Elson Grammer School Literature, Book Four

In the ELSON READERS selections are grouped according to theme or authorship. This arrangement, however, is not intended to fix an order for reading in class; its purpose is to emphasise classification, facilitate comparison, and enable pupils to appreciate similarities and contrasts in the treatment of like themes by different authors.

To give variety, to meet the interests at different seasons and festivals, and to go from prose to poetry and from long to short selections, a carefully planned order of reading should be followed. Such an order of reading calls for a full consideration of all the factors mentioned above. The Course here offered meets these ends but may easily be varied to fit local conditions.

This book is designed to furnish reading material of choice literary and dramatic quality. The selections for the most part are those that have stood the test of time and are acknowledged masterpieces. The groupings into the separate parts will aid both teachers and pupils in the classification of the material, indicating at a glance the range and variety of the literature included.

Part One deals with poetry, and it is believed the poems offered in this group are unsurpassed. No effort on the teacher's part will be needed to arouse the enthusiasm of pupils who read the series of famous rides with which this group opens. The thrill of delight which children feel as they read of "A hurry of hoofs in a village street," or "Charging an army while all the world wondered," may lead to the stronger and more enduring emotions of patriotism and devotion. "John Gilpin's Ride," which has furnished amusement for generations of old and young, finds a place here. The rhythmic movement of these poems makes a natural transition to those selections especially designed as studies in rhythm. The series of nature poems and selections from Shakespeare complete a group of choice literary creations. Part Two is given to a study of the great American authors, and no apology is needed either for the choice of material or for the prominence given to this group. It is especially suited to parallel and supplement the work of this grade in American history. Part Three contains patriotic selections and some of the great orations. These are lofty and inspiring in style, within the grasp of the pupils, and are especially helpful in developing power of expression.

It is not expected that the order of selections will be followed. On the contrary, each teacher will follow the order which will best suit her own plans and purposes. While there is much material in the book that will re-enforce lessons in history, geography, and nature study, yet it is not for this that these selections should be studied, but rather for the pleasure that comes from reading beautiful thoughts beautifully expressed. The reading lesson should therefore be a study of literature, and it should lead the children to find beauty of thought and imagery, fitness in figures of speech, and delicate shades of meaning in words. Literature is an art, and the chief aim of the reading lesson is to discover and interpret its art qualities. In this way children learn how to read books and are enabled to appreciate the literary treasures of the race. The business of the reading book is to furnish the best available material for this purpose.

It is worth while to make a thorough study of a few well-chosen selections. Through the power gained in this way children are enabled to interpret and enjoy other selections without the aid of the teacher. If the class work is for the most part of the intensive kind, the pupils will read the remaining lessons alone for sheer pleasure, which is at once the secret and goal of good teaching in literature. Moreover, they will exercise a discriminating taste and judgment in their choice of reading matter. To love good literature, to find pleasure in reading it and to gain power to choose it with discrimination are the supreme ends to be attained by the reading lesson. For this reason, some selections should be read many times for the pleasure they give the children. In music the teacher sometimes calls for expressions of preference among songs: "What song shall we sing, children?" So in reading, "What selection shall we read?" is a good question for the teacher to ask frequently. Thus children come to make familiar friends of some of the stories and poems, and find genuine enjoyment in reading these again and again.

Good results may also be obtained by assigning to a pupil a particular lesson which he is expected to prepare. On a given day he will read to the class the selection assigned to him. The orations are especially suited to this mode of treatment. The pupil who can read one selection well has gone a long way toward being a good reader. The teacher who said to her pupils, "I shall read to you tomorrow," recognized this truth and knew the value of an occasional exercise of that kind. Good pedagogy approves of a judicious use of methods of imitation in teaching reading.

The biographies are intended to acquaint the children with the personal characteristics and lives of the authors, making them more interesting and real to the children, giving them the human touch and incidentally furnishing helpful data for interpreting their writings. In this connection, the authors have, by permission, drawn freely from Professor Newcomer's English and American Literatures. "Helps to Study" include questions and notes designed to stimulate inquiry on the part of pupils and to suggest fruitful lines of study. Only a few points are suggested, to indicate the way, and no attempt is made to cover the ground adequately; this remains for the teacher to do.

While placing emphasis primarily on the thought-getting process the formalities of thought-giving must not be overlooked. The technique of reading, though always subordinate and secondary to the mastery of the thought, nevertheless claims constant and careful attention. Good reading requires clear enunciation and correct pronunciation and these can be secured only when the teacher steadily insists upon them. The increase of foreign elements in our school population and the influence of these upon clearness and accuracy of speech furnish added reason for attention to these details. Special drill exercises should be given and the habit of using the dictionary freely should be firmly established in pupils. The ready use of the dictionary and other reference books for pronunciation and meaning of words, for historical and mythical allusions should be steadily cultivated. Without doubt much of the reading accepted in the public schools is seriously deficient in these particulars. The art of good reading can be cultivated by judicious training and the school should spare no pains to realize this result.

Professor Clark, in his book on "How to Teach Reading," sets forth the four elements of vocal expression--Time, Pitch, Quality and Force. We quote a few of the sentences from his treatment of each of these elementary topics.

"I. TIME. Time, then, refers to the rate of vocal movement. It may be fast, or moderate, or slow, according to the amount of what may be called the collateral thinking accompanying the reading, of any given passage. To put it another way: a phrase is read slowly because it means much; because the thought is large, sublime, deep. The collateral thinking may be revealed by an expansive paraphrase. For instance, in the lines

"Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note
As his corse to the rampart we hurried,"

why do we read slowly? The paraphrase answers the question. It was midnight. There lay our beloved leader, who should have been borne in triumphal procession to his last resting place. Bells should have tolled, cannon thundered, and thousands should have followed his bier. But now, alas, by night, by stealth, without even a single drum tap, in fear and dread, we crept breathless to the rampart. This, or any one of a hundred other paraphrases, will suffice to render the vocal movement slow. And so it is with all slow time. Let it be remembered that a profound or sublime thought may be uttered in fast time; but that when we dwell upon that thought, when we hold it before the mind, the time must necessarily be slow. If a child read too rapidly, it is because his mind is not sufficiently occupied with the thought; if he read too slowly, it is because he does not get the words; or because he is temperamentally slow; or because, and this is the most likely explanation, he is making too much of a small idea. To tell him to read fast or slow is but to make him affected, and, incidentally, even if unconsciously, to impress upon him that reading is a matter of mechanics, and not of thought-getting and thought-giving."

