open the love in their hearts in order to travel the road of perfection which comes only with applying ourselves to the things that are better; or, better, giving over to forgetfulness the things that are wrong.

The Home and the Republic

Henry W. Grady

This selection, like several others from Grady's speeches, has long been a favorite for declaiming. Vivid imagination and sustained emotion are necessary for effective delivery. Pause and change at the beginning of each paragraph. The scenes and incidents that make up the composite picture of the Capitol, on the one hand, and the country home, on the other, might be suggested by gestures here and there, but for the most part the eyes will be the best medium for gesture. See the pictures you are describing, and then your hearers will be quite sure to see them also.

Not long since I made a trip to Washington, and as I stood on Capitol Hill my heart beat quick as I looked at the towering marble of my country's Capitol, and the mist gathered in my eyes as I thought of its tremendous significance, and the armies, and the Treasury, and the courts, and Congress and the President, and all that was gathered there. And I felt that the sun in all its course could not look down upon a better sight than that majestic home of the Republic that had taught the world its best lessons in liberty.

Two days afterwards I went to visit a friend in the country, a modest man, with a quiet country home. It was just a simple, unpretentious house, set about with great big trees, encircled in meadow and fields rich with the promise of harvest. The

fragrance of pink and hollyhock in the front yard was mingled with the aroma of the orchard and the garden, and resonant with the cluck of poultry and the hum of bees. Inside was quiet, cleanliness, thrift and comfort. Outside there stood my friend-master of his land and master of himself. There was his old father, an aged, trembling man, happy in the heart and home of his son. And as they started to their home the hands of the old man went down on the young man's shoulders, laying there the unspeakable blessing of an honored and grateful father, and ennobling it with the Knighthood of the Fifth commandment. And I saw the night come down on that home, falling gently as from the wings of an unseen dove, and the old man, while a startled bird called from the forest, and the trees shrilled with the cricket's cry, and the stars were swarming in the sky, got the family around him and, taking the old Bible from the table, called them to their knees, while he closed the record of that simple day by calling down God's blessing on that family and that home.

And while I gazed, the vision of the marble Capitol faded. Forgotten were its treasures and its majesty, and I said: "O, surely, here in the hearts of the people are lodged at last the strength and responsibilities of this government, the hope and promise of this Republic."

Have an Oil Can Always with You

L. M. Cross

A purely conversational style is best suited to this selection. Give the quoted conversations naturally and in the way each character spoke. Be sure to pause long enough at the end of the first paragraph to let the audience get the point.

THE other day, so the newspapers reported, an express train was speeding along almost as though on lightning's wing when all of a sudden the train, acting as if it were writhing in a sudden violent pain, and with much wrenching and a terrific jar, came to a rather violent stop. "What's the trouble?" every passenger involuntarily asked. "A collision? Run over anybody?" A number of people, with the brakeman and conductor in the lead, hurried to an exit, and found it was a hot box. "What is the cause?" we inquired of the conductor. "Too much friction and not enough oil," he replied.

In the passing journey of life, when everything seems to be running along smoothly, some thoughtless word is uttered and it is angrily replied to, and there is a sudden, violent stop of that peaceful journey.

What is the cause? Too much friction. A little oil poured at the proper moment would have prevented the trouble.

Dr. Parkhurst tells of a workman who was in a trolley car one day. As the door opened and shut, it squeaked. The workman quickly rose from his seat, and taking a little can from his pocket

dropped some oil upon the offending spot, saying as he sat down: "I always carry an oil can in my pocket, for there are so many squeaky things in this world where a little oil will help." Dr. Parkhurst, commenting, says that love is an antiirritant, and that we can soften many attacks and prevent unpleasant and jarring frictions if we will only speak the kindly word at the right time.

Let us all carry little oil cans with us everywhere and be quick to apply the remedy to squeaking, jarring situations whenever they may arise.

The Different Kinds of Gossip

P. W. Horn

This selection is just a plain, direct, strong talk, and should be spoken accordingly. Be sure to place the emphasis so you bring out the thought, and do not fail to pause and change at the beginning of each paragraph, so that each new topic is properly introduced.

THERE are several different kinds of gossip, and each one may be typified by some member of the animal creation.

First take the goose. The goose gabbles and hisses, not because she is malicious, but because she has nothing better to do; and because she is a goose.

Next comes the mosquito. The mosquito buzzes and bites not because he is vindictive, but because he is too small to do anything else. It is for the mosquito type of intellect that the newspapers of a certain type print gossipy articles about the actress or the divorcee, telling the color of the shoes and

stockings she wears, the way she has her eggs fried for breakfast, or the kind of poodle she prefers.

Then comes the old hen type of gossip. The hen ruffles up her feathers and pecks at anything that may come about, not on account of any innate bloodthirstiness, but merely because she feels cross, and on general principles.

Next we have the buzzard. He circles around any place in which he hopes or imagines there may be something rotten, merely because his taste leads him to love things that are rotten.

Last comes the snake. He coils himself out of sight in the grass and lies in wait that he may suddenly strike some passer-by and fill his system with the poison that is natural in a snake's fang.

Of course, if one deliberately choose, he has a perfect right to act the goose, or to be a mosquito, an old hen, a buzzard or a snake. There is no way in the world to prevent the goose from gabbling, the mosquito from buzzing, or the rest of the animals from acting out their nature.

Still, there are drawbacks. The goose must not complain if she is considered a goose. The mosquito must expect to be slapped at, and finally to be swatted. The old hen will not find a welcome in polite society. The buzzard can never hope to rank as a gentleman. The snake must not be surprised if sometimes a heel is placed upon his head.

The next time, when in the course of a gossipy conversation, you have gone so far as to say an unkind thing about some brother man or some sister woman, stop for a moment and classify your