Now the queen by reason of the words of the king and his lords came into the banquet house: and the queen spake and said, O king, live for ever: let not thy thoughts trouble thee, nor let thy countenance be changed: There is a man in thy kingdom, in whom is the spirit of the holy gods; and in the days of thy father light and understanding and wisdom, like the wisdom of the gods, was found in him; whom the king Nebuchadnezzar thy father, the king, I say, thy father, made master of the magicians, astrologers, Chaldeans, and soothsayers; Forasmuch as an excellent spirit and knowledge and understanding, interpreting of dreams, and shewing of hard sentences, and dissolving of doubts, were found in the same Daniel, whom the king named Belteshazzar: now let Daniel be called, and he will shew the interpretation.

Then was Daniel brought in before the king. And the king spake and said unto Daniel, Art thou that Daniel, which art of the children of the captivity of Judah, whom the king my father brought out of Jewry? I have even heard of thee, that the spirit of the gods is in thee, and that light and understanding and excellent wisdom is found in thee. And now the wise men, the astrologers, have been brought in before me, that they should read this writing, and make known unto me the interpretation thereof: but they could not shew the interpretation of the thing: And I have heard of thee, that thou canst make interpretations, and dissolve doubts: now if thou canst read the writing, and make known to me the interpretation thereof, thou shalt be clothed with scarlet, and have a chain of gold about thy neck, and shalt be the third ruler in the kingdom.

Then Daniel answered and said before the king, Let thy gifts be to thyself, and give thy reward to another; yet I will read the writing unto the king, and make known to him the interpretation. O thou king, the most high God gave Nebuchadnezzar thy father a kingdom, and majesty, and glory, and honour: And for the majesty that he gave him, all people, nations, and languages, trembled and feared before him: whom he would he slew; and whom he would he kept alive; and whom he would he set up; and whom he would he put down. But when his heart was lifted up, and his mind hardened in pride, he was deposed from his kingly throne, and they took his glory from him: And he was driven from the sons of men; and his heart was made like the beasts, and his dwelling was with the wild asses: they fed him with grass like oxen, and his body was wet with the dew of heaven; till he knew that the most high God ruled in the kingdom of men, and that he appointeth over it whomsoever he will. And thou, his son, O Belshazzar, hast not humbled thine heart, though thou knewest all this; But has lifted up thyself against the Lord of heaven; and they have brought the vessels of his house before thee, and thou, and thy lords, thy wives, and thy concubines, have drunk wine in them; and thou hast praised the gods of silver, of gold, of brass, iron, wood, and stone, which see not, nor hear, nor know: and the God in whose hand thy breath is, and whose are all thy ways, hast thou not glorified: Then was the part of the hand sent from him; and this writing was written.

And this is the writing that was written, MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN. This is the interpretation of the thing: MENE; God hath numbered thy kingdom, and finished it. TEKEL; Thou art weighed in the balances, and art found wanting. PERES; Thy kingdom is divided, and given to the Medes and Persians. Then commanded Belshazzar, and they clothed Daniel with scarlet, and put a chain of gold about his neck, and made a proclamation concerning him, that he should be the third ruler in the kingdom.

In that night was Belshazzar the king of the Chaldeans slain. And Darius the Median took the kingdom, being about threescore and two years old.

Give a dramatic form to this extract, indicating by suitable titles the various scenes suggested and the parts that would properly belong to the scenery, the action, and the dialogue respectively. The different parts may be read by different readers before one reader attempts all the parts.

* * * * *

PAUL'S DEFENCE BEFORE KING AGRIPPA

Acts xxvi

1. Then Agrippa said unto Paul, Thou art permitted to speak for thyself. Then Paul stretched forth the hand, and answered for himself: I think myself happy, King Agrippa, because I shall answer for myself this day before thee touching all the things whereof I am accused of the Jews: especially because I know thee to be expert in all customs and questions which are among the Jews: wherefore I beseech thee to hear me patiently.

2. My manner of life from my youth, which was at the first among mine own nation at Jerusalem, know all the Jews; which knew me from the beginning, if they would testify, that after the most straitest sect of our religion I lived a Pharisee. And now I stand and am judged for the hope of the promise made of God unto our fathers: unto which promise our twelve tribes, instantly serving God day and night, hope to come. For which hope's sake, King Agrippa, I am accused of the Jews.

3. Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that God should raise the dead? I verily thought with myself, that I ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth. Which thing I also did in Jerusalem: and many of the saints did I shut up in prison, having received authority from the chief priests; and when they were put to death, I gave my voice against them. And I punished them oft in every synagogue, and compelled them to blaspheme; and being exceedingly mad against them, I persecuted them even unto strange cities.

4. Whereupon as I went to Damascus with authority and commission from the chief priests, at midday, O king, I saw in the way a light from heaven, above the brightness of the sun, shining round about me and them which journeyed with me. And when we were all fallen to the earth, I heard a voice speaking unto me, and saying in the Hebrew tongue, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me? It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks. And I said, Who art thou, Lord? And he said, I am Jesus whom thou persecutest. But rise, and stand upon thy feet: for I have appeared unto thee for this purpose, to make thee a minister and a witness both of these things which thou hast seen, and of those things in the which I will appear unto thee; delivering thee from the people, and from the Gentiles, unto whom now I send thee, to open their eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God, that they may receive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them which are sanctified by faith that is in me.

5. Whereupon, O King Agrippa, I was not disobedient unto the heavenly vision: but shewed first unto them of Damascus, and at Jerusalem, and throughout all the coasts of Judaea, and then to the Gentiles, that they should repent and turn to God, and do works meet for repentance. For these causes the Jews caught me in the temple, and went about to kill me. Having therefore obtained help of God, I continue unto this day, witnessing both to small and great, saying none other things than those which the prophets and Moses did say should come: that Christ should suffer, and that he should be the first that should rise from the dead, and should shew light unto the people, and to the Gentiles.

6. And as he thus spake for himself, Festus said with a loud voice, Paul, thou art beside thyself; much learning doth make thee mad. But he said, I am not mad, most noble Festus; but speak forth the words of truth and soberness. For the king knoweth of these things, before whom also I speak freely: for I am persuaded that none of these things are hidden from him; for this thing was not done in a corner. King Agrippa, believest thou the prophets? I know that thou believest. Then Agrippa said unto Paul, Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian. And Paul said, I would to God, that not only thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both almost, and altogether such as I am, except these bonds.

7. And when he had thus spoken, the king rose up, and the governor, and Bernice, and they that sat with them: And when they were gone aside, they talked between themselves, saying, This man doeth nothing worthy of death or of bonds. Then said Agrippa unto Festus, This man might have been set at liberty, if he had not appealed unto Caesar.

PREPARATORY.—Under what circumstances did Paul deliver this defence? Picture the scene.

What attitude of mind characterizes the chief speaker? How does this affect the reading?

How are the direct speeches in Pars. 1, 4, 6, and 7 made to stand out from the narrative? (Introduction, p. 24.)

How do the mental and emotional states of the various speakers differ? Indicate this difference by the Quality of the voice. (Introduction, p. 34.)

Point out the Climax in Par. 3. How does the voice express it?

IF THEY WOULD TESTIFY. What change in the voice subordinates this clause? (Introduction, p. 33.) Give another example from Par. 2.

* * * * *

THE STRANDED SHIP

Far up the lonely strand the storm had lifted her. And now along her keel the merry tides make stir No more. The running waves that sparkled at her prow Seethe to the chains and sing no more with laughter now. No more the clean sea-furrow follows her. No more To the hum of her gallant tackle the hale Nor'-westers roar. No more her bulwarks journey. For the only boon they crave Is the guerdon of all good ships and true, the boon of a deep-sea grave.

Take me out, sink me deep in the green profound, To sway with the long weed, swing with the drowned, Where the change of the soft tide makes no sound, Far below the keels of the outward bound.

No more she mounts the circles from Fundy to the Horn, From Cuba to the Cape runs down the tropic morn, Explores the Vast Uncharted where great bergs ride in ranks, Nor shouts a broad "Ahoy" to the dories on the Banks. No more she races freights to Zanzibar and back, Nor creeps where the fog lies blind along the liner's track, No more she dares the cyclone's disastrous core of calm To greet across the dropping wave the amber isles of palm.

