SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS

1. From what work is this selection taken?

2. What is the general theme, or dominant thought, of the selection?

3. How is the Christmas invitation introduced?

4. What do you find in this introduction that is the keynote to the character of Scrooge?

5. How does the environment accord with the character of Scrooge?

6. What part does the clerk play in the development of the story?

7. At what line does the dialogue in regard to Christmas begin?

8. Draw a contrast between Scrooge and his nephew. 9. What atmosphere does the nephew carry with him? 10. Notice the nephew's tribute to Christmas. What contrast do you discover? What lesson is indirectly taught? 11. Show how the nephew's Christmas humor was tested. 12. What is the conclusion of the Christmas invitation?

THE CHEERFUL LOCKSMITH

From the workshop of the Golden Key there issued forth a tinkling sound, so merry and good-humored that it suggested the idea of some one working blithely, and made quite pleasant music. No man who hammered on at a dull monotonous duty could have brought such cheerful notes from steel and iron; none but a chirping, healthy, honest-hearted fellow, who made the best of everything, and felt kindly towards everybody, could have done it for an instant. He might have been a coppersmith, and still been musical.

If he had sat in a jolting wagon, full of

rods of iron, it seemed as if he would have brought some harmony out of it. Tink, tink, tink-clear as a silver bell, and audible at every pause of the streets' harsher noises, as though it said, "I don't care; nothing puts me out; I am resolved to be happy."

Women scolded, children squalled, heavy carts went rumbling by, horrible cries proceeded from the lungs of hawkers; still it struck in again, no higher, no lower, no louder, no softer; not thrusting itself on people's notice a bit the more for having been outdone by louder sounds— tink, tink, tink, tink, tink.

It was a perfect embodiment of the still, small voice, free from all cold, hoarseness, huskiness, or unhealthiness of any kind; foot-passengers slackened their pace, and were disposed to linger near it; neighbors who had got up splenetic that morning, felt good-humor stealing on them as they heard it, and by degrees became quite sprightly; mothers danced their babies to its ringing; still the same magical tink, tink, tink, came gaily from the workshop of the Golden Key.

Who but the locksmith could have made such music? A gleam of sun shining through the unsashed window, and checkering the dark workshop with a broad patch of light, fell full upon him, as though attracted by his sunny heart. There he stood working at his anvil, his face all radiant with exercise and gladness, his sleeves turned up, his wig pushed off his shining forehead-the easiest, freest, happiest man in all the world.

Beside him sat a sleek cat, purring and winking in the light, and falling every now and then into an idle doze, as from excess of comfort. . . The very locks that hung around had something jovial in their rust, and seemed, like gouty gentlemen of hearty natures, disposed to joke on their infirmities.

There was nothing surly or severe in the whole scene. It seemed impossible that any one of the innumerable keys could fit a churlish strong-box or a prison door. Cellars of beer and wine, rooms where there were fires, books, gossip, and cheering laughter-these were their proper sphere of action. Places of distrust and cruelty, and restraint, they would have quadruple locked for ever. CHARLES DICKENS (adapted).

DIVISION I

CHAPTER II

Sequence of Thought

Literature has sequence of thought when each consecutive sentence is the outgrowth of the preceding sentence. Oral reading has sequence of thought when the reader holds the connected thought in mind as he reads.

Study each selection to understand the relation of sentence to sentence. Read aloud until the reading has continuity and smoothness. Lack of understanding of the thought is indicated by the constant and incorrect use of the falling inflection. This makes the reading broken and disconnected. To overcome broken and disconnected delivery, concentrate your mind on the connected thought, and read aloud.

SELECTIONS

LORD CHATHAM'S ELOQUENCE

His figure, when he first appeared in Parliament, was strikingly graceful and commanding, his features high and noble, his eye full of fire. His voice, even when it sunk to a whisper, was heard to the remotest benches; and when he strained it to its full extent, the sound rose like the swell of the organ of a great cathedral, shook the house with its peal, and was heard through lobbies and down staircases, to the Court of Requests and the precincts of Westminster Hall. He cultivated all these eminent advantages with the most assiduous care. His action is described by a very malignant observer as equal to that of

Garrick. His play of countenance was wonderful; he frequently disconcerted a hostile orator by a single glance of indignation or scorn. Every tone, from the impassioned cry to the thrilling aside, was perfectly at his command. It is by no means improbable that the pains which he took to improve his great personal advantages had, in some respects, a prejudicial operation, and tended to nourish in him that passion for theatrical effect which, as we have already remarked, was one of the most conspicuous blemishes in his character.

But it was not solely or principally to outward accomplishments that Pitt owed the vast influence which, during nearly thirty years, he exercised over the House of Commons. He was undoubtedly a great orator; and from the descriptions given by his contemporaries, and fragments of his speeches which still remain, it is not difficult to discover the nature and extent of his oratorical powers.

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He was no speaker of set speeches. His few prepared discourses were complete failures. The elaborate panegyric which he pronounced on General Wolfe was regarded as the very worst of all his performances. "No man," says a critic who had often heard him, ever knew so little of what he was going to say." Indeed his facility amounted to a vice. He was not the master, but the slave, of his own speech. So little self-command had he when once he felt the impulse, that he did not like to take part in a debate when his mind was full of an important secret of state. "I must sit still," he once said to Lord Shelburne on such an occasion; "for, when once I am up, everything that is in my mind comes out."

Yet he was not a great debater. That he should not have been so when first he entered the House of Commons is not strange. Scarcely any person has ever become so without long practice and many failures. It was by slow