"Now, sir!" said the Professor, leading the limp Sweeney forward, and addressing him in a quick sharp tone of voice.--"Now, sir, you are a great contractor--own large factories, and with untold business interests. Just look out there! [pointing out across the expectant audience] look there, and see the countless minions toiling servilely at your dread mandates. And yet--ha! ha! See! see!-- They recognize the avaricious greed that would thus grind them in the very dust; they see, alas! they see themselves, half-clothed--half-fed, that you may glut your coffers. Half-starved, they listen to the wail of wife and babe, and with eyes upraised in prayer, they see YOU rolling by in gilded coach, and swathed in silk attire. But--ha! again! Look-- look! they are rising in revolt against you! Speak to them before too late! Appeal to them--quell them with the promise of the just advance of wages they demand!" The limp figure of Sweeney took on something of a stately and majestic air. With a graceful and commanding gesture of the hand, he advanced a step or two; then, after a pause of some seconds duration, in which the lifted face grew pale, as it seemed, and the eyes a denser black, he said: "But yesterday I looked away O'er happy lands, where sunshine lay In golden blots, Inlaid with spots Of shade and wild forget-me-nots." The voice was low, but clear, and even musical. The Professor started at the strange utterance, looked extremely confused, and, as the boisterous crowd cried "Hear, hear!" he motioned the subject to continue, with some gasping comment interjected, which, if audible, would have run thus: "My God! It's an inspirational poem!" "My head was fair With flaxen hair--" resumed the subject. "Yoop-ee!" yelled an irreverent auditor. "Silence! silence!" commanded the excited Professor in a hoarse whisper; then, turning enthusiastically to the subject--"Go on, young man! Go on!--'Thy head was fair with flaxen hair----' " "My head was fair With flaxen hair, And fragrant breezes, faint and rare, And, warm with drouth From out the south, Blew all my curls across my mouth." The speaker's voice, exquisitely modulated, yet resonant as the twang of a harp, now seemed of itself to draw and hold each listener; while a certain extravagance of gesticulation--a fantastic movement of both form and feature--seemed very near akin to fascination. And so flowed on the curious utterance:-- "And, cool and sweet, My naked feet Found dewy pathways through the wheat; And out again Where, down the lane, The dust was dimpled with the rain." In the pause following there was a breathlessness almost painful. The poem went on: "But yesterday I heard the lay Of summer birds, when I, as they With breast and wing, All quivering With life and love, could only sing. "My head was leant Where, with it, blent A maiden's, o'er her instrument: While all the night, From vale to height, Was filled with echoes of delight.