nPeace and safety we shall find.\\nImmortal patriots rise once more\\nDefend your rights, defend your shore\\nLet no rude foe, with impious hands,\\nLet no rude foe, with impious hands,\\nInvade the shrine where sacred lies r\\nOf toil and blood the well-earned prize\\nWhile offering peace, sincere and just,\\nIn Heaven we place a manly trust,\\nThat truth and justice may prevail,\\nAnd every scheme of bondage fail. Chorus.\\nSound, sound the trump of fame\\nLet Washington s great name\\nRing through the world with loud applause\\nRing through the world with loud applause\\nLet every clime to freedom dear\\nListen with a joyful ear\\nWith equal skill, with steady power,\\nHe governs in the fearful hour\\nOf horrid war, or guides with ease\\nThe happier time of honest peace. Chorus.\\nBehold the chief who now commands,\\nOnce more to serve his country stands,\\nThe rock on which the storm will beat,\\nThe rock on which the storm will beat.\\nBut, armed in virtue, firm and true,\\nHis hopes are fixed on Heaven and you\\nWhen hope was sinking in dismay,\\nWhen gloom obscured Columbia s day,\\nHis steady mind, from changes free,\\nResolved on death or Liberty. Chorus.\\nJoseph Hopkinson.\\nON TAXING AMERICA.\\nMy Lords, you have no right to tax\\nAmerica. I have searched the mat-\\nter I repeat it, you have no right\\nto tax America.\\nThe natural rights of man and the immu-\\ntable laws of nature are all with that people.\\nMuch stress is laid upon the supreme legis-\\nlative authority of Great Britain, and so far\\nas the doctrine is directed to its proper\\nobject I accede to it. But it is equally\\ntrue, according to all approved writers\\nupon government, that no man, agreeably\\nto the principles of natural or civil liberty,\\ncan be divested of any part of his property\\nwithout his consent.\\nBut some gentlemen tell us, seriously,\\nthat administration must reduce the Ameri-\\ncans to obedience and submission that is,", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n73\\nyou must make them absolute and infamous\\nslaves, and then what we will, say they,\\ngive them full liberty. Ay, is this the\\nnature of man i No, my lords I would\\nnot trust myself, American as I am, in this\\nsituation. I do not think I should, in that\\ncase, be myself for giving them their liberty.\\nNo if they submitted to uch unjust, such\\ncruel, such degrading slavery, I should\\nthink they were made for slaves, that ser-\\nvility was suited to their nature and genius.\\nI should think they would best serve this\\ncountry as our slaves that their servility\\nwould be for the benefit of Great Britain\\nand I should be for keeping such Cappado-\\ncians in a state of servitude, such as was\\nsuited to their constitution, and such as\\nmight redound much to our advantage.\\nMy lords, some noble lords talk much of\\nresistance to acts of Parliament. King,\\nlords, and commons, are fine-sounding\\nnames; but, my lords, acts of Parliament\\nhave been resisted in all ages. King, lords,\\nand commons, may become tyrants as well\\nas others. Tyranny in one or more is the\\nsame it is as lawful to resist the tyranny\\nof many as of one. Somebody once asked\\nthe great Mr. Selden in wdiat law-book, in\\nwhat records, or archives of state, you\\nmight find the law for resisting tyranny.\\nI don t know, said Mr. Selden, whether\\nit is worth your while to look deeply into\\nthe books upon this matter; but I ll tell\\nyou what is most certain, that it has always\\nbeen the custom of England, and the cus-\\ntom of England is the law of the land.\\nlend, my lords, as I began; you have\\nno right to tax America the natural\\nrights of man, and the immutable laws of\\nnature, are all with that people.\\nLord Camden (Jan. 20, 1775).\\nRESISTANCE TO BRITISH AGGRESSION.\\nThe Virginia Convention having before them resolutions of a\\ntemporizing character towards Great Britain, March 23, 1775,\\nMr. Henry introduced counter resolutions which he supported in\\nthe following memorable speech. When Mr. Henry took his\\nseat, at its close, no murmur of applause was heard. The\\nimpression was too deep. After the trance of a moment, the cry\\nto arms seemed to quiver on every lip, and gleam from every eye.\\nTheir souls were on fire for action.\\nMr. President, it is natural to man to\\nindulge in the illusions of Hope.\\nWe are apt to shut our eyes against\\na painful truth, and listen to the song of\\nthat siren, till she transtorms us into beasts.\\nIs this the part of wise men, engaged in a\\ngreat and arduous struggle for liberty Are\\nwe disposed to be of the number of those\\nwho, having eyes, see not, and having ears,\\nhear not, the things which so nearly con-\\ncern our temporal salvation For my part,\\nwhatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I\\nam willing to know the whole truth, to\\nknow the worst, and to provide for it\\nI have but one lamp, by which my feet\\nare guided and that is the lamp of ex-\\nperience. I know of no way of judging\\nof the future but by the past. And, judg-\\ning by the past, I wish to know what there\\nhas been in the conduct of the British min-\\nistry, ior the last ten years, to justify those\\nhopes with which gentlemen have been\\npleased to solace themselves and the\\nHouse? Is it that insidious smile with,\\nwhich our petition has been lately received\\nTrust it not, sir it will prove a snare to\\nyour feet Suffer not yourselves to be\\nbetrayed with a kiss Ask yourselves how\\nthis gracious reception of our petition com-\\nports with those warlike preparations which\\ncover our waters and darken our land. Are\\nfleets and armies necessary to a work of\\nlove and reconciliation? Have we shown\\nourselves so unwilling to be reconciled,\\nthat force must be called in to win back\\nour love\\nEet us not deceive ourselves, sir. These\\nare the implements of war and subjuga-\\ntion, the last arguments to which Kings\\nresort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means\\nthis martial array, if its purpose be not to\\nforce us to submission Can gentlemen\\nassign any other possible motive for it\\nHas Great Britain any enemy in this\\nquarter of the world, to call for all this\\naccumulation of navies and armies? No,\\nsir, she has none. They are meant for us\\nthey can be meant for no other. They are\\nsent over to bind and rivet upon us those\\nchains which the British ministry have been\\nso long forging. And what have we to\\noppose to them Shall we try argument\\nSir, we have been trying that, for the last\\nten years. Have we anything new to offer\\nupon the subject? Nothing. We have\\nheld the subject up in every light of which\\nit is capable but it has been all in vain.", "height": "4388", "width": "3136", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "74\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nShall we resort to entreaty and humble\\nsupplication? What terms shall we find\\nwhich have not already been exhausted\\nLet us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive our-\\nselves longer. Sir, we have done every-\\nthing that could be done, to avert the storm\\nwhich is now coming on. We have peti-\\ntioned, we have remonstrated, we have\\nsupplicated, we have prostrated ourselves\\nbefore the Throne, and have implored its\\ninterposition to arrest the tyrannical hands\\nof the Ministry and Parliament. Our peti-\\ntions have been slighted, our remonstrances\\nhave produced additional violence and in-\\nsult, our supplications have been dis-\\nregarded, and we have been spurned, with\\ncontempt, from the foot of the Throne.\\nIn vain, after these things, may we in-\\ndulge the fond hope of peace and recon-\\nciliation. There is no longer any room for\\nhope. If we wish to be free, if we mean to\\npreserve inviolate those inestimable privi-\\nleges for which we have been so long con-\\ntending, if we mean not basely to abandon\\nthe noble struggle in which we have been\\nso long engaged, and which we have\\npledged ourselves never to abandon until\\nthe glorious object of our contest shall be\\nobtained, we must fight I repeat it, sir,\\nwe must fight An appeal to arms, and to\\nthe God of Hosts, is all that is left us\\nTHE WAR INEVITABLE, March, 1775.\\nThev tell us, sir, that we are weak,\\nunable to cope with so formidable an\\nadversary. But when shall we be\\nstronger Will it be the next week, or the\\nnext year Will it be when we are totally\\ndisarmed, and when a British guard shall\\nbe stationed in every house? Shall we\\ngather strength by irresolution and in-\\naction? Shall we acquire the means of\\neffectual resistance by lying supinely on our\\nbacks, and hugging the delusive phantom\\nof hope, until our enemies shall have bound\\nus hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak,\\nif we make a proper use of those means\\nwhich the God of nature hath placed in our\\npower.\\nThree millions of people, armed in the\\nholy cause of liberty, and in such a country\\nas that which we possess, are invincible by\\nany force which our enemy can send against\\nus. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our\\nbattles alone. There is a just God who\\npresides over the destinies of nations, and\\nwho will raise up friends to fight our battles\\nfor us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong\\nalone it is to the vigilant, the active, the\\nbrave. Besides, sir, we have no election.\\nIf we were base enough to desire it, it is\\nnow too late to retire from the contest.\\nThere is no retreat but in submission and\\nslavery Our chains are forged Their\\nclanking may be heard on the plains of\\nBoston The war is inevitable; and let it\\ncome I repeat it, sir, let it come\\nIt is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter.\\nGentlemen may cry, peace, peace but\\nthere is no peace. The war is actually\\nbegun The next gale that sweeps from\\nthe North will bring to our ears the clash\\nof resounding arms Our brethren are\\nalready in the field Why stand we here\\nidle What is it that gentlemen wish\\nWhat would they have Is life so dear, or\\npeace so sweet, as to be purchased at the\\nprice of chains and slavery? Forbid it,\\nAlmighty God I know not what course\\nothers may take but as for me, give me\\nliberty, or give me death Patrick Henry.\\nA REVOLUTIONARY SERMON.\\nPreached on the eve of the battle of Brandywine, Septem-\\nber 10, 777, in the presence of Washington and his army, at\\nChadd s Ford.\\nSoldiers and countrymen We have met\\nthis evening perhaps for the last time.\\nWe have shared the toil of the march,\\nthe peril of the fight, the dismay of the\\nretreat alike we have endured toil and\\nhunger, the contumely of the internal foe,\\nthe outrage of the foreign oppressor. We\\nhave sat night after night beside the same\\ncamp-fire, shared the same rough soldier s\\nfare we have together heard the roll of the\\nreveille which called us to duty, or the beat\\nof the tattoo which gave the signal for the\\nhardy sleep of the soldier, with the earth\\nfor his bed, and a knapsack for his pillow.\\nAnd now, soldiers and brethren, we have\\nmet in this peaceful valley, on the eve of\\nbattle, while the sunlight is dying away\\nbeyond yonder heights, the sunlight that\\nto-morrow morn will glimmer on scenes", "height": "4388", "width": "3244", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n75\\nof blood. We have met amid the whiten-\\ning tents of our encampment in times of\\nterror and gloom have we gathered together\\nGod grant it may not be for the last time\\nIt is a solemn time. It was but a day since\\nour land slept in the light of peace. War\\nwas not here, wrong was not here. Fraud, and\\nwoe, and misery, and want, dwelt not among\\nus. From the eternal solitude of the green\\nwoods, arose the blue smoke of the settler s\\ncabin, and golden fields of corn peered forth\\nfrom amid the waste of the wilderness, and\\nthe glad music of human voices awoke the\\nsilence of the forest. Now, God of mercy,\\nbehold the change Under the shadow of a\\npretext, under the sanctity of the name of\\nGod, invoking the Redeemer to their aid,\\ndo these foreign hirelings slay our people\\nThey throng our towns, they darken our\\nplains, and now they encompass our posts\\non the lonely plain of Chadd s Ford.\\nThey that take the sword shall perish by the sword.\\nBrethren, think me not unworthy of\\nbelief when I tell you that the doom of\\nthe Britisher is near Think me not vain\\nwhen I tell you that beyond that cloud that\\nnow enshrouds us, I see gathering, thick\\nand fast, the darker cloud and the blacker\\nstorm of a Divine retribution They may\\nconquer us to-morrow Might and wrong\\nmay prevail, and we may be driven from\\nthis field, but the hour of God s own ven-\\ngeance will come\\nAye, if in the vast solitudes of eternal\\nspace, if in the heart of the boundless uni-\\nverse, there throbs the being of an awful\\nGod, quick to avenge, and sure to punish\\nguilt, then will the man, George of Bruns-\\nwick, called King, feel in his brain and in\\nhis heart, the vengeance of the Eternal\\nJehovah A blight will be upon his life,\\na withered brain, an accursed intellect; a\\nblight will be upon his children, and on his\\npeople. Great God how dread the pun-\\nishment\\nA crowded populace, peopling the dense\\ntowns where the man of money thrives,\\nwhile the laborer starves want striding\\namong the people in all his forms of terror\\nan ignorant and God-defying priesthood,\\nchuckling over the miseries of millions a\\nproud and merciless nobility adding wrong\\nto wrong, and heaping insult upon robbery\\nand fraud royalty corrupt to the very\\nheart, aristocracy rotten to the core crime\\nand want linked hand in hand, and tempt-\\ning men to deeds of woe and death, these\\nare a part of the doom and retribution that\\nshall come upon the English throne and\\npeople. Soldiers, I look around among\\nyour familiar faces with a strange interest\\nTo-morrow morning we will all go forth\\nto battle for need I tell you that your\\nunworthy minister will go with you, invok-\\ning God s aid in the fight We will march\\nforth to battle. Need I exhort you to fight\\nto fight for your homesteads, for your\\nwives and your children My friends, I\\nmight urge you to fight by the galling\\nmemories of British wrong Walton, I\\nmight tell you of your father, butchered in\\nthe silence of midnight, on the plains of\\nTrenton; I might picture his gray hairs,\\ndabbled in blood I might ring his death\\nshriek in your ears. Shelmire, I might tell\\nyou of a mother butchered, and a sister out-\\nraged the lonely farm-house, the night\\nassault, the roof in flames, the shouts of the\\ntroopers as they despatched their victims,\\nthe cries for mercy, the pleadings of inno-\\ncence for pity.\\nI might paint this all again, in the terri-\\nble colors of vivid reality, if I thought vour\\ncourage needed such wild excitement. But\\nI know you are strong in the might of the\\nLord. You will go forth to battle to-mor-\\nrow with light hearts and determined spirits,\\nthough the solemn duty, the duty of aveng-\\ning the dead, may rest heavy on your souls.\\nAnd in tbe hour of battle when all around\\nis darkness, lit by the lurid cannon-glare\\nand the piercing musket-flash, when the\\nwounded strew the ground, and the dead\\nlitter your path, remember, soldiers, that\\nGod is with you. The Eternal God fights\\nfor you He rides on the battle cloud, He\\nsweeps onward with the march of the hur-\\nricane charge. The Awful and the Infinite\\nfights for you, and you will triumph.\\nThey that take the sword shall perish by the sword.\\nYou have taken the sword, but not in the\\nspirit of wrong and ravage. You have taken\\nthe sword for your homes, for your wives,\\nfor vour little ones. You have taken the", "height": "4388", "width": "3096", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "7 6\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nsword for truth, for justice and right, and\\nto you the promise is, be of good cheer for\\nyour foes have taken the sword, in defiance\\nof all that man holds dear, in blasphemy of\\nGod they shall perish by the sword.\\nAnd now, brethren and soldiers, Ibid you\\nall farewell. Many of us may fall in the\\nfight of to-morrow, God rest the souls of\\nthe fallen many of us may live to tell the\\nstory of the fight of to-morrow, and in the\\nmemory of all will ever rest and linger the\\nquiet scene of this autumnal night. When\\nwe meet again, may the long shadows of\\ntwilight be flung over a peaceful land.\\nGod in heaven grant it\\nHugh Henry Breckenridge.\\nTHE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.\\nOH, say, can you see, by the dawn s early\\nlight,\\nWhat so proudly we hailed at the\\ntwilight s last gleaming?\\nWhose broad stripes and bright stars,\\nthrough the perilous fight,\\nO er the ramparts we watched, were so\\ngallantly streaming\\nAnd the rockets red glare, the bombs\\nbursting in air,\\nGave proof through the night that our flag\\nwas still there\\nOh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet\\nwave\\nO er the land of the free and the home of\\nthe brave\\nOn the shore, dimly seen through the mists\\nof the deep,\\nWhere the foe s haughty host in dread\\nsilence reposes,\\nWhat is that which the breeze, o er the\\ntowering steep,\\nAs it fitfully blows, half conceals, half\\ndiscloses\\nNew it catches the gleam ol the morning s\\nfirst beam\\nIn full glory reflected, now shines on the\\nstream\\nTis the star-spangled banner oh, long\\nmay it wave\\nO er the land of the free and the home of\\nthe brave\\nAnd where is the band who so vauntingly\\nswore,\\nMid the havoc of war and the battle s\\nconfusion,\\nA home and a country they d leave us no\\nmore\\nTheir blood hath washed out their foul\\nfootsteps pollution\\nNo refuge could save the hireling and slave\\nFrom the terror of flight, or the glome of\\nthe grave\\nAnd the star-spangled banner in triumph\\ndoth wave\\nO er the land of the free and the home of\\nthe brave.\\nOh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall\\nstand\\nBetween their loved home and the war s\\ndesolation\\nBlest with victory and peace, may the\\nHeaven- rescued land\\nPraise the Power that hath made and\\npreserved us a nation.\\nThen conquer we must, for our cause it is\\njust;\\nAnd this be our motto, In God is our\\ntrust;\\nAnd the star-spangled banner in triumph\\nshall wave\\nO er the land of the free and the home of\\nthe brave.\\nFrancis Scott Key,\\nTHE SPIRIT OF THE AGE ADVERSE\\nTO WAR.\\nar will yet cease from the whole\\nearth, for God himself has said it\\nshall. As an infidel I might doubt\\nthis, but as a Christian I cannot. If God\\nhas taught anything in the Bible, he has\\ntaught peace if he has promised anything\\nthere, he has promised peace, ultimate\\npeace, to the whole world and unless the\\nnight of a godless scepticism should settle\\non my soul, I must believe on, and hope on,\\nand work on, until the nations, from pole\\nto pole, shall beat their swords into plough-\\nshares, their spears into pruning-hooks,\\nand learn war no more. I see, or think I\\nsee, the dawn of that coming day I see\\nit in the new and better spirit of the age", "height": "4388", "width": "3308", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n11\\nI see it in the press, the pulpit, and the\\nschool I see it in every factory, and steam-\\nship, and rail -car I see it in every enter-\\nprise of Christian benevolence and reform\\nI see it in all the means of general improve-\\nment, in all the good influences of tne age,\\nnow at work over the whole earth Yes,\\nthere is a spirit abroad that can never rest\\nuntil the war-demon is hunted from the\\nhabitations of men, the spirit that is now\\npushing its enterprises and improvements\\nin every direction the spirit that is unfurl-\\ning the white flag of commerce on every\\nsea and bartering its commodities in every\\nport the spirit that is laying every power\\nof nature, as well as the utmost resources of\\nhuman ingenuity, under the largest con-\\ntributions possible for the general welfare\\nof mankind the spirit that hunts out from\\nyour cities darkest alleys the outcasts of\\npoverty and crime, for relief and reform,\\nnay, goes down into the barred and bolted\\ndungeons of penal vengeance and brings\\nup its callous, haggard victims into the\\nsunlight of a love that pities even while it\\nsmites the spirit that is everywhere rear-\\ning hospitals for the sick, retreats for the\\ninsane, and schools that all but teach the\\ndumb to speak, the deaf to hear, and\\nthe blind to see the spirit that harnesses\\nthe fire-horse in his iron gear, and sends\\nhim, panting with hot but unwearied\\nbreath, across empires, and continents,\\nand seas the spirit that catches the very\\nlightning of heaven and makes it bear\\nmessages, swift almost as thought, from\\ncity to city, from country to country, round\\nthe globe; the spirit that subsidizes all\\nthese to the godlike work of a world s\\nsalvation, and employs them to scatter the\\nblessed truths of the gospel, thick as leaves\\nof autumn or dew-drops of morning, all\\nover the earth the spirit that is, at length,\\nweaving the sympathies and interests of\\nour whole race into the web of one vast\\nfraternity, and stamping upon it, or writing\\nover it, in characters bright as sunbeams,\\nthese simple yet glorious truths the\\nFatherhood of God and the brotherhood\\nof man Is it possible for such a spirit to\\nrest, until it shall have swept war from the\\nearth forever\\nJohn Watrous Beckwith.\\nTHE REIGN OF PEACE FORESHADOWED.\\nTHAT future which filled the lofty visions\\nof sages and bards of Greece and\\nRome, which was foretold by the pro-\\nphets and heralded by the evangelists, when\\nman, in happy isles or in a new paradise,\\nshall confess the loveliness of peace, may\\nbe secured by your care, if not for your-\\nselves, at least for your children. Believe\\nthat you can do it, and you can do it The\\ntrue golden age is before you, and not behind\\nyou. If man has been driven once from\\nparadise, while an angel with flaming sword\\nforbade his return, there is another paradise,\\neven on earth, which he may form for him-\\nself by the cultivation of knowledge, reli-\\ngion, and the kindly virtues of life where\\nthe confusion of tongues shall be dissolved\\nin the union of hearts, and joyous nature,\\nborrowing prolific charm^ from the prevail-\\ning harmony, shall spread her lap with\\nunimagined bounty, and there shall be a\\nperpetual jocund spring, and sweet strains\\nborne on odoriferous wing of gentle\\ngales, through valleys of delight more\\npleasant than the vale of Tempe, richer\\nthan the garden of the Hesperides, with no\\ndragon to guard its golden fruit.\\nLet it not be said that the age does not\\ndemand this work. The robber conquerors\\nof the past, from their fiery sepulchres,\\ndemand it the precious blood of millions\\nunjustly shed in war, crying from the\\nground, demands it; the voices of all\\ngood men demand it and the conscience,\\neven of the soldier, whispers, Peace.\\nThere are considerations springing from our\\nsituation and condition, which fervently\\ninvite us to take the lead in this work.\\nHere, should bend the patriotic ardor of the\\nland, the ambition of the statesman, the\\nefforts of the scholar, the persuasive influ-\\nence of the press, the mild persuasion of the\\nsanctuary, the early teachings of the school.\\nHere, in ampler ether and diviner air, are\\nuntried fields for exalted triumphs, more\\ntruly worthy the American name than any\\nsnatched from rivers of blood. War is\\nknown as the last reason of kings. Let it\\nbe no reason of our republic. Let us\\nrenounce and throw off, forever, the yoke\\nof a tyranny more oppressive than any in\\nthe annals of the world. As those standing", "height": "4388", "width": "3120", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\non the mountain tops discern the coming\\nbeams of morning, let us, from the vantage-\\nground of liberal institutions, first recognize\\nthe ascending sun of the new era. Lift high\\nthe gates and let the king of glory in, and\\nthe king of true glory of peace\\nChas. Sumner.\\nA PLEA FOR UNIVERSAL PEACE.\\nIT is a beautiful picture in Grecian story,\\nthat there was at least one spot, the\\nsmall island of Delos, dedicated to the\\ngods, and kept at all times sacred from war.\\nNo hostile foot ever sought to press this\\nkindly soil, and the citizens of all countries\\nhere met in common worship beneath the\\nsegis of inviolable peace. So let us dedicate\\nour beloved country, and may the blessed\\nconsecration be felt in all its parts, every-\\nwhere throughout its ample domain The\\nTemple of Honor shall be surrounded here,\\nat last, by the Temple of Concord, that it\\nmay never more be entered through any\\nportal of war the horn of abundance shall\\noverflow at its gates the angel of religion\\nshall be the guide over its flashing steps\\nof adamant while within its enraptured\\ncourts, purged of violence and wrong, Jus-\\ntice, returned to the earth from her long\\nexile in the skies, with mighty scales for\\nnations, as well as for men, shall rear her\\nserene and majestic front and by her side,\\ngreatest of all, Charity, sublime in meek-\\nness, hoping all and enduring all, shall\\ndivinely temper every righteous decree, and\\nwith words of infinite cheer shall inspire\\nthose good works that cannot vanish away.\\nAnd the future chiefs of the republic, des-\\ntined to uphold the glories of a new era,\\nunspotted by human blood, shall be the\\nfirst in peace, and the first in the hearts of\\ntheir countrymen.\\nBut while seeking these blissful glories\\nfor ourselves, let us strive to tender them\\nto other lands. Let the bugles sound the\\ntruce of God to the whole world, forever.\\nLet the selfish boast of the Spartan women\\nbecome the grand chorus of mankind,\\nthat they have never seen the smoke of an\\nenemy s camp. Let the iron belt of martial\\nmusic which now encompasses the earth be\\nexchanged for the golden cestus of peace,\\nclothed with all celestial beauty. History\\ndwells with fondness on the reverent homage\\nthat was bestowed by massacring soldiers\\nupon the spot occupied by the sepulchre of\\nour I^ord. Vain man to restrain his regard\\nto a few feet of sacred mould. The whole\\nearth is the sepulchre of the Lord nor can\\nany righteous man profane any part thereof.\\nLet us recognize the truth, and now, on\\nthis Sabbath of our country, lay a new stone\\nin the grand temple of universal peace,\\nwhose dome shall be as lofty as the firma-\\nment of heaven, as broad and comprensive\\nas the earth itself. Charles Sumner.\\nA REPUBLIC THE STRONGEST GOVERN-\\nMENT.\\n(Extract from Thomas Jefferson s first inaugural address\\nafter the bitter presidential canvass in which he had been\\nsuccessful.)\\nTHE contest being now decided by the\\nvoice of the nation, and announced\\naccording to the rules of the Consti-\\ntution, all will, of course, arrange them-\\nselves under the will of the law, and unite\\nin the common efforts for the common\\ngood.\\nLet us, then, fellow-citizens, unite with\\none heart and one mind let us restore to\\nsocial intercourse that harmony and affec-\\ntion without which liberty and even life\\nitself are but dreary things. And let us\\nreflect that, having banished from our land\\nthat religious intolerance undei which man-\\nkind so long bled and suffered, we have yet\\ngained little, if we countenance a political\\nintolerance as despotic, as wicked, and\\ncapable of as bitter and bloody persecu-\\ntions. During the throes and convulsions\\nof the ancient world, during the agonizing\\nspasms of infuriated man, seeking, through\\nblood and slaughter, his long-lost liberty,\\nit was not wonderful that the agitation of\\nthe billows should reach even this distant\\nand peaceful shore; that this should be\\nmore felt and feared by some, and less by\\nothers, and should divide opinions as to\\nmeasures of safety but, every difference\\nof opinion is not a difference of principle.\\nWe have called, by different names,\\nbrethren of the same principle. We are\\nall republicans; we are all federalists. If\\nthere be any among us who would wish to", "height": "4388", "width": "3324", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4388", "width": "3112", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4280", "width": "3300", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n81\\ndissolve this Union, or to change its repub-\\nlican form, let them stand, undisturbed, as\\nmonuments of the safety with which error\\nof opinion may be tolerated where reason is\\nleft free to combat it. I know, indeed, that\\nsome honest men fear that a republican\\ngovernment cannot be strong, that this\\ngovernment is not strong enough. But\\nwould the honest patriot, in the full tide of\\nsuccessful experiment, abandon a govern-\\nment which has, so far, kept us free and\\nfirm, on the theoretic and visionary fear\\nthat this government, the world s best\\nhope, may, by possibility, want energy to\\npreserve itself? I trust not. I believe this,\\non the contrary, to be the strongest govern-\\nment on earth. I believe it the only one\\nwhere every man, at the call of the law,\\nwould fly to the standard of the law, and\\nwould meet invasions of the public order\\nas his own personal concern. Sometimes\\nit is said that man cannot be trusted with\\nthe government of himself. Can he, then,\\nbe trusted with the government of others\\nLet history answer this question.\\nThomas Jefferson.\\nAMERICA AN AGGREGATE OF NATIONS.\\nGiant aggregate of nations, glorious\\nwhole, of glorious parts,\\nUnto endless generations live united,\\nhands and hearts\\nBe it storm or summer weather, peaceful\\ncalm or battle jar,\\nStand in beauteous strength together, sister\\nStates, as now ye are\\nEvery petty class-dissension, heal it up as\\nquick as thought\\nEvery paltry place-pretension, crush it as a\\nthing of naught\\nLet no narrow private treason your great\\nonward progress bar,\\nBut remain, in right and reason, sister\\nStates, as now ye are!\\nFling away absurd ambition people, leave\\nthat toy to kings\\nEnvy, jealousy, suspicion, be above such\\ngrovelling things\\nIn each other s joys delighted, all your hate\\nbe joys of war,\\nAnd by all means keep united, sister States,\\nas now ye are\\nWere I but some scornful stranger, still my\\ncounsel would be just\\nBreak the band and all is danger, mutual\\nfear and dark distrust\\nBut you know me for a brother, and a friend\\nwho speaks from far,\\nBe as one, then, with each other, sister\\nStates, as now ye are\\nIf it seems a thing unholy, freedom s soil\\nby slaves to till,\\nYet be just and sagely, slowly, nobly cure\\nthat ancient ill\\nSlowly, haste is fatal ever; nobly, lest\\ngood faith ye mar\\nSagely, not in wrath, to sever, sister\\nStates, as now ye are\\nCharmed with your commingled beauty,\\nEngland sends the signal round,\\nEvery man must do his duty to redeem\\nfrom bonds the bound\\nThen, indeed, your banner s brightness,\\nshining clear from every star,\\nShall proclaim your uprightness, sister\\nStates, as now ye are\\nSo a peerless constellation may those stars\\nforever blaze I\\nThree-and-ten times threefold nation, go\\nahead in power and praise\\nLike the many-breasted goddess, throned\\non her Ephesian car,\\nBe one heart, in many bodies sister\\nStates, as now ye are\\nMartin Farquhar Tupper.\\nTHE AMERICAN UNION A GEOGRAPHICAL\\nNECESSITY.\\nExtract from Address at Randolph Macon College. Virginia,\\nat Commencement, 1854,\\nThe name American, itself, is suffi-\\ncient to inspire within the bosom of\\nevery one, who so proudly claims it,\\na holy zeal to preserve forever the endearing\\nepithet. This Union must and will be pre-\\nserved Division is impossible Mind has\\nnever conceived of the man equal to the\\ntask Geographical lines can never sepa-\\nrate the interests of the American people,\\ncan never dissever the ties which unite\\nthem. Each claims the beautiful lakes and\\nflourishing cities of the North. Each claims", "height": "4388", "width": "3096", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nthe extended prairies of the West and the\\nrich productions of the sunny South. Each\\nclaims Massachusetts patriot. Each claims\\nKentucky s sage. Who has not an inherit-\\nance in the ashes of Vernon s tomb New\\nEngland as loudly and affectionately pro-\\nclaims him Father of his country, as does\\nVirginia. New England never will relin-\\nquish her claim Virginia, never, never suf-\\nfer those ashes to be touched\\nThe Divine Architect of Nature, Himself,\\nhas said in His lofty mountains and majes-\\ntic rivers, Be united! Observe their\\nranges and courses. The Blue Ridge, the\\nAlleghany, and the Rocky Mountains all\\nrun north and south the great -Mississippi\\nwith her vast tributaries, parallel with\\nthem, waters the whole extent. There\\nmust be design in all this. The ancient\\npoets and philosophers pictured a far-off\\nland, across the waters, a fairer abode, a\\nland of equal rights and a happy people.\\nThis, surely, is that land and through this\\npeople the Supreme Legislators has decreed\\nthat the true principles of government shall\\nbe taught all mankind And as the blue\\narch, above, is in beauty shown us, so\\nsurely will it span the mightiest domain\\nthat ever shook earth.\\nAs surely as art and labor are now\\nadorning, and science exalting, a land\\nwhich religion has sanctified and patriot-\\nism redeemed, so surely will the Goddess\\nof Liberty yet walk abroad in the gardens\\nof Europe, and to our country shall belong\\nall the honor. Then, no longer will be\\nobscure our resplendent and glorious Con-\\nstitution No more will our bright escut-\\ncheon be tarnished No more will our\\nbanner droop but, in his original strength\\nand pride, the American eagle, pluming\\nhimself for loftier flights and brighter\\nclimes, shall, fearlessly, while gazing on\\nthe beauties and splendors of his country s\\nflag, shriek the downfall of tyranny and\\nthe longest, loudest, proudest shout of\\nfreedom s sons, in honor of freedom s\\ntriumph, shall be,\\nThe star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave\\nO er the land of the free and the home of the brave\\nAlexander Hogg.\\nUNION LINKED WITH LIBERTY.\\nFrom Inaugurai Address. 1833.\\nWithout union, our independence and\\nliberty would never have been\\nachieved without union they can\\nnever be maintained.\\nThe time at which I stand before you is\\nfull of interest. The eyes of all nations are\\nfixed on our republic. The event of the\\nexisting crisis will be decisive, in the opin-\\nion of mankind, of the practicability of our\\nfederal system of government. Great is the\\nstake placed in our hands great is the\\nresponsibility which must rest upon the\\npeople of the United States. Let us realize\\nthe importance of the attitude in which we\\nstand before the world. Let us exercise for-\\nbearance and firmness. Let us extricate our\\ncountry from the dangers which surround\\nit, and learn wisdom from the lessons they\\ninculcate. Deeply impressed with the truth\\nof these observations, and under the obliga-\\ntion of that solemn oath which I am about\\nto take, I shall continue to exert all my\\nfaculties to maintain the just powers of the\\nConstitution, and to transmit unimpaired\\nto posterity the blessings of our Federal\\nUnion.\\nAt the same time, it will be my aim to\\ninculcate, by my official acts, the necessity\\nof exercising, by the General Government,\\nthose powers only that are clearly delegated\\nto encourage simplicity and economy in the\\nexpenditures of the Government to raise\\nno more money from the people than may\\nbe requisite for these objects, and in a man-\\nner that will best promote the interests of\\nall classes of the community, and of all por-\\ntions of the Union. Constantly bearing in\\nmind that, in entering into society, indivi-\\nduals must give up a share of liberty to pre-\\nserve the rest, it will be my desire so to\\ndischarge my duties as to foster with our\\nbrethren, in all parts of the country, a spirit\\nof liberal concession and compromise and\\nby reconciling our fellow-citizens to those\\npartial sacrifices which they must unavoid-\\nably make, for the preservation of a greater\\ngood, to recommend our invaluable Govern-\\nment and Union to the confidence and affec-\\ntions of the American people. Finally, it\\nis my most fervent prayer to that Almighty\\nBeing before whom now I stand, and who", "height": "4388", "width": "3308", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n83\\nhas kept us in his hands from the infancy\\nof our republic to the present day, that He\\nwill so overrule all my intentions and\\nactions, and inspire the hearts of my fellow-\\ncitizens, that we may be preserved from\\ndangers of all kinds and continue forever a\\nunited and happy people.\\nAndrew Jackson.\\nLIBERTY AND UNION ONE AND INSEPA-\\nRABLE.\\nI PROFESS, sir, in my career hitherto, to\\nhave kept steadily in view the prosper-\\nity and honor of the whole country,\\nand the preservation of our Federal Union.\\nIt is to that Union that we owe our safety\\nat home, and our consideration and dignity\\nabroad. It is to that Union that we are\\nchiefly indebted for whatever makes us most\\nproud of our country. That Union we\\nreached only by the discipline of our virtues,\\nin the severe school of adversity. It had its\\norigin in the necessities of disordered\\nfinance, prostrate commerce, and ruined\\ncredit. Under its benign influences these\\ngreat interests immediately awoke, as from\\nthe dead, and sprang forth with newness of\\nlife. Every year of its duration has teemed\\nwith fresh proofs of its utility and its bless-\\nings and, although our territory has\\nstretched out wider and wider, and our\\npopulation spread farther and farther, they\\nhave not outrun its protection or its bene-\\nfits. It has been to us a copious foun-\\ntain, of national, social, and personal hap-\\npiness. I have not allowed myself, sir, to\\nlook beyond the Union, to see what might\\nlie hidden in the dark recess behind. I\\nhave not coolly weighed the chances of\\npreserving liberty, when the bonds that\\nunite us together shall be broken asunder.\\nI have not accustomed myself to hang over\\nthe precipice of disunion, to see whether,\\nwith my short short sight, I can fathom the\\ndepth of the abyss below nor could I\\nregard him as a safe counsellor in the affairs\\nof this government, whose thoughts should\\nbe mainly bent on considering, not how the\\nUnion may be best preserved, but how tol-\\nerable might be the condition of the people\\nwhen it should be broken up and destroyed.\\nWhile the Union lasts, we have high,\\nexciting, gratifying prospects spread out\\nbefore us, for us and our children. Beyond\\nthat I seek not to penetrate the veil. God\\ngrant that in my day, at least, that curtain\\nmay not rise God grant that on my vision\\nnever may be opened what lies behind\\nWhen my eyes shall be turned to behold,\\nfor the last time, the sun in heaven, may I\\nnot see him shining on the broken and dis-\\nhonored fragments of a once glorious Union;\\non States dissevered, discordant, belliger-\\nent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or\\ndrenched, it may be, in fraternal blood\\nL,et their last feeble and lingering glance\\nrather behold the gorgeous ensign of the\\nrepublic, now known and honored through-\\nout the earth, still full high advanced,\\nits arms and trophies streaming in their\\noriginal lustre, not a stripe erased or pol-\\nluted, not a single star obscured bearing\\nfor its motto no such miserable interroga-\\ntory as, What is all this worth? nor those\\nother words of delusion and folly, Liberty\\nfirst and Union afterwards but everywhere,\\nspread all over in characters of living light,\\nblazing on all its ample folds as they float\\nover the sea and over the land, and in every\\nwind under the whole heavens, that other\\nsentiment, dear to every true American\\nheart, Liberty and Union ?ww and for-\\never, one and i?iseparable\\nDaniee Webster.\\nTHE BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC.\\nSung to the tune of John Brown s Body.\\nMine eyes have seen the glory of the\\ncoming of the Lord\\nHe is trampling out the vintage\\nwhere the grapes of wrath are\\nstored\\nHe hath loosed the fateful lightning of his\\nterrible swift sword\\nHis truth is marching on.\\nI have seen him in the watch-fires of a\\nhundred circling camps\\nThey have builded him an altar in the\\nevening dews and damps\\nI can read his righteous sentence by the\\ndim and flaring lamps\\nHis day is marching on.", "height": "4388", "width": "3104", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "H\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nI have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished\\nrows of steel\\nAs ye deal with my contemners, so with\\nyou my grace shall deal\\nLet the Hero, born of woman, crush the\\nserpent with his heel,\\nSince God is marching on.\\nHe has sounded forth the trumpet that shall\\nnever call retreat\\nHe is sifting out the hearts of men before\\nhis judgment-seat\\nOh, be swift, my soul, to answer him be\\njubilant, my feet\\nOur God is marching on.\\nIn the beauty of the lilies Christ was born\\nacross the sea,\\nWith a glory in his bosom that transfigures\\nyou and me\\nAs he died to make men holy, let us die to\\nmake men free,\\nWhile God is marching on.\\nJulia Ward Howe.\\nMARSEILLES HYMN.\\nThe French National Hymn.\\nYE sons of France, awake to glory.\\nHark, hark, what myriads bid\\nrise\\nYour children, wives, and grandsires\\nhoary,\\nBehold their tears and hear their cries.\\nShall hateful tyrants mischiefs breeding,\\nWith hireling hosts, a ruffian band,\\nAffright and desolate the land,\\nWhile peace and liberty lie bleeding\\nChorus.\\nTo arms, to arms, ye brave\\nTh avenging sword unsheathe\\nMarch on, march on, all hearts resolved\\nOn victory or death\\nNow, now the dangerous storm is rolling\\nWhich treacherous kings confederate\\nraise\\nThe dogs of war, let loose, are howling,\\nAnd lo, our walls and cities blaze.\\nAnd shall we basely view the ruin,\\nWhile lawless force, with guilty stride,\\nSpreads desolation far and wide,\\nWith crimes and blood his hands imbruing?\\nChorus.\\nWith luxury and pride surrounded,\\nThe vile, insatiate despots dare,\\nTheir thirst of gold and power unbounded,\\nTo mete and vend the light and air.\\nLike beasts of burden would they load us,\\nLike gods, would bid their slaves adore\\nBut man is man, and who is more\\nThen, shall they longer lash and goad us\\nChorus.\\nO Liberty, can man resign thee,\\nOnce having felt thy generous flame\\nCan dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee\\nOr whips thy noble spirit tame\\nToo long the world has wept, bewailing\\nThat falsehood s dagger tyrants wield,\\nBut freedom is our sword and shield,\\nAnd all their arts are unavailing.\\nChorus.\\nRouget de Lisle.\\nTHE SPANISH PATRIOTS SONG.\\nHark hear ye the sounds that the\\nwinds, on their pinions,\\nExultingly roll from the shore to\\nthe sea,\\nWith a voice that resounds through her\\nboundless dominions\\nTis Columbia calls on her sons to be\\nfree!\\nBehold, on yon summits, where Heaven\\nhas throned her,\\nHow she starts from her proud, innacces-\\nsible seat,\\nWith nature s impregnable ramparts around\\nher,\\nAnd the cataract s thunder and foam at\\nher feet\\nIn the breeze of her mountains her loose\\nlocks are shaken,\\nWhile the soul-stirring notes of her\\nwarrior-song,\\nFrom the rock to the valley, re-echo,\\nAwaken\\nAwaken, ye hearts that have slumbered\\ntoo long\\nYes, despots too long did your tyranny\\nhold us\\nIn a vassalage vile, ere its weakness was\\nknown,", "height": "4388", "width": "3324", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nTill we learned that the links of the chain\\nthat controlled us\\nWere forged by the fears of its captive\\nalone.\\nThat spell is destroyed, and no longer\\navailing.\\nDespised as detested, pause well ere ye\\ndare\\nTo cope with a people whose spirits and\\nfeeling\\nAre roused by remembrance and steeled\\nby despair.\\nGo, tame the wild torrent, or stem with a\\nstraw\\nThe proud surges that sweep o er the\\nstrand that confined them\\nBut presume not again to give freemen a\\nlaw,\\nNor think with the chains they have\\nbroken to bind them.\\nTo heights by the beacons of liberty\\nlightened,\\nThey re a scorn who come up her }^oung\\neagles to tame\\nAnd to swords, that her sons for the battle\\nhave brightened,\\nThe hosts of a king are as flax to a\\nflame.\\nAnonymous.\\n85\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0Be the combat\\nSONG OF THE GREEKS.\\n(1822.)\\nAgain to the battle, Azhaians\\nOur hearts bid the tyrants defiance\\nOur land, the first garden of liberty s\\ntree\\nIt has been, and shall yet be, the land of the\\nfree\\nFor the cross of our faith is replanted,\\nThe pale dying crescent is daunted,\\nAnd we march that the footprints of\\nMahomet s slaves\\nMay be washed out in blood from our\\nforefathers graves.\\nTheir spirits are hovering o er us,\\nAnd the sword shall to glory restore us.\\nAh what though no succor advances,\\nNor Christendom s chivalrous lances\\nAre stretched in our aid\\nour own\\nAnd we ll perish or conquer more proudly\\nalone\\nFor we ve sworn, by our country s\\nassaulters,\\nBy the virgins they ve dragged from our\\naltars,\\nBy our massacred patriots, our children in\\nchains,\\nBy our heroes of old, and their blood in our\\nveins,\\nThat, living, we shall be victorious,\\nOr that, dying, our deaths shall be\\nglorious.\\nA breath of submission we breathe not\\nThe sword that we ve drawn we will\\nsheathe not\\nIts scabbard is left where our martyrs are\\nlaid,\\nAnd the vengeance of ages has whetted its\\nblade.\\nKarth may hide, waves engulf, fire\\nconsume us,\\nBut they shall not to slavery doom us\\nIf they rule, it shall be o er our ashes and\\ngraves\\nBut we ve smote them already with fire on\\nthe waves,\\nAnd new triumphs on land are before us.\\nTo the charge Heaven s banner is o er\\nus.\\nThis day shall ye blush for its story\\nOr brighten your lives with its glory\\nOur women oh, say, shall they shriek in\\ndespair,\\nOr embrace us from conquest with wreaths\\nin their hair\\nAccursed may his memory blacken,\\nIf a coward there be that would slacken,\\nTill we ve trampled the turban, and shown\\nourselves worth\\nBeing sprung from, and named for, the\\ngodlike of earth.\\nStrike home and the world will revere\\nus\\nAs heroes descended from heroes.\\nOld Greece lightens up with emotion\\nHer inlands, her isles of the ocean,\\nFanes rebuilt, and fair towns, shall with\\njubilee ring,", "height": "4388", "width": "3108", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "86\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nAnd the Nine shall new-hallow their\\nHelicon s spring.\\nOur hearths shall be kindled in gladness,\\nThat were cold and extinguished in\\nsadness,\\nWhilst our maidens shall dance with their\\nwhite waving arms,\\nSinging joy to the brave that delivered their\\ncharms,\\nWhen the blood of yon Mussulman\\ncravens\\nShall have purpled the beaks of our\\nravens.\\nThomas Campbell.\\nHIGHLAND WAR SONG.\\nA Pibroch (pronounced Pi brok) is a martial air played\\nwith the bagpipe. Donuil, pronounce Don nil,\\nPibroch* of Donuil Dhu, pibroch of\\nDonuil,\\nWake thy wild voice anew, summon\\nClan-Conuil.\\nCome away, come away, hark to the\\nsummons\\nCome in your war array, gentles and\\ncommons\\nCome from deep glen, and from mountain so\\nrocky,\\nThe war-pipe and pennon are at Inverlochy\\nCome every hill-plaid, and true heart that\\nwears one,\\nCome every steel -blade, and strong hand\\nthat bears one.\\nLeave untended the herd, the flock without\\nshelter\\nLeave the corpse uninterred, the bride at the\\naltar\\nLeave the deer, leave the steer, leave nets\\nand barges\\nCome with your fighting gear, broadswords\\nand targes.\\nCome as the winds come, when forests are\\nrended\\nCome as the waves come, when navies are\\nstranded\\nFaster come, faster come, faster and faster,\\nChief, vassal, page and groom, tenant and\\nmaster.\\nFast they come, fast they come; see how\\nthey gather\\nWide waves the eagle-plume, blended with\\nheather,\\nCast your plaids, draw your blades, forward\\neach man set\\nPibroch of Donuil Dhu, knell for the onset\\nSir Walter Scott.\\nTHE WATCH BY THE RHINE.\\nGerman National War Song Translated by\\nH. W. Ducki^kn.\\nA cry bursts forth like thunder-sound,\\nLike swords fierce clash, like waves\\nrebound,\\nTo the Rhine, the Rhine, the German\\nRhine\\nTo guard the river, who ll combine\\nDear Fatherland, good trust be thine,\\nFast stands, and true, the watch by the\\nRhine.\\nFrom myriad mouths the summons flies,\\nAnd brightly flash a myriad eyes\\nBrave, honest, true, the Germans come,\\nTo guard the sacred bounds of home.\\nDear Fatherland, good trust be thine,\\nFast stands, and true, the watch by the\\nRhine.\\nAnd though the strife bring death to me,\\nNo foreign river shalt thou be\\nKxhaustless as thy watery flood\\nIs German land in hero-blood.\\nDear Fatherland, good trust be thine\\nFast stands, and true, the watch by the\\nRhine.\\nIf upward he his glance doth send,\\nThere hero-fathers downward bend.\\nHe sweareth, proud to fight his part,\\nThou Rhine, be German, like my heart.\\nDear Fatherland, good trust be thine,\\nFast stands, and true, the watch by the\\nRhine.\\nWhile yet one drop of blood thou It yield,\\nWhile yet one hand the sword can wield,\\nWhile grasps the rifle one bold hand,\\nNo foe shall tread thy sacred strand.\\nDear Fatherland, good trust be thine,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFast stands, and true, the watch by the\\nRhine.", "height": "4388", "width": "3244", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n\u00c2\u00a77\\nThe oath peals forth, the wave runs by,\\nOur flags, unfurled, are waving high.\\nTo the Rhine, the Rhine, the German\\nRhine\\nTo keep thee free we ll all combine.\\nDear Fatherland, good trust be thine,\\nFast stands, and true, the watch by the\\nRhine.\\nMax Schneckenbcjrger.\\nTHE GERHAN S FATHERLAND.\\nWhat is the German s. fatherland\\nIs t Prussian land, or Swabian land\\nWhere the grape-vine glows on the\\nRhenish strand\\nWhere the sea-gull flies o er the Baltic\\nsand\\nAh, no ah, no\\nHis fatherland must greater be, I trow.\\nWhat is the German s fatherland\\nBavarian land, or Styrian land\\nNow Austria it needs must be,\\nSo rich in fame and victory.\\nAh, no ah, no\\nHis fatherland must greater be, I trow.\\nWhat is the German s fatherland\\nPomeranian land, Westphalia land\\nWhere o er the sea-flats the sand is blown?\\nWhere the mighty Danube rushes on\\nAh, no ah, no\\nHis fatherland must greater be, I trow.\\nWhat is the German s fatherland\\nSay thou the name of the mighty land.\\nIs t Switzerland, or Tyrol, tell\\nThe land and the people pleased me well.\\nAh, no ah, no\\nHis fatherland must greater be, I trow.\\nWhat is the German s fatherland\\nName thou at length to me the land.\\nWherever in the German tongue\\nTo God in heaven hymns are sung\\nThat shall it be,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 that shall it be\\nThat, gallant German, is for thee\\nThat is the German s fatherland\\nWhere binds like an oath the grasped hand,\\nWhere from men s eyes truth flashes forth,\\nWherein men s hearts are love and worth!\\nThat shall it be,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 that shall it be\\nThat, gallant German, is for thee\\nIt is the whole of Germany.\\nLook, Lord, thereon, we pray to Thee.\\nLet German spirit in us dwell,\\nThat we may love it true and well.\\nThat shall it be,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 that shall it be\\nThe whole, the whole of Germany\\nErnst Moritz Arndt.\\nGERMAN BATTLE PRAYER.\\nFather, I cry to Thee.\\nCannon-smoke rolleth in clouds\\no er me roaring,\\nWar s jetted lightnings around me are\\npouring\\nLord of the battle, I cry to Thee.\\nFather, oh, lead Thou me.\\nFather, oh, lead Thou me,\\nLead me as victor, by death when I m\\nriven,\\nLord, I acknowledge the law Thou hast\\ngiven\\nE en as Thou wilt, Lord, so lead Thou\\nme,\\nGod, I acknowledge Thee.\\nGod, I acknowledge Thee.\\nSo when the autumn leaves rustle around me,\\nSo when the thunders of battle surround me,\\nFountain of grace, I acknowledge Thee,\\nFather, oh, bless Thou me.\\nFather, oh, bless Thou me.\\nInto Thy care commend I my spirit\\nThou canst reclaim what from Thee I\\ninherit\\nLiving or dying, still bless Thou me,\\nFather, I worship Thee.\\nFather, I worship Thee.\\nNot for earth s riches Thy servants are\\nfighting,\\nHoliest cause with our swords we are\\nrighting\\nConquering or falling, I worship Thee\\nGod, I submit to Thee.\\nGod, I submit to Thee.\\nWhen all the terrors of death are assailing,\\nWhen in my veins e en the life-blood is\\nfailing,\\nLord, unto Thee will I bow the knee,\\nFather, I cry to Thee.\\nKare Theodor K oRNEr.", "height": "4372", "width": "3112", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "88\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nGOD SAVE THE KING.\\nThe national anthem of Great Britain has become so closely-\\nidentified with the hymn America that they seem insepar-\\nable, the music being common to both. Neither Henry nor\\nGeorge S. Carey can be credited, clearly, with its origin. George\\nS. Carey claimed that his father was the author. The following\\nwords by Rev. W. D. Tattersall, harmonized by T. S. Dupuis,\\nDoctor of Music, were used in London in January, 1793, three\\nof the verses being nearly the same as those used about the year\\n1745, in the reign of George II.\\nVersion of 1793.\\nGod save great George our King,\\nLong live our noble King,\\nGod save the King,\\nSend him victorious,\\nHappy and glorious,\\nLong to reign over us,\\nGod save the King\\nLet discord s lawless train\\nKnow their vile arts are vain,\\nBritain is free\\nConfound their politics,\\nFrustrate their knavish tricks,\\nWith equal laws we mix\\nTrue liberty.\\nEngland s stanch soldiery,\\nProof against treachery,\\nBravely unite\\nFirm in his country s cause,\\nHis sword each hero draws,\\nTo guard our King and laws\\nFrom factious might.\\nWhen insults rise to wars,\\nOak-hearted British tars\\nScorn to be slaves\\nRanged in our wooden walls,\\nReady when duty calls\\nTo send their cannon-balls\\nO er Ocean s waves.\\nO Lord our God, arise,\\nScatter our enemies,\\nAnd make them fall.\\nCause civil broils to cease,\\nCommerce and trade t increase;\\nWith plenty, joy, and peace,\\nGod bless us all.\\nGracious to this famed isle,\\nOn our loved Monarch smile,\\nWith mildest rays\\nOh, let thy light divine\\nOn Brunswick s royal line\\nWith cheering influence shine\\nTo latest days.\\nGOD SAVE THE QUEEN,\\nPresent Version.\\nGod save our gracious Queen,\\nLong live our noble Queen,\\nGod save the Queen\\nSend her victorious,\\nHappy and glorious,\\nLong to reign over us\\nGod save the Queen\\nO Lord our God, arise,\\nScatter her enemies,\\nAnd make them fall.\\nConfound their politics,\\nFrustrate their knavish tricks,\\nOn Thee our hopes we fix,\\nOh, save us all.\\nThy choicest gifts in store\\nOn her be pleased to pour.\\nLong may she reign\\nMay she defend our laws,\\nAnd ever give us cause\\nTo sing with heart and voice,\\nGod save the Oueen\\nG\\nTHE RECESSIONAL.\\nod of our fathers, known of old-\\nLord of our far-flung battle-line\\nBeneath Whose awful Hand we hold\\nDominion over palm and pine\\nLord God of Hosts, be with us yet,\\nLest we forget lest we forget\\nThe tumult and the shouting dies\\nThe captains and the kings depart\\nStill stands Thine ancient Sacrifice,\\nAn humble and a contrite heart.\\nLord God of Hosts, be with us yet,\\nLest we forget lest we forget\\nFar- called our navies melt away\\nOn dune and headland sinks the fire\\nLo, all our pomp of yesterday\\nIs one with Nineveh and Tyre\\nJudge of the Nations, spare us yet,\\nLest we forget lest we forget\\nIf, drunk with sight of power, we loose\\nWild tongues that have not Thee in awe-\\nSuch boasting as the Gentiles use", "height": "4388", "width": "3320", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n89\\nOr lesser breeds without the law\\nX^ord God of Hosts, be with us yet,\\nLest we forget lest we forget\\nFor heathen heart that puts her trust\\nIn reeking tube and iron shard\\nAll valiant dust that builds on dust,\\nAnd guarding calls not Thee to guard-\\nFor frantic boast and foolish word,\\nThy mercy on Thy people, Lord\\nAmen.\\nRUDYARD KlPEING.\\nMARCHING TO CUBA.\\nMelody of Marching through Georgia.\\nThis selection may be used as a recitation without the chorus.\\nThis may be made quite a pleasing feature of an entertain-\\nment if boys be dressed in Cuban war uniforms and march back\\nand forth on the stage singing the words to the tune of March-\\ning through Georgia,\\nWe re going down to Cuba, boys, to\\nbattle for the right.\\nWe re going to show those Spaniards\\nthat we Yankee boys can fight,\\nAnd when thej. see us coming they ll\\nscatter left and right,\\nWhen we march into Cuba.\\nChorus.\\nHurrah, hurrah, we ll sound the jubilee,\\nHurrah, hurrah, boys, Cuba shall be\\nfree\\nAnd so we ll sing the chorus, from\\nMt. Gretna to the sea,\\nWhile we are marching to Cuba.\\nv Twas in Manila Bay, boys, our ships the\\nfoe did meet,\\nWe didn t need a hurricane to wreck\\nthe Spanish fleet,\\nBut just one Dewey morning and our\\nvict ry was complete,\\nAs we were marching to Cuba. Chorus.\\nIn Santiago harbor Sampson has them\\nbottled tight.\\nHobson put the cork in, and we think\\nhe did it right\\nAnd when they find they can t get out\\nthey ll have to stand and fight,\\nWhen we march into Cuba. Chorus.\\nWith Dewey, Schley and Sampson we\\nneed not have a fear,\\nFor they will guard the harbors while\\nwe attack the rear\\nWe ll plant our flag on Morro, and give\\none mighty cheer,\\nWhen we march into Cuba. Chorus.\\nW. Gilbert Kayser.\\nTHE MAINE RED, WHITE AND BLUE.\\nAir Red, White and Blue.\\nLET us honor the dead of our nation,\\nthe sailors so brave and so true\\nThe lads who now sleep in the ocean,\\nwho died for the red, white and blue.\\nThe battleship Maine is their casket,\\ntheir souls are with God in review,\\nAnd widows and orphans are mourning\\nthe loss to the red, white and blue.\\nChorus.\\nThree cheers for the red, white and blue\\nThree cheers for the sailor boys true\\nThree cheers for our loyal White Squad-\\nron,\\nAnd three for the red, white and blue\\nThe ironclad Maine at Havana, like a\\nmonarch of absolute rule,\\nUndreaming of woe or disaster, undream-\\ning of knave or of tool,\\nL,ay at rest and at peace in the harbor, the\\nstars watching o er her brave crew,\\nWhen death and destruction o ertook her,\\nand sullied the red, white and blue.\\nChorus.\\nThen honor the dead of her crew,\\nThen honor the living so true\\nThen honor the loyal White Squadron,\\nAnd cheer for the red, white and blue\\nIf treachery s hand held the missile that\\nshattered our noble ship Maine,\\nAmerica s grieved population will discover\\nit, even in Spain\\nAnd the God of our Fathers in justice to\\nthe cause of the brave and the true,\\nWill guide us in wiping dishonor from our\\nbeautiful red, white and blue.\\nJoseph Kerr.", "height": "4380", "width": "3216", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "go\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nOUR HEROES.\\nAir: Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the boys are\\nMarching.\\nIN the battle front you stood\\nWhen the fierce onslaught was made,\\nFrom the trenches on San Juan hill\\nBut before the Spanish knew\\nOur gallant boys in blue\\nWere upon them in the trenches, brave and\\ntrue.\\nChorus.\\nWelcome home, ye gallant heroes,\\nWelcome home yes, one and all\\nWho went forth, like gallant men, to fight\\nour battles again,\\nIn the cause of humanity.\\nWhile encamped upon the field,\\nReady to fight and not to yield\\nTo any foreign foe or Spanish Don\\nFor our Yankee boys will fight\\nIn a cause that s just and right,\\nAnd they re in it to a man with all their\\nmight.\\nSome had fallen on the plain,\\nOthers with fevers they were slain,\\nBut their heart were ever brave and true\\nIn mem ry they shall last,\\nThough their time on earth is passed,\\nFor they ve gone to join the God of battles\\nin heaven anew.\\nAnd our starry banner free\\nShall float o er America,\\nFor our government has no conquest in its\\nplan\\nPuerto Rico we shall keep,\\nAs indemnity Spain can t meet,\\nTo pay for lessons taught by Uncle Sam.\\nYANKEE DEWEY.\\nAmong the hundreds of poems and songs written on Admiral\\nDewey we find the following, a happy parody on Yankee\\nDoodle, and may be sung to the air of that famous song.\\nYankee Dewey went to sea,\\nSailing on a cruiser,\\nHe took along a company,\\nOf men and guns, a few, sir.\\nChorus.\\nWith men and guns and cruisers, too,\\nYou re certainly quite handy.\\nHe sailed away to the Philippines,\\nWith orders for to snatch them,\\nAnd thrash the Spaniards right and left,\\nWherever he could catch them. Chorus\\nAnd Yankee Dewey did it, too,\\nHe did it so complete, sir.\\nThat not a blooming ship is left,\\nOf all that Spanish fleet, sir. Chorus.\\nOh, Yankee Dewey, you re a peach,\\nA noble, gallant tar, sir\\nYou re out of sight, you re out of reach,\\nWe hail} T ou from afar, sir. Chorus.\\nWe greet you with three rousing cheers,\\nFor you and your brave crews, sir\\nFor the deeds you ve done and the victory\\nwon,\\nFor Yankee Doodle Doo, sir. Chorus.\\nYankee Dewey, keep it up,\\nYou certainly are handy,\\nWith men and guns and cruisers, too,\\nOh, Dewey, you re a dandy. Chorus.\\nO. H. Cole.\\nYankee Dewey Ha Ha\\nDewey you re a dandy\\nHa\\nDIXIE UP=TO=DATE.\\nSong of the Southern Volunteers. Tune op Dixie.\\nI wish I were in the far, far North\\nTo cheer my comrades starting forth\\nHurrah, hurah, hurah, hurah\\nTheir fathers were of ours the foes\\nBut that s forgot like last year s snows.\\nHurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah\\nChorus.\\nO Yankeeland and Dixie\\nHurrah Hurrah\\nIn Yankeeland and Dixieland\\nWe re linked together, heart and hand\\nHurrah hurrah for Yankeeland and\\nDixie.\\nThey fought in blue, we fought in gray\\nBut that s a tale of yesterday\\nHurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah\\nAnd now we don the blue again\\nTo down with them the Dons of Spain,\\nHurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah Cho.", "height": "4388", "width": "3236", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nWe re going to drive from Cuba s isle\\nStarvation, tyranny and guile\\nHurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah\\nAnd when we ve downed those Dons of\\nSpain,\\nWhy, then we re coming home again.\\nHurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah Cho.\\nJohn Hall Ingham.\\nTHE BLACK REQIHENT.\\nThe following song, sung by the colored soldiers as they\\nmarched to the front, is a fair specimen of many composed by\\nthe negro troops and their friends during the Spanish War. It is\\ninserted because of its faithfulness to the rude, yet metrical\\nstyle of untutored negro composition.\\nD\\nK cullud troops, dey marchin\\nDe regiments gwine pas\\nEn whar did de Guv ment sen\\nyou?\\nWe gwine ter de Tortu-gas\\nOh, my wife en chillin\\nMake way en lemme pass\\nDe Guv ment sen me fur frum home\\nI gwine to the Tortu-gas\\nDe cullud troops, dey marchin\\nDey trompin down de grass\\nEn whar is de Guv ment sen you\\nWe gwine ter de Tortu-gas\\nOh, my wife en chillin\\nMake way en lemme pass\\nDe Guv ment sen me fur frum home\\nI gwine ter de Tortu-gas.\\nTHE BOER SWAN SONG.\\nOne of the best poems called forth by the Boer-British War of\\n1899-1900, was published in the Capetown Telephone and bears\\nthe above title In the song, the old Boer rifleman is represented\\nas hearing the advance of the British forces with a consciousness\\nthat the dream of a Boer empire in South Africa is at an end.\\nYES, the red-coats are returning I can\\nhear the steady tramp,\\nAfter twenty years of waiting, lulled\\nto sleep.\\nSince rank and file at Potchefstroom we\\nhemmed them in their camp.\\nAnd cut them up at Bronkerspruit like\\nsheep.\\nThey shelled us at Ingogo, but we galloped\\ninto range,\\nAnd we shot the British gunners where\\nthey showed.\\nI guessed they would return to us I knew\\nthe chance must change\\nHark the rooi-baatje singing on the\\nroad\\nBut now from snow -swept Canada, from\\nIndia s torrid plains,\\nFrom lone Australian outposts, hither\\nled;\\nObeying their commando, as they heard the\\nbugle s strains.\\nThe men in brown have joined the men\\nin red.\\nThey come to find the colors at Majuba left\\nand lost,\\nThey come to pay us back the debt they\\nowed\\nAnd I hear new voices lifted, and I see\\nstrange colors tossed,\\nMid the rooi-baatje singing on the road.\\nThe old, old faiths must falter, the old, old\\ncreeds must fail\\nI hear it in that distant murmur low\\nThe old, old order changes, and tis vain\\nfor us to rail\\nThe great world does not want us we\\nmust go.\\nAnd veldt, and spruit, and kopje to the\\nstranger will belong,\\nNo more to trek before him we shall\\nload\\nToo well, too well I know it, for I hear it\\nin the song\\nOf the rooi-baatje singing on the road.\\nS. J. O. B.\\nTHE BOER NATIONAL HYMN.\\nSung in camp almost every morning, and also at Sabbath\\nworship during the Boer-British War, 1899 and 1900, in South\\nAfrica.\\nRight nobly gave, voortrekkers brave,\\nTheir blood, their lives, their all\\nFor freedom s right, in death s despite,\\nThey fought at duty s call.\\nHo, burghers High our banner waveth,\\nThe standard of the free,\\nNo foreign yoke our land enslaveth,\\nHere reigneth liberty.\\n^Tis Heaven s command, here we should\\nstand,\\nAnd aye defend the volk and land.", "height": "4356", "width": "3216", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "92\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nWhat realm so fair, so richly fraught,\\nWith treasures ever new,\\nWhere nature hath her wonders wrought,\\nAnd freely spread to view\\nHo, burghers old Be up and singing,\\nGod save the Volk and land,\\nThis, burghers new, your anthem ringing,\\nO er veldt, o er hill, o er strand.\\nAnd burghers all, stand ye or fall,\\nFor hearths and homes at country s call.\\nWith wisdom, Lord, our rulers guide,\\nAnd these Thy people bless\\nMay we with nations all abide\\nIn peace and righteousness.\\nTo Thee, whose mighty arm hath shielded\\nThy volk in by-gone days,\\nTo Thee alone be humbly yielded\\nAll glory, honor, praise.\\nGod guard our land, our own dear land,\\nOur children s home, their Fatherland.\\nA PARODY ON AULD LANG SYNE.\\nSpecial Cable to The North American.\\nAt a concert given at Bloemfoatein, Orange Free State, April\\n18, 1900, in aid of the widows and orphans fund, organized by the\\nwar correspondents, where the leaders of the army were present.\\nKipling s new poem was sung to the music of Auld Lang Syne.\\nThe poem follows\\nWe welcome to our hearts to-night\\nOur kinsmen from afar,\\nBrothers in an empire s fight\\nAnd comrades of our war.\\nFor Auld Lang Syne, my lads,\\nAnd the fights of Auld Lang Syne\\nWe drink our cup of fellowship\\nTo the fights of Auld Lang Syne.\\nThe shamrock, thistle, leek and rose,\\nWith hearts and wattle twine,\\nAnd maple from Canadian snows\\nFor the sake of Auld Lang Syne.\\nFor Auld Lang Syne take hands\\nFrom London to the line\\nGood luck to these that toiled with us\\nSince the days of Auld Lang Syne.\\nAgain to all we hold most dear\\nIn life we left behind,\\nThe wives we won, the bairnes we kissed\\nAnd the loves of Auld Lang Syne\\nFor surely you have your sweetheart,\\nAnd surely I have mine\\nWe toast her name in silence here\\nAnd the girls of Auld Lang Syne,\\nAnd last to him, the little man,\\nWho led our fighting line\\nFrom Cabul on to Kandahar\\nIn the days of Auld Lang Syne\\nFor Auld Lang Syne and Bobs,\\nOur chief of Auld Lang Syne,\\nWe re here to do his work again\\nAs we did in Auld Lang Syne.\\nCAMP CALLS.\\nThe reciter of the following lines should imitate the tones and\\ntime of the bugle calls they represent. If some military friend\\nwith a bugle or cornet be available the lines should be practised\\nwith his accompaniment to train the voice proficiently. The\\nwords should be spoken distinctly.\\nI can t git em up\\nI can t git em up\\nI can t git em up in the morning.\\nI can t git em up,\\nI can t git em up,\\nI can t git em up at all\\nThe corporal s worse than the sergeant,\\nThe sergeant s worse than lieutenant,\\nAnd the captain s the worst of all\\nGo to the stable,\\nAll ye that are able,\\nAnd give your horses some corn,\\nFor if you don t do it,\\nThe captain will know it,\\nAnd give you the devil\\nAs sure as you re born\\nOh, where has that cook gone,\\nCook gone,\\nCook gone.\\nWhere has that cook gone\\nWhere the aitch is he-e-e\\nTwenty years till dinner time.\\nDinner time,\\nDinner time,\\nTwenty years till dinner time.\\nSo it seems to me-e-e\\nCome and git your quinine,\\nQuinine, quinine, quinine\\nCome and git your quinine,\\nAnd your pills\\nSoupy, soupy, soup\\nWithout any beans\\nAn coffee, coffee, coffee\\nThe meanest ever seen 1", "height": "4380", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n93\\nREVEILLE.\\nThe effect of the following recitation will be greatly enhanced\\nif the speaker dress in soldier uniform and carry a rifle as if on\\nsentinel duty, and the words in italics be spoken to the accom-\\npaniment of a bugle or cornet sounding the notes softly behind\\na curtain or in adjoining room.\\nThk morning is cheery my boys, arouse\\nThe dew shines bright on the chestnut\\nboughs,\\nAnd the sleepy mist on the river lies,\\nThough the east is flushing with crimson\\ndyes.\\nAwake awake awake\\nO er field and wood and brake,\\nWith glories newly born,\\nComes on the blushing morn,\\nAwake awake\\nYou have dreamed of your homes and your\\nfriends all night\\nYou have basked in your sweethearts smiles\\nso bright\\nCome, part with them all for a while again\\nBe lovers in dreams when awake, be men.\\nTurn out! turn out turn out!\\nYou have dreamed full long I know,\\nTurn out turn out tur?i out\\nThe east is all aglow.\\nTurn out turn out\\nFrom every valley and hill there come\\nThe clamoring voices of fife and drum\\nAnd out on the fresh, cool morning air\\nThe soldiers are swarming everywhere.\\nFall in fall in fall in\\nEvery man in his place.\\nFall in fall in fall in\\nKach with a cheerful face.\\nFall in fall in\\nMichael O Connor.\\nDIRGE OF THE DRUMS.\\nIn pronouncing these words imitate in deep measured tones\\nthe sound of the drum-beat.\\nDEAD Dead Dead, dead, dead\\nTo the solemn beat of the last retreat\\nThat falls like lead,\\nBear the hero now to his honored rest\\nWith the badge of courage upon his breast,\\nWhile the sun sinks down in the gleaming\\nWest-\\nDead Dead Dead\\nDead Dead Mourn the dead\\nWhile the mournful notes of the bugles\\nfloat\\nAcross his bed,\\nAnd the guns shall toll on the vibrant air\\nThe knell of the victor lying there\\nTis a fitting sound for a soldier s prayer\\nDead Dead Dead\\nDead Dead Dead, dead, dead\\nTo the muffled beat of the lone retreat\\nAnd speeding lead,\\nLay the hero low to his well-earned rest,\\nIn the land he loved, on her mother breast,\\nWhile the sunlight dies in the darkening\\nWest-\\nDead Dead Dead\\nRalph Alton.\\nA MOTHER S LAMENT.\\nSuitable for Decoration Day entertainment. If the reciter\\nbe dressed in the garb of a bereaved mother the effect will be\\nbetter.\\nIn Rama was there a voice heard,\\nRachel weeping for her children.\\nI am but one of the many the mothers\\nwho weep and who mourn\\nFor the dear sons slain in the battle\\nOh burden of sorrow borne\\nAt the thought of their needed comforts,\\ntheir hardships along the way\\nBut we prayed to Thee, loving Father, to\\nsustain them day by day\\nNow our hearts are dumb in our anguish,\\nand our lips refuse to pray.\\nThey are slain in the cruel battle, the\\npitiless chance of war\\nFrom the homes that they were the light\\nof, from those that they loved afar,\\nWith no mother-kisses to soothe them, no\\nministry of loving hand\\nBut tis well with them, now and forever,\\nfor they live in the better land,\\nWhere Thy peace shall abide forever, and\\nnever an armed band.\\nFor they were Thy heroes, dear Father;\\nthey fell as Thy heroes fall,\\nAnd loyal, and true, and undaunted, they\\nanswered their country s call\\nThey laid their young lives on her altar,\\nfor her will their blood was shed", "height": "4388", "width": "3216", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "94\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nAnd now there is naught that can comfort\\nthe mothers whose hearts have bled\\nFor the sons who went to the battle, by\\nthe chance of the battle dead.\\nGod, Thou hast tender pity, and love\\nfor the broken in heart,\\nBut not even Thou can st comfort, for there\\nis no comfort apart\\nFrom the son who went out from my cling-\\ning O God, I cry to Thee\\n1 grope in the darkness to clasp him that\\ndarkness that hides from me\\nThe sight of Thy hand, dear Father!\\nthough outstretched to comfor it be.\\nIsidor D. French.\\nSAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.\\nWarriors and chiefs should the shaft\\nor the sword\\nPierce me in leading the hosts of\\nthe Lord,\\nHeed not the corse, though a king s, in\\nyour path\\nBury your steel in the bosoms of Gath\\nThou who art bearing my buckler and bow,\\nShould the soldiers of Saul look away from\\nthe foe,\\nStretch me that moment in blood at thy\\nfeet!\\nMine be the doom, which they dared not to\\nmeet.\\nFarewell to others, but never we part,\\nHeir to my royalty, son of my heart\\nBright is the diadem, boundless the sway,\\nOr kingly the death, which awaits us\\nto-day\\nByron.\\nWASHINGTON TO HIS SOLDIERS.\\nAn address delivered by the father of his country to his army\\nbefore they began the battle of Long Island, 1776.\\nThe time is now near at hand which must\\nprobably determine whether Ameri-\\ncans are to be freemen or slaves\\nwhether they are to have any property they\\ncan call their own whether their houses\\nand farms are to be pillaged and destroyed,\\nand themselves consigned to a state of\\nwretchedness from which no human efforts\\nwill deliver them. The fate of unborn mill-\\nions will now depend, under God, on the\\ncourage and conduct of this army Our cruel\\nand unrelenting enemy leaves us only the\\nchoice of a brave resistance, or the most\\nabject submission. We have, therefore, to\\nresolve to conquer or to die.\\nOur own, our country s honor, calls upon\\nus for a vigorous and manly exertion and\\nif we now shamefully fail, we shall become\\ninfamous to the whole world. Let us, then,\\nrely on the goodness of our cause, and the\\naid of the Supreme Being, in whose hands\\nvictory is, to animate and encourage us to\\ngreat and noble actions. The eyes of all our\\ncountrymen are now upon us and we shall\\nhave their blessings and praises, if happily\\nwe are the instruments of saving them from\\nthe tyranny meditated against them. Let\\nus, therefore, animate and encourage each\\nother, and show the whole world that a free-\\nman contending for liberty on his own\\nground is superior to any slavish mercenary\\non earth.\\nLiberty, property, life and honor, are all\\nat stake. Upon your courage and conduct\\nrest the hopes of our bleeding and insulted\\ncountry. Our wives, children and parents,\\nexpect safety from us only and they have\\nevery reason to believe that Heaven will\\ncrown with success so just a cause. The\\nenemy will endeavor to intimidate by show\\nand appearance; butremember they havebeen\\nrepulsed on various occasions by a few brave\\nAmericans Their cause is bad, their men\\nare conscious of it and, if opposed with\\nfirmness and coolness on their first onset,\\nwith our advantage of works, and knowl-\\nedge of the ground, the victory is most\\nassuredly ours. Every good soldier will be\\nsilent and attentive, wait for orders, and\\nreserve his fire until he is sure of doing exe-\\ncution.\\nTHE FOURTH OF JULY.\\nTo the sages who spoke, to the heroes who\\nbled,\\nTo the day and the deed, strike the harp-\\nstrings of glory\\nLet the song of the ransomed remember the\\ndead,\\nAnd the tongue of the eloquent hallow\\nthe story", "height": "4388", "width": "3248", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n95\\nO er the bones of the bold\\nBe that story long told,\\nAnd on fame s golden tablets their tri-\\numphs enrolled,\\nWho on freedom s green hills freedom s\\nbanner unfurled,\\nAnd the beacon fire raised that gave light to\\nthe world\\nThey are gone mighty men and they\\nsleep in their fame\\nShall we ever forget them? O, never!\\nno, never\\nLet our sons learn from us to embalm each\\ngreat name,\\nAnd the anthem send down, Inde-\\npendence forever\\nWake, wake, heart and tongue\\nKeep the theme ever young\\nLet their deeds through the long line of\\nages be sung,\\nWho on freedom s green hills freedom s\\nbanner unfurled,\\nAnd the beacon-fire raised that gave light\\nto the world\\nCHARLES SPRAGUE\\nTHE HERO OF THE COMMUNE.\\nThe hero of this poem became the greatest general in Napol-\\neon s army.\\ni i arcon You you\\nVJ Snared along with this cursed\\ncrew\\n(Only a child, and yet so bold,\\nScarcely as much as ten years old\\nDo you hear do you know\\nWhy the gens d amies put you there, in tne\\nrow,\\nYou with those Commune wretches tall,\\nWith your face to the wall\\n1 Know To be sure I know Why not\\nWe re here to be shot\\nAnd there by the pillar s the very spot,\\nFighting for France, my father fell.\\nAh, well\\nThat s just the way would choose to fall,\\nWith my back to the wall\\n(Sacre Fair, open fight I say,\\nIs something right gallant in its way,\\nAnd fine for warming the blood but\\nwho\\nWants wolfish work like this to do\\nBah! tis a butcher s business How?\\n(The boy is beckoning to me now\\nI knew that this poor child s heart\\nwould fail,\\nYet his cheek s not pale\\nQuick say your say, for don t you see\\nWhen the church-clock yonder tolls out\\nThree,\\nYou are all to be shot\\nWhat?\\ni Excuse you one moment? O, ho, ho\\nDo you think to fool a gen d armes so\\nBut, sir, here s a watch that a friend, one\\nday,\\n(My father s friend) just over the way,\\nLent me and if you let me free\\nIt still lacks seven minutes of Three\\nI ll come on the word of a soldier s son,\\nStraight back into line, when my errand s\\ndone.\\nHa, ha No doubt of it Off! Begone\\n(Now, good St. Dennis, speed him on\\nThe work will be easier since he s saved\\nFor I hardly see how I could have braved\\nThe ardor of that innocent eye,\\nAs he stood and heard,\\nWhile I gave the word,\\nDooming him like a dog to die.)\\nIn time Well, thanks, that my desire\\nWas granted and now I m ready Fire\\nOne word that s all\\nYou ll let me turn my back to the wall\\nParbleu Come out of the line, I say,\\nCome out (Who said that his name was\\nNey?)\\nHa France will hear of him yet, one\\nday!\\nMargaret J. Prkston.\\nHEN ALWAYS FIT FOR FREEDOM.\\nTHERE is only one cure for the evils which\\nnewly-acquired freedom produces,\\nand that cure is freedom When a pris-\\noner leaves his cell, he cannot bear the light\\nof day he is unable to discriminate colors,\\nor recognize faces but the remedy is not to", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "9 6\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nremand him into his dungeon, but to accus-\\ntom him to the rays of the sun. The blaze\\nof truth and liberty may at first dazzle and\\nbewilder nations which have become half\\nblind in the house of bondage but let them\\ngaze on, and they will soon be able to bear\\nit. In a few years men learn to reason the\\nextreme violence of opinion subsides hos-\\ntile theories correct each other the scat-\\ntered elements of truth cease to conflict, and\\nbegin to coalesce and, at length, a system\\nof justice and order is educed out of the\\nchaos. Many politicians of our time are in\\nthe habit of laying it down as a self-evident\\nproposition, that no people ought to be free\\ntill they are fit to use their freedom. The\\nmaxim is worthy of the fool in the old\\nstory, who resolved not to go into the water\\ntill he had learned to swim If men are to\\nwait for tiberty till they become wise and\\ngood in slavery they may, indeed, wait for-\\never T. B. MacauIvY.\\nNAPOLEON S FAREWELL TO HIS ARMY\\nAT FONTAINEBLEAU, 1814.\\nSoldiers receive my adieu. During\\ntwenty years that we have lived\\ntogether, I am satisfied with you. I\\nhave always found you in the paths of\\nglory. All the powers of Europe have\\narmed against me. Some of my generals\\nhave betrayed their trust and France. My\\ncountry herself has wished another destiny\\nwith you, and the other brave men who\\nhave remained true to me, I could have\\nmaintained a civil war but France would\\nhave been unhappy.\\nBe faithful to your new king. Be sub-\\nmissive to your new generals and do not\\nabandon our dear country. Mourn not\\nmy fortunes. I shall be happy while I am\\nsure of your happiness. I might have\\ndied but if I have consented to live, it is\\nstill to serve your glory I shall record\\nnow the great deeds which we have done\\ntogether.\\nBring me the eagle standard let me\\npress it to my heart. Farewell, mychildren,\\nmy hearty wishes go with you. Preserve\\nme in your memories.\\nNapoleon Bonaparte.\\nINCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP.\\nYou know we French stormed Ratisbon\\nA mile or so away,\\nOn a little mound, Napoleon\\nStood on our storming-day\\nWith neck out- thrust, you fancy how,\\nLegs wide, arms locked behind,\\nAs if to balance the prone brow,\\nOppressive with its mind.\\nJust as perhaps he mused, My plans\\nThat soar, to earth may fall,\\nLet once my army-leader Lannes\\nWaver at yonder wall\\nOut twixt the battery-smokes there flew\\nA rider, bound on bound\\nFull galloping nor bridle drew\\nUntil he reached the mound\\nThen off there flung in smiling joy,\\nAnd held himself erect\\nBy just his horse s mane, a boy\\nYou hardly could suspect\\n(So tight he kept his lips compressed,\\nScarce any blood came through),\\nYou looked twice ere you saw his breast\\nWas all but shot in two.\\nWell, cried he, Emperor, by God s\\ngrace,\\nWe ve got you Ratsibon\\nThe marshal s in the market place,\\nAnd you ll be there anon\\nTo see your flag-bird flap his vans\\nWhere I, to heart s desire,\\nPerched him The chief s eye flashed\\nhis plans\\nSoared up again like fire.\\nThe chief s eye flashed but presently\\nSoftened itself, as sheathes\\nA film the mother eagle s eye\\nWhen her bruised eaglet breathes\\nYou re wounded Nay, his soldier s\\npride\\nTouched to the quick, he said\\nI m killed, sire And, his chief beside,\\nSmiling, the boy fell dead.\\nRobert Browning.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n97\\nTHE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA S RIDE.\\nShould be spoken with rapidity. The speaker in excited\\nmanner indicates by gesture and attitude the flight of the Queen.\\nThe circumstance in history may be referred to by the speaker\\nbefore reciting the poem as follows The Queen of Prussia was\\npresent when her army was routed by Napoleon at the Battle of\\nJena, 1807. She was mounted on a superb charger attended by\\nthree or four escorts, when a band of hussars seeing her, rushed\\nforward to capture the royal lady, pursuing her all the way to\\nWeimar. Had not the charger which she rode possessed a fleet-\\nness unequalled by any in the pursuing band, the fair Queen\\nwould have been made a prisoner.\\nFair Queen, away To thy charger\\nspeak\\nA band of hussars they capture seek.\\nOh, haste escape they are riding this\\nway.\\nSpeak speak to thy charger without delay\\nThey re nigh.\\nBehold They come at a break-neck pace,\\nA smile triumphant illumes each face.\\nQueen of the Prussians, now for a race,\\nTo Weimar for safety fly\\nShe turned, and her steed with a furious\\ndash\\nOver the fields like the lightning s flash\\nfled.\\nAway, like an arrow from steel cross-bow,\\nOver hill and dale in the sun s fierce glow,\\nThe Queen and her enemies thundering go.\\nOn toward Weimar they sped.\\nThe royal courser is swift and brave,\\nAnd his royal rider he strives to save\\nBut no\\nVive Vempereur! rings sharp and clear;\\nShe turns and is startled to see them so\\nnear,\\nThen softly speaks in her charger s ear\\nAnd away he bounds like a roe.\\nHe speeds as though on the wings of the\\nwind,\\nThe Queen s pursuers are left behind.\\nNo more\\nShe fears, though each trooper grasps his\\nreins,\\nStands up in his stirrups, strikes spurs and\\nstrains,\\nFor ride as they may, her steed still gains\\nAnd Weimar is just before.\\nSafe The clatter now fainter grows\\nShe sees in the distance her laboring foes,\\nThe gates of the fortress stand open wide\\nTo welcome the German nation s bride so\\ndear.\\nWith gallop and dash, into Weimar she\\ngoes,\\nAnd the gates at once on her enemies close.\\nGive thanks, give thanks She is safe with\\nthose\\nWho hail her with cheer on cheer\\nA. L. A. Smith.\\nMARCO BOZZARIS.\\nThis poem has been pronounced the best martial lyric in the\\nlanguage. Marco Bozzaris (pronounced Bot-zah-ri) fell in his\\nattack upon the Turkish camp at Lapsi, August 20, 1823, and\\nexpired in the moment of victory. Kitz-Green Halleck, the\\nauthor of this famous poem, is an American.\\nAT midnight, in his guarded tent,\\nThe Turk was dreaming of the\\nhour\\nWhen Greece, her kiiee in suppliance bent,\\nShould tremble at his power\\nIn dreams, through camp and court he bore\\nThe trophies of a conqueror\\nIn dreams, his song of triumph heard\\nThen wore his monarch s signet ring\\nThen pressed that monarch s throne a\\nking;\\nAs wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,\\nAs Eden s garden bird.\\nAt midnight, in the forest shades,\\nBozzaris ranged his Suliote band,\\nTrue as the steel of their tried blades,\\nHeroes in heart and hand.\\nThere had the Persian s thousands stood,\\nThere had the glad earth drunk their blood\\nOn old Platsea s day\\nAnd now there breathed that haunted air\\nThe sons of sires who conquered there,\\nWith arm to strike, and soul to dare,\\nAs quick, as far as they.\\nAn hour passed on the Turk awoke\\nThat bright dream was his last\\nHe woke to hear his sentries shriek,\\nTo arms they come the Greek the\\nGreek!\\nHe woke to die midst flame, and smoke,\\nAnd shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke,\\nAnd death-shots falling thick and fast\\nAs lightnings from the mountain- cloud\\nAnd heard, with voice as trumpet loud,\\nBozzaris cheer his band\\nStrike till the last armed foe expires\\nStrike for your altars and your fires\\nStrike for the green graves of yonr sires:\\nGod, and your native land", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "9 8\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nThey fought, like brave men, long and\\nwell\\nThey piled that ground with Moslem slain\\nThey conquered but Bozzaris fell,\\nBleeding at every vein.\\nHis few surviving comrades saw\\nHis smile when rang their proud hurrah\\nAnd the red field was won\\nThen saw in death his eyelids close\\nCalmly, as to a night s repose,\\nLike flowers at set of sun.\\nBozzaris with the storied brave,\\nGreece nurtured in her glory s time,\\nRest thee there is no prouder grave,\\nEven in her own proud clime.\\nShe wore no funeral weeds for thee,\\nNor bade the dark hearse wave its plume,\\nLike torn branch from death s leafless tree,\\nIn sorrow s pomp and pageantry,\\nThe heartless luxury of the tomb\\nBut she remembers thee as one\\nLong loved and for a season gone.\\nFor thee her poets lyre is wreathed,\\nHer marble wrought, her music breathed\\nFor thee she rings the birthday bells\\nOf thee her babes first lisping tells\\nFor thine her evening prayer is said\\nAt palace couch, and cottage bed\\nHer soldier, closing with the foe,\\nGives for thy sake a deadlier blow\\nHis plighted maiden, when she fears\\nFor him, the joy of her young years,\\nThinks of thy fate, and checks her tears.\\nAnd she, the mother of thy boys,\\nThough in her eye and faded cheek\\nIs read the grief she will not speak,\\nThe memory of her buried joys,\\nAnd even she who gave thee birth,\\nWill, by their pilgrim-circled hearth,\\nTalk of thy doom without a sigh\\nFor thou art freedom s now, and fame s,\\nOne of the few, the immortal names\\nThat were not born to die.\\nFitz-Green Halleck.\\nCHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE*\\nHalf a league, half a league,\\nHalf a league onward,\\nAll in the valley of death\\nRode the six hundred.\\nForward, the Light Brigade!\\nCharge for the guns he said.\\nInto the valley of death,\\nRode the six hundred.\\nForward, the Light Brigade!\\nWas there a man dismayed\\nNot though the soldiers knew\\nSome one had blundered\\nTheirs not to make reply,\\nTheirs not to reason why,\\nTheirs but to do and die\\nInto the valley of death,\\nRode the six hundred.\\nCannon to right of them,\\nCannon to left of them,\\nCannon in front of them,\\nVolleyed and thundered\\nStormed at with shot and shell,\\nBoldly they rode and well\\nInto the jaws of death,\\nInto the mouth of hell,\\nRode the six hundred.\\nFlashed all their sabres bare,\\nFlashed as they turned in air,\\nSab ring the gunners there,\\nCharging an army, while\\nAll the world wondered\\nPlunged in the battery smoke,\\nRight through the line they broke\\nCossack and Russian\\nReeled from the sabre-stroke,\\nShattered and sundered.\\nThen they rode back but not,\\nNot the six hundred.\\nCannon to right of them,\\nCannon to left of them,\\nCannon behind them,\\nVolleyed and thundered.\\nStormed at with shot and shell,\\nWhile horse and hero fell,\\nThey that had fought so well,\\nCame through the jaws of death,\\nBack from the mouth of hell,\\nAll that was left of them,\\nLeft of six hundred.\\nWhen can their glory fade\\nO, the wild charge they made\\nAll the world wondered.\\nHonor the charge they made\\nHonor the Light Brigade,\\nNoble six hundred\\nAlfred Tennyson.", "height": "4388", "width": "3236", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "k\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n99\\nOBJECTION TO THE MEXICAN WAR.\\nIn opposing the Mexican War Daniel Webster uttered the\\nfollowing words against expansion of territory:\\nSir, to speak more seriously, this war was\\nwaged for the object of creating new\\nStates on the southern frontier of the\\nUnited States out of Mexican territory, and\\nwith such population as could be found resi-\\ndent thereupon. I have opposed this object.\\nI am against all accessions of territory to\\nform new States. And this is no matter of\\nsentimentality, which I am to parade before\\nmass-meetings or before my constituents at\\nhome. It is not a matter with me of declama-\\ntion or of regret, or of expressed repugnance.\\nIt is a matter of firm unchangeable purpose.\\nI yield nothing to the force of circumstances\\nthat have occurred, or that I can consider\\nas likely to occur. And therefore I say,\\nsir, that if I were asked to-day whether,\\nfor the sake of peace, I would take a treaty\\nfor adding two new states to the Union on\\nour southern border, I would say No\\ndistinctly, No And I wish every man in\\nthe United States to understand that to be\\nmy judgment and my purpose.\\nI said upon our southern border, because\\nthe present proposition takes that locality.\\nI would say the same of the western, the\\nnortheastern, or of any other border. I\\nresist to-day, and for ever, and to the end,\\nany proposition to add any foreign territory,\\nsouth or west, north or east, to the States\\nof this Union as they are constituted and\\nheld together under the constitution. Sir,\\nI see well enough all the adverse indica-\\ntions. But I am sustained by a deep and a\\nconscientious sense of duty and while\\nsupported by that feeling, and while such\\ngreat interests are at stake, I defy auguries,\\nand ask no omen but my country s cause.\\nD. Webster.\\nGUSTAVUS VASA TO THE DALECARLIANS.\\nChristian II., King of Denmark, having made himself master\\nof Sweden, confined Gustavus at Copenhagen but he, making\\nhis escape, contrived to reach the Dalecarlian mountains, where\\nhe was for sometime hidden. Having seized a favorable oppor-\\ntunity, he declared himself to the peasants, whom he incited\\nto join his cause. Fortune befriended him, and in the year 1523\\nhe gained the throne of Sweden.\\nSWEDES countrymen behold at last,\\nafter a thousand dangers past, your\\nchief, Gustavus, here. Long have I\\nsighed mid foreign bands, long have I\\nroamed in foreign lands; at length mid\\nSwedish hearts and hands, I grasp a Swedish\\nspear! Yet, looking forth, although I see\\nnone but the fearless and the free, sad\\nthoughts the sight inspires for where, I\\nthink, on Swedish ground, save where these\\nmountains frown around, can that best\\nheritage be found the freedom of our sires\\nYes, Sweden pines beneath the yoke\\nthe galling chain our fathers broke is round\\nour country now On perjured craft and\\nruthless guilt his power a tyrant Dane has\\nbuilt, and Sweden s crown, all blood-bespilt\\nrests on a foreign brow.\\nOn you your country turns her eyes\\non you, on you, for aid relies, scions of\\nnoblest stem The foremost place in rolls\\nof fame, by right your fearless fathers\\nclaim yours is the glory of their name\\ntis yours to equal them. As rushing down,\\nwhen winter reigns, resistless to the shak-\\ning plains, the torrent tears its way, and all\\nthat bars its onward course sweeps to the\\nsea with headlong force, so swept your\\nsires the Danes and Norse can ye do less\\nthan they f\\nRise re-assert your ancient pride, and\\ndown the hills a living tide of fiery valor\\npour. Let but the storm of battle lower,\\nback to his den the foe will cower then,\\nthen shall Freedom s glorious hour strike\\nfor our land once more What silent\\nmotionless, ye stand Gleams not an eye\\nMoves not a hand Think ye to fly your\\nfate? Or till some better cause be given,\\nwait ye? Then wait till, banished, driven,\\nye fear to meet the face of Heaven till ye\\nare slaughtered, wait\\nBut no your kindling hearts gainsay\\nthe thought. Hark Hear that blood-\\nhound s bay Yon blazing village see\\nRise, countrymen Awake Defy the\\nhaughty Dane Your battle cry be Free-\\ndom We will do or die On Death\\nor victory\\nTHE BABY AND THE SOLDIERS.\\nFrom time immemorial the fondness of the soldier for chil-\\ndren has been marked. The following incident is but one of\\nthousands embalmed in literatur.\\nRough and ready the troopers ride,\\nGreat bearded men, with swords by\\nside\\nThey have ridden long, they have ridden\\nhard,\\nLrfC", "height": "4388", "width": "3212", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "loo\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nThey are travel-stained and battle-scarred\\nThe hard ground shakes with their martial\\ntramp,\\nAnd coarse is the laugh of the men in camp.\\nThey reach the spot where the mother\\nstands\\nWith a baby clapping its little hands,\\nLaughing aloud at the gallant sight\\nOf the mounted soldiers fresh from the fight.\\nThe Captain laughs out: I ll give you\\nthis,\\nA handful of gold, your baby to kiss.\\nSmiles the mother A kiss can t be sold,\\nBut gladly he ll kiss a soldier bold.\\nHe lifts the baby with manly grace\\nAnd covers with kisses its smiling face,\\nIts rosy lips and its dimpled charms,\\nAnd it crows with delight in the soldier s\\narms.\\nNot all for the Captain the soldiers call\\nThe baby, we know, has one for all.\\nTo the soldiers breasts the baby is pressed\\nBy the strong, rough men, and by turns\\ncaressed,\\nAnd louder it laughs, and the mother fair,\\nSmiles with mute joy as the kisses they\\nshare.\\nJust such a kiss, cries one trooper grim,\\nWhen I left my boy I gave to him\\nAnd just such a kiss on the parting day\\nI gave to my girl as asleep she lay.\\nSuch were the words of the soldiers brave,\\nAnd their eyes were moist as the kiss they\\ngave.\\nON THE FORCE BILL.\\nFor what purpose is the unlimited control\\nof the purse and of the sword to be\\nplaced at the disposition of the execu-\\ntive To make war against one of the free\\nand sovereign members of this confedera-\\ntion, which the bill proposes to deal with,\\nnot as a State, but as a collection of banditti\\nor outlaws thus exhibiting the impious\\nspectacle of this government, the creature\\nof the States, making war against the power\\nto which it owes its existence\\nDo I say that the bill declares war against\\nSouth Carolina No It decrees a massa-\\ncre of her citizens War has something\\nennobling about it, and, with all its horrors,\\nbrings into action the highest qualities,\\nintellectual and moral. It was, perhaps, in\\nthe order of Providence, that it should be\\npermitted for that very purpose. But this\\nbill declares no war, except, indeed, it be\\nthat which savages wage; a war, not against\\nthe community, but the citizens of whom\\nthat community is composed. But I regard\\nit as worse than savage warfare as an\\nattempt to take away life, under the color\\nof law, without the trial by jury, or any\\nother safeguard which the constitution has\\nthrown around the life of the citizen It\\nauthorizes the President, or even his depu-\\nties, when they may suppose the law to be\\nviolated, without the intervention of a court\\nor jury, to kill without mercy or discrimi-\\nnation.\\nIt has been said, by the senator from\\nTennessee, to be a measure of peace Yes,\\nsuch peace as the wolf gives to the lamb,\\nthe kite to the dove Such peace as Russia\\ngives to Poland, or death to its victim\\nA peace by extinguishing the political\\nexistence of the State, by awing her into\\nan abandonment of the exercise of every\\npower which constitutes her a sovereign\\ncommunity It is to South Carolina a\\nquestion of self-preservation and I pro-\\nclaim it, that, should this bill pass, nd an\\nattempt be made to enforce it, it will be\\nresisted at every hazard even that of death\\nitself!\\nDeath is not the greatest calamity there\\nare others, still more terrible to the free and\\nbrave, and among them may be placed the\\nloss of liberty and honor. There are\\nthousands of her brave sons who, if need\\nbe, are prepared cheerfully to lay down\\ntheir lives in defense of the State, and the\\ngreat principles of constitutional liberty for\\nwhich she is contending. God forbid that\\nthis should become necessary It never\\ncan be, unless this government is resolved\\nto bring the question to extremity; when\\nher gallant sons will stand prepared to per-\\nform the last duty to die nobly\\nJohn C. Calhoun.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nIOT\\nPEACEABLE SECESSION IMPOSSIBLE.\\nThis eloquent and prophetic passage from a speech delivered\\nby Daniel Webster many years before the great Civil War, was\\nfulfilled with fearful accuracy.\\nMr. President, I should much prefer\\nto have heard from every member on\\nthis floor declarations of opinion that\\nthis Union could never be dissolved, than\\nthe declaration of opinion by any body that,\\nin any case, under the pressure of any cir-\\ncumstances, such a dissolution was possible.\\nI hear with distress and anguish the word\\nsecession, especially when it falls from\\nthe lips of those who are patriotic, and\\nknown to the country, and known all over\\nthe world for their political services.\\nSecession Peaceable secession Sir,\\nyour eyes and mine are never destined to\\nsee that miracle. The dismemberment of\\nthis vast country without convulsion The\\nbreaking up of the fountains of the great\\ndeep without ruffling the surface Who is\\nso foolish I beg everybody s pardon as to\\nexpect to see any such thing\\nSir, he who sees these States now revolv-\\ning in harmony around a common center,\\nand expects to see them quit their places\\nand fly off without convulsion, may look\\nthe next hour to see the heavenly bodies\\nrush from their spheres, and jostle against\\neach other in the realms of space, with-\\nout causing the crush of the universe.\\nThere can be no such thing as a peace-\\nable secession. Peaceable secession is\\nan utter impossibility. Is the great consti-\\ntution under which we live, covering this\\nwhole country is it to be thawed and melted\\naway by secession, as the snows on the\\nmountain melt under the influence of a ver-\\nnal sun, disappear almost unobserved, and\\nrun off? No, sir No, sir I will not state\\nwhat might produce the disruption of the\\nUnion but, sir, I see as plainly as I see the\\nsun in heaven, what that disruption itself\\nmust produce I see that it must produce\\nwar, and such a war as I will not describe,\\nin its two-fold character. D. WKBSTKR.\\nerty and dedicated to the proposition that\\nall men are created equal.\\nNow we are engaged in a great civil war,\\ntesting whether that nation, or any nation\\nso conceived and so dedicated, can long\\nendure. We are met on a great battlefield\\nof that war. We have come to dedicate a\\nportion of that field as a final resting place\\nfor those who here gave their lives that that\\nnation might live. It is altogether fitting\\nand proper that we should do this.\\nBut, in a larger sense, we cannot dedi-\\ncate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hal-\\nlow this ground. The brave men, living\\nand dead, who struggled here, have conse-\\ncrated it far above our poor power to add or\\ndetract. The world will little uote, nor\\nlong remember, what we say here, but it can\\nnever forget what they did here. It is for\\nus, the living, rather to be dedicated here\\nto the unfinished work which they who\\nfought here have thus far so nobly advanced.\\nIt is rather for us to be here dedicated to the\\ngreat task remaining before us that from\\nthe same honored dead we take increased\\ndevotion to that cause for which they gave\\nthe last full measure of devotion that we\\nhere highly resolve that these dead should\\nnot have died in vain; that this nation,\\nunder God, shall have a new birth of free-\\ndom, and that government of the people, by\\nthe people, for the people, shall not perish\\nfrom the earth. Abraham Lincoln.\\nLINCOLN S ADDRESS AT GETTYSBURG.\\nThe War Department appropriated $5,000 to cast this speech\\nin bronze and set it up on the battle-fietld atGettysburg.\\nFour score and seven years ago our\\nfathers brought forth on this con-\\ntinent a new nation, conceived in lib-\\nTHE RIFLEMAN S FANCY SHOT.\\nThe following touching incident had its counterpart in many\\nhappenings during the great Civil War in which often brothers,\\ndivided in sentiment, joined the opposing armies and fought\\nagainst each other.\\nRifleman, shoot me a fancy shot\\nStraight at the heart of yon prowling\\nvedette\\nRing me a ball in the glittering spot\\nThat shines on his breast like an amulet\\nAh, captain here goes for a fine-drawn\\nbead,\\nThere s music around when my barrel s in\\ntune\\nCrack went the rifle, the messenger sped,\\nAnd dead from his horse fell the ringing\\ndragoon.", "height": "4388", "width": "3216", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "102\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nNow, rifleman, steal through the bushes\\nand snatch\\nFrom your victim some trinket to handsel\\nfirst blood\\nA button, a loop, or that luminous patch\\nThat gleams in the moon like a diamond\\nstud!\\nOh captain I staggered, and sunk on my\\ntrack,\\nWhen I gazed on the face of that fallen\\nvedette,\\nFor he looked so like you, as he lay on his\\nback,\\nThat my heart rose upon me, and masters\\nme yet.\\nBut I snatched off the trinket, this locket\\nof gold\\nAn inch from the centre my lead broke its\\nway,\\nScarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold,\\nOf a beautiful lady in bridal array.\\nHa! rifleman, fling me the locket! tis\\nshe,\\nMy brother s young bride, and the fallen\\ndragoon\\nWas her husband Hush soldier, twas\\nHeaven s decree,\\nWe must bury him there, by the light of the\\nmoon\\n1 But hark the far bugles their warnings\\nunite\\nWar is a virtue, weakness a sin\\nThere s a lurking and loping around us\\nto-night\\nLoad again, rifleman, keep your hand in\\nAN INCIDENT OF THE WAR.\\n{Sing the verses in Italics.\\nDown the placid river gliding,\\nTwixt the banks of waving life,\\nSailed a steamboat heavy laden\\nMid the scenes of former strife.\\nOn the deck a throng of trav lers\\nListened to a singer s voice,\\nAs it sung that song of pleading,\\nSong that makes the sad rejoice.\\nJesus, lover of my soul,\\nLet vie to thy bosom fly.\\nWhile the nearer waters roll,\\nWhile the tempest still is high\\nHide me, O, my Saviour, hide,\\nTill the storm of life is past,\\nSafe into the haven guide,\\nOh, receive my soul at last.\\nIn the throng an aged soldier\\nHeard the voice with ears intent,\\nAnd his quickened memory speeding\\nO er the lapse of years was sent.\\nAnd he thought of hard-fought battles.\\nOf the carnage and the gore,\\nAnd the lonely picket guarding\\nOn the low Potomac s shore.\\nOf the clash and roar of cannon,\\nAnd the cry of wounded men,\\nOf the sick ning sights of slaughter\\nIn some Southern prison pen.\\nAnd that voice was old, familiar,\\nAnd he d heard it long ago.\\nWhile his lonely picket guarding\\nWith a measured beat, and slow.\\nWhen it ceased and all was silent,\\nThus the aged soldier cried\\nSir, were you a Union Soldier,\\nDid you fight against our side\\nStranger, neath yon starry pennon\\nFought I for the shackled slave,\\nFor my country and her freedom,\\nAnd her sacred name to save.\\nWere you near the calm Potomac\\nOn a frosty autumn night\\nDid you guard your lonely picket\\nAs the stars were shining bright\\nDid you sing that song so grandly,\\nFilling all the silent air\\nDid you sing to your Redeemer\\nAs you paced so lonely there\\nThus the aged soldier questioned,\\nAnd his eyes were filled with tears\\nAs he heard the singer answer,\\nAt his tale of hopes and fears", "height": "4384", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n103\\nYes, I well recall that evening\\nOn the low Potomac s shore,\\nAs I paced, my lonely station,\\nAnd re-paced it o er and o er.\\nAnd I thought of home and household,\\nOf my wife and children three,\\nAnd my darling baby Bessie,\\nDearest in the world to me.\\nThinking thus, my heart was troubled\\nWith a dread, foreboding ill\\nAnd I listened, but the midnight\\nAll around was calm and still.\\nThen I sang the song my mother\\nTaught me, bending at her knee\\nAnd all fear of coming trouble\\nQuickly passed away from me.\\nThus the singer told his story\\nThen the aged soldier said,\\nAs his heart was stirred with feeling,\\nAnd his thoughts were backward led,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAnd I, too, my lonely station\\nPaced and re-paced o er and o er,\\nWhere the blazing camp-fires flashing,\\nLighted up the other shore.\\nOn the banks, across the river,\\nThere I saw your coat of blue,\\nAnd my hand was on the trigger,\\nAs I aimed my gun at you\\nWhen across the silent water\\nCame the song you ve sung to-day,\\nAnd my heart was touched and softened\\nBy that sweet, melodious lay\\nOther refuge have I none,\\nHangs my helpless soul on Thee;\\nLeave, oh, leave me not alone,\\nStill support and comfort me.\\nAll my trust on Thee is stayed,\\nAll my help from Thee I bring,\\nCover my defenceless head\\nWith the shadow of Thy wing. y\\nAnd I brought my gun to carry,\\nFor I could not shoot you then\\nAnd your humble prayer was answered\\nBy our God, the Lord of men.\\nThen they clasped their hands as brothers,\\nWhile the steamboat glided on\\nAs they talked of hard-fought battles,\\nAnd of deeds long past and gone,\\nHow Jehovah had been o er them,\\nShielded from the fiery wave,\\nWhile they, beneath their banners,\\nFought the battles of the brave.\\nHarry W. Kimball.\\nSHERIDAN S RIDE.\\nThis is one of the most famous poem s of the Civil War. It\\nrecounts with dramatic power Sheridans famous ride of Oct.\\n19, 1864, to Cedar Creek, where General Early was driving back\\nthe Union forces.\\np from the South at break of day,\\nBringing to Winchester fresh dismay,\\nThe affrighted air with a shudder\\nbore,\\nherald in haste to the chieftain s\\nu\\nLike\\ndoor,\\nThe terrible grumble and rumble and roar,\\nTelling the battle was on once more,\\nAnd Sheridan twenty miles away.\\nAnd wider still those billows of war\\nThundered along the horizon s bar;\\nAnd louder yet into Winchester rolled\\nThe roar of that red sea uncontrolled,\\nMaking the blood of the listener cold,\\nAs he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,\\nAnd Sheridan twenty miles away.\\nBut there is a road from Winchester town,\\nA good, broad highway leading down\\nAnd there, through the flush of the morn-\\ning light,\\nA steed as black as the steeds of night\\nWas seen to pass, as with eagle flight,\\nAs if he knew the terrible need\\nHe stretched away with his utmost speed\\nHills rose and fell but his heart was gay,\\nWith Sheridan fifteen miles away.\\nStill sprung from those swift hoofs, thunder-\\ning South,\\nThe dust, like smoke from the cannon s\\nmouth,\\nOr the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and\\nfaster,\\nForeboding to traitors the doom of disaster,\\nThe heart of the steed and the heart of the\\nmaster", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "io4\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nWere beating like prisoners assaulting their\\nwalls,\\nImpatient to be where the battlefield calls\\nEvery nerve of the charger was strained to\\nfull play,\\nWith Sheridan only ten miles away\u00c2\u00bb\\nUnder his spurning feet the road\\nLike an arrowy Alpine river flowed,\\nAnd the landscape sped away behind\\nIyike an ocean flying before the wind\\nAnd the stead, like a bark fed with furnace\\nire,\\nSwept on, with his wild eyes full of fire.\\nBut lo he is nearing his heart s desire\\nHe is snuffing the smoke of the roaring\\nfray,\\nWith Sheridan only five miles away.\\nWRAP THE FLAG AROUND HE, BOYS.\\nThis scene may be enacted on the stage in tableau, while an\\ninvisible speaker recites the words, and an invisible chorus sings\\nthe refrain.\\n0,\\nwrap the flag around me, boys, to\\ndie were far more sweet\\nWith freedom s starry emblem, boys,\\nto be my winding sheet.\\nIn life I loved to see it wave, and follow\\nwhere it led,\\nAnd now my eyes grow dim, my hands\\nwould clasp its last bright shred.\\nRefrain.\\nThen wrap the flag around me, boys,\\nTo die were far more sweet,\\nWith freedom s starry emblem, boys,\\nTo be my winding sheet.\\nThe first that the general saw were the 1 had thought to greet you, boys, on\\ngroups many a well won field,\\nOf stragglers, and then the retreating Whe f on St ry anr \\\\f boyS the\\ntroops\\ntrait rous foe should yield.\\nWhat was done? what to do a glance told Bllt no alaS 1 am denied my deareSt\\nhim both. earthly prayer\\nThen, striking his spurs, with a terrible You U f 01 1 a d y\u00c2\u00b0 u U meet the f e bllt\\noath 5 F I shall not be there.\\nHe dashed down the line, mid a storm of\\nhuzzahs,\\nAnd the wave of retreat checked its course\\nthere, because\\nThe sight of the master compelled it to\\npause.\\nWith foam and with dust the black charger\\nwas gray\\nBy the flash of his eye, and the red nostril s\\nplay,\\nBut though my body moulders, boys, my\\nspirit will be free,\\nAnd every comrade s honor, boys, will still\\nbe dear to me.\\nThere in the thick and bloody fight never\\nlet your ardor lag,\\nFor I ll be there still hovering near, above\\nthe dear old flag.\\nHe seemed to the whole great army to say,\\nI have brought you Sheridan all the way\\nFrom Winchester, down to save the day.\\nHurrah hurrah for Sheridan\\nHurrah hurrah for horse and man\\nAnd when their statues are placed on high,\\nUnder the dome of the Union sky\\nThe American soldier s temple of fame\\nThere, with the glorious general s name,\\nBe it said, in letters both bold and bright,\\nHere s the steed that saved the day,\\nBy carrying Sheridan into the fight\\nFrom Winchester, twenty miles away\\nThos. B. Read.\\nTHE BLUE AND THE GRAY.\\nOne of the first marks of reconciliation between North and\\nSouth was shown by the women of Columbus, Mississippi, who,\\nanimated by noble sentiments, made impartial offerings to the\\nmemory of the dead. They strewed flowers alike on the graves\\nof the Confederate and of the National soldiers.\\nB\\ny the flow of the inland river,\\nWhence the fleets of iron have fled,\\nWhere the blades of the grave-grass\\nquiver,\\nAsleep on the ranks of the dead\\nUnder the sod and the dew,\\nWaiting the judgment day\\nUnder the one, the Blue,\\nUnder the other, the Gray.", "height": "4388", "width": "3256", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "OLD LOVE LETTERS\\n(Suggestion for Tableau)\\n105)", "height": "4376", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "o\\n0.2\\nDW\\nQ. v\\n2-1\\nUJT3 a\\ni \u00c2\u00b0.2\\nJo 3\\nrt\\nr\\nr- v\\ns", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n107\\nThese in the robings of glory,\\nThose in the gloom of defeat,\\nAll with the battle-blood gory,\\nIn the dusk of eternity meet\\nUnder the sod and the dew,\\nWaiting the judgment day\\nUnder the laurel, the Blue,\\nUnder the willow, the Gray.\\nFrom the silence of sorrowful hours,\\nThe desolate mourners go,\\nLovingly laden with flowers,\\nAlike for the friend and the foe\\nUnder the sod and the dew,\\nWaiting the judgment day\\nUnder the roses, the Blue,\\nUnder the lilies, the Gray.\\nSo, with an equal splendor,\\nThe morning sun-rays fall,\\nWith a touch impartially tender,\\nOn the blossoms blooming for all\\nUnder the sod and the dew,\\nWaiting the judgment day\\nBroidered with gold, the Blue,\\nMellowed with gold, the Gray.\\nSo, when the summer calleth,\\nOn forest and field of grain,\\nWith an equal murmur falleth\\nThe cooling drip of the rain\\nUnder the sod and the dew,\\nWaiting the judgment day\\nWet with the rain, the Blue,\\nWet with the rain, the Gray.\\nSadly, but not with upbraiding,\\nThe generous deed was done\\nIn the storm of the years that are fading,\\nNo braver battle was won\\nUnder the sod and the dew,\\nWaiting the judgment day\\nUnder the blossoms, the Blue,\\nUnder the garlands, the Gray.\\nNo more shall the war cry sever,\\nOr the winding rivers be red\\nThey banish our anger forever\\nWhen they laurel the graves of our dead\\nUnder the sod and the dew,\\nWaiting the judgment day\\nLove and tears, for the Blue,\\nTears and love for the Gray.\\nF. M. Finch.\\nTHE NEW ROSETTE.\\nBy Special Permission of the Author.\\nThirty-one years after the close of the Civil War, Sept. 16,\\n1896, a reunion of the Union and Confederate soldiers was held\\nat Washington, D. C. It was a happy meeting of old foes who\\nadmired each other. They were brothers in common national\\nblood and it is but just to say they parted more than friends\\nbrothers in sentiment. None but the old soldier could fully\\nappreciate the occasion or with him enter into its true felicity of\\nit. Love and good cheer ruled the hour. A new rosette com-\\nposed of the mingling colors of Yankee blue and Confederate\\ngray was worn by the happy old soldiers. Mr. Geo. M. Vick-\\ners, himself a Yankee soldier, composed the following poem\\nwhich was recited amid great applause from both sides.\\nLET us sing a song\\nThat all may hear\\nSound the death of wrong,\\nThe knell of fear\\nFor in this cordial clasp of hands\\nAmerica united stands.\\nThe new rosette\\nOf Blue and Gray,\\nWithout regret,\\nIs worn to-day.\\nFire the signal gun,\\nProclaim our creed\\nLiberty has won,\\nAnd we are freed\\nOur country s creed is liberty,\\nAnd freedom shall our watchword be\\nThe new rosette\\nOf Blue and Gray,\\nMove s amulet,\\nShall be to-day.\\nRing the bells with pride,\\nThe brave are here\\nHeroes true and tried,\\nAnd each a peer\\nTheir deeds and valor e er shall be\\nOur caveat on land and sea.\\nThe new rosette\\nOf Blue and Gray,\\nA pledge, a threat,\\nIs worn to-day.\\nGive the armies praise,\\nOf Grant, of Lee,\\nShafts in honor raise,\\nThat all may see\\nProclaim that as they did, so we\\nWould do and die for liberty\\nThe new rosette\\nOf Blue and Gray\\nBids none forget\\nTheir dead to-day.", "height": "4388", "width": "3216", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "io8\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nLet the broadsides roar\\nFrom ship to ship\\nShout your cheers from shore,\\nLet colors dip\\nBrave Farragut, Buchanan, too,\\nShowed what our gallant tars can do.\\nThe new rosette\\nOf Blue and Gray,\\nShall homage get\\nFrom all to-day.\\nGive thanks to God,\\nThat we are one\\nHe withholds the rod,\\nOur strife is done\\nOne flag alone shall o er us wave,\\nOne country, or for each a grave.\\nThe new rosette\\nOf Blue and Gray,\\nWith love s tears wet\\nIs worn to-day.\\nGeo. M. Vickkrs.\\nCUSTER S LAST CHARGE.\\nGen. George A. Custer. Born in Ohio in I839. Served with\\ndistinction through the Civil War. Was present at General\\nLee s surrender. During the Indian outbreak in the West in\\n1876 he was in charge of the United States troops, and Was\\nnoted for his sagacity in Indian fighting. The Indians feared\\nhim, and called him the Great Yellow-Haired Chief. He was\\nentrapped, killed, and horribly mutilated by the savages, June\\n26, 3876.\\ni cTAead Is it possible He, the bold\\n.LJ rider,\\nCuster, our hero, the first in the\\nfight,\\nCharming the bullets of yore to fly wider,\\nShunning our battle-king s ringlets of\\nlight\\nDead our young chieftain, and dead all\\nforsaken\\nNo one to tell us the way of his fall\\nSlain in the desert, and never to waken,\\nNever, not even to victory s call\\nComrades, he s gone but ye need not be\\ngrieving.\\nNo, may my death be like his when I die\\nNo regrets wasted on words I am leaving,\\nFalling with brave men, and face to the\\nsky.\\nDeath s but a journey, the greatest must\\ntake it\\nFame is eternal, and better than all.\\nGold though the bowl be, tis fate that\\nmust break it,\\nGlory can hallow the fragments that fall.\\nProud for his fame that last day that he met\\nthem\\nAll the night long he had been on their\\ntrack.\\nScorning their traps and the men that had\\nset them,\\nWild for a charge that should never give\\nback.\\nThere on the hill-top he halted and saw\\nthem,\\nLodges all loosened and ready to fly.\\nHurrying scouts, with the tidings to awe\\nthem,\\nTold of his coming before he was nigh.\\nAll the wide valley was full of their forces,\\nGathered to cover the lodges retreat,\\nWarriors running in haste to their horses,\\nThousands of enemies close to his feet\\nDown in the valleys the ages had hollowed,\\nThere lay the Sitting Bull s camp for a\\nprey\\nNumbers What recked he What recked\\nthose who followed\\nMen who had fought ten to one ere that\\nday\\nOut swept the squadrons, the fated three\\nhundred,\\nInto the battle-line steady and full\\nThen down the hillside exultingly thun-\\ndered,\\nInto the hordes of the Old Sitting Bull\\nWild Ogalallah, Arapahoe, Cheyenne,\\nWild Horse s braves, and the rest of their\\ncrew,\\nShrank from that charge like a herd from a\\nlion.\\nThen closed around the great hell of wild\\nSioux.\\nRight to the centre he charged, and then,\\nfacing\\nHark to those yells and around them,\\noh, see\\nOver the hilltops the devils came racing,\\nComing as fast as the waves of the sea\\nRed was the circle of fire about them\\nNo hope of victory, no ray of light,", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n109\\nShot through that terrible black cloud\\nwithout them,\\nBrooding in death over Custer s last fight.\\nThen, did he blench Did he die like a\\ncraven,\\nBegging the torturing fiends for his liie\\nWas there a soldier who carried the Seven\\nFlinched like a coward or fled from the\\nstrife\\nNo, by the blood of our Custer, no\\nquailing\\nThere in the midst of the devils they\\nclose,\\nHemmed in by thousands, but ever assail-\\ning,\\nFighting like tigers, all bayed amid foes\\nThicker and thicker the bullets came\\nsinging\\nDown go the horses and riders and all\\nSwiftly the warriors round them were\\nringing\\nCircling like buzzards awaiting their fall.\\nSee the wild steeds of the mountain and\\nprairie,\\nSavage eyes gleaming from forests of\\nmane\\nQuivering lances with pennons so airy\\nWar-painted warriors charging amain.\\nBackward again and again they were driven,\\nShrinking to close with the lost little\\nband,\\nNever a cap that had worn the bright\\nSeven\\nBowed till its wearer was dead on the\\nstrand.\\nCloser and closei the death-circle growing,\\nEven the leader s voice, clarion clear.\\nRang out his words of encouragement\\nglowing,\\nWe can but die once, boys, but sell\\nyour lives dear\\nDearly they sold them like Berserkers\\nraging,\\nFacing the death that encircled them\\nround\\nDeath s bitter pangs by their vengeance\\nassuaging,\\nMarking their tracks by the dead on the\\nground.\\nComrades our children shall yet tell their\\nstory,\\nCuster s last charge on the Old Sitting\\nBull\\nAnd ages shall swear that the cup of his\\nglory,\\nNeeded but that death to render it full.\\nFrederick Whitaker.\\nFITZHUGH LEE.\\nGeneral Fitzhugh Lee was Consul at Havana when the Span-\\nish-American War broke out. His heroic action in refusing to\\nleave his post though ordered home, until every American sub-\\nject was safely transported, being himself the last to depart,\\ncalled forth universal praise.\\nCool amid the battle s din\\nIce without, but fire within,\\nLeading to the charge his men,\\nMuch we praise the soldier then\\nBut we honor far the more\\nOne who on a foreign shore,\\nTrue to duty takes his stand\\nWith his country s flag in hand,\\nAnd, though great the peril be,\\nBows no head and bends 110 knee\\nFitzhugh Lee.\\nGallant veteran, tried and true,\\nHands and hearts go forth to you.\\nMid the sounds that others stir,\\nHiss of reptile, yelp of cur,\\nMid our country s foes you stood\\nWith a calm and fearless mood.\\nTherefore, veteran, tried and true,\\nStrong our pride has grown in you\\nAnd when you return o er sea\\nWarm your welcome here shall be,\\nFitzhugh Lee.\\nWhere our mountains milk the sky,\\nWhere our many cities lie,\\nBy Potomac s hallowed stream\\nWhere the Hudson s waters gleam,\\nBy the Mississippi s mouth,\\nEast and West and North and South\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWhersoe er o er land and seas,\\nFloats Old Glory in the breeze,\\nWhereso er our people be,\\nAll to honor you agree,\\nFitzhugh Lee.\\nThomas Dunn English.", "height": "4388", "width": "3224", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "no\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nPROPHETIC TOAST TO COMMODORE\\nDEWEY.\\nIn November, 1897, at the suggestion ot the Assistant Secretary\\nof the Navy, Theodore Roosevelt, George Dewey was made a\\nCommodore and ordered to take charge of the Asiatic squadron,\\nwhich afterwards destroyed the Spanish fleet at Manila. Dewey\\nwas a popular member of the Metropolitan Club, Washington,\\nand just before his departure a reception was given at which the\\nfollowing toast was offered and received with enthusiasm. In the\\nlight of later events, it has been regarded as a happy prophecy,\\nthe fulfillment of which entitles the ines to preservation.\\nFILL all your glasses full to-night\\nThe wind is off the shore\\nAnd be it feast or be it fight,\\nWe pledge the Commodore.\\nThrough days of storm, through days of\\ncalm,\\nOn broad Pacific Seas,\\nAt anchor off the Isles of Palm\\nOr with the Japanese\\nAshore, afloat, on deck, below,\\nOr where our bulldogs roar,\\nTo back a friend or breast a foe\\nWe pledge the Commodore.\\nWe know our honor ll be unstained,\\nWhere er his pennant flies\\nOur rights respected and maintained,\\nWhatever power defies.\\nAnd when he takes the homeward tack,\\nBeneath an admiral s flag,\\nWe ll hail the day that brings him back,\\nAnd have another jag.\\nA\\nTHE BATTLE OF MANILA BAY.\\nT break of dawn Manila Bay\\nA sheet of limpid water lay,\\nExtending twenty miles away.\\nTwenty miles from shore to shore,\\nAs creeping on a squadron bore\\nAs squadron never moved before,\\nMajestic in his hidden might,\\nIt passed Corregidor at night,\\nInspired to battie for the right.\\nAnd grandly on the flagship led,\\nSix ships Olympiae er ahead\\nWith battle flags at each masthead\\nThe Baltimore and Raleigh true,\\nThe Petrel, Boston, Concord, too,\\nTheir flags of glory proudly flew.\\nAs early daylight broke upon\\nThe bay before the rise of sun\\nWas seen the flash of opening gun\\nThen every second heard the roar\\nOf shell and shrapnel bursting o er\\nOur brave undaunted Commodore\\nHold our fire he calmly said,\\nAs from the bridge he bravely led\\nTo death or glory on ahead\\nAnd from his lips or from his hand\\nBut one direction, one command,\\nFollow the flagship by the land,\\nFull twenty minutes slowly crept\\nEre lightning from our turrets leapt,\\nAnd pent-up hell no longer slept\\nThe Spanish fleet, a dozen strong,\\nWas now in range, and haughty wrong\\nWas swept by awful fire along.\\nExplosions wild destruction brought\\nMid flames that mighty havoc wrought,\\nAs either side in fury fought.\\nSo back and forth in angry might,\\nThe Stars and Stripes waved on the fight,\\nMid bursting shells in deadly flight\\nThe Spanish decks with dead were strewn,\\nTheir guns on shore were silenced soon,\\nTheir flags were down ere flush of noon.\\nTheir ships, their batteries on the shore\\nWere gone to fight again no more\\nTheir loss, a thousand men or more\\nDawned on the fleet that Dewey led\\nA miracle, while Spaniards bled\\nFor on our side was not one dead\\nThe battle of Manila Bay\\nFrom mind shall never pass away\\nNor deeds of glory wrought that day.\\nFor mid the battle s awful roar\\nThe Spanish pride, to rise no more\\nWas humbled by our Commodore.\\nCorwin P. Ross.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nin\\nTHEY LL NEVER GET HOME.\\nReciter may Dress in Uncle Sam Costicme.\\nWhen it was learned that Admiral Cervera had left the Cape\\nVerde Islands with the flower of the Spanish Navy in May, 1898,\\nthe United States became much alarmed lest he should attack\\nsome of the cities along our Atlantic seaboard, or take possession\\nof important Cuban ports. It was therefore decided that Admi-\\nrals Sampson and Schley should attempt to intercept him some-\\nwhere on the high seas and destroy his fleet. For many days the\\nhunt went on, much like a fox chase, in the Caribbean sea. At\\nlast Schley reported that he had found the Spanish fleet in Sant-\\niago harbor. Sampson joined him before the mouth of the har-\\nbor, and after more than a month s siege, Cervera s fleet was\\nentirely destroyed by the Americans. The following lines are\\nsupposed to illustrate Uncle Sam s jubilation when Admiral\\nSchley announced that he had Cervera bottled up.\\nBy gosh but we ve got em in old\\nSantiago\\nCervery is bottled the news is from\\nSchley.\\nI know d- mighty well we would get that\\nthere dago\\nAnd cork him in tight, in the sweet by-\\nand-by.\\nThings looked purty bilious some days, I ll\\nadmit it,\\nAnd clouds sorter hung round the Capitol\\ndome\\nTill Schley s message came, an twas this\\nway he writ it\\nI ve got em, he says, an they ll\\nnever git home.\\nBy ginger it sounded like music fer\\nsweetness\\nI jest got right up an give three rousin\\ncheers\\nIt had such neatness an sorter completeness\\nIt seem to fit into my hungerin ears.\\nI could jest shet my eyes an see Schley s\\nboats a-layin\\nKinder peaceful out there where the blue\\nbillows foam\\nI could listen a minute and hear him a\\nsayin\\nI ve got em, b gosh an they ll never\\ngit home.\\nCourse the next thing, I s pose, 11 be some\\nsort o fighting,\\n(That cussed Cervery won t give up a\\nship),\\nAn he ll try to get out of the place he s so\\ntight in.\\nBut the Commydore ll see he don t give\\nus the slip.\\nThatPole-dee-Barnaby gang made us weary,\\nAn we got some disgusted with Seenyor\\nDe Lome,\\nBut I m sorter attached to that feller\\nCervery,\\nAn we ve got him b gosh an he ll\\nnever git home.\\nTHE WAR SHIP DIXIE.\\nThey ve named a cruiser Dixie\\nthat s what the papers say\\nAn I hears they re goin to man her\\nwith boys that wore the gray\\nGood news It sorter thrills me and makes\\nme want ter be\\nWhar the ban is playin Dixie, and\\nthe Dixie puts ter sea\\nThey ve named a cruiser Dixie. An\\nfellers, I ll be boun\\nYou re goin ter see some fightin when\\nthe Dixie swings aroun\\nEf any o them Spanish ships shall strike\\nher, East or West,\\nJust let the ban play Dixie, an the\\nboys 11 do the rest\\nI want ter see that Dixie I want ter\\ntake my stan\\nOn the deck of her and holler, Three\\ncheers fer Dixie Ian\\nShe means we re all united the war hurts\\nhealed away.\\nAn Way Down South in Dixie is\\nnational to-day\\nI bet you she s a good un I ll stake my\\nlast red cent\\nThar ain t no better timber in the whole\\nblame settlement\\nAn all their shiny battleships beside that\\nship are tame,\\nFer when it comes to Dixie thar s\\nsomething in a name\\nHere s three cheers and a tiger as hearty\\nas kin be\\nAn let the ban play Dixie when the\\nDixie puts ter sea\\nShe ll make her way an win the day from\\nshinin East ter West\\nJest let the ban play Dixie, and the\\nboys 11 do the rest\\nFrank L. Stanton.", "height": "4388", "width": "3212", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "112\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nTHE NEW ALABAMA.\\nOne of the largest battleships of the American Navy. The\\nfollowing poem was written by a southerner during the Spanish\\nAmerican War.\\nThar s a bran new Alabama that\\nthey re fittin out for sea,\\nAn them that s seen her tell me she s\\nas lively as kin be\\nAn them big Havana gin nils better open\\nwide their gates\\nKf she s any like her namesake of the old\\nConfed rit States\\nA bran new Alabama! She orter be\\nthe best\\nThat ever plowed a furrow in the ocean\\neast or west\\nAn I m shore that she ll be heard from\\njest open wide your gates\\nEf she s any like her namesake of the old\\nConfed rit States\\nI bet she s full o sperrit I bet her guns\\n11 keep\\nThe Spanish cruisers huntin fer a harbor\\non the deep\\nShe ll storm the forts an take em she ll\\nbatter down the gates\\nKf she s any like her namesake of the old\\nConfed rit States\\nTHE MERRIMAC.\\nOn June 3rd, young Lieutenant Hobson of Alabama and\\neight volunteer seamen performed one of the most daring and\\nheroic acts in history, by running the Merrimac through the\\ngauntlet of Spanish forts and finking it in the mouth of Santiago\\nharbor to prevent the Spanish fleet from coming out. The ship\\nin sinking unfortunately swung out of the channel far enough\\nto leave room for ships to pass, but the deed was none the less\\ndaring and heroic.\\nThunder peal and roar and rattle of the\\nships in line of battle,\\nRumbling noise of steel volcanoes\\nhurling metal from the shore,\\nDrowned the sound of quiet speaking and\\nthe creaking, creaking, creaking\\nOf the steering-gear that turned her\\ntoward the narrow harbor door.\\nOn the hulk was calm and quiet, deeper for\\nthe shoreward riot\\nDumb they watched the fountains\\nstreaming mute they heard the\\nwaters hiss,\\nTill one laughed and murmured, Surely\\nit was worth while rising early\\nFor a fireworks exhibition of such char-\\nacter as this.\\nDown the channel the propeller drove her\\nas they tried to shell her\\nFrom the dizzy heights of Morro and\\nSocapa parapet\\nShe was torn and she w T as battered, and\\nher upper works were shattered\\nBy the bursting of the missiles that in\\nair above her met.\\nParallels of belching cannon marked the\\nwinding course she ran on,\\nAnd they flashed through morning dark-\\nness like a giant s flaming teeth\\nWaters steaming, boiling, churning rows\\nof muzzles at each turning\\nMines like geysers spouting after and\\nbefore her and beneath.\\nNot a man was there who faltered not a\\ntheory was altered\\nOf the detailed plan agreed on not a\\ndoubt was there expressed\\nThis was not a time for changing, deviat-\\ning, re-arranging\\nL,et the great God help the wounded, and\\ntheir courage save the rest.\\nAnd they won. But greater glory than the\\nwinning is the story\\nOf the foeman s friendly greeting of that\\nvaliant captive band\\nSpeech of his they understood not, talk to\\nhim in words they could not\\nBut their courage spoke a language that\\nall men might understand.\\nDO NOT CHEER.\\nGeneral O. O. Howard, the great Christian general on the\\nNorthern side and General Stonewall Jackson the pious hero of\\nthe Confederacy, have their counterparts in Captain Philip of\\nthe battleship Texas, at the battle of Santiago, July 4, 1898.\\nNo ship in that great naval battle did more gallant service than\\nthe Texas. When the victory was won and the decks were\\nstrewn with dying and wounded Spaniards rescued from burn-\\ning ships and from the sea the sailors of the Texas prepared to\\ncheer. Captain Philip stopped them with the words, Don t\\ncheer, boys, the poor fellows are dying. Let every man who\\nbelieves in God join with me in prayer. It was a most affect-\\ning scene.\\nThe smoke hangs heavy o er the sea,\\nBeyond the storm-swept battle line,\\nWhere floats the flag of Stripes and\\nStars,\\nTriumphant o er the shattered foe,\\nThe walls of Morro thunder still their fear;\\nHelpless, a mass of flame, the foeman drifts,\\nAnd o er her decks the flag of white.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n113\\nHushed voices pass the word from lip to\\nlip,\\nAnd grimy sailors silent stand beside the\\nguns,\\nCease firing. An enemy is dying. Do\\nnot cheer.\\nAn enemy is dying. Do not cheer.\\nThy servants glorious tribute to Thy name,\\nChrist, Lord, who rules the battle well,\\nWho, watching, guards our destinies,\\nAndseeth e en the sparrows fall.\\nRedly, through drifting smoke, the sun\\nlooks down\\nOn silent guns and shot-pierced bloody\\nwreck,\\nLong lines of weary men with heads bowed\\nlow,\\nGive thanks, in presence of Thy reaper\\ngrim.\\nThy will be done, O Lord, Thou rulest all.\\nJ. Herbert Stevens.\\nTHE HERO DOWN BELOW.\\nAfter the battle of Santiago in which the Brooklyn, Commo-\\ndore Schley s flagship and the, mighty Oregon had chased the\\nChristobal Colon for 60 miles and forced her to surrender, the\\ngenerous hearted Commodore sent down for the engineers and\\nfiremen who for hours had remained in the dark bowels of the\\nship in a temperature of 120 degrees piling in coal and forcing\\nthe ship to her greatest speed. The almost naked men begrimed\\nas black as Ethiopians appeared on deck and with tears in his\\neyes Commodore Schley pointed his gunners and officers to\\nthem and exclaimed These are the heroes, they are the men\\nwho won this battle.\\nIN the awful heat and torture\\nOf the fires that leap and dance\\nIn and out the furnace doors that never\\nclose,\\nOn in silence he must work,\\nFor with him there s ne er a chance\\nOn his brow 1o feel the outer breeze that\\nblows.\\nFor they ve locked him in a room,\\nDown below,\\nIn a burning, blazing tomb,\\nDown below,\\nWhere he cannot see the sky,\\nCannot learn in time to fly,\\nWhen destruction stalketh nigh,\\nDown below.\\nThough his name is never mentioned,\\nThough we see or know him not,\\nThough his deeds may never bring him\\nworldy fame,\\nHe s a man above the others\\nAnd the bravest of the lot\\nAnd the hero of the battle, just the same.\\nHe s the man who does the work.\\nDown below,\\nFrom the labor does not shirk,\\nDown below,\\nHe is shoveling day and night,\\nFeeding flames a-blazing bright,\\nKeeping up a killing fight\\nDown below.\\nWHEELER AT SANTIAGO.\\nGeneral Joseph Wheeler, of Spanish American War fame, won\\nthe sobriquet of Little Fighting Joe, while serving in the\\nConfederate army during the Civil War. He was the first, and\\nGeneral Fitzhugh Lee the second officer from the Southern side,\\nof that great conflict to enlist in the Spanish-American War.\\nWheeler contributed much to the success of the battle of Santi-\\nago though prostrated with fever at the time.\\nInto the thick of the fight he went, pallid\\nand sick and wan,\\nBorne in an ambulance to the front, a\\nghostly wisp of a man\\nBut the fighting soul of a fighting man,\\napproved in the long ago,\\nWent to the front in that ambulance, and\\nthe body of Fighting Joe.\\nOut from the front they were coming back,\\nsmitten of Spanish shells\\nWounded boys from the Vermont hills and\\nthe Alabama dells\\nPut them into this ambulance I ll ride to\\nthe front, he said,\\nAnd he climbed to the saddle and rode right\\non, that little old ex-Confed.\\nFrom end to end of the long blue ranks rose\\nup the ringing cheers,\\nAnd many a powder- blackened face was\\nfurrowed with sudden tears,\\nAs with flashing eyes and gleaming sword,\\nand hair and beard of snow,\\nInto the hell of shot and shell rode little old\\nFighting Joe\\nSick with fever and racked with pain, he\\ncould not stay away,\\nFor he heard the song of the yester-years in\\nthe deep-mouthed cannon s bay\\nHe heard in the calling song of the guns\\nthere was work for him to do,\\nWhere his country s best blood splashed\\nand flowed round the old Red, White\\nand Blue.", "height": "4388", "width": "3212", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "H4\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nFevered body and hero heart This Union s\\nheart to you\\nBeats out in love and reverence and to\\neach dear boy in blue\\nWho stood or fell mid the shot and shell,\\nand cheered in the face of the foe,\\nAs, wan and white, to the heart of the fight\\nrode little old Fighting Joe\\nJames Lindsay Gordon.\\nDIXIE DOODLE.\\nA century of peace has dawned the\\nNorth and South are plighted,\\nAnd all their lovers quarrels have\\nbeen forever righted.\\nThere is no North, there is no South, no\\nJohnny Reb to bandy\\nNo feud, no scores to settle up no Yankee\\nDoodle Dandy.\\nWhat have we, then A land serene, united,\\nheart-to-hand, sir,\\nWhich, like a sum of numbers, never yields\\nbut one true answer,\\nWho have we, then, in this great land,\\nabove its bonded boodle,\\nWith Northern pluck and Southern nerve\\nHis name is Dixie Doodle\\nThen, hip, hurrah for this brave youth,\\nunbought of bond or boodle\\nThe conqueror of future worlds the grow-\\ning Dixie Doodle\\nTHE GREATER REPUBLIC.\\nExtract from the speech of Senator Albert J. Bevendge of\\nIndiana, delivered after a personal visit to the Philippine Islands\\nbefore the Union League of Philadelphia.\\nGentlemen of the Union League\\nThe Republic never retreats.\\nWhy should it retreat? The Re-\\npublic is the highest form of civilization,\\nand civilization must advance. The Re-\\npublic s young men are the most virile and\\nunwasted of the world and they pant for\\nenterprise worthy of their power. The\\nRepublic s preparation has been the self-dis-\\ncipline of a century and that preparedness\\nhas found its task. The Republic s oppor-\\ntunity is as noble as its strength, and that\\nopportunity is here. The Republic s duty\\nis as sacred as its opportunity is real, and\\nAmericans never desert their duty.\\nThe Republic could not retreat if it\\nwould whatever its destiny it must pro-\\nceed. For the American Republic is a part\\nof the movement of a race the most mas-\\nterful race of history and race movements\\nare not to be stayed by the hand of man.\\nThey are mighty answers to Divine com-\\nmands. Their leaders are not only states-\\nmen of peoples they are prophets of God.\\nThe inherent tendencies of a race are its\\nhighest law. They precede and survive all\\nstatutes, all constitutions. The first ques-\\ntion real statesmanship asks is What are\\nthe abiding characteristics of my people\\nFrom that basis all reasoning may be\\nnatural and true. From any other basis all\\nreasoning must be artificial and false.\\nThe sovereign tendencies of our race are\\norganization and government. Organiza-\\ntion means growth. Government means\\nadministration. When Washington pleaded\\nwith the States to organize into a con-\\nsolidated people, he was the advocate of\\nperpetual growth. When Abraham Lin-\\ncoln argued for the indivisibility of the\\nRepublic he became the prophet of the\\nGreater Republic. And when they did\\nboth they were but interpreters of the ten-\\ndencies of the race. That is what made\\nthen Washington and Lincoln. They are\\nthe great Americans because they were the\\nsupreme constructors and conservers of\\norganized government among the American\\npeople.\\nGod did not make the American people\\nthe mightiest human force of all time simply\\nto feed and die He did not give our race the\\nbrain of organization and heart of domain\\nto no purpose and no end. No he has\\ngiven us a task equal to our talents. He\\nhas appointed for us a destiny equal to our\\nendowments. He has made us the Lords\\nof civilization that we may administer civ-\\nilization. Such administration is needed in\\nCuba. Such administration is needed in\\nthe Philippines. And Cuba and the Philip-\\npines are in our hands.\\nAll protests against the greater Repub-\\nlic are tolerable except this constitutional\\nobjection. But they who resist the Repub-\\nlic s career in the name of the Constitution\\nare not to be endured. They are jugglers\\nof words. Their counsel is the wisdom of", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "QUEEN LOUISE AND HER SON\\nThe boy will be what mother makes him\\n(Suggestion for Tableau)\\n(H5)", "height": "4384", "width": "3224", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4388", "width": "3304", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n117\\nverbiage. They deal not with realities\\nneither give heed to vital things. The\\nmost magnificent fact in history is the\\nmighty movement and mission of our race,\\nand the most splendid phase of that world-\\nredeeming movement is the entrance of the\\nAmerican people as the greatest force in all\\nthe earth to do their part in administering\\ncivilization among mankind, and they are\\nnot to be halted by a ruck of words called\\nconstitutional arguments. Pretenders to\\nlegal learning have always denounced all\\nvirile interpretations of the Constitution.\\nL,et the Republic govern as conditions\\ndemand the Constitution does not benumb\\nits brain nor palsy its hand.\\nImperialism is not the word for our\\nvast work. Imperialism, as used by the\\nopposers of the national greatness, means\\noppression, and we oppress not. Imperial-\\nism, as used by the opposers of national\\ndestiny, means monarchy, and the days ol\\nmonarchy are spent. Who honestly believes\\nthat the liberties of 80,000,000 Americans\\nwill be destroyed because the Republic\\nadministers civilization in the. Philippines\\nWho honestly believes that free institutions\\nare stricken unto death because the Repub-\\nlic, under God, takes its place as the first\\npower of the world Who honestly believes\\nthat we plunge to our doom, when we march\\nforward in a path of duty, prepared by a\\nhigher wisdom than our own Those who\\nso believe have lost their faith in the immor-\\ntality of liberty. Those who so believe\\nhave lost the reckoning of events, and\\nthink it sunset when it is, in truth, only\\nthe breaking of another day the day of\\nthe Greater Republic, dawning as dawns\\nthe twentieth century.\\nTh^ Republic never retreats. Its flag\\nis the only flag that has never known defeat.\\nWhere the flag leads we follow, for we\\nknow that the hand that bears it onward is\\nthe unseen hand of God. We follow the\\nflag and independence is ours. We follow\\nthe flag and nationality is ours. We follow\\nthe flag and oceans are ruled. We follow\\nthe flag and, in Occident and Orient\\ntyranny falls and barbarism is subdued.\\nWe follow the flag at Trenton and Valley\\nForge, at Saratoga and upon the crimson\\n^eas, at Buena Vista and Chapul tepee, at\\nGettysburg and Missionary Ridge, at Sant-\\niago and Manila, and everywhere and\\nalways it means larger liberty, nobler\\nopportunity and greater human happiness,\\nfor, everywhere and always, it means the\\nblessings of the Greater Republic. And so\\nGod leads, we follow the flag, and the\\nRepublic never retreats.\\nBOUND IN HONOR TO GRANT PHILIPPINE\\nINDEPENDENCE.\\nExtract from a speech delivered by Senator Hoar of Massa-\\nchusetts in the United States Senate, April, 1900.\\nSenators, if there were no Constitution,\\nif there were no Declaration of Inde-\\npendence, if there were no interna-\\ntional law, if there were nothing but the\\nhistory of the past two years, the American\\npeople would be bound in honor, if there\\nbe honor, bound in common honesty, if\\nthere be honesty, not to crush out this\\nPhilippine Republic, and not to wrest from\\nthis people its independence. The history\\nof our dealing with the Philippine people\\nis found in the reports of our commanders.\\nIt is all contained in our official documents,\\nand in published statements of General\\nAnderson and in the speeches of the Presi-\\ndent. It is little known to the country\\nto-day. When it shall be known, I believe\\nit will cause a revolution in public senti-\\nment.\\nThere are 1200 islands in the Philippine\\ngroup. They extend as far as from Maine\\nto Florida. They have a population vari-\\nously estimated at from 8,000,000 to\\n12,000,000. There are wild tribes who\\nnever heard of Christ, and islands that\\nnever heard of Spain. But among them\\nare the people of the island of Luzon,\\nnumbering 3,500,000, and the people of the\\nVisayan islands, numbering 2,500,000 more.\\nThey are a Christian and civilized people.\\nThey wrested their independence from\\nSpain and established a republic. Their\\nrights are no more to be affected by the few\\nwild tribes in their own mountains or by the\\ndwellers in the other islands than the rights\\nof our old thirteen states were affected by\\nthe French in Canada, or the Six Nations\\nof New York, or the Cherokees of Georgia,\\nor the Indians west of the Mississippi.", "height": "4388", "width": "3212", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "n8\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nTwice our commanding generals, by\\ntheir own confession, assured these people\\nof their independence. Clearly and beyond\\nall cavil we formed an alliance with them.\\nWe expressly asked them to co-operate with\\nus. We handed over our prisoners to their\\nkeeping we sought their help in caring for\\nour sick and wounded.\\nWe were told by them again and again\\nand again that they were fighting for inde-\\npendence. Their purpose was as well\\nknown to our generals, to the w 7 ar depart-\\nment, and to the president, as the fact that\\nthey were in arms. We never undeceived\\nthem until the time when hostilities were\\ndeclared in 1899. The president declared\\nagain and again that we had no title and\\nclaimed no right to anything beyond the\\ntown of Manila. Hostilities were begun\\nby us at a place w 7 here we had no right to\\nbe, and w r ere continued by us in spite of\\nAguinaldo s disavowal and regret and offer\\nto withdraw to a line w T e should prescribe.\\nIf we crush that republic, despoil that\\npeople of their freedom and independence,\\nand subject them to our rule, it will be a\\nstory of shame and dishonor.\\nGeorge F. Hoar.\\nNO DISHONOR TO HAUL DOWN THE FLAG.