No offering of my own I have, Nor works my faith to prove; 10 I can but give the gifts He gave, And plead His love for love.

And so beside the Silent Sea I wait the muffled oar; No harm from Him can come to me 15 On ocean or on shore.

I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care. 20

—John Greenleaf Whittier

PREPARATORY.—What attitude of mind is suggested by this poem?

How does it differ from that suggested by the preceding selection? What is the difference in vocal expression?

Account for the Inflection placed on the negative statements in this poem. (Introduction, pp. 17 and 18.)

* * * * *

THE KING OF GLORY

Psalm xxiv

(Anthems for the Inauguration of Jerusalem)

I.—At the Foot of the Hill

FIRST CHOIR

The earth is the LORD'S, and the fulness thereof; The world, and they that dwell therein. For He hath founded it upon the seas, And established it upon the floods. Who shall ascend into the hill of the LORD? And who shall stand in His holy place?

SECOND CHOIR

He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; Who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, And hath not sworn deceitfully. He shall receive a blessing from the LORD, And righteousness from the God of his salvation. This is the generation of them that seek after Him, That seek Thy face, O God of Jacob.

II.—Before the Gates

FIRST CHOIR

Lift up your heads, O ye gates; And be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors: And the King of Glory shall come in.

SECOND CHOIR

Who is the King of Glory?

FIRST CHOIR

The LORD strong and mighty, The LORD mighty in battle.

FIRST CHOIR

Lift up your heads, O ye gates; Yea, lift them up, ye everlasting doors: And the King of Glory shall come in.

SECOND CHOIR

Who is this King of Glory?

FIRST CHOIR

The LORD of Hosts, He is the King of Glory.

—As arranged by Richard G. Moulton

* * * * *

THE FOUR-HORSE RACE

From "Black Rock"

1. The great event of the day, however, was to be the four-horse race, for which three teams were entered—one from the mines driven by Nixon, Craig's friend, a citizens' team, and Sandy's. The race was really between the miners' team and that from the woods, for the citizens' team, though made up of speedy horses, had not been driven much together, and knew neither their driver nor each other. In the miners' team were four bays, very powerful, a trifle heavy perhaps, but well matched, perfectly trained, and perfectly handled by their driver. Sandy had his long rangy roans, and for leaders, a pair of half-broken pinto bronchos. The pintos, caught the summer before upon the Alberta prairies, were fleet as deer, but wicked and uncertain. They were Baptiste's special care and pride. If they would only run straight, there was little doubt that they would carry the roans and themselves to glory; but one could not tell the moment they might bolt or kick things to pieces.

2. Being the only non-partisan in the crowd, I was asked to referee. The race was about half a mile and return, the first and last quarters being upon the ice. The course, after leaving the ice, led up from the river by a long, easy slope to the level above; and at the further end, curved somewhat sharply around the Old Fort. The only condition attaching to the race was, that the teams should start from the scratch, make the turn of the Fort, and finish at the scratch. There were no vexing regulations as to fouls. The man making the foul would find it necessary to reckon with the crowd, which was considered sufficient guarantee for a fair and square race. Owing to the hazards of the course, the result would depend upon the skill of the drivers quite as much as the speed of the teams. The points of hazard were at the turn round the Old Fort, and at a little ravine which led down to the river, over which the road passed by means of a long, log bridge or causeway.

3. From a point upon the high bank of the river, the whole course lay in open view. It was a scene full of life and vividly picturesque. There were miners in dark clothes and peak caps; citizens in ordinary garb; ranch-men in wide cowboy hats and buckskin shirts and leggings, some with cartridge-belts and pistols; a few half-breeds and Indians in half-native, half-civilized dress; and scattering through the crowd, the lumbermen with gay scarlet and blue blanket coats, and some with knitted tuques of the same colour. A very good-natured but extremely uncertain crowd it was. At the head of each horse stood a man, but at the pintos' heads Baptiste stood alone, trying to hold down the off-leader, thrown into a frenzy of fear by the yelling of the crowd.

4. Gradually all became quiet, till, in the midst of absolute stillness, came the words: "Are you ready?" then the pistol-shot, and the great race had begun. Above the roar of the crowd came the shrill cry of Baptiste, as he struck his broncho with the palm of his hand, and swung himself into the sleigh beside Sandy, as it shot past.

5. Like a flash the bronchos sprang to the front, two lengths before the other teams; but, terrified by the yelling of the crowd, instead of bending to the left bank up which the road wound, they wheeled to the right and were almost across the river before Sandy could swing them back into the course.

6. Baptiste's cries, a curious mixture of French and English, continued to strike through all other sounds, till they gained the top of the slope to find the others almost a hundred yards in front, the citizens' team leading, with the miners' following close. The moment the pintos caught sight of the teams before them, they set off at a terrific pace and steadily devoured the intervening space. Nearer and nearer the turn came, the eight horses in front, running straight and well within their speed. After them flew the pintos, running savagely with ears set back, leading well the big roans, thundering along and gaining at every bound. And now the citizens' team had almost reached the Fort, running hard and drawing away from the bays. But Nixon knew what he was about, and was simply steadying his team for the turn. The event proved his wisdom, for in the turn the leading team left the track, lost a moment or two in the deep snow, and before they could regain the road, the bays had swept superbly past, leaving their rivals to follow in the rear. On came the pintos, swiftly nearing the Fort. Surely at that pace they cannot make the turn. But Sandy knows his leaders. They have their eyes upon the teams in front, and need no touch of rein. Without the slightest change in speed the nimble-footed bronchos round the turn, hauling the big roans after them, and fall in behind the citizens' team, which is regaining steadily the ground lost in the turn.

7. And now the struggle is for the bridge over the ravine. The bays in front, running with mouths wide open, are evidently doing their best; behind them, and every moment nearing them, but at the limit of their speed too, come the lighter and fleeter citizens' team; while opposite their driver are the pintos, pulling hard, eager and fresh. Their temper is too uncertain to send them to the front; they run well following, but when leading cannot be trusted, and besides, a broncho hates a bridge; so Sandy holds them where they are, waiting and hoping for his chance after the bridge is crossed. Foot by foot the citizens' team creep up upon the flank of the bays, with the pintos in turn hugging them closely, till it seems as if the three, if none slackens, must strike the bridge together; and this will mean destruction to one at least. This danger Sandy perceives, but he dare not check his leaders. Suddenly, within a few yards of the bridge, Baptiste throws himself upon the lines, wrenches them out of Sandy's hands, and, with a quick swing, forces the pintos down the steep side of the ravine, which is almost sheer ice with a thin coat of snow. It is a daring course to take, for the ravine, though not deep, is full of undergrowth, and is partially closed up by a brush heap at the further end. But with a yell, Baptiste hurls his four horses down the slope, and into the undergrowth. "Allons, mes enfants! Courage! vite, vite!" cries their driver, and nobly do the pintos respond. Regardless of bushes and brush heaps, they tear their way through; but as they emerge, the hind bob-sleigh catches a root, and, with a crash, the sleigh is hurled high into the air. Baptiste's cries ring out high and shrill as ever, encouraging his team, and never cease till, with a plunge and a scramble, they clear the brush heap lying at the mouth of the ravine, and are out on the ice on the river, with Baptiste standing on the front bob, the box trailing behind, and Sandy nowhere to be seen.

8. Three hundred yards of the course remain. The bays, perfectly handled, have gained at the bridge, and in the descent to the ice, and are leading the citizens' team by half a dozen sleigh lengths. Behind both comes Baptiste. It is now or never for the pintos. The rattle of the trailing box, together with the wild yelling of the crowd rushing down the bank, excites the bronchos to madness, and, taking the bits in their teeth, they do their first free running that day. Past the citizens' team like a whirlwind they dash, clear the intervening space, and gain the flanks of the bays. Can the bays hold them? Over them leans their driver, plying for the first time the hissing lash. Only fifty yards more. The miners begin to yell. But Baptiste, waving his lines high in one hand, seizes his tuque with the other, whirls it above his head and flings it with a fiercer yell than ever at the bronchos. Like the bursting of a hurricane the pintos leap forward, and with a splendid rush cross the scratch, winners by their own length.

—By arrangement with the Westminster Co., Limited, and Rev. C. W. Gordon (Ralph Connor)

PREPARATORY.—Make a black-board sketch of the race-course, fixing the position of "the scratch," "the Old Fort," "the high bank with the spectators," "the bridge," etc.

In what passages does the excitement reach its greatest height? How are the Pitch and Time affected? (Introduction, pp. 13 and 22.)

What is the Stress employed throughout? Where is the Stress most marked? Give reasons. (Introduction, pp. 27 and 28.)

* * * * *

MRS. MALAPROP'S VIEWS

From "The Rivals"

The scene is Mrs. Malaprop's lodgings at Bath. Present, Lydia Languish. Enter Mrs. Malaprop and Sir Anthony Absolute.

