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 /
 
 DELSARTE 
 
 RECITATION BOOK 
 
 COMPILED AND ARRANGED BY 
 
 ELSIE M. WILBOR 
 
 /^^3Z 
 
 ' # 
 
 ifourtb BMtion. Enlaroe? In Zcit an? In Ifllnstratlons 
 
 nuV /^l;/ 
 
 EDGAR S. WERNER & COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 Copyright, 1889, 1893, 1905, by Edgar S. Werner 
 A/i Rights Reserved
 
 NOTICE. 
 
 The material in this book is either original, 
 
 specially adapted, or used by special permission of 
 
 author or publisher ; is.fullyprotecte^dbiy: copyright, 
 
 -\ah^' ■ i;s ; 6r tbcltatfolaal.* piirpo'se^ **rfly*! '• '.^o repro- 
 
 , duction of it piither -io** print '©f. in« wrid'pp; will be 
 
 'pernnti'tted/ •' Teich^re*' wishirrg* tfeir'^piipils to use 
 
 this book may get it at a reduction in quantities.
 
 c<!9 b . I 
 
 I ■ 
 
 io 
 
 o 
 
 ro 
 
 cr> 
 
 o 
 
 ■~-o 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 A ' Aboot -It. William Lyle 197 
 
 Absolution. E. Nesbit 72 
 
 Anne Hatliaway If^O 
 
 At the Sipn of the Cleft Heart. Theodof^ia Garrison 432 
 
 At the Tunnel's Mouth. Fred Lystcr 12 
 
 Auctioning off the Baby 117 
 
 Au Revoir. Austin Dohson 310 
 
 Baby's First Tooth 268 
 
 B. B. Romance. Edgar Fawceit. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 246 
 
 Bell of Innisfare 96 
 
 Beryl's Happy Tliought. Blanche Willis Howard 446 
 
 Biographical Sketch of Francois Delsarte. Steele MacKnye. ... xi 
 
 Bird Among the Blooms. Marion Short 359 
 
 Boy's Bear Story. James Whilcoml) Riley 455 
 
 Boy's Conclu-sion 195 
 
 Bread. A favorite recitation of Delsarte's. Translated by 
 
 Elsie M. Wilbor. Analysis by Geyievieve Stebbins 214 
 
 Brita's Wedding. Rev. W. W. Marsh 303 
 
 Candor. H. C. Bunner 194 
 
 Civil War. Translated by Lucy H. Hooper 265 
 
 Cobra. Miller Hageman. Illustrated. . 129 
 
 Conversational 153 
 
 Coquette Conquered. Paul Laurence Dunbar 254 
 
 Count Gismond. Robert Browning 157 
 
 Death of Crailey Gray. Booth Tarkington 414 
 
 De Cushville Hop. Ben King 413 
 
 Desolation. Tom Masson 325 
 
 Discussion 150 
 
 iii
 
 iv CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Doll Drill. Adelaide Norris. Music arranged by O. E. 
 
 McFadon 91 
 
 Dorothy's Mustn'ts. Ella Wheeler Wilcox 379 
 
 Drops. Peter Robertson 240 
 
 Dutch Lullaby. Eugene Field 10 
 
 Even This Shall Pass Away 165 
 
 Ever so Far Away. Von Boyle 219 
 
 Faith and Works. William H. Montgomery 136 
 
 First Banjo 21 
 
 Gallant French Serpent and Eve 460 
 
 Going of the White Swan. Gilbert Parker 397 
 
 Government Spy. W. W. Story. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 24 
 Grandfather Watts's Private Fourth. H. C. Bunner. ........ . 120 
 
 Haunted by a Song. With music 113 
 
 Her Answer 9 
 
 Her Lovers 68 
 
 Hints for Statue-Poses. Elsie M. Wilbor 462 
 
 His New Brother. Joe Lincoln 459 
 
 How Burlington was Saved. C. Mair 137 
 
 How Deacon Tubman and Parson Witney Kept New Year's. 
 
 W. H. H. Murray 386 
 
 Hundred Louis d'Or. A favorite recitation of Delsarte's. 
 
 Translated by Mrs. S. H. Dow. Analysis by Genevieve 
 
 Stebbins 1 
 
 In Bohemia. John Boyle O'Reilly 377 
 
 Incident of the Johnstown Flood. Monnie Moore 49 
 
 Jack Hall's Boat-Race. Robert Grant. Arranged by Elsie M. 
 
 Wilbor 181 
 
 Jimmy Brown's Dog. William L. Alden. Arranged by Elsie 
 
 M. Wilbor 275 
 
 John Spicer on Clothes. Mrs. Abby Morton Diaz. Arranged 
 
 by Elsie M. Wilbor 285 
 
 Joker's Mistake. Pantomime. Lemuel B. C. Josephs 41 
 
 Jovita; or, The Christmas Gift. Bret Harte. Arranged by 
 
 Elsie M. Wilbor 168 
 
 Kitchen Clock. John Vance Cheney. Illustrated. , 260 
 
 Ladies of Athens. Greek Play. Mrs. M. A. Lipscomb 78 
 
 Little White Beggars. Helen W. Ludlow. . 118 
 
 Lord Clive. Robert Broivning. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 
 
 Analysis by F. Townsend Southwick 198 
 
 Lost 31
 
 CONTENTS. V 
 
 PAfiE 
 
 Low- Backed Car. Samriel Lover. AVidi miisir 153 
 
 Mammy's Li'l' Boy. //. S. Edwards 262 
 
 Marriage of the Flowers. S. H. M. Byers 187 
 
 Mary Jane and I. Annie Rothwell 237 
 
 Massacre of Zoroaster. F. Marion Crawford. Arranged by 
 
 Ehie M. Wilbor. Music by Silas G. Pratt 225 
 
 Masque of the New Year. Arranged by Ehie M. Wilbor. . . . 444 
 
 Marseillaise of the Greeks. Constantine Rhigas 444 
 
 Men's Wicked Ways 358 
 
 Mickey Free's Letter to Mrs. M'Gra. Charles Lever. Arranged 
 
 by John A. MacCabc 244 
 
 Minister's Housekeeper. Mrs. 11. B. Stowe. Arranged by 
 
 Elsie M. Wilbor 101 
 
 Minuet. Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge. With music 33 
 
 Modem Version of the "Merchant of Venice." Joseph Barber. 122 
 
 Molly. Anita M. Kellogg 15 
 
 Moriah's Mo'nin'. Ruth McEnery Stuart . 440 
 
 Mr. Travers's First Hunt. Richard Harding Davis 428 
 
 Named by Proxy. Henry Wallace Phillips 405 
 
 News of the Day 212 
 
 Oh, Sir! Translated l)y .Mfred Ayres 4 
 
 Old Church. //. //. Johnson 191 
 
 or Pickett's Nell. Mather D. Kimball 272 
 
 Opal Ring. Gottlieb Lessitig. Arranged by Sara S. Rice. ... 18 
 
 Perdita. Mrs. W. R. Jones 53 
 
 Pet and Bijou. Helen Mar Bean 251 
 
 Piano Music 1 27 
 
 Playing School. Lida P. Caskin 40 
 
 Proposal. Margaret Vandcgrijt 107 
 
 Revolt of Mother. Mary E. Wilkins. Arranged by Eva 
 
 Coscarden 317 
 
 Romance of a Year. Mrs. John Sherwood. With music 280 
 
 Romaunt of the Page, ^[rs. Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor 140 
 
 Schoolma'am's Courting. Florence E. Pratt 176 
 
 Servant Question. Stanley Schcll 372 
 
 Shadow of a Song. Campbell Rae Brown 287 
 
 .Silent Army of Memorial Day. Julia Clinton Jones 333 
 
 Sisterly Scheme. H. C. Banner. Arranged by Eliza A. 
 
 McGill .360 
 
 Snow-Flakcs and Snow-Drifts. Mrs. Martha T. Gale 38
 
 vi CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Spanish Gypsy. George Eliot '. 327 
 
 Star-Spangled Banner. Jessie F. O'Dotmcll 299 
 
 Stanzas to Eternity. A favorite recitation of Delsarte's. 
 
 Translated by Elsie M. Wilbor. Illustrated 70 
 
 Stately Minuet. Hezekiah Butterworth. With music 292 
 
 Story of Guggle. Thomas Speed 338 
 
 Sue and Me. David Belasco 148 
 
 Sword Drill, "Charge of the Light Brigade." Anna B. Webb. 
 
 Illustrated 255 
 
 Ten Robber Toes. Lillie E. Barr 67 
 
 Thanksgiving Elopement. N. S. Emerson 231 
 
 Thanksgivin' Pumpkin Pies. Margaret E. Songster 270 
 
 Their Mother ." 309 
 
 Tomb in Ghent. Adelaide Anne Procter 346 
 
 Tragedy of Sedan. Anna Katherine Green Rohlfs 108 
 
 Trumpeter's Betrothed. Translated by Liicy i/. i/ooper 162 
 
 T'ward Arcadie. Egan Mew 314 
 
 Virginian's Final Victory. Owen Wister 418 
 
 Voices of the Wildwood. Mrs. Ella Sterling Cummins. With 
 
 music 64 
 
 Volunteer Organist. S. W . Foss 241 
 
 Way to Arcady. H. C. Bunner 369 
 
 Wedding-Gown. Etta W. Pierce 353 
 
 What Ailed the Pudding. Josephine Pollard 29 
 
 What Was It? Sidney Dai/re 357 
 
 What William Henry Did. J. L. Harbour 380 
 
 When Angry, Count a Hundred. E. Cavazza 391 
 
 Why my Father Left the Army. Charles Lever. Arranged 
 
 by John A . MacCabe 58 
 
 Widow's Revenge. Frank R. Stockton 422 
 
 Wife's Lament. Will H. Cadmus 178 
 
 Wish-bone. Leon Mead 302
 
 '! 
 
 INDEX TO AUTHORS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Alden, William L 275 
 
 Ayres, Alfred 4 
 
 Barber, Joseph 122 
 
 Barr, Lillie E 67 
 
 Bean, Helen Mar 251 
 
 Belasco, David 148 
 
 Browning, Mrs. Elizabeth Barrett 140 
 
 Browning, Robert 157, 198 
 
 Bunner, H. C 120, 194, 360, 369 
 
 Butterworth, Hezekiah 292 
 
 Byers, S. H. M 187 
 
 Cadmus, Will H 178 
 
 Caskin, Lida P 40 
 
 Cavazza, E 391 
 
 Cheney, John Vance 260 
 
 CoscARDEN, Eva 317 
 
 Crawford, F. Marion 225 
 
 Cummins, Mrs. Ella Sterling 64 
 
 Davis, Richard Harding 428 
 
 Dayre, Sidney 357 
 
 Diaz, Mrs. Abby Morton 285 
 
 DoBSON, Austin 310 
 
 Dodge, Mrs. Mary Mapes 33 
 
 Dow, Mrs. S. H 1 
 
 Dunbar, Paul Laurence 254 
 
 Edwards, H. S 262 
 
 Eliot, George 327 
 
 Emerson, N. S 231 
 
 Fawcett, Edgar 246 
 
 vii
 
 viii INDEX TO AUTHORS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Field, Eugene 10 
 
 Foss, S. W 241 
 
 Gale, Mrs. Martha T 38 
 
 Garrison, Theodosia 432 
 
 Gale, Mrs. Martha T 38 
 
 Grant, Robert 181 
 
 Hageman, Miller 129 
 
 Harte, Bret 168 
 
 Harbour, J. L 380 
 
 Hooper, Mrs. Lucy H 162, 265 
 
 Howard, Blanche Willis 446 
 
 Johnson, H. H 191 
 
 Jones, Julia Clinton 333 
 
 Jones, Mrs. W. R 53 
 
 Josephs, Lemuel B. C 41 
 
 Kellogg, Anita M 15 
 
 Kimball, Mather D 272 
 
 King, Ben 413 
 
 Lessing, Gottlieb 18 
 
 Lever, Charles 58, 244 
 
 Lincoln, Joe 459 
 
 Lipscomb, Mrs. M. A 78 
 
 Lover, Samuel 153 
 
 Ludlow, Helen W 118 
 
 Lyle, William 197 
 
 Lyster, Fred 12 
 
 MacCabe, John A 58, 244 
 
 McFadon, O. E 94, 95 
 
 McGiLL, Eliza A 137 
 
 MacKaye, Steele xi 
 
 Mair, C 360 
 
 Marsh, Rev. AV. W 303 
 
 Masson, Tom 325 
 
 Mead, Leon 302 
 
 Mew, Egan 314 
 
 Montgomery, William H 136 
 
 Moore, Monnie 49 
 
 Murray, W. H. H 386 
 
 Nesbit, E 72 
 
 NoRRis, Adelaide 91 
 
 O'DoNNELL, Jessie F 299
 
 INDEX TO AUTHORS. ix 
 
 O'Reilly, John Boyle 377 
 
 Parker, Gilbert 397 
 
 Phillips, Henry Wallace 405 
 
 Pierce, Etta W 353 
 
 Pollard, Josephine 29 
 
 Pratt, Florence E 176 
 
 Pratt, Silas G 229 
 
 Procter, Adelaide Anne 346 
 
 Rae-Brown, Campbell 287 
 
 Rhigas, Constantine 444 
 
 Rice, Sara Sigourney 18 
 
 Riley, James Whitcomb 455 
 
 Robertson, Peter 240 
 
 Rohlfs, Anna Katherine Green 108 
 
 RoTHWELL, Annie 237 
 
 Russell, Irwin 21 
 
 Sangster, Mrs. Margaret E 270 
 
 Schell, Stanley 372 
 
 Sherwood, Mrs. John 280 
 
 Short, Marion 359 
 
 SouTiiwicK, F. Townsend 205 
 
 Speed, Thomas 338 
 
 Stebbins, Genevieve 3, 217 
 
 Stockton, Frank R 422 
 
 Story, W. W 24 
 
 Stowe, Mrs. H. B 101 
 
 Stuart, Ruth McEnery 440 
 
 Tarkington, Booth 414 
 
 Vandegrift, Margaret 167 
 
 Von Boyle 219 
 
 Webb, Anna B 255 
 
 Wilbor, Elsie M 24, 44, 70, 101, 140, 168, 181, 198, 214, 
 
 225, 246, 275, 285, 302 
 
 Wilcox, Ella Wheeler 379 
 
 Wilkins, Mary E 317 
 
 Wister, Owen 418
 
 INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS FOR 
 TABLEAUX AND STATUE POSING. 
 
 Achilles Robbed of Briseis, 73. 
 "Again I caught my father's 
 
 voice," 377. ^ < 
 
 Amazon, 40. 
 Ariadne, 393. 
 
 At the Shrine of Venus, 73. 
 Atalanta's Race, 41. 
 Cain, 248. 
 Ceres, 41. 
 Clemency of an African King, 
 
 365. 
 Cupid Bending Bow, 40. 
 Dance of Apollo and Muses, 41. 
 Dancing Faun, 348. 
 Diana Beholding the Sleeping 
 
 Endymion, 40. 
 Diana of Versailles, 40. 
 Discobolus, 41. 
 Eve of Saint Agnes, 376. 
 Fates, The, 41. 
 
 Faun Playing the Scabellum, 40. 
 Faust, 121. 
 
 Fear (group picture), 441. 
 "Flag your ancestors and mine 
 
 fought and died for a hundred 
 
 years ago," 120. 
 Fortuna, 137. 
 France Protecting her Alsatian 
 
 Soldier, 328. 
 Ganymede, 40. 
 Giole Duelists, 40. 
 Gladiator, 41. 
 Grief (group picture), 329. 
 "lie comes! whither shall I 
 
 go," 364. 
 
 Hebe, 248. 
 
 Isis, 136. 
 
 H/I will speak out, for I dare 
 
 not lie," 456. 
 Jewel scene in "Faust," 56. 
 Melpomene, 41. 
 Mephistojiheles, 185. 
 "Mother, come back from the 
 
 echoless shore," 35. 
 "Nameless longing filled her 
 
 breast," 313. 
 Niobe, 348. 
 
 Niobe Daughters, 348. 
 "O Thou, Who changest not, 
 
 abide with me," 440. 
 Pleiades, 848. 
 "Powder-box, I'll take a little 
 
 look within," 301. 
 Praying Hands, 57. 
 Pudicitia, 41. 
 
 Response to Call of IVIercy, 392. 
 Saint Cecilia, 457. 
 "So I think after that, I may 
 
 spake to the priast," 313. 
 Sword Drill, 249. 
 Terpsicliore, 40. 
 Three Graces, 40. 
 "Wake! for the sun drives 
 
 night along from heaven," 24. 
 "Where are you going, my 
 
 pretty maid?", 184. 
 "Wraps the drapery of his 
 
 couch about him, and lies 
 
 down to pleasant dreams," 
 
 200.
 
 FRANCOIS DELSARTE. 
 
 ./ i^ ^ 3 Z 
 
 "I N 1811, in Solesmes, France, was born a child vvha 
 was destined to achieve the greatest triumphs in 
 art. to contribute the deepest knowledge to science, 
 and to command tlie most marvelous homage in so- 
 ciety. Tliis child was christened Frangois Delsarte. 
 When Delsarte was but six years of age his father died 
 a bankrupt. His mother took him and his brother to 
 Paris, hoping to earn there a livelihood. But disap- 
 pointment, toil, poverty, and despair soon achieved 
 their cruel work. The mother died suddenly, leaving 
 her boys friendless waifs, to drift at the mercy of the 
 fearful flood of Parisian life. 
 
 This was not the last blow that death was to deal to 
 the tender heart of this desolate child. The winter of 
 182 1 was unusually severe in Paris. One night, in a 
 deserted loft, two little boys entwined in each other's 
 arms lay fast asleep. The sleep of one of them was 
 eternal ; and when morning broke, Francois Delsarte 
 was hugging. to his heart the starved and frozen body 
 of his brother. 
 
 Returning from the grave that December day, Del- 
 sarte experienced what might be called an inspiration. 
 Passing alone across the plains of Pere la Cliaise, cold, 
 weariness, hunger, and grief overcame him, and he fell 
 
 xi
 
 xii FRANgOIS DELSARTE. 
 
 fainting in the snow [see page 71]. Reviving from the 
 fit, his senses were suddenly entranced by a vision. Ex- 
 quisite forms and colors floated before his eyes; a won- 
 drousecstasy filled his mind ; celestial music cried intohis 
 ears and flooded his soul with harmonies which he after- 
 ward said haunted him through life. There, prostrate on 
 the earth, alone, helpless, and half dead, deserted by men, 
 — thus did divine love seem to draw near to this rare 
 soul ; heaven seemed to open before him, and its voices 
 revived the artist-being in his shrunken frame. The 
 mystic experience of that strange hour penetrated the 
 inmost recesses of his soul, to fill him with a frantic but 
 a divine passion for beauty and harmony of expression. 
 
 When the boy awoke from that entrancing vision to 
 the diabolic realities of the world, he beheld bending 
 above him the grotesque figure of a chiffonier, who, in 
 seeking rags, had found a treasure among men, whose 
 value to the world the poor wretch little suspected. 
 This rag-picker, touched by the forlorn condition of the 
 dying child, lifted his limp body from the rubbish, 
 threw him in among the rags in his basket, and carried 
 him to his den. Thus Delsarte, afterward publicly 
 crowned by a monarch's hand, and called " the king of 
 art," began his public career as a Parisian rag-picker! 
 
 Two years passed, during which the little chiffonier 
 wandered through the streets in search of rags and 
 music. He gathered more songs than rags, however, 
 and was lured away from the most promising pile of 
 rubbish by every band of strolling minstrels. 
 
 One summer afternoon in 1823 the band of the Na- 
 tional Guard was discoursing airs in the garden of the 
 Tuileries, and a poor, ragged boy sat on the ground 
 near by, making strange signs in the sand. An eccen- 
 tric old man, impressed by the youthful face, and puz- 
 zled by the odd actions of the little beggar, watched
 
 FRAN go IS DELSARTE. xiii 
 
 him [see page ]. When the band ceased playing the 
 old man spoke : 
 
 "What are you doing there?" The boy drew back 
 abashed and frightened. "Do not fear, my child," said 
 the stranger, " I mean you no harm. Tell me the 
 meaning of these signs in the sand. What have you 
 been writing here ?" 
 
 " Music," said the boy. 
 
 " Music ? What do you mean by that, child ?" 
 
 " I mean, monsieur, that I have written here the 
 music of the soldiers." 
 
 " Oh, you call these musical signs !" said the old man 
 with an incredulous smile. 
 
 "Yes, monsieur, they are signs of the song the band 
 has just been playing." 
 
 The old man looked sharply at the sand and said: " I 
 am a musician, yet I cannot read these signs. Can 
 you read them ?" 
 
 " Oh, easily, indeed !" 
 
 He began to suspect the sanity of the boy. " Let me 
 hear you read them." 
 
 The poor child, touched by this unexpected interest, 
 sang, with childlike simplicity and naivete, the melodies 
 he had written in the sand, pointing out, as he did so, 
 the queer, original signs denoting tlie musical sounds. 
 
 "Who taught you these extraordinary signs ?" asked 
 the old man in amazement. 
 
 " No one." 
 
 " How did you learn them ?" 
 
 " Oh, monsieur, I dared to imagine them myself." 
 
 The undeveloped genius of this child, not yet twelve 
 ^l^^^s of age, had responded to his burning passion for 
 music, enabling him to devise an entirely new, though 
 rough and imperfect, metliod of musical notation. 
 
 Thanks to his genius, his prospects in life were sud-
 
 xiv FRANgOIS DELS A RTF. 
 
 denly changed ; and the boy who had entered the park 
 a forlorn rag-picker, left it to become the adopted son 
 of one of the most benevolent and remarkable musical 
 men of that day, Pere Bambini. In less than two years 
 Delsarte was admitted to the Conservatoire. At eigh- 
 teen he had a leading position upon the operatic boards 
 of Paris. When he was twenty-one he had made quite 
 a fortune, and had married the daughter of the di- 
 rector of the Grand Opera House. 
 
 When Delsarte had been a year at the Conservatoire, 
 Pere Bambini died. He was left in great poverty, and 
 was obliged to go through the streets in a costume 
 which ranked him among the lower classes. He was 
 determined to get upon the stage. He had studied the 
 leading roles in opera, and persistently applied at the 
 Grand Opera House for an opportunity to be heard. 
 His persistence became a nuisance to the ogre in charge 
 of the stage-door. He reported it to the director of the 
 opera, who said: " Leave the fellow to me. I will teach 
 him a lesson. The next time he applies show him to 
 my room." The next time happened to be during the 
 performance of an opera. He was shown to the direc- 
 tor, a very stern, business-like man, who hated what he 
 called artistic tramps, and regarded Delsarte as one of 
 them. He saw the pitiable condition in which the man 
 was clothed. He said : " What do you want ?" 
 
 " I want an opportunity to be heard. I seek a posi- 
 tion, and I should be glad to take any position which 
 your estimate of my merits may think proper." 
 
 "Oh, you wish to be heard? All right. Are you 
 ready to be heard now, at once ?" 
 
 '' Certainly, monsieur, at any time. I shall be only 
 too glad and too grateful to be .heard." 
 
 "Very well, wait here. I will let you know when I 
 am ready." He went below and said to the curtain-
 
 FRAN(;OIS DELS ARTE. xv 
 
 man: "When the curtain drops on the next act run on 
 two flats in front, put on the piano, and let me know 
 when you are ready." 
 
 When this was done he sent for Delsarte, and said : 
 
 " Do you see that piano there, in front of those flats? 
 You wish to be lieard, you say. Have you tlie courage 
 to go on there and show me before this public what 
 you can do ?" 
 
 The director little dreamed of the unconquerable 
 courage in that noble heart, or he never would have 
 dared to propose such a thing to this youth. Delsarte's 
 first impulse was one of indignation. But this was suc- 
 ceeded by a sense of the fact that his future depended 
 upon the grit which he showed at that moment, and 
 turning, he said: "Yes, monsieur. You ask of me 
 something that has never been asked before ; if I can- 
 not succeed with my public I have nothing to ask of 
 you." 
 
 The curtain was rung up, and Delsarte in seedy clothes 
 and with his stockings showing through the holes in his 
 shoes, walked on. At first the people were puzzled, 
 then amused, and saluted him with jeers and laughter. 
 He turned and made a bow to them so princely and 
 noble, that they were obliged to recognize the royalty 
 of his soul. He passed to the piano, ran his fingers 
 over it, and began to sing a song that held them spell- 
 bound. When he had finished, he was greeted with 
 thrilling cheers from every part of the house. He was 
 recalled again and again, and when at last he went be- 
 hind the scenes it was to be greeted by the. director 
 with a contract for three years at looo francs a month. 
 
 After a few years of marvelous success, and when his 
 artistic prospects were extraordinary, he lost his voice 
 entirely for one year. He was obliged to abandon his 
 career upon the stage, and forced to earn his living as a
 
 xvi FRAN(;OIS DELS ARTE. 
 
 private teacher instead of as a public performer. It was 
 this calamity, or what appeared as such at that time", 
 which led Delsarte to bjs.grand and noble career; for it 
 induced him to search after a natural and scientific 
 basis for art, which eventually made him the greatest 
 master of expression. 
 
 Delsarte became convinced that his loss of voice was 
 owing to the pernicious methods of vocal training then 
 in vogue at the Conservatoire. He had discovered by 
 experience there that art was taught empirically and 
 perniciously. He felt that there existed in nature a 
 certain philosophy, a certain net-work of laws, which 
 alone could decide what was right and what was wrong, 
 and he determined to devote his life to the discovery of 
 those laws. 
 
 He did so, and acquired a reputation so great that lie 
 attracted many pupils. Rachel, Duprez, Pere Hyacinth, 
 and many more of the greatest artists of France, serve 
 as the best illustrations of his masterly method. Soon 
 kings and princes, artists and authors, sculptors and 
 singers, came to him. He was called the greatest of 
 orators, and declared the monarch of art: 
 
 " Tkis master possesses a inethod so perfect, a style so pure, 
 
 a passion so profound, that there is none in all art so noble or 
 
 divine." 
 
 STEELE MACK A YE.
 
 Delsarte Recitation Book. 
 
 THE HUNDRED LOUIS D'OR. 
 
 Translated by Mrs. Sabrina H. Dow. 
 
 [Mme. Arnaud, in her charming reminiscences of Delsarte, mentions 
 particularly the reciting of the "Hundred Louis d'Or," by Darcier, one 
 of the most distinguished pupils of the master, and says that it attracted 
 great attention. The selection is a typical French one, even to the odd 
 little anticlimax bringing in the, to the French, all-important dowry of 
 the bride. — Editor.] 
 
 NE evening, under the poplars' shade, 
 
 Along the shore of the river dark. 
 
 Near the mill where dwelt my miller 
 
 maid, 
 
 There strode a tall man, stalwart 
 
 and stark. 
 
 His mustache was gray, his mantle 
 
 blue, 
 
 A queer, round hat half hid his 
 
 face; 
 
 So strange he looked as near he drew — 
 
 'Tis the Devil," I said, "or the Lord, by his grace." 
 
 Then his voice like trumpet of brass rang out 
 
 Through the still air, as he said to me: 
 
 " Follow me to the forest, nor doubt 
 
 A hundred louis I'll give to thee." 
 
 And his wizard eye, with fateful charm, 
 
 Drew me, lielpless ; I could not recede; 
 On, on to the wood, for good or harm, 
 
 I went, nor thought of the promised meed. 
 
 « " 
 
 IVhen the astonishment or the surprise is not intense enough to shake the 
 /riinte, the head, wherein ail the sur/>rise is concentrated, is lifted and ex- 
 alted. — Delsarte.
 
 2 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 He seemed not to run, though swift as deer 
 Was his course, and I, with fright o'ercome 
 
 And fev'rish burning, thought death was near. 
 To restore me, in that brazen tone, 
 
 Icy cold, he shouted once more: 
 
 *' To the depths of the wood but follow on 
 
 And I'll give thee a hundred louis d'or." 
 
 Into the thick of the wood we came; 
 
 The night to Stygian darkness fell. 
 Upward each green tree shot a green flame; 
 
 I knew by the din 'twas the gate to hell. 
 Then suddenly changed, his body bare, 
 
 Stood my sorcerer. "Ho !" I said 
 To myself, as his eyes glittered red^ 
 
 "The Devil, no doubt, for I can tell 
 By his horned front, and tail, as well." 
 
 He showed me then an open book, 
 With empty pages, and bade me look. 
 
 While he asked, his harsh voice somewhat lower, 
 "Would you gain a hundred louis d'or? 
 
 " Then swear by your soul, swear by your life. 
 
 Swear by the Devil and by the Lord, 
 Never to take to your arms a wife, 
 
 Neither from hamlet, nor farm, nor town, 
 Until your fortieth year has flown. 
 
 Let the world see you, day after day. 
 Your soul ne'er held to a single one, 
 
 Flitting from folly to folly alway, 
 Like a gay butterfly under the sun." 
 
 The page turned crimson beneath his claw, 
 While his brassy voice resounded cold: 
 
 Under the influence o/ passion, the i^oice rises luith a brilliancy corre- 
 sponding in proportion to the magnitude of the thing it would express, and 
 becomes lowered to express sniallness or meanness. — Delsakth,
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 "Sign here and a hundred louis d'or 
 I'll give to thee in ringing gold." 
 
 Instead of signing upon the place 
 
 The Devil marked with his bloody grip, , 
 "'Twere better," I thought, "a cross to trace," 
 
 Which I did, a prayer upon my lip. 
 At this, his Majesty fled in smoke; 
 
 And quickly I was transported again 
 To the mill-chamber, and my dear maid, 
 
 Oh, never so dear to me as then. 
 " See here," she said, " I give all to thee — 
 
 My heart, my mill, my treasure-store." 
 Then in copper sous she gave to me, 
 
 In all, a hundred louis d'or ! 
 
 SUGGESTIVE ANALYSIS. 
 Genevieve Stebbins. 
 
 I should advise no one who has not acquired the dy- 
 namic voice — a voice with moving power back of it — to 
 attempt this selection. The strongest use of psychic 
 vision, a vivid imagination, is here necessary; to make 
 an audience see and feel, the reciter himself must first 
 be impressed with the reality of the scene. The con- 
 trast between the mystic voice of the narrator and 
 the brazen resonance of that of the demon must be 
 brought out, but not too abruptly. Horror combined 
 with fascination should be expressed in the voice when 
 the real character of the fiend is revealed; the man is 
 tempted, and the struggle must be shown. The thouglit 
 of the cross suggests the prayer, and the voice should 
 express appeal, and tlien peace and calm. The maiden's 
 voice should be tliat of love and tenderness. 
 
 In the first stanza, the action is outward, the gestures 
 descriptive; the Devil beckons the man to follow. 
 
 i 
 
 Oraterical art is the means of expressing the emotions of the soul by the 
 play of the organs. It is the sum total 0/ rules and laws resulting /"rom the 
 reciprocal action 0/ mind and body. — Delaumosnb, 
 
 4-
 
 4 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 
 
 In the second stanza, the action is that of following, 
 with raised hands, bent knees, and eyes opened wide, as 
 if charmed; the Devil turns his head over his shoulder 
 to shout his temptation. 
 
 In the third stanza, the man sees each horror he de- 
 scribes* and shudders and recoils from it; but at the 
 vision of the fiend revealed, he stands paralyzed with 
 fear, arms thrown up over the head, knees bent and 
 trembling, chest sunken. The Devil's action should 
 be the opposite: bold and commanding, but the face 
 concentrated with hate and the eyes pinched. When the 
 sign of the cross is made, the attitude becomes one of 
 exaltation, and the action and expression should be of 
 calm and love. 
 
 OH, SIR! 
 
 Translated and Adapted by Alfred Ayres. 
 
 A YOUNG girl of sixteen, lithe, fair, and fresh, who 
 has just laid aside her convent gown, and bidden 
 good-by to her convent chums, is now at home and to 
 remain. 
 
 Alone in the drawing-room, the door of which is 
 closed, with an air in which there's something of rev- 
 erie, yet more of vanity, she contemplates the effect of 
 her transformation from school-girl to demoiselle. 
 
 She runs her tap'ring fingers through her curls, con- 
 fines a refractory end of lace, gives a toss to her shapely 
 head, and smiles. With sweet self she is content. 
 
 Suddenly the door is opened. She crimsons to the 
 eyes thus to be surprised, surrounded on three sides 
 as she is by Venetian mirrors. 
 
 "Ah, it's you, mamma!" she cries, and hastens to 
 throw her arms around her mother's neck. These little 
 
 The shoulder, in every man who is agitated or moved, rises in exact propor- 
 tion to the intensity of his emotion. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 5 
 
 ways in daughters are ever pleasing to mammas. This 
 mamma is most indulgent, still young, a widow, and a 
 baroness. 
 
 " Daughter, dear, whence comes this emotion ? You 
 need have no fears I shall reproach you." 
 
 " But, mamma, I have great fears." 
 
 " Fears ? You ? — of what ?" 
 
 "Of everything, mamma, of everything !" 
 
 "Of everything? That's vague." 
 
 "Of the world, mamma. For at the convent they 
 told us of the world so much that's bad. They painted 
 it in such colors that I shudder when I recall them. 
 They haunt me often in my dreams. Yesterday I was 
 but a school-girl; to-day I am a demoiselle. Childlike 
 prattle no longer becomes me; now, all must be studied, 
 dignified, imposing. Why, mamma, I am timid, ill at 
 ease even with my cousin Charles, a simple student. 
 Suppose a young man, a stranger, were to speak to me — 
 what should my answer be ? Should it be always ' Yes ?' " 
 
 " Not for the world, my daughter !" 
 
 " Well, then, I'll answer, ' No ! '" 
 
 "That, too, is seldom prudent." 
 
 "But, mamma — " 
 
 "'No' and 'yes' from maiden lips have oft been 
 known to compromise." 
 
 "What shall I answer, then?" 
 
 "A word that says nothing. ' Oh, sir ! ' for example. 
 Of 'Oh, sir!' can come no harm; and said in fitting 
 tone, ' Oh, sir ! ' does very well. ' Oh, sir ! ' now in this 
 tone, * Oh, sir!' now in that, with a graceful salutation 
 — how many in high places are puzzled to answer 
 more !" 
 
 The theories of Deharte, far front hampering the free expansion of art^ do 
 but enlarge its horizon, and prepare a broader feid for its harmonies. 
 
 , ' — Arnacd.
 
 6 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 "Thank you, mamma. I'm already reassured. I 
 shall answer always ' Oh, sir ! ' with studious care." 
 
 And now the baroness withdraws, as to herself she 
 says: " From these two words there's surely naught to 
 fear." 
 
 A few minutes have elapsed, when again the door is 
 opened. A footman, who, thinking the baroness still in 
 the drawing-room, with a wooden mien and in sonorous 
 tones announces: "Viscount Albert de Monsablon." 
 The viscount is charming: in bearing, all he should be 
 — young, tall, graceful, a very man of fashion. On see- 
 ing Bertha alone, her big, blue eyes timidly cast down, 
 for a moment he puts on the air of one embarrassed, 
 though in truth the traitor is delighted with the mis- 
 adventure. 
 
 "Miss Bertha! in Paris! Accident provides for me 
 a charming surprise. With the convent now you're 
 done forever, let us hope. Now the paternal fireside 
 will be light and bright as ne'er before. May I be per- 
 mitted to share its warmth?" 
 
 "Oh, sir!" 
 
 "I stood before you last autumn dumb with amaze- 
 ment. You had grown so stately, so beautiful — " 
 
 "Oh, sir!" 
 
 " How stupid I did appear !" 
 
 "Oh, sir!" 
 
 "But that should not surprise you. When last I had 
 seen you, you were deeply absorbed in robing in satin 
 a pair of Christmas doll-babies. Now, you will dress 
 ^i?//-babies no more." 
 
 " Oh, sir !" 
 
 "What a long way off are those days now! Now 
 
 The arm should move gently to^vard the object it wishes to caress. Under 
 the rapid action of surprise, there/ore, it could only itj/ure or repel that ob- 
 I ject. — Delsarte. • 
 
 4"
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 7 
 
 your dolls lie neglected in odd corners. You have other 
 pastimes, other joys. Do you like to dance?" 
 
 "Oh, sir!" 
 
 '* Nothing more natural. You are at that age when 
 balls possess their greatest charm. For a month one 
 dreams of one's attire. At first, of a flounce or two of 
 •airy tulle or of a cloud of discreet gauze. Then, of a 
 rose, coquette, fast knotted in the hair; of pearls in 
 graceful coils; of an aigret of sparkling gems; of neck- 
 laces of rubies, sapphires, diamonds — " 
 
 "Oh, sir!" 
 
 " When you are older, you will have a husband to 
 provide you with jewels. It is a privilege that custom 
 accords us men. But now you are so young !" 
 
 " Oh, sir !" 
 
 "It was just at this season that we played together 
 under the park trees. Do you remember?" 
 
 " Oh, sir !" 
 
 " I see you now — such a little thing ! — your luxuriant 
 curls too heavy for their silken netting — running here 
 and there under the big trees, ankle-deep in the daisies 
 and buttercups. And then we played at mimic war. 
 Your big brother organized the combats. He was the 
 general, we tlie soldiers." 
 
 "Oh, sir!" 
 
 " What happy days were those — days of joy, of rap- 
 ture; of projects wild, of vows half foolish ! Even now 
 my heart leaps as I recall them !" 
 
 " Oh, sir !" 
 
 " Will they ever have a morrow ? Are they not to you 
 a memory, vague, uncertain, intangible, like a phantasm 
 seen by moonlight in some deserted churchyard?" 
 
 There art three Jorms of expression by which man outwardly reveals his 
 imvard experiences. The first is pantomimic; the second is roca/.- the last 
 is verbal. — Steele Mackayk. 
 4.^ ^ __ +
 
 8 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 "Oh, sir!" 
 
 ** But how I hope you'll comprehend me, as I stand 
 before you, gazing in your eyes, when in my rapturous 
 delirium I tell you — I am most unhappy !" 
 
 "Oh, sir!" 
 
 " You are kind, you are good. I see it in your eyes. 
 You pity me. Yet my distress surprises you." 
 
 "Oh, sir!" 
 
 " Do I see aright, or is't a dream ? I do see aright; 
 you do comprehend me ! Ah, it's in bliss like this 
 that one might wish to die !" 
 
 "Oh, sir!" 
 
 "Ah, heaven, for me, opens wide its gates! All is 
 joyous in my heart; there, all is melody — the melody of 
 the spheres! Bear with me; I thought myself far 
 stronger. Your accents fill my soul with bliss ecstatic. 
 Speak I must, else I perish. Bertha, will you be mine, 
 forever mine ?" 
 
 "Oh, sir!" 
 
 " I know I follow not the form; but could I wait a 
 little week ? — could I wait e'en till to-morrow ? I ask but 
 only you !" 
 
 "Oh, sir!" 
 
 " Will you love me as T love you ? No, no, that were 
 too much; but I await my doom. Bertha, will you love 
 me just a little ?" 
 
 "Oh, sir!" 
 
 At this juncture, wide open swings the parlor-door, 
 and with an austere mien the baroness appears upon 
 the scene. 
 
 " Ah, madame, you see in me a man beside himself 
 with joy ! Give me Bertha !" 
 
 Under the influence of sentiment, the smallest and most insignificant things 
 thatwe may ivish to represent f'roportion themselves to the degree pfl acuteness 
 of the sounds, which become so/te7ied iti proportion as they rise. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 9 
 
 *' Heh ! What do I hear ?" 
 
 " I love her, and — " 
 
 " Sir ! sir ! not before her !" 
 
 " But she loves me too !" 
 
 •' What !" 
 
 " Mamma, dear, don't be cruel !" 
 
 " Bertha, have you — " 
 
 " No, mamma, no ! I've follow^ed your instructions to 
 the letter; and I will follow them always, I promise you. 
 But it's very strange; I hardly dare to think of it. To 
 say that one loves, two words suffice. Indeed, I begin 
 to think, mamma, that even fewer than two would 
 suffice !" 
 
 HER ANSWER. 
 
 " \/OUNG man proposed to me last night." 
 
 " You can't mean that ?" " Indeed, it's true; 
 Asked me to be his wife outright." 
 
 " Good gracious, dear ! What did you do ?" 
 
 " Poor boy ! He looked so handsome, Nell." 
 " Handsome ! A clerk on weekly pay 
 
 Asks you — a beauty and a belle ! 
 But tell me what he dared to say." 
 
 "Well— first, he loved me !" " Oh, that part 
 
 Of course ! What else ?" " And that he thought 
 
 I was the sort of girl whose heart 
 Would never let itself be bought. 
 
 " He said he was a man — that I 
 Was just a woman, equal so 
 
 A perfect reproduction of the outer manifestation of some passion, the 
 giving of the outer si^-n, «//// cause a rejle.x feeling wi7///;». — Genevikvk 
 
 Stsbuins.
 
 to DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 In youth, health, brain we stood, and — why, 
 You'd think he never dreamed of no. 
 
 " That he was poor need be no bar — " 
 " Well ! what an attitude to take !" 
 
 " For love would prove the guiding star 
 To fame and fortune, for my sake. 
 
 *' And then he begged my heart and hand." 
 " Such impudence ! who'd ever guess ? — 
 
 I hope you made him understand 
 
 His place ?" " I did— I told him ' Yes ! 
 
 » » 
 
 A DUTCH LULLABY. 
 
 Eugene Field, 
 
 AA/'YNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one night 
 
 Sailed off in a wooden shoe; 
 Sailed on a river of misty light 
 
 Into a sea of dew. 
 *' Where are you going, and what do you wish ?" 
 
 The old moon asked the three. 
 ** We have come to fish for the herring fish 
 That live in this beautiful sea; 
 Nets of silver and gold have we," 
 Said Wynken, 
 Blynken, 
 And Nod. 
 
 t 
 
 Given a rising formy such as the ascending scale, there will be intensitive 
 progression when this form should express passion {whether impulse, excite- 
 ment, or vehemence). There will be, on the other hand, a diminution o/ in- 
 tensity where this same form should express sentiment. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. ii 
 
 The old moon laujyhed and sang a song 
 
 As they rocked in tlie wooden shoe, 
 And the wind that sped them all night long 
 
 Ruffled the waves of dew. 
 The little stars were the herring fish 
 
 That lived in the beautiful sea; 
 *' Now cast your nets wherever you wish, 
 But never a-feared are we," 
 So cried the stars to the fishermen three, 
 Wynken, 
 • Blynken, 
 And Nod. 
 
 All nigh* J^nof their nets they threw 
 
 F'or the fiSh i. the twinkling foam; 
 Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe. 
 
 Bringing the fishermen home; 
 'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed 
 
 As if it could not be; 
 And some folk thought 'twas a dream they dreamed, 
 Of sailing that beautiful sea; 
 But I shall name you the fishermen three — 
 Wynken, 
 Blynken, 
 And Nod. 
 
 Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, 
 
 And Nod is a little head; 
 And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies 
 
 Is a wee one's trundle-bed. 
 So shut your eyes while mothet sings 
 
 Of wonderful sights that be. 
 
 Certain attitudes, by extending or contracting the muscles, by conipeUing 
 the breath to come and go more rafiidly. by increasing the heart-beats, cause 
 physical interior sensations which are the corresfondences o/ emotion. — Gen- 
 
 RVIEVE StEBBINS.
 
 12 
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 And you shall see the beautiful things 
 As you rock on the misty sea, 
 Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three, 
 
 Wynken, 
 
 Blynken, 
 
 And Nod. 
 
 i 
 
 AT THE TUNNEL'S MOUTH. 
 
 Fred Lyster. 
 
 "\ T^rE was workin' at the tunnel's mouth, 
 
 Joe, Bob, and Jim, and I, 
 A-pilin' up the blocks of stone, 
 
 A-pilin' of 'em high. 
 For the frost had been tremenjous hard, 
 
 An' the facing had given away, 
 An' we was workin' with a will 
 
 To fix up all that day. 
 
 For next day would be Sunday, 
 
 An' jist a year agone 
 Jim an' my sister Mary 
 
 Had turned two into one. 
 An' then, last Wednesday was a week, 
 
 A baby Jim was born. 
 An' he a Christian should be made 
 
 Upon Jim's weddin' morn. 
 
 So Jim, old Jim, had axed his mates- 
 Joe, Bob, and Bill — that's me — 
 
 Sentitnent and passion proceed in an inverse ■way. Passion strengthens the 
 voice in proportion as it rises., and sentiment, on the contrary, so/tens it in due 
 ratio to its intensity. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECltATION BOOK. 13 
 
 To stand by while the job was done, 
 
 An' wind up witli a spree — 
 A modest one, a glass or two, 
 
 A pipe, a yarn, a song, 
 Jist to cheer the young un's entrance 
 
 In this here world of sin an' wrong. 
 
 As some folks calls it, — though I thinks 
 
 We make ourselves the curse. 
 And, as the proverb says, " we might 
 
 Go farther an' fare worse." 
 Jim, he was Butty o' the gang, 
 
 An' up or down the line 
 A finer fellow never stepped. 
 
 No, nor yet half so fine. 
 
 He'd share his last crust with a friend; 
 
 And as for child or wife — 
 Why, there ain't no use a-talkin' — 
 
 He'd jist lay down his life 
 For one sweet smile from Mary, 
 
 Or a kiss from Baby Jim, 
 Or a good square hug from either, — 
 
 'Twas all the same to him. 
 
 Well, we kep' chattin' o' the fun 
 
 We'd have to-morrow's day. 
 An' layin' out what songs we'd sing 
 
 An' what fine games we'd play. 
 When, jist as we had hysted up 
 
 The last block on the bank, 
 It pitched away, and thundered down 
 
 The steep an' slipp'ry plank; 
 
 The /till y vital resurrection o/ the regenerated irsthetic tnan tuust he Pre- 
 ceded by the unifying or blending of his inheritances from objective nature^ 
 and 0/ his mental, subjectiz'e acquirements. — Franklin H. Sargent.
 
 14 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 An' there upon the line it lay, 
 
 Right slap acrost the rail. 
 What sound is that as makes us start, 
 
 An' tremble, an' turn pale ? 
 A stifled shriek — a louder — 
 
 A rumbling deep an' low. 
 'Tis the " Flying Dutchman's" signal: 
 
 She's in the tunnel now ! 
 
 An' there upon the line — the stone, 
 
 Full in our awestruck view. 
 An' in another minute now 
 
 The lightning-train is due. 
 Jim stopped for neither look nor word; 
 
 With face stern set an' pale, 
 An' steadfast eyes, he made no move, 
 
 But leaped down on the rail. 
 
 He seized the massy block of stone, 
 
 An' shoved it clear aside; 
 But, e'er his feet he could regain. 
 
 Came, with remorseless glide, 
 The murd'rous engine, an' we heard 
 
 One heart-appalling scream, 
 We saw a ghastly face turn up 
 
 Through mists of hissing steam! 
 
 An' seven hundred souls was saved; 
 
 But Jim had given his life 
 As ransom for them all. No thought 
 
 Of child, nor friend, nor wife; 
 But, seeing what there was to do. 
 
 He did it — there an end. 
 
 We move atuay from the iking 7vhich we contemplate, to prove to it, doubt- 
 Jess, the respect and veneration that it inspires.— TiiELSARTE.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 15 
 
 No; I'm not cryin', mate, although 
 If you had lost a friend 
 
 So kind, so honest, an' so true 
 
 As dear old Jim, no fear. 
 No blame, if you should feel 
 
 Sometimes a trifle queer 
 About the eyes, an' if your heart 
 
 Against your ribs should thump, 
 An' in your throat should sometimes rise 
 
 A nasty, choking lump. 
 
 But with no pride or pomp of rank, 
 
 Nor hope of laurel wreath. 
 He leaped from off that grassy bank 
 
 Into the jaws of death. 
 
 MOLLY. 
 
 Anita M. Kellogg. 
 
 "l^rHEN folks grow old I wonder why 
 
 They seem to forget their youth gone by, 
 And whatever we do are so prone to say, 
 "It wasn't so in my young day!" 
 I think it's hard I should be chid 
 For things I'm sure my parents did. 
 For how did my father get him a wife, 
 If he never went courting in his life ? 
 
 Always retain a gesture as long as the same thought or emotion is retained , 
 or as long as you remain in the same >«(?(7</.— Genevieve Stebbins.
 
 1 6 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 And how did my mother know it, pray, 
 If she didn't listen when he said his say? 
 Now, they forget all this, and I 
 Must do my courting on the sly. 
 Whenever they see me, by night or day, 
 Walking and talking — you know the way, — 
 One or the other always calls me, 
 But listen, — this is what befalls me. 
 
 Every morning at early dawn, 
 
 When the dew shines bright on field and lawn. 
 
 And the birds are singing sweet and clear, 
 
 I must drive the cows to the pasture near. 
 
 Now, as it happens, quite frequently, 
 
 Robin More by the bars will be; 
 
 But if I stop to say, " Good-morrow!" 
 
 I am reminded to my sorrow. 
 
 A voice rings out on the morning air: 
 
 \C ailing?^ 
 
 " Molly! Molly! don't idle there! 
 
 There's work to do, and you have your share!" 
 
 Down by the wood is a mossy stile — 
 The nicest place to chat awhile; 
 But sure's I sit there with Robin More, 
 A voice is heard from our kitchen door 
 
 "Molly! Molly! see those cows!" 
 I look around, and there they browse: 
 Dapple, Peachblow, Bose and Rover, 
 Knee-deep in the rich, red clover. 
 
 A salutation without moving shows but little reverence^ and should only 
 occur in the case of an equal or an inferior. — Delsarte,
 
 DELS ARTE /RECITATION BOOK. ly 
 
 Whisking their tails impatiently, 
 As that slirill voice floats out to me: 
 
 "Molly! Molly! Where are you ? 
 Don't you know there's work to do ? 
 Molly! Molly! Drive those cows 
 Down into the milking-shed!" 
 
 At twilight, when the quiet air 
 
 Is trembling with the sheen of stars, 
 
 I sometimes meet with Robin there, 
 
 And he lets down the bars. 
 
 Then, should we linger side by side, 
 
 Or stroll along the dusky lane. 
 
 Through the tender hush of the even-tide, 
 
 That voice rings out again: 
 
 \ Calling.^ 
 
 " Molly ! Molly ! Come right in ! 
 You're twice as long as you should have been; 
 The cows are straying, — close that gate ! 
 Don't mind Robin, — he can wait." 
 
 Now, Robin loves me, this I know; 
 
 But he doesn't get a chance to tell me so I 
 
 He looks it, and acts it, and once, last night. 
 
 As we sat on the porch in the soft starlight. 
 
 He took my hand and held it tight; 
 
 But just as he opened his mouth to speak, 
 
 (For the thousandth time within this week,) 
 
 We heard that voice in the self-same shriek: 
 
 There should be but one strong climax in a (>erfect work of art. The artist 
 should work steadily toward that climax. — ^losES Tktk Bkown.
 
 l8 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 \Calling7[ 
 
 " Molly ! The cows are in the clover ! 
 Go right down and drive them over, 
 Be quick about it. Don't you wait, — 
 Just let Robin fasten that gate !" 
 
 It's always so, and if old folks have their way 
 I never shall know to my dying day 
 What it was Robin was about to say. 
 
 THE OPAL RING. 
 
 Gottlieb Lessing. Arranged by Sara S. Rice. 
 
 [This sketch is in regard to. the true religion. Nathan says, " I am 
 a Jew," and Saladin, " I am a Mussulman," and between them is the 
 Christian. But one of these religions is true ; which one is it ? Na- 
 than, not wishing to make a direct reply, relates the following story.] 
 
 T N gray antiquity there lived a man 
 
 In Eastern lands, who had received a ring 
 Of priceless worth from a beloved hand. 
 Its stone, an opal, flashed a hundred colors, 
 And had the secret power of giving favor. 
 In sight of God and man, to him who wore it 
 With a believing heart. What wonder, then, 
 This Eastern man would never put the ring 
 From off his finger, and should so provide 
 That to his house it should be preserved forever? 
 Such was the case. Unto the best beloved 
 Among his sons he left the ring, enjoining 
 
 The firo/ound obscurity ijito ivhich light pliitiges us does not pre7'ent the light 
 from being: and the chaos of ideas which, tnost generally, results y>om our 
 examination of things, proves nothing agaijist the harmonics of their consti- 
 tution. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 19 
 
 That he, in turn, bequeath it to the son 
 
 Who should be dearest ; and the dearest ever, 
 
 In virtue of the ring, without regard 
 
 To birth, be of the house the prince and head. 
 
 From son to son the ring, descending, came 
 
 To one, the sire of three ; of whom all three 
 
 Were equally obedient ; whom all three 
 
 He, therefore, must with equal love regard. 
 
 And yet, from time to time, now this, now that, 
 
 And now the third, as each alone, by 
 
 The others not dividing his fond heart. 
 
 Appears to him the worthiest of the ring ; 
 
 Which, then, with loving weakness he would promise 
 
 To each in turn. Thus it continued long. 
 
 But he must die ; and the loving father 
 
 Was sore perplexed. It grieved him thus to wound 
 
 The faithful sons who trusted in his word. 
 
 But what to do? In secrecy he calls 
 
 An artist to him, and commands of him 
 
 Two other rings, the pattern of his own ; 
 
 And bids him neither cost nor pains to spare 
 
 To make them alike, precisely like to his. 
 
 The artist's skill succeeds. He brings the rings. 
 
 And e'en the father cannot tell his own. 
 
 Relieved and joyful, summons he his sons, ' 
 
 Each by himself ; to each one by himself 
 
 He gives his blessing and his ring — and dies. 
 
 The father was scarce dead, when each brings forth his 
 
 ring, 
 And claims the headship. Questioning ensues, 
 
 . , ju 
 
 In proportion to the depth and majesty o/ the emotion is the drliheration 
 and slowness of the motion \ and, 7'ice X'ersa, in proportion to the superficial- 
 ity and e.xplosiveiiiss of the emotion, will be the velocity of its expression in 
 motion. — Gf.nf.vikve Sterbins.
 
 20 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Strife and appeals to law, but all in vain ; 
 The genuine ring was not to be distinguished. 
 The sons appealed to law, and each took oath 
 Before the judge that from his father's hand 
 He had the ring, — as was indeed the case. 
 .His father could not have been false to him, 
 Each one maintained ; and rather than allow 
 Upon the name of so dear a father 
 Such stain to rest, he must against his brothers 
 (Though gladly he would nothing but the best 
 Believe of them) bring charge of treachery ; 
 Means he would find the traitors to expose. 
 And be revenged on them. 
 
 Thus spoke the judge : " Produce your father 
 
 At once before me, else from my tribunal 
 
 Do I dismiss you. Think you I am here 
 
 To guess riddles? Either would you wait 
 
 Until the genuine ring shall speak ? But hold! 
 
 A magic power in the true ring resides. 
 
 As I am told, to make its wearer loved, 
 
 Pleasing to God, to man. Let that decide. 
 
 Which one among you, then, do two love best? 
 
 Speak !* Are you silent ? Work the rings but backward, 
 
 Not outward ? Loves each one himself the best? 
 
 Then cheated cheats are all of you ! The rings 
 
 All are false. The genuine ring was lost, 
 
 And to conceal, supply, the loss, the father 
 
 Made three in place of one. 
 
 " Go, therefore," said the judge, " unless my counsel 
 You'd have in place of sentence. It were this : 
 Accept the case exactly as it stands. 
 
 Caressing^ tender, and gentle emotions find their nortital expression in high 
 Kij/fJ.— Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 21 
 
 Each had his ring directly from his father ; 
 Let each believe his own is genuine. 
 'Tis possible your father would no longer 
 His house to one ring's tyranny subject ; 
 And certain that all three of you he loved, 
 Loved equally, since two he would not humble 
 That one might be exalted. Let each one 
 To his unbought, impartial love aspire ; 
 Each with the others vie to bring to light 
 The virtue of the stone within the ring ; 
 Let gentleness, a hearty love of peace, 
 Beneficence, and perfect trust in God, 
 Come to its help. Then, if the jewel's power 
 Among your children's children be revealed, 
 I bid you in a thousand thousand years 
 Again before this bar. A wiser man than I 
 Shall occupy this seat and speak. 
 Go!" Thus the modest judge dismissed them. 
 
 THE FIRST BANJO. 
 
 Irwin Russell. 
 
 (~^ O way, fiddle! folks is tired o' hcarin' you a-squeak- 
 
 in'. 
 Keep silence fur yo' betters — don't you heah de banjo 
 
 speakin* ? 
 About de 'possum's tail she's gwine to lecter — ladies, 
 
 listen ! 
 About de ha'r whut isn't dar, an' why de ha'r is missin'. 
 
 t 
 
 yus( in f'rof'oriion to our insight and (i/>/>refiensio>i o/ all truth do 7Vt attain 
 to a comprehension o/ a particular /»«//(. — Mks. Fkank Stiart Parker. 
 
 \
 
 22 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 " Dar's gwine to be a oberflow," said Noah, lookin' 
 solemn^ — 
 
 For Noah tuk de " Herald," an' he read de ribber col- 
 umn — 
 An' so he sot his hands to work a-cl'arin' timber-patches, 
 An' 'lowed he's gwine to build a boat to beat de steameh 
 " Natchez." 
 
 or Noah kep' a-nailin', an' a-chippin', an' a-sawin' ; 
 An' all de wicked neighbors kep' a-laughin' an' a- 
 
 pshawin' ; 
 But Noah didn't min' 'em — knowin' whut wuz gwine to 
 
 happen ; 
 An' forty days an' forty nights de rain it kep' a-drap- 
 
 pin'. 
 
 Now, Noah had done cotched a lot ob eb'ry sort o' 
 
 beas'es, 
 Ob all de shows a-trabbelin', it beat 'em all to pieces ! 
 He had a Morgan colt, an' seb'ral head o' Jarsey cattle, 
 An' druv 'em 'board de Ark as soon's he heered de 
 
 thunder rattle. 
 
 De Ark she kep' a-sailin', an' a-sailin', an' a-sailin' ; 
 De lion got his dander up, an' like to bruk de palin' ; 
 De sarpints hissed, de painters yelled — tell, whut wid 
 
 all de fussin'. 
 You c'u'dn't hardly heah de mate a-bossin' 'roun' an' 
 
 cussin'. 
 
 Now, Ham, de only nigger whut wuz runnin' on de 
 
 packet, 
 Got lonesome in de barber-shop, an' couldn't stan' de 
 
 racket ; 
 
 The voice decreases in iiitensity in proportion as it rises higher; and, on ike 
 other handy it increasesin intefisity in proportion as it sinks tower. — Delsarte.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 23 
 
 An' so, for to amuse he-se'f, he steamed some wood an' 
 bent it, 
 
 An' soon he had a banjo made — de fust dat wuz in- 
 vented. 
 
 He wet de ledder, stretched it on ; made bridge, an' 
 
 screws, an' apron ; 
 An' fitted in a proper neck — 'twuz berry long an' ta- 
 
 p'rin' ; 
 He tuk some tin, an' twisted him a thimble fur to ring 
 
 it; 
 An' den de miglity question riz, how wuz he gwine to 
 
 string it ? 
 
 De 'possum had as fine a tail as dis dat I's a-singin' ; 
 De ha'rs so long, an' thick, an' strong, — des fit for banjo- 
 
 stringin' ; 
 Dat nigger shaved 'em off as short as wash-day-dinner 
 
 graces ; 
 An' sorted ob 'em by de size, from little E's to basses. 
 
 He strung her, tuned her, struck a jig — 'twuz " Nebber 
 
 min' de Wedder" — 
 She soun' like forty-lebben bands a-playin' all togedder ; 
 Some went to pattin', some to dancin' ; Noah called de 
 
 figgers— 
 An' Ham he sot an' knocked de tune, de happiest ob 
 
 niggers ! 
 
 Now, sence dat time — it's mighty strange — dere's not 
 
 de slightes' showin' 
 Ob any ha'r at all upon de 'possum's tail a-growin'. 
 
 The walk is ttm/eramental, as much an indicator oy the habits, character, 
 ami emotions as is the voice. — Genevieve Stebbins.
 
 24 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 THE GOVERNMENT SPY. 
 
 W. W. Story. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 
 
 'T^AKE a cigar — draw up your chair, 
 
 There's at least a good half-hour to spare. 
 And now, as that friend of yours has gone. 
 There's a word I must whisper to you, alone. 
 That fellf^w's only a Government Spy ! 
 Of course you're surprised— there's nothing on earth 
 So base in your eyes as a Government Spy ; 
 But listen. I'll spin a yarn for you, 
 And every thread of it's simply true. 
 
 'Tis years ago I knew Giannone, 
 
 A capital fellow with great black eyes. 
 
 And a pleasant smile of frank surprise, 
 
 And as gentle a pace as a lady's pony. 
 
 Giannone had but an empty head — 
 
 But then the worst of him is said : 
 
 A better heart, or a readier hand, 
 
 You never would see in our English land. 
 
 Well, it happened that Hycombe Wycombe Brown, 
 
 Of the Sussex Wycombes, a man about town, 
 
 Was owing Giannone a kind of debt 
 
 For buying some horses, or some such work. 
 
 He sent him a card of defiance one day 
 
 To meet him at point of the knife — and fork, 
 
 And settle the matter without delay. 
 
 Giannone accepted, of course, and then, 
 
 He invited a few of us resident men ; 
 
 Nature, by a thousand irrefutable exam f>les, prescribes a decrease of inten- 
 ty('n music decrescendo) proportionate to the ascensional force of the sounds. 
 
 sit 
 
 — Dei,<;arte.
 
 Wake! For the Sun, who scattered into flight 
 The Stars before him from the Field of Night, 
 Drives Night along with them from Heaven.
 
 "Mother, come back from the echoless shore, 
 Take me again to your heart as of yore."
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 25 
 
 And among them, slim and sleek and sly, 
 
 Was your pious friend with his balking eye. 
 
 The dinner was good and all were merry, 
 
 And plenty there was of champagne and sherry ; 
 
 And the toasts were brisk and the wine was good, 
 
 And we all took quite as much as we should. 
 
 Then we went to cards ; but, I'm sorry to say. 
 
 Brandy was ordered to whet the play ; 
 
 And Giannone drank till his tongue lost its rein, 
 
 And the fire had all gone into his brain. 
 
 And names he called, and his voice was high 
 
 As he talked of Italian liberty ! 
 
 And cursed the priests as the root of all evil, 
 
 And sent the cardinals all to the devil. 
 
 ** Better dig with the bayonet's point our graves. 
 
 And die to be freemen, than live to be slaves !" 
 
 But all the while that Giannone let fly 
 These arrows of his, with a dead-cold eye 
 Your friend sat playing, and now and then 
 Gleamed up with a glance as sharp as a pen 
 That seemed to write down every word, 
 And then looked away as he had not heard ; 
 And whenever he opened his lips, he said 
 Something about the game, — " You've played 
 A heart to my club ; we're one to si.x ; 
 Yours are the honors and ours the tricks." 
 
 I watched him well, and at last said I 
 To myself, " The rascal must be a spy." 
 So " Zitto ! Zitto ! don't be so rash. 
 
 The soul in its highest moods translates itsel/ by poising its agents. Poise 
 the soul, ami the whole muscular system is in action to poise the body. — Moses 
 Tkue Brown.
 
 26 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Giannone," I cried ; " who knows what ear 
 May be listening at the door to hear?" 
 And then with a laugh, and looking straight 
 At \.\i\% friend oi yours, with his face sedate, 
 I added, "Who knows but there may be 
 A spy even here in this company ?" 
 
 If I doubted before the trade of your friend, 
 
 My doubts in a moment had their end ; 
 
 For a glance came straight up into my eyes 
 
 From under his lids, half fear, half surprise. 
 
 Then turning back with a look demure, 
 
 And a deprecating, pious air, 
 
 As much as to say, " We must not care, 
 
 Knowing the means are justified 
 
 By the noble end," — he slowly said, 
 
 Speaking, of course, about the game, 
 
 " The trick is mine — 'twas the knave I played." 
 
 No sooner the dread word "spy" I spoke, 
 
 Than Giannone's discourse like a pipe-stem broke ; 
 
 " Ah !" he cried, " there's a dirty trick 
 
 In the very word that makes me sick ; 
 
 You English don't know as well as I 
 
 The slobber and slime of a Government Spy. 
 
 "Ser Serpente, permit me now 
 
 To introduce him— a friend of mine — 
 
 Smooth, pale, bloodless lips and brow — 
 
 A long black coat, whose rubbed seams shine — 
 
 Spots on his waistcoat of grease and wine — 
 
 The thumb is the thermometer of life in its extendittg progression, as it is of 
 death in its contracting progression. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 27 
 
 A tri-cornered hat all rusty with use — 
 
 Long, black, coarse stockings and buckled shoes; 
 
 Ah ! so polite with his bows and smiles. 
 
 And his sickening compliments and wiles, 
 
 Ke dares not look you straight in the eyes, 
 
 But, sidling and simpering, askance alway, 
 
 He oils you over with wheedling lies. 
 
 As the boa slimes ere he swallows his prey. 
 
 Many a fellow owes him his death 
 
 Just for a strong word, spoken may be 
 
 When the blood was hot and the tongue too free. 
 
 But one morning they found him taking his rest 
 
 In the street, with a dagger stuck in his breast. 
 
 And served him right, say you and I, 
 
 It was only too easy a death for a spy." 
 
 At this your y>7V;/</ threw down his card, 
 Saying, "You've won to-night, 'tis true, 
 But to-morrow I'll have my revenge on you." 
 And though these words to his friend he spoke, 
 He looked at Giannone so sharp and hard, 
 With such a sinister, evil look. 
 That a dark suspicion in me awoke. 
 
 Two days after I went to see 
 
 Whether Giannone would walk with me. 
 
 Two sharp bell-pulls at his door ; 
 
 No answer — gone out ; then one pull more. 
 
 Then slipped a slide back cautiously 
 
 From a little grated hole — " Chi e ?" 
 
 "And where is the Signor Padrone?" I cried. 
 
 /// al! the normal attitudes of the /e^'S, the ivet'^ht is tome egualiy on both. 
 — Genevieve Stehbins.
 
 28 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 " Ah !" with a sort of convulsive groan, 
 
 The poor old servant, sighing, replied, 
 
 " Doesn't your Signoria know — 
 
 The sbirri came here yesterday, 
 
 And carried the caro padrone away ; 
 
 And they've rifled his desk of letters and all, 
 
 And taken the pistols and swords from the wall, 
 
 And locked up the room with a great red seal 
 
 Put over the door ; and they scared me so 
 
 With threats, if I dared in the chamber to go, 
 
 That I'm all of a tremble from head to heel ; 
 
 And oh, I fear, Signore dear, 
 
 There's some dreadful political business here." 
 
 The servant's story was all too true ; 
 
 From that night I never saw him again. 
 
 Worse, neither I nor his family knew. 
 
 And Giannone himself is as ignorant too — 
 
 What was his crime — what done — what said, 
 
 That drew this punishment down on his head. 
 
 This one fact alone we know. 
 
 That since the speech of that famous night 
 
 Giannone has vanished out of sight. 
 
 And has gone to pass a year or more. 
 
 In a building where the Government pay 
 
 His lodging and board in the kindest way. 
 
 I cannot help wishing the end would come 
 
 Of this public hospitality, 
 
 And that poor Giannone was free to go home. 
 
 But when will that be? you ask me — Ah ! 
 
 That is the question ; chi lo sa ? 
 
 Next month — next year — next century ! 
 
 The spirit o/ God is inherent in all things: and this spirit should, at a 
 gi7ien moment y flash its splendors in the eyes o/ an intellect alike submissive, 
 attentive, patient, and suppliant. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 29 
 
 WHAT AILED THE PUDDING. 
 
 Josephine Poi.iard. 
 
 " W/HAT shall we have for dinner, to-day ?" 
 Said Mrs. Dobbs, in her pleasant way; 
 " For Sally has much to do, and would wish 
 That we'd get along with an easy dish — 
 Something that wouldn't take long to prepare. 
 Or really require much extra care." 
 Said Mrs. Dobbs: "There isn't a doubt 
 But what we'd all fancy a stirabout !" 
 
 "A hasty pudding ! Hurrah ! that's nice !" 
 Exclaimed the girls and boys in a trice. 
 Then Sally put on the biggest pot. 
 And soon the water was boiling hot, 
 And Mrs. Dobbs mixed together some flour 
 And water, and in less than half an hour 
 The pudding began to bubble up thick 
 And dance about with the pudding-stick. 
 
 Said Mr. Dobbs, as he made a halt : 
 " Our Sally is apt to forget the salt, 
 So I'll put in a pinch ere I leave the house." 
 And he went on tip-toe, as still as a mouse, 
 And, dropping a handful in very quick, 
 Stirred it well about with the pudding-stick, 
 And said to himself : " Now, isn't this clever !" 
 At which the pudding laughed louder than ever. 
 
 Then Mrs. Dobbs came after a while. 
 And looked in the pot with a cheery smile, 
 
 Man can only judge of what is by what he can experience, and by the use he 
 is enabled to iiiake of that ex/>erience, through the action o/ the faculties. — 
 Mks. Frank Sii'aki- Pakkkk. ,
 
 30 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 And thought how much she'd enjoy the treat, 
 And how much the children would want to eat; 
 Then said: " Our Sally has one great fault — 
 She is very apt to forget the salt I" 
 And into the hasty pudding was sent 
 A handful of this ingredient. 
 
 John, George, and Jennie, and Bess, in turn, 
 Gave the stick a twist, lest the pudding burn ; 
 For oh! how empty and wretched they'd feel 
 If anything ruined their noonday meal ! 
 And each in turn began to reflect, 
 And make amends for Sally's neglect, 
 For the girl was good, but she had one fault — 
 She was very apt to forget the salt ! 
 
 But Sally herself, it is strange to say. 
 Was not remiss in her usual way ; 
 But before she went to her up-stairs work 
 She threw in a handful of salt with a jerk. 
 And stirred the pudding, and stirred the fire, 
 Which made the bubbles leap higher and higher. 
 And as soon as the clock struck twelve she took 
 The great big pot off the great big hook. 
 
 It wasn't scorched ! Ah ! that was nice ! 
 
 And one little dish would not suffice 
 
 Mr. or Mrs. Dobbs, I guess, 
 
 John, or George, or Jennie, or Bess ; 
 
 And as for Sally, I couldn't say 
 
 How much of the pudding she'd stow away, 
 
 For she was tired and hungry, no doubt. 
 
 And very fond of this stirabout. 
 
 Vulgar and uncultured people., as ivell as children, seem to act in regard to 
 an ascensional vocal progression in an int'erse sense to well-educated, or, at 
 any rate, affectionate persons, such as mothers and fond nurses. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 31 
 
 A happier group you'd ne'er be able 
 
 To find than sat at the Dobbses' table, 
 
 With plates and spoons and a hungry wish 
 
 To eat their fill of the central dish. 
 
 But as Mr. Dobbs began to taste 
 
 The pudding, he dropped his spoon in haste; 
 
 And of all the children did likewise, — 
 
 As big as saucers their staring eyes. 
 
 Said Mrs. Dobbs, in a voice not sweet : 
 " Why, it isn't fit for the pigs to eat I" 
 And I doubt if an artist would e'er be able 
 To depict their looks as they left the table. 
 Said Sally: " I thought it would be so nice! 
 But I must have salted that pudding twice !" 
 And none of the family mentioned that they 
 Had a hand in boiling the dinner that day. 
 
 LOST. 
 
 ' I "HE chill November day was done, 
 
 The dry old leaves were flying; 
 When, mingled with the roaring wind, 
 
 I heard a small voice crying. 
 And shivering at the corner stood 
 
 A child of four or over; 
 No cloak nor liat her small, soft arms 
 
 And wind-blown curls to cover. 
 
 With one wee hand she pushed them back, 
 She slipped in mine the other; 
 
 Pantoniimic expression, like every other expression of man, is a niani/esta- 
 tton 0/ tlie iXLtivity o/ the being, soul, ego, or aniiniiting principle, by the 
 activity of the boily. — Pkakk Stuart Pakkeu.
 
 32 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Half scared, half trustingly, she said, 
 " Oh, please, I want my mother !" 
 
 " Tell me your street and number, pet; 
 Don't cry, I'll take you to it." 
 
 Sobbing, she answered: "I forget; 
 The organ made me do it. 
 
 " He came and played at Miller's steps, _ 
 
 The monkey took the money; 
 And so I followed down the street, 
 
 That monkey was so funny. 
 I've walked about a hundred hours. 
 
 From one street to another; 
 The monkey's gone, I've lost my flowers — 
 
 Oh, please, I want my m.other !" 
 
 The sky grew stormy; people passed. 
 
 All muffled, homeward faring; 
 " You'll have to spend the night with me," 
 
 I said, at last, despairing. 
 I tied her kerchief round her neck — 
 
 "What ribbon's this, my blossom?" 
 *' Why, don't you know ?" she smiling asked, 
 
 And drew it from her bosom. 
 
 A card with number, street, and name: 
 
 My eyes, astonished, met it; 
 " For," said the little one, "you see 
 
 I might sometimes forget it. 
 And so I wear a little thing 
 
 That tells you all about it; 
 For mother says she's very sure 
 
 I would get lost without it." 
 
 When the head moves in an inverse ditection from the object that it exam- 
 ines, it is frotn a selfish standpoint ; and ivhen the examiner bends toward 
 the object, it is in contempt o/ self that the object is viewed. — Delsakte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. n 
 
 . THE MINUET. 
 
 Mary Mapes Dodge. 
 
 r^ RANDMA told me all about it, 
 
 ^^^ Told me so I couldn't doubt it, 
 
 How she danced — my grandma danced — long ago ; 
 
 How she held her pretty head — 
 
 How her dainty skirt she spread — 
 
 How she turned her little toes — 
 
 Smiling little human rose^long ago. 
 
 Grandma's hair was bright and sunny ; 
 Dimpled cheeks, too — ah, how funny ! 
 Really quite a pretty girl — long ago ! 
 Bless her ! why she wears a cap. 
 Grandma does, and takes a nap 
 Every single day ; and yet 
 Grandma danced the minuet — long ago. 
 
 Now she sits there, rocking, rocking, 
 
 Always knitting grandpa's stocking 
 
 (Every girl was taught to knit — long ago) ; 
 
 Yet her figure is so neat. 
 
 And her way so staid and sweet, 
 
 I can almost see her now 
 
 Bending to her partner's bow — long ago. 
 
 Grandma says our modern jumping, 
 Hopping, rushing, whirling, bumping, 
 Would have shocked the gentle folk — long ago. 
 No ; they moved with stately grace. 
 Everything in proper place ; 
 
 f 
 
 1/ -we desire thai a thing be always reineinbered, we must not say it in 
 words: we must let it be divined, revealed by gesture. Wherever there is an 
 ellipse in a discourse, gesture must intervene to e.r/lain this elli/>se.—DELAV- 
 
 MOSNE.
 
 34 DELS ARTE RECITATluN BOOK. 
 
 J. N. HUMMEL. 
 
 i 
 
 i=fei 
 
 e^eHe^ 
 
 .e^ 
 
 
 P 
 
 ^ 
 
 4-# 
 
 =^ 
 
 <b;ee. 
 
 i^g^^^ 
 
 ^i ji 
 
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 ;^ 
 
 -==1-^- 
 
 ^^feEi 
 
 J: 
 
 i 
 
 ?=*=f 
 
 -»— UJ- 
 
 crts. sf 
 
 i 
 
 U i 
 
 P 
 
 -f2 — P tt 
 
 §^ 
 
 i 
 
 «>- 
 
 ^^ 
 
 fefei 
 
 1^ 
 
 =tife 
 
 atrt 
 
 pi 
 
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 ^i 
 
 3»t 
 
 '^^E&^&k^. 
 
 cres. sf , 1 
 
 tf^r '^ — tj 
 
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 ^ 
 
 ^
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 35 
 
 Gliding slowly forward, then 
 
 Slowly courtesying back again — long ago. 
 
 Modern ways are quite alarming, 
 Grandma says ; but boys were charming — 
 Girls and boys I mean, of course — long ago. 
 Bravely modest, grandly shy, 
 What if all of us should try 
 Just to feel like those who met 
 In the graceful minuet — long ago? 
 
 With the minuet in fashion, 
 
 Who could fly into a passion ? 
 
 All would wear the calm they wore — long ago. 
 
 In time to come, if I, perchance, 
 
 Should tell my grandchild of our dance, 
 
 I should really like to say, 
 
 " We did it, dear, in some such way — long ago." 
 
 [The reader is to dance at the end of each stanza. The music is for 
 the dancinjj; only, and is not to be played during the reciting. If re- 
 cited in the costume of a last century belle, with powdered hair, the 
 effect will be heightened.] 
 
 DIRECTIONS FOR DANCING THE MINUET. 
 
 James Brooks. 
 
 Arranged for four couples in a column, or as many 
 columns of four couples each as there is room for, 
 formed thus: 
 
 FRONT. 
 
 X O X — o 
 
 X O X o 
 
 X O X o 
 
 X O X o 
 
 The artist should aim to manifest human nature in its three modalities^ in 
 its three phases ivliich the master named life, soul, and mind. In other 
 words, the beings physical, moral, and mental. — Arnald.
 
 36 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 All courtesies are begun by ladies sliding the right 
 foot to the side. 
 
 All bows, after the first, are begun by gentlemen 
 sliding the left foot to the side. 
 
 All other movements are begun by both gentlemen and 
 ladies with the right foot, unless otherwise directed. 
 
 Gentlemen will always place right hand on their hearts 
 when bowing to partners. 
 
 During the introduction, gentlemen will give right 
 hands to ladies' left, and hold the hands well up in front, 
 ready to begin. 
 
 Walk six steps foni'ard (closing the left foot up to the 
 right, in first position for sixth count). 
 
 Salute to the front. 
 
 Walk six steps back (turning to face partner, give left 
 hand to ladies' left, looking at partners over arms, gen- 
 tlemen close left up to right for the sixth count, and at 
 the same time face partners; ladies step with left foot 
 for the sixth count, and at the same time close right up 
 to left to face partner). 
 
 Salute partners. 
 
 Walk six steps fortvard. 
 
 Walk six steps back (face partners and step back with 
 left foot on the sixth count, swaying the body backward 
 on the left foot so as to form an attitude, right toe 
 pointed in fourth position in front). 
 
 Turn partners with the right hand. 
 
 Salute partners. 
 
 Chasse to the left (face the front and cross hands with 
 partners, right hand uppermost; step with left foot to 
 the side (count one); right in front of the left (count 
 ,two); left to side (count three); right in front of left 
 (count four); left to the side (count five); face partners, 
 gentlemen transferring the weight of the body to the 
 left foot, ladies carrying the right foot forward, right 
 toe pointed in fourth position (count six). 
 
 Turn partners half around (with right hand). 
 
 The shoulder generally rises less when the head retroacts than when it ad- 
 vances toward the object of its contemplation. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 37 
 
 Chass(f to the right (face partners at the fifth count 
 and close left foot up to the right in first position for 
 six). 
 
 Salute partners. 
 
 Turn partners half around {\\\i\\ right hand). 
 
 Reverse the half turn (without disengaging the right 
 hands, the lady passing under the upraised right arms, 
 turning to the right and stepping back for five and six, 
 steps to face partner). 
 
 Turn partners half around (with left hand). 
 
 Salute partners. 
 
 Walk past partners six steps (facing partners, walk past 
 partners, gentlemen passing in front of the ladies four 
 steps; step with right foot to second position, five; close 
 left foot up to right, six). 
 
 Salute in the direction you are facing. 
 
 All turn to the right and 7C'alh back to place (ladies pass- 
 ing in front, finish facing partners). 
 
 Salute partners. 
 
 Walk six steps forward (at the fifth count face partners 
 and step back with left foot to fourth position, right toe 
 pointed in front for six). 
 
 Turn partners (with right hand). 
 
 Walk back to places six steps (gentleman giving left 
 hand to lady's right). 
 
 Salute partners. 
 
 Turn partners half around (with right hand). 
 
 Salute partners. 
 
 Turn partners to places (with left liand). 
 
 Salute partners. 
 
 Moulinet (cross right hands — the first and second, and 
 the third and fourth couples cross right hands around 
 to the left (counting i, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11), dis- 
 engage hands and step back with left foot, leaving right 
 foot pointed in the centre — count 12). 
 
 Moulinet back (cross left hands and salute to the 
 front). 
 
 A per fectfd voice can reveal almost everything -.o/iich hutnan nature is ca- 
 pable 0/ thinking or feeling or being, and not only reveal it, but alsoivield it 
 as an instrument of influence to awaken in the auditor correspondent expe- 
 riences.— Rew W. R. Al.C.ER.
 
 38 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 SNOW-FLAKES AND SNOW- 
 DRIFTS. 
 
 A STUDY IN ALL ITER A TION. 
 
 Martha Tyler Gale. 
 
 Asking approval of alliteration 
 Before we begin, we beg benediction, 
 Caution, and candor from critics who censure 
 This daring description of delicate snow-drifts. 
 
 A NGELIC aeronaut, airy and active, 
 
 Aerial avalanche, alpine and awful, 
 Beating men, buffeting, blinding, and burying, 
 Bountifully broadcast, brilliant in beauty, 
 Bird-like and buoyant, yet bringing a blessing, 
 Coming so constantly, crowding and chasing, 
 Cov'ring all closely with cerements. 
 
 Carving such curious conceits on the casements. 
 Crystals, once clear-cut, now crushed by collision, 
 Coronets, crested and cast from cloud-ceilings, 
 Can still be so cold, calm, chilling, and cheerless. 
 Driving its drifts down destructively, drearily, 
 Dismally direful, dreadfully deadly. 
 Daintily draping and decking dull deserts, 
 Elfish, erratic, empyreal! 
 
 Elegant, exquisite, endlessly eddying. 
 Frosting the farms, and the firs, and the fences, 
 Fringing the forests with fantastic fern-fronds, 
 Flying all feathery, fleecy, and foamy. 
 Flinging its flakes forward, faultless as flowers, 
 
 A rt, notwithstanding the antiquity of its origin, is stilt, from a didactical 
 point of vieiv, unknown even to those who profess it. — Delsarte.
 
 £>ELSAR'jji KECITATION BOOK. 39 
 
 Falling from far, from full-fed frosty fountains, 
 Glittering, glistening, gossamer, gauzy, 
 Gems that are God-given, gracefully. 
 
 Hastening from heaven's brow, hurrying headlong. 
 Hiding the heads of the hills all so hoary, 
 Heaving its heaps up higher and huger, 
 .Icily idling in isolate islands, 
 Jauntily joining in jollity joyous, 
 Kissing the kings, the kittens, and king-birds; 
 Lasses and lads love to laugh at its lightness, 
 Lily-like, lovely, yet lawless. 
 
 Loitering lazily, lingering lovingly 
 In myriad mazes or in mountainous masses, 
 Noiselessly nestling 'neath the nooks of nature, 
 Omniform opulent, — only observe it ! 
 Perfectly pure, so pale, pearly, and peerless, 
 Poising on pinnacles, perched picturesquely, 
 Playing with plumage and pinions on pine peaks, 
 Quelling by quantity, quietly. 
 
 Roving round restlessly, rioting ruthlessly. 
 Sweeping on swiftly and surging on sea-like, 
 Scattered so spray-like, sailing so swan-like. 
 Stealing in stillness, slow, solemn, and shroud-like. 
 Softly and silently shed by sweet seraphim, 
 Showered so strangely, shining and star-like. 
 Towering and tipping the turrets of temples. 
 Tossing in tempests terrific. 
 
 Toying tenderly with tracery tasteful, 
 Transiently trimming the twigs and the tree-tops, 
 
 Here is the grand law of organic gymnastics: The triple movement^ the 
 triple language j/ the organs is eccentric, concentric, or normal, according as 
 it is the expression 0/ life, soul, or spirit. — DelaimoSNE.
 
 40 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Unwearied, unsullied, unspotted, unearthly, 
 
 Volatile visitant, — volley of vapor; 
 
 Voyaging vaguely, all visible veiling, 
 
 Waving white wings, and wrathfully warning. 
 
 Whirled by wild winds the world wrapping so whitely. 
 
 Youthfully yielding, sent yearly for yule-time. 
 
 From the zone of the zenith blown zigzag by zephyrs. 
 
 PLAYING SCHOOL. 
 
 LiDA P. Caskin. 
 
 'T'WO little tots on the carpet at play, 
 
 Tired of their usual games, one day, 
 Said one to the other: " Let's play stool; 
 I'll be teacher, and don't you fool. 
 But sit up nice, like a sure 'nough stolar; 
 You'll miss your lesson, I bet you a dollar." 
 Casting about for a word to spell, 
 Blue eyes on puss and her kitten fell; 
 As an object lesson they pose with grace. 
 The mamma washing her baby's face. 
 "Spell Tat," the teacher grandly gives out; 
 "Quick, now; mind what you're about." 
 The "scholar," failing with ignominy. 
 Is sorely shaken and dubbed a ninny. 
 The word repeated again, she fails. 
 When the scene on the rug again avails, 
 And the teacher relents, conscience-smitten: 
 "If you tan't spell Tat, then spell Titten!"
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 41 
 
 THE JOKER'S MISTAKE. 
 
 AN ENCORE PANTOMIME. 
 
 Lemuel B. C. Josephs. 
 
 [The pantomimiSt is supposed to have played a joke and is at first so 
 overcome with the ridiculous side of it that he is unable to see just how 
 the victim has taken it. Gradually it dawns upon him that the joke has 
 been resented, and from surprise his feeling changes to entreaty for 
 forgiveness, instead of which is visited upon him the wrath of the vic- 
 tim. It is recommended that this description be printed on the pro- 
 gram when the pantomime is given. — Editor.] 
 
 ENTER at right of stage as if followed by Mr. Blank, 
 at whom you are laughing heartily. All the panto- 
 mime of laughter is to be given without the sound: 
 mouth open wide; eyes nearly closed; head thrown 
 slightly back; shoulders raised; body shaking with un- 
 controlled laughter (same action as in continued cough- 
 ing, except that the mouth is open wide, lips drawn 
 back, showing teeth); arms hanging relaxed. 
 
 Stopping in walk near the middle front of stage, turn 
 slowly tovvard Blank, taking attitude of base with feet 
 wide apart, weight on both, right arm rising to point at 
 him, while the head, in opposition, is moving slightly 
 forward, so that the forehead is farther front than the 
 chin, eyes wide open directed to Blank, eyebrows raised; 
 Hold attitude. 
 
 Now change expression of face to pain mingled with 
 laughter; mouth still laughing ; rest of face contracted 
 as in pain. Left hand then presses side of torso, elbow 
 out. A moment later bring right hand also to side, 
 head falling back over left shoulder. Hold attitude. 
 
 Right hand now seeks side of forehead; head falling 
 
 Concentrated passion tends to explosion: explosion to prostration. Thtis the 
 only emotion which does not tend to its own destruction is that which is per- 
 fectly poised.— Gbn^vievb Stkbbins.
 
 42 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 back over right shoulder ; left hand reaching out for 
 support on back of chair, making several efforts to reach 
 it and at last grasping it. Then body totters, falling 
 toward chair; head dropping farther back, right hand 
 catching it at back, face completely abandoned to 
 laughter. Hold attitude. 
 
 Still holding chair, knees and waist relaxed, stagger 
 weakly around to front of chair and drop helplessly 
 into it, head falling back, arms dropping lifelessly any- 
 where they will. Still keep amused expression of face, 
 but breathe as if out of breath, interrupting the even- 
 ness of the respiration now and then by shaking with 
 spasmodic laughter. \^Back of chair toivard right of stage^ 
 Hold attitude. 
 
 Now roll the head on back of chair, and lock up 
 toward Blank with mouth slightly open, corners drawn 
 down. Just for an instant hold this, and then, dropping 
 head forward on chest, shake torso and head violently 
 with laughter, shoulders up, arms rising as if to drop 
 over back of chair, and then thrown forcibly down to- 
 hang loosely at sides. While the arms are going down, 
 the head rises and falls back helplessly, eyes almost 
 closed in strongest laughter. Hold attitude. 
 
 Now, with serious look on face, suddenly lift head 
 from support and hold it still to listen. Turn to look 
 with questioning at Blank. The eyes move first, then 
 the head follows, and, hands holding on sides of chair, 
 the torso turns as far around as it can. Hold this atti- 
 tude while eyes alone move to look at left into space. 
 Hold attitude. 
 
 Now lean back, still turned toward Blank, and reach 
 
 The shoulder is the thermometer of passion as well as o_f sensibility: it is 
 the measure of zehemence: it determines the degree of heat and intensity. — 
 Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 43 
 
 « 
 out right hand as to receive pardon from him, eyes look- 
 ing earnestly into his face, lips pouted. Then head 
 drops forward slightly as in shame, while the right hand 
 changes its attitude to that of protest, palm out and 
 fingers up. Left hand now placed upon heart, elbow out, 
 followed by head moving over right shoulder, rotating 
 to bring face again to Blank with eyes expressing sur- 
 prise, lips loosely parted. Hold attitude. 
 
 Now sit up defiantly, head thrown back away from 
 Blank, both hands coming emphatically to upper (men- 
 tal) zone of torso, elbows raised. Left foot moves far- 
 ther back ; liead drops forward toward left, right hand 
 rising as if to ward off something that threatens. Drop 
 from sitting position to kneeling upon left knee, both 
 arms rising to seek forbearance, head thrown up in en- 
 treaty. Hands then clasp suddenly and are brought 
 near to torso, elbows still raised in front. Head now 
 drops on chest, followed by clasped hands dropping 
 upon right knee. Hold attitude. 
 
 Torso turning to left is prevented from falling by the 
 left arm reaching the floor and making a support ; face 
 meanwhile turns toward Blank, head hanging back, suf- 
 fering and entreaty expressed, right hand repelling his 
 words (arm straight). Hold attitude. 
 
 Now swing body from last attitude so as to fall to 
 floor, forearms crossed to form cushion for head. 
 
 To rise easily from this position to quit the stage, 
 raise head and release right arm ; draw left hand nearer 
 to brace body up until your weight is on left knee ; 
 move right foot, knee having risen, forward ; free left 
 hand, and, changing weight to right foot, rise a^from 
 kneeling. 
 
 Every man has his /az'orite gesture: and were it possible to surprise him, 
 and to delineate him nvhile using this gesture, it would furnish the key to his 
 whole character. — LavaTER.
 
 44 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 SUGGESTION. 
 
 In the practice of this pantomime, subtle changes of 
 expression and enlargement of the scene by the intro- 
 duction of other attitudes will suggest themselves to 
 the student. The writer has endeavored merely to out- 
 line the work, knowing that if each attitude were de- 
 scribed in all its details these dangers might arise: either 
 the explanation might be confusing, or it would make 
 the student merely mechanical, or it would not be read 
 at all. The most important thing to be remembered is 
 that the situation must be realized by the student ; that 
 is, he must feel that certain things called up to his im- 
 agination are real^ and let his well-trained body be free 
 to obey his inner states. Each expression of face, body, 
 and limb continues until contradicted. 
 
 THE MASQUE OF THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 
 
 /^UT from tower and from steeple rang the sudden 
 
 ^-^^ New Year bells, 
 
 Like the chorusing of genii in aerial citadels; 
 
 And, as they chimed and echoed overthwart the gulfs 
 
 of gloom, 
 Lo, a brilliance burst upon me, and a masque went 
 
 through the room. 
 
 First, the young New Year came forward like a little 
 
 dancing child, 
 And his hair was as a glory, and his eyes were bright 
 
 and wild. 
 
 It is clearly easier to translate a language than to torite it: atidjust as we 
 must learn to translate be/ore 7ve can learn to compose, so tve must become 
 thoroughly /amiiiar with se/neiotics be/ore trying to work at asthetics. — Del- 
 
 SARTE. 
 
 4— ■
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 45 
 
 And he shook an odorous torch, and he laughed but did 
 
 not speak, 
 And his smile went softly rippling through the roses of 
 
 his cheek. 
 
 'Round he looked across his shoulder — and the Spirit 
 
 of the Spring 
 Entered slowl}^ moved before me, paused and lingered 
 
 on the wing; 
 And she smiled and wept together, with a dalliance 
 
 quaint and sweet. 
 And her tear-drops changed to flowers underneath her 
 
 gliding feet. 
 
 Then a landscape opened outward; broad, brown wood- 
 lands stretched away 
 
 In the luminous blue distance of a windy, clear March 
 day; 
 
 Birds flashed about the copses, striking sharp notes 
 through the air; 
 
 Danced the lambs within the meadows; crept the snake 
 from out his lair. 
 
 Soft as shadows sprang the violets, thousands seeming 
 
 but as one; 
 Flamed the crocuses beside them, like gold droppings 
 
 of the sun; 
 And the Goddess of the Spring faded where the leaves 
 
 were piled; 
 And the New Year had grown older, and no longer was 
 
 a child. 
 
 When a f>upil is able at will instantly to summon the distinct and vivid 
 picture on his face of whatever state of feeling calls for expression, he is so 
 far forth ready for entrance on his professional career. — Rev. W. R. Alghr.
 
 46 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 II. 
 
 Summer, shaking languid roses from his dew-bedabbled 
 
 hair, 
 Summer, in a robe of green, and with his arms and 
 
 shoulders bare, 
 Next came forward, flowers bowed beneath a crowd of 
 
 armored bees; 
 Long grass swaying in the playing of the almost wearied 
 
 breeze. 
 
