complished effort, such as stir the pulse of the man who has objects and hopes and plans. To the ambitious man life is a brilliant game—a game that calls forth all his tact and energy and nerve— a game to be won, in the long run, by the quick eye and the steady hand, and yet having sufficient chance about its working out to give it all the zest of uncertainty. He exults in it, as the strong swimmer in the heavy billows, as the athlete in the wrestle, as the soldier in battle. And if he be defeated he wins the grim joy of fighting; if he loses the race he at least has had a run. Better to work and fail than to sleep one's life away.

The Victor of Marengo

Anonymous

Here is another "old favorite" which has had a record-breaking run in declamation service. It is full of dramatic interest and quick changes. These two matters demand special attention in delivery: (1) Vary the delivery to indicate, smoothly but plainly, the many and ofttimes quick changes that occur, and (2) "Mind the pauses" between such changes. Carry on the dialogues naturally, making each character speak in his proper manner. In denoting conversation to an audience, the speaker turns and looks to the right and to the left, or vice versa, as each character talks. Remember that the gamin was some distance from Napoleon and Desaix. Some suggestive and descriptive gestures go naturally with this declamation, but avoid an over-literal interpretation of figurative language, in gesture-expression. And don't try to represent every scene incident by gesture. See the pictures vividly, and very often a glance of the eyes in the proper direction is the most effective gesture. It is unnecessary to add that parts of this piece, such as the reply of the gamin to Napoleon's command, should be given with all the fire and force you can muster.

or

NAPOLEON was sitting in his tent. Before him lay the map of Italy. He took four pins, stuck

them up, measured, moved the pins, and measured again. "Now," said he, "that is right. I will capture him there." "Who, sire?" said an officer. "Melas, the old fox of Austria. He will return from Genoa, pass through Turin, and fall back on Alexandria. I will cross the Po, meet him on the plains of La Servia, and conquer him there." And the finger of the child of destiny pointed to Marengo.

Two months later, the memorable campaign of 1800 began. The 20th of May saw Napoleon on the heights of St. Bernard; the 22nd, Lannes, with the army of Genoa, held Ivrae. So far all had gone well with Napoleon. He had compelled the Austrians to take the position he desired, had reduced their army from 120,000 to 40,000 men, dispatched Desaix to the right, and on June 14th, moved forward to consummate his masterly plan.

But God thwarted his schemes. In the gorges of the Alps a few drops of rain had fallen, and the Po could not be crossed in time. Melas, pushed to the wall by Lannes, rested to cut his way out; and Napoleon reached the field to see Lannes beaten, Champeaux dead and Kellerman still charging. Old Melas poured his Austrian phalanx on Marengo till the Consular Guard gave way, and the well-planned victory of Napoleon became a terrible defeat.

Just as the day was lost, Desaix, the boy general, came sweeping across the field at the head of his cavalry and halted near the eminence where stood Napoleon. In the corps was a drummer boy, a

gamin, whom Desaix had picked up in the streets of Paris, and who had followed the victorious eagles of France in the campaign of Egypt and Austria. As the column halted Napoleon shouted to him: "Beat a retreat." The boy did not stir. "Gamin, beat a retreat!" The boy grasped his drumsticks, stepped forward and said: "Oh, sire, I don't know how. Desaix never taught me that. But I can beat a charge. Oh! I can beat a charge that would make the dead fall in line. I beat that charge at the pyramids once, and I beat it at Mount Tabor, and I beat it again at the Bridge of Lodi. May I beat it here?"

Napoleon turned to Desaix: "We are beaten; what shall we do?" "Do? Beat them! It is only three o'clock; there is time to win a victory yet. Up gamin, the charge! Beat the old charge of Mount Tabor and Lodi!" A moment later the corps, following the sword gleam of Desaix and keeping step to the furious roll of the gamin's drum, swept down on the hosts of Austria. They drove the first line back on the second, the second back on the third, and there they died. Desaix fell at the first volley, but the line never faltered. As the smoke cleared away, in the front of the line was seen the gamin, still beating the furious charge, as over the dead and wounded, over the breastworks and ditches, over the cannon and rear guard, he led the way to victory! And the fifteen days in Italy were ended.

To-day men point to Marengo with wonderment. They laud the power and foresight that so skill

fully planned the battle; but they forget that Napoleon failed, they forget that he was defeated; they forget that a general only thirty years old made a victory of the Great Conqueror's defeat, and that a gamin of Paris put to shame the Child of Destiny,

A Southern Court Scene

Anonymous

This declamation, like the preceding, demands frequent changes, with natural pauses. Use plenty of force where required-and many places require it—but vary your force to correspond with the thought. In the matter of gesture, remember that you are not the defendant nor his attorney, but you are to suggest what they did. Don't, for example, go through the movements of the defendant when "he bent and lifted a form from the ground," as we have seen speakers do, and don't tear open the prisoner's shirt, when you reach that incident. Simply looking or pointing at the imaginary prisoner is a far more effective gesture.

A NEGRO trial was in progress in the little village of Jeffersonville. The defendant's counsel had introduced no testimony. A man had been stabbed, had fallen dead, his hand clasped over the wound and from that hand a knife had dropped, which the defendant's wife seized and concealed. The prisoner declared emphatically that the deceased had assaulted him knife in hand and that he had killed him in self-defense.

As he began his story, a tall thick-set gentleman entered the room and stood silent. The courthouse was crowded to the door, the anxious multitude catching every word as it fell from the prisoner's lips. When he had ceased, the newcomer pushed his way down the crowded aisle,

entered the rail, shook hands with the Court and attorneys and sat down. In view of the strong circumstantial evidence the prisoner's story had little effect, and this was easily swept away by a few cold words from the District Attorney. The case was passed to the jury and the Judge was preparing to deliver the charge, when the old gentleman arose.

"If your Honor, please," he said, "the prisoner is entitled to the closing argument, and in the absence of other counsel, I beg that you mark my name for the defense."

"Mr. Clerk," said the Court, "mark General Robert Thomas for the defense."

The silence was absolute. With eyes intent the jurymen sat motionless. Only this old man, grim, gray, and defiant, stood between the negro yonder and the grave. The past seemed to speak out of the silence to every man on that bench.

Suddenly his lips opened, and he said with quick but quiet energy:

“The knife found by the dead man's side was his own. He had drawn it before he was stabbed. The prisoner is a brave man, a strong man, and he would not have used a weapon upon one unarmed.

"Why do I say he was brave? Every man on this jury shouldered his musket during the late war. Some, perhaps, were at Gettysburg. I well remember that fight. The enemy stood brave and determined, and met our charges with a grit and endurance that could not be shaken. Line after