A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung, Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode down to Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnished hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flash'd into the crystal mirror, "Tirra lirra," by the river Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott.

Part IV

In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And round about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse Like some bold seër in a trance, Seeing all his own mischance— With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right— The leaves upon her falling light— Thro' the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darken'd wholly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and burgher, lord and dame, And round the prow they read her name, The Lady of Shalott. Who is this? and what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they cross'd themselves for fear, All the knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space; He said, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott."

—Alfred Tennyson

Preparatory.—Compare the poet's treatment of the story of The Lady of Shalott with that given in Lancelot and Elaine.

Combine the smaller pictures in this poem into a number of larger ones.

Give to the larger pictures titles which suggest the different stages in the development of the story.

Exercises in Articulation. (Appendix A. See Examples)

Part I

Stanza i, ll. 1 and 4. Where is the Pause in each line? Why? (Introduction, p. 11.)

Stanza iii, ll. 1 and 2. Account for the change in Time. (Introduction, p. 13.)

2. Where is the Pause?

6-9. What is the Inflection in these questions? (Introduction, p. 19.)

Stanza iv, l. 3. Hear. With what word should this be connected? How? (Introduction, p. 16.) Note the Shading.

6. Where are the Pauses in this line? Account for them.

8-9. In what Quality of voice are these lines read? (Introduction, p. 6.) Compare from this standpoint the last lines of Parts II, III, and IV.

Part II

Stanza i, ll. 3-5. Note the spontaneous imitation. (Introduction, pp. 5 and 6.)

And there the surly ... two and two. Note the three separate groups of passers-by. Which group has the most significance in its bearing on the rest of the poem? How does the voice indicate this relative significance? (Introduction, pp. 24 and 30.)

Stanza iii, l. 8. How is the transition made effective? (Introduction, pp. 8, 9, and 25.)

Stanza iv. For often ... Camelot. Observe the Shading. (Introduction, p. 33.)

Part III

his shield, rode down, armour rung, saddle-leather, coal-black curls. (Appendix A, 6.)

Stanza i, l. 4. Observe the Grouping.

Stanza ii, l. 2. Where is the Pause? Explain. What is the Inflection on STARS?

Compare the Shading in ll. 6 and 7.

Stanza iii. What are the central ideas of ll. 2 and 3? How does the reader make them stand out?

6-8. Note the continuous Inflection. (Introduction, p. 17.)

Stanza iv, ll. 3 and 4. How does the Grouping here affect the Pause and the Inflection?

Stanza v, ll. 1-4. What change in the voice indicates the abrupt transition? What atmosphere does the voice create as a preparation for the climax of the last four lines?

1. What is the central idea of this line?

6-7. What change in Force, Pitch, and Stress expresses the sudden disaster?

Part IV

Compare the atmosphere of the first four and a half stanzas of this Part with the first four of Part III, and also with the remainder of Part IV. What is the difference in Pitch, Force, and Time? (Introduction, pp. 22, 26, and 13.)

HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD

From "The Princess"

Home they brought her warrior dead: She nor swoon'd, nor utter'd cry: All her maidens, watching, said, "She must weep or she will die."
Then they praised him, soft and low, Call'd him worthy to be loved, Truest friend and noblest foe; Yet she neither spoke nor moved. Stole a maiden from her place, Lightly to the warrior stept, Took the face-cloth from the face; Yet she neither moved nor wept.
Rose a nurse of ninety years, Set his child upon her knee— Like summer tempest came her tears— "Sweet my child, I live for thee."

—Alfred Tennyson

See Introduction, p. 6.

THE SKY

From "Modern Painters"

1. It is a strange thing how little in general people know about the sky. It is the part of creation in which nature has done more for the sake of pleasing man, more for the sole and evident purpose of talking to him and teaching him, than in any other of her works, and it is just the part in which we least attend to her.

2. There are not many of her other works in which some more material or essential purpose than the mere pleasing of man is not answered by every part of their organization; but every essential purpose of the sky might, so far as we know, be answered, if once in three days, or thereabouts, a great ugly black rain-cloud were brought up over the blue, and everything well watered, and so all left blue again till next time, with perhaps a film of morning and evening mist for dew.

3. And instead of this, there is not a moment of any day of our lives, when nature is not producing scene after scene, picture after picture, glory after glory, and working still upon such exquisite and constant principles of the most perfect beauty, that it is quite certain it is all done for us, and intended for our perpetual pleasure. And every man, wherever placed, however far from other sources of interest or of beauty, has this doing for him constantly.