Take me out, sink me deep in the green profound, To sway with the long weed, swing with the drowned, Where the change of the soft tide makes no sound, Far below the keels of the outward bound.

Amid her trafficking peers, the wind-wise, journeyed ships, At the black wharves no more, nor at the weedy slips, She comes to port with cargo from many a storied clime. No more to the rough-throat chantey her windlass creaks in time. No more she loads for London with spices from Ceylon,— With white spruce deals and wheat and apples from St. John. No more from Pernambuco with cotton-bales,—no more With hides from Buenos Ayres she clears for Baltimore.

Take me out, sink me deep in the green profound, To sway with the long weed, swing with the drowned, Where the change of the soft tide makes no sound, Far below the keels of the outward bound.

Wan with the slow vicissitudes of wind and rain and sun How grieves her deck for the sailors whose hearty brawls are done! Only the wandering gull brings word of the open wave, With shrill scream at her taffrail deriding her alien grave. Around the keel that raced the dolphin and the shark Only the sand-wren twitters from barren dawn till dark; And all the long blank noon the blank sand chafes and mars The prow once swift to follow the lure of the dancing stars.

Take me out, sink me deep in the green profound, To sway with the long weed, swing with the drowned, Where the change of the soft tide makes no sound, Far below the keels of the outward bound.

And when the winds are low, and when the tides are still, And the round moon rises inland over the naked hill, And o'er her parching seams the dry cloud-shadows pass, And dry along the land-rim lie the shadows of thin grass, Then aches her soul with longing to launch and sink away Where the fine silts lift and settle, and sea-things drift and stray, To make the port of Last Desire, and slumber with her peers In the tide-wash rocking softly through the unnumbered years.

Take me out, sink me deep in the green profound, To sway with the long weed, swing with the drowned, Where the change of the soft tide makes no sound, Far below the keels of the outward bound.

—Charles G. D. Roberts (By arrangement)

PREPARATORY.—What is the fundamental idea of the first three stanzas? Of the fourth stanza? Of the last stanza? Of the refrain? Apply these ideas to human life? What feelings do they arouse? Show that these feelings grow stronger as the poem advances.

What Time, Pitch, and Stress are the natural expression of the atmosphere pervading the poem? Where are they most marked?

What effect has the atmosphere of the last stanza on the Quality of the voice?

HER, STIR. (Appendix A, 10.)

STRAND, FAR, CALM, BRAWLS. Distinguish the sound of a in these words, and select other words from the poem with the same sound. (Appendix A, 1.)

What is the Inflection on the negative statements in the first three stanzas? On the entreaty in the refrain? (Introduction, p. 18.)

What effect do the falling Inflection, and the marked Pause after MORE, l. 3, stanza 1 produce?

AND WHEN THE WINDS ... GRASS. What is the Inflection? What is the Shading when compared with the next line?

* * * * *

SIR PATRICK SPENS

The king sits, in Dunfermline toun, Drinking the blude-red wine; "O whare will I get a skeely skipper, To sail this new ship o' mine?"

O up and spake an eldern knight, Sat at the king's right knee,— "Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor, That ever sailed the sea."

The king has written a braid letter, And sealed it wi' his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the strand.

"To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o'er the faem; The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis thou maun bring her hame."

The first word that Sir Patrick read, Sae loud, loud laughed he; The neist word that Sir Patrick read, The tear blindit his e'e.

"O wha is this has done this deed, And tauld the king o'me, To send us out, this time o' the year, To sail upon the sea?

Be't wind, be't weet, be't hail, be't sleet, Our ship must sail the faem; The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis we must fetch her hame."

They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, Wi' a' the speed they may; They hae landed in Noroway, Upon a Wodensday.

They hadna been a week, a week, In Noroway, but twae, When that the lords o' Noroway Began aloud to say,—

"Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's goud, And a' our queenis fee." "Ye lee, ye lee, ye lears loud! Fu' loud I hear ye lee!

For I brought as mickle white monie, As gane my men and me, And I brought a half-fou o' gude red goud, Out o'er the sea wi' me.

Mak' ready, mak' ready, my merry men a'! Our gude ship sails the morn." "Now, ever alake, my master dear, I fear a deadly storm!

I saw the new moon, late yestreen, Wi' the auld moon in her arm! And, if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm."

They hadna sailed a league, a league, A league, but barely three, When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, And gurly grew the sea.

The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap, It was sic a deadly storm; And the waves cam' o'er the broken ship, Till a' her sides were torn.

"O whare will I get a gude sailor, To tak' my helm in hand, Till I gae up to the tall topmast, To see if I spy land?"

"O here am I, a sailor gude, To tak' the helm in hand, Till you gae up to the tall topmast; But I fear ye'll ne'er spy land."

He hadna gane a step, a step, A step, but barely ane, When a bolt flew out o' our goodly ship, And the salt sea it cam' in.

"Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith, Anither o' the twine, And wap them into our ship's side, And letna the sea come in."

They fetched a web o' the silken claith, Anither o' the twine, And they wapped them roun' that gude ship's side, But still the sea cam' in.

O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords, To weet their cork-heeled shoon! But lang or a' the play was played, They wat their hats aboon.

And mony was the feather-bed, That floated o'er the faem; And mony was the gude lord's son, That never mair cam' hame.

The ladyes wrang their fingers white, The maidens tore their hair, A' for the sake of their true loves; For them they'll see na mair.

O lang, lang may the ladyes sit, Wi' their fans into their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand!

And lang, lang may the maidens sit, Wi' their goud kaims in their hair, A' waiting for their ain dear loves! For them they'll see na mair.

Half ower, half ower to Aberdour, 'Tis fifty fathoms deep, And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.

—Old Ballad

Into how many different scenes does this drama fall? Where is each one laid? How can each one be made to stand out by itself? (Introduction, p. 10.)

* * * * *

KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY

An ancient story Ile tell you anon. Of a notable prince, that was called king John; And he ruled England with maine and with might, For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right.

And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye, Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye; How for his house-keeping, and high renowne, They rode poste for him to fair London towne.

An hundred men, the king did heare say, The abbot kept in his house every day; And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt, In velvet coates waited the abbot about.

"How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee, Thou keepest a farre better house than mee, And for thy house-keeping and high renowne, I feare thou work'st treason against my crown."

"My liege," quo' the abbot, "I would it were knowne, I never spend nothing, but what is my owne; And I trust, your grace will doe me no deere, For spending of my owne true-gotten geere."

"Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe, And now for the same thou needest must dye; For except thou canst answer me questions three, Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.

And first," quo' the king, "when I'm in this stead, With my crowne of golde so faire on my head, Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.

Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt, How soone I may ride the whole world about. And at the third question thou must not shrink, But tell me here truly what do I think."

"O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt, Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet: But if you will give me but three weekes space, Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace."

"Now three weeks space to thee will I give, And that is the longest time thou hast to live; For if thou dost not answer my questions three, Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee."

Away rode the abbot all sad at that word, And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford; But never a doctor there was so wise, That could with his learning an answer devise.

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold, And he mett his shepheard a going to fold: "How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home; What newes do you bring us from good king John?"

"Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give; That I have but three days more to live: For if I do not answer him questions three, My head will be smitten from my bodie.

The first is to tell him, there in that stead, With his crowne of golde so fair on his head, Among all his liege-men so noble of birth, To within one penny of what he is worth.

The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt, How soon he may ride this whole world about: And at the third question I must not shrinke, But tell him there truly what he does thinke."

"Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet, That a fool he may learn a wise man witt? Lend me horse, and serving-men, and your apparel, And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel.

Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, I am like your lordship, as ever may bee: And if you will but lend me your gowne, There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne."

"Now horses, and serving-men thou shalt have, With sumptuous array most gallant and brave; With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope, Fit to appeare 'fore our fader the pope."

"Now welcome, sire abbot," the king he did say, "Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day; For and if thou canst answer my questions three, Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.

And first, when thou seest me here in this stead, With my crown of golde so faire on my head, Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, Tell me to one penny what I am worth."

