The Fernandez Reciter ... Selected and arranged by J. Fernandez. Popular

Preface

. TiiE Editor having had considerable experience as a reciter, and expended much time and labour in seeking for recitations possessing the desirable qualities of strong interest, combined with adequacy of literary expression — and, having found them, to simplify the task for others, the Editor has been induced to communicate the result of his seekings and discoveries, by gathering into ready-refereace form the present compilation of Popular and Novel Recitations for Stage, Platform, and Drawing-room. And as all the merit of the work is contained in extracts from favourite authors (and others whose writings now appear in a collection for the first time), the Editor gratefully acknowledges his obligations to the following publishers : — Messrs. W. Blackwood and Sons, Saxon and Co., Harper Bros., Messrs. Bradbury, Agnew, and Co., Ltd., Messrs. Smith, Elder, and Co., W. Heinemann, Messrs. Chatto and Windus, Messrs. Ellis and Elvey, and others, for permission to make use of their rights ; and to the following ladies and gentlemen : — Madame Sarah Grand, Sir Edwin Arnold, Mrs. Annie S. Bradshaw, Sir Theodore Martin, K.C.B., Marie Bancroft, Cosmo Moukhouse, Eric Mackay, Kay Bee, Robert Buchanan, Clement Scott, Austin Dobson, G. R. Sims, W. C. Bennett, H. Cholmondeley-Pennell, Grant Allen, W. Laird Clowes, W. A.

PREFACE.

. si Eaton, Theyre Smith, and others, for having kindly placed their works at his disposal. And to those writers, with whom the Editor has been unable to communicate, he expresses the hope that he Las not inadvertently infringed rights of which he was ignorant, ; and for all sins of omission or commission he humbly solicits pardon. James Fernandez. CONTENTS. ARRANGED IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER. PAGE Address for Poor Clown's Benefit Spoken by Mr. Fernandez 180 Advance 161 After the Accident Bret Harte 208 Annabel Lee Edgar Allan Poe 182 Ashes De Witt Sterry 171 Aw nivir can call HUE my Wife . . . Benjamin Preston 136 Ballad of a Shield, The ..... Cosmo Monkhouse 35 Barbara Frietchie John G. Whittier 118 Betsey and I are Out Will Carleton 175 Boat Race, The .... H. Cholmondeley-Pennell 234 Bridge Keeper's Story, The . . . .

W . A. Eaton 227 Card-Dealer, The Dante Gabriel Bossetti 237 Cardinal Wolsey on his Fall .... Shakespeare 112 Choice, The Sarah Grand 18 " Coalscuttle " Bonnet, The Kay Bee 78 Come Whoam to thy Childer an' Me . . Edwin Waugh S7 Country Girl in London, The . . . Nicholas Michell 83 Crimean Soldier's Christmas Story, A . Robert B. Brough 141 Dandy Fifth, The F. H. Gassaway 92 Demon Ship, The . % Tom Hood 191 Diver, The .... Schiller, Trans. by Lord Lytton 74 Dream of Eugene Aeam, The . . . . Tom Hood CONTENTS. PACK Elegy in a Country Churchyard . . . Thomas Gray 67 Elihu Alice Cary 211 Essay on Criticism (Extracts) . . . Alexander Pope 41 Fate of Macgregor, The James Hogg 125 Fireman's Wedding, The W. A. Eaton 61 First Idealist, The Grant Allen 25 Fitz-James and Roderick Dhu . . . Sir Walter Scott 87 Fon Her Sake Mrs. Albert S. Bradsluno 230 i From India W. C. Bennett 86 Ginevra Samuel Rogers 58 Glove and the Lions, The Leigh Hunt 218 Her Letter Bret Harte 23 Herve Riel ........

Robert Brmcniny 12 How Betsey and I Made up Will Carleton 178 Hostage, The Schiller, Trans. by Sir Theodore Martin, K.C.B. 223 How Jane Conquest Rang the Bell . . . James Milne 114 How they brought the Good News from Ghent Robert Browning 209 In the River Pei-ho Win. Laird Clowes 183 Isles of Greece, The ...... Lori Byron 98 I Wouldn't— Would you? Anon. 199 Kettle on the Hob, The . . . . J. E. Carpenter 49 King's Command, The . . . Mrs. Albert S. Bradshaw 154 Level Crossing, The G. R. Sims 146 Life (a cento) 140 Lines on an Edelweis Huff . . . Marie Bancroft 39 Little High Chair, The . . . . . joei Benton 18 Little Lizzie William Wells 143 Little Jim . . . e. Farmer 198 Lochinvar Sir W. Scott CONTENTS. 9 TAOE Lost Child, The Edward Filzball 188 Louise ' . . . Anon. 123 Lucius Junius Brutus' Address J. Howard Payne 150 Man the Fleet Eric Mackay 64 Mary the Maid of the Inn ....