 Rapid, rosy-tinted lightnings, where the rocky clouds 
 
 are riven, 
 Like the lifting of a veil before the inner courts of 
 
 heaven; 
 Silver stars in azure evenings, slowly climbing up the 
 
 steep; 
 Cornfields ripening to the harvest, and the wide seas 
 
 smooth with sleep. 
 
 Circled with those living splendors. Summer passed from 
 
 out my sight 
 Like a dream that filled with beauty all the caverns of 
 
 the night! 
 And the vision and the presence into empty nothing 
 
 ran — 
 And the New Year was still older, and seemed now a 
 
 youthful man. 
 
 III. 
 
 Autumn! Forth from glowing orchards stepped he 
 
 gayly in a gown 
 Of warm russet, freaked with gold, and with a vision 
 
 sunny brown; 
 
 The characteristic of beauty is to be amiable; consequently, a thing is ugly 
 only in view of the amiable things which we seek in beauty. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 47 
 
 On liis head a rural cliaplet, wreathed with heavily 
 drooping grapes, 
 
 And broad shadow-casting vine leaves like the Bac- 
 chanalian shapes. 
 
 Fruits and berries rolled before him from the year's ex- 
 hausted horn; 
 
 Jets of wine went spinning upward, and he held a sheaf 
 of corn; 
 
 And he laughed for very joy, and he danced from too 
 much pleasure, 
 
 And he sang old songs of harvest, and he quaffed a 
 mighty measure. 
 
 But I saw the woods consuming in a many-colored 
 
 death — 
 Streaks of yellow flame down-deepening through the 
 
 green that lingereth. 
 Sanguine flashes, like a sunset, and austerely shadowing 
 
 brown; 
 And I heard within the silence the nuts sharply rattling 
 
 down. 
 
 And I saw the long, dark hedges all alight with scarlet 
 fire. 
 
 Where the berries, pulpy-ripe, had spread their bird- 
 feasts on the brier. 
 
 All too soon waned Autumn, vanished over misty heath 
 and meres — 
 
 And the New Year stood beside me like a man of fifty 
 years. 
 
 Continued indulgence in any one form o/feeling will make that feeling the 
 predominant trait. — Genevikvb Stebbins.
 
 48 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 IV. 
 
 In a foggy cloud obscurely entered Winter, ashy pale, 
 And his step was hard and heavy, and he wore an icy 
 
 mail ; 
 Blasting all the path before him, leapt a black wind 
 
 from the North, 
 And from stinging drifts of sleet he forged the arrows 
 
 of his wrath. 
 
 Yet some beauty still was found; for when the fogs had 
 
 passed away, 
 The wide lands came glittering forward in a fresh and 
 
 strange array; 
 Naked trees had got snow foliage, soft, and feathery, 
 
 and bright, 
 And the earth looked dressed for heaven in its spiritual 
 
 white. 
 
 But the face of Winter softened, and his lips broke into 
 smiles, 
 
 And his heart was filled with radiance as from far-en- 
 chanted isles; 
 
 For across the long horizon came a light upon the way — 
 
 The light of Christmas fires, and the dawning of new 
 day. 
 
 And Winter moved not onward like the rest, but made 
 
 a stand. 
 And took the spirit of Christmas, as a brother, by the 
 
 hand; 
 And together toward the heavens a great cry of joy they 
 
 sent — 
 And the New Year was the Old Year, and his head was 
 
 gray and bent. 
 
 ^Esthetics determines the inherent /orms o_f sentiment in view of the effects 
 ■whose truth of relation it estimates. — Dslsakte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 49 
 
 Then another New Year entered, like another dancing 
 
 child, 
 With his tresses as a glory, and his glances bright and 
 
 wild; 
 And lie flashed his odorous torch, and he laughed out 
 
 in the place. 
 And his soul looked forth in joy and made a sunshine 
 
 on his face. 
 
 Out from spire, and from turret, pealed the sudden New 
 Year bells, 
 
 Like the distant songs of angels in their fields of aspho- 
 dels; 
 
 And that lustrous child went sparkling to his aged 
 father's side. 
 
 And the New Year kissed the Old Year, and the Old 
 Year gently died. 
 
 AN INCIDENT OF THE JOHNS- 
 TOWN FLOOD. 
 
 MONNIE MOORE. 
 
 [During that awful night of horror a woman upon a trail raft, borne 
 along by the angry waters, was heard singing this old-time hymn.] 
 
 " C^ESUS, lover of my soul, 
 ^y Let me to Thy bosom fly." 
 Hark ! above the angry tempest, 
 
 And the waves that beat the shore. 
 Comes the sound of some one singing, 
 
 Sounds a voice above the roar. 
 
 Art is expression^ involving something to be expressed, and a projier form 
 as the viediuin o/ expression. — T. M. Balliet.
 
 50 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 And the watchers, filled with horror, 
 
 Mingled with a breathless awe. 
 Heard the sweet and old-time music, 
 
 Though the singer no one saw. 
 Nearer, nearer, now 'tis plainer; 
 
 List ! the words are borne along. 
 As a soul that's fast departing 
 
 Seeks her Maker with a sonor. 
 
 O 
 
 And her gentle spirit passing 
 From its home of earthly clay. 
 
 Soon will find that blessed refuge, 
 Soon will tread the shining way. 
 
 " Other refuge have I none, 
 Hangs my helpless soul on Thee.'' 
 Helpless? no, thy faith will strengthen 
 
 Thee, and banish every fear. 
 And the storm that beats above thee 
 
 Brings thee heaven still more near. 
 Oh ! the anguish; oh ! the weeping 
 
 Of that awful, dreary time; 
 But like oil upon the waters. 
 
 Came the words of that old hymn, 
 Though they knew no more, forever, 
 
 Would the singer sweetly tell 
 Of the refuge from all sorrow, 
 
 Of the way that leads from hell. 
 
 " Leave, oh ! leave tne not alone, 
 Still support and comfort me.'' 
 Not alone upon the waters, 
 
 Still thy soul thy Lord will keep; 
 
 Art is an act -whose semeiotics characterizes the forms produced by the ac- 
 tion of powers^ which action is determined by esthetics, and the causes of 
 which are sought out by ontology. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 51 
 
 And His hand will still support thee, 
 
 Though the waves toss wild and steep. 
 Frail thy bark, but great His mercy; 
 
 And thy loved ones gone before 
 Will behold thy face in rapture. 
 
 Ere this long, dark night is o'er. 
 Onward, still, the singer floating, 
 
 Swirling, changing with the tide, 
 Weak and frail, alone and dying. 
 
 Where is he who made her bride ? 
 Where the strong arms that would shield her? 
 
 Where the broad and manly form 
 That would brook no ill or danger. 
 
 So that she should meet no harm ? 
 
 Tell the story, oh, ye billows ! 
 
 That with fury round her play. 
 Tell how battling bravely, grandly, 
 
 Did he give his life away. 
 Tell the story of his daring. 
 
 How he sternly baffled death. 
 As he strove to save his dear ones 
 
 With his latest fleeting breath; 
 How the shining baby ringlets 
 
 That were pillowed on his breast. 
 Lie there still in death's grim silence, 
 
 That togethef now they rest. 
 While the gentle little mother 
 
 Floats away, alone, away. 
 Through the storm and through the darkness 
 
 To tlie golden endless day. 
 
 All gestures maybe dh'ided into two classes: Gestures which make refer- 
 ence to objects: gestures which express the states or conditions of the being. — 
 Moses Trie Buown.
 
 52 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 And adown the shore the watchers 
 
 Greet the singer and her song, 
 Which no tempest sound can deaden. 
 
 As the years shall pass, how long 
 Will that singer be remembered, 
 
 Telling from the gates of death 
 Of the old-time faith and duty 
 
 That makes calm the latest breath. 
 And the sneers that men may offer, 
 
 With the scholar's logic deep. 
 Must be laid aside forever 
 
 When we reach our final sleep; 
 And the faith that Jesus taught us, 
 
 In the words of that old hymn, 
 Is the faith that's surest, safest. 
 
 When the tempest shuts us in. 
 
 While the refuge that would shelter 
 
 Every proud and wilful head, 
 Was the refuge of the singer. 
 
 And her soul was free from dread, 
 As above the tempest sang she. 
 
 Sheltered by an angel's wing; 
 While her last words, faintly spoken. 
 
 " Simply to Thy cross I cli/tg, 
 Simply to Thy cross, oh. Saviour !" 
 
 Seemed they all to hear her say. 
 As the dark waves closed above her. 
 
 As they bore her form away. 
 And through all that time of sorrow. 
 
 Through the days of gloom and woe. 
 
 The Beautiful is an absolute principle' it is the essence of bein^, the life 
 of their functions. Beauty Js a consequence, an effect^ a form of the Beauti- 
 ful. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 53 
 
 Seemed they still to hear that singer 
 
 Singing softly, sweet and low: 
 " Nothing in my hand I bring, 
 Simply to Thy cross I cling." 
 
 PERDITA. 
 
 A COSTUME STATUE RECITATION. 
 
 Mrs. W. R. Jones. 
 
 T BREATHE, I move, I live! 
 
 My pulses throb, my heart begins to beat! 
 I feel the hot blood mounting to my cheeks! 
 My nerves awake with strange electric thrill ! 
 My limbs succumb to this new power, 
 And bend obedient to my will! 
 Oh, this is life! my wild desire, my bitter-sweet; 
 Oh, mad delight! I kneel to welcome thee; 
 I clasp thee to my passionate heart; 
 I laugh to hear the echoes of my voice; 
 I weep to feel the hot tears on my cheek, 
 I move and turn to know that I am free ! 
 
 A sudden mem'ry flashes through my brain 
 
 And checks my gladness at its birth. 
 
 Oh! once before I lived in this glad world, 
 
 As glad as now. Perdita was my name, 
 
 Perdita — lost? Aye, lost! Well named was I, 
 
 Since lost I am to all I knew and loved ! 
 
 I loved Justitia — loved him ? Love him still! 
 
 Moons waxed and waned above our happy heads, 
 
 Till June breathed over us her am'rous sighs. 
 
 And roses blushed to greet her; then we made ready 
 
 The coming reaction /rom the modern scientific era must be steadily to'iuard 
 a time when there ivill be a better care for our bodies and vital needs, and 
 truer appreciation of the ar/'j. — Fk.\.nklin H. Sargent.
 
 54 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 For the marriage rites. The light-winged hours flew by 
 Until the strange, glad evening came. 
 Crowned with pale roses, 'mid the happy guests 
 I stood, trembling, expectant, awaiting my lord, 
 " He comes," they cried, and parted to make room. 
 
 Into my glad eyes some one was looking. 
 
 It was not he, but Vindex, rejected suitor, spurned long 
 since! 
 
 " What dost thou here ?" 
 
 "Justitia is false to thee; this hour is wedded to an- 
 other," 
 
 He whispered low into my dull ear. 
 
 "Justitia false to me! this hour is wedded to another! 
 
 Impossible!" " The trailing fire of their mad revelry 
 
 See thou here! Justitia forgets Perdita in the merry 
 dance, 
 
 Or in the soft caresses of his love, 
 
 Or remembers but to scorn. He mocks thee waiting. 
 
 Though spurned by thee, I come to shield thee 
 
 From the jeering crowd. Let Vindex share thy shame, 
 
 Or interpose his ready arm 'twixt thee 
 
 And mocking insult. Let Hymen's altar not be decked 
 in vain. 
 
 To shield and save thy honor, that is all I ask. 
 
 When thou shalt bear my name, swift as a falling star 
 
 I'll quit thy sight; can love do more?" 
 
 Stung into madness by the treachery of him I loved 
 Oh! better than the red blood of my heart, 
 Better — hear it, ye gods! — than all my hopes of bliss — 
 " 'Tis well!" I cried; "let the procession move! 
 
 Beauty is that reason itself which presides at the creation of things. — Del- 
 
 SARTE.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 55 
 
 Jiistitia, let him not once be named among us. 
 Once lord of my heart, henceforth accursed! 
 Vindex, whom you all know has loved me long, 
 The noble scion of a noble house, does me the honor 
 To make me his bride. Let the procession move!" 
 
 But when the merry wedding guests had gone, 
 And echoes of the dance and jest had died away, 
 I stood alone within my bridal chamber. 
 Decked with white roses for my recreant love. 
 Sadder than death. The midnight bell was tolling. 
 Shrouded by curtains of the night, Vindex stole to my 
 
 side. 
 " What dost thou here ? Thy promise ! Go !" 
 "Thou art my wife !" He was mj'' husband, 
 I, his frightened, shrinking wife ! 
 " My soul's sweet purity denies the bond. 
 Betrayed by him I loved, oh, better than my life, 
 I have no tongue to tell the madness that drove me 
 To be thy wife. Oh ! I beseech thee, go ! 
 I do not love thee ! Some law shall make 
 This hateful marriage null. This chamber 
 With white roses decked to celebrate our love 
 Is but the symbol of the death of joy, of hope, of love, 
 
 to me. 
 I beseech thee, leave me to my madness, my despair!" 
 
 " I am thy husband, lord of thy house, lord of thy life. 
 
 Perdita, listen. Once at thy feet I lay. 
 
 Imploring but a word, a smile. 
 
 What didst thou ? Spurned me from thy sight 
 
 As thou wouldst spurn a worm. 
 
 Wherever beauty is you mi there must be the tivo factors — the idea and the 
 form^ so united that the latter is the expression 0/ the /oriner. — T. M. Bal- 
 HET.
 
 56 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 I swore eternal vengeance that thou should'st be my 
 
 bride; 
 I have performed the vow. As fair as false 
 And false as hell, thou'rt mine by means as false as 
 
 thou. 
 Justitia lies in chains, entrapped by servitors of mine. 
 He writhes, and prays to die ; calls on thy name ; 
 Curses thy Vindex, ha-ha ! while I — feast on thy lips, 
 Sweet lips, still sweeter since unwilling." 
 
 "Oh! no, no ! traitor! fiend! Justitia! Justitia!" 
 
 Madly I fled away through hall and corridor, 
 
 Flying as flies the hunted doe by blood-hounds tracked; 
 
 Crushing the roses 'neath my heedless feet ; 
 
 Tearing my costly, pearl-set bridal robes ; 
 
 Hiding in ghostly shadows dim ; 
 
 Holding my panting breath with close-clinched teeth ; 
 
 Doubling upon my track, by terror urged, 
 
 Pursued, o'ertaken, breathless, exhausted. 
 
 At his feet I fell with one imploring cry : 
 
 " Oh, Vindex, pity me !" " Thou'rt mine," he hissed, 
 
 And stooped to kiss me. Away I sprang again, 
 
 New nerved by touch so foul. 
 
 ** Oh, heaven !" I cried, " make me unfeeling marble. 
 
 Insensate to his loathsome kiss !" 
 
 'Twas done ! rigid as death I stood. 
 
 Marble cold my cheek and lip. 
 
 Marble my heart, nor hate, nor love could know. 
 
 Unmoved I saw the frightened Vindex stand aghast ; 
 
 Unmoved I heard Justitia come and fall and weep. 
 
 The shoulder, in every man who is tiieved or agitated, rises sensibly, his 
 will playing no part in the ascension: the successive developments of this in- 
 voluntary act are in absolute proportion to the passional intensity luhose nu- 
 meric measure they form; the shoulder may, there/ore, be fitly called the 
 thermometer ofi sensibility. — Delsarte.
 
 JEWEL SCENE IN ■TAUST.
 
 PRAYING HANDS. 
 By Albreclit Diirer.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 57 
 
 In a fair niche in Art's great temple placed 
 
 I saw men's faces come and go, 
 
 Like shadows of a long-forgotten dream. 
 
 Wrapped in an ecstacy of bliss I stood, 
 
 Indifferent how the hours sped by. 
 
 My soul seemed trembling in an upper world, 
 
 Twin sister to the beams of stars, 
 
 Wooed by the chaste moon's silvery light, 
 
 Or hushed to rest by southern winds 
 
 That, murm'ring in the dusky pines, 
 
 Sang low. Secrets I heard of upper air, 
 
 Secrets of stars and planets there ; 
 
 Secrets of songs that wild birds sing, 
 
 And why the nightingale complains. 
 
 But to-night a white star has leaned out of heaven ; 
 
 It has beckoned to me, is beckoning still. 
 
 With grief, or with joy, or with love overburdened, 
 
 It is breaking its heart its secret to tell. 
 
 Hush thy babble, oh, fountain ! let me listen, let me listen. 
 
 Be still, oh, night-winds ! in thy dusky pines ; 
 
 Beat not so loud and so fast, my poor heart ! 
 
 Some one is coming ; this white star is his message. 
 
 Justitia ! Justitia ! my lover ! my lover ! 
 
 Far off now, now nearer thy footstep I hear. \ 
 
 Come quicker ! White star, give him these kisses, 
 
 And tell him I live and I love him ! 
 
 Oh ! weave me a veil of the mists of the morning 
 
 To hide these hot blushes. Stay still on my forehead 
 
 Marble whiteness and peace, that there he may kiss me 
 
 And call me his angel, his bride as pure as the snow ! 
 
 In proportion to the depth and majesty 0/ the emotion ivill be the deliberate- 
 ness and slotvness 0/ the motion. In proportion to the superjiciality and ex- 
 plosiveness 0/ the emotion rvill be the 7'elocity 0/ the motion. The longer an 
 ngent 0/ e.tpression is held at rest, the greater ivill be its motion when re- 
 leased. — Moses True Brown.
 
 58 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Justitia ! oh, my beloved ! 
 
 The winds have sighed themselves to rest, 
 
 The moon has kissed the sea, 
 
 As I shall sigh upon thy breast 
 
 And lose myself in thee ' 
 
 WHY MY FATHER LEFT THE 
 
 ARMY. 
 
 Charles Lever. Arranged by John A. MacCabe. 
 
 " T^UT by the piper that played before Moses, it's more 
 whipping nor gingerbread is going on amongst 
 sodgers, av ye knew but all, and heard the misfortune 
 that happened to my father." 
 
 " And was he a sodger?" inquired one. 
 
 "Troth was he, more sorrow to him, and wasn't he 
 almost whipped, one day, for doing what he was bid 
 Maybe ye might like to hear the story, and there's in- 
 struction in it for yes, too. 
 
 " Well, it's a good many years ago my father listed in 
 the North Cork, just to oblige Mr. Barry; 'for,' says 
 he, ' Phil,' says he, ' it's not a sodger ye'll be at all, but 
 my own man, to brush my clothes and go errands, and 
 the like o' that. Well, my father agreed, and Mr. Barry 
 was as good as his word. 
 
 " Well, for three years this went on as I'm telling, 
 when one evening there was a night party patrolling, 
 with Captain Barry, for six hours in the rain, and the 
 captain, God be marciful to him, tuk cowld and died: 
 
 ^ 
 
 When a tnan says to you in interjective form, " I love ^ I suffer^ I am de- 
 lighted." etc., do not believe him if his shoulder remains in a normal atti- 
 tude. — Delsarte.
 
 DELSAKTE RECITATION BOOK. 59 
 
 more betoken, they said it was drink, but my father says 
 it wasn't ; ' for,' says he, * after he tuk eight tumblers 
 comfortable, I mixed the ninth, and the captain waved 
 his hand this way, as much as to say he'd have no niore.^ 
 Is it that ye mean,' says my father, and the captain 
 nodded. ' Musha, but it's sorry I am,' says my father, 
 'to see you this way, for ye must be bad entirely to 
 leave off in the beginning of the evening.' And thrue 
 for him, the captain was dead in the morning. 
 
 " A sorrowful day it was for my father, when he died ; 
 it was the finest place in the world ; little to do ; plenty 
 of divarsion ; and a kind man he was. Well, when the 
 captain was buried, my father hoped they'd be for let- 
 ting him away ; but they ordered him into the ranks to 
 be drilled just like the recruits they took the day be- 
 fore. 
 
 *' * Musha, isn't this hard,' says my father ; ' here I am 
 an ould vitrin that ought to be discharged on a pension, 
 obliged to go capering about practicing the goose step, 
 or some other nonsense not becoming my age nor my 
 habits ;' but so it was. Well, this went on for some 
 time, and, sure, if they were hard on my father, hadn't 
 he his revenge ? for he nigh broke their hearts with his 
 stupidity ; oh! nothing in life could equal him ; devil a 
 thing, no matter how easy, he could learn at all, and, 
 so far from caring for being in confinement, it was that 
 he liked best. Every sergeant in the regiment had a 
 trial of him, but all to no good, and he seemed striving 
 so hard to learn all the while, that they were loath to 
 punish him, the ould rogue! 
 
 "Well, one day news came that a body of the rebels, 
 as they called them, was coming down to storm the 
 
 The artistic idea ivithin must Jorm the outtvard expression^ but that idea 
 seems in genius to he unconscious: you cannot mentally plan it at the moment 
 0/ its eAccution. — Genevieve Steubins.
 
 6o DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 town. The whole regiment was, of course, under arms, 
 and great preparations were made for a battle ; patrols 
 were ordered to scour the roads, and sentries posted 
 everywhere, to give warning when the boys came in 
 sight, and my father was placed at the bridge of Drum- 
 snag, in the wildest and bleakest part of the whole 
 country. 
 
 " * This is pleasant,' says my father, as soon as they 
 left him there alone by himself, with no human crayture 
 to speak to, nor refreshment within ten miles of him; 
 ' cowld comfort,' says he, ' on a winter's day, and faix 
 but I've a mind to give ye the slip.' 
 
 "Well, he put his gun down, and he lit his pipe, and 
 he sat down under an ould tree and began to ruminate 
 upon his affairs. 
 
 "' Oh, then, it's wishing it well I am,' says he, 'for 
 sodgering; and, bad luck to the hammer that struck the 
 shilling that listed me, that's all,' for he was mighty low 
 in his heart. 
 
 "Just then a noise came rattling down near him; and 
 before he could get on his legs, down came the general, 
 ould Cohoon, with an orderly after him. 
 
 " ' Who goes there ?' says my father. 
 
 "' The round,' says the general, looking about to see 
 where was the sentry, for my father was snug under the 
 tree. 
 
 " ' What round?' says my father. 
 
 "'The grand round,' says the general, more puzzled 
 than afore. 
 
 "'Pass on, grand round, and God save you kindly,' 
 says my father, putting his pipe in his mouth again, for 
 he thought all was over. 
 
 Aesthetics is the science of the sefisitive and passional mani/estations ivhich 
 are the object of art, and whose psychic /brm it constitutes. — Delsartk.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 6 1 
 
 "'Where are you?' says the general; for sorra bit of 
 my father could he see yet. 
 
 "'It's here I am,' says he, 'and a covvld place I 
 have of it; and av it wasn't for the pipe I'd be lost en- 
 tirely.* 
 
 "The words wasn't well out of his mouth, when the 
 general began laughing till ye'd think he'd fall off his 
 horse. 
 
 "*Yer a droll sentry,' says the general as soon he 
 could speak. 
 
 " ' Be gorra, it's little fun there's left in me,' says my 
 father, 'with this drilling, and parading, and blagaard- 
 ing about the roads all night.' 
 
 " 'And is this the way you salute your officer ?' says 
 the general. 
 
 "'Just so,' says my father; 'devil a more politeness 
 ever they taught me.' 
 
 "'What regiment do you belong to ?' says the gen- 
 eral. 
 
 " ' The North Cork, bad luck to them,' says my father, 
 with a sigh. 
 
 " * They ought to be proud of ye,' says the general. 
 
 '" I'm sorry for it,' says my father, sorrowfully, 'for 
 maybe they'll keep me the longer.' 
 
 "'Well, my good fellow,' says the general, ' let me 
 teach you something before I go. Whenever your offi- 
 cer passes, it's your duty to present arms to him.' 
 
 "' Arrah, it's jokin' ye are,' says my father. 
 
 " * No, I'm in earnest,' says he, ' as ye might learn to 
 your cost, if I brought you to a court-martial.' 
 
 '"Well, there's no knowing,' says my father, 'what 
 they'd be up to; but sure if that's all, I'll do it with all 
 
 DeUarte nchieved perfect triumph by abolishing sel/^ ami alivays resuscitat- 
 ing alive in its pure integrity the very truth cf the characters he essayed. — 
 Rev. W. R. Algkr.
 
 62 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 *' the veins of my heart" whenever yer coming this way 
 again.' 
 
 "The general began to laugh again here, but said: 
 
 "' I'm coming back in the evening,' says he, 'and 
 mind you don't forget your respect to your officer.' 
 
 " ' Never fear, sir,' says my father; ' and many thanks 
 to you for telling me.' 
 
 "The night was falling fast, and my father began to 
 think they were forgetting him entirely. He looked 
 one way, and he looked another, but sorra bit of a ser- 
 geant's guard was coming to relieve him. • I'll give 
 you a quarter of an hour more,' says my father, ' till the 
 light leaves that rock up there; after that,' says he, 
 ' by the mass! I'll be off, cost me what it may.' 
 
 "Well, his courage was not needed this time; for 
 what did he see at the same moment but a shadow of 
 something coming down the road; he looked again, 
 and made out the general followed by the orderly. My 
 father immediately took up his musket off the wall, 
 settled his belts, shook the ashes out of his pipe, and 
 put it into his pocket, making himself as smart and 
 neat-looking as he could be, determining, when ould 
 Cohoon came up, to ask him for leave to go home, at 
 least for the night. So he up with his musket to his 
 shoulder, and presented it straight at the general. It 
 wasn't well there, when the officer pulled up his horse 
 quite short, and shouted out, ' Sentry— sentry!' 
 
 "'Anan!' says my father, still covering him. 
 " ' Down with your musket, you rascal; don't you see 
 it's the grand round.' 
 
 " ' To be sure I do,' says my father, never changing for 
 a minute. 
 
 Nothing is so unfamiliar to man as Aimsei/.—DELSAKTE.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 63 
 
 "'The ruffian will slioot me,' says the general. 
 
 "'Devil a fear,' says my father, ' av it doesn't go off 
 of itself.' 
 
 '"What do you mean by that, you villain ?' says the 
 general, scarce able to speak with fright, for every turn 
 he gave on his horse my father followed with the gun — 
 ' What do you mean?' 
 
 " ' Sure, aint I presenting,' says my father; ' blood an' 
 ages, do you want me to fire next ?' 
 
 "With that the general drew a pistol from his hol- 
 ster, and took deliberate aim at my father; and there 
 they both stood for five minutes, looking at each other, 
 the orderly, all the while, breaking his heart laughing 
 behind a rock; for, ye see, the general knew av he re- 
 treated that my father might fire on purpose, and av 
 he came on that he might fire by chance; and sorra bit 
 he knew what was best to be done. 
 
 " ' Are ye going to pass the evening up there, grand 
 round ?' says my father, ' for it's tired I'm getting 
 houldin' this so long.' 
 
 " ' Port arms,' shouts the general, as if on parade. 
 
 "'Sure, I can't, till yer passed,' says my father, an- 
 grily, ' and my hand's trembling already.' 
 
 " ' By heavens! I shall be shot,' says the general. 
 
 " ' Be gorra, it's what I'm afraid of,' says my father; 
 and the words wasn't out of his mouth before off 
 went the musket bang, and down fell the general 
 smack on the ground, senseless. Well, the orderly ran 
 out at this, and took him up and examined his wound ; 
 but it wasn't a wound at all, only the wadding of the 
 gun, for my father — God be kind to him — ye see, could 
 do nothing right, and so he bit off the wrong end of 
 
 Tlie afffci precedes and determines the effect. — MoSES True Brown.
 
 64 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 the cartridge when he put it in the gun, and by reason 
 there was no bullet in it ! Well, from that day after they 
 never got sight of him, for the instant the general 
 dropped, he ran away; and what between living in a 
 lime-kiln for two months, eating nothing but blackber- 
 ries and sloes, and other disguises, he never returned to 
 the army, but ever after tuk to a civil situation, and 
 driv a hearse for many years." 
 
 VOICES OF THE WILDWOOD. 
 
 Ella Sterling Cummins. 
 
 [To recite this poem well a certain airiness, lightness, and spon- 
 taneity is required. There must be no conventional " ha! ha!" in the 
 laughter, but rather a gleeful, childish chuckle. The " voices" are half 
 sung, half spoken. The first one, the meadow-lark, is especially queer 
 in its notes, being sort of slurred into each other. For this reason, it is 
 a little difficult; and yet, because of its originality and simplicity of 
 sentiment, very taking with an audience.] 
 
 A S I was wandering through a wood, 
 All dark and dense and wild, 
 I came upon a palace wall. 
 
 And found myself beguiled 
 By the bubbling notes of innocence — 
 The laughter of a child. 
 
 Safe was she within her world, 
 
 And I was just outside ; 
 To me she seemed a fairy child. 
 
 It cannot be denied, 
 For she was calling flocks of birds 
 
 That came from far and wide. 
 
 One can only appreciate the importance o/ an act ivhen he takes into account 
 the nature o/ its agents. — Delsakte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 65 
 
 A merry, trilling cry- 
 Came o'er the palace wall ; 
 
 •* Ah ! ha ! ha ! here am I ! 
 Why, don't you hear me call ? 
 
 Come froggy, birdlings, squirrel, too ! 
 
 Don't you hear me calling you ? 
 
 " Ah ! ha ! ha ! come this way, 
 
 You darlings, every one, 
 I'm broken-hearted quite to-day, 
 
 The clouds are o'er the sun." 
 Then rose a sudden sound of glee. 
 
 C\fl ^ A 
 
 
 r 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 y +♦■ -> f , 
 
 \ A 
 
 
 p 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 H 
 
 
 *t ^' 
 
 
 
 
 " • 
 
 
 ^ > - 
 
 I 
 
 V 
 
 
 — 1 — 
 
 -^— 
 
 — 1 
 
 -1 
 
 '^'■Sweetl Well! what do you think of me? 
 \^Imitation of i/ieaJotv-lark, half spoken, half sung.\ 
 
 " Oh ! meadow-lark, you darling dear ! 
 
 You're always first to speak ; 
 Come rest upon my shoulder, here, 
 
 And press against my cheek." 
 And then she sang most merrily, 
 " S2veet ? JFell ! what do you think of me ?" 
 l^Same notes as before.^ 
 
 *' Old froggy, down there wet and cool, 
 
 Now what have you to say? 
 Are you happy in your pool, 
 
 And how do you feel to-day ?" 
 The frog his sweetest tune now tried. 
 But " Ugly ! ugly ! "gly ■''' hoarse he cried. 
 
 What 7ve />roiiuce is tiifreiy the form of ivhat exists in our minds.— G^HE.- 
 viEVE Stebuins.
 
 66 
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 'Tm sorry !" then responded she, 
 
 Yet laughing at the jest, 
 " Oh ! faithful wood-dove, answer me ! 
 
 Whom do you love the best ?" 
 The bird puffed out his purple sheen. 
 And cooed, " My qiie-en ! my que-en I my que-enT 
 
 "You frisky squirrel on the wall, 
 
 Have you no message, say? 
 Some message from the tree-tops tall, 
 
 To lonesome Deirdre ?" 
 The squirrel sat with tail upcurled, 
 " Come up ! come up ! come up and see the world j^' 
 
 " Oh ! tiny bird* with nodding head, 
 
 What fate is waiting me ? 
 Shall my true love and I be wed ? 
 
 Oh ! what is fate's decree?" 
 The brown bird moaned as he sang above. 
 
 " Earewcll, my love, Farewell, my love " 
 
 I turned away, I had no choice ; 
 
 For I could not bear to stay 
 And hear the sobs of that childish voice, 
 
 The child in her sad dismay. 
 And the brown bird moaned in the tree above, 
 " Farewell, my love ! Farewell, jny love.'" 
 [Same notes as before?^ 
 
 * A tiny species of fly-catcher found in the Sierras. 
 
 Semeiotics is the science of tJic organic signs by which {esthetics must study 
 inherent fitness. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 67 
 
 TEN ROBBER TOES. 
 
 LiLLiE E. Barr. 
 
 " I ^HERE is a story that I have been told, 
 And it's just as old as babies are old, 
 For sweet Mother Eve, as everyone knows, 
 Told her babies the tale of the toes. 
 
 Told to her babies how ten little toes, 
 Each one as pink as the pinkest pink rose, 
 Once on a time were naughty and bad ; 
 And sorrow and trouble in consequence had. 
 
 How this big toe wanted butter and bread, 
 After his mamma had put him to bed ; 
 And this lying next said: " S'posen we go 
 Down to the pantry and get it, you know." 
 
 And this wicked toe cried, " Come along, quick ; 
 Let's sugar the butter ever so thick." 
 And this naughty toe cried: " Jelly for me 
 Top of the butter and bread, you see." 
 
 And this little toe cried: " Goody, let's go, 
 We'll slip down the stairs so quiet and slow." 
 So ten robber toes, all tipped with red. 
 Stole silently out of their snowy white bed. 
 
 While this wicked toe, so jolly and fat. 
 Helped nine naughty toes to pitty-pat-pat 
 Along the big hall, with pillars of white, 
 And down the back stairs devoid of light. 
 
 Py gesture, fltiy of countenance, and tone of voice, we can tell what a man 
 thinks, feels, or wills: but by his (•hysiognomy and the automatic moi'tments 
 of his body, we can tell what ke is.—'\. %\. Balliet.
 
 68 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Then this little toe got a terrible scare, 
 For he thought in the dark of a grizzly bear. 
 And this little toe said : " Nurse must be right 
 That goblins and witches are living at night." 
 
 And this little toe said : " A fox may be hid 
 In the hat-rack box right under the lid." 
 And this little toe cried : " Dearie me, oh ! 
 Lions and tigers is coming, I know." 
 
 Then mamma came out with the beautiful light. 
 Caught ten robber toes all ready for flight, 
 Yes, she caught and she kissed those ten robber toes. 
 Till redder they were than any red rose. 
 
 HER LOVERS. 
 
 TV /[ Y first, my very first, liis name was Will — 
 ^ A handsome fellow, fair, with curly hair 
 
 And lovely eyes; I have his locket still. 
 
 He went to Galveston and settled there. 
 Or so I heard; oh, dear me ! dear me ! 
 How terribly in love he used to be. 
 
 My second, Robert Hill, he told his love 
 The first time that we met — 'twas at a ball ; 
 
 A foolisli fellow — he carried off my glove. 
 We sat out half the dances in the hall, 
 
 The artist, deprived of the kno-Mledge of a criterion ivhich governs his art, 
 and to ivhich he should submit nil his work, can nez'er be more than the ser- 
 vile and blind copyist of works produced in u former and more enlightened 
 epoch. — Dels ARTE.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 69 
 
 And flirted in a most outrageous way. 
 Ah me ! how motlier scolded all next day. 
 
 The third woke up my heart. From night till morn 
 And morn till night I dreamed alone of him. 
 
 I treasured up a rosebud he had worn, 
 
 And my tears and kisses made his picture dim. 
 
 Strange that I can feel that old, old pain, 
 
 When I remember Paul, — that was his name. 
 
 My fourth and fifth were brothers, twins at that. 
 
 Good fellows, kind and clever, too. 
 It was rather shabby to refuse them flat, 
 
 Both in one day, but what else could I do ? 
 My heart was still with Paul, and he had gone 
 Yacht-sailing with the Misses Garretson. 
 
 He never cared for me, I found that out. 
 Despite the foolish clinging of my hope ; 
 
 'Twas proved to me, ere long, bej'ond a doubt. 
 I steeled my heart. I would not fret nor mope, 
 
 But masked myself in gayety and went 
 
 To grace his wedding when the cards were sent. 
 
 So these were all my loves. My luisband ? Oh, 
 
 I met him down in Florida, one fall, 
 Rich, middle-aged, and prosy, as you know. 
 
 He proposed, and I accepted ; that was all. 
 A kind, good soul, he worships me; but, then, 
 I never count him in with the other men. 
 
 Gesture is not the accomftattimeitt of sf>t-ech. It must e.\ press the idea bet- 
 ter and in another 'way, else it will be only a pli-onasin. an after conception of 
 bad taste, a hindrance rather than an aid to intelligible expression. — Delat- 
 MOSNK.
 
 70 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 STANZAS TO ETERNITY. 
 
 Translated by Elsie M.Wilbor. 
 
 [The following poem is really intended for a song, and Delsarte 
 composed a quaint melody for it. It is republished for the first time 
 here, and is suitable for a recitation. Mme. Arnaud speaks of the 
 attention attracted by Darcier by his rendering of these ' ' Stanzas to 
 Eternity." The picture accompanying this poem is a fac-simile of the 
 engraving on the title-page of the music, and represents the scene in 
 Delsarte's life where he had just buried his brother, and was overcome 
 by cold and hunger. While in this fainting condition he had a dream 
 in which angels revealed to him his life-work. — Editor.] 
 
 /^ MAN who art nursed by blind fortune, 
 
 And thinkest forever its joys to possess! 
 The cries of the wretched importune, 
 
 Thy heart is close shut to their tales of distress. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Rich, heedless one, go; for thy heart is of stone; 
 Sweet charity's promptings tliou never hast known. 
 But pause and reflect — all on earth fades away. 
 Eternity comes; oh, think well whilst thou may. 
 
 When gayly thou'rt dancing, look yonder; 
 
 For stealing away in the lamps' brilliant light 
 /. man old and ragged — oh, ponder, — 
 
 Is starving and cold, a most pitiful sight! 
 
 That child o'er his tnother's grave bending, 
 
 And off'ringall shiv'ring his thin hands for alms, 
 
 At dawn will to heaven be ascending. 
 
 Thy fingers drop naught in his cold, trembling palms. 
 
 Art is not, as is said, nn iinitation of nature. It eleTates in idealizing her ; 
 it is the synthetic rapport o/ the scattered beauties of nature to a superior 
 and definite type. — L)elsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 71 
 
 mm. '^ 
 
 
 Mm ; 
 
 "V\'/l% 
 
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 ,. V 
 
 I ^. 
 
 Like him from great Nature proceeding 
 
 All naked, in spite of thy poor, foolish pride; 
 
 The tomb, toward which all life is leading, 
 Will gather thy dust to his now despised side. 
 
 The shade, that exquisite foriion o/art ivhich is rather /eli than expressed, 
 is the characteristic sign 0/ the perfection 0/ talent: it forms apart of the 
 personality of the artist. — Aknai D.
 
 72 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 ABSOLUTION. 
 
 E. Nesbit. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 
 
 "T^HREE months had passed since she had knelt be- 
 ^ fore 
 
 The grate of the confessional, and he, 
 The priest, had wondered why she came no more 
 
 To tell her sinless sins — the vanity 
 Whose valid reason graced her simple dress, 
 
 The prayers forgotten, or the untold beads — • 
 
 The little thoughtless words, the slight misdeeds, 
 Which made the sum of her unrighteousness. 
 
 She was the fairest maiden in his fold. 
 
 With her sweet mouth and musical pure voice. 
 Her deep gray eyes, her hair's tempestuous gold, 
 
 Her gracious, graceful figure's perfect poise. 
 Her happy laugh, her wild, unconscious grace, 
 
 Her gentle ways to old, or sick, or sad. 
 
 The comprehending sympathy she had. 
 Had made of her the idol of the place. 
 
 And when she grew so silent and so sad. 
 So thin and quiet, pale and hollow-eyed, 
 
 And cared no more to laugh and to be glad 
 With other maidens by the waterside, 
 
 All wondered; kindly grieved the elders were, 
 And some few girls went whispering about, 
 " She loves — who is it ? Let us find it out !" 
 
 But never dared to speak of it to h.er. 
 
 Science elevates man by sithjecting to him the things o/ this world. Art su- 
 /ernaturalizes those things by identifying him with them, — Delsarte.
 
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 ^ DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 73 
 
 But the priest's duty bade him seek her out 
 
 And say, " My child, wliy dost thou sit apart? 
 Hast thou some grief? Hast thou some secret doubt? 
 
 Come and unfold to me thine inmost heart. 
 God's absolution can assuage all grief 
 
 And all remorse and woe beneath the sun. 
 
 Whatever thou hast said, or thought, or done, 
 The holy church can give thy soul relief." 
 
 He stood beside her, young and strong, and swayed 
 
 With pity for the sorrow in her eyes. 
 Which, as she raised them to his own, conveyed 
 
 Into his soul a sort of sad surprise. 
 She answered, "I will come ;" and so at last 
 
 Out of the summer evening's crimson glow, 
 
 With heart reluctant and with footsteps slow, 
 Into the cool, great, empty church she passed. 
 
 "By my own fault, my own most grievous fault, 
 
 I cannot say, for it is not," she said. 
 Kneeling within the gray stone chapel's vault, 
 
 And on the ledge her golden hair was spread. 
 " Love broke upon me in a dream ; it came 
 
 Without beginning, for to me it seemed 
 
 That never otherwise than as I dreamed 
 Through all my life this thing had been the same. 
 
 "I only knew my heart, entire, complete, 
 
 Was given to my other self, my love ; 
 That I through all the world would gladly move 
 
 So I might follow his adored feet. 
 I dreamed I had all earth, all time, all space, 
 
 Almost nil sinuousness depends on the easy control oy the muscles at the 
 ■zuaist. — Genevieve Stebbins.
 
 I 
 
 74 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 And every blessing, human and divine ; 
 But hated the possessions that were mine, 
 And only cared for his beloved face. 
 
 " I never knew I loved him till that dream 
 
 Drew from my eyes the veil, and left me wise. 
 What I had thought was reverence grew to seem 
 
 Only my lifelong love in thin disguise. 
 And in my dream it looked so sinless, too. 
 
 So beautiful, harmonious, and right ; 
 
 The vision faded with the morning light, 
 The love will last as long as I shall do." 
 
 " Child, have you prayed against it ?" " Have I prayed ? 
 
 Have I not clogged my very soul with prayer ; 
 Stopped up my ears with sound of praying ; made 
 
 My very body faint with kneeling there 
 Before the sculptured Christ, and all for this, 
 
 That when my lips can pray no more, and sleep 
 
 Shuts my unwilling eyes, my love will leap 
 To dreamland's bounds, to meet me with his kiss! 
 
 "Avoid him ? Ay, in dewy garden walk 
 How often have I strayed, avoiding him. 
 
 And heard his voice mix with the common talk, 
 Yet never turned his way. My eyes grow dim 
 
 With weeping over what I lose by day 
 And find by night, yet never have to call 
 My own. O God ! is there no help at all — 
 
 No hope, no chance, and no escapeful way?" 
 
 "And who is he to whom thy love is given ?" 
 
 " What ? Holy church demands to know his name ? 
 
 It is by tneans of art that the artist transforms aud animates inorganic 
 bodies, in stamping upon them the character o/ his life, his soul, and his 
 mind. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 75 
 
 No rest for nie on earth, no hope of heaven 
 
 Unless I tell it ? Ah, for very shame 
 I cannot — yet why not ? — I will — I can ! 
 
 I have grown mad with brooding on my curse. 
 
 Here ! Take the name ; no better and no worse 
 My case will be. Father, thou art the man !" 
 
 An icy shock shivered through all his frame — 
 
 An overwhelming, cold astonishment ; 
 But on the instant the revulsion came, 
 
 His blood felt v/hat her revelation meant. 
 " Lord Christ," his soul cried, while his heart beat fast, 
 
 " Give strength in this, my hour of utmost need ;" 
 
 And with the prayer strength came to him indeed. 
 And with calm voice he answered her at last: 
 
 "Child, go in peace ! Wrestle and watch and pray, 
 And I will spend this night in prayer for thee. 
 
 That God will take thy strange great grief away. 
 Thou hast confessed thy sin. Absolvo ie." 
 
 Silence most absolute a little while, 
 
 Then passed the whisper of her trailing gown 
 Over the knee-worn stones, and soft died down 
 
 The dim, deserted, incense-memoried aisle. 
 
 • 
 
 All night he lay upon the chancel floor. 
 
 And coined his heart in tears and prayers, and new, 
 Strange longings he had never known before. 
 
 Her very memory so tlirilled him through. 
 He lay so tempest-tossed, 'twas still without. 
 
 And moaned: " Oh, God! I love her, love her so! 
 
 Oh, for one spark of heaven's fire to show 
 Some way to cast this devil's passion out ! 
 
 // is no longer man as type o/ a class or member o/ a monarchy, tut man as 
 an independent individual, whose art is in process o/ conception. — Franklin 
 H. Sakgent. 
 
 ^
 
 76 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 " Christ, by Thy passion, by Thy death for men, 
 Oh, save me from myself, save her from me !" 
 
 And at the word the moon came out again 
 From her cloud-palace, and threw suddenly 
 
 A shadow from the great cross overhead 
 Upon the priest ; and with it came a sense 
 Of strength renewed, of perfect confidence 
 
 In Him who on that cross for men hung dead. 
 
 But as the ghostly moon began to fade, 
 
 And moonlight glimmered into ghostlier dawn, 
 
 The shadow that the crucifix had made 
 
 With twilight mixed ; and with it seemed withdrawn 
 
 The peace that with its shadowy shape began. 
 And as the dim east brightened, slowly ceased 
 The wild devotion that had filled the priest — 
 
 And with full sunlight he sprang up — a man ! 
 
 He strode straight down the church and passed along 
 The grave-set garden's dewy grass-grown slope ; 
 
 The woods about were musical with song, 
 
 The world was bright with youth, and love, and hope. 
 
 Soon would he see her — cry, "I am thine own, 
 As thou art mine, now, and forevermore !" 
 And at her worshipped feet would kneel before, 
 
 And she should kiss the lips that had not known 
 
 The kiss of love in any vanished year. 
 
 And as he dreamed of his secured delight, 
 A mourning band, and in their midst a bier. 
 
 Round the curved road came slowly into sight. 
 He hastened to pass on ; a covering-fold 
 
 Veiled the dead, quiet face — and yet — and yet — 
 
 One o/i-wo things is necessary in art: either that the divine ivork to be con- 
 templated shall be ahased to the lez'el of man: or that he eleziate himself to 
 its height. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. jy 
 
 Did he not know that hand, so white and wet? 
 Did he not know those dripping curls of gold ? 
 
 "We came to you to know what we should do, 
 Father : we found her body in the stream. 
 
 And how it happed, God knows !" One other knew — 
 Knew that of him had been her last wild dream — 
 
 Knew the full reason of that life-disdain — 
 
 Knew how the shame of hopeless love confessed 
 And unreturned had seemed to stain her breast, 
 
 Till only death should make her clean again. 
 
 They left her in the church where sunbeams bright 
 
 Gilded the wreathed oak and carven stone 
 With golden floods of consecrating light ; 
 
 And here at last, together and alone. 
 The lovers met, and here upon her hair 
 
 He set his lips, and, dry-eyed, kissed her face, 
 
 And in the stillness of the holy place 
 He spoke in tones of bitter, blank despair : 
 
 "Oh, lips so quiet, eyes that will not see ! 
 
 Oh, clinging hands that not again will cling ! 
 This last poor sin may well be pardoned thee. 
 
 Since for the right's sake thou hast done this thing. 
 Oh, poor weak lieart, forever laid to rest. 
 
 That could no longer strive against its fate. 
 
 For thee high heaven will unbar its gate, 
 And thou shalt enter in and shalt be blessed. 
 
 "The chances were the same for us," he said, 
 
 " Yet thou hast won, and I have lost, the whole ; 
 Thou would'st not live in sin, and thou art dead — 
 
 When the being contemplates, or is filled with the majesty and po-.ver of a 
 great cause, as a love of liberty, or of loyalty to conscience and duty, or of 
 obedience to God, all the agents of expression stand in poise or equilibrium. — 
 MosKS True Brown.
 
 78 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 But I — against thee I have weighed my soul, 
 And, losing thee, have lost my soul as well. 
 
 I have cursed God, and trampled on His cross ; 
 
 Earth has no measurement for all my loss. 
 But I shall learn to measure it in hell !" 
 
 LADIES OF ATHENS. 
 
 Mrs. M. a. Lii'scomb. 
 
 Scene. — Home of Xanthippe, -uife of Socrates, 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Xanthippe Wife of Socrates. 
 
 Aspasia Wife of Pericles. 
 
 Sappho Poetess. 
 
 Philesia Wife of Xenophon. 
 
 Pythias Wife of Aristotle. 
 
 Cleobnla Sister of Demosthenes. 
 
 Damophila Wife of Dainophilus and rival of Sappho. 
 
 Nicostrata Wife of Sophocles. 
 
 COSTUMES. 
 
 [The costumes are all Greek, with variations of draping and color. 
 Xanthippe's dress should be slightly shabby. Statuary against a crim- 
 son curtain forms the background of the scene. Young ladies and 
 children draped and mounted on pedestals, singly or in groups, for the 
 statues.] 
 
 'V' ANTHIPPE. Life is an absolute burden, and I am 
 wearied with it. Here I am shut up within these 
 four walls, robbed of the luxuries that my friends en- 
 joy, with barely enough comforts to keep body and soul 
 together, while Socrates, my husband, shiftless wretch 
 that he is, wanders about the streets of Athens prating 
 of justice and injustice, truth and falsehood, poverty 
 and wealth, and so long as he can find listeners to his 
 wild philosophies he cares not how fares it with me at 
 
 The artist should first know wliat he ought to seek in the subject : and, sec- 
 I ondly, know -where to find 7uhat he seeks. He must have, in the first place, 
 the faithful signal of the sought-for thing: in the second place, the means of 
 I surely finding it. — Delsarte. 
 4.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 79 
 
 home. For months I liaven'L had a single drachma of 
 his earnings; and for a whole year one mina is all that 
 he has given to our support, and that was not tlie fruit 
 of liis own labor, but sent him by a generous friend! 
 And yet we must be fed. "Not live to eat," he would 
 say, but " eat to live." To-day he will come home and 
 expect to find the pot boiling and enjoy his savory soup 
 and well-cooked barley bread; and if I perchance utter 
 a single word of complaint, I am called a scold, a terma- 
 gant, and told that Socrates married Xanthippe in order 
 that she might discipline his temper! Oh, if I could 
 only make him angry for once, how happy, how su- 
 premely happy I should be! 
 
 S^Eiiter AsPASiA.] 
 
 Xan. Why, good-morrow! you are most welcome. 
 How fares it with you and your lord to-day, and where- 
 fore this pleasure you have bestowed on me ? 
 
 AsPASiA. I have'come to praise yourhusband. Know 
 you not that while you sit quietly here at home, Athens is 
 fairly wild about him ? As I passed by the market- 
 place I beheld a vast concourse of people. Men were 
 fairly pushing each other aside in their eagerness to 
 hear. I asked what had brought the people together, 
 and was told more than once that it was to listen to 
 Socrates's teachings. As for Pericles, my husband, I but 
 rarely see him now. Once I could interest him on the 
 subject of oratory, and we often read and studied to- 
 gether; but now he thinks there is no wisdom except 
 what proceeds from the mind of Socrates. 
 
 Xan. Oh, Aspasia, it frets me to hear of this. If 
 Pericles would only teach Socrates that women and 
 
 True passiotiy which never errs, has no need of recurring to the study o/ 
 luhat /unction nature has assigned to the eye, the nose, the tuouth, in the ex- 
 \/>ression of certain emotions o/ the soul: but they are indispensable to the 
 \ feigned passion of the actor. — A. Gieroilt. 
 
 •i- 4
 
 8o DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 children cannot dine or sup off philosophy, he would 
 prove himself a benefactor as well as a teacher. 
 
 Asp. But, Xanthippe, are you not proud of his fame ? 
 Plato fairly worships him. He likens him to the masks 
 of Silenus which may be seen sitting in the statuaries 
 and shops, having pipes and flutes in their mouths; but 
 they are made to open, and inside of them are images of 
 gods. 
 
 Xan. Aspasia, no; I am not proud of a husband who 
 goes about the market-place in one garrrient, barefooted 
 and bareheaded; who teaches that self-denial is the 
 sublimest virtue, and that poverty is the greatest bless- 
 ing. If you would be happy, keep Pericles away from 
 him. 
 
 Asp. Plato thinks him a more wonderful flute-player 
 than Marsyas; for Socrates, he says, moves the souls of 
 men simply with his voice without the aid of instru- 
 ment, and he swears that he could grow old sitting at 
 your husband's feet. He says, too, that Socrates is the 
 only man that he ever envied, and who has ever made 
 him ashamed of himself. 
 
 Xan. Plato knows not whereof he speaks. Would to 
 Zeus he were a woman and had married Socrates! But 
 here comes Sappho. [^Enter Sappho.] Welcome, sweet 
 poetess! Violets crown Sappho! Your presence always 
 gladdens my heart and brings sunshine to my home. 
 
 Asp. Good-morrow, friend; I find Xanthippe in too 
 practical a mood to-day to enjoy hearing her husband 
 praised. She thinks she would love him better if he had 
 a little less wisdom and philosophy and a little more 
 fish and fowl for dinner. 
 
 Sappho. Fie, Xanthippe! Would you have your 
 
 Asa knowledge of the parts of speech is not enough to make a writer, so ex- 
 ercises practiced mechanically tvith a vieiv to the tnanagement of sound can 
 never produce artists.— Helsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 8 1 
 
 husband a fishmonger, a butcher, or a baker? He who 
 feeds the body is no more than these. He who feeds the 
 mind is best worthy of our thanks. Your husband is 
 something above the common herd. " He walks in air 
 and contemplates the sun." 
 
 Xan. Sweet, smiling Sappho, that will not do for a 
 man of earth. Fligh-soaring thoughts and words of 
 wisdom will never be taken in exchange for bakers' and 
 butchers' bills. Sappho, never marry a philosopher. 
 
 Sap. Xanthippe, you do not value your husband as 
 you should. Philosophers are kings, and should have 
 crow-ns and be enthroned. The only hope that we have 
 for our state is to encourage learning and crush out 
 ignorance. Let Socrates teach the people, for wisdom 
 hangs upon liis lips, the light of knowledge is in his eye, 
 and he alone is able to draw all men after him. 
 
 Asp. Well spoken, pure Sappho, for none can be 
 compared to the noble Socrates. He has learned the 
 greatest, the hardest lesson of life — how to rule him- 
 self. Had he given to Athenian youths but one precept, 
 that of " Know thyself," he would be as immortal as 
 the gods themselves. 
 
 Xan. Will you ladies dine with me ? Perhaps you 
 will change your views to-morrow. But pardon, I see 
 yonder Damophila and Nicostrata. [Enter Damophila 
 r7//(/NicosTRATA.] Welcome, fair ladies; Xanthippe can 
 offer but small cheer to her friends, but always a most 
 gracious welcome. You know these friends? [^introduces 
 thc>if\ Aspasia, the wife of our noble Pericles, and 
 Sappho, our violet-crowned poetess. 
 
 [Damophila .y^fj Sappho and shows evident signs of jeal- 
 ousy?^ 
 
 The body is but the manifestation 0/ the soul. It is the form under which 
 the soul projects itself., as it were, into space and time, the medium through 
 which it communicates with the material world and with other souls iiHie it- 
 self .—T . M. B.U.LIET.
 
 82 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Damophila. Our visit to-day was to Xanthippe, wife 
 of the illustrious Socrates. Damophilus, my husband, 
 bade me tell you that his, nay, all philosophy, is but 
 vain when compared to what is taught by the noble 
 Socrates. 
 
 NicosTRATA. Xanthippe, how blessed you are in being 
 the wife of such a man. I would give half my life to 
 enjoy the honor that is yours to-day. 
 
 Dam. You do give voice to my own thoughts, Nico- 
 strata. Damophilus and Sophocles say they feel they 
 are but babes in knowledge when they contemplate all 
 that your husband has accomplished; and as for myself, 
 I am filled with contempt for my own weak verses and 
 think them but the product of inanity. 
 
 Sap. Seaside with sarcasm^ True sentences and well 
 pronounced. 
 
 Dam. Madam, your opinion was not asked. Vouch- 
 safe to give it when it is wanted. It ill becomes one 
 who writes no better than a rhymester to speak in criti- 
 cising terms of others. 
 
 Sap. I but re-echoed your own sentiments. You gave 
 birth to the thought, not I. 
 
 Dam. Madam, you were only too glad of an oppor- 
 tunity to insult me; and were it not for the respect I 
 hold for Xanthippe, our hostess, with a woman's weapon 
 I would lash you until you were sorry that you had 
 spoken. 
 
 Nic. Sweet ladies, I beg, I entreat that you do curb 
 these wild passions. Xanthippe will be sorry that we 
 have come if we make her house a scene of loud talking 
 and jealous brawl. 
 
 Dam. I had forgot. Pardon me, Xanthippe; passion 
 
 A rt is divine in its principles^ divine in its essence, divine in its action, 
 divine in its end. — Delsarte.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION JWOK. 83 
 
 is like a stagnant pool — only stir it up and it gives 
 forth odors vile and dank. Nicostrata and I came 
 hither to-day expecting to find no one but yourself (the 
 gentle Aspasia is always welcome). We have come to 
 praise your husband and hear him praised. We have 
 brought with us, too, the wonderful riddle of the Sphinx 
 that is now puzzling the minds of all wise Athenians. 
 
 Xan. Tell it me, for Socrates tells me nothing. He 
 says that husbands should instruct their wives in all 
 they wish them to know; he gives me no instruction, 
 and, therefore, he wishes me to know nothing. 
 
 Nic. Sophocles, my husband, bade me give the rid- 
 dle to you, Xanthippe, and ask that Socrates would find 
 the answer. He has made King Gtdipus, in his wonder- 
 ful tragedy, give an answer both proper and true; but 
 he wishes to have Socrates find a solution, which Soph- 
 ocles knows will be fraught with cleverness and wisdom, 
 
 DA^^. Nicostrata, Socrates has said that the talent 
 of women is quite equal to that of men; that there is no 
 inequality except the inequality of strength. Suppose, 
 then, you give the riddle to us; and slioulil any of us 
 solve it, you can take our answer back to Sophocles, 
 so that he may know that Socrates is right vvlien he 
 says that the " ladies of Athens have brain as well as 
 beauty." 
 
 Nic. Well, as you will; it may serve for entertain- 
 ment to Xanthippe and her friends. Listen: "There 
 lives upon the earth a being, two-footed; yea, and with 
 four feet; yea, and with three feet, too, yet his voice 
 continues unchanging. And lo! of all things that move 
 in earth, in heaven, or in ocean, he only changes his 
 nature, and yet when on most feet he walketh, then is 
 
 Gesture is the direct agent of the heart, the interpreter of speech. It is el- 
 liptical discourse. — Delaumosne.
 
 84 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 the speed of his limbs most weak and utterly power- 
 less." 
 \^All assume a thoughtful attitude; finally Aspasia speaks?[ 
 
 Asp. 1 never solved a riddle in all my life; they make 
 my head ache. 
 
 Sap. Methinks this wonderful creature must be our 
 neighbor dog, for he once walked upon four feet, now 
 walks upon three, and daytime and night-time his voice 
 is ever unchanging. 
 
 Xan. Well answered, Sappho; you must be sleepless 
 o' nights, and doubtless think the bark of a dog more 
 terrific than his bite. 
 
 Sap. In truth I do. Xanthippe, that dog has well 
 nigh crushed all the poetry out of my nature, and made 
 me half wish that I had been born deaf. 
 
 Nic. Come, ladies, the riddle is yet unsolved. "There 
 lives upon the earth a being, two-footed; yea, and with 
 four feet; yea, and with three feet, too, yet his voice 
 continues unchanging. And lo! of all things that move 
 in earth, in heaven, or in ocean, he only changes his 
 nature, and yet when on most feet he walketh, then is 
 the speed of his limbs most weak and utterly power- 
 less." 
 
 Dam. I have it: Man it is thou hast described, who, 
 when on earth he appeareth, first as a babe on hands 
 and knees, four-footed, creeps on his way; then when 
 old age Cometh on and the burden of years weighs full 
 heavy, bending his shoulders and neck, as a third foot 
 uses his staff. 
 
 \All clap hands and cry " Bravo ! bravo r except Sappho.] 
 
 Sap. Her answer is a man, of course. 
 
 Gesture is parallel to the impression received; it is therefore always an- 
 terior to speech, ivhich is but a reflected and subordinate expression.— Xi'E.i.- 
 
 SARTE.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 85 
 
 Nic Damophila, you have solved ihe Sphinx's rid- 
 dle. When I take your answer home, Socrates will be 
 compelled to own that the wife of one of Athens' wisest 
 pliilosophers is wiser than her husband. Know you 
 not, ladies, that yesterday at a symposium at our house 
 Sophocles gave the Sphinx riddle to a party of friends, 
 and not one of them could divine a meaning in it? 
 
 Dam. Had the answer been a woman they liad not 
 been so dull. But, Xanthippe, when your husband re- 
 turns give it him. His thoughts travel beyond other 
 men's thoughts, and he may find a deeper meaning than 
 I have given to the riddle. 
 
 X.\N. Here comes Philesia. She too, perhaps, comes 
 to tell me of some new trick of my husband whereby he 
 may catch the people. [Enter Philesia.] Good-morrow, 
 Philesia. 
 
 Philesia. Good-morrow, ladies all. You wonder, 
 Xanthippe, what has brought me hither at this hour of 
 the day. My dinner is cooked to a crisp, and I am as 
 luingry as a wolf. I was wearied with watching and 
 waiting for my husband, and I wandered out on the 
 street to know wherefore he did not come. As I passed 
 the market-place I beheld a vast concourse of people, 
 and I knew my husband, must be there. I concealed 
 myself as near the people as I dared, where I could see 
 and be unseen, and this is what I saw and what I heard. 
 Socrates, your husband, bareheaded, barefooted, was 
 mounted on a rude platform in earnest discourse; the 
 people were so eager to drink in what he said, that they 
 did not note anything that was passing in the street. I 
 saw Xenophon seated at the feet of Socrates, busily 
 writing all that he said. I was afraid to linger, but I 
 
 The essential point is to get hack to the truthy to express the passions and 
 e)>intions ns nature inani/csts them, and not to repeat mechanically a series 
 0/ conventional proceedings',i'hich are t iol at ionso/ the natural law. — AknaUD.
 
 86 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 heard Socrates say: " We have two ears and one mouth, 
 that we may hear much and talk little." 
 
 Xan. Oh, would that he practiced all of his precepts! 
 Philesia, if Xenophon would only encourage Socrates to 
 go back to his trade and give up preaching and teach- 
 ing, he should have Xanthippe's heart's best blessing. 
 
 Phil. But, Xanthippe, your husband's talent lies not 
 in sculpture. He was born a philosopher; and would 
 you cheat the age of his golden thoughts for the few 
 paltry drachmas that he might earn by following his 
 trade ? 
 
 Xan. Philesia, golden thoughts do not satisfy hunger. 
 
 Sap. Come, come, Xanthippe, you should be proud 
 to feed the philosopher who feeds the world. 
 
 Xan. a man's home should be his world. He who 
 provides not for his own household is worse than an 
 infidel. 
 
 Asp. Tut, tut, Xanthippe; it grieves me to hear you 
 talk thus. Come and dine with us to-morrow and hear 
 your husband praised. These ladies, too, I hope will 
 honor me. Plato, Pericles, and Xenophon shall all be 
 there; and when you shall have heard them extol your 
 husband's virtues, you will feel proud to be called wife 
 by the foremost man in all Greece. Will you come? 
 
 Xan. I cannot; it shames me to say that I have no 
 gown other than the one I wear. 
 
 Asp. Then Socrates will honor us by his presence ? 
 
 Xan. He shall not; his clothing is no better than a 
 beggar's. 
 
 [Enter Pythias, wife of Aristotle.^ 
 
 Xan. Why, here comes Pythias ! She, too, has 
 brought me tidings of my crazy husband. 
 
 The artist should have three ohjects: To tnove^ to interest, to persuade. He 
 interests by language: he tnoves by thought; he moves, interests, and persuades 
 by gesture. — Delsarte. 
 
 X
 
 DRLSARrE RECITATION BOOK. 87 
 
 Pythias. Not crazy, Xanthippe, but absolutely un- 
 like any other human being that is or ever has been. 
 You may imagine Brasidas to have been like Achilles, 
 but to your strange husband you will never be able to 
 find any likeness, however remote, either among men 
 who now are or who have ever been. I heard my hus- 
 band, Aristotle, say of him, and he is no mean philos- 
 opher himself, that the words of Socrates seem ridicu- 
 lous when you first hear them, for he clothes himself in 
 language that is as the wanton satyr. He talks of 
 smiths, cobblers, and curriers, and he is always repeat- 
 ing the same things in the same words, so that an igno- 
 rant man who did not know him might be disposed to 
 laugh at him. 
 
 Xan. Pythias, Socrates is crazy; and when you go 
 home, tell Aristotle that Xanthippe, his wife, says she 
 wishes he would blister Socrates' head ! 
 
 Py. Fie, fie, Xanthippe ! how wrong you are. You 
 are out of patience with your husband, and, like the 
 garbling multitude, see only the outer man. Plato says 
 he who pierces the mask and sees what lies within 
 will find that Socrates' words are the only ones which 
 have any meaning in them; lliat his wisdom is di- 
 vine. 
 
 Xan. O, Pythias ! if Socrates would think less and 
 work more I should like him far better as a husband. 
 Do you ladies know that he has not been home since 
 yester morn at breakfast ? I am told that he stood all 
 night on the market-place thinking over some problem 
 concerning the life of the soul after the death of the 
 body; and to-day he is still standing there prating his 
 wild theories to a crowd of listening fools. 
 
 Vou cannot in an instant prepare the human hod y /or the translation, 
 through that grand inter/>rcter, art, of the best possibilities of the soul. 
 There is too jiiuch impcrjeciion in our nature. — Genevieve Stebbins.
 
 88 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 \^Enier Qi.^OBXj'LA, the sister of Demosthenes, bearing a beau- 
 tiful basket of fruit. ^ 
 
 Cleobula. Good-morrow, Xanthippe. Demosthenes* 
 my brother, has just returned from the market-place, 
 where he has stood all night watching your husband, 
 deep in thought, waiting to hear him speak. He says 
 that the streets were filled with people all night long; 
 that they brought their mats and rugs and spread them 
 upon the ground, and that not an eye was closed or an 
 ear deaf during the whole night.. Socrates stood silent, 
 deep in thought. To-day light seems to have come to 
 him, and he has been talking for hours. He has told 
 such a beautiful story about a life beyond the grave; of 
 this spirit, this soul that is within us, that shall never 
 die. Demosthenes saj'^s that Athens has gone mad over 
 Socrates; that his doctrines are so new, so beautiful, so 
 comforting, that if he but command the people, they 
 would fall down and worship him as a god. 
 
 Xan. Tell Demosthenes Xanthippe says, make Soc- 
 rates go to work. This is the message from his starving 
 wife. 
 
 Cle. I dare not go home with such a message. See 
 here, he has sent this basket of fruit. When he gave it 
 me he said: " Take you this to Xanthippe; hasten, sister 
 mine, to bear my gratulations to the wisest man in all 
 of Greece." Will you have it? 
 
 Xan. Cleobula, I do not take it because I am proud 
 of being the wife of Socrates, but because I am starving 
 and crave the food. Tell him that Demosthenes is a 
 greater benefactor than Socrates, for he feeds the wife 
 whom Socrates would starve in order that Socrates 
 might feed the world. 
 
 * : 
 
 Form is the garb of s',:bsta7ice. It is the expressive symbol of a mysterious 
 truth. It is the trademark of a hidden virtue. It is the actuality of the be- 
 ing. In a luord, form is the plastic art 0/ the ideal. — Delsakte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 89 
 
 Cle. It will not be long, I ween, before your hus- 
 band will return. The crowd had nearly all dispersed 
 as I passed the market-place. I had one glimpse of 
 Socrates, and he looked worn and famished. He will 
 need refreshment when he returns, and will, no doubt, 
 enjoy some of the fruit I have brought. 
 
 Xan. Not a morsel of it shall he have. I will give 
 him broth and barley bread, for that is better than he 
 deserves. Look you, ladies, is not this fruit beautiful 
 and tempting? Methinks if I could only be well fed off 
 cooling fruits like these, I should not have such a hot 
 and hasty temper. 
 
 \_Socraks is heard calling out, " Xanthippe ! Xanthippe ! 
 
 Xaiithippe .'"] 
 
 Xan. Hark, was that not my husband's voice? 
 
 Asp. His call is weak and faint; answer him, Xan- 
 thippe. A good wife regardeth the call of her husband. 
 
 ySocratcs calls, " Xanthippe ! Xanthippe ! Xanthippe .'"] 
 
 Sap. Xanthippe, I pray you heed your husband's 
 call. 
 
 Phil. Were it my husband, I should hasten to meet 
 him. 
 
 {^Socrates calls, " Xanthippe / Xanthippe ! Xanthippe .'"] 
 
 Pv. I have no husband; but methinks that if I did 
 have one, I should run to meet him before he had occa- 
 sion to call. 
 
 \^Socrates calls, " Xanthippe ! Xanthippe ! Xanthippe .'"] 
 
 Asp. Woman, I pray you go to your husband. 
 
 Sap. You are unworthy of such a husband, and the 
 gods should curse you for it. 
 
 Xan. Sappho, she who comes between husband and 
 wife treads upon a dangerous sea. I know my duty. 
 
 The /oUowers of art should be able, bc/orc and abo-.c all, to portray human- 
 ity in its essential truth, and according to the original tendency of each type. 
 Mannerism and affectation should forever be proscribed — unless they art imi- 
 tated as an exercise. — Arnaud.
 
 90 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Phil. I pray you do it, then. 
 
 l^Socrates calls, " Xanthippe ! Xanthippe ! Xanthippe .'"] 
 
 Py. By all that is holy, I pray you answer your 
 husband. 
 
 Cle. Go get him food and drink. 
 
 [^Socrates calls, ^^ Xanthippe ! Xanthippe ! Xanthippe r'\ 
 
 Dam. Xanthippe, if you are human, go to your hus- 
 band. Were he a dog and did bark in a piteous way, I 
 should give him food and drink. You are no more than 
 an ingrate to scorn a man whom all Athens is ready to 
 fall down and worship as a god. Were I Socrates, I 
 should never call you wife, for you are a libel on such a 
 sacred name. Woman, go to your husband. 
 
 Xan. Who commands Xanthippe ? Damophila, you 
 are a guest beneath my roof, or else that speech had 
 been your last. 
 
 Dam. Pardon me again, Xanthippe. I, like you, have 
 too hot and hasty a temper. I should have entreated, 
 not commanded. Socrates is your husband; you are 
 bound to him by ties the strongest and holiest; he is 
 weary and sick, and needs your service; I pray you go 
 to him. 
 
 [^Socrates calls, '■'■Xanthippe! Xanthippe! Xanthippe !"'\ 
 
 Nic. Xanthippe, all men are human. Socrates is a 
 man, and therefore he is human. I beg you go to him 
 and minister unto him. 
 
 \^Socrates calls, '■'■Xanthippe! Xanthippe! Xanthippe !"^^ 
 
 Xan. Sir, did you call ? 
 
 Socrates [behind the scenes, in a weak voice\ Dearest 
 mine, I am sick and weak; a little soup and barley 
 bread, if you please. 
 
 Xan. a little soup and barley bread I I would you 
 
 Gesture is the direct agent o/ the heart. It is the Jit manifestation o/feel- 
 ing. It is the revealer of thought, and the co7n»ientator ufon speech. It is 
 the elliptical expression of speech. It is the justijicatioti of the additional 
 meanings of speech. In a ivord, it is the spirit of 7vhich speech is merely the 
 letter. — Dels arte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 91 
 
 were not so easily contented. You wretched man of 
 dreams, if you would but turn your thoughts from 
 heaven to earth, your table might be fit for kings. Yes, 
 I'll come. I'll feed you until you are well satisfied and 
 ready to go again to the market-place to spend the 
 night in thinking, thinking, thinking. 
 
 \Curtain falh^ 
 
 THE DOLL DRILL. 
 
 Adelaide Norris. 
 
 II^OR the best effect in this charming drill, the girls 
 ■■■ should be chosen of different heights, the tallest 
 pair in the centre, and the tiny ones at both ends. 
 Their ages range between 8 and 12 years. They are 
 dressed in black paper cambric dresses, made plain, 
 with full skirts reaching to within three inches of the 
 floor. The white nurse-apron should be at the same 
 distance from the bottom of the dresses, and tie with 
 strings of the same width. White mull kerchiefs around 
 the shoulders, and white caps, complete the costumes. 
 The dolls wear "baby dresses" of muslin, six inches 
 below their feet. I find this a convenient length for 
 handling ; besides, it looks well. 
 
 They have no captain, and no one counts for them or 
 calls the changes. A very slow marcli is best. When 
 all have marked time, the signal is given, and they 
 come out in pairs, the tallest leading. The dolls are 
 carried on the left arm, with the right arm placed over 
 them. The eyes of the nurses rest on the dolls until 
 they face the audience. 
 
 Conscious mental states are tnani/ested by the />lay of the countenance, by 
 the tones 0/ the voice ^ and by gesture. Unconscious mental states, such as fixed 
 forms or tyf'es of character, whether of thought, emotion, or ivill, manifest 
 themselves in physiognomy and the automatic movemejtts of the body. — T. M. 
 Bali.if.t.
 
 92 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 1. March to centre, turn square corner, step to the 
 front of stage ; line divide in two divisions, march to 
 right and left, turn, march half-way to the back, turn 
 toward centre of stage, meet, march in pairs to the 
 back. Then separate, march along the back to the 
 outer sides of stage, then across the end nearly to the 
 front. 
 
 2. March tovv^ard each other, but pass by. At the 
 edge turn and march back as if to meet, but pass and 
 turn once more. Then meet, and face the audience 
 without signal. 
 
 The music, in quadruple time, should be rather slow. 
 My pupils took their signal from the fourth note of the 
 first measure, and were ready for the first full measure. 
 I found the most difficulty in getting the faces expres- 
 sive and keeping the eyes of the nurses on the infants. 
 
 Movements. 
 Dolls on Arms as ifi March. 
 
 I. Present. Clasp dolls with both hands, at the waist ; 
 on I hold at arm's length till 3 ; then bring back to 
 chin. Repeat three times. Bring doll back to position 
 on shoulder on third beat of fourth measure. (Repeat I.) 
 
 II. Support. Hold dolls at arm's length like a young 
 baby, lying down on the left hand and forearm. On 3 
 swing back to left hip. Repeat three times. On 3 of 
 fourth measure bring to position at the shoulder, (Re- 
 peat II.) 
 
 III. Toss. Toss dolls four times, two beats; rest four 
 beats. Repeat three times. The left hand should sup- 
 port the doll, the right hand in front at the waist. This 
 movement is very pretty if the nurses look animated. 
 (Repeat III.) 
 
 IV. Affection. Hold dolls at the front, two counts, 
 bring back and kiss, two counts. Repeat, filling four 
 measures. (Repeat IV.) 
 
 Lack of elasticity in a body is disagreeable from the fact that, lacking sup- 
 pleness, it seems as if it tinist, in falling, be broken, flattened, or injured: in 
 a word, must lose something of the integrality of its form . — Delsakte.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 93 
 
 V. Obedience. Hold doll in left hand at the waist 
 straight out in front ; with the forefinger of the right 
 hand make the gesture to indicate that doll must obey. 
 Make eight movements ; return doll to position ; rest 
 two measures. Faces of nurses expressive. (Repeat V.) 
 
 VI. Bows. Dolls face audience and bow, four counts 
 for each bow, four times. Position at shoulder, no rest. 
 Nurses' heads tipped to one side as if looking to see the 
 " pretty bows." (Repeat VI.) 
 
 VII. Charge. Take doll in hands, the right hand over 
 and the left hand under the doll, the feet on the nurse's 
 left hip, tlie head pointing out a little obliquely like a 
 " bayonet charge." Stamp heavily with left foot, eight 
 counts. Rest in position at shoulder, eight counts. 
 (Repeat VII.) 
 
 VIII. Compare. Nurses tip heads together, two by 
 two ; place dolls side by side for comparison, with 
 pleased expression. On ninth count, back in position. 
 Rest two measures. (Repeat VIII.) 
 
 IX. Displeasure. Hold dolls at arm's length, with ex- 
 pression of displeasure, eight counts. Back in position, 
 eight counts. (Repeat IX.) 
 
 X. Forgiveness. Hold dolls at arm's length, eight 
 counts ; hug during eight counts, with dolls' heads over 
 left shoulder. (Repeat X.) 
 
 Each movement requires 32 counts to make the music 
 come out right. After a few rehearsals the children 
 associate the movements with the music and need no 
 "calls." 
 
 After Movement X., the dolls are dropped to the 
 position of Movement II., and swung gently, while the 
 nurses sing one verse of Brahm's " Lullaby," following 
 it with the chorus of the Lullaby, from " Hrminie." 
 [The words and music for these are on pages 94, 95.] 
 In this they are joined by an invisible chorus, singing 
 the undertone "bye-bye." On commencing this latter 
 selection, the house is gradually darkened, and the 
 nurses march off, swinging their infants, singing rsore 
 softly. 
 
 // is not what we say that /ersttai/es, tut the manner py saying it. The 
 tnimi can he interested by speech, it must be persuaiied by gesture. 1/ the /ace 
 bears no sign o/ persuasion, we do not persuade. — Dkl.'VUMosne.
 
 94 
 
 DELS ARTE RECUSATION BOOK. 
 
 LULLABY. 
 
 Arranged from Brahms by 0. E. McFadon. 
 
 4 |v-l — ,-H- 
 
 -^— 
 
 i^E? 
 
 ^iiziitizzivi 
 
 :^: 
 
 -:1=ts=i 
 
 :t 
 
 1. Lul - la - by and good-iiiyht WitlA ros - es be- 
 
 2. Lul - la -by and good-night Thy moth - er's de- 
 
 -,- n. 
 
 dight With lil - ies be - sted is ba-by's wee bed Lay thee 
 light Bright angels a - ronnd my dar-ling shall stand They will 
 
 down now and rest, May thy slum-ber be 
 gnard thea from harm Thou shalt wake in my 
 
 1/ U 
 blest Lay thee 
 arms They will 
 
 i 
 
 1: 
 
 t=^^=E:i=d=:i=t=it=it=i 
 
 :^=q: 
 
 &- 
 
 f^^- 
 
 -^^=^~ 
 
 i—ii 
 
 ?- 
 
 ■X 
 
 litzMi-j: 
 
 F3- 
 
 r 
 
 down now and rest, May thy slum - ber be blest, 
 guide thee from harm, Thou shalt wake in my arms. 
 
 ~i
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 95 
 
 LULLABY. 
 
 Arranged from " Ermioie" by 0. E. McFadon. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 
 Bye bye drowsiness o'ertaking, Pretty little eyelids sleep, 
 
 
 X 
 
 tw^ 
 
 r^^ 
 
 :p^ 
 
 Bye bye bye bye Bye 
 
 -w^ 
 
 -(&—«'- 
 
 S f ■'Ci ■ 
 
 bye bye bye 
 
 
 '^m 
 
 n^^H 
 
 -5^-9^ 
 
 dim. 
 
 EjzTgig 
 
 
 ^^^^m 
 
 Bye bye watching till tliou 'rt waking Darling be thy slumber deep. 
 
 i 
 
 §=^^: 
 
 ^ 
 
 :J-=^^ 
 
 11 
 
 f^fr^? 
 
 •*-^^|vJ 
 
 Bye bye bye bye Bye bye bye 
 
 -s^ -s;^ -s?- 
 
 -c^ -s^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^-m 
 
 i
 
 96 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 THE BELL OF INNISFARE. 
 
 [There is a legend of the " Bell of Innisfare," that if those who are 
 in sickness and affliction can get some one to go and ring the bell on 
 Christmas Eve, at twelve o'clock, there is a charm in the ringing at 
 that particular hour which will restore all to health and happiness.] 
 
 " I "WAS Christmas Eve, the feast so dear 
 
 To little ones who wait its cheer; 
 For Christmas Eve, where'er it be. 
 Always brings songs, and joy, and glee. 
 But Christmas Eve with all thy cheer, 
 Thou still art greeted with a tear. 
 Where, in a cold and cheerless room. 
 Filled by the twilight's darkening gloom, 
 A child by fever-bed doth watch, 
 A mother's voice and look to catch; 
 So sad to her, through blinding tears. 
 The joyous Christmas Eve appears. 
 
 She sees each neighboring house grow bright, 
 
 Till every window seems alight, 
 
 And sounds of merriment begin; 
 
 She hears afar the happy din. 
 
 Her heart grows sadder still; bat list ! 
 
 Their songs come floating through the mist, 
 
 Their voices sound so sweet, so clear, 
 
 That each word she can plainly hear. 
 
 ** In the convent of Innisfare 
 One ruined chapel still is there; 
 It holds a bell with tone so fine. 
 That when you draw the slender line, 
 It works like magic, strange and rare, 
 That little bell of Innisfare. 
 
 In the vulgar tiian there is no reaction. In the man 0/ distinction., on the 
 contrary^ tnotion is 0/ slight extent., and reaction is enormous. — Delsarte. 
 
 /
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 97 
 
 That little bell of Innisfare 
 Will cure your sick, if you but dare 
 On Christmas Eve, at midnight hour. 
 To try its wondrous healing power; 
 We counsel you to hurry there. 
 And ring the bell of Innisfare." 
 
 The song had softly passed away. 
 When burst from her who suffering lay 
 A sigh so deep, and full of smart. 
 As if it came from breaking heart; 
 And then, with lips and voice so weak, 
 In feeble accents thus did speak: 
 
 *' Ah ! that sweet bell of Innisfare, 
 Oh! if your father had been there. 
 Had he but lived till now, then I 
 Should not in pain and sorrow die ; 
 By sickness here no longer bound. 
 Mary, my child, life would be found, 
 If some good friend could now go there, 
 And ring the bell of Innisfare." 
 
 Thus far she spake, then sank again, 
 Stopped by the leaden weiglit of pain. 
 Without, the night grew darker still, 
 And silence reigned o'er vale and hill; 
 But hark! a latch is drawn — nay, more, 
 Some one comes through the creaking door; 
 It is a girl, so small and slight, 
 With plaid around her folded tight. 
 With naked feet and head quite bare, 
 — + 
 
 The artist, according to his persona! powtr 0/ inspiration, should be able to 
 portray a totality 0/ superior and harmonious qualities, such as ivill compel 
 any competent obserz'er to recognize it as beautiful. — Aknaud. 
 . -^ +
 
 98 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Exposed to storm and midnight air; 
 With torch and staff her way to find, 
 She dashes on quick as the wind. 
 
 She only waited but to say, 
 j " May God protect me on my way." 
 
 Up hill, through vale her pathway lay, 
 ' Ever with step so swift and light. 
 
 Oh God ! she's stumbled in her flight! 
 
 Her lantern's broken on the ground! 
 
 Its light is quenched, 'tis dark all round. 
 
 The snow comes thicker, faster still, 
 
 But she stops not for frost nor chill; 
 
 To all she gives no heed or care. 
 
 She thinks alone of Innisfare. 
 
 Return in time, the ice is thin. 
 
 It cracks, 'tis almost breaking in! 
 
 From block to block, still safe from ill, 
 
 She springs to land, and mounts the hill. 
 
 The ruined chapel she must find. 
 With pointed tower high in the wind; 
 From the old tower there glances far 
 That little bell, like some fair star. 
 The door is open to her feet; 
 Her work of love is now complete. 
 Now, draw the rope the bell to ring, 
 That to thy mother health will bring. 
 
 What seek'st thou, child ? why wait'st thou on ? 
 Ring it — oh, woe! the rope is gone! 
 There at her feet, decayed and worn, 
 It lies in fragments, old and torn. 
 
 ■■■-■ ■ ■ ..— — , 
 
 The soul which stops to contefuplate its ivings will never rise. — Delsarte. 
 
 /
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 99 
 
 The staircase, too, that led the way, 
 Has fallen to time and fire a prey. 
 
 Unhappy child! The cruel wind 
 
 Seems mocking at thy faith, unkind; 
 
 In vain thou cam'st through storm and snow, 
 
 In vain o'er icy lakes didst go, 
 
 Vain thy despairing, upstretched arm, 
 
 To ring the bell thou hast no charm. 
 
 The clock now strikes the midnight hour — 
 If heaven help not, who else has power? 
 She knelt and prayed: " O Saviour, dear, 
 Do Thou Thy sorrowing child now hear: 
 My mother told me Thou didst come, 
 Year after year, to each child's home ; 
 When they were bad Thou past didst go. 
 But to the good Thy gifts didst flow. 
 Oh, now remember me, I pray. 
 And I will thank Thee day by day, 
 If health and strength may come again 
 To my poor mother, sick with pain!" 
 
 And faster even as she speaks, 
 
 The tears stream down the poor child's cheeks. 
 
 But ere the twelfth stroke of the clock 
 
 Had sounded over lake and rock. 
 
 High in its groove the bell doth move. 
 
 And swinging wide, from side to side, 
 
 Peal after peal rings in the air, 
 
 It rings, the bell of Innisfare! 
 
 Gesture is the direct agent o/ the soul^ while language is analytic: and suc- 
 cessive. — Delaumosne.
 
 100 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 'Twas God that heard that earnest prayer, 
 That faith and love had offered there; 
 And as that bell, with tone so clear. 
 Rang o'er the land, the child could hear, 
 Mixed in its tones, like angels' song. 
 Her mother's voice, soft, float along. 
 Saved ! saved ! it said, with music rare, 
 The little bell of Innisfare. 
 
 ANNE HATHAWAY. 
 
 /^NCE on a time, when jewels flashed, 
 ^-^^ And moonlit fountains softly splashed, 
 And all the air was sweet and bright 
 With music, mirth, and deft delight, 
 A courtly dame drew, laughing, near 
 
 A poet — greatest of his time. 
 And chirped a question in his ear, 
 
 With voice like silver bells in chime: 
 "Good Mr. Shakespeare, I would know 
 
 The name thy lady bore, in sooth. 
 Ere thine. Nay, little time ago 
 
 It was — for we still mark her 3-outh; 
 Some high-born name, I trow, and yet, 
 Altho' I've heard it, I forget." 
 Then answered he, with dignity, 
 Yet blithely — for the hour was gay, 
 "My lady's name — Anne Hathaway." 
 
 "And good, sweet sir," the dame pursued, 
 Too fair and winsome to be rude, 
 
 Art is the telescope of a supernatural world. — Delsarth.
 
 DELS ARTE RECI TAT/OAT BOOK. loi 
 
 " 'Tis whispered here and whispered there, 
 By doughty knights and ladies fair, 
 Tliat — that — well, that her royal lord 
 
 Does e'en obey her lightest will. 
 Now, my good spouse — I pledge my word — 
 
 Tho' loving well doth heed me ill; 
 How art thou conquered, prithee, tell," 
 
 She pleaded with her pretty frown; 
 "I fain would know what mighty spell 
 
 Can bring a haughty husband down." 
 She ceased, and raised her eager face 
 To his, with laughing, plaintive grace. 
 Then answered he, with dignity. 
 Yet blithely — for the hour was gay, 
 "Ah, lady, I can only say 
 Her name again — Anne Hath — a — way." 
 
 THE MINISTER'S HOUSEKEEPER. 
 
 Harriet Beecher Stowe. Arranged hy Elsie M. Wilbor, 
 
 "\ X /"AL, you see, when Parson Carryl's wife died, my 
 cousin Huldy undertook to keep house for him. 
 She was jest as handsome a gal to look at as a feller 
 could have, and a nice, well-behaved young gal. I've 
 walked ten miles of a Sunday mornin' jest to play the 
 bass-viol in the same singers' seat with her. But you 
 know how 'tis in parishes ; there allers is women that 
 thinks the minister's affairs belongs to them. And so 
 Mis' Pipperidge and Mis' Deakin Blodgett and Mis' 
 Sawin got their heads together a-talkin' about things. 
 
 Affectation is in the arts the eguiTalent py sophistry in logic, o/ the /alst in 
 moralsy of hypocrisy in religion. — Arnaid.
 
 102 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 "Poor man," says Mis' Pipperidge, "what can that 
 child do toward takin' the care of all that place ! It 
 takes a mature woman to tread in Mis' Carryl's shoes." 
 
 " That it does," says Mis' Blodgett; " and when things 
 once get to runnin' down hill, there ain't no stoppin' on 
 'em," says she. 
 
 Then Mis' Sawin she took it up. " I must say, Huldy's 
 a gal that's always too ventersome about takin' 'sponsi- 
 bilities she don't know nothin' about." 
 
 Wal, the upshot on't was, they fussed till they'd 
 drinked up all the tea in the tea-pot, and then they 
 went down and called on the parson, and told him that 
 it was no way to leave everything to a young chit like 
 Huldy, and that he ought to be lookin' about for an 
 experienced woman. The parson he thanked 'em, but 
 he thought to himself, " Huldy is a good gal ; but I 
 oughtn't to be a-leavin' everything to her, — it's too hard 
 on her. I ought to be instructin', and guidin', and 
 helpin' of her." So at it he went ; and Lordy mass}' ! 
 didn't Huldy hev a time on't when the minister began 
 to come out of his study, and went to see to things ! 
 
 " Huldy," says he one day, "you ain't experienced out 
 doors, and when you want to know anything you must 
 come to me." 
 
 " Yes, sir," says Huldy. 
 
 " Now, Huldy," says the parson, " you must be sure to 
 save the turkey-eggs, so that we can have a lot of turkeys 
 for Thanksgiving." 
 
 "Yes, sir," says she; and she opened the pantry-door 
 and sliowed him a nice dishful she'd been a-savin' up. 
 Wal, the next day the parson's hen-turkey was found 
 killed. Huldy, she felt bad about it, 'cause she'd set her 
 
 // is not absolutely true to say that the head is in the eccentric state because 
 it is raised: for it may be that, raised as it is, the direction of the eye may be 
 even higher than it, and, in that case, the head might, although raised, pre- 
 sent the aspect of the concentric state. — Dei.sarte. 
 
 f
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 103 
 
 heart on raisin' the turkeys, and says she, "Oil, dear! 
 I don't know what I shall do." 
 
 "Do, Huldy?" says the parson; "why there's the 
 other turkey ; out there by the door and a fine bird, 
 too, he is." 
 
 Sure enougli, there was the old tom-turkey a-struttin' 
 and a-sidlin' and a-quitterin' and a-floutin' his tail- 
 feathers in the sun, like a lively young widower, all 
 ready to begin life over again. 
 
 "But," says Huldy, "you know he can't set on eggs." 
 
 "He can't? I'd like to know why," says the parson. 
 " He shall set on eggs, and hatch 'em, too. What else 
 be they good fer? You jest bring out the eggs, now, 
 and put 'em in the nest, and I'll make him set on 'em." 
 
 " O doctor !" says Huldy, all in a tremble ; cause, you 
 know, she didn't want to contradict the minister, " I 
 never heard that a tom-turkey would set on eggs." 
 
 But she took the eggs out, and fixed 'em all nice in 
 the nest; and then she come back and found old Tom 
 a-skirmishin' with the parson pretty lively, I tell ye. 
 Ye see, old Tom didn't take to the idee at all ; and he 
 flopped and gobbled, and fit the parson ; and the par- 
 son's wig got 'round so that his cue stuck out straight 
 over his ear ; but he'd got his blood up. Ye see, the old 
 doctor was used to carryin' his p'ints o' doctrine, so 
 finally he made a dive, and ketched him by the neck 
 and stroked him down, and put Huldy's apron 'round 
 him. 
 
 " There, Huldy," he says, quite red in the face, " we've 
 got him now ;" and he travelled off to the barn with 
 him as lively as a cricket. 
 
 Huldy came behind, jest chokin' with laugh. 
 
 The first great thing to be acquired is flexibility cf the joints. Free the 
 channels 0/ tAT/'ression, and the current o_f ner-ous force can rush through 
 them as a stream of water rushes through a channel, unclogged by obstacles. 
 — Genevie\e Stebhins.
 
 I04 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 " Now, Huldy, we'll crook his legs and set him down," 
 says the parson, when they got to the nest ; " you see 
 he is gettin' quiet, and he'll set there all right." 
 
 And the parson he sot him down, and old Tom he sot 
 there solemn enough, and held his head down all 
 droopin', lookin' like a rail pious old cock, as long as 
 the parson sot by him. 
 
 " There, you see how still he sets," says the parson. 
 
 Huldy was 'most dyin' for fear she should laugh. 
 "I'm afraid he'll get up," says she, "when you do." 
 
 " Oh, no, he won't," says the parson, quite confident. 
 *' There, there," says he, layin' his hands on him, as if 
 pronouncin' a blessin'. But when the parson riz up, 
 old Tom he riz up too, and began to march over the 
 eggs. 
 
 " Stop, now !" sa3's the parson. " I'll make him get 
 down agin ; hand me that corn-basket ; we'll put that 
 over him." So he crooked old Tom's legs and got him 
 down agin ; and they put the basket over him, and then 
 they both stood and waited. 
 
 "That'll do the thing, Huldy," says the parson. 
 
 "I don't know about it," says Huldy. 
 
 " Oh, yes, it will, child. I understand," says he. Jest 
 as he spoke the basket riz right up and stood, and they 
 could see old Tom's long legs. 
 