Mrs. Malaprop.—There, Sir Anthony, there sits the deliberate simpleton who wants to disgrace her family, and lavish herself on a fellow not worth a shilling.

Lydia.—Madam, I thought you once—

Mrs. Malaprop.—You thought, miss! I don't know any business you have to think at all: thought does not become a young woman. But the point we would request of you is, that you will promise to forget this fellow; to illiterate him, I say, quite from your memory.

Lydia.—Ah, madam! our memories are independent of our wills. It is not so easy to forget.

Mrs. Malaprop.—But I say it is, miss! there is nothing on earth so easy as to forget, if a person chooses to set about it. I'm sure I have as much forgot your poor dear uncle as if he had never existed—and I thought it my duty so to do; and let me tell you, Lydia, these violent memories don't become a young woman.

Sir Anthony.—Why, sure she won't pretend to remember what she's ordered not! Ay, this comes of her reading!

Lydia.—What crime, madam, have I committed to be treated thus?

Mrs. Malaprop.—Now don't attempt to extirpate yourself from the matter; you know I have proof controvertible of it. But tell me, will you promise to do as you're bid? Will you take a husband of your friends' choosing?

Lydia.—Madam, I must tell you plainly that had I no preference for any one else, the choice you have made would be my aversion.

Mrs. Malaprop.—What business have you, miss, with preference and aversion. They don't become a young woman; and you ought to know that as both always wear off, 'tis safest in matrimony to begin with a little aversion. I am sure I hated your poor dear uncle before marriage as if he'd been a blackamoor; and yet, miss, you are sensible what a wife I made? and when it pleased Heaven to release me from him, 'tis unknown what tears I shed! But suppose we were going to give you another choice, will you promise us to give up this Beverley?

Lydia.—Could I belie my thoughts so far as to give that promise, my actions would certainly as far belie my words.

Mrs. Malaprop.—Take yourself to your room. You are fit company for nothing but your own ill-humours.

Lydia.—Willingly, ma'am—I cannot change for the worse. (Exit)

Mrs. Malaprop.—There's a little intricate hussy for you!

Sir Anthony.—It is not to be wondered at, ma'am: all this is the natural consequence of teaching girls to read. Had I a thousand daughters, by heaven I'd as soon have them taught the black art as their alphabet!

Mrs. Malaprop.—Nay, nay, Sir Anthony: you are an absolute misanthropy.

Sir Anthony.—In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop, I observed your niece's maid coming forth from a circulating library! She had a book in each hand; they were half-bound volumes with marble covers! From that moment I guessed how full of duty I should see her mistress!

Mrs. Malaprop.—Those are vile places indeed!

Sir Anthony.—Madam, a circulating library in a town is an evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge,—it blossoms through the year! And depend on it, Mrs. Malaprop, that they who are so fond of handling the leaves will long for the fruit at last.

Mrs. Malaprop.—Fy, fy, Sir Anthony! you surely speak laconically.

Sir Anthony.—Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in moderation now, what would you have a woman know?

Mrs. Malaprop.—Observe me, Sir Anthony. I would by no means wish a daughter of mine to be a progeny of learning; I don't think so much learning becomes a young woman: for instance, I would never let her meddle with Greek, or Hebrew, or algebra, or simony, or fluxions, or paradoxes, or such inflammatory branches of learning; neither would it be necessary for her to handle any of your mathematical, astronomical, diabolical instruments. But, Sir Anthony, I would send her at nine years old to a boarding-school, in order to learn a little ingenuity and artifice. Then, sir, she should have a supercilious knowledge in accounts; and as she grew up I would have her instructed in geometry, that she might know something of the contagious countries: but above all, Sir Anthony, she should be mistress of orthodoxy, that she might not misspell and mispronounce words so shamefully as girls usually do; and likewise that she might reprehend the true meaning of what she is saying. This, Sir Anthony, is what I would have a woman know; and I don't think there is a superstitious article in it.

Sir Anthony.—Well, well, Mrs. Malaprop, I will dispute the point no further with you; though I must confess that you are a truly moderate and polite arguer, for almost every third word you say is on my side of the question. But, Mrs. Malaprop, to the more important point in debate: you say you have no objection to my proposal?

Mrs. Malaprop.—None, I assure you. I am under no positive engagement with Mr. Acres; and as Lydia is so obstinate against him, perhaps your son may have better success.

Sir Anthony.—Well, madam, I will write for the boy directly. He knows not a syllable of this yet, though I have for some time had the proposal in my head. He is at present with his regiment.

Mrs. Malaprop.—We have never seen your son, Sir Anthony; but I hope no objection on his side.

Sir Anthony.—Objection! let him object if he dare! No, no, Mrs. Malaprop, Jack knows that the least demur puts me in a frenzy directly. My process was always very simple: in their younger days, 'twas "Jack, do this"; if he demurred I knocked him down, and if he grumbled at that I always sent him out of the room.

Mrs. Malaprop.—Ay, and the properest way, o'my conscience! Nothing is so conciliating to young people as severity. Well, Sir Anthony, I shall give Mr. Acres his discharge, and prepare Lydia to receive your son's invocations; and I hope you will represent her to the captain as an object not altogether illegible.

Sir Anthony.—Madam, I will handle the subject prudently. Well I must leave you; and let me beg you, Mrs. Malaprop, to enforce this matter roundly to the girl. Take my advice—keep a tight hand: if she rejects this proposal, clap her under lock and key; and if you were just to let the servants forget to bring her dinner for three or four days, you can't conceive how she'd come about. (Exit)

Mrs. Malaprop.—Well, at any rate I shall be glad to get her from under my intuition. She has somehow discovered my partiality for Sir Lucius O'Trigger: sure Lucy can't have betrayed me! No, the girl is such a simpleton, I should have made her confess it. (Calls) Lucy! Lucy!—Had she been one of your artificial ones, I should never have trusted her.

—Richard Brinsley Sheridan

What is the difference between Mrs. Malaprop's mental attitude toward Lydia and toward Sir Anthony? How is this difference indicated in the Stress of voice? (Introduction, pp. 27 and 28.)

* * * * *

THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS

King Francis was a hearty king, and lov'd a royal sport, And one day, as his lions strove, sat looking on the court; The nobles fill'd the benches round, the ladies by their side, And 'mongst them Count de Lorge, with one he hoped to make his bride; And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show, 5 Valour and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below.

Ramp'd and roar'd the lions, with horrid laughing jaws; They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws; With wallowing might and stifled roar, they roll'd one on another, Till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a thund'rous smother; 10 The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing through the air; Said Francis then, "Good gentlemen, we're better here than there!"

De Lorge's love o'erheard the King, a beauteous, lively dame, With smiling lips, and sharp bright eyes, which always seem'd the same: She thought, "The Count, my lover, is as brave as brave can be; 15 He surely would do desperate things to show his love of me! King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the chance is wond'rous fine; I'll drop my glove to prove his love; great glory will be mine!"

She dropp'd her glove to prove his love: then looked on him and smiled; He bow'd, and in a moment leap'd among the lions wild: 20 The leap was quick; return was quick; he soon regain'd his place; Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face! "In truth!" cried Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat: "No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that!"

—Leigh Hunt

PREPARATORY.—Divide the poem into four scenes, and describe each scene.

What are the difficulties of Articulation in ll. 2, 9, 10, and 14.

What attitude of mind is indicated by the King's first speech? By his second speech? What difference in Stress? (Introduction, pp. 27-29.) What is the Force in each case? (Introduction, p. 25.)

15, 16, and 17. Use these lines as an illustration to show that Visualization is necessary in order to secure good vocal expression.

In what Time do you read the lady's thoughts! (Introduction, p. 13.)

Give examples from stanzas ii, and iv, where the sympathy with the picture may be sufficiently strong to lead to imitation of movements or sounds. (Introduction, pp. 5 and 6.)

* * * * *

THE FICKLENESS OF A ROMAN MOB

From "Julius Caesar" Act I. Scene i.

Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and certain Commoners over the Stage.

Flav. Hence! home, you idle creatures, get you home. Is this a holiday? What! know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk Upon a labouring day without the sign Of your profession?—Speak, what trade art thou? 5

1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter.

Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on?— You, sir, what trade are you?

2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am 10 but, as you would say, a cobbler.

Mar. But what trade are thou? Answer me directly.

2 Cit. A trade, sir, that I hope I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.

Mar. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, 15 what trade?

2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you.

Mar. What mean'st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow?

2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. 20

Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

2 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl. I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with all. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I re-cover 25 them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork.

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?

2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get 30 myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday to see Caesar, and to rejoice in his triumph.

Mar. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels? 35 You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft Have you climbed up to walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, 40 Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The livelong day, with patient expectation, To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome; And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made an universal shout, 45 That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, To hear the replication of your sounds Made in her concave shores? And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a holiday? 50 And do you now strew flowers in his way That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 55 That needs must light on this ingratitude.

Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and for this fault Assemble all the poor men of your sort; Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears Into the channel, till the lowest stream 60 Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.

[Exeunt all the Commoners]

See, whe'r their basest metal be not moved! They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. Go you down that way towards the Capitol; This way will I. Disrobe the images, 65 If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.

Mar. May we do so? You know it is the feast of Lupercal.

Flav. It is no matter; let no images Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about, 70 And drive away the vulgar from the streets; So do you too, where you perceive them thick. These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, Who else would soar above the view of men, 75 And keep us all in servile fearfulness.

[Exeunt]

—Shakespeare

In what Stress do Flavius and Marullus speak when questioning the citizens? Why?

What Stress does the first citizen use?

How does the mental attitude of the second citizen influence his Stress and Inflection? (Introduction, pp. 21, 22, and 30.) Where does he change his Stress? For what reason?

WHEREFORE REJOICE? Point out the various examples of Climax in this speech, and show how the voice indicates them. (Introduction, p. 31.)

Account for the Inflection on the various questions. (Introduction, pp. 18 and 19.)

SEE WHE'R THEIR BASEST METAL, ETC. Note the change in tension and energy. What change in Pitch and Force is the natural result? (Introduction, pp. 25 and 26.)

* * * * *

SIR PETER AND LADY TEAZLE

From "The School for Scandal"

Sir Peter.—Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll not bear it!

Lady Teazle.—Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not, as you please; but I ought to have my own way in everything, and, what's more, I will, too. What though I was educated in the country, I know very well that women of fashion in London are accountable to nobody after they are married.

Sir Peter.—Very well, ma'am, very well; so a husband is to have no influence, no authority?

Lady Teazle.—Authority! No, to be sure: if you wanted authority over me, you should have adopted me and not married me: I am sure you were old enough.

Sir Peter.—Old enough!—ay, there it is. Well, well, Lady Teazle, though my life may be made unhappy by your temper, I'll not be ruined by your extravagance!

Lady Teazle.—My extravagance! I'm sure I'm not more extravagant than a woman of fashion ought to be.

Sir Peter.—No, no, madam, you shall throw away no more sums on such unmeaning luxury. To spend as much to furnish your dressing room with flowers in winter as would suffice to turn the Pantheon into a greenhouse, and give a fete champetre at Christmas!

Lady Teazle.—And am I to blame, Sir Peter, because flowers are dear in cold weather? You should find fault with the climate, and not with me. For my part, I'm sure I wish it was spring all the year round, and that roses grew under our feet!

Sir Peter.—Oons! madam—if you had been born to this, I shouldn't wonder at your talking thus; but you forget what your situation was when I married you.

Lady Teazle.—No, no, I don't; 'twas a very disagreeable one, or I should never have married you.

Sir Peter.—Yes, yes, madam, you were then in somewhat a humbler style—the daughter of a plain country squire. Recollect, Lady Teazle, when I saw you first sitting at your tambour, in a pretty figured linen gown, with a bunch of keys at your side, your hair combed smooth over a roll, and your apartment hung round with fruits in worsted, of your own working.

Lady Teazle.—Oh, yes! I remember it very well, and a curious life I led. My daily occupation to inspect the dairy, superintend the poultry, make extracts from the family receipt book, and comb my aunt Deborah's lap-dog.

Sir Peter.—Yes, yes, ma'am, 'twas so indeed.

Lady Teazle.—And then, you know, my evening amusements! To draw patterns for ruffles, which I had not materials to make up; to play Pope Joan with the curate; to read a sermon to my aunt; or to be stuck down to an old spinet to strum my father to sleep after a fox chase.

Sir Peter.—I am glad you have so good a memory. Yes, madam, these were the recreations I took you from; but now you must have your coach—vis-a-vis—and three powdered footmen before your chair; and, in the summer, a pair of white cats to draw you to Kensington Gardens. No recollection, I suppose, when you were content to ride double, behind the butler, on a docked coach horse.

Lady Teazle.—No—I swear I never did that: I deny the butler and the coach horse.

Sir Peter.—This, madam, was your situation; and what have I done for you? I have made you a woman of fashion, of fortune, of rank,—in short, I have made you my wife.

Lady Teazle.—Well, then, and there is but one thing more you can make me to add to the obligation, that is—

Sir Peter.—My widow, I suppose?

Lady Teazle.—Hem! hem!

Sir Peter.—I thank you, madam—but don't flatter yourself, for, though your ill conduct may disturb my peace of mind, it shall never break my heart, I promise you: however, I am equally obliged to you for the hint.

Lady Teazle.—Then why will you endeavour to make yourself so disagreeable to me, and thwart me in every little elegant expense.

Sir Peter.—Oons! madam, I say, had you any of these little elegant expenses when you married me?

Lady Teazle.—Lud, Sir Peter! would you have me be out of the fashion?

Sir Peter.—The fashion, indeed! what had you to do with the fashion before you married me?

Lady Teazle.—For my part, I should think you would like to have your wife thought a woman of taste.

Sir Peter.—Ay—there again—taste! Zounds! madam, you had no taste when you married me!

Lady Teazle.—That's very true, indeed, Sir Peter! and, after having married you, I should never pretend to taste again, I allow. But now, Sir Peter, since we have finished our daily jangle, I presume I may go to my engagement at Lady Sneerwell's.

Sir Peter.—Ay, there's another precious circumstance—a charming set of acquaintance you have made there.

Lady Teazle.—Nay, Sir Peter, they are all people of rank and fortune, and remarkably tenacious of reputation.

Sir Peter.—Yes, they are tenacious of reputation with a vengeance; for they don't choose anybody should have a character but themselves! Such a crew! Ah! many a wretch has rid on a hurdle who has done less mischief than these utterers of forged tales, coiners of scandal, and clippers of reputation.

Lady Teazle.—What! would you restrain the freedom of speech?

Sir Peter.—Ah! they have made you just as bad as any one of the society.

Lady Teazle.—Why, I believe I do bear a part with a tolerable grace.

Sir Peter.—Grace indeed!

Lady Teazle.—But I vow I bear no malice against the people I abuse: when I say an ill-natured thing, 'tis out of pure good humour: and I take it for granted they deal exactly the same with me. But, Sir Peter, you know you promised to come to Lady Sneerwell's too.

Sir Peter.—Well, well, I'll call in, just to look after my own character.

Lady Teazle.—Then, indeed, you must make haste after me, or you'll be too late. So good-bye to ye. (Exit)

Sir Peter.—So—I have gained much by my intended expostulation! Yet with what a charming air she contradicts everything I say, and how pleasantly she shows her contempt for my authority! Well, though I can't make her love me, there is great satisfaction in quarrelling with her; and I think she never appears to such advantage as when she is doing everything in her power to plague me. (Exit)

—Richard Brinsley Sheridan

Select the passages where Lady Teazle tries to enforce her opinion by (a) strong assertion, (b) peevishness and whining.

In what passages does her desire to taunt and ridicule Sir Peter predominate?

In what passages does she address Sir Peter in the tone of ordinary conversation?

What Stress is used in each case? (Introduction, pp. 28-30.)

HAD YOU ANY OF THESE LITTLE ELEGANT EXPENSES? What Stress is placed on the last four words?

* * * * *

THE PARTING OF MARMION AND DOUGLAS

From "Marmion"

Not far advanced was morning day, When Marmion did his troop array To Surrey's camp to ride; He had safe-conduct for his band, Beneath the royal seal and hand, 5 And Douglas gave a guide.

The ancient Earl, with stately grace, Would Clara on her palfrey place, And whispered in an undertone, "Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown." 10 The train from out the castle drew, But Marmion stopped to bid adieu: "Though something I might plain," he said, "Of cold respect to stranger guest, Sent hither by your King's behest, 15 While in Tantallon's towers I stayed; Part we in friendship from your land, And, noble earl, receive my hand."

But Douglas round him drew his cloak, Folded his arms, and thus he spoke: 20 "My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still Be open, at my Sovereign's will, To each one whom he lists, howe'er Unmeet to be the owner's peer. My castles are my King's alone, 25 From turret to foundation-stone: The hand of Douglas is his own; And never shall, in friendly grasp, The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, 30 And shook his very frame for ire; And—"This to me," he said, "An't were not for thy hoary beard, Such hand as Marmion's had not spared To cleave the Douglas' head! 35 And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer, He who does England's message here, Although the meanest in her state, May well, proud Angus, be thy mate: And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, 40 Even in thy pitch of pride Here in thy hold, thy vassals near (Nay, never look upon your lord, And lay your hands upon your sword,) I tell thee, thou'rt defied! 45 And if thou saidst, I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or Highland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"

On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage 50 O'ercame the ashen hue of age: Fierce he broke forth: "And darest thou, then, To beard the lion in his den, The Douglas in his hall? And hopest thou hence unscathed to go?— 55 No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no!— Up drawbridge, grooms!—what, Warder, ho! Let the portcullis fall."

