Laura Lee Hope - "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue in the Sunny South"

Sebastian Brandt - "The Ship of Fools, Volume 1 2"

Hamlin Garland - "Wayside Courtships"

Coningsby Dawson - "The Glory of the Trenches"

Editorial
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

The Canadian Elocutionist

A >> Anna Kelsey Howard >> The Canadian Elocutionist




"That again, as in my childhood, I might look upon her face,
Feel once more, once more, the pressure of her loving, dear embrace,
Hear her speak, ah, as she used to, those sweet words I so much miss,
Feel upon my cheek and forehead the touch of her fragrant kiss!"

And the sad old soldier's eyelids closed, his lips they moved no more;
He had gone to sleep where often he had gone to sleep before!--
So his comrades tho't that hour as they saw him sitting there,
Leaning fondly 'gainst the flagstaff, on his face a look most fair!

And they left him to his slumbers, with no wish to break the spell
Which had come to him so gently--the old soul they loved so well!
And the breezes so delightful played among his locks so white,
While above him proudly floated the old flag of his delight.

But ere long, when loved ones round him called the name of "Sergeant Gray,"
Not a word the veteran answered, for his life had passed away.--
Though a tear was on each pale cheek of the dead one whom they saw--
The old soldier of the regiment on guard at Mackinaw.

_Geo. Newell Lovejoy._

* * * * *

POOR LITTLE STEPHEN GERARD.

The man lived in Philadelphia who, when young and poor, entered a bank, and
says he, "Please, sir, don't you want a boy?" And the stately personage
said: "No, little boy, I don't want a little boy." The little boy, whose
heart was too full for utterance, chewing a piece of liquorice stick he had
bought with a cent stolen from his good and pious aunt, with sobs plainly
audible, and with great globules of water rolling down his cheeks, glided
silently down the marble steps of the bank. Bending his noble form, the
bank man dodged behind a door, for he thought the little boy was going to
shy a stone at him. But the little boy picked up something, and stuck it in
his poor but ragged jacket. "Come here, little boy," and the little boy did
come here; and the bank man said: "Lo, what pickest thou up?" And he
answered and replied: "A pin." And the bank man said: "Little boy, are you
good?" and he said he was. And the bank man said: "How do you vote?--excuse
me, do you go to Sunday school?" and he said he did. Then the bank man took
down a pen made of pure gold, and flowing with pure ink, and he wrote on a
piece of paper, "St. Peter;" and he asked the little boy what it stood for,
and he said "Salt Peter." Then the bank man said it meant "Saint Peter."
The little boy said: "Oh!"

Then the bank man took the little boy to his bosom, and the little boy said
"Oh!" again, for he squeezed him. Then the bank man took the little boy
into partnership, and gave him half the profits and all the capital, and he
married the bank man's daughter, and now all he has is all his, and all his
own, too.

My uncle told me this story, and I spent six weeks in picking up pins in
front of a bank. I expected the bank man would call me in and say: "Little
boy, are you good?" and I was going to say "Yes;" and when he asked me what
"St. John" stood for, I was going to say "Salt John." But the bank man
wasn't anxious to have a partner, and I guess the daughter was a son, for
one day says he to me: "Little boy, what's that you're picking up?" Says I,
awful meekly, "Pins." Says he: "Let's see 'em." And he took 'em, and I took
off my cap, all ready to go in the bank, and become a partner, and marry
his daughter. But I didn't get an invitation. He said: "Those pins belong
to the bank, and if I catch you hanging around here any more I'll set the
dog on you!" Then I left, and the mean old fellow kept the pins. Such is
life as I find it.

_Mark Twain._

* * * * *

THE LITTLE QUAKER SINNER.

A little Quaker maiden, with dimpled cheek and chin,
Before an ancient mirror stood, and viewed her form within;
She wore a gown of sober grey, a cape demure and prim,
With only simple fold and hem, yet dainty, neat, and trim.
Her bonnet, too, was grey and stiff; its only line of grace
Was in the lace, so soft and white, shirred round her rosy face.

Quoth she, "Oh, how I hate this hat! I hate this gown and cape!
I do wish all my clothes were not of such outlandish shape!
The children passing by to school have ribbons on their hair;
The little girl next door wears blue; oh, dear, if I could dare
I know what I should like to do?"--(The words were whispered low,
Lest such tremendous heresy should reach her aunts below).

