He listened to them, and could not help thinking how much better they must feel when their speeches were all spoken. He knew very well what a troublesome thing a speech was to keep in, and without any cork.

Billy thought he had never known men to talk so long as they did--two young lawyers, three young doctors, the tutor of the village academy, the sub-editor of the _Weekly Bugle_, Squire Toms's son that was almost ready to go to college, and the tall young man with red hair who had just opened the new drug store.

That was the man who did Billy the most harm, for his argument was nothing in the wide world but a string of quotations from Daniel Webster. He called him the Great Expounder, and a great statesman, and a number of other names, and wound up by a.s.serting that the opinion of such a great man as that settled the matter. There was a good deal of applause given to the red-headed young man as he was sitting down, and Billy took advantage of it; that is, before he knew exactly what he was doing, he was on his feet, and shouted, "Mr. President!--ladies and gentlemen--"

"Mr. Morton has the floor," remarked the president, very dignifiedly; and Billy, as he afterward said of himself, "was pinned."

There was no escape for him now, and when Grandfather Morton pounded with his cane, and shouted, "Platform!" dozens of other people took it up, and it was "Platform!" "Platform!" "Platform!" all over the hall. He knew what it meant. All the favorite speakers were sent forward in that way, and it was a great compliment; but Billy thought he must have walked forty miles, from the tired feeling in his legs, when he got there. Oh, how hot that room was just then, and what a dreadful thing it was to have a crowd like that suddenly begin to keep still! They must have been holding their breaths.

Billy knew his speech was in him, for it had been swelling and swelling while the others were speaking, but he could not quite get any of it very close to his mouth at that trying moment.

Stiller and stiller grew the hall, and Billy had a dim notion that it was beginning to turn around.

"Mr. President, ladies, and gentlemen--"

He heard some of the boys over by the window crack some pea-nuts and giggle.

"--I don't care a cent for Daniel Webster--"

Billy paused, and was hunting desperately for the next word; but Grandfather Morton had voted against Mr. Webster a good many times, and down came the old gentleman's cane on the floor.

That was the signal for a storm of applause all over the hall; but Billy groped in every corner of his mind in vain for the rest of his speech.

Whether he had left it in the garret or the barn, or up in the pasture lot, it was gone; and when the stamping and clapping stopped, and the audience began to listen again, there was nothing more for them to hear.

It was so terribly hot in that hall; and it grew all the more like the Fourth of July, or a baker's oven, all the way to his seat, after Billy gave the matter up, and walked down from the platform.

But how they did cheer then!

The boys did their best, and even the ladies seemed to be shouting.

"Did I say anything so good as all that?" thought Billy.

But at the end of the debate, which came very soon after Billy's effort, Grandfather Morton shook hands with him very proudly; and it was the president of the society--and he had been a member of the Legislature--who came up just then, and said,

"Capital speech of yours, Mr. Morton. Best thing of the evening."

"Good, wasn't it?" said Billy's grandfather. "Laid that red-headed poison peddler as flat as a pancake."

"Best speech I ever heard in this hall, Mr. Morton; it was so splendidly short."

But Billy kept thinking, all the way home, "What would he have said if I hadn't forgot the rest of it?"

That was years ago, and Billy is a great lawyer now; but he says he has never forgotten what it was that made his first speech so very good.

THE CZAR'S FISH.

BY DAVID KER.

One fine July morning, a few years ago, there was a great stir among the villagers of Pavlovo, on the Lower Volga, for the news had got abroad that the Czar was coming down the river, on his way to his Summer Palace in the Crimea. So, of course, every one was on the look-out for him; for the Russian peasants of the Volga are a very loyal set, and many old men and women among them, who have never been out of their native village before, will tramp for miles over those great, bare, dusty plains on the chance of catching a pa.s.sing glimpse of "Alexander Nikolaievitch"

(Alexander the son of Nicholas), as they call the Czar.

