pdf-to-markdown/examples/The-Art-of-Public-Speaking.md

The	Project	Gutenberg	EBook	of	The	Art	of	Public	Speaking
by	Dale	Carnagey	(AKA	Dale	Carnegie)	and	J.	Berg	Esenwein

This	eBook	is	for	the	use	of	anyone	anywhere	at	no	cost	and	with
almost	no	restrictions	whatsoever.		You	may	copy	it,	give	it	away	or
re-use	it	under	the	terms	of	the	Project	Gutenberg	License	included
with	this	eBook	or	online	at	www.gutenberg.net

Title:	The	Art	of	Public	Speaking

Author:	Dale	Carnagey	(AKA	Dale	Carnegie)	and	J.	Berg	Esenwein

Release	Date:	July	17,	2005	[EBook	#16317]

Language:	English

***	START	OF	THIS	PROJECT	GUTENBERG	EBOOK	THE	ART	OF	PUBLIC	SPEAKING	***

Produced	by	Cori	Samuel,	Janet	Blenkinship	and	the	Online
Distributed	Proofreading	Team	at	http://www.pgdp.net


# The	Art	of	Public	Speaking

### BY


## J.	BERG	ESENWEIN

#### AUTHOR	OF

#### "HOW	TO	ATTRACT	AND	HOLD	AN	AUDIENCE,"

#### "WRITING	THE	SHORT-STORY,"

#### "WRITING	THE	PHOTOPLAY,"	ETC.,	ETC.,

#### AND


## DALE	CARNAGEY

#### PROFESSOR	OF	PUBLIC	SPEAKING,	BALTIMORE	SCHOOL	OF

#### COMMERCE	AND

#### FINANCE;	INSTRUCTOR	IN	PUBLIC	SPEAKING,	Y.M.C.A.	SCHOOLS,

#### NEW

#### YORK,	BROOKLYN,	BALTIMORE,	AND	PHILADELPHIA,	AND	THE

#### NEW	YORK	CITY	CHAPTER,	AMERICAN	INSTITUTE	OF	BANKING

### THE	WRITER'S	LIBRARY

#### EDITED	BY	J.	BERG	ESENWEIN

### THE	HOME	CORRESPONDENCE	SCHOOL

#### SPRINGFIELD,	MASS.

```
PUBLISHERS
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```
Copyright	
THE	HOME	CORRESPONDENCE	SCHOOL
```
```
ALL	RIGHTS	RESERVED
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TO
```
### F.	ARTHUR	METCALF

#### FELLOW-WORKER	AND	FRIEND


### Table	of	Contents

#### THINGS	TO	THINK	OF	FIRST—A	FOREWORD

#### CHAPTER	I—ACQUIRING	CONFIDENCE	BEFORE	AN	AUDIENCE

#### CHAPTER	II—THE	SIN	OF	MONOTONY

#### CHAPTER	III—EFFICIENCY	THROUGH	EMPHASIS	AND

#### SUBORDINATION

#### CHAPTER	IV—EFFICIENCY	THROUGH	CHANGE	OF	PITCH

#### CHAPTER	V—EFFICIENCY	THROUGH	CHANGE	OF	PACE

#### CHAPTER	VI—PAUSE	AND	POWER

#### CHAPTER	VII—EFFICIENCY	THROUGH	INFLECTION

#### CHAPTER	VIII—CONCENTRATION	IN	DELIVERY

#### CHAPTER	IX—FORCE

#### CHAPTER	X—FEELING	AND	ENTHUSIASM

#### CHAPTER	XI—FLUENCY	THROUGH	PREPARATION

#### CHAPTER	XII—THE	VOICE

#### CHAPTER	XIII—VOICE	CHARM

#### CHAPTER	XIV—DISTINCTNESS	AND	PRECISION	OF	UTTERANCE

#### CHAPTER	XV—THE	TRUTH	ABOUT	GESTURE

#### CHAPTER	XVI—METHODS	OF	DELIVERY

#### CHAPTER	XVII—THOUGHT	AND	RESERVE	POWER

#### CHAPTER	XVIII—SUBJECT	AND	PREPARATION

#### CHAPTER	XIX—INFLUENCING	BY	EXPOSITION

#### CHAPTER	XX—INFLUENCING	BY	DESCRIPTION

#### CHAPTER	XXI—INFLUENCING	BY	NARRATION

#### CHAPTER	XXII—INFLUENCING	BY	SUGGESTION

#### CHAPTER	XXIII—INFLUENCING	BY	ARGUMENT

#### CHAPTER	XXIV—INFLUENCING	BY	PERSUASION

#### CHAPTER	XXV—INFLUENCING	THE	CROWD

#### CHAPTER	XXVI—RIDING	THE	WINGED	HORSE

#### CHAPTER	XXVII—GROWING	A	VOCABULARY

#### CHAPTER	XXVIII—MEMORY	TRAINING


#### CHAPTER	XXIX—RIGHT	THINKING	AND	PERSONALITY

#### CHAPTER	XXX—AFTER-DINNER	AND	OTHER	OCCASIONAL

#### SPEAKING

#### CHAPTER	XXXI—MAKING	CONVERSATION	EFFECTIVE

#### APPENDIX	A—FIFTY	QUESTIONS	FOR	DEBATE

#### APPENDIX	B—THIRTY	THEMES	FOR	SPEECHES,	WITH	SOURCE-

#### REFERENCES

#### APPENDIX	C—SUGGESTIVE	SUBJECTS	FOR	SPEECHES;	HINTS	FOR

#### TREATMENT

#### APPENDIX	D—SPEECHES	FOR	STUDY	AND	PRACTISE

#### GENERAL	INDEX

### THINGS	TO	THINK	OF	FIRST

#### A	FOREWORD

The	efficiency	of	a	book	is	like	that	of	a	man,	in	one	important	respect:	its
attitude	toward	its	subject	is	the	first	source	of	its	power.	A	book	may	be	full	of
good	ideas	well	expressed,	but	if	its	writer	views	his	subject	from	the	wrong
angle	even	his	excellent	advice	may	prove	to	be	ineffective.

This	book	stands	or	falls	by	its	authors'	attitude	toward	its	subject.	If	the	best
way	to	teach	oneself	or	others	to	speak	effectively	in	public	is	to	fill	the	mind
with	rules,	and	to	set	up	fixed	standards	for	the	interpretation	of	thought,	the
utterance	of	language,	the	making	of	gestures,	and	all	the	rest,	then	this	book
will	be	limited	in	value	to	such	stray	ideas	throughout	its	pages	as	may	prove
helpful	to	the	reader—as	an	effort	to	enforce	a	group	of	principles	it	must	be
reckoned	a	failure,	because	it	is	then	untrue.

It	is	of	some	importance,	therefore,	to	those	who	take	up	this	volume	with	open
mind	that	they	should	see	clearly	at	the	out-start	what	is	the	thought	that	at	once
underlies	and	is	builded	through	this	structure.	In	plain	words	it	is	this:

Training	in	public	speaking	is	not	a	matter	of	externals—primarily;	it	is	not	a
matter	of	imitation—fundamentally;	it	is	not	a	matter	of	conformity	to	standards


—at	all.	Public	speaking	is	public	utterance,	public	issuance,	of	the	man	himself;
therefore	the	first	thing	both	in	time	and	in	importance	is	that	the	man	should	be
and	think	and	feel	things	that	are	worthy	of	being	given	forth.	Unless	there	be
something	of	value	within,	no	tricks	of	training	can	ever	make	of	the	talker
anything	 more	 than	 a	 machine—albeit	 a	 highly	 perfected	 machine—for	 the
delivery	of	other	men's	goods.	So	self-development	is	fundamental	in	our	plan.

The	second	principle	lies	close	to	the	first:	The	man	must	enthrone	his	will	to
rule	over	his	thought,	his	feelings,	and	all	his	physical	powers,	so	that	the	outer
self	may	give	perfect,	unhampered	expression	to	the	inner.	It	is	futile,	we	assert,
to	lay	down	systems	of	rules	for	voice	culture,	intonation,	gesture,	and	what	not,
unless	these	two	principles	of	having	something	to	say	and	making	the	will
sovereign	have	at	least	begun	to	make	themselves	felt	in	the	life.

The	third	principle	will,	we	surmise,	arouse	no	dispute:	No	one	can	learn	 _how_ 	to
speak	who	does	not	first	speak	as	best	he	can.	That	may	seem	like	a	vicious
circle	in	statement,	but	it	will	bear	examination.

Many	teachers	have	begun	with	the	 _how_ .	Vain	effort!	It	is	an	ancient	truism	that
we	learn	to	do	by	doing.	The	first	thing	for	the	beginner	in	public	speaking	is	to
speak—not	to	study	voice	and	gesture	and	the	rest.	Once	he	has	spoken	he	can
improve	himself	by	self-observation	or	according	to	the	criticisms	of	those	who
hear.

But	how	shall	he	be	able	to	criticise	himself?	Simply	by	finding	out	three	things:
What	are	the	qualities	which	by	common	consent	go	to	make	up	an	effective
speaker;	by	what	means	at	least	some	of	these	qualities	may	be	acquired;	and
what	wrong	habits	of	speech	in	himself	work	against	his	acquiring	and	using	the
qualities	which	he	finds	to	be	good.

Experience,	then,	is	not	only	the	best	teacher,	but	the	first	and	the	last.	But
experience	 must	 be	 a	 dual	 thing—the	 experience	 of	 others	 must	 be	 used	 to
supplement,	correct	and	justify	our	own	experience;	in	this	way	we	shall	become
our	own	best	critics	only	after	we	have	trained	ourselves	in	self-knowledge,	the
knowledge	of	what	other	minds	think,	and	in	the	ability	to	judge	ourselves	by	the
standards	we	have	come	to	believe	are	right.	"If	I	ought,"	said	Kant,	"I	can."

An	examination	of	the	contents	of	this	volume	will	show	how	consistently	these
articles	of	faith	have	been	declared,	expounded,	and	illustrated.	The	student	is
urged	to	begin	to	speak	at	once	of	what	he	knows.	Then	he	is	given	simple
suggestions	for	self-control,	with	gradually	increasing	emphasis	upon	the	power


of	the	inner	man	over	the	outer.	Next,	the	way	to	the	rich	storehouses	of	material
is	pointed	out.	And	finally,	all	the	while	he	is	urged	to	speak,	 _speak_ ,	 _SPEAK_ 	as
he	is	applying	to	his	own	methods,	in	his	own	 _personal_ 	way,	the	principles	he
has	 gathered	 from	 his	 own	 experience	 and	 observation	 and	 the	 recorded
experiences	of	others.

So	now	at	the	very	first	let	it	be	as	clear	as	light	that	methods	are	secondary
matters;	that	the	full	mind,	the	warm	heart,	the	dominant	will	are	primary—and
not	 only	 primary	 but	 paramount;	 for	 unless	 it	 be	 a	 full	 being	 that	 uses	 the
methods	it	will	be	like	dressing	a	wooden	image	in	the	clothes	of	a	man.

```
J.	BERG	ESENWEIN.
```
NARBERTH,	PA.,
JANUARY	1,	1915.


## THE	ART	OF	PUBLIC	SPEAKING

```
Sense	never	fails	to	give	them	that	have	it,	Words	enough	to	make
them	understood.	It	too	often	happens	in	some	conversations,	as	in
Apothecary	Shops,	that	those	Pots	that	are	Empty,	or	have	Things	of
small	Value	in	them,	are	as	gaudily	Dress'd	as	those	that	are	full	of
precious	Drugs.
```
```
They	that	soar	too	high,	often	fall	hard,	making	a	low	and	level
Dwelling	preferable.	The	tallest	Trees	are	most	in	the	Power	of	the
Winds,	and	Ambitious	Men	of	the	Blasts	of	Fortune.	Buildings	have
need	of	a	good	Foundation,	that	lie	so	much	exposed	to	the	Weather.
```
```
—WILLIAM	PENN.
```
### CHAPTER	I

#### ACQUIRING	CONFIDENCE	BEFORE	AN	AUDIENCE

```
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.—WILLIAM	PITTENGER,	 Extempore
Speech.
```
Students	 of	 public	 speaking	 continually	 ask,	 "How	 can	 I	 overcome	 self-
consciousness	and	the	fear	that	paralyzes	me	before	an	audience?"


Did	you	ever	notice	in	looking	from	a	train	window	that	some	horses	feed	near
the	track	and	never	even	pause	to	look	up	at	the	thundering	cars,	while	just	ahead
at	the	next	railroad	crossing	a	farmer's	wife	will	be	nervously	trying	to	quiet	her
scared	horse	as	the	train	goes	by?

How	would	you	cure	a	horse	that	is	afraid	of	cars—graze	him	in	a	back-woods
lot	where	he	would	never	see	steam-engines	or	automobiles,	or	drive	or	pasture
him	where	he	would	frequently	see	the	machines?

Apply	horse-sense	to	ridding	yourself	of	self-consciousness	and	fear:	face	an
audience	as	frequently	as	you	can,	and	you	will	soon	stop	shying.	You	can	never
attain	freedom	from	stage-fright	by	reading	a	treatise.	A	book	may	give	you
excellent	suggestions	on	how	best	to	conduct	yourself	in	the	water,	but	sooner	or
later	you	must	get	wet,	perhaps	even	strangle	and	be	"half	scared	to	death."
There	are	a	great	many	"wetless"	bathing	suits	worn	at	the	seashore,	but	no	one
ever	learns	to	swim	in	them.	To	plunge	is	the	only	way.

Practise,	 _practise_ ,	 _PRACTISE_ in	 speaking	 before	 an	 audience	 will	 tend	 to
remove	 all	 fear	 of	 audiences,	 just	 as	 practise	 in	 swimming	 will	 lead	 to
confidence	and	facility	in	the	water.	You	must	learn	to	speak	by	speaking.

The	Apostle	Paul	tells	us	that	every	man	must	work	out	his	own	salvation.	All
we	can	do	here	is	to	offer	you	suggestions	as	to	how	best	to	prepare	for	your
plunge.	The	real	plunge	no	one	can	take	for	you.	A	doctor	may	prescribe,	but	 _you_
must	take	the	medicine.

Do	not	be	disheartened	if	at	first	you	suffer	from	stage-fright.	Dan	Patch	was
more	susceptible	to	suffering	than	a	superannuated	dray	horse	would	be.	It	never
hurts	a	fool	to	appear	before	an	audience,	for	his	capacity	is	not	a	capacity	for
feeling.	A	blow	that	would	kill	a	civilized	man	soon	heals	on	a	savage.	The
higher	we	go	in	the	scale	of	life,	the	greater	is	the	capacity	for	suffering.

For	one	reason	or	another,	some	master-speakers	never	entirely	overcome	stage-
fright,	but	it	will	pay	you	to	spare	no	pains	to	conquer	it.	Daniel	Webster	failed
in	his	first	appearance	and	had	to	take	his	seat	without	finishing	his	speech
because	he	was	nervous.	Gladstone	was	often	troubled	with	self-consciousness
in	the	beginning	of	an	address.	Beecher	was	always	perturbed	before	talking	in
public.

Blacksmiths	sometimes	twist	a	rope	tight	around	the	nose	of	a	horse,	and	by	thus
inflicting	a	little	pain	they	distract	his	attention	from	the	shoeing	process.	One


way	to	get	air	out	of	a	glass	is	to	pour	in	water.

_Be	Absorbed	by	Your	Subject_

Apply	the	blacksmith's	homely	principle	when	you	are	speaking.	If	you	feel
deeply	about	your	subject	you	will	be	able	to	think	of	little	else.	Concentration	is
a	process	of	distraction	from	less	important	matters.	It	is	too	late	to	think	about
the	cut	of	your	coat	when	once	you	are	upon	the	platform,	so	centre	your	interest
on	what	you	are	about	to	say—fill	your	mind	with	your	speech-material	and,	like
the	infilling	water	in	the	glass,	it	will	drive	out	your	unsubstantial	fears.

Self-consciousness	 is	 undue	 consciousness	 of	 self,	 and,	 for	 the	 purpose	 of
delivery,	 self	 is	 secondary	 to	 your	 subject,	 not	 only	 in	 the	 opinion	 of	 the
audience,	but,	if	you	are	wise,	in	your	own.	To	hold	any	other	view	is	to	regard
yourself	as	an	exhibit	instead	of	as	a	messenger	with	a	message	worth	delivering.
Do	 you	 remember	 Elbert	 Hubbard's	 tremendous	 little	 tract,	 "A	 Message	 to
Garcia"?	The	youth	subordinated	himself	to	the	message	he	bore.	So	must	you,
by	all	the	determination	you	can	muster.	It	is	sheer	egotism	to	fill	your	mind	with
thoughts	of	self	when	a	greater	thing	is	there— _TRUTH_ .	Say	this	to	yourself
sternly,	and	shame	your	self-consciousness	into	quiescence.	If	the	theater	caught
fire	you	could	rush	to	the	stage	and	shout	directions	to	the	audience	without	any
self-consciousness,	for	the	importance	of	what	you	were	saying	would	drive	all
fear-thoughts	out	of	your	mind.

Far	 worse	 than	 self-consciousness	 through	 fear	 of	 doing	 poorly	 is	 self-
consciousness	through	assumption	of	doing	well.	The	first	sign	of	greatness	is
when	a	man	does	not	attempt	to	look	and	act	great.	Before	you	can	call	yourself
a	man	at	all,	Kipling	assures	us,	you	must	"not	look	too	good	nor	talk	too	wise."

Nothing	advertises	itself	so	thoroughly	as	conceit.	One	may	be	so	full	of	self	as
to	be	empty.	Voltaire	said,	"We	must	conceal	self-love."	But	that	can	not	be
done.	You	know	this	to	be	true,	for	you	have	recognized	overweening	self-love
in	others.	If	you	have	it,	others	are	seeing	it	in	you.	There	are	things	in	this	world
bigger	than	self,	and	in	working	for	them	self	will	be	forgotten,	or—what	is
better—remembered	only	so	as	to	help	us	win	toward	higher	things.

_Have	Something	to	Say_

The	trouble	with	many	speakers	is	that	they	go	before	an	audience	with	their
minds	a	blank.	It	is	no	wonder	that	nature,	abhorring	a	vacuum,	fills	them	with
the	nearest	thing	handy,	which	generally	happens	to	be,	"I	wonder	if	I	am	doing


this	right!	How	does	my	hair	look?	I	know	I	shall	fail."	Their	prophetic	souls	are
sure	to	be	right.

It	is	not	enough	to	be	absorbed	by	your	subject—to	acquire	self-confidence	you
must	have	something	in	which	to	be	confident.	If	you	go	before	an	audience
without	any	preparation,	or	previous	knowledge	of	your	subject,	you	ought	to	be
self-conscious—you	ought	to	be	ashamed	to	steal	the	time	of	your	audience.
Prepare	yourself.	Know	what	you	are	going	to	talk	about,	and,	in	general,	how
you	are	going	to	say	it.	Have	the	first	few	sentences	worked	out	completely	so
that	you	may	not	be	troubled	in	the	beginning	to	find	words.	Know	your	subject
better	than	your	hearers	know	it,	and	you	have	nothing	to	fear.

_After	Preparing	for	Success,	Expect	It_

Let	your	bearing	be	modestly	confident,	but	most	of	all	be	modestly	confident
within.	Over-confidence	is	bad,	but	to	tolerate	premonitions	of	failure	is	worse,
for	a	bold	man	may	win	attention	by	his	very	bearing,	while	a	rabbit-hearted
coward	invites	disaster.

Humility	is	not	the	personal	discount	that	we	must	offer	in	the	presence	of	others
—against	this	old	interpretation	there	has	been	a	most	healthy	modern	reaction.
True	humility	any	man	who	thoroughly	knows	himself	must	feel;	but	it	is	not	a
humility	that	assumes	a	worm-like	meekness;	it	is	rather	a	strong,	vibrant	prayer
for	 greater	 power	 for	 service—a	 prayer	 that	 Uriah	 Heep	 could	 never	 have
uttered.

Washington	Irving	once	introduced	Charles	Dickens	at	a	dinner	given	in	the
latter's	honor.	In	the	middle	of	his	speech	Irving	hesitated,	became	embarrassed,
and	sat	down	awkwardly.	Turning	to	a	friend	beside	him	he	remarked,	"There,	I
told	you	I	would	fail,	and	I	did."

If	you	believe	you	will	fail,	there	is	no	hope	for	you.	You	will.

Rid	yourself	of	this	I-am-a-poor-worm-in-the-dust	idea.	You	are	a	god,	with
infinite	capabilities.	"All	things	are	ready	if	the	mind	be	so."	The	eagle	looks	the
cloudless	sun	in	the	face.

_Assume	Mastery	Over	Your	Audience_

In	public	speech,	as	in	electricity,	there	is	a	positive	and	a	negative	force.	Either
you	or	your	audience	are	going	to	possess	the	positive	factor.	If	you	assume	it
you	can	almost	invariably	make	it	yours.	If	you	assume	the	negative	you	are	sure


to	be	negative.	Assuming	a	virtue	or	a	vice	vitalizes	it.	Summon	all	your	power
of	self-direction,	and	remember	that	though	your	audience	is	infinitely	more
important	than	you,	the	truth	is	more	important	than	both	of	you,	because	it	is
eternal.	If	your	mind	falters	in	its	leadership	the	sword	will	drop	from	your
hands.	Your	assumption	of	being	able	to	instruct	or	lead	or	inspire	a	multitude	or
even	a	small	group	of	people	may	appall	you	as	being	colossal	impudence—as
indeed	 it	 may	 be;	 but	 having	 once	 essayed	 to	 speak,	 be	 courageous.	 _BE_
courageous—it	lies	within	you	to	be	what	you	will.	 _MAKE_ 	yourself	be	calm	and
confident.

Reflect	that	your	audience	will	not	hurt	you.	If	Beecher	in	Liverpool	had	spoken
behind	a	wire	screen	he	would	have	invited	the	audience	to	throw	the	over-ripe
missiles	with	which	they	were	loaded;	but	he	was	a	man,	confronted	his	hostile
hearers	fearlessly—and	won	them.

In	 facing	 your	 audience,	 pause	 a	 moment	 and	 look	 them	 over—a	 hundred
chances	to	one	they	want	you	to	succeed,	for	what	man	is	so	foolish	as	to	spend
his	time,	perhaps	his	money,	in	the	hope	that	you	will	waste	his	investment	by
talking	dully?

_Concluding	Hints_

Do	not	make	haste	to	begin—haste	shows	lack	of	control.

Do	not	apologize.	It	ought	not	to	be	necessary;	and	if	it	is,	it	will	not	help.	Go
straight	ahead.

Take	a	deep	breath,	relax,	and	begin	in	a	quiet	conversational	tone	as	though	you
were	 speaking	 to	 one	 large	 friend.	 You	 will	 not	 find	 it	 half	 so	 bad	 as	 you
imagined;	really,	it	is	like	taking	a	cold	plunge:	after	you	are	in,	the	water	is	fine.
In	fact,	having	spoken	a	few	times	you	will	even	anticipate	the	plunge	with
exhilaration.	To	stand	before	an	audience	and	make	them	think	your	thoughts
after	you	is	one	of	the	greatest	pleasures	you	can	ever	know.	Instead	of	fearing	it,
you	ought	to	be	as	anxious	as	the	fox	hounds	straining	at	their	leashes,	or	the
race	horses	tugging	at	their	reins.

So	cast	out	fear,	for	fear	is	cowardly—when	it	is	not	mastered.	The	bravest	know
fear,	but	they	do	not	yield	to	it.	Face	your	audience	pluckily—if	your	knees
quake,	 _MAKE_ 	them	stop.	In	your	audience	lies	some	victory	for	you	and	the
cause	you	represent.	Go	win	it.	Suppose	Charles	Martell	had	been	afraid	to
hammer	the	Saracen	at	Tours;	suppose	Columbus	had	feared	to	venture	out	into


the	unknown	West;	suppose	our	forefathers	had	been	too	timid	to	oppose	the
tyranny	of	George	the	Third;	suppose	that	any	man	who	ever	did	anything	worth
while	had	been	a	coward!	The	world	owes	its	progress	to	the	men	who	have
dared,	and	you	must	dare	to	speak	the	effective	word	that	is	in	your	heart	to
speak—for	often	it	requires	courage	to	utter	a	single	sentence.	But	remember
that	men	erect	no	monuments	and	weave	no	laurels	for	those	who	fear	to	do
what	they	can.

