Practice Book

My gratitude to publishers who have generously permitted the reprinting of copyrighted selections, I would here publicly express. To Little, Brown & Company I am indebted for the use of the extract called "Eloquence," which is taken from a discourse by Daniel Webster; to Small, Maynard & Company for the poem "A Conservative," taken from a volume by Mrs. Gilman, entitled "In This Our World;" to the Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company for the poems by Mr. Burton; and to Longmans, Green & Company for the extracts from the works of John Ruskin. The selections from Sill and Emerson are used by permission of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin & Company, publishers of their works.

The quotations under the headings "Exercises for Elemental Vocal Expression" and "Exercises for Transition," with a few exceptions, are taken from "The Sixth Reader," by the late Lewis B. Monroe, and are here reprinted through the courtesy of the American Book Company.

INDEX

EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL EXPRESSION.

The exercises under each chapter have primarily the characteristics of that chapter, and secondarily the characteristics of the other two chapters.

CHAPTER I.

VITALITY.

MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF Power, Largeness, Freedom, Animation, Movement.

3. "I would call upon all the true sons of New England to co-operate with the laws of man and the justice of heaven."

CHAPTER II.

MENTALITY.

MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF Reflection OR Processes OF Thought, Clearness, Definiteness.

1. "Beyond the street a tower,—beyond the tower a moon,—beyond the moon a star,—beyond the Star, what?"

CHAPTER III.

MORALITY.

MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF Purpose, Love, Harmony, Poise, Values.

1. "My friend, if thou hadst all the artillery of Woolwich trundling at thy back in support of an unjust thing, and infinite bonfires visibly waiting ahead of thee, to blaze centuries long for thy victory on behalf of it, I would advise thee to call halt, to fling down thy baton, and say, 'In Heaven's name, No!'"

3. "Who but the locksmith could have made such music? A gleam of sun shining through the unsashed window and checkering the dark workshop with a broad patch of light fell full upon him, as though attracted by his sunny heart."

6. "Roaming in thought over the Universe, I saw the little that is good steadily hastening towards immortality. And the vast all that is called evil I saw hastening to merge itself, and become lost and dead."

7. "We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a distance. At sea, everything that breaks the monotony of the surrounding expanse attracts attention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that must have been completely wrecked; for there were the remains of handkerchiefs, by which some of the crew had fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent their being washed off by the waves.

"There was no trace by which the name of the ship could be ascertained. The wreck had evidently drifted about for many months; clusters of shell-fish had fastened about it, and long sea-weeds flaunted at its sides. But where, thought I, are the crew? Their struggle has long been over. They have gone down amidst the roar of the tempest. Their bones lie whitening among the caverns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like the waves, have closed over them, and no one can tell the story of their end."

9. "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God."

EXERCISES FOR TRANSITION.

SELECTIONS.

HERVÉ RIEL.

LOCHINVAR.

EXTRACTS FROM PIPPA PASSES.

THE FEZZIWIG BALL.

Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice: "Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!"

A living and moving picture of Scrooge's former self, a young man, came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-prentice.

"Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig. "No more work to-night. Christmas eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters up, before a man can say Jack Robinson! Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here!"

Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or couldn't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life forevermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug and warm and dry and bright a ball-room as you would desire to see upon a winter's night.

In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts they broke. In came all the young men and women employed in the business. In came the housemaid, with her cousin the baker. In came the cook, with her brother's particular friend, the milkman. In they all came one after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow. Away they all went, twenty couple at once; hands half round and back again the other way; down the middle and up again; round and round in various stages of affectionate grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrong place; new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; all top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them. When this result was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to Stop the dance, cried out, "Well done!" and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter especially provided for that purpose.

There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince pies, and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came after the Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley." Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too; with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty pair of partners, people who were not to be trifled with; people who would dance, and had no notion of walking.

