Chapter IX: Getting the Author’s Mood (1)

HINTS TO THE STUDENT

Before the pupil is ready for this second step, _Sympathetic Reading_, he must have mastered part one, _Intelligible Reading_. The first step was concerned primarily with the development of the intellect, but the second step appeals primarily to the emotions, one’s sympathetic response to _mood_.

The outlines for the study of a selection, given later, will be found very helpful as a basis and guide for study and analysis.

MEMORABILIA

BY ROBERT BROWNING

Ah, did you once see Shelley plain,
And did he stop and speak to you,
And did you speak to him again?
How strange it seems, and new!

But you were living before that,
And also you are living after;
And the memory I started at—
My starting moves your laughter!

I crossed a moor, with a name of its own
And a certain use in the world, no doubt,
Yet a hand’s-breadth of it shines alone
’Mid the blank miles round about:

For there I picked up on the heather
And there I put inside my breast
A moulted feather, an eagle-feather!
Well, I forget the rest.

THE JOY OF THE HUMAN VOICE

How much squandering there is of the voice! How little there is
of the advantage that may come from conversational tones! How
seldom does a man dare to acquit himself with pathos and fervor!
And the men are themselves mechanical and methodical in the bad
way who are most afraid of the artificial training that is given
in the schools, and who so often show by the fruit of their labor
that the want of oratory is the want of education.

How remarkable is the sweetness of voice in the mother, in the
father, in the household! The music of no chorded instruments
brought together is, for sweetness, like the music of familiar
affection when spoken by brother and sister, or by father and
mother.

—HENRY WARD BEECHER, from “Lectures on Oratory.”

The one great object in reading is to get at the mind of the author. What did he mean? What did he intend me to feel as I read? What is his real message? How can I best reach the mind and heart of the author, the poet, the dramatist, through his written words?

This is the real mission of literature, and he is a poor teacher who fails to impress the heart of his students with its importance. Too often teachers spend the valuable time of their students with matters of entirely subsidiary importance, such as the style of the author, questions as to when, where and how he wrote, his figures of speech, his methods of composition, and the like. All these are of importance to those who are learning to write, and are of interest to others, but the prime reason for all literature is that the author has something of greater or lesser importance to say, which he wishes to reach the mind and heart of his reader.

Take, for instance, Browning’s exquisite short poem above. What good does it do the student to engage his attention with Browning’s style, his verse forms, etc.? To him the matter of prime importance is that he shall know what Browning _meant_.

_This is the vital question in all reading._

That literature which is a mere collection of fine words, beautifully arranged in perfect sentences, is “as sounding brass and a clanging cymbal.” To have any real significance it must be surcharged with high, lofty, pure, stirring human emotion; and to feel the same emotion that the writer felt as he penned poem, essay, novel, story or drama is the aim of every intelligent and thoughtful reader. One of the best possible ways of accomplishing this is by reading aloud—even when one is alone. One writer boldly affirms that we can never know the vital, spiritual message of a writer until we have put his words upon our tongue and sent them winging away in speech, freighted with the meaning that has reached our minds.

In reading carefully this poem of Browning, observe if the very nature of the theme does not demand the various modulations of the human voice to give it adequate interpretation. Repeat the first two lines, thinking of their purpose, and then see if you do not feel somewhat of an emotional thrill which must be akin to that which was felt by Browning when he thought of his great teacher, that marvelous poet, Shelley.

Is it possible really to get the heart throb of this poem unless we sing it out through the voice? The major portion of time spent in literary study should be through oral interpretation. Let a pupil read to you, and instantly you can detect whether or not he understands what he is reading. Corson said he believed the time is coming when examinations in literature will be wholly oral. He goes on to say:

Reading must supply all the deficiencies of written or printed
language. It must give life to the letter. How comparatively
little is addressed to the eye, in print or manuscript, of
what has to be addressed to the ear by the reader! There are
no indications of tone, quality of voice, inflection, pitch,
time, or any other of the vocal functions demanded for a full
intellectual and spiritual interpretation. A poem is not truly
a poem until it is voiced by an accomplished reader, who has
adequately assimilated it—in whom it has, to some extent, been
born again, according to his individual spiritual constitution
and experiences. The potentialities, so to speak, of the printed
poem, must be vocally realized. What Shelley, in his lines “To
a Lady, With a Guitar,” says of what the revealings of the
instrument depend upon, may be said with equal truth of the
revealings of every true poem; it

“Will not tell
To those who cannot question well
The spirit that inhabits it;
It talks according to the wit
Of its companions; and no more
Is heard than has been felt before,”

by those who endeavor to get at its secrets.

—HIRAM CORSON, “The Voice and Spiritual Education,” p. 29.

In this same connection let us add what Goethe has said:

Persuasion, friends, comes not by wit nor art,
Hard study never made the matter clearer.
’Tis the live fountain in the speaker’s heart
Sends forth the streams that melt the ravished hearer;
Then work away for life, heap book upon book,
Line upon line, precept upon example;
The multitude may gape and look
And fools may think your wisdom ample—
But would you touch the heart, the only method known,
My friend, is first to have one of your own.

MOOD-ANALYSIS

The following is an illustration of what might be called the “mood-analysis” of a selection. For the sake of convenience the sentences in the excerpt are numbered. The important thing for the student to bear in mind is to see that the author’s purpose is completely grasped, and then render it in the proper mood.

_First_: Read the selection paragraph by paragraph. Then arrange the several points in their respective order. Now give them orally as simply and progressively as possible.

