emotionalism

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warn't dead.  I was ever so glad to see Jim.  I warn't lonesome now.  I told him I warn't afraid of _him_ telling the people where I was.  I talked along, but he only set there and looked at me; never said nothing.  Then I says: “It's good daylight.  Le's get breakfast.  Make up your camp fire good.” “What's de use er makin' up de camp fire to cook strawbries en sich truck? But you got a gun, hain't you?  Den we kin git sumfn better den strawbries.” “Strawberries and such truck,” I says. “I

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Latona's son a dire contagion spread,(44) And heap'd the camp with mountains of the dead; The king of men his reverent priest defied,(45) And for the king's offence the people died. For Chryses sought with costly gifts to gain His captive daughter from the victor's chain. Suppliant the venerable father stands; Apollo's awful ensigns grace his hands By these he begs; and lowly bending down, Extends the sceptre and the laurel crown He sued to all, but chief implored for grace The brother-kings, of Atreus' royal race(46) "Ye kings and warriors! may your vows be crown'd, And Troy's proud walls lie level with the ground. May Jove restore you when your toils are o'er Safe to the pleasures of your native shore. But, oh! relieve a wretched parent's pain, And give Chryseis to these arms again; If mercy fail, yet let my presents move, And dread avenging Phoebus, son of Jove." The Greeks in shouts their joint assent declare, The priest to reverence, and release the fair. Not so Atrides; he, with kingly pride, Repulsed the sacred sire, and thus replied: "Hence on thy life, and fly these hostile plains, Nor ask, presumptuous, what the king detains Hence, with thy laurel crown, and golden rod, Nor trust too far those ensigns of thy god. Mine is thy daughter, priest, and shall remain; And prayers, and tears, and bribes, shall plead in vain; Till time shall rifle every youthful grace, And age dismiss her from my cold embrace, In daily labours of the loom employ'd, Or doom'd to deck the bed she once enjoy'd Hence then; to Argos shall the maid retire, Far from her native soil and weeping sire." [Illustration: HOMER INVOKING THE MUSE.] HOMER INVOKING THE MUSE. The trembling priest along the shore return'd, And in the anguish of a father mourn'd. Disconsolate, not daring to complain, Silent he wander'd by the sounding main; Till, safe at distance, to his