Robert Southey 213 Midnight Charge, The Clement Scott 71 Newsboy's Debt, The Anon. 53 Night before the Battle of Waterloo . . Lord Byron 196 Norfolk Gentleman's Last Will, A . . Percy Reliaucs 109 No, Thank you, Tom F . E. Wcatherby 519 Occasional Prologue David Garrick 34 Ode to.Shakespeare Ben Jonson 15 Ode to the North-East Wind . . . Chas. Kingsley 79 Ode to the West Wind .... Percy Bysshe Shelley 81 Old Schoolmaster, The . . . . . .. Lee 0. Harris 95 Old Sergeant, The . . . . . Byron F. Willson 101 One Glass More '. T. J. Ouseley 36 One Niche the Highest .... Elihu Burritt 201 On the Site of a Mulberry-tree, planted by Shakespeare D. G. Rossetti 17 Our Empress Queen Clement Scott 11 Out of the Old House, Nancy .... Will Carleton 104 Over the Hill to the Poor-house . . . Will Carleton 241 Portrait, The Owen Meredith 201 Pride of Battery B, The . . . .

F. H. Cassau-ay 90 Punchinello F. E. Wcatherby 152 Question not Providence .... Alexander Pope 158 Queen's Defence, The . . . Mrs. Albert S. Eradshaw 20 Race for the Cup, The W. C. Bennett 132 Railway Signal, The Elihu Burritt io CONTENTS. PAGE Rajah's Ride, The Sir Edwin Arnold 119 Ratcatcher of Hameln, The . . Sir Tlieodore Martin, K. C.B. 50 Re-Enlisted— America, 1864 Lucy Larcom 121 Relief of Lucknow, The . . . . R. T. S. Lowell 05 Ride of Jennie McNeal Anon. 167 Santa Claus Sophia P. Snow 220 Scandal 187 Sea Captain's Stoey, The Lord Lytton 130 Shamus O'Brien T. Sheridan Le Fanu 246 Sheridan's Ride T.B. Reed 107 Soldier's Return, The Susanna Blamire 165 Soldier Tramp, The Carlino 193 Somebody's Mother 57 Song of the Flag, The Eric Mackay 2">1 Sonnet, A Dante Gabriel Rossctti 171 Stowaway, The Clement Scott 206 Tak' your Auld Cloak about ye 239 Tiny Ted 216 Titmice of Newbern, The ....

H. J. Shcllman 244 Ulysses to Achilles Shakespeare 32 Vagrant and his Dog, The . . . . J.T. Trowbridge 172 We are Seven William Wordsworth 39 Women of Mumbles Head Clement Scott 137 Worn Wedding-Ring, The W. C. Bennett 159 Wreck of the "Hesperus" . . . . H. W. Longfellow RECITER. OUR EMPRESS QUEEN. BY CLEMENT SCOTT. Victoria ! Queen of a nation That governs the heart of the world ! Thy Empire of love is the station Where Liberty's flag is unfurled. What son would not die to defend thee, Who ruleth our loves and our lives ? The heart of our manhood we send thee ; The blessing of mothers and wives. Victoria ! Hark to our singing, Awake to our Jubilee Song ! At the foot of thy throne we are flinging The hearts that hath lov'd thee so long. The children of Time that surround thee, The cup of thy joy shall refill ; A maid in thy beauty we found thee, As Mother we honour thee still !