But if they had been twice as many,—four times,—old Fezziwig would have been a match for them and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to her, she was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. A positive light appeared to issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of the dance. You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, what would become of 'em next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance,—advance and retire, turn your partner, bow and courtesy, corkscrew, thread the needle and back again to your place,—Fezziwig "cut,"—cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs.

When the clock struck eleven this domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and, shaking hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two 'prentices, they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left to their beds, which were under a counter in the back shop.

THE BROOK.

A LAUGHING CHORUS.

[Used by permission, from "Nature in Verse," copyrighted, 1895, by Silver, Burdett & Company.]

CAVALIER TUNES.

ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE.

From Stratford-on-Avon a lane runs westward through the fields a mile to the little village of Shottery, in which is the cottage of Anne Hathaway, Shakespeare's sweetheart and wife.

GREEN THINGS GROWING.

THE TRUE USE OF WEALTH.

1. There is a saying which is in all good men's mouths; namely, that they are stewards or ministers of whatever talents are entrusted to them. Only, is it not a strange thing that while we more or less accept the meaning of that saying, so long as it is considered metaphorical, we never accept its meaning in its own terms? You know the lesson is given us under the form of a story about money. Money was given to the servants to make use of: the unprofitable servant dug in the earth, and hid his Lord's money. Well, we in our poetical and spiritual application of this, say that of course money doesn't mean money—it means wit, it means intellect, it means influence in high quarters, it means everything in the world except itself.

2. And do you not see what a pretty and pleasant come-off there is for most of us in this spiritual application? Of course, if we had wit, we would use it for the good of our fellow-creatures; but we haven't wit. Of course, if we had influence with the bishops, we would use it for the good of the church; but we haven't any influence with the bishops. Of course, if we had political power, we would use it for the good of the nation; but we have no political power; we have no talents entrusted to us of any sort or kind. It is true, we have a little money, but the parable can't possibly mean anything so vulgar as money; our money's our own.

3. I believe, if you think seriously of this matter, you will feel that the first and most literal application is just as necessary a one as any other—that the story does very specially mean what it says—plain money; and that the reason we don't at once believe it does so, is a sort of tacit idea that while thought, wit and intellect, and all power of birth and position, are indeed given to us, and, therefore, to be laid out for the Giver,—our wealth has not been given to us; but we have worked for it, and have a right to spend it as we choose. I think you will find that is the real substance of our understanding in this matter. Beauty, we say, is given by God—it is a talent; strength is given by God—it is a talent; but money is proper wages for our day's work—it is not a talent, it is a due. We may justly spend it on ourselves, if we have worked for it.

4. And there would be some shadow of excuse for this, were it not that the very power of making the money is itself only one of the applications of that intellect or strength which we confess to be talents. Why is one man richer than another? Because he is more industrious, more persevering, and more sagacious. Well, who made him more persevering and more sagacious than others? That power of endurance, that quickness of apprehension, that calmness of judgment, which enable him to seize opportunities that others lose, and persist in the lines of conduct in which others fail—are these not talents?—are they not, in the present state of the world, among the most distinguished and influential of mental gifts?

5. And is it not wonderful, that while we should be utterly ashamed to use a superiority of body in order to thrust our weaker companions aside from some place of advantage, we unhesitatingly use our superiorities of mind to thrust them back from whatever good that strength of mind can attain? You would be indignant if you saw a strong man walk into a theatre or lecture-room, and, calmly choosing the best place, take his feeble neighbor by the shoulder, and turn him out of it into the back seats or the street. You would be equally indignant if you saw a stout fellow thrust himself up to a table where some hungry children are being fed, and reach his arm over their heads and take their bread from them.

6. But you are not the least indignant, if, when a man has stoutness of thought and swiftness of capacity, and, instead of being long-armed only, has the much greater gift of being long-headed—you think it perfectly just that he should use his intellect to take the bread out of the mouths of all the other men in the town who are in the same trade with him; or use his breadth and sweep of sight to gather some branch of the commerce of the country into one great cobweb, of which he is himself the central spider, making every thread vibrate with the points of his claws, and commanding every avenue with the facets of his eyes. You see no injustice in this.