 "I'll make him stay down, confound him," says the 
 parson ; for, ye see, parsons is men, like the rest on us, 
 and the doctor had got his spunk up. "You jest hold 
 him a minute, and I'll get somethin' that'll make him 
 stay, I guess ;" and out he went to the fence, and 
 brought in a long, thin, fiat stone, and laid it on old 
 Tom's back. 
 
 Dynamic reflections are produced by three niovetnents: direct movements, 
 rotary movements, and movements of flexion in the arc of a circle. — Del- 
 
 SARTE.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 105 
 
 01(1 Tom he wilted down considerable under this, 
 and looked railly as if he was goin' to give in. He 
 stayed still there a good long spell, and the minister and 
 Huldy left him and come up to the house ; but they 
 hadn't more than got in the door before they see old 
 Tom a-hippin' along, as high steppin' as ever, sayin' 
 "Talk! talk! talk!" and "quitter! quitter! quitter!" 
 and struttin' and gobblin'. 
 
 " Oh, my eggs !" says Huldy, " I'm afraid he's smashed 
 them !" 
 
 And sure enough, there they was, smashed flat enough 
 under the stone. 
 
 Wal, next week Huldy she jest got a lot o' turkey- 
 eggs and set a hen on 'em, and said nothin'; and in good 
 time there was as nice a lot o' turkey-chicks as ever ye 
 see. 
 
 Not long arter he took it into his head that Huldy 
 ought to have a pig to be a-fattin' with the buttermilk, 
 and old Tim Bigelow told him if he'd call over he'd 
 give him a little pig. So he went for a man, and told 
 him to build a pig-pen out by the well, and have it all 
 ready when he come home with the pig. 
 
 Wal, the carpenter he didn't come till most the mid- 
 dle of the arternoon; and then he sort o' idled, fixed the 
 well-curb, and went off and said he'd come and do the 
 pig-pen next day. Wal, arter dark. Parson Carryl he 
 driv into the yard, full chizel, with the pig. He'd tied 
 up his mouth to keep him from squeelin'; and he see 
 what he thought was the pig-pen — he was rather near- 
 sighted, — and so he ran and threw piggy over, and went 
 into the house quite delighted. 
 
 a — -I 
 
 Probably not one man in a hundred ever stoppfd to think that he cannot 
 make a single g^estiire with the unconscious grace of a child or an animal, /or 
 the siinfile reason that an arbitrary volition is so impacted in each muscle that 
 he controls e-.ery sinew artificially without knowing it. He is unconsciously 
 constricted from head to foot. — NvM Crinkle.
 
 io6 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 "There, Hulciy, I've got you a nice little pig," says 
 he. 
 
 " Dear me !" says Huldy; " where have you put him ?" 
 
 "Why, out there in the pig-pen, to be sure." 
 
 "Oh, dear me !" says Huldy, "that's the well-curb; 
 there ain't no pig-pen built," says she. 
 
 " Lordy massy !" says the parson. " Then I'v'e thrown 
 the pig in the well !" 
 
 Wal, Huldy she worked and worked, and finally she 
 fished piggy out in the bucket, but he was dead as a 
 door-nail ; and she got him out o' the way quietly, and 
 didn't say much ; and the parson, he took to a great 
 Hebrew book in his study, and says he, " Huldy, I ain't 
 much in temporals," says he. 
 
 Wal, Mis' Deakin Blodgett an' Mis' Pipperidge begun 
 to talk that it railly wasn't proper, such a young gal to be 
 stayin' there, who everybody could see was a-settin' her 
 cap for the minister. Mis' Pipperidge said that so long 
 as she looked on Huldy as the hired gal she hadn^t 
 thought much about it; but Huldy was takin' on airs as 
 an equal, an' appearin' as mistress o' the house in a 
 way that would make talk if it went on. And Mis' 
 Pipperidge she driv 'round up to Deakin Abner Snow's, 
 and down to Mis' 'Lijah Perry's, and asked them if they 
 wasn't afraid that the way that the parson and Huldy 
 was a-goin' on might make talk. 
 
 Finally Mis' Sawin she says to Huldy, "My dear, 
 didn't you never think that folk would talk about you 
 and the minister?" 
 
 " No ; why should they ?" says Huldy, quite innocent. 
 
 " Wal, dear," says she, " I think it's a shame ; but they 
 say you're tryin' to catch him." 
 
 Outward gesture being only the echo oj^ the iniuard gesture ivhich gaTe 
 birth to it and rules it, should be inferior to it in development, and should be 
 in some sort diaphanous. — Delsarte. 
 
 4-
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 107 
 
 Iluldy was a gal o' spirit, but it made her drefful un- 
 comfortable. The minister he had the same thing from 
 one of his deakins, and when he saw Huldy so kind o' 
 silent, he says to her, "What's the matter, my child?" 
 
 "Oh, sir !" says Huldy, " is it improper for me to be 
 here ?" 
 
 "No, dear," says the minister, "but ill-natured folks 
 will talk; but there is one way we can stop it, Huldy — 
 if you will marry me. You'll make me very happy, and 
 I'll do all I can to make you happy. Will you ?" 
 
 Next Sunday mornin', when the minister walked up 
 the aisle with Huldy, all in white, arm-in-arm with him, 
 and he opened the minister's pew, and handed her in as if 
 she was a princess, wal, I guess there was a rustlin' 
 among the bunnets. Mis' Pipperidge gin a great bounce, 
 like corn poppin' on a shovel, and her eyes glared 
 through her glasses at Huldy as if they'd a sot her 
 a-fire; and everybody in the meetin'-house was a-starin', 
 I tell ye. 
 
 Wal, arter meetin' they all come 'round the parson 
 and Huldy at the door, shakin' hands and laughin'; for 
 by that time they was about agreed that they'd got to 
 let putty well alone. 
 
 " Why, Parson Carryl," says Mis' Deakin Blodgett, 
 "how you've come it over us." 
 
 "Yes," says the parson, with a kind o' twinkle in his 
 eye. "I thought," says he, "as folks wanted to talk 
 about Huldy and me, I'd give 'em somethin' wuth 
 talkin' about." 
 
 •t 
 
 Unlike speech^ luhich differs with different nationalities, the language o/ 
 gesture is the same among all classes, varying only in degree or intensity. A 
 Frenchman uses the same muscles to express approval that an Italian uses: a 
 Russian frowns as does an American, given the same emotion. A n English- 
 man manifests disgust by the action of certain mouth-muscles, under the 
 same emotion, as does an American Indian. — Mrs. Frank Stiakt Parkbr.
 
 I08 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 A TRAGEDY OF SEDAN. 
 
 Anna Katherine Green Rohlfs. 
 
 T HAD seen him in battle, and he was a man 
 
 To watch in a conflict. I'd seen him when death 
 Struck down at his feet the one comrade he loved; 
 But never before, upon field or in camp. 
 Had beheld in his face such a look of the grave 
 As he brought yester night to the door of my tent. 
 So dread in suggestion of anguish, I leapt 
 In dismay to my feet. Was he ill? Was he hurt? 
 
 But at that 
 He was straight at my side witli a bound. " Ay, in 
 
 grief ! 
 And you talk of it, you ! talk of grief ! but 'tis easy. 
 We all talk of grief. But enough: I must tell 
 You the whole or go mad. My friend," and his eyes 
 Glared wildly on mine through his thick, fallen hair — 
 " Have you loved? Yes? In the pause 
 Of the death-dealing guns one may ask, may he not, 
 Such a question as that of a man ?" 
 
 For reply 
 I drew from my bosom a c^url that I kissed, 
 And put back on my heart without words. 'Twas 
 
 enough; 
 He bent down at my side with a cry: " Is she fair? 
 Has she eyes like a dove and a step like a deer, 
 So gentle and wild ? Do you love her — O heaven! — 
 With the force of your body, your spirit, and heart ? 
 Ah! 'tis folly to ask. A woman must die 
 
 Eiiery tone necessarily contains the ionic, its generator, the dominant, its en- 
 f^ertdereii, and the mediant, ivhich proceeds /rom the other tivo. The reunion 
 oy these three tones, which makes them into one, forms the perfect chord. — 
 Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 109 
 
 Or turn false to be loved so. Pray heaven 
 
 You may die ere you come to a passion like that!" 
 
 Looking down, 
 He took from his finger a ring, and then said: 
 "She was pledged to me, friend; was my hope from a 
 
 child; 
 Was my life, you might say. In the mesh of her glance 
 All my being was thralled. Not a dawn rose upon me 
 But I woke with the thought of her beauty. Ah, I know 
 Such a love is not good, that its passion undoes 
 What its purity makes; but a man cannot choose 
 His fate from the heavens, and this love, as it was. 
 Was my fate. 
 
 " Well, her heart gave response to my suit, 
 And we had been wedded two long years ago. 
 But love is ambitious. To give her a home 
 I left her, and, far from her voice and her smile. 
 Worked my way up to fortune. Oh, the long, long 
 
 motiths! 
 But they passed, and at length 
 
 Came the day of return. Ah, that day ! Like a flame 
 It flares ever before me. Her looks and her smiles 
 Will not flit, will not fly. As we walked up the street 
 The bells broke out ringing. For three months of doom 
 I have heard them; they never have ceased in my ears. 
 
 " But no dwelling on that. 'Tis enough 
 I was happy that day. Ah, you wonder what now! 
 You, sitting at ease in your tent, with the tress 
 Of a tender, true woman like balm on your breast, 
 Wonder what could have turned all this rapture to woe 
 
 It is not ideas that tnoTC the tiiasses: it is gestures. We easily reach the 
 heart and soul through the senses. Music acts especially on the senses. It 
 purifies them, it gix'es intelligence to the hand, it disposes the heart to prayer. 
 — Df.i.aumosne.
 
 no DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 In a moment. Ah, God! 'twas not much, not much! 
 Only this: When I rose in the dusk from my guests 
 ('Twas my wedding-eve, friend) my beloved was gone ! 
 Yes, yes, gone as certain as joy — 
 Gone, gone, gone, gone ! Not a word of farewell, 
 Not a look; just that smile that was love, or like love, 
 And then this great gulf. 
 
 " Oh, may the world 
 Grow old and shrink up in the hands of the Lord 
 Ere another night creep by like that! Not till morn 
 Did they tell me the whole — how for weeks he had been 
 In the town by her side; stealing up in the dusk 
 To drop a stray rose in her hand — I say 
 It was not until morning they told me all this; 
 Meantime she was gone. 
 
 "Well, I lived — lived to seek him. 
 Do you know what that means ? By the chances of war 
 You have been in your time the hunted, spent deer. 
 Have you e'er been the hound ? Can you reckon of 
 
 days 
 When, with fire in your blood and revolt in 3'our brain, 
 You wandered the world with your eyes on the face 
 Of each man that you met? And the nights — 
 The nights without sleep, and the dreams, 
 The visions that swam in the air, and made hot 
 The breath of the north wind; the doubts and the hopes ! 
 
 " For three months I lived thus, 
 And then came despair. From the German frontier 
 Rose a clamor for soldiers. I heard, and grew calm. 
 
 The most po-wer/ul of all gestures is that which affects the spectator without 
 his knowing it. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. ill 
 
 ' It is well !* I exclaimed. ' Men are shot in the field; 
 Let the enemy slay me.' So I came to the war." 
 
 He paused here a moment, and drew from his breast 
 A crumpled white paper, streaked over with blood. 
 And laid it before me. 
 
 " You say this was anguish," he cried, " but I say 
 
 It was nothing — just nothing. My friend, can you think 
 
 What it were, or might be, if the woman you love — 
 
 Nay, nay, hear me out — should be walking above 
 
 The horrid, steep side of a gulf, and you saw 
 
 Her footsteps draw nearer and nearer, and yet 
 
 Were too far to shriek warning; and at last, as you 
 
 looked. 
 Behold her slip over ! — those eyes that you love, 
 The forehead, the hair — saw her struggle and catch 
 At some dizzy small branch that would hold but a 
 
 breath, 
 And you yet afar? Can you think what it were 
 To hear her shiiek out with assurance you'd heed 
 And would come, and that instant, while heaven and 
 
 earth 
 Were one glare, and you rushed, to be caught, man, be 
 
 caught 
 In a network of hell which you could not escape, 
 While she — your heart's own — O death ! Yet is that 
 My soul-torment. Look here !" and his shaking hand 
 
 smoothed 
 The white paper before me. " Did you think she was 
 
 false ? 
 
 4. 
 
 Exceptional talents require an exceptional public who can un^lerstand thtnt 
 and make them popular by applauding and explaining them. — .AknaUD.
 
 112 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 She was true, friend, was true; true as light, true as 
 
 heaven. 
 I have known it three hours. 
 
 " Beguiled, do you see ? 
 Wooed away from my side with some smooth, hurried 
 
 tale, 
 Till the length of the garden lay 'twixt us. Ah! ah! 
 Is there vengeance in hell for such villains ? The rest ? 
 You can guess how it happened— his sudden appeal — 
 The carriage— the horses— her cry which we heard not— 
 The rush and the night. Do you doubt it is true ? 
 It is written here. See the tremulous lines 
 How they cross and recross. But she's true! 'tis 
 
 enough. 
 Do you see all my anguish ?" 
 
 With hand and with voice 
 I strove in my pity to calm him; but he. 
 Staggering backward, went on: '"Tis not all. She is 
 
 held 
 In his power by his spies ! he would \ved her — great 
 
 heaven! 
 Make her countess or something; just stab her, I say! 
 And she calls me, entreats me by all I adore. 
 To come quick. Ha, ha! " and his awful laugh whirled 
 On the night wind. "Come quick! And I'm bound! 
 
 "How it came to this spot, when, I know not. 
 It was put in my hand as I strode from the field 
 By some one who cried, ' If you hasten, perhaps 
 You have time still to save her.' Away to the chief 
 
 Sound contains three sounds: that of the tonic, the dominant, and the me- 
 diant. The tonic (Father) necessarily generates the dojninant (Son), and the 
 mediant (Holy Ghost) proceeds necessarily from the first /w<7.— Delsakte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 113 
 
 I hurried, a madman. What was France to me now, 
 Or the world? I fell down at his feet in despair; 
 Told him all; showed my billet — in vain, all in vain! 
 And to-morrow's the day of the battle!" 
 
 As in that 
 He had touched the whole depth of his woe, he flung up 
 His arms to the sky for a moment, and then 
 Sank down like one sliot. When I rose from his side, 
 The dread morn of battle flamed high in the east. 
 
 Do you ask me for more ? Lift the end of that cloth 
 And behold ! It is calm now, you see, sirs, quite calm. 
 'Tvvas not so yester eve. When he fell, all the din 
 Of the battle served not to o'erwhelm from my ears 
 The shriek that he gave. 
 
 HAUNTED BY A SONG. 
 
 Translated and Adapted from the French. 
 
 [Those who have heard a catching melody at the opera and have been 
 haunted by it for days, under all circumstances — and who has not thus 
 suffered ? — will appreciate this monologue. In each place where the 
 word is repeated several times, the reciter will fit them to the tune of 
 the song and, of course, sing them. — Edmok. ] 
 
 Jones \enters, pale and haggard\ 
 
 T AM all out of sorts ; I am miserable, I am wretched. 
 I am quite a different creature from what I was two 
 days ago. I was all right then. I went to the theatre, 
 to the Casino. The play they gave was awfully funny. 
 There was a young lady in it, and a young man who 
 
 It is easy to distinguish the man »_/" head, o/ heart, and o/ action. The first 
 makes tmxny gestures of the head: the second many ofi the shoulders; the last 
 moves the arms often and inappropriately. — Delaumosne. 
 
 4" ■
 
 114 
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Music of Song in '■'^ Haunted by a Song.'''' 
 
 Allegretto 
 
 A i* 
 
 
 N 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 
 JF 
 
 — 1 — 
 
 1 — 
 
 p 
 
 H 
 
 1 
 
 1 — 
 
 H^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 -^ " 
 
 ~Y^"\ — 
 
 — 1 
 
 • — 
 
 h 
 
 9 
 
 m 
 
 — • — 
 
 -* 
 
 m 
 
 =J 
 
 \\ / ^ 1 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 
 XJ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 "^^ 
 
 ■^^^ 
 
 
 
 
 — ^ 
 
 1 — 
 
 ^ — 
 
 — i : 
 
 — 1 — 
 
 N— 
 
 1 
 
 - - \ 
 
 1 
 
 L^ — J— 
 
 
 —^ 
 
 
 4' 
 
 —4 
 
 —d — 
 
 — » ^ 
 
 ^ H 
 
 1*^ 1'' 
 
 ^ 
 
 -- 1— 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 V*^ J 
 
 — g — J— 
 
 — i — 
 — « — 1 
 
 — • — 
 
 — i 
 
 ^F=r 
 
 -4 — ' 
 
 ^ 
 
 -A- 
 
 -^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 % 
 
 I 
 
 wanted to marry the young lady, and some people who 
 wanted to prevent the marriage, and some more people 
 who wanted the marriage to take place — in short, I for- 
 get all that happened, but it came out all right; they 
 
 Inflection is the life of speech; the mind lies in the articulative values, in 
 the distribution of these articulations and their progressions. The soul of 
 speech is in gesture. — Delsarte. 
 
 4*
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 115 
 
 got married in the end. Then they were all very happy, 
 and they sang a song, tra la la la la la, etc. \Si)igs the 
 whole tiinc.\ 
 
 Of course, I felt happy, too, as I left the theatre, for 
 it was such a pretty air. It was very cold. I turned up 
 my collar around my ears and hurried home, tra la la la, 
 etc. When I reached my door, I rang the bell, ding, 
 ding, ding, ding, ding, ding. I live on the top floor; I 
 climbed the stairs quietly \sitiging under his breath^ tra la 
 la la la la la la la. I lighted my candle la la, undressed 
 la la la, got into bed and fell asleep. [^S/iores on the same 
 tune. ] 
 
 The next morning when I awoke the weather was 
 superb, and I was in excellent mood ! I sprang up, tra 
 la la la, plunged my head in the water, fl fl fl fl fi fl. I 
 was in the best of spirits! Somebody knocked at my 
 door. I went to open; it was my landlady, who handed 
 in a letter. [Makes the motion of opening the letter and 
 redding, 7c>hile he sings.^ Tra la la la la la la — oh! dear 
 me! my poor aunt! on her death-bed! Quick! my hat, 
 my overcoat, my umbrella! I reach the street, I hail a 
 cab — " Coachman, Grand Central depot! A dollar extra 
 for you if you go fast, fast, fast, fast!" 
 
 I reached the station, left my umbrella behind me in 
 the cab, cab, cab. No matter, I caught the train, train, 
 train! [(?/// of breath^ It was the express, press, press, 
 press. 
 
 My poor aunt ! I was fond of my poor aunt, even if 
 she were onl}' an aunt by marriage. When I arrived she 
 died in my arms. I was distressed, tressed, tressed! 
 Oh! I wish I could get rid of this tune. I had to attend 
 
 The human I'ody may be regarded as the expression 0/ the soul. Hence it 
 is possible to read a man's character, and e^eii his very thoughts, in his eoun- 
 tenitnre and manner. Hence every change in character, as it becomes Ji.ved, 
 produces a corresf<onding change in the countenance. Passion not only cor- 
 rodes the heart, but also disfigiires the expression 0/ the /ace. — T. M. Ralliet.
 
 Ii6 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 to everything — newspapers, death-notices, tra la la la la 
 la la la la. That tune was with me even as I followed 
 her body to the grave. The undertaker said to me : 
 "You seem all broken up, sir." " Oh!" I answered, " I 
 am in despair pair, pair, pair, pair, pair ! ! 1" I hate it ! 
 I abominate it ! I — well, as long as I can't get rid of 
 it, I shall use it to express my grief. \^Si)jgs?^ 
 
 I have just lost my poor auntie, 
 I have just laid her in the ground, 
 
 A small income slie has left me. 
 
 Therefore to mourn her I am bound. 
 
 She was ever a good, kind woman. 
 
 And her loss is to me severe. 
 For I was her favorite nephew. 
 
 So I hasten to drop a tear. Tra la la. 
 
 Well, all was over at last. I took the train back to 
 New York. My head was ready to burst, burst, burst. 
 I got out at the Grand Cen-cen-cen-tral Depot, pot. I 
 hurried through like a mad, mad, mad man, knocked 
 down everybody, took the first street in front of me, 
 then, the first one to the left, the next one to right, right, 
 right, another one to the left, brought up at the East 
 River, gazed at the water, ter, ter, ter. Ah ! never to 
 sing that any more ! To die ! I threw myself into 
 the river and was drowned gl gl gl gl gl. \^Sighs with 
 satisfaction^ 
 
 When I came to, 1 was in the station-house. My 
 clothes were drying before the fire, and that cursed tune 
 was still throbbing through my brain. Tra la la la la la 
 la la la, etc. \^Exit in despair, humming the tune.'] 
 
 Sound is the reflection of the divine image. In sound there are three reflex 
 itnages: the reflex of life, the reflex of the intellect, the reflex of love. — 
 Dels ARTE.
 
 B ELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. wy 
 
 AUCTIONING OFF THE BABY. 
 
 T\7HAT am I offered for Biiby? 
 
 Dainty, dimpled and sweet 
 From the curls above his forehead 
 
 To llie beautiful rosy feet; 
 From the tips of the wee pink fingers 
 
 To the Hght of the clear brown eye, 
 What am I offered for Baby? 
 
 Who'll buy ? who'll buy ? who'll buy 
 
 What am I offered for Baby ? 
 
 " A shopful of sweets?" Ah, no! 
 That's too much beneath his value 
 
 Who is sweetest of all below! 
 The naughty, beautiful darling! 
 
 One kiss from liis rosy mouth 
 Is better than all the dainties 
 
 Of East, or West, or South! 
 
 What am I offered for Baby? 
 
 " A pile of gold?" Ah, dear, 
 Your gold is too hard and heavy 
 
 To purchase my brightness here. 
 Would the treasures of all the mountains, 
 
 Far in the wonderful lands, 
 Be worth the clinging and clasping 
 
 Of these dear little peach-bloom hands? 
 
 So, what am I offered for Baby? 
 
 " A rope of diamonds?" Nay, 
 If your brilliants were larger and brighter 
 
 Than stars in the Milky Way, 
 
 Articulitic Intiguage is Vieoiv because it is successi^'e. It must be enuneiiiteti 
 filirase^hy />ltrase: by wOyiiS%syliab/es, ietters, consonants, and zon'e/s. — Dei- 
 
 AUMllSNE.
 
 Il8 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Would they ever be half so precious 
 As the light of those lustrous eyes, 
 
 Still full of the heavenly glory 
 
 They brought from beyond the skies? 
 
 Then, what am I offered for Baby? 
 
 "A heart full of love and a kiss?" 
 Well, if anything ever could tempt me, 
 
 'Tvvould be such an offer as this! 
 But how can I know if your loving 
 
 Is tender, and true, and divine 
 Enough to repay what I'm giving 
 
 In selling this sweetheart of mine? 
 
 So we will not sell the Baby! 
 
 Your gold and gems and stuff, 
 Were they ever so rare and precious, 
 
 Would never be half enough! 
 For what would we care, my dearies, 
 
 What glory the world put on 
 If our beautiful darling were — going; 
 
 If our beautiful darling were — gone! 
 
 THE LITTLE WHITE BEGGARS. 
 
 Helen W. Ludlow. 
 
 '"r^HE small waves came frolicking in from the sea, 
 
 Leaping the rocks where the big breakers roar ; 
 Snowy crests tossing, so proud to be free, 
 Racing and chasing in baby-like glee 
 
 Up the sand slope to the beach cabin door. 
 
 Throned on the post of tlie sea-looking gate, 
 Safe in the fold of my sheltering arm, 
 
 Breathing is a three/old act: inspiration, suspension, expiration. — Del- 
 
 SAKTE.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 119 
 
 Sat three-year old Dick, like a king in his state, 
 Little feet drumming at rapturous rate — 
 
 Small King Canute, do the waves own thy charm ? 
 
 Do I slander the soul of my small human boy? 
 
 " Look out, then, my Dick, over ocean's blue floor, 
 And tell nic what fancies those deep thoughts employ. 
 Ha! Dick, see them come! Do you join in the joy 
 
 Of the little white horses all racing for shore?" 
 
 The tiny, uplifted arm paused in the air. 
 
 The blue eyes grew thoughtful, the breeze-tousled 
 head 
 Shook sunbeams around, and the sweet little pair 
 Of coral lips, trembling with utterance rare, 
 
 "Doze isn't white horses," he earnestly said. 
 
 "What, not little horses, Dick? See how they run, 
 All their curly white manes floating back on the sea, 
 
 Dashing the drops up to shine in the sun. 
 
 Racing and chasing — what glorious fun!" 
 
 " No, no; doze is 'ittle white beggars," said he. 
 
 "'Ittle white beggars," he murmured again. 
 
 "Oh, little white breakers, you mean, I suppose." 
 " Not 'ittle white b'akers " — suggestion was vain, 
 My wisdom rejected with baby disdain — 
 
 " 'Ittle white beggars dey is; I knows." 
 
 " Little white beggars — well, that's an idea ! 
 
 Then perhaps you can tell so we'll all understand. 
 What these little white beggars come begging for here ?" 
 And the soft baby lips whispered, close to my ear, 
 
 " Dey begs for de wocks, an' de sea-weed, an' sand." 
 
 Gesture is iiiagyietic, speech is not so. Through gesture ive subiiue the most 
 ferocious a ni nulls. — Delaimosne.
 
 i20 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 GRANDFATHER WATTS"S PRI- 
 VATE FOURTH. 
 
 H. C. BUNNER. 
 
 r^ RANDFATHER WATTS used to tells us boys 
 
 ^^^ That a Fourth wan't a Fourth without any noise, 
 
 He would say, with a thump of his hickory stick, 
 
 That it made an American right down sick, 
 
 To see his sons on the nation's day 
 
 Sit round in a sort of a listless way, 
 
 With no oration and no trained band. 
 
 No firework show and no root beer stand. 
 
 While his grandsons, before they were out of bibs, 
 
 Were ashamed — great Scot! — ^^to fire off squibs. 
 
 And so each Independence morn 
 Grandfather Watts took his powder-horn 
 And the fiint-lock shotgun his father had 
 When he fought under Schuyler, a country lad. 
 And Grandfather Watts would start and tramp 
 Ten miles to the woods at Beaver camp; 
 For Grandfather Watts used to say — and scowl — 
 That a decent chipmunk, or woodchuck, or owl 
 Was better company, friendly or shy. 
 Than folks who didn't keep Fourth of July; 
 And so he would pull his hat down on his brow, 
 And march for the woods sou'east by sou'. 
 
 But once — ah! long, long years ago; 
 For grandfather's gone where good men go — 
 One hot, hot Fourth, by ways of our own. 
 Such short cuts as boys have always known, 
 We hurried and followed the dear old man 
 
 Every impression, to become a sensation, must first be perceived by the in- 
 telligence: and thus rue tnay say of the sensation that it is a definite impres- 
 sion. — Delsarte.
 
 "The flag your ancestors and mine fouglit and died for 
 a hundred j'ears ago."
 
 FAUST.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 121 
 
 Beyond where the wilderness began, 
 
 To the deep black woods at the foot of the dump, 
 
 And there was a clearing and a stump — 
 
 A stump in the heart of a great, wide wood; 
 And there on that stump our grandfather stood, 
 Talking and shouting out there in the sun, 
 And firing that funny old flint-lock gun 
 Once in a minute, his head all bare, 
 Having his Fourth of July out there — 
 The Fourth of July he used to know 
 Back in eighteen and twenty, or so. 
 
 First, with his face to the heaven's blue, 
 He read the " Declaration" through; 
 And then, with gestures to left and right, 
 He made an oration erudite, 
 Full of words six syllables long; 
 And then our grandfather broke into song! 
 And, scaring the squirrels in the trees. 
 Gave " Hail, Columbia!" to the breeze. 
 
 And I tell you the old man never heard 
 
 When we joined in the chorus, word for word! 
 
 But he sang out strong in tlie bright blue sky, 
 
 And if voices joined in his Fourth of July, 
 
 He heard them as echoes from days gone by. 1 
 
 And when he had done, we all slipped back 
 As still as we came, on our twisting track. 
 While words more clear than the flint-lock shots 
 Rang in our ears. And Grandfather Watts? 
 He shouldered the gun his father bore 
 And marched off home, nor'west by nor'. 
 
 The filastic art allies itsel/ pnrticula rly to the physical coMstitutioHy but the 
 physique cannot he perfectly bcauti/ul unless it manifests intellectual and 
 moral faculties. — Aknaud.
 
 122 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 A MODERN VERSION OF THE 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Joseph Barber. 
 
 T N the city of Venice, blank-blank Anno Domini, 
 
 Lived one Signor Antonio, who seemed, to the 
 common eye. 
 As much richer than any who there turned a penny. 
 As the richest plum-pudding is richer than hominy. 
 He had made piles of rocks by shrewd corners in stocks; 
 Had "collateral" no end in his Herring's strong box; 
 Owned of steamers whole lines, several Idaho mines, 
 And had ne'er known financial disaster; 
 In short, was a man of pith, pluck, and e/au, 
 In whom nature had blent, on the composite plan, 
 The vim of the well-known Cornelius Van, 
 With the prudence of William B. Astor. 
 
 To him came one day, in a terrible way, 
 
 Bassanio, his friend, who'd been cleaned out in play. 
 
 And says he: " Won't you loan me three thousand, now 
 
 say ? 
 It's all right; I've resolved my addresses to pay 
 To that Belmont girl, Portia, the heiress. 
 Her affections I'll win — Tony, tip us your fin; 
 My hand on't, I'll cancel the debt with her tin, 
 When together, her brown granite palace within. 
 We set up our Penates and Lares." 
 
 " Not a word more, dear Bass," said Antonio; "the lass 
 You shall marry if my help can bring it to pass; 
 But I'm short of the ready, just now, by the mass! 
 
 speech is an act posterior to ivil!^ itself posieridr to love; this again posterior 
 to judgment, posterior in its turn to memory^ -which ^finally y is posterior to 
 the impression. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 123 
 
 Having largely invested in cotton. 
 
 Never mind about that, though, my paper's first-class 
 
 And the cash can be easily gotten." 
 
 The friends then went forth and found Shylock, a Jew, 
 Accustomed good bills and good Christians to "do," 
 To whom said Antonio: " Here, Sh}', you Yahoo, 
 Advance me three thousand for three months, and you 
 May prescribe your own terms as a lender." 
 Quoth the Hebrew:* "I will; here's a quill; drawabill, 
 And in lieu of all interest (I won't take a mill. 
 Though you've oft called me usurer, and treated me 
 
 ill) 
 Say a pound of your flesh — this is only a joke — • 
 Shall be mine, should the contract on your part be broke 
 Ere your ninety-day note I surrender." 
 
 The queer bargain was made, the three thousand was 
 
 paid, 
 And Bassanio, with young Gratiano, his aide, 
 Went to Belmont to woo the before-mentioned maid. 
 (Mind, by Belmont I don't mean that blandest of 
 
 bankers, 
 Who owns lots of thoroughbreds, regular spankers, 
 But a home near Lake Como, whereat that young homo, 
 Bassanio, expected to play major-domo.) 
 
 Arrived there, the guest to make merry was pressed, 
 For Portia of all her beaux liked him tlie best; 
 And admitted if she could but have her behest, 
 No power under heaven should sunder 'em. 
 
 * Here is offered an opportunity to insert Shylock's reply from the 
 original. 
 
 A ft is only valuahle ns it expresses goodness am/ great ness in the soul, /mi' 
 tation may imitate t/ie e.v/>ressio>t, iitt it can a/ways be i/etecteJ as imitation, 
 and resembles trui/t as nearly as t/te cloud on a /tainted eantas is /ike one oh 
 /teaz'en's canopy. — Genevikvk Stei-uins.
 
 124 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 But, alas! her fair self and, still worse, all her pelf 
 
 Had been willed by her father, cranky old elf, 
 
 To the man who should choose, from three jars on a 
 
 shelf, 
 The reply to a certain conundrum. 
 
 I'm most happy to state 'twas Bassanio's fate 
 
 To guess it; and Portia, declining to wait, 
 
 That night the young gentleman married. 
 
 Also, " same time and place," fair Nerissa, her maid, 
 
 Espoused Gratiano, Bassanio's aide; 
 
 But not long with their dear ones they tarried. 
 
 O'er the wires came a flash, their enjoyment to dash. 
 
 To this purport : " Antonio all gone to smash; 
 
 Can't take up that note ; not a dollar in cash. 
 
 Jew angry ; protests that A.'s bosom he'll gash, 
 
 Come quick, or there'll be a most awful squabash. 
 
 All Antonio's ' specs' have miscarried." 
 
 I ought to have mentioned before, by the way, 
 
 That the Jew's only daughter, a frolicsome fay. 
 
 Had eloped with a friend of Bassanio's, one day. 
 
 Taking with her large sums from his cash-box, 
 
 Which they say seemed almost to madness to goad him. 
 
 By daughter and ducats thus given the slip, 
 
 The old anti-Christian, miserly rip. 
 
 Was delighted Antonio to catch on the hip, 
 
 And feed fat the old grudge that he owed him. 
 
 When Bassanio's bride of the telegram heard, 
 She smiled a sad smile, and said, " Bassy, my bird. 
 Though this failure has inopportunely occurred. 
 You must go to your bankrupt friend's succor. 
 
 Titne does jiot preserve what it has cost us tio time to create.— GELSAiiTB. 
 
 4.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 125 
 
 Take six thousand — take more, take the sum ten times 
 
 o'er — 
 What is money to me when the man T adore 
 Has a friend in this liorrible pucker !" 
 Her beloved faltered "Yes," gave his darling a kiss, 
 Gratiano did likewise to pretty Neriss, 
 And the twain — slightly under the weather 
 At the thought of postponing their honeymoon's bliss — 
 Took the first train for Venice together. 
 
 They had scarce turned their backs, when said Portia : 
 " Suppose, 
 
 Dear Nerissa, we follow them, under the rose, 
 
 I disguised as a lawyer, and you in the clothes befitting 
 an amanuensis. 
 
 'Twas arranged, tout de suite. In black costumes com- 
 plete, 
 
 Procured ready-made, that reached down to their feet, 
 
 They started next day their dear husbands to cheat — 
 
 Portia paying, of course, all expenses. 
 
 It was high noon in Venice, the court was assembled ; 
 
 The Jew was malignant, the prisoner trembled. 
 
 And Bassanio was pleading, with eyes red and watery, 
 
 To save his friend's breast from " the actual cautery," 
 
 When, during a pause, a young doctor of laws, 
 
 Sent from Padua to try '' the great pound-of-flesh cause," 
 
 Appeared on the scene and proceeded to charge 
 
 (Citing cases in point and the statutes at large) 
 
 That the Hebrew, though bloodthirsty, vile, and reputed 
 
 A foul, heathenish dog, that deserved to be booted — 
 
 Had "a clear case in law," and could not be nonsuited. 
 
 It is through opposition that the smile expresses moral sadness. — Delaumosne.
 
 126 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 The Jew whetted his blade: " Lo! a Daniel," he said; 
 
 "Your laws to the four winds he pitches. 
 
 Antonio prepare, your old torso lay bare, 
 
 For my hand to dig into it itches." 
 
 But "tarry a little," the doctor replied; 
 
 "Take your quota of flesh, but of life's crimson tide, 
 
 If thou spillest one drop, all thy goods to the state 
 
 Are by law — and thou lovest the law — confiscate. 
 
 But take notice, I pray thee, thou cannibal hound. 
 
 Cut, avoirdupois, to a hair's breadth, a pound, 
 
 A mistake of one scruple, unscrupulous Jew 
 
 (Ah! thy visage may well turn green, yellow, and blue), 
 
 Will not merely thy property place at our beck, 
 
 But a proper tie put round that infamous neck." 
 
 " Is that so? " whimpered Shylock, his lips white with 
 
 foam, 
 "Please to pay the note thrice, then; I want to go 
 
 home." 
 But " No, stop!" cried the doctor; " the law hath a hold. 
 Even now, on this usurer's ill-gotten gold. 
 Here's an act that declares if an alien attempt 
 A citizen's life, all his goods — naught exempt — 
 Shall be seized on at once for the state's 'privy coffer; ' 
 So this fellow, at best, is a ducatless loafer. 
 And his life even now lies within the duke's mercy, 
 Who may grant it, perhaps— or, perhaps, vice versy." 
 
 The upshot of all was that Shylock agreed 
 
 To turn Christian— the scamp— if from punishment 
 
 freed; 
 And the court, out of pity, condemned him to deed 
 
 Expiration is an element of trust, expansion, confidence, and tende. ,., 
 If t lie expression contain both pain and love, the inspiration and the e vpirai 
 •un/,1 both be noisy. — Delsarte. 
 
 rness. 
 ion
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 127 
 
 All his goods to his runaway daughter! 
 
 Then the doctor and clerk, with a dexterous jerk, 
 
 Doffed the toggery they'd worn for professional work, 
 
 And each wife, with a saucy, self-satisfied smirk, 
 
 Sought the arms that delightfully caught her. 
 
 Something more might I say, if I followed the play* 
 
 But the finishing scene is rather too "gay;" 
 
 And as double entcndres are not in my way, 
 
 I will here, with permission, the green curtain draw 
 
 On this drama of love, lucre, logic, and law. 
 
 Moral. 
 With regard to the moral, on Shylock it centres, 
 To whom " lust of flesh " brought the worst of adven- 
 tures; 
 It is this — truer proverb you ne'er set your eyes on — 
 *' What is one person's meat, is another one's poison." 
 
 PIANO-MUSIC. 
 
 THIRST a soft and gentle tinkle. 
 
 Gentle as the rain-drop's sprinkle, 
 
 Then a stop. 
 
 Fingers drop. 
 Now begins a merry trill. 
 Like a cricket in a mill; 
 Now a short, uneasy motion, 
 Like a ripple on the ocean. 
 See the fingers dance about, 
 Hear the notes come tripping out; 
 How they mingle in llie tingle 
 
 It is necessary only that there should exist a tirgree oj' individuality^ some- 
 thing novel, a distinguishing tone, and an artistic physiognomy peculiarly 
 one's own. Serz'ile imitations, plagiarism, stupid adaptations, put to death 
 all art and all poetry. — Aks.\i v.
 
 128 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Of the everlasting jingle, 
 
 Like to hailstones on a shingle, 
 
 Or the ding-dong, dangle-dingle 
 
 Of a sheep-bell ! Double, single, 
 
 Now they come in wilder gushes, 
 
 Up and down the player rushes. 
 
 Quick as squirrels, sweet as thrushes. 
 
 Now the keys begin to clatter 
 
 Like the music of a platter 
 
 When the maid is stirring batter. 
 
 O'er the music comes a change, 
 
 Every tone is wild and strange; 
 
 Listen to the lofty tumbling. 
 
 Hear the mumbling, fumbling, jumbling, 
 
 Like the rumbling and the grumbling 
 
 Of the thunder from its slumbering 
 
 Just awaking. Now it's taking 
 
 To the quaking, like a fever-and-ague shaking; 
 
 Heads are aching, something's breaking — 
 
 Goodness gracious!' it is wondrous, 
 
 Rolling round, above, and under us, 
 
 Like old Vulcan's stroke so thunderous. 
 
 Now 'tis louder, but the powder 
 
 Will be all exploded soon; 
 
 For the only way to do. 
 
 When the music's nearly through. 
 
 Is to muster all your muscle for a bang. 
 
 Striking twenty notes together with a clang: 
 
 Hit the treble with a twang. 
 
 Give the bass an awful whang, 
 
 And close the whole performance 
 
 With a slam — bang — whang ! 
 
 Inspiration should always be followed by a suspensive silence: otherwise the I 
 lungs, agitated by the act of inspiration, perform the expiration badly. — Dei.- ] 
 
 SARTE.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 129 
 
 THE COBRA. 
 
 Miller Hageman. 
 
 ROUGHED about each other closely, 
 measuring each glance mo- 
 rosely, 
 Bent a group of midnight gam. 
 biers over cup and card 
 and cheat; 
 When, with countenance ap- 
 palling, to his startled com- 
 rades calling, 
 One of them with ghostly whis- 
 per gasped from out his 
 winding-sheet: 
 ' Hush, for God's sake, hush, I feel a cobra crawling 
 round my feet!" 
 
 And sank backward in his seat. 
 
 
 '^fm^^^ 
 
 In his lifted hand clutched tightly, as the burning lamp 
 
 shone brightly, 
 Gleamed the winning card, whose bloodspots seemed 
 
 some horror to portray; 
 But as that dread weight upon him told him death's 
 
 cold hand was on him, 
 As the lion at the hunter stares with paw upon the 
 
 prey. 
 So he stared in palsied terror at that card he dared not 
 
 play. 
 
 While that cobra round him lay. 
 
 •* 
 
 The classic er,is 0/ study 0/ gcuerulities and o/classesha-,c f'aiscd. The ret- 
 pnantic time has gone by. Our modern age has come vjith its study 0/ the 
 individual in expression. The so-called fine arts ha~,'e had their day, and 
 the individual man already demands that the arts ofi mankind shall he ob- 
 served now. " The statue has become a living man.''^ — Fkanklin H. Sargent.
 
 I30 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Back each chill spectator started as from ghost of one 
 
 departed, 
 While below that haunted table every eye was quickly 
 
 cast; 
 Where, beneath the cover hiding, round the gambler's 
 
 ankles gliding. 
 
 llllilil'llili' 
 
 
 vTmTT/ TiT^\f^j^- 
 
 In the dark a deadly cobra was distinctly seen at last. 
 That had coiled itself about him till at length his feet 
 were fast, 
 
 Till each comrade stood aghast. 
 
 One by one they drew back gently from the wretch, 
 whose eye intently 
 
 Three characteristics may be attributed to respiration: vocaJ^ logical^ pa- 
 thetic, or passional. — Dels arte. 
 
 y
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 131 
 
 Followed them as they receded through the shadows of 
 
 the room; 
 For each face too plauily told him that no hand should 
 
 e'er unfold him 
 From those cold and clammy cerements, those chill 
 
 cerements of the tomb. 
 While, from underneath the table, craning up from out 
 
 the gloom, 
 
 Shone a deadly eye of doom. 
 
 Slowly round the gambler toiling, sinuously coiling, 
 
 coiling, 
 Crept the cobra, higher, higher, up the limbs, the loins, 
 
 the breast; 
 Slowly round his body bending, all its angry hood 
 
 distending 
 At the vulgar jewels flaming on the gambler's velvet 
 
 vest. 
 Upward on its awful errand by its victim little guessed. 
 Upward still that cobra pressed. 
 
 Tightly round that arm entwining craned that lidless 
 eyeball, shining 
 
 On the red card flashing o'er it fiercely as a blood- 
 stained brand; 
 
 When, witliout an instant's warning, suddenly, as if in 
 scorning 
 
 For that despicable, damning deed it seemed to under- 
 stand, 
 
 See! its runs its flickering tongue out, hisses, gleets its 
 poisoned gland 
 
 ThroufTh the gambler's bleeding hand. 
 
 To think 0/ the Pelsarte iiietlioii us <i systei" of gi'stur,- only, is to tliitik nar- 
 ro^vly ami rcstrictively. Exf"fssioii is the interior mind or son/ niani/esting 
 itself through the exterior suhstance or body. The Delsarte philosophy, then, 
 is an analysis of the f'sychic element of man as made /rom the standpoint of 
 manifestation ~'iAo'>^'> Tkuk Hrown. 
 
 4
 
 132 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 "Fiend!" he cried, "whence art thou, whither? who 
 
 this night hath sent thee hither, 
 Thou who standest here before me wrapt in cowl of 
 
 Capuchin; 
 Thou who thus upon me stealing, round me this dread 
 
 coil art reeling? 
 Art thou some avenging spirit, some dire bodiment of 
 
 sin. 
 Through whom Satan thus hath darkly to my lost soul 
 
 entered in. 
 
 This last game of life to win? 
 
 "Art thou, gliding from the garden, one whom God 
 refused to pardon, 
 
 One whose poison through my pulses naught can fol- 
 low or o'ertake; 
 
 One whose dark temptations found me, grew up stealth- 
 ily around me, 
 
 Till at last bad habits bound me with these chains I 
 cannot break?" 
 
 Then, as mind and memory wandered, sadly to that 
 deadly snake. 
 
 Still the dying gambler spake. 
 
 " 'Tis a dream; the past comes o'er me. Lo, there rises 
 
 one before me 
 From whose waving hand I wandered when life's day 
 
 was in its dawn ; 
 Through the gateways of the city, cold alike to pain 
 
 and pity. 
 Smooth knaves whispered, bright jades beckofted, till 
 
 th-eir toils were round me drawn. 
 
 Inspiration is an eiement o/ dissimulation, concentration, pain. — Dei. 
 
 SARTE.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 133 
 
 Till I drank, staked, won, lost, borrowed, lost again, 
 stole, put to pawn 
 
 All I had till all was gone. 
 
 " 'Tis her arm around me wreathing, 'tis — what means 
 
 this hissing breathing? 
 Comrades, help! the room swims around me; quick! 
 
 my pulses reel and nod; 
 Quick! the warning grows; I'm dying! Oh, that I this 
 
 night were lying 
 In those empty arms that loved me, on that broken 
 
 heart I trod 
 With the iron heel of scorning down into the daisied 
 
 sod, 
 
 O my mother! O my God !" 
 
 Dimly then above the table ebbed the lamp, no longer 
 able 
 
 On that face to smile serenely as the poison played its 
 part; 
 
 While, about the gambler glancing, like dissolving col- 
 ors dancing, 
 
 On the oscillating darkness with kaleidoscopic art, 
 
 Brightly flashed that lidless eyeball, javelling its drink- 
 ing dart, 
 
 Through his conscience-stricken heart. 
 
 "Fiend!" he cried, as it grew stronger,"! can stand 
 
 that look no longer. 
 By this pain that works within me, by this awful death 
 
 so nigh. 
 Take that lidless eyeball off me; take it off, I curse thee, 
 
 scoff thee! 
 
 ► • ^f 
 
 The suspension or proiongation c/ a tiioveinent is one of the gre»t sources o/ 
 effect It is in suspension that force and interest consist. A good thing is 
 ivorth t'eing kept in sight long enough to alloiu an enjoyment of the vieiv. — 
 Dklaumosne.
 
 134 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Now I know thee! thou art conscience; I will never, 
 
 never die 
 With the eye of conscience on me !" Then a loud hiss 
 
 made reply: 
 
 "Conscience never shuts its eye." 
 
 Black and swollen and distorted grew his face, while 
 round him sported 
 
 The fierce snake in gleaming fury, hissing at his fright- 
 ful pain; 
 
 Till, with one wild shriek, he seized it, in his stiffening 
 death-grip squeezed it 
 
 Till its ghastly eye protruded, till it swelled in every 
 vein; 
 
 Bent it, shook it, flung it from him horribly, but all in 
 vain; 
 
 Still that eye turned back again. 
 
 Maddened by the deadly ichor, as the poison quick and 
 quicker 
 
 Boiled and bubbled through his pulses, tight and tight- 
 er grew his hold; 
 
 Till, for breath the cobra gasping, coil on coil around 
 him clasping. 
 
 With its gnarled and knotted muscles twisting in each 
 writhing fold. 
 
 See ! it stings itself, it blackens, till from out his grasp, 
 behold! 
 
 Red, that bloodshot eyeball rolled I 
 
 Slowly died the light around him; mute and motion- 
 less they found him. 
 When the deadly fray was over, sitting bolt within his 
 
 chair; 
 
 ■J" 
 
 The articulation o/tlie syllables la, inOy po, is a useful exercise in habituat- 
 ing one to the inedium voice. These are the musical consonants fiar excellence. 
 They give charm to, and dei'elop the voice. We can repeat these tones without 
 /atiguing the z'ocal chords, since they are produced by the articulative appa- 
 ratus.— Dv.i.?,j<rtk.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 135 
 
 With the snake about him tangled, in his stiffened fin- 
 gers strangled,. 
 Each upon the other glowering with a wild, defiant glare. 
 Eyeball upon eyeball shining through the solemn dark- 
 ness there. 
 
 Conscience fixed upon Despair ! 
 
 And with none, alas! to aid him, there they smoothed 
 
 his lids and laid him 
 With the cobra in his death-clutch down beneath the 
 
 haunted heap; 
 Where, upon his dreamless pillow, turned for him where 
 
 drooped the willow. 
 In tlie grave beyond the billow, that lone grave so dark, 
 
 so deep. 
 In that grave that lidless eyeball still its solemn watch 
 
 doth keep. 
 
 Conscience staring in its sleep. 
 
 .<-*>9*'?^ SlARlNftJ; ofSiN 
 
 1 C^l "Pil "7 it* ileepl is death!*: 
 
 i 
 
 
 n 
 
 Iff,! 
 
 The t\r/>>ession o/ nature by gesture, /ace, or --oice uiill not come to the ar- 
 tist hy inspiration nor by rejflcctiou, especially in extreme situations. — Ar- 
 
 NAUO.
 
 136 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 FAITH AND WORKS. 
 
 William H. Montgomery, 
 
 T ITTLE Mollie and Faith, in the arbor at play, 
 
 ^^ Were making a marigold crown, 
 
 When a noise on the lawn made the little ones jump 
 
 And scatter the gold flowers down. 
 
 And, fast toward the bower of blossoms and vines, 
 
 Came a quadruped, bristling and big. 
 With sharp-pointed toes, and a queer, grunty nose. 
 
 In short, 'twas a terrible pig. 
 
 "Oh, mercy!" screamed Faith," where, where shall we 
 go? 
 
 Oh, mamma, oh, papa, come here! 
 He's going to tear us t-o pieces, I know," 
 
 And she jumped up and down in her fear. 
 
 But Mollie, more brave, raised the old crooked gate, 
 And slammed it quite hard to its place ; 
 
 Then Faith, kneeling down on the moss-covered ground. 
 Toward the sky turned her little pale face. 
 
 " Now, Mollie, I'll pray to our Father in Heaven 
 
 To save us and drive him away. 
 ^That's the very best thing in the world to be done, 
 
 You hold the gate strong while I pray'' 
 
 + 
 
 When two limbs /ollozv the saine iiireriio>i, they cannot he simultaneous 
 without violatitig the lam nf opposition. There/ore, direct movements should I 
 be successive, opposite movements should be simultaneous. — Delsarte.
 
 ISIS.
 
 FORTUNA.
 
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 137 
 
 Dear mamma's blue eyes twinkled bright through her 
 tears, 
 
 When the marvelous story was told 
 Of the prayerful escape of her two little girls 
 
 From the monster, so savage and bold. 
 
 HOW BURLINGTON WAS SAVED. 
 
 C. Mair. 
 
 A STORY worth telling our annals afford, 
 
 'Tis the wonderful journey of Laura Secord. 
 Her poor crippled husband came home with the news 
 That Boerstler was nigh ! " Not a minute to lose. 
 Not an instant," said Laura, "for stoppage or pause — 
 I must hurry and warn our brave troops at Decaw's." 
 " What ! you !" said her husband, " to famish and tire !" 
 " Yes, I !" said brave Laura, her bosom on fire. 
 " And how will you pass the gruff sentry?" said he, 
 " Who is posted so near us ?" 
 
 "Just wait till you see; 
 The foe is approaching, and means to surprise 
 Our troops, as you tell me. Oh, husband, there flies 
 No dove with a message so needful as this — 
 I'll take it, I'll bear it. Good-bye, with a kiss." 
 Then a biscuit she ate, tucked iier.skirts well about, 
 And a bucket she slung on each arm, and went out. 
 
 'Twas the l)rig]it blush of dawn when the stars melt 
 away, 
 
 Expression, beside the description^/ the object, may explain the subject or 
 interior emotion, and is then not imitative, but suggestive, elliptic, and mys- 
 tic . — Franklin H. Sargent.
 
 138 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Dissolved like a dream by the breath of the day; 
 
 But Laura had eyes for her duty alone; 
 
 She marked not the glow and the gloom that were 
 
 thrown. 
 Behind was the foe, full of craft and of guile ; 
 Before her a long day of travel and toil. 
 " No time this for gazing," said Laura, as near 
 To the sentry she drew. 
 
 " Halt! You cannot pass here." 
 "I cannot pass here! Why, sirrah, you drowse, 
 Are you blind? Don't you see I am off to my cows?" 
 "Well, well, you can go." So she wended her way 
 To the pasture's lone side, where the farthest cow lay. 
 Got her up, then knelt down, and, with pail at her 
 
 knees. 
 Made her budge, inch by inch, till she drew by degrees 
 To the edge of the forest. " I've hoaxed, on my word, 
 Both you and the sentry," said Laura Secord. 
 
 With a lingering look at her home, then away 
 She sped through the wild wood — a wilderness gray, 
 Where the linden had space for its fans and its flowers, 
 The balsam its tents, and the cedar its bowers; 
 Where the lord of the forest, the oak, had its realm, 
 The ash its domain, and its kingdom the elm. 
 
 And denser and deeper the solitude grew. 
 
 The underwood thickened, and drenched her with dew. 
 
 She tripped over moss-covered logs, fell, arose, 
 
 Sped, and stumbled again by the hour, till her clothes 
 
 Every agreeable or disagreeable sight makes the body react backivard. The 
 degree of reaction should be in proportion to the degree of interest caused by 
 the sight of the object. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK 139 
 
 Were rent by the branches and thorns, and her feet 
 Grew tender and way-worn and blistered with heat. 
 
 She stopped — it was noonday. The wilds she espied 
 Seemed solitudes measureless. " Help me!" she cried; 
 Her piteous lips parched with thirst, and her eyes 
 Strained with gazing. The sun in his infinite skies 
 Looked down on no creature more hapless than she. 
 One moment she faltered. Beware ! What is tliis? 
 The coil of the serpent ! the rattlesnake's hiss! 
 One moment, then onward. What sounds far and near? 
 The howl of the wolf, yet she turned not in fear. 
 
 She toiled to the highway, then over the hill. 
 And down the deep valley, and past the old mill. 
 And through the next woods, till, at sunset, she came 
 To the first British picket, and murmured her name; 
 Thence, guarded by Indians, footsore and pale, 
 She was led to I'^itzgibbon, and told him her tale. 
 
 For a moment her reason forsook her; she raved, 
 
 She laughed, and she cried — "They are saved, they are 
 
 saved !" 
 Then her senses returned, and, with thanks loud and 
 
 deep 
 Sounding sweetly around her, she sank into sleep. 
 And Bocrstler came up, but his movements were known. 
 His force was surrounded, his scheme was o'erthrown 
 By a woman's devotion; on stone be it engraved. 
 The foeman was beaten, and Burlington saved. 
 
 The op/>ositiou of the agents is the harmony of gesture. Harmony is torn 
 oy contrasts. From o/'/'Osition^ equilibrium is horn in turn. Equilibrium is 
 the great law oy gesture, and comiemns parallelism. — Df.i aimosne.
 
 I40 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 THE ROMAUNT OF THE PAGE, 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 
 
 A KNIGHT of gallant deeds 
 ^^*- And a young page at his side, 
 From the holy war in Palestine 
 
 Did slow and thoughtful ride, 
 As each were a palmer, and told for beads 
 
 The dews of the eventide. 
 
 "O young page," said the knight, 
 
 "A noble page art thou! 
 Thou fearest not to steep in blood 
 
 The curls upon thy brow; 
 And once in the tent, and twice in the fight, 
 
 Didst ward me a mortal blow," 
 
 " O brave knight," said the page, 
 
 " Or ere we hither came, 
 We talked in tent, we talked in field. 
 
 Of the bloody battle game; 
 But here, below this greenwood bough 
 
 I cannot speak the same." 
 
 " Sir page, I pray your grace! 
 
 Certes, I meant not so 
 To cross your pastoral mood, sir page. 
 
 With the crook of the battle-bow. 
 But a knight may speak of a lady's face, 
 I ween, in any mood or place, 
 
 If the grasses die or grow. 
 
 Flame contains the warmth of life and the light of the mind. As the soul 
 contains and unites the life and the luind^so the fame warms and shines.— 
 Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 141 
 
 "And this, I meant to say, — 
 
 My lady's face sliall shine 
 As ladies' faces use, to greet 
 
 My page from Palestine: 
 Or speak she fair, or prank she gay, 
 
 She is no lady of mine. 
 
 " And this I meant to fear, — 
 
 Her bovver may suit thee ill! 
 For, sooth, in that same field and tent, 
 
 Thy talk was somewhat still; 
 And fitter thy hand for thy knightly spear. 
 
 Than thy tongue for my lady's will." 
 
 Slowly and thankfully 
 
 The young page bowed his head; 
 His large eyes seemed to muse a smile. 
 
 Until he blushed instead; 
 And no lady in her bower, pardie, 
 
 Could blush more sudden red — 
 " Sir knight, thy lady's bower to me. 
 
 Is suited well," he said. 
 
 " A boon, thou noble knight, 
 
 If ever I served tliee! 
 Though thou art' a knight and I am a page, 
 
 Now grant a boon to me — 
 And tell me, sooth, if dark or bright, 
 If little loved or loved aright, 
 Be the face of thy la iye." 
 
 Gloomily looked the knight: 
 " As a son thou hast served me: 
 
 A slight change of thought may alter the ex/'ression 0/ the face, but the at- 
 titude should be held until a new impression is to be expressed. — Gknevieve 
 Stebbins.
 
 142 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 And would to none I had granted boon, 
 
 Except to only thee! 
 For, haply, then I should love aright, 
 For then I should know if dark or bright 
 
 Were the face of my ladye. 
 
 " Earl Walter was a brave old earl, 
 
 He was my father's friend; 
 And while I rode the lists at court 
 
 And little guessed the end, 
 My noble father in his shroud. 
 Against a slanderer lying loud. 
 
 He rose up to defend. 
 
 " I would my hand had fought that fight 
 
 And justified my father! 
 I would my heart had caught that wound 
 
 And slept beside him rather! 
 I think it were a better thing 
 Than murthered friend and marriage-ring 
 
 Forced on my life together. 
 
 " Wail shook Earl Walter's house — 
 
 His true wife shed no tear — 
 She lay upon her bed as mute 
 
 As the earl did on his bier; 
 Till — ' Ride, ride fast,' she said at last, 
 
 ' And bring the avenged son near! 
 Ride fast — ride free, as a dart can flee, 
 For white of blee with waiting for me 
 
 Is the corse of the next chambere.' 
 
 Pathetic effects are nine in number, the principal o/ which are as follows: 
 (he smothered tone, the ragged tone; the vibrant tone: the z/eiled tone: the Jlat 
 or compressed tone. — Delsarte.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 143 
 
 " I came — I knelt beside her bed — 
 
 Her calm was worse than strife: 
 * My husband, for thy father dear, 
 Gave freely, when thou wert not here, 
 
 His own and eke my life. 
 A boon! Of that sweet child we make 
 An orphan for thy father's sake, 
 
 Make thou for our's a wife.' 
 
 "I said: 'My steed neighs in the court, 
 
 My bark rocks on the brine; 
 And the warrior's vow I am under now 
 
 To free the pilgrim's shrine; 
 But fetch the ring and fetch the priest 
 
 And call that daughter of thine; 
 And rule she wide from my castle on Nyde 
 
 While I am in Palestine.' 
 
 " In the dark chambere, if the bride was fair, 
 
 Ye wis, I could not see; 
 But the steed thrice neighed, and the priest fast 
 prayed 
 
 And wedded fast were we. 
 Her mother smiled upon her bed. 
 As at its side we knelt to wed; 
 And the bride rose from her knee 
 And kissed the smile of her mother dead, 
 
 Or ever she kissed me. 
 
 " My page, my page, what grieves thee so, 
 That the tears run down thy face?" 
 "Alas, like mine own sister 
 Was thy lady's case! 
 
 True grace in adults is not that which is stuJitti, nor that lohich is artisti- 
 cally copied from a badly-chosen type. Grace is horn o/ itself^ the natural 
 fruit of the culture of the tninil, of elez'ated thoughts and noble sentiments. — 
 Arnaud. 
 
 « '■ — 4
 
 144 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 But she laid down the silks she wore 
 And followed him she wed before, 
 Disguised as his true servitor, 
 To the very battle-place." 
 
 And wept the page, but laughed the knight, 
 
 A careless laugh laughed he: 
 "Well done it were for thy sister, 
 
 But not for my ladye! 
 My love, so please you, shall requite 
 No woman, whether dark or brighj, 
 
 Unwomaned if she be." 
 
 The page stopped weeping, he smiled no more, 
 
 But passionately he spake: 
 " Oh, womanly she prayed in tent, 
 
 When none beside did wake! 
 Oh, womanly she paled in fight. 
 
 For one beloved's sake! 
 And her little hand defiled with blood. 
 Her tender tears of womanhood 
 
 Most woman-pure did make!" 
 
 " Well done it were for thy sister; 
 
 Thou tellest well her tale! 
 But for my lady, she shall pray 
 
 r the kirk of Nydesdale. 
 Not dread for me but love for me 
 
 Shall make my lady pale. 
 No casque shall hide her woman's tear — 
 It shall have room to trickle clear 
 
 Behind her woman's veil." 
 
 The chest is a passive agent: it should /tirnish nothing but the breath. The 
 tnouth and the larynx alone are entitled to act. — Delsarte.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 145 
 
 " But what if she mistook thy mind 
 
 And followed thee to strife; 
 Then, kneeling, did entreat thy love, 
 
 As Paynims ask for life?" 
 " I would forgive, and evermore 
 Would love her as my servitor, 
 
 But little as my wife. 
 
 *' Look up — there is a small bright cloud 
 
 Alone amid the skies! 
 So high, so pure, and so apart, 
 
 A woman's honor lies." 
 The page looked up — the cloud was sheen — 
 A sadder cloud did rush, I ween, 
 
 Betwixt it and his eyes. 
 
 Then dimly dropped his eyes away 
 
 From welkin unto hill — 
 Ha! who rides there? — the page is 'ware, 
 
 Though the cry at his heart is still! 
 And the page seeth all and the knight seeth none 
 Though banner and spear do fleck the sun. 
 
 And the Saracens ride at will. 
 
 He speaketh calm, he speaketh low: 
 
 " Ride fast, my master, ride, 
 Or ere within the broadening dark 
 
 The narrow shadows hide!" 
 "Yea, fast, my page; I will do so; 
 
 And keep thou at my side." 
 
 " Now nay, now nay, ride on thy way, 
 Thy faithful page precede! 
 
 He only is a great orator %v ho can utter reason without passion. — MosHS 
 True Brown.
 
 146 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 For I must loose on saddle bow 
 My battle-casque that galls, I trow. 
 
 The shoulder of my steed; 
 
 Ere night I shall be near to thee, 
 
 Now ride, my master, ride!" 
 
 Had the knight looked up in the page's face, 
 
 I ween he had never gone; 
 Had the knight looked back to the page's geste, 
 
 I ween he had turned anon. 
 For dread was the woe in the face so young; 
 And wild was the silent geste that flung 
 Casque, sword, to earth, as the boy downsprung, 
 
 And stood — alone, alone! 
 
 He clinched his hands as if to hold 
 
 His soul's great agony; 
 " Have I renounced my womanhood, 
 
 For wifehood unto theel 
 And is this the last, last look of thine 
 
 That ever I shall see? 
 
 " Yet God thee save, and may'st, thou have 
 
 A lady to thy mind; 
 More woman proud and half as true 
 
 As one thou leav'st behind! 
 And God me take with Him to dwell — 
 For Him I cannot love too well, 
 
 As I have loved my kind." 
 
 The tramp of hoof, the flash of steel — 
 The Paynims round her coming! 
 
 4. 
 
 Persuade yourself that there are blind 7>ten and deaf itten in your audience 
 ■whotn you must moTe, interest^ and persuade. Your inflection must become 
 pantomime to the blind, and your patitomime, inflection to the deaf. — Del- 
 
 SARTE.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 147 
 
 The sound and sight have made her calm, 
 
 False page, but truthful woman! 
 She stands amid them all unmoved; 
 The heart once broken by the loved 
 
 Is strong to meet the foeman. 
 
 " Ho, Christian page! art keeping sheep, 
 
 From pouring wine cups resting?" 
 " I keep my master's noble name 
 
 For warring, not for feasting; 
 And if that here Sir Hubert were, 
 My master brave, my master dear, 
 
 Ye would not stay to question." 
 
 "Where is thy master, scornful page, 
 
 That we may slay or bind him?" 
 " Now search the lea and search the wood, 
 
 And see if ye can find him! 
 Nathless, as hath been often tried. 
 Your Paynim heroes faster ride, 
 
 Before him tlian behind him." 
 
 "Give smoother answers, lying page. 
 
 Or perish in the Ij'ing." 
 "I trow that if the warrior brand 
 Beside my foot, were in my hand, 
 
 'Twere better at replying." 
 They cursed her deep, they smote her low, 
 They cleft her golden ringlets through: 
 
 The loving is the dying. 
 
 I-'eeling^ thought, txnd afft'ction iire the t/iree /onus or acts of being. Feeiinfi 
 springs from a sensitive principle of being: thought from a reflect ixe: love 
 from an affective. From the sensitive principle of being floiu passional emo- 
 tions; from the reflective principle of being flow rational emotions: from 
 the affective principle of being flow moral or z'olitional emotions. — Steele 
 Mackave.
 
 148 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 SUE AN' ME. 
 
 David Belasco. 
 
 " T TGH, ugli! I'm awful sick, mister, I am. Jus' got 
 out ter-day, an' I kin hardly talk. I hopes I 
 won't ketch the fever, I do," spoke a ragged little urchin 
 with trembling voice and tearful eyes, on a bitter cold, 
 snowy night. 
 
 " 'Tain't no use o' yer talkin', mister; I ain't a-goin' ter 
 part with Sue," continued he, pointing to a sickly-look- 
 ing child fast asleep on the curbstone. " I'd like ter know 
 what I'd do without her, I would. " I never had no 
 father nor mother, as I knows of; an' as for Sue, her'n 
 is dead an' buried as them as 'as no friends nor money are 
 put away. We ain't got nobody in tlie world but our- 
 selves — but we does werry well as we is. We don't want 
 nare a body. Sue an' me. She ain't my sister, but she's 
 jus' as good as one. Her own mother give her ter me, 
 when she were only a little thing, so high. I lived along 
 with old Jacob Prue, then, an' Sue an' her mother lived 
 in the room above our'n. Sue an' me we used to play 
 together, an' I cared more for her than anythink else in 
 the v/orld. By an' by Jacob Prue got sent ter prison for 
 breakin' open a shop; an' Sue's mother she let me live 
 in her room, an' give me vittals — when she had any. 
 We wuz just as happy as cherrybyns, was Sue an' me 
 an' her mother till the fever come. The people in our 
 alley died awful, an' Sue's mother wuz tuk. We had 
 the doctor from the hospital — but she didn't get no bet- 
 ter; an' one night when I came in, she called me, an' 
 she sez 'Bill, I'm a-goin';' 'Where?' sez I, for I thought 
 
 Any interrogation made ivith crossed arms must partake o/ the character 
 of a threat. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 149 
 
 she wuz a-talkin' some of the mad rubbidge she used ter 
 when the fever was strong; but she wuzn't — she wuz 
 sensible as you; an' she tells me agin: ' Bill, I'm a-goin',' 
 "I didn't ask her where then. I knowed she wuz 
 goin' ter die, an' I put my head on the piller an' cried 
 fur the fust time since she wuz tuk; an' Sue cried too; 
 an' we wuz a miserable lot of us in that ere attic. Arter 
 a bit I wuz quiet. I picked out my bes' bit o' bread an' 
 meat, an' tried ter feed her — but it wuzn't of no good, 
 mister; she was a-goin' with the fever. So she sez, with 
 a smile ter kinder make me feel better, 'It ain't no use. 
 Bill, I'm a-goin' fast.' Then she tuk my hand, an' said, 
 solemn-like: ' Bill, promise when I'm dead as you'll look 
 arter Sue; she ain't got no friend in the world but her 
 poor, dyin' mother an' you.' 'I will,' sez I; 'I'll stick 
 ter Sue like bricks an' mortar.' 'Bill,' she went on, 
 ' you won't let her steal?' ' Never,' sez I; ' I'll look arter 
 her as good as you do, I will.' She wuz a bit pleased 
 at that, an' we wuz all quiet. It wuz gittin' darkish an' 
 her face looked whiter an' whiter; an' Sue had gone to 
 sleep, jus' as you see her now, an' I an' her mother wuz 
 awake, waitin' like for the end of it. All of a suddint 
 she called out an' tuk my hand. 
 
 " ' Bill,' sez she, ' kneel an' say " Our Father." ' 
 " I didn't know what she meant, but I got on my knees 
 alongside o' her, an' looked up to where she wuz a-pointin' 
 ter a star through the winder, an' I kep' on a-sayin' it — 
 'Our Father, Our Father, Our Father,' an' a-wonderin' 
 all the time where He wuz; an' when I looked roun'she 
 wuz gone. Nex' mornin' she wuz tuk away, an' little 
 Sue an' me we's ben together ever since. Ah! the the- 
 ayter's out; I mus' be a-goin'. See, Sue's wakin' up — 
 
 Not things themselTes, but the /'rinci/'lt-s that are their essence, should 
 be the grand study. — Franklin H. Sargent.
 
 150 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 she dreamed las' night she wuz a-eatin' beefsteak an' 
 gravy with lots of brown injins, an' I hopes ter make it 
 real ter-night. Good-bye, mister ; I'm werry much 
 obliged; but it would be worser'n than the fever ter 
 part Sue an' me." 
 
 THE DISCUSSION. 
 
 Translated and Adapted from the French. 
 
 ( S\rTTH 
 Dramatis Per sonce : \\' 
 
 { Jones. 
 
 Scene : A parlor. 
 
 [The words in brackets are not to be spoken. They simply give the 
 idea that is in Jones's mind, and that the tone of his voice is supposed to 
 convey. Very taking when well done, and an excellent study in panto- 
 mime. — Editor.] 
 
 OMITH \entering, folloiued by Jones\. Well! even then! 
 Besides, what would you do? 
 
 ]o'ii'E'S, {shaking his head sig7iijicantl}'\. Hm! hml hm! 
 
 Smith. Unless. . . Oh! then it would be quite differ- 
 ent. Just think! 
 
 Jones. Hm! hm! 
 
 Smith. Then you don't think any arrangements could 
 be made. It would be useless to try, wouldn't it? 
 
 Jones. Hm! hm! hm! {I thi/ik so.'\ 
 
 Smith. On the other hand, I think it would be better, 
 don't you? 
 
 Jones. Hm! hm! {Maybe.'] 
 
 Smith. To tell the truth, I don't really care; I am 
 
 Perhaps the best gesture is that which is the least apparent. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 151 
 
 only interested in the matter on liis account. What I 
 
 am afraid of is what people might say about it. 
 
 J ON Es. 1 1 m ! [ That is soi\ 
 
 Smith. People are so unkind. And then it is such a 
 
 delicate matter. The newspapers will soon make a 
 
 scandal out of it! 
 
 Jones. Hm! lim! hm! \Yes, a great sca^idal^ 
 
 Smith. The report should have been denied from the 
 
 start; now it is too late. 
 
 Jones. Hm! \You are right?^ 
 
 Smith. Attempt a reconciliation? He would never 
 
 consent to that; and, besides, it would be impossible. 
 
 But wait — no, that wouldn't do. What do you think? 
 Jones. Hm! hm! [// is hard to say.^ 
 
 Smith. I cannot tell which would be better. I don't 
 
 know what to say! Let things take their course? What 
 
 is your opinion? 
 
 Jones. Hm! hm! hm! hm! \^I should not dare say!\ 
 
 Smith. You don't dare give an opinion? I know it is 
 
 hard. 
 
 Jones. Hm! hm! hm! \Ycs,very hard^^ 
 
 Smith. What would be the result? Come to think of 
 
 it, there are no reasons for . . . To be sure. . . but then 
 
 . . . We would have to . . . only! — There is no denying 
 
 it, it is incomprehensible. 
 
 Jones. Hm! hm! hmhm! \^Incomprehcrisil>le.'] 
 
 Smith. For my part, I don't know what to say. I 
 
 give it up. What ought he to say? 
 
 Jones. Hm! hm! [That is something I must consider.^ 
 Smith. How ought he to act? Should he be coldly 
 
 indifferent or exceedingly angry? 
 
 But om gesture is needed for the e.rfiressioK of an entire thought : since it is 
 not the word but the thought that the gesture tnust announce: ij' it expressed 
 only the word^ it would he trivial and mean, and also prejudicial to the effect 
 0/ the phrase. — Delavmosne. 
 
 • •!■
 
 152^ DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Jones. Hm! hm! hm! hm! 
 
 \^N either the one nor the other ^ 
 
 Smith. I know him better than any one. Disagreeable 
 disposition. Not bearing malice, but cross, irritable. 
 
 Jones. Hm! hm! \^Dont be too hard on himJ\ 
 
 Smith. Yes, he is irritable. I shall leave him alone. 
 I do not approve of the course he has taken. Poor 
 boy! 
 
 Jones. Hm! hm! hm! hm! 
 
 [/ don't think he was altogether wrong. 1 
 
 Smith. You seem to think just the contrary. How- 
 ever, it cannot but give him a bad name. At any rate, 
 it is nobody's fault but his own. 
 
 Jones. Hm! [That is so.] 
 
 Smith. Ah! at last you are obliged to give in. After 
 all, he is a good fellow. 
 
 Jones. Hmhmhm! hmlim! 
 
 [/ do not agree with you there^ 
 
 Smith. Yes, I assure you. Things have been said 
 about him, but they are false. 
 
 Jones. Hm! hm! [I doubt it."] 
 
 Smith. They are false, I tell you. But we haven't 
 come to any point. Don't you think we are launched 
 upon a rather disagreeable affair? Do you see a way 
 out of it? 
 
 Jones. Hmhmhm! [I am not sure that I do. ^ 
 
 Smith. There is none, is there? The simplest thing, 
 I should say, is to do nothing at all about it. 
 
 Jones. Hm! hmhmhm! [I guess you are right there."] 
 
 Smith. Come, let's go out; we can talk it over more 
 freely in the street. 
 
 [ Takes Jones's arm and both go out.] 
 
 1/ you wottld move others, put your heart in the place o/ your larynx; let 
 your voice become a mysterious hand to caress the Afrtr^r. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 153 
 
 CONVERSATIONAL. 
 
 "T_I0W'S your father?" Came the whisper, 
 
 Bashful Ned the silence breaking; 
 "Oh, he's nicely," Annie murmured, 
 Smilingly the question taking. 
 
 Conversation flagged a moment, 
 
 Hopeless, Ned essayed another: 
 "Annie, I — I," then a coughing, 
 
 And the question, " How's your mother?" 
 
 "Mother? Oh, she's doing nicely!" 
 Fleeting fast was all forbearance, 
 
 When in low, despairing accents 
 
 Came the climax," How's your parents?" 
 
 THE LOW-BACKED CAR. 
 
 Samuel Lover. 
 
 w 
 
 HEN first I saw sweet Peggy, 
 
 'Twas on a market-day. I 
 
 A low-backed car she drove, and sat 
 
 Upon a truss of hay; 
 But when that hay was blooming grass, 
 
 And decked with flowers of spring, 
 No flower was tliere, that could compare 
 
 To the blooming girl I sing! 
 
 1/ the voice is the soul of the dravia, facial expression is its life. — Rev. W. 
 R. Alger.
 
 154 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Mtisi'c to '■'■The Low-backed Car.'''' 
 
 Lively t but not too fast. 
 
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 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Music to ''The Loiv-backed Car^ 
 
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 155 
 
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 156 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 As she sat in her low-backed car, 
 
 The man at the turnpike bar, 
 Never asked for the toll, 
 But just rubbed his auld poll. 
 
 And looked after the low-backed car! 
 
 In battle's wild commotion, 
 
 The proud and mighty Mars, 
 With hostile scythes demands his tythes 
 
 Of death, in warlike cars! 
 But Peggy, peaceful goddess. 
 
 Has darts in her bright eye. 
 That knock men down in the market-town, 
 
 As right and left they fly! 
 While she sits in her low-backed car. 
 
 Than battle more dangerous far. 
 For the doctor's art cannot cure the heart 
 
 That is hit from the low-backed car! 
 
 Sweet Peggy round her car, sir! 
 
 Has strings of ducks and geese. 
 But the scores of hearts she slaughters. 
 
 By far outnumber these; 
 While she among her poultry sits. 
 
 Just like a turtle-dove. 
 Well worth the cage, I do engage. 
 
 Of the blooming god of love! 
 While she sits in her low-backed car. 
 
 The lovers come near and far. 
 And envy the chicken that Peggy is pickin'. 
 
 While she sits in her low-backed car! 
 
 Nothing is more deplorable than a gesture without a motive. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 157 
 
 I'd rather own that car, sir, 
 
 With Peggy by my side, 
 Than a coach and four, and gold galore, 
 
 And a lady for my bride; 
 For the lady would sit forninst me, 
 
 On a cushion made with taste, — 
 While Peggy would be beside me, 
 
 With my arm around her waist. 
 As we drove in the low-backed car. 
 
 To be married by Father Maher; 
 Oh, my heart would beat high, at her glance and her 
 sigh, 
 
 Tho' it beat in a low-backed car! 
 
 COUNT GISMOND. 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 [The following incident in her life is told by the wife of Count Gis- 
 mond to a friend, while the count is not present. His sudden entrance 
 and the quick, graceful change of conversation which the wife makes 
 as she sees him, that he may not be pained by recalling unpleasant 
 events, affords opportunity for the reciter's tact in the closing stanza. 
 The selection is very effective when the reciter seats herself with appar- 
 ent unconsciousness of the act during the second stanza, rising at the 
 words " Gismond here," in the last stanza. — EDrrOR.J 
 
 /^~^HRIST GOD who savest man, save most 
 ^-^ Of men Count Gismond who saved me! 
 Count Gauthier, when he chose his post, 
 
 Chose time and place and company 
 To suit it; when he struck at length 
 My honor, 'twas with all his strength. 
 
 Gesture is a running commentary on the ivonis. It should not be used 
 merely for emphasis, but to explain and color the meaning. — Genevievb 
 
 Stebbins.
 
 158 DLESARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 And doubtlessly, ere he could draw 
 
 All points to one, he must have schemed! 
 
 That miserable morning saw 
 Few half so happy as I seemed, 
 
 While being dressed in queen's array 
 
 To give our tourney prize away. 
 
 I thought they loved me, did me grace 
 
 To please themselves: 'twas all their deed. 
 
 God makes, or fair or foul, our face. 
 If showing mine so caused to bleed 
 
 My cousins' hearts, they should have dropped 
 
 A word and straight the play had stopped. 
 
 But no: they let me laugh, and sing 
 
 My birthday song quite through, adjust 
 
 The last rose in my garland, fling 
 A last look on the mirror, trust 
 
 My arms to each an arm of theirs, 
 
 And so descend the castle-stairs — 
 
 And come out on the morning troop 
 Of merry friends who kissed my cheek. 
 
 And called me queen, and made me stoop 
 Under the canopy — (a streak 
 
 That pierced it, of the outside sun. 
 
 Powdered with gold its gloom's soft dun) — 
 
 And they could let me take my state 
 ,, And foolish throne amid applause 
 Of all come there to celebrate 
 
 To use expression at random on our own authority, expression at ali haz- 
 ards, is absurd. — Delsarte. 
 
 r
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 159 
 
 My queen's-day — oh, I think the cause 
 Of much was, they forgot no crowd 
 Makes up for parents in their shroud! 
 
 However that be, all eyes were bent 
 
 Upon me, when my cousins cast 
 Theirs down; 'twas time I should present 
 
 The victor's crown, but . . . there, 'twill last 
 No long time . . . the old mist again 
 Blinds me as then it did. How vain! 
 
 See! Gismond's at the gate, in talk 
 With his two boys: I can proceed. 
 
 Well, at that moment, who should stalk 
 Forth boldly — to my face, indeed — 
 
 But Gauthier? and he thundered "Stay!" 
 
 And all stayed. " Bring no crowns, I say! 
 
 " Bring torches! Wind the penance-sheet 
 About her! Let her cleave to right, 
 
 Or lay herself before our feet! 
 
 Shall she, who sinned with me at night, 
 
 Unblushing, queen it in the day.'' 
 
 For honor's sake no crowns, I say!" 
 
 I? What I answered ? As I live, 
 
 I never fancied such a thing 
 As answer possible to give. 
 
 What says the body when they spring 
 Some monstrous torture-engine's wliole 
 Strength on it? No more says the soul. 
 
 Gestures are f<antomiinic verhs^ and ahuays i»if>!y an action. Attitudes are 
 pantomimic adverbs, and qualify gestures or actions. — Steele Mackaye.
 
 l6o DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Till out strode Gismond: then I knew 
 That I was saved. I never met 
 
 His face before; but, at first view, 
 I felt quite sure that God had set 
 
 Himself to Satan: who would spend 
 
 A minute's mistrust on the end? 
 
 He strode to Gauthier, in his throat 
 
 Gave him the lie, then struck his mouth 
 
 With one back-handed blow that wrote 
 
 In blood men's verdict then. North, south, 
 
 East, west, I looked. The lie was dead 
 
 And damned, and truth stood up instead. 
 
 This glads me most, that I enjoyed 
 The heart o' the joy, with my content 
 
 In watching Gismond, .unalloyed 
 By any doubt of the event; 
 
 God took that on Him — I was bid 
 
 Watch Gismond for my part: I did. 
 
 And e'en before the trumpet's sound 
 
 Was finished, prone lay the false knight, 
 
 Prone as his lie, upon the ground: 
 Gismond flew at him, used no slight 
 
 O' the sword, but, open-breasted, drove, 
 
 Cleaving till out the truth he clove. 
 
 Which done, he dragged him to my feet, 
 
 And said, " Here die, but end thy breath 
 In full confession, lest thou fleet 
 
 Art is not an imitation of nature: art is better than nature. It is nature 
 illuminated. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. i6l 
 
 From my first to God's second death! 
 Say, hast thou lied ?" And, " I- have lied 
 To God and her," he said, and died. 
 
 Then Gismond kneeling to me asked 
 — What safe my heart holds, though no word 
 
 Could I repeat now, if I tasked 
 My powers forever, to a third. 
 
 Dear even as you are. Pass the rest 
 
 Until I sank upon his breast. 
 
 Over my head his arm he flung 
 
 Against the world; and scarce I felt 
 
 His sword (that dripped by me and swung) 
 A little shifted in its belt. 
 
 For he began to say the while 
 
 How south our home lay many a mile. 
 
 So 'mid the shouting multitude 
 
 We two walked forth to never more 
 
 Return. My cousins have pursued 
 Their lives, untroubled as before 
 
 I vexed them. Gauthier's dwelling-place 
 
 God lighten! May his soul find grace! 
 
 Our elder boy has got the clear 
 
 Great brow; though when his brother's black 
 Full eye shows scorn, it . . . Gismond here ? 
 
 And have you brought my tercel back? 
 I was just telling Adela 
 How many birds it struck since May. 
 
 A man who menaces with the head is not sure of his aim, but he who Men- 
 aces with the hand is sure of striking right. — Delaumosne,
 
 1 62 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 THE TRUMPETER'S BE- 
 • TROTHED. 
 
 Translated by Lucy H. Hooper. 
 
 1\ /[ Y lord, the Duke of Brittany, 
 
 For wars in which his soul delights, 
 Has called from Nantes to far Montagne, 
 On the mount and in the plain. 
 All the bravest of his knights. 
 
 There are barons whose proud flags 
 Wave their moated keeps above; 
 
 Valiant sires in arms grown old, 
 
 Warriors in ranks untold — 
 One of them's the man I love! 
 
 He has gone to Aquitaine 
 
 As a trumpeter, and yet 
 You would take him for a knight. 
 With his garb all gold bedight, 
 
 And his head so proudly-set. 
 
 Joining unto mine his fate, 
 
 I have prayed my patron saint: 
 "Make his guardian angel keep 
 Watch the while he wake or sleep, 
 For with fear my heart grows faint." 
 
 I have said to our good priest, 
 " Father, for our soldiers pray!" 
 
 Then at holy Gildas' shrine 
 
 Three wax tapers fair and fine, 
 I have lighted yesterday. 
 
 There are two kinds of loud voices: the vocally loud, which is the vulgar 
 voice: and the dynamically loud, which is the poiver/ul voice. — Delsarte. 
 
 r
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 163 
 
 Homeward from the wars to-day, 
 
 Comes he at his monarch's side ; 
 He's no common lover now, 
 I can lift my erst bowed brow, 
 
 And my joy is blent with pride. 
 
 Conquering the duke returns, 
 
 With his war-worn flag above. 
 For the cortege come and wait. 
 Soon you'll see it pass the gate, 
 
 And the prince, and him I love! 
 
 Come and see his gallant steed, 
 
 Decked in honor of the day. 
 As it goes with stately tread. 
 Neighing, tossing up its head. 
 
 Crowned with plumes in colors gay. 
 
 Sisters, why so slow to dress? 
 
 Come and see my conqueror. 
 And the trumpet, wrought in gold, 
 Ouiv'ring in his nervous hold — 
 
 Ah, my gallant trumpeter! 
 
 Come to see him — he himself! 
 
 'Neath the mantle rich and rare 
 That I worked with gold and gem. 
 Like a royal diadem 
 
 He his gilded casque will wear. 
 
 In yon church a gypsy hag. 
 
 Calling me last night to her. 
 Said (O saints watch over me!) 
 
 By holding the initial consonant^ the word is pronounced as by an explosion, 
 and is filled with power instead ofitnere sound.— GE.iiK\iu\^ Stebbins.
 
 1 64 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 "To the music's ecstasy 
 
 There will lack a trumpeter!" 
 
 But I've so prayed that I hope, 
 
 Though with serpent glance she said, 
 Pointing to an open tomb: 
 " There, to-morrow, mid the gloom, 
 I shall wait thee with the dead!" 
 
 Hasten! no more dismal thoughts — 
 
 Hark! the rolling drums I hear! 
 Flags and flowers fill the air, 
 And the throngs of ladies fair 
 In the purple tents appear. 
 
 See the long procession comes! 
 
 Men-at-arms with heavy tread. 
 Then, beneath the banner's fold. 
 Barons clad in silk and gold, 
 
 Velvet-capped each haughty head 
 
 Next, the Persian mail admire 
 
 Of the Templars, feared of hell! 
 Under the long partisan 
 Come the archers from Lausanne, 
 All in buff-coats — note them well. 
 
 Here's the duke! his banner — see. 
 In the breeze it throbs and stirs; 
 Now the captive flags appear, 
 Heavy-drooping, shamed and drear. 
 Look — here come the trumpeters! 
 
 •?• ^ Hs ^ ^ 
 
 Art should move the secret springs of life, convince the mind, and persuade 
 the heart.— Dei-SARTE.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 165 
 
 As she speaks her eager glance 
 
 On tlie serried ranks is cast; 
 Careless laughs the crowd around, 
 Prone she falls upon the ground — ■ 
 
 All the trumpeters had passed! 
 
 EVEN THIS SHALL PASS AWAY, 
 
 ^^NCE in Persia reigned a king, 
 
 Who upon his signet ring 
 Graved a maxim true and wise, 
 Which, if held before the eyes, 
 Gave him counsel at a glance. 
 Fit for every change and chance. 
 Solemn words, and these are they: 
 " Even this shall pass away." 
 
 Trains of camels through the sand 
 Brought him gems from Samarcand; 
 Fleets of galleys through the seas 
 Brought him pearls to match with these. 
 But he counted not his gain 
 Treasures of the mine or main; 
 " What is wealth ?" the king would say; 
 " Even this shall pass away." 
 
 In the revels of his court 
 At the zenith of the sport, 
 When the palms of all his guests 
 
 Adherence to mere authoriiy^ trndition, usas^e^ or dry technicality, is fatal 
 to inspiration. This carried to extremes makes the most cultivated /layer or 
 speaker a )ii ere professor of postures. — Rhv. W. R. Ai.ger.
 
 1 66 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Burned with clapping at his jests, 
 He, amid his figs and wine, 
 Cried: " Oh, loving friends of mine! 
 Pleasure comes, but not to stay; 
 Even this shall pass away." 
 
 Fighting on a furious field, 
 Once a javelin pierced his shield. 
 Soldiers with a loud lament 
 Bore him bleeding to his tent; 
 Groaning from his tortured side, 
 " Pain is hard to bear," he cried, 
 " But, with patience, day by day — 
 Even this shall pass away." 
 
 Towering in the public square, 
 Twenty cubits in the air. 
 Rose his statue carved in stone. 
 Then the king, disguised, unknown, - 
 Stood before his sculptured name, 
 Musing meekly: ''What is fame? 
 Fame is but a slow decay — 
 Even this shall pass away." 
 
 Struck with pais}'', sere and old, 
 Waiting at the gates of gold. 
 Said he, with his dying breath: 
 " Life is done, but what is breath ?" 
 Then in answer to the king 
 Fell a sunbeam on his ring, 
 Showing by a heavenly ray- 
 " Even this shall pass away." 
 
 The luhining, tearful tone is always weak. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 167 
 
 THE PROPOSAL. 
 
 Margaret Vandegrift. 
 
 TLJ E had been trying all the winter through 
 
 To speak the fateful words; and well she knew 
 He had been trying — but what could she do ? 
 
 And just because he did adore her so, 
 
 His tongue would stammer, and his voice would ^o^ 
 
 At bare idea of a possible *' No." 
 
 He had a friend, a learned young professor, 
 Him he had constituted his confessor, 
 And general moral ganger and assessor. 
 
 To him were told the maiden's simple wiles, 
 
 Her pretty blushes and beguiling smiles, 
 
 In many words, and various moods and styles. 
 
 The swain would boast him to the little maid, 
 
 When he of other subjects was afraid. 
 
 Of all the learning that his friend displayed. 
 
 And so, one evening, when it chanced that she 
 Was bidden to an evening company. 
 She went, with hope this paragon to see. 
 
 And he was there ; so, too, her bashful swain, 
 Who, strangely, did not help her to attain 
 The introduction which she hoped to gain. 
 
 For he had suddenly grown sore afraid 
 
 That a professor of so high a grade 
 
 Would straight supplant him with his little maid. 
 
 He only is an elocutionist xvho forgets elocution. — Moses Trie Brown.
 
 1 68 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 She waited long, and then — most hardily 
 
 For one who thought that maids should not be 
 
 " free,"— 
 ''Will you present me to your friend?" said she. 
 
 Now was his chance! Fiercely his pulses hammered, 
 
 She'd surely hear his heart, so loud it clamored; 
 
 " I — can't present you — you're not mine!" he stammered. 
 
 "And if you were " — now, that he had begun. 
 His courage rose — " I'd keep you, dearest one!" 
 "Always?" she murmured. "Always!" It was done! 
 
 JOVITA; OR, THE CHRISTMAS 
 
 GIFT. 
 
 Bret Harte. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 
 
 T T had been raining in the valley of the Sacramento. 
 The North Fork had overflowed its banks and Rat- 
 tlesnake Creek was impassable. Farther on, cut off and 
 inaccessible, smitten by high winds and threatened by 
 high water, Simpson's Bar, on the eve of Christmas Day, 
 clung like a swallow's nest to the mountain, and shook 
 in the blast. As night shut down, a few lights gleamed 
 through the mist from the cabins on either side of the 
 highway. Most of the population were gathered at 
 Thompson's store, clustered around a red-hot stove, at 
 which they silently spat in some accepted sense of so- 
 cial communion that rendered conversation unneces- 
 sary. 
 
 The voice should be a reflectioti of the expression of the face. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 169 
 
 Just then a figure entered known to the company as 
 ^'The Old Man." 
 
 " Dismal weather, ain't it?" he said. " No show for 
 money this season, and to-morrow's Christmas. Yes, 
 Christmas, and to-night's Christmas Eve. Ye see, boys, 
 I kinder thought — that is, I sorter had an idee, jest 
 passin' like, you know — that maybe ye'd all like to 
 come over to my house to-night and have a sort of tear 
 round. But I suppose, now, you wouldn't? Don't feel 
 like it, maybe?" he added, anxiously, peering into the 
 faces of his companions. 
 
 Dick Bullen, the oracle and leader of the boys, arose, 
 shook himself, and saying, " I'm ready; lead the way, 
 Old Man; here goes," with a characteristic howl darted 
 out into the night. 
 
 Their way led up Pine-Tree Canon, at the head of 
 which a broad, low, bark-thatched cabin burrowed in 
 the mountain-side. It was the home of the Old Man. 
 
 " P'r'aps ye'd better hold on a second out yer, whilst 
 I go in and see thet things is all right," said the Old 
 Man. 
 
 Presently the latch clicked, and a voice said, " Come 
 in out o' the wet." 
 
 It was the voice of a small boy, in a weak treble. He 
 had evidently just risen from his bed. "Come in," he 
 repeated. " The Old Man's in there talking to mar," 
 he continued, pointing to an adjacent room. 
 
 Entering, the men ranged themselves around a table 
 of rough boards. Johnny then gravely proceeded to a 
 cupboard and brought out several articles which lie 
 deposited on the table. "Thar's whiskey. And crack- 
 ers. And red herons. And cheese." He took a bite 
 
 1/ the crator would s/>fak to aity f>urf>ose. he must bring hack his discourse to 
 some picture from nature^ to some scene /ro'it real life. — Delaimosne.
 
 i;o DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 of the latter on his way to the table. "And sugar." 
 He scooped up a mouthful with a small and very dirty 
 hand. "And terbacker. Thar's dried appils, too, on 
 the shelf, but I don't admire 'em. Appils is swellin'. 
 Thar," he concluded, " now wade in, and don't be 
 afeard." 
 