"For thirty pence our Saviour was sold Amonge the false Jewes, as I have bin told; And twenty-nine is the worth of thee, For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than hee."

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel, "I did not thinke I had been worth so littel! —Now secondly tell me, without any doubt, How soone I may ride this whole world about."

"You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same, Until the next morning he riseth againe; And then your grace need not make any doubt, But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about."

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone, "I did not think, it could be gone so soone! —Now from the third question thou must not shrinke, But tell me here truly what I do thinke."

"Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry: You thinke I'm the Abbot of Canterbury; But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see, That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee."

The king he laughed, and swore "by the masse, He make thee lord abbot this day in his place!" "Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede, For alacke I can neither write ne reade."

"Four nobles a weeke, then, I will give thee, For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee; And tell the old abbot when thou comest home, Thou hast brought him a pardon from good king John."

—Old Ballad

PREPARATORY.—Divide this poem into three dramatic scenes. Who are the actors in each scene?

What is the king's attitude toward the abbot in the first scene? Toward the supposed abbot in the third scene? Where does this attitude suddenly change? Show at what points this changed attitude gradually increases in strength and where it reaches its climax. Indicate these changes by means of the voice.

What is the abbot's attitude toward the king in the first scene? How does it differ from his attitude toward the shepherd? What is the difference in vocal expression?

Where does the shepherd's attitude toward the king change? How does the voice indicate this change?

* * * * *

THE KEY TO HUMAN HAPPINESS

From "The Mill on the Floss"

1. At last Maggie's eyes glanced down on the books that lay on the window-shelf, and she half forsook her reverie to turn over listlessly the leaves of the "Portrait Gallery"; but she soon pushed this aside to examine the little row of books tied together with, string. "Beauties of the Spectator", "Rasselas", "Economy of Human Life", "Gregory's Letters",—she knew the sort of matter that was inside all these; the "Christian Year"—that seemed to be a hymn-book, and she laid it down again; but "Thomas a Kempis"—the name had come across her in her reading, and she felt the satisfaction, which every one knows, of getting some ideas to attach to a name that strays solitary in the memory. She took up the little, old, clumsy book with some curiosity; it had the corners turned down in many places, and some hand, now for ever quiet, had made at certain passages strong pen-and-ink marks, long since browned by time. Maggie turned from leaf to leaf, and read where the quiet hand pointed ... "Know that the love of thyself doth hurt thee more than anything in the world.... If thou seekest this or that, and would'st be here or there to enjoy thy own will and pleasure, thou shalt never be quiet nor free from care; for in everything somewhat will be wanting, and in every place there will be some that will cross thee.... Both above and below, which way soever thou dost turn thee, everywhere thou shalt find the Cross; and everywhere of necessity thou must have patience, if thou wilt have inward peace, and enjoy an everlasting crown.... It is but little thou sufferest in comparison of them that have suffered so much, were so strongly tempted, so grievously afflicted, so many ways tried and exercised. Thou oughtest therefore to call to mind the more heavy sufferings of others, that thou mayest the easier bear thy little adversities. And if they seem not little unto thee, beware lest thy impatience be the cause thereof.... Blessed are those ears that receive the whispers of the divine voice, and listen not to the whisperings of the world. Blessed are those ears which hearken not unto the voice which soundeth outwardly, but unto the Truth which teacheth inwardly...."

2. A strange thrill of awe passed through Maggie while she read, as if she had been awakened in the night by a strain of solemn music, telling of beings whose souls had been astir while hers was in stupor. She went on from one brown mark to another, where the quiet hand seemed to point, hardly conscious that she was reading—seeming rather to listen while a low voice said:—

3. "Why dost thou here gaze about, since this is not the place of thy rest? In heaven ought to be thy dwelling, and all earthly things are to be looked on as they forward thy journey thither. All things pass away, and thou together with them. Beware thou cleave not unto them, lest thou be entangled and perish.... If a man should give all his substance yet it is as nothing. And, if he should do great penances, yet they are but little. And if he should attain to all knowledge, he is yet far off. And if he should be of great virtue, and very fervent devotion, yet is there much wanting—to wit, one thing, which is most necessary for him. What is that? That having left all, he leave himself, and go wholly out of himself, and retain nothing of self-love.... I have often said unto thee, and now again I say the same: Forsake thyself, resign thyself, and thou shalt enjoy much inward peace.... Then shall all vain imaginations, evil perturbations, and superfluous cares fly away; then shall immoderate fear leave thee, and inordinate love shall die."

4. Maggie drew a long breath and pushed her heavy hair back as if to see a sudden vision more clearly. Here, then, was a secret of life that would enable her to renounce all other secrets; here was a sublime height to be reached without the help of outward things; here was insight, and strength and conquest, to be won by means entirely within her own soul, where a supreme Teacher was waiting to be heard. It flashed through her, like the suddenly apprehended solution of a problem, that all the miseries of her young life had come from fixing her heart on her own pleasure, as if that were the central necessity of the universe; and for the first time she saw the possibility of shifting the position from which she looked at the gratification of her own desires, of taking her stand out of herself, and looking at her own life as an insignificant part of a divinely-guided whole. She read on and on in the old book, devouring eagerly the dialogues with the invisible Teacher, the pattern of sorrow, the source of all strength, returning to it after she had been called away, and reading till the sun went down behind the willows. With all the hurry of an imagination that could never rest in the present, she sat in the deepening twilight forming plans of self-humiliation and entire devotedness; and, in the ardour of first discovery, renunciation seemed to her the entrance into that satisfaction which she had so long been craving in vain. She had not perceived—how could she until she had lived longer?—the inmost truth of the old monk's outpourings, that renunciation remains sorrow, though a sorrow borne willingly. Maggie was still panting for happiness, and was in ecstasy because she had found the key to it. She knew nothing of doctrines and systems—of mysticism or quietism; but this voice out of the far-off Middle Ages was the direct communication of a human soul's belief and experience, and came to Maggie as an unquestioned message.

5. I suppose that is the reason why the small, old-fashioned book, for which you need pay only sixpence at a book-stall, works miracles to this day, turning bitter waters into sweetness; while expensive sermons and treatises, newly issued, leave all things as they were before. It was written down by a hand that waited for the heart's prompting; it is the chronicle of a solitary hidden anguish, struggle, trust, and triumph—not written on velvet cushions to teach endurance to those who are treading with bleeding feet on the stones. And so it remains to all time a lasting record of human needs and human consolations—the voice of a brother who, ages ago, felt and suffered and renounced in the cloister, perhaps, with serge gown and tonsured head, with much chanting and long fasts, and with a fashion of speech different from ours, but under the same silent far-off heavens, and with the same passionate desires, the same strivings, the same failures, the same weariness.

—George Eliot

Par. 1. IF THOU SEEKEST ... PLEASURE. What principle of Inflection does this clause illustrate? Give similar examples from Par. 3.

BOTH ABOVE AND BELOW ... EVERYWHERE. Which phrase in this series has the strongest Emphasis?

THOU SUFFEREST. Which word is emphatic? (Introduction, p. 30.) What phrases are contrasted with it?

Account for the Inflection used in the last two sentences. (Introduction, p. 20.)

Par. 4. Indicate the Grouping in sentences 3 and 5.

HOW COULD SHE, ETC. What is the Inflection and Shading? (Introduction, pp. 24 and 25.)

Par. 5. What is the Inflection on NOT WRITTEN ... STONES? (Introduction p. 18.)

* * * * *

THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL

PART FIRST

"My golden spurs now bring to me, And bring to me my richest mail, For to-morrow I go over land and sea In search of the Holy Grail; Shall never a bed for me be spread, 5 Nor shall a pillow be under my head, Till I begin my vow to keep; Here on the rushes will I sleep, And perchance there may come a vision true Ere day create the world anew." 10 Slowly Sir Launfal's eyes grew dim, Slumber fell like a cloud on him, And into his soul the vision flew.