Among those who talked over the great news most eagerly were the family of an old fisherman, who was known as "Lucky Michael," on account of his success in catching the finest fish, although hard work and experience had probably much more to do with it than any "luck."

But of late "Lucky Michael" had been very _un_lucky indeed. His wife had been ill, to begin with; and one of his two sons (who helped him with his fishing) had been disabled for several weeks by a bad hurt in his arm. Moreover, his boat was getting so crazy and worn out that it seemed wonderful how it kept afloat at all; but the news of the Czar's coming seemed to comfort him for everything.

"If Father Alexander Nikolaievitch would only give us money enough to buy a new boat!" said old Praskovia, Michael's wife, as she put away what was left of the huge black loaf that had served for breakfast; "but I suppose it wouldn't do to ask him."

"Of course not!" said Michael, who was an independent old fellow; "he's done quite enough for us already, in making us freemen, when we were all slaves before.[3] Now, then, let's get to work. Come, Stepan [Stephen], come, Ivan [John], and let us see what G.o.d will send us."

But at first the luck seemed to be still against them, for they drew their net twice without catching anything. The third time, however, the net felt unusually heavy, and there was such a tugging and kicking inside of it that it was plain they had caught a pretty big fish of some kind. John, who was the first to look in, gave a loud hurrah, and shouted, "Father! father!--a sturgeon! a sturgeon!"

There, sure enough, lay the great fish amid a crowd of smaller ones, in all the pride of its spiky back, and smooth, brown, scaleless skin. All three rejoiced at the sight, for a sturgeon will always fetch a good price in Russia, and the two lads began to think at once how far this would go toward paying for a new boat.

They fished some time longer, and made one or two pretty good hauls; but the sturgeon was the great event of the day. John and Stephen wrapped it up carefully, and were quite proud to show it to their mother on getting home; but they looked rather blank at hearing their father say, in a way which showed that he meant it,

"This is the finest fish I've ever caught, and I won't sell it to any one. It's a Czar among fish, just like Alexander Nikolaievitch among us; so it shall be _his_ fish, and I'll give it to him as he pa.s.ses."

The news of Michael's fish, and of what he meant to do with it, soon spread through the village, and created considerable excitement. But there was not much time to talk it over, for, two days later, young Stephen, who had been sent to look out for the Czar's steamer, came running to say that it was in sight. So Michael put his sturgeon into the boat, and away they pulled. It was a hard pull against that strong current, but at last they got near enough to hail the steamer and be taken in tow.

Up went Michael, fish and all, and the captain led him aft to where the Czar and his officers were standing. Many of them were handsome, stalwart men, all ablaze with lace and embroidery; but the old fisherman, with his tall, upright figure, clear bright eye, and hale old face framed in snow-white hair, looked, despite his rough dress, as fine a man as any of them.

"See here, father," said he, "this is the finest fish I ever caught, and so I've kept it for _you_. I want nothing for it; take it as a free gift."

"Thank you, brother," said the Czar; "it's a royal fish, indeed, and I'll have it for dinner this very day, and drink your health over it.

What's your name?"

"Michael Ribakoff, father, from the village of Pavlovo."

"Good--I won't forget you. Good-by!"

When the villagers heard what had happened, they all thought Michael rather a fool for giving his fish away, when the Czar would have paid a good price for it. But a week later came a fine new fishing-boat for "Michael Ribakoff," in the stern locker of which were a complete suit of fisherman's clothes and a new net, with a piece of paper inscribed, in the Czar's own handwriting, "_A midsummer gift from Alexander Nikolaievitch._" And old Michael always said that he valued the paper far more than the boat.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] Here Michael must be corrected. Of the forty-nine millions of Russian peasants, only twenty-three millions were actually serfs.

THE HERMIT AND THE ROBBERS.

A gentle hermit, one day, proceeding on his way through a vast forest, chanced to discover a large cave nearly hidden under-ground. Being much fatigued, he entered to repose himself awhile; and observing something shining in the distance, he approached, and found it was a heap of gold.