 He stepped to the threshold of a small room holding 
 a small bed, and nodded. 
 
 " Hello, Johnny! You ain't goin' to turn in agin, are 
 ye?" said Dick. 
 
 "Yes, I are," responded Johnny. 
 
 "Why, wot's up, old fellow?" 
 
 "I'm sick." 
 
 " How sick?" 
 
 " I've got a fevier. And childblains. And roomatiz," 
 returned Johnny, and vanished within. After a mo- 
 ment's pause he added, "And biles!" 
 
 It was nearly midnight when the festivities were 
 interrupted by the querulous voice of Johnny: "Oh, 
 dad!" 
 
 The Old Man arose and disappeared. Presently he 
 reappeared 
 
 "His roomatiz is comin' on agin bad," he explained, 
 "and he wants rubbin'. You hold on all o' you for a 
 spell, and I'll be back;" and vanished again. The door 
 closed but imperfectly, and the following dialogue was 
 audible: 
 
 " Now, sonny, whar does she ache worst?" 
 
 "Sometimes over yar and sometimes under yer; but 
 it's most powerful from yer to yer. Rub yer, dad." 
 
 A silence seemed to indicate a brisk rubbing. Then 
 Johnny:
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 171 
 
 " Hevin' a good time out yer, dad?" 
 " Yes, sonny." 
 
 " To-morrer's Chrismiss, ain't it?" 
 " Yes, sonny. How does she feel now?" 
 "Better. Rub a little furder down. Wot's Chris- 
 miss, anyway? Wot's it all about?" 
 "Oh, it's a day." 
 
 This exhaustive definition was apparently satisfac- 
 tory, for there was a silent interval. Presently Johnny 
 again: 
 
 " Mar sez that everywhere else but yer everybody 
 gives things to everybody Chrismiss. She sez thar's a 
 a man they call Sandy Claws, not a white man, you 
 know, but a kind o' Chinemin, comes down the chim- 
 bley night afore Chrismiss and give things to childern, 
 — boys like me. Puts 'em in their butes! Thet's what 
 she tried to play on me. Easy now, pop, whar are you 
 rubbin' to, tliet's a mile from the place. She jest made 
 thet up, didn't she, jest to aggrewate me and you? 
 Don't rub than It's mighty cur'o's about Chrismiss, 
 ain't it? Why do they call it Chrismiss?" 
 
 The Old Man's reply was so low as to be inaudible 
 beyond the room. 
 
 " Yes," said Johnny, " I've heerd o'' him before. Thar, 
 that'll do, dad. I don't ache near so bad as I did. 
 Now wrap me tight in this yer blanket. So. Now, sit 
 down yer by me till I go asleep," and to assure himself 
 of obedience, he grasped his father's sleeve. 
 
 For some minutes the Old Man waited patiently. 
 Then the stillness excited his curiosity, and, without 
 moving from the bed, he cautiously opened the door 
 and looked into the main room. It was dark and de- 
 
 The most precious relish of conversation, and the di7>inest charm of man- 
 ners, is the living Jilay of the s/>irit in the features, and the spontaneous modu- 
 lation of the form by the passing experience. — Rev. W. R. Algbr.
 
 172 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 serted; but a smouldering log on the hearth broke, and 
 by the blaze he saw Dick Bullen. 
 
 "Hello!" 
 
 Dick started. 
 
 "Whar's the boys?" said the Old Man. 
 
 "Gone up the canon. They're comin' back for me in 
 a niinit. Now don't you git up," as the Old Man made 
 a movement to release his sleeve from Johnny's hand. 
 "Don't you mind manners. Sit jest whar you be; I'm 
 goin' in a jiffy. Thar, that's them now." 
 
 There was a low tap at the door. Dick opened it 
 quickly, nodded " good-night " to his host, and disap- 
 peared. The Old Man would have followed him but 
 for the hand that unconsciously grasped his sleeve. He 
 could have easily disengaged it: it was small, weak, and 
 emaciated. But perhaps because it was small, weak, 
 and emaciated, he changed his mind, and, drawing his 
 chair closer to the bed, rested his head upon it. The 
 room faded before his eyes, went out and left him 
 asleep. 
 
 Meantime Dick Bullen confronted his companions. 
 
 " Are you ready ?" said one. 
 
 " Ready," said Dick; " what's the time ?" 
 
 "Past twelve," was the reply. "Can you make it? 
 It's nigh on fifty miles, the round trip hither and yon." 
 
 " I reckon," returned Dick, " Whar's the mare ?" 
 
 " Bill and Jack's holdin' her at the crossin'." 
 
 " Let 'em hold her a minit longer." 
 
 Dick re-entered the house softly. The door of the 
 little room was open. The Old Man had fallen back in 
 his chair, snoring. Beside him, on a narrow bedstead, 
 
 Art is at once the knoivledgey the />ossession. and ike /ree directioti of the 
 agents^ by nirtue of which are revealed the life, soul, and mind. It is the 
 appropriation of the sign to the thing. It is the relation of the beauties scat- 
 tered through nature to a superior type. It is not, therefore, the mere imita- 
 tion of nature. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 173 
 
 lay Johnny. Dick liesitated. Everything was quiet. 
 lie suddenly parted his huge mustache with both 
 hands and stooped over the sleeping boy, then fled in 
 bashful terror. 
 
 His companions were waiting for him. Two of them 
 were struggling with a strange bulk, which took the 
 semblance of a great yellow horse. It was the mare. 
 She was not a pretty picture. From her Roman nose 
 to her rising haunch, from her arched spine hidden by 
 a stiff Mexican saddle to her thick, straight, bony legs, 
 there was not a line of equine grace. In her half-blind 
 but wholly vicious white eyes, in her protruding under- 
 lip, in her color, there was nothing but ugliness and 
 vice. 
 
 " Now, then," said one, " stand cl'ar of her heels, boys 
 and up with you. Don't miss your first holt of her mane 
 and mind ye get your off stirrup quick. Ready!" 
 
 There was a leap, a scrambling struggle, a bound, a 
 wild retreat of the crowd, a circle of flying hoofs, two 
 leaps that jarred the earth, a jingle of spurs, a plunge, 
 and then the voice of Dick somewhere in the darkness, 
 "All right!" 
 
 " Don't take the lower road back onless you're hard 
 pushed for time! Don't hold her in down hill! We'll 
 be at the ford at five. G'lang! Iloopa! Go!" 
 
 A splash, a spark struck from the ledge in the road, 
 a clatter, and Dick was gone. 
 
 One o'clock came, and Dick had only gained Rattle- 
 snake Hill. In that time Jovita had practiced all her 
 vices. Thrice had she stumbled. Twice had she struck 
 out madly across country. Twice had she reared and 
 fallen backward, and twice had Dick, unharmed, re- 
 
 The first or impressiona! stage pf art is, educationally speaking, the culti- 
 Tat ion o/the senses, and the pozvers of observation. In /•antomimic art it con- 
 sists o/the training o/t/se apparatus of the body to the finest possible response 
 to, and freest passage for the sensations accepted .—Y'RhtiV.l.w H. Sargent. 
 
 -^
 
 174 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 gained his seat. A mile beyond, at the foot of a long 
 hill, was Rattlesnake Creek. Dick knew that here 
 was the crucial test. Jovita began the descent of the 
 hill. As Dick expected, the momentum she had ac- 
 quired carried her beyond the point of balking, and, 
 holding her well together for a leap, they dashed into 
 the middle of the swiftly-flowing current. A few mo- 
 ments of kicking, wading, and swimming, and Dick 
 drew a long breath on the opposite bank. By two 
 o'clock he had begun the descent to the plain. At half- 
 past two he rose in his stirrups with a shout. Beyond 
 him rose two spires, a flagstaff, and a line of black ob- 
 jects. He jingled his spurs, and in another moment 
 swept into the village. 
 
 After Jovita had been handed over to a sleepy ostler, 
 whom she at once kicked into unpleasant consciousness, 
 Dick sallied out. He stopped before several shops, and 
 by persistent tapping roused the proprietors and made 
 them unbar the doors. It was three o'clock before this 
 pleasantry was over, and, with a small water-proof bag 
 strapped on his shoulders, Dick dashed down the lonely 
 street into the plain. 
 
 The storm had cleared away, but it was half-past four 
 before Dick reached the crossing, and half an hour later 
 when he came to the long level that led to Rattlesnake 
 Creek. Suddenly Jovita shied. Hanging to her rein 
 was a figure that had leaped from the bank, and from 
 the road arose a shadowy horse and rider. 
 
 " Throw up your hands," commanded this apparition. 
 
 Dick felt the mare tremble, quiver, and apparently 
 sink under him. Then she rose in the air with a terrific 
 
 Bad actors exert themselves in vain to be moved and to move spectators. 
 On the other hand, true artists never let their gestures reveal more than a 
 tenth part of the secret emotion that they apparently /eel, and would hide 
 from the audience to spare their seKsibilitics. Thus they succeed in stirring 
 all spectators.— TiKhSMCns..
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 175 
 
 bound, throwing the figure from her bit with a single 
 shake of her vicious head, and charged on the horse- 
 man. An oath, a pistol-shot, and the next moment 
 Jovita was a hundred yards away. But the good right 
 arm of her rider, shattered by a bullet, dropped help- 
 lessly at his side. 
 
 Without slacking his speed Dick shifted the reins to 
 his left hand. He had no fear of pursuit, but looking 
 up he saw that day was upon him. Absorbed in a sin- 
 gle idea, he forgot his wound, and dashed on. But the 
 creek he had swam a few hours before had risen, more 
 than doubled its volume, and now rolled a swift river. 
 For the first time that night his heart sank. But the 
 little room and the figures of the sleeping father and son 
 rose before him. He cast off his coat, pistol, boots, and 
 saddle, bound his precious pack to his shoulders, grasped 
 the bare flanks of Jovita with his bared knees, and with 
 a shout dashed into the water. A cry rose from the 
 opposite bank as the heads of a man and horse strug- 
 gled up the bank. 
 
 The Old Man started and woke. Somebody was rap- 
 ping at the door. He opened it, but fell back with a 
 cry before the dripping, half-naked figure that reeled 
 against the doorpost. 
 
 "Dick!" 
 
 " Hush! Is he awake yet?" 
 
 "No— but, Dick!" 
 
 "Keep still." He staggered, caught at the handle of 
 the door, and motioned to the Old Man. " Thar's suthin' 
 in my pack yer for Johnny. Take it off. I can't." 
 
 The Old Man unstrapped the pack and laid it before 
 the exhausted man. 
 
 Expression in nature is spontaneous: it is the resuit oj" an unconscious proc- 
 ess in the man as a creature. E.vpression in art is deliberate, and then is 
 a conscious command of natural resources in the man as a creatiie being. — 
 Steele Mackavk.
 
 176 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 "Open it, quick!" 
 
 It contained only a few poor toys — cheap and bar- 
 baric enougli, goodness knows, but bright with paint 
 and tinsel. One of them was broken, another was 
 ruined by water, and on the third there was a spot. 
 
 " It don't look like much, that's a fact," said Dick, 
 ruefully. " But it's the best we could do. Take 'em, 
 Old Man, and put 'em in his stocking, and tell him — 
 tell him, you know — hold me. Old Man — " The Old 
 Man caught his sinking figure. "Tell him," said Dick, 
 with a weak little laugh, " tell him Sandy Claus has 
 come," and fell fainting on the threshold. 
 
 THE SCHOOL-MA'AM'S 
 COURTING. 
 
 Florence E. Pyatt. 
 
 ^■yHEN MARY ANN DOLLINGER got the skule 
 
 daown thar on Injun Bay 
 I was glad, fer I like ter see a gal m.akin' her honest 
 
 way. 
 I heerd some talk in the village abaout her flyin' high, 
 Tew high fer busy farmer folks with chores ter dew ter 
 
 fly- 
 
 But I paid no sorter attention ter all the talk ontell 
 She come in her reg'lar boardin' raound ter visit with 
 
 us a spell. 
 My Jake an' her had been cronies ever since they could 
 
 walk. 
 
 Accent is the modulation of the soul. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 177 
 
 All' it tuk me aback tcr hear her kerrectin' him in his 
 talk. 
 
 Jake ain't no Iiand at grammar, tliuugh he hain't his beat 
 
 for work; 
 But I sez ter myself, " Look out, my gal, yer a-foolin' 
 
 with a Turk!" 
 Jake bore it wonderful patient, an' said in a mournful 
 
 way, 
 He p'sumed he was behindhand with the doin's at Injun 
 
 Bay. 
 I remember once he was askin' for some o' my Injun 
 
 buns, 
 An' she said he should alius say, " them air," stid o' 
 
 " them is" the ones. 
 Wal, Mary Ann kep' at him stiddy morniu' an' evenin' 
 
 long, 
 Tell he dassent open his mouth for fear o' talkin' wrong. 
 
 One day I was pickin' currants daown by the old quince 
 
 tree. 
 When I heerd Jake's voice a-sayin': " Be ye willin' ter 
 
 marry me?" 
 An' Mary Ann kerrectin', " 'Air ye willin', yeou sh'd say." 
 Our Jake he put his foot daown in a plum, decided way, 
 "No wimmen-folks is a-goin' ter be re-arrangin' me. 
 Hereafter I says ' craps,' * them is,' * I calk'late,' an' ' I be.' 
 Ef folks don't like my talk they needn't hark ter what I 
 
 say; 
 Bu-t I ain' a-goin' to take no sass from folks from Injun 
 
 Bay. 
 I ask you free an' final: Be ye goin' ter marry me?" 
 An' Mary Ann sez, tremblin', yet anxious-like, " I be." 
 
 Gesture is inevitably sytithetic, and consegtiently harmonic; /or harmony 
 is but another name for synthesis. — Delaumosne. 
 
 •V'"—
 
 178 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 A WIFE'S LAMENT. 
 
 Will H. Cadmus. 
 
 IVI O! there ain't no use of talkin', 
 
 Zeb is gettin' most too old 
 To be changin' for the better, 
 
 So I seldom fret or scold; 
 But it sometimes is provokin', 
 
 An' I very often wish 
 That he'd give up his hobby, 
 
 Always hankerin' to fish. 
 
 I've polished on the cookin'-stove 
 
 Till you could see your face, 
 An' worked around from morn till night 
 
 To tidy up the place. 
 I sometimes sweep, an' dust, an' scrub, 
 
 Until, I will be bound. 
 You cannot find a cleaner house 
 
 For many miles around. 
 
 Zeb tracks in with his muddy boots 
 
 Upon the kitchen floor, 
 Until I feel it ain't no use 
 
 A-cleanin' any more. 
 He'll bring along a string of fish, 
 
 An' there won't be no peace 
 Until I've fried 'em, an' the stove 
 
 Gets spattered up with grease. 
 
 On Saturday, he'll set at night. 
 Along some muddy brook. 
 
 We should not pre-occupy the audience -with our own personality. There is 
 no true, simple, or expressive work without self-abnegation. — Delsarte,
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 179 
 
 An* wait until some worthless fish 
 
 May come an' find his hook. 
 Then, like enough, on Sunday morn 
 
 He'll say, "Why, there's the bell! 
 I won't go with you, Betsy Ann, 
 
 I ain't a-feelin' well." 
 
 If he gets called away from home, 
 
 He'll take a piece of twine. 
 With bait an' hooks to well improve 
 
 The odds an' ends of time. 
 At night, I've scolded 'till I knew 
 
 'Twas useless any more. 
 For all the answer I would get 
 
 Would likely be a snore. 
 
 I've sometimes wanted somethin' done, 
 
 Perhaps to mend a chair. 
 Or dig around my flower-beds, 
 
 He'd claim " no time to spare." 
 But then I've noticed many times, 
 
 The task is not too great 
 To dig a patch that's twice as big 
 
 If huntin' after bait. 
 
 Last spring he said he'd go to York 
 
 To see the grand display; 
 He thought that he could spare the time, 
 
 He'd only go one day. 
 I didn't see just how he could, 
 
 The crops were needin' care, 
 But then I didn't find no fauli, 
 
 The neighbors would be there. 
 
 Tlie teacher^s work is compute when the />u/>ii has been trained to the per- 
 fect control 0/ the instruments through which the soul can be expressed. — 
 Genevieve Stebluns.
 
 i8o 
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 I claimed the military show 
 
 Was better than the rest. 
 He said that he was satisfied 
 
 The naval would be best. 
 But afterward I found he sat 
 
 From nine till six o'clock, 
 A drop-line down between his knees, 
 
 A-fishin' from the dock! 
 
 He lately bought a fishin'-pole, 
 
 A fancy kind of thing, 
 A little wheel upon the stick 
 
 For windin' up the string. 
 Sez I to him, " It seems to me 
 
 You'll never have no sense; 
 You know that we cannot afford 
 
 To have no such expense." 
 
 Sez I, "You know your overcoat 
 
 Is very far from new; 
 We need new chairs and carpet. 
 
 An' the church pew rent is due." 
 He said I'd claimed the meat he bought, 
 
 I'd very often found. 
 Was poor stuff, sold for tenderloins, 
 
 At twenty cents a pound. 
 
 "An' now," sez he, "our butcher bills 
 
 Will probably be small; 
 There's fish enough," with his new rod 
 
 He'd maybe catch 'em all ! 
 You should have seen the basketful 
 
 That he brought home at night — 
 
 Beauty is based on three conditions: clearness, integrity, and due propor- 
 tion.— 'De.L.SXKTB.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. i8l 
 
 The flounders, bass, an' bluefish, too — 
 My goodness! What a sight! 
 
 He said he'd had a jolly time, 
 
 An' didn't fail to say. 
 The bites he'd had was wonderful, 
 
 The best ones got away! 
 But, later, Van Dutchoven's wife. 
 
 Claimed Jake Goosrobber knew, 
 Zeb hadn't caught them fish at all. 
 
 He'd bought 'em of Jim Drew! 
 
 JACK HALL'S BOAT-RACE. 
 
 Robert Grant. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 
 
 T T was an established custom on the annual exhibition 
 day at Utopia School for the best single scullers to 
 demonstrate by a two-mile contest which could pull the 
 fastest. 
 
 Tom Bonsall was the acknowledged crack single 
 sculler in the school, and as he was to graduate this 
 year, it was Jack Hall's last chance to prove himself the 
 superior. Great preparations were made for the con- 
 test. But the excitement was nothing compared with 
 what it became when Dr. Meredith, the principal, an- 
 nounced his intention of competing for the silver cup 
 himself. The report ran like wildfire through the school. 
 " Have you heard the news?" everyone asked his neigh- 
 bor. " The doctor is going in for the single sculls 
 against Bonsall and Hall. He hasn't rowed in a race 
 
 The laiu of evolution in expression is: first the eye, then the /ace, then the 
 head, then the arms and hands, and last the body. — Steele Mackavk.
 
 1 82 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 for ever so long." As to what the result of the race 
 would be, few saw room to doubt. Neither of them could 
 hope to beat the doctor. 
 
 The appointed day dawned bright and still. The 
 race had been fixed for ten o'clock. The lake was re- 
 ported to be like a mirror, and the day unexceptionable 
 from an oarsman's point of view. At nine o'clock Jack 
 emerged in his boating-costume. Every boy who pos- 
 sessed a boat was out in it, and the water was dotted 
 with every variety of craft, from a canoe to a steam- 
 launch. The stand, which had been erected just oppo- 
 site to the finish, was crowded. As for Jack, he was 
 trembling all over, and could feel his heart going like a 
 trip-hammer. The course was two miles in all; straight 
 away for a mile to a flagged buoy, and back again to 
 another flagged buoy abreast of the boat-house. 
 
 Jack was the last of the three to get into his boat. 
 He paddled a few rods and then shot off at a comfort- 
 able pace up the lake, followed by the gaze of the spec- 
 tators eager to gauge his powers. He caught a glimpse 
 of Tom Bonsall resting on his oars and watching him. 
 Jack pulled steadily for a few hundred yards, taking a 
 last glance at his .equipment to make sure everything 
 was all right. He had scarcely turned to come back 
 when the pistol sounded, and by the time he reached 
 the starting-line the doctor and Tom were in position. 
 According to the lots drawn that morning, Jack was to 
 be in the middle, with Tom inside; so he paddled in be- 
 tween them. 
 
 He felt almost beside himself in the short interval 
 that preceded the discharge, and his throat seemed 
 parched. 
 
 + 
 
 Beauty is to the Beautiful 'what the individual reason is to the divine rea- 
 son o/ things. It is one ray of the beautif2il. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 183 
 
 Crack! 
 
 The three pairs of blades flashed through the water 
 at the same moment, and neither boat seemed to gain 
 any decided advantage as they bounded away from the 
 buoy amid the cheers of everybody. 
 
 " Hurrah for the doctor!" 
 
 "Hit her up, Tom!" 
 
 "Bully for you, Jack!" 
 
 It took our hero some minutes to get his head clear 
 enough to be able to perceive what he was doing, as 
 compared with his opponents. He was conscious of 
 rowing a rather quicker and more jerky stroke than 
 usual. His eyes were misty and his throat drier than 
 ever. The cheers of the spectators were growing 
 fainter, and he felt that it was time to settle down to 
 work. He made a gulp and looked about him. On 
 his right was Tom pulling like grim death, at a rate 
 which seemed to lift his boat almost out of the water. 
 The stern of Tom's shell was nearly on a level with the 
 back sweep of his own oars, which showed plainly that 
 Tom had not far from half a length's lead on him. On 
 the other side was the doctor, rowing steadily and 
 smoothly as clock-work, neck and neck with him. 
 
 "Softly now," said Jack to himself. "This is too fast 
 company for me. If Tom can keep this racket up he'll 
 get there first. My only chance is to let up a bit." Ac- 
 cordingly he lessened the number of strokes to the 
 minute by making eacli of tlicm longer and more sweep- 
 ing, with the immediate result that he felt in better 
 shape, and that Tom had gained no further advantage 
 on him. But there was no let up to Tom.- He had the 
 lead and was bent on keeping it. Not a sound was 
 
 We never really understand an author^ s meaning, Ez'ery one is free to in- 
 terpret hitn according to his individual instinct. But we must know how to 
 justify the interpretation by gesture. — Delaumosne.
 
 1 84 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 audible to Jack but the slight plashing of the oars in 
 the water. Over his shoulder he saw Tom struggling on- 
 ward; and abreast of him, pulling with apparently no 
 effort and watching alertly the movements of his rivals, 
 could be seen the dangerous doctor. But Jack felt calm 
 now, and fresher than when he started. The doctor 
 was pulling a waiting race; he was an old hand, and had 
 seen many a race lost by too lively a pace at the start. 
 
 "Steady," reflects Jack, "don't hit her up too lively." 
 He appreciates the doctor's tactics, and is not going to 
 fall into the trap if he can help it, even though Tom, 
 spurred on by swift pursuit, has put on more steam and 
 is holding his own bravely. They are not far from the 
 flagged buoy now, and are likely to pass it in the order 
 in which they are at present, about half a length apart, 
 and Tom has the inside water. 
 
 Tom turns first, and very cleverly, too, close to the 
 buoy so as to give no one a chance to cut in, and starts 
 for home; but the others are at his heels and right after 
 him. Half way, and Jack is still as fresh as ever. He 
 remembers a parting caution not to spurt until he has 
 to, and only bends strongly and firmly to his accus- 
 tomed stroke. Ah, there! The doctor is waking up at 
 last, and is putting in some stronger work. One thing 
 is certain now; Tom will have to row faster or give in. 
 Jack slightly quickens his stroke, and, without actually 
 spurting, bends every muscle. Will Tom be able to 
 quicken his pace? He does quicken it, so much so that 
 he is rowing desperately fast with short, lightning 
 strokes, which come so rapidly that it is difficult to note 
 the interval between them. Brilliant, magnificent! But 
 
 Things that are said quietly should sing themselves in the utterance. — Del. 
 
 SARTE.
 
 "Nobody askcil vou. sir," she said.
 
 MEPHISTOPHELES.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 185 
 
 Jack's long, steady swing is holding, and pressing into 
 the bargain. 
 
 "Steady now," murmurs Jack between his teeth. He 
 knows from Tom's exertions that his rival is spurting. 
 A terrible moment of sustained effort follows, at the end 
 of which Tom lashes the air with a misplaced stroke, 
 the water splashes, and Jack's shell comes on a level 
 with its forerunner, battles with it for twenty yards of 
 struggling agony on the part of the doomed champion, 
 and leaps to the front just in time to meet the sweet 
 music of the prolonged, triumphant din of shouts and 
 cheers sent down by hundreds of voices. Jack is ahead, 
 and only a quarter of a mile left! Tom is beaten. And 
 now for the doctor. Where is he ? The nose of his boat 
 is almost on a line with Jack's stern, and he is quicken- 
 ing at every stroke. 
 
 What a babel of cheers and exclamations bursts forth 
 from the crowd along the bank and on the 'benches of 
 the densely-packed standi 
 
 "Jack Hall is ahead! Hall! Hall! No, he isn't! Hit 
 her up, doctor! Hurrah for Hall! Hurrah for the 
 doctor! Tom, where are you? Bonsall! Bonsall! 
 H-A-L-L! Hal 1-1-1!" 
 
 The tumult is maddening. Can it be possible that 
 Jack Hall, who before the race was rated lowest of the 
 three, is going to break the school record and beat the 
 doctor in one and the same breath? It looks like it, if 
 he can hold his own for two hundred yards more. But 
 see, the doctor is spurting with a vengeance — look! — 
 look! — and is he not gaining, too? 
 
 "Doctor Meredith is ahead! No he's not — Hall's 
 
 • , \ ; • 
 
 The philosophy of expression is the philosophy of mani/esiation. In its 
 broadest sense, it is the philosophy of the infinite as re-^'ealeJ in the universe. 
 In its restrictftl sense, it is the philosophy of man as revealed through the or- 
 ganism; the inner essence or soul manifesting itself through the outer sub- 
 stance or body. — Moses Trie Bkown.
 
 1 86 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 ahead! Huzza! hurrah! Hall, Hall, hit her up, Halll 
 Look out, Hall! The doctor wins! No he doesn't! 
 Hall wins! Hurrah! Jack, where are you?" 
 
 The doctor has crept up; the nose of his shell is now 
 well beyond Jack's out-rigger, and he is speeding like 
 the wind. Jack is feeling terribly tired; his throat that 
 he thought parched at the start burns as if it were on 
 fire, and his eyes seem ready to start out of his head. 
 Jack turns his head and sights the goal. Not more 
 than 150 yards left! The yells and cheers are setting 
 his blood ablaze. He can scarcely see, but he knows he 
 has not spurted yet. He is neck and neck with the 
 doctor now. There can be nothing to choose between 
 them. "The doctor wins!" "Not a bit of it; Hall 
 wins! Good on your head, Jack! Keep it up, doctor! 
 Go in. Hall!" 
 
 The time has come now, Jack knows, to put in any 
 spurt that is left in him. Gripping the handles of his 
 oars like a vise, and shutting his eyes. Jack throws all 
 his powers into one grand effort. 
 
 "Hall! Hall! Hurrah! Nobly done, Hall! Hall 
 wins! Row, doctor, row!" 
 
 The doctor is rowing with all his might, but he has 
 not counted on the staying powers of his adversary. If 
 Jack can hold out for half a dozen strokes more, the 
 victory is his. 
 
 One. 
 
 "Hall! Hall! Go in, doctor!" 
 
 Two. 
 
 "Three cheers for Hall! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" 
 
 Three. 
 
 "Hurrah! H-A-L-L!" 
 
 A inoz'ement should never be ini.red with a facial twist. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 187 
 
 Four. 
 
 "Hall wins! Hall wins!" 
 
 Five. 
 
 "Hurrah! Huzza! Hurrah! Hall! Hall! Doctor! 
 Doctor!" 
 
 Six. 
 
 Panting, breathless, and bewildered by the deafening 
 cheers, Jack sees the flagged buoy shoot past his oar- 
 blade and knows that he has won the race and is cham- 
 pion of Utopia. 
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF THE 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 S. H. M. Byers. 
 
 'T^ HERE'S a wedding in the orchard, dear, I know it 
 
 by the flowers; 
 They're wreathed on every bough and branch, or falling 
 
 down in showers. 
 The air is in a mist, I think, and scarce knows what to 
 
 be— 
 Whether all fragrance, clinging close, or bird-song, wild 
 
 and free. 
 
 *' It is six," the swallows twittered, " and you're very 
 
 late in rising — 
 If you really think of rising on this lovely morn at all — 
 For the great red sun is peeping over wood and hill and 
 
 meadow, 
 And the unmilked cows are lowing in the dimly-lighted 
 
 stall." 
 
 ; Articulation is the arrest or vibration of tone, produced by the pronuncia- 
 tion of consonants. — Genevieve Stebbins.
 
 1 88 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 "Oh, ye robins and ye swallows," thought I, throwing 
 
 back the lattice, 
 " Ye are noisy, joyous fellows, and you waken when you 
 
 will;" 
 Then I saw a dainty letter, bound in ribbon-grass and 
 
 clover. 
 That the swallows had left swinging by the narrow 
 
 window-sill. 
 
 Oh, the dainty, dainty letter, on an orange leaf, or 
 
 lemon. 
 Signed, "Your friend, the Queen of Roses," writ in 
 
 characters of dew: 
 "You're invited to the garden, there's a good time there 
 
 at seven. 
 And a place beside the apple-tree has been reserved for 
 
 you. 
 
 " There'll be matings there, and marriages, of every 
 
 flower and blossom; 
 Cross the brook behind the arbor, and come early, if you 
 
 can." 
 Oh, my thoughts they all went bounding, and my heart 
 
 leaped in my bosom, 
 " And how sweetly she composes," I reflected as I ran. 
 
 There she sat, the queen of roses, with her virgins all 
 
 about her, 
 While the lilacs and the apple-blooms seemed waiting 
 
 her command. 
 Oh, how lovely, oh, how graciously she smiled on each 
 
 new-comer; 
 
 1/ you cannot conqitey your de/ect, make it beloved. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 189 
 
 Oh, how sweetly kissed the lilies as she took them by 
 the hand. 
 
 All at once the grass-rows parted, and the sweetest 
 notes were sounded. 
 
 There was music, there was odor, there was loving in 
 the air; 
 
 And a hundred joyous gallants, robed in holiday ap- 
 parel, 
 
 Danced beneath the lilac bushes with a hundred maid- 
 ens fair. 
 
 There were tulips, proud and yellow, with their great 
 
 green spears beside them; 
 There were lilies grandly bowing to the rose queen as 
 
 tliey came; 
 There were daffodils so stately, scenting all the air of 
 
 heaven; 
 Joyous buds and sleeping poppies, with their' banners 
 
 all aflame. 
 
 There were pansies robed in purple, marching o'er the 
 
 apple-blossoms. 
 And the foxgloves with their pages tripped coquettish- 
 
 ly along; 
 And the violets and the daisies, in their bonnets blue 
 
 and yellow. 
 Joined the marching and parading of th' innumerable 
 
 throng. 
 
 All at once the dandelion blew three notes upon his 
 
 trumpet: 
 " Choose ye partners for the dancing, gallant knights 
 
 and ladies fair;" 
 
 The rhythm oy gesture is proportional to the mass to be moi-ed. The more an 
 or^an is resiraincii, the more vehement is its impulse. — Delal'.mosnb.
 
 190 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 
 
 And the honeysuckle court'sied to the young, sweet- 
 breathed clematis, 
 
 And remarked upon the sweetness of the blossoms in 
 her hair. 
 
 "We're the tallest," said the tuberose to the iris, stand- 
 ing nearest, 
 
 " And suppose that now, for instance, I should offer you 
 my heart?" 
 
 " Oh, how sudden," cried the sly thing; "I am really 
 quite embarrassed — 
 
 Unexpected, but pray do it, just to give the rest a 
 start." 
 
 Then a daisy kissed a pansy, with its jacket brown and 
 
 yellow, 
 And the crocus led a thistle to a seat beside the rose; 
 And the maybells grouped together, close beside the 
 
 lady-slipper, 
 And commented on the beauty and the splendor of her 
 
 clothes. 
 
 "Oh, a market this for beauty," said a jasmine, gently 
 clinging 
 
 To the strong arm of an orange, as a glance on him she 
 
 threw; 
 "Why, you scarcely would believe it, but I've had this 
 
 very morning 
 Twenty offers, and declined them just to promenade 
 
 with you." 
 
 Then again the grass it parted, and the sunshine it grew 
 brighter, 
 
 Let your attitude, gesture ^ and /ace foretell what you would make felt. - 
 Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 191 
 
 Till it seemed as if the curtains of high heaven were 
 
 withdrawn, 
 And each flower and bud and blossom pressed some 
 
 fair one to its bosom, 
 As the bannered train danced gaily 'twixt the windrows 
 
 on the lawn. 
 
 Oh, the musk-rose was so stately! and so stately was 
 
 the queen rose! 
 And how sweetly smiled she on me as she whispered in 
 
 my ear: 
 "Come again; you know you're welcome, come again, 
 
 dear, for it may be 
 That our baby buds and blossoms will be christened 
 
 here next year." 
 
 THE OLD CHURCH. 
 
 H. H. Johnson. 
 
 A^rHAT! tear the old church down, you say, and 
 * * build a modern one. 
 
 That we can look with pride upon and boast of when 
 'tis done ? 
 
 With lots of little rooms below for festivals and fairs, 
 
 And one big room for preachin', with its pews and easy- 
 chairs? 
 
 What's wrong about the dear old church we've wor- 
 shipped in so long? 
 
 The walls are good, the clapboards tight, the timbers 
 sound and strong; 
 
 Expression in nature flows from the impulses of natural passion. Expres- 
 sion in art implies a mastery of the primary impulses of natural passion by 
 that rational and moral substance in the indii'idual u-hich distinguishes the 
 man from the beast as a supernatural entity. — Steele Mackave.
 
 192 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 I'll own the roof is leakin' some, but that can be made 
 
 right, 
 A shingle stuck in here and there will make the old 
 
 roof tight. 
 
 You want to build a stylish church. I think I know your 
 
 views; 
 And then when you have got it built, you'll rent or sell 
 
 the pews, 
 And poor folks that haint got the cash to pay for sit- 
 
 tin' room. 
 Must take their preachin' standin' up, or else remain at 
 
 home. 
 
 I tell you, brethren, that old church seems like a life- 
 long friend; 
 
 Sweet memories are clusterin' there will last till life 
 shall end. 
 
 Each timber, joist, and board and nail seems speakin' 
 with a tongue, 
 
 And tellin' of the good done here since you and I were 
 young. 
 
 Beside that dear old altar there, just fifty years to-day, 
 I knelt and begged for pardon, and Christ washed my 
 
 sins away; 
 And though old Time has thinned my hair, and bleached 
 
 it white as snow. 
 That altar is as dear to me as fifty years ago. 
 
 The sermons that we've listened to from holy men of 
 God, 
 
 One cannot he too careful of his articulation. The initial consonant should 
 be articulated distinctly: the spirit of the word is contained in zV.— Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 193 
 
 Whose bodies now are lyin' cold beneath the church- 
 yard sod, 
 Seem ringin' in my ears to-day, and full of gospel truth. 
 As when I listened to them in the merry days of youth. 
 
 I seem to hear the preacher's voice say, " Brethren, let 
 
 us pray," 
 And all the congregation kneel in the old-fashioned 
 
 way. 
 I seem to hear the thrillin' shouts of " Glory" and 
 
 " Amen;' 
 Respondin' from the people's hearts and echoin' again. 
 
 I seem to hear those old-time hymns we all so loved to 
 sing, 
 
 That used to swell from ev'ry heart, and make the old 
 church ring. 
 
 There's one now ringin' in my ears: " Let angels pros- 
 trate fall 
 
 Bring forth the royal diadem and crown Him Lord of 
 all!" 
 
 'Twould seem too much like sacrilege to tear that altar 
 
 down; 
 I'm 'fraid God wouldn't bless the deed, but rather on it 
 
 frown. 
 No, brethren, not a dollar will you get from my old 
 
 hand! 
 I'd rather give five hundred more and let the old church 
 
 stand! 
 
 So, I beg you, let the old church stand; and when this 
 old, gray head 
 
 The teacher is ad-'ised to train the voice at the same time with the body, 
 training both as an instrument. — Genevieve Steobins.
 
 194 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Shall lie beneath the flowers in the city of the dead, 
 The7i you can tear the old church down and build one 
 
 new and grand; 
 But while I live, oh, heed my prayer, and let the old 
 
 church stand. 
 
 CANDOR. 
 
 H. C. BUN'NER. 
 
 "T KNOW what you're going to say," she said, 
 And she stood up, looking uncommonly tall ; 
 " You are going to speak of the hectic fall, 
 And say you're sorry the summer's dead. 
 
 And no other summer was like it, you know, 
 And can I imagine what made it so ? 
 Now, aren't you, honestly ?" " Yes," I said. 
 
 " I know what you're going to say," she said ; 
 
 "You are going to ask if I forget 
 
 That day in June when the woods were wet. 
 And you carried me "—here she dropped her head — 
 
 "Over the creek ; you are going to say. 
 
 Do I remember that horrid day ? 
 Now aren't you, honestly ?" "Yes," I said. 
 
 " I know what you're going to say," she said ; 
 " You are going to say that since that time 
 You have rather tended to run to rhyme. 
 
 And " — her clear glance fell and her cheek grew red- 
 
 Speech is external^ and visible thought is the ambassadress of the intellect.- 
 Delsakte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 195 
 
 "And have I noticed your tone was queer? 
 Why, everybody has seen it here ! 
 Now, aren't you, honestly?" " Yes, " I said. 
 
 " I know what you're going to say," I said; 
 
 " You're going to say you've been much annoyed, 
 And I'm short of tact — you will say devoid — 
 
 And I'm clumsy and awkward, and call me Ted, 
 And I bear abuse like a dear old lamb. 
 And you'll have me, anyway, just as I am. 
 
 Now, aren't you, honestly ?" "Ye-es," she said. 
 
 A BOYS CONCLUSION. 
 
 C HE wuz a old maid. Aunt Sue wuz; 
 *^ She never had any little boys 
 Er girls, like mos' of women does. 
 
 I guess she didn't like the noise 
 And bother 'at a baby brings, 
 
 And so God didn't send her none. 
 But let 'em stay and wear their wings. 
 
 I bet they have a sight of fun! 
 I've got a baby brother there. 
 
 And he's got wings, and, if I'm good, 
 I'm goin' to die and have a pair 
 
 Some time, 'cause mamma said I should. 
 
 When Aunt Sue wuz a girl, ma said. 
 She had a beau, like Sister Bess. 
 
 He went to the war and come back dead, 
 And that's all 'at saved her, I guess; 
 
 'Cause, if he hadn't lost his life. 
 
 4- 
 
 I Art proposes three things: to tnove, to interest, to persuade by unity o/ in- 
 flection and gesture. One effect must not destroy another. Divergence con- 
 fuses the audience, and leases no time /or sentiment. — DelaI'MOSne. 
 
 -I*
 
 196 DELS ARTE RECI2^ATI0N BOOK. 
 
 He would 'a' come back after her; 
 And she'd 'a' had to be his wife 
 
 And go with him jist everywhere ! 
 I'd think she'd 'a' been awful glad 
 
 Because he didn't come, but died; 
 But stid of that it made her sad, 
 
 And mamma said she went and cried. 
 
 And, mamma said, a long, long while 
 
 After her beau wuz dead. Aunt Sue 
 Jist moped around and wouldn't smile. 
 
 Until they thought that she'd die, too. 
 But stid of dyin' she kep' on, 
 
 And turned out to be a old maid; 
 Jist 'cause the other beau wuz gone, 
 
 She wouldn't have no more, she said, 
 I pity Aunt Sue; but I can't 
 
 Help be glad 'at her beau died, 
 'Cause I wouldn't have a old maid aunt 
 
 If she'd 'a' been that feller's bride. 
 
 I like Aunt Sue; her ginger cakes 
 
 Are better'n what we have at home, 
 They're sweeter 'n them my mamma makes, 
 
 And she mos' always brings me some. 
 And she's got lots of books and cats, 
 
 And a little dog, and she don't care 
 How much I play with them, and that's 
 
 Why I like so to go down there. 
 Old maids are nice. When I'm a man, 
 
 If I don't live a single life. 
 But marry some one, it's my plan 
 
 To have a old maid for my wife. 
 
 A part of the luhole cannot he thoroughly appreciated hy any one ignorant 
 o/the whole. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 197 
 
 A' ABOOT IT. 
 
 William Lyle, 
 
 "/^ MARY, will you gang wi' me, 
 
 ^"^^ An' mak' my hame a heeven ? 
 I'll licht yer nights, an' bless yer days, 
 
 Wi' love as lang's I'm leeven." 
 "Toots, laddie, dinna waste yer win' — 
 
 Its waur than wasted speakin'; 
 Ye hae but ane heart at the best, 
 - An' I'm no' her it's seekin'." 
 
 "Ah, Mary, I had ance a heart, 
 
 But I hae ane nae langer; 
 Yer een hae wiled it frae my breest, 
 
 An' aye the spell grows stranger." 
 " Ah, havers, Tam, ye ken fu' weel, 
 
 Noo, whaur were ye' a roamin' 
 Yestreen? Ye followed Maggie Rae 
 
 Adoon the glen at gloamin'." 
 
 " Mary, I thacht it was yersel*, 
 
 But ne'er a word was spoken; 
 The glen was dark without your smile, 
 
 An' I cam' hame heart-broken." 
 "Weel, maybe, Tam, ye were mista'en. 
 
 But I'll tak' leave to doot it; 
 It seems ye had to kiss lang Meg 
 
 To find oot a' aboot it !" 
 
 1)1 change 0/ inflection^ the voice should leap from one inflection to the 
 other, not slide: otherwise the change produces a sin^-son^'.— Geskvirve Stkb- 
 
 BINS.
 
 198 DELS ARTE RECITATION BGQK. 
 
 LORD CLIVE. 
 
 Robert Browning. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 
 
 T AND CLIVE were friends — and why not? power is 
 
 power, my boy, and still 
 Marks a man, — God's gift magnific, exercised for good 
 
 or ill. 
 We were friends then, Clive and I; so, when the clouds, 
 
 about the orb 
 Late supreme, encroaching slowly, surely, threatened to 
 
 absorb 
 Ray by ray its noontide brilliance, — friendship might, 
 
 with steadier eye 5 
 
 Drawing near, bear what had burned else, now no blaze, 
 
 all majesty. 
 
 Too much bee's-wing floats my figure? Well, suppose 
 a castle's new: 
 
 None presume to climb its ramparts, none find foothold 
 sure for shoe 
 
 'Twixt those squares and squares of granite plating the 
 impervious, pile 
 
 As his scale-mail's warty iron cuirasses a crocodile. 10 
 
 Such a castle seldom tumbles by sheer stress of can- 
 nonade: 
 
 'Tis when foes are foiled and fighting's finished thaf 
 vile rains invade, 
 
 Grass o'ergrows, o'ergrows till night-birds, congregat' 
 ing, find no holes 
 
 Fit to build in like the topmost sockets made for ban- 
 ner-poles. 
 J 
 
 Dynatnic "wealth depends upon the number of bodily articulations brought 
 into play: the /ewer articulations an actor uses, the more closely he approaches 
 to the pujipet. — Delsarte. 
 
 ■ 4
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 199 
 
 So Clive crumbled slow at London, crashed at last. A 
 week before, 15 
 
 Dining with him, — after trying churchyard-chat of days 
 of yore, — 
 
 As I saw his head sink heavy, guessed the soul's extin- 
 guishment 
 
 By the glazing eyeball, noticed how the furtive fingers 
 went 
 
 Where a drug-box skulked behind the honest liquor, — 
 
 " One more throw 
 Try for Clive!" thought I; ''let's venture some good 
 
 rattling question!" So — 20 
 
 '' Come, Clive, tell us," — out I blurted, — " what to tell in 
 
 turn, years hence, 
 Come! what moment of the minute, what speck-centre 
 
 in the wide 
 Circle of the action saw your mortal fairly deified? 
 (Let alone that filthy sleep-stuff; swallow bold this 
 
 wholesome port!) 
 If a friend has leave to question, — when were you most 
 
 brave, in short? " 25 
 
 Up he arched his brows o' the instant, formidably Clive 
 
 again. 
 *' When was I most brave? I'd answer, were the instance 
 
 half as plain 
 As another instance that's a brain-lodged crystal — curse 
 
 it! — here 
 Freezing when my memory touches — ugh! — the time I 
 
 felt almost fear. 29 
 
 Ugh! I cannot say for certain if I showed fear — anyhow, 
 
 Pantomime is of two distinct s/'ecies: el!i/>tic fantomime^ which is the mani- 
 festation by the outer action of the body of the inward life of the body: and 
 descriptive pantomime, which is the illustration by the motion of the body of 
 some outer part or rtc//OM. — Steele Mackaye.
 
 200 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Fear I felt, and, very likely, shuddered, since I shiver 
 now." 
 
 Down his brows dropped. On the table painfully he 
 pored, as though 
 
 Tracing in the stains and streaks there, thoughts en- 
 crusted long ago. 
 
 When he spoke 'twas like a lawyer reading word by 
 word some will. 
 
 Some blind jungle of a statement, — beating on and on 
 until " 35 
 
 Out there leaps fierce life to fight with. 
 
 " This fell in my factor-days. 
 
 Desk-drudge, slaving at St. David's, one must game, or 
 drink, or craze. 
 
 I chose gaming; and — because your high-fiown game- 
 sters hardly take 
 
 Umbrage at a factor's elbow if the factor pays his 
 stake — 
 
 I was winked at in a circle where the company was 
 choice, 40 
 
 Captain This and Major That, men high of color, loud 
 of voice, 
 
 "Yet indulgent, condescending to the modest juvenile, 
 Who not merely risked but lost his hard-earned guineas 
 
 with a smile. 
 Down I sat to cards, one evening, had for my antagonist 
 Somebody whose name's a secret — you'll know why — 
 
 so, if you list, 45 
 
 Call him Cock o' the walk, my scarlet son of Mars from 
 
 head to heel! 
 
 Conscious menace — that of a tnaster to his subordinate — is expressed by a 
 mo7!einent 0/ the head carried /rout aboz>e doivnivard. Impotent menace re- 
 quires the head to be moved from below upward. — Delsarte.
 
 "Wraps the drapery of his couch 
 About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams."
 
 "A powder-box, 
 I'll take a little look within."
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 201 
 
 Play commenced; and whether Cocky fancied that a 
 clerk must feel 
 
 '' Quite sufficient honor came of bending over one green 
 
 baize, 
 I the scribe with him the warrior, guessed no penman 
 
 dared to raise 
 Shadow of objection should the honor stay but playing 
 
 end 50 
 
 More or less abruptly, — whether disinclined he grew to 
 
 spend, 
 Practice strictly scientific on a booby born to stare 
 At — not ask of — lace and ruffles if the hand they hide 
 
 plays fair. 1 
 
 " Anyhow, I marked a movement when he bade me ' Cut!' 
 I rose. 
 
 ' Such the new manoeuvre, captain? I'm a novice; knowl- 
 edge grows. 55 
 
 What, you force a card, you cheat, sir?' Never did a 
 thunderclap 
 
 Cause emotion, startle Thyrsis locked with Chloe in his 
 lap. 
 
 As my word and gesture (down I flung my cards to join 
 the pack) 
 
 Fired the man of arms, whose visage, siniply red before, 
 turned black. 
 
 "When he heard his voice, he stammered, 'That ex- 
 pression once again.' 60 
 
 'Well, you forced a card and cheated!' 'Possibly a 
 factor's brain, 
 
 The laiv 0/ expansion 0/ tnotion of action existing in menial expression is 
 in proportion to the uncontrolled force 0/ the motion. — Steele Mackave.
 
 
 202 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Busied with his all-important balance of accounts, may 
 deem 
 
 Weighing words, superfluous trouble; cheat to clerkly 
 ears may seem 
 
 Just the joke for friends to venture: but we are not 
 friends, you see! 
 
 When a gentleman is joked with, — if he's good at re- 
 partee — 65 
 
 " ' He rejoins as I do — Sirrah, on your knees, withdraw 
 
 in full! 
 Beg my pardon, or be sure a kindly bullet through 
 
 your skull 
 Lets in light and teaches manners to what brain it finds! 
 
 Choose quick — ' 
 Have your life snuffed out or, kneeling, pray me trim 
 
 yon candlewick! ' 
 ' Well, you cheated! ' 70 
 
 Then outbroke a howl from all the friends around. 
 To their feet sprang men in fury, fists were clinched and 
 
 teeth were ground.. 
 'End it! no time like the present! Captain, yours were 
 
 our disgrace! ' 
 
 " Up we stood accordingly. 
 
 As they handed me the weapon, such was my soul's 
 thirst to try 
 
 Then and there conclusions with this bully, tread on 
 and stamp out 75 
 
 Every spark of his existence, that — crept close to, curled 
 about 
 
 By that toying, tempting, teasing fool-forefinger's mid- 
 dle joint, — 
 
 The mouth f>lays a part in everything evil ivhich ive ivould express^ by a 
 grimace which consists oj" protruding the lips a>id lowering the corners. If 
 the grimace translates a concentric sentiment, it should be made by coinpress- 
 ing the lips. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 203 
 
 Don't you guess? — the trigger yielded. Gone my chance! 
 
 and at the point 
 Of such prime success, moreover; scarce an inch above 
 
 his head 
 Went my ball to hit the v^ainscot. He was living, I 
 
 vvras dead. 80 
 
 " Up he marched in flaming triumph — 'twas his right, 
 mind! — up, within 
 
 Just an arm's length. * Now, my clerkling,' chuckled 
 Cocky with a grin 
 
 As the levelled piece quite touched me, ' now, Sir Count- 
 ing-house, repeat 
 
 That expression which I told you proved bad manners! 
 Did I cheat?' 
 
 'Cheat you did, you knew j'ou cheated, and, this mo- 
 ment, know as well. 85 
 
 As for me, my homely breeding bids you — fire and go 
 to hell! ' 
 
 " Twice the muzzle touched my forehead. Heavy barrel, 
 
 flurried wrist. 
 Either spoils a steady lifting. Thrice: then, * Laugh at 
 
 hell who list, 
 I can't! God's no fable, either. Did this boy's eye wink 
 
 once? No! 
 There's no standing him and hell and God all three 
 
 against me, — so, 90 
 
 I did cheat! ' 
 
 And down he threw the pistol, out rushed — 
 
 by the door 
 Possibly, but, as for knowledge if by chimney, roof, or 
 
 floor, 
 
 Habit is a second nature: in fact ^ a habitual movement fashions the mate- 
 rial and physical being in such a manner as to create a type not inborn, and 
 which is named habitual. — Delau.mosne.
 
 204 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 He effected disappearance — I'll engage no glance was 
 
 sent 
 That way by a single starer, such a blank astonishment 
 Swallowed up the senses; as for speaking — mute they 
 
 stood as mice 95 
 
 " Mute not long, though ! Such reaction, such a hubbub 
 
 in a trice! 
 ' Rogue and rascal! Who'd have thought it? What's 
 
 to be expected next? 
 Drum and fife must play the Rogue's March, rank and 
 
 file be free to speed, 
 Tardy marching on the rogue's part by appliance in 
 
 the rear — 
 Kicks administered shall right this wronged civilian, — 
 
 never fear.' 100 
 
 "'Gentlemen, attention — pray! First, one word! 
 Some five minutes since my life lay — as you all saw, 
 
 gentlemen, 
 At the mercy of your friend there. Not a single voice 
 
 was raised 
 In arrest of judgment, not one tongue — before my pow- 
 der blazed — 
 Ventured, " Can it be the youngster blundered, really 
 
 seemed to mark 105 
 
 Some irregular proceeding? Look into the case, at 
 
 least! " 
 Who dared interpose between the altar's victim and the 
 
 priest? 
 Yet he spared me! You eleven! Whosoever, all or each, 
 Utters — to the disadvantage of the man who spared me — 
 
 speech — 
 
 Science receives^ art gives. By science man assimiiates the world; by art he 
 assimilates hitnself to the world. Assimilation is to science what incarnation 
 is to art. — Delsarte. 
 
 ■n?
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 205 
 
 To his face, beliind his back,— that speaker has to do 
 with me; ^^° 
 
 Me vvlio promise, if positions change and mine the 
 chance shoukl be, 
 
 Not to imitate your friend and waive advantage! ' 
 
 "Well, you've my story, there's your instance: fear I 
 
 did, you see!" 
 " Fear — I wish I could detect there; courage fronts me, 
 
 plain enough. 
 Call it desperation, madness, never mind! for here's in 
 
 rough — 115 
 
 Why, had mine been such a trial, fear had overcome 
 
 disgrace. 
 True, disgrace were hard to bear; but no such rush 
 
 against God's face! " 
 
 ANALYSIS. 
 
 F. TOWNSEND SOUTHWICK. 
 
 No poet needs more the artist to stand as interpreter 
 between him and the average individual than does 
 Browning. The closet reading of Browning is some- 
 what difficult; his sentences are not always well framed 
 for the eye, the words do not adjust themselves natu- 
 rally to the focus of the ordinary understanding, the 
 thread of his thought gets tangled in the meshes of his 
 imagination, until we almost lose it altogether. 
 
 This is owing to two quite opposite qualities in his 
 work that it seems parado.xical to name together: dif- 
 fusencss and compression. He crowds his pages with a 
 wealth of vivifying, reinfoicing ideas branching from 
 and adorning the main subject, side lights, so to speak, 
 thrown upon the central motif. He must fiash every 
 
 The head and hand cannot act simultaneously to express the savie senti- 
 ment. One could not say " «o" with head and hands at the same time. The 
 head commands and precedes the movement of the hand. — Delavmosne. 
 
 4
 
 2o6 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 facet of his jewelled thought toward us until we have 
 noted each scintillation of the brilliancy within. At the 
 same time, he compresses the expression of each of these 
 ideas until his lines are fairly packed with ellipses, so 
 that the superficial reader is fatigued, at first, by the 
 effort necessary to dig out the meaning of a sentence, 
 and, afterward, by the stress 'of sustained thought re- 
 quired to follow the poet through group after group of 
 such compact expressions to the final elucidation of his 
 meaning — the net result of it all. Much of Browning's 
 obscurity arises, like the imperfect expression of some 
 bright stutterer, not from incapacity, but from the too 
 rapid crowding of thoughts upon expression. 
 
 The artist who would interpret this master — and none 
 but an artist is equal to his more difficult moods — has 
 resources invocaland pantomimic expression that stand 
 him in good stead in his task. To such, the few hints I 
 am able to give will doubtless be superfluous. To many 
 students, however, who are aiming at something higher 
 than the ephemeral trash of the day, they may be of 
 service as pointing out a method of getting at the mean- 
 ing and interpretation of one of the greatest masters of 
 dramatic delineation. 
 
 Robert, Lord Clive, born 1725, conqueror of India. 
 His most celebrated victory was at Plassey, where, with 
 3,000 men, he completely routed 60,000 Bengalese. He 
 rose from a subordinate position in the British East 
 India Company. His character was by no means spot- 
 less, yet his genuine greatness raised him high in the 
 estimation of his contemporaries. His later years were 
 passed in England in ill health and broken spirits. 
 Finally, in 1774, he ended his own life. The incident 
 here related has, we are told, the authorit}^ of Macaulay. 
 
 The speaker is telling the story to his son over their 
 after-dinner port. The manner is colloquial, gestures 
 of the hand and forearni predominating. 
 
 2. [It is] God's gift magnific [whether] exercised, etc. 
 
 3-6. Painter's or revealing hand; suggest by describ- 
 ing an arc of a circle not too large. Action here at the 
 
 Science and art form tivo 7)ieans oj" assimilation: the one by tneans of ab- 
 sorption, the other by means of emanation. The one gives and comtnunicates; 
 the other unceasingly receives a>id appeals. — Delsarte. 
 
 4
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 207 
 
 right side throughout. At encroaching, develop the arm 
 with slight acquiring action of the hand. Friendship, 
 supportive hand, palm from earth. No blaze, slight re- 
 jection, with tremolo of revealing hand. All majesty, 
 painter's assertion. This is a continuous chain of 
 actions; sustain the arm throughout and do not be in a 
 hurry to drop it at the conclusion. Best to sustain it 
 until, as if recalled to yourself by your auditor's smile, 
 you — 
 
 7-10. Drop arm with off-hand movement of rejection 
 at about the waist-line, as much as to say, "Well, let it 
 go." Bee's iving, the film on old port. Paraphrased, the 
 sentence reads: "The wine I have drunk makes me use 
 too gorgeous a comparison," perhaps with a deprecatory 
 smile. Well [I will try again]. Action this time at left 
 side. Intellectual hand, "with arm to earth;" indicate 
 various components of the picture. 
 
 11. Such a castle, palm revealing; sheer stress, repul- 
 sion. 
 
 12. Rejection with strong hand. Fighting's finished, 
 surrender hand. Vile rains, boring action of hand, fore- 
 finger prominent. 
 
 13. O'ergrows, acquiring hand; till, etc., indication. 
 
 15. Indicate at side, palm up, supportive; crumbled 
 slow, turn and Sink wrist; crashed, drop arm, seriously, 
 with regret in the voice, but be careful not to make it 
 minor. From line 7, Well, to line 15 the action is again 
 continuous. 
 
 18. Furtive fingers, delicate action of fingers; attitude, 
 concealment. 
 
 19. Honest liquor, hand in attitude of presentation. 
 Do not attempt to suggest the hanging head. One more 
 throw, the figure is, of course, of a dice-box. It is per- 
 haps better not to suggest it in action, unless very deli- 
 cately, since doing so would divert the attention from the 
 thought to its symbol. The thought is: "One more 
 attempt to win back Clive to his former self." 
 
 21. If any action, appeal; but very off-hand. 
 
 22. Come, appeal as before, but stronger. Speck-centre, 
 
 Bearings 0/ the body are f>antominiic adjectives, qualifying the individual 
 kind 0/ character which is in action. — Steele Mackaye.
 
 2o8 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 pressure of thumb and little finger. Wide, arm action, 
 hand expanded. 
 
 23. Your mortal, supportive indication to Clive; deified, 
 to heaven. 
 
 24. Impatient rejection; swallow bold, '^x^s^x\\.?X\oVi. 
 
 25. Drop arm. If a friend has leave to question, sus- 
 pensive pause here, such a pause as w^e sometimes fill up 
 with the monosyllable " er." Perhaps the speaker feels 
 a little hesitation at asking the direct question; but, 
 after beating about for some time, finally does blurt 
 out, when were you most brave, in short, rapidly and ener- 
 getically. 
 
 28. Brain-lodged, tap iorehead. O/ri"^ zV, contract hand 
 simply. 
 
 29. When my memory touches [it]. Ugh, a shiver not a 
 word, slightly drawing in elbows and raising shoulders, 
 
 30. Declaration. 
 
 31. I felt, affirmation; connect these actions; do not 
 overdo them; remember it is conversation. 
 
 32-35. "Browning has caught the two most striking 
 symptoms of the victim of the opium habit: the fixed 
 though dazed regard of some indifferent object, and 
 the lifeless, monotonous voice." — Rolfe. Head slightly 
 bowed, but with eye to audience — a necessary artistic 
 variation from the description. Eyes half closed sleep- 
 ily. Very indifferent manner and voice; general atti- 
 tude repose, but very relaxed; chest somewhat passive. 
 Gradually grow more animated as the story develops. 
 
 41-43. Careless gesture of distribution with left hand, 
 to save the right for stronger action by and by. Hold 
 attitude to condescending, when the hand takes attitude 
 of protection; hold this to lost, when it changes to dis- 
 tribution with surrender, or simply to surrender. Juve- 
 nile, long " i." ■ • 
 
 50-51. Should the honor \oi bending, etc.], i'/^zy ^/////oy- 
 ing [that is, fair playing], end more or less abruptly. A 
 good effect can be made here by a suspensive pause 
 after end, and giving the following clause with indiffer- 
 ent concession. The whole sentence and that following 
 
 Yellow is the color of the soul. It is the color ofjiaine. Flame contains the 
 warmth 0/ life and the light of the mind. As the soul contains and unites 
 the life and the mind, so the fame warms and shines. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 209 
 
 will bear a considerable amount of circumflex inflec- 
 tion. 
 
 52-53. On a booby born to stare at lace-and-ruffies, not ask 
 ^/[ihem], // t/w /land, etc. Somewhat difficult to read 
 well. Lace-aud-riijflcs is elliptical in the first instance, 
 and tiiere the emj)hasis of the idea naturally belongs. 
 When the expression does occur, having been thought 
 already in tlie speaker's mind, the emphasis is partly 
 lost, as if he said " not ask of them." Lace-and-ruffles is 
 subordinate to the whole idea it interrupts. Stare at is 
 antithetical not merely to ask of, but to the whole 
 clause. [Ask I if the Iiand they hide plays fair, the em- 
 phasis, ther(-tore, culminating on fair. Read a few 
 times as jnu-aphrased above, tlien substitute the original, 
 keeping emphasis and inflection the same, and 3'ou will 
 arrive at the best way of reading the sentence that oc- 
 curs to me. 
 
 54-55. Gradually become more animated. Knoioledge 
 firoic's, "I am learning something," ironical, of course. 
 
 56. Indignant contempt with an element of surprise. 
 
 56-59. Never did a thunder-clap [so] cause einotion [in 
 Thyrsis so] startle [him with his arms] locked [about] 
 Chloe in his lap, as my li'ord and gesture [i.e., flinging down 
 the C3.vds\ f red Y\.Q., caused emotion, though of a differ- 
 ent kind in] the man of arms. 
 
 60. An ingenious variation of the threadbare expres- 
 sion, "found his voice." That expression, etc., surprise, 
 almost bewilderment, predominating over anger. Strong 
 attitude, fists clinched; or, better, fingers working spas- 
 modically as if to clutch Clive's throat ; arms drawn 
 back. 
 
 61. Calmly and coldly, with great distinctness and 
 deliberation; head inclined from and lifted; upper lids 
 dropped; contemptuous curl of lips; poise normal, no 
 movement nor contraction anywhere. 
 
 61-67. Tossibly, etc., restrained fury, very sarcastic. 
 He despises his antagonist, and evidently does not dream 
 of final resistance. Let the passage grow in intensity 
 to the very end. 
 
 Recitatiiyn is not aciing^. and u<c must content ourselves with sug'grsiing; 
 rather than attempting, complete dramatization. — Genevieve Stebbins.
 
 210 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 66-69. On your knees, indicate with tyrant's hand, i.e., 
 " to arm to earth;" rage unrestrained to the end; weight 
 on advanced foot. 
 
 70. As before, or with possibly a touch of defiance in 
 voice and action. 
 
 70-72. The action is sufficiently suggested by the text. 
 Do not overdo this passage; remember that these are 
 gentlemen, not rowdies. 
 
 74-76. Strong emotional emphasis; hurry these lines 
 a little; offensive action of fist, conversational action of 
 arm. 
 
 76-78. Crept close to, etc. Here the imitative action of 
 the finger must help to carry the main idea over the 
 long parenthesis, a parenthesis, too, that is not without 
 reason; for Clive, formidably Clive again, is living over 
 this scene once more, and now as then vents his vexa- 
 tion at his failure on his finger. Forefinger, disgust. 
 
 78. Gone my chance! Drop arm with abandon as of 
 letting the pistol fall, or throwing it impatiently aside. 
 
 79, Scarce an inch, indicate. Through this have the 
 tone of vexation. 
 
 81. ' Twas his right. Suppression, palm up, as if in 
 reply to the thought of the auditor that it was unfair. 
 82-84. Action as described. 
 
 85. Perfectly steady gaze. Be careful not to fling 
 back the head or have any action of the arms. Attitude 
 of feet, defiance, but not too strong. 
 
 86. Fire — and go to hell! Separate the phrases as in- 
 dicated. Make the latter a menace. If given flippantly 
 it would not have affected his antagonist as it does. 
 
 87-90. Twice — thrice. No action here, but be as im- 
 pressive as possible. Laugh, etc.; attitude here of hold- 
 ing the pistol pointing upward or with arm dropped. 
 Speak as if the words were forced from you against 
 your will. Shrink within yourself as you proceed. 
 
 At 90, writhing action of the body, arms raised, fists 
 clinched and strong elbow as if to ward off him and hell 
 and God. Gradually drop the head lower in shame and 
 raise the arms higher. Hesitate before and after so [I 
 
 Blue is the color of the mind. It is the color 0/ the sky, the home of pure 
 intellects, set free from the body, who see and know all things. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 21 1 
 
 own that]; then, with a supreme effort, drop both arms 
 with relaxed hands, lifting the head in opposition, and 
 turning on the ankle until the back is almost toward 
 the audnence as you finish the words I did cheat. Make 
 this climax on did. At the last word drop the head 
 again, letting the hands contract, as they will naturally 
 tend to do. Hold the attitude a few seconds. 
 
 91. Turn to audience; imitative action aXdoxvn he threw. 
 
 92. But as for [actual] knoivlcd^^e if [whether]. 
 
 93. No one could vouch that he went through the 
 door because no one looked that way, is the gist of the 
 passage. 
 
 91-95. Out rushed, indicate. Hold attitude with palm 
 from earth until such a blank astonishment, when both 
 hands express surprise; hold this to mute, when the 
 arms drop. 
 
 96-99. Negation of head with slight smile. Such reac- 
 tion, etc., broad declaration, both arms; hands " from 
 arm to earth." Rogue ^nd rascal, etc., arms and hands 
 indicating surprise. Drum a7id fife, etc., fists clinched, 
 arms drawn back at waist-line, with strong elbow. 
 
 99. Shake fist or warning finger at the imaginary rogue. 
 
 100. Bring arms to side, with fists still clinched. 
 Never fear, affirmation of head. 
 
 I0I-I02. Extend arm toward them, palm " with arm to 
 earth;" head lifted; eyes with regard of inferior; 
 weight on retired foot. Slowly bring tliearm to the side. 
 
 103. Indicate across the body, i.e., with right arm 
 toward the left side. Not a single voice, bring arm back 
 to side with slight declarative movement. From here 
 to line 113 the most effective manner will be with arms 
 at the side, the only pantomime being the slightest 
 possible action of the muscles of the face, gradually 
 hardening into greater and greater sternness. Do not 
 scowl nor bluster. Remember that conscious strength 
 needs neither pantomimic nor vocal explosions. Make 
 the voice and manner menacing, but the menace re- 
 strained and thoroughly cool. At your friend, a slight 
 indication of the head and eye alone. 
 
 The repeated extension of the arms denotes but little intelligence, little sup- 
 pleness in the wrist and fingers. The movement of a single finger indicates 
 great finesse. — Delalmosne.
 
 212 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 113. Something of a pause; then, in off-hand fashion, 
 well., etc. 
 
 115. Desperation, madness, distributive action of hand; 
 never mind, negation; here's, etc., affirmative indication 
 of hand, with forefinger active. 
 
 116. Declaration, both hands; fear, negation, both 
 hands and shake of head. 
 
 117. Declaration with surrender, concession. No such 
 rush, etc., demonstrative indication, indication with re- 
 vealing hand, "from arm from earth." One or both 
 hands. Awe in the voice and manner. 
 
 J15-117. This can also be given effectively without 
 gestures. 
 
 [When not otherwise indicated, a note refers to the whole line or 
 lines under which it stands, beginning with the first word. Bracketed 
 words supply ellipses in the text, or paraphrase preceding words.] 
 
 NEWS OF THE DAY. 
 
 "TI^VENING Express! Times! Times! Evening Ex- 
 
 "^ press! 
 Evening Express? Mister, Times? Times? 
 Evening Express?" the newsboy cried. 
 But it scarcely rippled the living tide 
 That ebbed and flowed in the busy street, 
 With its aching hearts and its restless feet. 
 Again through the hum of the city thrilled, 
 " Evening Express! Great battle! Ten thousand killed!" 
 And the little carrier hurried away 
 With the sorrowful news of that winter day. 
 
 To a dreary room, in an attic high, 
 Trembled the words of that small, sharp cry; 
 
 Red is the color of life. This is asserted by firey by the heat 0/ the blood.— 
 Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 213 
 
 And a lonely widow bowed her head, 
 
 And murmured, " Willie! My Willie is dead! 
 
 Oh! I feared it was not an idle dream 
 
 That led me, last night, to that cold, dark stream, 
 
 Where the ground was wet with the crimson rain, 
 
 And strewed all over with ghastly slain. 
 
 The stars were dim, for the night was wild: 
 
 But I threaded the gloom till I found my child. 
 
 The cold rain fell on his upturned face, 
 
 And the swift destroyer had left no trace 
 
 Of the sudden blow, and the sharp, quick pain, 
 
 But a little wound and a purple stain. 
 
 I tried to speak, but my voice was gone, 
 
 And my soul stood there in the cold, gray dawn, 
 
 While they rifled his body with ruthless hand. 
 
 And covered him up in the reeking sand. 
 
 "Willie, oh, Willie! it seems but a day 
 Since thy baby head on my bosom lay. 
 Since I heard thy prattle, so soft and sweet, 
 And guided the steps of thy tottering feet. 
 And thou wert the fairest and last of three. 
 Which the Father in heaven had given to me. 
 All the life of my life, love, hope, and joy 
 Were treasured in thee, my strong, brave boy. 
 And the last faint words that thy father said. 
 Were, 'Willie will mind thee when I am dead.' 
 But they tore the flag from thy death-cold hand 
 And covered thee up in the reeking sand." 
 She read the names of the missing and slain, 
 But one she read over and over again; 
 And still the words which her white lips said. 
 Were: "Company C, William Warren, dead." 
 
 On the light of your own soul, on the substance of your oiun character, de- 
 fends the contf'Ution of acguireJ knowledge into practical skill. — Steele 
 Mackaye.
 
 214 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 The night came down to her cold hearthstone, 
 
 But she still read on in that same low tone; 
 
 And still the words her white lips said, 
 
 Were: "Company C, William Warren, dead." 
 
 The light of the morning chased the gloom 
 
 From the emberless hearth of that attic room; 
 
 And the city's pulses throbbed again. 
 
 But the mother's heart had forgotten its pain. 
 
 She had gone through the gates to that better land, 
 
 With that terrible list in her thin, cold hand. 
 
 With her white lips parted, as last she said: 
 
 " Company C, William Warren, dead." 
 
 BREAD. 
 
 (FRANCE 1846-7.) 
 
 Translated by Elsie M. Wilbor. 
 
 [Among the selections to which Mme. Arnaud gives special promi- 
 nence in her writings on Delsarte — writings for which we cannot be too 
 grateful, as they give us almost the only authentic inner view of the 
 great French teacher at work and at home, — " Bread" stands fore- 
 most. Darcier, who Mme. Arnaud names as "preeminent in the 
 crowd," and who may still be heard in certain circles in Paris, recited 
 the selection with great spirit, never failing to make a hit. Doubtless 
 one of the chief reasons of the success of "Bread" was its peculiar 
 application to the then recent troublous times, when famine stared 
 Parisians in the face. " Bread" is really a political song, but for 
 the purposes of this book the music is unnecessary. The selection is 
 in sympathy with the principles recently enunciated by Henry George, 
 and is, therefore, quite appropriate to our own times, apart from its 
 literary merit. — Editor.] 
 
 A ^7 HEN on the height and by the river 
 
 The mills have hushed their busy clack, 
 The miller's donkey browses calmly, 
 And carries not the well-filled sack, 
 
 The voice has three agents: the projective agent, or the lungs: the vibra- 
 tive agent, or the larynx: the reverberative agent, or the mouth. — Delsakte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 215 
 
 Then Famine, like a wolf, comes stalking, 
 
 And enters homes before our eyes; 
 Around, above, a storm is gath'ring. 
 And groans go upward to the skies. 
 Vou cannot hush the murmurs of the people when 
 
 they're led 
 By pangs of hunger; nature speaks, and they cry: "We 
 want bread!" 
 
 Then Famine travels from the village. 
 
 The city feels its touch at length; 
 Make haste, and seek to stop its journey 
 
 With drums beat hard with all your strength, 
 In spite of powder and swift bullet, 
 
 It travels as on wing of bird. 
 And on remotest, highest rampart 
 It plants its black flag undisturbed. 
 You cannot hush the murmurs of the people when 
 
 they're led 
 By pangs of hunger; nature speaks, and they cry: "We 
 want bread!" 
 
 Of what avail are hosts of soldiers? 
 
 For Famine gives to those it arms 
 The keenest weapons, and it gathers 
 
 Recruits from forests, fields, and farms, 
 With forks and shovels, scythes and sickles; 
 
 At knell of war fond lovers part. 
 And maidens fair are weeping sadly. 
 
 The cannon's summons breaks the heart. 
 You cannot hush the murmurs of the people when 
 they're led 
 
 The arms should never extttiJ the sanu ivay. Jj they J'oiivw each other, 
 one should be tnore advanced than the other. Never allow parallelism. — 
 Delaumosne. r- 
 
 I ■ \ - - 1 1
 
 2i6 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 By pangs of hunger; nature speaks, and they cry: "We 
 want bread!" 
 
 Among the eager crowds of people 
 
 Arrest all armed with knife or gun; 
 Erect in open squares as menace 
 
 The scaffold's framework nearly done. 
 But when, in sight of trembling thousands, 
 
 The bloody sword its work shall end, 
 And destinies for aye be settled, 
 A cry of " Blood " on high ascends. 
 Vou cannot hush the murmurs of the people when 
 
 they're led 
 By pangs of hunger; nature speaks, and they cry: "We 
 want bread!" 
 
 Our daily bread is life's sustainer 
 As much as water, fire, and air; 
 Without it we are helpless, dying, 
 
 And 'tis God's debt for us to care. 
 But has not He paid all He owes us? 
 
 Has He refused to give us soil? 
 The sun's bright rays shine warm upon us, 
 And ripening grain repays our toil. 
 You cannot hush the murmurs of the people when 
 
 they're led 
 By pangs of hunger; nature speaks, and they cry: "We 
 want bread!" 
 
 The earth is full of life and vigor. 
 
 And grain in harvests rich should yield 
 
 From ardent tropics to north's limit, 
 A golden crown for every field. 
 
 Let a head — howeTer loving one may suppose it to be intrinsically— bend 
 toward the object of its contejnplation^ and let the shoulder not be lifted, that 
 head ivill plainly lack an air of vitality and warm sincerity without which 
 it cannot persuade a^.— Delsarte.
 
 DELS A RTF RECITATION BOOK. 217 
 
 Dig deep, then, into earth's broad bosom, 
 
 And for this work, which ne'er should cease, 
 Beat sword and cannon into ploughshares, 
 And change the arm of war to peace! 
 You cannot hush the murmurs of the people when 
 
 they're led 
 By pangs of hunger; nature speaks, and they cry: "We 
 want bread!" 
 
 What matters, then, the petty quarrels 
 
 Of monarchs, statesmen high in life? 
 Shall we, because of foolish hatreds, 
 
 Take up our arms for blood and strife ? 
 Far rather let us join our forces. 
 
 With *' work " for watchword, peace to reign; 
 Give up the earth to plough and sickle. 
 And bread will ne'er be scare again. 
 You cannot hush the murmurs of the people when 
 
 they're led 
 By pangs of hunger; nature speaks, and they cry: " We 
 want bread!" 
 
 SUGGESTIVE ANALYSIS. 
 
 Genevieve Stebbins Thompson. 
 
 The first picture to be seen in the imagination and 
 eyternalized in voice and action is the calm of nature 
 void of man. Then is ushered in the storm of woe in 
 
 The inttliigent man makes /ew gcsttires. To multiply gestures indicates a 
 lack of intelligence. The /ace is the thermometer of intelligence. Let as 
 much expression as possible be gii-en to the /ace. — Delau.mosne.
 
 2i8 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 men's hearts, and the stanza culminates in the piteous 
 cry, " we want bread." Those who have been students 
 of the Delsarte system of expression will remember the 
 striking distinction drawn between the dynamic voice 
 with intensity in it and the mere empty tone. To ac- 
 quire this dynamic quality, the reader must vividly see 
 . and deeply feel within himself the scenes and emotions 
 depicted in the poem. 
 
 The second stanza should be given with concentration, 
 rapidity, and excitement. The refrain " we want bread " 
 should be given with a vocal coloring of desperation. 
 
 The third stanza should have the character of lamen- 
 tation and menace. " The cannon's summons breaks the 
 heart," and the refrain, are given in a tone of menace 
 and agony. 
 
 The fourth stanza is given with despair and menace, 
 and the refrain as if spoken from on high by astern and 
 mighty avenger. 
 
 The last three stanzas should be given in an orotund 
 tone, as voicing the great principle of the right of all 
 God's creatures to enjoy the fruits of their labor. 
 
 In the first stanza the action of the first four lines is 
 descriptive, and then Famine is personified by a crouch- 
 ing and advancing attitude. In line 7 is a sweeping, 
 descriptive gesture, which is followed by an attitude of 
 passionate appeal. 
 
 In the second stanza in the first line the arm sweeps 
 horizontally, expressing the advance of famine, and is 
 held pointing as the body earnestly advances at the sec- 
 ond line. At the third line turn to the opposite direc- 
 tion and assume a repellent attitude. The gestures in 
 the following lines should suggest the action'described. 
 
 The third stanza should close with the hands held 
 convulsively in a menacing attitude. 
 
 In the fourth stanza the gestures should be of the full 
 arm, and should culminate in uplifting the arm above 
 the head at the cry of " blood." The arm should be 
 held aloft until the cry " we want bread," when both 
 arms should be uplifted. 
 
 Whe7i a man presses a woman's hand, we may affirm that he loves her sen- 
 sually—that is to say, solely for />hysical qualities— t'/, on looking at her, he 
 moves his head toward the shoulder that is opjiosite //^r.— Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 219 
 
 The last three stanzas are purely declamatory; de- 
 scriptive and dramatic action ceases and the ordinary 
 oratorical gestures are used. 
 
 EVER SO FAR AWAY. 
 
 Von Boyle. 
 
 [I have given this selection successfully without dialect; so did the 
 late Harry G. Richmond, comedian. So does Mr. Marshall P. Wilder. 
 The following is about the way I present it at children's entertain- 
 ments. — Von B.] 
 
 'T^HERE are two very funny fellows in Harlem: one 
 -*• is Mr. Pointer, the insurance man; the other is Mr. 
 Dingelbender, the butcher man. 
 
 As Mr. Dingelbender sat at supper the other evening, 
 the door-bell rang, and Mr. Pointer came rushing into 
 the dining-room. 
 
 "Dingelbender, Pm in a scrape, and I want you to 
 help me out." 
 
 " You got shcrapes, eh! Veil you shcraped yourselluf 
 in — now you can shcrape yourselluf oudt again." 
 
 "Friend Dingelbender, Pm not joking now; Pm in 
 dead earnest." 
 
 "Is dot so! Vhen vill dhey burry you? Look here, 
 vonct, Mr. Pointer. You vas such a awful choker dat 
 if you vas really deadt in earnest, all your friendts vould 
 tink somehow it a good choke. But if you vas really in 
 some tifficulties, und I can shcrape you oudt, I vill pe 
 fery habby to shcrape you already!" 
 
 The law 0/ direction in gesture is: upward /or the spiritual and universal: 
 douihward /or the 7ueak and bestial: horizontally expanded /or the serene 
 and philanthropic. — Genevieve Stebbins.
 
 220 DELS ARTE RECITATION ^OOK. 
 
 " Thanks. Well, this is how the matter stands. I 
 engaged a prestidigitateur, you know, to give our Sun- 
 day-school an entertainment, this evening, and the gen- 
 tleman met with an accident while practicing some trick. 
 He swallowed a piano — I mean an organ, — mouth-organ, 
 you know. Now I want you to come right around and 
 take his place." 
 
 " No, sir. You tink I vill make a laughing-shtocking 
 oudt of mineselluf, und shpoil mine intigestion shwal- 
 lowing pianos und moudt-organs und tings?" 
 
 " No, Mr. Dingelbender; I simply want you to address 
 the children." 
 
 " Dress dem shildren! Poor leetle tings, und such a 
 coldt night, too! Vy don't you sendt dem back home 
 und make deir barents dress dem?" 
 
 " Now, Dingelbender, don't tease me, and T'll promise 
 not to make fun of you any more. Will you «^/dress 
 the children for me?" 
 
 " Yes, I vill do de pest vot I can." 
 
 Mr. Dingelbender was as good as his word. In half 
 an hour he was at the little chapel, confronting a large 
 and enthusiastic audience. Rising to the importance of 
 the occasion, he said: 
 
 " Mrs. Ladies und shentlemans — und shildrens — es- 
 becially de shildrens: 
 
 " I tink on such occasions like dhis ve should reco- 
 member dot men und vomens vas only ' shildren of de 
 larger growdt', und dot poys und girls vas men und 
 vomen in miniature. Efery man und vomans vas vonce 
 a leetle girl — a leetle poy I mean — und de poy of to-day 
 vill be de man of to-morrow, — or de day afder to-mor- 
 row. Efery goodt man has shtill someting of de poy 
 
 When a man />resses a wotnan's hand, we may affirm that he loves h?r ten- 
 derly, i/^ he bows his head obliquely to her. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 221 
 
 apout him, und efery true poy has someting of de man 
 apouthim; und all great mens dhey lofe shildrens. I 
 lofe shildrens mineselluf; I can't helb it — I vas porn dat 
 vay. 
 
 " I recomember vhen I vas a leetle shild mineselluf, 
 shust as blain as dhough it vas to-morrow. I had put- 
 tons all ofer me, und copper door-blates on de frondt of 
 mine shoes to keep mine toes inside. Und I had a 
 leetle shweetheart. Her frondt name vas Susan — Susan 
 Ann Gugenheimer. She used to sing a leetle song like 
 dhis. 
 
 YSingsP)^ 
 
 Vot care I for goldt und silber, 
 Vot care I for liaus und landt? 
 Vot care I for shiffs in de ocean — 
 All vot I vant vas a nice yunk man. 
 
 Und I vas her nice yunk man dot time. 
 
 " Veil, ve poys had also a song. Vot you call dot song 
 now, vhere you put your handts up dhis vay? Vindicating^ 
 Oh, I know now, it's [ivV/^'-^.] * London pridge vas 
 purning up, purning up, purning up.' Dot's it. Veil, 
 vhile ve sing dot song dhem leetle girls dhey used to go 
 underbeneath our handts, und ve — veil, ve usedt to kiss 
 'em. Oh, my! \sniacks Ups\ dem vas de shweetest kisses; 
 I can tasdt dhem yedt. 
 
 "Veil, de odher tay I vas sidding by mine open vin- 
 dow. Dot school-haus hadt shust ledt himselluf oudt — 
 it vas recess times. I pegan to tink apout shildhoodt 
 tays — dhem olden tays, — dhem golden tays vot vill nefer 
 come pack on me! I fell in a shleep und saw de shky 
 vas all full mit cloudts, und de cloudts vas full mit shil- 
 
 Manner is the unconscious rerclator of character: it is the soul's hand- 
 luritingupon the walls o//lcsh.—MKS. Eona Snell Poulson. ^
 
 222 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 drens, und de shildrens vas full mit choy, singing und 
 playing dhem happy songs und games of shildhoodt. 
 Suttenly dhere appeared amongst dhem a eldterly, 
 kindly man dot I recognized at vonce as Fader Goose — 
 I mean Fader Gander. He recited a leetle poem dot 
 amoosed the shildrens, und somehow touched a responsif 
 chord in mine own heart. Und r.s he recited, dhem 
 leetle ones, dhough dhey listened mit him, dhey shtill 
 vent on mit dheir own blays und songs, und de effect as 
 it reached mine ears vas someting like dhis: 
 
 My name it vas Fader Gander, 
 Und I come vrom ofer yonder 
 Ofer de hills, past Shones's Mills — 
 
 It vas efer so far avay. 
 I came vrom a town in Vonderland, 
 It's a peautiful blace, you must undershtand, 
 Vhere dhey nefer get late, dhey vas alvays on handt, 
 
 But it's efer so far avay. 
 
 \_Sings.\ 
 
 * A-vaiting for a pardner, 
 So open the ring und pring her in 
 Und kiss her ven you get her in.' 
 
 De beoples all de vhile dhere, 
 
 Dhey laugh und dhey sing und dhey shmile dhere: 
 
 Dhere vas nefer a frown in all of dot town. 
 
 But it's efer so far avay. 
 Und nopody dhere vas naughdy und rude; 
 Und de law of love vas so veil understoodt 
 Dat dhey shpend all dheir time in de doing of goodt — 
 
 But it's efer so far avay. 
 
 When a man presses a 7voman''s hand, -we may affirm that he does not love 
 her, if his head remains straight or siiuply bent in facing her . — Dei.sarte. 
 
 y
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 223 
 
 'Johnny Buff liad money enough 
 To lock it up in a store-room,' etc. 
 
 Dhey're careful to be righdt dhere; 
 Dhey nefer scholdt nor fighdt dhere, 
 Und nopody's poor — I'm certain und sure 
 
 Dot it's efer so far avay. 
 Und nopody goes to law ofer dhere; 
 Vhy, dhey haven't a shall, nor a shudge, nor a mayor. 
 For de beoples vas honest, dhey're fair und dhey're 
 shquare — 
 
 But it's efer so far avay. 
 
 losings ?[ 
 'Green gravel, green gravel. 
 Your true love vas deadt, 
 He sendt you a letter to 
 Turn back your headt.' 
 
 De nights vas bright as tay dhere, 
 Und dhey haf all kinds of blay dhere; 
 Und in a pallooii dhey visit de moon — 
 
 Oh, dot's efer so far avay. 
 You took vot you vant, for noting vas soldt, 
 Vhy, dot landt vas all full mit silber und goldt! 
 Und dhey alvays grow yunk — dhey nefer grow oldt; 
 
 But it's efer so far avay. 
 
 \_Sings.^ 
 
 'Little Sally Vaters, sitting in de sun, 
 Crying und veeping for a yunk man. 
 Rise, Sally, rise, vipe your eyes off mit your frock; 
 
 speech is the /em'.Kine, action the masculine, sex in expression. The /ortner 
 gives the finer tnanifestation o/ thought, the latter the stronger revelation 
 0/ life. — Franklin H. Sargent.
 
 224' DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 
 
 Fly to the east, fly to the vest, 
 
 Fly to the fery vone dot you lofe pest.' 
 
 De mosquitos nefer pite you; 
 
 I'm sure dhey vouldt telight you, 
 
 By singing dheir song de whole night long, 
 
 Pu-z-z-z! efer so far avay. 
 Vhat efer you vant you make a vish, 
 Und it's prought to you in a shina tish, 
 A shlice of pie or a piece of fish — 
 
 But it's efer so far avay. 
 
 * London pridge vas purning up, my fair lady," 
 \Business of imitating children kissing.^ 
 
 Nov/ vouldt you like to go dhere, 
 Und see dot vonderful show dhere, 
 Ofer de hills, past Shones's mills, 
 
 Und efer so far avay? 
 Dhen don't you pe cross und say naughdy tings, 
 Und a shpirit vill took you right under his vings. 
 To dot landt vhere de honey-bee solemnly sings, 
 Und bumples und puzzes und yet nefer shtings, 
 Und de shildren all blay mit ponies und shwings, 
 Und vear such fine dresses you'd tink dhey vas kings, 
 Und efery vone shouts vhen de tinner-pell rings; 
 
 It's efer und efer so far, far, far avay. 
 
 " Und shust dhen I voke oudt; und it vas only a tream. 
 But somehow I tink our pest treams vill all come true 
 in dot ' Shweet-pooty quick' pye und pye." 
 
 [Here may follow singing of a verse or two of "The Sweet Bye and 
 Bye " by the school or a chorus]. 
 
 When a painter exatnines his worky he moves away from it perceptibly. 
 He moves away in proportion to the degree of his admiration of it, so that the 
 retroactive moz'ement of his body is in equal ratio to the interest that he /eels 
 in contemplating his work. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 225 
 
 THE MASSACRE OF ZOROASTER. 
 
 F. Marion Crawford. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 
 
 [Nehushta, a Hebrew maiden, betrothed to Zoroaster, had, in a fit 
 of jealous anger, married Darius, king of the Persians. Zoroaster, 
 greatly grieved, became a high priest. Finding, from an interview 
 with him, that her jealousy was groundless, Nehushta was very un- 
 happy at her mistake. The king had been called to a distant part of 
 his kingdom at the time of the following scene.] 
 
 T7OUR days after the king's departure, Nehushta was 
 wandering in the gardens as the sun was going 
 down. Just then a strange sound echoed far off among 
 the hills, an unearthly cry that rang high in the air and 
 struck the dark crags and doubled in the echo, and died 
 away in short, faint pulsations of sound. She started 
 slightly; she had never heard such a sound before. 
 Again that strange cry rang out and echoed and died 
 away. Her slave-women gathered about her. 
 
 " What is it?" asked Nehushta. 
 
 " The war-cry of the cliildren of Anak is like that," 
 said a little Syrian maid. 
 
 Nehushta pushed the slaves aside and fled toward the 
 palace. The truth had flashed across her. Some armed 
 force was collecting on the hills to descend upon the 
 palace. But one thought filled her mind: she must 
 find Zoroaster and warn him. 
 
 Througli the garden she ran, and up the broad steps 
 to the portico. Slaves were moving about under the 
 colonnade, ligliting the great torches that burned there 
 all night. They had not heard the strange cries from 
 the hills. As she entered the great hall, she heard the 
 cry again. 
 
 "Go," she said to the little Syrian maid, "go in one 
 
 Risino inflection is f>rost>i-ctive: falling inflection is retrospective; monotone 
 is suspensive.— hEwns B. Monroe.
 
 226 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 direction and I will go in another, and search out 
 Zoroaster, the high priest, and bring him." 
 
 The girl turned and ran through the halls, and Ne- 
 hushta went another way upon her search. On and on 
 she went till she came to her own apartment. Not so 
 much as one white-robed priest had she seen. Some- 
 thing within her told her that she was in great danger, 
 and the calm she had seen in the palace could not allay 
 the terror of that cry she had heard three times from 
 the hills. Just then the Syrian maid came running in, 
 and fell breathless at Nehushta's feet. 
 
 " Fly, fly, beloved mistress," she cried; " the devils of 
 the mountains are upon us — they cover the hills — they 
 are closing every entrance — the people in the lower pal- 
 ace are all slain." 
 
 " Where is Zoroaster?" 
 
 " He is in the temple with the priests— by this time 
 he is surely slain — he could know of nothing that is go- 
 ing on — fly, fly!" cried the girl. 
 
 " On which side are they coming?" asked Nehushta. 
 
 "From the hills; from the hills they are descending 
 in thousands," cried the frightened slave-women. 
 
 " Go you all to the farther window," commanded Ne- 
 hushta. " Leap down upon the balcony — it is scarce a 
 man's height, — follow it to the end and past the corner 
 where it joins the main wall of the garden. Run along 
 upon the wall till you find a place where you can de- 
 scend. Through the gardens you can easily reach the 
 road. Fly, and save yourselves in the darkness." But 
 before she had half finished, the last of the slave-women, 
 mad with terror, disappeared. 
 
 " Why do you not go with the rest?" asked Nehushta 
 
 of the Syrian maid. 
 
 4— — — .{. 
 
 A man shrinks /roiii the object he is considering ivhenez'Cr it inspires him 
 
 ■with a feeling of repulsion. He shrinks from it particularly when it inspires 
 
 I kim with fright. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 227 
 
 " I have eaten thy bread, shall I leave thee in the 
 hour of death?" asked the slave. 
 
 "Go, child," replied Nehushta. " I have seen thy de- 
 votion; thou must not perish." 
 
 But the Syrian leaped to her feet as she answered: 
 
 "I am a bondwoman, but I am a daughter of Israel, 
 even as thou art. Though all the others leave thee, I 
 will not. It may be that I can help thee." 
 
 "Thou art a brave child," said Nehushta. "I must 
 go to Zoroaster; stay thou here, hide thyself among the 
 curtains, escape by the window if any come to harm 
 thee." She turned and went rapidly out. 
 
 But the maid grasped the knife in her girdle, and 
 stole upon her mistress's steps. The din rose louder 
 every moment — the shrieks of wounded women with 
 tlie moaning of wounded men, the clash of swords and 
 arms, and, occasionally, a quick, loud rattle, as half a 
 dozen arrows struck the wall together. 
 
 Onward flew Nehushta. She shuddered as she passed 
 the head of the great staircase and heard a wild shriek 
 that died suddenly into a gurgling death-hiss. She 
 paused as she reached the temple-door, and listened. 
 Faintly through the thick walls she could hear the 
 sound of tlie evening chant. The priests were all within 
 with Zoroaster, unconscious of their danger. Nehushta 
 tried the door. The great bronze gates were locked, 
 and though slie pushed \\\\.\\ lier whole strength, they 
 would not move a hair's breadth. 
 
