_Now_ then, you're all right; come ahead on the starboard; straighten up and go 'long, never tremble: or be alive again, and dare me to the desert damnation can't you keep away from that greasy water?
pull her down! snatch her! snatch her baldheaded! with thy sword; if trembling I inhabit then, lay in the leads!--no, only the starboard one, leave the other alone, protest me the baby of a girl.

Hence horrible shadow! eight bells--that watchman's asleep again, I reckon, go down and call Brown yourself, unreal mockery, hence! He certainly was a good reader, and splendidly thrilling and stormy and tragic, but it was a damage to me, because I have never since been able to read Shakespeare in a calm and sane way.

I cannot rid it of his explosive interlardings, they break in everywhere with their irrelevant "What in hell are you up to _now_! pull her down! more! _more_!--there now, steady as you go," and the other disorganizing interruptions that were always leaping from his mouth.

When I read Shakespeare now, I can hear them as plainly as I did in that long-departed time--fifty-one years ago.

I never regarded Ealer's readings as educational.