The crows flapped over by twos and threes, In the pool drowsed the cattle up to their knees, 15 The little birds sang as if it were The one day of summer in all the year, And the very leaves seemed to sing on the trees. The castle alone in the landscape lay Like an outpost of winter, dull and gray: 20

'Twas the proudest hall in the North Countree, And never its gates might opened be, Save to lord or lady of high degree; Summer besieged it on every side, But the churlish stone her assaults defied; 25 She could not scale the chilly wall, Though round it for leagues her pavilions tall Stretched left and right, Over the hills and out of sight; Green and broad was every tent, 30 And out of each a murmur went Till the breeze fell off at night. The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang, And through the dark arch a charger sprang, Bearing Sir Launfal, the maiden knight, 35 In his gilded mail that flamed so bright It seemed the dark castle had gathered all Those shafts the fierce sun had shot over its wall In his siege of three hundred summers long, And, binding them all in one blazing sheaf, 40 Had cast them forth: so, young and strong, And lightsome as a locust leaf, Sir Launfal flashed forth in his unscarred mail, To seek in all climes for the Holy Grail.

It was morning on hill and stream and tree 45 And morning in the young knight's heart; Only the castle moodily Rebuffed the gift of the sunshine free, And gloomed by itself apart; The season brimmed all other things up 50 Full as the rain fills the pitcher-plant's cup.

As Sir Launfal made morn through the darksome gate He was 'ware of a leper, crouched by the same, Who begged with his hand and moaned as he sate; And a loathing over Sir Launfal came; 55 The sunshine went out of his soul with a thrill, The flesh 'neath his armour 'gan shrink and crawl, And midway its leap his heart stood still Like a frozen waterfall; For this man, so foul and bent of stature, 60 Rasped harshly against his dainty nature, And seemed the one blot on the summer morn,— So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn.

The leper raised not the gold from the dust: "Better to me the poor man's crust, 65 Better the blessing of the poor, Though I turn me empty from his door; That is no true alms which the hand can hold; He gives nothing but worthless gold Who gives from a sense of duty; 70 But he who gives a slender mite, And gives to that which is out of sight, That thread of the all-sustaining Beauty Which runs through all and doth all unite,— The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms, 75 The heart outstretches its eager palms, For a god goes with it and makes it store To the soul that was starving in darkness before."

PART SECOND

There was never a leaf on bush or tree, The bare boughs rattled shudderingly; 80 The river was numb and could not speak, For the weaver Winter its shroud had spun; A single crow on the tree-top bleak From his shining feathers shed off the cold sun; Again it was morning, but shrunk and cold 85 As if her veins were sapless and old, And she rose up decrepitly For a last dim look at earth and sea.

Sir Launfal turned from his own hard gate, For another heir in his earldom sate; 90 An old, bent man, worn out and frail, He came back from seeking the Holy Grail; Little he recked of his earldom's loss, No more on his surcoat was blazoned the cross, But deep in his soul the sign he wore, 95 The badge of the suffering and the poor.

Sir Launfal's raiment thin and spare Was idle mail 'gainst the barbed air, For it was just at the Christmas time; So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime, 100 And sought for a shelter from cold and snow In the light and warmth of long-ago: He sees the snake-like caravan crawl O'er the edge of the desert, black and small. Then nearer and nearer, till, one by one, 105 He can count the camels in the sun, As over the red-hot sands they pass To where, in its slender necklace of grass, The little spring laughed and leapt in the shade, And with its own self like an infant played, 110 And waved its signal of palms. "For Christ's sweet sake I beg an alms;"— The happy camels may reach the spring, But Sir Launfal sees only the grewsome thing, The leper, lank as the rain-blanched bone, 115 That cowers beside him, a thing as lone And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas In the desolate horror of his disease.

And Sir Launfal said, "I behold in thee An image of Him who died on the tree; 120 Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns, Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns, And to thy life were not denied The wounds in the hands and feet and side: Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me; 125 Behold, through him, I give to thee!"

Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he Remembered in what a haughtier guise He had flung an alms to leprosie, 130 When he girt his young life up in gilded mail And set forth in search of the Holy Grail. The heart within him was ashes and dust; He parted in twain his single crust, He broke the ice on the streamlet's brink, 135 And gave the leper to eat and drink: 'Twas a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread, 'Twas water out of a wooden bowl,— Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed, And 'twas red wine he drank with his thirsty soul. 140

As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face, A light shone round about the place; The leper no longer crouched at his side, But stood before him glorified, Shining and tall and fair and straight 145 As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate,— Himself the Gate whereby men can Enter the temple of God in Man.

His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine, And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine, 150 Which mingle their softness and quiet in one With the shaggy unrest they float down upon: And the voice that was calmer than silence said: "Lo it is I, be not afraid! In many climes, without avail, 155 Thou has spent thy life for the Holy Grail; Behold it is here,—this cup which thou Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now; This crust is my body broken for thee, This water His blood that died on the tree; 160 The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, In whatso we share with another's need; Not what we give, but what we share,— For the gift without the giver is bare; Who gives himself with his alms feeds three,— 165 Himself, his hungering neighbour, and me."

Sir Launfal awoke as from a swound:— "The Grail in my castle here is found! Hang my idle armour up on the wall, Let it be the spider's banquet-hall; 170 He must be fenced with stronger mail Who would seek and find the Holy Grail."

The castle gate stands open now, And the wanderer is welcome to the hall As the hangbird is to the elm-tree bough; 175 No longer scowl the turrets tall, The Summer's long siege at last is o'er; When the first poor outcast went in at the door, She entered with him in disguise, And mastered the fortress by surprise; 180 There is no spot she loves so well on ground, She lingers and smiles there the whole year round. The meanest serf on Sir Launfal's land Has hall and bower at his command; And there's no poor man in the North Countree 185 But is lord of the earldom as much as he.

—James Russell Lowell

PREPARATORY.—Read Tennyson's The Holy Grail.

Compare the mode in which Tennyson treats the pursuit of the Holy Grail, in Sir Galahad, with that adopted by Lowell in this poem.

Show the connection between the fundamental ideas in this poem, and those in Longfellow's King Robert of Sicily and The Legend Beautiful.

Point out the various contrasts (a) of scene, (b) of thought, (c) of emotion, and show a corresponding contrast in vocal expression.

Articulation. (Appendix A, 1 and 11.)

5 and 6. What is the Inflection?

11. What changes of vocal expression accompany the transition?

14-20. Note the word-pictures and the effect of the Imaging process on the Time.

22. What is the Inflection on BE?

27-29 and 37-39. Observe the Grouping, Pause, and Inflection.

41. HAD CAST THEM FORTH. With what phrase is this parallel? How does the voice express the parallelism?

42-44. Which line expresses the main thought? How is it made prominent? (Introduction, p. 33.)

51. Where is the Pause?

65-67. Show the relative importance of the emphatic words and phrases. (Introduction, pp. 30 and 31.)

69-78. Read these lines with a view to (a) Perspective, (b) Inflection.

91. OLD, BENT. Account for the pause between these two adjectives. (Introduction, pp. 7 and 8.)

95. What is the emphatic word? Why?

107-111. Note the difference in the sound of the letter a in the various words.

119-126. What feeling predominates? How are the Force, Pitch, and Time affected?

137-140. How does the voice indicate the contrast between the meagre and the sumptuous? (Introduction, pp. 34 and 35.)

141-142. Note the transition from the subjective to the objective. How is it indicated in reading?

154-166. What atmosphere pervades this speech? What Quality of voice suggests it? (Introduction, p. 35.)

167. Note the transition. What movement is suggested? What is the Stress and Quality of voice?

168-172. What state of mind does this speech suggest? What is the change in Stress and Quality?

* * * * *

ON THE DEATH OF GLADSTONE

Delivered in the Canadian House of Commons, May 26, 1898

England has lost the most illustrious of her sons; but the loss is not England's alone, nor is it confined to the great empire which acknowledges England's suzerainty, nor even to the proud race which can claim kinship with the people of England. The loss is the loss of mankind. Mr. Gladstone gave his whole life to his country; but the work which he did for his country, was conceived and carried out, on principles of such high elevation, for purposes so noble, and aims so lofty, that not his country alone, but the whole of mankind, benefited by his work. It is no exaggeration to say that he has raised the standard of civilization, and the world to-day is undoubtedly better for both the precept and the example of his life.

