ng my audience without falling up the
steps (as several others had done) and so looked down upon my fellows
like Tennyson's eagle on the sea. In that instant a singular calm fell
over me, I became strangely master of myself. From somewhere above me a
new and amazing power fell upon me and in that instant I perceived on
the faces of my classmates a certain expression of surprise and serious
respect. My subconscious oratorical self had taken charge.

I do not at present recall what my recitation was, but it was probably
_Catiline's Defense_ or some other of the turgid declamatory pieces of
classic literature with which all our readers were filled. It was
bombastic stuff, but my blind, boyish belief in it gave it dignity. As I
went on my voice cleared. The window sashes regained their outlines. I
saw every form before me, and the look of surprise and pleasure on the
smiling face of my principal exalted me.

Closing amid hearty applause, I stepped down with a feeling that I had
won a place among the orators of the school, a belief which did no harm
to others and gave me a good deal of satisfaction. As I had neither
money nor clothes, and was not of figure to win admiration, why should I
not express the pride I felt in my power to move an audience? Besides I
was only sixteen!

The principal spoke to me afterwards, both praising and criticising my
method. The praise I accepted, the criticism I naturally resented. I
realized some of my faults of course, but I was not ready to have even
Prof. Bush tell me of them. I hated "elocution" drill in class, I
relied on "inspiration." I believed that orators were born, not made.

There was one other speaker in my section, a little girl, considerably
younger than myself, who had the mysterious power of the born actress,
and I recognized this quality in her at once. I perceived that she spoke
from a deep-seated, emotional, Celtic impulse. Hardly more than a child
in years, she was easily the most dramatic reader in the school. She
too, loved tragic prose and passionate, sorrowful verse and to hear her
recite,

One of them dead in the East by the sea
And one of them dead in the West by the sea,

was to be shaken by inexplicable emotion. Her face grew pale as silver
as she went on and her eyes darkened with the anguish of the poet
mother.

Most of the students were the sons and daughters of farmers round about
the county, but a few were from the village homes in western Iowa