Lord Marmion turned,—well was his need,— And dashed the rowels in his steed, 60 Like arrow through the archway sprung, The ponderous grate behind him rung: To pass there was such scanty room, The bars, descending, grazed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies, 65 Just as it trembles on the rise; Nor lighter does the swallow skim Along the smooth lake's level brim: And when Lord Marmion reached his band, He halts, and turns with clenched hand, 70 And shout of loud defiance pours, And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

"Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and chase!" But soon he reined his fury's pace: "A royal messenger he came, 75 Though most unworthy of the name. A letter forged! Saint Jude to speed! Did ever knight so foul a deed! At first, in heart, it liked me ill, When the King praised his clerkly skill. 80 Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine, Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line. Saint Mary mend my fiery mood! Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood; I thought to slay him where he stood. 85 'Tis pity of him, too," he cried: "Bold can he speak, and fairly ride: I warrant him a warrior tried."— With this his mandate he recalls, And slowly seeks his castle halls. 90

—Sir Walter Scott

In what Quality of voice should the following passages of this poem be read: (a) the descriptive parts; (b) l. 10; (c) the first speeches of Marmion and Douglas, ll. 14-18, and ll. 21-29; (d) the second speeches of Marmion and Douglas, ll. 32-49, and ll. 52-56; (e) ll. 57-58, and ll. 75-88?

* * * * *

COLUMBUS

Behind him lay the gray Azores. Behind him the gates of Hercules; Before him not the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas. The good mate said: "Now we must pray, 5 For, lo! the very stars are gone. Brave Adm'r'l, speak; what shall I say?" "Why, say: 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'"

"My men grow mutinous day by day; My men grow ghastly wan and weak." 10 The stout mate thought of home; a spray Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. "What shall I say, brave Adm'r'l, say, If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" "Why, you shall say, at break of day: 15 'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'"

They sailed and sailed as winds might blow, Until at last the blanched mate said: "Why, now not even God would know Should I and all my men fall dead. 20 These very winds forget the way, For God from these dread seas is gone. Now speak, brave Adm'r'l, speak and say—" He said: "Sail on! sail on! and on!"

They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: 25 "This mad sea shows his teeth to-night; He curls his lip, he lies in wait, With lifted teeth as if to bite: Brave Adm'r'l, say but one good word; What shall we do when hope is gone?" 30 The words leapt as a leaping sword: "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck And peered through darkness. Ah, that night Of all dark nights! And then, a speck— 35 A light! a light! a light! a light! It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. He gained a world; he gave that world Its greatest lesson; "On! sail on!" 40

—Joaquin Miller

—By permission of the publishers, Whitaker & Ray-Wiggin Co.

WHAT, SHALL, WHY. (Appendix A, 7 and 8.)

Give examples of words or phrases which when repeated become (1) unemphatic, (2) more emphatic, (3) equivalent to a climax. (Introduction, pp. 31 and 32.)

Compare the mate's attitude of mind with that of the Admiral. How is the difference indicated by the Stress?

* * * * *

FROM THE "APOLOGY" OF SOCRATES

From "The Dialogues of Plato"

1. Not much time will be gained, O Athenians, in return for the evil name which you will get from the detractors of the city, who will say that you killed Socrates, a wise man; for they will call me wise, even although I am not wise, when they want to reproach you. If you had waited a little while, your desire would have been fulfilled in the course of nature. For I am far advanced in years, as you may perceive, and not far from death. I am speaking now only to those of you who have condemned me to death. And I have another thing to say to them: You think that I was convicted through deficiency of words—I mean, that if I had thought fit to leave nothing undone, nothing unsaid, I might have gained an acquittal. Not so; the deficiency which led to my conviction was not of words—certainly not. But I had not the boldness or impudence or inclination to address you as you would have liked me to address you, weeping and wailing and lamenting, and saying and doing many things which you have been accustomed to hear from others, and which, as I say, are unworthy of me. But I thought that I ought not to do anything common or mean in the hour of danger; nor do I now repent of the manner of my defence, and I would rather die having spoken after my manner, than speak in your manner and live. For neither in war nor yet at law ought any man to use every way of escaping death. For often in battle there is no doubt that if a man will throw away his arms, and fall on his knees before his pursuers, he may escape death; and in other dangers there are other ways of escaping death, if a man is willing to say and do anything. The difficulty, my friends, is not in avoiding death, but in avoiding unrighteousness; for that runs faster than death. I am old and move slowly, and the slower runner has overtaken me, and my accusers are keen and quick, and the faster runner, who is unrighteousness, has overtaken them. And now I depart hence, condemned by you to suffer the penalty of death, and they too go their ways, condemned by the truth to suffer the penalty of villainy and wrong; and I must abide by my reward—let them abide by theirs. I suppose that these things may be regarded as fated,—and I think that they are well.

2. And now, O men who have condemned me, I would fain prophesy to you; for I am about to die, and that is the hour in which men are gifted with prophetic power. And I prophesy to you who are my murderers, that immediately after my death punishment far heavier than you have inflicted on me will surely await you. Me you have killed because you wanted to escape the accuser, and not to give an account of your lives. But that will not be as you suppose: far otherwise. For I say that there will be more accusers of you than there are now; accusers whom hitherto I have restrained: and as they are younger they will be more severe with you, and you will be more offended at them. For if you think that by killing men you can avoid the accuser censuring your lives, you are mistaken; that is not a way of escape which is either possible or honourable; the easiest and the noblest way is not to be crushing others, but to be improving yourselves. This is the prophecy which I utter before my departure to the judges who have condemned me.

3. Friends, who would have acquitted me, I would like also to talk with you about this thing which has happened, while the magistrates are busy, and before I go to the place at which I must die. Stay then a while, for we may as well talk with one another while there is time. You are my friends, and I should like to show you the meaning of this event which has happened to me. O my judges—for you I may truly call judges—I should like to tell you of a wonderful circumstance. Hitherto the familiar oracle within me has constantly been in the habit of opposing me even about trifles, if I was going to make a slip or error about anything; and now, as you see, there has come upon me that which may be thought, and is generally believed to be, the last and worst evil. But the oracle made no sign of opposition, either as I was leaving my house and going out in the morning, or when I was going up into this court, or while I was speaking, at anything which I was going to say; and yet I have often been stopped in the middle of a speech, but now in nothing I either said or did touching this matter has the oracle opposed me. What do I take to be the explanation of this? I will tell you. I regard this as a proof that what has happened to me is a good, and that those of us who think that death is an evil are in error. This is a great proof to me of what I am saying, for the customary sign would surely have opposed me had I been going to evil and not to good.

4. Let us reflect in another way, and we shall see that there is a great reason to hope that death is a good, for one of two things: either death is a state of nothingness and utter unconsciousness, or, as men say, there is a change and migration of the soul from this world to another. Now if you suppose that there is no consciousness, but a sleep like the sleep of him who is undisturbed even by the sight of dreams, death will be an unspeakable gain. For if a person were to select the night in which his sleep was undisturbed even by dreams, and were to compare with this the other days and nights of his life, and then were to tell us how many days and nights he had passed in the course of his life better and more pleasantly than this one, I think that any man, I will not say a private man, but even the great king will not find many such days or nights, when compared with the others. Now if death is like this, I say that to die is gain; for eternity is then only a single night. But if death is the journey to another place, and there, as men say, all the dead are, what good, O my friends and judges, can be greater than this? If indeed when the pilgrim arrives in the world below, he is delivered from the professors of justice in this world, and finds the true judges who are said to give judgment there, Minos and Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus, and Triptolemus, and other sons of God who were righteous in their own life, that pilgrimage will be worth making. What would not a man give if he might converse with Orpheus and Musaeus and Hesiod and Homer? Nay, if this be true, let me die again and again. I, too, shall have a wonderful interest in a place where I can converse with Palamedes, and Ajax the son of Telamon, and other heroes of old, who have suffered death through an unjust judgment; and there will be no small pleasure, as I think, in comparing my own sufferings with theirs. Above all, I shall be able to continue my search into true and false knowledge; as in this world, so also in that; I shall find out who is wise, and who pretends to be wise and is not. What would not a man give, O judges, to be able to examine the leader of the great Trojan expedition; or Odysseus, or Sisyphus, or numberless others, men and women too! What infinite delight would there be in conversing with them and asking them questions! For in that world they do not put a man to death for this; certainly not. For besides being happier in that world than in this, they will be immortal, if what is said is true.

5. Wherefore, O judges, be of good cheer about death, and know this of a truth—that no evil can happen to a good man, either in life or after death. He and his are not neglected by the gods; nor has my own approaching end happened by mere chance. But I see clearly that to die and be released was better for me; and therefore the oracle gave no sign. For which reason, also, I am not angry with my accusers or my condemners; they have done me no harm, although neither of them meant to do me any good; and for this I may gently blame them.