4. The noblest scenes of the earth can be seen and known but by few; it is not intended that man should live always in the midst of them, he injures them by his presence, he ceases to feel them if he be always with them; but the sky is for all; bright as it is, it is not "too bright, nor good, for human nature's daily food"; it is fitted in all its functions for the perpetual comfort and exalting of the heart, for the soothing it and purifying it from its dross and dust. Sometimes gentle, sometimes capricious, sometimes awful, never the same for two moments together; almost human in its passions, almost spiritual in its tenderness, almost divine in its infinity, its appeal to what is immortal in us, is as distinct, as its ministry of chastisement or of blessing to what is mortal, is essential.

5. And yet we never attend to it, we never make it a subject of thought, but as it has to do with our animal sensations; we look upon all by which it speaks to us more clearly than to brutes, upon all which bears witness to the intention of the Supreme, that we are to receive more from the covering vault than the light and the dew which we share with the weed and the worm, only as a succession of meaningless and monotonous accidents too common and too vain to be worthy of a moment of watchfulness, or a glance of admiration. If in our moments of utter idleness and insipidity, we turn to the sky as a last resource, which of its phenomena do we speak of?

6. One says it has been wet, and another it has been windy, and another it has been warm. Who, among the whole chattering crowd, can tell me of the forms and the precipices of the chain of tall white mountains that girded the horizon at noon yesterday? Who saw the narrow sunbeam that came out of the south, and smote upon their summits until they melted and mouldered away in a dust of blue rain? Who saw the dance of the dead clouds when the sunlight left them last night, and the west wind blew them before it like withered leaves?

7. All has passed, unregretted as unseen; or if the apathy be ever shaken off, even for an instant, it is only by what is gross, or what is extraordinary; and yet it is not in the broad and fierce manifestations of the elemental energies, not in the clash of the hail, nor the drift of the whirlwind, that the highest characters of the sublime are developed. God is not in the earthquake, nor in the fire, but in the still, small voice.

8. They are but the blunt and the low faculties of our nature, which can only be addressed through lamp-black and lightning. It is in quiet and subdued passages of unobtrusive majesty, the deep, and the calm, and the perpetual,—that which must be sought ere it is seen, and loved ere it is understood,—things which the angels work out for us daily, and yet vary eternally, which are never wanting, and never repeated, which are to be found always yet each found but once; it is through these that the lesson of devotion is chiefly taught, and the blessing of beauty given.

—John Ruskin

(By arrangement with George Allen, Publisher)

SPIRITUAL, PRECIPICES, SUMMITS, UNOBTRUSIVE. (Appendix A, 8.)

Par. 1. With what is LEAST ATTEND contrasted?

Par. 2. Why is SKY an emphatic word? Give examples of momentary completeness. (Introduction, p. 16.)

Par. 3. What Inflection is placed on PERFECT BEAUTY?

Par. 4. Point out the contrasts in the first sentence. What word is contrasted with distinct?

Par. 5. With what is ONLY AS A SUCCESSION, ETC., connected in sense? How does the voice make the connection? (Introduction, p. 33.)

Par. 7. UNREGRETTED, UNSEEN. Note the transferred emphasis. (Introduction, p. 32.)

Par. 7. AND YET IT IS NOT ... NOR IN THE FIRE. Account for the Inflection. (Introduction, p. 17.)

THE RETURN OF THE SWALLOWS

"Out in the meadows the young grass springs, Shivering with sap," said the larks, "and we Shoot into air with our strong young wings, Spirally up over level and lea; Come, O Swallows, and fly with us Now that horizons are luminous! Evening and morning the world of light, Spreading and kindling, is infinite!"
Far away, by the sea in the south, The hills of olive and slopes of fern Whiten and glow in the sun's long drouth, Under the heavens that beam and burn; And all the swallows were gather'd there Flitting about in the fragrant air, And heard no sound from the larks, but flew Flashing under the blinding blue.
Out of the depths of their soft rich throats Languidly fluted the thrushes, and said: "Musical thought in the mild air floats, Spring is coming and winter is dead! Come, O Swallows, and stir the air, For the buds are all bursting unaware, And the drooping eaves and the elm-trees long To hear the sound of your low sweet song."
Over the roofs of the white Algiers, Flashingly shadowing the bright bazaar, Flitted the swallows, and not one hears The call of the thrushes from far, from far; Sigh'd the thrushes; then, all at once, Broke out singing the old sweet tones, Singing the bridal of sap and shoot, The tree's slow life between root and fruit.
But just when the dingles of April flowers Shine with the earliest daffodils, When, before sunrise, the cold clear hours Gleam with a promise that noon fulfils,— Deep in the leafage the cuckoo cried, Perch'd on a spray by a rivulet-side, "Swallows, O Swallows, come back again To swoop and herald the April rain."
And something awoke in the slumbering heart Of the alien birds in their African air, And they paused, and alighted, and twitter'd apart, And met in the broad white dreamy square; And the sad slave-woman, who lifted up From the fountain her broad-lipp'd earthen cup, Said to herself, with a weary sigh, "To-morrow the swallows will northward fly!"