"II. PITCH. By Pitch is meant everything that has to do with the acuteness or gravity of the tone--in other words, with keys, melodies, inflections and modulations. When we say of one that he speaks in a high key, we should be understood as meaning that his pitch is prevailingly high; and that the reverse is true when we say of one that he speaks in a low key. While it is true that the key differs in individuals, yet experience shows that within a note or two, we all use the same keys in expressing the same states of minds. The question for us is, what determines the key? It can be set down as a fixed principle, that controlled mental states are expressed by low keys, while the high keys are the manifestation of the less controlled mental conditions. Drills in inflections as such are of very little value, and potentially very harmful. Most pupils have no difficulty in making proper inflections, so that for them class drills are time wasted; for those whose reading is monotonous, because of lack of melodic variety, the best drills are those which teach them to make a careful analysis of the sentences, and those which awaken them to the necessity of impressing the thought upon others. We have learned that when a pupil has the proper motive in mind and is desirous of conveying his intention to another, a certain melody will always manifest that intention. The melody, then, is the criterion of the pupil's purpose. The moment a pupil loses sight of a phrase and its relation to the other phrases, that moment his melody betrays him."

"III. QUALITY. Quality manifests emotional states. By Quality we mean that subtle element in the voice by which is expressed at one time tenderness, at another harshness, at another awe, and so on through the whole gamut of feeling. The teacher now knows that emotion affects the quality of tone. Let him then use this knowledge as he has learned to use his knowledge of the other criteria. We recognize instinctively the qualities that express sorrow, tenderness, joy, and the other states of feeling. When the proper quality does not appear it is because the child has no feeling, or the wrong feeling, generally the former. There is but one way to correct the expression, i. e., by stimulating the imagination."

"IV. FORCE. Force manifests the degree of mental energy. When we speak in a loud voice, there is much energy; when softly, there is little. Do not tell the child to read louder. If you do, you will get loudness--that awful grating schoolboy loudness--without a particle of expression in it. Many a child reads well, but is bashful. When we tell him to read louder, he braces himself for the effort and kills the quality, which is the finer breath and spirit of oral expression, and gives us a purely physical thing--force. Put your weak-voiced readers on the platform; let them face the class and talk to you, seated in the middle of the room, and you will get all the force you need. On the whole, we have too much force, rather than too little. Let the teacher learn that we want quality, not quantity, and our statement of the mental action behind force will be of much benefit in creating the proper conditions."

To discriminating teachers it will be apparent that this book is not the usual school reader. On the contrary it differs widely from this in the cultural value of the selections, in the classification and arrangement of material, in the variety of interest to which it appeals, and in the abundance of classic literature from American authors which it contains. It aims to furnish the best in poetry and prose to be found in the literature of the English-speaking race and to furnish it in abundance. If these familiar old selections, long accepted as among the best in literature, shall be the means of cultivating in pupils a taste for good reading, the book will have fulfilled its purpose.

For permission to use valuable selections from their lists, acknowledgment is due to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin and Company, Charles Scribner's Sons, and The Whitaker and Ray Company.

Grateful acknowledgment is also made to those teachers who have given valuable suggestions and criticisms in the compilation of this book.

FAMOUS RIDES, SELECTIONS FROM SHAKESPEARE
AND OTHER POETS, AND STUDIES IN RHYTHM

"We live in deeds, not years, in thoughts, not breaths;
In feelings, not in figures on a dial."

    Listen, my children, and you shall hear
    Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
    On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five:
    Hardly a man is now alive
    Who remembers that famous day and year.

    He said to his friend: "If the British march
    By land or sea from the town tonight,
    Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch
    Of the North Church tower, as a signal-light,--
    One if by land, and two if by sea;
    And I on the opposite shore will be,
    Ready to ride and spread the alarm
    Through every Middlesex village and farm,
    For the country-folk to be up and to arm."

    Then he said "good night," and with muffled oar
    Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
    Just as the moon rose over the bay,
    Where, swinging wide at her moorings, lay
    The Somerset, British man-of-war:
    A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
    Across the moon, like a prison-bar,
    And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
    By its own reflection in the tide.

    Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street
    Wanders and watches with eager ears,
    Till in the silence around him he hears
    The muster of men at the barrack-door,
    The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
    And the measured tread of the grenadiers
    Marching down to their boats on the shore.

    Then he climbed to the tower of the church,
    Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
    To the belfry-chamber overhead,
    And startled the pigeons from their perch
    On the sombre rafters, that round him made
    Masses and moving shapes of shade,--
    Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
    To the highest window in the wall,
    Where he paused to listen and look down
    A moment on the roofs of the town,
    And the moonlight flowing over all.

    Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead
    In their night-encampment on the hill,
    Wrapped in silence so deep and still,
    That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,
    The watchful night-wind, as it went
    Creeping along from tent to tent,
    And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"
    A moment only he feels the spell
    Of the place and the hour, the secret dread
    Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
    For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
    On a shadowy something far away,
    Where the river widens to meet the bay,--
    A line of black, that bends and floats
    On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.

    Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
    Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride,
    On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
    Now he patted his horse's side,
    Now gazed at the landscape far and near,
    Then impetuous stamped the earth,
    And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;
    But mostly he watched with eager search
    The belfry-tower of the old North Church,
    As it rose above the graves on the hill,
    Lonely, and spectral, and sombre, and still.
    And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height,
    A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
    He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
    But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
    A second lamp in the belfry burns!