Is	all	this	unsympathetic,	do	you	say?

Man,	 what	 you	 need	 is	 not	 sympathy,	 but	 a	 push.	 No	 one	 doubts	 that
temperament	and	nerves	and	illness	and	even	praiseworthy	modesty	may,	singly
or	combined,	cause	the	speaker's	cheek	to	blanch	before	an	audience,	but	neither
can	any	one	doubt	that	coddling	will	magnify	this	weakness.	The	victory	lies	in	a
fearless	 frame	 of	 mind.	 Prof.	 Walter	 Dill	 Scott	 says:	 "Success	 or	 failure	 in
business	 is	 caused	 more	 by	 mental	 attitude	 even	 than	 by	 mental	 capacity."
Banish	the	fear-attitude;	acquire	the	confident	attitude.	And	remember	that	the
only	way	to	acquire	it	is— _to	acquire	it_.

In	this	foundation	chapter	we	have	tried	to	strike	the	tone	of	much	that	is	to
follow.	Many	of	these	ideas	will	be	amplified	and	enforced	in	a	more	specific
way;	but	through	all	these	chapters	on	an	art	which	Mr.	Gladstone	believed	to	be
more	powerful	than	the	public	press,	the	note	of	 _justifiable	self-confidence_ 	must
sound	again	and	again.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES.

1.	What	is	the	cause	of	self-consciousness?
2.	Why	are	animals	free	from	it?
3.	What	is	your	observation	regarding	self-consciousness	in	children?
4.	Why	are	you	free	from	it	under	the	stress	of	unusual	excitement?
5.	How	does	moderate	excitement	affect	you?
6.	What	are	the	two	fundamental	requisites	for	the	acquiring	of	self-confidence?
Which	is	the	more	important?
7.	What	effect	does	confidence	on	the	part	of	the	speaker	have	on	the	audience?


8.	Write	out	a	two-minute	speech	on	"Confidence	and	Cowardice."
9.	What	effect	do	habits	of	thought	have	on	confidence?	In	this	connection	read
the	chapter	on	"Right	Thinking	and	Personality."
10.	 Write	 out	 very	 briefly	 any	 experience	 you	 may	 have	 had	 involving	 the
teachings	of	this	chapter.
11.	Give	a	three-minute	talk	on	"Stage-Fright,"	including	a	(kindly)	imitation	of
two	or	more	victims.

### CHAPTER	II

#### THE	SIN	OF	MONOTONY

```
One	day	Ennui	was	born	from	Uniformity.—MOTTE.
```
Our	English	has	changed	with	the	years	so	that	many	words	now	connote	more
than	they	did	originally.	This	is	true	of	the	word	 _monotonous_ .	From	"having	but
one	tone,"	it	has	come	to	mean	more	broadly,	"lack	of	variation."

The	monotonous	speaker	not	only	drones	along	in	the	same	volume	and	pitch	of
tone	but	uses	always	the	same	emphasis,	the	same	speed,	the	same	thoughts—or
dispenses	with	thought	altogether.

Monotony,	the	cardinal	and	most	common	sin	of	the	public	speaker,	is	not	a
transgression—it	is	rather	a	sin	of	omission,	for	it	consists	in	living	up	to	the
confession	of	the	Prayer	Book:	"We	have	left	undone	those	things	we	ought	to
have	done."

Emerson	says,	"The	virtue	of	art	lies	in	detachment,	in	sequestering	one	object
from	the	embarrassing	variety."	That	is	just	what	the	monotonous	speaker	fails	to
do—he	 does	 _not_ detach	 one	 thought	 or	 phrase	 from	 another,	 they	 are	 all
expressed	in	the	same	manner.

To	tell	you	that	your	speech	is	monotonous	may	mean	very	little	to	you,	so	let	us
look	at	the	nature—and	the	curse—of	monotony	in	other	spheres	of	life,	then	we
shall	appreciate	more	fully	how	it	will	blight	an	otherwise	good	speech.


If	the	Victrola	in	the	adjoining	apartment	grinds	out	just	three	selections	over
and	 over	 again,	 it	 is	 pretty	 safe	 to	 assume	 that	 your	 neighbor	 has	 no	 other
records.	If	a	speaker	uses	only	a	few	of	his	powers,	it	points	very	plainly	to	the
fact	 that	 the	 rest	 of	 his	 powers	 are	 not	 developed.	 Monotony	 reveals	 our
limitations.

In	its	effect	on	its	victim,	monotony	is	actually	deadly—it	will	drive	the	bloom
from	the	cheek	and	the	lustre	from	the	eye	as	quickly	as	sin,	and	often	leads	to
viciousness.	The	worst	punishment	that	human	ingenuity	has	ever	been	able	to
invent	is	extreme	monotony—solitary	confinement.	Lay	a	marble	on	the	table
and	do	nothing	eighteen	hours	of	the	day	but	change	that	marble	from	one	point
to	another	and	back	again,	and	you	will	go	insane	if	you	continue	long	enough.

So	this	thing	that	shortens	life,	and	is	used	as	the	most	cruel	of	punishments	in
our	prisons,	is	the	thing	that	will	destroy	all	the	life	and	force	of	a	speech.	Avoid
it	as	you	would	shun	a	deadly	dull	bore.	The	"idle	rich"	can	have	half-a-dozen
homes,	command	all	the	varieties	of	foods	gathered	from	the	four	corners	of	the
earth,	and	sail	for	Africa	or	Alaska	at	their	pleasure;	but	the	poverty-stricken
man	must	walk	or	take	a	street	car—he	does	not	have	the	choice	of	yacht,	auto,
or	special	train.	He	must	spend	the	most	of	his	life	in	labor	and	be	content	with
the	staples	of	the	food-market.	Monotony	is	poverty,	whether	in	speech	or	in	life.
Strive	 to	 increase	 the	 variety	 of	 your	 speech	 as	 the	 business	 man	 labors	 to
augment	his	wealth.

Bird-songs,	forest	glens,	and	mountains	are	not	monotonous—it	is	the	long	rows
of	brown-stone	fronts	and	the	miles	of	paved	streets	that	are	so	terribly	same.
Nature	in	her	wealth	gives	us	endless	variety;	man	with	his	limitations	is	often
monotonous.	Get	back	to	nature	in	your	methods	of	speech-making.

The	power	of	variety	lies	in	its	pleasure-giving	quality.	The	great	truths	of	the
world	have	often	been	couched	in	fascinating	stories—"Les	Miserables,"	for
instance.	If	you	wish	to	teach	or	influence	men,	you	must	please	them,	first	or
last.	Strike	the	same	note	on	the	piano	over	and	over	again.	This	will	give	you
some	 idea	 of	 the	 displeasing,	 jarring	 effect	 monotony	 has	 on	 the	 ear.	 The
dictionary	defines	"monotonous"	as	being	synonymous	with	"wearisome."	That
is	 putting	 it	 mildly.	 It	 is	 maddening.	 The	 department-store	 prince	 does	 not
disgust	the	public	by	playing	only	the	one	tune,	"Come	Buy	My	Wares!"	He
gives	recitals	on	a	$125,000	organ,	and	the	pleased	people	naturally	slip	into	a
buying	mood.


_How	to	Conquer	Monotony_

We	 obviate	 monotony	 in	 dress	 by	 replenishing	 our	 wardrobes.	 We	 avoid
monotony	 in	 speech	 by	 multiplying	 our	 powers	 of	 speech.	 We	 multiply	 our
powers	of	speech	by	increasing	our	tools.

The	carpenter	has	special	implements	with	which	to	construct	the	several	parts
of	a	building.	The	organist	has	certain	keys	and	stops	which	he	manipulates	to
produce	 his	 harmonies	 and	 effects.	 In	 like	 manner	 the	 speaker	 has	 certain
instruments	and	tools	at	his	command	by	which	he	builds	his	argument,	plays	on
the	feelings,	and	guides	the	beliefs	of	his	audience.	To	give	you	a	conception	of
these	instruments,	and	practical	help	in	learning	to	use	them,	are	the	purposes	of
the	immediately	following	chapters.

Why	did	not	the	Children	of	Israel	whirl	through	the	desert	in	limousines,	and
why	did	not	Noah	have	moving-picture	entertainments	and	talking	machines	on
the	Ark?	The	laws	that	enable	us	to	operate	an	automobile,	produce	moving-
pictures,	or	music	on	the	Victrola,	would	have	worked	just	as	well	then	as	they
do	today.	It	was	ignorance	of	law	that	for	ages	deprived	humanity	of	our	modern
conveniences.	Many	speakers	still	use	ox-cart	methods	in	their	speech	instead	of
employing	automobile	or	overland-express	methods.	They	are	ignorant	of	laws
that	make	for	efficiency	in	speaking.	Just	to	the	extent	that	you	regard	and	use
the	laws	that	we	are	about	to	examine	and	learn	how	to	use	will	you	have
efficiency	and	force	in	your	speaking;	and	just	to	the	extent	that	you	disregard
them	 will	 your	 speaking	 be	 feeble	 and	 ineffective.	 We	 cannot	 impress	 too
thoroughly	upon	you	the	necessity	for	a	real	working	mastery	of	these	principles.
They	 are	 the	 very	 foundations	 of	 successful	 speaking.	 "Get	 your	 principles
right,"	said	Napoleon,	"and	the	rest	is	a	matter	of	detail."

It	is	useless	to	shoe	a	dead	horse,	and	all	the	sound	principles	in	Christendom
will	never	make	a	live	speech	out	of	a	dead	one.	So	let	it	be	understood	that
public	speaking	is	not	a	matter	of	mastering	a	few	dead	rules;	the	most	important
law	of	public	speech	is	the	necessity	for	truth,	force,	feeling,	and	life.	Forget	all
else,	but	not	this.

When	you	have	 mastered	the	mechanics	 of	speech	outlined	 in	the	next	few
chapters	 you	 will	 no	 longer	 be	 troubled	 with	 monotony.	 The	 complete
knowledge	of	these	principles	and	the	ability	to	apply	them	will	give	you	great
variety	in	your	powers	of	expression.	But	they	cannot	be	mastered	and	applied
by	thinking	or	reading	about	them—you	must	practise,	 _practise_ ,	 _PRACTISE_ .	If


no	one	else	will	listen	to	you,	listen	to	yourself—you	must	always	be	your	own
best	critic,	and	the	severest	one	of	all.

The	technical	principles	that	we	lay	down	in	the	following	chapters	are	not
arbitrary	creations	of	our	own.	They	are	all	founded	on	the	practices	that	good
speakers	 and	 actors	 adopt—either	 naturally	 and	 unconsciously	 or	 under
instruction—in	getting	their	effects.

It	is	useless	to	warn	the	student	that	he	must	be	natural.	To	be	natural	may	be	to
be	monotonous.	The	little	strawberry	up	in	the	arctics	with	a	few	tiny	seeds	and
an	acid	tang	is	a	natural	berry,	but	it	is	not	to	be	compared	with	the	improved
variety	that	we	enjoy	here.	The	dwarfed	oak	on	the	rocky	hillside	is	natural,	but
a	poor	thing	compared	with	the	beautiful	tree	found	in	the	rich,	moist	bottom
lands.	Be	natural—but	improve	your	natural	gifts	until	you	have	approached	the
ideal,	for	we	must	strive	after	idealized	nature,	in	fruit,	tree,	and	speech.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES.

1.	What	are	the	causes	of	monotony?
2.	Cite	some	instances	in	nature.
3.	Cite	instances	in	man's	daily	life.
4.	Describe	some	of	the	effects	of	monotony	in	both	cases.
5.	Read	aloud	some	speech	without	paying	particular	attention	to	its	meaning	or
force.
6.	Now	repeat	it	after	you	have	thoroughly	assimilated	its	matter	and	spirit.	What
difference	do	you	notice	in	its	rendition?
7.	Why	is	monotony	one	of	the	worst	as	well	as	one	of	the	most	common	faults
of	speakers?

### CHAPTER	III

#### EFFICIENCY	THROUGH	EMPHASIS	AND	SUBORDINATION


```
In	a	word,	the	principle	of	emphasis	...	is	followed	best,	not	by
remembering	 particular	 rules,	 but	 by	 being	 full	 of	 a	 particular
feeling.—C.S.	BALDWIN,	 Writing	and	Speaking.
```
The	 gun	 that	 scatters	 too	 much	 does	 not	 bag	 the	 birds.	 The	 same	 principle
applies	to	speech.	The	speaker	that	fires	his	force	and	emphasis	at	random	into	a
sentence	will	not	get	results.	Not	every	word	is	of	special	importance—therefore
only	certain	words	demand	emphasis.

You	say	Massa _CHU_ setts	and	Minne _AP_ olis,	you	do	not	emphasize	each	syllable
alike,	but	hit	the	accented	syllable	with	force	and	hurry	over	the	unimportant
ones.	Now	why	do	you	not	apply	this	principle	in	speaking	a	sentence?	To	some
extent	you	do,	in	ordinary	speech;	but	do	you	in	public	discourse?	It	is	there	that
monotony	caused	by	lack	of	emphasis	is	so	painfully	apparent.

So	far	as	emphasis	is	concerned,	you	may	consider	the	average	sentence	as	just
one	 big	 word,	 with	 the	 important	 word	 as	 the	 accented	 syllable.	 Note	 the
following:

"Destiny	is	not	a	matter	of	chance.	It	is	a	matter	of	choice."

You	 might	 as	 well	 say	 _MASS-A-CHU-SETTS_ ,	 emphasizing	 every	 syllable
equally,	as	to	lay	equal	stress	on	each	word	in	the	foregoing	sentences.

Speak	it	aloud	and	see.	Of	course	you	will	want	to	emphasize	 _destiny_ ,	for	it	is
the	principal	idea	in	your	declaration,	and	you	will	put	some	emphasis	on	 _not_ ,
else	your	hearers	may	think	you	are	affirming	that	destiny	 _is_ 	a	matter	of	chance.
By	all	means	you	must	emphasize	 _chance_ ,	for	it	is	one	of	the	two	big	ideas	in	the
statement.

Another	reason	why	 _chance_ 	takes	emphasis	is	that	it	is	contrasted	with	 _choice_ 	in
the	next	sentence.	Obviously,	the	author	has	contrasted	these	ideas	purposely,	so
that	they	might	be	more	emphatic,	and	here	we	see	that	contrast	is	one	of	the
very	first	devices	to	gain	emphasis.

As	a	public	speaker	you	can	assist	this	emphasis	of	contrast	with	your	voice.	If
you	say,	"My	horse	is	not	 _black_ ,"	what	color	immediately	comes	into	mind?
White,	naturally,	for	that	is	the	opposite	of	black.	If	you	wish	to	bring	out	the
thought	that	destiny	is	a	matter	of	choice,	you	can	do	so	more	effectively	by	first
saying	that	" _DESTINY_ 	is	 _NOT_ 	a	matter	of	 _CHANCE_ ."	Is	not	the	color	of	the
horse	impressed	upon	us	more	emphatically	when	you	say,	"My	horse	is	 _NOT_


_BLACK_ .	He	is	 _WHITE_ "	than	it	would	be	by	hearing	you	assert	merely	that	your
horse	is	white?

In	 the	 second	 sentence	 of	 the	 statement	 there	 is	 only	 one	 important	 word
— _choice_ .	It	is	the	one	word	that	positively	defines	the	quality	of	the	subject
being	 discussed,	 and	 the	 author	 of	 those	 lines	 desired	 to	 bring	 it	 out
emphatically,	as	he	has	shown	by	contrasting	it	with	another	idea.	These	lines,
then,	would	read	like	this:

" _DESTINY_ 	is	 _NOT_ 	a	matter	of	 _CHANCE_ .	It	is	a	matter	of	 _CHOICE_ ."	Now	read
this	over,	striking	the	words	in	capitals	with	a	great	deal	of	force.

In	 almost	 every	 sentence	 there	 are	 a	 few	 _MOUNTAIN	 PEAK	 WORDS_ that
represent	the	big,	important	ideas.	When	you	pick	up	the	evening	paper	you	can
tell	at	a	glance	which	are	the	important	news	articles.	Thanks	to	the	editor,	he
does	not	tell	about	a	"hold	up"	in	Hong	Kong	in	the	same	sized	type	as	he	uses	to
report	the	death	of	five	firemen	in	your	home	city.	Size	of	type	is	his	device	to
show	emphasis	in	bold	relief.	He	brings	out	sometimes	even	in	red	headlines	the
striking	news	of	the	day.

It	would	be	a	boon	to	speech-making	if	speakers	would	conserve	the	attention	of
their	audiences	in	the	same	way	and	emphasize	only	the	words	representing	the
important	ideas.	The	average	speaker	will	deliver	the	foregoing	line	on	destiny
with	about	the	same	amount	of	emphasis	on	each	word.	Instead	of	saying,	"It	is	a
matter	of	 _CHOICE_ ,"	he	will	deliver	it,	"It	is	a	matter	of	choice,"	or	" _IT	IS	A
MATTER	OF	CHOICE_ "—both	equally	bad.

Charles	Dana,	the	famous	editor	of	 _The	New	York	Sun_ ,	told	one	of	his	reporters
that	if	he	went	up	the	street	and	saw	a	dog	bite	a	man,	to	pay	no	attention	to	it.
_The	Sun_ 	could	not	afford	to	waste	the	time	and	attention	of	its	readers	on	such
unimportant	happenings.	"But,"	said	Mr.	Dana,	"if	you	see	a	man	bite	a	dog,
hurry	back	to	the	office	and	write	the	story."	Of	course	that	is	news;	that	is
unusual.

Now	the	speaker	who	says	" _IT	IS	A	MATTER	OF	CHOICE_ "	is	putting	too	much
emphasis	upon	things	that	are	of	no	more	importance	to	metropolitan	readers
than	a	dog	bite,	and	when	he	fails	to	emphasize	"choice"	he	is	like	the	reporter
who	"passes	up"	the	man's	biting	a	dog.	The	ideal	speaker	makes	his	big	words
stand	 out	 like	 mountain	 peaks;	 his	 unimportant	 words	 are	 submerged	 like
stream-beds.	His	big	thoughts	stand	like	huge	oaks;	his	ideas	of	no	especial
value	are	merely	like	the	grass	around	the	tree.


From	all	this	we	may	deduce	this	important	principle:	 _EMPHASIS_ 	is	a	matter	of
_CONTRAST_ 	and	 _COMPARISON_.

Recently	the	 _New	York	American_ 	featured	an	editorial	by	Arthur	Brisbane.	Note
the	following,	printed	in	the	same	type	as	given	here.

**We	do	not	know	what	the	President	THOUGHT	when	he	got	that	message,
or	what	the	elephant	thinks	when	he	sees	the	mouse,	but	we	do	know	what
the	President	DID.**

The	words	 _THOUGHT_ 	and	 _DID_ 	immediately	catch	the	reader's	attention	because
they	are	different	from	the	others,	not	especially	because	they	are	larger.	If	all	the
rest	of	the	words	in	this	sentence	were	made	ten	times	as	large	as	they	are,	and
_DID_ and	 _THOUGHT_ were	 kept	 at	 their	 present	 size,	 they	 would	 still	 be
emphatic,	because	different.

Take	the	following	from	Robert	Chambers'	novel,	"The	Business	of	Life."	The
words	 _you_ ,	 _had_ ,	 _would_ ,	are	all	emphatic,	because	they	have	been	made	different.

```
He	looked	at	her	in	angry	astonishment.
```
```
"Well,	what	do	 you 	call	it	if	it	isn't	cowardice—to	slink	off	and
marry	a	defenseless	girl	like	that!"
```
```
"Did	you	expect	me	to	give	you	a	chance	to	destroy	me	and	poison
Jacqueline's	mind?	If	I	 had 	been	guilty	of	the	thing	with	which	you
charge	me,	what	I	have	done	 would 	have	been	cowardly.	Otherwise,
it	is	justified."
```
A	Fifth	Avenue	bus	would	attract	attention	up	at	Minisink	Ford,	New	York,
while	one	of	the	ox	teams	that	frequently	pass	there	would	attract	attention	on
Fifth	Avenue.	To	make	a	word	emphatic,	deliver	it	differently	from	the	manner
in	which	the	words	surrounding	it	are	delivered.	If	you	have	been	talking	loudly,
utter	 the	 emphatic	 word	 in	 a	 concentrated	 whisper—and	 you	 have	 intense
emphasis.	If	you	have	been	going	fast,	go	very	slow	on	the	emphatic	word.	If
you	have	been	talking	on	a	low	pitch,	jump	to	a	high	one	on	the	emphatic	word.
If	you	have	been	talking	on	a	high	pitch,	take	a	low	one	on	your	emphatic	ideas.
Read	 the	 chapters	 on	 "Inflection,"	 "Feeling,"	 "Pause,"	 "Change	 of	 Pitch,"
"Change	of	Tempo."	Each	of	these	will	explain	in	detail	how	to	get	emphasis
through	the	use	of	a	certain	principle.

In	this	chapter,	however,	we	are	considering	only	one	form	of	emphasis:	that	of


applying	force	to	the	important	word	and	subordinating	the	unimportant	words.
Do	not	forget:	this	is	one	of	the	main	methods	that	you	must	continually	employ
in	getting	your	effects.

Let	us	not	confound	loudness	with	emphasis.	To	yell	is	not	a	sign	of	earnestness,
intelligence,	or	feeling.	The	kind	of	force	that	we	want	applied	to	the	emphatic
word	is	not	entirely	physical.	True,	the	emphatic	word	may	be	spoken	more
loudly,	or	it	may	be	spoken	more	softly,	but	the	 _real_ 	quality	desired	is	intensity,
earnestness.	It	must	come	from	within,	outward.

Last	night	a	speaker	said:	"The	curse	of	this	country	is	not	a	lack	of	education.
It's	politics."	He	emphasized	 _curse,	lack,	education,	politics_ .	The	other	words
were	hurried	over	and	thus	given	no	comparative	importance	at	all.	The	word
_politics_ was	 flamed	 out	 with	 great	 feeling	 as	 he	 slapped	 his	 hands	 together
indignantly.	His	emphasis	was	both	correct	and	powerful.	He	concentrated	all
our	attention	on	the	words	that	meant	something,	instead	of	holding	it	up	on	such
words	as	 _of	this_ ,	 _a_ ,	 _of_ ,	 _It's_.

What	would	you	think	of	a	guide	who	agreed	to	show	New	York	to	a	stranger
and	 then	 took	 up	 his	 time	 by	 visiting	 Chinese	 laundries	 and	 boot-blacking
"parlors"	on	the	side	streets?	There	is	only	one	excuse	for	a	speaker's	asking	the
attention	of	his	audience:	He	must	have	either	truth	or	entertainment	for	them.	If
he	wearies	their	attention	with	trifles	they	will	have	neither	vivacity	nor	desire
left	when	he	reaches	words	of	Wall-Street	and	skyscraper	importance.	You	do
not	dwell	on	these	small	words	in	your	everyday	conversation,	because	you	are
not	a	conversational	bore.	Apply	the	correct	method	of	everyday	speech	to	the
platform.	 As	 we	 have	 noted	 elsewhere,	 public	 speaking	 is	 very	 much	 like
conversation	enlarged.