7. But there is injustice; and, let us trust, one of which honorable men will at no very distant period disdain to be guilty. In some degree, however, it is indeed not unjust; in some degree it is necessary and intended. It is assuredly just that idleness should be surpassed by energy; that the widest influence should be possessed by those who are best able to wield it; and that a wise man at the end of his career, should be better off than a fool. But for that reason, is the fool to be wretched, utterly crashed down, and left in all the suffering which his conduct and capacity naturally inflict? Not so.

8. What do you suppose fools were made for? That you might tread upon them, and starve them, and get the better of them in every possible way? By no means. They were made that wise people might take care of them. That is the true and plain fact concerning the relations of every strong and wise man to the world about him. He has his strength given him, not that he may crush the weak, but that he may support and guide them. In his own household he is to be the guide and the support of his children; out of his household he is still to be the father, that is, the guide and support, of the weak and the poor; not merely of the meritoriously weak and the innocently poor, but of the guilty and punishably poor; of the men who ought to have known better—of the poor who ought to be ashamed of themselves.

9. It is nothing to give pension and cottage to the widow who has lost her son; it is nothing to give food and medicine to the workman who has broken his arm, or the decrepit woman wasting in sickness. But it is something to use your time and strength in war with the waywardness and thoughtlessness of mankind to keep the erring workman in your service till you have made him an unerring one; and to direct your fellow-merchant to the opportunity which his dullness would have lost.

10. This is much; but it is yet more, when you have fully achieved the superiority which is due to you, and acquired the wealth which is the fitting reward of your sagacity, if you solemnly accept the responsibility of it, as it is the helm and guide of labor far and near. For you who have it in your hands, are in reality the pilots of the power and effort of the State. It is entrusted to you as an authority to be used for good or evil, just as completely as kingly authority was ever given to a prince, or military command to a captain. And according to the quantity of it you have in your hands, you are arbiters of the will and work of the nation; and the whole issue, whether the work of the State shall suffice for the State or not, depends upon you.

11. You may stretch out your sceptre over the heads of the laborers, and say to them, as they stoop to its waving, "Subdue this obstacle that has baffled our fathers; put away this plague that consumes our children; water these dry places, plough these desert ones, carry this food to those who are in hunger; carry this light to those who are in darkness; carry this life to those who are in death;" or on the other side you may say: "Here am I; this power is in my hand; come, build a mound here for me to be throned upon, high and wide; come, make crowns for my head, that men may see them shine from far away; come, weave tapestries for my feet, that I may tread softly on the silk and purple; come, dance before me, that I may slumber; so shall I live in joy, and die in honor." And better than such an honorable death it were, that the day had perished wherein we were born.

12. I trust that in a little while there will be few of our rich men, who, through carelessness or covetousness, thus forfeit the glorious office which is intended for their hands. I said, just now, that wealth ill-used was as the net of the spider, entangling and destroying; but wealth well-used, is as the net of the sacred Fisher who gathers souls of men out of the deep. A time will come—I do not think it is far from us—when this golden net of the world's wealth will be spread abroad as the flaming meshes of morning cloud over the sky; bearing with them the joy of the light and the dew of the morning, as well as the summons to honorable and peaceful toil.

LIFE AND SONG.

[This poem is taken from "The Poems of Sidney Lanier," copyrighted 1891, and published by Charles Scribner's Sons.]

ELOQUENCE.

1. When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, nothing is valuable in speech farther than as it is connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness are the qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshalled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion.

2. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire to it; they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the decision of the hour. Then words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities.

3. Then patriotism is eloquent; then self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object,—this, this is eloquence; or rather it is something greater and higher than all eloquence,—it is action, noble, sublime, god-like action.

TRUTH AT LAST.

WORK.

1. What is wise work, and what is foolish work? What the difference between sense and nonsense, in daily occupation? There are three tests of wise work:—that it must be honest, useful and cheerful.