—Edmund William Gosse

How does the vocal expression of the descriptive parts of the poem differ from that of the call of the birds? Account for the difference. (Introduction, p. 22.)

Point out the contrasts of thought and feeling in the third and fourth stanzas respectively. Show a corresponding contrast in vocal expression.

What line expresses the central idea of the fifth stanza? How is this shown? (Introduction, p. 33.)

Account for the Pitch and the Force used in the slave-woman's speech.

Supply a background of thought for the last four lines. How does this affect the Time? (Introduction, p. 14.)

BARBARA FRIETCHIE

Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn,
The clustered spires of Frederick stand Green walled by the hills of Maryland.
Round about them orchards sweep,5 Apple-and peach-tree fruited deep,—
Fair as a garden of the Lord To the eye of the famished rebel horde,
On that pleasant morn of the early fall When Lee march'd over the mountain-wall,—10
Over the mountains winding down, Horse and foot, into Frederick town.   Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars,
Flapped in the morning wind: the sun15 Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;
Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down;20
In her attic window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet.
Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.
Under his slouched hat left and right25 He glanced; the old flag met his sight.
"Halt!"—the dust-brown ranks stood fast. "Fire!"—out blazed the rifle-blast.
It shivered the window, pane and sash; It rent the banner with seam and gash.30
Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;
She leaned far out on the window-sill, And shook it forth with a royal will.   "Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,35 But spare your country's flag!" she said.
A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came;
The nobler nature within him stirred To life at that woman's deed and word:40
"Who touches a hair of yon gray head, Dies like a dog! March on!" he said.
All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet:
All day long that free flag tossed45 Over the heads of the rebel host.
Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well;
And, through the hill-gaps, sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night.50
Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, And the Rebel rides on his raids no more.
Honour to her! and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.
Over Barbara Frietchie's grave,55 Flag of Freedom and Union wave!   Peace and order and beauty draw Round thy symbol of light and law;
And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick town60

—John Greenleaf Whittier

Preparatory.—Divide the poem into sections, giving each a descriptive title. (Introduction, p. 10.)

Describe the scene portrayed in the first fifteen lines, supplementing your description by a black-board diagram.

ll. 1-2. What is the Inflection? Why?

l. 3. Note the Grouping and Pause.

l. 3. stand; l. 7, Lord; l. 8, horde. What is the Inflection? Why?

l. 15. (Introduction, p. 9.)

l. 20. What are the emphatic words? Are both words of a contrast necessarily emphatic?

ll. 17-22. Note the change in nervous tension. What effect has this on the key of the voice? (Introduction, p. 25.)

ll. 25-26. How do these lines illustrate the truth that the Visualization of a scene is a necessary forerunner of correct vocal expression?

ll. 27-28. Halt! Fire! What change in vocal expression accompanies the transition to abrupt command?

l. 31. With what do you connect FROM THE BROKEN STAFF? How? (Introduction, p. 16.)

ll. 31-36. What part should Imitation play here? (Introduction, pp. 5 and 6.)

ll. 37-38. (Introduction, p. 14.)

l. 39. Note Grouping and Pause.

ll. 41-42. (Introduction, p. 5.)

l. 43. With what do you connect through Frederick street? How? Where do you pause in this line?

l. 51. (Introduction, p. 9.)

BLESS THE LORD, O MY SOUL

Psalm ciii

Bless the Lord, O my soul: And all that is within me, bless his holy name Bless the Lord, O my soul, And forget not all his benefits: Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; Who healeth all thy diseases; Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; Who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies: Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; So that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's.
The Lord executeth righteousness And judgment for all that are oppressed. He made known his ways unto Moses, His acts unto the children of Israel. The Lord is merciful and gracious, Slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy. He will not always chide: Neither will he keep his anger for ever. He hath not dealt with us after our sins; Nor rewarded us according to our iniquities.
For as the heaven is high above the earth, So great is his mercy toward them that fear him. As far as the east is from the west, So far hath he removed our transgressions from us Like as a father pitieth his children, So the Lord pitieth them that fear him. For he knoweth our frame; He remembereth that we are dust.
As for man, his days are as grass: As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; And the place thereof shall know it no more. But the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear him, And his righteousness unto children's children; To such as keep his covenant, And to those that remember his commandments to do them.
The Lord hath prepared his throne in the heavens; And his kingdom ruleth over all. Bless the Lord, ye his angels, That excel in strength, That do his commandments, Hearkening unto the voice of his word. Bless ye the Lord, all ye his hosts; Ye ministers of his, that do his pleasure. Bless the Lord, all his works, In all places of his dominion: Bless the Lord, O my soul.