\\n{A Continuation of the Foregoing.}\\nIS there any man so bold as to utter in\\nseriousness the assertion that where the\\nAmerican flag has once been raised it\\nshall never be hauled down I have heard\\nit said that to haul down or to propose to\\nhaul down this national emblem where\\nit has once floated is poltroonery. Will\\nany man say it was poltroonery when Paul\\nJones landed on the northeast coast of Eng-\\nland that he took his flag away with him\\nwhen he departed Was Scott a poltroon\\nor was Polk a poltroon? Was Taylor a\\npoltroon Was the United States a nation\\nof poltroons when they retired from the city\\nof Mexico or from Vera Cruz without leav-\\ning the flag behind them Were we pol-\\ntroons when we receded from Canada If\\nwe had made the attack on the coast ot\\nSpain, at one time contemplated during this\\nvery war, were we pledged to hold and gov-\\nern Spain forever or be disgraced in the eyes\\nof mankind if we failed to do it Has Eng-\\nland been engaged in the course of poltroon-\\nery all these years when she has retired from\\nmany a field of victory According to this\\ndoctrine, she was bound to have held Bel-\\ngium forever after the battle of Waterloo\\nand Spain forever after Corunna and Tala-\\nvera. She could not, of course, have retired\\nwith honor from Venezuela if the arbitration\\nhad not ended in her favor.\\nMr. President, this talk that the Ameri-\\ncan flag is never to be removed where it has\\nonce floated is the silliest and wildest rhe-\\ntorical flourish ever uttered in the ears of an\\nexcited populace. No baby ever said any-\\nthing to another baby more foolish. It\\nis the doctrine of purest ruffianism and\\ntyranny.\\nCertainly the flag should never be lowered\\nfrom any moral field over which it has once\\nwaved. To follow the flag is to follow the\\nprinciples of freedom and humanity for\\nwhich it stands. To claim that we must\\nfollow it when it stands for injustice or\\noppression is like claiming that w r e must\\ntake the nostrums of the quack doctor who\\nstamps it on his wares, or follow every\\nscheme of wickedness or fraud, if only the\\nflag be put at the head of the prospectus.\\nThe American flag is in more danger from\\nthe imperialists than it would be if the whole\\nof Christendom were to combine its power\\nagainst it. Foreign violence at worst could\\nonly rend it. But these men are trying to\\nstain it.\\nTHE STARS IN THEIR COURSES\\nFIGHT AGAINST US.\\nMr. President, I know how imperfectly I\\nhave stated this argument. I know how\\nfeeble is a single voice amid this din and\\ntempest, this delirium of empire. It may be\\nthat the battle of this day is lost. But I\\nhave an assured faith in the future. I have\\nan assured faith in justice and the love of\\nliberty of the American people. The stars\\nin their courses fight for freedom. The\\nruler of the heavens is on that side. If the\\nbattle to-day go against it, I appeal to\\nanother day, not distant and sure to come.\\nI appeal from the clapping of hands and\\nthe stamping of feet and the brawling and\\nthe shouting to the quiet chamber where the", "height": "4388", "width": "3244", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n119\\nfathers gathered in Philadelphia. I appeal\\nfrom the spirit of trade to the spirit of\\nliberty. I appeal from the empire to the\\nRepublic. I appeal from the millionaire and\\nthe boss and the wire-puller and the mana-\\nger to the statesman of the older time, in\\nwhose eyes a guinea never glistened, who\\nlived and died poor, and who left to his\\nchildren and to his countrymen a good name\\nfar better than riches, I appeal from the\\npresent, bloated with material prosperity,\\ndrunk with the lust of empire, to another\\nand a better age. I appeal from the present\\nto the future and to the past.\\nG. F. Hoar.\\nTHE DYING CAPTAIN.\\nAn incident of the battle of San Juan Hill, Cuba, 1898. It\\nrequires considerable practice to perfect oneself in the proper\\nexpression in the quick transitions from consciousness to\\ndelirium, and the parts played in the two conditions. This\\nselection is very effective when well rendered.\\ni i T)rave captain canst thou speak\\n\u00c2\u00b1J What is it thou dost see\\nA wondrous glory lingers on thy\\nface,\\nThe night is past I ve watched the night\\nwith thee.\\nKnowest thou the place\\nThe place? Tis San Juan, comrade. Is\\nthe battle over\\nThe victory the victory is it won\\nMy wound is mortal I know I cannot\\nrecover\\nThe battle for me is done\\nI never thought it would come to this\\nDoes it rain\\nThe musketry Give me a drink ah,\\nthat is glorious\\nNow if it were not for this pain this\\npain\\nDidst thou say victorious\\nIt would not be strange, would it, if I\\ndo wander\\nA man can t remember with a bullet\\nin his brain.\\nI wish when at home I had been a little\\nfonder\\nShall I ever be well again\\nIt can make no difference whether I go\\nfrom here or there.\\nThou It write to father and tell him\\nwhen I am dead\\nThe eye that sees the sparrow fall numbers\\nevery hair\\nEven of this poor head.\\nTarry awhile, comrade, the battle can\\nwait for thee\\nI will try to keep thee but a few brief\\nmoments longer\\nThou It say good-by to the friends at\\nhome for me\\nIf only I were a little stronger\\nI must not think of it. Thou art sorry\\nfor me\\nThe glory is it the glory makes me\\nblind\\nStrange, for the light, comrade, the light\\nI cannot see\\nThou hast been very kind\\nI do not think I have done so very much\\nevil\\nI did not mean it. I lay me down to\\nsleep,\\nI pray the Lord nry soul just a little\\nrude and uncivil\\nComrade, why dost thou weep\\nOh if human pity is so gentle and\\ntender\\nGood -night, good friends I lay me\\ndown to sleep\\nWho from a Heavenly Father s love\\nneeds a defender\\nMy soul to keep\\nIf I should die before I wake comrade,\\ntell mother,\\nRemember I pray the Lord my soul\\nto take!\\nMy musket thou It carry back to my little\\nbrother\\nFor my dear sake\\nAttention, company! Reverse arms!\\nVery well, men my thanks.\\nWhere am I Do I wander, comrade\\nwander again\\nParade is over. Company E, break ranks\\nbreak ranks\\nI know it is the pain.", "height": "4388", "width": "3216", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "120\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nGive me thy strong hand fain would\\nI cling, comrade, to thee\\nI feel a chill air blown from a far-off\\nshore\\nMy sight revives Death stands and looks\\nat me.\\nWhat waits he for\\nKeep back my ebbing pulse till I be\\nbolder grown\\nI would know something of the Silent\\nLand\\nIt s hard to struggle to the front alone\\nComrade, thy hand.\\nThe reveille calls! be strong my soul,\\nand peaceful\\nThe Eternal City bursts upon my sight\\nThe ringing air with ravishing melody is\\nfull\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nI ve won the fight\\nNay, comrade, let me go; hold not my\\nhand so steadfast\\nI am commissioned under marching\\norders\\nI know the future let the past be past\\ncross the borders.\\nTHE LAND OF OUR FOREFATHERS.\\nFor myself, I can truly say that, after\\nmy native land, I feel a tenderness and\\na reverence for that of my fathers.\\nThe pride I take in my own country makes\\nme respect that from which we are sprung.\\nThe sound of my native language beyond\\nthe sea is a music to my ears beyond the\\nrichest strains of Tuscan softness or Castil-\\nian majesty.\\nI am not I need not say I am not the\\npanegyrist of England. I am not dazzled\\nby her riches nor awed by her power. The\\nsceptre, the mitre and the coronet, stars,\\ngarters and ribbons, seem to me poor things\\nfor great men to contend for.\\nBut England is the cradle and the refuge\\nof free principles, though often persecuted\\nthe school of religious liberty, the more\\nprecious for the struggles through which it\\nhas passed she holds the tombs of those\\nwho have reflected honor on all who speak\\nthe English tongue she is the birthplace\\nof our fathers, the home of the Pilgrims it\\nis these which I love and venerate in Eng-\\nland.\\nI should feel ashamed of an enthusiasm\\nfor Italy and Greece did I not also feel it\\nfor a land like this In an American it would\\nseem to me degenerate and ungrateful to\\nhang with passion upon the traces of Homer\\nand Virgil and follow without emotion the\\nnearer and plainer footsteps of Shakespeare\\nand Milton. I should think him cold in\\nlove for his native land who felt no melting\\nin his heart for that other native country\\nwhich holds the ashes of his forefathers.\\nEdward Evkrett.\\nWAR THE GAHE OF TYRANTS.\\nHark heard you not those hoofs of\\ndreadful note\\nSounds not the clang of conflict on\\nthe heath\\nSaw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote,\\nNor saved your brethren ere they sank\\nbeneath\\nTyrants and tyrants slaves? The fires\\nof death,\\nThe bale-fires flash on high from rock to\\nrock,\\nEach volley tells that thousands cease to\\nbreathe\\nDeath rides upon the sulphury Siroc,\\nRed Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel\\nthe shock\\nL,o where the giant on the mountain\\nstands,\\nHis blood -red tresses deepening in the\\nsun,\\nWith death-shot glowing in his fiery hands,\\nAnd eye that scorcheth all it glares\\nupon\\nRestless it rolls, now fixed, and now\\nanon\\nFlashing afar, and at his iron feet\\nDestruction cowers to mark what deeds\\nare done\\nFor, on this morn, three potent nations\\nmeet\\nTo shed before his shrine the blood he\\ndeems most sweet.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n121\\nThree hosts combine to offer sacrifice\\nThree tongues prefer strange orisons on\\nhigh\\nThree gaudy standards flout the pale blue\\nskies\\nThe shouts are France, Spain, Albion,\\nVictory\\nThe foe, the victim, and the fond al-ly\\nThat fights for all, but ever fights in vain,\\nAre met as if at home they could not\\ndie\\nTo feed the crow on Tal-a-ve ra s plain,\\nAnd fertilize the field that each pretends to\\ngain.\\nThere shall they rot ambition s honored\\nfools\\nYes, honor decks the turf that wraps\\ntheir claj^\\nVain sophistry in these behold the tools,\\nThe broken tools, that tyrants cast away\\nBy myriads, when they dare to pave their\\nway\\nWith human hearts to what a dream\\nalone.\\nCan despots compass aught that hails\\ntheir sway\\nOr call with truth one span of earth their\\nown,\\nSave that wherein at last they crumble\\nbone by bone Byron.\\nVALLEY FORGE.\\nSuitable to Washington s Birthday or Any Patri-\\notic Entertainment\\nThe following oration was delivered upon the occasion of the\\nfirst Centennial Anniversary of the encampment at Valley Forge.\\nMy countrymen, the century that has\\ngone by has changed the face of\\nnature and wrought a revolution in\\nthe habits of mankind. We stand to-day at\\nthe dawn of an extraordinary age. Freed\\nfrom the chains of ancient thought and\\nsuperstition, man has begun to win the most\\nextraordinary victories in the domain of\\nscience. One by one he has dispelled the\\ndoubts of the ancient world. Nothing is too\\ndifficult for his hand to attempt no region\\ntoo remote no place too sacred for his dar-\\ning eye to penetrate. He has robbed the\\nearth of her secrets and sought to solve the\\nmysteries of the heavens. He has secured\\nand chained to his service the elemental\\nforces of nature he has made the fire his\\nsteed the winds his ministers the seas his\\npathway the lightning his messenger. He\\nhas decended into the bowels of the earth,\\nand walked in safety on the bottom of the\\nsea. He has raised his head above the\\nclouds, and made the impalpable air his\\nresting-place. He has tried to analyze the\\nstars, count the constellations and weigh\\nthe sun. He has advanced with such\\nastounding speed that, breathless, we have\\nreached a moment when it seems as if dis-\\ntance had been annihilated, time made as\\nnaught, the invisible seen, the inaudible\\nheard, the unspeakable spoken, the intangi-\\nble felt, the impossible accomplished. And\\nalready we knock at the door of a new cen-\\ntury which promises to be infinitely brighter\\nand more enlightened and happier than this.\\nBut in all this blaze of light which illumi-\\nnates the present and casts its reflection into\\nthe distant recesses of the past, there is not\\na single ray which shoots into the future.\\nNot one step have we taken toward the solu-\\ntion of the mystery of life. That remains as\\ndark and unfathomable as it was ten thous-\\nand years ago.\\nWe know that we are more fortunate than\\nour fathers. We believe that our children\\nshall be happier than we. We know that\\nthis century is more enlightened than the\\nlast. We believe that the time to come will\\nbe better and more glorious than this.\\nWe think, we believe, we hope, but we do\\nnot know. Across that threshold we may\\nnot pass behind that veil we may not pene-\\ntrate. Into that country it may not be for\\nus to go. It may be vouchsafed to us to\\nbehold it, wonderingly, from afar, but never\\nto enter in. It matters not. The age in\\nwhich we live is but a link in the endless and\\neternal chain. Our lives are like the sands\\nupon the shore our voices like the breath\\nof this summer breeze that stirs the leaf for\\na moment and is forgotten. Whence we\\nhave come and whither we shall go, not one\\nof us can tell. And the last survivor of\\nthis mighty multitude shall stay but a little\\nwhile.\\nBut in the impenetrable To Be, the end-\\nless generations are advancing to take our\\nplaces as we fall. For them as for us shall\\nthe earth roll on and the seasons come and", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "122\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\ngo, the snowflakes fall, the flowers bloom,\\nand the harvests be gathered in. For them\\nas for us shall the sun, like the life of man,\\nrise out of darkness in the morning and sink\\ninto darkness in the night. For them as for\\nus shall the years march by in the sublime\\nprocession of the ages. And here, in this\\nplace of sacrifice, in this vale of humiliation,\\nin this valley of the shadow of that Death\\nout of which the life of America arose,\\nregenerate and free, let us believe with an\\nabiding faith that, to them, union will seem\\nas dear, and liberty as sweet, and progress\\nas glorious, as they were to our fathers and\\nare to you and me, and that the institutions\\nwhich have made us happy, preserved by\\nthe virtue of our children, shall bless the\\nremotest generations of the time to come.\\nAnd unto Him who holds in the hollow of\\nHis hand the fate of nations, and yet marks\\nthe sparrow s fall, let us lift up our hearts\\nthis day, and into His eternal care commend\\nourselves, our children, and our country.\\nH. A. Brown.\\nTHE MAN WHO DOES THE CHEERIN\\nThis war with Spain reminds me o the\\nspring o 61,\\nAbout the time or jist afore the Civil\\nWar begun\\nA certain class o heroes ain t remembered\\nin this age,\\nYit their names in golden letters should be\\nwrit on histry s page.\\nTheir voices urged on others to save this ol\\ncountry s fall\\nI admit they never listened when they heerd\\nAbe Lincoln s call\\nThey never heerd a eagle scream er heerd a\\nrifle crack,\\nBut you bet they done the cheerin\\nWhen the troops come back.\\nO course it s glorious to fight when free-\\ndom is at stake,\\nI low a feller likes to know that he hez\\nhelped to make\\nAnother star in freedom s sky the star o\\nCuby free\\nBut still another feelin creeps along o that\\nwhen he\\nGits to thinkin o the home he left en\\nseein it at night\\nDancin slowlike up aroun him in a misty\\nmaze o light.\\nEn a-ketchiu fleetin glimpses of a crowd\\nalong the track,\\nEn the man who does the cheerin\\nWhen the troops come back.\\nO course a soldier hez got feelin s en his\\nheart begins to beat\\nFaster, ez ol reckollection leads him down\\nsome shady street\\nWhere he knows a gal s a-waitin under-\\nneath a creepin vine,\\nWhere the sun is kinder cautious bout\\ncombatin with the shine\\nIn her eyes en jist anuther thing that\\nnuther you er I\\nCould look at with easy feelin s is a piece o\\npumpkin pie\\nThat hez made our mothers famous but\\ndown there along the track\\nIs the man who does the cheerin\\nWhen the troops come back.\\nIt s jist the same in war times ez in com-\\nmon ev ry day,\\nWhen a feller keeps a-strugglin en a-peg-\\ngin on his way,\\nHe likes to hev somebody come and grab\\nhim by the hand,\\nEn say: 01 boy, you ll git there yit;\\nyou ve got the grit en sand.\\nIt does him good, en I low that it does a\\nsoldier, too\\nSo even if the feller at the track don t wear\\nthe blue,\\nHe s helped save bleedin Cuby from the\\ntyrants en their rack\\nBy leadin in the cheerin\\nWhen the troops come back.\\nEdward Singer.\\nTO THE FLYING SQUADRON.\\nFiKRCK flock of sea gulls, with huge\\nwings of white,\\nTossed on the treacherous blue,\\nPoising your pinions in majestic flight\\nOur hearts take voyage with you.\\nGod save us from war s terrors May they\\ncease\\nAnd yet one fate, how worse", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n123\\nA bloodless, perjured, prostituting peace,\\nGlutting a coward s purse\\nOh, if yon beaks and talons clutch and\\ncling\\nFar in the middle seas\\nWith those of hostile war birds, wing to\\nwing\\nOur hearts shall fight with these.\\nGod speed you Never fared crusading\\nknight\\nOn holier quest than ye\\nSworn to the rescue of the trampled right,\\nSworn to make Cuba free\\nYea, swiftly to avenge our martyred\\nMaine,\\nI watch you curve and wheel\\nIn horrible grace of battle scourge of\\nSpain,\\nBirds with the beaks of steel\\nSONG FOR OUR FLEETS.\\nA song for our fleets our iron fleets,\\nOf grim and savage beauty,\\nThat plow their way through fields\\nof spray\\nTo follow a nation s duty\\nThe winds may blow and the waves may\\nflow\\nAnd stars may hide their faces,\\nBut we little reck, our stars o er deck\\nStill glitter within their places,\\nLet never a one who gazes on\\nThis pageant, calm and splendid,\\nDoubt that our coasts from hostile hosts\\nWill gallantly be defended\\nA desperate foe may wish us woe,\\nBut what is their petty knavery\\nAgainst the right, when backed by might\\nAnd Anglo-Saxon bravery\\nA song for our fleets our gallant fleets,\\nNeath flags of glory flying,\\nThat carry the aid, so long delayed,\\nTo those that are crushed and dying\\nAnd flames may glow, and blood may flow,\\nBut, still with a stern endeavor,\\nWe ll rule the main, and lash foul Spain\\nFrom our western world forever\\nPICTURE OF WAR.\\nSpirit of light and life when battle\\nrears\\nHer fiery brow and her terrific spears\\nWhen red-mouthed cannon to the clouds\\nuproar,\\nAnd gasping thousands make their beds in\\ngore,\\nWhile on the billowy bosom of the air\\nRoll the dead notes of anguish and des-\\npair\\nUnseen, thou walk st on the smoking plain\\nAnd hear st each groan that gurgles from\\nthe slain\\nList war peals thunder on the battlefield\\nAnd many a hand grasps firm the glitter-\\ning shield,\\nAs on, with helm and plume, the warriors\\ncome,\\nAnd the glad hills repeat their stormy drum\\nAnd now are seen the youthful and the\\ngray,\\nWith bosoms firing to partake the fray\\nThe first with hearts that consecrate the\\ndeed,\\nAll eager rush to vanquish or to bleed\\nLike young waves racing in the morning\\nsun,\\nThat rear and leap with reckless fury on\\nBut mark yon war-worn man, who looks on\\nhigh,\\nWith thought and valor mirrored in his\\neye\\nNot all the gory revels of the day\\nCan fright the vision of his home away\\nThe home of love, and its associate smiles,\\nHis wife s endearment, and his baby s\\nwiles\\nFights he less brave through recollected\\nbliss,\\nWith step retreating, or with sword remiss\\nAh no remembered home s the warrior s\\ncharm,\\nSpeed to his sword, and vigor to his arm\\nFor this he supplicates the God afar,\\nFronts the steeled foe, and mingles in the\\nwar\\nThe cannon s hushed nor drum, nor\\nclarion sound\\nHelmet and hauberk gleam upon the\\nground", "height": "4388", "width": "3216", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "124\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nHorseman and. horse lie weltering in their\\ngore\\nPatriots are dead, and heroes dare no\\nmore\\nWhile solemnly the moonlight shrouds the\\nplain\\nAnd lights the lurid features of the slain\\nAnd see on this rent mound, where daisies\\nsprung,\\nA battle steed beneath his rider flung\\nOh never more he ll rear with fierce\\ndelight,\\nRoll his red eyes, and rally for the fight\\nPale on his bleeding breast the warrior\\nlies,\\nWhile from his ruffled lids the white-\\nswelled eyes\\nGhastly and grimly stare upon the skies\\nAfar, with bosom bared unto the breeze,\\nWhite lips, and glaring eyes, and shivering\\nknees,\\nA widow o er her martyred soldier moans,\\nLoading the night-winds with delirious\\ngroans\\nHer blue-eyed babe, unconscious orphan\\nhe!\\nSo sweetly prattling in his cherub glee,\\nLeers on his lifeless sire with infant wile,\\nAnd plays and plucks him for a parent s\\nsmile\\nBut who, upon the battle- wasted plain,\\nShall count the faint, the gasping and the\\nslain\\nAngel of Mercy ere the blood-fount chill,\\nAnd the brave heart be spiritless and still,\\nAmid the havoc thou art hovering nigh,\\nTo calm each groan, and close each dying\\neye,\\nAnd waft the spirit to that halcyon shore,\\nWhere war s loud thunders lash the winds\\nno more\\nRobert Montgomery.\\nBERNARDO DEL CARPIO.\\nA splendid selection for the portrayal of varying emotions of sup-\\nplication, delight, filial veneration, horror, humiliation, grief,\\nhatred, defiance and resignation.\\nT\\nhe warrior bowed his crested head, and\\ntamed his heart of fire,\\nAnd sued the hearty king to free his\\nlong- imprisoned sire\\nI bring thee here my fortress -keys, I bring\\nmy captive train,\\nI pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord oh,\\nbreak my father s chain\\nRise, rise even now thy father comes a\\nransomed man, this day\\nMount thy good horse, and thou and I will\\nmeet him on his way.\\nThen lightly rose that loyal son and bounded\\non his steed,\\nAnd urged, as if with lance in rest, the\\ncharger s foamy speed.\\nAnd lo from far, as on they pressed, there\\ncame a glittering band,\\nWith one that midst them stately rode, as\\na leader in the land\\nNow haste, Bernardo, haste for there, in\\nvery truth, is he,\\nThe father whom thy faithful heart hath\\nyearned so long to see.\\nHis dark eye flash d, his proud breast heav d,\\nhis cheek s blood came and went;\\nHe reached that gray-haired chieftain s side,\\nand there, dismounting, bent\\nA lowly knee to earth he bent, his father s\\nhand he took,\\nWhat was there in its touch that all his\\nfiery spirit shook\\nThat hand was cold a frozen thing it\\ndropped from his like lead\\nHe looked up to the face above the face\\nwas of the dead\\nA plume waved o er the noble brow the\\nbrow was fixed and white\\nHe met at last his father s eyes but in\\nthem was no sight\\nUp from the ground he sprang, and gazed,\\nbut who could paint that gaze\\nThey hushed their very hearts, that saw its\\nhorror and amaze\\nThey might have chained him, as before\\nthat stony form he stood,\\nFor the power was stricken from his arm,\\nand from his lip the blood.\\nFather! at length he murmured low,\\nand wept like childhood then\\nTalk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears\\nof warlike men", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n125\\nHe thought on all his glorious hopes, and\\nall his young renown,\\nHe flung his falchion from his side, and in\\nthe dust sat down.\\nThen covering with his steel-gloved hands\\nhis darkly mournful brow,\\nNo more, there is no more, he said, to\\nlift the sword for now.\\nMy king is false, my hope betrayed, my\\nfather oh the worth,\\nThe glory and the loveliness are passed\\naway from earth\\nI thought to stand where banners waved,\\nmy sire beside thee yet\\nI would that there our kindred blood on\\nSpain s free soil had met\\nThou wouldst have known my spirit then\\nfor thee my fields were won,\\nAnd thou hast perished in thy chains, as\\nthough thou hadst no son\\nThen, starting from the ground once more,\\nhe seized the monarch s rein,\\nAmidst the pale and wildered looks of all\\nthe courtier train\\nAnd with a fierce, o ermastering grasp, the\\nrearing war horse led,\\nAnd sternly set them face to face the king\\nbefore the dead\\nCame I not forth upon thy pledge, my\\nfather s hand to kiss\\nBe still, and gaze thou on, false king and\\ntell me what is this\\nThe voice, the glance, the heart I sought\\ngive answer, where are they\\nIf thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul,\\nsend life through this cold clay\\nInto these glassy eyes put light Be still\\nkeep down thine ire,\\nBid these white lips a blessing speak this\\nearth is not my sire\\nGive me back him for whom I strove, for\\nwhom my blood was shed,\\nThou canst not and a king His dust be\\nmountains on thy head\\nHe loosed the steed his slack hand fell\\nupon the silent face\\nHe cast one long, deep, troubled look then\\nturned from that sad place\\nHis hope was crushed, his after fate untold\\nin martial strain,\\nHis banner led the spears no more, amidst\\nthe hills of Spain.\\nFelicia D. Hemans.\\nTHE ROMAN SENTINEL.\\nIn the excavations made by the government authorities to\\nrestore the ancient city of Pompeii, the workmen discovered the\\nbones of a Roman soldier in the sentry box at one of the city s\\ngates. As rocks of shelter were near at hand, and escape from\\nthe volcano s fiery deluge thus rendered possible, the supposition\\nis that this brave sentinel chose to meet death, rather than desert\\nhis post of duty.\\nTHE morning sun rose from his crimson\\ncouch\\nIn the Orient-land, and bathed the\\nworld\\nIn golden showers of refreshing light\\nWith orange and with jasmine the gardens\\nOf Pompeii were beautiful and fragrant\\nThe gray rocks, robed and crowned with\\nvines and flowers,\\nWere lulled to sleep upon the bosom of\\nthe Bay.\\nThe merchant ships and pleasure boats\\nlay still\\nAnd lifeless or, drifting aimlessly between\\nThe blue of the skies and the blue of the\\nthe sea.\\nSailing away on silvery pinions,\\nA pair of cloud-lovers, with cheeks of pearl,\\nBlushed to discover, in the sea below,\\nTheir mirrored images. The distant isles\\nAnswered back smiles of happy contentment\\nTo voices calling from the mainland shores.\\nThe hazy air, mild and calm, wrapped\\nthis proud\\nOld Italian city in a mantle\\nOf deamful repose. On her streets the tramp\\nOf feet, now and then, broke the lazy quiet\\nSome bought, some sold, some danced, some\\nplayed, some slept\\nAnd each one went about his daily work,\\nNor dreamed of danger near.\\nAt a gate commanding entrance to Pompeii\\nWas placed a trusty sentinel. His tall,\\nErect and warlike stature told a tale\\nOf dauntless courage. Proud of the\\nfaith and\\nConfidence placed in his loyal heart,\\nThe sentinel s eyes shone like brilliant stars", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "126\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nHis trumpet, sword and buckler hung about\\nHis frame with airy lightness, while his face,\\nHis bearing and his every action\\nProclaimed in terms and force significant\\nHere staiids a Roman soldier\\nWhile pacing to and fro his measured beat,\\nAnd dreaming dreams of long expected\\nhonors,\\nThere comes, beneath him, a strange quick\\nmovement\\nHe stops waits\u00e2\u0080\u0094 listens. Ah, it comes\\nagain\\nThen he knows the awful truth an\\nearthquake,\\nThat dreadful harbinger of volcanic\\nAction A third time, and the ground\\ndoth heave\\nLike ocean billows Up, through evr y vein\\nThe soldier s blood darts with freezing\\ntorture\\nHe looks towards the Bay, it boils and\\nstruggles\\nIn its mad contention, lashing itself\\nAs it lashes the shore He lifts his trumpet\\nAnd sounds a loud alarm Back from\\nthe throat\\nOf great Vesuvius returns the answer,\\nA rumble, rumble, rumble, like distant\\nArtillery Volumes of smoke, dense and\\nGigantic, roll from the maddened crater\\nDaylight ceases no sun no moon\\nno stars\\nNow dreadful, appaling, and magnificent\\nBlazes the weird, Plutonian candle\\nThe ground heaves It rocks again\\nThe waters\\nLeap beyond their shores See the giant\\nmountain\\nTrembles Then one long, unnatural,\\nroaring\\nPeal of wild volcanic thunder, and the\\nFiery lakes of hell are hurled, seething,\\nInto the clouds above Sound the danger\\nSignals Rouse the thoughtless people\\nFly! fly!\\nFly for your lives Too late too late\\nforever\\nToo late A molton sea of liquid fire\\nPours down upon the fated city\\nGhastly imps, the spectres of ruin, gloat\\nAbove the hissing surges Now a vain\\nOf red-hot ashes, stones, and cinders falls\\nThick and fast for miles around In\\nthe sreets,\\nIn their shops, in their homes that\\nstartled mass\\nOf poor humanity is suddenly\\nClasped in the arms of unexpected death\\nOld age, manhood, bouyant youth, and\\nhelpless\\nInfancy all, all at once are buried\\nNeath the burning fury of that awful\\nAvalanche\\nWhen the pent up ire\\nOf grim Vesuvius had burst its massive\\nPrison bars, the soldier thought: What\\nshall\\nI do To yon projecting rock I quick\\nCan fly and safety find But can I thus\\nbetray\\nMy sacred trust and win the name of\\ncoward\\nIs life a gem worth such a price to me\\nCould ev r again these Roman lips repeat\\nThe name my father bore No no\\nno here\\nHere will I stand so let the fiends of hell\\nExhaust their utmost fury! Trumpet,\\nsound\\nMy challenge bold Ye heavens, wear\\nyour blackest face\\nVolcano, hurl your wildest fires For\\nthough\\nI choke I burn I sink I die yet ne er\\nWill I forsake my post of duty\\nSeventeen\\nHundred years rolled by ere again the light\\nOf day shone on the buried city\\nThen excavation broke the seals which held\\nThe solemn secret. Two hundred thousand\\nSkulls and more were found entombed\\nbeneath\\nThe ashes. Every stone and piece of metal\\nLifted from the ancient ruins, told o er\\nAnd o er the horrors of that dark eruption.\\nAt his post the sentinel s bones had kept\\nTheir long and ghastly vigil. As in life\\nSo e en in death, the sacred trust was not\\nDeserted.\\nWard M. Florence;,", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n127\\nWASHINGTON S BIRTHDAY.\\nTo day our George of hatchet fame\\nReminds us of his birth\\nHe left a loved and honored name,\\nRevered o er all the earth.\\nHe nursed the germs of liberty\\nThat bore us priceless fruit,\\nDeclared that nature made us free\\nNo king should persecute.\\nTo-day we rank among the nations\\nIn power, wealth and fame\\nNo longer seeking approbation\\nAnd bear an honored name.\\nNow science, art and invention\\nAre our genial friends\\nEducation has attention\\nAdapting means to ends.\\nIn enterprise we lead all nations,\\nTo Uncle Sam all bow\\nDaily reaching higher stations\\nWe are not beggars now.\\nGold, the polar star of power\\nIs near its zenith now\\nAccumulating ev ry hour\\nFrom furnace, loom and plow.\\nHumanity must intercede\\nTo check this growing power\\nTo limit selfishness and greed\\nThat make the feeble cower.\\nSome politicians doubt the tale\\nAbout the cherry tree,\\nBut recognize behind the veil\\nHis love of liberty.\\nJohn Bacheldkr, In The Progress\\nTHE HOME VOYAGE.\\nA tribute to the memory of General H. W. Lawton, on the\\ncoming home of his dead body.\\nBear with us, O great captain, if our pride\\nShows equal measure with our grief s\\nexcess\\nIn greeting you in this your helplessness,\\nTo countermand our vanity and hide\\nYour stern displeasure that we thus had\\ntried\\nTo praise you, knowing praise was your\\ndistress,\\nBut this home-coming swells our hearts\\nno less,\\nBecause for love of home you proudly died.\\nIyO, then The cable, fathoms neath\\nthe keel\\nThat shapes your course, is eloquent of you\\nThe old flag, too, at half mast overhead\\nWe doubt not that its gale-kissed ripples\\nfeel\\nA prouder sense of red and white and\\nblue\\nThe stars Ah, God Were they inter-\\npreted.\\nIn strange lands were your latest honors\\nwon\\nIn strange wilds, with strange dangers all\\nbeset\\nWith rain, like tears, the face of day was\\nwet,\\nAs rang the ambushed foeman s fatal gun\\nAnd as you felt your final duty done,\\nWe feel, that glory thrills your spirit yet,\\nWhen at the front, in swiftest death, you\\nmet,\\nThe patriots doom and best reward in one.\\nAnd so the tumult of that island-war\\nAt last, for you, is stilled forevermore\\nIts scenes of blood blend white as ocean-\\nfoam\\nOn your rapt vision as you sight afar\\nThe sails of peace and from that alien\\nshore,\\nThe proud ship bears you on your voyage\\nhome.\\nOr rough or smooth the wave, or lowering\\nday,\\nOr starlight sky you hold, by native right,\\nYour high tranquility the silent might\\nOf the true hero. So you led the way\\nTo victory through the stormiest battle-\\nfray,\\nBecause your followers, high above the fight\\nHeard your soul s slight whisper bid\\nthem smile\\nFor God and man and space to kneel and\\npray.\\nAnd thus you cross the seas into your own\\nBeloved land, convoyed with honors meet\\nSaluted as your home s first heritage\\nNor salutation from your state alone,\\nBut all the states, gathered in mighty fleet-\\nDip colors as you move to anchorage.\\nJambs WhiTCOMB RilKY in The Progress.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "128\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nA LEGEND OF THE DECLARATION.\\nBy Special Permission of the Author.\\nThe vote on the Declaration was by Colonies. Six had voted\\nfor and six against the measure. The Pennsylvania delegation\\nhad the casting vote, and it being equally divided, John Morton\\ndecided the momentous question, thus making Pennsylvania the\\nKeystone State.\\nA hundred years and more have fled\\nSince brave Columbia burst the chains\\nThat tyranny and avarice wed.\\nThen liberty was yet a dream\\nA hymn still sung in whispered strains\\nA first gray dawn, a herald beam\\nOf freedom s sun.\\nTwas then oppression s ruthless hand\\nWas striving to regain its prey,\\nAnd spread dismay throughout the land.\\nHeroic souls at once convened\\nTo crush a hatred monarch s sway,\\nWhose dastard rule had fully weaned\\nHis subject s love.\\nEach colony her chosen sent\\nTo Philadelphia s spacious hall,\\nThe people s will to represent.\\nSuccess would crown them patriots brave\\nOne thing was needful to them all,\\nOr each might find a traitor s grave\\nTwas unanimity.\\nThe Continental Congress met\\nEach delegate had said his say,\\nSave one, who had not spoken yet.\\nWith us the vote remained a tie\\nGood Pennsylvania held the sway\\nTwas she who now must cast the die,\\nTo wreck or save.\\nJohn Morton s called all eyes are strained\\nThe federal arch is almost built\\nThe arch that freedom s God ordained.\\nHe voted right, all undismayed\\nE en though his true heart s blood be spilt\\nAnd thus he nobly, safely laid\\nThe Keystone.\\nAnd so the mighty deed was done,\\nThat makes us what we are to-day,\\nBy which our sovereign right was won.\\nJohn Morton gained eternal fame,\\nTwill last with Independence Day,\\nAnd Pennsylvania gained a name\\nThe Keystone State.\\nGeo. M. Vtckers.\\nGENERAL ROBERT E. LEE.\\nBy Permission of the Author.\\nThis poem, written by an old Yankee soldier, was forwarded\\nby General Buckner, of the Union Army, to the Lee Monument\\nAssociation on the occasion of the unvailing of the statue of Lee.\\nIt is a tribute alike to the great southern general who is held in\\nuniversal esteem, and also to the magnanimous spirit of his old\\nfoes in arms.\\nLET glory s wreath rest on the warrior s\\ntomb,\\nLet monumental shaft surmount his\\ngrave,\\nFor all the world yields homage to the\\nbrave,\\nAnd heroes dead have vanquished every\\nfoe.\\nThe earth is strewn with storied slabs\\nwhich tell\\nThat manliness is born of every clime.\\nEach sword is drawn to guard a seeming\\nright,\\nEach blow is struck to crush a fancied\\nwrong\\nFor war proclaims sincere consistency,\\nAnd victory but seals just Heaven s decree.\\nO Western World, what noble men are\\nthine,\\nHow brave their hearts, how steadfast to\\nthe end\\nThe pride of empire is of valor born,\\nThe soldier shapes the destiny of man.\\nLook, then, ye tyrant kings that rule by\\nfear\\nBehold, ye nations of the earth Our\\nsons\\nAre warriors born Lee was our son he\\nsleeps\\nOur son, a soldier, an American.\\nGeo. M. Vickers.\\nWE LL FLING THE STARRY BANNED\\nOUT.\\n{By Special Permission of the Author.)\\nDuring the year 1893, an effort was made by the Patriotic Orders\\nof America to have the Stars aud Stripes floated over the pub-\\nlic schools of the country, so that the children attending them\\nmight learn to reverence it as an emblem representing a great and\\nglorious Republic. This attempt of the Orders met with strong\\nopposition, but finally its advocates were successful, and to-day,\\nOld Glory floats in the breeze over thousands of school-\\nhouses throughout America. A challenge from the pen of some\\none unfriendly to the cause appeared in public print, and in\\nresponse to Don t You Dare to Fling Out the Flag, the fol-\\nlowing lines were written\\nw\\ne ll fling the Starry Banner out.\\nThat nations from afar\\nMay read of freedom s holy light.\\nGrafted in stripe and star.", "height": "4380", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n129\\nWe ll fling the Starry Banner out,\\nBecause it tells a story,\\nOf days that prompted sons and sires\\nTo deeds of love and glory.\\nWe ll fling the Starry Banner out,\\nFrom Maine to Golden Gate\\nIt breathes a love for liberty,\\nThat kings and tyrants hate.\\nWe ll fling the Starry Banner out,\\nThat patriot hands unfurled\\nProudly it floats o er land and sea,\\nA lamp to light the world.\\nWe ll fling the Starry Banner out,\\nNor shall a star be riven\\nFrom out its field of blue so bright,\\nAnd typical of heaven.\\nWe ll fling the Starry Banner out,\\nAnd guard with greatest care,\\nIts stripes and stars, and field of blue,\\nIn peace as well as war.\\nWe ll fling the Starry Banner out,\\nSo that it may become\\nThe pride of every patriot s heart,\\nAnd a joy in every home.\\nWilliam F. Knott.\\nPRIVATE JONES.\\n{Encore.\\nIused to boss him in the store\\nAnd oversee his work,\\nFor I had charge of one whole floor\\nAnd he was just a clerk.\\nTo-day it s different, if you please\\nWe ve changed respective pegs,\\nI m private in the ranks and he s\\nGot stripes down his legs.\\nThe girls, whose smiles were once for me,\\nNow scarce vouchsafe a glance,\\nSuch great attraction can they see\\nIn decorated pants.\\nThe erstwhile clerk no longer my\\nIndulgence humble begs.\\nI m down below. He up on high,\\nWith stripes down his legs.\\nIt s Private Jones, do this and that.\\nIn haste I must bestir\\nTo Jenkins, on whom oft I ve sat,\\nI m told to answer sir\\nOne born to rule, it s come to pass\\nOf woe I drink the dregs\\nI m in the army, with, alas\\nNo stripes down my legs.\\nEdwin L. Sabin.\\nWHO WILL CARE FOR MOTHER NOW?\\nDuring one of the Spanish war battles, among many other\\nnoble fellows that fell, was a young man who had been the only\\nsupport of an aged and sick mother for years. Hearing the sur-\\ngeon tell those who were near him, that he could not live, he\\nplaced his hand across his forehead and, with a trembling voice,\\nsaid, while burning tears ran down his fevered cheeks Who\\nwill care for mother now\\nw\\nhy am I so weak and weary\\nSee how faint my heated breath,\\nAll around to me seems darkness-\\nTell me, comrades, is this death?\\nAh how well I know your answer,\\nTo my fate I meekly bow,\\nIf you ll only tell me truly,\\nWho will care for mother now\\nCHORUS.\\nSoon with angels I ll be marching,\\nWith bright laurels on my brow,\\nI have for my country fallen,\\nWho will care for mother now\\nWho will comfort her in sorrow\\nWho will dry the fallen tear\\nGently smooth the wrinkled forehead\\nWho will whisper words of cheer\\nEven now I think I see her\\nKneeling, praying for me how\\nCan I leave her in her anguish\\nWho will care for mother now\\nLet this knapsack be my pillow,\\nAnd my mantle be the sky\\nHasten, comrades, to the battle,\\nI will like a soldier die.\\nSoon with angels I ll be marching,\\nWith bright laurels on my brow\\nI have for my country fallen,\\nWho will care for mother now\\nI WANT TO GO HOME.\\nThat the camp life of the common soldier is not all joy and\\njollity has been the experience of almost every one who has borne\\narms. Few old soldiers would fail to find the sentiment of the\\nfollowing lines somewhere in their own recollections.\\nI want to go home wailed the privit,\\nThe sarg ent an corpril the same,\\nper I m sick of the camp an the drilling", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "ISO\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nThe grub an the rest of the game\\nI m willin to do all the nghtin\\nThey ll give me in any old way,\\nBut me girl s all alone an I want to go\\nhome,\\nAn I want to go home to-day.\\nFer I ve marched till me throat was a\\ncrackin\\nTill crazed fer the sake of a drink\\nI ve drilled till me back was a breakin\\nAn I haven t had gumption to think\\nAn I ve done my whole share of policin\\nAn guard an I m tired of me lay,\\nFer me girl s all alone an I want to go\\nhome,\\nAn I want to go home to-day.\\nDo they need us, a dyin in camp life\\nThey say it s the water and such\\nWe think it s more likely we re homesick,\\nBut the life of a privit ain t much.\\nAn they know we can fight if we have to,\\nAn they won t have to show us the way,\\nBut me girl s all alone an I want to go\\nhome,\\nAn I want to go home to-day.\\nBOER PRAYERS AT BRITISH GRAVES.\\nA British health officer, Writing a description of the burial\\nof British soldiers at Ladysmith, tells how the Boers helped\\nlliem bury their dead and prayed and sang at the graves. The\\nBritish were deeply moved thereby. In the Westminster\\nGazette appears the following poem relating the incident.\\nTenderly down the hill we bore them,\\nRiddled with bullets, shattered with shell\\nNever a cry was lifted o er them,\\nNever a tear above them fell.\\nFriendly came the Boers beside them,\\nMuttered, Poor fellows, so worn and\\nthin!\\nHelped us to hollow the trench to hide\\nthem,\\nHelped us to carefully lay them in.\\nHornily-handed, rough of faces,\\nAll their battle-wrath passed away\\nIt seemed the hearts of the sundered races\\nWere one in love of the dead that day.\\nSolemnly, then, we read the verses\\nAshes to ashes dust to dust\\nAs we gave our mates to the last of nurses\\nThe pitiful earth in whose peace we trust.\\nKindly up there stepped a foeman,\\nStepped to the grave and prayed a prayer,\\nNever a son of a British woman\\nBut felt the breath of the L,ord was there.\\nFaithfully, humbly did he pray it\\nPrayed to the Father of foe and friend\\nTo look from heaven at last and stay it,\\nMake of this terrible war an end.\\nPlaintively then uprose their chorus\\nA hymn to the God of the warless years\\nThe tender heart of a girl came o er us\\nWe sobbed, and turned from the grave in\\ntears.\\nH. D. Rawnsi^y.\\nA SOLDIER S OFFERING.\\n{For Decoration Day. By special permission of\\nthe author.)\\nThe laurel wreath of glory\\nThat decks the soldier s grave,\\nIs but the finished story,\\nThe record of the brave\\nAnd he who dared the danger,\\nWho battled well and true,\\nTo honor was no stranger,\\nThough garbed in gray or blue.\\nGo, strip your choicest bowers,\\nWhere blossoms sweet abound,\\nThen scatter free your flowers\\nUpon each moss-grown mound\\nThough shaded by the North s tall pine\\nOr South s palmetto tree,\\nLet sprays that soldier s graves entwine,\\nA soldier s tribute be.\\nGko. M. Vickkrs.\\nADHIRAL SUSAN JANE.\\nI may be wrong about it, but it seems to\\nme, by gum\\nThat this here war we re in ain t bein\\nmanaged right\\nI know somebody that I ll bet could fairly\\nmake things hum\\nAnd knock the Spaniards out of time\\nbefore to-morrow night.\\nS-s-s-h Say, don t let her hear us But\\nI ll bet if Susan Jane\\nCould be appointed admiral fer jist about\\na day", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n131\\nThe powers couldn t stop er it d all be up\\nwith Spain\\nOne look from her, and every Don would\\nwant to sneak away.\\n,1 d like to see Cervera or old Blanco when\\nshe got\\nHim cornered, as she often corners me,\\nAnd then look through and through him\\nlaws I ll bet he would not\\nBe long in beggin fer a chance to scoot\\nacross the sea\\nTalk about your fiery looks One look\\nfrom Susan Jane\\nJist sets my blood a-tinglin and upsets\\nme fer a week\\nIf she could meet Sagasta that would settle\\nthings for Spain\\nShe d make him give up all before he d\\ngot a chance to speak\\nO, I d like to see old Weyler go if she was\\nin pursuit,\\nWith a pair of trusty scissors in her hand\\nI ll bet he wouldn t argue, and I ll bet that\\nhe would scoot,\\nAs he d go it from Old Nick and all his\\nbrimstone eatin band\\nI wouldn t want to say it, if I thought that\\nshe could hear,\\nBut it d be a chilly day fer poor old\\ngroggy Spain\\nIf our commodores and admirals were all to\\ndisappear,\\nAnd the whole affair was put into the\\nhands of Susan Jane.\\nS. E. Kiskr.\\nTHE AMERICAN FLAG.\\nA thoughtful mind, when it sees a\\nnation s flag, sees not the flag only,\\nbut the nation itself; and whatever\\nmay be its symbols, its insignia, he reads\\nchiefly in the flag the government, the\\nprinciples, the truths, the history, which\\nbelong to the nation that sets it forth.\\nWhen the French tricolor rolls out to the\\nwind, we see France. When the new-found\\nItalian flag is unfurled, we see resurrected\\nItaly. When the other three cornered\\nHungarian flag shall be lifted to the wind,\\nwe shall see in it the long-buried but never\\ndead principles oi Hungarian liberty.\\nWhen the united crosses of St. Andrew\\nand St. George on a fiery ground set forth\\nthe banner of Old England, we see not the\\ncloth merely there rises up before the mind\\nthe noble aspect of that monarchy, which,\\nmore than any other on the globe, has\\nadvanced its banner for liberty, law and\\nnational prosperity.\\nThis nation has a banner too and when-\\never it streamed abroad, men saw daybreak\\nbursting on their eyes, for the American\\nflag has been the symbol of liberty, and\\nmen rejoiced in it. Not another flag on\\nthe globe had such an errand, or went forth\\nupon thesea, carrying everywhere, the world\\naround, such hope for the captive and such\\nglorious tidings.\\nThe stars upon it were to the pining\\nnations like the morning stars of God, and\\nthe stripes upon it were beams of morning\\nlight.\\nAs at early dawn the stars stand first, and\\nthen it grows light, and then as the sun ad-\\nvances, the light breaks into banks and\\nstreaming lines of color, the glowing red and\\nintense white striving together and ribbing\\nthe horizon with bars effulgent, so on the\\nAmerican flag, stars and beams of many\\ncolored light shine out together. And\\nwherever the flag comes, and men behold\\nit, they see in its sacred emblazonry, no\\nrampant lion and fierce eagle, but only light,\\nand every fold significant of liberty.\\nThe history of this banner is all on one\\nside. Under it rode Washington and his\\narmies before it Burgoyne laid down his\\narms. It waved on the highlands at West\\nPoint it floated over old Fort Montgomery.\\nWhen Arnold would have surrendered these\\nvaluable fortresses and precious legacies, his\\nnight was turned into day, and his treachery\\nwas driven away, by the beams of light from\\nthis starry banner.\\nIt cheered our army, driven from New\\nYork, in their solitary pilgrimage through\\nNew Jersey. It streamed in light over\\nValley Forge and Morristown. It crossed\\nthe waters rolling with ice at Trenton and\\nwhen its stars gleamed in the cold morning\\nwith victory, a new day of hope dawned on\\nthe despondency of the nation. And when,\\nat length, the long years of war were", "height": "4384", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "132\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\ndrawing to a close, underneath the folds of\\nthis immortal banner sat Washington while\\nYorktown surrendered its hosts, and our\\nRevolutionary struggles ended with victory.\\nL,et us then twine each thread of the\\nglorious tissue of our country s flag about\\nour heartstrings and looking upon our\\nhomes and catching the spirit that breathes\\nupon us from the battlefields of our fathers,\\nlet us resolve, come weal or woe, we will,\\nin life and in death, now and forever, stand\\nby the Stars and Stripes. They have been\\nunfurled from the snows of Canada to the\\nplains of New Orleans, in the halls of the\\nMontezumas and amid the solitude of every\\nsea and everywhere, as the luminous sym-\\nbol of resistless and beneficent power, they\\nhave led the brave to victory and to glory.\\nThey have floated over our cradles let it\\nbe our prayer and our struggle that they\\nshall float over our graves. In this consists\\nour hope, and without it there can be no\\nfuture for our nation.\\nHenry Ward Beecher.\\nRIENZI TO THE ROMAN CONSPIRATORS\\nIN 1347.\\nRomans look round you on this\\nsacred place\\nThere once stood shrines, and gods,\\nand godlike men.\\nWhat see you now what solitary trace\\nIs left of all that made Rome s glory then\\nThe shrines are sunk, the Sacred Mount\\nbereft\\nEven of its name and nothing now\\nremains\\nBut the deep memory of that glory, left\\nTo whet our pangs and aggravate our\\nchains\\nBut shall this be Our sun and sky the\\nsame,\\nTreading the very soil our fathers trod,\\nWhat withering curse hath fallen on soul\\nand frame,\\nWhat visitation hath there come from God\\nTo blast our strength, and rot us into slaves,\\nHere, on our great forefathers glorious\\ngraves\\nIt can not be Rise up, ye mighty dead,\\nIf W\u00c2\u00a3, the living, are too weak to crush\\nThese tyrant priests, that o er your empire\\ntread\\nTill all but Romans at Rome s tameness\\nblush\\nHappy, Palmyra, in thy desert domes,\\nWhere only date- trees sigh, and ser-\\npents hiss\\nAnd thou, whose pillars are but silent\\nhomes\\nFor the stork s brood, superb Per-sep olis\\nThrice happy both, that your extinguished\\nrace\\nHave left no embers no half-living trace\\nNo slaves, to crawl around the once proud\\nspot,\\nTill past renown in present shame s forgot\\nWhile Rome, the queen of all, whose very\\nwrecks,\\nIf lone and lifeless through a desert\\nhurled,\\nWould wear more true magnificence than\\ndecks\\nThe assembled thrones of all the existing\\nworld\\nRome, Rome alone is haunted, stained, and\\ncursed,\\nThrough every spot her princely Tiber\\nlaves,\\nBy living human things the deadliest,\\nworst,\\nThis earth engenders tyrants and their\\nslaves\\nAnd we O, shame we, who have pon-\\ndered o er\\nThe patriot s lesson, and the poet s lay;\\nHave mounted up the streams of an-\\ncient lore,\\nTracking our country s glories all\\nthe way\\nEven we have tamely, basely kissed the\\nground,\\nBefore that tyrant power, that ghost\\nof her,\\nThe world s imperial mistress sitting,\\ncrowned\\nAnd ghastly, on her mouldering\\nsepulcher\\nBut this is past too long have lordly\\npriests\\nAnd priestly lords led us, with all our\\npride", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n133\\nWithering about us, like devoted beasts,\\nDragged to the shrine, with faded gar-\\nlands tied.\\nTis o er the dawn of our deliverance\\nbreaks\\nUp from his sleep of centuries awakes\\nThe Genius of the old republic, free\\nAs first he stood, in chainless majesty,\\nAnd sends his voice through ages yet to\\nAnd when their eyes flashed O my beauti-\\nful eyes\\nI exulted nay, let them go forth at the\\nwheels\\nOf the guns, and denied not. But then the\\nsurprise,\\nWhen one sits quite alone Then one\\nweeps, then one kneels\\nGod how the house feels\\ncome,\\nProclaiming Rome, Rome, Rome, Eternal At first happy news came, in gay letters\\nThomas Moore.\\nRome moiled\\nWith my kisses, of camplife and glory,\\nand how\\nThey both loved me, and soon coming home\\nto be spoiled,\\nIn return would fan off every fly from my\\nbrow\\nWith their green-laurel bough.\\nThen was triumph at Turin. Ancona was\\nfree.\\nAnd some one came out of the cheers in\\nthe street,\\nWith a face pale as stone, to say something\\nto me\\nMy Guido was dead I fell down at his\\nfeet,\\nWhile they cheered in the street.\\nYet I was a poetess only last year,\\nAnd good at my art, for a woman, men I bore it friends soothed me; my grief\\nMOTHER AND POET.\\nTurin. After news from Gcela, 1861.\\nMost effective if reader be costumed in black, hair powdered\\nand black lace draped about head and form.\\nDead one of them shot by the sea in the\\neast,\\nAnd one of them shot in the west by\\nthe sea.\\nDead both my boys When you sit at the\\nfeast\\nAnd are wanting a great song for Italy\\nfree,\\nLet none look at me\\nsaid.\\nBut this, woman, this, who is agonized here,\\nThe east sea and west sea rhyme on in\\nher head\\nForever instead.\\nWhat art s for a woman To hold on her\\nknees\\nBoth darlings to feel all their arms round\\nher throat\\nCling, strangle a little To sew by degrees,\\nAnd broider the long clothes and neat\\nlittle coat\\nTo dream and to dote.\\nlooked sublime\\nAs the ransom of Italy one boy\\nremained\\nTo be leant on and walked with, recalling\\nthe time\\nWhen the first grew immortal, while both\\nof us strained\\nTo the height he had gained.\\nAnd letters still came, shorter, sadder, more\\nstrong,\\nWrit now but in one hand, I was not\\nto faint.\\nOne loved me for two would be with me\\nere long\\nAnd Viva Italia he died for, our\\nsaint,\\nWho forbids our complaint.\\nTo teach them It stings there. I made\\nthem indeed\\nSpeak plain the word country. I\\ntaught them, no doubt,\\nThat a country s a thing men should die My Nanni would add, he was safe, and\\nfor at need. aware\\nI prated of liberty, rights, and about Of a presence that turned off the balls\\nThe tyrant turned out. was imprest", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "*34\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nIt was Guido himselt, who knew what I\\ncould bear,\\nAnd how twas impossible, quite dis-\\npossessed\\nTo live on for the rest,\\nOn which, without pause, up the telegraph\\nline\\nSwept smoothly the news from Gaeta\\nShot,\\nTell his mother, Ah, ah his, their\\nmother; not mine.\\nNo voice says my mother again to\\nme. What\\nYou think Guido forgot\\nAre souls straight so happy that, dizzy with\\nHeaven,\\nThey drop earth s affection, conceive not\\nof woe\\nI think not. Themselves were too lately\\nforgiven,\\nThrough that love and sorrow which\\nreconciled so\\nThe Above and Below.\\nO Christ of the seven wounds, Who look dst\\nthrough the dark\\nTo the face of Thy mother consider, I\\npray,\\nHow we common mothers stand desolate,\\nmark,\\nWhose sons, not being Christs, die with\\neyes turned away.\\nAnd no last word to say\\nBoth boys dead but that s out of nature.\\nWe all\\nHave been patriots, yet each house must\\nalways keep one,\\nTwere imbecile, hewing out roads to a wall.\\nAnd, when Italy s made, for what end is\\nit done\\nIf we have not a son\\nAh, ah, ah when Gaeta s taken, what\\nthen?\\nWhen the fair wicked queen sits no more\\nat her sport\\nOf the fire-balls of death crashing souls out\\nof men,\\nWhen your guns of Cavalli with final\\nretort\\nHave cut the game short,\\nWhen Venice and Rome keep their new\\njubilee,\\nWhen your flag takes all heaven for its\\nwhite, green, and red,\\nWhen you have your country from moun-\\ntain to sea,\\nWhen King Victor has Italy s crown on\\nhis head,\\n(And I have my dead)\\nWhat then Do not mock me Ah, ring\\nyour bells low,\\nAnd burn your lights faintly. My coun-\\ntry is there\\nAbove the star pricked by the last peak of\\nsnow,\\nMy Italy s there, with my brave civic\\npair,\\nTo disfranchise despair.\\nDead one of them shot by the sea in the\\nwest\\nAnd one of them shot in the east by the sea\\nBoth both my boys If in keeping the\\nfeast\\nYou want a great song for your Italy\\nfree,\\nLet none look at me\\nEuzabeth Barrett Brown.\\nDECORATION DAY.\\nDown by the clear river s side they wan-\\ndered,\\nHand in hand, on that perfect day\\nHe was young, handsome, brave, and tender,\\nShe more sweet than the flowers of May.\\nHe looked on her with brown eyes adoring,\\nWatching her blushes grow soft and\\ndeep\\nDarling, he said, with tones imploring,\\nShall we not ever the memory keep\\nOf this bright day, so happy, so holy\\nThis sweetest hour my life has e er known,\\nWhen you, dear, speaking gently and slowly,\\nAnswered me Yes, when I called you\\nmy own\\nFair was the sky, the sunset, the river,\\nWind in the trees, the water s low psalm,\\nBird- song, scent of wild roses. Oh, never\\nWas there an hour more blissful and calm", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "PATRIOTISM AND WAR\\n135\\nClose in his arms he held her the morrow\\nWould bring to their fond hearts parting\\nand pain,\\nAfter love s rapture, bitterest sorrow\\nAfter May sunshine, gloom and the rain.\\nThe country her sons to save her was\\ncalling\\nHe answered her summons, fearless and\\nbrave\\nOn to the front, where heroes were falling,\\nLove and all of life s promise he gave.\\nShe by the hearth, through long hours slow\\nmeasure,\\nWatched and yearned, and suffered and\\nprayed\\nRead o er his letters, lovingly treasured,\\nHoped his return, to hope, half afraid.\\nGod is good, she said. His love will\\ninfold him,\\nProtect him, and bring him safe to me\\nagain\\nI shall hear him once more, in rapture\\nbehold him,\\nOh, blessed reward, for my waiting and\\npain\\nIn camp, on the field, on marches long,\\nweary\\nHer face and her voice in his heart s\\ninner shrine\\nHe kept they brightened his way when\\nmost dreary,\\nLifted his life to the Life all devine.\\nHe fell in the ranks, at awful Stone River,\\nBlood of our heroes made sacred that sod\\nOn battle s red tide his soul went out ever\\nForward and upward to meet with his God\\nWorn, grown old, yet tenderly keeping,\\nEvery May month, sad tryst with her\\ndead,\\nShe knows not where her darling is sleeping,\\nShe lays no garlands on his low bed.\\nAll soldiers graves claim her love and her\\nblessing\\nShe decks them with flowers made sacred\\nby tears\\nLove of her heart for her soldier expressing,\\nLove that is stronger than death,\\nthrough the years.\\nSoon in the land of unfading beauty,\\nHe, faithful knight of valor and truth,\\nShe, living martyr to country and duty,\\nShall find the sweetness and love of their\\nyouth.\\nHonor the dead with richest oblation,\\nCover their graves with laurel and palm\\nHonor the living for life s consecration,\\nGive to their pierced hearts love s heal-\\ning balm.\\nMary Hussky.\\nFREEDOM S FLAG.\\nWhen Freedom from her mountain\\nheight\\nUnfurled her standard to the air,\\nShe tore the azure robe of night,\\nAnd set the stars of glory there\\nShe mingled with its gorgeous dyes\\nThe milky baldric of the skies,\\nAnd striped its pure celestial white\\nWith streakings of the morning light\\nThen, from his mansion in the sun\\nShe called her eagle bearer down,\\nAnd gave into his mighty hand\\nThe symbol of her chosen land.\\nMajestic monarch of the cloud\\nWho rear st aloft thy regal form,\\nTo hear the tempest-trumpings loud,\\nAnd see the lightning lances driven,\\nWhen strive the warriors of the storm.\\nAnd rolls the thunder-drum of heaven\\nChild of the sun to thee tis given\\nTo guard the banner of the free,\\nTo hover in the sulphur-smoke,\\nTo ward away the battle-stroke,\\nAnd bid its blendings shine afar,\\nLike rainbows on the cloud of war,\\nThe harbingers of victory\\nFlag of the brave thy folds shall fly,\\nThe sign of hope and triumph high,\\nWhen speaks the signal trumpet-tone,\\nAnd the long line comes gleaming on\\nEre yet the life-blood, warm and wet,\\nHas dimmed the glistening bayonet,\\nEach soldier eye shall brightly turn\\nTo where thy sky-born glories burn,\\nAnd as his springing steps advance\\nCatch war and vengeance from the glance.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "136\\nPATRIOTISM AND WAR\\nAnd when the cannon-mouthings loud\\nHeave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud,\\nAnd gory sabres rise and fall\\nLike shoots of flame on midnight s pall,\\nThen shall thy meteor glances glow,\\nAnd cowering foes shall sink beneath\\nEach gallant arm that strikes below\\nThat lovely messenger of death.\\nFlag of the seas on ocean wave\\nThy stars shall glitter o er the brave\\nWhen death, careering on the gale,\\nSweeps darkly round the bellied sail,\\nAnd frighted waves rush wildly back\\nBefore the broadside s reeling rack,\\nEach dying wanderer of the sea\\nShall look at once to heaven and thee,\\nAnd smile to see thy splendors fly\\nIn triumph o er his closing eye.\\nFlag of the free heart s hope and home\\nBy angel hands to valor given\\nThy stars have lit the welkin dome,\\nAnd all thy hues were born in heaven.\\nForever float that standard sheet\\nWhere breathes the foe but falls before us,\\nWith Freedom s soil beneath our feet,\\nAnd Freedom s banner streaming o er us\\nJ. Rodman Drake:.\\nMASSACHUSETTS.\\nApril, 1 86 1.\\nGod bless old Massachusetts Through\\nevery pulse I feel\\nThe echo of her martial tread, the\\nringing of her steel\\nThe loyal voices of her sons, whose utter-\\nance brave and clear\\nFirst gave to Freedom s faltering heart the\\npromise and the cheer\\nOh, sons of Massachusetts, first to rally,\\nfirst to die\\nThe patriot fire within your hearts, its light\\nwithin your eye,\\nYe bless anew the sacred flag above your\\nranks unrolled,\\nYe conquer neath its stripes and stars, or\\nsleep within its fold.\\nOh, sons of Massachusetts, ye were nursed\\nat Freedom s breast,\\nHer strength is in the air ye breathed, and\\nin the soil ye prest\\nHer life is in the blood that leaps from loyal\\nheart to hand,\\nThat burns to blot the traitor s name for-\\never from the land\\nGo, strong of heart and brave, beneath\\nyour banner s stary light,\\nYe battle for^ the truth of God, for liberty\\nand right\\nAnd never let the sword be sheathed, the\\nconquering flag be furled,\\nTill our enfranchised land proclaim her\\nfreedom to the world\\nGod bless old Massachusetts She has\\nnurtured noble men\\nThey go from every sea-girt town, from\\nhillside and from glen,\\nBravely to victory or death, where Free-\\ndom s hosts are led,\\nThe glory of our Commonwealth the\\nliving and the dead\\nAnna Philups Clarke.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "Part IV\\nNARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\n^T^his department embraces selections calculated to call forth those qualities of mind\\nand imagination neccessary to describe many and varied scenes, conditions and\\nemotions, common to human experience. It includes also the simple conversational\\nnarrative of quiet life as well as the impassioned, dramatic, weird and fantastic portrayals\\nof events that send the blood boiling to the heart or freeze it in the veins.\\nTHE RAVEN.\\nThis poem is generally considered the most remarkable exam-\\nple of a harmony of sentiment with rhythmical expression to be\\nfound in any language. While the poet sits musingin his study,\\nendeavoring to \\\\v n from books surcease of sorrow for the lost\\nLenore, a raven the symbol of despair enters the room and\\nperches upon a bust of Pallas. A colloquy follows between the\\npoet and the bird of ill omen with its haunting croak of Never-\\nmore.\\nThe Raven has been more widely translated and more\\nmiversally recited than any other selection in all literature.\\nONCK upon a midnight dreary, while I\\npondered, weak and weary,\\nOver many a quaint and curious vol-\\nume of fogotten lore,\\nWhile I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly\\nthere came a tapping,\\nAs of some one gently rapping, rapping at\\nmy chamber door.\\nTissome visitor, I muttered, tapping\\nat my chamber door\\nOnly this and nothing more.\\nAh, distinctly I remember, it was in the\\nbleak December,\\nAnd each separate dying ember wrought its\\nghost upon the floor.\\nEagerly I wished the morrow vainly I had\\nsought to borrow\\nFrom my books surcease of sorrow sorrow\\nfor the lost Lenore,\\nFor the rare and radiant maiden whom the\\nangels name Lenore,\\nNameless here forevermore.\\nAnd the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of\\neach purple curtain,\\nThrilled me,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 filled me with fantastic ter-\\nrors never felt before\\nSo that now, to still the beating of my heart,\\nI stood repeating,\\nTis some visitor entreating entrance at\\nmy chamber door,\\nSome late visitor entreating entrance at my\\nchamber door\\nThat it is, and nothing more.\\nPresently my soul grew stronger hesitating\\nthen no longer,\\nSir, Said I, or Madam, truly your for-\\ngiveness I implore\\nBut the fact is, I was napping, and so gently\\nyou came rapping,\\nAnd so faintly you came tapping, tapping at\\nmy chamber door,\\nThat I scarce was sure I heard you here\\nI opened wide the door\\nDarkness there, and nothing more.\\nDeep into that darkness peering, long 1\\nstood there, wondering, fearing,\\nDoubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever\\ndared to dream before\\nBut the silence was unbroken, and the still-\\nness gave no token,\\nAnd the only word there spoken was the\\nwhispered word, Lenore\\nThis whispered, and an echo murmured\\nback the word, Lenore\\nMerely this, and nothing more.\\nBack into the chamber turning, all my soul\\nwithin me burning,\\nSoon again I heard a tapping, something\\nlouder than before.\\ni37", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "138\\nNARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\nSurely, said I, surely that is something\\nat my window-lattice\\nLet me see then what thereat is and this\\nmystery explore,\\nLet my heart be still a moment, and this\\nmystery explore\\nTis the wind, and nothing more.\\nOpen here I flung the shutter, when, with\\nmany a flirt and flutter,\\nIn there stepped a stately raven of the\\nsaintly days of yore.\\nNot the least obeisance made he not a\\nminute stopped or stayed he\\nBut, with mien of lord or lady, perched\\nabove my chamber door,\\nPerched upon a bust of Pallas, just above\\nmy chamber door\\nPerched, and sat, and nothing more.\\nThen this ebon bird beguiling my sad fancy\\ninto smiling,\\nBy the grave and stern decorum of the\\ncountenance it wore,\\nThough thy crest be shorn and shaven,\\nthou, I said, art sure no craven\\nGhastly, grim, and ancient raven, wander-\\ning from the nightly shore,\\nTell me what thy lordly name is on the\\nnight s Plutonian shore?\\nQoath the raven, Nevermore\\nMuch I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear\\ndiscourse so plainly,\\nThough its answer little meaning, little\\nrelevancy bore\\nFor we cannot help agreeing that no living\\nhuman being\\nEver yet was blessed with seeing bird above\\nhis chamber door,\\nBird or beast upon the sculptured bust above\\nhis chamber door\\nWith such name as Nevermore\\nBut the raven, sitting lonely on that placid\\nbust, spoke only\\nThat one word, as if his soul in that one\\nword he did outpour.\\nNothing further then he uttered; not a\\nfeather then he fluttered\\nTill I scarcely more than muttered, Other\\nfriends have flown before,\\nOn the morrow he will leave me, as my\\nhopes have flown before.\\nThen the bird said, Nevermore\\nStartled at the stillness broken by reply so\\naptly spoken,\\nDoubtless, said I, what it utters is its\\nonly stock and store,\\nCaught from some unhappy master, whom\\nunmerciful disaster\\nFollowed fast and followed faster, till his\\nsongs one burden bore,\\nTill the dirges of his hope that melancholy\\nburden bore,\\nOf Never nevermore n\\nBut the raven still beguiling all my sad soul\\ninto smiling,\\nStraight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front\\nof bird and bust and door,\\nThen, upon the velvet sinking, I betook\\nmyself to linking\\nFrancy unto fancy, thinking what this\\nominous bird of yore\\nWhat this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt,\\nand ominous bird of yore\\nMeant in croaking Nevermore\\nThis I sat engaged in guessing, but no\\nsyllable expressing\\nTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned\\ninto my bosom s core\\nThis and more I sat divining, with my head\\nat ease reclining\\nOn the cushion s velvet lining that the\\nlamp-light gloated o er,\\nBut whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-\\nlight gloated o er\\nShe shall press ah nevermore\\nThen methought the air grew denser, per-\\nfumed from an unseen censer\\nSwung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled\\non the tufted floor,\\nWretch, I cried, thy God hath lent\\nthee, by these angels he hath sent thee\\nRespite respite and nepenthe from thy\\nmemories of Lenore\\nQuaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and\\nforget the lost Lenore\\nQuoth the raven, Nevermore\\nProphet! cried I, thing of evil!\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nprophet still, if bird or devil\\nWhether tempter sent, or wheter tempest\\ntossed thee here ashore,\\nDesolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert\\nland enchanted", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\n139\\nOn this home by horror haunted tell me\\ntruly, I implore,\\nIs there is there balm in Gilead? tell\\nme tell me, I implore\\nQuoth the raven, Nevermore\\nProphet! cried I, thing of evil!\\nprophet still, if bird or devil\\nBy that heaven that bends above us, by that\\nGod we both adore,\\nTell this soul, with sorrow laden, if within\\nthe distant Aidenn,\\nIt shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the\\nangels name Lenore\\nClasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the\\nangels name L,enore\\nQuoth the raven, Nevermore\\nBe that word our sign of parting, bird or\\nfiend I shrieked, upstarting,\\nGet thee back into the tempest and the\\nnight s Plutonian shore\\nL,eave no black plume as a token of that lie\\nthy soul hath spoken\\nLeave my loneliness unbroken quit the\\nbust above my door\\nTake thy beak from out my heart, and take\\nthy form from off my door\\nQuoth the raven, Nevermore\\nAnd the raven, never flitting, still is sitting,\\nstill is sitting\\nOn the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my\\nchamber door\\nAnd his eyes have all the seeming of a\\ndemon s that is dreaming,\\nAnd the lamp -light o er him streaming\\nthrows his shadow on the floor\\nAnd my soul from out that shadow that lies\\nfloating on the floor\\nShall be lifted nevermore\\nEdgar Allan Pok.\\nTHE SKELETON IN ARMOR.\\nThis famous ballad, like Poe s Raven, belongs to the\\nweird and fantastic class. The writing of it was suggested to\\nMr. Longfellow by the digging up of a mail-clad skeleton at Fall\\nRiver, Massachusetts a circumstance which the poet linked\\nwith the traditions about the Round Tower at Newport, thus\\ngiving to it the spirit of a Norse Viking song of war and of\\nthe sea.\\ni OpKAK speak thou fearful guest\\nO Who, with thy hollow breast\\nStill in rude armor drest,\\nComest to daunt me\\nWrapt not in Eastern balms,\\nBut with thy fleshless palms\\nStretched, as if asking alms,\\nWhy dost thou haunt me\\nThen, from those cavernous eyes\\nPale flashes seemed to rise,\\nAs when the Northern skies\\nGleam in December\\nAnd, like the water s flow\\nUnder December s snow,\\nCame a dull voice of woe\\nFrom the heart s chamber.\\nI was a Viking old\\nMy deeds, though manifold,\\nNo Skald in song has told,\\nNo Saga taught thee\\nTake heed, that in thy verse\\nThou dost the tale rehearse,\\nElse dread a dead man s curse\\nFor this I sought thee.\\nFar in the Northern L,and,\\nBy the wild Baltic s strand,\\nI, with my childish hand,\\nTamed the ger-falcon\\nAnd, with my skates fast-bound,\\nSkimmed the half-frozen Sound,\\nThat the poor whimpering hound\\nTrembled to walk on.\\nOft to his frozen lair\\nTracked I the grizzly bear,\\nWhile from my path the hare\\nFled like a shadow\\nOft through the forest dark\\nFollowed the were-wolf s bark,\\nUntil the soaring lark\\nSang from the meadow.\\nBut when I older grew,\\nJoining a corsair s crew,\\nO er the dark sea I flew\\nWith the marauders.\\nWild was the life we led\\nMany the souls that sped,\\nMany the hearts that bled,\\nBy our stern orders.\\n11 Many a wassail -bout\\nWore the long winter out\\nOften our midnight shout\\nSet the cocks crowing,", "height": "4388", "width": "3216", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "140\\nNARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\nAs we the Berserk s tale\\nMeasured in cups of ale,\\nDraining the oaken pail,\\nFilled to o erflowing.\\nOnce as I told in glee\\nTales of the stormy sea,\\nSoft eyes did gaze on me,\\nBurning out tender\\nAnd as the white stars shine\\nOn the dark Norway pine,\\nOn that dark heart of mine\\nFell their soft splendor.\\nI wooed the blue-eyed maid,\\nYielding, yet half afraid,\\nAnd in the forest s swade\\nOur vows were plighted.\\nUnder its loosened vest\\nFluttered her little breast,\\nLike birds within their nest\\nBy the hawk frighted.\\nBright in her father s hall\\nShields gleamed upon the wall,\\nLoud sang the minstrels all,\\nChanting his glory\\nWhen of old Hildebrand\\nI asked his daughter s hand,\\nMute did the minstrel stand\\nTo hear my story.\\nWhile the brown ale he quaffed\\nLoud then the champion laughed,\\nAnd as the wind-gusts waft\\nThe sea-foam brightly,\\nSo the loud laugh of scorn,\\nOut of those lips unshorn,\\nFrom the deep drinking-horn\\nBlew the foam lightly.\\nShe was Prince s child,\\nI but a Viking wild,\\nAnd though she blushed and smiled\\nI was discarded\\nShould not the dove so white\\nFollow the sea-mew s flight,\\nWhy did they leave that night\\nHer nest unguarded\\nScarce had I put to sea,\\nBearing the maid with me,\\nFairest of all was she\\nAmong the Norsemen\\nWhen on the white sea-strand,\\nWaving his armed hand,\\nSaw we old Hildebrand,\\nWith twenty horsemen.\\nThen launched they to the blast,\\nBent like a reed each mast,\\nYet we were gaining fast,\\nWhen the wind failed us\\nAnd with a sudden flaw\\nCame round the gusty Skaw,\\nSo that our foe we saw\\nLaugh as he hailed us.\\nAnd as to catch the gale\\nRound veered the flapping sail,\\nDeath was the helmsman s hail,\\nDeath without quarter\\nMidships with iron keel\\nStruck we her ribs of steel\\nDown her black hulk did reel\\nThrough the black water.\\nAs with his wings aslant,\\nSails the fierce cormorant,\\nSeeking some rocky haunt,\\nWith his prey laden,\\nSo toward the open main,\\nBeating to sea again,\\nThrough the wild hurricane,\\nBore I the maiden.\\nThree weeks we westward bore,\\nAnd when the storm was o er,\\nCloud-like we saw the shore\\nStretching to leeward\\nThere for my lady s bower\\nBuilt I the lofty tower,\\nWhich, to this very hour,\\nStands looking seaward.\\nThere lived we many years\\nTime dried the maiden s tears\\nShe had forgot her fears,\\nShe was a mother\\nDeath closed her mild blue eyes,\\nUnder that tower she lies\\nNe er shall the sun arise\\nOn such another\\nStill grew my bosom then,\\nStill as a stagnant fen\\nHateful to me were men,\\nThe sunlight hateful", "height": "4388", "width": "3244", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "Id\\n1\u00c2\u00b0\\nc C\\nI\\nST pi\\n3\\n5 s D\\n8\\na Z\\n3", "height": "4388", "width": "3224", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "(142)\\nWHEN WE WENT A-MAYING\\n(Suggestion for Tableau)", "height": "4384", "width": "3312", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\n143\\nIn the vast forest here,\\nClad in my warlike gear,\\nFell I upon my spear,\\n0, death was grateful\\n11 Thus, seamed with many scars\\nBursting these prison bars,\\nUp to its native stars\\nMy soul ascended\\nThere from the flowing bowl\\nDeep drinks the warrior s soul,\\nSkdlf to the Northland sk t/\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Thus the tale ended.\\nH. W- Longfki ix w,\\nSkal is the-Swedish expression for Your Health.\\nCURFEW MUST NOT RING TO=NIGHT.\\nBeginning with easy measured description the speaker s\\nanimation rises with the development of the picture and becomes\\nat the ringing of the bell (which should be acted as the lines are\\nrecited) subsiding again toward the close into a quiet satisfied\\ntone.\\nSiX Wi Y England s sun was setting o er\\nthe hill- tops far away,\\nFilling all the land with beauty at the\\nclose of one sad day,\\nAnd the last rays kissed the forehead of a\\nman and maiden fair\\nHe with footsteps slow and weary, she with\\nsunny floating hair\\nHe with bowed head, sad and thoughtful,\\nshe with lips all cold and white,\\nStruggling to keep back the murmur\\nCurfew must not ring to-night.\\nSexton, Bessie s white lips faltered, point-\\ning to the prison old,\\nWith its turrets tall and gloomy, with its\\nwalls dark, damp and cold,\\nI ve a lover in that prison, doomed this\\nvery night to die,\\nAt the ringing of the Curfew, and no earthly\\nhelp is nigh\\nCromwell will not come till sunset/ and\\nher lips grew strangely white\\nAs she breathed the husky whisper\\nCurfew must not ring to-night.\\nBessie, calmly spoke the sexton, every\\nword pierced her young heart\\nLike the piercing of an arrow, like a deadly\\npoisoned dart\\nLong, long years I ve rung the Curfew\\nfrom that gloomy, shadowed tower\\nEvery evening, just at sunset, it has told the\\ntwilight hour\\nI have done my duty ever, tried to do it\\njust and right,\\nNow I m old I will not falter\\nCurfew, it must ring to-night.\\nWild her eyes and pale her features, stern\\nand white her thoughtful brow,\\nAs within her secret bosom Bessie made a\\nsolemn vow.\\nShe had listened while the judges read with-\\nout a tear or sigh\\nAt the ringing of the Curfew, Basil Un-\\nderwood must die.\\nAnd her breath came fast and faster, and\\nher eyes grew large and bright\\nIn an undertone she murmured\\nCurfew must not ring to-night.\\nWith quick step she bounded forward,\\nsprung within the old church door,\\nLeft the old man threading slowly paths so\\noft he d trod before\\nNot one moment paused the maiden, but\\nwith eye and cheek aglow\\nMounted up the gloomy tower, where the\\nbell swung to and fro\\nAs she climbed the dusty ladder on which\\nfell no ray of light,\\nUp and up her white lips saying\\nCurfew must not ring to-night.\\nShe has reached the topmost ladder o ei\\nher hangs the great, dark bell\\nAwful is the gloom beneath her, like the\\npathway down to hell.\\nLo, the ponderous tongue is swinging tis\\nthe hour of Curfew now,\\nAnd the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped\\nher breath and paled her brow.\\nShall she let it ring No, never flash her\\neyes with sudden light,\\nAs she springs and grasps it firmly\\nCurfew must not ring to-night.\\nOut she swung far out the city seemed a\\nspeck of light below,\\nThere twixt heaven and earth suspended\\nas the bell swung to and fro,\\nAnd the sexton at the bell-rope, old and\\ndeaf, heard not the bell,\\nSadly thought, That twilight Curfew rang\\nyoung Basil s funeral knell.", "height": "4388", "width": "3212", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "144\\nNARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\nStill the maiden clung more firmly, and with\\ntrembling lips so white,\\nSaid to hush her heart s wild throbbing\\nCurfew shall not ring to-night.\\nIt was o er, the bell ceased swaying, and the\\nmaiden stepped once more\\nFirmly on the dark old ladder where for\\nhundred years before\\nHuman foot had not been planted. The\\nbrave deed that she had done\\nShould be told long ages after, as the rays\\nof setting sun\\nCrimson all the sky with beauty aged sires,\\nwith heads of white,\\nTell the eager, listening children,\\nCurfew did not ring that night.\\nO er the distant hills came Cromwell Bessie\\nsees him, and her brow,\\nLately white with fear and anguish, has no\\nanxious traces now.\\nAt his feet she tells her story, shows her\\nhands all bruised and torn\\nAnd her face so sweet and pleading, yet with\\nsorrow pale and worn,\\nTouched his heart with sudden pity, lit his\\neyes with misty light\\nGo your lover lives, said Cromwell,\\nCurfew shall not ring to-night\\nWide they flung the massive portal led the\\nprisoner forth to die\\nAll his bright young life before him Neath\\nthe darkening English sky\\nBessie comes with flying footsteps, eyes\\naglow with love-light sweet\\nKneeling on the turf beside him, lays his\\npardon at his feet.\\nIn his brave, strong arms he clasped her,\\nkissed the face upturned and white,\\nWhispered, Darling, you have saved me\\nCurfew will not ring to-night\\nRose Hartwick Thorpe.\\nTHE BURNING SHIP.\\nRapid rate, full force. There are also passages for special\\npitch. Fire should be uttered with explosive force.\\nThe storm o er the ocean flew furious\\nand fast,\\nAnd the waves rose in foam at the\\nvoice of the blast,\\nAnd heavily labored the gale-beaten ship,\\nLike a stout-hearted swimmer, the spray at\\nhis lip\\nAnd dark was the sky o er the mariner s\\npath,\\nSave when the wild lightning illumined in\\nwrath,\\nA young mother knelt in the cabin below,\\nAnd pressing her babe to her bosom of\\nsnow,\\nShe prayed to her God, mid the hurricane\\nwild,\\nO Father, have mercy, look down on lny\\nchild!\\nIt passed the fierce whirlwind careered on\\nits way,\\nAnd the ship like an arrow divided the\\nspray\\nHer sails glimmered white in the beams of\\nthe moon,\\nAnd the wind up aloft seemed to whistle a\\ntune to whistle a tune.\\nThere was joy in the ship as she furrowed\\nthe foam,\\nFor fond hearts within her were dreaming\\nof home.\\nThe young mother pressed her fond babe to\\nher breast,\\nAnd the husband sat cheerily down by her\\nside,\\nAnd looked with delight on the face of his\\nbride.\\nOh, happy, said he, when our roaming\\nis o er,\\nWe ll dwell in our cottage that stands by\\nthe shore.\\nAlready in fancy its roof I descry,\\nAnd the smoke of its hearth curling up to\\nthe sky\\nIts garden so green, and its vine-covered\\nwall\\nThe kind friends awaiting to welcome us\\nall,\\nAnd the children that sport by the old\\noaken tree.\\nAh gently the ship glided over the sea\\nHark what was that Hark Hark to the\\nshout\\nFire Then a tramp and a rout, and a\\ntumult of voices uprose on the air\\nAnd the mother knelt down, and the half-\\nspoken prayer,", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\n145\\nThat she offered to God in her agony wild,\\nWas, Father, have mercy, look down on\\nmy child\\nShe flew to her husband, she clung to his\\nside,\\nOh there was her refuge whate er might\\nbetide.\\nFire Fire It was raging above\\nand below\\nAnd the cheeks of the sailors grew pale at\\nthe sight,\\nAnd their eyes glistened wild in the glare\\nof the light.\\nTwas vain o er the ravage the waters to\\ndrip\\nThe pitiless flame was the lord of the ship,\\nAnd the smoke in thick wreaths mounted\\nhigher and higher.\\nO God, it is fearful to perish by fire.\\nAlone with destruction, alone on the sea,\\nGreat Father of mercy, our hope is in\\nthee.\\nSad at heart and resigned, yet undaunted\\nand brave,\\nThey lowered the boat, a mere speck on the\\nwave.\\nFirst entered the mother, enfolding her\\nchild\\nIt knew she caressed it, looked upward and\\nsmiled.\\nCold, cold was the night as they drifted\\naway,\\nAnd mistily dawned o er the pathway the\\nday\\nAnd they prayed for the light, and at noon-\\ntide about,\\nThe sun o er the waters shone joyously out.\\nHo a sail Ho a sail cried the\\nman at the lea,\\nHo a sail and they turned their glad\\neyes o er the sea.\\nThey see us, they see us, the signal is\\nwaved\\nThey bear down upon us, they bear down\\nupon us Huzza! we are saved.\\nTHE DIAMOND WEDDING.\\nComb sit close by my side, my darling,\\nSit up very close to-night\\nLet me clasp your tremulous fingers\\nIn mine, as tremulous quite.\\nLay your silvery head on my bosom,\\nAs you did when twas shining gold\\nSomehow I know no difference,\\nThough they say we are very old.\\nTis seventy-five years to-night, wife,\\nSince we knelt at the altar low,\\nAnd the fair young minister of God\\n(He died long years ago,)\\nPronounced us one that Christmas eve\\nHow short they ve seemed to me,\\nThe years and yet I m ninety -seven,\\nAnd you are ninety-three.\\nThat night I placed on your finger\\nA band of purest gold\\nAnd to-night I see it shining\\nOn the withered hand I hold.\\nHow it lightens up the memories\\nThat o er my vision come\\nFirst of all are the merry children\\nThat once made glad our home.\\nThere was Benny, our darling Benny,\\nOur first-born pledge of bliss,\\nAs beautiful a boy as ever\\nFelt a mother s loving kiss.\\nTwas hard as we watched him fading\\nLike a floweret day by day\\nTo feel that He who had lent him\\nWas calling him away.\\nMy heart it grew very bitter\\nAs I bowed beneath the stroke\\nAnd yours, though you said so little,\\nI knew was almost broke.\\nWe made him a grave neath the daisies\\n(There are five now, instead of one,)\\nAnd we ve learned, when our Father chas-\\ntens,\\nTo say, Thy will be done.\\nThen came lyillie and Allie twin cherubs,\\nJust spared from the courts of heaven\\nTo comfort our hearts for a moment\\nGod took as soon as he d given.\\nThen Katie, our gentle Katie\\nWe thought her very fair,\\nWith her blue eyes soft and tender,\\nAnd her curls of auburn hair.\\nLike a queen she looked at her bridal\\n(I thought it were you instead)\\nBut her ashen lips kissed her first-born,\\nAnd mother and child were dead.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "146\\nNARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\nWe said that of all our number\\nWe had two, our pride and stay\\nTwo noble boys, Fred and Harry\\nBut God thought the other way.\\nFar away, on the plains of Shiloh,\\nFred sleeps in an unknown grave\\nWith his ship and noble sailors\\nHarry sank beneath the wave.\\nSo sit closer, darling, closer\\nLet me clasp your hand in mine\\nAlone we commenced life s journey,\\nAlone we are left behind.\\nYour hair, once gold, to silver\\nThey say by age has grown\\nBut I know it has caught its whiteness\\nFrom the halo round His throne.\\nThey give us a diamond wedding\\nThis Christmas eve, dear wife\\nBut I know your orange-blossoms\\nWill be a crown of life.\\nTis dark the lamps should be lighted\\nAnd your hand has grown so cold,\\nHas the fire gone out how I shiver\\nBut, then, we are very old.\\nHush I hear sweet strains of music\\nPerhaps the guests have come.\\nNo tis the children s voices\\nI know them, every one.\\nOn that Christmas eve they found them,\\nTheir hands together clasped\\nBut they never knew their children\\nHad been their wedding guests.\\nWith her head upon his bosom,\\nThat had never ceased its love,\\nThey held their diamond wedding\\nIn the mansion house above.\\nTHE SONG OF THE SHIRT.\\nEdger Allan Poe pronounced this one of the most rythmic poems\\nin literature. The recitation should be made as musical as pos-\\nsible for distinct enunciation.\\nWith fingers weary and worn,\\nWith eyelids heavy and red,\\nA woman sat, in unwomanly rags,\\nPlying her needle and thread\\nStitch stitch stitch\\nIn poverty, hunger and dirt,\\nAnd still, with a voice of dolorous pitch,\\nShe sang the Song of the Shirt\\n1 Work work work\\nWhile the cock is crowing aloof\\nAnd work work work\\nTill the stars shine through the roof\\nIt s oh to be a slave\\nAlong with the barbarous Turk,\\nWhere woman has never a soul to save,\\nIf This is Christian work\\nWork work work\\nTill the brain begins to swim\\nWork work work\\nTill the eyes are heavy and dim\\nSeam, and gusset and band,\\nBand, and gusset and seam,\\nTill over the buttons I fall asleep,\\nAnd sew them on in my dream\\nOh men with sisters dear\\nOh men with mothers and wives\\nIt is not linen you re wearing out,\\nBut human creatures lives\\nStitch\u00e2\u0080\u0094 stitch\u00e2\u0080\u0094 stitch\\nIn poverty, hunger and dirt,\\nSewing at once with a double thread,\\nA shroud as well as a shirt\\nBut why do I talk of death,\\nThat phantom of grisly bone\\nI hardly fear his terrible shape,\\nIt seems so like my own\\nIt seems so like my own,\\nBecause of the fast I keep\\nO God that bread should be so dear,\\nAnd flesh and blood so cheap\\nWork work work\\nMy labor never flags\\nAnd what are its wages A bed of straw,\\nA crust of bread and rags\\nA shattered roof and this naked floor\\nA table a broken chair\\nAnd a wall so blank, my shadow I thank\\nFor sometimes falling there\\nWork work work\\nFrom weary chime to chime\\nWork work work\\nAs prisoners work for crime\\nBand, and gusset and seam,\\nSeam, and gusset and band,\\nTill the heart is sick, and the brain\\nbenumbed,\\nAs well as the weary hand", "height": "4372", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\n147\\nWork work work\\nIn the dull December light\\nAnd work work work\\nWhen the weather is warm and bright\\nWhile underneath the eaves\\nThe brooding swallows cling,\\nAs if to show me their sunny backs,\\nAnd twit me with the spring.\\nOh but to breathe the breath\\nOf the cowslip and primrose sweet\\nWith the sky above my head,\\nAnd the grass beneath my feet\\nFor only one short hour\\nTo feel as I used to feel,\\nBefore I knew the woes of want,\\nAnd the walk that costs a meal.\\nOh but for one short hour\\nA respite, however brief!\\nNo blessed leisure for love or hope,\\nBut only time for grief\\nA little weeping would ease my heart\\nBut in their briny bed\\nMy tears must stop, for every drop\\nHinders needle and thread\\nWith fingers weary and worn,\\nWith eyelids heavy and red,\\nA woman sat, in unwomanly rags,\\nPlying her needle and thread\\nStitch\u00e2\u0080\u0094 stitch\u00e2\u0080\u0094 stitch-\\nIn poverty, hunger and dirt\\nAnd still with a voice of dolorous pitch\\nWould that its tone could reach the\\nrich\\nShe sung the Song of the Shirt\\nThomas Hood.\\nMARRIED FOR LOVE.\\nA bachelor s retrospect of what might have been.\\nU TTKS, Jack Brown was a splendid\\nJL fellow,\\nBut married for love, you know\\nI remember the girl very well\\nSweet little Kitty Duffau.\\nPretty, and loving, and good,\\nAnd bright as a fairy elf,\\nI was very much tempted indeed\\nTo marry Kitty myself.\\nBut her friends were all of them poor,\\nAnd Kitty had not a cent\\nAnd I knew I should never be\\nWith love in a cottage content.\\nSo Jack was the lucky wooer,\\nOr unlucky anyway\\nYou can see how shabby his coat,\\nAnd his hair is turning gray.\\nBut I m told he thinks himself rich\\nWith Kitty and homely joys\\nA cot far away out of town,\\nFull of noisy girls and boys.\\nPoor Jack I m sorry, and all that,\\nBut of course he very well knew\\nThat fellows who marry for love\\nMust drink of the liquor they brew.\\nAnd the handsome Augustus smiled,\\nHis coat was in perfect style,\\nAnd women still spoke of his grace,\\nAnd gave him their sweetest smile.\\nBut he thought that night of Jack Brown,\\nAnd said, I m growing old\\nI think I must really marry\\nSome beautiful girl with gold.\\nYears passed, and the bachelor grew\\nTiresome and stupid and old\\nHe had not been able to find\\nThe beautiful girl with gold.\\nAlone with his fancies he dwelt,\\nAlone in the crowded town,\\nTill one day he suddenly met\\nThe friend of his youth, Jack Brown.\\nWhy, Gus! Why, Jack! What a\\nmeeting\\nJack was so happy and gay\\nThe bachelor sighed for content,\\nAs he followed his friend away\\nTo the cot far out of town,\\nSet deep in its orchard trees,\\nScented with lilies and roses,\\nCooled with the ocean breeze.\\nWhy, Jack, what a beautiful place\\nWhat did it cost Oh, it grew.\\nThere were only three rooms at first,\\nThen soon the three were too few,\\nSo we added a room now and then\\nAnd oft in the evening hours,\\nKitty, the children and I\\nPlanted the trees and flowers.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "148\\nNARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\nAnd they grew as the children grew\\n(Jack, Harry, and Grace and Belle).\\nAnd where are the youngsters now\\nAll happy and doing well.\\nJack went to Spain for our house,\\nHis road is level and clear,\\nAnd Harry s a lawyer in town,\\nMaking three thousand a year.\\nAnd Grace and Belle are well married,\\nThey married for love, as is best\\nBut often our birdies come back\\nTo visit the dear home nest.\\nSo my sweet wife Kitty and I\\nFrom labor and care may cease\\nWe have enough, and age can bring\\nNothing but love and peace.\\nBut over and over again\\nThe bachelor thought that night,\\nHome and wife and children\\nJack Brown was, after all, right.\\nOh if in the days of my youth\\nI had honestly loved and wed\\nFor now when I m old there s no one cares\\nWhether I m living or dead.\\nDEATH OF FAGIN.\\nBefore beginning to recite let the speaker give the following\\nnarrative in easy extemporaneous style In Dicken s story of\\nOliver Twist, is an old Jew called Fagin. He is the worst type\\nof a man. Living in one of the dens of the Whitechapel district\\nof London, he gains his livelihood by means of the crimes of\\nothers. He is known as a receiver of stolen goods, and trains\\nboys to rob and steal. His home is a den of thieves and the\\nabode of those steeped in every crime. It is in his house that\\nBill Sykes, Charley Bates, the Artful Dodger and others lay their\\nplans for robbing, and it is here they bring their plunder. Nancy\\nhas been murdered by Bill Sykes. The police have arrested\\nFagin, and are in pursuit of Bill. Fagin has been tried and con-\\nvicted-as accessory to the crime, and is awaiting the sentence in\\nNewgate prison. This old prison is almost opposite the ancient\\nchurch of Old St. Sepulchers, where, for centuries its bells tolled\\nwhenever there was an execution in Newgate prison, and, near\\nby stands the famous schoolhouse in which, also, for centuries,\\nboys have been educated. The selection I am about to present\\nis a scene with Fagin in prison; he is mumbling to himself, and\\nhis minds wanders partial insanity comes over him, and in this\\nstate he depicts in a rambling way his life. Rather than give the\\nauthorities the satisfaction of hanging him, he becomes his own\\nexecutioner and chokes himself to death. Let us imagine the sur-\\nroundings prison, in the centre a grated door through which\\nFagin is discovered seated on a pallet.\\nWho am I? Only a Jew. They call me\\nFagin. A poor old man am I.\\nWhat a life has been mine It rises\\nup before me I was not always thus. I\\nremember when I was a boy, young, but\\nnever happy Surrounded by evil and my\\ncompanions thieves. Oh how I have\\npaced through London s street, sneered at\\nby the jeering crowd taunted because I was\\na Jew. Did they think that I could not\\nenjoy the song of birds, the green grass and\\nthe bright sunshine, just the same as they\\nDid they think, because I was a Jew, a hated\\nJew I had no part or parcel with them Where\\nam I now? Let me think, let me think!\\nOh yes, yes, yes, in Newgate prison, con-\\ndemned to die and the blue coat boys from\\nyonder school will laugh when they hear\\nthat the old Jew is gone. And the bell of\\nSt. Sepulcher will toll a Christian knell when\\nI am gone. O Father Abraham, a Chris-\\ntian knell for an old jew\\nOne night more alive. A poor old man\\ncondemned to die. I didn t kill her, it was\\nBill. Ah, ha they ll hang him, too.\\nThey ll sqeeze his thick bull-dog neck. My\\nGod twelve men to condemn a poor old\\nman a poor old man My Lord a poor\\nold man. How cold and dark it is here\\n(beating his hands) I shall go mad (mind\\nwandering). Good boy, Charley; well done,\\nOliver, too I am very glad to see you.\\nHa ha Oliver is quite a gentleman, now.\\nYou are staring at the pocket handkerchiefs,\\nhe, my tere? There are a good many of\\nthem, ain t there We ve just looked them\\nout, ready for the wash, that s all Oliver,\\nthat s all, ha! ha ha\\nOh Bill, my tere, how do you do Oh\\nyou ll be better for what we ve brought;\\nspread the drapery, Nance. Ah, ha you ll\\ndo, Bill, now you ll do now don t be out of\\ntemper, Bill. I have never forgot you, Bill.\\nYon want some coin, eh I haven t any\\nabout me, but I ll see what I can do. Here,\\nArtful! Here, Artful? there is the key of\\nthe drawer. You know where In the\\ncorner of it you ll find seven shillings.\\nAha clever dogs clever dogs staunch\\nto the last Never told the old parson where\\nthey were. Never peached upon old Fagin.\\nNo, no, no. Fine Fellows fine fellows.\\nSome brandy, Bill. Yes, yes, some brandy.\\nThankee Bill that will do.\\nAh Nance, my tere, I never interfere\\nwhen you and Bill quarrel so much the\\nbetter for me if you do. Good night. Tis\\nabout striking twelve. Good night good\\nnight. If they quarrel and separate they are\\nmine together. What take you, Nance,\\nwith me I cannot, my tere, I cannot.", "height": "4388", "width": "3252", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\n149\\nWho calls? Ah! the jailor. Yes, yes,\\nmy Lord you want some papers, my Lord?\\nIt s a lie, it s a lie, I have none, not one\\nnot one What you say that Monks has\\nconfessed all, and they are in pursuit of\\nSykes What hav nt they got Bill will\\nthey let him go and hang me What\\nOliver here? I want to talk with you,\\nOliver, I want to talk with you. I want to\\ntalk with you, my tere. The papers are in\\na little canvas bag up the chimney in the top\\nfront room. You want to pray for me,\\nOliver, my tere Yes Outside, let us\\npray outside. Hush, tell em I m asleep.\\nThey believe you you can get me out, if\\nyou take me so. How then, how then\\nThat s right, quick, through the door;\\nthat will help us out. If I shake or trem-\\nble as we pass the gallows, don t mind me,\\nbut hurry on. Now, now, now, press on,\\nsoftly, but not so slow. Now, faster, faster,\\nthere s no one lookin faster, faster. Now,\\nnow, now. (Screams.)\\nHa they ve gone and left me alone to\\ndie. Here, Bill Sykes, Bates, Charley,\\nwhere are you Break down the walls and\\nlet me out. Oh curse you, if I had you\\nhere chained down. Ah! footsteps again,\\nthey come to take me to the gallows, to\\nhang me until I m dead, that s all. To\\nhang me by the neck till I am dead. That s\\nall. But they shall not. I ll cheat them,\\nI ll cheatthem Ha ha I 11 cheat them,\\nI ll cheat them (Chokes himself to death.)\\nCutting from Charles Dickens.\\nTOM.\\nMelo-Dramatic Narrative.\\nYES, Tom s the best fellow that ever you\\nknew.\\nJust listen to this\\nWhen the old mill took fire, and the floor-\\ning fell through\\nAnd I with it, helpless, there, full in my\\nview.\\nWhat do you think my eyes saw through\\nthe fire,\\nThat crept along, crept along, nigher and\\nnigher,\\nBut Robin, my baby-boy, laughing to see\\nThe shining He must have come there\\nafter me,\\nToddled alone from the cottage without\\nAny one s missing him. Then, what a\\nshout\\nOh how I shouted, For Heaven s sake,\\nmen,\\nSave little Robin Again and again\\nThey tried, but the fire held them back like\\na wall\\nI could hear them go at it, and at it, and call,\\nNever mind, baby, sit still like a man,\\nWe re coming to get you as fast as we can.\\nThey could not see him, but I could he sat\\nStill on a beam, his little straw hat\\nCarefully placed by his side, and his eyes\\nStared at the flame with a baby s surprise,\\nCalm and unconscious, as nearer it crept.\\nThe roar of the fire up above must have kept\\nThe sound of his mother s voice shrieking\\nhis name\\nFrom reaching the child. But heard it.\\nIt came\\nAgain and again O God, what a cry\\nThe axes went faster, I saw the sparks fly\\nWhere the men worked like tigers, nor\\nminded the heat\\nThat scorched them when, suddenly, there\\nat their feet\\nThe great beams leaned in they saw him\\nthen, crash,\\nDown came the wall The men made a\\ndash\\nJumped to get out of the way and I\\nthought\\nAll s up with poor little Robin, and\\nbrought\\nSlowly the arm that was least hurt to hide\\nThe sight of the child there, when swift, at\\nmy side,\\nSome one rushed by, and went right through\\nthe flame\\nStraight as a dart caught the child and\\nthen came\\nBack with him choking and crying, but\\nsaved\\nSaved safe and sound\\nOh, how the men raved,\\nShouted, and cried, and hurrahed Then\\nthey all\\nRushed at the work again, lest the back\\nwall\\nWhere I was lying, away from the fire,\\nShould fall in and bury me.", "height": "4388", "width": "3212", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "i5o\\nNARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\nOh you d admire\\nTo see Robin now, he s as bright as a dime,\\nDeep in some mischief, too, most of the\\ntime.\\nTom, it was, saved him. Now isn t it true,\\nTom s the best fellow that ever you knew\\nThere s Robin now see, he s strong as a\\nlog\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAnd there comes Tom, too\\nYes, Tom was our dog.\\nConstance Fenimore Woolson.\\nAFTER THE BATTLE.\\nAppropriate for an Encore.\\nIT was after the din of the battle\\nHad ceased in the silence and gloom,\\nWhen hushed was the musketry s rattle,\\nAnd quiet the cannon s deep boom.\\nThe smoke of the conflict had lifted,\\nAnd drifted away from the sun,\\nWhile the soft crimson light, slowly fading\\nfrom sight,\\nFlashed back from each motionless gun.\\nThe tremulous notes of a bugle\\nRang out on the clear autumn air,\\nAnd the echoes caught back from the\\nmountains\\nFaint whispers, like breathings of prayer.\\nThe arrows of sunlight that slanted\\nThrough the trees touched a brow white as\\nsnow,\\nOn the bloody sod lying, mid the dead and\\nthe dying,\\nAnd it flushed in the last parting glow\\nThe dark, crimson tide slowly ebbing\\nStained red the light jacket of gray\\nBut another in blue sadly knelt by his side\\nAnd watched the life passing away.\\nSaid the jacket in gray, I ve a brother\\nJoe Turner he lives up in Maine.\\nGive him these and say my last message\\nWas forgiveness. Here a low moan of\\npain\\nChecked his voice. Then You ll do\\nme this favor,\\nFor you shot me and his whisper sank\\nlow.\\nSays the jacket in blue, Brother Charlie,\\nThere s no need I m your brother I m\\nJoe.\\nV. Staurt Mosby.\\nA FAIRY TALE.\\nSuited to Sunday school or Church Entertain-\\nment.\\nThis beautiful story may be told with impressive effect by a\\nkindly sympathetic lady to children of the primary or inter-\\nmediate grade in Sunday school. It should be related in an easy\\nconversational style.\\nOnce upon a time there was a very small\\nchild all alone in the streets of a great\\nbig world.\\nNow this child, unlike all the chil-\\ndren ever heard of in fairy tales, was not\\nthe daughter of a great king and queen,\\nand she didn t wear a frock trimmed with\\njewels, and she didn t have lots and lots of\\nnurses to look after her, and she wasn t the\\nheiress to the crown of a country, where all\\nthe pavements were made of solid silver,\\nthe area railings of polished steel, the king s\\npalace of ivory, and his throne of pure gold,\\nwith so many precious stones sticking out\\nof it that it was quite uncomfortable to sit\\ndown upon. No she was simply a very\\nsmall girl indeed, with nothing of the\\nproper fairy-tale small girl about her at all.\\nShe didn t quite know how it was that\\nshe came to be all alone. She had an in-\\ndistinct idea of a room somewhere near the\\nsky at least she thought it was near the\\nsky because the clouds seemed close to her\\nwhen she climbed up on a chair and looked\\nout of the window, and the room was right\\nat the top of ever so many stairs. She\\nseemed to recall, too, that the room was\\nvery bare and empty, and that she had often\\nbeen hungry and thirsty and cold there, and\\nthat her mother had been there, lying on a\\nbed and looking, oh so pale and thin,\\nand had told her that she was going away\\nto leave her, but that they should meet\\nagain in a bright, beautiful country. And\\nshe remembered too, and as she remem-\\nbered it the tears came into two little eyes\\nand she sobbed piteously, she remembered\\none day that her mother s face looked\\nwhiter, much whiter than before, and that\\nshe lay quite still and made no answer when\\nthe little girl called to her. And then some\\nrough woman had told the child that her\\nmother was dead, and that the room was\\nwanted for some one else, and she must go.\\nAnd so she had put on a little threadbare\\njacket and a little torn hat, through many\\nholes in which her golden hair peeped out,", "height": "4388", "width": "3332", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "I\\nTHE MEETING OF LEANDER AND HERO\\n(Suggestion for Tableau)\\n(151)", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "152)\\nONCE THERE WAS A LITTLE KITTY LONG TIME AGO", "height": "4364", "width": "3296", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\n153\\nand had gone away all alone it might have\\nbeen yesterday, to-day, she knew not when\\nout into the streets of that great, big city,\\nin that great, big world.\\nIt was a winter s evening, that once upon\\na time, and the snow was falling fast, and\\nit was very cold. The little child was\\nthinly clad (unlik a proper fairy-tale child),\\nand had had no food for a long time,\\nyears, it seemed to her.\\nAs her little steps wandered on, she\\npassed a great many shops, and saw heaps\\nand heaps of warm clothing and food\\ninside great windows, lighted up with ever\\nso many bright lights and she wondered\\nhow it was that she was so cold and hungry,\\nand why some one did not come out of one\\nof the big shops and give her clothing and\\nfood and she thought how strange it\\nwas that all those things should be inside\\nthe big windows that she could just look in\\nwhen she stood on tip-toe, while she was\\nstanding there, such a very tiny girl and\\nwanting ever so little of what she saw.\\nThe little child looked wistfully into the\\nbig bright windows one after another, but she\\nshook and shivered so that she ran on at last\\nalthough she felt strange and heavy and\\ngiddy, and she ran and ran until she found\\nthat she had passed away from the bright\\nlights and was in a dark road in which the\\nsnow was lying much more thickly, and\\nlooking much whiter, than in the streets\\nthrough which she had gone.\\nThe little girl s limbs would carry her no\\nfarther, and she half sank down in the\\nsnow but ohe saw suddenly, looming out\\nin the dark by the wa3^side, a large, wooden\\nshed, the door of which was standing wide\\nopen, and turning her fast-failing steps to it,\\nshe crept timidly inside. It was quite dark\\nthere, and she lay down on the floor with\\nher little head pillowed against a piece of\\nwood.\\nWondering drowsily why it was that she\\nhad ceased to be hungry or cold, and why\\nher limbs seemed as if they had no feeling\\nat all, the child lay there, and gradually\\nher eyes closed.\\nSuddenly she became conscious of a daz-\\nzling light and looking up she saw a\\nbeautiful fairy standing by her side, with\\nwhite rustling wings and a halo of light\\nshining all round her. She was looking\\ndown on the child with a look of sweet\\ncompassion on her face.\\nLittle one, said the fairy in a soothing,\\ngentle voice, and as she spoke she bent\\nover the child and stroked the small face,\\nwelcome into fairyland.\\nThe child looked round her in speechless\\nwonder, and behold the dark wooden\\nshed had vanished and she was lying on a\\ngrassy bank, surrounded by lovely flowers\\nof all colors, and the sun was shining above,\\nand birds were singing all about her, and\\nnear her troops of children all dressed in daz-\\nzling white were at play making the air ring\\nwith joyous peals of laughter that seemed\\njust to chime in with the singing of the birds\\nand faries, like the one standing by her,\\nwere watching over the children as they\\nplayed.\\nShe was so filled with wonder that she\\nanswered not the fairy, and again the sweet\\nvoice said\\nLittle one, welcome into fairyland.\\nAm I in fairyland answered the child\\nthis time. They took mother away from\\nme, and said she was dead, and told me to\\ngo, and I was very cold and hungry, and I\\nran ever so far, and I thought I was lying\\ndown in a great, dark place. And oh\\ndon t send me away; let me stay here,\\nplease, please let me stay here, and not go\\ninto the snow again. I am such a little\\nthing to be all alone in the great, big streets,\\nand I will be so good if I may stay.\\nThe tears started into the child s eyes as\\nshe pleaded her cause, and the fairy stooped\\ndown and kissed them away.\\nYes, my child, you shall stay with us\\nin fairyland, and never go into the great\\nstreets again.\\nOh! thank you, said the child, and\\nshe threw her arms around the still bending\\nfairy, and kissed her again and again.\\nJust now, the little girl said presently,\\nI was, oh so cold, and hungry and tired,\\nand now I feel so peaceful and rested, and\\nas if I could never be cold and hungry\\nagain. Why is it?\\nThere is neither hunger nor cold here,\\nmy little one. The sun is always shining\\nas you see it now, the birds are ever singing\\nas you hear them now, the flowers never", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\nfade, the leaves never fall, and those chil-\\ndren now at play are ever bright and happy.\\nMany little travelers like you have found\\ntheir way into cur bright land through paths\\nof sorrow and suffering but see them now\\nhow joyous they are.\\nThe fairy pointed to the group of chil-\\ndren, and the little girl followed the move-\\nment with her eyes. She looked in silence\\nfor a minute, and then she spoke again\\nYoa are so good and kind, and I seem to\\nask so many things, but oh! forgive me for\\none question more. The children that I\\nsee, have their mothers been taken from\\nthem as mine was taken from me and will\\nthey ever be with them again\\nMy darling, answered the fairy, with\\ninfinite tenderness in her voice, they have\\nalready seen their mothers again, and you\\nwill see your own lost mother. Look at me\\nlook into my face you knew me not at\\nfirst, but you know me now, oh you know\\nme now, my little one.\\nThe child looked into the fairy s face for\\nan instant the word Mother burst\\nfrom her lips, and the two were folded in\\neach other s arms.\\nNext day, when workmen came into the shed,\\nThey found a child there, lying cold and dead.\\nAnd on the little upturned face they saw\\nA smile so bright and joyous that in awe\\nThey stood uncovered. But the mortal clay\\nAlone was there the soul had winged its way.\\nK. F. Turner.\\nTHE GLACIER BED.\\nIn Switzerland, a bridegroom left his bride at the door, as they\\nreturned from the church, to guide a party of tourists. The wife\\npromised to keep a light in the window until he should come home;\\nbut the guider-bridegroom fell through a ravine, and returned not\\nto his wife. The widow learned that in fifty years the glacier\\nwould emerge from the ravine, she waited and watched, and at\\nlast she beheld her husband frozen in the ice.\\nBurning, burning, burning for ever, by\\nnight and day,\\nLet be the light in my window, don t\\ntouch it, don t take it away\\nWith the sap of my life I have fed my lamp\\nthat its flame should burn\\nTill the morn of our bridal night, till my\\nlove, my husband, return.\\nWhat say you he is dead I will not\\nbelieve it no\\nWe were wedded who can remember that\\ntis so long ago\\nAt the church of our mountain village the\\nmorning light shone down\\nFrom the glittering peaks of the Alps to\\ncircle my bridal crown.\\nOh me, the joy of us two that blessed day\\nmade one\\nThe song of the happy children, the flowers,\\nthe dancing sun,\\nAll these were about us that time he led me\\nhome as his bride\\nWhen the strangers crossed our path, and\\nhe heard them call for a guide.\\nAnd duty o erm asters love, and he dared\\nnot deny that call,\\nFor among our Alpine heroes, they knew\\nhim, the bravest of all\\nWith a foot and an eye and an arm to match\\nwith his dauntless heart\\nAnd I knew where his honor led though\\nloth we were to part.\\nBut his honor, his choice, his desire, was\\nmine, for I loved him so\\nWhen I looked in my darling s face I was\\nbrave and I bade him go.\\nI stayed at our chalet door, and he tore\\nhimself away\\nFrom the virgin kisses of love, and the joy\\nof our marriage day.\\nI ll come back to thee, dear, he said,\\nwhen the moutain is veiled in night\\nSet a lamp in thy window to shine as my\\nstar, my guiding light\\nThrough the winding paths of ice, from\\nbeneath, from above,\\nLet my eyes be fixed on my bridal-chamber,\\nmy new- wedded love.\\nAnd fixed as ice was my gaze that followed\\nhim as he went\\nAnd yet, when I saw him go, I was more\\nthan happy content\\nThe warmth of his arms was around me,\\nmy lips was thrilled to his kiss\\nMy soul had tasted his love could Heaven\\nbe sweeter than this\\nAnd I knew that nothing could part us\\nmore, in life or in death,\\nI saw him not and I saw him again, far\\ndown beneath,", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\n155\\nIn the brave: 3 gay wedding clothes\\nand i grew dim\\nWith the sti the dizzy height, as\\nthey looked their last on him\\nI knew he would hold to his promise I\\nnever would fail of mine\\nThat was our bridal night when I trimmed\\nmy lamp to shine\\nTill he came from the fields of ice, to our\\nchalet safe and warm,\\nClosed in from the thickening night, and\\nthe smiting blast of the storm.\\nThat was our bridal night hist the fiends\\nof the mountain dance\\nTo the shrieks of the lost, as they grope\\ntheir way neaththelightning sglance;\\nTill the dark and the dawn bring the day,\\nand I wait at the chalet door\\nFor my bridegroom of yester-eve, for my\\njoy that returns no more.\\nBut the sun shines on, and the path is clear\\nfrom valley to peak\\nWhence come ye to look in my face the tale\\nthat ye dare not speak\\nAll the rest were safe, he had led them\\nbravely through, they said\\nBut my own true-hearted husband was lost\\nin the glacier-bed.\\nHe will come again, I whispered, and, pity-\\ning, they turned away.\\nAnd that light still burns since we parted,\\nit seems but yesterday.\\nSo long ago What Tis fifty years to-\\nmorrow, you said\\nThat was the time, I heard, when the ice\\nshould give back the dead,\\nWhen the glazier that froze his young blood,\\nin the depth of the dark ravine\\nWhere he fell through the rift and perished,\\nshould work its way unseen\\nTowards the mouth of the icy gulf, through\\nthe years of creeping days\\nNow, now, tis the time, let me go, for I\\nknow that my bridegroom stays.\\nMy lamp is alight, I have toiled, I have\\nstarved to feed its fire,\\nThrough a long life slowly wasting in pangs\\nof one desire.\\nI thought it was never coming, and now the\\nend is nigh\\nI shall look on his face that I loved in my\\nyouth, before I die.\\nI go to seek him now, where he lies in the\\nglacier-bed\\nAh, cold and flinty pillow for my darling s\\ngolden head\\nIn his beauty and strength of manhood,\\nfrozen to changeless stone\\nThere, there I have found him at last\\noh, my love, my love, my own\\nNow, bear us forth together, the bride-\\ngroom and the bride,\\nTo the church of our mountain village, and\\nlay us side by side,\\nNeath the stone where God joined us, and\\nbound our souls in eternal truth,\\nAnd the virgin widow shall rest with the\\nhusband of her youth.\\nHow long have I wearied for this since that\\nday of bliss and woe\\nDo the children laugh, as they say it was\\nfifty years ago\\nWhat has time to do with our love for the\\nspirit within me saith\\nI shall meet him for evermore, when I\\nchange this body of death.\\nHe is calling me now by my name in the\\nvoice of the vanished years,\\nAnd my life in its tender music dissolves to\\na passion of tears\\nThe shadows fall from the neights, the lamp\\nin my window burns dim,\\nThe silence quenches my breath as I pass\\naway to him.\\nEmii,a Ay^mer Blake.\\nW\\nTHE TRYSTING WELL.\\nBy permission of the author.\\nhy, Nellie, how s this? said\\nFarmer Brown,\\nDriving his team from the\\nmarket town.\\nBut never a word from her red lips fell,\\nAs smiling she stood at the trysting well.\\nWomen is odd, the old farmer said,\\nAnd he cracked his whip and shook his\\nhead.", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "156\\nNARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\nThe farmer no sooner had left the place\\nThan a change came over the maiden s face\\nThe smile had gone like a rippling wave,\\nAnd the look on her face was sad and grave.\\nThen, shading her eyes with her small,\\nwhite hand,\\nThe dusty road and the fields she scanned\\nShe saw the late birds as they nest-\\nward flew,\\nAnd glanced at the shadows that longer\\ngrew\\nShe heard the faint strokes of the village\\nbell,\\nYet lonely she watched at the trysting well.\\nNow old Farmer Brown loved to drink and\\nsmoke,-\\nBut the pride of his heart was to play a\\njoke,\\nAnd scarce from the well had he passed\\nawa}^\\nWhen he met a young horseman hard riding\\nand gay\\nAh, lad, cried the farmer, you re late,\\nyou re late,\\nYour lass I saw pass through the meadow\\ngate\\nTrue, Farmer Brown, I have been delayed\\nBy a shoe cast off from this sorrel jade\\nThough just what you mean by that last\\nremark\\nConcerning a lass, why, I m quite in the\\ndark.\\nThe young man colored and grasped his\\nrein,\\nBut to Farmer Brown his deceit was plain,\\nAye, far beyond doubt, when he saw him\\nstrike\\nHis mare till she flew down the dusty pike.\\nAnd the farmer winked as he saw him pass,\\nLike the wind, o er the dewey meadow\\ngrass\\nYes, the sly old dog watched the horseman\\nfleet\\nTill his form was lost in the village street.\\nThen loud on the air his wild laughter\\nbroke\\nAt the big success of his clever joke.\\nBy the merest chance, on that eve it fell,\\nThat a man strode up to the trysting well\\nHe had stopped at the moss-grown, limpid\\npool\\nTo slake his thirst with its waters cool.\\nGerald He started, and made reply,\\nAs a shadowy phantom caught his eye.\\nNot Gerald, Miss Nellie, he quickly\\nsaid,\\nBut I hope, for this once, I ll do instead.\\nLike a surging sea of crimson flame\\nThe hot blood swift to her temples came.\\nHer lover s rival before her stood,\\nAnd she alone, in the darkening wood.\\nBelow them the village lamp lights lay,\\nCheering the gloom of the fading day.\\nAs I, too, am going the self-same way,\\nAllow me to be your escort, pray.\\nHis voice was sincere, and implied respect,\\nAnd he drew his sinewy form erect.\\nThough her thoughts and fears were but\\nhalf concealed,\\nThere was nothing left but to bow and\\nyield.\\nWhen the rider dashed off from old Farmer\\nBrown\\nAnd rode through the streets of the little\\ntown\\nWhen he hitched his mare to the garden\\ntree\\nAnd looked for the face that he did not see\\nWhen he heard that his Nellie was still\\naway,\\nThen jealousy, love and wild dismay\\nFor a moment held him a captive chained,\\nBut the next, and his .reason was full\\nregained\\nThe round harvest moon o er the hilltop lay\\nAs on foot through the village he took his\\nway.\\nHe had gone not far when he met a sight,\\nThat made him doubt that he saw aright.\\nNo pistols were drawn, no duel was fought,\\nBut a lesson was learned and a trick was\\ntaught\\nAnd the three stood there in the moonlit\\ntown\\nPlanning a penance for Farmer Brown.\\nAnd it happened the very next market day\\nAs he drove along on his homeward way.\\nHalf the village turned out the old fellow\\nto see\\nTied wrong side up to a hickory tree\\nAnd they laughed and they shouted to hear\\nhim yell,", "height": "4388", "width": "3244", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 157\\nAs he dangled right over the trysting well. Ho, saddle the black! I ve but half a\\nday,\\nFarmer Brown still enjoys his sociable And the Congress sits eighty miles away,\\nsmokes, But I ll be in time, if God grants me grace,\\nBut should you ever meet him don t To shake my fist in King George s face.\\nmention jokes.\\nGeo. M. Vickkrs. He is up he is off and the black horse\\nflies,\\nOn the northward road ere the God-\\nRODNEY S RIDE. speed dies.\\nSpirited Description. Xt is g allo P and s P ur as the leagues they\\nclear,\\nIn that soft mid-land where the breezes And the clustering milestones move a-rear.\\nbear\\nThe north and the south on the genial It is two of the clock and the fleet hoofs\\nair, fling\\nThrough the county of Kent, on affairs of The Fieldsboro s dust with a clang and\\nstate, cling.\\nRode Caesar Rodney, the delegate. It is three and he gallops with slack rein\\nwhere\\nBurly and big, and bold and bluff, The road winds down to the Delaware.\\nIn his three-cornered hat and his suit of\\nsnuff, Four and he spurs into Newcastle town,\\nA foe to King George and the English state From his panting steed he gets him down-\\nWas Csesar Rodney, the delegate. A fresh one, quick; not a moment s\\nwait\\nInto Dover village he rode apace, And off speeds Rodney, the delegate.\\nAnd his kinsfolk knew from his anxious\\nface, It is five and the beams of the western\\nIt was matter grave that had brought him sun\\nthere, Tinge the spires of Wilmington, gold and\\nTo the counties three upon Delaware. dun\\nSix and the dust of the Chester street\\nMoney and men we must have, he said, Flies back in a cloud from his courser s\\nOr the Congress fails and our cause is feet.\\ndead.\\nGive us both and the king shall not work It is seven the horse boat, broad of beam,\\nhis will At the Schuylkill ferry crawls over the\\nWe are men, since the blood of Bunker stream\\nHill And at seven-fifteen by the Rittenhouse\\nclock\\nComes a rider swift on a panting bay He flings his rein to the tavern Jock.\\nHold, Rodney, ho you must save the\\nday, The Congress is met the debate s begun,\\nFor the Congress halts at a deed so great, And liberty lags for the vote of one\\nAnd your vote alone may decide its fate When into the hall, not a moment late,\\nWalks Caesar Rodney, the delegate.\\nAnswered Rodney then I will ride with\\nSpeed Not a moment late and that half-day s ride\\nIt is liberty s stress it is freedom s need. Forwards the world with a mighty stride,\\nWhen meets it To-night. Not a mo- For the Act was passed, ere the midnight\\nment spare, stroke\\nBut ride like the wind, from the Delaware. O er the Quaker City its echoes woke.", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "158\\nNARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\nAt Tyranny s feet was the gauntlet flung\\nWe are free all the bells through the\\ncolonies rung,\\nAnd the sons of the free may recall with\\npride\\nThe day of delegate Rodney s ride.\\nEiyBRiDGK S. Brooks.\\nTHE BELLS.\\nThis selection excellent for voice culture is a great favorite\\nwith reciters. The musical flow of the metre and the happy-\\nselection of the words make it possible for the speaker to closely\\nimitate the tones of the ringing bells.\\nH\\near the sledges with the bells\\nSilver bells\\nWhat a world of merriment\\ntheir melody foretells\\nHow they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,\\nIn the icy air of night\\nWhile the stars that oversprinkle\\nAll the heavens, seem to twinkle\\nWith a crystalline delight\\nKeeping time, time, time,\\nIn a sort of Runic rhyme,\\nTo the tintinnabulation that so musically\\nswells\\nFrom the bells, bells, bells, bells,\\nBells, bells, bells\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFrom the jingling and the tinkling of the\\nbells.\\nHear the mellow wedding bells\\nGolden bells\\nWhat a world of happiness their harmony\\nforetells\\nThrough the balmy air of night\\nHow they ring out their delight\\nFrom the molten-golden notes,\\nAnd all in tune,\\nWhat a liquid ditty floats\\nTo the turtledove that listens, while she\\ngloats\\nOn the moon\\nOh, from out the sounding cells,\\nWhat a gush of euphony voluminously\\nwells\\nHow it swells\\nHow it dwells\\nOn the Future how it tells\\nOf the rapture that impels\\nTo the swinging and the ringing\\nOf the bells, bells, bells,\\nOf the bells, bells, bells, bells,\\nBells, bells, bells\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nTo the rhyming and the chiming of the\\nbells.\\nHear the loud alarum bells-\\nBrazen bells\\nWhat a tale of terror, now, their turbulency\\ntells\\nIn the startled ear of night\\nHow they scream out their affright\\nToo much horrified to speak,\\nThey can only shriek, shriek,\\nOut of tune,\\nIn a clamorous appealing to the mercy of\\nthe fire,\\nIn a mad expostulation with the deaf and\\nfrantic fire\\nLeaping higher, higher, higher,\\nWith a desperate desire,\\nAnd a resolute endeavor,\\nNow now to sit or never,\\nBy the side of the palefaced moon.\\nOh, the bells, bells, bells,\\nWhat tale their terror tells\\nOf despair!\\nHow they clang, and clash, and roar\\nWhat a horror they outpour\\nOn the bosom of the palpitating air\\nYet the ear it fully knows,\\nBy the twanging\\nAnd the clanging\\nHow the danger ebbs and flows\\nYet the ear distinctly tells,\\nIn the jangling\\nAnd the wrangling\\nHow the danger sinks and swells,\\nBy the sinking or the swelling in the anger\\nof the bells\\nOf the bells\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nOf the bells, bells, bells, bells,\\nBells, bells, bells\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nIn the clamor and the clangor of the\\nbells\\nHear the tolling of the bells\\nIron bells\\nWhat a world of solemn thought their\\nmonody compels\\nIn the silence of the night,\\nHow we shiver with affright\\nAt the melancholy menace of their tone!\\nFor every sound that floats", "height": "4388", "width": "3264", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\n159\\nFrom the rust within their throats\\nIs a groan.\\nAnd the people ah, the people\\nThey that dwell up in the steeple,\\nAll alone,\\nAnd who tolling, tolling, tolling,\\nIn that muffled monotone,\\nFeel a glory in so rolling\\nOn the human heart a stone.\\nThey are neither man nor woman\\nThey are neither brute nor human\\nThey are ghouls\\nAnd their king it is who tolls\\nAnd he rolls, rolls, rolls,\\nRolls\\nA paean from the bells\\nAnd his merry bosom swells\\nWith the paean of the bells\\nAnd he dances and he yells\\nKeeping time, time, time,\\nIn a sort of Runic rhyme,\\nTo the paean of the bells\\nOf the bells\\nKeeping time, time, time,\\nIn a sort of Runic rhyme,\\nTo the throbbing of the bells\\nOf the bells, bells, bells\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nTo the sobbing of the bells\\nKeeping time, time, time,\\nAs he knells, knells, knells,\\nIn a happy Runic rhyme,\\nTo the rolling of the bells\\nOf the bells, bells, bells\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nTo the tolling of the bells,\\nOf the bells, bells, bells, bells-\\nBells, bells, bells\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nTo the moaning and the groaning of the bells.\\nEdgar Allan Poe.\\nTHE FIREMAN.\\nThe slumbering city and the sleeper s dream in this selection\\nafford an easy, pleasing description. The exciting story of tbe\\nfire forms a dramatic conclusion.\\nTHE city slumbers. O er its mighty\\nwalls\\nNight s dusky mantle, soft and silent\\nfalls\\nSleep o er the world slow waves its wand of\\nlead,\\nAnd ready torpors wrap each sinking head.\\nStilled is the air of labor and of life\\nHushed is the hum and tranquilized the\\nstrife.\\nMan is at rest, with all his hopes and fears\\nThe young forget their sports, the old their\\ncares\\nThe grave are careless those who joy or\\nweep\\nAll rest contented on the arm of sleep.\\nSweet is the pillowed rest of beauty now,\\nAs slumber smiles upon her tranquil brow\\nHer bright dreams lead her to the moonlit\\ntide,\\nHer heart s own partner wandering by her\\nside\\nTis summer s eve the soft gales scarcely\\nrouse\\nThe low-voiced ripple and the rustling\\nboughs\\nAnd, faint and far, some minstrel s melting\\ntone\\nBreathes to her heart a music like its own.\\nWhen, hark! O horror! what a crash is\\nthere\\nWhat shriek is that which fills the midnight\\nair?\\nTis fire tis fire She wakes to dream no\\nmore;\\nThe hot blast rushes through the blazing\\ndoor\\nThe dun smoke eddies round and, hark\\nthat cry\\nHelp help Will no one aid I die, I\\ndie!\\nShe seeks the casement shuddering at its\\nheight\\nShe turns again the fierce flames mock her\\nnight\\nAlong the crackling stairs they fiercely play,\\nAnd roar, exulting, as they seize their prey.\\nHelp nelp Will no one come She\\ncan no more,\\nBut, pale and breathless, sinks upon the\\nfloor.\\nWill no one save thee? Yes, there is one\\nRemains to save, when hope itself is gone;\\nWhen all have fled, when all but him would\\nfly.\\nThe fireman comes, to rescue or to die.\\nHe mounts the stair, it wavers neath his\\ntread\\nHe seeks the room, flames flashing round\\nhis head", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "i6o\\nNARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\nHe bursts the door he lifts her prostrate\\nframe,\\nAnd turns again to brave the raging flame.\\nThe fire-blast smites him with its stifling\\nbreath\\nThe falling timbers menace him with death;\\nThe sinking floors is hurried step betray\\nAnd ruin crashes round his desperate way\\nHot smoke obscures, ten thousand cinders\\nrise,\\nYet still he staggers forward with his prize\\nHe leaps from burning stair to stair. On\\non\\nCourage One effort more, and all is won\\nThe stair is passed,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the blazing hall is\\nbraved\\nStill on! yet on! once more! Thank Heaven\\nshe s saved\\nRobert T. Conrad.\\nTHE DEATH OF THE OLD SQUIRE.\\nThe Descriptive and Dramatic powers have ex-\\ncellent opportunity in this number.\\n^^pWAS a wild, mad kind of night, as\\nX black as the bottomless pit\\nThe wind was howling away like a\\nBedlamite in a fit,\\nTearing the ash boughs off, and mowing the\\npoplars down,\\nIn the meadows beyond the old flour mill,\\nwhere you turn off to the town.\\nAnd the rain (well, it did rain) dashing\\nagainst the widow glass,\\nAnd deluging on the roof, as the Devil were\\ncome to pass\\nThe gutters were running in floods outside\\nthe stable door,\\nAnd the spouts splashed from the tiles, as\\nthey would never give o er.\\nLor how the winders rattled you d almost\\nha thought that thieves\\nWere wrenching at the shutters, while a\\nceaseless pelt of leaves\\nFlew to the doors in gusts and I could hear\\nthe beck\\nFalling so loud I knew at once it was up to\\na tall man s neck.\\nWe was huddling in the harness-room by a\\nlittle scrap of fire,\\nAnd Tom, the coachman, he was there a-\\npracticing for the choir,\\nBut it sounded dismal, anthem did, for\\nSquire was dying fast,\\nAnd the doctor said, do what he would,\\nSquire s breaking up at last.\\nThe death-watch, sure enough, ticked loud\\njust over th owd mare s head,\\nThough he had never once been heard up\\nthere since master s boy lay dead\\nAnd the only sound, besides Tom s toon,\\nwas the stirring in the stalls,\\nAnd the gnawing and the scratching of the\\nrats in the owd walls.\\nWe couldn t hear Death s foot pass by, but\\nwe knew that he was near,\\nAnd the chill rain and the wind and cold\\nmade us all shake with fear\\nWe listened to the clock up -stairs, twas\\nbreathing soft and low\\nFor the nurse said, at the turn of night the\\nold Squire s soul would go.\\nMaster had been a wildish man, and led a\\nroughish life\\nDidn t he shoot the Bowton squire, who\\ndared write to his wife\\nHe beat the Rads at Hindon Town, I heard,\\nin twenty-nine.\\nWhen every pail in market-place was\\nbrimmed with red port wine.\\nAnd as for hunting, bless your soul, why,\\nfor forty year or more\\nHe d kept the Marley hounds, man, as his\\nfayther did afore\\nAnd now to die and in his bed the season\\njnst begun\\nIt made him fret, the doctor said, as it\\nmight do any one.\\nAnd when the sharp young lawyer came to\\nsee him sign his will,\\nSquire made me blow my horn outside as we\\nwere going to kill\\nAnd we turned the hounds out in the court\\nthat seemed to do him good\\nFor he swore, and sent us off to seek a fox\\nin Thornhill Wood.\\nBut then the fever it rose high and he would\\ngo see the room", "height": "4388", "width": "3244", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\n161\\nWhere mistress died ten years ago when\\nLammastide shall come\\nI mind the year, because our mare at Salis-\\nbury broke down\\nMoreover, the town-hall was burnt at Steeple\\nDinton Town.\\nIt might be two, or half-past two, the wind\\nseemed quite asleep\\nTom, he was off, but I, awake, sat watch\\nand ward to keep\\nThe moon was up, quite glorious like, the\\nrain no longer fell,\\nWhen all at once out clashed and clanged\\nthe rusty turret bell.\\nThat hadn t been heard for twenty years, not\\nsince the Luddite days.\\nTom he leaped up, and I leaped up, for all\\nthe house a-blaze\\nHad sure not scared us half so much, and\\nout we ran like mad,\\nI, Tom and Joe, the whipper-in and t liflte\\nstable lad.\\nHe s killed himself, that s the idea that\\ncame into my head\\nI felt as sure as though I saw Squire Bar-\\nrowly was dead\\nWhen all at once a door flew back, and he\\nmet us face to face\\nHis scarlet coat was on his back, and he\\nlooked like the old race.\\nThe nurse was clinging to his knees, and\\ncrying like a child\\nThe maids were sobbing on the stairs, for he\\nlooked fierce and wild\\nSaddle me Lightning Bess, my men,\\nthat s what he said to me\\nThe moon is up, we re sure to find at Stop\\nor Etterly.\\nGet out the dogs I m well to night, and\\nyoung again and sound,\\nI ll have a run once more before they put me\\nunder ground\\nThey brought my father home feet first, and\\nit never shall be said\\nThat his son Joe, who rode so straight, died\\nquietly in his bed.\\nII Brandy he cried a tumbler full, you\\nwomen howling there,\\nThen clapped the old black velvet cap upon\\nhis long gray hair,\\nThrust on his boots, snatched down his\\nwhip, though he was old and weak\\nThere was a devil in his eye that would not\\nlet me speak.\\nWe loosed the dogs to humor him, and\\nsounded on the horn\\nThe moon was up above the woods, just east\\nof Haggard Bourne.\\nI buckled Lightning s throat-lash fast, the\\nSquire was watching me\\nHe let the stirrups down himself so quick,\\nyet carefully.\\nThen up he got and spurred the mare and,\\nere I well could mount,\\nHe drove the yard-gate open, man, and\\ncalled to old Dick Blount,\\nOur huntsman, dead five years ago for the\\nfever rose again,\\nAnd was spreading like a flood of flame fast\\nup into his brain.\\nThen off he flew before the dogs, yelling to\\ncall us on,\\nWhile we stood there, all pale and dumb,\\nscarce knowing he was gone\\nWe mounted, and below c he hill we saw the\\nfox break out,\\nAnd down the covert ride we heard the old\\nSquire s parting shout.\\nAnd in the moonlit meadow mist we saw\\nhim fly the rail\\nBeyond the hurdles by the beck, just half\\nway down the vale\\nI saw him breast fence after fence nothing\\ncould turn him back\\nAnd in the moonlight after him streamed out\\nthe brave old pack.\\nTwas like a dream, Tom cried to me, as we\\nrode free and fast,\\nHoping to turn him at the brook, that could\\nnot well be passed,\\nFor it was swollen with the rain; but ah,\\ntwas not to be\\nNothing could stop old Lightning Bess but\\nthe broad breast of the sea.\\nThe hounds swept on, and well in front the\\nmare had got her stride", "height": "4372", "width": "3240", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "l62\\nNARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\nShe broke across the fallow land that runs\\nby the down side:\\nWe pulled up on Chalk Linton Hill, and, as\\nwe stood us there,\\nTwo fields beyond we saw the Squire fall\\nstone-dead from the mare.\\nThen she swept on, and in full cry the\\nhounds went out of sight\\nA cloud came over the broad moon and\\nsomething dimmed our sight,\\nAs Tom and I bore master home, both\\nspeaking under breath\\nAnd that s the way I saw th owd Squire\\nride boldly to his death.\\nTHE GLADIATOR.\\nStillness reigned in the vast amphithea-\\ntre, and from the countless thousands\\nthat thronged thespaciousinclosure, not\\na breath was heard. Every tongue was mute\\nwith suspense, and every eye strained with\\nanxiety toward the gloomy portal where the\\ngladiator was momentarily expected to\\nenter. At length the trumpet sounded, and\\nthey led him forth into the broad arena.\\nThere was no mark of fear upon his manly\\ncountenance, as with majestic step and\\nfearless eye he entered. He stood there,\\nlike another Apollo, firm and unbending as\\nthe rigid oak. His fine proportioned form\\nwas matchless, and his turgid muscles spoke\\nhis giant strength.\\nI am here, he cried, as his proud lip\\ncurled in scorn, to glut the savage eye of\\nRome s proud populace. Aye, like a dog\\nyou throw me. to a beast and what is my\\noffense? Why, forsooth, I am a Christian.\\nBut know, ye can not fright my soul, for it\\nis based upon a foundation stronger than the\\nadamantine rock. Know ye, whose hearts\\nare harder than the flinty stone, my heart\\nquakes not with fear and here I aver, I\\nwould not change conditions with the blood-\\nstained Nero, crowned though he be, not for\\nthe wealth of Rome. Blow ye your trum-\\npet I am ready.\\nThe trumpet sounded, and a long, low\\ngrowl was heard to proceed from the cage of\\na half- famished Numidian lion, situated at\\nthe farthest end of the arena. The growl\\ndeepened into a roar of tremendous volume,\\nwhich shook the enormous edifice to its\\nvery centre. At that moment the door was\\nthrown open, and the huge monster of the\\nforest sprang from his den, with one mighty\\nbound to the opposite side of the arena.\\nHis eyes blazed with the brilliancy of fire,\\nas he slowly drew his length along the sand,\\nand prepared to make a spring upon his\\nformidable antagonist. The gladiator s eyes\\nquailed not his lip paled not but he stood\\nimmovable as a statue, waiting the approach\\nof his wary foe.\\nAt length, the lion crouched himself into\\nan attitude for springing, and with the quick-\\nness of lightning, leaped full at the throat\\nof the gladiator. But he was prepared for\\nhim, and bounding lightly on one side, his\\nfalchion flashed for a moment over his head,\\nand in the next it was deeply dyed in the\\npurple blood of the monster. A roar of\\nredoubled fury again resounded through the\\nspacious amphitheatre, as the enraged ani-\\nmal, mad with the anguish from the wound\\nhe had just received, wheeled hastily round\\nand sprang a second time at the Nazarene,\\nAgain was the falchion of the cool and\\nintrepid gladiator deeply planted in the\\nbreast of his terrible adversary but so sud-\\nden had been the second attack, that it was\\nimpossible to avoid the full impetus of his\\nbound, and he staggered and fell upon his\\nknee. The monster s paw was upon his\\nshoulder, and he felt its hot fiery breath upon\\nhis cheek, as it rushed through his wide dis-\\ntended nostrils. The Nazarene drew a short\\ndagger from his girdle, and endeavored to\\nregain his feet. But his foe, aware of his\\ndesign, precipitating himself upon him,\\nthrew him with violence to the ground.\\nThe excitement of the populace was now\\nwrought up to a high pitch, and they waited\\nthe result with breathless suspense. A low\\ngrowl of satisfaction now announced the\\nnoble animal s triumph, as he sprang fiercely\\nupon his prostrate enemy But it was of short\\nduration the dagger of the gladiator pierced\\nhis vitals, and together they rolled over and\\nover, across the broad arena. Again the\\ndagger drank deep of the monster s blood,\\nand again a roar of anguish reverberated\\nthrough the stately edifice.\\nThe Nazarene, now watching his oppor-\\ntunity, sprang with the velocity of thought", "height": "4388", "width": "3336", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\n163\\nfrom the terrific embrace of his enfeebled\\nantagonist, and regained his falchion, which\\nhad fallen to the ground in the struggle, he\\nburied it deep in the heart of the infuriated\\nbeast. The noble king of the forest, faint\\nfrom the loss of blood, concentrated all his\\nremaining strength in one mighty bound;\\nbut it was too late the last blow had been\\ndriven home to the centre of life, and his\\nhuge form fell with a mighty crash upon the\\narena, amid the thundering acclamations of\\nthe populace.\\nTHE SIOUX CHIEF S DAUGHTER.\\nGreat, dramatic skill is required for a proper\\nselection.\\nidering of this\\nTwo gray hawks ride the rising blast\\nDark cloven clouds drive to and fro\\nBy peaks pre-eminent in snow\\nA sounding river rushes past,\\nSo wild, so vortex-like, and vast.\\nA lone lodge tops the windy hill\\nA tawny maiden, mute and still,\\nStands waiting at the river s brink,\\nAs weird and wild as you can think.\\nA mighty chief is at her feet\\nShe does not heed him wooing so\\nShe hears the dark, wild waters flow\\nShe waits her lover, tall and fleet,\\nFrom far gold fields of Idaho,\\nBeyond the beaming hills of snow.\\nHe comes The grim chief springs in air\\nHis brawny arm, his blade is bare.\\nShe turns she lifts her round, brown hand\\nShe looks him fairly in the face\\nShe moves her foot a little pace\\nAnd says, with coldness and command,\\nThere s blood enough in this lorn land.\\nBut see a test of strength and skill,\\nOf courage and fierce fortitude\\nTo breast and wrestle with the rude\\nAnd storm -born waters, now I will\\nBestow you both. Stand either side\\nTake you my left, tall Idaho\\nAnd you, my burly chief, I know\\nWould choose my right. Now peer you low\\nAcross the waters wild and wide.\\nSee leaning so this morn I spied\\nRed berries dip yon farther side.\\nSee, dipping, dripping in the stream,\\nTwin boughs of autumn berries gleam\\nNow this, brave men, shall be the test\\nPlunge in the stream, bear knife in teeth\\nTo cut yon bough for bridal wreath.\\nPlunge in and he who bears him best,\\nAnd brings yon ruddy fruit to land\\nThe first shall have both heart and hand.\\nTwo tawny men, tall, brown, and thewed\\nLike antique bronzes rarely seen,\\nShot up lik flame. She stood between\\nLike fixed, impassive fortitude.\\nThen one threw robes with sullen air,\\nAnd wound red fox-tails in his hair\\nBut one with face of proud delight\\nEntwined a crest of snowy white.\\nShe stood between. She sudden gave\\nThe sign, and each impatient brave\\nShot sudden in the sounding wave\\nThe startled waters gurgled round\\nTheir stubborn strokes kept sullen sound.\\nThey near the shore at last and now\\nThe foam flies spouting from a face\\nThat laughing lifts from out the race.\\nThe race is won, the work is done\\nShe sees the climbing crest of snow\\nShe knows her tall, brown Idaho.\\nShe cries aloud, she laughing cries,\\nAnd tears are streaming from her eyes.\\nO splendid, kingly Idaho\\nI kiss his lifted crest of snow\\nI see him clutch the bended bough\\nTis cleft he turns is coming now\\nMy tall and tawny king come back\\nCome swift, O sweet why falter so\\nCome Come What thing has crossed\\nyour track\\nI kneel to all the gods I know.\\nOh come, my manly Idaho\\nGreat Spirit, what is this I dread\\nWhy there is blood the wave is red\\nThat wrinkled chief, outstripped in race,\\nDives down, and, hiding from my face,\\nStrikes underneath He rises now\\nNow plucks my hero s berry bough;\\nAnd lifts aloft his red fox head,\\nAnd signals he has won for me.\\nHist, softly Let him come to see.\\nOh come my white-crowned hero, come\\nOh come and I will be your bride,\\nDespite yon chieftain s craft and might.", "height": "4380", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "164\\nNARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\nCome back to me my lips are dumb,\\nMy hands are helpless with despair\\nThe hair you kissed, my long, strong hair,\\nIs reaching to the ruddy tide,\\nThat you may clutch it when you come.\\nHow slow he buffets back the wave\\nO God, he sinks O Heaven save\\nMy brave, brave boy He rises See\\nHold fast, my boy Strike strike for me.\\nStrike straight this way Strike firm and\\nstrong\\nHold fast your strength. It is not long\\nO God, he sinks He sinks Is gone\\nHis face has perished from my sight.\\nAnd did I dream, and do I wake?\\nOr did I wake and now but dream\\nAnd what is this crawls from the stream\\nOh, here is some mad, mad mistake\\nWhat, you The red fox at my feet\\nYou first, and failing from a race\\nWhat You have brought me berries red\\nWhat You have brought your bride a\\nwreath\\nYou sly red fox with wrinkled face\\nThat blade has blood between your teeth\\nLie still lie still till I lean o er\\nAnd clutch your red blade to the shore.\\nHa ha Take that and that and that\\nHa ha So through your coward throat\\nThe full day shines Two fox-tails float\\nAnd drift and drive adown the stream.\\nBut what is this What snowy crest\\nClimbs out the willows of the west,\\nAll weary, wounded, bent, and slow,\\nAnd dripping from his streaming hair\\nIt is it is my Idaho\\nThe gray hawks pass, O love and doves\\nO er yonder lodge shall coo their loves.\\nMy love shall heal your wounded breast,\\nAnd in yon tall lodge two shall rest.\\nJoaquin Miller.\\nBILL MASON S BRIDE.\\nAn incident in pioneer life. Bret Harte the author of this\\npoem, more than any other writer has interpreted the eaily life\\nof the far West and embalmed the language and customs of the\\nmining camp in literature.\\nalf an hour till train time, sir,\\nAn a fearful dark time, too\\nTake a look at the switch lights,\\nFetch in a stick when you re through,\\nH\\nOn time well, yes, I guess so\\nLeft the last station all right\\nShe ll come round the curve a fiyin\\nBill Mason comes up to-night.\\nYou know Bill No He s engineer,\\nBeen on the road all his life\\nI ll never forget the morning\\nHe married his chuck of a wife.\\nTwas the summer the mill hands struck\\nJust off work, every one\\nThey kicked up a row in the village\\nAnd killed old Donevan s son.\\nBill hadn t been married mor n an hour,\\nUp comes the message from Kress,\\nOrderin Bill to go up there,\\nAnd bring down the night express.\\nHe left his gal in a hurry,\\nAnd went up on number one,\\nThinking of nothing but Mary,\\nAnd the train he had to run.\\nAnd Mary sat down by the window\\nTo wait for the night express\\nAnd, sir, if she hadn t a done so,\\nShe d been a widow, I guess.\\nFor it must a been nigh midnight\\nWhen the mill hands left the Ridge\\nThey come down the drunken devils\\nTore up a rail from the bridge.\\nBut Mary heard em a workin\\nAnd guessed there was something wrong\\nAnd in less than fifteen minutes,\\nBill s train it would be along.\\nShe couldn t come here to tell us,\\nA mile it wouldn t a done\\nSo she jest grabbed up a lantern,\\nAnd made for the bridge alone.\\nThen down came the night express, sir,\\nAnd Bill was makin her climb\\nBut Mary held the lantern,\\nA-swingin it all the time.\\nWell by Jove Bill saw the signal,\\nAnd he stopped the night express,\\nAnd he found his Mary cryin\\nOn the track, in her weddin dress\\nCryin and laughin for joy, sir,\\nAn holdin on to the light\\nHello here s the train good-bye, sir,\\nBill Mason s on time to-night.\\n3r3T R4RTE.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0160.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\n165\\nLITTLE BREECHES.\\nThis famous poem was a great surprise to its author. Mr\\nHay deprecated the slang-poems of Bret Harte and wrote this in\\nimitation of the latter s style with a hope of causing a laugh at the\\nCalifornia poet, and reversing the public favor for his work. But\\ninstead of turning the literary appetite against Harte s produc-\\ntions, Hay was himself made famous and installed in popular\\nesteem as a second Bret Harte.