It is Honest. I hardly know anything more strange than that you recognize honesty in play, and do not in work. In your lightest games, you have always some one to see what you call "fair-play." In boxing, you must hit fair; in racing, start fair. Your English watchword is "fair-play," your English hatred, "foul-play." Did it never strike you that you wanted another watchword also, "fair-work," and another and bitterer hatred,—"foul-work"?

2. Then wise work is Useful. No man minds, or ought to mind, its being hard, if only it comes to something; but when it is hard and comes to nothing, when all our bees' business turns to spiders', and for honey-comb we have only resultant cobweb, blown away by the next breeze,—that is the cruel thing for the worker. Yet do we ever ask ourselves, personally, or even nationally, whether our work is coming to anything or not?

3. Then wise work is Cheerful, as a child's work is. Everybody in this room has been taught to pray daily, "Thy Kingdom come." Now if we hear a man swearing in the streets we think it very wrong, and say he "takes God's name in vain." But there's a twenty times worse way of taking His name in vain than that. It is to ask God for what we don't want. If you don't want a thing don't ask for it: such asking is the worst mockery of your King you can insult Him with. If you do not wish for His kingdom, don't pray for it. But if you do, you must do more than pray for it; you must work for it. And, to work for it, you must know what it is.

4. Observe, it is a Kingdom that is to come to us; we are not to go to it. Also it is not to come all at once, but quietly; nobody knows how. "The Kingdom of God cometh not with observation." Also, it is not to come outside of us, but in our hearts: "The Kingdom of God is within you." Now if we want to work for this Kingdom, and to bring it, and to enter into it, there's one curious condition to be first accepted. We must enter into it as children, or not at all; "Whosoever will not receive it as a little child shall not enter therein." And again, "Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven."

5. Of such, observe. Not of children themselves, but of such as children. It is the character of children we want and must gain. It is modest, faithful, loving, and because of all these characters it is cheerful. Putting its trust in its father, it is careful for nothing—being full of love to every creature, it is happy always, whether in its play or in its duty. Well, that's the great worker's character also. Taking no thought for the morrow; taking thought only for the duty of the day; knowing indeed what labor is, but not what sorrow is; and always ready for play—beautiful play.

EXTRACT FROM "THE RING AND THE BOOK."

SELF-RELIANCE.

1. To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all men,—that is genius.

Speak your latent conviction, and it shall be the universal sense; for the inmost in due time becomes the outmost, and our first thought is rendered back to us by the trumpets of the Last Judgment. Familiar as the voice of the mind is to each, the highest merit we ascribe to Moses, Plato and Milton is that they all set at naught books and tradition, and spoke not what men but what they thought.

2. A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without notice his thought, because it is his. In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts; they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty.

3. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us than this. They teach us to abide by our spontaneous impression with good-humored inflexibility then most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side. Else to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense precisely what we have thought and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to take with shame our own opinion from another.

4. There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better for worse as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried.

5. Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact makes much impression on him, and another none. This sculpture in the memory is not without preestablished harmony. The eye was placed where one ray should fall, that it might testify of that particular ray.

6. We but half express ourselves, and we are ashamed of that divine idea which each of us represents. It may be safely trusted as proportionate and of good issues, so it be faithfully imparted, but God will not have his work made manifest by cowards. A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done otherwise shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does not deliver. In the attempt his genius deserts him; no muse befriends; no invention, no hope.

7. Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so, and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age, betraying their perception that the absolutely trustworthy was seated at their heart, working through their hands, predominating in all their being.

8. And we are now men, and must accept in the highest mind the same transcendent destiny; and not minors and invalids in a protected corner, not cowards fleeing before a revolution, but guides, redeemers and benefactors, obeying the Almighty effort and advancing on Chaos and the Dark.

RHODORA.

EACH AND ALL.

COLUMBUS.

[This poem is taken from the complete works of Joaquin Miller, copyrighted, published by the Whitaker Ray Company, San Francisco.]

MY LAST DUCHESS.

"THE TALE."

MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNRISE.