—As arranged by Richard G. Moulton

Preparatory.—What attitude of mind does the language of this Psalm indicate? What Stress of voice is its natural expression? (Introduction, p. 29.)

Articulation. (Appendix A, 3.)

THE ETERNAL GOODNESS

I know not what the future hath Of marvel or surprise, Assured alone that life and death His mercy underlies.
And if my heart and flesh are weak5 To bear an untried pain, The bruised reed He will not break, But strengthen and sustain.
No offering of my own I have, Nor works my faith to prove;10 I can but give the gifts He gave, And plead His love for love.
And so beside the Silent Sea I wait the muffled oar; No harm from Him can come to me15 On ocean or on shore.
I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care.20

—John Greenleaf Whittier

Preparatory.—What attitude of mind is suggested by this poem?

How does it differ from that suggested by the preceding selection? What is the difference in vocal expression?

Account for the Inflection placed on the negative statements in this poem. (Introduction, pp. 17 and 18.)

THE KING OF GLORY

Psalm xxiv

(Anthems for the Inauguration of Jerusalem)

I.—At the Foot of the Hill

first choir

The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof; The world, and they that dwell therein. For He hath founded it upon the seas, And established it upon the floods. Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? And who shall stand in His holy place?

second choir

He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; Who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, And hath not sworn deceitfully. He shall receive a blessing from the Lord, And righteousness from the God of his salvation. This is the generation of them that seek after Him, That seek Thy face, O God of Jacob.

II.—Before the Gates

first choir

Lift up your heads, O ye gates; And be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors: And the King of Glory shall come in.

second choir

Who is the King of Glory?

first choir

The Lord strong and mighty, The Lord mighty in battle.

first choir

Lift up your heads, O ye gates; Yea, lift them up, ye everlasting doors: And the King of Glory shall come in.

second choir

Who is this King of Glory?

first choir

The Lord of Hosts, He is the King of Glory.

—As arranged by Richard G. Moulton

THE FOUR-HORSE RACE

From "Black Rock"

1. The great event of the day, however, was to be the four-horse race, for which three teams were entered—one from the mines driven by Nixon, Craig's friend, a citizens' team, and Sandy's. The race was really between the miners' team and that from the woods, for the citizens' team, though made up of speedy horses, had not been driven much together, and knew neither their driver nor each other. In the miners' team were four bays, very powerful, a trifle heavy perhaps, but well matched, perfectly trained, and perfectly handled by their driver. Sandy had his long rangy roans, and for leaders, a pair of half-broken pinto bronchos. The pintos, caught the summer before upon the Alberta prairies, were fleet as deer, but wicked and uncertain. They were Baptiste's special care and pride. If they would only run straight, there was little doubt that they would carry the roans and themselves to glory; but one could not tell the moment they might bolt or kick things to pieces.

2. Being the only non-partisan in the crowd, I was asked to referee. The race was about half a mile and return, the first and last quarters being upon the ice. The course, after leaving the ice, led up from the river by a long, easy slope to the level above; and at the further end, curved somewhat sharply around the Old Fort. The only condition attaching to the race was, that the teams should start from the scratch, make the turn of the Fort, and finish at the scratch. There were no vexing regulations as to fouls. The man making the foul would find it necessary to reckon with the crowd, which was considered sufficient guarantee for a fair and square race. Owing to the hazards of the course, the result would depend upon the skill of the drivers quite as much as the speed of the teams. The points of hazard were at the turn round the Old Fort, and at a little ravine which led down to the river, over which the road passed by means of a long, log bridge or causeway.

3. From a point upon the high bank of the river, the whole course lay in open view. It was a scene full of life and vividly picturesque. There were miners in dark clothes and peak caps; citizens in ordinary garb; ranch-men in wide cowboy hats and buckskin shirts and leggings, some with cartridge-belts and pistols; a few half-breeds and Indians in half-native, half-civilized dress; and scattering through the crowd, the lumbermen with gay scarlet and blue blanket coats, and some with knitted tuques of the same colour. A very good-natured but extremely uncertain crowd it was. At the head of each horse stood a man, but at the pintos' heads Baptiste stood alone, trying to hold down the off-leader, thrown into a frenzy of fear by the yelling of the crowd.

