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diff --git a/old/53869-0.txt b/old/53869-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7420298..0000000 --- a/old/53869-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4615 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's How to Become a Public Speaker, by William Pittenger - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: How to Become a Public Speaker - Showing the best manner of arranging thought so as to gain - conciseness, ease and fluency in speech - -Author: William Pittenger - -Release Date: January 2, 2017 [EBook #53869] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOW TO BECOME A PUBLIC SPEAKER *** - - - - -Produced by Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - HOW TO BECOME A - PUBLIC - SPEAKER - -[Illustration] - - SHOWING THE BEST MANNER OF ARRANGING THOUGHT SO AS TO GAIN CONCISENESS, - EASE, AND FLUENCY IN SPEECH - - - BY - WILLIAM PITTENGER - - - PHILADELPHIA - THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY - 1903 - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1886, by - THE NATIONAL SCHOOL OF ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, - in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - I. Can the Art of Speech be Learned? 5 - - II. The Four Methods of Public Speech, 11 - - III. An Embryo Speech, with Models, 24 - - IV. Initial Fear and How to Overcome it, 40 - - V. Utility of Debating Societies, 45 - - VI. Thought and Emotion, 51 - - VII. Language, 65 - - VIII. Imagination, 73 - - IX. Voice and Gesture, 78 - - X. Confidence, 89 - - XI. The Pen and the Tongue, 99 - - XII. Subject and Object, 102 - - XIII. Thought-Gathering, 113 - - XIV. Constructing a Plan, 120 - - XV. How shall the Written Plan be Used? 124 - - XVI. The First Moment of Speech, 134 - - XVII. The Introduction, 143 - - XVIII. Progress of the Speech, 154 - - XIX. After the Speech, 164 - - - - - CHAPTER I. - CAN THE ART OF SPEECH BE LEARNED? - - -There is a widespread opinion that all study of the mode of oratory is -unmanly, and leads to the substitution of artifice and adornment for -simplicity and power. “Let a man have something important to say,” it is -argued, “and he need not waste his time in trying to find how to say -it.” So general is this sentiment, that a ministerial acquaintance of -the writer’s was recently very careful to conceal from his congregation -the fact that he was taking a series of lessons in elocution, lest his -influence should be diminished. - -We may admit that the popular prejudice against the study of eloquence -is not without a mixture of reason. It is possible to foster a spurious -kind of oratory, which shall be far inferior to the rudest genuine -speech. But, on the other hand, it is safe to maintain that every -rational power man possesses can be strengthened by judicious -cultivation, without in the least impairing its quality. There is no -trick in true oratory—no secret magic by which a weak-minded man can -become the leader of others stronger and wiser than himself. The great -prizes of eloquence cannot be placed in the hands of the ignorant or -slothful. But so surely as a raw apprentice can be transformed into a -skillful workman, any person possessed of ordinary faculties, who will -pay the price in labor, can be made master of the art of ready and -forcible public utterance. - -The methods of oratorical cultivation presented in this volume are not -based upon mere theory. They have been tested in hundreds of instances, -and their results are beyond question. A carpenter will assert with -perfect assurance, “I guarantee to take an ordinary young man, who will -place himself in my hands for a reasonable time, and turn him out a -thorough mechanic, master of every part of his trade.” The effects of -training are as marvelous and as certain in the fields of eloquence. - -But this training must necessarily combine practice with theory. To -study about great orators and observe their works is not sufficient. -Here again, we may take a lesson from the mode in which an apprentice is -trained. The master architect does not take his young men to gaze upon -finished buildings, and expect them, from mere admiration and -architectural fervor, to construct similar works. He would soon find -that not one in a hundred had the “mechanical genius” for such an easy -triumph. But he takes them into the shop, where work is in progress, -places before them some simple task, and from that leads them on, step -by step, to more difficult achievements. They learn how to make the -separate parts of a house, and afterward how to fit those parts into a -complete work. Under this rational mode of instruction the great -majority master the whole business placed before them, and the failures -are rare exceptions. If similar success does not attend oratorical -students, the explanation must be sought, not in the nature of oratory, -but in wrong methods of training. Merely reading Cicero and Demosthenes, -even in their original tongues, declaiming choice selections, or -listening to great orators, will not make any one eloquent, unless -indeed he possesses that rare natural genius which rises above all rules -and sweeps away every obstacle. - -But it must be remembered that there are many degrees of eloquence. The -popular conception is somewhat unjust in refusing recognition to those -who possess this power in only a fair degree. It is not possible by any -mode of training to produce many orators of the very highest type. Such -will ever be rare for the same reason that there are but few great -poets, generals, or statesmen. But proper education in the art of speech -should enable a man to give full, free, and adequate expression to -whatever thoughts and feelings he may possess. It may go further, and -make him more fruitful in thought, and more intense in feeling, than he -could have been in the absence of such education, and he may thus become -fairly entitled to the rewards of eloquence without, however, reaching -the level of the few great world-orators. The distinction between a good -degree of practical, working eloquence, which may be successfully taught -to the mass of students, and the very highest development of the same -faculty, should always be kept in mind. Even the mightiest genius may be -regulated, strengthened, and directed by culture; while moderate talents -may, by similar culture, reach a very serviceable degree of efficiency -and power. - -While these considerations appear almost self-evident, they are not -unnecessary. On listening to a true orator—one who, without hesitation, -pours forth a stream of well-chosen words, and develops a difficult -subject in a clear and masterly manner—we are apt to receive an -impression like that made by the operation of a law of nature, or an -unerring animal instinct. Does the orator acquire eloquence as the bee -learns to construct honey-cells? There is, no doubt, a foundation for -eloquence in natural ability, but the analogy is far more close with the -human builder, who sees mentally the image of the house he wishes to -construct, fits the various timbers and other materials into their -places, and works intelligently until his conception is realized. To -Jack Cade and his fellows the mysteries of reading and writing “came by -nature;” but experience has shown that this much of nature can be -developed in the great majority of American children. In the moderate -and reasonable meaning of the term, eloquence can be made almost as -general as the elements of a common-school education. The child that -masters the art of reading, really makes a greater conquest over -difficulties, than the average well-educated youth needs to add to the -stores he already possesses, in order to attain a good degree of -oratorical power. There are, indeed, a few indispensable requisites -which will be understood by every person; but the want of these debars a -small minority only, and their absence is easily recognized. For all -others the path of success lies open. Patient practice in the use of the -pen as a servant but not as a master, the study of good models, and the -laborious mastery in detail of the separate elements of oratory, will -not fail of abundant fruit. - -There are two classes of works with which this treatise should not be -confounded. It aims to occupy an almost vacant place between manuals of -elocution on the one hand, and works of technical instruction in the -various oratorical professions, on the other. Both of these classes of -books are very useful, and teach indirectly many of the elements of true -eloquence. Elocution deals with voice and gesture, which are prime -elements in oratory; and although it is popularly supposed to be -applicable only to reading and recitation, it is equally serviceable in -off-hand speech. Works of the second class give rules for preaching, -debating, pleading at the bar, teaching, and all other professions which -involve public speech. They show how various kinds of discourses may be -constructed, but have few practical directions about the mode of -delivery, or that grand and noble work—the development of the oratorical -power itself. - -This book is written from the standpoint of the student who wishes to -wield the golden sceptre of eloquence and is willing to put forth all -reasonable efforts to that end. It will aim to guide him into the right -path; show him what helps are available, and what discipline is -necessary; encourage him in overcoming difficulties, and stimulate him -to seek the very highest excellence within the compass of his faculties. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - THE FOUR METHODS OF PUBLIC SPEECH—THEIR ADVANTAGES AND DISADVANTAGES. - - -“What shall I do?” exclaims the young student who expects soon to face -public audiences. “Shall I write out what I have to say, polish it as -highly as possible, and then utter this finished product? Or must I take -the risk of being able to say nothing at all, in hope of gaining the -ease and naturalness of spontaneous speech?” - -It must be admitted that the first course indicated above has many -advantages, and seems in harmony with the marked tendency of -civilization toward division of labor. It is hard to perform several -different operations at the same moment. Look how heavily the extempore -speaker is burdened. He must think of his subject; arrange his ideas, -sentences, and words; remember quotations; originate proper tones and -gestures; and keep his attention closely fixed upon his audience. All -this he must do with the utmost promptness and regularity, or incur a -fearful penalty—that of embarrassment and failure. Few men have the -courage to stand long before an audience, waiting for a missing word or -idea. To avoid this danger the mind of an extempore speaker must be -accustomed to work with the rapidity and precision of a printing-press; -otherwise, the appalling danger of failure and ridicule will constantly -stare him in the face. It is not wonderful that such perils have made -many speakers perpetual slaves of the pen. - -But it may be noted that the public reader has an equal number of things -to do at the same moment. He must look on the manuscript and recognize -the words—a complicated process, which practice has made easy, but which -does greatly distract attention. The whole discourse must be brought -into mind as really as if extemporized with the difference that now, -instead of arising from within, it is brought back from without—a much -more difficult achievement. Tones and gestures are also increasingly -difficult. The reader will usually wish to give some attention to the -audience, which, with manuscript before him, will be far from easy. -After he has done his best his hearers will think, “This man is reading, -not speaking—giving us what he thought yesterday or last week, not what -he is thinking now.” Possibly this will not diminish their pleasure, but -the sentiment needs to be recognized. - -The resource of memorizing the discourse after it has been prepared -relieves the eye and lessens the physical distraction, but it throws an -additional and very heavy burden upon the mind, and introduces new -embarrassments peculiar to itself. - -The advice enforced in these pages will be: “Extemporize; take the risk; -fail, if necessary” though precautions will be given making failure well -nigh impossible; “but in all cases when you speak to the people with the -object of convincing or persuading, let it be seen that you speak -directly the thoughts and feelings of that very moment.” - -The two extremes of verbal communication between men are letters, books, -or essays, on the one side, and desultory talk on the other. In the one, -the pen is everything; in the other, it is not employed at all. Neither -mode of address constitutes oratory, but the whole field of this art -lies between them. - -There are four principal methods of discourse distinguished in reference -to the mode of delivery, which we may name as follows: - - 1. Reading. - - 2. Recitation. - - 3. Extemporizing. - - 4. The composite method. - -Of these, the first two have the great advantage of allowing the speaker -as much time as may be necessary for the arrangement of the speech down -to the minutest detail. Words may be selected with the nicest care, and -if the first effort is not satisfactory the speech may be written again -and again, until the writer’s full power has been utilized. After -delivery, the manuscript is at once available for publication or -preservation. The first method gives the orator something to lean upon. -Should he become embarrassed, he can fix his attention closely upon his -writing until he recovers. Should his attention be distracted, and the -thread of discourse be broken, it can be taken up again at any point. - -In recitation more declamatory fervor is possible than in reading. -Gesticulation is less restrained. The speaker need not be confined -within the narrow limits of a circle, the centre of which is his -manuscript, and the radius the distance at which he can read it. - -As an offset, there is the effort, in some cases very considerable, of -memorizing; the variable power of memory in different states of health; -and the possibility of altogether forgetting the prepared words. It must -also be admitted that few men can declaim well. Some have mastered the -difficult art, and have won laurels in this way; but their number, -especially in the modern world, is comparatively small. - -Extemporizing does not exclude the most exhaustive study of a subject. -It is easier, indeed, to write upon a subject only partially understood, -than to address an audience directly upon the same topic. Neither does -this method exclude the most careful pre-arrangement of the thoughts -enunciated. The trained speaker will find it comparatively easy to make -a plan at a moment’s notice which will serve as a basis for discourse; -but he will usually be provided with a plan long before he begins to -speak. He will aim to understand his subject, make the best arrangement -of it in his power, select what is most fitting for his purpose, and -then, face to face with his audience, will give them, in a manly way, -the outflowing of his mind and heart. It is in this sense alone that the -word “extempore” will be used in this volume. We maintain that, so far -from being the refuge of ignorance and sloth, extempore speech is often -the vehicle of the widest culture and the most extensive knowledge. - -The increased attention paid to extempore speech within a few years -indicates a hopeful improvement of taste among professional men. The -majority of the people have always preferred it. They do not greatly -desire of pulpit, platform, or bar, the verbal elaboration favored by -written speech; but fervent manner, earnest conviction, and directness -are highly prized. Readers and reciters imitate, as far as they can, the -manner of spontaneous speech. It is well to remember that this tribute -of imitation is never paid by the superior to the inferior. - -One argument in favor of extempore delivery has never received due -consideration: it is far more healthful than other forms of address. In -the case of men who speak only at long intervals, this consideration may -not be weighty; but to others, it involves years of added usefulness, or -even life itself. - -This superior healthfulness has often been observed, but what is its -source? The answer will go far to show why true extempore speech is more -persuasive and emotional than any other variety. In chemistry, a law of -affinity has long been recognized, according to which substances just -set free from combination have greater energy, and are more ready to -form new combinations, than ever afterward. In the same way, voice and -gesture readily respond to _nascent_ emotion; that is, to emotion -aroused for the first time. Every speaker who utters the thought of the -moment, if not fettered by bad habits, or paralyzed by fear, will -exhibit a perpetual change of position, a variety of muscular movement, -and a play of expression which he can never afterward reproduce. The -pitch, rate, and force of the voice are controlled in the same effective -and almost automatic manner. An ordinary extemporizer, when thoroughly -aroused, will employ as great a variety of tones and gestures as a -highly trained elocutionist in his most elaborate recitations. Nothing -is asserted as to the skill of the combinations, the melody of the -voice, or the grace of the action; though even in these the advantage is -not always on the side of the elocutionist. But in distributing the -effort among all the organs, and in giving that alternate rest and -action upon which health and strength depend, the elocutionist may -strive in vain to equal the model set him by a good extempore speech. In -Western and seaside camp-meetings, speakers who have never spent an hour -in vocal drill will often address thousands of people in the open air -with an energy of voice and manner that would, if employed over a -manuscript by any other than the most accomplished elocutionist, -speedily bring all efforts and the speaker himself to an end. But he -easily endures the strain because there is that continual change which -is the equivalent of rest. Notice some thoroughly excited speaker, -trained only in the school of experience—possibly a mere demagogue or -popular agitator—at his work. A word shot forth almost as piercing as a -steam whistle is followed by a sentence far down the scale, and when -emotion demands the same high key again, the organs in that position are -fresh for a new ear-piercing effort. There is equal variation in the -rate of speech. The whole body joins in the expression of emotion, -without the slightest conscious effort, impelled only by the aroused -nervous energy which seeks that mode of discharge. When the effort ends, -the man is weary, indeed; but with a weariness distributed over the -whole body, and without a trace of that exhaustion of brain, throat, or -the upper part of the lungs, which has sent many manuscript -speakers—clergymen, especially—to untimely graves. - -What a difference there is between the preacher who languidly reads his -manuscript for twenty-five minutes to a hundred people, and closes the -mighty effort with aching head, quivering nerves, and exhausted throat, -and the typical camp-meeting orator! The latter works hard, addressing -thousands of people for an hour and a half or two hours; but as the -stamping foot, the tense arm, the nodding head, the fully expanded -lungs, and the swaying body have all taken part, the blood and nervous -energy have been sent in due proportion to every organ, and there is no -want of balance. The man can repeat the same performances the next day, -and continue it, as many itinerants have done, for months together. -Similar examples of endurance have often been given in heated political -canvasses by orators of the very highest eminence, as well as by others -unknown to fame. Difference of cultivation or of earnestness will not -suffice to explain the contrast between the two classes of speakers. - -The chemical analogy is instructive, and goes far to account for the -observed differences. When thought passes out of the mist and shadow of -general conceptions into the definite form of words, it has immeasurably -greater power to arouse and agitate the mind in which this -transformation is made, than it can have when the same words are merely -recalled in memory or read from a sheet of paper. When the whole process -of expression takes place at once:—the mental glance over the subject; -the coinage of thoughts into words and sentences; the utterance of the -words as they rise to the lips; the selection of key, inflection, -emphasis, gesture:—the man must have a very cold nature, or his theme be -very dull, if, with a sympathizing audience before him, the tides of -emotion do not begin to swell. But notice how other modes of delivery -squander this wealth of emotion. The writer carefully elaborates his -language. He is perfectly calm, or if there is any excitement, it is -purely intellectual, and the quickened flow of blood is directed only to -the brain. When the ardor of composition subsides, and he reviews his -pages, the fire seems to have died out of them. While memorizing, or -making himself familiar enough with what he has written to read it with -effect, he may recall some of the first ardor, but only to have it again -subside. When at last he stands up to speak, his production is a -thrice-told tale. In but few cases will he feel the full inspiration of -his message. If he recites, the effort of memory distracts his -attention, and he is probably reading from a page of manuscript -presented by his mental vision. If he reads directly, he must take a -position to see his paper, and at least part of the time keep his eye -fixed upon it. The address is felt to come, notwithstanding all the -artifice he can employ, at least as much from the paper as from the man. -The most profound culture in reading and declamation only suffices to -bring back part of the emotion with which the genuine extemporizer -starts. - -As bearing upon the subject of the healthfulness of extempore speech, a -reference to the writer’s own experience may not be improper. Severe and -exceptional hardship in the civil war led to a complete break-down in -health. The hope of any kind of active work, or even of many months of -life, seemed very slight. The question was not so much how to speak -best, as how to speak at all. Fortunately, a long series of daily -lectures, involving no great intellectual effort, proved that mere -talking was not necessarily hurtful. Some elocutionary hints at the -right time were also of great value. When the pulpit was entered, -greater difficulty arose. A few trials of memorized preaching produced -alarming nervous exhaustion. Reading was equally deleterious to throat -and voice. One path alone seemed open; and entering upon that with -confidence, which eighteen years of experience has only deepened, the -writer found that extempore speech was, for him, probably the most -healthful of all forms of exercise. It is not likely that one-third of -this term of work would have been secured by any other kind of address. - -Another important advantage is the saving of time afforded by this mode -of speech. The hours otherwise wasted in word-elaboration may be more -usefully employed in general studies. The field for an orator’s -improvement is boundless; but if obliged to fully write a large number -of discourses, he must either work very rapidly or very perseveringly to -enter far into that field. But if less preparation is given to -individual speeches, more time will be available for the improvement of -the speaker. Or if he uses the same length of preparation for each -discourse in the extempore mode, he can collect and classify a far -greater amount of material, and the mental element will thus gain far -more than the merely verbal loses. - -Only the fourth or composite method of discourse remains for our -consideration. At first glance, it seems to combine the advantages of -all other methods, and for many minds it possesses great attraction. In -it the less important parts of the speech are given off-hand, while -passages of especial brilliancy or power are written fully, and either -read or recited. Added variety may be given by reading some of these, -and declaiming others from memory. A very brilliant and showy discourse -may thus be constructed. But the difficulties are also very great. Full -success requires a rare combination of desirable qualities. A good -verbal memory, the power of composing effective fragments, and of -declaiming or reading them well, are not often joined to all the -qualities that make a ready and impressive extemporizer. For this reason -it usually follows that in composite discourses one of the elements so -greatly predominates as to dwarf the others. A manuscript discourse in -which an extempore remark or two is interpolated must be classed with -written discourses. Neither does extemporizing lose its special -character, though some scattered quotations be read or repeated from -memory. To pick up a book, in the midst of a speech, and read a theme or -argument, or the statement of another’s position, does not make the -discourse composite in character, unless such reading be the principal -part of it. An eloquent speaker on one occasion occupied more than half -his time, and produced far more than half his effect, by reciting poems -of the author who was the nominal subject of his lecture. The -performance would have been more appropriately styled, “Recitations from -the poems of ——.” The few running comments introduced did not entitle it -to be classed as an original production, because they were obviously not -its governing motive. - -How shall the advantages of extemporizing be secured, while avoiding its -dangers? No commendation can be given to those who simply _talk_ to an -audience, giving forth only what may happen to be in mind at the moment -of delivery. The most pedantic writing and lifeless reading would, as a -habit, be preferable to such recklessness. Unwritten speech does not -preclude the fullest preparation. The plans advocated in this volume -will enable a speaker to gather materials as widely, arrange them as -systematically, and hold them as firmly in hand, as if every word was -written; while at the same time he may have all the freedom and play of -thought, the rush of passion, and the energy of delivery that comes in -the happiest moment of out-gushing words. But those who are unwilling to -labor may as well lay down the book. We do not profess to teach a -process of labor-saving, though much labor will be changed from -mechanical to intellectual, and after long experience the total saving -may be great. But in the first stages those who have been accustomed to -write in full will find that the change involves an increase, rather -than a diminution, of work. - - - - - CHAPTER III. - AN EMBRYO SPEECH, WITH MODELS OF VERY SIMPLE PLANS. - - -The first extemporaneous speeches attempted should be of the simplest -character. Too high an ideal formed at the outset may be very harmful by -causing needless discouragement. To speak freely in any manner, however -rude, until confidence and the power of making every faculty available -are acquired, should be the first great object. Many persons are slaves -of bad habits through life because they began wrong. Nothing harms an -orator more than cultivating his critical taste far beyond his power of -ready utterance. There is no necessary relation between the development -of the two things. To become a fine word-critic and master of an -excellent written style does not imply the power to strike off finely -finished sentences at the speed of the tongue; but it does tend to -render the speaker dissatisfied with anything below the level of his -written performances, and thus checks his fluency. To master the -difficult art of written composition first, and strive afterward to gain -a similar proficiency in spoken words, is a complete reversal of the -natural method, and in all but a few gifted minds puts a premium on -failure. An unlettered rustic may speak with perfect ease, because he is -not conscious of the numberless verbal blunders he falls into; but if it -were possible, by some process of spiritual infusion, to put him in -possession of a fine, critical taste, he would be instantly smitten -dumb. - -The true method is to cultivate the faculty of extemporization side by -side with critical judgment. In case that is done, ease and confidence -will not be for a moment disturbed. It thus appears that while an -extempore speaker can never know too much, it is quite possible for his -knowledge and cultivation to advance in the wrong order. The pen will be -of perpetual use to the speaker; but his command of it must not increase -so rapidly in proportion as to make him ashamed of his tongue. - -From this reasoning it follows that the best time to lay the foundation -of excellence in speech is very early in life. Speeches made then are -necessarily flimsy and rudimentary, but they are not the less valuable -on that account. They are to be estimated not for their own worth, but -for their results upon the mind producing them. The schoolboy’s first -“composition” has always been a mark for cheap witticism; but the boy -himself regards it with justifiable pride, as the first step in the -noble work of putting thought on paper. The same pains and patience -applied to the art of public talking as to