Calmly reading in the parlour sat the good aunts, Faith and Peace,
Little dreaming how rebellious throbbed the heart of their young niece.
All their prudent humble teaching wilfully she cast aside,
And, her mind now fully conquered by vanity and pride,
She, with trembling heart and fingers, on a hassock sat her down,
And this little Quaker sinner _sewed a tuck into her gown_!

"Little Patience, art thou ready? Fifth-day meeting time has come,
Mercy Jones and Goodman Elder with his wife have left their home."
'Twas Aunt Faith's sweet voice that called her, and the naughty little
maid--
Gliding down the dark old stairway--hoped their notice to evade,
Keeping shyly in their shadow as they went out at the door,
Ah, never little Quakeress a guiltier conscience bore!

Dear Aunt Faith walked looking upward; all her thoughts were pure and holy;
And Aunt Peace walked gazing downward, with a humble mind and lowly.
But "tuck--_tuck_!" chirped the sparrows, at the little maiden's side;
And, in passing Farmer Watson's, where the barn-door opened wide,
Every sound that issued from it, every grunt and every cluck,
Seemed to her affrighted fancy like "a tuck!" "a tuck!" "a tuck!"

In meeting Goodman Elder spoke of pride and vanity,
While all the Friends seemed looking round that dreadful tuck to see.
How it swelled in its proportions, till it seemed to fill the air,
And the heart of little Patience grew heavier with her care.
Oh, the glad relief to her, when, prayers and exhortations ended,
Behind her two good aunts her homeward way she wended!

The pomps and vanities of life she'd seized with eager arms,
And deeply she had tasted of the world's alluring charms--
Yea, to the dregs had drained them and only this to find;
All was vanity of spirit and vexation of the mind.
So repentant, saddened, humbled, on her hassock she sat down,
And this little Quaker sinner _ripped the tuck out of her gown_!

_St. Nicholas._

* * * * *

HOW WE HUNTED A MOUSE.

I was dozing comfortably in my easy chair, and dreaming of the good times
which I hope are coming, when there fell upon my ears a most startling
scream. It was the voice of my Maria Ann in agony. The voice came from the
kitchen, and to the kitchen I rushed. The idolized form of my Maria was
perched on a chair, and she was flourishing an iron spoon in all
directions, and shouting "shoo," in a general manner at everything in the
room. To my anxious inquiries as to what was the matter, she screamed: "O!
Joshua, a mouse, shoo--wha--shoo--a great--ya, shoo--horrid mouse, and--
she--ew--it ran right out of the cupboard--shoo--go way--O Lord--Joshua--
shoo--kill it, oh, my--shoo."

All that fuss, you see, about one little, harmless mouse. Some women are so
afraid of mice. Maria is. I got the poker and set myself to poke that
mouse, and my wife jumped down and ran off into another room. I found the
mouse in a corner under the sink. The first time I hit it I didn't poke it
any on account of getting the poker all tangled up in a lot of dishes in
the sink; and I did not hit it any more because the mouse would not stay
still. It ran right toward me, and I naturally jumped, as anybody would,
but I am not afraid of mice, and when the horrid thing ran up inside the
leg of my pantaloons, I yelled to Maria because I was afraid it would gnaw
a hole in my garment. There is something real disagreeable about having a
mouse inside the leg of one's pantaloons, especially if there is nothing
between you and the mouse. Its toes are cold, and its nails are scratchy,
and its fur tickles, and its tail feels crawly, and there is nothing
pleasant about it, and you are all the time afraid it will try to gnaw out,
and begin on you instead of on the cloth. That mouse was next to me. I
could feel its every motion with startling and suggestive distinctness. For
these reasons I yelled to Maria, and as the case seemed urgent to me I may
have yelled with a certain degree of vigour; but I deny that I yelled fire,
and if I catch the boy who thought that I did, I shall inflict punishment
on his person.

I did not lose my presence of mind for an instant. I caught the mouse just
as it was clambering over my knee, and by pressing firmly on the outside of
the cloth, I kept the animal a prisoner on the inside. I kept jumping
around with all my might to confuse it, so that it would not think about
biting, and I yelled so that the mice would not hear its squeaks and come
to its assistance. A man can't handle many mice at once to advantage.