\\nI don t go much on religion,\\nI never ain t had no show\\nBut I ve got a middlin tight grip, sir,\\nOn the handful o things I know.\\nI don t pan out on the prophets\\nAnd free-will, and that sort of thing\\nBut I b lieve in God and the angels,\\nEver since one night last spring.\\nI come into town with some turnips,\\nAnd my little Gabe come along\\nNo four-year-old in the county\\nCould beat him for pretty and strong,\\nPeart and chipper and sassy,\\nAlways ready to swear and fight\\nAnd I d learnt him to chaw terbacker\\nJest to keep his milk-teeth white.\\nThe snow come down like a blanket\\nAs I passed by Taggart s store\\nI went in for a jug of molasses\\nAnd left the team at the door.\\nThey scared at something and started\\nI heard one little squall\\nAnd hell-to-split over the prairie\\nWent team, Little Breeches and all.\\nHell-to-split over the prairie\\nI was almost froze with skeer\\nBut we rousted up some torches,\\nAnd searched for em far and near.\\nAt last we struck hosses and wagon,\\nSnowed under a soft white mound,\\nUpsot dead beat but of little Gabe\\nNo hide nor hair was found.\\nAnd here all hope soured on me,\\nOf my fellow-critters aid,\\nI jest flopped down on my marrow bones,\\nCrotch deep in the snow, and prayed.\\nBy this, the torches was played out,\\nAnd me and Isrul Parr\\nWent off for some wood to a sheepfold\\nThat he said was somewhar thar.\\nWe found it at last, and a little shed\\nWhere they shut up the lambs at night,\\nWe looked in and seen them huddled thar,\\nSo warm and sleepy and white\\nAnd thar sot Little Breeches and chirped,\\nAs peart as ever you see,\\nI want a chaw of terbacker,\\nAn that s what s the matter of me.\\nHow did he get thar Angels\\nHe could never have walked in that storm\\nThey jest scooped down and toted him\\nTo whar it was safe and warm.\\nAnd I think that saving a little child,\\nAn fotching him to his own,\\nIs a derned sight better business\\nThan loafing around the Throne.\\nJohn Hay.\\nDANIEL PERITON S RIDE.\\nOn the 31st day of May, I889, one of the greatest disasters\\nwhich ever happened in America was caused by the breaking\\nof a dam in the Allegheny mountains, throwing the waters of a large\\nlake into the Conemaugh River causing a wall of water to rush\\ndown the valley sweeping everything in its course. The city of\\nJohnstown, Pa., was literally washed away and a thousand of\\npeople drowned. The following poem describes the ride of a\\ndaring horseman to warn the fated city of its coming doom,\\nAlt* day long the river flowed,\\nDown by the winding mountain road,\\nLeaping and roaring in angry mood,\\nAt stubborn rocks in its way that stood\\nSullen the gleam of its rippled crest,\\nDark was the foam on its yellow breast\\nThe dripping bank on either side\\nBut half- imprisoned the turgid tide.\\nBy farm and village it quickly sped,\\nThe weeping skies bent low overhead,\\nFoaming and rushing and tumbling down\\nInto the streets of pent Johnstown,\\nDown through the valley of Conemaugh,\\nDown from the dam of shale and straw,\\nTo the granite bridge, where its waters\\npour,\\nThrough the arches wide, with a dismal\\nroar.\\nAll day long the pitiful tide,\\nBabbled of death on the mountain side\\nAnd all day long with jest and sigh,\\nThey who were doomed that day to die\\nTurned deafened ears to the warning roar\\nThey had heard so oft and despised before.\\nYet women trembled the mother s eyes\\nTurned oft to the lowering, woeful skies\\nAnd shuddered to think what might befall", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0161.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "i66\\nNARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\nShould the flood burst over the earthen\\nwall.\\nSo all day long they went up and down,\\nHeedless of peril in doomed Johnstown.\\nAnd all day long in the chilly gloom\\nOf a thrifty merchant s counting room,\\nO er the ledger bent with anxious care\\nOld Periton s only son and heir.\\nA commonplace, plodding, industrious\\nyouth,\\nCounting debit and credit the highest\\ntruth,\\nAnd profit and loss a more honored game\\nThan searching for laurels or fighting for\\nfame.\\nHe saw the dark tide as it swept by the\\ndoor,\\nBut heeded it not till his task was o er\\nThen saddled his horse, a black-pointed\\nbay,\\nHigh-stepping, high-blooded, grandson of\\nDismay\\nRaw-boned and deep-chested, his eyes full\\nof fire\\nThe temper of Satan Magog was his sire\\nArched fetlocks, strong quarters, low knees,\\nAnd lean, bony head his dam gave him\\nthese\\nThe foal of a racer transformed to a cod\\nFor the son of the merchant when out of a\\njob.\\nNow I ll see, said Dan Peri ton, mount-\\ning the bay,\\nWhat danger there is of the dam giving\\nway!\\nA marvelous sight young Periton saw\\nWhen he rode up the valley of Conemaugh.\\nSeventy feet the water fell\\nWith a roar like angry ocean s swell\\nSeventy feet from the crumbling crest\\nTo the rock on which the foundations rest\\nSeventy feet fell the ceasless flow\\nInto the boiling gulf below\\nDan Periton s cheek grew pale with fear,\\nAs the echoes fell on his startled ear,\\nAnd he thought of the weight of the pent-\\nup tide,\\nThat hung on the rifted mountain-side,\\nHeld by that heap of stone and straw\\nO er the swarming valley of Conemaugh\\nThe raw-boned bay with quivering ears\\nDisplayed a brute s instinctive fears,\\nSnorted and pawed with flashing eye,\\nSeized on the curb and turned to fly\\nDan Periton tightened his grip on the rein,\\nSat close to the saddle, glanced backward\\nagain,\\nTouched the bay with the spur, then gave\\nhim his head,\\nAnd down the steep valley they clattering\\nsped.\\nThen the horse showed his breeding the\\nclose gripping knees\\nFelt the strong shoulders working with un-\\nflagging ease\\nAs mile after mile, neath the high-blooded\\nbay,\\nThe steep mountain turnpike flew backward\\naway,\\nWhile with outstretched neck he went gal-\\nloping down\\nWith the message of warning to perilled\\nJohnstown,\\nPast farmhouse and village, while shrilly\\noutrang,\\nO er the river s deep roar and the hoofs\\niron clang,\\nHis gallant young rider s premonitant\\nshout,\\nFly Fly to the hills The waters are\\nout!\\nPast Mineral Point there came such a roar\\nAs never had shaken those mountains\\nbefore\\nDan urged the good horse then with word\\nand caress t\\nT would be his last race, what mattered\\ndistress\\nA mile farther on and behind him he spied\\nThe wreck-laden crest of the death-dealing\\ntide!\\nThen he plied whip and spur and redoubled\\nthe shout,\\nTo the hills To the hills The waters\\nare out\\nThus horseman and flood-tide came racing it\\ndown\\nThe cinder-paved streets of doomed Johns-\\ntown\\nDaniel Periton knew that his doom was\\nnigh,\\nYet never once faltered his clarion cry", "height": "4388", "width": "3260", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0162.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\n167\\nThe blood ran off from his good steed s\\nside\\nOver him hung the white crest of the tide\\nHis hair felt the touch of the eygre s\\nbreath\\nThe spray on his cheek was the cold kiss of\\ndeath\\nBeneath him the horse gan to tremble and\\ndroop\\nHe saw the pale rider who sat on the croup\\nBut clear over all rang his last warning\\nshout,\\nTo the hills! To the hills! For the\\nwaters are out\\nThen the tide reared its head and leaped\\nvengefully down\\nOn the horse and his rider in fated Johns-\\ntown\\nThat horse was a hero, so poets still say,\\nThat brought the good news of the treaty to\\nAix\\nAnd the steed is immortal, which carried\\nRevere\\nThrough the echoing night with his mes-\\nsage of fear\\nAnd the one that bore Sheridan into the\\nfray,\\nFrom Winchester town, twenty miles\\naway\\nBut none of these merits a nobler lay\\nThan young Daniel Periton s raw-boned\\nbay\\nThat raced down the valley of Conemaugh,\\nWith the tide that rushed through the dam\\nof straw,\\nRoaring and rushing and tearing down\\nOn the fated thousands in doomed Johns-\\ntown\\nIn the very track of the eygre s swoop,\\nWith Dan in the saddle and Death on the\\ncroup,\\nThe foam of his nostrils flew back on the\\nwind,\\nAnd mixed with the foam of the billow\\nbehind.\\nA terrible vision the morrow saw\\nIn the desolate valley of Conemaugh\\nThe river had shrunk to its narrow bed,\\nBut its way was choked with heaped-up\\ndead.\\nGainst the granite bridge with its arches\\nfour\\nLay the wreck of a city that delves no\\nmore\\nAnd under it all, so the searchers say,\\nStood the sprawling limbs of the gallant\\nbay,\\nStiff- cased in the drift of the Conemaugh.\\nA goodlier statue man never saw,\\nDan s foot on the stirrup his hand on the\\nrein\\nSo they shall live in white marble again\\nAnd ages shall tell, as they gaze on the\\ngroup,\\nOf the race that he ran while Death sat on\\nthe croup.\\nAlbion W. Tourgkk.\\nAUNT POLLY GREEN.\\nBy permission of the Author.\\nAT last the cottage was rented\\nThat vacant had stood so long,\\nAnd the silent gloom of its chambers\\nGave way to mirth and song,\\nEver since the Sheriff sold it,\\nAnd poor Dobson moved away,\\nNot a sould had crossed the threshold\\nTill the strangers came in May\\nThen the mould on the steps of marble\\nWas scoured and well rinsed off,\\nAnd the packed dead leaves of autumn\\nWere thrown from the dry pump trough\\nAnd the windows were washed and pol-\\nished,\\nAnd the paints and floors were scrubbed,\\nWhile the knobs and the hearthstone brasses\\nWere cleaned and brightly rubbed.\\nNow right across the turnpike\\nLived old Aunt Polly Green,\\nAnd through the window lattice\\nThe cottage could be seen.\\nThere wasn t a bed or mattress,\\nThere wasn t a thing untied,\\nNot a box, a trunk, or a bundle,\\nBut what Aunt Polly spied.\\nSuch high-toned, stylish neighbors\\nThe village had never known\\nAnd the family had no children\\nThe folks were all full-grown\\nThat is, there were two 3^oung ladies,\\nThe husband and his wife,\\nAnd she, said old Aunt Polly,\\nHain t seen a bit of life,", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0163.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "i68\\nNARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\nAnd so Aunt Polly watched them,\\nOft heard the husband say,\\nGood-bye, my love, when leaving\\nHis wife but for the day\\nAnd when he came at sunset\\nShe saw them eager run,\\nStriving the wife and daughters\\nTo be the favored one\\nAnd as Aunt Polly, peeping,\\nBeheld his warm embrace,\\nAnd noted well the love- light\\nThat lit the mother s face,\\nShe shook her head and muttered,\\nThem two hain t long been wed,\\nA pity for his first wife,\\nWho s sleepin cold and dead.\\nThe poor thing died heart-broken.\\nNeglected by that brute,\\nWho, soon as she was buried,\\nBegan his new love- suit,\\nI know it, said Aunt Polly,\\nI see the hull thing through\\nHow kin he so forget her,\\nWho always loved him true\\nAnd tears of woman s pity\\nStreamed down Aunt Polly s face,\\nAs in her mind she pictured\\nThe dead wife s resting-place.\\nTo think, sobbed good Aunt Polly,\\nHow the daughters, too, behave,\\nWhen their poor and sainted mother\\nFills a lone, forgotten grave.\\nOne day when old Aunt Polly\\nSat knitting, almost asleep,\\nWhen the shadows under the woodbine\\nEastward began to creep,\\nA rosy-cheeked, brown-eyed maiden\\nWalked up to the kitchen door,\\nWhere never a soul from the cottage\\nHad dared to walk before\\nTis true that she walked on tip -toe,\\nAnd cautiously peered around\\nBut she smiled and courtesied sweetly\\nWhen the one she sought was found\\nI rapped on the front door knocker,\\nAnd wondered where you could be,\\nSo I hope you will pardon my boldness\\nIn walking around to see.\\nBoldness, said Polly, rising,\\nAnd fixing her glasses straight,\\nft Boldness ain t nothin now -days,\\nTo some, at any rate.\\nSit down in that chair and tell me\\nWho twas that sent you here\\nAnd tell me how long ago, Miss,\\nYou lost your mother dear.\\nThe girl stood still, astonished,\\nShe knew not what to say,\\nShe wished herself in the cottage\\nThat stood across the way.\\nNow don t stand there a sulkin\\nHave a little Christian shame,\\nEven if she is a bold one\\nThat bears your father s name.\\nMadam, or Miss, said the maiden,\\nThere s surely a great mistake,\\nOr else I must be dreaming\\nNo you hain t, you re wide awake;\\nI blame your bold stepmother\\nFor learnin you this deceit\\nNow answer me true the question\\nWhich again I must repeat\\nWhen did you lose your mother,\\nAnd of what did the poor child die,\\nAnd wasn t her pale face pinched like,\\nAnd didn t she often sigh\\nHorrors jist look at the heathen,\\nA laughin right in my face,\\nWhen speakin about her mother,\\nIn her last lone res tin place.\\nYou say you were sent to invite me\\nTo the cottage over the way,\\nThat to-night s the celebration\\nOf your mother s marriage day,\\nAnd this is the silver weddin\\nOf that young and frisky thing,\\nThat for five and twenty summers\\nShe s wore her plain gold ring\\nWell, looks they are deceivin\\nWhy her hair s not one mite gray,\\nAnd her cheek is like a lily\\nGathered for Easter day.\\nAn will I come Yes, dearie\\nBut let me your pardon crave,\\nFor I ve been like an old fool weepin\\nA-mournin an empty grave.\\nGeo. M. Vickers.\\nA\\nPOMPEII.\\nnd lo, a voice from Italy It comes like\\nthe stirring of the breeze from the\\nmountains It floats in majesty like", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0164.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\n169\\nthe echo of the thunder It breathes\\nsolemnity like a sound from the tombs\\nL,et the nations hearken for the slumber of\\nages is broken, and the buried voice of anti-\\nquity speaks again from the gray ruins of\\nPompeii.\\nRoll back the tide of eighteen hundred\\nyears. At the foot of the vine-clad Vesu-\\nvius stands a royal city the stately Roman\\nwalks its lordly streets, or banquets in the\\npalaces of its splendor. The bustle of busied\\nthousands is there you may hear it along\\nthronged quays it raises from the amphi-\\ntheatre and the forum. It is the home of\\nluxury, of gayety and of joy. There toged\\nroyalty drowns itself in dissipation the\\nlion roars over the martyred Christian and\\nthe bleeding gladiator dies at the beck of\\napplauding spectators. It is a careless, a\\ndreaming, a devoted city.\\nThere is a blackness in the horizon, and\\nthe earthquake is rioting in the bowels of\\nthe mountain Hark a roar, a crash and\\nthe very foundations of the eternal hills are\\nbelched forth in a sea of fire Woe for that\\nfated city The torrent comes surging like\\nthe mad ocean it boils above wall and\\ntower, palace and fountain, and Pompeii is\\na city of tombs\\nAges roll on silence, darkness, and deso-\\nlation are in the halls of buried grandeur.\\nThe forum is voiceless and the pompous\\nmansions are tenanted by skeletons Lo\\nother generations live above the dust of\\nlong lost glory and the slumber of the\\ndreamless city is forgotten.\\nPompeii beholds a resurrection As sum-\\nmoned by the blast of the first trumpet, she\\nhath shaken from her beauty the ashes of\\ncenturies, and once more looks forth upon\\nthe world, sullied and sombre, but interest-\\ning still. Again upon her arches, her\\ncourts, and her colonnades the sun lingers\\nin splendor, but not as erst, when the\\nreflected lustre from her marbles dazzled\\nlike the glory of his own true beam.\\nThere, in their gloomy boldness, stand her\\npalaces, but the song of carousal is hushed\\nforever. You may behold the places of her\\nfountains, but you will hear no murmur\\nthey are as the water-courses of the desert.\\nThere, too, are her gardens but the bar-\\nrenness of long antiquity is theirs. You\\nmay stand in her amphitheater, and you\\nshall read utter desolation on its bare and\\ndilapidated walls.\\nPompeii moldering relic of a former\\nworld Strange redemption from the sepul-\\ncher How vivid are the classic memories\\nthat cluster around thee Thy loneliness\\nis rife with tongues for the shadows of the\\nmighty are thy sojourners Man walks thy\\ndesolated and forsaken streets, and is lost in\\nhis dreams of other days.\\nHe converses with the genius of the past,\\nand the Roman stands as freshly recalled as\\nbefore the billow of lava had stiffened above\\nhim. A Pliny, a Sallust, a Trajan, are in\\nhis musing, and he visits their very homes.\\nVenerable and eternal city The storied\\nurn to a nation s memory A disentombed\\nand risen witness for the dead Every stone\\nof thee is consecrated and immortal. Rome\\nwas Thebes was Sparta was thou wast,\\nand art still. No Goth or Vandal thun-\\ndered at thy gates, or reveled in thy spoil.\\nMan marred not thy magnificence. Thou\\nwast scathed by the finger of Him who\\nalone knew the depth of thy violence and\\ncrime. Babylon of Italy Thy doom was\\nnot revealed to thee. No prophet was there,\\nwhen thy towers were tottering and the\\nashy darkness obscured thy horizon, to con-\\nstrue the warning. The wrath of God was\\nupon thee heavily in the volcano was the\\nhiding of His power; and, like thine\\nancient sisters of the plain, thy judgment was\\nsealed in fire\\nTHE FIRE=FIEND,\\nThis dramatic selection affords rare opportunity for manifest-\\ning changing and excited emotion. In the description of the fire\\nthe delivery should be rapid.\\nHark! hark! o er the city, alarm bells\\nring out,\\nCling, clang fire, fire each tone\\nseems to shout.\\nCome on, cries a voice, there is work\\nto be done,\\nSo forth for our steamer and horse-cart we\\nrun\\nHere they are Roll them out now quick,\\nlet us fly\\nClear the track turn out fire fire is\\nour cry.\\n1 Ha ha here we are Yes, the Fire- Fiend\\nis out", "height": "4388", "width": "3216", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0165.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "!7o\\nNARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\nJust see the smoke roll, while the flames leap\\nabout\\nUnroll the hose, quick pull to the tank,\\nboys\\nMake fast the steamer now listen to its\\nnoise\\nThere go the water -jets high in the air\\nSpare nothing, speed onward In this I\\ndelight\\nTwo victims are mine I am king here to-\\nnight.\\nNot so Oh, not so for mid joy-speaking\\ncheers,\\nDash them on higher higher flames A fireman with child on the ladder appears;\\neverywhere. Blackened, yet safe, he descends to the\\nground,\\nBut stay a wild cry rises loud o er the din, Gives the babe to its mother, then looks\\nA woman is shrieking, my child sleeps calmly round,\\nwithin, Thank God, that he gave me the strength\\nHelp help can ye stand, oh men, here and this to do\\nsee We will, cried a voice, but we also\\nA little child die, yet do nothing for me thank you\\nShe burns she is lost shrieks the mother, The Fire-Fiend rushed by on his merciless\\nhalf wild, path\\nAre ye men have ye hearts then help At losing his victims he seemed full of\\nmy poor child.\\n11 Be calm, cried a fireman, young, sturdy\\nand brave,\\nI die in yon flames or your child I will save\\nHo ladders, quick quick hoist them up\\nto the wall,\\nNow, steady God help me Oh, what if I\\nfall?\\nOne glance up to heaven, one short prayer\\nhe spoke,\\nSprang up, and was hidden by darkness and\\nsmoke.\\nwrath\\nHe sputtered and hissed his unceasing re-\\nproof,\\nUntil with a crash, inward tumbled the roof.\\nThen, mid water and work, mid laughter\\nand shout,\\nThe Fiend slunk away, and the fire was out.\\nJKSSIE GlvKNN.\\nCHANGING COLOR.\\nSuitable to home, Sunday school or church entertainment.\\nOH, every one was sorry for Ned\\nIt s a perfect shame, so the people\\nsaid\\nAnd who was Ned? Why, don t you\\nknow\\nOn her knees sank the mother, lips moving\\nin prayer,\\nWhile fear sent a thrill through the crowd\\ngathered there.\\nBreathless silence prevailed, none speaking Ned was the deacon s daughter s beau,\\na word, Honest and manly, hard to beat,\\nWhile puffs from the engine alone could be Five foot ten in his stocking feet.\\nheard\\nAll eyes remained fixed on the window Bess was tne sweetest girl in the place,\\nabove With a soul as fair as her winsome face\\nWhere last stood a hero whom angels might The deacon s daughter, kind and gay,\\nlove. And used to having her own sweet way.\\nNow, two good people may agree,\\nWill he ever come back No sound in The deacon, Bess, and Ned make three.\\nreply\\nSave the Fire-Fiend s laugh, as he leaps up so Old Deacon Green was a moneyed man;\\nhigh His motto was Get and keep if you can.\\nCatching windows and doors, woodwork, Honest in all his dealings Yes,\\nlintel and all, Honest as you, or Ned, or Bess\\nWhile burn with all speed, seems his But charity had left his creed,\\nconquering call, And he was stingy in thought and deed.", "height": "4372", "width": "3288", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0166.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\n171\\n1 I tell you no man borrows from me\\nIf he wants an3^ help let him find it, said he\\nAnd Bess, my girl, hear what I say,\\nYou send that shiftless Ned away\\nI have no use for the lazy dunce,\\nI heard that he borrowed a dollar once.\\nNow when borrow you hear me,\\nBess\\nThen you may purchase your wedding-\\ndress.\\nUntil that time Ned Brown, you see,\\nMust be a minus quantity.\\nAnd Bessie murmured soft and low\\nThat s something Ned would like to\\nknow.\\nThat night the moon and the silent stars\\nSaw two young heads near the meadow\\nbars,\\nAnd heard Bess say I think to-morrow\\nSome one will really have to borrow\\nTwo hearts were happier, I know,\\nBecause the new moon told me so.\\nNext morn, Bess seized her shopping-bag,\\nHarnessed the deacon s corpulent nag,\\nAnd drove to town I wonder why\\nShe chose that early hour to buy\\nA small boy with a freckled face\\nWas standing near the market- place\\nHe waved his cap when he saw sweet Bess,\\nAs fair as a flower, in her muslin dress.\\nGood-morning, Cousin Bob, said she\\nYou re just the boy I want to see\\nI ll give all you ask, and more,\\nIf you will ride to father s door,\\nAnd say to him, Bess is in town,\\nGoing to marry that Ned Brown.\\nAfter you tell him, drive away,\\nNo matter what he has to say.\\nImagine the deacon, if you can\\nPoor Bob ne er saw an uglier man\\nThan Deacon Green, that summer day\\nHe watched his old nag trot, away\\nThe words he used are hard to spell,\\nAnd really wouldn t do to tell.\\nThere is Bess in Blickingham town,\\nReady to marry that scamp, Brown\\nI can reach her as best I may\\nEven my old nag s gone to-day\\nThe parson would lend me I must borrow,\\nFor Bess may not be there to-morrow.\\nThe parson lent him his dapple gray,\\nAnd he made for the town without delay.\\nThere stood Bess in the market-place,\\nAnd near her the determined face\\nOf our friend Brown was plainly seen\\nA sight to madden Deacon Green\\nThe young folks entered the old town-hall,\\nThe scene of many a county ball,\\nAnd Bessie s father walked in, too\\nI wonder what he meant to do\\nThis much I know the words then said\\nCame chiefly from the lips of Ned.\\nDeacon Green, did you borrow the gray\\nThat brought you to Blickingham town\\nto-day\\nYou did Then Bess shall be my wife,\\nAnd here s an end to all our strife\\nSaid Bess I knew dear father meant\\nTo give his full and free consent.\\nBut, gasped the deacon, I never said\\nMy daughter could marry you, Ned\\nI heard you say, cried blue-eyed Bess,\\nThat I might purchase my wedding-dress\\nWhen you borrowed from any one.\\nAnd now, you see, the deed is done\\nIt can t be helped and, father dear,\\nForgive us, won t you, now and here\\nThe deacon frowned, but chuckled too\\nThat s all you ve left for me to do\\nYou re full of business, and I guess\\nYour head is pretty level, Bess;\\nYou took your father s nag away,\\nAnd made him toe the mark to-day\\nAnd though I m Green, ere we leave town,\\nMy only daughter shall be Brown\\nHattik G. CanfieIvD.\\nLITTLE HEG AND I.\\nA sailor s story. Imitate the sailor style of speech and\\nmanner.\\nYou asked me, mates, to spin a yarn,\\nbefore we go below\\nWell, as the night is calm and fair,\\nand no chance for a blow,\\nI ll give one, a story true as ever yet was\\ntold\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFor, mates, I wouldn t lie about the dead\\nno, not for gold.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0167.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "172\\nNARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE\\nThe story s of a maid and lad, who loved\\nin days gone by\\nThe maiden was Meg Anderson, the lad,\\nmessmates, was I.\\nA neater, trimmer craft than Meg was very\\nhard to find\\nWhy, she could climb a hill and make five\\nknots agin the wind\\nAnd as for larnin hulks and spars I ve\\noften heard it said\\nThat she could give the scholars points and\\nthen come out ahead.\\nThe old school-master used to say, and,\\nmates, it made me cry,\\nThat the smartest there was little Meg the\\ngreatest dunce was I.\\nBut what cared I for larnin then, while\\nshe was by my side\\nFor, though a lad, I loved her, mates, and\\nfor her would have died\\nAnd she loved me, the little lass, and often\\nhave I smiled\\nWhen she said, I ll be your little wife,\\ntwas the prattle of a child.\\nFor there lay a gulf between us, mates,\\nwith the waters running high\\nOn one side stood Meg Anderson, on the\\nother side stood I.\\nMeg s fortune was twelve ships at sea and\\nhouses on the land\\nWhile mine why, mates, you might have\\nheld my fortune in your hand.\\nHer father owned a vast domain for miles\\nalong the shore\\nMy father owned a fishing-smack, a hut,\\nand nothing more\\nI knew that Meg I ne er could win, no\\nmatter how I d try,\\nFor on a couch of down lay she, on a bed\\nof straw lay I.\\nI never thought of leaving Meg, or Meg of\\nleaving me,\\nFor we were young, and never dreamed\\nthat I should go to sea,\\nTill one bright morning father said\\nThere s a whale-ship in the bay:\\nI want you, Bill, to make a cruise you go\\naboard to-day.\\nWell, mates, in two weeks from that time I\\nbade them all good-bye,\\nWhile on the dock stood little Meg, and on\\nthe deck stood I.\\nI saw her oft before we sailed, whene er I\\ncame on shore,\\nAnd she would say: l Bill, when you re\\ngone, I ll love you more and more\\nAnd I promise to be true to you through\\nall the coming years.\\nBut while she spoke her bright blue eyes\\nwere filled with pearly tears.\\nThen, as I whispered words of hope and\\nkissed her eyelids dry,\\nHer last words were: God speed you,\\nBill so parted Meg and I.\\nWell, mates, we cruised for four long years,\\ntill at last, one summer s day,\\nOur good ship, the Minerva, cast anchor\\nin the bay\\nOh, how my heart beat high with hope, as\\nI saw her home once more,\\nAnd on the pier stood hundreds, to welcome\\nus ashore\\nBut my heart sank down within me as I\\ngazed with anxious eye\\nNo little Meg stood on the dock, as on\\nthe deck stood I.\\nWhy, mates, it nearly broke my heart when\\nI went ashore that day,\\nFor they told me little Meg had wed, while\\nI was far away.\\nThey told me, too, they forced her to t\\nand wrecked her fair young life\\nJust think, messmates, a child in years, to\\nbe an old man s wife.\\nBut her father said it must be so, and what\\ncould she reply\\nFor she was only just sixteen just twenty-\\none was I.\\nWell, mates, a few short years from then\\nperhaps it may be four\\nOne blustering night Jack Glinn and I were\\nrowing to the shore,\\nWhen right ahead we saw a sight that made\\nus hold our breath\\nThere floating in the pale moonlight was a\\nwoman cold in death.\\nI raised her up oh, God, messmates, that\\nI had passed her by\\nFor in the bay lay little Meg, and over her\\nstood I. C. T. Murphy.", "height": "4388", "width": "3248", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0168.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "Part V\\nPATHETIC READINGS\\nA I ^HERK is a charm in pathos, as there is a solace in tears. Sometimes it is better to\\ngo to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting. Poe declared that all\\ntrue pleasure must have in it the vein of sadness. Certain it is, that love and the holiest\\nrelations of life derive much of their sweetness from the minor chords that drive fond\\nhearts closer together by the sad notes of some sympathetic refrain.\\nThe selections in this department are as varied in character, that they maj touch the\\nlargest possible number of conditions.\\nA CHAPTER FROM THE ANNALS OF THE\\nPOOR.\\nShould be rendered in a sorrowful tone, with great surprise\\nand a show of joy at the middle of the fourth stanza and des-\\npairingly i the close of the piece.\\nw\\nhist, sir Would you plaze to spake\\naisy\\nAnd sit down there by the dure\\nShe sleeps, sir, so light and so restless,\\nShe hears every step on the flure,\\nWhat ails her God knows She s been\\nweakly\\nFor months, and the heat dhrives her\\nwild\\nThe summer has wasted and worn her\\nTill she s only the ghost of a child.\\nAll I have Yes, she is, and God help me!\\nI d three little darlings beside,\\nAs purty as iver ye see, sir,\\nBut won by won dhrooped like and died.\\nWhat was it that took them, ye re asking\\nWhy poverty, sure, and no doubt\\nThey perished for food and fresh air, sir,\\nLike flowers dhried up in a drought.\\nIt was dreadful to lose them Ah, was it\\nIt seemed like my heart-strings would\\nbreak.\\nBut there s days when wid want and wid\\nsorrow\\nI m thankful they re gone for their\\nsake\\nTheir father Well, sir, saints forgive me\\nIt s a foul tongue that lowers its own.\\nBut what wid the sthrife and the liquor,\\nI d better be sthrugglin alone\\nDo I want to kape this wan The darlint,\\nThe last and dearest of all\\nShure you re niver a father yourself sir,\\nOr you wouldn t be askin at all\\nWhat is that Milk and food for the baby\\nA docther and medicine free\\nYou re huntin out all the sick children,\\nAn poor toilin mothers, like me\\nGod bless you! an thim that have sent\\nyou\\nA new life you ve given me, so,\\nShure, sir, won t you look in the cradle\\nAt the colleen you ve saved, fore you go?\\nO mother o mercies have pity\\nO darlint, why couldn t you wait\\nDead dead an the help in the dureway\\nToo late O, my baby Too late\\nTHE AGED PRISONER.\\nPathetic.\\ni tlVTiGH on to twenty years\\n-L\\\\ Have I walked up and down this\\ndingy cell\\nI have not seen a bird in all that time\\nNor the sweet eyes of childhood, nor the\\nflowers\\ni73", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0169.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "174\\nPATHETIC READINGS\\nThat grow for innocent men, not for the\\ncurst,\\nDear God for twenty years.\\nWith every gray-white rock\\nI am acquainted every seam and crack,\\nEach chance and change of color every\\nstone\\nOf this cold floor, where I by walking much\\nHave worn unsightly smoothness, that its\\nrough\\nOld granite walls resent.\\nMy little blue-eyed babe,\\nThat I left singing by my cottage door,\\nHas grown a woman is perchance a wife.\\nTo her the name of father is a dream,\\nThough in her arms a nestling babe may\\nrest,\\nAnd on her heart lie soft.\\nOh, this bitter food\\nThat I must live on this poisoned thought\\nThat judges all my kind, because by men\\nI have been stripped of all that life holds\\ndear\\nWife, honor, reputation, tender child\\nFor one brief moment s madness.\\nIf they had killed me then,\\nBy rope, or rack, or any civil mode\\nOf desperate, cruel torture, so the deed\\nWere consummated for the general good\\nBut to entomb me in these walls of stone\\nFor twenty frightful years\\nPlucked at my hair\\nBleached of all color, pale and thin and\\ndead\\nMy beard that to such sorry length has\\ngrown\\nAnd could you see my heart, tis gray as\\nthese\\nAll like a stony archway, under which\\nPass funerals of dead hopes.\\nTo-morrow I go out\\nWhere shall I go what friend have I to\\nmeet?\\nWhose glance will kindle at my altered\\nvoice\\nThe very dog I rescued from his kind\\nWould have forgotten me, if he had lived.\\nI have no home no hope\\nAn old man, bent and gray,\\nPaused at the threshold of a cottage door.\\nA child gazed up at him with startled eyes.\\nHe stretched his wasted hands then drew\\nthem back\\nWith bitter groan So like my little one\\nTwenty years ago\\nA comely, tender face\\nLooked from the casement pitying all\\nGod s poor,\\nCome in, old man she said, with gentle\\nsmile,\\nAnd then from out the fullness of her\\nheart,\\nShe called him Father, thinking of his\\nage;\\nBut he, with one wild cry,\\nFell prostrate at her feet.\\nO child he sobbed, now I can die.\\nWhen last\\nYou called me father was it yesterday\\nNo no your mother lived, now she is\\ndead\\nAnd mine was living death for twenty\\nyears\\nFor twenty loathsome years\\nHer words came falteringly\\nAre you the man who broke my mother s\\nheart\\nNo no O father, speak\\nLook up forget Then came a stony\\ncalm.\\nSome hearts are broken with joy some\\nbreak with grief,\\nThe old gray man was dead.\\nDEATH OF LITTLE NELL.\\nPathetic and reflective. Read in a slow and measured tone.\\nSH\u00c2\u00a3 was dead. No sleep so beautiful\\nand calm, so free from trace of pain,\\nso fair to look upon. She seemed a\\ncreature fresh from the hand of God, and\\nwaiting for the breath of life not one who\\nhad lived and suffered death. Her couch\\nwas dressed with here and there some\\nwinter-berries and green leaves, gathered\\nin a spot she had been used to favor.\\nWhen I die, put near me something that\\nhas loved the light, and had the sky above\\nit always. These were her words.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0170.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "PATHETIC READINGS\\n175\\nShe was dead. Dear, gentle, patient,\\nnoble Nell was dead. Her little bird a\\npoor, slight thing the pressure of a finger\\nwould have crushed was stirring nimbly\\nin its cage and the strong heart of its\\nchild-mistress was mute and motionless\\nforever. Where were the traces of her\\nearly cares, her sufferings, and fatigues\\nAll gone. Sorrow was dead, indeed, in\\nher but peace and perfect happiness were\\nborn imaged in her tranquil beauty and\\nprofound repose.\\nAnd still her former self lay there,\\nunaltered in this change. Yes. The old\\nfireside had smiled upon that same sweet\\nface it had passed, like a dream, through\\nhaunts of misery and care at the door of\\nthe poor schoolmaster on the summer\\nevening, before the furnace-fire upon the\\ncold, wet night, at the still bedside of the\\ndying boy, there had been the same mild\\nand lovely look. So shall we know the\\nangels in their majesty, after death.\\nThe old man held one languid arm in his,\\nand the small, tight hand folded to his\\nbreast for warmth. It was the hand she\\nhad stretched out to him with her last\\nsmile the hand that had led him on\\nthrough all their wanderings. Ever and\\nanon he pressed it to his lips then hugged\\nit to his breast again, murmuring that it\\nwas warmer now and, as he said it, he\\nlooked in agony to those who stood around,\\nas if imploring them to help her.\\nShe was dead, and past all help, or need\\nof help. The ancient rooms she had\\nseemed to fill with life, even while her own\\nwas waning fast the garden she had\\ntended the eyes she had gladdened the\\nnoiseless haunts of many a thoughtless\\nhour the paths she had trodden, as it were,\\nbut yesterday could know her no more.\\nIt is not, said the schoolmaster, as\\nhe bent down to kiss her on the cheek, and\\ngave his tears free vent, it is not in this\\nworld that Heaven s justice ends. Think\\nwhat earth is, compared with the world to\\nwhich her young spirit has winged its early\\nflight, and say if one deliberate wish,\\nexpressed in solemn tones above this bed,\\ncould call her back to life, which of us\\nwould utter it\\nCharles DickknSc\\nGOOD=NlGHT, PAPA.\\nThe) words of a blue-eyed child as she\\nkissed her chubby hand and looked\\ndown the stairs, Good-night, papa;\\nJessie see you in the morning.\\nIt came to be a settled thing, and every\\nevening, as the mother slipped the white\\nnight-gown over the plump shoulders, the\\nlittle one stopped on the stairs and sang out,\\nGood-night, papa, and as the father\\nheard the silvery accents of the child, he\\ncame, and taking the cherub in his arms,\\nkissed her tenderly, while the mother s eyes\\nfilled, and a swift prayer went up, for, strange\\nto say, this man, who loved his child with\\nall the warmth of his great noble nature,\\nhad one fault to mar his manliness. From\\nhis youth he loved the wine-cup. Genial\\nin spirit, and with a fascination of manner\\nthat won him friends, he could not resist\\nwhen surrounded by his boon companions.\\nThus his home was darkened, the heart of\\nhis wife bruised and bleeding, the future of\\nhis child shadowed.\\nThree years had the winsome prattle of\\nthe baby crept into the avenues of the\\nfather s heart, keeping him closer to his\\nhome, but still the fatal cup was in his\\nhand. Alas, for frail humanity, insensible\\nto the calls of love With unutterable ten-\\nderness God saw there was no other way\\nthis father was dear to him, the purchase of\\nhis Son he could not see him perish, and,\\ncalling a swift messenger, he said, Speed\\nthee to earth and bring the babe.\\nGood-night, papa, sounded from the\\nstairs. What was there in the voice was\\nit the echo of the mandate, Bring me the\\nbabe a silvery, plaintive sound, a linger-\\ning music that touched the father s heart,\\nas when a cloud crosses the sun. Good-\\nnight, my darling but his lips quivered\\nand his broad brow grew pale. Is Jessie\\nsick, mother Her cheeks are flushed, and\\nher eyes have a strange light.\\nNot sick, and the mother stooped to\\nkiss the flushed brow she may have\\nplayed too much. Pet is not sick\\nJessie tired, mamma good-night, papa\\nJessie see you in the morning.\\nThat is all, she is only tired, said the\\nmother as she took the small hand. Another", "height": "4388", "width": "3216", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0171.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "7 6\\nPATHETIC READINGS\\nkiss and the father turned away but his\\nheart was not satisfied.\\nSweet lullabies were sung but Jessie\\nwas restless and could not sleep. Tell\\nme a story, mamma and the mother told\\nof the blessed babe that Mary cradled, fol-\\nlowing along the story till the child had\\ngrown to walk and play. The blue, wide\\nopen eyes filled with a strange light, as\\nthough she saw and comprehended more\\nthan the mother knew.\\nThat night the father did not visit the\\nsaloon tossing on his bed, starting from a\\nfeverish sleep and bending over the crib,\\nthe long weary hours passed. Morning\\nrevealed the truth Jessie was smitten with\\nthe fever.\\nKeep her quiet, the doctor said a\\nfew days of good nursing, and she will be\\nall right.\\nWords easy said but the father saw a\\nlook on the sweet face such as he had seen\\nbefore. He knew the message was at the\\ndoor.\\nNight came. Jessie is sick can t say\\ngood-night, papa and the little clasping\\nfingers clung to the father s hand.\\nO God, spare her! I cannot, cannot\\nbear it was wrung from his suffering\\nheart.\\nDays passed the mother was tireless in\\nher watching. With her babe cradled in\\nher arms her heart was slow to take in the\\ntruth, doing her best to solace the father s\\nheart; A light case the doctor says,\\n1 Pet will soon be well.\\nCalmly as one who knows his doom, the\\nfather laid his hand upon the hot brow,\\nlooked into the eyes even then covered with\\nthe film of death, and with all the strength\\nof his manhood cried, Spare her, O God\\nspare my child, and I will follow Thee.\\nWith a last painful effort the parched lips\\nopened: Jessie s too sick can tsay good-\\nnight, papa in the morning. There was\\na convulsive shudder, and the clasping fin-\\ngers relaxed their hold the messenger had\\ntaken the child.\\nMonths have passed. Jessie s crib stands\\nby the side of her father s couch her blue\\nembroidered dress and white hat hang in\\nhis closet her boots with the print of the\\nfeet just as she last wore them, as sacred in\\nhis eyes as they are in the mother s. Not\\ndead, but merely risen to a higher life\\nwhile, sounding down from the upper stairs,\\nGood-night, papa, Jossie see you in the\\nmorning, has been the means of winning\\nto a better way one who had shown himself\\ndeaf to every former call\\nAmerican Messenger.\\nPOOR LITTLE JIM.\\nSuitable for Church Entertainment.\\nThis selection may be made very effective by having two or\\nthree tableaux scenes presented in the back ground during the\\nrecitation (i. mother sitting by the bed of sick child 2. kneeling\\nbeside the bed in attitude of prayer and then looking at the child\\nas he is supposed to speak; 3. father by bed with candle 4.\\nmother and father kneeling by bed\\nTHE cottage was a thatched one, the out-\\nside old and mean,\\nBut all within that little cot was\\nwondrous neat and clean.\\nThe night was dark and stormy, the wind\\nwas howling wild,\\nAs a patient mother sat beside the death-bed\\nof her child\\nA little worn-out creature, his once bright\\neyes grown dim\\nIt was a collier s wife and child, they called\\nhim little Jim.\\nAnd oh to see the briny tears fast hurrying\\ndown her cheek,\\nAs she offered up the prayer, in thought,\\nshe was afraid to speak,\\nLest she might waken one she loved far bet-\\nter than her life\\nFor she had all a mother s heart, had that\\npoor collier s wife.\\nWith hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside\\nthe sufferer s bed,\\nAnd prays that He would spare her boy,\\nand take herself instead.\\nShe gets her answer from the child soft\\nfall the words from him\\nMother, the angels do so smile, and beckon\\nlittle Jim,\\nI have.no pain, dear mother, now, but oh\\nI am so dry,\\nJust moisten poor Jim s lips again, and,\\nmother, don t you cry,\\nWith gentle, trembling haste she held the\\nliquid to his lip", "height": "4388", "width": "3272", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0172.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "QUITE ABSORBED\\n(Suggestion for Tableau)\\n(177)", "height": "4388", "width": "3228", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0173.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "i\\nCC\\na\\nDCS\\nO 13\\nO Sb\\nc\\nOS\\nIS\\n1\\no\\nz\\nSI\\nO\\nJ\\nho\\nM\\nft-s.\\nzj\\n0)2\\n2\\nbo", "height": "4376", "width": "3360", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0174.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "PATHETIC READINGS\\n179\\nHe smiled to thank her as he took each\\nlittle, tiny sip\\nTell father, when he comes from work, I\\nsaid good-night to him,\\nAnd, mother, now I ll go to sleep. Alas\\npoor little Jim\\nShe knew that he was dying that the child\\nshe loved so dear\\nHe uttered the last words she might ever\\nhope to hear\\nThe cottage door is opened, the collier s\\nstep is heard,\\nThe father and the mother meet, yet neither\\nspeaks a word.\\nHe felt that all was over, he knew his child\\nwas dead,\\nHe took the candle in his hand and walked\\ntoward the bed\\nHis quivering lips gave token of the grief\\nhe d fain conceal,\\nAnd see, his wife has joined him the\\nstricken couple kneel\\nWith hearts bowed down by sadness, they\\nhumbly ask of Him,\\nIn heaven once more to meet again their\\nown poor little Jim.\\nIN THE BOTTOM DRAWER.\\nSuitable to be read at a family party or homecoming.\\nI saw wife pull out the bottom drawer of\\nthe old family bureau this evening, and\\nwent softly out, and wandered up and\\ndown, until I knew that she had shut it up\\nand gone to her sewing. We have some\\nthings laid away in that drawer which the\\ngold of kings could not buy, and yet they\\nare relics which grieve us until both our\\nhearts are sore. I haven t dared look at\\nthem for a year, but I remember each\\narticle.\\nThere are two worn shoes, a little chip-\\nhat with part of the brim gone, some stock-\\nings, pants, a coat, two or three spools, bits\\nof broken crockery, a whip, and several\\ntoys. Wife poor thing goes to that\\ndrawer every day of her life, and prays\\nover it, and lets her tears fall upon the\\nprecious articles but I dare not go.\\nSometimes we speak of little Jack, but\\nnot often. It has been a long time, but\\nsomehow we can t get over grieving. He\\nwas such a burst of sunshine into our lives\\nthat his going away has been like covering\\nour every-day existence with a pall. Some-\\ntimes, when we sit alone of an evening, I\\nwriting and she sewing, a child on the\\nstreet will call out as our boy used to, and\\nwe will both start up with beating hearts\\nand a wild hope, only to find the darkness\\nmore of a burden than ever.\\nIt is so still and quiet now. I look up\\nat the window where his blue eyes used to\\nsparkle at my coming, but he is not there.\\nI listen for his pattering feet, his merry\\nshout, and his ringing laugh but there is\\nno sound. There is no one to climb over\\nmy knees, no one to search my pockets and\\ntease for presents and I never find the\\nchairs turned over, the broom down, or\\nropes tied to the door-knobs.\\nI want some one to tease me for my\\nknife to ride on my shoulder to lose my\\naxe to follow me to the gate when I go,\\nand be there to meet me when I come to\\ncall good-night from the little bed, now\\nempty. And wife, she misses him still\\nmore there are no little feet to wash, no\\nprayers to say no voice teasing for lumps\\nof sugar, or sobbing with the pain of a hurt\\ntoe and she would give her own life,\\nalmost, to awake at midnight, and look\\nacross to the crib and see our boy there as\\nhe used to be.\\nSo we preserve our relics and when we\\nare dead we hope that strangers will handle\\nthem tenderly, even if they shed no tears\\nover them.\\nPOOR LITTLE JOE.\\nLet the speaker study carefully the changing moods of the\\ncharacter and act them naturally.\\nProp yer eyes wide open Joey,\\nFur I ve brought you sumpin great.\\nApples No, a heap sight better\\nDon t you take no int rest Wait\\nFlowers, Joe I know d you d like em\\nAin t them scrumptious Ain t them\\nhigh?\\nTears, my boy Wot s them fur, Joey\\nThere poor little Joe don t cry I\\nI was skippin past a winder,\\nWhere a bang-up lady sot,", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0175.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "i8o\\nPATHETIC READINGS\\nAll amongst a lot of bushes\\nEach oneclimbin from a pot\\nEvery bush had flowers on it\\nPretty Mebbe not Oh, no\\nWish you could a seen em growin\\nIt wassich a stunnin show.\\nWell, I thought of you, poor feller,\\nLyin here so sick and weak,\\nNever knowin any comfort,\\nAnd I puts on lots o cheek.\\nMissus, says I, if you please, mum,\\nCould I ax j^ou for a rose\\nFor my little brother, missus\\nNever seed one, I suppose.\\nThen I told her all about you\\nHow I bringed you up poor Joe\\n(L,ackin women folks to do it.)\\nSich a imp you was, you know\\nTill yer got that awful tumble,\\nJist as I had broke yer in\\n(Hard work, too,) to earn yer livin\\nBlackin boots for honest tin.\\nHow that tumble crippled of you,\\nSo s you couldn t hyper much\\nJoe, it hurted when I seen you\\nFur the first time with yer crutch.\\nBut, I says, he s laid up now, mum,\\nPears to weaken every day\\nJoe, she up and went to cuttin\\nThat s the how of this bokay.\\nSay It seems to me, ole feller,\\nYou is quite yerself to night\\nKind o chirk it s been a fortnit\\nSence yer eyes has been so bright.\\nBetter f Well, I m glad to hear it\\nYes, they re mighty pretty, Joe.\\nSmellin* of em s made you happy f\\nWell, I thought it would, you know\\nNever see the country, did you\\nFlowers growin everywhere\\nSometime when you re better, Joey,\\nMebbe I kin take you there,\\nFlowers in heaven f M I s pose so\\nDunno much about it, though\\nAin t as fly as wot I might be\\nOn them topics, little Joe.\\nBut I ve heard it hinted somewhere s\\nThat in heaven s golden gates\\nThings is everlastin cheerful\\nB lieve that s wot the Bible states,\\nlikewise there folks don t git hungry\\nSo good people, when they dies,\\nFinds themselves well fixed forever\\nJoe, my boy, wot ails yer eyes\\nThought they looked a little sing ler.\\nOh, no Don t you have no fear\\nHeaven was made fur such as you is\\nJoe, wot makes you look so queer\\nHere wake up Oh don t look that way\\nJoe My boy Hold up yer head\\nHere s yer flowers you dropped em, Joey\\nOh, my God, can Joe be dead?\\nPEivKG Arkwright.\\nOUR FOLKS.\\ni i TTi Harry Holly Halt,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and tell\\nJUL A fellow just a thing or two\\nYou ve had a furlough, been to see\\nHow all the folks in Jersey do.\\nIt s months ago since I was there,\\nI, and a bullet from Fair Oaks.\\nWhen you were home, old comrade, say,\\nDid you see any of our folks\\nYou did Shake hands, Oh, ain t I glad\\nFor if I do look grim and rough,\\nI ve got some feelin People think\\nA soldier s heart is mighty tough\\nBut, Harry, when the bullets fly,\\nAnd hot saltpetre flames and smokes,\\nWhile whole battalions lie afield,\\nOne s apt to think about his folks.\\nAnd so you saw them when and where\\nThe old man is he hearty yet\\nAnd mother does she fade at all\\nOr does she seem to pine and fret\\nFor me And Sis has she grown tall\\nAnd did you see her friend you know\\nThat Annie Moss (How this pipe\\nchokes\\nWhere did you see her tell me, Hal,\\nA lot of news about our folks.\\nYou saw them in the church, you say\\nIt s likely, for they re always there.\\nNot Sunday no A funeral Who\\nWho, Harry how you shake and stare\\nAll well, you say, and all were out.\\nWhat ails you, Hal Is this a hoax\\nWhy don t you tell me, like a man,\\nWhat is the matter with our folks\\nI said all well, old comrade, true", "height": "4388", "width": "3280", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0176.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "PATHETIC READINGS\\nI say all well, for He knows best\\nWho takes the young ones in His arms,\\nBefore the sun goes to the west.\\nThe axe- man Death deals right and left,\\nAnd flowers fall as well as oaks\\nAnd so fair Annie blooms no more\\nAnd that s the matter with your folks.\\nSee, this long curl was kept for you\\nAnd this white blossom from her breast\\nAnd here your sister Bessie wrote\\nA letter, telling all the rest.\\nBear up, old friend. Nobody speaks\\nOnly the old camp-raven croaks,\\nAnd soldiers whisper Boys, be still\\nThere s some bad news from Grainger s\\nfolks.\\nHe turns his back the only foe\\nThat ever saw it on this grief,\\nAnd, as men will, keeps down the tears\\nKind Nature sends to Woe s relief.\\nThen answers he, Ah, Hal, I ll try\\nBut in my throat there s something\\nchokes,\\nBecause, you see, I ve thought so long\\nTo count her in among our folks.\\nI s pose she must be happy now,\\nBut still I will keep thinking too,\\nI could have kept all trouble off,\\nBy being tender, kind and true.\\nBat maybe not. She s safe up there,\\nAnd when His hand deals other strokes,\\nShe ll stand by Heaven s gate, I know,\\nAnd wait to welcome in our folks.\\nEthki, Lynn.\\nTHE OLD HAN S VIGIL.\\nBy the bed the old man, waiting, sat in\\nvigil, sad and tender,\\nWhere his aged wife lay dying and\\nthe twilight shadows, brown,\\nSlowly from the wall and window, chased\\nthe sunset s golden splendor\\nGoing down.\\nIs it night? she whispered, waking,\\n(for her spirit seemed to hover\\nLost between the next world s sunrise\\nand the bedtime cares of this)\\nAnd the old man, weak and tearful, trem-\\nbling as he bent above her,\\nAnswered Yes.\\nAre the children in? she asked him.\\nCould he tell her All the treasures\\nOf their household lay in silence many\\nyears beneath the snow\\nBut her heart was with them living, back\\namong her toils and pleasures\\nLong ago.\\nAnd again she called at dew-fall, in the\\nsweet, old, summer weather,\\nWhere is little Charley, father? Frank\\nand Robert, have they come\\nThey are safe, the old man faltered,\\nall the children are together,\\nSafe at home.\\nThen he murmured gentle soothings, but\\nhis grief grew strong and stronger,\\nTill it choked and stilled him as he held\\nand kissed her wrinkled hand,\\nFor her soul, far out of hearing, could his\\nfondest words no longer\\nUnderstand.\\nStill the pale lips stammered questions,\\nlullabies and broken verses,\\nNursery prattle all the language of a\\nmother s loving heeds,\\nWhile the midnight round the mourner,\\nleft to sorrow s bitter mercies,\\nWrapped its weeds.\\nThere was stillness on the pillow and the\\nold man listened, lonely\\nTill they led him from the chamber with\\nthe burden on his breast,\\nFor the faithful wife and mother, his early\\nlove and only\\nLay at rest.\\nFare you well he sobbed my Sarah\\nyou will meet the babes before me\\nTis a little while, for neither can the\\nparting long abide.\\nAnd you soon will come and call me, and\\nkind Heaven will then restore me\\nTo your side.\\nIt was even so. The springtime, in the\\nsteps of winter treading,\\nScarcely shed its orchard blossoms ere\\nthe old man closed his eyes\\nAnd they buried him by Sarah and they\\nhad their diamond wedding\\nIn the skies.", "height": "4388", "width": "3216", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0177.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "182\\nPATHETIC READINGS\\nLIMPY TIM.\\nA Pathetic Selection Easy to Recite.\\nAbout the big post-office door\\nSome boys were selling news,\\nWhile others earned their slender\\nstore\\nBy shining people s shoes.\\nThey were surprised the other day\\nBy seeing Limpy Tim\\nApproach in such a solemn way\\nThat they all stared at him.\\nSay, boys, I want to sell my kit\\nTwo brushes, blacking-pot\\nAnd good stout box the whole outfit\\nA quarter buys the lot.\\nGoin away? cried one. O no,\\nTim answered, not to-day\\nBut I do want a quarter so,\\nAnd I want it right away.\\nThe kit was sold, the price was paid,\\nWhen Tim an office sought\\nFor daily papers down he laid\\nThe money he had brought.\\nI guess, if you ll lend me a pen,\\nI ll write myself, he sighed\\nWith slowly moving fingers then\\nHe wrote this notice, died\\nOf scarlet fever Litul Ted\\nAged three gon up to heven\\nOne brother left to mourn him dead\\nFuneral to-morrow eleven.\\nWas it your brother asked the man\\nWho took the notice in\\nTim tried to hide it, but began\\nTo quiver at the chin.\\nThe more he sought himself to brace\\nThe stronger grew his grief;\\nBig tears came rolling down his face,\\nTo give his heart relief.\\nBy selling out my kit I found\\nThat quarter he replied\\nB but he had his arms around\\nMy neck when he d died.\\nTim hurried home, but soon the news\\nAmong the boys was spread\\nThey held short, quiet interviews\\nWhich straight to action led.\\nHe had been home an hour, not more,\\nWhen one with naked feet\\nLaid down Tim s kit outside his door,\\nWith flowers white and sweet.\\nEach little fellow took a part,\\nHis penny freely gave\\nTo soothe the burdened brother s heart,\\nAnd deck the baby s grave.\\nThose flowers have faced since that day,\\nThe boys are growing men,\\nBut the good God will yet repay\\nThe deed He witnessed then.\\nThe light which blessed poor Limpy\\nTim\\nDecended from above\\nA ladder leading back to Him\\nWhose Christian name is love.\\nT. Harney.\\nTO MARY IN HEAVEN.\\nComposed by Burns, in September, 1789, on the anniversary\\nof the day on which he heard of the death of his early love,\\nMary Campbell.\\nThou lingering star, with lessening ray,\\nThat lov st to greet the early morn,\\nAgain thou usher st in the day\\nMy Mary from my soul was torn.\\nO Mary dear departed shade\\nWhere is thy place of blissful rest\\nSee st thou thy lover lowly laid\\nHear st thou the groans that rend his\\nbreast\\nThat sacred hour can I forget\\nCan I forget the hallowed grove,\\nWhere by the winding Ayr we met\\nTo live one day of parting love\\nEternity will not efface\\nThose records dear of transports past\\nThy image at our last embrace\\nAh little thought we t was our last\\nAyr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore,\\nO erhung with wild woods, thickening\\ngreen\\nThe fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,\\nTwined amorous round the raptured\\nScene", "height": "4388", "width": "3256", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0178.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "PATHETIC READINGS\\n183\\nThe flowers sprang wanton to be prest,\\nThe birds sang love on every spray\\nTill soon, too soon, the glowing west\\nProclaimed the speed of winged day.\\nStill o er these scenes my memory wakes,\\nAnd fondly broods with miser care\\nTime but the impression stronger makes,\\nAs streams their channels deeper wear.\\nMy Mary dear departed shade\\nWhere is thy place of blissful rest\\nSee st thou thy lover lowly laid\\nHears t thou the groans that rend his\\nbreast\\nRobert Burns.\\nTHE DYING BOY.\\nTo be delivered in a natural sympathetic manner.\\nA friend of mine, seeking for objects of\\ncharity, reached the upper room of a\\ntenement house. It was vacant. He\\nsaw a ladder pushed through a hole in the\\nceiling. Thinking that perhaps some poor\\ncreature had crept up there, he climbed the\\nladder, drew himself through the hole, and\\nfound himself under the rafters There was\\nno light but that which came through a\\nbull s eye in the place of a tile, Soon he\\nsaw a heap of chips and shavings, and on\\nthem lay a boy about ten years old.\\nBoy, what are you doing here\\nHush, don t tell anybody, please, sir.\\nWhat are you doing here\\nHush, please don t tell anybody, sir;\\nI m a-hiding.\\nWhat are you hiding for\\nDon t tell anybody, please, sir.\\nWhere s your mother\\nPlease, sir, mother s dead.\\nWhere s your father?\\nHush, don t tell him. But look here.\\nHe turned himself on his face, and through\\nthe rags of his jacket and shirt my friend\\nsaw that the boy s flesh was terribly bruised,\\nand his skin was broken.\\nWhy, my boy, who beat you like\\nthat?\\nFather did, sir.\\nWhat did he beat you for\\nFather got drunk, sir, and beat me cos\\nI wouldn t steal.\\nDid you ever steal\\nYes, sir I was a street-thief once.\\nAnd why won t you steal anymore\\nPlease, sir, I went to the mission\\nschool, and they told me there of God and\\nof heaven, and of Jesus, and they taught\\nme, Thou shalt not steal, and I ll never\\nsteal again, if my father kills me for it.\\nBut please don t tell him.\\nMy boy, you musn t stay here. You ll\\ndie. Now you wait patiently here for a\\nlittle time, I m going away to see a lady.\\nWe will get a better place for you than\\nthis.\\nThank you; sir but please, sir, would\\nyou like to hear me sing my little hymn\\nBruised, battered, forlorn, friendless,\\nmotherless, hiding from an infuriated father,\\nhe had a little hymn to sing.\\nYes, I will hear you sing your little\\nhymn\\nHe raised himself on his elbow and then\\nsang\\nGentle Jesus, meek and mild,\\nLook upon a little child,\\nPity my simplicity,\\nSuffer me to come to Thee.\\nFain would I to Thee be brought\\nGracious Lord, forbid it not\\nIn the kingdom of Thy grace,\\nGive a little child a place.\\nThat s the little hymn, sir. Goodbye.\\nThe gentleman hurried away for restora-\\ntives and help came back again in less than\\ntwo hours, and climbed the ladder. There\\nwere the chips, there were the shavings, and\\nthere was the little motherless boy with one\\nhand by his side and the other tucked in his\\nbosom dead. Oh, I thank God that He\\nwho said, Suffer little children to come\\nunto Me, did not say respectable chil-\\ndren, or well-educated children. No,\\nHe sends His angels into the homes of pov-\\nerty and sin and crime, where you do not\\nlike to go, and brings out His redeemed\\nones, and they are as stars in the crown of\\nrejoicing to those who have been instru-\\nmental in enlightening their darkness.\\nJohn B. Gough.\\nTHE SINGER S CLIMAX.\\nC C Tp you want to hear Annie Laurie\\nJL sung come to my house to-night,\\nsaid a man to his friend. We\\nhave a love-lorn fellow in the village who", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0179.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "184\\nPATHETIC READINGS\\nwas sadly wrecked by the refusal of a young\\ngirl to whom he had been paying attention\\nfor a year or more. It is seldom he will\\nattempt the song, but when he does I tell\\nyou he draws tears from eyes unused to\\nweeping.\\nA small select party had assembled in a\\npleasant parlor, and were gayly chatting and\\nlaughing when a tall young man entered\\nwhose peculiar face and air instantly arrested\\nattention. He was very pale, with that\\nclear, vivid complexion which dark haired\\nconsumptives so often have his locks were\\nas black as jet, and hung profusely upon a\\nsquare white collar his eyes were very\\nlarge and spiritual, and his brow was such\\na one as a poet should have. But for a cer-\\ntain wandering look, a casual observer\\nwould have pronounced him a man ot\\nuncommon intellectual powers The words\\npoor fellow, and how sad he looks\\nwent the rounds, as he came forward, bowed\\nto the company, and took his seat. One or\\ntwo thoughtless girls laughed as they whis-\\npered that he was love-cracked, but the\\nrest of the company treated him with respect-\\nful deference.\\nIt was late in the evening when singing\\nwas proposed, and to ask him to sing Annie\\nLaurie was a task of uncommon delicacy.\\nOne song after another was sung, and at last\\nthat one was named. At its mention the\\nyoung man grew deadly pale, but he did not\\nspeak he seemed instantly to be lost in\\nreverie\\nThe name of the girl who treated him so\\nbadly was Annie said a lady, whispering\\nto the new guest, but oh I wish he would\\nsing it nobody else can do it justice.\\nNo one dares to sing Annie Laurie\\nbefore you Charles, said an elderly lady.\\nWould it be too much for me to ask you\\nto favor the company with it? she added,\\ntimidly.\\nHe did not reply for a moment his lip\\nquivered, and then looking up as if he saw\\na spiritual presence, he began. Every soul\\nwas hushed, it seemed as if his voice were\\nthe voice of an angel. The tones vibra-\\nted through nerve and pulse and heart, and\\nmade one shiver with the pathos of his feel-\\ning never was heard melody in a human\\nvoice like that so plaintive, so soulful, so\\ntender and earnest.\\nHe sat with his head thrown back his eyes\\nhalf closed, the locks of dark hair glistening\\nagainst his pale temple, his fine throat\\nswelling with the rich tones, his hands\\nlightly folded before him, and as he sung\\nAnd twas there that Annie Laurie\\nGave me her promise true.\\nit seemed as if he shook from head to foot\\nwith emotion. Many a lip trembled, and\\nthere was no jesting, no laughing, but\\ninstead, tears in more than one eye.\\nAnd on he sung and on, holding every one\\nin rapt attention, till he came to the last\\nverse\\nLike dew on the gowan lying\\nIs the fa of her fairy feet,\\nAnd like winds in summer sighing\\nHer voice is low and sweet,\\nHer voice is low and sweet,\\nAnd she s a the world to me\\nHe paused before he added,\\nAnd for bonnie Annie Laurie\\nI ll lay me down and die,\\nThere was a long and solemn pause.\\nThe black locks seemed to grow blacker\\nthe white temples whiter almost imper-\\nceptibly the head kept falling back the\\neyes were close shut. One glanced at\\nanother all seemed awe-struck till the\\nsame person who had urged him to sing laid\\nher hand gently on his shoulder, saying\\nCharles Charles!\\nThen came a hush a thrill of horror crept\\nthrough every frame the poor, tried heart\\nhad ceased to beat. Charles, the love-be-\\ntrayed, was dead.\\nTHE PROGRESS OF MADNESS.\\nThe pathos of this selection must appear in the hopeless\\ngrief of the raving woman. The moods must be carefully\\nstudied and portrayed by the speaker.\\nStay, jailer, stay, and hear my woe\\nHe is not mad who kneels to thee\\nFor what I m now too well I know,\\nAnd what I was and what should be!\\nI ll rave no more in proud despair\\nMy language shall be mild, though sad\\nBut yet I ll firmly, truly swear,\\nI am not mad I am not mad\\nMy tyrant foes have forged the tale,\\nWhich chains me in this dismal cell\\nMy fate unknown my friends bewail", "height": "4388", "width": "3244", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0180.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "PATHETIC READINGS\\ni85\\njailer, haste that fate to tell\\nhaste my father s heart to cheer\\nHis heart at once t will grieve and glad,\\nTo know, though chained a captive here,\\n1 am not mad I am not mad\\nHe smiles in scorn he turns the key\\nHe quits the grate I knelt in vain\\nHis glimmering lamp still, still I see\\nT is gone and all is gloom again\\nCold, bitter cold no warmth, no light\\nLife, all thy comforts once I had\\nYet here I m chained, this freezing night,\\nAlthough not mad no, no not mad\\nT is sure some dream some vision vain\\nWhat I the child of rank and wealth\\nAm I the wretch who clanks this chain,\\nBereft of freedom, friends, and health?\\nAh while I dwell on blessings fled,\\nWhich never more my heart must glad,\\nHow aches my heart, how burns my head\\nBut t is not mad it is not mad\\nHast thou, my child, forgot e er this\\nA parent s face, a parent s tongue?\\nI ll ne er forget thy parting kiss,\\nNor round my neck how fast you clung\\nNor how with me you sued to stay,\\nNor how that suit my foes forbade\\nNor how I ll drive such thoughts away\\nThey ll make me mad they ll make\\nme mad\\nThy rosy lips, how sweet they smiled 1\\nThy mild blue eyes, how bright they\\nshone\\nNone ever saw a lovelier child\\nAnd art thou now for ever gone\\nAnd must I never see thee more,\\nMy pretty, gracious, noble lad\\n1 will be free Unbar the door\\nI am not mad I am not mad\\nO, hark what mean those yells and cries\\nHis chain some furious madman breaks\\nHe comes I see his glaring eyes\\nNow, now, my dungeon grate he shakes\\nHelp help he s gone O, fearful woe,\\nSuch screams to hear, such sights to see\\nMy brain, my brain I know, I know,\\nI am not mad but soon shall be\\nYes, soon for, lo now, while I speak,\\nMark how yon demon s eyeballs glare\\nHe sees me now, with dreadful shriek,\\nHe whirls a serpent high in air\\nHorror the reptile strikes his tooth\\nDeep in my heart, so crushed and sad\\nAy, laugh, ye fiends I feel the truth\\nYour task is done I m mad I m mad\\nM. G. Lewis.\\nON THE OTHER TRAIN.\\ni C^T^HKRE Simmons, you blockhead Why\\nX didn t you trot that old woman\\naboard her train She ll have to\\nwait here now until 1.05 A. m.\\nYou didn t tell me.\\nYes, I did tell you. Twas only your\\nconfounded stupid carelessness.\\nShe you fool What else could you\\nexpect of her? Probably she hasn t any\\nwit besides, she isn t bound on a very\\njolly journey got a pass up the road to\\nthe poor-house. I ll go and tell her, and\\nif you forget her to-night, see if I don t\\nmake mince-meat of you\\nYou ve missed your train, marm.\\nA trembling hand raised a faded black\\nveil and revealed the sweetest old face I\\never saw.\\nNever mind, said a quivering voice.\\nTis only three o clock now, you ll\\nnave to wait until the night train, which\\ndoesn t go up until 1 .05\\nVery well, sir, I can wait.\\n11 Wouldn t you like to go to some hotel\\nSimmons will show you the way.\\nNo, thank you, sir. One place is as\\ngood as another to me. Besides, I haven t\\nany money.\\nVery well, said the agent, turning\\naway indifferently. Simmons will tell\\nyou when it s time.\\nAll the afternoon she sat there so quiet\\nthat I thought sometimes she must be\\nasleep, but when I looked more closely I\\ncould see every once in a while a great tear\\nrolling down her cheek, which she would\\nwipe away hastily with her cotton handker-\\nchief.\\nThe depot was crowded, and all was\\nbustle and hurry until the 9.50 train going\\neast then every passenger left except the\\nold lady. It is very rare, indeed, that any", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0181.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "186\\nPATHETIC READINGS\\none takes the night express, and almost\\nalways after I have struck ten, the depot\\nbecomes silent and empty.\\nThe fire had gone down it was a cold\\nnight, and the wind howled dismally out-\\nside. The lamps grew dim and flared,\\ncasting weird shadows upon the wall. By\\nand by I heard a smothered sob from the\\ncorner, then another. I looked in that\\ndirection. She had risen from her seat,\\nand oh the look of agony on the poor,\\npinched face\\nI can t believe it, she sobbed, wring-\\ning her thin, white hands. Oh! I can t\\nbelieve it My babies my babies how\\noften have I held them in my arms and\\nkissed them and how often they used to\\nsay back to me, Ise love you mamma,\\nand now, oh God, they re against me.\\nWhere am I going To the poor-house\\nNo no no I cannot I will not Oh,\\nthe disgrace 1 and sinking upon her knees\\nshe sobbed out in prayer O, God, spare\\nme this disgrace spare me take me to\\nthyself, dear Lord\\nThe wind rose higher and swept through\\nthe crevices, icy cold. How it moaned and\\nseemed to sob like something human that is\\nhurt I began to shake, but the kneeling\\nfigure never stirred. The thin shawl had\\ndropped from her shoulders unheeded.\\nSimmons turned over and drew his heavy\\nblanket more closely about him\\nOh, how cold Only one lamp remained\\nburning dimly the other two had gone out\\nfor want of oil. I could hardly see it was\\nso dark.\\nAt last she became quieter and ceased to\\nmoan. Then I grew drowsy, and kind of\\nlost the run of things after I had struck\\ntwelve, when some one entered the depot\\nwith a bright light. I started up. It was\\nthe brightest light I ever saw, and seemed\\nto fill the room full of glory. I could see\\ntwas a man. He walked to the kneeling\\nfigure and touched her upon the shoulder.\\nShe started up and turned her face wildly\\naround. I heard him say\\nTis train time, ma am. Come\\nI m ready, she whispered.\\nThen give me your pass, ma am.\\nShe reached him a worn old book, which\\nhe took and from it read aloud Come\\nunto Me all ye that labor and are heavy\\nladen and I will give you rest.\\nThat s the pass over our road, ma am.\\nAre you ready\\nThe light died away and darkness fell in\\nits place. My hand touched the stroke of\\none. Simmons awoke with a start and\\nsnatched his lantern. The whistle shouted\\ndown brakes the train was due. He ran\\nto the corner and shook the old woman.\\nWake up, marm tis train time.\\nBut she never heeded. He gave one look\\nat the white, set face, and, dropping the\\nlantern, fled.\\nThe up-train halted, the conductor\\nshouted, All aboard, but no one made a\\nmove that way.\\nThe next morning, when the ticket agent\\ncame, he found her frozen to death. They\\nwhispered among themselves, and the coro-\\nner made out the verdict apoplexy, and\\nit was in some way hushed up.\\nThey laid her out in the depot, and adver-\\ntised for her friends, but no one came. So,\\nafter the second day, they buried her.\\nThe last look on the sweet old face, lit up\\nwith a smile so unearthly, I keep with me\\nyet and when I think of the strange occur-\\nrence of that night, I know she went out on\\nthe other train, that never stopped at the\\npoor-house.\\nTHE GAMBLER S WIFE.\\nDark is the night How dark No\\nlight no fire\\nCold, on the earth, the last faint sparks\\nexpire\\nShivering, she watches by the cradle-side,\\nFor him, who pledged her love last year a\\nbride\\nHark tis his foststep No tis past\\ntis gone\\nTick tick How wearily the time\\ncrawls on\\nWhy should he leave me thus He once\\nwas kind\\nAnd I believed twould last How mad\\nHow blind\\nRest thee, my babe! Rest on! Tis\\nhunger s cry", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0182.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "THE VICAR AND OLIVIA\\nPosed by the famous actors Henry Irving and Ellen Terry\\n(Suggestion for Tableau)\\n(187)", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0183.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "I VE A MIND TO CALL HIM BACK,\\nI WISH I HAD NTTOLD HIM NO", "height": "4380", "width": "3244", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0184.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "PATHETIC READINGS\\nSleep for there is no food the fount is\\ndry!\\nFamine and cold their wearying work have\\ndone.\\nMy heart must break And thou The\\nclock strikes one.\\nHush! tis the dice-box! Yes! he s\\nthere he s there\\nFor this for this he leaves me to despair\\nLeaves love leaves truth his wife his\\nchild for what\\nThe wanton s smile the villain and the\\nsot\\nYet I ll not curse him. No tis all in\\nvain\\nTis long to wait, but sure he ll come\\nagain\\nAnd I could starve, and bless him, but for\\nyou,\\nMy child! his child! Oh, fiend! The\\nclock strikes two.\\nHark how the sign- board creaks The\\nblast howls by,\\nMoan Moan a dirge swells through the\\ncloudy sky\\nHa tis his knock he comes he comes\\nonce more\\nTis but the lattice flaps Thy hope is o er\\nCan he desert us thus He knows I stay,\\nNight after night, in loneliness to pray,\\nFor his return and yet he sees no tear\\nNo no it cannot be He will be here\\nNestle more closely, dear one, to my\\nheart\\nThou rt cold thou rt freezing But we\\nwill not part\\nHusband I die Father It is not he\\nO God protect my child The clock\\nstrikes three.\\nThey re gone, they re gone the glimmer-\\ning spark hath fled\\nThe wife and child are numbered with the\\ndead.\\nOn the cold hearth, outstretched in solemn\\nrest,\\nThe babe lay, frozen on its mother s breast\\nThe gambler came at last but all was o er\\nDread silence reigned around the clock\\nstruck four\\nRkynkll Coatks.\\nTHE OLD SPINSTER.\\nBy Permission of the Author.\\nNo, she never was married, but was to\\nhave been\\nAt the time she was running the\\nloom\\nBut the fact ry burned down, some were\\nmangled and scarred,\\nAnd her lover was never her groom,\\nAs he wedded a handsomer girl.\\nTo the stranger, old Rachel was ugly\\nindeed,\\nFor her features were grim and distorted\\nTho in years long gone by she was lovely\\nand fair,\\nAs the hopes of her life that were thwarted\\nBy the dreadful mishap in the mill.\\nBut beneath the plain calico gown that she\\nwore,\\nBeat a heart that was loving and tender\\nAs the villagers knew and man, woman\\nor child\\nGainst the merest rude speech would\\ndefend her,\\nSo well was the poor woman loved.\\nAnd right many s the maid, who, bewailing\\nher woe,\\nHas told Rachel the slight that distressed\\nher,\\nOnly soon to trip on with a happier look,\\nWhile the silly goose inwardly blessed her,\\nFor her comforting words and advice.\\nThen the urchins have gone to her, covered\\nwith mud,\\nAfraid to go home\u00e2\u0080\u0094 perhaps crying\\nBut old Rachel (the remedy) washed out\\nthe stains,\\nAnd they laughed while their garments\\nwere drying,\\nIn the yard at the back of her cot.\\nWhen the villagers slept, and the cricket\\nand owl,\\nAnd the rustling of leaves were unheeded,", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0185.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "190\\nPATHETIC READINGS\\nIn the room of the sick, by the nickering\\nlight\\nWas she seen, where her presence was\\nneeded,\\nWhile her gaunt shadow danced on the\\nwall.\\nAnd the outcasts who begged at her door\\nfor a crust,\\nEre they went on their wearisome ways,\\nFelt that one thought them human and\\npitied their fate,\\nWho recalled the remembrance of earlier\\ndays,\\nAnd who reckoned them not by their rags.\\nBut the weight of her grief which was\\nnever revealed,\\nSave to Jesus the friend of the lowly\\nBore her down and the sands of her\\ndesolate life,\\nWhich for years had been ebbing out\\nslowly,\\nCeased to run and her spirit was freed.\\nWhen the villagers stood at the side of her\\ngrave,\\nWhen the gray-headed preacher s voice\\nfaltered,\\nWhen the tears trickeled down the bronzed\\ncheeks of the men\\nOh her beauty seemed fresh and unaltered\\nAs when happy she worked in the mill.\\nAnd oft where she lies a bent form can be\\nseen\\nWhen the twilight is deepening its\\nshadows\\nAnd the sweetest of flow rets are found on\\nher tomb,\\nAll fresh from the dew-gleaming meadows\\nYet who gathers them no one can tell.\\nGeo. M. Vickers.\\nNOBODY S CHILD.\\nThe following poem by Miss Phila H. Case, originally ap-\\npeared, T867. It has been noticed and copied and sung and\\nspoken almost everywhere, even finding its way into mf re than\\none English publication, and has really become a little nobody s\\nchild, so far as its authorship and due credit are concerned.\\nAlone, in the dreary, pitiless street,\\nWith my torn old dress and bare cold\\nfeet,\\nAll day I wandered to and fro,\\nHungry and shivering and nowhere to go;\\nThe night s coming on in darkness and\\ndread,\\nAnd the chill sleet beating upon my bare\\nhead\\nOh why does the wind blow upon me so\\nwild\\nIt is because I m nobody s child\\nJust over the way there s a flood of light,\\nAnd warmth and beauty, and all things\\nbright\\nBeautiful children, in robes so fair,\\nAre caroling songs in rapture there.\\nI wonder if they, in their blissful glee,\\nWould pity a poor little beggar like me,\\nWandering alone in the merciless street,\\nNaked and shivering and nothing to eat.\\nOh what shall I do when the night comes\\ndown\\nIn its terrible blackness all over the town\\nShall I lay me down neath the angry sky,\\nOn the cold hard pavements alone to die\\nWhen the beautiful children their prayers\\nhave said,\\nAnd mammas have tucked them up snugly\\nin bed.\\nNo dear mother ever upon me smiled\\nWhy is it, I wonder, that I m nobody s\\nchild\\nNo father, no mother, no sister, not one\\nIn all the world loves me e en the little\\ndogs run\\nWhen I wander too near them tis won-\\ndrous to see,\\nHow everything shrinks from a beggar like\\nme\\nPerhaps tis a dream but, sometimes, when\\nHie\\nGazing far up in the dark blue sky,\\nWatching for hours some large bright\\nstar,\\nI fancy the beautiful gates are ajar,\\nAnd a host of white-robed, nameless things,\\nCome fluttering o er me in gilded wings\\nA hand that is strangely soft and fair\\nCaresses gently my tangled hair,\\nAnd a voice like the carol of some wild\\nbird\\nThe sweetest voice that was ever heard\\nCalls me many a dear pet name,\\nTill my heart and spirits are all aflame", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0186.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "PATHETIC READINGS\\n191\\nAnd tells me of such unbounded love,\\nAnd bids me come up to their home above,\\nAnd then, with such pitiful, sad surprise,\\nThey look at me with their sweet blue\\neyes,\\nAnd it seems to me out of the dreary\\nnight,\\nI am going up to the world of light,\\nAnd away from the hunger and storms so\\nwild\\nI am sure I shall then be somebody s\\nchild.\\nPhila H. Cask.\\nTHE DYING AiXHEMIST.\\nTHE night-wind with a desolate moan\\nswept by,\\nAnd the old shutters of the turret\\nswung\\nCreaking upon their hinges and the moon,\\nAs the torn edges of the clouds flew past,\\nStruggled aslant the stained and broken\\npanes,\\nSo dimly, that the watchful eye of death\\nScarcely was conscious when it went and\\ncame.\\nThe fire beneath his crucible was low,\\nYet still it burned and ever, as his\\nthoughts\\nGrew insupportable, he raised himself\\nUpon his wasted arm, and stirred the coals\\nWith difficult energy and when the rod\\nFell from his nerveless fingers, and his eye\\nFelt faint within its socket, he shrank back\\nUpon his pallet, and, with unclosed lips,\\nMuttered a curse on death\\nThe silent room,\\nFrom its dim corners, mockingly gave back\\nHis rattling breath the humming in the\\nfire\\nHad the distinctness of a knell and when\\nDuly the antique horologe beat one,\\nHe drew a phial from beneath his head,\\nAnd drank. And instantly his lips com-\\npressed,\\nAnd, with a shudder in his skeleton frame,\\nHe rose with supernatural strength, and sat\\nUpright, and communed with himself:\\nI did not think to die\\nTill I had finished what I had to do\\nI thought to pierce th eternal secret\\nthrough\\nWith this my mortal eye\\nI felt, Oh, God it seemeth even now\\nThis cannot be the death- dew on my brow\\nGrant me another year,\\nGod of my spirit but a day, to win\\nSomething to satisfy this thirst within\\nI would know something here\\nBreak for me but one seal that is unbroken\\nSpeak for me but one word that is unspoken\\nVain, vain, my brain is turning\\nWith a swift dizziness, and my heart grows\\nsick,\\nAnd these hot temple- throbs come fast and\\nthick,\\nAnd I am freezing, burning,\\nDying Oh, God if I might only live\\nMy phial Ha it thrills me, I revive.\\nAye, were not man to die,\\nHe were too mighty for this narrow sphere\\nHad he but time to brood on knowledge\\nhere,\\nCould he but train his eye,\\nMight he but wait the mystic word and\\nhour,\\nOnly his Maker would transcend his power\\nThis were indeed to feel\\nThe soul-thirst slacken at the living\\nstream,\\nTo live, Oh, God that life is but a dream\\nAnd death Aha I reel,\\nDim, dim, I faint, darkness comes o er\\nmy eye,\\nCover me save me -God of heaven\\nI die!\\nTwas morning, and the old man lay alone.\\nNo friend had closed his eyelids, and\\nhis lips,\\nOpen and ashy pale, the expression wore\\nOf his death struggle. His long silvery\\nhair\\nLay on his hollow temples, thin and wild,\\nHis frame was wasted, and his features wan\\nAnd haggard as with want, and in his palm\\nHis nails were driven deep, as if the throe\\nOf the last agony had wrung him sore.\\nThe storm was raging still. The shutter\\nswung,\\nCreaking as harshly in the fitful wind,", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0187.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "192\\nPATHETIC READINGS\\nAnd all without went on, as aye it will,\\nSunshine or tempest, reckless that a heart\\nIs breaking, or has broken, in its change.\\nThe fire beneath the crucible was out.\\nThe vessels of his mystic art lay round,\\nUseless and cold as the ambitious hand\\nThat fashioned them, and the small rod,\\nFamiliar to his touch for threescore years,\\nLay on th alembic s rim, as if it still\\nMight vex the elements at its master s will.\\nAnd thus had passed from its unequal frame\\nA soul of fire, a sun-bent eagle stricken,\\nFrom his high soaring, down, an instru-\\nment\\nBroken with its own compass. Oh, how\\npoor\\nSeems the rich gift of genius, when it lies,\\nLike the adventurous bird that hath out-\\nflown\\nHis strength upon the sea, ambition\\nwrecked,\\nA thing the thrush might pity, as she sits\\nBrooding in quiet on her lowly nest.\\nNathaniel Parker Willis.\\nTHE BRIDGE.\\nA favorite haunt of Longfellow s was the bridge between\\nBoston and Cambridge, over which he had to pass, almost daily.\\nThe following poem was the result of one of his reflections,\\nwhile standing on this bridge at midnight.\\nI stood on the bridge at midnight.\\nAs the clocks were striking the\\nhour,\\nAnd the moon rose o er the city,\\nBehind the dark church tower\\nAnd like the waters rushing\\nAmong the wooden piers,\\nA flood of thought came o er me,\\nThat filled my eyes with tears.\\nHow often, O how often,\\nIn the days that had gone by,\\nI had stood on that bridge at midnight,\\nAnd gazed on that wave and sky\\nHow often, O how often,\\nI had wished that the ebbing tide\\nWould bear me away on its bosom\\nO er the ocean wild and wide\\nFor my heart was hot and restless,\\nAnd my life was full of care,\\nAnd the burden laid upon me\\nSeemed greater than I could bear.\\nBut now it has fallen from me,\\nIt is buried in the sea\\nAnd only the sorrow of others\\nThrows its shadow over me.\\nYet whenever I cross the river\\nOn its bridge with wooden piers,\\nLike the odor of brine from the ocean\\nComes the thought of other years.\\nAnd I think how many thousands\\nOf care- encumbered men,\\nEach having his burden of sorrow,\\nHave crossed the bridge since then.\\nI see the long procession\\nStill passing to and fro,\\nThe young heart hot and restless,\\nAnd the old, subdued and slow\\nAnd forever and forever,\\nAs long as the river flows,\\nAs long as the heart has passions,\\nAs long as life has woes\\nThe moon and its broken reflection\\nAnd its shadows shall appear,\\nAs the symbol of love in heaven,\\nAnd its wavering image here.\\nHenry W. Longfellow.", "height": "4388", "width": "3244", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0188.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "Part VI\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nT^HE humorous side of life, like the serious side has its literature, and it is a literature\\nof untold wealth. In fact, pathos and laughter are the closest of kin, in their origin\\nas well as in the pleasurable and beneficial effects they produce upon mind and body.\\nPhysiologists tell us that the lacrymal glands and the risible muscles are the nearest of\\nneighbors in the human countenance.\\nGod would not have given man a laughter if he had not meant he should laugh,\\nsaid the inimitable Rev. Sam Jones, the evangelist, daughter is both pleasant and pro-\\nfitable. Thousands of evils and ills have been laughed out of existence. Humor\\nsays Whipple is the very juice of the mind, oozing from the brain and enriching and fer-\\ntilizing wherever it falls it glides into the heart of its object, and looks amusingly but\\nlovingly upon the infirmities it detects.\\nThe following selections are so varied and broad in character that something may be\\nfound suitable to all sorts of occasions.\\nTHE WIDDY O SHANE S RINT.\\nIrish Dialect.\\nWhisht there Mary Murphy, doan\\nthink me insane,\\nBut I m dyin ter tell ye of Widdy\\nO Shane\\nShe as lives in the attic nixt mine, doan ye\\nknow\\nAn does the foine washin for ould Misther\\nShnow.\\nWid niver a chick nor a child ter track in,\\nHer kitchen is always as nate as a pin\\nAn her cap an her apron is always that\\nclane\\nOch, a moighty foine gurrel is the Widdy\\nO Shane.\\nAn wud ye belave me, on Saturday night\\nWe heard a rough stip comin over our\\nflight\\nAn Mike, me ould man, he jist hollered to\\nme.\\nLook out av the door, an see who it\\nmoight be.\\nAn I looked, Mary Murphy, an save me if\\nthere\\nWusn t Thomas Mahone on the uppermost\\nstair,\\n(He s the landlord ye re seen him yerselt,\\nwid a cane)\\nAn he knocked on the door of the Widdy\\nO Shane.\\nAn I whispered to Michael, Now what\\ncan it mane\\nThat his worship is calling on Widdy\\nO Shane?\\nRint day comes a Friday wid us, doan you\\nsee,\\nSo I knew that it wusn t collectin he d be.\\nIt must be she owes him some money for\\nrint,\\nThough the neighbors do say that she pays\\nto the cint", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0189.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "194\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nYou take care of the baby, Michael Brady,\\nsays I,\\nAn I ll pape through the keyhole, I will,\\nif I die.\\nThe howly saints bliss me what shuldn t I\\nsee\\nBut the Widdy O Shane sittin pourin the\\ntea\\nAn the landlord wus there, Misther Thomas\\nMahone,\\nA sittin one side ov the table alone.\\nAn he looked at the Widdy O Shane, an\\nsez he,\\nIt s a privilege great that ye offer ter me\\nFer I ve not once sat down by a fair woman s\\nside\\nSince I sat down by her that I once called\\nme bride.\\nAn is it ye re poor now, Widdy O Shane;\\nYe re a dacent woman, both tidy and clane;\\nAn we re both av us here in the wurruld\\nalone,\\nWud ye think of unitin wid Thomas\\nMahone?\\nThen the Widdy O Shane put the tea kettle\\ndown,\\nAn she says, Misther Thomas, your name\\nis a crown\\nI take it most gladly an then me ould\\nman\\nHollered, Bridget, cum in here, quick as\\nyer can.\\nSo then Mary Murphy, I riz off that floor,\\nAn run into me attic an bolted the door\\nAn I sez to me Michael, Now isn t it\\nmane?\\nShe ll have no rint to pay, will that Widdy\\nO Shane.\\nWAS IT JOB THAT HAD WARTS ON HIM?\\nPractice to imitate the three voices distinctly.\\nRepresent the boy as calling from an adjoning room. The wife\\nengaged near her husband speaks in a low but rebuking tone.\\nUT)A, said young Mulkittle, Was it\\nJL Job that had warts on him?\\nDidn t I tell you, exclaimed the\\nfather, that I would punish you if you\\never again attempted to question me in re-\\ngard to the Bible?\\nBut I want to know.\\nWhy don t you instruct the child?\\nasked Mrs. Mulkittle.\\nBecause he s too foolish to be taught\\nanything. He dosen t really want to know\\nhe merely wants to talk.\\nAfter remaining silent for a few moments,\\nMr. Mulkittle suddenly remembered that he\\nhad not answered the boy s question in re-\\ngard to Job, and not wishing to leave the\\nchild under the impression that the biblica!\\nexample of patience was afflicted with warts\\nhe exslaimed, No\\nNo what? asked the boy in surprise.\\nI say that Job did not have warts.\\nWhat was the matter with him\\nHe had boils.\\nDid God make the boils come on him\\nYes.\\nWhat for?\\nTo test his patience.\\nHow?\\nWhy, to see that is to determine the\\nextent of Job s fidelity.\\nJob didn t want the boils, did he\\nI suppose not.\\nBut God wanted him to have e m,\\ndidn t he?\\nYes, I suppose so.\\nAnd if God wanted you to have boils,\\nyou d have em wouldn t you?\\nI think so.\\nBut you don t want em, do you?\\nNo.\\nBut if God wanted you to have em,\\nyou d have to have em, wouldn t you\\nYes.\\nBut you don t want God to want you to\\nhave to have em\\nDry up, sir You never will have any\\nsense. I am ashamed of you, and don t\\nwant to associate with you, and the good\\nman went into his study and composed a\\nsermon on the Early Instruction of Chil-\\ndren.\\nBABY IN CHURCH.\\nAmusing at Sunday School or Church Entertain-\\nment.\\nAunt NELUK had fashioned a dainty\\nthing,\\nOf Hamburg and ribbon and lace.\\nAnd mamma had said, as she settled it\\nround", "height": "4388", "width": "3248", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0190.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n195\\nOur beautiful baby s face,\\nWhere the dimples play and the laughter\\nlies\\nLike sunbeams hid in her violet eyes\\nIf the day is pleasant and baby is good,\\nShe may go to church and wear her new\\nhood.\\nThen Ben, aged six, began to tell,\\nIn elder-brotherly way,\\nHow very, very good she must be\\nIf she went to church next day.\\nHe told of the church, the choir, and the\\ncrowd,\\nAnd the man up in front who talked so loud\\nBut she must not talk, nor laugh, nor sing,\\nBut just sit as quiet as anything.\\nAnd so, on a beautiful Sabbath in May,\\nWhen the fruit-buds burst into flowers,\\n(There wasn t a blossom on bush or tree\\nSo fair as this blossom of ours,)\\nAll in her white dress, dainty and new,\\nOur baby sat in the family pew.\\nThe grand, sweet music, reverent air,\\nThe solemn hush, and the voice of prayer\\nFilled all her baby soul with awe,\\nAs she sat in her little place,\\nAnd the holy look that the angels wear\\nSeemed pictured upon her face.\\nAnd the sweet words uttered so long ago\\nCome into my mind with a rhythmic flow\\nOf such is the kingdom of heaven,\\nsaid He,\\nAnd I knew that He spake of such as she.\\nThe sweet-voiced organ pealed forth again,\\nThe collection-box came round,\\nAnd baby dropped her penny in,\\nAnd smiled at the clinking sound.\\nAlone in the choir Aunt Nellie stood,\\nWaiting the close of the soft prelude,\\nTo begin her solo. High and strong,\\nShe struck the first note clear and long\\nShe held it, and all were charmed but one,\\nWho, with all the might she had,\\nSprang to her little feet and cried\\nAunt Nellie yous being bad\\nThe audience smiled, the minister coughed,\\nThe little boys in the corner laughed,\\nThe tenor man shook like an aspen leaf,\\nAnd hid his face in his handkerchief.\\nAnd poor Aunt Nellie never could tell\\nHow she finished that terrible strain,\\nBut says that nothing on earth would tempt\\nHer to go through the scene again.\\nSo, we have decided perhaps tis best.\\nFor her sake, ours, and all the rest,\\nThat we wait, maybe, for a year or two,\\nEre our baby re-enter the family pew-\\nDE CAMPANE OB NINETEEN\u00e2\u0080\u0094 HUNDRED.\\nBrother Gardner Firing the First Gun.\\ni T^KivLKR Citizens ob Dis Limekiln Club\\nJP an de United State I hev no doubt\\ndat in yo r minds yo am axin why\\ndis whenceness an what has become ob de-\\ngoneness which has heretofo greeted yo in\\ndis hall. Look about yo an read designs. I\\nhev had my ear to de ground an heard de\\nboom ob de open g gun. (Cheers.)\\nBend yo r ear to de east, an yo h ar a\\nwhoopin an a shoutin It s de millyons\\ngittin ready to jine in de campaign. Bend\\nyo r ear to de west, an yo h ar ascreechin\\nan a yellin It s de millyons gittin ready\\nfur a row. (Whoop.) It s de same in de\\nno th an de south. Fo y ars has rolled\\naround ag in, an ebery man from Maine to\\nCalifornia feels dat de fate of de United\\nStaits rests upon his vote. (Howls of\\nenthusiasm.) Ober dar on de wall is a sign\\nreadin Whar Do yo Stand Dat s what\\neach an ebery man ob yo wants to keep\\naxin hisself till yo feel as firmly settled as\\na cow in de quickstands. Don t make no\\nmistake about it. In religun yo kin wob-\\nble about from Baptist to Methodist an back\\nebery five or six weeks an be saved in de\\neand, but de man who sots out to save\\nNo th America can t do no wobblin (Cries\\nof No, no He s got to find out whar\\nhe stands an stick to it.\\nHavin opened dis campaign wid a\\nwhoop, we hev got to stick right to it an\\nclose wid a yell. We will De man\\nwho starts in to save his kentry has no time\\nto go fishin or roost on a rail fence. He s\\ngot to keep right at work day an night, an\\nhe s got to keep his enthoosiasum up to de\\nb ilin pint eben if de watermillyon crap am\\na failure an all de possums go ober to de\\nopposition. (Whoops.)", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0191.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "196\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nI spoke to yo ob liberty an freedom.\\nDem ar our guidin principles, but darwill\\nbe other principles to fit in wid dem to make\\nup a glorious whole. (Agitation.) Fur\\ninstance, it has bin diskivered dat a pusson\\nkin hold office an save de United Staits\\nfrom a collapse at de same time. (Cheers.)\\nFur instance, ag in, I hev taken a two-\\nfoot rule an measured it off an satisfied my-\\nself dat de mo de salary attached to de\\noffice de greater de patriotism ob de man\\nwho holds it. (Shouts for George Wash-\\nington and Patrick Henry)\\nLettin go ob No th America fur a mo-\\nment an speakin fur de cull-d race alone,\\nwe hev hitherto gone on de principle dat de\\noffice should seek de man. It has alius hap-\\npened, howeber, dat when de office cum\\nseekin de man he wasn t home, an it\\npassed on to the Caucasian. (Groans.) I\\nreckon we shall make a change in dat prin-\\nciple. It s quite likely dat de cull-d man\\nwill start out to seek office, instead of\\nwaitin an dat he ll find it, too. (Applause\\nwhich extinguished two lamps and wabbled\\nthe stovepipe.)\\nIn dis, de openin ob de campaign, it\\nmay be as well dat we announce our plat-\\nform. Experience in yellin fur candidates\\nall day an carry in a torchlight around all\\nde evenin has taught me dat nobody kin\\nstart out widout a platform. It s like put-\\ntin on a suit ob clothes. Yo am gwine to\\njudge a man by de looks of de cloth. No-\\nbody ever sticks to de platform after he s\\ngot de crowd follerin him around, but it s\\ngot to be dar to begin wid.\\nAn we shall take as our emblem an as\\nour mascot a possum hangin from de limb\\nob a tree by its tail. We shall be known as\\nthe Possum Party. De possum, he lays low.\\nWhen yo reckon he s dead, he s foolin yo\\nHe represents patience an perseverance.\\nHe ll git dar when deb ar an decoon won t\\nstand no show. In dis hall at our next\\nmeetin will hang our emblem, an eberyman\\nwho am fur honest guberment will wear de\\nPossum badge on his breast. (Tremendous\\nand long- continued yells for possums, lib-\\nerty and our side.)\\nAn now let us march for ard to victory.\\nWe hev sot our faces to de front, an dere\\nwill be no turnin back. Liberty fust,\\nden principle; den liberty an principle an\\noffice, all bolted together an handed out\\nwidout any string attached. Let us now\\nsing de Star Spangled Banner, followed\\nby Yankee Doodle, an disperse to meet\\nag in at de call ob de bugle of liberty.\\nC. B. Lkwis.\\nHAN AND THE MOSQUITO.\\nThis humorously absurd serio-comic selection should be\\nrecited in a dignified manner with a learned look on the face.\\nNo matter how much the audience laughs no trace of a smile\\nmust appear on the speaker s countenance.\\nGentlemen, Mr. President, and Ladies\\nI rise before this augustus body with\\nfeelings more easily described than\\nimagined. I come to address you upon a\\nsubject in which you are all concerned a\\nsubject upon the decision of which depends\\nthe destiny of a nation. And I wish to\\nspeak in language so simple that even the\\nwomen and children may be able to under-\\nstand me.\\nWhat is man? Man is an amphibious,\\nplantigrade, hyporetted quadruped of the\\ngenus felix or genus rana, carniverous in\\nsome respects, herbivorous in some respects\\nand jubiverous in the rest. He lives prin-\\ncipally on goats, herrings, kerosene oil and\\ncommon whiskey. He does not live alone,\\nbut usually has another man living with\\nhim called the 7^0-man.\\nBut let us proceed to define mosquito.\\nThe mosquito is a high-bred, carniverous,\\ndigitigrade indentate biped animal of the\\ngenus homo closely allied to the Armadillo.\\nHabits precarious, similar to those of man.\\nHis food is chiefly rare meats, but he is\\nalso, like man, fond of ham and eggs, ice\\ncream and oysters on the half shell.\\nAnother point, man sings. Ditto the\\nmosquito. What music is more charming\\nor so touches the feelings, or so arouses a\\nman from drowsiness as the sweet-toned\\nand melodious voice of a mosquito. Who\\non hearing this sweet gentle voice will not\\ninstinctively reach forth and try to gather\\nthe singer in that he may come in closer\\ncontact with him\\nPicture to yourselves a poor, innocent,\\nharmless mosquito on a cold winter s night\\nsinging for something to eat. That man s\\nheart must indeed be as hard as the Rock", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0192.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n197\\nof Niagara or the Falls of Gibraltar who is\\nnot touched with the profoundest and most\\nsympathetic feeling as he looks out upon\\nsuch a scene as this. But I will not dwell\\nlonger, as I already see the tears trickling\\ndown your cheeks. I have only one practi-\\ncal remark to make in winding up, the\\nextreme force of which you will all see.\\nShakespeare said that John Milton told\\nLord Byron and Ben Johnson that Beau-\\nmont and Fletcher were heard to whisper\\nthat Sir Walter Raleigh and John Ford had\\nsaid that Eord Bacon and Edmund Spenser\\nhad responded to a question which Sir\\nPhilip Sydney had been supposed to pro-\\npound to Thomas Sackville, who seemed to\\nbe satisfied that John Lyfy had never\\nthought that Robert Green and George\\nPeele would be surprised if Edmund Waller\\nand Francis Quarles had heard that Sir\\nThomas Brown and Thomas Fuller were\\nunder the impression that Jeremy Taylor had\\nremarked to Samuel Butler that John\\nDryden was heard talking to William Con-\\ngreve about the remark of John L,ocke to a\\nfriend in which Sir Isaac Newton was\\nbelieved to have imagined that Sir Humph-\\nrey Davy had suggested that Liebig might\\nhave known that Edgar Poe had said that\\nAlexander Pope and George Washington\\nhad told Henry Clay that President Arthur\\nwas heard talking about a report in which\\nthe Honorable Zebedee Simpkins was heard\\nto repeat the fact that mosquitos are related\\nto the human family.\\nW. J. E. Cox.\\nREVERIE IN CHURCH.\\nYoung lady should be dresed in the height of fashion and walk\\non the stage as if coming into church, without appearing to notice\\nthe audience, sit dcwn and begin.\\nT\\n00 early of course Plow provoking\\nI told ma just how it would be.\\nI might as well have on -a wrapper,\\nFor there s not a soul here yet to see.\\nThere Sue Delaplaine s pew is empty,\\nI declare if it isn t too bad\\nI know my suit cost more than her s did,\\nAnd I wanted to see her look mad.\\nI do think that sexton s too stupid\\nHe s put some one else in our pew\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAnd the girl s dress just kills mine com-\\npletely\\nNow what am I going to do\\nThe psalter, and Sue isn t here yet\\nI don t care, I think it s a sin\\nFor people to get late to service,\\nJust to make a great show coming in.\\nPerhaps she is sick, and can t get here\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nShe said she d a headache last night.\\nHow mad she ll be after fussing\\nI declare it would serve her just right.\\nOh, you ve got there at last, my dear, have\\nyou?\\nWell, I don t think you need be so proud\\nOf that bonnet if Virot did make it,\\nIt s horrid, fast-looking and loud.\\nWhat a dress for a girl in her senses\\nTo go on the street in light blue\\nAnd those coat- sleeves they wore them\\nlast summer\\nDon t doubt, though, that she thinks\\nthey re new.\\nMrs. Gray s polonaise was imported\\nSo dreadful a minister s wife,\\nAnd thinking so much about fashion\\nA pretty example of life\\nThe altar s dressed sweetly I wonder\\nWho sent those white flowers for the\\nfont\\nSome girl who s gone on the assistant\\nDon t doubt it was Bessie I^amont.\\nJust look at her now, little humbug\\nSo devout I suppose she don t know\\nThat she s bending her head too far over\\nAnd the ends of her switches all show.\\nWhat a sight Mrs. Ward is this morning\\nThat woman will kill me some day,\\nWith her horrible lilacs and crimsons,\\nWhy will these old things dress so gay\\nAnd there s Jenny Wells with Fred Tracy\\nShe s engaged to him now horrid thing!\\nDear me I d keep on my glove sometimes,\\nIf I did have a solitaire ring\\nHow can this girl next to me act so\\nThe way that she. turns round and stares,", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0193.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "198\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nAnd then makes remarks about people\\nShe d better be saying her prayers.\\nOh, dear, what a dreadful long sermon\\nHe must love to hear himself talk\\nAnd it s after twelve now, how provoking\\nI wanted to have a nice walk.\\nThrough at last Well, it isn t so dreadful\\nAfter all, for we don t dine till one\\nHow can people say church is poky\\nSo wicked I think its real fun.\\nGeorge A. Baker, Jr.\\nHELEN S BABIES ON NOAH S ARK.\\nHumorous Child Sketch.\\nThat afternoon I devoted to making a\\nbouquet for Miss May ton, and a most\\ndelightful occupation I found it. It\\nwas no florist s bouquet, composed of only\\na few kinds of flowers -wired upon sticks,\\nand arranged according to geometric pattern.\\nI used many a rare flower, too shy of bloom\\nto reccommend itself to florists I combined\\ntints almost as numerous as the flowers\\nwere, and perfumes to which city bouquets\\nare utter strangers.\\nAt length it w T as finished, but my delight\\nsuddenly became clouded by the dreadful\\nthought, What will people say? Ah!\\nI had it. I had seen in one of the library\\ndrawers a small pasteboard box, shaped like\\na bandbox doubtless that would hold it.\\nI found the box it was of just the size I\\nneeded. I dropped my card into the bot-\\ntom no danger of a lady not finding the\\ncard accompanying a gift of flowers neatly\\nfitted the bouquet in the center of the box,\\nand went in search of Mike. He winked\\ncheeringly as I explained the nature of his\\nerrand, and he whispered\\nI ll do it clane as a whistle, yer honor.\\nMistress Clarkson s cook an mesilf under-\\nstand each other, an I m used to goin\\nup the back way. Niver a man can see but\\nthe angels, an they won t tell.\\nVery well, Mike; here s a dollar for\\nyou you ll find the box on the hat-rack, in\\nthe hall.\\nToddie disappeared somewhere after\\nsupper, and came back very disconsolate.\\nCan t find my dolly s k adle, he\\nwhined\\nNever mind, old pet, said I soothingly.\\nUncle will ride you on his foot.\\nBut I want my dolly s k adle, said he\\npiteously rolling out his lower lip,\\nDon t you want me to tell you a\\nstory\\nFor a moment Toddie s face indicated a\\nterrible internal conflict between old Adam\\nand mother Eve but curiosity finally over-\\npowered natural depravity, and Toddie\\nmurmured\\nYesh.\\nWhat shall I tell you about?\\nBout Nawndeark.\\nAbout what?\\n1 He means Noah an the ark exclaimed\\nBudge.\\nDatsh what say Nawndeark, de-\\nclared Toddie.\\nWell, said I, hastily refreshing my\\nmemory by picking up the Bible for Helen,\\nlike most people, is pretty sure to forget to\\npack her Bible when she runs away from\\nhome for a few days well; once it rained\\nforty days and nights, and everybody was\\ndrowned from the face of the earth, except-\\ning Noah, a righteous man, who was saved\\nwith all his family in an ark which the Lord\\ncommanded him to build.\\nUncle Harry, said Budge, after con-\\ntemplating me with open eyes and mouth\\nfor at least two minutes after I had finished,\\ndo you think that s Noah\\nCertainly, Budge; here s the whole\\nstory in the Bible.\\nWell, /don t think it s Noah one single\\nbit, said he, with increasing emphasis.\\nI m beginning to think we read differ-\\nent Bibles, Budge but let s hear your\\nversion.\\nHuh?\\nTell me about Noah, if you know so\\nmuch about him.\\nI will, if you want me to. Once the\\nLord felt so uncomfortable cos folks was\\nbad that he was sorry he ever made any-\\nbody, or any world or anything. But\\nNoah wasn t bad the Lord liked him first-\\nrate, so he told Noah to build a big ark,\\nand then the Lord would make it rain so\\neverybody should be drownded but Noah\\nan his little boys an girls, an doggies an\\npussies an mamma-cows an little boy-cows", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0194.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n199\\nan little girl-cows an hosses an every-\\nthing; they d go in the ark and wouldn t\\nget wetted a bit when it rained. An\\nNoah took lots of things to eat in the ark\\ncookies an milk an oatmeal an straw-\\nberries an porgies an oh yes an plum-\\npuddin s an pumpkin-pies. But Noah\\ndidn t want everybody to get drownded, so\\nhe talked to folks an said, It s goin to\\nrain awful pretty soon You d better be\\ngood, an then the Lord 11 let you come\\ninto my ark. An they jus said, Oh if\\nit rains we ll go in the house till it stops\\nan other folks said, We ain t afraid of\\nrain; we ve got an umbrella. An some\\nmore said they wasn t goin to be afraid of\\njust a rain. But it did rain though, an\\nfolks went in their houses, an the water\\ncame in, an they went upstairs, an the\\nwater came up there, an they got on the\\ntops of the houses, an up in big trees, an\\nup in mountains, an the water went after\\nem everywhere, an drownded everybody,\\nonly just except Noah an the people in the\\nark. An it rained forty days an nights,\\nan then it stopped, an Noah got out of\\nthe ark, an he an his little boys an girls\\nwent wherever they wanted to7 an every-\\nthing in the world was all theirs there\\nwasn t anybody to tell em to go home, nor\\nno kindergarten schools to go to, nor no\\nbad boys to fight em, nor nothin. Now\\ntell us nother story.\\nAn I want my dolly s k adle. Ocken\\nHawwy, I wants my dolly s k adle, tause\\nmy dolly s in it, an I wan to shee her,\\ninterrupted Toddie.\\nJust then came a knock at the door.\\n11 Come in I shouted.\\nIn stepped Mike, with an air of the great-\\nest secrecy, handed me a letter and the\\nidentical box in which I had sent the\\nflowers to Miss May ton. What could it\\nmean I hastily opaned the envelope, and\\nand at the same time Toddie skrieked\\nOh! darsh my dolly s k adle dare\\ntizh snatched and opened the box, and\\ndisplayed his doll My heart sickened,\\nand did not regain its strength during the\\nperusal of the following note\\nMiss May ton herewith returns to Mr.\\nBurton the package which just arrived\\nwith his card. She recognizes the con-\\ntents as a portion of the apparent property\\nof one of Mr. Burton s nephews, but is\\nunable to understand why it should have\\nbeen sent to her.\\nJUNS 20, 1875.\\nToddie, I roared, as my younger\\nnephew caressed his loathsome doll, and\\nmurmured endearing words to it, where\\ndid you get that box\\nOn the hat-wack, replied the youth,\\nwith perfect fearlessness. I keeps it in\\nze book-case djawer, an somebody took it\\nway an put nasty ole flowers in it.\\nWhere are those flowers I demanded.\\nToddie looked up with considerable sur-\\nprise, but promptly replied\\nI froed em away don t want no ole\\nflowers in my dolly s k adle. That s ze\\nway she wocks see\\nJohn Habberton.\\nKENTUCKY PHILOSOPHY.\\nThis recitation may be used as an amusing scene in an\\nentertainment by the reciter, dressing as a negro woman calico\\ndress, black face, red bandana handkerchief on head. William\\ndeparting from stage as mammy enters and halts as she hails him.\\nThe green watermelon, Mirandy etc., introducedat properpoints\\nYou Wiyum, come ere, suh, dis instunce,\\nWut dat you got under dat box\\nI do want no foolin -^you hear me\\nWut you say Ain t nothin but rocks?\\nPears ter me you s owdashus p ticler.\\nS posin dey s uv a new kine.\\nI ll des take a look at dem rocks.\\nHi-yi der you tink dat I s bline\\nI calls dat a plain watermillion,\\nYou scamp an I knows whar it growed\\nIt cum fum de Jimmerson cawn fiel\\nDar on ter side er de road.\\nYou stole it, you rascal you stole it.\\nI watched you fum down in de lot,\\nEn time I gits th ough wid you, nigger,\\nYou wont eb n be a grease spot.\\nI ll fix you. Mirandy Mirandy\\nGo cut me a hick ry make ase,\\nEn cut me de toughes en keenes\\nYou c n fine anywhah on de place.\\nI ll larn you, Mr. Wiyum Joe Vetters\\nTer lie en ter steal, you young sinner\\nDisgracin yo ole Christian mammy,\\nEn makin her leave cookin dinner", "height": "4384", "width": "3240", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0195.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "200\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nNow, ain t you ashamed er yo se f, sur?\\nI is. I s shamed youse my son\\nEn de holy accorgian angel\\nHe s shamed er wut youse done.\\nEn he s tuk it down up yander,\\nI coal-black, blood-red letters\\n1 One watermillion stoled\\nBy Wiyum Josephus Vetters.\\nEn whut you s posen Br er Bascom,\\nYou teacher at Sunday-School,\\nUd say if he knowed how youse broke\\nDe good Lawd s Gol n Rule\\nBoy, whah s de raisin I gib you?\\nIs you boun fuh ter be a black villiun\\nI s s prised dat a chile er you mammy\\nUd steal any man s watermillion.\\nEn I s now gwine ter cut it right open,\\nEn you shian t have nary bite,\\nFuh a boy who ll steal watermillions\\nEn dat in de day s broad light\\nAin t Lawdy it s green Mirandy\\nMirandy come on wi dat switch\\nWell, stealin a g-r-e-e-n watermillion\\nWho ebber heered tell er sich\\nCain t tell w en dey s ripe W y you thump\\num,\\nEn w en they go pank dey is green\\nBut w en dey go punk, now you mine me,\\nDey s ripe en dats des wut I mean.\\nEn nex time you hook watermillions\\nYou heered me, you ig-namp, you hunk,\\nEf you do want a lickin all over,\\nBe sho dat dey allers go pu?ik\\nHOW RUBY PLAYED.\\nThe gentleman who recites this piece should be attired as a\\ncountry gentleman of the wealthier sort, and should be a good\\ncomedian. The selection is very humorous when well rendered.\\nWELL, sir, he had the blamedest, big-\\ngest, catty cornedest pianner you\\never laid eyes on; somethin like\\na distracted billiard table on three legs.\\nThe lid was hoisted, and mighty well it\\nwas. If it hadn t been, he d a tore the\\nentire inside clean out, and scattered em\\nto the four winds of heaven.\\nPlayed well? You bet he did but don t\\ninterrupt me. When he first sit down, he\\npeared to keer mighty little bout playin\\nand wisht he hadn t come, He tweedAe-tee-\\ndled a little on the treble, and twoodle-oodled\\nsome on the bass just foolin and boxin\\nthe thing s jaws for bein in the way. And\\nI says to a man settin next to me, says I,\\nWhat sort of fool playin is that And\\nhe says, Hush But presently his hands\\ncommenced chasin one another up and\\ndown the keys like a parcel of rats scam-\\nperin through a garret very swift. Parts\\nof it were sweet, though, and reminded me\\nof a sugar squirrel turnin the wheel of a\\ncandy cage.\\nNow, I says to my neighbor, he s\\nsho win off. He thinks he s a doin of it\\nbut he ain t got no idee, no plan of nothin\\nIf he d play me a tune of some kind or\\nother, I d\\nBut my neighbor says, Hush! very\\nimpatient.\\nI was just about to get up and go home,\\nbein tired of that foolishness, when I heard\\na little bird waking up away off in the\\nwoods, and call sleepy-like to his mate\\nand looked up, and see that Ruby was\\nbeginning to take some interest in his busi-\\nness, and I sit down again. It was the\\npeep of day. The light came faint from\\nthe east, the breezes blowed gentle and\\nfresh some more birds waked up in the\\norchard, then some more in the trees near\\nthe house, and all begun singin together.\\nPeople began to stir, and the gal opened the\\nshutters. Just then the first beam of the sun\\nfell upon the blossoms a little more, and it\\nteched the roses on the bushes, and the\\nnext thing it was broad day. The sun\\nfairly -blazed, the birds sung like they d\\nsplit their little throats all the leaves was\\nmovin and flashin diamonds of dew, and\\nthe whole wide world was bright and happy\\nas a king. Seemed to me like there was a\\ngood breakfast in every house in the land,\\nand not a sick child or woman anywhere.\\nIt was a fine mornin\\nAnd I says to my neighbor, That s\\nmusic, that is.\\nBut he glared at me like he d like to cut\\nmy throat.\\nPresently the wind turned it began to\\nthicken up, and a kind of gray mist came\\nover things. I got lowspirited directly.\\nThen a silver rain began to fall. I could\\nthe drops touch the ground \u00c2\u00a7ome", "height": "4376", "width": "3332", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0196.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n20 1\\nflashed up like long pearl earrings, and the\\nrest rolled away like round rubies. It was\\npretty, but melancholy. Then the pearls\\ngathered themselves into long strands and\\nnecklaces and then they melted into thin\\nsilver streams, running between golden\\ngravels and then the streams joined each\\nother at the bottom of the hill, and made a\\nbrook that flowed silent, except that you\\ncould kinder see the music, specially when\\nthe bushes on the banks moved as the music\\nwent along down the valley. I could smell\\nthe flowers in the meadow. But the sun\\ndidn t shine, nor the birds sing it was a\\nfoggy day, but not cold.\\nThe most curious thing was the little\\nwhite angle boy, like you see in pictures,\\nthat run ahead of the music brook, and led\\nit on and on, away out of the world, where\\nno man ever was, certain. I could see that\\nboy just as plain as I see you. Then the\\nmoonlight came, without any sunset, and\\nshone on the grave-yards, where some few\\nghosts lifted their hands and went over the\\nwall and between the black, sharp-top\\ntrees splendid marble houses rose up, with\\nfine ladies in the lit up windows, and men\\nthat loved em, but could never get a-nigh\\nem, who played on guitars under the trees,\\nand made me that miserable I could have\\ncried, because I wanted to love somebody, I\\ndon t know who, better than the men with\\nthe guitars did.\\nThen the sun went down, it got dark, the\\nwind moaned and wept like a lost child for\\nits dead mother and I could a got up then\\nand there and preached a better sermon than\\nany I ever listened to. There wasn t a\\nthing in the world left to live for, not a\\nblame thing; and yet I didn t want the\\nmusic to stop one bit. It was happier\\nto be miserable than to be happy without\\nbeing miserable. I couldn t understand it.\\nI hung my head, and pulled out my hand-\\nkerchief, and blowed my nose loud to keep\\nme from cryin My eyes is weak, anyway.\\nI didn t want anybody to be a-gazin at me\\na-snivelin and it s nobody s business what\\nI do with my nose. It s mine. But some\\nseveral glared at me, mad as blazes. Then,\\nall of a sudden, old Rubin changed his tune.\\nHe ripped out and he reared, he tipped and\\nhe tared, he pranced arid he charged, like\\nthe grand entry at a circus. Peared to me\\nthat all the gas in the house was turned on\\nat once, things got so bright and I hilt up\\nmy head, ready to look any man in the face,\\nand not afraid of nothin It was a circus\\nand a brass band and a big ball all a-goin on\\nat the same time. He lit into them keys\\nlike a thousand of brick he gave em no\\nrest day or night; he set every livin joint\\nin me a-goin and, not bein able to stand it\\nno longer, I jumped, sprang onto my seat\\nand jest holered,\\nGo it, Rube!\\nKvery blamed man, woman, and child in\\nthe house riz on me, and shouted, Put\\nhim out! Put him out.!\\nPut your great-grandmother s grizzly-\\ngray-greenish cat into the middle of next\\nmonth I says. Tech me if you dare\\nI paid my money, and you just come a-nigh\\nme!\\nWith that some several policeman run up,\\nand I had to simmer down. But I could a\\nfit any fool that laid hands on me for I was\\nbound to hear Ruby out, or die.\\nHe had changed his tune again. He\\nhop-light ladies and tip-toed fine from end\\nto end of the key-board. He played soft\\nand low and solemn. I heard the church\\nbells over the hills. The candles of heaven\\nwas lit one by one. I saw the stars rise.\\nThe great organ of eternity began to play\\nfrom the world s end to the world s end,\\nand all the angels went to prayers Then\\nthe music changed to water, full of feeling\\nthat couldn t be thought, and began to\\ndrop drip, drop drip, drop, clear and\\nsweet, like tears of joy falling into a lake of\\nglory. It was sweeter than that. It was\\nas sweetheart sweetened with white sugar,\\nmixt with powdered silver and seed dia-\\nmonds. It was too sweet. I tell you the\\naudience cheered. Rubin he kinder bowed,\\nlike he wanted to say, Much obleeged,\\nbut I d rather you wouldn t interrup me.\\nHe stopt a moment or two to ketch\\nbreath. Then he got mad. He run his\\nfingers through his hair, he shoved up his\\nsleeve, he opened his coat-tails a leetle\\nfurther, he drug up his stool, he leaned over,\\nand, sir, he just went for that old pianner.\\nHe slapt her face, he boxed her jaws, he\\npu.Uc4 her rtQse, he pinched her ears, and he", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0197.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "202\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nscratched her cheeks, until she fairly yelled.\\nHe knockt her down, and he stamped on\\nher shameful. She bellowed, she bleated\\nlike a calf, she howled like a hound, she\\nsquealed like a pig, she shrieked like a rat,\\nand then he wouldn t let her up. He ran a\\nquarter- stretch down the low grounds of the\\nbass, till he got clean in the bowels of the\\nearth, and you heard thunder galloping after\\nthunder, through the hollows and caves of\\nperdition and then he fox-chased his right\\nhand with his left, till he got way out of the\\ntreble into the clouds, whar the notes was\\nfiner than the pints of cambric needles, and\\nyou couldn t hear nothin but the shadders\\nof em. And then he wouldn t let the old\\npianner go. He for ard two d, he crost over\\nfirst gentleman, he chassade right and left,\\nback to your places, he all hands d aroun\\nladies to the right, promenade all, in and\\nout, here and there, back and forth, up and\\ndown, perpetual motion, double-twisted and\\nturned and tacked and tangled into forty-\\neleven thousand doubledow knots.\\nBy jinks it was a mixtery. And then he\\nwouldn t let the old pianner go. He fecht\\nup his right wing, he fecht up his left wing,\\nhe fecht up his center, he fecht up his\\nreserves. He fired by file, he fired by pla-\\ntoons, by company, by regiments, and by\\nbrigades. He opened his cannon, siege\\nguns down thar, Napoleons here, twelve-\\npounders yonder; big guns, little guns,\\nmiddle-sized guns, round shot, shell, shrap-\\nnels grape canister, mortar, mines and maga-\\nzines, every livin battery and bomb a-goin\\nat the same time. The house trembled, the\\nlights danced, the walls shuk, the floor come\\nup, the ceilin come down, the sky split, the\\nground rokt; heavens and earth, creation,\\nsweet potatoes, Moses, ninepences, glory,\\nten-penny nails, Samson in a simmon tree,\\nTump Tompson in a tumbler-cart, roodle-\\noodle-oodle-oodle ruddle-uddle-uddle-ud-\\ndle raddle-addle-addle- addle\u00e2\u0080\u0094 riddle-iddle-\\niddle-iddle reedle-eedle-eedle-eedle p-r-r\\nr-r-rlang! Bang lang per-lang p-r-\\nr-r-r-r\\nBang\\nThe thing busted, and went off into seven-\\nteen hundred and fifty-seven thousand five\\nhundred and forty-two hemi-demi-semi\\nquavers and I know d no mo\\nWhen I come to, I was under ground\\nabout twenty foot, in a place they call Oys-\\nter Bay, a treatin a Yankee, that I never\\nlaid eyes on before, and never expect to\\nagain, Day was breakin by the time I got\\nto St. Nicholas Hotel, and I pledge you my\\nword I did not know my name. The man\\nasked me the number of my room and I\\ntold him, Hot music on the half-shell, for\\ntwo!\\nWith that bang, he lifted himself bodily\\ninto the air and he came down with his\\nknees, his ten fingers, his ten toes, his\\nelbows, and his nose, striking every single,\\nsolitary key on the pianner at the same time.\\nWHEN WE GET THERE.\\nOn the thirty-second day of thirteenth\\nmonth, or the eighth day of the week,\\nOn the twenty-fifth hour of the sixty-first\\nminute we ll find all things that we\\nseek,\\nThey are there in the limbo of Lollipop\\nland, acloud island resting in air,\\nOn the Nowhere side of the Mountain of\\nMist in the Valley of Overthere.\\nOn the Nowhere side of the Mountain of\\nMist in the Valley of Overthere,\\nOn a solid vapor foundation of cloud are\\npalaces grand and fair\\nAnd there is where our dreams will come\\ntrue and the seeds of our hope will grow\\nOn the thitherward side of the Hills of Hope\\nin the hamlet of Hocus Po.\\nOn the thitherward side of the Hills of Hope,\\nin the hamlet of Hocus Po,\\nWe shall see all the things that we want to\\nsee, and know all we care to know,\\nFor there the old men will never lament,\\nthe babies will never squeak,\\nIn the Cross Road Corners of Chaosville,\\nin the County of Hideangoseek.\\nIn the Cross Road Corners of Chaosville,\\nin the County of Hideangoseek..\\nOn the thirty-second day of the thirteenth\\nmonth, on the eighth day of the week,\\nWe shall do all the things that we please to\\ndo, and accomplish all we try.\\nOn the sunset shore of Sometimeorother, by\\nthe beautiful Bay of Bimeby.\\nYankee Bi,ade.", "height": "4408", "width": "3308", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0198.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n203\\nTHE OWL=CRITIC.\\nThe manner of the know-all-braggart should be assumed, and\\nhis part spoken in confident pedantic manner.\\n4 i IITho stuffed that white owl No\\nV V one spoke in the shop\\nThe barber was busy, and he\\ncouldn t stop\\nThe customers, waiting their turns, were all\\nreading\\nThe Daily, the Herald, the Post, little heed-\\ning\\nThe young man who blurted out such a\\nblunt question\\nNot one raised a head, or even made a\\nsuggestion\\nA.nd the barber kept on shaving.\\nDon t you see, Mister Brown,\\nCried the youth, with a frown,\\nHow wrong the whole thing is,\\nHow preposterous each wing is,\\nHow flattened the head is, how jammed\\ndown the neck is\\nIn short, the whole owl, what an ignorant\\nwreck tis\\nI make no apology\\nI ve learned owl-eology.\\nI ve passed days and nights in a hundred\\ncollections,\\nAnd cannot be blinded to any deflections\\nArising from unskilful fingers that fail\\nTo stuff a bird right, from his beak to his\\ntail.\\nMister Brown Mister Brown\\nDo take that bird down,\\nOr you ll soon be the laughing-stock all\\nover town\\nAnd the barber kept on shaving.\\nI ve studied owls,\\nAnd other night fowls\\nAnd I tell you\\nWhat I know to be true\\nAn owl cannot roost\\nWith his limbs so unloosed\\nNo owl in this world\\nEver had his claw curled,\\nEver had his legs slanted,\\nEver had his bill canted,\\nEver had his neck screwed\\nInto that attitude.\\nHe can t do it, because\\nTis against all bird laws.\\nAnatomy teaches,\\nOrnithology preaches,\\nAn owl has a toe\\nThat can t turn out so\\nI v made the white owl my study for years,\\nAnd to see such a job almost moves me to.\\ntears\\nMister Brown, I m amazed\\nYou should be so gone crazed\\nAs to put up a bird\\nIn that posture absurd\\nTo look at that owl really brings on a dizzi-\\nness\\nThe man who stuffed him don t half know\\nhis business\\nAnd the barber kept on shaving.\\nExamine those eyes.\\nI m filled with surprise\\nTaxidermists should pass\\nOff on you such poor glsss\\nSo unnatural they seem\\nThey d make Audubon scream,\\nAnd John Burroughs laugh\\nTo encounter such chaff.\\nDo take that bird down\\nHave him stuffed again, Brown\\nAnd the barber kept on shaving.\\nWith some sawdust and bark\\nI could stuff in the dark\\nAn owl better than that.\\nI could make an old hat\\nLook more like an owl\\nThan that horrid fowl,\\nStuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse\\nleather.\\nIn fact, about him there s not one natural\\nfeather.\\nJust then, with a wink and a sly normal\\nlurch,\\nThe owl, very gravely, got down from his\\nperch,\\nWalked round, and regarded his fault-\\nfinding critic\\n(Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance\\nanalytic,\\nAnd then fairly hooted, as if he should say:\\nYour learning s at fault this time, anyway\\nDon t waste it again on a live bird, I pray.\\nI m an owl; you re another. Sir Critic,\\ngood-day\\nAnd the barber kept on shaving.\\nJames T. Fiei*d.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0199.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "204\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nTHE CASE OF GUNN vs. BARCLAY.\\nTo be readorrecitedin a plain homespun manner.\\nA good deal of interest was felt in trie\\ncase of Gunn vs. Barclay, which was\\ntried recently in the Odell County\\nCourt. It involved the question of the\\nownership of Gunn s right leg. Gunn\\nrelated the facts of the case as follows\\nYou see, one day last winter, while I was\\nshoveling snow off the roof of my house,\\nI slipped and fell over on the pavement\\nbelow. When they picked me up they\\nfound that my right leg was fractured. Dr.\\nBarclay examined it and gave it as his\\nopinion that mortification would be certain\\nto set in unless that leg came off. So I told\\nhim he d better chop it away And he went\\nround to his office, and presently he came\\nback with a butcher knife and a cross-cut\\nsaw and a lot of rags. Then they chloro-\\nformed me, and while I was asleep they\\nremoved that leg. When I came to I felt\\npretty comfortable, and the doctor, after\\nwriting some prescriptions, began wrapping\\nmy leg up in an old newspaper; then he\\ntucked the bundle under his arm and began\\nto move towards the door. I was watching\\nhim all the time and I hallooed at him\\nWhere in the mischief are you going\\nwith that leg of mine\\nI m not going any where with that leg of\\nyours, he said. But I am going home\\nwith my leg.\\nWell, you d better drop it said I.\\nIt belongs to me, and I want it for a keep-\\nsake.\\nAnd you know he faced me down about\\nit, said when a doctor sawed a man apart,\\nhe always took the amputated member as\\none of his perquisites and he said that, as\\nit was his legal right to take something on\\nsuch occasions, it was merely optional\\nwith him whether he took the leg, or left the\\nleg and took me but he preferred the leg.\\nAnd when I asked him what he wanted with\\nit, anyway, he said he was going to put it in\\na glass jar, full of alcohol, and stand it in\\nhis office. Then I told him it shocked my\\nmodesty to think of a bare leg of mine being\\nput on exhibition in that maner, with no\\npantaloon on but he said he thought he\\ncould stand it,\\nBut I protested. I said I had had that\\nleg a good many years, and I felt sort of\\nattached to it. I knew all its little ways.\\nI would feel lonely without it. Who would\\ntend to the corns that I had cared for so\\nlong? Who would treat the bunion with\\nthe proper degree of delicacy Who would\\nrub the toes with liniment when they got\\nfrosted? And who would keep the shins\\nfrom being kicked No one could do it as\\nwell as I could, because I felt an interest in\\nthe leg felt sociable and friendly, and\\nacquainted with it. But Barclay said he\\nthought he could attend to it, and it would\\ndo the corns good to be soaked in alcohol.\\nAnd I told him I d heard that even after\\na man lost a limb, if any one hurt that limb\\nthe original owner felt it, and I told Barclay\\nI would not trust him not to tread on my\\ntoes, and stick pins in my calf, and make me\\nsuffer every time he had a grudge against\\nme and he said he didn t know, maybe he\\nwould if I didn t use him right.\\nAnd I wanted to know what was to hin-\\nder him, if he felt like it, taking the bone\\nout of the leg and making part of it up into\\nknife-handles and suspender buttons, and\\nworking the rest up into some kind of a clar-\\nionet with finger holes punched in the sides.\\nI could stand a good deal, I said, even if I\\nhad only one leg but I couldn t bear to\\nthink of a man going around the community\\nserenading girls with tunes played on one of\\nmy bones a bone, too, that I felt a good\\ndeal of affection for. If he couldn t touch\\na girl s heart without serenading her with\\none of my bones, why he better remain\\nsingle.\\nWe blathered away for about an hour, and\\nat last he said he was disgusted with so much\\nbosh about a ridiculous bit of meat and\\nmuscle, and he wrapped the paper around\\nthe leg again and rushed out of the door for\\nhome.\\nWhen I sued him, and the case came up\\nin court, the judge instructed the jury that\\nthe evidence that a leg belonged to a man\\nwas that he had it, and as Barclay had this\\nleg, the presumption was that it was his.\\nBut no man was ever known to have three\\nlegs and as Barclay thus had three the sec-\\nond presumption was that it was not his.\\nBut as Gunn did not have it, the law could", "height": "4388", "width": "3244", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0200.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n205\\nnot accept the theory that it was Gunn s\\nleg, and consequently the law couldn t tell\\nwho under the sun the leg belonged to, and\\nthe jury would have to guess at it. So the\\njury brought in a verdict against both of us,\\nand recommended that, in the uncertainty\\nthat existed, the leg should be buried. The\\nleg was lying during the trial out in the\\nvestibule of the court room, and we found\\n^afterward that during the trial Bill Wood s\\ndog had run off with it and that settled the\\nthing. Queer, wasn t it\\nCASEY AT THE BAT.\\nThis selection was made famous by DeWolf Hopper, who\\nwhen called before the curtain between the acts of his comic\\nopera performances recited it hundreds of times.\\nThere was ease in Casey s manner as he\\nstepped into his place,\\nThere was pride in Casey s bearing,\\nand a smile on Casey s face\\nAnd when responding to the cheers he\\nlightly doffed his hat s\\nNo stranger in the crowd could doubt twas\\nCasey at the bat.\\nTen thousand eyes were on him as he\\nrubbed his hands with dirt,\\nFive thousand tongues applauded when he\\nwiped them on his shirt\\nThen while the writhing pitcher ground the\\nball into his hip.\\nDefiance glanced in Casey s eye, a sneer\\ncurled Casey s lip.\\nAnd now the leather-covered sphere came\\nwhirling thro the air,\\nAnd Casey stood a-whatching it in haughty\\ngrandeur there\\nClose by the sturdy batsman the ball\\nunheeded sped.\\nThat ain t my style, said Casey, Strike\\none, the umpire said.\\nFrom the benches, black with people, there\\nwent up a muffled roar,\\nLike the beating of storm waves on a stern\\nand distant shore\\nKill him kill the umpire shouted\\nsome one on the stand.\\nAnd it s likely they d have killed him had\\nnot Casey raised his hand.\\nWith a smile of Christian charity great\\nCasey s visage shone,\\nHe stilled the rising tumult, he bade the\\ngame go on\\nHe signalled to the pitcher, and once more\\nthe spheroid flew,\\nBut Casey still ignored it, and the umpire\\nsaid Strike two.\\nFraud cried the maddened thousands,\\nand the echo answered, Fraud\\nBut the scornful look from Casey, and the\\naudience was awed\\nThey saw his face grow stern and cold,\\nthey saw his muscles strain,\\nAnd they knew that Casey wouldn t let that\\nball go by again.\\nThe sneer is gone from Casey s lips, his\\nteeth are clenched in hate,\\nHe pounds with cruel violence his bat upon\\nthe plate\\nAnd now the pitcher holds the ball, and\\nnow he let s it go.\\nAnd now the air is shattered by the force\\nof Casey s blow.\\nOh somewhere in this favored land the\\nsun is shining bright,\\nThe band is playing somewhere and some-\\nwhere hearts are light\\nAnd somewhere men are laughing and\\nsomewhere children shout\\nBut there s no joy in Mudville mighty\\nCasey has struck out.\\nWHEN HULDY SPECTS HER BEAU.\\nIteli, you its mysterious\\nAt our house once a week\\nWe know there s somethin in the wind,\\nBut we don t dare to speak,\\nFor Sis just bosses ev rything\\nAnd says how it shall go.\\nOh, we all have so stan around\\nWhen Hnldy spects her beau\\nShe crimps her hair an awful lot,\\nAnd lights the parlor fire,\\nAnd she s so fraid we ll spoil her dress\\nShe won t let us come nigh her.\\nPa kinder chuckles to himself,\\nAnd winks at me an Joe\\nBut ma looks pretty serious\\nWhen Huldy spects her beau.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0201.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "206\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nAt supper she s no appetite,\\nBut fixes up a plate\\nOf apples, nuts and gingerbread\\n(She must eat awful late\\nShe does the dishes with a whew,\\nAnd thinks the clock is slow.\\nThings always have to hustle some*\\nWhen Huldy spects her beau.\\nShe whisks us youngsters off to bed\\nIn strict big-sister style\\nOn other evenin s we sit up\\nAnd play for quite a while.\\nAnd we ain t s posed to see nor hear,\\nNor even want to know\\nA single thing- that s goin on\\nWhen Huldy spects her beau.\\nBut on the mornin after that,\\nShe s always good as pie\\nShe helps ma with the cleanin up,\\nShe fastens gran pa s tie,\\nShe gives us lots of bread and jam,\\nAnd sings so sweet and low,\\nThat on the whole we re rather glad\\nWhen Huldy spects her beau.\\nAnnie Prescott Bull\\nW\\nDER DRUMMER.\\nGerman Dialect.\\nho puts oup at der pest hotel,\\nUnd dakes his oysders on der schell,\\nUnd mit der frauleins cuts a schwell\\nDer drummer.\\nWho vas it gomes indo mine schtore,\\nDrows down his pundles on de vloor,\\nUnd nefer schtops to shut der door\\nDer drummer.\\nWho dakes me py der handt, und say,\\nHans Pfeiffer, how you vas to-day\\nUnd goes vor peeseness righdt avay\\nDer drummer.\\nWho shpreads his zamples in a trice,\\nUnd dells me, Look, und see how nice\\nUnd says I gets der bottom price\\nDer drummer.\\nWho dells how sheap der goods vas bought,\\nMooch less as vot I gould imbort,\\nBut lets dem go as he vas short\\nDer drummer.\\nWho says der tings vas eggstra vine,\\nVrom Sharmany, ubon der Rhine,\\nUnd sheats me den dimes oudt off nine\\nDer drummer.\\nWho varrants all der goots to suit\\nDer gustomers ubon his route,\\nUnd ven day gomes dey vas no goot\\nDer drummer.\\nWho comes aroundt ven I been oudt,\\nDrinks oup mine bier, and eats mine kraut\\nUnd kiss Katrina in der mout\\nDer drummer.\\nWho, ven he gomes again dis vay,\\nVill hear vot Pfeiffer has to say,\\nUnd mit a plack eye goes avay\\nDer drummer.\\nChas. F. Adams,\\nPADDY S REFLECTIONS ON CLEOPATRA S\\nNEEDLE.\\n{Irish Dialect.)\\nSo that s Cleopathera s Naadle, bedad,\\nAn a quare lookin naadle it is, I ll\\nbe bound\\nWhat a powerful muscle the queen must\\nhave had\\nThat could grasp such a weapon an wind\\nit around\\nImagine her sittin there stichin like mad\\nWith a naadle like that in her hand I\\ndeclare\\nIt s as big as the Round Tower of Slane,\\nan bedad,\\nIt would pass for a round tower, only it s\\nsquare\\nThe taste of her, ordherin a naadle of\\ngranite\\nBegorra, the sight of it shtrikes me quite\\ndumb\\nAnd look at the quare sort of figures\\nupon it\\nI wondher can these be the thracks of\\nher thumb\\nI once was astonished to hear of the faste\\nCleopathera made upon pearls but now\\nI declare, I would not be surprised in the\\nlaste", "height": "4388", "width": "3264", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0202.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n207\\nIf ye told me the woman had swallowed a\\ncow\\nIt s easy to see why bould Caesar should\\nquail\\nIn her presence an meekly submit to her\\nrule\\nWid a weapon like that in her fist I ll go bail\\n.She could frighten the soul out of big Finn\\nMacCool\\nBut, L,ord, what poor pigmies the women\\nare now,\\nCompared with the monsthers they must\\nhave been then\\nWhin the darlin s in those days would kick\\nup a row,\\nHoly smoke, but it must have been hot\\nfor the men.\\nJust think how a chap that goes courtin\\nwould start\\nIf his girl was to prod him with that in\\nthe shins\\nI have often seen naadles s but bouldly\\nassart\\nThat the naadle in front of me there\\ntakes the pins\\nO sweet Cleopathera I m sorry you re\\ndead\\nAn whin lavin this wonderful naadle\\nbehind,\\nHad ye thought of bequeathin a spool of\\nyour thread\\nAnd yer thimble an scissors, it would\\nhave been kind.\\nBut pace to your ashes, ye plague o great\\nmen,\\nYer strength is departed, yer glory is past\\nYe 11 never wield sceptre nor naadle again,\\nAnd a poor little asp did yer bizness at\\nlast.\\nCORMAC 0%KARY.\\nBUCK FANSHAW S FUNERAL.\\nThere was a grand time over Buck\\nFanshaw when he died. He was a\\nrepresentative citizen. On the in-\\nquest it was shown that, in the delirium of\\na wasting typhoid fever he had taken\\narsenic, shot himself through the body, cut\\nhis throat, and jumped out of a four -story\\nwindow and broken his neck, and, after due\\ndeliberation, the jury, sad and tearful, but\\nwith intelligence unblinded by its sorrow,\\nbrought in a verdict of death by the visita-\\ntion Oj Providence. What could the world\\ndo without juries\\nProdigious preparations were made for\\nthe funeral. All the vehicles in town were\\nhired, all the saloons were put in mourning,\\nall the municipal fire company flags were\\nhung at half-mast and all the firemen\\nordered to muster in uniform, and bring\\ntheir machines duly draped in black.\\nRegretful resolutions were passed and\\nvarious committees appointed among\\nothers, a committee of one was deputed to\\ncall on the minister a fragile, gentle,\\nspiritual new fledgling from an eastern theo-\\nlogical seminary, and as yet unacquainted\\nwith the ways of the mines. The commit-\\nteeman, Scotty v Briggs, made his visit.\\nBeing admitted to his presence he sat down\\nbefore the clergyman, placed his fire-hat on\\nan unfinished manuscript sermon under the\\nminister s nose, took from it a red silk\\nhandkerchief, wiped his brow, and heaved\\na sigh of dismal impressiveness, explanatory\\nof business. He choked and even shed\\ntears, but with an effort he mastered his\\nvoice, and said, in lugubrious tones\\nAre you the duck that runs the gospel-\\nmill next door\\nAm I the pardon me, I believe I do\\nnot understand.\\nWith another sigh and a half sob, Scotty\\nrejoined\\nWhy you see we are in a bit of trouble,\\nand the boys thought maybe you d give us\\na lift, if we d tackle you, that is, if I ve got\\nthe rights of it, and you re the head clerk of\\nthe doxology works next door.\\nI am the shepherd in charge of the flock\\nwhose fold is next door.\\nThe which!\\nThe spiritual adviser of the little com-\\npany of believers whose sanctuary adjoins\\nthese premises.\\nScotty scratched his head, reflected a\\nmoment, and then said\\nYou ruther hold over me, pard. I\\nreckon I can t call that card. Ante and\\npass the buck.", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0203.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": "208\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nHow I beg your pardon What did\\nI understand you to say\\nWell, you ve ruther got the bulge on\\nme. Or maybe we ve both got the bulge,\\nsomehow, You don t smoke me and I\\ndon t smoke you. You see one of the boys\\nhas passed in his checks, and we want to\\ngive him a good send off, and so the thing\\nI m on now is to roust out somebody to jerk\\na little chin-music for us, and waltz him\\nthrough handsome.\\nMy friend, I seem to grow more and\\nmore bewildered. Your observations are\\nwholly incomprehensible to me. Can you\\nnot simplify them some way At first I\\nthought perhaps I understood you, but I\\ngrope now. Would it not expedite matters if\\nyou restricted yourself to the categorical\\nstatements of fact unincumbered with ob-\\nstructing accumulations of metaphor and\\nallegory\\nAnother pause and more reflection.\\nThen Scotty said: I ll have to pass, I\\njudge.\\nHow?\\nYou ve raised me out, pard.\\nI still fail to catch your meaning.\\nWhy, that last lead of your n is too\\nmany for me that s the idea. I can t\\nneither trump nor follow suit.\\nThe clergyman sank back in his chair\\nperplexed. Scotty leaned his head on his\\nhand, and gave himself up to reflection\\nPresently his face came up, sorrowful, but\\nconfident.\\nI ve got it now, so s you can savvy,\\nsaid he, What we wan t is a gospel-sharp.\\nSee?\\nA what?\\nGospel-sharp. Parson.\\nOh Why did you not say so before\\nI am a clergyman a parson.\\nNow you talk You see my blind, and\\nstraddle it like a man. Put it there\\nextending a brawny paw, which closed over\\nthe minister s small hand and gave it a\\nshake indicative of fraternal sympathy and\\nfervent gratification.\\nTake him all round, pard, there never\\nwas a bullier man in the mines. No man\\never know d Buck Fanshaw to go back on\\na friend. But it s all up, you know\\nit s all up. It ain t no use. They ve\\nscooped him\\nScooped him\\nYes death has. Well, well, well,\\nwe ve got to give him up. Yes, indeed.\\nIt s a kind of a hard world after all, ain t\\nit But, pard, he was a rustler. You\\nought to see him get started once. He was\\na bully boy with a glass eye! Just spit\\nin his face, and give him room according\\nto his strength, and it was just beautiful to\\nsee him peel and go in. He was the worst\\nson of a thief that ever draw d breath.\\nPard, he was on it. He was on it bigger\\nthan an injun.\\nOn it? On what?\\nOn the shoot. On the shoulder. On\\nthe fight. Understand? He didn t give a\\ncontinental for anyho y. Beg your par-\\ndon, friend, for coming so near saying a\\ncuss word but you see I m ou an awful\\nstrain in this palaver, on account of having\\nto cramp down and draw everything so mild.\\nBut we ve got to give him up. There ain t\\nany getting around that, I don t reckon.\\nNow if we can get you to help plant\\nhim\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nPreach the funeral discourse Assist\\nat the obsequies\\nObs quies is good. Yes. That s it;\\nthat s our little game. We are going to get\\nup the thing regardless, you know. He was\\nalways nifty himself, and so you bet you his\\nfuneral ain t going to be no slouch solid\\nsilver door-plate on his coffin, six plumes\\non the hearse, and a nigger on the box,\\nwith a biled shirt and a plug hat on how s\\nthat for high? And we ll take care of you,\\npard. We ll fix you all right. There will\\nbe a kerridge for you and whatever you\\nwant you just scape out, and we ll tend to\\nit. We ve got a shebang fixed up for you\\nto stand behind in No. i s house, and don t\\nyou be afraid. Just go in and toot your\\nhorn, if you don t sell a clam. Put Buck\\nthrough as bully as you can, pard, for any-\\nbody that know d him will tell you that he\\nwas one of the whitest men that was ever in\\nthe mines. You can t draw it too strong\\nto do him justice. Here once when the\\nMicks got to throwing stones through the\\nMethodist Sunday school windows, Buck\\nFanshaw, all of his own notion, shut up", "height": "4388", "width": "3244", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0204.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n209\\nhis saloon, and took a couple of six-\\nshooters and mounted guard over the Sun-\\nday school. Says he, No Irish need\\nappV- And they didn t. He was the\\nbullies t man in the mountains, pard he\\ncould run faster, jump higher, hit harder,\\nand hold more tangle-foot whiskey with-\\nout spilling it than any man in seventeen\\ncounties. Put that in, pard it ll please the\\nboys more than anything you could say.\\nAnd you can say, pard, that he never shook\\nhis mother.\\nNever shook his mother\\nThat s it any of the boys will tell you\\nso.\\nWell, but why should he shake her?\\nThat s what I say but boine people\\ndoes.\\nNot people of any repute\\nWell, some that averages pretty so-so.\\nIn my opinion a man that would offer\\npersonal violence to his mother, ought\\nto\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nCheese it, pard; you ve banked your\\nball clean outside the string. What I was\\na-drivin at was that he never throwed off\\non his mother -don t you see No indeedy\\nHe give her a house to live in, and town\\nlots, and plenty of money; and he looked\\nafter her and took care of her all the time\\nand when she was down with the small-pox,\\nI m cuss d if he didn t set up nights and\\nnuss her himself! Beg your pardon for\\nsaying it, but it hopped out too quick for\\nyours truly. You ve treated me like a\\ngentleman, and I ain t the man to hurt your\\nfeelings intentional. I think you re white.\\nI think you re a square man, pard. I like\\nyou, and I ll lick any man that don t. I ll\\nlick him till he can t tell himself from a last\\nyear s corpse. Put it there\\n[Another fraternal handshake and exit.]\\nS. Iy. CivKMKNS.\\nEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS.\\nGerman Dialect.\\nIHAF von funny leedle poy,\\nVot gomes schust to mine knee\\nDer queerest schap, der createst rogue,\\nAs efer you did see.\\nHe runs, und schumps, und schmashes\\ndings\\n13\\nIn all barts off der house\\nBut vot off dot he vas mine son,\\nMine leedle Yawcob Strauss.\\nHe get der measles und der mumbs,\\nUnd eferyding dot s oudt\\nHe sbills mine glass off lager bier,\\nPoots schnuffinto mine kraut.\\nHe fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese,\\nDot was der roughest chouse\\nI d dake dot vrom no oder poy\\nBut leedle Yawcob Strauss.\\nHe dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum,\\nUnd cuts mine cane in dwo,\\nTo make der schticks to beat it mit,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nMine cracious, dot vas drue\\nI dinks mine hed vas schplit abart,\\nHe kicks oup sooch a touse\\nBut nefer mind der poys vas few\\nLike dot young Yawcob Strauss.