Sometimes,	for	big	emphasis,	it	is	advisable	to	lay	stress	on	every	single	syllable
in	a	word,	as	 _absolutely_ 	in	the	following	sentence:


```
I	ab-so-lute-ly	refuse	to	grant	your	demand.
```
Now	 and	 then	 this	 principle	 should	 be	 applied	 to	 an	 emphatic	 sentence	 by
stressing	each	word.	It	is	a	good	device	for	exciting	special	attention,	and	it
furnishes	a	pleasing	variety.	Patrick	Henry's	notable	climax	could	be	delivered	in
that	manner	very	effectively:	"Give—me—liberty—or—give—me—death."	The
italicized	part	of	the	following	might	also	be	delivered	with	this	every-word
emphasis.	Of	course,	there	are	many	ways	of	delivering	it;	this	is	only	one	of
several	good	interpretations	that	might	be	chosen.

```
Knowing	the	price	we	must	pay,	the	sacrifice	we	must	make,	the
burdens	we	must	carry,	the	assaults	we	must	endure—knowing	full
well	the	cost—yet	we	enlist,	and	we	enlist	for	the	war.	For	we	know
the	justice	of	our	cause,	and	 we	know,	too,	its	certain	triumph.
```
```
— From	"Pass	Prosperity	Around," 	by	ALBERT	J.	BEVERIDGE,	 before
the	Chicago	National	Convention	of	the	Progressive	Party.
```
Strongly	emphasizing	a	single	word	has	a	tendency	to	suggest	its	antithesis.
Notice	how	the	meaning	changes	by	merely	putting	the	emphasis	on	different
words	in	the	following	sentence.	The	parenthetical	expressions	would	really	not
be	needed	to	supplement	the	emphatic	words.

```
I 	intended	to	buy	a	house	this	Spring	(even	if	you	did	not).
```
```
I	 INTENDED 	to	buy	a	house	this	Spring	(but	something	prevented).
```
```
I	 intended	 to	 BUY a	 house	 this	 Spring	 (instead	 of	 renting	 as
heretofore).
```
```
I	intended	to	buy	a	 HOUSE 	this	Spring	(and	not	an	automobile).
```
```
I	intended	to	buy	a	house	 THIS 	Spring	(instead	of	next	Spring).
```
```
I	intended	to	buy	a	house	this	 SPRING 	(instead	of	in	the	Autumn).
```
When	a	great	battle	is	reported	in	the	papers,	they	do	not	keep	emphasizing	the
same	facts	over	and	over	again.	They	try	to	get	new	information,	or	a	"new
slant."	The	news	that	takes	an	important	place	in	the	morning	edition	will	be
relegated	to	a	small	space	in	the	late	afternoon	edition.	We	are	interested	in	new
ideas	and	new	facts.	This	principle	has	a	very	important	bearing	in	determining
your	emphasis.	Do	not	emphasize	the	same	idea	over	and	over	again	unless	you


desire	to	lay	extra	stress	on	it;	Senator	Thurston	desired	to	put	the	maximum
amount	of	emphasis	on	"force"	in	his	speech	on	page	50.	Note	how	force	is
emphasized	 repeatedly.	 As	 a	 general	 rule,	 however,	 the	 new	 idea,	 the	 "new
slant,"	whether	in	a	newspaper	report	of	a	battle	or	a	speaker's	enunciation	of	his
ideas,	is	emphatic.

In	the	following	selection,	"larger"	is	emphatic,	for	it	is	the	new	idea.	All	men
have	eyes,	but	this	man	asks	for	a	 _LARGER_ 	eye.

This	 man	 with	 the	 larger	 eye	 says	 he	 will	 discover,	 not	 rivers	 or	 safety
appliances	for	aeroplanes,	but	 _NEW	STARS_ 	and	 _SUNS_ .	"New	stars	and	suns"	are
hardly	as	emphatic	as	the	word	"larger."	Why?	Because	we	expect	an	astronomer
to	discover	heavenly	bodies	rather	than	cooking	recipes.	The	words,	"Republic
needs"	in	the	next	sentence,	are	emphatic;	they	introduce	a	new	and	important
idea.	Republics	have	always	needed	men,	but	the	author	says	they	need	 _NEW_
men.	"New"	is	emphatic	because	it	introduces	a	new	idea.	In	like	manner,	"soil,"
"grain,"	"tools,"	are	also	emphatic.

The	most	emphatic	words	are	italicized	in	this	selection.	Are	there	any	others
you	would	emphasize?	Why?

```
The	old	astronomer	said,	"Give	me	a	 larger 	eye,	and	I	will	discover
new	stars 	and	 suns ."	That	is	what	the	 republic	needs 	today— new
men —men	who	are	 wise 	toward	the	 soil ,	toward	the	 grains ,	toward
the	 tools .	If	God	would	only	raise	up	for	the	people	two	or	three	men
like	 Watt ,	 Fulton 	and	 McCormick ,	they	would	be	 worth	more 	to	the
State 	than	that	 treasure	box 	named	 California 	or	 Mexico .	And	the
real	supremacy 	of	man	is	based	upon	his	 capacity 	for	 education.
Man	 is	 unique in	 the	 length of	 his	 childhood ,	 which	 means	 the
period 	of	 plasticity 	and	 education .	The	childhood	of	a	 moth ,	 the
distance	 that	 stands	 between	 the	 hatching	 of	 the	 robin and	 its
maturity ,	represent	a	 few	hours 	or	a	 few	weeks ,	but	 twenty	years 	for
growth	 stands	 between	 man's cradle	 and	 his	 citizenship.	 This
protracted	childhood	makes	it	possible	to	hand	over	to	the	boy	all
the	 accumulated	stores	achieved 	by	 races 	and	 civilizations 	through
thousands 	of	 years.
```
```
— Anonymous.
```
You	must	understand	that	there	are	no	steel-riveted	rules	of	emphasis.	It	is	not
always	 possible	 to	 designate	 which	 word	 must,	 and	 which	 must	 not	 be


emphasized.	 One	 speaker	 will	 put	 one	 interpretation	 on	 a	 speech,	 another
speaker	will	use	different	emphasis	to	bring	out	a	different	interpretation.	No	one
can	say	that	one	interpretation	is	right	and	the	other	wrong.	This	principle	must
be	borne	in	mind	in	all	our	marked	exercises.	Here	your	own	intelligence	must
guide—and	greatly	to	your	profit.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	What	is	emphasis?
2.	Describe	one	method	of	destroying	monotony	of	thought-presentation.
3.	What	relation	does	this	have	to	the	use	of	the	voice?
4.	Which	words	should	be	emphasized,	which	subordinated,	in	a	sentence?
5.	Read	the	selections	on	pages	 50 ,	 51 ,	 52 ,	 53 	and	 54 ,	devoting	special	attention
to	 emphasizing	 the	 important	 words	 or	 phrases	 and	 subordinating	 the
unimportant	ones.	Read	again,	changing	emphasis	slightly.	What	is	the	effect?
6.	Read	some	sentence	repeatedly,	emphasizing	a	different	word	each	time,	and
show	how	the	meaning	is	changed,	as	is	done	on	page	 22.
7.	What	is	the	effect	of	a	lack	of	emphasis?
8.	Read	the	selections	on	pages	 30 	and	 48 ,	emphasizing	every	word.	What	is	the
effect	on	the	emphasis?
9.	When	is	it	permissible	to	emphasize	every	single	word	in	a	sentence?
10.	Note	the	emphasis	and	subordination	in	some	conversation	or	speech	you
have	heard.	Were	they	well	made?	Why?	Can	you	suggest	any	improvement?
11.	 From	 a	 newspaper	 or	 a	 magazine,	 clip	 a	 report	 of	 an	 address,	 or	 a
biographical	eulogy.	Mark	the	passage	for	emphasis	and	bring	it	with	you	to
class.
12.	 In	 the	 following	 passage,	 would	 you	 make	 any	 changes	 in	 the	 author's
markings	for	emphasis?	Where?	Why?	Bear	in	mind	that	not	all	words	marked
require	the	same	 _degree_ 	of	emphasis— _in	a	wide	variety	of	emphasis,	and	in	nice
shading	of	the	gradations,	lie	the	excellence	of	emphatic	speech_.

```
I	would	call	him	 Napoleon ,	but	Napoleon	made	his	way	to	empire
```

```
over	 broken	oaths 	and	through	a	 sea 	of	 blood .	This	man	 never 	broke
his	word.	"No	Retaliation"	was	his	great	motto	and	the	rule	of	his
life;	and	the	last	words	uttered	to	his	son	in	France	were	these:	"My
boy,	you	will	one	day	go	back	to	Santo	Domingo;	 forget 	that	 France
murdered	your	father ."	I	would	call	him Cromwell ,	but	Cromwell
was	 only 	a	 soldier ,	and	the	state	he	founded	 went	down 	with	him
into	his	grave.	I	would	call	him	 Washington ,	but	the	great	Virginian
held	slaves .	This	man	 risked 	his	 empire 	rather	than	 permit 	the	slave-
trade	in	the	 humblest	village 	of	his	dominions.
```
```
You	think	me	a	fanatic	to-night,	for	you	read	history,	 not 	with	your
eyes ,	but	with	your	 prejudices .	But	fifty	years	hence,	when	 Truth
gets	a	hearing,	the	Muse	of	History	will	put	 Phocion 	for	the	 Greek ,
and	 Brutus for	 the	 Roman ,	 Hampden for	 England ,	 Lafayette for
France ,	choose	 Washington 	as	the	bright,	consummate	flower	of	our
earlier 	civilization,	and	 John	Brown 	the	ripe	fruit	of	our	 noonday ,
then,	dipping	her	pen	in	the	sunlight,	will	write	in	the	clear	blue,
above	them	all,	the	name	of	the	 soldier ,	the	 statesman ,	the	 martyr ,
TOUSSAINT	L'OUVERTURE.
```
```
—WENDELL	PHILLIPS,	 Toussaint	l'Ouverture.
```
Practise	on	the	following	selections	for	emphasis:	Beecher's	"Abraham	Lincoln,"
page	 76;	 Lincoln's	 "Gettysburg	 Speech,"	 page	 50;	 Seward's	 "Irrepressible
Conflict,"	page	67;	and	Bryan's	"Prince	of	Peace,"	page	448.

### CHAPTER	IV

#### EFFICIENCY	THROUGH	CHANGE	OF	PITCH

```
Speech	 is	 simply	 a	 modified	 form	 of	 singing:	 the	 principal
difference	being	in	the	fact	that	in	singing	the	vowel	sounds	are
prolonged	and	the	intervals	are	short,	whereas	in	speech	the	words
are	uttered	in	what	may	be	called	"staccato"	tones,	the	vowels	not
being	specially	prolonged	and	the	intervals	between	the	words	being
more	distinct.	The	fact	that	in	singing	we	have	a	larger	range	of
tones	 does	 not	 properly	 distinguish	 it	 from	 ordinary	 speech.	 In
```

```
speech	we	have	likewise	a	variation	of	tones,	and	even	in	ordinary
conversation	there	is	a	difference	of	from	three	to	six	semi-tones,	as
I	have	found	in	my	investigations,	and	in	some	persons	the	range	is
as	 high	 as	 one	 octave.—WILLIAM	 SCHEPPEGRELL,	 Popular	 Science
Monthly.
```
By	pitch,	as	everyone	knows,	we	mean	the	relative	position	of	a	vocal	tone—as,
high,	medium,	low,	or	any	variation	between.	In	public	speech	we	apply	it	not
only	to	a	single	utterance,	as	an	exclamation	or	a	monosyllable	( _Oh!_ 	or	 _the_ )	but
to	any	group	of	syllables,	words,	and	even	sentences	that	may	be	spoken	in	a
single	tone.	This	distinction	it	is	important	to	keep	in	mind,	for	the	efficient
speaker	not	only	changes	the	pitch	of	successive	syllables	(see	Chapter	VII,
"Efficiency	through	Inflection"),	but	gives	a	different	pitch	to	different	parts,	or
word-groups,	of	successive	sentences.	It	is	this	phase	of	the	subject	which	we	are
considering	in	this	chapter.

_Every	Change	in	the	Thought	Demands	a	Change	in	the	Voice-Pitch_

Whether	 the	 speaker	 follows	 the	 rule	 consciously,	 unconsciously,	 or
subconsciously,	this	is	the	logical	basis	upon	which	all	good	voice	variation	is
made,	yet	this	law	is	violated	more	often	than	any	other	by	 _public_ 	speakers.	A
criminal	may	disregard	a	law	of	the	state	without	detection	and	punishment,	but
the	speaker	who	violates	this	regulation	suffers	its	penalty	at	once	in	his	loss	of
effectiveness,	 while	 his	 innocent	 hearers	 must	 endure	 the	 monotony—for
monotony	is	not	only	a	sin	of	the	perpetrator,	as	we	have	shown,	but	a	plague	on
the	victims	as	well.

Change	of	pitch	is	a	stumbling	block	for	almost	all	beginners,	and	for	many
experienced	speakers	also.	This	is	especially	true	when	the	words	of	the	speech
have	been	memorized.

If	you	wish	to	hear	how	pitch-monotony	sounds,	strike	the	same	note	on	the
piano	over	and	over	again.	You	have	in	your	speaking	voice	a	range	of	pitch
from	high	to	low,	with	a	great	many	shades	between	the	extremes.	With	all	these
notes	 available	 there	 is	 no	 excuse	 for	 offending	 the	 ears	 and	 taste	 of	 your
audience	by	continually	using	the	one	note.	True,	the	reiteration	of	the	same	tone
in	 music—as	 in	 pedal	 point	 on	 an	 organ	 composition—may	 be	 made	 the
foundation	 of	 beauty,	 for	 the	 harmony	 weaving	 about	 that	 one	 basic	 tone
produces	 a	 consistent,	 insistent	 quality	 not	 felt	 in	 pure	 variety	 of	 chord
sequences.	In	like	manner	the	intoning	voice	in	a	ritual	may—though	it	rarely


does—possess	 a	 solemn	 beauty.	 But	 the	 public	 speaker	should	 shun	 the
monotone	as	he	would	a	pestilence.

_Continual	Change	of	Pitch	is	Nature's	Highest	Method_

In	our	search	for	the	principles	of	efficiency	we	must	continually	go	back	to
nature.	Listen—really	listen—to	the	birds	sing.	Which	of	these	feathered	tribes
are	most	pleasing	in	their	vocal	efforts:	those	whose	voices,	though	sweet,	have
little	or	no	range,	or	those	that,	like	the	canary,	the	lark,	and	the	nightingale,	not
only	possess	a	considerable	range	but	utter	their	notes	in	continual	variety	of
combinations?	Even	a	sweet-toned	chirp,	when	reiterated	without	change,	may
grow	maddening	to	the	enforced	listener.

The	little	child	seldom	speaks	in	a	monotonous	pitch.	Observe	the	conversations
of	little	folk	that	you	hear	on	the	street	or	in	the	home,	and	note	the	continual
changes	of	pitch.	 The	unconscious	speech	 of	most	adults	 is	likewise	full	 of
pleasing	variations.

Imagine	someone	speaking	the	following,	and	consider	if	the	effect	would	not	be
just	about	as	indicated.	Remember,	we	are	not	now	discussing	the	inflection	of
single	words,	but	the	general	pitch	in	which	phrases	are	spoken.

(High	pitch)	"I'd	like	to	leave	for	my	vacation	tomorrow,—(lower)	still,	I	have	so
much	to	do.	(Higher)	Yet	I	suppose	if	I	wait	until	I	have	time	I'll	never	go."

Repeat	this,	first	in	the	pitches	indicated,	and	then	all	in	the	one	pitch,	as	many
speakers	would.	Observe	the	difference	in	naturalness	of	effect.

The	following	exercise	should	be	spoken	in	a	purely	conversational	tone,	with
numerous	changes	of	pitch.	Practise	it	until	your	delivery	would	cause	a	stranger
in	the	next	room	to	think	you	were	discussing	an	actual	incident	with	a	friend,
instead	of	delivering	a	memorized	monologue.	If	you	are	in	doubt	about	the
effect	 you	 have	 secured,	 repeat	 it	 to	 a	 friend	 and	 ask	 him	 if	 it	 sounds	 like
memorized	words.	If	it	does,	it	is	wrong.

```
A	SIMILAR	CASE
```
```
Jack,	I	hear	you've	gone	and	done	it.—Yes,	I	know;	most	fellows
will;	went	and	tried	it	once	myself,	sir,	though	you	see	I'm	single
still.	And	you	met	her—did	you	tell	me—down	at	Newport,	last
July,	and	resolved	to	ask	the	question	at	a	 soirée ?	So	did	I.
```

```
I	suppose	you	left	the	ball-room,	with	its	music	and	its	light;	for	they
say	love's	flame	is	brightest	in	the	darkness	of	the	night.	Well,	you
walked	along	together,	overhead	the	starlit	sky;	and	I'll	bet—old
man,	confess	it—you	were	frightened.	So	was	I.
```
```
So	you	strolled	along	the	terrace,	saw	the	summer	moonlight	pour
all	its	radiance	on	the	waters,	as	they	rippled	on	the	shore,	till	at
length	you	gathered	courage,	when	you	saw	that	none	was	nigh—
did	you	draw	her	close	and	tell	her	that	you	loved	her?	So	did	I.
```
```
Well,	I	needn't	ask	you	further,	and	I'm	sure	I	wish	you	joy.	Think	I'll
wander	down	and	see	you	when	you're	married—eh,	my	boy?	When
the	honeymoon	is	over	and	you're	settled	down,	we'll	try—What?
the	deuce	you	say!	Rejected—you	rejected?	So	was	I.— Anonymous.
```
The	necessity	for	changing	pitch	is	so	self-evident	that	it	should	be	grasped	and
applied	 immediately.	 However,	 it	 requires	 patient	 drill	 to	 free	 yourself	 from
monotony	of	pitch.

In	natural	conversation	you	think	of	an	idea	first,	and	then	find	words	to	express
it.	In	memorized	speeches	you	are	liable	to	speak	the	words,	and	then	think	what
they	mean—and	many	speakers	seem	to	trouble	very	little	even	about	that.	Is	it
any	wonder	that	reversing	the	process	should	reverse	the	result?	Get	back	to
nature	in	your	methods	of	expression.

Read	the	following	selection	in	a	nonchalant	manner,	never	pausing	to	think
what	the	words	really	mean.	Try	it	again,	carefully	studying	the	thought	you
have	assimilated.	Believe	the	idea,	desire	to	express	it	effectively,	and	imagine
an	audience	before	you.	Look	them	earnestly	in	the	face	and	repeat	this	truth.	If
you	follow	directions,	you	will	note	that	you	have	made	many	changes	of	pitch
after	several	readings.

```
It	is	not	work	that	kills	men;	it	is	worry.	Work	is	healthy;	you	can
hardly	put	more	upon	a	man	than	he	can	bear.	Worry	is	rust	upon	the
blade.	It	is	not	the	revolution	that	destroys	the	machinery	but	the
friction.—HENRY	WARD	BEECHER.
```
_Change	of	Pitch	Produces	Emphasis_

This	 is	 a	 highly	 important	 statement.	 Variety	 in	 pitch	 maintains	 the	 hearer's
interest,	 but	 one	 of	 the	 surest	 ways	 to	 compel	 attention—to	 secure	 unusual


emphasis—is	to	change	the	pitch	of	your	voice	suddenly	and	in	a	marked	degree.
A	great	contrast	always	arouses	attention.	White	shows	whiter	against	black;	a
cannon	roars	louder	in	the	Sahara	silence	than	in	the	Chicago	hurly	burly—these
are	simple	illustrations	of	the	power	of	contrast.

```
"What	is	Congress	going	to	do	next?
-----------------------------------
(High	pitch) |
|I	do	not	know."
-----------------------------------
(Low	pitch)
```
By	 such	 sudden	 change	 of	 pitch	 during	 a	 sermon	 Dr.	 Newell	 Dwight	 Hillis
recently	achieved	great	emphasis	and	suggested	the	gravity	of	the	question	he
had	raised.

The	foregoing	order	of	pitch-change	might	be	reversed	with	equally	good	effect,
though	with	a	slight	change	in	seriousness—either	method	produces	emphasis
when	used	intelligently,	that	is,	with	a	common-sense	appreciation	of	the	sort	of
emphasis	to	be	attained.

In	 attempting	 these	 contrasts	 of	 pitch	 it	 is	 important	 to	 avoid	 unpleasant
extremes.	Most	speakers	pitch	their	voices	too	high.	One	of	the	secrets	of	Mr.
Bryan's	eloquence	is	his	low,	bell-like	voice.	Shakespeare	said	that	a	soft,	gentle,
low	voice	was	"an	excellent	thing	in	woman;"	it	is	no	less	so	in	man,	for	a	voice
need	not	be	blatant	to	be	powerful,—and	 _must_ 	not	be,	to	be	pleasing.

In	closing,	let	us	emphasize	anew	the	importance	of	using	variety	of	pitch.	You
sing	up	and	down	the	scale,	first	touching	one	note	and	then	another	above	or
below	it.	Do	likewise	in	speaking.

Thought	and	individual	taste	must	generally	be	your	guide	as	to	where	to	use	a
low,	a	moderate,	or	a	high	pitch.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	Name	two	methods	of	destroying	monotony	and	gaining	force	in	speaking.
2.	Why	is	a	continual	change	of	pitch	necessary	in	speaking?


3.	Notice	your	habitual	tones	in	speaking.	Are	they	too	high	to	be	pleasant?
4.	Do	we	express	the	following	thoughts	and	emotions	in	a	low	or	a	high	pitch?
Which	 may	 be	 expressed	 in	 either	 high	 or	 low	 pitch?	 Excitement.	 Victory.
Defeat.	Sorrow.	Love.	Earnestness.	Fear.
5.	How	would	you	naturally	vary	the	pitch	in	introducing	an	explanatory	or
parenthetical	expression	like	the	following:

```
He	started— that	is,	he	made	preparations	to	start —on	September
third.
```
6.	 Speak	 the	 following	 lines	 with	 as	 marked	 variations	 in	 pitch	 as	 your
interpretation	of	the	sense	may	dictate.	Try	each	line	in	two	different	ways.
Which,	in	each	instance,	is	the	more	effective—and	why?

```
What	have	I	to	gain	from	you?	Nothing.
```
```
To	engage	our	nation	in	such	a	compact	would	be	an	infamy.
```
```
Note:	In	the	foregoing	sentence,	experiment	as	to	where	the	change
in	pitch	would	better	be	made.
```
```
Once	 the	 flowers	 distilled	 their	 fragrance	 here,	 but	 now	 see	 the
devastations	of	war.
```
```
He	had	reckoned	without	one	prime	factor—his	conscience.
```
7.	Make	a	diagram	of	a	conversation	you	have	heard,	showing	where	high	and
low	pitches	were	used.	Were	these	changes	in	pitch	advisable?	Why	or	why	not?
8.	Read	the	selections	on	pages	 34 ,	 35 ,	 36 ,	 37 	and	 38 ,	paying	careful	attention	to
the	changes	in	pitch.	Reread,	substituting	low	pitch	for	high,	and	vice	versa.

_Selections	for	Practise_

Note:	In	the	following	selections,	those	passages	that	may	best	be	delivered	in	a
moderate	 pitch	 are	 printed	 in	 ordinary	 (roman)	 type.	 Those	 which	 may	 be
rendered	in	a	high	pitch—do	not	make	the	mistake	of	raising	the	voice	too	high
—are	printed	 _in	italics_ .	Those	which	might	well	be	spoken	in	a	low	pitch	are
printed	in	 _CAPITALS_.

These	arrangements,	however,	are	merely	suggestive—we	cannot	make	it	strong
enough	that	you	must	use	your	own	judgment	in	interpreting	a	selection.	Before


doing	so,	however,	it	is	well	to	practise	these	passages	as	they	are	marked.

```
Yes,	 all	 men	 labor.	 RUFUS	 CHOATE	 AND	 DANIEL	 WEBSTER
labor,	say	the	critics.	But	every	man	who	reads	of	the	labor	question
knows	that	it	means	the	movement	of	the	men	that	earn	their	living
with	their	hands;	 THAT	ARE	EMPLOYED,	AND	PAID	WAGES:	are
gathered	under	roofs	of	factories,	sent	out	on	farms,	sent	out	on
ships,	gathered	on	the	walls. 	In	popular	acceptation,	the	working
class	means	the	men	that	work	with	their	hands,	for	wages,	so	many
hours	a	day,	employed	by	great	capitalists;	that	work	for	everybody
else.	Why	do	we	move	for	this	class?	" Why ,"	asks	a	critic,	" don't	you
move	 FOR	 ALL	 WORKINGMEN?"	 BECAUSE,	 WHILE	 DANIEL
WEBSTER	GETS	FORTY	THOUSAND	DOLLARS	FOR	ARGUING
THE	MEXICAN	CLAIMS,	there	is	no	need	of	anybody's	moving	for
him.	 BECAUSE,	 WHILE	 RUFUS	 CHOATE	 GETS	 FIVE
THOUSAND	DOLLARS	FOR	MAKING	ONE	ARGUMENT	TO	A
JURY,	there	is	no	need	of	moving	for	him,	or	for	the	men	that	work
with	 their	 brains ,—that	 do	 highly	 disciplined	 and	 skilled	 labor,
invent,	 and	 write	 books.	 The	 reason	 why	 the	 Labor	 movement
confines	itself	to	a	single	class	is	because	that	class	of	work	 DOES
NOT	 GET	 PAID,	 does	 not	 get	 protection.	 MENTAL	 LABOR	 is
adequately	paid ,	 and	 MORE	 THAN	 ADEQUATELY	 protected.	 IT
CAN	SHIFT	ITS	CHANNELS;	it	can	vary	according	to	the	supply
and	demand.
```
```
IF	 A	 MAN	 FAILS	 AS	 A	 MINISTER,	 why,	 he	 becomes	 a	 railway
conductor.	 IF	 THAT	 DOESN'T	 SUIT	 HIM,	 he	 goes	 West,	 and
becomes	 governor	 of	 a	 territory.	 AND	 IF	 HE	 FINDS	 HIMSELF
INCAPABLE	OF	EITHER	OF	THESE	POSITIONS,	he	comes	home,
and	gets	to	be	a	city	editor .	He	varies	his	occupation	as	he	pleases,
and	doesn't	need	protection.	 BUT	THE	GREAT	MASS,	CHAINED
TO	A	TRADE,	DOOMED	TO	BE	GROUND	UP	IN	THE	MILL	OF
SUPPLY	AND	DEMAND,	THAT	WORK	SO	MANY	HOURS	A	DAY,
AND	MUST	RUN	IN	THE	GREAT	RUTS	OF	BUSINESS,—they	are
the	 men	 whose	 inadequate	 protection,	 whose	 unfair	 share	 of	 the
general	product,	claims	a	movement	in	their	behalf.
```
```
—WENDELL	PHILLIPS.
```
```
KNOWING	 THE	 PRICE	 WE	 MUST	 PAY,	 THE	 SACRIFICE	 WE
```

#### MUST	MAKE,	THE	BURDENS	WE	MUST	CARRY,	THE	ASSAULTS

```
WE	MUST	ENDURE—KNOWING	FULL	WELL	THE	COST —yet
we	enlist,	and	we	enlist	for	the	war.	 FOR	WE	KNOW	THE	JUSTICE
OF	OUR	CAUSE ,	and	we	know,	too,	its	certain	triumph.
```
```
NOT	RELUCTANTLY	THEN ,	but	eagerly,	not	with	 faint	hearts	BUT
STRONG,	do	we	now	advance	upon	the	enemies	of	the	people.	FOR
THE	 CALL	 THAT	 COMES	 TO	 US	 is	 the	 call	 that	 came	 to	 our
fathers .	As	they	responded	so	shall	we.
```
```
" HE	HATH	SOUNDED	FORTH	A	TRUMPET	that	shall	never	call
retreat.	HE	IS	SIFTING	OUT	THE	HEARTS	OF	MEN	before	His
judgment	seat.	OH,	BE	SWIFT	OUR	SOULS	TO	ANSWER	HIM,	BE
JUBILANT	OUR	FEET,	Our	God	is	marching	on ."
```
```
—ALBERT	J.	BEVERIDGE.
```
Remember	that	two	sentences,	or	two	parts	of	the	same	sentence,	which	contain
changes	of	thought,	cannot	possibly	be	given	effectively	in	the	same	key.	Let	us
repeat,	every	big	change	of	thought	requires	a	big	change	of	pitch.	What	the
beginning	student	will	think	are	big	changes	of	pitch	will	be	monotonously	alike.
Learn	to	speak	some	thoughts	in	a	very	high	tone—others	in	a	 _very_ ,	 _very_ 	low
tone.	 _DEVELOP	RANGE._ 	It	is	almost	impossible	to	use	too	much	of	it.

```
HAPPY	AM	I	THAT	THIS	MISSION	HAS	BROUGHT	MY	FEET	AT
LAST	TO	PRESS	NEW	ENGLAND'S	HISTORIC	SOIL	and	my	eyes
to	the	knowledge	of	her	beauty	and	her	thrift. 	Here	within	touch	of
Plymouth	 Rock	 and	 Bunker	 Hill— WHERE	 WEBSTER
THUNDERED	 and	 Longfellow	 sang,	 Emerson	 thought	 AND
CHANNING	 PREACHED—HERE	 IN	 THE	 CRADLE	 OF
AMERICAN	LETTERS	and	almost	of	American	liberty, 	I	hasten	to
make	the	obeisance	that	every	American	owes	New	England	when
first	 he	 stands	 uncovered	 in	 her	 mighty	 presence.	 Strange
apparition! 	This	stern	and	unique	figure—carved	from	the	ocean
and	 the	 wilderness—its	 majesty	 kindling	 and	 growing	 amid	 the
storms	of	winter	and	of	wars—until	at	last	the	gloom	was	broken,
ITS	 BEAUTY	 DISCLOSED	 IN	 THE	 SUNSHINE,	 and	 the	 heroic
workers	rested	at	its	base —while	startled	kings	and	emperors	gazed
and	marveled	that	from	the	rude	touch	of	this	handful	cast	on	a	bleak
and	 unknown	 shore	 should	 have	 come	 the	 embodied	 genius	 of
```

_human	government	AND	THE	PERFECTED	MODEL	OF	HUMAN
LIBERTY!_ 	God	bless	the	memory	of	those	immortal	workers,	and
prosper	 the	 fortunes	 of	 their	 living	 sons—and	 perpetuate	 the
inspiration	of	their	handiwork....

Far	to	the	South,	Mr.	President,	separated	from	this	section	by	a	line
— _once	defined	in	irrepressible	difference,	once	traced	in	fratricidal
blood,	AND	NOW,	THANK	GOD,	BUT	A	VANISHING	SHADOW—
lies	the	fairest	and	richest	domain	of	this	earth.	It	is	the	home	of	a
brave	and	hospitable	people.	THERE	IS	CENTERED	ALL	THAT
CAN	 PLEASE	 OR	 PROSPER	 HUMANKIND.	 A	 PERFECT
CLIMATE	 ABOVE	 a	 fertile	 soil_ yields	 to	 the	 husbandman	 every
product	of	the	temperate	zone.

There,	by	night	 _the	cotton	whitens	beneath	the	stars,_ 	and	by	day
_THE	WHEAT	LOCKS	THE	SUNSHINE	IN	ITS	BEARDED	SHEAF._
In	the	same	field	the	clover	steals	the	fragrance	of	the	wind,	and
tobacco	 catches	 the	 quick	 aroma	 of	 the	 rains.	 _THERE	 ARE
MOUNTAINS	 STORED	 WITH	 EXHAUSTLESS	 TREASURES:
forests—vast	and	primeval;_ 	and	rivers	that,	 _tumbling	or	loitering,
run	wanton	to	the	sea._ 	Of	the	three	essential	items	of	all	industries—
cotton,	iron	and	wood—that	region	has	easy	control.	 _IN	COTTON,	a
fixed	 monopoly—IN	 IRON,	 proven	 supremacy—IN	 TIMBER,	 the
reserve	supply	of	the	Republic._ 	From	this	assured	and	permanent
advantage,	against	which	artificial	conditions	cannot	much	longer
prevail,	has	grown	an	amazing	system	of	industries.	Not	maintained
by	human	contrivance	of	tariff	or	capital,	afar	off	from	the	fullest
and	 cheapest	 source	 of	 supply,	 but	 resting	 in	 divine	 assurance,
within	touch	of	field	and	mine	and	forest—not	set	amid	costly	farms
from	which	competition	has	driven	the	farmer	in	despair,	but	amid
cheap	and	sunny	lands,	rich	with	agriculture,	to	which	neither	season
nor	soil	has	set	a	limit—this	system	of	industries	is	mounting	to	a
splendor	that	shall	dazzle	and	illumine	the	world.	 _THAT,	SIR,	is	the
picture	 and	 the	 promise	 of	 my	 home—A	 LAND	 BETTER	 AND
FAIRER	THAN	I	HAVE	TOLD	YOU,	and	yet	but	fit	setting	in	its
material	excellence	for	the	loyal	and	gentle	quality	of	its	citizenship._

This	 hour	 little	 needs	 the	 _LOYALTY	 THAT	 IS	 LOYAL	 TO	 ONE
SECTION	 and	 yet	 holds	 the	 other	 in	 enduring	 suspicion	 and
estrangement._ 	Give	us	the	 _broad_ 	and	 _perfect	loyalty	that	loves	and_


_trusts	GEORGIA_ 	alike	with	 _Massachusetts_ —that	knows	no	 _SOUTH_ ,
no	 _North_ ,	no	 _EAST_ ,	no	 _West_ ,	but	 _endears	with	equal	and	patriotic
love_ 	every	foot	of	our	soil,	every	State	of	our	Union.

_A	 MIGHTY	 DUTY,	 SIR,	 AND	 A	 MIGHTY	 INSPIRATION	 impels
every	 one	 of	 us	 to-night	 to	 lose	 in	 patriotic	 consecration
WHATEVER	ESTRANGES,	WHATEVER	DIVIDES._

_WE,	 SIR,	 are	 Americans—AND	 WE	 STAND	 FOR	 HUMAN
LIBERTY!_ 	The	uplifting	force	of	the	American	idea	is	under	every
throne	on	earth.	 _France,	Brazil—THESE	ARE	OUR	VICTORIES.	To
redeem	 the	 earth	 from	 kingcraft	 and	 oppression—THIS	 IS	 OUR
MISSION!	AND	WE	SHALL	NOT	FAIL._ 	God	has	sown	in	our	soil
the	seed	of	His	millennial	harvest,	and	He	will	not	lay	the	sickle	to
the	 ripening	 crop	 until	 His	 full	 and	 perfect	 day	 has	 come.	 _OUR
HISTORY,	SIR,	has	been	a	constant	and	expanding	miracle,	FROM
PLYMOUTH	ROCK	AND	JAMESTOWN,_ all	 the	 way—aye,	 even
from	the	hour	when	from	the	voiceless	and	traceless	ocean	a	new
world	rose	to	the	sight	of	the	inspired	sailor.	As	we	approach	the
fourth	centennial	of	that	stupendous	day—when	the	old	world	will
come	to	 _marvel_ 	and	to	 _learn_ 	amid	our	gathered	treasures—let	us
resolve	to	crown	the	miracles	of	our	past	with	the	spectacle	of	a
Republic,	 _compact,	 united	 INDISSOLUBLE	 IN	 THE	 BONDS	 OF
LOVE_ —loving	 from	the	 Lakes	 to	 the	 Gulf—the	 wounds	 of	 war
healed	in	every	heart	as	on	every	hill,	 _serene	and	resplendent	AT
THE	 SUMMIT	 OF	 HUMAN	 ACHIEVEMENT	 AND	 EARTHLY
GLORY,	blazing	out	the	path	and	making	clear	the	way	up	which	all
the	nations	of	the	earth,	must	come	in	God's	appointed	time!_

```
—HENRY	W.	GRADY,	 The	Race	Problem.
```
...	 _I	WOULD	CALL	HIM	NAPOLEON_ ,	but	Napoleon	made	his	way
to	empire	 _over	broken	oaths	and	through	a	sea	of	blood._ 	This	man
never	broke	his	word.	"No	Retaliation"	was	his	great	motto	and	the
rule	of	his	life;	 _AND	THE	LAST	WORDS	UTTERED	TO	HIS	SON
IN	FRANCE	WERE	THESE:	"My	boy,	you	will	one	day	go	back	to
Santo	 Domingo;	 forget	 that	 France	 murdered	 your	 father."	 I
WOULD	 CALL	 HIM	 CROMWELL,_ but	 Cromwell	 _was	 only	 a
soldier,	and	the	state	he	founded	went	down	with	him	into	his	grave.
I	WOULD	CALL	HIM	WASHINGTON,_ 	but	the	great	Virginian	 _held_


```
slaves.	THIS	MAN	RISKED	HIS	EMPIRE	rather	than	permit	the
slave-trade	in	the	humblest	village	of	his	dominions.
```
```
YOU	THINK	ME	A	FANATIC	TO-NIGHT, 	for	you	read	history,	 not
with	your	eyes,	BUT	WITH	YOUR	PREJUDICES. 	But	fifty	years
hence,	 when	 Truth	 gets	 a	 hearing,	 the	 Muse	 of	 History	 will	 put
PHOCION	for	the	Greek, 	and	 BRUTUS	for	the	Roman,	HAMPDEN
for	England,	LAFAYETTE	for	France, 	choose	 WASHINGTON	as	the
bright,	consummate	flower	of	our	EARLIER	civilization,	AND	JOHN
BROWN	the	ripe	fruit	of	our	NOONDAY, 	then,	dipping	her	pen	in
the	sunlight,	will	write	in	the	clear	blue,	above	them	all,	the	name	of
THE	 SOLDIER,	 THE	 STATESMAN,	 THE	 MARTYR,	 TOUSSAINT
L'OUVERTURE.
```
```
—WENDELL	PHILLIPS,	 Toussaint	l'Ouverture.
```
Drill	 on	 the	 following	 selections	 for	 change	 of	 pitch:	 Beecher's	 "Abraham
Lincoln,"	p.	76;	Seward's	"Irrepressible	Conflict,"	p.	67;	Everett's	"History	of
Liberty,"	 p.	 78;	 Grady's	 "The	 Race	 Problem,"	 p.	 36;	 and	 Beveridge's	 "Pass
Prosperity	Around,"	p.	470.

### CHAPTER	V

#### EFFICIENCY	THROUGH	CHANGE	OF	PACE

```
Hear	how	he	clears	the	points	o'	Faith
Wi'	rattlin'	an'	thumpin'!
Now	meekly	calm,	now	wild	in	wrath,
He's	stampin'	an'	he's	jumpin'.
```
```
—ROBERT	BURNS,	 Holy	Fair.
```
The	Latins	have	bequeathed	to	us	a	word	that	has	no	precise	equivalent	in	our
tongue,	therefore	we	have	accepted	it,	body	unchanged—it	is	the	word	 _tempo_ ,
and	means	 _rate	of	movement_ ,	as	measured	by	the	time	consumed	in	executing
that	movement.


Thus	far	its	use	has	been	largely	limited	to	the	vocal	and	musical	arts,	but	it
would	not	be	surprising	to	hear	tempo	applied	to	more	concrete	matters,	for	it
perfectly	illustrates	the	real	meaning	of	the	word	to	say	that	an	ox-cart	moves	in
slow	tempo,	an	express	train	in	a	fast	tempo.	Our	guns	that	fire	six	hundred
times	a	minute,	shoot	at	a	fast	tempo;	the	old	muzzle	loader	that	required	three
minutes	to	load,	shot	at	a	slow	tempo.	Every	musician	understands	this	principle:
it	requires	longer	to	sing	a	half	note	than	it	does	an	eighth	note.

Now	tempo	is	a	tremendously	important	element	in	good	platform	work,	for
when	a	speaker	delivers	a	whole	address	at	very	nearly	the	same	rate	of	speed	he
is	depriving	himself	of	one	of	his	chief	means	of	emphasis	and	power.	The
baseball	pitcher,	the	bowler	in	cricket,	the	tennis	server,	all	know	the	value	of
change	of	pace—change	of	tempo—in	delivering	their	ball,	and	so	must	the
public	speaker	observe	its	power.

_Change	of	Tempo	Lends	Naturalness	to	the	Delivery_

Naturalness,	or	at	least	seeming	naturalness,	as	was	explained	in	the	chapter	on
"Monotony,"	is	greatly	to	be	desired,	and	a	continual	change	of	tempo	will	go	a
long	way	towards	establishing	it.	Mr.	Howard	Lindsay,	Stage	Manager	for	Miss
Margaret	Anglin,	recently	said	to	the	present	writer	that	change	of	pace	was	one
of	the	most	effective	tools	of	the	actor.	While	it	must	be	admitted	that	the	stilted
mouthings	of	many	actors	indicate	cloudy	mirrors,	still	the	public	speaker	would
do	well	to	study	the	actor's	use	of	tempo.

There	is,	however,	a	more	fundamental	and	effective	source	at	which	to	study
naturalness—a	 trait	 which,	 once	 lost,	 is	 shy	 of	 recapture:	 that	 source	 is	 the
common	conversation	of	any	well-bred	circle.	 _This_ 	is	the	standard	we	strive	to
reach	on	both	stage	and	platform—with	certain	differences,	of	course,	which	will
appear	as	we	go	on.	If	speaker	and	actor	were	to	reproduce	with	absolute	fidelity
every	variation	of	utterance—every	whisper,	grunt,	pause,	silence,	and	explosion
—of	conversation	as	we	find	it	typically	in	everyday	life,	much	of	the	interest
would	leave	the	public	utterance.	Naturalness	in	public	address	is	something
more	than	faithful	reproduction	of	nature—it	is	the	reproduction	of	those	 _typical_
parts	of	nature's	work	which	are	truly	representative	of	the	whole.

The	realistic	story-writer	understands	this	in	writing	dialogue,	and	we	must	take
it	into	account	in	seeking	for	naturalness	through	change	of	tempo.

Suppose	you	speak	the	first	of	the	following	sentences	in	a	slow	tempo,	the
second	quickly,	observing	how	natural	is	the	effect.	Then	speak	both	with	the


same	rapidity	and	note	the	difference.

```
I	can't	recall	what	I	did	with	my	knife.	Oh,	now	I	remember	I	gave	it
to	Mary.
```
We	see	here	that	a	change	of	tempo	often	occurs	in	the	same	sentence—for
tempo	 applies	 not	 only	 to	 single	 words,	 groups	 of	 words,	 and	 groups	 of
sentences,	but	to	the	major	parts	of	a	public	speech	as	well.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	In	the	following,	speak	the	words	"long,	long	while"	very	slowly;	the	rest	of
the	sentence	is	spoken	in	moderately	rapid	tempo.

```
When	you	and	I	behind	the	Veil	are	past,
Oh	but	the	long,	long	while	the	world	shall
last,
Which	of	our	coming	and	departure	heeds,
As	the	seven	seas	should	heed	a	pebble	cast.
```
Note:	In	the	following	selections	the	passages	that	should	be	given	a	fast	tempo
are	in	italics;	those	that	should	be	given	in	a	slow	tempo	are	in	small	capitals.
Practise	these	selections,	and	then	try	others,	changing	from	fast	to	slow	tempo
on	different	parts,	carefully	noting	the	effect.

2.	 No	 MIRABEAU,	 NAPOLEON,	 BURNS,	 CROMWELL,	 NO
_man_ 	ADEQUATE	 _to_ 	DO	ANYTHING	 _but	is	first	of	all	in_ 	RIGHT
EARNEST _about	it—what	I	call_ 	A	SINCERE	 _man.	I	should	say_
SINCERITY,	 _a_ 	GREAT,	DEEP,	GENUINE	SINCERITY,	 _is	the	first_
CHARACTERISTIC	 _of	 a	 man	 in	 any	 way_ HEROIC.	 _Not	 the
sincerity	that_ CALLS	 _itself	 sincere.	 Ah	 no.	 That	 is	 a	 very	 poor
matter	 indeed_ —A	 SHALLOW,	 BRAGGART,	 CONSCIOUS
_sincerity,	 oftenest_ SELF-CONCEIT	 _mainly.	 The_ GREAT	 MAN'S
SINCERITY	 _is	 of	 a	 kind	 he_ CANNOT	 SPEAK	 OF.	 _Is_ NOT
CONSCIOUS	 _of_ .—THOMAS	CARLYLE.
3.	TRUE	WORTH	 _is	in_ 	BEING—NOT	SEEMING— _in	doing	each
day	that	goes	by_ 	SOME	LITTLE	GOOD,	 _not	in_ 	DREAMING	 _of_
GREAT	THINGS	 _to	do	by	and	by.	For	whatever	men	say	in	their_
BLINDNESS,	 _and	in	spite	of	the_ 	FOLLIES	 _of_ 	YOUTH,	 _there	is_


```
nothing	so KINGLY	 as KINDNESS,	 and	 nothing	 so ROYAL	 as
TRUTH.— Anonymous.
```
4.	To	get	a	natural	effect,	where	would	you	use	slow	and	where	fast	tempo	in	the
following?

#### FOOL'S	GOLD

```
See	him	there,	cold	and	gray,
Watch	him	as	he	tries	to	play;
No,	he	doesn't	know	the	way—
He	began	to	learn	too	late.
She's	a	grim	old	hag,	is	Fate,
For	she	let	him	have	his	pile,
Smiling	to	herself	the	while,
Knowing	what	the	cost	would	be,
When	he'd	found	the	Golden	Key.
Multimillionaire	is	he,
Many	times	more	rich	than	we;
But	at	that	I	wouldn't	trade
With	the	bargain	that	he	made.
Came	here	many	years	ago,
Not	a	person	did	he	know;
Had	the	money-hunger	bad—
Mad	for	money,	piggish	mad;
Didn't	let	a	joy	divert	him,
Didn't	let	a	sorrow	hurt	him,
Let	his	friends	and	kin	desert	him,
While	he	planned	and	plugged	and	hurried
```
```
On	his	quest	for	gold	and	power.
Every	single	wakeful	hour
With	a	money	thought	he'd	dower;
All	the	while	as	he	grew	older,
And	grew	bolder,	he	grew	colder.
And	he	thought	that	some	day
He	would	take	the	time	to	play;
But,	say—he	was	wrong.
Life's	a	song;
```

In	the	spring
Youth	can	sing	and	can	fling;
But	joys	wing
When	we're	older,
Like	birds	when	it's	colder.
The	roses	were	red	as	he	went	rushing	by,
And	glorious	tapestries	hung	in	the	sky,
And	the	clover	was	waving
'Neath	honey-bees'	slaving;
A	bird	over	there
Roundelayed	a	soft	air;
But	the	man	couldn't	spare
Time	for	gathering	flowers,
Or	resting	in	bowers,
Or	gazing	at	skies
That	gladdened	the	eyes.
So	he	kept	on	and	swept	on
Through	mean,	sordid	years.
Now	he's	up	to	his	ears
In	the	choicest	of	stocks.
He	owns	endless	blocks
Of	houses	and	shops,
And	the	stream	never	stops
Pouring	into	his	banks.
I	suppose	that	he	ranks
Pretty	near	to	the	top.
What	I	have	wouldn't	sop
His	ambition	one	tittle;
And	yet	with	my	little
I	don't	care	to	trade

With	the	bargain	he	made.
Just	watch	him	to-day—
See	him	trying	to	play.
He's	come	back	for	blue	skies.
But	they're	in	a	new	guise—
Winter's	here,	all	is	gray,
The	birds	are	away,
The	meadows	are	brown,


```
The	leaves	lie	aground,
And	the	gay	brook	that	wound
With	a	swirling	and	whirling
Of	waters,	is	furling
Its	bosom	in	ice.
And	he	hasn't	the	price,
With	all	of	his	gold,
To	buy	what	he	sold.
He	knows	now	the	cost
Of	the	spring-time	he	lost,
Of	the	flowers	he	tossed
From	his	way,
And,	say,
He'd	pay
Any	price	if	the	day
Could	be	made	not	so	gray.
He	can't	play.
```
```
—HERBERT	KAUFMAN.	Used	by	permission	of	 Everybody's	Magazine.
```
_Change	of	Tempo	Prevents	Monotony_

The	canary	in	the	cage	before	the	window	is	adding	to	the	beauty	and	charm	of
his	singing	by	a	continual	change	of	tempo.	If	King	Solomon	had	been	an	orator
he	undoubtedly	would	have	gathered	wisdom	from	the	song	of	the	wild	birds	as
well	as	from	the	bees.	Imagine	a	song	written	with	but	quarter	notes.	Imagine	an
auto	with	only	one	speed.

### EXERCISES

1.	Note	the	change	of	tempo	indicated	in	the	following,	and	how	it	gives	a
pleasing	variety.	Read	it	aloud.	(Fast	tempo	is	indicated	by	italics,	slow	by	small
capitals.)

```
And	he	thought	that	some	day	he	would	take	the	time	to	play;	but,
say —HE	WAS	WRONG.	LIFE'S	A	SONG;	 in	the 	SPRING	YOUTH
can SING	 and	 can FLING;	 BUT	 JOYS	 WING	 WHEN	 WE'RE
OLDER,	LIKE	THE	BIRDS	 when	it's 	COLDER.	 The	roses	were	red
as	he	went	rushing	by,	and	glorious	tapestries	hung	in	the	sky.
```

2.	Turn	to	"Fools	Gold,"	on	Page	 42 ,	and	deliver	it	in	an	unvaried	tempo:	note
how	monotonous	is	the	result.	This	poem	requires	a	great	many	changes	of
tempo,	and	is	an	excellent	one	for	practise.
3.	Use	the	changes	of	tempo	indicated	in	the	following,	noting	how	they	prevent
monotony.	Where	no	change	of	tempo	is	indicated,	use	a	moderate	speed.	Too
much	of	variety	would	really	be	a	return	to	monotony.

### THE	MOB

```
"A	MOB	KILLS	THE	WRONG	MAN"	 was	flashed	in	a	newspaper
headline	lately.	The	mob	is	an 	IRRESPONSIBLE,	UNTHINKING
MASS.	 It	 always	 destroys BUT	 NEVER	 CONSTRUCTS.	 It
criticises 	BUT	NEVER	CREATES.
```
```
Utter	a	great	truth 	AND	THE	MOB	WILL	HATE	YOU.	 See	how	it
condemned DANTE	 to EXILE.	 Encounter	 the	 dangers	 of	 the
unknown	world	for	its	benefit ,	AND	THE	MOB	WILL	DECLARE
YOU	CRAZY.	 It	ridiculed 	COLUMBUS,	 and	for	discovering	a	new
world 	GAVE	HIM	PRISON	AND	CHAINS.
```
```
Write	a	poem	to	thrill	human	hearts	with	pleasure ,	AND	THE	MOB
WILL	ALLOW	YOU	TO	GO	HUNGRY:	THE	BLIND	HOMER
BEGGED	BREAD	THROUGH	THE	STREETS.	 Invent	a	machine
to	 save	 labor AND	 THE	 MOB	 WILL	 DECLARE	 YOU	 ITS
ENEMY.	 Less	than	a	hundred	years	ago	a	furious	rabble	smashed
Thimonier's	invention,	the	sewing	machine.
```
```
BUILD	 A	 STEAMSHIP	 TO	 CARRY	 MERCHANDISE	 AND
ACCELERATE	TRAVEL	 and	the	mob	will	call	you	a	fool .	A	MOB
LINED	THE	SHORES	OF	THE	HUDSON	RIVER	TO	LAUGH	AT
THE	MAIDEN	ATTEMPT	OF	"FULTON'S	FOLLY,"	 as	they	called
his	little	steamboat.
```
```
Emerson	says:	"A	mob	is	a	society	of	bodies	voluntarily	bereaving
themselves	 of	 reason	 and	 traversing	 its	 work.	 The	 mob	 is	 man
voluntarily	 descended	 to	 the	 nature	 of	 the	 beast.	 Its	 fit	 hour	 of
activity 	is	NIGHT.	ITS	ACTIONS	ARE	INSANE,	 like	its	whole
constitution.	 It	 persecutes	 a	 principle —IT	 WOULD	 WHIP	 A
RIGHT.	It	would	tar	and	feather	justice	by	inflicting	fire	and	outrage
```

```
upon	the	house	and	persons	of	those	who	have	these."
```
```
The	mob	spirit	stalks	abroad	in	our	land	today.	Every	week	gives	a
fresh	victim	to	its	malignant	cry	for	blood.	There	were	48	persons
killed	by	mobs	in	the	United	States	in	1913;	64	in	1912,	and	71	in
```
1911.	 Among	 the	 48	 last	 year	 were	 a	 woman	 and	 a	 child.	 Two
victims	were	proven	innocent	after	their	death.

```
IN	399	B.C.	A	DEMAGOG	APPEALED	TO	THE	POPULAR	MOB
TO	HAVE	SOCRATES	PUT	TO	DEATH	 and	he	was	sentenced	to
the	hemlock	cup. 	FOURTEEN	HUNDRED	YEARS	AFTERWARD
AN	ENTHUSIAST	APPEALED	TO	THE	POPULAR	MOB	 and	all
Europe	plunged	into	the	Holy	Land	to	kill	and	mangle	the	heathen.
In	the	seventeenth	century	a	demagog	appealed	to	the	ignorance	of
men 	AND	TWENTY	PEOPLE	WERE	EXECUTED	AT	SALEM,
MASS.,	 WITHIN	 SIX	 MONTHS	 FOR	 WITCHCRAFT.	 Two
thousand	 years	 ago	 the	 mob	 yelled ,	 " RELEASE	 UNTO	 US
BARABBAS "—AND	BARABBAS	WAS	A	MURDERER!
```
```
— From	an	Editorial	by	D.C.	in	"Leslie's	Weekly,"	by	permission.
```
```
Present-day	business is	 as	 unlike	 OLD-TIME	 BUSINESS	 as	 the
OLD-TIME	 OX-CART	 is	 unlike	 the	 present-day	 locomotive.
INVENTION	has	made	the	 whole	world	over	again.	The	railroad,
telegraph,	 telephone have	 bound	 the	 people	 of	 MODERN
NATIONS	into	FAMILIES.	 To	do	the	business	of	these	closely	knit
millions	in	every	modern	country 	GREAT	BUSINESS	CONCERNS
CAME	INTO	BEING.	 What	we	call	big	business	is	the 	CHILD	OF
THE	 ECONOMIC	 PROGRESS	 OF	 MANKIND.	 So	 warfare	 to
destroy	 big	 business is	 FOOLISH	 BECAUSE	 IT	 CAN	 NOT
SUCCEED	 and	 wicked BECAUSE	 IT	 OUGHT	 NOT	 TO
SUCCEED.	 Warfare	 to	 destroy	 big	 business	 does	 not	 hurt	 big
business,	which	always	comes	out	on	top ,	SO	MUCH	AS	IT	HURTS
ALL	 OTHER	 BUSINESS	 WHICH,	 IN	 SUCH	 A	 WARFARE,
NEVER	COME	OUT	ON	TOP.—A.J.	BEVERIDGE.
```
_Change	of	Tempo	Produces	Emphasis_

Any	big	change	of	tempo	is	emphatic	and	will	catch	the	attention.	You	may
scarcely	be	conscious	that	a	passenger	train	is	moving	when	it	is	flying	over	the
rails	at	ninety	miles	an	hour,	but	if	it	slows	down	very	suddenly	to	a	ten-mile	gait


your	attention	will	be	drawn	to	it	very	decidedly.	You	may	forget	that	you	are
listening	to	music	as	you	dine,	but	let	the	orchestra	either	increase	or	diminish	its
tempo	in	a	very	marked	degree	and	your	attention	will	be	arrested	at	once.

This	same	principle	will	procure	emphasis	in	a	speech.	If	you	have	a	point	that
you	want	to	bring	home	to	your	audience	forcefully,	make	a	sudden	and	great
change	of	tempo,	and	they	will	be	powerless	to	keep	from	paying	attention	to
that	point.	Recently	the	present	writer	saw	a	play	in	which	these	lines	were
spoken:

"I	don't	want	you	to	forget	what	I	said.	I	want	you	to	remember	it	the	longest	day
you—I	don't	care	if	you've	got	six	guns."	The	part	up	to	the	dash	was	delivered
in	a	very	slow	tempo,	the	remainder	was	named	out	at	lightning	speed,	as	the
character	who	was	spoken	to	drew	a	revolver.	The	effect	was	so	emphatic	that
the	lines	are	remembered	six	months	afterwards,	while	most	of	the	play	has
faded	from	memory.	The	student	who	has	powers	of	observation	will	see	this
principle	applied	by	all	our	best	actors	in	their	efforts	to	get	emphasis	where
emphasis	is	due.	But	remember	that	the	emotion	in	the	matter	must	warrant	the
intensity	 in	 the	 manner,	 or	 the	 effect	 will	 be	 ridiculous.	 Too	 many	 public
speakers	are	impressive	over	nothing.

Thought	rather	than	rules	must	govern	you	while	practising	change	of	pace.	It	is
often	a	matter	of	no	consequence	which	part	of	a	sentence	is	spoken	slowly	and
which	is	given	in	fast	tempo.	The	main	thing	to	be	desired	is	the	change	itself.
For	example,	in	the	selection,	"The	Mob,"	on	page	46,	note	the	last	paragraph.
Reverse	the	instructions	given,	delivering	everything	that	is	marked	for	slow
tempo,	quickly;	and	everything	that	is	marked	for	quick	tempo,	slowly.	You	will
note	that	the	force	or	meaning	of	the	passage	has	not	been	destroyed.

However,	many	passages	cannot	be	changed	to	a	slow	tempo	without	destroying
their	force.	Instances:	The	Patrick	Henry	speech	on	page	110,	and	the	following
passage	from	Whittier's	"Barefoot	Boy."


```
O	for	boyhood's	time	of	June,	crowding	years	in	one	brief	moon,
when	all	things	I	heard	or	saw,	me,	their	master,	waited	for.	I	was
rich	in	flowers	and	trees,	humming-birds	and	honey-bees;	for	my
sport	the	squirrel	played;	plied	the	snouted	mole	his	spade;	for	my
taste	the	blackberry	cone	purpled	over	hedge	and	stone;	laughed	the
brook	 for	 my	 delight	 through	 the	 day	 and	 through	 the	 night,
whispering	at	the	garden	wall,	talked	with	me	from	fall	to	fall;	mine
the	 sand-rimmed	 pickerel	 pond;	 mine	 the	 walnut	 slopes	 beyond;
mine,	an	bending	orchard	trees,	apples	of	Hesperides!	Still,	as	my
horizon	grew,	larger	grew	my	riches,	too;	all	the	world	I	saw	or
knew	seemed	a	complex	Chinese	toy,	fashioned	for	a	barefoot	boy!
—J.G.	WHITTIER.
```
Be	careful	in	regulating	your	tempo	not	to	get	your	movement	too	fast.	This	is	a
common	fault	with	amateur	speakers.	Mrs.	Siddons	rule	was,	"Take	time."	A
hundred	years	ago	there	was	used	in	medical	circles	a	preparation	known	as	"the
shot	gun	remedy;"	it	was	a	mixture	of	about	fifty	different	ingredients,	and	was
given	to	the	patient	in	the	hope	that	at	least	one	of	them	would	prove	efficacious!
That	seems	a	rather	poor	scheme	for	medical	practice,	but	it	is	good	to	use	"shot
gun"	tempo	for	most	speeches,	as	it	gives	a	variety.	Tempo,	like	diet,	is	best
when	mixed.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	Define	tempo.
2.	What	words	come	from	the	same	root?
3.	What	is	meant	by	a	change	of	tempo?
4.	What	effects	are	gained	by	it?
5.	Name	three	methods	of	destroying	monotony	and	gaining	force	in	speaking.
6.	Note	the	changes	of	tempo	in	a	conversation	or	speech	that	you	hear.	Were
they	well	made?	Why?	Illustrate.
7.	Read	selections	on	pages	 34 ,	 35 ,	 36 ,	 37 ,	and	 38 ,	paying	careful	attention	to
change	of	tempo.
8.	As	a	rule,	excitement,	joy,	or	intense	anger	take	a	fast	tempo,	while	sorrow,


and	sentiments	of	great	dignity	or	solemnity	tend	to	a	slow	tempo.	Try	to	deliver
Lincoln's	Gettysburg	speech	(page	 50 ),	in	a	fast	tempo,	or	Patrick	Henry's	speech
(page	 110 ),	in	a	slow	tempo,	and	note	how	ridiculous	the	effect	will	be.

Practise	 the	 following	 selections,	 noting	 carefully	 where	 the	 tempo	 may	 be
changed	to	advantage.	Experiment,	making	numerous	changes.	Which	one	do
you	like	best?

```
DEDICATION	OF	GETTYSBURG	CEMETERY
```
```
Fourscore	and	seven	years	ago,	our	fathers	brought	forth	upon	this
continent	a	new	nation,	conceived	in	liberty	and	dedicated	to	the
proposition	that	all	men	are	created	equal.	Now	we	are	engaged	in	a
great	 civil	 war,	 testing	 whether	 that	 nation—or	 any	 nation	 so
conceived	and	so	dedicated—can	long	endure.
```
```
We	are	met	on	a	great	battlefield	of	that	war.	We	are	met	to	dedicate
a	portion	of	it	as	the	final	resting-place	of	those	who	have	given	their
lives	that	that	nation	might	live.	It	is	altogether	fitting	and	proper
that	we	should	do	this.
```
```
But,	in	a	larger	sense,	we	cannot	dedicate,	we	cannot	consecrate,	we
cannot	hallow,	this	ground.	The	brave	men,	living	and	dead,	who
struggled	here,	have	consecrated	it,	far	above	our	power	to	add	or	to
detract.	The	world	will	very	little	note	nor	long	remember	what	we
say	here;	but	it	can	never	forget	what	they	did	here.
```
```
It	is	for	us,	the	living,	rather,	to	be	dedicated	here	to	the	unfinished
work	they	have	thus	far	so	nobly	carried	on.	It	is	rather	for	us	to	be
here	dedicated	to	the	great	task	remaining	before	us:	that	from	these
honored	dead	we	take	increased	devotion	to	that	cause	for	which
they	here	gave	the	last	full	measure	of	devotion;	that	we	here	highly
resolve	that	these	dead	shall	not	have	died	in	vain;	that	the	nation
shall,	under	God,	have	a	new	birth	of	freedom,	and	that	government
of	the	people,	by	the	people,	for	the	people,	shall	not	perish	from	the
earth.
```
```
—ABRAHAM	LINCOLN.
```
#### A	PLEA	FOR	CUBA


[This	deliberative	oration	was	delivered	by	Senator	Thurston	in	the	United	States	Senate	on
March	24,	1898.	It	is	recorded	in	full	in	the	 _Congressional	Record_ of	 that	 date.	 Mrs.
Thurston	died	in	Cuba.	As	a	dying	request	she	urged	her	husband,	who	was	investigating
affairs	in	the	island,	to	do	his	utmost	to	induce	the	United	States	to	intervene—hence	this
oration.]

Mr.	President,	I	am	here	by	command	of	silent	lips	to	speak	once
and	for	all	upon	the	Cuban	situation.	I	shall	endeavor	to	be	honest,
conservative,	and	just.	I	have	no	purpose	to	stir	the	public	passion	to
any	 action	 not	 necessary	 and	 imperative	 to	 meet	 the	 duties	 and
necessities	 of	 American	 responsibility,	 Christian	 humanity,	 and
national	honor.	I	would	shirk	this	task	if	I	could,	but	I	dare	not.	I
cannot	satisfy	my	conscience	except	by	speaking,	and	speaking	now.

I	went	to	Cuba	firmly	believing	that	the	condition	of	affairs	there
had	been	greatly	exaggerated	by	the	press,	and	my	own	efforts	were
directed	 in	 the	 first	 instance	 to	 the	 attempted	 exposure	 of	 these
supposed	 exaggerations.	 There	 has	 undoubtedly	 been	 much
sensationalism	in	the	journalism	of	the	time,	but	as	to	the	condition
of	 affairs	 in	 Cuba,	 there	 has	 been	 no	 exaggeration,	 because
exaggeration	has	been	impossible.

Under	 the	 inhuman	 policy	 of	 Weyler	 not	 less	 than	 four	 hundred
thousand	 self-supporting,	 simple,	 peaceable,	 defenseless	 country
people	were	driven	from	their	homes	in	the	agricultural	portions	of
the	Spanish	provinces	to	the	cities,	and	imprisoned	upon	the	barren
waste	outside	the	residence	portions	of	these	cities	and	within	the
lines	of	intrenchment	established	a	little	way	beyond.	Their	humble
homes	 were	 burned,	 their	 fields	 laid	 waste,	 their	 implements	 of
husbandry	destroyed,	their	live	stock	and	food	supplies	for	the	most
part	confiscated.	Most	of	the	people	were	old	men,	women,	and
children.	They	were	thus	placed	in	hopeless	imprisonment,	without
shelter	or	food.	There	was	no	work	for	them	in	the	cities	to	which
they	 were	 driven.	 They	 were	 left	 with	 nothing	 to	 depend	 upon
except	the	scanty	charity	of	the	inhabitants	of	the	cities	and	with
slow	starvation	their	inevitable	fate....

The	 pictures	 in	 the	 American	 newspapers	 of	 the	 starving
reconcentrados	are	true.	They	can	all	be	duplicated	by	the	thousands.
I	 never	 before	 saw,	 and	 please	 God	 I	 may	 never	 again	 see,	 so
deplorable	a	sight	as	the	reconcentrados	in	the	suburbs	of	Matanzas.


I	can	never	forget	to	my	dying	day	the	hopeless	anguish	in	their
despairing	eyes.	Huddled	about	their	little	bark	huts,	they	raised	no
voice	of	appeal	to	us	for	alms	as	we	went	among	them....

Men,	 women,	 and	 children	 stand	 silent,	 famishing	 with	 hunger.
Their	only	appeal	comes	from	their	sad	eyes,	through	which	one
looks	as	through	an	open	window	into	their	agonizing	souls.

The	 government	 of	 Spain	 has	 not	 appropriated	 and	 will	 not
appropriate	one	dollar	to	save	these	people.	They	are	now	being
attended	and	nursed	and	administered	to	by	the	charity	of	the	United
States.	 Think	 of	 the	 spectacle!	 We	 are	 feeding	 these	 citizens	 of
Spain;	we	are	nursing	their	sick;	we	are	saving	such	as	can	be	saved,
and	yet	there	are	those	who	still	say	it	is	right	for	us	to	send	food,
but	we	must	keep	hands	off.	I	say	that	the	time	has	come	when
muskets	ought	to	go	with	the	food.

We	asked	the	governor	if	he	knew	of	any	relief	for	these	people
except	 through	 the	 charity	 of	 the	 United	 States.	 He	 did	 not.	 We
asked	him,	"When	do	you	think	the	time	will	come	that	these	people
can	be	placed	in	a	position	of	self-support?"	He	replied	to	us,	with
deep	feeling,	"Only	the	good	God	or	the	great	government	of	the
United	States	will	answer	that	question."	I	hope	and	believe	that	the
good	God	by	the	great	government	of	the	United	States	will	answer
that	question.

I	shall	refer	to	these	horrible	things	no	further.	They	are	there.	God
pity	me,	I	have	seen	them;	they	will	remain	in	my	mind	forever—
and	 this	 is	 almost	 the	 twentieth	 century.	 Christ	 died	 nineteen
hundred	years	ago,	and	Spain	is	a	Christian	nation.	She	has	set	up
more	crosses	in	more	lands,	beneath	more	skies,	and	under	them	has
butchered	 more	 people	 than	 all	 the	 other	 nations	 of	 the	 earth
combined.	Europe	may	tolerate	her	existence	as	long	as	the	people
of	the	Old	World	wish.	God	grant	that	before	another	Christmas
morning	the	last	vestige	of	Spanish	tyranny	and	oppression	will	have
vanished	from	the	Western	Hemisphere!...

The	time	for	action	has	come.	No	greater	reason	for	it	can	exist	to-
morrow	than	exists	to-day.	Every	hour's	delay	only	adds	another
chapter	to	the	awful	story	of	misery	and	death.	Only	one	power	can


intervene—the	 United	 States	 of	 America.	 Ours	 is	 the	 one	 great
nation	in	the	world,	the	mother	of	American	republics.	She	holds	a
position	of	trust	and	responsibility	toward	the	peoples	and	affairs	of
the	whole	Western	Hemisphere.	It	was	her	glorious	example	which
inspired	the	patriots	of	Cuba	to	raise	the	flag	of	liberty	in	her	eternal
hills.	We	cannot	refuse	to	accept	this	responsibility	which	the	God	of
the	universe	has	placed	upon	us	as	the	one	great	power	in	the	New
World.	We	must	act!	What	shall	our	action	be?

Against	the	intervention	of	the	United	States	in	this	holy	cause	there
is	but	one	voice	of	dissent;	that	voice	is	the	voice	of	the	money-
changers.	They	fear	war!	Not	because	of	any	Christian	or	ennobling
sentiment	against	war	and	in	favor	of	peace,	but	because	they	fear
that	a	declaration	of	war,	or	the	intervention	which	might	result	in
war,	would	have	a	depressing	effect	upon	the	stock	market.	Let	them
go.	They	do	not	represent	American	sentiment;	they	do	not	represent
American	patriotism.	Let	them	take	their	chances	as	they	can.	Their
weal	or	woe	is	of	but	little	importance	to	the	liberty-loving	people	of
the	United	States.	They	will	not	do	the	fighting;	their	blood	will	not
flow;	they	will	keep	on	dealing	in	options	on	human	life.	Let	the
men	whose	loyalty	is	to	the	dollar	stand	aside	while	the	men	whose
loyalty	is	to	the	flag	come	to	the	front.

Mr.	President,	there	is	only	one	action	possible,	if	any	is	taken;	that
is,	intervention	for	the	independence	of	the	island.	But	we	cannot
intervene	and	save	Cuba	without	the	exercise	of	force,	and	force
means	war;	war	means	blood.	The	lowly	Nazarene	on	the	shores	of
Galilee	preached	the	divine	doctrine	of	love,	"Peace	on	earth,	good
will	toward	men."	Not	peace	on	earth	at	the	expense	of	liberty	and
humanity.	Not	good	will	toward	men	who	despoil,	enslave,	degrade,
and	starve	to	death	their	fellow-men.	I	believe	in	the	doctrine	of
Christ.	I	believe	in	the	doctrine	of	peace;	but,	Mr.	President,	men
must	have	liberty	before	there	can	come	abiding	peace.

Intervention	means	force.	Force	means	war.	War	means	blood.	But	it
will	be	God's	force.	When	has	a	battle	for	humanity	and	liberty	ever
been	won	except	by	force?	What	barricade	of	wrong,	injustice,	and
oppression	has	ever	been	carried	except	by	force?

Force	 compelled	 the	 signature	 of	 unwilling	 royalty	 to	 the	 great


Magna	Charta;	force	put	life	into	the	Declaration	of	Independence
and	made	effective	the	Emancipation	Proclamation;	force	beat	with
naked	hands	upon	the	iron	gateway	of	the	Bastile	and	made	reprisal
in	one	awful	hour	for	centuries	of	kingly	crime;	force	waved	the	flag
of	 revolution	 over	 Bunker	 Hill	 and	 marked	 the	 snows	 of	 Valley
Forge	with	blood-stained	feet;	force	held	the	broken	line	of	Shiloh,
climbed	the	flame-swept	hill	at	Chattanooga,	and	stormed	the	clouds
on	Lookout	Heights;	force	marched	with	Sherman	to	the	sea,	rode
with	 Sheridan	 in	 the	 valley	 of	 the	 Shenandoah,	 and	 gave	 Grant
victory	at	Appomattox;	force	saved	the	Union,	kept	the	stars	in	the
flag,	made	"niggers"	men.	The	time	for	God's	force	has	come	again.
Let	the	impassioned	lips	of	American	patriots	once	more	take	up	the
song:—

```
"In	the	beauty	of	the	lilies,	Christ	was	born
across	the	sea.
With	a	glory	in	His	bosom	that	transfigures
you	and	me;
As	He	died	to	make	men	holy,	let	us	die	to
make	men	free.
While	God	is	marching	on."
```
Others	may	hesitate,	others	may	procrastinate,	others	may	plead	for
further	diplomatic	negotiation,	which	means	delay;	but	for	me,	I	am
ready	to	act	now,	and	for	my	action	I	am	ready	to	answer	to	my
conscience,	my	country,	and	my	God.

```
—JAMES	MELLEN	THURSTON.
```
### CHAPTER	VI

#### PAUSE	AND	POWER

The	 true	 business	 of	 the	 literary	 artist	 is	 to	 plait	 or	 weave	 his
meaning,	 involving	 it	 around	 itself;	 so	 that	 each	 sentence,	 by
successive	phrases,	shall	first	come	into	a	kind	of	knot,	and	then,


```
after	a	moment	of	suspended	meaning,	solve	and	clear	itself.
```
```
—GEORGE	SAINTSBURY,	on	 English	Prose
Style ,	in	 Miscellaneous	Essays.
```
```
...	pause	...	has	a	distinctive	value,	expressed	in	silence;	in	other
words,	while	the	voice	is	waiting,	the	music	of	the	movement	is
going	on	...	To	manage	it,	with	its	delicacies	and	compensations,
requires	that	same	fineness	of	ear	on	which	we	must	depend	for	all
faultless	prose	rhythm.	When	there	is	no	compensation,	when	the
pause	is	inadvertent	...	there	is	a	sense	of	jolting	and	lack,	as	if	some
pin	or	fastening	had	fallen	out.
```
```
—JOHN	FRANKLIN	GENUNG,	 The	Working	Principles	of	Rhetoric.
```
Pause,	 in	 public	 speech,	 is	 not	 mere	 silence—it	 is	 silence	 made	 designedly
eloquent.

When	 a	 man	 says:	 "I-uh-it	 is	 with	 profound-ah-pleasure	 that-er-I	 have	 been
permitted	 to	 speak	 to	 you	 tonight	 and-uh-uh-I	 should	 say-er"—that	 is	 not
pausing;	that	is	stumbling.	It	is	conceivable	that	a	speaker	may	be	effective	in
spite	of	stumbling—but	never	because	of	it.

On	the	other	hand,	one	of	the	most	important	means	of	developing	power	in
public	speaking	is	to	pause	either	before	or	after,	or	both	before	and	after,	an
important	word	or	phrase.	No	one	who	would	be	a	forceful	speaker	can	afford	to
neglect	this	principle—one	of	the	most	significant	that	has	ever	been	inferred
from	 listening	 to	 great	 orators.	 Study	 this	 potential	 device	 until	 you	 have
absorbed	and	assimilated	it.

It	would	seem	that	this	principle	of	rhetorical	pause	ought	to	be	easily	grasped
and	applied,	but	a	long	experience	in	training	both	college	men	and	maturer
speakers	has	demonstrated	that	the	device	is	no	more	readily	understood	by	the
average	 man	 when	 it	 is	 first	 explained	 to	 him	 than	 if	 it	 were	 spoken	 in
Hindoostani.	 Perhaps	 this	 is	 because	 we	 do	 not	 eagerly	 devour	 the	 fruit	 of
experience	when	it	is	impressively	set	before	us	on	the	platter	of	authority;	we
like	to	pluck	fruit	for	ourselves—it	not	only	tastes	better,	but	we	never	forget
that	tree!	Fortunately,	this	is	no	difficult	task,	in	this	instance,	for	the	trees	stand
thick	all	about	us.

One	man	is	pleading	the	cause	of	another:


```
"This	man,	my	friends,	has	made	this	wonderful	sacrifice—for	you
and	me."
```
Did	not	the	pause	surprisingly	enhance	the	power	of	this	statement?	See	how	he
gathered	up	reserve	force	and	impressiveness	to	deliver	the	words	"for	you	and
me."	Repeat	this	passage	without	making	a	pause.	Did	it	lose	in	effectiveness?

Naturally	enough,	during	 a	premeditated	pause	 of	this	kind	 the	mind	of	the
speaker	is	concentrated	on	the	thought	to	which	he	is	about	to	give	expression.
He	will	not	dare	to	allow	his	thoughts	to	wander	for	an	instant—he	will	rather
supremely	center	his	thought	and	his	emotion	upon	the	sacrifice	whose	service,
sweetness	and	divinity	he	is	enforcing	by	his	appeal.

_Concentration_ ,	then,	is	the	big	word	here—no	pause	without	it	can	perfectly	hit
the	mark.

Efficient	pausing	accomplishes	one	or	all	of	four	results:

_1.	 Pause	 Enables	 the	 Mind	 of	 the	 Speaker	 to	 Gather	 His	 Forces	 Before
Delivering	the	Final	Volley_

It	 is	 often	 dangerous	 to	 rush	 into	 battle	 without	 pausing	 for	 preparation	 or
waiting	for	recruits.	Consider	Custer's	massacre	as	an	instance.

You	can	light	a	match	by	holding	it	beneath	a	lens	and	concentrating	the	sun's
rays.	You	would	not	expect	the	match	to	flame	if	you	jerked	the	lens	back	and
forth	quickly.	Pause,	and	the	lens	gathers	the	heat.	Your	thoughts	will	not	set	fire
to	the	minds	of	your	hearers	unless	you	pause	to	gather	the	force	that	comes	by	a
second	or	two	of	concentration.	Maple	trees	and	gas	wells	are	rarely	tapped
continually;	when	a	stronger	flow	is	wanted,	a	pause	is	made,	nature	has	time	to
gather	her	reserve	forces,	and	when	the	tree	or	the	well	is	reopened,	a	stronger
flow	is	the	result.

Use	the	same	common	sense	with	your	mind.	If	you	would	make	a	thought
particularly	effective,	pause	 just	before	its	 utterance,	concentrate	your	 mind-
energies,	and	then	give	it	expression	with	renewed	vigor.	Carlyle	was	right:
"Speak	 not,	 I	 passionately	 entreat	 thee,	 till	 thy	 thought	 has	 silently	 matured
itself.	Out	of	silence	comes	thy	strength.	Speech	is	silvern,	Silence	is	golden;
Speech	is	human,	Silence	is	divine."

Silence	has	been	called	the	father	of	speech.	It	should	be.	Too	many	of	our
public	speeches	have	no	fathers.	They	ramble	along	without	pause	or	break.	Like


Tennyson's	brook,	they	run	on	forever.	Listen	to	little	children,	the	policeman	on
the	corner,	the	family	conversation	around	the	table,	and	see	how	many	pauses
they	naturally	use,	for	they	are	unconscious	of	effects.	When	we	get	before	an
audience,	we	throw	most	of	our	natural	methods	of	expression	to	the	wind,	and
strive	after	artificial	effects.	Get	back	to	the	methods	of	nature—and	pause.

_2.	Pause	Prepares	the	Mind	of	the	Auditor	to	Receive	Your	Message_

Herbert	Spencer	said	that	all	the	universe	is	in	motion.	So	it	is—and	all	perfect
motion	is	rhythm.	Part	of	rhythm	is	rest.	Rest	follows	activity	all	through	nature.
Instances:	day	and	night;	spring—summer—autumn—winter;	a	period	of	rest
between	breaths;	an	instant	of	complete	rest	between	heart	beats.	Pause,	and	give
the	attention-powers	of	your	audience	a	rest.	What	you	say	after	such	a	silence
will	then	have	a	great	deal	more	effect.

When	your	country	cousins	come	to	town,	the	noise	of	a	passing	car	will	awaken
them,	though	it	seldom	affects	a	seasoned	city	dweller.	By	the	continual	passing
of	cars	his	attention-power	has	become	deadened.	In	one	who	visits	the	city	but
seldom,	attention-value	is	insistent.	To	him	the	noise	comes	after	a	long	pause;
hence	its	power.	To	you,	dweller	in	the	city,	there	is	no	pause;	hence	the	low
attention-value.	 After	 riding	 on	 a	 train	several	 hours	 you	 will	 become	 so
accustomed	to	its	roar	that	it	will	lose	its	attention-value,	unless	the	train	should
stop	for	a	while	and	start	again.	If	you	attempt	to	listen	to	a	clock-tick	that	is	so
far	away	that	you	can	barely	hear	it,	you	will	find	that	at	times	you	are	unable	to
distinguish	it,	but	in	a	few	moments	the	sound	becomes	distinct	again.	Your
mind	will	pause	for	rest	whether	you	desire	it	to	do	so	or	not.

The	attention	of	your	audience	will	act	in	quite	the	same	way.	Recognize	this	law
and	prepare	for	it—by	pausing.	Let	it	be	repeated:	the	thought	that	follows	a
pause	is	much	more	dynamic	than	if	no	pause	had	occurred.	What	is	said	to	you
of	a	night	will	not	have	the	same	effect	on	your	mind	as	if	it	had	been	uttered	in
the	morning	when	your	attention	had	been	lately	refreshed	by	the	pause	of	sleep.
We	are	told	on	the	first	page	of	the	Bible	that	even	the	Creative	Energy	of	God
rested	on	the	"seventh	day."	You	may	be	sure,	then,	that	the	frail	finite	mind	of
your	audience	will	likewise	demand	rest.	Observe	nature,	study	her	laws,	and
obey	them	in	your	speaking.

_3.	Pause	Creates	Effective	Suspense_

Suspense	is	responsible	for	a	great	share	of	our	interest	in	life;	it	will	be	the	same
with	your	speech.	A	play	or	a	novel	is	often	robbed	of	much	of	its	interest	if	you


know	the	plot	beforehand.	We	like	to	keep	guessing	as	to	the	outcome.	The
ability	to	create	suspense	is	part	of	woman's	power	to	hold	the	other	sex.	The
circus	acrobat	employs	this	principle	when	he	fails	purposely	in	several	attempts
to	perform	a	feat,	and	then	achieves	it.	Even	the	deliberate	manner	in	which	he
arranges	the	preliminaries	increases	our	expectation—we	like	to	be	kept	waiting.
In	the	last	act	of	the	play,	"Polly	of	the	Circus,"	there	is	a	circus	scene	in	which	a
little	dog	turns	a	backward	somersault	on	the	back	of	a	running	pony.	One	night
when	he	hesitated	and	had	to	be	coaxed	and	worked	with	a	long	time	before	he
would	perform	his	feat	he	got	a	great	deal	more	applause	than	when	he	did	his
trick	at	once.	We	not	only	like	to	wait	but	we	appreciate	what	we	wait	for.	If	fish
bite	too	readily	the	sport	soon	ceases	to	be	a	sport.

It	is	this	same	principle	of	suspense	that	holds	you	in	a	Sherlock	Holmes	story—
you	wait	to	see	how	the	mystery	is	solved,	and	if	it	is	solved	too	soon	you	throw
down	the	tale	unfinished.	Wilkie	Collins'	receipt	for	fiction	writing	well	applies
to	public	speech:	"Make	'em	laugh;	make	'em	weep;	make	'em	wait."	Above	all
else	make	them	wait;	if	they	will	not	do	that	you	may	be	sure	they	will	neither
laugh	nor	weep.

Thus	pause	is	a	valuable	instrument	in	the	hands	of	a	trained	speaker	to	arouse
and	maintain	suspense.	We	once	heard	Mr.	Bryan	say	in	a	speech:	"It	was	my
privilege	to	hear"—and	he	paused,	while	the	audience	wondered	for	a	second
whom	it	was	his	privilege	to	hear—"the	great	evangelist"—and	he	paused	again;
we	knew	a	little	more	about	the	man	he	had	heard,	but	still	wondered	to	which
evangelist	he	referred;	and	then	he	concluded:	"Dwight	L.	Moody."	Mr.	Bryan
paused	slightly	again	and	continued:	"I	came	to	regard	him"—here	he	paused
again	and	held	the	audience	in	a	brief	moment	of	suspense	as	to	how	he	had
regarded	Mr.	Moody,	then	continued—"as	the	greatest	preacher	of	his	day."	Let
the	dashes	illustrate	pauses	and	we	have	the	following:

```
"It	 was	 my	 privilege	 to	 hear—the	 great	 evangelist—Dwight	 L.
Moody.—I	came	to	regard	him—as	the	greatest	preacher	of	his	day."
```
The	 unskilled	 speaker	 would	 have	 rattled	 this	 off	 with	 neither	 pause	 nor
suspense,	 and	 the	 sentences	 would	 have	 fallen	 flat	 upon	 the	 audience.	 It	 is
precisely	the	application	of	these	small	things	that	makes	much	of	the	difference
between	the	successful	and	the	unsuccessful	speaker.

_4.	Pausing	After	An	Important	Idea	Gives	it	Time	to	Penetrate_

Any	Missouri	farmer	will	tell	you	that	a	rain	that	falls	too	fast	will	run	off	into


the	creeks	and	do	the	crops	but	little	good.	A	story	is	told	of	a	country	deacon
praying	for	rain	in	this	manner:	"Lord,	don't	send	us	any	chunk	floater.	Just	give
us	a	good	old	drizzle-drazzle."	A	speech,	like	a	rain,	will	not	do	anybody	much
good	if	it	comes	too	fast	to	soak	in.	The	farmer's	wife	follows	this	same	principle
in	doing	her	washing	when	she	puts	the	clothes	in	water—and	pauses	for	several
hours	that	the	water	may	soak	in.	The	physician	puts	cocaine	on	your	turbinates
—and	pauses	to	let	it	take	hold	before	he	removes	them.	Why	do	we	use	this
principle	everywhere	except	in	the	communication	of	ideas?	If	you	have	given
the	audience	a	big	idea,	pause	for	a	second	or	two	and	let	them	turn	it	over.	See
what	effect	it	has.	After	the	smoke	clears	away	you	may	have	to	fire	another	14-
inch	shell	on	the	same	subject	before	you	demolish	the	citadel	of	error	that	you
are	trying	to	destroy.	Take	time.	Don't	let	your	speech	resemble	those	tourists
who	try	"to	do"	New	York	in	a	day.	They	spend	fifteen	minutes	looking	at	the
masterpieces	in	the	Metropolitan	Museum	of	Arts,	ten	minutes	in	the	Museum	of
Natural	 History,	 take	 a	 peep	 into	 the	 Aquarium,	 hurry	 across	 the	 Brooklyn
Bridge,	rush	up	to	the	Zoo,	and	back	by	Grant's	Tomb—and	call	that	"Seeing
New	 York."	 If	 you	 hasten	 by	 your	 important	 points	 without	 pausing,	 your
audience	will	have	just	about	as	adequate	an	idea	of	what	you	have	tried	to
convey.

Take	time,	you	have	just	as	much	of	it	as	our	richest	multimillionaire.	Your
audience	will	wait	for	you.	It	is	a	sign	of	smallness	to	hurry.	The	great	redwood
trees	of	California	had	burst	through	the	soil	five	hundred	years	before	Socrates
drank	his	cup	of	hemlock	poison,	and	are	only	in	their	prime	today.	Nature
shames	us	with	our	petty	haste.	Silence	is	one	of	the	most	eloquent	things	in	the
world.	Master	it,	and	use	it	through	pause.

In	the	following	selections	dashes	have	been	inserted	where	pauses	may	be	used
effectively.	Naturally,	you	may	omit	some	of	these	and	insert	others	without
going	wrong—one	speaker	would	interpret	a	passage	in	one	way,	one	in	another;
it	is	largely	a	matter	of	personal	preference.	A	dozen	great	actors	have	played
Hamlet	well,	and	yet	each	has	played	the	part	differently.	Which	comes	the
nearest	to	perfection	is	a	question	of	opinion.	You	will	succeed	best	by	daring	to
follow	your	own	course—if	you	are	individual	enough	to	blaze	an	original	trail.

```
A	moment's	halt—a	momentary	taste	of	being	from	the	well	amid
the	waste—and	lo!	the	phantom	caravan	has	reached—the	nothing	it
```

```
set	out	from—Oh	make	haste!
```
```
The	 worldly	 hope	 men	 set	 their	 hearts	 upon—turns	 ashes—or	 it
prospers;—and	 anon	 like	 snow	 upon	 the	 desert's	 dusty	 face—
lighting	a	little	hour	or	two—is	gone.
```
```
The	bird	of	time	has	but	a	little	way	to	flutter,—and	the	bird	is	on
the	wing.
```
You	will	note	that	the	punctuation	marks	have	nothing	to	do	with	the	pausing.
You	may	run	by	a	period	very	quickly	and	make	a	long	pause	where	there	is	no
kind	of	punctuation.	Thought	is	greater	than	punctuation.	It	must	guide	you	in
your	pauses.

```
A	book	of	verses	underneath	the	bough,—a	jug	of	wine,	a	loaf	of
bread—and	 thou	 beside	 me	 singing	 in	 the	 wilderness—Oh—
wilderness	were	paradise	enow.
```
You	must	not	confuse	the	pause	for	emphasis	with	the	natural	pauses	that	come
through	taking	breath	and	phrasing.	For	example,	note	the	pauses	indicated	in
this	selection	from	Byron:

```
But	 hush! — hark! —that	deep	sound	breaks	in	once	more,
And	 nearer! — clearer! — deadlier 	than	before.
Arm ,	ARM!—it	is—it	is	the	cannon's	opening	roar!
```
It	is	not	necessary	to	dwell	at	length	upon	these	obvious	distinctions.	You	will
observe	 that	 in	 natural	 conversation	 our	 words	 are	 gathered	 into	 clusters	 or
phrases,	and	we	often	pause	to	take	breath	between	them.	So	in	public	speech,
breathe	naturally	and	do	not	talk	until	you	must	gasp	for	breath;	nor	until	the
audience	is	equally	winded.

A	serious	word	of	caution	must	here	be	uttered:	do	not	overwork	the	pause.	To
do	so	will	make	your	speech	heavy	and	stilted.	And	do	not	think	that	pause	can
transmute	commonplace	thoughts	into	great	and	dignified	utterance.	A	grand
manner	combined	with	insignificant	ideas	is	like	harnessing	a	Hambletonian
with	an	ass.	You	remember	the	farcical	old	school	declamation,	"A	Midnight
Murder,"	that	proceeded	in	grandiose	manner	to	a	thrilling	climax,	and	ended
—"and	relentlessly	murdered—a	mosquito!"

The	pause,	dramatically	handled,	always	drew	a	laugh	from	the	tolerant	hearers.


This	is	all	very	well	in	farce,	but	such	anti-climax	becomes	painful	when	the
speaker	falls	from	the	sublime	to	the	ridiculous	quite	unintentionally.	The	pause,
to	be	effective	in	some	other	manner	than	in	that	of	the	boomerang,	must	precede
or	follow	a	thought	that	is	really	worth	while,	or	at	least	an	idea	whose	bearing
upon	the	rest	of	the	speech	is	important.

William	Pittenger	relates	in	his	volume,	"Extempore	Speech,"	an	instance	of	the
unconsciously	farcical	use	of	the	pause	by	a	really	great	American	statesman	and
orator.	"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!'"

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	Name	four	methods	for	destroying	monotony	and	gaining	power	in	speaking.
2.	What	are	the	four	special	effects	of	pause?
3.	Note	the	pauses	in	a	conversation,	play,	or	speech.	Were	they	the	best	that
could	have	been	used?	Illustrate.
4.	Read	aloud	selections	on	pages	50-54,	paying	special	attention	to	pause.
5.	Read	the	following	without	making	any	pauses.	Reread	correctly	and	note	the
difference:

```
Soon	the	night	will	pass;	and	when,	of	the	Sentinel	on	the	ramparts
of	Liberty	the	anxious	ask:	|	"Watchman,	what	of	the	night?"	his
answer	will	be	|	"Lo,	the	morn	appeareth."
```
```
Knowing	the	price	we	must	pay,	|	the	sacrifice	|	we	must	make,	|	the
burdens	|	we	must	carry,	|	the	assaults	|	we	must	endure,	|	knowing
full	well	the	cost,	|	yet	we	enlist,	and	we	enlist	|	for	the	war.	|	For	we
know	 the	 justice	 of	 our	 cause,	 |	 and	 we	 know,	 too,	 its	 certain
triumph.	|
```
```
Not	 reluctantly,	 then,	 |	 but	 eagerly,	 |	 not	 with	 faint	 hearts,	 |	 but
```

```
strong,	do	we	now	advance	upon	the	enemies	of	the	people.	|	For	the
call	that	comes	to	us	is	the	call	that	came	to	our	fathers.	|	As	they
responded,	so	shall	we.
```
```
"He	hath	sounded	forth	a	trumpet	|	that	shall
never	call	retreat,
He	is	sifting	out	the	hearts	of	men	|	before	His
judgment	seat.
Oh,	be	swift	|	our	souls	to	answer	Him,	|	be
jubilant	our	feet,
Our	God	|	is	marching	on."
```
```
—ALBERT	J.	BEVERIDE,	 From	his	speech	as	temporary	chairman	of
Progressive	National	Convention,	Chicago,	1912.
```
6.	Bring	out	the	contrasting	ideas	in	the	following	by	using	the	pause:

```
Contrast	now	the	circumstances	of	your	life	and	mine,	gently	and
with	temper,	Æschines;	and	then	ask	these	people	whose	fortune
they	 would	 each	 of	 them	 prefer.	 You	 taught	 reading,	 I	 went	 to
school:	you	performed	initiations,	I	received	them:	you	danced	in	the
chorus,	I	furnished	it:	you	were	assembly-clerk,	I	was	a	speaker:	you
acted	third	parts,	I	heard	you:	you	broke	down,	and	I	hissed:	you
have	worked	as	a	statesman	for	the	enemy,	I	for	my	country.	I	pass
by	the	rest;	but	this	very	day	I	am	on	my	probation	for	a	crown,	and
am	 acknowledged	 to	 be	 innocent	 of	 all	 offence;	 while	 you	 are
already	judged	to	be	a	pettifogger,	and	the	question	is,	whether	you
shall	continue	that	trade,	or	at	once	be	silenced	by	not	getting	a	fifth
part	of	the	votes.	A	happy	fortune,	do	you	see,	you	have	enjoyed,
that	you	should	denounce	mine	as	miserable!
```
```
—DEMOSTHENES.
```
7.	After	careful	study	and	practice,	mark	the	pauses	in	the	following:

```
The	past	rises	before	me	like	a	dream.	Again	we	are	in	the	great
struggle	for	national	life.	We	hear	the	sounds	of	preparation—the
music	of	the	boisterous	drums,	the	silver	voices	of	heroic	bugles.	We
see	thousands	of	assemblages,	and	hear	the	appeals	of	orators;	we
see	the	pale	cheeks	of	women	and	the	flushed	faces	of	men;	and	in
those	assemblages	we	see	all	the	dead	whose	dust	we	have	covered
```

```
with	flowers.	We	lose	sight	of	them	no	more.	We	are	with	them
when	they	enlist	in	the	great	army	of	freedom.	We	see	them	part
from	those	they	love.	Some	are	walking	for	the	last	time	in	quiet
woody	places	with	the	maiden	they	adore.	We	hear	the	whisperings
and	the	sweet	vows	of	eternal	love	as	they	lingeringly	part	forever.
Others	are	bending	over	cradles,	kissing	babies	that	are	asleep.	Some
are	receiving	the	blessings	of	old	men.	Some	are	parting	from	those
who	hold	them	and	press	them	to	their	hearts	again	and	again,	and
say	nothing;	and	some	are	talking	with	wives,	and	endeavoring	with
brave	words	spoken	in	the	old	tones	to	drive	from	their	hearts	the
awful	fear.	We	see	them	part.	We	see	the	wife	standing	in	the	door,
with	the	babe	in	her	arms—standing	in	the	sunlight	sobbing;	at	the
turn	of	the	road	a	hand	waves—she	answers	by	holding	high	in	her
loving	hands	the	child.	He	is	gone—and	forever.
```
```
—ROBERT	J.	INGERSOLL,	 to	the	Soldiers	of	Indianapolis.
```
8.	Where	would	you	pause	in	the	following	selections?	Try	pausing	in	different
places	and	note	the	effect	it	gives.

```
The	moving	finger	writes;	and	having	writ	moves	on:	nor	all	your
piety	nor	wit	shall	lure	it	back	to	cancel	half	a	line,	nor	all	your	tears
wash	out	a	word	of	it.
```
```
The	history	of	womankind	is	a	story	of	abuse.	For	ages	men	beat,
sold,	and	abused	their	wives	and	daughters	like	cattle.	The	Spartan
mother	that	gave	birth	to	one	of	her	own	sex	disgraced	herself;	the
girl	babies	were	often	deserted	in	the	mountains	to	starve;	China
bound	and	deformed	their	feet;	Turkey	veiled	their	faces;	America
denied	them	equal	educational	advantages	with	men.	Most	of	the
world	still	refuses	them	the	right	to	participate	in	the	government
and	everywhere	women	bear	the	brunt	of	an	unequal	standard	of
morality.
```
```
But	the	women	are	on	the	march.	They	are	walking	upward	to	the
sunlit	 plains	 where	 the	 thinking	 people	 rule.	 China	 has	 ceased
binding	their	feet.	In	the	shadow	of	the	Harem	Turkey	has	opened	a
school	for	girls.	America	has	given	the	women	equal	educational
advantages,	and	America,	we	believe,	will	enfranchise	them.
```
```
We	can	do	little	to	help	and	not	much	to	hinder	this	great	movement.
```

```
The	 thinking	 people	 have	 put	 their	 O.K.	 upon	 it.	 It	 is	 moving
forward	to	its	goal	just	as	surely	as	this	old	earth	is	swinging	from
the	grip	of	winter	toward	the	spring's	blossoms	and	the	summer's
harvest.[1]
```
9.	Read	aloud	the	following	address,	paying	careful	attention	to	pause	wherever
the	emphasis	may	thereby	be	heightened.

```
THE	IRREPRESSIBLE	CONFLICT
```
```
...	At	last,	the	Republican	party	has	appeared.	It	avows,	now,	as	the
Republican	party	of	1800	did,	in	one	word,	its	faith	and	its	works,
"Equal	and	exact	justice	to	all	men."	Even	when	it	first	entered	the
field,	only	half	organized,	it	struck	a	blow	which	only	just	failed	to
secure	 complete	 and	 triumphant	 victory.	 In	 this,	 its	 second
campaign,	it	has	already	won	advantages	which	render	that	triumph
now	both	easy	and	certain.	The	secret	of	its	assured	success	lies	in
that	very	characteristic	which,	in	the	mouth	of	scoffers,	constitutes
its	great	and	lasting	imbecility	and	reproach.	It	lies	in	the	fact	that	it
is	a	party	of	one	idea;	but	that	is	a	noble	one—an	idea	that	fills	and
expands	all	generous	souls;	the	idea	of	equality	of	all	men	before
human	tribunals	and	human	laws,	as	they	all	are	equal	before	the
Divine	tribunal	and	Divine	laws.
```
```
I	know,	and	you	know,	that	a	revolution	has	begun.	I	know,	and	all
the	 world	 knows,	 that	 revolutions	 never	 go	 backward.	 Twenty
senators	and	a	hundred	representatives	proclaim	boldly	in	Congress
to-day	 sentiments	 and	 opinions	 and	 principles	 of	 freedom	 which
hardly	so	many	men,	even	in	this	free	State,	dared	to	utter	in	their
own	homes	twenty	years	ago.	While	the	government	of	the	United
States,	under	the	conduct	of	the	Democratic	party,	has	been	all	that
time	surrendering	one	plain	and	castle	after	another	to	slavery,	the
people	 of	 the	 United	 States	 have	 been	 no	 less	 steadily	 and
perseveringly	gathering	together	the	forces	with	which	to	recover
back	again	all	the	fields	and	all	the	castles	which	have	been	lost,	and
to	confound	and	overthrow,	by	one	decisive	blow,	the	betrayers	of
the	Constitution	and	freedom	forever.—W.H.	SEWARD.
```
### FOOTNOTES:


```
[1]	From	an	editorial	by	D.C.	in	 Leslie's	Weekly ,	June	4,	1914.	Used	by	permission.
```
### CHAPTER	VII

#### EFFICIENCY	THROUGH	INFLECTION

```
How	soft	the	music	of	those	village	bells,
Falling	at	intervals	upon	the	ear
In	cadence	sweet;	now	dying	all	away,
Now	pealing	loud	again,	and	louder	still,
Clear	and	sonorous,	as	the	gale	comes	on!
With	easy	force	it	opens	all	the	cells
Where	Memory	slept.
```
```
—WILLIAM	COWPER,	 The	Task.
```
Herbert	Spencer	remarked	that	"Cadence"—by	which	he	meant	the	modulation
of	 the	 tones	 of	 the	 voice	 in	 speaking—"is	 the	 running	 commentary	 of	 the
emotions	upon	the	propositions	of	the	intellect."	How	true	this	is	will	appear
when	we	reflect	that	the	little	upward	and	downward	shadings	of	the	voice	tell
more	truly	what	we	mean	than	our	words.	The	expressiveness	of	language	is
literally	multiplied	by	this	subtle	power	to	shade	the	vocal	tones,	and	this	voice-
shading	we	call	 _inflection_.

The	 change	 of	 pitch	 _within_ a	 word	 is	 even	 more	 important,	 because	 more
delicate,	than	the	change	of	pitch	from	phrase	to	phrase.	Indeed,	one	cannot	be
practised	without	the	other.	The	bare	words	are	only	so	many	bricks—inflection
will	make	of	them	a	pavement,	a	garage,	or	a	cathedral.	It	is	the	power	of
inflection	to	change	the	meaning	of	words	that	gave	birth	to	the	old	saying:	"It	is
not	so	much	what	you	say,	as	how	you	say	it."

Mrs.	 Jameson,	 the	 Shakespearean	 commentator,	 has	given	 us	 a	 penetrating
example	of	the	effect	of	inflection;	"In	her	impersonation	of	the	part	of	Lady
Macbeth,	Mrs.	Siddons	adopted	successively	three	different	intonations	in	giving
the	 words	 'We	 fail.'	 At	 first	 a	 quick	 contemptuous	 interrogation—'We	 fail?'
Afterwards,	 with	 the	 note	 of	 admiration—'We	 fail,'	 an	 accent	 of	 indignant


astonishment	laying	the	principal	emphasis	on	the	word	'we'—' _we_ 	fail.'	Lastly,
she	fixed	on	what	I	am	convinced	is	the	true	reading— _We	fail_ —with	the	simple
period,	modulating	the	voice	to	a	deep,	low,	resolute	tone	which	settles	the	issue
at	once	as	though	she	had	said:	'If	we	fail,	why	then	we	fail,	and	all	is	over.'"

This	most	expressive	element	of	our	speech	is	the	last	to	be	mastered	in	attaining
to	naturalness	in	speaking	a	foreign	language,	and	its	correct	use	is	the	main
element	in	a	natural,	flexible	utterance	of	our	native	tongue.	Without	varied
inflections	speech	becomes	wooden	and	monotonous.

There	are	but	two	kinds	of	inflection,	the	rising	and	the	falling,	yet	these	two
may	be	so	shaded	or	so	combined	that	they	are	capable	of	producing	as	many
varieties	of	modulation	as	maybe	illustrated	by	either	one	or	two	lines,	straight
or	curved,	thus:

```
lines
```
```
Sharp	rising
```
```
Long	rising
```
```
Level
```
```
Long	falling
```
```
Sharp	falling
```
```
Sharp	rising	and	falling
```
```
Sharp	falling	and	rising
```
```
Hesitating
```
These	 may	 be	 varied	 indefinitely,	 and	 serve	 merely	 to	 illustrate	 what	 wide
varieties	of	combination	may	be	effected	by	these	two	simple	inflections	of	the
voice.

It	is	impossible	to	tabulate	the	various	inflections	which	serve	to	express	various
shades	of	thought	and	feeling.	A	few	suggestions	are	offered	here,	together	with
abundant	exercises	for	practise,	but	the	only	real	way	to	master	inflection	is	to


observe,	experiment,	and	practise.

For	example,	take	the	common	sentence,	"Oh,	he's	all	right."	Note	how	a	rising
inflection	may	be	made	to	express	faint	praise,	or	polite	doubt,	or	uncertainty	of
opinion.	 Then	 note	 how	 the	 same	 words,	 spoken	 with	 a	 generally	 falling
inflection	may	denote	certainty,	or	good-natured	approval,	or	enthusiastic	praise,
and	so	on.

In	general,	then,	we	find	that	a	bending	upward	of	the	voice	will	suggest	doubt
and	 uncertainty,	 while	 a	 decided	 falling	 inflection	 will	 suggest	 that	 you	 are
certain	of	your	ground.

Students	dislike	to	be	told	that	their	speeches	are	"not	so	bad,"	spoken	with	a
rising	inflection.	To	enunciate	these	words	with	a	long	falling	inflection	would
indorse	the	speech	rather	heartily.

Say	good-bye	to	an	imaginary	person	whom	you	expect	to	see	again	tomorrow;
then	to	a	dear	friend	you	never	expect	to	meet	again.	Note	the	difference	in
inflection.

"I	have	had	a	delightful	time,"	when	spoken	at	the	termination	of	a	formal	tea	by
a	 frivolous	 woman	 takes	 altogether	 different	 inflection	 than	 the	 same	 words
spoken	between	lovers	who	have	enjoyed	themselves.	Mimic	the	two	characters
in	repeating	this	and	observe	the	difference.

Note	how	light	and	short	the	inflections	are	in	the	following	brief	quotation	from
"Anthony	the	Absolute,"	by	Samuel	Mervin.

```
At	Sea—March	28th.
```
```
This	evening	I	told	Sir	Robert	What's	His	Name	he	was	a	fool.
```
```
I	was	quite	right	in	this.	He	is.
```
```
Every	evening	since	the	ship	left	Vancouver	he	has	presided	over	the
round	table	in	the	middle	of	the	smoking-room.	There	he	sips	his
coffee	and	liqueur,	and	holds	forth	on	every	subject	known	to	the
mind	of	man.	Each	subject	is	 his 	subject.	He	is	an	elderly	person,
with	a	bad	face	and	a	drooping	left	eyelid.
```
```
They	tell	me	that	he	is	in	the	British	Service—a	judge	somewhere
down	in	Malaysia,	where	they	drink	more	than	is	good	for	them.
```

Deliver	the	two	following	selections	with	great	earnestness,	and	note	how	the
inflections	differ	from	the	foregoing.	Then	reread	these	selections	in	a	light,
superficial	manner,	noting	that	the	change	of	attitude	is	expressed	through	a
change	of	inflection.

```
When	I	read	a	sublime	fact	in	Plutarch,	or	an	unselfish	deed	in	a	line
of	 poetry,	 or	 thrill	 beneath	 some	 heroic	 legend,	 it	 is	 no	 longer
fairyland—I	have	seen	it	matched.—WENDELL	PHILLIPS.
```
```
Thought	is	deeper	than	all	speech,
Feeling	deeper	than	all	thought;
Souls	to	souls	can	never	teach
What	unto	themselves	was	taught.
```
```
—CRANCH
```
It	must	be	made	perfectly	clear	that	inflection	deals	mostly	in	subtle,	delicate
shading	 _within	single	words_ ,	and	is	not	by	any	means	accomplished	by	a	general
rise	or	fall	in	the	voice	in	speaking	a	sentence.	Yet	certain	sentences	may	be
effectively	delivered	with	just	such	inflection.	Try	this	sentence	in	several	ways,
making	no	modulation	until	you	come	to	the	last	two	syllables,	as	indicated,

```
And	yet	I	told	him	dis-
--------------------------
(high) |
| tinctly.
-------------------------
(low)
tinctly.
-------------------------
| (high)
And	yet	I	told	him	dis-|
-------------------------
(low)
```
Now	 try	 this	 sentence	 by	 inflecting	 the	 important	 words	 so	 as	 to	 bring	 out
various	shades	of	meaning.	The	first	forms,	illustrated	above,	show	change	of
pitch	 _within	a	single	word_ ;	the	forms	you	will	work	out	for	yourself	should	show


a	number	of	such	inflections	throughout	the	sentence.

One	 of	 the	 chief	 means	 of	 securing	 emphasis	 is	 to	 employ	 a	 long	 falling
inflection	on	the	emphatic	words—that	is,	to	let	the	voice	fall	to	a	lower	pitch	on
an	 _interior_ 	vowel	sound	in	a	word.	Try	it	on	the	words	"every,"	"eleemosynary,"
and	"destroy."

Use	long	falling	inflections	on	the	italicized	words	in	the	following	selection,
noting	their	emphatic	power.	Are	there	any	other	words	here	that	long	falling
inflections	would	help	to	make	expressive?


#### ADDRESS	IN	THE	DARTMOUTH	COLLEGE	CASE

```
This,	 sir,	 is	 my	 case.	 It	 is	 the	 case	 not	 merely	 of	 that	 humble
institution;	it	is	the	case	of	 every 	college	in	our	land.	It	is	 more ;	it	is
the	case	of	 every	eleemosynary 	institution	throughout	our	country—
of	 all 	those	great	charities	founded	by	the	piety	of	our	ancestors	to
alleviate	human	misery	and	scatter	blessings	along	the	pathway	of
life.	Sir,	you	may	 destroy 	this	little	institution—it	is	 weak ,	it	is	in
your	hands.	I	know	it	is	one	of	the	lesser	lights	in	the	literary	horizon
of	our	country.	You	may	put	it	out.	But	if	you	do	you	must	carry
through	your	work;	you	must	extinguish,	one	after	another,	 all 	those
great	lights	of	science	which,	for	more	than	a	century,	have	thrown
their	radiance	over	our	land!
```
```
It	is,	sir,	as	I	have	said,	a	small	college,	and	yet—there	are	those	who
love 	it!
```
```
Sir,	I	know	not	how	others	may	feel,	but	as	for	myself	when	I	see
my	alma	mater	surrounded,	like	Cæsar	in	the	senate	house,	by	those
who	are	reiterating	 stab 	after	 stab ,	I	would	not	for	this	right	hand
have	her	turn	to	me	and	say,	And	 thou,	too ,	my	son!
```
```
—DANIEL	WEBSTER.
```
Be	careful	not	to	over-inflect.	Too	much	modulation	produces	an	unpleasant
effect	of	artificiality,	like	a	mature	matron	trying	to	be	kittenish.	It	is	a	short	step
between	true	expression	and	unintentional	burlesque.	Scrutinize	your	own	tones.
Take	a	single	expression	like	"Oh,	no!"	or	"Oh,	I	see,"	or	"Indeed,"	and	by
patient	self-examination	see	how	many	shades	of	meaning	may	be	expressed	by
inflection.	This	sort	of	common-sense	practise	will	do	you	more	good	than	a
book	of	rules.	 _But	don't	forget	to	listen	to	your	own	voice._

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	In	your	own	words	define	(a)	cadence,	(b)	modulation,	(c)	inflection,	(d)
emphasis.
2.	Name	five	ways	of	destroying	monotony	and	gaining	effectiveness	in	speech.
3.	What	states	of	mind	does	falling	inflection	signify?	Make	as	full	a	list	as	you


can.

4.	Do	the	same	for	the	rising	inflection.
5.	How	does	the	voice	bend	in	expressing	( _a_ )	surprise?	( _b_ )	shame?	( _c_ )	hate?	( _d_ )
formality?	( _e_ )	excitement?
6.	Reread	some	sentence	several	times	and	by	using	different	inflections	change
the	meaning	with	each	reading.
7.	Note	the	inflections	employed	in	some	speech	or	conversation.	Were	they	the
best	that	could	be	used	to	bring	out	the	meaning?	Criticise	and	illustrate.
8.	Render	the	following	passages:

```
Has	the	gentleman	done?	Has	he	completely	done?
```
```
And	God	said,	Let	there	be	light:	and	there	was	light.
```
9.	Invent	an	indirect	question	and	show	how	it	would	naturally	be	inflected.
10.	Does	a	direct	question	always	require	a	rising	inflection?	Illustrate.
11.	 Illustrate	 how	 the	 complete	 ending	 of	 an	 expression	 or	 of	 a	 speech	 is
indicated	by	inflection.
12.	Do	the	same	for	incompleteness	of	idea.
13.	Illustrate	( _a_ )	trembling,	( _b_ )	hesitation,	and	( _c_ )	doubt	by	means	of	inflection.
14.	Show	how	contrast	may	be	expressed.
15.	Try	the	effects	of	both	rising	and	falling	inflections	on	the	italicized	words	in
the	following	sentences.	State	your	preference.

```
Gentlemen,	I	am	 persuaded ,	nay,	I	am	 resolved 	to	speak.
```
```
It	is	sown	a	 natural 	body;	it	is	raised	a	 spiritual 	body.
```
### SELECTIONS	FOR	PRACTISE

In	the	following	selections	secure	emphasis	by	means	of	long	falling	inflections
rather	than	loudness.


Repeat	 these	 selections,	 attempting	 to	 put	 into	 practise	 all	 the	 technical
principles	 that	 we	 have	 thus	 far	 had;	 emphasizing	 important	 words,
subordinating	unimportant	words,	variety	of	pitch,	changing	tempo,	pause,	and
inflection.	 If	 these	 principles	 are	 applied	 you	 will	 have	 no	 trouble	 with
monotony.

Constant	practise	will	give	great	facility	in	the	use	of	inflection	and	will	render
the	voice	itself	flexible.

```
CHARLES	I
```
```
We	charge	him	with	having	broken	his	coronation	oath;	and	we	are
told	that	he	kept	his	marriage	vow!	We	accuse	him	of	having	given
up	his	people	to	the	merciless	inflictions	of	the	most	hot-headed	and
hard-hearted	of	prelates;	and	the	defence	is,	that	he	took	his	little	son
on	his	knee	and	kissed	him!	We	censure	him	for	having	violated	the
articles	of	the	Petition	of	Right,	after	having,	for	good	and	valuable
consideration,	promised	to	observe	them;	and	we	are	informed	that
he	was	accustomed	to	hear	prayers	at	six	o'clock	in	the	morning!	It
is	to	such	considerations	as	these,	together	with	his	Vandyke	dress,
his	handsome	face,	and	his	peaked	beard,	that	he	owes,	we	verily
believe,	most	of	his	popularity	with	the	present	generation.
```
```
—T.B.	MACAULAY.
```
```
ABRAHAM	LINCOLN
```
```
We	 needed	 not	 that	 he	 should	 put	 on	 paper	 that	 he	 believed	 in
slavery,	 who,	 with	 treason,	 with	 murder,	 with	 cruelty	 infernal,
hovered	around	that	majestic	man	to	destroy	his	life.	He	was	himself
but	the	long	sting	with	which	slavery	struck	at	liberty;	and	he	carried
the	poison	that	belonged	to	slavery.	As	long	as	this	nation	lasts,	it
will	never	be	forgotten	that	we	have	one	martyred	President—never!
Never,	while	time	lasts,	while	heaven	lasts,	while	hell	rocks	and
groans,	will	it	be	forgotten	that	slavery,	by	its	minions,	slew	him,
and	in	slaying	him	made	manifest	its	whole	nature	and	tendency.
```
```
But	another	thing	for	us	to	remember	is	that	this	blow	was	aimed	at
the	life	of	the	government	and	of	the	nation.	Lincoln	was	slain;
America	was	meant.	The	man	was	cast	down;	the	government	was
smitten	at.	It	was	the	President	who	was	killed.	It	was	national	life,
```

breathing	freedom	and	meaning	beneficence,	that	was	sought.	He,
the	 man	 of	 Illinois,	 the	 private	 man,	 divested	 of	 robes	 and	 the
insignia	 of	 authority,	 representing	 nothing	 but	 his	 personal	 self,
might	have	been	hated;	but	that	would	not	have	called	forth	the
murderer's	blow.	It	was	because	he	stood	in	the	place	of	government,
representing	government	and	a	government	that	represented	right
and	liberty,	that	he	was	singled	out.

This,	then,	is	a	crime	against	universal	government.	It	is	not	a	blow
at	the	foundations	of	our	government,	more	than	at	the	foundations
of	 the	 English	 government,	 of	 the	 French	 government,	 of	 every
compact	 and	 well-organized	 government.	 It	 was	 a	 crime	 against
mankind.	The	whole	world	will	repudiate	and	stigmatize	it	as	a	deed
without	a	shade	of	redeeming	light....

The	blow,	however,	has	signally	failed.	The	cause	is	not	stricken;	it
is	 strengthened.	 This	 nation	 has	 dissolved,—but	 in	 tears	 only.	 It
stands,	four-square,	more	solid,	to-day,	than	any	pyramid	in	Egypt.
This	people	are	neither	wasted,	nor	daunted,	nor	disordered.	Men
hate	slavery	and	love	liberty	with	stronger	hate	and	love	to-day	than
ever	before.	The	Government	is	not	weakened,	it	is	made	stronger....

And	now	the	martyr	is	moving	in	triumphal	march,	mightier	than
when	alive.	The	nation	rises	up	at	every	stage	of	his	coming.	Cities
and	states	are	his	pall-bearers,	and	the	cannon	beats	the	hours	with
solemn	 progression.	 Dead—dead—dead—he	 yet	 speaketh!	 Is
Washington	dead?	Is	Hampden	dead?	Is	David	dead?	Is	any	man
dead	that	ever	was	fit	to	live?	Disenthralled	of	flesh,	and	risen	to	the
unobstructed	 sphere	 where	 passion	 never	 comes,	 he	 begins	 his
illimitable	work.	His	life	now	is	grafted	upon	the	Infinite,	and	will
be	 fruitful	 as	 no	 earthly	 life	 can	 be.	 Pass	 on,	 thou	 that	 hast
overcome!	Your	sorrows	O	people,	are	his	peace!	Your	bells,	and
bands,	and	muffled	drums	sound	triumph	in	his	ear.	Wail	and	weep
here;	God	makes	it	echo	joy	and	triumph	there.	Pass	on,	victor!

Four	years	ago,	O	Illinois,	we	took	from	your	midst	an	untried	man,
and	 from	 among	 the	 people;	 we	 return	 him	 to	 you	 a	 mighty
conqueror.	Not	thine	any	more,	but	the	nation's;	not	ours,	but	the
world's.	 Give	 him	 place,	 ye	 prairies!	 In	 the	 midst	 of	 this	 great
Continent	his	dust	shall	rest,	a	sacred	treasure	to	myriads	who	shall


make	 pilgrimage	 to	 that	 shrine	 to	 kindle	 anew	 their	 zeal	 and
patriotism.	Ye	winds,	that	move	over	the	mighty	places	of	the	West,
chant	his	requiem!	Ye	people,	behold	a	martyr,	whose	blood,	as	so
many	 inarticulate	 words,	 pleads	 for	 fidelity,	 for	 law,	 for	 liberty!
—HENRY	WARD	BEECHER.

#### THE	HISTORY	OF	LIBERTY

The	event	which	we	commemorate	is	all-important,	not	merely	in
our	own	annals,	but	in	those	of	the	world.	The	sententious	English
poet	has	declared	that	"the	proper	study	of	mankind	is	man,"	and	of
all	inquiries	of	a	temporal	nature,	the	history	of	our	fellow-beings	is
unquestionably	among	the	most	interesting.	But	not	all	the	chapters
of	human	history	are	alike	important.	The	annals	of	our	race	have
been	filled	up	with	incidents	which	concern	not,	or	at	least	ought	not
to	concern,	the	great	company	of	mankind.	History,	as	it	has	often
been	 written,	 is	 the	 genealogy	 of	 princes,	 the	 field-book	 of
conquerors;	and	the	fortunes	of	our	fellow-men	have	been	treated
only	so	far	as	they	have	been	affected	by	the	influence	of	the	great
masters	and	destroyers	of	our	race.	Such	history	is,	I	will	not	say	a
worthless	study,	for	it	is	necessary	for	us	to	know	the	dark	side	as
well	as	the	bright	side	of	our	condition.	But	it	is	a	melancholy	study
which	fills	the	bosom	of	the	philanthropist	and	the	friend	of	liberty
with	sorrow.

But	the	history	of	liberty—the	history	of	men	struggling	to	be	free—
the	 history	 of	 men	 who	 have	 acquired	 and	 are	 exercising	 their
freedom—the	history	of	those	great	movements	in	the	world,	by
which	liberty	has	been	established	and	perpetuated,	forms	a	subject
which	we	cannot	contemplate	too	closely.	This	is	the	real	history	of
man,	of	the	human	family,	of	rational	immortal	beings....

