women, admiration for truth and personal courage, and contempt for money as a prop to social elevation. These have been our household gods-not always followed, but always honored. We may believe many things which are not true, but so long as we believe them to be true they are true so far as we are concerned, and influence our daily lives accordingly. These thoughts have armed our patriots on many a field and inspired our statesmen in many a contest. They still constitute the world of "power"; they still develop men as in the olden time.

Let me admonish you, therefore, not to forget, and let not your children forget the land from whence you came. Go back now and then, and, like Antæus of old, draw new strength from contact with mother earth. Far away on some Sewanee River of your youth the magnolia and jasmine still bloom, the wild rose still climbs the zig-zag fence, and the simmon seed and sandy bottom still nourish the 'possum and yellow yam. There the lamp of hospitality still burns and the light of goodfellowship shines, and within the family circle are still cherished those ancestral faiths which have helped to make the nation great.

Revolutions

Wendell Phillips

Like all of Phillips' speeches, this declamation will speak itself. The thought is in constant motion. Note the transitions where the delivery should pause and change. Tell the story of Napoleon in a natural manner, making true to life the characters in the drama. The real climax of the last paragraph comes on "master"; the sentence following simply sums up or restates the theme.

WHENEVER You meet a dozen earnest men pledged to a new idea you meet the beginning of a new revolution. Revolutions are not made, they come. A revolution is as natural a growth as an oak. It comes out of the past; its foundations are laid far back. The child feels; he grows into a man and thinks; another, perhaps, speaks; and the world acts out the thought. And this is the history of modern society. Men undervalue great reform movements because they imagine you can always put your finger on some illustrious moment in history and say: "Here commenced the great change which has come over the nation."

Not so. The beginning of the great changes is like the rise of the Mississippi. You must stoop and gather away the pebbles to find it. But soon it. swells broader and broader; bears on its bosom the navies of a mighty republic; forms the gulf; and divides a continent.

There is a story of Napoleon which illustrates my meaning. We are apt to trace the control of France to some noted victory, to the time when he encamped in the Tuileries; or when he dissolved the assembly by the stamp of his foot. He reigned in fact when

his hand first felt the helm of the vessel of state, and that was far back of the time when he had conquered Italy, or his name had been echoed over two continents. It was on the day 500 irresolute men were met in the assembly which called itself, and pretended to be, the government of France. They heard that the mob of Paris were coming next morning, 30,000 strong, to turn them, as was usual in those days, out of doors. And where did this seemingly great power go for its support and refuge? They sent Tallien to seek out a boy lieutenant-the shadow of an officer-so thin and pallid that when he was placed on the stand before them, the President of the Assembly, fearful, if the fate of France rested on the shrunken form, the ashen cheek, before him, that all hope was gone, asked: "Young man, can you protect the assembly!" The stern lip of the Corsican boy parted only to say, “I always do what I undertake.” Then and there Napoleon ascended his throne; and the next day from the steps of St. Roche thundered forth the cannon which taught the mob of Paris, for the first time, that it had a master. That was the commencement of the empire.

The Thirtieth Man

John H. Finley

This is taken from a baccalaureate address delivered by Mr. Finley in June, 1911, he being at that time President of the College of the City of New York. Many students may find this address refreshing, since it is something new,-showing originality in the treatment. Earnest, straight talk is the style required for its delivery. Be sure to make your hearers grasp the thought of the first paragraph by a deliberate rate and explanatory emphasis, else all the rest of the speech will be lost. The action and hurly-burly of the second paragraph requires a rather rapid rate. Slower rate and deeper emotions belong with the combined exposition and appeal contained in the last two paragraphs.

It has been estimated that in thickly settled communities one person in about every thirty adults is a public servant, that is, is going up and down in some vicarious capacity for the other twenty-nine. The ratio is higher or lower according to the degree of socialized life in a community, but let us arbitrarily take this ratio and call the public servant the thirtieth man.

This "thirtieth man" sweeps the streets of the city. He is pontifex of the country roads. He lights the lamps when the natural lights of heaven go out, and extinguishes the fires of the earth. With one hand he gathers our letters of affection and business and with the other distributes them in the remotest cabins on the mountains. He weighs the wind, reads the portents of the clouds, gives augury of the heat and cold. He makes wells in the valleys, he fills the pools with water. He tastes the milk before the city child may drink it; he tests and labels the food in the stores and shops; he corrects

false balances and short measures. He keeps watch over forest and stream; gives warning of rocks and shoals to men at sea and of plague and poison to those on land. He is warden of fish and bird and wild beast; he is host to the homeless and shelterless; he is guardian and nurse to the child who comes friendless into the world and chaplain at the burial of the man who goes friendless out of it. He is assessor and collector of taxes-treasurer and comptroller; he is the teacher of seventeen million children, youths, men and women; he is public librarian and maker of books; overseer of the poor and supervisor; superintendent, doctor, nurse and guard in hospital, prison and almshouse; coroner and keeper of the potter's field. He is mayor, judge, public prosecutor and sheriff. He is a soldier in the army and a sailor in the navy, general and admiral, legislator, justice, member of the cabinet, Governor and President.

It has been said that "Democracy is always dreaming of a nation of kings;" kings in the sense of men who are monarchs of themselves at least, clear visioned, strong-willed, clean-virtued sovereigns. It is of that dreaming, of that longing, that you have been educated. But in another sense the "kings" of democracy are these "thirtieth men," anointed, appointed, not by some far-seeing prophet, living apart from the people, but selected of the hurried and often fickle desires of men in the midst of the struggle for existence. The gathering of votes for such kings in rough boxes, in tailor shops or barber shops or like places, does not impress one