An Overworked Reciter.

Kaipara and Waitemata Echo, 3 April 1914, Page 2

An Overworked Reciter.

4 —: Once there was a little boy whose name was Robert Recce, .And every Friday afternoon he had to say a piece. So many poems thus he learned that soon he had a store Df recitations in his head, and still kept learning more. fVnd now this is what happened : He was called upon one week, A.nd totally forgot the piece he was about to speak ! His brain he cudgelled. Not a word remained within his head ! A.nd so he spoke at random, and this is what he said :— 'My beautiful, my beautiful, who standest proudly by. ft was the schooner Hesperus—the I breaking waves dashed high ! Why is the Forum crowded ? What ,' means this stir in Rome ? j ; Under a spreading chestnut .'tree there ' \ t is no place like home ! j ; tVhen Freedom from her mountain ; height cried, Twinkle, little star; Shoot if you must this old grey j head, King Henry of Nakarre ! : Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ■ castled crag of Drachenfels ; ; My name is Norval, on the Grampian Hills, ring out, wild bells ! I If you're waking call me early, to be 1 or not to be ; ; The curfew must not ring tq,-night ! Oh, woodman, spare that tree ! Charge, Chester, charge ! On Stanley, on ! And let who will be clever ! The boy stood on the burning deck, but I go on for ever !" His elocution was superb, his voice and gesture fine ; .His schoolmates all applauded as hefinished the last line. "I see it doesn't matter," Robert } thought, "what words I say. !So long as I declaim with oratorical display !"