    A hurry of hoofs in a village-street,
    A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
    And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
    Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet:
    That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
    The fate of a nation was riding that night;
    And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
    Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

    He has left the village and mounted the steep,
    And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
    Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
    And under the alders, that skirt its edge,
    Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
    Is heard the tramp of the steed as he rides.

    It was twelve by the village-clock
    When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
    He heard the crowing of the cock,
    And the barking of the farmer's dog,
    And felt the damp of the river-fog
    That rises after the sun goes down.

    It was one by the village-clock
    When he galloped into Lexington.
    He saw the gilded weathercock
    Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
    And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,
    Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
    As if they already stood aghast
    At the bloody work they would look upon.

    It was two by the village-clock
    When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
    He heard the bleating of the flock,
    And the twitter of birds among the trees,
    And felt the breath of the morning-breeze
    Blowing over the meadows brown.
    And one was safe and asleep in his bed
    Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
    Who that day would be lying dead,
    Pierced by a British musket-ball.

    You know the rest. In the books you have read
    How the British regulars fired and fled,--
    How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
    From behind each fence and farmyard-wall,
    Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
    Then crossing the fields to emerge again
    Under the trees at the turn of the road,
    And only pausing to fire and load.

    So through the night rode Paul Revere;
    And so through the night went his cry of alarm
    To every Middlesex village and farm,--
    A cry of defiance, and not of fear,--
    A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
    And a word that shall echo forevermore!
    For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
    Through all our history, to the last,
    In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
    The people will waken and listen to hear
    The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
    And the midnight-message of Paul Revere.

Read an account of the battle of Lexington and observe how nearly this poem is true to history.

Does this poem call your attention chiefly to the horse, the rider, or the message?

    "the fate of a nation was riding that night"
    "gaze at him with a spectral glare"
    "the spark struck out by that steed in his flight
    kindled the land into flame with its heat"
    "sombre"
    "red-coats"
    "fearless and fleet"

    Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet,
    His chestnut steed with four white feet,
        Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou,
    Son of the road and bandit chief,
    Seeking refuge and relief,
        Up the mountain pathway flew.

    Such was the Kyrat's wondrous speed,
    Never yet could any steed
        Reach the dust-cloud in his course.
    More than maiden, more than wife,
    More than gold and next to life
        Roushan the Robber loved his horse.

    In the land that lies beyond
    Erzeroum and Trebizond,
        Garden-girt, his fortress stood;
    Plundered khan, or caravan
    Journeying north from Koordistan,
        Gave him wealth and wine and food.

    Seven hundred and fourscore
    Men at arms his livery wore,
        Did his bidding night and day;
    Now, through regions all unknown,
    He was wandering, lost, alone,
        Seeking, without guide, his way.

    Suddenly the pathway ends,
    Sheer the precipice descends,
        Loud the torrent roars unseen;
    Thirty feet from side to side
    Yawns the chasm; on air must ride
        He who crosses this ravine.

    Following close in his pursuit,
    At the precipice's foot
        Reyhan the Arab of Orfah
    Halted with his hundred men,
    Shouting upward from the glen,
        "La Illáh ilia Alláh!"

    Gently Roushan Beg caressed
    Kyrat's forehead, neck and breast;
        Kissed him upon both his eyes,
    Sang to him in his wild way,
    As upon the topmost spray
        Sings a bird before it flies.

"O my Kyrat, O my steed,
    Bound and slender as a reed,
        Carry me this peril through!
    Satin housings shall be thine,
    Shoes of gold, O Kyrat mine,
        O thou soul of Kurroglou!

    "Soft thy skin as silken skein,
    Soft as woman's hair thy mane,
        Tender are thine eyes and true;
    All thy hoofs like ivory shine,
    Polished bright; O life of mine,
        Leap, and rescue Kurroglou!"

    Kyrat, then, the strong and fleet,
    Drew together his four white feet,
        Paused a moment on the verge,
    Measured with his eye the space,
    And into the air's embrace
        Leaped as leaps the ocean surge.

    As the ocean surge o'er sand
    Bears a swimmer safe to land,
        Kyrat safe his rider bore;
    Rattling down the deep abyss
    Fragments of the precipice
        Rolled like pebbles on a shore.

    Roushan's tasseled cap of red
    Trembled not upon his head;
        Careless sat he and upright;
    Neither hand nor bridle shook,
    Nor his head he turned to look,
        As he galloped out of sight.

    Flash of harness in the air,
    Seen a moment, like the glare
        Of a sword drawn from its sheath;
    Thus the phantom horseman passed,
    And the shadow that he cast
        Leaped the cataract underneath.

    Reyhan the Arab held his breath
    While this vision of life and death
        Passed above him. "Allahu!"
    Cried he. "In all Koordistan
    Lives there not so brave a man
        As this Robber Kurroglou!"

    "phantom"
    "verge"
    "caravan"
    "abyss"
    "garden-girt"
    "cataract"

    Half a league, half a league,
        Half a league onward,
    All in the valley of Death
        Rode the six hundred.
    "Forward, the Light Brigade!
    Charge for the guns!" he said:
    Into the valley of Death
        Rode the six hundred.
    "Forward, the Light Brigade!"
    Was there a man dismay'd?
    Not tho' the soldier knew
        Some one had blunder'd:
    Theirs not to make reply,
    Theirs not to reason why,
    Theirs but to do and die:
    Into the valley of Death
        Rode the six hundred.

    Cannon to right of them,
    Cannon to left of them,
    Cannon in front of them
        Volley'd and thunder'd;
    Storm'd at with shot and shell,
    Boldly they rode and well,
    Into the jaws of Death,
    Into the mouth of Hell
        Rode the six hundred.
    Flash'd all their sabres bare,
    Flash'd as they turn'd in air
    Sabring the gunners there,
    Charging an army, while
        All the world wonder'd;
    Plunged in the battery-smoke
    Right thro' the line they broke;
    Cossack and Russian
    Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
        Shatter'd and sunder'd.
    Then they rode back, but not,
        Not the six hundred.