His death is mourned not only by England, the land of his birth, not only by Scotland, the land of his ancestors, not only by Ireland for whom he did so much, and attempted so much more; but also by the people of the two Sicilies, for whose outraged rights he once aroused the conscience of Europe, by the people of the Ionian Islands, whose independence he secured, and by the people of Bulgaria and the Danubian Provinces, in whose cause he enlisted the sympathy of his own native country. Indeed, since the days of Napoleon, no man has lived whose name has travelled so far and so wide, over the surface of the earth; no man has lived whose name alone so deeply moved the hearts of so many millions of men. Whereas Napoleon impressed his tremendous personality upon peoples far and near, by the strange fascination which the genius of war has always exercised over the imagination of men in all lands and in all ages, the name of Gladstone had come to be in the minds of all civilized nations, the living incarnation of right against might—the champion, the dauntless, tireless champion, of the oppressed against the oppressor. It is, I believe, equally true to say that he was the most marvellous mental organization which the world has seen since Napoleon—certainly the most compact, the most active and the most universal.

This last half century in which we live, has produced many able and strong men who, in different walks of life, have attracted the attention of the world at large; and of the men who have illustrated this age, it seems to me that in the eyes of posterity four will outlive and outshine all others—Cavour, Lincoln, Bismarck, and Gladstone. If we look simply at the magnitude of the results obtained, compared with the exiguity of the resources at command,—if we remember that out of the small Kingdom of Sardinia grew united Italy, we must come to the conclusion that Count Cavour was undoubtedly a statesman of marvellous skill and prescience. Abraham Lincoln, unknown to fame when he was elected to the presidency, exhibited a power for the government of men which has scarcely been surpassed in any age. He saved the American Union, he enfranchised the black race, and for the task he had to perform he was endowed in some respects almost miraculously. No man ever displayed a greater insight into the motives, the complex motives, which shape the public opinion of a free country, and he possessed almost to the degree of an instinct, the supreme quality in a statesman of taking the right decision, taking it at the right moment and expressing it in language of incomparable felicity. Prince Bismarck was the embodiment of resolute common sense, unflinching determination, relentless strength, moving onward to his end, and crushing everything in his way as unconcerned as fate itself. Mr. Gladstone undoubtedly excelled every one of these men. He had in his person a combination of varied powers of the human intellect, rarely to be found in one single individual. He had the imaginative fancy, the poetic conception of things, in which Count Cavour was deficient. He had the aptitude for business, the financial ability which Lincoln never exhibited. He had the lofty impulses, the generous inspirations which Prince Bismarck always discarded, even if he did not treat them with scorn. He was at once an orator, a statesman, a poet, and a man of business. As an orator he stands certainly in the very front rank of orators of his country or any country of his age or any age. I remember when Louis Blanc was in England, in the days of the Second Empire, he used to write to the press of Paris, and in one of his letters to "Le Temps" he stated that Mr. Gladstone would undoubtedly have been the foremost orator of England, if it were not for the existence of Mr. Bright. It may be admitted, and I think it is admitted generally, that on some occasions Mr. Bright reached heights of grandeur and pathos which even Mr. Gladstone did not attain. But Mr. Gladstone had an ability, a vigour, a fluency which no man in his age or any age ever rivalled or even approached. That is not all. To his marvellous mental powers he added no less marvellous physical gifts. He had the eye of a god, the voice of a silver bell; and the very fire of his eye, the very music of his voice swept the hearts of men even before they had been dazzled by the torrents of his eloquence.

As a statesman, it was the good fortune of Mr. Gladstone that his career was not associated with war. The reforms which he effected, the triumphs which he achieved, were not won by the supreme arbitrament of the sword. The reforms which he effected and the triumphs which he achieved were the result of his power of persuasion over his fellow-men. The reforms which he achieved in many ways amounted to a revolution. They changed, in many particulars, the face of the realm. After Sir Robert Peel had adopted the great principle which eventually carried England from protection to free trade, it was Mr. Gladstone who created the financial system which has been admitted ever since by all students of finance, as the secret of Great Britain's commercial success. He enforced the extension of the suffrage to the masses of the nation, and practically thereby made the government of monarchical England as democratic as that of any republic. He disestablished the Irish church, he introduced reform into the land tenure and brought hope into the breasts of those tillers of the soil in Ireland who had for so many generations laboured in despair. And all this he did, not by force or violence, but simply by the power of his eloquence and the strength of his personality.

Great, however, as were the acts of the man, after all he was of the human flesh, and for him, as for everybody else, there were trivial and low duties to be performed. It is no exaggeration to say that even in those low and trivial duties he was great. He ennobled the common realities of life. His was above all things a religious mind—essentially religious in the highest sense of the term. And the religious sentiment which dominated his public life and his speeches, that same sentiment, according to the testimony of those who knew him best, also permeated all his actions from the highest to the humblest. He was a man of strong and pure affections, of long and lasting friendship, and to describe the beauty of his domestic life, no words of praise can be adequate. It was simply ideally beautiful, and in the later years of his life, as touching as it was beautiful. May I be permitted, without any impropriety, to recall that it was my privilege to experience and to appreciate that courtesy, made up of dignity and grace, which was famous all the world over, but of which no one could have an appropriate opinion, unless he had been the recipient of it. In a character so complex and diversified, one may ask what was the dominant feature, what was the supreme quality, the one characteristic which marked the nature of the man. Was it his incomparable genius for finance? Was it his splendid oratorical powers? Was it his marvellous fecundity of mind? In my estimation it was not any one of these qualities. Great as they were, there was one still more marked, and if I have to give my own impression, I would say that the one trait which was dominant in his nature, which marked the man more distinctly than any other, was his intense humanity, his paramount sense of right, his abhorrence of injustice, wrong, and oppression wherever to be found or in whatever shape they might show themselves. Injustice, wrong, oppression acted upon him, as it were, mechanically, and aroused every fibre of his being, and from that moment to the repairing of the injustice, the undoing of the wrong, and the destruction of the oppression, he gave his mind, his heart, his soul, his whole life with an energy, with an intensity, with a vigour paralleled in no man unless it be the first Napoleon. There are many evidences of this in his life. When he was travelling in Southern Italy, as a tourist, for pleasure and for the benefit of the health of his family, he became aware of the abominable system which was there prevailing under the name of Constitutional Government. He left everything aside, even the object which had brought him to Italy, and applied himself to investigate and to collect evidence, and then denounced the abominable system in a trumpet blast of such power that it shook to its very foundations the throne of King Ferdinand and sent it tottering to its fall. Again, when he was sent as High Commissioner to the Ionian Islands, the injustice of keeping this Hellenic population separated from the rest of Greece, separated from the kingdom to which they were adjacent, and toward which all their aspirations were raised, struck his generous soul with such force that he became practically their advocate, and secured their independence. Again, when he had withdrawn from public life, and when, in the language of Thiers, under somewhat similar circumstances, he had returned to "ses cheres etudes," the atrocities perpetrated by the Turks on the people of Roumania brought him back to public life with a vehemence, an impetuosity, and a torrent of fierce indignation that swept everything before it. If this be, as I think it is, the one distinctive feature of his character, it seems to explain away what are called the inconsistencies of his life. Inconsistencies there were none in his life. He had been brought up in the most unbending school of Toryism. He became the most active reformer of our times. But whilst he became the leader of the Liberal party and an active reformer, it is only due to him to say that in his complex mind there was a vast space for what is known as conservatism. His mind was not only liberal but conservative as well, and he clung to the affections of his youth until, in questions of practical moment, he found them clashing with that sense of right and abhorrence of injustice of which I have spoken. But the moment he found his conservative affections clash with what he thought right and just, he did not hesitate to abandon his former convictions and go the whole length of the reforms demanded. Thus he was always devotedly, filially, lovingly attached to the Church of England. He loved it, as he often declared. He adhered to it as an establishment in England, but the very reasons and arguments which, in his mind, justified the establishment of the Church in England, compelled him to a different course as far as that church was concerned in Ireland. In England the Church was the church of the majority, of almost the unanimity of the nation. In Ireland it was the church of the minority, and, therefore, he did not hesitate. His course was clear: he removed the one church and maintained the other. So it was with Home Rule. But coming to the subject of Home Rule, though there may be much to say, perhaps this is neither the occasion nor the place to say it. The Irish problem is dormant, not solved; but the policy proposed by Mr. Gladstone for the solution of this question has provoked too much bitterness, too deep division, even on the floor of this House, to make it advisable to say anything about it on this occasion.