Victoria ! Name that a nation Has written in letters of gold, Look down from the pride of thy station, The wealth thou hast garner' d behold ! It is rarer than jewels or treasure, It is pure as the starlight above, It is richer than gold without measure, The hearts of a people who love ! Victoria ! Star of our story ! Thou light of the days that have been ! We cheer for thy reign and its glory, We pray for our Country and Queen ! (By permission of the Author.) I 12 HERVE RIEL. BY ROBERT BROWNING. 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 thro' the blue, Like a crowd of frightened' porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, Came crowding ship on ship to St. Malo on the Ranee, With the English fleet in view. 'Twas the squadron that p^caped, with the victor in full chase ; First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damf reville ; 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 harbour, taee us quick — or, quicker still, Here's the English can and will ! " Then the pilots of the place put out brisk aud 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 Dams reville his speech.) HERVE RIEL. 13 " No', a minute moro to wait! Let the Captains all and each Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels di tho beach ! Franco 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,' Herve Riel the Croiseckese. And " What mockery or malice have we here ? " cries Herve 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 Greve 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 a 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 w^ll, Right to Solidor past Greve, 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 Herve Riel. Not a minute more to wait. " Stesr us in, then, small and great ! Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron ! " cried ite 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 seas 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 harboured to the last, And just as Herve 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 Greve : Hearts that bled are staunched 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 Ranee !

" 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, " Herve Riel," As he stepped in fron once more, Not a symptom of surprise In the frank blue Breton eyes, Just the same man as before. Then said Damfreville, " My friend, 1 must speak out at the end. Though I find the speaking ard : 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 ha* e ! or my name's not Damfreville." HERVE RIEL. 15 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. N ame 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 ran_ Search the heroes flung pell-mell On the Louvre, face and flank : You shall look long enough ere you come to Herve Riel, So, for better and for worse, Herve Riel, accept my verse ! Iu my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more Save the squadron, honour France, love thy wife the Belle Aurore ! (By permission of Messrs. Smith, Elder, and Co.) ODE TO SHAKESPEARE.

BY ben jonson. Soul of the Age ! The applause ! delight ! the wonder of our stage ! My Shakespeare rise ! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further off to make thee room : Thou art a monument without a tomb, And art alive still while thy book doth live, And we have wits to read, and praise to give. That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses, I mean, with great, but disproportion'd Muses : For if I thought my judgment were of years, I should commit thee surely with thy peers, And tell how far thou didst our Lily outshine, Or sporting Kyd, or Marlow's mighty line. And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek, From thence to honour thee I will not seek For names : but call forth thund'ring Eschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles to us, Pacuvius, Aceius, him of Cordoua dead, To live again, to hear thy buskin tread, And shake a stage : or when thy socks were on, Leave thee alone for the comparison Of all, that insolent Greece, or haughty Rome Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come.

Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. He was not of an age, but for all time ! And all the Muses still were in their prime, When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm ! Nature herself was proud of his designs, And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines ! Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. The merry Greek, tart Aristoph anes, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please ; But antiquated and deserted he, As they were not of Nature's family : Yet must I not give nature all; thy art, My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy* a part. For though the Poet's matter nature be. His art doth give the fashion ; and, that he Who casts to write a living line, must sweat, (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat Upon the Muses' anvil ; turn the same.

Aud himself with it, that he thinks to frame ; Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn ; For a good poet's made, as well as born. And such wert thou ! Look how the father's face Lives in his issue, even so the race Of Shakespeare's mind and manners brightlv shin In his well torned, aud true filed lines; ODE TO SHAKESPEARE. 17 In each of which he seems to shake a lance, As brandished at the eyes of ignorance. Sweet swan of Avon ! What a sight it were To see thee in our water yet appear. And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, That so did take Eliza, and our James ! But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere Advanced, and made a constellation there ! Shine forth, thou star of poets, and with rage, Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping stage, Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourn'd like night, And despairs day, but for thy volumes' light.

ON THE SITE OF A MULBERRY-TREE: Planted by Wm. Shakespeare : Felled by the Rev. F. Gastrell. BY DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. This tree, here fall'n, no common birth or death Shared with its kind. The world's enfranchised son, Who found the trees of Life and Knowledge one, Here set it, frailer than his laurelwreath. Shall not the wretch whose hand it fell beneath Rank also singly — the supreme unhung ? Lo ! Sheppard, Turpin, pleading w*ith black tongue This viler thief's unsuffocated breath ! We'll search thy glossary. Shakespeare! whence almost, And whence alone, some name shall be reveal'd For this deaf drudge, to whom no length of ears Sufficed to catch the music of the spheres ; Whose soul is carrion now, — too mean to yield Some Starveling's ninth allotment of a ghost. (By permission of Messrs. Ellis and Elvy.)