6. Still I have a favour to ask of them. When my sons are grown up, I would ask you, O my friends, to punish them and I would have you trouble them, as I have troubled you, if they seem to care about riches, or anything, more than about virtue; or if they pretend to be something when they are really nothing,—then reprove them, as I have reproved you, for not caring about that for which they ought to care, and thinking that they are something when they are really nothing. And if you do this, I and my sons will have received justice at your hands.

7. The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways—I to die, and you to live. Which is better God only knows.

—Benjamin Jowett

Illustrate from this extract the general principle that incompleteness is expressed by means of the Rising, and completeness by means of the Falling Inflection.

Par. 1. FOR NEITHER IN WAR NOR YET AT LAW ... DEATH. Explain the Inflection placed on this negative statement. Give a similar example from Par. 2.

I MUST ABIDE BY MY AWARD ... LET THEM ABIDE BY THEIRS. Explain the opposite Inflections on antithetical words and phrases. If one part of the antithesis is a negation, what is the Inflection? (Introduction, pp. 19 and 20.) Give examples from Par. 2.

I AM OLD AND MOVE SLOWLY ... WRONG. Explain the Emphasis in these sentences. Which one of a pair of contrasted words is necessarily emphatic? Give examples from this and the following paragraph, in which both are emphatic, and explain why. (Introduction, pp. 30-32.)

Par. 4. Explain the Inflection on the questions. (Introduction, pp. 18 and 19.)

What clauses in this paragraph are really parenthetical in force? How does the voice subordinate them? Give similar examples from other paragraphs. (Introduction, pp. 24 and 25.)

* * * * *

HIGHLAND HOSPITALITY

From "The Lady of the Lake"

The shades of eve come slowly down, The woods are wrapt in deeper brown, The owl awakens from her dell, The fox is heard upon the fell; Enough remains of glimmering light 5 To guide the wanderer's steps aright, Yet not enough from far to show His figure to the watchful foe. With cautious step, and ear awake, He climbs the crag and threads the brake; 10 And not the summer solstice there, Tempered the midnight mountain air, But every breeze that swept the wold, Benumbed his drenched limbs with cold. In dread, in danger, and alone, 15 Famished and chilled, through ways unknown, Tangled and steep, he journeyed on; Till, as a rock's huge point he turned, A watch-fire close before him burned.

Beside its embers red and clear, 20 Basked, in his plaid, a mountaineer; And up he sprung with sword in hand,— "Thy name and purpose! Saxon, stand!"— "A stranger."—"What dost thou require?"— "Rest and a guide, and food and fire. 25 My life's beset, my path is lost. The gale has chilled my limbs with frost."— "Art thou a friend to Roderick?"—"No."— "Thou darest not call thyself a foe?"— "I dare! to him and all the band 30 He brings to aid his murderous hand."— "Bold words!—but, though the beast of game The privilege of chase may claim, Though space and law the stag we lend, Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend, 35 Who ever recked, where, how, or when, The prowling fox was trapped or slain? Thus, treacherous scouts,—yet sure they lie, Who say thou camest a secret spy!"— "They do, by Heaven!—Come Roderick Dhu, 40 And of his clan the boldest two, And let me but till morning rest, I write the falsehood on their crest."— "If by the blaze I mark aright, Thou bear'st the belt and spur of Knight."— 45 "Then, by these tokens mayest thou know, Each proud oppressor's mortal foe."— "Enough, enough; sit down and share A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare."—

He gave him of his Highland cheer, 50 The hardened flesh of mountain deer; Dry fuel on the fire he laid, And bade the Saxon share his plaid. He tended him like welcome guest, Then thus his further speech addressed:— 55 "Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu A clansman born, a kinsman true; Each word against his honour spoke, Demands of me avenging stroke; Yet more,—upon thy fate, 'tis said, 60 A mighty augury is laid. It rests with me to wind my horn, Thou art with numbers overborne; It rests with me, here, brand to brand, Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand: 65 But not for clan, nor kindred's cause, Will I depart from honour's laws; To assail a wearied man were shame, And stranger is a holy name; Guidance and rest, and food and fire, 70 In vain he never must require. Then rest thee here till dawn of day; Myself will guide thee on the way, O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward. Till past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard, 75 As far as Coilantogle's ford; From thence thy warrant is thy sword."— "I take thy courtesy, by Heaven, As freely as 'tis nobly given!"— "Well, rest thee; for the bittern's cry 80 Sings us the lake's wild lullaby." With that he shook the gathered heath, And spread his plaid upon the wreath; And the brave foemen, side by side, Lay peaceful down, like brothers tried, 85 And slept until the dawning beam Purpled the mountain and the stream.

—Sir Walter Scott

PREPARATORY.—Connect this scene with the rest of the poem.

Give a dramatic form to this extract, describing definitely the scenery and stage-setting. One reader may render the descriptive parts, another the speeches of Roderick Dhu, and a third those of Fitz-James.

WANDERER'S STEPS, CAUTIOUS STEP, TRECHEROUS SCOUTS, BOLDEST TWO. (Appendix A, 6.)

25 and 70. (Appendix A, 5.) 1-4. Note the word-pictures. How do they affect the Pause? (Introduction, pp. 7 and 8.)

7. NOT ENOUGH. With what is it contrasted? Which word is emphatic? Where do the Pauses occur in this line?

9. What is the atmosphere of this line? What is the Quality of voice? (Introduction, p. 34.)

10-11. What Inflection? Why? What is the Shading when compared with the two following lines? (Introduction, p. 24.)

16-17. Give an example of Grouping.

18-19. Compare the Shading of these two lines.

22. What feeling and movement are here expressed? How does the voice give expression to them? (Introduction, pp. 5, 6, and 27.)

Describe the mental attitude of each of the speakers. What is the Stress in each case? (Introduction, pp. 27-29.)

38. THE PROWLING FOX ... SCOUTS. What is the mental attitude here? What Stress is the result? (Introduction, p. 28.) How does the rest of the speech differ from the preceding? What is the Inflection? (Introduction, p. 18.)

What is the Stress of ordinary conversation? Illustrate from the above selection.

32-39. BOLD WORDS ... SPY. (Introduction, p. 24.)

48. Why should SIT DOWN be kept distinct from SHARE? How is this effected?

60. 'TIS SAID. How does the voice subordinate this phrase? (Introduction, p. 24.)

66-69. Which are the emphatic words and why are they emphatic?

77. What feeling is introduced here? How does the voice express it?

* * * * *

THE OUTLAW

From "Rokeby"

O, Brignall banks are wild and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there, Would grace a summer queen.

And as I rode by Dalton-Hall, 5 Beneath the turrets high, A Maiden on the castle wall Was singing merrily,—

"O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green; 10 I'd rather rove with Edmund there Than reign our English queen."—

"If, Maiden, thou would'st wend with me, To leave both tower and town, Thou first must guess what life lead we 15 That dwell by dale and down. And if thou canst that riddle read, As read full well you may, Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed As blithe as Queen of May."— 20

Yet sung she, "Brignall banks are fair, And Greta woods are green; I'd rather rove with Edmund there. Than reign our English queen.

"I read you by your bugle-horn, 25 And by your palfrey good, I read you for a Ranger sworn, To keep the king's greenwood."— "A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, And 'tis at peep of light; 30 His blast is heard at merry morn, And mine at dead of night."—

Yet sung she, "Brignall banks are fair, And Greta woods are gay; I would I were with Edmund there, 35 To reign his Queen of May!

"With burnish'd brand and musketoon, So gallantly you come, I read you for a bold Dragoon, That lists the tuck of drum."— 40 "I list no more the tuck of drum, No more the trumpet hear; But when the beetle sounds his hum My comrades take the spear.

"And O! though Brignall banks be fair 45 And Greta woods be gay, Yet mickle must the maiden dare Would reign my Queen of May!

"Maiden! a nameless life I lead, A nameless death I'll die! 50 The fiend whose lantern lights the mead Were better mate than I! And when I'm with my comrades met Beneath the greenwood bough, What once we were we all forget, 55 Nor think what we are now.

"Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer queen." 60

—Sir Walter Scott

PREPARATORY.—"The Life of an Outlaw." Speak on this subject, illustrating from such characters as Rob Roy, Robin Hood, etc., and emphasizing the pathos of such a life.

For dramatic rendering see preparatory notes on Highland Hospitality.

1-4. What Stress indicates the state of mind reflected by these lines? (Introduction, p. 29.)

3, 11. What Inflection is placed on THERE? (Introduction, p. 16.)

12. What word may be supplied after REIGN? How is this indicated in the reading? (Introduction, p. 10.)

13-20. Read these lines with a view to Perspective. (Introduction, p. 33.)

Give examples of Grouping throughout the poem and show how the Pause is affected. (Introduction, p. 11.)

What words in stanza iii are emphatic through contrast? In stanza v?

What feeling in the last half of stanza v? (Introduction, pp. 10-12.) In what Time, Pitch, and Force are these lines read? Give your reasons.

