" hindered or "obstructed" but "anticipated". They read "Crowned with the myrtle, did you command me, Athens and you?" without having decided whether "you" or "me". "crowned" refers to Secondly, the reader or speaker should understand the significance of the allusions. In reading" Pheidippides "', he should know who Pan was and why “fennel" is spoken of; in speaking "A Tribute to General Sherman", he should know why Hotspur is referred to as restless, Fabius as patient, Cæsar's Tenth Legion as dashing; or in speaking American Battle Flags ", he should understand the significance of Villagos to the Hungarian, Vendée to the French soldier, and Culloden to the Scotch Highlander. 66 Thirdly, the reader should read around the subject. He should know thoroughly the circumstances under which the poem was written, the oration delivered. He should be well acquainted with the story told or the scene described. Sheridan's Ride?" said a listener to a public reader in England, Sheridan's ride to where ?" 66 Oh," replied the reader with some confusion, dan's ride to-to-to Bunker Hill, I think." "Sheri It surely is not enough for pupils who would declaim intelligently to confine their reading to the short selections given in the Speakers. The boy who would speak understandingly the declamation on page 106, for example, must do more than memorize this small portion of Webster's famous reply to Hayne; he should read carefully the entire speech, also Senator Lodge's lucid account of all the circumstances under which this speech was delivered.* Such careful study of the words, constructions, allusions, and circumstances of an oration or poem will enable the reader or speaker to distinguish between the principal and * See LODGE'S" Daniel Webster." the subordinate, and thus to make his expression more intelligent. For in no way does a person reveal his ignorance or knowledge of a piece of literature more completely than by reading it aloud. Again, an effective speaker or reader must be in earnest; he must be able to lay hold of the emotion. "To this one standard make your just appeal, It is not enough for him to An attempt to put on emotion result in bombast and in dis How is he to learn to feel? say, "I will be in earnest ". from the outside is liable to gusting contortions of face and limbs. Genuine emotion must come from within. It means real interest in the subject discussed, the scene described. This interest may be aroused first by a thorough knowledge of the events spoken of, the characters depicted. In real life our passing pity for the man who asks our aid is changed into permanent, genuine interest and sympathy, by our knowing more about him, his struggles, his home life, his desires to be and to do something. In the same manner genuine interest may be aroused in fictitious and historical characters and events. A boy cannot expect to declaim with real earnestness "The Last of the Roman Tribunes "'* before he Not long has read the whole of Lord Lytton's "Rienzi". ago I commended to a student looking for a declamation to speak in a prize contest, Curtis's "Eulogy on Sumner".† At first he thought it a bit tame. But after he had read more about Sumner, of his conflicts, his ideals and achievements, he began to see how great an oration this really is. No longer was it tame; those magnificent periods thrilled with life. He understood the significance of such sentences as these: "How the stately and gracious and all-accomplished man seemed the very personification of that new * See page 342. † See page 136. union for which he had so manfully striven, and whose coming his dying eyes beheld-the union of ever wider liberty and juster law,—the America of comprehensive intelligence and moral power! For that he stands; up to that his imperishable memory, like the words of his living lips, forever lifts us-lifts us to his own great faith in America and man. And because he saw their real meaning and importance, he spoke them with an unfeigned earnestness. Moreover, to lay hold of this emotion it is often well to paraphrase. The ordinary paraphrase ranks low as a literary product; when repeated aloud it seems flabby, common, or artificial; but it may often be useful. As a matter of fact boys and girls read and recite selections, especially lines of poetry, with no more idea of the meaning of some of the phrases or realization of their significance than had the man in one of George Eliot's novels of the meaning of those sentences which he found so much comfort in repeating: "Sihon, King of the Amorites, for His mercy endureth forever. And Og, King of Bashan, for His mercy endureth forever." A full paraphrase quickly stops such parroting. Furthermore, the reader in learning to feel true emotion should use his imagination. By dwelling upon the thought and seeing the picture vividly, or by appealing to his own experience, a reader may be able to respond to the emotion genuinely and thus overcome an indifference fatal to effective expression. It is only by holding the truth before the mind and looking at it from all sides that we can feel its true significance and be dominated by its power. 66 And after all the heart of the whole matter is this: a man cannot express more than he is. A man of small soul cannot express great emotion. Eloquence is a virtue almost as much as an art." He then who would express exalted emotions should cherish firm convictions and high ideals; he should cultivate above all things love and truth" and "avoid like poison the fleeting and the false". RAY'S RIDE (Abridged) By CHARLES KING, Army Officer, Professor of Military Science and Tactics, Descriptive Writer, Novelist. Born at Albany, N. Y., 1844. Reprinted, by permission of the publishers, from "Marion's Faith," copyright, 1886, by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia. Darkness has settled down in the shadowy Wyoming Valley. By the light of a tiny fire under the bank some twenty forms can be seen stretched upon the sand; they are wounded soldiers. A little distance away are nine others, shrouded in blankets; they are the dead. Crouching among the timber, vigilant but weary, dispersed in a big, irregular circle around the beleaguered bivouac, some sixty soldiers are still on the active list. All around them, vigilant and vengeful, lurk the Cheyennes. Every now and then the bark as of a coyote is heard,—a yelping, querulous cry,—and it is answered far across the valley or down the stream. There is no moon; the darkness is intense, though the starlight is clear, and the air so still that the galloping hoofs of the Cheyenne ponies far out on the prairie sound close at hand. "That's what makes it hard," says Ray, who is bending over the prostrate form of Captain Wayne. “If it were storming or blowing, or something to deaden the hoof-beats, I could make it easier; but it's the only chance. The only chance of what? When the sun went down upon Wayne's timber citadel, and the final account of stock was taken for the day, it was found that with one fourth of the command, men and horses, |