4. Gradually all became quiet, till, in the midst of absolute stillness, came the words: "Are you ready?" then the pistol-shot, and the great race had begun. Above the roar of the crowd came the shrill cry of Baptiste, as he struck his broncho with the palm of his hand, and swung himself into the sleigh beside Sandy, as it shot past.

5. Like a flash the bronchos sprang to the front, two lengths before the other teams; but, terrified by the yelling of the crowd, instead of bending to the left bank up which the road wound, they wheeled to the right and were almost across the river before Sandy could swing them back into the course.

6. Baptiste's cries, a curious mixture of French and English, continued to strike through all other sounds, till they gained the top of the slope to find the others almost a hundred yards in front, the citizens' team leading, with the miners' following close. The moment the pintos caught sight of the teams before them, they set off at a terrific pace and steadily devoured the intervening space. Nearer and nearer the turn came, the eight horses in front, running straight and well within their speed. After them flew the pintos, running savagely with ears set back, leading well the big roans, thundering along and gaining at every bound. And now the citizens' team had almost reached the Fort, running hard and drawing away from the bays. But Nixon knew what he was about, and was simply steadying his team for the turn. The event proved his wisdom, for in the turn the leading team left the track, lost a moment or two in the deep snow, and before they could regain the road, the bays had swept superbly past, leaving their rivals to follow in the rear. On came the pintos, swiftly nearing the Fort. Surely at that pace they cannot make the turn. But Sandy knows his leaders. They have their eyes upon the teams in front, and need no touch of rein. Without the slightest change in speed the nimble-footed bronchos round the turn, hauling the big roans after them, and fall in behind the citizens' team, which is regaining steadily the ground lost in the turn.

7. And now the struggle is for the bridge over the ravine. The bays in front, running with mouths wide open, are evidently doing their best; behind them, and every moment nearing them, but at the limit of their speed too, come the lighter and fleeter citizens' team; while opposite their driver are the pintos, pulling hard, eager and fresh. Their temper is too uncertain to send them to the front; they run well following, but when leading cannot be trusted, and besides, a broncho hates a bridge; so Sandy holds them where they are, waiting and hoping for his chance after the bridge is crossed. Foot by foot the citizens' team creep up upon the flank of the bays, with the pintos in turn hugging them closely, till it seems as if the three, if none slackens, must strike the bridge together; and this will mean destruction to one at least. This danger Sandy perceives, but he dare not check his leaders. Suddenly, within a few yards of the bridge, Baptiste throws himself upon the lines, wrenches them out of Sandy's hands, and, with a quick swing, forces the pintos down the steep side of the ravine, which is almost sheer ice with a thin coat of snow. It is a daring course to take, for the ravine, though not deep, is full of undergrowth, and is partially closed up by a brush heap at the further end. But with a yell, Baptiste hurls his four horses down the slope, and into the undergrowth. "Allons, mes enfants! Courage! vite, vite!" cries their driver, and nobly do the pintos respond. Regardless of bushes and brush heaps, they tear their way through; but as they emerge, the hind bob-sleigh catches a root, and, with a crash, the sleigh is hurled high into the air. Baptiste's cries ring out high and shrill as ever, encouraging his team, and never cease till, with a plunge and a scramble, they clear the brush heap lying at the mouth of the ravine, and are out on the ice on the river, with Baptiste standing on the front bob, the box trailing behind, and Sandy nowhere to be seen.

8. Three hundred yards of the course remain. The bays, perfectly handled, have gained at the bridge, and in the descent to the ice, and are leading the citizens' team by half a dozen sleigh lengths. Behind both comes Baptiste. It is now or never for the pintos. The rattle of the trailing box, together with the wild yelling of the crowd rushing down the bank, excites the bronchos to madness, and, taking the bits in their teeth, they do their first free running that day. Past the citizens' team like a whirlwind they dash, clear the intervening space, and gain the flanks of the bays. Can the bays hold them? Over them leans their driver, plying for the first time the hissing lash. Only fifty yards more. The miners begin to yell. But Baptiste, waving his lines high in one hand, seizes his tuque with the other, whirls it above his head and flings it with a fiercer yell than ever at the bronchos. Like the bursting of a hurricane the pintos leap forward, and with a splendid rush cross the scratch, winners by their own length.

—By arrangement with the Westminster Co., Limited,

and Rev. C. W. Gordon (Ralph Connor)