I notice it, however, simply because it is the last and everlasting monument of that high sense of justice which, above all things, characterized him. When he became convinced that Home Rule was the only method whereby the long-open wound could be healed, he did not hesitate one moment, even though he were to sacrifice friends, power, popularity. And he sacrificed friends, power, popularity, in order to give that supreme measure of justice to a long-suffering people. Whatever may be the views which men entertain upon the policy of Home Rule, whether they favour that policy or whether they oppose it, whether they believe in it or whether they do not believe in it, every man, whether friend or foe of that measure, must say that it was not only a bold, but it was a noble thought, that of attempting to cure discontent in Ireland by trusting to Irish honour and Irish generosity.

Now, Sir, he is no more. England is to-day in tears, but fortunate is the nation which has produced such a man. His years are over; but his work is not closed; his work is still going on. The example which he gave to the world shall live for ever, and the seed which he has sown with such a copious hand shall still germinate and bear fruit under the full light of heaven.

—Sir Wilfrid Laurier (By permission)

In reading this speech, apply the principles of Pause, Inflection, Grouping, Emphasis, and Perspective illustrated in the preceding lessons.

* * * * *

THE DOWNFALL OF WOLSEY

From "King Henry VIII" Act III. Scene ii.

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, 5 And,—when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening,—nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, 10 But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: 15 I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have; 20 And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.—

[Enter Cromwell, and stands amazed]

Why, how now, Cromwell!

Crom. I have no power to speak, sir.

Wol. What! amaz'd At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep, 25 I am fall'n indeed.

Crom. How does your grace?

Wol. Why, well; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me, 30 I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders, These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken A load would sink a navy,—too much honour: O, 't is a burden, Cromwell, 't is a burden, Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven! 35

Crom. I am glad your grace has made that right use of it.

Wol. I hope I have: I am able now, methinks,— Out of a fortitude of soul I feel— To endure more miseries, and greater far, Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 40 What news abroad?

Crom. The heaviest, and the worst Is your displeasure with the king.

Wol. God bless him!

Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen Lord chancellor in your place.

Wol. That's somewhat sudden: But he's a learned man. May he continue 45 Long in his highness' favour, and do justice For truth's sake, and his conscience; that his bones, When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings, May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em!— What more? 50

Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.

Wol. That's news indeed.

Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, This day was view'd in open, as his queen, 55 Going to chapel; and the voice is now Only about her coronation.

Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down. O Cromwell, The king has gone beyond me: all my glories In that one woman I have lost for ever. 60 No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours, Or gild again the noble troops that waited Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell; I am a poor fall'n man, unworthy now To be thy lord and master. Seek the king; 65 That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him What and how true thou art: he will advance thee; Some little memory of me will stir him— I know his noble nature—not to let Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, 70 Neglect him not; make use now, and provide For thine own future safety.

Crom. O my lord, Must I, then, leave you? must I needs forego So good, so noble, and so true a master? Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, 75 With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. The king shall have my service; but my prayers, For ever and for ever, shall be yours.

Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me, 80 Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell: And—when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of—say, I taught thee, 85 Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, Found thee a way, out of his wrack, to rise in; A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 90 Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't? Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. 95 Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's: then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king; 100 And—pr'ythee lead me in: There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny; 't is the king's: my robe, And my integrity to Heaven, is all I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell! 105 Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, He would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies.

Crom. Good sir, have patience.

Wol. So I have. Farewell 110 The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell.

—Shakespeare

Compare the last words of Wolsey with those of Socrates as found in Jowett's translation of The Apology, (p. 145.)

BE JUST ... MARTYR. Show that the life and death of Socrates illustrates this ideal.

Compare the Pitch in which Wolsey utters his monologue with that in which he addresses Cromwell. (Introduction, p. 23.)

How is the parenthetical clause in ll. 6 and 7 kept in the back-ground? (Introduction, p. 24.) Select similar examples from Wolsey's speeches.

AND FROM THESE SHOULDERS ... NAVY. Supply the ellipses.

BY THAT SIN ... WIN BY 'T? Select the emphatic words and account for the Emphasis in each case. (Introduction, p. 30.)

* * * * *

THE ITALIAN IN ENGLAND

That second time they hunted me From hill to plain, from shore to sea, And Austria, hounding far and wide Her blood-hounds thro' the country-side, Breathed hot and instant on my trace.— 5 I made, six days, a hiding-place Of that dry green old aqueduct Where I and Charles, when boys, have plucked The fireflies from the roof above, Bright creeping thro' the moss they love: 10 —How long it seems since Charles was lost! Six days the soldiers crossed and crossed The country in my very sight; And when that peril ceased at night, The sky broke out in red dismay 15 With signal-fires. Well, there I lay Close covered o'er in my recess, Up to the neck in ferns and cress, Thinking on Metternich our friend, And Charles's miserable end, 20 And much beside, two days; the third, Hunger o'ercame me when I heard The peasants from the village go To work among the maize: you know, With us in Lombardy, they bring 25 Provisions packed on mules, a string With little bells that cheer their task, And casks, and boughs on every cask To keep the sun's heat from the wine; These I let pass in jingling line, 30 And, close on them, dear noisy crew, The peasants from the village, too; For at the very rear would troop Their wives and sisters in a group To help, I knew. When these had passed, 35 I threw my glove to strike the last, Taking the chance: she did not start, Much less cry out, but stooped apart, One instant rapidly glanced round, And saw me beckon from the ground; 40 A wild bush grows and hides my crypt, She picked my glove up while she stripped A branch off, then rejoined the rest With that; my glove lay in her breast: Then I drew breath; they disappeared: 45 It was for Italy I feared.

An hour, and she returned alone Exactly where my glove was thrown. Meanwhile came many thoughts; on me Rested the hopes of Italy; 50 I had devised a certain tale Which, when 't was told her, could not fail Persuade a peasant of its truth; I meant to call a freak of youth This hiding, and give hopes of pay, 55 And no temptation to betray. But when I saw that woman's face, It's calm simplicity of grace, Our Italy's own attitude In which she walked thus far, and stood, 60 Planting each naked foot so firm, To crush the snake and spare the worm— At first sight of her eyes, I said, "I am that man upon whose head They fix the price, because I hate 65 The Austrians over us; the State Will give you gold—oh, gold so much!— If you betray me to their clutch, And be your death, for aught I know, If once they find you saved their foe. 70 Now, you must bring me food and drink, And also paper, pen and ink, And carry safe what I shall write To Padua, which you'll reach at night Before the duomo shuts; go in, 75 And wait till Tenebrae begin; Walk to the third confessional, Between the pillar and the wall, And kneeling whisper, Whence comes peace? Say it a second time, then cease; 80 And if the voice inside returns, From Christ and Freedom; what concerns The cause of Peace?—for answer, slip My letter where you placed your lip; Then come back happy we have done 85 Our mother service—I, the son, As you the daughter of our land!"

