His First Oration

1899

The author of "Little Journeys to the Homes of American Statesmen" tells of his experience when a new teacher inaugurated "Friday Afternoons," to be devoted to "speaking pieces." He had been well drilled at home, but his spirits ran lower and lower as the fateful Friday drew near.

Thursday night I slept little, and all Friday morning I was in a burning fever. At noon I could not eat my luncheon, but I tried manfully, and as I munched the tasteless morsels, salt tears rained on the johnny-cake.

Even when the girls brought in big bunches of wild flowers and corn-stalks and began to decorate the platform, things appeared no brighter.

Finally the teacher went to the door and rang the bell. Nobody seemed to play, and as the scholars took their seats, some, very pale, tried to smile. Others whispered, "Have you got your piece?" Still others kept their lips working, repeating lines that struggled hard to flee.

Names were called, but I did not see who went up, neither did I hear what was said. At last my name was called. It came like a clap of thunder — a great surprise, a shock. I clutched the desk, struggled to my feet, passed down the aisle, the sound of my shoes echoing through the silence like the strokes of a maul. The blood seemed ready to burst from my eyes, ears and nose.

I reached the platform, missed my footing, stumbled, and nearly fell. I heard the giggling that followed, and knew that a red-haired boy, who had just spoken, and was therefore unnecessarily jubilant, had laughed aloud.

I was angry. I shut my fists so that the nails cut my flesh, and glaring straight at his red head, I shot my bolt:

"I know not how others may feel, but sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote. It is my living sentiment, and by the blessing of God it shall be my dying sentiment. Independence now, and independence forever."

That was all of the piece. I gave the whole thing in a mouthful, and started for my seat, got half-way there, and remembered I had forgotten to bow, turned, went back to the platform, bowed with a jerk, started again for my seat, and bearing some one laugh, I ran.

Reaching the seat, I burst into tears.

The teacher came over, patted my head, kissed my cheek, and told me I had done first-rate, and after hearing several others speak, I calmed down and quite agreed with her. — Youth's Companion.