* * * * *

OF STUDIES

From the "Essays"

Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their chief use for delight, is in privateness and retiring; for ornament, is in discourse; and for ability, is in the judgment and disposition of business. For expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars, one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots, and marshalling of affairs, come best from those that are learned.

To spend too much time in studies, is sloth; to use them too much for ornament, is affectation; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humour of a scholar. They perfect nature and are perfected by experience: for natural abilities are like natural plants, that need pruning by study; and studies themselves do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded in by experience.

Crafty men contemn studies; simple men admire them; and wise men use them; for they teach not their own use; but that is a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation. Read not to contradict and confute; nor to believe and take for granted; nor to find talk and discourse; but to weigh and consider.

Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others; but that would be only in the less important arguments, and the meaner sort of books; else distilled books are like common distilled waters, flashy things.

Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man; and writing an exact man. And therefore, if a man write little, he had need have a good memory, if he confer little, he had need have a present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know that he doth not.

If a man's wit be wandering, let him study the mathematics; for in demonstrations, if his wit be called away never so little, he must begin again; if his wits be not apt to distinguish or find differences, let him study the schoolmen; if he be not apt to beat over matters, and to call up one thing to prove and illustrate another, let him study the lawyers' cases. So every defect of the mind may have a special receipt.

—Lord Bacon

Preparatory.—Observe the sentence structure employed throughout this extract, and make a list of the antithetical words and phrases.

This lesson may be used as an exercise to illustrate the principle of Inflection as applied to antithetical words or phrases and to series of words or phrases parallel in construction. (Introduction, p. 20.)

* * * * *

THE INFLUENCE OF ATHENS

From essay "On Mitford's History of Greece"

If we consider merely the subtlety of disquisition, the force of imagination, the perfect energy and elegance of expression, which characterize the great works of Athenian genius, we must pronounce them intrinsically most valuable. But what shall we say when we reflect that from hence have sprung, directly or indirectly, all the noblest creations of the human intellect; that from hence were the vast accomplishments and the brilliant fancy of Cicero, the withering fire of Juvenal, the plastic imagination of Dante, the humour of Cervantes, the comprehension of Bacon, the wit of Butler, the supreme and universal excellence of Shakespeare?

All the triumphs of truth and genius over prejudice and power, in every country and in every age, have been the triumphs of Athens. Wherever a few great minds have made a stand against violence and fraud, in the cause of liberty and reason, there has been her spirit in the midst of them; inspiring, encouraging, consoling;—by the lonely lamp of Erasmus, by the restless bed of Pascal, in the tribune of Mirabeau, in the cell of Galileo, on the scaffold of Sidney.

But who shall estimate her influence on private happiness? Who shall say how many thousands have been made wiser, happier, and better, by those pursuits in which she has taught mankind to engage; to how many the studies which took their rise from her have been wealth in poverty, liberty in bondage, health in sickness, society in solitude?

Her power is, indeed, manifested at the bar, in the senate, in the field of battle, in the schools of philosophy. But these are not her glory. Wherever literature consoles sorrow, or assuages pain; wherever it brings gladness to eyes which fail with wakefulness and tears, and ache for the dark house and the long sleep,—there is exhibited, in its noblest form, the immortal influence of Athens.

The dervish, in the Arabian tale, did not hesitate to abandon to his comrade the camels with their loads of jewels and gold, while he retained the casket of that mysterious juice which enabled him to behold at one glance all the hidden riches of the universe. Surely it is no exaggeration to say that no external advantage is to be compared with that purification of the intellectual eye which gives us to contemplate the infinite wealth of the mental world, all the hoarded treasures of its primeval dynasties, all the shapeless ore of its yet unexplored mines. This is the gift of Athens to man.

Her freedom and her power have, for more than twenty centuries, been annihilated; her people have degenerated into timid slaves; her language, into a barbarous jargon; her temples have been given up to the successive depredations of Romans, Turks, and Scotchmen; but her intellectual empire is imperishable.

And when those who have rivalled her greatness shall have shared her fate; when civilization and knowledge shall have fixed their abode in distant continents; when the sceptre shall have passed away from England; when, perhaps, travellers from distant regions shall in vain labour to decipher on some mouldering pedestal the name of our proudest chief, shall hear savage hymns chaunted to some misshapen idol over the ruined dome of our proudest temple, and shall see a single naked fisherman wash his nets in the river of the ten thousand masts,—her influence and her glory will still survive,—fresh in eternal youth, exempt from mutability and decay, immortal as the intellectual principle from which they derived their origin, and over which they exercise their control.

—Macaulay

Illustrate from this lesson the principle of Inflection as applied to (1) a series of words parallel in construction; (2) rhetorical questions.

How should the principal clause in the last paragraph be made prominent by the voice? (Introduction, p. 33.)

* * * * *

NATIONAL MORALITY

1. I believe there is no permanent greatness to a nation except it be based upon morality. I do not care for military greatness or military renown. I care for the condition of the people among whom I live. There is no man in England who is less likely to speak irreverently of the Crown and Monarchy of England than I am; but crowns, coronets, mitres, military display, the pomp of war, wide colonies, and a huge empire, are, in my view, all trifles light as air, and not worth considering, unless with them you can have a fair share of comfort, contentment, and happiness, among the great body of the people. Palaces, baronial castles, great halls, stately mansions, do not make a nation. The nation in every country dwells in the cottage; and unless the light of your Constitution can shine there, unless the beauty of your legislation and the excellence of your statesmanship are impressed there on the feelings and condition of the people, rely upon it, you have yet to learn the duties of government.

2. I have not pleaded, as you have observed, that this country should remain without adequate and scientific means of defence. I acknowledge it to be the duty of your statesmen, acting upon the known opinions and principles of ninety-nine out of every one hundred persons in the country, at all times, with all possible moderation, but with all possible efficiency, to take steps which shall preserve order within and on the confines of your kingdom. But I shall repudiate and denounce the expenditure of every shilling, the engagement of every man, the employment of every ship which has no object but intermeddling in the affairs of other countries and endeavouring to extend the boundaries of an Empire which is already large enough to satisfy the greatest ambition, and I fear is much too large for the highest statesmanship to which any man has yet attained.

3. The most ancient of profane historians has told us that the Scythians of his time were a very warlike people, and that they elevated an old scimitar upon a platform as a symbol of Mars, for to Mars alone, I believe, they built altars and offered sacrifices. To this scimitar they offered sacrifices of horses and cattle, the main wealth of the country, and more costly sacrifices than to all the rest of their gods. I often ask myself whether we are at all advanced in one respect beyond those Scythians. What are our contributions to charity, to education, to morality, to religion, to justice, and to civil government, when compared with the wealth we expend in sacrifices to the old scimitar?

4. Two nights ago I addressed in this hall a vast assembly composed to a great extent of your countrymen, who have no political power, who are at work from the dawn of the day to the evening, and who have therefore limited means of informing themselves on these great subjects. Now I am privileged to speak to a somewhat different audience. You represent those of your great community who have a more complete education, who have on some points greater intelligence, and in whose hands reside the power and influence of the district. I am speaking, too, within the hearing of those whose gentle nature, whose finer instincts, whose purer minds, have not suffered as some of us have suffered in the turmoil and strife of life. You can mould opinion, you can create political power,—you cannot think a good thought on this subject and communicate it to your neighbours,—you cannot make these points topics of discussion in your social circles and more general meetings, without affecting sensibly and speedily the course which the government of your country will pursue. May I ask you, then, to believe, as I do most devoutly believe, that the moral law was not written for men alone in their individual character, but that it was written as well for nations, and for nations great as this of which we are citizens. If nations reject and deride that moral law, there is a penalty which will inevitably follow. It may not come at once, it may not come in our lifetime; but, rely upon it, the great Italian is not a poet only, but a prophet, when he says:

The sword of heaven is not in haste to smite, Nor yet doth linger.

5. We have experience, we have beacons, we have landmarks enough. We know what the past has cost us, we know how much and how far we have wandered, but we are not left without a guide. It is true, we have not, as an ancient people had, Urim and Thummin—those oraculous gems in Aaron's breast—from which to take counsel, but we have the unchangeable and eternal principles of the moral law to guide us, and only so far as we walk by that guidance can we be permanently a great nation, or our people a happy people.

—The Right Honourable John Bright

BARONIAL, CASTLES, CHARACTER, PAST. (Appendix A, 1.)

Par. 1. MILITARY GREATNESS, MILITARY RENOWN. Note the transferred Emphasis. (Introduction, pp. 31 and 32.)

CROWNS, CORONETS, ETC. Explain the Inflection on each member of this series. Give similar examples from this paragraph and from Pars. 3, 4, and 5.

UNLESS WITH THEM, ETC. How does the voice prepare the listener for this clause? Give a similar example from Par. 4.

YOU HAVE YET TO LEARN, ETC. How is this clause made prominent?

Par. 2. Give an analysis of the second sentence from the standpoint of Perspective.

THE EXPENDITURE ... SHIP. How is the Climax brought out?