Maria was white as a sheet when she came into the kitchen, and asked what
she should do--as though I could hold the mouse and plan a campaign at the
same time.

I told her to think of something, and she thought she would throw things at
the intruder; but as there was no earthly chance for her to hit the mouse,
while every shot took effect on me, I told her to stop, after she had tried
two flat-irons and the coal scuttle. She paused for breath, but I kept
bobbing around. Somehow I felt no inclination to sit down anywhere. "Oh,
Joshua," she cried, "I wish you had not killed the cat." Now, I submit that
the wish was born of the weakness of woman's intellect. How on earth did
she suppose a cat could get where that mouse was?--rather have the mouse
there alone, anyway, than to have a cat prowling around after it. I
reminded Maria of the fact that she was a fool. Then she got the tea-kettle
and wanted to scald the mouse. I objected to that process, except as a last
resort. Then she got some cheese to coax the mouse down, but I did not dare
to let go for fear it would run up. Matters were getting desperate. I told
her to think of something else, and I kept jumping. Just as I was ready to
faint with exhaustion, I tripped over an iron, lost my hold, and the mouse
fell to the floor very dead. I had no idea a mouse could be squeezed to
death so easy.

That was not the end of trouble, for before I had recovered my breath a
fireman broke in one of the front windows, and a whole company followed him
through, and they dragged hose around, and mussed things all over the
house, and then the foreman wanted to thrash me because the house was not
on fire, and I had hardly got him pacified before a policeman came in and
arrested me. Some one had run down and told him I was drunk and was killing
Maria. It was all Maria and I could do, by combining our eloquence, to
prevent him from marching me off in disgrace, but we finally got matters
quieted and the house clear.

Now, when mice run out of the cupboard I go out doors, and let Maria "shoo"
them back again. I can kill a mouse, but the fun don't pay for the trouble.

_Joshua Jenkins._

* * * * *

IN SCHOOL DAYS.

Still sits the school-house by the road,
A ragged beggar sunning;
Around it still the sumachs grow,
And blackberry vines are running.

Within, the master's desk is seen,
Deep scarred by raps official;
The warping floor, the battered seats,
The jack-knife's carved initial;

The charcoal frescoes on its wall;
Its door's worn sill, betraying
The feet that, creeping slow to school,
Went storming out to playing!

Long years ago a winter sun
Shone over it at setting;
Lit up its western window panes,
And low eaves' icy fretting.

It touched the tangled golden curls,
And brown eyes full of grieving,
Of one who still her steps delayed
When all the school were leaving.

For near her stood the little boy
Her childish favour singled:
His cap pulled low upon a face
Where pride and shame were mingled.

Pushing with restless feet the snow
To right and left, he lingered;--
As restlessly her tiny hands
The blue-checked apron fingered,

He saw her lift her eyes; he felt
The soft hand's tight caressing,
And heard the tremble of her voice,
As if a fault confessing.

"I'm sorry that I spelt the word;
I hate to go above you,
Because,"--the brown eyes lower fell,--
"Because, you see, I love you!"

Still memory to a gray-haired man
That sweet child-face is showing.
Dear girl! the grasses on her grave
Have forty years been growing.

He lives to learn, in life's hard school,
How few who pass above him
Lament their triumphs and his loss,
Like her,--because they love him.

_Whittier._

* * * * *

WATERLOO.

It struck my imagination much, while standing on the last field fought by
Bonaparte, that the battle of Waterloo should have been fought on a Sunday.
What a different scene did the Scotch Grays and English Infantry present,
from that which, at that very hour, was exhibited by their relatives, when
over England and Scotland each church-bell had drawn together its
worshippers! While many a mother's heart was sending up a prayer for her
son's preservation, perhaps that son was gasping in agony. Yet, even at
such a period, the lessons of his early days might give him consolation;
and the maternal prayer might prepare the heart to support maternal
anguish. It is religion alone which is of universal application, both as a
stimulant and a lenitive, throughout the varied heritage which falls to the
lot of man. But we know that many thousands rushed into this fight, even of
those who had been instructed in our religious principles, without leisure
for one serious thought; and that some officers were killed in their ball
dresses. They made the leap into the gulf which divides two worlds--the
present from the immutable state without one parting prayer, or one note of
preparation!