\\nHe asks me questions such as dese\\nWho baints mine nose so red\\nWho vas it cut dot schmoodth blace oudt\\nVrom der hair ubon mine hed\\nUnd vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp\\nVene er der glim I douse.\\nHow gan I all dose dings eggsblain\\nTo dot schmall Yawcob Strauss\\nI somedimes dink I schall go vild\\nMit sooch a grazy poy,\\nUnd vish vonce more I gould haf rest,\\nUnd beaceful dimes enshoy\\nBut ven he was ashleep in bed,\\nSo guiet as a mouse,\\nI prays der Lord, Dake anyding,\\nBut leaf dot Yawcob Strauss.\\nChas. F. Adams-\\nHANS AND FRITZ.\\nGerman Dialect.\\nHans and Fritz were two Deutschers who\\nlived side by side,\\nRemote from the world, its deceit\\nand it? pride\\nWith their pretzels and beer the spare\\nmoments were spent,\\nAnd the fruits of their labor were peace\\nand content.", "height": "4372", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0205.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nHans purchased a horse of a neighbor one Paddy prayed hard he would make no\\ndelay,\\nBut forgive him his sins and make haste\\nfor to bless him.\\nFirst tell me your sins, says Father\\nMolloy,\\nFor I m thinking you ve not been a very\\ngood boy.\\nOh, says Paddy, so late in the evenin\\nI fear\\nTwould trouble you such a long story to\\nhear,\\nFor you ve ten long miles o er the mount-\\nain to go,\\nI Hans, gets from Fritz feefty tollars While the road to travel s much longer,\\nto-day 7\u00c2\u00b0* now 1\\nWhen the question arose, the note being So lve y\u00c2\u00b0 nr blessm and et m the\\nmade saddle\\nVich von holds dot baper until it vas To tel1 a11 m sins my poor brain would\\nbaid?\\nday,\\nAnd, lacking a part of the Geld, as they\\nsay,\\nMade a call upon Fritz to solicit a loan\\nTo help him to pay for his beautiful roan.\\nFritz kindly consented the money to lend,\\nAnd gave the required amount to his\\nfriend\\nRemarking his own simple language to\\nquote\\nBerhaps it vas bedder ve make us a note.\\nThe note was drawn up in their primitive\\nwa}^\\naddle\\nYou geeps dot, says Fritz, und den And the docthor gave orthers to keep me so\\nyou vill know quiet\\nYou owes me dot money. Says Hans, Twould disturb me to tell all my sins, if I d\\nDot ish so thry it-\\nDot makes me remempers I haf dot to bay, And your Reverence has towld us unless we\\nUnd I prings you der note und der money tell all\\nsomeday. Tis worse than not making confession\\nat all\\nA month had expired, when Hans, as So rn say in a word, I m no very good\\nagreed, boy,\\nPaid back the amount, and from debt he And therefore your blessin sweet Father\\nMolloy.\\nwas freed,\\nSays Fritz, Now dot settles us. Hans\\nreplies, Yaw\\nNow who dakes dot baper accord ings by\\nlaw\\nWell, I ll read from a book, says\\nFather Molloy,\\nThe manifold sins that humanity s\\nI geeps dot now, aind t it says Fritz;\\nJ And when you hear those that your con-\\nr\\\\ ^n iron ce\u00c2\u00b1f* J J\\nden you see,\\n1 alvays remempers you paid dot to me.\\nSays Hans, Dot ish so it was now shust\\nso blain,\\nscience annoy,\\nYou ll just squeeze my hand, as ac-\\nknowledging thereto.\\n-r. T T Then the Father began the dark roll of\\nDot I knows vot to do ven I porrows\\niniquity,\\nAnd Paddy, thereat, felt his conscience\\ngrow rickety,\\nagain.\\nCharles F. Adams.\\nAnd he gave such a squeeze that the priest\\ngave a roar.\\nOh, murther, says Paddy, don t read\\nany more\\nAnd Father Molloy he came to confess For if you keep readin by all that is\\nhim thrue,\\nTHE DYING CONFESSION OF PADDY\\nMcCABE.\\nIrish Dialect.\\nT)addy McCabe was dying one day", "height": "4388", "width": "3316", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0206.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n211\\nYour Reverence s fist will be soon black and\\nblue\\nBesides, to be troubled my conscience\\nbegins,\\nThat your Reverence should have any hand\\nin my sins.\\n$o you d better suppose I committed them\\nall\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFor whether they re great ones, or whether\\nthey re small,\\nOr if they re a dozen, or if they re four-\\nscore,\\nTis your Reverence knows how to absolve\\nthem, asthore.\\nSo I ll say, in a word, I m no very good boy,\\nAnd therefore your blessin sweet Father\\nMolloy.\\nWell, says Father Molloy, your sins I\\nforgive,\\nSo you must forgive all your enemies\\ntruly,\\nAnd promise me also that, if you should\\nlive,\\nYou ll leave off your old tricks, and\\nbegin to live newly.\\nI forgive ev rybody, says Pat, with a\\ngroan,\\nExcept that big vagabone, Micky Malone;\\nAnd him I will murdher if ever I can\\nTut, tut says the priest, you re a very\\nbad man\\nFor without your forgiveness, and also\\nrepentance,\\nYou ll ne er go to heaven, and that is my\\nsentence.\\nPooh! says Paddy McCabe, that s a\\nvery hard case,\\nWith your Reverence in heaven I m content\\nto make peace\\nBut with heaven and your Reverence I\\nwonder och hone,\\nYou would think of comparin that black-\\nguard Malone.\\nBut since I m hard pressed, and that I must\\nforgive,\\nI forgive if I die but as sure as I live\\nThat ugly blackguard I will surely de-\\nsthroy\\nSo now for your blessin sweet Father\\nMolloy!\\nSamuel Lover.\\nMOLLIE S LITTLE RAH.\\nParody on Mary s Little Lamb.\\nMOLEiE had a little ram as black as a\\nrubber shoe, and everywhere that\\nMollie went he emigrated too.\\nHe went with her to church one day the\\nfolks hilarious grew, to see him walk\\ndemurely into Deacon Allen s pew.\\nThe worthy deacon quickly let his angry\\npassions rise, and gave it an un-Christian\\nkick between the sad brown eyes.\\nThis landed rammy in the aisle the dea-\\ncon followed fast, and raised his foot again\\nalas that first kick was his last.\\nFor Mr. Sheep walked slowly back, about\\na rod tis said, and ere the deacon could\\nretreat, it stood him on his head.\\nThe congregation then arose, and went\\nfor that ere sheep. Several well directed\\nbutts just piled them in a heap.\\nThen rushed they all straight for the door\\nwith curses long and loud, while rammy\\nstruck the hindmost man, and shoved him\\nthrough the crowd.\\nThe minister had often heard that kind-\\nness would subdue the fiercest beast.\\nAha! he said, I ll try that game on\\nyou.\\nAnd so he gently, kindly called Come\\nRammy, Rammy, Ram to see the folks\\nabuse you so, I grieved and sorry am\\nWith kind and gentle words he came from\\nthat tall pulpit down, saying, Rammy,\\nRammy, Ram best sheep in the town.\\nThe ram quite dropped hishumble air,\\nand rose from off his feet, ana/tne parson\\nlit, he was beneath the hindmosxSeat.\\nAs he shot out the door, and closed it\\nwith a slam, he named a California town.\\nI think twas Yuba- Dam.\\nHANIFEST DESTINY.\\nManifest destiny iz the science ov going\\ntew bust, or enny other place before\\nyu git thare. I may be rong in this\\ncentiment, but that iz the way it strikes me\\nand i am so put together that when enny\\nthing strikes me i immejiately strike back.\\nManifest destiny mite perhaps be blocked\\nout agin as the condishun that man and\\nthings find themselfs in witn a ring in their\\nnozes and sumboddy hold ov the ring. I", "height": "4388", "width": "3224", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0207.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "212\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nmay be rong agin, but if i am, awl i have\\ngot tew sa iz, i don t kno it, and what a\\nman don t kno ain t no damage tew enny\\nboddy else. The tru way that manifess\\ndestiny had better be sot down iz, the exact\\ndistance that a frog kan jump down hill\\nwith a striped snake after him i don t kno\\nbut i may be rong onst more, but if the\\nfrog don t git ketched the destiny iz jist\\nwhat he iz a looking for.\\nWhen a man falls into the bottom ov a\\nwell and makes up hiz minde tew stay thar,\\nthat ain t manifess destiny enny more than\\nhaving yure hair cut short iz but if he\\nalmoste gits out and then falls down in agin\\nsixteen foot deeper and brakes off hiz neck\\ntwice in the same plase and dies and iz\\nburied thare at low water, that iz manifess\\ndestiny on the square. Standing behind a\\ncow in fly time and gitting kicked twice at\\none time, must feel a good deal like mani-\\nfess destiny. Being about ten seckunds tew\\nlate tew git an express train, and then\\nchasing the train with yure wife, and an\\numbreller in yure hands, in a hot day, and\\nnot getting az near tew the train az you\\nwaz when started, looks a leetle like mani-\\nfess destiny on a rale rode trak. Going\\ninto a tempranse house and calling for a\\nlittle old Bourbon on ice, and being told in\\na mild way that the Bourbon iz jist out,\\nbut they hav got sum gin that cost seventy\\ntwo cents a gallon in Paris, sounds tew\\nme like the manifess destiny ov moste\\ntempranse houses.\\nMi dear hearers, don t beleave in manifess\\ndestiny until you see it. Thar is such a\\nthing az manifess destiny, but when it\\noccurs it iz like the number ov rings on the\\nrakoon s tale, ov no great consequense only\\nfor ornament. Manifess destiny iz a dis-\\nseaze, but it iz eazy tew heal i have seen\\nit in its wust stages cured bi sawing a cord\\nov dri hickory wood. I thought i had it\\nonse, it broke out in the shape ov poetry\\ni sent a speciment ov the disseaze tew a\\nmagazine, the magazine man wrote me next\\nday az follers,\\nDear Sir Yu may be a phule, but you\\nare no poeck. Yures, in haste.\\ntheEdetur.\\nJosh Billings,\\nTHE COMET.\\nAmong professors of astronomy,\\nAdepts in the celestial economy,\\nThe name of Herschel s very often\\ncited\\nAnd justly so, for he is hand in glove\\nWith every bright intelligence above,\\nIndeed, it was his custom so to stop,\\nWatching the stars, upon the house s top\\nThat once upon a time he got benighted\\nIn his observatory thus coquetting\\nWith Venus or with Juno gone astray,\\nAll sublunary matters quite forgetting\\nIn his flirtations with the winking stars,\\nActing the spy, it might be, upon Mars,\\nA new Andre\\nOr, like a Tom of Coventry, sly peeping\\nAt Dian sleeping\\nOr ogling through his glass\\nSome heavenly lass,\\nTripping with pails along the Milky way\\nOr looking at that wain of Charles, the\\nMartyr s.\\nThus was he sitting, watchman of the sky,\\nWhen lo a something with a tail of flame\\nMade him exclaim,\\nMy stars he always puts that stress\\non my,\\nMy stars and garters\\nA comet, sure as I m alive\\nA noble one as I should wish to view\\nIt can t be Halley s though, that is not\\ndue\\nTill eighteen thirty-five.\\nMagnificent How fine his fiery trail\\nZounds tis a pity, though, he comes\\nunsought,\\nUnasked, unreckoned, in no human\\nthought\\nHe ought he ought he ought\\nTo have been caught\\nWith scientific salt upon his tail.\\nI looked no more for it, I do declare,\\nThan the Great Bear\\nAs sure as Tycho Brahe is dead,\\nIt really entered in my head\\nNo more than Berenice s hair\\nThus musing, heaven s grand inquisitor\\nSat gazing on the uninvited visitor,\\nTill John, the serving man, came to the\\nupper", "height": "4388", "width": "3324", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0208.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "r\\nW\\no\\nz\\no 2\\nWD\\ni.n\\nE.ZJ\\n*0\\no\\nm\\no", "height": "4388", "width": "3228", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0209.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4384", "width": "3328", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0210.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n215\\nRegions, with Please your honor, come\\nto supper.\\n1 Supper! good John, to-night I shall not\\nsup,\\nExcept on that phenomenon look up\\nNot sup! cried John, thinking with\\nconsternation\\nThat supping on a star must be star-vation,\\nOr even to batten\\nOn ignes fatui would never fatten.\\nHis visage seemed to say, that very odd is,\\nBut still his master the same tune ran on,\\nI can t come down; go to the parlor,\\nJohn,\\nAnd say I m supping with the heavenly\\nbodies.\\nThe heavenly bodies echoed John,\\nahem\\nHis mind still full of famishing alarms,\\nZounds if your honor sups with them,\\nIn helping, somebody must make long\\narms.\\nHe thought his master s stomach was in\\ndanger,\\nBut still in the same tone replied the\\nknight,\\nGo down, John, go, I have no appetite\\nSay I m engaged with a celestial stranger.\\nQuoth John, not much au fait in such\\naffairs,\\nWouldn t the stranger take a bit down\\nstairs\\nNo, said the master, smiling, and no\\nwonder,\\nAt such a blunder,\\nThe stranger is not quite the thing you\\nthink\\nHe wants no meat or drink\\nAnd one may doubt quite reasonably whether\\nHe has a mouth,\\nSeeing his head and tail are joined together.\\nBehold him there he is, John, in the\\nsouth.\\nJohn looked up with his portentous eyes,\\nEach rolling like a marble in its socket;\\nAt last the fiery tadpole spies,\\nAnd, full of Vauxhall reminiscence, cries,\\n1 A rare good rocket\\nA what A rocket, John Far from it\\nWhat you behold, John, is a comet\\nOne of those most eccentric things\\nThat in all ages\\nHave puzzled sages\\nAnd frightened kings\\nWith fear of change, that flaming meteor,\\nJohn,\\nPerplexes sovereigns throughout its\\nrange.\\nDo he cried John\\nWell, let him flare on,\\nhaven t got no sovereigns to change\\nThomas Hood.\\nOL PICKETT S NELL.\\nThis poem should be recited by a young man dressed in the\\nroughest kind of farmer s clothing. He should manage to convey\\nto his audience through a very awkward exterior an air of deep\\nsincerity\\nFEKD more an ever like a fool\\nSence Pickett s Nell come back from\\nschool,\\nShe oncet wuz twelve nd me eighteen\\nNd better friends you never seen)\\nBut now oh, my\\nShe s dressed so fine, nd growed so tall,\\nNd l arnin she jes knows it all,\\nShe s eighteen now, but I m so slow\\nI m whar I wuz six year ago.\\nSix year Waal, waal doan t seem a\\nweek\\nSence we rode Dolly to th creek,\\nNd fetched th cattle home at night,\\nHer hangin to my jacket tight.\\nBut now oh, my\\nShe rides in Pickett s new coopay\\nJes like she d be n brung up thet way,\\nNd lookin like a reg lar queen\\nTh mostest like /ever seen.\\nShe uster tease nd tease nd tease\\nMe fer to take her on my knees\\nThen tired me out ith Marge y Daw,\\nNd lafhn tell my throat wuz raw.\\nBut now oh, my\\nShe sets up this way kinder proud,\\nNd never noways laughs out loud.\\nYou w u dn t hardly think thet she\\nHed ever see-sawed on my knee.\\nNd sometimes, ef at noon I d choose\\nTo find a shady place nd snooze,\\nI d wake with burdocks in my hair", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0211.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "2l6\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nNd elderberries in my ear.\\nBut now oh, my\\nSomebody said twuz yesterday)\\nLet s hev some fun w ile Ned s away\\nLet s turn his jacket inside out\\nBut Nell she d jes turn red nd pout.\\nNd oncet when I wuz dreamin -like,\\nA-throwin akerns in th dike,\\nShe put her arms clean round my head,\\nNd whispered soft, I like you, Ned\\nBut now oh, my\\nShe curteseyed so stiff nd grand,\\nNd never oncet held out her hand,\\nNd called me Mister Edward Laws\\nThet ain t my name nd never wuz.\\nNd them at knowed er years ago\\nJes laughed to see er put on so\\nCoz it wuz often talked, nd said\\nNell Pickett s jes cut out fer Ned.\\nBut now oh, my\\nShe held her purty hed so high,\\nNd skasely saw me goin by\\nI wu d nt dast (afore last night)\\nA-purposely come near her sight.\\nLast night Bz I wuz startin out\\nTo git th cows, I heerd a shout\\nNd sure ez ghostses, she wuz thar,\\nA-settin on ol Pickett s mar\\nNd then oh, my\\nShe said she d cried fer all th week\\nTo take th ol ride to th creek\\nThen talked about ol times, nd said,\\nThem days wuz happy, wa nt they, Ned\\nTh folks wuz talkin ev rywhars\\nBout her a-puttin on sech airs,\\nNd seemed t me like they wuz right,\\nA-fore th cows come home last night.\\nBut now. oh, myl\\nMather Dean Kimbaee.\\nADMIRAL VON D1EDERICHS.\\nGerman Dialect.\\nDuring the Spanish American war while Admiral, then Com-\\nmodore, Dewey was blockading the city of Manila, the German\\nAdmiral, von Diederichs, on more than one occasion manifested\\nar.ts of discourtesy and threatened hostility. Finally Dewey sent\\nhim a peremtory message, warning against further manifestations\\nof an unfriendly character and closing with the sentence If you\\nwant a fight you can get it in five minutes. The following\\nadmonitory lines wee inspired by the event\\nI ll tell you vot to do\\nSail from dem Philypeanuts isles\\nA thousand miles aboud\\nFer dot Dewey man vill got you\\nUf you doan d vatch ouid\\nAch, Admiral von Diederichs,\\nDer Kaiser was a peach,\\nI m villing to atmit id, bud\\nDare s udders on der beach.\\nSo, darefore, dot s der reason vy,\\nDoan d let your head get stoud,\\nFer dot Dewey man vill got you\\nUf you doan d vatch ouid\\nAch, Admiral von Diederichs,\\nVot pitzness haf you got\\nIn loafing py Manila ven\\nDer heat-vaves are so hot\\nVy doan d you yust oxcoos yourself\\nUnd durn your shibs aboud\\nFer dot Dewey man vill got you\\nUf you doan d vatch ouid\\nAch, Admiral von Diederichs,\\nVy vill you be a clams\\nGo ged some udder islands vich\\nAre not old Uncle Sam s,\\nYust wrote to Kaiser Wilhelm, yet,\\nUnd dell him dare s no douid,\\nFer dot Dewey man vill got you\\nUf you doan d vatch ouid\\nG. V. Hobart.\\nA\\nch, Admiral von Diederichs,\\nI van to sbeak mit you\\nYust lisden fer a leedle und\\nAN APOSTROPHE TO AGUINALDO.\\nThe author of the following lines was one of the many who\\nwarned Aguinaldo of the futility of his resistance to the United\\nStates. This selection may easily be converted into an amusing\\nscene by having the reciter dressedas a U. S. soldier to the Philip-\\npines and another much smaller painted brown and dressed to\\nrepresent Aguinaldo. The speaker should be very positive and\\nsarcastic in his tone and Aguinaldo appear stolidly indifferent.\\nSay, Aguinaldo,\\nYou little measly\\nMalay moke,\\nWhat s the matter with you\\nDon t you know enough\\nTo know\\nThat when you don t see\\nFreedom,\\nInalienable rights,\\nThe American Eagle,\\nThe Fourth of July,\\nThe Star Spangled Banner,\\nAnd the Palladium of your Liberties,", "height": "4388", "width": "3332", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0212.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n217\\nAll you ve got to do is to ask for them\\nAre you a natural born chump\\nOr did you catch it from the Spaniards\\nYou ain t bigger\\nThan a piece of soap\\nAfter a day s washing\\nBut, by gravy, you\\nSeem to think\\nYou re a bigger man\\nThan Uncle Sam.\\nYou ought to be shrunk\\nYoung fellow\\nAnd if you don t\\nDemalayize yourself\\nAt an early date,\\nAnd catch on\\nTo your golden, glorious opportunities,\\nSomething s going to happen to you\\nL,ike a Himalaya\\nSitting down kerswot\\nOn a gnat.\\nIf you ain t\\nA yellow dog\\nYou ll take in your sign\\nAnd scatter\\nSome Red, White and Blue\\nDisinfectant\\nOver yourself.\\nWhat you need, Aggie,\\nIs civilizing.\\nAnd goldarn\\nYour yallerpercoon-skin,\\nWe ll civilize you\\nDead or alive.\\nYou d better\\nFall into the\\nProcession of Progress\\nAnd go marching on to glory,\\nBefore you fall\\nInto a hole in the ground.\\nUnderstand\\nThat s us\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nU.S.\\nTHE DRUMMER.\\nAmusing reading when Drummers are present. Read in a\\nplain deliberate style.\\nTHE drummer inhabits railroad trains.\\nHe is always at home on the cars.\\nHe is usually swung to a satchel con-\\ntaining a comb and brush, another shirt, a\\nclean celluloid collar and a pair of cuffs\\nalso a railroad guide, and a newspaper\\nwrapped around a suspicious-looking bottle.\\nThat is about all the personal baggage he\\ncarries, except a Seaside library novel\\nand a pocket-knife with a corkscrew at the\\nback of it. He has a two-story, iron-bound\\ntrunk, containing sambles of dem goots,\\nwhich he checks through to the next town.\\nHe always travels for a first-class house\\nthe largest firm in their line of business in\\nthe United States, a firm that sells more\\ngoods, and sells them cheaper, than any two\\nhouses in the country. He is very modest\\nabout stating these facts, and blushes when\\nhe makes the statement but he makes it,\\nnevertheless, probably as a matter of duty.\\nHe can talk on any subject, although he\\nmay not know much about it, but what\\nlittle he knows he knows, and he lets you\\nknow that he knows it. He may be giving\\nhis views on the financial policy of the Brit-\\nish government, or he may only be telling\\nyou of what, in his opinion, is good for a\\nboil, but he will do it with an air and a tone\\nthat leaves the matter beyond dispute.\\nWhen the drummer gets into a railroad\\ntrain, if alone, he occupies only two seats.\\nOne he sits on, and on the other he piles up\\nhis baggage and overcoat and tries to look\\nas if they didn t belong to him, but to\\nanother man who has just stepped into the\\nsmoking-car and would be back directly.\\nDrummers are usually found in pairs or\\nquartettes on the cars. They sit together in\\na double seat, with a valise on end between\\nthem, on which they play euchre and other\\nsinful games. When they get tired of play-\\ning they go into the smoking-car, where the\\nman who is traveling for a distillery sets\\nem up out of his sample-case, and for an\\nhour or two they swop lies about the big\\nbills of goods they have sold in the last town\\nthey were in, tell highly-seasoned stories\\nabout their personal adventures and exhibit\\nto each other the photograph of the last girl\\nthey made impressions on.\\nWhile the drummer is not ostentatiously\\nbashful, neither does he assume any out-\\nward show of religion. His great love of\\ntruth is, however, one of his strong points,\\nand he is never known to go beyond actual\\nfacts, except in the matter of excessive bag-\\ngage.", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0213.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "218\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nThe drummer always gets the best room\\nin the hotel. He is the most popular man\\nwith the waiters in the dining room though\\nhe finds most fault with them. He flirts\\nwith the chamber maids, teases the boot\\nblacks and shows an utterely sublime con-\\ntempt for the regnlar boarders. He goes\\nto bed at a late hour, and sleeps so soundly\\nthat the porter wakes up the people for two\\nblocks around and shakes the plaster off the\\nwall in trying to communicate to him the\\nfact that the bus for the 4.20 a. m. train\\nwill start in ten minutes.\\nThe drummer has much to worry and fret\\nhim. Traveling at night to save time,\\nsleeping in a baggage-car or the caboose of\\na freight train, with nothing but his ear for\\na pillow, bumping over rough roads on\\nstages and buck-boards, living on corn-\\nbread and coffee dinners in cross-road\\nhotels, yet under all these vexatious cir-\\ncumstances he is usually good-humored and\\nin the best of spirits, although he sometimes\\nexpresses his feelings regarding the discom-\\nforts of travel, and the toughness of a beef-\\nsteak, or the solidity of a biscuit, in language\\nthat one would never think of attributing to\\nthe author of Watts hymns.\\nAll kinds of improbable stories are told\\nabout drummers, some of them being almost\\nas improbable as the stories they themselves\\ntell. For instance, we once heard that a\\nman saw a drummer in the piny woods of\\nNorth Carolina camping out under an um-\\nbrella\\nWhat are you doing here\\n1 I am camping and living on spruce-\\ngum to save expenses, replied the drum-\\nmer.\\nWhat are you doing that for\\nTo bring up the average.\\nIt seems that the firm allowed him a cer-\\ntain sum per day for expenses, and by riot-\\nous living he had gone far beyond his daily\\nallowance. By camping out under an um-\\nbrella and living on spruce-gum for a few\\ndays the expense would be so small as to\\noffset the previous excess he had been\\nguilty of. This story is probably a fabri-\\ncation.\\nThe chief end and aim of the drummer is\\nto sell goods, tell anecdotes and circulate\\nthe latest fashionable slang phrase. If he\\nunderstands his business, the country mer-\\nchant may as well capitulate at once. There\\nis no hope too forlorn, nor any country\\nmerchant too surly or taciturn for the drum-\\nmer to tackle. A merchant not long ago\\nloaded up a double-barreled shotgun with\\nnails, with the intention of vaccinating the\\nfirst drummer who entered his store. The\\ncommercial emissary has been talking to\\nhim only fifteen minutes. In that time he\\nhas told the old man four good jokes, paid\\nhim five compliments on his business and\\nshrewdness, propounded two conundrums\\nand came very near telling the truth once.\\nAs a result, the sanguinary old man is in\\nexcellent humor, and just about to make\\nout an order for $500 worth of goods that\\nhe doesn t actually need, and then will go\\nout and take a drink with the drummer.\\nThe drummer is the growth of this fast\\nage. Without him the car of commerce\\nwould creak slowly along.\\nHe is an energetic and genial cuss, and\\nwe hope that he will appreciate this notice\\nand the fact that we have suppressed an\\nalmost uncontrollable impulse to say some-\\nthing about his cheek.\\nTexas Siftings\\nTHEN AG IN\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nDroll reflections. To be spoken in a countryman s philoso-\\nphic, meditative way. The speaker might have a stick in his\\nhand and whittle it with a knife, pausing as if in deep reflection\\nbefore beginning the last four lines in each stanza.\\nJim Bowker, he said ef he d had a fair\\nshow,\\nAnd a big enough town for his talents\\nto grow,\\nAnd the least bit of assistance in hoin his\\nrow,\\nJim Bowker, he said,\\nHe d fill the world full of the sound of his\\nname,\\nAn clime the top round in the ladder of\\nfame.\\nIt may have been so\\nI dunno\\nJest so, it might a-been\\nThen ag in\\nBut he had dreadful luck every thin went\\nag in him,\\nThe arrers ef fortune, they alius ud pin\\nhim", "height": "4388", "width": "3328", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0214.jp2"}, "215": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n219\\nSo he didn t get a chance to show what was\\nin him.\\nJim Bowker, he said,\\nEf he d had a fair show, you couldn t tell\\nwhere he d come,\\nAn the feats he d a-done, and the heights\\nhe d a dumb.\\nIt may have been so,\\nI dunno\\nJest so, it might a-been\\nThen ag in\\nBut we re all like Jim Bowker, thinks I,\\nmore or less,\\nCharge fate for our bad luck, ourselves for\\nsuccess,\\nAn give fortune the blame for all our dis-\\ntress.\\nAs Jim Bowker, he said,\\nKf it hadn t been for luck and misfortune\\nand sich,\\nWe might a-been famous, and might a-been\\nrich.\\nIt might be jest so\\nI dunno\\nJest so, it might a-been\\nThen ag in\\nriARC ANTHONY S ORIGINAL ORATION.\\nA burlesque parody on Shakespeare. The speaker should\\nassume the solemn style of Marc Anthonyin his funeral oration,\\nFriends, Romans, countrymen Lend\\nme your ears\\nI will return them next Saturday, I come\\nTo bury Caesar, because the times are\\nhard,\\nAnd his folks can t afford to hire an under-\\ntaker.\\nThe evil that men do lives after them,\\nIn the shape of progeny who reap the\\nBenefit of their life insurance,\\nSo let it be with the deceased.\\nBrutus hath told you Caesar was ambitious.\\nWhat does Brutus know about it\\nIt is none of his funeral. Would that it\\nwere\\nHere under leave of you I come to\\nMake a speech at Caesar s funeral.\\nHe was my friend, faithful and just tome,\\nHe loaned me $5 once when I was in a pinch,\\nAnd signed my petition for a post-office,\\nBut Brutus says he was ambitious.\\nBrutus should wipe off his chin.\\nCaesar hath brought many captives home to\\nRome,\\nWho broke rocks on the streets until their\\nransoms\\nDid the general coffers fill.\\nWhen that the poor hath cried, Caesar hath\\nwept\\nBecause it didn t cost anything and\\nMade him solid with the masses.\\nAmbition should be made of sterner stuff\\nYet Brutus says he was ambitious.\\nBrutus is a liar, and I can prove it.\\nYou all did see that on the Lupercal\\nI thrice presented him a kingly crown\\nWhich he did thrice refuse, because it did\\nnot fit him quite.\\nWas this ambition Yet Brutus says he\\nwas ambitious.\\nBrutus is not only the biggest liar in the\\ncountry,\\nBut he is a horse thief of the deepest dye.\\nIf you have any tears, prepare to shed them\\nnow.\\nYou all do know this ulster.\\nI remember the first time Caesar put it on\\nIt was on a summer evening in his tent,\\nWith the thermometer registering 90 in the\\nshade\\nBut it was an ulster to be proud of,\\nAnd cost him $7 at Marcaius Swartzmeyer s\\nCorner of Broad and Ferry streets, sign of\\nthe red flag.\\nOld Swartz wanted $40 for it,\\nBut finally came down to $7 because it was\\nCaesar.\\nWas this ambitious If Brutus says it was\\nHe is a greater liar than any one present.\\nLook in this place ran Cassius dagger\\nthrough,\\nThrough this the son of a gun of a Brutus\\nstabbed,\\nAnd when he plucked his cursed steel\\naway,\\nMarc Anthony, how the blood of Caesar\\nfollowed it\\nI come not, friends, to steal away your\\nhearts\\nI am no thief, as Brutus is.\\nBrutus has a monopoly on all that business,\\nAnd if he had his deserts he would be\\nIn the penitentiary, and don t you forget it.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0215.jp2"}, "216": {"fulltext": "220\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nKind friends, sweet friends, I do not wish\\nto stir you up\\nTo such a flood of mutiny.\\nAnd as it looks like rain,\\nThe pall bearers will please place the coffin\\nin the hearse,\\nAnd we will proceed to bury Caesar,\\nNot to praise him.\\nCOUNTING EGGS.\\nRead or recite in a deliberate, conventional style, observing to\\nimitate the voice and manner proper to the lady and the old\\nnegro in their respective parts.\\nOLD Moses, who sells eggs and chickens\\non the streets of Austin for a living,\\nis as honest an old negro as ever lived;\\nbut he has the habit of chatting familiarily\\nwith his customers, hence he frequently\\nmakes mistakes in counting out the eggs\\nthey buy. He carries his wares around in\\na small cart drawn by a diminutive donkey.\\nHe stopped in front of the residence of Mrs.\\nSamuel Burton. The old lady herself came\\nout to the gate to make the purchase, and\\nthe following conversation ensued\\nHave you any eggs this morning, Uncle\\nMoses she asked.\\nYes, indeed, I has. Jess got in ten\\ndosen from de kentty.\\nAre they fresh?\\nFresh Yas, indeed I guarantees em,\\nan an de hen guarantees m.\\nI ll take nine dozen. You can count\\nthem into this basket.\\nAll right, mum he counts, One,\\ntwo, free, foah, five, six, seben, eight, nine,\\nten. You can rely on them bein fresh.\\nHow s your son comin on de school? He\\nmust be mos grown.\\nYes, Uncle Moses he is a clerk in a\\nbank in Galveston.\\nWhy, how ole am de boy\\nHe is eighteen\\nYou don t tole me so Eighteen, and\\ngetting a salary already Eighteen (count-\\ning^) nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-\\ntwo, twenty-three, twenty-foah, twenty-five.\\nAnd how s your gal comin on? She was\\nmost growed up de last time I seed her.\\nShe is married and living in Dallas.\\nWall I declar how time shoots away.\\nAnd you say she has childruns Why how\\nole am de gal She must be jest about\\nThirty- three.\\nAm dat so? {Counting?) Firty-\\nfree, firty-foah, firty-five, firty-six, firty-\\nseben, Arty-eight, firty-nine, forty, forty-one,\\nforty-two, forty- free. Hit am singular dat\\nyou has such ole childruns. You don t\\nlook more den forty years old yerseff.\\nNonsense, old man I see you want to\\nflatter me. When a person gets to be fifty-\\nthree years old\\nFifty- free I jess dun gwinter bleeve\\nhit fifty-free, fifty-foah, fifty-five, fifty six\\nI want you to pay tenshun when I count de\\neggs, so dar ll be no mistake\u00e2\u0080\u0094 fifty-nine,\\nsixty, sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-free, sixty-\\nfoah. Whew Dis am a warm day. Dis\\nam de time ob year when I feels I se gettin\\nole myself; I ain t long fur dis world. You\\ncomes from an ole family. When your\\nfadder died he was seben ty years ole.\\nSeventy-two.\\nDat s old, suah. Sebenty-two, sebenty-\\nfree, sebenty-foah, sebenty-five, seben ty-six,\\nsebenty-seben, sebendy- eight, sebenty-nine.\\nAnd your mudder? she was one ob de\\nnoblest lookin ladies I ebber see. You\\nremind me ob her so much She libed to\\nmos a hundred. I bleeves she was done\\npast a centurion when she died.\\nNo, Uncle Moses she was only ninety-\\nsix when she died.\\nDen she wan t no chicken when she\\ndied, I know dat. Ninety-six, ninety-seben,\\nninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one,\\ntwo, free, foah, five, six, seben, eight dar,\\none hundred and eight nice fresh eggs jess\\nnine dozen, and here am foah moah eggs in\\ncase I have discounted myself.\\nOld Moses went on his way rejoicing. A\\nfew days afterward Mrs. Burton said to her\\nhusband\\nI am afraid we will have to discharge\\nMatilda. I am satisfied that she steals the\\nmilk and eggs. I am positive about the\\neggs for I bought them day before yester-\\nday, and now about half of them are gone.\\nI stood right there, and heard Moses count\\nthem myself, and there were nine dozen,\\nTexas Siftings.\\nM\\nTHE BABY S FIRST TOOTH.\\nr. and Mrs. Jones had just finished\\ntheir breakfast. Mr. Jones had\\npushed back his chair and was", "height": "4412", "width": "3320", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0216.jp2"}, "217": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n221\\nlooking under the lounge for his boots.\\nMrs. Jones sat at the table holding the infant\\nJones and mechanically working her fore-\\nfinger in its mouth. Suddenly she paused\\nin the motion, threw the astonished child\\non its back, turned as white as a sheet,\\npried open its mouth, and immediately\\ngasped Ephraim Mr. Jones, who was\\nyet on his knees with his head under the\\nlounge, at once came forth, rapping his\\nhead sharply on the side of the lounge as\\nshe did so, and, getting on his feet, inquired\\nwhat was the matter. O Ephraim, said\\nshe, the tears rolling down her cheeks and\\nthe smiles coursing up. Why, what is it,\\nAramathea said the astonished Mr.\\nJones, smartly rubbing his head where it\\nhad come in contact with the lounge.\\nBaby! she gasped. Mr. Jones turned\\npale and commenced to sweat. Baby!\\n0,0,0 Ephraim! Baby has\u00e2\u0080\u0094 baby has\\ngot\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a little toothey, oh oh No\\nscreamed Mr. Jones, spreading his legs\\napart, dropping his chin and staring at the\\nstruggling heir with all his might. I tell\\nyou it is, persisted Mrs. Jones, with a\\nslight evidence of hysteria. Oh, it can t\\nbe! protested Mr. Jones, preparing to\\nswear if it wasn t. Come here and see\\nfor yourself, said Mrs. Jones. Open its\\nittle mousy-wousy for its own muzzer\\nthat s a toody-woody that s a blessed ittle\\nump o sugar. Thus conjured, the heir\\nopened its mouth sufficiently for the father\\nto thrust in his finger, and that gentleman\\nhaving convinced himself by the most\\nunmistakable evidence that a tooth was\\nthere, immediately kicked his hat across the\\nroom, buried his fist in the lounge, and\\ndeclared with much feeling that he could\\nlick the individual who would dare to inti-\\nmate that he was not the happiest man on\\nthe face of the earth. Then he gave Mrs.\\nJones a hearty smack on the mouth and\\nsnatched up the heir, while that lady rushed\\ntremblingly forth after Mrs. Simmons, who\\nlived next door. In a moment Mrs. Sim-\\nmons came tearing in as if she had been\\nshot out of a gun, and right behind her\\ncame Miss Simmons at a speed that indicated\\nthat she had been ejected, from two guns.\\nMrs. Simmons at once snatched the heir\\nfrom the arms of Mr. Jones and hurried it\\nto the window, where she made a careful\\nand critical examination of its mouth, while\\nMrs. Jones held its head and Mr. Jones\\ndanced up and down the room, and snapped\\nhis fingers to show how calm he was. It\\nhaving been ascertained by Mrs. Simmons\\nthat the tooth was a sound one, and also\\nthat the strongest hopes for its future could\\nbe entertained on account of its coming in\\nthe new of the moon, Mrs. Jones got out\\nthe necessary material and Mr. Jones at\\nonce proceeded to write seven different\\nletters to as many persons, unfolding to\\nthem the event of the morning and inviting\\nthem to come on as soon as possible.\\nD anbury News Man.\\nA SERENADE TO SPRING.\\nNegro Dialect.\\nImitate the voice of the frog and cricket, and the swishing hiss\\nof the snake, where they are made to speak.\\ni i T^B fus spring frog blow de mud fum\\n\u00c2\u00b1J his eyes.\\nEn peep fum de daid leaf mol\\nHe stretch his legs en squat crosswise,\\nEn croak Fuh de Ian ain t it col\\nFuh de Ian ain t it col croak de pea-\\ngreen frog,\\nEn he stahts, en sneeze, en sneeze\\nEn he hop two feet to de cypress log\\nEn croak Ah 11 hop or freeze\\nDe fus spring cricket wuk his long-laig\\nsaw,\\nEn saw fro de coocoon pill\\nHe sun hisself on a las yea s straw,\\nEn squeak Fuh de Ian what a chill\\nFuh de Ian what a chill! de brown\\ncricket squeak,\\nEn he heah mistah frog s deep chune\\nEn togeddah dey squat on the moss log\\nbleak,\\nEn pine fuh de bref of June.\\nDe fus spring snake keek de roof fum his\\nhole,\\nEn up fum de erf he sneak\\nHe twine hisself roun de swamp-fence\\npole,\\nEn hiss Fuh de Ian ain t it bleak\\nFuh de Ian ain t it bleak hiss de bal\\nhaid snake,\\nEn he heah de cricket en de frog", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0217.jp2"}, "218": {"fulltext": "222\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nEn he staht away wid a wriggle en a shake,\\nEn jine dcm bofe on de log.\\nSo de cricket en de frog en de bal haid\\nsnake,\\nStaht up a sahanade wail\\nDe snake cudn t sing, so he start in to\\nshake,\\nEn beat de time wid his tail,\\nEn de frog cum- in wid his bazoo deep\\nEn de cricket s sharp notes ring\\nEn dey wake up de meddah en vale fum\\nsleep,\\nWid a sahanade to spring.\\nThk Chicago News.\\nTHEOLOGY IN THE QUARTERS.\\nNegro Dialect,\\nNow. I s got a notion in my head dat\\nwhen you come to die,\\nAn stan de zamination in de Cote-\\nhouse in de sky,\\nYou ll be stonished at de questions dat de\\nangel s gwine to ax\\nWhen he gits you on de witness -stan an\\npin you to de fac s\\nCause he ll ax you mighty closely bout\\nyour doin s in de night,\\nAn de water-milion question s gwine to\\nbodder you a sight\\nDen your eyes 11 open wider dan dey ebber\\ndone befo\\nWhen he chats you bout a chicken-scrape\\ndat happened long ago\\nDe angels on de picket-line erlong de Milky\\nWay\\nKeeps a-watchin what you re dribin at, an\\nhear in what you say\\nNo matter what you want to do, no matter\\nwhar you s gwine,\\nDey s mighty ap to find it out an pass it\\nlong de line\\nAn of en at de meetin when you make a\\nfuss an laugh,\\nWhy, dey send de news a-kitin by de\\ngolden telegraph\\nDen, de angel in de orfis, what s a-settin\\nby de gate,\\nJes reads de message wid a look an claps\\nit on de slate\\nDen you better do your juty well an keep\\nyour conscience clear,\\nAn keep a-lookin straight ahead an\\nwatchin whar you steer\\nCause arter while de time 11 come to\\njourney fum de Ian\\nAn dey 11 take you way up in de a r an\\nput you on de stan\\nDen you ll hab to listen to de clerk an\\nanswer mighty straight,\\nEf you ebber spec to trabble froo de\\nalaplaster gate\\nJ. A. Macon.\\nWHAT THE LITTLE GIRL SAID,\\nVery amusing when recited at a Church Enter-\\ntainment.\\nii TV /Fa s up-stairs changing her dress,\\n1V-L said the freckle-faced little girl,\\ntying her doll s bonnet strings\\nand casting her eye about for a tidy large\\nenough to serve as a shawl for that double-\\njointed young person.\\nOh, your mother needn t dress up for\\nme, replied the female agent of the mis-\\nsionary society, taking a self-satisfied view\\nof herself in the mirror. Run up and\\ntell her to come down just as she is in her\\nevery-day clothes, and. not stand on cere-\\nmony.\\nOh, but she hasn t got on her every-\\nday clothes. Ma was all dressed up in her\\nnew brown silk dress, cause she expected\\nMiss Dimmond to-day. Miss Dimmond\\nalways comes over here to show off her\\nnice things, and ma doesn t mean to get\\nleft. When ma saw you coming she said,\\nthe dickens and I guess she was mad\\nabout something. Ma said if you saw her\\nnew dress, she d have to hear all about the\\npoor heathen, who don t have silk, and\\nyou d ask her for money to buy hymn-books to\\nsend em. Say, do the nigger ladies use\\nhymn-book leaves to do their hair up on\\nand make it frizzy Ma says she guesses\\nthat s all the good the books do em, if\\nthey ever get any books. I wish my doll\\nwas a heathen.\\nWhy, you wicked little girl! what do\\nyou want of a heathen doll? inquired the\\nmissionary lady, taking a mental inventory\\nof the new things in the parlor to get", "height": "4388", "width": "3432", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0218.jp2"}, "219": {"fulltext": "o\\nHI\\no r\\nWD\\nw\\no\\nBS\\no O\\nz\\n*5 0)\\n5 n", "height": "4388", "width": "3300", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0219.jp2"}, "220": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4388", "width": "3440", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0220.jp2"}, "221": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n225\\nmaterial for a homily on worldy extrava-\\ngance.\\nSo folks would send her lots of nice\\nthings to wear, and feel sorry to have her\\ngoing about naked. Then she d have her\\nhair to frizz, and I want a doll with truly\\nhair and eyes that roll up like Deacon Sil-\\nderback s when he says amen on Sunday.\\nI ain t a wicked girl, either, cause Uncle\\nDick you know Uncle Dick, he s been out\\nWest and swears awful and smokes in the\\nhouse he says I m a holy terror, and he\\nhopes I ll be an angel pretty soon. Ma 11\\nbe down in a minute, so you needn t take\\nyour cloak off. She said she d box my\\nears if I asked you to.\\nMa s putting on that old dress she had\\nlast year, cause she didn t want you to\\nthink she was able to give much this time,\\nand she needed a muff worse than the queen\\nof the cannon-ball islands needed religion\\nUncle Dick says you oughter get to the\\nislands, cause you d be safe there, and the\\nnatives would be sorry they was such sin-\\nners anybody would send you to em. He\\nsays he never seen a heathen hungry enough\\nto eat you, less twas a blind one, an you d\\nset a blind pagan s teeth on edge so he d\\nnever hanker after any more missionary.\\nUncle Dick s awful funny, and makes ma\\nand pa die laughing sometimes.\\nYour Uncle Richard is a bad, depraved\\nwretch, and ought to have remained out\\nWest, where his style is appreciated He sets\\na horrid example for little girls like you.\\nOh, I think he s nice. He showed me\\nhow to slide down the banisters, and he s\\nteaching me to whistle when ma ain t\\naround. That s a pretty cloak you ve got,\\nain t it Do you buy all your clothes with\\nmissionary money Ma says you do.\\nJust then the freckle- faced little girl s ma\\ncame into the parlor and kissed the mis-\\nsionary lady on the cheek and said she was\\ndelighted to see her, and they proceeded to\\nhave a real sociable chat. The little girl s\\nma cannot understand why a person who\\nprofesses to be so charitable as the mis-\\nsionary agent does should go right over to\\nMiss Dimmond s and say such ill-natured\\nthings as she did, and she thinks the mis-\\nsionary is a double-faced gossip. The little\\ngirl understands it better than her ma does.\\nTHE BELL-WETHER AND THE DEACON.\\nHumorous Reading for a Church Entertainment,\\ni C \\\\7~ ou see sa -id Sam L,awson, there\\nJL was old Dick Ike s bell-wether, he\\nwuz the fightenest old critter that\\never you see. Many a time he s chased me\\naud Lem Ludoc on our way to see the\\nLarkin gals but, as I was a sayin what I\\nwant to tell yer is about him and the Dea-\\ncon. Ike let his sheep graze in the church-\\nyard wrong of course, but then he done it\\nand that s what got the Deacon in trouble.\\nThe weather was sizzlin hot and the Deacon\\nwas the tithin man and used to keep him-\\nself awake in meetin by runnin around\\nwakin up everybody else, and crackin\\nthe boys with his stick whenever he ketched\\none in mischief. Nothin escaped him. He\\nseemed like one of them beasts in Revela-\\ntion that was full of eyes behind and before.\\nWell, folks that is chipper and high-steppin\\nhas their come-downs, and the Deacon had\\nto hev his.\\nWell, that Sunday the parson give us a\\ngreat sermon, and the Deacon run around\\nand keep everything straight till it was most\\nthrough, and then he sot down right by the\\ndoor, and the hot weather overcome him so\\nhe fell asleep just before the sermon closed.\\nWal, Parson Morrell had a way o\\nprayin with his eyes open. Folks said it\\nwa n t the best way, but it was Parson Mor-\\nrell s anyhow, and so as he was prayin he\\ncouldn t help seein that Deacon Titkins\\nwas a noddin and a bobbin out towards\\nthe place where old Dick was feedin with\\nthe sheep, front o the meetin -house door.\\nIyem and me was sittin where we could\\nlook out and we could jest see old Dick\\nstop feedin and look at the Deacon.\\nThe Deacon had a little round head as\\nsmooth as an apple, with a nice powdered\\nwig on it, and he sot there makin bobs and\\nbows, and Dick begun to think it was\\nsuthin sort o pussonel. I^em and me was\\nsittin jest where we could look out and\\nsee the whole picter, and Lem was fit to\\nsplit.\\nGood, now, says he, that crittur 11\\npay the Deacon off lively, pretty soon.\\nThe Deacon bobbed his head a spell,\\nand old Dick he shook his horns and\\nstamped at him sort o thretnin Finally,", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0221.jp2"}, "222": {"fulltext": "226\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nthe Deacon he gave a great bow and brought\\nhis head right down at him, and old Dick\\nhe sot out full tilt and come down on him\\nker chunk, and knocked him head over\\nheels into the broad aisle, and his wig flew\\none way and he t other, and Dick made a\\nlunge at it as it flew, and carried it off on\\nhis horns.\\nWal, you may believe, that broke up\\nthe meetin for one while, for Parson Mor-\\nrell laughed out, and all the girls and boys\\nthey stamped and roared, and the old Dea-\\ncon he got up and begun rubbing his shins\\ncause he didn t see the joke on t.\\nYou don t orter laugh, says he, it s\\nno laughin matter it s a solemn thing,\\nsays he, I might have been sent into tar-\\nnity by that darned crittur, says he. Then\\nthey all roared and haw-hawed the more to\\nsee the Deacon dancin round with his little\\nshiny head, so smooth a fly would trip up\\non t. I believe, on my soul, you d laugh\\nto see me in my grave, says he\\nWal, the truth on t was, t was just one\\nof them bustin up times that natur has,\\nwhen there ain t nothin for it but to give\\nin; t was jest like the ice breakin up in\\nthe Charles River it all come at once and\\nno whoa to t. Sunday or no Sunday, sin or\\nno sin, the most on em laughed till they\\ncried, and couldn t help it.\\nBut the Deacon he went home feelin\\npretty sore about it. Lem Ludoc he picked\\nup his wig and handed it to him. Says he,\\nOld Dick was playing tithing-man, wa n t\\nhe, Deacon Teach you to make allow-\\nance for other folks that get sleepy.\\nThen Mrs. Titkins she went over to\\nAunt Jerushy Scran s and Aunt Polly\\nHokum s, and they had a poto tea over it,\\nand greed it was awful of Parson Morrell to\\nset sich an example, and suthin had got to\\nbe done about it. Miss Hokum said she\\nallers knew that Parson Morrell hadn t no\\nspiritooality, and now it had broke out into\\nopen sin, and led all the rest of em into it\\nand Mrs. Titkins, she said such a man\\nwa n t fit to preach and Miss Hokum said\\nshe could n t never hear him ag in, and the\\nnext Sunday the Deacon and his wife they\\nhitched up and driv eight miles over to\\nParson Lothrop s, and took Aunt Polly on\\nthe back seat.\\nWal, the thing growed and growed\\ntill it seemed as if there war n t nothing\\nelse talked about, cause Aunt Polly and\\nMrs. Titkins and Jerushy Scran they didn t\\ndo nothin but talk about it, and that sot\\neverybody else a talkin.\\nFinally, it was greed they must hev a\\ncouncil to settle the hash. So all the wiin-\\nmen they went to chopping mince, and\\nmaking uppunkin pies and cranberry tarts,\\nand bilin doughnuts, gettin reddy for the\\nministers and delegates cause councils\\nalways eats powerful and they had quite a\\nstir, like a gineral trainin The hosses,\\nthey was hitched all up and down the stalls,\\na-stompin and switchin their tails, and all\\nthe wimmen was a-talkin and they hed up\\neverybody round for witnesses, and finally\\nParson Morrell he says, Brethren, says\\nhe, jest let me tell you the story jest as it\\nhappened, and if you don t every one of you\\nlaugh as hard as I did why then I 11 giv e up\\nThe parson, he was a master hand at\\nsetting off a story, and afore he d done he\\ngot em all in sich a roar they didn t know\\nwhere to leave off. Finally they give sen-\\ntence that there hadn t no temptation took\\nhim but such as is common to man but they\\nadvised him afterward allers to pray with his\\neyes shut, and the parson he confessed he\\norter a done it, and meant to do better\\nin future, and so they settled it.\\nSo, boys, said Sam, who always drew\\na moral, ye see it larns you you must take\\ncare what ye look at, ef ye want to keep\\nfrom laughin in meetin\\nMrs. H. B. Stowk.\\nA MOST OBLIGING LITTLE SISTER.\\nHumorous Child Character Sketch.\\nIn this recitation a very demure and simple looking young\\nman should be standing looking foolishly and expectantly at the\\ndoor way to whom should enter in a romping irrepressible\\nmood, a girl of apparently about twelve years of age.\\nc c IV /T Y sister ll be down in a minute, and\\nJlY1_ says you re to wait, if you please\\nAnd says I might stay till she came,\\nif I d promise her never to tease,\\nNor speak till you spoke to me first. But\\nthat s nonsense for how w ld yon know\\nWhat she told me to say, if I didn t.\\nDon t you really and trully think so", "height": "4388", "width": "3456", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0222.jp2"}, "223": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n227\\nAnd then you d feel strange here alone.\\nAnd yon wouldn t know just where to\\nsit\\nFor that chair isn t strong on its legs, and\\nwe never use it a bit\\nWe keep it to match with the sofa but\\nJack says it would be like you,\\nTo flop yourself right down upon it, and\\nknock out the very last screw.\\nBut what there is left of it s mousy, and not\\nwhat that naughty Jack said.\\nBut there I must go sister s coming\\nBut I wish I could wait, just to see\\nIf she ran up to you, and she kissed you in\\nthe way she used to kiss Lee.\\nBret Hartk.\\nSuppose you try I won t tell. You re\\nafraid to Oh you re afraid they\\nwould think it was mean\\nWell, then, there s the album that s pretty,\\nif you re sure that you re fingers are\\nclean.\\nFor sister says sometimes I daub it but she\\nonly says that when she s cross.\\nThere s her picture. You know it It s\\nlike her but she ain t as good-looking,\\nof course.\\nThis is Me. I ts the best of em all.\\nNow, tell me, you d never have thought\\nThat once I was little as that? It s the\\nonly one that could be bought\\nFor that was the message to Pa from the\\nphotograph- man where I sat,\\nThat he wouldn t print off any more till he\\nfirst got his money for that.\\nWhat? Maybe you re tired of waiting.\\nWhy, often she s longer than this.\\nThere s all her back hair to do up, and all\\nof her front curls to friz.\\nBut it s nice to be sitting here talking like\\ngrown people, just you and me\\nDo you think you ll be coming here often\\nOh, do But don t come like Tom\\nLee,\\nTom Lee, her last beau. Why, my good-\\nness he used to be here day and night,\\nTill the folks thought he d be her husband\\nand Jack says that gave him a fright.\\nYou won t run away then, as he did For\\nyou re not a rich man, they say\\nPa says you re poor as a church-mouse.\\nNow, are you and how poor are they\\nAin t you glad that you met me Well, I\\nam for I know now your hair isn t red\\nBABY S SOLILOQUY.\\nThe following selection can be made very humorous if the\\nperson reading it assumes the tones of a very little child, and in\\nappropriate places imitates the cry of a baby.\\nI am here. And if this is what they call\\nthe world, I don t think much of it.\\nIt s a very flannelly world, and smells\\nof paregoric awfully. It s a dreadful light\\nworld, too. and makes me blink, I tell you.\\nAnd I don t know what to do with\\nmy hands. I think I ll dig my fists\\nin my eyes. No, I won t. I ll scratch\\nat the corner of my blanket and chew it up,\\nand then I ll holler whatever happens, I ll\\nholler. And the more paregoric they give\\nme, the louder I ll yell. That old nurse\\nputs the spoon in the corner of my mouth,\\nsidewise like, and keeps tasting my milk\\nherself all the while. She spilt snuff in it\\nlast night, and when I hollered, she trotted\\nme. That comes of being a two days- old\\nbaby.\\nNever mind when I m a man, I ll pay\\nher back good. There s a pin sticking in\\nme now, and if I say a word about it, I ll\\nbe trotted or fed and I would rather have\\ncatnip-tea. I ll tell you who I am. I\\nfound out to-day. I heard folks say,\\nHush don t wake up Kmeline s baby\\nand I suppose that pretty, white-faced\\nwoman over on the pillow is Kmeline.\\nNo, I was mistaken for a chap was in\\nhere just now and wanted to see Bob s\\nbaby and looked at me and said I was a\\nfunny little toad, and looked just like Bob.\\nHe smelt of cigars. I wonder who else I\\nbelong to Yes, there s another one\\nthat Gamma. It was Gamma s baby,\\nso it was. I declare, I do not know who\\nI belong to but I ll holler, and maybe I ll\\nfind out, There comes snuffy with catnip-\\ntea. I m going to sleep. I wonder why\\nmy hands won t go where I want them to", "height": "4384", "width": "3248", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0223.jp2"}, "224": {"fulltext": "228\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nA YANKEE IN LOVE.\\nA very funny farce. A good comedian has excellent oppor-\\ntunity to show his ability in this selection.\\nONE day Sail fooled me she heated the\\npoker awful hot, then asked me to\\nstir the fire. I seized hold of it\\nmighty quick to oblige her, and dropped it\\nquicker to oblige myself. Well, after the\\npoker scrape, me and Sail only got on mid-\\ndiin well for some time, till I made up my\\nmind to pop the question, for I loved her\\nharder every day, and I had an idea she\\nloved me or had a sneaking kindness for\\nme. But how to do the thing up nice and\\nright pestered me orful I bought some love\\nbooks, and read how the fellers get down\\nonter their knees and talk like poets, and\\nhow the girls would gently -like fall in love\\nwith them. But somehow or other that\\nway didn t kinder suit my notion. I asked\\nmam how she and dad courted, but she said\\nit had had been so long she had forgotten all\\nabout it. Uncle Joe said mam did all the\\ncourting.\\nAt last I made up my mind to go it\\nblind, for this thing was fairly consumin\\nmy mind so I goes over to her dad s, and\\nwhen I got there I sot like a fool, thinkin\\nhow to begin. Sail seed somethin was\\ntroublin me, so she said, says she, An t\\nyou sick, Peter? She said this mighty\\nsoft-like. Yes; No! sez I; that is,\\nI an t zackly well. I thought I d come\\nover to-night, sez I. I tho t that was a\\nmighty purty beginnin so I tried again.\\nSail, sez I and by this time I felt kinder\\nfainty about the stommuck and shaky about\\nthe knees Sail, sezlagin. What?\\nsez she. I ll get to it arter awhile at this\\nrate, thinks I. Peter, says she, there s\\nsuthin troublin you; tis mighty wrong\\nfor you to keep it from a body, for an inard\\nsorrer is a consumin fire. She said this,\\nshe did, the sly critter. She knowed what\\nwas the matter all the time mighty well,\\nand was only trying to fish it out, but I was\\nso far gone I couldn t see the point.\\nAt last I sorter gulped down the big\\nlump a-risin in my throat, and sez I, sez I,\\nSail do you love anybody Well,\\nsez she, there s dad and mam, and\\na-countin of her fingers all the time, with\\nher eyes sorter shet like a feller shootin off\\na gun, and there s old Pide (that were their\\nold cow), and I can t think of anybody else\\njust now, says she. Now, this was orful\\nfor a feller dead in love so arter awhile I\\ntried another shute. Sez I, Sail, sez I,\\nI m powerful lonesome at home, and\\nsometimes think if I only had a nice, pretty\\nwife to love and talk to, move, and have my\\nbein with, I d be a tremendous feller.\\nSez I, Sail, do you know any gal would\\nkeer for me?\\nWith that she begins, and names over all\\nthe gals for five miles around, and never\\nonce came nigh naming herself, and sed I\\noughter get one of them. This sorter got\\nmy dander up, so I hitched my chair up,\\nclose to her, and shet my eyes and sed,\\nSALIy, you are the very gal I ve been\\nhankering arter for a long time. I love\\nyou all over, from the sole of your head to\\nthe crown of your foot, and I don t care\\nwho knows it, and if you say so we ll\\nbe jined together in the holy bonds of hem-\\nlock, Kpluribusunum, world without end,\\namen sez I and then I felt like I d\\nthro wed up an alligator; I felt so relieved.\\nWith that she fetched a sorter a scream,\\nand arter awhile sez, sez she, PETER\\nWhat, Sally? sez I. YES sez she,\\na-hidin of her face behind her hands. You\\nbet a heap, I felt good. Glory glory\\nsez I, I must holler, Sail, or I shall bust.\\nHurrah for hoorray I can jump over a ten-\\nrail fence\\nWith that I sot right down by her and\\nclinched the bargain with a kiss. Talk\\nabout your blackberry jam talk about your\\nsugar andmerlasses you wouldn t a got me\\nnigh em they would all a-been sour arter\\nthat. Oh, these gals how good and bad,\\nhow high and low they make a feller feel\\nIf Sail s daddy hadn t sung out twas time\\nall honest folks was abed, I d a-sot there\\ntwo hours longer.\\nYou oughter seed me when I got home\\nI pulled dad out of bed and hugged him\\nI pulled mam out of bed and hugged her\\nI pulled aunt Jane out of bed and hugged\\nher I larfed and hollered and crowed like\\na rooster, I danced around there, and I cut\\nup more capers than you ever heerd tell on,\\ntill dad thought I was crazy, and got a rope\\nto tie me with.", "height": "4388", "width": "3364", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0224.jp2"}, "225": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n229\\nDad, sez I, I m goin to be mar-\\nried Married bawled dad. Mar-\\nried squalled mam. Married!\\nscreamed aunt Jane. Yes, married, sez\\nI; married all over, married for sure,\\nmarried like a flash joined in wedlock,\\nhooked on forlife, forworser or for better, for\\nlife and for death to SAivL. I am that\\nvery thing me! Peter Sorghum Esquire\\nWith that I ups and tells em all about it\\nfrom Alfer to Krmeger They was all\\nmighty well pleased, and I went to bed as\\nproud as a young rooster with his first spurs.\\nAi,f Burnett.\\nMISS JANUARY JONES LECTURE ON\\nWOriAN S RIGHTS.\\nA farce character. Young man dressed up as a\\ncolored woman.\\nLadies and gentlemen Hear me for my\\ncause, and be silent that I may have\\nyour years. I come to speak for my\\nsufferin sisters.\\nMan, my hearers, claims to be the sooper-\\nior uv woman Is it so and ef so, in what,\\nand how much Wuz he the fust creashun?\\nHe wuz, my hearers but what does that\\nprove Man wuz made fust, but the exper-\\nience gained in makin man wuz applied to\\nthe makin uv a Detterer and more finerer\\nbein uv whom I am a sample. Nacher\\nmade man, but saw in a breef space uv time\\nthet he coodent take keer of hisself alone,\\nand so he made a woman to take keer uv\\nhim, and thet s why we wuz created, tho\\nseein all the trubble we hev, I don t doubt\\nthet it wood hev bin money in our pockets\\nef we hedn t bin med at all.\\nImagine, my antiquated sisters, Adam,\\nafore Eve was med Who sowed on his\\nshirt buttins Who cooked his beef-steak\\nWho med his coffee in the mornin and did\\nhis washin He wuz mizzable, he wuz\\nhe must hev boarded out, and eat hash\\nBut when Eve cum, the scene changed.\\nHer gentle hand suthed his akin brow wen\\nhe cum in from a hard day s work. She\\nhed his house in order she hed his slippers\\nand dressin gown reddy, and after tea he\\nsmookedhis meershaum in peece.\\nMen, crooel, hard-hearted men, assert\\nthet Eve wuz the cause uv his expulshun\\nfrom Eden thet she plucked the apple ana\\ngive him half; oh, my sisters, it s troo it s\\ntoo troo, but what uv it It proves, fustly,\\nher goodness, Hed Adam plucked the\\napple, ef it hed bin a good one, he d never\\nthought of his wife at home, but wood hev\\ngobbled it all. Eve, angel that we all are,\\nthought uv him, and went havers with him\\nSecondly, it wuz the meens uv good, any-\\nhow. It interdoost deth inter the wurld,\\nwhich separated em wile they \u00c2\u00a9-till hed luv\\nfur each uther. I appeal to the sterner sex\\npresent to-night, Wood 3^00, oh, wood yoo,\\ndesire for immortality, onless, indede, you\\nlived in Injeany, where you cood git di-\\nvorces, and change your names wunst in\\nten or fifteen yeers S pos n all uv yoo hed\\nbin fortoonit enuff to win sich virgin soles\\nez me, cood yoo endoor charms like mine\\nfor a eternity Methinks not. I know\\nthat ef I hed a husband he wood bless Eve\\nfor interdoosin death inter the world.\\nCHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS.\\nItalian dialect.\\nDKESA man liva in Italia a gooda longa\\ntime ago. He hada greata head ever\\nsince he was a kidda. Not a bigga\\nheada likea de politicians nowaday not a\\nswella heada. His fadda keepa de standa\\nin Italia. Sella de peanutta and de banan.\\nMaka plente de mon. Christopher Colum\\nhe say, Fadda, gimma de stamp, I go finda\\nde new world. His fadda he laugh, Ha\\nha just so. Den Christopher he say,\\nWhata you maka fun I betta you I finda\\nnew world. After a longa time his fadda\\nsay, You go finda new world, and bringa\\nit over here. Den de olda man he buy him\\na grip-sack, an giva him boodle, an maka\\nhim a present of three ships to come over to\\ndeesa contra. Well, Christopher Colum he\\nsaila an saila for a gooda many day. He\\ndon t see any landa. An he say, I giva\\nfiva dollar bill if I was back in Italia\\nWell, he saila, an he saila, an vera soon he\\nstrika Coney Island. Den dat maka him\\nglad Vera soon he coma to Castle Garden,\\nan den he walka up Broadway an he feel\\nvery bada. He finda outa dat de Irish gang\\nhas gotta possession of New Yorka He\\ndon t likade Irish, an de Shamrocka donta\\n14", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0225.jp2"}, "226": {"fulltext": "230\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nlika him. He donta go vera far before a\\npleasanter mana speaks to him. He say,\\nHow-a-you do, Mista Jones? Howa de\\nfolks in Pittabrrrg Christopher Colum he\\nsay, I notta Mista Jones; I reada the\\npapers I tinka you sella de green goods,\\nha You go away, or I broka your jaw\\nDen he shaka hees fista deesa way, and de\\nman he skedaddle. Den he tries to crossa\\nde Broad-a-way, but it fulla de mud an he\\ncanta swim. Vera soon he sees a policeman\\ncluba de mana, one, two, three times, an he\\nfeel secka de stom Next he metta de\\npoliticians uppa Tammany Hall, an dees\\nwanta him to runna for Alderman. He\\ngetta plenty friend. He learna to settom\\nop at de bar mana time. Next day he\\nhava heada like deesa\\nHis fada w r rita Why you notta bringa\\nback de new world I lika to hava de\\nearth Chistopher Colum he writa back\\ndat New Yorka is already in de hands of the\\nShamrocka. Den he goes to Ohio and buys\\na place an calla it after himself Colum.\\nSoon he goa broka an taka de nexta train\\nhome in disgusta, because he reada in de\\npaper dat the Fair in 93 was holda in\\nChicago\\nA GIRL S CONVERSATION OVER THE\\nTELEPHONE.\\nA catchy piece of humor in any audience accus-\\ntomed to the use of the telephone.\\nI consider that a conversation by tele-\\nphone when you are simply sitting by\\nand not taking any part in that con-\\nversation is one of the solemnest curios-\\nities of this modern life.\\nYesterday I was writing a deep article\\non a sublime philosophical subject while\\nsuch a conversation was going on in the\\nnext room. I notice that one can always\\nwrite best when somebody is talking\\nthrough a telephone close by. Well, the\\nthing began in this wa3 A member of\\nour household came in and asked me to\\nhave our house put into communication\\nwith Mr. Bagley s down town. I have\\nobserved, in many cities, that the gentle\\nsex always shrink from calling up the\\nCentral Office themselves. I don t know\\nwhy, but they do. So I rang the bell,\\nand this talk ensued\\nCentral office What-number-do-you\\nwant\\nI.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Main 24-68.\\nC. O. Main 2-4-6-3\\nI.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 No, 2-4-6-8.\\nThen I heard a k-look, k-look, k-look\\nklook-klook-klook-look-look Then a hor-\\nrible gritting of teeth, and finally a\\npiping voice\\nHello (rising inflection)\\nI. Hello, is this Mr. Bagley s?\\nYes, did you wish to speak to me\\nWithout answering, I handed the re-\\nceiver to the applicant, and sat down.\\nThen followed the queerest of all things\\nin the world a conversation with only\\none end to it. You hear questions asked\\nyou don t hear the answer. You hear invi-\\ntations given you hear no thanks in return.\\nYou have listening pauses of dead silence,\\nfollowed by apparently irrelevant and\\nunjustifiable exclamations of glad surprise,\\nor sorrow or dismay. You can t make\\nhead or tail out of the talk, because you\\nnever hear anything that the person at the\\nother end of the wire says. Well, I heard\\nthe following series of remarkable observa-\\ntions, all from the one tongue, and all\\nshouted, for you can t ever persuade the\\ngentle sex to speak gently into a telephone:\\n{Goes to imaginary telephone and holds hand\\nto ear as if holding the receiver?)\\nHello, is that you, Daisy {Pause.)\\nYes. Why, how did that happen!\\n{Pause.)\\nWhat did you say {Pause.)\\nOh, no, I don t think it was. {Pause.)\\nNo! Oh, no, I didn t mean that. I\\ndid think of getting it, but I don t believe it\\nwill stay in style, and what and Charlie\\njust hates that shade of blue, anyway.\\n{Pause.)\\nWhat s that?\\nYou wouldn t let him dictate to you, at\\nleast before you were married {Pause.)\\nWhy, my dear, how childish! You\\ndon t suppose I d let him afterwards, do\\nyou? {Pause.)\\nI turned it over with a back-stitch on\\nthe selvage edge, {Pause.)\\nYes, I like that way, too but I think", "height": "4388", "width": "3456", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0226.jp2"}, "227": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n231\\nit better to baste it on with Valenciennes, or\\nsomething of that kind. It gives such an\\nair. (Pause.)\\nYes, you know he did pay some atten-\\ntion to Celia (Pause\\nWhy, she threw herself right at his\\nhead. (Pause.)\\nAnd he told me he always admired\\nme. (Pause.)\\nWell, he said it seemed as if he never\\ncould get anybody to introduce him.\\n(Pause.)\\nPerhaps so I generally use a hairpin.\\nWhat did you say (Aside) Chil-\\ndren, do be quiet (Pause.)\\nOh B flat Dear me, I thought you\\nsaid it was the cat (Pause.)\\nSince when (Pause.\\nWhy, I never heard of it. (Pause.)\\nYou astound me It seems utterly\\nimpossible! (Pause.)\\nWho did? (Pause.)\\nGoodness gracious (Pause.)\\nWell, what is the world coming to!\\nWas it right in church (Pause.)\\nAnd was her mother there (Pause.)\\nWhy, Daisy, I should have died of\\nhumiliation What did they do (Long\\nPause.\\nI can t be perfectly sure, because I\\nhaven t the notes by me but I think it\\ngoes something like this To-tolly-loll-\\nloll-lee-ly-li-i-do And then repeat, you\\nknow. (Pause.)\\nYes, I think it is very sweet and very\\nsolemn and impressive, if you get the an-\\ndantino and the pianissimo right. (Pause.)\\n1 Did he really say that (Pause.)\\nYes, I do care for him what? but\\nmind you don t tell him, I don t want him\\nto know it. (Pause.)\\nWhat? Pause.)\\nOh, not in the least go right on.\\nPapa s here, writing, it doesn t bother\\nhim. (Pause.)\\nVery well I 11 come if I can (Aside)\\nDear me, papa, how it does tire a person s\\narm to hold this thing up so long I wish\\nshe d (Pause.)\\nOh, no, not at all I like to talk\u00e2\u0080\u0094 but\\nI m afraid I m keeping you from your\\naffairs. (Pause.)\\nVisitors? (Pause.)\\nNo, we never use butter on them.\\n(Pause.\\nYes, that is a very good way but all\\nthe cook-books say they are very unhealthy\\nwhen they are out of season. And papa\\ndoesn t like them, anyway, especially\\ncanned. (Pause.)\\nYes, I m going to the concert with him\\nto-night. (Pause.)\\nEngaged why, certainly not. (Pause.\\nYou know, dear, you d be the very first\\none I d tell. (Pause.)\\nNo, we really are not engaged.\\n(Pause.)\\nMust you go? Well, good-bye.\\n(Pause.)\\nYes, I think so. Good-bye. (Pause.)\\nFour o clock then I 11 be ready Can\\nCharlie meet us then (Pause.)\\nOh, that s good. Good-bye. (Pause.)\\nThank you ever so much. Good-bye.\\n(Pause.)\\nOh, not at all Just as fresh which\\nOh, I m glad to hear that. Good-bye.\\n(Hangs up the receiver and says Oh,\\nit does tire a person s arm so. (Stepping\\nagain to center of stage)\\nA man delivers a single brutal good-\\nbj^e, and that is the end of it. Not so with\\nthe gentle sex I say it in their praise, they\\ncannot abide abruptness.\\nA SERMON FOR THE SISTERS.\\nNegro Dialect.\\nINEBBKR breaks a colt afore he s old\\nenough to trabble\\nI nebber digs my taters till dey plenty\\nbig to grabble\\nAn when you sees me risin up to structify\\nin meetin\\nI s fust dumb up de knowledge- tree and\\ndone some apple-eatin\\nI sees some sistahs pruzint, mighty proud\\no whut dey wearin\\nIt s well you isn t apples, now, you better\\nbe declarin\\nFor when you heerd yo markit-price tYi\\nhurt yo little feelin s\\nYou wouldn t fotch a dime a peck, for all\\nyo fancy peelin s.", "height": "4388", "width": "3244", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0227.jp2"}, "228": {"fulltext": "232\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nsistahs leetle apples (for you re r ally\\nmighty like em)\\n1 lubs de ol -time russets, dough it s suldom\\nI kin strike em\\nAn so I lubs you, sistahs, for yo grace,\\nan not yo graces\\nI don t keer how my apple looks, but on y\\nhow it tas es.\\nIs dare a Sabbaf-scholah heah Den let\\nhim form his mudder\\nHow Jacob-in-de-Bible s boys played off\\nupon dey brudder\\nDey sol him to a trader an at las he\\nstruck de prison\\nDat corned of Joseph s struttin in dat\\nstreaked coat ob his n.\\nMy Christian fren s, dis story proobes dat\\neben men is human\\nHe d had a dozen fancy coats ef he d a\\nbin a ooman\\nDe cussidness ob showin off, he foun out\\nall about it\\nAn yit he wuz a Christian man, as good as\\nebber shouted.\\nIt larned him An I bet you when he\\ncome to git his riches,\\nDey didn t go for stylish coats nor Phila-\\ndelphy breeches\\nHe didn t was e his money when experunce\\ntaught him better,\\nBut he went aroun a-lookin like he s\\nwaitin for a letter\\nNow, sistahs, won t you copy him Say,\\nwon t you take a lesson,\\nAn min dis solium wahnin bout de sin\\nob fancy dressin\\nHow much you spen upon yo se f I wish\\nyou might remember\\nYo preacher ain t bin paid a cent sence\\nsomewhar in November.\\nI better close. I sees some gals dis\\nsahmon s kinder hittin\\nA-whisperin an sturbin all dat s near\\nwhar dey s a-sittin\\nTo look at dem, an lis en at dey onrespect-\\nful jabber,\\nIt turns de milk ob human kineness mighty\\nnigh to clabber\\nA-a-a-men\\nIrwin Russeee.\\nMARK TWAIN INTRODUCES HIMSELF.\\nLadies and gentlemen By the re-\\nquest of the chairman of the com-\\nmittee I beg leave to intro duce\\nto you the reader of the eve ning a\\ngentleman whose great learning whose\\nhistorical accuracy whose devotion to sci-\\nence and whose veneration for the truth\\nare only equalled by his high moral char-\\nacter his majestic presence. I allude\\nin these vague general terms to myself.\\nI am a litte opposed to the custom of cere-\\nmoniously introducing a reader to the\\naudience because it seems unnecessary\\nwhere the man has been properly adver-\\ntised\\nBut as it is the custom to have an intro-\\nduction I prefer to do the act myself in\\nmy own case and then I can rely on\\ngetting in all the facts\\nI never had but one introduction that\\nseemed to me just the thing. In that\\ninstance the gentleman was not acquainted\\nwith me and there was, consequently, no\\nnonsence.\\nLadies and gentlemen, I shall waste no\\ntime in this introduction. I know of only\\ntwo important facts about the man I am\\nintroducing First he has never been in a\\nstate prison and, second I cant imagine\\nwhy\\nBILL NYE ON HORNETS.\\nLAST fall I desired to add to my rare col-\\nlection a large hornet s nest. I had\\nan embalmed tarantula an her por-\\ncelain-lined nest, and I desired to add to\\nthese the gray and airy house of the hornet.\\nI procured one of the large size, after cold\\nweather, and hung it in my cabinet by a\\nstring. I forgot about it until spring.\\nWhen warm weather came, something re-\\nminded me of it I think it was a hornet.\\nHe jogged my memory in some way, and\\ncalled my attention to it. Memory is not\\nlocated where I thought it was. It seemed\\nas though whenever he touched me he\\nawakened a memory, a warm memory,\\nwith a red place all around it.\\nThen some more hornets came, and began\\nto rake up old personalities I remember\\nthat one of them lit on my upper lip.", "height": "4388", "width": "3380", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0228.jp2"}, "229": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n233\\nHe thought it was a rosebud, When he\\nwent away it looked like a gladiolus bulb.\\nI wrapped a wet sheet around it to take out\\nthe warmth and reduce the swelling, so\\nthat I could go through the folding-doors,\\nand tell my wife about it. Hornets lit all\\nover me, and walked around on my person.\\nI did not dare to scrape them off, because\\nthey were so sensitive. You have to be\\nvery guarded in your conduct toward a\\nhornet.\\nI remember once while I was watching\\nthe busy little hornet gathering honey and\\nJune bugs from the bosom of a rose, years\\nago, I stirred him up with a club, more as\\na practical joke than anything, and he came\\nand lit in my sunny hair that was when\\nI wore my own hair and he walked around\\nthrough my gleaming tresses quite a while,\\nmaking tracks as large as a watermelon all\\nover my head. If he hadn t run out of\\ntracks my head would have looked like a\\nload of summer squashes. I remember I\\nhad to thump my head against the smoke\\nhouse in order to smash him and I had to\\ncomb him out with a fine comb, and wear\\na waste-paper basket two weeks for a hat.\\nMuch has been said of the hornet but he\\nhas an odd, quaint way after all, that is for-\\never new.\\nK. W. Nye.\\nTERRY O MILLIGAN, THE IRISH PHILOSQ=\\nPHER.\\nVery amusing when recited by a professionally dressed gen-\\ntleman who can imitate correctly the Irish brogue.\\nLADIES and gentlemen I see so many\\nfoine lookin people sittin before me,\\nthat if you ll excuse me I ll be after\\ntakin a seat meself. You don t know me,\\nI m thinkin as some of yees ud be noddin\\nto me afore this. I m a walkin pedestrian,\\na traveling philosopher. Terry O Milli-\\ngan s me name. I m from Dublin, where\\nmany philosophers before me was raised\\nand bred. Oh, philosophy is a foine study\\nI don t know anything about it, but it s a\\nfoine study Before I kim over I attended\\nan important meetin of philosophers in\\nDublin, and the discussin and talkin\\nyou d hear there about the world ud warm\\nthe very heart of Socrates or Aristotle\\nhimself. Well, there was a great many\\nimminent and learned min there at the\\nmeetin and I was there too, and while we\\nwas in the very thickest of a heated argu-\\nment, one comes up to me and says he\\nDo you know what we re talkin about\\nI do, says I, but I don t understand\\nyees.\\nCould ye explain the sun s motion\\naround the earth? says he. I could,\\nsays I, but I d not know could you\\nunderstand or not. Well, says he,\\nwe ll see, says he. Sure n I didn t\\nknow anything how to get out of it then,\\nso I piled in, for, says I, to myself,\\nnever let on to any one that you don t\\nknow anything, but make them believe that\\nyou do know all about it. So I says to\\nhim, takin up me shillalah this way (hold-\\ning a very crooked stick perpendicular),\\nWe ll take that for the straight line of\\nthe earth s equator how s that for gohog-\\nraphy? (to the audience). Ah, that was\\nstraight till the other day I bent it in an\\nargument. Wery good, says he.\\nWell, says I, now the sun rises in the\\neast (placing the disengaged hand at the\\neast end of the stick). Well, he couldn t\\ndeny that. And when he gets up he\\nDarts his rosy beams\\nThrough the morning gleams.\\nDo you moind the poetry there (to the\\naudience, with a smile). And he keeps\\non risin and risin till he reaches his\\nmeriden. What s that? says he.\\nHis dinner-tonne, says I sure that s\\nmy L,atin for dinner- toime, and when he\\ngets his dinner\\nHe sinks to rest\\nBehind the glorious hills of the West.\\nOh, begorra, there s more poetry! I fail it\\ncreepin out all over me. There, says\\nI, well satisfied with myself; will that do\\nfor ye You haven t got done with him\\nyet, says he. Done with him, says I,\\nkinder mad-like, what more do you want\\nme to do with him? Didn t I bring him\\nfrom the east to the west What more do\\nyou want? Oh, says he, you ll\\nhave to bring him back again to the east to\\nrise next mornin\\nBy Saint Patrick! and wasn t I near\\nbetrayin me ignorance Sure n I thought\\nthere was a large family of suns, and they", "height": "4368", "width": "3136", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0229.jp2"}, "230": {"fulltext": "234\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nrise one after the other. But I gathered\\nmeself quick, and, says I to him, Well,\\nsays I, I m surprised you axed me that\\nsimple question. I thought any man ud\\nknow, says I, when the sun sinks to\\nrest in the west when the sun says I.\\nYou said that before, says he. Well,\\nI want to press it stronger upon you, says\\nI. When the sun sinks to rest in the\\neast no, west why, he why, he waits\\ntill it grows dark, and then he goes back in\\nthe noight toime\\nTHE PHOTOGRAPH ALBUM.\\nA character sketch, given with best effect when in costume,\\nan album being held in the hand and the leaves turned as the\\npiece progresses.\\nGood- afternoon, Miss Robbins. Come\\nto see the funer l pass, I s pose. It s\\nbeen very lively in town these two\\nweeks you ve been away there s been five\\nfuner ls and three vandues, and two small-\\npox cases. I must remember and tell you\\nall the partickelers. In the fust place, Sam\\nTunison and his wife s separated, for they\\ndidn t walk together at his mother s funer l\\nand that s always a sure sign. And Billy\\nPeters wife was glad when the poor old\\nsoul died, for she didn t take it hard at all,\\ndidn t cry or go on a bit, as far as I could\\nsee. And Zekiel Acker rode in the fust\\ncarriage along with the minister, and his\\nwife s folks in the second carriage. It don t\\nseem to me that that was the proper thing\\nto do.\\nWill you look at the paper, Miss Rob-\\nbins It ain t much good I guess I ll stop\\nit. Ain t never hardly any deaths in any\\nmore, nor no family troubles. Don t care\\nfor the paper, eh Well, here s the phothy-\\ngraph album. There s father and mother\\nbeats all how old-fashioned pictures do git\\nto look in a few short years. And there s\\nour old minister sich excellent doctrinal\\nsermons as he used to preach and then to\\nthink he d go and leave us and go all the\\nway to Spring Hook, Nebrasky, jist for a\\nraise of a hundred and fifty a year on to his\\nsalary What a savin woman his wife\\nused to be and she had to be, to be sure\\nsich an everlastin family of children as\\nthey did have There, that s the woman\\nwhat was hung for killin five husbands\\ntwo of em she pizened and two she choked\\nand one she killed with the gridiron when she\\nwas fryin flapj acks I had to pay fifty cents\\nfor that picter; thought I must mave it.\\nThere s Will m Henery s half-sister s son s\\nlittle boy jist got on pants and feels very\\nbig, of course. There, that s me when I\\nwas fust married Jemimy Day s step-\\ndaughter, she had the imperdence to say it\\nflattered me she was as homely as a brush-\\nfence. There, that s the man I was a tellin\\nyou of the man Sal Simpson led such a\\nlife, finally left him, and, without even so\\nmuch as a divorce, went and married his\\nsecond cousin s wife s half-brother, all the\\nworse for bein in the family. There s the\\nSiamese Twins, and there s Tom Thumb\\nand his wife. And there s Abe Linkum,\\nand there s the fat woman cost me twenty-\\nfive cents to see that onct in York. There,\\nthat s that poor Miss Smith what died with\\nsich a terrible cancer how thankful we had\\nall ought to be that we ain t got no cancers\\nSich a operation as she had to go through\\nwith cost six hundred dollars, and then\\nwarn t no good after all. I d a demanded\\nthe money back if I d a been Sam but for\\nthat matter, like as not he was glad she\\ndied, went and married that young thing I\\nwas a tellin you of before she was cold.\\nA high time she ll have with them step-\\nchildren of hern Poor Miss Smith it s\\nlikely though she s better off, though they\\ndo say she was most awful mean about givin\\nto missions in Chiny thought the heathen\\nwarn t accountable as long as they hadn t\\nheard nothin Amazin queer what no-\\ntions some people gits into their heads these\\ndays And here s poor Mariar Matilda\\nJinkins beats all what amazin fine pump-\\nkinpies she used to make She was\\nalways a goin to give me her receipt. Poor\\nthing now she s gone There, that s the\\nlast. What a satisfaction and comfort al-\\nbums are, to be sure\\nElvIvA Bevier.\\nZEB WHITE S UNLUCKY ARGUMENT.\\nA Backwood s Character Sketch,\\ni i /^\\\\ne mawning at the breakfast table,\\n\\\\^J said the old possum hunter as I\\nasked him for a yarn, me ancl", "height": "4388", "width": "3304", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0230.jp2"}, "231": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n235\\nthe old woman got into a jaw bout coons.\\nI held to it that all coons orter hev bin bob-\\ntailed, an she contended that the I^awd\\nmade em as he wanted em an did a good\\njob. We wasn t mad at fust, but the mo we\\ntalked the meaner we felt, an bimeby\\nwe got downright ugly. It was Sunday\\nmawnin an we was goin off to preachin\\nthat day, but when I got my mad up I\\nsaid\\nAs long as I m fur bob tailed coons an\\nthe L,awd didn t make em that way it ain t\\nno use fur me to hear preachin I ll stay\\nhome, and yo kin go alone.\\nI reckoned that would cool her off a\\nbit, but it didn t. She chawed away at her\\nbacon fur awhile an then said\\nZeb White, thar s bound to be a calam-\\nity around this cabin. Can t nobody find\\nfault the way yo do without sun thin hap-\\npenin I m goin J right along to preachin\\nan if yo want to fly in the face of Provi-\\ndence yo must take the consequences.\\nI m contendin fur bob tailed coons,\\nsaid I. If all coons was bobtailed, they d\\nlook a heap purtier an git along a heap\\nbetter.\\nBut how kin they be when it s all\\nfixed\\nDunno, but I m contendin\\nThen yo keep on contendin and see\\nhow yo ll come out. Thar s bobtailed var-\\nmints in the mountings, and mebbe yo ll\\ngit nuff of them befo yo git through\\nabusin Providence.\\nIf she d coaxed me a bit, I d hey gone\\nwith her, explained Zeb, but she d said\\nall she meant to. When she got ready, she\\nstarted off through the woods an never\\neven looked at me. My rifle was out of\\norder, an my old dawg had ran away, an so\\nI couldn t go strollin through the woods.\\nI sot down on the doahstep an smoked a\\npipe or two, an as it was a warm day I\\nbegun to feel sleepy.\\nI went over and stumbled on to the\\nbed, an it wasn t five minits befo I was\\nsound asleep. The doah was left wide open,\\nan bout the last thing I heard befo I drap-\\nped off was the old mewl brayin in the\\nstable. I d been asleep an hour when sum-\\nthin crowded me over ag in the wall, and I\\nwoke up. I opened my eyes to find a big\\nb ar on the bed with me. He d found the\\ndoah open an walked in, an seein me\\nasleep, he sot out to hev some fun. He\\ndidn t see me open my eyes, an I took keer\\nto shet em ag in arter one look.\\nBefo the Lawd but I was skeered I\\nfelt de cold chills creepin up an down my\\nback, an the sweat busted out on me as if\\nI was choppin at a big tree.\\nI had found fault with the L,awd fur not\\nmaking bobtailed coons, continued the old\\nman as he refilled his pipe, an a bobtailed\\nb ar had been sent in revenge. It wasn t\\nno use to think of jumpin up or fightin\\nhim. He had all the advantage, an if I\\nmade him mad he d finish me up in a minit.\\nMy game was to play possum on him, but\\nI hope I shall never hev sich another two\\nhours while I live.\\nThat b ar wanted a good time. He was\\nfeelin good natured, and he jest tried all\\nsorts of circus tricks with me. He d roll\\nme over ag in the wall with a bang, an\\nthen arter a chuckle he d roll me back with\\na flop. He didn t bite at all, but every time\\nhe put his claws on to me they went through\\nthe cloth. I believe that varmint turned\\nme over fifty times befo he got a little tired\\nof it.\\nI was playin dead all the time an\\ndidn t know what minit he d git mad an\\nset out to finish me. He finally got thirsty\\nan jumped off the bed an went to the\\nwater pail on the bench an lapped away\\nfur ten minits. I had my eyes open all the\\ntime an was anxious to git away, But I\\nwas afeared of him. I couldn t fight him\\nbarehanded an stand any show.\\nI jest laid thar till the varmint had\\nquenched his thirst an looked around, an\\nthen he come back ag in. The circus was\\nonly half over.\\nHe was so rough at times that I almost\\nyelled out with the pain, an between the\\nclawin an the skeer I wasn t much bet-\\nter than a dead man. The mewl smelt\\nof b ar an kept up a tremendous brayin\\nan the old woman heard the noise when she\\nwas yit a mile away. Bimeby, when the\\nvarmint had had a show with the price of\\nadmission, he settled down for a rest.\\nI was then lyin with my face to the\\nwall, an he planted all four feet ag in my", "height": "4384", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0231.jp2"}, "232": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nback an kept up a sort of purrin He had\\nme crowded ag in the cabin logs till I could\\nhardly breathe, an I had made up my mind\\nthat I d never tree another coon when the\\nold woman got back from preachin\\nThe old mewl was kickin an bray in\\nan she seen the tracks of the b ar leadin\\ninto the cabin. She stood in the doah an\\ngot sight of the varmint on the bed, an\\nshe did a thing which no man on these\\nyere Cumberland mountings would hev\\nattempted.\\nThar was no gun at hand to shoot with,\\nan her only show was to take that b ar by\\nsurprise. That s what she did. She tip-\\ntoed up to the bed an fastened her fingers\\nin his fur, an though he was a hefty load,\\nshe carried him to the doah and dumped\\nhim out. I never knowed she was home till\\nshe pulled the b ar away. As I riz up the\\nastonished varmint was makin fur the\\nwoods, while the old woman hadn t even\\nturned pale.\\nWas was it a b ar I asked as she\\ntook off her sunbonnet an began to clatter\\nthe stove.\\nOf co se, she keerlessly replied.\\nAn what did yo do with him\\nJest dumped him outdoahs. Pears to\\nme yo ve bin hevin heaps of fun. Most of\\nyo r clothes hev bin clawed off, the bed-\\nquilts chawed to rags, an yo ar blood\\nfrom head to heel. Mebbe yo was learnin\\nthat b ar a lot of tricks\\nI tried to git out of bed to hug her an\\npraise her spunk, explained Zeb to me,\\nbut I was so weak that I fell down She\\nnever let on to mind me, an I had to help\\nmyself up. Bimeby I got over to a cheer\\nan dropped into it an asked\\nDid yo find the preachin an was it\\ngood\\nPowerful good, she answerd, but it\\nwasn t bout coons or b ars. Anything\\nwan tin of me befo I puts the kittle on\\n1 I m wantin yo to help me doctor\\nup bout fo hundred scratches, an I m also\\nwantin to be forgiven for my remarks bout\\ncoons.\\nHow is it, Zeb? she said, as she\\nturned on me. When de Lawd dun put a\\nlong tail on a coon, was it fur the likes of\\npore human critters to kick about it\\nReckon not not skassly.\\nAn how bout b ars Mebbe yo find\\nfault bekase the Lawd made em bob-\\ntailed\\nI haven t a word to say a gin it.\\nJest goin 1 to let the long tails an the\\nbobtails ramble around as the I^awd made\\nem to ramble?\\nThat s it.\\nAn goin to hear preachin when thar\\nis preachin at the skulehouse\\nFur suah.\\nThen I ll warm up some coon s fat an\\ngrease your hurts, and yo jest let this be a\\npowerful warnin to yo not to find any mo\\nfault with the Lawd s way of doin things. It\\nwas fur Him to put long tails on coons an\\nfoxes, an bobtails on b ars an wildcats,\\nan yo jest keep yo r gab still bout it an\\nreckon to consider that it was all fur the\\nbest. Philadelphia Press.\\nTHE INTERVIEWER.\\nHumerous reading. May be used as a dialogue\\nby two properly dressed characters.\\nThe nervous, dapper, peart young\\nman took the chair I offered him, and\\nsaid he was connected with the Daily\\nThunderstorm, and added\\nHoping it s no harm, I ve come to in-\\nterview you.\\nCome to what?\\nInterview you.\\nAh! I see. Yes yes. Um Yes\\nyes.\\nI was not feeling well that morning. In-\\ndeed, my powers seemed a bit under a cloud.\\nHowever, I went to the bookcase, and, when\\nI had been looking six or seven minutes,\\nfound I was obliged to refer to the young\\nman. I said (If used as dialogue this\\npart should be acted, not spoken, and the\\nnext question asked after an examination of\\nthe dictionary.)\\nHow do you spell it\\nSpell what?\\nInterview.\\nOh, my goodness What do you want\\nto spell it for?\\nI don t want to spell it, I want to see\\nwhat it means, 5", "height": "4388", "width": "3312", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0232.jp2"}, "233": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n237\\nWell, this is astonishing, I must say.\\ncan tell you what it means, if you if\\nyou\\nOh, all right That will answer, and\\nmuch obliged to you, too.\\nIn, in, ter, ter inter\\nThen you spell it with an If\\nWhy, certainly\\nOh, that is what took me so long\\nWhy, my dear sir, what did you pro-\\npose to spell it with\\nWell, I\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I\u00e2\u0080\u0094 hardly know. I had\\nthe Unabridged and I was ciphering around\\nin the back end, hoping I might see her\\namong the pictures. But it s a very old\\nedition.\\nWhy, my friend, they wouldn t have a\\npicture of it even in the latest e My\\ndear sir, I beg your pardon, I mean no\\nharm in the world but you do not look as\\nas intelligent as I had expected you\\nwould. No harm, I mean no harm at all.\\nOh, don t mention it! It has often\\nbeen said and by people who would not\\nnatter, and who could have no inducement\\nto natter, that I am quite remarkable in that\\nway. Yes yes they always speak of it\\nwith rapture.\\nI can easily imagine it. But about this\\ninterview. You know it is the custom now\\nto interview any man who has become\\nnotorious.\\nIndeed I had not heard of it before.\\nIt must be very interesting. What do you\\ndo with it?\\nAh, well well well this is disheart-\\nening. It ought to be done with a club, in\\nsome cases but customarily it consists in\\nthe interviewer asking questions, and the\\ninterviewed answering them. It is all the\\nrage now. Will you let me ask you certain\\nquestions calculated to bring out the salient\\npoints of your public and private history?\\nOh, with pleasure with pleasure. I\\nhave a very bad memory but I hope you\\nwill not mind that. That is to say, it is an\\nirregular memory, singularly irregular.\\nSometimes it goes into a gallop, and then\\nagain it will be as much as a fortnight\\npassing a given point. This is a great grief\\nto me.\\nOh it is no matter, so you wJU try to\\nclo the best you can,\\nI will. I will put my whole mind\\non it.\\nThanks Are you ready to begin\\nReady.\\nQuestion. How old are you\\nAnswer. Nineteen in June.\\nQ. Indeed I would have taken you to\\nbe thirty-five or six. Where were you\\nborn\\nA. In Missouri.\\nQ. When did you begin to write\\nA. In 1836.\\nQ. Why, how could that be if you are\\nonly nineteen now\\nA. I don t know. It does seem curious,\\nsomehow.\\nQ. It does, indeed. Whom do you con-\\nsider the most remarkable man you ever\\nmet\\nA. Aaron Burr.\\nQ. But you never could have met Aaron\\nBurr if you are only nineteen years\\nA. Now, if you know more about me\\nthan I do, what do you ask me for\\nQ. Well, it was only a suggestion noth-\\ning more. How did you happen to meet\\nBurr?\\nA. Well, I happened to be at his funeral\\none day and he asked me to make less\\nnoise, and\\nQ. But, good heavens If you were at his\\nfuneral he must have been dead and, if he\\nwas dead, how could he care whether you\\nmade a noise or not\\nA. I don t know. He was always a\\nparticular kind of a man that way.\\nO. Still, I don t understand it at all. You\\nsay he spoke to you, and that he was dead?\\nA. I didn t say he was dead.\\nQ. But wasn t he dead\\nA. Well, some said he was, some said he\\nwasn t.\\nQ. What do you think\\nA. Oh, it was none of my business It\\nwasn t any of my funeral.\\nQ. Did you However, we can never get\\nthis matter straight. Iyet me ask you some-\\nthing else. What was the date of your\\nbirth\\nA. Monday, October 31, 1693.\\nQ. What! Impossible! That would\\nmake you a hundred and eight years old,\\nHow do you account for that", "height": "4360", "width": "3168", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0233.jp2"}, "234": {"fulltext": "238\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nA. I don t account for it at all.\\nQ. But you said at first you were only\\nnineteen, and now you make yourself out\\nto be one hundred and eight. It is an awful\\ndiscrepancy.\\nA. Why, have you noticed that (Shak-\\ning hands.) Many a time it has seemed to\\nme like a discrepancy but somehow I\\ncouldn t make up my mind. How quick\\nyou notice a thing.\\nQ. Thank you for the compliment, as far\\nas it goes. Had you, or have you any\\nbrothers or sisters\\nA. Eh I\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I think so, yes\u00e2\u0080\u0094 but I\\ndon t remember.\\nQ. Well, that is the most extraordinary\\nstatement I ever heard.\\nA. Why, what makes you think that\\nQ. How could I think otherwise? Why,\\nlook here Who is this picture on the wall\\nIsn t that a brother of yours\\nA. Oh, yes, yes Now you remind me of\\nit, that was a brother of mine. That s\\nWilliam, Bill, we called him. Poor old\\nBill.\\nQ. Why, he is dead then\\nA. Ah, well, I suppose so. We never\\ncould tell. There was a great mystery\\nabout it.\\nQ. That is sad, very sad. He disappeared\\nthen\\nA. Well, yes, in a sort of general way.\\nWe buried him.\\nQ. Buried him Buried him without\\nknowing whether he was dead or not\\nA. Oh, no Not that. He was dead\\nenough.\\nQ. Well, I confess that I can t under-\\nstand this. If you buried him, and you\\nknew he was dead\\nA. No, no We only thought he was.\\nQ. Oh, I see He came to life again.\\nA. I bet he didn t.\\nQ. Well, I never heard anything like\\nthis. Somebody was dead. Somebody was\\nburied. Now, where was the mystery\\nA. Ah, that s just it That s it exactly\\nYou see we were twins, defunct and I\\nand we got mixed in the bath tub when we\\nwere only two weeks old, and one of us was\\ndrowned. But we didn t know which.\\nSome think it was Bill Some think it\\nwas me.\\nQ. Well, that is remarkable. What do\\nyou think\\nA. Goodness knows I would give whole\\nworlds to know. This solemn, this awful\\nmystery has cast a gloom over my whole\\nlife. But I will tell you a secret now,\\nwhich I never have revealed to any creature\\nbefore. One of us had a peculiar mark, a\\nlarge mole on the back of his left hand\\nthat was me. That child was the one that\\nwas drowned\\nO. Very well, then, I don t see that there\\nis any mystery about it, after all.\\nA. You don t. Well I do. Anyway,\\nI don t see how they could ever have been\\nsuch a blundering lot as to go and bury the\\nwrong child. But sh don t mention it\\nwhere the family can hear it. Heaven\\nknows they have heart-breaking troubles\\nenough without adding this.\\nQ. Well, I believe I have got material\\nenough for the present and I am very\\nmuch obliged to you for the pains you have\\ntaken. But I was a good deal interested in\\nthat account of Aaron Burr s funeral.\\nWould you mind telling me what particular\\ncircumstance it was that made you think\\nBurr was such a remarkable man\\nA. Oh, it was a mere trifle Not one\\nman in fifty would have noticed it at all.\\nWhen the sermon was over, and the pro-\\ncession all ready to start for the cemetery,\\nand the body all arranged nice in the hearse,\\nhe said he wanted to take a last look at the\\nscenery and so he got tip, and rode with the\\ndriver.\\nThe young man reverently withdrew.\\nHe was very pleasant company and I was\\nsorry to see him go.\\nMark Twain.\\nMISS MALONY ON THE CHINESE QUESTION.\\nIrish Dialect.\\nOch don t be talkin Is it howld on, ye\\nsay? An didn t I howld on till the\\nheart of me was clane broke intirely,\\nand me wastin that thin you could clutch\\nme wid yer two hands To think o me toilin\\nlike a nager for the six year I ve been in\\nAmeriky bad luck to the day I iver left\\nthe owld counthry, to be bate by the likes", "height": "4388", "width": "3304", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0234.jp2"}, "235": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n239\\no them (faix an I ll sit down when I m\\nready, so I will, Ann Ryan, an ye d better\\nbe listenin than drawin your remarks), an\\nit s mysel with five good characters from\\nrespectable places, would be herdin wid\\nthe haythens The saints forgive me, but\\nI d be buried alive soon n put up wid it a\\nday longer. Sure an I was a granehorn\\nnot to be lavin at onct when the missus\\nkim into me kitchen wid her perlaver about\\nthe new waiterman which was brought out\\nfrom Californy. He ll be here the night,\\nsays she, and, Kitty, it s meself looks to\\nyou to be kind and patient wid him, for\\nhe s a furriner, says she, a kind o looking\\noff. Sure an it s little I ll hinder nor\\ninterfare wid him nor any other, mum,\\nsays I, a kind o stiff, for I minded me how\\nthese French waiters, wid their paper\\ncollars and brass rings on their fingers,\\nisn t company for no gurril brought up\\ndacint and honest. Och sorra a bit I\\nknew what was comin till the missus\\nwalked into me kitchen smilin an says,\\nkind o sheared\\nHere s Fing Wing, Kitty, an you ll\\nhave too much sinse to mind his bein a\\nlittle strange, Wid that she shoots the\\ndoore and I, misthrusting if I was tidied\\nup sufficient for me fine buy wid his paper\\ncollar, looks up and, holy fathers may I\\nniver brathe another breath, but there stud\\na rale hay thin Chineser a-grinnin like he d\\njust come off a tay-box. If you ll belave\\nme, the crayture was that yeller it ud\\nsicken you to see him and sorra stitch\\nwas on him but a black night gown over\\nhis trowsers and the front of his head\\nshaved cianer ner a copper biler, and a\\nblack tail a hanging down from behind,\\nwid his two feet stook into the heathenest\\nshoes you ever set eyes on. Och but I\\nwas upstairs afore you could turn about,\\na-givin the missus warning an only stopt\\nwid her by her raisin me wages two dollars,\\nand playdin wid me how it was a Chris-\\ntian s duty to bear wid hay-thins and taitch\\nem all in our powe the saints save us\\nWell, the ways and trials I had wid that\\nChineser, Ann Ryan, I couldn t be tellin.\\nNot a blessed thing cud I do but he d be\\nlookin on wid his eyes cocked up ard like\\ntwo poomp-handles, an he widdout a\\nspeck or a smitch o whiskers on him, and\\nhis fingernails full a yard long. But it s\\ndying you d be to see the missus a-larnin\\nhim, and he grinnin an waggin his pig-\\ntail (which was pieced out long wid some\\nblack stoof, the hay then chate and gettin\\ninto her ways wonderful quick, I don t\\ndeny, imitatin that sharp you d be shur-\\nprised, and ketchin and copyin things the\\nbest of us will do a- hurried wid work, yet\\ndon t want comin to the knowledge of the\\nfamily bad luck to him i\\nIs it ate wid him Arrah, an would I\\nbe sittin wid a haythen and he a-atin wid\\ndrumsticks yes, an atin dogs an cats\\nunknownst to me, I warrant you, which is\\nthe custom of them Chinesers, till the\\nthought made me that sick I could die.\\nAn didn t the crayter proffer to help me\\na wake ago come Toosday, an me a-foldin\\ndown me clane clothes for theironin an\\nfill his haythen mouth wid water, an afore\\nI could hinder, squrrit it througli his teeth\\nstret over the best linen table cloth, and\\nfold it up tight as innercent now as a baby,\\nthe dirty baste But the worrest of all was\\nthe copyin he d be doin till ye d be dish-\\ntracted. It s yerself knows the tinder feet\\nthat s on me since ever I ve been in this\\ncountry. Well, owin to that, I fell into\\nthe way o slippin me shoes off when I d\\nbe settin down to pale the praties or the likes\\no that, and, do ye mind, that haythen\\nwould do the same thing after me whiniver\\nthe missus set him parin apples or toma-\\nterses. The saints in heaven couldn t have\\nmade him belave he could kape the shoes\\non him when he d be payling anything.\\nDid I lave fur that Faix: an didn t he\\nget me into trouble wid my missus, the\\nhaythih You re aware yerself how the\\nboondles comin in from the grocery often\\ncontains more n 11 go into anything dacently.\\nSo, for that matter, I d now and then take\\nout a sup o sugar, or flour, or tay, an wrap\\nit in paper an put it in me bit of a box tucked\\nunder the ironin blankit the how itcuddent\\nbe bodderin any one. Well, what should it\\nbe, but this blessed Sathurday morn the\\nmissus was a spakin pleasant and respec\\nful wid me in me kitchen when the grocer\\nboy comes in an stands fornenst her wid\\nhis boondles, an she motions like to Fing", "height": "4384", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0235.jp2"}, "236": {"fulltext": "240\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nWing (which I never would call him by that\\nname nor any other but just hay thin), she\\nmotions to him, she does, for to take the\\nboondles an empty out the sugar an\\nwhat not where they belongs. If you ll\\nbelave me, Ann Ryan, what did that blath-\\nerin Chineser do but take out a sup o\\nsugar an a handful o tay an a bit o chaze,\\nright afore the missus, wrap them into bits\\no paper, an I spachless wid shurprise, an\\nhe the next minute up wid the ironin blankit\\nand pullin out me box wid a show o\\nbein sly, put them in. Och the Lord forgive\\nme, but I clutched it, and the missus sayin\\nO Kitty in a way that ud curdle your\\nblood. He s a hay thin nager, says I,\\nI ve found you out says she I ll arrist\\nhim, says I. It s you who ought to be ar-\\nristed, says she. You won t, says I. I\\nwill, says she and so it went till she gave\\nme such sass as I cuddent take from no\\nlady, an I give her warnin an left that\\ninstant, and she a-pointin to the doore.\\nMary Mapbs Dodge.*\\nMRS. CAUDLE HAS TAKEN COLD.\\nI m not gaing to contradict you, Caudle;\\nyou may say what you like, but I think I\\nought to know my own feelings better\\nthan you. I dont wish to upbraid you,\\nneither I m too ill for that; but it s not\\ngetting wet in thin shoes oh, no it s\\nmy mind, Caudle, my mind that s killing\\nme. Oh, yes gruel indeed you think\\ngruel will cure a woman of anything\\nand you know, too, how I hate it. Gruel\\ncan t reach what I suffer; but, of course,\\nnobody is ever ill but yourself. Well I I\\ndidn t mean to say that but when you talk\\nin that way about thin shoes, a woman says,\\nof course, what she dosen t mean; she can t\\nhelp it. You ve always gone on about my\\nshoes, when I think I m the fittest judge\\nof what becomes me best. I dare say\\ntwould be all the same to you if I put on\\nploughman s boots but I m not going to\\nmake a figure of my feet, I can tell you.\\nI ve never got cold with the shoes I ve worn\\nyet, and tisn t likely I should begin now.\\nNo Caudle I wouldn t wish to say any-\\nthing to accuse you no, goodness knows,\\nI wouldn t make you uncomfortable for the\\nworld but the cold I ve got I got ten years\\nago. I have never said anything about it\\nbut it has never left me. Yes, ten years\\nago the day before yesterday. How can I\\nrecollect it Oh, very well women remem-\\nber things you never think of; poor souls\\nThey ve good cause to do so. Ten years\\nago I was sitting up for you there now,\\nI m not going to say anything to vex you,\\nonly do let me speak ten years ago I was\\nwaiting for you, and I fell asleep and the\\nfire went out, and when I awoke I found I\\nwas sitting right in the draught of the key-\\nhole. That was my death, Caudle, though\\ndon t let that make you uneasy, love for I\\ndon t think that you meant to do it.\\nHa! it s all very well for you to call it\\nnonsense, and to lay your ill conduct upon\\nmy shoes, That s like a man, exactly\\nThere never was a man yet that killed his\\nwife who couldn t give a good reason for it.\\nNo, I don t mean to say that you ve killed\\nme quite the reverse. Still there s never\\nbeen a day that I haven t felt that key-\\nhole. What? Why don t I have a doctor?\\nWhat s the use of a doctor? Why should\\nI put you to the expense Besides I dare\\nsay you ll do very well without me, Caudle;\\nyes, after a very little time, you won t miss\\nme much no man ever does.\\nPeggy tells me Miss Prettyman called to-\\nday. What of it? Nothing, of course.\\nYes, I know she heard I was ill, and that s\\nwhy she came. A little indecent, I think,\\nMr. Caudle she might wait; I shan t be in\\nher way long she may soon have the key of\\nthe caddy now.\\nHa Mr. Caudle, what s the use of your\\ncalling me your dearest soul now? Well, I\\ndo I believe you. I dare say you do mean\\nit; that is; I hope you do. Nevertheless,\\nyou can t expect I can be quiet in this bed,\\nand think of that young woman not, in-\\ndeed, that she s near so young as she gives\\nherself out. I bear no malice towards her,\\nCaudle,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 not the least. Still I don t think\\nI could lie at peace in my grave if well, I\\nwon t say anything more about her, but you\\nknow what I mean.\\nI think dear mother would keep house\\nbeautifully for you when I m gone. Well,\\nlove, I won t talk in that way, if you desire\\nit. Still, I know I ve a dreadful cold;", "height": "4388", "width": "3304", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0236.jp2"}, "237": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nHi\\nthough I won t allow it for a minute to be\\nthe shoes certainly not. I never would\\nwear e m thick, and you know it, and they\\nnever gave me a cold yet. No, dearest\\nCaudle, it s ten years ago that did it not\\nthat I ll say a syllable of the matter to hurt\\nyou. I d die first.\\nMother, you see, knows all your little\\nways and you wouldn t get another wife to\\nstudy you and pet you up as I ve done a\\nsecond wife never does it isn t likely she\\nshould. And, after all, we ve been very\\nhappy. It hasn t been my fault if we ve\\never had a word or two, for you couldn t\\nhelp now and then being aggravating\\nnobody can help their tempers always\\nespecially men. Still, we ve been very\\nhappy haven 7 we Caudle f\\nGood night. Yes, this cold does tear me\\nto pieces but for all that, it isn t the shoes.\\nGod bless you, Caudle no it s not the\\nshoes. I won t say it s the keyhole but\\nagain I say, it s not the shoes. God bless\\nyon once more. But never say it s the\\nshoes.\\nDOUGLAS JKRROUX\\nELDER LAMB S DONATION.\\nGood at Church or Sunday School Entertainment.\\nGood old Elder Lamb had labored for a\\nthousand nights and days,\\nAnd had preached the blessed Bible in\\na multitude of ways\\nHad received a message daily over Faith s\\ncelestial wire,\\nAnd had kept his little chapel full of flames\\nof heavenly fire\\nHe had raised a num rous family, straight\\nand sturdy as he could\\nAnd his boys were all considered as un-\\nnaturally good\\nAnd his slender sal ry kept him till\\nwent forth the proclamation,\\nWe will pay him up this season with a\\ngen rous, large donation.\\nSo they brought him hay and barley, and\\nsome corn upon the ear,\\nStraw enough to bed his pony for forever\\nand a year\\nAnd they strewed him with potatoes of in-\\nconsequential size,\\nAnd some onions whose completeness drew\\nthe moisture from his eyes\\nAnd some cider more like water, in an in-\\nventory strict\\nAnd some apples, pears, and peaches, that\\nthe autumn gales had picked\\nAnd some strings of dried-up apples mum-\\nmies of the fruit creation\\nCame to swell the doleful census of old Elder\\nLamb s donation.\\nAlso radishes and turnips pressed the pump-\\nkin s cheerful cheek,\\nLikewise beans enough to furnish half of\\nBoston for a week\\nAnd some butter that was worthy to have\\nSamson for a foe,\\nAnd some eggs whose inner nature held the\\nlegend, Long ago\\nAnd some stove- wood, green and crooked,\\non his flower-beds was laid,\\nFit to furnish fire departments with the most\\nsubstantial aid.\\nAll things unappreciated found this night\\ntheir true vocation\\nIn the Museum of Relics, known as Elder\\nLamb s donation.\\nThere were biscuits whose material was\\ntheir own secure defense\\nThere were sauces whose acuteness bore the\\nsad pluperfect tense\\nThere were jellies undissected, there were\\nmystery-laden pies\\nThere was bread that long had waited for\\nthe signal to arise\\nThere were cookies tasting clearly of the\\ndrear and musty past\\nThere were doughnuts that in justice\\nmongst the metals might be classed;\\nThere were chickens, geese, and turkeys\\nthat had long been on probation,\\nNow received in full connection at old Elder\\nLamb s donation.\\nThen they gave his wife a wrapper made for\\nsome one not so tall,\\nAnd they brought him twenty slippers, every\\npair of which was small\\nAnd they covered him with sackcloth, as it\\nwere, in various bits,\\nAnd they clothed his helpless children in a\\nwardrobe of misfits", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0237.jp2"}, "238": {"fulltext": "242\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nAnd they trimmed his house with Wel-\\ncome, and some bric-a-bracish trash,\\nAnd one absent-minded brother brought\\nfive dollars all in cash\\nWhich the good old pastor handled with a\\nthrill of exultation,\\nWishing that in filthy lucre might have\\ncome his whole donation\\nMorning came at last in splendor but the\\nElder, wrapped in gloom,\\nKnelt amid decaying produce and the ruins\\nof his home\\nAnd his piety had never till that morning\\nbeen so bright,\\nFor he prayed for those who brought him to\\nthat unexpected plight.\\nBut some worldly thoughts intruded, for he\\nwondered o er and o er,\\nIf they d buy that day at auction what they\\ngave the night before\\nAnd his fervent prayer concluded with the\\nnatural exclamation,\\nTake me to Thyself in mercy, Lord, be-\\nfore my next donation.\\nWill Carleton.\\nA SCHOOL GIRL S DECLARATION OF\\nINDEPENDENCE.\\nSuitable for Recitation or Reading at Closing\\nExercise of School.\\nWhen in the course of human events it\\nbecomes necessary for the pupils of\\na school to dissolve the bands that\\nconnect them with their principal, and to\\nassume, among the people of the earth, the\\nfree and equal station to which the laws of\\nnature and nature s God entitle them, a\\ndecent respect for the opinions of said prin-\\ncipal demands that they shall declare the\\ncauses that impel them to the separation.\\nWe hold these truths to be self-evident\\nthat principals and girls are created\\nequal that the latter are endowed with cer-\\ntain inalienable rights and among these\\nare life, liberty, and the pursuit of no les-\\nsons and, whenever any form of school\\nbecomes destructive of these ends, it is the\\nright of the girls to alter or abolish it, insti-\\ntuting a new school, laying its foundation\\non such principles, and organizing its\\npowers in such form, as to them shall seem\\nmost likely to secure their safety and hap-\\npiness.\\nPrudence, indeed, would dictate that\\nschools long established should not be\\naltered for light and transient causes and\\naccordingly, all experience hath shown that\\ngirls are more disposed to suffer while\\nevils are sufferable than to right them-\\nselves by abolishing the forms to which\\nthey are accustomed. But when a long\\ntrain of cramming and examinations pur-\\nsues but one object, and that the establish-\\nment of an absolute Blimberism, in these\\nclasses, it is their right, it is their duty, to\\nthrow off such forms of school, and to pro-\\nvide new guards for their future security.\\nSuch has been the patient sufferance of\\nthese poor girls, and such is now the sad\\nnecessity that constrains them to alter the\\nforms to which they are accustomed. The\\nhistory of the present management of the\\nBlimber school has been a history of repeated\\ncramming and examinations, having, as an\\nindirect object, the establishment of an abso-\\nlute blue-stockingism in these classes,\\nand, to prove this we have submitted\\nthese facts to a candid world.\\nWe therefore, the representatives of the\\ngirls of the school, in general school-room\\nassembled, do, in the name and by the\\nauthority of the girls of these classes, state\\nthat these classes are, and of right ought to\\nbe, free and independent that, in future,\\nthey shall have full right to go to school,\\nstay at home, do their lessons or not, with\\nother privileges which independent girls\\nenjoy. And in support of this declaration,\\nwe mutually pledge to each other our lives,\\nour chances of honorable graduation and\\nour sacred excellence in deportment,\\nEXPERIENCE WITH A REFRACTORY COW.\\nTo be most effective, this piece should be given in costume.\\nWE used to keep a cow when we lived\\nin the country, and sich a cow\\nLaw sakes Why, she used to\\ncome to be milked as reg lar as clock-work.\\nShe d knock at the gate with her horns,\\njest as sensible as any other human critter.\\nHer name was Rose. I never knowed\\nhow she got that name, for she was black\\nas a kittle.", "height": "4420", "width": "3308", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0238.jp2"}, "239": {"fulltext": "HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\n243\\nWell, one day Rose got sick, and wouldn t\\neat nothing, poor thing and a day or so\\narter she died. I raly do believe I cried\\nwhen that poor critter was gone. Well, we\\nwent for a little spell without a cow, but I\\ntold Mr. Scruggins it wouldn t do, no way\\nnor no how and he gin in. Whenever I\\nsaid must Mr. Scruggins knowed I meant it.\\nWell, a few days arter, he corne home with\\nthe finest cow and young calf you ever\\nseed. He gin thirty dollars for her and the\\ncalf, and seventy -five cents to a man to help\\nbring her home.\\nWell, they drove her into the back yard,\\nand Mr. Scruggins told me to come out\\nand see her, and I did and I went up to\\nher jest as I used to did to Rose, and when\\nI said Poor Sukey, would you believe\\nit the nasty brute kicked me right in the\\nfore part of my back her foot catched into\\nmy dress bran-new dress, too cost fifty\\ncents a yard, and she took a dollar s worth\\nright out as clean as the back of my hand.\\nI screeched right out and Mr. Scruggins\\nkotched me jest as I was dropping, and he\\ncarried me to the door, and I went in and\\nsot down, I felt kind o faintish, I was so\\nabominable skeered.\\nMr. Scruggins said he would larn her\\nbetter manners, so he picked up the poker\\nand went out, but I had hardly began to\\nget a leetle strengthened up afore in rushed\\nmy dear husband a-flourishing the poker,\\nand that vicious cow arter him like all- mad.\\nMr. Scruggins jumped into the room, and,\\nafore he had time to turn round and shut\\nthe door, that desperate brute was in, too.\\nMr. Scruggins got up on the dining-room\\ntable, and I run into the parlor. I thought\\nI d be safe there, but I was skeered so bad\\nthat I forgot to shut the door, and, sakes\\nalive after hooking over the dining-room\\ntable and rolling Mr. Scruggins off, in she\\nwalked into the parlor, shaking her head as\\nmuch as to say: I ll give you a touch\\nnow. I jumped on a chair, but thinking\\nthat warn t high enough, I got one foot on\\nthe brass knob of the Franklin stove, and\\nput the other on the mantel-piece. You\\nought to ha seen that cow in our parlor\\nshe looked all round as if she was mazed\\nat last she looked in the looking-glass, and\\nthought she seed another cow exhibiting\\nanger like herself she shuck her head and\\npawed the carpet, and so did her reflection,\\nand would you believe it? that awful\\nbrute went right into my looking-glass.\\nThen I boo-hoo d right out. All this\\nwhile I was getting agonized the brass\\nknob on the stove got so hot that I had to\\nsit on the narrer mantel -piece and hold on\\nto nothing. I dussent move for fear I d\\nslip off.\\nMr. Scruggins came round to the front\\ndoor, but it was locked, and then he come\\nto the window and opened it. I jumped\\ndown and run for the window, and hadn t\\nmore n got my head out afore I heard that\\ncritter a-coming after me. Gracious but\\nI was in a hurry more haste, less speed,\\nalways for the more I tried to climb quick\\nthe longer it took, and just as I got ready\\nto jump down, that brute of a cow kotched\\nme in the back and turned me over and\\nover out of the window.\\nWell, when I got right side up, I looked\\nat the window and there stood that cow,\\nwith her head between the white and red\\ncurtains, and another piece of my dress\\ndangling on her horns.\\nWell, my husband and me was jest start-\\ning for the little alley that runs alongside of\\nthe house, when the cow give a bawl, and\\nout of the window she come, whisking her\\ntail, which had kotched fire on the Frank-\\nlin stove, and it served her right.\\nMr. Scruggins and me run into the alley in\\nsuch haste we got wedged fast. Husband\\ntried .0 get ahead, but I d been in the rear\\nlong enough, and I wouldn t let him. That\\ndreadful cow no sooner seen us in the alley,\\nthan she made a dash, but thank goodness\\nshe stuck fast, too.\\nHusband tried the gate, but that was fast,\\nand there wasn t nobody inside the house\\nto open it. Mr. Scruggins wanted to climb\\nover and unbolt it, but I wouldn t let him.\\nI wasn t going to be left alone again with\\nthat desperate cow, even if she was fast so\\nI made him help me over the gate. Oh,\\ndear, climbing a high gate when you re\\nskeered by a cow is a dreadful thing, and I\\nknow it\\nWell, I got over, let husband in, and then\\nit took him and me and four other neigh-\\nbors to get that dreadful critter out of the", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0239.jp2"}, "240": {"fulltext": "244\\nHUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC\\nalley She bellowed and kicked and her calf\\nbellowed to her, and she bawled back again\\nbut we got her out at last, and such a time\\nI d had enough of her; husband sold her\\nfor twenty dollars next day. It cost him\\nseventy-five cents to get her to market, and\\nwhen he tried to pass off one of the five\\ndollar bills he got, it turned out to be\\na counterfeit.\\nMr. Scruggins said to his dying day that\\nhe believed the brother of the man that sold\\nhim the cow bought it back again I be-\\nlieve it helped to worry my poor husband\\ninto his grave. Ah, my friends, you better\\nbelieve I know what a cow is. I don t need\\nan introduction to any female of the cow\\nspecies.\\nREQUIEM ON THE AHKOOND OF SWAT.\\nThis strange conglomeration of words was suggested to the\\ncomical brain of Mr. Lanigan by the following announcement in\\nthe London Times The Ahkoond of Swat is Dead. Swat is\\na city in India and the Ahkoond is a great Civic dignitary.\\n4CTTThat, what, what, what, what,\\nVV what!\\nWhat s the news from Swat?\\nSad news,\\nBad news,\\nComes by the cable led\\nThrough the Indian Ocean s bed,\\nThrough the Persian Gulf, the Red\\nSea and the Med-\\niterranean he s dead\\nThe Ahkoond is dead\\nFor the Akoond I mourn\\nWho wouldn t?\\nHe strove to disregard the message stern,\\nBut he Ahkoodn t.\\nDead, dead, dead\\n(Sorrow Swats\\nSwats wha hae wi Ahkoond bled,\\nSwats whom he hath often led\\nOnward to a gory bed,\\nOr to victory\\nAs the case might be\\nSorrow Swats\\nTears shed.\\nShed tears like water,\\nYour great Ahkoond is dead,\\nThat Swat s the matter.\\nMourn, city of Swat,\\nYour great Ahkoond is not,\\nBut lain mid worms to rot,\\nHis mortal part alone, his soul was caught\\n(Because he was a good Ahkoond)\\nUp to the bosom of Mahound.\\nThough earthy walls his frame surround\\n(Forever hallowed be the ground\\nAnd say He s now of no Ahkoond\\nHis soul is in the skies\\nThe azure skies that bend above his loved\\nMetropolis of Swat.\\nHe sees with larger, other eyes,\\nAthwart all earthly mysteries\\nHe knows what s Swat.\\nLet Swat bury the great Ahkoond\\nWith a noise of mourning and of lamenta-\\ntion\\nLet Swat bury the great Ahkoond\\nWith a noise of the mourning of the\\nSwattish nation\\nFallen is at length\\nIts tower of strength,\\nIts sun is dimmed ere it had nooned\\nDead lies the great Ahkoond,\\nThe great Ahkoond of Swat\\nIs not!\\nGeo. T. Lanigan.", "height": "4388", "width": "3312", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0240.jp2"}, "241": {"fulltext": "Part VII\\nRELIGIOUS MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\nTTVek selections in this department while chosen with reference to special adaptation to\\nreading and recitation are calculated to teach and inculcate those practical, social,\\nmoral and religious sentiments and truths which are broad, wholesome and acceptable\\nin general to parents and to all religious denominations.\\nMY CREED.\\nI hold that Christian grace abounds\\nWhere charity is seen that when\\nWe climb to heaven, tis on the rounds\\nOf love to men.\\nI hold all else, named piety,\\nA selfish scheme, a vain pretense\\nWhere center is not, can there be\\nCircumference\\nThis I moreover hold, and dare\\nAffirm where er my rhyme may go,\\nWhatever things be sweet or fair,\\nLove makes them so.\\nWhether it be the lullabies\\nThat charm to rest the nursling bird,\\nOr that sweet confidence of sighs\\nAnd blushes, made without a word.\\nWhether the dazzling and the flush\\nOf softly sumptuous garden bowers,\\nOr by some cabin door, a bush\\nOf ragged flowers.\\nTis not the wide phylactery,\\nNor stubborn fasts, nor stated prayers,\\nThat makes us saints we judge the tree\\nBy what it bears.\\nAnd when a man can live apart\\nFrom works, on theologic trust,\\nI know the blood about his heart\\nIs dry as dust.\\nAuCK Cary.\\n15 2 45\\nTHE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.\\nFATHER of all, in every age,\\nIn every clime, adored,\\nBy saint, by savage and by sage,\\nJehovah, Jove, or Lord.\\nThou greet First Cause, least understood,\\nWho all my sense confined\\nTo know but this, that Thou art good,\\nAnd that myself am blind.\\nYet gave me in this dark estate\\nTo see the good from ill,\\nAnd, binding nature fast in fate,\\nLeft free the human will.\\nWhat conscience dictates to be done,\\nOr warns me not to do,\\nThis teach me more than hell to shun,\\nThat more than heaven pursue.\\nWhat blessings Thy free bounty gives\\nLet me not cast away\\nFor God is paid when man receives\\nTo enjoy is to obey.\\nYet not to earth s contracted span\\nThy goodness let me bound,\\nOr think Thee Lord alone of man,\\nWhen thousand worlds are round.\\nLet not this weak, unknowing hand\\nPresume Thy bolts to throw,\\nAnd deal damnation round the land\\nOn each I judge Thy foe.", "height": "4368", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0241.jp2"}, "242": {"fulltext": "246\\nRELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\nIf I am right, Thy grace impart\\nStill in the right to stay\\nIf I am wrong, O teach my heart\\nTo find that better way.\\nSave me alike from foolish pride\\nOr impious discontent,\\nAt aught Thy wisdom has denied,\\nOr aught Thy goodness lent.\\nAlexander Pope.\\nGOD IS CALLING ME.\\nOn the Twenty-second day of December, 1899, Dwight L.\\nMoody, the world s greatest Evangelist, died at his home at\\nNorthfield, Mass. The religious world mourned his loss as that\\nof no other preacher of righteousness since the days of Jesus.\\nHis last words were God is calling me.\\ni i r^ od is calling me, he murmured.\\nVJT Oh, what visions cheered his\\neyes\\nAs his eager spirit hastened\\nTo his home beyond the skies\\nGod had called him, oh, how often\\nHad he listened to the call,\\nHastening to the field of action,\\nFull of zeal and love for all\\nHow he prayed and how he labored,\\nSeeking souls for Christ to win,\\nTill his burning words have rescued\\nTens of thousands from their sin.\\nWe shall hear no more his pleading,\\nFor his prayer is turned to praise\\nBut we look for gracious answers\\nThrough the swiftly passing days.\\nIn his home, his church, his Northfield,\\nSchools and missions grown world-wide,\\nHow they sorrowed for their leader\\nOn the blessed Christmas-tide\\nBut the work must go straight forward\\nNever was there greater need.\\nWell we know he would not falter\\nThough his inmost soul might bleed.\\nGod is calling us, O Christians\\nDo we heed the call to-day\\nAre we eager for his service\\nDo we labor, watch, and pray\\nMay our brother s life enthuse us,\\nAnd the mantle he let fall\\nRest not only on his workers,\\nBut on Christians, one and all.\\nMary B. Wingate.\\nTHE CRUCIFIXION.\\nI asked the heavens What foe to\\nGod has done\\nThis unexampled deed The heavens\\nexclaim,\\nTwas man and we in horror snatched\\nthe sun\\nFrom such a spectacle of guilt and\\nshame.\\nI asked the sea the sea in fury boiled,\\nAnd answered, with his voice of storms,\\nTwas man\\nMy waves in panic at his crime recoiled,\\nDisclosed the abyss, and from the center\\nran.\\nI asked the earth the earth replied,\\naghast,\\nTwas man; and such strange pangs\\nmy bosom rent,\\nThat still I groan and shudder at the past.\\nTo man, gay, smiling, thoughtless man,\\nI went,\\nAnd asked him next he turned a scornful\\neye,\\nShook his proud head, and deigned me\\nno reply.\\nMontgomery.\\nCLIPPING THE BIBLE.\\nTHERE is another class. It is quite fash-\\nionable for people to say, Yes, I\\nbelieve the Bible, but not the super-\\nnatural. I believe everything that corre-\\nsponds with this reason of mine. They go\\non reading the Bible with a penknife, cutting\\nout this and that. Now, if I have a right\\nto cut out a certain portion of the Bible, I\\ndon t know why one of my friends has not\\na right to cut out another, and another\\nfriend to cut out another part, and so on.\\nYou would have a queer kind of Bible if\\neverybody cut out what he wanted to. Every\\nliar would cut out everything about lying\\nevery drunkard would be cutting out what\\nhe didn t like. Once, a gentleman took his\\nBible around to his minister s and said,\\nThat is your Bible. Why do you call\\nit my Bible? said the minister. Well,\\nreplied the gentleman I have been sitting\\nunder your preaching for five years, and\\nwhen you said that a thing in the Bible was", "height": "4388", "width": "3328", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0242.jp2"}, "243": {"fulltext": "RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\n247\\nnot authentic, I cut it out. He had about\\na third of the Bible cut out all of Job, all\\nof Kcclesiastes and Revelation, and a good\\ndeal besides. The minister wanted him to\\nleave the Bible with him he didn t want\\nthe rest of his congregation to see it. But\\nthe man said, Oh, no I have the covers\\nleft, and I will hold on to them. And off\\nhe went holding on to the covers. If you\\nbelieved what some men preach, you would\\nhave nothing but the covers left in a few\\nmonths. I have often said, that, if I am\\ngoing to throw away the Bible, I will throw\\nit all into the fire at once. There is no need\\nof waiting five years to do what you\\ncan do as well at once. I have yet to find a\\nman who begins to pick at the Bible that\\ndoes not pick it all to pieces in a little while.\\nA minister whom I met awhile ago said to\\nme, Moody, I have given up preaching\\nexcept out of the four Gospels, I have\\ngiven up all the Epistles, and all the Old\\nTestament and I do not know why I can-\\nnot go to the fountain head and preach as\\nPaul did. I believe the Gospels are all\\nthere is that is authentic. It was not long\\nbefore he gave up the four Gospels, and\\nfinally gave up the ministry. He gave up\\nthe Bible, and God gave him up.\\nD. L. Moody.\\nTHE CHRISTIAN MARTYR.\\nTH\u00c2\u00a3 eyes of thousands glanced on him, as\\nmid the cirque he stood,\\nUnheeding of the shout which broke\\nfrom that vast multitude.\\nThe prison damps had paled his cheek, and\\non his lofty brow\\nCorroding care had deeply traced the fur-\\nrows of his plow.\\nAmid the crowded cirque he stood, and\\nraised to heaven his eye,\\nFor well that feeble old man knew they\\nbrought him forth to die\\nYet joy was beaming in that eye, while from\\nhis lips a prayer\\nPassed up to Heaven, and faith secured his\\npeaceful dwelling there.\\nThen calmly on his foes he looked and, as\\nhe gazed, a tear\\nStole o er his cheeks but t was the birth\\nof pity, not of fear.\\nHe knelt down on the gory sand once\\nmore he looked toward heaven\\nAnd to the Christian s God he prayed that\\nthey might be forgiven.\\nBut, hark another shout, o er which the\\nhungry lion s roar\\nIs heard, like thunder, mid the swell on a\\ntempestuous shore\\nAnd forth the L,ibyan savage bursts rolls\\nhis red eyes around\\nThen on his helpless victim springs, and\\nbeats him to the ground.\\nShort pause was left for hope or fear the\\ninstinctive love of life\\nOne struggle made, but vainly made, in\\nsuch unequal strife\\nThen with the scanty stream of life his jaws\\nthe savage dyed\\nWhile, one by one, the quivering limbs his\\nbloody feast supplied.\\nRome s prince and senators partook the\\nshouting crowd s delight\\nAnd Beauty gazed unshrinkingly on that\\nunhallowed sight.\\nBut say, what evil had he done what sin\\nof deepest hue\\nA blameless faith was all the crime that\\nChristian martyr knew\\nBut where his precious blood was spilt, even\\nfrom that barren sand.\\nThere sprang a stem, whose vigorous\\nboughs soon overspread the land\\nO er distant isles its shadow fell nor knew\\nits roots decay,\\nEven when the Roman Caesar s throne and\\nrule had passed away.\\nRKv. Hamilton Buchanan.\\nTHE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN.\\nAS the member of an infant empire, as a\\nphilanthropist by character, and, if I\\nmay be allowed the expression, as a\\ncitizen of the great republic of Humanity at\\nlarge, I cannot help turning my attention\\nsometimes to this subject, how mankind may\\nbe connected, like one great family in /rater-", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0243.jp2"}, "244": {"fulltext": "248\\nRELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\nnal ties. I indulge a fond, perhaps an en-\\nthusiastic idea, that as the world is evidently\\nmuch less barbarous than it has been, its\\nmelioration must still be progressive that\\nnations are becoming more humanized in\\ntheir policy that the subjects of ambition\\nand causes for hostility are daily diminish-\\ning and, in fine, that the period is not very\\nremote when the benefits of a liberal and\\nfree commerce will pretty generally succeed\\nto the devastations and horrors of war.\\nGeorge Washington.\\nA NEW TEN COMMANDMENTS.\\n1 NEVER put off till to-morrow what you\\ncan do to-day.\\n2 Never trouble another for what you can\\ndo yourself.\\n3. Never spend your money before you\\nhave it.\\n4. Never buy what you do not want\\nbecause it is cheap it will be dear to you.\\n5 Pride costs us more than hunger, thirst\\nand cold.\\n6. We never repent of having eaten too\\nlittle.\\n7 Nothing is troublesome that we do will-\\ningly.\\n8. How much pain have cost us the evils\\nthat have never happened.\\n9. Take things always by their smooth\\nhandle.\\n1 o When angry count ten before you speak\\nif very angry, an hundred.\\nThomas Jefferson.\\nOH, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF\\nMORTAL BE PROUD?\\nThis poem was written by William Knox, a countryman of\\nBurns, like him somewhat dissipated at times, and like him dying\\nfin 1825) at the early age of (about) thirty-seven. Sir Walter\\nScott and Professor Wilson thought highly of his poetic genius.\\nIt was Abraham Lincoln s favorite poem.\\nOH, why should the spirit of mortal be\\nproud\\nL,ike a swift- fleeting meteor, a fast-\\nflying cloud,\\nA flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,\\nMan passeth from life to his rest in the\\ngrave.\\nThe leaves of the oak and the willow shall\\nfade,\\nBe scattered around, and together be laid\\nAnd the young and the old, and the low\\nand the high,\\nShall moulder to dust, and together shall lie.\\nThe infant a mother attended and loved\\nThe mother that infant s affection who\\nproved\\nThe husband that mother and infant who\\nblest-\\nEach, all, are away to their dwellings of\\nrest.\\nThe hand of the king that the sceptre hath\\nborne,\\nThe brow of the priest that the mitre hath\\nworn,\\nThe eye of the sage and the heart of the\\nbrave,\\nAre hidden and lost in the depths of the\\ngrave.\\nThe peasant whose lot was to sow and to\\nreap,\\nThe herdsman who climbed with his goats\\nup the steep,\\nThe beggar who wandered in search of his\\nbread,\\nHave faded away like the grass that we\\ntread.\\nSo the multitude goes like the flower or\\nthe weed\\nThat withers away to let others succeed\\nSo the multitude comes even those we\\nbehold,\\nTo repeat every tale that has often been\\ntold.\\nFor we are the same our fathers have been\\nWe see the same sights our fathers have\\nseen\\nWe drink the same stream, we view the\\nsame sun,\\nAnd run the same course our fathers have\\nrun.\\nThe thoughts we are thinking, our fathers\\nwould think\\nFrom the death we are shrinking, our\\nfathers would shrink\\nTo the life we are clinging, they also would\\ncling\\nBut it speeds from us all like a bird on the\\nwing.", "height": "4388", "width": "3324", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0244.jp2"}, "245": {"fulltext": "THE MOTHER AND CHILD\\nBodenhausen s Masterpiece\\n(249)", "height": "4280", "width": "3156", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0245.jp2"}, "246": {"fulltext": "53\\nnr\\no\\n!i\\nQ\\nD\\nz\\nIII\\nI-\\nz\\n2", "height": "4388", "width": "3324", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0246.jp2"}, "247": {"fulltext": "RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\n251\\nThey loved but the story we cannot unfold;\\nThey scorned but the heart of the haughty\\nis cold\\nThey grieved but no wail from their slum-\\nber will come\\nThey joyed but the tongue of their glad-\\nness is dumb.\\nThey died ay, they died and we things\\nthat are now\\nThat walk on the turf that lies on their\\nbrow,\\nAnd make in their dwellings a transient\\nabode,\\nMeet the changes they met on their pilgrim-\\nage road.\\nYea hope and despondency, pleasure and\\npain,\\nAre mingled together in sunshine and rain\\nAnd the smile and the tear, the song and\\nthe dirge,\\nStill follow each other, like surge upon\\nsurge.\\nTis the wink of an eye, tis the draught of\\na breath,\\nFrom the blossom of health to the paleness\\nof death,\\nFrom the gilded saloon to the bier and the\\nshroud\\nOh, why should the spirit of mortal be\\nproud\\nTHE GLORIES OF THE LIFE BEYOND.\\nI do not expect, the moment I drop this\\nbody, to mount up, glowing like a star,\\ninto the presence of God, with all the\\nfullness of perfection that I am ever to\\nattain. I expect that through period after\\nperiod will go on unfolding, that spiritual\\ngerm which God has implanted in me. I\\nexpect by growth to become really and truly\\na son of God in those heavenly conditions.\\nI cannot go further in affirming what my\\nstate shall be. But I know what happiness\\nis. I know what love is. I know what the\\ndevotion of one soul to another is. I know\\nhow blessed it is for a person to be lost in\\none to whom he can look up. I know what\\nit is to have in single hours glimpses of the\\npresence of God. I have had them, that is,\\nas a peasant has some sense of the ocean,\\nwho has only seen some inland lake, and\\ncannot, even by a stretch of the imagina-\\ntion, magnify that lake so as to make it the\\nocean, world-encompassing, and sounding\\nwith all the music of its storms. I have\\nhad some sight of God but I know it is\\nlike a little lake, as compared with a full\\nvision of the infinite, shoreless, fathomless,\\nmeasureless ocean of the divine nature.\\nAnd I vShall be amazed, when I see it, that I\\never knew anything about it. Yet I shall\\nsee it, and not another for me. I shall see\\nGod himself. And I shall be satisfied then\\nfor the first time in all my life.\\nH. W. Bekchkr.\\nTHE BOOKS OF THE OLD TESTAflENT.\\nThe following rhymed list of the books of the Old Testament\\nis said to have been made by Rev. Dr. William Staughton, pastor\\nin Philadelphia, where he began the teaching of young men who\\nfelt their need of preparation before entering the ministry, and\\nwas active in the founding of the Columbian University at Wash-\\nington, of which he became the first piesident, in 1823\\nThe great Jehovah speaks to us\\nIn Genesis and Exodus\\nLeviticus and Numbers, see,\\nFollowed by Deuteronomy.\\nJoshua and Judges sway the land,\\nRuth gleans a sheaf with trembling hand.\\nSamuel and numerous Kings appear,\\nWhose Chronicles we wondering hear.\\nEzra and Nehemiah now,\\nEsther the beauteous mourner show\\nJob speaks in sighs, David in Psalms,\\nThe Proverbs teach to scatter alms\\nEcclesiastes then come on,\\nAnd the sweet songs of Solomon.\\nIsaiah, Jeremiah, then\\nWith Lamentations takes his pen\\nEzekiel, Daniel, Hosea s lyres,\\nSwell Joel, Amos, Obadiah s.\\nNext Jonah, Micah, Nahum come,\\nAnd lofty Habakkuk finds room\\nWhile Zephaniah, Haggai calls,\\nRapt Zachariah builds his walls\\nAnd Malachi, with garments rent,\\nConcludes the Ancient Testament.\\nBUILDING AND BEING.\\nThk King would build, so a legend says,\\nThe finest of all fine palaces.\\nHe sent for St. Thomas, a builder rare,\\nAnd bade him to rear them a wonder fair.", "height": "4388", "width": "3212", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0247.jp2"}, "248": {"fulltext": "RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\nThe King s great treasure was placed at\\nhand\\nAnd with it the sovereign s one command\\nBuild well, O builder, so good and great\\nAnd add to the glory of my estate.\\nBuild well, nor spare of my wealth to\\nshow\\nA prouder palace than mortals know.\\nThe King took leave of his kingdom then,\\nAnd wandered far from the haunts of men.\\nSt. Thomas the King s great treasure spent\\nIn worthier way than his master meant.\\nHe clad the naked, the hungry fed,\\nThe oil of gladness around him shed.\\nHe blessed them all with the ample store,\\nAs never a King s wealth blessed before.\\nThe King came back from his journey long,\\nBut found no grace in the happy throng\\nThat greeted him now on his slow return,\\nTo teach him the lesson he ought to learn.\\nThe King came back to his well-spent gold\\nBut no new palace could he behold.\\nIn terrible anger he swore, and said\\nThat the builder s folly should cost his\\nhead.\\nSt. Thomas in dungeon dark was cast,\\nTill the time for his punishment dire were\\npassed\\nThen it chanced, or the good God willed\\nit so,\\nThat the King s own brother in death lay\\nlow\\nWhen four days dead, as the legend reads,\\nHe rose to humanity s life and needs.\\nFrom sleep of the dust he strangely woke,\\nAnd thus to his brother, the King, he\\nspoke\\nI have been to Paradise, O my King\\nAnd have heard the heavenly angels sing.\\nAnd there I saw, by the gates of gold,\\nA palace finer than tongue has told\\nIts walls and towers were lifted high\\nIn beautiful grace to the bending sky.\\nIts glories there, in that radiant place,\\nShone forth like a smile from the dear Lord s\\nface.\\nAn angel said it was builded there\\nBy the good St. Thomas, with love and care\\nFor our fellow-men, and that it should be\\nThy palace of peace through eternity.\\nThe King this vison pondered well,\\nTill he took St. Thomas from dungeon cell,\\nAnd said, O builder he most is wise\\nWho buildeth ever for Paradise\\nFrom Geraldine.\\nBROUGHT IN PA S PRAYERS.\\nOnce upon a time sickness came to the\\nfamily of a poorly paid pastor of a\\nrural church. It was winter, and the\\npastor was in financial straits. A number\\nof his flock decided to meet at his house and\\noffer prayers for the speedy recovery ol the\\nsick ones, and for material blessings upon\\nthe pastor s family While one of the deacons\\nwas offering a fervent prayer for blessings\\nupon the pastor s household there was a\\nloud knock at the door. When the door\\nwas opened, a stout farmer boy was seen,\\nwrapped up comfortably.\\nWhat do you want, boy? asked one\\nof the elders.\\nI ve brought pa s prayers, replied\\nthe boy.\\nBrought pa s prayers? What do you\\nmean\\nYep, brought pa s prayers an they re\\nout in the wagon. Just help me an we ll\\nget em in.\\nInvestigation disclosed the fact that\\npa s prayers consisted of potatoes,\\nflour, bacon, corn-meal, turnips, apples,\\nwarm clothing, and a lot of jellies for the\\nsick ones.\\nThe prayer meeting adjourned in short\\norder.\\nMissionary.", "height": "4412", "width": "3312", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0248.jp2"}, "249": {"fulltext": "RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\n253\\nHOW PRAYER WAS ANSWERED.\\nSuitable for Church Entertainment.\\n44\\nM AD\\nadam, we miss the train at B-\\nBut can t you make it, sir?\\nshe gasped.\\nImpossible it leaves at three,\\nAnd we are due a quarter past.\\nIs there no way Oh, tell me then,\\nAre you a Christian I am not.\\nAnd are there none among the men\\nWho run the train No I forgot\\nI think this fellow over here,\\nOiling the engine, claims to be.\\nShe threw upon the engineer\\nA fair face white with agony.\\nII Are you a Christian Yes, I am.\\nThen, O sir, won t you pray with me,\\nAll the long way, that God will stay,\\nThat God will hold the train at B\\nTwill do no good, it s due at three\\nAnd Yes, but God can hold the\\ntrain\\nMy dying child is calling me,\\nAnd I must see her face again.\\nOh, won 7 you pray? I will, a nod\\nEmphatic, as he takes his place.\\nWhen Christians grasp the arm of God\\nThey grasp the power that rules the rod.\\nOut from the station swept the train,\\nOn time, swept on past wood and lea\\nThe engineer, with cheeks aflame,\\nPrayed, O Lord, hold the train at\\nB\\nThen flung the throttle wide, and like\\nSome giant monster of the plain,\\nWith panting sides and mighty strides,\\nPast hill and valley swept the train.\\nA half, a minute, two are gained\\nAlong those burnished lines of steel,\\nHis glances leap, each nerve is strained,\\nAnd still he prays with fervent zeal.\\nHeart, hand and brain, with one accord,\\nWork while his pray r ascends to Heaven,\\nJust hold the train eight minutes, Lord.\\nAnd I ll make up the other seven.\\nWith rush and roar through meadow lands,\\nPast cottage homes, and green hillsides,\\nThe panting thing obeys his hands,\\nAnd speeds along with giant strides.\\nThey say an accident delayed\\nThe train a little while but He\\nWho listened while his children prayed,\\nIn answer, held the train at B\\nRosk Hartwick Thorpe.\\nNO RELIGION WITHOUT MYSTERIES.\\nTHKR3 is nothing beautiful, sweet, or\\ngrand in life, but in its mysteries. The\\nsentiments which agitate us most\\nstrongly are enveloped in obscurity; mod-\\nesty, virtuous love, sincere friendship, have\\nall their secrets, with which the world must\\nnot be made acquainted. Hearts which\\nlove understand each other by a word half\\nof each is at all times open to the other.\\nInnocence itself is but a holy ignorance, and\\nthe most ineffable of mysteries. Infancy is\\nonly happy, because it as yet knows nothing;\\nage miserable, because it has nothing more\\nto learn. Happily for it, when the myster-\\nies of life are ending, those of immortality\\ncommence.\\nIf it is thus with the sentiments, it is as-\\nsuredly not less so with the virtues the\\nmost angelic are those which, emanating\\ndirectly from the Deity, such as charity,\\nlove to withdraw themselves from all re-\\ngards, as if fearful to betray their celestial\\norigin.\\nIf we turn to the understanding, we shall\\nfind that the pleasures of thought, also,\\nhave a certain connection with the myster-\\nious. To what sciences do we unceasingly\\nreturn To those which always leave some-\\nthing still to be discovered, and fix our re-\\ngards on a perspective which is never to\\nterminate. If we wander in the desert, a sort\\nof instinct leads us to shun the plains where\\nthe eye embraces at once the whole circum-\\nference of nature, to plunge into forests\\nthose forests the cradle of religion, whose\\nshades and solitudes are filled with the re-\\ncollection of prodigies, where the ravens\\nand the doves nourished the prophets and\\nfathers of the church. If we visit a modern\\nmonument, whose origin or destination is\\nknown, it excites no attention but, if we\\nmeet on a desert isle, in the midst of the\\nocean, with a mutilated statue pointing to\\nthe west, with its pedestal covered with\\nhieroglyphics, and worn by the winds, what", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0249.jp2"}, "250": {"fulltext": "254\\nRELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\na subject of meditation is presented to the\\ntraveler Everything is concealed, every-\\nthing is hidden in the universe. Man him-\\nself is the greatest mystery of the whole.\\nWhence comes the spark which we call\\nexistence, and in what obscurity is it to be\\nextinguished The Eternal has placed our\\nbirth, and our death, under the form of two\\nveiled phantoms, at the two extremities of\\nour career the one produces the inconceiv-\\nable gift of life, which the other is ever\\nready to devour.