written composition will -produce equal fruit. A few directions intended to aid in overcoming some -of the initial difficulties of speech, which may serve as suggestions to -teachers as well as helps to solitary students, are here appended. They -are purposely made of almost ludicrous crudeness, but will not, it is -trusted, be less serviceable on that account; for it is not so important -to aid the mature speaker in giving the last fine strokes of genius to a -masterly oration, as it is to stimulate and guide beginners in their -first stammering utterances. - -The simplest oration or formal address that can be constructed has three -distinct parts. With these we will begin the great work of division and -arrangement. They may be named as follows: - - 1. THE INTRODUCTION. - - 2. THE DISCUSSION. - - 3. THE CONCLUSION. - -On this framework a speech-plan can be constructed simple enough for any -child. And it is at the same time true that even a child, with such a -plan, might speak appropriately who would otherwise not be able to begin -at all. - -We will consider these three parts in their order. - -The introduction is at once important and embarrassing. First words are -nearly always heard attentively, and they do much to determine the -degree of attention that will be bestowed on the remainder of the -speech. The young speaker should select something as an introduction -upon which his mind can fasten, instead of dwelling upon the frightful -generality of the naked theme. Neither is it hard to construct a good -introduction if a few plain directions are heeded, which will be more -fully given in a succeeding chapter. All persons feel the need of some -kind of a formal opening, and therefore often begin with an apology—the -very worst form of an introduction, because it is not interesting in -itself and does not lead up to the subject. - -In rudimentary speech, which we are now considering, the introduction -should be simple, and, above everything else, easy for the speaker to -comprehend and remember. If there is anything in the whole world which -he is sure he can talk about for a few moments, and which can be made to -have a moderate degree of connection with his subject, let that be -chosen for an opening. If it is also vivid and striking in itself, and -familiar to the audience, so much the better; but this quality should -not be insisted upon in these first attempts. - -When the introductory topic is selected it should be turned over in the -mind until the speaker knows just what he is going to say about it. This -process will have a wonderfully quieting effect upon his nerves. He has -fairly mastered something, and knows that at all events he can begin his -speech. It is well to make a note of this introduction in a few simple -words which will strongly fasten themselves in the memory. No effort -toward elaboration should be made, for that would naturally lead to a -memorized introduction, and either require the whole speech to be -written, or produce a painful and difficult transition. - -The discussion deals directly with the subject or central idea of the -discourse. Here a clear statement of at least one thought which the -speaker can fully grasp should be made. The pen (or pencil) may be used -in preparation without impropriety. If but one idea is thought of, let -that be written in the fewest and strongest words at the student’s -command. While doing this it is likely that another and related thought -will spring into mind which can be treated in the same manner. With -diligent students there may even be a danger of getting down too many -seed-thoughts. But that contingency is provided for in the chapters on -the fully developed plan, and needs no further notice at this time. - -When this central division is completely wrought out, two other points -claim attention. How shall the transition be made from the introduction -to the discussion? A little reflection will show how to glide from one -to the other, and that process should be conned over, without writing, -until it is well understood. It is wonderful how many outlines of ideas -the memory will retain without feeling burdened; and this power of -retention grows enormously through exercise. - -After this, the mode of gliding from the discussion to the conclusion -may be treated in the same manner, and with equal profit. The conclusion -itself is scarcely less material than the introduction; but there is -much less range of choice in the manner of closing than in that of -beginning. The subject is before the audience, and any wide departure -from it seems like the beginning of a new speech—something not usually -well received. There is this distinction between the relative value of -introduction and conclusion: a good introduction adds most to a -speaker’s ease, confidence, and power during the moment of speech; but a -good conclusion leaves the deepest permanent impression upon the -audience. It is usually remembered longer than any other part of the -address. - -When a discourse has been prepared in this simple manner it has -virtually five parts—three written and two held in memory. From such an -outline it is far more easy to make an address than from the bare -announcement of a theme. It is true that all these parts may be formed -and held in mind without ever making a pen-stroke. A practiced orator -will do this, in a moment, when unexpectedly called upon; or he may only -forecast the introduction and trust to finding the plan as fast as it is -needed. But in this he is no model for imitation by beginners. Even -powerful orators sometimes spoil the whole effect of a good address by -an unfortunate mode of closing. They may forget to close in time—a -grievous fault!—or may finish with some weak thought or extravagant -proposition, by which the whole speech is mainly judged and all its good -points neutralized. The construction of even as simple a plan as here -indicated would have more than double the effect of many speeches made -by great men. - -A few simple and rude plans are annexed. No merit is sought for in any -one of them beyond making plain the method recommended. - - - PLANS OF SPEECHES. - - - EXAMPLE FIRST. - - SUBJECT.—CHINESE EMIGRATION TO AMERICA. - - INTRODUCTION.—The number of emigrants to our country and the nations - they represent. - -[A totally different and more effective introduction might be the -description of a group of Chinese as seen by the speaker.] - - DISCUSSION.—The nature, amount, and present effect of Chinese - emigration. - -[It is possible for the speaker in his introduction to foreshadow the -position he expects to maintain in his speech; or he may make a -colorless introduction and reserve his opinion for the discussion. The -material under this head is unlimited. It is only necessary from the -oratorical standpoint that the speaker should determine what course to -take, and then carefully think out in advance or read—for history and -statistics cannot be improvised—all about that which he intends to use. -When he can tell it all over easily to himself he may reasonably feel -assured of his ability to tell it to others. The various arguments -should be weighed and the best selected. That which most naturally -connects with the introduction should be firmly fixed in the mind as the -first, that it may form the bridge from the one part to the other.] - - CONCLUSION.—Results of policy advocated, either predicted, - described, or shown to be probable. Mode of remedying evils that - might be apprehended from that policy. - -[In the conclusion the speaker may take upon himself the character of a -prophet, poet, or logician. He may predict results and let the statement -make its own impression. He may put all emphasis upon a vivid painting -of the future colored by the views he advocates; or he may sum up his -reasons, deduce consequences, and weigh alternatives. The choice between -these different modes may be made instinctively, or it may require -considerable mental effort, but when made, the best mode of transition -will be very easily found.] - -In all this process, which in the case of undisciplined speakers may -extend over many days of hard work, the pen may be used freely, making -copious notes of facts and arguments. After enough has been accumulated -and put in such shape that the speaker can easily look over the entire -field, he is ready for another process—that of simplifying his plan. -Rough and copious notes brought with him to the platform would only be a -source of embarrassment. But the germ of his ideas, which are now -familiar, can be put into very small compass. Perhaps the following -would recall everything in the preceding outline: - - THE CHINESE QUESTION. - - 1. EXPERIENCE. - - 2. ARGUMENTS. - - 3. RESULTS. - -But it is clear that a skeleton containing only three words need not be -kept in view. The whole outline of the speech will therefore be in the -mind. If numerous figures or citations from authorities are employed, -they may be classified and read from books or notes, as needed. Such -reading in no way detracts from the extemporaneous character of the -address, though if too numerous they tend to damp oratorical fire and -break the unity of discourse. One who has had no personal experience, or -who has not carefully observed the methods of other speakers, can -scarcely imagine how much a simple outline, such as here suggested, -accomplishes in removing the confusion, fear, and hesitation which -characterize beginners. - -Another specimen, not of controversial character, is subjoined. - - - EXAMPLE SECOND. - - SUBJECT.—THE OCEAN. - - INTRODUCTION.—The vastness of the ocean. No one person has seen more - than a small part of it. Power evidenced by storm and shipwrecks. - - DISCUSSION.—Five great divisions of the ocean. Use in nature, - watering and tempering the land; in commerce, as a highway; in - history, by dividing and uniting nations; its mystery, etc. - - CONCLUSION.—Proof of the Creator’s power and wisdom found in the - ocean. - - _The Same Plan Condensed._ - - SUBJECT.—THE OCEAN. - - 1. VASTNESS AND POWER. - - 2. PARTS, USE, AND MYSTERY. - - 3. EVIDENCE. - - DEAN SWIFT’S SERMON. - -This eccentric clergyman once preached a sermon shorter than its own -text, yet having all the three parts of which we have spoken. The text -was Prov. xix, 20: “He that pitieth the poor lendeth to the Lord; and -that which he hath given will He pay him again.” - -The sermon was: - -“Brethren, you hear the condition; if you like the security, down with -the dust.” - -The collection is said to have been munificent. - -In this short sermon the text with the word “Brethren” constitutes the -introduction; the phrase, “you hear the condition,” is a good transition -to the discussion contained in the next member, “if you like the -security,” which assumes the truth of the text, makes its general -declarations present and personal, and prepares the way for the forcible -and practical, if not very elegant, conclusion, “down with the dust.” - -Among the many speeches found in Shakespeare, the existence of these -three essential parts may easily be noted. The funeral speeches over the -dead body of Julius Cæsar afford an excellent example. The merit of the -orations of Brutus and Antony are very unequal, but both are -instructive. We will analyze them in turn. - -Brutus speaks first. He shows his want of appreciation of the true -nature of persuasive eloquence by declaring that this will be an -advantage. His introduction is also too long and elaborate for the work -he has in hand. The central thought with which he opens is in substance, -“I am worthy of your closest attention.” This cannot be considered a -fortunate beginning, and it would have been fatal for any one less -highly esteemed by the people than “the well-beloved Brutus.” He says: - - BRUTUS’ SPEECH. - -“Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my cause, and be silent -that you may hear; believe me for mine honor, and have respect to mine -honor that you may believe; censure me in your wisdom and awake your -senses that you may the better judge.” - - * * * * * - -This introduction is a master-piece of Shakespeare’s art, because it -pictures so well the character of Brutus in his dignity and blind -self-confidence; but for Brutus it is unfortunate, because it puts him -on the defensive and makes the people his judges. He must now plead -well, or they will condemn him. - -In the discussion the thought simply is, “I was Cæsar’s friend, and -therefore you may well believe that I would not have killed him if he -had not deserved death because of his ambition.” This is the whole -argument, and it is weak because it does not prove the ambition of -Cæsar, or show that ambition on Cæsar’s part was a crime which Brutus -had a right to punish with death. The antithetic sentences lack both -logic and passion. As they touch neither head nor heart, they can have -but slight and momentary effect. Notice the discussion as an example of -fine words which do not serve their purpose. - - * * * * * - -“If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Cæsar’s, to him I -say that Brutus’ love to Cæsar was no less than his. If, then, that -friend demand why Brutus rose against Cæsar, this is my answer: Not that -I loved Cæsar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Cæsar -were living, and die all slaves, than that Cæsar were dead, to live all -freemen? As Cæsar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I -rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but as he was ambitious, -I slew him. There are tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honor for -his valor, and death for his ambition. Who is here so base that would be -a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude, -that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who -is here so vile that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him -have I offended. I pause for a reply.” - - * * * * * - -As several citizens cry out, “None, Brutus, none,” he passes to the -conclusion, which is as weak as the discussion. - - * * * * * - -“Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Cæsar, than you shall -do to Brutus. As I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the -same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my -death.” - - * * * * * - -He has gained nothing by the whole speech, save the knowledge that none -of the citizens present care at that time to impeach him for his crime; -but their minds were open to other influences. Shakespeare thus shows -how an able man might use all his powers in the perfection of oratorical -and rhetorical forms, without producing a great or effective speech. -Antony now comes forward. Behold the contrast! - - ANTONY’S SPEECH. - -The introduction is like and unlike that of Brutus. The same three -titles are used; the same call for attention. But there is no -repetition, no egotism, no elaboration. The introduction is short, -calling attention to his ostensible purpose, and prepares for a -beautiful transition to the discussion. - - INTRODUCTION. - - “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears. - I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.” - -There is not a superfluous word. But how can Antony glide into those -praises of Cæsar, which he has disclaimed, but which are necessary to -his purpose? The next sentence solves the question: - - “The evil that men do lives after them; - The good is oft interred with their bones; - So let it be with Cæsar.” - -This leads most naturally to the thought of the discussion, which is, -“No event of Cæsar’s life shows guilty ambition; but many do reveal love -to the people and care for the general welfare. He should, therefore, be -mourned, and—the next word is not supplied by the orator, but forced -from the hearts of the people—_avenged!_” We quote a few only of the -well-known words: - - THE DISCUSSION. - - “The noble Brutus - Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious; - If it were so, it were a grievous fault, - And grievously hath Cæsar answered it. - Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest, - (For Brutus is an honorable man, - So are they all, all honorable men,) - Come I to speak in Cæsar’s funeral. - He was my friend, faithful and just to me; - But Brutus says he was ambitious, - And Brutus is an honorable man. - He hath brought many captives home to Rome, - Whose ransom did the general coffers fill. - Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious? - When that the poor hath cried Cæsar hath wept. - Ambition should be made of sterner stuff. - Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, - And Brutus is an honorable man. - You all did see, that, on the Lupercal, - I thrice presented him a kingly crown, - Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?” - -The strongest argument against belief in guilty ambition on the part of -Cæsar and in favor of punishing his murderers is reserved by the subtle -Antony for the last, and then he manages to have the people demand it of -him. He proceeds very naturally and effectively from the rent robe and -the bleeding body to the will of Cæsar. This instrument gave the Romans -each a large donation in money, and bestowed upon them collectively “his -walks, his private arbors, and new-planted orchards” as a public park. -The argument was irresistible, and needed no elaboration. If his death -was avenged as a murder, the will would be valid; otherwise, it would be -set aside, and his estate confiscated by the conspirators. The people, -thus fired by the strongest motives of gratitude and interest themselves -supply the conclusion, and Brutus had to fly for his life. - -The whole speech is worth study as an exhibition of almost perfect -eloquence. Shakespeare meant to draw in Brutus the picture of a scholar -coming before the people with fine words, and producing little more than -a literary effect. In Antony he pictures the true orator in the -plentitude of his power, to whom words are but servants in accomplishing -his purpose of persuading and inflaming the people. The one speech reads -as if it might have been written out in the closet and memorized; the -other gushes from the heart of the speaker as he watches the sea of -upturned faces, adapting his words with exquisite skill to suit and -swell the passions written there. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - INITIAL FEAR AND HOW TO OVERCOME IT. - - -However numerous and varied may be the classes of those who contemplate -extempore speech, they are all confronted by one common difficulty. -Whether a boy makes his maiden effort, or a man of wide thought and ripe -culture attempts for the first time to dispense with the manuscript in -which he has trusted through years of successful public speech, the fear -of failing looms up before each of them in a manner equally formidable. - -The writer well remembers his first boyish venture into this arena of -peril. A debate in a village shoemaker’s shop furnished the occasion. -Two or three “speakers” were ranged on a side, and the question was that -time-honored controversy of country lyceums—the comparative magnitude of -the wrongs suffered by the Indians and the Negroes at the hands of the -American Government. Which side the writer was on, or what arguments -were used, has long since been forgotten, but the palpitating heart, the -terrible suspense, as one after another of the preceding speakers made -his remarks and brought the terrible moment of facing the audience -nearer, can never cease to be remembered. When at last called out by the -voice of the presiding officer, I found my way to the end of a rude -bench or counter that ran partly across the room, leaned upon it, _shut -my eyes_, and began to talk. How hoarse and hollow the sound that -followed! All that was uttered was instantly forgotten by the speaker, -for one terrible thought dominated every other—a speech was being made! -My head whirled, every nerve tingled, and a confused, roaring sound -filled my ears, while I most heartily repented of allowing myself to be -persuaded into such a frightful position. A great dread stared at me -from the end of each sentence—that of finding nothing more to say and -being obliged to sit down amid the ridicule of neighbors and -school-fellows. When at length the agony was over, and opening my eyes, -I dropped into a seat, a striking revulsion of feeling occurred. This -rose to the height of joy and triumph when I learned that “the speech” -had actually been ten minutes long. It was a grand achievement! - -In all sober earnest, I estimate that this first effort was probably the -most profitable of my life, because it was a beginning in the right -direction. Weeks of preparation preceded the momentous effort, and in -some kind of a way the result had been poured upon the audience. From -that time the writer was numbered among the village debaters and shared -in the advantages of the village Lyceum—a capital means of improvement. -Had the first extemporaneous effort been made later in life, the -shrinking and terror, would probably have been even greater. - -While no way has been discovered of altogether preventing the initial -fear that attends extemporaneous speech by the unpracticed orator, yet -it may be greatly lessened and more rapid and perfect control of it -obtained by heeding a few simple suggestions. Some serviceable -expedients have already been pointed out, and will here only be referred -to. As simple a plan as that described in the last chapter, with -lengthened meditation on each part, will give the mind of the speaker -something to do aside from dwelling upon his own danger. He should also -prepare far more matter than can possibly be used—so much that in the -simplest and baldest statement it will fill a respectable period of -time. He need not be careful as to how he speaks, or in how many forms -he repeats the same idea. Originality, also, may safely be neglected. -The object is not to talk especially well, or to utter that which has -never been uttered before, but only to keep on talking until -self-possession and the mastery of every faculty have been fully -restored. This preparation of great quantities of material with no care -as to the graces of delivery may expose the speaker in time to another -peril—that of being tedious and wearisome; but this is not the source of -the initial fear with which we are now dealing, and when it becomes a -real evil there are effectual means of guarding against it. - -A further direction is that the mode of introduction be very firmly -fixed in the mind. This wonderfully calms the speaker. He knows that he -can begin even if he never gets any further; and by the time the -introduction is passed, if the man possesses any natural aptitude for -speech, his mind will in all ordinary cases have recovered its -equilibrium, and be ready to devise and direct everything that follows. - -The plan and the full notes which have been made should also be kept -within easy reach, or even in the hand—not with the intention of using -them, for that is the very thing to be avoided, but that the speaker, by -knowing that they can be referred to in an emergency, may be guarded -against “stage fright.” He may also exercise self-control by not looking -at them unless absolutely driven to it. - -The object of first efforts—even for the orator who is great in other -modes of delivery—is not to make a great or admired speech, but only to -get through the ordeal without disgrace or failure. Quality must be -sought later. To get any reasonable quantity of speech at first, to -satisfy yourself that you can both think and talk when on your feet, is -achievement enough. - -One caution may be offered to the man possessing a good written style -which the boy will not need. Do not make your preparation so minutely or -verbally that the very words linger in your memory. If you do, one of -two things will probably happen: either you will recite a memorized -speech, which, however fine in itself, will contribute nothing to the -object of learning to speak extemporaneously, or the fine fragments of -remembered diction that flood in your mind will be so out of harmony -with the words spontaneously evolved as to produce a continual series of -jars and discords noticeable to every one, and to none more painfully -than to yourself. The writer once listened to a speech of this mixed -character, in which the orator would soar for a time on the wings of -most excellent words, and then drop down to his ordinary and very meagre -vocabulary. So frequent and unexpected were these transitions that the -orator’s progress suggested nothing so much as traveling over one of -those western corduroy roads, where the wheels of the carriage first -rise with a great effort on top of a log, and then plunge into -fathomless depths of mud! Rather than such jolting, it is better that -the experimental speeches should never rise above the level of mere -talk, and thus maintain a uniform progress. In due time all qualified -persons can lift their extemporaneous words as high as the utmost reach -of the pen. But first must be gained the power of standing unprotected -by a paper wall, face to face with an audience and employing every -faculty as calmly and efficiently as in the study. Practice in talking -to the people will make this possible and easy, but nothing else will. - - - - - CHAPTER V. - UTILITY OF DEBATING SOCIETIES. - - -Comparatively little attention is paid to the direct cultivation of -extemporaneous oratory in schools and colleges. Indirectly, much help is -given by teaching many things which go to furnish the orator with ideas -and words, but the combination of these into that noble effort of human -genius—a speech—is left to individual research or to accident. A few -schools of oratory have been founded which give a large and probably -disproportionate share of attention to elocution in the form of stage or -dramatic reading; but even the best of these are as yet but entering -upon their real work of cultivating thoroughly the power of persuasive -public speech. When each college shall have a chair of extempore speech, -and each academy shall give as much attention to unpremeditated -utterances in conversation and public address as is now bestowed upon -Greek or Latin, the oratory of pulpit, bar, platform, and legislature -will be of a vastly higher type. - -Some newspaper critics have deprecated teaching the art of speech on the -ground that there is already too much public talking. This view, if -seriously entertained, is very narrow and misleading. Not more, but -better speech—an increase of quality, rather than quantity—would result -from cultivation, and improved methods. And it may also be argued that -if a great part of the work of life is found in convincing, instructing, -and persuading our fellows, an abundance of speech is absolutely -required. As freedom and mental activity increase, the only practicable -modes of leading and governing men, which rest upon persuasive speech, -will be more urgently demanded. In a state where the will of one man is -law, political speech has little place; and in a Church where -independent thought is heresy and the mass of the people accept -unquestioningly the precise form of faith in which they were born, -preaching will have a very narrow field. But in our own country it is -our boast that we determine every subject by free discussion; and it is -clear that a man who can take no part in the oral battles that are -continually waged about him is placed at a great disadvantage. - -But the literary societies generally connected with schools do afford -very valuable help in acquiring the art of oratory. Not only their -formal exercises, but their discussion of points of order and procedure, -and the management of the business and government of such societies, -call out talking talent. Debating societies or lyceums give the same -kind of facilities to speakers outside of educational halls. A spirited -debate on some topic not above the comprehension of the debaters affords -one of the best possible means of acquiring the prime faculties of -assurance and fluency. In such debates the question is chosen, the sides -assigned, and ample time given for that kind of preparation which can -only be effectually made in the general study of the subject. There is -no great temptation to write a speech for a coming debate, as its formal -sentences would fit poorly into the line of argument, the course of -which cannot be foreseen, even if their substance should not be -anticipated by a speaker on the same side. But the more general -knowledge of the subject in its entire range that can be acquired the -better, so long as it does not overwhelm the speaker. The opening speech -may indeed be planned in advance with some definiteness, but all others -will be colored and modified by the situation into which the debate has -been drawn. Each participant is under a strong stimulus to do his best, -sure, if successful, of warm approval by his colleagues and sweet -triumph over his opponents. After the opening speech each contestant -will have the time his predecessor is speaking for arranging arguments -and preparing an answer. The stimulus of contradiction rouses every -faculty to the highest energy. Each argument is scrutinized for the -purpose of discovering its weak point, and nothing will pass on trust. -It may as well be acknowledged that the gladiatorial spirit, though in a -modified form, is still rife in the civilized world. The “joy of -conflict” may be tasted as well in the sharp encounters of an earnest -debate upon some topic of absorbing interest as on the battle-field. A -society which furnishes its members continual opportunity for speech, -under such conditions cannot fail to be a powerful educator in the -direction of extemporaneous speech. In such encounters, the freedom that -belongs to this kind of address is most highly appreciated, and the -mistaken considerations of dignity and propriety which so often take all -life and heart from speech can have little weight. Debates have indeed -been occasionally carried on by means of essays in place of speeches, -but such encounters have been tame and listless affairs, and have soon -given place to the real article. Among the American statesmen who have -taken their first lessons in the art which paved their way to greatness -in country debating societies may be reckoned Henry Clay, Abraham -Lincoln, James A. Garfield, and many others only less eminent. - -Enough inducements, we trust, have been set forth to lead every student -of speech to find or make an opportunity for availing himself of this -capital means of cultivation. Let him enter upon the work of debating, -earnestly resolving (after the first few efforts) to do the very best in -his power. Let him arrange his material carefully, select a striking -mode of opening each address, and strive to close in such a manner as to -leave the best effect on the minds of his hearers. As he debates for -improvement rather than for immediate victory, he will, of course, -despise all tricks and seek to win fairly, or—what is just as important -a lesson—he will learn to accept defeat gracefully. - -The skeletons of two speeches on opposite sides of the same question are -here presented for the purpose of showing how a simple plan will hold to -the proper place all the thoughts and arguments that may be accumulated. - -The same form of outline is used as in the preceding chapter. - - QUESTION. - -_Would the annexation of Cuba to the United States be beneficial?