LITTLE BLUE PIGEON

(Japanese Lullaby)

Sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings-
Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes;
Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging—
Swinging the nest where her little one lies.

Away out yonder I see a star

Silvery star with a tinkling song;
To the soft dew falling I hear it calling-
Calling and tinkling the night along.

In through the window a moonbeam comes-
Little gold moonbeam with misty wings;
All silently creeping, it asks: "Is he sleeping—
Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?"

Up from the sea there floats the sob

Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore,
As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning—
Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more.

But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings-
Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes;
Am I not singing?-see, I am swinging-
Swinging the nest where my darling lies.

-Eugene Field.

THE ROCK-A-BY LADY

The Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street
Comes stealing; comes creeping;

The poppies they hang from her head to her feet,
And each hath a dream that is tiny and fleet-
She bringeth her poppies to you, my sweet,
When she findeth you sleeping!

There is one little dream of a beautiful drum—
"Rub-a-dub!" it goeth;

There is one little dream of a big sugar-plum,
And lo! thick and fast the other dreams come
Of popguns that bang, and tin tops that hum,
And a trumpet that bloweth!

And dollies peep out of those wee little dreams
With laughter and singing;

And boats go a-floating on silvery streams,

And the stars peek-a-boo with their own misty gleams, And up, up, and up, where the Mother Moon beams, The fairies go winging!

Would you dream all these dreams that are tiny and fleet?
They'll come to you sleeping;

So shut the two eyes that are weary, my sweet,
For the Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street,
With poppies that hang from her head to her feet,
Comes stealing; comes creeping.

-Eugene Field

LITTLE BOY BLUE

The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair;

And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.

"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,

"And don't you make any noise!"

So, toddling off to his trundle-bed,
He dreamt of the pretty toys;

And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue—

Oh! the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true!

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place-

Awaiting the touch of a little hand,

The smile of a little face;

And they wonder, as waiting the long years through
In the dust of that little chair,

What has become of our Little Boy Blue,

Since he kissed them and put them there.

THE NINETY AND NINE

-Eugene Field.

There were ninety and nine that safely lay
In the shelter of the fold;

But one was out on the hills away,

Far off from the gates of gold,

Away on the mountains wild and bare,
Away from the tender Shepherd's care.

"Lord, Thou hast here Thy ninety and nine:
Are they not enough for Thee?"

But the Shepherd made answer: ""Tis of mine
Has wandered away from me;

And although the road be rough and steep
I go to the desert to find my sheep.'

But none of the ransomed ever knew

How deep were the waters crossed,

Nor how dark was the night that the Lord passed through Ere he found his sheep that was lost.

Out in the desert he heard its cry

Sick and helpless, and ready to die.

"Lord, whence are those blood-drops all the way,
That mark out the mountain-track?"
"They were shed for one who had gone astray

Ere the Shepherd could bring him back."
"Lord, whence are thy hands so rent and torn?"
"They are pierced to-night by many a thorn."
But all through the mountains, thunder-riven,
And up from the rocky steep,

There rose a cry to the gate of Heaven,
"Rejoice! I have found my sheep!"

And the angels echoed around the throne,
"Rejoice! for the Lord brings back His own!"

-Elizabeth Cecilia Clephane.

HOME THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD

Oh, to be in England

Now that April's there,

And whoever wakes in England

Sees, some morning, unaware,

That the lowest boughs and the brush-wood sheaf

Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,

While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England-now!

And after April, when May follows,

And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops-at the bent spray's edge
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!

And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
-Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

-Robert Browning.

CHAPTER IV

QUALITY TESTS

There should be no edge on any tone, whether high or low; it should be as soft and smooth as the expulsion of the breath itself. To insure this quality at all times, we study a tone from three points of view: the attack, the middle, and the end. By attack we mean the starting of the tone. This is especially important in beginning vowel sounds, as the organs of speech do not help in projecting them as they do the consonants. A tone may be attacked in three ways: by the sustained diaphragm, by the explosive diaphragm, and by the glottis stroke.

For ordinary speech, we use the sustained diaphragm. The ribs are held out forcibly and the breath is sent out slowly and steadily by the movement of the dorsal and the upper abdominal muscles. Learn to think of the tone as starting from the diaphragm, and so relieve the throat of any responsibility in the matter. If it still shows a tendency to contract, when starting a vowel, yawn or swallow to release the tension.