    Cannon to right of them,
    Cannon to left of them,
    Cannon behind them
        Volley'd and thunder'd;
    Stormed at with shot and shell,
    While horse and hero fell,
    They that had fought so well
    Came through the jaws of Death
    Back from the mouth of Hell,
    All that was left of them,
        Left of six hundred.

    When can their glory fade!
    Oh the wild charge they made!
        All the world wondered.
    Honor the charge they made!
    Honor the Light Brigade,
        Noble six hundred!

Biographical And Historical: Alfred Tennyson was born in that memorable birth year, 1809, which brought into the world a company of the greatest men of the century, including Darwin, Gladstone, Lincoln, Poe, Chopin, and Mendelssohn. He was one of twelve children who lived together a healthful life of study and sport. Gathering the other children about him he held them captive with his stories of knightly deeds--tales drawn partly from his reading and partly from his fertile fancy. They lived again the thrilling life of joust and tournament. Past the house in the village of Somersby, in Lincolnshire, where his father was rector, flowed a brook, in all probability the brook that came "from haunts of coot and hern... to bicker down a valley." He was a student at Cambridge, where he met and became deeply attached to Arthur Henry Hallam, whose death not long afterward inspired the poem "In Memoriam." In 1850, upon Wordsworth's death, Tennyson was made poet laureate and the poem commemorating the heroic charge at Balaklava in 1854, "The Charge of the Light Brigade," shows how he adorned this office. In 1884 the queen raised him to the peerage, and from that time he was known as Lord Tennyson. He lived as much in retirement as was possible, part of the time making his home in the Isle of Wight. He died in 1892 and was buried in the Poets' Corner in Westminster Abbey.

The event which this poem describes occurred at Balaklava in the Crimea, October 25th, 1854. Of six hundred seven men only about one hundred fifty survived. The order to charge, bearing the signature of Lord Lucan, was delivered by Captain Nolan to the Earl of Cardigan, who was in command of the "Light Brigade." Nolan was killed in the charge while Cardigan survived. The death of Nolan made it impossible to determine whether the signature to the order was genuine or forged.

It was in this war that Florence Nightingale rendered such noble service as hospital nurse. She arrived at Balaklava ten days after this charge.

    "Valley of Death"
    "half a league"
    "the mouth of Hell"
    "the jaws of Death"
    "dismay'd"
    "volley'd and thunder'd"

    John Gilpin was a citizen
        Of credit and renown,
    A trainband captain eke was he
        Of famous London town.

    John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear,
        "Though wedded we have been
    These twice ten tedious years, yet we
        No holiday have seen.

    "Tomorrow is our wedding day,
        And we will then repair
    Unto the Bell at Edmonton,
        All in a chaise and pair

    "My sister, and my sister's child,
        Myself, and children three,
    Will fill the chaise, so you must ride
        On horseback after we."

    He soon replied, "I do admire
        Of womankind but one,
    And you are she, my dearest dear,
        Therefore, it shall be done.

    "I am a linen-draper bold,
        As all the world doth know,
    And my good friend, the calender,
        Will lend his horse to go."

    Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, "That's well said:
        And for that wine is dear,
    We will be furnished with our own,
        Which is both bright and clear."

    John Gilpin kissed his loving wife;
        O'erjoyed was he to find
    That, though on pleasure she was bent,
        She had a frugal mind.

    The morning came, the chaise was brought,
        But yet was not allowed
    To drive up to the door, lest all
        Should say that she was proud.

    So three doors off the chaise was stayed,
        Where they did all get in;
    Six precious souls, and all agog
        To dash through thick and thin.

    Smack went the whip, 'round went the wheels,
        Were never folks so glad;
    The stones did rattle underneath
        As if Cheapside were mad.

    John Gilpin at his horse's side
        Seized fast the flowing mane,
    And up he got, in haste to ride,
        But soon came down again;

    For saddle-tree scarce reached had he,
        His journey to begin,
    When, turning round his head, he saw
        Three customers come in.

    So down he came; for loss of time,
        Although it grieved him sore,
    Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,
        Would trouble him much more.

    'Twas long before the customers
        Were suited to their mind,
    When Betty screaming came down stairs,--
        "The wine is left behind!"

    "Good lack!" quoth he, "yet bring it me,
        My leathern belt likewise,
    In which I bear my trusty sword
        When I do exercise."

    Now Mrs. Gilpin, careful soul,
        Had two stone bottles found,
    To hold the liquor that she loved,
        And keep it safe and sound.

    Each bottle had a curling ear,
        Through which the belt he drew,
    And hung a bottle on each side,
        To make his balance true.

    Then, over all, that he might be
        Equipped from top to toe,
    His long red cloak, well brushed and
        He manfully did throw.

    Now see him mounted once again,
        Upon his nimble steed,
    Full slowly pacing o'er the stones
        With caution and good heed.

    But finding soon a smoother road
        Beneath his well-shod feet,
    The snorting beast began to trot,
        Which galled him in his seat.

    So "Fair and softly" John he cried,
        But John he cried in vain;
    That trot became a gallop soon,
        In spite of curb and rein.

    So stooping down, as needs he must
        Who cannot sit upright,
    He grasped the mane with both his hands,
        And eke with all his might.

    His horse, which never in that sort
        Had handled been before,
    What thing upon his back had got
        Did wonder more and more.

    Away went Gilpin, neck or nought;
        Away went hat and wig;
    He little dreamed when he set out
        Of running such a rig.

    The wind did blow, the cloak did fly,
        Like streamer long and gay,
    Till, loop and button failing both,
        At last it flew away.

    Then might all people well discern,
        The bottles he had slung;
    A bottle swinging at each side,
        As hath been said or sung.