MY STAR.

A CONSERVATIVE.

FIVE LIVES.

THE COMING OF ARTHUR.

ELAINE.

THE LADY OF SHALOTT.

IF WE HAD THE TIME.

A SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV.
"FALSTAFF'S RECRUITS."

Introduction.—Sir John Falstaff has received a commission from the King to raise a company of soldiers to fight in the King's battles. After drafting a number of well-to-do farmers, whom he knows will pay him snug sums of money rather than to serve under him, he pockets their money and proceeds to fill his company from the riff-raff of the country through which he passes.

The scene is a village green before Justice Shallow's house. The Justice has received word from Sir John that he is about to visit him, and desires him to call together a number of the villagers from which recruits may be selected.

These villagers are now grouped upon the green, with Justice Shallow standing near.

Bardolph.—Good morrow, honest gentlemen. I beseech you, which is Justice Shallow?

Shallow.—I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire of this county, and one of the King's justices of the peace. What is your good pleasure with me?

Bardolph.—My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, Sir John Falstaff, a tall gentlemen, by heaven, and a most gallant leader.

Shallow.—He greets me well, sir. I knew him a good backsword man. How doth the good Knight now? Look! here comes good Sir John. (Enter Falstaff.) Give me your good hand, give me your worship's good hand. By my troth you look well and bear your years very well; welcome, good Sir John.

Falstaff.—I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert Shallow. Fie, this is hot weather, gentlemen. Have you provided me with half a dozen sufficient men?

Shallow.—Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Let me see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so, so, so, so; yea, marry sir.—Ralph Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let them do so, let them do so. Let me see; where is Mouldy?

Shallow.—What think you, Sir John? A good limbed fellow: young, strong, and of good friends.

Shallow.—Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! Things that are mouldy lack use; very singular good! Well said, Sir John, very well said. Shall I prick him, Sir John?

Mouldy.—I was pricked well enough before, an' you could have let me alone; my old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry and her drudgery; you need not to have pricked me; there are other men fitter to go out than I.

Shallow.—Peace, fellow, peace! Stand aside; know you where you are? For the next, Sir John; let me see.—Simon Shadow?

Falstaff.—Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. He's like to be a cold soldier.

Falstaff.—Thy mother's son! Like enough, and thy father's shadow. Prick him. Shadow will serve for summer.

Falstaff.—It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon his back and the whole frame stands upon pins; prick him no more.

Shallow.—Ha, ha, ha! you can do it, sir; you can do it; I commend you well.—Francis Feeble.

Falstaff.—Well, good woman's tailor, wilt thou make as many holes in an enemy's battle as thou hast done in a woman's petticoat?

Falstaff.—Well said, good woman's tailor! Well said, courageous Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse. Prick me the woman's tailor well, Master Shallow; deep, Master Shallow.

Falstaff.—I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst mend him and make him fit to go. Let that suffice, most forcible Feeble.

Falstaff.—Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf till he roar again.

Falstaff.—Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown. We will have away with thy cold. Is here all?

Shallow.—Here is two more than your number. You must have but four here, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner.

Bullcalf.—(Approaching Bardolph.) Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend; and here's four Harry ten shillings in French crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I'd as lief be hanged, sir, as to go; and yet for mine own part, sir, I do not care; but rather because I am unwilling, and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my friends; else, sir, I did not care, for my own part, so much.

A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD.

Introduction.—The scene opens in the lodgings of Mr. and Mrs. Micawber. Mr. Micawber at this time is suffering under, what he terms, "A temporary pressure of pecuniary liabilities," and is out looking for something to turn up.

Mrs. Micawber is at home attending to the twins, one of which she is holding in her arms, the other is in the cradle near by, and various of the children are scattered about the floor.

Mrs. Micawber has been bothered all the morning by the calling of creditors;—at last she exclaims, as she trots the babe in her arms:—

(Mrs. Micawber.) Well, I wonder how many more times they will be calling! However, it's their fault. If Mr. Micawber's creditors won't give him time, they must take the consequences. Oh! there is some one knocking now! I believe that's Mr. Heep's knock. It is Mr. Heep! Come in, Mr. Heep. We are very glad to see you. Come right in.