As I looked over this field, now green with growing corn, I could mark,
with my eye, the spots where the most desperate carnage had been marked out
by the verdure of the wheat. The bodies had been heaped together, and
scarcely more than covered; and so enriched is the soil, that, in these
spots, the grain never ripens. It grows rank and green to the end of
harvest. This touching memorial, which endures when the thousand groans
have expired, and when the stain of human blood has faded from the ground,
still seems to cry to Heaven that there is awful guilt somewhere, and a
terrific reckoning for those who caused destruction which the earth could
not conceal. These hillocks of superabundant vegetation, as the wind
rustled through the corn, seemed the most affecting monuments which nature
could devise, and gave a melancholy animation to this plain of death.

When we attempt to measure the mass of suffering which was here inflicted,
and to number the individuals that fell, considering each who suffered as
our fellow-man, we are overwhelmed with the agonizing calculation, and
retire from the field which has been the scene of our reflections, with the
simple, concentrated feeling--these armies once lived, breathed, and felt
like us, and the time is at hand when we shall be like them.

_Lady Morgan._

* * * * *

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.

There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her Beauty and her Chivalry; and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose, with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell:--
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Did ye not hear it? No; 'twas but the wind
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet--
But hark!--that heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
Arm! arm! it is--it is--the cannon's opening roar!

Within a windowed niche of that high hall
Sat Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear
That sound the first amidst the festival,
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear;
And when they smiled because he deemed it near,
His heart more truly knew that peal too well
Which stretched his father on a bloody bier,
And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell;
He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell!

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale, which, but an hour ago,
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness;
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
Which ne'er might be repeated; Who could guess
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
Since, upon night so sweet, such awful morn could rise!

And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar;
And near, the beat of the alarming drum
Roused up the soldier, ere the morning star;
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb.
Or whispering with white lips--"The foe! they come, they come!"

And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose--
The war note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills
Have heard--and heard too have her Saxon foes--
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills
Their mountain pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring, which instils
The stirring memory of a thousand years;
And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears.

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass
Grieving--if aught inanimate e'er grieves--
Over the unreturning brave--alas!
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass,
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure; when this fiery mass
Of living valour, rolling on the foe,
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low!

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay;
The midnight brought the signal sound of strife;
The morn the marshalling of arms; the day
Battle's magnificently stern array!
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which, when rent,
The earth is covered thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent,
Rider and horse--friend, foe--in one red burial blent!

_Lord Byron._

* * * * *

THE BRIDAL WINE-CUP.

SCENE--_Parlour, with wedding party, consisting of_ JUDGE OTIS;
MARION, _his daughter, the bride_; HARRY WOOD, _the bridegroom; a
few relatives and friends; all gathered around the centre table, on which
are decanters and wine-glasses_.

_One of the company_--Let us drink the health of the newly-wedded
pair. (_Turns to Harry_.) Shall it be in wine? (_turns to
Marion_,) or in sparkling cold water?

HARRY--Pledge in wine, if it be the choice of the company.

_Several voices_--Pledge in wine, to be sure.

MARION--(_With great earnestness_.)--O no! Harry; not wine, I pray
you.

JUDGE OTIS--Yes, Marion, my daughter; lay aside your foolish prejudices for
this once; the company expect it, and you should not so seriously infringe
upon the rules of etiquette. In your own house you may act as you please;
but in mine, which you are about to leave, for this once please me, by
complying with my wishes in this matter.

[_A glass of wine is handed to Marion, which she slowly and reluctantly
raises to her lips, but just as it reaches them she exclaims, excitedly,
holding out the glass at arm's length, and staring at it_,]

MARION--Oh! how terrible.

_Several voices--(Eagerly)_--What is it? What do you see?