FOR THE HIGHTEST ... ATTAINED. Note the Grouping. Give another example from this sentence.

Par. 4. NATIONS. What Inflection on this word? With what is it contrasted?

* * * * *

HAMLET'S ADVICE TO THE PLAYERS

Act III. Scene 2

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue: but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus; but use all gently: for in the very 5 torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, 10 who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb-shows and noise: I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant; it out-herods Herod: pray you, avoid it.

Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion 15 be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature: for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror 20 up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now, this overdone or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of the which one 25 must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely, that neither having the accent of Christains nor the gait of Christain, pagan, nor man, have so 30 strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.

—Shakespeare

MOUTH, TOWN-CRIER, TAME, JOURNEYMEN. Why are these words emphatic? (Introduction, p. 30.)

Explain FROM THE PURPOSE OF PLAYING, COME TARDY OFF, THE CENSURE OF THE WHICH ... OTHERS. What are the emphatic words in each?

TORRENT, TEMPEST, WHIRLWIND. Observe the Climax.

Give other examples of Climax from this selection and show how the Emphasis is employed. (Introduction, p. 31.)

Select parenthetical clauses and show how they are subordinated. (Introduction, p. 24.)

Read the last two sentences with a view to Perspective. (Introduction, p. 33.)

* * * * *

ROSABELLE

From "The Lay of the Last Minstrel"

O listen, listen, ladies gay! No haughty feat of arms I tell; Soft is the note, and sad the lay That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.

"Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew! And, gentle ladye, deign to stay! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day.

"The blackening wave is edged with white; To inch and rock the sea-mews fly; The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh.

"Last night the gifted Seer did view A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay; Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch; Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?"—

"'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir To-night at Roslin leads the ball, But that my ladye-mother there Sits lonely in her castle-hall.

"'Tis not because the ring they ride, And Lindesay at the ring rides well, But that my sire the wine will chide If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle."—

O'er Roslin all that dreary night A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; 'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light, And redder than the bright moonbeam.

It glared on Roslin's castled rock, It ruddied all the copse-wood glen; 'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden.

Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud, Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffin'd lie, Each Baron, for a sable shroud, Sheathed in his iron panoply.

Seem'd all on fire within, around, Deep sacristy and altar's pale; Shone every pillar foliage-bound, And glimmer'd all the dead men's mail.

Blazed battlement and pinnet high, Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair— So still they blaze, when fate is nigh The lordly line of high Saint Clair.

There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold Lie buried within that proud chapelle; Each one the holy vault doth hold— But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle!

And each Saint Clair was buried there With candle, with book, and with knell; But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung The dirge of lovely Rosabelle!

—Sir Walter Scott

PREPARATORY.—Describe the scene suggested by the first stanza.

Make three scenes of the rest of the poem, and give a descriptive title to each.

Articulation. (Appendix A, 1, 3, and 6.)

Stanza i. How is the ellipsis in l. 3 indicated?

Stanza ii. What is the difference between the way the speaker addresses the crew and that in which he addresses the lady?

Stanzas iii-iv. How does the reader make prominent the four different arguments of the speaker in ll. 9-15, at the same time showing that each is a stronger warning than the last? (Introduction, pp. 24, 25, and 31.)

Stanzas v-vi. What is the Inflection on the negative statements in the first two lines of each stanza?

Stanzas vii-xi. What feeling pervades the description of the ominous light over Roslyn? What Quality of voice is the natural outcome? (Introduction, p. 34.)

What are the central ideas in stanzas vii, ix, and x?

How is the break in the thought after FAIR, (stanza xi) shown? (Introduction, pp. 8, 9, and 25.)

Stanzas xii-xiii. What phrases contrast the burial of the Saint Clairs with that of Rosabelle? What contrast of feeling?

* * * * *

THE ISLAND OF THE SCOTS

December, 1697

The Rhine is running deep and red, the island lies before,— "Now is there one of all the host will dare to venture o'er? For not alone the river's sweep might make a brave man quail; The foe are on the further side, their shot comes fast as hail. God help us, if the middle isle we may not hope to win; 5 Now is there any of the host will dare to venture in?" "The ford is deep, the banks are steep, the island-shore lies wide; Nor man nor horse could stem its force, or reach the further side. See there! amidst the willow-boughs the serried bayonets gleam; They've flung their bridge,—they've won the isle; the foe have cross'd the stream! 10 Their volley flashes sharp and strong,—by all the saints! I trow There never yet was soldier born could force that passage now!"

So spoke the bold French Mareschal with him who led the van, Whilst rough and red before their view the turbid river ran. Nor bridge nor boat had they to cross the wild and swollen Rhine, 15 And thundering on the other bank far stretch'd the German line. Hard by there stood a swarthy man was leaning on his sword, And a sadden'd smile lit up his face as he heard the Captain's word. "I've seen a wilder stream ere now than that which rushes there; I've stemm'd a heavier torrent yet and never thought to dare. 20 If German steel be sharp and keen, is ours not strong and true? There may be danger in the deed, but there is honour too."

The old lord in his saddle turn'd, and hastily he said, "Hath bold Duguesclin's fiery heart awaken'd from the dead? Thou art the leader of the Scots,—now well and sure I know, 25 That gentle blood in dangerous hour ne'er yet ran cold nor slow, And I have seen ye in the fight do all that mortal may: If honour is the boon ye seek, it may be won this day,— The prize is in the middle isle, there lies the adventurous way, And armies twain are on the plain, the daring deed to see,— 30 Now ask thy gallant company if they will follow thee!"

Right gladsome look'd the Captain then, and nothing did he say, But he turn'd him to his little band, O, few, I ween, were they! The relics of the bravest force that ever fought in fray. No one of all that company but bore a gentle name, 35 Not one whose fathers had not stood in Scotland's fields of fame. All they had march'd with great Dundee to where he fought and fell, And in the deadly battle-strife had venged their leader well; And they had bent the knee to earth when every eye was dim, As o'er their hero's buried corpse they sang the funeral hymn; 40 And they had trod the Pass once more, and stoop'd on either side. To pluck the heather from the spot where he had dropp'd and died; And they had bound it next their hearts, and ta'en a last farewell Of Scottish earth and Scottish sky, where Scotland's glory fell. Then went they forth to foreign lands like bent and broken men, 45 Who leave their dearest hope behind, and may not turn again.

"The stream," he said, "is broad and deep, and stubborn is the foe,— Yon island-strength is guarded well,—say, brothers, will ye go? From home and kin for many a year our steps have wander'd wide, And never may our bones be laid our fathers' graves beside. 50 No children have we to lament, no wives to wail our fall; The traitor's and the spoiler's hand have reft our hearths of all. But we have hearts, and we have arms, as strong to will and dare As when our ancient banners flew within the northern air. Come, brothers! let me name a spell shall rouse your souls again, 55 And send the old blood bounding free through pulse and heart and vein. Call back the days of bygone years,—be young and strong once more; Think yonder stream, so stark and red, is one we've cross'd before.

Rise, hill and glen! rise, crag and wood! rise up on either hand,— Again upon the Garry's banks, on Scottish soil we stand! 60 Again I see the tartans wave, again the trumpets ring; Again I hear our leader's call: 'Upon them for the King!' Stay'd we behind that glorious day for roaring flood or linn? The soul of Graeme is with us still,—now, brothers, will ye in?"

No stay,—no pause. With one accord, they grasp'd each other's hand, 65 Then plunged into the angry flood, that bold and dauntless band. High flew the spray above their heads, yet onward still they bore, Midst cheer, and shout, and answering yell, and shot, and cannon-roar,— "Now, by the Holy Cross! I swear, since earth and sea began, Was never such a daring deed essay'd by mortal man!" 70 Thick blew the smoke across the stream, and faster flash'd the flame: The water plash'd in hissing jets as ball and bullet came. Yet onward push'd the Cavaliers all stern and undismay'd, With thousand armed foes before, and none behind to aid Once, as they near'd the middle stream, so strong the torrent swept, 75 That scarce that long and living wall their dangerous footing kept. Then rose a warning cry behind, a joyous shout before: "The current's strong,—the way is long,—they'll never reach the shore! See, see! they stagger in the midst, they waver in their line! Fire on the madmen! break their ranks, and whelm them in the Rhine!" 80

Have you seen the tall trees swaying when the blast is sounding shrill, And the whirlwind reels in fury down the gorges of the hill? How they toss their mighty branches struggling with the tempest's shock; How they keep their place of vantage, cleaving firmly to the rock? Even so the Scottish warriors held their own against the river; 85 Though the water flashed around them, not an eye was seen to quiver; Though the shot flew sharp and deadly, not a man relax'd his hold; For their hearts were big and thrilling with the mighty thoughts of old. One word was spoken among them, and through the ranks it spread,— "Remember our dead Claverhouse!" was all the Captain said. 90 Then, sternly bending forward, they wrestled on a while, Until they clear'd the heavy stream, then rush'd toward the isle.

