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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: Extempore Speech - How to Acquire and Practice It - -Author: William Pittenger - -Release Date: July 16, 2017 [EBook #55128] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EXTEMPORE SPEECH *** - - - - -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) - - - - - - - - - - EXTEMPORE SPEECH - - HOW TO - - ACQUIRE AND PRACTICE IT. - - BY - - REV. WILLIAM PITTENGER, - _Instructor in the National School of Elocution and Oratory_. - - PHILADELPHIA: - NATIONAL SCHOOL OF ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, - 1416 and 1418 Chestnut Street. - 1883. - - - - - Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883, by the - NATIONAL SCHOOL OF ELOCUTION AND ORATORY, - in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. - - - FRANKLIN PRINTING HOUSE, - 321 Chestnut Street, - PHIL’A. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - PREFACE. - - -The following pages are the result of considerable observation and -experience. Fifteen years ago the writer published a small volume -entitled “Oratory; Sacred and Secular,” in which the same general views -were set forth, though more slightly and crudely expressed. In this work -the recognized defects of that earlier effort are supplied; and it is -believed that all persons who have natural adaptation to public speech -will here find all necessary directions to guide them by the shortest -and surest road to success. - -It is not necessary or even expedient that a book which teaches the mode -of eloquence should itself be eloquent. We may watch, admire, and -describe the flight of an eagle while standing on the firm ground quite -as well as if flying in the air beside him. No effort, therefore, has -been made to imitate those grand bursts of feeling or lofty flights of -imagination in which the popular orator may indulge; but we have sought -to give such directions about practical details as may be useful to the -highest genius, while the broad path toward that kind of excellence most -in harmony with the speaker’s own faculties is clearly marked out. - -The writer is firmly convinced that more than nine-tenths of those who -have any fair degree of ability to speak in public will succeed best in -the mode laid down in the following pages; that is, by thorough -preparation and arrangement of thought, combined with spontaneous -selection of words in the moment of discourse. - -Reasons will be given for considering this the most natural, logical, -impassioned, and effective mode of discourse; indeed, the superior -excellence of extempore speech is now generally conceded and will -require little argument; but it is more important to encourage the -beginner by showing him just how to acquire and practice fluent, -accurate, and impressive off-hand speech in public, with as little -embarrassment or fear as if every word were written out and in plain -sight. This is the especial object of the following pages. - - - - - TABLE OF CONTENTS. - - - PART I. - - PRELIMINARY CONSIDERATIONS: - - PAGE - - CHAPTER I. Can Eloquence be Taught? 9 - - CHAPTER II. The Four Methods of Public Speech—Their Advantages - and Disadvantages 15 - - CHAPTER III. Lessons from the Experience of Eminent Orators 31 - - CHAPTER IV. An Embryo Speech, with Models of very Simple Plans 44 - - CHAPTER V. Initial Fear, and How to Overcome it 60 - - CHAPTER VI. Utility of Debating Societies 65 - - - PART II. - - PREPARATION OF THE SPEAKER: - - CHAPTER I. Unfortunates who never can Extemporize 73 - - CHAPTER II. Thought and Emotion 87 - - CHAPTER III. Language 101 - - CHAPTER IV. Imagination 109 - - CHAPTER V. Voice and Gesture 114 - - CHAPTER VI. Confidence 125 - - CHAPTER VII. Peculiarities belonging to the Various Fields of - Oratory 135 - - - PART III. - - PLAN AND DELIVERY OF THE SPEECH: - - CHAPTER I. The Pen and the Tongue 145 - - CHAPTER II. Subject and Object 148 - - CHAPTER III. Thought-gathering 159 - - CHAPTER IV. Constructing a Plan 166 - - CHAPTER V. How Shall the Written Plan be Used? 177 - - CHAPTER VI. The First Moment of Speech 187 - - CHAPTER VII. The Introduction 196 - - CHAPTER VIII. Progress of the Speech 207 - - CHAPTER IX. Three Plans of Great Addresses 217 - - CHAPTER X. Illustrations, Pathos, Humor 243 - - CHAPTER XI. The Orator’s Logic 248 - - CHAPTER XII. After the Speech 262 - - - - - PART I. - PRELIMINARY CONSIDERATIONS. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - CAN ELOQUENCE BE TAUGHT? - - -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 enumerated in another chapter; 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 breakdown 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 outgushing 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. - -On all ordinary occasions a good speech must result from a previous -ingathering of materials—the formation of a mental treasury in -connection with a special subject. The speaker works for days or weeks -in collecting from all sources and arranging in the happiest manner that -which his hearers are to receive in an hour with no other labor than -that of listening. The great advantage of writing is supposed to lie in -this preparation. To-day an orator may write everything he knows about a -subject; to-morrow, by means of reading, conversation, or further -thought, he may have more ideas to record; and he may thus continue to -widen and record his knowledge, until his time, or the subject itself, -is exhausted. Then he may revise, select what is most appropriate, -refine and polish his language, and finally come before an audience -confident that he holds in his hand the very best that he can give them. -But, alas! it is an essay, or treatise, rather than a speech! So far as -his materials are suitable for a speech, they can be gathered and used -as readily in an extempore discourse. The use of the pen as an -instrument of accumulation and record is not to be despised. But in its -final form, not a line of the most massive and complicated speech that -the mind of man can produce need be written. Enriched by garnered -thoughts—knowing where to begin and where to close—seeing a clear -outline of the whole subject in mental vision—the trained speaker may -possess every faculty, and use every resource of speech, in as serene -confidence as if every word was fixed in memory or on manuscript. - -Those who have only one speech to deliver, and that for show rather than -service, will hardly credit these assertions. Graduating orations will -probably always be recited from memory. In such cases the matter is of -little value, while the form is everything. So well is this relation of -fitness understood, that in serious address it is a severe condemnation -to say, “He declaims just like a school-boy,” or “That is sophomoric.” -The line of appropriateness may be suggested as follows: When the sole -aim is to inform or please, or when an address is submitted for -criticism, those who have the needed ability may very well read or -recite. But when conviction or persuasion is sought, when public opinion -or conduct is to be influenced, the indescribable but most potent charm -of sincere, earnest, spontaneous words will ever prove most effective. -No leader of a great, popular movement ever trusted to manuscript -appeals, and but two or three of such leaders memorized their orations. -These methods may well be reserved for the oratory of ornament and show. - -May a word of advice be hazarded to those who, in spite of all these -considerations, prefer to rely upon manuscript or memory? Be honest -about it! Those modes of delivery have advantages when their resources -are fully mastered. Do not seek credit for what you do not possess, but -stand firmly on your own ground and make the most of it. If you recite, -memorize perfectly and employ the most effective elocutionary devices. -Do not hesitate to study the manner of good actors, for your recitations -and theirs must have much in common. If you read, put the paper, not -where it will be best hidden, but where it will do you the most good, -and read as well as you can. Thoroughly good reading is far more -interesting and attractive than reading which is a bad imitation—there -are no good imitations—of spontaneous speech. Do not mark in your -manuscript “Here become pathetic;” or at another place, “Here show -surprise and indignation.” Reading is essentially quiet in its -character, appealing to intellect and gentle feeling rather than stormy -passion. You will thus realize all the success that is possible for you -in the method you have chosen, and escape such well-grounded sarcasm as -that of Sydney Smith, who thus describes a style of preaching common in -his day: - -“Discourses have insensibly dwindled from speaking to reading, a -practice which is of itself sufficient to stifle every germ of -eloquence. It is only by the fresh feelings of the heart that mankind -can be very powerfully affected. What can be more ludicrous than an -orator delivering stale indignation, and fervor a week old; turning over -whole pages of violent passions, written out in goodly text; _reading_ -the tropes and apostrophes into which he is hurried by the ardor of his -mind; and so affected at a preconcerted line and page that he is unable -to proceed any further?” - - - - - CHAPTER III. - LESSONS FROM THE EXPERIENCE OF EMINENT ORATORS. - - -Although unwritten speech is popular and has innumerable arguments in -its favor, many persons yet maintain that eloquence of the highest -character cannot be reached without trusting to the memory and the pen. -In vain we urge that it is more natural to find words at the moment of -utterance; that a better framework may be constructed by confining -preparation to it alone; that the hearer and speaker may thus be brought -into more perfect accord; that this, in short, is the method of nature, -which permits the solid part of the tree to stand through many winters, -while its graceful robe of foliage is freshly bestowed every spring. -With the emphasis of an axiom, opponents declare that the words of a -great orator _must_ be previously chosen, fitted, and polished. - -A speech-writer is apt to have one argument drawn from his own -experience which outweighs all argument. His own most satisfactory -efforts are those in which nothing is left to the chance of the moment. -But even experience sometimes misleads. We may be bad judges of our own -performances. When extemporizing, the best utterances are often -immediately forgotten by the speaker, whose mind is crowded with other -“thick-coming fancies.” But in writing we may linger lovingly over each -sentence, and return to enjoy it as often as we wish. If anything is -imperfect, we can correct and improve down to the moment of speech. And -while in the act of reading or reciting we are in a much better position -to admire our own work, than when carried away by such an impassioned -torrent as to scarcely know whether we have been using words at all. If -our auditors declare their preference for the latter, we can find a -ready explanation in their want of taste and culture. - -It is not denied that great effects may be produced by memorized words. -The popularity of the stage is sufficient proof of their power. Actors -often cause uncontrollable tears to flow. If a man can write powerfully, -and then recite well, he may greatly move an audience. Massillon, -Bossuet, and our own John B. Gough, have each achieved great popular -success in that manner. But while such men will be listened to with -eagerness and pleasure, they will be regarded as great performers rather -than as authorities and guides. They have placed themselves on a level -with those who deal in unreal things, and must be contented to remain -there. Doubtless, it is more noble to speak in the words that were once -appropriate to our feelings and sentiments, than to deal only in the -words of others; but the resemblance between quoting our own previously -prepared language and the language of other persons is felt more keenly -by the people than the difference between the two processes. - -But even in momentary effect, declaimers of memorized words have been -surpassed by extemporizers, as numerous examples demonstrate; while in -power of thought and lasting influence the superiority of the latter is -so great as to make comparison almost impossible. - -The great examples of Demosthenes and Cicero are often quoted to prove -that eloquence of the highest type must be written. Of these men it may -be said that Demosthenes had an assemblage of great qualities that, -backed by his tireless industry, would have made any method the road to -brilliant success. But he did not always recite, and he would not have -dreamed of using manuscript. Cicero was at least as great in literature -as in oratory, and his speeches are now read as literary models. Some of -them were never spoken at all. It may be allowed that he ordinarily -recited previous preparations, but some of his most brilliant passages -were purely extemporaneous. The outburst that overwhelmed Catiline upon -the unexpected appearance of the latter in the Roman Senate was coined -at white heat from the passion of the moment. Hortensius, the great -rival of Cicero—perhaps his superior as an advocate—spoke in spontaneous -words, as did many of the most eminent of the Roman orators, whose fame -now is less brilliant than Cicero’s, mainly because no effective means -then existed of preserving extempore speech. As an offset to the example -of Demosthenes, the great name of Pericles may be fairly adduced. He did -not write his addresses, and direct comparison is therefore impossible; -but his speech established a sway over the cultivated democracy of -Athens in the day of their highest glory more indisputable than -Demosthenes ever attained. - -The case in regard to the ancient world may be thus summed up: -Manuscript reading was not considered oratory at all; all speeches were -either recited or extemporized; the latter have inevitably perished, -while some of the former have survived, and, becoming a part of -school-book literature, have conferred a disproportionate fame upon -their authors. An orator who was compelled to write his speech in order -to preserve it had a much greater inducement to write than exists since -the invention of shorthand reporting. Yet some speakers of the highest -eminence did not adopt that mode, and others did not confine themselves -to it. - -In the modern world the weight of example is decisively on the side of -unwritten speech. A few instances are all that our space will allow us -to adduce. - -Augustine, the great Christian writer and preacher, has not left us in -ignorance as to which mode of address he preferred. He enjoins the -“Christian Teacher” to make his hearers comprehend what he says—“to read -in the eyes and countenances of his auditors whether they understand him -or not, and to repeat the same thing, by giving it different terms, -until he perceives it is understood, an advantage those cannot have who, -by a servile dependence upon their memories, learn their sermons by -heart and repeat them as so many lessons. Let not the preacher,” he -continues, “become the servant of words; rather let words be servants to -the preacher.” - -This advice will be equally applicable to others than preachers who may -possess a serious purpose. But the charity of Augustine allows of -reciting under certain circumstances. He well says: “Those who are -destitute of invention, but can speak well, provided they select -well-written discourses of another man, and commit them to memory for -the instruction of their hearers, will not do badly if they take that -course.” No doubt he intended that due credit should be given to the -real author. - -Of Luther it was said that “his words were half battles.” No man ever -wielded greater power over the hearts of the people. He was an excellent -writer, and had great command of words. But he was too terribly in -earnest to write his discourses. From a vast fullness of knowledge he -spoke right out, and evoked tears or smiles at pleasure. His strong -emotions and indomitable will, being given full play, bore down -everything before him. - -It may well be doubted whether the eloquence of Lord Chatham did not -surpass, in immediate effect, anything recorded of Demosthenes or -Cicero. His example, and that of his equally gifted son, thoroughly -refute those who deny that unwritten speech may convey impressions as -strong as any ever made by man upon his fellows. Some of his grandest -efforts were entirely impromptu, achieving overwhelming success under -circumstances which would have left the man of manuscript or of memory -utterly helpless. - -Of William Pitt, the son of Lord Chatham, who was likewise an extempore -speaker in the best sense of the word, Macaulay says: - -“At his first appearance in Parliament he showed himself superior to all -his contemporaries in power of language. He could pour out a long -succession of rounded and stately periods without ever pausing for a -word, without ever repeating a word, in a voice of silver clearness and -with a pronunciation so articulate that not a letter was slurred over.” - -These two men were never excelled in debate. They had that great -advantage peculiar to good extempore speakers of being always ready. -Every advantage offered was seized at the most favorable moment. Time -wasted by others in writing and memorizing special orations they used in -accumulating such stores of general knowledge and in such wide culture -that they were always prepared. They came to great intellectual contests -with minds un-fagged by the labor of previous composition, and their -words were indescribably