Three mornings more, she took her stand In the same place, with the same eyes: I was no surer of sunrise 90 Than of her coming: we conferred Of her own prospects, and I heard She had a lover—stout and tall, She said—then let her eyelids fall, "He could do much"—as if some doubt 95 Entered her heart,—then, passing out, "She could not speak for others, who Had other thoughts; herself she knew": And so she brought me drink and food. After four days, the scouts pursued 100 Another path; at last arrived The help my Paduan friends contrived To furnish me: she brought the news. For the first time I could not choose But kiss her hand, and lay my own 105 Upon her head—"This faith was shown To Italy, our mother; she Uses my hand and blesses thee." She followed down to the sea-shore; I left and never saw her more. 110

How very long since I have thought Concerning—much less wished for—aught Beside the good of Italy, For which I live and mean to die! I never was in love; and since 115 Charles proved false, what shall now convince My inmost heart I have a friend? However, if I pleased to spend Real wishes on myself—say, three— I know at least what one should be. 120 I would grasp Metternich until I felt his red wet throat distil In blood thro' these two hands. And next, —Nor much for that am I perplexed— Charles, perjured traitor, for his part, 125 Should die slow of a broken heart Under his new employers. Last, —Ah, there, what should I wish? For fast Do I grow old and out of strength. If I resolved to seek at length 130 My father's house again, how scared They all would look, and unprepared! My brothers live in Austria's pay —Disowned me long ago, men say; And all my early mates who used 135 To praise me so—perhaps induced More than one early step of mine— Are turning wise: while some opine "Freedom grows license", some suspect "Haste breeds delay", and recollect 140 They always said, such premature Beginnings never could endure! So, with a sullen "All's for best", The land seems settling to its rest. I think then, I should wish to stand 145 This evening in that dear, lost land, Over the sea the thousand miles, And know if yet that woman smiles With the calm smile; some little farm She lives in there, no doubt: what harm 150 If I sat on the door-side bench, And, while her spindle made a trench Fantastically in the dust, Inquired of all her fortunes—just Her children's ages and their names, 155 And what may be the husband's aims For each of them. I'd talk this out, And sit there, for an hour about, Then kiss her hand once more, and lay Mine on her head, and go my way. 160

So much for idle wishing—how It steals the time! To business now.

—Robert Browning (By permission)

PREPARATORY.—What is the historical back-ground of this poem? Suggest the possible details of the exiled patriot's life in England, his surroundings and frame of mind at the moment of speaking.

Reconstruct for yourself the three scenes of which the peasant woman is the centre.

What qualities did the Italian at once recognize in the peasant woman which led him to intrust his safety to her?

79. WHENCE COMES PEACE? In what Quality of voice is this read? Give your reason. (Introduction, p. 34.)

95. HE COULD DO MUCH. How is the doubt in this speech and in the one following indicated by the Inflection? (Introduction, p. 18.)

111-112. With what is THOUGHT CONCERNING connected? How?

120-123. I KNOW AT LEAST ... HANDS. What Quality of voice expresses the feeling here? What succeeding lines have the same Quality? (Introduction, p. 35.) With what is NEXT connected? How?

139-142. FREEDOM GROWS LICENSE ... ENDURE. How is the irony of these lines indicated? (Introduction, pp. 21 and 30.)

How does the mood of the last two lines differ from the preceding? What is the difference in vocal expression?

* * * * *

ADVANTAGES OF IMPERIAL FEDERATION

From an address delivered in Toronto, January 30th, 1891, under the auspices of the Imperial Federation League

I now go on to mention another and greater advantage of Imperial Federation than the one which we have just been considering; an advantage too that is so connected with that of improved trade that the two must be considered together. In fact, in my opinion, the first is not likely to be obtained without the second. We cannot expect Britain to concede preferential trade to us, on the ground that we are part of the Empire, unless we are willing to share the responsibilities of the Empire. I say then, secondly, that only by some form of Imperial Federation can the independence of Canada be preserved, with due regard to self-respect.

If this is true, if Imperial Federation can do this, and if it can be done in no other way, then the necessity for Imperial Federation is proved; for national independence is an advantage so great that no price can be named that is too great to give in payment. It is the same with a country as with a man. Independent he must be, or he ceases to be a man. Burns advises his young friend to "gather gear" in every honourable way, and what for?

Not for to hoard it in a dyke, Not for a train attendant; But for the glorious privilege Of being independent.

And that which is the supreme dignity of manhood is even more essential in the case of a nation.

What do we mean when we speak of the independence of the country? We mean something beyond price, something that is the indispensable condition of true manhood in any country, something without which a country is poor in the present and a butt for the world's scorn in the future. There are men, or things that look like men, who say that as long as we put money in our purse, nothing else counts. How that class of men must have laughed some centuries ago at a fool called William Wallace! How clearly they could point out that it was much better to be part of the richer country to the south. When they heard of the fate of the patriot, did they not serenely say: "We told you so?" Did they not in their hearts envy the false Menteath the price he got for betraying the man who acted as true sentiment bade? But, give it time, and the judgment of the world is just. Even the blind can now see whether the patriot or the so-called "practical man" did most for Scotland's advantage. Now

At Wallace' name, what Scottish blood But boils up in a springtime flood! Oft have our fearless fathers strode By Wallace' side, Still pressing onward, red-wat shod, Or glorious died.

What has his memory been worth to Scotland! Would you estimate it in millions? Superior persons will tell me that Wallace is an anachronism. In form, yes; in spirit, never. It may be said that in the end Scotland did unite with England. Yes, but first, what a curse the union would have been if unaccompanied, as in the case of Ireland, with national self-respect! And, secondly, Canada is ready for union with the States any day on the same terms as those which Scotland got: (1) That the States accept our Queen or King as their head. (2) That we keep our own civil and criminal law and parliamentary constitution, as Scotland did. (3) That the whole Empire be included in the arrangement, as the whole of Scotland was in the union. Surely the men who are never tired of citing the case of Scotland and England as parallel to ours must admit that this is fair.

But, here comes a question that must be faced. Is it worth while preserving the independence, the unity, and dignity of Canada? There are men who, for one reason or another, doubt whether it is. They have lost faith in the country, or rather they never had any faith to lose. It is this absence of faith that is at the bottom of all their arguments and all their unrest. Now, I do not wonder that there should be men who do not share our faith. Men who were brought up in England, and who have seen and tasted the best of it; who are proud of that "dear, dear land", as Shakespeare called it, proud of its history, its roll of saints, statesmen, heroes; of its cathedrals, colleges, castles; of its present might as well as its ancient renown; and who have then come to live in Canada,—well, they naturally look with amused contempt at our raw, rough ways, our homespun legislators and log colleges, combined with lofty ambitions expressed sometimes—it must be admitted—in bunkum. I do not wonder, either, that men who have been citizens of the United States, who exult in its vast population, its vast wealth, and its boundless energy, should think it madness on our part that we are not knocking untiringly at their door for admission, and that the only explanation of our attitude that they can give is that we are "swelled heads", or "the rank and file of jingoism." But, after all, they must know that this question is not to be settled by them. It must be settled by genuine Canadians. We, like Cartier, are Canadians avant tout. Most of us have been born in the land, have buried our fathers and mothers, and some of us our children, too, in the natal soil, and above the sacred dust we have pledged ourselves to be true to their memories and to the country they loved, and to those principles of honour that are eternal! God helping, we will do so, whether strangers help or hinder! We do not think so meanly of our country that we are willing to sell it for a mess of pottage. I know Canada well, from ocean to ocean; from the rich sea pastures on the Atlantic all the way across to Vancouver and Victoria. Every province and every territory of it, I know well. I know the people, too, a people thoroughly democratic and honest to the core. I would now plainly warn those who think that there is no such thing as Canadian sentiment that they are completely mistaken. They had better not reckon without their host. The silent vote is that which tells, and though it will not talk, it will vote solid all the time for those who represent national sentiment when the national life is threatened. I am not a party man. In my day, I have voted about evenly on both sides, for when I do vote, it is after consideration of the actual issues involved at the time. Both sides therefore rightly consider me unreliable, but, perhaps, both will listen when I point out that the independent vote is increasing, and that it is the only vote worth cultivating. The true Grit or Tory will vote with his party, right or wrong. No time, therefore, need be given to him. Let the wise candidate win the men who believe that the country is higher than party, and there is, I think, only one thing that these men will not forgive—lack of faith in the country. They have no doubt that it is worth while to preserve the unity, dignity, and independence of Canada.

We are quite sure of this. Are we as sure that it is our duty to pay the price? The United States are paying three or four times our whole revenue in pensions to those who fought to keep the country united. They do not grudge this enormous price. They have besides a respectable army, and a fleet that will soon be formidable. What means do we find it necessary to use? In any trouble we simply call on the Mother Country. The present system is cheap. No! it is dear and nasty, and cannot last.

