Each of the Four Numbers of

"100 Choice Selections" contained

in this volume is paged separately,

and the Index is made to corres-

pond therewith. See EXPLANATION on

Arst page of Contents.

The entire book contains nearly

1000 pages.

100

CHOICE SELECTIONS

No. 9.

SINCERITY THE SOUL OF ELOQUENCE.-GOETHE,

How shall we learn to sway the minds of men
By eloquence ?-to rule them, or persuade ?—
Do you seek genuine and worthy fame?
Reason and honest feeling want no arts
Of utterance, ask no toil of elocution!

And, when you speak in earnest, do you need

A search for words? Oh! these fine holiday phrases,
In which you robe your worn-out commonplaces,
These scraps of paper which you crimp and curl
And twist into a thousand idle shapes,

These filigree ornaments, are good for nothing,-
Cost time and pains, please few, impose on no one;
Are unrefreshing as the wind that whistles,
In autumn, 'mong the dry and wrinkled leaves.
If feeling does not prompt, in vain you strive.
If from the soul the language does not come,
By its own impulse, to impel the hearts
Of hearers with communicated power,

In vain you strive, in vain you study earnestly!
Toil on forever, piece together fragments,
Cook up your broken scraps of sentences,
And blow, with puffing breath, a struggling light,
Glimmering confusedly now, now cold in ashes;
Startle the school-boys with your metaphors,—
And, if such food may suit your appetite,
Win the vain wonder of applauding children,—
But never hope to stir the hearts of men,
And mould the souls of many into one,

By words which come not native from the heart!

CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT.

England's sun was slowly setting o'er the hills so far away, Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day; And the last rays kiss'd the forehead of a man and maiden fair, He with step so slow and weakened, she with sunny, floating hair;

He with sad bowed head, and thoughtful, she with lips so cold and white,

Struggling to keep back the murmur, “Curfew must not ring to-night."

"Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old,

With its walls so dark and gloomy,-walls so dark, and damp, and cold,

"I've a lover in that prison, doomed this very night to die, At the ringing of the Curfew, and no earthly help is nigh. Cromwell will not come till sunset," and her face grew strangely white,

As she spoke in husky whispers, "Curfew must not ring tonight."

"Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton-every word pierced her young heart

Like a thousand gleaming arrows-like a deadly poisoned dart;

"Long, long years I've rung the Curfew from that gloomy shadowed tower;

Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour;
I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right,
Now I'm old, I will not miss it; girl, the Curfew rings to-
night!"

Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thoughtful brow,

And within her heart's deep centre, Bessie made a solemn vow; She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh,

"At the ringing of the Curfew-Basil Underwood must die." And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large and bright

One low murmur, scarcely spoken-“Curfew must not ring to-night!"

She with light step bounded forward, sprang within the old church door,

Left the old man coming slowly, paths he'd trod so oft be fore;

Not one moment paused the maiden, but with cheek and

brow aglow,

Staggered up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and fro:

Then she climbed the slimy ladder, dark, without one ray of light,

Upward still, her pale lips saying: "Curfew shall not ring to-night."

She has reached the topmost ladder, o'er her hangs the great dark bell,

And the awful gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to hell;

See, the ponderous tongue is swinging, 'tis the hour of Curfew now

And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath and paled her brow.

Shall she let it ring? No, never! her eyes flash with sudden light,

As she springs and grasps it firmly-"Curfew shall not ring to-night!"

Out she swung, far out, the city seemed a tiny speck below; There, 'twixt heaven and earth suspended, as the bell swung to and fro;

And the half-deaf Sexton ringing (years he had not heard the bell,)

And he thought the twilight Curfew rang young Basil's funeral knell;

Still the maiden clinging firmly, cheek and brow so pale and white,

Stilled her frightened heart's wild beating~" Curfew shall not ring to-night."

It was o'er-the bell ceased swaying, and the maiden stepped once more

Firmly on the damp old ladder, where for hundred years before

Human foot had not been planted; and what she this night had done,

Should be told in long years after-as the rays of setting sun Light the sky with mellow beauty, aged sires with heads of white,

Tell their children why the Curfew did not ring that one

sad night.

O'er the distant hills came Cromwell; Bessie saw him, and her brow,

Lately white with sickening terror, glows with sudden beauty now;

At his feet she told her story, showed her hands all bruised and torn;

And her sweet young face so haggard, with a look so sad and worn,

Touched his heart with sudden pity-lit his eyes with misty light;

Go, your lover lives!" cried Cromwell; "Curfew shall not ring to-night."

ELOCUTION.-N. H. GILLESPIE.

A great deal has been said and written on the subject of Elocution. Authors and teachers have furnished excellent rules for pronunciation and the correct modulation of the voice; they have explained the nature and use of stress, volume, pitch, slides, inflections, and all the other elements which enter into correct reading and speaking.

This drill, however, though very useful and even necessary to a successful cultivation of the art of speaking, will never make an elocutionist. It may render a man a good mimic or imitator, but that is all.

To become an elocutionist in the true sense of the word, one must learn to do what Dr. Johnson declared was done by Garrick, the celebrated actor. When asked his opinion of the reputation attained by that wonderful interpreter of Shakspeare, he replied; "Oh, sir, he deserves everything he has acquired, for having seized the soul of Shakspeare, for having embodied it in himself, and for having expanded its glory over the world!" Yes, herein lies the secret of elocution; one must seize the soul of the author whose though.s he would reproduce; he must embody that soul in himself, making it a part of his own being, and then he will speak with that forcible eloquence which alone deserves the name of elocution.

It is quite evident that if a man does not fully compre hend the meaning of the author whom he wishes to reproduce, he cannot, with any degree of precision, present the thoughts of that author to his hearers. Hence, the first step toward good speaking consists in mastering the thoughts,-the meaning-involved in the piece to be rendered. This is