fresh and charming, because born at the moment -of utterance. - -The traditions of the almost supernatural eloquence of Patrick Henry are -dear to the heart of every American school-boy. While few specimens of -his eloquence survive, it is sure that he exerted wonderful power in -speech, and that he contributed not a little to the establishment of the -American Republic. He never wrote a word either before or after -delivery, and his mightiest efforts were made in situations where the -use of the pen would have been impossible. The Virginia Resolutions, -which mark a vital point in the history of the Revolutionary struggle, -were written by him on the blank leaf of a law book while a discussion -was in progress. In the whole of the terrible debate which followed he -was ever ready, speaking repeatedly and mastering every opponent. He was -a great thinker, but a meager writer. History and human character were -his favorite studies, and these contributed to fit his wonderful natural -genius for coming triumph. - -Among the great English preachers of the past century two were -especially great as measured by the degree of popular influence they -wielded. We do not wish to convey Wesley and Whitefield in any other -light than as effective orators. They each did an amount of speaking -that a manuscript reader would have found impossible, even if the latter -had been hindered by no other consideration. At the beginning Whitefield -did memorize most of his sermons. Even afterward he treated the same -subject so frequently when addressing different audiences that the -words, tones, and gestures, as well as the outline of thought, became -quite familiar. Yet his own testimony is decisive as to the fact that he -was not a memoriter preacher in the narrow sense of the term. He says -that when he came to preach he had often, in his own apprehension, “not -a word to say to God or man.” Think of a person who has a fully -memorized speech, which he is conning over in his mind, making such a -declaration, and afterward thanking God for having given him words and -wisdom! Whitefield’s published sermons show few traces of the pen, but -bear every mark of impassioned utterance. He spoke every day, until -speaking became part of his very life. Think what a command of language, -and of all the resources of speech, he must thus have acquired! - -Wesley wrote many sermons, and on a very few occasions read them. He -used the pen almost as much as the voice, but he wrote sermons, books, -and letters for others to read, not as material for his own public -reading. He was less impassioned and overwhelming than Whitefield but -his sermons were not less effective. They were noted for the quality of -exactness of statement. In the most easy and fluent manner he said -precisely what he wanted to say. He was never compelled to retract an -unguarded expression into which he had been hurried by the ardor of the -moment. Yet his power over his hearers was not diminished by this -carefulness. Scenes of physical excitement, such as attended the -preaching of Whitefield, were even more marked under his own calm words. - -We will refer to another deceased preacher, who presents the strange -peculiarity of being an extempore speaker whose great fame has been -acquired since his eloquent voice became silent in death, and now rests -upon his written sermons. Frederick W. Robertson labored in a -comparatively narrow field and finished his career in youth, but he was -truly eloquent. His example proves that extempore speech may be the -vehicle of the most profound thought and be crowned with all the graces -of style. These qualities have given his sermons greater popularity in -high scientific, literary, and philosophical circles, than those of any -preacher of the present day. How could such extempore sermons be -preserved? A few were taken down by a short-hand reporter, and although -Robertson refused to allow their publication in his lifetime, thus -leaving them without the benefit of his corrections, they are almost -faultless in form and expression. Others were written out by his own -hand after delivery, but these are more or less fragmentary. Had it been -necessary for him to write and memorize each sermon, he could never have -pursued those thorough studies, described in his letters, from which he -derived so much of his power. - -The great trio of American political orators belonging to the generation -which has just gone from the stage—Clay, Webster, and Calhoun—were -extempore speakers; Clay and Calhoun always, and Webster usually, -speaking in that manner. The latter, however, was fond of elaborating -some striking thought in his mind to the last degree of word-finish, and -then bringing it forth in the rush of spontaneous utterance. This did -not make his speech composite in the mode of delivery, for these -prepared gems were short fragments, employed only for ornamental -purposes. Competitors of these great men who were obliged to rely upon -manuscript or memory stood no chance of success in the fiery debates -through which they passed. - -From hundreds of living extemporizers we will call attention to but -three, and these of the highest eminence. They are all distinguished -writers and do not rely on the extempore method of discourse because of -inability to succeed in other methods. These men are Henry Ward Beecher, -Charles H. Spurgeon, and William E. Gladstone. The amount and quality of -work of all kinds they have accomplished would have been impossible for -speech-readers or reciters. Beecher sometimes reads a sermon or a -lecture, but though he reads well, the effect is small as compared with -the fire and consummate eloquence of his extempore addresses. Spurgeon -has drawn together and maintains probably the largest congregation that -ever regularly attended the ministry of one man, and he is purely -extemporaneous. Both these men are subjected to the additional test of -having their sermons written from their lips and widely published, thus -showing that their popularity has other elements besides the personal -presence and magnetism of the speakers. - -The wonderful power of Gladstone has been displayed unceasingly for half -a century. While eager critics, hostile as well as friendly, in -Parliament or at the hustings, are waiting to catch every word from his -lips, he does not find it necessary to control his utterances through -the use of the pen. Day after day, in the midst of heated canvasses, he -discusses a wide range of complicated questions, and neither friend nor -foe ever suggests that he could do better if his words were written out -and memorized. Even in such addresses as include the details of finance -and abound in statistics he uses but a few disconnected figures traced -on a slip of paper. Some years ago, when his modes of speech were less -known than now, the writer asked him to give a statement of his method -of preparation, and any advice he might feel disposed to convey to young -students of oratory. The following courteous and deeply interesting -letter was received in reply, and with its weighty words we may -appropriately close this chapter: - - HAWARDEN, NORTH WALES, } - October 12th, 1867.} - - SIR:—Though I fear it is beyond my power to comply in any useful - manner with your request, I am unwilling to seem insensible to your - wishes. - - I venture to remark, first, that your countrymen, so far as a very - limited intercourse and experience can enable me to judge, stand - very little in need of instruction or advice as to public speaking - from this side of the water. And further, again speaking of my own - experience, I think that the public men of England are beyond all - others engrossed by the multitude of cares and subjects of thought - belonging to the government of a highly diversified empire, and - therefore are probably less than others qualified either to impart - to others the best methods of preparing public discourses or to - consider and adopt them for themselves. - - Suppose, however, I was to make the attempt, I should certainly - found myself mainly on a double basis, compounded as follows: First, - of a wide and thorough general education, which I think gives a - suppleness and readiness as well as firmness of tissue to the mind - not easily to be had without this form of discipline. Second, of the - habit of constant and searching reflection on the _subject_ of any - proposed discourse. Such reflection will naturally clothe itself in - words, and of the phrases it supplies many will spontaneously rise - to the lips. I will not say that no other forms of preparation can - be useful, but I know little of them, and it is on those, beyond all - doubt, that I should advise the young principally to rely. - - I remain, sir, your most obedient servant, - - W. E. GLADSTONE. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - 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 school-boy’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 V. - 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 VI. - 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. - - - - - PART II. - PREPARATION OF THE SPEAKER. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - UNFORTUNATES WHO NEVER CAN EXTEMPORIZE. - - -Persons are met every day who declare their belief in extempore -speech—for others—but who are fully persuaded that the possibility of -ever becoming effective speakers has been placed by nature forever -beyond their own reach. In some cases this persuasion is well founded. -There are people who cannot by any possible effort learn to speak well -without manuscript or memorized words. But too much must not be made of -this acknowledgment. The number of these unfortunates is smaller than is -usually believed. It is also noticeable that persons of undoubted talent -are often most ready to despair of their own future as speakers, while -others, whose defects are patent to all their neighbors, have no fears -whatever. - -The object of this chapter is to point out the character of the few -insuperable disqualifications for extempore speech, and supply rational -tests by which their presence in any given case may be determined. This -is a task of no small difficulty and delicacy; yet it is necessary. To -encourage any person to strive for that which is forever placed out of -his reach is cruel—almost criminal. It is equally wrong to discourage -those who only need persevering effort in order to achieve full success. - -With regard to the faculty of eloquence, mankind may be divided into -three classes. Persons in the first class have the oratorical -temperament so fully developed that they will speak well and fully -succeed in whatever mode they may adopt, or, indeed, without consciously -adopting any method at all. They have such a union of the power of -expression and of the impulse toward it, that they speak as naturally -and as surely as the nightingale sings. The existence of extraordinary -native genius must be acknowledged as a fact in every department of -human effort. But it by no means follows that these wonderfully gifted -beings will rise to the highest eminence in their own spheres. They -certainly will not unless they add diligent effort and careful -cultivation to their natural powers. Some of the greatest orators have -not belonged to this class, but to that next described. They would never -have been heard of—would probably never have addressed an audience at -all—if they had not forced their way upward against adverse criticism, -and often against their own feeling and judgment, impelled only by a -sense of duty or by enthusiastic loyalty to some great cause. - -The second class is far larger than either of the others. The majority -of people have not so great talents for speech as to drive them of -necessity into the oratorical field. Neither are they absolutely -incapable of true speech. If they will labor for success in oratory, as -a photographer or a sculptor labors to master his art, they will gain -it; otherwise, they will always be slow and embarrassed in utterance and -be glad to find refuge in manuscript or in complete silence. It is often -amusing to note a person of this class who has never learned how to be -eloquent, but who is full of ideas that seek expression, using another -person who is a mere talking machine as a mouthpiece! There is nothing -wrong in such a division of labor, but the latter secures all the glory, -although he runs considerable risk, as his stock of borrowed information -cannot be replenished at will. The writer knew two young men, members of -a certain literary society, who sustained this relation to each other. -They usually sat together, and while a debate was in progress the wiser -of the two would whisper the other what line of argument to follow and -what illustrations to employ, and at the proper time the latter would -spring to his feet with the utmost confidence, and blaze forth in -borrowed eloquence. In time, however, the silent man tired of his part -and took the pains to learn the art of speech for himself. A great -profusion of language is not the first need of an orator. Quite as often -as otherwise it proves a hindrance and a snare. The members of this -large class have every encouragement to work diligently, and are sure of -ultimate reward. - -But the remaining class can no more learn to speak well, than a blind -man can learn to paint, or a dumb man to sing. How shall such persons be -made acquainted with their condition, and thus save themselves years of -painful and fruitless toil? Mathematical accuracy of determination is -not practicable, but any person of candor and ordinary judgment may -apply a few simple tests which will not allow wide room for error. - -A dumb man cannot be an orator. The physical impediment is here absolute -and recognized by all. But mere slowness and defects of speech, though -hurtful, are not necessarily fatal. Stammering may in almost every case -be cured, and many stammerers have made good speakers. A weak voice is -also a misfortune; but it may be greatly strengthened, and by -cultivation and judicious husbanding become equal to every purpose. A -feeble voice will accomplish much more in extemporizing than in reading -a manuscript. Some most eloquent men have reached their stations in -spite of vocal defects. John Randolph, Robert Hall, and Bishop Simpson -are cases in point. After all the examples that have been afforded of -the power of cultivating the voice, supplemented by the effects of using -it in a natural manner, no man who can carry on an ordinary parlor -conversation need say, “My voice is so weak that I can never be a public -speaker.” He may require training in the ways pointed out hereafter; but -with proper effort he can reasonably expect a good degree of success. -The writer here speaks from experience. His voice was so feeble that -reading a single paragraph aloud at school was difficult; and when -afterward the study of law was contemplated, many friends dissuaded on -the ground that lack of voice forbade all hope of success at the bar. -But special drill and the healthful practice of extemporaneous speech -have wrought such an improvement that now no great effort is required to -make several thousand persons in the open air hear every word of a long -address. - -Some persons are ready to assign their own timidity as an excuse for -never attempting public speech. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred -this is no real disqualification. If the timidity, indeed, be so great -that the person _will not_ risk speech, that decides the question -against him, but in such a case he should say, “I will not,” rather than -“I cannot.” Fear is more under the government of the will than we are -apt to imagine. Even when excessive, the right kind of drill will go far -toward overcoming it. Great cowards often make good soldiers when so -well disciplined that they know just what to do, and from the force of -habit cannot neglect it, although their attention may be wholly absorbed -in something else. But it is idle to disguise that the extempore speaker -will always run some risk of failure. Probably no great orator ever -escaped a mortifying, if not disastrous, overthrow at some period of his -career. Sheridan and Lord Beaconsfield each began their great -achievements in the English House of Commons by a complete breakdown. -But they also had the courage to try again and to keep trying until -success came. Mere natural shrinking from such trials is no -disqualification, if when the mind is fully made up as to the best -course there is sufficient courage and will-power to go forward. Indeed, -a certain degree of fear belongs to the oratorical temperament. A man -who can at the first trial calmly face an expectant audience, probably -lacks some of the sensitiveness which is one of the qualifications of -the powerful and effective speaker. The only real disqualification, -therefore, in the direction of timidity, is such a degree of fear as -will make the speaker turn away from all the prizes of oratory, -unwilling to encounter the hardship and the struggle by which they may -be won. - -But is the position of the reader or declaimer better in this particular -than that of the true speaker? How difficult it is to read well before -an audience! Even elocutionists who devote years of practice to a narrow -range of selections find their efforts very unequal. They can never be -sure of reaching the full measure of former successes. To read one’s own -composition, and to feel responsible for the words and the matter, as -well as for the delivery, greatly intensifies the fear of falling below -reasonable expectations. The writer has observed many manuscript -readers, and can testify that they are usually as much embarrassed when -the hour of trial arrives as off-hand speakers. In the latter mode of -delivery the voice is so much more free and varied, and the mind is apt -to be removed so much more from self, that the balance of advantages in -the matter of embarrassment seems to be decidedly in favor of -extemporizing. - -The perils of the reciter are still more formidable. The reader seldom -grows so much embarrassed as to be unable to see the words before him. -If he loses his place he can begin somewhere else, and stumble on in -some kind of way. But verbal memory, when weighted with the burden of a -whole discourse and clouded by embarrassment, easily give way -altogether. A slight physical ailment may produce the same result. When -memory thus fails, scarcely any escape is possible to one accustomed to -depend upon it. Many speakers will recollect occasions on which they -were unable to recall short memorized passages, but could easily supply -extemporized words and thus follow the line of discourse previously -marked out without any mortifying confession of failure. It will -therefore be a gain to one who aspires to public speech of any kind to -settle it finally that no other mode of utterance can diminish those -risks which so terrify the extempore speaker. - -A third disqualification is the want of ordinary mental power. Great -mental endowments may not be necessary. In the ordinary meaning of the -word, the orator need not be a genius. His education may be very -defective, his range of information narrow, and his general powers of -mind not above the average. But if he is to stand before his fellows as -a guide and instructor—a position assumed to some degree by every -speaker—he should not be inferior in a marked degree to his hearers, at -least in those things which relate to the subjects he discusses. A -mediocre man who has had special training in some one direction, and -adds native vigor of mind, may be a very instructive and entertaining -speaker in his own field. But if through mental weakness he talks so -foolishly on any topic that his want of wisdom is apparent to all his -hearers, he might better close his lips; and if his mental faculties are -so defective or badly balanced that he cannot master the ordinary -subjects upon which he will be required to speak if he speaks at all, he -should abandon all thought of oratory. - -This disqualification is the most difficult for a man to determine in -himself. A weak voice, overmastering fear, infirm health, can all be -recognized with an approach to certainty; but who can be bold enough to -settle the question whether his mind is sufficiently strong to -profitably address his fellows? A few general suggestions presented in -the form of questions are all that will be useful in making this -decision. Do you find it possible to study a subject until all sides of -it are clearly visible in their mutual relations? Do the subjects with -which you are most familiarly acquainted still seem shadowy and confused -in your own mind? When you try to tell a friend about any passing event, -do you use words so bunglingly as to give him no clear conception of the -matter? A speaker must be able to hold a subject firmly in his mind, and -to make such a presentation of it to others that they also may -understand it. - -Yet in answering these questions let it be remembered that many persons, -exceedingly self-distrustful, have put forth their efforts all the more -diligently on that account, and have thus achieved brilliant success. - -The rule is a safe one, that a man whose mind furnishes him with -important ideas, and with the desire to communicate them, may speak -successfully. Mental powers may be greatly improved and strengthened, -and no one who does not stand far down the scale in natural endowment, -or is willing to use the means at his disposal diligently, need hesitate -to make an attempt which can scarcely fail to be full of profit, even -when it does not command perfect success. We will not now enter upon a -consideration of the modes by which the general strength of the mind may -be augmented and its stores increased, for oratory busies itself with -the method of communication rather than with the illimitable field of -general cultivation. - -Any mortal disease, or such physical infirmity as prevents the exercise -of bodily and mental powers, will be found to interfere as materially -with oratory as with other forms of labor. For a man who is far advanced -in consumption to begin a course of preparatory training with a view to -becoming an orator, would be an evident waste of effort. If he has -anything to say which the world ought to know, he should speak it out at -once in the best form that his present ability allows, or commit the -task to others. This seems so self-evident that it should be understood -without statement; but the opposite idea has attained some degree of -currency. It is sometimes said of an individual, “Poor fellow, his -health is so broken that he can never make a living by any hard work; it -would be well for him to turn his attention to some easy profession, -where he would have nothing to do but speak.” There is one form of truth -concealed in this hurtful error. Natural speech does furnish healthful -exercise for the vocal organs, which in their turn are closely connected -with the most vital parts of the human body. In some cases serious -disease has been cured by the habit of public speech. But these cases -are exceptional, and do not in the least invalidate the principle here -laid down, which is, that disease, so far as it enfeebles the body, -operates as a direct disqualification for effective speech; and if the -disease be severe and permanent the disqualification is total. It must -also be remembered that some forms of disease are rendered worse by the -effort and excitement inseparable from public address. Physicians -usually forbid the healthful exercise of surf-bathing to persons -afflicted with heart disease. But the intellectual waves of a heated -discussion buffet no less fiercely than the ocean surf, and to be met -successfully requires a steady arm and a strong heart. Even in the -calmest and most passionless discourse it is scarcely possible to avoid -having the pulse quickened, and all the elements of mental and physical -endurance severely tested. The star of a most eloquent man suddenly -faded a few years ago while he was still in middle life, because he -became too feeble to put forth oratorical force. He continued to speak -for a few years, but scores only listened to him where hundreds and -thousands had hung spell-bound on his utterances before his physical -strength declined. - -But it is cheering to remember that especially in youth ill-health may -often be entirely removed. The great majority of young people need only -the careful observance of healthy conditions in order to make their -bodies efficient instruments for the expression of all the fires of -eloquence that may be enkindled in their souls. - -One of the principal marks by which man is distinguished from the lower -animals is the invention and use of articulate language. By it, the -dress for our ideas is formed, and it is scarcely possible even to -meditate without mentally using words. During all our waking moments, -even the most idle, a stream of language is running ceaselessly through -our minds. The more completely the form of language is spontaneously -assumed by the thought-current, the easier it becomes to open the lips -and let it gush forth in words. With most persons unspoken meditations -are very fragmentary and obscure—mere snatches begun and broken off by -passing impulses or impressions. An extemporaneous speaker must be able -to control his thoughts and hold them to a predetermined path; and if he -also accustoms himself to force them into a full dress of language, the -habit will greatly lessen conscious effort in the moment of speech. But -however this is, the power of wielding the resources of his mother -tongue is absolutely essential to the orator. A great and incurable -deficiency in this respect is fatal. There are examples of almost -wordless men, who, though suffering no deprivation of any of the -physical organs of speech, have yet been so deficient in language-power -that they could not employ it as the medium of ordinary communication. -Such a man—an Illinois farmer—well known to the writer, could not find -words to make an ordinary statement without long and embarrassing -pauses. The names of his nearest neighbors were usually forgotten, so -that he required continual prompting in conversation. He was not below -the average of his neighbors either in education or intelligence, but -was simply almost without the faculty of language. This deficiency in a -less marked degree is not uncommon. No amount of training would ever -have converted this farmer into an orator. Had he attempted to discuss -the most familiar topic his beggarly array of words would have been more -forlorn than Falstaff’s recruits. Another example that may be cited was -in one sense still more instructive—a preacher whose goodness was -acknowledged by all who knew him, a man of solid acquirements and of -great diligence and energy. But his long and embarrassed pauses, -together with his struggles to get words of some kind to express his -meaning, constituted a trial to his hearers so great that no -congregation would long endure his ministry. - -It is possible that such persons would gain some relief by writing and -reading their discourses. Probably they could not memorize at all. Their -reading, however, would most likely be marked by many of the same -defects as their spoken utterances. - -Many of the persons who accuse themselves of a lack of words mistake the -nature of their difficulty. It is easy to bring the matter to a decisive -test. If you are really very deficient in the faculty of language, you -cannot tell an ordinary story, with the details of which you are -perfectly acquainted, in a prompt and intelligent manner. Try the -experiment. Read over two or three times a newspaper account of a wreck, -a murder, or some other common occurrence; then lay down the paper and -in your own way tell your friend what has happened. If you can do this -easily, you need never complain of the lack of words. Equal familiarity -with any other subject will produce the same results. Neither the -preacher nor the farmer referred to could have successfully passed this -test. The preacher would have told the story badly, and in an incredibly -long space of time; the farmer would not have told it at all. - -We have now considered the most serious disqualifications for the -orator’s vocation. Many things which are constantly assigned by -candidates as the reasons for confining themselves to the use of -manuscript in public address have not been included, for most of these, -as will appear in a subsequent chapter, are susceptible of easy remedy. -Here we have only mentioned those which cannot be cured. If a man -concludes, after due trial and consultation, that these defects, or any -part of them, prevail in his own case, it will be prudent for him to -select some other life-work to which he is better adapted than he can -ever hope to be for public speaking. - -We sum up the following disqualifications for oratory: incurable defects -of voice, extreme timidity, feebleness of mind, certain forms of bodily -disease, and great deficiency in the faculty of language. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - 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 wall 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 III. - 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 IV. - 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 V. - 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 VI. - 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 school-boy -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 VII. - PECULIARITIES BELONGING TO THE VARIOUS FIELDS OF ORATORY. - - -The laws which govern extemporaneous speech are so generally applicable -to all forms of address that only a few things which are peculiar to -each need be considered before pointing out the best modes of planning -and delivering a speech. - -Probably a sermon differs from the common type of speech more than any -other form of address. Some of the distinctions usually made are purely -conventional, and not a few are more honored in the breach than in the -observance. A certain slowness and stiffness of manner is supposed to -characterize the pulpit, and also the selection of grave and solemn -tones. All these, so far as they tend to constitute ministers a class -apart from other men, with manners and modes of speech peculiar to -themselves, are a mere survival of ancient superstition. The preacher’s -tone and address should be just such as any other competent speaker -would employ in treating the same themes. Of course, when the preacher -makes a solemn appeal, voice and action should all correspond in -solemnity. But when he denounces sin, or holds vice up to ridicule, -there should be an equal correspondence. In some denominations, a -peculiar dress is given to the preacher as the garb of his office; and -it may be that a peculiar manner will be grateful to those who love all -things that have the flavor of antiquity. But all such mannerisms belong -to another realm than that of eloquence. From the orator’s standpoint -they can only be condemned. Let the preacher speak and act like any -other educated gentleman, under like circumstances, and his power over -his audiences will be the greater. - -But the sermon possesses some real distinctions of importance. The -custom of taking a text furnishes a point of departure to the preacher -and greatly simplifies the work of introduction. The opening services in -the church—the prayers and the music—put his audience into a mood to -receive his words. They are calm and quiet when he begins to -speak—indeed, this may easily go too far. Another peculiarity is that he -has the whole field to himself: neither he nor his auditors expect a -word or gesture of dissent from any position he may assume: all the -criticisms of his hearers will be mental, or reserved to another -occasion. In this, his position is diametrically opposed to that of the -lawyer, and the politician, who expect all they say to be contradicted, -as a matter of course, and are apt to acquire the fault of uttering -self-evident truths in a combative manner, as if they expected the other -side to deny even that the whole is greater than any of its parts, or -that things each equal to another thing, are equal to each other. The -preacher, on the other hand, is liable to utter propositions, which to -many of his hearers are very doubtful, as if they were axioms. - -The preacher should select a text which fairly covers the subject of his -discourse or contributes to advance the object he has in view. The text -should always be employed in its true sense. It partakes of the nature -of a quotation by which the speaker fortifies his position, and all -quotations should bear the meaning intended by their authors, as far as -that meaning can be ascertained. This is required by common fairness, -and the Bible is surely entitled to fair treatment as much as any other -book. Generally the text should be read and treated as a part of the -introduction, although some fine sermons have been constructed on the -opposite principle of beginning far from the text and so leading up to -it, that its perfect illustration or application only appears in the -conclusion. No fault can be found with this method if conscientiously -adopted and consistently carried out. - -The great aim of preaching is persuasion, and this must largely -influence its whole character. It is from this cause that emotion—ever -the most valuable agent in persuasion—is so highly valued in the pulpit. -The hearers are to be persuaded, first to embrace a religious life, and -then to cultivate all those virtues and avoid all those evils incident -to such a life. It may be proper to devote some time and attention to -mere instruction, but that instruction derives all its value from its -bearing upon action: it should be given as the means of rendering -persuasion more effective. Warning, reproof, exhortation, consolation, -promise—the whole field of motives and inducements—is very wide; but the -great object is to make men better, and only incidentally to make them -wiser or happier. - -This peculiar character of preaching renders adherence to extemporaneous -speech in the pulpit at once more important and more difficult than -anywhere else. The quiet of the church, its solemnity, the fact that the -preacher must speak at a given time and has thus the opportunity to -write, and that a good sermon dealing with truths always applicable may, -when once written, be read to many successive congregations, even after -an interval of years;—the fear of jarring upon the associations of the -church with any rude sentence or unpolished paragraph thrown off in the -hurry of speech:—all these considerations powerfully plead for the -manuscript. Yet in hardly any other form of address is the manuscript so -hurtful. Extemporaneous speech is pre-eminently the persuasive form of -address, and persuasion is the great object of the sermon. If the -preacher ceases to be persuasive he may as well cease to preach, so far -as the accomplishment of the true function of his office is concerned. -The mode pointed out in the following part of this work will, it is -believed, enable the extemporaneous preacher to utilize all the -persuasiveness that belongs to his character, and at the same time -escape all the dangers which have driven