WHAT THE LECTURER TOLD THE BOYS.
KIT and I (he’s Christopher, but it’s pretty hard to speak)
Had been talking about the lecture, the better part of a week.
I was fourteen last Wednesday, and Kit is twelve and a half—
We’re getting to be big fellows; folks call us “twins” for chaff.
One of the famous lecturers was to lecture in our town hall—
Our father used to know him, when both of them were small.
We are the minister’s boys, you know, and live in the house on the hill;
The rest of us is mother, and Susie, and little Will.
THE SCHOOLROOM WAS PACKED AND CROWDED.”
Father went to the station, to bring the lecturer home,
And mother had supper ready, waiting for him to come—
He was what Sue calls “splendid!” talked lots to Kit and to me,
And took up little Willie, and held him on his knee,
And while he was eating supper said a good many funny things,
And joked with mother and Susie—it seemed as if time had wings—
But O, that grand, grand lecture was the best we ever heard!
Folks held their breaths to listen, for fear they should lose a word.
They cried, and they applauded, and then they laughed outright—
Kit and I decided to lecture before we went home that night.
He was going back in the morning, on the early morning train,
And father let us sit up that night, said “it wouldn’t happen again.”
One of us sat each side of him, as near as we could to his chair,
And then Kit noticed, and so did I, a scar near the edge of his hair.
He saw us looking, and then he said, “My boys, you see that scar,
It isn’t a wound of honor, but something different far.
“I am going to tell you about it. I got it on a day
When I was young as you are, and that isn’t so far away.
You think it easy to move a crowd as breezes sweep the sea,
It may be easy for some men, it never has been for me.
“I was the timidest, awkwardest youth that ever fished in a pool,
Or ever on Wednesday afternoons ran away from school—
That was the day we ‘spoke pieces,’ but that I never did,
I stayed at school and was punished, or ran away and hid.
“But I honored the boys who did it, in particular the one who told
‘How well Horatius kept the bridge, in the brave days of old!’
I admired the high heroic style, I longed to do the same,
And watched the others with beating heart, and cheeks that were all aflame.
“I had an elder sister then, such an one, my boys, have you—
Good, and sweet, and pretty”—and then he smiled at Sue—
“She said I could learn a simple piece, learn it, and speak it well;
I didn’t want anything simple, I wanted a piece that would tell.
“And so I chose for my first attempt: ‘The Seminole’s Reply,’
You’ll find it in some old reader—tells how Indians defy—
And Kate she taught it to me, taught me to speak each line—
’Twas for the exhibition; I practiced what hours were mine.
“I practiced when I went after the cows, when I went to gather eggs,
And frightened the hens and roosters off of their yellow legs.
Up in the garret chamber, back the old rafters gave:
‘I ne’er will ask you quarter, and I ne’er will be your slave!’
“The day of exhibition came, as all such days will come,
The schoolroom was packed and crowded—all of them went from home—
And I sat there and trembled, from my shining boots to my crown,
And wished that the floor might open and quietly let me down.
“At length I mounted the platform, but how, I never knew,
I knew they had called upon me, and somehow I must get through.
I made my bow, I know I did, I raised my head to speak,
Then the people swam around me, I felt my knees grow weak—
“‘Blaze! with your serried columns!’ ’twas to sound like a clarion’s call,
I opened my mouth, and formed the words, but I didn’t blaze at all.
My throat was parched and swollen, there was ringing in my ears,
There was blackness all around me, I forgot my awful fears.
“I reeled, and then plunged headlong down from my lofty place,
And next I was out in the dooryard with water on my face,
And Kate was bending over me, fanning, to give me air,
And mother was gently bathing that wound near the edge of my hair.
“And that was how I got the scar; but, boys, I didn’t give in,
I resolved as old Demosthenes, sooner or later to win.
I resolved to be an orator, then and there, that day,
And so I never faltered, though to me ’twas a thorny way.
“But, let me tell you one thing, here: whatever you aim to do
You’ll be pretty sure to do it, if you will to carry it through.”
And then the lecturer said: “My boys, it is late and we must part.”
But father said: “Robert and Christopher, take that lesson to heart.”
Emily Baker Smalle.
Volume 13, Number 42. Copyright, 1886, by D. Lothrop & Co. August 21, 1886.
THE PANSY.
“I WEAR TROUSERS, AND YOU DON’T!”