\\nIt is not surprising, then, considering the\\npassion of the human mind for the myster-\\nious, that the religions of every country\\nshould have had their impenetrable secrets.\\nGod forbid that I should compare the\\nmysteries of the true faith, or the unfathom-\\nable depths of the Sovereign in the heavens,\\nto the changing obscurities of those gods\\nwhich are the work of human hands. All\\nthat I observe is, that there is no religion\\nwithout mysteries, and that it is they, with\\nthe sacrifice, which everywhere constitute\\nthe essence of the worship.\\nChateaubriand\\nRIZPAH.\\nBy permission of the author.\\nOne of the most pathetic and dramatic incidents in sacred\\nhistory is that of Rizpah watching by the gibbets of her sons\\nwho had been slain to satisfy the haters of King Saul, their\\nfather. The story may be read in II Samuel, xxi.\\nNight came at last. The noisy throng\\nhad gone,\\nAnd where the sun so late, like al-\\nchemist,\\nTurned spear and shield and chariot to gold\\nNo sound was heard.\\nThe awful deed was done\\nAnd vengeance sated to the full had turned\\nAway. The Amorites had drunk the blood\\nOf Saul and were content. The last armed\\nguard\\nHad gone, and stillness dwelt upon the\\nscene.\\nThe rocky mount slept fast in solitude\\nThe dry, dead shrubs stood weird and grim,\\nand marked\\nThe narrow, heated road that sloped and\\nwound\\nTo join the King s highway. No living\\nthing\\nWas seen nor insect, bird, nor beast was\\nheard\\nThe very air came noiselessly across\\nThe blighted barley fields below, yet stirred\\nNo leaflet with its sultry breath.\\nAbove\\nA mist half hid the vaulted firmament,\\nAnd stars shone dimly as though through\\na veil\\nStill was their light full adequate to show\\nThose rigid shapes that seeming stood\\nerect,\\nYet bleeding hung, each from its upright\\ncross,\\nA mute companion to its ghastly kin.\\nThe middle watch was come, yet silence\\nstill\\nOppressed the night the twigs stood mo-\\ntionless\\nLike listening phantoms, when, from out\\nThe shadow of a jutting rock there came\\nA moving thing of life, a wolf- like form\\nWith slow and stealthy tread it came, then\\nstopped\\nTo sniff the air, then nearer moved to\\nwhere\\nThe seven gibbets stood.\\nThen came a shriek,\\nA cry of mortal fear that pierced the soul\\nOf night then up from earth a figure\\nsprang,\\nThe frightened jackal leaped away, and\\nonce\\nMore Rizpah crouched beneath her dead.\\nSo night\\nAnd day she watched beneath the burning\\nsun\\nBy day, beneath the stars and moon by\\nnight\\nAll through the long Passover Feast she\\nwatched.\\nOft in the lonely vigil back through years\\nShe went in fancy she was young again,\\nThe favored one of mighty Saul, the King\\nAgain she mingled with the courtly throng,\\nAnd led her laughing boys before her lord,\\nTheir father.\\nStarting then, with upturned face,\\nAnd gazing from her hollow, tearless eyes,\\nHer blackened lips would move, but make\\nno sound,\\nThen, sinking to the ground she caught\\nonce more", "height": "4388", "width": "3316", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0250.jp2"}, "251": {"fulltext": "RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\n255\\nThe thread of thought, and thought brought\\nother scenes\\nShe saw the stripling warrior David, son\\nOf Jesse, whom the populace adored\\nAnd Saul despised then Merab came, and\\nthen\\nHer sweet-faced sister, Michal, whose quick\\nwit\\nAnd love saved David s life.\\nThen Rizpah rose,\\nYea, like a tigress sprang unto her feet.\\nThou, David, curst be thee and thine\\nshe shrieked,\\nThou ingrate murderer Had Saul but\\nlived,\\nAnd hadst thou fallen upon thy sword in-\\nstead,\\nMy sons, my children still would live.\\nTwas in\\nThe morning watch, and Rizpah s last, that\\nbright,\\nClear glowed the Milky Way. The Pleiades\\nLike molten gold shone forth e en she who\\nloved\\nThe mortal Sisyphus peeped timidly,\\nAnd so the Seven wond ring sisters gazed\\nUpon the Seven crucified below.\\nSuch cause for woman s pity ne er was\\nseen,\\nAnd stars, e en stones might weep for Riz-\\npah s woe,\\nWhose mother-love was deathless as her\\nsoul.\\nThe gray dawn came. The sky was over-\\ncast\\nThe wind had changed and sobbed a re-\\nquiem.\\nStill Rizpah slept and dreamed. She heard\\nthe sound\\nOf harps and timbrels in her girlhood\\nhome\\nWhen rush of wings awakened her. She\\nrose,\\nHer chilled form shaking unto death. She\\nlooked,\\nAnd saw the loathsome vultures at their\\nwork.\\nWith javelin staff in hand she beat them\\noff,\\nBut bolder were they as she weaker grew,\\nTill one huge bird swooped at her fierce,\\nAnd sunk its talons in her wasted arm.\\nShe threw it off, the hideous monster fled,\\nAnd Rizpah fell. It then began to rain.\\nThe famine ceased, and Rizpah s watch was\\ndone.\\nGeo. M. Vickers.\\nSHALL WE KNOW EACH OTHER THERE?\\nThe following beautiful and comforting lines were recited at a\\nfuneral in Philadelphia, in 1899, just after the minister s remarks,\\nby a sympathetic friend of the family. It was a marked innova-\\ntion upon the customs of such occasions, but those who heard it\\ndeclared it impressed both mourners and friends profoundly.\\nWhen we hear the music ringing\\nIn the bright celestial dome\\nWhen sweet angels voices singing,\\nGladly bid us welcome home\\nTo the land of ancient story,\\nWhere the spirit knows no care\\nIn that land of life and glory\\nShall we know each other there\\nWhen the holy angels meet us,\\nAs we go to join their band,\\nShall we know the friends that greet us\\nIn that glorious spirit land\\nShall we see the same eyes shining\\nOn us as in days of yore\\nShall we feel the dear arms twining\\nFondly round us as before\\nYes, my earth- worn soul rejoices,\\nAnd my weary heart grows light,\\nFor the thrilling angels voices\\nAnd the angel faces bright,\\nThat shall welcome us in heaven,\\nAre the loved ones long ago\\nAnd to them tis kindly given\\nThus their mortal friends to know.\\nOh ye weary, sad, and tossed one,\\nDroop not, faint not by the way\\nYe shall join the loved and just ones\\nIn that land of perfect day.\\nHarp -strings, touched by angel fingers,\\nMurmur in my rapturous ear;\\nEvermore their sweet song lingers\\nWe shall know each other there.\\nHOW THE ORGAN WAS PAID FOR.\\nMany churches have experienced difficulty in paying for an\\norgan, and it is common to give entertainments for the raising of\\nfundi for this purpose. The following recitation may be helpful\\non such occasions.\\nL\\noud the organ tones came swelling all\\nthe crowded aisles along\\nGladdest praise their music thrilling\\nin a burst of worldless song.", "height": "4388", "width": "3212", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0251.jp2"}, "252": {"fulltext": "256\\nRELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\nOft the chink of falling money sounded soft\\nthe notes between,\\nBut the plate seemed slow in filling little\\nsilver could be seen.\\nHands in pockets lingered sadly, faces\\nlooked unwilling, cold\\nGifts from slow, unwilling fingers o er the\\nplate s rich velvet rolled.\\nIt s Thanksgiving, dear, a mother whis-\\npered to her questioning son\\nWe must give to the new organ, all our\\npennies, every one.\\nThen it will be ours, all paid for, and will\\nsweeter music send\\nIn thanksgiving up to Heaven, with the\\nangels praise to blend.\\nSlowly passed the plate of off rings, while\\na child-voice whispered low\\n11 1 put in my every penny mamma, will\\nthe organ know\\nThat I gave the yellow penny Uncle\\nCharlie sent to me\\nYes, dear, whispered soft the mother,\\nGod your gift will surely see,\\nGive, oh, give! the music pleaded.\\nGive, that loud I may rejoice\\nThen thro all the waiting stillness, piped a\\nshrill indignant voice\\nMamma, do yon think the organ saw that\\nrich old Deacon Cox\\nOnly gave one little penny when they passed\\nthe music-box\\nQuick the little voice was quiet, but a flush\\nof honest shame\\nFrom awakened hearts uprising, over many\\nfaces came.\\nAnd the Deacon, slowly rising, as the organ\\ndied away,\\nSaid, I humbly here acknowledge to a\\nwicked heart to-day,\\nFriends and brothers but my sinning I will\\nalter as I live,\\nAnd the half of what is lacking here to-day,\\nI freely give\\n4 That our glorious new organ may give\\npraise to God on high,\\nWith no debt of earth upon it that our gold\\ncan satisfy.\\nThen arose another brother, and another\\nstill, and more,\\nGiving with a lavish spending as they never\\ngave before.\\nTill the plate was overflowing and the\\norgan debt secure\\nThen they took a contribution for Thanks-\\ngiving and the poor.\\nAnd as outward with the music a glad\\nstream of people flows,\\nSoft a childish voice cries, Mamma, I am\\nsure the organ knows\\nKate A. Bradley.\\nAN APOSTROPHE TO THE MOUNTAINS.\\nMountains who was your builder\\nWho laid your awful foundations\\nin the central fires, and piled your\\nrocks and snow-capped summits among the\\nclouds Who placed you in the gardens of\\nthe world, like noble altars, on which to\\noffer the sacrificial gifts of many nations\\nWho reared your rocky walls in the bar-\\nren desert, like towering pyramids, like\\nmonumental mounds, like giants graves,\\nlike dismantled piles of royal ruins, telling\\na mournful tale of glory, once bright, but\\nnow fled forever, as flee the dreams of a\\nmidsummer s night? Who gave you a\\nhome in the islands of the sea, those\\nemeralds that gleam among the waves\\nthose stars of ocean that mock the beauty\\nof the stars of night\\nMountains! I know who built you. It\\nwas God His name is written on your\\nforeheads. He laid your cornerstones on\\nthat glorious morning when the orchestra\\nof Heaven sounded the anthem of creation.\\nHe clothed your high, imperial forms in\\nroyal robes.\\nHe gave you a snowy garment, and wove\\nfor you a cloudy veil of crimson and gold.\\nHe crowned you with a diadem of icy jew-\\nels pearls from the Arctic seas gems\\nfrom the frosty pole. Mountains ye are\\nglorious. Ye stretch your granite arms\\naway toward the vales of the undiscovered;\\nye have a longing for immortality.\\nBut, mountains ye long in vain I called\\nyou glorious, and truly ye are; but your\\nglory is like that of the starry heavens,", "height": "4388", "width": "3332", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0252.jp2"}, "253": {"fulltext": "RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\n257\\nit shall pass away at the trumpet-blast 01\\nthe angel of the Most High. Old Father\\nTime that sexton of earth has dug for\\nyou a deep dark tomb and in silence ye\\nshall sleep after sea and shore shall have\\nbeen pressed by the feet of the apocalyptic\\nangel, through the long watches of an eter-\\nnal night.\\nONE TOUCH OF NATURE.\\nThe Love of Mother the same in any Language.\\nWE were at a railroad junction one night\\nlast week waiting a few hours for a\\ntrain, in the waiting-room, in the\\nonly rocking-chair, trying to talk a brown-\\neyed boy to sleep, who talks a good deal,\\nwhen he wants to keep awake. Presently\\na freight train arrived, and a beautiful little\\nwoman came in, escorted by a great big\\nGerman, and they talked in German, he\\ngiving her evidently, lots of information\\nabout the route she was going, and telling\\nher about her tickets and her baggage\\ncheck, and occasionally patting her on the\\narm.\\nAt first our United States baby, who did\\nnot understand German, was tickled to hear\\nthem talk, and he snickered at the\\npeculiar sound of the language that was\\nbeing spoken. The great big man put his\\nhand upon the old lady s cheek, and said\\nsomething encouraging, and a great big\\ntear came to her eye, and she looked as\\nhappy as a queen. The little brown eyes\\nof the boy opened pretty big, and his face\\nsobered down from its laugh, and he said\\nPapa, is it his mother\\nWe knew it was, but how should a four-\\nyear-old sleepy baby, that couldn t under-\\nstand German, tell that the lady was the\\nbig man s mother, and we asked him how\\nhe knew, and he said: O, the big man\\nwas so kind to her. The big man bustled\\nout, we gave the rocking-chair to the little\\nold mother, and presently the man came in\\nwith the baggageman, and to him he spoke\\nEnglish\\nHe said This is my mother, and she\\ndoes not speak English. She is going to\\nIowa, and I have got to go back on the\\nnext train, but I want you to attend to her\\nbaggage, and see her on the right car, the\\nrear car, with a good seat near the center,\\nand tell the conductor she is my mother,\\nand here s a dollar for you, and I will do as\\nmuch for your mother sometime.\\nThe baggageman grasped the dollar with\\none hand, grasped the big man s hand with\\nthe other, and looked at the little German\\nwith an expression that showed that he had\\na mother too, and we almost knew the old\\nlady was well treated. Then we put the\\nsleeping mind-reader on a bench and went\\nout on the platform and got acquainted\\nwith the big German, and he talked of\\nhorse trading, buying and selling, and\\neverything that snowed he was a live\\nbusiness man, ready for any speculation,\\nfrom buying a yearling colt to a crop of\\nhops or barley, and that his life was a very\\nbusy one and at times full of hard work,\\ndisappointment and hard roads, but with\\nall his hurry and excitement, he was kind\\nto his mother, and we loved him just a\\nlittle, and when after a few minutes talk\\nabout business he said You must excuse\\nme. I must go in the depot and see if my\\nmother wants anything, we felt like taking\\nhis fat red hand and kissing it. O, the love\\nof a mother is the same in any language,\\nand it is good in all languages. The world\\nwould be poor without it.\\nR. J. BURDETTK.\\nNO SECTS IN HEAVEN.\\nFor Church Entertainment.\\nTalking of sects till late one eve,\\nOf the various doctrines the saints\\nbelieve,\\nThat night I stood, in a troubled dream,\\nBy the side of a darkly flowing stream.\\nAnd a Churchman down to the river\\ncame\\nWhen I heard a strange voice call his name\\nGood father, stop; when you cross this\\ntide,\\nYou must leave your robes on the other\\nside.\\nBut the aged father did not mind,\\nAnd his long gown floated out behind,\\nAs down to the stream his way he took,\\nHis pale hands clasping a gilt-edged book.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0253.jp2"}, "254": {"fulltext": "258\\nRELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\nI m bound for heaven; and when I m\\nthere,\\nShall want my Book of Common Prayer\\nAnd, though I put on a starry crown,\\nI should feel quite lost without my gown.\\nThen he fixed his eyes on the shining track,\\nBut his gown was heavy and held him back\\nA.nd the poor old father tried in vain\\nA single step in the flood to gain.\\nI saw him again on the other side,\\nBut his silk gown floated on the tide\\nAnd no one asked, in that blissful spot,\\nWhether he belonged to the church or\\nnot.\\nThen down to the river a Quaker strayed\\nHis dress of a sober hue was made\\nMy coat and hat must all be gray\\nI cannot go any other way.\\nThen he buttoned his coat straight up to his\\nchin,\\nAnd staidly, solemnly waded in,\\nAnd his broad-brimmed hat he pulled down\\ntight,\\nOver his forehead so cold and white.\\nBut a strong wind carried away his hat,\\nA moment he silently sighed over that\\nAnd then, as he gazed to the farther shore,\\nThe coat slipped off, and was seen no more*\\nAs he entered heaven his suit of gray\\nWent quietly sailing, away, away\\nAnd none of the angels questioned him\\nAbout the width of his beaver s brim.\\nNext came Dr. Watts, with a bundle of\\npsalms\\nTied nicely up in his aged arms,\\nAnd hymns as many, a very wise thing,\\nThat the people in heaven all round\\nmight sing.\\nBut I thought that he heaved an anxious\\nsigh,\\nAs he saw that the river ran broad and\\nhigh;\\nAnd looked rather surprised as one by one\\nThe psalms and hymns in the wave went\\ndown.\\nAnd after him, with his MSS.,\\nCame Wesley, the pattern of godliness;\\nBut he cried, Dear me what shall I do\\nThe water has soaked them through and\\nthrough.\\nAnd there on the river far and wide,\\nAway they went down the swollen tide\\nAnd the saint, astonished, passed through\\nalone\\nWithout his manuscripts, up to the throne.\\nThen, gravely walking, two saints by name\\nDown to the stream together came\\nBut as they stopped at the river s brink,\\nI saw one saint from the other shrink.\\nSprinkled or plunged? may I ask you,\\nfriend,\\nHow you attained to life s great end\\nThus, with a few drops on my brow,\\nBut have been dipped as you see me\\nnow.\\nAnd I really think it will hardly do,\\nAs I m close communion, to cross with\\nyou.\\nYou re bound, I know, to the realms of\\nbliss,\\nBut you must go that way, and I ll go\\nthis.\\nThen straightway plunging with all his\\nmight,\\nAway to the left his friend to the right,\\nApart they went from this world of sin,\\nBut at last together they entered in.\\nAnd now, when the river was rolling on,\\nA Presbyterian church went down\\nOf women there seemed an innumerable\\nthrong,\\nBut the men I could count as they passed\\nalong.\\nAnd concerning the road they never could\\nagree\\nThe old or the new way, which it could be,\\nNor never a moment stopped to think\\nThat both would lead to the river s brink.\\nAnd a sound of murmuring, long and loud,\\nCame ever up from the moving crowd\\nYou re in the old way, and I m in the\\nnew", "height": "4388", "width": "3428", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0254.jp2"}, "255": {"fulltext": "THE SACRIFICE OF IPHIGENIA\\nIn the above engraving Sarah Bernhardt impersonates Iphigenia\\n(Suggestion for Tableau)\\n(23", "height": "4324", "width": "3216", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0255.jp2"}, "256": {"fulltext": "(260)\\nNEVER TO MEET AGAIN\\n(Suggestion for Tableau)", "height": "4388", "width": "3352", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0256.jp2"}, "257": {"fulltext": "RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\n261\\nThat is the false, and this is the true\\nOr I m in the old way, and you re in the\\nnew\\nThat is the false, and this is the true.\\nBut the brethren only seemed to speak\\nModest the sisters walked and meek,\\nAnd if ever one of them chanced to say\\nWhac trouble she met on the way,\\nHow she longed to pass to the other side,\\nNor feared to cross over the swelling tide,\\nA voice arose from the brethren then,\\nL,et no one speak but the holy men\\nFor have ye not heard the words of Paul,\\n1 Oh, let the women keep silence all\\nI watched them long in my curious dream,\\nTill they stood by the borders of the\\nstream\\nThen, just as I thought, the two ways\\nmet\\nBut all the brethren were talking yet,\\nAnd would talk on till the heaving tide\\nCarried them over side by side\\nSide by side, for the way was one\\nThe toilsome journey of life was done\\nAnd all who in Christ the Saviour died,\\nCame out alike on the other side.\\nNo forms, or crosses, or books had they,\\nNo gowns of silk or suits of gray\\nNo creeds to guide them, or MSS.;\\nFor all had put on Christ s righteousness.\\nK. H.J. ClvEVKLAND.\\nPAPA S LETTER.\\nI\\nWAS sitting in my study,\\nWriting letters, when I heard,\\nPlease, dear mamma, Mary told me\\nMamma mustn t be isturbed\\nBut I s tired of the kitty,\\nWant some ozzer fing to do\\nWiting letters, is ou, mamma\\nTan t I wite a letter, too\\nNot now, darling, mamma s busy\\nRun and play with kitty, now.\\nNo, no, mamma, me wite letter\\nTan if ou will show me how.\\nI would paint my darling s portrait\\nAs his sweet eyes searched my face\\nHair of gold and eyes of azure,\\nForm of childish, witching grace.\\nBut the eager face was clouded,\\nAs I slowly shook my head,\\nTill I said, I ll make a letter\\nOf you, darling boy, instead.\\nSo I parted back the tresses\\nFrom his forehead high and white,\\nAnd a stamp in sport I pasted\\nMid its waves of golden light.\\nThen I said, Now, little letter,\\nGo away, and bear good news.\\nAnd I smiled as down the staircase\\nClattered loud the little shoes.\\nLeaving me, the darling hurried\\nDown to Mary in his glee\\nMamma s witing lots of letters\\nI s a letter, Mary see\\nNo one heard the little prattler\\nAs once more he climbed the stair,\\nReached his little cap and tippet,\\nStanding on the entry chair.\\nNo one heard the front door open,\\nNo one saw the golden hair\\nAs it floated o er his shoulders\\nIn the crisp October air.\\nDown the street the baby hastened\\nTill he reached the office door.\\nI sa letter, Mr. Postman,\\nIs there room for any more\\nCause dis letter s doin to papa\\nPapa lives with God, ou know.\\nMamma sent me for a letter\\nDoes ou fink at I tan go\\nBut the clerk in wonder answered,\\nNot to-day, my little man.\\nDen I ll find anuzzer office,\\nCause I must go if I tan.\\nFain the clerk would have detained him,\\nBut the pleading face was gone,\\nAnd the little feet were hastening\\nBy the busy crowd swept on.\\nSuddenly the crowd was parted,\\nPeople fled to left and right", "height": "4388", "width": "3212", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0257.jp2"}, "258": {"fulltext": "262\\nRELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\nAs a pair of maddened horses\\nAt the moment dashed in sight.\\nNo one saw the baby figure\\nNo one saw the golden hair,\\nTill a voice of frightened sweetness\\nRang out on the autumn air.\\nTwas too late a moment only\\nStood the beauteous vision there,\\nThen the little face lay lifeless,\\nGovered o er with golden hair\\nReverently they raised my darling,\\nBrushed away the curls of gold,\\nSaw the stamp upon the forehead,\\ngrowing now so icy cold.\\nNot a mark the face disfigured,\\nShowing where a hoof had trod\\nBut the little life was ended\\nPapa s letter was with God.\\nTHE CYNIC.\\nThe; cynic is one who never sees a good\\nquality in a man, and never fails to\\nsee a bad one. He is the human\\nowl, vigilant in darkness and blind to light,\\nmousing for vermin, and never seeing noble\\ngame.\\nThe cynic puts all human actions into\\nonly two classes openly bad, and secretly\\nbad. All virtue, and generosity, and disin-\\nterestedness, are merely the appearance of\\ngood, but selfish at the bottom. He holds\\nthat no man does a good thing except for\\nprofit. The effect of his conversation upon\\nyour feelings is to chill and sear them to\\nsend you away sour and morose.\\nHis criticisms and innuendoes fall indis-\\ncriminately upon every lovely thing, like\\nfrost upon the flowers. If Mr. A. is pro-\\nnounced a religious man, he will reply\\nyes, on Sundays. Mr. B. has just joined\\nthe church certainly the elections are\\ncoming on. The minister of the gospel is\\ncalled an example of diligence it is his\\ntrade. Such a man is generous of other\\nmen s money. This man is obliging: to\\nlull suspicion and cheat you. That man is\\nupright because he is green.\\nThus his eye strains out every good qual-\\nity, and takes in only the bad. To him\\nreligion is hypocrisy, honesty a preparation\\nor fraud, virtue only a want of opportunity,\\nand undeniable purity, asceticism. The live-\\nlong day he will coolly sit with sneering\\nlip, transfixing every character that is pre-\\nsented.\\nIt is impossible to indulge in such habit-\\nual severity of opinion upon our fellow-men,\\nwithout injuring the tenderness and delicacy\\nof our own feelings. A man will be what his\\nmost cherished feelings are. If he encourage\\na noble generosity, every feeling will be\\nenriched by it if he nurse bitter and\\nenvenomed thoughts, his own spirit will\\nabsorb the poison, aud he will crawl among\\nmen as a burnished adder, whose life is\\nmischief, and whose errand is death.\\nHe who hunts for flowers will find flow-\\ners and he who loves weeds may find\\nweeds.\\nL,et it be remembered that no man, who is\\nnot himself morally diseased, will have a\\nrelish for disease in others. Reject then\\nthe morbid ambition of the cynic, or cease\\nto call yourself a man.\\nH. W. Bkkchkr.\\nADVICE TO YOUNG MEN.\\nShort, practical reading, suitable for any occasion when\\ndidactics are admissible.\\nYoung men, you are the architects of\\nyour own fortunes. Rely upon your\\nown strength of body and soul. Take\\nfor your star self-reliance, faith, honesty,\\nand industry. Inscribe on your banner,\\nLuck is a fool, pluck is a hero. Don t\\ntake too much advice keep at your helm\\nand steer your own ship, and remember that\\nthe great art of commanding is to take a\\nfair share of the work. Don t practice too\\nmuch humanity. Think well of yourself,\\nStrike out. Assume your own position.\\nPut potatoes in your cart, over a rough\\nroad, and small ones go to the bottom. Rise\\nabove the envious and jealous. Fire above\\nthe mark you intend to hit. Knergy, in-\\nvincible determination, with a right motive,\\nare the levers that move the world. Don t\\ndrink. Don t chew. Don t smoke. Don t\\nswear. Don t deceive. Don t read novels.\\nDon t marry until you can support a wife.\\nBe in earnest. Be self-reliant. Be generous.", "height": "4388", "width": "3324", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0258.jp2"}, "259": {"fulltext": "RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\n263\\nBe civil. Read the papers. Advertise your\\nbusiness. Make money and do good with\\nit. Love your God and fellowmen. Love\\ntruth and virtue. Love your country, and\\nobey its laws. If this advice be implicitly\\nfollowed by the young men of the country,\\nthe millennium is at hand.\\nNoah Porter.\\nTHE LAST HYMN.\\nTHE Sabbath day was ended in a village\\nby the sea,\\nThe uttered benediction touched the\\npeople tenderly\\nAnd they rose to face the sunset in the\\nglowing, lighted west,\\nAnd then hastened to their dwellings for\\nGod s blessed boon of rest.\\nAnd they looked across the waters, and a\\nstorm was raging there,\\nA fierce spirit moved above them a wild\\nspirit of the air\\nAnd it lashed, and shook and tore them, till\\nthey thundered, groaned and boomed,\\nAnd alas for any vessel in their yawning\\ngulfs entombed.\\nVery anxious were the people on the rocky\\ncoast of Wales,\\nLest the dawn of coming morrows should\\nbe telling awful tales,\\nWhen the sea had spent its passion and\\nshould cast upon the shore\\nBits of wreck and swollen victims, as it had\\ndone heretofore,\\nWith the rough winds blowing round her,\\na brave woman strained her eyes,\\nAnd she saw along the billows a large\\nvessel fall and rise.\\nOh, it did not need a prophet to tell what\\nthe end must be\\nFor no ship could ride in safety near the\\nshore on such a sea.\\nThen pitying people hurried from their\\nhomes and thronged the beach.\\nOh, for power to cross the water and the\\nperishing to reach\\nHelpless hands were wrung with sorrow,\\ntender hearts grew cold with dread\\nAnd the ship, urged by the tempest, to the\\nfatal rock-shore sped.\\nShe has parted in the middle Oh, the\\nhalf of her goes down\\nGod have mercy Is Heaven far to seek\\nfor those who drown\\nLo when next the white, shocked faces\\nlooked with terror on the sea,\\nOnly one last clinging figure on the spar\\nwas seen to be.\\nNear the trembling watchers came the wreck\\ntossed by the wave,\\nAnd the man still clung and floated, though\\nno power on earth could save.\\nCould we send him a short message\\nhere s a trumpet. Shout away\\nTwas the preacher s hand that took it, and\\nhe wondered what to say.\\nAny memory of his sermon firstly sec-\\nondly Ah, no\\nThere was but one thing to utter in that\\nawful hour of woe\\nSo he shouted through the trumpet, Look\\nto Jesus. Can you hear\\nAnd Ay, ay, sir! rang the answer o er\\nthe water loud and clear.\\nThen they listened. He is singing, Jesus,\\nlover of my soul\\nAnd the winds brought back the echo,\\n1 While the nearer waters roll\\nStrange, indeed, it was to hear him, Till\\nthe storm of life is passed\\nSinging bravely from the waters, Oh,\\nreceive my soul at last\\nHe could have no other refuge. Hangs\\nmy helpless soul on Thee\\nLeave, ah, leave me not the singer\\ndropped at last into the sea,\\nAnd then the watchers, looking homeward,\\nthrough their eyes with tears made dim,\\nSaid, He passed to be with Jesus in the\\nsinging of that hymn\\nM. Farmington.\\nTHE BRAVEST OF BATTLES.\\nTHE bravest battle that ever was fought,\\nShall I tell you where and when\\nOn the maps of the world you ll find\\nit not\\nTwas fought by the mothers of men.", "height": "4388", "width": "3160", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0259.jp2"}, "260": {"fulltext": "264\\nRELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\nNay, not with cannon or battle shot,\\nWith sword or nobler pen\\nNay, not with eloquent word or thought\\nFrom mouth of wonderful men.\\nBut deep in a walled-up woman s heart\\nOf woman that would not yield,\\nBut bravely, silently bore her part\\nLo there is the battle-field.\\nNo marshalling troup, no bivouac song,\\nNo banner to gleam and wave\\nBut oh, these battles, they last so long\\nFrom babyhood to the grave.\\nJoaquin Miixer.\\nINFLUENCE OF SHALL THINGS.\\nDrop a pebble in th water jes a splash an\\nit is gone,\\nBut th s half a hundred ripples circlin on\\nan on an on,\\nSpreadin spreadin from the centre, flowin\\non out to the sea,\\nAn th ain t no way o tellin where th\\nend is goin to be.\\nDrop a pebble in th water in a minute ye\\nforget,\\nBut th s little waves a flowin an th s rip-\\nples circlin yet,\\nAll th ripples flowin flowin to a mighty\\nwave has grown,\\nAn ye ve disturbed a mighty river jes by\\ndroppin in a stone.\\nDrop an unkind word or careless in a min-\\nute it is gone,\\nBut th s half a hundred ripples circlin on\\nan on an on,\\nTh keep spreadin spreadin spreadin\\nfrom the centre as th go,\\nAn the ain t no way to stop em, once\\nye ve started em to flow.\\nDrop an unkind word or careless in a min-\\nute ye forget,\\nBut th s little waves a flowin and the s rip-\\nples circlin yet,\\nAn perhaps in some sad heart a mighty\\nwave of tears ye ve stirred,\\nAn disturbed a life et s happy when ye\\ndropped an unkind word.\\nDrop a word o cheer an kindness jes a\\nflash and it is gone,\\nBut th s half a hundred ripples circlin on\\nan on an on,\\nBearin hope an joy an comfort on each\\nsplashin dashin wave,\\nTill ye wouldn t b lieve th volume o th\\none kind word ye gave.\\nDrop a word o cheer and kindness in a\\nminute ye forget,\\nBut th s gladness still a swellin an th s\\njoy a circlin yet,\\nAn ye ve rolled a wave of comfort whose\\nsweet music can be heard\\nOver miles an miles o water jes by drop-\\npin a kind word.\\nDON T BE IN A HURRY.\\nDon t be in a hurry to answer yes or no\\nNothing s lost by being reasonably\\nslow,\\nIn a hasty moment you may give consent,\\nAnd through years of torment leisurely\\nrepent.\\nIf a lover seeks you to become his wife,\\nHappiness or misery may be yours for life\\nDon t be in a hurry your feelings to confess,\\nBut think the matter over before you answer\\nyes.\\nShould one ask forgiveness for a grave\\noffence,\\nHonest tears betraying earnest penitence,\\nPity and console him and his fears allay,\\nAnd don t be in a hurry to drive the child\\naway.\\nHurry brings us worry worry wears us\\nout,\\nEasy going people know what they re\\nabout,\\nHeedless haste will bring us surely to the\\nditch,\\nAnd trouble overwhelm us if we hurry to be\\nrich.\\nDon t be in a hurry to throw yourself\\naway\\nBy the side of wisdom for a wild delay,\\nMake your life worth living nobly act\\nyour part\\nAnd don t be in a hurry to spoil it at the\\nstart.", "height": "4388", "width": "3316", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0260.jp2"}, "261": {"fulltext": "RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\n265\\nDon t be in a hurry to speak an angry word\\nDon t be in a hurry to spread the tale\\nyou ve heard.\\nDon t be in a hurry with evil ones to go\\nAnd don t be in a hurry to answer yes or no.\\nAPOSTROPHE TO NIAGARA.\\nMonarch of floods How shall I ap-\\nproach thee how speak of thy\\nglory how extol thy beauty and\\ngrandeur Ages have seen thy awful\\nmajesty earth has paid tribute to thy great-\\nness the best and wisest among men have\\nbent the knee at thy footstool but none\\nhave described none can describe thee\\nAlone thou standest among the wonders of\\nNature, unshaken by the shock of contend-\\ning elements, flinging back the flash of the\\nlightning, and outroaring the thunder\\nof the tempest Allied to the everlasting\\nhills, claiming kindred with the eternal\\nflood, thou art pillared upon the one, the\\nother supplies thy surge. Primeval rocks\\nenviron, clouds cover, and the rainbow\\ncrowns thee. A divine sublimity rests on\\nthy fearful brow, an awful beauty is revealed\\nin thy terrific countenance, the earth is\\nshaken by thy tremendous voice.\\nBorn in the dark past and alive to the dis-\\ntant future, what to thee are the paltry con-\\ncerns of man s ambitions the rise and fall\\nof empires and dynasties, the contests of\\nkings or the crash of thrones Thou art\\nunmoved by the fate of nations, and the\\nrevolutions of the earth are to thee but the\\npulses of time. Kings before thee are but\\nmen, and man, a type of insignificance.\\nThou dost make the soul\\nA wondering witness of thy majesty\\nAnd while it rushes with delirious joy\\nTo tread thy vestibule, dost chain its steps\\nAnd check its rapture, with the humbling\\nview\\nOf its own nothingness.\\nGOOD OLD MOTHERS.\\nSuitable for a Family Reunion Where an Aged\\nMother is Present.\\nSomkbody has said that a mother s love\\nis the only virtue that did not suffer by\\nthe fall of Adam. Whether Adam\\nj6\\nfell or not, it is quite clear that the unselfish\\nlove of a good mother is the crowning glory\\nof the race. No matter how long and how\\nsorely it may be tried, its arms are ever open\\nto receive the returning prodigal. One\\nfaithful heart never loses its affection for the\\nwanderer who has strayed from the fold.\\nAdversity and sorrow may come with all\\ntheir terrible force, but the motherly affec-\\ntion clings to its idol closely. We never\\nsee a good old mother sitting in the arm-\\nchair that we do not think of the storms\\nwhich have pelted into her cheerful face\\nwithout souring it. Her smile is a solace,\\nher presence a benediction. A man may\\nstand more exertion of some kinds than a\\nwoman, but he is apt to lose much of his\\nlaughter, his cheerfulness, his gentleness,\\nand his trust. Yet we rarely find a frail\\nmother whose spirit has been worn thread-\\nbare and unlovely by trials that would have\\nturned a dozen men into misanthropes and\\ndemons. A sweet old mother is common\\nA sweet old father is not so common. In\\nexhaustless patience, hope, faith, and be-\\nnevolence the mothers are sure to lead.\\nAlas, that their worth too often is not fully\\nknown and properly appreciated until they\\npass beyond mortal reach God bless the\\ngood old mothers\\nTHE FUNERAL.\\nI was walking in Savannah, past a church\\ndecayed and dim,\\nWhen there slowly through the window\\ncame a plaintive funeral hymn\\nAnd a sympathy awakened, and a wonder\\nquickly grew,\\nTill I found myself environed in a little\\nnegro pew.\\nOut at front a colored couple sat in sorrow,\\nnearly wild\\nOn the altar was a coffin, in the coffin was\\na child.\\nI could picture him when living curly\\nhair, protruding lip\\nAnd had seen, perhaps, a thousand, in my\\nhurried Southern trip\\nBut no baby ever rested in the soothing\\narms of Death\\nThat had fanned more flames of sorrow\\nwith his little fluttering breath", "height": "4384", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0261.jp2"}, "262": {"fulltext": "266\\nRELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\nAnd no funeral ever glistened with more\\nsympathy profound\\nThan was in the chain of tear-drops that\\nenclasped those mourners round.\\nRose a sad old colored preacher at the little\\nwooden desk\\nWith a manner grandly awkward, with a\\ncountenance grotesque\\nWith simplicity and shrewdness on his\\nEthiopian face\\nWith the ignorance and wisdom of a crushed\\nundying race.\\nAnd he said: Now don be weepin for\\ndis pretty bit o clay\\nFor de little boy who lived dere, he done\\ngone an run away\\nHe was doin very finely, an he preciate\\nyour love\\nBut his sure nuff Father want him in de\\nlarge house up above.\\nNow he didn t give you dat baby, by a\\nhundred thousan mile\\nHe just think you need some sunshine, an\\nhe lent it for awhile\\nAn he let you keep an love it till your\\nhearts was bigger grown,\\nAn dese silver tears you r sheddin s jes de\\ninterest on de loan.\\nHere s yer oder pretty chilrun don be\\nmakin it appear\\nDat your love got sort o nop lized by dis\\nlittle fellow here\\nDon pile up too much your sorrow on deir\\nlittle mental shelves,\\nSo s to kind o set em wonderin if dey re\\nno account demselves.\\nJust you think, you poor deah mounahs,\\ncreepin long o er Sorrow s way,\\nWhat a blessed little picnic dis yere baby s\\ngot to-day\\nYour good faders and good moders crowd\\nde little fellow round\\nIn de angel-tented garden of de Big Plan-\\ntation Ground.\\nAn dey ask him, Was your feet sore\\nan take off his little shoes,\\nAn dey wash him, an dey kiss him, an\\ndey say, Now, what s de news\\nAn de L,awd done cut his tongue loose\\nden de little fellow say,\\nAll our folks down in de valley tries to\\nkeep de hebbenly way.\\nAn his eyes dey brightly sparkle at de\\npretty tings he view\\nDen a tear come, an he whisper, But I\\nwant my pa yents, too\\nBut de Angel Chief Musician teach dat boy\\na little song\\nSays, If only dey be fait ful dey will soon\\nbe comin long.\\nAn he ll get an education dat will prob-\\nerbly be worth\\nSeberal times as much as any you could\\nbuy for him on earth\\nHe ll be in de L,awd s big school house,\\nwidout no contempt or fear,\\nWhile dere s no end to de bad tings might\\nhave happened to him here.\\nSo, my pooah dejected mounahs, let your\\nhearts wid Jesus rest,\\nAn don go ter criticism dat ar One w at\\nknows de best\\nHe have sent us many comforts He have\\nright to take away\\nTo de Lawd be praise an glory, now and\\never I^et us pray.\\nWiLiv Cari/eton.\\nWANTED\u00e2\u0080\u0094 A MINISTER S WIFE.\\nSuitable to Church Entertainment.\\nAT length we have settled a Pastor,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nI am sure I cannot tell why\\nThe people should grow so restless,\\nOr candidates grow so shy.\\nBut after two yeares searching\\nFor the smartest man in the land,\\nIn a fit of desperation\\nWe took the nearest at hand.\\nAnd really he answers nicely\\nTo fill up the gap, you know\\nTo run the machine and bring up\\narrears,\\nAnd make things generally go.\\nHe has a few little failings\\nHis sermons are commonplace quite\\nBut his manner is very charming,\\nAnd his teeth are perfectly white.", "height": "4412", "width": "3340", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0262.jp2"}, "263": {"fulltext": "RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\n267\\nAnd so of all the dear people,\\nNot one in a hundred complains,\\nFor beauty and grace of manner\\nAre so much better than brains\\nBut the parish have all concluded\\nHe needs a partner for life,\\nTo shine a gem in the parlor\\nWanted a Minister s Wife\\nA perfect pattern of prudence\\nTo all others, spending less,\\nBut never disgracing the parish\\nBy looking shabby in dress.\\nPlaying the organ on Sunday\\nWould aid our laudable strife\\nTo save the society s money\\nWanted a Minister s Wife\\nWanted a perfect lady,\\nDelicate, gentle, refined,\\nWith every beauty of person,\\nAnd every endowment of mind.\\nFitted by early culture\\nTo move in a fashionable life\\nPlease notice our advertisement\\nWanted a Minister s Wife\\nAnd when we have found the person,\\nWe hope, by working the two,\\nTo lift our debt, and build a new church-\\nThen we shall know what to do\\nFor they will be worn and weary,\\nNeeding a change of life,\\nAnd we ll advertise Wanted\\nA Minister and his Wife\\nWanted a thorough- bred worker,\\nWho well to her household looks,\\n(Shall we see our money wasted,\\nBy extravagant Irish cooks\\nWho cut the daily expenses\\nWith economy sharp as a knife,\\nAnd washes and scrubs in the kitchen\\nWanted a Minister s Wife\\nA very domestic person,\\nTo callers she must not be out\\nIt has such a bad appearance\\nFor her to be gadding about,\\nOnly to visit the parish\\nEvery year of her life,\\nAnd attend the funerals and weddings\\nWanted a Minister s wife\\nTo conduct the ladies meetings,\\nThe sewing circle attend,\\nAnd when we have work for the soldiers,\\nHer ready assistance to lend\\nTo clothe the destitute children,\\nWhere sorrow and want are rife,\\nTo hunt up Sunday School scholars\\nWanted a Minister s Wife\\nCareful to entertain strangers,\\nTraveling agents and such\\nOf this kind of angel visits\\nThe deacons had so much,\\nAs to prove a perfect nuisance,\\nAnd hopes these plagues of their life\\nCan soon be sent to their parsons\\nWanted a Minister s Wife\\nM\\nFORGIVENESS.\\ny heart was galled with bitter wrong,\\nRevengeful feelings fired my blood,\\nI brooded hate with passion strong\\nWhile round my couch black demons\\nstood.\\nKind Morpheus wooed my eyes in vain,\\nMy burning brain conceived a plan\\nRevenge I cried, in bitter strain,\\nBut conscience whispered, bea man.\\nForgive a gentle spirit cried,\\nI yielded to my nobler part,\\nUprose and to my foe I hied,\\nForgave him freely from my heart.\\nThe big tears from their fountain rose,\\nHe melted, vowed my friend to be,\\nThat night I sank in sweet repose\\nAnd dreamed that angels smiled on me\\nAnonymous.\\nADVICE TO A YOUNG MAN.\\nRKMKMBKR, my son, you have to work.\\nWhether you handle a pick or a pen,\\na wheelbarrow or a set of books,\\ndigging ditches or editing a paper, ringing\\nan auction bell or writing funny things,\\nyou must work. If you look around, you\\nwill see the men who are the most able to\\nlive the rest of their days without work are\\nthe men who work the hardest. Don t be\\nafraid of killing yourself with overwork.\\nIt is beyond your power to do that on the", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0263.jp2"}, "264": {"fulltext": "26S\\nRELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\nsunny side of thirty. They die sometimes,\\nbut it is because they quit work at 6 p.m.,\\nand don t get home until 2 a.m. It s\\nthe interval that kills, my son. The work\\ngives you an appetite for your meals it\\nlends solidity to your slumbers it gives\\nyou a perfect and grateful appreciation of\\na holiday.\\nThere are young men who do not work,\\nbut the world is not proud of them. It\\ndoes not know their names even it simply\\nspeaks of them as old So-and-so s boys.\\nNobody likes them the great busy world\\ndoesn t know that they are there. So find\\nout what you want to be and do, and take\\noff your coat and make a dust in the world\\nThe busier you are, the less harm you will\\nbe apt to get into, the sweeter will be your\\nsleep, the brighter and happier your holi-\\ndays, and the better satisfied will the world\\nbe with you. R. J. Burdette.\\nTACT AND TALENT.\\nPractical Didactic Selection. Should be Read in\\na Deliberate and Reflective Manner.\\nTalent is something, but tact is every-\\nthing. Talent is serious, sober, grave\\nand respectable tact is all that, and\\nmore too. It is not a sixth sense, but it is\\nthe life of all the five. It is the open eye,\\nthe quick ear, the judging taste, the keen\\nsmell, and the lively touch it is the inter-\\npreter of all riddles, the surmounter of all\\ndifficulties, the remover of all obstacles. It\\nis useful in all places, and at all times it is\\nuseful in solitude, for it shows a man his\\nway into the world it is useful in society,\\nfor it shows him his way through the world.\\nTalent is power, tact is skill talent is\\nweight, tact is momentum talent knows\\nwhat to do, tact knows how to do it talent\\nmakes a man respectable, tact will make\\nhim respected talent is wealth, tact is\\nready money.\\nFor all the practical purposes of life, tact\\ncarries it against talent, ten to one. Take\\nthem to the theatre, and put them against\\neach other on the stage, and talent shall\\nproduce you a tragedy that will scarcely\\nlive long enough to be condemned, while\\ntact keeps the house in a roar, night after\\nnight, with its successful farces. There is\\nno want of dramatic talent, there is no want\\nof dramatic tact but they are seldom\\ntogether so we have successful pieces\\nwhich are not respectable, and respectable\\npieces which are not successful.\\nTake them to the bar, and let them shake\\ntheir learned curls at e ach other in legal\\nrivalry. Talent sees its way clearly, but tact\\nis first at its journey s end. Talent has\\nmany a compliment from the bench, but tact\\ntouches fees from attorneys and clients.\\nTalent speaks learnedly and logically, tact\\ntriumphantly. Talent makes the world\\nwonder that it gets on no faster, tact\\nexcites astonishment that it gets on so fast.\\nAnd the secret is, that tact has no weight\\nto carry it makes no false steps it hits\\nthe right nail on the head it loses no time\\nit takes all hints and, by keeping its eye\\non the weathercock, is ready to take advan-\\ntage of every wind that blows.\\nTake them into the chnrch. Talent has\\nalways something worth hearing, tact is\\nsure of abundance of hearers talent\\nmay obtain a living, tact will make one\\ntalent gets a good name, tact a great one\\ntalent convinces, tact converts talent is an\\nhonor to the profession, tact gains honor\\nfrom the profession.\\nTake them to court. Talent feels its\\nweight, tact finds its way talent commands,\\ntact is obeyed talent is honored with appro-\\nbation, and tact is blessed by preferment.\\nPlace them in the Senate. Talent has\\nthe ear of the house, but tact wins its heart\\nand has its votes talent is fit for employ-\\nment, but tact is fitted for it. Tact has a\\nknack of slipping into place with a sweet\\nsilence and glibness of movement, as a bil-\\nliard-ball insinuates itself into the pocket.\\nIt seems to know everything, without learn-\\ning anything. It has served an invisible\\nand extemporary apprenticeship it wants\\nno drilling it never ranks in the awkward\\nsquad it has no left hand, no deaf ear, no\\nblind side. It puts on no looks of wondrous\\nwisdom, it has no air of profundity, but\\nplays with the details of place as dexterously\\nas a well-taught hand flourishes over the\\nkeys of the piano-forte. It has all the air\\nof commonplace, and all the force and\\npower of genius.\\nLondon Atxas.", "height": "4412", "width": "3340", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0264.jp2"}, "265": {"fulltext": "RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\n269\\nAFTER TWENTY YEARS.\\nTHK coffin was a plain one a poor miser-\\nable pine coffin. One flower on the\\ntop no lining of white satin for the\\npale brow no smooth ribbons about the\\ncoarse shroud. The brown hair was laid\\ndecently back, but there was no primped\\ncap with the tie beneath the chin. The\\nsufferer of cruel poverty smiled in her\\nsleep she had found bread, rest and health.\\nI want to see my mother, sobbed a\\npoor little child, as the undertaker screwed\\ndown the top.\\nYou cannot get out of my way, boy\\nwhy does not someone take the brat\\nOnly let me see one minute! cried\\nthe orphan, clutching the side of the charity\\nbox, as he gazed upon the coffin, agonized\\ntears streaming down the cheeks on which\\nthe childish bloom ever lingered. Oh it\\nwas painful to hear him cry the words\\nOnly once; let me see my mother, only\\nonce\\nQuickly and brutally the heartless mon-\\nster struck the boy away, so that he reeled\\nwith the blow. For a moment the boy\\nstood panting with grief and rage his blue\\neyes distended, his lips sprang apart, fire\\nglistened through his eyes as he raised his\\nlittle arm with a most unchildish laugh,\\nand screamed: When I m a man I ll be\\nrevenged for that\\nThere was a coffin and a heap of earth\\nbetween the mother and the poor forsaken\\nchild a monument much stronger than\\ngranite, built in the boy s heart, the mem-\\nory of the heartless deed.\\nThe court house was crowded to suffoca-\\ntion.\\nDoes any one appear as this man s\\ncounsel asked the judge.\\nThere was a silence when he had finished,\\nuntil, with lips tightly pressed together, a\\nlook of strange intelligence, blended with\\nhaughty reserve on his handsome features,\\na young man stepped forward with a firm\\ntread and a kindly eye to plead for the\\nfriendless one. He was a stranger, but at.\\nthe first sentence there was a silence.\\nThe splendor of his genius entranced con-\\nvinced\\nThe man who could not find a friend was\\nacquitted.\\nMay God bless you, sir; I cannot!\\nhe exclaimed.\\nI want no thanks, replied the stranger.\\nI I I believe you are unknown to\\nme.\\nSir, I will refresh your memory.\\nTwenty years ago, this day, you struck a\\nbroken-hearted little boy away from his\\nmother s coffin. I was that boy.\\nThe man turned pale.\\nHave you rescued me then to take my\\nlife?\\nNo I have a sweeter revenge. I have\\nsaved the life of a man whose brutal con-\\nduct has rankled in my breast for the last\\ntwenty years. Go, then, and remember the\\ntears of a friendless child.\\nThe man bowed his head in shame, and\\nwent from the presence of magnaminity\\nas grand to him as it was incomprehensible.\\nSTICK TO YOUR BUSH.\\nWhkn I was but a tiny boy,\\nAnd went to a village school,\\nI thought myself, as boys will think,\\nThat I was no man s fool.\\nBut in the village there was one\\nWho was the fool of all\\nPoor fellow, he was Crazy Ben,\\nA man both lithe and tall.\\nBut Ben was gaunt and gray, a fool,\\nThe village Solons cried\\nHe d been so, thus they told the tale,\\nE er since his true love died.\\nBut Ben was kind, I not afraid,\\nAnd Ben became my chum\\nE en though at times poor Ben took freaks,\\nHis idiot tongue was dumb.\\nOne day that tongue unloosed a truth\\nThat made me then to wince,\\nAnd though it came from idiot lips,\\nHas never left me since.\\nThat day we berrying had gone,\\nAnd Ben had gone along,\\nAnd, boy -like, 1 from bush to bush\\nHad wandered with the throng.\\nBen stuck, in silence, to one spot,\\nAnd whispered this to me\\nStick to your bush if you of fruit", "height": "4384", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0265.jp2"}, "266": {"fulltext": "270\\nRELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\nA basketful would see.\\nAnd so I did, and proved the fact\\nWhile through the world we push,\\nThere s nothing better to be learned\\nThan this Stick to your bush.\\nJ. W. Watson.\\nWE ARE NOT ALWAYS GLAD WHEN WE\\nSMILE.\\nWE are not always glad when we smile,\\nFor the heart in a tempest of pain\\nMay live in the guise of a laugh in the\\neyes,\\nAs the rainbow may live in the rain\\nAnd the stormless night of our woe\\nMay hang out a radiant star,\\nWhose light in the sky of distress is a lie\\nAs black as the thunder clouds are.\\nWe are not always glad when we smile,\\nFor the world is so fickle and gay,\\nThat our doubts and our fears, and our\\ngriefs and our tears,\\nAre laughingly hidden away\\nAnd the touch of a frivolous hand\\nMay oftener wound than caress,\\nAnd the kisses that drip from the reveller s\\nup\\nMay oftener blister than bless.\\nWe are not always glad when we smile,\\nBut the conscience is quick to record\\nThat the sorrow and the sin we are holding\\nwithin\\nIs pain in the sight of the Lord\\nYet ever O ever till pride\\nAnd pretence shall cease to revile,\\nThe inner recess of the heart must confess\\nWe are not always glad when we smile.\\nJames Whitcomb Rjxey.\\nPEGGING AWAY.\\nA Lesson in Perseverance.\\nThere was an old shoemaker, sturdy\\nas steel,\\nOf great wealth and repute in his\\nday,\\nWho, if questioned his secret of luck to\\nreveal,\\nWould chirp like a bird on a spray,\\nIt isn t so much the vocation you re in,\\nOr your liking for it, he would say,\\nAs it is that forever, through thick and\\nthrough thin,\\nYou should keep up a -pegging away.\\nI have found it a maxim of value, whose\\ntruth\\nObservation has proved in the main\\nAnd which well might be vaunted a watch-\\nword by youth\\nIn the labor of hand and of brain\\nFor even if genius and talent are cast\\nInto work with the strongest display,\\nYou can never be sure of achievement at\\nlast\\nUnless you keep pegging away.\\nThere are shopmen who might into states-\\nmen have grown,\\nPoliticians for handiwork made,\\nSome poets who better in workshops had\\nshone,\\nAnd mechanics best suited in trade\\nBut when once in harness, however it fit,\\nBuckle down to your work night and\\nday,\\nSecure in the triumph of hand or of wit,\\nIf you only keep pegging away.\\nThere are times in all tasks when the fiend\\nDiscontent\\nAdvises a pause or a change,\\nAnd, on field far away and irrelevant bent,\\nThe purpose is tempted to range\\nNever heed, but in sound recreation restore\\nSuch traits as are slow to obey,\\nAnd then, more persistent and stanch than\\nbefore,\\nKeep pegging and pegging away.\\nLeave fitful endeavors for such as would\\ncast\\nTheir spendthrift existence in vain.\\nFor the secret of wealth in the present and\\npast,\\nAnd of fame and of honor, is plain\\nIt lies not in change, nor in sentiment nice,\\nNor in wayward exploit and display,\\nBut just in the shoemaker s homely advice\\nTo keep pegging and pegging away.\\n1 New York Press", "height": "4388", "width": "3316", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0266.jp2"}, "267": {"fulltext": "RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\n271\\nLIFE IS WHAT WE MAKE IT.\\nLifk is what we make it. To some, this\\nmay appear to be a very singular,\\nif not extravagant statement. You\\nlook upon this life and upon this world, and\\nyou derive from them, it may be, a very\\ndifferent impression. You see the earth,\\nperhaps, only as a collection of blind, ob-\\ndurate, inexorable elements and powers.\\nYou look upon the mountains that stand\\nfast forever you look upon the seas that\\nroll upon every shore their ceaseless tides\\nyou walk through the annual round of the\\nseasons all things seem to be fixed, sum-\\nmer and winter, seed-time and harvest,\\ngrowth and decay, and so they are.\\nBut does not the mind spread its own hue\\nover all these scenes Does not the cheer-\\nful man make a cheerful world Does not\\nthe sorrowing man make a gloomy world\\nDoes not every mind make its own world\\nDoes it not, as if indeed a portion of the\\nDivinity were imparted to it, almost create\\nthe scene around it? Its power, in fact,\\nscarcely falls short of the theory of those\\nphilosophers, who have supposed that the\\nworld had no existence at all, but in our\\nown minds.\\nSo again with regard to human life it\\nseems to many, probably, unconscious as\\nthey are of the mental and moral powers\\nwhich control it, as if it were made up of\\nfixed conditions, and of immense and im-\\npassable distinctions. But upon all condi-\\ntions presses down one impartial law. To\\nall situations, to all fortunes, high or low,\\nthe mind gives their character. They are\\nin effect, not what they are in themselves,\\nbut what they are to the feelings of their\\npossessors.\\nThe king upon his throne and amidst his\\ncourt, may be a mean, degraded, miserable\\nman a slave to ambition, to voluptuous-\\nness to fear to eve?y low passion The peas-\\nant in his cottage, maybe the real monarch,\\nthe moral master of his fate, the free and\\nlofty being, more than a prince in his hap-\\npiness, more than a king in honor. And\\nshall the mere names which these men bear,\\nblind us to the actual position which they\\noccupy amidst God s creation No be-\\nneath the all-powerful law of the heart, the\\nmaster is often the slave and the slave is\\nthe master.\\nIt is the same creation, upon which the\\neyes of the cheerful and the melancholy man\\nare fixed yet how different are the aspects\\nwhich it bears to them To the one it is all\\nbeauty and gladness the waves of the\\nocean roll in light, and the mountains are\\ncovered with day. It seems to him as if\\nlife went forth, rejoicing upon every bright\\nwave, and every shining bough, shaken in\\nthe breeze. It seems as if there were more\\nthan the eye seeth; a presence of deep joy\\namong the hills and the valleys, and upon\\nthe bright waters.\\nBut the gloomy man, stricken and sad at\\nheart, stands idly or mournfully gazing at\\nthe same scene, and what is it to him The\\nvery light,\\nBright effluence of bright essence increate,\\nyea, the very light seems to him as a leaden\\npall thrown over the face of nature. All\\nthings wear to his eye a dull, dim, and sickly\\naspect. The great train of the seasons is\\npassing before him, but he sighs and turns\\naway, as if it were the train of a funeral\\nprocession and he wonders within himself\\nat the poetic representations and sentimen-\\ntal rhapsodies that are lavished upon a\\nworld so utterly miserable.\\nHere then, are two different worlds, in\\nwhich these two classes of beings live and\\nthey are formed and made what they are,\\nout of the very same scene, only by differ-\\nent states of mind in the beholders. The\\neye maketh that which it looks upon. The\\near maketh its own melodies or discords.\\nThe world without reflects the world with-\\nin. ORVILIvF Dbwky.\\nGOOD=NATURE.\\nA practical reading on any occasion when it is desirable to\\nadmonish the audience.\\nGood -nature; what a blessing With-\\nout it a man is like a wagon without\\nsprings, he has the full benefit of\\nevery stone and way-rut. Good-nature is\\nthe prime-minister of a good conscience.\\nIt tells of the genial spirit within, and\\ngood-nature never fails of a wholesome\\neffect without.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0267.jp2"}, "268": {"fulltext": "272\\nRELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC\\nGood-nature is not only the government\\nof one s own spirit, but it goes far in its\\neffects upon those of others. It manifests\\nitself on every street it humanizes man\\nit softens the friction of a business world.\\nGood-nature is the harmonious act of con-\\nscience. Good-nature in practical affairs is\\nbetter than any other better than what\\nmen call justice; better than dignity better\\nthan standing on one s rights, which is so\\noften the narrowest and worst place to\\nstand on one can find.\\nA man who knows how to hold on to his\\ntemper is the man who is respected by the\\ncommunity. And one who has a good\\nnature, successfully travels about as does\\nhe who goes upon the principle\u00e2\u0080\u0094 little of\\nbaggage, but plenty of money A man\\nwho is armed with hopefulness, cheerful-\\nness, and a genial spirit, is one who is\\ngoing to be of practical and beneficent\\nusefulness to his fellow-man. There are no\\nthings by which the troubles and difficulties\\nof this life can be resisted better than with\\nwit and humor. And let the happy person\\nwho possesses these if he be brought into\\nthe folds of the church not allow conver-\\nsion to deprive him of them. God has\\nconstituted these in man, and especially\\nwhen they are so salient in meeting good-\\nnaturedly the trials of this world, they\\nshould be used. Happiness, at last, is\\ndependent upon a soul that has holy com-\\nmunion with its Creator for in Him we\\nhave life eternal. Men also fail in happi-\\nness because they refuse to read the great\\nlessons found in the great book of nature.\\nHappiness is to be sought in the possession\\nof true manhood rather than in its internal\\nconditions.\\nHenry Ward Beechkr.\\nDON T FRET.\\nD\\non t fret if your neighbor earns more\\nthan you do.\\nDon t frown if he gets the most\\ntrade\\nDon t envy your friend if he rides in a\\ncoach,\\nDon t mind if you re left in the shade.\\nDon t rail at the schoolboy who fails in his\\ntask,\\nNor envy the one who succeeds\\nDon t laugh at the man who is Poverty s\\nslave,\\nNor think the rich never have needs.\\nIt s not wisdom to covet our neighbor s\\ngood gifts\\nWe would seldom change places, I\\nween,\\nIf we knew all our neighbor s affairs as our\\nown,\\nFor things are not what they seem.\\nYou see the rich merchant enjoying his\\nride,\\nAnd think he exults over you\\nYou do not imagine that he feels the same,\\nAnd thinks you more blest of the two\\nYou see people pass in and out of a store;\\nBut you must not judge business thereby,\\nYou must look at the books, at the way they\\nfoot up,\\nEre you venture your judgment to try.\\nYou don t know what you say when you\\nenvy a man\\nEither fortune, or friends, or a home\\nHis fortune and friends may be only in\\nname,\\nAnd his home far less blest than your\\nown.\\nYou may know the old adage, which teaches\\nthe fact,\\nThat a skeleton must be somewhere\\nIf not found in library, kitchen, or hall,\\nIt is hid in the closet with care.\\nSo don t envy the blest, nor despise the\\noutcast,\\nDon t judge by the things which you see\\nMake the burdens of men as light as you\\ncan,\\nAnd the lighter your burden will be,", "height": "4388", "width": "3356", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0268.jp2"}, "269": {"fulltext": "Part VIII\\nTEMPERANCE READINGS\\nA I \\\\hk following selections will be found helpful in arranging for entertainment at tem-\\nperance meetings as well as for general occasions. Not only do we all need to be\\ntrained to think and speak on religious, and political themes but also upon questions\\nwhich affect social happiness of these temperance is popular and important.\\nWATER AND RUM.\\nThe following apostrophe on Water and execration on Rum.\\nby John B. Gough, was never published in full until after his\\ndeath. He furnished it to a young friend many years ago, who\\npromised not to publish it while he was on the lecture platform.\\nWatkr! There is no poison in that\\ncup no fiendish spirit dwells be-\\nneath those crystal drops to lure\\nyou and me and all of us to ruin no\\nspectral shadows play upon its waveless\\nsurface no widows groans or orphans\\ntears rise to God from those placid foun-\\ntains misery, crime, wretchedness, woe,\\nwant and rags come not within the hallowed\\nprecincts where cold water reigns supreme.\\nPure now as when it left its native heaven,\\ngiving vigor to our youth, strength to our\\nmanhood, and solace to our old age. Cold\\nwater is beautiful and bright and pure every-\\nwhere. In the moonlight fountains and the\\nsunny rills in the warbling brook and the\\ngiant river in the deep tangled wildwood\\nand the cataract s spray in the hand of\\nbeauty or on the lips of manhood cold\\nwater is beautiful everywhere.\\nRum There is a poison in that cup.\\nThere is a serpent in that cup whose sting\\nis madness and whose embrace is death.\\nThere dwells beneath that smiling surface\\na fiendish spirit which for centuries has been\\nwandering over the earth, carrying on a war\\nof desolation and destruction against man-\\nkind blighting and mildewing the noblest af-\\nfections of the heart, and corrupting with its\\nfoul breath the tide of human life and\\nchanging the glad, green earth into a lazar-\\nhouse. Gaze on it But shudder as you\\ngaze Those sparkling drops are murder\\nin disguise so quiet now, yet widows\\ngroans and orphans tears and maniacs yells\\nare in that cup. The worm that dieth not\\nand the fire that is not quenched are in that\\ncup.\\nPeace and hope and love and truth dwell\\nnot within that fiery circle where dwells that\\ndesolating monster which men call rum.\\nCorrupt now as when it left its native hell,\\ngiving fire to the eye, madness to the brain,\\nand ruin to the soul. Rum is vile and\\ndeadly and accursed everywhere. The\\npoet would liken it in its fiery glow to\\nthe flames that flicker around the abode of\\nthe damned. The theologian would point\\nyou to the drunkard s doom, while the his-\\ntorian would unfold the dark record of the\\npast and point you to the fate of empires\\nand kingdoms lured to ruin by the siren\\nsong of the tempter, and sleeping now in\\ncold obscurity, the wrecks of what once\\nwere great, grand and glorious. Yes, rum\\nis corrupt and vile and deadly, and accursed\\neverywhere. Fit type and semblance of\\nall earthly corruption\\nPart II.\\nBase art thou yet, oh, Rum, as when the\\nwise man warned us of thy power and bade\\nus flee thy enchantment. Vile art thou yet\\nas when thou first went forth on thy unholy\\nmission filling earth with desolation and\\nmadness, woe and anguish. Deadly art\\nthou yet as when thy envenomed tooth first\\ntook fast hold on human hearts, and thy\\nserpent tongue first drank up the warm life-\\n273", "height": "4372", "width": "3244", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0269.jp2"}, "270": {"fulltext": "274\\nTEMPERANCE READINGS\\nblood of immortal souls Accursed art thou\\nyet as when the bones of thy first victim\\nrotted in a damp grave, and its shriek\\nechoed along the gloomy caverns of hell.\\nYes, thou infernal spirit of rum, through all\\npast time hast thou been, as through all com-\\ning time thou shalt be, accursed everywhere.\\nIn the fiery fountains of the still in the\\nseething bubbles of the caldron in the\\nkingly palace and the drunkard s hovel in\\nthe rich man s cellar and the poor man s\\ncloset in the pestilential vapors of foul\\ndens and in the blaze of gilded saloons\\nin the hand, of beauty and on the lip of\\nmanhood. Rum is vile and deadly and\\naccursed everywhere.\\nRum, we yield not to thy unhallowed in-\\nfluence, and together we have met to plan\\nthy destruction. And by what new name\\nshall we call thee, and to what shall we\\nliken thee when we speak of thy attributes\\nOthers may call thee child of perdition, the\\nbase-born progeny of sin and Satan, the\\nmurderer of mankind and the destroyer of\\nimmortal souls but I will give thee a new\\nname among men and crown thee with a new\\nhorror, and that new name shall be the\\nsacramental cup of the Rum-Power, and I\\nwill say to all the sons and daughters of\\nearth\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Dash it down! And thou, Rum,\\nshalt be my text in my pilgrimage among\\nmen, and not alone shall my tongue utter\\nit, but the groaris of orphans in their agony\\nand the cries of widows in their desolation\\nshall proclaim it the enemy of home, the\\ntraducer of childhood and the destroyer of\\nmanhood, and whose only antidote is the\\nsacramental cup of temperance, cold water\\nJohn B. Gough.\\nTHE COST OF THE FIRST DRINK.\\nFor a Temperance Entertainment.\\nThe following tableau may be rendered very impressive by\\nallowing the curtain to rise, showing a young man with a\\nthoughtful face standing in the background holding in his hand\\na glass of wine, on which he is gazing intently, while some one\\nat the side of the stage pronounces impressively the following\\nwords\\nClV /Ty friends, we behold in this tableau a\\nlVX young man with the first glass of\\nintoxicating liquor in his hand.\\nHe is counting the cost of introducing\\ninto his system this slow poison of\\ndeath. He is about to take a step\\nthat will fasten upon him, perhaps, a\\nhabit that has been the ruin of ten\\nthousand of the world s bright and promis-\\ning men. Well does he pause before drink-\\ning to count the cost. He is counting the\\ncost of a burning brain counting the cost\\nof a palsied hand counting the cost of a\\nstaggering step counting the cost of broken\\nhearts and of tear-stained pillows counting\\nthe cost of a blighted home counting the\\ncost of the self-respect which oozes out at\\nthe finger tips as they clasp the sparkling\\ncurse counting the cost of the degradation\\nand disgrace of a ruined body and a lost\\nsoul. What should every young man do\\nin this critical situation This young man\\nhas counted the cost. L,et him give us his\\nanswer.\\nAs the speaker stands silently, pointing his finger at the man\\nin the tableau, his hold upon the glass, is suddenly loosed, and\\nit falls to the floor, dashing in pieces.\\nTHE FACE ON THE FLOOR.\\n5/htAwas a balmy summer evening, and a\\nX goodly crowd was there\\nThat well nigh filled Joe s barroom\\non the corner of the square,\\nAnd as songs and witty stories came through\\nthe open door\\nA vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon\\nthe floor.\\nWhere did it come from some one said\\nThe wind has blown it in.\\nWhat does it want? another cried,\\nSome whiskey, beer, or gin\\nHere, Toby, seek him, if your stomach s\\nequal to the work,\\nI wouldn t touch him with a fork, he s as\\nfilthy as a Turk.\\nThis badinage the poor wretch took with\\nstoical good grace,\\nIn fact, he smiled as if he thought he d\\nstruck the proper place\\nCome, boys, I know there s kindly hearts\\namong so good a crowd\\nTo be in such good company would make a\\ndeacon proud.\\n1 Give me a drink That s what I want, I m\\nout of funds, you know,", "height": "4388", "width": "3332", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0270.jp2"}, "271": {"fulltext": "TEMPERANCE READINGS\\n275\\nWhen I had cash to treat the gang, this\\nhand was never slow\\nWhat You laugh as if you thought this\\npocket never held a sou\\nI once was fixed as well, my boys, as any\\none of you.\\nThere, thanks, that braced me nicely,\\nGod bless you, one and all,\\nNext time I pass this good saloon I ll make\\nanother call\\nGive you a song? No, I can t do that, my\\nsinging days are past,\\nMy voice is cracked, my throat s worn out\\nand my lungs are going fast.\\nSay, give me another whiskey and I ll\\ntell you what I ll do\\nI ll tell you a funny story, and a fact, I\\npromise, too\\nThat I was ever a decent man, not one of\\nyou would think,\\nBut I was, some four or five years back,\\nsay, give us another drink.\\nFill her up, Joe, I want to put some life\\ninto my frame\\nSuch little drinks to a bum like me are mis-\\nerably tame\\nFive fingers there, that s the scheme and\\ncorking whiskey, too,\\nWell, boys, here s luck, and landlord, my\\nbest regards to you.\\nYou ve treated me pretty kindly and I d\\nlike to tell you how\\nI came to be the dirty sot you see before\\nyou now\\nAs I told you, once I was a man, with\\nmuscle, frame and health,\\nAnd, but for a blunder, ought to have made\\nconsiderable wealth.\\nI was a painter not one that daubed on\\nbricks and wood,\\nBut an artist, and, for my age, was rated\\npretty good\\nI worked hard at my canvas, and was\\nbidding fair to rise\\nFor gradually I saw the star of fame before\\nmy eyes.\\nI made a picture, perhaps you ve seen,\\ntis called the Chase of Fame\\nIt brought me fifteen hundred pounds, and\\nadded to my name\\nAnd then, I met a woman now comes the\\nfunny part\\nWith eyes that petrified my brain, and\\nsunk into my heart.\\nWhy don t you laugh Tis funny that\\nthe vagabond you see\\nCould ever love a woman and expect her\\nlove for me\\nBut twas so, and for a month or two her\\nsmile was freely given\\nAnd when her loving lips touched mine, it\\ncarried me to heaven.\\nBoys, did you ever see a girl for whom\\nyour soul you d give,\\nWith a form like the Milo Venus, too beau-\\ntiful to live,\\nWith eyes that would beat the Kohinoor\\nand a wealth of chestnut hair\\nIf so, twas she, for there never was another\\nhalf so fair.\\nI was working on a portrait one afternoon\\nin May,\\nOf a fair-haired boy, a friend of mine who\\nlived across the way,\\nAnd Madeline admired it, and much to my\\nsurprise,\\nSaid that she d like to know the man that\\nhad such dreamy eyes.\\nIt didn t take long to know him, and\\nbefore the month had flown,\\nMy friend had stole my darling, and I was\\nleft alone\\nAnd ere a year of misery had passed above\\nmy head,\\nThe jewel I had treasured so had tarnished\\nand was dead.\\nThat s why I took to drink, boys. Why,\\nI never saw you smile,\\nI thought you d be amused and laughing\\nall the while\\nWhy, what s the matter, friend There s a\\ntear-drop in your eye,\\nCome, laugh like me, tis only babes and\\nwomen that should cry.\\nSay, boys, if you ll give me another\\nwhiskey, I ll be glad,", "height": "4380", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0271.jp2"}, "272": {"fulltext": "276\\nTEMPERANCE READINGS\\nAnd I ll draw right here, the picture of\\nthe face that drove me mad\\nGive me that piece of chalk with which you\\nmark the base-ball score\\nAnd you shall see the lovely Madeline\\nupon the barroom floor.\\nAnother drink, and with chalk in hand, the\\nvagabond began\\nTo sketch a face that well might buy the\\nsoul ol any man,\\nThen as he placed another lock upon the\\nshapely head,\\nWith a fearful shriek he leaped and fell\\nacross the picture dead,\\nH. Antoine D Arcy.\\nAPPEAL FOR TEHPERANCE.\\nIn no cause in which his sympathies were enlisted was Mr.\\nGrady more active and earnest than in that of temperance. The\\nfollowing extract is from one of his speeches delivered during the\\nexciting local campaign in Georgia in 1887.\\nMy friends, hesitate before you vote\\nliquor back into Atlanta, now that it\\nis shut out. Don t trust it. It is\\npowerful, aggressive and universal in its\\nattacks. To-night it enters an humble\\nhome to strike the roses from a woman s\\ncheek, and to-morrow it challenges this\\nRepublic in the halls of Congress. To-day\\nit strikes a crust from the lips of a starving\\nchild, and to-morrow levies tribute from the\\ngovernment itself There is no cottage in\\nthis city humble enough to escape it no\\npalace strong enough to shut it out. It\\ndefies the law when it cannot coerce suffrage.\\nIt is flexible to cajole, but merciless in\\nvictory. It is the mortal enemy of peace\\nand order. The despoiler of men, the ter-\\ntor of women, the cloud that shadows the\\nface of children, the demon that has dug\\nmore graves and sent more souls unshrived\\nto judgment than all the pestilences that\\nhave wasted life since God sent the plagues\\nto Egypt, and all the wars since Joshua stood\\nbeyond Jericho. O my countrymen loving\\nGod and humanity, do not bring this grand\\nold city again under the dominion of that\\npower. It can profit no man by its return.\\nIt can uplift no industry, revive no interest,\\nremedy no wrong. You know that it can-\\nnot. It comes to turn, and it shall profit\\nmainly by the ruin of your sons and mine,\\nIt comes to mislead human souls and crush\\nhuman hearts. under its rumbling wheels.\\nIt comes to bring gray-haired mothers down\\nin shame and sorrow to their graves. It\\ncomes to turn the wife s love into despair\\nand her pride into shame. It comes to still\\nthe laughter on the lips of little children.\\nIt comes to stifle all the music of the home\\nand fill it with silence and desolation. It\\ncomes to ruin your body and mind, to wreck\\nyour home, and it knows that it must meas-\\nure its prosperity by the swiftness and cer-\\ntainty with which it wreaks this work.\\nH. W. Grady.\\nY\\nTHE MEN BEHIND THE VOTE.\\nou have heard of the man behind the\\ngun,\\nWho guards the fort of the wave,\\nWhose unerring aim\\nvSaves his land from shame,\\nAnd marks him a hero brave.\\nBut behind the man behind the gun\\nStands the country true and right\\nAnd heroes brave\\nBoth on land and wave\\nAre guarded by her great might.\\nAnd we are the men behind the land\\nThat enlists the best of her youth,\\nAnd through them we fight\\nFor justice and right,\\nAnd stand in defense of the truth.\\nYou have heard of the man behind the bar,\\nWho, by greed of gain beguiled,\\nTrails his victim s name\\nIn the slime of shame,\\nAnd curses the wife and the child.\\nBut behind the man behind the bar\\nIs the ballot pure and white,\\nAnd the villains vile\\nWho with drink defile\\nAre shielded as though in the right.\\nAnd we are the men behind the vote\\nTo license the man at the bar,\\nMaking bold to proclaim\\nThat we sanction the shame\\nOf rum s iniquitous war.\\nRkv. Norman Pi,ass.", "height": "4412", "width": "3356", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0272.jp2"}, "273": {"fulltext": "TEMPERANCE READINGS\\n277\\nTHE POWER OF HABIT.\\nAdapted to the development of transition in pitch, and a very-\\nspirited utterance.\\nIrKmkmbbr once riding from Buffalo to\\nthe Niagara Falls. I said to a gentle-\\nman, What river is that, sir\\nThat, said he, is Niagara river.\\nWell, it is a beautiful stream, said I\\nbright, and fair, and glassy. How far off\\nare the rapids\\nOnly a mile or two, was the reply.\\nIs it possible that only a mile from us\\nwe shall find the water in the turbulence\\nwhich it must show near the Falls\\nYou will find it so, sir. And so I\\nfound it and the first sight of Niagara I\\nshall never forget.\\nNow, launch your bark on that Niagara\\nriver it is bright, smooth, beautiful and\\nglassy. There is a ripple at the bow the\\nsilver wake you leave behind adds to your\\nenjoyment. Down the stream you glide,\\noars, sails, and helm in proper trim, and\\nyou set out on your pleasure excursion.\\nSuddenly some one cries out from the\\nbank, Young men, ahoy\\nWhat is it?\\n1 The rapids are below you\\nHa ha we have heard of the rapids\\nbut we are not such fools as to get there.\\nIf we go too fast, then we shall up with\\nthe helm and steer to the shore we will\\nset the mast in the socket, hoist the sail,\\nand speed to the land. Then on, boys\\ndon t be alarmed, there is no danger.\\nYoung men, ahoy there\\nWhat is it?\\nThe rapids are below you\\nHa ha we will laugh and quaff; all\\nthings delight us. What care we for the\\nfuture No man ever saw it. Sufficient\\nfor the day is the evil thereof. We will\\nenjoy life while we may, will catch pleasure\\nas it flies. This is enjoyment time enough\\nto steer out of danger when we are sailing\\nswiftly with the current.\\nYoung men ahoy\\nWhat is it?\\nBeware! beware! The rapids are\\nbelow you\\n1 Now you see the water foaming all\\naround. See how fast you pass that point\\nUp with the helm Now turn Pull hard\\nQuick quick quick pull for your lives\\npull till the blood starts from your nostrils,\\nand the veins stand like whip-cords upon\\nyour brow Set the mast in the socket\\nhoist the sail Ah ah it is too late\\nShrieking, howling, blaspheming, over they\\ngo.\\nThousands go over the rapids of intem-\\nperance every year, through the power of\\nhabit, crying all the while, When I find\\nout that it is injuring me, I will give it up\\nJohn B. Gough.\\nANEW DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.\\nSuited to the organization of a Temperance Society, or an oc-\\ncasion where ihe Temperance cause is to be advocated. The\\nRev. F. O- Blair, author of the article, read it on July 4, 1883, at\\nLebanon, Ills., at a Temperance picnic. The reader should as-\\nsume the dignified, earnest and forcible tone suitable to the read-\\ning of the great American Declaration.\\nWhen in the course of human events it\\nbecomes necessary for a people to\\ndissolve their connection with the\\nGovernment to which they have hitherto\\nowed allegiance, a decent respect for the\\nopinions of mankind demands that the\\ncauses should be clearly set forth which\\nimpel them to the separation.\\nWe hold these truths to be self-evident\\nThat all men are created equal that they\\nare endowed by their Creator with certain\\ninalienable rights that among these are\\nlife, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness\\nthat to secure these rights, governments are\\ninstituted among men, deriving their just\\npowers from the consent of the governed\\nthat, whenever any form of government\\nbecomes destructive of these ends, it is the\\nright and duty of the people to alter, or to\\nabolish it that it is the first law of self-\\npreservation that any State or Nation may,\\nand of right ought to, do all those things\\nwhich are necessary to perpetuate its own\\nexistence and to abolish all those practices\\nand to counteract all those influences which\\nare calculated to ruin the body politic, and\\ndestroy society.\\nFor many years the inhabitants of this\\ncountry have suffered from the cruel acts\\nand oppressive measures instituted by King\\nAlcohol, with the evident design to reduce\\nthem under an absolute despotism, and after\\nlong and patient endurance of flagrant\\nwrongs, and after having made many and", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0273.jp2"}, "274": {"fulltext": "278\\nTEMPERANCE READINGS\\nfruitless efforts to obtain redress, until it\\nis plainly evident that nothing can be hoped\\nfrom appeals to his justice or mercy, we,\\nthe people of these United States, having\\nresolved to cast off the authority of this\\ntyrant, do unite in this declaration of the\\ncauses and reasons which constrain us to\\ntake so important a step, and of the miseries\\nand grievances which have been inflicted on\\nus by him, until his government has become\\na burden too heavy to be borne. The his-\\ntory of his course toward us in the past is\\na history of repeated injuries and usurpa-\\ntion, all having in direct object the estab-\\nlishment of an absolute tyranny over these\\nStates, and the subjection of the people,\\nthrough their depraved appetites and pas-\\nsions, to his complete control.\\nTo prove this, let facts be submitted to a\\ncandid world\\nHe has refused his assent to laws the\\nmost wholesome and necessary for the pub-\\nlic good.\\nHe has caused the enactment of laws\\nwhich have opened the sluiceways of\\ndestruction, pouring forth upon the people\\nof this land a dreadful tide of intemperance,\\nwith all the attendant evils of drunkenness,\\ndisease and death.\\nHe has bribed in various ways, and under\\nvarious disguises, the legislators, the judges,\\nand the juries of the country to prevent the\\nenactment and the execution of laws, how-\\never needful for the welfare of the public,\\nwhich would interfere with his nefarious\\ntraffic in intoxicating liquors, or prevent\\nthe accumulation of wealth by himself, at\\nthe expense of the comfort, the fortunes,\\nthe lives, and the future well-being of his\\nvictims.\\nHe has taken away our property, earned\\nby patient, faithful labor, and reduced our\\nfamilies to beggary and want.\\nHe has diverted the wealth of the Nation\\nfrom its proper office to the support of the\\ncriminal, the pauper, and the idiot, made\\nsuch by his blighting influence.\\nHe has locked up vast sums of money\\nfrom the legitimate uses of trade and com-\\nmerce in the jails, the penitentiaries, and\\nthe asylums, these having been made neces-\\nsary by the vices and crimes he has stimu-\\nlated into activity among the people.\\nHe has extorted many millions from the\\nlaborers of the Nation to be expended in\\nmaintaining the police forces, the courts of\\njustice, and all the machinery of Govern-\\nment, devoted largely to a vain effort to\\nremedy the evils he himself has inflicted\\nupon society.\\nHe has transformed the fruits of the\\nearth, given for the sustenance of man and\\nbeast, into a death-dealing poison which\\nchanges men into demons.\\nHe has diverted the labors of thousands\\nfrom productive occupations to the prepara-\\ntion and distribution of the fiery flood which\\ndesolates our land. He has smitten the\\npeople with insanity and idiocy, and filled\\nour asylums with maniacs and drivelling\\nidiots, and our prisons with criminals.\\nHe has enticed our boys from their\\nhomes, and sent them forth as tramps and\\nvagabonds in the land, and, instead of good\\ncitizens, they have become the dangerous\\nclasses of society.\\nHe has won our young men from lives of\\nsobriety, industry and frugality, to a course\\nof drunkenness, indolence, and wasteful-\\nness.\\nHe has drawn away our young women\\nfrom the paths of virtue to dens of infamy\\nand frightful depths of degradation.\\nHe is responsible, directly or indirectly,\\nfor three-fourths of all the crimes com-\\nmitted, and four-fifths of all the murders\\ndone.\\nHe has dragged down the gifted and\\nnoble of all classes from positions of honor,\\ntrust and usefulness, and with ruined repu-\\ntations, and names disgraced, has con-\\nsigned them to a drunkard s grave and a\\ndrunkard s doom.\\nHe has blighted the sunny, happy years\\nof childhood, and caused the little ones to\\npass their lives in squalor, misery and\\nwant and homes that might have been the\\nabode of perennial happiness have been\\nturned into habitations of infern.d misery.\\nHe has prostrated the public press to his\\npurposes and uses, so that, too often, in-\\nstead of nobly speaking out for justice and\\nright, and the good of the people at large,\\nit basely yields to his demands to be sus-\\ntained in his efforts to crush and ruin our\\nrace.", "height": "4388", "width": "3320", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0274.jp2"}, "275": {"fulltext": "TEMPERANCE READINGS\\n279\\nHe has infatuated very many of the office-\\nseekers and office-holders with the belief\\nthat it is far more important to promote his\\ninterests than to labor for the welfare of the\\npeople at large.\\nHe has changed, in many places, the\\nHoly Sabbath, with its hours of peaceful\\nquiet, a day devoted to religious observ-\\nances and the worship of Almighty God, to\\na day of revelry, drunkenness, and de-\\nbauchery.\\nIn every stage of these oppressions we\\nhave petitioned for redress in the most\\nhumble terms our repeated petitions have\\nbeen answered only by repeated injury. A\\nruler whose character is thus marked by\\nevery act which may define a tyrant is unfit\\nto be the sovereign of a free people.\\nNor have we been wanting in our atten-\\ntions to those engaged in making and sell-\\ning alcoholic drinks. We have implored\\nthem to have pity upon the suffering wife\\nand the ragged, starving children we have\\nappealed to every sentiment of our common\\nnature to induce them to withhold the\\ndeadly draught from our boys and young\\nmen and the habitual drunkard, but all in\\nvain. They, too, have been deaf to the\\nvoice of justice and humanity, and have\\nlaughed us to scorn.\\nWe have exhausted all our resources in\\nour endeavors to obtain relief from those\\nengaged in the traffic in distilled and fer-\\nmented liquors, and have utterly failed.\\nThe only course left us to pursue is to\\ndissolve completely our connection with\\nso unjust, so tyrannical, so oppressive a\\npower.\\nWe, therefore, appealing to the Supreme\\nJudge of the Universe for the rectitude of\\nour intentions, do solemnly publish and\\ndeclare that the people of this land are,\\nand of right ought to be, free and indepen-\\ndent that we are absolved from all alle-\\ngiance to King Alcohol, and to all his\\nadherents that, as free and independent\\ncitizens of these United States, we have the\\nright to break away from his control and to\\nbanish the tyrant from our land.\\nAnd for the support of this declaration\\nand the accomplishment of our arduous\\nundertaking, we earnestly invoke the aid\\nand sympathy of the civilized world, the\\nfervent prayers of all Christian people, and\\nthe help and guidance of Almighty God.\\nAnd we mutually pledge to each other our\\nlives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.\\nRKV. F. O. Blair.\\nWHAT IS A MINORITY?\\nWhat is a minority The chosen\\nheroes of this earth have been in a\\nminority. There is not a social,\\npolitical, or religious privilege that you en-\\njoy to-day that was not bought for you by\\nthe blood and tears and patient suffering of\\nthe minority. It is the minority that have\\nvindicated humanity in every struggle. It\\nis a minority that have stood in the van of\\nevery moral conflict, and achieved all that\\nis noble in the history of the world. You\\nwill find that each generation has been\\nalways busy in gathering up the scattered\\nashes of the martyred heroes of the past,\\nto deposit them in the golden urn of a na-\\ntion s history. Look at Scotland, where\\nthey are erecting monuments to whom\\nto the Covenanters. Ah, they were in a\\nminority. Read their history, if you can,\\nwithout the blood tingling to the tips of\\nyour fingers. These were in the minority,\\nthat, through blood, and tears, and bootings\\nand. scourgings dying the waters with their\\nblood, and staining the heather with their\\ngore fought the glorious battle of religious\\nfreedom. Minority if a man stand up for\\nthe right, though the right be on the scaf-\\nfold, while the wrong sits in the seat of\\ngovernment if he stand for the right,\\nthough he eat, with the right and truth, a\\nwretched crust if he walk with obloquy\\nand scorn in the by-lanes and streets, while\\nthe falsehood and wrong ruffle it in silken\\nattire, let him remember that wherever the\\nright and truth are there are always\\nTroops of beautiful, tall angels\\ngathered round him, and God Himself\\nstands within the dim future, and keeps\\nwatch over His own If a man stands for\\nthe right and the truth, though every man s\\nfinger be pointed at him, though every\\nwoman s lip be curled at him in scorn, he", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0275.jp2"}, "276": {"fulltext": "28o\\nTEMPERANCE READINGS\\nstands in a majority for God and good\\nangels are with him, and greater are they\\nthat are for him, than all they that be\\nagainst him.\\nJohn B. Gough.\\nA BRAVE BOY.\\nA Temperance Reading.\\nU Qo this is our new cabin-boy was\\nO my inward exclamation, as I\\nwalked on deck and saw a dark-\\neyed, handsome youth, leaning against the\\nrailing and gazing with a sad, abstracted\\nair into the foamy waves that were lustily\\ndashing against the vessel. I had heard a\\ngood many remarks made about him by the\\ncrew, who did not like him because he\\nseemed somewhat shy of them, and they\\nwere continually tormenting him with their\\nrough jokes. He had refused to drink any\\nintoxicating liquor since he came on board,\\nand I was curious to know more about\\nhim.\\nMy interest and sympathy were aroused,\\nand I resolved to watch over and protect\\nhim as far as possible from the ungovern-\\nable temper of the captain, and the rough\\njokes of the sailors.\\nA few days afterward I was standing be-\\nside the captain, when suddenly rough\\nshouts and laughter broke upon our ears\\nwe went to the forepart of the deck, and\\nfound a group of sailors trying to persuade\\nAllen to partake of their grog.\\nLaugh on, I heard Allen s firm voice\\nreply, but I ll never taste a drop. You\\nought to be ashamed to drink it yourselves,\\nmuch more to offer it to another.\\nA second shout of laughter greeted the\\nreply, and one of the sailors, emboldened by\\nthe captain s presence, who they all knew\\nwas a great drinker himself, approached the\\nboy and said\\nNow, my hearty, get ready to keel\\nroight over on your beam end, whin ye ve\\nswallowed this.\\nHe was j ust going to pour the liquor down\\nhis throat when, quick as a flash, Allen\\nseized the bottle and flung it far overboard.\\nWhile the sailors were looking regretfully\\nafter the sinking bottle, Allen looked pale\\nbut composed at Captain Harden, whose\\nface was scarlet with suppressed rage. I\\ntrembled for the boy s fate. Suddenly Cap-\\ntain Harden seized him and cried out\\nsternly\\nHoist this fellow aloft into the main top-\\nsail. I ll teach him better than to waste my\\nproperty\\nTwo sailors approached him to execute\\nthe order but Allen quietly waved them\\nback, and said in a low, respectful tone\\n111 go myself, captain, and I hope you\\nwill pardon me I meant no offence. I\\nsaw his hand tremble a little as he took hold\\nof the rigging. For one unused to the sea it\\nwas extremely dangerous to climb that height\\nFor a moment he hesitated, as he seemed to\\nmeasure the distance, but he quietly recov-\\nered himself, and proceeded slowly and care-\\nfully.\\nFaster cried the captain as he saw\\nwith what care he measured his steps, and\\nfaster Allen tried to go, but his foot slipped,\\nand for a moment I stood horror struck,\\ngazing up at the dangling form suspended\\nby the arms in mid air. A coarse laugh\\nfrom the captain, a jeer from the sailors,\\nand Allen again caught hold of the rigging,\\nand soon he was in the watch-basket.\\nNow, stay there, you young scamp, and\\nget some of the spirit frozen out of you,\\nmuttered the captain, as he went down into\\nthe cabin. Knowing the captain s temper,\\nI dared not interfere while he was in his\\npresent state of mind. By nightfall, how-\\never, I proceeded to the cabin, and found\\nhim seated before the table, with a half\\nempty bottle of his favorite champagne be-\\nfore him. I knew he had been drinking\\nfreely, and therefore had little hope that\\nAllen would be released still I ventured to\\nsay\\nPardon my intrusion, Captain Harden,\\nbut I m afraid our cabin-boy will be sick if\\nhe is compelled to stay up there much\\nlonger.\\nSick bah, not a bit of it he s got too\\nmuch grit in him to yield to such nonsense\\nno person on board my ship ever gets sick\\nthey know better than to play that game on\\nme. But I ll go and see what he is doing,\\nanyhow.", "height": "4388", "width": "3248", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0276.jp2"}, "277": {"fulltext": "TEMPERANCE READINGS\\n2*1\\nUpon reaching the deck he shouted\\nthrough his trumpet\\nHo! my lad.\\nAye, aye, sir, was the faint but prompt\\nresponse from above, as Allen s face ap-\\npeared, looking with eager hope for his re-\\nlease.\\nHow do you like your new berth was\\nthe captain s mocking question.\\n11 Better than grog or whiskey, sir, came\\nthe quick reply from Allen.\\nIf I allow you to descend t will you\\ndrink the contents of this glass and he\\nheld up, as he spoke, a sparkling glass of\\nhis favorite wine.\\nI have forsworn all intoxicating drinks,\\nsir, and I will not break my pledge, even at\\nthe risk of my life.\\nThere, that settles it, said the captain,\\nturning to me he s got to stay up there\\nto-night he ll be toned down before morn-\\ning.\\nBy early dawn Captain Harden ordered\\nhim to be taken down, for to his call, Ho,\\nmy lad there was no reply, and he began\\nto feel alarmed. A glass of warm wine and\\nbiscuit were standing ready for him beside\\nthe captain, who was sober now and when\\nhe saw the limp form of Allen carried into\\nhis presence by two sailors his voice soft-\\nened, as he said\\nHere, my lad, drink that, and I will\\ntrouble you no more.\\nWith a painful gesture, the boy waved\\nhim back, and in a feeble voice, said\\nCaptain Harden, will you allow me to\\ntell you a little of my history\\nGoon, said the captain, but do not\\nthink it will change my mind you have to\\ndrink this just to show you how I bend stiff\\nnecks on board my ship.\\nTwo weeks before I came on board this\\nship I stood beside my mother s coffin. I\\nheard the dull thud of falling earth as the\\nsexton filled the grave which held the last\\nremains of my darling mother. I saw the\\npeople leave the spot I was alone, yes,\\nalone, for she who loved me and cared for\\nme was gone. I knelt for a moment upon\\nthe fresh turf, and while the hot tears rolled\\ndown my cheeks, I vowed never to taste\\nthe liquor which had broken my mother s\\nheart and ruined my father s life.\\n*7\\nTwo days later, I stretched my hand\\nthrough the prison bars, behind which my\\nfather was confined. I told him of my\\nintention of going to sea. Do with me\\nwhat you will, captain let me freeze to\\ndeath in the mainmast throw me into\\nthe sea below, anything, but do not for\\ndear mother s sake, force me to drink that\\npoison which has ruined my father, and\\nkilled my mother. Do not let it ruin a\\nmother s only son\\nHe sank back exhausted, and burst into\\na fit of tears. The captain stepped for-\\nward, and laying his hand, which trembled\\na little, upon the boy s head, said to the\\ncrew who had collected round\\nFor our mothers sake, let us respect\\nAllen Bancroft s pledge. And never, he\\ncontinued, firing up, let me catch any of\\nyou ill-treating him.\\nHe then hastily withdrew to his apart-\\nment. The sailors were scattered, and I\\nwas left alone with Allen.\\nLieutenant, what does this mean Is\\nit possible that that\\nThat you are free, I added, and that\\nnone will trouble you again.\\nLieutenant, he said, if I was not so\\nill and cold just now, I think I d just toss\\nmy hat and give three hearty cheers for\\nCaptain Harden.\\nHe served on our vessel three years, and\\nwas a universal favorite. When he left Cap-\\ntain Harden presented him with a handsome\\ngold watch as a memento of his night in\\nthe mainmast, and the hearty sailor sent the\\nyouth away with a blessing on his head.\\nTHE TWO GLASSES.\\nTemperance Recitation.\\nTHKRK sat two glasses, filled to the brim,\\nOn a rich man s table, rim to rim\\nOne was ruddy, and red as blood,\\nAnd one was clear as the crystal flood.\\nSaid the glass of wine to his paler brother,\\nLet us tell tales of the past to each other.\\nI can tell of banquet, and revel, and\\nmirth,\\nWhere I was king, for I ruled in might,\\nAnd the proudest and grandest souls on\\nearth", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0277.jp2"}, "278": {"fulltext": "282\\nTEMPERANCE READINGS\\nFell under my touch, as though struck\\nwith blight.\\nFrom the heads of kings I have torn the\\ncrown\\nFrom the heights of fame I have hurled\\nmen down\\nI have blasted many an honored name\\nI have taken virtue and given shame\\nI have tempted the youth with a sip, a\\ntaste,\\nWhich has made his future a barren waste.\\nFar greater than any king am I,\\nOr than any army beneath the sky\\nI have made the arm of the driver fail,\\nAnd sent the train from its iron rail\\nI have made good ships go down at sea,\\nAnd the shrieks of the lost were sweet\\nto me\\nFor they said, Behold, how great you be\\nFame, strength, wealth, genius, before you\\nfall,\\nAnd your might and power are over all.\\nHo ho pale brother, laughed the wine,\\nCan you boast of deeds as great as\\nmine\\nSaid the water glass I can not boast\\nOf a king dethroned, or a murdered host\\nBut I can tell of hearts that were sad,\\nBy my crystal drops made light and glad\\nOf thirst I have quenched, and brows I ve\\nlaved\\nOf hands I have cooled, and souls I ve\\nsaved.\\nI have leaped through the valley, dashed\\ndown the mountain,\\nSlept in the sunshine, and dripped from the\\nfountain\\nI have burst my cloud fetters and drooped\\nfrom the sky,\\nAnd everywhere gladdened the landscape\\nand eye.\\nI have eased the hot forehead of fever and\\npain,\\nI have made the parched meadows grow\\nfertile with grain\\nI can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill\\nThat ground out the flour, and turned at my\\nwill\\nI can tell of manhood, debased by you,\\nThat I have uplifted and crowned anew.\\nI cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid,\\nI gladden the heart of man and maid\\nI set the chained wine captive free,\\nAnd all are better for knowing me.\\nThese are the tales they told to each other,\\nThe glass of wine and its paler brother,\\nAs they sat together, filled to the brim,\\nOn a rich man s table, rim to rim.\\nEeea Wheeler Wilcox.\\nTHE DRUNKARDS DAUGHTER,\\nA woman who became an earnest temperance advocate and\\nworker for total abstinence, after having been ruined in fortune\\nand having her happiness wrecked by drink in her own home, was\\ntwitted by her former friends and called a fanatic. The following\\nlines were written by her as a reply.\\nGo, feel what I have felt,\\nGo, bear what I have borne\\nSink neath a blow a father dealt,\\nAnd the cold, proud world s scorn.\\nThus struggle on from year to year,\\nThy sole relief the scalding tear.\\nGo, weep as I have wept\\nO er a loved father s fall\\nSee every cherished promise swept,\\nYouth s sweetness turned to gall\\nHope s faded flowers strewed all the way.\\nThat led me up to woman s day.\\nGo, kneel as I have knelt\\nImplore beseech and pray.\\nStrive the besotted heart to melt,\\nThe downward course to stay\\nBe cast with bitter curse aside,\\nThy prayers burlesqued, thy tears defied.\\nGo, stand where I have stood,\\nAnd see the strong man bow\\nWith gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood\\nAnd cold and livid brow\\nGo, catch his wandering glance, and see\\nThere mirrored his soul s misery.\\nGo, hear what I have heard,\\nThe sobs of sad despair,\\nAs memory s feeling fount hath stirred,\\nAnd its revealings there\\nHave told him what he might have been,\\nHad he the drunkard s fate forseen.\\nGo to my mother s side,\\nAnd her crushed spirit cheer\\nThine own deep anguish hide,\\nWipe from her cheek the tear\\nMark her dimmed eye, her furrowed brow,", "height": "4384", "width": "3324", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0278.jp2"}, "279": {"fulltext": "TEMPERANCE READINGS\\n283\\nThe gray that streaks her dark hair now,\\nThe toil-worn frame, the trembling limb,\\nAnd trace the ruin back to him\\nWhose plighted faith in early youth,\\nPromised eternal love and truth,\\nBut who, forsworn, hath yielded up\\nThis promise to the deadly cup,\\nAnd led her down from love and light,\\nFrom all that made her pathway bright,\\nAnd chained her there mid want and strife,\\nThat lowly thing, a drunkard s wife\\nAnd stamped on childhood s brow, so mild,\\nThat withering blight, a drunkard s child!\\nGo, hear, and see, and feel, and know\\nAll that my soul hath felt and known\\nThen look within the wine cup s glow\\nSee if its brightness can atone\\nThink of its flavor would you try,\\nIf all proclaimed, Tis drink and die.\\nTell me how I hate the bowl,\\nHate is a feeble word\\nI loathe, abhor, my very soul\\nBy strong disgust is stirred\\nWhene er I see, or her or tell\\nOf the DARK BEVERAGE OF HELI\\nPLEDGE WITH WINE.\\nThis selection may be easily converted into an effective\\ndialogue by omitting the words and acting the parts between the\\nremarks of the bride and her attendants. The company should\\nbe dressed in wedding attire.\\n4 4 T i,EDGE with wine pledge with wine\\nX cried the young and thoughtless\\nHarry Wood. Pledge with\\nwine, ran through the brilliant crowd.\\nThe beautiful bride grew pale the deci-\\nsive hour had come, she pressed her white\\nhands together, and the leaves of her bridal\\nwreath trembled on her pure brow her\\nbreath came quicker, her heart beat wilder.\\nFrom her childhood she had been most\\nsolemnly opposed to the use of all wines\\nand liquors.\\nYes, Marion, lay aside your scruples\\nfor this once, said the judge in a low tone,\\ngoing towards his daughter, the company\\nexpect it do not so seriously infringe upon\\nthe rules of etiquette in your own house\\nact as you please but in mine, for this\\nonce please me.\\nEvery eye was turned towards the bridal\\npair Marion s principles were well known\\nHenry had been a convivialist, but of late\\nhis friends noticed the change in his man-\\nners, the difference in his habits and to-\\nnight they watched him to see, as they sneer-\\ningly said, if he was tied down to a woman s\\nopinion so soon.\\nPouring a brimming beaker, they held\\nit with tempting smiles towards Marion.\\nShe was very pale, though more composed,\\nand her hand shook not, as smiling back,\\nshe gratefully accepted the crystal tempter\\nand raised it to her lips. But scarcely had\\nshe done so, when every hand was arrested\\nby her piercing exclamation of Oh, how\\nterrible What is it cried one and\\nall, thronging together, for she had slowly\\ncarried the glass at arm s length, and was\\nfixedly regarding it as though it were some\\nhideous object.\\nWait, she answered, while an inspired\\nlight shone from her dark eyes, wait and\\nI will tell you. I see, she added, slowly\\npointing one jewelled finger at the spark-\\nling ruby liquid, a sight that beggars all\\ndescription and yet listen I will paint it\\nfor you if I can It is a lonely spot tall\\nmountains, crowned with verdure, rise in\\nawful sublimity around a river runs\\nthrough, and bright flowers grow to the\\nwater s edge. There is a thick, warm mist\\nthat the sun seeks vainly to pierce trees,\\nlofty and beautiful, wave to the airy motion\\nof the birds but there, a group of Indians\\ngather they flit to and fro with something\\nlike sorrow upon their dark brows and in\\ntheir midst lies a manly form, but his\\ncheek, how deathly his eye wild with the\\nfitful fire of fever. One friend stands beside\\nhim, nay, I should say kneels, for he is\\npillowing that poor head upon his breast.\\nGenius in ruins. Oh the high, holy-\\nlooking brow Why should death mark\\nit, and he so young Look how he throws\\nthe damp curls see him clasp his hands\\nhear his thrilling shrieks for like mark\\nhow he clutches at the form of his com-\\npanion, imploring to be saved. Oh hear\\nhim call piteously his father s name see\\nhim twine his fingers together as he shrieks\\nfor his sister his only sister the twin of\\nhis soul weeping for him in his distant\\nnative land.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0279.jp2"}, "280": {"fulltext": "284\\nTEMPERANCE READINGS\\nSee she exclaimed, while the bridal\\nparty shrank back, the untasted wine\\ntrembling in their faltering grasp, and the\\njudge fell, overpowered, upon his seat;\\nsee his arms are lifted to heaven he\\nprays, how wildly, for mercy hot fever\\nrushes through his veins. The friend\\nbeside him is weeping; awe-stricken, the\\ndark men move silently, and leave the\\nliving and dying together.\\nThere was a hush in that princely parlor,\\nbroken only by what seemed a smothered\\nsob, from some manly bosom. The bride\\nstood yet upright, with quivering lip, and\\ntears stealing to the outward edge of her\\nlashes. Her beautiful arm had lost its\\ntension, and the glass, with its little\\ntroubled red waves, came slowly towards\\nthe range of her vision. She spoke again\\nevery lip was mute. Her voice was low,\\nfaint, yet awfully distinct she still fixed\\nher sorrowful glance upon the wine- cup.\\nIt is evening now the great white\\nmoon is coming up, and her beams lie\\ngently on his forehead. He moves not;\\nhis eyes are set in their sockets dim are\\ntheir piercing glances in vain his friend\\nwhispers the name of father and sister\\ndeath is there. Death and no soft hand,\\nno gentle voice to bless and soothe him.\\nHis head sinks back one convulsive\\nshudder he is dead\\nA groan ran through the assembly, so\\nvivid was her description, so unearthly her\\nlook so inspired her manner, that what she\\ndescribed seemed actually to have taken\\nplace then and there. They noticed also,\\nthat the bridegroom hid his face in his\\nhands and was weeping.\\nDead! she repeated again, her lips\\nquivering faster and faster, and her voice\\nmore and more broken: and there they\\nscoop him a grave and there, without a\\nshroud, they lay him down in the damp,\\nreeking earth. The only son of a proud\\nfather, the only idolized brother of a fond\\nsister. And he sleeps to-day in that distant\\ncountry, with no stone to mark the spot.\\nThere he lies my father s son my own\\ntwin brother a victim to this deadly\\npoison. Father, she exclaimed, turn-\\ning suddenly, while the tears rained down\\nher beautiful cheeks, father, shall I drink\\nit now\\nThe form of the old judge was convulsed\\nwith agony. He raised his head, but in a\\nsmothered voice he faltered No, no, my\\nchild in God s name, no.\\nShe lifted the glittering goblet, and\\nletting it suddenly fall to the floor it was\\ndashed into a thousand pieces. Many a\\ntearful eye watched her movements, and\\ninstantaneously every wineglass was trans-\\nferred to the marble table on which it had\\nbeen prepared. Then, as she looked at the\\nfragments of crystal, she turned to the\\ncompany, saying: Iyet no friend, here-\\nafter, who loves me, tempt me to peril my\\nsoul for wine. Not firmer the everlasting\\nhills than my resolve, God helping me,\\nnever to touch or taste that terrible poison.\\nAnd he to whom I have given my hand\\nwho watched over my brother s dying form\\nin that last solemn hour, and buried the\\ndear wanderer there by the river in that\\nland of gold, will, I trust, sustain me in\\nthat resolve. Will you not, my husband\\nHis glistening eyes, his sad, sweet smile\\nwas her answer.\\nThe judge left the room, and when an\\nhour later he returned, and with a more\\nsubdued manner took part in the entertain-\\nment of the bridal guests, no one could fail\\nto read that he, too, had determined to\\ndash the enemy at once and forever from\\nhis princely rooms.\\nThose who were present at that wedding,\\ncan never forget the impression so solemnly\\nmade. Many from that hour foreswore the\\nsocial glass.", "height": "4356", "width": "3316", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0280.jp2"}, "281": {"fulltext": "is", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0281.jp2"}, "282": {"fulltext": "U. J\\nu a.\\n5\\no\\nQ\\nU\\nQ-S\\nIS\\nHO*", "height": "4376", "width": "3316", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0282.jp2"}, "283": {"fulltext": "Part IX\\nLITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\n^HpHK following selections, though arranged and adapted especially for children from\\n4 to 1 2 years of age, may De recited by grown up people with excellent effect in imper-\\nsonating child character. Entertainers will find in this collection many pleasing pieces\\nwith which to answer encores especially after the rendering of lengthy or difficult numbers.\\nAs a suggestion to those who train the little fellows we would say the artlessness of\\na child is the highest art. Above all things therefore, let the little reciters be natural.\\nSee that they comprehend the real spirit of the pieces and are able to take, for the time,\\nthe characters upon themselves. That done your task will be to teach them to speak\\ndistinctly. Natural child nature will take care of the rest.\\nTHE BABY.\\nw\\nhere; did you come from, baby dear\\nout of the everywhere into the here.\\nWhere did you get your eyes so blue\\nOut of the sky as I came through.\\nWhat makes the light in them sparkle and\\nspin?\\nSome of the starry spikes left in.\\nWhere did you get that little tear\\nfound it waiting when I got here.\\nWhat makes your forehead so smooth and\\nhigh?\\nA soft hand stroked it as I went by.\\nWhat makes your cheek like a warm white\\nrose?\\nSomething better than any one knows.\\nWhence that three-cornered smile of bliss\\nThree angels gave me at once a kiss.\\nWhere did you get that pearly ear\\nGod spoke, and it came out to hear.\\nWhere did you get those arms and hands\\nLove made itself into hooks and bands.\\nFeet, whence did you come, you darling\\nthings\\nFrom the same box as the cherubs wings.\\nHow did they all just come to be you\\nGod thought about me, and so I grew.\\nBut how did you come to us, you dear\\nGod thought of you, and so I am here.\\nGeorge Macdonaed.\\nHOW THE SERMON SOUNDED TO BABY.\\nI know a little darling\\nWith lovely golden curls,\\nWith cheeks like apple blossoms,\\nAnd teeth like rows of pearls.\\nHis ways are dear and winning,\\nAnd though he is not three,\\nHe s very good at meeting\\nAs sweet as sweet can be.\\nBut one day when the sermon\\nSeemed rather long (he thought,)\\nHis eyes went straight to mamma s\\nAnd her attention sought.\\n287", "height": "4364", "width": "3236", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0283.jp2"}, "284": {"fulltext": "288\\nLITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\nAnd then tie softly whispered,\\nWith just a little fret\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nSay, mamma, ain t dat preacher\\nDot froo hollerin yet?\\nMrs. J. M. Hunter.\\nLAHENT OF A LITTLE GIRL.\\nMy brother Will, he used to be\\nThe nicest kind of girl,\\nHe wore a little dress like me,\\nAnd had his hair in curl.\\nWe played with dolls and tea sets then.\\nAnd every kind of toy\\nBut all those good old times are gone,\\nWill turned into a boy.\\nMamma made him little suits,\\nWith pockets in his pants,\\nAnd cut off all his yellow curls\\nAnd sent them to my aunts\\nAnd Will, he was so pleased, I believe\\nHe almost jumped for joy,\\nAnd I must own I didn t like\\nWill turned into a boy.\\nAnd now he plays with horrid tops\\nI don t know how to spin,\\nAnd marbles that I try to shoot,\\nBut never hit nor win,\\nAnd leapfrog I can t give a back\\nLike Charlie, Frank or Roy\\nOh, no one knows how bad I feel\\nSince Will has turned a boy.\\nA LITTLE GIRL S SPEECH ABOUT HER-\\nSELF.\\nI LOVE my papa, that I do,\\nAnd mamma says she loves him too\\nAnd both of them love me, I know,\\nA thousand ways their love they show.\\nBut papa says he fears some day\\nWith some mean scamp I ll run away.\\nA BOY S MOTHER.\\nMy mother, she s so good to me,\\nEf I was good as I could be\\nI couldn t be as good. No, sir,\\nCan t any boy be good as her\\nShe loves me when I m glad or mad\\nShe loves when I m good or bad\\nAn what s the funniest thing she says\\nShe loves me when she punishes.\\nI don t like her to punish me\\nThat don t hurt, but it hurts to see\\nHer cryin nen I cry an nen\\nWe both cry an be good again.\\nShe loves me when she cuts and sews\\nMy little coat and Sunday clothes\\nAn when my pa comes home to tea\\nShe loves him most as much as me.\\nShe laughs and tells him all I said,\\nAn grabs me up an pats my head\\nAn I hug her an hug my pa,\\nAn love him purt nigh much as ma.\\nJames Whitcomb Rieey.\\nWHY I D RATHER BE A BOY.\\nA Very Little Boy s Speech.\\nI AM just a little fellow, and I can t say\\nmuch. My speech is this I am glad\\nI am a boy I had rather be a boy\\nthan a girl, or anything. Boys have good\\ntimes. They can swim and skate and\\ncoast, ride horseback, climb trees, play hop-\\ntoad, make cartwheels of themselves, and\\nslide down the banisters and most girls\\ncan t. I wouldn t be a girl no not if\\nyou d give me the best jack-knife in the\\nworld\\nGRANDMOTHER S CHAIR.\\nGrandmother sits in her old arm-chair,\\nLooking so placid and sweet\\nSmiling so kindly all the while,\\nOn the little ones at her feet.\\nThey love to be near grandmother s chair,\\nTo feel her dear hand on their head,\\nFor so well they know, it is grandmother s\\nway,\\nAnd they are never afraid.\\nIt was grandmother, too, to whom they\\nwould go,\\nWith all of their troubles each day\\nFor grandmother knew just what to do,\\nIn such a kind, loving way.\\nIf a cut, or a bruise, or a little sad heart,\\nCame to her chair for relief,", "height": "4388", "width": "3320", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0284.jp2"}, "285": {"fulltext": "LITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\n289\\nour\\n[t was grandmother s way at once to re-\\nspond,\\nTo soothe every childish grief.\\nBut grandmother sits no more in her chair,\\nTis vacant, and silent, and lone\\nShe left us one day now long ago\\nTis sad to know she is gone.\\nWe love the old chair tis bound to\\nhearts\\nWith cords of the strongest love\\nWe touch it reverently as we pass,\\nAs we think of the dear one above.\\nWe are sorry we ever were cross to her,\\nOr gave her a moment of pain\\nWe are sure we d be very kind to her\\nCould she only be with us again.\\nAlice M. Payntkr.\\nA GOOD COUNTRY.\\nFor a very little Girl.\\nThe speaker should wear the national colors, either combined\\nin a dress or as decorations to a white dress.\\nI wear these three colors to-day,\\nThe beautiful red, white and blue,\\nBecause tis the Fourth of July,\\nAnd I thought I d celebrate too.\\nI know that our country began\\n(Though I m sure I cannot tell why,)\\nOne morning so long, long ago,\\nAnd that was the Fourth of July.\\nBut one thing for certain and sure\\nI ve found out, although I m so small,\\nTis a country good to be in\\nFor little folks, big folks and all.\\nTHE MEANING OF THE AMERICAN FLAG.\\nRecitation for a Boy.\\nTHE American flag means, then, all that\\nthe fathers meant in the Revolu-\\ntionary War it means all that the\\nDeclaration of Independence meant it\\nmeans all that the Constitution of a peo-\\nple, organizing for justice, for liberty and\\nfor happiness meant.\\nThe American flag carries American\\nideas, American history, and American\\nfeelings.\\nBeginning with the colonies and coming\\ndown to our time, in its sacred heraldry,\\nin its glorious insignia, it has gathered and\\nstored chiefly this supreme idea Divine\\nRight of Liberty in Man.\\nEvery color means liberty, every thread\\nmeans liberty, every form of star and beam\\nof light means liberty liberty through law,\\nand laws for liberty. Accept it, then, in all\\nits fullness of meaning. It it is not a\\npainted rag. It is a whole national history.\\nIt is the Constitution. It is the Govern-\\nment. It is the emblem of the sovereignty\\nof the people. It is the Nation.\\nHenry Ward Beecher.\\nKATIE S WANTS.\\nFor a little girl, 4 to 6 years. Train to speak naturally\\nid distinctly.\\nM\\nE want Christmas tree,\\nYes, me do\\nWant an orange on it,\\nLots of candy, too.\\nWant some new dishes,\\nWant a red pail,\\nWant a rocking-horse\\nWith a very long tail.\\nWant a little watch\\nThat says, Tick, tick!\\nWant a newer dolly,\\nCause Victoria s sick\\nWant so many things\\nDon t know what to do\\nWant a little sister,\\nLittle brother, too.\\nWon t you buy em, mamma?\\nTell me why you won t\\nWant to go to bed\\nNo, me don t.\\nEva M. Tappan.\\nWHY BETTY DIDN T LAUGH.\\ni i TTThen I was at the party,\\nV V Said Betty (aged just four),\\nA little girl fell off her chair,\\nRight down upon the floor\\nAnd all the other little girls\\nBegan to laugh but me\\nI didn t laugh a single bit,\\nSaid Betty, seriously.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0285.jp2"}, "286": {"fulltext": "290\\nLITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\nWhy not her mother asked her,\\nFull of delight to find\\nThat Betty bless her little heart\\nHad been so sweetly kind.\\nWhy didn t you laugh, darling?\\nOr don t you like to tell\\nI didn t laugh, said Betty,\\nCause it was me that fell\\nTHAT S BABY.\\nRepeat the words, That s baby, slowly and with rising in-\\nflection, every time growing more emphatic.\\nOne little row of ten little toes\\nTo go along with a brand new nose,\\nBight little fingers and two new thumbs\\nThat are just as good as sugar plums\\nThat s baby.\\nOne little pair of round, new eyes,\\nLike a little owl s, so big and wise,\\nOne little place they call a mouth,\\nWithout one tooth from north to south\\nThat s baby.\\nTwo little cheeks to kiss all day,\\nTwo little hands so in his way,\\nA brand new head, not very big,\\nThat seems to need a brand new wig\\nThat s baby.\\nDear little row of ten little toes\\nHow much we love them nobody knows\\nTen little kisses on mouth and chin\\nWhat a shame he wasn t born a twin\\nThat s baby.\\nTHE NEW BABY.\\nMuzzbr s bought a baby\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nIttle bits of zing\\nZink I mos could put him\\nFroo my rubber ring.\\nAin t he awful ugly\\nAin t he awful pink\\nJust come dowd from heaven\\nDat s a fib, I zink.\\nDoctor told annuzer\\nGreat big awful lie\\nNose ain t out of joyent\\nDat ain t why I cry.\\nZink x ought to love him\\nNo, I won t so zere\\nNassy, crying baby\\nAin t got any hair.\\nSend me off wiz Biddy\\nEvery single day\\nBea good boy, Charley\\nRun away and play.\\nDot all my nice kisses\\nDot my place in bed\\nMean to take my drumstick\\nAnd hit him on ze head.\\nTHE ONLY CHILD.\\nhich is my nicest plaything\\nI really cannot tell\\nI have a china dolly,\\nI have a silver bell.\\nw\\nI have a string of beads\\nMy mother often tells me\\nI have all a baby needs.\\nBut if I had a brother\\nAs big as cousin Ben,\\nOr if I had a sister\\nLike little Lilly Fen,\\nWe should have such times together.\\nT would drive the neighbors wild\\nOh it s very lonesome\\nTo be an only child\\nDOLL ROSY S BATH.\\nScene. A toy wash tub, small girl comes on with\\ndoll.\\nHpis time Doll Rosy had a bath,\\n-L And she ll be good I hope\\nShe likes the water well enough,\\nBut doesn t like the soap.\\n{Proceeds to undress the doll, which done, she\\ncontinues.)\\nNow soft I ll rub her with a sponge,\\nHer eyes and nose and ears,\\nAnd splash her fingers in the bowl,\\nAnd never mind the tears.\\n{Having finished she holds the doll up in surprise.}\\nThere now oh, my what have I done\\nI ve washed the skin off see\\nHer pretty pink and white are gone\\nEntirely oh, dear me\\n{Hugs doll up and runs off stage.)", "height": "4388", "width": "3308", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0286.jp2"}, "287": {"fulltext": "LITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\n291\\nLULU S COMPLAINT.\\nI SK a poor ittle sorrowful baby,\\nFor B idget is way down tairs\\nMy titten has scatched my fin er,\\nAnd Dolly won t say her p ayers.\\nI hain t seen my bootiful mamma\\nSince ever so long ado\\nAn I ain t her tunninest baby\\nNo londer, for B idget says so.\\nMamma dot anoder new baby,\\nDod dived it He did yes erday\\nAn it kies, it kies oh so defful\\nI wis He would take it away.\\nI don t want no sweet ittle sister\\nI want my dood mamma, I do\\nI want her to tiss me and tiss me,\\nAn tall me her p ecious Lulu.\\nI dess my dear papa will bin me\\nA ittle dood titten some day\\nHere s nurse wid my mamma s new baby\\nI wis she would tate it away.\\nOh oh what tunnin red fin ers\\nIt sees me ite out of its eyes\\nI dess we will teep it and dive it\\nSome can y whenever it kies.\\nI dess I will dive it my dolly\\nTo play wid mos every day\\nAn I dess, I dess Say, B idget,\\nAsk Dod not to tate it away.\\nLITTLE TOMMIE S FIRST SMOKE.\\nI VK been sick.\\nMamma said mokin was a nasty,\\ndirty, disgraceful habit, and bad for the\\nwindow curtains.\\nPapa said it wasn t. He said all wise\\nmen moked, and that it was good for rheu-\\nmatism, and that he didn t care for the win-\\ndow curtains, not a that thing what busts\\nand drowns people I forgot its name. And\\nhe said women didn t know much anyway,\\nand that they couldn t reason like men.\\nSo next day papa wasn t nice a bit that\\nday I frew over the accawarium, and papa\\npanked me and I felt as if I had the rheu-\\nmatism ever time I went to sit down, and\\nso I just got papa s pipe and loaded it and\\nmoked it, to cure rheumatism where papa\\npanked me.\\nAnd they put mustard plaster on my tum-\\nmick till they most burned a hole in it, I\\nguess.\\nI fink they fought I was going to die.\\nI fought so too.\\nMamma said I was goin to be a little\\ncherub, but I fought I was goin to be awful\\nsick. Nurse said I was goin to be a cherub,\\ntoo then she went to put a nuzzar mustard\\nplaster on. I didn t want her to, and she\\ncalled me somefing else. I guess that was\\ncause I frew the mustard plaster in her\\nface.\\nI don t want to be a cherub, anyway; I\\nruther be little Tommie a while yet. But\\nI won t moke any more. I guess mamma\\nwas right. Maybe I m sumfin like a win-\\ndow curtain. Mokin isn t good for me.\\nA LITTLE BOY S WONDER.\\nFor a Bright Little Fellow of Five Years in\\nFrock.\\nIwondkr, oh I wonder what makes ve\\nsun go wound\\nI wonder what can make ve fowers turn\\npopin from ve gwound.\\nI wonder if my mamma loves Billy morn n\\nme\\nI wonder if I d beat a bear a-climbin up a\\ntree\\nI wonder how ve angels member every-\\nbody s pwayers,\\nI wonder if I didn t leave my sandwich on\\nve stairs,\\nI wonder what my teacher meant about a\\ntwuthful heart\\nI guess tis finkin untul Jack will surely\\nbring my cart.\\nI wonder what I d do if I should hear a\\nlion woar\\nI bet I d knock im on vehead, and lay him\\non ve floor.\\nI wonder if our Farver knew how awful I\\ndid feel\\nWhen Tom s pie was in my pottet, and I\\nwead, You shall not steal.\\nI wonder if, when boys get big, it s dreadful\\nin ve dark\\nI wonder what my doggie thinks when he\\nbegins to bark.", "height": "4388", "width": "3248", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0287.jp2"}, "288": {"fulltext": "292\\nLITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\nI wonder what vat birdie says who hollers\\nso and sings\\nI wonder, oh I wonder lots and lots of\\nover fings.\\nCHRISTMAS HAS COME.\\nSuitabel /or Sunday school or other Christmas entertainment\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2where a tree is a feature of the occasion. Should be recited just\\nbefore presents are distributed, by a bright little girl of 6 or 7\\nyears.\\nChristmas day has come at last,\\nAnd I am glad tis here\\nFor, don t yon think, for this one day,\\nI ve waited just a year.\\nI m sure it should have come before,\\nAs sure as I m alive\\nFifty- two Sundays make a year,\\nAnd I ve counted seventy-five.\\nThere s one thing makes me very glad,\\nAs glad as I can be\\nThe years grow short as we grow old,\\nAnd that will just suit me.\\nI wish twas Christmas every month\\nThat s long enough to wait\\nFor all the presents that I want,\\nA year is very late.\\nWe d have a tree, then, every month,\\nAnd presents nice and new\\n(A voice in the audience says, Where would\\nthe money co?nefrom f\\nDo Christmas trees cost anything\\n(A voice, I guess they do\\nThen one a year will do.\\nAnd now I ll take my seat, dear friends,\\nAnd wait to hear my call\\nFor I ve a present on the tree,\\nAnd I hope it is a doll.\\nLITTLE KITTY.\\nFor a little girl of 6 or 7 years. To be recited in a happy child-\\nmanner.\\no\\nnce there was a little kitty,\\nWhiter than snow\\nIn the barn she used to frolic,\\nLong time ago.\\nIn the barn a little mousie\\nRan to and fro\\nFor she heard the kitty coming.\\nLong time ago.\\nTwo black eyes had little kitty,\\nBlack as a sloe\\nAnd they spied the little mousie,\\nLong time ago.\\nNine pearl teeth had little kittie,\\nAll in a row\\nAnd they bit the little mousie,\\nLong time ago.\\nWhen the teeth bit little mousie,\\nLittle mousie cried Oh\\nBut she got away from kitty,\\nLong time ago.\\nKitty White so shyly comes\\nTo catch the mousie Gray\\nBut mousie hears her softly step,\\nAnd quickly runs away.\\nAMONG THE ANNIMALS.\\nThe boy who recites this speech should be a jolly looking\\nfellow, who can smile as he speaks, and will talk righrt out and\\npronounce his words very distinctly.\\nOne rainy morning, just for a lark,\\nI jumped and stamped on my new\\nNoah s ark\\nI crushed an elephant, smashed a gnu,\\nAnd snapped a camel clean in two\\nI finished the wolf without half tryin\\nThe wild hyena and roaring lion\\nI knocked down Ham, and Japheth, too,\\nAnd cracked the legs of the kangaroo.\\nI finished, besides, two pigs and a donkey,\\nA polar bear, opossum and monkey\\nAlso the lions, tigers and cats,\\nAnd dromedaries and tiny rats.\\nThere wasn t a thing that didn t feel,\\nSooner or later, the weight o my heel\\nI felt as grand, as grand could be,\\nBut oh, the whipping my mammy gave me\\nMARY AND THE SWALLOW.\\nA Dialogue for two Little Girls.\\nMary is on the stage, but the girl impersonating the swallow\\nshould be. out of sight of the audience. An imitative twittering\\nmay be heard before the dialogue commences.\\nThe lilacs are in blossom, the\\ncherry flowers are white\\nI hear a sound above me, a twitter\\nof delight\\nIt is my friend the swallow, as sure as\\nI m alive\\nM", "height": "4388", "width": "3312", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0288.jp2"}, "289": {"fulltext": "LITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\n293\\nI m very glad to see you Pray, when\\ndid you arrive\\nS. I m very glad to get here I only came\\nto-day\\nI was this very morning a hundred\\nmiles away.\\nM. It was a weary journey how tired you\\nmust be\\nS. Oh no I m used to traveling, and it\\nagrees with me.\\nM. You left us last September, and pray\\nwhere did you go\\nS. I went South for the winter, I always\\ndo, you know.\\nM. The South How do you like it\\nS. I like its sunny skies\\nAnd round the orange-blossoms I\\ncaught the nicest flies.\\nBut when the spring had opened, I\\nwanted to come back.\\nM. You re still the same old swallow\\nYour wings are just as black.\\nS. I always wear dark colors I,m ever\\non the wing\\nA sober suit for traveling I think the\\nproper thing.\\nM. Your little last year s nestlings, do tell\\nme how they grow.\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00baS. My nestlings are great swallows, and\\nmated long ago.\\nM. And shall you build this summer among\\nthe flowers and leaves\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00baS. No. I have taken lodgings beneath\\nthe stable eaves.\\nYou ll hear each night and morning my\\ntwitter in the sky.\\nM. That sound is always welcome. And\\nnow good-bye\\nvS. Good-bye.\\nMarian Douglas.\\nTHEY SAY.\\nTHE subject of my speech is one\\nWe hear of every day\\nTis simply all about the fear\\nWe have of what they say.\\nHow happy all of us could be,\\nIf, as we go our way,\\nWe did not stop to think and care\\nSo much for what they say.\\nWe never dress to go outside,\\nTo church, to ball, or play,\\nBut everything we wear or do\\nIs ruled by what they say.\\nHalf of the struggles we each make\\nTo keep up a display,\\nMight be avoided, were it not\\nFor dread of what they say.\\nThe half of those who leave their homes\\nFor Long Branch and Cape may\\nWould never go, if it were not\\nFor fear of what they say.\\nOne reason why I m now so scared\\n(Pardon the weakness, pray\\nIs that I m thinking all the while,\\nOt me what will they say.\\nBut so twill be, I judge, as long\\nAs on the earth folks stay\\nThere ll always be, with wise and fools,\\nThat dread of what they say.\\nTIME ENOUGH.\\nAppropriate for Thanksgiving or Harvest\\nEntertainment.\\nTwo little squirrels, out in the sun\\nOne gathered nuts, the other had\\nnone\\nTime enough yet, his constant refrain,\\nSummer is still just on the wane.\\nListen, my child, while I tell you his fate\\nHe roused him at last, but he roused him\\ntoo late.\\nDown fell the snow from a pitiless cloud,\\nAnd gave little squirrel a spotless white\\nshroud.\\nTwo little boys in a school-room were\\nplaced\\nOne always perfect, the other disgraced\\nTime enough yet for learning, he said,\\nI will climb, by and by, from the foot to\\nthe head.\\nListen, my friends their locks are turned\\ngray\\nOne, as a governor, sitteth to-day\\nThe other, a pauper, looks out at the\\ndoor", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0289.jp2"}, "290": {"fulltext": "294\\nLITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\nOf the almshouse, and idles his days as of\\nyore.\\nTwo kinds of people we meet every day\\nOne is at work, the other at play,\\nLiving uncared for, dying unknown,\\nThe busiest hive hath ever a drone.\\nTHE BLUE AND THE GRAY.\\nDecoration Day Entertainment.\\nThey sat together, side by side,\\nIn the shade of an orange tree\\nOne had followed the flag of Grant,\\nThe other had fought with Lee.\\nThe boy in blue had an empty sleeve.\\nA crutch had the boy in gray\\nThey talked of the long and weary march,\\nThey talked of the bloody fray.\\nMy chief is dead, the Johnny said,\\nA leader brave was he\\nAnd sheathed fore er at Lexington,\\nDoth hang the sword of Lee.\\nMy leader dead, the boy in blue\\nSpoke low and with a sigh\\nAnd all the country mourning lay\\nThe day that Grant did die.\\nGod bless both our Lee and Grant\\nThe vet ran said, and then\\nIn heartfelt tones the answer came,\\nFrom the Southern heart Amen.\\nA LITTLE BOY S LECTURE.\\nThe Boy Should Speak in a Loud, Oratorical\\nStyle and Look Very Dignified.\\nLadies and gentlemen Nearly four\\nhundred years ago the mighty mind\\nof Columbus, traversing unknown\\nseas, clasped this new continent in its\\nembrace.\\nA few centuries later arose one here who\\nnow lives in all our hearts as the Father of\\nhis Country. An able warrior, a sagacious\\nstatesman, a noble gentleman. Yes, Chris-\\ntopher Columbus was great. George Wash-\\nington was great. But here, my friends, in\\nthis glorious twentieth century is a grater\\n(At this point the boy should pause, and without cracking a\\nsmile, take from his pocket a large, bright tin grater, and hold it\\nfor a few seconds in full view. The large kind used for horse-\\nradish could be most easily distinguished by the audience.)\\nDIALOGUE FOR TWO BOYS.\\nJack Frost and Tom Ruddy.\\nA large boy, dressed in white, looking very cold, may repre-\\nsent Jack Frost. A small boy, with ruddy cheeks, warm clothes\\nand gloves, and a pair of skates slung over his arms, should rep-\\nresent Tom Ruddy.\\nJack Frost\\nWho are you, little boy, on your way to\\nthe meadow,\\nThis cold winter day with your skates and\\nyour sled O\\nTom Ruddy\\nMy name is Tom Ruddy and though it is\\nsnowing,\\nTo the meadow, to skate and to coast, lam\\ngoing.\\nJack Frost\\nYou had better turn back now, my little\\nfriend Tommy,\\nFor the ground it is stiff, and the day it is\\nstormy.\\nTom Ruddy\\nNo, sir, if you please I do love this cold\\nweather,\\nAnd my coat is of wool, and my shoes are\\nof leather.\\nJack Frost:\\nTo nip you and pinch you and chill you I ll\\nstudy,\\nUnless you turn back and run home, Thomas\\nRuddy.\\nTom Ruddy\\nAnd who may you be sir, to talk to me thus,\\nsir?\\nAnd what have I done, you should make\\nsuch a fuss, sir.\\nJack Frost:\\nMy name and my calling I will not dissem-\\nble\\nJack Frost is my name, Tom so hear that\\nand tremble\\nTom Ruddy\\nOh, you are that Frost, then, whose touch\\nis so bitter", "height": "4380", "width": "3316", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0290.jp2"}, "291": {"fulltext": "1\\nS n\\nn\\nu-r-\\nO\\nV.x\\nt_-n\\no\\nc.c\\n\u00c2\u00a3h\\nKT\\n8 n\\nx\\no\\nWP1\\n0)\\ni 12", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0291.jp2"}, "292": {"fulltext": "STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL\\nNow Jimmie, if I tells you, will you never tell a soul\\n(Suggestion for Tableau)", "height": "4376", "width": "3316", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0292.jp2"}, "293": {"fulltext": "LITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\n297\\nWho makes all our window-panes sparkle\\nand glitter\\nJack Fross\\nYes, I am Jack Frost, and now, Tom, I m\\ncoming\\nTo chill you all over, your fingertips numb-\\ning.\\nTom Ruddy:\\nMy fingers lie snug in my gay little mit-\\ntens,\\nAnd the fur on my cap is as warm as a kit-\\nten s.\\nJack Frost:\\nI will breathe on your ears till they tingle\\nso fear me,\\nAnd scamper; Tom, scamper! Boo-hoo\\nDo you hear me\\nTom Ruddy:\\nI hear you, I know you, and if you can\\nmatch me\\nIn sliding and coating, come catch me,\\nJack, catch me {Runs.)\\nJack Frost:\\nStop stop He is gone, all my terrors de-\\nfying\\nTo scare boys like Tom I had better stop\\ntrying\\nA SCHOOL GIRL S PRESENTATION\\nSPEECH.\\nDEAR TEACHER I have been requested\\nby the girls of this school (or institu-\\ntion) to offer you a slight token ot\\nour affection and regard. I cannot tell you\\nhow delighted I am to be the means of con-\\nveying to you the expression of our united\\nlove. What we offer you is a poor symbol\\nof our feelings, but we know you will\\nreceive it kindly, as a simple indication of\\nthe attachment which each one of us\\ncherishes for you in her heart of hearts.\\nYou have made our lessons pleasant to\\nus so pleasant that it would be ungrateful\\nto call them tasks. We know that we have\\noften tried your temper and forbearance,\\nbut you have dealt gently with us in our\\nwaywardness, teaching us, by example as\\nwell as precept, the advantages of kindness\\nand self-control. We will never forget you\\nWe shall look back to this school (or in-\\nstitution) in after life, not as a place of\\npenance, but as a scene of mental enjoy-\\nment, where the paths of learning were\\nstrewn with flowers and whenever memory\\nrecalls our school-days, our hearts will\\nwarm toward you as they do to-day. I\\nhave been requested by my school-mates\\nnot to address you formally, but as a be-\\nloved and respected friend. In that light,\\ndear teacher, we all regard you. Please\\naccept, with our little present, our earnest\\ngood wishes. May you always be as happy\\nas you have endeavored to make your\\npupils, and may they nothing better could\\nbe wished for them be always as faithful\\nto their duties to others as you have been\\nin your duties to them.\\nCHILDREN S DAY.\\nSuitable salutatory at a Sunday school or missionary occa-\\nsion in which the children are the entertainers.\\near friends and teachers, kind and true,\\nYou re welcome one and all\\nWe think it very kind that you\\nHave heard the children s call.\\nD\\nSome little songs we have to sing,\\nSome little words to say\\nWe pray you listen patiently,\\nFor this is Children s Day.\\nGreat things have we to tell to you,\\nOf children far away,\\nWho have no parents, good like ours\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nNo happy homes have they.\\nThey never heard of God s dear Son,\\nWho left His home above,\\nAnd suffered on the cruel cross,\\nThat all might know His love.\\nWe want to bear the news to them,\\nBut we are weak and small\\nUnless encouragement we have\\nNaught can we do at all.\\nAnd so, dear friends, we welcome you,\\nYour presence, courage brings\\nWe hope to prove, before you leave,\\nThe strength in little things.", "height": "4376", "width": "3168", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0293.jp2"}, "294": {"fulltext": "298\\nLITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\nWORDS ON WELCOHE.\\nAn Opening Address for School or Sunday School\\nEntertainment.\\nKind friends and dear parents, we wel-\\ncome you here\\nTo our nice pleasant school-room, and\\nteacher so dear\\nWe wish but to show how much we have\\nlearned,\\nAnd* how to our lessons our hearts have\\nbeen turned.\\nBut hope you ll remember we all are quite\\nyoung,\\nAnd when we have spoken, recited and\\nsung,\\nYou will pardon our blunders, which, as all\\nare aware,\\nMay even extend to the President s chair.\\nOur life is a school-time, and till that shall\\nend,\\nWith our Father in heaven for teacher and\\nfriend,\\nOh, let us perform well each task that is\\ngiven,\\nTill our time of probation is ended in\\nheaven.\\nI\\nTHE FIRST PAIR OF BREECHES.\\nFor a Bright Little Boy of 5 Years.\\nve got a pair of breeches now,\\nAnd I ll have to be a man\\nI know I can if just I try,\\nMy mamma says I can\\nI m going to school now very soon,\\nAnd learn my A, B, C\\nMy mamma says I m too young yet,\\nBut I am way past three.\\nAnd I ve got pockets in my pants,\\nTo put my pencil in\\nFor mamma says that I must write\\nIn school when I begin.\\nI ll soon be tall as papa now\\nI ll grow as fast as I can,\\nAnd don t you think that very soon\\nI ll be a full-grown man\\nWHEN MAMHA WAS A LITTLE GIRL.\\nFor a Girl of 7 or 8 Years with a Saucy Air.\\nWhen mamma was a little girl\\n(Or so they say to me)\\nShe never used to romp and run,\\nNor shout and scream with noisy fun,\\nNor climb an apple tree.\\nShe always kept her hair in curl,\\nWhen mamma was a little girl.\\nWhen mamma was a little girl\\n(It seems to her, you see)\\nShe never used to tumble down,\\nNor break her doll, nor tear her gown,\\nNor drink her papa s tea.\\nShe learned to knit, plain, seam, and\\npurl,\\nWhen mamma was a little girl.\\nBut grandma says it must be true\\nHow fast the seasons o er us whirl\\nYour mamma, dear, was just like you,\\nWhen she was grandma s little girl.\\nTHE WATERMILLION.\\nTHERE were a watermillion\\nGrowing on a vine,\\nAnd there were a pickaninny\\nA-watching it all the time.\\nAnd when that watermillion\\nWere a-ripening in the sun,\\nAnd the stripes along its jacket\\nWere coming one by one,\\nThat pickaninny hooked it,\\nAnd toting it away,\\nHe ate that entire million\\nWithin a single day.\\nHe ate the rind and pieces\\nAnd finished it with vim,\\nAnd then that watermillion\\nJust up and finished him.\\nAN OPENING ADDRESS.\\nSpeak in a Half- Embarrassed and Conversa-\\ntional Tone.\\nI am a very little boy (or girl), and I sup-\\npose that is why the teacher puts me\\nfirst to-day. But I am big enough to\\ntell you that we are very glad to see you.", "height": "4384", "width": "3316", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0294.jp2"}, "295": {"fulltext": "LITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\n299\\nI hope you will like this school very\\nmuch. We will sing our best songs, and\\nsay our prettiest verses, and be just as good\\nas we can all the time you stay, for we want\\nyou to come again.\\n{Straighten up with dignity and speak loud\\nand strong.)\\nAnd now I ll say my speech. This is it:\\nKind friends, we welcome you to-day\\nWith songs of merry glee\\nYour loving smiles we strive to win,\\nEach face we love to see.\\nSweet welcomes then to one and all,\\nAnd may your smiles approve\\nAnd may we never miss the light\\nOf faces that we love.\\nAnd now, friends all, with thanks for the\\npast, and good wishes for the future, it is\\nmine to say good bye.\\nCLOSING ADDRESS.\\nKind friends who have listened to our\\nefforts to-day, I thank you in the\\nname of the whole school for your\\npresence and your attention. We hope we\\nhave not disappointed you. With many of\\nus it has been our first attempt at public\\nspeaking. Long ago, a boy declaimed\\nbefore much such an audience, I dare say,\\nas this who said Tall oaks from little\\nacorns grow and it is just as true to-day\\nas then. We are fitting ourselves, little by\\nlittle, to fill the places of the men and\\nwomen of to-day. Years hence, you may\\nhear from us mingling with the great world,\\nhelping forward, in one way and another,\\nlife s good work.\\nTeacher, we thank you for all your kind\\nendeavors to do us good. May your good\\nwishes for us be all fulfilled in years to\\ncome.\\nSchoolmates, we part companionship to-\\nday to go to our several homes, our various\\namusements, and our separate work. We\\npart friends, and carry with us pleasant\\nmemories of the happy faces here. May\\nonr future lives be as useful as our term has\\nbeen pleasant. And may the world, the\\ngreat school in which we are all scholars,\\nfind us faithful in all the good lessons we\\nhave to learn in short, may we make our\\nlives a grand success, and be admitted to a\\nhigher school in the life to come.\\nAN ADDRESS TO A TEACHER.\\nChoose a manly boy who will look the teacher in the eye and\\nspeak distinctly.\\nDear Teacher The pleasant duty has\\nbeen assigned me by my schoolmates\\nof presenting you this token as an\\nevidence of our lasting esteem, friendship,\\nand love. We could not consent to part\\nwith you without leaving in your hands\\nsome memorial, however trifling, of deep\\nand abiding gratitude for your unceasing\\nefforts to benefit us. When in future days\\nyou look upon this memento, let it be a\\npleasant token of the deepest love and\\nreverence of our young hearts.\\nVALEDICTORY.\\nIT now, kind friends, devolves on me\\nTo speak our Val-e-dic-to-ry\\nYou ve seen our exhibition through,\\nWe ve tried to please each one of you\\nAnd if we ve failed in any part,\\nLay it to head and not to heart\\nWe thank you for your presence here,\\nWith kindly smiles our work to cheer,\\nOur youthful zeal you do inspire\\nTo set our mark a little hfger\\nBut there s much more than words can\\ntell-\\nSo thanking you we ll say\u00e2\u0080\u0094 -farewell.\\nTHE BEST OF MENAGERIES.\\nMy pa s the best menagerie\\nThat ever any one did see\\nI need no pets when he is by\\nTo make the days and hours fly,\\nFor any bird or beast or fish\\nI want, he ll be whene er I wish.\\nFor instance, if I chance to want\\nA safe and gentle elephant,\\nHe ll fasten on his own big nose\\nOne of my long black woolen hose,\\nAnd on his hands and bended knees\\nIs elephantine as you please,", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0295.jp2"}, "296": {"fulltext": "300\\nLITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\nAnd truly seems to like the sport\\nOf eating peanuts by the quart.\\nThen, when I want the lion s roar,\\nHe ll go behind my bedroom door,\\nAnd growl until I sometimes fear\\nThe king of beasts is really near\\nBut when he finds my courage dim\\nHe peeps out, and I know it s him.\\nAnd he can meow just like a cat\\nNo Tom can beat my pa at that\\nAnd when he yowls, and dabs, and spits,\\nIt sends us all off into fits,\\nSo like it seems that every mouse\\nPacks up his things and leaves the house.\\nThen, when he barks, the passers-by\\nLook all about with fearsome eye,\\nAnd hurry off with scurrying feet\\nTo walk upon some other street,\\nBecause they think some dog is there,\\nTo rush out at em from his lair.\\nAnd, oh, twould make you children laugh\\nWhen papa plays the big giraffe.\\nHe ll take his collar off, you know,\\nAnd stretch his neck an inch or so,\\nAnd look down on you from above,\\nHis eyes so soft and full of love,\\nThat, as you watched them, you would\\nthink\\nFrom a giraffe he d learned to blink.\\nTis as a dolphin, though, that he\\nIs strongest, as it seems to me,\\nAnd I don t know much finer fun\\nThan sitting in the noonday sun\\nUpon the beach and watching pop,\\nAs in the ocean he goes flop,\\nAnd makes us children think that he s\\nA porpoise from across the seas.\\nAnd when he takes a tin tube out,\\nAnd blows up water through the spout,\\nThe stupidest can hardly fail\\nTo think they see a great big whale\\nAnd that is why I say to you\\nMy Pa s a perfect dandy zoo,\\nThe very best menagerie\\nThat ever you or I did see.\\nAnd what is finest let me say,\\nThere never is a cent to pay\\nG. V. Drakk.\\nVACATION TIME.\\nDroll Speech for a Boy of 10 Years at Closing\\nExercises of School.\\nVacation time at last is here,\\nThe j oiliest time in all the year\\nAway with books, pencil and pens,\\nNow is the time to visit our friends.\\nWe always to the country go\\nMe and my youngest brother Joe\\nWe jump the fences, climb the trees,\\nRun through the medders chasin bees\\nBat peaches and apples, plums and grapes,\\nAnd get in an orful lot of scrapes\\nBut then it s vacation time, you know,\\nI don t think folks ought to mind things so.\\nOne day last summer Joe and me\\nWent down to the medder the bull to see.\\nWe couldn t git a very good look at him.\\nSo we let down the bars and walked right in.\\nOh, you oughter seen his shiny eyes\\nJoe said he s takin in our size\\nAnd he frightened us so, Oh, good stars\\nWe clean forgot to put up the bars.\\nAnd that mean old bull, as shore s you re\\nborn,\\nWalked right through them bars into grand-\\npa s corn,\\nAnd Joe and me didn t know what to do,\\nAs ear after ear we seen him chew.\\nGrandpa made an awful fuss,\\nAnd lowed it happened all through us\\nBut then twas vacation time, you know,\\nI don t think he ought to minded it so.\\nI tell you my grandma knows how to\\nbake\\nYou never tasted such pies and cake.\\nOne day we wuz hungry and wanted a bite,\\nBut grandma she wuz nowhere in sight,\\nSo we thought we d just help ourself.\\nThe things were on a high up shelf,\\nSo we got a chair and had to tip-toe\\nAnd that clumsy feller my brother Joe\\nI just give him a little bit of a tilt,\\nAn he set down flat in a pan of milk.\\nGrandma had an orful time makin his\\nclothes clean,\\nAnd said we spoiled every bit of her cream\\nBut then, twas vacation time, you know,\\nI don t think grandma got mad at Joe.", "height": "4384", "width": "3308", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0296.jp2"}, "297": {"fulltext": "LITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\n301\\nGrandma s dog Rover s a nice old chap,\\nBut he likes to take his afternoon nap.\\nJoe and me spied him asleep one da}^\\nAnd thought we d make him git up and\\nplay,\\nSo we slipped in the milk house and got a\\ntin pail,\\nAnd tied it fast to old Rover s tail,\\nAnd then we skeered him, and he runn d\\nlike sin,\\nAnd he rattled and banged and spoiled the tin\\nGrandma came out, and all the rest,\\nAnd she said, You boysmustbepersessed!\\nAnd, if we didn t leave the animals and\\nthings alone,\\nShe d pack our clothes and send us home.