What should we do? First, let us remember what Britain has dared for us within the last two or three years. Britain would fight the rest of the world rather than the United States,—not because the Republic could hurt her seriously, not because her trade with it is five times as much as with us, but because she is proud of her own eldest child and knows that a war between mother and daughter would be a blow struck at the world's heart. Yet, for us she spoke the decisive word from which there was no drawing back. For us, once and again, because we were in the right, she dared a risk which she hated with her whole soul.

Let us show that we appreciate her attitude. Let us, at any rate, do what Australia has done—enter into a treaty, according to which we shall pay so much a year for a certain number of ships, to be on our own coasts in peace, and in war at the disposal of the Empire. That would be tantamount to saying: "You have shared our risks, we will share yours; we will pay part of the insurance that is necessary to guarantee peace; we are educating officers for the army, and we are willing to give a much needed addition to the fleet". That would be a first step toward the attainment of full citizenship. What would be the next? We could ask that our voice should be heard in some constitutional way before any war was decided on. And we would have the right standing ground from which to urge a wise system of preferential trade in the common interest. These three things are, in my opinion, connected, and I have ventured to indicate the order in which they should be taken.

Would it pay? The experience of the world proves that nothing pays in the long run but duty-doing. How can a country grow great men if it is content to be in leading-strings, and to give plausible excuses to show that that state of things is quite satisfactory?

Only by some form of Imperial Federation can the unity of the Empire be preserved.

The previous advantages to which I referred concerned Canada directly. This one may appear, to some persons, far away from us, but it is not. In another speech I may enlarge on this advantage, but suffice it to say now, that we cannot isolate ourselves from humanity. Canada ought to be dearer to us than any other part of the Empire, but none the less we must admit that the Empire is more important to the world than any of its parts, and every true man is a citizen of the world.

I will not speak to-night of what the Empire has done for us in the past, of the rich inheritance into which we have entered, and of the shame that falls on children who value lightly the honour of their family and race. Consider only the present position of affairs. The European nations are busy watching each other. Britain is detaching herself from them, understanding that she is an oceanic, colonizing, and world power, much more than a European state. The United States and Britain are the two Powers, one in essence, cradled in freedom, that have a great future before them. According to the last census, the first has a population of some fifty-four millions of whites. The census of next April will show that the other has nearly forty millions in the home islands and ten millions in the self-governing Colonies. The two Powers have thus about the same population of white men, and the two are likely to grow at the same rate.

In Britain the rate of increase will be less, but in the Colonies it will be greater than in the States during the next half century. The States will keep united. They have stamped out disunion. We have to prove that we intend to keep the Empire united; but that can be done only by giving the ten millions a gradually increasing share in common privileges and responsibilities. Surely such a work is not beyond the resources of statesmanship. For a long time decentralization was needed. Now, all the signs of the times indicate the necessity to centralize. The days of small powers are over, and modern inventions make communication easy between east and west, as well as between north and south.

If this is not done, what will certainly happen? Separation, first of one part then of another; weakness of each part and weakness all round. Think of the impetus that this would give to every force that makes for chaos among the three hundred millions over whom God in His providence has placed us. The work that the British Empire has in hand is far grander than the comparatively parochial duties with which the States are content to deal. Its problems are wider and more inspiring; yet, at the same time, the white race that alone, so far, has proved itself fit for self-government, lives by itself, instead of being commingled with a coloured race to which only nominal freedom is allowed. Any one who has lived either in South Africa or in the Southern States will understand what a free hand and what an unspeakable leverage this gives us. We need no Force Bill to ensure a free ballot in Britain, Canada, Australia, or New Zealand. Already our sons are taking their part in introducing civilization into Africa, under the aegis of the flag, and in preserving the Pax Britannica among the teeming millions of India and southeastern Asia, those peoples kindred to ourselves, who for centuries before had been the prey of successive spoilers. Think of the horizon that this opens up, and remember that in building a state we must think not of the present but of the future.

In a generation all the best land on this continent will have been taken up. But, thanks to the far-reaching wisdom of our fathers, the greater part of the world will be open to the trade, to the colonizing, and to the enterprise of our children. We shall not be confined to a frozen north or to a single continent. We shall take part in work that is of world-wide significance, and shall act out our belief that God loves not North America only, but the whole world. Only on conditions of the British Empire standing, can this be done. This is the ideal that we should set before us, and remember that no people has ever been a great or permanent factor in the world that was without high ideals. I know that this advantage to which I am referring is not one that can be calculated in dollars, any more than the work of a Wallace or the poems of a Shakespeare, the life of Sydney or the death of Gordon; but it is an advantage none the less for which many of us are content to struggle and, if need be, to suffer. What are we in this world for? Surely for something higher than to still the daily craving of appetite. Surely for something higher than to accumulate money, though it should be to the extent of adding million to million. Surely we are in the world for something better! Yes, we are here to think great thoughts, to do great things, to promote great ideals. This can be done only through faithfulness to the best spirit of our fathers. Society is an organism, and must preserve its continuity. It must work, too, through instruments; and the most potent, keenest, best-tried instrument on earth for preserving peace, order, liberty and righteousness, is the Empire of which we are citizens. Shall we throw away that citizenship, or shall we maintain and strengthen that Empire?

—George Monro Grant (By permission)

Apply the principles of Emphasis, Inflection, Grouping, and Perspective in reading this address. Give specific illustrations of each.

* * * * *

COLLECT FOR DOMINION DAY

Father of nations! Help of the feeble hand! Strength of the strong! to whom the nations kneel! Stay and destroyer, at whose just command Earth's kingdoms tremble and her empires reel! Who dost the low uplift, the small make great, 5 And dost abase the ignorantly proud, Of our scant people mould a mighty state, To the strong, stern,—to Thee in meekness bowed! Father of unity, make this people one! Weld, interfuse them in the patriot's flame,— 10 Whose forging on Thine anvil was begun In blood late shed to purge the common shame; That so our hearts, the fever of faction done, Banish old feud in our young nation's name.

—Charles G. D. Roberts (By arrangement)

* * * * *

ENGLAND

This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress, built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea.

* * * * *



APPENDIX

A

EXERCISES IN VOWEL SOUNDS AND IN ARTICULATION

1. ā as in ate, fate, cave, made, glade, pale.

a as in air, fair, chair, hair, lair, pair, care, dare, bare, share, bear, fairy, compare, parent, prayer, garish, there, heir.

ă as in at, that, and, damp, glad, bade, castle, baron, barrel.

ae as in far, arm, hark, charm, march, bard, calm, palm, psalm, balm, half, alms, father, dark, wrath, path, marsh, laugh.

ȧ as in ask, grasp, fast, last, pass, past, branch, chance, dance, mast, vast, gasp, quaff, craft, staff, chant, grass, mass.

a as in all, talk, squall, dawn, warp, hawk, laurel, haughty, halt.

a obscure, in final medial syllables, unaccented, and closed by n, l, nt, nce, nd, s, ss, st, p or ph or ff, m, or d, as in sylvan, vacancy, mortal, loyal, valiant, guidance, husband, breakfast, gallant, ballad, etc.

ē as in me, seem, reap, weed, lean, evil, redeem.

ĕ as in met, end, spell, debt, text, jest, when, merry, America, ceremony.

ẽ (coalescent) as in her, fern, earth, mercy, verse, stern, earl, pearl, term, verge, prefer, serge, earn, early.

ī as in time, tide, mile, wine, high, size.

ĭ as in pin, grim, king, gift, this, grip.

ī (coalescent) as in bird, girl, fir, stir, girdle, circle, virgin, first.

ō as in note, old, spoke, pole, wrote, joke.

ŏ as in not, shot, top, odd, honest, comic, on, gone, off, often, dog, (not "dawg"), God, soft, long, song, strong, coral, orange, foreign, torrid, coronet, corridor, correlate.

o as in corn, lord, stork, orb, form, forlorn, morn, short, adorn.

o as in word, work, worm, worry.

ȯ as in love, done, some, cover, brother, another, month, company, Monday, front, covet, wonder, sponge, smother.

oe as in do, move, who, whose, lose, prove, too, bosom.

ū as in use, pure, duke, tune, tube, blue, duty, flew, new, student, subdue, pursue, absolute, illumine, tumult, suit, during, pursuit, presume, lunacy, Tuesday, numeral.