 "Press the nail nearest the middle," said a small 
 voice. Nehushta started. It was the little Syrian 
 slave. She put her hand upon the round head of the 
 nail and pressed. The door opened, turning noislessly 
 upon its hinges. The seventy priests, in even rank, 
 
 Each impression needs liit one e.r^iession^ so do not multiply gestures. 
 Gesture should not usurp the office o/ speech^ ctherivise it becomes panttmime. 
 — Genevieve Stebbins. 
 
 X
 
 228 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 stood round. Solemnly the chant rose around the sa- 
 cred fire upon the black stone altar. Zoroaster stood 
 before it, his hands lifted in prayer. But Nehushta 
 with a sudden cry broke their melody: 
 
 "Zoroaster — fiy — there is yet time! The enemy are 
 come in thousands; they are in the palace. There is 
 barely time!" 
 
 The high priest turned calmly, his face unmoved, 
 although all the priests ceased their chanting and 
 gathered about their chief in fear. As their voices 
 ceased, a low roar was heard from without, as though 
 the ocean were beating at the gates. 
 
 " Go thou and save thyself," said" Zoroaster. " I will 
 not go. If it be the will of the All-Wise that I perish, 
 I will perish before this altar. Go thou quickly, and save 
 thyself while there is yet time." 
 
 But Nehushta took his hand in hers, and gazed into 
 his calm eyes. 
 
 " Knowest thou not, Zoroaster, that I would rather 
 die with thee than live with any other? I swear to thee, 
 by the God of my fathers, I will not leave thee!" 
 
 "There is no more time!" cried the Syrian maid. 
 "There is no more time! Ye are all dead men! Be- 
 hold, they are breaking down the doors!" 
 
 As she spoke, the noise of some heavy mass striking 
 against the bronze gates echoed like thunder through 
 the temple, and at each blow a chorus of hideous yells 
 rose, wild and long drawn out. 
 
 " Can none of you save Zoroaster?" cried Nehushta. 
 
 But Zoroaster gently said: "Ye cannot save me, for 
 my hour is come; we must die like men, and like priests 
 of the Lord before His altar;" and, raising one hand to 
 heaven, he chanted: 
 
 Dramatic singing is dangooiis to the I'ocal organism: particularly when 
 one practices the shriek or scream, which produces a fine effect -when skilful- 
 ly employed, but is most pernicious when used in excess. — ViKUSAWTK. 
 
 ♦*•
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 229 
 
 % 
 
 CHANT OF ZOROASTER. 
 Maestoso. Marcato m arzial, Cjompoaed by 8. G. Pratt. 
 
 u_ > > . > 
 
 SE^ 
 
 zt:^Ei 
 
 wnr 
 
 ^ 
 
 v—^ 
 
 * d' d 
 
 Praise we the all wise God, Who hath made and created the 
 
 EmpJiasize. 
 
 ^.g ^^Zi^ZjZlttf E^ 
 
 S' 
 
 U=t: 
 
 ^ 
 
 hand are all power and honor and glory ; Who made the day of 
 
 m 
 
 life that should rise up and lighten the shadow of death. 
 
 ^ 
 
 g^E^ 
 
 l±S 
 
 r^ 
 
 i^- 
 
 Wi 
 
 M 
 
 atm. 
 
 — ^- 
 
 f 
 
 I
 
 230 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 With a crash the great bronze doors gave way, and 
 fell clanging in. In an instant the temple was filled 
 with a swarm of hideous men. Their swords gleamed 
 aloft as they pressed forward, and their yells rent the 
 roof. They had hoped for treasure — they saw but a 
 handful of white-robed, unarmed men. Their rage 
 knew no bounds, and their screams rose more piercing 
 than ever, as they surrounded the doomed band, and 
 dyed their blades in the blood that flowed red over tlie 
 white vestures. 
 
 The priests struggled like brave men, but the foe were 
 a hundred to one. At last, one tall wretch leaped across 
 a heap of slain and laid hold of Nehushta by the hair 
 and strove to drag her out. But Zoroaster's arms went 
 round her like lightning and clasped her to his breast. 
 The Syrian maid raised her knife, with both hands, high 
 above her head, and smote the villain with all her might. 
 But ere he had fallen, a sharp blade fell swiftly and 
 severed the small hands at the wrist, and the brave lit- 
 tle slave fell shrieking to the floor. One shriek, and 
 that was all; for the same sword smote her again, and 
 so she died. 
 
 But Nehushta's head fell forward on the high priest's 
 breast, and her arms clasped him wildly. 
 
 " Oh, Zoroaster, my beloved, my beloved! Say not 
 any more that I am unfaithful, for I have been faithful 
 even unto death, and I shall be with you beyond the 
 stars forever!" 
 
 " Beyond the stars and forever!" he cried; "in the 
 light of the glory of God most high!" 
 
 The keen sword flashed and severed Nehushta's neck, 
 
 and found its sheath in her lover's heart; and the}' fell 
 
 down dead together, and the slaughter was done. 
 
 J, 
 
 Tones should be swelled on a single note^ E\) of the medium. By strengthen- 
 ing this intermediate note the ascending and descending scales are symj>athet- 
 ically strengthened. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 231 
 
 A THANKSGIVING ELOPEMENT. 
 
 N. S. Emerson. 
 
 /^UT in the beautiful country, 
 
 ^-^^ When the yellow moon was high, 
 
 When the autumn fruits were garnered, 
 
 And the winter nights were nigh, 
 Old Farmer Pratt was counting 
 
 His herds of lowing kine, 
 His sheep with growing fleeces, 
 
 His lazy, fattened swine. 
 
 And as he reckoned slowly. 
 
 He paused to muse awhile, 
 When two young voices near him 
 
 Awoke a passing smile. 
 One was his eldest daughter, 
 
 Priscilla, speaking low, 
 And the other was one of his neighbors. 
 
 He guessed, but he did not know. 
 
 " I can't!" Priscilla was saying, 
 
 " I can't! it's going too far; 
 It would make me doubly wretched 
 
 To be deceiving ma. 
 And father" — he felt the shudder 
 
 That he could not hear or see; 
 And he said: "I b'lieve Priscilla 
 
 Is really afraid of me. 
 
 "She's a skeery thing, like her mother; 
 But I vow I didn't suppose 
 
 The injlections are in accord with the eyehrotus. When the brcnvs are 
 raised the voice is raised. This is the normal movement oy the voice in re- 
 lation to the cychroxv. — Delaumosne.
 
 232 
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 The words I've said so keerless 
 
 Was goin' home so close. 
 I've laughed about Reuben, and called him 
 
 A sort of shiftless lad, 
 But I never thought the fellow 
 
 Was anything very bad. 
 
 "It seems he's been coaxin' and teasin' 
 
 My Prissie to run away; 
 It can't do no harm (I'm her father) 
 
 To listen to what they say. 
 If he gives her up for fear o' me, 
 
 I don't think much of him, 
 And I wonder, should Prissie lose him. 
 
 Would it make her bright eyes dim?" 
 
 " Priscilla, darling," 'twas Reuben, 
 
 Speaking soft and low, 
 " I've waited in hope and patience 
 
 Two weary years, you know, 
 And loved you as only a man loves 
 
 The woman he means to wed; 
 And only for your sake, Prissie, 
 
 No word have I ever said 
 
 "To anyone on the subject; 
 
 But to-night — now, listen, dear. 
 We must have this matter settled; 
 
 I can't wait another year. 
 I'll talk with your father to-morrow, 
 
 And learn his objections to me." 
 
 Singing is not merely a means of displaying the singer^ s voice or />erson; it 
 is a superior language^ charged ivith the rendering, in its individual charm, 
 o/ the greatest creations o/ literature and poetry. — Delsarte.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 233 
 
 "Oh, no!" said Priscilla in terror, 
 " For then he would think that we — 
 
 " That I had been talking about him, 
 
 And that makes him angriest of all." 
 Then Reuben's voice grew firmer, 
 
 And seemed to clearer fall: 
 " Your father is not an ogre; 
 
 I do not dread his wrath; 
 'Tis better for us to be honest. 
 
 And keep a straightforward path. 
 
 " But if he hates me as bad as you think for. 
 
 Of course he'll refuse outright 
 All consent to our ever wedding. 
 
 And leave us no chance for flight; 
 So I've made up my mind to one thing; 
 
 If you persistently say 
 That I mustn't speak to your father. 
 
 Why, then, we must run away." 
 
 "Oh, Reuben!" "Now, Prissie, darling, 
 
 I leave it to you to choose, 
 I've lost my heart and my patience. 
 
 But my wife I'm not willing to lose. 
 I sha'n't discuss the subject 
 
 By another word to-night, 
 But the day before Thanksgiving, 
 
 If everything's fair and bright, 
 
 " I'll hitch up my roan colt Major — " 
 
 The young folks moved away. 
 And old Farmer Pratt stared dumbly. 
 
 All the educational systems of the ivorlJ can have but one primary aim: to 
 cultiziale an i>:stinctive ability in the puf'it. Instinct is the force of habit. — 
 Franklin H. Sargent.
 
 234 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 With his head against the hay. 
 Next morning he watched Priscilla, 
 
 Her blue eyes were swimming in tears, 
 And her quivering chin told plainly 
 
 That her heart was full of fears. 
 
 The day before Thanksgiving 
 
 Dawned crisp and bright and clear; 
 And Farmer Pratt's old kitchen 
 
 Was crowded with good cheer. 
 All day the golden cider 
 
 Slow trickled from the mill, 
 And all day long the farmer 
 
 Was thinking, thinking still. 
 
 Toward night he jammed his hat on 
 
 With most unusual vim, 
 And went across the meadow 
 
 At a rapid stride, for him; 
 And then, ten minutes later, 
 
 He paused beside a door 
 That he left in bitter anger 
 
 Some fifteen years before. 
 
 Out stepped a cheery matron; 
 
 "Why, Brother Pratt! You here! 
 I'm sure I'm glad to see you; 
 
 Walk in and take a cheer. 
 The weather's getting chilly. 
 
 How is your wife this fall? 
 I often see your boys round, 
 
 Handsome, and strong, and tall." 
 
 T/ie word is but an echo, the thought made external and visible, the a^nbas- 
 sador of intelligence. Every energetic passion, every deep sentiment, is ac- 
 cordingly announced by a sign of the head, the hand, or the eye, be/ore the 
 word expresses it. — Delsakte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 235 
 
 But while he questioned to himself 
 
 If she'd take Reuben's part, 
 The outer door swung slowly, 
 
 And in walked Deacon Hart. 
 The young fo^ks had asked no favors; 
 
 They knew an old feud lay 
 Smouldering between the fathers, 
 
 So they would run away. 
 
 But when the two men parted 
 
 Beside the meadow stile, 
 Both faces wrinkled kindly 
 
 With a grim and sober smile. 
 Soon after came the roan colt, 
 
 Shaking his handsome head; 
 The bells were not on the harness. 
 
 And the horse seemed to lightly tread. 
 
 Priscilla liushed her sobbing, 
 
 And hurried down the stair; 
 But just as she was stepping 
 
 Out into the frosty air. 
 The kitchen door flew open; 
 
 Two tallow dips ablaze 
 Filled her with sudden terror, 
 
 And Reuben with amaze. 
 
 But her father's voice was calling: 
 
 " Here, John, you hurry now. 
 Go get the ewe and cossets; 
 
 Drive round the brindle cow; 
 
 Delsnrte teaches that the rclntions bctzvcen the physical and the psychical are 
 so intricate aud subtle that ivhateTer /omt of expression is given to one re- 
 flects itsel/^ ufion the other. As the hody assiiin,-s mean and gro7'elling atti- 
 tudes^ or majestic and beauti/ul ones, so the mind ~u'ill be influenced. — Mrs. 
 Edna Snkll I'oulson.
 
 236 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Roll out that barrel of apples, 
 And the white Chenangoes fine; 
 
 And bring a keg of cider, 
 And a jug of currant wine. 
 
 " Willie, tie up a feather-bed, 
 
 And put the pillows in; 
 And, mother, where's the pillow-slips, 
 
 And sheets, and quilts, and things? 
 Bring out the new rose blankets 
 
 That in the clothes-press lay; 
 Prissie must have her setting out — 
 
 She's going to run away." 
 
 Imagine all the wonder 
 
 That from this was sure to come! 
 Imagine tears and kisses 
 
 Thrown in ad libitum! 
 And two shame-faced young people 
 
 Waiting another day, 
 And then concluding quietly 
 
 That they wouldn't run away. 
 
 The happiest Thanksgiving 
 
 That e'er New England knew 
 Dawned on the village homes next day, 
 
 Where those hearts beat warm and true. 
 Old feuds were all forgotten, 
 
 Old troubles laid aside. 
 And Reuben lived to bless the day 
 
 He won his happy bride. 
 
 / 
 
 Two things are to be observed in the consonant: its explosion and its prepara- 
 tion. The t,d,p, etc., keep us 7uaiiing; the ch, 7\j; prepare themselves., as 
 " vvvenez.''"' The vocals ne, me, re, are muffled. — Dblsarte. 
 
 +
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 237 
 
 MARY JANE AND I. 
 
 Annie Rothwell. 
 
 T WAS out last night in the orchard, a-thinkin' of 
 Mary Jane, 
 
 Leanin' over the gate at sundown, when the gal hap- 
 pened up the lane. 
 
 She kind o' stopped short when she saw me — "Good 
 evenin', marm," she said ; 
 
 While her cheeks took on a color like the apple-blos- 
 soms overhead. 
 
 Mary Jane's my next neighbor's daughter : she's power- 
 ful set on my Joe ; 
 
 I haven't got much agin her — she's a good enough gal 
 as gals go, 
 
 But she can't make a shirt if you paid her, and her but- 
 ter's none o' the best ; 
 
 I'd been stiff, I own — never said so, but I think that 
 she somehow guessed. 
 
 So she blushed and stammered a little when she found 
 
 me there at the gate 
 'Stead o' Joe. I felt ugly, forgettin' that every young 
 
 thing seeks its mate. 
 She's on one side and I on t'other, with a river o' years 
 
 between — 
 I was nine and forty last birthday, and Mary Jane is 
 
 nineteen. 
 
 And we stood and looked at each other, and couldn't 
 
 find much to say. 
 
 The slide ahvnys falls on the accented syllable of the Tco-d'. — Lewis B. 
 Monroe.
 
 238 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Joe's my youngest — the feelin's o' twenty years can't 
 
 take second place in a day. 
 So the best I could do was — nothin' but keep tongue 
 
 and temper still ; 
 Till suddenly, out from the thicket, there started a 
 
 whippoorwill, 
 
 Suddent and loud and throbbin', and a lump riz up in 
 my throat, 
 
 As it all came back in a minute how I'd heard that self- 
 same note 
 
 The night Rube kissed me and asked me, and I didn't 
 tell him no — 
 
 Oh, my heart ! how well I remember it all, though it's 
 thirty years ago. 
 
 The long day of hard work and hard livin', and the 
 
 evenin' when I could slip 
 To the turn of the road and get full pay in the touch of 
 
 my Reuben's lip, 
 And the heavy scoldin' borne cheerful, because 'twas 
 
 for Reuben's sake. 
 It's a lovely dream— oh, the pity that the daylight 
 
 comes and we wake ! 
 
 And afterward, when together we fought for our daily 
 
 bread 
 On the little rough farm on the hillside, in a home 
 
 scarce more than a shed — 
 What did Reuben care for my sewin', if I never had set 
 
 a stitch. 
 And we'd eaten dry bread for ever, if we'd had to part 
 
 to be rich ? 
 
 The mouth is a vital ther/Hometer ^ the nose a moral ihermoiiietcr.—'DKt- 
 
 SARTE.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 239 
 
 It's all over — I'm widowed this ten years. The best farm 
 
 in the county's my own ; 
 And I wished I was back on ten acres as I leaned on 
 
 that gate— alone. 
 It's all over — but still I've been happy, so maybe I 
 
 shouldn't complain. 
 Then the thought shivered thro' me like lightnin' — ought 
 
 I grudge it to Mary Jane ? 
 
 Life comes pretty hard on most of us, and it's none too 
 
 sweet at the best ; 
 Aint it rather a shame when our own is spoiled to wish 
 
 the same by the rest ? 
 My Joe is his father's born ditto — can the gal help her 
 
 likes more than me ? 
 She's nineteen, and a rosebud — Joe's twenty-one ; what 
 
 hinders the lad to see ? 
 
 Can I keep the dews from fallin', or forbid the growth 
 
 of the pine ? 
 Just as soon as stop young folks from lovin' because I'm 
 
 forty-nine ! 
 Can I blame 'em for likin' the fresh sweet cup that only 
 
 young folks can taste, 
 When Td give all I've got for that one June night with 
 
 Reuben's arm round my waist ? 
 
 So the whippoorwill taught me my lesson. I choked 
 
 down the jealous spite, 
 And I got my reward in a soft, shy smile, for I kissed 
 
 Mary Jane good-night, 
 Though I swallowed a sob as I turned away when Joe 
 
 came over the hill. 
 Well, it's hardly likely they'll ever know what they owe 
 
 to that whippoorwill. 
 
 There should be but one climax: all else must ascend toward it or descend 
 from jV.— Genevieve Stebbins.
 
 240 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 DROPS. 
 
 Peter Robertson. 
 
 T T is a bright summer day in the valley. The stream 
 goes dancing down, and the merry globules hud- 
 dled all together are laughing as they pass away to the 
 deep sea, to mingle with millions of other drops gath- 
 ered from all sorts of places. There are happy drops, 
 escaped from the caverns and the rocks, from the depths 
 of the darkness under the mountains; there are unwill- 
 ing drops, that in the morning lay on the rose leaves and 
 took the hues of dainty beauty from their tints; un- 
 happy drops, that long again to be mist, and hang over 
 the mountain-tops and creep among the fragrant pines; 
 gay and laughing drops, that have been rumbling over 
 the boulders in and out of shadow, looking forward to 
 the hour when they should rush out into the valley and 
 be free at last. Among the joyous group one little drop 
 goes silently and sadly along, jostled by the others, but 
 heeding not their merriment. 
 
 " Wh}'- are you sad ?" asks one who has seen the glo- 
 rious sunlight but a few hours. " Are you not glad to be 
 out, dancing and sparkling like the rest of u§ ? Did 
 you love your dark chamber in the rocks so much ?" 
 
 "My chamber was darker than the rocks," answers 
 the other. " I am a tear from a mother's heart, a 
 mother who wept for her child." 
 
 A little way off two other drops fall together, drawn 
 by mutual sorrow. They wander down side by side, 
 neither speaking. The gay flood dashes on the banks, 
 flashes over rocks, makes a feint of climbing up to seize 
 
 A voice, however powerful it may be, should be inferior to the power which 
 animates it. — Delsarte. 
 
 / 
 /
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK.- 241 
 
 the flowers that bloom above it, and rattles laughingly 
 away. Some of tlie drops, too venturesome, throw them- 
 selves up at the bending sprays of green, are caught and 
 lost. But through it all the two sad little things, holding 
 on to one another, float on toward the sea. 
 
 "What are you ?" asks one at last. " Did you come 
 from the mist or from the earth? Were you a dew- 
 drop this morning, or did you fall from the clouds ?" 
 
 " I am none of these," it answers. " I am from a 
 woman's britjlit eve. I am the tear of a woman for a 
 false lover." 
 
 " Grieve not! Be not so sad. I — am the tear of the 
 girl who got him .'" 
 
 THE VOLUNTEER ORGANIST. 
 
 S. W. Foss. 
 
 " I "HE gret big church wuz crowded full uv broadcloth 
 
 "*■ an' uv silk. 
 An' satins rich as cream thet grows on our ol' brindle's 
 
 milk; 
 Shined boots, biled shirts, stiff dickeys an' stove-pipe 
 
 hats were there, 
 An' doods 'ith trouserloons so tight they couldn't kneel 
 
 in prayer. 
 
 The elder in his poolpit high, said, as he slowly riz: 
 "Our organist is kep' to hum, laid up 'ith roomatiz. 
 An' as we hev no substitoot, as Brother Moore ain't here, 
 
 The lowered bro7v signifies retention^ repulsion: it is the signiJicatioH of a 
 closed door. The elevated broiv means the open door. The mind opens to let 
 in the light or to alloxv it to escape. — Delaumosne.
 
 242 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Will some 'un in the congergation be so kind's to vol- 
 unteer ?" 
 
 An' then a half-starved, shattered tramp, of wretched 
 
 shabby style, 
 Give an interductory cough, an' sadly staggered up the 
 
 aisle. 
 
 Then thro' thet holy atmosphere there crep' a sense er 
 sin. 
 
 As tho'some strange, unholy thing had unseen entered in. 
 
 Then Deacon Purington exclaimed, his teeth all set on 
 
 edge: 
 "This man purfanes the house er God! Wy this is 
 
 sacrilege!" 
 The tramp didn't hear a word he said, but slouched 'ith 
 
 stumblin' feet, 
 An' slowly staggered up the steps, an' gained the organ 
 
 seat. 
 
 Then he went pawin' thro' the keys, an' soon there rose 
 
 a strain 
 Thet seemed to jest bulge out the heart, an' 'lectrify the 
 
 brain; 
 An' then he slapped down on the thing 'ith hands an' 
 
 head an' knees, 
 He slam-dashed his hull body down kerflop upon the 
 
 keys. 
 
 The organ roared, the music flood went sweepin' high 
 
 an' dry. 
 It swelled into the rafters, an' reached out into the sky, 
 
 I deny that the thermontetric action of the shoulder undergoes the least 
 alteration in the aristocratic -world. I deny explicitly that this agent proves 
 less expressive and less- truthful there than in the street.— Delsaktb.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 243 
 
 The ol' church shook an' staggered, an' seemed to reel 
 
 an' sway, 
 An' the elder shouted "Glory!" an' I yelled out 
 
 "Hooray!" 
 
 An' then he tried a tender strain thet melted in our 
 
 ears, 
 Thet brouglit up blessed memories and drenched 'em 
 
 down 'ith tears ; 
 An' we dreamed uv ol'-time kitchens, 'ith Tabby on the 
 
 mat, 
 Uv home an' luv an' baby-days, an' mother, an' all that! 
 
 An' then he struck a streak uv hope — a song from souls 
 
 forgiven — 
 Thet burst from prison-bars uv sin, an' stormed the 
 
 gates uv heaven ; 
 The morning stars they sung together, no soul wuz left 
 
 alone ; 
 We felt the universe wuz safe, an' God wniz on his 
 
 throne! 
 
 An' then a wail uv deep despair an' darkness come 
 
 again, 
 An' long, black crape hung on the doors uv all the 
 
 homes uv men; 
 No love, no light, no joy, no hope, no songs uv glad de- 
 I light. 
 
 An' then — the tramp, he staggered down an' passed into 
 
 the night! 
 
 But we knew he'd tol' his story, tho' he never spoke a 
 word. 
 
 Unconscious consttiction is the elciitent of which we most need to riii our- 
 selves. We must overcome this rigidity in the muscles^/or it means frigidity 
 in the emotions and their e.xfrcssion. — Mrs. Edna Snei.l Poilson. 
 
 •I- 
 
 V
 
 244 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 An' it wuz the saddest story thet our ears had ever 
 
 heard; 
 He had tol' his own life's history, an' no eye was dry thet 
 
 day, 
 Wen the elder rose an' simply said : " My brethren, let 
 
 us pray." 
 
 MICKEY TREE'S LETTER TO MRS 
 
 M'GRA. 
 
 Charles Lever. Arranged by John A. MacCabe. 
 
 [As Mr. Free's letter may be as great a curiosity to you as it has 
 been to me, I will read it. The occasional interruption to the current 
 of the letter arises from Mike having used the pen of a comrade, writ- 
 ing being, doubtless, an accomplishment forgotten in the haste of pre- 
 paring Mr. Free for the world; and the amanuensis has, in more than 
 one instance, committed to paper more than was meant by the author.] 
 
 A/fRS. M'GRA, — Tear-an'-ages, sure I need not be 
 treating her that way. Now just say, Mrs. 
 Mary ; ay, that'll do:— Mrs. Mary, it's maybe surprised 
 you'll be to be reading a letter from your humble ser- 
 vant, sitting on the top of the Alps. — Arrah, maybe its 
 not the Alps; but sure she'll n^ver know — foment the 
 whole French army, with Bony himself and all his jin- 
 nerals — God be between us and harm — ready to murther 
 every mother's son of us, av they was able, Molly, dar- 
 lin'; but, with the blessing of Providence, and Lord 
 Wellington, and Misther Charles, we'll bate them yet, as 
 we bate them afore. 
 
 " My lips is wathering at the thought o' the plunder. 
 I often think of Tim Riley, that was hanged for sheep- 
 stealing; he'd be worth his weight in gold here. 
 
 1/ in looking at a nvovtan I clasp »iy hands, and at the same time raise my 
 shoulders, there is no longer any doubt of my feeling; and instinctively every 
 one will say: '' He loves her truly.""— Delsartb.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 245 
 
 *' Misther Charles is now a captain — devil a less — and 
 myself might be somethin' that same, but ye see I was 
 always of a basliful nature, and recommended the 
 masther in my place. * He's mighty young, Misther 
 Charles is,' says my Lord Wellington to me — * he's mighty 
 young, Mr. Free.' * He is, my lord,' says I ; ' he's 
 young, as you obsarve, but he's as inuch divilment in 
 him as many that might be his father.' ' That's some- 
 thin', Mr. Free,' says my lord; 'ye say he comes of a 
 good stock?' 'The rale sort, my lord,' says I; 'an ould, 
 ancient family, that's spent every sixpence they had in 
 treating their neighbors. My father lived near them for 
 years' — you see, Molly, I said that to season the dis- 
 coorse. ' We'll make him a captain,' says my lord; ' but, 
 Mr. Free, could we do nothing for you?' ' Nothing, at 
 present, my lord. When my friends come into power,' 
 says I, ' they'll think of me. There's many a little thing 
 to give away in Ireland, and they often find it mighty 
 hard to find a man for lord-lieutenant; and if that 
 
 same, or a tide-waiter's place was vacant' 'Just tell 
 
 me,' says my lord. 'It's what I'll do,' says I. 'And 
 now, wishing you happy dreams, I'll take my lave.' 
 Just so, Molly, it's hand and glove we are. A pleasant 
 face, agreeable manners, seasoned with natural modesty, 
 and a good pair of legs, them's the gifts to push a man's 
 way in tlie world. And even with the ladies — but sure 
 I'm forgetting, my masther was proposed for, and your 
 humble servant, too, by two illigant creatures in Lis- 
 bon; but it wouldn't do, Molly, — it's higher nor that 
 we'll be looking — rale princesses, the devil a less. 
 
 "Tell Kitty Hannigan I hope she's well; she was a 
 disarving young woman in her situation in life. Shusey 
 
 A boiv inust not be always bent: and, on the same principle y the body should 
 not be always tense. — Genevieve Stebbins.
 
 246 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Dogherty, at the cross-roads — if I don't forget the 
 name — was a good-looking slip, too; give her my affec- 
 tionate salutations, as we say in the Portuguese. I hope 
 I'll be able to bear the inclementuous nature of your 
 climate, when I go back; but I can't expect to stay 
 long — for Lord Wellington can't do without me. We 
 play duets on the guitar together every evening. The 
 masther is shouting for a blanket, so no more at present 
 
 from, 
 
 " Your very affectionate friend, 
 
 " Mickey Free. 
 
 " P.S. — I don't write this myself, for the Spanish 
 tongue puts me out o' the habit of English. Tell 
 Father Rush, if he'd study the Portuguese, I'd use mj' 
 interest for him with the bishop of Toledo. It's a 
 country he'd like. " 
 
 THE B. B. ROMANCE. 
 
 Edgar Fawcett, Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 
 
 [Mr. Buntling, a wealthy pork-dealer, and his wife have just returned 
 from Europe and are spending a season in New York for the purpose 
 of making a notable match for their daughter Jane."" Mrs. B. gives a 
 ball to introduce themselves into society. The guests arrive, and Jane, 
 soon wearying of the idle talk, goes alone into the conser\'atory say- 
 ing:] 
 
 JANE. How bitter sounds their frigid worldliness! I 
 loathe it all. 
 I act a part, and am not what I seem. 
 These six bouquets, sent by myself, are borne 
 As mask and sham, concealing my true will. 
 
 There is very little harviony or relation between the exquisite joints 0/ a re- 
 fined nature^ the swift and the Jlexible nioi'ements 0/ an elegant organism, 
 and the ezwlutions clumsily executed by torpid litnbs, ankylosed, as it were, 
 by hard and constant labor. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 247 
 
 For I desire no vain supremacy 
 
 In ranks of fashion, but my soul has bowed 
 
 In reverent homage to Leander Briggs. 
 
 Obscure is my Leander; we have met 
 
 But thrice. He is a simple dry-goods clerk, 
 
 Yet his pure, lofty soul towers high above 
 
 The gross necessities of dry-goods; he 
 
 Is nobly eminent, a man of men. 
 
 Would he were here to-night! 
 
 Leander Briggs. Jane, loveliest of all womankind! I 
 dare 
 To greet thee; I am insolently here! 
 
 Jane. Here! Thou, Leander? Thou art here to- 
 night ? 
 
 Leander, I am. 
 
 Jane. By invitation ? 
 
 Leander. Nay, without. 
 
 Jane. What means this unsurpassed audacity? 
 
 Leander. Nay, hearken ere thou blame. Since that 
 sweet hour 
 When thou didst purchase two yards of pink silk 
 Of Meares and Company, a fierce, wild flame 
 Seems burning this poor heart of mine to ash. 
 No more for me my boarding-house allures 
 Wl>en the long dining-table buzzes high 
 With social chat, and gossip thrives elate. 
 No more to me the obdurate beefsteak 
 Nor yet the sinewy chop seem tender viands, 
 For healthful appetite has fled my life. 
 Never again the unpalatable bread. 
 The inferior butter, the imporous tart, 
 The gravy turned conglomerate, nor the soup 
 
 Encourage attitudes that are symj'athetic, royal, and significant o/ spirit- 
 ual heroism, and you will foster the sentiments that these attitudes syinholize. 
 — Mrs. Edna Snell Poulson. 
 
 N
 
 248 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 O'erfilmed with lucid grease, can satisfy. 
 
 The huge emporium, with its clamors coarse, 
 
 Its mercantile vulgarity, its yells 
 
 Of " cash," its haggling customers, its air 
 
 Gf sordid discipline, repels and shocks. 
 
 Thy face, thine e3'es. 
 
 Thy presence, haunt me with distracting force ! 
 
 And therefore I am here. O pity me! 
 
 Jane. That morn, when I made purchase of pink silk 
 Of Meares and Company, I will avow, 
 Was bright with new and strange experience. 
 
 Leander. Again didst thou appear. Again pink silk 
 I measured with unsteady hand. 
 
 Jane. True. And once more we met! 'Twas Friday 
 last. 
 
 Leander. Thou dost recall the day? O happiness! 
 
 day most memorable! O Broadway car, 
 Wherein we met! O fateful interview! 
 
 Jane. I learned thy name, and answered with mine 
 
 own. 
 Leander. We left the car. We strolled in quiet 
 streets, 
 Enthralled by dreamy converse, each with each. 
 
 Jane. 'Twas terribly imprudent. I repent 
 Mine act. I told thee all. No detail did I spare. 
 
 1 told thee of my proud and cold mamma; 
 I told thee of my democratic sire. 
 
 Leander. Thou didst. And eagerly I listened, too; 
 And ere we parted I had made resolve 
 To win thee as my bride, and sworn my love. 
 
 Jane. We cannot wed. Thine act is desperate 
 In coming hither. If mamma should dream 
 
 Gesture corresponds to the soul, to the heart; language to the life, to the 
 thought, to the mind. The life and the mind being subordinate to the heart, 
 to the soul, gesture is the chie/ organic agent. — DelsarTE,
 
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 05
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 249 
 
 What man thou really art, her wrath would fall 
 Alike on me and thee with fearful weight. 
 She wills that I shall wed some haughtier name, 
 Some man with old Dutch blood, though lean of purse. 
 Wherefore tarry not. 
 But go at once, nor e'en delay to taste 
 The succulent oyster and the bronze-brown quail. 
 Leander. Quail me no quails, O thou supremelj 
 
 loved! 
 Nay, oyster me no oysters, cruel heart! 
 Is love so weak in thy chill maiden breast 
 That fear can slay it thus, nor lightly let 
 One meagre smile pass faintly o'er thy lips? 
 No timorous palpitance of moistened lid. 
 No transitory touch of palm to palm. 
 No last brief look of love immeasurable. 
 Blossoming between thine eyelids and thine eyes ? 
 Jane. Whence hast thou caught such warm-hued 
 
 trick of speech ? 
 Thine eloquence is like the bloomful chintz 
 That florid, sanguine, gorgeous, hangs for sale 
 Above thy counter at the Meares bazaar. 
 
 Leander. Let me go hence. I think I shall not live 
 A great while, now. When thou shalt hear the news 
 That I am dead at Number Twenty-Blank 
 West Thirty-Seventh Street, front room, third floor, 
 I pray of you to bear it well in mind 
 That I particularly do request 
 No flowers be sent. Such act were mockery. 
 Live shalt thou, for no grief would make thee die. 
 
 Jane. Great grief would melt my heart. Of this thoo. 
 
 art sure. 
 
 In distinction equally /rom artifice and from nature, art gras/>s the essen- 
 tial with a noble disregard of the accidental, and finely subordinates what is 
 /articular to xvhat is general. — Rev. W. R. Aui.ek. 
 
 V
 
 250 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Leander. Sure am I not. Thou speakest weightless 
 words. • 
 
 Jane. As an ice-cream on a warm plate am I. 
 
 Leander. Thou meanest that thy spirit bids me stay? 
 
 Jane. I neither bid thee stay nor bid thee go. 
 
 Leander. So shall I then not heed, imploring thee 
 To fly with me this very night and seek 
 A clergyman, who straight will make us one. 
 
 Jane. Mamma draws near. What folly hast thou said.'' 
 
 Leander. I have said no folly. Dost thou deem it 
 such ? 
 
 Jane. Should I do this mad thing, I must get wraps. 
 
 Leander. Sealskin and wool thou verily must get. 
 
 Jane. Get them I would if courage failed me not. 
 
 Leander. Dear acquiescent Jane ! And yet I trace 
 Reluctant resignation in your phrase. 
 
 Jane. Farewell, the great church-organ's mellow 
 boom; 
 Farewell, the long train shimmering up the aisle; 
 Farewell, the point-lace drapery richly hung 
 Down o'er the neck bediamonded bright; 
 Farewell, the attendant maidens, the bouquets, 
 The subsequent reception — farewell, all! 
 Well do I fare, perchance, in thy true love. 
 Since brides that have no love like thine- fare ill. 
 Yet sweet it were to wed thee not by stealth. 
 But openly, engirt with joyful guests. 
 And feel, departing in my travelling-robe, 
 A storm of slippers pelt the carriage-roof. 
 
 Leander. Still thou wilt go, heeding thy promise 
 given. 
 
 Jane. Yes, I will go. Let's haste. 
 
 Lacordaire spoke magnificently. He hiierested, he aroused admiration, 
 but did not persuade. His organism was rebellious to gesture. He ■was t lie 
 artist of language. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 25 1 
 
 PET AND BIJOU. 
 
 Helen ^War Bean. 
 
 " l\/r Y dear, I'm delighted to see you, 
 
 And the dear |dogs! How perfectly sweet; 
 But you look scared. What can be the matter? 
 You are covered wit^h mud from the street." 
 
 " Oh, yes; I am wholly exhausted; 
 
 Do let me a moment recline; 
 And, Julia dear, if you would give me 
 
 Just the tiniest, wee drop of wine. 
 
 " Ah, thanks; I am sure 'twill revive me, 
 I've been nearly frightened to death; 
 
 I'll tell you, my dear, all about it, 
 
 When I've fully recovered my breath. 
 
 ** You know I am fearfully nervous, 
 
 And Pet, too, has seemed ill of late; 
 He wheezes and pants when he's walking, 
 
 So I sent out for old Doctor Waite, 
 
 " Who felt of my pulse for a moment, 
 
 Then nodded, and looked very wise, 
 And said in an unfeeling manner, 
 
 * What you all need is more exercise! * 
 
 " * We go out each day in the carriage,' 
 
 I said, but he pooh-poohed at that. 
 *• You must walk more, my dear, young lady,' 
 
 Then he hastily took up his hat. 
 
 " So early this morning we started 
 
 ('Twas really a great sacrifice) 
 To take for myself and my darlings 
 
 What the doctor prescribed, 'exercise.' 
 
 \ 
 
 A modifying phrase reverts by its pitch to the clause or word modified. — 
 Lewis B. Monroe.
 
 252 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 " The morning was perfectly charming, 
 And my costume so stylish and new; 
 
 I flattered myself we were striking, 
 As we walked down the broad avenue. 
 
 " Pet's chain was attached to my bracelet, 
 Just here, on this broad golden band; 
 
 And to Bijou I fastened a ribbon 
 
 Which I carelessly held in my hand. 
 
 " 'Twas really amusing to see them 
 
 Look down on the poor dogs they met; 
 
 Bijou was so proud and defiant. 
 Quite disdainful my dear little Pet. 
 
 " The rogues were so wild with excitement, 
 I scarcely could keep on my feet. 
 
 When all of a sudden Pet's chain broke, 
 And away he dashed into the street! 
 
 "Just try and imagine my feelings — 
 
 But you cannot, I'm sure, my dear Ju, — 
 
 When for dear little Pet I was looking, 
 I lost hold of precious Bijou! 
 
 " And just at that dreadful moment 
 
 I saw a big team going by; 
 Oh! how my poor heart sank within me 
 
 As I heard a loud bark and a cry. 
 
 " Quick into the street from the sidewalk 
 
 I ran, I might well say I flew, 
 Frightened almost out of my senses; 
 
 I felt sure it was Pet or Bijou. 
 + 
 
 Ravignan, inferior intellectually to Lacordaire, prepared his audience by 
 kis attitude, touched thetn by the general expression o/ his face, fascinated 
 them by his gaze.. He was the artist of gesture. — Delsarte.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 253 
 
 ** A great crowd of people had gathered 
 
 Round a form all covered with dirt, 
 And I never, my dear, was so thankful 
 
 When I found that my pets were unhurt. 
 
 '"Who was injured?' you ask, my dear Julia, 
 
 Oh, a poor little child of the street. 
 Who had strayed from some dismal, old alley, 
 
 With patched clothes, and bare little feet. 
 
 " He had a leg broken, or something, 
 
 I didn't have time to inquire, 
 But ran to my poor little treasures. 
 
 Whom I found running round in the mire. 
 
 "I caught up the mud-covered darlings, 
 And pressed them both close to my breast, 
 
 Too thankful to think of my costume, — 
 I've just ruined the rich, stylish vest! 
 
 "I think it's a shame that these people 
 Allow their young children to roam; 
 
 There should be a law to compel them 
 To keep the poor beggars at home. 
 
 " For, of course, such things are unpleasant 
 
 For a lady of weak nerves like me; 
 And, really, it has quite upset me. 
 
 As you, my dear Julia, can see. 
 
 " But I kept saying over and over, 
 
 Coming back on the broad avenue, 
 With a most grateful heart, ' Thank heaven, 
 
 It was neither dear Pet nor Bijou! 
 
 ^ ■ ^ 
 
 The most direct, universal^ and natural mode 0/ exfiression in titan and his 
 world is Tisible motion and its resultant /orms, and attendant colors and 
 qualities. — Franklin H. Sargent. 
 4.
 
 254 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 A COQUETTE CONQUERED. 
 
 Paul Laurexce Dunbar. 
 
 Y' 
 
 'ES, my h'a't's ez ha'd ez stone — 
 Go' way, Sam, an' lemme 'lone. 
 No, I ain't gwine change my min' — 
 Ain't gT\dne ma'y you — niiffin' de kin'. 
 
 Phiny loves you true an' deah? 
 Go ma'y Phiny; what I keer? 
 Oh, you needn't mou'n an' cry — 
 I don't keer how soon you die. 
 
 Got a present? Whut you got? 
 Somef'n fu' de pan er pot? 
 Huh ! Yo' sass do sholy beat — 
 Think I don't git 'nough to eat? 
 
 Whut's dat un'neaf 3^0' coat? 
 Looks des lak a little shoat. 
 'Tain't no possum ! Bless de Lamb ! 
 Yes, it is, you rascal, Sam! 
 
 Gin it to me! Whut you say? 
 Ain't you sma't now! Oh, go 'way! 
 [Pantomime of avoiding kiss.] 
 Possum do look mighty nice, 
 But you ax too big a price. 
 
 Tell me, is you talkin' true, 
 
 Dat's de gal's whut ma'ies you? 
 
 Come back, Sam; now whah's you g^vdne? 
 
 Co'se you know's dat possum's mine!
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 255 
 
 THE SWORD DRILL. 
 
 ^'THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE." 
 
 Anna B. Webb. 
 
 'T^HIS is designed for 16 girls in costume of navy 
 blue, made with zouave jacket and white vest, 
 wearing military caps, and carrying wooden swords 
 covered with silver tinsel. 
 
 The music to accompany the movements should be 
 in good march time, and spirited. 
 
 FED 
 Diagram I. 
 
 I. In two companies they advance from opposite sides 
 of stage, meeting partners at B, Diagram I. March to 
 front, E, in couples. Give military salute with left 
 hands and separate. 
 
 II. No. I marches E — D — C; No. 2 marches E — F — A. 
 Lines turning at C and A, follow dotted lines across to 
 F and D. Turn at these points and repeat the move- 
 ment. 
 
 III. Companies coming the third time to C and A 
 
 The management of the ivrist is o/ f;reat iinporiancey as uf>on that de/>e>tiis 
 the elastic carriage of the hanti. The tie>":'ous force, luhich flo'.vs tiotvn the 
 arm, should be held at the ivrist and prevented from over-energizing the 
 . hand. — Genevieve Stebbins. 
 
 4— ■ +
 
 256 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 
 
 meet partners at centre, G, and turn off to D and F. 
 Repeat. 
 
 15, 14, 13, 12, II, 10, 
 
 9. 8, 7, 6, 5, 
 
 4. 3. 2, I. 
 
 Diagram II. 
 
 IV. Turn on F and D and around the square to B, 
 where the entire company falls into single line, march 
 G — E — D — C — B — A — F. Take positions according to 
 Diagram II. 
 
 (No. 16 can step behind a screen until marching be- 
 gins again.) 
 
 V. The teacher, or a girl chosen to read the poem, 
 now gives the following orders: 
 
 1. Present Arms. Swords held with both hands in 
 front of face. 
 
 2. Shoulder Arms. Swords on right shoulder. 
 
 3. Carry Arms. Swords at right side. 
 
 4. Charge. High overhead. 
 
 5. Shoulder Arms. Same as No. 2. 
 
 6. Ground Arms. Points touch floor. 
 
 7. Attack. Overhead, points to right. 
 
 8. Retreat. Right foot thrown back, right hand 
 covering face, point of sword down. 
 
 9. Surrender. Fall on knees, handle of sword to 
 audience. 
 
 10. Carry Arms. Same as No. 3. 
 
 11. Sheathe Arms. Swords put in a case made of 
 stiffened cloth on left side. 
 
 \^Music ceases^ 
 The poem is read and class go through it in panto- 
 mime. 
 
 The head, considered in its three direct poses, presents three conditions or 
 states: when facing the oi'ject contemplated, it presents the normal state- bent 
 forward and in the direction of the object, it presents the concentric state • 
 raised and considering the object from above, it prese7its the eccentric state — 
 Delsarte. 
 
 +
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 257 
 
 Explanation' of Abbreviated Gesture Terms Used 
 
 IN Pantomime. 
 
 w. b. f. = weight to back foot, 
 
 w. f. f. = weight to front foot, 
 
 r. h. p. = right hand prone. 
 
 1. h. p. = left hand prone. 
 
 r. h. su. = right hand supine, 
 
 b. h. su. = H^th hands supine, 
 
 b. h. p. = both hands prone. 
 
 opp. = opposition of head and hand. 
 
 VI. w-b-f- Half a league, half a league, r. h. p. 3 strokes. 
 Half a league onward, 
 All in the valley of death b.h.su. 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 «.././." C/iarge .'" was the captain's cry. ^J'stZ'k^""^- 
 
 Theirs not to make reply; r.h. unci stroke, 
 w.b.f. Theirs not to reason why; r.h.p. 
 
 T-i • u 1. t « J^ r^^^A J.' ^ . r. Ii. stroke high on "do," 
 Theirs but to do, and die: descending on -die." 
 
 Into the valley of death b.h.p. 
 Rode the six hundred, opp. 
 
 •r././- Cannon to right of them, r.h.p. 
 Cannon to le/t of them, i.h p. 
 Cannon in front of them, ft h. vertical. 
 Volleyed and thundered: hold same position. 
 w.b.f Stormed at with shot and shell, i.h. covers face 
 Boldly they rode and well; b.h.ieveu 
 Into the jaws of death, b.h.p. 
 Into the mouth of hell, zndstroke. 
 Rode the six hundred, opp. 
 
 Flashed -dW their sabres bare, S'.Tr'ft^;?/'"^ 
 Flashed as they turned in air, f;;?'^;',^^:;',^. 
 
 T/tf history 0/ f>asston presents three fihases: first, /•assiott in its conren- 
 trated form: second, passion in its expatisir'e form: third, the prostration 
 which follows from that expansion. In proportion to the intensity of the con- 
 centration tviil t>v the force of the expansion and the completeness ofthepros- 
 , iration that follows. — Stup-XV. Mackave. 
 
 * — -i"
 
 258 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Sabring the gunners there, ToufdeT^''''^ 
 Charging an army, while St s"^-"*"^ 
 
 All the world wondered ! i.h.su. 
 Pliaigedxn the battery-^;;?^/^^, ^^Jo^J.^""'"^*"^"' 
 Right through the line they broke,ind stroke. 
 Cossack and Russian 
 Reeled from the saft-e-stroke, %f.Zuun6''^o^°'' 
 
 Shattered and sundered, swords thrown to floor. 
 Position. Then they rode back; but not — 
 
 Not the six hundred, opp. 
 
 w.f.f. Cannon to right of them, eyesto right. 
 Cannon to left of ih.tvc\, eyes to uft. 
 
 Cannon behind \.\\e.m, eyes over left shoulder. 
 
 Volleyed and thundered: AoJdpos«!on. 
 Stormed At with shot and shell, '^.-^rco<?e';?f%^^, 
 w.h.f. While horse and htvo fell, t.h.p. 
 
 They that had fought so well r.h. overhead. 
 Came through the jaws of death, b.h.p. 
 Back from the mouth of hell, tndstroke. 
 All that was left of them — t>.h.su. 
 
 Left of six hundred, indstroke. 
 
 When can their ^ory fadel r.h.su. 
 Oh, the wil3 charge they made! %ndstroke. 
 All the world wondered, b.h.sn. 
 Hojior the charge they made! r.h.su. 
 Honor the Light Brigade, — 2nd stroke hmer. 
 
 Noble six hundred! Zrd stroke ov,:rhead. 
 
 [Jlfusic begins.'] 
 At the command " recover arms," each girl steps back, 
 takes sword from floor, and carries it at right side. 
 VII. Left face, single file (Diagram I.), march D — C — 
 
 A ^ : 
 
 j IVAen me sini:. let 71s not /nrgei that the f-reluiie. the refrain, is the .<:/>Trit- 
 j ual exfiression of the sotjsc: ive imist cause our hearers to foresee hv the exfres- 
 \ s.icn 0/ our face the thought avii the 7uorifs thai are to /ollo7v—the auditor 
 i slnnld be dazzled by a sone that he has not yet heard., but that he dirines or 
 thinks that he divines. — Delsarte. 
 
 i- .
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 259 
 
 B — A — F — E. From E, No. i begins circle, winding it 
 smaller on every round until she reaches centre. Turn- 
 ing there, she retraces her steps until company is 
 brouglit into one large circle. 
 
 VIII. (Diagram I.) Single file. March B— G— E. 
 Odd numbers file left, even numbers file right. Form 
 two circles, one within the other. March around twice; 
 the third time halt at partners. March, even numbers 
 to right, odd to left, in and out, making the chain, twice 
 around. Halt at partners. Inner circle "about face;" 
 march, double file, around circle twice. 
 
 IX. (Diagram I.) Double file. March B— G— E. 
 Odd numbers file right, march F — A — B; even numbers 
 file left, march D — C — B, lines meeting at B. Front 
 face. March to front in straight, solid rank. Company 
 dividing into fours, wheel, No. i pivoting. No. 4 making 
 outer circle of wheel. No. 5 pivoting, No. 8 making 
 circle, and so on. Number from end of line. Wheel 
 twice. In third round stop half way, back to audience. 
 March in solid rank to rear of stage. Nos. 4, 8, 12, 16 
 wheel backward into straight line, front face. At com- 
 mand " front line advance," odd numbers step front, 
 even numbers keep position. 
 
 X. Music changes to a soft, slow melody in \ time. 
 Swords are raised slowly overhead, right hand higher 
 than left; right foot advanced; head on right shoulder; 
 eyes down. Lines sway slowly from right to left 
 through twelve measures, counting six to each move- 
 ment. Swords raised straight overhead; eyes front. 
 Both lines advance witli dance movement to front of 
 stage. Turn right, keeping same step; leave stage in 
 couples. 
 
 Our gesticulntion is a musctildr vocafiu/ary which itUer frets /or us the 
 fluctuations in force, energy, ,i>ui />,tssion. in thought and reason, in affec- 
 tion attd volition. — Mks. Edna S\e;.i Poixson. 
 
 \
 
 26o 
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 THE KITCHEN CLOCK. 
 
 John Vance Cheney. 
 
 NITTING is the maid o' the 
 kitchen, Milly; 
 Doing nothing, sits the chore 
 
 boy, Billy; 
 " Seconds reckoned, 
 Seconds reckoned; 
 Every minute. 
 Sixty in it, 
 Milly, Billy, 
 Billy, Milly, 
 Tick-tock, tock-tick, 
 Nick-knock, knock-nick, 
 Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," 
 Goes the kitchen clock. 
 
 Close to the fire is rosy Milly, 
 Every u^hit as close and cosy, 
 
 Billy; 
 " Time's a-flying. 
 Worth your trying; 
 Pretty Milly— 
 Kiss her, Billy! 
 Milly, Billy, 
 Billy, Milly, 
 Tick-tock, tock-tick, 
 Now — now, quick — quick! 
 Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," 
 Goes the kitchen clock. 
 
 Something's happened, very red 
 is Milly; 
 
 I
 
 DELSAKTE RECITATION BOOK. 261 
 
 Billy boy is looking very silly; 
 " Pretty misses, 
 Plenty kisses; 
 Make it twenty, 
 Take a plenty, 
 Billy, Milly, 
 Milly, Billy, 
 Right-left, left-right, 
 That's right, all right, 
 Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," 
 Goes the kitchen clock. 
 
 Weeks gone, still they're sitting, Milly, Billy; 
 Oh, the winter winds are wondrous chilly; 
 " Winter weather, 
 Close together; 
 Wouldn't tarry, 
 Better marry, 
 Milly, Billy, 
 Billy, Milly, 
 Two — one, one — two. 
 Don't wait, 'twon't do, 
 Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," 
 Goes the kitchen clock. 
 
 Winters two are gone, and where is Milly? 
 
 Spring has come again, and where is Billy? ^ 
 
 " Give me credit, 
 
 For I did it; 
 
 Treat me kindly, 
 
 Mind you wind me. 
 
 Mister Billy, Mistress Milly, 
 
 Imagine yourself an artist^ your face the clay to be molded into <tn exnltc-d 
 expression: but^ as with the artist, a mere mechanical molding will not suc- 
 ceed — the form must come from a high ideal within. — Grse\\e\e Stebbins. 
 
 4
 
 262 
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 My — oh, oh — my! 
 By-by, by-by, 
 
 Nickety-knock, cradle rock,' 
 Goes the kitchen clock. 
 
 MAMMY'S LFL' BOY. 
 
 H. S. Edwards. 
 
 [This recitation, which is destined to beconofi very popular, is 
 greatly improved by singing or rather crooning the stanza beginning 
 " Byo baby boy," as one would sing it when trying to hush a child to 
 sleep. — Editor.] 
 
 A^rHO all time dodgin' en de cott'n en de corn? 
 
 Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy! 
 Who all time stealin' ole massa's dinner-horn? 
 Mammy's li'l' baby boy, 
 
 Byo baby boy, oh bye, 
 By-o li'l' boy! 
 Oh, run ter es mammy 
 En she tek 'im in 'er arms. 
 Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 
 
 Hoiv many things does the shoulder reveal by those slight^ changes unnoticed 
 by ignorant persons^ and expressing />articularly the delicate and exquisite 
 charm of spiritual relations/ It is the lam of infinitesitnal quantities or 
 those scarcely perceptible movements or sensations that characterize the finer 
 relations of people of culture, of eloquence, of grace, and of refined tastes.— 
 DelsaRte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 263 
 
 Who all time runnin' ole gobble roun' de yard? 
 
 Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy! 
 Who tek 'e stick 'n hit ole possum dog so hard? 
 
 Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 
 
 Byo baby boy, oh bye, 
 By-o li'l' boy! 
 Oh, run ter es mammy 
 En climb up en 'er lap, 
 Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 
 
 Who all time stumpin' es toe ergin er rock? 
 
 Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy! 
 Who all the time er-rippin' big hole en es frock? 
 
 Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 
 
 Byo baby boy, oh bye, 
 By-o liT boy'l 
 Oh, run ter es mammy 
 En she wipe es li'l' eyes, 
 Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 
 
 Who all time er-losin' de shovel en de rake? 
 
 Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy! 
 Who all de time tryin ter ride 'c lazy drake? 
 
 Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 
 
 Byo baby boy, oh bye, 
 By-o li'l' boy! 
 Oh, scoot fer yer mammy 
 En she hide yer f om yer ma, 
 Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 
 
 Who all de time er-trot tin' ter de kitchen fer er bite? 
 Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy! 
 
 The man ivho threatens with the shoulder is more passionate.- tut he is not 
 the a^ent, he isj>assi7'e. — Delacmosne.
 
 264 
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Who mess 'esef wi' taters twell his clothes day look 
 er sight? 
 Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 
 
 Byo baby boy, oh bye, 
 By-o li'l' boy! 
 En 'e run ter es mammy 
 Fer ter git 'im out er trouble. 
 Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 
 
 Who all time er-frettin' en de middle er de day? 
 
 Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy! 
 Who all time er-gettin' so sleepy 'e can't play ? 
 
 Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 
 
 Byo baby boy, oh bye, 
 By-o li'l' boy! 
 En 'e come ter es mammy 
 Ter rock 'im en 'er arms, 
 Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 
 Shoo, shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo. 
 Shoo, shoo, shoo! 
 
 Shoo, shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo, 
 Shoo, li'l' baby, shoo! 
 Shoo, shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo, 
 Shoo, shoo, shoo, 
 Shoo .... 
 
 Deir now, lay right down on mammy's bed en go 
 'long back ter sleep, — shoo-shoo! . . . Look hyah, 
 nigger, go way f'om dat do'! You wake dis chile up 
 wid dat jewsharp, en I'll wear yer out ter frazzles! — 
 Sh-h-h-h— 
 
 A connnotion that produces a strong impression, communicates to the arms 
 an ascending motion which may lift them high above the head. —Delsartk.
 
 "He comes! Whither shall I go?"
 
 CLEMENCY OF AN AFRICAN KING.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 265 
 CIVIL WAR. 
 
 Translated by Lucy H. Hooper. 
 
 ^^HE mob was fierce and furious. They cried: 
 
 "Kill him!" the while they pressed from every 
 side 
 Around a man, haughty, unmovedj and brave, 
 Too pitiless himself to pity crave. 
 " Down with the wretch!" on all sides rose the cry; 
 The captive found it natural to die. 
 The game is lost — he's on the weaker side, 
 Life, too, is lost, and so must fate decide. 
 
 From out his home they dragged him to the street. 
 With fiercely clinching hands and hurrying feet 
 And shouts of " Death to him!" The crimson stain 
 Of recent carnage on his garb showed plain. 
 This man was one of tliose who blindly slay 
 At a king's bidding. He'd shot men all day, 
 Killing he knew not whom, he scarce knew why, 
 Now marching forth, impassible, to die. 
 
 A woman clutched his collar with a frown, 
 " He's a policeman — he has shot us down!" 
 " That's true," the man said. " Kill him!" "Shoot him!" 
 
 "Kill!" 
 "No, at the arsenal"— " The Bastile!"—" Where you 
 
 will," 
 The captive answered. And with fiercest breath. 
 Loading their guns, his captors still cried " Death!" 
 " We'll shoot him like a wolf!" " A wolf am I? 
 Then you're the dogs," he calmly made reply. 
 
 Clnviculnr breathing brings the chest or mental zone into action. It is a 
 hysteric tnethoii, only to be used when the dramatic situation demands sob- 
 bing, gas/ling utterance. — Genevieve Stehiuns.
 
 266 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 " Hark, he insults us!" And from every side 
 Clinched fists were shaken, angry voices cried. 
 Within his eyes a gleam of baffled hate, 
 He went, pursued by howlings, to his fate. 
 Treading with wearied and supreme disdain 
 'Midst forms of dead men he, perchance, had slain. 
 He would have shot them all had he the power. 
 " Kill him — he's fired upon us for an hour!" 
 
 " Down with the murderer — down with the spy!" 
 And suddenly a small voice made reply, 
 " No — no, he is my father!" And a ray 
 Like to a sunbeam seemed to light the day. 
 A child appeared, a boy with golden hair, 
 His arms upraised in menace or in prayer. 
 All shouted, " Shoot the bandit, fell the spy!" 
 The little fellow clasped him with a cry 
 Of " Papa, papa, they'll not hurt you now!" 
 The light baptismal shone upon his brow. 
 
 From out the captive's home had come the child. 
 
 Meanwhile the shrieks of " Kill him— death!" rose wild; 
 
 And in the street ferocious shouts increased 
 
 Of " Slay each spy — each minister— each priest, 
 
 We'll kill them all!" The little boy replied: 
 
 " I tell you this is papa." One girl cried: 
 
 "A pretty fellow — see his curly head!" 
 
 " How old are you, my boy?" another said, 
 
 "Do not kill papa!" only he replies. 
 
 A soulful lustre lights his streaming eyes. 
 
 Some glances from his gaze are turned away, 
 And the rude hands less fiercely grasp their prey. 
 
 As soon as surprise is great Enough to raise the shoulders and the arms, the 
 head takes an inverse direction; it sinks, and seems anxious to become solid, 
 to offer more resistance.— Dkisarte..
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 267 
 
 Then one of the most pitiless says, " Go — 
 
 Get you back home, boy." "Where — why?" "Don't 
 
 you know? 
 Go to your mother." Then the father said, 
 " He has no mother." " What — his mother's dead? 
 Then you are all he has?" " That matters not," 
 The captive answers, losing not a jot 
 Of his composure as he closely pressed 
 The little hands to warm them in his breast. 
 
 And says, "Our neighbor, Catherine, you know, 
 
 Go to her." " You'll come, too ?" " Not yet." " No, no, 
 
 Then I'll not leave you." "Why?" "These men, I fear, 
 
 Will hurt you, papa, when I am not here." 
 
 The father to the chieftain of the band 
 
 Says softly: " Loose your grasp and take my hand, 
 
 I'll tell the child to-morrow we shall meet. 
 
 Then you can shoot me in the nearest street. 
 
 Or farther off, just as you like." " 'Tis well!" 
 
 The words from those rough lips reluctant fell; 
 
 And, half unclasped, the hands less fierce appear. 
 
 The father says, "You see, we'i'e all friends here, 
 
 I'm going with these gentlemen to walk; 
 
 Go home. Be good. 1 have no time to talk." 
 
 The little fellow, reassured and gay, 
 
 Kisses his father and then runs away. 
 
 " Now he is gone, and we are at our ease, 
 
 And you can kill me where and how you please," 
 
 The father says: " Where is it I must go?" 
 
 Then through the crowd a long thrill seems to flow, 
 
 The lips, so late with cruel wrath a-foam, 
 
 Relentingly and roughly cry: " Go home!" 
 
 Sound is fainting, or it is nothing. It should be in affinity with the sub- 
 ject. — Delaumosne. 
 
 \
 
 268 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 THE BABY'S FIRST TOOTH. 
 
 "|\ /r R. and Mrs. Jones had just finished their breakfast, 
 Mr. Jones had pushed back his chair and was 
 looking under the lounge for his boots. Mrs. Jones sat 
 at the table, holding the infant Jones, and mechanically- 
 working her forefinger in its mouth. Suddenly she 
 paused in the motion, threw the astonished child on its 
 back, tnrned as white as a sheet, pried open its mouth, 
 and immediately gasped, " Ephraim! " Mr. Jones, who 
 was yet on his knees with his head under the lounge, at 
 once came forth, rapping his head sharply on the side 
 of the lounge as he did so, and getting on his feet, in- 
 quired what was the matter. 
 
 "O Ephraim!" said she, the tears rolling down her 
 cheeks and smiles coursing up. 
 
 " Why, what is it, Aramathea? " said the astonished 
 Mr. Jones, smartly rubbing his head where it had come 
 in contact with the lounge. 
 
 " Baby!" she gasped. Mr. Jones turned pale and the 
 perspiration started. 
 
 "Baby! O— O— O Ephraim! Baby has— baby has 
 got — a little toothey, oh, oh! " 
 
 "No! " screamed Mr. Jones, spreading his legs apart, 
 dropping his chin, and staring at the struggling heir 
 with all his might. 
 
 " I tell you it is," persisted Mrs. Jones, with a slight 
 evidence of hysteria. 
 
 " Oh, it can't be! " protested Mr. Jones, preparing to 
 swear if it wasn't. 
 
 " Come here and see for yourself," said Mrs. Jones. 
 
 A man considers afi object with head raised luhen he considers it -with a 
 feeling o/pride. It is thus thai he rules them or exalts //«^w. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 269 
 
 "Open its 'ittle mousy-wousy for its own muzzer; that's 
 a toody-vvoody; that's a blessed 'ittle 'ump o' sugar." 
 
 Thus conjured^ the heir opened its mouth sufficiently 
 for the father to thrust in his finger, and that o-entle- 
 nian having convinced himself by the most unmistakable 
 evidence that a tooth was there, immediately kicked 
 his hat across the room, buried his fist in the lounge, and 
 declared with much feeling that he slioiild like to see the 
 individual who would dare to intimate that he was not 
 the happiest man on the face of the earth. Then he 
 gave Mrs. Jones a hearty smack on the mouth and 
 snatched up the heir, while that lady rushed trem- 
 blingly forth after Mrs. Simmons, who lived next door. 
 In a moment Mrs. Simmons came tearing in as if she 
 had been shot out of a gun, and right behind her came 
 Miss Simmons at a speed that indicated that she had 
 been ejected from two guns. Mrs. Simmons at once 
 snatched the heir from the arms of Mr. Jones and hur- 
 ried it to the window, where she made a careful and 
 critical examination of its mouth, while Mrs. Jones held 
 its head, and Mr. Jones danced up and down the room 
 and snapped his fingers to show how calm he was. 
 
 It having been ascertained by Mrs. Simmons that the 
 tooth was a sound one, and also that the strongest 
 hopes for its future could be entertained on account of 
 its coming in the new of the moon, Mrs. Jones got out 
 the necessary materials, and Mr. Jones at once pro- 
 ceeded to write seven different letters to as many per- 
 sons, unfolding to them the event of the morning, and 
 inviting them to come on as soon as possible, while the 
 unconscious cause of the excitement, after viewing mat- 
 ters calmly for a time, opened its mouth and took things 
 
 Man reveals his life through more than /our mi/lions o/ injlecttons ere he 
 can speak or £esticu/ate.~Dv.i.i\V},\o%NK. 
 
 \
 
 270 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 
 
 into its own hands by remarking at first deprecStingly, 
 and then with decided disapproval: " Ah-h-h-day-ay- 
 goo-oo-oo-po-o-o \energctically\ gaa-ah-ah-ya-ya-ah-nga- 
 ah! " with which sentiments every parent agrees. 
 
 THANKSGIVIN' PUMPKIN PIES. 
 
 Margaret E. Sangster. 
 
 O O you bid me to Thanksgivin' ! Thank you, neigh- 
 
 bor, it is kind, 
 To keep a plain old body like myself so much in mind; 
 Here I've been sittin' all alone, and a mist before my 
 
 eyes, 
 A-thinkin', like a simpleton, of mother's pumpkin pies. 
 
 Yes, I've just come home from Sarah's; come home I'm 
 
 glad to say; 
 And here, God helping me, I mean in future time to 
 
 stay; 
 Oh! Sarah's folks are very fine, but I felt all at sea. 
 And though the rooms were 'mazin' big, they seemed 
 
 too small for me. 
 
 The house is like a palace, and mine's a tiny nest, 
 
 But, neighbor, I'm contented here, I like this place the 
 best; 
 
 Just as Sarah's creams and salads I don't know how to 
 prize; 
 
 Her French cook costs a fortune, but / favor home- 
 made pies, 
 
 All arts are found in articulation. Sound is the articulation of the Tocal 
 apparatus; gesture ike articulation of ike dynamic apparatus: language the 
 articulation of tke buccal apparatus. Tkere/ore^ music, the plastic arts, and 
 speech have their origin and their perfection in articulation. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 27 1 
 
 Like mother's; flaky, rich and brown, and toothsome 
 
 with the spice; 
 I grew to loathe her dinners, cut in half with lemon ice: 
 Give me good food, biled greens and pork, and turkey 
 
 now and then; 
 I tell you on our mountain fare we've raised a race of 
 
 men. 
 
 Not spindlin' like them city folks, in dress-suits if you 
 
 please. 
 An' mincin' in their low-cut shoes, an' bowin' to their 
 
 knees. 
 I hate such silly airs; I like to hear a hearty word; 
 No! I'm not deaf, but when one speaks, why, speak so's 
 
 to be heard. 
 
 In Sarah's house 'twas " aunty this" and "aunty that," 
 
 until 
 I saw I made a discord^ let me do my best; 'an still 
 I'm sure the child loves aunty, but, neighbor, she and I 
 Are far apart and nohow could our ways again draw 
 
 nigh. 
 
 She wears her black silk every day, a-trailin' on the 
 
 ground, 
 Leastwise, a-trailin' on the floor; 'tis called, I b'lieve, 
 
 tea-gowned. 
 An' frills an' lace, 'an hot-house flowers; such waste, it 
 
 worried me, 
 Rememberin' Jotham Peckham's kin, as poor as poor 
 
 could be. 
 
 Rememberin' Jotham Peckham, I was vexed to see his 
 
 child, 
 4, _ 
 
 Men of small brain habitually carry iht-ir heads high. The head is low- 
 ered in proportion to the quantity of intelligence. — Delal'MOSNB.
 
 272 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 A-throwin' money here and there; it made me fairly- 
 wild. 
 
 Her house, it's just like Barnum's, with jimcracks every, 
 where, 
 
 When pa and me the children took to see the wonders 
 there. 
 
 How I run on! Well, thank you, neighbor; I see you 
 
 want to go; 
 I'm comin' to Thanksgivin'; your good old ways I 
 
 know. 
 An' my mouth waters, dear old friend, there's tears in 
 
 these dim eyes, 
 For I shall taste the flavor of mother's pumpkin pies. 
 
 And though I'm 'most threescore and ten, an' cranky, 
 
 I'm afraid. 
 Once more I'll feel myself a child, my mother's little 
 
 maid; 
 And I'll be very pleased to help, in any way I can; 
 Good-bye, dear, and my love to Ruth; a kiss to Mary 
 
 Ann. 
 
 OL' PICKETT'S NELL. 
 
 Mather D. Kimball. 
 
 TI^EEL more 'an ever like a fool 
 
 Sence Pickett's Nell come back from school. 
 She oncet wuz twelve 'nd me eighteen 
 'Nd better friends you never seen; 
 
 But now — oh, my! 
 She's dressed so fine, 'nd growed so tall, 
 'Nd I'arnin' — she jes knows it all. 
 
 4« 
 
 A hasty deiivery is by no 7neans proo_f of anituation, tvaniith^ Jire. passion, 
 I or emotion in the orator; hence in cieiii'ery, as in tone, haste is in an inverse 
 ratio to emotion. We do not glide lightly over a beloved subject; a prolonga- 
 I tion of tone is the expression oj' loie. — Delsarte. 
 
 •i" '
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 273 
 
 She's eighteen now, but I'm so slow 
 I'm whar I wuz six year ago. 
 
 Six year! Waal, waal! doan't seem a week 
 Sence we rode Dolly to th' creek, 
 'Nd fetched th' cattle home at night, 
 Her hangin' to my jacket tight. 
 
 But now — oh, my! 
 She rides in Pickett's new coopay 
 Jes like she'd be'n brung up thet way, 
 'Nd lookin' like a reg'lar queen — 
 Th' mostest like I ever seen. 
 
 She uster tease, 'nd tease, 'nd tease 
 Me fer to take her on my knees; 
 Then tired me out 'ith Marge'y Daw, 
 'Nd laffin tell my throat wuz raw. 
 
 But now — oh, my! 
 She sets up this way — kinder proud, 
 'Nd never noways laughs out loud. 
 You w'u'd n't hardly think thet she 
 Hed ever see-sawed on my knee. 
 
 'Nd sometimes, ef at noon I'd choose 
 To find a shady place 'nd snooze, 
 I'd wake with burdocks in my hair 
 'Nd elderberries in my ear. 
 But now— oh, my! 
 Somebody said ('twuz yesterday): 
 " Let's hev some fun w'ile Ned's away; 
 Let's turn his jacket inside out! " 
 But Nell — she'd jes turn red 'nd pout. 
 
 In a /•rotiuction of art whose subject and tnaterials lie in the domain of un- 
 reclaimed nature, genius is not permitted to falsify any fundamental prin- 
 ciple or fact, but is free to modify and add. Otherwise, the creative func- 
 tion of art is gone, and only imitation is left. — Rev. W. R. .^lcek.
 
 274 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 'Nd oncet when I wuz dreamin'-like, 
 A-throwin' akerns in th' dike, 
 She put her arms clean round my head, 
 'Nd whispered soft, " I like you, Ned;" 
 
 But now — oh, my! 
 She courtesied so stiff 'nd grand, 
 'Nd never oncet held out her hand, 
 'Nd called me " Mister Edward! " Laws! 
 Thet ain't my name, 'nd never wuz. 
 
 'Nd them 'at knovved 'er years ago 
 Jes laughed t' see 'er put on so; 
 Coz it wuz often talked, 'nd said, 
 " Nell Pickett's jes cut out fer Ned." 
 
 But now — oh, my! 
 She held her purty head so high, 
 'Nd skasely saw me goin' by — 
 I w'u'd n't dast (afore last night) 
 'A-purposely come near her sight. 
 
 Last night, ez I was startin' out 
 To git th' cows, I heerd a shout; 
 'Nd, sure ez ghostses, she wuz thar, 
 A-settin' on ol' Pickett's mar'; 
 
 'Nd then — oh, my! 
 She said she 'd cried fer all th' week 
 To take th' ol' ride to th' creek; 
 Then talked about ol' times, 'nd said, 
 " Them days wuz happy, wa'n't they, Ned? 
 
 Th' folks wuz talkin' ev'rywhars 
 'Bout her a-puttin' on sech airs, 
 'Nd seemed t' me like they wuz right. 
 Afore th' cowr> come home last night. 
 But jww — oh, my! 
 
 The speaker or singer should knoio .'•ow to ditninish tone without contract- 
 itig the back part of the tnouth. — Delsarth,
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 275 
 
 JIMMY BROWN'S DOG. 
 
 William L. Alden. Arranged tjy Elsie M. Wilbor. 
 
 1\/TR. TRAVERS had told me mornamillion times 
 ^ *^ that, after he should be married to Sue, I was to 
 come to live with him. Sue heard him say it lots of 
 times, for I remember she always used to say, " Pshaw! 
 don't be perfectly ridiculous; I'd like to catch myself 
 living within a hundred miles of that boy after I leave 
 this house." So it was all perfectly understood; and I 
 never dreamed for a minute that Mr. Travers wasn't in 
 earnest, and I was surprised that they did not ask me 
 to go with them the day they were married. 
 
 A few weeks after the wedding, father made all his 
 arrangements for going to Europe, and I was to go and 
 stay with Mr. Travers for a year, and go to school. Mr. 
 Travers wrote that, "I will meet your son at the station 
 next Tuesday and take charge of him while you are 
 gone, though I will not answer for the consequences, as 
 Susan is in a nervous state, and I do not think her sys- 
 tem requires boys." I copied this from his letter, be- 
 cause I wanted to ask him what he meant by the "con- 
 sequences," but I forgot to do it. 
 
 The day before father and mother started I was sent 
 to Mr. Travers's with a trunk of my own, and a beautiful 
 young bull-dog that was given me for a parting present. 
 The dog was in a box with holes in it, and he growled 
 elegantly every time anybody touched the box. I took 
 him out as soon as the train started, and the first thing 
 he did was to take a splendid big piece out of the leg 
 of my trousers. Then he sat up on the seat and growled 
 till the conductor came along and said," Boy, whose 
 
 The legs have their gamuts ranging /rem repose out into extreme emotions. 
 The trunk contains the grand central tones o/ the man. The arms are varied 
 in their expression from the e.xpansii'eness o/ vitality to the contractibility o/ 
 thought. — Franklin H. Sargent.
 
 2/6 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 dog is that? No dogs allowed here. You must put 
 him back into that box, and be quick about it. Tickets, 
 gentlemen." But I told him that I didn't think that 
 the dog wanted to go back, and I was afraid it would 
 make trouble if anybody tried to make him change his 
 mind. The conductor said he didn't care what the dog 
 wanted, but that he was going back into that box inside 
 of three seconds, or he'd know the reason why. So he 
 tried to take him by the neck, but the dog was too quick 
 for him, and after taking a little piece out of his hand, 
 hid under the seat. The conductor called a brakeman, 
 and the two began to hunt the dog. 
 
 If the dog had kept quiet, they wouldn't have found 
 him; but he was a little angry at the way he was treated, 
 and I don't blame him, for nobody likes to be poked 
 with sticks, and told to "come here, you brute " and 
 "get out of there now, will you." So every little while 
 he would take hold of somebody's leg, and you would 
 hear a dreadful yell, and would know just where the 
 dog was; but by the time the conductor and the brake- 
 man got there, the dog would have got through with 
 that particular leg, and would be in another part of the 
 car selecting another leg. 
 
 When we arrived at our station the dog let me carry 
 him. The passengers growled more than the dog did, 
 and some of those who had been bitten said that I ought 
 to be killed; but I never pay much attention to what 
 angry people say, they are so unreasonable. Mr. Travers 
 met me at the station, and said, "Oh! it's you, is it?" 
 This wasn't a very nice welcome, but I didn't mind that, 
 for presently he said, "That dog looks sick, Jimmy. 
 We'll stop in at the apothecary's and get a dose of medi- 
 
 The acoustic orga7is should have nothing to do with the transmission o/ 
 sound. They tnust be passive so that the tone viay be continuous and smooth. 
 — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 277 
 
 cine for him." This was just kind as it could be. The 
 dog was pretty sick, though I hadn't noticed it, for he 
 died that niglit. When we went into the apothecary's, 
 Mr. Travers said to the young man behind the counter, 
 " WilHam, I think this dog is in a pretty bad way. He 
 looks pale. Don't you think that a little strychnine 
 would do him good?" The young man said, "Yes, 
 strychnine is a beautiful medicine for that kind of a 
 dog." So he gave Mr, Travers a powder. I said to Mr. 
 Travers that if the medicine was real good I should like 
 to take some, but he said, "Jimmy, I am sure it would 
 do you and your friends all the good in the world, and 
 nothing would make me happier than to give the whole 
 of it to you; but it's against the law for me to give 
 medicine to anybody, and you must promise me never 
 to taste the least bit of this kind of medicine while 
 you're here." Sue was glad to see me, and said, " So 
 they did send you after all. I think it's so mean for 
 parents to send their children away from home; there, 
 don't kiss me, I've just put up my hair." 
 
 After supper, Mr. Travers told me to run out to the 
 barn and see the horses and cows. There were four 
 horses, and two of them were all white. Indeed, they 
 were a great deal paler than my dog, so I knew they 
 must be ill. Then there was a Ifirge, pale cat, that had 
 longer hair than any cat I ever saw. She looked as if 
 she was more ill than the horses. One of the cows kept 
 lowing in a way that made me feel sure that she had a 
 dreadful pain, and I wished that I had some of Mr. 
 Travers's medicine to give the poor, sick animals. 
 
 By and by Mr. Travers came out into the backj'ard 
 with a piece of meat and the paper of medicine, and I 
 
 A fact of negation in a sentence does not, as a rule, change the emphasis.- 
 Lewis B. Monkob.
 
 2/8 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 said, " Mr. Travers, won't you let me give some medicine 
 to the horses and cows, I'm sure they don't feel well;" 
 but he said, " I'm afraid, my young friend, that you are 
 almost too bright to live long." Just then Sue called 
 him, and he left the meat and the medicine on the bench. 
 He had sprinkled a little of the medicine on the meat, 
 and as I noticed the cat smelling the meat, I was on the 
 point of giving her a piece of it, when I remembered 
 that I had no right to interfere with Mr. Travers's own 
 animals, so I just walked away. When I came back, I 
 found that the cat and dog had eaten the meat between 
 them, and one of the cows was smelling the rest of the 
 medicine. I drove her away, but not until she had taken 
 a good taste of it. 
 
 I wrapped up what was left, and took it to Mr. 
 Travers. He turned pale, and said, " You young rascal, 
 you haven't taken any of that stuff, have you ?" and I 
 said," No, sir; I promised you I wouldn't, but the dog has 
 been eating the meat." I was going to tell him about 
 the cat and cow, but he laughed, and told me to run 
 down to the village and bring him the letters. When 
 I got home it was time to go to bed, and I was told that 
 I couldn't see my dog that night for he was asleep, and 
 it might injure him to wake him up after taking 
 medicine. 
 
 The next morning when we were at breakfast the 
 coachman came in and said, " If you please, Mr. Travers, 
 the new dog is pizined." 
 
 "What do you mean?" exclaimed Mr. Travers; " is he 
 really hurt?" 
 
 " Yis, sorr," said the man; " he's hurt pretty bad. To 
 tell you the truth, sorr, they're both dead." 
 
 The vocal tube must not vary any more for the loud tone than /or the low 
 tone. The openitig must he the satiie. The low tone must have the power o/X 
 the loud tone, since it is to be equally understood. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 279 
 
 "What on earth are you talking about?" said Mr. 
 Travers. 
 
 " The dog and the Angora cat, sorr; the pair of them 
 is both very near entirely dead," replied the coachman, 
 "and the Alderney cow doesn't seem to be altogether 
 livin' this mornin'." 
 
 Mr. Travers didn't wait to hear any more, but seized 
 his hat, and started for the barn. I went too. I found 
 my dear dog lying dead. Between the dog and the 
 barn was the cat, and she was as dead as he was. I saw 
 Mr. Travers looking as if he wanted to kill a few people 
 to keep the animals company. I said, "Mr. Travers! I 
 know who has poisoned all the animals; it was that 
 young man in the apothecary's shop." 
 
 "What do you mean by that, Jimmy ?" asked Mr. 
 Travers, very savagely. "I mean, sir," said I, " that he 
 must have given you poison instead of medicine, for my 
 dog took it and now he's dead, and I saw the cat and 
 the Alderney cow taste it, and they're dead." Mr. Trav- 
 ers took me by the collar and dragged me up to my 
 room and locked the door without saying a word. 
 
 Now I acknowledge that I did wrong in not letting Mr. 
 Travers know that the cow and the cat had taken the 
 medicine, but that was all I did. It was just forgetful- 
 ness, and that isn't so dreadfully bad. I never had the 
 least idea that the medicine would do any harm, and 1 
 should have taken a little myself if Mr. Travers had not 
 made me promise not to do so. I think that he ought to 
 have looked at it as I did, and blamed nobody but the 
 young man at the apothecary's shop, who, instead of 
 giving him strychnine, must have given him something 
 poisonous; but, instead of doing this, Mr. Travers gave 
 
 The harmonic law o/rhythm is: Coot>erative iiio-e»ients in offiosition will 
 be in their velocity in the exact ratio of the length of the radii of the agents 
 moving. — Steele Mackave.
 
 280 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 me a terrible scolding, and said I was a young Cain, and 
 kept me shut up in my room for three days, and gave 
 me nothing but bread and water. This was the begin- 
 ning of coolness between us, for I resolved that I would 
 not overlook such conduct, unless he should ask me to 
 forgive him. 
 
 But we will say no more of this painful subject, for I 
 don't like to think of those poor animals cut off in their 
 prime, and without any time for reflection. I suppose 
 the dog is better off now than when he was alive, for he 
 was a sweet, good animal; but I don't think that cats 
 have a good time after they are gone, for they are cruel 
 and wicked, except when they're little. 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A YEAR. 
 
 Mrs. John Sherwood. 
 
 ig- 
 
 Sprifig 
 
 "LJ" OW gracefully the young Bertine 
 With Jaques, her lover, dances; 
 Bee how like sunbeams 'neath the trees 
 
 She flies, and then advancers; 
 And yet she sings in a minor key 
 The old Provengal melody, 
 " Tais-toi, mon ccei/rJ Adieu, mon cceur!" 
 As if some sadness came to her 
 
 With love's dear smiles and glances. 
 
 It «"r through ^he "loice w pl'ase an audience. 1/ ive have the ear o/ an 
 auditor, ive easily win kis wind and heart. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 281 
 
 The Sieur de Courcy comes that way 
 
 And 'neath the walnut lingers, 
 He marks her instep clean and high, 
 
 Her white and dainty fingers; 
 He hears her sing in a minor key 
 The old Provengal melody, 
 " Tais-toi, mon coeur! Adieu, man cceur!" 
 And thinks, as he fondly looks at her, 
 
 Of the lays of the Minnesingers. 
 
 But hark, the call! the conscript drum! 
 
 And Jaques, the number chosen; 
 No wonder that Bertine is dumb. 
 
 The blood in her bosom frozen. 
 Brave Jaques strikes up in a stronger key 
 The old Provencal melody, 
 " Tais-toi, mon cceur! Adieu, mon cceur T 
 And looking fondly back at her, 
 
 He said, "Dear love, be true to me." 
 
 Summer. 
 
 The king said gaily, " Je m'ennuie," 
 
 Nor heard if the people grumbled; 
 What cared that gallant majesty \ 
 
 If some plain lives were humbled? 
 The next age sang in a different key, 
 " Tais-toi, mon coeur! Adieu, mon cceur!" 
 Of Pompadour and the Pare aux Cerfs, 
 And greeted the great with a bitter laugh 
 
 When heads in the basket tumbled. 
 
 The voice should resemble the painter^s f>aletteyivhere aU the colors are ar- 
 ranged in an orderly manner, according to the affinities 0/ each. — Delau- 
 
 MOSNE.
 
 282 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 For when the sun lay on the vines 
 
 Bertine the grapes was tying, 
 The tendril round her brow entwines, 
 
 The summer days were flying! 
 Well may she sing in a minor key 
 The old Provencal melody, 
 " Tais-toi, mon coeur! Adieu, mon cKur!" 
 For the news was coming back to her 
 Of the field where Jaques lay dying. 
 
 What, then, was history but a page 
 
 Of romance, love and glory? 
 Chimeras of the golden age 
 
 When life was worth the story! 
 Woman still sings in the minor key 
 The old Provengal melody, 
 *' Tais-toi, mon cceur! Adieu, mon ca'urJ'^ 
 That is the tale time tells to her, 
 And will till he is hoary. 
 
 AtUumn. 
 
 The Sieur de Courcy came to woo, 
 
 His voice was low and tender; 
 He drove the wolf and the king away — 
 
 " Let me be thy defender!" 
 And when she sang in a minor key 
 The old Provengal melody, 
 *' Tais-toi, mon coeur! Adieu, mon coeur!" 
 The gentleman knelt down to her 
 And kissed her fingers slender. 
 
 The ear is the most delicate, the most exacting o/ all our senses. The eye is 
 far tnore tolerant. The eye may tolerate a bad gesture, but the ear will not 
 forgive a false note or a false inflection. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 283 
 
 "Who is my rival?" laughed the king, 
 
 His gallant gray eyes lighting; 
 " Now, I will do a graceful thing! 
 
 To show I bear her slighting! 
 We'll change that mournful monody, 
 The old Provencal melody, 
 " Tais-ioi, ?non cceur! Adieu, mon cceur!" 
 And life shall not be spoiled for her 
 
 Because my love is blighting!" 
 
 So went he forth to take the air. 
 
 His perfumed locks were streaming, 
 
 His brow was gay, as if no care 
 Could blight that face so beaming. 
 
 He sang, as he rode, in a minor key, 
 
 The old Provengal melody, 
 
 " Tais-toi, mon cceur! Adieu, mon coeur!" 
 
 But took the road that led to her — 
 The courtiers guessed his seeming. 
 
 " I came," said he, as they bent the knee, 
 
 "All doubts and cares to banish; 
 Leave chains of rank and cares of state — 
 
 For one day — let them vanish! 
 And, dear Bertine, sing now for me 
 The old Provencal melody, 
 * Tais-toi, ?non ca'ur! Adieu, mon caurT 
 And then he lightly told to her 
 
 A drama from the Spanish. 
 
 " Rise! my proud subject," said the king, 
 " Rise! Marquis St. Aulare! 
 
 The Delsarie System teac/tes us the philosophy and science /or the in/usion 
 0/ the muscular tissues with the rhythmic pulses of the soul: it un/oUis the 
 method for the stimulation of the organism with spiritual energy. — Mrs. 
 Edna Snell Poui.son'.
 
 284 
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 I give the title and the ring 
 
 To this thy consort fair. 
 Now all my courtiers sound the key 
 Of the old Provencal melody, 
 * Tais-toi, mon CKur! Adieu, mon cceurf 
 The king gave Courcy's hand to her, 
 
 Who lover-like advances. 
 
 Winter. 
 
 O'er castle wall, with banners hung. 
 
 The crescent moon is creeping, 
 And on the ground, in sadness flung, 
 
 A mournful man is weeping. 
 On a white cross — what words to see! — 
 He reads the sad old monody, 
 " Tais-toi, mon CKiir! Adieu, mon cceurf^ 
 He breathes his last farewell to her, 
 For there Bertine lies, sleeping. 
 
 ril. 
 
 -^r- 
 
 :i 
 
 ^?^E^^ifEfE?i^5EEg 
 
 -^- 
 
 Tais - toi, mon coeur! A - dieu.moncoeur! 
 
 ^ 
 
 A^=^- 
 
 t^-tHi=P^-i-i 
 
 -^ 
 
 rit. 
 
 ;s 
 
 §iS 
 
 Id2: 
 
 3 
 
 tS- 
 
 t5H- 
 
 tS- 
 
 !-• ^. 
 
 -Z5l- 
 
 The voice first manifests itself through sound; inflection is an intentional 
 modification of sound: respiration and silence are a means of exactly finding 
 
 the suitable tone and inflection. — Delsarte.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 285 
 
 JOHN SPICER ON CLOTHES. 
 
 Mrs. Aki;v Morton Diaz. 
 
 T T is very good fun to take off your clothes and go in 
 swimming. Clothes are the things that you wear. 
 They have arms and legs to them, and ever so many 
 buttonholes and buttons, and have pockets. Pockets 
 are the best part of your clothes. We have two kinds 
 of clothes, best ones and old ones. We hang up the 
 best ones and wear the old ones. When you wear your 
 best ones every day you most always get something on 
 them. Once I hitched the picket of a picket-fence into 
 the leg of some best clothes and pitched over head first, 
 and the picket went through, and then I had to take 
 that pair for every-day ones. Gudgeon grease that you 
 get off of wheels will not come of? very well. I do not 
 mean it will not come off the wheels very well, but off 
 your clothes. Ink spots stay on, but you can get paint 
 off, if you can get anything to take it off with. Mud 
 brushes off when it gets dry, and your mother doesn't 
 say anything when vou get mud on your every-day ones, 
 but she does on your best ones. 
 
 One time when I was a little fellow, when I was going 
 to a party with two little fellows about as big as I was, 
 and we had on our best clothes, we climbed up a tree to 
 see if some birds' eggs had hatched out, and a dry twig 
 on a branch tore a hole on one side of one of my trousers' 
 legs, and T did not want to go back home because that 
 pair was all the best pair of trousers I had. A big fel- 
 low — he was not very big, but he was bigger than we 
 little fellows — he told me to go to the party and keep 
 my hand down over the hole, and I did, and somebody 
 
 Gesture is harmonic through the itiultiplicity of the agents that act in the 
 same manner. This harmony is founded upon the convergence or opposition 
 of the movements. — Delaumos.ne. 
 
 \
 
 286 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 that was at the party asked me if my arm was lame, and I 
 said, "No, ma'am; " but when the ice-cream came round, 
 I forgot and took away my hand to take the saucer in 
 it, and that same one looked at it, and laughed some, 
 and she said: '* Oh, now I see what the matter was with 
 your arm! " and I laughed a little when she did, and 
 she told me not to think any more about the hole then, 
 but to have a good time and to think about the hole 
 afterward, and I did. She told me a funny story about 
 a hole that was torn. I will tell it: *' Once there was a 
 very small boy named Gussie, and he tore his clothes 
 most every day, and his mother had mended them after 
 he had gone to bed and he did not see her do it, and he 
 thought the holes grew up of themselves in the night. 
 And one day when his little cousin Susie tore her dress 
 her mother told her not to tear, and cried, Gussie told 
 her not to cry, for that hole would grow up again in the 
 night, just as holes did in his clothes. And when Susie 
 went to bed she put her dress over a chair to have the 
 holes grow up, and first thing in the morning she went 
 in her night-gown to look, and her mother found her 
 standing there crying, and when her mother asked her 
 what she was crying for, she said, ' Because that hole 
 did not grow together in the night. I thought it would 
 grow up in the night.' " 
 
 Once I had some mittens put away in some winter 
 clothes. Mittens are clothes to wear on your hands, and 
 hats are clothes to wear on your head. Once my aunt 
 told me a hat riddle. I will say it: 
 " Two poor little brothers they had but one hat. 
 And both wore the same one, can you guess how was 
 
 that? 
 A 
 
 The pebble contains the sparky but we tnust know hozv to produce it. The 
 phenotnena of nature contain Wessons, bttt we must know how to make them 
 speak, and how to understand their language. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 287 
 
 Eacli boy had a head? Oh, yes! each had a head! 
 
 And both heads had one hat on, as just has been said. 
 
 Did one boy stay in? No, nothing like that! 
 
 Both went out together, and both wore the hat. 
 
 I'll tell you the answer. The hat was of straw, 
 
 As old an old hat, sir, as ever you saw; 
 
 It was torn round about, just under the band, 
 
 And left in two parts; do you quite understand? 
 
 And when these small brothers walked forth in the town 
 
 Why, one wore the rim and the other the crown!" 
 
 THE SHADOW OF A SONG. 
 
 Campbell Rae- Brown. 
 
 [The speaker is supposed to be alone in a room in his ancestral 
 home, the last of his race. Since he had left, just a year ago, this same 
 room, which was connected with the greatest sorrow of his life, had 
 never been used, but had remained exactly as it was on that never-to- 
 be-forgotten night. As the speaker enters, he looks round the apart- 
 ment with a strange, half-startled air, shivers slightly, and seems al- 
 most to be expecting some one to appear. With a dazed, dreamy look 
 on his face, he seats himself on a sofa. Then he pauses, seeming lost 
 in thought. — Music has been composed specially for this recitation, and 
 can be obtained of the publisher of this book.] 
 
 A/ES, it is just one year ago to-night, 
 
 And through my brain there tingles into life 
 The self-same forms — the faces and the sound 
 Of voices that I knew in those glad days — 
 That seemed no longer than do minutes now. 
 They were so full of joy, those old, dead hours. 
 But I let a trifle leap into a thought, 
 And grow and grow till it was past reclaim; 
 
 ^ 
 
 No theory o/ the passions or mere tiiechanical tirill in their expression can 
 
 ever teach a man to he pathetic. Only a disagreeable vioclccry of it can thus 
 
 \cotne. Pathos is the one particular affection that kno~,vs no deceit, hut comes 
 
 in truth direct /rent the soul, and ^oes direct to the soul. — Rev. W^. R. Alcek.
 
 288 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 I slipped it then as sportsmen slip their dogs, 
 And coupled with it madness for its mate. 
 They ran abreast as Jealousy and Pique 
 Set on to chase my love down to its death. 
 I steeped my brain in wretched, jealous dreams. 
 When I awoke I called myself a cur! 
 
 \^SUght pause. His voice trembles as he goes on^ 
 
 But she had gone — this woman that I loved — 
 I see that poor face now, drawn at the brows; 
 Pain, like a vise, had crushed her to the quick. 
 And yet amid that world of quivering woe. 
 Two steady stars shone out — those calm gray eyes, 
 Two planets, pure and passionless, that mocked 
 The lurid fierceness of mine own mad heat. 
 And thus we parted — heaven! when I think 
 That in a month I would have called her wife! 
 How hard it seems a man's whole life should be 
 O'er-shadowed by a so?!g! 
 