\\nBut then at vacation time, you know\\nI don t think folks ought to mind things so.\\nMary B. Rheinfeldt.\\nTHE BLUEBELL S REWARD.\\nTwo little bluebells, growing side by\\nside,\\nTalked to a sunbeam, out for a ride\\nOne thought the sunbeam rude in his way,\\nWhile the other one listened, but little to\\nsay.\\nThe floweret complained that the sunbeam\\ndid wrong\\nIn making his calls so exceptionally long,\\nDeclared If he dared stay as long next\\nday,\\nShe would close up her house, and go far,\\nfar away.\\nThe dear little floweret which silently stood,\\nAnd quietly fastened her quaint dainty hood,\\nWas wooed by the sunbeam and changed\\nto a flower\\nOf exquisite beauty high up on a bower.\\nSo children beware of the bluebell s com-\\nplaint,\\nAnd let your retorts to your elders be faint\\nThus gain by your silence the bower so\\nbright,\\nAnd thank the dear Father who leads you\\naright.\\nHe ll bid every cloud from your sky to de-\\npart\\nAnd smiles in good pleasure at each kind,\\npatient heart\\n18\\nThro sunshine and showers be brave and\\nbe strong,\\nRemembering ever, right conquers all\\nwrong.\\nAnna T. Hackman.\\nTHE BOY WHO DID NOT PASS.\\nThis selection may be made more attractive by introducing\\nan elder y gentleman to represent the boy s father. Let the\\nfather recite the first stanza, and John, a manly boy, reply with\\nthe remainder. At the close, the father, clasping John s hand,\\nsays I believe you will, my boy, and they leave the stage\\narm-in-arm.\\nuQo, John, I hear you did not pass\\nO You were the lowest in your class\\nGot not a prize of merit.\\nBut grumbling now is no avail\\nJust tell me how you came to fail,\\nWith all your sense and spirit\\nWell, sir, I missed mong other things,\\nThe list of Egypt s shepherd kings\\n(I wonder who does know it).\\nAn error of three years I made\\nIn dating England s first crusade\\nAnd, as I am no poet,\\nI got Euripides all wrong,\\nAnd could not write a Latin song\\nAnd as for Roman history,\\nWith Hun and Vandal, Goth and Gaul,\\nAnd Gibbon s weary Rise and Fall,\\nTwas all a hopeless mystery.\\nBut, father, do not fear or sigh\\nIf Cram does proudly pass me by,\\nAnd pedagogues ignore me\\nI ve common sense, I ve will and health,\\nI ll win my way to honest wealth\\nThe world is all before me.\\nAnd though I ll never be a Grecian,\\nKnow Roman laws or art Phoenician,\\nOr sing of love and beauty,\\nI ll plow, or build, or sail, or trade,\\nAnd you need never be afraid\\nBut that I ll do my duty.\\nTHE QUEER LITTLE HOUSE.\\nSuitable for a bright little girl to recite,\\nproper modulation and expression of face\\nShe should be taught\\nTHERE S a queer little house,\\nAnd it stands in the sun\\nWhen the good mother calls.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0297.jp2"}, "298": {"fulltext": "LITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\nThe children all run.\\nWhile under her roof,\\nThey are cozy and warm,\\nThough the cold wind may whistle\\nAnd bluster and storm.\\nIn the daytime, this queer\\nLittle house moves away,\\nAnd the children run after it,\\nHappy and gay\\nBut it comes back at night,\\nAnd the children are fed,\\nAnd tucked up to sleep\\nIn a soft feather-bed.\\nThis queer little house\\nHas no windows nor doors\\nThe roof has no shingles,\\nThe rooms have no floors\\nNo fire-place, chimney,\\nNor stove can you see,\\nYet the children are cozy\\nAnd warm as can be.\\nThe story of this\\nFunny house is all true,\\nI have seen it myself,\\nAnd I think you have, too,\\nYou can see it to-day,\\nIf you watch the old hen,\\nWhen her downy wings cover\\nHer chickens again.\\nA BOY S LECTURE ON KNIVES.\\nThis lecture will be most effective, delivered in a boy s\\nnatural style. Try to imitate the boy s actions. The real art of\\nrendering this selection is in being artlessly natural.\\nLadies and Gentlemen My subject\\nis knives. There are two kinds of\\nknives. I will mention them\\neating-knives and jack-knives. You\\nmust not put eating-knives in your\\nmouth, you can a jack-knife, because then\\nyou do not have any fork I mean when\\nyou are eating raw sweet potatoes or raw\\nturnips, or any raw things out of doors.\\nYou can do nineteen things with a jack-\\nknife. I will mention them whittle,\\nsharpen pencils, clip off finger-nails and\\nthumb ones, play mum 1-ti-peg, cut knots,\\npunch holes, shock out clams and oysters,\\nclean fishes, cut your name on anything,\\neat apples and pumpkin pi seeds and\\nother things, make whistles, whet it on a\\nwhet-stone, cut your fingers with it, break\\nit, swap it, lose it, find it, give it away.\\nEvery fellow that borrows a jack-knife\\nought to give it right back again. I don t\\nmean before he is done with it.\\nA jack-knife is made of two parts. I\\nwill mention them the handle and the\\nblade. You can have a knife with six\\nblades, if anybody will give you one. Your\\nfather and mother hardly ever give you a\\nsix-blader. They do not think it is best.\\nSome little fellows have numb jack-knives.\\nNumb jack-knives are made not to cut\\nmy little brother has a numb jack-knife.\\nJack-knives are very easy to lose. A fellow\\nalmost always loses his knife. He feels\\nvery sorry when he first finds out he cannot\\nfind his knife. He does not believe that\\nknife is lost. He keeps feeling in his\\npocket, for he believes it is there some-\\nwhere under his ball or his jews-harp, or\\nhis pocket-handkerchief, or amongst the\\ncrumbles. Then he begins and empties out\\nall these things, and turns his pocket inside\\nout, and shakes it, and stands up, and\\nshakes his trousers- leg, and looks down on\\nthe floor, and puts them all in again, and\\nthen he begins to hunt.\\nOne day I lost my knife, and I hunted\\nfor it in ninety-seven different places. I\\nwill mention them in my mother s work-\\nbasket, in her other work-basket, in her\\ndarn-stocking bag, in eight of her bureau\\ndrawers, in six cracks of the floor, up gar-\\nret, in the ash-pail, all over eight floors\\ncrawling, in the cookie-pot, in my mother s\\npocket, in the baby s cradle, in the apple-\\nbarrel, on four top shelves, on seventeen\\nother shelves, in the spoon-holder, in ten of\\nmy father s pockets, in fourteen of my big\\nbrother s pockets, in four of my pockets,\\non six mantelpieces, in the waste-basket, in\\nmy sister s doll-house, in her bureau drawer,\\nin the bed-clothes chest, in my mother s\\ntrunk, in four of my sister s pockets, and\\nall the time my knife was in my trousers-leg,\\ninside of the outside part of the trousers-\\nleg, back of the lining of it.\\nLadies and gentlemen Many thanks for\\nyour kind attention. My next lecture will\\nbe on Swapping.\\nMrs. Abby Morton Dias,\\nin Wide Awake.", "height": "4364", "width": "3316", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0298.jp2"}, "299": {"fulltext": "LITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\n303\\nGEORGE WASHINGTON.\\nFor Washington s birthday entertainment. Select five small\\nboys. Let each boy hold a card with date in view of audience\\nduring his recitation.\\n1732. Tn seventeen hundred thirty-two\\nJL George Washington was born\\nTruth, goodness, skill, and glory\\nhigh,\\nHis whole life did adorn.\\n1775. In seventeen hundred seventy-five,\\nThe chief command he took\\nOf all the army in the State,\\nAnd ne er his flag forsook.\\n1783. In seventeen hundred eighty-three,\\nRetired to private life,\\nHe saw his much-loved country\\nfree\\nFrom battle and from strife.\\n1789. In seventeen hundred eighty -nine\\nThe country with one voice,\\nProclaimed him President to\\nshine,\\nBlessed by the peoples choice.\\n1799. In seventeen hundred ninety-nine\\nThe Nation s thears were shed,\\nTo see the Patriot life resign,\\nAnc 1 sleep among the dead.\\nAll. As first in war, and first in peace,\\nAs patriot, father, friend,\\nHe will be blessed till time shall\\ncease,\\nAnd earthly life shall end.\\nW\\nBOYS WANTED.\\nanted, a boy. How often we\\nThese very common words may\\nsee,\\nWanted a boy to errands run,\\nWanted for everything under the sun.\\nAll that the men to-day can do\\nTo-morrow the boys will be doing too,\\nFor the time is ever coming when\\nThe boys must stand in place of men.\\nWanted the world wants boys to-day,\\nAnd she offers them all she has for pay.\\nHonor, wealth, position, fame,\\nA useful life and a deathless name.\\nBoys to shape the paths for men,\\nBoys to guide the plow and pen,\\nBoys to forward the tasks begun.\\nThe world is axious to employ\\nNot Just one, but every boy\\nWhose heart and brain will e er be true\\nTo work his hands shall find to do,\\nHonest, faithful, earnest, kind\\nTo good awake, to evil blind\\nHeart of gold without alloy.\\nWanted The world wants such a boy.\\nWHAT A BOY CAN DO.\\nTHESE are some of the things that a boy\\ncan do\\nHe can whistle so loud the air turns\\nblue\\nHe can make all the sounds of beast and\\nbird,\\nAnd a thousand noises never heard.\\nHe can crow or cackle, or he can cluck\\nAs well as a rooster, hen, or duck\\nHe can bark like a dog, he can low like a\\ncow,\\nAnd a cat itself can t beat his me-ow.\\nHe has sounds that are ruffled, striped and\\nplain\\nHe can thunder by as a railway train,\\nStop at the stations a breath, and then\\nApply the steam and be off again.\\nHe has all his powers in such command\\nHe can turn right into a full brass band,\\nWith all of the instruments ever played,\\nAs he makes of himself a street parade.\\nYou can tell that a boy is very ill\\nIf he s wide awake and keeping still.\\nBut earth would be God bless their\\nnoise\\nA dull old place if there were no boys\u00c2\u00bb\\nBABY S LOGIC.\\nCatchy Encore Selection.\\nShe was ironing her dolly s new gown\\nMaid Marian, four years old,\\nWith her brow 7 s puckered down\\nIn a painstaking frown\\nUnder her tresses of gold.", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0299.jp2"}, "300": {"fulltext": ";o4\\nLITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\nTwas Sunday, and nurse coming in\\nExclaimed in a tone of surprise\\nDon t you know it s a sin\\nAny work to begin\\nOn the day that the Lord sanctifies\\nThen, lifting her face like a rose,\\nThus answered this wise little tot\\nNow, don t you suppose\\nThe good Lord he knows\\nThis little iron ain t hot\\nElizabeth W. Bellamy.\\nA SCHOOL IDYL.\\nRAM it in, cram it in\\nChildren s heads are hollow,\\nSlam it in, jam it in\\nStill there s more to follow\\nHygiene and history,\\nAstronomic mystery,\\nAlgebra, histology,\\nLatin, etymology,\\nBotany, geometry,\\nGreek and trigonometry.\\nRam it in, cram it in\\nChildren s heads are hollow.\\nRap it in, tap it in\\nWhat are teachers paid for\\nBang it in, slam it in\\nWhat are children made for\\nAncient archaeology,\\nAryan philology,\\nProsody, zoology,\\nPhysics, clinictology\\nCalculus and mathematics,\\nRhetoric and hydrostatics\\nHoax it in, coax it in\\nChildren s head s are hollow*\\nScold it in, mould it in\\nAll that they can swallow.\\nFold it in, mould it in\\nStill there s more to follow.\\nFaces pinched, and sad, and pale,\\nTell the same undying tale\\nTell of moments robbed from sleep,\\nMeals un tasted, studies deep.\\nThose who ve passed the furnace\\nthrough,\\nWith aching brow, will tell to you\\nHow the teacher crammed it in,\\nRammed it in, jammed it in,\\nCrunched it in, punched it in,\\nRubbed it in, clubbed it in,\\nPressed it in, caressed it in,\\nRapped it in and slapped it in\\nWhen their heads were hollow.\\nRehoboth Sunday Herald.\\nA FOURTH OF JULY RECORD,\\nSuitable to Fourth of July Entertainment.\\nT was a wide-awake little boy\\nWho rose with the break of day\\n2 were the minutes he took to dress,\\nThen he was off and away.\\n3 were his leaps when he cleared the stairs,\\nAlthough they were steep and high\\n4 was the number which caused his haste,\\nBecause it was Fourth of July\\n5 were his pennies which went to buy\\nA package of crackers red\\n6 were the matches which touched them off\\nAnd then he was back in bed.\\n7 big plasters he had to wear\\nTo cure his fractures sore\\n8 were the visits the doctor made,\\nBefore he was whole once more.\\n9 were the dolorous days he spent\\nIn sorrow and pain but then\\nio are seconds he ll stop to think\\nBefore he does it again.\\nLilian Dynevor Rice.\\nDAYS OF THE WEEK.\\nFor Seven Little Boys and Girls. Teacher or\\nsome Large Boy or Girl Should Speak.\\nThe days of the week once talking to-\\ngether\\nAbout their housekeeping, their\\nfriends and the weather,\\nAgreed in their talk it would be a nice\\nthing\\nFor all to march, and dance, and sing\\nSo they all stood up in a very straight row,\\nAnd this is the way they decided to go", "height": "4388", "width": "3308", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0300.jp2"}, "301": {"fulltext": "LITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\n305\\n{Let seven children stand up, and as day of\\nweek is called, take places, each one equipped\\nwith the things the speaker mentions?)\\nFirst came little Sunday, so sweet and good,\\nWith a book in her hand, at the head she\\nstood.\\nMonday skipped in with soap and a tub,\\nScrubbing away with a rub-a-dub -dub,\\nWith board and iron came Tuesday bright,\\nTalking to Monday in great delight.\\nThen Wednesday the dear little cook\\ncame in,\\nRiding cock horse on his rolling-pin.\\nThursday followed, with broom and brush,\\nHer hair in a towel, and she in a rush.\\nFriday appeared, gayly tripping along\\nHe scoured the knives, and then he was gone.\\nSaturday last, with a great big tub,\\nInto which we all jump for a very good rub.\\n{The children march and sing to the tune of\\nGood Morning, Merry Sunshine.\\nChildren of the week are we,\\nHappy, busy, full of glee.\\nOften do we come this way,\\nAnd you meet us every day.\\nHand in hand we trip along,\\nSinging as we go, a song.\\nEach one may a duty bring,\\nThough it be a little thing.\\n{All bow, and taking up the articles retire\\nfro77i the stage in order, Sunday, Monday, etc.\\nMary Ely Page.\\nIF I WERE YOU.\\nIF I were you, and went to school\\nI d never break the smallest rule,\\nAnd it should be my teacher s joy\\nTo say she had no better boy.\\nAnd twould be true,\\nIf I were you.\\nIf I were you, I d always tell\\nThe truth, no matter what befell\\nFor two things only I despise,\\nA coward heart and telling lies\\nAnd you would, too,\\nIf I were you.\\nI\\nWHAT TO DRINK.\\nThink that every mother s son\\n^Vnd every father s daughter,\\nShould drink at least till twenty-one,\\nJust nothing but cold water.\\nAnd after that, they might drink tea,\\nBut nothing any stronger\\nIf all folks would agree with me,\\nThey d live a great deal longer.\\nTHE BLESSED ONES.\\nSunday School Entertainment. Select nine Chil-\\ndren, stand them in line, and one by\\none step forward and speak.\\nBLESSED are the poor in spirit for theirs\\nis the kingdom of heaven.\\nBlessed are they that mourn for they\\nshall be comforted.\\nBlessed are the meek for they shall inherit\\nthe earth.\\nBlessed are they which do hunger and thirst\\nafter righteousness for they shall be\\nfilled.\\nBlessed are the merciful for they shall ob-\\ntain mercy.\\nBlessed are the pure in heart for they shall\\nsee God.\\nBlessed are the peacemakers for they shall\\nbe called the children of God.\\nBlessed are they that are persecuted for\\nrighteousness sake for theirs is the\\nkingdom of heaven.\\nBlessed are ye when men shall revile you,\\nand persecute you, and shall say all\\nmanner of evil against you falsely,\\nfor my sake.\\n{All stand in line and repeat together\\nRejoice, and be exceeding glad for great\\nis your reward in heaven for so per-\\nsecuted they the prophets which were\\nbefore you.\\nFrom Matthew, 5. 2-12.\\nTWENTY=THIRD PSALH.\\nSuited for Church or Sunday school. Arranged for five little\\nboys or girls. May be repeated at entertainment or before Sun-\\nday school. Speakers should stand in line and recite one after\\nthe other.\\nFirst Speaker.\\nThe Iyord is my shepherd\\nI shall not want.\\nSecond Speaker.\\nHe maketh me to lie down in green pas-\\ntures\\nHe leadeth me beside the still waters 5", "height": "4380", "width": "3252", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0301.jp2"}, "302": {"fulltext": ";o6\\nLITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\nThird Spkakkr.\\nHe restoreth my soul\\nHe leadeth me in the path of righteousness\\nfor His name s sake.\\nFourth Spkakkr.\\nYea, though I walk through the valley of\\nthe shadow of death,\\nI fear no evil for Thou art with me\\nThy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.\\nFifth Spkakkr.\\nThou preparest a table before me in the\\npresence of mine enemies\\nThou anointest my head with oil\\nMy cup runneth over.\\nALIvTOGKTHKR\\nSurely goodness and mercy shall follow (me)\\nus all the days of (my) our (life)\\nlives\\nAnd (I) we will dwell in the house of the\\nLord for ever.\\nLet us try to add some pleasures\\nTo the life of every boy,\\nFor each child needs tender interest\\nIn its sorrows and its joys\\nCall your boys home by your brightness,\\nThey ll avoid a gloomy den,\\nAnd seek for comfort elsewhere\\nAnd remember, boys make men.\\nREMEMBER, BOYS MAKE MEN.\\nWhkn you see a ragged urchin\\nStanding wistful in the street,\\nWith torn hat and kneeless trousers\\nDirty face and bare red feet\\nPass not by the child unheeding,\\nSmile upon him. Mark me, when\\nHe s grown he ll not forget it,\\nFor, remember, boys make men.\\nWhen the buoyant youthful spirits\\nOverflow in boyish freak,\\nChide your child in gentle accents,\\nDo not in your anger speak\\nYou must sow in youthful bosoms\\nSeeds of tender mercies then\\nPlants will grow and bear good fruitage,\\nWhen the erring boys are men.\\nHave you never seen a grandsire,\\nWith his eyes aglow with joy,\\nBring to mind some act of kindness\\nSomething said to him a boy\\nOr relate some slight or coldness,\\nWith a brow all clouded, when\\nHe said they were too thoughtless\\nTo remember boys make men\\nTALE OF A DOG AND A BEE.\\nGRKAT big dog,\\nHead upon his toes\\nTiny little bee\\nSettles on his nose.\\nGreat big dog\\nThinks it is a fly,\\nNever says a word,\\nWinks mighty sly.\\nTiny little bee\\nTickles doggie s nose\\nThinks like as not\\nTis a blooming rose.\\nDog smiles a smile,\\nWinks his other eye,\\nChuckles to himself\\nHow he ll catch a fly.\\nThen he makes a snap\\nMighty quick and spry,\\nGets the little bug\\nBut doesn t catch the fly\u00e2\u0080\u009e\\nTiny little bee,\\nAlive and looking well,\\nGreat big dog,\\nMostly gone to swell.\\nMoral\\nDear friends and brothers all,\\nDon t be too fast and free,\\nAnd when you catch a fly,\\nBe sure it ain t a bee.\\nWHEN FATHER CARVES THE DUCK.\\nWK all look on with anxious eyes\\nWhen father carves the duck,\\nAnd mother almost always sighs\\nWhen father carves the duck\\nThen all of us prepare to rise,", "height": "4384", "width": "3324", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0302.jp2"}, "303": {"fulltext": "LITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\n30I\\nAnd hold our bibs before our eyes,\\nAnd be prepared for some surprise,\\nWhen father carves the duck.\\nHe braces up and grabs a fork\\nWhene er he carves a duck,\\nAnd won t allow a soul to talk,\\nUntil he s carved the duck.\\nThe fork is jabbed into the sides,\\nAcross the breast the knife he slides,\\nWhile every careful person hides\\nFrom flying chips of duck.\\nThe platter s always sure to slip\\nWhen father carves a duck,\\nAnd how it makes the dishes skip\\nPotatoes fly amuck\\nThe squash and cabbage leap in space,\\nWe get some gravy in our face,\\nAnd father mutters Hindoo grace\\nWhene er he carves a duck.\\nWe then have learned to walk around\\nThe dining-room and pluck\\nFrom off the window-sills and walls\\nOur share of father s duck.\\nWhile father growls and blows and jaws,\\nAnd swears the knife was full of flaws,\\nAnd mother laughs at him because\\nHe couldn t carve a duck.\\nE. V. Wright.\\nQUESTIONS ABOUT WOMEN.\\nFor Sunday School Entertainments, suited to a class of girls.\\nThe teacher asks questions, and scholars should repeat the verse\\nand give the reference in answer to every question.\\nWHAT two men were hidden in a well\\nby a woman 2 Sam. xvii. 18, 19.\\n2 What man asked his servant to\\nkill him after he had been mortally wounded\\nby a woman Judges ix. 53, 54.\\n3. What man owed his own life and\\nthat of his countrymen to a woman Esther\\niv. 15, 16.\\n4. What king caused a good man to be\\nslain because he loved the man s wife? 2\\nSam. xi. 14, 15.\\n5. What man made a vow which invol-\\nved the life of his own daughter Judges\\nxi. 30, 31, 34.\\n6. What man once received most hospi-\\ntable treatment from a woman whom he\\nsought, though she knew him not? Gen,\\nxxiv. 17-19.\\n7. What man was deceived by a woman,\\nand then treacherously slain by her Judges\\niv. 18, 21.\\n8. What man once refused to go to\\nbattle unless the woman he was addressing\\nwould conduct it? Judges iv. 8, 9.\\n9. What man was saved from death by\\nhis wife s pretending he was sick? 1 Sam.\\nxix. 12-14.\\n10. What man was twice betrayed by\\nhis wife through avowal of love Judges\\nxiv. 16, 17, and xv. 15-17.\\n1 1 What woman judged Israel Judges\\niv. 4, 5.\\n12. What woman reigned over Israel\\nsix years? 2 Chron. xxii. 10, 12.\\nAN EASTER BONNET.\\nLiTTivK Miss Violet, blooming and sweet,\\nHas her new Easter bonnet all trimmed\\nand complete\\nThe brim is rich purple with hair-lines of\\nblack\\nIt flares at the front and fits close at the\\nback,\\nThere s a bow-knot of yellow and strings of\\npea green\\nA prettier bonnet has never been seen.\\nBut Miss Violet s careful, and keeps it well\\nhid\\nIn her underground bandbox, and holds fast\\nthe lid\\nIf Easter is early, and March winds are\\ncold,\\nYou ll not have a glimpse of the purple and\\ngold,\\nBut when Easter comes late, you will see\\nthe whole place\\nGrow bright with Miss Violet s beauty and\\ngrace.\\nI\\nTHE MISSIONARY HEN.\\nGood for Church or Sunday School\\nEntertainment.\\nknow a funny little lad\\nWe call him careful Ben\\nWho has among his many pets\\nA missionary hen.\\n1 A missionary hen you say\\nWhat sort of fowl is that", "height": "4380", "width": "3252", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0303.jp2"}, "304": {"fulltext": "3oS\\nLITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\nJust listen, and you ll all agree\\nThat she is called just right.\\nNow Benny went to Sunday school,\\nAnd there he heard them tell\\nAbout the children far away\\nWho hear no Sabbath bell\\nWho never heard of Jesus name\\nNor how He came to earth,\\nAnd gave His life upon the cross\\nTo save their souls from death.\\nHe knew they had no pleasant homes,\\nNo teachers kind and true\\nTo tell them of a Saviour s love,\\nOr what they ought to do.\\nBen s pocketbook was very lean,\\nThe pennies there were few\\nBut Bennie s mother helped him out\\nShe gave him work to do.\\nthousand lives and ruins so many homes each year. Why is it\\nhere on such an occasion as this?\\nThen the boy or girl, with a clear strong voice, speaks from\\nbehind the scene, so near the shock that it seems as if the voice\\ncame from the rye itself: 1 come here, friends, to defend my-\\nself. Man has made me his destroyer, when I am really his\\nfriend.\\nI was made to be eaten\\nAnd not to be drank\\nTo be thrashed in a barn,\\nNot soaked in a tank.\\nI come as a blessing\\nWhen put through a mill,\\nAs a blight and a curse\\nWhen run through a still.\\nMake me up into loaves,\\nAnd the children are fed\\nBut if into drink,\\nI ll starve them instead.\\nIn bread I m a servant,\\nThe eater shall rule\\nIn drink I am master,\\nThe drinker a fool.\\nHe climbed the mow to hunt the eggs,\\nHe crawled beneath the barn\\nAnd his reward was one old hen\\nThat he might call his own.\\nDear me the way that old hen laid\\nWas wonderful to view\\nShe seemed to know her business well,\\nAnd sought to mind it too.\\nShe was a missionary hen,\\nFor all her eggs he sold\\nFor pennies for the mission -box\\nThey were as good as gold.\\nBen s pennies now were never scarce\\nHe did not have to beg\\nFor this old hen was like the goose\\nThat laid the golden egg.\\nShe raised a brood of ten fine chicks,\\nBen drafted them all in\\nTo swell the ranks and revenue,\\nOf his missionary hen.\\nSONG OF THE RYE.\\nAt a Temperance or Thanksgiving entertainment, a shock of\\nrye may be placed on the stage near a door or curtain, and tho\\nteacher or director of ceremonies might walkout and say, What\\nIS this rye, which wc see here, good for? I understand it is the\\nfor making whiskev. which destroys so, many\\nA ROUGH RIDER AT HOHE.\\nMY pa s a great Rough Rider,\\nHe was one of Teddy s men,\\nAnd he fought before\\nEl Caney\\nIn the trenches and the fen.\\nHe came home sore and wounded,\\nAnd I wish you d see him eat\\nHe s got an appetite, I guess,\\nIs pretty hard to beat\\nIt s eat, and eat, and eat,\\nAnd it s sleep, and sleep, and sleep,\\nFor ma won t let us make no noise,\\nAnd so we creep, and creep.\\nO, we bade him welcome home.\\nAnd we re glad, he wasn t killed\\nBut gee he s got an appetite\\nThat never will be filled.\\nHe says he caught the fever,\\nAnd he had the ague, too\\nAnd he kind o got the homesicks,\\nAnd the waitin made him blue;\\nBut when he reached the station.\\nAnd we saw him from the gate,\\nWe were the happiest little kids\\nYou qquM find in, any state,", "height": "4388", "width": "3320", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0304.jp2"}, "305": {"fulltext": "LITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\n309\\nM\\nHER PAPA.\\ny papa s all dressed up to-day\\nHe never looked so fine\\nI thought when first I looked at\\nhim.\\nMy papa wasn t mine.\\nHe s got a beautiful new suit\\nThe old one was so old\\nIt s blue, with buttons, oh, so bright\\nI guess they must be gold.\\nAnd papa s sort o glad and sort\\nO sad\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I wonder why\\nAnd ev ry time she looks at him\\nIt makes my mamma cry.\\nWho s Uncle Sam My papa says\\nThat he belongs to him\\nBut papa s joking, cause he knows\\nMy uncle s name is Jim.\\nMy papa just belongs to me\\nAnd mamma. And I guess\\nThe folks are blind who cannot see\\nHis buttons marked U. S.\\nU. S. spells us. He s ours and yet\\nMy mamma can t help cry.\\nAnd papa tries to smile at me\\nAnd can t I wonder why?\\nARMY DIET.\\nMy father says at sojers is\\nThe braves mens at ever was\\nAt when they hears the shots go\\nWhiz!\\nThey don t mind it a bit bekuz\\nThe whiz means at you ain t got hit,\\nAn so they ist don t keer a bit.\\nPa says at sojers knows a lot,\\nAn they can walk ist like one man,\\nAn aim so well at every shot\\nWill hit a sneakin Spaniard, an\\nHe says they have to eat hard tacks\\nAn carry raccoons on their backs.\\nBut when I ast him why they do\\nHe ist busts out a-laughin nen\\nHe says, You know a thing or two,\\nMy son an laughs an laughs again,\\nAn says, At s ist the very thing-^\\nThe sojers eats the tax, i ing J\\nTHE SPANISH WAR ALPHABET\\nThe following alphabetical arrangement of facts, persons and\\nplaces connected with the Spanish American war may be used as\\na recitation for one, or it may be pleasingly presented by twenty-\\nsix youngsters each holding the large letter which he represents\\ncut out of pasteboard fastened on a staff for carrying. Let each\\nspeaker step out of line to recite the verse relating to the letter in\\nhand. When standing in line the letters should be held plainly in\\nview of the audience forming a complete alphabet.\\nA is for Admiral, impassionate, cold,\\nWho waits for instructions, and does\\nas he s told.\\nB stands for Brooklyn, commanded by\\nSchley\\nThe hottest of liners he takes on the fly.\\nC is for Cuba, a tight little isle\\nTo get which we may have to fight quite\\na while.\\nD is yes, Dewey, a teacher of Spanish\\nThe first lesson caused all his pupils to\\nvanish.\\nE stands for Evans, who s never so happy\\nAs when there s a chance to get in some-\\nthing scrappy.\\nF is for Freedom, which means a great deal\\nWhen your neck has been under a vile\\nSpanish heel.\\nG is for Germany, whose rude employees\\nShould learn better manners be taught\\nto say please.\\nH stands for Heroes, on land and on sea,\\nWho laid down their lives for their\\nfriends liberty.\\nI s for Insurgents, who holler for aid\\nThen eat up the rations and loaf in the\\nshade.\\nJ is for Jones, Davy Jones, if you will,\\nWhose lockers we ve twice had occasion\\nto fill.\\nK stands for King, the young King of\\nSpain,\\nWho s been led to regret what happened\\nthe Maine\\nIy is for IyOng, who has great common-\\nsense,\\nAnd in whom the people place all con-\\nfidence.\\nM s for McKinley, we welcome the fact\\nThat he s handling this matter with very\\ngreat tact.\\nN is for Nelson, Nelson A. Miles,\\nOn whom we depend to o ercome Spanish\\nwiles.\\nO s the Oquendo, a powerful cruiser\\nBut on a long pig-hunt they managed to\\nJose her.", "height": "4380", "width": "3184", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0305.jp2"}, "306": {"fulltext": "3io\\nLITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\nP s Porto Rico, the place had some forts,\\nBut, no doubt, ere this they ve been\\nknocked out of sorts.\\nis for Queen, most unhappy of ladies,\\nWho fears, perhaps rightly, our visit to\\nCadiz.\\nR s for Reporters they re well to the\\nfore,\\nBut they mustn t imagine they re run-\\nning this war.\\nS is for Shafter, a man of great girth,\\nIn spite of which fact he is proving his\\nworth.\\nT stands for Toral, whose acted campaign\\nWas played for the gallery over in\\nSpain.\\nU is for Union, the only cement\\nTo strengthen a State and disruptions\\nprevent.\\nV s for Vizcaya she made a great show,\\nBut proving a nuisance, we sent her\\nbelow.\\nW is for Wainwright, whose motto must\\nbe\\nThe greater the odds, the better for me.\\nX is the cross that is put against Spain,\\nAnd means that she s out of the Blue\\nBook again.\\nY s for the youngsters that sneaked to the\\nfront.\\nAnd gave their poor mammas no end of\\na hunt.\\nZ s for the zeal that has hall-marked this\\nm fight\\nThis quality wins when stamped upon\\nright.\\nA. C. Needham.\\nTHE PRICE HE PAID,\\nTeddy came to tell his playmate\\nOf a most successful trade.\\nIve got just the best knife\\ntime\\nCorkscrew, big and little blade,\\nReal pearl handle cost a dollar\\nAt the store a week ago\\nBut, and here he winked at Tommy,\\nDidn t cost me that, you know.\\nNo, sir what I traded for it\\nWasn t worth a dime, T guess.\\nYou have seen the chain Bob gave me\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nthis\\nBrass all through and nothing less.\\nWell, he took a fancy to it,\\nWhen I hinted it was gold,\\nAnd he swapped his jack-knife for it.\\nMy, but didn t he get sold\\nYes, perhaps, was Tommy s answer,\\nIn a grave and thoughtful way\\nBut I think the knife has cost you\\nMore than I would like to pay.\\nYou don t think that I got cheated\\nYes, was Tommy s quick reply,\\nYou could not afford to do it,\\nFor you had to tell a lie.\\nBrooklyn Eagle.\\nJOHNNY S OPINION OF GRANDMOTHERS.\\nA speech for a droll boy. should be spoken in a deliberate and\\nthoughtful tone as if reflecting.\\nGrandmothers are very nice folks\\nThey beat all the aunts in creation\\nThey let a chap do as he likes\\nAnd don t worry about education.\\nI m sure I can t see it at all,\\nWhat a poor fellow ever could do\\nFor apples and pennies and cakes,\\nWithout a grandmother or two.\\nGrandmothers speak softly to ma s,\\nTo let a boy have a good time\\nSometimes they will whisper, tis true,\\nT other way when a boy wants to climb\\nGrandmothers have muffins for tea,\\nAnd pies, a whole row, in the cellar.\\nAnd they re apt (if they know it in time)\\nTo make chicken -pies for a feller.\\nAnd if he is bad now and then,\\nAnd makes a great racketing noise,\\nThey only look over their specs\\nAnd say, Ah, these boys will be boys!\\nLife is only so short at the best\\nLet the children be happy to-day.\\nThen they look for a while at the sky,\\nAnd the hills that are far, far away.\\nQuite often, as twilight comes on,\\nGrandmothers sing hymns very low\\nTo themselves, as they rock by the fire,\\nAbout heaven, and when they shall go.", "height": "4388", "width": "3332", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0306.jp2"}, "307": {"fulltext": "LITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\n3ii\\nAnd then a boy, stopping to tnink,\\nWill find a hot tear in his eye,\\nTo know what mnst come at the last,\\nFor grandmothers all have to die.\\nI wish they could stay here and pray,\\nFor a boy needs their prayers every\\nnight.\\nSome boys more than others, I s pose\\nSuch fellers as me need a sight.\\nF\\nTHE FAIRY PEOPLE S SPINNING.\\nor little men and little maids,\\nWhen night is just beginning,\\nOh, then, on quiet hills and glades\\nThe fairies start their spinning.\\nAnd fast each silver shuttle goes,\\nIn summer darkness chilly,\\nTo weave the redness of the rose,\\nThe whiteness of the lily.\\nTo count the cunning little elves\\nWould surely make you dizzy,\\nThey do not know their host themselves,\\nThese wee folk quaint and busy.\\nBy brook and creek, by isle and shoal,\\nBy velvet field and valley,\\nDame Nature keeps their muster roll,\\nSo often as they rally.\\nAnd when the little children wake\\nIn sunny mornings early,\\nThey see the lace the fairies make,\\nA cobweb tissue pearly.\\nIt lightly folds o er branch and stem,\\nIt shakes with dews a twinkle,\\nAnd flings its cloth of gold and gem\\nIn many a filmy wrinkle.\\nSo little men and maids may dream\\nWhile trolls and elves are playing\\nTheir looms beneath the starlight s gleam,\\nAnd silent hours are flying.\\nMargaret K. Sangster.\\nTRUE BRAVERY.\\nDialogue for Boy and Girl of 10 and 12 Years.\\nRalph. Good-morning, Cousin Laura\\nI have a word to say to you.\\nLaura. Only a word It is yet\\nhalf an hour to school-time, and I can listen.\\nR. I saw you yesterday speaking to that\\nfellow Sterling Frank Sterling.\\nL. Of course I spoke to Frank. What\\nthen Is he too good to be spoken to\\nR. Far from it. You must give up his\\nacquaintance.\\nL. Indeed, Cousin Ralph I must give\\nup his acquaintance On what compulsion\\nmust I\\nR. If you do not wish to be cut by all\\nthe boys of the academy, you must cut\\nFrank.\\nL. Cut What do you mean by cut\\nR. By cutting, I mean not recognizing an\\nindividual. When a boy who knows you\\npasses you without speaking or bowing, he\\ncuts you.\\nL. I thank you for the explanation..\\nAnd I am to understand that I must either\\ngive up the acquaintance of my friend\\nFrank, or submit to the terrible mortifica-\\ntion of being cut by Mr. Ralph Burton\\nand his companions\\nR. Certainly. Frank is a boy of no spirit\\nin short, a coward.\\nL. How has he shown it\\nR. Why, a dozen boys have dared him to\\nfight, and he refuses to do it.\\nL. And is your test of courage a willing-\\nness to fight If so, a bull-dog is the most\\ncourageous of gentlemen.\\nR. I am serious, Laura you must give\\nhim up. Why, the other day Tom Hard-\\ning put a chip on a fellow s hat, and dared\\nFrank Sterling to knock it off. But Ster-\\nling folded his arms and walked off, while\\nwe all groaned and hissed.\\nL. You did You groaned and hissed\\nOh, Ralph, I did not believe you had so lit-\\ntle of the true gentlemen about you\\nR. What do you mean Come, now, I do\\nnot like that.\\nL. Were you at the great fire last night\\nR. Yes Tom Harding and I helped work\\none of the engines.\\nL. Did you see that boy go up the\\nladder\\nR. Yes wouldn t I like to be in his\\nshoes They say the Humane Society are\\ngoing to give him a medal for he saved a\\nbaby s life and no mistake at the risk of\\nhis own, too everybody said so for the\\nladder he went up was all charred and", "height": "4388", "width": "3176", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0307.jp2"}, "308": {"fulltext": "312\\nLITTLE FOLKS SPEAKER\\nweakened, and it broke short off before he\\ngot to the ground.\\nWhat boy was it\\nR. Nobody could find out, but I suppose\\nthe morning paper will tell us all about it.\\nL. I have a copy. Here s the account\\nGreat fire house tenanted by poor famil-\\nies baby left in one of the upper rooms\\nladder much charred fireman too heavy to\\ngo up boy came forward, ran up seized\\nan infant descended safely gave it into\\narms of frantic mother.\\nR. Is the boys name mentioned\\nL.Ayl Here it is Here it is And\\nwho do you think he is\\nR. Do not keep me in suspense.\\nL. Well, then, he s the boy who was so\\nafraid of knocking a chip off your hat\\nFrank Sterling the coward, as you called\\nhim.\\nR. No I^et me see the paper for myself.\\nThere s the name, sure enough, printed in\\ncapital letters.\\nL. But, cousin, how much more illus-\\ntrious an achievement it would have been\\nfor him to have knocked a chip off your\\nhat Risking his life to save a chip of a\\nbaby was a small matter compared with\\nthat. Can the gratitude of a mother for\\nsaving her baby make amends for the\\nignominy of being cut by Mr. Tom Harding\\nand Mr. Ralph Burton\\nR. Don t laugh at me any more, Cousin\\nLaura. I see I ve been stupidly in the\\nwrong. Frank Sterling is no coward. I ll\\nask his pardon this very day.\\nL. Will you? My dear Ralph, you will\\nin that case show that you are not without\\ncourage.\\nGRANDPA S AVERSION TO SLANG.\\nIT wasn t so when I was young\\nWe used plain language then\\nWe didn t speak of them galoots,\\nMeanin boys or men.\\nWhen speaking of the nice hand-write\\nOf Joe, or Tom, or Bill,\\nWe did it plain we didn t say,\\nHe slings a nasty quill.\\nAn when we saw a girl we liked,\\nWho never failed to please,\\nWe called her pretty, neat and good,\\nBut not about the cheese.\\nWell, when we met a good old friend\\nWe hadn t lately seen,\\nWe greeted him, but didn t say,\\nHello, you old sardine\\nThe boys sometimes got mad an fit\\nWe spoke of kicks and blows\\nBut now they whack him on the snoot,\\nOr paste him on the nose.\\nOnce when a youth was turned away\\nBy her he held most dear.\\nHe walked upon his feet but now\\nHe walks off on his ear.\\nWe used to dance when I was young,\\nAnd used to call it so\\nBut now they don t they only sling\\nThe light fantastic toe.\\nOf death we spoke in language plain\\nThat no one did perplex\\nBut in these days one dosen t die\\nHe passes in his checks.\\nWe praised the man of common sense\\nHis judgment s good, we said\\nBut now they say Well, that old plum\\nHas he got a level head.\\nIt s rather sad the children now\\nAre learnin all such talk\\nThey ve learned to chin instead of chat,\\nAn waltz instead of walk.\\nTo little Harry yesterday\\nMy grandchild, aged two\\nI said, You love grandpa said he,\\nYou bet your boots I do.\\nThe children bowed to a stranger once\\nIt is no longer so\\nThe little girl, as well as boys,\\nNow greets you with Helloa\\nOh, give me back the good old days,\\nWhen both the old and young\\nConversed in plain, old-fashioned words,\\nAnd slang was never slung.\\nB. Taylor,", "height": "4384", "width": "3316", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0308.jp2"}, "309": {"fulltext": "Part X\\nENCORES\\nT^VERY popular reciter is frequently called upon to respond to the applause of a well\\npleased audience. It is a critical undertaking, and yet one is thought selfish or in-\\ncapable who refuses. Experienced elocutionists avoid responding to an encore with a\\nlong or serious piece. Something short and pithy, different in character from the leading\\nnumber, is more desirable. It is believed the following selections will meet the general\\nand popular tastes. Other numbers in this volume (especially in the Little Folks Depart-\\nment when a child character is desired) will be found available.\\nTHE POOR INDIAN.\\nSpeak in an exalted tone until the last line is reached. Ob-\\nserve and interpret the humor cause y the transition from the\\nsublime to the ridiculous.\\nI\\nknow him by his faicon eye,\\nHis raven tress and mien of pride\\nThose dingy draperies, as they fly,\\nTell that a great soul throbs inside\\nNo eagle-feathered crown he wears,\\nCapping in pride his kingly brow\\nBut his crownless hat in grief declares,\\nI am an unthroned monarch now\\nO noble son of a royal line\\nI exclaim, as I gaze into his face,\\nHow shall I knit my soul to thine\\nHow right the wrongs of thine injured\\nrace?\\nWhat shall I do for thee, glorious one\\nTo soothe thy sorrows my soul aspires.\\nSpeak and say how the Saxon s son\\nMay atone for the wrongs of his ruthless\\nsires?\\nHe speaks, he speaks that noble chief!\\nFrom his marble lips deep accents come\\nAnd I catch the sound of his mighty grief\\nPie gV me tree cent for git some rum\\nU\\nN\\nJUST MY LUCK.\\nEVER had no luck\\nAny way, he sighed\\nFate has kep me down,\\nOr, at least, has tried\\nNever found a cent,\\nAll I ve got I earned\\nNo such word as luck,\\nFur as I m concerned.\\nNever had no help\\nAnywhere, he said\\nAlways had to work\\nFor each bite o bread\\nNever took a chance\\nThat I wasn t caught\\nNever won a bet,\\nBut I ve lost a lot\\nNever had no fun\\nAll my life, he cried\\n1 Wish when I was born\\nI could just of died\\nBet you when I m gone\\nThey ll invent some way\\nFolks can live right on\\nTill the judgment day,\\nCause that there ud be\\nJist my luck said he.\\nS. K. Kiser.\\n3*3", "height": "4356", "width": "3200", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0309.jp2"}, "310": {"fulltext": "3H\\nENCORES\\nI\\nA MOTHER S ADVICE.\\nF you want to please the men,\\nDaughter mine\\nI^earn a little bit of art,\\nSome good poetry by heart,\\nLanguages to wit impart,\\nMusic fine.\\nKnow the proper way to dress,\\nHow to comfort and caress,\\nDance a little, gossip less,\\nDaughter mine.\\nIf you want to please the men,\\nDaughter mine\\nStudy how to mix a cake,\\nLearn to sew and boil and bake,\\nSay you cook for cooking s sake,\\nHow divine\\nBe a housewife, all the rest\\nCounts but little truth confessed,\\nSuch girls always marry best,\\nDaughter mine.\\nLalia MlTCHKI.Iv.\\nINDIAN HIXED ORATORY.\\nA native Indian barrister of Bengal re-\\ncently made the following unique ad-\\ndress in court: My learned friend,\\nwith mere wind from a teapot, thinks to\\nbrowbeat me from my legs but this is a\\nguerilla warfare. I stand under the shoes\\nof my client and only seek to place my bone\\nof contention clearly in your honor s eye.\\nMy learned friend merely, and vainly, runs\\namok upon the sheet anchors of my case.\\nMy client is a widow, your honor a poor\\nchap, with one post-mortem son a widow\\nnot able to eat more than one meal a day\\nso my poor client has not such physique or\\nmind as to be able to assault the lusty com-\\nplainant. Yet she has been deprived of\\nsome of her more valuable leather that is,\\nthe leather of her nose. My learned friend\\nhas said that there is on the side of his client\\na respectable witness namely a pleader\\nand since this witness is independent, there-\\nfore he should be believed But your honor,\\nwith your honor s vast experience, is pleased\\nenough to observe that truthfulness is not\\nso plentiful as blackberries in this country\\nand I am sorry to say though this witness\\nis a man of my own feathers that there are\\nin my profession black sheep of every com-\\nplexion, and some of them do not always\\nspeak gospel truth. Until the witness ex-\\nplains what has become of my client s nose\\nleather he cannot be believed. He cannot\\nbe allowed to raise a castle in the air by beat-\\ning upon a bush. So, trusting in that ad-\\nministration of British justice on which the\\nsun never sets, I close my case.\\nAVAST THERE, GEORGE.\\nIF you can make the office, George,\\nYou have the right of every man\\nTo be the nation s President\\nProvided he s American.\\nBut somehow, when we think of it,\\nWe re bound in sorrow to aver\\nWe wish that you had held your peace\\nAnd left things stand just as they were.\\nAt your age politics, dear George,\\nCannot be taken up with glee,\\nParticularly by a man\\nWho all his life has roamed the sea.\\nThe job you seem to hold a cinch\\nIs fraught with trials and troubles sore\\nYou d wish within a month that you d\\nBeen blown up at Corregidor.\\nYour slate is clean the people have\\nBeen proud to honor you, dear Coz.\\nWe hold it a misfortune that\\nThe office bee begins to buzz.\\nWe feel the idea that you hold\\nIs really one that s demon sent\\nWe want you for our hero, George,\\nAnd not, sir, for our President.\\nBe warned in time -dismiss the thought\\nYour friends who wish you well beseech\\nThat you jack up your courage and\\nPut this ambition out of reach.\\nBut if you mean to see it through\\nIf you won t see you re being tricked\\nThen, meaning well to you, we say,\\nHere s hoping, George, that you get\\nlicked\\nWlUJAM HoSTER.", "height": "4388", "width": "3332", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0310.jp2"}, "311": {"fulltext": "ENCORES\\n3i5\\nUNFINISHED STILL.\\nEncore Suitable to follow a humorous piece.\\nA baby s boot and a skein of wool\\nFaded, and soiled and soft\\nOdd things, you say, and no doubt\\nyou re right,\\nRound a seaman s neck this stormy night,\\nUp in the yards aloft.\\nMost like it s folly but, mate, look here\\nWhen first I went to sea,\\nA woman stood on the far-off strand,\\nWith a wedding-ring on the small, soft\\nhand,\\nWhich clung so close to me.\\nMy wife God bless her The day before,\\nShe sat beside my foot\\nAnd the sunlight kissed her yellow hair,\\nAnd the dainty fingers, deft and fair,\\nKnitted a baby s boot.\\nThe voyage was over, I came ashore\\nWhat, think you, found I there?\\nA grave the daisies had sprinkled white,\\nA cottage empty and dark as night,\\nAnd this beside the chair.\\nThe little boot, twas unfinished still\\nThe tangled skein lay near\\nBut the knitter had gone away to rest,\\nWith the babe asleep on her quiet breast,\\nDown in the church-yard drear.\\nSarah K. Bolton.\\nAUNT JEMIMA S COURTSHIP.\\nExcellent selection to follow a serious recitation.\\nWaal, girls if you must know reckon\\nI must tell ye. Waal, t was in the\\nwinter time, and father and I were\\nsitting alone in the kitchen. We wur sit-\\nting thar sort o quiet like, when father sez,\\nsez he to me, Jemima! And I sez,\\nsez I, What, sir? And he sez, sez he,\\nWa n t that a rap at the door? and I sez,\\nsez I, No, sir. Bimeby, father sez to me\\nagain, sez he, Are you sure And I sez,\\nsez I, No, sir. So 1 went to the door,\\nand opened it, and sure enough there stood\\na man. Waal, he came in and sat down by\\nfather, and father and he talked about\\nalmost everything you could think of they\\ntalked about the farm, they talked about\\nthe crops, and they talked about polices, and\\nthey talked about all other ticks.\\nBimeby father sez to me, sez he,\\nJemima! And I sez, sez I, What,\\nsir? And he sez, Can t we have some\\ncider? And I sez, sez I, I suppose so.\\nSo I went down cellar and brought up a\\npitcher of cider, and I handed some cider to\\nfather, and then I handed some to the man\\nand father he drinks, and then the man he\\ndrinks, till they drink it all up. After a\\nwhile father sez to me, sez he, Jemima!\\nAnd I sez, sez I, What, sir? And he sez,\\nsez he, Ain t it most time forme to be\\nthinking about going to bed And I sez,\\nsez I, Indeed, you are the best judge of\\nthat yourself, sir. Waal, he sez, sez\\nhe, Jemima, bring me my dressing-gown\\nand slippers. And he put them on and\\narter a while he went to bed.\\nAnd there sat that man and bimeby he\\nbegan a-hitching his chair up toward mine\\noh, my I was all in a nutter. And then\\nhe sez, sez he, Jemima? And I sez, sez\\nI, What, sir? And he sez, sez he,\\nWill you have me? And I sez, sez I,\\nNo, sir for I was most scared to death.\\nWaal, there we sat, and arter a while, will\\nyou believe me, he began backing his chair\\ncloser and closer to mine, and sez he,\\nJemima? And I sez, sez I, What\\nsir And he sez, sez he, Will you have\\nme? And I sez, sez I, No sir Waal,\\nby this time he had his arm around my\\nwaist, and I hadn t the heart to take it\\naway, cause the tears was a-rollin down\\nhis cheeks, and he sez, sez he, Jemima\\nAnd I sez, sez I, What, sir? And he sez,\\nsez he, For the third and last time, I\\nsha n t ask ye again, will ye have me?\\nAnd I sez, sez I, Yes. sir, fur I didn t\\nknow what else to say.\\nSola Wood Rusk.\\nMRS. LOFTY AND I.\\nMRS. Lofty keeps a carriage,\\nSo do I\\nShe has dapple grays to draw it,\\nNone have I\\nShe s no prouder with her coachman\\nThan am I", "height": "4384", "width": "3248", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0311.jp2"}, "312": {"fulltext": "3*6\\nENCORES\\nWith my blue-eyed laughing baby\\nTrundling by\\nI hide his face, lest she should see\\nThe cherub boy, and envy me.\\nHer fine husband has white fingers,\\nMine has not\\nHe could give his bride a palace,\\nMine a cot\\nHer s comes beneath the star-light,\\nNe er cares she\\nMine comes in the purple twilight,\\nKisses me.\\nAnd prays that He who turns life s sands\\nWill hold his lov d ones in His hands.\\nMrs. Lofty has her jewels,\\nSo have I\\nShe wears her s upon her bosom,\\nInside I\\nShe will leave her s at death s portals,\\nBy and by\\nI shall bear the treasure with me,\\nWhen I die;\\nFor I have love, and she has gold\\nShe counts her wealth, mine can t be told.\\nShe has those that love her station,\\nNone have 1\\nBut I ve one true heart beside me,\\nGlad am I\\nI d not change it for a kingdom.\\nNo, not I\\nGod will weigh it in His balance\\nBy and by\\nAnd then the difPrence He will define\\nTwixt Mrs. Lofty s wealth and mine.\\nI ll shoot, be said, if you don t come\\ndown\\nBefore I ve counted three.\\nAthwart the Don s dark visage spread\\nA terrifying frown.\\nBut the Yankee counted one and two,\\nAnd the little old Don came down.\\nHE CAME.\\nTherK was a Don up in a tree,\\nAnd a Yankee down below\\nCome down, said the Yankee to\\nthe Don,\\nBut the Don was rather slow.\\nWhat terms, he asked, will you make\\nwith me\\nIf I come down to you\\nNo terms? Oh, Mr. Yankee man,\\nThat ll never, never do.\\nThe Yankee took aim with his gun\\nAt the Don up in the tree\\nH\\nTHE VILLAGE CHOIR.\\nA Parody on The Charge of the Light Brigade.\\nai f a bar, half a bar,\\nHalf a bar onward\\nInto an awful ditch,\\nChoir and precentor hitch,\\nInto a mess of pitch,\\nThey led the Old Hundred.\\nTrebles to right of them,\\nTenors to left of them,\\nBasses in front of them,\\nBellowed and thundered\\nOh, that precentor s look,\\nWhen the sopranos took\\nTheir own time and hook\\nFrom the Old Hundred.\\nScreeched all the trebles here,\\nBoggled the tenors there,\\nRaising the parson s hair.\\nWhile his mind wandered\\nTheirs not to reason why\\nThis psalm was pitched too high\\nTheirs but to gasp and cry\\nOut the Old Hundred.\\nTrebles to right of them,\\nTenors to left of them,\\nBasses in front of them,\\nBellowed and thundered.\\nStormed they with shout and yell,\\nNot wise they rang, nor well,\\nDrowning the sexton s bell,\\nWhile all the church wondered,\\nDire the precentor s glare,\\nFlashed his pitchfork in air,\\nSounding the fresh keys to bear\\nOut the Old Hundred.\\nSwiftly he turned his back,\\nReached he his hat from rack,\\nThem from the screaming pack,\\nHimself he sundered.\\nTenors to right of him,\\nTrebles to left of him,", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0312.jp2"}, "313": {"fulltext": "ENCORES\\n3i7\\nDiscords behind him\\nBellowed and thundered.\\nOh, the wild howls they wrought\\nRight to the end they fought\\nSome tune they sang, but not,\\nNot the Old Hundred.\\nAndres Journal.\\nDwell here upon this lonely isle,\\nWhere armies never tread\\nAnd, man and ghost, we ll drink a toast\\nTo both the quick and dead\\nA gloomy, ghoulish, long wassail\\nFor blasted hopes Hail Cronj e hail\\nBONAPARTE TO THE BOER.\\nIn March, 1899, General Piet Cronje, commanding an army\\nof 5,000 Boers, was surrounded by the British under General\\nRoberts, on the Modder River, South Africa, and, after desperate\\nfighting, was forced to surrender. Cronje and his army were\\ntransported to St Helena the exile home and death-place of\\nNapoleon Bonaparte for safe keeping.\\nWhere St. Helena s surf-dashed crags\\nJut from Atlantic s waves,\\nAnd winds shriek on from dawn to\\ndawn,\\nO er countless sailor graves,\\nWe hear a shout well-nigh a wail\\nHail, Afric s Lion Hail, Cronje,\\nhail!\\nA superhuman, piercing call,\\nHurled eastward to the land,\\nWhich, rent by war and stained with gore,\\nShrinks from the conqueror s hand,\\nComes from a wraith on that lone\\nshore\\nWraith of a conquered conqueror.\\nShort-statured, booted, cloaked he stands,\\nHis grim gaze turned aside\\nFrom Europe s plight, to note the fight\\nThat nigh broke England s pride.\\nGloom-visaged ghost, he hails the Boer,\\nWho, beaten, yet showed Britain war.\\nCome, uncouth farmer, fighting man,\\nTo my sea-jailored tomb.\\nAlthough for naught alike we fought,\\nOurs is a common doom.\\nYou strove for freedom for your kin,\\nWhile I great empires sought to win.\\nI boded bondage to the world\\nMy fall relieved all lands,\\nWhile Justice groans and Freedom moans\\nO er your defeated bands.\\nBut each was crushed by Albion s\\nmight\\nSteer hither anchor in my bight.\\n19\\nTHE NEW LEST WE FORGET.\\nWhen we ve finished praising Cronje\\nLikewise sympathised with Paul\\nWhen we think we ve wiped Old\\nEngland off the map\\nLet us stop for just a minute and listen, one\\nand all\\nTo what occurred before our recent\\nscrap.\\nWe are absent-minded beggars,\\nIf the truth we must be told\\nThough we ought not want too much for to\\nremind us\\nThat when the whole of Europe tried our\\nhands to make us hold,\\nJohn Bull said, No, you don t! and\\nstood behind us.\\nYes, we re absent-minded beggars,\\nOr we d drop a hint to John\\nThat we don t forget the friendly hand he\\nheld us\\nWhen the Germans, French and Russians,\\nwith their warships hanging on\\nTried their utmost to uphold the falling\\nDagoes.\\nJohn can do without our help,\\nAnd if we wait awhile\\nWe will find his arm is just as strong to-day\\nTo beat down wrong and tyranny in his\\nold familiar style\\nAnd see that right and liberty hold sway.\\nJ. L, L.\\nLITTLE ORPHANT ROBERTS.\\nAnnouncement with Profuse Apologies to J. W.\\nRiley.\\nWar always calls out the rhymesters and poets in profuse\\nabundance. The English met with defeat in the South African\\nWar of 1899 and 1900, until Lord Roberts was sent to take com-\\nmand. The following parody on Whitcomb Riley s Elfchild,\\nwas written by a sympathise* with the Boers, in anticipation of\\nwhat would happen to his Lordship.\\nLITTLE Orphant Roberts goes to Africa,\\nthey say,\\nTo ride a horse, an take the land, an*\\nshoo the Boers away", "height": "4384", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0313.jp2"}, "314": {"fulltext": "3i8\\nENCORES\\nTo strategize an turrorize, an show em\\nwhat is what,\\nTo bring his Tommy Atkinses an make the\\nbattles hot\\nAn the papers say he ll do it, when he hits\\nupon a plan,\\nFur he s cool an ka m an reticent, a British\\nsoldier man\\nBut he s got to git up early fer to put the\\nBoers to rout,\\nAnd the Gobbelins ll get him\\nef he don t\\nwatch out.\\nLittle Orphant Methuen he went there once,\\nyou know,\\nAn he swing d his sword an cannons, an\\nhe struck a mighty blow\\nBut he hit so hard an spiteful that he some-\\nhow lost the hang,\\nAn his bleedin bloomin effort was a\\nhawful boomerang\\nFor the Burghers riz up powerful among\\nthe rocky hills\\nAn they knocked em an they socked em\\nwith their little Mauser pills,\\nTill he had to up an quit em with some\\ncannon up the spout,\\nFor the Gobbelins they got im\\nef he did\\nwatch out.\\nLittle Orphant Gatacre he also tried it on\\nHe had a lot of soldiers, an where have\\nthey all goue\\nThe Fusiliers an Carbineers, the Lancers\\nan the like,\\nOom Paul he went an captured em, an\\nmarched em down the pike,\\nOom Paul he s some on strategy, an orful\\non the fight\\nThough of course to lick the English to the\\nEnglish don t seem right,\\nBut he lammed em, an he slammed em\\nan he rammed em round about,\\nAn the Gobbelins got Gatacre\\nef he did\\nwatch out.\\nLittle Orphant Buller was the last the Brit-\\nish sent,\\nAn with drums, an guns an baggernets\\naway the army went,\\nBut in diggin out the Dutchmen they didn t\\nhave the knack,\\nAn a lot of Buller s soldiers ain t a-never\\ncomin back\\nFor them tarnal Boers they peppered em,\\nan some of em they reeled,\\nAn aheap of em was scattered, dead an\\ndyin on the field,\\nAn the Dutch took leven cannon, an\\nthey proved beyond a doubt\\nThat the Gobbelins got Buller\\nef he did\\nwatch out.\\nSo little Orphant Roberts wants to corrugate\\nhis brow\\nHe s up against it good an hard against\\nthe real thing now\\nHe ain t a-fightin feathers, nur top-knots,\\nan long spears,\\nThey re as tough as rhino -seeruses, them\\nstubborn old Mynheers\\nThey have bought a grist of rifles that l kill\\na man a mile,\\nAn chawin of em up is jis like bitin on\\na file.\\nAn Roberts he ain t bullet-proof, no matter\\nhow they shout\\nAn the Gobbelins ll git HIM\\nEF HE DON T\\nWATCH OUT.\\nPbtkr Pipkr.\\nONLY A BABY S HAND,\\nuTOiG time to-night, the drummers\\nJ3 said,\\nAs to supper they sat them down\\nTo-morrow s Sunday, and now s our\\nchance\\nTo illuminate the town.\\nGood cries Bill Barnes, the j oiliest\\nThe favorite of all\\nYes let s forget our troubles now\\nAnd hold high carnival.\\nThe supper done, the mail arrives\\nEach man his letters scanning,\\nWith fresh quotations up or down\\nHis busy brain is cramming.\\nBut Bill why, what s come over him\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWhy turn so quick about", "height": "4384", "width": "3324", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0314.jp2"}, "315": {"fulltext": "ENCORES\\n3i9\\nHe says just as his pards start forth,\\nI guess I won t go out.\\nHis letter bore no written word,\\nNo prayer from vice to flee\\nOnly a tracing of a hand\\nA baby s hand of three.\\nWhat a picture comes before his mind\\nWhat does his memory paint\\nA baby at her mother s knee\\nHis little white-robed saint.\\nWhat cares a man for ridicule\\nWho wins a victory grand\\nBill slept in peace, his brow was smoothed\\nBy a shadowy little hand.\\nNaught like the weak things of the world\\nThe power of sin withstand\\nNo shield between man s soul and wrong\\nLike a little baby hand.\\nChicago Journal.\\nBut happy and cheerful,\\nWe feel life has much that s worth living\\nfor yet.\\nTROUBLE BORROWERS.\\nTHERE S many a trouble\\nWould break like a bubble,\\nAnd into the waters of Lethe\\ndepart,\\nDid we not rehearse it,\\nAnd tenderly nurse it,\\nAnd give it a permanent place in the heart.\\nThere s many a sorrow\\nWould vanish to-morrow,\\nWere we but willing to furnish the wings\\nSo sadly intruding\\nAnd quietly brooding,\\nIt hatches out all sorts of horrible things.\\nHow welcome the seeming\\nOf looks that are beaming,\\nWhether one s wealthy or whether one s\\npoor\\nEyes bright as a berry,\\nCheeks red as a cherry,\\nThe groan and the curse and the heartache\\ncan cure.\\nResolve to be merry,\\nAll worry to ferry\\nAcross the famed waters that bid us forget\\nAnd no, longer fearful\\nTHE OLD CANE POLE.\\nOh, the old cane pole how my heart\\nbeat high\\nWhen I used to swing it in the days\\ngone by\\nWhere the bending rushes and the long\\nlake grass\\nFurnished hiding places for the hungry\\nbass\\nWhen a great big lunker that was tempting\\nfate\\nTelegraphed a message that he had the bait,\\nTwas a sweet sensation that d stir the\\nsoul\\nSpattin in the rushes with an old cane pole.\\nMy whole anatomy with laughter thrills\\nTo see a rod and reel and the other frills\\nThe hifalutin artist brings into play\\nTo snake out bass in a scientific way.\\nHe ll look around with a pitying smile\\nAt the fellow fishing in the good old style.\\nBut in every case I will bet my roll\\nThat he won t be in it with the old cane\\npole.\\nOh, the old cane pole there s nothing so\\nfine\\nAs to feel a bass tug on a good stout line.\\nFor if you ve got your nerve and you work\\nit right\\nYou are sure to land him in a good square\\nfight;\\nAnd when you re going home you won t\\nhave to guess\\nWhere your fish are coming from you ll\\nhave a mess.\\nSo let the fancy fishermen cast the troll,\\nBut I ll spat the rushes with an old cane\\npole.\\nChicago Record\\nTHE LOST PENNY.\\nIn little Daisy s dimpled hand\\nTwo bright, new pennies shone\\nOne was for Rob (at school just then),\\nThe other Daisy s own.", "height": "4388", "width": "3248", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0315.jp2"}, "316": {"fulltext": "320\\nENCORES\\nWhile waiting Rob s return she rolled\\nBoth treasures round the floor,\\nWhen suddenly they disappeared,\\nAnd one was seen no more.\\nPoor Daisy. Is your penny lost\\nWas asked in accents kind.\\nWhy, no, mine s here! she quickly\\nsaid,\\nIt s Rob s I cannot find.\\nDID YOU EVER SEE\\nLadies and gentlemen, while thanking\\nyou for your courteous recall I really\\ndo not feel like intruding another\\nselection upon you. Its better to change\\nthe subject (laughing with hand to chin).\\nLet us think on sober things. Let us\\nreflect. Did you ever think how little we\\nhave really seen of the common things in\\nevery day life around us? For instance,\\ndid any of you ever see (pause after each of\\nthe following questions, looking medita-\\ntively at the audience)\\nA hatter cap the climax\\nThe hammer for nailing a lie?\\nPowder on the face of the waters\\nThe lock that the key to the situation\\nfits?\\nA higher forehead than the brow of the\\nmountain\\nThe hod that is used for carrying coals to\\nNewcastle\\nThe ladder that would reach to the top of\\nthe morning?\\nA tailor who had the pattern to the cloak\\nof friendship\\nThe brush that a man uses when he paints\\nthe town red\\nThe dentist who would undertake to treat\\nthe teeth of the storm\\nLeaving you to the calculation of such\\ntimely and important problems, I bid you\\ngood night.\\nTOTAL ANNIHILATION.\\nIn response to your kindly recall I ll recite\\na characteristic little poem entitled\\nTotal Annihilation.\\nOh, he was a Bowery blootblack bold,\\nAnd his years they numbered nine\\nRough and unpolished was he, albeit\\nHe constantly aimed to shine.\\nAs proud as a king, on his box he sat,\\nMunching an apple red\\nWhile the boys of his set looked wistfully\\non,\\nAnd Give us a bite they said.\\nBut the bootblack smiled a lordly smile\\nNo free bites here he cried.\\nThen the boys they sadly walked away,\\nSave one who stood at his side.\\nBill give us the core he whispered low.\\nThat bootblack smiled once more.\\nAnd a mischievous dimple grew in his\\ncheek\\nThere ain t goin to be no core\\nA MAIDEN S IDEAL OF A HUSBAND.\\nGENTEEL in personage,\\nConduct and equipage,\\nNoble by heritage,\\nGenerous and free\\nBrave, not romantic\\nLearned, not pedantic\\nFrolic, not frantic\\nThis must he be.\\nHonor maintaining,\\nMeanness disdaining,\\nStill entertaining,\\nEngaging and new.\\nNeat, but not finical\\nSage, but not cynical\\nNever tyrannical,\\nBut ever true.\\nHenry Carey.\\nAIN T HE CUTE.\\nArrayed in snow-white pants and vest\\nAnd other raiment fair to view,\\nI stood before my sweethear Sue,\\nThe charming creature I love best.\\nTell me, and does my costume suit\\nI asked that apple of my eye,\\nAnd then the charmer made reply\\nOh, yes, you do look awful cute\\nAlthough I frequently had heard\\nMy sweetheart vent her pleasure so,\\nI must confess I did not know\\nThe meaning of that favorite word.", "height": "4364", "width": "3268", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0316.jp2"}, "317": {"fulltext": "ENCORES\\n321\\nBut presently at window side\\nWe stood and watched the passing throng,\\nAnd soon a donkey passed along\\nWith ears like sails extending wide.\\nAnd gazing at the doleful brute\\nMy sweetheart gave a merry cry,\\nI quote her language with a sigh,\\nOh, Charlie, ain t he awful cute\\nH\\nMARCHIN WID DE BAN\\nThe love of music is inherent in the breast of the negro race.\\nIn reciting the following lines the speaker should be alive with\\nanimation as if elated by the sound of some inspiring march.\\nThe aciion of a drum-major and keeping step should be acted.\\nOWK S mighty monstrous happy,\\nIn de middle ob de day\\nWhen the sun am shinin brightly\\nAn de flags am fly in gay\\nWhen a ban ob sixty pieces\\n(Sixty pieces, mo o less)\\nPlays sich lubly music\\nDat it lull yo soul to res\\nWid de drum majah a-struttin\\nLak a turkey goblah gran\\nAn we am dancin an a-prancm\\nAn a-marchin wid de ban\\nKeepin step am jus ez eazy\\nWhen the ban begin to play,\\nJus comes to us as nachal\\nEz a hoss come to his hay,\\nKas ouah h ahts am full ob gladness\\nWhen de drums begin to beat,\\nWid dey thumpin an a-bumpin\\nWhile we keeps time wid ouah feet.\\nDe pleasure am jus licious\\nDe fines in de Ian\\nWhen we am dancin an a-prancin\\nAn a-marchin wid de ban\\nEf yo eber has some trubbel,\\nIn any time ob yeah,\\nCollectin de cullud people,\\nA-livin fuh an neah,\\nGit a ban ob sixty pieces,\\nAll dressed in unifohms,\\nWid dem gol things on dey shouldahs\\nAn red stripes roun they ahms,\\nDen all de cullud people\\nDe yaller, black an tan\\nWill quit dey situations\\nAn go marchin wid dat ban\\nPhil. H. Brown.\\nDAD S SWORE OFF.\\nK S fussin now from morn till night\\nAin t nuthin ever goin right;\\nHe thes looks mad enough to fight\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFer dad s swore off!\\nHe kicks the dog, an throws the cat\\nOver the palin s high like that\\nAin t nuthin he ain t stormin at\\nFer dad s swore off\\nHe says that breakfast s alius late,\\nOr thes so hot it cracks the plate\\nHe ll eat down town he thes can t wait\\nFer dad s swore off\\nNo thing on earth kin please him he\\nIs mad as hornets gits to be\\nAin t any hope fer maw an me\\nFer dad s swore off!\\nAtlanta Constitution.\\nFROM SUBLIME TO RIDICULOUS.\\nThe speaker should appear in deep earnest as if delivering a\\nsublime poem or an oration. Be careful to place the emphasis on\\nridiculous passages as if considering them of grave importance.\\nAfar down the valley a lone ragman\\ndrove his chariot slowly along and\\nchanted his plaintive lay. The wind\\nmoaned through the chimney-pots, the red\\nsun looked dimly down through the smoke,\\nand the little bird stood on the roof of the\\ncowshed and scratched its neck.\\nThe little bird stood on the roof of the\\ncowshed and scratched its neck. Sadly the\\nstray policeman in gray distance swiped a\\nbanana from the cart of a passing Italian\\nand peeled it with a grimy hand. He was\\nthinking, thinking. And the dead leaves\\nstill choked the tin spout above the rain-\\nwater barrel in the backyard.\\nThe little bird stood on the roof of the\\ncowshed and scratched its neck Adown the\\ngutters in the lonely street ran murky pud-\\ndles on their long, long journey to the dis-\\ntant sea. Borne on the wings of the slug-\\ngish breeze, came a far-off murmur of\\nvagrant dogs in fierce contention, making\\nlife a hollow mockery to some homeless cat.\\nAnd amid it all the little bird stood on the\\ncowshed and scratched its neck. And it\\nsoftly said scratch it because it itches", "height": "4388", "width": "3244", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0317.jp2"}, "318": {"fulltext": "3 22\\nENCORES\\nFAREWELL, OLD SHOE.\\nThis selection is more effective if the speaker will hold an old\\nshoe in his hand and address it in a familiar way, as if talking to\\nan old friend.\\nAdieu adieu,\\nMy poor old shoe\\nWhat comfort I have had with you\\nMy sole companion day by day,\\nYou ve cheered and soothed my weary way\\nA fond adieu,\\nMy dear old shoe\\nMost faithful friend I ve found in you\\nAlike, midst fair or wintry weather,\\nWe ve shared life s pilgrimage together.\\nNow rent and torn,\\nAnd sadly worn,\\nOf every trace of beauty shorn.\\nTis with an honest, heart-felt sigh\\nI feel that I must throw you by.\\nA sad adieu,\\nPoor worn-out shoe\\nWhat sorry plights you ve borne me\\nthrough\\nAnd, oh it tears my tender heart\\nTo think that you and I must part.\\nOnce more, adieu,\\nMy faithful shoe\\nI ne er shall find the likes o you,\\nAnd I will bless your memory\\nFor all the good you ve been to me.\\nNo other boot\\nCan ever suit\\nAs you have done my crippled foot\\nNo other shoe can ever be\\nThe tried, true friend you ve been to me.\\nA last adieu,\\nDear cast off shoe\\nWhatever may become of you,\\nAccept, dear, easiest, best of shoes,\\nThis farewell offering of my muse.\\nGRANDPAPA S SPECTACLES.\\nGrandpapa s spectacles cannot be found\\nHe has searched all the rooms, high\\nand low, round and round\\nNow he calls to the young ones, and what\\ndoes he say\\nTen cents for the child who will find them\\nto-day.\\nThen Henry and Nelly and Edward all ran,\\nAnd a most thorough hunt for the glasses\\nbegan,\\nAnd dear little Nell, in her generous way,\\nSaid I 11 look for them grandpa without\\nany pay,\\nAll through the big Bible she searches with\\ncare\\nThat lies on the table by grandpapa s chair\\nThey feel in his pockets, they peep in his\\nhat,\\nThey pull out the sofa, they shake out the\\nmat.\\nThen down on all fours, like two good-na-\\ntured bears\\nGo Harry and Ned under tables and chairs,\\nTill, quite out of breath, Ned is heard to\\ndeclare,\\nHe believes that those glasses are not any-\\nwhere.\\nBut Nelly who leaning on grandpapa s knee\\nWas thinking most earnestly where they\\ncould be,\\nLooked suddenly up in the kind, faded eyes,\\nAnd her own shining brown ones grew big\\nwith surprise.\\nShe slapped both her hands all her dim-\\nples came out\\nShe turned to the boys with a bright, roguish\\nshout\\nYou may leave off your looking, both\\nHarry and Ned,\\nFor there are the glasses on grandpapa s\\nhead!", "height": "4380", "width": "3352", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0318.jp2"}, "319": {"fulltext": "Part XI\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nA dapTKd to society, school and parlor entertainments. The varied character of the\\nselections, comprising domestic, humorous, pathetic, historical, dramatic and\\nclassical numbers, makes the labor of preparing a varied program comparatively easy.\\nSpecial selections for children will be found in Part ix. The Shakspearean Department,\\nPart xii, is available for the best shorter scenes from the works of the great dramatist.\\nA HOriE SCENE IN THE CHAPLAIN S\\nFAillLY.\\nDialogue from Little Women. Arranged by\\nFrances Putnam Pogle.\\nCharacters: Jo (15 years old)j Margaret or Meg, (16\\nyears old), Elizabeth or Beth, (13 years old), Amy (about 11\\nyears old), Mrs. March,\\nParlor scene. Some rugs scattered around, low sewing table,\\non which is work-basket, two or three low stools, rocking chairs.\\nJo, knitting on a blue army sock, and sitting at Beth s feet on\\na low stool.\\nMargaret crocheting.\\nAmy trying to curl her hair, and looking at herself in a\\nsmall hand-glass.\\nBeth reading and eating an apple.\\nJo. Christmas won t be Christmas without\\nany presents.\\nMeg. It s so dreadful to be poor\\nAmy. I don t think it s fair for some girls\\nto have plenty of pretty things, and other\\ngirs nothing at all.\\nBeth. We ve got father and mother and\\neach other.\\nJo. We haven t got father, and shall not\\nhave him for a long time.\\nMeg. You know the reason mother pro-\\nposed not having any presents this Christ-\\nmas was because it is going to be a hard\\nwinter for everyone and she thinks we\\nought not to spend money for pleasure, when\\nour men are suffering so in the army. We\\ncan t do much, but we can make our little\\nsacrifices, and ought to do it gladly. But I\\nam afraid I don t.\\nJo. But I don t think the little we should\\nspend would do any good. We ve each got\\na dollar, and the army wouldn t be much\\nhelped by our giving that. I agree not to\\nexpect anything from mother or you, but I\\ndo want to buy Undine and Sintram for my-\\nself; I ve wanted it so long.\\nBeth. I planned to spend mine on music.\\nAmy. I shall get a nice box of Faber s\\ndrawing-pencils I really need them.\\nJo. Mother didn t say anything about our\\nmoney, and she won t wish us to give up\\neverything. Let s each buy what we want\\nand have a little fun I m sure we work\\nhard enough to earn it.\\nMeg. I m sure do, teaching those tire-\\nsome children nearly all day, when I m long-\\ning to enjoy myself at home.\\nJo. You don t have half such a hard time\\nas I do. How would you like to be shut up\\nfor hours with a nervous, fussy old lady,\\nwho keeps you trotting, is never satified,\\nand worries you till you re ready to fly out\\nof the window or cry\\nBeth. It s naughty to fret but I do think\\nwashing dishes and keeping things tidy is\\nthe worst work in the world. It makes me\\ncross, and my hands get so stiff I can t prac-\\ntice well at all.\\nAmy. I don t believe any of you suffer as I\\ndo, for you don t have to go to school with\\nimpertinent girls, who plague you if you\\ndon t know your lessons, and laugh at your\\ndresses, and label your father if he isn t rich,\\nand insult you when your nose isn t nice.\\nJo. (Laughing) If you mean libel I d say\\nso, and not talk about labels, as if papa was\\na pickle-bottle.\\n323", "height": "4388", "width": "3160", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0319.jp2"}, "320": {"fulltext": "324\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nAmy. (Indignantly) I know what I mean,\\nand you needn t be statirical about it. It s\\nproper to use good words and improve your\\nvocabilary\\nMeg. Don t peck at one another, chil-\\ndren. Don t you wish we had the money\\npapa lost when we were little, Jo Dear\\nme! how happy and good we d be, if we\\nhad no worries\\nBeth. You said, the other day, you\\nthought we were a deal happier than the\\nKing children, for they were fighting and\\nfretting all the time, in spite of their money.\\nMeg. So I did, Beth. Well, I think we\\nare for, though we do have to work, we\\nmake fun for ourselves, and are a pretty\\njolly set, as Jo. would say.\\nAmy. Jo. does use such slang words (Jo.\\nimmediately sits up, puts her hands in her\\npockets, and begins to whistle.) Don t,\\nJo.; it s so boyish\\nJo. That s why I do it.\\nAmy. I detest rude, unlady-like girls\\nJo. I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits\\nBeth. (Singing comically) Birds in their\\nlittle nests agree.\\n(Both look rather shame-faced as they\\nsubside.)\\nMeg. Really, girls, you are both to be\\nblamed. You are old enough to leave off\\nboyish tricks, and to behave yourself,\\nJosephine. It didn t matter so much when\\nyou were a little girl but now you are so\\ntall, and turn up your hair, you should\\nremember that you are a young lady.\\nJo. (Pulling down her hair.) I m not\\nand if turning up my hair makes me one,\\nI ll wear it in two tails till I m twenty. I\\nhate to think I ve got to grow up, and be\\nMiss March, and wear long gowns, and\\nlook as prim as a China-aster It s bad\\nenough to be a girl, anyway, when I like\\nboys games and work and manners I\\ncan t get over my disappointment in not\\nbeing a boy and it s worse than ever now,\\nfor I m dying to go and fight with papa,\\nand I can only stay at home and knit, like\\na poky old woman (Shaking the blue\\nsock till the needles rattle.)\\nBeth, f Stroking Jo. s head tenderly.) Poor\\nJo.! It s too bad, but it can t be helped;\\nso you must try to be contented with making\\nyour name boyish, and playing brother to\\nus girls.\\nMeg. As for you, Amy, you are alto-\\ngether too particular and prim. Your airs\\nare funny now but you ll grow up an\\naffected little goose, if you don t take care.\\nI like your nice manners and refined way of\\nspeaking, when you don t try to be elegant;\\nbut your absurd words are as bad as Jo. s\\nslang.\\nBeth. If Jo. is a tom-boy and Amy a\\ngoose, what am I, please?\\nMeg. (Warmly.) You re a dear, and\\nnothing else.\\n(The clock strikes six. A bell may be\\ntapped lightly six times behind scenes.\\nBeth brings out a pair of old slippers,\\nwhile Meg gets up and folds away her\\ncrocheting, and Amy draws forward an\\neasy chair, and Jo. reaches out and takes\\nup the slippers looking tenderly at them.)\\nJo. They are quite worn out Marmee\\nmust have a new pair.\\nBeth. I thought I d get her some with\\nmy dollar.\\nAmy. No, I shall\\nMeg. I m the oldest.\\nJo. I m the man of the family now papa\\nis away, and shall provide the slippers,\\nfor he told me to take special care of mother\\nwhile he was gone.\\nBeth. I ll tell you what we ll do, let s each\\nget her something for Christmas, and not\\nget anything for ourselves.\\nJo. That s like you dear. What will we\\nget?\\nMeg. I shall give her a nice pair of\\ngloves\\nJo. Army shoes, best to be had.\\nBeth. Some handkerchiefs, all hemmed.\\nAmy. I ll get a little bottle of cologne\\nshe likes it, and it won t cost much, so I ll\\nhave some left to buy my pencils.\\nMeg. How will we give the things\\nJo. Put them on the table, and bring her\\nin and see her open the bundles. Don t you\\nremember how we used to do on our birth-\\ndays\\nBeth. I used to be so frightened when it\\nwas my turn to sit in the big chair with the\\ncrown on, and see you all come marching\\nround to give the presents, with a kiss. I\\nliked the things and the kisses, but it was", "height": "4388", "width": "3348", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0320.jp2"}, "321": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n325\\ndreadful to have you all sit looking at me\\nwhile I opened the bundles.\\nJo. (Marching up and down, with her\\nhands behind her.) Let Marmee think we are\\ngetting things for ourselves, and then sur-\\nprise her. We must go shopping to-mor-\\nrow afternoon, Meg there is so much to do\\nabout the play for Christmas night.\\n(Enter Mrs. March.)\\nMrs. M. Well, dearies, how have you got\\non to-day? There was so much to do, get-\\nting the boxes ready to go to-morrow (tak-\\ning off gloves) that I didn t come home to\\ndinner (throwing off cloak and bonnet).\\nHas any one called Beth How is your\\ncold, Meg (Beth takes off her mother s\\nshoes and puts on the warm slippers.) Jo.,\\nyou look tired to death. Come and kiss\\nme, baby (to Amy).\\n(The girls all cluster around their mother.\\nJo. leans on the back of the chair, Meg sits\\non one arm of chair, Beth cuddles at her\\nfeet, and Amy snuggles in her lap.)\\nMrs. M. I ve got a treat for you (holding\\nup a letter)\\nJo. A letter a letter Three cheers for\\nfather\\nMrs. M. Yes, a nice long letter. He is\\nwell, and thinks he shall get through the\\ncold season better than we feared. He sends\\nall sorts of loving wishes for Christmas, and\\nan especial message to you girls.\\nMeg. I think it was so splendid in father\\nto go as a chaplain when he was too old to\\nbe drafted, and not strong enough for a sol-\\ndier.\\nJo. Don t I wish I could go as a drummer\\nor a nurse, so I could be near him and help\\nhim\\nAmy. It must be disagreeable to sleep in\\na tent, and eat all sorts of bad-tasting things,\\nand drink out of a tin mug.\\nBeth. When will he come home, mar-\\nmee\\nMrs. M. Not for many months, dear, un-\\nless he is sick. He will stay and do his\\nwork faithfully as long as he can, and we\\nwon t ask for him back a minute sooner than\\nhe can be spared. Now come upstairs and\\nhear the letter.\\n(They all leave the room,)\\nLouisa M. Ai^cott.\\nTHE CREEDS OF THE BFLLS.\\nArranged by Ten Little Girls for their Chris-\\ntian Endeavor Entertainment.\\nHow sweet the chime of the Sabbath\\nbells\\nEach one its creed in music tells,\\nIn tones that float upon the air,\\nAs soft as song as pure as prayer\\nAnd I will put in simple rhyme\\nThe language of the golden chime\\nMy happy heart with rapture swells\\nResponsive to the bells, sweet bells.\\nFIRST GIKX.\\nIn deeds of love excel excel\\nChimed out from ivied towers a bell\\nThis is the church not built on sands,\\nEmblem of one not built with hands\\nIn forms and sacred rites revere,\\nCome worship here come worship here\\nIn rituals and faith excel\\nChimed out the Episcopalian bell.\\nSECOND GIRI,.\\nOh, heed the ancient landmarks well\\nIn solemn tones exclaimed a bell\\nNo progress made by mortal man\\nCan change the just eternal plan\\nWith God there can be nothing new\\nIgnore the false, embrace the true,\\nWhile all is well is well is well\\nPealed out the good old Dutch church bell.\\nTHIRD GIRIv.\\nYe purifying waters swell i\\nIn mellow tones rang out a bell\\nThough faith alone in Christ can save,\\nMan must be plunged beneath the wave,\\nTo show the world unfaltering faith\\nIn what the sacred scripture saith\\nOh swell ye rising waters, swell\\nPealed out the clear- toned Baptist bell.\\nFOURTH GIRI,.\\nNot faith alone, but works as well,\\nMust test the soul said a soft bell\\nCome here and cast aside your load,\\nAnd work your way along the road,\\nWith faith in God, and faith in man,\\nAnd hope in Christ, where hope began\\nDo well do well do well do well\\nRang out the Unitarian bell.", "height": "4376", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0321.jp2"}, "322": {"fulltext": "326\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nFIFTH GIRL.\\n11 Farewell farewell base world, fare-\\nwell\\nIn touching tones exclaimed a bell\\n11 Life is a boon, to mortals given,\\nTo fit the soul for bliss in heaven\\nDo not invoke the avenging rod,\\nCome here and learn the way to God\\nSay to the world farewell farewell\\nPealed forth the Presbyterian bell.\\nSIXTH girl.\\nTo all the truth we tell, we tell\\nShouted in ecstasies a bell\\nCome all ye weary wanderers, see\\nOur Lord has made salvation free\\nRepent, believe, have faith, and then\\nBe saved and praise the Lord, Amen\\nSalvation s free, we tell we tell\\nShouted the Methodistic belL\\nSEVENTH GIRL.\\nIn after life there is no hell\\nIn rapture rang a cheerful bell\\nLook up to heaven this holy day,\\nWhere angels wait to lead the way\\nThere are no fires, no fiends to blight\\nThe future life be just and right.\\nNo hell no hell no hell no hell\\nRang out the Universalist bell.\\nEIGHTH GIRL.\\n1 The Pilgrim Fathers heeded well\\nMy cheerful voice, pealed forth a bell;\\nNo fetters here to clog the soul\\nNo arbitrary creeds control\\nThe free heart and progressive mind,\\nThat leave the dusty past behind.\\nSpeed well, speed well, speed well, speed\\nwell!\\nPealed out the Independent bell.\\nNINTH GIRL.\\nNo Pope, no Pope, no doom to hell\\nThe Protestant rang out a bell\\nGreat Luther left his fiery zeal\\nWithin the hearts that truly feel\\nThat loyalty to God will be\\nThe fealty that makes man free.\\nNo images where incense fell\\nRang out old Martin Luther s bell.\\nTENTH GIRL.\\nAll hail, ye saints in heaven that dwell\\nClose by the cross exclaimed a bell\\nLean o er the battlements of bliss,\\nAnd deign to bless a world like this\\nLet mortals kneel before this shrine\\nAdore the water and the wine\\nAll hail ye saints, the chorus swell\\nChimed in the Roman Catholic bell.\\nIN chorus.\\nYe workers who have toiled so well,\\nTo save the race said a sweet bell\\nWith pledge, and badge, and banner,\\ncome,\\nEach brave heart beating like a drum\\nBe royal men of noble deeds.\\nFor love is holier than creeds\\nDrink from the well, the well, the well\\nIn rapture rang the Temperance bell.\\nGeorge W. Bungay.\\nTHE POLISH BOY.\\nCharacters.\\nMother Black lace or velvet dress bracelets, rings cross\\nat the throat.\\nBoy Black velvet suit, white collar and cuffs light hair m\\ncurls about neck dagger.\\nRuffians Long cloaks and hoods.\\nScene.\\nA room lighted with candles at back of stage, form on bier^\\ncovered over with black; candles at head and foot. Curtain\\nrises, discovering the mother kneeling beside the bier, child cling-\\ning to her. Muffled tread, as of men marching, and sound of\\nbeating drums grows near. Ruffians burst in, breaking a garland\\nof flowers stretched across the entrance.\\nMother springs up and clasps the boy to her breast eyes\\nflash speaks with great dignity and air of defiance.\\nBack Ruffians, back Nor dare to\\ntread\\nToo near the body of my dead i\\nNor touch the living boy. I stand\\nBetween him and your lawless band I\\nNo traitor he. But listen I\\nHave cursed your master s tyranny.\\nI cheered my lord to join the band\\nOf those who swore to free our land,\\nOr fighting die and when he pressed\\nMe for the last time to his breast\\nI knew that soon his form would be\\nLow as it is, or Poland free.\\nBut he is dead the good the brave\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAnd I, his wife, am worse a slave\\nTake me, and bind these arms, these hands,", "height": "4380", "width": "3364", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0322.jp2"}, "323": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n327\\nWith Russia s heaviest iron bands,\\nAnd drag me to Siberia s wilds to perish\\nIf it will save my child.\\nFirst Ruffian. Peace, woman, peace\\nGive us the boy\\n(Grasping the boy, who struggles and cries out.)\\nMother. One moment one\\nWill land or gold redeem my son\\nIf so {kneeling), I bend my Polish knee,\\nAnd Russia, beg this boon of thee, (hands\\noutstretched)\\nTake lands, take palaces, take all,\\nBut leave him free from Russia s thrall\\nTake these\\n(Strips hands of rings and bracelets takes crff Cross also, and\\nthrows them on the floor at the feet of the leader, who stoops and\\neagerly gathers them up The boy meanwhile escapes to mother,\\nwho shows joy. Ruffians again take him from her. With a cry\\nof despair she falls across bier. Boy breaks from ruffians and\\nstands proudly and defiantly before them.)\\nBoy. Ye hold me not! No, no; nor\\ncan.\\nThis hour has made the boy a man.\\nThe world shall witness that one soul\\nFears not to prove itself a Pole.\\nI knelt beside my slaughter d sire,\\nNor felt one throb of vengeful ire,\\nI wept upon his marble brow (with much\\nfeeling)\\nYes, wept, (with sudden dignity) I was a\\nchild but now\\nMy noble mother on her knee,\\nHas done the work of years for me.\\nAlthough in this small tenement,\\nMy soul is cramped, unbowed, unbent\\nI ve still within me ample power\\nTo free myself this very hour.\\n(Pointing to dagger hidden inside pocket.)\\nThis dagger in my breast, and then, (taunt-\\ningly)\\nWhere s your boasted power, base men\\n(Draws dagger, holds high in air; ruffians start back in\\naffright\\nHa start ye back Fool coward knave\\nThink ye my noble father s grave\\nWould drink the life-blood of a slave\\nThe pearls that on its handle flame,\\nWould blush to rubies in their shame\\nOf such ignoble rest\\nNo thus\\n(Striking breast with dagger.)\\nI rend the tyrant s chains,\\nAnd fling him back a boy s disdain.\\n(Slowly turning to where the mother lies.)\\nUp mother, up I m Free I m Free\\n(soft music)\\nI only wait for thy embrace.\\nOne last, last word a blessing, one;\\nTo know thou approv st what I have done.\\nNo look no word can st thou not feel\\nMy warm blood o er thy hear congeal\\nSpeak Mother, speak lift up thy head\\nWhat, silent yet Then art thou dead\\nGreat God, I thank Thee Mother, I (soft\\nmusic)\\nRejoice with thee and thus to die.\\n(Falls slowly at the mother s side with head on her breast.)\\nFAILED.\\nThis selection may be used as a recitation without the words\\nin parenthesis or as a dialogue by introducing the parentheses as\\nindicated. If so used parties should dress in proper costume for\\nmiddle aged people.\\n(Husband looking thoughtfully at wife).\\nYES, I m a ruined man, Kate everything\\ngone at last\\nNothing to show for the trouble and\\ntoil of the weary years that are\\npast\\nHouses and lands and money have taken\\nwings and fled\\nThis very morning I signed away the roof\\nfrom over my head.\\n(Wife weeps quietly and husband takes her hand.)\\nI shouldn t care for myself, Kate I m used\\nto the world s rough ways\\nI ve dug and delved and plodded along\\nthrough all my manhood days\\nBut I think of you and the children, and it\\nalmost breaks my heart\\nFor I thought so surely to give my boys\\nand girls a splendid start.\\nSo many years on the ladder, I thought I\\nwas near the top\\nOnly a few days longer, and then I expected\\nto stop,\\nAnd put the boys in my place, Kate, with\\nan easier life ahead\\nBut now I must give the prospect up that\\ncomforting dream is dead.\\n(Wife quickly dries her tears and looks up with a smile,\\nYou re worth more than money my husband.\\nI am worth more than my gold, eh?\\nYou re good to look at it so", "height": "4388", "width": "3220", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0323.jp2"}, "324": {"fulltext": "3 25\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nBut a man isn t worth very much, Kate,\\nwhen his hair is turning to snow.\\n(Two girls appear at opposite side of stage.)\\nMy poor little girls, with their soft white\\nhands, and their innocent eyes of blue,\\nTurned adrift in the heartless world what\\ncan and what will they do\\n(Taking both his hands and still smiling, Yes John, but it\\nwas an honest failure.\\nAn honest failure Indeed it was\\ndollar for dollar was paid\\nNever a creditor suffered, whatever people\\nhave said.\\nBetter are rags and a conscience clear than\\na palace and flush of shame.\\nOne thing I shall leave to my children,\\nKate and that is an honest name.\\nThe boys have spoken to me John, they ll take right hold\\nand help you.\\nWhat s that The boys are not troubled,\\nthey are ready now to begin\\nAnd gain us another fortune, and work\\nthrough thick and thin\\nThe noble fellows already I feel I haven t\\nso much to bear\\nTheir courage has lightened my heavy load\\nof misery and despair.\\nAnd the older girls say they will sacrifice, too they don t\\nwant those new dresses.\\n1 And the girls are so glad it was honest\\nthey d rather not dress so fine,\\nAnd think they did it with money that\\nwasn t honestly mine\\nThey re ready to show what they re made\\nof quick to earn and to save\\nMy blessed, good noble daughters so gen-\\nerous and so brave\\nThen we have each other, John, and I m a mighty help.\\nAnd you think we needn t fret, Kate, while\\nwe have each other left,\\nNo matter of what possessions our lives\\nmay be bereft\\nYou are right. With a quiet conscience,\\nand a wife so good and true,\\nI ll put my hand to the plough again and\\nI know that we ll pull through.\\nWai/tkr CoivTON.\\nTHE RESOLVE OF REGULUS.\\nRegulus, a Roman consul, having been defeated in battle and\\ntaken prisoner by the Carthaginians, was detained in captivity\\nfive years, and then sent on an embassy to Rome to solicit peace,\\nunder a promise that he would return to Carthage if the pro-\\nposals were rejected These.it was thought, he would urge in\\norder to obtain his own liberty but he urged contrary and\\npatriotic measures on his countrymen and then, having carried\\nhis point, resisted the persuasions of his friends to remain in\\nRome, and returned to Carthage, where a martyr s death awaited\\nhim. Some writers say that he was thrust into a cask covered\\nover on the inside with iron spikes, and thus rolled down hill.\\nThe following scene presents Regulus just as he has made known\\nto his friends in Rome his resolution to return to Carthage.\\n{Enter R^gjjt^vs followed by Skrtorius.)\\nSERTORIUS. Stay, Roman, in pity if\\nnot for thy life,\\nFor the sake of thy country, thy chil-\\ndren, thy wife.\\nSent, not to urge war, but to lead Rome to\\npeace,\\nThy captors of Carthage vouchsafed thee\\nrelease.\\nThou return st to encounter their anger,\\ntheir rage\\nNo mercy expect for thy fame or thy age\\nRegulus. To my captors one pledge, and\\none only, I gave\\nTo return, though it were to walk into\\nmy grave\\nNo hope I extended, no promise I made,\\nRome s Senate and people from war to\\ndissuade.\\nIf the vengeance of Carthage be stored for\\nme now,\\nI have repead no dishonor, have broken\\nno vow.\\nSerf. They released thee, but dreamed not\\nthat thou wouldst fulfill\\nA part that would leave thee a prisoner\\nstill\\nThey hoped thy own danger would lead\\nthee to sway\\nThe councils of Rome a far different way\\nWould induce thee to urge the conditions\\nthey crave,\\nIf only thy freedom, thy life-blood, to save.\\nThought shudders, the torment and woe to\\ndepict\\nThy merciless foes have the heart to inflict\\nRemain with us, Regulus do not go back\\nNo hope sheds its ray on thy death-pointing\\ntrack\\nKeep faith with the faithless? The gods\\nwill forgive\\nThe balking of such. O, live, Regulus,\\nlive\\nReg. With the consciousness fixed in the\\ncore of my heart,\\nThat I had been playing the perjurer s part\\nWith the stain ever glaring, the thought\\never nigh,", "height": "4388", "width": "3332", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0324.jp2"}, "325": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n329\\nThat I owe the base breath I inhale to\\na lie?\\nO, never Let Carthage infract every oath,\\nBe false to her word and humanity both,\\nYet never will I in her infamy share,\\nOr turn for a refuge to guilt from despair\\nSert. O, think of the kindred and friends\\nwho await\\nTo fall on thy neck, and withhold thee\\nfrom fate\\nO, think of the widow, the orphans to be,\\nAnd let thy compassion plead softly\\nwith me.\\nReg. O, my friend, thou canst soften, but\\ncanst not subdue\\nTo the faith of my soul I must ever be true.\\nIf my honor I cheapen, my conscience dis-\\ncrown,\\nAll the graces of life to the dust are brought\\ndown\\nAll creation to me is a chaos once more\\nNo heaven to hope for, no God to adore\\nAnd the love that I feel for wife, children\\nand friend,\\nHas lost all its beauty, and thwarted its end.\\nSert. Let thy country determine.\\nReg. My country Her will,\\nWere I free to obey, would be paramount\\nstill.\\nI go to my doom for my country alone\\nMy life is my country s my honor, my own\\nSert. O, Regulus think of the pangs in\\nreserve\\nReg. What meance should make me from\\nprobity swerve\\nSert. Refinements of pain will these mis-\\ncreants find\\nTo daunt and disable the loftiest mind.\\nReg. And t is to a Roman thy fears are\\naddressed\\nSert. Forgive me. I know thy unterri-\\nfied breast.\\nReg. Thou know st me but human as\\nweak to sustain\\nAs thyself, or another, the searchings of\\npain.\\nThis flesh may recoil, and the anguish they\\nwreak\\nChase the strength from my knees, and the\\nhue from my cheek\\nBut the body alone they can vanquish\\nand kill\\nThe spirit immortal shall smile at them still.\\nThen let them make ready their engines of\\ndread,\\nTheir spike-bristling cask, and their tortur-\\ning bed\\nStill Regulus, heaving no recreant breath,\\nShall greet as a friend the deliverer Death\\nTheir cunning in torture and taunt shall\\ndefy\\nAnd hold it a joy for his country to die.\\nSargent.\\nA PAGEANT OF THE MONTHS.\\nPersonifications.\\nGentlemen.\\nLadies.\\nRobin Redbreasts Lambs and Sheep Nightingale and\\nNestlings.\\nVarious Flowers, Fruits, etc.\\nScene A Cottage with its Grounds.\\n(A room in a large, comfortable cottage a fire burning on the\\nhearth a table on which the breakfast things have heen left stand-\\ning. January discovered seated at the fire.)\\nJanuary.\\nCold the day and cold the drifted snow,\\nDim the day until the cold dark night.\\n\\\\Stirs the fire.\\nCrackle, sparkle, fagot; embers, glow:\\nSome one may be plodding through the\\nsnow,\\nLonging for a light,\\nFor the light that you and I can show.\\nIf no one else should come,\\nHere Robin Redbreast s welcome to a crumb,\\nAnd never troublesome\\nRobin, why don t you come and fetch your\\ncrumb\\nHere s butter for my bunch of bread,\\nAnd sugar for your crumb\\nHere s room upon the hearth-rug,\\nIf you ll only come.\\nIn your scarlet waistcoat,\\nWith your keen bright eye,\\nWhere are you loitering\\nWhings were made to fly\\nMake haste to breakfast,\\nCome and fetch your crumb,\\nFor I m as glad to see you\\nAs you are glad to come.", "height": "4376", "width": "3168", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0325.jp2"}, "326": {"fulltext": "33Q\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n(Two Robin Redbreasts are seen tapping with their beaks at\\nthe lattice, which January opens. The birds flutter in, hop about\\nthe floor, and peck up the crumbs and sugar thrown to them.\\nThey have scarcely finished their meal, when a knock is heard at\\nthe door. January hangs a guard in front of the fire, and opens\\nto February, who appears with a bunch of snowdrops in her\\nhand.)\\nJanuary.\\nGood-morrow, sister.\\nFebruary.\\nBrother, joy to you\\nI ve brought some snowdrops only just a\\nfew,\\nBut quite enough to prove the world awake,\\nCheerful and hopeful in the frosty dew,\\nAnd for the pale sun s sake.\\n(She hands a few of her snowdrops to January, who retires\\ninto the background. While February stands arranging the\\nremaining snowdrops in a glass of water on the window-sill, a\\nsoft butting and bleating are heard outside. She opens the door,\\nand sees one foremost lamb, with other sheep and lambs bleating\\nand crowding towards her.)\\nFebruary.\\nO you, you little wonder, come come in,\\nYou wonderful, you woolly, soft, white\\nlamb\\nYou panting mother ewe, come too,\\nAnd lead that tottering twin\\nSafe in\\nBring all your bleating kith and kin,\\nExcept the horny ram.\\n(February opens a second door in the background, and the\\nlittle flock files through into a warm and sheltered compartment\\nout of sight.)\\nThe lambkin tottering in its walk,\\nWith just a fleece to wear\\nThe snowdrop drooping on its stalk\\nSo slender,\\nSnowdrop and lamb, a pretty pair,\\nBraving the cold for our delight,\\nBoth white,\\nBoth tender.\\nA rattling of door and windows branches seen without\\ntossing violently to and fro.)\\nHow the doors rattle and the branches sway\\nHere s brother March, comes whirling on\\nhis way,\\nWith winds that eddy and sing.\\n(She turns the handle of the door, which bursts open, and\\ndiscloses March hastening up, both hands full of violets and ane-\\nmones.)\\nFEBRUARY.\\nCome, show me what you bring\\nFor I have said my say, fulfilled my day,\\nAnd must away.\\nMARCH.\\n(Stopping short on the threshold.)\\nI blow and arouse,\\nThrough the world s wide house,\\nTo quicken the torpid earth\\nGrappling I fling\\nEach feeble thing,\\nBut bring strong life to the birth.\\nI wrestle and frown,\\nAnd topple down\\nI wrench, I rend, I uproot\\nYet the violet\\nIs born where I set\\nThe sole of my flying foot.\\n(Hands violets and anemones to February, who retires into\\nthe background.)\\nAnd in my wake\\nFrail wind-flowers quake,\\nAnd the catkins promise fruit.\\nI drive ocean ashore\\nWith rush and roar,\\nAnd he cannot say me nay\\nMy harpstrings all\\nAre the forests tall,\\nMaking music when I play.\\nAnd as others perforce,\\nSo I on my course\\nRun and needs must run,\\nWith sap on the mount,\\nAnd buds past count,\\nAnd rivers and clouds and sun,\\nWith seasons and breath\\nAnd time and death\\nAnd all that has yet begun.\\n(Before March has done speaking, a voice is heard approach-\\ning accompanied by a twittering of birds. April comes along\\nsinging, and stands outside and out of sight to finish her song.)\\nAPRII,.\\n(Outside.)\\nPretty little three\\nSparrows in a tree,\\nL,ight upon the wing\\nThough you cannot sing,\\nYou can chirp of Spring\\nChirp of Spring to me,\\nSparrows, from your tree.\\nNever mind the showers,\\nChirp about the flowers,\\nWhile you build a nest\\nStraws from east and west,\\nFeathers from your breast,\\nMake the snuggest bowers\\nIn a world of flowers.", "height": "4388", "width": "3340", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0326.jp2"}, "327": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n33i\\nYou must dart away\\nFrom the chosen spray,\\nYou intrusive third\\nExtra little bird\\nJoin the unwedded herd\\nThese have done with play,\\nAnd must work to-day.\\nAPRIL.\\n(Appearing at the open door.)\\nGood-morrow and good-bye if others fly,\\nOf all the flying months you re the most\\nflying.\\nMARCH.\\nYou re hope and sweetness, April.\\nAPRIL.\\nBirth means dying,\\nAs wings and wind mean flying\\nSo you and I and all things fly or die\\nAnd sometimes I sit sighing to think of\\ndying.\\nBut meanwhile I ve a rainbow in my\\nshowers,\\nAnd a lapful of flowers,\\nAnd these dear nestlings, aged three hours\\nAnd here s their mother sitting,\\nTheir father merely flitting\\nTo find their breakfast somewhere in my\\nbowers.\\n(As she speaks April shows March her apron full of flowers\\nand nest full of birds. March wanders away into the grounds.\\nApril, without entering the cottage, hangs over the hungry nest-\\nlings watching them.)\\nAPRIL.\\nWhat beaks you have, you funny things,\\nWhat voices, shrill and weak\\nWho d think anything that sings\\nCould sing with such a beak\\nYet you ll be nightingales some day\\nAnd charm the country-side,\\nWhen I m away and far away,\\nAnd. May is queen and bride.\\n(May arrives unperceived by April, and gives her a kiss.\\nApril starts and looks round.)\\nAPRIL.\\nAh, May, good-morrow, May, and so good-\\nbye.\\nMAY.\\nThat s just your way, sweet April, smile\\nand sigh\\nYour sorrows half in fun,\\nBegun and done\\nAnd turned to joy while twenty seconds\\nrun.\\nAt every step a flower\\nFed by your last bright shower,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n(She divides an armful of all sorts of flowers with April, who\\nstrolls away through the garden.)\\nMAY.\\nAnd gathering flowers I listened to the song\\nOf every bird in bower.\\nThe world and I are far too full of bliss,\\nTo think or plan or toil or care\\nThe sun is waxing strong,\\nThe days are waning long,\\nAnd all that is,\\nIs fair.\\nHere are May buds of lily and of rose,\\nAnd here s my namesake-blossom,\\nMay;\\nAnd from a watery spot\\nSee here, forget-me-not,\\nWith all that blows\\nTo-day.\\nHark to my linnets from the hedges\\ngreen,\\nBlackbird and lark and thrush and\\ndove,\\nAnd every nightingale\\nAnd cuckoo tells its tale,\\nAnd all they mean\\nIs love.\\n(June appears at the further end of the garden, coming slowly\\ntowards May, who seeing her, exclaims:)\\nMAY.\\nSurely you re come too early, sister\\nJune.\\nJUNK.\\nIndeed I feel as if I came too soon\\nTo round your young May moon.\\nAnd set the world a-gasping at my noon,\\nYet must I come. So here are strawberries,\\nSun-flushed and sweet, as many as you\\nplease\\nAnd there are full-blown roses by the score,\\nMore roses and yet more.\\n(May, eating strawberries, withdraws among the flower beds.)\\nJUNK.\\nThe sun does all my long day s work for\\nme,", "height": "4388", "width": "3156", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0327.jp2"}, "328": {"fulltext": "332\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nRaises and ripens everything\\nI need but sit beneath a leafy tree\\nAnd watch and sing.\\n(Seats herself in the shadow of a laburnum.)\\nOr if I m lulled by note of bird and bee,\\nOr lulled by noontide s silence deep,\\nI need but nestle down beneath my tree\\nAnd drop asleep.\\n(June falls asleep and is not awakened by the oiceof July,\\nwho behind the scenes is heard half singing, half calling.)\\nJULY.\\n(Behind the scenes.)\\nBlue flags, yellow flags, all freckled,\\nWhich wil! you take Yellow, blue,\\nspeckled\\nTake which you will, speckled, blue, yel-\\nlow,\\nEach in its way has not a fellow.\\n(Enter July, a basket of many-colored irises swung upon his\\nshoulders, a bunch of ripe grass in one hand, and a plate piled\\nfull of peaches balanced upon the other. He steals up to June\\nand tickles her with the grass. She wakes.)\\nJUNK.\\nWhat, here already\\nJULY.\\nNay, my tryst is kept\\nThe longest day slipped by you while you\\nslept.\\nI ve brought you one curved pyramid of\\nbloom,\\n(Hands her the plate.)\\nNot flowers, but peaches, gathered where\\nthe bees,\\nAs downy, bask and boom\\nIn sunshine and in gloom of trees.\\nBut get you in, a storm is at my heels\\nThe whirlwind whistles and wheels,\\nLightning flashes and thunder peals,\\nFlying and following hard upon my heels.\\n(June takes shelter in a thickly-woven arbor.)\\nJULY.\\nThe roar of a storm sweeps up\\nFrom the east to the lurid west,\\nThe darkening sky, like a cup,\\nIs filled with rain to the brink\\nThe sky is purple and fire,\\nBlackness and noise and unrest\\nThe earth, parched with desire,\\nOpens her mouth to drink.\\nSend forth thy thunder and fire,\\nTurn over thy brimming cup,\\nO sky, appease the desire\\nOf earth in her parched unrest\\nPour out drink to her thirst,\\nHer famishing life lift up\\nMake thyself fair as at first,\\nWith a rainbow for thy crest.\\nHave done with thunder and fire,\\nO sky with the rainbow crest\\nO earth, have done with desire,\\nDrink, and drink deep, and rest.\\n(Enter August, carrying a sheaf made up of different kinds of\\ngrain.)\\nJULY.\\nHail, brother August, flushed and warm,\\nAnd scathless from my storm.\\nYour hands are full of corn, I see,\\nAs full as hands can be\\nAnd earth and air both smell as sweet as\\nbalm\\nIn their recovered calm,\\nAnd that they owe to me.\\n(July retires into the shrubbery.)\\nAUGUST.\\nWheat sways heavy, oats are airy,\\nBarley bows a graceful head,\\nShort and small shoots up canary,\\nBach of these is some one s bread\\nBread for man or bread for beast,\\nOr at very least\\nA bird s savory feast.\\nMen are brethren of each other,\\nOne in flesh and one in food\\nAnd a sort of foster brother,\\nIs the litter, or the brood\\nOf that folk in fur and feather,\\nWho, with men together,\\nBreast the wind and weather.\\n(August descries September toiling across the lawn.)\\nAUGUST.\\nMy harvest home is ended and I spy\\nSeptember drawing nigh\\nWith the first thought of Autumn in her\\neye,\\nAnd the first sigh\\nOf Autumn wind among her locks that fly.\\n(September arrives, carrying upon her head a basket heaped\\nhigh with fruit.)", "height": "4348", "width": "3356", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0328.jp2"}, "329": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n333\\nSKPTKMBKR.\\nUnload me, brother. I have brought a few\\nPlums and these pears for you,\\nA dozen kinds of apples, one or two\\nMelons, some figs all bursting through\\nTheir skins and pearled with dew\\nThese damsons, violet-blue.\\n(While September is speaking, August lifts the basket to the\\nground, selects various fruits, and withdraws slowly along the\\ngravel walk, eating a pear as he goes.)\\nSKPTKMBKR.\\nMy song is half a sigh\\nBecause my green leaves die\\nSweet are my fruits, but all my leaves are\\ndying\\nAnd well may Autumn sigh,\\nAnd well may I\\nWho watch the sere leaves flying.\\nMy leaves that fade and fall,\\nI note you one and all\\nI call you, and the autumn wind is calling,\\nLamenting for your fall,\\nAnd for the pall\\nYou spread on earth in falling,\\nAnd here s a song of flowers to suit such\\nhours\\nA song of the last lilies, the last flowers,\\nAmid my withering bowers.\\nIn the sunny garden bed\\nLilies look so pale,\\nLilies droop the head\\nIn the shady, grassy vale\\nIf all alike they pine\\nIn shade and in shine,\\nIf everywhere they grieve,\\nWhere will lilies live\\n(October enters briskly, some leafy twigs bearing different\\nsorts of nuts in one hand, and a long, ripe hop-vine trailing after\\nhim from the other. A dahlia is stuck in his button-hole.)\\nOCTOBKR-\\nNay, cheer up, sister. Life is not quite\\nover,\\nEven if the year has done with corn and\\nclover,\\nWith flowers and leaves besides, in fact,\\nit s true,\\nSome leaves remain, and some flowers, too,\\nFor me and you.\\nNow see my crops.\\n[Offering his produce to September.]\\n20\\nI ve brought you nuts and hops\\nAnd when the leaf drops, why the walnut\\ndrops.\\n(October wreathes the hop-vines about September s neck, and\\ngives her the nut twigs. They enter the cottage together, but\\nwithout shutting the door. She steps into the background; he\\nadvances to the hearth, removes the guard, stirs up the smoulder-\\ning fire, and arranges several chestnuts to roast.)\\nOCTOBKR.\\nCrack your first nut, light your first fire,\\nRoast your chestnuts, crisp on the bar,\\nMake the logs sparkle, stir the blaze\\nhigher\\nLogs are as cheery as sun or as star,\\nLogs we can find wherever we are.\\nSpring, one soft day, will open the leaves,\\nSpring, one bright day, will lure back the\\nflowers\\nNever fancy my whistling wind grieves,\\nNever fancy I ve tears in my showers\\nDance, nights and days! and dance on,\\nmy hours.\\n[Sees November approaching.]\\nOCTOBKR.\\nHere comes my youngest sister, looking dim\\nAnd grim,\\nWith dismal ways.\\nWhat cheer, November\\nNOVKMBKR.\\n(Entering and shutting the door.)\\nNought have I to bring,\\nTramping a-chill and shivering,\\nExcept these pine cones for a blaze\\nExcept a fog which follows,\\nAnd stuffs up all the hollows,\\nExcept a hoar frost here and there,\\nExcept some shooting stars,\\nWhich dart their luminous cars,\\nTrackless and noiseless through the keen\\nnight air.\\n(October, shrugging his shoulders, withdraws into the back-\\nground, while November throws her pine cones on the fire and\\nsits down listlessly.)\\nNOVKMBKR.\\nThe earth lies fast asleep, grown tired\\nOf all that s high or deep\\nThere s naught desired and naught required\\nSave a sleep.\\nI rock the cradle of the earth,\\nI lull her with a sigh", "height": "4388", "width": "3128", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0329.jp2"}, "330": {"fulltext": "334\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nAnd know that she will wake to mirth\\nBy and bye.\\n(Through the window December is seen running and leaping\\nin the direction of the door. He knocks.\\nNOVEMBER.\\n(Calls out without rising.)\\nAh, here s my youngest brother come at\\nlast\\nCome in, December.\\n(He opens the door and enters, loaded with evergreens in\\nberry, etc.)\\nCome in and shut the door,\\nFor now its snowing fast\\nIt snows, and will snow more and more\\nDon t let it drift in on the floor.\\nBut you, you re all aglow how can you be\\nRosy and warm and smiling in the cold.\\nDECEMBER.\\nNay, no closed doors for me,\\nBut open doors and open hearts and glee\\nTo welcome young and old.\\nDimmest and brightest month am I\\nMy short days end, my lengthening days\\nbegin\\nWhat matters more or less sun in the sky,\\nWhen all is sun within\\n(He begins making a wreath as he sings.)\\nIvy and privet dark as night\\nI weave with hips and haws a cheerful\\nshow,\\nAnd holly for. a beauty and delight,\\nAnd milky mistletoe.\\nWhile high above them all I set\\nYew twigs and Christmas roses, pure and\\npale\\nThen Spring her snowdrop and her violet\\nMay keep, so sweet and frail\\nMay keep each merry singing bird,\\nOf all her happy birds that singing\\nbuild\\nFor I ve a carol which some shepherds\\nheard\\nOnce in a wintry field.\\n(While December concludes the song, all the other months\\ntroop in from the garden, or advance out of the background.\\nJ be twelve join hands in a circle, and begin dancing round to a\\nstately measure as the curtain falls.)\\nChristina G. Rossettt.\\nUNCLE PETE.\\nCHARACTERS.\\nGeorge Peyton, a Planter.\\nUncle Pete, a venerable darkey, looking the worse for wear,\\nwith more patches than pantaloons\\nScene. Extcior view of a planter s cabin with practicable\\ndoor. George Peyton discovered, seated on a bench, under\\nveranda, reading a newspaper.\\nEnter Uncle Pete, L.,* a limp noticeable in his left leg, the\\nknee of which is bowed outward, hoe on his shoulder.\\nUNCLE PETE. {Pausing as he enters, shad-\\ning his eyes with his hand, and gazing\\ntowards George Peyton.) Yes, darhe\\nis dar is Marse George, a sittin on the\\npoarch, a-readin his papah. Golly, I cotch\\num at home {Advancing and calling}\\nMarse George, Marse George, I s come to\\nsee you once mo once mo befo I leabes\\nyou fo ebber. Marse George, I s gwine to\\nde odder shoah I s far on de way to my\\nlong home, to dat home ober acrost de rib-\\nber, whar de wicked hab no mo trouble,\\nand where watermillions ripen all the year\\nYouns has all bin berry kine to me heah,\\nMarse George, berry kine to the ole man,\\nbut I s gwine away, acrost de dark ribber.\\nI s gwine ober, an dar, on dat odder shoah,\\nI ll stan an pick on de golden hawp among\\nde angels, an in de company of de blest.\\nDar I ll fine my rest dar I ll stan befo de\\nthrone fo ebber mo a-singin an a-shoutin\\nsusannis to de Lawd\\nGeorge Peyton. Oh, no, Uncle Pete,\\nyou re all right yet you re good for\\nanother twenty years.\\nUncle P. Berry kine o you to say dat,\\nMarse George berry kine but it s no use.\\nIt almos breaks my hawt to leab you, an\\nto leab de missus an de chillun, Marse\\nGeorge, but I s got my call I s all gone\\ninside.\\nGeorge P. Don t talk so, Uncle Pete;\\nyou are still quite a hale old man\\nUncle P. No use talkin Marse George,\\nI s gwine to hebben berry soon Pears like\\nI can heah the singin on de odder shoah.\\nPears like I can heah de voice ob Aunt\\nLiza an de odders dat s gone befoah.\\nYou se bin berry kine, Marse George de\\nmissus an de chillun s bin berry good\\nseems like all de people s bin berry good to\\npoor ole Pete poor cretur like me.\\nR. signifies right L. left and C. centre of stage.", "height": "4388", "width": "3332", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0330.jp2"}, "331": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n335\\nGeorge P. Nonsense, Uncle Pete {kindly\\nand e?icour aging ly) nonsense, you are good\\nfor many years yet You 11 see the sod placed\\non the graves of many j^ounger men than you\\nare, before they dig the hole for you. What\\nyou want just now, Uncle Pete, is a good\\nsquare meal. Go into the kitchen and help\\nyourself fill up inside. There is no one at\\nhome, but I think you know the road.\\nPlenty of cold victuals of all kinds in there.\\nUncle P- {A smile illuminating his face?)\\nBleedgedt ye, Marse George, bleegedt ye,\\nsah, I ll go For de little time I has got\\nto stay, I ll not go agin natur but it s no\\nuse. I s all gone inside I s got my call.\\nI m one o dem dat s on de way to de golden\\nshoah.\\n(Exit Uncle Pete through door, his limp\\nhardly noticeable. His manyier showing his\\ndelight.}\\nGeorge P. Poor old Uncle Pete, he seems\\nto be the victim of religious enthusiasm I\\nsuppose he has been to camp-meeting, but\\nhe is a cunning old fox, and it must have\\ntaken a regular hard-shell sermon to convert\\nthe old sinner. He was raised on this plan-\\ntation, and I have often heard my father\\nsay, he hadn t a better negro on the place.\\nEver since the war, he has been working a\\nlittle, and loafing a good deal, and I have\\nno doubt he sometimes sighs to be a slave\\nagain at work on the old plantation {Starts\\nand listens.}\\nUncle P. {Singing i?iside\\nJay bird, jay bird, sittin on a limb,\\nHe winked at me, an I at him\\nCocked my gun, an split his shin.\\nAn left the arrow a-stickin\\nGeorge P. {Starting up.) Zounds if\\nthat old thief hasn t found my bitters bot-\\ntle Pete Pete, you rascal\\nUncle P. Continues singing\\nSnake bake a hoe cake,\\nAn set the frog to mind it\\nBut the frog fell asleep,\\nAn the lizard come an find it.\\nGeorge P. Pete you rascal, come out\\nof that.\\nUncle P. Who does not hear the planter,\\ncontinues singing, and dances a gentle, old-\\nfashioned shuffle\\nDe debbil cotch the groun hog\\nA-sittin in de sun,\\nAn kick him off de back-log,\\nJes to see de fun.\\nGeorge P. {Furious.) Pete you infernal\\nnigger, come out of that, I say.\\nUncle P. {Still singing and dancing\\nDe possum up de gum tree,\\nA-playin wid his toes,\\nAn up comes the ginny pig,\\nDen off he goes.\\nGeo?ge P. {Thoroughly aroused, throwing\\ndown his paper.) You, Pete blast the nig-\\nger.\\nUncle P. {Co?itinues singing\\nDe weasel went to see the polecat s wife,\\nYou nebber smelt such a row in a 1 yer\\nGeorge P. {Rushes in the cabin inter-\\nrupts the singing, and drags Pete out by the\\near.) Pete Pete, you infernal old rascal,\\nis that the way you are crossing the river?\\nAre those the songs they sing on the golden\\nshore Is this the way for a man to act\\nwhen he has got his call when he is all\\ngone inside\\nU?icle P. {Looking as if he had been caught\\nin a hen-roost.) Marse George. I s got de\\ncall, sah, an I s gwine acrostde dark ribber\\nsoon, but I s now braced up a little on de\\ninside, an de scursion am postponed you\\nsee, de scursion am postponed, sah\\nGeorge P. {Folding his arms, looking at\\nPete, as if in adi?iiration of his impude?ice.)\\nThe excursion is postponed, is it? Well,\\nthis excursion is not postponed, you old\\nscoundrel. {Seizes Pete by the coat-collar\\nand runs him off stage, L.) [Curtain.]\\nCharacters\\nPATS EXCUSE.\\nNora, a young Irish lass,\\nPat Murphy, a gay deceiver.\\nCurtain rises. Discovers Nora in kitchen, peeling potatoes.\\nNora. Och, it s deceivin that all men\\nare Now I belaved Pat niver would for-\\nsake me, and here he s trated me like an\\nould glove, and I ll ?iiver forgive him. How\\npraties make your eyes water. Wipes tears\\naway.) Almost as bad as onions. Not\\nthat I m cryin oh, no. Pat Murphy can t\\nsee me cry. {Knock without.) There is\\nPat now, the rascal. I ll lock the door.\\n{Hastens to lock the door.)\\nPat {without.) Arrah, Nora, and here I\\nam.\\nNora. And there ye ll stay, ye spalpeen.\\nPat {without). Ah, come now, Nora,\\nain t it opening the door you are after?\\nSure, I m dyin of cold.", "height": "4388", "width": "3140", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0331.jp2"}, "332": {"fulltext": "336\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nNora. Faith, you are too hard a sinner\\nto die aisy so you can take your time\\nabout it.\\nPat. Open the door, cushla the police\\nwill be takin me up.\\nNora. He won t kape you long, alanna\\nPat. Nora, if you let me in, I ll tell you\\nhow I came to lave you at the fair last\\nnight.\\nNora {relenting). Will you, for true?\\nPat. Indade I will.\\n{Nora unlocks door. Enter Pat gayly.\\nHe snatches a kiss fro?7i her.)\\nNora. Be off wid ye Now tell me how\\nyou happened to be wid Mary O Dwight\\nlast night\\nPat {sitting down). Well, you see it hap-\\npened this way; ye know Mike O Dwight\\nis her brother, and he and me is blatherin\\ngood friends, ye know; and as we was\\ngoing to Caltry the ither day, Mike says to\\nme, says he: Pat, what ll you take fur\\nthat dog? and I says, says I\\nNora {who has been listening earnestly).\\nBother you, Pat, but you are foolin me\\nagain.\\nPat {coaxingly takes her hand). No-\\nno Nora I ll tell ye the truth this time,\\nsure. Well, as I was sayin Mike and me\\nis good friends; and Mike says, says he:\\nPat, that s a good dog. Yis, says I,\\nit is. And he says, says he: Pat, it\\nis a blatherin good dog. Yis, says I\\nand then and then {Scratches his head as\\nif to aid his imagination?)\\nNora {angrily snatclmig away hand).\\nThere I ll not listen to another word\\nShe singS. Tune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Rory O Moore.)\\nOh, Patrick Murphy, be off wid you, pray,\\nI been watching your pranks this many a day\\nYou re fal-e, and ye re fickle, as sure as I live\\nAnd your hateful desaivin I ll niver forgive.\\nOuch do you think I was blind yester night,\\nWhen you walked so fine with Mary O Dwight?\\nYou kissed her, you rascal, and called her your own,\\nAnd left me to walk down the dark lane alone.\\nPal {taking up song).\\nOh. Nora, me darlint, be off wid your airs,\\nFor nobody wants you. and nobody cares\\nFor you do want your Patrick, for don t you see,\\nSou could not so well love any but me.\\nWhen my lips met Mi -s Mary s, now just look at me,\\nI shut my eyes tight, just this way, don t you see?\\nAnd when the kiss came, what did I do?\\nI shut my eyes tight, and made believe it v/ s you\\nNora.\\nBe off wid your nonsense a word in your ear.\\nListen, my Patrick, be sure that you hear;\\nLast night when Mike Duffy came here to woo.\\nWe sat in the dark, and made believe it was you\\nAnd when the kiss came, now just looh at me,\\nI shut my eyes tight, just this way, don t you see?\\nAnd when our lips met, what did I do.\\nBut keep my eyes shut, and make belave it was you\\n{Nora, laughing; Pat, disconcerted.)\\n[quick curtain.]\\nMARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTLAND.\\n(Adapted from Schiller, Scene II., Act III. Arranged for two\\nladies and two gentlemen.)\\nCHARACTERS\\nMary, Queen of Scotland.\\nElizabeth, Queen of England.\\nRobert, Earl of Leicester.\\nTalbot, a friend of Mary^.\\nCostumes. Elizabethan age of England and Scotland.\\nEnter Mary and Talbot.\\nMary. Talbot, Elizabeth will soon be\\nhere. I cannot see her. Preserve\\nme from this hateful interview.\\nTalbot. Reflect a while. Recall thy cour-\\nage. The moment is come upon which\\neverything depends. Incline thyself; sub-\\nmit to the necessity of the moment. She is\\nthe stronger. Thou must bend before her.\\nMary. Before her I cannot\\nTal. Thou must do so. Speak to her\\nhumbly invoke the greatness of her gener-\\nous heart dwell not too much upon thy\\nrights. But see first how she bears herself\\ntowards thee. I myself did witness her\\nemotion on reading thy letter. The tears\\nstood in her eyes. Her heart, tis sure, is\\nnot a stranger to compassion therefore place\\nmore confidence in her, and prepare thyself\\nfor her reception.\\nMary. {Taking his hand.) Thou wert\\never my faithful friend. Oh, that I had al-\\nways remained beneath thy kind guardian-\\nship, Talbot Their care of me has indeed\\nbeen harsh. Who attends her\\nTal. Leicester. You need not fear him\\nthe earl doth not seek thy fall. Behold, the\\nqueen approaches. {Retires?)\\nEnter Elizabeth and Leicester.\\nMa?y. {Aside.) O Heavens Protect me\\nher features say she has no heart\\nElizabeth. {To LEICESTER.) Who is this\\nwoman {Feig?iing surprise.) Robert who\\nhas dared to", "height": "4364", "width": "3392", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0332.jp2"}, "333": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n337\\nLei. Be not angry, queen, and since\\nHeaven has hither directed thee, suffer pity\\nto triumph in thy noble heart.\\nTal. {Advancing. Deign, royal lady to\\ncast a look of compassion on the unhappy\\nwoman who prostrates herself at thy feet.\\n[Mary, having attempted to approach Elizabeth, stops\\nshort, overcome by repugnance, her gestures indicating internal\\nstruggle.]\\nEliz. {Haughtily Sirs, which of you\\nspoke of humility and submission I see\\nnothing but a proud lady, whom misfortune\\nhas not succeeded in subduing.\\nMary. {Aside.) I will undergo even this\\nlast degree of ignominy. My soul discards\\nits noble but, alas impotent pride. I will\\nseek to forget who I am, what I have suf-\\nfered, and will humble myself before her\\nwho has caused my disgrace. {Turns to\\nElizabeth.) Heaven, O sister, has declared\\nitself on thy side, and has graced thy happy\\nhead with the crown of victory. {Kneeling\\nI worship the Deity who hath rendered thee\\nso powerful. Show thyself noble in thy\\ntriumph, and leave me not overwhelmed by\\nshame Open thy arms, extend in mercy\\nto me thy royal hand, and raise me from my\\nfearful fall.\\nEliz. {Drawing back.) Thy place, Stuart,\\nis there, and I shall ever raise my hands in\\ngratitude to Heaven that it has not willed\\nthat I should kneel at thy feet, as thou now\\ncrouchest in the dust at mine.\\nMa ry With grea t emotion Think of the\\nvicissitudes of all things human There is\\na Deity above who punisheth pride. Respect\\nthe Providence who now doth prostrate me\\nat thy feet. Do not show thyself insensible\\nand pitiless as the rock, to which the drown-\\ning man, with failing breath and outstretched\\narms, doth cling. My life, my entire des-\\ntiny, depend upon my words and the power\\nof my tears. Inspire my heart, teach me to\\nmove, to touch thine own. Thou turnest\\nsuch icy looks upon me, that my soul doth\\nsink within me, my grief parches my lips,\\nand a cold shudder renders my entreaties\\nmute. {Rises.)\\nEliz. {Coldly.) What wouldst thou say\\nto me thou didst seek converse with me.\\nForgetting that I am an outraged sovereign,\\nI honor thee with my royal presence. Tis\\nin obedience to a generous impulse that I in-\\ncur the reproach of having sacrificed my\\ndignity.\\nMary. How can I express myself? how\\nshall I so choose every word that it may\\npenetrate without irritating thy heart God\\nof mercy aid my lips, and banish from them\\nwhatever may offend my sister I cannot\\nrelate to thee my woes without appearing to\\naccuse thee, and this is not my wish. To-\\nwards me thou has been neither merciful nor\\njust. I am thine equal, and yet thou hast\\nmade me a prisoner, a suppliant, and a fugi-\\ntive. I turned to thee for aid, and thou,\\ntrampling on the rights of nations and of\\nhospitality, hast immured me in a living\\ntomb Thou has abandoned me to the most\\nshameful need, and finally exposed me to\\nthe ignominy of a trial But, no more of\\nthe past we are now face to face. Display\\nthe goodness of thy heart tell me the crimes\\nof which I am accused Wherefore didst\\nthou not grant me this friendly audience\\nwhen I so eagerly desired it Years of\\nmisery would have been spared me, and this\\npainful interview would not have occurred\\nin this abode of gloom and horror.\\nEliz. Accuse not fate, but thine own way-\\nward soul and the unreasonable ambition of\\nthy house. There was no quarrel between\\nus until thy most worthy ally inspired thee\\nwith the mad and rash desire to claim for\\nthyself the royal titles and my throne Not\\nsatisfied with this, he then urged thee to\\nmake war against me, to threaten my crown\\nand my life. Amidst the peace which\\nreigned in my dominions, he fraudulently\\nexcited my subjects to revolt. But\\nHeaven doth protect me, and the attempt\\nwas abandoned in despair. The blow was\\naimed at my head, but tis on thine that it\\nwill fall.\\nMary. I am in the hand of my God, but\\nthou wilt not exceed thy power by commit-\\nting a deed so atrocious\\nEliz. What could prevent me Thy kins-\\nman has shown monarchs how to make\\npeace with their enemies Who would be\\nsurety for thee if, imprudently, I were to re-\\nlease thee How can I rely on thy pledged\\nfaith Nought but my power renders me\\nsecure. No! there can be no friendship with\\na race of vipers.", "height": "4372", "width": "3136", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0333.jp2"}, "334": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nMary. Are these thy dark suspicions\\nTo thine eyes, then, I have ever seemed a\\nstranger and an enemy. If thou hadst but\\nrecognized me as heiress to thy throne as\\nis my lawful right love, friendship, would\\nhave made me thy friend thy sister.\\nEliz. What affection hast thou that is\\nnot feigned I declare thee heiress to my\\nthrone Insidious treachery In order,\\nforsooth, to overturn the state, and wily\\nArmida that thou art entrap within thy\\nsnares all the youthful spirits of my king-\\ndom, so that during my own lifetime all eyes\\nwould turn towards thee the new constel-\\nlation\\nMary. Reign on in peace I renounce\\nall right to thy sceptre. The wings of my\\nambition have long drooped, and greatness\\nhas no longer charms for me. Tis thou\\nwho hast it all I am now only the shade\\nof Mary Stuart My pristine ardor has been\\nsubdued by the ignominy of my chains.\\nThou hast nipped my existence in the bud.\\nBut pronounce those magnanimous words\\nfor which thou cam st hither for I will not\\nbelieve that thou art come to enjoy the\\nbase delight of insulting thy victim Pro-\\nnounce the words so longed for, and say,\\nMary, thou art free Till now thou hast\\nknown only my power now know my great-\\nness. Woe to thee, shouldst thou not de-\\npart from me propitious, beneficent, like an\\ninvoked Deity. O sister not for all Eng-\\nland, not for all the lands the vast ocean\\nembraces, would I present myself to thee\\nwith the inexorable aspect with which thou\\nnow regard est me\\nEliz. At length thou confessest thyself\\nvanquished Hast thou emptied thy quiver\\nof the artifices it contained Hast thou no\\nmore assassins Does there not remain to\\nthee one single hero to undertake in thy de-\\nfence the duties of knight-errant Gone,\\nMary, gone forever are those days. Thou\\ncanst no longer seduce a follower of mine\\nother causes now inflame men s hearts. In\\nvain didst thou seek a fourth husband among\\nmy English subjects; they knew too well\\nthat thou murderest thy husbands, as thou\\ndost thy lovers.\\nMary. (Shuddering.) O Heavens sister\\nGrant me resignation.\\nEliz. (To Leicester, with contempt.)\\nEarl, are these the boasted features, on which\\nno mortal eye could gaze with safety Is this\\nthe beauty to which no other woman s could\\nbe compared In sooth, the reputation ap-\\npears to have been easily won. To be thus\\ncelebrated as the reigning beauty of the uni-\\nverse seems merely to infer that she has\\nbeen universal in the distribution of her\\nfavors.\\nMary. Ah, tis too much.\\nEliz. With a smile of satisfaction.) Now\\nthou showest thyself in thine own form. Till\\nnow thou hast worn a mask.\\nMary. (With dignified pride They were\\nmere human errors that overcame my youth.\\nMy grandeur dazzled me. I have nought to\\nconceal, nor deny my faults my pride has\\never disdained the base artifices of vile in-\\ntriguers. The worst I ever did is known,\\nand I may boast myself far better than my\\nreputation. But woe to thee, thou malig-\\nnant hypocrite, if thou ever lettest fall the\\nmantle beneath which thou concealest thy\\nshameless amours Thou, the daughter of\\nAnne Boleyn, has not inherited virtue The\\ncauses that brought thy sinful mother to the\\nblock are known to all.\\nTal. (Stepping between them?) Is this, O\\nMary, thine endurance Is this thy hu-\\nmility\\nMary. Endurance I have endured all\\nthat a mortal heart can bear. Hence, abject\\nhumility Insulted patience, get ye from\\nmy heart And thou, my long pent-up in-\\ndignation, break thy bonds, and burst forth\\nfrom thy lair Oh, thou gavest to the angry\\nserpent his deadly glance arm my tongue\\nwith poisonous stings.\\nTal. (To Elizabeth.) Forgive the an-\\ngry transports which thou hast thyself pro-\\nvoked.\\nLei. (Induci?ig Elizabeth to withdraw.)\\nHear not the ravings of a distracted woman.\\nLeave this ill\\nMary. The throne of England is profaned\\nby a base-born the British nation is duped\\nby a vile pretender If right did prevail,\\nthou wouldst be grovelling at my feet, for\\ntis I who am thy sovereign. (Elizabeth\\nretires. LEICESTER and Talbot follow.)\\nShe departs, burning with rage, and with\\nbitterness of death at heart. Now happy\\nI am I have degraded her in Leicester s", "height": "4380", "width": "3356", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0334.jp2"}, "335": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n339\\npresence. At last At last After long\\nyears of insult and contumely, I have at\\nleast enjoyed a season of triumph. {Sinks\\nupon the floor.\\n[CURTAIN.] SCHIUvER.\\nTABIvKAU.\\n(Curtain rises. Mary reclines upon the floor, disheveled\\nhair, face buried in hands, shaking with emotion. Elizabeth\\nstands glaring at her, face livid with anger, clenched fists. Lei-\\ncester is restraining her his hand is raised as if admonishing\\nher not to yield to her rage and do an act unbecoming a queen.\\nTalbct leans over Mary, to whom he appears to offer words of\\nhope and consolation, at the same time lifting his right hand im-\\nploringly to Elizabeth.\\nFROM THE PEASANT BOY.\\nCharacters Alberti, Julian, Montaldi, Stefano, Ludovico,\\nAmbrose, Vincent, Guards, Etc.\\n(Enter Guards, conducting Julian all the characters follow-\\ning, and a crowd of vassals Alberti advances to the judgment\\nseat.)\\nALBBRTi. My people the cause of\\nyour present assemblage too well is\\nknown to you. You come to witness\\nthe dispensations of an awful but impartial\\njustice; either to rejoice in the acquittal\\nof innocence wrongfully accused, or to\\napprove the conviction of guilt, arrested in\\nits foul career. Personal feelings forbid me\\nto assume this seat myself yet fear not but\\nthat it will be filled by nobleness and honor\\nto Montaldi only, I resign it.\\nJulian. He my judge then I am lost\\nindeed. {Aside\\nAlb. Ascend the seat, my friend, and\\ndecide from it as your own virtuous con-\\nscience shall direct this only will I say\\nshould the scales of accusation and defense\\npoise doubtfully, let mercy touch them with\\nher downy hand, and turn the balance on\\nthe gentler side.\\nMontaldi. {Ascending the seat.) Your\\nwill and honor are my only governors\\n{Bows.) Julian stand forth you are\\ncharged with a most foul and horrible\\nattempt upon the life of my noble kins-\\nman the implements of murder have been\\nfound in your possession, and many power-\\nful circumstances combine to fix the guilt\\nupon you. What have you to urge in\\nvidication,\\nJul. First, I swear by that Power, whom\\nvice dreads and virtue reverences, that no\\nsyllable but strictest truth shall pass my\\nlips. On the evening of yesterday, I\\ncrossed the mountain to the monastery or\\nSt. Bertrand my errand thither finished, I\\nreturned directly to the valley. Rosalie\\nsaw me enter the cottage soon afterward a\\nstrange outcry recalled me to the door a\\nmantle spread before the threshold caught\\nmy eye I raised it, and discovered a mask\\nwithin it. The mantle was newly stained\\nwith blood Consternation seized upon my\\nsoul the next minute I was surrounded by\\nguards, and accused of murder. They pro-\\nduced a weapon I had lost in defending\\nmyself against a ferocious animal. Con-\\nfounded by terror and surprise, I had not\\npower to explain the truth, and loaded with\\nchains and reproaches, I was dragged to\\nthe dungeons of the castle. Here my\\nknowledge of the dark transaction ends,\\nand I have only this to add I may become\\nthe victim of circumstances, but I never\\nhave been the slave of crime\\nMon. {Smiling ironically?) Plausibly\\nurged have you no more to offer\\nJul. Truth needs but few words I have\\nspoken\\nMon. Yet bethink yourself dare you\\nabide by this wild tale, and brave a sentence\\non no stronger plea\\nJul. Alas I have none else to offer\\nMon. You say on the evening of yester-\\nday, you visited the monastery of St. Bert-\\nrand. What was your business there\\nJul. With father Nicolo to engage him\\nto marry Rosalie and myself on the follow-\\ning morning.\\nMon. A marriage, too! Well! at\\nwhat time did you quit the monastery\\nJul. The bell for vesper- service had just\\nceased to toll.\\nMon. By what path did you return to\\nthe valley\\nJul. Across the mountain.\\nMon. Did you not pass through the\\nwood of olives, where the dark deed was\\nattempted\\nJul. {Recollecting.) The wood of olives.\\nMon. Ha! mark! he hesitates speak!\\nJul. No my soul scorns to tell a false-\\nhood. I did pass through the wood of\\nolives\\nMon Ay and pursuit was close behind\\nStefano., you seized the prisoner", "height": "4384", "width": "3112", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0335.jp2"}, "336": {"fulltext": "34\u00c2\u00b0\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nStefano. I did. The bloody weapon\\nbore his name the mask and mantle were\\nin his hands, confusion in his countenance,\\nand every limb shaking with alarm.\\nMon. Enough! Heavens! that villany\\nso monstrous should inhabit with such\\ntender youth I fain would doubt, and ia\\ndespite of reason, hesitate to give my sen-\\ntence but conviction glares from every\\npoint, and incredulity would now be mad-\\nness. Not to descant on the absurdity of\\nyour defense, a tale too wild for romance\\nitself to sanction, I find from your admis-\\nsion a damning chain of circumstance that\\nconfirms your crimmality. The time at\\nwhich you passed the wood, and the hour\\nof the duke s attack, precisely correspond.\\nYour attachment to Rosalie presents the\\nmotive of your offense burning with\\nimpatient love, knowing vanity to sway\\nthe soul of woman, and trusting to win its\\ninfluence by the bribes of luxury, you\\nsought to rush on fortune by the readiest\\npath, and snatch from the unwary traveler\\nthat sudden wealth which honest labor\\ncould only by slow degrees obtain. De-\\nfeated in the dark attempt, you fled pur-\\nsuit was instant your steps were traced\\nand at the very door of your cottage, you\\nwere seized before the evidences of your\\nguilt could be secreted. Oh wretched\\nyouth, I warn you to confess. Sincerity\\ncan be your only claim to mercy.\\nJul. My heart will burst But I have\\nspoken truth yes Heaven knows that I\\nhave spoken truth\\nMon. Then I must exercise my duty.\\nDeath is my sentence,\\nJul. Hold pronounce it not as yet\\nMon. If you have any further evidence,\\nproduce it.\\nJul. With despairing e?iergy.) I call on\\nLudovico.\\n(Ludovico steps forward with alacrity Mo?i-\\ntaldi recoils with visible trepidation.}\\nLudovico. I am here\\nMon. And what can he unfold? only\\nrepeat that which we already know. I will\\nnot hear him the evidence is perfect\\nAlb. (Rising with warmth^) Hold! Mon-\\ntaldi, Ludovico must be heard to the ear\\nof justice, the lightest syllable of proof is\\nprecious.\\nMon. {Confused.) I stand rebuked. Well,\\nLudovico, depose your evidence.\\nLud. Mine was the fortunate arm ap-\\npointed by Heaven to rescue the duke. I\\nfought with the assassin, and drove him\\nbeyond the trees into the open lawn. I\\nthere distinctly marked his figure, and from\\nthe difierence in the height alone, I solemnly\\naver Julian cannot be the person.\\nMon. This is no proof the eye might\\neasily be deceived. I cannot withhold my\\nsentence longer.\\nLud. I have further matter to advance.\\nJust before the ruffian fled, he received a\\nwound across his right hand the moon-\\nlight directed my blow, and showed me\\nthat the cut was deep and dangerous. Juli-\\nan s fingers bear no such mark.\\nMon. (Evincing great emotion and invo-\\nhmtarily drawing his glove closer over his\\nhand.) A wound mere fable\\nLud. Nay, more the same blow struck\\nfrom off one of the assassin s fingers, a\\njewel it glittered as it fell I snatched it\\nfrom the grass I thrust it within my bosom,\\nand have ever since preserved it next my\\nheart I now produce it tis here a ring\\nan amethyst set with brilliants\\nAlb. (Rising hastily^) What say you\\nan amethyst set with brilliants even such\\nI gave to Montaldi. Let me view it\\n(As Ludovico advances to present the ring\\nto the duke, Montaldi rushes ivith frantic\\nimpetuosity between, and atte?npts to seize it.)\\nMon. Slave resign the ring\\nLud. I will yield my life sooner\\nMon. Wretch I will rend thy frame to\\natoms (They struggle with violence, Mon-\\ntaldi snatches at the ring, Luodvico catches\\nhis hand and tears off the glove the wound\\nappears^)\\nLud. Oh God murder is unmasked\\nthe bloody mark is here Montaldi is the\\nassassin. (All rush forward in astonish-\\nment Juliayi drops upo?i his k?iees in 7nute\\nthanksgiving\\nMon. Shame! madness!\\nAlb. Eternal Providence Montaldi a\\nmurderer\\nMon. Ay accuse, and curse idiots\\ndupes I heed you not. I can but die\\nTriumph not, Alberti I trample on thee\\nStill (Draws a poignard and attempts to", "height": "4372", "width": "3404", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0336.jp2"}, "337": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n34i\\ndestroy himself- the weapon is wrested from\\nhis hand by the guards\\nAlb. Fiend thy power to sin is past.\\nMon. {Delirious with passion. Ha ha\\nha my brain scorches, and my veins\\nrun with fire disgraced, dishonored oh\\nmadness I cannot bear it save me oh\\n{Falls insensible into the arms of attendants\\nAlb. Wretched man bear him to his\\nchamber his punishment be hereafter.\\n(Montaldi is carried off.)\\nJul. Oh my joy is too full for words\\nAmbrose. My noble boy\\nVincent. Rosalie shall reward him.\\nAlb. Yes, they are children of virtue\\nTheir happiness shall be my future care.\\nLet this day, through each returning year,\\nbecome a festival on my domain. Heaven,\\nwith peculiar favor, has marked it for its\\nown, and taught us, by the simple moral of\\nthis hour, that howsoever in darkness guilt\\nmay veil its malefactions from the eye of\\nman, an omniscient Judge will penetrate\\neach hidden sin, and still, with never-fail-\\ning justice, confound the vicious and pro-\\ntect the good\\nJul.\\nAlb.\\nThe peasant boy, redeemed from fate,\\nMust here for mercy sue,\\nHe dares not trust decrees of state,\\nTill ratified by you.\\nThen gentles prithee grant our prayer,\\nNor cloud the dawning joy,\\nNot guilty by your hands declare,\\nAnd save the peasant boy\\nFROM QUSTAVUS VASA.\\nCharacteis; Gustavus, Anderson, Arnoldus, Officers, Dale-\\ncarlians.\\nDai^kcaexians. Let us all see him\\nGustavus. Amazement, I perceive,\\nhath filled your hearts,\\nAnd joy for that your lost Gustavus scaped\\nThrough wounds, imprisonments, and\\nchains and deaths,\\nThus sudden, thus unlooked for, stands\\nbefore ye.\\nAs one escaped from cruel hands I come,\\nFrom hearts that ne er knew pity, dark and\\nvengeful\\nWho quaff the tears of orphans, bathe in\\nblood,\\nAnd know no music but the groans of\\nSweden.\\nYet, not because my sister s early inno-\\ncence\\nMy mother s age now grind beneath cap-\\ntivity\\nNor that one bloody, one remorseless hour\\nSwept my great sire and kindred from my\\nside\\nFor them, Gustavus weeps not.\\nBut, O great parent, when I think on thee\\nThy numberless, thy nameless, shameful\\ninfamies,\\nMy widowed country Sweden when I\\nthink\\nUpon thy desolation, spite of rage\\nAnd vengeance that would choke them\\ntears will flow.\\nAnderson. Oh, they are villains, every\\nDane of them.\\nPracticed to stab and smile; to stab the\\nbabe,\\nThat smiles upon them.\\nArnoldus. What accursed hours\\nRoll o er those wretches, who, to fiends like\\nthese\\nIn their dear liberty have bartered more\\nThan worlds will rate for\\nGust. Oh, liberty, Heaven s choice pre-\\nrogative\\nTrue bond of law, thou social soul of pro-\\nperty,\\nThou breath of reason, life of life itself?\\nFor thee the valiant bleed. Oh, sacred\\nliberty\\nWinged from the summer s snare, from\\nflattering ruin,\\nLike the bold stork you seek the wintry\\nshore,\\nLeave courts, and pomps, and palaces to\\nslaves,\\nCleave to the cold and rest upon the storm.\\nUpborne by thee, my soul disdained the\\nterms\\nOf empire offered at the hand of tyrants.\\nWith thee I sought this favorite soil with\\nthee\\nThese favorite sons I sought thy sons, O\\nLiberty\\nFor even amid the wilds of life you lead\\nthem,\\nLift their low-raftered cottage to the clouds,\\nSmile o er their heaths, and from their\\nmountain tops\\nBeam glory to the nations.", "height": "4388", "width": "3144", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0337.jp2"}, "338": {"fulltext": "342\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nAll. Liberty Liberty\\nGust. Are ye not marked, ye men of\\nDalecarlia,\\nAre ye not marked by all the circling world\\nAs the great stake, the last effort for liberty\\nSay, is it not your wealth, the thirst, the\\nfood,\\nThe scope and bright ambition of your\\nsouls\\nWhy else have you, and your renowned\\nforefathers,\\nFrom the proud summit cf their glittering\\nthrones,\\nCast down the mightiest of your lawful\\nkings,\\nThat dared the bold infringement What\\nbut liberty,\\nThrough the famed course of thirteen hun-\\ndred years,\\nAloof hath held invasion from your hills,\\nAnd sanctified their shade And will ye,\\nwill ye\\nShrink from the hopes of the expecting\\nworld\\nBid your high honors stoop to foreign\\ninsult,\\nAnd in one hour give up to infamy\\nThe harvest of a thousand years of glory\\nFirst Dale. No\\nSecond Dale. Never, never\\nThird Dale. Perish all first\\nFourth Dale. Die all\\nGust. Yes, die by piecemeal\\nLeave not a limb o er which a Dane may\\ntriumph.\\nNow from my soul I joy, I joy, my friends,\\nTo see ye feared to see, that even your\\nfoes\\nDo justice to your valor There they be,\\nThe powers of kingdoms, summoned in\\nyonder host,\\nYet kept aloof, yet trembling to assail ye.\\nAnd oh, when I look round and see you\\nhere,\\nOf number short, but prevalent in virtue,\\nMy heart swells high, and burns for the\\nencounter.\\nTrue courage but from opposition grows,\\nAnd what are fifty, what a thousand slaves,\\nMatched to the sinew of a single arm\\nThat strikes for liberty, that strikes to save\\nHis fields from fire, his infants from the\\nsword,\\nAnd his large honors from eternal infamy\\nWhat doubt we then\\nShall we, shall we stand here,\\nTill motives that might warm an ague s\\nfrost,\\nAnd nerve the coward s arm, shall poorly\\nserve\\nTo wake us to resistance Let us on\\nOh, yes, I read your lovely fierce impa-\\ntience\\nYou shall not be withheld, we will rush on\\nthem\\nThis is indeed to triumph, where we hold\\nThree kingdoms in our toil is it not glor-\\nious,\\nThus to appall the bold, meet force with\\nfury,\\nAnd push yon torrent back, till every wave\\nFlee to its fountain\\nAnd. On, lead us on, Gustavus one\\nword more\\nIs but delay of conquest.\\nGust. Take your wish.\\nHe who wants arms, may grapple with the\\nfoe,\\nAnd so be furnished. You, most noble\\nAnderson,\\nDivide our powers, and with the famed\\nOlaus\\nTake the left route. You, Eric, great in\\narms\\nWith the renowned Neberbi, hold the right.\\nAnd skirt the forest down then wheel at\\nonce,\\nConfessed to view, and close upon the\\nvale;\\nMyself, and my most valiant cousin here,\\nThe invincible Arvida, gallant Sivard,\\nArnoldus, and these hundred hardy vet-\\nerans,\\nWill pour directly forth, and lead the\\nonset.\\nJoy joy I see confessed from every eye,\\nYour limbs tread vigorous, and your breasts\\nbeat high\\nThin though our ranks, though scanty be\\nour bands,\\nBold are our hearts, and nervous are our\\nhands.\\nWith. us, truth, justice, fame, and freedom\\nclose,\\nEach singly equal to a host of foes.\\n{Exit. Gust leading.)", "height": "4364", "width": "3360", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0338.jp2"}, "339": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n343\\nLOCHIEL S WARNING.\\nThic piece is frequently recited by one person, but is much\\nmore effective in dialogue. Lochiel, a Highland chieftain,\\nwhile on his march to join the Pretender, is met by one of the\\nHighland seers, or prophets, who warns him to return, and not\\nincur the certain ruin and disaster which await the unfortunate\\nprince and his followers on the field of Culloden. When used as\\na dialogue, a blast of trumpet is heard. The curtain being\\ndrawn, Lochiel enters, attired in the Highland fighting costume,\\nand following him should appear in the doorway of the stage two\\nor three armed Scotch soldiers to give the idea of a large number\\nbehind them. The Seek meets him from the other direction,\\ndressed in flowingrobes, and wiih long white hair and beard, and,\\nraising his hands in the attitude of warning, speaks imploringly\\nas f llows\\nSeer.\\nLochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day\\nWhen the lowlands shall meet thee in\\nbattle array\\nFor a field of the dead rushes red on my\\nsight,\\nAnd the clans of Culloden are scattered in\\nflight\\nThey rally, they bleed, for their country\\nand crown,\\nWoe, woe to the riders that trample them\\ndown\\nProud Cumberland prances, insulting the\\nslain,\\nAnd their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod the\\nplain.\\nBut, hark through the fast-flashing light-\\nning of war,\\nWhat steed to the desert flies frantic and\\nfar?