The German heart is stout and true, the German arm is strong; The German foot goes seldom back where armed foemen throng. But never had they faced in field so stern a charge before, 95 And never had they felt the sweep of Scotland's broad claymore. Not fiercer pours the avalanche adown the steep incline, That rises o'er the parent springs of rough and rapid Rhine,— Scarce swifter shoots the bolt from heaven than came the Scottish band Right up against the guarded trench, and o'er it sword in hand. 100 In vain their leaders forward press,—they meet the deadly brand!

O lonely island of the Rhine,—where seed was never sown, What harvest lay upon thy sands, by those strong reapers thrown? What saw the winter moon that night, as, struggling through the rain, She pour'd a wan and fitful light on marsh, and stream, and plain? 105 A dreary spot with corpses strewn, and bayonets glistening round; A broken bridge, a stranded boat, a bare and batter'd mound; And one huge watch-fire's kindled pile, that sent its quivering glare To tell the leaders of the host the conquering Scots were there.

And did they twine the laurel-wreath, for those who fought so well? 110 And did they honour those who liv'd, and weep for those who fell? What meed of thanks was given to them let aged annals tell. Why should they bring the laurel-wreath,—why crown the cup with wine? It was not Frenchmen's blood that flow'd so freely on the Rhine,— A stranger band of beggar'd men had done the venturous deed: 115 The glory was to France alone, the danger was their meed. And what cared they for idle thanks from foreign prince and peer? What virtue had such honey'd words the exiled heart to cheer? What matter'd it that men should vaunt and loud and fondly swear,

That higher feat of chivalry was never wrought elsewhere? 120 They bore within their breasts the grief that fame can never heal,— The deep, unutterable woe which none save exiles feel. Their hearts were yearning for the land they ne'er might see again,— For Scotland's high and heather'd hills, for mountains, loch and glen— For those who haply lay at rest beyond the distant sea, 125 Beneath the green and daisied turf where they would gladly be!

Long years went by. The lonely isle in Rhine's tempestuous flood Has ta'en another name from those who bought it with their blood: And, though the legend does not live,—for legends lightly die— The peasant, as he sees the stream in winter rolling by, 130 And foaming o'er its channel-bed between him and the spot Won by the warriors of the sword, still calls that deep and dangerous ford The Passage of the Scot.

—William Edmondstoune Aytoun

PREPARATORY.—Narrate briefly the events of this poem, and show by a blackboard diagram the situation of the island, the position of the armies, etc.

Into how many dramatic scenes can the poem be divided? Describe each one, showing what part of the poem it covers.

For exercise in dramatic rendering, see notes on Highland Hospitality, pp. 153 and 154.

In what state of mind are the first two speakers? Compare their speeches in this respect with the first speech of the Scottish Captain—"I'VE SEEN A WILDER," ETC. What is the difference in Time, Pitch, and Stress?

3. RIVER'S SWEEP, FOE. Which is more emphatic? Compare MAN and HORSE, l. 8.

10-12. Give some examples of Climax in the second stanza and show how the Force and the Pitch are affected.

24. "HATH BOLD DUGUESCLIN'S," ETC. Supply the undercurrent of thought between the first line of this speech and the second. How is this suggested in reading? (Introduction, p. 14.)

33. HE TURNED HIM TO HIS LITTLE BAND—O FEW, ETC. How can the break in the thought be indicated? (Introduction, pp. 8, 9, and 25.)

33-46. O FEW I WEEN ... NOT TURN AGAIN. What two feelings predominate?

Compare the first part of the Captain's speech with the second part from the standpoint of energy. What is the difference in Force and Pitch? (Introduction, pp. 23 and 26.)

65. NO STAY,—NO PAUSE, ETC. What part does spontaneous Imitation play here, and in the following stanza? (Introduction, pp. 4 and 5.)

69. NOW, BY THE HOLY CROSS! ETC. Where should the longest Pause be made in this line?

78. THE CURRENT'S STRONG, ETC. What are the Pitch, Force, and Stress? (Introduction, pp. 22, 26, and 29.)

93. THE GERMAN HEART, ETC. Emphasis. (Introduction, p. 31.)

96. AND NEVER HAD THEY FELT, ETC. Note Grouping and Pause.

99. SCARCE SWIFTER, ETC. What is the Stress? Why? (Introduction, p. 28.)

101. IN VAIN. Note the transition at this line. (Introduction, pp. 8, 9, and 25.)

113. WHY SHOULD THEY BRING, ETC. How does the voice indicate the insincerity of thought in these lines? (Introduction, pp. 21, 22, and 30.)

What Inflection is used on the various questions in this and the preceding stanzas? (Introduction, pp. 18 and 19.)

127-133. Note the Grouping and the Shading. (Introduction, p. 33.)

* * * * *

CRANFORD SOCIETY

From "Cranford"

In the first place, Cranford is in possession of the Amazons; all the holders of houses above a certain rent are women. If a married couple come to settle in the town, somehow the gentleman disappears; he is either fairly frightened to death by being the only man in the Cranford evening parties, or he is accounted for by being with his regiment, his ship, or closely engaged in business all the week in the great neighbouring commercial town of Drumble, distant only twenty miles on a railway. In short, whatever does become of the gentlemen, they are not at Cranford. What could they do if they were there? The surgeon has his round of thirty miles, and sleeps at Cranford; but every man cannot be a surgeon. For keeping the trim gardens full of choice flowers without a weed to speck them; for frightening away little boys who look wistfully at the said flowers through the railings; for rushing out at the geese that occasionally venture into the gardens if the gates are left open; for deciding all questions of literature and politics without troubling themselves with unnecessary reasons or arguments; for obtaining clear and correct knowledge of everybody's affairs in the parish; for keeping their neat maidservants in admirable order; for kindness (somewhat dictatorial) to the poor, and real tender good offices to each other whenever they are in distress—the ladies of Cranford are quite sufficient. "A man," as one of them observed to me once, "is so in the way in the house!" Although the ladies of Cranford know all each other's proceedings, they are exceedingly indifferent to each other's opinions. Indeed, as each has her own individuality, not to say eccentricity, pretty strongly developed, nothing is so easy as verbal retaliation; but, somehow, good-will reigns among them to a considerable degree.

Then there were rules and regulations for visiting and calls; and they were announced to any young people who might be staying in the town, with all the solemnity with which the old Manx laws were read once a year on the Tinwald Mount.

"Our friends have sent to inquire how you are after your journey to-night, my dear" (fifteen miles in a gentleman's carriage). "They will give you some rest to-morrow; but the next day, I have no doubt, they will call; so be at liberty after twelve—from twelve to three are our calling hours."

Then, after they had called—

"It is the third day, I dare say your mamma has told you, my dear, never to let more than three days elapse between receiving a call and returning it; and also, that you are never to stay longer than a quarter of an hour."

"But am I to look at my watch? How am I to find out when a quarter of an hour has passed?"

"You must keep thinking about the time, my dear, and not allow yourself to forget it in conversation."

As everybody had this rule in their minds, whether they received or paid a call, of course no absorbing subject was ever spoken about. We kept ourselves to short sentences of small talk, and were punctual to our time.

I imagine that a few of the gentlefolks of Cranford were poor, and had some difficulty in making both ends meet; but they were like the Spartans, and concealed their smart under a smiling face. We none of us spoke of money, because that subject savoured of commerce and trade; and though some might be poor, we were all aristocratic. The Cranfordians had that kindly esprit de corps which made them overlook all deficiencies in success when some among them tried to conceal their poverty. When Mrs. Forrester, for instance, gave a party in her baby-house of a dwelling, and the little maiden disturbed the ladies on the sofa by a request that she might get the tea-tray out from underneath, every one took this novel proceeding as the most natural thing in the world, and talked on about household forms and ceremonies as if we all believed that our hostess had a regular servants' hall, second table, with house-keeper and steward, instead of the one little charity-school maiden, whose short ruddy arms could never have been strong enough to carry the tray upstairs, if she had not been assisted in private by her mistress, who now sat in state, pretending not to know what cakes were sent up, though she knew, and we knew, and she knew that we knew, and we knew that she knew that we knew, she had been busy all morning making tea-bread and sponge-cakes.

There were one or two consequences arising from this general but unacknowledged poverty, and this very much acknowledged gentility, which were not amiss, and which might be introduced into many circles of society to their great improvement. For instance, the inhabitants of Cranford kept early hours, and clattered home in their pattens, under the guidance of a lantern-bearer, about nine o'clock at night; and the whole town was abed and asleep by half-past ten. Moreover, it was considered "vulgar" (a tremendous word in Crawford) to give anything expensive, in the way of eatable or drinkable, at the evening entertainments. Wafer bread-and-butter and sponge-biscuits were all that the Honourable Mrs. Jamieson gave; and she was sister-in-law to the late Earl of Glenmire, although she did practise such "elegant economy."