 Aye, it had been 
 A love-dirge that her wondrous voice had sent 
 From out the silver portals of her throat, 
 As though 't had been a prayer so glorified 
 'Twould pierce its way on through the gates of heav'n. 
 I slew my peace by bringing into life 
 Some dearer rival in her love to me; 
 I conjured up the ghost of some one gone — 
 Some dead love that she held communion with, 
 Through the sweet channel of a trembling song. 
 I'd often come and sit to hear her sing, but once 
 I stole with silent step to where she played. 
 Dazzled by the radiance of the light 
 
 IVe must reiroact to see a« object as a whole. — Delsarte.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 289 
 
 The strong young moon had flung across her face, 
 
 She did not see me. 
 
 And while each pulse throbbed out its troublous tale, 
 
 I stood and watched, and while I watched— I wronged! 
 
 I crept so near in my intent to find 
 
 Her deepest secret mirrored in her face, 
 
 That her soft breath disturbed the straying threads 
 
 My nervous hands had singled from my hair. 
 
 I listened while the voice climbed to the clouds, 
 
 On melody that seemed to float through tears. 
 
 In words that fell amid a sea of sobs. 
 
 I heard, I saw the upturned, straining eyes. 
 
 The dreamy sorrow dwelling on the lips. 
 
 " She sings," I said, " to some dead love of yore! 
 
 She has been fooling me who gave her all — 
 
 My life! my soul! and, while she smiled on me, 
 
 Has worshipped at the shrine of some dead past." 
 
 I strode from out the shadows to her side; 
 
 I wrenched the slender fingers from the keys; 
 
 And drowned her tones that, as they sudden stopped, 
 
 Must e'en have made the spellbound angels weep. 
 
 She did not speak — but rose serene and grand, 
 
 And listened. 
 
 Aye! Though I left behind each word a wound 
 
 That tore into her womanhood — all dumb 
 
 She stood, while wonder wandered through her eyes. 
 
 And then she turned and left me in llie night. 
 
 Then in my heart hope heaved its dying sigh. 
 
 And with its death my love leaped back to life. 
 
 I put my hands in pleading out to her; 
 
 I called her by the sweetest names I knew; 
 
 On bended knee I asked her to forgive; 
 
 The head is always in o/'^osition to the arms, ami must be turned away 
 from the leg, which is advanced. — Delaimos.ne.
 
 290 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 And bit my lips till I had brought the blood, 
 Because they'd shaped the words I'd said to her. 
 She heard me; and she came back once again, 
 She spoke to me, quite calmly, not to chide, 
 But sadly, as a bird whose mate is dead 
 Will tell its tale of sorrow to the wind; 
 She gazed at me as one she did not know. 
 And talked of me as some one far away. 
 Then looking upward with a cry of pain: 
 *' That song I may not sing you now," she said; 
 " Ah! my poor brother, you must wait for me. 
 And when I'm coming — so that you may know — 
 Once ftiore Til sing it^ust before I die." 
 " Brother!" A sudden mem'ry like a blow 
 Struck on my senses as though in reproof. 
 It all came back to me, the tale I'd heard; 
 The pathos of it; her twin brother, blind. 
 And she had tended him with marvelous love; 
 He'd leaned alone on her until he died. 
 I prayed to her for pity's sake to hear! 
 I raised my eyes to hers — I met her gaze — 
 That look! It held the history of two hopes — 
 The wreck and ruin of two loves, two lives! 
 I wept as men weep once. It was too late! 
 She passed from sight — I never saw her more. 
 But ever after, haunting every hour. 
 Each minute, whatsoever path I take, 
 That cry has followed me o'er all the world: 
 " Once more Til sing it — Just before I die!" 
 
 \^TIie speaker here pauses — musing, and looking round with 
 a sort of shiver, and the same strange, startled look in his 
 face as before.^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 A retrograde iitovemcnt may be tJte sign 0/ reverence and salutation, and a 
 token that the object be/ore which it is produced is einitient and zuorthy 0/ ven- 
 eration.— Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 291 
 
 One year ago — aye, just one year to-night! 
 
 ^Suddenly, after a short pause, the melody of the weU-re- 
 vieinbered song strikes upon his ear. Then the words are sung 
 in low, wailing voice; meanwhile, his attention is chained as 
 though by an overpoivering awe. His face becomes pallid and 
 haggard, as the song goes on.] 
 
 " Though we are parted now, parted for aye, 
 
 Yet may I be with you still, 
 
 And as day meets the moonlight, and the sun meets the 
 
 sea. 
 We may meet here, and I, I sing to thee, 
 Sing to thee, call to thee, speak, dear, to thee. 
 Sing to thee, call to thee, speak, dear, to thee. 
 
 I know that my message will reach you to-night. 
 
 For the sky is so peaceful, and clear, and so bright. 
 
 Pathways of light lie between you and me. 
 
 No clouds, love, to keep back my words, dear, from thee, 
 
 As I sing to thee here, 
 
 O my darling, to thee, O my darling, to thee, to thee. 
 
 Sing to thee, call to thee, speak, dear, to thee. 
 
 Sing to thee, call to thee, speak, dear, to thee." 
 
 [^He rises as song goes on, but staggers, as he looks toicard 
 the piano with a wild stare. Then, in a hoarse whisper:] 
 
 What, what is that? the song! and 't is her voice — 
 Her touch upon the keys! God! She is there! 
 Yes, yes, I'll call to her, aye, I will go and speak, 
 But no; I cannot. Ah, she's going now! 
 
 [ These last four lines should be so timed that they end si- 
 multaneously with the song. They should, therefore, be begun 
 somewhere in the second stanza of the song. He then goes 
 to7vard the piano as though following some one.] 
 
 All li/e is priviarily motion. Tivif accompanies each birth of motion^ and 
 consequent birth o/fortn in death oy"///o//o«.— Franklin H. Sargent.
 
 292 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 My love, my love! come back — my heart — she's gone! 
 
 \^Buries his head in his hands.^ 
 Aye; I remember now; " I'll sing," she said, 
 *' The song once more, just — just before I die." 
 The world is at an end — for she is dead! 
 
 THE STATELY MINUET. 
 
 Hezekiah Butterworth. 
 
 Subject: The Reception of Prince Eugene. 
 
 [This recitation can be made more elaborate and very effective by 
 having the various persons spoken of in the poem appear as silhouettes, 
 dressed in the fashion of that period. The long curled wig or cue tied 
 with ribbon, the knee-breeches, the slippers with buckles for the men, 
 and the pompadour puffed hair and full-skirted gowns for the women 
 will readily suggest themselves. As silhouette pictures the costumes 
 can be made of cambric and other cheap materials. The shadow pan- 
 tomime of a minuet being danced will be very attractive as well as 
 novel. If desired, more elegant costumes can be arranged, and the 
 different people appear on the stage as they are announced, dancing the 
 minuet during the reading. This is an excellent entertainment for a 
 school. — EDrroR.] 
 
 /^^H, fine old times were those, I ween, 
 ^^ In the eye of the courtly Englishman, 
 When came to London Prince Eugene 
 
 To meet the lords of good Queen Anne. 
 In the halls of state the minstrels gay 
 
 Played sweet, on tapestries of gold 
 How, well-a-day?— Oh, well-a-day, 
 
 In those arrased halls of old! 
 
 In art one must love something beside art i/ one would know how to love 
 art. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 293 
 
 The halls were for the banquet dressed, 
 
 The astrals blazed, and waited there 
 The victor for the coming guests. 
 
 The knights and ladies debonair. 
 'Twas Prince Eugene, of Blenheim's fame. 
 
 Who fought with Marlborough side by side, 
 Who France had awed, and Lille had ta'en 
 
 And spoiled the Palgraves in their pride. 
 Eugene, of half a score of wars, 
 Eugene, who won a hundred stars! 
 
 The guests are in the outer halls, 
 
 Them waits the wifeless Prince Eugene, 
 
 "The duchess!" loud the herald calls; 
 The duchess came, a fallen queen. 
 
 Minuet. \^The Salutation Music.] 
 
 
 m 
 
 H 
 
 F 
 
 My bist r^suUs ha':e been attained w/i,-n /, a />assive subject, obeyed an inner 
 inspitaiion coming from whence I know not, and urging vie on to results I 
 had not aimed at. — Genevieve Stebbins. 
 
 \
 
 294 
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
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 Then rose the stately minuet, 
 
 The soul of every courtly scene, 
 Her slippered feet it led, and yet 
 
 A heavy heart they bore, I ween; 
 Two silver pages bore her train: 
 She bowed, and slowly bowed again. 
 
 \I7niiate the entrance of guests after the stanza to the music 
 of the niini/et, bowing with the rise and fall of the music as 
 the salutation music suggests. The music may be played over 
 as many times as is necessary for the pa7ito mime imitation^ 
 
 " Sir Robert Walpole !" loudly calls 
 The fine old herald, bowing low. 
 
 The expectant music fills the halls 
 
 As comes the knight, sedate and slow. 
 
 A form of velvet starred with gold, 
 And noiseless step; he bows, and then 
 
 The duchess' eye severe and cold 
 
 To love art J'or art is to prefer the work to its object; it is to turn art from 
 its end to the profit 0/ the artist. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 295 
 
 Falls on him, and he bows again, 
 And warmer now the astrals glow, 
 And sweeter music's numbers flow. 
 \_Iniitation to minuet. The introductory salutation music.^ 
 
 "My Lord and Lady Castlewood!" 
 
 " Lord Rochester!" rang through the hall; 
 And while confused the herald stood 
 
 Swept in the bishops grave and tall. 
 And while played sweet the minuet, 
 
 Gibraltar's hardy sea-kings came, 
 And knights from Oudenarde, and yet 
 
 Rolled on the herald's call of fame 
 Till in the dusk and music sweet 
 The hall was full of golden feet. 
 [^Imitation to minuet. The introductory salutation music.^ 
 
 "Sir Isaac Newton!" Silent all, 
 
 Not e'en the light of jewels swayed, 
 A modest form shrank through the hall. 
 
 Modest, yet one the stars had weighed. 
 "Dean Swift!" the nimble parson came, 
 
 " Daniel de Foe !" his ears were gone. 
 The herald lost the last great name, 
 
 Powdered, bewigged, came Addison, 
 And low they bowed like courtiers gay. 
 And bowed the prince as low as they. 
 
 [Imitation as before. Music ceases?^ 
 
 Why comes the prince to England now. 
 This son of France, old Austria's pride? 
 
 And why do whig and tory bow 
 To him, the duchess at his side ? 
 
 The mere bearings and poisings of the iodynuay ike beholder, even tuhtn pro- 
 duced mechanically. — Fkanklin H. Sargent. 
 
 \
 
 296 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Earth has no friendships such as those 
 Grand heroes form for noble ends; 
 
 His soul had flamed as Marlborough rose, 
 And war had wedded them as friends. 
 
 -J^^ 
 
 m 
 
 W-^ 1 — r-r— r 
 
 l±z=?zS: 
 
 ? 
 
 You admire a work 0/ art when you find yourself in it: and if you ap- 
 plaud, it is only on the condition of your recognizing; in it something of your 
 own character. It is because it ajfects, at least partly, your ways, your tem- 
 perament. In a word, you love it as you love a mirror. — Delsarte.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 297 
 
 S^S^ 
 
 And Marlborough, crushed by court and queen, 
 Had touched the heart of Prince Eugene. 
 
 "Lord Harlej'!" All again was mute, 
 
 The diplomat flashed 'crost the scene. 
 And said obsequious, " I salute \ininuet\ 
 
 Earth's greatest soldier, Prince Eugene !" 
 "Too soon, my lord! His grace comes late," 
 
 The prince replied, and turned away, 
 "The duke of Marlborough!" lost to state. 
 
 Then came the chief of Malplaquet, 
 Who once had swayed the lands and seas, 
 From Pyrenees to Tyrolese. 
 
 \Imitation as before.^ 
 
 The music scarcely dared to play; 
 
 The fallen hero of the land 
 Moved slowly 'mid the throngs to lay 
 
 In Prince Eugene's his war-browned hand. 
 
 Only through rules can ive become /tee in our interpretation. — Delaumosnb.
 
 298 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Not so, — the true heart knows its quest 
 And love is strong when true hearts meet, 
 
 Against the honored soldier's breast 
 The starless soldier's heart should beat, 
 
 And Prince Eugene great Marlborough drew 
 
 To his great heart still beating true. 
 
 \_Repeat salutation music ^ 
 
 The mazy music's rippling tide 
 
 Swept o'er the shoals of jewelled feet, 
 But Prince Eugene by Marlborough's side 
 
 Scarce heard the mystic rhythms beat; 
 The airy pages came and went. 
 
 In blazing halls the goblets kissed, 
 He shared that nobler sentiment 
 
 To true hearts known, by maskers missed, 
 The heroic friendship more than wealth, 
 That loves another more than self. 
 
 Cool fell the dews, the late hours came, 
 
 And rose the moon, a midnight sun. 
 Uncertain shone the astral's flame. 
 
 And guests departed one by one. 
 With lingering step they went away, 
 
 The lord, the knight, the wit, the beau. 
 Still happy in the morning gray, 
 
 And bowing low, and bowing low. 
 In memory's ear recalling yet, 
 The sweet and stately minuet. [Imitation.^ 
 
 Oh, fine old times were those, I ween, 
 
 In the eye of the courtly Englishman, 
 When came to London Prince Eugene 
 
 4 
 
 Man is a Toluntary spectator 0/ his own 7vorks only. It is because he esteems 
 and admires only himself. It is because he searches for hitnself in every- 
 thing. — Delsarte. 
 
 ,U
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 299 
 
 To plead for Marlborough with Queen Anne, 
 In the halls of state the minstrels gay 
 
 Played sweet, on tapestries of gold, 
 How, well-a-day ? — Ah, well-a-day, 
 
 In the arrased halls of old! 
 
 THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. 
 
 Jessie F. O'Donnell. 
 
 ["When, after the battle of Belmont, General Grant, under a flag 
 of truce, sent a detachment to burj' the dead and remove the wounded, 
 they heard the song of ' The Star-Spangled Banr.er' rising on the still 
 air. I'ollowing the sound, they discovered under a tree a warriorwith 
 botli legs mangled, from whose feverish lips the national anthem rang 
 out over the gory plain." — HeadUys Lift- of Grant. — The music of 
 " The Star-Spangled Banner " should be played during the italic lines, 
 and these lines sung, if possible.] 
 
 /^VER the field the grass is red 
 
 With loyal blood of our Union dead; 
 The wounded lie a sickening sight. 
 And cold, white faces mock the light. 
 Yesterday there was fire and shout, 
 Yesterday bullets whizzed about. 
 Cannons boomed, and sabres clashed, 
 And hate from the eyes of soldiers flashed. 
 
 Only the moan of pain to-day 
 
 Breaks tlirough the morning still and gray; 
 
 The bullets are cold, the guns at rest. 
 
 And the soldier dead on his foeman's breast 
 
 Once we were eager to deal out death; 
 Now we woo back the failing breath; 
 
 The tvhole secret of exf'ression lies in the time we delay the articulation o/ 
 the initial consonant. The delay arrests the attention, and prevents our 
 catching thi sound at a disadr-a n'tage. — Dei.avmoS'SK.
 
 300 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 And the earth dark-stained with blood of the brave . 
 Forgiving, offers a peaceful grave. 
 
 Up from the field where the wounded lie, 
 Broken and faint as a spirit-sigh, 
 Snatches of song fall soft on the ear, 
 A familiar strain to the soldiers dear. 
 
 " ' Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh, long may it wave " — 
 It reaches our hearts like a voice from the grave; 
 We gaze at each other in wordless amaze. 
 Who raises that hymn of a patriot's praise? 
 
 Here where death-wagons groan as they pass? 
 Here where the wounded lie thick in the grass? 
 Once more we bend o'er the suffering men, 
 But sweeter and clearer it rises again. 
 
 Triumphant it swells to a volume of might. 
 
 ISing?^ 
 
 " Oh, say, can you see by the daians early light, 
 
 What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?" - 
 
 Then sinks to the murmur of music in dreaming. 
 
 Our hearts grow warm, and our pulses bound, 
 As over the field we follow the sound, 
 Over the grass that is trampled and torn. 
 Through the chilly light of the early morn; 
 While ever, to guide us, rings out on the air 
 That outburst of joy that " our flag is still there." 
 Then we pause, for against the rough trunk of a tree 
 Leans the soldier who sings of ** the land of the free." 
 
 Rhythm is that 7uhii:h asserts: it is the form of move/netit. Melody is that 
 'Mhich distinguishes. Harnwiiy is that which conjoins. — Delsarte.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 301 
 
 Wounded, but warrior-like, he lies; 
 Death-pale, but with a hero's e3^es; 
 His burning lips breathe not of pain. 
 But send a song across the plain: 
 
 ** Oh, say, can you see by the daiufi's early light. 
 
 What so proudly we hailed at the twilighfs last gleaming? 
 Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous 
 
 fisK 
 
 O'er the ramparts we tvatched were so gallantly streaming! 
 And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, 
 Gave proof through the night that our /lag 7vas still there; 
 Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet ivave 
 O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? 
 
 ** On that shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep. 
 Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, 
 What is that which the breeze, o'er the tozcering steep. 
 
 As it fitfully bloic's, now conceals, now discloses? 
 Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam. 
 In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream; 
 ' Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh, long may it wave 
 O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!" 
 
 With tears unused to the eyes of men, 
 
 We carry him back to the camp again; 
 
 But still, through the blood-veined field, that song 
 
 Rings out in music sweet and strong: 
 
 [Sing.] 
 
 " Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, 
 And this be our motto, * /// God is our trust;' 
 And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
 O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.'*
 
 303 DELS A E TE REGIT A TION B OK. 
 
 THE WISH-BONE. 
 
 Leon Mead. 
 
 THEY were dining — lie and she, 
 Chattering incessantly — 
 "When the waiter, old and tried, 
 Brought them chicken nicely fried. 
 Grand it was to see her wade 
 
 Thro' her jDortion with white teeth ; 
 Teeth that cut it like a blade. 
 To the wish-bone underneath. 
 
 Then, when it was free of meat, 
 She in accents soft and sweet, 
 Whisjjered, " Make a wish with me." 
 "Certainly I will," said he. 
 Both a moment silent thought, 
 Then he on the wish-bone caught. 
 Kow the tug of war began 
 'Tween the damsel and the man, 
 Till at last it snapped in twain — 
 She had won it, that was plain. 
 
 "Tell me what you wished," said she. 
 "That you might my darling be; 
 Thro' all sorrow, strife and care 
 My existence you might share. 
 
 Was your wish like that at all ? " 
 " No," she answered, "you might call 
 
 For the true artist it is art mid not man that he offers to the admiration 
 of man.— Delsarte.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 303 
 
 Mine a vain one. It was this: 
 That I yet may know the bliss 
 Of a satin pearl-trimmed dress, 
 Unexcelled in loveliness." 
 
 Happy are these wishers two, 
 
 What each wanted has come true ; 
 
 He has won the damsel fair, 
 
 She the gorgeous gown doth wear, 
 
 A moral has this, tale my friend, 
 That lie who gets the shortest end 
 May also get at last what he 
 Has wished for most tremendously. 
 
 BRITA'S^ WEDDING. 
 
 Rev. W. W. HIabsh. 
 
 THE wind from the hills of Finnmark, came o'er the 
 icy fjord, 
 And the drooping fire of Saltden,- rocked shuddering as it 
 
 roared. 
 And the night was dark, save tlie liglit of stars. 
 Or the flush of the Xorthern Lights' tremulous bars. 
 
 There was the sound of trampling footsteps in the creak of 
 
 the frosty snow. 
 And the roar of a tliund'rous knocking, with heavy hand, 
 
 blow upon blow, 
 
 There ts no Delmrtc walk, no Delsarte stamling-iiimtwn, no DcLiartv 
 toay to sit down, no Delnai-tc won ofdnino oniithinn. The ouln way we seek 
 is nature'stvay. Man ean no more make natural things than he can create 
 truth. He can create nnnatural ways unit fal.-<chood ; at his best, he dis- 
 covers nature's nays a)id liees tnitli. ~Em\i.\ 51. Bishop.
 
 304 DELS A R TE RECITA TION BOOK. 
 
 Heard under the gusts which went before 
 On the oaken bars of Lars Jansen's^ door. 
 
 Sturdy Lars undid the fastenings, and the firelight fell 
 
 without 
 On the flashing snow, like a blood stain, and over a lusty 
 
 rout 
 Of bearded Finns ; and a wolfish gleam 
 Had tooth and eye in the firelight's beam. 
 
 " We are over the hills to Leifert's, Thord Ormsen is 
 
 feasting to-day ; 
 But the snow is deep and the pines are dark, come, bonda^, 
 
 and lead the way." 
 "Not I," growled Lars, "for no guests are ye 
 At Brita's wedding to make so free. 
 
 " And hear ye the wind in the tree-tops? See, the air is 
 
 white with snow ! 
 And hear how the wolves are howling in the pines of the 
 
 pass below. 
 No white-blooded Finn could pass to-night 
 The drifted crags in this dim light." 
 
 "Out, inthingS! Is the night so fearful? By the ham- 
 mer of Thor, my man, 
 
 Where a Norseman goes I can follow ! Lead on, man, if so 
 ye can ; 
 
 Or the wolves ye fear, ye'll find by dawn. 
 
 And thy good house blaze to light us on. 
 
 You admire a work of art only when you re-find yourself in it.— Del- 
 
 SARTE.
 
 DELS A R TE llECITA Tl OX B OK. 305 
 
 "Lead on! for tlie red-cheeked Britii is passing the good 
 
 brown ale, 
 And the big-limbed Alteu bonder are dancing the fresh 
 
 bride pale. 
 See, the night wears on and we lose it all, — 
 What fear ye, man ? Let the good-wife call." 
 
 No move ! Lars did on his snow-shoes with a fire in his 
 
 blue Norse eye, 
 And he muttered, " We'll see by the starlight, how a Finn 
 
 may go to die. 
 Ye shall dance to-night, my merry men, 
 But llela's'' guests never dance again." 
 
 And away iu the swirling snow-wreaths, through the keen 
 
 and frosty night. 
 They climbed like goats of the hedges, by the dim and 
 
 flickering light; 
 Then with straight, swift rush down windy sweeps. 
 Or sharp, dizzy turns, o'er half-seen deeps. 
 
 Sometimes came a sudden thunder, where the rocks were 
 
 rent by frost ; 
 Or again from a treeless summit, through the lull of the 
 
 tempest tost, 
 They heard the wolves of Alten fjord 
 Above the bass that Kjaerstad' roared. 
 
 And still, under his shaggy eyebrows, Lars, sharply glancing 
 
 back, 
 Flung taunts to the Finns who followed hard panting in 
 
 his track ; 
 
 Phlimcal coiitfol gives a scuse of repone aiut pouvr to the mind. The btniy 
 
 isbut the ehithiitg of the isotil; irhett it mores eitKHy, (ivaeefiillii, the mtul 
 
 eTprcS!<cs itself witli perfect freeiloin, heinn uiunuiicioii.i of its physical 
 
 cuvirouinent.—VAiM.x M. Bisiiop. i 
 
 4. ^ 
 
 V
 
 306 DELS A R TE EEC IT A TION B OK. 
 
 And each taunt was a blow, for nerves were tense, 
 And the keen air tingled at every sense. 
 
 "Man, go on! " snarled the Finn in answer, too wratMul 
 
 for steady speech, 
 , "We are doing no work of woman; we'll follow thy 
 
 strongest reach." 
 And the grinding creak of the snowy path 
 Grew fiercer still with their kindling wrath. 
 
 In Lars Jansen's heart a purpose grew clearer and stronger 
 
 still : 
 " Their thoughts are of theft and murder, they are meaning 
 
 my Brita ill. 
 I'll light to their rest to-night," he said, 
 "They shall touch no hair of her bright head." 
 
 So the way dipped into the shadows ; no light of the stars 
 
 could fall, 
 Where the torches flared thro' the leaning boughs, far up 
 
 on the rocky wall ; 
 And the snow spun back as they swept past ; 
 On, on, down the steeps, and breaths came fast. 
 
 On, on, and the way grew narrow, with a darksome depth 
 
 below. 
 And a sharp, short curve, unnoticed in the torchlight's 
 
 fitful glow, 
 Where the coolest head, and the steadiest eye, 
 Asked the light of day that pass to try. 
 
 Be warm outwardly, cold inwardly.'— Dklsxrte.
 
 DELS A R TE RECITA TION B OK. 307 
 
 On, still, with n swift glance backward, lie noticed the long 
 
 line reel ; 
 On — yet in the terrible pressure T.iars Jansen'g nerves were 
 
 steel, — ■ 
 Till he saw by the glare his own torch flung, 
 The empty darkness beneath him hung. 
 
 With a foot as sure as a chamois, he leaped by the crag 
 aside, 
 
 And his torch he flung straight onward, out into the mid- 
 night wide ; 
 
 AVhile the panting line of Finns flashed by, 
 
 Like meteors shot from a murky sky. 
 
 Out into the bottomless darkness, the foremost shot and fell, 
 With a startled shriek, which faintly came back like a 
 
 mufllcd knell; 
 (So swift the drop with arrested breath) 
 And the rearmost pressed to the leap of death. 
 
 No stay of the blind, mad hurrying, no check from that 
 
 cry's vague fear, 
 With the light on their flushed, hard faces, unblanched by 
 
 the death so near, 
 They flashed and sank, with a rushing sweep, j 
 
 Thro' the pine that stooped o'er the crags asleep. \ 
 
 To mark the red glare of their torches, far down tlie abyss 
 
 leaned Lars, 
 As the last shrill shriek of terror went tinirling up to the 
 
 stars. 
 
 Before adult bodies enn he moldeil to the desired e.rprc^ion of hiyh 
 thought ctnti feelinn they miixt lie made phistie. suseept title. An xtiidoiin} 
 proeess )t}ust,iii tienrhi all eoses, preeeile n/i tiphuildirm one. By mental 
 intensity a)id nnisetddr restraint , man is restrirted, often unronsciously in 
 aU of hi.i jiioiTHU/i^s.— Emii.y M. Bisiioi*.
 
 308 DELS ARTE REGIT A TION B OK. 
 
 Then all was still, save the wind moaned low. 
 Far down where the dead were heaped below. 
 
 ****** * * * **** 
 
 But the feasting was high at Leifert's, and the old bro^vn 
 
 ale was quaffed; 
 And under the eyes of the feasters, fair Brita blushed and 
 
 laughed, 
 
 Till Ivor, the bridegroom, looked smiling down 
 
 At the sweet face under the bridal crown. 
 
 > 
 
 But the door swung wide on the dancers, and, white on the 
 
 threshold, there 
 Stood Lars, with a quivering nostril, and the snow in his 
 
 streaming hair, 
 And his white teeth set, as he told how fast 
 The rout had leaped to their death at last. 
 
 Thord Ormsen stood with wild eyes flashing, and with 
 
 clenched fists by the fire ; 
 Ivor clutched the haft of his dagger as Brita nestled nigher, 
 With a face from which all the red was gone, 
 And a heart that heaved like the tide at dawn. 
 
 The dancing and feasting were over, the flagons of ale stood 
 
 brimmed : 
 The laughter was stilled, unforbidden, and the untended 
 
 fires were dimmed, 
 As they talked in the dim light under their breath, 
 "VVitlx start and pause, of this bridal of death. 
 
 4— — — — ■ — ^ 
 
 To attain the Beautiful is impossihle without a formula, that is, a fixed 
 I pi'inciple. —Delsarte.
 
 DELS A R TE RECITA TION B OK. 309 
 
 So it befell at the wedding of Brita; and they tell with 
 
 drawn breath now, 
 In the long, starry nights of Norway, of hot Lars Jansen's 
 
 vow; 
 And the Finns, nncoffined, far below 
 Where the sun ever shines, and the harebells blow. 
 
 ['Breeta; '^Zaltdon; ^Yansen; •'bonda, a farmer; ^a name of 
 utter contempt; ''Queen of death; 'Kyarstad, a tide's whirlpool] 
 
 THEIR MOTHER. 
 
 MY boy sat looking straight into the coals, 
 From his stool at my feet one day. 
 And the firelight burnished the curly head, 
 And painted the cheeks with a dash of red, 
 And brightened his very eyes, as he said, 
 In his most confidential way : 
 
 " Mamma, I think, when I'm a grown-up man, 
 I shall have just two little boys." 
 
 I smiled — he was six! — but he did not see. 
 
 And I said: " Why, yes, how nice that will be! 
 
 But if one were a girl, it seems to me, 
 
 It would add to your household joys." 
 
 "AYell — yes," reflectively, "that would be nice, 
 
 And I'll tell you just what I'll do. 
 ril name one Robbie, for me, you know." 
 Then the bright eyes shone with a deeper glow, 
 " And there's just the two of us now, and so 
 I'll name the girl Annie, for you." 
 
 As there in (Vxi.syiohx and uneonseioinf thittniht, sit there is ami must he 
 coitscious and uiiei»}sei<nt.i teuniitu ; lensinti that affeets the iuvithintary (Mt 
 weU as the vohiiitary proeejise.t of the hmin.—Ewu.Y' M. Bisiioi". 
 
 \
 
 310 DELS ARTE RECITA TION BOOK. 
 
 " But how Avonlcl their mother like that ?" I asked. 
 
 " Do yon think that she would agree 
 For ns both to have names while she had none ?" 
 With the mystified, pnzzled look of one 
 Wholly befogged, said my logical son, 
 
 "Their mother? Why, who is she?" 
 
 f < 
 
 AU REVOIR." 
 
 A DRAMATIC VIGNETTE. 
 
 Austin Dobson. 
 
 Dramatis j M. Jolicceur. 
 Personoe { A Lady (unknown). 
 
 [Scene. — Tlie fountain in tlie Garden of the Luxembourg. It is 
 surrouncled by promenaders.] 
 
 M. JoLiC(EUE. 'Tis she, no doubt. Brunette — and tall; 
 
 A charming figure, above all ! 
 
 This promises — ahem ! 
 The Ladt. Monsieur? 
 
 Ah ! it is three. The Monsieur's name 
 
 Is Jolicceur? 
 M. Jolicceur. Madame, the same. 
 The Lady. And Monsieur's goodness has to say ? 
 
 Your note? 
 M. Jolicceur. Your note. 
 The. Lady. Forgive me. Nay. \^Reads.'\ 
 
 '■'■ If Madame (I omit) will he 
 
 Beside the fountain-rail at three, 
 
 r ^ ■ ' 
 
 Uishy tlie sii}>jcctivcvirtr(f>i of the incff able power of art that the artist 
 fixes fugitive things, gives permanence to what is momentary, and act^u^l'Uy 
 to that which is no more. Thus he himself lives on in what by itself has no 
 It/e.— Delsarte. 
 
 4
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 311 
 
 Then Madame — possibly — may hear 
 News of he I' spaniel. Jolicceur." 
 Monsieur denies his note ? 
 M. JOLICCEUR. I do. 
 
 Now let me read the one from you : 
 *' If Monsieur Jolicceur loill be 
 Beside the fountain-rail at three. 
 Then Monsieur — possibly — may meet 
 An old acquaintance. '■Indiscreet.'' " 
 
 The Lady [scandalized^. 
 
 Ah, what a folly ! ' Tis not true. 
 I never met Monsieur. And you ? 
 
 M. Jolicceur [with yaUantry]. 
 
 Have lived in vain till now. But see ! 
 We are observed. 
 
 The Lady [looking rou7id]. 
 
 I comprehend. [After a pause.] 
 Monsieur, malicious brains combine 
 For your discomfiture, and mine. 
 Let us defeat that ill design. 
 If Monsieur but [Jiesitatiny] — 
 
 M. Jolicceur [boiviny]. Rely on me. 
 
 The Lady [still hesitatiny]. 
 
 Monsieur, I know, will understand— 
 
 M. Jolicceur. Madame, I wait but your command. 
 
 The Lady. You are too good. Then condescend 
 At once to be a new-found friend ! 
 
 M. Jolicceur [entering upon the part fortivith]. 
 
 IIow? I am charmed — enchanted. Ah! 
 "What ages since we met — at Spa? 
 
 As much of truth tus i.s i;i j/'>i"" work will be immortal; the rest yint d<) not 
 wish shouhilive.—C. Wksley Emkrson.
 
 312 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 The Lady [a little disconcerted]. 
 
 J^t Ems, I think. Monsieur, maybe, 
 
 Will recollect the Orangery ? 
 M. JoLiccEUR. At Ems, of course. But Madame's face 
 
 Might make one well forget a place. 
 The Lady. It seems so. Still, Monsieur recalls 
 
 The Kurhaus, and the concert-balls? 
 M, JoLiccEUR. Assuredly. Though there again 
 
 'Tis Madame's image I retain. 
 The Lady. Monsieur is skilled in repartee. 
 
 (How do they take it ? Can you see ?) 
 M. JoLiccEUR. Nay, Madame furnishes the wit, 
 
 (They don't know what to make of it!) 
 The Lady. And Monsieur's friend who sometimes came? 
 
 That clever — I forget the name. 
 M. Jolic(eur. The Baron ? It escapes me, too. 
 
 ' Twas doubtless he that Madame knew ? 
 The Lady [ajxhly']. Precisely. But my carriage waits. 
 
 Monsieur will see me to the gates ? 
 M. Jolicceue [offering arni\. 
 
 I shall be charmed. (Your stratagem 
 
 Bids fair, I think, to conquer them.) 
 [Aside.] 
 
 (Who is she ? I must find that out. ) 
 
 — And Madame's husband thrives, no doubt? 
 The Lady [off her guard]. 
 
 Monsieur de Beau — ? He died at Dole ! 
 M. JoLiccEUR. Truly. How sad ! 
 
 [Aside.] (Yes, on the whole, 
 
 How fortunate ! Beau-/?;'e ? — Beau-i^«w? 
 
 Which can it be ? Ah, there they go!) 
 
 J, _ __^ , 
 
 I 7m reqard to art, everii attempt at a constitution will he struck ^Hth 
 I paralysiii until muxic, eloquence, and plastic art, these three co-necessary 
 bwics of art, are tauoht unitedly as they are together united to the con- 
 I stituent essences of our bei/if/.— Delsartb. 
 
 •h — *
 
 •So I think after that I may spake to the praist.
 
 The sweet song died, and a vague unrest, 
 And a nameless longing filled her breast.
 
 DELSA R TE RE CI T A TION B OK. 3 1 3 
 
 Madame, your enemies retreat 
 
 AVith all the honors of — defeat. 
 The Lady. Thanks to Monsieur. Monsieur has sho\VTi 
 
 A skill' Preville would not disown. 
 M. JoLiC(EUR. You flatter me. We need no skill 
 
 To act so nearly what we will. 
 
 Nay, — what may come to pass, if fate 
 
 And Madame bid me cultivate — 
 The Lady {^anticipating^. 
 
 Alas ! no farther than the gate. 
 
 Monsieur, besides, is too polite 
 
 To profit by a jest so slight. 
 M. JoLiccEUR. Distinctly. Still, I did but glance 
 
 At possibilities — of chance. 
 The Lady. Which may not serve Monsieur, I fear, 
 
 Beyond the little grating here. 
 M. JoLiccEUR {aside^. 
 
 (She's perfect. One may get too far. 
 
 Piano., sano.) 
 
 [They reach the gates.] 
 Here we are. 
 
 Permit me, then. 
 
 [Placing her in the carriage.] 
 And ^ladamo goes':' 
 
 Your coachman ? Can I ? 
 The Lady [smilii/g]. Thanks, ho knows. 
 
 Thanks, thanks! 
 M. JoLiccEUR [insidioKsIg]. And must we not renew 
 
 Our — Ems acquaintanceship ? 
 The Lady [still smiling]. Adieu! 
 
 My thanks instead ! 
 
 In Deh<artf culture onli/ tinrmiU fi/pt's atul cnmlitions iire tatrrn n.t 
 standard.-^. To hi- )i(it}injl is »i<)f to iiitld ti> o/ic's itccuiiaritUti ; it i.^ to get 
 free from all iHculiaritiat.—'E.yin.x M. Bishop.
 
 314 DEL8ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 M. JOLICCEUR \tvUh pathos] . It is too hard 
 
 [Laying his hand on the grating.] 
 To find one's Paradise is barred ! 
 The Lady. Nay. Virtue is her own reward ! 
 
 [Exit.] 
 
 M. JOLICCEUR [solus]. 
 
 Bean-vaw ? — Bean-vallon ? — Bea.u-manoir ?- 
 But that's a trifle ! 
 
 [ Waving hand after carriage. ] 
 Au re voir! 
 
 T'WARD ARCADIE. 
 
 Egan Mew. 
 
 [To the audience.] 
 
 OUR play is short, requiring little casting ;- 
 Two people in a sweet conservatory ; 
 Later may be 
 We'll chance to see 
 This couple trip it into Arcadie, 
 Thinking their ecstasy forever lasting. 
 
 She. Our waltz at last ! Yet let it go ; 
 
 I've danced through one with Hugh Defoe, 
 And learned to weigh that guardsman's toe— 
 His step is all too dashing. 
 He. Yes ? Then rest we will and hear the flow 
 Of fiddle and of piccolo ; 
 I'll watch— 
 
 Be/ore treating of any subject two things are necejisary for the artvit to 
 learn: (l) What he ought to seek in the subject; (2) ivheretofindwhathe 
 seeks.— Delsarte.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 315 
 
 She. The dancers ? 
 
 Hb. Ah, no, — 
 
 Your eyelids flashing. 
 She. Monsieur^ de grdce ... "In Arcadie," 
 
 I see this waltz is said to be; 
 
 How sweet the music's melody 
 And fountain plashing ! 
 He. "In Arcadie '? " Have you been there ? 
 She. Is it the region of the stair, 
 
 Far up above the candles' flare. 
 And cymbals' clashing? 
 He. Sometimes perhaps — 
 She. You know it, then; 
 
 You've entered there? Oh, tell me when? 
 
 Or is't a land of smoke — and men. 
 Of sabretasche and sashing ? 
 He. I've only glanced in once — or twice; 
 
 Just now, in handing you an ice. 
 
 Something I saw that would entice 
 All Arcadie. 
 She. Indeed ! "What — lenses did you use ? 
 He. Your eyes, — their blueness my excuse. 
 She. Yours is, I think, too worn a ruse 
 For Arcadie. 
 
 But tell me of this happy land — 
 
 Do nymphs and swains go hand iu hand 
 
 To airs — like the Hungarian band 
 Is playing? 
 He. Daphnis and Chloe still are there ; 
 
 He binds bright myrtle in her hair, 
 
 Manxj have miMakailu hclkvcil that if the Khouldera ore held liaek, a 
 cornet, gvaeeful earriune wmild lie insured. Un the eontrarii. .'•>eu.'<ing 
 atte)ition on the .-ihoidders gives them a stiff awhn\irdne,<-<, whercax they 
 fihotdd lie i>erfeetly free to perform thcO- duty as expre^ion agents.— 
 Emily M. Bishop.
 
 316 DEL8ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 No whisper comes of carting care, 
 Of cold hearts slaying. 
 She. Go on, I pray. 
 He. There roses bloom ; 
 
 The golden days can know no gloom ; 
 Eternal happiness their doom, 
 
 So Chloe's saying. 
 Yet no one's bored ; bright eyes meet eyes 
 Still brighter, for they lack disguise ; 
 Life sweetly comes, but never flies 
 In Arcadie. 
 She. Would I could visit, at season's end. 
 
 The world you paint with cunning blend 
 Of color-words, as though you'd send 
 
 Us all to Arcadie. 
 Which is the way ? I'll journey there 
 Alone ; the land seems passing fair. 
 He. Not so — alone: they go a-pair 
 
 In Arcadie. 
 She. Oh! 
 
 He. There's one sweet way, — may I show how ? 
 She. But, where and when? 
 He. Ah — here and now : 
 
 Dearest, you know, you must allow — 
 My heart is breaking. 
 She. Sir, you forget! Our waltz is done; 
 Through the camellias dancers come — 
 Your heart, my heart — I think they're one ; 
 Is't worth the taking? 
 He. While there be life one it shall be, 
 
 Art and prayer so confound themselves in one ineffable unity ttuit T can- 
 not separate the two t/iini/s.— Delsarte.
 
 DELS A R TE HE CI TA TION B OK. Zll 
 
 Yours — yours and mine, no room for three 
 In all the breadth of — Arcadie. 
 
 ENVOI. 
 
 And so, Messieurs, we've chanced to see 
 Two more trip up to Arcadie. 
 
 Ah, me! 
 They tliink the land will ever be 
 
 Their jiroperty. 
 
 THE REVOLT OF MOTHER. 
 
 Mary E. "Wilkins. Arranged by Eva Coscarden. 
 
 [By special permission. Copyrighted.] 
 
 ''T^ATIIER! " 
 
 JL The old man shut his mouth tight, and went on 
 harnessing the great bay horse. 
 
 "Father !" 
 
 "Wall, what is it?" 
 
 "Look here, father, I want to know what them men are 
 diggin' over in the front field for, an' I'm goin' to know," 
 
 " I wish you'd go into the house, mother, an' 'tend to 
 your own alTairs." 
 
 " No, I ain't goin' into the house till you tell me wliat 
 them men are doin' over in the field." 
 
 Then she stood waiting. 81ie was a small woman. Her 
 forehead was mild and benevolent. There were meek 
 downward lines al)Out the nose and mouth. The old man 
 glanced doggedly at his wife. She seemed as immovable to 
 
 Pauses and noses arc the most effective thinoK in the languai/c of trortb 
 and gestures, both indicating reserve force.— Emily M. Bisuop.
 
 318 . DEL8ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 
 
 him as one of the rocks in the pasture land. He slapped 
 the reins over the horse and started. 
 
 " Father." 
 
 The old man pulled up. " What is it ?" 
 
 " I want to know what them men are diggin' over there 
 in the field for." 
 
 " They're diggin' a cellar I s'pose, if you've got to 
 know." 
 
 " A cellar for what ? " 
 
 "A barn." 
 
 "A barn ? You ain't goin' to build a barn over there 
 where we are goin' to have a house, father ? " 
 
 .The old man said nothing more, but clattered out of the 
 yard. His wife stood and watched him a moment, then 
 went into the house, which was infinitesimally small com- 
 pared with the great barns near by. A pretty girl's face, 
 pink and delicate as a flower, looked forth from the win- 
 dow. She turned as her mother entered. 
 
 " What are they diggin' for, mother ? Did he tell you V 
 
 " They're diggin' for a cellar for a new barn." 
 
 " Oh, mother, father ain't goin' to build another barn?" 
 
 "That's what he says." 
 
 A boy stood near combing his hair. 
 
 " Sammy, did you know father was goin' to build another 
 barn ? " 
 
 The boy combed assiduously. 
 
 " Sammy, did you know your father was goin' to build 
 another bam ? " 
 
 " Yes, s'j)ose I did." 
 
 ' ' How long have you known it ? " 
 
 " 'Bout three months, I guess." 
 
 There, art voices against which 710 complaint can he made; Hut my heart 
 reproaches them, for they can say nothing to i(.— Delsarte.
 
 DELS A R TE RECITA TION B OK. 319 
 
 "Why didn't you tell of it?" 
 
 " Didn't think it would do no good." 
 
 "Is he goin' to buy more cows ?" 
 
 Th<} boy did not reply. 
 
 " Sammy, I want you to tell me if he's goin' to buy more 
 cows." 
 
 " I s'pose he is." 
 
 "How many?" 
 
 " Four, I guess." 
 
 His mother said nothing more. She went into the pan- 
 try and there was the clatter of pans. The girl went to 
 the sink and began washing the dishes. Her mother came 
 promptly out of the pantry and shoved her aside. 
 
 " You wipe 'em, I'll wash 'em," said she. She plunged 
 her hands into the dish-water, Avhile the girl wiped the 
 plates dreamily. 
 
 " Mother," said she, " don't you think it's too bad father's 
 goin' to build a new barn much as we need a decent house 
 to live in ? " 
 
 Her mother scrubbed a dish fiercely. " You ain't found 
 out yet, Nancy Penn, that we're women folks, an' how we'd 
 ought to reckon men folks in with Providence, an' not com- 
 plain of their doin's any more than you would of the 
 weather." 
 
 " I don't care, I don't believe George is anything like 
 that anyway." Her face flushed, her li})s pouted as if she 
 were going to cry. 
 
 "You wait an' see. I guess George Eastman ain't any 
 better than any other man. You hadn't ought to judge 
 father, though. He can't help it 'cause he don't look at 
 things just the way we do." 
 
 + 
 
 There U alicaus in a phrase hmdUi ni undated one xcdviI wtiich gtmtaina 
 Ute passionate accent. — A. Gceroult. 
 
 ^
 
 320 DELS A R TE REGIT A TION BOOK. 
 
 " I do wisli we liad a parlor." 
 
 " I guess it won't hurt George Eastman to come to see 
 you in a nice clean kitchen. A good many girls don't have 
 as good a place as this. Nobody's ever heard me com- 
 plain." 
 
 " I ain't complainin' either, mother." 
 
 " Well, you'd better not; a girl that's got as good a father 
 an' a good home as you've got. S'pose your father made 
 you go out an' work for your livin' ? Lots of girls have to 
 that ain't no stronger an' better able to than you." 
 
 Nobility of character manifests itself at loop-holes, when 
 not provided with larger doors. Sarah Penn's showed itself 
 to-day in flaky dishes of pastry. So she baked the pies 
 faithfully while across the table she could see, when she 
 glanced up from her work, the sight that rankled her soul, 
 — the digging of the cellar for the new barn in the place 
 where, twenty years before, Adoniram had jDromised that 
 their new house should stand. 
 
 Adoniram and Sammy were home a few minutes after 
 twelve. The dinner was eaten in serious haste. Sammy 
 went back to school, Adoniram went to work in the yard 
 unloading wood. 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 "Well, what is it?" 
 
 " I want to see you just a minute, father." 
 
 " I can't leave this wood, no how." 
 
 " I want to see you just a minute." 
 
 "I tell you I can't come." 
 
 "Adoniram, you come here." She stood in the door 
 like a queen, and held her head as if it bore a crown; there 
 Avas that patience in her voice which makes authority royal. 
 
 Art r,s, defi.nitiiKly, a myKferioiui agent, ofivhich the mihJimc rirtiics work 
 in us, by contemplative paths, the subjection of divine f/uHys.— Delsarte.
 
 DELS A R TE RECirA TION B OK. 321 
 
 Adoniram went. Mi-s, Penn lead the way into the kitchen 
 and pointed to a cliair. 
 
 " Sit down, father; I've got somethin' I Avaut to say to 
 you." 
 
 " Wall, mother, what is it?" 
 
 " I want to know what you are buildiu' a new barn for, 
 father 1 " 
 
 " I ain't got nothin' to say about it." 
 
 ' ' It can't be you think you need another barn ? " 
 
 " I tell you I ain't got nothin' to say about it, an' I ain't 
 goin' to say nothin' about it." 
 
 "Be you goin' to buy more cows?" 
 
 He did not reply. 
 
 " I know you be. Now, father, look here. I'm goin' to 
 talk real plain to you. I never have since I married 3'ou, 
 but Fm goin' to now. You see this room, here, father ? 
 Look at it well. There ain't no carpet on the floor ; the 
 paper's all dirt an' droppin' off the eeilin'. You ?ee this 
 room, father ? It's all the one I've had to work an' eat in 
 since I married you, it's all the room Nancy's got to have 
 lier com]iany in, an' it's all the room she'll have to be 
 married in. There, father," she continued, " there's all 
 the room I've had to sleep in for twenty years. Hero is all 
 the buttery I've got. I want you to look at the stiiirs that 
 go up to them unfinished rooms; that's all the place your 
 son an' daughter luive to sleep in. Tliey ain't so good as 
 your horses' stalls; it ai'u't so warm an' tight. Now, father, 
 I want to know if you think you're doin' right an' accordin' 
 to what you profess. You're lodgin' your dumb beasts bet- 
 ter than your own flesh an' blood. I want to know if you 
 think you're doin' right ! " 
 
 Rational and {iractifal jtriuriplrs tlun-Dituhln iiicuU-attil with art-trch- 
 niqio' and inttiridiuil api)licatii>n (not imitation) in an f-rcellent founda- 
 tion for oriijinalitti of conrcption and proper adaptalion of matter and 
 sentiment.— JilMK. E. A. Ai.hkuti.
 
 322 DELS A R TE RECITA TION B OK. 
 
 " I ain't got nothin' to say." 
 
 " You can't say nothin' Avitliout ownin' yon ain't doin' 
 right." 
 
 Mrs. Penn's face was burning. She had pleaded her 
 cause like a Webster. ' ' Father, ain't you got nothin' to say ? " 
 
 ' ' I've got to go after that load of gravel. I can't stan' 
 here talkin' all day." 
 
 ' ' Father, won't you think it over an' have a house built 
 instead of a barn ? " 
 
 " I ain't got nothin' to say," and Adoniram shuffled out. 
 
 The new barn grew fast and was all ready for use by the 
 third week in July. Adoniram had planned to move his 
 stock in on Wednesday; on Tuesday he received a letter 
 which changed his plans. He came in with it early in the 
 morning. 
 
 " I've got a letter from Hiram, an' he says for me to 
 come right up there ; he's got jest the kind of a horse that'll 
 suit me." 
 
 He prepared for a three days' journey. Just before leav- 
 ing he said, with a consequential air : 
 
 ' ' If them air cows come to-day, Sammy can drive 'em into 
 the new bam ; an' when they bring the hay uj), they can 
 pitch it in there. I shall be back by Saturday night, if 
 nothin' happens." 
 
 Mrs. Penn hurried her baking. At eleven o'clock it was 
 all done. The load of hay drew up at the new barn. j\Irs. 
 Penn went to the door and called : 
 
 " Stoj) ! Don't put the hay in the new barn; put it in 
 the old barn; there's room enough, ain't there?" 
 
 " Room enough ! Didn't need a ncAv barn at all far's 
 room's concerned." 
 ^ — 
 
 When the heart does not communicate to the hrain its generous huruings 
 which illuminate and fecundate ; when it does not inflame those intuitio7is 
 which constitute genius, the mind cannot go I'ery /ar.— Delsarte.
 
 DELS A R TE REGIT A TWN B OK. 3-23 
 
 Mrs. Penn went back into the house. 
 
 " I ain't goin' to git a reg'lai- dinner; you can have some 
 bread an' milk an' pie." 
 
 Nancy and Sammy stared at each other ; there was some- 
 thing strange in their mother's manner. 
 
 " What are you goin' to do, mother ?" 
 
 " You'll see wliat I'm goin' to do. If you're through 
 with your dinner, Nancy, you can pack up your things ; an' 
 1 want Sammy to help me take the beds down. " 
 
 " AVhy, mother, what for?" 
 
 "You'll see." 
 
 During the next few hours a feat was performed by the 
 simple, pious New England mother, which was equal, in 
 its way, to AVolfe's storming the Heights of Abraham. At 
 five in the afternoon the little house the Penns had lived 
 in for twenty years had emptied itself into the new barn ; 
 by six the stove was up and the kettle boiling for tea. Fri- 
 day the minister went to see her. He stood awkwardly be- 
 fore her and talked. 
 
 *' There ain't no use talkin', Mr. Ilersey," said she, " I've 
 thought it all over an' over, an' I believe I'm doin' what's 
 right. I've made it a subject of prayer, an' it's betwixt me 
 an' the Lord an' Adonirani. There ain't no call for nobody 
 else to worry." 
 
 ""Well, of course if you have brought it before the Lord 
 in prayer and feel satisfied you are doing right, Mrs. Penn," 
 said the minister helplessly. 
 
 " I think it's right jest as much as I think it w;te right 
 for our forefathers to come to this country, 'cause they 
 didn't have what belonc^ed to 'em." She arose. The barn 
 floor might have been Plymouth Pock from her bearing. 
 4, — . 
 
 I Wcall know the power of certain inflections: we hnoxc that a phrase, 
 which accented in a certain wan '■•< """. accented in another way prnducca 
 lirreM^tible effects. It is the jiJojut'i/ "/ i/jvut artists to discover the pre- 
 W^minent accentuation.— A. Gi'krdii.t. 
 
 •i- •
 
 324 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 " I don't doubt you mean real well, Mr. Hersey, but there 
 are things people hadn't ought to interfere with. Won't 
 you come in an' set down ? An' how's Mrs. Hersey ? " 
 
 " She's well, I thank you." After a few remarks he re- 
 treated. 
 
 Toward sunset on Saturday Adoniram was expected. 
 Sammy looked out of the harness-room window. 
 
 " There he comes," he said, in an awed whisper. 
 
 He took the new horse by the bridle and came slowly 
 across the yard to the new barn. The doors rolled back, 
 and there stood Adoniram with the horse looking over his 
 shoulder. He stared at the group. 
 
 "What on airth you all do^ra here for? What's the 
 matter over to the house ? " 
 
 " We've come here to stay, father," said Sammy. 
 
 " What — what is it smells like cookin' ? What on airth 
 does this mean, mother," he gasped. 
 
 "Come in, father," said his wife. She led the wav to 
 the harness-room and shut the door. "Now, father, you 
 needn't be scared. I ain't crazy. But we've come here to 
 stay, an' we're goin' to stay here. We've got jest as good 
 right as your new horses an' cows. I've done my duty by 
 you for twenty years an' I inten' to now ; but I'm goin' to 
 live here. You've got to put in some windows an' parti- 
 tions, an' you'll have to buy some new furniture, an' then 
 we'll have a home to be proud of. You'd better take oS 
 your coat an' get washed, an' then we'll have some supper." 
 
 He tried to take off his coat, but his arm seemed to lack 
 the power. His wife helped him tenderly. Then the 
 family drew around the table. The old man gazed dazedly 
 at his plate. 
 
 T?ic expressions of stupor and of astonishment are greatly increased 
 when preceded by a quivering of the eyelid (blinking) —Dklsarte.
 
 JJELSA R TE REGIT A TION B OK. 325 
 
 " Aiu't you goin' to ask the blessin', father?" said his 
 wife. 
 
 He bent his head and mumbled. 
 
 After tlie supper dishes were cleared away, Sarah came 
 out to her husband in the twilight. She bent over and 
 touched him : " Father ! " 
 
 The old man's shoulders heaved ; he was weeping. 
 
 " Why, don't do so, father," said Sarah. 
 
 "I'll — j)ut up the — partitions an' windows, an' buy the 
 furniture, — an' everythin' you — want, mother. I hadn't 
 no idee you was so sot on it as all this comes to." 
 
 DESOLATION. 
 
 Tom Masson. 
 
 SOMEWHAT back from the village street 
 Stands the old-fashioned country seat. 
 Across its antique portico 
 Tall poplar trees their shadows throw, 
 And there, throughout the livelong day, 
 Jemima plays the pi-a-na. 
 
 Do, re, mi. 
 Mi, re, do. 
 
 In the front parlor, there it stands, 
 And there Jemima plies her hanils; 
 While her jiapa, beneath his cloak. 
 Mutters and groans: " This is no joke !" 
 And swears to himself and sighs, alas ! 
 
 Harmony is a positive energy and not a negative quality.— C. Wesley 
 Emerson.
 
 4^6 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOIC. 
 
 With sorrowful voice to all who pass, 
 " Do, re, mi, 
 Mi, re, do." 
 
 Through days of death and days of birth 
 She plays as if she owned the earth. 
 Through every swift vicissitude 
 She drums as if it did her good. 
 And still she sits from morn till night 
 4nd plunks away with main and might, 
 
 Do, re, mi, 
 
 Mi, re, do. 
 
 Xn that mansion used to be 
 Free-hearted hospitality ; 
 But that was many years before 
 Jemima monkeyed with the score. 
 When she began her daily plunk, 
 Into their graves the neighbors sunk. 
 
 Do, re, mi, 
 
 Mi, re, do. 
 
 To other worlds they've long since fled 
 All thankful that they're safely dead. 
 They stood the racket while alive 
 Until Jemima rose at five. 
 And then they laid their burdens down. 
 And one and all they skipped the town. 
 
 Do, re, mi, 
 
 Mi, re, do. 
 
 Anxiety calls for a doxihle movement of the eyebrows: First, contract 
 them; secondly, raise them.— Delsarte.
 
 DELS A R TE IIECITA TION B OK. 327 
 
 THE SPANISH GYPSY. 
 
 George Eliot. 
 
 [The scene is between Zarca, chief of the gypsy tribe of the 
 Zincali, and his daughter, Fedahna, who, at the age of three, 
 had been stolen from liim, and has been reared in tlie royal 
 family of Spain ; and now, at the age of seventeen, is betrothed 
 to the Spanish Duke Silva. The day before her marriage her 
 father gains an interview with her and persuades her to rejoin 
 her people, then held captive by the Spaniards, and flee with 
 them to Africa.] 
 
 ZARCA. At last I see my little maid full-grown, 
 Now I see her wliom the Spaniards call the bright 
 Fedalma. 
 The little red-frocked foundling — tliree years old — 
 Grown to such pcrfectness the Christian Duke 
 Has wooed her for his Duchess. Therefore I have sought 
 
 you; 
 Therefore I am come to claim my child — 
 Not from the Spaniard, not from liim who robbed, 
 But from herself. And my child owns her father ? 
 
 Fedalma. Father, yes ! 
 I will eat dust before I will deny 
 The flesh I sprang from. 
 
 Zarca. There my daughter s])ake ! 
 
 Away, then, with these rubies. Such a crown 
 Is infamy on a Zincala's l)row ! 
 It is her people's blood decking her shame. 
 Fedalma. Then — I — am — a Zincala ? 
 Zakca. Of a blood 
 
 People form (heir estimdles of our cliaraeter not iieee!<sarih,i thrnunh our 
 lauijuane, for perltaim they luive never lie<ir<l us sjieiili. uor throunh the 
 cxpre)<!^i(iu of our faces alone, hut thmuiih tlie hearino of our entire hmlieif. 
 —Anna Morgan.
 
 338 DELS ARTE RECITA TION B OK. 
 
 Unmixed as virgin wine-jnice. 
 
 And you have sworn, even with yonr infant breath, 
 
 Yon, too, were pledged to that faith. 
 
 Taught by no priest, but by their beating hearts. 
 
 Faith to each other. 
 
 Fed ALMA. What have I sworn ? 
 
 Zarca. To live the life of a Zincala's child. 
 The child of him who, being chief, will be 
 The savior of his tribe. You, my child, do you 
 Pause to choose ? 
 
 Fedalma. What is my task ? 
 
 Zarca. To be the angel of a homeless tribe ; 
 To help me bless a tribe taught by no prophet. 
 I'll guide my brethren forth to their new land, 
 Where they shall plant and reap and sow their own ; 
 Where they may kindle their first altar-fire. 
 That land awaits them ; they await their chief — 
 Me, who am imprisoned. All depends on you. 
 
 Fedalma. Father, your child is ready. She will not 
 Forsake her kindred. Listen, father : 
 The Duke to-morrow weds me. Then I will declare 
 Before them all I am his daughter — his, 
 The gypsy's, owner of this golden badge. 
 Then I shall win your freedom. Then the Duke — 
 Why, he will be your son ! — will send you forth 
 With aid and honors. Then, before all eyes, 
 I'll clasp this badge on you and lift my brow 
 For you to kiss it, saying, by that sign : 
 I glory in my father ! This, to-morrow. 
 
 Zarca. What, marry first. 
 And then proclaim your birth ? Enslave yourself 
 4. 
 
 Orators are divid£d into artiMs in it'onis and artists in gesture. Those 
 who are simply artists in words are those w7w do not move you.— Delsarte.
 
 FRANCE PROTECTING HER ALSATIAN SOLDIER. 
 
 By Mercic.
 
 UJ
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 329 
 
 To use your freedom ? How will that tune 
 
 Ring in your bridegroom's ears ? — that sudden song 
 
 Of triumi^li in your Gypsy father ? 
 
 Fedalma. Oh, I am not afraid ! 
 
 His love for me is st^-ouger than all hate. 
 He will never hate the race that bore hi^ 
 What he loves most. 
 
 I shall but do more strongly what I will, 
 Having his will to help me. And to-morrow, 
 Father, as surely as this heart shall beat. 
 You — every chained Zincala — shall be free ! 
 
 Zarca. Not so. The woman who would save her tri\e 
 Must help its heroes not by wordy breath, 
 By easy prayers, strong in a lover's ears. 
 Other work is yours ! 
 
 Fedalma. AVhat work? What is it that you ask of m( ? 
 
 Zarca. A work as noble as an act of man. 
 A fatal deed. 
 
 Fedalma. Stay ! Never utter it ! 
 
 If I can part my lot from him whose love 
 Has chosen me, . 
 
 All sorrows else are but imagined flames. 
 But his imagined sorrow is a fire 
 That scorches me. 
 
 Zarca. , Listen I 
 
 Hard by yon terrace is a narrow stair 
 Cut in the living rock. Opened it leads 
 Through a broad i)as3age furrowed under ground, 
 A good half-mile out to the open plain. 
 To find that door 
 Needs one who knows the number of tlie steps 
 
 . — + 
 
 T?ic respiration corre»pitmUng to cnuranc mectino danger in hmg, dfcp. 
 and viiiDroux; the lungs become iutlatcd to their utmont capacity.— 
 Gkxevikvk Stkuhins.
 
 330 DJBL8A R TE RECIfA TION B OK. 
 
 Just to the turning-point, to open it. 
 You will ope that door and fly with us. 
 
 Fedalma. No, I will never fly ! 
 Never forsake that chief half of my soul 
 Where lies my soul. I swear to set you free. 
 Ask for no more. ' 
 
 Look at these hands ! You say when they were little 
 They played about the gold upon your neck. 
 But see them now. They have twined themselves 
 With other throbbing hands, whose pulses feed 
 Not memories only, but a blended life — ■ 
 Life that will bleed to death if it be severed. 
 Have pity, father ! Wait the morning; say 
 You'll wait the morning. I will win your 
 Freedom openly. You shall go forth 
 With aid and honors. Silva will deny 
 Nought to my asking. 
 
 Zarca. Till you ask him aught 
 
 Wherein he is powerless. Soldiers even now 
 Murmur against him that he risks the town 
 To celebrate his nuptials with a bride 
 Too low for him. They'll murmur more and louder 
 If captives of our pith and sinew, fit 
 For all the work the Spaniard hates, are freed. 
 
 Fedalma. Then I will free you now ! You shall be safe. 
 The deed may put our marriage off. 
 
 Zarca. Aye, till the time 
 
 -When you shall be a queen in Africa 
 And he be prince enough to sue for you. 
 You cannot free us and come back to him. 
 
 Fedalma. And why ? 
 
 4* 
 
 Contraction of the lower eyelid expresses sensiWvcjicss.— Delsarte.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 331 
 
 Zarca. I would compel yon to go forth. 
 
 Fed ALMA. You tell me that ? 
 
 Zarca. Yes ; you have no right to choose. 
 
 Fedalma. I only owe a daughter's debt. 
 I was not born a "slave. 
 
 Zakca. No, not a slave, but you were born to reign. 
 'Tis a compulsion of a higher sort. 
 You belong not to yourself, but to your tribe ! 
 
 Fedalma. No ! I belong to him who loves me — whom 
 I love ; 
 Who chose me — whom I chose — to whom I 
 Pledged a woman's truth. 
 
 Zarca. Well, then, unmake yourself from a Zincala ! 
 Unmake yourself from being child of mine ! 
 Take holy water, cross your dark skin white ; 
 Eound your proud eyes to foolish kitten-looks; 
 Walk mincingly and smirk and twitch yourrobe; 
 Go trail your gold and velvet in his presence ! 
 Smile at your rare luck, while half your brethren 
 
 Fedalma. I am not so vile ! 
 
 It is not to such mockeries that I cling. 
 It is to him — my love — the face of day ! 
 
 Zarca. Will you part him from the air he breathes, 
 Or grasp a life apart from flesh and blood ? 
 Till then you cannot wed a Spanish duke 
 And not wed shame at mention of your race, 
 And not wed hardness to their miseries — 
 Nay, not wed murder. 
 For that child of mine is doubly murderess 
 Murdering her father's hope, her people's trust ! 
 
 Fedalma. Father, since I am yours, drag me to the doom 
 
 + 
 
 Eveni change of mental state is accompanied with a corresponding | 
 eh(unic in the poivcr, force, and rhythm of respiration.— QKSKvmvK 
 
 Stkhhins. 
 
 +
 
 332 DELS A R TE RECITA TION B OK. 
 
 My birth has laid on me. I cannot unll to go, 
 
 Zarca. Will, then, to stay ! 
 Say you will curse your race ! 
 
 Feualma, No, no ! I will not say it — I will go ! 
 Father, I choose. I will not take a heaven 
 Haunted by shrieks of far-off misery. I will go. 
 I will strip off these gems. Some hapj^ier bride 
 Shall wear them, since I should be dowered 
 With nought but curses. Now, good gems, we part. 
 Speak of me tenderly to Silva. 
 Father, come. I will wed the curse of the Zincali. 
 
 Zarca. No curse has fallen on us till we cease to help 
 each other. 
 Write now to the Spaniard, Briefly say 
 That I, your father, came ; that you obeyed. 
 
 Fedalma. Yes, I will Avrite; but he — 
 Oh, he would know it. He would never think 
 The chain that dragged me from him could be aught 
 But scorching iron entering my soul. [ Writes. ] 
 " Silva, sole love — he came — my father came ! 
 I am the daughter of the Gypsy chief, 
 Wlio means to be the savior of our tribe. 
 He calls on me to live for this great end — 
 To live ? Nay, die for it ! Fedalma dies 
 In leaving Silva. All that lives henceforth 
 Is the Zincala." Father, now I go 
 To wed my people's lot. 
 
 Zarca. To wed a crown ! 
 We will make royal the Zincala's lot. 
 
 Fedalma. Stay— my betrothal ring ! One kiss. 
 Farewell ! Farewell ! 
 + ' — . 
 
 It is the mind that yoverns the feet a7id not the feet that govern the 
 mi?iri.— Dels ARTE.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 333 
 
 THE SILENT ARMY OF MEMORIAL DAY. 
 
 Julia Clinton Jones. 
 
 f Dedicated to the Grand Army of the Republic.} 
 
 NEWS of battle ! Hear it ringing 
 Thro' the welkin as w'e march ; 
 N'ews of battle ! news of victory ! 
 Swellinsr thro' the azure arch. 
 
 'o 
 
 Tramping, tramp ! a douhle legion 
 
 Thro' the city's streets we go ; 
 But of one the tread is silent^ 
 
 While our own is measured, slow. 
 See ! the ranks of that Grand Army, 
 
 Pressing round us, fuller grow! 
 Flags arc waving by our standards 
 
 Rent and dyed with crimson stain, 
 Borne by unseen hands around us, 
 
 Brought from many a battle plain ; 
 Waved aloft by bleeding heroes 
 
 Leading Freedom's fearless sons, 
 Storming breastworks, snatching victory 
 
 From the muzzles of tlie guns ! 
 These have brought the news of battle. 
 
 Mustering now in pale array. 
 Marching close to each battalion. 
 
 With each army post to-day, 
 As once more the rolling seasons 
 
 Bring again Memorial Day. 
 
 Bela.vatu»i dors yiot mean actina in a rclajcd, lazy manner. It inranx 
 rest after effort ; ^>erfeet ro'f after j>erfeet effort. It mean.'< the con.^ci(His 
 transfer of enerffu from o-tedepartment of nature to another, with perfc-ct 
 ease and (jraee, after an e.rtreme tension of luidy or /(raid.— Oknkvieve 
 Stebbins.
 
 334 DELS A R TE RE CI T A TION B OK. 
 
 Army Grand of our Repablic ! 
 
 Silent Army of the North ! 
 Though your drums have beat to quarters, 
 
 Memory's bugle calls you forth. 
 Shadowy spirits of our comrades, 
 
 You who fell on battle-plain, — 
 Fell in hos^Dital and prison, 
 
 Thrown in trenches — nameless slain, 
 Soldiers, though unknown to glory, 
 
 Uncommissioned fallen there, 
 By that battle-charge breveted, 
 
 Honor's epaulets you wear ! 
 . With the last guns left you sleeping. 
 
 Left no sentry by your side, — 
 Past your silent camp no picket 
 
 On his rounds again shall stride. 
 
 There the file detailed for burial 
 
 'Neath the sod our comrades laid. 
 While in roll of drum was muffled 
 
 The dull ringing of the spade. 
 In those shallow trenches resting, 
 
 Shattered forms of soldiers lie, 
 But their spirits still are with us, — 
 
 Patriot heroes never die ! 
 Hark ! tramp, tramp ! we know their footsteps ! 
 
 Know of old this marching host ; 
 Thro' the land these phantom legions 
 
 Meet at each Grand Army Post. 
 So we meet and march, companions! 
 
 On this new Memorial Day ; 
 
 The attitude of the hands in prayer is a certain form of caress. In our 
 desire to have the thing we pray for^ we clasp our hands and press tliem to 
 our bosom as if we already held if .— Delsartk.
 
 DELS A R TE RECITA TION BOOK. 335 
 
 Some still in their manhood's vigor, 
 
 Some are scarred, and maimed, and gray. 
 
 But the legions marching with us. 
 Are the same as yesterday. 
 
 'Mid the martial music soundinff. 
 
 And the tread of tramping feet. 
 Rank and file, their voices mingle 
 
 With the noises of the street. 
 Greeting, comrades ! give us greeting. 
 
 Roll of drum, and floral wreath, 
 Let our blood-bought flag wave o'er us, — 
 
 See ! the sword is in its sheath ! 
 See ! the battle's smoke has faded, 
 
 Scout and sentry, all withdrawn ; 
 Where the sleeping ranks lie quiet, 
 
 There no drum-tap sounds at dawn. 
 Greeting, comrades ! here we greet you, 
 
 With quick-step our spirits come. 
 And our honored chief is with us, 
 
 Marching to your battle-drum — 
 He, the patient martyr-leader 
 
 Of the nation, gaunt and tall, — 
 Hear his gentle accents teaching 
 
 " Malice toward none, love for all! " 
 
 Now the fragrant flowers are lying 
 
 Round about on soldier-mound. 
 And the viewless troops are passing 
 
 To the Dead March' solemn sound. 
 Lighter grows the drum-corps' measure, 
 
 Finished now our task of love, — 
 
 Ej-prcwio/ks- ()/ the face that sink into the chin, and attitudes nf the torso 
 
 that relax into the at)dnmen and arr aecomiujiiied tnj utufteadine^ of the 
 
 h'iis, a}-e all significant of weakness and degradation.— QESKVi&yK 
 
 Stebbins. 
 
 ^
 
 336 DELS A R TE REGIT A TION B OK. 
 
 Broken ranks, by squads and single, 
 Men and phantoms, homeward move. 
 
 Once more meet we, double legions ! 
 
 Here within these peaceful walls, 
 Where no battle-trumpet summons, 
 
 Warlike fife nor bugle calls ; 
 But with lovely women near us, 
 
 And our colors on the walls! 
 Hark ! again a spirit greeting 
 
 Floats above orchestral strains : 
 " Comrades! war and strife are over, 
 
 But our Union's flag remains ! 
 Underneatli that flag together^ 
 
 You and we, companions ! stand ; 
 Saved by us, that flag of Freedom ! 
 
 Long its stars shall light the land. 
 Watchwords three we leave behind us, 
 
 They shall keep our country free, 
 Hold them as a sacred message — 
 
 Brotherhood! Love! Loyalty! 
 Bear a love for our Republic, 
 
 For our brothers, one and all, 
 Forward! for our country's honor! 
 
 Quick-stej), march ! if she shall call. 
 Guard her, comrades, in her peace-time, 
 
 Fight her battles if she need ; 
 Let our sons — the sons of veterans — 
 
 Earn like us the patriot's meed. 
 Though whole troops of us are lying 
 
 Soldiers missing from the roll, 
 
 In tlib narrative portion of a recitation the eyes of the speaker should 
 meet the eyes of the audience. In this way he fixes their attention and 
 engages zneir sympathy.— Dki&xki'E,. 
 
 4"
 
 DELS A R TE RECITA TION B OK. 337 
 
 Absent at tlie call of bugle, 
 
 Sec ! each name is on the scroll, 
 Written Avitli a nation's life-blood 
 
 On our Union's honor roll. 
 Some are here who greet us kindly 
 
 From the south-lands far away; ; 
 
 Welcome is the tear-drop falling. 
 
 Mingled tear for Blue and Gray — 
 
 For the Blue as well as Gray. 
 Comrades shall they stand together. 
 
 Rank by rank, and file by file. 
 When the self-same trump shall summon 
 
 To the self-same camp erewhile." 
 
 Dimmer now the lights are burning. 
 
 Sweeter, slower, falls each note ; 
 'Mid the dyiiig strains of music. 
 
 Faint and far, the voices float : 
 " Sons of veterans, veteran soldiers. 
 
 New recruits, and beards of gray, 
 In the distance echoing bugles 
 
 Call us from your Post away — 
 Call us to our own divisions 
 
 Until next Memorial Day ! " 
 
 Farewell, friends and old companions! 
 
 Thanks for this warm greeting here ; 
 May the God whose might hath led us 
 
 Grant we meet again next year. 
 Now, dress ranks ! present arms, comrades ! 
 
 Ladies! wc salute you now, — 
 Noble sex, who gave us heroes. 
 
 It it'iw IhUartc's discnvcrii that tlusnul >nin\i< in olicdicucf ti> iDiirtrsal 
 law; that Uk efforts to man'ifext iti<ilf to the outer world are re^itrictctl by 
 the conditUmx imposed tnj upace, time, and motion; that the gold mimt 
 express itself in space, through time, htj jiiofioii.— Ansa Morgan. 
 
 \
 
 338 DELS A RTE RECITA TION B OK. 
 
 Faith and love to you ^ye vow. 
 Cheer the old flag ! wave forever > 
 
 Stars and Stripes ! Eed, White and Blue ! 
 Blood-stained, torn, but never lowered, 
 
 Freedom's flag ! three cheers for you ! 
 
 Comrades, till our next Post meeting. 
 Come, stack arms ! break ranks ! adieu. 
 
 STORY OF GUGGLE. 
 
 Thomas Speed. 
 
 OXCT 'pon a time dere wus a woman, an' she wus a 
 widder, an' she had a boy name' Guggle, an' 
 Guggle he wus so lazy an' triflin' his mudder couldn' do 
 nuffin' wid him. He wouldn' work an' he Avouldn' learn 
 nuffin' ; an' so he growed up to be a tol'able big boy, an' he 
 didn' know nuffin' an' he couldn' do nuffin'. All he wus 
 fit fur wus to lay up close to de kitchen fire an' go 'sleep. 
 So one day his mudder ketch him sleepin' so close up in de 
 chimney he wus clear up in de ashes ; an' she snatch holt 
 him an' box an' cuff him 'roun' so dat Guggle he run out 
 de doll an' run ober to his aunt's house. But Guggle's 
 mudder she didn' know whar Guggle wus gone. So nex' 
 day when she saw him comin' home, she say : 
 ' ' Guggle, Avhar you bin ? " 
 
 An' Guggle say: " I bin ober to my aunt's house." 
 Den Guggle's mudder say: " Well, Guggle, whatyo' aunt 
 gib you, honey?" 
 
 » 
 
 r ^ + 
 
 
 Movements of thearma alone, ivlthout the expression of the face, do not 
 mean arij/f/iiny.— Delsarte. 
 
 » 
 
 , 4,
 
 DELS A R TE REGIT A TION B OK. 339 
 
 Deii Guggle sorter hung down his licacl Hke, an' look 
 foolish, an' he say: "She gib nie a ncL'dle, an' as I wus 
 coniin' 'long I saw some boys playin', an' I stuck de needle 
 in de haystack, while I i)lay wid de boys. An' when I 
 come to look fur de needle, I couldii' fin' it nowhar." 
 
 Den Guggle's mudder, she say: " Lah, chile, yon always 
 wus a goose, an' always will be. Why didn' you stick de 
 needle in yo' coat-sleeve ? Den when you come home you 
 would had de needle." 
 
 Den Guggle say: " Well, mudder, nex' time I know 
 better." 
 
 After awhile Guggle's mudder she ketch him 'sleep in 
 de ashes agin ; an' she mighty mad dis time, an' she took 
 holt Guggle by de collar of his coat an' beat Guggle good, 
 till he v;ent out de house jes' a-bawlin', an' way he went 
 ober to his aunt's house. Dis time Guggle stayed at his 
 aunt's house two, free days. An' when his mudder see him 
 comin' home she wus mighty glad to see him comin', cos 
 she love' Guggle, fur all he wusn' no 'count, an' she kep' on 
 hopin' he gwine do better. An' when she see Guggle, she 
 say: 
 
 "Guggle, whar you bin?" 
 
 An' Guggle say: "I bin ober to my aunt's house, an' my 
 aunt gib me a lump o' butter, an' I thought I do like you 
 tol' me, an' I stuck it up my coat-sleeve, an' look here how 
 it all done melted!" ^ 
 
 An' Avhen Guggle's mudder see de butter all runuin' out 
 his coat-sleeve an' down on his han', she say: "Guggle, 
 what I gwine do wid you, nohow ? You always wus a 
 goose, an' always will be. Why didn' you wrap de butter 
 up in a cabbage-leaf, an' dip it in ebery col' spring you 
 
 ^ye must free the body from the Miffnc.^ of imiivMiiaUty by yuhiing it 
 «p to the claims of universality.— Assa Morgan.
 
 340 DELS A R TE RECITA TION B OK. 
 
 come to ? Den when you got home, de butter all nice an' 
 fresh." 
 
 Den Guggle he say: "Well, mudder, nex' time I know 
 better." 
 
 Guggle didn' go 'sleep in de ashes any moh fur two, free 
 weeks. So his mudder she begin to t'iuk Guggle gwine do 
 tetter. But sho' nuff, one day dere wus Guggle layin' up 
 soun' 'sleep in de ashes. An' his mudder she wus so mad 
 she beat an' maul Guggle ober his head wid de broomstick, 
 what she hab in her ban', cos she bin sweepin'. An' Gug- 
 gle hustle out de doh in a hurry, an' run ober to his aunt's 
 house. Now Guggle's aunt had a nice little puppy; an' 
 when she saw Guggle lookin' at de puppy like he want him, 
 she say: 
 
 " Guggle, don' you wan' dat little puppy?" 
 
 An' Guggle say : ' ' Yes'm. " 
 
 An' she say he might hab him. So Guggle 'member 
 what his mudder tol' him, an' he got out in de gyardin an' 
 git a big cabbage-leaf, an' ketch de pnppy, an' wrap him 
 up in de cabbage-leaf, an' start home. An' ebery col' 
 spring he come to he dip de little puppy in. So when 
 Guggle's mudder she see him comin', she run out to de 
 gate, an' say: 
 
 " Guggle, whar you bin, chile?" 
 
 An' Guggle he say: "I bin to my aunt's house; an' she 
 gib me dis little puppy, an' I wrap him up in a cabbage- 
 leaf like you tol' me, an' dip him in ebery col' spring I come 
 to, an' now de puppy done dead." 
 
 Den Guggle's mudder she feel like she jes' hab to gib up ; 
 an' all she could say t\tis : 
 
 ' ' Oh ! Guggle, you always wus a goose, an' always will 
 
 It fe the pcmtlon of the eye that determines the expression of the head, 
 for it w the directwn of the eye, that tells us on which side the object is sup- 
 posed to be.— Delsarte.
 
 DELS A R TE R EC IT A TION B OK. 341 
 
 be. Why didn' you tie a string to de puppy an' lead him 
 'long, an' say, ' Pup! pup! pup!' Den when you got home 
 you hab nice little puppy to jilay wid." 
 
 Den Guggle he say: " Well, mudder, ncx' time I know 
 better." 
 
 AVell, one day Guggle's mudder went ober to do neigh- 
 bor's house, an' she stayed dere some time talkin' 'bout de 
 new fashi'n' bonnets de ladies wus all a-gittin' 'bout dat 
 time; an' when she come home an' went in de kitchen, 
 dere wus Guggle layin' up close to de fire, right in de ashes. 
 Den she wus mad sho' nuff ; an' she jes' laid down her shawl 
 on de cheer, an' den she tuk off de specktikles she wus a- 
 wearin', an' she caught Guggle by de coat-collar an' she 
 beat him an' smacked him till de ashes flew out ob his does 
 all ober de room. An' Guggle he run out de doh, an' 'way 
 he went ober to his aunt's house. An' his mudder she wus 
 so troubled she sot down on a split-bottom cheer an' cried 
 an' cried 'bout Guggle. 
 
 Dis time Guggle's aunt gib him a loaf ob bread to take 
 home to his mudder. An' Guggle 'member what his mud- 
 der tell him 'bout de string. So he tie' a long string to de 
 loaf ob bread, an' went 'long home draggin' de bread on vie 
 groun' an' sayin' all de way, "Pup! pup! imp!" 
 
 Now Guggle's mudder wus out in de yard, hangin' out 
 some does on de line; an' shelook' up, an' see Guggle comin' 
 an' draggin' sumpfin' on de groun'. Den she say: 
 
 " Guggle, whar you bin, an' what dat you draggin' on 
 de groun' ? " 
 
 Den Guggle say: "I bin to my aunt's house, an' she gib 
 me a loaf ob bread, an' I done like you tol' me — I led it 
 'long wid a string, an' it done drug all to pieces." 
 
 T/ie highest form of gesture w the spiral. AH the higher emotions and 
 
 I aspirations find expression in spiral min'ements. Well-poised e.rpressiim, 
 shou'in{i the individual stronger than the emotion, is hy this form of move- 
 I »JC)i(.— Genevieve Stebrins. 
 + • 
 
 \
 
 342 DELS A R TE RE C IT A TION B OK. 
 
 An' Guggle's nindder she was so outdone she jes' frow 
 up her han's an' say : 
 
 " Oh ! Guggle, what I gwine do wid you, nohow ? You al- 
 ways wus a goose, an' always will be. Why didn' you wrap de 
 bread up in a clean table-cloff, an' jiut it on yo' head, an' 
 come 'long home like you ought to 'a' done." 
 
 Den Guggle he say: " AVell, mudder, de nex' time I 
 know better." 
 
 'Twasn't long 'fore Guggle's mudder caught him 'sleep 
 in de ashes agin ; an' when she beat him an' cuff' him 'roun' 
 right smart, Guggle ran ober to his aunt's house. An' 
 while he wus lookin' out de winder he see a little colt run- 
 nin' 'roun' de yard ; an' he say : 
 
 " Oh, aunty, what is dat?" 
 
 An' she say : " Why, Guggle, dat's a little colt. Don' 
 you want him ? " 
 
 An' Guggle say: " Yes'm, if you gib him to me." 
 
 So she say Guggle might take de colt 'long. 
 
 Den Guggle say to hisself : " I gwine do right dis time." 
 So he go in de dinin'-room, an' take de table-cloff off de 
 table, an' he ketch de colt, an' wrap de table-cloff all 'roun' 
 him, an' try to lif de colt up on his head. But by dis 
 time de colt done skeered pretty near to def ' ; an' he rared 
 an' kicked till he got away an' ran clar off. So when Gug- 
 gle went home, an' tol' his mudder 'bout de colt, she say : 
 
 "Guggle, you always wus a goose, an' always will be. 
 Why didn' you put bridle an' saddle on de colt, an' git up 
 on him, an' ride him home, like you ought to 'a' done ? " 
 
 Den Guggle say : ' ' Well, mudder, I gwine do better nex' 
 time." 
 
 'Fore long, Guggle's mudder foun' him 'sleep in de ashes 
 
 Art is the tendency of the fallen soul toward its primitive purity, or its 
 final splendor. In a word, it'is the search for the eternal fypc— Delsarte.
 
 DELS A R TE RECITA TION B OK. 34a 
 
 agin. Dis time he liad wallowed all ober in de ashes, an' 
 dey wus all ober his does, an' in his ha'r, an' in his pockets, 
 an' in his shoes. But Guggle heerd his miulder comin', an' 
 he jump' an' run out de doh, an' went ober to his aunt's 
 house, 'fore his mudder had time to beat him. An' dis 
 time his aunt gib him a nice little spotted calf, an' tol' him 
 to take it home wid him. So, sho' nuff, Guggle went an' 
 got a bridle, an' put de bridle on de calf, an' put a saddle 
 on, an' got on hisself, an' started to xide home. 
 
 Now it so happen' dat 'bout dis time de King's daughter 
 wus in a fit ob sadness cos she had los' her favorite k'nary 
 bird; an' she wouldn' do uuffin' but cry an' cry all de time. 
 An' de King an' de Queen, an' de young men, an' de fine 
 ladies dey done all dey could to make de King's daughter 
 moh cheerful. But all dey could do didn' do no good. 
 She jes' cried all de time ; an' de King wus in a heap ob 
 trouble, an' say he wus 'fraid his daughter gwine go in a 
 'cline an' die. So he say if any man in all de kingdom 
 could make his daughter laff , or eben jes' smile, he should 
 marry her an' hab her fur his wife. So all de young men 
 try ebery way dey knowed how to make de King's daughter 
 laff. But didn' do no good. She jes' cried an' cried all 
 de time. 
 
 But it so turned out dat one day de King's daughter wus 
 settin' by de winder whar she ust to play wid her k'nary bird. 
 An' she look' up de road, an' she see sumpfiu' comin'. An' 
 she look' an' look', an' all at onct she broke out laffin'. An' 
 de people all run to see what she wus laffin' at. An' sho' 
 nuff, it wus Guggle comin' down de road ridin' on de calf. 
 An' de calf avus runnin' fust to one side de road an' den de 
 oder. An' de ashes wus a-flyin' out Guggle's does, an' his 
 
 Tlie rhythm t>f nisture i.t in pmimrtion to thi- ma.<s moved or to the feeliinj 
 that prompts the /(ioft;)U(i(.— Gkxevikve Stkbbixs.
 
 SU DELS A R TE RECITA TION B OK. 
 
 oV ragged does wus flappin' 'bout ebery way, an' his lia'r 
 wus stickin' out his ol' straw hat. An' dey all said it wus 
 de funniest sight eber seen in de worl'. 
 
 Den de King ups an' says : ' ' Dat man done make my 
 daughter laff, an' he got to hab her fur his wife." 
 
 So dey sent de King's officers do^vn to de house whar 
 Guggle live', an' tol' Guggle's mudder she mus' git him 
 ready to marry de King's daughter. Den Guggle's mudder 
 she went to work to git him ready to marry de King's 
 daughter. An' she had Guggle's shoes black' so shiny you 
 could see yo' face in 'em ; an' she tol' Guggle he mus' jes' 
 walk 'bout in all de nice, clean places, so not to git de shoes 
 dirty agin. Den she went in de kitchen, an' she bake a 
 whole lot ob pies fur de weddin'. An' as she would git de 
 pies cooked done she sot 'em all 'roun' in de pans on de 
 kitchen floh, to git cool. An' Guggle, he happen' to come 
 along, an' he see de pies, an' he say to hisself : 
 
 " De pies is all nice an' clean. Dat's good place to 
 walk." 
 
 So he walk right in de pies. Den when Guggle's mudder 
 see what he bin doin', she scol' Guggle ; but she 'f raid to 
 beat him dis time, cos he gwine marry de King's daughter. 
 An' she made Guggle go out de kitchen. Den she call' him 
 back, an' say: 
 
 " Guggle, go bring me de salt an' pepper." 
 Now it so happen' dat Guggle's mudder had a ol' goose 
 dat wus kinder gray color ; an' on dat 'count she call de ol' 
 goose " or Salt-an'-pepper." An' de ol' goose wus settin' 
 on a nes' full ob aigs, behin' de barn-doh. So, sho' nuff, 
 Guggle went an' caught de ol' goose, an' cut her head off. 
 
 Make me feel in advance. If it is sometMng frightful, let me read it on 
 your face before you tell me of it.— Delsarte.
 
 DELS A R TE RE (J IT A TION B OK. 345 
 
 an' tuk lier in to his mndder. When Guggle's mndder saw 
 him comin' in wid de ol' goose, she jcs' let some dislies fall 
 out her lian' on de floh, an' frow up her han's an' say: 
 
 " Oh, Guggle! Guggle! You done gone an' killed my 
 ol' settin' goose ; an' now de aigs won't hatch out. What 
 I gwine do wid you, nohow? You nufifin' but a goose yo'- 
 self." 
 
 So Guggle he feel mighty bad, an' went out de house, 
 but his mudder didn' know whar he gwine. 
 
 Den de King's officers come drivin' up, wid de fine car- 
 riage an' six horses, to take Guggle up to de King's palace 
 to marry de King's daughter. But dey couldn' fin' Guggle 
 nohow. Pey call' him an' hunt fur liim; but dey couldn' 
 fin' him. So de King's officers went l)ack, an' tol' de King 
 dey couldn' fin' Guggle nowhar. Den de King he wus 
 pow'ful mad, an' de King's daughter commence' cryin' 
 agin, an' eberyt'ing wus in confusion, an' dere wa'n't no 
 weddin', an' Guggle's mudder wus so distress' she sot down 
 on a split-bottom cheer, an' cried all night. 
 
 Nex' mornin' Guggle's nnidder fought she would go 
 down to de barn to feed de chickens. So she tuk some 
 dough in a pan, an' as she push open de doli she hear 
 sunipfin' go "ll-i-s-s! h-i-s-s!" An' she look' beliiu' de 
 doll, an' dere sot Guggle on de ol' goose' nes'. An' his 
 mudder drop de pan ob dough, an' frow up her han's, an' 
 couldn' say nuifm'. An' Guggle say: 
 
 "Il-i-s-s! h-i-s-s! ^ludder, I'm a goose ! You always 
 say Fm a goose, an' I gwine hatch out OV Salt-an'-pepper's 
 aigs!" 
 
 The SHiiJc, in onhr fi> r.nrt itn nttnu-tivc finrr vithout (jml its tilucative 
 iufluoirc viDiin. must he tlitirnuolilii ■•^hirhr nml iiiiiuiiii\ xiilTii.tiim the 
 features fniin ttic intcrinr. ui>t xiltiiUij assuiiud duil )iiivcrin\j thinly on 
 the ."Mtrfrtrt'.— Rkv. W. R. Ai.cku.
 
 340 DELS A R TE REGIT A TION B OK. 
 A TOMB IN GHENT. 
 
 Adelaide Anne Procter. 
 
 A SMILING look she had, a figure slight, 
 With cheerful air, and step both quick and light; 
 A strange and foreign look the maiden bore, 
 That suited the quaint Belgian dress she wore ; 
 Yet the blue, fearless eyes in her fair face, 
 And her soft voice, told of her English race ; 
 And ever, as she flitted to and fro. 
 She sang (or murmured, rather) soft and low. 
 Snatches of song, as if she did not know 
 That she was singing, but the happy load 
 Of dream and thought thus from her heart o'erflowed. 
 
 And much I marvelled, as her cadence fell 
 
 From the Laudato, that I knew so well. 
 
 Into Scarlatti's minor fugue, how she 
 
 Had learned such deep and solemn harmony. 
 
 But what she told I set in rhyme, as meet 
 
 To chronicle the influence, dim and sweet, 
 
 'ISTeath which her young and innocent life had grown: 
 
 Would that my words were simple as her own. 
 
 Many years since, an English workman went 
 
 Over the seas, to seek a home in Ghent, 
 
 Where English skill was prized; nor toiled in vain; 
 
 Small, yet enough, his hard-earned daily gain. 
 
 lie dwelt alone, — in sorrow or in j^i'ide, 
 
 He mixed not with the workers bv his side ; 
 
 Man constitutes the ohject of art, and from thin point he should be 
 especially >itudied. —Belsarte.
 
 DELS A R TE RECITA TION B OK. 347 
 
 He seemed to care but for one present joy, — 
 To tend, to watch, to teach his sickly boy. 
 Severe to all beside, yet for the child 
 He softened his rough speech to soothings mild ; 
 For him he smiled, with him each day he walked 
 Through the dark, gloomy streets; to him he talked 
 Of home, of England, and strange stories told 
 Of English heroes in the days of old. 
 
 Dim with dark shadows of the ages past, 
 St. Bavon stands, solemn and rich and vast; 
 The slender pillars, in long vistas spread, 
 Like forest arches meet and close o'erhead ; 
 ^o high that, like a weak and doubting prayer, 
 Ere it can lloat to the carved angels there, 
 The silver-clouded incense faints in air. 
 Here the pale boy, beneath a low side-arch, 
 Would listen to the solemn chant or march; 
 Folding his little hands, his simple prayer 
 Melted in childish dreams, and l)oth in air: 
 "While the great organ over all would roll, 
 Speaking strange secrets to his innocent soul. 
 
 Then he would watch the rosy sunlight glow, 
 
 That crept along the marble floor below. 
 
 Or lighting up the carvings strange and rare. 
 
 That told of patient toil and reverent care ; 
 
 Then the gold rays up pillared shaft would climb, 
 
 And so be drawn to heaven, at evening time. 
 
 And deeper silence, darker shadows flowed 
 
 On all around, only the windows glowed 
 
 +- 4. 
 
 The attitudes of the body coiTwponcJ iri7?i the emotioiis of the mind.— 
 Genevieve Stebbi.ns.
 