_ - - AFFIRMATIVE ARGUMENT. - - INTRODUCTION.—How small and hemmed in by powerful countries the - United States would have been if no annexations had ever been - made. To annex Cuba would be no _new_ policy. - - DISCUSSION. _Argument First._—Favorable location of Cuba and - commercial value to the United States. - - _Argument Second._—The great riches and beauty of the Island, which - make it very desirable. - - _Argument Third._—Advantages to the people of Cuba themselves, in - belonging to a great and free nation. - - CONCLUSION.—All previous annexations had to encounter strong - opposition when first proposed, but are now acknowledged to have - been good policy. So, if Cuba is brought under our flag, - opposition will die out and all parties be glad of the result. - - NEGATIVE ARGUMENT. - - INTRODUCTION.—Plausible but inconclusive nature of the argument - advanced on the other side. Previous annexations may not have been - good, though opposition ceased when it could avail nothing. Even - if all former annexations were beneficial this might not be, as - all attending circumstances are so widely different. - - DISCUSSION. _Argument First._—The nation has already as much - territory as can be well governed. An increase would lead to grave - dangers. - - _Argument Second._—The people of Cuba are different in language, - race, and religion from the majority of the people of the United - States; have different customs, and are unacquainted with the - working of our institutions. They could not therefore be - transformed easily into good citizens. - - CONCLUSION.—Dreadful wars and calamities have arisen in all ages and - all parts of the world from greediness in absorbing - territory—“earth hunger,” as the Germans call it. To annex Cuba - would involve present and future danger. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - THOUGHT AND EMOTION. - - -Two kinds of preparation contribute to the production of eloquence. One -is the preparation of the speaker, the other of the speech. The first is -fully as important as the second. In ordinary cases both are -indispensable. Some “born orators” speak well without appearing to pay -any attention to the improvement of their faculties. Others are -occasionally eloquent on a topic without special preparation. Yet these -cases when closely examined will be found apparent rather than real -exceptions to the rule above stated. The man who seems never to have -cultivated the power of speech, and is yet able to blaze into fervid -eloquence at will, has usually concealed his preparation or carried it -on in such uncommon methods that they have not been recognized as -preparations. On the other hand, a man who speaks well without a -moment’s warning can do so only when the subject is thoroughly familiar -to him. A ready and self-possessed speaker may grasp thoughts which have -been long maturing in his mind, and give them forth to an audience in -obedience to an unexpected summons, but if he is called upon when he -knows nothing whatever of his subject, failure is inevitable, though he -may possibly veil it more or less in a stream of platitudes. Ask a man -at a moment’s warning to give an astronomical lecture. If he is -perfectly familiar with the subject in general, and is also a practical -orator, he may succeed well without preparing a special speech. But if -he is ignorant of Astronomy, what kind of an address can he make? If he -is the most eloquent man in the nation that faculty will avail him -nothing, for he cannot extemporize the names of the planets, the laws -which govern their motions, or any of the facts out of which his lecture -must be woven. Precisely the same necessity of adequate information -exists in every other field of intelligence. The ignorant man cannot -possibly tell that which he does not know, although he may make a great -show of knowledge out of small material; but even to do that with -certainty requires careful premeditation and arrangement. - -In this and following chapters we wish to treat of the kind of -cultivation which makes a man ready to speak. The field is here very -wide and some general considerations must be introduced, but we hope -also to give valuable practical directions, especially to those who are -yet at the beginning of their career. - -In considering man as a speaker, we may classify his faculties into two -broad divisions; those which furnish the _materials_ of communication -with his fellows; and those which furnish the _means_ of such -communication. The first class gives rise to thoughts and emotions in -man’s own breast; the second enables him to arouse similar thoughts and -emotions in the breasts of others. Our course, therefore, will be to -consider, first, thought and emotion, and afterward those powers of body -and mind by which we express, that is, _press out_ from ourselves toward -the receptive faculties of our fellow beings. - -_Thought_, in the broad sense here given, embraces the knowledge of all -facts, and all the reasoning that may be based upon those facts. -_Emotion_ is the mental feeling or response to knowledge, and comprises -love, hate, joy, fear, sorrow, and hope. These two elements are the -broad basis of all eloquence. Keen, profound, far-reaching thought—in -other words, thought raised to its highest terms—and quick, sensitive, -powerful emotion, are necessary to the highest eloquence. Compared with -them, mere verbal fluency is less than dust in the balance. But such a -combination—the highest degree of both thought and emotion—is rare, and -many degrees less than the highest of either is available for genuine -eloquence. To increase either or both, if it can be done without any -corresponding sacrifice, is to increase eloquence in precisely the same -proportion. - -Education in the popular sense is the cultivation of thought with the -added faculty of language. But we prefer to consider the latter power -separately as one among the means of communicating thought. - -How, then, shall thought-power be increased? There is no royal road. -Every one of the faculties by which knowledge is accumulated and -arranged or digested into new forms grows stronger by being employed -upon its own appropriate objects. Exercise is then the means by which -the material of knowledge is gathered, and all faculties strengthened -for future gathering. Each fact gained adds to the treasury of thought. -A broad and liberal education is of exceeding advantage. This may or may -not be of the schools. Indeed, they too often substitute a knowledge of -words for a knowledge of things. That fault is very serious to the -orator, for the only way by which even language can be effectively -taught, is by giving terms to objects, the nature of which has been -previously learned. - -But many persons need to speak who cannot obtain an education in the -usual sense of the words—that is, college or seminary training. Must -they keep their lips forever closed on that account? By no means. - -A thousand examples, some of them the most eminent speakers the world -has produced, encourage them to hope. Let such persons learn all they -can. Wide, well-selected, and systematic reading will do wonders in -supplying the necessary thought-material. Every book of history, -biography, travels, popular science, which is carefully read, and its -contents fixed in the mind, will be available for the purposes of -oratory. Here a word of advice may be offered, which, if heeded, will be -worth many months of technical education at the best colleges in the -land; it is this: have always at hand some work that in its own sphere -possesses real and permanent merit, and read it daily until completed. -If notes are made of its contents, and the book itself kept on hand for -reference, so much the better. If some friend can be found who will hear -you relate in your own words what you have read, this also will be of -great value. Many persons, especially in our own country, spend time -enough in reading the minute details of the daily papers to make them -thoroughly acquainted in ten years with forty volumes of the most useful -books in the world. Think of it! This number may include nearly all the -literary masterpieces. Which mode of spending the time will produce the -best results? One newspaper read daily would amount to more than three -hundred in a year, and allowing each paper to be equal to ten ordinary -book pages, the result would be three thousand pages annually, or six -volumes of five hundred pages each. In ten years this would reach -_sixty_ volumes! This number, comprising the world’s best books in -history, poetry, science, and general literature, might be read slowly, -with meditation and diligent note-taking, by the most busy man who was -willing to employ his leisure in that way. Libraries and books are now -brought within the reach of all, and the mass of what man knows can be -learned in outline by any student who thirsts for knowledge. While thus -engaged the student is on the direct road toward oratorical efficiency, -though such knowledge will not in itself constitute eloquence. It is but -one of its elements. Neither will the speaker have to wait until any -definite quantity of reading has been accomplished before it becomes -serviceable to him. All that he learns will be immediately available, -and, with proper effort, the facility of speech and the material for -speaking will keep pace with each other. - -But personal observation of life and nature are just as necessary as -reading. The world of books is very extensive, but it yields its -treasures only to persons who bring to its study some independent -knowledge of their own. We cannot hope to add much to the world’s stock -of knowledge by what we see with our own eyes, but what we do see and -hear will interpret for us what we learn from the far wider world of -books. Gibbon tells us that his militia service, though of no great -advantage in itself, was afterward very useful to the historian of the -Roman Empire. What we behold of the landscape around us lays the -foundation for understanding what poets and travelers tell us of other -landscapes we may never see. Book knowledge will become real and vivid -just in proportion as it is brought into comparison with the observation -of our own senses. To the orator, this is far more important than to the -ordinary student, for it adds greatly to the royal faculty of -imagination. A description from the lips of a speaker who beholds at the -moment a mental picture, accurate as a photograph, and bright with -color, will be very different from another description built up only of -words, however well chosen and melodious the latter may be. A little -dabbling in natural science, a few experiments tried, an occasional peep -through telescope or microscope at the worlds they open, and all other -means of bringing knowledge under the scrutiny of our own senses, will -greatly contribute to the power of the orator. - -The reasoning faculties must also be trained by exercise upon their own -objects. The knowledge which has been gathered from personal observation -or from the testimony of others in books will furnish material, but will -not enable us to reason. Logic and mathematics have considerable utility -as guides, but they cannot supply the want of continuous application of -the processes of argument and deduction. No man becomes a reasoner from -merely learning the mode in which the reason operates. Of two persons, -one of whom understands every mood of the syllogism and the source of -every fallacy, while the other has no technical knowledge of logic, but -has been engaged in careful reasoning, discussion, and argument, all his -life, it may easily happen that the latter will be the better reasoner -of the two—just as a man might learn from the books all the rules of the -game of croquet, and yet be beaten by another who continually handled -the mallet, but had never read a single rule. Practice makes perfect. -Essay writing, constructing arguments, tracing effects back to their -causes, making careful comparison of all things that can be compared, in -short, bringing our judgment to bear upon all facts, forming our own -opinions of every event, and being always ready to give a reason to -those who ask,—these modes of exercise will make the faculty of reason -grow continually stronger. It is not pretended that these or any other -modes of cultivation can make all minds equal, but they will improve any -one—the lowest as surely as the most active—though the interval after -both have been thus exercised will remain as great as before. - -Extempore speech itself, when practiced upon carefully arranged plans or -models as recommended hereafter, is one of the most powerful modes of -cultivating the logical faculty. To construct plans, so that all -thoughts accumulated upon a given subject may be unfolded in a natural -and orderly manner, cannot fail to exercise the reasoning faculties, and -impart corresponding strength to them. - -But how shall emotion be cultivated? The wisest speech, if deep feeling -neither throbs in the words nor is manifested in delivery, cannot be -eloquent. The orator can only speak forth from an aroused and excited -nature. There is a kind of intellectual excitation kindled by the -presentation of truth which is sufficiently effective when instruction -is the only object. But to persuade and move men—the usual aim of the -orator—requires passion. No pretense will avail the extempore speaker. -He will infallibly be detected if counterfeiting, and to succeed in -exhibiting feeling he must really feel. There are but two things which -can arouse feeling—care for a cause or for persons. Many a man is -eloquent when “riding his hobby,” though at no other time. He has -thought so much upon that special subject, and has so thoroughly -identified himself with it, that everything relating to it becomes -invested with personal interest. Any cause which can thus be made -personal will be apt to arouse feeling. It would be wise, therefore, for -an orator to identify himself as closely as possible with all manner of -good causes which come within his reach. Then such well-springs of -emotion will gush out easily and frequently. - -This mode of excitation is largely intellectual in its character. The -next to be described has more to do with the affections. The clergyman -wants to secure the welfare of his congregation, and the better he is -acquainted with them individually the stronger will be this wish. The -lawyer is but a poor attorney if he does not so identify himself with -his client as to feel more than a professional interest in the latter’s -success. The politician needs no exhortation to rouse his enthusiasm for -his party and his chief. All these are instances of that care for -persons which adds so greatly to the powers of effective speech. The -plain inference, therefore, is that the speaker will gain largely by -identifying himself as closely as possible with the interests of men, -and by cultivating love for them. A cynical or indifferent spirit makes -a fearful discount from the possibilities of eloquence. Only the -greatest qualities in other directions can prevent it from proving -fatal. - -The power and sensitiveness of emotions founded upon intimate knowledge -and partnership of interest go far to explain the wonderful eloquence of -the old Greeks. Their country was the native land of eloquence. This -arose not so much from the character of that gifted race as from the -fact that each speaker personally knew his audience and had an intimate, -material interest in the affairs he discussed. They regarded their -opponents as terribly bad men. Their own lives and the lives of many of -their friends were not unfrequently involved in the questions they -discussed. The States were so small, and the personal element so -important, that strongly aroused feeling became inevitable. The -discussion of war or peace before an audience who knew that if they -voted war their town might be besieged by the enemy within a fortnight, -was sure to be eagerly listened to. No platitudes would be tolerated. -The orators spoke before their neighbors, some of them friendly, others -bitter enemies who were seeking in each word they uttered an occasion -for their ruin. Much of the wonderful power of Demosthenes arose from -the deep solicitude felt by himself and excited in his hearers as they -watched the swiftly coming ruin of their common country. - -It is also a law of human nature that we feel deeply for that which has -cost us great labor. The collector of old china or of entomological -specimens learns to greatly value the ugly dishes and bugs he gathers, -though others may despise them. The more of real work we do in the -world, the deeper the hold our hearts take upon it. This is one of the -secrets of the power of goodness as an element of oratory. It was long -ago declared that a good man, other things being equal, will be a better -speaker than a bad man. His affections are called forth by a greater -variety of objects. Yet hate can make a man eloquent as well as love, -and some of the most eloquent orations ever uttered partook largely of -this baleful inspiration. But the occasions on which noble feelings may -rise into eloquence are far more numerous and important. - -Why should not a man train himself to take a deep interest in all that -is brought familiarly to his notice? This wide range of sympathy is one -of the marks which distinguishes a great from a small mind. It has been -said that “lunar politics” can have no possible interests for the -inhabitants of this globe. But who can be sure of this, if there be such -a thing as “lunar politics”? The wider our knowledge the more we -recognize the possibility of interests which we had not before dreamed -of. If there are inhabitants on the moon, and if we have an immortal -existence, it is far from impossible that we might some time be brought -into the closest connection with them. No man can tell the bearing of a -new fact upon human welfare, more than he can write the history of a -new-born babe. At any rate, every fact is a part of the great system of -truth which lies all about us, and which is adapted to the needs of our -intellect. Let it also be remembered that all men are kindred, and that -we should make common cause with them. When this comes to be the -habitual attitude of the mind, not as a mere sentiment, but as a strong -and steady impulse, impassioned speech on any great theme affecting the -interests of nations or individual men will be easy. - -Emotion cannot be feigned, neither can it be directly roused by an -effort of the will. We cannot say, “Now I will be in a furious passion,” -or, “Now I will be inflamed with wrath against this great wrong,” for -the mere sake of speaking better upon the subject in hand. But we can -gaze upon a great wrong, and meditate upon the evil it involves, until -the tides of indignant emotion arise in our breast. Many a well-prepared -speech has failed of effect, because the orator was so anxious about the -form of his address and his own popularity as to lose interest in the -subject itself. Sometimes speeches read or recited fail from an opposite -cause. The interest has once been aroused, and having burned during the -protracted period of composition, it cools and cannot be recalled. No -energy, declamation, or elegance of diction can redeem this capital -defect. - -To tell a man in general terms how he may widen his sympathies and enter -into the closest bonds with his fellows is difficult. It is much easier -to tell him what not to do. The hermits of the desert took exactly the -wrong course. They lost the power of eloquence except upon some theme -which could be wedded to their solitary musings. Peter the Hermit was -roused to fury by the tales of wrongs to pilgrims in the Holy -City—almost the only thing that could have made him eloquent. But on -that one topic he spoke like a man inspired and was able to call all -Europe to arms. Whatever separates from the common interests of humanity -must diminish the power or at least the range of genuine emotion. To -know a great many men, to understand their business affairs, to enter -into their joy and fear, to watch the feelings that rise and fall in -their hearts, is sure to deepen our own feelings by unconscious -imitation and sympathy. Each new friend is an added power of noblest -emotion—a new point at which the world takes hold of our hearts. How -many persons are eloquent for a cause only! On the other hand, some men -care nothing for general principles, but will throw their whole soul -into a conflict for friends. - -That man is well furnished for eloquence who knows a great deal, who can -mentally combine, arrange, and reason correctly upon what he knows, who -feels a personal interest in every fact with which his memory is stored, -and every principle which can be deduced from those facts, and who has -so great an interest in his fellows that all deeds which affect them -awaken the same response in his heart as if done to himself. He will -then possess all the necessary treasures of thought, and will himself be -warmed by the fires of emotion. The only remaining problem will be to -find the manner of communicating his thought and emotion in undiminished -force to others through the medium of speech. - -The mode of cultivating the powers necessary to this end will next -engage our attention. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - LANGUAGE. - - -The preceding chapter dealt with those faculties which provide the -materials of speech, and in one sense was scarcely appropriate to a -treatise designed to show the best modes of communicating knowledge. Yet -it was difficult to approach the subject intelligibly in any other way. -So much has been said about the natural power of oratory that it was -necessary to define its character and to show how it might be -supplemented by cultivation. But it is more directly our task to point -out the mode of improving the communicative faculties. - -First in importance among these stands language. Without its assistance -thought could not be consecutively imparted. Some vague and intangible -conceptions might arise within our own minds, but even these could not -be given to other minds without the medium of words. The power of -language is distinct from general intellectual ability. It by no means -follows that a man who possesses important thoughts and deep emotions -will be able to communicate them well; but a very moderate endowment of -the word-faculty may be so cultivated as to fulfill every requirement. -Diligent practice in the methods advised below will enable the great -majority of men to express their thoughts with fullness and accuracy. - -There are certain laws in every language made binding by custom, which -cannot be transgressed without exposing the offender to the severe -penalty of ridicule and contempt. These laws form the basis of grammar, -and must be thoroughly learned. If a man has been under the influence of -good models from childhood, correctness will be a matter almost of -instinct; but the reverse of this is frequently the case. Even then -there is but little difficulty experienced by any one who will take the -necessary pains, in learning to write in accordance with the rules of -speech, and when this power has been attained there is a standard formed -by which to judge our spoken words. But it is not enough for the -extempore speaker to be able to reduce his sentences to correctness by -recasting, pruning, or adding to them. They should be required to -present themselves at first in correct form and in rounded completeness. -He has no time to think of right or wrong constructions, and the only -safe way, therefore, is to make the right so habitual that the wrong -will not once be thought of. In other words, we must not only be able to -express ourselves correctly by tongue and pen, but the very current of -unspoken words that flows in our brains must be shaped in full -conformity to the laws of language. When we exercise the power of -continuous grammatical _thinking_, there will be no difficulty in -avoiding the ridiculous blunders which are supposed to be inseparable -from extempore speech. - -Correctness in pronunciation is also of importance. Usage has given each -word its authorized sound, which no person can frequently mistake -without rendering himself liable to the easiest and most damaging of all -criticisms. Bad pronunciation produces another and extremely hurtful -effect upon extempore speech. The mental effort necessary to -discriminate between two modes of pronouncing a word, neither of which -is known to be right, diverts the mind from the subject and produces -embarrassment and hesitation. Accuracy in the use of words, which is a -charm in spoken no less than written language, may also be impaired from -the same cause; for if two terms that may be used for the same idea are -thought of, only one of which can be pronounced with certainty, that one -will be preferred, even if the other be the more suitable. The -extemporizer ought to be so familiar with the sound of all common words -that none but the right pronunciation and accent will ever enter his -mind. - -_Fluency_ and _accuracy_ in the use of words are two qualities that have -often been confounded, though perfectly distinct. To the speaker they -are of equal importance, while the writer has far more need of the -latter. All words have their own peculiar shades of meaning. They have -been builded up into their present shape through long ages. By strange -turns and with many a curious history have they glided into the -significations they now bear; and each one is imbedded in the minds of -the people as the representative of certain definite ideas. Words are -delicate paints that, to the untutored eye, may seem of one color, but -each has its own place in the picture painted by the hand of genius, and -can be supplanted by no other. Many methods have been suggested for -learning these fine shades of meaning. The study of Greek and Latin has -been urged as the best and almost the only way: such study may be very -useful for discipline, and will give much elementary knowledge of the -laws of language: but the man who knows no other tongue than his own -need not consider himself debarred from the very highest place as a -master of words. The careful study of a good etymological dictionary -will, in time, give him about all the valuable information bearing upon -this subject that he could obtain from the study of many languages. In -general reading, let him mark every word he does not perfectly -understand, and from the dictionary find its origin, the meaning of its -roots, and its varied significations at the present day. This will make -the word as familiar as an old acquaintance, and when he meets it again -he will notice if the author uses it correctly. The student may not be -able to examine every word in the language, but by this mode he will be -led to think of the meaning of each one he sees; and from this silent -practice he will learn the beauty and power of English as fully as if he -sought it through the literatures of Greece and Rome. If this habit is -long continued it will cause words to be used correctly in thinking as -well as in speaking. To read a dictionary consecutively and carefully -(ignoring the old story about its frequent change of subject) will also -be found very profitable. - -Translating from any language, ancient or modern, will have just the -same tendency to teach accurate expression as careful original -composition. In either case the improvement comes from the search for -words that exactly convey certain