\\nTis thine, O Glenullin whose bride shall\\nawait,\\nLike a love- lighted watch-fire, all night at\\nthe gate.\\nA steed comes at morning no rider is\\nthere\\nBut its bridle is red with the sign of\\ndespair\\nWeep, Albin to death and captivity led\\nO weep but thy tears cannot number the\\ndead\\nFor a merciless sword on Culloden shall\\nwave\\nCiilloden, that reeks with the blood of the\\nbrave\\nL.OCHIEL.\\nGo preach to the coward, thou death- telling\\nseer\\nOr, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear,\\nDraw, dotard, around thy old wavering\\nsight,\\nThis mantle, to cover the phantoms of\\nfright\\nSeer.\\nHa laugh st thou, Lochiel, my vision to\\nscorn\\nProud bird of the mountain, thy plume\\nshall be torn\\nSay, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth,\\nFrom his home in the dark-rolling clouds of\\nthe North\\nLo the death-shot of foemen out-speeding,\\nhe rode\\nCompanionless, bearing destruction abroad:\\nBut down let him stoop from his havoc on\\nhigh!\\nAh home let him speed, for the spoiler is\\nnigh.\\nWhy flames the far summit Why shoot\\nto the blast\\nThose embers, like stars from the firmament\\ncast?\\nTis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully\\ndriven\\nFrom his eyry, that beacons the darkess of\\nHeaven.\\nO, crested Lochiel the peerless in might,\\nWhose banners arise on the battlements\\nheight,\\nHeaven s fire is around thee, to blast and\\nto burn\\nReturn to thy dwelling all lonely return\\nFor the blackness of ashes shall mark where\\nit stood,\\nAnd a wild mother scream o er her famish-\\ning brood\\nLochiel.\\nFalse Wizard, avaunt I have marshalled\\nmy clan\\nTheir swords are a thousand their bosoms\\nare one\\nThey are true to the last of their blood, and\\ntheir breath,\\nAnd like reapers, descend to the harvest of\\ndeath.\\nThen welcome be Cumberland s steed to\\nthe shock\\nLet him dash his proud foam like a wave on\\nthe rock\\nBut woe to his kindred, and woe to his\\ncause,\\nWhen Albin her claymore indignantly\\ndraws\\nWhen her bonneted chieftains to victory\\ncrowd.", "height": "4388", "width": "3144", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0339.jp2"}, "340": {"fulltext": "344\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nClanronald the dauntless, and Moray the\\nproud\\nAll plaided, and plumed in their tartan\\narray\\nSeer.\\nLochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day\\nFor, dark and despairing, my sight I may\\nseal,\\nYet man cannot cover what God would\\nreveal\\nTis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,\\nAnd coming events cast their shadows\\nbefore.\\nI tell thee, Culloden s dread echoes shall\\nring\\nWith the bloodhounds that bark for thy\\nfugitive king.\\nLo anointed by Heaven with vials of\\nwrath,\\nBehold where he flies on his desolate path\\nNow in darkness, and billows, he sweeps\\nfr.om my sight\\nRise Rise ye wild tempests, and cover\\nhis flight\\nTis finished. Their thunders are hushed\\non the moors\\nCulloden is lost, and my country deplores.\\nBut where is the iron-bound prisoner\\nWhere\\nFor the red eye of battle is shut in despai\\nSay, mounts he the ocean- wave, banished,\\nforlorn,\\nLike a limb from his country, cast bleeding,\\nand torn\\nAh no for a darker departure is near\\nThe war-drum is muffled, and black is the\\nbier\\nHis death-bell is tolling oh mercy, dis-\\npel\\nYon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell\\nLife flutters, convulsed in his quivering\\nlimbs,\\nAnd his blood-streaming nostril in agony\\nswims.\\nAccursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet,\\nWhere his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases\\nto beat,\\nWith the smoke of its ashes to poison the\\ngale\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nLOCHIEL.\\nDown, soothless insulter I trust not the\\ntale\\nFor never shall Albin a destiny meet\\nSo black with dishonor so foul with rer\\ntreat.\\nTho his perishing ranks should be strowed\\nin their gore,\\nLike ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten\\nshore,\\nLochiel, untainted by night, or by chains,\\nWhile the kindling of life in his bosom re-\\nmains,\\nShall victor exult, or in death be laid low,\\nWith his back to the field and his feet to the\\nfoe!\\nAnd leaving in battle no blot on his name,\\nLooks proudly to Heaven from the death-\\nbed of fame.\\nC ESAR S MESSAGE TO CATO,\\n{Dialogue between Decius and Cato.)\\nDECius. Caesar sends health to Cato.\\nCato. Could he send it\\nTo Cato s slaughtered friends, it\\nwould be welcome.\\nAre not your orders to address the Senate\\nDec. My business is with Cato, Caesar\\nsees\\nThe straits to which you re driven and, as\\nhe knows\\nCato s high worth, is anxious for your life.\\nCato. My life is grafted on the fate of\\nRome.\\nWould he save Cato Bid him spare his\\ncountry.\\nTell your dictator this and tell him, Cato\\nDisdains a life which he has power to offer.\\nDec. Rome and her senators submit to\\nCaesar\\nHer generals and her consuls are no more,\\nWho checked his conquests and denied his\\ntriumphs.\\nWhy will not Cato be this Caesar s friend\\nCato. Those very reasons thou hast urged\\nforbid it.\\nDec. Cato, I ve orders to expostulate,\\nAnd reason with you, as from friend to\\nfriend.\\nThink on the storm that gathers o er your\\nhead,\\nAnd threatens every hour to burst upon it\\nStill may you stand high in your country s\\nhonors", "height": "4356", "width": "3372", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0340.jp2"}, "341": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n345\\nDo but comply and make your peace with\\nCaesar,\\nRome will rejoice, and cast its eyes on Cato,\\nAs on the second of mankind.\\nCato. No more\\nI must not think of life on such conditions.\\nDec. Caesar is well acquainted with your\\nvirtues,\\nAnd therefore sets this value on your life\\nLet him but know the price of Cato s friend-\\nship,\\nAnd name your terms.\\nCato. Bid him disband his legions,\\nRestore the commonwealth to liberty,\\nSubmit his actions to the public censure,\\nAnd stand the judgment of a Roman Senate\\nBid him do this, and Cato is his friend.\\nDec. Cato, the world talks loudly of your\\nwisdom\\nCato. Nay, more, though Cato s voice\\nwas ne er employed\\nTo clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes,\\nMyself will mount the Rostrum in his favor,\\nAnd strive to gain his pardon from the peo-\\nple.\\nDec. A style like this becomes a con-\\nqueror.\\nCato. Decius, a style like this becomes a\\nRoman.\\nDec. What is a Roman, that is Caesar s\\nfoe?\\nCato. Greater than Caesar, he s a friend\\nto virtue.\\nDec. Consider, Cato, you re in Utica,\\nAnd at the head of your own little Senate\\nYou don t now thunder in the Capitol,\\nWith all the mouths of Rome to second\\nyou.\\nCato Let him consider that who drives us\\nhither\\nTis Caesar s sword has made Rome s Senate\\nlittle,\\nAnd thinned its ranks. Alas thy dazzled\\neye\\nBeholds this man in a false glaring light,\\nWhich conquest and success have thrown\\nupon him\\nDidst thou but view him right, thou dst see\\nhim black\\nWith murder, treason, sacrilege, and\\ncrimes\\nThat strike my soul with horror but to name\\nthem.\\nI know thou look st on me as on a wretch,\\nBeset with ills and covered with misfor-\\ntunes\\nBut, as I love my country, millions of\\nworlds\\nShould never buy me to be like that Caesar.\\nDec. Does Cato send this answer back to\\nCaesar,\\nFor all his generous cares and proffered\\nfriendship\\nCato. His cares for me are insolent and\\nvain\\nPresumptuous man the gods take care of\\nCato.\\nWould Caesar show the greatness of his\\nsoul,\\nBid him employ his care for these my\\nfriends,\\nAnd make good use of his ill-gotten power,\\nBy sheltering men much better than himself.\\nAddison.\\nA DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN.\\nCharacters and Costumes.\\nReader Lady or gentleman, who stands in front and to one\\nside of curtain, read poem, as though relating a dream.\\nHelen of Tkoy White, purely Grecian, straight garment,\\nslightly bloused at waist, caught at shoulder with large but-\\nton skirt, which hangs straight, may be trimmed with Gre-\\ncian border of narrow gold braid three bands of white rib-\\nbon round hair, which is knotted at back, well off neck san-\\ndals.\\nIphigenia Also white Grecian, long, loose robe falling in grace-\\nful folds from left shoulder trimmed piece that drapes from\\nshoulder, with light blue or silver braid; hair knot at back\\nsandals.\\nCleopatra Shimmering satin or silk gown, angel sleeves as\\nmuch gold lace and brilliant jewelry as possible armlets,\\nbracelets, necklace, rings, girdle and crown large fan of pea-\\ncock feathers.\\nJephthah s Daughter Long robe of rich red material, arm-\\nlets, bracelets, and timbrel (tambourine can be substituted);\\nlong dark hair, hanging.\\nRosamond Twelfth-century costume pointed waist, high col-\\nlar, large full slee\\\\es, tight at wrist, pointed lace cuffs and\\ncollar; jeweled girdle.\\nQueen El:-:anok Long trained robe of purple or black velvet,\\ntrimmed with white fur, over petticoat of white satin crown,\\ndagger, cup of poison.\\nSir Thomas Moore s Daughter Black velvet gown, plain\\nlong skirt, pointed bodice long light hair, hanging.\\nJoan of Arc Short red skirt shield, helmet, sword, and\\ngauntlets.\\nQueen Elinor Soft white dress auburn hair, hanging.\\nScene A woodland scene, if possible otherwise, hang green\\ncurtain across back of stage, so as to ive background ot\\ndark green folds. Stretch diagonally across left corner ot\\nstage a smaller curtain, hiding bower.\\nReader (before closed curtains)\\nI read, before my eyelids dropt their\\nshade,\\nThe Lege?id of Good Women, long\\nago", "height": "4388", "width": "3144", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0341.jp2"}, "342": {"fulltext": "34^\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nSung by the morning star of song, who Ranges of glimmering vaults with iron\\nmade grates,\\nHis music heard below. And hushed seraglios.\\nDan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet So shape chased shape as swift as when to\\nbreath\\nPreluded those melodius bursts that fill\\nThe spacious times of great Elizabeth\\nWith sounds that echo still.\\nAnd, for awhile, the knowledge of his art\\nHeld me above the subject, as strong\\ngales\\nHold swollen clouds from raining, tho my\\nheart\\nBrimfull of those wild tales,\\nCharged both mine eyes with tears. In\\nevery land\\nI saw, wherever light illumineth,\\nBeauty and anguish walking hand in hand,\\nThe downward slope to death.\\nThose far-renowned brides of ancient song\\nPeopled the hollow dark, like burning\\nstars,\\nAnd I heard sounds of insult, shame, and\\nwrong,\\nAnd trumpets blown for wars\\nAnd clattering flints battered with clanging\\nhoofs\\nAnd I saw crowds in columned sanctua-\\nries\\nAnd forms that pass at windows and on\\nroofs\\nOf marble palaces\\nCorpses across the threshold heroes tall,\\nDislodging pinnacle and parapet\\nUpon the tortoise creeping to the wall.\\nLances in ambush set\\nland\\nBluster the winds and tides the self-same\\nway\\nCrisp foam-flakes scud along the level sand,\\nTorn from the fringe of spray.\\nI started once, or seemed to start, in pain,\\nResolved on noble things, and strove to\\nspeak,\\nAs when a great thought strikes along the\\nbrain\\nAnd flushes ail the cheek.\\nAnd once my arm was lifted to hew down\\nA cavalier from off his saddle bow\\nThat bore a lady from a leagured town\\nAnd then, I know not how,\\nAll those sharp fancies, by down-lapsing\\nthought\\nStreamed downward, lost their edges,\\nand did creep,\\nRolled on each other, rounded, smoothed\\nand brought\\nInto the gulfs of sleep.\\nAt last methought that I had wandered\\n(Curtain withdrawn disclosing woodland scene.)\\nFar in an old wood, fresh- washed in cool-\\nest dew,\\nThe maiden splendors of the morning star\\nshook\\nIn the steadfast blue.\\nEnormous elm-tree boles did stoop and lean\\nUpon the dusky brushwood underneath,\\nTheir broad curved branches, fledged with\\nclearest green,\\nNew from its silken sheath.\\nAnd high shrine-doors burst thro with\\nheated blasts\\nThat run before the fluttering tongues of The dim red moon had died, her journey\\ndone,\\nAnd with dead lips smiled at the twilight\\nplain\\nHalf fall n across the threshold of the sun,\\nNever to rise again.\\nThere was no motion in the dumb, dead\\nair,\\nNot any song of bird or sound of rill\\nfire,\\nWhite-surf wind scattered over sails and\\nmasts,\\nAnd ever climbing higher.\\nSquadrons and squares of men in brazen\\nplates,\\nScaffolds, still sheets of water, divers\\nwoes,", "height": "4376", "width": "3348", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0342.jp2"}, "343": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n347\\nGross darkness of the inner sepulchre\\nIs not so deadly still\\nAs that wide forest. Growths of jasmine\\nturned\\nTheir hurried arms, festooning tree to tree,\\nAnd at the root thro lush green grasses\\nburned\\nThe red anemone.\\nI knew the flowers, I knew the leaves, I\\nknew\\nThe tearful glimmer of the languid dawn\\nOn those long, rank, dark wood- walks\\ndrenched dew,\\nReading from lawn to lawn.\\nThe smell of violets hidden in the green\\nPoured back into the empty soul and\\nframe\\nThe times when I remembered to have been\\nJoyful and free from blame.\\nAnd from within a clear undertone\\nThrilled thro mine ears in that unbliss-\\nful clime,\\nCleopatra (within\\nPass freely thro the wood is all thine\\nown\\nUntil the end of time.\\nReader.\\nAt length I saw (Helen of Troy enters back\\nentra,7ice advance slowly to middle of stage\\nstand in statuesque attitude) a lady within\\ncall\\nStiller than chiselled marble, standing\\nthere\\nA daughter of the gods, divinely tall\\nAnd most divinely fair.\\nHer lovliness with shame and with surprise\\nFroze my swift speech she turning on\\nmy face\\nThe starlight sorrows of immortal eyes\\nSpoke slowly in her place.\\nHEEEN oe Troy (turning and speaki?ig\\nslowly)\\nI had great beauty ask thou not my name\\nNo one can be more wise than destiny.\\nMany drew swords and died. Where er I\\ncame\\nI brought calamity.\\nReader.\\nNo marvel, sovereign lady in fair field\\nMyself for such a face had boldly died.\\n(Enter trom left entiance Iphigenia as she advances to from\\nHelen .etires to back of stage.)\\nAnd turning I appeared to one who stood\\nbeside.\\nBut she with sick and scornful looks averse\\nTo her full height her stately stature\\ndraws\\nIphigenia (with bitterness.)\\nMy youth was blasted with a curse\\n(Pointing to Heien).\\nThis woman was the cause.\\nI was cut off from hope in that sad place,\\nWhich yet to name my spirit loathes and\\nfears\\nMy father held his hand upon his face\\nI, blinded by my tears,\\nStill strove to speak my voice was thick\\nwith sighs\\nAs in a dream, dimly I would descry\\nThe stern black-bearded kings with wolfish\\neyes,\\nWaiting to see me die.\\nThe high masts flickered as they lay afloat\\nThe crowds, the temples, wavered, and\\nthe shore\\nThe bright death quivered at the victim s\\nthroat\\nTouched and I knew no more.\\nHelen oe Troy (sadly, with bowed head,\\nleaving stage off right.)\\nI would the white, cold, heavy plunging\\nfoam,\\nWhirled by the wind, had rolled me deep\\nbelow,\\nThen when I left my home. (Exit JL.,\\nIph igen ia following\\nReader.\\nHer slow full words sank on the silence\\ndrear\\nAs thunder drops fall on a sleeping sea\\nSudden I heard a voice", "height": "4388", "width": "3140", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0343.jp2"}, "344": {"fulltext": "34*\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n(Inner curtain withdraws, discovering Cleopatra half reclining on\\ncrimson couch, under bower of green.)\\nCleopatra.\\nHa, ha! come here that I may look on\\nthee.\\n(Rising on arm and looking at reader again reclining.)\\nHa ha ha govern men by change\\nAnd so I swayed all words. {Sighing\\nTis long since I have seen a man.\\nOnce, like the moon, I made\\nThe ever-shifting currents of the blood\\nAccording to my humor ebb and flow.\\nI have no men to govern in this mood\\nThat makes my only woe.\\nNay, yet it chafes me that I could not bend\\nOne will nor tame and tutor with mine\\neye\\nThat dull, cold-blooded Caesar. Pr ythee,\\nfriend, (Liaising on elbow.)\\nWhere is Mark Antony\\nThe man, my lover, with whom I rode\\nsublime\\nOn Fortune s neck we sat as God by\\nGod:\\nThe Nilus would have risen before this time\\nAnd flooded at our nod.\\nWe drank the Libyan sun to sleep, and lit\\nLamps that outburned Canopus. O my\\nlife\\nIn Egypt O the dalliance and the wit,\\nThe flattery and the strife,\\nAnd the wild kiss, when fresh from war s\\nalarms\\nMy Hercules, my Roman Antony,\\nMy mailed Bacchus leapt into my arms,\\nContent there to die\\nAnd there he died and when I heard my\\nname\\nSighed forth with life I would not brook\\nmy fear\\nOf the other with a worm I balked his\\nfame,\\nWhat else was left\\nI died a Queen. The Roman soldier found\\nMe lying dead, my crown about my\\nbrows,\\nA name forever lying robed and crowned,\\nWorthy a Roman spouse.\\n(Sinks back on couch, and small curtain is drawn, hiding her\\nfrom view.)\\nReader\\nHer warbling voice, a lyre of widest range\\nStruck by all passion, did fall down and\\nglance\\nFrom tone to tone among and thro all\\nchange\\nOf liveliest utterance.\\nWhen she made pause I knew not for de-\\nlight,\\nBecause with sudden motion from the\\nground\\nShe raised her piercing orbs, and filled with\\nlight\\nThe interval of sound.\\nSlowly my sense undazzled. Then I heard\\n(Soft music.)\\nA noise of some one coming thro the\\nlawn,\\nAnd singing clearer than the crested bird\\nThat claps his wings at dawn.\\n(Soft music continues, growing louder.)\\nAs one that museth where broad sunshine\\nlaves\\nThe lawn by some cathedral, thro the\\ndoor\\nHearing the holy organ rolling waves\\nOf sound on roof and floor within,\\nAnd anthem sung, is charmed and tied\\nTo where he stands so stood I when that\\nflow\\nOf music left the lips {Enter Jephthah s\\nDaughter, walking slowly with up-\\nlifted face of her that died\\nTo save her father s vow\\nThe daughter of the warrior Gileadite,\\nA maiden pure, as when she went along\\nFrom Mizpah s towered gates with welcome\\nlight\\nWith timbrel and with song.\\nMy words leapt forth Heaven heads the\\ncount of crimes\\nWith that wild oath.", "height": "4352", "width": "3360", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0344.jp2"}, "345": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n349\\nJkphthah s Daughter.\\nNot so, nor once alone a\\nThousand times I would be born and die.\\nMy God, my land, my father these did\\nmove me\\nFrom my bliss of life which nature gave,\\nLowered softly by a three-fold cord of love\\nDown to a silent grave.\\nThe light while clouds swam over us.\\nAnon we heard the lion roaring in his\\nden\\nWe saw the large white stars rise one by\\none.\\nOr, from the dark ned glen,\\nSaw God divide the night with flying flame\\nAnd thunder on the everlasting hills.\\nI heard Him, for He spake, and grief be-\\ncame\\nA solemn scorn of ills.\\nWhen the next moon was rolled into the\\nsky,\\nStrength came to me that equaled my de-\\nsire,\\nHow beautiful a thing it was to die for God\\nand\\nFor my sire.\\nIt comforts me in this one thought to dwell,\\nThat I subdued me to my father s will\\nBecause the kiss he gave me, ere I fell\\nSweetens the spirit still.\\n(Exit, sing Glory to God, repeating several times.)\\nReader.\\nHow her face glowed\\nLosing her carol, I stood, pensively,\\nAs one that from a casement leans his\\nhead\\nWhen midnight bells cease ringing sud-\\ndenly,\\nAnd the old year is dead.\\n(Enter Rosamond from back during reading of last sentence.)\\nRosamond.\\nAlas Alas\\nTurn and look on me, I am\\nThat Rosamond, whom men call fair,\\nIf what I was I be.\\nWould I had been some maiden, coarse and\\npoor.\\n21\\nO me that I should ever see the light\\n(Enter Queen Eleanor at right, with cup of poison in one hand,\\ndagger in the other, both of which she offers Rosamond with a\\nlook of scorn.)\\n(Recoiling from Eleanor.)\\nThose dragon eyes of angered Eleanor\\nDo hurt me day and night.\\n(Small curtain withdraws disclosing Cleopatra.)\\nCleopatra to Rosamond.\\nO you tamely died\\nYou should have clung to Fulvia s waist\\nAnd trust the dagger thro her side.\\n(Tableau. Cleopatra looking contemptuously at Rosamond, who\\nis frightened and seeks to escape small curtains closes.)\\nReader.\\nWith that sharp sound the white dawn s\\ncreeping beams\\nStol n to my brain, dissolved the mystery\\nOf folded sleep. The captain of my dreams\\nRuled in the eastern sky.\\nMoon broadened on the borders of the dark\\nKre I saw {curtains drawn disclosing Sir\\nThomas Moore s daughter holding up\\ndress, as if to catch the fallen head\\nface expressing deepest a?iguish) her\\nwho clasped in her last trance.\\nHer murdered father s head, or (enter\\nfoan of Arc from back; as she enters,\\ndraws sword, raises shield, and re??iains\\nposed thus) Joan of Arc, the light\\nOf ancient France.\\nOr her {inner curtain withdrawn, disclosing\\nQueen Elinor kneeling beside Edward)\\nwho knew that Love can vanquish\\nDeath,\\nWho kneeling, with one arm about her\\nking,\\nDrew forth the poison with her balmy\\nbreath,\\nSweet as new buds in spring.\\n(Curtain closed.)\\nReader.\\nNo memory labors longer from the deep\\nGold mines of thought to lift the hidden\\nore\\nThat glimses, moving up, than I from sleep\\nTo gather and tell o er.\\nEach little sight and sound, with what dull\\npain\\nCompassed, how eagerly I sought to\\nStrike", "height": "4380", "width": "3144", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0345.jp2"}, "346": {"fulltext": "350\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nInto that wondrous track of dreams again,\\nBut no two dreams are like.\\nAs when a soul laments, which hath been\\nblest,\\nDesiring what is mingled with past years\\nIn yearnings that can never be expressed,\\nIn sighs or groans or tears.\\nBecause all words, tho culled with choicest\\nart,\\nFailing to give the bitter of the sweet,\\nWither beneath the palate, and the heart\\nFaints, faded by its heat.\\n(Tableau. All the characters in appropriate attitude.)\\nNOTE. All movements should he. gliding\\nand noiseless.\\nCOURTSHIP UNDER DIFFICULTIES.\\nFor two Males and one Female.\\n(This maybe made almost equally successful as a reading.\\nEnter Snobbeeton.\\nSnobbeETON. {Looking in the direction\\nwhence he has just come.) Yes, here is\\nthat fellow Jones, again. I declare, the\\nman is ubiquitous. Wherever I go with my\\ncousin Prudence we stumble across him, or\\nhe follows her like a shadow. Do we take\\na boating So does Jones. Do we wander\\non the beach? So does Jones. Go where\\nwe will, that fellow follows or moves be-\\nfore. Now, that was a cruel practical joke\\nwhich Jones once played upon me at col-\\nlege. I have never forgiven him. But I\\nwould gladly make a pretense of doing so,\\nif I could have my revenge. Let me see.\\nCan t I manage it? He is head over ears in\\nlove with Prudence, but too bashful to\\nspeak. I half believe she is not indifferent\\nto him, though altogether unacquainted. It\\nmay prove a match, if I can not spoil it.\\nLet me think. Ha I have it A brilliant\\nidea! Jones, beware! But here he comes.\\nEnter Jones.\\nJones. {Not seeing Sncbbleton, and de-\\nlightedly contemplating a flower, which he\\nholds in his hand.) Oh, rapture what a\\nprize It was in her hair I saw it fall from\\nher queenly head. {Kisses it every now and\\nthen.) How warm are its tender leaves from\\nhaving touched her neck How doubly\\nsweet is its perfume fresh from the fra-\\ngrance of her glorious locks How beauti-\\nful how Bless me here is Snobbleton.\\nWe are enemies\\nSnobbleton. {Advancing with an air oj\\nfrankness.) Good morning, Jones that is,\\nif you will shake hands.\\nJones. What!\u00e2\u0080\u0094 you forgive! You\\nreally\\nSnobbleton. Yes, yes, old- fellow All is\\nforgotten. You played me a rough trick;\\nbut let bygones be bygones. Will you not\\nbury the hatchet\\nJones. With all my heart, my dear fel-\\nlow. {They shake hands.)\\nSnobbleton. What is the matter with you,\\nJones You look quite grumpy not by\\nany means the same cheerful, dashing, rol-\\nlicking fellow you were.\\nJones. Grumpy what is that? How do\\nI look, Snobbleton\\nSnobbleton. Oh, not much out of the way.\\nOnly a little shaky in the shanks, blue lips,\\nred nose, cadaverous jaws, bloodshot eyes,\\nyellow\\nJones. {Aghast.) Bless me, you don t\\nsay so. {Aside.) Confound the man Here\\nhave I been endeavoring to appear romantic\\nfor the last month and now to be called\\nshaky-shanked, cadaverous it is unbear-\\nable.\\nSnobbleton. But never mind. Cheer up,\\nold fellow! I see it all. Egad I know\\nwhat it is to be in\\nJones. Ah You can then sympathize\\nwith me You know what it is to be in\\nSnobbleto?i. Of course I do! Heaven pre-\\nserve me from the toils What days of bit-\\nterness\\nJo?ies. What nights of bliss.\\nSnobbleton. {Shuddering?) And then\\nthe letters the interminable letters.\\nJones. {With rapture). Oh, yes, the let-\\nters 1 The billet doux\\nSnobbleton. And the bills the endless\\nbills\\nJones {hi surprise?) The bills\\nSnobbleton. Yes and the bailiffs, the\\nlawyers, the judge, and the jury.\\nJones. Why, man, what are you talking\\nabout I thought you said you knew what\\nit was to be in\u00e2\u0080\u0094", "height": "4376", "width": "3360", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0346.jp2"}, "347": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n35i\\nSnobbleton. In debt. To be sure I did.\\nJones. Bless me I m not in debt never\\nborrowed a dollar in my life. Ah, me\\n{sighs) it s worse than that.\\nSnobbleton. Worse than that Come,\\nnow, Jones, there is only one thing worse.\\nYou re surely not in love\\nJones. Yes, I am. {With sudden Jeeling\\nOh, Snobby, help me, help me Let me\\nconfide in you.\\nSnobbleton. {With mock emotion Con-\\nfide in me Certainly, my dear fellow See\\nI do not shrink I stand firm. {Folds his\\narms in a determiyied posture. Blaze away\\nJones. Snobby, I I love her\\nSnobbleto?i. Whom?\\nJones. Your cousin, Prudence.\\nSnobbleton. Ha Prudence Angelina\\nWintefbottom\\nJones. Now, don t be angry, Snobby\\nI don t mean any harm, you know. I I\\nyou know how it is.\\nS?iobbleton. Harm my dear fellow. Not\\na bit of it. Angry Not at all. You have\\nmy consent, old fellow. Take her. She is\\nyours. Heaven bless you both\\nJones. You are very kind, Snobby, but I\\nhaven t got her consent yet.\\nSnobbleton. Well, that is something, to\\nbe sure. But, leave it all to me. She may\\nbe a little coy, you know but, considering\\nyour generous overlooking of her unfortu-\\nnate defect\\nJones. Defect You surprise me.\\nSnobbleton. What and you did not know\\nof it?\\nJones. Not at all. I am astonished\\nNothing serious, I hope.\\nSnobbleton. Oh, no, only a little {He\\ntaps his ear with his finger, knowingly I\\nsee you understand it.\\nJones. Merciful Heaven can it be But,\\nreally is it serious\\nSnobbleton. I should think it was.\\nJones. What But is she ever danger-\\nous\\nSnobbleton. Dangerous Why should\\nshe be\\nJones. {Considerably relieved) Oh, I per-\\nceive A mere airiness of brain a gentle\\naberration scorning the dull world a\\nmild\\nSnobbleton. Zounds, man, she s not crazy\\nJones. My dear Snobby, you relieve me.\\nWhat then\\nSjiobbleton. Slightly deaf. That s all.\\nJones. Deaf!\\nSnobbleton. As a lamp -post. That is,\\nyou must elevate your voice to a consider-\\nable pitch in speaking to her.\\nJones. Is it possible However, I think\\nI can manage. As, for instance, if it was\\nmy intention to make her a floral offering,\\nand I should say {elevating his voice con-\\nsiderably), f Miss, will you make me happy\\nby accepting these flowers I suppose\\nshe could hear me, eh? How would that\\ndo?\\nSnobbleton. Pshaw Do you call that\\nelevated\\nJones. Well, how would this do?\\n{Speaks very loudly?) Miss, will you\\nmake me happy\\nSnobbleton. Louder, shriller, man\\nJones. Miss, will you\\nSnobbleton. Louder, louder, or she will\\nonly see your lips move.\\nJones. {Almost sc? r eaming) Miss, will\\nyou oblige me by accepting these flowers\\nSnobbleton. There, that may do. Still\\nyou want practice. I perceive the lady\\nherself is approaching. Suppose you retire\\nfor a short time, and I will prepare her for\\nthe introduction.\\nJo?ies. Very good. Meantime, I will go\\ndown to the beach and endeavor to acquire\\nthe proper pitch. Let me see Miss, will\\nyou oblige me {Exit Jones still speak-\\ning.)\\n(Enter Prudence, from other side.)\\nPrudence. Good morning, cousin. Who\\nwas that, speaking so loudly\\nSnobbleton. Only Jones. Poor fellow,\\nhe is so deaf that I suppose he fancies his\\nown voice to be a mere whisper.\\nPrudence. Why, I was not aware of\\nthis. Is he very deaf?\\nSnobbleton. Deaf as a stone fence. To\\nbe sure, he does not use an ear-trumpet any\\nmore, but, one must speak excessively\\nhigh. Unfortunate, too, for I believe he is\\nin love.\\nPrudence. With some emotio?i) In love\\nwith whom\\nSnobbleton. Can t you guess", "height": "4388", "width": "3136", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0347.jp2"}, "348": {"fulltext": "352\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nPruaence. Oh, no I haven t the slight-\\nest idea.\\nSnobblcton. With yourself He has been\\nbegging me to obtain him an introduction.\\nPrudence. Well, I have always thought\\nhim a nice-looking young man. I suppose\\nlie would hear me if I should say {speaks\\nloudly), Good-morning, Mr. Jones\\nSnobblcton. {Compassionately) Do you\\nthink he would hear that f\\nPrudence. Well, then, how would {speaks\\nvery loudly 1 Good-morning, Mr. Jones!\\nHow would that do\\nSnobblcton. Tush he would think you\\nwere speaking under your breath.\\nPi udence. {Almost screaming) Good-\\nmorning\\nSnobbleton. A mere whisper, my dear\\ncousin. But here he comes. Now, do try\\nand make yourself audible.\\nEnter jones\\nSnobbleton. {Speaking in a high voice.)\\nMr. Jones, cousin, Miss Winterbottom,\\nJones. You will please excuse me for a\\nshort time. {He retires, but e??iai?is in\\nview.)\\nJones. {Speaking shrill and loud, and\\noffering some flowers Miss, will you accept\\nthese flowers I plucked them from their\\nslumber on the hill.\\nPrudence. {In an equally high voice.)\\nReally, sir, I I\\nJones. {Aside) She hesitates. It must\\nbe that she does not hear me. {Increasi?ig\\nhis tone. Miss, will you accept these flow-\\ners\u00e2\u0080\u0094 flowers I plucked them sleeping\\non the hill hill.\\nPrudence. {Also increasing herto?ie.) Cer-\\ntainly, Mr. Jones. They are beautiful\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nbeau-u-tiful\\nJones. {Aside.) How she screams in my\\near. (Aloud.) Yes, I plucked them from\\ntheir slumber\u00e2\u0080\u0094 slumber, on the hill\u00e2\u0080\u0094 hill.\\nPrudence. {Aside.) Poor man, what an\\neffort it seems to him to speak. {Aloud.)\\nI perceive you are poetical. Are you fond\\nof poetry? (Aside.) He hesitates. I must\\nspeak louder. (In a scream.) Poetry\\npoetry\u00e2\u0080\u0094 POETRY\\nJones. (Aside.) Bless me, the woman\\nwould wake the dead! {Alo?cd.) Yes,\\nMiss, I ad-o-r-e it.\\nSnobbleton. {Solus Jrom behind, rubbing\\nhis hands?) Glorious glorious I won-\\nder how loud they can scream. Oh, venge-\\nance, thou art sweet J\\nPrudence. Can you repeat some poetry\\nPoetry\\nJones. I only know one poem. It is\\nthis\\nYou d scarce expect one of my age Age,\\nTo speak in public on the stage Stage.\\nPrudence. {Putting her lips to his ear\\nand shouti?ig) Bravo bravo\\nJones. {In the same way.) Thank you\\nThank\\nPrudence. {Putting her hands over her\\nears.) Mercy on us Do you think I m\\nDEAF, sir\\nJones. {Also stopping his ears?) And do\\nyou fancy me deaf, Miss\\n(They now speak in their natural tones.)\\nPrude?ice. Are you not, sir You sur-\\nprise me\\nJones. No, Miss. I was led to believe\\nthat you were deaf. Snobbleton told me so.\\nPrudence. Snobbleton Why he told\\nme that y ou were deaf.\\nJo?ies. Confound the fellow he has been\\nmaking game of us. Here he is. {Perceiv-\\ning Snobbleton.) You shall answer for this,\\nsir\\nPrudence. Yes, sir, you shall answer for\\nthis, sir\\nSnobbleton. {Advancing Ha ha ha\\nAnd to whom must I answer\\nJones. {They hum to the audience?) To\\nthese, our friends, whose ears are split.\\nSnobbleton. Well then, the answer must\\nbe brief.\\nPrude?ice. {To Jones.) But they, our\\nfriends, are making it.\\nJones. I hear them, Miss. I am not\\ndeaf.\\nCurtain Falls.\\nGOIN SOMEWHERE.\\nCharacters and Costumes.\\nOld Woman\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Dark dress, old fashioned dolman or shawl, old\\nfashioned bonnet, lace mitts, bird-cage and band-box palm\\nleaf fan.\\nOld Man\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Old fashioned frock coat, high collar, black cravat,\\nwhite tall hat, carpet-sack, extra wrap thrown over arm, also\\na bundle.\\nScene\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Interior of railway car. Two or three seats occupied by\\npassengers.", "height": "4360", "width": "3380", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0348.jp2"}, "349": {"fulltext": "MR. GILLETTE AND KATHERINE FLORENCE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES\\nA GROUP FROM THE PLAY SHENANDOAH\\nExamples of Ea-e and Grace in Acting\\n1353)", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0349.jp2"}, "350": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4292", "width": "3364", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0350.jp2"}, "351": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n355\\nKntkr Old Man, followed by Old\\nWoman.\\nOLD man. Come along, Mary why any-\\nbody d think I d never been nowheres.\\nHaint I spoke in town meetin twict\\nan been a hundred miles on a steamboat, an\\ngot a brother at made the overland trip to\\nCaliforny\\nOld Woman, (taking seat i?i front.) An\\nhaint /been to funerals an quiltin s n sich\\nbut la suz, Philetus they haint nothin to\\ngoin from Posey Keounty to Chicago on\\nthe covered cars tho I know a woman that\\nthinks nothin o settin out on a railroad\\njourney where she has to wait fifteen min-\\nutes at a junction an change cars at a\\ndapot. But, Philetus {looking around anx-\\niously), I b lieve we ve went an tooken the\\nwrong train.\\nOld M. (startled.) It can t be, nohow.\\nDidn t I ask the conductor, an he saidwe s\\nall right\\nOld W. Yes, he did but look out of\\nthe winder an make sure he might a been\\na lyin to us.\\nOld M. (looks out as if at window?) I\\nguess we re all right, Mary.\\nOld W. (whispering.) Ask somebody\\nask that man there.\\nOld M. (to gentleman reading paper be-\\nhind.) This hyr s the train for Chicago,\\nain t it\\nGent. This is the train, sir.\\nOld M. There didn t I tell you\\n[Chuckling\\nOld W. (folding hands?) It may be it\\nmay be but if we re carried wrong, it\\nwon t be my fault. I say that we re wrong\\nand when we ve been led into some pirates\\ncave and butchered for our money, ye 11 wish\\nye had heeded my words.\\nEntkr Conductor.\\nCo?iductor. Tickets, please\\nOld M. (searching every pocket, emptying\\nall sorts of things from one pocket?) Mary,\\nwhat do you s pose has become of them\\ntickets\\nOld W. (searching carpet- sack.) Well,\\nif it don t beat all the way you forgit\\nthings.\\nOld M. (finding tickets finally in his hat\\nwrapped up i?i a huge red bandana.) Q\\nhere they are. I put em in my hat so I d\\nknow right where they was. (Conductor dis-\\nappears with tickets after having collectea from\\nall other passengers Looks like rain over\\nthar in the west. I hope the boys 11 git\\nthem oats in.\\nOld W. That reminds me of the um-\\nberel. (Searching among the luggage for it\\na?id not finding it.) It s gone.\\nOld M. (startled?) W-what\\nOld W. That umbereller\\nOld M. No\\nOld W. Gone\u00e2\u0080\u0094 hide and hair That\\nsky-blue umberel that I ve had ever since\\nMarthy died\\nOld M. (searching.) Wall, that s queer.\\nOld W. Queer not a bit. I ve talked\\nto you and talked to you, but it does no\\ngood you come from a heedless family\\nyou d forgit to put your boots on if I didn t\\ntell ye to.\\nOld M. (in cutting tone?) None of the\\nHarrisons was ever in the poorhouse.\\nOld W. Philetus Philetus H Harrison\\n(laying hand on his arm) don t you dare\\ntwit me of that again I ve lived with you\\nnigh onto forty year, and waited on you\\nwhen you had the biles, and the toothache\\nand the colic, and when you fell and broke\\nyour leg but don t you push me up to the\\nwall (After a pause?) My but I m dret-\\nful thursty. I m glad I fetched that bottle\\nof cold tea (searching among the luggage not\\nfinding it straightens up and whispers), and\\nthat s gone, too\\nOld M, What now\\nOld IV. It s been stole (Looking round\\nat other passengers gasping First the um-\\nbereller then the bottle\\nOld M. I couldn t hev left it, could I\\nOld TV. For land sake don t ask me\\nThat bottle has been in our family twenty\\nyears ever since mother died and now it s\\ngone Land only knows what I ll do for a\\ncamfire bottle when we get home if we\\never do\\nOld M. I ll buy you one.\\nOld W. Yes, I know ye are always ready\\nto buy; an if it wasn t for me to restrain\\nyou, the money d fly like feathers in the\\nwind.\\nOld M. Wall, I didn t have to mortgage\\nmy farm. With a knowing look.)", "height": "4388", "width": "3140", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0351.jp2"}, "352": {"fulltext": "356\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nOld W. Twitting agin It isn t enough\\nthat you ve lost a good umbereller and a cam-\\nfire bottle but you must twit me of this\\nand that. {Weeps.)\\nOld M. {looks sorry after a pause to\\nman across the aisled) What s the sile around\\nhere\\nOld W. Philetus PhiletusH. Harrison!\\nstop your noise {Poking him with her\\nelbow.)\\nOld M. I just asked a question.\\nOld W. What d your brother Joab tell\\nye, the last thing afore we left him Didn t\\nhe say somebody d swindle ye on the string\\ngame, or the confidence game, or some\\nother kind of game? Didn t he warn ye\\nagin rascals\\nOld M. I haint seen no rascals.\\nOld IV. Of course ye hain t, cause yer\\nblind I know that that man s a villin an\\nif they don t arrest him for murder before\\nwe leave this train I ll miss my guess.\\ncan read human natur like a book. {Pause\\nsigh.) I wish I knew that this was the\\ntrain fur Chicago.\\nOld M. Course it is.\\nOld W. How do you know\\nOld M. Cause it is.\\nOld W. Well, I know it hain t but if\\nyou are content to rush along to destruction,\\nI shan t say a word. Only when your throat\\nis bein cut, don t call out that I didn t\\nwarn you\\nEnter Pkanut Boy.\\nPeanut Boy. Nice fresh peanuts pea-\\nnuts peanuts\\nOld W. {seeing O.M. reach in pocket for\\nwallet.) Philetus, you shan t squander that\\nmoney after peanuts\\n(Waving the boy on with one hand, and holding O. M. s arm\\nwith other.)\\nOld M. Didn t I earn it?\\nOld W. Humph you sold two cows to\\ncome on this visit, and the money s half\\ngone now no telling how we git home 1\\n(Sighing deeply.) I wish t I hadn t a-come.\\n{Old M. looks at ceiling, then out at window,\\nand tries to produce a smile?) I know very\\nwell what you want to say, but it s a blessed\\ngood thing for you that I did come. If you\\nhad come alone, you d have been murdered,\\nand gashed and scalped, and sunk into the\\nriver afore now\\nOld M. Pooh\\nOld W. Yes, pooh if you want too\\nbut I know\\n(He leans back, she settles herself with a sigh, and his arm rests\\non the back of the seat. He nods, and she nods, and leans\\nher head on his shoulder. She breathes heavily, he snores\\naudibly. The curtain falls.)\\nLOVE IN THE KITCHEN.\\nCHARACTERS AND COSTUMES.\\nKitty. Short dress, small white apron with pockets, cap,\\nhandkerchief.\\nTeddy. Gray knee-breeches, low shoes, short coat, green\\ntie.\\nKitty. Now, Mr. Malone, when yer\\nspakin like that,\\nIt is aisy to see\\n(He attempts to put his arm around her.)\\nArrah, git out o that\\nWhin discoursin wid ladies, politeness\\nshould tache,\\nThat you r not to use hands, sir, instid ov\\nyer spache.\\nShould the missus come down, sir, how\\nwould I appear\\nWid me hair all bewildhered\\nTeddy {looks at Kitty ruefully). Oh,\\nKitty, me dear,\\nYer pardon I ax, but yer mouth is so sweet\\nIt s a betther acquaintance I m seekin wid\\nit;\\nAn I love you so fondly begorra, it s\\nthrue\\nThat I m always unaisy unless I m wid you,\\nAn thin I m unaisy as bad as before,\\nAn there s nothing ll aise me at all any\\nmore,\\nUntil yer betrothal I ve got, and bedad,\\n(Takes hold her hand with one hand, and puts the other about\\nher waist.\\nI ll not let ye go till yer promise I ve had.\\nKitty {breaking away.) It s jist like yer\\nimpidence, Mr. Malone\\nTeddy. Ye can t call it impidence, Kitty,\\nohone,\\nIn a man to be lovin the likes of yerself,\\nAn ye might marry worse, if I say it myself,\\nFur me heart is yer own, and me wages is\\ngood,\\nAn I know a brick cabin all built out ov\\nwood,\\nTo be had for the axin of Dinnis McCue", "height": "4364", "width": "3356", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0352.jp2"}, "353": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n357\\nFur he s goin to lave it, and thin it will\\ndo,\\nWid some fixin and mendin to keep out\\nthe air,\\nAn a bit ov a board to patch up here and\\nthere\\nAn a thrirle ov mud to discourage the\\ncracks\\nAn we ll make up in lovin whatever it\\nlacks\\nAn its built on a rock, with a mighty fine\\nview\\nOv the country surroundin that same\\navinew\\nAn to be quite ginteel an extension we ll\\nrig,\\nConvanient for keepin an illegant pig\\nAn thin we ll both prosper as nate as yes\\nplaze,\\nAn ye 11 see me an alderman some o these\\ndays\\nSo, Kitty, mavourneen, turn round yer dear\\nface,\\nAn give us one kiss the betrothal to own.\\nKitty. The divil a bit of it, Teddy\\nMalone.\\nD ye think I d be lavin a house ov brown\\nstone\\nFur the tumble-down shanty yer talkin\\nabout,\\nWhile I live like a lady, wid two evenin s\\nout,\\nAn a wardrobe I flatter myself is complete?\\nSure ye couldn t tell missus from me on the\\nstreet,\\nAn at home its the same, fur she s fond of\\nher aise,\\nAn ye couldn t tell which ov us bosses the\\nplace\\nAn its like yer assurance to ask me to lave,\\nAn be the same token\\n(He catches her hand and kisses it.)\\nNow will ye behave\\nL,et go of me hand, sir\\nTeddy. But Kitty, me dear,\\nYe can t be intendin to always live here\\nWid niver a husband, but mopin alone.\\nKitty. Whist, Mr. Malone. Yer very\\nunmannerly\\nTeddy. Divil a man\\nIt s only the truth that I m sayin indade\\nThat yer niver intendin to die an old maid.\\nKitty (coquet lis hly.) It s right ye are,\\nTeddy, how could ye know this\\nTeddy (eagerly.) Well, thin, will it plaze\\nye to give me the kiss.\\nKitty. Git out wid yer blarney (Toss-\\ning her head.)\\nShure how can I tell,\\nThere might be another I like just as well..\\nTeddy. Arrah, Kitty, me darlin don t\\nsay that agin,\\nIf ye wouldn t be killin the thruest of\\nmin\\nBut if there s another ye like more than me\\nThen it s faithless yes are, an its gone I ll\\nbe, (With emotion.)\\nAn I ll die broken-hearted fur the lack av\\nthe joy\\nI thought to be gainin\\nKitty. Why, Teddy, me boy,\\nIs it dyin yer talkin av. What would\\ndo\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAn unmarried widda in mournin fur you?\\n(Shyly.)\\nAn ye wanted a kiss, sur? (Putting up\\nlips to be kissed?)\\n(Teddy kisses her several times.)\\nWell, then, if ye must\\nOh, murther, the man is devourin me just!\\nIs.it aitin me up ye d be after belike?\\nWell, if any one s askin about ye, I ll own\\nThat a broth of a boy is me Teddy Malone.\\nWOMAN S RIGHTS. {Tableau.)\\nA domestic scene, in which the duties\\nof the sexes are reversed. One man\\nshould be at the wash-tub another\\nparing potatoes and rocking the cradle\\nwith his foot. A woman should be reading\\nthe newspaper leisurely another, with pen\\nover her ear, should be poring over some\\naccounts.\\nGIPSY CAHPo {Tableau.)\\nAhalf-dozkn characters of different\\nages. Kettle suspended from forked\\nsticks over a fire. A Gipsy woman\\ntelling the fortune of a young maiden, read-\\ning the secrets from her open palm. The\\nGipsy man weaving baskets or mats.", "height": "4388", "width": "3148", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0353.jp2"}, "354": {"fulltext": "358\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nSIGNING THE PLEDGE. {Tableau.)\\nScene, a drunkard s home. Stool in\\ncentre of stage. Drunkard, kneeling\\nupon one knee, face toward audience.\\nPen in hand, he signs paper lying upon stool.\\nHis eldest daughter is looking timidly over\\nhis right shoulder, her left hand resting\\nupon him. On right stands a temperance ad-\\nvocate, inkhorn in hand. Smiling, he looks\\ndown upon the paper before the signer. On\\nleft center, wife kneels down. In one arm\\nshe holds her babe, her face upturned\\ntoward heaven. The boy has hold of his\\nmother s skirt, looking at her with wonder-\\ning eyes.\\nSAM WELLER S VALENTINE. {Tableau.)\\nSam, a rude, reckless sort of fellow, is\\ndiscovered by his father in the act of\\nwriting a valentine or love-letter to his\\nMary. A short extract from Pickwick\\nPapers descriptive of the scene should\\nprecede the performance.\\nFARMER S KITCHEN REFORE THANKS*\\nGIVING. {Tableau.)\\nA woman kneading bread, another par-\\ning apples, another churning butter,\\na little girl rocking the cradle, grand-\\nmother knitting, grandfather pointing with\\nhis cane to a nail upon which a large boy is\\ntrying to hang up the turkey, a boy with a\\nbasket of nuts.\\nSCRIPTURE TABLEAUX.\\nIn the following Scripture tableaux, read\\nthe Bible text, and if possible secure\\nthe aid of a reliable illustrated diction-\\nary or Biblical encyclopedia\\nEsther before King Ahasuerus.\\nThe Ten Virgins.\\nThe Prodigal Son.\\nPaul before Agrippa.\\nDeparture of Hagar,\\nHALLOWED BE THY NAHE.\\nFor Sunday School Entertainment.\\nTins beautiful tableau may be represented\\nin several ways.\\nA mother in dark dress, and child\\nin white, kneeling upon crimson cushion\\nwith hands folded in attitude of prayer.\\nOr, a young lady in white, hair unbound,\\nin attitude of prayer.\\nSCRIPTURE SCENES.\\nBy careful attention to the matters of\\ndress and light, very beautiful effects\\nmay be produced. Good ideas for\\nthese representations may often be obtained\\nfrom Scriptural paintings, Bible Dictionar-\\nies, etc.\\nJephthah s Daughter.\\nDavid with his Harp.\\nSelling of Joseph by his Brethren.\\nSolomon receiving the Queen of Sheba.\\nJacob in the House of Laban.\\nTHE TWO FLOWER (FLOUR) GIRLS.\\nWhich do you like best f Tableau.)\\nNo. i. A happy bright faced girl carry-\\ning a basket of flowers, herself gaily\\ndecked in them.\\nSuperintendent. That flower girl was\\nvery beautiful, but let us see if the next\\ndoes not appeal to us even more strongly.\\nNo. 2. Enter a Cook, sleeves rolled up,\\nwith hands, face and dress daubed with\\nflour.\\nCHRISTMAS EVE.\\nA Pantomime.\\nCharacters and Costumes. Santa Ciaus, a large boy, with\\nlong white hair and beard, round fur or paper cap, an enormous\\npack strapped upon his shoulders, from which protrude various\\ntoys. A light carriage-cloth may be wrapped about him. George\\nand Fred Two little boys, one quite small, dressed in short\\nblouse and pantaloons in Scene I. In Scenes II, III and IV in\\nlong, colored dressing-gowns. Nellie Small girl with short dress\\nand apron in Scene 1. In Scenes II, III and IV in long white\\nnight-robe. Father and Mother Large boy and girl in ordinary\\nhouse dress, except the father, as Santa Clause in Scene III.\\nSCKNK I.\\nThk children come bounding in, they\\nbow to the audience, glance at the\\nclock, go to a small bureau, and,\\nopening a drawer, extract three pairs of\\ncolored hose. They pin the tops together,\\nand, mounting chairs, proceed to hang them\\ncarefully upon hooks prepared to receive\\nthem. Georgie points to the clock, express-\\ning that it is nearly bed-time. Nellie claps", "height": "4364", "width": "3384", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0354.jp2"}, "355": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n359\\nher hands, and Fred jumps about and smiles\\nhis joy. Taking hold of hands, they bow\\nand go out.\\nSCENE II.\\nThe mother enters with the children, who\\nare robed for sleep. She leades the two\\nyoungest, one by each hand. They pause,\\npointing to the stockings. The mother\\nsmiles, and toys with Fred s curls. She\\nleads them to the couch, over which blankets\\nare spread, and kneels in front of couch,\\nthe children follow her example, with\\nclasped hands and bowed heads. They\\nremain in this attitude a short time, then\\nrising, the mother proceeds to assist the\\ntwo boys into bed, kisses them good-night,\\nlooks out of the window, then tucks the\\ncovering closer about them. She then\\nleads Nellie to the crib, lifts her in, kisses\\nher, arranges the chairs, closes the drawer\\nthat the clildren left open, takes one more\\nlook at the boys and goes out.\\nScene III.\\nSanta Claus comes creeping cautiously\\nin, makes a profound bow to the audience,\\nthen peering at the occupants of couch and\\ncrib to be sure they are locked in the arms\\nof Morpheus, he proceeds to fill the stock-\\nings. While he is thus engaged, the\\nyoungest boy {who should have piercing eyes)\\nslowly raises his curly head from the pillow,\\nand recognizing his father in the person of\\nSanta Claus, places a finger significantly\\nupon his nose, as much as to say, You\\ncan t fool me Of course, his movements\\nare unnoticed by Santa Claus, who fills the\\nstockings to repletion, places sundry other\\nlarge toys, such as a sled, wax doll, hobby,\\netc., under each respective stocking, and\\nlaying a finger upon his lips, bows and goes\\nout.\\nScene IV.\\nThe father and mother enter, and going\\nup to the children, pantomime that they\\nare asleep, and must not be disturbed.\\nThey sit. Children begin to show signs of\\nwaking. Fred leaps to the floor with a\\nbound, rubbing his eyes, the others follow\\nin rapid succession, and mounting chairs,\\nwrench the stockings from the hooks, and\\nscatter their contents over the floor. {They\\nshould contain nothing that would injure by\\nfalling.*) Fred shakes his finger mischiev-\\nously at his father, then rushes up and\\nkisses him heartily. The children gather\\nup the toys, which they drop again, and\\nfinally, with arms full, they all face the\\naudience, bow and go out.\\nJennie Joy.\\nCASTLES IN THE AIR\\nDialogue front Little Women.\\nArranged by Frances Putnam Poglk.\\nCharacters.\\nMeg or Margaret.\\nJo.\\nLaurie.\\nBeth.\\nAmy.\\nScene Sitting-Room, All of the girls busy at something.\\nMeg reading aloud. Amy drawing. Jo knitting Beth sew-\\ning.\\nLAURIE. {Peeping in at door?) May I\\ncome in, please or shall I be a\\nbother\\nJo. Of course, you may. We should\\nhave asked you before, only we thought you\\nwouldn t care for such a girl s game as\\nthis.\\nLaurie I always like your games but\\nif Meg doesn t want me, I ll go away.\\nMeg. I ve no objection, if you do some-\\nthing it s against the rules to be idle here.\\nLaurie. Much obliged I ll do any-\\nthing if you ll let me stop a bit, for it s as\\ndull as the Desert of Sahara down there.\\nShall I sew, read, draw, or do all at once\\nBring on your bears I m ready.\\nJo. Finish the story while I set my heel.\\n{Meg hands book to Laurie, and begins to\\ndarn stockings.)\\nLaurie {meekly.) Yes m. {Takes book\\nand jinishes some short story, while girls go\\non with work?) Please ma am, could I\\ninquire if this highly instructive and charm-\\ning institution is a new one\\nMeg. Would you tell him\\nAmy. He ll laugh.\\nJo. Who cares?\\nBeth. I guess he ll like it.\\nLaurie. Of course I shall I ll give you\\nmy word, I won t laugh. Tell away, Jo,\\nand don t be afraid.", "height": "4388", "width": "3136", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0355.jp2"}, "356": {"fulltext": "560\\nDIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\nJo. The idea of being afraid of you\\nWell, you see we used to play Pilgrim s\\nProgregss, and we have been going on with\\nit in earnest, all winter and summer.\\nLaurie. Yes, I know.\\nJo. Who told you?\\nLaurie. Spirits\\nBeth. No, I did; I wanted to amuse\\nhim one night when you were all away,\\nand he was rather dismal. He did like it,\\nso don t scold, Jo.\\nJo. You can t keep a secret. Never\\nmind it saves trouble now.\\nLaurie. Go on, please.\\nJo. Oh, didn t she tell you about this\\nnew plan of ours Well, we have tried not\\nto waste our holiday, but each has had a\\ntask, and worked at it with a will. The va-\\ncation is nearly over, the stints are all done,\\nand we are ever so glad that we didn t dawdle\\nLaurie. Yes, I should think so.\\nJo. We call this the Delectable Moun-\\ntains, for we can look tar away and see the\\ncountry where we hope to live some day.\\nLaurie. {Looking out oj window How\\nbeautiful that is\\nAmy. It s often so, and we like to watch\\nit, for it is never the same but always splen-\\ndid.\\nBeth. Jo talks about the country where\\nwe hope to live some day the real country,\\nshe means, with pigs and chickens and hay-\\nmaking. It would be nice, but I wish the\\nbeautiful country up there was real, and we\\ncould ever go to it.\\nMeg. There is a lovlier country even\\nthan that, where we shall go, by and by,\\nwhen we are good enough.\\nBeth. {Musingly It seems so long to\\nwait, so hard to do. I want to fly away at\\nonce, as those swallows fly, and go in at that\\nsplendid gate.\\nJo. You ll get there, Beth, sooner or later;\\nno fear of that. I m the one that will have\\nto fight and work, and climb and wait, and\\nmaybe never get it after all.\\nLaurie. You ll have me for company, if\\nthat s any comfort. I shall have to do a\\ndeal of traveling before I come in sight of\\nyour Celestial City. If I arrive late you ll\\nsay a good word for me, won t you, Beth\\nBeth Cheerfully.) If people really want\\nto go and really try all their lives, I think\\nthey will get in for I don t believe there\\nare locks on that door, or any guards at the\\ngate. I always imagine it is as it is in the\\npicture, where the shining ones stretch out\\ntheir hands to welcome poor Christian as he\\ncame up from the river.\\nJo. Wouldn t it be fun if all the castles\\nin the air which we make could come true,\\nand we could live in them\\nLaurie. I ve made such quantities it\\nwould be hard to choose which I d have.\\nMeg. You d have to take your favorite\\none. What is it\\nLaurie. If I tell mine, will you tell\\nyours\\nMeg. Yes, if the girls will, too.\\nAltogether. We will. Now, Laurie.\\nLaurie. After I d seen as much of the\\nworld as I want to, I d like to settle in Ger-\\nmany and have just as much music as I\\nchoose. I m to be a famous musician my-\\nself, and all creation is to rush to hear me\\nand I m never to be bothered about money\\nor business, but just enjoy myself, and live\\nfor what I like. That s my favorite castle.\\nWhat s yours, Meg?\\nMeg. I should like a lovely house, full\\nof all sorts of luxurious things, nice food,\\npretty clothes, handsome furniture, pleasant\\npeople and heaps of money. I am to be\\nmistress of it, and manage it as I like, with\\nplenty of servants, so I never need work a\\nbit. How I should enjoy it fori wouldn t\\nbe idle, but do good and make every one\\nlove me dearly.\\nLaiirie. Wouldn t you have a master for\\nyour castle in the air\\nMeg. I said pleasant people, you\\nknow.\\nJo. Why don t you say you d have a\\nsplendid, wise, good husband, and some\\nangelic children You know your castle\\nwouldn t be perfect without. {Scornfully.)\\nMeg. {Petulantly. You d have nothing\\nbut horses, inkstands and novels in yours.\\nJo. Wouldn t I though? I d have a\\nstable full of Arabian steeds, rooms piled\\nwith books, and I d write out of a magic\\ninkstand, so that my works should be as\\nfamous as Laurie s music. I wont to do\\nsomething splendid before I go into my\\ncastle something heroic or wonderful, that\\nwon t be forgotten after I m dead. I don t", "height": "4376", "width": "3352", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0356.jp2"}, "357": {"fulltext": "DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS\\n361\\nknow what, but I m on the watch for it, and\\nmean to astonish you all, some day. I\\nthink I shall write books and get rich and\\nfamous that would suit me, so that is my\\nfavorite dream.\\nBeth. (Contentedly?) Mine is to stay at\\nhome, safe with father and mother, and\\nhelp take care of the family.\\nLaurie. Don t you wish for anything\\nelse?\\nBeth. Since I had my little piano I am\\nperfectly satisfied. I only wish we could\\nall keep well and be together nothing\\nelse.\\nAmy. I have ever so many wishes but\\nmy pet one is to be an artist, and go to\\nRome, and do fine pictures, and be the best\\nartist in the whole world.\\nLaurie. We are an ambitious set, ain t\\nwe? Every one of us but Beth, wants to\\nbe rich and famous, and gorgeous in every\\nrespect. I do wonder if any of us will ever\\nget our wishes\\nJo. I ve got the key to my castle in the\\nair whether I can unlock the door remains\\nto be seen.\\nLaurie. I ve got the key to mine, but\\nI m not allowed to try it. Hang college\\nAmy Here s mine Wavi?ig her pencil.\\nMeg. I haven t got any. (Forlornly\\nLaurie. Yes, you have.\\nMeg. Where\\nLaurie. In your face.\\nMeg. Nonsense that s of no use.\\nTea bell rings. All rise and lay aside work. Laurie pursues\\nJo s ball.\\nLaurie. (To Meg.) Wait and see if it\\ndoesn t bring something worth having. (To\\nall the girls.) May I come again\\nMeg Yes if you are good (Smiling\\nLaurie. I ll try.\\nJo. (Waving her knitting.) Then you\\nmay come, and I ll teach you to knit as the\\nScotchmen do there is a demand for socks\\njust now.\\n(All leave the room.)", "height": "4388", "width": "3152", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0357.jp2"}, "358": {"fulltext": "Part XII\\nSHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT\\nO h akespeark with sympathies as wide as creation and sensibility as deep as old ocean\\nand susceptible to all objects of universal nature becomes its painter and its dramatist\\nand reveals the heart of man for all time to its fellows. As we turn over his pages we\\nseem not to be conversing with an individual mind or to come in contact with an individ-\\nual character. The works of a god seem to be before us, but they are so varied, and all\\nso perfect that they seem to give us no trace of their parent. The creator of this rich and\\nboundless world of literature is lost in his works we cannot trace him we cannot detect\\nthe personality of him who holds the glass up to natures face and reveals her as she is.\\nMimic and painter of universal nature he paints all character with equal truth and seem-\\ningly with equal relish.\\nOTHELLO S APOLOGY.\\nMost potent, grave and reverend seig-\\nniors\\nMy very noble, and approved good\\nmasters\\nThat I have ta en away this old man s\\ndaughter,\\nIt is most true true, I have married her\\nThe very head and front of my offending\\nHath this extent, no more.\\nRude am I in speech,\\nAnd little blessed with the set phrase of\\npeace\\nFor since these arms of mine had seven\\nyears pith,\\nTill now some nine moons wasted, they\\nhave used\\nTheir dearest action in the tented field\\nAnd little of this great world can I speak,\\nMore than pertains to feats of broils and\\nbattle\\nAnd therefore, little shall I grace my cause,\\nIn speaking of myself.\\n362\\nYet by your gracious patience,\\nI will, a round, unvarnished tale deliver,\\nOf my whole course of love what drugs,\\nwhat charms,\\nWhat conjuration, and what mighty\\nmagic\\nFor such proceedings I am charged\\nwithal\\nI won his daughter with.\\nHer father loved me oft invited me\\nStill questioned me the story of my life\\nFrom year to year the battles, sieges,\\nfortunes,\\nThat I had past.\\nI ran it through, e en from my boyish days,\\nTo the very moment that he bade me tell it.\\nWherein I spake of most disastrous chances\\nOf moving accidents by flood and field\\nOf hairbreadth scapes, in the imminent\\ndeadly breach\\nOf being taken by the insolent foe,\\nAnd sold to slavery of my redemption\\nthence,\\nAnd with it all my travels history.", "height": "4372", "width": "3368", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0358.jp2"}, "359": {"fulltext": "MERCUTIO, THE FRIEND OF ROMEO\\nPosed by Orrin Johnson in Romeo and Juliet", "height": "4388", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0359.jp2"}, "360": {"fulltext": "13\\nII\\n2*\\nQ g\\nDC-\\n1,5\\nO", "height": "4352", "width": "3364", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0360.jp2"}, "361": {"fulltext": "SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT\\n365\\nAll these to hear,\\nWould Desdemona seriously incline\\nBut still the house affairs would draw her\\nthence,\\nWhich ever as she could with haste des-\\npatch,\\nShe d come again, and with a greedy ear,\\nDevour up my discourse. Which, I observ-\\ning,\\nTook once a pliant hour, and found good\\nmeans\\nTo draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,\\nThat I would all my pilgrimage dilate\\nWhereof, by parcels, she had something\\nheard,\\nBut not distinctly.\\nI did consent\\nAnd often did beguile her of her tears,\\nWhen I did speak of some distressful\\nstroke,\\nThat my youth suffered. My story being\\ndone,\\nShe gave me for my pains a world of\\nsighs.\\nShe swore in faith, twas strange, twas\\npassing strange\\nTwas pitiful twas wondrous pitiful\\nShe wished she had not heard it yet she\\nwished\\nThat Heaven had made her such a man.\\nShe thanked me,\\nAnd bade me, if I had a friend that loved\\nher,\\nI should but teach him how to tell my\\nstory,\\nAnd that would woo her. On this hint I\\nspake,\\nShe loved me for the dangers I had passed\\nAnd I loved her that she did pity them,\\nThis is the only witchcraft which I ve used.\\nLOST REPUTATION\u00e2\u0080\u0094 FROH OTHELLO.\\nCharacters I ago, Cassio.\\nI ago. What be you hurt, lieutenant\\nCass. Past all surgery.\\nIago. Marry, Heaven forbid\\nCass. Reputation, reputation, reputation!\\nOh, I have lost my reputation I have lost\\nthe immortal part of myself and what re-\\nmains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my\\nreputation\\nIago. As I am an honest man, I thought\\nyou had received some bodily wound there\\nis more offense in that, than in reputation.\\nReputation is an idle and false imposition\\noft got without merit, and lost without most\\ndeserving. What, man There are ways\\nto recover the general again sue to him,\\nand he is yours.\\nCass. I will rather sue to be despised, than\\nto deceive so good a commander. Oh, thou\\ninvisible spirit of wine if thou hast no\\nname to be known by, let us call thee\\nDevil.\\nIago. What was he that you followed\\nwith your sword? what had he done to\\nyou?\\nCass. I know not.\\nIago. Is it possible\\nCass. I remember a mass of things, but\\nnothing distinctly a quarrel, but nothing\\nwherefore. Oh, that men should put an\\nenemy in their mouths to steal away their\\nbrains that we should with joy, pleasure,\\nrevel, and applause, transform ourselves into\\nbeasts\\nIago. Why, but you are now well enough;\\nhow came you thus recovered\\nCass. It has pleased the devil Drunken-\\nness, to give place to the devil Wrath. One\\nimperfection shows me another, to make me\\nfrankly despise myself.\\nIago. Come, you are too severe a moraler.\\nAs the time, the place, and the condition of\\nthis country stands, I could heartily wish\\nthis had not befallen but since it is as it is,\\nmend it for your own good.\\nCass. I will ask him for my place again\\nhe shall tell me I am a drunkard Had I\\nas many mouths as Hydra, such an answer\\nwould stop them all. To be now a sensible\\nman, by and by a fool, and presently a\\nbeast Every inordinate cup is unblessed,\\nand the ingredient is a devil.\\nIago. Come, come good wine is a good\\nfamiliar creature, if it be well used ex-\\nclaim no more against it and, good lieu-\\ntenant, I think you think I love you\\nCass. I have well approved it, sir I\\ndrunk\\nIago. You, or any man living, may be\\ndrunk some time, man I tell you what", "height": "4384", "width": "3120", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0361.jp2"}, "362": {"fulltext": ";66\\nSHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT\\nyou shall do. Our general s wife is now\\nthe general confess yourself freely to her\\nimportune her help to put you in your place\\nagain. She is of so free, so kind, so apt, so\\nblessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in\\nher goodness, not to do more than she is re-\\nquested. This broken joint between you\\nand her husband entreat her to splinter;\\nand my fortune against any lay worth nam-\\ning, this crack of your love shall grow\\nstronger than it was before.\\nCass. You advise me well.\\nI ago. I protest, in the sincerity of love\\nand honest kindness.\\nCass. I think it freely and betimes in the\\nmorning I will beseech the virtuous Desde-\\nmona to undertake it for me.\\n/ago. You are in the right. Good night,\\nlieutenant.\\nCass. Good night, honest Iago.\\nTRIAL SCENE.\\nFrom Merchant of Venice S\\nCharacters.\\nDuke of Venice,\\nAntonio, a merchant,\\nBassanio, his intimate friend,\\nPortia, the wife of Bassanio,\\nShylock, a Jew,\\nGratiano, the enemy of the\\nTew.\\nThe merchant Antonio had borrowed for his friend Bassanio,\\nfrom Shylock, the Jew, the sum of 3000 ducats and Shylock had\\ncaused to be inserted in the bond, the condition, that if Antonio\\nshould fail to make payment on a certain day, he should forfeit\\na pound of flesh to be cut off neares t his heart.\\nOwing to losses, Antonio was unable to pay on the day ap-\\npointed and although his friends afterwards offered to make\\ndouble, treble and even quadruple payment to the Jew, the latter\\nclaimed, as he had a right, by the strict law of Venice, exact\\nfulfilment of the bond. In this scene Portia, the wife of Bassanio\\na lady of high mental powers and great goodness, but here so\\ndisguised as a learned doctor and judge from Padua, as to be un-\\nrecognized even by her own husband, is introduced to counsel\\nwith the Duke in the administration of justice.\\nThe parties appear in court before the Duke of Venice.\\nDuke. Give me your hand. Came you\\nfrom old Bellario\\nPortia. I did, my lord.\\nDuke. You are welcome take your\\nplace.\\nAre you acquainted with the difference\\nThat holds this present question in the\\ncourt\\nPortia. I am informed thoroughly of the\\ncause.\\nWhich is the merchant here, and which the\\nJew\\nD7i/cc. Antonio and old Shylock, both\\nstand forth.\\nPortia Is your name Shylock\\nShylock. Shylock is my name.\\nPortia. Of a strange nature is the suit\\nyou follow\\nYet in such rule, that the Venetian ,aw\\nCan not impugn you as you do proceed.\\nYou stand within his danger, do you not\\n(To Antonio.)\\nAntonio. Ay, so he says.\\nPortia. Do you confess the bond\\nAntonio. I do.\\nPortia. Then must the Jew be merciful.\\nShylock. On what compulsion must I tell\\nme that.\\nPortia. The quality of mercy is not\\nstrained\\nIt droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven\\nUpon the place beneath it is twice\\nblessed\\nIt blesseth him that gives, and him that\\ntakes.\\nTis mightiest in the mightiest. It be-\\ncomes\\nThe throned monarch better than his\\ncrown\\nHis scepter shows the force of temporal\\npower,\\nThe attribute to awe and majesty,\\nWherein doth sit the dread and fear of\\nkings\\nBut mercy is above this sceptered sway\\nIt is enthroned in the hearts of kings\\nIt is an attribute to God himself\\nAnd earthly power doth then show likest\\nGod s\\nWhen mercy seasons justice. Therefore,\\nJew,\\nThough justice be thy plea, consider this\\nThat, in the course of jussice, none of us\\nShould see salvation we do pray for\\nmercy\\nAnd that same prayer doth teach us all to\\nrender\\nThe deeds of mercy. I have spoken thus\\nmuch\\nTo mitigate the justice of thy plea\\nWhich if thou follow, this strict court of\\nVenice\\nMust needs give sentence gainst the mer-\\nchant there.\\nShylock. My deeds uyon my head I crave\\nthe law,\\nThe penalty and forfeit of my bond.", "height": "4368", "width": "3380", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0362.jp2"}, "363": {"fulltext": "SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT\\n367\\nPortia. Is he not able to discharge the\\nmoney\\nBassanio. Yes, here I tender it for him in\\nthe court\\nYea, twice the sum if that will not suffice,\\nI will be bound to pay it ten times o er,\\nOn forfeit of my hands, my head, my\\nheart\\nIf this will not suffice, it must appear\\nThat malice bears down truth. And I\\nbeseech you,\\nWrest once the law to your authority\\nTo do a great right, do a little wrong t\\nAnd curb this cruel devil of his will.\\nPortia. It must not be there s no\\npower in Venice\\nCan alter a decree established\\nTwill be recorded for a precedent\\nAnd many an error, by the same example,\\nWill rush into the state it cannot be.\\nShy lock. A Daniel come to judgment\\nYea, a Daniel\\nO wise young judge, how do I honor thee\\nPortia. I pray you, let me look upon the\\nbond.\\nShy lock. Here tis, most reverend doc-\\ntor here it is.\\nPortia. Shylock, there s thrice thy\\nmoney offered thee.\\nShylock. An oath, an oath, I have an\\noath in heaven\\nShall I lay perjury upon my soul\\nNo, not for Venice.\\nPortia. Why, this bond is forfeit\\nAnd lawfully by this the Jew may claim\\nA pound of flesh, to be by him cut off\\nNearest the merchant s heart. Be merciful;\\nTake thrice thy money bid me tear the\\nbond\\nShylock. When it is paid according to\\nthe tenor.\\nIt doth appear, you are a worthy judge\\nYou know the law your exposition\\nHath been most sound. I charge you by\\nthe law,\\nWhereof you are a well deserving pillar,\\nProceed to judgment by my soul I swear,\\nThere is no power in the tongue of man\\nTo alter me. I stay here on my bond.\\nAntonio. Most heartily do I beseech the\\ncourt\\nTo give the judgment.\\nPortia. Why, then, thus it is\\nYou must prepare your bosom for his knife.\\nShylock. O noble judge O excellent\\nyoung man\\nPortia. For the intent and purpose of\\nthe law\\nHath full relation to the penalty,\\nWhich here appeareth due upon the bond.\\nShylock. Tis very true O wise and\\nupright judge\\nHow much more elder art thou than thy\\nlooks\\nPortia. Therefore, lay bare your bosom.\\nShylock. Ay, his breast\\nSo says the bond doth it not, noble\\njudge\\nNearest his heart those are the very\\nwords.\\nPortia. It is so. Are there balance here,\\nto weigh\\nThe flesh\\nShylock. I have them ready.\\nPortia Have by some surgeon Shylock\\non your charge,\\nTo stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to\\ndeath.\\nShylock. Is it so nominated in the bond\\nPortia. It is not so expressed but what\\nof that\\nTwere good you do so much for charity.\\nShylock. I cannot find it tis not in the\\nbond.\\nPortia. Come, merchant, have you any-\\nthing to say\\nAntonio. But little I am armed, and\\nwell prepared.\\nGive me your hand, Bassanio fare you\\nwell!\\nGrieve not that I am fallen to this for you\\nFor herein fortune shows herself more kind\\nThan is her custom; it is still her use,\\nTo let the wretched man outlive his wealth;\\nTo view, with hollow eye and wrinkled\\nbrow,\\nAn age of poverty from which lingering\\npenance\\nOf such misery doth she cut me off.\\nCommend me to your honorable wife\\nTell her the process of Antonio s end\\nSay how I loved you speak me fair in death\\nAnd, when the tale is told, bid her be judge,\\nWhether Bassanio had not once a love.\\nRepent not you that you shall lose your\\nfriend", "height": "4388", "width": "3132", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0363.jp2"}, "364": {"fulltext": ";6S\\nSHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT\\nAnd he repents not that he pays your debt\\nFor, if the Jew do cut but deep enough,\\nI ll pay it instantly with all my heart.\\nPortia. A pound of that same merchant s\\nflesh is thine\\nThe court awards it, and the law doth\\ngive it.\\nShy lock. Most rightful judge\\nPortia. And you must cut this flesh from\\noff his breast\\nThe law allows it, and the court awards it.\\nShylock. Most learned judge! A sentence!\\ncome, prepare.\\nPortia. Tarry a little there is something\\nelse\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThis bond doth give thee here no jot of\\nblood\\nThe words expressly are, a pound of\\nflesh.\\nTake then thy bond take thou thy pound\\nof flesh\\nBut, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed\\nOne drop of Christian blood, thy lands\\nand goods\\nAre, by the laws of Venice, confiscate\\nUnto the state of Venice.\\nGratiano O upright j udge Mark Jew\\nO learned judge\\nShy lock. Is that the law\\nPortia. Thyself shall see the act\\nFor, as thou urgest justice, be assured\\nThou shalt have justice, more than thou\\ndesirest.\\nGratia?io. O learned judge Mark, Jew!\\na learned judge\\nShy lock. I take this offer, then pay the\\nbond thrice,\\nAnd let the Christian go.\\nBassanio. Here is the money.\\nPortia. Soft\\nThe Jew shall have all justice soft no\\nhaste\\nHe shall have nothing but the penalty.\\nGratiano. O Jew an upright judge a\\nlearned judge\\nPortia. Therefore prepare thee to cut off\\nthe flesh.\\nShed thou no blood nor cut thou less, nor\\nmore,\\nBut a just pound of flesh. If thou takest\\nmore,\\nOr less than just a pound be it but\\nmuch\\nso\\nAs makes it light or heavy in the sub-\\nstance,\\nOr the division of the twentieth part\\nOf one poor scruple nay, if the scale do\\nturn\\nBut in the estimation of a hair\\nThou diest, and all thy goods are con-\\nfiscate.\\nGratiano. A second Daniel a Daniel,\\nJew\\nNow, infidel, I have thee on the hip.\\nPortia. Why doth the Jew pause take\\nthy forfeiture.\\nShy lock. Give me my principal and let me\\ngo-\\nBassanio. I have it ready for thee here\\nit is.\\nPortia. He hath refused it in the open\\ncourt\\nHe shall have merely justice, and his\\nbond.\\nGratiano. A Daniel, still say I a second\\nDaniel\\nI thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that\\nword.\\nShy lock. Shall I not have barely my\\nprincipal\\nPortia. Thou shalt have nothing but the\\nforfeiture,\\nTo be so taken at thy peril, Jew.\\nShy lock. Why, then the devil give him\\ngood of it\\nI ll stay no longer question.\\nPortia. Tarry, Jew\\nThe law hath yet another hold on you.\\nIt is enacted in the laws of Venice,\\nIf it be proved against an alien,\\nThat, by direct or indirect attempts,\\nHe seek the life of any citizen,\\nThe party, gainst the which he doth con-\\ntrive,\\nShall seize one-half his goods the other\\nhalf\\nComes to the privy coffer of the state\\nAnd the offender s life lies in the mercy\\nOf the duke only, gainst all other voice.\\nIn which predicament, I say, thou standest;\\nFor it appears, by manifest proceeding,\\nThat indirectly, and directly too,\\nThou hast contrived against the very life\\nOf the defendant and thou hast incurred\\nThe danger formerly by me rehearsed.\\nDown therefore and beg mercy of the duke.", "height": "4328", "width": "3404", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0364.jp2"}, "365": {"fulltext": "SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT\\n369\\nGratiano Beg that thou mayst have leave\\nto hang thyself\\nAnd yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the\\nstate,\\nThou hast not left the value of a cord\\nTherefore thou must be hanged at the state s\\ncharge.\\nDuke. That thou shalt see the difference\\nof our spirit,\\nI pardon thee thy life before thou ask it.\\nFor half thy wealth, it is Antonio s\\nThe other half comes to the general state.\\nMARK ANTONY TO THE PEOPLE, ON\\nC/ESAR S DEATH.\\nFrom Julius Cczsar.\\nFriends, Romans, countrymen lend me\\nyour ears\\nI come to bury Caesar, not to praise\\nhim.\\nThe evil that men do lives after them\\nThe good is oft interred with their bones\\nSo let it be with Caesar Noble Brutus\\nHath told you Caesar was ambitious\\nIf it were so, it was a grievous fault\\nAnd grievously hath Caesar answered it\\nHere, under leave of Brutus, and the\\nrest\\nFor Brutus is an honorable man\\nSo are they all all honorable men,\\nCome I to speak in Caesar s funeral.\\nHe was my friend, faithful and just to\\nme,\\nBut Brutus says he was ambitious\\nAnd Brutus is an honorable man\\nHe hath brought many captives home to\\nRome,\\nWhose ransoms did the general coffers\\nfill:\\nDid this in Caesar seem ambitious\\nWhen that the poor have cried, Caesar hath\\nwept.\\nAmbition should be made of sterner\\nstuff\\nYet Brutus says he was ambitious,\\nAnd Brutus is an honorable man\\nYou all did see, that, on the Lupercal,\\nI thrice presented him a kingly crown,\\nWhich he did thrice refuse was this am-\\nbition\\nYet Brutus says he was ambitious\\nAnd sure he is an honorable man\\nI speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke;\\nBut here I am to speak what I do know.\\nYou all did love him once not without\\ncause\\nWhat cause withholds you, then, to mourn\\nfor him\\nO judgment thou art fled to. brutish\\nbeasts,\\nAnd men have lost their reason Bear\\nwith me\\nMy heart is in the coffin there with Caesar\\nAnd I must pause till it come back to\\nme.\\nBut yesterday, the word of Caesar might\\nHave stood against the world now lies he\\nthere,\\nAnd none so poor to do him reverence\\nmasters if I were disposed to stir\\nYour hearts and minds to mutiny and\\nrage,\\n1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius\\nwrong,\\nWho, you all know, are honorable men\\nI will not do them wrong I rather choose\\nTo wrong the dead, to wrong myself and\\nyou,\\nThan I will wrong such honorable men\\nBut here s a parchment with the seal of\\nCaesar,\\nI found it in his closet, tis his will\\nLet but the commons hear this testa-\\nment.\\nWhich, pardon me, I do not mean to\\nread,\\nAnd they would go and kiss dead Caesar s\\nwounds\\nAnd dip their napkins in his sacred blood\\nYea, beg a hair of him for memory,\\nAnd, dying, mention it within their wills,\\nBequeathing it, as a rich legacy,\\nUnto their issue\\nIf you have tears, prepare to shed them\\nnow.\\nYou all do know this mantle I remember\\nThe first time ever Caesar put it on\\nTwas on a summer s evening, in his tent,\\nThat day he overcame the Nervii\\nLook in this place, ran Cassius dagger\\nthrough\\nSee what a rent the envious Casca made\\nThrough this, the well-beloved Brutus\\nstabbed", "height": "4388", "width": "3128", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0365.jp2"}, "366": {"fulltext": "37o\\nSHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT\\nAnd, as he plucked his cursed steel away,\\nMark how the blood of Caesar followed it\\nAs rushing out of doors, to be resolved\\nIf Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no\\nFor Brutus, as you know, was Caesar s\\nangel.\\nJudge, O ye gods, how dearly Caesar loved\\nhirn\\nThis was the most unkindest cut of all\\nFor when the noble Caesar saw him stab,\\nIngratitude, more strong than traitors\\narms,\\nQuite vanquished him. Then burst his\\nmighty heart\\nAnd, in his mantle muffling up his face,\\nEven at the base of Pompey s statue,\\nWhich all the while ran blood great\\nCaesar fell\\nO, what a fall was there, my countrymen\\nThen I, and you, and all of us, fell down\\nWhilst bloody treason nourished over us\\nO, now you weep and I perceive you\\nfeel\\nThe dint of pity these are gracious drops\\nKind souls what weep you when you but\\nbehold\\nOur Caesar s vesture wounded look you\\nhere\\nHere is himself, marred, as you see, by\\ntraitors\\nGood friends sweet friends let me not stir\\nyou up\\nTo such a sudden flood of mutiny\\nThey that have done this deed are honor-\\nable\\nWhat private griefs they have, alas I know\\nnot,\\nThat made them do it they are wise and\\nhonorable,\\nAnd will, no doubt, with reasons answer\\nyou.\\nI come not, friends, to steal away your\\nhearts\\nI am no orator, as Brutus is;\\nBut, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man,\\nThat love my friend, and that they know\\nfull well\\nThat gave me public leave to speak of\\nhim,\\nFor I have neither wit, nor words, nor\\nworth,\\nAction, nor utterance, nor the power of\\nspeech,\\nTo stir men s blood I only speak right on.\\nI tell you that which you yourselves do\\nknow\\nShow you sweet Caesar s wounds, poor,\\npoor, dumb mouths,\\nAnd bid them speak for me. But were I\\nBrutus,\\nAnd Brutus Antony, there were an An-\\ntony\\nWould ruffle up your spirits, and put a\\ntongue\\nIn every wound of Caesar, that should\\nmove\\nThe stones of Rome to rise and mutiny\\nQUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS.\\nFrom Julius Ccssar.\\nCharacters Brutus, Cassius.\\nTent Scene.\\nCASSIUS- That you have wronged me,\\ndoth appear in this\\nYou have condemned and noted\\nLucius Pella\\nFor taking bribes here of the Sardinians\\nWherein my letter (praying on his side\\nBecause I knew the man) was slighted of.\\nBruizes. You wronged yourself, to write\\nin such a case.\\nCas. At such a time as this it is not\\nmeet\\nThat every nice offense should bear its\\ncomment.\\nBru. Yet let me tell you, Cassius, you\\nyourself\\nAre much condemned to have an itching\\npalm\\nTo sell and mart your offices for gold,\\nTo undeservers.\\nCas. I an itching palm\\nYou know that you are Brutus that speak\\nthis,\\nOr, by the gods, this speech were else your\\nlast.\\nBru. The name of Cassius honors this\\ncorruption,\\nAnd chastisement doth therefore hide its\\nhead.\\nCas. Chastisement\\nBru. Remember March, the ides of\\nMarch remember 1", "height": "4352", "width": "3384", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0366.jp2"}, "367": {"fulltext": "SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT\\n37i\\nDid not great Julius bleed for justice\\nsake\\nWhat villain touched his body, that did\\nstab,\\nAnd not for justice? What, shall one of\\nus,\\nThat struck the foremost man of all this\\nworld,\\nBut for supporting robbers shall we now\\nContaminate our fingers with base bribes,\\nAnd sell the mighty meed of our large\\nhonors\\nFor so much trash as may be grasped thus\\nI had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,\\nThan such a Roman.\\nCas. Brutus, bay not me\\nI ll not endure it you forget yourself,\\nTo hedge me in I am a soldier, I,\\nOlder in practice, abler than yourself\\nTo make conditions.\\nBru. Go to you are not, Cassius.\\nCas. I am.\\nBru. I say you are not.\\nCas. Urge me no more I shall forget\\nmyself\\nHave mind upon your health tempt me\\nno further.\\nBru. Away, slight man\\nCas. Is it possible\\nBru. Hear me, for I will speak.\\nMust I give way and room to your rash\\ncholer\\nShall I be frightened when a madman\\nstares\\nCas. Oh gods ye gods must I endure\\nall this\\nBru. All this ay, more. Fret till\\nyour proud heart break.\\nGo, tell your slaves how choleric you are,\\nAnd make your bondmen tremble. Must I\\nbudge\\nMust I observe you Must I stand and\\ncrouch\\nUnder your testy humor By the gods,\\nYou shall digest the venom of your spleen,\\nThough it do split you for, from this day\\nforth,\\nI ll use you for my mirth, yea, for my\\nlaughter,\\nWhen you are waspish.\\nCas. Is it come to this\\nBru. You say, you are a better soldier\\nL,et it appear so make your vaunting true,\\nAnd it shall please me well. For mine\\nown part,\\nI shall be glad to learn of noble men.\\nCas. You wrong me every way you\\nwrong me, Brutus\\nI said an elder soldier, not a better\\nDid I say better\\nBru. If you did, I care not.\\nCas. When Caesar lived, he durst not\\nthus have moved me.\\nBru. Peace, peace you durst not so\\nhave tempted him.\\nCas. I durst not\\nBru. No.\\nCas. What durst not tempt him\\nBru. For your life you durst not.\\nCas. Do not presume too much upon\\nmy love\\nI may do that I shall be sorry for.\\nBru. You have done that you should be\\nsorry for.\\nThere is no terror, Cassius, in your threats;\\nFor I am armed so strong in honesty,\\nThat they pass by me as the idle wind,\\nWhich I respect not. I did send to you\\nFor certain sums of gold, which you denied\\nme\\nFor I can raise no money by vile means.\\nBy Heaven, I had rather coin my heart,\\nAnd drop my blood for drachmas, than to\\nwring\\nFrom the hard hands of peasants their vile\\ntrash\\nBy any indirection. I did send\\nTo you for gold to pay my legions,\\nWhich you denied me was that done like\\nCassius\\nShould I have answered Caius Cassius so\\nWhen Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,\\nTo lock such rascal counters from his\\nfriends,\\nBe ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts j\\nDash him to pieces\\nCas. I denied you not.\\nBru. You did.\\nCas. I did not he was but a fool\\nThat brought my answer back. Brutus\\nhad rived my heart.\\nA friend should bear a friend s infirmities\\nBut Brutus makes mine greater than they\\nare.\\nBru. I do not. Still you practice them\\non me.", "height": "4388", "width": "3112", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0367.jp2"}, "368": {"fulltext": "372\\nSHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT\\nCas. You love me not.\\nBru. I do not like your faults.\\nCas. A friendly eye could never see\\nsuch faults.\\nBru. A flatterer s would not, though\\nthey do appear\\nAs huge as high Olympus.\\nCas. Come, Antony, and young Octa-\\nvius, come\\nRevenge yourselves alone on Cassius,\\nFor Cassius is a-weary of the world\\nHated by one he loves braved by his\\nbrother\\nChecked like a bondman all his faults\\nobserved,\\nSet in a note-book, learned and conned by\\nrote,\\nTo cast into my teeth. Oh I could weep\\nMy spirit from mine eyes There is my\\ndagger,\\nAnd here my naked breast within, a heart\\nDearer than Plutus mine, richer than gold\\nIf that thou be st a Roman, take it forth.\\nI that denied thee gold, will give my heart\\nStrike as thou didst at Caesar for I know,\\nWhen thou didst hate him worst, thou\\nlovedst him better\\nThan ever thou lovedst Cassius.\\nBru. Sheathe your dagger\\nBe angry when you will, it shall have\\nscope\\nDo what you will, dishonor shall be humor.\\nOh, Cassius you are yoked with a lamb,\\nThat carries anger, as the flint bears fire\\nWhich, much enforced, shows a hasty\\nspark,\\nAnd straight is cold again.\\nCas. Hath Cassius lived\\nTo be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,\\nWhen grief, and blood ill-tempered, vexeth\\nhim?\\nBru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tem-\\npered, too.\\nCas. Do you confess so much? Give\\nme your hand.\\nBru. And my heart, too.\\nCas. Oh, Brutus\\nBru. What s the matter\\nCas. Have you not love enough to bear\\nwith me,\\nWhen that rash humor which my mother\\ngave me,\\nMakes me forgetful\\nBru. Yes, Cassius, and from henceforth,\\nWhen you are over-earnest with your\\nBrutus,\\nHe ll think your mother chides and leave\\nyou so.\\nANTONY AND VENTIDIUS.\\nFrom Antony and Cleopatra.\\nCharacters Antony, Ventidius.\\nAntony. They tell me tis my birth-day;\\nand I ll keep it\\nWith double pomp and sadness.\\nTis what the day deserves, which gave me\\nbreath.\\nWhy was I raised the meteor of the\\nworld,\\nHung in the skies, and blazing as I\\ntraveled,\\nTill all my fires were spent, and then cast\\ndownward\\nTo be trod out by Caesar\\nVe?itidius. I must disturb him. I can\\nhold no longer.\\n(Stands before him.)\\nA?zt. (Starting up.) Art thou Ven-\\ntidius\\nVent. Are you Antony\\nI m liker what I was, than you to him\\nI left you last.\\nAnt. I m angry.\\nVent. So am I.\\nAnt. I would be private. Leave me.\\nVe?it. Sir, I love you,\\nAnd therefore will not leave you.\\nAnt. Will not leave me\\nWhere have you learnt this answer Who\\nam I\\nVent. My emperor the man I love next\\nHeaven.\\nAnt. Emperor Why that s the style of\\nvictory.\\nThe conquering soldier, red with unfelt\\nwounds,\\nSalutes his general so but never more\\nShall that sound reach my ears.\\nVent. I warrant you.\\nAnt. Actium, Actium Oh\\nVent. It sits too near you.\\nA?it. Here, here it lies a lump of lead\\nby day\\nAnd, in my short distracted nightly slum-\\nbers,", "height": "4364", "width": "3380", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0368.jp2"}, "369": {"fulltext": "SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT\\n373\\nThe hag that rides my dreams\\nVent. Out with it give it vent.\\nAnt. Urge not my shame\\nI lost a battle.\\nVent. So has Julius done.\\nAnt. Thou favorest me, and speakest not\\nhalf thou thinkest\\nFor Julius fought it out, and lost it fairly\\nBut Antony\\nVent. Nay, stop not.\\nAnt. Antony\\n(Well, thou wilt have it) like a coward\\nfled,\\nFled while his soldiers fought fled first,\\nVentidius.\\nThou longest to curse me I give thee\\nleave.\\nI know thou earnest prepared to rail.\\nVent. No.\\nAnt. Why?\\nVent. You are too sensible already\\nOf what you ve done too conscious of\\nyour failings\\nAnd like a scorpion, whipped by others\\nfirst\\nTo fury, sting yourself in mad revenge.\\nI would bring balm, and pour it in your\\nwounds,\\nCure your distempered mind, and heal your\\nfortunes.\\nAnt. I know thou wouldst.\\nVe7it. I will.\\nAnt. Sure thou dreamest, Ventidius\\nVent. No, tis you dream you sleep away\\nyour hours\\nIn desperate sloth, miscalled philosophy.\\nUp, up, for honor s sake twelve legions\\nwait you,\\nAnd long to call you chief. By painful\\njourneys\\nI led them, patient both of heat and\\nhunger,\\nDown from the Parthian marches, to the\\nNile.\\nTwill do you good to see their sun-burnt\\nfaces,\\nTheir scarred cheeks, and chopped hands\\nthere s virtue in them\\nThey ll sell those mangled limbs at dearer\\nrates\\nThan yon trim bands can buy.\\nAnt. Where left you them\\nVent. I said, in Lower Syria.\\nAnt. Bring them hither\\nThere may be life in these.\\nVent. They will not come.\\nAnt. Why did they refuse to march\\nVent. They said they would not fight for\\nCleopatra.\\nAnt. What was t they said\\nVent. They said they would not fight for\\nCleopatra.\\nWhy should they fight, indeed, to make her\\nconqueror,\\nAnd make you more a slave\\nAnt. Ventidius, I allow your tongue free\\nlicense\\nOn all my other faults but, on your life,\\nNo word of Cleopatra she deserves\\nMore worlds than I can lose.\\nVe?it. Behold, you powers,\\nTo whom you have entrusted human kind\\nSee Europe, Asia, Africa, put in balance,\\nAnd all weighed down by one light, worth-\\nless woman\\nAnt. You grow presumptuous.\\nVent. I take the privilege of plain love to\\nspeak\\nAnt. Plain love plain arrogance plain\\ninsolence\\nThy men are cowards thou, an envious\\ntraitor,\\nWho, under seeming honesty, has vented\\nThe burden of thy rank o erflowing gall.\\nOh, that thou wert my equal, great in\\narms\\nAs the first Caesar was, that I might kill\\nthee\\nWithout a stain to honor\\nVent. You may kill me\\nYou have done more already called me a\\ntraitor.\\nAnt. Art thou not one\\nVent. For showing you yourself,\\nWhich no one else durst have done. But\\nhad I been\\nThat name, which I disdain to speak\\nagain,\\nI need not have sought your abject for-\\ntunes,\\nCome to partake your fate, to die with you.\\nWhat hindered me to have led my conquer-\\ning eagles\\nTo fill Octavius bands I could have\\nbeen\\nA traitor then, a glorious, happy traitor,", "height": "4384", "width": "3136", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0369.jp2"}, "370": {"fulltext": "374\\nSHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT\\nAnd not have been so called.\\nAnt. Forgive me, soldier\\nI ve been too passionate.\\nVent. You thought me false\\nThought my old age betrayed you. Kill\\nme, sir,\\nPray kill me yet you need not your\\nunkindness\\nHas left your sword no work.\\nAnt. I did not think so\\nI said it in my rage prithee forgive me.\\nThou only lovest, the rest have flattered\\nme.\\nVe?it, Heaven s blessing on your heart,\\nfor that kind word\\nMay I believe you love me Speak again.\\nAnt. Indeed I do. Do with me what\\nthou wilt\\nLead me to victory, thou knowest the way.\\nVent. And will you leave this\\nAnt. Prithee do not curse her,\\nAnd I will leave her though Heaven\\nknows I love\\nBeyond life, conquest, empire, all but\\nhonor\\nBut I will leave her.\\nVent. That s my royal master\\nAnd shall we fight\\nAnt. I warrant thee, old soldier\\nThou shalt behold me once again in iron,\\nAnd at the head of our old troops, that\\nbeat\\nThe Parthians, cry aloud, come, follow me\\nVent. Methinks you breathe\\nAnother soul your looks are more sub-\\nlime\\nYou speak a hero, and you move like\\nMars.\\nAnt. Oh, thou hast fired me My soul\\nis up in arms\\nAnd man s each part about me. Once\\nagain\\nThat noble eagerness of fight has seized\\nme\\nThat eagerness with which I darted upward\\nTo Cassius camp. In vain the steepyhill\\nOpposed my way In vain a war of spears\\nSung round my head, and planted all my\\nshield\\nI won the trenches, while my foremost\\nmen\\nLagged on the plain below.\\nVent. Ye gods, ye gods\\nFor such another hour.\\nAnt. Come on, my soldier\\nOur hearts and arms are still the same. I\\nlong\\nOnce more to meet our foes that thou\\nand I,\\nLike Time and Death, marching before our\\ntroops,\\nMay take fate to them mow them out a\\npassage,\\nAnd entering where the utmost squadrons\\nyield,\\nBegin the noble harvest of the field.\\nCORIOLANUS AND AUFIDIUS\\nCharacters Coriolanus, Aufidius.\\nCoriolanus. I plainly, Tullus, by your\\nlooks perceive\\nYou disapprove my conduct.\\nAufidius. I mean not to assail thee with\\nthe clamor\\nOf loud reproaches and the war of words\\nBut, pride apart, and all that can pervert\\nThe light of steady reason here to make\\nA candid, fair proposal.\\nCor. Speak, I hear thee.\\nAuf. I need not tell thee, that I have\\nperformed\\nMy utmost promise. Thou hast been pro-\\ntected\\nHast had thy amplest, most ambitious wish\\nThy wounded pride is healed, thy dear\\nrevenge\\nCompletely sated and to crown thy for-\\ntune,\\nAt the same time, thy peace with Rome\\nrestored.\\nThou art no more a Volscian, but a Roman;\\nReturn, return thy duty calls upon thee\\nStill to protect the city thou hast saved\\nIt still may be in danger from our arms\\nRetire I will take care thou mayst with\\nsafety\\nCor. With safety Heavens and think-\\nest thou Coriolanus\\nWill stoop to thee for safety No my\\nsafeguard\\nIs in myself, a bosom void of fear.", "height": "4356", "width": "3380", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0370.jp2"}, "371": {"fulltext": "SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT\\n375\\nO, tis an act of cowardice and baseness,\\nTo seize the very time my hands are fet-\\ntered\\nBy the strong chain of former obligation,\\nThe safe, sure moment to insult me. Gods\\nWere I now free, as on that day I was\\nWhen at Corioli I tamed thy pride,\\nThis had not been.\\nAuf. Thou speakest the truth it had\\nnot.\\nOh, for that time again Propitious gods,\\nIf you will bless me, grant it Now for that,\\nFor that dear purpose, I have now proposed\\nThou shouldst return I pray thee, Marcius,\\ndo it\\nAnd we shall meet again on nobler terms.\\nCor. Till I have cleared my honor in\\nyour council,\\nAnd proved before them all, to thy confu-\\nsion,\\nThe falsehood of thy charge as soon in\\nbattle\\nI would before thee fly, and howl for\\nmercy,\\nAs quit the station they ve assigned me\\nhere\\nAuf. Thou canst not hope acquittal\\nfrom the Volscians.\\nCor. I do. Nay, more, expect their\\napprobation,\\nTheir thanks. I will obtain them such a\\npeace\\nAs thou durst never ask a perfect union\\nOf their whole nation with imperial Rome,\\nIn all her privileges, all her rights\\nBy the just gods, I will. What wouldst\\nthou more\\nAuf. What would I more, proud Roman?\\nThis I would\\nFire the cursed forest, where these Roman\\nwolves\\nHaunt and infest their nobler nighbors\\nround them\\nExtirpate from the bosom of this land\\nA false, perfidious people, who, beneath\\nThe mask of freedom, are a combination\\nAgainst the liberty of human kind\\nThe genuine seed of outlaws and of robbers.\\nCor. The seed of gods. Tis not for\\nthee, vain boaster\\nTis not for such as thou so often spared\\nBy her victorious sword to speak of Rome,\\nBut with respect and awful veneration,\\nWhate er her blots, whate er her giddy fac-\\ntions,\\nThere is more virtue in one single year\\nOf Roman story, than your Volscian annals\\nCan boast through all their creeping, dark\\nduration,\\nAuf. I thank thy rage. This full dis-\\nplays the traitor.\\nCor. Traitor How now\\nAuf. Ay, traitor, Marcius.\\nCor. Marcius\\nAuf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius. Dost\\nthou think\\nI ll grace thee with that robbery, thy stolen\\nname,\\nCoriolanus, in Corioli\\nYou lords, and heads of the state, perfidi-\\nously\\nHe has betrayed your business, and given\\nup,\\nFor certain drops of salt, your city Rome\\nI say, your city to his wife and mother\\nBreaking his oath and resolution like\\nA twist of rotten silk never admitting\\nCounsel of the war but at his nurse s tears\\nHe whined and roared away your victory\\nThat pages blushed at him, and men of\\nheart\\nlooked wondering at each other.\\nCor. Hearest thou, Mars\\nAuf. Name not the god, thou boy of\\ntears.\\nCor. Measureless liar, thou hast made\\nmy heart\\nToo great for what contains it. Boy\\nCut me to pieces, Volscians, men and lads,\\nStain all your edges on me. Boy\\nIf you have writ your annals true, tis\\nthere,\\nThat, like an eagle in a dovecot, I\\nFluttered your Volscians in Corioli\\nAlone I did it. Boy But let us part\\nL,est my rash hand should do a hasty deed\\nMy cooler thoughts forbids.\\nAuf. I court\\nThe worst thy sword can do while thou\\nfrom me\\nHast nothing to expect but sore destruc-\\ntion\\nQuit then this hostile camp once more I tell\\nthee,", "height": "4388", "width": "3132", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0371.jp2"}, "372": {"fulltext": "376\\nSHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT\\nThou art not here one single hour in safety.\\nCor. Oh, that I had thee in the field,\\nWith six Aufidiuses, or more thy tribe,\\nTo uses my lawful sword\\nSEVEN AGES OF MAN.\\nALiv the world s a stage,\\nAnd all the men and women merely\\nplayers\\nThey have their exits and their entrances\\nAnd one man in his time plays many\\nparts,\\nHis acts being seven ages. At first the\\ninfant,\\nMewling and puking in the nurse s arms.\\nThen the whining school-boy, with his\\nsatchel,\\nAnd shining morning face, creeping like a\\nsnail\\nUnwillingly to school. And then the lover,\\nSighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad\\nMade to his mistress eyebrow. Then, a\\nsoldier,\\nFull of strange oaths, and bearded like the\\npard,\\nJealous in honor, sudden and quick in\\nquarrel,\\nSeeking the bubble reputation\\nEven in the cannon s mouth. And then the\\njustice,\\nIn fair round belly with good capon lined,\\nWith eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,\\nFull of wise saws and modern instances\\nAnd so he plays his part the sixth age\\nshifts\\nInto the lean and slippered pantaloon,\\nWith spectacles on nose, and pouch on\\nside\\nHis youthful hose, well saved, a world too\\nwide\\nFor his shrunk shank and his big manly\\nvoice,\\nTurning again toward childish treble, pipes\\nAnd whistles in his sound. Last scene\\nof all,\\nThat ends thisstrange eventful history,\\nIs second childishness, and mere oblivion\\nSans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every-\\nthing.", "height": "4368", "width": "3364", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0372.jp2"}, "373": {"fulltext": "Part XIII\\nMUSICAL DEPARTMENT\\nPrepared Originally and Expressly for this Volume\\nBY GEORGE M. VICKERS\\nAuthor of Guard the Flag etc.\\nTHE LITTLE FORESTERS.\\nA Musical Sketch for Arbor Day.\\nPreparation A platform, with walls at side.s and rear dec-\\norated with evergreen several palms and rubber plants ranged\\nalong sides of platform. Benches or stools right and left of plat-\\nform, leaving plenty of room in the centre for evolutions of the\\nchildren.\\nCharacters.\\nColonel Acorn,\\nMajor Hickory-\\nCaptain Juniper, Foresters.\\nLieutenant Spruce,\\nSergeant Peach, J\\nLily Hawthorn,\\nDaisy Primrose,\\nViolet Cornflower,\\nPansy Pink,\\nLady Slipper,\\nSchool Girls.\\nAlso, ten boys and ten girls for chorus and evolutions.\\nCostumes.\\nForester* Brown muslin blouses, with orange colored\\nsashes worn over right shoulder, and tied in a bow at left hip.\\nEach boy wears an evergreen wreath, and carries a staff with red,\\nwhite and blue ribbon tied near the top.\\nSchool Girls Pink lawn dresses with green sashes\\nwreaths of flowers to be worn on the head. Each girl to carry a\\nbunch of flowers.\\nTen Boys Dark pants, white shirt-waists.\\nTen Girls White dresses, pink sashes. Each boy and\\ngirl to wear a red, white and biue rosette on left breast, and all to\\ncarry a small bunch of evergreen.\\nDirections The ten boys and ten girls enter upon the plat,\\nform, singing the following words the girls enter from the right,\\nthe boys from the left they countermarch, and take up positions\\nalong the sides, the boys at right, the girls at left of platform.\\nSong oe the Trees.\\nTune Comin Thr^o the Rye.\\nHail the day with cheers of gladness,\\nLet your voices ring\\nOf the trees, their use and beauty,\\nMerrily we sing\\nBy the roadside, in the orchard,\\nOr the forest grand,\\nAll the trees, wher er we find them,\\nGrow to bless the land.\\nTrees that shade the dusty wayside,\\nThese should have our care,\\nFor they shield the weary trav ler\\nFrom the sun s bright glare\\nNeath their green and cooling branches,\\nLing ring while we may,\\nOh, how restful, how refreshing\\nIn the heat of day\\n3-\\nApple blossoms, cherry blossoms,\\nFair are they to see,\\nFull of promise of the fruitage\\nSoon to deck the tree.\\nGolden quince, and rosy apple,\\nRipe and luscious pear,\\nAre among the orchard s treasures\\nThat we all may share.\\n4-\\nSturdy oak and stately poplar,\\nCedar, elm and pine,\\nI would spare you, I would shield you,\\nIf the power were mine.\\nHail the day with cheers of gladness,\\nLet your voices ring\\nPlant your trees that they for others\\nBlessings sweet may bring.\\nDirections. The boys and girls should take positions at the\\nright and left of platform while singing the last stanza.\\nImmediately after the singing ceases The Five Foresters enter\\nand advance to front of platform.\\nColonel Acorn. Ladies and gentlemen,\\nwe have been attracted by your merry\\nvoices may we join in your festivities?\\n377", "height": "4388", "width": "3136", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0373.jp2"}, "374": {"fulltext": "37S\\nMUSICAL DEPARTMENT\\nBoys a?id Girls. Welcome We too are\\ntree-planters, and foresters are our friends.\\nForesters. Thanks, many thanks.\\nColonel Acorn.\\n11 Who sows a field, or trains a flower,\\nOr plants a tree, is more than all.\\nFor he who blesses most is blest\\nAnd God and man shall own his worth,\\nWho toils to leave, as his bequest,\\nAn added beauty to the earth.\\nMajor Hickory. The man or woman who\\nplants a tree is a public benefactor, and the\\ntree will need no epitaph upon it to pro-\\nclaim the virtue of the one who planted it.\\nIt will be a beautiful monument to a gener-\\nous soul.\\nCaptain Juniper.\\nI m Captain Juniper,\\nFriends, as you see,\\nNamed for a popular\\nSort of a tree\\nThough valued by many,\\nSome think it a sin,\\nThat j uniper berries\\nGet mixed up with gin.\\nBoys and Girls. It is not the tree, nor\\nits berries it is not the golden grain it is\\nsimply the use, or abuse of berry and grain\\nthat makes them good or evil.\\nLieutenant Spruce. Ladies and gentle-\\nmen, I am Lieutenant Spruce, and, while I\\nadmit that I spruce up once in a while, it\\nmust not be inferred that I am a dude.\\nThe spruce tree is very useful, it is a pretty\\nornament in a landscape besides, you ve\\nall tasted spruce beer.\\nSergeant Peach. (Bowing low) I m a\\nPeach, ladies and gentlemen, a descendant\\nof the old and honorable Peach family\\nLike the tree and its luscious fruit which\\nbear our ancient name, everybody likes the\\nPeaches.\\nCaptain Acorn. Hark I hear approach-\\ning footsteps.\\nSchool girls\\ninging the following\\nJoy For the Sturdy Trees.\\nTune My Country His oj Thee.\\nJoy for the sturdy trees\\nFanned by each fragrant breeze,\\nLovely they stand\\nThe song-birds o er them thrill,\\nThey shade each tinkling rill,\\nThey crown each swelling hill,\\nLowiy or grand.\\nDirections At the beginning of the second stanza the For-\\nesters march, followed by the school girls, the ten boys and ten\\ngirls following All sing and countermarch.\\nPlant them by stream and way,\\nPlant where the children play\\nAnd toilers rest\\nIn every verdant vale,\\nOn every sunny swale,\\nWhether to grow or fail\\nGod knoweth best.\\nSelect the strong, the fair,\\nPlant them with earnest care\\nNo toil is vain.\\nPlant in a fitter place,\\nWhere, like a lovely face,\\nSet in some sweeter grace,\\nChange ma}?- prove gain.\\nGod will His blessing send\\nAll things on Him depend.\\nHis loving care\\nClings to each leaf and flower\\nLike ivy to its tower.\\nHis presence and His power\\nAre everywhere.\\nWhile singing the last stanza, all resume their original posi-\\ntions. The Foresters and school girls to occupy the front centre\\nof platform.\\nCaptain Acorn. Much has been said of\\nthe trees, and very justly but from the\\nflowers I see, I think they, too, deserve our\\npraise, even if some of them are old fash-\\nioned.\\nLady Slipper. Indeed I love old fash-\\nioned flowers, and these are my friends, Miss\\nHawthorn, Miss Primrose, Miss Pink, and\\nMiss Cornflower. I m sure they are all\\nsweet and charming.\\nLily H. You love them, so suppose you\\nsing us something about them.\\nSchool girls, Oh, please do\\nLady Slipper sings the following song all the children joining\\nin the chorus.", "height": "4368", "width": "3392", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0374.jp2"}, "375": {"fulltext": "379\\nOLD=FASHIONED FLOWERS,\\nEE\u00c2\u00a7\\nModerate.\\nWords and Music by Geo. M. Vickers.\\nr=\u00c2\u00b1\\n-fi- t=A\\nt=P=\\nP\\nd2=a=i:\\n\u00c2\u00a3_\u00c2\u00a3\\n.\u00c2\u00ab_\u00c2\u00ab-\\ni n p i i\u00e2\u0080\u0094 h=\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i i\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nM\\nfcffi\\n^s.\\ns_\\nt=t\u00c2\u00b1tzzt\\n!s\\nit: it\\nfflQ\\n4^fc\\nE3\\n-it^fc\\n:t=\u00c2\u00b1\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094I 1 I 1 1 I 1\\n-z\u00c2\u00b1\\nmi\\n#\u00c2\u00b1-r| -f-j-\\n-i\\n|\u00e2\u0080\u0094r~\\nFf-*=b\\n-j-\\n1\\nrfe 5*\\nt\u00e2\u0080\u0094 r--j\\nl=*\\nw\\n-t=-\\n9 1\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n1 9\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\ng)\\nt)\\ni\\n1\\ni\\n1. Down in a val ley where sun shine Falls all the long summer day,\\n2. Sweet johnny-jump-ups and dah lias, Four o clocks sparkling with dew,\\nfcz*\\nW=F=^\\nH 1\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\ni-\\nat\\n5\u00c2\u00ab 3*^ii\\nfes\\n=1=\\n3=3\\n4-*-*\\ns=*\\n=Jr\\nCopyright, 1899, by Geo. M. Vickers.", "height": "4388", "width": "3160", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0375.jp2"}, "376": {"fulltext": "3 8o\\nOLD=FASHIONED FLOWERS.\\nfcTJt\\nT=l~\\n-B-\\n:q\u00e2\u0080\u0094 t\\n=3t\\nStands by the road-side a cot tage, But, oh, it is far, far a -way Tis\\nOft have I bound them in gar lands, Old-fashioned flowers, tis true; And\\nI I IN J\\nS=M\\nJ\\n:fc*\\n:\u00c2\u00ab=F==J==l=|=i==t\\n-tf\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a aH ir-\\nTT TT a ir TT\\nH\u00e2\u0080\u0094 S\u00e2\u0080\u0094 S-\\n3ES\\n-ZSl\\n_* p__\\nP_J_ 2_i_\\nt=t\\nthere that my home was in child\\nyet they were planted by moth\\nhood, When mother s dear face I could see,,\\ner, Bright ros- es and mar- i-golds gay,\\nP\\nfct:\\nt=\u00c2\u00b1\\n=F\\n_^_u^-\\nt=t=\\n.(G.\\nP\\ni-2\\nHE\\n-p\u00e2\u0080\u0094 f-\\nP P-\\n_\u00c2\u00bb_\u00c2\u00ab_\\n-P\u00e2\u0080\u0094 P\\nJZ\\nt=*\\nnow both the cot and the gar\\nhap-py we dwelt in the cot\\n-ft.-* 1 |_ -J\\nden Are on- ly fondmem ries to me.,\\ntage, The cottage so far, far a way.", "height": "4372", "width": "3404", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0376.jp2"}, "377": {"fulltext": "OLD-FASHIONED FLOWERS.\\n38i\\nREFRAIN.\\nTempo di Vdlse.\\nI\\nSt\\n-jS*- 1\\n=S\\nOld\\nfash ioned flow\\nGlist\\nning with dew,\\ns\\n=J=t\\n:ttt\\n:=f\\n*c\\n:qzz^:\\n-z^-\\n\u00c2\u00b11- 3:\\nr~\\n-Z5I\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nH\\n75I-\\nZ^ s\u00c2\u00bb\\ni\\ns\\n^SL-S-\\nBring\\nE\\nfS ~T\\nto\\nme mem\\nS:\\nries Of hearts that were true\\n1 \u00c2\u00ab_\\n_Z2 *_\\nja ^_\\nfcdfc\\nit\\ni\u00c2\u00a7\\n.a Lcz_i.\\n-zd-\\nl\\nt:\\niiil\\nWheu the flow rs were bloom-in\\nIn\\n~l r\\n-l-k^si\\nthe days gone\\nby.\\nfcg*\\n=F*\\nII\\nHe\\n-P2-\\n_\u00c2\u00a32_i.\\n-zsh\\n=t\\nU--\\n-73-\\n5- I\\na\\n1", "height": "4388", "width": "3160", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0377.jp2"}, "378": {"fulltext": "38:\\nA CHRISTMAS SONG\\nWords by Geo. M. Vickers.\\n^p\\nMusic by Stanley Adams.\\nf\\\\\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nZ\\ni. O hap py,liap py fes tal day, O\\n2. O joy- ous morn of peace and love, Sweet\\nr t r\\n\u00c2\u00a3=3\\nP\\nPrfrpj\u00e2\u0080\u0094j-p-H\u00e2\u0080\u0094 p_ 0-+-\\n-f\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i i\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n=t\\nlong a wait ed dawn, With joy and love we wel- come thee, O bless ed Christ-mas\\nday of prom ise brig ht, Shed forth in ev ry shad-owed life, Thy warmth and wondrous\\n4-\\nk==r==\\\\\\ni\\nt:\\nmorn Let all the world its hom age pay, Let loy al voic es\\nlight; Let ev ry heart be thrilled with joy, Let care be cast a\\n^f\\n:3=z:\\n\u00c2\u00abj\\nr 9-\\na\\nslll g For on this day in Beth- le- hem Was born a might- y King!\\nway, For Christ is here to cheer and bless, And this is Christmas day!\\nRy permission.", "height": "4352", "width": "3412", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0378.jp2"}, "379": {"fulltext": "COLUflBIA! THE GEfl OF THE OCEAN\\n383\\nMay be sung as Solo or Quartet.\\nMarziale\\n=sr\\n1. O Co lum\\n2. When war\\n3- The\\nbia the gem\\nwinged its wide\\nwine cup, the wine\\nSleEB\\nthe o cean,\\ndes o la tion,\\ncup bring hith er,\\nt=E=\\nm\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2j\\nThe\\nAnd\\nAnd\\nf=f\\nhome of the\\nthreat ened the\\nfill you it\\nA-\\n=t=\\n?5\\n~3t\\nbrave and the\\nland to de\\ntrue to the\\nfree, The shrine of each pa triot s de-\\nform, The ark then of free- dom s foun-\\nbrim!.... May the wreaths they have won nev er\\n~-w\\n4=\\n-S-#\u00e2\u0080\u0094 s-\\nvo tion,\\nda tion,\\nwith er,\\n-I\\n_t g_\\nA.. world of fers horn age to\\nCo lum bia, rode safe through the\\nNor the star of their glo ry grow\\nf=^-\\n-Q-S-V\\nx\\nX\\n-J\\n-N\\nhT\\n~T** z\\nP* M\\n1\\n1\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n-3-\\n-1 -A -A\\n1\\ntf _L_\\n~+-H s\\n-a\\nt\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0x-\\n17 1\\nthee.\\nstorm\\ndim\\n*_\u00e2\u0080\u00a2_\\n-f-\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00944-\\n-v\\nThy\\nWith\\nMay the\\nI* \u00c2\u00ab^\u00c2\u00ab_\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00944\\nman\\ngar-\\nserv\\nm\\nm\\ndates\\nlands\\nice\\nmake\\nof\\nu\\nr\\nhe roes\\nvie fry\\nni ted\\nr-\\nas\\na\\nne er\\nsem ble,\\nround her,\\nsev er,\\nf\\n0-^-0-\\nWhen\\nWhen so\\nBut\\n1\\nT r 1 h\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nss-l_t;\\n1\\nH\\nit b^tr-\\n=t\\nV\\n-t V-\\nV\\nti\\nL- t.\\nfe*c\\nLJ", "height": "4388", "width": "3148", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0379.jp2"}, "380": {"fulltext": "3\u00c2\u00bb4\\nCOLUMBIA! THE OEM OF THE OCEAN.\\n35?\\nh\\nLib er ty s form stands in view,\\nproud -ly she bore her brave crew,\\nthev to their col ors prove true\\nL5\\n:S\\n~N-\\nt? r t? r\\nThy ban ners make ty ran\\nWith her flag proud ly float- ing\\nThe Ar my and Na vy\\n-0- -0-\\nm\\nny\\nbe-\\nfor-\\n4 CHOEUS.\\nt g\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i6s5 sS! 1\\n-A\\n-fc\\n-i\\nft\\nr- A\\nJf-Tr q? J\\nr\\nN-\\n4\\n1 =H 1\\n1 I\\nirh a s i\\na\\ni\\nL,\\n1 ~*l d\\nm\\nvS f 1 e\\nby\\nof\\nfor\\nj\\n9 1\\nWhen borne\\nThe boast\\nThree cheers\\n4 m\\nthe\\nthe\\nthe\\nRed,\\nRed,\\nRed,\\nWhite\\nWhite\\nWhite\\nand\\nand\\nand\\nBlue,\\nBlue,\\nBlue,\\n-4-\\n1\\nWhen\\nThe\\nThree\\nJ\\n1\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\ni\\nm\\n1-\\nr I r\\nft\\nV\\n\\\\i\\n1\\ni\\n|i\\n|L_= JL (L\\nA\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J-\\ny\\n*q\\nborne by the Red, White and Blue,\\nboast of the Red, White and Blue,\\ncheers for the Red, White and Blue,\\nThy ban ners make\\nWith her flag proud ly\\nThe Ar my and\\n-9-\\nf- 9 0-\\nty ran ny\\nfloat- ing be\\nNa vy for", "height": "4356", "width": "3432", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0380.jp2"}, "381": {"fulltext": "COLUMBIA, MY COUNTRY,\\n385\\n(Copy.)\\nPhiladelphia, March 20th, 1893.\\nTo whom it may concern\\nIn consideration of the blessings of American liberty,\\nwhich I have always enjoyed, and for the purpose of encouraging a love of Country in\\nthe hearts of the young, I hereby transfer the Copyright of the anthem Columbia, My\\nCountry to the United States of America, so that it may be published and used by any\\nperson free of royalty or claim. Geo. M. Vickkrs.\\nWitnesses\\nW. Wks. Chew.\\nJoseph W. Morton, Jr.\\nThe within assignment of copyright is this day recorded in\\nthe Office of the Librarian of Congress, in conformity with\\nthe Laws of the United States respecting copyrights.\\nWitness my hand and the seal of my office, this 23 day of\\nMarch, 1893. A. R. Spofford, Librarian of Congress.\\nWORDS OF ENDORSEMENT AND APPRECIATION.\\nThe sentiment of the song will, I am sure, be indorsed by every true American/\\nWilliam McKinley Full of patriotic sentiment, well expressed, Governor\\nWilliam E. Russell, Massachusetts; It is patriotic in sentiment and the music is\\ncharming, Governor J. M. Stone, Mississippi; It is a patriotic gem, and will prob-\\nably remain one of the patriotic songs of our country, Governor Elisha P. Ferry,\\nWashington; I trust it may be welcomed by an appreciative public with the favor it\\ndeserves, Governor Lyman E. Knap, Alaska; I regard such music as an important\\npart of the education of the young people of the land, Hon. John W.anamaker and\\nrepresentative Americans in all parts of the United States.\\nIlsi\\nTempo di Marcia.\\nWords and Music by Geo. M. Vickers.\\n~r-\\n1. Co lum bia, my Coun try My song is\\n2. Co lum bia, my Coun try My heart thrills\\n3. Co lum bia, my Coun try Earths fair est\\nof thee,\\nwith love\\ndo main,\\nThy\\nTo\\nI\\nhon -or and glo ry Mine ev er shall be; From hill side, from val ley O er\\nthee am I loy al, God hears me a-bove: Thy foes are my foe -men, To\\nhon or thy he roes Who for thee were slain Thy flag still the em-blem Of\\n-b\u00e2\u0080\u0094 _\u00e2\u0096\u00a0 1 j\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1 -T^j 1 1 ,*_ 1 .__,\\nS\\n*3_\\nW=S=*\\nS\\nM-", "height": "4388", "width": "3112", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0381.jp2"}, "382": {"fulltext": ";36\\nCOLUMBIA, MY COUNTRY.\\nmount ain and plain, Shall ech o, for ev er, Sweet free-dotn s re frain.\\nthee would I give E en life, were it need ed, That free dom might live,\\nfree dom shall be, Co lum bia, I love thee, Sweet home of the free.\\nI am\\nREFRAIN\\nAllegretto.\\nMay God keep me stead fast, In\\ni r 8 i\\nH I\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1 1 9 0-\\n9 1 1\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nm\\nheart\\nand in hand, Still\\nfaith\\n|_.\\nful, my Coun try,\\nto\\nr*\\n-0- -0-\\n907.\\nw\\nI\\nW-\\nthee\\nr\\nfl\\n-0- -0-\\nf\\n^H^", "height": "4372", "width": "3448", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0382.jp2"}, "383": {"fulltext": "THE MUSICAL ASTERS\\nA PRETTY FEATURE WITH WHICH TO CONCLUDE AN ENTERTAINMENT\\nDIAGRAM OF MUSLIN SCREEN\\nDirections Seven good voices, either male or female, or\\nboth. Three young men for the top holes, and four young ladies\\nfor the lower ones, make the most effective combination. Get a\\npiece of sheeting muslin, six feet wide, and long enough to reach\\nacross the platform. By getting plenty of length, the same mus-\\nlin will do for various platforms. In the centre of the muslin, at\\nthe height of five feet from the bottom, cut three round holes, the\\nsize of a human face. The holes must be three feet apart. Two\\nfeet below the three holes, cut four holes, three feet apart, as\\nshown in the diagram. Around each hole paint the petals of the\\nAster flower. As these flowers are of almost every color, scarlet,\\norange, and blue can be used with good effect.\\nFasten the lower edge of the muslin to the floor of the platform\\nthe top can be attached to a rope or wire, the ends of which are\\nsecured to the side walls.\\nThe singers take position behind the screen, and each one\\nplacing his or her face in the hole, those at the top ones standing,\\nthose at the lower ones kneeling. The seven singers are named\\nafter the seven notes in music, thus A, B, C, D, E, F, and G.\\nFollowing is the manner in which the song is sung\\nDEAR ANNIE LAURIE.\\nTune Annie Laurie.\\nVoiced A.\\nMaxwEi/Ton braes are bonnie,\\nWhere Annie used to sigh,\\nAnd for her, tis said a Scotchman\\nWould lay him down and die.\\nAijy Voices.\\nWould lay him down and die,\\nThe same as you and I\\nFor his own sweet Annie Laurie\\nHe would lay him down and die.\\nVoice B.\\nHer brow was like the snow-drift,\\nYet warm her heart and true\\nOh, she was as fair a sweetheart\\nAs e er in Scotland grew.\\nAu, Voices.\\nAs e er in Scotland grew,\\nWhere early falls the dew\\nAnd she was as fair a lassie,\\nAs e er in Scotland grew.\\nVoice C.\\nHer feet tis said were dainty,\\nYet no one ever knew\\nEither from a song or story,\\nThe number of her shoe.\\n387", "height": "4384", "width": "3128", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0383.jp2"}, "384": {"fulltext": "388\\nTHE MUSICAL ASTERS\\nAll Voices.\\nThe number of her shoe,\\nNor do they give a clue\\nYet still she loved a Scotchman,\\nAnd for that she gets her due.\\nVoice D.\\nHer voice was low and dulcet,\\nA charm that all folks prize\\nAnd her blue eyes in their splendor\\nOutvied the azure skies.\\nAll Voices.\\nOutvied the azure skies,\\nWith all that this implies\\nYet we know gray, black, or brown ones\\nAre sure to charm likewise.\\nVoice E-\\nSomewhere, an Annie Laurie,\\nSomewhere, a Scotchman dwells\\nAnd for both, each heart in whispers,\\nThe same old story tells.\\nAll Voices.\\nThe same old story tells,\\nThat works its mystic spells\\nFor we re all Scotch lads and lassies,\\nWherever true love dwells.\\nVoice F.\\nLet all praise Annie Laurie,\\nAnd him who for her sighed\\nAnd we ll hope, though tis not mentioned,\\nHe won her for his bride.\\nAu, Voices.\\nHe won her for his bride,\\nFor hard, indeed, he tried\\nAnd we ll hope, though oft disheartened\\nHe laid not down and died.\\nVoice G.\\nFarewell to Annie Laurie,\\nThat maiden pure and true\\nAll the world will love her ever,\\nTwill love the Scotchman, too.\\nAll Voices.\\nTwill love the Scotchman, too,\\nFor what he meant to do\\nBut we ll all love Annie Laurie\\nFor her heart so warm and true.\\nThe End.\\nNote. Any song can be adapted to this form of entertain-\\nment, and all that is necessary is to apportion the words among\\nthe several singers.", "height": "4344", "width": "3428", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0384.jp2"}, "385": {"fulltext": "STAR SPANGLED BANNER.\\n389\\nFrancis Kky.\\n:1:\\n@M\\ny u I\\n1. O say can you see, by the dawn s ear ly light, What soproud-ly we hail d at the\\n2. On the shore, dim- ly seen thro the mists of the deep, Where the foe s haughty host in dread\\n3. O, thus be it ev er when freemen shall stand Be tween their lov ed homes and\\nI ti d m m IN IN m m -0- ~0- ~0-\\nA\u00e2\u0080\u0094 N\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0H\\\\=/h\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n*=fc\\n:1:\\n=1:\\n=t\\nife\u00c2\u00bb\\n1 1 y y 1\\ntwilight s last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars thro the per- il ous fight, O er the\\nsi lence re pos es, What is that, which the breeze o er the tow er ing steep, As it\\nwar s des o la tion, Blest with vie fry and peace, may the heav n-rescued la^d Praise the\\nJ \\\\-r-d 0\u00e2\u0080\u00940-r-t 0-.-V P P-\\nH 0\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I 0\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\\\\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\\\ 1 1 0\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n=1 N q=n:\\ny y r\\n-0 0-\\nr r\\nit:\\n=t\\nit\\n1\\nram-parts\\nfit ful\\npow r that\\nb 1 r r\\nwe watch dwereso gal lant ly stream-ing, And the rock- et s red glare, the bombs\\nly blows, half conceals, half dis clos es Now it catch -es the gleam of the\\nhas made and preserved us a na tion, Then con quer we must, when our\\n1 IN Nil 1\\n0- m m I d^d d 4 -0p\\nM=r\\n-fi\\ni-r\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0^M\\n-P2-\\nM=t\\n1\\n-TTinp\\nlr\\n\u00c2\u00abi\\nk y I\\nburst-ing in air Gave proof thro the night that our flag was still there O say, does the\\nmorning s first beam, In full glo ry re fleet eduow shines on the stream Tis the star-spangled\\ncause it is just, And this be our mot -to In God is our trust, And the star-spangled\\nSEE*\\n-0- -0-\\n\u00c2\u00a3=\u00c2\u00b1z=t\\nit:\\nt\u00c2\u00a3\\n-y\u00e2\u0080\u0094y-\\n*_*_\\n?=k\\nIN N\\n-y\u00e2\u0080\u0094y-\\n?=t\\n1\\nI\\n=F\\n^J\\nr*.\\n2 h 1 a n\\nstar-spangled ban ner still wave, O er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?\\nban-ner, O long may it wave, O er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!\\nban- ner, in tri-umph shall wave, O er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!\\nt=3\\nJ- i-J-\\n*-i 1 1 H y h-\\nfci-t\\n=r=\\ni-p-- r ^-1- r 1 0-\\nHh", "height": "4388", "width": "3168", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0385.jp2"}, "386": {"fulltext": "39\u00c2\u00b0\\nTHE STARS AND STRIPES FOREVER.\\nGeo. M. Vickers\\nVoices in Unison.\\nFrank. L. Armstrong.\\nnces in unison. IS I I I I i\\n1 y\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1 f-\\n41\\n*=2\\nJfc\\ni. One flag a lone shall wave a bove us, Tis the em blem of the free,\\n2. One flag, one star ry con stel la tion In its am pie field of blue\\nm-\\nM\\n=F\\ni\\nAnd all the world shall pay it horn age Tho it floats o er land or\\nOne flag whose folds shall ev er bind us Firm to geth er, keep us\\ni\\nz=#\\nr\\n-st\\nsea;\\ntrue:\\n1-\\n:q:\\nSweet flag with all our hearts we love thee,\\nIn peace or war we will de fend thee\\ns-\\n-s\\nBut thy foes we still de fy\\nStill our em blem we shall be\\n.PL .fiL\\n5\\ng=f^\\nw\\nJ-f-i\\ni 1 1\\n-s_| twt-J I\\nV 0- tf v J-\\nI I -a-\\nThou a lone shall be the ban uer, That our hands will raise on high.\\nOne flag a -lone shall wave a- bove us, Tis the ban ner of the free.\\nan*- 1 O -f \u00e2\u0080\u0094t- pf- \u00e2\u0080\u0094f^-f g r^ r C -\u00c2\u00bb-r f F\u00e2\u0080\u0094 F-i\\n1\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I 1, p l_p 1 1 P^ 1 1 f\\nCopyright, 1893, by Frank L. Armstrong. Used by permission.", "height": "4376", "width": "3464", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0386.jp2"}, "387": {"fulltext": "THE STARS AND STRIPES FOREVER.\\n39i\\ni\\nCHORUS.\\nM\\np\\nm\\nThe stars and stripes for\\nThe\\nStar\\nry\\ntt h V\\nJ\\nI\\nALA J _\u00c2\u00a3 4 s -a\\n1 1 i i m m\\n^T t\\n-H\\nf\\nP\\na\\nVsl/\\n{2\\nI 1\\nem blem of the\\n1\\nfree\\nThou\\na\\n1\\nlone\\n1\\nshall\\n1\\nwave\\n-1\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n1\\nr\\na\\n1 p|\\nbove us,\\nf- b\\n1\\nt\\nt\\nt\\nt\\nh\\nt\\nV t\\nritard ad lib.\\nI I I\\nj\\n1\\nbove\\n\\\\S=k=\u00c2\u00a3\\nSave\\n-P 2\\nthe\\nban\\nof\\nthe\\nfree", "height": "4388", "width": "3132", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0387.jp2"}, "388": {"fulltext": "392\\nTHE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.\\nI\\n1. How dear to this heart are the scenes of iny child-hood, When\\n2. The moss cov- er d buck et I hail as a treas ure, For\\n3. How soon from, the green moss- y rim to re ceive it, As\\nat\\n^^m\\nfond rec ol lee tion pre sents them to view, The\\noft en at noon when re- turn dfroni the field, I\\norch ard, the mead ow, the\\nfound it the source of an\\npois d on the curb it re- clined to my lips, Not a full flowing gob let could\\njkt\\\\\u00e2\u0080\u0094 -jt\\na 0- A\\nIt\\nh V-\\ndeep tan-gled wildwood, And ev ry lov d spot which my in\\nex- (juis ite pleasure, The pur est and sweetest that 11a\\ntempt me to leave it, Tho fill d with the nee -tar that Ju\\nfan cy knew. The\\nture can yield. How\\npi ter sips. And", "height": "4356", "width": "3432", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0388.jp2"}, "389": {"fulltext": "THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.\\n393\\nA r p p P P P P* P P 9 i N P\\nN\\n1\\nffnv J J J J J i J J 9 J\\nj ii \\\\j r i\\nVJ; 99\\n9\\nrock\\nwhite\\ngret\\nwide-spreading stream, the mill that stood near it, The\\nar dent I seized it with hands that were glowing, And\\nnow far removed from the loved sit u a tion, The\\n-Q-- \\\\y j^^ -J^fc-\\nbridge and\\nquick to\\ntear of\\nthe\\nthe\\nre\\nwhere the\\npeb-bled\\nwill in\\n.SBas^iiiiM, _| r^ _\\n9\u00e2\u0080\u0094 r\\n9 m\\nI\\nXs\\\\) 9 9 9 9 S\\n9 9 9\\n9\\n9\\nt=\\nJ i\\nr s s i s\\n-0- -0-\\n-h- -f\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n-p-\\neeIe\\nf\\nf a f t\\ni r j\\n(pj\u00c2\u00b1 L-g-l g 1 g 1 g 1 g-i-g-\\ni=g-j=g_Jz\u00c2\u00a34=l!U=\u00c2\u00a34=g-\\n^==\u00c2\u00a71\\n1?\\n-k-t/-\\n-k-\\nm\\ncat a ract fell The cot of my fa ther, the dai ry house by it, And\\nbot torn it fell Then soon with the em blem of health o ver flow ing, And\\ntru sive ly swell; As fan cy re-verts to my fa- ther s plan ta tion, And\\nI*\\n-i-\u00c2\u00ab 1 s| 1 0r\\n\u00c2\u00ab=t\\nI I I\\nat\\ni\\nf\\n-9\\\\ t-ir-\\n\u00c2\u00b11\\nI\\nCHORUS.\\ne en the rude bucket that hung in the\\ndrip ping with coolness it rose from the\\nsighs for the buck- et that hung in the\\nI\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nwell,\\nwell,\\nwell.\\nV-\\\\/\u00e2\u0080\u0094*\\nThe old oak-en buck et, the\\ng==b I=i=*=i f=i]\\ni ron-boundbuck-et,\\nThe moss cov-er d buck et that hung in the well.", "height": "4388", "width": "3128", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0389.jp2"}, "390": {"fulltext": "3 4\\nOUR ARHY AND NAVY.\\nWords and Music by Geo. M. Vickers.\\ni!\\nModerately, with expression.\\n5\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0=3=*=^\\nt=l\\n1. While tlie light beams\\n2. Let us sing them\\n3. Though you sail far\\n4. Then here s to the brave, Who, their coun try to\\nsave,\\nAre\\nbright In the home stead to night, And the\\na song As the days pass a long, For\\na way Where the foe s fleets lay, Though you\\n-h-3\u00e2\u0080\u0094 IV\\nv\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nvoic es of lov d ones are gay, Let us think of the brave, Who their\\nwell their de vo tion they prove Let them know though they roam There are\\nmarch neath an al ien sky, Here at home we are true And we\\nwill ing to suf fer and die; And while God gives us might When we\\nCopyright, 1898, by Geo. M. Vickers.", "height": "4372", "width": "3444", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0390.jp2"}, "391": {"fulltext": "OUR ARMY AND NAVY.\\n395\\nI\\n*a\\n9\\ncoun try to save,\\nwarm hearts at home\\npray, boys that you\\nfight for the right,\\nHave gone\\nL,et us sing\\nMay re turn\\nOur proud flag\\nfrom our land\\nof their val\\nin the sweet\\nall the world\\n--\u00c2\u00a3=w-\\nheart to their col ors are\\ntrue\\nTis they who will stand, Or they ll\\n~3 I-\\n1\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a042-\\ndie\\n1e\\n:i^\\nhe ro band In de fence of the red, white and blue.\\n4=\\n0\u00e2\u0080\u0094f*\\nIB\\nifl", "height": "4388", "width": "3140", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0391.jp2"}, "392": {"fulltext": "39\\nYANKEE DOODLE.\\nSong Duett and Chorus\\nArranged by S. T. Gokdon.\\n1 I I I I 1\u00e2\u0080\u00944-^ 1 -J I 1 I i I\\nm-i\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a e a\\n\u00c2\u00b1LLZ 1 1 i^^- 1 Ns;; N;;; V^--\\nI\\ng^^~ f E\u00e2\u0080\u0094 jc\\nr\u00e2\u0080\u0094 r\\nrX=x.\\nI I-\\n*=Se3:\\n33\\n-0\\n-3r-\\\\\\nH 1 0-\\n2*.\\ni= r r r r t=S\\nSong or Duett.\\nA I-\\nm\\n4 4-\\nf 0-\\nr\\n;SEErS\\nII I I\\ni. Fa ther and I went down to camp, A long with Cap tain Good win, And\\n2. And there was Gen ral Wash- ing ton, Up on a snow white Char ger, He\\n-a\\nt\\n-0-\\nH\\n\u00c2\u00a5=T\\nS5:\\n0-\\nI I I\\nthere we saw the men and boys, As think as hast y pud\\nlook d as big as all out doors, Some though the was much lar\\nding,\\nger;\\nf\\nz=q:\\n=t\\n=t\\n=F\\nX d\\nm", "height": "4360", "width": "3436", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0392.jp2"}, "393": {"fulltext": "YANKEE DOODLE.\\n39?\\ni\\n=t\\n=P\\nYan kee doo die keep\\nup,\\nYan kee doo die\\ndan\\ndy,\\nr\\n=E=\u00c2\u00b1\\n=T-\\ns)\\n-A 1 fS\\ni\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0A\\nA\\n=j\\nn\\n-j\\n-I\\nA H\\nA\\nm~~i s t\\n0\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nd\\nc\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094i-\\nd\\n4\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2i\\nd F\\n^J- S\\nMind the mu\\nsic\\nand\\nthe\\n-1\\nstep,\\n-1\\nd\\nAnd\\n1\\nwith\\n-1\\nthe\\nl\\n1\\nd\\nd\\ngirls\\nA\\nL-^i\\nbe han\\n1 r 4\\n1\\ndy.\\nJ 1\\nA 1\\n\u00c2\u00ab-5\\n1 1\\nd\\n1\\nI\\nI\\nd\\n9\\n9\\nd\\n1\\n-J E^\\ni I\\n(g *j\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nS\\ni\\nm\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n1\\ni\\nS-\\ns=f^\\nTM\\n1 w d\\ni\\n9\\n1\\nd\\ni\\n1\\nL -i\\n_4 l\\nAnd there was Col nel Putnam too,\\nDrest in his regimentals,\\nI guess as how the Brittish King,\\nCan t whip our Continentals.\\nAnd there I see d a little keg,\\nAll bound around with leather,\\nThey beat it with two little sticks,\\nTo call the men together.\\nAnd there they had a copper gun,\\nBig as a log of maple,\\nThey tied it to a wooden cart,\\nA load for Father s cattle.\\nAnd there they fif d away like fun,\\nAnd play d on cornstalk fiddles,\\nAnd some had ribbins round their hats,\\nAnd some around their middles.\\nAnd ev ry time they fir d it off,\\nIt took a horn of powder,\\nIt made a noise like Father s gun,\\nOnly a nation louder.\\nThe troopers too, would gallop up,\\nAnd fir d in all direction,\\nI thought they really meant to kill\\nAll the cow boys in the nation.\\nio.\\nI went as near to it myself,\\nAs any body dare go,\\nAnd Father went as near again,\\nI thought he dar nt do so.\\n(jFor Chorus, see page 472.)\\nBut I can t tell you half I see d,\\nThey kept up such a smother,\\nI took my hat off, made a bow,\\nAnd scamper d home to Mother.", "height": "4388", "width": "3144", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0393.jp2"}, "394": {"fulltext": "398\\nYANKEE DOODLE.\\nCHORUS.\\nSoprano.\\nfV\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094i\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n-9\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\ni\\nYan kee doo die keep it up,\\nContralto.\\nYan kee doo die\\ndan\\ndy,\\n-JT-+\\nTexor.\\nt=t\\nYan kee doo die keep it\\nup,\\nYan kee doo die\\ndan\\nay.\\n8^\\n3==\\nli^H\\nMind the mu sic and the step, And with the girls be\\nhan\\n=1:\\n=f\\ndy.\\nm\\nm\\nMind the mu sic and the step, And with the girls be han dy.\\n1\\nm\\ni\\nI I-\\n3EEEJ\\ni", "height": "4372", "width": "3476", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0394.jp2"}, "395": {"fulltext": "AHERICA.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 My Country, tis of Thee.\\n399\\nMay be sung as Solo or Chorus.\\nS. F. Smith.\\n1\\ni\\nHandel.\\nJL#_^\\nq\\n=1\\n9\\n3\\n1\\n=1\\nw\\n1 1\\n9~\\n-H N -1\\n1. My\\n2, My\\n3- Our\\n-jhi q\\n9\\ncoun\\nna\\nFa\\n=1\\ntry,\\ntive\\nthers\\ntis\\ncoun\\nGod!\\n1\\nof\\ntry,\\nto\\n-A\\nthee,\\nthee\\nthee,\\n=1\\nSweet land\\nLand of\\nAu thor\\n-1 -1\\nt\\nof\\nthe\\nof\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094I\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nlib\\nno\\nlib\\n1\\ner ty,\\nble free\\ner ty,\\n1* n\\nm\u00e2\u0080\u0094 4=5\\n1\\nA\\n1\\n1\\nlj\\n-1\\nm\\n1\\nJ\\n9\\na\\na\\n9\\n9\\n9\\n9\\n1\\n9\\n9\\np$-a-f=\\n__?\\n1\\n4\\nm\\nm\\nm\\ni w\\nm P\\nXlS^ V\\n10\\ni\\np\\np r\\n4-t\\n1\\nV\\n1\\nr\\n1\\nV\\n3=1:\\nOf thee\\nThy name\\nTo thee\\n=1=1=5=\\n-d\u00e2\u0080\u0094z 1 1\\nt=\\nI sing Land where my\\nI love I love thy\\nwe sing Long may our\\nI\\nfa thers died, Land of the\\nrocks and rills, Thy woods and\\nland be bright With free dom s\\nq ======F= =J F Y l F\\n2=====S=====^== ==g====l^-===r==-- ^-^\u00c2\u00b1=^=z==j4==^z=Lz3t^zzJ=z=B=d\\n9 _\u00e2\u0080\u009e_ _^_ 9 W\\n1\\n:p=^\\n*^4\\ni\\n-r~\\npil grim s pride, From ev ry mount ain side Let free dom\\ntern pled hills My heart with rap ture thrills Like that a\\nho ly light Pro tect us by Thy might, Great God, our\\nt\u00c2\u00b1\\n4\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J-\\nV~^t\\n:t=:\\n=t\\nring!\\nbove.\\nKing.\\n-d-\\n1\\n1", "height": "4388", "width": "3144", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0395.jp2"}, "396": {"fulltext": "400\\nTHE NEW DIXIE.\\nXote. The words of this song can be sung to the old tune, Dixie s LAND they fit exactly. Use the old tune,\\nKey of C, the last time the Chorus is sung the effect is thrilling.\\nWords and Music by GEO. M. ViCKERS.\\nWith spirit.\\nje^e\\n_ 9 9 _\\ni. Ral ly, Soutb-rons, round Old Glo\\nI\\nry, He roes brave, re -peat your\\nCopyright, 1898, by Geo M. Vickers.", "height": "4348", "width": "3468", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0396.jp2"}, "397": {"fulltext": "THE NEW DIXIE.\\n401\\nCHORUS, in Unison.\\n:f\u00c2\u00b1*z\\nt=\\n-M-^\u00e2\u0080\u00940-\\nP\\nA- rise! ye nien of Dix-ie! Hur rah hurrah On sea or land we ll take our stand For\\n-I P\\\\\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1 f\\nS=S=3\\n^F=l-\\nJ*\\n2?\\n=t\\nif\\n:U\\n1 1 1\\nr 1 F\\n4=*\\ncoun try, home and Dix-ie\\nP\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094I 9\\nTo arms\\n-I\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nto arms\\nt=t\\n-JtT\\ni\\n9\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFor those we love in\\n1=*=;\\n3\\n-i i-\\n-9-\\n1=1\\n-i r\\n1 i\\nmf\\nA I-\\nf\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nDix ie\\nI-\\nTo arms\\nto arms!\\n4v==\\nFor coun -try\\nand for Dix-ie\\nis:\\nS\u00e2\u0080\u0094 r-\\n=A=q:\\n*-=s\\nHHIH\\nrail.\\nrfc 1\\n-9-\\n=1:\\nip-\\n1 I-\\n9-\\n1 I-\\n\u00c2\u00a35\\n-=i-\u00c2\u00ab-\\nt=t\\n=l=fc^\\nIP\\nSons of heroes, shout defiance,\\nOn just Heaven place reliance,\\nTo arms to arms to arms in Dixie\\nSouthron arms will shield the nation,\\nSave our flag from degradation,\\nTo arms to arms to arms in Dixie\\n3 Up and march to meet the foemen,\\nLet your war-cry be their omen,\\nTo arms to arms to arms in Dixie\\nNeath the flag, a band of brothers,\\nFor your sweethearts, wives and mothers,\\nTo arms to arms to arms in Dixie\\n24\\nRally, men, from every station,\\nShow the valor of your nation,\\nTo arms to arms to arms in Dixie\\nKeep ablaze your beacon fires,\\nStrike for honor of your sires\\nTo arms to arms to arms in Dixie", "height": "4388", "width": "3152", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0397.jp2"}, "398": {"fulltext": "4 02\\nThe Greatness Of the American Republic, its achievements in Art and Science,\\nand its ceaseless interest in the cause of human freedom, are mainly due to the influence\\nof our Public Schools, as are also the steadfast patriotism, and the bravery of its sons\\nand daughters.\\nTHE PUBLIC SCHOOL.\\nTHIS SONG IS DEDICATED\\nTo the Superintendents, Teachers, and Pupils of our Public Schools,\\nand to the\\nFriends of Liberal Education Everywhere.\\nAllegretto moderate).\\nm^\\nWords and Music by GEO. M. ViCKERS.\\n-$w-\\n\u00c2\u00a3i\\ni\\n-L_U-g_, M\\nVoices in unison.\\n5=*\\nw-\\n1. When Free dom flung her ban ner high In tri umph o er the land, Twas\\n2. The ty rant s pow er melts a way When Truth and Right ap pear, No\\n:=F\\n=F\\n1=\\nCopyright, 1899, by Geo. M. Vickers", "height": "4336", "width": "3476", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0398.jp2"}, "399": {"fulltext": "THE PUBLIC SCHOOL.\\n403\\na tempo.\\nWis dom s form came then in view, With knowl-edge full and\\nknowl edge el e vates man-kind, Makes clear the gold en\\n1 1 IV\\nIV 1 -j m 1-\\nt 3\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n-p-\\nThat\\nAnd\\nI\\nBE\\nall might learn in les sons true The creed of Lib er ty.\\ngives the bless ings that we find With in the Pub lie School.\\n-I-\\nCHORTJS. With spirit.\\n:f\u00c2\u00b1\\n3\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n/\u00e2\u0080\u0094v 1\\nto our for tress\\n3^3 1 1^\\nHail, hail,\\n-8 I\\nJX 1 1\\nhail\\nstrong\\nHail, hail, hail to the foe\\n-fv-*-\\nTj\u00e2\u0080\u0094 -3\\n1=1\\n\u00c2\u00a3S\u00c2\u00a3\\nm\\nBit.\\nV\u00e2\u0080\u0094 K-\\nm=*=t=tt\\nwrong! Bright, bright,bright beam thy beacon light, God bless the Pub lie School!\\n-v I j/\\nTHE ARMSTRONG CO., MUSIC TYPOGRAPHERG, 710!", "height": "4388", "width": "3140", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0399.jp2"}, "400": {"fulltext": "Part XIV\\nHELPFUL QUOTATIONS\\nFROM NOTED PHILOSOPHERS, ORATORS, STATESMEN AND AUTHORS\\nFor Use in Home and School\\nT70UNG people take a great inter esest, and receive much benefit, both at home and\\nin school, from the practice of beginning the day with a quotation from some\\nnoted person.\\nIn the home parents may require each one at the breakfast table to give a quota-\\ntion from a well-known author or public man. The name of the author should be\\nannounced the day before and some facts concerning his life be told to add interest\\nto the work of preparing the extracts. During breakfast the quotations, or talk about\\nthe author form a pleasant theme for conversation.\\nIn school where the number of children is great, a few may be apsointed to give\\nquotations on the different school-days of the week.\\nThe following selections will be found sufficient for several weeks practice and\\nentertainment, after which favorite authors may be read and independent selections made.\\nSOLON.\\nThe great Spartan Lawgiver.\\nBorn about 640 Yeras B. C.\\nHe who has learned to obey, will know\\nhow to command.\\nIn everything that you do consider the\\nend.\\nIn all things let reason be your guide.\\nCONFUCIUS.\\nThe Founder of the Chinese Religion, and\\noccupying to his followers a position similar\\nin some respects to that of Jesus in the Christian\\ncreed.\\nBorn 551. Died 479 B. C.\\nEat at your own table as you would eat\\nat the table of the king.\\nlearning without thought is labor lost.\\nMOHAnnED.\\nThe Prophet and Founder of the Mohammedan\\nReligion.\\nBorn about 570, A. D. Died 623.\\nThe ink of the scholar is more sacred than\\nthe blood of the martyr.\\nCICERO.\\nThe Greatest of Roman Orators.\\nBorn 106 B. C. Died 43 B. C.\\nUsefulness and baseness cannot exist in\\nthe same thing.\\n404", "height": "4368", "width": "3476", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0400.jp2"}, "401": {"fulltext": "HELPFUL QUOTATIONS\\n4\u00c2\u00b05\\nAn intemperate, disorderly youth will\\nbring to old age, a feeble, worn-out body.\\nThe searching out and thorough investiga-\\ntion of truth ought to be the primary study of\\nman.\\nPLUTARCH.\\nThe most noted of Ancient Biographers. But\\nfor his writings we should know little personally\\nof the great men of antiquity.\\nBorn about 50 A. D. Died 120.\\nTo be ignorant of the lives of the most\\ncelebrated men of antiquity is to continue in\\nchildhood all our days.\\nDANTE.\\nGreat Italian Poet Author of the Inferno.\\nBorn 126-5. Died 1321.\\nHe who knows most, grieves most for\\nwasted time.\\nThe wretch that would wish the poetry\\nof life and feeling to be extinct, let him for-\\never dwell in name, in frost, in ever-during\\nnight.\\nCERVANTES.\\nNoted Spanish Poet, Wit and Play-wright.\\nAuthor of Don Quixote.\\nBorn 1517. Died 1616.\\nBlessings on him who invented sleep, the\\nmantle that covers all human thoughts, the\\nfood that appeases hunger, the drink that\\nquenches thirst, the fire that warms cold,\\nthe cold that moderates heat, and, lastly,\\nthe general coin that purchases all things,\\nthe balance and weight that equals the\\nshepherd with the king, and the simple\\nwith the wise.\\nIrresolute people let their soup grow cold\\nbetween the plate and the mouth.\\nIt is courage that vanquishes in war and\\nnot good weapons.\\nWhoever is ignorant is vulgar.\\nBe slow of tongue and quick of eye.\\nSIR WALTER RALEIGH.\\nBorn 1552. Died 1618.\\nTo live thy better, let thy worst thoughts\\ndie.\\nPassions are likened best to floods and\\nstreams,\\nThe shallow murmur, but the deep are\\ndumb.\\nLORD BACON.\\nOne of the most illustrious Philosophers of the\\nworld.\\nBorn 1561. Died 1626.\\nSome books are to be tasted, others to be\\nswallowed, and some few to be chewed and\\ndigested.\\nA man s nature runs either to herbs or\\nweeds therefore, let him seasonably water\\nthe one, and destroy the other.\\nThe less people speak of their greatness\\nthe more we think of it.\\nBoldness is bad in counsel, but good in\\nexecution\\nReading maketh a full man, conference a\\nready man, and writing an exact man.\\nSHAKSPEARE.\\nThe greatest Poet, Philosopher and Author oj\\nthe world.\\nBorn 1564. Died 1616.\\nThey well deserve to have,\\nThat know the strong st and surest way to\\nget.\\nA scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a\\ngood livery of honor.\\nHe that is giddy, thinks that the world\\nturns round.\\nWhat is yours to bestow, is not yours to\\nreserve.\\nPraising what is lost, makes the remem-\\nbrance dear.\\nWhat is the city but the people\\nLet them obey, that know not how to\\nrule.\\nA friend i the court is better than a penny\\nin purse.\\nThe plants look up to heaven, from whence\\nThey have their nourishment.\\nThings in motion sooner catch the eye,\\nThan what not stirs.", "height": "4388", "width": "3168", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0401.jp2"}, "402": {"fulltext": "406\\nHELPFUL QUOTATIONS\\nLight boats sail swift, though greater\\nhulks draw deep.\\nA friend should bear his friend s infirmi-\\nties.\\nMake not your thoughts your prisons.\\nThere is no time so miserable but a man\\nmaybe true.\\nTime is the nurse and breeder of all\\ngood.\\nStriving to better, oft we mar what s\\nwell.\\nReceive what cheer you may\\nThe night is long, that never finds the\\nday.\\nWisely and slow they stumble that run\\nfast.\\nNor ask advice of any other thought\\nBut faith, fulness, and courage.\\nOur doubts are traitors and makes us lose\\nthe good we oft might win, by fearing to\\nattempt.\\nHow far that little candle throws its\\nbeams\\nSo shines a good deed in this naughty\\nworld.\\nI can easier teach twenty what were good\\nto be done than be one of twenty to follow\\nmine own teachings,\\nThe man that hath no music in himself,\\nNor is not moved with concord of sweet\\nsounds,\\nIs fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.\\nHe that wants money, means, and content\\nis without three good friends.\\nWe must be gentle now we are gentlemen.\\nIt is but a base ignoble mind that mounts\\nno higher than a bird can soar.\\nDidst thou ever hear\\nThat things ill got, had ever bad success\\nSuspicion always haunts the guilty mind;\\nThe thief doth fear each bush an officer.\\nTis better to be lowly born,\\nAnd range with humble livers in content\\nThan to be perked up in a glistering grief,\\nAnd wear a golden sorrow.\\nPress not a falling man too far.\\nCowards die many times before their\\ndeaths.\\nThe valiant never taste of death but\\nonce.\\nMen at some time are masters of their\\nfates.\\nThe fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,\\nBut in ourselves, that we are underlings.\\nObey thy parents keep thy word justly\\nswear not.\\nHave more than thou showest\\nSpeak less than thou knowest\\nLend less than thou owest\\nLearn more than thou trowest.\\nWILLIAM PENN.\\nFounder of Pennsylvania and an illustrious\\nChristian Philanthropist.\\nBorn 1644. Died 1718\\nA man, like a watch, is to be valued for\\nhis manner of going.\\nHe that does good for good s sake, seeks\\nneither praise nor reward, though sure of\\nboth at last.\\nJOSEPH ADDISON.\\nnoted English Writer\\nBorn 1672, Died 1719.\\nGood nature will always supply the ab-\\nsence of beauty, but beauty cannot supply\\nthe absence of good nature.\\nWhat sculpture is to a block of marble,\\nEducation is to a human being.\\nWhat a pity is it\\nThat we can die but once to save our\\ncountry.\\nBEN JONSON.\\nCelebrated English Poet and Dramatist.\\nBorn 1574. Died 1637.\\nShakspeare was not of an age but for all\\ntime.\\nFear to do base, unworthy things is valor;\\nif they be done to us, to suffer them is\\nvalor too.", "height": "4376", "width": "3472", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0402.jp2"}, "403": {"fulltext": "HELPFUL QUOTATIONS\\n407\\nTHOMAS FULLER.\\nBorn 1608. Died 1661.\\nThou may st as well expect to grow\\nstronger by always eating, as wiser by\\nalways reading. It is thought and diges-\\ntion which make books serviceable and give\\nhealth and vigor to the mind.\\nHe lives long that lives well and time\\nmisspent is not lived but lost.\\nMILTON.\\nGreat English Poet, Author of Paradise Lost.\\nBorn 1608. Died 1674.\\nEove not thy life nor hate but what thou\\nliv st,\\nLive well, how long or short permit to\\nHeaven,\\nGood, the more\\nCommunicated, more abundant grows.\\nAs good almost kill a man, as kill a good\\nbook.\\nThey also serve who only stand and wait.\\nALEXANDER POPE.\\nPopular English Poet and Critic. Noted for\\nthe smoothness of his verse and the sting of his\\nsarcasm.\\nBorn 1688. Died 1744.\\nVice is a monster of such frightful mien,\\nAs, to be hated, needs but to be seen\\nYet seen too oft, familiar with her face,\\nWe first endure, then pity, then embrace.\\nHonor and shame from no conditions rise\\nAct well your part, there all the honor lies.\\nKnow then this truth (enough for man to\\nknow)\\nVirtue alone is happiness below.\\nTis with our judgments as our watches\\nnone\\nGo just alike, yet each believes his own.\\nVOLTAIRE.\\nThe most remarkable name in the history of\\nFrench Literature.\\nBorn 1694. Died 1778.\\nIdeas are like beards men do not have\\nthem until they grow up.\\nIt is the danger least expected, that\\nsoonest comes to us.\\nWe cannot always oblige, but we can\\nalways speak obligingly.\\nProvidence has given us hope and sleep\\nas a compensation for the many cares of life.\\nI pity the man overwhelmed with the\\nweight of his own leisure.\\nBENJAMIN FRANKLIN.\\nEminent American Philosopher and Statesman.\\nBorn 1706. Died 1790.