 348 DELS A R TE RECITA TION B OK. 
 
 Witli lilazoned glory, like the shields of light 
 Archangels bear, who, armed with love and might, 
 Watch upon heaven's battlements at night. 
 Then all was shade ; the silver lamps that gleamed, 
 Lost in the daylight, in the darkness seemed 
 Like sparks of fire in the dark aisles to shine, 
 Or trembling stars before each separate shrine. 
 Grown half afraid, the child would leave them there, 
 And come out, blinded by the noisy glare 
 That burst upon him from the busy square. 
 
 The church was thus his home for rest or play; 
 
 And as he came and went again each day, 
 
 The pictured faces that he knew so well 
 
 Seemed to smile on him welcome and farewell. 
 
 But holier, and dearer far than all. 
 
 One sacred spot his own he loved to call ; 
 
 Save at midday, half hidden by the gloom ; 
 
 The peoj^le call it the the White Maiden's Tomb : 
 
 For there she stands ; her folded hands are pressed 
 
 Together, and laid softly on her breast, 
 
 As if she waited but a word to rise 
 
 From the dull earth and pass to the blue skies ; 
 
 Her lips expectant part, she holds her breath, 
 
 As listening for the angel voice of death. 
 
 None know how many years have seen her so. 
 
 Or what the name of her who sleej^s below. 
 
 And here the child would come, and strive to trace, 
 
 Through the dim twilight, the pure, gentle face 
 
 He loved so well, and here he oft would bring 
 
 Some violet-blossom of the early spring, 
 
 Art fe a work of love, where shine the Beautiful, the Good, and the 
 ^rr/e.— Delsarte.
 
 DELS A R TE REGIT A TION B OK. 349 
 
 And, climbing softly by the fretted stand, 
 
 Not to disturb her, lay it in her hand: 
 
 Or, whispering a soft, loving message sweet, 
 
 "Would stoop and kiss the little marble feet. 
 
 So, when the organ's pealing music rang, i 
 
 lie thought amid the gloom the maiden sang; 
 
 "With reverent, simple faith by her he knelt, 
 
 And fancied what she thought, and what she felt ; 
 
 "Glory to God! " reechoed from her voice, 
 
 And then his little spirit Avould rejoice ; 
 
 Or when the Requiem sobbed upon the air. 
 
 His baby tears dropped with her mournful prayer. 
 
 So years fled on, while childish fancies past, 
 The childish 'love and simple faith could last. 
 The artist-soul awoke in him, the flame 
 Of genius, like the light of heaven, came 
 Upon his brain, and (as it will, if true) 
 It touched his heart and lit his spirit, too. 
 His father saw, and with a proud content 
 Let him forsake the toil where he had spent 
 His youth's first years, and on one happy day 
 Of pride, before the old man psissed away, 
 He stood with quivering lips, and the big tears 
 Upon his cheek, and heard the dream of years 
 Living and speaking to his very heart, — 
 The low, hushed murmur at tlie wondrous art 
 Of him wlio with young, trembling fingers made 
 The great church organ answer as he played; 
 And, as the uncertain sound grew full and strong. 
 
 The dramatic art, 1ta»i(l itnthf ^ekncf i>f human nature in the revelation 
 of its inner states thrini<jh outer si[ins, is the exercise of that imwer wfierelnj 
 man can indetrnitelii multiiily his persoiuiUtu ami life Inj divestinu himself 
 and enterino into the characters, situations and e.ri>eriences of those \chom 
 he beholds or reads of or creatively imaoines.—RKX. W. K. Alger.
 
 350 DELS A R TE RECITA TION B OK. 
 
 Rnsli with liarmonions spirit-wiugs along, 
 
 And thrill with master-power the breathless throng. 
 
 The old man died, and years passed on, and still 
 The young musician bent his heart and will 
 To his dear toil. St. Bavon now had grown 
 More dear to him, and even more his own ; 
 And as he left it every night he prayed 
 A moment by the archway in the shade, 
 Kneeling once more within the sacred gloom 
 Where the White Maiden watched upon her tomb. 
 One day a voice floated so pure and free 
 Above his music, that he turned to see 
 What angel sang, aud saw before his e5'es. 
 What made his heart leap with a strange surprise, 
 His own White Maiden, calm, and pure, and mild, 
 As in his childish dreams she sang and smiled ; 
 Her eyes raised up to heaven, her lips apart, 
 And music overflowing from her heart 
 But the faint blush that tinged her cheek betrayed 
 No marble statue, but a living maid. 
 
 Days passed ; each morning saw the maiden stand, 
 Her eyes cast down, her lesson in her hand. 
 Eager to study ; never weary, while 
 Eepaid by the approving word or smile 
 Of her kind master ; days and months fled on ; 
 One day the pupil from the choir was gone ; 
 Gone to take light, and joy, and youth once more 
 Within the poor musician's humble door. 
 Unmarked by aught save what filled every day, 
 
 The heginning andthc end of ait are in God ; the genesis upon this earth 
 I remounts to the cradle of creafioH.— Delsarte.
 
 DELS A R TE REGIT A TION B OK. 351 
 
 Duty, and toil, and rest, years passed away: 
 
 And now by the low archway in the shade i 
 
 Beside her mother knelt a little maid, ' 
 
 Who through the great cathedral learned to roam, 
 
 Climb to the choir, and bring her father home ; 
 
 And stand, demure and silent by his side, 
 
 Patient till the last echo softly died ; 
 
 Then place her little hand in his, and go 
 
 Down the dark winding stair to where below 
 
 The mother, knelt within the gathering gloom 
 
 "Waiting and praying by the Maiden's tomb. 
 
 So their life went, until, one winter's day, 
 Father and child came there alone to pray. 
 The mother, gentle soul, had fled away ! 
 Their life was altered now ; but yet the child 
 Forgot her passionate grief in time, and smiled, 
 Half wondering why, when spring's fresh breezes came. 
 To see her father was no more the same, 
 And now each year that added grace to grace. 
 Fresh bloom and sunshine to the young girl's fiice, 
 Brought a strange light in the musician's eyes, 
 As if he saw some starry hope arise, 
 Breaking upon the midnight of sad skies. 
 It might be so : more feeble year by year. 
 The wanderer to his resting-place drew near. 
 One day the Gloria he could play no more, 
 Echoed its grand rejoicing as of yore ; 
 His hands were clasped, his weary head was laid 
 Upon the tomb where the AVhite ^Maiden prayed ; 
 "Where the child's love lirst dawned, his soul first spoke, 
 . ^. 
 
 T)ic highest f<trm of character determines its own e.rjtressitms and does 
 not leave them to lie determined 1)y the nature of the objects it happenn to 
 »»ice(.— Rev. W. R. Ai.ckr.
 
 352 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. / 
 
 The old man's heart there throbbed its last and broke. 
 The grave cathedral that had nursed his youth, 
 Had helped his dreaming and had taught him truth, 
 Had seen his boyish grief and baby tears, 
 And watched the sorrows and the joys of years. 
 Had lit his fame and hope with sacred rays, 
 And consecrated sad and happy days, 
 Had blessed his happiness, and soothed his jjain, 
 Now took her faithful servant home again. 
 
 He rests m peace. Some travelers mention yet 
 
 An organist whose name they all forget. 
 
 He has a holier and a nobler fame 
 
 By poor men's hearths, who love and bless the name 
 
 Of a kind friend; and in low tones to-day 
 
 Speak tenderly of him who passed away. 
 
 Too poor to help the daughter of their friend. 
 
 They grieved to see the little pittance end ; 
 
 To see her toil and strive with cheerful heart. 
 
 To bear the lonely orphan's struggling part; 
 
 They grieved to see her go at last alone 
 
 To English kinsmen she had never known. 
 
 Deep in her heart she holds her father's name. 
 
 And tenderly and proudly keeps his fame; 
 
 And while she works with thrifty Belgian care. 
 
 Past dreams of childhood float upon the air; 
 
 Some strange old chant, or solemn Latin hymn. 
 
 That echoed through the old cathedral dim, 
 
 When as a little child each day she went 
 
 To kneel and pray by an old tomb in Ghent. 
 
 Even as Ood, art hides itself in Uoht. Tlierc it rests, as inaccessible to 
 vain curiosity as to egotistic speculation.— Delsj^vitk.
 
 DELS A E TE EEC IT A TION B OK. 353 
 
 THE WEDDING-GOWN. 
 
 Etta W. Pierce. 
 
 BRING it from the oaken press ; full fifty years ago 
 I sewed those seams, my heart all full of youth and 
 
 hope and Joe — 
 Joe, whose wife I was to be — my lover, strong and brown, 
 Captain of the stanchest craft that sailed from Gloucester 
 
 town. 
 It seems a worthless thing to hold so carefully in store. 
 This poor, old, faded bridal dress, which no bride ever wore ; 
 Cut in the curious style of half a century ago, 
 With scanty skirt and 'broidered bands — my own hands 
 
 shaped it so. 
 Niece Hester, spread it on my bed — my eyes grow blind with 
 
 tears ; 
 I touch its limp and yellow folds, and lo! the long dead 
 
 years 
 Come trooping back like churchyard ghosts. This was my 
 
 wedding-gown — 
 'Twas made the year the equinox brought woe to Gloucester 
 
 town. 
 
 Ah, I remember well the night I walked the beach with 
 
 him — 
 The moon was rising just above the ocean's purple rim. 
 And all the savage Cape Ann rocks shown in her mellow 
 
 light; 
 The time was spring, and heaven itself seemed close to us 
 
 that night. 
 
 The nearer to the central in.^ertionK of the muxchs the initial impidsoi 
 
 take c^iTf.so much the lonoer the lines theji Jtinii. the aeuter the an{ile.-< 
 Iheij g'ubtemi, (lir vaster the senmrnts Dieit nit tnul llu areas theij sireeih 
 This sinnieiits to the si>eetatin-\i iwaiiinatii>n, icithmit his knnwinn the 
 meaning or giiyumi of it, a godlike dii/nity and greatness.— Rk\. W. R. 
 Alger.
 
 354 DELS A R TE REG IT A TION B OK, 
 
 We heard the cool waves beat the shore, the seabird's 
 startled cry ; 
 
 Like spirits in the dark, we saw the coasters flitting by. 
 
 High in their towers the beacons burned, like wintry em- 
 bers red. 
 
 From Ii^swich, down the rough sea-line, to crag-girt Mar- 
 blehead. 
 
 " I love you, Nan! " Joe said, at last, in his grave, simple 
 way — 
 
 I'd felt the words a-coming, child, for many a long, glad 
 day. 
 
 I hung my head, he kissed me — oh, sweetest hour of life! 
 
 A stammering word, a sigh, and I was Joe's own promised 
 wife. 
 
 But fishing-folks have much to do; my lover could not stay — 
 The gallant Gloucester fleet was bound to waters far away. 
 Where wild storms swoop, and shattering fogs muster their 
 
 dim, gray ranks. 
 And spread a winding-sheet for men upon the fatal Banks. 
 And he, my Joe, must go to reap the harvest of the deep, 
 While I, like other women, staid behind to mourn and 
 
 weep ; 
 And I would see his face no more till autumn woods were 
 
 brown. 
 His schooner Nan was swift and new, the pride of Gloucester 
 
 town ; 
 He called her by my name. " 'Tis sure to bring me luck," 
 
 said Joe. 
 She spread her wings, and through my tears I stood and 
 
 watched her go. 
 
 The tmmipnrfnt heaittirx of art cannot he contemplated except hy that 
 clearness of vision which hehnujs only to the pure in /leart— Delsarte. 
 
 y
 
 DELSA R TE RECITA Tl OX B OK. 355 
 
 The days grew hot and long; I sewed the crisp and shining 
 
 seams 
 Of this, my wedding-gown, and dreamed a thousand hapi)y 
 
 dreams 
 Of future years and Joe, while leaf r^.nd bud and sweet 
 
 marsh-flower 
 I fashioned on tlie muslin fine, for many a patient hour. 
 In Gloucester wood the wild rose bloomed, and shed its 
 
 sweets and died, 
 And dry and tawny grew the grass along the marshes wide. 
 The last stitch in my gown was set ; I looked across the sea — 
 " Fly fast, oh, time, fly fast! " I said, "and bring him 
 
 home to me; 
 And I will deck my yellow hair and don my bridal gown. 
 The day the gallant fishing-fleet comes back to Gloucester 
 
 town ! " 
 
 The rough skies darkened o'er the deep, loud blew the au- 
 tumn gales; 
 
 With anxious eyes the fishers' wives Avatched for the home- 
 bound sails 
 
 From (ilouccster shore, and Eoekport crags, lashed by the 
 breakers dread. 
 
 From cottage doors of Beverly, and rocks of ilarblehead. 
 
 Ah, child, with trembling hand I set my candle at the 
 pane, 
 
 AVith fainting heart and choking breath, I heard the dol- 
 orous rain — 
 
 The sea that beat the groaning beach with wild and thun- 
 derous sliocks, 
 
 The black death calling, calling from the savage equinox ; 
 
 + 
 
 The inner temper of the soii! << iitfx to mhnw itself in the outer cxpres- 
 sioti of the riVaf/o, and thcotitcr erprcsitinn tends, in return, to deepen and 
 proloimin the traits of the character the ({uality of the mood it reveals. — 
 Rev. W. R. AuiER.
 
 356 DELS A R TE REGIT A TION B OK. 
 
 The flap of sails, the crash of masts, or so it seemed to me, 
 And cries of strong men drowning in the ckitches of the 
 sea. 
 
 I never wore my wedding-gown, so crisp and fine and fair ; 
 I never decked with bridal flowers my pretty yellow hair, 
 No bridegroom came to claim me when the autumn leaves 
 
 were sere, 
 For there was bitter wailing on the rugged coast that year ; 
 And vain Avas further vigil from its rocks and beaches 
 
 brown 
 For never did the fishing-fleet sail back to Gloucester town. 
 
 'Twas fifty years ago. There, child, put back the faded 
 dress. 
 
 My winding-sheet of youth and hope, into the oaken press. 
 
 My life hath known no other joy, my heart no other glow. 
 
 Feeble and worn, it still beats on in faitlif ul love for Joe ; 
 
 And, like some hulk cast on a shore by waters sore dis- 
 tressed, 
 
 I wait until he calls me from his own good place of rest. 
 
 ********* 
 
 She woke at dawn and lifted up her head so old and gray, 
 And stared across the sandy beach, and o'er the low blue bay. 
 It was the hour when mists depart and midnight phantoms 
 
 flee. 
 The rosy sun was blushing red along the splendid sea. 
 A rapture lit her face. " The bay is white with sails! " she 
 
 cried, 
 " They sweep it like the silver foam of Avaves at rising 
 
 tide — 
 + 
 
 What is tiHually given the name of instruction in the matter of art pro- 
 ceedn only from an instinct badly defined and arbitrarily interpreted— | 
 IJelsarte. 
 
 •h 
 
 /
 
 DELS A R TE RECITA Tl ON B OK. 357 
 
 Sails from an unknown sea. Oh, haste and bring my wed- 
 ding-gown — 
 
 It is the long-lost fishing-fleet come back to CJloucester 
 town ! 
 
 And look ! his Nan leads all the rest. Dear Lord, I see 
 my Joe ! 
 
 lie beckons from her shining deck — haste, friends, for I 
 must go. 
 
 The old, old light is in his eyes, the old smile on his lips ; 
 
 All grand and pale he stands among the crowding, white- 
 winged ships. 
 
 This is our wedding-mom. At last the bridegroom claims 
 his bride. 
 
 Sweetheart, I have been true; my hand — here — take it!" 
 Then she died. 
 
 WHAT WAS IT? 
 
 Sidney Dayre. 
 
 G 
 
 UESS what he had in liis ])oeket. 
 ;^[arbles and tops and sundry toys 
 Such as always belong to boys, 
 A bitter apple, a leathern ball ? — ■ 
 Not at all. 
 
 What did he have in his pocket ? 
 A bubble pipe, and a rusty screw, 
 A brassy watch-key, broken in two. 
 
 Scivnt few wgani.tmx neem a mass of electric scixMhilUy, all alii'e, and. 
 in )TS)»i().--c ((I tlir liitiches of iihax within, iiivinn out littal tonm and 
 articulations thronijli the whole diapason of hunuinitij. Thisisa rcindt of 
 the complete comliination of instinctive seusiliilitu in the mind mid 
 developed elocutionary apparatus in the botlj/.— Rev. W. R. Alukr.
 
 358 DEL8A R TE REGIT A TION B OK. 
 
 A fish-hook in a tangle of string ? — 
 No such tiling. 
 
 What did he have in his pocket ? 
 
 Ginger-bread crumbs, a whistle he made, 
 Buttons, a knife with a broken blade, 
 A nail or two and a rubber gun ? — 
 Neither one. 
 
 What did he have in his pocket ? 
 Before he knew it slyly crept 
 Under the treasures carefully kept, 
 Aiid away they all of them quickly stole- 
 'Twas a hole ! 
 
 MEN'S WICKED WAYS. 
 
 HE kissed me, and I knew 'twas wrong. 
 For he was neither kith nor kin — 
 Need one do penance very long 
 For such a tiny little sin ? 
 
 He pressed my hand ; that wasn't right — 
 Why will men have such wicked ways ? 
 
 It wasn't for a minute quite. 
 
 But in it there were days and days. 
 
 There's mischief in the moon, I know ; 
 
 I'm positive I saw her wink 
 When I requested him to go — 
 
 I meant it, too, I almost think. 
 
 MiLHic, eloquence, and plastic art are the attributive specialties nf an all 
 which IS taught nowhere and which has not even been defined— Dels artf..
 
 ' DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 359 
 
 But, after all, I'm not to blame ; 
 
 He took the kiss. I do think men 
 Are qiiite without a sense of shame — ■ 
 
 I wonder when he'll call again ! 
 
 THE BIRD AMONG THE BLOOMS. 
 
 Marion Short. 
 
 THE apple-blooms come falling down, 
 Falling, falling, falling; 
 A little bird among the blooms 
 
 Keeps calling, calling, calling : 
 " Come hither, Rob, come hither. May, 
 Chee-chee, I've waited all the day 
 To hear what Robert has to say, 
 
 P-r-r-link, p-r-r-link, chee-chee." 
 
 Adown the lane the lovers come 
 
 Slowly, :Iowly, slowly; 
 He whispers something in her ear, 
 
 Lowly, lowly, lowly. 
 At length they reach the rustic seat, 
 Then birdie sings: " Repeat, repeat. 
 Repeat for me those speeches sweet, 
 
 P-r-r-link, p-r-r-liuk, chee-chee." 
 
 Says Robert, then: "I love you, May, 
 
 Dearly, dearly, dearly ! " 
 Sings birdie, then: " lie loves you. May, 
 
 Clearly, clearly, clearly." 
 
 ,i;; action J rum the (IMal c.vtrcmiticiii>f the ncrrcs w fcnrMi, twitctiiiig, 
 an.rioits, irith a fiifgct]i and waiftefttl r.rpetmirue.^ of force, w)iilc action 
 from their central crtrcmities is Mcadij, harmouimiSy commanding, econ- 
 omical of force— Rkv. W. R. Algek.
 
 360 DELS A R TE REGIT A TION B OK. 
 
 Says slie : "I know not what to say ! " 
 Says Robert: "Darling, name the day! " 
 Sings birdie, then : ' ' Without delay ! 
 P-r-r-link, p-r-r-link, chee-chee." 
 ******* 
 
 The apple-blooms come falling down, 
 
 Falling, falling, falling; 
 The years have passed, but still the bird 
 
 Keeps calling, calling, calling ; 
 " Come hither, Rob, come hither, May, 
 And bring the youngsters out to play, 
 Chee-chee, I've waited all the day, 
 P-r-r-link, p-r-r-link, chee-chee." 
 
 A SISTERLY SCHEME. 
 
 H. C. BuNNER. Arranged by Eliza A. McGill. 
 
 [From Puck, by special permission.] 
 
 AWAY up in the very heart of Maine there is a mighty 
 lake among the mountains. Up in this wild region 
 you will find a fashionable summer hotel, with electric bells, 
 and seven-course dinners, and guests wlio dress three times 
 a day. On the beach near this hotel, where the canoes 
 were drawn up in a line, there stood one summer morning 
 a curly-haired, fair young man — not so young either — whose 
 cheeks were comfortably red as he looked first at his o^\^l 
 canoe, high and dry, loaded with rods and landing-net and 
 lunclieon-basket, and then at another canoe fast disappear- 
 ing down the lake, wherein sat a young man and woman. 
 
 As long as the work of God has not been altered, disngured, coarsened 
 by man under pretext of progress, he passes by it, a cold and indifferent 
 spectator. — Delsakte.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 3G1 
 
 " Dropped again, Mr. Morpeth?" 
 
 The young man looked up and saw a saucy face laughing 
 at him. A girl was sitting on a string-piece of the dock. 
 
 "Your sister,'' replied the young man, with dignity, 
 ' ' was to have gone fishing with me ; but she remembered 
 at the last moment that she had a prior engagement with 
 Mr. Brown." 
 
 "She hadn't," said the girl. "I heard them make it up 
 last evening, after you went to bed." 
 
 The young man clean forgot himself. 
 
 " She's the most heartless coquette in the world ! " 
 
 " She is all that," said the young person on the string- 
 piece of the dock, "and more too. And yet, I suppose, 
 you want her all the same V " 
 
 "I'm afraid I do," said the young man, miserably. 
 
 "Well," said the girl, "I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Mor- 
 peth. You've been hanging around Pauline for a year, and 
 you are the only one of the men she keeps on a string who 
 hasn't snubbed me. Now, if you want me to, I'll give you 
 a lift." 
 
 "A— a— what?" 
 
 "A lift. Y'ou are wasting your time. Pauline has no 
 use for devotion. It is a drurr iu the market with her — 
 has been for five seasons. There is only one way to get 
 her worked up. Two fellows tried it and they nearly got 
 there ; but they weren't game enough for that. I think that 
 you're game enough, and I'll tell you, — you've got to make 
 her jealous." 
 
 ' ' Make her jealous of me ? " 
 
 "No!" said the friend, with infinite scorn; " make her 
 jealous of the other girl. ! but you men are so stupid ! " 
 + 
 
 Every pn,><.«io»i hax ih iiaturaUaw of CJ'proiKum, and all thii<e !<iirs are 
 related a)td cunsit<tcnt in an hnnetit, earnest character, incoherent only in 
 a diiicordant or hypocritical character.— liKV. W. R. Alcer. 
 
 4-
 
 363 DELS ARTE RECITA TION BOOK. 
 
 The young man pondered a moment. 
 
 "Your scheme is a good one. Only it involves the dis- 
 covery of another girl. Well, doesn't it strike you that if I 
 were to develop a sudden admiration for any one of these 
 other young ladies whose charms I have hitherto neglected, 
 it would come tardy off, lack artistic verisimilitude, so to 
 speak ? " 
 
 "Eather," was Miss Flossy's prompt reply; "especially 
 as there isn't one of them fit to flirt Avith." 
 
 "Well, then, where am I to find this girl ?" 
 
 " What's the matter with — me?" 
 
 "With you?" 
 
 " Yes! Perhaps I am not good looking enough?" 
 
 " You are good looking enough," replied Mr. Morpeth, 
 recovering himself, "for anything — " and he threw a con- 
 vincing emphasis into the last word as he took what he 
 called his first real inspection of his adored one's junior — 
 " but aren't you a trifle — young ? " 
 
 " How old do you suppose I am ? Eighteen years old." 
 
 "Eighteen years old!" said the young man. "The 
 deuce ! Well, what's your plan of campaign? I am to dis- 
 cover you ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Flossy, calmly, " and to flirt with me 
 like fun." 
 
 " And may I ask what attitude you are to take when you 
 are — discovered ? " 
 
 " Certainly, I am going to dangle you! " 
 
 "To dangle me?" 
 
 " As a conquest, don't you know. Let you hang around 
 and laugh at you." 
 
 "Oh, indeed! 
 
 It is in the solitude, which we disdniitfitlhj abandon, that the supreme 
 artist works and ijrtnluccs his most adorable master-pieces.— Dklsxrte.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 303 
 
 " Tliere, don't be wounded in your masculine pride. You 
 miglit as well face the situation. You don't think that 
 Pauline is in love with you, do you ? " 
 
 " No! " groaned the young man. 
 
 " But you've got a lot of money. Mr. Brown has got 
 lots more. You're eager. Brown is coy. That's the rea- 
 son that Brown is in the boat and you arc on the cold, cold 
 shore, talking to little sister. Now if little sister jamais at 
 you, why, she's simply taking big sister's leavings; it's all in 
 the family, anyway, and there's no jealousy, and Pauline 
 can devote her whole mind to Brown. There, don't look so 
 limp. You men are so silly. Now, after you've asked me 
 to marry you — " 
 
 " Oh, Fm to ask you to marry me ? " 
 
 " Certainly. You needn't look frightened, I won't ac- 
 cept you. But you go around like a wot cat, and mope, 
 and hang on worse than over. Then big sister will see that 
 she can't afford to take that sort of thing from little sister, 
 and then there's your chance." 
 
 "Oh, there's my chance, is it ? " 
 
 "There's your only chance," said Miss Flossy, with de- 
 cision. 
 
 Mr. Morpeth meditated. He looked at the lake, where 
 there was no longer sign or sound of the canoe, and lie 
 looked at Miss Flossy, who sat, calm and careless, on the 
 string-piece of the dock. 
 
 " I don't know how feasible," he began. 
 
 "It's feasible," said jMiss Flossy. " Of coui-se, Pauline 
 will write to mamma, and mamma Avill write and scold me. 
 But she's got to stay in New York, and nurse papa's gout; 
 and the Miss Redwingtons are all the chaperones we've got 
 
 + 
 
 /» an axccudinu movement of (lie arm the hand fa11.'< from the utM ; 
 ulicn the arm ilescemifi, theJtaml pointx injictirfi.— Dklsartk.
 
 364 DELS A R TE REGIT A TION B OK. 
 
 up here, and they don't amount to anything, so I don't 
 care. Mr. Morpeth, I'm two years behind the time-table, 
 and I've got to make for liberty or die. And besides," she 
 added, ' ' if you are nice, it needn't be such an awful 
 trouble." 
 
 Mr. Morpeth laughed. 
 
 " I'll try to make it as little of a bore as possible," he said, 
 extending his hand. The girl didn't take it. 
 
 "Don't make any mistake," she cautioned him, search- 
 ing his face with her eyes; "this isn't to be any little-girl 
 affair. Little sister doesn't want any kind, elegant, super- 
 cilious encouragement from big sister's young man. It's 
 got to be a real flirtation, devotion no end to it, and you've 
 got to keep your end way, way, way up ! " 
 
 The young man smiled. 
 
 " I'll keep my end u]^," he said; "but are you certain 
 that you can keep your's up ? " 
 
 " Well, I think so! Pauline will raise an awful row; but 
 if she goes too far, I'll tell my age, and hers too." 
 
 Mr. Morpeth looked in Miss Flossy's calm face. Then 
 he extended his hand once more. 
 
 " It's a bargain, so far as I am concerned," he said. 
 
 This time a small and soft hand met his with a firm and 
 
 friendly pressure. 
 
 " And I'll refuse you," said Miss Flossy. 
 
 ********* 
 
 Witliin a few weeks, Mr. Morjieth found himself en- 
 tangled in a flirtation such as he never dreamed of. Miss 
 Flossy's scheme had succeeded only too brilliantly. The 
 whole hotel was talking about the outrageous behavior of 
 
 Pass mddenly from one great emotion to another. All great actors do. 
 -Delsarte.
 
 DELS A R TE HECITA TION BOOK. 3G5 
 
 " that little Bel ton girl" and Mr. Morpeth, who certainly 
 ought to know better. 
 
 Mr. Morpeth had carried out all his instructions. Be- 
 fore the week was out, he found himself giving the most 
 life-like imitation of an infatuated lover that ever delighted 
 old gossips of a summer resort. And yet he had done only 
 what Flossy told liim to do. He got his first lesson just 
 about the time that Flossy, in the privacy of their apart- 
 ment, informed her elder sister that if she, Flossy, found 
 Mr. Morpeth's society agreeable, it was nobody's concern 
 but her own, and that she was prepared to make some in- 
 teresting additions to the census statistics if anybody 
 thought different. The lesson opened his eyes. 
 
 " Do you know," she said," that it wouldn't be a bit of 
 a bad idea to telegraph to New York for some nice candy 
 and humbly present it for my acceptance." 
 
 He telegraphed to New York and received, in the course 
 of four or five days, certain marvels of sweets in a miracle 
 of an upholstered box. The next day he found her on the 
 veranda flinging the bonbons on the lawn for the children 
 to scramble for. 
 
 " Awfully nice of you to send me these things," she said, 
 languidly, but loud enough for the men around her to 
 hear, for she had men around her already; "but I never 
 eat sweets, you know. Here, you little mite in the blue 
 sash, don't you want this pretty box to put your doll's 
 clothes in ? " 
 
 And Maillard's finest bonbonniere wont to a yellow- 
 haired brat of three. But this was the slightest and light- 
 est of her caprices. 
 
 And did such conduct pass unchallenged ? No. Paul- 
 
 + 
 
 Notice the different ivaiis in irhivh prop/c sctM. Hie nchoolma.^ter Hioir* 
 higheMlfrom etftnve doir/nronJ; the boy threatens Inicky tossino /lus /it'od 
 Hpicard.— Dklsarte. | 
 
 f +
 
 366 DELS A R TE RECITA TION B OK. 
 
 ine scolded, raged, and raved. 81ie wrote to mamma. 
 Mamma wrote back that she could not leave papa. His 
 gout grew worse. Pauline scolded ; the flirtation went on ; 
 and the people at the big hotel enjoyed it immensely. And 
 there was more to come. Four weeks had passed. Mr. 
 Morpeth was hardly on speaking terms with the elder Miss 
 Belton ; and with the younger Miss Belton he was on terms 
 which the hotel gossips characterized as " simply scandal- 
 ous." Brown glared at him when they met, and he glared 
 at Brown. Brown was having a hard time of it. Miss 
 Belton the elder was not pleasant of temper in those trying 
 days. 
 
 "And now," said Miss Flossy to Mr. Morpeth, "it's 
 time you proposed to me, Muffets." 
 
 They were sitting on the hotel veranda, in the evening 
 darkness. No one was near them, except an old lady in a 
 Shaker chair. 
 
 "There is Mrs. Melby. She's pretending to be asleep 
 but she isn't. She's just waiting for us. Now walk me 
 up and down and ask me to marry you so that she can hear 
 you. It'll be all over the hotel inside of an hour. Paul- 
 ine will just rage." 
 
 With this pleasant prospectus before him, Mr. Morpeth 
 marched Miss Flossy Belton up and down the long veranda. 
 He had passed Mrs. Melby three times before he was able 
 to say, in a choking voice : 
 
 " Flossy, I— I~I love you!" 
 
 Flossy's voice was not uncertain nor choking. It rang out 
 clear and silvery in a peal of laughter. 
 
 " Why, of course you do, Muffets, and I wish you didn't. 
 That's what makes you so stupid all the time."
 
 DELS A RTE REGIT A TION B OK. 367 
 
 (( 
 
 But — " said Mr. Morpeth, vaguely; " but I—" 
 
 " But, you silly boy," returned Miss Flossy; and she 
 added in a swift aside : " You haven't asked me to marry you ! " 
 
 "W — w — w— will 3^ou be my wife?" stammered Mr. 
 Morpeth. 
 
 "No," said Miss Flossy, " I will not. You are too utterly 
 ridiculous. The idea of it ! No, Muffets, you are charm- 
 ing in your present capacity ; but you are not to be consid- 
 ered seriously." 
 
 They strolled on into the gloom. 
 
 " That's the first time," he said, with a feeling of having 
 only the ghost of a breath left in his lungs, " that's the first 
 time I ever asked a woman to marry me." 
 
 " I should think so, from the way you said it. And you 
 were beautifully rejected, weren't you. Now look at Mrs. 
 Melby, will you. She's scudding off to spread the news." 
 
 And before Mr. Mor[)eth went to bed, he was aware of 
 
 the fact that every man and woman in the hotel knew that 
 
 he had " proposed and been beautifully rejected." 
 
 ********* 
 
 Two sulky men and one sulky woman and one radiant 
 girl started out in two canoes, reached certain lishing 
 grounds and began to cast for trout. 
 
 "You have done everything I have wanted you to do," 
 said Flossy; "but you have not saved my life yet, and I 
 am going to give you a chance.'.' 
 
 Before he knew what had happened, Mori)eth was swim- 
 ming toward the shore, holding Flossy's arm and fighting 
 for life in the icy waters of a Maine lake. He struggled up 
 on shore with her, and when he got breath enough, he 
 burst out: 
 
 Till- stronger t)tc emotion, the higher the shoulders should be raised.— 
 
 Delsartk.
 
 368 DELS A R TE REGIT A TION B OK. 
 
 " Why did you do it? It was wicked! " 
 
 "There," she said, as she reclined composedly in his 
 arms, " that will do. I don'i want to be scolded." 
 
 At five o'clock that afternoon, Mr. Morpeth presented 
 himself at the door of the parlor attached to the apartments 
 of the Belton sisters. Miss Belton senior was just coming 
 out of tlie room. She received his inquiries after her sis- 
 ter's health with a white face and a quivering lip. 
 
 " I should think, Mr. Morpeth," she began," that you had 
 gone far enough in playing with the feelings of a m-m- 
 mere child, and — that — oh, I have no words to express my 
 contempt for you ! " 
 
 And in a most unladylike rage Miss Pauline swept down 
 the corridor. She had left the door ajar behind her. 
 Morpeth heard a voice, weak but cheery, addressing him 
 from the far end of the parlor. 
 
 " You've got her," it said. " She's crazy mad. She'll 
 make up to you to-night, see if she doesn't." 
 
 Mr. Morpeth looked up and down the long corridor. It 
 was empty. He pushed the door open and entered. Flossy 
 was lying on the sofa, pale but bright-eyed. 
 
 "You can get her now," she whisiDcred, as he knelt be- 
 side her. 
 
 " Flossy," he said, "don't you know I love you? Oh, 
 Flossy, is it possible that you don't understand ? " 
 
 Flossy stretched out two weak arms and put them around 
 Mr. Morpeth's neck. 
 
 "Why have I had you in training all summer ?" said 
 she. " Did you think it was for Pauline ? " 
 
 •h 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Vitality 
 Delsarte. 
 
 is 
 
 expressed 
 
 by 
 
 raising 
 
 the 
 
 outer 
 
 part 
 
 of 
 
 the 
 
 eyebrows.— 
 
 A, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ' '
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 369 
 
 THE WAY TO ARCADY. 
 
 H. C. BUNNER. 
 
 [By permission of the author] 
 
 /^H, what's the way to Arcady, 
 ^■^^ To Arcady, to Arcady; 
 Oil, what's the way to Arcady, 
 Where all the leaves are merry? 
 
 Oh, what's the wa}- to Arcady? 
 The spring is rustling in the tree — 
 The tree the wiml is blowing through — 
 
 It sets the blossoms flickering white. 
 I knew not skies could burn so blue 
 
 Nor any breezes blow so light. 
 They blow an old-time way for me, 
 Across tlie world to Arcady. 
 
 Oh, what's the way to Arcady? 
 Sir Poet, with the rusty coat. 
 Quit mocking of the song-bird's note. 
 How have you heart for any tune, 
 You with the way-worn russet shoon? 
 Your scrip, a-swinging by your side, 
 Gapes with a gaunt mouth hungry-wTide. 
 I'll brni it well with pieces red, 
 If you will tell the way to tread. 
 
 Oh. I am bound for Arcad}', 
 And if you but keep pace with me 
 You tread the way to Arcady. 
 
 And where away lies Arcady, 
 And long yet may the journey be?
 
 370 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Ah, that (quoth he) I do not know — 
 Across the clover and the snow — 
 Across the frost, across the flowers — 
 Through summer seconds and winter hours. 
 I've trod the way my whole life long, 
 
 And know now where it may be; 
 My guide is but the stir to song. 
 That tells me I can not go wrong, 
 
 Or clear or dark the pathway be 
 
 Upon the road to Arcady. 
 
 But how shall I do who cannot sing? 
 
 I was wont to sing once on a time — 
 There is never an echo now to ring 
 
 Remembrance back to the trick of rhyme. 
 
 'Tis strange you cannot sing (quoth he), 
 The folk all sing in Arcady. 
 
 But how may he find Arcady 
 Who hath nor youth nor melody? 
 
 What, know you not, old man (quoth he) — 
 Your hair is white, your face is wise — 
 That love must kiss that mortal's eyes 
 
 Who hopes to see fair Arcady? 
 
 No gold can buy you entrance there; 
 
 But beggared love may go all bare — 
 
 No wisdom won with weariness ; 
 
 But love goes in with folly's dress — 
 
 No fame that wit could ever win; 
 
 But only Love may lead love in 
 To Arcady, to Arcady. 
 
 Ah, woe to me, through all mj- days 
 Wisdom and wealth I both have got, 
 
 And fame and name, and great men's praise; 
 But love, ah^ love ! I have it not.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 371 
 
 There was a time, wlicn liiuo was new — 
 
 But far away, and half forgot — 
 I only know her eyes were blue; 
 
 But love — I foar I knew it not. 
 We (lid not wed, for lack of gold, 
 And she is dead, and I am old. 
 All things have conic since then to me, 
 Save love, ah, love! and Arcady. 
 
 Ah, then I fear we part (quoth he), 
 My way's for love and Arcady. 
 
 But you, you fare alone, like nic; 
 
 The gray is likewise in your hair. 
 
 What love have you to lead you there, 
 To Arcady, to Arcady? 
 
 Ah, no, not lonely do I fare; 
 
 My true companion's memory, 
 AVith love he fills the spring-time air; 
 
 With love he clothes the winter tree. 
 Oh, past this poor horizon's bound 
 
 My song goes straight to one who stands— = 
 Her face all gladdening at the sound — 
 
 To lead me to the spring-green lands, 
 
 To wander with enlacing hands. 
 The songs within my breast that stir 
 Are all of her, are all of her. 
 My maid is dead long years (cjuotli he), 
 She waits for me in Arcady. 
 
 Oh, yen's the way to Arcady, 
 
 To Arcady, to Arcady; 
 Oh, yon's the way to Arcady, 
 
 Where all the leaves are merry.
 
 372 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 THE SERVANT QUESTION. 
 
 Stanley Schell. 
 
 Scene: Intelligence Office, Mrs. Anderson's, Lexington 
 Avenue. 
 
 [Enter hurriedly Mrs. Fitzhugh-M orris looking flushed and 
 nervous. Starts across stage to centre where Mrs. Anderson 
 is supposed to be sitting at desk; halts abruptly on seeing 
 an acqimintance, and smiles half-heartedly; puts out hand 
 for fashionable shake.] 
 
 1\ /FY dear Mrs. Nichols-Delancy, howdy? 
 
 [High-hand shake; face brightens; sinks into chair.] 
 
 A cook? Me too. A whole year? Can it be possible? 
 I have felt myself lucky when mine stayed six months. 
 Talk about your down-trodden poor! It's the down- 
 trodden rich who need all the sympathy. You should 
 have seen my kitchen this morning. Have you secured 
 one? That one over there? Oh, how could you! 
 
 I — I — really, I — could never eat the things she cooked. 
 Her face? — ugh! — Have you a good clock in your kitchen? 
 Eh-heh? [Nod head and S77iile.] You'd better turn its face 
 to the wall. If your clock once sees her it will never go 
 again. [Lean back and laugh until tears seem to come.] 
 
 You have to get that kind? Your husband a sad flirt? 
 Really? Well, I'd give him something better to flirt with. 
 Wouldn't do? tut, tut. Try it once. He won't spend so 
 much time at his club, if you do. Yes, I've tried it, and it 
 pays. Men are such simpletons. Always caught by a pretty 
 face. It pays to have lots of pretty faces around you. 
 Don't think so? You funny child. Well, take her along 
 quick. I'm glad she's not mine. Good-b3^e. Come 
 soon and see me. Ah, yes, do! You have no little ones
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 373 
 
 to bother you. Thanks, awfully, I shall expect you. 
 Good-bye. [Shake hands ivith sweet smile. Turn to 
 Mrs. Anderson; look at watch, begin to act anxious. Look 
 bright suddenly as if Mrs. Anderson had discovered you. 
 Move toward Mrs. Anderson.] 
 
 Good afternoon, Mrs. Anderson. No, another cook. 
 [Nod head.] That last <2;irl ! You don't remember? Why, 
 yes you do. I got her here only last week and }ou said 
 she was a jewel — a jewel! [Indignantly.] I rememljer 
 your very words. Yes, I do. And she gets drunk. Yes, 
 drimk every night. Astonished? You knew as well as 
 could be she was that sort of girl, for Mrs. Chauncey says 
 she sent her away the week before I got her and — do I 
 know Mrs. Chauncey? I think I do, for she's my husband's 
 sister. Ah — you do remember Katie now? Thought 
 you would. And she had a book on the "Rights 
 of Servants." She started reading it on the train going 
 out. Asked me if she wouUl have a brass bedstead to 
 sleep in, lace curtains to her windows, a Persian rug, 
 gas to read with and a parlor for company. 
 
 By the time we reached New Rochelle she seemed all 
 wrought up and that night she began to show herself. 
 Told me she was as good as I, if she (.lid cook, and that 
 she'd haA'e many more privileges if she stayed. It was 
 awful. [Begin to look for handkerchief to wipe away tears.] 
 Why, I've lost, yes, I've lost my handkerchief — the one 
 Charley gave me when we were married. [Fuss all around, 
 looking on floor, chaii's, etc., as if in hopes of finding it.] 
 Real lace — Point [looks under chair] d'esprit — Brussels. 
 [Act as if thinking.] Let me see, I had it on the train, 
 and in the car, for I took it out to dust my face when I 
 saw Mrs. Jordan looking at me; ami I had it in my hand 
 when I went into i\Iadam Recamier's. I distinctly remem- 
 ber laving it on the counter. Did I pick it up? Yes, no,
 
 374 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 I must have left it there. [Sorrowfully.] Oh, I can't afford 
 to lose it. Have you a 'phone? So glad. But send me 
 in a girl quick. [Go L., ring up, then say] 2 — 2 — 3 — 6 — 
 Nineteenth, please. — Yes, 2 — 2 — 3 — 6 — Nineteenth in an 
 awful hurry. [Hold receiver to ear and converse with Mrs. 
 Anderson.] Be sure and tell her about the country. No, 
 I know, but they always say anything outside of New 
 York is country. Yes, strong and good-looking. [Turn 
 to 'phone.] Is this 2— 2— 3— 6— Nineteenth? No? Please 
 hang up. [Shake bdl ringer.] Central, Central, please 
 give me 2 — 2 — 3 — 6 — Nineteenth. No, you didn't. It 
 was wrong. Yes, I told her to hang up. [Turn toward 
 Mrs. Anderson, who has entered with a girl. Look at 
 servant and begin to open mouth as if to speak, when servant 
 interrupts.] 
 
 Yes, I wish a girl to do cooking. Plain cooking. My 
 husband, his mother, myself and five children. That's 
 enough? Why, you surely don't object to children? 
 No? Old lady? Why, she's not old. She always goes 
 away every summer. Place wouldn't suit you? Oh, 
 just wait a moment, please. [Turn to 'phone.] Is this 
 2— 2— 3— 6— Nineteenth? Is it Madam Recamier's? I'm 
 so glad. Will you ask Madam to come to the 'phone? 
 Yes, please. [Turn to speak to servant who has gone out. 
 Look surprised to find her gone.] 
 
 Well, I never, — she didn't even have the politeness 
 to wait a second. There you are, Mrs. Anderson, what 
 shall I do? It's my mothei--in-law this time. I'm glad 
 for once it's not the children. [Turn to 'phone.] Is this 
 Madam Recamier? Yes? Mrs. Fitzhugh-Morris. Fitz- 
 hugh-Morris — Fitzhugh — Yes. Hold the 'phone a moment, 
 please. [Turn to Mrs. Anderson.] You must find one — 
 I want to catch that 2:30 train home. [Turn to 'phone 
 again.] No, Madam, I was talking to some one else.
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 375 
 
 Pardon inc a moment [turns to Mrs. Anderson]. You 
 must, to take the place of that awful Katie. Do hurry. 
 My husband brings a friend to dinner, and I must have 
 one. [Turn to 'phone.] Madam, hello. You remember 
 I was in your shop this morning. You don't? Why, yes, 
 near the window — bleached — yes, roots touched up. 
 Yes, blonde. That's right. Well, I put my handkerchief 
 on the counter — just a bit of lace — left it there — yes 
 I'll wait. [Turn toward neio girl.] Good afternoon. Ever 
 lived out before? General housework? Long in last 
 place? Two weeks? Didn't dress the ducks to suit 
 the lady? Dressed them in clothes? Ha ha, ha ha. I 
 beg your pardon, but I really couldn't help it — dressed 
 the ducks in clothes? Did she dismiss you for that? 
 No? Didn't hke the way you aired the baby? How? 
 You aired it good out of the window? Shook it? Like 
 the bedclothes? Oh, dear, dear, dear! I feel as though 
 I'll die. [Hold hand over heart and laugh heartily. 
 Dressed ducks in clothes and shook baby out of window 
 to air it — ha, ha, ha, ha — no, I couldn't take you under 
 any circumstances — Sorry. [Turn to 'phone.] Waiting, 
 Central, yes. 
 
 [Turn and laugh heartily.] Oh, dear, I must tell that 
 to Charley. [Bow slowly off R.] 
 
 Did Mrs. Anderson send you to mo? You wish a place 
 as cook? Suburbs? Oh, no, just about thirteen miles 
 out. Oh, no, it's more; I wouldn't live out an unlucky 
 number of miles either. Ten minutes by train. It's 
 lovely — when you get there. Can see the boats go up 
 and down Long Island Sound. Lovely all the time. 
 Six dollars a week. Assist laundress on Mondays. A 
 waitress and an upstairs girl. Yes, gas in kitchen. No, 
 lamps for girls' room. One afternoon every other Thurs- 
 day, and one afternoon every other Sunday. Evenings?
 
 376 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 I never give any of them out. I often have company 
 and need refreshments, etc. Not go? Oh, I wish you 
 would; I hke you, and think we would get along. No? 
 Please try. You won't? \Watch her go. Stand des- 
 pondent; turn to 'phone.] Yes, it would have seemed a 
 long time, only I've been busy. Find it? Thanlc heaven. 
 No, I love it because my husband gave it to me when 
 we were married. Yes, I am sentimental — just a little. 
 [Laugh a little in 'phone.] Send it here? That's so kind 
 of you. No. 79 Lexington. Thank you, so much. Good- 
 bye. [Hang up receiver, turn to girl waiting off L.] 
 
 Place as cook? [Smile a sickly smile.] Yes, five, but 
 they're all small. You won't waste my — [Watch girl go. 
 Sigh deeply, drop into a chair and look round as if dis- 
 tracted.] 
 
 [Suddenly look up and off front, how.] 
 
 Good afternoon. Yes. Can you cook? At Mrs. Grady's, 
 on Forty-seventh Street? Away now? Oh, very well, 
 I can look that up later. Six dollars a week. Yes, assist 
 laundress on Mondays. Husband, mother-in-law — five 
 children. Like children? I'm so glad. What street? Oh, 
 I live just a little way out of city. About thir — fourteen 
 miles and ten minutes' walk from station. Lovely. You 
 like the country? That's just lovely. Well, then consider 
 yourself engaged. Not so fast? Have I a dog? Oh, 
 yes, two of them — Little Fido, who lives in the house; 
 and Rolfe, a great Dane, who lives out of doors. You 
 wouldn't work in a place where a dog is kept in the house? 
 Why, he never goes into the kitchen. No difference? 
 You wouldn't go? Oh — please change your mind. Please 
 do. Fido is a lovely dog, and never gives — 3'ou won't 
 go under any — You won't 
 
 [Watch girl go. Sit and sigh. Look up a second, then 
 down. Look at watch, spring to feet.]
 
 EVE OF ST. AGNES. 
 By D. Maclise.
 
 "As-ain I caught mv father's voice."
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 377 
 
 I must hurry. But I can't go without a cook. We 
 shall have to go supperless to bed — and the baby — how 
 the little darling must miss me. 
 
 [Look up suddenly; let face light up with a happy, relieved 
 smile.] 
 
 Are you looking for a place? Never went out to cook 
 before? Brought up on a farm? Been sick? So sorry. 
 Want to try such work until you get stronger? In the 
 country? Glad? Yes? So am I. Six dollars a week 
 and two afternoons out a month. Five children. The 
 more the merrier? Oh, I could kiss you. You don't 
 mind dogs? Love them? Glad of the change from 
 city life and work? Will come at once? Please say 
 yes {look at watch]. Do. We have just ten minutes to 
 make our train. Your trunk? Leave that until to-mor- 
 row. My husband will get it for you. What's that? 
 You'll go now. Oh, I'm so happy. You like me? Then 
 we'll get along together. Come along; we'll have to 
 run for the train. [Exit.] 
 
 IN BOHEMIA. 
 
 John Boyle O'Reilly. 
 
 T'D rather live in Bohemia than in any other land; 
 
 For only tliere are the values true, 
 And the laurels gathered in all men's view. 
 The prizes of traffic and state are won 
 By shrewdness of force or by deeds undone; 
 But fame is sweeter without the feud, 
 And the wise of Bohemia are never shrewd. 
 
 Here pilgrims stream with a faith sublime 
 From every class and clime and time,
 
 378 DELS A RTF RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Aspiring only to be enrolled 
 
 With the names that are writ in the book of gold; 
 
 And each one bears in mind or hand 
 
 A palm of that dear Bohemian land. 
 
 The scholar first, with his book; a youth 
 Aflame with the glory of harvested truth; 
 A girl with a picture, a man with a play, 
 A boy with a wolf he has modeled in clay; 
 A smith with a marvelous hilt and sword, 
 A player, a king, a plowman, a lord — 
 And the player is king when the door is past, 
 The plowman is crowned, and the lord is last! 
 
 I'd rather fail in Bohemia, than win in another land; 
 
 There are no titles inherited there, 
 
 No hoard of hope for the brainless heir; 
 
 No guilded dullard native born 
 
 To stare at his fellow with leaden scorn, 
 
 Bohemia has none but adopted sons. 
 
 Its hmits, where fancy's bright stream runs; 
 
 Its honors, not garnered for thrift or trade, 
 
 But for beauty and truth men's souls have made. 
 
 To the empty hearts in a jeweled breast 
 There is value, maybe, in a purchased crest i 
 But the thirsty of souls soon learn to know 
 The moistureless froth of the social show: 
 The vulgar sham of the pompous feast. 
 Where the heaviest purse is the highest priest; 
 The organized charity, scrimped and iced, 
 In the name of a cautious, statistical Christ; 
 The smile restrained, the respectable cant 
 Where a friend in need is a friend in want ;
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 3? 'J 
 
 Where the only aim is to keep afloat, 
 
 And a brother may drown with a cry in his throat. 
 
 Oh, I long for the glow of a kindly heart and the grasp 
 
 of a friendly hand ! 
 And I'd rather live in Bohemia than in any other land! 
 
 DOROTHY'S MUSTNTS. 
 
 Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 
 
 " T'M sick of 'mustn'ts,'" said Dorothy D; 
 
 "Sick of 'mustn'ts' as I can be. 
 From early morn till the close of day, 
 I hear a 'mustn't' and never a 'may.' 
 It's 'You mustn't lie there like a sleepy head;' 
 And 'You mustn't sit up when it's time for bed;' 
 'You mustn't cr}^ when I comb your curls;' 
 'You mustn't play with those noisy girls;' 
 'You mustn't be silent when spoken to;' 
 ^\o\\ mustn't chatter as parrots do;' 
 'You mustn't be pert and you mustn't be proud;' 
 'You mustn't giggle or laugh aloud;' 
 'You mustn't rumple your nice clean dress;' 
 'You mustn't nod in place of a yes.' 
 
 "So all day long the 'mustn'ts' go, 
 Till I dream at night of an endless row 
 Of goblin 'mustn'ts,' with great big eyes 
 That stare at me in shocked surpiise — 
 Oh ! I hope I shall live to see the day 
 Wlien some one will say to me, 'Dear, you may;' 
 For I'm sick of 'mustn'ts,'" said Dorothy D; 
 Sick of 'mustn'ts' as I can be." 

 
 380 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 WHAT WILLIAM HENRY DID. 
 
 J. L. Harbour. 
 
 "YA/HAT William Henry would do next was a problem 
 that kept his aunt, Dorinda Hatch, in a state of 
 constant unrest, for, as she expressed it, "What William 
 Henry does next is always so much worse than what he 
 did last that I can't be prepared for it, no matter what it is." 
 
 She had often been heard to add, "If he wasn't the only 
 child of my only sister and she dead and in her grave, I'd 
 pack him off to some orphan asylum, where he'd be likely 
 to get the discipline I'm not able to give him." 
 
 There was nothing mean or vicious about William Henry; 
 but he was woefully heedless, and had a surprising capacity 
 for mischief, although only ten years of age and hardly 
 as large as the average boy of eight. 
 
 One day in May Aunt Dorinda fell to worrying because 
 Wilham Henry had led a blameless Hfe for three whole 
 days. 
 
 "When William Henry doesn't do anything upsetting 
 for three whole days he's either going to come down with 
 a sick spell or he's going to do sometliing extraordinary," 
 she said. 
 
 The day was rainy, and William Henry was up in the 
 attic, examining the varied contents of some old trunks. 
 He had probed to the bottom of a small red chest contain- 
 ing nothing l^ut old papers and letters and books, when he 
 picked up a faded yellow pasteboard card about six or 
 eight inches long by five or six in width. On the card in 
 large black letters was printed: 
 
 SMALL POX HERE.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 381 
 
 On the back of this gruesome relic was written in Aunt 
 Dorinda's angular hand: "ThLs card was tacked to my 
 Father's front door from Jan. 10th, 1845, to Apr. IGth, 
 1845 durin whitch time my father and two of my ants and 
 two brothers and one sister had smallpox. One ant died 
 but all the others got well." 
 
 William Henry took the card to the one cobwebbed 
 window of the attic, brushed the dust from it with his sleeve 
 and slowly spelled out the words. Then he buttoned the 
 card under his jacket. 
 
 "I'm going to show that card to Jack Hooper," he 
 thought. " He was bragging the other day that he had had 
 two uncles die of yellow fever, and he actetl as if he didn't 
 believe it when I said I'd had an aunt die of smallpox. I'll 
 show him if I didn't ! I wish I could find somethmg up here 
 to prove how one- of my great-uncles was blown up in a 
 boiler explosion — he acted as if he didn't believe that 
 either." 
 
 Unable to find such evidence, and the sun having sud- 
 denly shone forth, William Henry went down-stairs, whore 
 his aunt set him to sweeping the rain and some drifted 
 cherry l^lossoms fi-om the front porch. He had begun to per- 
 form this task when the card slipped from under his jacket 
 to the floor of the porch. William Henry jncked it up, 
 punched a little hole in it and hung it on a nail driven 
 into a iiillar of the porch, on wliich his aunt daily hung the 
 card to call the iceman. 
 
 AVhen the front porch was swept, the side porch needed 
 William Henry's attention. Just as he had finished 
 sweeping it Dan Covel came running up to him and reported 
 that the heavy rains had caused the ri\er to rise like 
 " all fury," so that there was the delightful prospect of an 
 overflow in the lower part of the town. At this exciting 
 news William Henry hurried away to the river with Dan.
 
 382 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 The forgotten smallpox card was left hanging on the 
 post. 
 
 An hour later Aunt Dorinda was seated by an upper 
 front window sewing, when she saw old lady Draper come 
 in at the front gate. 
 
 "Dear me!" she thought, "I hope she hasn't come to 
 stay all day. She's deaf as a post, and it hoarses me all up 
 to screech to her the way I have to." 
 
 But when she went down to the front door to admit her 
 visitor she was amazed to see the old lady turn on the 
 lower step of the porch and go hurrying toward the gate, 
 screaming in affright: 
 
 "Go back, go back, 'Rindy Hatch! Don't j^ou come 
 nigh me! Oh, my land! I'll ketch it, sure as shootin'! 
 Go back!" 
 
 "Well, I'll be switched! If that don't beat me! I've 
 heard before that there was insanity in her family. It's 
 saved me screaming my lungs out, anyhow!" 
 
 She had hardly taken up her sewing when she saw a man, 
 unmistakably an agent of some sort, enter the gate. 
 
 "I'll make short shift of him. I don't want any book, 
 or furniture polish, or patent nutmeg-grater, or soap, or 
 imperishable lamp-wick, or nothing ! And I'll tell him so ! " 
 
 But just as she opened the door the man turned and 
 fled so precipitately that he slipped on the wet boards of 
 the walk and fell headlong. He sprang up with all possible 
 speed, and the latch of the gate not working readily, he 
 jumped over the fence and ran down the road without a 
 word. 
 
 "Well, upon my word! I wish I could get rid of all 
 agents that easy. I declare if the fellow isn't running still !" 
 
 Half an hour later an extremel}^ dirty tramp came 
 shuffling down the road and stopped at the gate. Aunt 
 Dorinda watched liim from her seat by the window,
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 383 
 
 intending to call out that she liad nothing for him as 
 soon as he was near enough to hear. He came half way 
 up the Avalk, but when she raised the window lie, too, 
 turned and fled without even looking back. 
 
 "There must be something skeery a])out me; I'll see.'' 
 She went to a mirror in the room and looked at herself. 
 
 "I don't see ])ut what I look as I always look. I know 
 I'm rather homely, liut I no\-or knew that I was homely 
 enough to scare a tramp out of his senses." 
 
 Soon after the disappearance of the tramp, she saw Teddy 
 Jaynes, a boy of thirteen, come up the road. "When he 
 reached the gate he began to scream at th(> top of his 
 voice, "S-a-a-a-y! S-a-a-y there! Mis' H-a-a-tch!" 
 
 ]\Irs. Hatch raised the window, whereujjon Teddy 
 threw a good-sized stone with such violence that it dented 
 the front door badly. "There's a note tied to the stone," 
 he called out. 
 
 "What do you mean by acting so? Come here and tell 
 me!" 
 
 "Not much I won't! ^la said for me not to go in.side 
 the gate or I might ketch it! She said for me to run like 
 lightning soon as I'd thrown the note, and I'm going 
 to!" and away he sped. 
 
 "Another lunatic abroad," said Mrs. Hatch grimly, 
 as she went down-stairs to get the note. Smoothing out 
 the crumpled bit of paper, she read: 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Hatch: We are very sorry to know of the 
 dreadful affliction that has been visited upon you and 
 would be only too glad to do anything in our power, if 
 there was anytliing we could do at such a time. We 
 are extremely anxious to know who has it, and if it is 
 Mr. Hatch will you please hang a red cloth out of your 
 "upper south winilow. which we can see plainly from our 
 side porch. If it is William Henry please hang out a
 
 384 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 white cloth, and if it is your dear old mother hang out 
 both a white and a red cloth. You can't tell how sorry 
 we are for you, and we sincerely hope that all will come 
 out well. Mary C. Jaynes." 
 
 "Well, I'm beat! I've no more idea than the man in 
 the moon what Mary Jaynes means ! I'd like to see myself 
 hanging out red and white rags without knowing what 
 I'm hanging them out for! I know what I'll do! I'll go 
 straight down to the Jaynes's and ask them what they 
 mean, that's what I'll do!" 
 
 A few moments later Mrs. Hatch went down the road, 
 holding her calico skirts well up out of the mud. She 
 looked anxious and irritated. 
 
 Teddy Jaynes was swinging on the front gate, and 
 when he saw her approach he sped into the house. The 
 next moment half a dozen frightened Jaynes faces appeared 
 at the front window. 
 
 Mrs. Hatch had just entered the gate when Mrs. Jaynes 
 raised a window and said, in a tone of entreaty: 
 
 "Please don't come any nigher, Mrs. Hatch! If there 
 is anything we can do for you, say so, and we'll do it 
 gladly, but don't expose us all by coming into the house!" 
 
 "Nonsense! I'm coming in to find out what you meant 
 by sending me that silly note! I'm going to ■'" 
 
 She started toward the house, when not only the window 
 but all of the shades were pulled down, and all the response 
 she got to her knocking on the door came from Mrs. Jaynes, 
 who seemed to be speaking from some place of safety and 
 seclusion up-stairs. 
 
 "Go away, Mrs. Hatch! I want to be neighborly and 
 do what's right, but I can't and won't have you come 
 into the house. Please go away!" 
 
 This made Mrs. Hatch so indignant that she said hotly : 
 "Well, I'll go, Mary Jaynes, and I'll stay gone, and I'll
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 385 
 
 thank you never to darken my door again!" And Mrs. 
 Hatch departed, angrier and more puzzled than before. 
 
 She entered her own domain Ijy a side gate and door 
 and thus failed to discover the smallpox placard. 
 
 She had been at home about half an hour when she 
 saw Miss Nancy Dart, a warm-hearted, elderly woman 
 who lived in the village, approaching the house. She 
 walked boldly to the door and rang the bell. When 
 Mrs. Hatch hurried down, the somewhat emotional Nancy 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "I've heard about it, Mrs. Hatch, and I've come right 
 up to stay with you and see you through it. You know 
 I'm a born nurse, and I've had the disease, and I haven't 
 forgot how good you were to me when I had t}'phoid 
 fever five years ago. I've brought things enough in my 
 bag to do me a month and I'm going to stay and help 
 you out, and don't you feel so dreadful over it all. Every- 
 body's dreadful sorry for you, and I don't think that 
 the town authorities will insist on any of j^ou being carried 
 to the pest-house, for you live so far out and kind of 
 isolated. I met Jonas Dyke, one of the selectmen, on 
 my way here, and he said he didn't think you'd need to go 
 if you was properly (luarantined hero. Xow, who's got it?" 
 
 "Got what, Nancy Dart?" 
 
 "I'd say 'what' with a smallpox card on my front 
 porch, Dorindy Hatch!" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Just what I say! Do you mean to sa}'' that you don't 
 know that there is a smallpox card on your front porch 
 post?" 
 
 "Where?" asked Mrs. Hatch, faintly. 
 
 She stepped out on to the porch, and when Xancy 
 pointed to the card Mrs. Hatch stared long at it before 
 she said:
 
 386 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 "It's some of William Henry's doings. I knew some- 
 thing awful would come of his being so good three whole 
 days." 
 
 "And you haven't any smallpox here?" 
 
 "No more than you have." 
 
 " Well, it's all over town that 3^ou have." 
 
 Mrs. Hatch groaned and said sternly: "I'll settle with 
 William Henry!" 
 
 The fact that William Henry had had no intention of 
 causing so much trouble did not save him from his aunt's 
 wrath. 
 
 "A boy like you never gets a punishment amiss," she 
 said, "and I've let you go many a time when I ought to 
 have Avhipped you. So just take off your jacket, William 
 Henry Myers!" 
 
 HOW DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON 
 WHITNEY KEPT NEW YEAR'S. 
 
 W. H. H. Murray. 
 
 " T_T APPY New Year!" exclaimed Deacon Tubman as 
 he bounced out of bed on a bright New Year's 
 morning. "This is going to be a fine day, and I must 
 see what I can do to make some one happy. There's 
 Parson Whitney now; guess I'll take him for a ride and 
 see if I can thaw him out a bit. He's sort of all frozen 
 up latterly, and I can see that the young folks are afraid 
 of him, and the church too — and that won't do — that 
 won't do. Perhaps I can get him to go and see the young 
 folks at their fun. It'll do him good, and them good, 
 and me good, and everybody good." Saying which the 
 deacon hurried through his work and out to harness Jack 
 into the worn, old-fashioned sleigh.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 387 
 
 Now Jack was a horse of a great deal of character, and 
 had a history, but of this, none in that section, save the 
 deacon, knew a word. The deacon's son had bought 
 him from an impecunious horse jockey and sent him as 
 a present to his father. 
 
 He was an animal of most imiijue and extraordinary 
 appearance. In the first place, he was quite seventeen 
 hands in height and long in proportion. He was also 
 the reverse of shaj)cly, for his head was long and bony, 
 and his hip bones protuberant ; his tail was what is known 
 among horsemen as a "rat-tail," being but scantily covered 
 with hair, and his neck was even more scantily suj^iilicd 
 with a mane, while in color he could easih' have takfn 
 the premium for homeliness. 
 
 A huge, bony horse he was, with a loose shaml^ling 
 gait, and the smart village chaps, riding along in their 
 jaunty turn-outs, used to chaff the good deacon on the 
 character of liis steed and satirically challenge him to a 
 brush. 
 
 The deacon always took the badinage in good part, 
 although he inwardly said more than once, "If I ever get 
 a good chance, when there ain't too many around, I'll 
 let Jack out on them"; for Dick had given the deacon 
 a hint of the horse's pedigree, and told him that he could 
 knock the spots out of thirty. Such was the horse, then, 
 that the deacon had ahead of him and the old-fashioned 
 sleigh when with the parson alongside he struck into the 
 principal street of the village. 
 
 On this particular day the sleighing was perfect, and 
 every one was out. The deacon reached the corner of 
 the street and turned just at the point where the course 
 of an amateur race-track terminated, and at the ]>recise 
 moment when the dozen or twenty horses that had come 
 flying down were being pulled up preparatory to returning
 
 388 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 at a slow gait to the customary starting-point at the head 
 of the street half a mile away. 
 
 The old-fashioned sleigh was quickly surrounded by the 
 light fancy cutters, and old Jack was shambling along in 
 the midst of the high-spirited steeds. 
 
 "Hillow, Deacon," shouted one of the boys who was 
 driving a trim-looking bay, "aren't you going to shake 
 out old Shamble-heels and show us fellows what speed is?" 
 
 "I don't know but what I will— I don't know but what 
 I will, if the parson don't object and you won't start 
 off too quick to begin with; for this is New Year's day, 
 and a httle extra fun won't hurt any one." 
 
 "Do it! do it! we'll hold up for you," answered a 
 dozen merry ones. "Do it. Deacon, it'll do old Shamble- 
 heels good to do a ten-mile-an-hour gait for once in his 
 Hfe, and the parson needn't fear of being scandahzed 
 by any speed you'll get out of him." 
 
 Now Jack was a knowing old fellow and had "scored" 
 at too many races not to know that the return was to be 
 taken leisurely, but when he came to the "turn" his 
 head and tail came up, liis eyes brightened, and \\\i\x a 
 playful movement of liis huge body, without the least 
 hint from the deacon, he swung the cum]3ersome sleigh 
 into line and began to straighten b'mself for the "brush." 
 
 Jack needed steadying at the start, but the deacon 
 had no experience with the "ribbons," and was utterly 
 unskilled in the matter of driving, and so it came about 
 that Jack was so confused that he made a most awkward 
 effort to get off, and liis flying rivals were twenty rods 
 away before he got fairly started. But at last he got 
 his huge body in a straight hue and squared away to his 
 work; with head and tail up he went off at so slashing 
 a gait that it fairly took the deacon's breath away and 
 caused the crowd that had been hooting liim to roar their
 
 DELS A RTF RECITATION BOOK. 389 
 
 applause, while the parson grabbed the edge of the old 
 sleigh with one hand and the rim of his tall silk hat with 
 the other, ' 
 
 With muzzle lifted well up, tail erect, one ear pricked 
 forward and the other turned sharply back, the great 
 horse swept grandly along at a pace which was rapidly 
 bringing him even with the rear line of the flying group. 
 
 It was fortunate for the deacon and the parson that 
 cheers such as "Good Heavens! see the deacon's old 
 horse!" "Look at him! look at him!" "What a stride!" 
 ran ahead of them, for the drivers saw them coming, or 
 there would surely have been more than one collision, 
 for the old sleigh was of such size and strength, the deacon 
 so unskilled at the reins, and Jack, who was adding to 
 his momentum at every stride, going at so determined a 
 pace, that had he struck the rear line with no gap for 
 him to go through, something serious would surely have 
 happened. As it was, they pulled out in time to save 
 themselves. 
 
 The deacon had become somewhat alarmed, for Jack 
 was going at a nigh to thirty cUp — a frightful pace for an 
 inexperienced driver — so he began to put a good strong 
 pressure on the bit, not doubting that Jack, ordinarily 
 the easiest horse in the world to manage, wouUl taice 
 the hint and slow up. J kit although the horse took the 
 hint it was exactly in the opposite manner that the deacon 
 intended he should, for he interpreted the Uttle man's 
 steady pull as an intimation that his driver was getting 
 over his flurry, and beginning to treat him as a horse 
 ought to be treated in a race, and that he could now 
 go ahead. And go ahead he did. The more the deacon 
 pulled, the more the horse felt liimself steadied and assisted. 
 The deacon began to cry "Whoa. Jack, whoa, okl boy, 
 I say!" "That's a good fellow!" but the horse only under-
 
 390 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 stood this as so many signals to go ahead. So, with the 
 memory of a hundred races stirring his blood, the crowds 
 cheering him to the echo, the steadying pull, the encourag- 
 ing cries of his driver in his ears, his only rival, the pacer, 
 whirling along a few rods ahead of him, the monstrous 
 animal let out another kick, and tore along after the 
 pacer at such a terrific pace that within the distance of a 
 dozen lengths he lapped upon him, and the two were 
 going it nose and nose. 
 
 No sooner was old Jack fairly lapped, and the contest 
 seemed doubtful, than the spirit of old Adam himself 
 entered into the deacon and the parson; they fairly for- 
 got themselves and entered as wildly into the contest as 
 two ungodly jockeys. 
 
 "Deacon Tubman, Deacon Tubman," asked the parson, 
 "do you think the pacer will beat us?" 
 
 "Not if I can help it! not if I can help it!" yelled the 
 deacon in reply, as with something like a reinsman's 
 skill he lifted Jack to another spirit. "Go it, old boy!" 
 he shouted, "go along with you, I say!" 
 
 This was the very thing and the only tiling that the 
 huge horse needed. He put forth his collected strength 
 with such tremendous energy and suddenness that the 
 deacon, who had risen and who was standing erect in the 
 sleigh, fell back into the arms of the parson, wliile the 
 horse rushed over the line amid such cheers and roars of 
 laughter as were never heard in that village before. 
 
 " I wrote an article on cow's milk once for a maga- 
 zine." 
 
 "Is that a fact?" 
 
 " Yes, and would you believe it, when it appeared in 
 print it was condensed!". 
 
 I
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION HOOK. 391 
 
 WHEN ANGRY, COUNT A HUNDRED. 
 
 E. Cavazza. 
 
 nPHE dining-room of a house in Fifth Avenue. 
 
 Personages: Host, hostess, guests, poHtely engaged 
 in conversation — all but i\Ir. Alfred Ames and MLss Eva 
 Rosewarnc, who, seated side bj^ side at the table, regard in 
 silence their respective bouquets on the tablecloth. 
 
 Alfred [slightlij embarrassed]. I hope. Miss Rosewarne, 
 that you will believe me when I say that until I entered the 
 house I had no idea you were to be here. Our short-lived 
 engagement was quite unkno\\n to any one but ourselves, 
 and Mrs. Le Clerc, kind hostess that she is, supposes she is 
 doing me a great favor by giving me a place next you. I 
 confess that when I read your name I felt a sudden unrea- 
 sonable sort of a thrill, but I've not forgotten that a fort- 
 night ago 3'ou said you would never speak to me again. I 
 don't ask you to talk to me, but may I beg as a favor — not 
 to me — to our hostess, that you uill appear to be on ordi- 
 nary terms of acquaintance with me? I'll gladly do more 
 than my share of the conversation; you never gave me 
 much chance at that, but I dare say I shall succeed. By 
 the way, I once heard of a man who had nothing to say at 
 a dinner-party, so he turned to his neighbor and began to 
 count with expression. You are angry with me. but you 
 know philosophers advise one: "When angry count one 
 hundred." ]\Iight I beg you to count your hundred aloud 
 for the sake of our hostess? 
 
 [Eva assents with a. bend of her golden head.] 
 
 Alfred. Thank you — if I may presume so far. I'm 
 glad I never vowed not to speak to you again. It seems 
 to me there is a good deal to be said, and as I expect to 
 sail for Europe in a day or two, to be gone — indefinitely —
 
 393 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 perhaps like any other condemned man, I may be allowed 
 a few last words? 
 
 Eva. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. 
 
 Alfred. You know that I loved you with my whole 
 heart — 
 
 Eva [with haste]. Eight, nine — 
 
 Alfred. And now, at this moment, I can think of no 
 reason why you and I should be as far apart as if the Atlan- 
 tic already rolled between us. 
 
 Eva [pensively\. Ten, eleven, twelve. 
 
 Alfred. You are still angry with me, but I shall always 
 be grateful to you. For a few days I lived in Paradise, and 
 if one must be driven out of Eden, it is at least more bear- 
 able to be evicted by Eve — it was her name quite some 
 time before it was yours — than to be driven out of it by 
 the serpent. There was no serpent in my Eden. 
 
 Eva \cynically]. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. 
 
 Alfred. Ah, you are right. Or course) he was there, 
 glittering with — orders of merit. Also, he waltzed hke 
 an angel of light. So you said that night at the Casino. 
 But if you preferred Count von Waldberg to my humble 
 self, you might at least have said so frankly. I wouldn't 
 have stood in the way of your happiness. 
 
 Eva [reproachfully]. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, 
 twenty. 
 
 Alfred. Mrs. Le Clerc is looking at us. Say some- 
 tliing kind to me— for her sake! 
 
 Eva [cheerfully]. Twenty-one. twenty-two, twenty- 
 three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, 
 twenty-eight ! 
 
 Alfred. A thousand thanks. She is quite satisfied 
 that we are enjoying ourselves. 
 
 Eva [with a shade of coquetry]. Twenty-nine, thirty? 
 
 Alfred. Oh, immensely — that is to say, not precisely.
 
 RESPONSE TO CALL OF MERCY.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 393 
 
 However, 1 mean to improve my opportunity, such as 
 it is. 
 
 Eva [carelessly]. Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-tliree, 
 thirty-four, tliirty-five, thirty-six. 
 
 Alfred. I think that neither you nor I can ever forget 
 those evenings on the river. That yellowish light, half 
 sunset, half moonrise; the stately white swans floating 
 past us. I remepiber telling you that swan might be a sis- 
 ter of yours, under some enchantment. I, too, was under 
 the enchantment. Yes. But it made me appear like a 
 goose instead of a swan. On the whole, you need not 
 remember that occasion, Miss Rosewarne! 
 
 Eva [sadlu]. Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, 
 forty, forty-one. 
 
 Alfred. And in the morning, as I waited on the cHff 
 for you, I understood how the earth waits for the dawn 
 to illuminate it. Well, I have had my day; it was bright, 
 but the sunset came too .soon. 
 
 Eva [dreamily]. Forty-two, forty-three, forty-four. 
 
 Alfred. The sea sang of you, the waves sparkled for 
 you, all the sirens had given their magic to you, and their 
 harping must have been like the sound of the sea-wind in 
 your hair. 
 
 Eva [with an effort at 7nockery]. Forty-five, forty-sLx, 
 forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty. 
 
 Alfred. If you really think me comic, let me go on. 
 I dreamed of you — don't you like tiic present way of 
 arranging tlie flowers low, so that one hasn't to peep this 
 side and that of a mountain of roses? 
 
 Eva [with surprise]. Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, 
 fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six. 
 
 Alfred. Major Starr was listening. He's talking 
 again now. Yes, I dreamed of you and of you only. 
 I still dream —
 
 394 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Eva [hurriedly]. Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty, 
 sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four, sixty-five, 
 sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight — 
 
 Alfred. Don't be disturbed. I quite understand that 
 dreams are ilhisions. I am awake; very thoroughly. 
 
 E\'A {softly\ Sixty-nine, seventy, seventy-one, seventy- 
 two. 
 
 Alfred. It is better to wake than to dream ; but if one 
 has no more pleasure in either — then best to sleep soundly. 
 
 Eva [-puzzled, slightly alarmed]. Seventy-three, seventy- 
 four, seventy-five? 
 
 Alfred. Business is a good opiate. I expect to sail 
 in a few days for Europe. 
 
 Eva [with resignation]. Seventy-six. 
 
 Alfred. It was at that Casino ball I first began to 
 suspect the presence of that inconvenient third party in 
 our legend of Eden. You remember, the night 3^ou wore 
 that adorable gown the color of a plush rose and trimmed 
 with tape? 
 
 Eva [with horror]. Seventy-seven ! 
 
 Alfred. How stupid of me ! Of course, it wasn't tape. 
 I used to be posted on those things in the days when you 
 were so good as to explain them to me. At all events, 
 that was a delicious gown. 
 
 Eva [with conviction]. Seventy-eight, seventy-nine. 
 
 Alfred. You told me to come early. Well, I'd been 
 earlier if Dickey Vane, poor old chap, hadn't asked me to 
 stop in so he could see how a fellow looked in evening dress 
 going off for a good time. Great good time I had that 
 evening! You let me take your program of dances; the 
 trail of the serpent — pardon me, I should say the auto- 
 graph of Count von Waldberg — was over it all. 
 
 Eva [deprecatingly]. Eighty, eighty-one, eighty-two. 
 
 Alfred. I know. It's. quite true that I had a lancers^ a
 
 DELS A RTF RECITATION BOOK. 395 
 
 quadrille, and tire fag-end of a ma/Airka. ]?ut the waltz — 
 our waltz — you danced \\ith the Count. 
 
 Eva [protestinghj]. Eighty-three, eighty-four, eighty- 
 five. 
 
 Alfred. Of course, he asked for it. But you have a 
 thousand pretty ways of saying no. 
 
 Eva [poignantly]. Eighty-six, eighty-seven, eighty-eight. 
 
 Alfred. Reserved! If I had understood! Now, I 
 dare not even hint my thanks for what — I did not have. 
 
 Eva [uyith recovered composure]. Eighty-nine, ninety, 
 ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety- 
 five. 
 
 Alfred. By the way. Count von Waldborg has gone 
 back to his own country, and rather suddenly. I like 
 that about him; it's a case where the absent is in the right. 
 You must have given him leave of absence. 
 
 Eva [reprovinghj]. Ninety-six, ninety-seven. 
 
 Alfred. I have no right to guess at what may have taken 
 place between yourself and Count von Waldberg. It was 
 impertinent, but decidedly agreeable, that surmise of mine. 
 
 Eva {with increased coldness]. Ninety-eight. 
 
 Alfred. Oh, it seems to me I must speak — and then 
 forever after be silent. 
 
 Eva [mockinghi]. Ninety-nine! 
 
 Alfred. That's a quotation from — from — in — fact — 
 somotliing that I was interested, a while ago, to coach 
 myself upon. 
 
 Eva [irith 7narked indifference]. One hundred. 
 
 Alfred. You have reached the hundred. And you 
 are still angry, I'm afraid. Ah! if by chance it seems to 
 you that you have said anything which you would rather 
 have left unsaid, — ^we all do that sometimes, you know, — 
 you could retract it by counting that same hundred back- 
 ward.
 
 39G DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Eva [assenting]. Ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven, 
 ninety-six. 
 
 Alfred. Oh, this is a comedy that we are playing! 
 But for me it is also a tragedy. I had built so many castles 
 in air, and you were chatelaine of them all. But my hfe 
 has ceased to be logical; it has gone all to pieces. I shall 
 pick up the pieces, — I'm not a whimpering boy, — and glue 
 them, screw them, clamp them, tie them together. I 
 don't pretend that it will be as good as it was before it 
 was broken up. 
 
 Eva [ivith remorse]. Ninety-five, ninety-four, ninety- 
 three, ninety-two. 
 
 Alfred. 'Twas not your fault. I did not deserve you ; 
 only I loved you with all my soul, as^ieaven help me ! I 
 love you, I love you now! 
 
 [Eva, very pale, rattles off the numbers down to sixteen, 
 and stops for want of breath.] 
 
 Alfred. Poor beautiful cliild, do not be afraid. I will 
 not offend in this way again. I mean to tell you only that 
 amid the ruins of my fallen castle, there blossoms an 
 imperishable flower — my affection for you. See, Mrs. Le 
 Clerc is about to rise. 
 
 [Eva counts desperately, gets to three.] 
 
 Alfred. And so, it is good-by. When we meet in 
 future, it will be as mere acquaintances who have nothing 
 to say to each other except the commonplaces of society. 
 We, who were to have been united, must henceforward 
 be — [he stops short, surprised by an emotion that chokes 
 his voice of a man of the world]. 
 
 Eva [boldly skipping a number]. One! [She recklessly 
 drops her bouquet as she rises with the other umnen]. 
 
 Alfred [stoops to pick up her bouquet, kisses her hand 
 under the table, and saijs in a rapturous undertone]. One 
 forever !
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 397 
 
 GOING OF THE WHITE SWAN. 
 
 Gilbert Parker. 
 
 TT was in that northern foimtry — Labrador. The place 
 was the home of a hunter, a low hut with parchment 
 windows. Outside was the drifting snow. Inside a 
 huge wood-fire flecked the walls and .windows with a 
 velvety red and black. 
 
 On a bed of wolf-skins lay a boy of nine years. Beside 
 tlie bed sat the hunter. 
 
 "Wliy don't mother come back, father?" 
 
 The man shook his head and made no reply. 
 
 "She'd come if she knew 1 was hurted, wouldn't she?" 
 
 The father nodded and then turned restlessly toward 
 the door as if expecting some one. 
 
 "Suppose the wild-cat had got me, she'd be sorry when 
 she comes, wouldn't she?" 
 
 There was no rejjly. The man's imcouth hand felt for 
 a place in the bed where the lad's knee made a lump under 
 the robe, which he softly lifted, folded back, and slowly 
 uncovered the knee. The leg was worn away almost to 
 skin and bone, but the knee itself was swollen; so was 
 the shoulder. Both bore the marks of teeth— where a 
 huge wild-cat had made havoc — and the body had long, 
 rod scratches. After batiiing the wounds, the hunter 
 again covered up the small disfigured body. 
 
 " Father, what does it mean when you hear a bird sing 
 in the middle of the night?" 
 
 "It hasn't no meaning, Dominiciue. Tlicre ain't such 
 a thing on the Labrador Heights as a bird singin' in the 
 night. That's only in warm countries where there's 
 nightingales."
 
 398 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 "Well, I guess it was a nightingale — it didn't sing like 
 anything I ever heard." 
 
 "What did it sing like, Dominique?" 
 "So it made you shiver. You wanted it to go on and 
 yet you didn't want it. It was pretty, but you felt as if 
 something was going to snap inside of you." 
 
 "When did you hear it, my son?" 
 
 "Twice last night — and — I guess it was Sunday the 
 other time. I don't know, for there hasn't been no Sun- 
 day up here since mother left — went away— has there?" 
 
 "Mebbe not." 
 
 "'Twas just the same as Father Corraine's being here, 
 when mother had Sunday, wasn't it?" 
 
 The man made no reply, but a gloom drew down his 
 forehead and his lips doubled in as if he endured physical 
 pain. For weeks he had listened to the same kind of 
 talk from his wounded and, as he thought, d}dng son, 
 and he was getting less and less able to bear it. 
 
 They sat there for a long time, each busy in his own 
 way. At last the boy closed his eyes and seemed about 
 to fall asleep, but presently looked up and whispered: 
 "I haven't said my prayers, have I?" 
 
 The father shook his head in a sort of rude confusion. 
 
 "I can pray out loud if I want to, can't I?" 
 
 "Of course, Dominique." 
 
 "I forget a good deal, but I know one prayer all right, 
 for I said it when the bird was singing. It isn't one out 
 of the book Father Corraine sent mother; it's one she 
 taught me out of "her own head. P'rhaps I'd better say it.'* 
 
 "P'rhaps, if you want to." The voice was husky. 
 
 The boy began: 
 
 "0 bon Jesu, W^ho died to save us from our sins, listen 
 CO Thy child. Wlien the great winds and rains come 
 down from the hills, do not let the floods drown us, nor
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 399 
 
 the woods cover us, nor the snowsUde bury us — " His 
 finger twisted involuntarily into the bullet hole in the 
 pelt, and he paused a moment. "Keep us from getting 
 lost, O gracious Sa\'iour." Again there was a pause, his 
 eyes opened wide, and he said: "Do you think mother's 
 lost, father?" 
 
 "Mebbe so — niebbe so." 
 
 "And if mother's lost, bon Jesu, bring her back again 
 to us, for everything's going wrong." 
 
 Again he paused and then went on with the prayer 
 as it had been taught him. "O Christ, hear us. Lord, 
 have mercy upon us. Lord, have mercy upon us. Christ, 
 have mercy upon us. Amen." Then, making the sign 
 of the cross, he lay back and went to sleep. 
 
 The man sat for a long time looldng at the pale, shining 
 face. The longer he sat the deeper -did his misery sink 
 into his soul. His wife had gone he knew not where, 
 his child was wasting to death, and he had for his sorrows 
 no inner consolation. His life had been spent in the 
 wastes, and a youth of danger, hardships, and almost 
 savage endurance had given him a half-barbarian tem- 
 perament, which could strike an angry blow at one moment 
 and fondle to death the next. 
 
 When he married sweet Lucette Barbond his religion 
 reached little farther than the superstitions of the North. 
 His wife had at first striven with him, mourning, yet 
 loving. Sometimes the savage in iiim had broken out 
 over the little creature, merely because barbaric tyranny 
 was in him — torture followed by the passionate kii>s. An^ 
 how was she to understand him? 
 
 When she fled from their home one bitter day, as he 
 roared some wild words at her, it was because her nerves 
 had all been shaken, and his ^'iolence drove her mad. 
 She had run out of the house, and on, and on, and on —
 
 400 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 and she had never come back. That was weeks ago, 
 and there had been no word or sign of her since. The 
 man was now busy with it all. 
 
 Hours passed. All at once, without any motion or 
 gesture, the boy's eyes opened wide ^\ith a strange, intense 
 look. 
 
 "Father, when you hear a sweet horn blow at night, 
 is it the Scarlet Hunter calling?" 
 
 "P'rhaps. Why, Dominicpe?" 
 
 "I heard one blowing just now% and the sounds seem 
 to wave over my head. Perhaps he's calling some one 
 that's lost." 
 
 "Mebbe." 
 
 "And I heard a voice singing — it wasn't a bird to-night." 
 
 "There was no voice, Dominique." 
 
 "Yes, yes. I waked, and you were sitting there think- 
 ing, so I shut my eyes again, and then I heard the voice; 
 and I wonder what it means when you hear a voice like 
 that, father? There! There it is again! Don't you hear 
 it? Don't you hear it, daddy?" 
 
 "No, Dominique; it's only the kettle singing." 
 
 "Daddy — I saw a white swan fly through the door over 
 your shoulder when you came in to-night." 
 
 "No, no, Dominique; it was a flurry of snow blowing 
 over my shoulder." 
 
 "But it looked at me with two shining eyes." 
 
 "That was two stars shining through the door, my son." 
 
 The man's voice was anxious; his eyes had a hungry, 
 hunted look. The legend of the White Swan had to do 
 with the passing of a human soul. The Swan had come 
 in — would it go out alone? He touched the boy's hand — 
 it was hot with fever; he felt the pulse, it ran high; he 
 watched the face, it had a glo\^dng light. He got to liis 
 feet and with a sudden blind humility lit two candles,
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 401 
 
 placed them on a shelf in the corner before a porcelain 
 figure of the Mrgin, as he had seen his wife do. Solemnly 
 he touched the foot of the Christ on the cross with his 
 finger-tips and brought them to his lips with an indescrib- 
 al)le reverence. After a moment, standing with eyes fixed 
 on the face of the crucified figure, he said in a shaking 
 voice : 
 
 "Pardon, bon Jesu! Save my child! Leave me not 
 alone!" 
 
 The boy murmured an "amen" and fell asleep. 
 
 Outside two figures were approaching the hut — a man 
 and a woman. 
 
 "Have patience, my daughter," said the man. "Do 
 not enter till I call 3'ou." So saying he raised his hand 
 as in a kind of benediction, passed to the door, and after 
 tapping very softly, opened it and entered. 
 
 "Peace be to this house," said the man gently, as he 
 stepped forward from the door. The father, startled, 
 turned shrinkingly on him, as if he had seen a spirit. 
 "Monsieur le cure!" he exclaimed. 
 
 "The wife and child, Bagot? Ah, the bo}''! Dominique 
 is Ul?" 
 
 "A wild-cat, and then fever, Pere Corraine." 
 
 The priest felt the boy's pulse softly. 
 
 "Your wife, Bagot?" 
 
 "She is not here, Monsieur." 
 
 "^^^lere is she, Bagot?" 
 
 "I do not know, ^Monsieur. When did you see her last, 
 Monsieur?" 
 
 "That was -September, this is October — winter. On 
 the ranches they let thin cattle loose upon the plains in 
 winter, knowing not where they go. yet looking for them 
 to return in the S]iring. But a woman — a woman anil a 
 wife is different. Bagot, you have been a rough, hard
 
 402 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 man, and you have been a stranger to your God, but I 
 thought you loved your wife and child." 
 
 The hunter's hands clenched and a wicked light flashed 
 up into his eyes. The priest sat down on the couch where 
 the child lay and took the fevered hand in his. "Stay 
 where you are, Eagot," he said; "just where you are, 
 and tell me what your trouble is." 
 
 Bagot began: "I don't know how it started. I — I laid 
 my powder-horn and whiskey-flask — up there!" He 
 pointed to the little shrine of the "S^irgin, where his candles 
 were now burning, and continued: "I didn't notice it, 
 but she had put some flowers there. She said something 
 with an edge, threw the things down and called me a 
 heathen and a wicked heretic — I don't say now but she'd 
 a right to do it, but I said something pretty rough, and 
 made as if I was going to break her in two." 
 
 "Yes, that was what you did. What was it you said 
 that was 'pretty rough'?" 
 
 "I said that there was enough powder spilt on the 
 floor to kill all the priests in heaven." 
 
 A fire suddenly sho^ up into Father Corraine's face, 
 and his lips tightened for an instant, but presently he 
 was as before, and he said: "Go on. Wliat else?" 
 
 "Then I said, 'And if Airgins have it so fine, why 
 didn't you stay one?'" 
 
 "Blasphemer! To the mother of your child — shame! 
 What more?" 
 
 "She threw up her hands to her ears with a cry a bit 
 wild, ran out of the house, down the hills and away. I've 
 hunted and hunted, but I can't find her." • 
 
 Once again the priest glanced toward the lighted candles, 
 and then he said: "You asked me if I had heard anything 
 of your wife. Listen. Three weeks ago I was camped 
 on the Sandust Plains. In the morning, as I was lighting
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 403 
 
 a lire outside of my tent, I saw coming over the crest of 
 a land-wave a band of Indians. Well, as they came 
 near, I saw that they had a woman with them." 
 
 "A woman! — my wife!" 
 
 "Your wife." 
 
 "Quick! Quick! Go on — oh, go on, i\Ionsieur — — " 
 
 "She fell at my feet begging me to save her. I waved 
 her off." 
 
 "You wouldn't — wouldn't save her — you coward!" 
 
 "Hush! I asked the chief where he had got the woman. 
 He said he had found her on the plains — she had lost her 
 way. I told him 1 wanted to buy her. He said that 
 he had found her, and she was his, and that he would 
 marry her when they reached the great camp of the tribe. 
 I was patient. It would not do to make* him angr>', I 
 wrote on a piece of bark the thmgs that I would give 
 for her: An order on the company at Fort O'Sin for shot, 
 blankets, and beads. He said no. I added some tilings 
 to the list. But no, he would not. Once more I put 
 many things down. God knows it was a big bill — it 
 would kee|) mc poor for ten years. To save your wife. 
 John Bagot, you who drove her from your door, blasphem- 
 ing and railing at such as 1 ! He shook his head and said 
 he must have the woman for his wife. I said: 'She Is 
 white and the wiiite people will never rest till they have 
 killed you all if you do this thing.' Then he said: 'The 
 whites must catch me before they kill me!' What was 
 there to do?" 
 
 "You let her stay with them — you. with hands like a 
 man?" 
 
 "Hush! I was one man, they were twenty." 
 
 "Why didn't you offer rum — rum! They'd have done 
 it for that — one — five — ten kegs of rum!" 
 
 "You forget that it is against the law, and that as a
 
 404 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 priest of my order, I am vowed to give no rum to ■ an 
 Indian." 
 
 "A vow! A vow! 8on of God, what is a vow to a 
 woman — to my wife!" 
 
 "Perjure my soul! Offer rum! Break my vow in the 
 face »of the enemies of God's Church! \\Tiat have you 
 done for me that I should do this for j^ou, John Bagot?" 
 
 "Coward! Christ Himself would have broken a vow 
 to save her!" 
 
 "Who am I that I should teach my ]\Iaster? What 
 would you give Christ, Bagot, if He had saved her to you?" 
 
 "Give — give! I would give twenty years of my life!" 
 
 "On your knees and swear it, John Bagot!" 
 
 The tall hunter dropped to his knees and repeated the 
 words. The priest turned to the door and called, 
 "Lucette!" 
 
 The boy hearing, waked and cried, "Mother! mother!" 
 as the door flew open. 
 
 The mother came to her husband's arms, laughing and 
 weeping, and an instant afterward was pouring out her 
 love and anxiety over her child. 
 
 "John Bagot, in the name of Christ, I demand twenty 
 years of your life — of love and obedience to God. I broke 
 my vow, I perjured my soul, I bought your wife with ten 
 kegs of rum!" 
 