_Second_: Read the selection again by paragraphs and this time determine what are the important and unimportant words. Then give these important words a greater force of utterance.

_Third_: Do not fear to make many groups. It is imperative to grasp the author’s ideas and pictures in separate detail. When each of these has been well thought over, we are then ready to put these separate parts into one complete and harmonious whole.

_Fourth_: Determine the mood which dominates each separate picture or detail, then see how these fit into each other, like the parts of a picture puzzle, perfecting the thought as a whole and making it a living, harmonious, mental or spiritual conception.

THE MAN WHO WEARS THE BUTTON

BY JOHN MELLEN THURSTON[6]

1. Sometimes in passing along the street I meet a man who, in the left lapel of his coat, wears a little, plain, modest, unassuming bronze button. 2. The coat is often old and rusty; the face above it seamed and furrowed by the toil and suffering of adverse years; perhaps beside it hangs an empty sleeve, and below it stumps a wooden peg. 3. But when I meet the man who wears that button I doff my hat and stand uncovered in his presence—yea! to me the very dust his weary foot has pressed is holy ground, for I know that man, in the dark hour of the nation’s peril, bared his breast to the hell of battle to keep the flag of our country in the Union sky.

4. Maybe at Donaldson he reached the inner trench; at Shiloh held the broken line; at Chattanooga climbed the flame-swept hill, or stormed the clouds on Lookout Heights. 5. He was not born or bred to soldier life. 6. His country’s summons called him from the plow, the forge, the bench, the loom, the mine, the store, the office, the college, the sanctuary. 7. He did not fight for greed of gold, to find adventure, or to win renown. 8. He loved the peace of quiet ways, and yet he broke the clasp of clinging arms, turned from the witching glance of tender eyes, left good-by kisses upon tiny lips to look death in the face on desperate fields.

9. And when the war was over he quietly took up the broken threads of love and life as best he could, a better citizen for having been so good a soldier.

10. What mighty men have worn this same bronze button! Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, Logan, and an hundred more, whose names are written on the title-page of deathless fame. 11. Their glorious victories are known of men; the history of their country gives them voice; the white light of publicity illuminates them for every one. 12. But there are thousands who, in humbler way, no less deserve applause. 13. How many knightliest acts of chivalry were never seen beyond the line or heard of above the roar of battle.

14. God bless the men who wear the button! 15. They pinned the stars of Union in the azure of our flag with bayonets, and made atonement for a nation’s sin in blood. 16. They took the negro from the auction-block and at the altar of emancipation crowned him—citizen. 17. They supplemented “Yankee Doodle” with “Glory Hallelujah,” and Yorktown with Appomattox. 18. Their powder woke the morn of universal freedom and made the name “American” first in all the earth. 19. To us their memory is an inspiration, and to the future it is hope.—From an address at a banquet of the Michigan Club of Detroit, February 21, 1890.

(_To find the designated mood of any sentence in the above selection refer to its corresponding number below._)

1. Pleasant meditation.
2. Pity and compassion.
3. Veneration and pride.
4. Heroism and triumph.
5 and 6. Loyal self-denial.
7 and 8. Heroic self-sacrifice.
9. Admiration and enterprise.
10. Compassion.
11. Praise and honor.
12 and 13. Contrast.
14. Supplication.
15. Heroic patriotism.
16. Justice.
17. Unity.
18. Sublimity.
19. Gratitude.

Now take Joaquin Miller’s magnificent and stirring poem “Columbus” and analyze it in the same fashion. Here is the analysis made of it by an intelligent reader on his own initiative, without any knowledge of the method we would have each student master and follow:

A STUDENT’S ANALYSIS OF “COLUMBUS”

First dwell upon the outlines of the history of Columbus, his early struggles and mastery of hardships. Recall that it was in his day that the new idea of the rotundity of the earth was being largely discussed. Watch the growth of this idea in his thought, until there springs up the confident assurance that if this idea be true it must be possible to reach India—or any other land—by sailing around the earth in _either_ direction. Confident of his idea, his scientific mind demands knowledge, demonstration. He seeks help to find out. Is rebuffed on every hand. Called crazy, insane, a fool, a lunatic. The idea persists. It grows into an obsession. _He_ knows, and now his soul demands that he compel _other people_ to know. The more rebuffs the greater his determination. Get hold here of the great fundamental thought that moves the universe, that works all the marvels that man has accomplished, viz., that when you link up with Truth, you are linked up with God—the Supreme Power of the Universe—and there cannot be any failure to a man so connected. All Columbus had to do was to _persist_. He did so, and finally Isabella and Ferdinand were convinced, the money needed was raised, the ship provided, and the happy, joyous Columbus sets sail to demonstrate to the world that which his soul had already convinced him was true.

Now remember the ignorance of the world at large on the subject. Recall that his sailors were densely ignorant and fearfully superstitious, but Columbus had never given that a thought.