\\nEnergy and persistence conquer all things.\\nDost thou love life, then do not squander\\ntime, for that is the stuff life is made of.\\nWhat maintains one vice will bring up\\ntwo children.\\nBetter is little, provided it is your own,\\nthan an abundance of borrowed capital.\\nIf you know how to spend less than you\\nget, you have the philosophers stone.\\nIf you would not be forgotten as soon as\\nyou are dead, either write things worth\\nreading, or read things worth writing.\\nIf a man empties his purse into his head,\\nno man can take it away from him.\\nAn investment in knowledge always pays\\nthe best interest.\\nIn my opinion there never was a good\\nwar or a bad peace.\\nDR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.\\nOne of the greatest Scholars and most eminent\\nWriters of the Eighteenth Century.\\nBorn 1709. Died 1784.\\nWords are daughters of earth, but ideas\\nare sons of heaven.\\nThe desires of man increase with his\\nacquisitions.\\nDon t tell me of deception. A lie is a lie\\nwhether it be a lie to the eye or a lie to the\\near.\\nExert your talents and distinguish your-\\nself, and don t think of retiring from the\\nworld until the world will be sorry that you\\nretire.", "height": "4388", "width": "3168", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0403.jp2"}, "404": {"fulltext": "4 o8\\nHELPFUL QUOTATIONS\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nEnglish Poet. Author of the Vicar of Wakefield.\\nBorn 1728. Died 1774.\\nPeople seldom improve when they have\\nno other model but themselves to copy after.\\nOur greatest glory consists, not in never\\nfalling, but in rising every time we fall.\\nWILLIAM COWPER.\\nBorn 1731. Died 1800.\\nStillest streams\\nOft water greenest meadows and the bird\\nThat nutters least is longest on the wing.\\nWords learned hy rote a parrot may rehearse;\\nBut talking is not always to converse.\\nAbsence of occupation is not rest\\nA. mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.\\nROBERT BURNS.\\nBorn 1759. Died 1796.\\nThe best laid schemes o mice and men\\nGang aft a- glee\\nAnd leave us naught but grief and pain\\nFor promised joy,\\nIt s no in books, it s no in lear,\\nTo make men truly blest\\nIf happiness has not her seat\\nAnd centre in the breast,\\nWe may be wise, or rich, or great,\\nBut never can be blest.\\nGEORGE WASHINGTON.\\nFirst President of the United States. Father oj\\nhis Country.\\nBorn 1732. Died 1799.\\nTo be prepared for war is one of the most\\neffectual means of preserving peace.\\nWithout virtue and without integrity the\\nfinest talents and the most brilliant accom-\\nplishments can never gain the respect and\\nconciliate the esteem of the truly valuable\\npart of mankind.\\nTHOflAS JEFFERSON.\\nAuthor of Declaration of Independence. Third\\nPresident of the United States.\\nBorn 1743. Died 1826.\\nWe mutually pledge to each other our\\nlives, our fortunes und our sacred honor.\\nThe God who gave us life gave us liberty\\nat the same time.\\nWe hold these truths to be self-evident\\nthat all men are created equal that they\\nare endowed by their Creator with certain\\ninalienable rights that among these are\\nlife, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.\\nDANIEL WEBSTER.\\nAmericans greatest Political Orator. The De-\\nfender of the Constitution.\\nBorn 1782. Died 1852.\\nm One country, one constitution, one des-\\ntiny.\\nI was born an American I live an Amer-\\nican I shall die an American\\nL,et our object be our country, our whole\\ncountry and nothing but our country. And,\\nby the blessings of God, may that country\\nitself become a vast and splendid monu-\\nment, not of oppression and terror, but of\\nwisdom, of peace, and of liberty, upon\\nwhich the world may gaze with admiration\\nforever.\\nANDREW JACKSON.\\n(Old Hickory) yth President of the United\\nStates. Noted for his patriotism, honesty and cour-\\nage.\\nBorn 1767. Died 1845.\\nOur Federal Union, it must and shall be\\npreserved.\\nEvery good citizen makes his country s\\nhonor his own, and cherishes it not only as\\nprecious but as sacred. He is willing to\\nrisk his life in its defense and is conscious\\nthat he gains protection while he gives it-\\nNAPOLEON BONAPARTE.\\nThe world s greatest military Genius. First\\nEmperor of the French.\\nBorn 1769. Died 1823\\nfirst\\nPublic instruction should be the\\nobject of government.\\nCircumstances I make circumstances.\\nVictory belongs to the most persevering.\\nBrave deeds are monuments of brave\\nmen.", "height": "4388", "width": "3468", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0404.jp2"}, "405": {"fulltext": "HELPFUL QUOTATIONS\\n409\\nI have only one counsel for you Be\\nfnaster.\\nProvidence is always on the side of the\\nstrongest batallions.\\nTo a father who loves his children, victory\\nhas no charms. When the heart speaks,\\nglory itself is an illusion.\\nDUKE OF WELLINGTON.\\nThe General who conquered Napoleon.\\nBorn 1769. Died 1852.\\nThe next dreadful thing to a battle lost is\\na battle won.\\nTroops would never be deficient in cour-\\nage if they could only know how deficient\\ntheir enemies were.\\nWILLIAM WORDSWOTRH.\\nEnglish Poet.\\nBorn 1770. Died 1850.\\nThe charities that sooth and heal and bless,\\nIyie scattered at the feet of men like flowers.\\nPoetry is the outcome of emotions recol-\\nlected in tranquility.\\nMinds that have nothing to confer,\\nFind little to perceive.\\nJAMES MONTGOriERY.\\nBorn 1771. Died 1854.\\nHere in the body pent\\nAbsent from Heaven I roam\\nYet nightly pitch my moving tent\\nA days march nearer home.\\nSIR WALTER SCOTT.\\nNoted Scotch Poet, Historian and Novelist.\\nBorn 1771. Died 1832.\\nThe paths of virtue, though seldom\\nthose of worldly greatness are always those\\nof pleasantness and peace.\\nWithout courage there cannot be truth, and\\nwithout truth there can be no other virtue.\\nOh, what a tangled web we weave,\\nWhen first we practice to deceive\\nOh, many a shaft at random sent\\nFinds mark the archer little meant\\nAnd many a word at random spoken,\\nMay soothe or wound a heart that s broken.\\nTHOMAS CAHPBELL.\\nBorn 1777. Died 1844.\\nTo live in hearts we leave behind\\nIs not to die.\\nTis distance lends enchantment to the\\nview\\nAnd robes the mountain in its azure hue.\\nA day to childhood seems a year,\\nAnd years like passing ages.\\nComing events cast their shadows before.\\nLORD BYRON.\\nBorn 1788. Died 1824.\\nHere s a sigh for those who love me,\\nAnd a smile for those who hate\\nAnd whatever sky s above me,\\nHere s a heart for every fate.\\nThey never fail who die in a great cause.\\nWords are but things, and a small drop of\\nink,\\nFalling like dew upon a thought, produces\\nThat which makes thousands, perhaps\\nmillions think.\\nWILLIAfl CULLEN BRYANT.\\nMr. Bryant was the first great American Poet.\\nBorn 1794. Died 1828.\\nThe only way to shine, even in this false\\nworld, is to be modest and unassuming.\\nFalsehood maybe a thick crust but, in the\\ncourse of time, truth will find a place to break\\nthrough.\\nSo live that when thy summons comes, to\\njoin\\nThe innumerable caravan, which moves\\nTo the pale realm where each shall take\\nHis chamber in the silent halls of death,\\nThou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,\\nScourged to his dungeon but sustained\\nand soothed\\nBy an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave\\nLike one who wraps the drapery of his\\ncouch\\nAbout him, and lies down to pleasant\\ndreams.\\nJOHN KEATS.\\nBorn 1795. Died 1821.\\nA thing of beauty is a joy forever.\\nThe poetry of earth is never dead.", "height": "4388", "width": "3160", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0405.jp2"}, "406": {"fulltext": "410\\nHELPFUL QUOTATIONS\\nJOHN HOWARD PAYNE.\\nBorn 1792. Died 1825.\\nMid pleasures and palaces though we may\\nroam.\\nBe it ever so humble, there s no place like\\nhome.\\nTHOMAS CARLYLE.\\nBorn 1795. Died 1881.\\nAll true work is sacred in all true work,\\nwere it but true hand-labor, there is some-\\nthing of divineness. Labor, wide as the\\nearth has its summit in heaven.\\nMen do less than they ought unless they\\ndo all they can.\\nTo be true is manly chivalrous, Chris-\\ntian to be false is mean, cowardly, devilish,.\\nHistory is a mighty drama, enacted upon\\nthe theatre of times, with suns for lamps\\nand eternity for a background.\\nThe latest gospel in this world is, know\\nthy work and do it.\\nHORACE MANN.\\nBorn 1796. Died 1859.\\nIt is well to think well. It is divine to\\nact well.\\nTen men have failed from defect in\\nmorals where one has failed from defect in\\nintellect.\\nTHOMAS HOOD.\\nBorn 1798. Died 1845.\\nHalf the failures in life come from pull-\\ning one s horse when he is leaping.\\nA friendless heart is like a hollow shell,\\nThat sighs over its own emptiness.\\nVICTOR HUGO.\\nGreat French Statesman, Orator and Novelist.\\nBorn 1802. Died 1885.\\nDirt has been shrewdly termed mis-\\nplaced material.\\nForty years is the old age of youth, while\\nfifty is the youth of old age.\\nLet us proclaim it firmly this age is the\\ngrandest of all ages. Because it is the\\nmost benignant. It proclaims the sover-\\neignty of the citizen and the inviolability\\nof life it crowns the people and conse-\\ncrates man.\\nRALPH WALDO EMERSON.\\nGreat American Poet, Philosopher and Essayist.\\nBorn 1803. Died 1882.\\nCharacter is higher than intellect. A\\ngreat sane will be strong to live as well as\\nstrong to think.\\nTruth is the property of no individual,\\nbut it is the treasure of all men.\\nShallow men believe in luck, strong men\\nbelieve in cause and effect.\\nBeauty is its own excuse for being.\\nBooks are the best things well, used\\nabused, among the worst.\\nThe world belongs to the energetic.\\nA beautiful form is better than a beautiful\\nface a beautiful behavior is better than a,\\nbeautiful form. It is the finest of fine arts.\\nThe only way to have a friend is to be one.\\nSo nigh is grandeur to our dust,\\nSo nigh is God to man,\\nWhen duty whispers low, Thou must\\nThe youth replies, I can.\\nHENRY W. LONGFELLOW.\\nLongfellow is the most widely read and most\\npopular of all American Poets.\\nBorn 1807. Died 1882.\\nNothing is too late\\nTill tired heart shall cease to palpitate.\\nLives of great men all remind us,\\nWe can make our lives sublime,\\nAnd departing leave behind us\\nFootprints on the sands of time.\\nMost people would succeed in small\\nthings if they were not troubled with great\\nambitions.\\nLook not mournfully into the past, it\\ncomes not back again wisely improve the\\npresent, it is thine.", "height": "4388", "width": "3476", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0406.jp2"}, "407": {"fulltext": "HELPFUL QUOTATIONS\\n411\\nNo one is so accursed by fate,\\nNo one so utterly desolate,\\nBut some heart, though unknown,\\nResponds unto his own.\\nThe heights by great men reached and kept\\nWere not attained by sudden flight,\\nBut they, while their companions slept,\\nWere toiling upward in the night.\\nIn the infinite meadows of Heaven,\\nBlossom the lovely stars, the forget-me-\\nnots of the angels.\\nSomething the heart must have and cherish,\\nMust love and joy and sorrow learn\\nSomething with passion clasp or perish,\\nAnd in itself to ashes burn.\\nSunday is the golden clasD that binds the\\nvolume of the week.\\nJOHN O. WHITTIER.\\nThe Poet of Freedom.\\nBor\\n[807. Died 1892.\\nFreedom, hand in hand with labor\\nWalketh strong and brave\\nOn the forehead of his neighbor\\nNo man writeth slave\\nDo well thy work. It shall succeed\\nIn thine or in another s day\\nAnd if denied the victor s meed,\\nThou shalt not lack the toiler s pay.\\nWhen faith is lost, when honor dies,\\nThe man is dead.\\nGo ring the bells and fire the guns,\\nAnd fling the starry banner out,\\nShout Freedom till your lisping ones\\nGive back their cradle shout.\\nOur lives are albums written through\\nWith good or ill, with false or true.\\nWho, looking backward from his man-\\nhood s prime,\\nSees not the spectre of his misspent time\\nALFRED TENNYSON.\\nPoet Laureate of England, and greatest English\\nPoet of the Century.\\nBorn 1809. Died 1892.\\nMen may rise on stepping-stones\\nOf their dead selves to higher things.\\nCursed be the social lies that warp us\\nfrom the simple truth.\\nHowe er it be, it seems to me,\\nTis only noble to be good\\nKind hearts are more than coronets,\\nAnd simple faith than Norman blood.\\nOh, well for him whose will is strong\\nHe suffers, but he will not suffer long\\nHe suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong.\\nBut the tender grace of a day that is dead\\nWill never come back to me.\\nI doubt not, through the ages one increas-\\ning purpose runs,\\nAnd the thoughts of men are widened with\\nthe process of the sun.\\nAh, when shall all men s good\\nBe each man s rule And universal peace\\nLie like a shaft of light across the land,\\nAnd like a lane of beams across the sea,\\nThrough all the circle of the golden year\\nBehold we know not any thing\\nI can but trust that good shall fall\\nAt last, far off; at last to all\\nAnd every winter change to spring.\\nIf time be heavy on your hands,\\nAre there no beggars at your gate,\\nNor any poor about your lands\\nOh, teach the orphan boy to read,\\nOr teach the orphan girl to sew\\nPray Heaven for a human heart,\\nAnd let your selfish sorrow go.\\nOh, God, for a man with heart, head, hand,\\nLike some of the simple great ones gone\\nFor ever and ever by\\nOne still strong man, in a blatant land,\\nWhatever they call him, what care I\\nAristocrat, democrat, autocrat, one\\nWho can rule and dare not lie\\nOLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.\\nNoted American Poet, Humorist and Philosopher\\nBorn 1809. Died 1894.\\nI find the great thing in this world is not\\nso much where we stand as in what direc-\\ntion we are moving.\\nWisdom is the abstract of the past, but\\nbeauty is the promise of the future.", "height": "4388", "width": "3132", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0407.jp2"}, "408": {"fulltext": "4 I2\\nHELPFUL QUOTATIONS\\nOld books, as you well .know, are books\\nof the world s youth, and new books are the\\nfruits of its age.\\nYou may set down as a truth, which\\nadmits of few exceptions, that those who\\nask your opinion really want your praise.\\nOne flag, one land, one heart, one hand,\\nOne nation evermore.\\nBuild thee more stately mansions, O my soul,\\nAs the swift seasons roll\\nLeave thy low vaulted past\\nLet each new temple, nobler than the last,\\nShut thee from heaven with a dome more\\nvast,\\nTill thou at length are free,\\nLeaving thine outgrown shell by life s\\nunresting sea.\\nHENRY WARD BEECHER.\\nAmerica s greatest Pulpit Orator.\\nBorn 1813. Died 1887.\\nThere is no such thing as a white lie a\\nlie is as black as a coal-pit and twice as\\nfoul.\\nThe humblest individual exerts some\\ninfluence, either for good or evil upon\\nothers.\\nHappiness is not the end of life charac-\\nter is.\\nAs flowers never put on their best clothes\\nfor Sunday, but wear their spotless raiment\\nand exhale their odor everyday, so let your\\nrighteous life, free from stain, ever give\\nforth the fragrance of the love of God.\\nABRAHAM LINCOLN.\\nOne of the greatest of American Presidents,\\nStatesmen and Orators.\\nBora 1809. Died 1865.\\nLet us have faith that right makes might\\nand in that faith, let us to the end dare to\\ndo our duty.\\nWith malice toward none, with charity\\nfor all, with firmness in the right as God\\ngives us to see the right.\\nForce is all conquering, but its victories\\nare short lived\\nKnavery and flattery are blood relations.\\nWILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE.\\nThe greatest English Statesman of the Nineteenth\\nCentury.\\nBern 1809. Died 1898.\\nApt quotations carry convictions.\\nDuty is a power which rises with us in\\nthe morning, and goes to rest with us at\\nnight. It is the shadow that cleaves to us,\\ngo where we will, and which leaves us only\\nwhen we leave the light of life.\\nIndividuals not stations ornament society.\\nTo train the mind should be the first\\nobject and to stock it the next.\\nJOHN B. QOUGH.\\nThe World s greatest Temperance Orator.\\nBorn 1817. Died 18S6\\nIntemperance weaves the winding sheet\\nof souls.\\nA man s enemies have no power to harm\\nhim, if he is true to himself and loyal to\\nGod.\\nThe power of evil habit is deceptive and\\nfascinating, and the man by coming to false\\nconclusions argues his way down to destruc-\\ntion.\\nMany people begin and end their temper-\\neane talks by calling drunkards brutes. No,\\nthey are not brutes I have labored for about\\neighteen years among drunkards, and I have\\nnever found a brute.\\nJAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.\\nBorn 1819. Died 1891.\\nLet us call tyrants tyrants and maintain\\nThat freedom comes by grace of God,\\nAnd all that comes not by His grace must\\nfall.\\nSlow are the steps of freedom, but her\\nfeet turn never backward.", "height": "4368", "width": "3460", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0408.jp2"}, "409": {"fulltext": "HELPFUL QUOTATIONS\\n\\\\n\\nThey are slaves who fear to speak\\nFor the fallen and the weak\\nThey are slaves who dare not be\\nIn the right with two or three.\\nBefore men made us citizens, great nature\\nmade us men.\\nMRS. MARIAN LEWES CROSS.\\n(George Eliot)\\nOne of the greatest Woman Novelists of the\\nWorld.\\nBorn 1820. Died 1880.\\nDo we not all agree to call rapid thought\\nand noble impulse by the name of inspira-\\ntion\\nHope folded her wings, looked backward\\nand became regret.\\nTruth, like fruit, has rough flavors if\\nwe bite through.\\nThe reward of one duty is the power to\\nfulfill another.\\nELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.\\nA noted English Poetess.\\nBorn r8oQ. Died 1 861.\\nGrief may be joy misunderstood\\nOnly the good discerns the good.\\nThe least flower with a brimming cup may\\nstand,\\nMay stand and share its dewdrop with\\nanother near.\\nOnly my gentleness shall make me great;\\nMy humbleness exalt me\\nGod s greatness flows round our incom-\\npleteness\\nRound our restlessness, His rest.\\nLYDIA H. SIQOURNEY.\\nAn American Poetess.\\nBor\\n-79 1\\nDied 1865.\\nA lily said to a threatning cloud\\nThat in sternest garb arrayed him,\\nYou have taken my lord, the sun, away,\\nAnd I know not where you have laid\\nhim.\\nGive words, kind words, to those who e er,\\nRemorse doth need a comforter.\\nWith the sweet charity of speech,\\nGive words that heal, and words that\\nteach.\\nSARAH JANE HULE.\\nAn American Poetess.\\nBorn 1795. Died 1879.\\nThe sea of ambition is tempest-tossed,\\nAnd thy hopes may vanish like foam\\nWhen sails are shivered, and compass lost,\\nThen look to the light of home.\\nLYDIA MARIA CHILD.\\nBorn 1802. Died 1880.\\nThe rarest attainment is to grow old\\nhappily and gracefully.\\nELIZA COOK.\\nBorn 1817. Died 1884.\\nI love it I love it and who shall dare\\nTo chide me for loving that old arm-chair\\nLet us question the thinkers and doers,\\nAnd hear what they honestly say,\\nAnd you ll find they believe, like bold\\nwooers\\nIn where there s a will, there s a way.\\nALICE CARY.\\nBorn 1820. Died 1871\\nArise and all thy task fulfil,\\nAnd as thy day thy strength shall be.\\nAmong the pitfalls in our way,\\nThe best of us walk blindly\\nSo, man, be wary, watch and pray,\\nAnd judge your brother kindly.\\nThere is nothing so kindly as kindness\\nAnd nothing so royal as truth.\\nPHOEBE CARY.\\nBorn 1824. Died 1871.\\nAnd isn t it, my boy or girl,\\nThe wisest, bravest plan,\\nWhatever comes, or doesn t come,\\nTo do the best you can", "height": "4388", "width": "3016", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0409.jp2"}, "410": {"fulltext": "4 i4\\nHELPFUL QUOTATIONS\\nThere are as many pleasant things,\\nAs niany pleasant tones,\\nFor those who dwell by cottage hearths\\nAs those who sit on thrones.\\nSARA J. LIPPINCOTT.\\nGrace Greenwood.\\nBorn 1823.\\nNaught can stay the human mind,\\nTis upward, onward, ever!\\nIt yet shall tread the starlit paths\\nBy highest Angels trod,\\nAnd pause but at the farthest world\\nIn the universe of God.\\nMARY ABIGAIL DODGE.\\nGail Hamilton.\\nBorn 1838. Died 1896.\\nIt is a crushed grape that gives out the\\nblood red wine it is the suffering soul that\\nbreathes the sweetest melodies.\\nMARGARET E. SANGSTER.\\nBorn 1838.\\nWe cannot all make money\\nBut some of us can find it out\\nAnd show its hive to others,\\nA gracious thing, no doubt.\\nFRANCIS HODGSON BURNETT.\\nAuthor of Little Lord Fauntleroy.\\nBorn 1849.\\nIt is better than everything else, that the\\nworld should be a little better because a\\nman has lived, even ever so little better.\\nELLA WHEELER WILCOX.\\nThe Philosophic Poetess of America.\\nThe fault of the age is a mad endeavor\\nTo leap to heights that were made to\\nclimb\\nBy a burst of strength, or a thought that is\\nclever,\\nWe plan to outwit and forestall time.", "height": "4348", "width": "3440", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0410.jp2"}, "411": {"fulltext": "Part XV\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nDECORATING THE GRAVES OF OUR\\nHEROIC DEAD.\\nFrom the specific intent to honor the memory of a few only of\\nthe nation s patriotic dead, the custom has grown until how it is\\nobserved all over America. Our Revolutionary heroes, those who\\ndied in the great Civil War, on both sides, and those who fell in\\nCuba in 1898, and those who gave up their lives in the Philippines\\nin 1899 and 1900, are mourned and remembered alike by our patri-\\notic people. Could anything be more graceful or more beautiful\\nThe following extract from a speech of General Daniel Butter-\\nworth, in May, 1900, may be fittingly used on Decoration Day\\nMemorial occasions. North and South\\nTHERE are several occasions in the course\\nof the year when the heart of the\\nAmerican nation grieves or rejoices\\nover events that have passed into history\\nand which are the peculiar concern of the\\nAmerican people alone when other nations\\nhave no place at all in the celebrations\\nwhen the presence of strangers is like the\\nintrusion of a little-known visitor on the\\nfamily circle\u00e2\u0080\u0094 at a time when something\\nis occupying the minds and hearts of the\\nfamily that is of deep concern to them\\nalone when the nation would fain lock\\nits doors and be alone with its grief or its\\njoy.\\nMemorial Day is peculiarly one of these\\noccasions. The drum tap that awakens the\\nliving to decorate the graves of the dead\\nthrills across the Continent, finding a respon-\\nsive echo in the breasts of those who have\\nloved ones in the cemetery and those who\\nare fortunate enough to have none it\\nbrings out the aged soldier, who can Scarcely\\ntotter, to the graveside, but who would\\nsooner die and be laid there himself than\\nmiss this annual gathering of veterans that\\nyear by year assemble in diminishing num-\\nbers it calls forth the widow and the chil-\\ndren of the patriotic dead to add to the tears\\nwhich, for so many years, they have been\\nshedding over the last resting place of heroes;\\nit makes tne nation one in purpose and in\\nsympathies. The following morning may\\nsee the struggling and the rivalries and the\\nbickerings inseparable from daily life begin\\nagain, but for one day in the year, at least,\\nthe nation lays aside these, and with clasped\\nhands and bared heads does honor to the\\ndead.\\nIt is comforting to know that the Amer-\\nican nation never forgets, and that so long\\nas the flag flies, wlrch is to say forever, the\\nannual custom of decorating the graves of\\nthe nation s heroes will be observed.\\nWe know not what the future has in\\nstore for the American nation, but this we\\nknow, that whether the grave that we deco-\\nrate to-day is that of a revolutionary hero,\\nor the gallant men who died in the Civil\\nWar, or of a soldier of the Union, who gave\\nup his life for a Mauser bullet, succumbed\\nto sickness in Cuba or the Philippines, or\\ncame home to die from the effects of wounds\\nreceived or sickness contracted during the\\nlate war, the duty is accepted by the Amer-\\nican people as a national legacy of affec-\\ntionate remembrance, to once a year, at\\nleast, pay a tribute of respect in the shape\\nof flowers and flags on the cold earth,\\nbeneath which the soldier s ashes repose.\\nThe thought has consoled the dying and\\ncomforts the living who are nearing the\\nborderland.\\nIt is this beautiful regard for the dead\\nwho have given their lives for their coun-\\ntry, that makes the American nation stand\\nout from all nations of the world.\\n4i5", "height": "4388", "width": "3008", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0411.jp2"}, "412": {"fulltext": "416\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nVictims of other and foreign wars are\\nburied where they fall, and there lie forever.\\nA hastily-dug trench at the close of the day\\nreceives hap-hazard the remains of the\\nkilled, friend and foe being laid indiscrimi-\\nnately together when the field is cleared by the\\nbearers. A general sign may mark their last\\nresting piace. In the case of officers, they\\nmay even have a headstone in course of time.\\nBut what nation save the American\\nnation sends back its dead to be buried in the\\nhomeland, in graves that are not nameless,\\nbut separate and distinct, and set apart for\\nthe individual coffin, with appropriate\\ninscription to tell who lies there. The sight\\nof transports bearing hundreds of the iden-\\ntified dead of the armies to be laid at rest in\\nthe national cemeteries is one unique in the\\nannals of the world.\\nAmerica in this respect to its heroes\\nhas taught every nation a lesson. The\\nreproach that the foe and the stranger shall\\nwalk over his head, cannot be laid at the\\ndoor of the Americans. Those who fell\\nbeneath the flag are buried beneath its folds\\nin a spot where forever the flag can wave\\noverhead, and where once a year the floral\\ntribute of the nation can be laid in token of\\nits gratitude for the heroism that stopped\\nnot at death itself in its desire to sacrifice\\nall for home and country.\\nHow pleasant to reflect that the patriot s\\nmemory will always be a grateful one and that\\nthe graves of the nation s dead will always\\nbe kept beautiful and bright with the best\\nfloral offerings of the early springtime.\\nThe time was happily chosen for this\\nannual decoration. When the world of\\nflowers is bursting into leaf and blossom;\\nwhen the trees are donning their Spring\\ngarments of green and the earth is smiling\\nand verdant, is a fitting time for the senti-\\nment of the nation that finds expression in\\nMemorial Day ceremonies to have full sway.\\nWhether we are dedicating monuments\\non battle- worn heights, strewing flowers on\\na grave in a corner of the humble burial\\nground of a village, or planting flags on the\\nmilitary rows in the national burial grounds,\\nall of us be impelled by the one sentiment,\\nnamely, that the dead who died for their\\ncountry must never be forgotten by the patri-\\notic men, women, and children of America.\\nMEMORIAL DAY.\\nChildren, bring the buds of springtime,\\nBring the fairest blooms of May,\\nWe will reverently lay them\\nOn the soldiers graves to-day.\\nThat our dear land should be happy,\\nAnd no man a slave should be,\\nThat is what these brave men died for,\\nGave their lives for Liberty.\\nNow for them there is no sorrow\\nNow for them all struggles cease\\nNow for them all strife is ended\\nThey have won a glorious peace.\\nSo with bright and cheerful faces,\\nWe will go from grave to grave,\\nOn this day, when all the nation\\nLoves to honor its dead brave.\\nWhile the starry flag they died for\\nFloats, intwined with olive-branch,\\nFrom the proudest Eastern city\\nTo the wildest Western ranch.\\nLisbeth B. Comins.\\nDECORATION DAY.\\nCover them over with beautiful flowers\\nDeck them with garlands, these\\nbrothers of ours,\\nLying so silent by night and by day,\\nSleeping the years of their manhood\\naway,\\nYears they had marked for the joys of the\\nbrave,\\nYears they must waste in the sloth of the\\ngrave.\\nAll the bright laurels they fought to make\\nbloom\\nFell to the earth ween they went to the\\ntomb.\\nGive them the meed they have won in the\\npast\\nGive them the honors their merits forecast\\nGive them the chaplets they won in the\\nstrife,\\nGive them the laurels they lost with their\\nlife.\\nCover them over, yes, cover them over,\\nParent and husband and brother and lover", "height": "4388", "width": "3472", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0412.jp2"}, "413": {"fulltext": "MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\n4i7\\nCrown in your heart these dead heroes of\\nours,\\nAnd cover them over with beautiful flowers.\\nCover the thousands that sleep far away,\\nSleep where their friends cannot find them\\nto-day\\nThey who in mountain and hillside and dell\\nRest where they wearied, and lie where\\nthey fell.\\nSoftly the grass -blade creeps round their\\nrepose,\\nSweetly above them the wild floweret\\nblows\\nZephyrs of freedom fly gently o erhead,\\nWhispering names for the patriot dead.\\nSo in our minds we will name them once\\nmore,\\nSo in our hearts we will cover them o er\\nRoses and lilies and violets blue\\nBloom in our souls for the brave and the\\ntrue.\\nCover them over yes, cover them over\\nParent and husband and brother and lover\\nThink of those far-away heroes of ours,\\nCover them over with beautiful flowers.\\nWixiy Cakxeton.\\nTOUSSAINT L OUVERTURE.\\nThe following extract is regarded as one of the greatest mas-\\nterpieces of eulogistic eloquence in the English language.\\nToussaint L Ouverture saved his master and family by hur-\\nrying them on board a vessel at the outbreak of the insurrection\\nof the negroes of Hayti. He then joined the negro army, and soon\\nfound himself at their head. Napoleon sent a fleet with French\\nveterans, with orders to bring him to France at all hazards., But\\nall the skill of the French soldiers could not subdue the negro\\narmy, and they finally made a treaty, placing Toussaint L Ouver-\\nture governor over the island. The negroes no sooner disbanded\\ntheir army, than a squad of soldiers seized Toussaint by night,\\nand taking him on board a vessel hurried him to France. There\\nhe was placed in a dungeon, and finally starved to death.\\nIV I were to tell you the story of Napoleon,\\nI should take it from the lips of French-\\nmen, who find no language rich enough\\nto paint the great captain of the nineteenth\\ncentury. Were I to tell you the story of\\nWashington, I should take it from your\\nhearts you, who think no marble white\\nenough on which to carve the name of the\\nFather of his Country. But I am to tell\\nyou the story of a negro, Toussaint L/Ou-\\nverture, who has left hardly one written\\nline. I am to glean it from the reluctant\\ntestimony of his enemies, men who despised\\n25\\nhim because he was a negro and a slave,\\nhated him because he had beaten them in\\nbattle.\\nCromwell manufactured his own army.\\nNapoleon, at the age of twenty-seven, was\\nplaced at the head of the best troops Europe\\never saw. Cromwell never saw an army\\ntill he was forty this man never saw a sol-\\ndier till he was fifty. Cromwell manufac-\\ntured his own army out of what Eng-\\nlishmen the best blood in Europe. Out of\\nthe middle class of Englishmen the best\\nblood of the island. And with it he con-\\nquered what? Englishmen their equals.\\nThis man manufactured his army out of\\nwhat Out of what you call the despicable\\nrace of negroes, debased, demoralized by\\n200 years of slavery, 100,000 of them\\nimported into the island within four years,\\nunable to speak a dialect intelligible even\\nto each other. Yet out of this mixed, and\\nas you say, despicable mass, he forged a\\nthunderbolt and hurled it at what At the\\nproudest blood in Europe, the Spaniard,\\nand sent him home conquered at the most\\nwarlike blood in Europe, the French, and\\nput them under his feet at the pluckiest\\nblood in Europe, the English, and they\\nskulked home to Jamaica.\\nNow, blue-eyed Saxon, proud of your\\nrace, go back with me to the commence-\\nment of the century, and select what states-\\nman you please. Let him be either Ameri-\\ncan or European crown his temples with\\nthe silver locks of seventy years, and show\\nme the man of Saxon lineage for whom his\\nmost sanguine admirer will wreathe a lau-\\nrel, rich as embittered foes have placed on\\nthe brow of this inspired black of St. Dom-\\ningo.\\nSome doubt the courage of the negro.\\nGo to Hayti, and stand on those 50,000\\ngraves of the best soldiers France ever had,\\nand ask them what they think of the negro s\\nsword.\\nI would call him Napoleon, but Napo-\\nleon made his way to empire over broken\\noaths and through a sea of blood. This\\nman never broke his word. I would call\\nhim Cromwell, but Cromwell was only a\\nsoldier, and the state he founded went down\\nwith him into his grave. I would call him\\nWashington, but the great Virginian held", "height": "4388", "width": "3008", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0413.jp2"}, "414": {"fulltext": "4iS\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nslaves. This man risked his empire rather\\nthan permit the slave trade in the humblest\\nvillage of his dominions.\\nYou think me a fanatic, for you read\\nhistory, not with your eyes but with your\\nprejudices. But fifty years hence, when\\nTruth gets a hearing, the Muse of history\\nwill put Phocion for the Greek, Brutus for\\nthe Roman, Hampden for England, Fayette\\nfor France, choose Washington as the bright\\nconsummate flower of our earliest civiliza-\\ntion, then, dipping her pen in the sunlight,\\nwill write in the clear blue above them all,\\nthe name of the soldier, the statesman, the\\nmartyr, Toussaint L/Ouvkrturk\\nWkndki.Iv Philips.\\nTWO GENTLEHEN OF KENTUCKY.\\nA Cutting by Frances Putnam Pogle.\\n(From Flute aad Violin, and other Kentucky Tales and\\nRomances, by James Lane Allen. Copyright, 1891, by Harper\\nBrothers.)\\nThe two gentlemen referred to are Colonel Romulus Fields, a\\nKentucky planter of the old school, and Peter Cotton, his negro\\nservant. At the close ot the war the Colonel, who was then over\\n70 years of age and unmarried, sells his plantation, and taking\\nPeter with him, moves to Lexington.\\nFor a number of years Peter had been known to his associates\\nupon the plantation as a preacher of the Gospel, and, with an\\nAfrican s fondness for all that is conspicuous in dress, he had\\ntiotten his mistress to make for him a sacred blue jeans coat with\\nvery long and spacious tails. Upon these tails, at his request,\\nshe had embroidered texts of Scripture with such marvelous flour-\\nishes and harmonious letterings that Solomon never reflected the\\nglory in which Peter was arrayed whenever he put it on. The\\nextract below is taken from the chapter entitled New Love,\\nthe scene being laid in the park surrounding the Colonel s home\\nin Lexington.\\nOnk day, in June, Peter discovered a\\nyoung couple love-making in the\\nshrubbery, and with the deepest agi-\\ntation reported the fact to the Colonel.\\nNever before, probably, had the fluttering\\nof the dear God s wings brought more dis-\\nmay than to these ancient involuntary\\nguardsmen of their hiding-place. The Col-\\nonel was at first for breaking up what he\\nconsidered a piece of underhand proceed-\\nings, but when, a few days later, the Col-\\nonel, followed by Peter, crept up breath-\\nlessly and peeped through the bushes at the\\npair strolling along the shady, perfumed\\nwalks, and so plainly happy in that happi-\\nness which comes but once in a lifetime,\\nthey not only abandoned the idea of betray-\\ning the secret, but ever afterwards kept\\naway from that part of the grounds, lest\\nthey should be an interruption.\\nPeter, stammered the Colonel, who\\nhad been trying to get the words out for\\nthree days, do you suppose he has already\\nasked her\\nSome s pow ful quick on de trigger, en\\nsome s mighty slow, replied Peter neu-\\ntrally. Kn some don t use de trigger t\\nall\\nI always thought there had to be asking\\ndone by somebody, replied the Colonel, a\\nlittle vaguely.\\nI nuver axed Phillis\\nDid Phillis ask you, Peter\\nNo, no, Marse Rom! I couldn t er\\nstood dat from no oman\\nThe Colonel was sitting on the stone steps\\nin front of the house, and Peter stood below,\\nleaning against a Corinthian column, hat in\\nhand, as he went on to tell his love-story.\\nHit all happ n dis way, Marse Rom.\\nWe wuz gwine have pra r-meetin en I\\nlowed to walk home wid Phillis en ax er\\non de road. I been lowin to ax er heap o\\ntimes befo but I ain jes nuver done so.\\nSo I says to myse f, says I, I jes mek my\\nsermon to-night kiner lead up to whut I\\ngwine tell Phillis on de road home. So I\\ntuk my tex from de lef tail o my coat\\nDe greates o dese is charity caze I\\nknowed charity wuz same ez love. En all de\\ntime I wuz preachin an glorifyin charity\\nen identifyin charity wid love I couldn\\nhe p thinkin bout what I gwine to say to\\nPhillis on de road home. Dat mek me\\nfeel better en de better I feel, de better I\\npreach, so hit boun to mek my heahehs\\nfeel better likewise Phillis among um.\\nSo Phillis she jes sot dah listenin en lis-\\ntenin en lookin like we wuz a ready on de\\nroad home, till I got so wuked up in my\\nfeelin s I jes knowed de time wus come.\\nBy en by, I hadn mo n done preachin en\\nwuz lookin roun to git my Bible en my\\nhat, fo up popped dat big Charity Green,\\nwho been settm longside o Phillis en\\ntekin ev y las thing I said to herse f. Kn\\nshe tuk hole o my han en squeeze it, en\\nsay she felt mos like shoutin Kn fo I\\nknowed it, I jes see Phillis wrap er shawl\\nroun er head en tu n er nose up at me\\nright quick en flip out de dooh. De dogs\\nhowl mighty mo nful when I walk home by\\nmyse f dat night, added Peter, laughing", "height": "4376", "width": "3444", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0414.jp2"}, "415": {"fulltext": "MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\n419\\nto himself, enl am preach dat sermon\\nno mo tell after me en Phillis wuz married.\\nHit wuz longtime, he continued, fo\\nPhillis come to heah me preach any mo\\nBut long bout de nex fall we had big\\nmeetin ,enheapmo umj ined. But Phillis,\\nshe aint nuver j ined yit. I preached mighty\\nnigh all roun my coat-tails till I say to\\nmyse f, D aint but one tex lef, en I jes\\ngot to fetch er wid dat. De tex wuz on de\\nright tail o my coat: Come unto me, all\\nye dat labor en is heavy laden. Hit wuz a\\nve y momentyus sermon, en all long I jes\\nsee Phillis wras lin wid erse f, en I says,\\nShe got to come dis night, de Lohd he pin\\nme. En I had no mo n said de word, fo\\nshe jes walked down en guv me erhan\\nDen we had de baptizin in Klkhorn Creek,\\nen de watter wuz deep en de curren tol ble\\nswift Hit look to me like dere wuz five\\nhundred uv um on de creek side. By en\\nby I stood on de edge o de watter, en Phil-\\nlis she come down to let me baptize er. Kn\\nme en her j ined han s en waded out in de\\ncreek, mighty slow, case Phillis didn t have\\nno shot roun de bottom uv er dress, en it\\nkep floatin on top de watter till I pushed\\nit down. But by en by we got way out in\\nde creek, en bofe uv us wuz trernblin Kn\\nI says to er ve y kin ly, When I put you\\nun er de watter, Phillis, you mus try en\\nhole yo se f stiff, so I can lif you up easy.\\nBut I hadn t mo n jes got er laid back\\nover de watter when er .feet flew off de\\nbottom uv de creek, en when I retched out\\nto fetch er up, I stepped in a hole, en fo I\\nknowed it, we wuz flounderin roun in de\\nwatter, en de hymn dey wuz singin on de\\nbank sounded mighty confused-like. Kn\\nPhillis, she swallowed some watter, en all\\nt once t she jest grap me right tight roun\\nde neck, en said mighty quick, says she, I\\ngwine marry whoever gits me out n dis yere\\nwatter.\\nKn by en by when me en er wuz walkin\\nup de bank o de creek, drippin all over, I\\nsays to er, says I\\nDoes you member what you said back\\nyon er in de watter, Phillis\\nI ain out n no watter yit, says she,\\nve y contemptuous.\\nWhen does you consider ye se f out n\\nde watter, says I, ve y humble.\\nWhen I get dese soakin clo es off n\\nmy back\\nHit wuz good dark when we got home,\\nen atter a while I crope up to de dooh o\\nPhillis s cabin, en put my eye down to de\\nkeyhole, en I see Phillis jes settin fo dem\\nblazin walnut logs dressed up in er new\\nred linsey dress, en er eyes shinin Kn I\\nshuk so I mos faint. Den I tap easy on de\\ndooh en say in a mighty tremlin tone says I\\nIs you out n de watter yit, Phillis\\nI got on dry dress, says she.\\nDoes you member what you said back\\nyon er in de watter, Phillis says I.\\nDe latch-strink onde outside dedoor,\\nsays she, mighty sof\\nKn I walked in.\\nAs Peter drew near the end of this remin-.\\niscence, his voice sank to a key of inimitable\\ntenderness and when it was ended the ensu-\\ning silence was broken by his merely adding\\nPhillis been dead heap o years now,\\nafter which he turned away.\\nThis recalling of the scenes of a time\\nlong gone by may have awakened in the\\nbreast of the Colonel some gentle memory\\nfor after Peter was gone, he continued to sit\\nawhile in silent musing. Then getting up\\nhe walked in the falling twilight across the\\nyard and through the gardens until he came\\nto a secluded spot in the most distant cor-\\nner. There he stooped or rather knelt\\ndown and passed his hands, as though with\\nmute benediction, over a little bed of old-\\nfashioned China pinks.\\nHe continued kneeling over them, touch-\\ning them softly with his fingers, as though\\nthey were the fragrant, never-changing\\nsymbols of voiceless communion with his\\npast. Still it may have been only the early\\ndew of the evening that glistened on then\\nwhen he rose and slowly walked away,\\nleaving but the pale moonbeams to haunt\\nthe spot. James Lane Allen.\\nAPOSTROPHE TO JOHN CHINAMAN\\nLOOK here, John,\\nYou great, big, overgrown,\\nListless, lagging, lumbering, lummox.\\nIf you don t stir your stumps\\nAnd keep up with the Chariot of Progress,\\nYou ll be run down", "height": "4388", "width": "3036", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0415.jp2"}, "416": {"fulltext": "420\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nAnd dismembered,\\nThat s what.\\nDid you ever hear the story\\nOf the bull trying to butt\\nA locomotive off the bridge\\nNo?\\nWell, you ll see the narrative\\nDone in living pictures\\nOne of these days,\\nAnd you won t be the locomotive,\\nEither.\\nPut that in your pipe\\nAnd smoke it\\nAlong with your blamed little\\nOpium pill,\\nWill you\\nGreat Joss, John,\\nWhat s the matter with you\\nYou re a thousand years behind the age,\\nAnd still you think\\nYou re the head of the procession.\\nWhy in thunder\\nDon t you get that almond eye of yours\\nOn to the signs of the times,\\nAnd tumble\\nTo the kind of a crawfish\\nYou are, anyhow\\nWhy, you self-sufficient,\\nPigtailed Celestial,\\nYour representatives in this country\\nOf enlightened liberty\\nAnd progressive push\\nHave been doing the washee-washee act\\nFor Melican man\\nLong enough to have elevated\\nYour countless millions\\nAbove the lethargic level\\nAt which all of you have remained\\nEver since Mon Gol (or whatever his name\\nwas),\\nThe Son of Gin Sang,\\nOpened a tea joint\\nAnd proceeded to found\\nThe Mongolian Dynasty\\nWith the accent on the last two syllables.\\nBut have you caught on\\nA little bit\\nNary a caught,\\nAnd you are to-day not only\\nPigtailed, but pigheaded,\\nAnd your last days\\nAre worse than your first.\\nLook at yourself,\\nWith four hundred millions ot population\\nIn an everlasting rabble and riot\\nOf rebellion and blood,\\nAnd away over their heads\\nIn ignorance, poverty and filth,\\nAnd you don t do a darn thing\\nExcept to encourage them\\nTo be worse if they can.\\nYou re a gigantic, decayed cheese\\nFilled full of seething maggots,\\nThat s what you are,\\nAnd civilization feels called upon\\nTo disinfect you\\nFor the welfare of the world.\\nLook at that Dowager Empress\\nYou ve got leading you around by the nose\\nYou could make a white mark\\nOn her character\\nWith a piece of charcoal.\\nAnd look at that Boxer gang\\nThe kind of boxing you\\nOught to give them\\nIs the oblong kind\\nWith a silver plate on the lid.\\nBut you ll never do it\\nYou ain t that kind.\\nJust the same, somebody else will.\\nAnd already\\nThe American Eagle,\\nThe British Lion and\\nThe Russian Bear,\\nWith a Franco-German side show,\\nAre about to open a circus season\\nIn your midst\\nThat will constitute\\nA megatherian wonder,\\nAs an object lesson\\nTo the very worst misgovernment\\nOn earth\\nAnd after the regular performance\\nThere will be a concert\\nAt which all civilization\\nWill sing in a grand chorus\\nPraise God from whom all blessings flow.\\nWiixiam J. Lampton.\\nODE TO EMBONPOINT\\nGreat Scott\\nFat\\nMan, it s\\nNot\\nSo hot.\\nKeep cool", "height": "4368", "width": "3488", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0416.jp2"}, "417": {"fulltext": "MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\n421\\nBy\\nRule\\nOf never fret.\\nAnd yet,\\nMeseems, such\\nTalk\\nDoth mock\\nThe\\nMan obese who\\nMops his\\nBrow\\nAnd swears\\nAs how\\nLast June\\nWas not\\nSo\\nHot\\nAs Now.\\nNo,\\nIt s not\\nHot.\\nO, no, no,\\nNo.\\nAnd so,\\nO,\\nFat man,\\nCease\\nThy\\nMoan\\nFor skeleton\\nFrame\\nOf\\nSkin and\\nBone.\\nPossess thyself\\nWhen\\nWinter s\\nCome\\nThe lean by\\nCold is\\nSoon\\nMade numb,\\nAnd,\\nThen, in\\nAll\\nThy wealth\\nOf\\nFat\\nThou It\\nHave the Lean\\nMan\\nBeaten\\nFlat.\\nIN MARGET S GARDEN.\\nA Cutting, by Frances Putnam Pogle, from\\nBeside the Bonnie Brier Busk.\\nWhkn George came home for the last\\ntime, Marget went back and forward\\nall afternoon from his bedroom to\\nthe window, and hid herself beneath the\\nlaburnum to see his face as the cart stood\\nbefore the stile. It told her plain what she\\nhad feared, and Marget passed through her\\nGethsemane with the gold blossoms falling\\non her face. When their eyes met, and\\nbefore she helped him down, mother and\\nson understood.\\nYe mind what I told ye, o the Greek\\nmothers, the day I left. Weel, I wud hae\\nliked to have carried my shield, but it\\nwasna to be, so I ve come home on it.\\nAs they went slowly up the garden walk,\\nI ve got my degree, a double first, mathe-\\nmatics and classics.\\nYe ve been a gude soldier, George, and\\nfaithfu\\nUnto death, a m dootin mother.\\nNa, said Marget, unto life.\\nDrumtochty was not a heartening place\\nin sickness, and Marget, who did not think\\nour thoughts, endured much consolation at\\nher neighbors hands.\\nKirsty Stewart had a way in sick\\nvisiting, consisting in a certain cadence of\\nthe voice and arrangement of the face,\\nwhich was felt to be soothing and compli-\\nmentary.\\nWhen I found George wrapped in his\\nplaid beside the brier bush, whose roses\\nwere no whiter than his cheeks, Kirsty was\\nalready installed as comforter in the parlor,\\nand her drone cam^ through the open\\nwindow.\\nAy, ay, Marget, sae it s come to this.\\nWeel, we daurna complain, ye ken be\\nthankfu ye haena lost your man and five\\nsons, besides twa sisters and a brither, no\\nto mention cousins. Ay, ay, it s an awfu\\nlesson, Marget, no to mak idols o our\\nbairns, for that s naethin else than pro-\\nvokin the Almichty.\\nDid ye say the Almichty I m think-\\nin that s ower grand a name for God,\\nKirsty. What wud ye think o a father\\nthat hame some bonnie thing frae the fair\\nfor ane o his bairns, and when the puir", "height": "4388", "width": "3008", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0417.jp2"}, "418": {"fulltext": "422\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nbairn wes pleased wi it, tore it oot o his\\nhand and flung it into the fire? Eh,\\nwoman, he wud be a meeserable, cankered,\\njealous body. Oh, I ken weel that George\\nis gaein to leave us; but it s no because\\nthe Almichty is jealous o him or me, no\\nlikely. It came to me last nicht that He\\nneeds my laddie for some grand wark in\\nthe ither world, and that s hoo George has\\nhis bukes brocht oot tae the garden and\\nstudies a the day. He wants to be ready\\nfor his kingdom, just as he trachled in the\\nbitschuleo Drumtochty for Bdinboro I\\nhoped he would hae been a minister o\\nChrist s Gospel here, but he ll be judge\\nover many cities yonder. A m no denyin\\nKirst}^, that it s a trial, but I hae licht on\\nit, and naethin but gude thochts o the\\nAlmichty,\\nWhen Marget came out and sat down\\nbeside her son, her face was shining. Then\\nshe saw the open window.\\nI didna ken.\\nNever mind, mither, there s nae secrets\\natween us, and it gar d my heart leap to\\nhear ye speak up like yon for God, and to\\nknow yir content. Dir ye mind the nicht\\nI called for ye, mother, and ye gave me the\\nGospel aboot God\\nThere had been a Revival man here,\\nGeorge explained to me, and he was\\npreaching on hell. That night I could not\\nsleep, for I thought I might be in the fire\\nbefore morning. I was only a wee laddie,\\nand I did what we all do in trouble, I cried\\nfor my mother Ye hae na forgotten mither\\nthe fricht that was on me that night\\nNever, said Marget, and never can\\nit s hard wark for me to keep frae hating\\nthat man, dead or alive Geordie gripped\\nme wi baith his wee airms round my neck,\\nand he cries over and over and over again,\\nIs you God\\nAy, and ye kissed me, mither, and ye\\nsaid, Yir safe with me. Am I a guid\\nmother tae ye and when I could dae\\nnaethin but hold, ye said, Be sure God\\nmaun be a hantle kinder. The truth came\\nto me as with a flicker, and I cuddled down\\ninto my bed, and fell asleep in His love as\\nin my mither s arms.\\nMither, that was my conversion, and,\\nmither dear, I hae longed a through thae\\ncollege studies for the day when ma mooth\\nwould be opened wi the evangel.\\nMarget s was an old-fashioned garden,\\nwith pinks and daisies and forget-me-nots,\\nwith sweet-scented wall-flower and thyme,\\nand moss roses, where nature had her way,\\nand gracious thoughts could visit one with-\\nout any jarring note. As George s voice\\nsoftened to the close, I caught her saying,\\nHis servants shall see His face, and the\\npeace of Paradise fell upon us in the shadow\\nof death.\\nThe night before the end, George was\\ncarried out to his corner, and Domsie,\\nwhose heart was nigh unto breaking, sat\\nwith him the afternoon. They used to fight\\nthe college battles over again, with their\\nfavorite classics beside them, but this time\\nnone of them spoke of books. Marget\\nwas moving about the garden, and she told\\nme that George looked at Domsie wistfully,\\nas if he had something to say and knew not\\nhow to do it.\\nAfter a while he took a book from below\\nhis pillow, and began, like one thinking\\nover his words\\nMaister Jamieson, ye hae been a guid\\nfreend tae me, the best I ever hed aifter my\\nmither and faither. Will ye tak this buik\\nfor a keepsake o yir grateful scholar It s\\na L,atin Imitation, Domsie, and it s\\nbonnie printin Ye mind hoo ye gave me\\nyir ain Virgil, and said he was a kind o\\nPagan saint? Noo, here is my saint, and\\ndiv ye ken, I ve often thocht Virgil saw\\nHis day afar off, and was glad. Will ye\\nread it, Domsie, for my sake, and maybe\\nye ill come to see and George could not\\nfind words for more.\\nBut Domsie understood. Ma laddie,\\nma laddie, that I luve better than onythin\\non earth, I ll read it till I die, and, George,\\nI ll tell you what livin man doesna ken.\\nWhen I was your verra age I had a cruel\\ntrial, and my heart was turned frae faith.\\nThe classics hae been my Bible, though I\\nsaid naethin to ony man against Christ.\\nHe aye seemed beyond man, and noo the\\nveesion o Him has come to me in this\\ngairden. Laddie, ye hae dune far mair for\\nme than I ever did for you. Wull ye mak\\na prayer for yir auld Domsie afore we\\npairt?", "height": "4388", "width": "3464", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0418.jp2"}, "419": {"fulltext": "MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\n423\\nThere was a thrush singing in the birches\\nand a sound of bees in the air, when George\\nprayed in a low, soft voice, with a little\\nbreak in it.\\nLord Jesus, remember my dear maister,\\nfor he s been a kind freend to me and mony\\na puir laddie in Dmmtochty. Bind up his\\nsair heart and give him licht at eventide,\\nand may the maister and his scholars meet\\nsome mornin where the schule never skails,\\nin the kingdom o oor Father.\\nTwice Domsie said Amen and it\\nseemed as the voice of another man, and\\nthen he kissed George upon the forehead\\nbut what they said, Marget did not wish to\\nhear.\\nWhen he passed out at the garden gate,\\nthe westering sun was shining golden, and\\nthe face of Domsie was like unto that of a\\nlittle child. Ian Macxaren.\\nDOLLY S BIRTHDAY\\nIhavk a little dolly she is one year old\\nto-day.\\nShe s never very naughty nor cries to\\nhave her way\\nAnd cause it is her birthday, I wanted her\\nlike new\\nBut her face got a little dirty, like dollys\\nsometime do\\nSo I took some soap and water and\\nscrubbed her just as soft\\nBut, oh, my goodness gracious her rosy\\ncheeks washed off.\\nShe wasn t one bit pretty with her face so\\nvery white\\nSo I quickly ran to mamma to fetch her\\nround all right.\\nNever, never again will your dolly s cheeks\\nbe red,\\nDolly s wasn t made to wash that s all\\nmy mamma said.\\nMary B. Rheinfeldt.\\nTHE MAN WITHOUT THE HOE\\nPerhaps no poem of modern times has called forth so many\\nreplies and criticisms, both in prose and verse, as Edwin Mark-\\nham s famous production The Man With the Hoe. The fol-\\nlowing is one of the best among the number for recitation as well\\nas the most philosophic in teaching\\nSing not my muse, the woes of him who\\nplies the hoe,\\nWho gazes vacantly about, with ping-\\ning lips and forehead low,\\nWhose form beneath the weight of untold\\nburdens bends,\\nWhose visage is more marred than that of\\nother men s.\\nBut rather sing of him who, destitute of hoe\\nand hope,\\nHas yet with misery and woe and wretch-\\nedness to cope,\\nWhose instincts low and grov ling like the\\ninstincts of the beasts,\\nFind their aim and end of being as he riots,\\neats and sleeps.\\nOf him who, born and bred mid thelavish-\\nments of home,\\nHas thence, by some misfortune dire, been\\nforced to roam,\\nWithout the knowledge of a craft his daily\\nbread to earn,\\nWithout the cunning to direct, the vision\\nto discern.\\nOf him who seeking honest toil, can no\\nemployment find,\\nIn city full or country sparse, for dextrous\\nhand or mind.\\nWho vaguely wanders up and down all\\nthrough the livelong day,\\nWilling to heave or dig or till for low and\\nmodest pay.\\nOf him, posseesed of workman s craft and\\nversed in artist s skill,\\nWho labors not, for workman s guild is bar\\nto freeman s will,\\nAnd rules and laws of brotherhoods do not\\nallow or grant\\nA right to to toil to him who s not of their\\nown ilk or stamp.\\nOf him who gladly takes his crust from\\ncurb or open door,\\nWhile others feast and revel in more than\\nample store,\\nWho seldom finds for aching limbs and\\nweary, throbbing head\\nMore than a doorstep or a loft as a covert\\nand a bed.", "height": "4388", "width": "3000", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0419.jp2"}, "420": {"fulltext": "4-4\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nOf him who seeks, mid dens of vice and\\ndeadlier haunts of rum,\\nTo drown his sorrows hide his shame, his\\nfiner feelings numb\\nWho finds no joy or comfort, no promise of\\nrelease,\\nNo home, no friend, no helper, save the\\npoorhouse or the police\\nWhose mind is dead and dulled, whose soul\\nlies crushed within,\\nWith will and manhood fled and conscience\\nseared with sin\\nMore cursed is he than all the cursed sons\\nof Ham,\\nFor hope has left the breast of him whom\\ncustom calls a man.\\nWho made him such a helpless, lost and\\nruined thing?\\nNot God, who erst to Adam gave when\\nthe morning stars did sing\\nThe promise of a chosen seed the serpent s\\nhead to bruise,\\nThe privilege, in sweat of face, a laborer s\\ntool to use.\\nHe formed him in His image, put luster in\\nhis eye,\\nTo scan His works who made him such in\\nbeauteous earth and sky,\\nPut music in his lofty soul, made him a\\nlord to be\\nOf all His hands had fashioned, in bound-\\nless land and sea.\\nWho made him otherwise Man himself,\\nhis customs and his creed\\nThese, chese, have made him what he is\\nman s lust of power and greed\\nA thing that oftener creeps than stands, with\\nindependence gone\\nNo joy in breast, no light in brain, naught\\nbut a loathsome form.\\nTis you, O masters, customs, times, which\\nmust give back again\\nThe right to toil where er he can, the right\\nto be a man\\nTo live in hope and with the hoe to break\\ninsensate clod,\\nTill body back returns to dust, and the soul\\nascends to God.\\nCharles Sheard.\\nPRESIDENT KRUGER S ADDRESS AT THE\\nFUNERAL OF GENERAL JOUBERT\\nOn the 20th of May, 1900, General Piet Joubert, Vice Presi-\\ndent of the South African Republic and commander-in-chief of\\nthe Boer army, died suddenly. His loss was an irreparable one\\nto the Boer cause. He and President Kruger had been com-\\npanions in arms and in the affairs of state for more than forty\\nyears. The old Presidsnt frequently broke down and wept\\nduring the following short and pathetic address.\\ni i T3ROTHERS, sisters, burghers and\\nJ3 friends Only a few words can I\\nsay to you, for the spirit is willing,\\nbut the flesh is weak. We have lost our\\nbrother, our friend, our commandant gen-\\neral. I have lost my right hand. Not\\nof yesterday, but my right hand since we\\nwere boys together, many long years ago.\\nTo-night I alone seem to have been\\nspared of the old people of this cherished\\nland, of men who lived and struggled to-\\ngether for our country. He has gone to\\nHeaven whilst fighting for liberty which God\\nhas told us to defend for freedom which\\nhe and I have struggled together so many\\nyears and so often to maintain. Brothers,\\nwhat shall I say to you in this our greatest\\nday of sorrow, in this hour of national\\ngloom\\nThe struggle we are engaged in is for\\nthe principle of justice and righteousness\\nwhich our Lord has taught us is the broad\\nroad to Heaven and blessedness. It is our\\nsacred duty to keep on that path if we\\ndesire a happy ending of our dear, dead\\nbrother who has gone on that road to his\\neternal life. What can I say of his person-\\nality It is only a few short weeks ago that\\nI saw him at the fighting front humbly and\\nnobly taking his share of privations and the\\nrough work of the campaign like the poor-\\nest burgher. A true general A true\\nChristian example to his people\\nI^et me tell you the days are dark. We\\nare suffering reverses on account of the\\nwickedness being rampant in our land. No\\nsuccess will come, no blessings be given\\nto our great cause unless you remove the\\nbad elements from amongst us, and then you\\nmay look forward to attaining crowning\\nreward of righteousness and noble demeanor.\\nLet the world rage round us and enemies\\ndecry us, the Lord will stand by you against\\nthe ruthless hand of the foe, and at the\\nmoment when He deems it right for inter-\\nference peace will come once more.", "height": "4376", "width": "3452", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0420.jp2"}, "421": {"fulltext": "MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\n425\\nOUR SERMON TASTER.\\nA cutting by Frances Putnam Pogle from Beside the\\nBonnie Brier Bush.\\nIT was the birthright of every native\\nof the parish to be a critic, and certain\\nwere allowed to be experts in special\\ndepartments, but as an all round practitioner\\nMrs. Macfadyen had a solitary reputation.\\nOne felt it was genius, and could only note\\ncontributing circumstances an eye that\\ntook in the preacher from the crown of his\\nhead to the sole of his foot an almost un-\\ncanny insight into character the instinct\\nto seize on every scrap of evidence a\\nmemory that was simply an automatic regis-\\nter an unfailing sense of fitness and an\\nabsolute impartiality regarding subject.\\nIt goes without saying that Mrs. Mac-\\nfadyen did not take nervous little notes\\nduring the sermon, or mark her Bible, or\\npractice any other profane device of feeble-\\nminded hearers. It did not matter how\\nelaborate or how incoherent a sermon might\\nbe it could not confuse our critic.\\nWhen John Peddie of Muirtown, who\\nalways approached two hours, and usually\\nhad to leave out the last head, took time at\\nthe Drumtochty Fast, and, gave at full\\nlength, his famous discourse on the total\\ndepravity of the human race, from the text,\\n4 Arise, shine, for thy light is come, it may\\nbe admitted that the Glen wavered in its\\nconfidence. Human nature has limitations,\\nand failure would have been no discredit to\\nKlspeth.\\nThey were say in at the Presbytery,\\nBurnbrae reported, that is hes mair than\\nseeventy heads coontin pints, of coorse,\\nand a can weel believe it. Na, na it s no\\ntae be expeckit that Klspeth cud gie them\\na aifter ae hearin\\\\\\nJamie Soutar looked in to set his mind at\\nrest, and Elspeth went at once to work.\\nSit q oon, Jamie, for it canna be dune in\\na meenut.\\nIt took twenty- three minutes exactly, for\\nJamie watched the clock.\\nThat s the laist, makin seventy-four,\\nand ye may depend on every ane but that\\nfourth pint under the sixth head. Whether\\nit wes the beginnin o faith or the\\norigin, a canna be sure, for he cleared his\\nthroat at that time.\\nProbationers who preached in the vacancy\\nhad heard rumors, and tried to identify their\\njudge, with the disconcerting result that\\nthey addressed their noweriest passages to\\nMistress Stirton, who was the stupidest\\nwoman in the Free Kirk, and had once stuck\\nin the chief end of man. They never\\nsuspected the sonsy, motherly woman two\\npews behind Donald Menzies, with her face\\nof demure interest and general air of coun-\\ntry simplicity It was as well for the proba-\\ntioners that they had not caught the glint of\\nthose black, beady eyes.\\nIt s curious, Mrs. Macfadyen re-\\nmarked to me one day, hoo the pulpit\\nfashions change, juist like weemen s bon-\\nnets.\\nNoo a mind when auld Doctor Ferin-\\ntosh would stand two meenutes facing the\\nfouk, and no sit doon till he hed his snuff.\\nBut thae young birkies gie oot at they\\nsee naebody comin in, an cover their face\\nwi ae hand sae solemn, that if ye didna\\ncatch them keekin through their fingers tae\\nsee what like the kirk is, yewud think they\\nwere pray in\\nThere s not much escapes you, I dared\\nto say, and although the excellent woman\\nwas not accessible to gross flattery, she\\nseemed pleased.\\nA m thankfu that a can see withoot\\nlookin an a 11 wager nae man ever read\\nhis sermon in Drumtochty Kirk, an a\\ndidna find him oot Noo, there s the new\\nminister o Netheraird, he writes his sermons\\non ae side o ten sheets o paper, an he s that\\ncarried awa at the end o ilka page that he\\ndisna ken what he s daein an the sleeve\\no his goon slips the sheet across tae the\\nither side o the Bible.\\nBut Doctor Ferintosh wes cleverer, sail\\nit near beat me tae detect him, and Els-\\npeth paused to enjoy the pulpit ruse. It\\ncame tae me sudden ae Sacrament Monday,\\nhoo dis he aye turn up twal texts, naither\\nmair nor less, and that set me thinkin\\nThan a noticed that he left the Bible open\\nat the place till anither text was due, an I\\nwunnereda d been sae slow. It was this\\nwy he askit the beadle for a glass o water\\nin the vestry, and slippit his sermon in\\natween the leaves in sae mony bits. A ve\\nwished for a gallery at a time, but there s", "height": "4388", "width": "3156", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0421.jp2"}, "422": {"fulltext": "426\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nmair credit in findin it oot below ay, an\\npleasure tae a never wearied in kirk in ma\\nlife.\\nMrs. Macfadyen did not appreciate prodi-\\ngal quotations of Scriptures, and had her\\nsuspicions of this practice.\\nTak the minister o Pitscourie, noo\\nhe s fair fozzy wi trokin in his gairden an\\nfeedin pigs, and hesna studied a sermon for\\nthirty years.\\nSae what dis he dae, think ye? He\\nhavers for a while on the errors o the day,\\nand syne he says, That s what man says,\\nbut what says the Apostle Paul We\\nshall see what the Apostle Paul says.\\nHe puts on his glasses and turns up the\\npassage, and reads maybe ten verses, and\\nthen he s aff on a jundy (trot) again.\\nWhen a man hes naethin tae say he s aye\\nlang, a ve seen him gie half an oor o pas-\\nsages, and anither half oor o havers.\\nHe s a Bible preacher at any rate, says\\nBurnbrae tae me laist Fast, for honest man,\\nhe hes aye some gude word for a body.\\nIt s ae thing, I said to him, tae feed\\na calf wi milk, and anither tae gie it the\\nempty cogie tae lick.\\nIt s curious, but a ve noticed that when a\\nModerate gets lazy he preaches auld sermons,\\nbut a Free Kirk minister taks tae abusin\\nhis neeburs and readin screeds o the Bible.\\nBut Maister Pittendreigh hes two ser-\\nmons, at ony rate, and Elspeth tasted the\\nsweets of memory with such keen relish\\nthat I begged for a share.\\nWell, ye see he s terribly prood o his\\nfeenishes, and this is ane o them\\nHeaven, ma brethern, will be far\\ngrander than the hoose o ony earthly\\npotentate, for there ye will no longer eat the\\nflesh o bulls nor drink the blood o goats,\\nbut we shall sook the juicy pear and scoop\\nthe loocious meelon. Amen.\\nHe hes nae mair sense o humour than\\nan owl, and a aye haud that a man withoot\\nhumour sudna be allowed intae a poopit.\\nA hear that the have nae examina-\\ntion in humour at the college it s an awfu\\nwant, foritwud keep oot mony a dreich body.\\nBut the meelon s naethin tae the goat,\\nthat cowed a thing at the Fast tae.\\nIf jeems wes aboot a daurna mention\\nt; he canna behave himsel tae this day\\ngin he hears o it, though ye ken he s a\\ndouce man as ever lived.\\nIt wes anither feenish, and it ran this wy\\nNoo, ma friends, a wull no be keepin\\nye ony longer, and ye ill a gie hame tae yir\\nain hooses and mind yir ain business. And\\nas sune as ye get hame ilka man ill gang tae\\nhis closet and shut the door, and stand for\\nfive meenutes, and ask himsel this solemn\\nquestion, Am I a goat Amen.\\nThe amen near upset masel and a hed\\ntae dunge Jeems wi ma elbow.\\nHe said no a word on the wy back, but a\\nsaw it was barmin in him, and he gied oot\\naifter his dinner as if he had been ta en unweel\\nA cam on him in the byre, rowing in\\nthe strae like a bairn and every ither row he\\nwud say, Am I a goat\\nIt was na cannie for a man o his wecht,\\nbesides bein a married man and a kirk\\nmember, and a gied him a hearin\\nHe sobered doon, and a never saw him\\ndae the like since. But he hesna forgot, na,\\nna a ve seen a look come ower Jeems face\\nin kirk, and a ve been feared.\\nWhen the Free Kirk quarreled in their\\nvacancy over two probationers, Mrs. Mac-\\nfadyen summed them up with such excel-\\nlent judgment that they were thrown over\\nand peace restored.\\nThere s someo thae Muirtown drapers\\ncan busk oot their windows that ye canna\\npass withoot lookin there s bits o blue\\nand bits o red, and a ribbon here an a lace\\nyonder.\\nIt s a bonnie show and denty, an no\\nwunner the lassies stan and stare.\\nBut gae intae the shop, and peety me,\\nthere s next tae naethin it s a in the win-\\ndow.\\nNoo, that s Maister Popinjay, as neat\\nand fikey a little mannie as ever a saw in a\\nblack goon.\\nHis bit sermon wes six poems five a\\nhed heard afore four anecdotes three aboot\\nhimsel an ain aboot a lord twa burnies,\\nae floo r gairden, and a snowstorm, wi the\\ntext thirteen times and beloved twal\\nthat was a a takin window, and Nether-\\nton s lassies cudna sleep thinkin o him.\\nThere s ither shopmen in Muirtown\\nthat fair scunner ye wi their windows\\nthey re that ill set out and inside there s", "height": "4380", "width": "3464", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0422.jp2"}, "423": {"fulltext": "MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\n427\\nsic a wale o stuff that the man canna get\\nwhat ye want he s clean smoored wi his\\nain goods.\\nIt s a graund shop for the old fouk that\\nhae plenty o time and can turn ower the\\nthe things by the oor. Ye ill no get a young\\nbody inside the door.\\nThat s Maister Auchtermuchty he hes\\nmaterial than he kens hoo tae handle, and\\nnaebody, hearin him, can mak head or tail\\no his sermons.\\nYe get a rive at the Covenants ae meenut\\nan a mouthfu o justification the next.\\nYir nae suner wi the Patriarchs than yir\\nwhuppit aff tae the Apostles.\\nIt s rich feedin nae doot, but sair\\nmixed an no verra tasty.\\nSo the old and young compromised, and\\nchose Carmichael.\\nH\\nBIJAH S STORY.\\nK was little more than a baby,\\nAnd played on the streets all day\\nAnd holding in his tiny fingers\\nThe string of a broken sleigh.\\nHe was ragged, and cold, and hungry,\\nYet his face was a sight to see,\\nAnd he lisped to a passing lady\\nPleathe, mithus, will you yide me?\\nBut she drew close her fur-lined mantle,\\nAnd her train of silk and lace,\\nWhile she stared with haughty wonder\\nIn the eager, piteous face.\\nAnd the eyes that shone so brightly,\\nBrimmed o er with gushing rain,\\nAnd the poor little head dropped lower\\nWhile his heart beat a sad refrain.\\nWhen night came, cold and darkly,\\nAnd the lamps were all alight,\\nThe pallid lips grew whiter\\nWith childish grief and fright.\\nAs I was passing the entrance\\nOf a church across the way,\\nI found a poor dead baby,\\nWith his head on a broken sleigh.\\nSoon young and eager footsteps\\nWere heard on the frozen street,\\nAnd a boy dashed into the station,\\nCovered with snow and sleet.\\nOn his coat was a newsboy s number,\\nOn his arm a bran new sled\\nHave you seen my brother Bijah\\nHe ought to be home in bed.\\nYou see, I leave him at Smithers\\nWhile I go round with the Press\\nThey must have forgot about him,\\nAnd he s strayed away, I guess.\\nLast night when he said Our Father,\\nAnd about the daily bread,\\nHe j ust threw in an extra\\nConcerning a nice new sled.\\nI was tellin the boys at the office,\\nAs how he was only three\\nAnd they stuck in for this here stunner\\nAnd sent it home with me.\\nAnd won t what s the matter, Bijah?\\nWhy do you shake your head\\nO Father in Heaven, have pity\\nO Bijah, he can t be dead*\\nHe clasped the child to his bosom\\nIn a passionate, close embrace,\\nHis tears and kisses falling\\nTwixt sobs on the little face.\\nSoon the boyish grief grew silent\\nThere was never a tear nor a moan,\\nFor the heart of the dear Lord Jesus\\nHad taken the children home.\\nCharles M. Lewis M. Quad\\nin Detroit Free Press.\\nSALVATION AND MORALITY.\\nProf. David Swing, minister of the Fourth Presbyterian\\nChurch, Chicago, was cited, to appear before the Presbytery of\\nthe city upon the charge of Heterodoxy by Rev. Dr. Patton,\\neditor of The Interior. He defended his theological principles\\nin an able manner, asserting that his views were truly evangelical.\\nThe following extract is from his beautiful sermon upon Salva-\\ntion and Morality\\nThe divine Jesus with his morality, with\\nhis curse upon one who even called\\nhis brother Raca, with his prayer,\\nBe ye perfect, with his benediction\\nfor him who did the least commandment\\nand taught men so, with his whole career\\nfull of man s subjective salvation, is an\\nobject too vast to be swept from the\\nChristian sky by the besom of any school,\\npast or to come. Be you anywhere, my\\nfriend, in the journey of life in youth, or\\nmiddle life, or old age, do not suffer any", "height": "4388", "width": "3144", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0423.jp2"}, "424": {"fulltext": "428\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nvoice to confuse your heart as to the need\\nof a personal obedience rendered the teach-\\nings of the Saviour. The precise meaning\\nof salvation may elude your power of\\ndefinition. You may not be able to find\\nthat line that crosses every path\\nThe hidden boundary between\\nGod s patience and his wrath,\\nbut whatever darkness may gather around\\nyou, amid the obscure definitions of men,\\nthere will always be in the initiation of\\nJesus Christ a place where no shadow can\\ncome. A religion that will make the\\nSermon on the Mount play a second part in\\nyour earthly career, comes it under any\\nname, Calvinist, Methodist, Baptist or\\nCatholic, that religion decline, or abandon\\nso far, and draw nearer to him who knew\\nbetter than all the schools wherein lies the\\nbest destiny of the soul.\\nAll through the life of Christ the music\\nof heaven sounded to the pure in heart, and\\nan awful thunder rolled in all the sky, over\\nthe spirit that sinned in deed and in thought\\nand when a generation after the Saviour s\\ndeath, the heavens opened to the vision of\\nSt. John, and this divine Being stood a\\nradiant star on the border of earth, there\\ncame the same music again for the virtuous,\\nthe same thunder in the futurity of the\\nwicked. Blessed are they that do his\\ncommandments, that they may have right\\nto the tree of life, and may enter in through\\nthe gates of the city for without are dogs\\nand sorcerers and murderers and idolaters,\\nand whosoever loveth and maketh a lie.\\nHere the morals of Jesus return to us in\\nawful significance. Let us not add to, nor\\ntake away from the words of the prophecy\\nof this book. David Swing.\\nOUR BANNER.\\nWhen Christ is preached, there is a de-\\nfiance given to the enemies of the\\nLord. Every time a sermon is\\npreached in the power of the Spirit, it is as\\nthough a shrill clarion woke up the fiends of\\nk e11 f r ver serm \u00c2\u00b0n seems to say to them,\\nChrist is come forth again to deliver his\\nlawful captives out of your power the King\\nof kings has come to take away your\\ndominions, to wrest from you your stolen\\ntreasures, and to proclaim Himself your\\nMaster. Oh, there is a stern joy that the\\nminister sometimes feels when he thinks\\nof himself as the antagonist of the\\npowers of hell. Martin Luther seems\\nalways to have felt it when he said, Come\\nlet us sing the forty-sixth psalm, and let the\\ndevil do his worst. Why, that was lifting\\nup his standard the standard of the cross.\\nIf you want to defy the devil, don t go\\nabout preaching philosophy don t sit down\\nand write out fine sermons, with long sen-\\ntences, three-quarters of a mile in extent;\\ndon t try and cull fine smooth phrases that\\nwill sound sweetly in people s ears. The\\ndevil doesn t care a bit for this but talk\\nabout Christ, preach about the sufferings of\\na Saviour, tell sinners that there is life in a\\nlook at him, and straightway the devil\\ntaketh great umbrage. Why, look at\\nmany of the ministers in London They\\npreach in their pulpits from the first of\\nJanuary to the last of December, and\\nnobody finds fault with them, because they\\nwill prophesy such smooth things. But let\\na man preach Christ, let him disclaim about\\nthe power of Jesus to save, and press home\\ngospel truth with simplicity and boldness,\\nstraightway the fiends of darkness will be\\nagainst you; and if they cannot bite, they will\\nshow that they can howl and bark There is a\\ndefiance, I say, it is God s defiance his\\ngauntlet thrown down to the confederated\\npowers of darkness, a gauntlet which they\\ndare not take up, for they know what tre-\\nmendous power for good there is in the up-\\nlifting of the cross of Christ. Wave, then,\\nyour banner, O ye soldiers of the cross\\neach in your place and rank keep watch\\nand ward, but wave your banner still for\\nthough the adversary shall be wroth, it is\\nbecause he knoweth that his time is short\\nwhen once the cross of Christ is lifted up.\\nCharles H. Spurgeon.\\nTHE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD.\\nThis is the Arsenal. From floor to ceil-\\ning,\\nLike a huge organ, rise the burnished\\narms\\nBut from their silent pipes no anthem pealing,\\nStartles the village with strange alarms.", "height": "4364", "width": "3488", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0424.jp2"}, "425": {"fulltext": "MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\n429\\nAh what a sound will rise, how wild and\\ndreary,\\nWhen the death-angel touches those swift\\nkeys,\\nWhat loud lament and dismal Misereres\\nWill mingle with their awful sympho-\\nnies\\nI hear even now the infinite fierce chorus,\\nThe cries of agony, the endless groan\\nWhich, through the ages that have gone\\nbefore us,\\nIn long reverberations reach our own.\\nOn helm and harness rings the Saxon ham-\\nmer,\\nThrough Cimbric forest roars the Norse-\\nman s song,\\nAnd loud, amid the clamor,\\nO er distant deserts sounds the Tartar\\ngong.\\nI hear the Florentine, who from his palace\\nWheel out his battle-bell with dreadful\\ndin,\\nAnd Aztec priests upon their teocallis\\nBeat the wild war-drums made of ser-\\npents skin;\\nThe tumult of each sacked and burning vil-\\nlage\\nThe shout that every prayer for mercy\\ndrowns\\nThe soldier s revels in the midst of pillage\\nThe wail of famine in beleaguered towns\\nThe bursting shell, the gateway wrenched\\nasunder,\\nThe rattling musketry, the clashing blade\\nAnd ever and anon, in tones of thunder,\\nThe diapason of the cannonade.\\nIs it, O man, with such discordant noises\\nWith such accursed instruments as these,\\nThou drownest nature s sweet and kindly\\nvoices,\\nAnd j arrest the celestial harmonies\\nWere half the power, that fills the world\\nwith terror,\\nWere half the wealth, bestowed on camps\\nand courts,\\nGiven to redeem the human mind from\\nerror,\\nThere were no need of arsenals or forts\\nThe warrior s name would be a name\\nabhorred\\nAnd every nation, that should lift again\\nIts hand against a brother, on its forehead\\nWould wear for evermore the -curse of\\nCain.\\nDown the dark future, through long gene-\\nrations,\\nThe echoing sands grow fainter and then\\ncease\\nAnd like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibra-\\ntions,\\nI hear the voice of Christ say, Peace\\nPeace and no longer from its brazen por-\\ntals\\nThe blast of War s great organ shakes the\\nskies\\nBut beautiful as songs of the immortals,\\nThe holy melodies of love arise.\\nLongfellow.\\nTHE LAST LEAF\\nI saw him once before,\\nAs he passed by tne door\\nAnd again\\nThe pavement stones resound,\\nAs he totters o er the ground\\nWith his cane.\\nBut now he walks the streets,\\nAnd he looks at all he meets\\nSo forlorn\\nAnd he shakes his feeble head,\\nThat it seems as if he said,\\nThey are gone.\\nThe mossy marbles rest\\nOn the lips that he has pressed\\nIn their bloom\\nAnd the names he loved to hear\\nHave been carved for many a year\\nOn the tomb.\\nMy grandmamma has said\\nPoor old lady she is dead\\nLong ago\\nThat he had a Roman nose,\\nA.nd his cheek was like a rose\\nIn the snow.", "height": "4388", "width": "3152", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0425.jp2"}, "426": {"fulltext": "43\u00c2\u00b0\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nThey say that in his prime,\\nEre the priming-knife of time\\nCut him down\\nNot a better man was found\\nBy the crier on his round\\nThrough the town.\\nBut now his nose is thin\\nAnd it rests upon his chin,\\nLike a staff\\nAnd a crook is in his back,\\nAnd a melancholy crack\\nIn his laugh.\\nI know it is a sin\\nFor me to sit and grin\\nAt him here,\\nBut the old three-cornered hat,\\nAnd the breeches, and all that\\nAre so queer\\nAnd if I should live to be\\nThe last leaf upon the tree\\nIn the spring,\\nLet them smile, as I do now,\\nAt the old forsaken bough\\nWhere I cling.\\nOliver Wendell Holmes.\\nfor we are in the sweep of his influence.\\nWe think on what he says, not on how he\\nssys it. We lose sight of the speaker, we\\nare occupied only with his subject.\\nArchbishop Fenelon.\\nCICERO AND DEMOSTHENES COMPARED.\\nTo me Demosthenes seems superior to\\nCicero. I yield to no one in my ad-\\nmiration of the latter. He adorns\\nwhatever he touches. He lends honor to\\nspeech. He uses words as no one else can\\nuse them His versatility is beyond descrip-\\ntion. He is even concise and vehement\\nwhen disposed to be so, as against Catiline,\\nagainst Verres, against Antony. But we\\ndetect the embellishments in his discourses.\\nThe art is marvelous, but it is not hidden.\\nThe orator does not, in his concern for the\\nrepublic, forget himself, nor does he allow\\nhimself to be forgotten.\\nDemosthenes, on the contrary, seems to\\nlose all consciousness of himself, and to\\nrecognize only his country. He does not\\nseek the beautiful he unconsciously creates\\nit. He is superior to admiration. He uses\\nlanguage as a modest man uses his gar-\\nment for a covering. He thunders, he\\nlightens he is like a torrent hurrying\\nall before it. We cannot criticize him,\\nBRUTUS OVER THE BODY OF LUCRETIA\\nDramatic and impassioned. The story of Lucretia s death\\nshould be read in Roman history, and the speaker appreciate\\nthe circumstances and enter fully into the spirit of the occasion.\\nThus, thus, my friends, fast as our break-\\ning hearts\\nPermitted utterance, we have told our\\nstory.\\nAnd now, to say one word of the imposture,\\nThe mask necessity has made me wear.\\nWhen the ferocious malice of your king\\nKing do I call him when the monster,\\nTarquin,\\nSlew, as you, most of you, may well remem-\\nber,\\nMy father, Marcus, and my elder brother,\\nEnvying at once their virtues and their\\nwealth,\\nHow could I hope a shelter from his power\\nBut in the false face I have worn so long\\nWould you know why Brutus has sum-\\nmoned you\\nAsk ye what brings him here Behold\\nthis dagger,\\nClotted with gore Behold that frozen\\ncorse\\nSee where the lost Lucretia sleeps in death\\nShe was the mark and model of the time\\nThe mould in which each female grace was\\nformed,\\nThe very shrine and sacristy of virtue\\nThe worthiest of the worthy Not the\\nnymph\\nWho met old Numa in his hallowed walk,\\nAnd whispered in his ear her strains divine,\\nCan I conceive beyond her The young\\nchoir\\nOf vestal virgins bent to her O, my\\ncountrymen,\\nYou all can witness that when she went\\nforth,\\nIt was a holiday in Rome. Old age\\nForgot its crutch, labor its task all ran\\nAnd mothers, turning to their daughters,\\ncried,\\nThere, there s Lucretia Now look ye\\nwhere she lies.", "height": "4376", "width": "3448", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0426.jp2"}, "427": {"fulltext": "MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\n43i\\nThat beauteous flower, that innocent, sweet\\nrose,\\nTorn up by ruthless violence gone,\\ngone\\nSay, would ye seek instruction would ye\\nseek\\nWhat ye should do Ask ye yon conscious\\nwalls,\\nAnd they will cry, Revenge\\nAsk yon deserted street, where Tullia\\ndrove\\nO er her dead father s corse twill cry,\\nRevenge\\nAsk yonder senate house whose stones are\\npurple\\nWith human blood, and it will cry,\\nRevenge\\nGo to the tomb of Tarquin s murdered\\nwife,\\nAnd the poor queen who loved him as her\\nson\\nTheir unappeased ghosts will shriek Re-\\nvenge\\nThe temples of the gods, the all viewing\\nheavens,\\nThe gods themselves shall justify the cry,\\nAnd swell the general sound Revenge\\nRevenge\\nJ. H. Paynk.\\nONLY THE CLOTHES SHE WORE.\\nTHKRB is the hat\\nWith the blue veil thrown iound it,\\njust as they found it,\\nSpotted and soiled, stained and all\\nspoiled\\nDo you recognize that\\nThe gloves, too, lie there,\\nAnd in them still lingers the shape of her\\nfingers,\\nThat some one has pressed, perhaps, and\\ncaressed,\\nSo slender and fair.\\nThere is the dress,\\nLike the blue veil, all dabbled, discolored\\nand drabbled\\nThis you should know without doubt, and,\\nif so,\\nAll else you may guess.\\nThere is the shawl,\\nWith the striped border, hung next in\\norder,\\nSoiled hardly less than the white muslin\\ndress,\\nAnd that is all.\\nAh, here is a ring\\nWe were forgetting, with a pearl setting\\nThere was only this one name or date\\nnone\\nA frail, pretty thing\\nA keepsake, maybe,\\nThe gift of another, perhaps a brother,\\nOr lover, who knows him her heart chose,\\nOr was she heart-free\\nDoes the hat there,\\nWith the blue veil around it, the same as\\nthey found it,\\nSummon up a fair face with just a trace\\nOf gold in the hair\\nOr does the shawl,\\nMutely appealing to some hidden feeling,\\nA form, young and slight, to your mind s\\nsight\\nClearly recall\\nA month now has passed,\\nAnd her sad history remains yet a mystery,\\nBut these we keep still, and shall keep them\\nuntil\\nHope dies at last.\\nWas she a prey\\nOf some deep sorrow clouding the morrow.\\nHiding from view the sky s happy blue\\nOr was there foul play\\nThere are the shoes,\\nWith their long silken laces, still bearing\\ntraces,\\nTo the toe s dainty trip, of the mud of the\\nslip,\\nThe slime and the ooze.\\nAlas who may tell\\nSome one or other, perhaps a fond mother.\\nMay recognize these when her child s\\nclothes she sees\\nThen\u00e2\u0080\u0094 will it be well\\nN. G. Shepherd", "height": "4388", "width": "3160", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0427.jp2"}, "428": {"fulltext": "432\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nSCHOOLING A HUSBAND.\\nMrs. Centre was jealous. She was one\\nof those discontented women who\\nare never satisfied unless something\\ngoes wrong. When the sky is bright and\\npleasant they are annoyed because there is\\nnothing to grumble at. The trouble is not\\nwith the outward world but with the heart,\\nthe mind and every one who wishes to\\ngrumble will find a subject.\\nMrs. Centre was jealous. Her husband\\nwas a very good sort of person, though he\\nprobably had his peculiarities At any rate,\\nhe had a cousin, whose name was Sophia\\nSmithers, and who was very pretty, very\\nintelligent, and very amiable and kind-\\nhearted. I dare say he occasionally made\\nher a social call, to which his wife solemnly\\nand seriously objected, for the reason that\\nSophia was pretty, intelligent, amiable, and\\nkind-hearted. These were the sum total of\\nher sins.\\nCentre and his wife boarded at a private\\nestablishment at the South end of Boston.\\nAt the same house also boarded Centre s\\nparticular, intimate, and confidential friend,\\nWallis, with his wife. Their rooms might\\nalmost be said to be common ground, for\\nthe two men and the two women were\\nconstantly together.\\nWallis could not help observing that Mrs.\\nCentre watched her husband very closely,\\nand Centre at last confessed that there had\\nbeen some difficulty. So they talked the\\nmatter over together, and came to the con-\\nclusion that it was very stupid for any one\\nto be jealous, most of all for Mrs. Centre to\\nbe jealous. What they did I don t know,\\nbut one evening Centre entered the room,\\nand found Mrs. Wallis there.\\nMy dear, I am obliged to go out a few\\nmoments to call upon a friend, said Centre.\\nTo call upon a friend sneered Mrs.\\nCentre.\\nYes, my dear, I shall be back presently\\nand Mr. Centre left the room.\\nThe old story, said she, when he had\\ngone.\\nIf it was my husband I would follow\\nhim, said Mrs. Wallis.\\nI will and she immediately put on her\\nbonnet and shawl. Sophia Smithers lives\\nvery near, and I am sure he is going there.\\nCentre had gone up stairs to put on his\\nhat and overcoat, and in a moment she saw\\nhim on the stairs. She could not mistake\\nhim, for there was no other gentleman in\\nthe house who wore such a peculiarly\\nshaped Kossuth as he wore.\\nHe passed out, and Mrs. Centre passed\\nout after him. She followed the queer\\nshaped Kossuth of her husband, and it led\\nher to C Street, where she had suspected\\nit would lead her. And further, it led her to\\nthe house of Smithers, the father of Sophia,\\nwhere she suspected also it would lead ber.\\nMrs. Centre was very unhappy. Her\\nhusband had ceased to love her he loved\\nanother; he loved Sophia Smithers. She\\ncould have torn the pretty, intelligent,\\namiable, and kind-hearted cousin of her\\nhusband in pieces at that moment but she\\nhad the fortitude to curb her belligerent\\ntendencies, and ring the door-bell.\\nShe was shown into the sitting-room,\\nwhere the beautiful girl of many virtues\\nwas engaged in sewing.\\nIs my husband here she demanded.\\nMr. Centre? Bless you, no! He\\nhasn t been here for a month.\\nGracious What a whopper Was it\\ntrue that she whose multitudinous qualities\\nhad been so often rehearsed to her could tell\\na lie? Hadn t she seen the peculiar Kos-\\nsuth of her husband enter that door?\\nHadn t she followed that unmistakable hat\\nto the house\\nShe was amazed at the coolness of her\\nhusband s fair cousin. Before, she had\\nbelieved it was only a flirtation. Now, she\\nwas sure it was something infinitely worse,\\nand she thought about a divorce, or at least\\na separation.\\nShe was astounded, and asked no more\\nquestions. Did the guilty pair hope to\\ndeceive her her, the argus-eyed wife She\\nhad some shrewdness, and she had the\\ncunning to conceal her purpose by refrain-\\ning from any appearance of distrust. After\\na few words upon commonplace topics, she\\ntook her leave.\\nWhen she reached the sidewalk, there she\\nplanted herself, determined to wait till\\nCentre came out. For more than an hour\\nshe stood there, nursing the yellow demon\\nof jealousy. He came not. While she,", "height": "4340", "width": "3456", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0428.jp2"}, "429": {"fulltext": "MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\n433\\nthe true, faithful, and legal wife of Centre,\\nwas waiting on the cold pavement, shiver-\\ning in the cold blast of autumn, he was\\nfolded in the arms of the black-hearted\\nSophia, before a comfortable coal- fire.\\nShe was catching her death a-cold. What\\ndid he care the brute He was bestowing\\nhis affections upon her who had no legal\\nright to them.\\nThe wind blew, and it began to rain.\\nShe could stand it no longer. She should\\ndie before she got the divorce, and that was\\njust what the inhuman Centre would wish\\nher to do. She must preserve her precious\\nlife for the present, and she reluctantly con-\\ncluded to go home. Centre had not come\\nout, and it required a struggle for her to\\nforego the exposure of the nefarious scheme.\\nShe rushed into the house, into her\\nroom. Mrs. Wallis was there still. Throw-\\ning herself upon the sofa, she wept like a\\ngreat baby. Her friend tried to comfort\\nher, but she was firmly resolved not to be\\ncomforted. In vain Mrs. Wallis tried to\\nassure her of the fidelity of her husband.\\nShe would not listen to the words. But\\nwhile she was thus weeping, Mr. Centre\\nentered the room, looking just as though\\nnothing had happened.\\nYou wretch sobbed the lady.\\nWhat is the matter, my dear? coolly\\ninquired the gentleman, for he had not\\npassed through the battle and storm of\\nmatrimonial warfare without being able to\\nstand fire.\\nYou wretch repeated the lady, with\\ncompound unction.\\nWhat has happened\\nYou insult me, abuse me, and then ask\\nwhat the matter is cried the lady.\\nStreet\\nout of\\nSmithers house?\\nHave you\\nI have, you wretch\\nAnd I did not come out\\nNo You know you didn t\\nThere was an excellent reason for that,\\nmy dear. I wasn t there, said Centre,\\ncalmly.\\nYou weren t there, you wretch How\\ndare you tell me such an abominable lie\\nBut I have found you out. You go there\\n26\\nme\\nHaven t I been waiting in C\\nfor two hours for you to come\\nevery day, yes, twice, three times, a day!\\nI know your amiable cousin, now She\\ncan lie as well as you\\nSophia tell a lie Oh, no, my dear\\nBut she did. She said you were not\\nthere.\\nThat was very true I was not.\\nHow dare you tell me such a lie You\\nhave been with Sophia all the evening.\\nShe is a nasty baggage\\nNay, Mrs. Centre, you are mistaken,\\ninterposed Mrs. Wallis. Mr. Centre has\\nbeen with me in this room all the evening.\\nWhat! didn t I see him go out, and\\nfollow him to C Street\\nNo, my dear, I haven t been out this\\nevening. I changed my mind.\\nJust then Wallis entered the room with\\nthat peculiar Kossuth on his head, and the\\nmystery was explained. Mrs. Centre was\\nnot a little confused, and very much\\nashamed of herself.\\nWallis had been in Smithers library\\nsmoking a cigar, and had not seen Sophia.\\nHer statement that she had not seen Centre\\nfor a month was strictly true, and Mrs.\\nCentre was obliged to acknowledge that she\\nhad been jealous without a cause, though\\nshe was not let into the plot of Wallis.\\nBut Centre should have known better\\nthan to tell his wife what a pretty, intelli-\\ngent, amiable, and kind-hearted girl Sophia\\nwas. No husband should speak well of any\\nlady but his wife.\\nTHEM YANKEE BLANKITS\\nIf your enemy hunger feed him. How kindness turned an\\nenemy into a friend.\\nYES, John, I was down thar at Memphis,\\nA-workin around at the boats,\\nA-heavin o cotton with emph sis\\nAn loadin her onter the floats.\\nI was comin away from Ole Texas,\\nWhar I went, you know, arter the wah\\nBout it now I ll make no reflexes,\\nBut wait till I get ter long taw.\\nWell, while I was down thar, the fever,\\nAs yaller an pizen as sin,\\nBroke out an ef you ll beleeve her,\\nWharever she hit she struck in", "height": "4388", "width": "3156", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0429.jp2"}, "430": {"fulltext": "454\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nIt didn t take long in the hatchin\\nIt jes fa rly bred in the air,\\nTill a hospittel camp warn t a patchin\\nAn we d plenty o corpses to spare.\\nI volunteer d then with the Howards,\\nI thought that my duty was clear,\\nAn I didn t look back ards, but for ards,\\nAn went ter my work ithout fear.\\nOne day, howsomever, she got me\\nAs quick as the shot of a gun,\\nAn they toted me off ter allot me\\nA bunk till my life-race was run.\\nThe doctor and nurses they wrestled,\\nBut it didn t do me any good\\nAn the drugger he pounded and pestled,\\nBut he didn t get up the right food.\\nNo blankits ner ice in the city\\nI hear d em say that from my bed,\\nAn some cried, O God whole take pity\\nOn the dyin that soon 11 be dead\\nNext day, howsomever, the doctor\\nCame in with a smile on his brow.\\nOld boy, jest as yit we hain t knocked\\nher,\\nSaid he, but we ll do fer her now\\nFer, yer see, John, them folks ter the\\nNor ward\\nHed hear d us afore we call d twice,\\nAn they d sent us a full cargo forward\\nOf them much-needed blankits an ice\\nWell, brother, I ve been mighty solid\\nAgin Yankees, yer know, since the wah,\\nAn agin reconstrucktin was stolid,\\nNot kearin fer Kongriss ner law\\nBut, John, I got onder that kiver,\\nThat God-blessed gift o the Yanks,\\nAn it sav d me from fordin the river,\\nAn I m pray in em oceans o thanks\\nI tell yer, old boy, thar s er streak in us\\nOld Rebels an Yanks thet is warm\\nIt s er brotherly love that ll speak in us,\\nAn fetch us together in storm\\nWe may snarl about niggers an fran-\\ncheese,\\nBut whenever thar s sufferin afoot,\\nThe two trees 11 unite in the branches\\nThe same as they do at the root\\nSamuel W. Small.\\nTHE KISS IN THE TUNNEL\\nThky were sitting five seats back, but 1\\nplainly heard the smack,\\nAs we dashed into the tunnel near the\\ntown,\\nAnd the currents of my veins ran like gush-\\nApril rains,\\nThough I m grave and gray and wear a\\ndoctor s gown.\\nOnce alas so long ago on the rails I\\njourneyed so,\\nWith a maiden in a jaunty Jersey sack,\\nAnd I kissed her with my eyes, as the timid\\nstars the skies,\\nBut I longed, oh, how I longed for one\\nreal smack\\nDid she know it I dare say (She d a\\na sweet clairvoyant way\\nIn the glancing of her eyes so bright and\\nblue.)\\nNe er a bee such honey sips as the nectar on\\nher lips\\nBut I longed, in vain, as on we flew.\\nJust as yearning reached its height, lo! there\\ncame a sudden night,\\nAnd like steel to magnet clove my mouth\\nto hers\\nI shall never more forget how like drops of\\nrain they met,\\nIn the bosom of a rose that lightly stirs\\nWhen we came again to light, both our\\nfaces had turned white\\nWhite as clouds that float in summer from\\nthe South.\\nMissed I glances, missed I smiles but on\\nair I rode for miles,\\nWith the sweetness of love s dew upon my\\nmouth.\\nSo the kiss that some one stole, in the ray-\\nless Stygian hole,\\nWhile with loud imprisoned clangor on\\nwe rushed.\\nCaused the sluggish streams of age, with\\nyoung madness leap and rage\\nAnd my wife restored to daylight, laughed\\nand blushed.\\nDetroit Free Press.", "height": "4376", "width": "3420", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0430.jp2"}, "431": {"fulltext": "MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\n435\\nUGLY SAH\\nHE had been missing from the Po-\\ntomac for several days, and Cleve-\\nland Tom, Port Huron Bill, Tall\\nChicago, and the rest of the boys who were\\nwont to get drunk with him could not make\\nout what had happened They hadn t heard\\nthat there was a warrant out for him, had\\nnever known of his been sick for a day, and\\nhis absence from the old haunts puzzled\\nthem. They were in the Hole in-the-Wall\\nsaloon yesterday morning, nearly a dozen of\\nthem, drinking smoking and playing cards,\\nwhen in walked Ugly Sam.\\nThere was a deep silence for a moment as\\nthey looked at him. Sam had a new hat,\\nhad been shaved clean, had on a clean col-\\nlar and a white shirt, and they didn t know\\nhim at first. When they saw it was ugly\\nSam they uttered a shout and leaped up.\\nCave in that hat cried one.\\nYank that collar off shouted another.\\nI^ets roll him on the floor screamed a\\nthird.\\nThere was something in his look and\\nbearing that made them hesitate. The\\nwhiskey -red had almost faded from his face,\\nand he looked sober and dignified. His\\nfeatures expressed disgust and contempt as\\nhe looked around the room, and then re-\\nvealed pity as his eye fell upon the red\\neyes and bloated faces of the crowd before\\nhim.\\nWhy, what ails ye, Sam? inquired\\nTall Chicago, as they all stood there.\\nIve come down to bid you good-by,\\nboys! he replied, removing his hat and\\ndrawing a clean handkerehief from his\\npocket.\\nWhat Hev ye turned preacher\\nthey shouted in chorus.\\nBoys, ye know I can lick any two of\\nye, but I m not on the fight any more, and\\nI ve put down the last drop of whiskey\\nwhich is ever to go into my mouth. I ve\\nswitched off. I ve taken an oath. I m\\ngoing to be decent\\nSam, be you crazy asked Port Huron\\nBill, coming nearer to him.\\nI ve come down here to tell you all\\nabout it, answered Sam. Move the\\nchairs back a little and give me room. Ye\\nall know I ve been rough and more too.\\nI ve been a drinker, a fighter, a gambler and\\na loafer. I can t look back and remember\\nwhen I ve earned an honest dollar. The\\npolice has chased me round like a wolf, and\\nI ve been in jail and the workhouse, and\\nthe papers hez said that Ugly Sam was the\\nterror of the Potomac. Ye all know this,\\nboys, but ye didn t know that I had an old\\nmother.\\nThe faces of the crowd expressed amaze-\\nment.\\nI ve never mentioned it to any of ye,\\nfor I was neglecting her, he went on.\\nShe was a poor old body, living up here\\nin the alley, and if the neighbors hadn t\\nhelped her to fuel and food she d have been\\nfound dead long ago. I never helped her\\nto a cent didn t see her for weeks and\\nweeks, and I used to feel mean about it.\\nWhen a feller goes back on his old mother\\nhe s a-gettin purty low, and I know it.\\nWell, she s dead buried yesterday. I was\\nup there afore she died. She sent for me\\nby Pete, and when I got there I seen it was\\nall day with her.\\nDii she say anything asked one of\\nthe boys, as Sam hesitated.\\nThat s what ails me now, he went on.\\nWhen I went in she reached out her hand\\nto me, and says she, Samuel I m going to\\ndie, and I know d you d want to see me\\nafore I passed away. I sat down feeling\\nqueer-like. She didn t go on and say as\\nhow I was a loafer, and had neglected her,\\nand all that but says she, Samuel, you ll\\nbe all alone when I m gone. I ve tried to\\nbe a good mother to you and have prayed\\nfor you hundreds o nights, and cried for\\nyou till my old heart was sore Some of\\nthe neighbors had dropped in and the\\nwomen were crying, and I ll tell you, boys,\\nI felt weak.\\nHe paused for a moment and then con-\\ntinued\\nAnd the old woman said she d like to\\nkiss me afore death came, and that broke\\nme right down. She kept hold of my hand,\\nand by and by she whispered Samuel, you\\nare throwing your life away. You ve got\\nit in you to be a man if you ll only make\\nup your mind. I hate to die and feel that\\nmy only son and the last of .the family may\\ngo to the gallows. If I had your promise", "height": "4388", "width": "3168", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0431.jp2"}, "432": {"fulltext": "436\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nthat you would turn over a new leaf, and\\ntry and be good, it seems as though I d die\\neasier. Won t you promise me, my son\\nAnd I promised her, boys, and that s what\\nails me She died holding my hand and I\\npromised to quit this low business and to go\\nto work. I came down to tell ye, and now\\nyou won t see me on the Potomac again.\\nI ve bought an ax, and am going up to\\nCanada to winter.\\nThere was a dead silence for a moment,\\nand then he said\\nWell, boys, I ll shake hands with you\\nall around afore I go Good-by Pete good-\\nby, Jack Tom Jim. I hope ye won t\\nfling any bricks at me, and I shan t never\\nfling any at ye. It s a dying promise, ye\\nsee, and I ll keep it if it takes a right arm.\\nThe men looked reflectively at one another\\nafter he had passed out, and it was a long\\ntime before any one spoke. Then Tall\\nChicago flung his clay pipe into a corner,\\nand said\\nI ll whip the man who says Ugly Sam s\\nhead isn t level\\nSo ll I replied all the others.\\nWILL NEW YEAR COflE TO=NIGHT.\\nPathetic reading suitable to New Year\\ns entertainment.\\nWill the New Year come to-night\\nmamma I m tired of waiting so,\\nMy stocking hung by the chimney\\nside full three long days ago.\\nI run to peep within the door, by morning s\\nearly light,\\nTis empty still Oh, say, mamma, will\\nNew Year come to-night\\nWill the New Year come to-night, mamma\\nthe snow is on the hill,\\nThe ice must be two inches thick upon the\\nmeadow rill.\\nI heard you tell papa last night, his son\\nmust have a sled,\\n(I didn t mean to hear, mamma), and a\\npair of skates you said.\\nI prayed for just those things, mamma, oh,\\nI shall be full of glee,\\nAnd the orphan boys in the village school\\nwill all be envying me\\nBut I ll give them toys, and lend them\\nbooks, and make their New Year glad,\\nFor, God, you say, takes back his gifts\\nwhen little folks are bad.\\nAnd wont you let me go, m^mma, upon\\nthe New Year s day,\\nAnd carry something nice and warm to\\npoor old widow Gray\\nI ll leave the basket near the door, within\\nthe garden gate,\\nWill the New Year come to-night, mamma\\nit seems so long to wait.\\nThe New Year comes to-night, mamma, I\\nsaw it in my sleep,\\nMy stocking hung so full, I thought\\nmamma, what makes you weep\\nBut it only held a little shroud a shroud\\nand nothing more\\nAn open coffin open for me was standing\\non the floor.\\nIt seemed so very strange, indeed, to find\\nsuch gifts instead\\nOf all the toys I wished so much, the story-\\nbook and sled\\nBut while I wondered what it meant, you\\ncame with tearful joy\\nAnd said, Thou lt find the New Year\\nfirst God calleth thee, my boy\\nIt is not all a dream, mamma, I know it\\nmust be true\\nBut have I been so bad a boy God taketh\\nme from you\\nI don t know what papa will do when I am\\nlaid to rest,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAnd you will have no Willie s head to fold\\nupon your breast.\\nThe New Year comes to-night, mamma,\\nyour cold hand on my cheek,\\nAnd raise my head a little more it seems\\nso hard to speak\\nYou need not fill my stocking now, I can\\nnot go and peep,\\nBefore to-morrow s sun is up, I ll be so\\nsound asleep.\\nI shall not want the skates, mamma, I ll\\nnever need the sled\\nBut wont you give them both to Blake, who\\nhurt me on my head", "height": "4360", "width": "3464", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0432.jp2"}, "433": {"fulltext": "MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\n437\\nHe used to hide my books away, and tear\\nthe pictures too,\\nBut now he ll know that I forgive, as then\\nI tried to do.\\nAnd, if you please, mamma, I d like the\\nstory-book and slate,\\nTo go to Frank, the drunkard s boy, you\\nwould not let me hate\\nAnd, dear mamma, you wont forget, upon\\nthe New Year day,\\nThe basket full of something nice for poor\\nold widow Gray\\nThe New Year comes to-night, mamma, it\\nseems so very soon,\\nI think God didn t hear me ask for just\\nanother June\\nI know I ve been a thoughtless boy, and\\nmade you too much care,\\nAnd may be for your sake, mamma,\\nHe doesn t hear my prayer.\\nIt can not be but you will keep the\\nsummer flowers green,\\nAnd plant a few don t cry, mamma a\\nvery few I mean,\\nWhen I m asleep, I d sleep so sweet beneath\\nthe apple tree,\\nWhere you and robin, in the morn, may\\ncome and sing to me.\\nThe New Year comes good night, mamma\\nI lay me down to sleep,\\nI pray the Lord tell poor papa my\\nsoul to keep\\nIf I how cold it seems how dark kiss\\nme, I can not see\\nThe New Year comes to-night, mamma, the\\nold year dies with me.\\nCora M. Eager.\\nSUPPOSED SPEECH OF REQULUS.\\nDescriptive and Dramatic.\\nThe part attributed to Regulus should be delivered with great\\ndignity and scorn.\\nTHE palaces and domes of Carthage were\\nburning with the splendors of noon,\\nandjthe blue waves of her harbor were\\nrolling and gleaming in the gorgeous sun-\\nlight An attentive ear could catch a low\\nmurmur, sounding from the centre of the\\ncity, which seemed like the moaning of the\\nwind before a tempest. And well it might.\\nThe whole people of Carthage, startled,\\nastounded by the report that Regulus had\\nreturned, were pouring, a mighty tide, into\\nthe great square before the Senate House, a\\ngreat outpouring of the populace.\\nThere were mothers in that throng whose\\ncaptive sons were groaning in Roman fetters;\\nmaidens, whose lovers were dying in the\\ndistant dungeons of Rome gray-haired\\nmen and matrons, whom Roman steel had\\nmade childless men, who were seeing their\\ncountry s life crushed out by Roman power\\nand with wild voices, cursing and groaning,\\nthe vast throng gave vent to the rage, the\\nhate, the anguish of long years.\\nCalm and unmoved as the marble walls\\naround him, stood Regulus, the Roman.\\nHe stretched his arm over the surging crowd\\nwith a gesture as proudly imperious, as\\nthough he stood at the head of his own\\ngleaming cohorts. Before that silent com-\\nmand the tumult ceased the half-uttered\\nexecration died upon the lip so intense was\\nthe silence that the clank of the captive s\\nbrazen manacles smote sharp on every ear\\nas he thus addressed them\\nYe doubtless thought, judging of\\nRoman virtue by your own, that I would\\nbreak my plighted faith, rather than by\\nreturning, and leaving your sons aud\\nbrothers to rot in Roman dungeons, to meet\\nyour vengeance. Well, I could give reasons\\nfor this return, foolish and inexplicable as\\nit seems to you I could speak of yearnings\\nafter immortality of those eternal principles\\nin whose pure light a patriots death is\\nglorious, a thing to be desired but, by\\ngreat Jove I should debase myself to dwell\\non such high themes to you. If the bright\\nblood which feeds my heart were like the\\nthe slimy ooze that stagnates in your veins,\\nI should have remained at Rome, saved my\\nlife and broken my oath.\\nIf, then, you ask, why I have come\\nback, to let you work your will on this poor\\nbody, which I esteem but as the rags that\\ncover it, enough reply for you, it is because\\nI am a Roman As such here in your very\\ncapital I defy you What I have done, ye\\nnever can undo what ye may do I care not.\\nSince first my young arm knew how to\\nwield a Roman sword, have I not routed", "height": "4388", "width": "3060", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0433.jp2"}, "434": {"fulltext": "43*\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nyour armies, burned your towns, and\\ndragged your generals at my chariot wheels\\nAnd do ye now expect to see me cower and\\nwhine with dread of Carthaginian ven-\\ngeance Compared to that fierce mental\\nstrife which my heart has just passed\\nthrough at Rome, the piercing of this flesh,\\nthe rending of the sinews would be but\\nsport to me.\\nVenerable senators, with trembling\\nvoices and outstretched hands besought me\\nto return no more to Carthage. The gen-\\nerous people, with loud wailing and wildly-\\ntossing gestures bid me stay. The voice of\\na beloved mother, her withered hands\\nbeating her breast, her gray hairs streaming\\nin the wind, tears flowing down her furrowed\\ncheeks praying me not to leave her in her\\nlonely and helpless old age, is still sound-\\ning in my ears. Compared to anguish\\nlike this, the paltry torments you have\\nin store is as the murmur of the meadow\\nbrook to the wild tumult of the mountain\\nstorm.\\nGo bring your threatened tortures\\nThe woes I see impending over this fated\\ncity will be enough to sweeten death, though\\nevery nerve should tingle with its agony.\\nI die, but mine shall be the triumph yours\\nthe untold desolation. For every drop of\\nblood that falls from my veins, your own\\nshall pour in torrents Woe unto thee, O\\nCarthage I see thy homes and temples all\\nin flames, thy citizens in terror, thy women\\nwailing for the dead. Proud city thou art\\ndoomed the curse of Jove, a living lasting\\ncurse is on thee The hungry waves shall\\nlick the golden gates of thy rich palaces,\\nand every brook run crimson to the sea.\\nRome, with bloody hand, shall sweep thy\\nheartstrings, and all thy homes shall howl\\nin wild response of anguish to her touch.\\nProud mistress of the sea, disrobed, un-\\ncrowned, and scourged thus again do I\\ndevote thee to the infernal gods\\nNow, bring forth your tortures Slaves\\nwhile you tear this quivering flesh, remem-\\nber how often Regulus has beaten your\\narmies and humbled your pride. Cut as he\\nwould have carved you Burn deep as his\\ncurse You may slay Regulus, but cannot\\nconquer him.\\nElijah Kellogg.\\nNELL\\nPathetic.\\nYou re a kind woman, Nan, ay kind and\\ntrue\\nGod will be good to faithful folk like\\nyou\\nYou knew my Ned\\nA better, kinder lad never drew breath.\\nWe loved each other true, and we were\\nwed\\nIn church, like some who took him to his\\ndeath\\nA lad as gentle as a lamb, but lost\\nHis senses when he took a drop to much.\\nDrink did it all drink made him mad\\nwhen crossed\\nHe was a poor man, and they re hard on\\nsuch.\\nO Nan that night that night\\nWhen I was sitting in this very chair,\\nWatching and waiting in the candlelight,\\nAnd heard his foot come creaking up the\\nstair,\\nAnd turned, and saw him standing yon-\\nder, white\\nAnd wild, with staring eyes and rumpled\\nhair\\nAnd when I caught his arm and called in\\nfright,\\nHe pushed me, swore, and to the door he\\npassed\\nTo lock and bar it fast.\\nThen down he drops just like a lump of\\nlead\\nHolding his brow, shaking, and growing\\nwhiter,\\nAnd Nan just then the light seemed\\ngrowing brighter,\\nAnd I could see the hands that held his\\nhead,\\nAll red all bloody red\\nWhat could I do but scream He\\ngroaned to hear,\\nJumped to his feet and gripped me by the\\nwrist\\nBe still, or I shall kill thee, Nell he\\nhissed.\\nAnd I was still, for fear.\\nThey re after me I ve knifed a man\\nhe said.\\nBe still the drink drink did it he\\nis dead", "height": "4376", "width": "3436", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0434.jp2"}, "435": {"fulltext": "MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\n439\\nThen we grew still, dead still. I couldn t\\nweep\\nAll I could do was cling to Ned and hark,\\nAnd Ned was cold, cold, cold, as if asleep,\\nBut breathing hard and deep.\\nThe candle flickered out the room grew\\ndark\\nAnd Nan although my heart was true\\nand tried\\nWhen all grew cold and dim,\\nI shuddered not for fear of them outside,\\nBut just afraid to be alone with him.\\n1 Ned Ned I whispered and he\\nmoaned and shook,\\nBut did not heed or look\\nNed Ned speak, lad tell me it is not\\ntrue\\nAt that he raised his head and looked so\\nwild\\nThen, with a stare that froze my blood, he\\nthrew\\nHis arms around me, crying like a child,\\nAnd held me close and not a word was\\nspoken,\\nWhile I clung tighter to his heart, and\\npressed him,\\nAnd did not fear him though my heart was\\nbroken,\\nBut kissed his poor stained hands, and\\ncried, and blessed him.\\nThen, Nan, the dreadful daylight, coming\\ncold\\nWith sound o falling rain\\nWhen I could see his face, and it looked\\nold,\\nLike the pinched face of one that dies in\\npain\\nWell, though we heard folk stirring in the\\nsun,\\nWe never thought to hide away or run,\\nUntil we heard those voices in the street,\\nThat hurrying of feet.\\nAnd Ned leaped up, and knew that they\\nhad come.\\nRun, Ned I cried, but he was deaf and\\ndumb\\nHide, Ned I screamed, and held him\\nHide thee, man\\nHe stared with bloodshot eyes, and heark-\\nened, Nan\\nAnd all the rest is like a dream the sound\\nOf knocking at the door\\nA rush of men a struggle on the ground\\nA mist a tramp a roar\\nFor when I got my senses back again,\\nThe room was empty and my head went\\nround\\nGod help him God will help him Ay,\\nno fear\\nIt was the drink, not Ned he meant no\\nwrong\\nSo kind so good and I am useless here,\\nNow he is lost that loved me true and\\nlong.\\nThat night before he died,\\nI didn t cry my heart was hard and dried\\nBut when the clocks went one, I took\\nmy shawl\\nTo cover up my face, and stole away,\\nAnd walked along the silent streets, where\\nall\\nLooked cold and still and gray,\\nAnd on I went and stood in Leicester\\nSquare,\\nBut just as three was sounded close at\\nhand\\nI started and turned east, before I knew,\\nThen down Saint Martin s Lane, along the\\nStrand,\\nAnd through the toll-gate on to Waterloo.\\nSome men and lads went by,\\nAnd turning round, I gazed, and watched\\nem go,\\nThen felt that they were going to see him\\ndie,\\nAnd drew my shawl more tight, and\\nfollowed slow,\\nMore people passed me, a country cart with\\nhay\\nStopped close beside me, and two or three\\nTalked about it I moaned and crept away\\nNext came a hollow sound I knew full\\nwell,\\nFor something gripped me. round* the\\nheart and then\\nThere came the solemn tolling of a bell\\nO God O God how could I sit close by,\\nAnd neither scream nor cry\\nAs if I had been stone, all hard and cold,\\nI listened, listened, listened, still and\\ndumb,\\nWhile the folk murmured, and the death-\\nbell tolled.", "height": "4388", "width": "3060", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0435.jp2"}, "436": {"fulltext": "440\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nAnd the day brightened, and his time had\\ncome,\\nTill Nan all else was silent, but the\\nknell\\nOf the slow bell\\nAnd I could only wait, and wait, and\\nwait,\\nAnd what I waited for I couldn t tell\\nAt last there came a groaning deep and\\ngreat\\nSaint Paul s struck eight\\nI screamed, and seemed to turn to fire, and\\nfell!\\nRobert Buchanan.\\nTHE LIGHTKEEPER S DAUGHTER.\\nThe pale moon hid her face the glitter-\\ning stars\\nRetired above the blackness of the night.\\nThe wild winds moaned, as if some human\\nsoul\\nIn fetters bound was struggling to be free\\nThe ocean leaped and swayed his long white\\narms\\nUp in the darkness with a sullen roar.\\nAcross the heavy gloom of night there came\\nThe faint light from the tower, and when\\nthe moon\\nPeeped from her floating veil of clouds, she\\nsent\\nA gleam across the waters, rushing mad.\\nAgainst the angry sky\\nThe lighthouse stood, whose beacon light\\nforetold\\nThe danger to bold ships that neared the\\nrocks\\nWhile daylight slept.\\nIn the tower by the sea, there all alone,\\nThe keeper s pretty daughter trimmed the\\nlamp,\\nAnd as the water sparkled in the light,\\nGod save the sailors on the sea, she\\nprayed\\nThe night is wild my father gone, and\\nnear\\nAre rocks which vessels wreck when storms\\nare high\\nI will not sleep, but watch beside the light,\\nFor some may call for help.\\nAnd so she sat\\nBeside the window o er the sea, and scanned\\nWith large dark eyes the troubled water s\\nfoam,\\nUnheeding as the wind her tresses tossed,\\nOr spray baptized her brow.\\nA muffled sound\\nTrembles upon the air, above the storm\\nWhy strain her eager eyes far in the night\\nWas it the wind, or but the ocean s heart\\nBeating against the cliffs\\nAh, no Ah, no\\nIt was the signal-gun the cry for help S\\nNow seen, now lost, the lights upon the\\nship\\nGlimmer above the wave.\\nHer inmost soul with anguish stirred, sobs\\nout,\\nA vessel on the rocks, and none to save\\nAgain that far, faint death-knell of the\\ndoomed\\nUpon her young heart falls. They shall\\nnot die\\nI rescue them, or perish in their grave\\nHer strong arms, nerved by heart long\\ntrained\\nTo suffer and to dare for highest good,\\nConquers in spite of warring elements\\nThe boat is launched one instant does she\\npause\\nAnd lift her soul in prayer. Tis silent,\\nBut angels hear, and bear it on their wings\\nTo the All-Father, and the strength comes\\ndown.\\nThe wind howls loud the cruel, sullen\\nwaves\\nToss the frail bark as children toss a toy\\nAll nature tries to baffle one brave soul\\nAs, beautiful and bold, she still toils on,\\nUnheeding all except one thought, one hope.\\nShe nears the vessel, beating gainst the\\nrocks\\nA wave sweeps o er her, but her heart is\\nstayed\\nBy cries for help from hearts half dead\\nwith fear\\nUpon the tossing ship they watch and pray,\\nWhile nearer draws deliverance. One more\\nbound,", "height": "4372", "width": "3436", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0436.jp2"}, "437": {"fulltext": "MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\n441\\nThe ship is reached, and not a moment lost.\\nThe boat is filled. Again she braves the\\nsea,\\nThis time with precious freight, the while\\nthe waves,\\nThus cheated of their prey, mourn in\\nrevenge.\\nThe moon between the clouds in pity smiles,\\nThe waves are broken into tears above\\nThe boat of life resisting wind and wave,\\nThey near the land, an unseen Hand directs,\\nAnd one eye, never sleeping, watches all.\\nUpon the shore the fishers wives knelt\\ndown\\nAnd clasped their loved ones, given from\\nthe grave.\\nYoung children sobbed their gratitude, and\\nclung\\nTo fathers they had never hoped to kiss\\nStrong men were not afraid of tears, which\\nfell\\nLike April rain, as with their wives and\\nbabes\\nThey knelt upon the bleak seashore, to\\npray.\\nUp to the skies a glad thanksgiving rose\\nThe wind ceased wailing, and the stars\\ncame out\\nJoy filled all hearts, and noble Grace was\\nblessed.\\nThe earth grew brighter, for the angels sang,\\nIn heaven, to God a glad, sweet song of\\npraise.\\nMyra A. Goodwin.\\nKEEPING HOUSE FOR TWO.\\nIT S sweeping and dusting and cooking,\\nIt s making the wee house bright,\\nFor the man, all day who is earning his\\npay,\\nAnd is hastening home at night.\\nHe, for the toil and the wages,\\nShe for the saving up\\nAnd both in all weather to stand together,\\nAnd share the loaf and the cup.\\nIt s singing above the pudding,\\nIt s flitting to and fro,\\nWith a heart so light from morning till\\nnight\\nThat the cheeks with roses glow.\\nIt s watching the clock in the gloaming,\\nIt s running to open the door,\\nWith a smile and a kiss, and the touch of a\\nbliss\\nThat can ask for nothing more.\\nPerhaps the means are narrow\\nIn the keeping house for two\\nBut the little wife in her valiant strife\\nWill somehow make them do.\\nAnd God will help her onward,\\nAnd smooth her good man s way,\\nAnd, trudging together, in every weather,\\nThey ll laugh at the rainy day.\\nAs he works with hammer and pick-axe,\\nOr bends o er ledger and bills,\\nAs he faithfully toils for the golden spoils\\nThat enrich another s tills,\\nHe does not fret or worry,\\nHe is proud as a millionaire\\nWith a cheery wife and a happy life,\\nThe man has enough and to spare.\\nTis stepping from parlor to kitchen,\\nAnd lilting a bit of song\\nFor she feels in her breast, that the tiny nest\\nWill not be lonesome long.\\nFlood-tide of life s fullest pleasure,\\nJoy-bells a peal to ring,\\nWhen a little bed, holds a flaxen head,\\nAnd the small home holds a king\\nAnd then the merry problem\\nWill be keeping house for three\\nAnd angels will wait at the lowly gate,\\nTo give them company.\\nWhen it s one for the work and the wages,\\nAnd one for the saving up,\\nAnd the home to stand with the best in the\\nland,\\nAnd God for the loaf and cup\\nMargaret E- Sangstbr.\\nIn Everywhere.\\nTHE DIFFICULTY OF RHYMING\\nThe humor of this selection must appear in the perplexed ana\\ndifficult manner of the speaker in finding the rhyming word for\\nthe end of the fourth line.\\nWE parted by the gate in June,\\nThat soft and balmy month,\\nBeneath the sweetly beaming moon,\\nAnd (wonth hunth sunth bunth I\\ncan t find a rhyme to month).", "height": "4388", "width": "3040", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0437.jp2"}, "438": {"fulltext": "442\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nYears were to pass ere we should meet\\nA wide and yawning gulf\\nDivides me from my love so sweet,\\nWhile (ulf\u00e2\u0080\u0094 sulf\u00e2\u0080\u0094 dulf mulf\u00e2\u0080\u0094 stuck\\nagain I can t get any rhyme to gulf. I m\\nin a gulf myself).\\nOh, how I dreaded in my soul\\nTo part from my sweet nymph,\\nWhile years should their long seasons\\nroll\\nBefore (hymph dymph symph I guess\\nI ll have to let it go at that).\\nBeneath my fortune s stern decree\\nMy lonely spirits sunk,\\nFor I a weary soul should be\\nAnd a (hunk dunk runk sk That\\nwill never do in the world)\\nShe buried her dear lovely face\\nWithin her azure scarf,\\nShe knew I d take the wretchedness\\nAs well as (parf sarf darf harf-and-\\nharf That won t answer either).\\nOh, I had loved her many years,\\nI loved her for herself\\nI loved her for her tender tears,\\nAnd also for her (welf nelf helf pell\\nno, no not for her pelf).\\nI took between my hands her head,\\nHow sweet her lips did pouch\\nI kissed her lovingly and said\\n(bouch mouch louch ouch not a bit\\nof it did I say ouch).\\nI sorrowfully wrung her hand,\\nMy tears they did escape,\\nMy sorrow I could not command,\\nAnd I was but a (sape dape fape ape\\nwell, perhaps, I did feel like an ape).\\nI gave to her a fond adieu,\\nSweet pupil of love s school\\nI told her I would e er be true,\\nAnd always be a (dool sool mool\\nfool since I come to think of it, I was a\\nfool, for she fell in love with another fellow,\\nbefore I was gone a month).\\nA TWILIGHT STORY.\\nU A untie, will you tell a story? said\\na\\\\. my little niece of three,\\nAs the early winter twilight fell\\naround us silently.\\nSo I answered to her pleading Once,\\nwhen I was very small,\\nWith my papa and my mamma I went out\\nto make a call\\nAnd a lady, pleased to see us, gave me quite\\na large bouquet,\\nWhich I carried homeward proudly, smiling\\nall along the way.\\nSoon I met two other children, clad in\\nrags and sad of face,\\nWho grew strangely, wildly joyous as I\\nneared their standing-place.\\nTwas so good to see the flowers Give\\nus one oh, one they cried.\\nBut I passed them without speaking, left\\nthem with their wish denied.\\nYet the mem ry of their asking haunted\\nme by night and day,\\nGive us one I heard them saying, even\\nin my mirthful play.\\nStill I mourn, because in childhood I\\nrefused to give a flower\\nDid not make those others happy when I\\nhad it in my power.\\nSuddenly I ceased my story. Tears were in\\nmy niece s eyes\\nTears of tenderness and pity while she\\nplanned a sweet surprise\\nI will send a flower to-morrow to those\\nlittle children dear.\\nCould I tell her that their childhood had\\nbeen gone this many a year\\nMary J. Portkr.\\nKING WHEAT.\\nSuitable to Thanksgiving Entertainment.\\nYou may tell of your armored cruisers\\nAnd your great ships of the line\\nAnd swift or slow may steamers go\\nAcross the billowy brine.\\nLike thunder may the cannon boom\\nTo greet their flags unfurled,\\nAnd for an hour they may have power\\nTo rule the frightened world.", "height": "4352", "width": "3372", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0438.jp2"}, "439": {"fulltext": "MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\n443\\nFrom ocean shore to ocean shore\\nLie lines of gleaming steel,\\nAnd night and day we hear alway\\nThe ring of rushing wheel\\nThough buffalo have left the plain,\\nAnd Indian tents are furled,\\nNor steam nor hand at wealth s command\\nCan rule the busy world.\\nBut where the hillside rises fair\\nIn terraces of green,\\nAnd on the plain, where wind and rain\\nSweep fields of golden sheen,\\nWhere sturdy yellow stalks arise,\\nWith bannered heads unfurled,\\nHere you may greet the Great King\\nWheat,\\nThe ruler of the world.\\nOh, hills may shake and vales resound\\nBeneath the flying car,\\nAnd driven by steam and winds a-beam\\nOur ships ride fast and far\\nCities may crumble neath the guns\\nWhich guard our flag unfurled,\\nYet all shall greet at last King Wheat\\nFor hunger rules the world.\\nNinette M. Lo water.\\nAt length tis morn, and at the dawn of day\\nThe pealing anthem swells the note of\\npraise\\nWestward the star of empire takes its way\\nAnd buries madmen in the heaps they\\nraise.\\nHonor and shame from no condition rise,\\nSave where the beetle wheels his droning\\nflight.\\nWhat were they made for, then, you dog\\nhe cries\\nOne truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.\\nLo, the poor Indian, whose untutored\\nmind\\nImplores the passing tribute of a sigh.\\nOn with the dance. Let joy be uncon-\\nfined\\nLet earth, unbalanced, from her orbit fly.\\nA little learning is a dangerous thing\\nOh, give relief, and Heaven will bless your\\nstore,\\nSee the blind beggar dance, the cripple\\nsing-\\nArm Arm It is the cannon s opening\\nroar.\\nMOSAICS\\nA pleasing contest may be introduced in a literary society or\\ncircle of friends by reading the following verses and offering a\\nprize to the person who names the titles of the greatest number\\nof poems from which the lines are taken. The contestants\\nshould be supplied with paper and pencils and two minutes time\\ngiven after the reading of each stanza for the writing of the title.\\nTHE curfew tolls the knell of parting\\nday\\nGreat day from which all other days\\nare made\\nNow came still evening on, and twilight\\ngray,\\nIn nature s simplest charms at first\\narrayed.\\nSweet was the sound when oft at evening s\\nclose\\nThe moping owl does to the moon com-\\nplain\\nWith louder plaint the mother spoke her\\nwoes,\\nDriven by the wind and battered by the\\nrain.\\nLive while you live, the epicure would\\nsay,\\nAnd catch the manners living as they rise.\\nApproach and read (for thou canst read)\\nthe lay,\\nIf ignorance is bliss, tis folly to be wise.\\nYou see mankind the same in every age,\\nAnd as they first are fashioned always\\ngrow;\\nHe struts and frets his hour upon the\\nstage\\nVirtue alone is happiness below.\\nTurn gentle hermit of the dale,\\nAnd guide my lonely way\\nIf I am wrong, oh, teach my heart\\nTo find the better way\\nShould auld acquaintance be forgot,\\nAn never bro t to min\\nOh, no, my friends, for is it not\\nPoured out by hands divine", "height": "4384", "width": "3060", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0439.jp2"}, "440": {"fulltext": "444\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nThis world is all a fleeting show\\nFrom many an ancient river\\nFor men may come, and men may go.\\nBut I go on forever.\\nOn Linden when the sun was low,\\nWith eyelids heavy and red,\\nMan wants but little here below,\\nAs hath been sung or said.\\nForbear, my son, the hermit cries.\\nTo be, or not to be\\nIn this the art of living lies,\\nCome to the sunset tree.\\nMary had a little lamb,\\nWith fingers weary and worn,\\nAnd everywhere that Mary went\\nShows man was made to mourn.\\nJohn Gilpin was a citizen\\nIn poverty, hunger and dirt,\\nAnd so the teacher turned him out,\\nAnd sang the song of the shirt.\\nA nightingale that all day long\\nMade fields and forests bare,\\nAs if he said, I m not afraid,\\nAnd hoary was his hair.\\nAnd what is friendship but a name\\nThe eager children cry\\nA charm that follows wealth or fame\\nComin through the rye.\\nAnd love is still an emptier sound,\\nWhere the scattered waters rave.\\nA chieftain to the highlands bound\\nCries, A life on the ocean wave.\\nOh, swiftly glides the bonnie boat,\\nWith fainting steps and slow\\nHe used to wear an old brown coat,\\nIts fleece was white as snow.\\nTis the voice of the sluggard I heard him\\ncomplain\\nOh, when shall day dawn on the night of\\nthe grave\\nOh, give me my lowly thatched cottage\\nagain,\\nO er the land of the free and the home of\\nthe brave.\\nThree fishers went sailing out into the west,\\nAt the close of the day when the hamlet\\nis still\\nSweet Vale of Avoca, tuow calm could I rest\\nIn the old oaken bucket that hangs in the\\nwell.\\nAn exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain,\\nOn the shore dimly seen through the mists\\nof the deep.\\nYou have waked me too soon I must\\nslumber again\\nRock me to sleep, mother; rock me to\\nsleep.\\nThe Assyrian came down like a wolf on the\\nfold,\\nWith lovely young Jamie, the pride of\\nthe Dee\\nHis footsteps are feeble once fearless and\\nbold\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAnd away he went singing his chick-a-\\ndee-dee.\\nWill you come to the bower I ve shaded for\\nyou\\nI would not stay out in the cold and the\\nsnow,\\nPerfumed with fresh flagrance and glittering\\nwith dew,\\nRoderick Vic Alpine Dhu ho iero\\nJOTHAM WlNROW.\\nOLD GLORY.\\n{A Chant Royal.)\\nI have seen the glories of art and architecture and moun-\\ntain and river. I have seen the sunset on Jungfrau, and the full\\nmoou rise oyer Mont Blanc but the fairest vision on which\\nthese eyes ever looked was the flag of my country in a foreign\\nland. Beautiful as a flower to those who love it, terrible as a meteor\\nto those who hate, it is the symbol of the power and glory and\\nthe honor of fifty millions of Americans. George F. Hoar.\\nEnchanted web A picture in the air,\\nDrifted to us from out the distance blue\\nFrom shadowy ancestors, through whose\\nbrave care\\nWe live in magic of a dream come true\\n\\\\Vith Covenanters blue, as if were glassed\\nIn dewy flower-heart the stars that passed.\\nO blood-veined blossom that can never\\nblight\\nThe Declaration, like a sacred rite,\\nIs in each star and stripe declamatory,\\nThe Constitution thou shalt long recite\\nOur hallowed, eloquent, beloved Old\\nGlory!", "height": "4372", "width": "3444", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0440.jp2"}, "441": {"fulltext": "MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\n445\\nO symphony in red, white, blue fanfare\\nOf trumpet, roll of drum, forever new,\\nReverberations of the bell that bear\\nIts tones of Ljbebty the wide world\\nthrough\\nIn battle dreaded like a cyclone blast\\nSymbol of land and people unsurpassed,\\nThy brilliant day shall never have a\\nnight.\\nOn foreign shore, no pomp so grand a\\nsight,\\nNo face so friendly, naught consolatory.\\nIyike glimpse of lofty spar with thee\\nbedight,\\nOur hallowed, eloquent, beloved Old\\nGlory!\\nThou art the one Flag an embodied\\nprayer.\\nOne, highest and most perfect to review\\nWithout one, nothing it is a lineal, square,\\nHas properties of all the numbers, too,\\nCube, solid, square root, root of root best\\nclassed\\nIt for his essence the Creator cast.\\nFor purity are thy stripes of six white\\nThis number circular and endless quite;\\nSix times, well knows the scholar wan and\\nhoary,\\nHis compass spanning circle can alight,\\nOur hallowed, eloquent, beloved Old\\nGlory!\\nBoldly thy seven lines of scarlet flare,\\nAs when o er old centurion it blew\\n(Red is the trumpet s tone it means to\\ndare.)\\nGod favored seven when creation grew\\nThe seven planets seven hues contrast\\nThe seven metals seven days not last\\nThe seven tones of marvellous delight\\nThat lend the listening soul their wings\\nfor flight\\nBut why complete the happy category\\nThat gives thy thirteen stripes their charm\\nand might,\\nOur hallowed, eloquent, beloved Old\\nGlory!\\nIn thy dear colors, honored everywhere,\\nThe great and mystic ternion we view\\nFaith, Hope and Charity are numbered\\nthere,\\nAnd the three nails the Crucifixion knew.\\nThree are offended when one has tres-\\npassed,\\nGod, and one s neighbor, and one s self\\naghast\\nChrist s deity and soul and manhood s\\nheight\\nThe Father, Son and Ghost may here\\nunite.\\nWith texts like these, divinely monitory,\\nWhat wonder that thou conquerest in\\nfight\\nOur hallowed, eloquent, beloved Old\\nGlory!\\nENVOY.\\nO blessed Flag sign of our precious past,\\nTriumphant present, and our future vast,\\nBeyond starred blue and bars of sunset\\nbright\\nI^ead us to higher realm of equal right\\nFloat on, in ever lovely allegory,\\nKin to the eagle and the wind and light\\nOur hallowed, eloquent, beloved Old\\nGlory!\\nEmma Frances Dawson.\\nOld Glory, as our flag was baptized by our soldiers\\nduring the Rebellion. Preble.\\nICHABOD.\\nThe following poem was written on hearing of Daniel Web-\\nster s course in supporting the Compromise Measure, includ-\\ning the Fugitive Slave Law. This speech was delivered in the\\nUnited States Senate on the 7th of March, 1850, and greatly\\nincensed the Abolitionists. Mr. Whittier, in common with many\\nNew Englanders, regarded it as the certain downfall of Mr.\\nWebster. The lines are full of tender regret, deep grief and\\ntouching pathos.\\ns\\no fallen so lost the light withdrawn\\nWhich once he wore\\nThe glory from his gray hairs gone\\nFor evermore\\nRevile him not the Tempter hath\\nA snare for all\\nAnd pitying tears, not scorn and wrath\\nBefit his fall\\nOh dumb be passion s stormy rage,\\nWhen he who might\\nHave lighted up and led his age\\nFalls back in night.\\nScorn would the angels laugh to mark\\nA bright soul driven,\\nFiend -goaded, down the endless dark,\\nFrom hope and heaven", "height": "4388", "width": "3032", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0441.jp2"}, "442": {"fulltext": "446\\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\\nLet not the land, once proud of him,\\nInsult him now\\nNor brand with deeper shame his dim\\nDishonored brow.\\nBut let its humbled sons, instead,\\nFrom sea to lake,\\nA long lament, as for the dead,\\nIn sadness make.\\nOf all we loved and honored, nought\\nSave power remains,\\nA fallen angel s pride of thought\\nStill strong in chains.\\nAll else is gone from those great eyes\\nThe soul has fled\\nWhen faith is lost, when honor dies,\\nThe man is dead\\nThen, pay the reverence of old days\\nTo his dead fame\\nWalk backward, with averted gaze,\\nAnd hide the shame\\nJohn Greenleaf Whittier.\\nCASABIANCA.\\nYoung Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son of the\\nAdmiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the Battle of the\\nNile) after the ship had taken fire and all the guns had been\\nabandoned, and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the\\nflames had reached the powder.\\nThe boy stood on the burning deck\\nWhence all but him had fled\\nThe flames that lit the battle s wreck\\nShone round him o er the dead.\\nYet beautiful and bright he stood,\\nAs born to rule the storm\\nA creature of heroic blood,\\nA proud though childlike form.\\nThe flames rolled on he would not go\\nWithout his father s word\\nThat father, faint in death below,\\nHis voice no longer heard.\\nHe called aloud, Say, father, say,\\nIf yet my task be done\\nHe knew not that the chieftain lay\\nUnconscious of his son.\\nSpeak, father once again he cried,\\nIf I may yet be gone\\nAnd but the booming shots replied,\\nAnd fast the flames rolled on.\\nUpon his brow he felt their breath,\\nAnd in his waving hair,\\nAnd looked from that lone post of death\\nIn still but brave despair\\nAnd shouted but once more aloud,\\nMy father must I stay\\nWhile o er him fast, through sail and\\nshroud,\\nThe wreathing fires made way.\\nThey wrapt the ship in splendor wild,\\nThey caught the flag on high,\\nAnd streamed above the gallant child,\\nLike banners in the sky\\nThere came a burst of thunder sound\\nThe boy Oh where was he\\nAsk of the winds, that far around\\nWith fragments strewed the sea\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWith shroud and mast and pennon fair,\\nThat well had borne their part\\nBut the noblest thing that perished there,\\nWas that young faithful heart.\\nFelicia Hemans.\\nA PARODY ON CASABIANCA.\\nTHE boy stood on the back-yard fence,\\nwhence all but him had fled\\nThe flames that lit his father s barn,\\nshone just above the shed.\\nOne bunch of crackers in his hand, two\\nothers in his hat,\\nWith piteous accents loud he cried, I\\nnever thought of that\\nA bunch of crackers to the tail of one small\\ndog he d tied\\nThe dog in anguish sought the barn, and\\nmid its ruins died.\\nThe sparks flew wide, and red and hot,\\nthey lit upon that brat\\nThey fired the crackers in his hand, and\\ne en those in his hat.\\nThen came a burst of rattling sound the\\nboy Where was he gone\\nAsk of the winds that far around strewed\\nbits of meat and bone\\nAnd scraps of clothes, and balls, and tops,\\nand nails, and hooks, and yarn\\nThe relics of that dreadful boy that burnt\\nhis father s barn. J. T. Gamble.", "height": "4368", "width": "3404", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0442.jp2"}, "443": {"fulltext": "Part XVI\\nPROGRAMMES\\nnpO make a programme for an entertainment is always a difficult task.\\nFirst, what to have, and, second, where to find it, are perplexing\\nquestions which present themselves. To help solve this difficulty and\\nanswer these troublesome questions is the object of this department.\\nLet it be understood that variety in selections, as far as. the occasion\\nwill admit, always contributes to the pleasure of the audience. Yet there\\nis a fintess of things which should never be lost sight of.\\nThe few succeeding programmes are intended to be used as samples.\\nThey may be adapted and used as they appear, or they may be altered to\\nconform to local requirements. The compiler of this volume, with a view\\nto aiding the user of the book as far as possible, has indicated by notes\\nat the beginning of a large number of selections, their special adaptation\\nto some particular entertainment or occasion. The illustrations also\\nfurnish many suggestions for tableaux, costumes and easy graceful attitudes\\nin acting.\\n447", "height": "4388", "width": "3112", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0443.jp2"}, "444": {"fulltext": "4th OF JULY PROGRAMME\\nMusic By band or on instrument\\n(Any lively march.)\\nIntroductory Remarks By Master of Ceremony\\n(3 to 5 minutes.)\\nDeclamation Resistance to British Aggression or\\nThe War Inevitable Pages 73 and. 74\\n(A good speaker dressed in colonial garb impersonating Patrick Henry.\\nReading The Declaration of Independence\\n(By some one with strong voice who can read it impressively.)\\nMusic\\n(Any spirited martial air.)\\nRecitation Legend of the Declaration Page 128\\nTableau The Heroes of 1776\\n(About 12 boys or men dressed as revolutionary soldiers. They stand a few moments before the audience,\\nwhen the band begins to play they march away to the music. Where it is impracticable to\\nget so many costumes ready, two, or even one may appear, impersonating\\nWashington and Lafayette, or Washington only.)\\nSong My Cowitry lis of Thee Page 399\\n(By school or audience.)\\nOration\\n(An original address from 5 to 10 minutes long on the Memories of the 4th of July or\\nsome other appropriate theme.)\\nMusic By the Band\\n(Some potpourri of patriotic airs.)\\nTableau Faith in the Red, White and Blue\\nSee picture for costume and attitude on page 286\\n(By a child looking up at flag.)\\nVocal Solo The Star Spangled Banner Page 389\\n(By a lady with strong soprano voice.)\\nDeclamation The American Flag Page 131\\nSong to Close Columbia, My Country Page 385\\n(By audience or as a solo.)\\n44-S", "height": "4390", "width": "3269", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0444.jp2"}, "445": {"fulltext": "WASHINGTON S BIRTHDAY ENTERTAINMENT\\nMusic, by the band Hail to the Chief\\nRecitation, by a girl The Love of Country 1\\nor Washington s Birthday Pages 65 and 127\\nDeclamation, by a boy Patriotism is Unselfish or\\nu Washington to his Soldiers Pages 66 and 94\\nSong of Revolutionary Times Yankee Doodle Page 369\\n(Solos sung by boy and girl, alternating stanzas. The chorus sung by ten or twelve boys and girls\\narranged behind them. The effect will be better if the singers are dressed in Colonial\\ncostumes.)\\nOriginal Address Washington the Model Patriot\\n(Prepared and delivered by some local speaker. It should not last longer than eight or ten minutes\\nat most.)\\nMusic, by the band Any Patriotic Air\\nDeclamation Valley Forge Page 121\\n(Delivered by some one who can speak with dignity.)\\nSong My Country Tis of Thee Page 399\\n(By school or audience.)\\nTableau Washington s Last Visit to His Mother\\n(Let some stately, clean shaven man dress in the costume of that day impersonate Washington, and a plain\\ndignified old woman of noble bearing impersonate his mother. The scene is on the old home in Virginia.\\nWashington has just been elected President of the United States in 1789, but before taking upon\\nhimself the duties of the office he goes to Virginia to receive his mother s blessing. The Tableau\\nshows him kneeling and his mother with her hands upon his head utters these words\\nGo, George, and fulfil the high destinies which Heaven appears to have intended\\nfor you go, my son, and may Heaven s benedictions abide with your mother s\\nblessings upon you always. The curtain falls. A moment later let it rise\\nand show the chief pausing in the doorway looking back at his mother\\nwho sits with her knitting in an easy chair, her face lifted kindly\\ntoward him.)\\nSong Columbia My Country Page 385\\n(Sung by the chorus and played by the band.)\\n449", "height": "4384", "width": "2936", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0445.jp2"}, "446": {"fulltext": "SCHOOL ENTERTAINMENT\\nA Programme adapted to the close of school where a variety of enter-\\ntainment is desired.\\ni. Song America Page 399\\n[By the school.]\\n2. Address of Welcome, with remarks on the progress made in the school.\\n[By the Principal or Teacher.]\\n3. Declamation The Greater Republic or\\nThe Battle of Manila Bay Pages 114 and 110\\n[For a boy or girl of 15 or older.]\\n4. An Essay\\n[Prepared for the occasion and read by one of the pupils. A selection, page 425, as a reading may be\\nsubstituted.]\\n5. Song The Old Oaken Bucket Page 392\\nBy the school.]\\n6. Declamation Baby in Church Page 194\\n[For little girl.]\\n7. Doll Rosy s Bath Page 290\\n[For little girl.]\\n8. An Essay\\n[Prepared for the occasion and read by one of the pupils. A reading may be selected instead.]\\n9. Song; by the school\\n[To be selected from Musical Department of this book or from other songs already prepared.]\\n10. Dialogue Tailed Page 327\\n[For boy and girl.]\\n11. Recitation Pegging Away Page 270\\n[For boy or girl.]\\n12. Familiar Quotations\\n[To be selected from pages 406-414 and recited by one or more classes of school as called upon.]\\n13. Song, by the school\\n[To be selected from Musical Department of this book\u00e2\u0080\u0094 or from other songs already known.]\\n14. Closing Address Page 299\\n[For boy or girl.]\\nNoti; This is only a sample programme. The teacher should adapt it to his or her peculiar needs, a.nd endeavor to bring\\nin all the pupils in sonae way. Quotations are often introduced for this purpose.\\n450", "height": "4280", "width": "3428", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0446.jp2"}, "447": {"fulltext": "CHRISTMAS ENTERTAINMENT\\nProgramme suitable for Parlor, Church or Sunday School where\\nchildren take part.\\ni. Song A Christmas Song Page 382\\n2. Selection From Scripture Luke 2 8-20\\n[The Shepherds and the Angels.]\\n3. Recitation a Nobody s Child Page 190\\n4. Recitation The Bells Page 158\\n5. Song Solo\\n[To be contributed for the occasion.]\\n6. Recitation Building and Being Page 251\\n[May be read or recited.]\\n7. Dialogue A Home Scene in the Chaplains Family Page 333\\n[A dialogue for four girls.]\\n8. Song, by the Children\\n[Selected from some familiar hymn.]\\n9. Reading How Prayer Was Answered Page 253\\n10. Recitation A Twilight Story Page 442\\n11. Recitation Katies Wants Page 289\\n[For a little girl of 6.]\\n12. Recitation Christmas Has Come Page 292\\n[For a little girl of 6 or 7.]\\n13. Quotations\\n[Let each one of a class or a select few read quotations suitable to the occasion. To be selected from\\nScripture or this book.\\n14. Closing Hymn\\n451", "height": "4316", "width": "2872", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0447.jp2"}, "448": {"fulltext": "PARLOR ENTERTAINMENT\\nWhere only a few are expected to participate.\\ni. Instrumental Music\\n2. Reading In Mar gefs Garden\\n3. A Dialogue The Interviewer Page 236\\n4. Reading or Recitation Leedle Yawcob Strauss Page 208\\n5. Instrumental or Vocal Music\\n6. Reading In the Bottom Drawer Page 179\\n7. A Farce Courtship Under Difficulties Page 350\\n[For two gentlemen and one lady.]\\n8. Reading Two Gentlemen of Kentucky Page 418\\n9. A Recitation From the Sublime to Ridiculous Page 321\\n452", "height": "4388", "width": "3444", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0448.jp2"}, "449": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4364", "width": "2968", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0449.jp2"}, "450": {"fulltext": "KH/,", "height": "4364", "width": "3420", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0450.jp2"}, "451": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4308", "width": "2940", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0451.jp2"}, "452": {"fulltext": "Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process.\\nNeutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide\\nTreatment Date: Nov. 2007\\nPreservationTechnologies\\nA WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION\\n111 Thomson Park Drive\\nCranberry Township, PA 16066\\n(724)779-2111", "height": "4449", "width": "3427", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0452.jp2"}, "453": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4240", "width": "2936", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0453.jp2"}, "454": {"fulltext": "LIBRARY OF CONGRESS\\n021 400 561 A\\nDtfiUSBMS", "height": "4623", "width": "3363", "jp2-path": "standardamerican00pogl_0454.jp2"}}