Mrs. Mic.—No, Mr. Heep. Mr. Micawber has gone out. We make no stranger of you, Mr. Heep, so I don't mind telling you Mr. Micawber's affairs have reached a crisis. With the exception of a heel of Dutch cheese, which is not adapted to the wants of a young family,—and including the twins,—there is nothing to eat in the house.

Heep.—How dreadful! (Aside.) The very man for my purpose. (Explanation. At this moment there is a noise heard on the landing. Micawber himself rushes into the room, slamming the door behind him.)

Micawber.—(Not seeing Heep.) The clouds have gathered, the storm has broken, and the thunderbolt has fallen on the devoted head of Wilkins Micawber! Emma, my dear, the die is cast. All is over. Leave me in my misery!

Mic.—In the words of the immortal Plato, "It must be so, Cato!" But no man is without a friend when he is possessed of courage and shaving materials! Emma, my love, fetch me my razors! (Recovers himself) sh—sh! We are not alone! (Gayly) Oh, Mr. Heep! Delighted to see you, my young friend! Ah, my dear young attorney-general, in prospective, if I had only known you when my troubles commenced, my creditors would have been a great deal better managed than they were! You will pardon the momentary laceration of a wounded spirit, made sensitive by a recent collision with a minion of the law,—in short, with a ribald turncock attached to the waterworks. Emma, my love, our supply of water has been cut off. Hope has sunk beneath the horizon! Bring me a pint of laudanum!

Heep.—Mr. Micawber, would you be willing to tell me the amount of your indebtedness?

Mic.—It is only a small matter for nutriment, beef, mutton, etc., some trifle, seven and six pence ha'penny.

Mic.—My dear friend! You overpower me with obligation! Shall I admit the officer? (Turns and goes to the door, opens it.) Enter myrmidon! Hats off, in the presence of a solvent debtor and a lady. (Heeps pays the officer and dismisses him.)

Heep.—Now, Mr. Micawber, I suppose you have no objection to giving me your I.O.U. for the amount.

Mic.—Certainly not. I am always ready to put my name to any species of negotiable paper, from twenty shillings upward. Excuse me, Heep, I'll write it. (Goes through motion of writing it on leaf of memo, book. Tears it out and hands it to Heep.) I suppose this is renewable on the usual term?

Heep.—Better. You can work it out. I come to offer you the position of clerk in my partner's office—the firm of Wickfield and Heep.

Mic.—What! A clerk! Emma, my love, I believe I may have no hesitation in saying something has at last turned up!

Heep.—You will excuse me, Mrs. Micawber, but I should like to speak a few words to your husband in private.

Mic.—My dear, I shall endeavor to do so to an unlimited extent! Ah, the sun has again risen—the clouds have passed—the sky is clear, and another score may be begun at the butcher's.—Heep, precede me. Emma, my love. Au Revoir.

A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD.

Introduction.—The scene is the interior of the "Old Ark"; the time is evening. The rain is falling outside, yet inside the old ark all is snug and comfortable. The fire is burning brightly on the hearth, and Mother Gummidge sits by it knitting. Ham has gone out to fetch little Em'ly home from her work,—and the old fisherman sits smoking his evening pipe by the table near the window. They are expecting Steerforth and Copperfield in to spend the evening. Presently a knock is heard and David enters. Old Peggotty gets up to greet him.

