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.

Animals' Memory — Remembering Places They've Been, Things Done

1899

Animals' Memory

Monsieur Henri de Parville, a French writer, has collected instances of animal intelligence, many of which are of a character to indicate that animals always remember things which have become habitual with them. In many cases they remember a single kindness or a single unkindness, and treat the author of it accordingly; but the habitual thing may be said to be always remembered, and the unaccustomed thing only occasionally.

Monsieur De Parville gives an amusing account of the performances of six coach horses which were regularly driven on the diligence between Berne and Gurnigel, Switzerland. They reached Gurnigel each day after a long and hard journey, and at the inn were detached from the vehicle and allowed to find their own way to the stable. Before going to the stable they invariably set out on a little tour through the hotel grounds, where the guests were in the habit of giving them lumps of sugar. Marching from one guest to another, the horses gently demanded their sugar. This was an established custom at the place, and although newly arrived guests sometimes objected to it, they soon fell into the way of liking it, and frequented the grounds for the sake of meeting the horses.

The diligence plied only four months of the year, and the horses were employed elsewhere during the other eight months; but on the resumption of the trips in summer, these horses, who were used from year to year in the diligence, eagerly resumed their tour through the hotel gardens, showing, on the very first trip the greatest haste to go the familiar round of the year before in quest of sugar.

Monsieur De Parville also tells of a cavalry horse named Ménélas, belonging to the Tenth Regiment of Chasseurs, who, after being ridden in the cavalry manoeuvres in the ring at the barracks, became so fond of the evolutions that he would manage to escape from his stall at night, betake himself to the ring, and go through the required movements alone.

His nocturnal performance became known, and the officers and men frequently went to watch it. Ménélas would be left unhitched in his stall, and when all became quiet, would go out, find his way to the ring, and solemnly but briskly go through the whole drill, apparently remembering every detail of it in the proper order.

The writer of this witnessed a curious demonstration of the excellence of a dog's memory. He possessed a collie, who, at the age of about one year, had an attack of distemper, and was sent from Boston to a farm in Vermont, where he remained several months. While there he spent a good deal of time in digging out woodchucks and barking at their burrows, all over the large farm. He was sent back to Boston.

Some five years afterward he was taken by his master on a visit to the same farm in Vermont and he had no sooner arrived than he started out on a tour of the old familiar woodchuck holes. The farmer, who had been very familiar with his ways, said that he did not omit a single spot where woodchucks' burrows had existed during his previous sojourn, and went straight to them without any search.

The dog also fell instantly into all the old routine of the farm, and kept the dish out of which he ate in the spot where he had formerly kept it. He showed that he had forgotten no detail of his habits on the place five years before. — Youth's Companion.