    The dogs did bark, the children screamed,
        Up flew the windows all,
    And every soul cried out, "Well done!"
        As loud as he could bawl.

    Away went Gilpin--who but he?
        His fame soon spread around;
    "He carries weight, he rides a race!
        'Tis for a thousand pound!"

    And still, as fast as he drew near,
        'Twas wonderful to view,
    How in a trice the turnpike men
        Their gates wide open threw.

    And now, as he went bowing down
        His reeking head full low,
    The bottles twain behind his back
        Were shattered at a blow.

    Down ran the wine into the road,
        Most piteous to be seen,
    Which made his horse's flanks to smoke
        As they had basted been.

    But still he seemed to carry weight,
        With leathern girdle braced;
    For all might see the bottle necks
        Still dangling at his waist.

    Thus all through merry Islington
        These gambols he did play,
    Until he came unto the wash
        Of Edmonton so gay;

    And there he threw the wash about
        On both sides of the way,
    Just like unto a trundling mop,
        Or a wild goose at play.

    At Edmonton his loving wife
        From the balcony spied
    Her tender husband, wondering much
        To see how he did ride.

    "Stop, stop, John Gilpin! Here's the house!"
        They all at once did cry;
    "The dinner waits and we are tired."
        Said Gilpin, "So am I!"

    But yet his horse was not a whit
        Inclined to tarry there;
    For why? his owner had a house
        Full ten miles off, at Ware.

    So like an arrow swift he flew,
        Shot by an archer strong;
    So did he fly--which brings me to
        The middle of my song.

    Away went Gilpin, out of breath,
        And sore against his will,
    Till, at his friend the calender's,
        His horse at last stood still.

    The calender, amazed to see
        His neighbor in such trim,
    Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate,
        And thus accosted him:

    "What news? what news? your tidings tell;
        Tell me you must and shall;
    Say why bareheaded you are come,
        Or why you come at all?"

    Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,
        And loved a timely joke;
    And thus unto the calender,
        In merry guise, he spoke:

    "I came because your horse would come;
        And, if I well forbode,
    My hat and wig will soon be here:--
        They are upon the road."

    The calender, right glad to find
        His friend in merry pin,
    Returned him not a single word,
        But to the house went in;

    Whence straight he came with hat and wig;
        A wig that flowed behind,
    A hat not much the worse for wear,
        Each comely in its kind.

    He held them up and in his turn
        Thus showed his ready wit:
    "My head is twice as big as yours,
        They, therefore, needs must fit.

    But let me scrape the dirt away
        That hangs upon your face;
    And stop and eat, for well you may
        Be in a hungry case."

    Said John, "It is my wedding day,
        And all the world would stare,
    If wife should dine at Edmonton
        And I should dine at Ware."

    So, turning to his horse, he said,
        "I am in haste to dine;
    'Twas for your pleasure you came here,
        You shall go back for mine."

    Ah! luckless speech and bootless boast,
        For which he paid full dear;
    For while he spake, a braying ass
        Did sing most loud and clear;

    Whereat his horse did snort, as he
        Had heard a lion roar,
    And galloped off with all his might,
        As he had done before.

    Away went Gilpin, and away
        Went Gilpin's hat and wig:
    He lost them sooner than at first;
        For why?--they were too big.

    Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw
        Her husband posting down
    Into the country far away,
        She pulled out half a crown;

    And thus unto the youth she said,
        That drove them to the Bell,
    "This shall be yours when you bring back
        My husband safe and well."

    The youth did ride, and soon did meet
        John coming back amain;
    Whom in a trice he tried to stop
        By catching at his rein;

    But not performing what he meant
        And gladly would have done,
    The frightened steed he frighted more,
        And made him faster run.

    Away went Gilpin, and away
        Went postboy at his heels,
    The postboy's horse right glad to miss
        The lumbering of the wheels.

    Six gentlemen upon the road,
        Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
    With postboy scampering in the rear,
        They raised the hue and cry;--

    "Stop thief! stop thief! a highwayman!"
        Not one of them was mute;
    And all and each that passed that way
        Did join in the pursuit.

    And now the turnpike gates again
        Flew open in short space;
    The toll-men thinking as before,
        That Gilpin rode a race.

    And so he did, and won it too,
        For he got first to town;
    Nor stopped till where he had got up
        He did again get down.

    Now let us sing "Long Live the King,"
        And Gilpin, long live he;
    And when he next doth ride abroad
        May I be there to see!

Biographical: William Cowper, 1731-1800, was a famous English poet. His poems range from religious to humorous subjects.

    "calender"
    "eke"
    "chaise and pair"
    "frugal"
    "gambols"
    "trainband"
    "repair"
    "he carries weight"
    "for that wine is dear"
    "turnpike"
    "basted"
    "bootless boast"
    "the postboy's horse right glad to miss the lumbering of the wheels"

    I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;
    I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three;
    "Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew;
    "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through;
    Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,
    And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

    Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace
    Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;
    I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,
    Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,
    Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit,
    Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

    'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near
    Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;
    At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;
    At Düffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be;
    And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime,
    So Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!"

    At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,
    And against him the cattle stood black every one,
    To stare through the mist at us galloping past,
    And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,
    With resolute shoulders, each butting away
    The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray:

    And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back
    For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;
    And one eye's black intelligence,--ever that glance
    O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance
    And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon
    His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

    By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur!
    Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her,
    We'll remember at Aix"--for one heard the quick wheeze
    Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees,
    And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,
    As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

    So, we were left galloping, Joris and I,
    Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;
    The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,
    'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff;
    Till over by Dalhem, a dome-spire sprang white,
    And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!"

    "How they'll greet us!"--and all in a moment his roan
    Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;
    And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight
    Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,
    With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,
    And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

    Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall,
    Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,
    Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,
    Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer;
    Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,
    Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

    And all I remember is--friends flocking round
    As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground;
    And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,
    As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,
    Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)
    Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.

