Recitations for the Social Circle Part 1

Recitations for the Social Circle.

by James Clarence Harvey.

INTRODUCTORY NOTE.

In reading and recitation, the general tendency is to overdo. The quiet reserve force, which can be made apparent in the voice, will reach the heart and stir the soul when gesture and ranting fail. "Be bold! Be not too bold" should be the watchwords of the reciter. Self-possession, with a nervousness arising from an earnest desire to please, is the keynote to success. Never gesticulate if you can help it. When a gesture a.s.serts itself to such an extent that you have made it before you realize it, be sure it was effective and graceful.

It is a n.o.ble ambition to wish to sway the hearts and minds of others by the subtle modulations of the voice, and only he who feels the force of what he utters can hope to accomplish his end. The thought of the author must be pursued and overtaken. The sentiments between the lines must be enlisted before the voice will lend itself, in all its glorious power, to the tones that thrill and the music that charms.

It is not always necessary to search for something your audience has never heard. It is far better to reveal hidden thought and new life in selections which are familiar. The hackneyed recitation, if rendered better than ever before, will win more applause than a fresh bit carelessly studied.

Above all, use judgment in selection. The stout lady of fifty-two should avoid "Marco Bozarris" and "The Elf Child," and the young lady just home from boarding-school should not attempt the ponderous utterances of a Roman gladiator.

Care in selection; fidelity in study; wisdom in the choice of occasion; modesty in delivery; earnestness of manner and sincerity of feeling throughout, must win at last. If you make failures, trace them to a lack in some one or more of these requisites and, by experience, learn to avoid a recurrence. Orators, like poets, are "born not made," but even the born speaker will fail at times unless these laws are considered and observed.

Always render an author's lines as he wrote them. The chances are ten to one that every word carries its burden of thought, even though you may not have discerned it. Err on the conservative side if in doubt.

Over-enthusiasm is less easily pardoned.

Never select dialect verses or stories unless you have the unusual gift necessary to give them the piquancy and zest which attends a good imitation. Ask a dozen friends for an honest opinion on the subject and draw an average from their criticisms to guide you in your choice of selections. Don't lose your temper over a severe criticism. Search carefully through your list of abilities and see if there is not, perhaps, some foundation for kindly suggestion. It is often a great a.s.sistance, in memorizing the work of another, to make a written copy, but attention should be given to the making of a perfect copy, properly punctuated.

Use the eye in memorizing.

Oftentimes a mental picture of a page will recall a line which for an instant seems about to escape you. Use the ear as well and study the effect of various modulations of voice as you rehea.r.s.e in private.

Above all, use the best of your intelligence, earnestly, in studying and applying the thousand little nothings that in the aggregate make the perfect reader.

THE STUDY OF ELOQUENCE.

BY CICERO.

I cannot conceive anything more excellent, than to be able, by language, to captivate the affections, to charm the understanding, and to impel or restrain the will of whole a.s.semblies, at pleasure. Among every free people, especially in peaceful, settled governments, this single art has always eminently flourished, and always exercised the greatest sway. For what can be more surprising than that, amidst an infinite mult.i.tude, one man should appear, who shall be the only, or almost the only man capable of doing what Nature has put in every man's power? Or, can anything impart such exquisite pleasure to the ear and to the intellect, as a speech in which the wisdom and dignity of the sentiments are heightened by the utmost force and beauty of expression?

Is there anything so commanding, so grand, as that the eloquence of one man should direct the inclinations of the people, the consciences of judges, and the majesty of senates? Nay, farther, can aught be esteemed so great, so generous, so public-spirited, as to a.s.sist the suppliant, to rear the prostrate, to communicate happiness, to avert danger, and to save a fellow-citizen from exile? Can anything be so necessary, as to keep those arms always in readiness, with which you may defend yourself, attack the profligate, and redress your own, or your country's wrongs?

But let us consider this accomplishment as detached from public business, and from its wonderful efficacy in popular a.s.semblies, at the bar, and in the senate; can anything be more agreeable, or more endearing in private life, than elegant language? For the great characteristic of our nature, and what eminently distinguishes us from brutes, is the faculty of social conversation, the power of expressing our thoughts and sentiments by words.

To excel mankind, therefore, in the exercise of that very talent which gives them the preference to the brute creation, is what everybody must not only admire, but look upon as the just object of the most indefatigable pursuit.