ideas, and it matters not what the -source of the ideas may be. The use of a good thesaurus, or storehouse -of words, may also be serviceable by showing in one view all the words -that relate to any subject. - -But none of these methods will greatly increase _fluency_. There is a -practical difference between merely knowing a term and that easy use of -it which only habit can give. Elihu Burritt, with his knowledge of fifty -languages, has often been surpassed in fluency, force, and variety of -expression by an unlettered farmer, because the few words the latter -knew were always ready. There is no way to increase this easy and fluent -use of language without much practice in utterance. Where and how can -such practice be obtained? - -Conversation affords an excellent means for this kind of improvement. We -do not mean the running fire of question and answer, glancing so rapidly -back and forth as to allow no time for premeditating or explaining -anything, but real and rational talk—an exchange of thoughts and ideas -clearly and intelligibly expressed. The man who engages much in this -kind of conversation can scarcely fail to become an adept in the art of -expressing his thoughts in appropriate language. Talk much; express your -ideas in the best manner possible; if difficult at first, persevere, and -it will become easier. Thus you will learn eloquence in the best and -most pleasing school. The common conversational style—that in which man -deals directly with his fellow man—is the germ of true oratory. It may -be amplified and systematized; but talking bears to eloquence the same -relation that the soil does to the tree that springs out of its bosom. - -But the best thoughts of men and the noblest expressions are seldom -found floating on the sea of common talk. To drink the deepest -inspiration, our minds must often come in loving communion with the wise -and mighty of all ages. In the masterpieces of literature we will find -“thought knit close to thought,” and, what is still more to our present -purpose, words so applied as to breathe and live. These passages should -be read until their spirit sinks into our hearts and their melody rings -like a blissful song in our ears. To memorize many such passages will be -a profitable employment. The words of which such masterpieces are -composed, with the meanings they bear in their several places, will thus -be fixed in our minds ready to drop on our tongues when needed. This -conning of beautiful passages is not now recommended for the purpose of -quotation, although they may often be used in that manner to good -advantage, but simply to print the individual words with their -signification more deeply in memory. - -This may be effected, also, by memorizing selections from our own best -writings. What is thus used should be highly polished, and yet preserve, -as far as possible, the natural form of expression. Carried to a -moderate extent, this exercise tends to elevate the character of our -extemporaneous efforts by erecting a standard that is our own, and -therefore suited to our tastes and capacities; but if made habitual, it -will induce a reliance upon the memory rather than on the power of -spontaneous production, and thus destroy the faculty it was designed to -cultivate. - -But no means of cultivating fluency in language can rival extempore -speech itself. The only difficulty is to find a sufficient number of -occasions to speak. Long intervals of preparation have great advantages -as far as the gathering of material for discourse is concerned; but they -have disadvantages, also, which can only be overcome by more diligent -effort in other directions. - -Clear and definite ideas greatly increase the power of language. When a -thought is fully understood it falls into words as naturally as a summer -cloud, riven by the lightning, dissolves into rain. So easy is it to -express a series of ideas, completely mastered, that a successful -speaker once said, “It is a man’s own fault if he ever fails. Let him -prepare as he ought, and there is no danger.” The assertion was too -strong, for failure may come from other causes than a want of -preparation. Yet the continuance of careful drill, in connection with -frequent speaking and close preparation, will give very great ease and -certainty of expression. The “blind but eloquent” preacher, Milburn, -says that he gave four years of his life—the time spent as chaplain at -Washington—to acquire the power of speaking correctly and easily without -the previous use of the pen, and he declares that he considers the time -well spent. His style is diffuse, sparkling, rhetorical, the most -difficult to acquire, though not by any means the most valuable. An -earnest, nervous, and yet elegant style may be formed by those who have -the necessary qualifications in much shorter time. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - IMAGINATION. - - -Nothing adds more to the brilliancy and effectiveness of oratory than -the royal faculty of imagination. This weird and glorious power deals -with truth as well as fiction and gives to its fortunate possessor the -creative, life-breathing spirit of poetry. - -Listen to the description of natural scenery by a person of imagination, -and afterward by another destitute of that faculty! Each may be -perfectly accurate and refer to the same objects, even enumerating the -same particulars in the same order; but the one gives a catalogue, the -other a picture. In relating a story or enforcing an argument, the same -difference in the vividness of impression is apparent. - -It is said of Henry Ward Beecher, who possesses a strong imagination, -that the people would listen with delighted attention if he only -described the mode in which a potato grew! He would see a thousand -beauties in its budding and blossoming, and paint the picture so vividly -as to command universal attention. - -The Bible, which is the most popular of all books, is pre-eminently a -book of imagination. Nowhere is loftier or more beautiful imagery -employed, or wrought into more exquisite forms. A few short and simple -words paint pictures that the world looks upon with astonishment from -age to age. Paradise Lost, the most sublime imaginative poem in the -language of man, drew much of its inspiration from a few passages in -Genesis. Job and Isaiah are without rivals in the power of picturing by -means of words, sublime objects beyond the grasp of mortal vision. - -While illustrations and comparisons flow principally from the reasoning -faculties, their beauty and sparkle come from imagination. Without its -influence these may explain and simplify, but they have no power to -interest the hearer or elevate the tenor of discourse. - -How may imagination be cultivated? It is said that “Poets are born, not -made,” but the foundation of every other faculty also is in nature, -while all are useless, unless improved, and applied. Imagination will -increase in vigor and activity by proper use. Its function is to form -complete mental images from the detached materials furnished by the -senses. It gathers from all sources and mixes and mingles until a -picture is produced. The proper way to cultivate it lies in forming -abundance of just such pictures and in finishing them with all possible -care. Let the orator, on the canvas of the mind, paint in full size and -perfect coloring, every part of his speech which relates to material or -visible things. Illustrations also can usually be represented in -picturesque form. We do not now speak of outward representation, but of -viewing all objects in clear distinctness, through the eye of the mind. -It is not enough for the speaker, if he would reach the highest success, -to gather all the facts he wishes to use, to arrange them in the best -order, or even to premeditate the very form of words. Instead of the -latter process, he may more profitably strive to embrace all that can be -pictured in one mental view. If he can summon before him in the moment -of description the very scenes and events about which he is discoursing, -and behold them vividly as in a waking dream, it is probable that his -auditors will see them in the same manner. A large part of all -discourses may thus be made pictorial. In _Ivanhoe_, one of the -characters looks out through a castle window and describes to a wounded -knight within the events of the assault which was being made upon the -castle. Any person could describe the most stirring scene vividly and -well in the moment of witnessing it. A strong imagination enables a -speaker or poet to see those things he speaks of almost as accurately -and impressively as if passing before his bodily eyes, and often with -far more brightness of color. To make the effort to see what we write or -read will have a powerful effect in improving the imaginative faculty. - -Reading and carefully pondering the works of those who have imagination -in high degree will also be helpful. The time devoted to the enjoyment -of great poems is not lost to the orator. They give richness and tone to -his mind, introduce him into scenes of ideal beauty, and furnish him -with many a striking thought and glowing image. - -Most of the sciences give as full scope to imagination in its best -workings as poetry itself. Astronomy and geology are pre-eminent in this -particular. Everything about them is grand. They deal with immense -periods of time, vast magnitudes, and sublime histories. Each science -requires the formation of mental images and thus gives the advantages we -have already pointed out. It is possible for a scientific man to deal -exclusively with the shell rather than the substance of science, with -its technical names and definitions rather than its grand truths; but in -this case the fault is with himself rather than with his subject. The -dryness of scientific and even mathematical studies relates only to the -preliminary departments. A philosopher once said that success in science -and in poetry depended upon the same faculties. He was very nearly -right. The poet is a creator who forms new worlds of his own. The -greatest of their number thus describes the process by which imagination -performs its magic. - - “The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, - Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; - And, as imagination bodies forth - The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen - Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing - A local habitation and a name. - Such tricks hath strong imagination.” - -Almost the same result must be reached in many departments of science, -with the aid of only a few scattered facts for a basis. The geologist -has some broken bones, withered leaves, and fragments of rock, from -which to reconstruct the primitive world. From the half-dozen facts -observed through his telescope, the astronomer pictures the physical -condition of distant planets. In every science the same need exists for -imagination in its highest, most truthful function, and the same -opportunity is, therefore, afforded for its cultivation. - -An eminent elocutionist frequently urged his classes to employ all -pauses in mentally picturing the idea contained in the coming sentence. -He declared that by this means the expression of the voice was rendered -more rich and true. In uttering our own words this process is at once -more easy and more fruitful in varied advantages. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - VOICE AND GESTURE. - - -Voice and gesture form the immediate link between the speaker and his -audience. The value of good quality in both is sometimes over-estimated, -though it is always considerable. A good voice, well managed, gives -powerful and vivid expression to thought, but cannot supply the absence -of it. Neither is such a voice indispensable. Many instances of high -success against vocal disadvantages might be mentioned; but these only -prove that other excellencies may atone for a single defect. We can -never be indifferent to the charms of a good voice, that modulates with -every emotion and responds to the finest shades of feeling. It has much -of the pleasing quality of music. - -But this harmony cannot be evoked by merely mechanical training. To -teach the pupil just what note on the musical scale he must strike to -express a particular emotion, how much of an inflection must be used to -express joy or sorrow, and how many notes down the scale mark a complete -suspension of sense, is absurd: speech can never be set to music. - -But let it not be inferred from this that voice cultivation is useless. -The more perfect the instrument for the expression of thought can be -made, the better it will be fitted for its high office. An orator may -profitably spend a little time daily for years in training the voice, -for it is a faculty he must continually employ, and none is more -susceptible of improvement. The passion evoked in animated speech will -demand for its adequate expression almost every note and key within the -compass of the voice; and unless it has previously been trained into -strength on each of these, it will fail or grow weary. The proper kind -of preparation operates by exploring the range of the voice, testing its -capabilities, and improving each tone. This work is not imitative or -slavish. It is only like putting an instrument in tune before beginning -a musical performance. - -To give full elocutionary instruction here would be aside from our -purpose; but a few useful modes of practice may be pointed out. - -Good articulation is of prime importance. Nothing will contribute more -to secure this valuable quality than the separation of words into their -elements of sound and continued practice on each element as thus -isolated. Phonetic shorthand affords a good means for making such -analysis, or the same purpose may be accomplished by means of the marks -of pronunciation found in any dictionary. As we practice these elements -of sound we will discover the exact nature of any defect of articulation -we may suffer from, and can drill upon the sounds that are difficult -until they become easy. When we have thus learned to pronounce these few -elements—not much above forty in number—and can follow them into all -their combinations, we have mastered the alphabet of utterance. It will -also contribute greatly to strengthen the voice and make it pliable, if -we continue the same practice on these elements at different degrees of -elevation on the musical scale until we can utter each one in full, -round distinctness, at any pitch from the deepest bass to the shrillest -note ever used in speech. This will bring all varieties of modulation -within easy reach. - -Practice on these elements is also a very effective mode of -strengthening weak voices. By pronouncing them one by one, with -gradually increasing force, the degree of loudness we can attain at any -pitch, will be greatly extended. The amount of improvement that may be -made would be incredible if it were not so often exemplified. Every -teacher of elocution can testify of students, the power of whose voices -has thus been multiplied many fold; and almost equal advantages may be -reaped in persevering private practice. - -Following on the same line, we may learn to enunciate the elements, and -especially the short vowels, in a quick, sharp tone, more rapidly than -the ticking of a watch, and with the clearness of a bell. This will -enable the speaker to avoid drawling, and be very fast when desirable, -without falling into indistinctness. Then, by an opposite process, other -sounds, especially the long vowels, may be prolonged with every degree -of force from the faintest to the fullest. Perseverance in these two -exercises will so improve the voice that no hall will be too large for -its compass. - -The differing extension of sounds, as well as their pitch and variations -in force, constitute the _perspective_ of speech and give it an -agreeable variety, like the mingling of light and shade in a -well-executed picture. The opposite of this, a dull, dead uniformity, -with each word uttered in the same key, with the same force, and at the -same degree of speed, becomes well-nigh unbearable; while perpetual -modulation, reflecting in each rise and fall, each storm and calm of -sound, the living thought within, is the perfection of nature, which the -best art can only copy. - -All vocal exercises are of an essentially preparatory character. In the -moment of speech details may safely be left to the impulse of nature. -Supply the capability by previous discipline, and then allow passion to -clothe itself in the most natural forms. There is such a vital -connection between emotion and the tones of voice, that emphasis and -inflection will be as spontaneous, on the part of the disciplined -speaker, as breathing. Rules remembered in the act of speaking tend to -destroy all life and freshness of utterance. - -When bad habits have been corrected, the voice made supple and strong, -confidence attained, and deep feeling evoked in the speaker’s breast, -there will be little need to care for the minutiæ of elocution. The -child that is burnt needs no instruction in the mode of crying out. Let -nature have her way, untrammeled by art, and all feelings will dominate -the voice and cause every hearer to recognize their nature and -participate in them. In this way we may not attain the brilliancy of -theatric clap-trap, but we will be able to give “the touch of nature -that makes the whole world kin.” - -If carefully guarded, the faculty of imitation may be of great service -in the management of the voice. The sounds that express sympathy and -passion are heard everywhere, forming a medium of communication more -subtle and widespread than any language of earth. From the example of -great orators we may learn what true excellence is, and become able to -reproduce some, at least, of their effects. It would be hurtful to -confine our attention too long to one model, for true excellence is -many-sided, and if we continually view only one of its phases we are apt -to fall into slavish imitation—one of the greatest of all vices. By -having many examples to look upon, and using them only to elevate our -own ideal, we will escape this danger. The models before us will urge us -to greater exertions and the whole level of our attainments be raised. - -There are abundant faults to mar the freedom and naturalness of -delivery, and the speaker who would be truly natural must watch -diligently for them and exterminate them without mercy. The sing-song -tone, the scream, the lisp, the guttural and tremulous tones, the -rhythmical emphasis which falls like a trip-hammer at measured -intervals, are specimens of common, bad habits that should be weeded out -as fast as they push through the soil; and if the speaker’s egotism is -too great to see them, or his taste not pure enough, some friend should -point them out. Even the advice of an enemy conveyed in the unpleasant -form of sarcasm and ridicule may be profitably used for the purpose of -reform and improvement. - -Should a conversational tone be employed in speaking? This question has -often been asked, and much difference of opinion evoked, but it may be -satisfactorily answered. The language of conversation is the language of -nature in its most unfettered form, and it should, therefore, be the -_basis_ of all speech. The same variety and character of intonations -used in it should be employed in every variety of oratory. But -conversation itself varies widely with varying circumstances. The man -talking with a friend across a river will speak less rapidly but more -loudly than if he held that friend by the hand. In speaking to a number -at once, the orator must, in order to be heard, speak more forcibly and -distinctly than in addressing one only. With this explanation, it may be -laid down as a safe rule that a speech should _begin_ in a -conversational manner. But should it continue in the same way? A deep, -full tone—the orotund of the elocutionist—will make a stronger -impression than a shrill, feeble utterance. And as conversation becomes -earnest even between two persons, there is the tendency to stronger and -more impressive tones. This same tendency will be a sufficient guide in -speech. A trained man giving utterance to a well-prepared speech, upon a -theme which appeals to his own emotions, will adopt those oratorical -tones which form a proper medium for eloquence, without a single thought -given to that subject during the moment of delivery. Begin as a man who -is talking to a number of his friends upon an interesting subject; then, -as the interest deepens, let go all restraint. As passion rises like an -inflowing tide, the voice will be so fully possessed by it and so filled -out and strengthened as to produce all the effect of which its compass -is capable. It will deepen into the thunder roll when that is needed, -and at the right time will grow soft and pathetic. - -But above almost every other error that the speaker can commit, beware -of thinking that you must be loud in order to be impressive. Nothing is -more disgusting than that interminable roar, beginning with a shout, and -continuing to split the speaker’s throat and the hearer’s ears all -through the discourse. This fault is not uncommon in the pulpit, -especially among those who desire a reputation for extraordinary fervor -and earnestness. But it is the worst kind of monotony. The loudness of -tone, that applied at the right place would be overpowering, loses all -power except to disgust and weary an audience. It expresses no more -thought or sentiment than the lashing of ocean waves conveys to the -storm-tossed mariner. Have something to say; keep the fires of passion -burning in your own soul; learn the real strength there is in the -reserve of power; and the cultivated voice will not fail in its only -legitimate office—that of making the clear and adequate impression of -your thoughts and emotions upon the souls of others. - -Elocutionary manuals properly devote much space to the consideration of -gesture, for the eye should be addressed and pleased as well as the ear. -But we doubt whether the marking out of special gestures to be imitated -can do much good. A few broad principles like those formulated by the -celebrated French teacher, Delsarte, may be profitably studied and made -familiar by practice upon a few simple selections. After that the -principal use of training is to give confidence so that the speaker may -be in the full possession and instinctive use of all his powers. Fear -often freezes the speaker into ice-like rigidity; and hearers are apt to -feel the same deadly chill when listening to some one whose dominating -sentiment is the fear that he may do something ridiculous, or fail to -win their favor. - -The secondary use of training in gesture is to discard awkward and -repulsive movements. Timidity and fear may be overcome by a firm -resolution, and the object is well worth the effort. Bad or ungraceful -actions are far better in the case of a beginner than no action at all. -The saying of Demosthenes, that the first, the second, and the third -need of an orator is “ACTION,” does not fully apply to the modern -speaker. He needs many things more urgently than action, even when that -word is taken in its widest sense. But action is important, and when -graceful and expressive, it does powerfully tend to arrest attention, -and even to help the processes of thought on the part of the speaker -himself. We have heard several eloquent men who scarcely moved during -the delivery of an address, but never without feeling that good -gesticulation would have been a great addition to their power. It is -unnatural to speak for any considerable period of time without moving. -None but a lazy, sick, or bashful man will do it. Let the laziness be -shaken off, the sickness cured, and the bashfulness reserved for a more -fitting occasion! A man who is too bashful and diffident to move hand, -head, or foot in the presence of an audience should in consistency -refuse to monopolize their time at all! - -Practice will usually overcome this fault. When a man has stood a great -many times before an audience without receiving any serious injury, and -has a good purpose in thus claiming their attention, and something which -he thinks they ought to hear, he will forget his fears and allow his -mind to be engrossed, as that of a true speaker should be, with the -subject he has in hand. Then all his gestures will have at least the -grace of unconscious and spontaneous origination. - -But when fear has been overcome so that the speaker is not afraid to use -his hands, he needs to enter upon a determined and comprehensive -campaign against bad habits. If anything is truly natural—that is, true -to the higher or universal nature—it will be beautiful; but early -examples are so often wrong and corrupting that it is hard to say what -nature is: Nature may be a bad nature—the reflection of all that is low -and sordid as well as that which is high and ennobling. That nature -which is in harmony with the sum of all things, which is the image of -the Creator’s perfectness, must be right and good; but we must not too -hastily conclude that any habits of our own have this high and -unquestionable source. Hardly a speaker lives who does not at some time -fall into unsightly or ridiculous habits. The difference between men in -this respect is that some steadily accumulate all the faults they ever -have contracted, until the result is most repulsive; while others, from -the warnings of friends or their own observation, discover their errors -and cast them off. - -A mode by which the solitary student may become acquainted with his -faults, and from which he should not be driven by foolish ridicule, is -by declaiming in as natural and forcible a manner as possible before a -large mirror. Thus we may “see ourselves as others see us.” Repeated -practice in this manner will enable you to keep the necessary watch upon -your motions, without so much distracting attention as to make the -exercise before the glass no trustworthy specimen of ordinary habits. In -speaking, you hear your own voice and thus become sensible of audible -errors, but the glass is required to show improper movements that may -have been unconsciously contracted. It is not advised that each speech, -before delivery, should be practiced in front of the mirror. It is -doubtful if such practice would not cherish a self-consciousness worse -than all the errors it corrected. But the same objection would not apply -to occasional declamations made for the very purpose of self-criticism. - -By these two processes—pressing out into action as freely as possible -under the impulse of deep feeling, and by lopping off everything that is -not graceful and effective—we may soon attain a good style of gesture. -When the habit of suiting the action to the word is once fully formed, -all anxiety on that subject may be dismissed. The best gesticulation is -entirely unconscious. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - CONFIDENCE. - - -How may that boldness and confidence which is indispensable to an orator -best be acquired? On your success in this direction, hinges all other -kinds of improvement. So long as a nervous dread hangs about you, it -will make the practice of extemporaneous speech painful and repulsive, -paralyzing all your faculties in the moment of utterance. - -You must acquire confidence in your own powers and be willing to trust -to their guidance. - -But it is not necessary that you should exhibit or even feel this -confidence at the beginning of a speech, for it may then appear like -boastfulness or egotism. It is enough if you then have confidence in -your subject, and in the fullness of your preparation. You may then -without injury wish that some one, that you imagine more worthy, stood -in your place. But if this feeling continues all through the address, -failure is inevitable. Many a man begins while trembling in every limb, -especially if the occasion be of unusual character, but soon becomes -inspired with his theme and forgets all anxiety. If your fear be greater -and more persistent, keeping you in perpetual terror, it will destroy -all liberty and eloquence. When laboring under such an influence, you -lose self-possession, become confused, all interest evaporates from your -most carefully prepared thoughts, and you sit down at length, convinced -that you have failed. It is but little consolation to believe that you -had all the time in your brain the necessary power and material to -achieve splendid success, if you had but possessed the courage to use it -aright. - -There is no remedy for fear more effectual than to do all our work under -the immediate inspiration of duty. This feeling is not the privilege of -the minister alone, but of each one who is conscious that he occupies -the place where he stands because it is his right to be there, because -he has some information to give, some cause to advocate, or some -important task to do. With such consciousness we can speak our best, and -finish with the satisfaction of having done our work as truly as if we -had performed duty placed upon us in any other department of labor. But -if we aim simply at making an exhibition of self and of showing our own -skill and eloquence, then the smiles and frowns of the audience becomes -a matter of overwhelming importance, and if we fail we are deeply -mortified and bewail our foolishness in exposing ourselves to such -needless risk. - -The lack of proper confidence is the great reason for using manuscript -in the moment of speech. The speaker makes one effort to extemporize and -fails. This is not wonderful, for the path to success usually lies -through failure from the time that we master the wonderful art of -walking through many failures; but instead of copying the schoolboy -motto, “try, try again,” and reaping wisdom and experience from past -efforts, he loses all hope—concludes that he is disqualified for that -kind of work, and thus sinks to mediocrity and tameness, when he might -have been brilliant in the fields of true oratory. - -The exhibition of confidence and resolution by the speaker is a draft -drawn on the respect of an audience which is nearly always honored, -while the opposite qualities hide the possession of real talent. Hearers -readily pardon timidity at the beginning of an address, for then -attention is fixed upon the speaker himself, and his shrinking seems a -graceful exhibition of modesty. But when he has fully placed his subject -before them they associate him with it. If he is dignified and assured, -they listen in pleased attention and acknowledge the weight of his -words. These qualities are very different from bluster and bravado, -which injure the cause advocated and excite disgust toward the speaker. -The first appears to arise from a sense of the dignity of the subject; -the second, from an assumption of personal superiority—an opinion no -speaker has a right to entertain, for in the very act of addressing an -audience he constitutes them his judges. - -An orator needs confidence in his own powers in order to avail himself -fully of the suggestions of the moment. Some of the best thoughts he -will ever think flash upon him while speaking, and are out of the line -of his preparation. There is no time to carefully weigh them. He must -reject them immediately or begin to follow, not knowing whither they -lead, and this in audible words, with the risk that he may be landed in -some absurdity. He cannot pause for a moment, as the least hesitation -breaks the spell he has woven around his hearers, while if he rejects -the offered idea he may lose a genuine inspiration. One searching glance -that will not allow time for his own feelings or those of his auditors -to cool, and then—decision to reject, or to follow the new track with -the same assurance as if the end were clearly in view—this is all that -is possible. It requires some boldness to pursue the latter course, and -yet every speaker knows that his highest efforts—efforts that have -seemed beyond his normal power, and which have done more in a minute to -gain the object for which he spoke than all the remainder of the -discourse—have been of this character. - -It also requires a good degree of confidence to firmly begin a sentence, -even when the general idea is plain, without knowing just how it will -end. This difficulty is experienced sometimes even by the most fluent. A -man may learn to cast sentences very rapidly, but it will take a little -time to pass them through his mind, and when one is finished, the next -may not yet have fully condensed itself into words. To begin to utter a -partially constructed sentence, uncertain how it will end, and press on -without letting the people see any hesitation, demands no small -confidence in one’s power of commanding words and framing sentences. Yet -a bold and confident speaker need feel no uneasiness. He may prolong a -pause while he is thinking of a needed word, or throw in something -extraneous to fill up the time till the right term and construction are -found. Yet the perfect remedy for these dangers is to learn the -difficult art of standing before an audience with nothing to say and -making the pause as effective as any phase of speech. This can be done, -dangerous as it seems. It does require far more of courage to face an -audience when the mouth is empty than when we are talking; the mettle of -troops is never so severely tried as when their cartridge-boxes are -empty; but all the resources of eloquence are not at command until this -test can be calmly and successfully endured. An eminent speaker once -said to a friend after a very successful effort, “What part of the -address you have been praising most impressed you?” “It was not anything -you _said_,” was the reply, “but the thrilling _pause_ you made of -nearly half a minute after a bold assertion, as if you were challenging -any one to rise and deny what you had asserted.” “Oh! I remember,” -returned the other; “I could not get the next sentence fixed quite -right, and was fully determined not to say it at all unless it came into -the proper shape.” - -This necessary confidence can be cultivated by striving to exercise it, -and by assuming its appearance where the reality is not. The raw recruit -is transformed into a veteran soldier by meeting and overcoming danger. -All the drill in the world will not supply the want of actual experience -on the battle-field. So the extempore speaker must make up his mind to -accept all the risk, and patiently endure all the failures and perils -that result. If he fully decides that the reward is worthy of the effort -he will be greatly aided in the attempt, as he will thus avoid the -wavering and shrinking and questioning that would otherwise distress him -and paralyze his powers. A failure will but lead to stronger and more -persistent effort, made with added experience. Success will be an -argument for future confidence, and thus any result will forward him on -his course. - -In regard to the difficulty of framing sentences in the moment of -utterance, the experienced speaker will become so expert, having found -his way through so many difficulties of that kind, that the greatest -danger experienced will be that of carelessly allowing his words to flow -on without unity or polish. It does require a determined effort, not -merely to _express_ meaning, but to pack and _compress_ the greatest -possible amount into striking and crystalline words. Experience also -gives him such a knowledge of the working of his own thoughts that he -will be able to decide at the first suggestion what unbidden ideas -should be accepted and what ones should be rejected. If these new -thoughts, however far outside of his preparation, seem worthy, he will -give them instant expression; if not, he will dismiss them and continue -unchecked along his intended route. - -It is hoped that the reading of this treatise will increase the -confidence of extempore speakers in two ways; first, by producing in the -mind of each one perfect conviction that for him the better way is to -adopt unwritten speech without reserve; and second, by pointing out a -mode of preparation which will give as good ground for confidence as a -fully written manuscript could possibly supply. To gain confidence which -is not warranted by the event would only provoke a hurtful reaction; but -confidence which is justified by experience grows ever stronger. - -We have thus glanced at a few of the qualities which need to be -cultivated and strengthened for the purposes of public speech. The -survey does not cover the whole field of desirable qualities, for this -would be to give a treatise on general education. Perfect speech -requires every faculty of the mind to be brought to the highest state of -efficiency. There is no mental power which will not contribute to -success. The whole limits of possible education are comprised in the two -branches already mentioned as concerning the orator—those relating to -the _reception_ of knowledge and those to its _communication_. The -harmonious combination and perfect development of these two is the ideal -of excellence—an ideal so high that it can only be approached. All -knowledge is of use to the orator. He may not have occasion to employ it -in a particular speech, but it contributes to give certainty, breadth, -and scope to his views, and assures him that what he does put into his -speeches is the best that can be selected. If he is ignorant, he is -obliged to use for a discourse on any subject not that material which is -the best in itself, but simply the best that may happen to be known to -him, and he cannot be sure that something far more suitable is not -overlooked. - -The communicating faculties are, if possible, still more important. A -great part of the value even of a diamond depends upon its polish and -setting, and the richest and wisest thoughts fail to reach the heart or -captivate the intellect unless they are cast into the proper form, and -given external beauty. - -Let the speaker, then, have no fear of knowing too much. Neither need he -despair if he does not now know a great deal. He cannot be perfect at -once, but must build for future years. If he wishes a sudden and local -celebrity that will never widen, but will probably molder away even in -his own lifetime, he may possibly gain it in another way. Let him learn -a few of the externals of elocution, and then, with great care, or by -the free use of the materials of others, prepare a few finely worded -discourses, and recite or declaim them over and over again as often as -he can find a new audience. He may not gain as much applause as he -desires by this method, but it will be sufficiently evanescent. He will -not grow up to the measure of real greatness, but become daily more -dwarfed and stereotyped in intellect. - -The following quotation contains a good example of the seductive but -misleading methods sometimes held up before the young orator: “They -talk,” said Tom Marshall to an intimate friend, “of my astonishing -bursts of eloquence, and doubtless imagine it is my genius bubbling -over. It is nothing of the sort. I’ll tell you how I do it: I select a -subject and study it from the ground up. When I have mastered it fully, -I write a speech on it. Then I take a walk and come back, and revise and -correct. In a few days I subject it to another pruning, and then recopy -it. Next I add the finishing touches, round it off with graceful -periods, and commit it to memory. Then I speak it in the fields, in my -father’s lawn, and before my mirror, until gesture and delivery are -perfect. It sometimes takes me six weeks or two months to get up a -speech. When I am prepared I come to town. I generally select a court -day, when there is sure to be a crowd. I am called on for a speech, and -am permitted to select my own subject. I speak my piece. It astonishes -the people, as I intended it should, and they go away marveling at my -power of oratory. They call it genius, but it is the hardest kind of -work.” - -No objection is made to the quantity of work thus described, but might -not the same amount be expended in more profitable directions? A speech -thus prepared was a mere trick intended to astonish the people. -Sometimes the great Daniel Webster took equal pains in the verbal -expression of some worthy thought, which was afterward held in the grasp -of a powerful memory until a fitting place was found for it in some -masterly speech. The difference between the two processes is greater -than seems at first glance. Marshall’s plan was like a beautiful garment -thrown over a clothes dummy in a shop window; Webster’s, like the same -garment, worn for comfort and ornament by a living man. - -It is better that the speaker should “intermeddle with all knowledge,” -and make the means of communicating his thoughts as perfect as possible. -Then out of the fullness of his treasure, let him talk to the people -with an adequate purpose in view, and if no sudden acclaim greets him, -he will be weighty and influential from the first, and each passing year -will add to his power. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - THE PEN AND THE TONGUE. - - -It does not follow from anything we have said that the pen should be -discarded by the extempore speaker. Because he is not obliged to write -each word, he should not feel excused from writing altogether. Few -greater misfortunes could happen to a speaker than being deprived of the -power of recording and preserving notes for the purposes of oratory. The -most tenacious memory is burdened by the weight of a large number of -intended discourses, especially if they are long and complex. No person -can feel sure that he will remember all parts of the speech he intended -to utter even in outline, unless it has been reduced to regular form so -that one part will suggest another. In going to a store to purchase a -few articles the pen is very useful in making a memorandum; if the -errand boy neglects that precaution some of the most essential things -may be forgotten. Among illiterate people a great many mnemonic signs -have been employed, such as associating things to be remembered with the -fingers, etc.; but among intelligent persons all of these have been -superseded by the use of writing, and it would be very absurd to -advocate a return to the old modes on the plea that the memory might be -so strengthened that all items could be safely remembered. The reply -would be ready: “Yes, it is possible; but we have a far better and less -burdensome way of accomplishing the same object and have no motive in -returning to the more difficult mode.” Thus while it may be possible to -arrange in the mind all the outlines of a long discourse, it is not easy -to do it, and there is no gain in the extra labor involved. Everything -bearing upon a discourse may be written in brief outline, and then a -selection made of what is best, throwing out all other portions. The -remainder can then be far better arranged when in such a position that -the eye as well as the mind can glance at it. The preparation for the -intended speech thus assumes the shape of a miniature or outline, and -may be filled out at any point which needs strengthening. - -But even if it were possible to construct the plan and speak well -without any previous use of the pen, this would, in the majority of -cases, be insufficient. The orator needs to preserve the materials, if -not the form of his oration, either for use in future speeches or for -comparison with later efforts. It is very wasteful to throw away -valuable material once accumulated, and then search the same ground over -again when required to treat the same topic. This would be acting in the -spirit of the savage who eats enough to satisfy his appetite and throws -away all that remains, as he feels no further need for it, and only -begins to gather again when hunger spurs him to exertion. - -The pen is the instrument of accumulation and preservation, and should -be diligently employed. No speaker can rise to permanent greatness -without it. The instances given to the contrary are mere delusions or -evasions. If the service of other pens can be employed, as in the case -of shorthand reporters and amanuenses, this is but doing the same thing -under another form. - -The principal purpose of the chapters that follow is to show how the pen -may be used in such a manner as to preserve and arrange all the material -we may gather, elaborate, or originate on any subject, so as to bring to -the moment of unfettered extempore speech all the certainty of result -and accumulated power of which our faculties are capable. - -Bacon says: “Reading makes a full man, writing an exact man, and -conference a ready man.” All these means should be used and all these -qualities attained by the eloquent speaker. - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - SUBJECT AND OBJECT. - - -We now enter upon the most practical part of our subject. We have seen -what natural qualities are indispensable, and how these, when possessed, -can be improved by training. The importance of a wide scope of knowledge -bearing upon oratory, and of understanding and having some command of -the powers of language has been pointed out. When a man has all of -these, and is still a diligent student growing daily in knowledge, he is -ready to consider the methods by which all his gifts and acquirements -may be concentrated upon a single speech. Some of the directions in this -and the immediately succeeding chapters are of universal application, -while others are thrown out as mere suggestions to be modified and -changed according to individual taste or particular circumstances. - -A plan is necessary for every kind of speech. A rude mass of brick, -lumber, mortar, and iron, thrown together as the materials chance to be -furnished, does not constitute a house until each item is built into its -own place according to some intelligent design. A speech has the same -need of organization. A few minutes of desultory talk, whether uttered -in a low or high voice, to one person or to many, does not make a -speech. The talk may be good, or useful, or striking: it may be replete -with sparkling imagery, and full of valuable ideas that command -attention, and yet be no real discourse. The question, “What was all -this about? what end did the speaker have in view?” is a fatal -condemnation. The subject and object of every discourse should be -perfectly obvious—if not at the opening, surely at the close of the -address. The only safe method is to have a well-defined plan marked out -from beginning to end, and then to bring every part of the work into -subordination to one leading idea. The plan itself should be constructed -with some clear object in view. - -It is better that this construction of the plan should be completed -before delivery begins. If you are suddenly called to speak on some -topic you have often thought over, the whole outline of the address, -with a plan perfect in every part, may flash upon you in a moment, and -you may speak as well as if you had been allowed months for preparation. -But such cases are rare exceptions. The man who attempts, on the spur of -the moment, to arrange his facts, draw his inferences, and enforce his -opinions, will usually find the task very difficult, even if the topic -is within his mental grasp, and his memory promptly furnishes him with -all necessary materials. - -We will now consider the _subject_ and _object_ which every true -discourse, whatever its character, must possess. - -First, as to the object: why is it that at a particular time an audience -assembles and sits in silence, while one man standing up, talks to them? -What is his motive in thus claiming their attention? Many of them may -have come from mere impulse, of which they could give no rational -explanation, but the speaker at least should have a definite purpose. - -A clear aim tends powerfully to give unity and consistency to the whole -discourse, and to prevent him from wandering into endless digressions. -It binds all detached parts together and infuses a common life through -his address. Such a ruling aim cannot be too definitely recognized and -carefully kept in view, for it is the foundation of the whole discourse. - -This object should not be too general in character. It is not enough -that we wish to please or to do good: it may be safely assumed that -speakers generally wish to do both. But how shall these ends be reached? -“What special good do I hope to accomplish by this address?” - -When you have made the object definite, you are better prepared to adapt -all available means to its accomplishment. It should also be stated that -the more objects are subdivided the more precision will be augmented, -though there is a limit beyond which such division would be at the -expense of other qualities. - -Your object will usually have reference to the opinion or the action of -those addressed, and the firmer your own conviction of the truth of that -opinion, or the desirableness of that action, the greater, other things -being equal, your persuasive power will be. If you do not know exactly -what you wish, there is little probability that your audience will care -to interpret your thought; they will take it for granted that you really -mean nothing, and even if you do incidentally present some truth -supported by good arguments, they will consider it a matter not calling -for any immediate consideration or definite decision on their part. - -The speaker’s objects are comparatively few and are often determined by -his very position and employment. If you are engaged in a political -canvass you are seeking to confirm and retain the votes of your own -party, while persuading over to your side the opposition. Votes -constitute the object you seek, and to win them is your purpose. But -there are many ways by which that desirable end may be accomplished—some -wise and noble, others ignoble. But a political orator will gain in -power by keeping clearly in view his purpose and rejecting from his -speeches all things that merely arouse and embitter opponents, without, -at the same time, contributing to strengthen the hold of the speaker’s -own party upon its members. - -If you are a lawyer you wish to win your case. The judge’s charge, the -jury’s verdict, are your objective points, and all mere display which -does not contribute directly or indirectly to these ends is worse than -wasted, as it may even interfere with your real purpose. - -Much of your success will depend upon keeping the right object before -you at the right time. If you aim at that which is unattainable, the -effort is not only lost, but the object which you could have reached may -in the meantime have passed out of your reach. Everybody has heard -ministers arguing against some forms of unbelief which their hearers -know nothing about. This is worse than useless; it may suggest the very -errors intended to be refuted; and if this does not result, to think -that the refutation will be stored up until the time when the errors -themselves may be encountered, is to take a most flattering view of the -length of time during which sermons as well as other discourses are -remembered. You may avoid these errors by selecting some object which is -practicable at the moment of utterance: the first right step makes all -after success possible. - -There is a difference between the object of a speech and its subject; -the former is the motive that impels us to speak, while the latter is -what we speak about. It is not uncommon for talkers to have a subject -without any definite object, unless it be the very general one of -complying with a form or fulfilling an engagement. When the period for -the talk comes—it would not be right to call it a speech—they take the -easiest subject they can find, express all the ideas they happen to have -about it, and leave the matter. Until such persons become in earnest, -and get a living object, true eloquence is utterly impossible. - -The object of a discourse is the soul, while the subject is but the -body; or, as we may say, the one is the end, while the other is the -means by which it is accomplished. After the object is clearly realized -by the speaker, he can choose the subject to much better advantage. It -may happen that one object is so much more important than all other -practicable ones that it forces itself irresistibly on his attention and -thus saves the labor of choice; at other times he may have several -different objects with no particular reason for preferring one of them -in the order of time to another. In this case if a subject fills his -mind it will be well to discuss it with an aim toward the object which -may be best enforced by its means. - -After all, it makes but little difference which of these two is chosen -first. It is enough that when you undertake to speak you have a subject -you fully understand, and an object that warms your heart and enlists -all your powers. You can then speak, not as one who deals with -abstractions, but as having a living mission to perform. - -It is important that each subject should be complete in itself, and -rounded off from everything else. Its boundaries should be run with such -precision as to include all that belongs to it, but nothing more. It is -a common but grievous fault to have the same cast of ideas flowing -around every subject. There are few things in the universe which have -not some relation to everything else. If we do not, therefore, very -strictly bound our subject, we will find ourselves bringing the same -matter into each discourse and perpetually repeating our thoughts. If -ingenious in that matter, we may find a good excuse for getting our -favorite anecdotes and brilliant ideas into connection with the most -opposite kinds of subjects. An old minister once gave me an amusing -account of the manner in which he made outlines of the sermons of a -local celebrity. The first one was a very able discourse, with three -principal divisions—man’s fallen estate, the glorious means provided for -his recovery, and the fearful consequences of neglecting those means. -Liking the sermon very well, my informant went to hear the same man -again. The text was new, but the first proposition, was man’s fallen -estate; the second, the glorious means provided for his recovery; and -the last, the fearful consequences of neglecting those means. Thinking -that the repetition was an accident, another trial was made. The text -was at as great a remove as possible from the other two. The first -proposition was, _man’s fallen estate_; and the others followed in due -order. This was an extreme instance of a common fault, which is by no -means confined to the ministry. When an eloquent Congressman was once -delivering a great address, a member on the opposite benches rubbed his -hands in apparently ecstatic delight, and remarked in a stage whisper, -“Oh! how I have always loved to hear that speech!” In a book of widely -circulated sermon sketches, nearly every one begins by asserting that -man has fallen and needs the helps or is liable to the evils mentioned -afterward. No doubt this primary statement is important, but it might -sometimes be taken for granted. The fault which we have here pointed out -is not uncommon in preaching. Occasionally ministers acquire such a -stereotyped form of expression that what they say in one sermon is sure -to recur, perhaps in a modified form, in all others. This is -intolerable. There is an end to the patience of man. He tires of the -same old ideas, and wishes, when a new text is taken, that it may bring -with it some novelty in the sermon. The remedy against the evil under -consideration is found in the careful selection and definition of -subjects. Give to each its own territory and guard rigidly against all -trespassers. A speaker should not only see that what he says has some -kind of connection with the subject in hand, but that it has a closer -connection with that subject than any other he may be called upon to -discuss at or near the same time. A very great lecturer advertises a -number of lectures upon topics that seem to be totally independent. Yet -all the lectures are but one, except a few paragraphs in the -introduction of each. This is really a less fault in the case of an -itinerating lecturer than in most other fields of oratory, as the same -people hear the lecture but once. Yet even then the false assumption of -intellectual riches implied in the numerous titles cannot be justified. - -The subject should be so well defined that we always know just what we -are speaking about. It may be of a general nature, but our knowledge of -it should be clear and adequate. This is more necessary in an extempore -than in a written speech, though the want of it will be severely felt in -the latter also. A strong, vividly defined subject will give unity to -the whole discourse, and probably leave a permanent impression on the -mind of the hearer. To aid in securing this it will be well to reduce -every subject to its simplest form, and then, by writing it as a compact -phrase or sentence, stamp it on the mind, and let it ring in every -utterance; that is, let each word aid in carrying out the central idea, -or in leading up to it. Those interminable discourses that begin -anywhere and lead nowhere, may be called speeches or sermons, by -courtesy, but they are not such. - -To always preserve this unity of theme and treatment is not easy, and -calls, often, for the exercise of heroic self-denial. To see in the -mind’s eye what we know would please and delight listeners, pander to -their prejudices, or gain uproarious applause, and then turn away with -the words unspoken, merely because it is foreign to our subject—this is -as sore a trial as for a miser on a sinking ship to abandon his gold. -But it is equally necessary, if we would not fall into grave rhetorical -errors. Any speech which is constructed on the plan of putting into it -all the wise or witty or pleasing things the speaker can think of will -be a mere mass of more or less foolish talk. Shakespeare is often -reproached with having neglected the dramatic unities of place and time; -but he never overlooked the higher unities of subject and object. These -remarks do not imply that illustration should be discarded or even used -sparingly. The whole realm of nature may be ransacked for these gems, -and if they do illustrate, they are often better than statement or -argument. If the thing to be illustrated belongs to the subject, then -every apt illustration of it also belongs there. - -It is possible that men of genius may neglect the unity of subject and -object, and still succeed by sheer intellectual force, as they might do -under any other circumstances. But ordinary men cannot with safety -follow the example of Sidney Smith. His hearers complained that he did -not “stick to his text,” and, that he might reform the more easily, they -suggested that he should divide his sermons as other ministers did. He -promised to gratify them, and the next Sabbath, after reading his text, -he began: “We will divide our discourse this morning into three parts: -in the first place, we will go _up_ to our text; in the second place, we -will go _through_ it; and in the third place, we will go _from_ it.” -There was general agreement that he succeeded best on the last head, but -preachers who are not confident of possessing his genius had better -confine themselves to the former two. - -A true discourse is the orderly development of some one thought or idea -with so much clearness and power that it may ever after live as a point -of light in the memory. Other ideas may cluster around the central one, -but it must reign supreme. If the discourse fails in this particular -nothing else can redeem it. Brilliancy of thought and illustration will -be as completely wasted as a sculptor’s art on a block of clay. - -A man of profound genius once arose to preach before a great assemblage, -and every breath was hushed. He spoke with power, and many of his -passages were of thrilling eloquence. He poured forth beautiful images -and solemn thoughts with the utmost profusion; yet when at the end of an -hour he took his seat, the prevailing sentiment was one of -disappointment. The address was confused—utterly destitute of any point -of union to which the memory could cling. Many of his statements were -clear and impressive, but he did not make evident what he was talking -about. It was an impressive warning against erecting a building before -laying a foundation. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - THOUGHT-GATHERING. - - -After the subject upon which we are to speak has been determined the -logical order of preparation is, first, gathering material; second, -selecting what is most fitting and arranging the whole into perfect -order; third, fixing this in the mind so that it may be available for -the moment of use. These processes are not always separated in practice, -but they may be best considered in the order indicated. - -When a subject is chosen and the mind fastened upon it, that subject -becomes a center of attraction and naturally draws all kindred ideas -toward it. Old memories that had become dim from the lapse of time are -slowly hunted out and grouped around the parent thought. Each hour of -contemplation that elapses, even if there is not direct study, adds to -the richness and variety of our available mental stores. The relations -between different and widely separated truths become visible, just as -new stars are seen when we gaze intently toward the evening sky. All -that lies within our knowledge is subjected to a rigid scrutiny and all -that appears to have any connection with the subject is brought into -view. Usually a considerable period of time is needed for this process, -and the longer it is continued the better, if interest in the subject is -not suffered to decline in the meanwhile. - -But it is somewhat difficult to continue at this work long enough -without weariness. The capacity for great and continuous reaches of -thought constitutes a principal element in the superiority of one mind -over another. Even the mightiest genius cannot, at a single impulse, -exhaust the ocean of truth that opens around every object of man’s -contemplation. It is only by viewing a subject in every aspect that -superficial and one-sided impressions can be guarded against. But the -continuous exertion and toil this implies are nearly always distasteful, -and the majority of men can only accomplish it by a stern resolve. -Whether acquired or natural, the ability to completely “think out” a -subject is of prime necessity; the young student at the outset should -learn to finish every investigation he begins and continue the habit -during life. Doing this or not doing it will generally be decisive of -his success or failure from an intellectual point of view. Thought is a -mighty architect, and if you keep him fully employed, he will build up -with slow and measured strokes a gorgeous edifice upon any territory at -all within your mental range. You may weary of his labor and think that -the wall rises so slowly that it will never be completed; but wait. In -due time, if you are patient, all will be finished and will then stand -as no ephemeral structure, to be swept away by the first storm that -blows, but will be established and unshaken on the basis of eternal -truth. - -M. Bautain compares the accumulation of thought around a subject upon -which the mind thus dwells with the development of organic life by -continuous growth from an almost imperceptible germ. Striking as is the -analogy, there is one point of marked dissimilarity. This growth of -thought is voluntary and may easily be arrested at any stage. The -introduction of a new subject or cessation of effort on the old is -fatal. To prevent this and keep the mind employed until its work is done -requires with most persons a regular and formal system. Profound -thinkers, who take up a subject and cannot leave it until it is traced -into all its intricate relations and comprehended in every part, and who -have at the same time the power of easily recalling long trains of -thought that have once passed through their mind, have less need of an -artificial method. But their case is not that of the majority of -thinkers or speakers. - -We will give a method found useful for securing abundant speech -materials, and allow others to adopt it as far as it may prove -advantageous to them. - -The things we actually know are not always kept equally in view. -Sometimes we may see an idea with great clearness and after a time lose -it again, while another, at first invisible, comes into sight. Each idea -should be secured when it occurs. Let each thought that arises on the -subject you intend to discuss be noted. A word or a brief sentence -sufficient to recall the conception to your own mind will be enough, and -no labor need be expended on composition or expression. After this first -gathering, let the paper be laid aside and the subject be recommitted to -the mind for further reflection. As other ideas arise let them be noted -down in the same manner and the process be thus continued for days -together. Sometimes new images and conceptions will continue to float -into the mind for weeks. Most persons who have not tried this process of -accumulation will be surprised to find how many thoughts they have on -the simplest topic. If some of this gathered matter remains vague and -shadowy, it will only be necessary to give it more time and more earnest -thought and all obscurity will vanish. - -At last there comes the consciousness that the mind’s power on that -particular theme is exhausted. If we also feel that we have all the -material needed, one step further only remains in this part of the work; -the comparison of our treasures with what others have accomplished in -the same field. It may be that this comparison will show the -worthlessness of much of our own material, but it is better to submit to -the humiliation involved and be sure that we have the best that can be -furnished by other minds as well as our own. If we prefer, we may speak -when we have gathered only the materials that are already within our own -grasp and thus have a greater consciousness of originality, but such -consciousness is a delusion unless based upon exhaustive research. -Nearly all that we thus gather will be the result of previous reading, -and almost the only thing in its favor over the fresh accumulations that -we make by reading directly in the line of our subject, is the -probability that the former knowledge will be better digested. - -But more frequently, after the young orator has recollected and briefly -noted all that bears upon his subject with which his own mind furnishes -him, there remains a sense of incompleteness, and he is driven to seek a -further supply. He is now hungry for new information, and on this state -there is an intellectual blessing corresponding to the moral blessing -pronounced upon those who hunger and thirst after righteousness. He -reads the works of those who have treated the same or related topics, -converses with well-informed persons, observes the world closely, still -putting down every new idea that seems to bear upon his theme. Whenever -an idea is found which supplies a felt want, it is received with great -joy. It often happens that instead of finding the very thing sought for -he strikes upon the first link of some chain of thoughts in his own mind -that leads up to what he desires, but has hitherto overlooked. The new -idea is only the more valued when it has thus been traced out. - -Now, we have on paper, and often after much toil, a number of confused, -unarranged notes. They are destitute of polish, and no more constitute a -speech than the piles of brick and lumber a builder accumulates -constitute a house. Indeed, this comparison is too favorable, for the -builder has carefully calculated just what he needs for his house, and -has ordered those very things. But usually we have in our notes much -that can be of no use, and at whatever sacrifice of feeling it must be -thrown out. This is a matter of great importance. It has been said that -the principal difference between the conversation of a wise man and of a -fool is that the one speaks all that is in his mind, while the other -gives utterance only to carefully selected thoughts. Nearly all men have -at times ideas that would please and profit any audience; and if these -are carefully weeded out from the puerilities by which they may be -surrounded, the remainder will be far more valuable than the whole mass. -Everything not in harmony with the controlling object or purpose must be -thrown away at whatever sacrifice of feeling. Read carefully your -scattered notes after the fervor of pursuit has subsided and erase every -phrase that is unfitting. If but little remains you can continue the -search as at first, and erase and search again, until you have all that -you need of matter truly relevant to the subject. Yet it is not well to -be over-fastidious. This would prevent speech altogether, or make the -work of preparation so slow and wearisome that when the hour of effort -arrived, all freshness and vigor would be gone. A knight in Spenser’s -“Faery Queen” entered an enchanted castle and as he passed through -eleven rooms in succession he saw written on the walls of each the -words, “Be bold;” but on the twelfth the inscription changed to the -advice of equal wisdom, “Be not too bold.” The same injunctions are -appropriate to the orator. He should be careful in the selection of his -material, but not too careful. Many things which a finical taste might -reject are allowable and very effective. No definite rule, however, can -be given on the subject, as it is a matter of taste rather than of -calculation. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - CONSTRUCTING A PLAN. - - -The thoughts which have been gathered in the modes pointed out in the -last chapter are now to be arranged in the most effective order. It will -not usually do to begin a speech with those things we happen to first -think of, and proceed to others that are less obvious. This would lead -to an anti-climax fatal to eloquence. A speaker who adopted this mode -once complained that his speeches often seemed to taper to a very fine -point, and that he lost all interest in them before finishing. The -explanation was simple; he uttered first those thoughts which were -familiar to himself and came afterward to those which had been sought -out by more or less painful effort, and which seemed less certain and -valuable. The remedy for this fault is found in careful arrangement. The -most familiar thoughts will naturally be jotted down first, but it does -not follow that they should occupy the same place in the finished plan -of the speech. - -The true mode of improving your plans is to bestow a great deal of time -and thought upon them, and to make no disposition of any part for which -you cannot give a satisfactory reason. This direction relates only to -the beginner. In time the formation of plans will become so natural that -any variation from the most effective arrangement will be felt as keenly -as a discord in music is felt by a master in that art. From such -carefully constructed plans, firm, coherent, and logical discourses will -result. - -There are certain general characteristics that each plan should possess. -It must fully indicate the nature of the proposed discourse and mark out -each of its successive steps with accuracy. Any want of definiteness in -the outline is a fatal defect. You must feel that you can rely -absolutely on it for guidance to the end of your discourse or be always -in danger of embarrassment and confusion. - -Each clause should express a distinct idea, and but one. This should be -repeated in no other part of the discourse; otherwise, we fall into -wearisome repetitions, the great vice, as it is often claimed, of -extempore speakers. - -A brief plan is better, other things being equal, than a long one. Often -a single word will recall an idea as perfectly as many sentences, and it -will burden the memory less. We do not expect the draft of a house to -equal the house in size, but only to preserve a proportionate relation -to it throughout. The plan cannot supply the thought, but, indicating -what is in the mind, it shows how to bring it forth in regular -succession. It is a pathway leading to a definite end, and, like all -pathways, its crowning merits are directness and smoothness. Without -these qualities it will perplex and hinder rather than aid. Each word in -the plan should suggest an idea, and be so firmly bound to that idea -that the two cannot become separated in any exigency of speech. You will -find it sorely perplexing if, in the heat of discourse, some important -note should lose the thought for which it previously stood and become an -empty word. But with clear conceptions condensed into fitting words this -cannot easily happen. A familiar idea can be expressed very briefly, -while a strange or new conception may require more expansion. But all -thoughts advanced by the speaker ought to be familiar to himself as the -result of long meditation and thorough mastery, no matter how strange or -startling they are to his hearers. Most skeletons may be brought within -the compass of a hundred words, and every part be clearly indicated to -the mind that conceived it, though perhaps not to any other. - -There may be occasions when a speaker is justified in announcing his -divisions and subdivisions, but such cases are exceptions. Hearers do -not care how a discourse is constructed, so it comes to them warm and -pulsating with life. To give the plan of a speech before the speech -itself is contrary to the order of nature. We are not required first to -look upon a grisly skeleton before we can see a graceful, living body. -There is a skeleton inside each body, but during life it is well hidden, -and there is no reason that the speaker should anticipate the work of -the tomb. It is hardly less objectionable to name the parts of the -discourse during the progress of the discussion, for—continuing the -former illustration—bones that project through the skin are very -unlovely. The only case, I presume to think, where it is justifiable to -name the parts of a discourse, either before or during its delivery, is -where the separate parts have an importance of their own, in addition to -their office of contributing to the general object. Much of the -proverbial “dryness” of sermons arises from the preacher telling what he -is _about_ to remark, _firstly_, before he actually makes the remark -thus numbered. Whenever we hear a minister read his text, announce his -theme, state the parts into which he means to divide it, and then warn -us that the first head will be subdivided into a certain number of -parts, each of which is also specified in advance, we prepare our -endurance for a severe test. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - HOW SHALL THE WRITTEN PLAN BE USED? - - -Now that the plan is completed and fully written out, the next question -arises as to what shall be done with it. It may either be used or -abused. To read it to the audience or exhibit it to them would be an -obvious abuse. Possibly if the speaker possessed a large blackboard, the -latter course might, in special cases, have some advantages. But even -then it is better that the students should, in most instances, exercise -their own ingenuity in gathering out of the body of the speech the -central thoughts which they wish to preserve in their notebooks, than -that the work should be done for them in advance by having the whole -plan of the lecture placed in their sight. - -The writer has experimented on this subject by repeating the same -lecture to different classes with the outline in some cases exposed to -view, and in the others concealed: the interest has always seemed to be -greater, and the understanding more complete in the latter case. If this -is true where instruction is the only aim, it is still more necessary -where persuasion is the object of the speaker. The exposing in advance -of the means by which he intends to work, will put on their guard the -very persons whose hearts he wishes to capture, and thus lose him all -that advantage of surprise which is often as momentous in oratorical as -in military affairs. - -There are two other ways of using the plan to be considered. One is to -keep it in the speaker’s sight, so that he may step along from one item -to another, thus keeping a foundation of written words in the midst of -the uncertainty of his extemporaneous efforts, like that afforded by -stepping-stones to a man crossing a running stream. There are some -advantages in such use. The speaker will feel freer in making those -pauses which are sometimes necessary for the sake of emphasis. He is -better able to collect his scattered ideas in case any untoward -circumstance should break the thread of his discourse. If he is confused -for a moment, he may look down to his paper and recover himself, while -if thoughts and words flow easily he can ignore the plan which lies -before him. - -But all the reasons for thus using the plan are the most emphatic -condemnation of the practice. They are all make-shifts. They are based -upon the thought that the great object is to secure the speaker from -danger and confusion; in other words, they put him on the defensive, -instead of the aggressive. Were the question to be stated, “How can a -man best preserve the form of extemporaneous speech while shielding -himself from the most dangerous incidents of that mode of address?” it -might plausibly be replied, “By making a very full plan and concealing -it at some point within the reach of his eyes, and using it whenever -that course becomes easiest.” - -But we have not sought to point out the mode of speech which will best -protect the speaker from risks incident to his work. For real -effectiveness, compromises are usually hurtful, and this expedient forms -no exception. - -To have a plan in sight tends powerfully to break up the speech into -fragments and destroy its unity. A series of short addresses on related -points, affords no substitute for a concentrated discourse. The speaker -who publicly uses his sketch, speaks on until he reaches a point at -which he does not know what is to come next, and on the brink of that -gulf, looks down at his notes, and, perhaps after a search, finds what -he wants. Had the thought existed in his mind, it would have blended the -close of the preceding sentences into harmony with it. Direct address to -the people, which they so much value in a speaker, is interfered with in -the same way, for his eye must rest for a portion of the time upon his -notes. He will also be apt to mention the divisions of his speech as -they occur, because the eye is resting upon them at the same time the -tongue is engaged, and it is hard to keep the two members from working -in harmony. - -If notes must be used the same advice applies that we have already -offered to those who read in full. Be honest about it; do not try to -hide the notes. Any attempt to prove to an audience that we are doing -what we are not doing, has in it an element of deception, and is morally -objectionable. The use of notes is not wrong, but to use them while -pretending not to use them is wrong. - -Some speakers carry their notes in their pockets for the sake of being -able to take them out in case they find their memory failing, and thus -they guard against the misfortune which once befell the eloquent Abbe -Bautain, who, on ascending the pulpit to preach before the French King -and Court, found that he had forgotten subject, plan, and text. This -method is honest and unobjectionable, for the notes of the plan are -either not used by the speaker at all, or if he takes them from his -pocket, the people will understand the action. - -The only remaining method, and that which we would urge upon every -extempore speaker, is to commit the plan, as sketched, to memory. It is -put in the best possible shape for the expression of the subject by the -labor which has been previously bestowed upon it, and now such review as -will give the mind a perfect recollection of the whole subject in its -orderly unfolding is just what is needed for final mastery. Previously -much of the work of preparation was given to detached fragments. Now the -subject as a whole is spread out. The time given to a thorough -memorizing of the plan need not be great; it will indeed be but small if -the plan itself is so well arranged that every preceding part suggests -what follows; but it will be the most fruitful of all the time spent in -preparation. It puts you in the best condition for speaking. The object -is then fixed in the heart and will fire it to earnestness and zeal, -while the subject is spread, like a map, before the mental vision. All -the power you possess can then be brought to bear directly upon the -people. Do not fear that in the hurry of discourse you will forget some -part of what is clear when you begin. If you are in good mental and -physical condition, the act of speech will be exhilarating and -stimulating, so that every fine line of preparation will come into -clearness just at the right time, and many a relation unperceived -before, many a forgotten fact, will spring up in complete and vivid -perception. There is a wonderful luxury of feeling in such speech. -Sailing with a swift wind, riding a race-horse, even the joy of -victorious battle—indeed, all enjoyments that arise from the highest -powers called forth into successful exercise—are inferior to the thrill -and intoxication of the highest form of successful extemporaneous -speech. To think of using notes then would seem like a contemptible -impertinence! Imagine Xavier or Luther with their notes spread out -before them, looking up the different items from which to address the -multitudes spell-bound before them! The Presbyterian Deacon who once -prayed in the presence of his note-using Pastor, “O Lord! teach Thy -servants to speak from the heart to the heart, and not from a little -piece of paper, as the manner of some is,” was not so very far wrong! - -It is advisable to commit the plan to memory a considerable time before -speaking. It then takes more complete possession of the mind and there -is less liability of forgetting some portion. This is less important -when the subject is perfectly familiar, for then “out of the abundance -of the heart the mouth speaketh,” but those subjects which have been -recently studied for the first time are in a different position; and -some meditation upon that which has just been arranged in its best form -will be very serviceable. Even if the salient points are firmly grasped, -some of the minor parts may require further close consideration. No -study is ever so profitable as that which is bestowed after the plan is -complete, for up to that time there is danger that some of the thoughts -to which our attention is given may be ultimately rejected and others -radically modified. But when the plan is finished each idea has settled -into its place. If obscurity rests anywhere, it may be detected at once, -and the strength of the mind be brought to bear for its banishment. -Impressions derived from meditation are then easily retained until the -hour of speech, because associated with their proper place in the -prepared outline. Such deep meditation on each division of the discourse -can scarcely fail to make it original in the true sense of the term, and -weave all its parts together with strong and massive thoughts. - -After the plan has been memorized we can meditate upon it not only at -the desk, but anywhere. As we walk about or lie in bed, or at any other -time find our minds free from distractions, we can ponder the ideas that -cluster around our subject until they grow perfectly familiar. Even when -we are reading or thinking on other topics, brilliant thoughts will not -unfrequently spring up, or those we possessed before take stronger and -more definite outlines. All such gains can be held in memory without the -use of the pen, because the plan furnishes a suitable place for them. - -The course here described we would urge strongly upon the consideration -of the young speaker. If carefully followed, its results will be -invaluable. Arrange the plan from which you are to speak as clearly as -may be in the form of a brief sketch; turn it over and over again; -ponder each idea and the manner of bringing it out; study the connection -between all the parts until the whole from beginning to end appears -perfectly plain and simple. So frequently has this mode of preparation -been tested that its effectiveness is no longer a matter of experiment. - -It is advantageous to grasp the whole subject, as early as possible, in -a single idea—in the same manner in which the future tree is compressed -within the germ from which it is to spring. Then this one thought will -suggest the entire discourse to the speaker, and at its conclusion will -be left clear and positive in the hearer’s mind. For some acute auditors -this may be less necessary. They are able to outrun a loose speaker, -arrange his scattered fragments, supply his omissions, and arrive at the -idea which has not yet formed itself clearly in his own mind. Such -persons often honestly commend orators who are incomprehensible to the -majority of their hearers. But the opinions of such auditors are an -unsafe guide, for they form a very small minority of any assembly. - -There is one further step which may sometimes precede the moment of -speech with profit—the placing upon paper of a brief but connected -sketch or statement of the whole discourse. If this is made in the -ordinary writing there is danger that its slowness will make it more of -a word-study than what it is intended to be—a test of ideas. A thorough -mastery of shorthand, or the service of some one who has such mastery, -will supply this defect. If the plan is well arranged there will be no -pause in the most rapid composition, and if the whole discourse can at -one effort be thrown into a dress of words there may be full assurance -that the same thing can be accomplished still more easily and -effectively when the additional stimulus of an audience is supplied. -There should be no attempt, in the moment of speaking, to recall the -very words used in writing, but the command of language will undoubtedly -be greatly improved by having so recently used many of the terms that -will be again required. Frequently there will be fine passages in the -speech which you have thus struck off at white heat that you may be -unwilling to forget, but it is better to make no effort to remember -them, for you are almost sure to rise still higher in the moment of -public delivery. - -When this rapid writing is not available, a partial substitute for it -may be found in writing in the ordinary hand a brief sketch or compact -model of the whole discourse. You will be surprised to notice how short -a compass will suffice for a discourse requiring an hour or more in -delivery, without the omission of a single material thought. Such a -sketch differs from the plan in clearly expressing all the ideas that -underlie the coming speech, while the latter would be nearly -unintelligible to any but its author. The one is only a few marks thrown -out in the field of thought by which an intended pathway is indicated; -the other is a very brief view of the thoughts themselves, without -adornment or verbiage. Some speakers who might feel insecure in trusting -the notes and hints of the plan would feel perfectly safe in enlarging -upon a statement of their thoughts so brief that the whole sketch of the -speech would not require more than three or four minutes to read. But -this whole plan of writing, either in full or in brief, is only an -expedient, and need not be adopted by those who have full confidence in -their trained and cultivated powers. - -After you have prepared your plan it is well to preserve it for future -use, which may be done by copying it into a book kept for that purpose: -or, what is more convenient in practice, folding the slip of paper on -which it is written into an envelope of suitable size with the subject -written on the back. These may be classified and preserved, even in very -large numbers, so as to be easily consulted. From time to time, as your -ability grows, they may be improved upon so as to remain the complete -expression of your ability on every theme treated. On the back of the -envelope may also be written references to any source of additional -information on the same subject, and printed or written scraps, valuable -as illustrations, or for additional information, may be slipped inside. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - THE FIRST MOMENT OF SPEECH. - - -Having completed all your preparations, you now anxiously await the -commencement of the intellectual battle. This period is often a severe -trial. Men who are physically brave sometimes tremble in anticipation of -speedily standing before an audience. The shame of failure then may -appear worse than death itself. As the soldier feels more of cold and -shrinking terror when listening for the peal of the first gun, than -afterward, when the conflict deepens into blood around him, so the -speaker usually suffers more in this moment of expectancy than in any -that follows. You behold the danger in its full magnitude, without the -inspiration that attends it. Yet whatever effort it may cost, you must -remain calm and collected, for if not master of yourself, you cannot -expect to rule others. Your material must be kept well in hand, ready to -be used at the proper time, though it is not well to be continually -conning over your preparation. That would destroy the freshness of your -matter and bring you to the decisive test weary and jaded. You only need -such an occasional glance as will assure you that all your material -remains within reach. It is seldom possible by any means to banish all -fear, and it is to the speaker’s advantage that he cannot. His timidity -arises from several causes, which differ widely in the effects they -produce. A conscious want of preparation, especially when this arises -from any neglect or indolence, is one of the most distressing sources of -fear. A species of remorse then mingles with the embarrassment natural -to the moment. If the speaker has no other motive than to win -reputation—to minister to his own vanity—he will feel terrified, as he -realizes that shame instead of honor may be the result of his rashness. -That man is fortunate who can say, “I only speak because I feel it to be -duty which I dare not refuse—a work that I must perform whether well or -ill.” The lawyer who must defend his client, the minister who feels that -the hour of service has arrived, the teacher in the presence of his -class, are examples of those who speak under the same kind of compulsion -that calls a field laborer out into the burning heat of a July noon -whether he feels like it or not. But if you are about to speak because -you have intruded into the work that properly belongs to another, you -need to be very sure of your preparation, for in case of failure you -will not have even your own sympathy. - -But the most formidable and common foe of the speaker’s, in these -preliminary moments, is a general dread that can neither be analyzed nor -accounted for. Persons who have never felt its power sometimes make -light of it, but experience will change their views. The soldier who has -never witnessed a battle, or felt the air throb with the explosion of -cannon, or heard the awful cries of the wounded, is often a great -braggart; while “the scarred veteran of a hundred fights” never speaks -of the carnival of blood without shuddering, and would be the last, but -for the call of duty, to brave the danger he knows so well. There may be -a few speakers who do not feel such fear, but it is because they do not -know what true speaking is. They have never known the full tide of -inspiration which sometimes lifts the orator far above his conceptions, -but which first struggles in his own bosom like the pent fires of a -volcano. They only come forward to relieve themselves of the -interminable stream of twaddle that wells spontaneously to their lips, -and can well be spared the pangs preceding the birth of a powerful and -living discourse. - -This kind of fear belongs to every kind of oratory, but is most intense -on those great occasions, in presence of large audiences, when men’s -passions run high. In mere instructive address, where the ground has -been repeatedly gone over and where the effort is mainly of an -intellectual character, it is less noticeable. It resembles the awe felt -on the eve of all great enterprises, and when excessive, as it is in -some highly gifted minds, it constitutes an absolute bar to public -speech. But in most cases it is a source of inspiration rather than of -repression. - -There is a strange sensation often experienced in the presence of an -audience. It may proceed from the gaze of the many eyes that turn upon -the speaker, especially if he permits himself to steadily return that -gaze. Most speakers have been conscious of this in a nameless thrill, a -real something, pervading the atmosphere, tangible, evanescent, -indescribable. All writers have borne testimony to the power of a -speaker’s eye in impressing an audience. This influence which we are now -considering is the reverse of that picture—the power _their_ eyes may -exert upon him, especially before he begins to speak: after the inward -fires of oratory are fanned into flame the eyes of the audience lose all -terror. By dwelling on the object for which we speak and endeavoring to -realize its full importance, we will in a measure lose sight of our -personal danger, and be more likely to maintain a calm and tranquil -frame of mind. - -No change should be made in the plan at the last moment, as that is very -liable to produce confusion. This error is often committed. The mind has -a natural tendency to go repeatedly over the same ground, revising and -testing every point, and it may make changes the consequences of which -cannot be in a moment foreseen. But the necessary preparation has been -made and we should now await the result calmly and hopefully. Over-study -is quite possible, and when accompanied by great solicitude wearies our -mind in advance and strips the subject of all freshness. If the eye is -fixed too long upon one object with a steadfast gaze, it loses the power -to see at all. So the mind, if exerted steadily upon a single topic for -a long period, fails in vigor and elasticity at the moment when those -qualities are indispensable. That profound thinker and preacher, -Frederick W. Robertson, experienced this difficulty and was accustomed -to find relief by reading some inspiring paragraphs upon some totally -different theme from that he intended to speak about. The energy and -enthusiasm of our minds in the moment of speech must be raised to the -highest pitch; the delivery of a living discourse is not the dry -enumeration of a list of particulars; but we must actually feel an -immediate and burning interest in the topics with which we deal. This -cannot be counterfeited. - -To clearly arrange all thoughts that belong to the subject, lay them -aside when the work is done until the moment of speech, and then enter -confidently upon them with only such a momentary glance as will assure -us that all is right—this is the method to make our strength fully -available. This confidence while in waiting seems to the beginner very -difficult, but experience rapidly renders it easy. M. Bautain declares -that he has been repeatedly so confident in his preparation as to fall -asleep while waiting to be summoned to the pulpit! - -Those who misimprove the last moments by too much thought and solicitude -are not the only class of offenders. Some persons, through mere -indolence, suffer the fine lines of preparation which have been traced -with so much care to fade into dimness. This error is not unfrequently -committed by those who speak a second or third time on the same subject. -Because they have once succeeded they imagine that the same success is -always at command. No mistake could be greater. It is not enough to have -speech-material in a position from which it can be collected by a -conscious and prolonged effort, but it must be in the foreground of the -mind. There is no time at the moment of delivery for reviving half -obliterated lines of memory. - -The writer once saw a notable case of failure from this cause. A -preacher on a great occasion was much engrossed with other important -duties until the hour appointed for his sermon had arrived. With perfect -confidence he selected a sketch from which he had preached a short time -before and with the general course of which he was no doubt familiar. -But when he endeavored to produce his thoughts they were not ready. He -became embarrassed, talked at random for a short time, and then had the -candor to tell the audience that he could not finish, and to take his -seat. Probably half an hour given to reviewing his plan would have made -all his previous preparation fresh again, and have spared him the -mortification of failure. - -In this last interval it is also well to care for the strength and vigor -of the body, as its condition greatly influences all mental operations. -It is said that the pearl-diver, before venturing into the depths of the -sea, always spends a few moments in deep breathing and other bodily -preparations. In the excitement of speech, the whirl and hurricane of -emotion, it is advisable to be well prepared for the high tension of -nerve that is implied. Mental excitement exhausts and wears down the -body faster than bodily labor. We must carefully husband our strength -that we may be able to meet all demands upon it. - -Holyoake makes the following pertinent observation in reference to this -point: - -“Perhaps the lowest quality of the art of oratory, but one on many -occasions of the _first importance_, is a certain robust and radiant -physical health; great volumes of animal heat. In the cold thinness of a -morning audience mere energy and mellowness is inestimable; wisdom and -learning would be harsh and unwelcome compared with a substantial man, -who is quite a housewarming.” - -Fatiguing and excessive exercise should be very carefully avoided. -Holyoake illustrates this from his own experience. He says: - -“One Saturday I walked from Sheffield to Huddersfield to deliver on -Sunday two anniversary lectures. It was my first appearance there, and I -was ambitious to acquit myself well. But in the morning I was utterly -unable to do more than talk half inaudibly and quite incoherently. In -the evening I was tolerable, but my voice was weak. My annoyance was -excessive. I was a paradox to myself. My power seemed to come and go by -some eccentric law of its own. I did not find out until years after that -the utter exhaustion of my strength had exhausted the powers of speech -and thought, and that entire repose, instead of entire fatigue, should -have been the preparation for public speaking.” - -The last statement is somewhat too strong, for absolute rest is not -generally advisable. It would leave the speaker, when he began to speak, -with languid mind and slowly beating pulse—a state which it would -require some minutes for him to overcome. A short, but brisk walk, when -the health is good, will invigorate and refresh all his faculties, and -often prevent a listless introduction by giving him the vigor to grasp -the subject at once and launch right into the heart of it. Should any -person doubt the power of exercise to produce this effect, let him, when -perplexed with difficult questions in his study, start out over fields -and hills, and review the matter in the open air. It is a good thing to -carry the breath of the fields into the opening of our addresses. - -But when the speaker cannot take this form of exercise in the moments -just preceding speech, he may easily find a substitute for it. If alone, -he can pace back and forth and swing his arms until the circulation -becomes brisk and pours a stream of arterial blood to the brain. - -Another simple exercise can be practiced anywhere, and will be of great -benefit. Many persons injure themselves by speaking too much from the -throat. This is caused by improper, short, and shallow breathing. To -breathe properly is beneficial at any time, and does much to prevent or -remedy throat and lung disease. But in the beginning of a speech it is -doubly important: when once under way, there will be no time to think of -either voice or breath: the only safe plan, then, is to have the right -mode made habitual and instinctive. This will be greatly promoted if -just before beginning we breathe deeply for a few minutes, inflating the -lungs to their extremities and sending the warm blood to the very tips -of the fingers. - -Having now done all we can in advance, nothing remains but to rise and -speak. Preparation and precaution are passed. Actual work—the most -joyous, thrilling, and spiritual of all human tasks—is now to be entered -upon. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - THE INTRODUCTION. - - -The time for the speech having arrived, we will now consider its -separate parts. No division is better for our purpose than that employed -in a previous part of this work—a three-fold division into introduction, -discussion, and conclusion. - -A good introduction is exceedingly valuable, and is to be sought for -with great solicitude, if it does not spontaneously present itself. Some -kind of an introduction is inevitable, for there will always be a first -moment when silence is broken, and our thoughts introduced. The -subsiding murmur of the audience tells the speaker that the time of his -trial has come. If he is very sensitive, or if he has seldom, if ever, -spoken before, his pulse beats fast, his face flushes, and an -indescribable feeling of faintness and fear thrills every nerve. He may -wish himself anywhere else, but there is now no help for him. He must -arise, and for the time stand as the mark for all eyes and the subject -of all thoughts. - -There is a vast difference between reciting and extemporizing in these -opening moments, and the advantage seems to be altogether on the side of -recitation. Every word is in its proper place and the speaker may be -perfectly calm and self-collected. He is sure that his memory will not -fail him in the opening, and encouraged by that assurance, will usually -throw his whole power into his first sentences, causing his voice to -ring clear and loud over the house. - -The extemporizer is in a far more difficult position. He is sure of -nothing. The weight of the whole speech rests heavily upon his mind. He -is glancing ahead, striving to forecast the coming sentences, as well as -carrying forward those gliding over the tongue, and, distracted by this -double labor, his first expressions may be feeble and ungraceful. Yet -this modesty and timidity is no real loss: it goes far to conciliate an -audience and secure their good-will. We can scarcely fail to distinguish -memorized from extemporized discourses by the introduction alone. - -To avoid the pain and hesitancy of an unelaborated beginning, some -speakers write and memorize the opening passage. This may accomplish the -immediate object, but it is apt to be at the expense of all the -remainder of the discourse. The mind cannot pass easily from reciting to -spontaneous origination; and the voice, being too freely used at first, -loses its power. The hearers, having listened to highly polished -language, are less disposed to relish the plain words that follow, and -the whole speech, which, like the Alpine condor, may have pitched from -the loftiest summits, falls fast and far, until the lowest level is -reached. A written introduction may be modest and unpretending, but -unless it very closely imitates unstudied speech, painful contrasts and -disappointments are inevitable. - -One mode of avoiding these difficulties is to make no formal -introduction, but to plunge at once into the heart of the subject. -Sometimes, when the minds of speaker and hearer are already absorbed by -the same general topic, as in the midst of a heated political canvass, -this mode is very good. Under such circumstances, an interest may soon -be aroused which removes all embarrassment. But usually the speaker’s -mind is full of a subject which is unfamiliar and indifferent to his -hearers. It then behooves him to find some mode of gaining their -attention and sympathy before he takes the risk of arousing a prejudice -against his subject which he might afterward strive in vain to overcome. -If something is found which can be made to bear some relation to his -subject, without too violent straining, and which already excites -interest in their minds, it will be far better to begin with that, and -lead them to the proper theme when their attention has been thoroughly -aroused. - -The introduction should not be left to the chance of the moment. It may -often, with great propriety, be prepared after all other parts of the -speech are planned. But with even more care than is given to any other -portion should the introduction be prearranged. When once the wings of -eloquence are fully spread we may soar above all obstructions; but in -starting it is well to be assured that the ground is clear about us. - -It is only the substance and not the words of the introduction that -should be prepared. A single sentence may be mentally forecast, but much -beyond would be harmful; and even this sentence should be simple and -easily understood. Anything that needs explanation is very much out of -place. Neither should the introduction be so striking as to be the part -of the discourse longest remembered. Rather than permit the attention to -be distracted in that manner, it would be better to have no -introduction. - -A speaker gains much if he can at the outset arrest the attention and -win the sympathy of his hearers and then carry these over to his proper -subject. But it may be assumed as certain, that no kind of an apology -will accomplish this object—unless, indeed, the speaker is such a -favorite that everything in regard to his health or position is an -object of deep solicitude to his audience. A popular speaker who happens -to be late and apologizes for it by explaining that he had just escaped -from a terrible railroad accident would make a good introduction. A -loved pastor, in his first sermon after serious illness, might properly -begin by talking of his amendment and his joy at addressing Ins flock -again. But these are rare exceptions. The speaker about to make any kind -of an apology or personal reference as an introduction, may well heed -_Punch’s advice to persons about to be married_: “Don’t.” - -In many instances it is not easy to get the mere attention of an -audience. They come together from many different employments with -thoughts engaged upon various topics, and it is difficult to remove -distracting influences and fix all minds upon one subject. Sometimes a -startling proposition, in the nature of a challenge, will secure the -object. Earnestness in the speaker goes far toward it. But above -everything else, sameness and monotony must be carefully avoided. When -the same audience is frequently addressed, variety becomes essential. -The writer knew of a minister who made it a rule to consider the nature, -reason, and manner of his subjects, in answer to the supposed questions: -“What is it? Why is it? How is it?” The eloquence of Paul could not -often have redeemed the faults of such an arrangement. - -Some inattention may be expected and patiently borne with at first. Part -of the opening words may be lost—an additional reason for not making -them of capital importance to the address. It is useless to try by loud -tones and violent manner to dispel indifference. If the speaker’s words -have real weight, and if his manner indicates confidence, one by one the -audience will listen, until that electric thrill of sympathy, impossible -to describe, but which is as evident to the practiced orator as an -accord in music, tells him that every ear is open to his words, and that -his thoughts are occupying every mind. Then the orator’s power is fully -developed, and if himself and his theme are equal to the occasion it is -delightful to use that power. This silent, pulsating interest is more to -be desired than vehement applause, for it cannot be counterfeited, and -it indicates that the heart of the assembly has been reached and melted -by the fire of eloquence, and is now ready to be molded into any desired -form. - -There are two or three general subjects available for introduction which -every speaker would do well to study carefully, and which will do much -to furnish him with the means of properly approaching his theme. We will -mention the most useful of these, premising that no one mode should be -depended upon to the exclusion of others. - -A good mode of introduction consists in a compliment to an audience. -When a truthful and manly compliment can be given it is a most pleasant -and agreeable step toward the good-will of those we address; but if used -on all occasions indiscriminately, it is meaningless; if transparently -false, it is repulsive and disgusting; but when true, there is no reason -why it should not be employed. - -There are several good introductions of the complimentary character in -the 24th and 26th chapters of Acts. When the orator, Tertullus, accused -Paul, he began by skillful, but, from the standpoint of his clients, -very insincere flattery: - -“Seeing that by thee we enjoy great quietness, and that very worthy -deeds are done unto this nation by thy providence, we accept it always, -and in all places, most noble Felix, with all thankfulness.” - -No fault can be found with the form of this introduction, but it was -untrue, for the men in whose names it was made were the very reverse of -thankful to the Roman Governor. - -Paul was far too skillful to lose the advantage of beginning his address -with a compliment, and too honest to give a false one. There was one -fact over which he could rejoice. Felix had been long enough in office -to know the ways of his enemies; so Paul uses that as an effective and -truthful compliment, while professing his own confidence in his cause. - -“Forasmuch as I know that thou hast been for many years a Judge unto -this nation, I do the more cheerfully answer for myself, because that -thou mayest understand.” - -In the same exquisite combination of truthfulness and compliment to a -bad man, Paul begins his address when before King Agrippa: - -“I think myself happy, King Agrippa, because I shall answer for myself -this day before thee, touching all the things whereof I am accused of -the Jews; especially because I know thee to be expert in all customs and -questions which are among the Jews; wherefore, I beseech thee to hear me -patiently.” - -It should always be remembered, however, that compliments, even in the -estimation of those complimented, are only grateful in proportion to -their judicious character. Their hollowness, if insincere, is easily -detected and thoroughly despised. - -Effective introductions can also be constructed from those topics of the -day which may be supposed to fill all minds. A few words on such -subjects, falling in with the general current of thought, may easily -lead up to the orator’s special topic. The newspapers may thus furnish -us, especially while some striking event is yet recent, with the means -of arresting the attention of newspaper readers at our first words. - -Another good mode of introduction is that of locality. The people of any -town may be presumed familiar with the objects or events of interest for -which their own place is celebrated. A ludicrous instance of this is -narrated of the eloquent Daniel Webster. He had visited Niagara Falls -and was to make an oration at Buffalo the same day, but, unfortunately, -he sat too long over the wine after dinner. When he arose to speak, the -oratorical instinct struggled with difficulties, as he declared, -“Gentlemen, I have been to look upon your mag—mag—magnificent cataract, -one hundred—and forty—seven—feet high! Gentlemen, Greece and Rome in -their palmiest days never had a cataract one hundred—and -forty—seven—feet high!” - -Another mode of introduction which may be very useful under proper -restrictions is that of citing some relevant remark made by an author -whose name carries great weight, or so pointed in itself as to at once -arrest attention. A great picture, some feature of a landscape, a great -historical event, may be cited in the same way. This method of citation -is capable of very wide application. If the sentiment or impression made -by the citation is directly opposite to that which the speaker wishes to -produce this will increase rather than diminish interest, as the -enjoyment of contrast and controversy is very keen; but the speaker -should feel confident of his ability to overcome the influence of the -citation when thus hostile. A favorite introduction to abolition -lectures in a former generation was the quotation of some strong and -shocking declaration of the rightfulness or beneficence of slavery. - -The last mode of introduction we will notice is very similar in -character and may be termed that of perception. Something has been seen, -heard, or imagined by the speaker, which, because of its simple, -tangible character, is easily grasped, and yet leads by some subtle -analogy to his topic. He has seen a ragged, desolate boy on the street; -he describes that poor fellow to his audience; and then finds them far -more ready to listen to a plea for orphan asylums, for education, for -better city government, for anything which can have any bearing upon the -welfare of the boy. - -Here, then, are five principles upon which appropriate introductions may -be constructed. Many others might be named, but these cover a wide range -and may be very useful. They are: - - 1. Compliments. - - 2. Current Events. - - 3. Local Allusion. - - 4. Citations. - - 5. Things seen, heard, or imagined. - -A great calamity may come to a speaker from a bad introduction. Speakers -who are great in everything else often fail at this point. Some make -their introductions too complicated, and thus defeat their own end, as -surely as the engineer who gives his railroad such steep grades that no -train can pass over it. Others deliver a string of mere platitudes and -weary their audience from the beginning. - -When from these or other causes our address is misbegun, the -consequences may be serious. The thought settles upon the speaker with -icy weight that he is failing. This conviction paralyzes all his -faculties. He talks on, but grows more and more embarrassed. Incoherent -sentences are stammered out which require painful explanation to prevent -them from degenerating into perfect nonsense. The outline of his plan -dissolves into mist. The points he intended to make which seemed strong -and important now look trivial. With little hope ahead he blunders on. -The room grows dark before him, and in the excess of his misery he longs -for the time when he can close without absolute disgrace. But alas! the -end seems far off, and he searches in vain for some avenue of escape. -There is none. His throat becomes dry and parched, and command of voice -is lost. The audience grow restive, for they are tortured as well as the -speaker, and if he were malicious and had time to think about it, he -might find some alleviation in that. No one can help him. At length, in -sheer desperation, he does what he ought to have done long before—simply -stops and sits down—perhaps hurling some swelling morsel of commonplace, -as a parting volley, at the audience—bathed in sweat, and feeling that -he is disgraced forever! If he is very weak or foolish, he resolves -never to speak again without having every word written out before him; -if wiser, he only resolves, not only to understand his speech, but how -to begin it. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - PROGRESS OF THE SPEECH. - - -The passage from the introduction to the discussion should be made -smoothly and gradually. To accomplish this, and to strike the subject at -just the right angle, continuing all the interest previously excited, is -a most important achievement. A definite object is a great assistance in -this part of the work. If the object is clearly in view, we go right up -to it with no wasted words, and the people follow our guidance because -they see that we are not proceeding at random. But with no strong -purpose we are apt to steer about our subject without ever being quite -ready to enter upon it. The more brilliant the introduction the more -difficult this transition will be. But all these difficulties may be -overcome with the aid of a well-constructed plan, and then all the -triumphs of oratory are before us. - -There is great pleasure in speaking well. An assembly hanging on the -words and thinking the thoughts of a single man, gives to him the most -subtle kind of flattery. But he must not inhale its fragrance -heedlessly, or his fall will be speedy and disastrous. The triumphs of -oratory are very fascinating—the ability to sway our fellows at -pleasure, to bind them willing captives with the strong chain of our -thought—produces a delirious and intoxicating sense of power. But in the -best of instances such achievements are very transient, and unless taken -advantage of at the moment to work our cherished purposes, the -opportunity is lost. Even during a single address it is hard to maintain -the influence of a happy moment. Speakers sometimes utter a great and -noble thought and the nameless thrill of eloquence is felt, but some -irrelevant phrase or commonplace sentiment dissolves the charm. To avoid -this, the whole discourse must be animated with some controlling -purpose, and in its general character, tend upward, until its close. - -The law of climax ought to be carefully considered by the speaker. There -may be more than one culmination of interest in an address, separated by -an interval less absorbing and powerful, but this decline should only be -allowed in order to prepare a second or third climax grander than all -before. To violate this rule and have a speech “flatten out” toward its -close, is a fearful error. Better reduce the length of the whole by -one-half or three-fourths, and maintain interest and attention to the -end. - -A few miscellaneous considerations in regard to the style and manner of -the speech may be inserted here as well as anywhere. - -Diffuseness is often supposed to be a necessary quality of -extemporaneous speech. Many speakers do fall into it, but they need not. -They are diffuse because they are unwilling or unable to say exactly -what they mean, but come near it, and continue their efforts until they -are satisfied. They furnish no clear view of any idea, but only a kind -of twilight illumination. This serious fault may be overcome in -spontaneous speech as readily as in writing. He who thinks clearly and -forcibly will talk in the same manner. Exquisite finish and elaborate -verbal arrangement are not to be looked for in off-hand speech, but each -idea may be expressed with great force, vigor, and accuracy of shading. - -This ability to say precisely what we mean in few words, and at the -first effort, constitutes one of the great beauties of a spoken style. -The hearer is filled with grateful surprise when some new and living -idea is suddenly placed before him clothed in a single word or sentence. -A diffuse speaker gives so many premonitions of his thought that the -audience have guessed it, and may even come to believe that they have -always known it, before he has made his formal presentment. Of course, -they are wearied, and never give him credit for an original conception. - -If troubled with this fault, frequently forecast what to say; drive it -into the smallest number of vivid, expressive words; then, without -memorizing the language, reproduce the same thought briefly in the hurry -of speech. If not successful in making it as brief as before, repeat the -effort. This exercise will, in time, give the ability to condense. But -to exercise it the temptation to fine language must be overcome. No -sentence should be introduced for mere glitter or sparkle: a single -unnecessary word may require others to justify or explain it, and thus -may ruin a whole discourse. The danger of showy language in speech is -far greater than in writing, for if the writer be drawn too far away -from his subject he can strike out the offending sentences and begin -again, while the speaker has but one trial. If beauty lies in his way, -well; but if not, he should never abandon his course to seek it. - -We have seen many directions for “expanding thought,” and have heard -young speakers admire the ease and grace of such expansion. But thoughts -are not like medicines which require dilution to be more palatable. It -is better to give the essence of an idea and go on to something else. -There should be clear and ample expression; condensation carried to the -point of obscurity would be a fault; but nothing more than clearness is -needed. If thoughts are few it is better to delve for others rather than -to attenuate and stretch what we have. - -A popular error exists as to the kind of language best adapted to the -purposes of oratory. High-sounding epithets and Latinized words are -considered the fitting medium of speech. These may overawe ignorant -hearers, but can never strike the chords of living sympathy which bind -all hearts together. If we use terms hard to be understood the effort -put forth by hearers to master their meaning is just so much subtracted -from the force of the address. The homely Saxon words that dwell on the -lips of the people will unload their wealth of meaning in the heart as -soon as the sound strikes the ear. Uncommon words build a barrier around -thought; familiar ones are like a railroad over which it glides swiftly -to its destination. - -All debased and slang words should be rejected, unless the speech is to -partake of the nature of burlesque: we do not advocate “the familiarity -that breeds contempt:” this is also a hurtful extreme. The two great -requisites in the use of words are that they should exactly express our -ideas, and that they should be familiar: the charms of melody and -association are not to be despised, but they are secondary. - -Every speech should have its strong points, upon which especial reliance -is placed. A skillful general has his choice battalions reserved to -pierce the enemy’s line at the decisive moment, and win the battle. In -both the physical and the mental contest, it is important to place these -reserves aright that all their weight may be felt. - -A crisis occurs in nearly all living addresses—a moment in which a -strong argument or a fervid appeal will accomplish our purpose—just as a -vigorous charge, or the arrival of reinforcements, will turn the -doubtful scale of battle. The speaker, from the opening of his speech, -should have his object clearly in view and drive steadily toward it, and -when within reach, put forth his whole power in a mighty effort, -achieving the result for which the whole speech was devised. If the -right opportunity is neglected it seldom returns, and an hour’s talk may -fail to accomplish as much as one good burning sentence thrown in at the -right time. Much talk after the real purpose of an address is -accomplished also is useless and even perilous. - -It has all along been taken for granted that the speaker has something -worthy to say. Without this a serious address deserves no success, -although under some circumstances nothing but sound to tickle the ears -is desired. Such speeches are well enough in their way, but they rank -with the performances on the piano by which a young lady entertains her -uncritical visitors. They cannot be called speeches in any real sense. -The fact that a speaker has a solid and worthy foundation of knowledge -and an adequate purpose gives him confidence. He knows that if his words -are not instinct with music, and if the pictures of his fancy are not -painted in the brightest colors, he has yet a just claim upon the -attention of his hearers. - -It is not necessary that the orator’s thoughts should be exceedingly -profound; the most vital truths lie near the surface, within reach of -all. But most men do not dwell long enough upon one subject to master -its obvious features, and when some one does fully gather up and fairly -present what belongs to a worthy theme it is like a new revelation. A -good illustration of this is found in the sublimity Dean Stanley imparts -to the story of the Exodus of Israel. Few new facts are presented, but -these are so arranged and vivified by a thoughtful mind that the subject -glows into new meaning. The extemporaneous speaker may have abundant -time for such study of every topic within his range of addresses, and if -he uses it aright, he can soon wield a charm far beyond any jingling -combination of words. - -When an orator stands before an audience, shall he expect to overwhelm -them by his eloquence? Such a result is possible but not probable; and -it can never be safely calculated upon. If persons attempt to be greatly -eloquent on all occasions, they are apt to end by becoming ridiculous. -Good sense and solid usefulness are better objects of endeavor. - -Any man who studies a subject until he knows more about it than his -neighbors can interest them in a fireside explanation, if they care for -the subject at all: he tells his facts in a plain style and is -understood. Many persons will listen delighted to a man’s conversation -until midnight, but will fall asleep in ten minutes if he tries to make -a speech to them. In the first case he _talks_, and is simple and -unaffected; in the other he _speaks_ and feels that he must use a style -stiffened up for the occasion. - -When Henry Clay was asked how he became so eloquent, he said that he -could tell nothing about it; all he knew was that when he commenced an -address he had only the desire to speak what he had prepared (not -memorized), and adhered to this line of preparation until he was -enwrapped in the subject, and carried away, he knew not how. This was a -good course, for if the extraordinary inspiration did not come, a good -and sensible speech was secured at any rate. - -Some of these considerations may be of service if weighed in advance, -but when the speaker once ascends the platform he must rely on his own -tact for the management of all details. Closely observing the condition -of the audience, and taking advantage of every favoring element, he -moves steadily toward his object. With an unobstructed road before him, -which he has traveled in thought until it is familiar, he will advance -with ease and certainty. As he looks upon interested faces, new ideas -arise, and if fitting, are woven into harmony with previous -preparations, often with thrilling effect. Each emotion enkindled by -sympathy embodies itself in words that move the heart as prepared -language could not do, and each moment his own conviction sinks deeper -into the hearts of his hearers. - -There are three principal ways of concluding a speech. One of the most -graceful is to condense a clear view of the whole argument and tendency -of the address into a few words, and leave the summing up thus made to -produce its own effect. Discourses aiming principally to produce -conviction may very well be concluded in this manner. To throw the whole -sweep of an argument, every point of which has been previously -elaborated, into a few telling sentences will contribute powerfully to -make the impression permanent. - -Another and very common mode is to close with an application or with -practical remarks. When the address is a sermon, this form of closing is -frequently termed an exhortation, and the whole speech is made to bear -upon the duty of the moment. The conclusion should be closely connected -with the remainder of the address: if it be so general in character as -to fit any speech it will be of little service to any. - -A conclusion should always be short and contain no new matter. Few -things are more disastrous than the practice of drawing toward an end -and then launching out into a new discussion. All good things that have -been said, all previous favorable impressions, are obliterated by this -capital fault. We should be careful to finish the discussion of our -theme before we indicate that the conclusion has been reached. And if, -at the moment of finishing, we happen to think of anything, however -vital, which has been omitted, it had better be left to another time and -place altogether. - -A third method of closing is to simply break off when the last item is -finished. The full development of the discourse is thus made its ending, -care being taken that the last item discussed shall be of weight and -dignity. This is by no means the easiest form of conclusion, but rightly -managed it is one of the most effective. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - AFTER THE SPEECH. - - -When a fervent and successful discourse has been concluded there comes a -feeling of inexpressible relief. The burden of an important speech rests -with accumulating force upon the mind from the time the subject is -chosen until it becomes well-nigh intolerable. When speech actually -begins every power is called into play and exerted to its utmost -capacity. The excitement of the conflict hurries the speaker on, and -although he may not at the time realize the gigantic exertions put -forth, yet when he pauses at length, perhaps exhausted, but with the -victory won, the sense of rest, relief, and security, is exceedingly -delightful. - -After such an effort both mind and body do need rest. There are speakers -who profess to feel no fatigue after an hour’s labor, but these are -seldom in the front rank of orators. If the soul has been aroused and -all the man’s faculties bent to the accomplishment of a great purpose, -relaxation is often followed by a sense of utter prostration. Nothing -better for the moment can be advised than to abandon one’s self to the -luxury of utter repose. Social intercourse and all distractions should -as far as possible be avoided. If circumstances permit, a short sleep, -if but for a few minutes, will afford great relief; and in most cases -sleep will come if wisely courted. - -After resting, it is well to ponder closely the lessons derived from -each new experience in speaking. To indulge in exultation over success -or to lament over failure is not profitable. The speaker is not a -perfect judge of either. He has probably done the best he could at the -time, and there the case should rest, except so far as he sees the need -or the means of future improvement. - -But judgment of success or failure cannot easily be avoided. If the -speaker’s standard is low, he may pass beyond it without accomplishing -anything worthy of high praise: or if he is despondent in nature he may -have expected little and may now feel correspondingly elated because he -has exceeded his very moderate expectations. But it is a curious fact -that speakers are often least pleased with their best speeches. In the -mightiest efforts of the mind the standard is placed very high—perhaps -beyond the possibility of attainment—and the speaker works with his eyes -fixed upon that summit, and probably, after all his exertions, sees it -shining still far above him. His ideas are but half expressed; he is -mortified that there should be such a difference between conception and -realization. But his hearers have been led over untrodden fields of -thought, and knowing nothing of the grander heights still above the -orator’s head, they are naturally filled with enthusiasm, and cannot -enter into the feelings of the speaker if he is foolish enough to tell -them of his disappointment. - -This is the reason that we are least able to judge of the success of -speeches that have been long meditated and thoroughly prepared. The -subject expands as we study, its outlines becoming grander and vaster -until they pass beyond our power of adequate representation. Each -separate thought in the whole discussion that is fully mastered becomes -familiar, and is not, therefore, valued at its true worth. Sometimes, -when we begin to speak with little thought, intending to give only easy -and common views of the subject, everything appears fresh before us, and -if some striking ideas arise, their novelty gives them three-fold value, -and we imagine that we have made a great speech. All this constitutes no -argument against diligent preparation, but it should stimulate us to -bring up our powers of expression more nearly to the level of our -conceptions. - -There should never be extreme discouragement over an apparent failure. -Some good end may be reached even by a very poor speech. One evening the -writer preached when weary and almost unprepared. From first to last the -effort was painful, and to prevent absolute failure the intended plan -had to be abandoned, and detached thoughts from any source thrown in. -Yet that discourse, which was scarcely worthy of the name, elicited -warmer approval and did more apparent good than any one preached for -several previous months. One or two fortunate illustrations redeemed -every defect, so far as the audience (but not the speaker) was -concerned. - -Whatever judgment we may entertain of our own performances, it is not -usually wise to tell our hearers, or to ask their opinions. Criticisms -spontaneously offered need not be repulsed, but all seeking for -commendation is childish or disgusting. It is sweet to hear our efforts -praised, and most of men can bear an amount of flattery addressed to -themselves which would be insufferable if offered to others; but this -disposition, if much indulged, becomes ungovernable and exposes us to -well-deserved ridicule. It is pitiable to see a man who has been -uttering wise and eloquent words afterward stooping to beg crusts of -indiscriminating flattery from his hearers. - -Whenever there is a probability that any discourse will be repeated, it -is well to review it soon after delivery, while its impression is still -fresh upon the mind, and if any defect appears, amend it in the plan, -and add to the same plan all the valuable ideas that have been suggested -during the speech or afterward. In this manner we keep each discourse up -to the high watermark of our ability. - -Some orators are accustomed to write their speeches out in full after -delivery. When the theme is important and time permits, this is a good -exercise, but in many—perhaps the majority of cases—the labor would -outweigh the profit. - -No such objection applies to reviewing and correcting a verbatim report -of our speeches. To many speakers such a review of the exact words they -have uttered would be a striking and not altogether pleasing revelation. -Pet phrases, which might otherwise be unnoticed for years; faults of -expression, and especially the profuseness of words, in which -extemporaneous speakers are tempted to indulge;—would all be forced upon -our notice. We would be surprised to learn that we could often write the -discourse in one-fourth the words employed in delivery. To form the -habit of thus condensing our speeches after delivery would have a -powerful tendency toward compacting thought in speech itself. The only -hindrance in applying this capital means of improvement consists in the -difficulty of obtaining such shorthand reports. Where this cannot be -overcome a part of the advantage may be gained by taking the plan and -from it writing out the same kind of a compact presentation of the -thoughts as uttered. This differs from writing in full by making no -effort to record exact words or forms of expression, but only to recall -from memory and from the sketch the exact thoughts that were expressed -in the language of the moment. Even if the same kind of brief sketch has -been made previous to the act of speech, this does not take the place of -what we now recommend; for the former outline may have been greatly -modified by the experience of delivery. - -In whatever form the best result of the discourse is recorded, great -care should be taken in its preservation. The plan, sketch, or fully -written discourse may be slipped into an envelope (which may also -contain all illustrative scraps, notes, or references to books that bear -upon the discourse) and on the back may be written the title, time, and -character of delivery, with any other facts of importance. If the young -speaker will faithfully follow up such a method of recording the results -of his oratorical experience, he will find it one of the best forms of -discipline, and the record itself—carefully indexed, frequently -reviewed, and kept within reasonable bulk—will in time possess a value -greater than gold. - - - FINIS. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - Entertainment Books - - FOR YOUNG PEOPLE - - - Tiny Tot’_s_ Speaker - - By Lizzie J. Rook & Mr_s_. E. J. H. Goodfellow - - For the Wee Ones - -The need of a book of short, bright pieces for the little ones to speak -is apparent to every one who has had anything to do with getting up -entertainments. This book contains over 150 pieces ranging from four -lines to a page in length, all fresh and specially suited to the -youngest children. The subjects are such as please the little folks, and -are wrought into easy prose and verse. - -Paper binding, 15 cents; boards, 25 cents. - - - Child’_s_ Own Speaker - - By E. C. & L. J. Rook - - For Children of Six Years - -This collection comprises over 100 selections consisting of Recitations, -Motion Songs, Concert Pieces, Dialogues, and Tableaux. Most of them have -been written specially for this book and are quite unique and novel in -their arrangement. The subjects are such as delight the infantile mind, -and the language, while thoroughly childlike, is not childish. Only such -pieces have been used as contain some thought worthy of being -remembered. - -Paper binding, 15 cents; boards, 25 cents. - - - Little People’_s_ Speaker - - By Mr_s_. J. W. Shoemaker - - For Children of Nine Years - -The book comprises 100 pages of choice pieces in prose and verse adapted -to childhood. It contains a number of bright and attractive Recitations, -Motion Songs, Concert Recitations, Holiday Exercises, and stirring -Temperance and Patriotic Pieces. All the selections are new, a number of -them being specially written for this work, and others appearing for the -first time in book form. - -Paper binding, 15 cents; boards, 25 cents. - - - Young People’_s_ Speaker - - By E. C. & L. J. Rook - - For Children of Twelve Years - -Almost every prominent author has written some good things for young -people. The choicest bits in prose and verse from Longfellow, Holmes, -Dickens, T. Buchanan Read, Susan Coolidge, Ella Wheeler Wilcox, and -other noted writers have been given a place in this volume. It would be -difficult to find another collection of 100 pages so replete with short, -bright, cheery recitations, so appropriate to young persons, and suited -to all occasions. - -Paper binding, 15 cents; boards, 25 cents. - - - Young Folks’ Recitation_s_ - - By Mrs. J. W. Shoemaker - - For Young People of Fifteen Years - -The book is made up of short recitations in prose and poetry carefully -selected from the productions of the best writers for young people. -While innocent humor and quaint philosophy occupy a prominent place, the -general tone of the book is such as to inspire the youthful mind with a -love of country and of truth, and to cultivate greater purity of heart -and nobility of character. The concluding pages contain a few short -dialogues and tableaux. - -Paper binding, 15 cents; boards, 25 cents. - - - Little People’s Dialogue_s_ - - By Clara J. Denton - - For Children of Ten Years - -The dialogues were prepared especially for this book and possess a -freshness seldom found in publications of this class. Many of them are -characterized by a novelty and originality that place them far above the -average production of this kind. The staging and costuming are of the -simplest character and are so fully described as to make the task of -preparation quite easy, even for the novice. Provision has been made for -all occasions commemorating special days and seasons. - -Paper binding, 25 cents; boards, 40 cents. - - - Young Folks’ Dialogues - - By Charle_s_ C. Shoemaker - - For Young People of Fifteen Years - -Dialogues rendered by young people are always enjoyable, being relished -by the parents and friends as well as by the youthful performers -themselves. This book of dialogues, wholesome in tone, yet sparkling -with wit and full of unexpected and novel situations, supplies just the -material needed. Liberal provision has been made for anniversary -occasions, and for church, school, and home entertainments. All the -matter has been written especially for this work. - -Paper binding, 25 cents; boards, 40 cents. - - - Young Folks’ Entertainment_s_ - - By E. C. & L. J. Rook - - For Children from Five to Fifteen Years - -The constant demand is for something new and original for School and -Home Entertainments. The authors, from a large experience, have prepared -a book that exactly meets this want. Novelty and variety mark every -page. Dialogues, Tableaux, Motion Songs, Drills, Shadows, Charades in -Pantomime, and Motion Recitations in Concert represent some of the -divisions of the book. All are adapted to the common school stage and -require but little costume and few properties. Everything is original -and written especially for this work. - -Paper binding, 25 cents; boards, 40 cents. - - - Easy Entertainment_s_ for Young People - -The book consists of bright, new, original plays sparkling with wit and -overflowing with humor, and introducing many striking and beautiful -scenes. The Carnival of Sports, The Court of the Year, Courting of -Mother Goose, Vice Versa, The Sniggles Family, My Country, and Dr. -Cure-All are the titles of the seven interesting entertainments of which -this book is composed. The stage settings are simple and but little in -the way of scenery, properties, or costumes is required. - -Paper binding, 25 cents; boards, 40 cents. - - - Drill_s_ and Marches - - By E. C. & L. J. Rook - -No form of entertainment has intrenched itself more strongly in popular -favor than Drills and Marches. The authors, with a long and successful -experience in arranging public entertainments, come with special fitness -to their task of writing a book of new and attractive exercises. The -following titles of drills may prove suggestive: The Broom, Fan, -Tambourine, Umbrella, Hoop, Waiter, Doll, Little Patriots, etc. Full -explanations accompany each drill, so that even in the hands of an -inexperienced teacher the entertainment will prove a success. - -Paper binding, 25 cents; boards, 40 cents. - - - Ideal Drill_s_ - - By Marguerite W. Morton - -This book contains a collection of entirely new and original drills, -into which are introduced many unique and effective features. The -fullest descriptions are given for the successful production of the -drills, and to this end nearly 100 diagrams have been inserted showing -the different movements. Everything is made so clear that anyone can use -the drills without the slightest difficulty. Among the more popular and -pleasing drills are: The Brownie, Taper, Maypole, Rainbow, Dumb-bell, -Butterfly, Sword, Flower, Ring, Scarf, Flag, and Swing Song and Drill. - -Paper binding, 30 cents; cloth, 50 cents. - -[Illustration] - - - - - Humorous Speakers & Dialogues - - BOOKS FOR HOLIDAYS AND SUNDAY-SCHOOLS. TABLEAUX, MONOLOGUES, ETC. - - - Good Humor - - By Henry Firth Wood - - For Reading and Recitation - -There is no better way of contributing to the amusement and enjoyment of -a public audience or of the social circle than by telling a good -anecdote or rendering some humorous recitation. This volume will furnish -an abundant supply of both. The recitation, “Casey at the Bat,” made -famous by the celebrated comedian, DeWolf Hopper, is among the pieces. -This selection alone will be considered by many as worth the cost of the -book. - -Paper binding, 30 cents; cloth, 50 cents. - - - Choice Humor - - By Charle_s_ C. Shoemaker - - For Reading and Recitation - -To prepare a book of humor that shall be free from anything that is -coarse or vulgar on the one hand, and avoid what is flat and insipid on -the other, is the difficult task which the compiler set for himself, and -which he has successfully accomplished. The book has been prepared with -the utmost care, and it will be found as interesting and attractive for -private reading as it is valuable for public entertainment. - -Paper binding, 30 cents; cloth, 50 cents. - - - Choice Dialect - - By Charle_s_ C. Shoemaker - - For Reading and Recitation - -This book will be found to contain a rare and valuable collection of -Irish, German, Scotch, French, Negro, and other dialects, and to -represent every phase of sentiment from the keenest humor or the -tenderest pathos to that which is strongly dramatic. It affords to the -amateur reader and the professional elocutionist the largest scope for -his varied abilities, and is entirely free from anything that would -offend the most refined taste. - -Paper binding, 30 cents; cloth, 50 cents. - - - Choice Dialogues - - By Mr_s_. J. W. Shoemaker - - For School and Social Entertainment - -Entirely new and original. The topics have been arranged on a -comprehensive plan, with reference to securing the greatest possible -variety, and the matter has been specially prepared by a corps of able -writers, their aim being to secure loftiness of conception, purity of -tone, and adaptability to the needs of amateurs. It is an all-round -dialogue book, being suited to children and adults, and to -Sunday-schools and day-schools. It is conceded to be one of the best -dialogue books in print. - -Paper binding, 30 cents; cloth, 50 cents. - - - Humorous Dialogues _and_ Dramas - - By Charle_s_ C. Shoemaker - -If there is anything more enjoyable than a humorous reading or -recitation it is a keen, pointed, humorous dialogue. The compiler, with -the largest resources and widest experience in literature for -entertainment purposes, has produced one of the rarest, brightest, -jolliest books of mirth-provoking dialogues ever published. Much of the -matter was prepared especially for this work. The dialogues are adapted -to old and young of both sexes, and while often keenly witty, are wholly -free from coarseness and vulgarity. - -Paper binding, 30 cents; cloth, 50 cents. - - - Classic Dialogues _and_ Dramas - - By Mr_s_. J. W. Shoemaker - -This unique work will prove not only interesting and profitable for -purposes of public and social entertainment, but also instructive and -valuable for private reading and study. The book comprises popular -scenes judiciously selected from the plays of Shakespeare, Sheridan, -Bulwer, Schiller, and other dramatists, and each dialogue is so arranged -as to be complete in itself. Many of the exercises may be given as -readings or recitals, and will prove acceptable to audiences of the -highest culture and refinement. - -Paper binding, 30 cents; cloth, 50 cents. - - - THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY - - 923 Arch Street, Philadelphia - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. Changed ‘long’ to ‘lung’ on p. 142. - 2. Silently corrected typographical errors. - 3. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed. - 4. 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