Biographical and Historical: Robert Browning was born in a suburb of London in 1812. His four grandparents were respectively of English, German, Scotch, and Creole birth. After his marriage with the poet, Elizabeth Barrett, he lived in Italy, where in the old palace Casa Guidi, in Florence, they spent years of rare companionship and happiness. After her death he returned to England, but spent most of his summers abroad. On the Grand Canal, in Venice, the gondoliers point out a palace where at his son's home, Browning died in 1889. He was buried in the Poets' Corner, Westminster Abbey.

Browning's poems are not easy to read, because he condenses so much into a word or phrase and he often leaves large gaps to be filled in by the reader's imagination. Any one can make selections of lines and even entire poems from Tennyson, Poe, Southey, and Lanier, in which the poet has created for us verbal music and beauty. Browning, however, is not so much concerned with this side of poetry as he is with portraying correctly the varied emotions of the human soul.

"Love in the largest sense, as the divine principle working through all nature, is at the very center of Browning's creed. His is the heartiest, happiest, most beautiful poetic voice that his age has read. He stands apart from most others of his kind and age in the positiveness of his religious faith, a faith that is based upon a conviction of the conquering universality of love and self-sacrifice."

"How They Brought the Good News" is without historical basis; the ride occurred only in the imagination of the poet. The inspiration came from Browning's longing for a horseback gallop over the English downs.

The rhythm suggests the gallop of the horses. In which lines is this suggestion most marked?

    "postern"
    "pique"
    "askance"
    "burgesses"
    "stirrup"
    "twilight"
    "haunches"
    "holster"
    "Good speed! cried the watch as the gate-bolts undrew"
    "With resolute shoulders each butting away
    The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray"

    You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:
        A mile or so away,
    On a little mound, Napoleon
        Stood on our storming-day;
    With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,
        Legs wide, arms locked behind,
    As if to balance the prone brow
        Oppressive with its mind.

    Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans
        That soar, to earth may fall,
    Let once my army-leader, Lannes,
        Waver at yonder wall,"--
    Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew
        A rider, bound on bound
    Full-galloping; nor bridle drew
        Until he reached the mound.

    Then off there flung in smiling joy,
        And held himself erect
    By just his horse's mane, a boy:
        You hardly could suspect--
    (So tight he kept his lips compressed,
        Scarce any blood came through)
    You looked twice ere you saw his breast
        Was all but shot in two.

    "Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace,
        We've got you Ratisbon!
    The marshal's in the market-place,
        And you'll be there anon
    To see your flag-bird flap his vans
        Where I, to heart's desire,
    Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans
        Soared up again like fire.

    The chiefs eye flashed; but presently
        Softened itself, as sheathes
    A film the mother eagle's eye
        When her bruised eaglet breathes:
    "You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride
        Touched to the quick, he said:
    "I'm killed, sire!" And his chief beside,
        Smiling, the boy fell dead.

    "stormed"
    "soar"
    "prone"
    "waver"
    "battery-smokes"
    "vans"
    "sheathes"
    "film"

    On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two,
        Did the English fight the French--woe to France!
    And the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue,
    Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue,
        Came crowding ship on ship to St. Malo on the Rance,
    With the English fleet in view.

    'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase;
        First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville;
            Close on him fled, great and small,
            Twenty-two good ships in all;
    And they signalled to the place,
    "Help the winners of a race!
        Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick--or, quicker still,
        Here's the English can and will!"

    Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board;
        "Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they:
        "Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored,--
    Shall the "Formidable" here, with her twelve and eighty guns,
        Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way,
    Trust to enter--where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons,
            And with flow at full beside?
            Now, 'tis slackest ebb of tide.
        Reach the mooring? Rather say,
    While rock stands or water runs,
        Not a ship will leave the bay!"

    Then was called a council straight.
    Brief and bitter the debate:
    "Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow
    All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow,
    For a prize to Plymouth Sound? Better run the ships aground!"
        (Ended Damfreville his speech).
    "Not a minute more to wait!
        Let the captains all and each
        Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach!
    France must undergo her fate.

    "Give the word!" But no such word
    Was ever spoke or heard:
        For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck, amid all these,--
    A captain? a lieutenant? a mate,--first, second, third?
            No such man of mark, and meet
            With his betters to compete!
            But a simple Breton sailor, pressed by Tourville for the fleet,
        A poor coasting-pilot, he,---Hervé Riel, the Croisickese.

    And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cried Hervé Riel.
        "Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues?
    Talk to me of rocks and shoals?--me, who took the soundings, tell
    On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell,
        'Twixt the offing here and Grève, where the river disembogues?
    Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for?
            Morn and eve, night and day,
            Have I piloted your bay,
    Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor.
        Burn the fleet, and ruin France? That were worse than fifty Hogues!
        Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me, there's way!
    Only let me lead the line,
        Have the biggest ship to steer,
        Get this Formidable clear,
    Make the others follow mine,
    And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well,
        Right to Solidor past Grève,
            And there lay them safe and sound;
        And if one ship misbehave,--
            Keel so much as grate the ground,
    Why, I've nothing but my life,--here's my head!" cries Hervé Riel.

    Not a minute more to wait.
    "Steer us in, then, small and great!
            Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief.
    Captains, give the sailor place!
            He is Admiral, in brief.
    Still the north-wind, by God's grace!
    See the noble fellow's face
    As the big ship, with a bound,
    Clears the entry like a hound,
    Keeps the passage, as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound!
        See, safe thro' shoal and rock,
        How they follow in a flock,
    Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground,
        Not a spar that comes to grief!
    The peril, see, is past.
    All are harbored to the last,
    And just as Hervé Riel hollas "Anchor!" sure as fate,
    Up the English come,--too late!