And now, to mention the chief point of all, what other power could have been of sufficient efficacy to bring together the vagrant individuals of the human race; to tame their savage manners, to reconcile them to social life; and, after cities were founded, to mark out laws, forms, and const.i.tutions, for their government?--Let me, in a few words, sum up this almost boundless subject. I lay it down as a maxim, that upon the wisdom and abilities of an accomplished orator, not only his own dignity, but the welfare of vast numbers of individuals, and even of the whole state, must greatly depend.

THE WIND AND THE SEA.

BY BAYARD TAYLOR.

The Sea is a jovial comrade; He laughs, wherever he goes, And the merriment shines In the dimpling lines That wrinkle his hale repose.

He lays himself down at the feet of the sun And shakes all over with glee, And the broad-backed billows fall faint on the sh.o.r.e In the mirth of the mighty sea.

But the wind is sad and restless, And cursed with an inward pain; You may hark as you will, By valley or hill, But you hear him still complain.

He wails on the barren mountain; Shrieks on the wintry sea; Sobs in the cedar and moans in the pine, And shivers all over the aspen tree.

Welcome are both their voices, And I know not which is best, The laughter that slips From the ocean's lips, Or the comfortless wind's unrest.

There's a pang in all rejoicing, A joy in the heart of pain, And the wind that saddens, the sea that gladdens, Are singing the self-same strain.

CUT BEHIND.

BY T. DE WITT TALMAGE.

The scene opens on a clear, crisp morning. Two boys are running to get on the back of a carriage, whose wheels are spinning along the road. One of the boys, with a quick spring, succeeds. The other leaps, but fails, and falls on the part of the body where it is most appropriate to fall. No sooner has he struck the ground than he shouts to the driver of the carriage, "Cut behind!"

Human nature is the same in boy as in man--all running to gain the vehicle of success. Some are spry, and gain that for which they strive. Others are slow, and tumble down; they who fall crying out against those who mount, "Cut behind!"

A political office rolls past. A mult.i.tude spring to their feet, and the race is on. Only one of all the number reaches that for which he runs. No sooner does he gain the prize, and begin to wipe the sweat from his brow, and think how grand a thing it is to ride in popular preferment, than the disappointed candidates cry out, "Incompetency! Stupidity! Fraud! Now let the newspapers of the other political party 'cut behind.'"

There is a golden chariot of wealth rolling down the street. A thousand people are trying to catch it. They run, they jostle; they tread on each other. Push, and pull, and tug. Those talk most against riches who cannot get there. Clear the track for the racers! One of the thousand reaches the golden prize and mounts. Forthwith the air is full of cries, "Got it by fraud! Shoddy! Petroleum aristocracy! His father was a rag-picker! His mother was a washer-woman! I knew him when he blacked his own shoes! Pitch him off the back part of the golden chariot! Cut behind! cut behind!"

In many eyes success is a crime. "I do not like you," said the snow-flake to the snow-bird. "Why?" said the snow-bird. "Because," said the snow-flake, "you are going _up_ and I am going _down_."

We have to state that the man in the carriage, on the crisp morning, though he had a long lash-whip, with which he could have made the climbing boy yell most l.u.s.tily, did not _cut behind_. He heard the shout in the rear, and said, "Good morning, my son. That is right; climb over and sit by me.

Here are the reins; take hold and drive; was a boy myself once, and know what tickles youngsters."

Thank G.o.d, there are so many in the world that never "cut behind," but are ready to give a fellow a ride whenever he wants it. There are hundreds of people whose chief joy it is to help others on. Now it is a smile, now a good word, now ten dollars. When such a kind man has ridden to the end of the earthly road, it will be pleasant to hang up the whip with which he drove the enterprises of a lifetime, and feel that with it he never "cut behind" at those who were struggling.

AT THE STAGE DOOR.

BY JAMES CLARENCE HARVEY.

The curtain had fallen, the lights were dim, The rain came down with a steady pour; A white-haired man with a kindly face, Peered through the panes of the old stage door.

"I'm getting too old to be drenched like that"

He muttered and turning met face to face, The woman whose genius, an hour before, Like a mighty power had filled the place.

"Yes, much too old," with a smile, she said, And she laid her hand on his silver hair; "You shall ride with me to your home to-night, For that is my carriage standing there."

The old door-tender stood, doffing his hat And holding the door, but she would not stir, Though he said it was not for the "likes of him To ride in a kerridge with such as her."