so many preachers to -manuscript. - -The conditions under which lawyers speak are very different. They are -tempted by the surroundings of the court-room to set too low a value -upon the graces of oratory, while the accomplishment of an immediate -purpose engrosses their attention. The judge and jury are before them—a -client is to be made victorious, or a criminal to be punished. Keen -interest and emotion are supplied by the occasion itself. The law must -be explained, the facts elicited and weighed, and the jury persuaded. -There is also the great advantage of having the case decided at a -definite time. No disposition exists on the part of the jury to -postponement. If the lawyer once convinces them that law and evidence -are on his side, the verdict follows as a matter of course. But when the -preacher gets that far he has scarcely begun. His hearers may admit the -truth of every word he speaks and the goodness of the course he advises, -but they can comply with his advice at any time, and in that feeling -they may postpone their action for years, if not permanently. But the -lawyer can press his case on to a decision, which may be resisted for a -time by one of the parties, but not by the jury to whom he addresses his -arguments, and seldom by the judge. - -Lawyers have but little temptation to indulge in written speeches: the -exigencies of the trial make formal preparation of little service. The -great talent for a lawyer’s purpose is that favored by extemporaneous -speech—the power of a clear, orderly statement of facts that are often -exceedingly complex. This generally proves more effective than any -argument. To grasp all the evidence that has been brought forward, and, -putting it into the very simplest form it will bear, to show on that -statement to judge and jury that he is entitled to the verdict—this is -the great art of the advocate. But his statement must include or account -for all the facts; otherwise, he lays himself open to an easy and -damaging reply. The method usually adopted is to make a note of each -fact elicited, each argument used by the opposite attorney, and each -salient point of the case. Then these are reduced to the simplest form, -an appropriate introduction sought, and either a strong argument, or an -effective summing up, reserved for the conclusion. With this much of -preparation the lawyer finds it easy to provide suitable words for the -expression of the whole speech. - -The speech of the judge in summing up or charging the jury differs only -from that of the advocate in the greater impartiality by which it is -marked. The most fair-minded attorney will be biased, more or less -unconsciously, by the greater care which he bestows upon his own side of -the case. - -Anniversary, platform, and lyceum lectures have much in common. -Entertainment being the prominent object in them all, illustration and -embellishment are greatly sought for. Humor is also in most cases highly -enjoyed. The same address may be repeated many times and comes to have -the finish of a work of art. The great camp-meeting sermons at seaside -resorts, at anniversaries, and similar occasions, properly belong to -this class rather than to that of sermons. This is the field in which -memoriter addresses are usually supposed to be superior to all others. -It may be conceded that whenever form rises into more prominence than -matter, writing and memorizing will have increasing claims. A speaker -who wishes to repeat one speech without substantial variation to a -hundred audiences will not find it a great task to write it in full and -memorize it. But if he is really a master in spontaneous utterance he -need not depart from his usual course. He can fully prepare his -materials and then speak the words of the moment, without the least fear -of suffering in comparison with the reciter. - -Instructive addresses by teachers and professors are nearly always given -extempore, with the exception of those written lectures in the higher -institutions which are supposed to sum up the results of knowledge in -their respective departments. Even then the practice is not uniform, as -many professors prefer talking to their pupils rather than reading to -them. The practice of reading in such cases is really a survival from -the days when books were scarce and high-priced, and the student found -it easier to write notes from the lips of some master than to purchase -the volumes containing the same knowledge, even when it had been -published at all. But the tendency now is to find the statement of the -facts of science, art, and literature in books, and depend upon the -living teacher only to give vividness, life, and illustration to them. -All this can be best done by the extemporaneous method. - -Other modes of speech will naturally suggest themselves, but they -present nothing peculiar in form. All that can be said about them may be -compressed as profitably into the general topics of subject and object, -thought-gathering, arrangement, and use of the plan, etc., which occupy -the following pages. - - - - - PART III. - PLAN AND DELIVERY OF THE SPEECH. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - 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 short-hand reporters and amanuenses, this is but doing the same thing -under another form. - -The principal purpose of this third division of the work 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 II. - 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 III. - 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 IV. - CONSTRUCTING A PLAN. - - -No part of the orator’s work is more important than that of constructing -a good plan. If this is not well done the fullest success is impossible. -In speech all thoughts are expressed by the slow process of successive -words. If these are badly chosen and so arranged as to carry forward the -current of thought in the wrong direction, almost endless hindrance and -distraction may follow. And as these words, in extempore speech, are -given forth on the spur of the moment, it becomes necessary to make such -an arrangement that the proper idea to be dissolved into words shall -always be presented to the mind at the proper time. - -In some cases this disposition of parts is very easy. A course indicated -by the very nature of the subject will sometimes spring into view and -relieve us of all further embarrassment. A lawyer may find the -discussion of the testimony of each of several witnesses, together with -the formal opening and close, to be all the plan that he needs. But more -frequently this portion of the orator’s task will both require and repay -severe thought. - -Many different kinds of plans have been pointed out by preceding -writers, but we will indicate those only which have considerable -practical importance. - -The first of these may be called the narrative method. It is most -frequently used when the recital of some history forms the principal -part of the discourse. Certain leading events, either grouped together -according to their nature or following the order of time, furnish the -primary divisions. This kind of a discourse follows the same laws, in -the arrangement of the different parts, as histories, romances, and -narrative poems. The order of time is the most obvious method of -constructing it, but this order should not be adhered to when the story -can be better and more dramatically told by varying from it. Both -introduction and conclusion should be very carefully selected—the former -to arouse attention and direct it in the right course; the latter to -leave the strongest impression and the one most in harmony with the -object of the speaker. - -The second method is the textual, and is especially though not -exclusively adapted to sermons. In it a verse from the Bible, a motto, a -sentence used by an opponent, or some definite form of very significant -words, affords a basis for each part of the discourse. The order of the -discourse may, however, be different from that of the words in the text, -any change being allowable which secures more of the advantages of the -narrative or logical methods. When the text is itself well known, a plan -based upon it has an obvious advantage in assisting the memory both of -speaker and hearer, by suggesting each part of the discourse at the -proper time. When any lecture or oration has a formal motto which sums -up and fairly expresses the subject discussed, the textual plan will be -as well adapted to it as to a sermon. - -The logical or mathematical method is the third and probably the most -symmetrical form the plan may assume. A topic is taken, and after the -introduction, which may be the mere statement of the subject, or of the -relations of the speaker or of the audience to it, that subject is -unfolded with all the precision of a proposition in geometry. Each -thought is preliminary to that which follows, and the whole ends in the -demonstration of some great truth and the deduction of its legitimate -corollaries. This method is the best possible in those cases adapted to -it—particularly those in which some abstruse subject is to be unfolded -and proved. - -The last method we will describe proceeds by divisions and subdivisions. -It is the military method, for in it the discourse is organized like an -army, into corps, brigades, and regiments; or it is like a tree, which -divides into two or three principal branches, and these again subdivide -until the finest twigs are reached. All the detached items that have -been selected are brought into related groups, each governed by a -central thought, and these again are held in strict subordination to the -supreme idea. - -A subject will many times arrange itself almost spontaneously into -several different parts, which thus form the proper divisions, and these -again may be easily analyzed into their proper subdivisions. Even when -this is not the case, we will see, as we examine the jottings we have -made while gathering our materials, that a few of the ideas stand out in -special prominence, and with a little close study of relations and -affinities all the others may be made to group themselves around these. -The individual ideas we put down on the first study of the subject -usually form the subdivisions, and some generalization of them the -divisions. - -It is not well to make the branches of a subject too numerous or they -will introduce confusion and fail to be remembered. From two to four -divisions with two or three subdivisions under each, are in a majority -of cases better than a large number. The tendency to multiply them to a -great extent, and then to name them in the moment of delivery, in their -order of firstly, secondly, etc., is in a great measure responsible for -the popular estimate of the dryness of sermons, where this kind of plan -prevails more than anywhere else. - -Examples of the different kinds of discourses here alluded to may be -found in the New Testament. The sermon of Paul on Mars Hill was logical -in its development. The introduction is an exquisite adaptation of his -theme to the position of his hearers, and from that point each thought -is a development from the preceding thought, until the whole weight of -argument converges to the duty of repentance because of the coming of a -day in which Jesus Christ will be Judge. But when Paul told the story of -his conversion before Agrippa, the narrative form, with strict adherence -to the order of time, was naturally adopted. No better example of the -divisional form can be found than Christ’s Sermon on the Mount, in which -the three chapters about correspond with the general divisions, and the -paragraphs devoted to such topics as blessing, prayer, fasting, and -forgiveness, with the subdivisions. - -When we have accumulated our materials, stricken out all that is -unfitting or superfluous, and determined the general character of our -discourse, the remainder of the work of finishing the plan must be left -to individual taste and judgment. No rules can be given that will meet -every case. We might direct to put first those statements or arguments -which are most easily comprehended, and those which are necessary for -understanding other portions of the discourse, and also whatever is -least likely to be disputed. Something strong and impressive should be -held well in reserve. It will not be according to the principles of that -highest art which is the best mirror of nature if we exhaust interest in -the opening and then close tamely. Beyond these obvious considerations -little help can be given to the orator in this part of his work. He must -form his own ideal and then work up to it. We do not advise any one to -borrow other men’s outlines for the purpose of filling them up and then -speaking from them as if the work was original. This is a most -profitless kind of plagiarism. Such sketches may be useful to the very -young speaker, merely as indications of the kind of excellence in plans -or sketches at which he should aim. And when he hears good discourses he -may look beneath the burning words and criticise the merits of the -framework upon which they rest. This may render him less satisfied with -his own plans, but such dissatisfaction ever affords the best hope for -future success. - -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 ease, 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. - -What great speeches require are deep, strong appeals to the hearts of -the people, through which shines the radiance of great truths and the -lightning of intense convictions. These can all find their place in the -most logically constructed address if the logic be not brought out and -paraded in its offensive nakedness. No matter if the orator’s mode of -work is less understood. A tree is far more beautiful and impressive -when covered with waving foliage, even if some of the branches are -hidden. Let the tide of eloquence flow on in an unbroken stream, bearing -with it all hearts, but giving no indication of the manner in which it -is guided; or, better still, let it move with the impetus of the -cannon-ball, but without proclaiming in advance the mark toward which it -is flying. - -The plan should go just as far as the intended speech, that we may know -exactly where to stop. Then we can arise with confidence, for we are -sure that we have something to say; we know what it is, and, most -important of all, we will know when it is finished. Most of the -objections urged against extempore speaking apply only to speeches that -have no governing plan. But when a firm and clear plan is prearranged, -there is no more danger of saying what we do not intend, or of running -into endless digressions, than if every word was written. Indeed, there -is no better way of guarding against undue discursiveness in a written -speech than by arranging such a plan before beginning to write. - -But it may be urged that this laborious preparation—this careful placing -of every thought—will require as much time as to write in full. It may -at first. The mind needs to be drilled into the work, and it will be of -great value even as a mental discipline. No study of logic or of -metaphysics will give such practical insight into the nature of the -mind’s workings as this pre-arrangement of thoughts and words to frame a -speech. But the work grows continually easier with practice, until the -mature speaker will save three-fourths—or even more than that -proportion—of the time consumed by the speech-writer. - -The speech is now clearly indicated. A plan has been prepared that fixes -each item in its proper place. There is no further danger of the -looseness and desultoriness with which extempore speech has been -reproached. Yet there is abundant room for the inspiration of the -moment. It is possible, in all the fire of utterance, to leave the -beaten track and give expression to any new ideas that may be called up -by the ardor of speech. But a sure foundation is laid—a course is marked -out which has been deeply premeditated, and which gives certainty to all -we say. - - - - - CHAPTER V. - 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 VI. - THE FIRST MOMENT OF SPEECH. - - -Haying 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 VII. - 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 his 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 mis-begun, 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 -common-place, 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 VIII. - 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 common-place 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 IX. - THREE PLANS OF GREAT ADDRESSES. - - -For the purpose of showing how completely speech of all kinds may be -embraced in a brief skeleton, we place before the reader three addresses -of the most varied characteristics, yet each most admirable in its own -department. One of these is English in origin, one Greek, and the last -may well be styled universal, comprising, as it does, every element of -excellence. - -At the end of the first year of the great war waged between Sparta and -Athens, Pericles pronounced a funeral oration over the dead who had -fallen in the Athenian cause. Much of the language employed may, -perhaps, be ascribed to the invention of the historian, Thucydides, but -the substance and many of the strong expressions probably fell from the -lips of the great statesman and orator of Athens. The speech possesses -the simplicity and classic grace for which Grecian art has ever been -celebrated. The orator’s SUBJECT was furnished by the occasion—the -worthiness of the sacrifice which the fallen heroes had made to the -greatness and glory of their native land. His OBJECT was to encourage -the living to continue the war with ardor and support its privations -with fortitude. There are no digressions, no anecdotes, and scarcely any -illustrations. The glory of Athens and of her dead heroes is the one -theme ever before him. This severe simplicity is carried too far to be -entirely pleasing to modern taste, but the effect is certainly grand and -sublime. A few very strong sentences relieve the general tone of clear, -calm description. The translation is that of Professor Jowett. - - - OUTLINE OF FUNERAL SPEECH. - - OCCASION.—The burial of those Athenians who fell in the first year - of the Peloponnesian War. - - SUBJECT.—The glory of Athens and of the heroes who died for her. - - OBJECT.—To nourish patriotism and fan warlike enthusiasm. - - INTRODUCTION.—Inadequacy of words to the praise of the brave. - -I. THE SOURCE OF ATHENIAN GREATNESS. - - 1. The praise of ancestors who procured freedom and empire for the - city. - - 2. Excellencies of the form of our Government. - - 3. Refinements of our life. - - 4. In war we are an over-match for all our enemies. - - 5. All our citizens are interested in public affairs, which are - freely discussed. - - 6. In short, Athens is the school of Hellas. - -II. THE PRAISE OF THE FALLEN. - - 1. The above praise of the city is the praise of the dead, for they - made her great. - - 2. Death is the final seal of their virtues and secures them from - all change of fortune. - - 3. The whole earth is full of their glory, and their example is - precious to their country. - -III. COMFORT TO KINDRED. - - 1. To parents. - - 2. To sons, brothers, and widows. - - CONCLUSION.—Athens crowns her heroes by these honors, and by - maintaining their children at public cost. - - - FUNERAL SPEECH. - - “Most of those who have spoken here before me have commended the - lawgiver who added this oration to our other funeral customs; it - seemed to them a worthy thing that such an honor should be given at - their burial to the dead who have fallen on the field of battle. But - I should have preferred that, when men’s deeds have been brave, they - should be honored in deed only, and with such an honor as this - public funeral, which you are now witnessing. Then the reputation of - many would not have been imperiled on the eloquence or want of - eloquence of one, and their virtues believed or not as he spoke well - or ill. For it is difficult to say neither too little nor too much; - and even moderation is apt not to give the impression of - truthfulness. The friend of the dead who knows the facts is likely - to think that the words of the speaker fall short of his knowledge - and of his wishes; another who is not so well informed, when he - hears of anything which surpasses his own powers, will be envious - and will suspect exaggeration. Mankind are tolerant of the praises - of others so long as each hearer thinks that he can do as well or - nearly as well himself, but when the speaker rises above him - jealousy is aroused and he begins to be incredulous. However, since - our ancestors have set the seal of their approval upon the practice, - I must obey, and to the utmost of my power shall endeavor to satisfy - the wishes and beliefs of all who hear me. - - “I will speak first of our ancestors, for it is right and becoming - that now, when we are lamenting the dead, a tribute should be paid - to their memory. There has never been a time when they did not - inhabit this land, which by their valor they have handed down from - generation to generation, and we have received from them a free - State. But if they were worthy of praise, still more were our - fathers, who added to their inheritance, and after many a struggle - transmitted to us, their sons, this great empire. And we ourselves - assembled here to-day, who are still most of us in the vigor of - life, have chiefly done the work of improvement, and have richly - endowed our city with all things, so that she is sufficient for - herself both in peace and war. Of the military exploits by which our - various possessions were acquired, or of the energy with which we or - our fathers drove back the tide of war, Hellenic or Barbarian, I - will not speak; for the tale would be long and is familiar to you. - But before I praise the dead, I should like to point out by what - principles of action we rose to power, and under what institutions - and through what manner of life our empire became great. For I - conceive that such thoughts are not unsuited to the occasion, and - that this numerous assembly of citizens and strangers may profitably - listen to them. - - “Our form of government does not enter into rivalry with the - institutions of others. We do not copy our neighbors, but are an - example to them. It is true that we are called a democracy, for the - administration is in the hands of the many and not of the few. But - while the law secures equal justice to all alike in their private - disputes, the claim of excellence is also recognized; and when a - citizen is in any way distinguished, he is preferred to the public - service, not as a matter of privilege, but as the reward of merit. - Neither is poverty a bar, but a man may benefit his country whatever - be the obscurity of his condition. There is no exclusiveness in our - public life, and in our private intercourse we are not suspicious of - one another, nor angry with our neighbor if he does what he likes; - we do not put on our sour looks at him, which, though harmless, are - not pleasant. While we are thus unconstrained in our private - intercourse, a spirit of reverence pervades our public acts; we are - prevented from doing wrong by respect for authority and for the - laws, having an especial regard to those which are ordained for the - protection of the injured as well as to those unwritten laws which - bring upon the transgressor of them the reprobation of the general - sentiment. - - “And we have not forgotten to provide for our weary spirits many - relaxations from toil; we have regular games and sacrifices - throughout the year; at home the style of our life is refined; and - the delight which we daily feel in all these things helps to banish - melancholy. Because of the greatness of our city the fruits of the - whole earth flow in upon us; so that we enjoy the goods of other - countries as freely as of our own. - - “Then, again, our military training is in many respects superior to - that of our adversaries. Our city is thrown open to the world, and - we never expel a foreigner or prevent him from seeing or learning - anything of which the secret if revealed to an enemy might profit - him. We rely not upon management or trickery, but upon our own - hearts and hands. And in the matter of education, whereas they from - early youth are always undergoing laborious exercises which are to - make them brave, we live at ease, and yet are equally ready to face - the perils which they face. And here is the proof. The Lacedæmonians - come into Attica not by themselves, but with their whole confederacy - following; we go alone into a neighbor’s country; and although our - opponents are fighting for their homes and we on a foreign soil, we - have seldom any difficulty in overcoming them. Our enemies have - never yet felt our united strength; the care of a navy divides our - attention, and on land we are obliged to send our own citizens - everywhere. But they, if they meet and defeat a part of our army, - are as proud as if they had routed us all, and when defeated they - pretend to have been vanquished by us all. - - “If, then, we prefer to meet danger with a light heart but without - laborious training, and with a courage which is gained by habit and - not enforced by law, are we not greatly the gainers? Since we do not - anticipate the pain, although, when the hour comes, we can be as - brave as those who never allow themselves to rest; and thus too our - city is equally admirable in peace and in war. For we are lovers of - the beautiful, yet simple in our tastes, and we cultivate the mind - without loss of manliness. Wealth we employ, not for talk and - ostentation, but when there is a real use for it. To avow poverty - with us is no disgrace; the true disgrace is in doing nothing to - avoid it. An Athenian citizen does not neglect the State because he - takes care of his own household; and even those of us who are - engaged in business have a very fair idea of politics. We alone - regard a man who takes no interest in public affairs, not as a - harmless, but as a useless character; and if few of us are - originators, we are all sound judges of a policy. The great - impediment to action is, in our opinion, not discussion, but the - want of knowledge which is gained by discussion preparatory to - action. For we have a peculiar power of thinking before we act and - of acting too, whereas other men are courageous from ignorance but - hesitate upon reflection. And they are surely to be esteemed the - bravest spirits who, having the clearest sense both of the pains and - pleasures of life, do not on that account shrink from danger. In - doing good, again, we are unlike others; we make our friends by - conferring, not by receiving favors. Now he who confers a favor is - the firmer friend, because he would fain by kindness keep alive the - memory of an obligation; but the recipient is colder in his - feelings, because he knows that in requiting another’s generosity he - will not be winning gratitude but only paying a debt. We alone do - good to our neighbors not upon a calculation of interest, but in the - confidence of freedom and in a frank and fearless spirit. To sum up: - I say that Athens is the school of Hellas, and that the individual - Athenian in his own person seems to have the power of adapting - himself to the most varied forms of action with the utmost - versatility and grace. This is no passing and idle word, but truth - and fact; and the assertion is verified by the position to which - these qualities have raised the State. For in the hour of trial - Athens alone among her contemporaries is superior to the report of - her. No enemy who comes against her is indignant at the reverses - which he sustains at the hands of such a city; no subject complains - that his masters are unworthy of him. And we shall assuredly not be - without witnesses; there are mighty monuments of our power which - will make us the wonder of this and of succeeding ages; we shall not - need the praises of Homer or of any other panegyrist whose poetry - may please for the moment, although his representation of the facts - will not bear the light of day. For we have compelled every land and - every sea to open a path for our valor, and have everywhere planted - eternal memorials of our friendship and of our enmity. Such is the - city for whose sake these men nobly fought and died; they could not - bear the thought that she might be taken from them; and every one of - us who survive should gladly toil on her behalf. - - “I have dwelt upon the greatness of Athens because I want to show - you that we are contending for a higher prize than those who enjoy - none of these privileges, and to establish by manifest proof the - merit of these men whom I am now commemorating. Their loftiest - praise has been already spoken. For in magnifying the city I have - magnified them, and men like them whose virtues made her glorious. - And of how few Hellenes can it be said as of them, that their deeds - when weighed in the balance have been found equal to their fame! - Methinks that a death such as theirs has been gives the true measure - of a man’s worth; it may be the first revelation of his virtues, but - is at any rate their final seal. For even those who come short in - other ways may justly plead the valor with which they have fought - for their country; they have blotted out the evil with the good, and - have benefited the State more by their public services than they - have injured her by their private actions. None of these men were - enervated by wealth or hesitated to resign the pleasures of life; - none of them put off the evil day in the hope, natural to poverty, - that a man, though poor, may one day become rich. But, deeming that - the punishment of their enemies was sweeter than any of these - things, and that they could fall in no nobler cause, they determined - at the hazard of their lives to be honorably avenged, and to leave - the rest. They resigned to hope their unknown chance of happiness; - but in the face of death they resolved to rely upon themselves - alone. And when the moment came they were minded to resist and - suffer, rather than to fly and save their lives; they ran away from - the word of dishonor, but on the battle-field their feet stood fast, - and in an instant, at the height of their fortune, they passed away - from the scene, not of their fear, but of their glory. - - “Such was the end of these men; they were worthy of Athens, and the - living need not desire to have a more heroic spirit, although they - may pray for a less fatal issue. The value of such a spirit is not - to be expressed in words. Any one can discourse to you forever about - the advantages of a brave defense which you know already. But - instead of listening to him I would have you day by day fix your - eyes upon the greatness of Athens, until you become filled with the - love of her; and when you are impressed by the spectacle of her - glory, reflect that this empire has been acquired by men who knew - their duty and had the courage to do it, who in the hour of conflict - had the fear of dishonor always present to them, and who, if ever - they failed in an enterprise, would not allow their virtues to be - lost to their country, but freely gave their lives to her as the - fairest offering which they could present at her feast. The - sacrifice which they collectively made was individually repaid to - them; for they received again each one for himself a praise which - grows not old, and the noblest of all sepulchres—I speak not of that - in which their remains are laid, but of that in which their glory - survives, and is proclaimed always and on every fitting occasion - both in word and deed. For the whole earth is the sepulchre of - famous men; not only are they commemorated by columns and - inscriptions in their own country, but in foreign lands there dwells - also an unwritten memorial of them, graven not on stone but in the - hearts of men. Make them your examples, and, esteeming courage to be - freedom and freedom to be happiness, do not weigh too nicely the - perils of war. The unfortunate who has no hope of a change for the - better has less reason to throw away his life than the prosperous, - who, if he survive, is always liable to a change for the worse, and - to whom any accidental fall makes the most serious difference. To a - man of spirit, cowardice and disaster coming together are far more - bitter than death, striking him unperceived at a time when he is - full of courage and animated by the general hope. - - “Wherefore, I do not now commiserate the parents of the dead who - stand here; I would rather comfort them. You know that your life has - been passed amid manifold vicissitudes, and that they may be deemed - fortunate who have gained most honor, whether an honorable death - like theirs, or an honorable sorrow like yours, and whose days have - been so ordered that the term of their happiness is likewise the - term of their life. I know how hard it is to make you feel this, - when the good fortune of others will too often remind you of the - gladness which once lightened your hearts. And sorrow is felt at the - want of those blessings, not which a man never knew, but which were - a part of his life before they were taken from him. Some of you are - of an age at which they may hope to have other children, and they - ought to bear their sorrow better; not only will the children who - may hereafter be born make them forget their own lost ones, but the - city will be doubly a gainer. She will not be left desolate, and she - will be safer. For a man’s counsel cannot have equal weight or worth - when he alone has no children to risk in the general danger. To - those of you who have passed their prime, I say, ‘Congratulate - yourselves that you have been happy during the greater part of your - days; remember that your life of sorrow will not last long, and be - comforted by the glory of those who are gone. For the love of honor - alone is ever young, and not riches, as some say, but honor is the - delight of men when they are old and useless.’ - - “To you who are the sons and brothers of the departed, I see that - the struggle to emulate them will be an arduous one. For all men - praise the dead, and however pre-eminent your virtue may be, hardly - will you be thought, I do not say to equal, but even to approach - them. The living have their rivals and detractors, but when a man is - out of the way, the honor and good-will which he receives is - unalloyed. And, if I am to speak of womanly virtues to those of you - who will henceforth be widows, let me sum them up in one short - admonition: To a woman not to show more weakness than is natural to - her sex is a great glory, and not to be talked about for good or for - evil among men. - - “I have paid the required tribute, in obedience to the law, making - use of such fitting words as I had. The tribute of deeds has been - paid in part; for the dead have been honorably interred, and it - remains only that their children should be maintained at the public - charge until they are grown up: this is the solid prize with which, - as with a garland, Athens crowns her sons, living and dead, after a - struggle like theirs. For where the rewards of virtue are greatest, - there the noblest citizens are enlisted in the service of the State. - And now, when you have duly lamented, every one his own dead, you - may depart.” - -We next present the sketch of a sermon by Rev. C. H. Spurgeon, and part -of the sermon itself. This is the more instructive, as the plan was -prepared substantially in the way we have advised, and the sermon -preached extemporaneously from it. - - - “LOVE AND I”—A MYSTERY. - - A SERMON BY C. H. SPURGEON. - - [_From Homiletic Monthly, Nov., 1882._] - - PULPIT NOTES USED BY SPURGEON. - - _John xvii, 26._ - - _Our Lord praying with His disciples at the last. - This the climax of the prayer. - In the deep, scratching the ground, get a harvest. - Here the final word is love and union with “I.” - Lord, what a subject._ - - I. THE FOOD OF LOVE. - _1. Knowledge._ - _2. Knowledge given by Christ._ - _3. Knowledge gradually increasing._ - _4. Knowledge distinguishing us from the world._ - _5. Knowledge of the name._ - _Righteous Father._ - _Holiness, goodness, mercy, love._ - - II. THE LOVE ITSELF. - _1. It is not love toward us but in us._ - _2. It is not love from the wells of the creature._ - _3. It is a recognition of Father’s love to the Son._ - _It is a sense of the Father’s love to us._ - _It is a reflection upon Jesus of the Father’s love._ - _It is a beaming forth of love all around._ - _4. It has the most blessed results._ - _Expulsive, repulsive, impulsive._ - _Renders supremely happy, brave, patient, elevated._ - - III. THE COMPANION OF LOVE. - _Love and I._ - _Jesus sure to be where there is love, faith, the Spirit, God._ - _Christ ever near._ - _Believer ever safe._ - _Believer should render good entertainment._ - -It will be noticed that the preacher’s _subject_ is Christ and love -dwelling in the human heart; the _object_ is to induce those who have -this love to appreciate it more highly, and all others to seek it. We -give only the introduction and the third division (which is also the -conclusion), together with a part of the first division, as the whole -discourse is too long to be quoted here. It may be added that these -notes and the development of these parts are fair specimens of the -manner in which the great London preacher prepares and delivers his -discourses. - - Text.—_I have declared unto them Thy name, and will declare it; that - the love wherewith Thou has loved me may be in them, and I in - them._—John xvii, 26. - - “For several Sabbath mornings my mind has been directed into - subjects which I might fitly call the deep things of God. I think I - have never felt my own incompetence more fully than in trying to - handle such subjects. It is a soil into which one may dig and dig as - deep as ever you will, and still never exhaust the golden nuggets - which lie within it. I am, however, comforted by this fact, that - these subjects are so fruitful that even we who can only scratch the - surface of them shall yet get a harvest from them. I read once of - the plains of India that they were so fertile that you had only to - tickle them with the hoe and they laughed with plenty; and surely - such a text as this may be described as equally fruitful, even under - our feeble husbandry. Pearls lie on the surface here as well as in - the depth. We have only to search its surface, and stir the soil a - little, and we shall be astonished at the plentitude of spiritual - wealth which lies before us. Oh! that the Spirit of God may help us - to enjoy the blessed truths which are herein set forth! Here is the - priceless treasure, but it lies hid till He reveals it to us. - - “You see, this text is taken out of our Lord’s last prayer with His - disciples. He did as good as say, ‘I am about to leave you; I am - about to die for you; and for a while you will not see me; but now, - before we separate, let us pray.’ It is one of those impulses that - you have felt yourselves. When you have been about to part from - those you love, to leave them, perhaps, in danger and difficulty, - you have felt you could do no less than say, ‘Let us draw nigh unto - God.’ Your heart found no way of expressing itself at all so - fitting, so congenial, so satisfactory, as to draw near unto the - great Father and spread the case before Him. Now a prayer from such - a one as Jesus, our Lord and Master—a prayer in such a company, with - the eleven whom He had chosen, and who had consorted with Him from - the beginning, a prayer under such circumstances, when He was just - on the brink of the brook of Cedron, and was about to cross that - gloomy stream and go up to Calvary, and there lay down His life—such - a prayer as this; so living, earnest, loving, and divine, deserves - the most studious meditations of all believers. I invite you to - bring hither your best thoughts and skill for the navigation of this - sea. It is not a creek or bay, but the main ocean itself. We cannot - hope to fathom its depths. This is true of any sentence of this - matchless prayer, but for me the work of exposition becomes - unusually heavy, because my text is the close and climax of this - marvelous supplication, it is the central mystery of all. In the - lowest depth there is still a lower deep, and this verse is one of - those deeps which still exceed the rest. Oh! how much we want the - Spirit of God! Pray for His bedewing; pray that His balmy influences - may descend upon us richly now. - - “You will observe that the last word of our Lord’s prayer is - concerning _love_. This is the last petition which He offers, ‘That - the love wherewith Thou hast loved me may be in them, and I in - them.’ He reaches no greater height than this, namely, that His - people be filled with the Father’s _love_. How could He rise higher? - For this is to be filled with all the fullness of God, since God is - love, and he that loveth dwelleth in God and God in him. What - importance ought you and I attach to the grace of love! How highly - we should esteem that which Jesus makes the crown jewel of all. If - we have faith, let us not be satisfied unless our faith worketh by - love and purifieth the soul. Let us not be content, indeed, until - the love of Christ is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost - which is given unto us. Well did the poet say, - - ‘Only love to us be given; - Lord, we ask no other Heaven;’ - - for indeed there is no other Heaven below, and scarcely is there any - other Heaven above than to reach to the fullness of perfect love. - This is where the prayer of the Son of David ends, in praying ‘that - the love wherewith Thou hast loved me may be in them.’ What a - subject! The highest that even our Lord Jesus reached in His noblest - prayer. Again with groanings my heart cries, Holy Spirit, help! - - “I. First, THE FOOD OF LOVE TO GOD: What is it? _It is knowledge._ - ‘I have made known unto them Thy name, and will make it known.’ We - cannot love a God whom we do not know; a measure of knowledge is - needful to affection. However lovely God may be, a man blind of soul - cannot perceive Him, and therefore is not touched by His loveliness. - Only when the eyes are opened to behold the loveliness of God will - the heart go out toward God, who is so desirable an object for the - affections. Brethren, we must know in order to believe; we must know - in order to hope; and we must especially know in order to love. - Hence the great desirableness that you should know the Lord and His - great love which passeth knowledge. You cannot reciprocate love - which you have never known, even as a man cannot derive strength - from food which he has not eaten. Till first of all the love of God - has come into your heart, and you have been made a partaker of it, - you cannot rejoice in it or return it. Therefore our Lord took care - to feed His disciples’ hearts upon the Father’s name. He labored to - make the Father known to them. This is one of His great efforts with - them, and He is grieved when He sees their ignorance and has to say - to one of them, ‘Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast - thou not known me, Philip? He that hath seen me hath seen the - Father; and how sayest thou then, Show us the Father?’ Study much, - then, the word of God: be diligent in turning the pages of Scripture - and in hearing God’s true ministers, that the flame of love within - your hearts may be revived by the fuel of holy knowledge which you - place upon it. Pile on the logs of sandal wood, and let the perfumed - fires burn before the Lord. Heap on the handfuls of frankincense and - sweet odors of sacred knowledge, that on the altar of your heart - there may always be burning the sacred flame of love to God in - Christ Jesus. - - “The knowledge here spoken of is _a knowledge which Jesus gave - them_. ‘I have known Thee, and these have known that Thou hast sent - me. And I have declared unto them Thy name, and will declare it.’ O - beloved! it is not knowledge that you and I pick up as a matter of - book-learning that will ever bring out our love to the Father: it is - knowledge given us by Christ through His Spirit. It is not knowledge - communicated by the preacher alone which will bless you; for, - however much he may be taught of God himself, he cannot preach to - the heart unless the blessed Spirit of God comes and takes of the - things that are spoken, and reveals them and makes them manifest to - each individual heart, so that in consequence it knows the Lord. - Jesus said, ‘O righteous Father! the world hath not known Thee!’ and - you and I would have been in the same condition, strangers to God, - without God and without hope in the world, if the Spirit of God had - not taken of divine things and applied them to our souls so that we - are made to know them. Every living word of knowledge is the work of - the living God. If you only know what you have found out for - yourself, or picked up by your own industry apart from Jesus, you - know nothing aright: it must be by the direct and distinct teaching - of God the Holy Ghost that you must learn to profit. Jesus Christ - alone can reveal the Father. He Himself said: ‘No man cometh unto - the Father but by me.’ He that knows not Christ knows not the - Father, but when Jesus Christ reveals Him, ah! then we do know Him - after a special, personal, peculiar, inward knowledge. This - knowledge brings with it a life and a love with which the soul is - not puffed up, but built up. By such knowledge we grow up into Him - in all things who is our head, being taught of the Son of God. - - “This knowledge, dear friends, _comes to us gradually_. The text - indicates this: ‘I have declared unto them Thy name, and will - declare it.’ As if, though they knew the Father, there was far more - to know and the Lord Jesus was resolved to teach them more. Are you - growing in knowledge, my brothers and sisters? My labor is lost if - you are not growing in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord and - Saviour Jesus Christ. I hope you know much more of God than you did - twenty years ago when first you came to Him. That little knowledge - which you received by grace when you found ‘life in a look at the - Crucified One’ has saved you; but in these after years you have - added to your faith knowledge, and to your knowledge experience; you - have gone on to know more deeply what you knew before, and to know - the details of what you seemed to know in the gross and the lump at - first. You have come to look _into_ things as well as _upon_ - things—a look at Christ saves, but oh! it is the look _into_ Christ - that wins the heart’s love and holds it last and binds us to Him as - with fetters of gold. We ought every day to be adding something to - this inestimably precious store, that as we are known of God so we - may know God, and become thereby transformed from glory unto glory - through His Spirit. - - “Are you not thankful for this blessed word of the Lord Jesus: ‘I - will declare it,’ ‘I will make it known’? He did do so at His - resurrection, when He taught His people things they knew not before; - but He did so much more after He had ascended up on high when the - Spirit of God was given. ‘He shall teach you all things, and bring - all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.’ - And now to-day in the hearts of His people He is daily teaching us - something that we do not know. All our experience tends that way. - When the Spirit of God blesses an affliction to us, it is one of the - Saviour’s illuminated books out of which we learn something more of - the Father’s name, and consequently come to love Him better: for - that is the thing Christ aims at. He would so make known the Father, - that the love wherewith the Father had loved Him may be in us, and - that He Himself may be in us. - - “_This knowledge distinguishes us from the world._ It is the mark by - which the elect are made manifest. In the sixth verse of this - chapter our Lord says: ‘I have manifested Thy name unto the men - which Thou gavest me out of the world. Thine they were, and Thou - gavest them me; and they have kept Thy word.’ The world does not - know the Father, and cannot know Him, for it abides in the darkness - and death of sin. Judge yourselves, therefore, by this sure test, - and let the love which grows out of gracious knowledge be a token - for good unto you. - - * * * * * - - “III. Thirdly, here is _THE COMPANION OF LOVE_. ‘I in them.’ Look at - the text a minute and just catch those two words. Here is ‘love’ and - ‘I’—love and Christ come together. O blessed guests! ‘Love and I,’ - says Christ; as if He felt He never had a companion that suited Him - better. ‘Love’ and ‘I:’ Jesus is ever at home where love is - reigning. When love lives in His people’s hearts, Jesus lives there - too. Does Jesus, then, live in the hearts of His people? Yes, - wherever there is the love of the Father shed abroad in them He must - be there. We have His own word for it, and we are sure that Jesus - knows where He is. - - “We are sure that He is where love is; for, first, where there is - love there is _life_, and where there is life there is Christ, for - He Himself says, ‘I am the life.’ There is no true life in the - believer’s soul that is divided from Christ. We are sure of that; so - that where there is love there is life, and where there is life - there is Christ. Again, where there is the love of God in the heart - there is _the Holy Spirit_; but wherever the Holy Spirit is, there - is Christ, for the Holy Spirit is Christ’s representative; and it is - in that sense that He tells us, ‘Lo, I am with you alway,’ namely, - because the Spirit is come to be always with us. So where there is - love, there is the Spirit of God; and where there is the Spirit of - God, there is Christ. So it is always, ‘Love and I.’ - - “Furthermore, where there is love there is _faith_, for faith - worketh by love, and there never was true love to Christ apart from - faith; but where there is faith there is always Christ, for if there - is faith in Him He has been received into the soul. Jesus is ever - near to that faith which has Himself for its foundation and resting - place. Where there is love there is faith, where there is faith - there is Christ, and so it is ‘Love and I.’ - - “Ay, but where there is the Father’s love toward Christ in the heart - _God_ Himself is there. I am sure of that, for God is love. So if - there is love within us there must be God, and where God is there - Christ is, for He saith, ‘I and my Father are one.’ So you see where - there is love there must be Jesus Christ, for these reasons and for - many others besides. - - “’I in them.’ Yes, if I were commanded to preach for seven years - from these three words only, I should never exhaust the text, I am - quite certain. I might exhaust you by my dullness, and exhaust - myself by labor to tell out the sacred secret, but I should never - exhaust the text. ‘I in them.’ It is the most blessed word I know - of. You, beloved, need not go abroad to find the Lord Jesus Christ. - Where does He live? He lives within you. ‘I in them.’ As soon as - ever you pray you are sure He hears you, because He is within you. - He is not knocking at your door; He has entered into you, and there - He dwells, and will go no more out forever. - - “What a blessed sense of power this gives to us. ‘I in them.’ Then - it is no more ‘I’ in weakness, but, since Jesus dwells in me, ‘I can - do all things through Christ that strengthened me.’ ‘I in them.’ It - is the glory of the believer that Christ dwells in him. ‘Unto you - that believe He is precious.’ - - “Hence we gather the security of the believer. Brother, if Christ be - in me, and I am overcome, Christ is conquered too, for He is in me. - ‘I in them.’ I cannot comprehend the doctrine of believers falling - from grace. If Christ has once entered into them, will He not abide - with them? Paul saith, ‘I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, - nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor - things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall - be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus - our Lord.’ To that persuasion I set my hand and seal. Well, then, if - Christ is in us, whatever happens to us will happen to Him. We shall - be losers if we do not get to Heaven; but so will He be, for He is - in us, and so is a partaker of our condition. If it is an - indissoluble union—and so He declares it is—‘I in them,’ then His - destiny and ours are linked together; and if He wins the victory we - conquer in Him: If He sits at the right hand of God we shall sit at - the right hand of God with Him, for He is in us. - - “I know not what more to say, not because I have nothing more, but - because I do not know which to bring forward out of a thousand - precious things; but I leave the subject with you. Go home and live - in the power of this blessed text. Go home and be as happy as you - can be to live, and if you get a little happier that will not hurt - you, for then you will be in Heaven. Keep up unbroken joy in the - Lord. It is not ‘I in them’ for Sundays, and away on Mondays; ‘I in - them’ when they sit in the Tabernacle, and out of them when they - reach home. No, ‘I in them’ and that forever and forever. Go and - rejoice. Show this blind world that you have a happiness which as - much outshines theirs as the sun outshines the sparks which fly from - the chimney and expire. Go forth with joy and be led forth with - peace; let the mountains and the hills break forth before you into - singing: - - ‘All that remains for me - Is but to love and sing, - And wait until the angels come, - To bear me to the King.’ - - “’Oh! but I have my troubles.’ I know you have your troubles, but - they are not worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be - revealed in you, nor even with your present glory. I feel as if I - could not think about troubles, nor sins, nor anything else when I - once behold the love of God to me. When I feel my love to Christ, - which is but God’s love to Christ, burning within my soul, then I - glory in tribulation, for the power of God shall be through these - afflictions made manifest in me. ‘I in them.’ God bless you with the - knowledge of this mystery, for Jesus’ sake. Amen.” - -Our third example is the outline of that grand inaugural discourse of -the Christian religion found in the 5th, 6th, and 7th chapters of St. -Matthew. The Sermon on the Mount is too familiar to need reproduction -here, but the outline will show how regular it is in structure, and how -closely it conforms to the laws which govern discourses. - -The _subject_ is the distinction between the Spiritual Kingdom Christ -then set up, and the Jewish State, of which His hearers were still -members. - -The _object_ is to induce His hearers to enter immediately into this new -and better Kingdom. - - - PLAN OF THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT. - - INTRODUCTION.—1. Who the blessed (happy) ones really are; v, 2–12. - 2. The position of the blessed; v, 13–16. - 3. The Old Kingdom not to be destroyed by the New; v, 17–20. - - I. CONTRASTS BETWEEN THE OLD AND NEW KINGDOMS CONCERNING THINGS - FORBIDDEN. - 1. The law against Killing; v, 21–26. - 2. The law against Adultery; v, 27–32. - 3. The law against Profanity; v, 33–37. - 4. The law against Injuries; v, 38–48. - - II. CONTRASTS CONCERNING PRACTICAL DUTIES. - 1. Almsgiving; vi, 2–4. - 2. Prayer; vi, 5–15. [Example—the Lord’s Prayer.] - 3. Fasting; vi, 16–18. - 4. Treasure-gathering; vi, 19–34. - - III. HOW SUBJECTS OF THE NEW KINGDOM SHOULD REGARD OTHER PERSONS. - 1. With charity in word and action; vii, 1–12. - 2. But with caution; influence of numbers and of false teachers - deprecated; vii, 13–23. - - CONCLUSION.—The whole subject illustrated by the evil consequences - of building a house upon a foundation of sand, and the good - consequences of building it upon a rock. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - ILLUSTRATIONS, PATHOS, HUMOR. - - -All popular and effective discourses must possess at least one of the -above qualities. In ordinary speeches they do not present themselves -spontaneously, but must be sought out with diligence and perseverance. -Some speakers find it easy to sparkle with illustrations and to indulge -in humor and pathos, but others can only succeed in that direction with -painful toil. We wish now to consider a few of the methods by which they -can be secured when they do not present themselves spontaneously. - -The need of abundant illustrations has been felt in all kinds of address -and many efforts have been made to supply them. A number of books have -been published in which illustrations have been gathered from a wide -range of literature, and catalogued for use. The speaker may employ -these cautiously with great profit; and no longing for an originality, -which, after all, can never be absolute, should deter him. The labor of -searching for one or two illustrations of an important thought may be -greater than that devoted to the preparation of the whole speech, but it -is labor very profitably employed. While thinking what any particular -thing is _like_, our conception of the thing itself and of all the ideas -that cluster around it, will become much more vivid. Even the -illustrations we reject may have great value in sharpening our -conceptions of the difference between the thing investigated and all -other things of a similar character. - -But it is not enough to search for similes and figures among ready-made -selections. All we know, hear, and read, may be passed in mental review -for the purpose of seeing what truth it will vividly set forth. If we -assume that our speeches _must_ be illustrated, and spend much time in -seeking for good illustrations, changing those we have used for better -ones whenever possible, we will come to “think double,” that is, to see -the likeness that exist in all objects to something else. The habit of -doing this grows with practice. If we pass our addresses in review -asking ourselves, “What points did we fail to make strong and -intelligible for want of good illustrations?” we will be able both to -see our defects in this line and the means of remedying them. There -should be a very careful record of these treasures made, for with the -majority of speakers nothing else is so precious. - -Scraps from newspapers, sentences copied into common-place books, all -kinds of memoranda which direct attention to a happy figure heard in -conversation, encountered in reading, or thought of, will be exceedingly -valuable. - -It is possible to have too many illustrations, but for one speaker who -labors under this disadvantage nine have not enough. A bad -illustration—one which is cloudy, tame, in bad taste, or which does not -illuminate or enforce some part of our subject—is worse than none at -all. It should be thrown out and its place supplied with something -better. - -The power to touch the heart, and as an evidence of deep feeling to -cause tears to flow, is greatly sought by orators, and, strange as it -may seem, is highly enjoyed by audiences. There is a luxury in aroused -feeling, and multitudes will throng to the church or hall where they are -made to weep. If the effort for such effects is carried too far, it will -become unmanly and maudlin; but in proper bounds it is a genuine -oratorical resource. How shall a reasonable degree of pathos be brought -into our discourses? - -Incidents which involve great or heroic suffering and self-sacrifices, -if well told, with a direct bearing upon the general theme, seldom fail -to make a deep impression. They are often invented by the speaker, but -while that device may not always be worthy of condemnation, its -expediency is questionable. Reality has far more power than fiction. -There is so much of suffering and sorrow in the world, and so much of -heroic struggle against it, that if our addresses fairly reflect this -“world-tragedy” the highest pathos will be realized. Keen, quick -observation and a really sympathetic nature on the part of the speaker -will show him where to find the materials to move the hearts of his -hearers. But while using such materials he must retain command of his -own feelings. To be truly successful in the use of pathos he must give a -reasonable foundation for the emotion he wishes to evoke, and then be -able to turn the aroused feeling into some channel which will justify -the pain caused. - -Humor is intimately associated with pathos by the law of opposites. One -is almost the direct reaction from the other, and after one has been -evoked the other follows more easily than it would at another time. The -spirit of humor is valuable in all forms of address, but in some—notably -in the political arena and on the platform—it is invaluable. Its range -is vast. It may be so rude and uncouth as to lessen the dignity of -discourse, or it may be of the most refined character. While it cannot -be relied upon as an argument, yet if a good argument is employed and -then _clenched_ by a humorous story or allusion of perfect -appropriateness, much is gained. To make an audience laugh at the -positions of an opponent, at least prepares the way for refuting him. - -This quality may be cultivated by seeking out and enjoying the humorous -element which is found in everything. We ought to be able to laugh at -all that is ludicrous, without in the least losing our respect and -veneration for what is good. Everything coarse and evil should be -rejected from our minds instantly, however humorous; but all the really -funny things, which can by any possibility be pressed into the service -of speech, should be carefully noted and remembered. Abraham Lincoln -owed no small part of his popular power to his marvelous fund of -humorous illustrations. More than one noted preacher has given a keener -edge to truth by the same means. - -Extemporaneous speech furnishes much better opportunity than written for -the acquirement of all these elements of power. When a speech is once -written it is finished. But when merely planned and outlined, all -stories, quotations, incidents, and happy turns of language discovered -afterward, may be noted on the written plan, or slipped into an envelope -with it, and afterward used at any time without the labor necessary to -adjust them to a manuscript discourse. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - THE ORATOR’S LOGIC. - - -Logic is either one of the most useful or one of the most useless -acquisitions of the orator. As taught in the middle ages, with its -barbarous jargon of symbols and terms, it can add but little directly to -the force or truth of any man’s speech, although even in that form it -may, like most other studies, accomplish something in the way of -sharpening the critical faculty and strengthening memory and attention. -Its definitions, also, are not altogether valueless. But not one student -in a thousand will apply its cumbrous rules in shaping his own -reasoning, or in judging of the reasoning of others. If the reader has -studied logic his own experience may be confidently appealed to. Do you -ever, in reading an argument, notice to which figure and mood of the -syllogism it conforms? If the argument seems false, do you ever seek to -find whether the fault is in negative promises, want of distribution of -the middle term, or in the violation of any other technical rule of -logic? The mind has a much more direct and summary mode for disposing of -unsatisfactory arguments. - -But the principles of logic are few and simple, and when divested of all -technicality, are of universal application. We will venture to point out -some that may be of especial service to the speaker: - -1st. Clear definition. The speaker should know the meaning of his -subject and of all the important terms used in connection with it. This -knowledge he should convey to his hearers in the most clear and striking -manner that his own powers will permit. To have an audience -misunderstand the speaker so far that while he was talking of one thing -they are understanding something totally different (even if known by the -same name) would be a grave logical fault. Exact and comprehensive -definition, often enlivened and simplified by similes or anecdotes, will -prevent such danger. - -2d. Exact and comprehensive division of a subject is scarcely less -important than clear definition. This is of equal value in studying a -subject and in presenting it to an audience. If we wished to speak or -learn about the ocean, one of the first facts to be dealt with would be -its division into five parts—Atlantic, Pacific, etc. A good principle of -division should always be selected and faithfully applied. Then as many -subdivisions may be added as naturally follow from the application of -another good principle of division. Thus, astronomy may be first defined -as “the science of the stars.” Then it can be divided into planetary and -stellar astronomy. The former may be subdivided into descriptions of the -individual planets and other bodies in the solar system; the latter into -the classes of objects found among the fixed stars. All of this is not a -rhetorical or oratorical device, but has its foundation in mental laws; -in other words, it is logical. - -3d. Classification lies at the foundation of many of the sciences, and -is a process of the highest importance in every domain of knowledge. In -no other manner can the vast multitude of facts discovered by millions -of observing eyes be preserved and made useful. The orator must also -classify his general knowledge, and that special part of it which he -intends to use for a speech. All his proofs, appeals, illustrative -facts, and even his digressions should be arranged according to those -natural bonds of congruity which constitute the basis of all -classification. - -But in what way can the person who is ignorant of technical logic make a -harmonious classification? It will not add much to his ability to tell -him that two processes—abstraction and generalization—are the basis of -all true classification. It is simpler and means the same to say that -things should be classed together which agree in some permanent and -fundamental quality. Thus a vast number of animals of the most varied -sizes, shapes, and powers, agree in having backbones and are therefore -put into a class and called _vertebrates_. The study of agreements and -similarities in things the most diverse is exceedingly profitable to the -orator in many different ways. It affords inexhaustible material for -illustrations—“those windows of speech.” The difference between the -likeness upon which classification and illustrations are based is about -as follows: The similarities which give rise to scientific classes are -very important and essential; those from which illustrations spring may -be slight and superficial. - -These three processes are of more importance to the orator than any -others embraced in logic. There is nothing “dry” or “repulsive” about -them—terms quite frequently applied to discourses which turn aside from -their own direct purpose to display the mere machinery of reasoning. By -division a distinct impression is made of each part of a subject; by -definition all misunderstandings are cleared away and attention fixed -upon the very points at issue; by classification all thoughts find their -proper places and are so gathered up into general ideas and joined with -other familiar thoughts, by way of illustration, that they may easily be -remembered and applied. - -But how about the syllogism which logical treatises devote so much time -to explaining? Its many varieties and endless transformations wrought -out by acute minds from the time of Aristotle to the present, are -curious and interesting, but they are not specially available for a -speaker. Yet, since they rest upon a few easily understood principles, -we will refer to the most obvious. - -If two things each resemble a third it is certain that they also -resemble each other. If one thing equals a second, but does not equal a -third, then the second and third do not equal each other. - -In the syllogism two comparisons are made and the resulting agreement or -disagreement is expressed in the conclusion. Thus: - - Corrupt men are bad citizens. - Men buying or selling votes are corrupt men. - Therefore, men buying or selling votes are bad citizens. - -Here the class of corrupt men agrees with the class of bad citizens; it -also agrees with the class who buy or sell votes; now, as it agrees with -each of the two classes, it is certain that those two classes also agree -with each other. This is the plain form of the syllogism. - -The following is an instance of disagreement: - - Good citizens are patriotic men. - Traitors are not patriotic. - Therefore, traitors are not good citizens. - -When an agreement and disagreement are thus stated in the first and -second lines, the result stated in the third line must be a -disagreement. But if the first and second lines both state disagreements -no result can be drawn, for there is more than one mode of disagreement. -This may be illustrated by the case of two witnesses to the same -circumstance. If both tell the truth their stories will agree; if one -tells the truth and the other does not, their stories disagree; but if -neither tells the truth, their stories may or may not agree—that is, -they may tell the same falsehood or different kinds of falsehood. - -In the syllogism it is necessary to see that the comparisons made are -real and not fictitious. False logic or fallacies arise where a -comparison seems to be made which is not real. Part of one thing or -class may be compared with the whole of another, and then an agreement -affirmed or denied for the whole of the two things or classes, and this -fatal fault in reasoning may be very carefully concealed. It can usually -be detected by turning around the sentence in which the defective -comparison is made. Thus: - - Men are animals. - Horses are animals. - Therefore, men are horses. - -This seems to be a perfectly fair specimen of correct syllogisms. But in -the first line the class “men” is compared with only a part of the class -“animals,” and in the second line the whole of the class “horses” is -compared with another part of the class “animals,” and as the comparison -is not restricted to the same objects no statement of agreement or -disagreement can be made. We detect the insufficiency of the comparison -by saying, it is true that all men are animals, but not true that all -animals are men. - -Another mode of making a seeming comparison without the reality is by -using words in unlike senses. Thus: - - All light bodies dispel darkness. - A bag of feathers is a light body. - Therefore, a bag of feathers will dispel darkness. - -To guard against this and all similar fallacies it is only necessary to -notice whether the comparison is fair and complete. Practice will give -great expertness in doing this, even when the comparison is implied -rather than expressed. - -Indeed, the greater part of reasoning lies outside the range of formal -logic. The orator who would reduce each argument to a syllogistic form -would be considered a clown endeavoring to make sport of, or for his -audience. A statement is often made which depends for its validity upon -a comparison or even a series of comparisons either flashing through the -mind at the moment, or recalled as having previously been made. To this -there can be no objection, provided such comparisons are obvious and -indisputable. If a chain of reasoning rests upon the understanding that -all men desire to be happy, it will be just as forcible as if that -truism were stated or proved. Anything which an audience will accept -without question is only weakened by the processes of proof. Something -must be taken for granted in all kinds of argument, and the wider the -domain of such assumptions can be fairly made the better for the -interest and effectiveness of the arguments which follow. - -A syllogism in which one of the essential parts is left to be supplied -in the mind is called an _enthymeme_, and is the most common of all -forms of reasoning. Whenever we state a fact, and adduce a reason for -that fact, it takes this form. As an instance, we may give the -beatitudes in the fifth chapter of St. Matthew. In each we have a -declaration made and a reason given for that declaration, but that -reason would have no necessary validity were it not for a -well-understood principle, upon which, in each case, it is founded. When -it is said, “Blessed are the poor in spirit; for theirs is the kingdom -of heaven,” we mentally add, or concede even without thinking it, -“_whoever has the kingdom of heaven is blessed_.” - -The same declaration may be put in logical form, thus: - - Whoever possesses the kingdom of heaven is blessed. - The poor in spirit possess the kingdom of heaven. - Therefore, they are blessed. - -It will be noticed that in all the beatitudes the syllogism is inverted, -the conclusion coming first (which also is placed in an inverted form), -while the major premise is left to be mentally supplied. - -Another instance may be given of this most common of all the syllogistic -forms—the only one of which the orator makes very frequent use. - -It is stated, “Blessed are the pure in heart; for they shall see God;” -the reader mentally supplies, “and those who see God are blessed.” - -Or in syllogistic form: - - Those who see God are blessed. - The pure in heart see God. - Therefore, the pure in heart are blessed. - -The great frequency of the _enthymeme_ is explained by the very nature -of reasoning, which—at least in the case of the true orator—ever -proceeds from the known to the unknown. One of our propositions should -either be self-evident or tacitly conceded; it need not therefore be -expressed. The other must be brought out fully and proved by appropriate -evidence, and from these two foundations we draw out the conclusion, or, -what is only another way of accomplishing the same purpose, we state the -conclusion and then give a reason for it, which itself rests upon -another reason mentally supplied. We may test the correctness of the -process by inquiring if the unexpressed reason be of the nature of a -necessary, or at least of a generally received, truth; then, if the -expressed reason is supported by impregnable evidence (which in the case -of the beatitudes is the authority of Teacher Himself); and finally, if -the conclusion inevitably results from the union of the two preceding -parts. - -Much might be said of fallacies and their various forms, but the student -who has not time to pursue a full course of logic would find little -profit in such a brief sketch as is here possible. It will be enough to -point out that all false reasoning involves a violation of some logical -rules, the simplest and most useful of which we have already pointed -out. The orator who carefully defines his terms, who watches every -comparison to see if it is real and not merely pretended, who refuses to -accept a plausible statement for a universal truth, who notices what an -argument takes for granted as carefully as what it states, will not be -likely to commit glaring errors himself, or to be led into them by -others. - -In controversy a most important logical direction may be given. Strive -to ascertain just the standpoint of the audience in regard to your -subject. Every speaker has much in common with his hearers, and if he -would convince or persuade them he must start from that common position. - -In doing this there is no compromise of principle. It is simply leaving -out of view points of difference until points of agreement are explored. -From these an argument, as strong as logic can make it, should lead to -the conclusion either in thought or action to which you wish your -audience conducted. The eminent Methodist missionary, Rev. Wm. Taylor, -in speaking to the heathen of Africa, used first to dwell upon those -things in their belief which were common with his own, giving them -credit for trying to worship the true God as well as they could, and -then declaring that he came to them with a fuller revelation from the -same source. In this way he persuaded thousands to accept his guidance -and believe the Bible, who would have been utterly repelled if he had -first attacked their superstitions, and tried to show that they were -wrong in everything. In the same manner every masterly persuader of men -must proceed. Seeking out all that he regards as true in their opinions -and beliefs, he will waste no time in proving what they already believe, -or in persuading them to do what they are already engaged in, but will -show them other things which necessarily follow from what they already -admit. St. Paul, on Mars’ Hill, got a great logical advantage by his -reference to the Unknown God, and from this starting place he worked his -way carefully to the new truth which he had to declare. A political -orator may simply abuse the opposite party; but he makes no converts and -wins no enduring laurels by that method. If he will strive to understand -the position of his opponents and then from the great principles -regarding government, which all parties hold in common, proceed to show -that the side he advocates carries out those principles to their -legitimate result, he may change votes, and will be sought for where the -empty declamation of one who pursues the opposite course would be felt -as a hindrance rather than a help. “What do you do when you have no case -at all?” said one lawyer to another. “Oh!” was the reply, “I abuse the -opposite counsel.” This was only a mode of covering a retreat, and may -have answered that purpose well enough after the battle had been lost; -but as long as there is any hope of convincing the judge or winning the -jury, such abuse is worse than useless. The advocate should not, -however, take his opponent’s view of the subject at issue as the -groundwork of his argument, but that which he believes the jury to -entertain. Success in this instance is not won by convincing an -opponent, but by bringing over to his views that body of men in the -jury-box who are supposed to be impartial, but who always have their -mode of viewing any given subject—a mode which an ingenious and -observant advocate will not be slow to discover. - -There are three phases of any controverted question which the orator who -will discuss it successfully needs to study. He should know and estimate -justly all that a determined opponent of his own view can advance. -Nothing is gained by failing to appreciate the strength and plausibility -of an adversary’s position. Complete justice to an enemy is often the -first step to complete victory over him. Then the position of that part -of an audience—possibly few in numbers, but from the logical standpoint -exceedingly important—who are in suspense, and as ready to fall to one -side as the other, ought to be fully weighed. The more perfectly -intellectual sympathy exists between them and the orator, the more -likely is he to bring them over to his own party. And this is the great -object to be aimed at. Pronounced opponents are not often converted. “A -man convinced against his will is of the same opinion still.” The -attention directed to them is really for the sake of the doubtful class -who may, unless resistance is offered, be won over by their efforts. - -Some attention may also properly be given by the speaker to confirming -his own party by showing them the solid grounds upon which their -opinions rest. But usually the same arguments which are likely to decide -the wavering will best accomplish this purpose also. Beginning with a -simple but clearly defined statement of those principles or facts upon -which he intends to base his arguments, and about which no difference of -opinion is possible, he shows clearly that the opinions he and his -friends hold must follow from the grounds already conceded. This should -be set forth as the establishment of positive truth rather than as the -refutation of any errors; then, when the waverers have been convinced -and his own party strongly confirmed, he may, with advantage, show the -weakness and absurdity of the position of those who hold opposed views. -Such a course pursued by an able reasoner who really has truth on his -side, which he thoroughly understands, will seldom fail to win all whose -minds are open to conviction. - -It is to these broad principles and to the careful study of all aspects -of the questions he has to treat, rather than to the refinements of -mediæval logic, that we would direct the orator’s attention. Whoever -will follow the course prescribed in preceding chapters, carefully -arranging the outline of his address, mastering all his material, and -speaking the language of his own convictions, will be truly logical, and -such logic carried to the highest degree will take nothing from any -other grace either of form or substance that belongs to oratory. - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - 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. - - - - - ALPHABETICAL INDEX. - - - Author’s own experience, 23 - - Advice to readers of discourses, 29 - - Ancients and moderns, 34 - - Augustine, 34 - - Antony’s speech analyzed, 57 - - Articulation, 116 - - Action in gesture, 122 - - Architecture of continuous thought, 160 - - Arrangement of thought, 164 - - - Burdens of the extempore speaker, 15 - - Beecher, H. W., 40 - - Brutus’ speech analyzed, 54 - - Benevolent emotion, 97 - - Bautain’s comparison, 161 - - “Be bold,” 165 - - Bodily vigor, 193 - - Books of illustration, 243 - - Beatitudes in syllogistic form, 255 - - - Coldness of reading explained, 23 - - Composite discourse, 25 - - Cicero, 33 - - Chatham, Lord, 36 - - Clay, 40 - - Calhoun, 40 - - Critical taste must not be too high, 44 - - Conclusion, 49 - - Cultivating emotional power, 95 - - Conversation, 105 - - Correcting faults of voice, 119 - - Correcting faults of gesture, 122 - - Confidence acquired, 125 - - Confidence, false and true, 127 - - Confidence, power of, 128 - - Confidence while silent before an audience, 129 - - Changing plan at last moment, 190 - - Complimentary introductions, 201 - - Citations as introductions, 204 - - Calamity from bad introductions, 205 - - Climax, law of, 208 - - Crisis of discourse, 211 - - Concluding, three ways of, 215 - - Conclusion should have no new matter, 215 - - Classification, 250 - - Correcting shorthand reports, 266 - - - Demosthenes, 33 - - Discussion, 48 - - Dean Swift’s sermon, 53 - - Discussion in a free state, 66 - - Disease as a hindrance, 81 - - Disqualifications summed up, 86 - - Drill on the elementary sounds, 116 - - Duty as a remedy for fear, 126 - - Divisional or military plan, 168 - - Deep breathing, 195 - - Diffuseness remedied, 209 - - Definition in speech, 249 - - Division in speech, 249 - - - Eloquence can be taught, 9 - - Eloquence, degrees of, 11 - - Essay or speech, 29 - - Extempore speech in schools, 65 - - Education in the popular sense, 89 - - Extempore speech cultivates reason, 94 - - Emotion and the will, 98 - - Etymology, use of, 104 - - Empty speeches, 212 - - Enriching extempore speech, 247 - - - First speech, 46 - - Fear overcome, 63 - - Fluency and accuracy contrasted, 103 - - Failure, a preacher’s, 158 - - Five principles of introduction, 205 - - Funeral speech pronounced by Pericles, 218 - - Fallacies in reasoning, 253 - - - Gladstone, W. E., 41 - - Gladstone, letter from, 42 - - Gibbon’s militia service, 92 - - Gathering thought, 159 - - Grasping the subject in a single idea, 183 - - Great addresses, three plans of, 217 - - Good results from a poor speech, 264 - - - Healthfulness of extempore speech, 19 - - Hortensius, 33 - - Heroic self-denial in speech, 156 - - Holyoke’s experience, 193 - - Henry Clay’s eloquence, 214 - - Humor and pathos, 246 - - Humor cultivated, 246 - - - Introduction, 46, 196 - - Impromptu speeches, 49 - - Initial fear, 60 - - Increasing thought-power, 90 - - Intellectual emotion, 95 - - Imagination, 109 - - Imagination in the Bible, 109 - - Instructive addresses, 141 - - Introduction memorized, 197 - - Introduction needed, 198 - - Introductions, kinds of, 199 - - - Keeping the speech fresh, 192 - - - Luther, 35 - - Literary societies, 67 - - Language, 101 - - Laws in language, 102 - - Loudness, 119 - - Lawyers, 139 - - Lawyers not writers of speeches, 140 - - Lectures, platform, anniversary, and lyceum, 141 - - Lecture with varying titles, 155 - - Logical or mathematical plans, 168 - - Local allusions as introductions, 203 - - Language adapted to oratory, 210 - - Luxury of tears, 245 - - Logic for the orator, 248 - - Logic, its narrowness, 248 - - Lessons of speech, 263 - - - Mental weakness, 79 - - Memorizing original and selected gems, 104 - - Mental picture painting, 110 - - Method of gathering and retaining thought, 162 - - Military plans, 168 - - Marks of a good plan, 171 - - - Nerves quieted, 47 - - Natural orators, 74 - - Nature in the voice, 118 - - Narrative plans, 167 - - Naming divisions in advance, 173 - - Need of illustrations, 243 - - - Oratory, natural and acquired, 13 - - Oratory of ornament, 28 - - Object of speech, 150 - - Objection to using plan in public, 178 - - Opponent’s position studied, 257 - - - Prejudice, grounds for, 9 - - Popular desire for extempore speech, 19 - - Pericles, 34 - - Pericles, funeral speech by 218 - - Pitt, William, 36 - - Patrick Henry, 37 - - Plan of speech on _Chinese immigration_, 50 - - Persons who cannot extemporize, 75 - - Pronunciation, 103 - - Poetry of science, 112 - - Poetry described, 112 - - Persuasion in preaching, 137 - - Pen and tongue, 145 - - Power of memory, 145 - - Pen in gathering and arranging, 146 - - Pen in preserving speeches, 146 - - Plan in all discourses, 148 - - Plan, importance of a good, 166 - - Plans, varieties of, 167 - - Plan, marks of a good, 171 - - Plan, how to use, 177 - - Plan to be memorized, 180 - - Preserving the plan after speaking, 186 - - Passage from introduction to discussion, 207 - - Pleasure of speaking well, 207 - - Principles of logic, 249 - - - Readers deceive themselves, 31 - - Recitations emotional, 32 - - Robertson, Frederick W., 37 - - Rude speech plans, 50 - - Rousing energy at the last moment, 191 - - Recited and extemporized introductions, 196 - - Rest after speech, 262 - - Repeating and amending speeches, 265 - - - Sydney Smith’s sermon, 29 - - Spurgeon, 40 - - Spurgeon, sermon by, 230 - - Simplest framework, 46 - - Sketch containing three words, 52 - - Sketch memorized, 52 - - Sketch on _the ocean_, 53 - - Stimulus of controversy, 67 - - Sketches on _the annexation of Cuba_, 69 - - Seeing with our own eyes, 92 - - Source of Greek eloquence, 96 - - Sentence-casting, 131 - - Seductive but misleading methods, 133 - - Sermons, 136 - - Sermon texts, 136 - - Subject and object compared, 152 - - Subject definite, 153 - - Sydney Smith “sticking to his text,” 157 - - Sermon on Mars’ Hill, 169 - - Sermon dryness, 174 - - Shorthand, use of, 184 - - Speech as a battle, 187 - - “Stage fright,” 189 - - Sermon by Rev. C. H. Spurgeon, 230 - - Sermon on the Mount, 241 - - Sources of illustrations, 244 - - Syllogisms, 251 - - Syllogisms abbreviated, 255 - - Seeking praise, 265 - - - Training, effects of, 10 - - Time saving, 24, 175 - - Transition, 48 - - Three classes of men in respect to eloquence, 74 - - Timidity may be overcome, 77 - - Thought and emotion, 87 - - Thought-gathering, 159 - - Textual plans, 167 - - Tertullus, 201 - - Topics of the day as introductions, 203 - - Things seen, heard, or imagined as introductions, 205 - - Taylor, the Methodist missionary, 258 - - - Unconscious gesticulation, 124 - - Use of other speakers’ sketches, 171 - - - Voice and gesture, 114 - - Various fields of oratory, 135 - - - Why extempore speech is emotional, 22 - - Whitefield, 38 - - Wesley, 38 - - Webster, 40 - - Written composition a hindrance and a help, 45 - - Writer’s first speech, 61 - - Weak voices, 76 - - Wordless men, 83 - - Waiting for the moment of beginning, 189 - - Webster, anecdote of, 203 - - Writing after delivery, 265 - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - NATIONAL SCHOOL - OF - ELOCUTION AND ORATORY. - - - PUBLICATION DEPARTMENT. - -=PRACTICAL ELOCUTION.= By J. 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