    So, the storm subsides to calm:
    They see the green trees wave
        On the heights o'erlooking Grève.
    Hearts that bled are stanched with balm.
    "Just our rapture to enhance,
            Let the English rake the bay,
    Gnash their teeth and glare askance
            As they cannonade away!
    'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!"
    How hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance!
    Out burst all with one accord,
            "This is paradise for hell!
        Let France, let France's king,
        Thank the man that did the thing!"
    What a shout, and all one word,
          "Hervé Riel!"
    As he stepped in front once more;
        Not a symptom of surprise
        In the frank blue Breton eyes,--
    Just the same man as before.

    Then said Damfreville, "My friend,
    I must speak out at the end,
        Though I find the speaking hard;
    Praise is deeper than the lips;
    You have saved the king his ships;
        You must name your own reward.
    Faith, our sun was near eclipse!
    Demand whate'er you will,
    France remains your debtor still.
    Ask to heart's content, and have! or my name's not Damfreville."

    Then a beam of fun outbroke
    On the bearded mouth that spoke,
        As the honest heart laughed through
        Those frank eyes of Breton blue:--
    "Since I needs must say my say,
        Since on board the duty's done,
        And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run!
    Since 'tis ask and have, I may--
        Since the others go ashore--
    Come! A good whole holiday!
        Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!"
        That he asked and that he got,--nothing more.

    Name and deed alike are lost:
    Not a pillar nor a post
        In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell;
    Not a head in white and black
        On a single fishing-smack,
    In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack
        All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell.
    Go to Paris: rank on rank
        Search the heroes flung pell-mell
    On the Louvre, face and flank!
        You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Riel.
    So, for better and for worse, Hervé Riel, accept my verse!
    In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once more
    Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife the Belle Aurore!

What forfeit did Hervé Riel propose in case he failed to pilot the ships safely in?

    "Worse than fifty Hogues"
    "Clears the entry like a hound"
    "Just the same man as before"
    "He is Admiral, in brief"
    "Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound"
    "Search the heroes flung pell-mell on the Louvre, face and flank"
    "pressed"
    "disembogues"
    "rampired"
    "bore the bell"

        The splendor falls on castle walls
            And snowy summits, old in story;
        The long light shakes across the lakes,
            And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
    Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying;
    Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

        O, hark! O, hear! how thin and clear,
            And thinner, clearer, farther going!
        O, sweet and far from cliff and scar,
            The horns of Elfland, faintly blowing!
    Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying;
    Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

        O, love, they die in yon rich sky;
            They faint on hill or field or river.
        Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
            And grow forever and forever.
    Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying;
    And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

Why does the poet use "splendor" instead of "sun-set," and "summits" instead of "mountains"?

Line l6--They "die" and "faint" while "our echoes" "roll" and "grow." Note that "grow" is the important word.

Note the refrain and the changes in its use; in the first stanza--the bugle; in the second--the echo; in the third--the spiritual echo.

    "wild echoes"
    "cliff and scar"
    "horns of Elfland"
    "rich sky"
    "purple glens"

    I come from haunts of coot and hern,
        I make a sudden sally,
    And sparkle out among the fern,
        To bicker down a valley.

    By thirty hills I hurry down,
        Or slip between the ridges,
    By twenty thorps, a little town,
        And half a hundred bridges,

    Till last by Philip's farm I flow
        To join the brimming river,
    For men may come and men may go,
        But I go on forever.

    I chatter over stony ways,
        In little sharps and trebles;
    I bubble into eddying bays,
        I babble on the pebbles.

    With many a curve my banks I fret
        By many a field and fallow,
    And many a fairy foreland set
        With willow-weed and mallow.

    I chatter, chatter, as I flow
        To join the brimming river,
    For men may come and men may go,
        But I go on forever.

    I wind about, and in and out,
        With here a blossom sailing,
    And here and there a lusty trout,
        And here and there a grayling.

    And here and there a foamy flake
        Upon me, as I travel
    With many a silvery water-break
        Above the golden gravel,

    And draw them all along, and flow
        To join the brimming river,
    For men may come and men may go,
        But I go on forever.

    I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
        I slide by hazel covers;
    I move the sweet forget-me-nots
        That grow for happy lovers.

    I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
        Among my skimming swallows;
    I make the netted sunbeams dance
        Against my sandy shallows,

    I murmur under moon and stars
        In brambly wildernesses;
    I linger by my shingly bars,
        I loiter round my cresses;

    And out again I curve and flow
        To join the brimming river,
    For men may come and men may go,
        But I go on forever.

Where in the poem do we find a meaning for the following lines:
    "Oh! of all the songs sung
    No songs are so sweet
    As the songs with refrains
    Which repeat and repeat."

How does the repetition of "chatter" influence the melody of the first line in the sixth stanza?

Alliteration is the repetition of the same letter or sound at the beginning of two or more words in close succession.

Find lines in which alliteration is used e. g. "sudden sally," "field and fallow," etc. What does this add to the poem?

Indicate the rhythm of the first four lines by placing them in these curves:
_______ _______ _______ _______
/ \/ \/ \/ \

    "coot and hern" (heron)
    "bicker"
    "thorps"
    "fairy foreland"
    "willow weed and mallow"
    "grayling"
    "water-break"
    "covers"
    "brambly"
    "shingly bars"
    "eddying"
    "fallow"
    "babble"
    "cresses"
    "brimming"
    "sharps and trebles"
    "skimming swallows"
    "netted sunbeams"

        Out of the hills of Habersham,
        Down the valleys of Hall,
    I hurry amain to reach the plain,
    Run the rapid and leap the fall;
    Split at the rock and together again,
    Accept my bed, or narrow or wide,
    And flee from folly on every side
    With a lover's pain to attain the plain
        Far from the hills of Habersham,
        Far from the valleys of Hall.

        All down the hills of Habersham,
        All through the valleys of Hall,
    The rushes cried, "Abide, abide,"
    The wilful water-weeds held me thrall,
    The laving laurel turned my tide,
    The ferns and the fondling grass said, "Stay,"
    The dewberry dipped for to work delay,
    And the little reeds sighed, "Abide, abide,"
        Here in the hills of Habersham,
        Here in the valleys of Hall.