C THE LITTLE HIGH CHAIR. BY JOEL BENTON. In an attic deserted, stowed safely away, A Little High Chair I discovered to-day, In a dingy dark corner, with cobwebs o'ergrown — But, who was its owner, is something unknown. A round or two broken, a break from the seat, The back partly patched up, and nowhere complete, With the paint strangely tortured by patches quite bare, Make lone and pathetic the Little High Chair. The child who sat in it, I venture to say, Is a tottering old man if he's living to-day ; What fields he has conquered, what prospects found fair, No record or person is here to declare. Yet, born with his youth, this one relic remains From a far distant time, when life's contests and pains Stood far in abeyance, and naught could impair The career that should start from the Little High Chair.

Did its subject tied up there, so proud on its throne. Go out through the world a great power, or unknown ? Was the joy that youth promised fulfilled, or a snare? No answer comes back from the Little High Chair. The mother who cherished the child that it bore, And all who once knew it have gone on before ; But a history of some sort, forbidding or fair. Begins every day from some Little High Chair. THE CHOICE BY SARAH GRAND. In time gone by, — as it was told to me. — A uoble lady had a noble choice. The daughter of an ancient house was she, Beauty, and wealth, and highest rank were hers. But love was not, for of a proud, cold race H?r people were, caring for naught but lands, THE CHOICE. 19 came •1 '5 Riches, and power : holding all tender thoughts As weakly folly, only fit for babes. The lady learnt their creed : and when the moment To choose 'twixt love, young love, and pride of place She still'd an unwonted feeling that would rise, And saying calmly " I've no heart to lose, And love is vain !

" she chose to be the wife Of sinful age, corruption, and untruth, Scorning the steadfast love of one who yearn'd To win her from the crooked paths she trod, And break the sordid chain that bound her soul, And sweep the defiling dust of common thoughts From out her mind, until it shone at last With large imaginings of God and good. She chose : no more they met ; her life was pass'd In constant round of pomp and proud display, But when he'd gone and never more there came The love-sad-eyes to question and entreat, The voice of music praising noble deeds, The graceful presence and the golden hair, She miss'd the boy ; but scoff'd at first and said : " One misses all things, common pets one spurned, Good slaves and bad alike when both are gone, — A small thing makes the habit, of a life ! " But days wore on, and adulation palled, She knew not what she laek'd, but, knew she loathed The hollow semblance, and dull mockery Of joy which she had gained by choosing rank, And money's worth, instead of peace and love.

Yet even as the long days grew to months More heavy hung the time, moved slower by, And all things troubled her and gave her pain, And morning, noon, and night the thought would ris And grow insistent when she would not hear : " One loved me ! out of all this crowd but one ! And he is gone, and I have driven him forth ! " Then in the silent solitude of night An old weird story that she once had heard Tormented her; a story speaking much Of a rock-island on the Norman coast, A mountain peak rising from barren sand, Or standing sea-girt when the tide returns, And beaten by the winds on ev'ry side, c With wall'd-in town, and castle on the height, And high above the castle, strangely placed, A grey cathedral with its summit tipped By golden figure of St. Michael crowned, With burnished wings and flashing sword that shone A beacon in the sunset, seen for miles As tho' the Archangel floated in the air.

The castle and the church a sanctuary And refuge were, to which men often fled For rest or safety, finding what they sought, And as the lady thought about the place, A notion came that she would like to kneel And pray for peace at that far lonely shrine. The longing grew ; she rested not nor slept, And should she fly and leave her wretched wealth ? And if she fled she never could return : Yet if she stay'd she felt that she should die. So go or stay meant misery for her — But misery is lessened when we move. would go ! and then she laugh 'd to think Of the wild fury of her harsh old lord When he should wake one day and find her gone — Laugh'd ! The first time for long and weary months. By Mont St. Michael on the Norman coast. A restless river, changing oft its course, Flows sullenly : and racehorse-like the tide, Which, going, leaves a wilderness of sand, Comes rushing back, a foam-topped, wat'ry wall ; And those who, wand'ring, 'scape the quicksand's grip.

