RAIN ON THE ROOF. [A vigorous action of the imagination will do much toward suggestIng the proper form of expression.] When the humid showers gather over all the starry spheres, Every tinkle on the shingles has an echo in the heart, There in fancy comes my mother, as she used to years agone, Then my little seraph sister, with her wings and waving hair, And another comes to thrill me with her eyes' delicious blue, There is naught in art's bravuras that can work with such a spell ORATOR PUFF. [The "two tones" should be clearly brought out.] Mr. Orator Puff had two tones in his voice, In each sentence he uttered he gave you your choice, But he still talked away, 'spite of coughs and of frowns, O, Orator Puff, "Which of them, pray?" One voice for an orator's surely enough! Reeling homeward one evening, top-heavy with gin, 66 'Sinking fund," the last words as his noddle came down. One voice for an orator's surely enough! "Oh! save!" he exclaimed, in his he-and-she tones, 64 Help you out!" said a Paddy, who passed-"what a bother! One voice for an orator's surely enough! THOMAS MOORE. THE QUIET STREET. [Affording opportunity for many varieties of the calling voice.] There is enjoyment in the pathless woods, No thoroughfare allured the busy throng; I took possession of the second floor, I wooed the Muse one sunny afternoon, 4 “Hail, Luna!"—But what is that? A distant sound Appears my auditory sense to greet; It cannot be " Hail, Luna !"-I'll be bound, No matter, 'twill be over very soon; There's a policeman somewhere on the beat. Hark! there's a trumpet, sadly out of tune, Waking the echoes of this quiet street. "Partant pour la Syril," the organ plays; And now a voice more powerful than sweet Hoarsely invokes the "Light of Other Days"A ballad-singer's got into the street. The bands begin a Polka-sounds increase"Sekund edishun-Rooshians in retreat." “Hail, Luna!”—no, not that.—Hi, there, police, Is this permitted in a quiet street? Silence your brazen throats, you green-baize band; "Where the bright fountain, sparkling, never ceases Its gush of limpid music," "Water-cree-ses p "There let me linger, stretched beneath the trees, Tracing in air fantastic”—“Imagees !" "What varied dreams the vagrant fancy hatches, A playful Leda with her Jove-born"-"Matches !" "She opens her treasure-cells, like Portia's caskets, And bids me choose her"-"Baskets, any baskets !” "In thoughts so bright the aching sense they blind, In their own lustrous languor"—“Knives to grind !” "Visions like those the Interpreter, of Bunyan's, Displayed to Mercy and young Matthew"-"Onions pr "There is a spell that none can chase away, From scenes once visited by" [Sing.] Old Dog Tray ľ "There is a charm whose power must ever blend The past and present in its"-" Chairs to mend!" "Still Pan and Syrinx wander thro' the groves, Still Zephyr moves”—“ Shavings for your stoves !”. "And still unbanished falters on the ear," "Any beer! A-n-y_B-e-e-r !” Aye, and forever, while this planet rolls, Stones, hearthstones [' "While laves the tideless sea the glittering strand And echo answers"-[Sing.] "Bobbing all around l” 'Hail, Luna!”—“Muffins!"—" Goddess of the Night!" This very day I'll leave this quiet street. LITTLE JIM. [Picture the scene-use care in the descriptive parts-impersonate.] The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean, And oh! to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek, She gets her answer from the child: soft fall the words from him, "Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon little Jim, I have no pain, dear mother, now, but O! I am so dry; "Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good-night to him, He felt that all was over; he knew his child was dead, THE BELLS. [Excellent for vocal culture. The second line of each stanza is an index showing how it should be read. Be true to the spirit of the selection, and pay great attention to bringing out the full power of each word. Many repetitions in the piece have been omitted, believing that it would be of advantage to the general reader.] Hear the sledges with the bells, What a world of merriment their melody foretells! In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. Hear the mellow wedding bells, What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! To the turtle dove, that lis ens, while she gloats Oh! from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells, How it dwells On the future!-how it tells Of the rapture that impels |