        High o'er the hills of Habersham,
        Veiling the valleys of Hall,
    The hickory told me manifold
    Fair tales of shade; the poplar tall
    Wrought me her shadowy self to hold;
    The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine,
    Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign,
        Said: "Pass not so cold, these manifold
        Deep shades of the hills of Habersham,
        These glades in the valleys of Hall."

        And oft in the hills of Habersham,
        And oft in the valleys of Hall,
    The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook stone
    Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl;
    And many a luminous jewel lone
    (Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist,
    Ruby, garnet, or amethyst)
    Made lures with the lights of streaming stone
        In the clefts of the hills of Habersham,
        In the beds of the valleys of Hall.

        But oh! not the hills of Habersham,
        And oh! not the valleys of Hall
    Avail; I am fain for to water the plain.
    Downward the voices of Duty call;
    Downward to toil and be mixed with the main.
    The dry fields burn and the mills are to turn,
    And a myriad flowers mortally yearn,
    And the lordly main from beyond the plain
        Calls o'er the hills of Habersham,
        Calls through the valleys of Hall.

Biographical and Historical: The South has given us two most melodious singers, Poe and Lanier. When only nineteen Sidney Lanier enlisted in the Confederate army, and the close of the war found him broken in health, with little else in the world than a brave wife and a brave heart. When his health permitted he played the flute in an orchestra in Baltimore. The rhythm, the rhyme and the melodious words of his poetry all show him the passionate lover of music that he was. Among his prose writings, "The Boy's Froissart" and "The Boy's King Arthur" are of especial interest to young readers.

Find the Chattahoochee river on your map with its source in the "hills of Habersham" and its course through the "valleys of Hall."

What is peculiar in the phrases: "run the rapid," "flee from folly," "wilful waterweeds," "loving laurel," etc.

Find lines in the other stanzas which contain rhymes. Notice the last word in each of these lines. What two things have you found out?

Lanier believed that poetry is a kind of music. Does the rhythm in this poem sustain this definition?

PAUL REVERE'S RIDE,	Henry W. Longfellow
THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG,	Henry W. Longfellow
THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALAKLAVA,	Alfred, Lord Tennyson
THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN,	William Cowper
HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX,	Robert Browning
INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP,	Robert Browning
HERVÉ RIEL,	Robert Browning

THE BUGLE SONG,	Alfred, Lord Tennyson
THE BROOK,	Alfred, Lord Tennyson
SONG OF THE CHATTAHOOCHEE,	Sidney Lanier
THE CATARACT OF LODORE,	Robert Southey
THE BELLS,	Edgar Allan Poe
ANNABEL LEE,	Edgar Allan Poe
OPPORTUNITY,	Edward Rowland Sil

TO A WATERFOWL,	William Cullen Bryant
THE SKYLARK,	James Hogg
TO A SKYLARK,	Percy Bysshe Shelley
THE CLOUD,	Percy Bysshe Shelley
APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN,	Lord Byron

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB,	Lord Byron
THE EVE BEFORE WATERLOO,	Lord Byron
SONG OF THE GREEK BARD,	Lord Byron
MARCO BOZZARIS,	Fitz-Greene Halleck
THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE,	Charles Wolfe
ABSALOM,	Nathaniel Parker Wills
LOCHINVAR,	Sir Walter Scott
PARTING OF MARMION AND DOUGLAS,	Sir Walter Scott
FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT,	Robert Burns

MERCY,	The Merchant of Venice
THE SEVEN AGES OF MAN,	As You Like It
POLONIUS'S ADVICE,	Hamlet
MAN,	Hamlet
HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY,	Hamlet
REPUTATION,	Othello
WOLSEY AND CROMWELL,	King Henry VIII
CASSIO AND IAGO,	Othell

REGULUS BEFORE THE ROMAN SENATE,	Epes Sargent
THE RETURN OF REGULUS,	Elijah Kellogg
SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS,	Elijah Kellogg
MERIT BEFORE BIRTH,	Sallust
RIENZI'S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS,	Mary Russell Mitford
EMMET'S VINDICATION	Robert Emmet
KING PHILLIP TO THE WHITE SETTLER,	Edward Everett
THE CAPTURE OF QUEBEC,	Francis Parkman
ENGLAND AND HER COLONIES,	Edmund Burke
THE WAY TO WEALTH,	Benjamin Franklin
SPEECH ON A RESOLUTION TO PUT VIRGINIA INTO A STATE OF DEFENCE,	Patrick Henry
THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY,	Edward Everett Hale
LOVE OF COUNTRY,	Sir Walter Scott
NAPOLEON BONAPARTE,	Charles Phillips
THE TRUE GRANDEUR OF NATIONS,	Charles Sumner
THE EVILS OF WAR,	Henry Clay
PEACE, THE POLICY OF A NATION,	John C. Calhoun
THE FIRST SETTLEMENT OF NEW ENGLAND,	Daniel Webster
SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS,	Daniel Webster
SOUTH CAROLINA AND THE UNION,	Robert Hayne
REPLY TO HAYNE,	Daniel Webster
DEDICATION SPEECH AT GETTYSBURG,	Abraham Lincoln
LINCOLN, THE GREAT COMMONER,	Edwin Markham
O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN,	Walt Whitman
FAREWELL ADDRESS,	George Washington
THE MEMORY OF OUR FATHERS,	Henry Ward Beecher
THE AMERICAN FLAG,	J. R. Drake
WARREN'S ADDRESS AT THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL,	John Pierpont
COLUMBUS,	Joaquin Miller
RECESSIONAL--A VICTORIAN ODE,	Rudyard Kipling
A DEFINITION OF A GENTLEMAN,	Cardinal Newman