Are often caught and drowned ere help can come. But fair the prospect from the mount when bright The sunshine falls on Avranches far away, A white town struggling o'er a verdant hill ; And on the tree-clad country towards the west, On apple orchards, and the fairy bloom Of feath'ry tam'risk hushes on the shore ; Whilst high above in silent majesty Of hue and form the floating clouds support The far extending vault of azure sky. Such was the shrine the lady sought, and there In mute appeal for what she lack'd she knelt. Not knowing what she lack'd ; but finding peace Steal o'er her soul there as she faintly heard The slow and solemn chanting of the priests, THE CHOICE. 21 The mild monotony of murmur' d prayers, And hush of pauses when she seemed to feel The heart she deem'd so hard was melting fast, And listened to a voice within her say — " Love is not vain : Love all things and rejoice !

" And found warm tears were stealing down her checks. The mystery of love, of love, of love, Of hope, of joy, of life itself, she felt : The crown of life which she had sacrificed In scornful pride for lust of power and place. The lady bowed her head, and o'er her swept A wave of anguish, and she knew despair. '' Could I but see him once again ! " she moan'd, " See him, and beg forgiveness, and then die ! " Did the Archangel Michael standing there Upon her left in shining silver hear ? Who knows ? Her prayer was answered like a flash, For at that moment, clear and sweet o'er all The mingled music of the chanting choir, There rose a voice that thrilled her inmost soul : It breathed a blessing ; uttered soft a prayer. No need to look : and yet she look'd, and saw A hooded monk before the altar kneel A graceful presence, tho' in sordid dress.

And as she gazed the cowl slipped back and show (But dimly through the incense-perfumed cloud) A pure, pale face, a golden-tonsured head, And blue eyes raised to heaven. Then the truth Was there revealed to her that he had left The world to watch and pray for such as she. Out of the castl'd gate she hurried forth : What matter'd where she went, to east or west? What matter'd peasant's warnings that the sand Was shifting ever, and the rushing tide Gave them no quarter whom it overtook ? 'Twas death she courted, and with heedless step Onward to meet it swift she fled, nor heard That eager footsteps followed where she went. The voice that call'd her was not real, she thought, But a sweet portion of a strange sweet dream — " Oh, stop ! " ah ! that was real ! She turn'd and saw, Nor saw a moment ere she felt his grasp Strong and determined on her rounded arm.

RECITLR. 22 M " Thou shalt not die ! " he cried. "What madness this ? " Madness ! " she echoed : " nay, my love, 'tis bliss — The first my life has known— to stand here still With thee beside me, aud to wait for death. I know my heart at last, but all too late ! I may not love thee, I, another's wife : Thou may'st not love me, thou has't wedded heaven, We cannot be together in this world : But all things change in death ! so let us die Thus, hand in hand, and so together pass And be together thro' eternity ! " There was a struggle in the young monk's breast, He would not meet her pleading eyes and yield, But gazing up to heaven prayed for strength, Strength to resist, and guidance how to act, For death like that with her was luring, — sweet — A strong temptation, but he must resist, And strive to save and show her how to live.

" We cannot make hereafter for ourselves," He answered, softly : " all that we can do Is so to live that we shall win reward Of praise, and peace, and happy life to come. Thy duty lies before thee, so does mine. Let each return, and toil, and watch and pray. Knowing each other's heart is fixed on heaven. And do the good we can ; not seeking death Nor shunning it, but living pure and true, With conscience clear to meet our God at last, And win each other for our great reward." The moving music of his words sank deep : Her alter'd heart thrill'd high to holy thoughts. " Be thou my guide," she said. " My duty now , Shall bring me peace ; so shall I toil like thee To win the love I yearn for in the end." It might not be. The treach'rous working sand Already clutch'd their feet, aud check'd their speed ; And dancing, sparkling, like a joyful thing, A glitt'ring, glassy wall of foam-fleck'd wave Towards them glided with that fatal speed You cannot mark because it is so swift.

No use to struggle now ; no time to fly ! He clasp'd her to him : " God hath will'd it thus. Courage, my sister! " " Is this death ? " she cried. " Yes, this is death." " It is not death, but joy ! " THE CHOICE. 23 And as she spoke the spot, where they had stood Became a wat.'ry waste of battling waves : While high above the summer sun shone on — A passing seabird hoarsely shrieked along ! All things were changed, with that change which makes It seem as though nought else had ever been. (By permission of the Authoress.) HER LETTER. BY BRET HARTE. I'm sitting alone by the fire, Dressed just as I came from the dance, In a robe even you would admire — It cost a cool thousand in France ; I'm bediamonded out of all reason, My hair is done up in a cue : In short, sir, " the belle of the season " Is wasting an hour upon you.