Old Peg.—Why! It's Mas'r Davy? Glad to see you, Mas'r Davy, you're the first of the lot! Take off that cloak of yours if it's wet and draw right up to the fire. Don't you mind Mawther Gummidge, Mas'r Davy; she's a-thinkin' of the old 'un. She allers do be thinkin of the old 'un when there's a storm a-comin' up, along of his havin' been drowned at sea. Well, now, I must go and light up accordin' to custom. (He lights a candle and puts it on the table by the window.) Theer we are! Theer we are! A-lighted up accordin' to custom. Now, Mas'r Davy, you're a-wonderin' what that little candle is for, ain't yer? Well, I'll tell yer. It's for my little Em'ly. You see, the path ain't o'er light or cheerful arter dark, so when I'm home here along the time that Little Em'ly comes home from her work, I allers lights the little candle and puts it there on the table in the winder, and it serves two purposes,—first, Em'ly sees it and she says: "Theer's home," and likewise, "Theer's Uncle," fur if I ain't here I never have no light showed. Theer! Now you're laughin' at me, Mas'r Davy! You're a sayin' as how I'm a babby. Well, I don't know but I am. (Walks towards table.) Not a babby to look at, but a babby to consider on. A babby in the form of a Sea Porky-pine.

See the candle sparkle! I can hear it say—"Em'ly's lookin' at me! Little Em'ly's comin'!" Right I am for here she is! (He goes to the door to meet her; the door opens and Ham comes staggering in.)

Ham.—She's gone! Her that I'd a died fur, and will die fur even now! She's gone!

Ham.—Gone! She's run away! And think how she's run away when I pray my good and gracious God to strike her down dead, sooner than let her come to disgrace and shame.

Peggotty.—No! I won't read that writin'—read it you, Mas'r Davy. Slow, please. I don't know as I can understand.

Peggotty.—Stop theer, Mas'r Davy! Stop theer! Fur away! My Little Em'ly fur away! Well?

David.—(Reads) "Never to come back again unless he brings me back a lady. Don't remember, Ham, that we were to be married, but try to think of me as if I had died long ago, and was buried somewhere. My last love and last tears for Uncle."

Peggotty.—Where's my coat? Give me my coat! Help me on with it, Mas'r Davy. Now bear a hand theer with my hat.

Peggotty.—I'm a goin' to seek fur my little Em'ly. First, I'm going to stave in that theer boat and sink it where I'd a drownded him, as I'm a living soul; if I'd a known what he had in him! I'd a drownded him, and thought I was doin' right! Now I'm going to seek fur my Little Em'ly throughout the wide wurrety!

A SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN.

Introduction.—This scene introduces the following characters:—Conn, the Shaughraun, a reckless, devil-may-care, true-hearted young vagabond, who is continually in a scrape from his desire to help a friend and his love of fun; his mother, Mrs. O'Kelly; his sweetheart, Moya Dolan, niece of the parish priest.

It is evening. Moya is alone in the kitchen. She has just put the kettle on the fire when Mrs. O'Kelly, Conn's mother, enters.

Mrs. O'K.—Is it yourself, Moya? I've come to see if that vagabond of mine has been around this way.

Mrs. O'K.—The Shebeen is his home when he is not in jail. His father died o' drink, and Conn will go the same way.

Mrs. O'K.—The best of men he was, when he was sober—a betther never drhawed the breath o' life.

Mrs. O'K.—Heaven forbid, and purtect you agin him! You a good dacent gurl, and desarve the best of husbands.

Moya.—Them's the only ones that gets the worst. More betoken yoursilf, Mrs. O'Kelly.

Mrs. O'K.—Conn niver did an honest day's work in his life—but dhrinkin' and fishin', an' shootin', an' sportin', and love-makin'.

Mrs. O'K.—That's it. A poor man that sports the sowl of a gintleman is called a blackguard.

Conn.—(At left.) Some one is talkin' about me! Ah, Moya, Darlin', come here. (Business as if he reached out his hands to Moya as he comes forward to meet her, and passes her over to his left so he seems to stand in center between Moya on left and Mrs. O'Kelly on right.) Was the old Mother thryin' to make little o' me? Don't you belave a word that comes out o' her! She's jealous o' me. (Laughing as he shakes his finger at his mother.) Yes, ye are! You're chokin' wid it this very minute! Oh, Moya darlin', she's jealous to see my two arms about ye. But she's proud o' me. Oh, she's proud o' me as an old him that's got a duck for a chicken. Howld your whist now Mother! Wipe your mouth and give me a kiss.