He sets sail, full of delight, happiness, confidence. Now refer to the poem. 1. He and his sailors alike knew that the islands of the Azores and the Gates of Hercules were behind them. 2. Here, however, is a difference in the knowledge of Columbus and his sailors. He, with the eye of scientific confidence, could see ahead, though there was nothing in sight but shoreless seas, not even the ghost of shores. The sailors saw nothing but the uncharted and unknown seas. Do you not feel their awe and superstitious fears? Can you not picture their fearful whisperings together as they sail further and further into the unknown? The mate is the means of communication between them and the admiral. 3. Observe the _dread_ of sailors and mate. The stars with which they are familiar disappear and new and strange ones appear, adding new fuel to their superstitious fears. 4. The mate asks Columbus how he shall reply to these fears. His mood is one of fear and growing alarm excited into the action of questioning. 5. Now ask yourself: What would be Columbus’s natural reply? Remember he has given years of thought to this subject. He has no question as to the success of the voyage. Expecting to sail on uncharted seas, they have no fears for him. He _knows_ what he will find when he has gone far enough around. The fears and questions of the mate are absurd, preposterous. There is but one answer: Calmly and confidently he gives it, “Why, say, Sail on! and on!” Matter of fact, almost indifferent, totally unconscious of the seething fears bubbling up every moment afresh in the hearts of his sailors. What kind of intonation in his voice would such a question call forth?

6. For the time being the questionings of the men are satisfied, and they _sail and sail_ (don’t hurry in giving this repetition) _as winds might blow_. The fears and questionings now begin afresh. 7. The fear is indicated in the word _blanched_, and in the mate’s words. 8. Being away from familiar scenes, and all other men, his and his sailors’ small minds fear that even God has lost sight of them. The winds are lost, God is not here. 9. Hence there is increasing urgency in his second appeal to the admiral. But Columbus (10), seeing the vision that has been familiar to him for many years, and preoccupied by his dream, neither sees any reason for fears, _nor does he yet become aware of the fear_ expressed in the mate’s voice. His reply, therefore, is the quiet, scarcely heard voice of the dreamer, given much lower and quieter than his ordinary talking voice, but with the deep intensity of a man who has but one purpose.

Pause now for a few moments to allow this quiet urge of the admiral to _sink in_. Don’t hurry. Then let the next stanza open with some degree of haste and excitement. 11. The mate’s tone now is one of definite, open remonstrance. It is all very well for his admiral to say “Sail on!” He—the mate—has to come in direct conflict with the men. _They_ are growing mutinous. They are growing _ghastly wan and weak_. Even he, 12, had begun to think of home and, in spite of himself, tears, 13 (for is not this suggested in “a spray of salt wave”?) washed his swarthy cheek. Hence now, his question is more definite. He seeks to “pin” the admiral down to a fixed time, 14. He gives him until _dawn_ to see land. But the admiral, feeling that each dawn sees him _nearer to the goal_ of his heart’s desire, and impatient that the foolish fears and unreasoning terrors of his men should even threaten the possible thwarting of this desire, replies sternly, impatiently and somewhat fiercely, 15. He shall say at break of day, land or no land, fears or no fears, _but one thing_, and he puts such emphasis upon it that no one can misunderstand.

Here, again, pause. Let this firm determination “seep” into the minds of the hearers. A few moments is long enough, but to speed on immediately to the fourth stanza is to lose a striking effect. Then, in perfectly natural, quiet voice, continue the story: _They sailed_. 16. Observe the repetition of this statement. Why is it repeated? A thoughtful author doesn’t repeat for nothing. Here, by the repetition, 17, Joaquin Miller seeks powerfully to impress upon his reader that after they had sailed a long, long way further, they _still_ sailed on. Hence, is it not apparent there must be quite a little pause between the first “they sailed” and the second? Try the effect of this and see the result.

Now, 18, the mate, forced by his own and his sailors’ fears, though assured of the displeasure of the admiral at his voicing of these fears, braves his anger by calling his attention to the coming storm on the sea, 19, and he becomes more agitated as he expresses his own fears, 20. Yet he knows the courage of the admiral, and consciously or unconsciously pays him the tribute of bravery. At the same time, as hope has almost fled from the bosoms of himself and his shipmates he asks the question, pleadingly, agonizingly: “_What shall we_, 22, _do when hope is gone_?” In the answer all of Columbus’s exasperation, despair, determination, are compressed. Has he studied, prayed, pleaded, striven for years, and come thus far to be balked by the fears of a few craven cowards? Is he _now_, just now, when success must be close within his reach, to fail? No! by the Eternal, he shall not fail! The childish cries of his men shall not avail. He will compel them to go on, and, as though he were maddened beyond control his words “leap like a leaping sword,” 23, and cleave the air with ringing sound that strikes down all opposition, _Sail on!_ _Sail on!_ SAIL ON! AND ON!

Let the crescendo come with all the power, force, voice, of which you are capable. Prepare for it. Get the lungs full of air. Put all the intensity and passion of a lifetime’s hopes, desires, ambitions, into it, and feel as though you had these cowardly sailors by the throat and were determined upon pouring your will into their craven souls.

Again pause, before going to the last stanza. Elbert Hubbard and his wife, both of whom were public speakers and readers of high order, regarded this sixth stanza as an anticlimax. Personally, I do not. Properly given, it is a most powerful climax to a most powerful poem. Ask yourself: After the expression of an overwhelming emotion, what natural reaction is felt? One of weariness. Add this thought to the thoughts expressed in the words. Long and endless vigils, harassment from his men, _doubts in his own soul_, which, however, he dare not voice. 25. That night was so dark because, crushed by long-continued opposition, and his body weakened by constant watchfulness, and the urge of his passion, even _he lost hope_. But thanks be to God, there are men like Columbus, who, even when hope seems gone, when there is no light whatever in “_that night of all dark nights_” still persist. For, is it not darkest just before dawn? Suddenly our minds are transferred to the lookout man. He sees a speck. 26. Wonderingly he looks at it again and again, until he is assured it is a light, so he gives the warning cry: “A light!” 27. Now notice the repetition of the word light. Four times it appears. Why? Most critics account such repetitions as proofs of an author’s weakness, but they little know Joaquin Miller who so regard his repetitions. Let your brain work awhile. Remember, Columbus and his sailors have been weeks away from land, sailing on unknown, uncharted seas. They are becoming used to seeing no land, nothing but seas upon which even the winds have lost their way. Yet the lookout sees a light. He satisfies himself. He gives the signal call: “A light!” For dramatic purposes we can imagine that every one on the vessel hears it. Incredulously they call out a query: “A light?” It cannot be! But, sure of himself, and seeing it more clearly each moment, the lookout assertingly replies, “A light! I tell you!” Then, all doubt removed, filled with joy, their fears dispersed, their bodings and apprehensions removed, the sailors hysterically and joyously unite in the cry: “A light!” and the reason for the four “a lights!” is made clear.

Now, the poet, 28, changes the thought and rapidly introduces figures of speech. The light on the first land seen by Columbus ultimately grows to the “starlit flag of freedom” of the United States, the flag of the people, the flag of a true republic, the flag of genuine democracy. But it grew further, 29. That light, and that flag, grew to be “Time’s burst of dawn.” In other words, until all men, everywhere, in every way, are _free_, mankind is still in the night. The dawn comes only when men can be themselves, as God intended they should when he created them. Hence triumphant joy should be expressed in speaking of this flag, and what it means to the world.

Then, calmly, quietly, bring the mind back to the admiral. What did he gain? 30. “A world.” And he gave that world its grandest lesson, that of persistence in following the vision of the higher and larger things, _On, Sail on!_

COLUMBUS

Behind him lay the gray Azores(1)
Behind the Gates of Hercules;
Before him not the ghost of shores,(2)
Before him only shoreless seas.
The good mate(3) said: “Now must we pray,
For lo! the very stars are gone.
Brave Adm’r’l, speak, what shall I say?”(4)
“Why, say,(5) ‘Sail on! Sail on and on!’”

They sailed and sailed(6) as winds might blow
Until at last the blanched mate(7) said:
“Why, now, not even God would know,
Should I and all my men fall dead.(8)
These very winds forget their way,
For God from these dread seas is gone,
Brave Adm’r’l, speak, what shall I say?”(9)
He said,(10) “Sail on! Sail on and on!”

“My men grow mutinous day by day;(11)
My men grow ghastly wan and weak!”
The stout mate thought of home;(12) a spray(13)
Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.
“What shall I say, brave Adm’r’l, say,
If we sight(14) naught but seas at dawn?”
“Why, you shall say, at break of day,(15)
Sail on! Sail on! Sail on and on!”

They sailed.(16) They sailed.(17) Then spake(18) the mate:
“This mad sea(19) shows his teeth to-night,
He curls his lip, he lies in wait
With lifted teeth,(20) as if to bite!
Brave Adm’r’l,(21) say but one good word;
What shall we(22) do when hope is gone?”
The words leapt like a leaping sword:(23)
“Sail on! Sail on! Sail on! and on!”

Then pale and worn,(24) he paced his deck
And peered through darkness. Ah, that night(25)
Of all dark nights! And then a(26) speck—
A light!(27) A light? A light! A light!
It grew,(28) a starlit flag unfurled!
It grew to be Time’s burst of dawn.(29)
He gained a world,(30) he gave that world
Its grandest less’n: “On! Sail on!”

A SUGGESTIVE OUTLINE FOR THE STUDY OF A SELECTION

I. _Mastery of Main Theme_

The first step in the study of any selection is to gain an idea of it as a whole. This can best be done by reading the selection in its entirety. If there should be strange words, let them pass for the time being. Thus we grasp the predominant mood and significant setting or situation.

II. _Progressive Analysis_

Read the selection, silently, a second time. The aim now is to make a mental note of the several parts which make up the whole. This demands close concentration, in order that we may unify matters and prevent abrupt transitions. We are to break up the whole into parts, and each part represents a thought group.

1. Punctuation makes the meaning clear, and the clear meaning determines the various groups. Example: “It came, rushing in torrents like an avalanche of rock.” We do not pause after “came,” although it is so punctuated. Question: Do you find like instances in the selection under consideration? Where?

2. The length and frequency of the _pause_ which sets off the groups is dependent upon the context and upon the listeners. If the context is serious, or if the listeners are uneducated, there will of necessity be many groups. And obversely, if the context is not serious or difficult, or if the audience is educated, there will be fewer and longer groups.

Question: What is the situation in the present selection?

3. In the study of the chief word in the group we must remember that its real meaning depends upon its relation to the other words in the same group. For instance, the word “fire” does not mean the same thing at all times. The meaning of this word depends upon its kinship with other members of the same group. When we say, “The house is on fire,” this word “fire” means an altogether different thing than when we say, “There is a fire in the stove this morning.” Let us take care that we do not isolate words, but that we get their associative meanings.

Questions: What are the important words in the various groups? What is the real meaning of each? Why? Give five synonyms of each.

III. _Reference to Experience_

We are now prepared to call upon our storehouse of past experiences in order that we may identify ourselves more closely with the author’s meaning. We are to react upon what we read. The more vividly we can bring what we read from the page into our own actual experience, the more deeply are we impressed with its meaning. We translate the unseen, the unfelt and unbelieved by likening it to what is already seen, felt or believed. If experience is lacking, we draw upon our imagination.

1. If we are reading a description, we will see this scene in
terms of a past like experience.

2. If we are reading a narration, we will feel it in terms of
a past like experience.

3. If we are reading something we have not believed, we will
accept it in terms of what we have already believed.

Question: What experiences does this selection call upon from me? What purposes do they serve?

IV. _Classification_

There are three divisions into which all selections may be put. A selection may be written to make something CLEAR; it may be for the purpose of inspiring, or elevating one’s thoughts and feelings—to make IMPRESSIVE; it may be for the purpose of enforcing some great truth—to make BELIEF. This classification is based upon the author’s purpose.

Questions: Where the author’s purpose is to make CLEAR some obscure point or idea.

1. What significant words are used?

2. Is there any obscurity? Why?

3. What illustrations or comparisons are made?

4. Think earnestly of an experience which will aid you to see
clearly the author’s purpose.

Where the author’s purpose is IMPRESSIVENESS

1. Is the emotion aroused pleasurable?

2. Have you had an experience which resembles what is referred to?

3. What mood is predominant? Is it:

Impassioned, grave, sad,
Triumphant, exalted, solemn,
Humorous, satirical, pathetic,
Inspiring, enheartening, discouraging?

4. What are the minor moods? Supply your own descriptive mood if
none of the following are adequate:

Fanciful, enthusiastic, cheerful,
Dreamy, sentimental, witty,
Pensive, tender, serene, quiet,—or suggestive of
Awe, loneliness,
Admiration, suspense, joy, anger,
Fear, rage, sympathy, grief, sorrow, surprise, anxiety.

Where the author’s purpose is BELIEF. The author does more than make us see, or feel.

1. What actual experience have you had that resembles the thing
the author would have you believe?

2. Do you accept as truth what you have read?

3. What particular thought carries the most conviction?

4. Do you think others should believe what the author says?

5. Is it clear and impressive, and do you believe it?

V. _Setting_

This has to do with time, place, objects, sounds, movement, or anything that gives local color to the selection.

Questions:

1. Is it modern or old?

2. Where is the scene laid?

3. Are descriptions given in detail or mere suggestion?

4. Is dialect used?

5. Will personation aid in rendering the selection?

6. Does the power and beauty of the selection lie in narration,
description, or in character drawing?

7. Name some definite things, sounds or objects described, that
give color or atmosphere.

8. Is the movement:

Slow, swift, light, heavy,
Tripping, graceful, spirited,
Powerful, easy, varied?

VI. _Vocalization_

Let our guide be as Shakespeare has so well put it:

Let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word; the word to the action; with this special observance—that you o’erstep not the modesty of nature.

1. Read the selection as ordinary conversation.

2. Now read again as enlarged conversation, or, as it were, for
the ears of many.

3. Ask yourself the following questions:

(1) Do I make proper use of Pitch?
(2) Do I make proper use of Pause?
(3) Do I make proper use of Inflection?
(4) Do I make proper use of Tone Color?
(5) Do I make proper use of Stress?
(6) Do I make proper use of Movement?

4. At all times let us remember that our purpose is not to give
a pleasing performance, but faithfully to interpret the author’s
meaning.

A CONDENSED OUTLINE FOR THE STUDY OF A SELECTION FOR ORAL PRESENTATION

I. INTELLIGENT IMPRESSION

A. _General Preparation_

Read silently the entire selection. The purpose is to gain an impression of the selection as a whole.

1. What was the author’s purpose in writing this selection?

2. What specific intent did he have:

a. To make something clear?
b. To make something impressive?
c. To establish a truth?
d. To stimulate to righteous action?

3. Consult the dictionary for the meaning of strange words.

4. Look up the historical references.

B. _Special Preparation_

Read the selection silently a second time. The aim is to make a mental note of the respective importance of the several parts which make up the whole.

1. What is the definite idea, or definite picture, or definite
feeling the author would have us get?

2. In what part of the selection is the author’s aim most
forcibly presented?

3. What is the relative value of the thought-groups?

II. INTELLIGIBLE EXPRESSION

A. _General Preparation_

Before rendering a selection orally it must be given a setting. This has to do with time, place, objects, sounds, movements, or anything that tends to give local color.

1. Is the selection colloquial or dramatic?

2. Is dialect used?

3. Will personation be necessary?

4. Give an original word-picture of the characters and situation.

5. To what reference to experience does it make?

6. What is the predominant mood?

B. _Special Preparation_

Read the selection aloud for the first time. In doing this, ask yourself:

1. Am I reading with correct thought-groups?

2. Do I make proper use of the pause? (Remember the length and
frequency of the pause depends upon the nature of the subject and
the audience.)

3. Am I enunciating clearly?

4. Is my voice melodious? That is, do I make proper use of pitch
and inflection?

5. Am I conscious of the change and interchange of moods?

6. Do I make proper use of stress and movement?

7. Do my tones fit the color-words?

8. Am I faithfully and adequately interpreting the author’s
meaning?

PROSE SELECTIONS

Humorous
Pathetic
Dramatic
Dialect

THE JOY OF READING

Who can estimate the joy, comfort and inspiration reading has afforded to the human race, how many weary hours it has solaced, how many distracted minds it has quieted, how many harassed souls it has soothed into forgetfulness? Who has not felt the thrill of discovery when he has found a new author, a new poet who peculiarly affected his mind, his soul, his risibilities, his ambitions, his life? I shall never forget when I found Charles Warren Stoddard’s “Apostrophe to a Skylark.” It was buried in one of his books and few seemed ever to have read it. There was joy incalculable in putting it side by side with Shelley’s classic “Ode” and comparing the two conceptions. Thousands of souls have been inspired by reading to higher, nobler, more worthy endeavor. So, like Sancho Panza, we bless God and thank Him for the man who invented reading.

—GEORGE WHARTON JAMES.

HUMOROUS SELECTIONS

NATHAN FOSTER

BY PAUL L. DUNBAR

Nathan Foster and his lifelong friend and neighbor, Silas Bollender, sat together side by side upon the line-fence that separated their respective domains. They were both whittling away industriously, and there had been a long silence between them. Nathan broke it, saying:

“’Pears to me like I’ve had oncommon good luck this year.”

“Wall, you have had good luck, there ain’t no denyin’ that. It ’pears as though you’ve been ee-specially blest.”

“An’ I know I ain’t done nothin’ to deserve it.”

“No, o’ course not. Don’t take no credit to yourself, Nathan. We don’t none of us deserve our blessings, however we may feel about our crosses; we kin be purty shore o’ that.”

“Now, look, my pertater vines was like little trees, an’ nary a bug on ’em.”

“An’ you had as good a crop of corn as I’ve ever seen raised in this part of Montgomery county.”

“Yes, an’ I sold it, too, jest before that big drop in the price.”

“After givin’ away all yer turnips you could, you had to feed ’em to the hogs.”

“My fruit trees jest had to be propped up, an’ I’ve got enough perserves in my cellar to last two or three winters, even takin’ into consideration the drain o’ church socials an’ o’ charity.”

“Yore chickens are fat and sassy, not a sign o’ pip on ’em.”

“Look at them cows in the fur pastur. Did yer ever see anything to beat ’em fer sleekness?”

“Wall, look at the pasture itself; it’s most enough to make human beings envy the critters. You didn’t have a drop of rain on yer while you was gettin’ in yer hay, did yer?”

“Not a drop.”

“An’ I had a whole lot ruined jest as I was about to rick it.”

“Silas, sich luck as I’m a-havin’ is achilly skeery; it don’t seem right.”

“No, it don’t seem right for a religious man like you, Nathan. Ef you was a hard an’ graspin’ Sinner, it ’ud be jest makin’ you top-heavy so’s yore fall ’ud be the greater.”

“I don’t know but what that’s it, anyhow. Mebbe I’m a-gettin’ puffed up over my goods without exactly knowin’ it.”

“Mebbe so, mebbe so. Them kind o’ feelin’s is mighty sneakin’ comin’ on a body. O’ course I ain’t seen no signs of it in you; but it ’pears to me you’ll have to mortify yore flesh yit to keep from being purse-proud.”

“Mortify the flesh?”

“O’ course, you can’t put peas in yore shoes er get any of yer frien’s to lash you, so you’ll have to find some other way of mortifyin’ yer flesh. Wall, fer my part, I don’t need to look fur none, fur I never had too many blessin’s in my life, less’n you’d want to put the children under that head.”

Silas shut his jack-knife with a snap and, laughing, slid down on his side of the fence. In serious silence Nathan Foster watched him go stumping up the path toward the house.

“Silas seems to take everything so light in this world; I wonder how he can do it.”

With Nathan, now, it was just the other way. Throughout his eight and forty years he had taken every fact of life with ponderous seriousness. Entirely devoid of humor, he was a firm believer in signs, omens, tokens, and judgments. He was a religious man, and his wealth frightened and oppressed him. He gave to his church and gave freely.

As usual, he had taken his friend’s bantering words in hard earnest and was turning them over in his mind.

The next morning when Nathan and Silas met to compare notes, Nathan began:

“I have been thinking over what you said last night, Silas, about me mortifyin’ my flesh, and it seems to me like a good idee. I wrasselled in prayer last night, and it was shown to me that it wa’n’t no more’n right fur me to make some kind o’ sacrifice fur the mercies that’s been bestowed upon me.”

“Wall, I don’t know, Nathan; burnt-offerings are a little out now.”

“I don’t mean nothin’ like that; I mean some sacrifice of myself, some—”

His sentence was broken in upon by a shrill voice that called from Silas Bollender’s kitchen door:

“Si, you’d better be a-gittin’ about yore work instid o’ standin’ over there a-gassin’ all the mornin’. I’m shore I don’t have no time to stand around.”

“All right, Mollie; speakin’ of mortifyin’ the flesh an’ makin’ a sacrifice of yoreself, Nathan, why don’t you git married?”

Nathan started.

“Then you’d be shore to accomplish both. Fur pure mortification of the flesh, I don’t know of nothin’ more thoroughgoin’ er effectiver than a wife. Also she is a vexation to a man’s sperit. You raaly ought to git married, Nathan.”

“Do you think so?”

“It looks to me that that ’ud be about as good a sacrifice as you could make; an’ then it’s such a lastin’ one.”

“I don’t believe you realize what you air a-sayin’, Silas. It’s a mighty desprit step that you’re advisin’ me to take.”

Again Mrs. Bollender’s voice broke in:

“Si, air you goin’ to git anything done this mornin’, er air you goin’ to stand there an’ hold up that fence fur the rest of the day?”

“Nathan, kin you stand here an’ listen to a voice an’ a speech like that an’ then ask me if I realize the despritness of marriage?”

“It’s desprit, but who’d you advise me to marry,—Silas, that is, if I made up my mind to marry,—an’ I don’t jest see any other way.”

“Oh, I ain’t pickin’ out wives fur anybody, but it seems to me that you might be doin’ a good turn by marryin’ the Widder Young. The Lord ’ud have two special reasons fur blessin’ you then; fur you’d be mortifyin’ yore flesh an’ at the same time a-helpin’ the widder an’ her orphans.”

“That’s so.” He couldn’t admit to Silas that he had been thinking hard of the Widow Young even before he had of mortifying his flesh with a wife.

Once decided, it did not take him long to put his plans into execution. But he called Silas over to the fence that evening after he had dressed to pay a visit to the widow.

“Wall, Silas, I’ve determined to take the step you advised.”

“Humph, you made your mind up in a hurry, Nathan.”

“I don’t know as it’s any use a-waiting; ef a thing’s to be done, I think it ought to be done and got through with. What I want particular to know now is, whether it wouldn’t be best to tell Lizzie—I mean the widder—that I want her as a means of mortification.”

“Wall, no, Nathan, I don’t know as I would do that jest yit; I don’t believe it would be best.”

“But if she don’t know, wouldn’t it be obtainin’ her under false pretenses if she said yes?”

“Not exactaly the way I look at it, fur you’ve got more motives fur marryin’ than one.”

“What! Explain yoreself, Silas; explain yoreself.”

“I mean you want to do her good as well as subdue your own sperit.”

“Oh, yes, that’s so.”

“Now, no woman wants to know at first that she’s a vexation to a man’s sperit. It sounds scriptual, but it don’t sound nooptial. Now look at me an’ Mis’ Bollender. I never told her until we’d been married more’n six months; but she didn’t believe it then, an’ she won’t believe it till this day.”

“Wall, I’ll agree not to tell her right away, but if she consents, I must tell her a week or so after we are married. It’ll ease my conscience. Ef I could tell her now, it ’ud be a heap easier in gittin’ round the question. I don’t know jest how to do it without.”

“Oh, you won’t have no trouble in makin’ her understand. Matrimony’s a subject that women air mighty keen on. They can see if a man’s a-poppin’ the question ef he only half tries. You’ll git through all right.”

Somewhat strengthened, Nathan left his friend and sought the widow’s home. He found her stitching away merrily under the light of a coal-oil lamp with a red shade.

“La, Nathan, who’d a’ expected to see you up here? You’ve got to be such a home body that no one don’t look to see you out of yore own field and garden.”

“I jest thought I’d drop in.”

“Wall, it’s precious kind of you, I’m shore. I was a-feelin’ kind o’ lonesome. The children go to bed with the chickens.”

“I jest thought I’d drop in.”

“Wall, it does remind me of old times to see you jest droppin’ in, informal like, this way. My, how time does fly!”

“Widder, I’ve been thinkin’ a good deal lately; I’ve been greatly prospered in my day; in fact, my cup runneth over.”

“You have been prospered, Nathan.”

“Seems ’s ef—seems ’s ef I ought to sheer it with somebody, don’t it?”

“Wall, Nathan, I don’t know nobody that’s more generous in givin’ to the pore than you air.”

“I don’t mean in jest exactly that way. I mean, widder—you’re the morti—I mean the salvation of my soul. Could you—would you—er do you think you’d keer to sheer my blessin’s with me an’ add another one to ’em?”

The Widow Young looked at him in astonishment; then the tears filled her eyes as she asked, “Nathan, do you mean it?”

“I wouldn’t a-spent so much trouble on a joke, widder.”

“No, it don’t seem that you would, Nathan. Well, it’s mighty sudden, mighty sudden, but I can’t say no.”

“Fur these an’ many other blessin’s make us truly thankful, O Lord,” said Nathan devoutly. And he sat another hour with the widow making plans for the early marriage, on which he insisted.

The widow had been settled in Nathan’s home over a month before he had ever thought of telling her of the real motive of his marriage, and every day from the time it occurred to him it grew harder for him to do it.

One night when he had been particularly troubled he sought his friend and counselor with a clouded brow. They sat together in their accustomed place on the fence.

“I’m bothered, Silas.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Why, there’s several things. First off, I ain’t never told the widder that she was a mortification, an’ next she ain’t. I look around at that old house o’ mine that ain’t been a home since mother used to scour the hearth, an’ it makes me feel like singin’ fer joy. An’ I hear them children playin’ round me—they’re the beatenest children; that youngest one called me daddy yistiddy—well, I see ’em playin’ round and my eyes air opened, an’ I see that the widder’s jest another blessin’ added to the rest. It looks to me like I had tried to beat the Almighty.”

“Wall, now, Nathan, I don’t know that you’ve got any cause to feel bothered. You’ve done yore duty. If you’ve tried to mortify yore flesh an’ it refused to mortify, why, that’s all you could do, an’ I believe the Lord’ll take the will fer the deed an’ credit you accordin’ly.”

“Mebbe so, Silas, mebbe so.”

—Copyright by _Dodd, Mead & Co._, New York, and used by arrangement.

DOING A WOMAN’S WORK

BY MCKILLIP-STANWOOD

“Breakfast ready yet?” asked Jack Telfer, as he set two pails of foaming milk on the bench and turned to wash his hands.

“Almost,” replied his wife. “But, say, Jack, won’t you fix the calf pen while you’re waiting? It won’t take but a minute. The calves got out twice yesterday and tramped all over the flower beds and garden. I had an awful time getting them in. I tried to fix it, but I don’t think I did a good job.”

“I can’t stop now. I guess it’s all right. If they get out, why chase them in; you have nothing else to do, and I’ll fix it up right when I get time. I want my breakfast now. I can’t fool around here till noon. I’ve got to cultivate the peaches to-day.”

“I’ve nothing else to do,” repeated his wife, as she dished up the tempting breakfast. “Well, I like that, Jack Telfer. I wish to goodness I hadn’t any more to do than you have.”

“Why, what under the sun have you to do? You have only Toodles and me to look after and this little house to keep. I could do all the work you do with one hand tied behind me and then find time to throw at the birds. You see, I know what I am talking about, for I can cook and do housework as well as any woman.”

“You’ve never displayed any talent in that direction since I’ve known you. It’s like pulling teeth to get you to do a chore around the house. Not that I want a man to do housework, for I don’t; that’s a woman’s business. But when she has every step to take and a dozen things to do at once, a little help occasionally comes mighty handy.”

“Well, the reason I don’t help around here is because there isn’t much to do. The work you have is a snap, my girl, and a mighty soft one, too. Why, my mother had nine children and did all her own work and cooked for harvest hands and threshers and used to help the neighbors out if they got in a pinch.”

“Well, my dear husband, I do not doubt but your mother was a very smart woman. She must have been to have raised so promising a son. But women are not all alike, my dear.”

“Now, your work is a sort of paper-flower work compared with what I have to do. It would be a picnic for me to stay in the house, wash dishes, play with the baby and do such things.”

“All right, suppose you have a picnic to-day. I can drive the cultivator just as well as you and you can cook and keep house a great deal better than I; at least you think you can. I’ll hitch up and cultivate the peaches and you can tie one hand behind you and do the work to-day and see how much time you have to throw at the birds. What do you say?”

“Say,” laughed Mr. Telfer as he pushed back from the table. “Why, I say I’m willing, but if you don’t get enough riding in the hot sun—”

“The hot sun,” interrupted his wife, “is no worse than the hot stove I cook over. Will you do it?”

“You bet I’ll do it, but you must tell me what’s to be done so you can’t throw it up to me for ever after that the reason I got through so soon was because I didn’t do half the work.”

“First,” said Mrs. Telfer, “there’s the milk to skim and the calves to feed and the churning to do. Skim the milk on the north shelf in the cellar; the dishes to wash, and don’t forget to scald the churn and the milk things. Then you can iron; the clothes are all dampened down in the basket. You need not iron any but the plain things, I’ll do the others. Pit the cherries I picked last night and make a pie for dinner. And, oh, yes, you will have to kill a chicken and dress it, for you know you said last night you wanted chicken and dumplings for dinner to-day, and now is your chance.

“Stew some prunes for supper to-night, make the bed, sweep and dust and get the vegetables ready for dinner. Oh, I guess you know about what there is to do. I must be off now, for it is nearly 6 o’clock.” And she was gone.

“Well, it’s early yet; guess I’ll smoke and read the Rural World awhile. There’s an article on hogs I wanted to read; it seems nice to have time to do what you please.”

After he had read a long time he at last knocked the ashes into his hand and stretched lazily.

He went down cellar and skimmed the milk, then he fed the calves, laughed at the way his wife had tried to fix the calf pen, went in and took off the table cloth and piled the dishes and empty milk things on the table.

“Guess I’ll wash up before I churn. No, I won’t, either. I’ll churn first; then I’ll clean up all at once. Oh, I’ve got a head on me. I ought to have been a woman.”

He brought from the cellar a large new pan of thick cream and set it on the table, then he went to scald the churn, but the fire was out and the dish water Mrs. Telfer had put on before breakfast was nearly cold.

“Blame it all, I’ve got to go to the barn for peach pits; not one in the basket. But I’ll kill the chicken while I’m out there and save an extra trip. If Jennie would only use some management about her work she’d have plenty of time.”

The large pit basket was soon filled, but the chicken was another proposition. Every time he selected one to catch it seemed to know it was a marked bird and would shy off to the edge of the flock. At last he had to run one down, and he wrung its neck with a great deal of satisfaction. As he entered the house the clock struck nine.

“Wheu! Where has the morning gone? I must get a move on me. Guess I’ll make the pie first so it can bake while the water is heating.”

He prepared the cherries. Then he made the pie; made it as well as a woman could. He had pushed the dishes back on the cluttered table to make room for his bread-board, and just as he had the crust nicely stamped down around the edge of his pie, with a fork, a tousled head of yellow curls appeared in the doorway, one chubby hand holding up a long, white nighty, the other rubbing a sleepy eye.

There was surprise on the baby face at the sight of his father. Papa meant fun for Toodles, and, running to him, he put up his little arms, saying, “Papa, high me; high Toodles, papa; high Toodles.” And his father, dusting the flour from his hands, tossed the baby to the ceiling again and again while the little fellow screamed with delight.

In the midst of this jolly frolic the clock announced that it was the tenth hour of the day.

“Hear that, young man?” said the father. “That means that we must cut out this racket and get down to business. Your paternal ancestor is chief cook and general manager to-day and has several little chores to do yet. We will get Toodles’ breakfast first, then wash and dress him afterwards so that he won’t get mussed up when he eats.

“Mamma don’t do that way, but we can give mamma a few pointers on keeping a baby clean, can’t we, Toodles?”

And, putting the child in his high-chair, Mr. Telfer pinned a tea towel around the little neck for a bib, took a bowl and went to the cellar for some new milk.

While Toodles was eating breakfast his father washed the prunes and put them on to stew, set the pie in the oven and started to build the fire, but he was interrupted by an emphatic voice saying, “Papa, down; papa, down.”

“All right, young man, I’ll attend to your case directly,” said Jack, touching a match to the kindling. “Guess I’ll wash and dress you and have you off my hands.”