 The tall hunter dropped again to his knees, and the 
 priest, laying the crucifix against his lips, said in his 
 rich, soft voice, "Peace be unto this house!" 
 
 "Oh, my mother, I saw the Wliite Swan fly through 
 the door when you came in." She clasped the boy to 
 her breast protectingly and whispered a prayer. 
 
 And there was peace, for the child lived and the man 
 has kept his vow.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 405 
 
 NAMED BY PROXY. 
 
 Henry Wallace Phillips. 
 
 T 'D been wwking on the Ellis ranch about three months 
 when along come a man that looked like old man 
 Trouble's only son. He made any other human counte- 
 nance I ever see look like a nigger-minstrel show. His 
 name was Ezekiel George Washington Scraggs. 
 
 Up to this time Smithy had enjoyed a cinch on the mourn- 
 ful act. He'd had a girl some time durin' the ^Mexican 
 war, and she'd borrowed Smith's roll and skipped with 
 another man. So, if we crowded Smithy too hard in debate, 
 he used to say, "Oh, well! You fellere will know better 
 when you've had more experience,'' although we might 
 have been talkin' about what's best for frost-bite at the 
 time. 
 
 He noticed this new man Scraggs seemed to hold over 
 him a trifle in sadness, and he thought he'd find out why. 
 
 " You appear to me like a man that's seen trouble," says 
 he. 
 
 "Trouble!" says Scraggs. "Trouble!" 
 
 "I've met with misfortune myself," says Smithy. 
 
 "Ah!" says Scraggs, and Smithy warmed up. He'd 
 been blew up in mines; squizzlcd down a mountain on a 
 snow-slide; chawed by a bear; caught under a felled tree; 
 sunk on a Missouri River steamboat; shot up by Injuns 
 and personal friends; mistook for a horse thief by the 
 committee, and nuich else, closing the list with right 
 bower. "And, Mr. Scraggs, I have put my faith in woman, 
 and she done me to the tune of all I had." 
 
 "Have you?" says Scraggs, still perfectly poUte. "Have 
 you?" And then he sUd the joker atop of Smithy's play. 
 "Well, I have been a Mormon," says he.
 
 406 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 "What?" says all of us. 
 
 "Yessir! a Mormon; none of your tinkerin' little Mor- 
 monettes. I was ambitious; hence E. G. W. Scraggs as 
 you now behold him. In most countries a man's standin' 
 is regulated by the number of wives he ain't got ; in Utah 
 it's just the reverse. I wanted to be the head of the hull 
 Mormon kingdom, so I married right and left. Every 
 time I added to the available supply of Mrs. Scraggs, I 
 went up a step n the government. I ain't all the per- 
 simmons for personal beauty, so I had to take what was 
 willin' to take me, and they turned out to be mostly black- 
 eyed women with peculiar dispositions. Gentlemen, I 
 was once as lively and happy a httle boy as ever did chores 
 on a farm. See me now! This is the result of mixin' 
 women and politics. If I should tell you all the kinds of 
 particular and general devilment (to run 'em alphabetically, 
 as I did to keep track of 'em) that Ann Eliza Scraggs, and 
 Bridget Scraggs, and Honoria and Helen Scraggs, and 
 Isabelle Scraggs, and so on up to zed, raised with me, it 
 would go through any little germs of joy you may have in 
 your constitutions like Sittin' Bull's gang of dog soldiers 
 through an old lady's sewing bee. Trouble! I'm bald 
 as a cake of ice; my nerves is ruined. If the wind makes 
 a noise in the grass hke the swish of skirts, I'm a mile up 
 the track before I get my wits back. Trouble — I -wisht 
 nobudy'd mention that word in my hearin' again." 
 
 Well, he had us all right. But Scraggs was a gentleman; 
 now that he'd had his say, he loosened up considerable, and 
 every now and then he'd even smile. 
 
 Then come to us the queerest thing in that whole curi- 
 osity-shop of a ranch. It's name was Alexander Fulton. 
 I reckon Aleck was about twenty-one by the almanac, 
 and anywheres from three to ninety by the way you 
 figure a man. Aleck stood six foot high as he stood, but
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 407 
 
 if you ran the tape along his curves he was about six-foot- 
 four. 
 
 He weighed one hundred and twenty pounds, of which 
 twenty-five went to head and fifty to feet. Feet! You 
 never saw such feet. They were the grandest feet that 
 ever wore a man, and hung to Aleck's running gear, they 
 reminded you of the swinging jigger in a clock. They 
 almost made me forget his hands, ^\^^en Aleck laid a 
 flipper on a cayuse's back, you'd think the critter was 
 blanketed. 
 
 His complexion consisted of freckles. His e3^es were 
 white, and so was his hair, and so was poor old Aleck — as 
 white a kid as they make 'em. How he come to drift out 
 into our country was a story all by itself. He was dis- 
 appointed in love — he had to be. One look at him and 
 you'd know why. So he sailed out to the wild West, 
 where he was about as useful as a trimmed nighty. 
 
 First off he was still, then findin' himselfi in a confi- 
 dential crowd, and bustin' to let us know his trouble, he 
 told us all about it. He'd never spoke to the girl, it seems, 
 more'n to say, "How-d'ye-do, ma'am," and blush, and sit 
 on his hat, and make curious moves with them hands and 
 feet; but there come another feller along and Alexander 
 quit. 
 
 "You got away?" says Scraggs. "Permit me to con- 
 gratulate you. sir!" 
 
 "But I didn't want to come away!" stutters Alex- 
 ander. 
 
 "Didn't want to?" cries Scraggs, letting the pipe fall out 
 of his mouth. Then he turns to me and taps his brow with 
 his finger, casting a pitying eye on Aleck. 
 
 As time went on Aleck got worse and worse. He had a 
 case of ingrowing affection; it cut his weight down to 
 ninety pounds. With him leaving liimself at that rate,
 
 408 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 you could take pencil and paper and figure to the minute 
 when Alexander Fulton was booked to cross the big 
 divide. And we liked the kid. We got worked up about 
 the matter, and talked it over considerable when he was 
 out of hearing. It come to this : there was no earthly use 
 in trying to get Aleck to go back and make a play at the 
 girl. He'd ha' fell dead at the thought of it. That left 
 nothing but to bring the girl to Aleck. We weren't going 
 to let our pardner slip away without an effort anyhow. 
 Then come the problem of who was the proper party to act 
 as messenger. And we decided on Scraggs, because if he 
 didn't know Woman and her Ways the subject belonged 
 to the lost arts. 
 
 But, man, didn't he r'arwhen we told him! 
 
 "Me go after a woman!" says he. ''ME!!!— Take 
 another drink." But we labored with. him. Told about 
 what a horrible time he'd had — he always liked to hear 
 about it — and how there wasn't anybody else fit to handle 
 his discard in the little game of matrimony — and so forth 
 and so forth, till we had him saddled and bridled and 
 standing in the corner of the corral as peaceful as a soldier's 
 monument, for he was the best-hearted old fellow under 
 his crust that ever lived. 
 
 "All right," says he. "I'll do it." 
 
 So that night E. G. W. Scraggs took his cajoise and 
 made for the railroad station, bound east. 
 
 Aleck had give us full details. Yes, sir; we knew that 
 little East Dakota town as well as if we'd been raised there; 
 but we were some shy on details concerning the girl. 1 
 swear I don't believe Aleck had ever looked her full in the 
 face. She was medium height, plump, blue eyes, brown 
 hair, and that ended the description. 
 
 Well, we suffered any quantity from impatience before 
 E. G. W. S. showed up.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 409 
 
 But one evening about half-past eight here comes Scraggs. 
 He was riding and a buggy trailed behind him. 
 
 We chased Aleck over to the main house, where the 
 old man was to keep him busy until called for. 
 
 Then up pulls E. G. W. S. and the buggy. 
 
 "Here we are," says Scraggs. "Check the outfit — one 
 girl and one sphcer. Have you kept holt of Aleck?" 
 
 "Yes," I says. "We've got him. Come in, folks." 
 
 Soon's they got inside I lugged him to the corner. "Tell 
 me about it," I says. 
 
 "Short stpry," says he. "^Moment I got off the choo- 
 choo I spotted the house. Laid low in the daytime and 
 scouted round as soon as night come. Girl goes down 
 to the barn and comes back with a pail of milk. I grabbed 
 her and put my hand over her mouth. 'Now, listen,* 
 I says. 'There's a friend of mine wants to marry you. 
 When I let you go, you'll skip into the house and pick 
 up what clothes is handy, and you'll vamoose this ranch 
 at quarter of eleven, sharp, so we can make the next train 
 west. If you ain't there, or if you say a single word to 
 a human being — you see this?' and I stuck the end of 
 my hoss-pistol under her nose. 'Well, I'll lilow the 
 head clean off your shoulders with it.' Then I laid back 
 my ears and rolled my eyes around. 
 
 "Well, sir, she was scart so's she didn't know any- 
 thing but what I said. I hated to treat a lady like that, 
 but if I've learned anything concerning hamilin' the sect, 
 it's this — you got to be firm. There's where I made my 
 mistake formerly. Then I let go of her and went back 
 to the deppo. ^^^lat she thought I couldn't even guess, 
 but I knew I was goin' to have company, and, sure enough, 
 'bout three minutes before train time, here comes our 
 friend. AMien I got her safe aboard I told her she needn't 
 be scart. Lots worse tilings could happen to her than
 
 410 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 marryin' Aleck, and she says 'Yessir/ and she kept on 
 sayin' 'Yessir' to all I told her. Wisht I could have 
 found one like that, instead of eighty of 'em that stood 
 ready to jump down my throat the minute I opened 
 my mouth. She told me she'd had a middlin' hard time 
 of it and didn't mind a change. That surprised me a 
 little, because I j edged from Aleck's talk she was an up- 
 standin' critter — but, pshaw! Aleck would think a worm 
 was a sassy thing if it squirmed in his direction." 
 
 Then I went after Aleck. 
 
 "Friend of yours here," I told him. 
 
 "That so?" says he. "Who is it?" 
 
 "Lady," I says, kind of gay. 
 
 He stopped in his tracks. 
 
 "Come along, here, now!" says I. "You ain't goin' to 
 miss your happiness if main strength can give it to you." 
 His toes touched about once to the rod. I run him into 
 the place. 
 
 "There," says I, "is somebody you know." 
 
 Well, sir, Aleck looked at the gal, and the gal looked 
 at Aleck, and the rest of us looked at each other. Soon's 
 the kid got his breath he yells, "I never laid eyes on that 
 lady before!" 
 
 Oh, hivins, IMaria! That was the awfullest minute I 
 ever lived through. Poor ole E. G. W. S! We all turned 
 away from him out of pity. He grabbed aholt of the 
 minister and swallered and swallered, unable to chirp. 
 
 At last he rallied. "You mean to tell me, Aleck, that 
 I've made a mistake?" 
 
 Aleck was always willing to believe he was wrong. 
 "I'm pretty sure, Zeke — I ain't never seen you, have I, 
 Miss?" 
 
 " No, sir — not that I know of." 
 
 E. G. W. S. rubbed his brow.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 411 
 
 "Will you make good, anj^how, Aleck? I got the min- 
 ister and all right here — it won't take a minute." 
 
 I'd let go of Aleck in the excitement. At these words 
 he made one step from where he stood in the house, through 
 the window, to ten foot out of doors, and a few more 
 steps like that and he was out of the question. 
 
 Then the girl put her face in her hands and begun to 
 cry. She was a mighty pretty little thing, and we'd 
 rather have had most anything than that she should stand 
 there cryin'. But we were all wandering in our minds. 
 
 Then, sir, up gets Ezekiel (ieorge Washington Scraggs, 
 master of himself and the situation. 
 
 "Young lady," says he, "I have got you out here under 
 false pretenses. I'm as homely as a hedge fence, and my 
 record is dotted with marriages worse than a 'Pache out- 
 break with corpses and burning homes. I ain't any kind 
 of proposition to tie up to a nice girl like you, and I 
 swear by my honor that nothing was further from my 
 thoughts than matrimony — not mcanin' any slur on you, 
 for if I'd found you before, I might have been a happy 
 man. Well, here I stand; if you'll marry me, say the 
 word!" 
 
 By thunder, we gave him a cheer that shook the roof. 
 
 The girl reached out her left hand. She liked him. 
 
 You wouldn't think that threatenin' to blow her brains 
 out was just the touch that would set a maiden's heart 
 tremblin' for a man, but if a woman takes a fancy to 
 you, your way of doing things generally is only a little 
 matter of detail. 
 
 "How will this figger out legally?" E. G. W. S. asked 
 the minister. 
 
 The minister was a cheerful, practical sort of lad. 
 "Do you renounce the Mormon religion?" he asks. 
 "Bet your Hfe," says Scraggs. "And all its works."
 
 412 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 "That settles it," says the minister. 
 
 "One niinute/' says Scraggs, and he turned to the girl 
 very gentle. "Are you doing this of your own free will, 
 and not because I lugged 3'ou out here?" 
 
 "Yessir," says she. 
 
 "You want me, just as I stand?" 
 
 "Yessir." 
 
 I won't forget it. Then he put liis hand on her head, 
 took off liis hat, and raised his face. 
 
 "O God," he prays, "you know what a miserable time 
 I've had in this line before. I admit it was nine-tenths 
 my fault, but now I call for an honest deck and the hands 
 played above the table. And make me act decent for 
 the sake of this nice little girl. Amen." 
 
 Then he pulled a twenty-dollar gold piece out of his 
 pocket and plunked her down before the minister. 
 
 "Shoot," says he. 
 
 And so Scraggs celebrated his eighty-first marriage, 
 and they hved as happy ever after as any story book. 
 
 And now, what do you tliink of Aleck? The scare we 
 threw into him that night wound up liis moanin' and 
 grievin' about the other girl. He never cheeped once 
 after that, and when I left the ranch he was makin' up 
 to a widow with four children, as bold as brass. There 
 was more poetry in E. G. W. S. than there was in Aleck, 
 after all. 
 
 " What were you before you married?'' 
 " I was a lecturer." 
 
 " Is that so? What made you drop it?!i 
 " Oh, my wife took it up.''
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 413 
 
 DE CUSHV^ILLE HOP. 
 
 Ben King. 
 
 T 'SE gT\'ine down to do Ciish\dlle hop 
 
 An' dar ain' no niggahs gwine tor make me stop; 
 Missus gwine to deck me all up in white, 
 So watch de step dat I'se gettin' in ter night. 
 Um-hm, my honey, 'tain' no use; 
 Um-hm, ray honey, turn rae loose, 
 Um-hm, my honey, watch me shine 
 When mah foot am a-shaldn' in de ole coonjine. 
 
 No black niggahs corae foolin' roun' me, 
 
 I'se jes' to look at, any one can see; 
 
 I'se jes' a orniment, an' I mus' 'fess 
 
 No niggah jjut 'is ahm roun' mah snow-white dress. 
 
 Um-hm, niggah, keep away, understand? 
 
 Um-hm, niggah, look out fo' yo' head; 
 
 I'se jes' ter gaze at I mus' 'fess, 
 
 So don't put yo' ahm roun' mah snow-white dress. 
 
 Bring out de banjo, plunk-plank-pling. 
 Watch de motion of mah step 'an mah swing; 
 Don't yo' pestah me or make me stop 
 WTien I git in motion at deCushville hop. 
 Um-hm, niggah, keep away, keep away! 
 Um-hm, niggah, not tor day! 
 Keep away from me kase I done kain't stop; 
 I'se jes' caught mah motion fo' de Cushville hop.
 
 414 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 DEATH OF CRAILEY GRAY. 
 
 Booth Tarkington. 
 
 [Crailey Gray, the ne'er-do-weel and light-o'-love; Crailey Gray, 
 wit, poet, and scapegrace, the well-beloved scamp of Rouen, lies 
 dying, shot through the breast by the father of Betty Carewe, to 
 whom he was making love in the guise of his friend, Tom Vanrevel. 
 It was the eve of the beginning of the Mexican War, and a company 
 with Vanrevel for captain and Crailey for corporal had enlisted 
 from the little town and were about to start for the front. Crailey, 
 with Fanchon Bareaud, his fiancee, kneeling by the side of the bed, 
 is lying near the window in a room in the Carewe home.] 
 
 "\TOT long after sunrise Crailey asked to be left alone 
 with Tom. 
 
 " Give me your hand, Tom/' he said faintly. " Tell me — 
 I want to hear it from you — how many hours does the 
 doctor say?" 
 
 "Hours, Crailey?" 
 
 "I know it's only a few." 
 
 "They're all fools, doctors!" exclaimed Vanrevel, 
 fiercely. 
 
 " No, no. I know that nothing can be done. It frightens 
 me, I own up, to think that so soon .I'll be wiser than the 
 wisest in the world. Yet I always wanted to know. I've 
 sought and I've sought — but now to go out alone on the 
 search for the Holy Grail — I " 
 
 "Please don't talk," begged Tom, in a broken wliisper. 
 
 Crailey laughed weakly. " There's one thing I want, 
 Tom. I want to see all of them once more, all the old 
 friends that are going down the river at noon. I want 
 them to come by here on their way to the boat, with the 
 band and the new flag. But I want the band to play 
 cheerfully. Ask 'em to play 'Rosin the Bow,' 'will you? 
 I've never believed in mournfulness, and I don't want to 
 see any of it now. I want to see them as thej^'ll be wheo 
 they come marcliing home — they must look gay!"
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 415 
 
 "Ah, don't, lad, don't!" 
 
 The vokniteers gathered at the court-house two hours 
 beforQ noon. They met each other dismally, speaking in 
 undertones as they formed in lines of four. Not so with 
 the crowds of country folks and townspeople who lined the 
 streets to see the last of them. For these, when the band 
 came marching down the street and took its place, set up 
 a royal cheering that grew louder as Jefferson l^areaud, 
 the color-bearer, carried the flag to the head of the pro- 
 cession. 
 
 Jefferson unfurled the flag; ^larsh gave the word of 
 command, the l)and l)egan to play a quickstep, and the 
 })rocession moved forward down the cheering lane of 
 people, who waved little flags and handkerchiefs and 
 threw their hats in the air as they sliouted. But, con- 
 trary to expectation, the parade was not directly along 
 ]\Iain Street to the river. "Right wheel! March!" com- 
 manded Tappingham, hoarsely, wa\'ing his sword, and 
 Jefferson led the way into Carewe Street. 
 
 "For God's sake, don't cry now!" said Tapinngham, 
 with a large drop streaking down his own check. "That 
 isn't what he wants. He wants to see us looking cheery 
 and smiling. We can do it for him this once, I guess! I 
 never saw him any other way." 
 
 "You look danm smiling yourself!" snuilled one of the 
 boys. 
 
 "1 will when we turn in at the gates. On my soul. I 
 swear Fll kill every sniflling idiot that doesn't! — In line, 
 there!" 
 
 The lively strains of tln^ band ami the shouting of the 
 
 people grew louder and iomler in the room where C'railey 
 
 lay. His eyes glistened and he smiled merrily, like a 
 
 chHd. 
 
 ^'^Hail to the band!" Crailey chuckled, softly. "IIow
 
 416 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 the rogues keep the time ! It's ' Rosin the Bow ' all right ! 
 Ah, that is as it should be." 
 
 "Hark to 'em! They're very near! Only hear the 
 people cheer them ! They'll ' march away so gaily,' won't 
 they?^ — and Jiow right that is!" 
 
 Over the hedge gleamed the oncoming banner, the fresh 
 colors flying out on a strong breeze. 
 
 "There's the flag — look, Fanchon, your flag! — wa\dng 
 above the hedge; and it's Jeff who carries it. Doesn't 
 it always make you want to dance?" 
 
 The procession halted for a moment in the street and the 
 music ceased. Then, with a jubilant flourish of brass 
 and the roll of drums, the band struck up "The Star-span- 
 gled Banner," and Jefferson Bareaud proudly led the way 
 through the gates and down the driveway, the bright silk 
 streaming overhead. Behind him briskh' marched the 
 volunteers, ^\^th heads erect and cheerful faces. 
 
 "Here they come! do you see, Fanchon? They are all 
 there. God bless and grant them all a safe return! 
 What on earth are they taking off their hats for? — Ah, 
 good-by, boys, good-by!" 
 
 They saw the white face at the window and the slender 
 hand fluttering its farewell, and Tappingham halted his 
 men. 
 
 "Three times three for Corporal Gray!" he shouted, 
 " and may he rejoin his company before we enter the ^lexi- 
 can capital!" 
 
 He beat the time for the thunderous cheers that they 
 gave; the procession described a circle on the la^^^l, and 
 then, with the band pla\dng and colors flying, passed out 
 of the gates and took up the march to the wharf. 
 
 "The flag, the flag!" whispered Crailey, following it 
 with his eyes. " It's so beautiful. Ah, Tom, they've said 
 we abused it, sometimes — it was only that we loved it
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 417 
 
 so well we didn't like to see any one make it look silly or 
 mean. But, after all, no man can do that — no, nor no 
 group of men, nor party. They'll take our banner across 
 the Rio Grande, ])ut that is not all — some day its stars 
 must spread over the world! Don't you all see that they 
 will?" 
 
 He closed his eyes with a sigh; the doctor bent over 
 him quickly, and Miss Betty unconsciously cried out. 
 
 The bright eyes opened again. 
 
 "Not yet," said Crailcy. "Miss Carewe, may I tell 
 you that I am sorry I could not have known >ou sooner? 
 Perhaps you might have liked me for Fanchon's sake — 
 I know you care for her." 
 
 "I do— I cTo!" she faltered. "I love her and— ah!— 
 I do like you, Mr. (iray, for 1 know you, though I never — 
 met 3'ou until — last night. Ciod bless you — God bless 
 you!" 
 
 The day passed, and the shadows slanted strongly to 
 the eastj when the stillness was broken by a sound, low 
 and small at first, then rising fearfully, a long, quavering 
 wail of supreme anguish that clutched and shook the 
 hstencr's heart. No one could have recognized the voice 
 as Fan(5lion's, yet every one who heard it knew that it 
 was hers, and that the soul of Crailcy Gray had gone 
 out upon the quest for the Holy Grail.
 
 418 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 THE VIRGINIAN'S FINAL VICTORY. 
 
 Owen Wister. 
 
 [From " The Virginian." Copyright, 1902, by Macmillan Company.] 
 
 [The Virginian — called so because of his birthplace — a horesman 
 of the plains, has after long waiting won the woman he loves, fair- 
 haired Molly Stark Wood of Vermont. She has been in Wyoming 
 teaching school for three years, but has never become accustomed 
 to its wild ways. It is the day before their wedding-day and they 
 have journeyed twelve miles to the town where the well-beloved 
 Bishop awaits them. There, to his disgust, the Virginian finds that 
 his only enemy, Trampas, has preceded him. The Virginian is the 
 noblest type of cowboy, as Trampas is the A'ilest, and there have 
 been several struggles between them, in which the ^^irginian has 
 always come out victorious. Therefore Trampas hates him with 
 a deadly hatred ; and now, on this the happiest day of the Virginian's 
 life, Trampas orders him to leave town before sundown and be 
 branded a coward or fight a duel with him. The "\'irginian's 
 friends, the Bishop among them, beg him for Molly's sake to leave 
 town, but they all know in their hearts that the crisis must be met.] 
 
 T^HE Virginian unlocked the room in the hotel where 
 he kept his many accoutrements for the bridal 
 journey in the mountains. From among his possessions 
 he took quickly a pistol, wiping and loading it, for fifteen 
 of the forty minutes were gone. 
 
 "The Bishop is wrong," he said. "There is no sense 
 in telhng her." And he turned to the door just as she 
 came to it herself. 
 
 "Oh!" she cried and rushed to him. 
 
 He swore as he held her close. 
 
 "Who had to tell you this?" he demanded. 
 
 "I don't know. Somebody just came and said it." 
 
 "This is mean luck" [he murmured, patting her]. 
 
 "I wanted to run out and find you; but I didn't! I 
 stayed quiet in my room till they said you had come back. 
 How could you be so long? Never mind, I've got you 
 now. It is over." 
 
 Note. — The words inclosed in brackets [ ] the- reader may omit.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 419 
 
 "I niiglit have known some fool would tell you." 
 
 "It's all over. Never mind." 
 
 "I know it is a heap worse for 3'ou " [he pursued, speak- 
 ing slowly]. "I knew it would be." 
 
 "But it is over!" 
 
 He Idssed her. "Did you think it was over? There is 
 some waiting still before us. I wish you did not have 
 to wait alone. But it will not be long. I did my best. 
 I let him say to me loefore them all what no man has ever 
 said, or ever will again. I kept thinking hard of you. 
 And I gave him a show to change his mind. ]jut he stood 
 to it. He went too far in the hearing of others to go 
 back on his threat. He will have to go on to the finish 
 now." 
 
 "The finish?" 
 
 "Yes" [he answered very gently]. 
 
 Her dilated eyes were fixed upon him. 
 
 "But — " [she could scarce form utterance]— " but you?" 
 "Wliat, are you going — " [She put her two hands to her 
 head.] "Oh, God! you are going — " He made a step, 
 and would have put his arm around her, but she backed 
 against the wall, staring at him. 
 
 "I am not going to let him shoot me " [he said cjuietly]. 
 
 " But you can come away ! It's not too late yet. Every- 
 body knows that you are brave. What is he to you? 
 I'll go with 5^ou an\^vhere. Oh, won't you listen to me?" 
 [She stretched her hands to him.] ""Won't you hsten?" 
 
 He took her hands. "I must stay here." 
 
 "No, no, no. There's something else. There's some- 
 thing better than shedding blood in cold blood. Why, it's 
 what they hang people for! It's murder!" 
 
 "Don't call it that name," he said sternly. "Listen 
 to me. Are you listening?" 
 
 She nodded.
 
 420 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 "I belong here. If folks came to think I was a 
 
 coward " 
 
 "Who would tliink you were a coward?" 
 
 "Everybody." 
 
 " When it was explained " 
 
 "There'd be nothing to explain." . 
 
 "There is a higher courage than fear of outside opinion." 
 
 "Cert'nly there is. That's what I'm showing in going 
 against yours." 
 
 "But if you know that you are brave, and if I know 
 that you are brave, oh, my dear, my dear, what difference 
 does the world make? How much higher courage to 
 go your own course " 
 
 "I am goin' my own course. If an}' man happened 
 to say I was a thief, and I heard about it, would I let 
 him go on spreadin' such a thing of me? ^Miat men 
 say about my nature is not just merely an outside thing. 
 For the fact that I let 'em keep on saj'in' it is a proof 
 I don't value my nature enough to shield it from their 
 slander and give them their punishment. Can't you see 
 how it must, be about a man?"' 
 
 "I cannot, — when I think of to-morrow, of you and 
 me, and of — if you do this, there can be no to-morrow 
 for you and me." 
 
 "Do 5^ou mean — this would be the end?" 
 
 Her head faintly moved to signify yes. 
 
 "Will you look at me and say that ?" [he murmured 
 at length]. She did not move. "Can you do it?" 
 
 She gazed at him across the great distance of her despair. 
 
 His hand closed hard. 
 
 "Good-by, then," he said. 
 
 At that word she was at his feet. "For my sake," she 
 begged him. "For my sake." 
 
 A tremble passed through his frame. Looking up, she
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 421 
 
 saw that his eyes were closed with misery. Then he 
 unclasped her hands, raised her to her feet and was gone. 
 She was alone. 
 
 The Virginian, for precaution, did not walk out of the 
 front door of the hotel. He went through back ways, 
 and paused once. Against his breast he felt the wedding- 
 ring where he had it suspended by a chain from his neck. 
 He drew it out and looked at it, and his arm went back 
 to hurl it from him as far as he could. But he stopped, 
 kissed it with one sob, and thrust it in his pocket. Then he 
 Avalked out into the open, watching. He soon gained a posi- 
 tion where no one could come at him except from in front, 
 
 "It is quite a while after sunset," he heard himself say. 
 
 A wind seemed to blow his sleeve off his arm; he replied 
 to it, and saw Trampas pitch fon\'ard. He looked at his 
 pistol and saw the smoke flowing upward out of it. 
 
 "I expect that's all," he said aloud. "Both of mine 
 hit. His must have gone mighty close to my arm. I 
 told her it would not be me." 
 
 He had scarcely noticed that he was being surrounded 
 and congratulated. His heart was like lead within him. 
 
 "If anybody wants me about this," he said to the men 
 around him, "I will be at the hotel." 
 
 "WTio'll want you?" said his friend. "Three of us 
 saw his gun out. You were that cool! That quick!" 
 
 "I'll see you boys again," said the \'irginian, heavily. 
 He walked to the hotel and stootl on the threshold of his 
 sweetheart's room. 
 
 "You have to know it," said he. "I have killed 
 Trampas." 
 
 "Oh, thank God!" she cried; "thank God!" and he 
 found her in his arms. 
 
 The next daj^ with the Bishop's blessing, the Virginian 
 departed with his bride into the mountains.
 
 423 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 
 
 THE WIDOW'S REVENGE. 
 
 Frank R. Stockton. 
 
 nPHE widow Keswick and Mr. Brandon, an elderly 
 lawyer, had once been friends, — lovers, indeed, in the 
 days that were gone by, — but a few years after she had 
 refused liim and married Mr. Keswick. Trouble about 
 some land, which she believed the lawyer had cheated her 
 out of, arose between them and created an irreconcilable 
 breach which had never healed, and ever since one had 
 constantly been trying to get the better of the other. 
 
 Mrs. Keswick always spoke of Mr. Brandon in the most 
 biting and contemptuous tones, and he regarded her with 
 holy horror, for great had been the change both in Mrs. 
 Keswick's appearance and tongue since he first knew and 
 loved her. This being the case, the servants of Mr. Bran- 
 don's household were thrown into a state of amazement 
 when one bright morning the widow drove up into the 
 yard and announced that she had come to see ]\Ir. Brandon. 
 She presented rather a remarkable figure as she descended 
 from the cart in which she had driven over. In one hand 
 she firmly clasped a large purple umbrella. Her dress 
 was a plain calico, blue spotted with yellow, and was very 
 narrow and short in the sldrt, barely touching the tops 
 of her boots — the very shortest and most serviceable she 
 could procure in the village. Her shoulders were covered 
 with a small red shawl fastened with a large somewhat 
 tarnished silver broach. On her head was a sunbonnet 
 whose age dated back several years. 
 
 "Where is your Master?" she asked one of the servants. 
 
 "Mars Roberts is in de liberary. Who shall I tell Mars 
 Roberts is come?"
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 423 
 
 ''There is no need to tell him; just take me to him." 
 
 Mr. Brandon was seated by a table in an ann-chair in 
 front of a good fire, enjoying his morning paper; but when 
 he heard the door open and looked up to find the widow 
 Keswick standing in the room, every idea of comfort and 
 satisfaction seemed to vanish from his mind. 
 
 "What, Madam, so it is you. Mrs. Keswick?" 
 
 The old lady did not immediately reply, her head dropped 
 a little on one side, a broad smile bewrinkled the lower 
 part of her well-worn -visage; and with her eyes half closed 
 behind her heavy spectacles she held out both her hands, 
 the purple umbrella in one of them, and exclaimed: 
 
 "Robert, I am yours." 
 
 Mr. Brandon, having recovered from his first surprise^ 
 had made a step forward, to go round the table and greet 
 his \asitor, but at these words he stopped as if he had 
 been shot. 
 
 "Don't you understand me. Robert? Don't }ou remem- 
 ber the day, many a good long 3'ear ago, it is true, when 
 we walked together down there by the ])rook and you 
 asked me to be yours? I refused you, Robert. Although 
 you went down on your knees in the damp grass and 
 besought me to give you my heart, I would not do it. 
 That heart is yours now, Robert. / am yours." 
 
 "Madam, what are you talking about?" 
 
 "Of the days of our courtship and of your love, Robert. 
 My love did not come then, but it is here now — here 
 now." 
 
 "Madam, you must W raving crazy. Those things to 
 which you allude happened nearly half a century ago, and 
 since that you have been married and settled and " 
 
 "Robert, you are mistaken. It is not (juite forty-five 
 years since that morning, and why should hearts like ours 
 allow the passage of time or the mere circumstance of
 
 424 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 what might be called an outside marriage come between 
 them." 
 
 ''Mrs. Keswick — Madam, j^ou will drive me mad." 
 "Robert, do not try to crush emotions which alwa^'-s 
 were a credit to you, although in those days I did not tell 
 you so. Your hair was black then, now it is gray, Robert, 
 and I remember I had on a white dress -uith a broad ribbon 
 about the waist and neither of us wore specs. What you 
 said to me was very fresh and sweet, Robert, and it all 
 comes to me now as it never came before. You have 
 never loved another, Robert, and you don't know how 
 happy it makes me to know that, and to know that I can 
 come to you and find you the same true constant lover 
 that you were forty-five years ago. After all these years 
 I have learned what a prize your true love is, and I return 
 it — I am 3^ours." 
 
 Mr. Brandon made a wild attempt to leave the room, 
 but Mrs. Keswick was too quick for him. With two sud- 
 den springs she reached the door and put her back against 
 it, saying "Don't leave me, Robert. I have not told 
 you all. Don't you remember this breastpin? You gave 
 it to me, Robert, and there were tears of joy in your 
 eyes the first day I wore it. Where are those tears now, 
 Robert? I have kept it all these years, 'though in the 
 lifetime of Mr. K. it was never cleaned, and I wore it 
 to-day, Robert, that your eyes might rest on [it again, 
 and that you might speak to me the words j^ou spoke to 
 me the day after I let 3^ou pin it on my white necker- 
 chief. You waited then, Robert, a whole day before you 
 spoke, but you needn't wait now. Let your heart speak 
 out, dear Robert." 
 
 With a stamp of his foot and a kick at a chair wliich stood 
 in his way, dear Robert precipitately left the room by 
 another door and shortly after ]\Irs. Keswdck saw him ride
 
 ^ELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 425 
 
 out of the yard. As the widow drove home that night 
 alone a suppressed chuckle burst from her. 
 
 "Well, 1 reckon the old scapegrace has got his money's 
 worth this time. G'lang." 
 
 A week or so later, on New Year's day, Mr. Brandon was 
 sitting in his library with Colonel Macon, an elderly gentle- 
 man of social habits and genial temperament. They 
 were telling anecdotes of by-gone days, and were in ex- 
 cellent humor, when a servant came in with a note for 
 Mr. Brandon. The old gentleman looked at the address 
 and then let the missive fall with an angry ejaculation. 
 
 "It's from that old witch, the widow K. I've a great 
 mind to throw it into the fire ^^^thout reading it." 
 
 "Don't do that; it's a New Year's present she is sending 
 you. Read it, sir; read it by all means. I'd like to 
 know what sort of congratulations she offers j'ou." 
 
 "Congratulations, indeed; you needn't expect any- 
 thing of that sort." But he opened the note and read: 
 
 "'My dear Robert' — Confound it, sir, did you ever 
 hear such impertinence? 
 
 " ' It is not for me to suggest anything of the kind, but 
 I write this note simply to ask }-ou what you think of our 
 being married soon. We are no longer young, Robert, 
 and think how happy we miglit be beginning this year 
 together. Remember, I do not propose this, I only lay 
 it before your own kindly and afTcctionate heart. Your 
 own 
 
 "'Martha Ann Kesw'ick.' 
 
 "Did you over hear anything like that? ^larrj^ her? 
 The old shrew, does she imagine that' anything in this 
 world would induce me to marry her?" 
 
 "AVhy, my dear sir, of course she don't. I know the 
 widow Kesvuck as well as you do. She wouldn't marry 
 vou to save vour soul, sir. All she wants is to worrv and
 
 426 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOKT 
 
 torment your senses out of you in revenge for your once 
 having gotten the best of her. Now, take my ad\dce, 
 sir, and don't let her do it." 
 
 "I'd Kke to know how I am going to hinder her." 
 
 "Hinder her! Notliing easier in the world. You just 
 turn right square round and face her, sir; and youll', 
 see she stops short, sir, and what is more, she'll run, sir." 
 
 "But I have faced her and I assure you she didn't run." 
 
 "That was because you didn't do it in the right way. 
 Now, if I were in your place, sir, this is what I would 
 do. I'd say to her, ' Madam, I think your proposition is 
 an excellent one; I am ready to marry j^ou to-day or 
 at the very latest to-morrow morning.' Now, sir, a note 
 like that would frighten the old woman so she would go 
 away and wouldn't be back in six weeks." 
 
 Mr. B. considered a moment. 
 
 "Yes, by Jove, that is a royal idea. I mil face her, 
 and scare her out of her five senses." 
 
 Pen, ink, and paper were at hand, and the letter was 
 soon written, though very carefully constructed. He 
 stated that nothing would give him greater pleasure than 
 an immediate wedding, and that he intended starting 
 for the city the next day and would be rejoiced to meet 
 her at eleven o'clock in the covered bridge connecting the 
 Exchange and Ballard Hotels and there arrange all the 
 details for an immediate wedding. The letter was signed 
 "Your devoted Robert." 
 
 "By which I mean I am devoted — to her destruction." 
 
 The next clay the two old fellows, chuckling at the 
 way they had scared the widow, went at the appointed 
 hour to the bridge. There seated in a conspicuous place 
 was the widow, umbrella and all. 
 
 "Robert, I knew how true and faithful you would be-. 
 It has just struck eleven. How do you do, Colonel Macon?"
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 427 
 
 Colonel Macon was pale, yet he retained his presence 
 of mind. 
 
 "I'm glad to meet you again, Mrs. Keswick. TvCt us go 
 to one of the parlors; you will find it more comfortable." 
 
 The Colonel did not stay long in the parlor, however; 
 there was that in the air of Mrs. Keswick which plainly 
 told his company might be much more welcome else- 
 where. In about half an hour there came down-stairs 
 a man who somewhat resembled Mr. Brandon. Colonel 
 Macon made five strides towards him. 
 
 "What— how " 
 
 "It is all over." 
 
 "Over — have you settled it. then? Is she gone?" 
 
 "It's settled — we are to be married." 
 
 "Married! (!ood heavens man what do you mean?" 
 
 In low quavering tones Mr. lirandon told his friend that 
 it was inevitable. 
 
 "It was a mistake, sir, to suppose she merely wished to 
 torment me. She wished to marry me — and she is going 
 to do it." 
 
 The Colonel l)owed his face upon his hands and groaned. 
 
 " Do not reproach yourself, sir, " said Mr. Brandon. " We 
 thought we were acting for the best." 
 
 Little more was said, and soon afterward the two 
 crushed old gentlemen retired to their rooms. 
 
 The widow Keswick, as usual, took all the arrangement 
 for the wedding into her own hands. She decided that 
 it should be in the church, and that all her old friends 
 and those of Mr. Brandon should be invited to be present. 
 Accordingly, when the day she had set arrived the church 
 was well filled with old colonels, old majors, old judges, 
 with their wives and daughters, all anxious to witness 
 the marriage of the ancient lovers. TMien, in the course 
 of the marriage ser^dce, the clergj^man asked the bride-
 
 428 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 groom if he would have this woman to be his wedded wife, 
 to love and keep her for the rest of her life, the answer, 
 "I will," came forth in a feeble tone not wholly divested 
 of a tinge of despondency. With the lady it was quite 
 otherwise. When the like question was put to her, she 
 stepped back and in a loud clear voice exclaimed: 
 
 "Marry him! Not I, not for the world sir! " and with 
 these words she turned and walked quickly down the isle 
 to the door, where again her voice rang out : 
 
 "Now, Mr. Robert Brandon, our account is balanced." 
 
 MR. TRAVERS'S FIRST HUNT. 
 
 Richard Hakding Davis. 
 
 "XT'OUNG Travers, who had been engaged to a girl down 
 on Long Island for the last three months, only met 
 her father and brother a few weeks before the day set for 
 the wedding. The brother is a master of hounds near 
 Southampton, and shared the expense of importing a 
 pack from England with Van Bibber. The father and 
 son talked horse all day and until one in the morning; 
 for they owned fast thoroughbreds, and entered them at 
 the Sheepshead Bay and other race-tracks. Old Mr. Pad- 
 dock, the father of the girl to whom Travers was engaged, 
 had often said that when a young man asked him for his 
 daughter's hand he would ask him in return, not if he 
 had lived straight, but if he could ride straight. And on 
 his answering this question in the affirmative depended 
 his gaining her parent's consent. Travers had met Miss 
 ""addock and her mother in Europe, while the men of the
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 429 
 
 family were ;it home. He was invited to their place in 
 the fall when the hunting season opened, and spent the 
 evening most pleasantly and satisfactorily with his fiancee 
 in a comer of the drawing-room. But as soon as the 
 women had gone, young Paddock joined him and said, 
 "You ride, of course?" Travers had never ridden; but 
 he had been prompted how to answer by Miss Paddock, 
 and so said there was nothing he liked better. As he 
 expressed it, he would rather ride than sleep. 
 
 " Thart's good," said Paddock. " I'll give you a mount on 
 Satan to-morrow morning at the meet. He is a bit nasty 
 at the start of the season ; and ever since he killed Wallis, 
 the second groom, last year, none of us care much to ride 
 him. ]^ut you can manage him, no doubt. He'll just 
 carry your weight." 
 
 Mr. Travers dreamed that night of taking large, desjier- 
 ate leaps into space on a \\A\d horse that snorted forth 
 flames, and that rose at solid stone walls as though they 
 were hayricks. 
 
 He was tempted to say he was ill in tlic morning — 
 which was, considering his state of mind, more or less 
 true — l:)ut concluded that, as he would have to ride sooner 
 or later during his visit, and that if he did break his neck 
 it would be in a good cause, he determined to do his best. 
 He did not want to ride at all, ft)r two excellent reasons — 
 first, because he wanted to live for Miss Paddock's 
 sake, and, second, because he wanted to live for liis 
 own. 
 
 The next morning was a most forliidding and doleful- 
 looking morning, and young Travers had great hopes that 
 the meet would l)e declared off; but just as he lay in 
 doubt the servant knocked at his door with his riding 
 things and his hot water. 
 
 He came down-stairs looking very miserable indeed.
 
 430 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Satan had been taken to the place where they were to 
 meet, and Travers viewed him on his arrival there with a 
 sickening sense of fear as he saw him pulHng three grooms 
 off their feet. 
 
 Travers decided that he would stay vnth his feet on 
 solid earth just as long as he could, and when the hounds 
 were thrown off and the rest had started at a gallop he 
 waited, under the pretense of adjusting his gaiters, until 
 they were all well away. Then he clenched his teeth, 
 crammed his hat down over his ears, and scrambled u}3 
 on to the saddle. His feet fell quite by accident into the 
 stirrups, and the next instant he was off after the others, 
 mth an indistinct feeling that he was on a locomotive that 
 was jumping the ties. 
 
 Satan was in among and had passed the other horses in 
 less than five minutes, and was so close on the hounds that 
 the whippers-in gave a cry of warning. But Travers could 
 as soon have pulled a boat back from going over the Niagara 
 Falls as Satan, and it was only because the hounds were 
 well ahead that saved them from ha\dng Satan ride them 
 down. Travers had taken hold of the saddle \^dth his 
 left hand to keep himself down, and sawed and swayed on 
 the reins vith his right. He shut his eyes whenever Satan 
 jumped, and never knew how he happened to stick on; 
 but he did stick on, and was so far ahead that no one could 
 see in the misty morning just how badly he rode. As it 
 was, for daring and speed he led the field, and not even 
 young Paddock was near him from the start. There was 
 a broad stream in front of him, and a hill just on its other 
 side. No one had ever tried to take this at a jump. It 
 was considered more of a s-vAim than auA^thing else, and 
 the hunters always crossed it by the bridge, toward the 
 left. Travers saw the bridge and tried to jerk Satan's 
 head in that direction ; but Satan kept right on as straight
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 431 
 
 as an express train over the prairie. Fences and trees and 
 furrows passed by and under Travers like a panorama run 
 by electricity, and he only breathed by accident. They 
 went on at the stream and the hill beyond as thouii;h they 
 were riding at a stretch of turf, and. though the whole field 
 set up a shout of warning and dismay, Travers could only 
 gasp and shut his eyes. He remembered the fate of the 
 second groom and shivered. Then the horse rose like a 
 rocket, lifting Travers so high in the air tlmt he thought 
 Satan would never come down again ; but he did come down, 
 with his feet bunched, on the opposite side of the stream. 
 The ne.xt instant he was up and over the hill and had 
 stoj^pcd panting in the very center of the pack that were 
 snarling and snapping around the fox. And then Travers 
 showed that he was a thoroughbred, even though he could 
 not ride, for he hastily fuml^led for his cigar-case, and 
 when the field came pounding up over the l)ridge and around 
 the hill, they saw him seated nonchalantly on his saddle, 
 puffing critically at a cigar and giving Satan patronizing 
 pats on the head. 
 
 " My dear girl," said old Paddock to liis daughter as they 
 rode back, "if you love that young man of yours and want 
 to keep him, make him promise to give up riding. A 
 more reckless and more l)rilliant horseman I have never 
 seen. He took that double jump at the gate and that 
 stream like a centaur. But he will break his neck sooner 
 or later, and he ought to be stopped." Young Paddock 
 was so delighted with his prospective brother-in-law's 
 great riding that that niglit in the smoking-room he made 
 him a present of Satan before all the men. 
 
 "No," said Travers, gloomily. "1 can't take him. Your 
 sister has asked me to give up what is dearer to me than 
 anything next to herself, and that is my riding. You see, 
 she is absurdly anxious for my safety, and she has asked
 
 432 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 me to promise never to ride again, and I have given my 
 word." 
 
 A chorus of sympathetic remonstrances rose from the 
 men. 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Travers to her brother, "it is rough, 
 but it just shows what sacrifices a man will make for the 
 woman he loves." 
 
 AT THE SIGN OF THE CLEFT HEART. 
 
 Theodosia Garrison. 
 
 [From Smart Set, by permission of the publishers.] 
 
 Time: afternoon. The season: May. 
 The scene: Love's Shop, Arcadian Way. 
 Love at the counter; Maiden at the door. 
 
 Note. — Passages enclosed in [ ] may be omitted in reciting. 
 
 I 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 S this the place? — I've not — been here — before- 
 
 LOVE [aside] 
 
 Ah, a new customer — I know the blush — 
 
 [Poor child ! She's all a-quiver as a thrush 
 
 Thrills before singing. [Bowing] Sweetheart, from your 
 
 face] 
 I can assure you that this is the place. 
 The Sign of the Cleft Heart. Hearts, old and new, 
 Always in stock; repairing done here, too. 
 Exchanges made and offered 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 Nay, sir, I 
 Have only come
 
 DELS A RTF RECITATION BOOK. 433 
 
 LOVE [aside] 
 That blush again. 
 
 ' MAIDEN 
 
 — to buy. 
 
 LOVE 
 
 [Good! Look about you. Here are hearts a score] — 
 Choose any one 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 Think you I wanted more? 
 One's ahnost too expensive. jMother prayed 
 
 [love [aside] 
 Venus! these mothers — how they help the trade?] 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 — Prayed me — to — be content a year or two 
 Witli none — or let her choose for me. 
 
 love 
 
 Yet you 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 I came alone, because I thought that she — 
 That I — in fact, our tastes might not agree. 
 
 LOVE 
 
 Quite so. [In fact, when ancient ladies call 
 I often find their tastes the worst of all 
 And yet they're suited easily, but you — 
 You youngsters puzzle me.] [Picking up a heart.] Will 
 this one do? 
 
 MAIDEN [reflecting] 
 
 Um! yes; it's large, but then it seems so green.
 
 434 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 LOVE 
 
 Yes, it is fresh, but then it's just nineteen 
 And full of poetry. [Why, it could speak 
 An hour about the dimples in your cheek. 
 And then how pure it is ! — no spot, no stain]- 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 Uninteresting! Put it back again. 
 
 LOVE [aside] 
 [So that to girlhood is what boy love means? 
 I'll put this by for someone beyond — teens.] 
 Well, look at this one. 
 
 • MAIDEN 
 
 Oh, but that's so small. 
 
 [love 
 And yet so heavy. Quick, don't let it fall! 
 
 maiden] 
 So small, yet heavy that I scarce can hold — 
 
 love 
 It's brimmed quite to the very top with gold. 
 [No romance left; no touch of hope or fire, 
 But hard, bright gold.] 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 [It's not what I desire,] 
 The horrid, heavy thing, yet 
 
 love 
 
 Be confessed. 
 
 MAIDEN i 
 
 I think mamma would have me like it best. 
 
 *
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 435 
 
 LOVE 
 
 It's not for sale; left for an exchange. 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 For what? 
 
 LOVE 
 
 A tender, maiden heart. 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 How strange 
 
 LOVE 
 
 Not strange at all— [exchange of pounds and pence 
 For youth and purity and innocence. 
 The thing's done every day.] 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 But you — but you — ? 
 
 LOVE 
 
 Not strictly in my line, you mean. Quite true — 
 A side branch of the trade, not really mine; 
 It only bears my signature and sign, 
 And they wear off. But see, will this one do? 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 Why, Love, how can you? Look, it's broken through! 
 
 LOVE 
 
 Of course, of course; yet, if you really cared 
 To have the thing, it's easily repaired, 
 [And no one's wiser. Treat it thus and so, 
 And in a month the crack will scarcely show. 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 But still I'd know it.
 
 436 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 LOVE 
 
 True, but think what wit 
 And cleverness you'd show in mending it.] 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 Well, I'll consider that; but this one, see! 
 So nicked and cracked 
 
 LOVE 
 
 Oh, handle carefully! 
 It's fragile, but in good condition. 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 True, 
 Yet I prefer the one that's broken through 
 To this one, with its horrid, hundred cracks. 
 
 LOVE [aside] 
 
 There spake the woman! This one, then; this lacks 
 Nothing to make it what you most desire. 
 A perfect article, complete, entire. 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 But it looks shopworn. 
 
 LOVE 
 
 Well, the fact appears 
 It's been for sale for something like ten years. 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 Ugh! No, a thing like that would never do. 
 I want a heart — that — others covet, too. 
 [Now let me see — is not this one •
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 43? 
 
 LOVE 
 
 That's black 
 In certain lights, and damaged. Put it back; 
 It's not the thing you're looking for at all.] 
 Now this one 
 
 ■ MAIDEN 
 
 That's too cold. 
 
 LOVE 
 
 And this? 
 
 Too small. 
 
 Oh, oh! 
 
 MAIDEN 
 LOVE 
 
 Well, really, I have nothing else to show. 
 You might stop in to-morrow, say 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 Look there 1 
 
 LOVE 
 
 Look where? 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 Why, there, upon the shclf,- 
 The very thing — I'll take it down myself — 
 Indeed, the nicest one you have in store. 
 
 LOVE 
 
 That's not for sale. 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 Oh, get it, I unplore! 
 I'll give you anything you ask — and more.
 
 438 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 LOVE 
 
 It's not for sale. I'm storing it, that's all. 
 Until that day a certain maid shall call 
 And claim it. 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 Was't not I? 
 
 LOVE 
 
 No, no, my dear, 
 The owner's last instructions were too clear. 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 Alas, what were they? 
 
 LOVE 
 
 "Take this heart," he said, 
 "And put it by with hearts uncomforted. 
 Show it to none, until a maid one day 
 Comes searching for a heart she threw away. 
 Then take this down, and if it be the same, 
 Across and through it will be wiit her name." 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 Alas, what more? 
 
 LOVE 
 
 He said, "Her eyes are blue '! 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 And mine are brown — but would not brown eyes do? 
 
 LOVE 
 
 He said, "Her hair is golden as the track 
 Of sunshine on the sea." 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 And mine is black. 
 But she has never come?
 
 I 
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 439 
 
 LOVE 
 
 Not yet, 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 Then oh, 
 Give me the heart? I want it, want it so. 
 Dear Love, give me the heart. 
 
 LOVE 
 
 I should not dare. 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 She has forgotten it — she would not care. 
 Give it to me 
 
 LOVE 
 
 It is not meant for you. 
 Here are so many others — won't they do? 
 Take two or three 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 I only want that one. 
 
 LOVE 
 
 Really, I'm sorry, but it can't be done. 
 
 MAIDEN [in tears] 
 Please, Love, oh, please, oh, cruel 
 
 LOVE 
 
 No — no — no.' 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 You horrid, horrid, cruel thing! I'll go 
 
 Straight home and tell my mother. "What is more. 
 
 I'll have that one!
 
 440 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 LOVE [solus] 
 
 Whew! How she slammed the door 
 And how she begged ! Poor child, she'll know some day 
 The tricks Love plays to make the business pay. 
 Why, bless me, look at this — a happy find! 
 Poor little soul, she's left her heart behind 
 Instead of taking one away. Dear, dear, 
 Give me the steps and let me store it here 
 Close by the other — so, beneath the rose — 
 And when she comes to-morrow— well, who knows? 
 
 MORIAH'S MO'NIN'. 
 
 Ruth McEnery Stuart. 
 
 A /rORIAH was a widow of a month, and when she an- 
 nounced her intention of marrying again, the plan- 
 tation held its breath. Then it roared with laughter. 
 
 Not because of tlie short jDeriod of her mourning was 
 the news so incredible, but Moriah had put herself upon 
 record as the most inconsolable of widows. After her 
 husband Numa's funeral Moriah had rashly cast her every 
 garment into the dye-pot, sparing not even so much as her 
 underwear. 
 
 Moriah was herself as black as a total eclipse, and when 
 it became known that her black garb was not merely a 
 thing of the surface, the j^lantation folks were profoundly 
 impressed. 
 
 "Moriah sho' does mo'n for Numa. She mo'ns f'om 
 de skin out." Such was popular comment. 
 
 And this woman it was who, after eight years of respect- 
 able wifehood and but four weeks of mourning her lost 
 mate, calmly announced that she was to be married again.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 441 
 
 The man of her choice was a neighbor whom she had 
 always known, a widower whose bereavement was of three 
 months' longer standing than her own. 
 
 The courtship must have been brief and to the point, 
 for he and his fiancee had met but three times in the 
 interval when the banns were published. 
 
 He had been engaged to whitewash tlic kitchen in 
 which she pursued her vocation as cook. 
 
 The whitewashing was done in a single morning, but a 
 second coating was found necessary, and it v/as said by 
 one of her fellow-servants that while Pete was putting 
 the finishing-touches to the bit of chimney back of lier 
 stove, JMoriah, who stooped at the oven door beside him, 
 basting a roast turkey, liftetl up her stately head and said, 
 archly, breaking her mourning recorfl for the first time 
 by a gleaming display of ivory and coral as she spoke: 
 
 "Who'd 'a' thought j'ou'd come into my kitchen ter do 
 yo' secon' co'tin', Pete?" 
 
 At which the whitewash brush fell from the delighted 
 artisan's hands, and in a shorter time than is consumed 
 in the telling, a surprised and smiling man was sitting at 
 her polished kitchen tal)le chatting cosily with his mourn- 
 ing hostess. 
 
 It was discovered that the kitchen walls needed a third 
 coating. This took an entire day, "because," so said 
 Pete, "de third coat hit takes mo' time ter soak in." 
 
 And then came the announcement. Moi'iah herself, 
 apparently in nowise embarrassed, bore the news to us. 
 
 "Mis' Cdadys," she said, simply, "I come ter give you 
 notice dat I gwine take fo' days off, start in' nex' Sunday." 
 
 "I hope you are not in any new trouble. Moi-jah?" I 
 said, sympathetically. 
 
 "Well. 1 don' know ef I is or not. Me an' ]*ete Point- 
 de.xter, wc done talked it over, an' we come ter de con-
 
 442 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 elusion ter marry. Dey ain't no onrespec' ter de dead, 
 Mis' Gladys, in marryin'. De onrespec' is in de carryin's 
 on folks does when dey marry. Pete an' me, we 'low 
 ter have eve'ything quiet and solemncholy. De organ- 
 player he gwine march us in chu'ch by de same march 
 he played fur Numa's fun'al, an' look like dat in itse'f 
 is enough ter show de world dat I ain't forgot Numa. 
 An', tell de trufe. Mis' Gladys, ef Numa was ter rise up 
 f'om his grave, I'd sen' Pete a-flyin' so fast you could 
 sen' eggs ter market on his coat-tail. 
 
 "You see, de trouble is I done had my eye on Pete's 
 chillen ever sence dey mammy died, an' ef dey ever was 
 a set o' onery, low-down, sassy, no-'count little niggers 
 dat need takin' in hand by a able-bodied step-mammy, 
 dey awaitin' fur me right yonder in Pete's cabin. My 
 hand has des nachelly itched ter take aholt o' dat crowd 
 many a day — an' ever sence I buried Numa of co'se I see 
 de way was open. An' des as soon as I felt like I could 
 bring myse'f ter it, I — well — dey warn't no use losin' time, 
 an' so I tol' you, missy^ dat de kitchen need' white- 
 washin'." 
 
 "And so you sent for him — and proposed to him, did 
 
 you?" 
 
 "P'opose ter who, Mis' Gladys? I'd see Pete in de 
 sinkin' swamp 'fo' I'd p'p p'opose ter him!" 
 
 "Then how did you manage it, pray?" 
 
 "G'way, Mis' Gladys! Any wide-awake widder 'oman 
 dat kin get a widder man whar he can't he'p but see her 
 move round at her work fur two days hand-runnin', an' 
 can't mesmerize him so' she'll ax her ter marr}^ him — Um 
 — hm!" 
 
 "And so, ]\Ioriah, you are going to marry a man that 
 you confess you don't care for, just for the sake of getting 
 control of his children? I wouldn't have believed it of you."
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 443 
 
 "Well — partly, missy. Partly on dat account, au' 
 partly on his'n. Pete's wife Ca'line, she was a good 
 'oman, but she was mighty puny an' peevish; an' besitles 
 dat, she was one o' deze heah niggers, an' Pete is alius had 
 a party hard pull, an' I lay out ter give him a better 
 chance. Co'se I don't say I loves Pete, but I looks ter come 
 roun' ter 'im in time. Ef I didn't, I wouldn't have him." 
 
 "And how about his loving you?" 
 
 "Oh, Mis' Gladys, you is so searchin'! Co'se he say lie 
 loves me already better'n he love Ca'line, but of co'se a 
 widder man he feels obleeged ter talk dat-a-wa3^ An' 
 ef he didn't have de manners ter say it, I wouldn't have 
 him, ter save his life; but ef he meant it, I'd despise him. 
 But of co'se. Mis' Gladys, I ca'culates ter outstrip Ca'line 
 in co'se o' time. Ef I couldn't do dat — an' she in 'er 
 grave — an' me a cook — I wouldn't count myself much." 
 
 "Can I help you with your wedding-dress, Moriah?" 
 
 "Bless yo' heart. Mis' Gladys, I ain't gwine out o' 
 mo'nin'! I gwinc marry Pete in des what I got on my 
 back. I'll marry him, an' I'll take dem little no-'counts 
 o' his'n, an' I'll make folks out'n 'em 'fo' I gits th'ough 
 wid 'em, ef Gord spares me; but he nee'n't ter lay out ter 
 come in 'twi.\' me an' my full j-ear o' mo'nin' fur Xuma. 
 When I walks inter dat chu'ch, 'ccp'n' fur de owange 
 wrcaf, which of co'se in a Christian ma'iage I'm boun' ter 
 wear, folks '11 be a heap mo' 'minded o' Numa 'n iley will 
 o' de bridegroom. An' dem chillen o' his'n, which ain't 
 niver is had no proper mo'nin' fur dey mannny — I g^vine 
 put 'em inspecial secon' mo'nin', 'cordin' ter de time dey 
 ought ter been wearin' it; an' when we walks up dc island 
 o' de chu'ch, dey got ter foller, two by two, kecpin' time 
 ter de fun'al march. 
 
 I wished her joy, and bade her to be careful to make 
 no mistake.
 
 444 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 "Missy, I don't believe I gwine make no mistake. I 
 been surveyin' de lan'scape o'er tryin' ter think about 
 eve'ything I can do ter start right. I'm a-startin' wid 
 dem chillen, puttin' 'em in mo'nin' fur Ca'hne. Den, fur 
 Pete, I gwine ring de changes on Ca'hne's goodness tell 
 he ax me, for Gord sake, ter stop, so, in years ter come, he 
 won't have nothin' ter th'ow up ter me. An' you know 
 de reason I done tooken fo' days off, missy? I gwine on a 
 weddin'-trip down ter Pine Bluff, an' I wants time ter pick 
 out a few little weddin'-presents to fetch home ter Pete." 
 
 "Pete! Pete is going with you, of course?" 
 
 "Pete gwine wid me? Who sesso? No, ma'am! 
 Why, missy, how would it look fur me ter go a-skylarkin' 
 roun' de country wid Pete — an' me in mo'nin'? 
 
 " No, indeedy! I gwine leave Pete home ter take keer 
 dem chillen, an' I done set him a good job o' whitewashin' 
 ter do while I'm gone, too. De principles' weddin'-present 
 I gwine fetch Pete is a fiddle. Po' Pete been wantin' a 
 good fiddle all his life, an' he ain't niver is had one. But, 
 of co'se, I don't 'low ter let him play on it teU de fuU year 
 o' mo'nin' is out. No, ma'am!" 
 
 THE MARSEILLAISE OF THE GREEKS. 
 
 CONSTANTINE RhIGAS. 
 
 1753-1798. 
 
 /^HILDREN of heroic Greece, 
 
 ^-^ Liberty flames in our eyes. 
 
 If you would pay heed to its magic voice 
 
 You must prove worthy of your sires. 
 
 An implacable tyranny 
 
 Dared to crush us beneath its law. 
 
 But, country of ours, we are ready 
 
 To avenge thee. Arise! Arise!
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 445 
 
 Sons of Greece, to arms; 
 May our tyrants, overwhelmed, 
 Mingle thoir blood with our tears, 
 As it flows beneath our feet. 
 
 Give new life to your illustrious ashes, 
 
 O generous spirits of our heroes! 
 
 Leave your funereal homes, 
 
 Shake off the dust of the tombs 1 
 
 Seek ye the City of Seven Hills, 
 
 The city of old-time splendor! 
 
 Arise boldly over the ruins, 
 
 And, when I siunmon, go forth and conquer! 
 
 Why slumber, Sparta, so illustrious, 
 When the day dawns so brightly? 
 Oh, raise high your queenly head 
 And call Athens to your side! 
 Come, come, my brave fatherland. 
 Gather the prizes of battles; 
 Break the chains which have blighted youl 
 Rcmcml)cr Leonitlas! 
 
 Yonder, yonder at Thermopylffi 
 
 His war-cry has soundetl ! 
 
 In vain nimlole troops of Persians 
 
 ])ash themselves against him! 
 
 With the utmost daring he defies them. 
 
 Backed by the Three Hundred, he charges them, 
 
 And, like a maddened lion. 
 
 He scatters death through their ranks! 
 
 'tr>' 
 
 Sons of Greece, to arms! 
 May our tyrants, overwhelmed, 
 Mingle their blooil with our tears, 
 As it flows beneath our feet.
 
 446 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 
 
 BERYL'S HAPPY THOUGHT. 
 
 A THANKSGIVING STORY. 
 
 Blanche Willis Howard. 
 
 T^HE Gardines and the Gl^ndons assembled in full 
 force, and, arrayed in wedding garments, stood on 
 the platform of the railway station at Pineville, concen- 
 trating their attention upon two young people at a window 
 of a parlor-car. 
 
 "Be sure and not take cold, Beryl." 
 
 "Write often, won't you?" 
 
 "And, John, if you should happen to see Cousin Thomas, 
 give him my love." 
 
 "And mine to Cousin Anne, Beryl." 
 
 "And a kiss to dear Uttle Charlie.". 
 
 "And remember to give my kindest regards to old 
 Dr. Mason." 
 
 "Oh, Beryl, the aconite and nux are in a corner of 
 your dressing-case.". 
 
 "Take care of yourself, old fellow." 
 
 "And take good care of Beryl.". 
 
 "And write often." 
 
 "Don't take cold." 
 
 And, above the whirling fragments, the voice of Aunt 
 Susan Glyndon rang out, clear and commanding as a 
 war-trumpet, "Children, come home for Thanksgiving!" 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. John Gardine, but two hours previously 
 pronounced man and wife, he twenty-one, dark, a genuine 
 Gardine; she seventeen, fair, a true Glyndon, now fairly 
 off, gave one long look into each other's eyes, and broke 
 into a hearty laugh. 
 
 "If Aunt Susan only knew!" began Beryl, as soon as 
 she could speak.
 
 DELSARTl': RECITATION BOOK. U7 
 
 "If any of them knew!" returned Jack. 
 
 "Thanksgiving, indeed! The most dreadful day!" 
 
 "Thanksgiving is the family," Jack chimed in. 
 
 "And such a family!" 
 
 "And when we consider," reflected her husband, "that 
 it's not the etiquette of the Spanish court, but purely 
 affectionate interest which has " 
 
 " Watched over us, and followed us, and accompanied our 
 goings-out and comings-in, and listened to every word we've 
 spoken, and repeated it to twenty-six Glyndons " 
 
 "And twenty-seven Gardines." 
 
 "And suffocated us with sympathy so closely that 
 we've never been really alone together until now." 
 
 "I can't yet realize that we've escaped, and that some 
 of them won't appear in a moment — Cousin Carry with 
 her eternal cup-cake." 
 
 "Or mamma with a shawl." 
 
 "Or Harry wanting help with his algebra." 
 
 "Or Aunt Susan simply and literally hanging round." 
 
 "Yes, Beryl, she was the worst." 
 
 "To think that even when you first told me that you 
 loved me, and we did su]ipose we were quite alone." 
 
 "And it was just dusk, and you looked like an angel 
 in your white dress." 
 
 "And there we stood on tiie l)a(k piazza — and my 
 heart was beating so fast!" 
 
 "And I began to fear you liked Bob." 
 
 "Oh, Jack! Bob?" 
 
 "And it was so still " 
 
 "When suddenly Aunt Susan coughed quite distinctly 
 at the second-story window, and called out: 'Well, Beryl, 
 don't dilly-dally. Speak up and say you'll have him, 
 and then luu'ry in to tea, or the muffin? will fall.' Oh, 
 Jack!'^
 
 448 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Everybody knew that this conspicuously bhssful young 
 couple had tickets for Boston. Yet as the train went on, 
 after a brief stop at a certain obscure little station, in 
 the very middle of the car .stood two empty chairs. The 
 train steamed on and bore to Boston two ownerless trunks, 
 each marked with a large G., but Mr. and Mrs. John 
 Gardine, in a country chaise, fled through November 
 twilight mists, their faces turned seaward. 
 
 No seclusion could be more complete than that of the 
 shooting-box in which Jack and Beryl sought refuge from 
 the clamorous attentions of their friends. The small 
 rough house stood on a bleak point, which, for all romantic 
 purposes, sufficiently resembled the traditional desert 
 island, being surrounded on three sides by wild waves, 
 while its approach from land was at most seasons sub- 
 merged enough to necessitate wading. Jack's deceased 
 uncle had left him the key to this shooting-box, with some 
 more valuable possessions, in his will. 
 
 Pipes and card-tables, prehistoric cigar-stumps, and 
 eloquent bits of broken wine-glasses met Beryl's glance 
 of innocent surprise as she entered the first low, roughly 
 plastered room. 
 
 A stag's head raised its proud antlers over the door, 
 and on a shelf perched a graduated row of owls, twelve 
 in number. 
 
 John had sent out fuel, as well as a huge supply of 
 Albert biscuit, canned meats, fruits and vegetables, 
 pickles and sardines. What more could two fond hearts, 
 seeking a prolonged tete-a-tete, desire? 
 
 For weeks Beryl had longed for this moment, but no 
 lofty sentiment occurred to either of them, as John, breath- 
 less and a little grimy, after having made the fires in the 
 disused stoves, turned and embraced his bride. 
 
 "Alone — at last!" he exclaimed.
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 449 
 
 "Yes," responded Beryl, "and how pleasant it is! 
 Jack, how did your uncle look? Was he tall and terribly 
 pale?" 
 
 "What a joke! He was rather short and stout, and 
 awfully jolly." 
 
 . "How he must have suffered!" she murmured, pen- 
 sively. "Jack, how long did he ever stay in this place 
 alone at any one time?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. Six weeks, perhaps. But he liked 
 it." 
 
 "Oh, Jack! is that gun loaded?" 
 
 "If it is, it won't go off. It's too damp." 
 
 "Oh, don't go near it; it might burst. Oh, please 
 don't trifle with it. Can't you take it up gently and throw 
 it out of the window?" 
 
 "Why, Beryl, I didn't know you were afraid of a gun." 
 
 "Every sensible person is afraid of a gun," she rejoined, 
 with a touch of asperity born of fear. 
 
 Jack looked wonderingly at her, and was silent. 
 
 "Jack, if burglars shoukl attack us!" 
 
 "Burglars! Why, there isn't a burglar in the world 
 mean enough to show himself in a hole like this." 
 
 The sea sounded angry and threatening. The feeble 
 lamp-flame was burning on one side of the wick, and strug- 
 gling painfully for existence. Suddenly Beryl leaned for- 
 ward. The next instant she was poiscil on a chair, tightly 
 clutching her skirts and holding them high. 
 
 "Oh, Jack! oh. Jack! oh. Jack!" she screamed. 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, Beryl " 
 
 "Oh, can't you see? Oh, Jack, it's a inoiise! There!" 
 
 He gave one glance at the corner indicatcil by her 
 desperate gesture, another at her convulsive attitude, 
 then broke into laughter. 
 
 Beryl cast one exhaustive glance at the corner, sprang
 
 450 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 down, and bursting into tears, threw herself upon the 
 sofa. 
 
 They began their picnic life the next morning with 
 much sprightliness. Getting breakfast presented certain 
 difficulties, which they enjoyed. It rained hard, appar- 
 ently "setting in for a long November storm." 
 
 After breakfast they seated themselves on the ascetic 
 sofa, the long rainy day stretching on before them. Silence 
 reigned in the cottage. 
 
 "You didn't happen to put a pack of cards in your 
 traveling-bag?" asked Jack presently. 
 
 "No, dear; certainly not." 
 
 "Or a book?" 
 
 "No, Jack. Why, you don't want to read, do j^ou?" 
 
 "Not at all — not at all, my dear. I sunply inquired." 
 
 Beryl smiled brightly at him. He smiled brightly at 
 her. Presently she walked across the room and searched 
 her traveling-bag. 
 
 "What are you looking for?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing of any importance. I merely thought 
 one of the girls might haA^e dropped my lace-work in here." 
 
 "You surely don't want to sew to-day?" 
 
 "Certainly not, dearest Jack. I was only looking." 
 
 Again they valiantly exchanged their smile of perfect 
 satisfaction. 
 
 The hours crept laboriously on, and this was but the 
 beginning. 
 
 Meanwhile all the Gardines and Glyndons were in a 
 state of most painful agitation; for the two ownerless 
 trunks had arrived in Boston, and been blankly gazed 
 upon by Cousin Thomas and old Dr. Mason, each of whom, 
 prevented from accepting the proffered Gardine and 
 Glyndon hospitality, had hastened to the station, not to
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 451 
 
 intrude upon the felicity of the young people — bless my 
 soul! but merely to wish them good-speed. 
 
 Cousin Thomas and old Dr. Mason looked for the con- 
 ductor, but he had escaped. They gravely decided to 
 drive to the hotel, where they foimd that rooms for the 
 young couple had been duly ordered. The dove-cot was 
 ready, but where were the doves? 
 
 The old gentleman decided that it would be best to 
 telegraph down to Pineville. 
 
 Before ten the next morning all the Gardines and Glyn- 
 dons were fluttering to and fro, and the air was thick with 
 ominous fancies. 
 
 At noon a small Glyndon of a practical turn of mind 
 suddenly inquired: "Papa, will they recover the bodies?" 
 At this ghastly picture Beryl's sisters biu-st into tears, 
 and rushed frantically from the room. 
 
 No thinking person outside of the afflicted families 
 hesitated to call the disaster by its name. It was suicide — 
 nothing less. And the Pineville Evening Bassoon devoted 
 a column to it, with monumental headings and a forest of 
 exclamation-points. They sold five extra editions of that 
 paper, and the reporter's salary was doubled the next day. 
 
 It was raining steadily. 
 
 The sixth day after Jack Gardine's wedding, as the 
 train from Pineville to Boston stopped at a small way- 
 station, two figures emerged from the gloom, and a man's 
 voice applied in a subdued tone for a compartment, into 
 which the figures ciuickly and quietly jxxssed. 
 
 No conscience-stricken runaway couple could have 
 shunned the public gaze more completely than this pair; 
 but from the moment they boarded the car their spirits rose. 
 They whispered, laughed, symi>athized, and each found 
 the other the cleverest and most entertaining of mortals.
 
 452 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Blithe, eagev, confidential, they steamed on to Boston, 
 Then Jack, having shuffled Beryl as fast as possible into 
 a carriage, went to give up his checks, and as the man 
 who secured the trunks knev/ no more of the great Pine- 
 ville tragedy than did Jack himself, the pilgrims safely 
 rounded this dangerous point. Jack decided that it would 
 be wiser to choose instead a hotel never patronized by 
 the Gardines and Glyndons. 
 
 "Now we are safe!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands 
 gleefully, as the door closed behind the man who had 
 shown them to their pleasant rooms. 
 
 "Now we are at rest and happy," cried Beryl, ringing 
 for a pitcher of ice-water. "Jack, suppose we go do\Mi 
 and have a nice hot supper in the dining-room, where it 
 is very light and there are a great many people?" 
 
 "And no canned things to ruin one's appetite!" 
 
 "But we must change our toilets, for we both look 
 as if we'd been through the wars. Those blessed trunks! 
 They'll be up directly, won't they?" 
 
 Neither of them had observed the bell-boy's face. 
 
 He now entered the room_, a tray in one hand, a news- 
 paper in the other. 
 
 " Look-a-here. Ain't you them?" he demanded, plant- 
 ing his index-finger on a certain spot of the paper. 
 
 "Is the boy an idiot?" said Jack, seizing the paper. It 
 was the Pineville Evening Bassoon. 
 
 "Beryl," he exclaimed, "read this!" 
 
 "Oh, Jack, dear Jack, it is terrible! Let us hurry home 
 and beg them to forgive us." 
 
 But Jack Gardine was in no melting mood. On the 
 contrary, for the first time in his life he was in a towering 
 passion. 
 
 "Confound the Bassoon's impudence! Am I not of 
 age? Hasn't a man the right to go where he pleases
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 453 
 
 on his wedding journey, and stay as long as he wishes? 
 Boy, is there a reward offered for information about 
 us?" 
 
 "There is." 
 
 " If you'll hold your tongue and help us get off instantly 
 to the Boston and Albany station, I'll double the reward, 
 whatever it is. I'll start you in business. I'll be your 
 friend." 
 
 "Oh, I'll help yer for nothin'," said the enthusiastic 
 boy. "I never was in anything of this sort before. I 
 never knew any suiciders." 
 
 "It seems to me," said Beryl, "that we ought to tele- 
 graph something to comfort them — something loving." 
 
 "Nothing of the sort," returned Jack. He was in 
 Chicago, and felt masterful. See; and he wrote: "Want 
 five hundred dollars. — Jack." 
 
 "Why, you don't, do you?" 
 
 "Of course not, but father's acquainted with the style." 
 
 While awaiting Judge Gardine's reply, the runaways 
 arrayed themselves in charming costumes, and prepared 
 to look the world in the eye. Jack chuckled when his 
 father's answer came: 
 
 "Have advised Bacon Brothers. Draiv freely. Are you 
 ill f What has happened ? " 
 
 The following message was immediately sent to the 
 agitated parent : 
 
 "Certainly not. What should happen? B. and I never 
 so well and happy." 
 
 To which the good oUl judge replied, simply, "God 
 bless you, my children." 
 
 A brisk correspondence now took place between the 
 young couple and the family. Judge Gard.ine ventured 
 to inquire, in the most guarded and delicate manner,
 
 454 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 if they had lost their trunks. Jack responded that if the 
 family had the privilege of observing the effect produced 
 by Beryl's bewitching toilets, they would entertain no 
 doubts whether she were in possession of her wardrobe. At 
 the same time he would like on his own account to protest 
 against any further imputations of imbecility, and was at 
 a loss to know why he should be followed on his wedding 
 journey by hysterical telegrams and most unflattering 
 doubts of his ability to take care of himself and his wife. 
 
 "I don't blame the boy," commented Judge Gardine — 
 "I don't blame him." 
 
 "I presume nothing could be more annoying than our 
 attitude," returned Dr. Glyndon, "as they have no sus- 
 picion of its cause. This last letter of his demands a 
 full explanation." 
 
 Accordingly the judge broke the unpleasant news to 
 his dear boy tenderly, almost as if he alone were at fault. 
 
 When Jack's answer finally came, tears of proud affection 
 moistened the old gentleman's eyes. Anything more 
 high-toned than Jack's attitude could scarcely be imagined. 
 He wrote briefly, but in a restrained manner begged one 
 service of his father as the only reparation that could be 
 made — silence, absolute and enduring silence, in regard 
 to the wedding journey; for any innocent questions about 
 their harmless little trip to Chicago would awaken in 
 him and Beryl painful memories and suggestions of the 
 odious crime imputed to them. 
 
 All the Gardines and Glyndons now begged and implored 
 Jack and Beryl to return for Thanksgiving; and they 
 deigned to be appeased, and to arrive the eve of the great 
 day. 
 
 Had they been in reality raised from the dead, they 
 could not have been welcomed with warmer demonstration. 
 
 At the Thanksgiving dinner Jack made a speech the like
 
 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 455 
 
 of which for warmth and eloquence was never heard in 
 Pineville. If now and then his eyes twinkled with mischief 
 when he glanced at Beryl, real feeling trembled in his 
 voice as he lauded tlie time-honored customs and tra- 
 ditions of the day. 
 
 The Gardincs and Cllyndons were proud of him, and 
 remembering all that had happened since the wedding, with 
 tears and tender laughter they respontled to Jack's fer- 
 vent " God bless Thanksgiving Day! God bless the family." 
 
 BOY'S BEAR STORY. 
 
 James Whitcomb Riley. 
 
 A^Py wunst they wuz a Little Doy went out 
 
 In the woods to shoot a Bear. So, he went out 
 'Way in the grea'-big woods — he did — An' he 
 Wuz goin' along — an' goin' along, you know, 
 An' purty soon he heerd somepin' go "Wooh!" — 
 1st that away — " Woo-ooh!" An' ho wuz skeered, 
 He wuz. An' so he runned an' climl)cd a tree — 
 A grea'-big tree, he did, — a sicka-morc tree. 
 An' ncn he heerd it ag'in: an' he looked round. 
 An' 'twuz a Bear! — a gi'ea'-big shore-muff Hear — 
 No; 'twuz two Bears, it ^vllz — two grea'-big Bears — 
 One of 'em wuz — ist one's a grea'-big Bear. — 
 An' they ist boff went " Wooh!" — An' here they come 
 To climb the tree an' git the Little Boy 
 An' eat hun up! 
 
 An' nen the Little Boy 
 He 'uz skeered wor;se'n ever! An' here come
 
 
 456 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 The grea'-big Bear a'climbin' th' tree to git 
 The Little Boy an' eat him up — Oh, no! — 
 It 'iizn't the Big Bear 'at dumb the tree — 
 It 'uz the Little Bear. Nen when 
 He git wite clos't to the Little Boy, w'y nen 
 The Little Boy he ist pulled up his gun 
 An' shot the Bear, he did, an' killed him dead! 
 An' nen the Bear he failed clean on dowTi out 
 The tree — away clean to the ground, he did — 
 An' lit wite side o' where the Big Bear's at. 
 
 An' nen the Big Bear's awful mad, you bet; — 
 
 'Cause — 'cause — 'cause the Big Bear 
 
 He — ^he 'uz the Little Bear's Papa. — An' so here 
 
 He come to clunb the big old tree an' git 
 
 The Little Boy an' eat him up ! An' when 
 
 The. Little Boy he saw the grea'-big Bear 
 
 A-comin', he 'uz badder sheered, he wnz. 
 
 Than any time! An' so he think he'll clunb 
 
 Up higher — 'way up higher in the tree 
 
 Than the old Bear kin climb, you know. — But he- 
 
 He can't climb higher 'an the old Bear kin climb, — 
 'Cause Bears kin climb up higher in the trees 
 Than any Little Boys in all the Wo-r-r-ld! 
 
 The Little Boy he clumbed on higher, an' higher, 
 An' higher up the tree — an' higher — an' higher — 
 An' higher'n iss-here house is! — An' here come 
 Th' old Bear — clos'ter to him all the time! — 
 An' nen — first thmg you know, — when th' old Bear 
 Wuz wite clos't to him — nen the Little Boy 
 Ist jabbed his gun wite in the old Bear's mouf 
 An' shot an' killed him dead! — No; I forgot, — - 
 He didn't shoot the grea'-big Bear at all —
 
 "If I'm a beggar born," she said. 
 
 "I will speak out, fur I dare not lie."
 
 SAINT CECILIA. 
 
 Evermore to her rapt ear 
 Celestial music came, and strains unknown 
 To mortal sense amid the throng of life 
 Hushed all the lower tones and noise of earth 
 With heavenly harmonies.
 
 DKLSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 457 
 
 « 
 
 'Cause they 'uz no load in the gun, you know — 
 'Cause when he shot tlic Little Bear, w'y, nen, 
 No load 'uz any more nen in the gun! 
 
 But.th' Little Boy clumbed higher up, he did — 
 
 He clumbed lots higher— tel he ist can't climb no higher, 
 
 'Cause nen the limbs 'uz all so 'ittle, 'way 
 
 Up in the teeny-weeny tip-top of 
 
 The tree, they'd break down wiv him ef he don't 
 
 Be keerful! So he stop an' think. An' nen 
 
 He look around. An' here come th' old Bear! 
 
 An' so the Little Boy make up his mind 
 
 He's got to ist git out o' there some way! — 
 
 'Cause here come the old Bear ! — so clos't, his bref 's 
 
 Purt 'nigh so's he kin feel how hot it is 
 
 Aginst his bare feet — Lst like old "Ring's" bref 
 
 When he's ben out a-huntin' an's all tired; 
 
 So when th' old Bear's so clos't — the Little Boy 
 
 Ist give a grea'-big jump fcr 'nother tree — 
 
 No! — no, he don't do that! — I tell you what 
 
 The Little Boy does: — W'y, nen — w'y, he — Oh, yes — 
 
 The Little Boy he finds a hole up there 
 
 'At's in the tree — an' climbs in there an' hides — 
 
 An' nen th' old Bear can't find the Little Boy 
 
 At all! But, purty soon th' old Bear finds 
 
 The Little Boy's gun 'at's up there — 'cause the gun 
 
 It's too tall to be tooked wiv him in the hole. 
 
 So, when the old Bear find' the gun, he knows 
 
 The Little Boy's ist hid 'round somers there, — 
 
 An' th' old Bear 'gins to snuff an' sniff around, 
 
 Out where the Little Boy's hid at. — An' nen — nen — 
 
 Oh, yes! — W'y, purty soon the old Bear climbs 
 
 'Way out on a big limb — a grea'-long liml), — 
 
 An' nen the Little Boy clmibs out the hole
 
 458 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 An' takes his ax an' chops the Hmb off ! . . . Xen 
 The old Bear falls k-splunge ! clean to the ground 
 An' bust an' kill hisse'f plum dead, he did! 
 
 An' nen the Little Boy he git his gun an' 'menced a-climbin' 
 
 Down the tree again — 
 
 No! — no, he didn't git his gun — 'cause when 
 
 The Bear failed, nen the gun failed, too — An' broked 
 
 It all to pieces, too! — An' nicest gun! — 
 
 His Pa ist buyed it ! — An' the Little Boy 
 
 1st cried, he did; an' went on climbin' doMTi 
 
 The tree — when he 'uz purt'-nigh <lovm, — w'y, nen, 
 
 The old Bear he jumped up again! — an' he 
 
 Ain't dead at all — ist 'tendin' thataway, 
 
 So he kin git the Little Boy an' eat 
 
 Him up! But the Little Boy he 'uz too smart 
 
 To climb clean down the tree. — An' the old Bear 
 
 He can't chmb up the tree no more — 'cause when 
 
 He fell, he broke one of his — He broke all 
 
 His legs' — an' nen he couldn't climb! — But he 
 
 Ist won't go 'way an' let the Little Boy 
 
 Come down out of the tree. An' the old Bear 
 
 Ist growls 'round there, he does — ist gi'owls an' goes 
 
 ■' Wooh !— woo-ooh ! " all the time ! An' Little Boy 
 
 He haf to stay up in the tree — all night — 
 
 An' 'thout no supper neither! — Only they 
 
 Wuz apples on the tree ! — An' the Little Boy 
 
 Et apples — ist all night — an' cried — an' cried ! 
 
 Nen when 'tuz morning th' old Bear, oh! he's mad! — 
 
 He Lst tear up the ground! an' go "Woo-ooh!" 
 
 An' — Oh, yes ! — purty soon, when morning's come 
 
 All light — so's you kin see, you know, — w'y, nen 
 
 The old P^ear finds the Little Boy's gun, you know, 
 
 'At's on the ground. — (An' it ain't broke at all —
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 4.50 
 
 I ist said that !) An' so the old Bear thmk 
 
 He'll take the gun an' shoot the Little Boy — 
 
 But Bears they don't know much 'bout shootin' guns; 
 
 So when he go to shoot the Little Boy, 
 
 It shot the Bear, it did — an' killed him dead ! 
 
 An' nen the Little Boy dumb down the tree 
 
 An' chopped his old woolly head off: — ^Yes, an' killed 
 
 Boff the bears, he did — an' tuk 'em home 
 
 An' cooked 'em, too, an' et 'em. 
 
 — An' that's all. 
 
 HIS NEW BROTHER. 
 
 Joe Lincoln. 
 
 AY, I've got a little brother. 
 
 Never teased to have him nut her, 
 But he's here; 
 They just went ahead and bought him, 
 And, last week, the doctor brought him. 
 ^ Wa'n't that queer? 
 
 When I heard the news from Molly, 
 Why, I thought at first 'twas jolly, 
 'Cause, you see, 
 
 1 s'posed I could go and .get him 
 
 And then mamma, course, would let liim 
 Play with me. 
 
 But when I had once looked at him, 
 "Why!" I says, "My sakes, is that him?
 
 460 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 Just that mite!" 
 They said, "Yes," and, "Ain't he cunnin'?' 
 And I thought they must be funnin', — 
 
 He's a sight ! 
 
 He's so small, it's just amazin'. 
 And you'd think that he was blazin', 
 
 He's so red; 
 And his nose is like a berry, 
 And he's bald as Uncle Jerry 
 
 On his head. 
 
 Why, he isn't worth a dollar! 
 All he does is cry and holler 
 
 More and more; 
 WonH sit up, you can't arrange him, — 
 / don't see why pa don't change liim 
 
 At the store. 
 
 Now we've got to dress and feed him. 
 And we really didn't need him 
 
 More'n a frog; 
 Why'd they buy a baby brother 
 When they know I'd good deal ruther 
 
 Have a dog? 
 
 THE GALLANT FRENCH SERPENT AND EVE. 
 
 T E Monsieur Adam vake from hees nap une fine day, 
 
 In ze beautiful gardaine and see 
 Une belle demoiselle fast asleep, and he say, 
 " Voila, la chance! here ees something zat may 
 Be mooch interesting to me."
 
 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 461 
 
 Veil he open bees eye to admire ze view, 
 
 Viz her fan madame covaire her face. 
 Zen rrionsieur to madame say: "Bon jour; voiilez vous, 
 Go for uno promenade?" And zey valk out, ze two, 
 
 In zat very mooch beautiful place. 
 
 A'herc iMonsieur le Serpent he sit in ze tree, 
 
 Zey come, and ze ma'me she cry: 
 "Oh, Monsieur le Serpent, voulez vous not have ze 
 Bont6 for to peek some fine apple for me?" 
 
 " Certainement ! " ze Serpent reply. 
 
 "Hold, hold, mon ami!" zcn Monsieur Adam speak, 
 
 "\'at madness ecs zis? Don't you know 
 It ees wrong to eat from ze tree \ich you seek?" 
 But ze snake in ze branches ees pretty and sleek, 
 And he smile on ze madame below. 
 
 "Oh, iMonsieur Adam! vat you say is not true, 
 
 For do you not know," say ze snake, 
 "Dcrc ees notting vatcvaire prohibited to 
 Ze ladies? Madame, let me offaire.to you 
 
 Ze fruit." And ze madame she take. 
 
 Une courtesy she make ; zen ze Serpent he fill 
 
 Her apron viz ajiplcs and say: 
 " Monsieur Adam, eat of zis fruit, zin you vill 
 Be vise like un god ; know ze good and ze ill; 
 
 Ze tings of ze night and ze day. 
 
 "But as for ze lady she nevaire could be — " 
 
 Here ze snake make hees grandest salaam — 
 "More lak une vise, beautiful goddess," say he 
 (And smiling and bowing his sweetest), "zan she 
 Ees now!" And zat fineesh madame.
 
 463 DELS A R TE RECITA TION B OK. 
 
 HINTS FOR STATUE-POSES. 
 
 NO j)rettier, more popular, and at the same time more 
 jBsthetically educational entertainment can be ar- 
 ranged than a series of statue-poses modelled after classic 
 works of art. The work, though in no way a part of the 
 Delsarte System as formulated by Fran9ois Delsarte, is a 
 natural outgrowth of a study of its principles, both as exem- 
 plified in existing historic art-works and as applied to the 
 living human form. Taken in this sense, statue-poses are 
 appropriately included in any work treating on the Delsarte 
 System. ' It is, however, a misnomer to call anything of 
 the sort "Delsarte." 
 
 Some of the photographs scattered through this book 
 are taken directly from the original classic works of art. 
 They have been selected from the numerous statue-poses 
 given by Delsartiaus as being among the most effective and 
 graceful of these plastic pictures. 
 
 To properly give statue-poses, the auditorium should be 
 darkened, and the stage lighted by a strong calcium light, 
 white or colored. A background of drapery, either black 
 or dark red, brings out the pose to best advantage. No 
 stage-setting or furniture, except pedestals when necessary, 
 is advisable. 
 
 The costume for these poses is a loose Greek robe, one 
 that shows the curves of the form without in any way 
 constricting its movements. A beautiful and historically 
 correct dress, with illustrations, is described in Werner^s 
 Magazine tor May, lS9o.* Drapery around the legs should 
 be avoided. The only underskirt permissible is one of 
 cheese-cloth. Cream-colored cheese-cloth, while inexpen- 
 sive, is at the same time quite as pretty and lends itself 
 quite as readily to statuesque effects as heavier or more 
 costly material. A white wig maybe Avorn, if desired; but 
 
 * Sent for 25 cents.
 
 DELSARTE IIECITATWX BOOK. 403 
 
 the natural liaii-, iinaiiurd in a loose knot at the back of 
 the head ami jxnvdered thickly with cornstarch, is quite as 
 effective. 
 
 The five different poses of the Niobe may be given singly 
 or all together in a groiii>. 
 
 In cases like Ilebe-, ^Melpomene, Ganymede, and others, 
 where vases, jars, discs, flowers and other accessories are 
 used to round out the original art- work as a picture, these 
 accessories need not, and generally do not, appear in the 
 poses as given by the human form. But the arms and all 
 the parts of the body are to be posed exactly as if actually 
 holding the article. If desired, the jar, flower, or what- 
 ever is in the picture, may be included in the pose. This, 
 however, interferes with the passing from one pose to 
 another in quick succession. The poses will then have to 
 be given as a series pf classic tableaux, the groups being 
 arranged each time before the curtain is raised. Without 
 the accessories, the poses may merge into one another in 
 full view of the audience, care being taken to make the 
 transitions without losing in any degree a perfect and har- 
 monious poise of the body, and with graceful, sinuous 
 curves of the body and limbs. This is very difficult to do 
 well, requiring much practice and a perfect control of all 
 the muscles. No trace of effort should be ajiparent either 
 in the transition from one pose to another or in holding 
 the pose. But the result is well worth the effort, not only 
 because of the increased beauty of the scene, but also 
 because of the muscular benefit to the performer. Of 
 course the face should be in harmony with each pose. 
 This may seem unnecessary to say; but the frequent mean- 
 ingless expression — if anything meaningless may be called 
 expression — of the face in jioseurs calls for a word of 
 warning. 
 
 An idea that is new and has been successfully tried is the
 
 464 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
 
 giving of a series of poses based wholly on athletic subjects. 
 Sculjoture is full of such themes. The folloAving statues, 
 partly of single figures and partly of groups, are excellent 
 examples : 
 
 Combat between a Greek and a Centaur. 
 
 Centaur Overpowering a Greek. 
 
 Dying Gladiator. 
 
 The Pugilists. 
 
 Discobolus. 
 
 Laocoon. 
 
 Wrestlers. 
 
 Diana Shooting with Bow. 
 
 Combat between Hercules and Warrior. 
 
 Boxers Nos. 1 and 2. 
 
 Borghese Gladiator. 
 These are particularly interesting, inasmuch as they are 
 specially suited for young men, who, hitherto, have been 
 allowed no place in statue-posing. To produce the greatest 
 effect, nothing but a complete suit .of tights should be 
 worn, and a short curly white wig. The result is beautiful.
 
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