Mrs. O'K.—Oh, Conn, what have you been afther? The polls have been in the cabin today about ye. They say you stole Squire Foley's horse.

Conn.—Stole his horse! Sure the baste is safe and sound in his paddock this minute.

Conn.—Well, here's a purty thing, for a horse to run away wid a man's characther like this! Oh, Wurra! may I never die in sin, but this was the way of it. I was standin' by owld Foley's gate, whin I heard the cry of the hounds coming across the tail of the bog, an' there they wor, my dear, spread out like the tail of a paycock, an' the finest dog fox ye ever seen a sailin' ahead of thim up the boreen, and right across the churchyard. It was enough to raise the inhabitints out of the ground! Well, as I looked, who should come and put her head over the gate besoide me but the Squire's brown mare, small blame to her. Divil a word I said to her, nor she to me, for the hounds had lost their scent, we knew by their yelp and whine as they hunted among the gravestones. When, whist! the fox went by us. I leapt upon the gate, an' gave a shriek of a view-halloo to the whip; in a minute the pack caught the scent again, an' the whole field came roaring past.

The mare lost her head entoirely and tore at the gate. "Stop," says I, "ye divil!" an' I slipt a taste of a rope over her head an' into her mouth. Now mind the cunnin' of the baste, she was quiet in a minute. "Come home, now," ses I. "aisy!" an' I threw my leg across her.

Be jabbers! No sooner was I on her back than—Whoo! Holy Rocket! she was over the gate, an' tearin' afther the hounds loike mad. "Yoicks!" ses I; "Come back you thafe of the world, where you takin' me to?" as she carried me through the huntin' field, an' landed me by the soide of the masther of the hounds, Squire Foley himself.

Conn.—I couldn't stop to hear, Moya, for just then we took a stone wall together an' I left him behind in the ditch.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRACTICE BOOK, LELAND POWERS SCHOOL ***

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ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE,	Richard Burton
BROOK, THE	Alfred, Lord Tennyson
CAVALIER TUNES I. Give a Rouse. II. Boot and Saddle.	Robert Browning
COLUMBUS	Joaquin Miller
COMING OF ARTHUR, THE	Alfred, Lord Tennyson
CONSERVATIVE, A	Charlotte Perkins Gilman
EACH AND ALL	Ralph Waldo Emerson
ELAINE	Alfred, Lord Tennyson
ELOQUENCE	Daniel Webster
EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL EXPRESSION
EXERCISES FOR TRANSITION
FEZZIWIG BALL, THE	Charles Dickens
FIVE LIVES	Edward Rowland Sill
GREEN THINGS GROWING	Dinah Mulock Craik
HERVÉ RIEL	Robert Browning
IF WE HAD THE TIME	Richard Burton
LADY OF SHALOTT, THE	Alfred, Lord Tennyson
LAUGHING CHORUS, A
LIFE AND SONG	Sidney Lanier
LOCHINVAR	Sir Walter Scott
MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNRISE	S.T. Coleridge
MY LAST DUCHESS	Robert Browning
MY STAR	Robert Browning
PIPPA PASSES, Extracts from I. Day. II. The Year's at Spring.	Robert Browning
RHODORA, THE	Ralph Waldo Emerson
RING AND THE BOOK, THE, Extract from	Robert Browning
SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, I.	Charles Dickens
SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, II.	Charles Dickens
SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV—"Falstaff's Recruits"	William Shakespeare
SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN	Boucicault
SELF-RELIANCE	Ralph Waldo Emerson
TALE, THE—From The Two Poets of Croisic	Robert Browning
TRUE USE OF WEALTH, THE	John Ruskin
TRUTH AT LAST	Edward Rowland Sill
WORK	John Ruskin

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Practice Book, Leland Powers School

PRACTICE BOOK

LELAND POWERS SCHOOL

Copyright, 1909

IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT.