TO MARY FIELD FRENCH A dying mother gave to you  Her child a many years ago;How in your gracious love he grew,  You know, dear, patient heart, you know. The mother's child you fostered then  Salutes you now and bids you takeThese little children of his pen  And love them for the author's sake. To you I dedicate this book,  And, as you read it line by line,Upon its faults as kindly... more...

INTRODUCTORY. All authorities are agreed that the political history of the United States, beyond much that is feeble or poor in quality, has given to the English language very many of its most finished and most persuasive specimens of oratory. It is natural that oratory should be a power in a republic; but, in the American republic, the force of institutions has been reinforced by that of a language... more...

I "Hullo! No!--Yes!--upon my soul, it is Jacob! Why, Delafield, my dear fellow, how are you?" So saying--on a February evening a good many years ago--an elderly gentleman in evening dress flung himself out of his cab, which had just stopped before a house in Bruton Street, and hastily went to meet a young man who was at the same moment stepping out of another hansom a little farther down the... more...

Act One Act One: Scene One The kitchen of the Carmody home on the outskirts of a manufacturing town in Connecticut. On the left, forward, the sink. Farther back, two windows looking out on the yard. In the left corner, rear, the icebox. Immediately to the right of it, in the rear wall, a window opening on the side porch. To the right of this, a china cupboard, and a door leading into the hall where the... more...

I. IN THE UNSEEN. She had been talking of dying only the evening before, with a friend, and had described her own sensations after a long illness when she had been at the point of death. "I suppose," she said, "that I was as nearly gone as any one ever was to come back again. There was no pain in it, only a sense of sinking down, down—through the bed as if nothing could hold me... more...

However boldly their warm blood was spilt,Their life was shame, their epitaph was guilt;And this they knew and felt, at least the one,The leader of the hand he had undone—Who, born for better things, had madly setHis life upon a cast, which linger’d yet. Byron. There is perhaps no event in the annals of our history which excited more alarm at the time of its occurrence, or has since been the... more...

CHAPTER I It all came to me one election day. It was on a warm California afternoon, and I had ridden down into the Valley of the Moon from the ranch to the little village to vote Yes and No to a host of proposed amendments to the Constitution of the State of California. Because of the warmth of the day I had had several drinks before casting my ballot, and divers drinks after casting it. Then I had... more...

Ireland, lifting herself from the dust, drying her tears, and proudly demanding her legitimate place among the nations of the earth, is a spectacle to cause immense progress in political philosophy. Behold a nation whose fame had spread over all the earth ere the flag of England had come into existence. For 500 years her life has been apparently extinguished. The fiercest whirlwind of oppression that... more...

CHAPTER I Principles of Voice Culture. The first essential to one beginning the study of voice culture is an appreciation of the real significance of voice development. We must recognize at once the fact that the voice is a natural reporter of the conditions, emotions, thoughts, and purposes (character and states or conditions) of the individual. The ring of true culture in the voice is that perfect... more...

CHAPTER I THE ESCAPE "Now then, you, Bessie, quit your loafin' and get them dishes washed! An' then you can go out and chop me some wood for the kitchen fire!" The voice was that of a slatternly woman of middle age, thin and complaining. She had come suddenly into the kitchen of the Hoover farmhouse and surprised Bessie King as the girl sat resting for a moment and reading. Bessie... more...