MARION--Wait--wait, and I will tell you. I see _(pointing to the glass
with her finger)_ a sight that beggars all description; and yet listen,
and I will paint it for you, if I can. It is a lonely spot; tall mountains,
crowned with verdure, rise in awful sublimity around; a river runs through,
and bright flowers in wild profusion grow to the water's edge. There is a
thick, warm mist, that the sun vainly seeks to pierce; trees, lofty and
beautiful, wave to the airy motion of the birds; and beneath them a group
of Indians gather. They move to and fro with something like sorrow upon
their dark brows, for in their midst lies a manly form, whose cheek is
deathly pale, and whose eye is wild with the fitful fire of fever. One of
his own white race stands, or rather kneels, beside him, pillowing the poor
sufferer's head upon his breast with all a brother's tenderness. Look!
_(she speaks with renewed energy)_ how he starts up, throws the damp
curls back from his high and noble brow, and clasps his hands in agony of
despair; hear his terrible shrieks for life; and mark how he clutches at
the form of his companion, imploring to be saved from despair and death. O,
what a terrible scene! Genius in ruins, pleading for that which can never
be regained when once lost. Hear him call piteously his father's name; see
him clutch his fingers as he shrieks for his sister--his only sister, the
twin of his soul--now weeping for him in his distant home! See! his hands
are lifted to heaven; he prays--how wildly!--for mercy, while the hot fever
rushes through his veins. The friend beside him is weeping in despair; and
the awe-stricken sons of the forest move silently away, leaving the living
and the dying alone together. _(The judge, overcome with emotion, falls
into a chair, while the rest of the company seem awe-struck, as Marion's
voice grows softer and more sorrowful in its_ _tones, yet remains
distinct and clear.)_ It is evening now, the great, white moon, is
coming up, and her beams fall gently upon his forehead. He moves not; for
his eyes are set in their sockets, and their once piercing glance is dim.
In vain his companion whispers the name of father and sister; death is
there to dull the pulse, to dim the eye, and to deafen the ear. Death!
stern, terrible, and with no soft hand, no gentle voice, to soothe his
fevered brow, and calm his troubled soul and bid it hope in God. _(Harry
sits down and covers his face with his hands)_ Death overtook him thus;
and there, in the midst of the mountain forest, surrounded by Indian
tribes, they scooped him a grave in the sand; and without a shroud or
coffin, prayer or hymn, they laid him down in the damp earth to his final
slumber. Thus died and was buried the only son of a proud father; the only,
idolized brother of a fond sister. There he sleeps to-day, undisturbed, in
that distant land, with no stone to mark the spot. There he lies--_my
father's son_--MY OWN TWIN BROTHER! A victim to this _(holds up the
glass before the company)_ deadly, damning poison! Father! _(turning
to the judge,)_ father, shall I drink it now?

JUDGE OTIS--_(Raising his bowed head and speaking with faltering
voice)_--No, no, my child! in God's name, cast it away.

MARION--_(Letting her glass fall and dash to pieces)_--Let no friend
who loves me hereafter tempt me to peril my soul for wine. Not firmer the
everlasting hills than my resolve, God helping me, never to touch or taste
that terrible poison. And he _(turning to Harry,)_ to whom I have this
night given my heart and hand, who watched over my brother's dying form in
that last sad hour, and buried the poor wanderer there by the river, in
that land of gold, will, I trust, sustain me in this resolve. Will you not,
_(offers him her hand, which he takes,)_ my husband?

HARRY--With the blessing of heaven upon my efforts, I will; and I thank
you, beyond expression, for the, solemn lesson you have taught us all on
this occasion.

JUDGE OTIS--God bless you (_taking Marion and Harry by the hand and
speaking with deep emotion_,) my children; and may I, too, have grace
given me to help you in your efforts to keep this noble resolve.

_One of the company_--Let us honour the firmness and nobleness of
principle of the fair bride, by drinking her health in pure, sparkling
water, the only beverage which the great Creator of the Universe gave to
the newly-wedded pair in the beautiful Garden of Eden.

_Dramatized by Sidney Herbert_.

* * * * *

MARY STUART.

ACT III. SCENE IV.

THE PARK AT FOTHERINGAY.

MARY. Farewell high thought, and pride of noble mind!
I will forget my dignity, and all
My sufferings; I will fall before _her_ feet,
Who hath reduced me to this wretchedness.
[_She turns towards Elizabeth._
The voice of Heaven decides for you, my sister.
Your happy brows are now with triumph crown'd,
I bless the Power Divine, which thus hath rais'd you.
[_She kneels._
But in your turn be merciful, my sister;
Let me not lie before you thus disgraced;
Stretch forth your hand, your royal hand, to raise
Your sister from the depths of her distress

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