Victory, if gained, is gained by battles fought;
Not by the numbers, but the forces brought.
What boots success in skirmish or in fray,
If rout or ruin, following, close the day?
What worth a hundred posts, maintained with skill,
If, these all held, the foe is victor still?

He who would win his cause, with power must frame
Points of support, and look with steady aim ;
Attack the weak, defend the strong with art,
Strike but few blows, but strike them to the heart :
All scattered fires but end in smoke and noise,-
The scorn of men, the idle play of boys.
Keep, then, this first great precept ever near;
Short be your speech, your matter strong and clear ;
Earnest your manner, warm and rich your style,
Severe in taste, yet full of grace the while ;
So may you reach the loftiest heights of fame,
And leave, when life is past, a deathless name.

Judge Story.

SELECTIONS.

[Several of the following selections, those of Mr. Brooks in particular, have been written and copy-righted specially for Voice Culture and Elocution, and permission has been obtained from authors and publishers for the use of others.

With the exception of a few pieces intended only for class readings and recitations, the selections here given will be found a choice list for parlor and public recitals.]

THE KITCHEN CLOCK.

JOHN VANCE CHENEY.

[From "Thistle Drift."]

KNITTING is the maid o' the kitchen, Milly ;

Doing nothing, sits the chore boy, Billy :

" Seconds reckoned,

Seconds reckoned;

Every minute,

Sixty in it.

Milly, Billy,

Billy, Milly,

Tick-tock, tock-tick,
Nick-knock, knock-nick,

Knockety-nick, nickety-knock,"

Goes the kitchen clock.

Closer to the fire is rosy Milly,

Every whit as close and cozy, Billy:

"Time's a-flying,

Worth your trying;

Pretty Milly

Kiss her, Billy !

Milly, Billy,

Billy, Milly,

Tick-tock, tock-tick,

Now-now, quick-quick!

Knockety-nick, nickety-knock, "

Goes the kitchen clock.

Something's happened, very red is Milly;

Billy boy is looking very silly:

Weeks gone, still they're sitting, Milly, Billy; O, the winter winds are wondrous chilly !

"Winter weather,

Close together;
Wouldn't tarry,

Better marry,

Milly, Billy,

Billy, Milly,

Two-one, one-two,

Don't wait, 'twon't do,

Knockety-nick, nickety-knock,"

Goes the kitchen clock.

Winters two have gone, and where is Milly? Spring has come again, and where is Billy?

"Give me credit, For I did it;

Treat me kindly,

Mind you wind me.

Mister Billy,

Mistress Milly,

My-0, 0-my!

By-by, by-by,

Nickety-knock, cradle rock,"—

Goes the kitchen clock.

BARNYARD MELODIES.

FRED EMERSON BROOKS.

DELIGHTFUL change from the town's abode,
Is a charming drive on a country road;
From the stifling air of the city's street
To the perfumed air of the daisies sweet.

You halt your team at the farmer's gate,
He comes to open it; while you wait,
Old Rover comes bounding down the hill
In spite of his master's "Rover, be still!”—
His barking shakes his thick shaggy coat,
While these notes roll from his deep-toned throat -

Bow-wow-wow-wow!

Bow-wow-wow-wow!

On either side the fat hens take leg,

While others announce a new-laid egg,

Cut-cut-cut-cut-da-cut!

Cut-cut-cut-cut-da-cut!

The rooster, shrill spokesman for the brood,

Says-one-third polite and two-thirds rude :

I'm Cock-a-doodle-doo !

And who the deuce are you?

The ducks and drakes have the self-same quack, -
They're just alike, save the curl at the back;

For "divers" reasons they go to the pond,
For "sun-dry" reasons they strut around,
And waddle off like sailors a-spreeing,

And talk like doctors when disagreeing:-

Quack-quack-quack-quack!
Quack-quack-quack-quack!

The turkey gobbler comes charging round
With ruffled temper and wings aground;
For fear he might his foe overtake

He gives alarm, then puts on the brake :

Plip-gobble-obble-obble !
Plip-gobble-obble-obble !

The hog in the trough with dirty feet,
The more you give him the more he'll eat;
This gourmand finds nothing to desire
When half asleep in the half-dried mire:-
R-r-r-ough-ff!-r-r-r-ough-ff!
R-r-r-ough-ff-r-r-r-ough-ff!

The sow is teaching her litter of shoats
To speak hog-latin with guttural throats :-

Ugh-ee! ugh-ee! ugh-ee! ugh-ee!
Ugh-ee! ugh-ee! ugh-ee! ugh-ee!

The calf and lamb at distance dispute

The right of bin with the hornèd brute ;
Their blat and bleat the hard-headed scorns
Where right and wrong's a question of horns :-

Bah! bah!-Beh-eh-eh-eh-eh!
Bah! bah!-Beh-eh-eh-eh-eh!

The barefoot boy, from the tender rows
Of corn, is driving the "pesky crows;