The	trial	of	adversity	was	theirs;	the	trial	of	prosperity	is	ours.	Let	us
meet	it	as	men	who	know	their	duty	and	prize	their	blessings.	Our
position	is	the	most	enviable,	the	most	responsible,	which	men	can
fill.	 If	 this	 generation	 does	 its	 duty,	 the	 cause	 of	 constitutional
freedom	is	safe.	If	we	fail—if	we	fail—not	only	do	we	defraud	our
children	of	the	inheritance	which	we	received	from	our	fathers,	but
we	blast	the	hopes	of	the	friends	of	liberty	throughout	our	continent,


```
throughout	Europe,	throughout	the	world,	to	the	end	of	time.
```
```
History	is	not	without	her	examples	of	hard-fought	fields,	where	the
banner	of	liberty	has	floated	triumphantly	on	the	wildest	storm	of
battle.	She	is	without	her	examples	of	a	people	by	whom	the	dear-
bought	treasure	has	been	wisely	employed	and	safely	handed	down.
The	eyes	of	the	world	are	turned	for	that	example	to	us....
```
```
Let	us,	then,	as	we	assemble	on	the	birthday	of	the	nation,	as	we
gather	upon	the	green	turf,	once	wet	with	precious	blood—let	us
devote	ourselves	to	the	sacred	cause	of	constitutional	liberty!	Let	us
abjure	the	interests	and	passions	which	divide	the	great	family	of
American	freemen!	Let	the	rage	of	party	spirit	sleep	to-day!	Let	us
resolve	that	our	children	shall	have	cause	to	bless	the	memory	of
their	 fathers,	 as	 we	 have	 cause	 to	 bless	 the	 memory	 of	 ours!
—EDWARD	EVERETT.
```
### CHAPTER	VIII

#### CONCENTRATION	IN	DELIVERY

```
Attention	is	the	microscope	of	the	mental	eye.	Its	power	may	be	high
or	low;	its	field	of	view	narrow	or	broad.	When	high	power	is	used
attention	is	confined	within	very	circumscribed	limits,	but	its	action
is	exceedingly	intense	and	absorbing.	It	sees	but	few	things,	but
these	few	are	observed	"through	and	through"	...	Mental	energy	and
activity,	whether	of	perception	or	of	thought,	thus	concentrated,	act
like	the	sun's	rays	concentrated	by	the	burning	glass.	The	object	is
illumined,	heated,	set	on	fire.	Impressions	are	so	deep	that	they	can
never	be	effaced.	Attention	of	this	sort	is	the	prime	condition	of	the
most	productive	mental	labor.
```
```
—DANIEL	PUTNAM,	 Psychology.
```
Try	to	rub	the	top	of	your	head	forward	and	backward	at	the	same	time	that	you
are	patting	your	chest.	Unless	your	powers	of	coördination	are	well	developed
you	will	find	it	confusing,	if	not	impossible.	The	brain	needs	special	training


before	it	can	do	two	or	more	things	efficiently	at	the	same	instant.	It	may	seem
like	 splitting	 a	 hair	 between	 its	 north	 and	 northwest	 corner,	 but	 some
psychologists	argue	that	 _no_ 	brain	can	think	two	distinct	thoughts,	absolutely
simultaneously—that	what	seems	to	be	simultaneous	is	really	very	rapid	rotation
from	the	first	thought	to	the	second	and	back	again,	just	as	in	the	above-cited
experiment	the	attention	must	shift	from	one	hand	to	the	other	until	one	or	the
other	movement	becomes	partly	or	wholly	automatic.

Whatever	is	the	psychological	truth	of	this	contention	it	is	undeniable	that	the
mind	measurably	loses	grip	on	one	idea	the	moment	the	attention	is	projected
decidedly	ahead	to	a	second	or	a	third	idea.

A	fault	in	public	speakers	that	is	as	pernicious	as	it	is	common	is	that	they	try	to
think	of	the	succeeding	sentence	while	still	uttering	the	former,	and	in	this	way
their	concentration	trails	off;	in	consequence,	they	start	their	sentences	strongly
and	 end	 them	 weakly.	 In	 a	 well-prepared	 written	 speech	 the	 emphatic	 word
usually	comes	at	one	end	of	the	sentence.	But	an	emphatic	word	needs	emphatic
expression,	and	this	is	precisely	what	it	does	not	get	when	concentration	flags	by
leaping	too	soon	to	that	which	is	next	to	be	uttered.	Concentrate	all	your	mental
energies	on	the	present	sentence.	Remember	that	the	mind	of	your	audience
follows	yours	very	closely,	and	if	you	withdraw	your	attention	from	what	you
are	saying	to	what	you	are	going	to	say,	your	audience	will	also	withdraw	theirs.
They	may	not	do	so	consciously	and	deliberately,	but	they	will	surely	cease	to
give	importance	to	the	things	that	you	yourself	slight.	It	is	fatal	to	either	the	actor
or	the	speaker	to	cross	his	bridges	too	soon.

Of	course,	all	this	is	not	to	say	that	in	the	natural	pauses	of	your	speech	you	are
not	to	take	swift	forward	surveys—they	are	as	important	as	the	forward	look	in
driving	a	motor	car;	the	caution	is	of	quite	another	sort:	 _while	speaking	one
sentence	do	not	think	of	the	sentence	to	follow_ .	Let	it	come	from	its	proper
source—within	yourself.	You	cannot	deliver	a	broadside	without	concentrated
force—that	 is	 what	 produces	 the	 explosion.	 In	 preparation	 you	 store	 and
concentrate	thought	and	feeling;	in	the	pauses	during	delivery	you	swiftly	look
ahead	and	gather	yourself	for	effective	attack;	during	the	moments	of	actual
speech,	 _SPEAK—DON'T	ANTICIPATE_ .	Divide	your	attention	and	you	divide
your	power.

This	matter	of	the	effect	of	the	inner	man	upon	the	outer	needs	a	further	word
here,	particularly	as	touching	concentration.


"What	do	you	read,	my	lord?"	Hamlet	replied,	"Words.	Words.	Words."	That	is	a
world-old	trouble.	The	mechanical	calling	of	words	is	not	expression,	by	a	long
stretch.	Did	you	ever	notice	how	hollow	a	memorized	speech	usually	sounds?
You	 have	 listened	 to	 the	 ranting,	 mechanical	 cadence	 of	 inefficient	 actors,
lawyers	 and	 preachers.	 Their	 trouble	 is	 a	 mental	 one—they	 are	 not
concentratedly	thinking	thoughts	that	cause	words	to	issue	with	sincerity	and
conviction,	 but	 are	 merely	 enunciating	 word-sounds	 mechanically.	 Painful
experience	alike	to	audience	and	to	speaker!	A	parrot	is	equally	eloquent.	Again
let	 Shakespeare	 instruct	 us,	 this	 tune	 in	 the	 insincere	 prayer	 of	 the	 King,
Hamlet's	uncle.	He	laments	thus	pointedly:

```
My	words	fly	up,	my	thoughts	remain	below:
Words	without	thoughts	never	to	heaven	go.
```
The	truth	is,	that	as	a	speaker	your	words	must	be	born	again	every	time	they	are
spoken,	 then	 they	 will	 not	 suffer	 in	 their	 utterance,	 even	 though	 perforce
committed	to	memory	and	repeated,	like	Dr.	Russell	Conwell's	lecture,	"Acres	of
Diamonds,"	five	thousand	times.	Such	speeches	lose	nothing	by	repetition	for
the	perfectly	patent	reason	that	they	arise	from	concentrated	thought	and	feeling
and	not	a	mere	necessity	for	saying	something—which	usually	means	anything,
and	that,	in	turn,	is	tantamount	to	nothing.	If	the	thought	beneath	your	words	is
warm,	fresh,	spontaneous,	a	part	of	your	 _self_ ,	your	utterance	will	have	breath	and
life.	Words	are	only	a	result.	Do	not	try	to	get	the	result	without	stimulating	the
cause.

Do	you	ask	 _how_ 	to	concentrate?	Think	of	the	word	itself,	and	of	its	philological
brother,	 _concentric_ .	Think	of	how	a	lens	gathers	and	concenters	the	rays	of	light
within	a	given	circle.	It	centers	them	by	a	process	of	withdrawal.	It	may	seem
like	a	harsh	saying,	but	the	man	who	cannot	concentrate	is	either	weak	of	will,	a
nervous	wreck,	or	has	never	learned	what	will-power	is	good	for.

You	must	concentrate	by	resolutely	withdrawing	your	attention	from	everything
else.	If	you	concentrate	your	thought	on	a	pain	which	may	be	afflicting	you,	that
pain	will	grow	more	intense.	"Count	your	blessings"	and	they	will	multiply.
Center	 your	 thought	 on	 your	 strokes	 and	 your	 tennis	 play	 will	 gradually
improve.	To	concentrate	is	simply	to	attend	to	one	thing,	and	attend	to	nothing
else.	If	you	find	that	you	cannot	do	that,	there	is	something	wrong—attend	to
that	first.	Remove	the	cause	and	the	symptom	will	disappear.	Read	the	chapter
on	"Will	Power."	Cultivate	your	will	by	willing	and	then	doing,	at	all	costs.
Concentrate—and	you	will	win.


### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	Select	from	any	source	several	sentences	suitable	for	speaking	aloud;	deliver
them	first	in	the	manner	condemned	in	this	chapter,	and	second	with	due	regard
for	emphasis	toward	the	close	of	each	sentence.
2.	Put	into	about	one	hundred	words	your	impression	of	the	effect	produced.
3.	Tell	of	any	peculiar	methods	you	may	have	observed	or	heard	of	by	which
speakers	 have	 sought	 to	 aid	 their	 powers	 of	 concentration,	 such	 as	 looking
fixedly	at	a	blank	spot	in	the	ceiling,	or	twisting	a	watch	charm.
4.	What	effect	do	such	habits	have	on	the	audience?
5.	What	relation	does	pause	bear	to	concentration?
6.	Tell	why	concentration	naturally	helps	a	speaker	to	change	pitch,	tempo,	and
emphasis.
7.	Read	the	following	selection	through	to	get	its	meaning	and	spirit	clearly	in
your	mind.	Then	read	it	aloud,	concentrating	solely	on	the	thought	that	you	are
expressing—do	not	trouble	about	the	sentence	or	thought	that	is	coming.	Half
the	troubles	of	mankind	arise	from	anticipating	trials	that	never	occur.	Avoid	this
in	speaking.	Make	the	end	of	your	sentences	just	as	strong	as	the	beginning.
_CONCENTRATE._

```
WAR!
```
```
The	last	of	the	savage	instincts	is	war.	The	cave	man's	club	made
law	and	procured	food.	Might	decreed	right.	Warriors	were	saviours.
```
```
In	 Nazareth	 a	 carpenter	 laid	 down	 the	 saw	 and	 preached	 the
brotherhood	 of	 man.	 Twelve	 centuries	 afterwards	 his	 followers
marched	to	the	Holy	Land	to	destroy	all	who	differed	with	them	in
the	 worship	 of	 the	 God	 of	 Love.	 Triumphantly	 they	 wrote	 "In
Solomon's	Porch	and	in	his	temple	our	men	rode	in	the	blood	of	the
Saracens	up	to	the	knees	of	their	horses."
```
```
History	 is	 an	 appalling	 tale	 of	 war.	 In	 the	 seventeenth	 century
Germany,	France,	Sweden,	and	Spain	warred	for	thirty	years.	At
Magdeburg	30,000	out	of	36,000	were	killed	regardless	of	sex	or
age.	In	Germany	schools	were	closed	for	a	third	of	a	century,	homes
```

burned,	women	outraged,	towns	demolished,	and	the	untilled	land
became	a	wilderness.

Two-thirds	of	Germany's	property	was	destroyed	and	18,000,000	of
her	citizens	were	killed,	because	men	quarrelled	about	the	way	to
glorify	 "The	 Prince	 of	 Peace."	 Marching	 through	 rain	 and	 snow,
sleeping	on	the	ground,	eating	stale	food	or	starving,	contracting
diseases	and	facing	guns	that	fire	six	hundred	times	a	minute,	for
fifty	cents	a	day—this	is	the	soldier's	life.

At	the	window	sits	the	widowed	mother	crying.	Little	children	with
tearful	faces	pressed	against	the	pane	watch	and	wait.	Their	means
of	 livelihood,	 their	 home,	 their	 happiness	 is	 gone.	 Fatherless
children,	broken-hearted	women,	sick,	disabled	and	dead	men—this
is	the	wage	of	war.

We	spend	more	money	preparing	men	to	kill	each	other	than	we	do
in	 teaching	 them	 to	 live.	 We	 spend	 more	 money	 building	 one
battleship	 than	 in	 the	 annual	 maintenance	 of	 all	 our	 state
universities.	 The	 financial	 loss	 resulting	 from	 destroying	 one
another's	 homes	 in	 the	 civil	 war	 would	 have	 built	 15,000,000
houses,	each	costing	$2,000.	We	pray	for	love	but	prepare	for	hate.
We	preach	peace	but	equip	for	war.

```
Were	half	the	power	that	fills	the	world	with
terror,
Were	half	the	wealth	bestowed	on	camp	and
court
Given	to	redeem	this	world	from	error,
There	would	be	no	need	of	arsenal	and	fort.
```
War	only	defers	a	question.	No	issue	will	ever	really	be	settled	until
it	is	settled	rightly.	Like	rival	"gun	gangs"	in	a	back	alley,	the	nations
of	 the	 world,	 through	 the	 bloody	 ages,	 have	 fought	 over	 their
differences.	 Denver	 cannot	 fight	 Chicago	 and	 Iowa	 cannot	 fight
Ohio.	 Why	 should	 Germany	 be	 permitted	 to	 fight	 France,	 or
Bulgaria	fight	Turkey?

When	mankind	rises	above	creeds,	colors	and	countries,	when	we
are	citizens,	not	of	a	nation,	but	of	the	world,	the	armies	and	navies


```
of	the	earth	will	constitute	an	international	police	force	to	preserve
the	peace	and	the	dove	will	take	the	eagle's	place.
```
```
Our	differences	will	be	settled	by	an	international	court	with	the
power	to	enforce	its	mandates.	In	times	of	peace	prepare	for	peace.
The	wages	of	war	are	the	wages	of	sin,	and	the	"wages	of	sin	is
death."
```
```
— Editorial	by	D.C.,	Leslie's	Weekly;	used	by	permission.
```
### CHAPTER	IX

#### FORCE

```
However,	'tis	expedient	to	be	wary:
Indifference,	certes,	don't	produce	distress;
And	rash	enthusiasm	in	good	society
Were	nothing	but	a	moral	inebriety.
```
```
—BYRON,	 Don	Juan.
```
You	have	attended	plays	that	seemed	fair,	yet	they	did	not	move	you,	grip	you.
In	theatrical	parlance,	they	failed	to	"get	over,"	which	means	that	their	message
did	not	get	over	the	foot-lights	to	the	audience.	There	was	no	punch,	no	jab	to
them—they	had	no	force.

Of	course,	all	this	spells	disaster,	in	big	letters,	not	only	in	a	stage	production	but
in	any	platform	effort.	Every	such	presentation	exists	solely	for	the	audience,
and	if	it	fails	to	hit	them—and	the	expression	is	a	good	one—it	has	no	excuse	for
living;	nor	will	it	live	long.

_What	is	Force?_

Some	of	our	most	obvious	words	open	up	secret	meanings	under	scrutiny,	and
this	is	one	of	them.

To	begin	with,	we	must	recognize	the	distinction	between	inner	and	outer	force.
The	one	is	cause,	the	other	effect.	The	one	is	spiritual,	the	other	physical.	In	this


important	particular,	animate	force	differs	from	inanimate	force—the	power	of
man,	coming	from	within	and	expressing	itself	outwardly,	is	of	another	sort	from
the	force	of	Shimose	powder,	 which	awaits	some	 influence	from	without	 to
explode	it.	However	susceptive	to	outside	stimuli,	the	true	source	of	power	in
man	lies	within	himself.	This	may	seem	like	"mere	psychology,"	but	it	has	an
intensely	practical	bearing	on	public	speaking,	as	will	appear.

Not	only	must	we	discern	the	difference	between	human	force	and	mere	physical
force,	but	we	must	not	confuse	its	real	essence	with	some	of	the	things	that	may
—and	may	not—accompany	it.	For	example,	loudness	is	not	force,	though	force
at	times	may	be	attended	by	noise.	Mere	roaring	never	made	a	good	speech,	yet
there	are	moments—moments,	mind	you,	not	minutes—when	big	voice	power
may	be	used	with	tremendous	effect.

Nor	is	violent	motion	force—yet	force	may	result	in	violent	motion.	Hamlet
counseled	the	players:

```
Nor	do	not	saw	the	air	too	much	with	your	hand,	thus;	but	use	all
gently;	for	in	the	very	torrent,	tempest,	and	(as	I	may	say)	whirlwind
of	your	passion,	you	must	acquire	and	beget	a	temperance,	that	may
give	 it	 smoothness.	 Oh,	 it	 offends	 me	 to	 the	 soul,	 to	 hear	 a
robustious	 periwig-pated	 fellow	 tear	 a	 passion	 to	 tatters,	 to	 very
rags,	to	split	the	ears	of	the	groundlings[2];	who,	for	the	most	part,
are	capable	of	nothing	but	inexplicable	dumb	show,	and	noise.	I
would	have	such	a	fellow	whipped	for	o'er-doing	Termagant;	it	out-
herods	Herod.	Pray	you	avoid	it.
```
```
Be	not	too	tame,	neither,	but	let	your	discretion	be	your	tutor:	suit
the	action	to	 the	word,	the	word	to	the	 action;	with	this	 special
observance,	that	you	o'erstep	not	the	modesty	of	nature;	for	anything
so	overdone	is	from	the	purpose	of	playing,	whose	end,	both	at	the
first,	 and	 now,	 was,	 and	 is,	 to	 hold,	 as	 'twere,	 the	 mirror	 up	 to
Nature,	to	show	Virtue	her	own	feature,	Scorn	her	own	image,	and
the	very	age	and	body	of	the	time	his	form	and	pressure.	Now,	this
overdone,	or	come	tardy	off,	though	it	make	the	unskillful	laugh,
cannot	but	make	the	judicious	grieve;	the	censure	of	the	which	one
must,	in	your	allowance,	o'erweigh	a	whole	theater	of	others.	Oh,
there	be	players	that	I	have	seen	play—and	heard	others	praise,	and
that	highly—not	to	speak	it	profanely,	that,	neither	having	the	accent
of	 Christians,	 nor	 the	 gait	 of	 Christian,	 pagan,	 or	 man,	 have	 so
```

```
strutted	 and	 bellowed	 that	 I	 have	 thought	 some	 of	 Nature's
journeymen	had	made	men,	and	not	made	them	well,	they	imitated
humanity	so	abominably.[3]
```
Force	is	both	a	cause	and	an	effect.	Inner	force,	which	must	precede	outer	force,
is	a	combination	of	four	elements,	acting	progressively.	First	of	all,	 _force	arises
from	conviction_ .	You	must	be	convinced	of	the	truth,	or	the	importance,	or	the
meaning,	of	what	you	are	about	to	say	before	you	can	give	it	forceful	delivery.	It
must	lay	strong	hold	upon	your	convictions	before	it	can	grip	your	audience.
Conviction	convinces.

_The	Saturday	Evening	Post_ 	in	an	article	on	"England's	T.R."—Winston	Spencer
Churchill—attributed	 much	 of	 Churchill's	 and	 Roosevelt's	 public	 platform
success	to	their	forceful	delivery.	No	matter	what	is	in	hand,	these	men	make
themselves	believe	for	the	time	being	that	that	one	thing	is	the	most	important	on
earth.	Hence	they	speak	to	their	audiences	in	a	Do-this-or-you- _PERISH_ 	manner.

That	kind	of	speaking	wins,	and	it	is	that	virile,	strenuous,	aggressive	attitude
which	 both	 distinguishes	 and	 maintains	 the	 platform	 careers	 of	 our	 greatest
leaders.

But	let	us	look	a	little	closer	at	the	origins	of	inner	force.	How	does	conviction
affect	the	man	who	feels	it?	We	have	answered	the	inquiry	in	the	very	question
itself—he	 _feels_ 	it:	 _Conviction	produces	emotional	tension_ .	Study	the	pictures	of
Theodore	Roosevelt	and	of	Billy	Sunday	in	action— _action_ 	is	the	word.	Note	the
tension	of	their	jaw	muscles,	the	taut	lines	of	sinews	in	their	entire	bodies	when
reaching	a	climax	of	force.	Moral	and	physical	force	are	alike	in	being	both
preceded	and	accompanied	by	in- _tens_ -ity—tension—tightness	of	the	cords	of
power.

It	is	this	tautness	of	the	bow-string,	this	knotting	of	the	muscles,	this	contraction
before	the	spring,	that	makes	an	audience	 _feel_ —almost	see—the	reserve	power
in	a	speaker.	In	some	really	wonderful	way	it	is	more	what	a	speaker	does	 _not_
say	 and	 do	 that	 reveals	 the	 dynamo	 within.	 _Anything_ may	 come	 from	 such
stored-up	force	once	it	is	let	loose;	and	that	keeps	an	audience	alert,	hanging	on
the	lips	of	a	speaker	for	his	next	word.	After	all,	it	is	all	a	question	of	manhood,
for	 a	 stuffed	 doll	 has	 neither	 convictions	 nor	 emotional	 tension.	 If	 you	 are
upholstered	 with	 sawdust,	 keep	 off	 the	 platform,	 for	 your	 own	 speech	 will
puncture	you.

Growing	 out	 of	 this	 conviction-tension	 comes	 _resolve	 to	 make	 the	 audience_


_share	 that	 conviction-tension_ .	 Purpose	 is	 the	 backbone	 of	 force;	 without	 it
speech	is	flabby—it	may	glitter,	but	it	is	the	iridescence	of	the	spineless	jellyfish.
You	must	hold	fast	to	your	resolve	if	you	would	hold	fast	to	your	audience.

Finally,	all	this	conviction-tension-purpose	is	lifeless	and	useless	unless	it	results
in	 _propulsion_ .	You	remember	how	Young	in	his	wonderful	"Night	Thoughts"
delineates	the	man	who

```
Pushes	his	prudent	purpose	to	resolve,
Resolves,	and	re-resolves,	and	dies	the	same.
```
Let	 not	 your	 force	 "die	 a-borning,"—bring	 it	 to	 full	 life	 in	 its	 conviction,
emotional	tension,	resolve,	and	propulsive	power.

_Can	Force	be	Acquired?_

Yes,	if	the	acquirer	has	any	such	capacities	as	we	have	just	outlined.	How	to
acquire	this	vital	factor	is	suggested	in	its	very	analysis:	Live	with	your	subject
until	you	are	convinced	of	its	importance.

If	your	message	does	not	of	itself	arouse	you	to	tension,	 _PULL_ 	yourself	together.
When	a	man	faces	the	necessity	of	leaping	across	a	crevasse	he	does	not	wait	for
inspiration,	he	 _wills_ 	his	muscles	into	tensity	for	the	spring—it	is	not	without
purpose	that	our	English	language	uses	the	same	word	to	depict	a	mighty	though
delicate	steel	contrivance	and	a	quick	leap	through	the	air.	Then	resolve—and	let
it	all	end	in	actual	 _punch_.

This	truth	is	worth	reiteration:	The	man	within	is	the	final	factor.	He	must	supply
the	fuel.	The	audience,	or	even	the	man	himself,	may	add	the	match—it	matters
little	 which,	 only	 so	 that	 there	 be	 fire.	 However	 skillfully	 your	 engine	 is
constructed,	however	well	it	works,	you	will	have	no	force	if	the	fire	has	gone
out	under	the	boiler.	It	matters	little	how	well	you	have	mastered	poise,	pause,
modulation,	and	tempo,	if	your	speech	lacks	fire	it	is	dead.	Neither	a	dead	engine
nor	a	dead	speech	will	move	anybody.

Four	factors	of	force	are	measurably	within	your	control,	and	in	that	far	may	be
acquired:	 _ideas_ ,	 _feeling	about	the	subject_ ,	 _wording_ ,	and	 _delivery_ .	Each	of	these	is
more	 or	 less	 fully	 discussed	 in	 this	 volume,	 except	 wording,	 which	 really
requires	a	fuller	rhetorical	study	than	can	here	be	ventured.	It	is,	however,	of	the
utmost	importance	that	you	should	be	aware	of	precisely	how	wording	bears
upon	force	in	a	sentence.	Study	"The	Working	Principles	of	Rhetoric,"	by	John


Franklin	Genung,	or	the	rhetorical	treatises	of	Adams	Sherman	Hill,	of	Charles
Sears	Baldwin,	or	any	others	whose	names	may	easily	be	learned	from	any
teacher.

Here	are	a	few	suggestions	on	the	use	of	words	to	attain	force:

_Choice	of	Words_

PLAIN	words	are	more	forceful	than	words	less	commonly	used— _juggle_
has	more	vigor	than	 _prestidigitate_.

SHORT	words	are	stronger	than	long	words— _end_ 	has	more	directness	than
_terminate_.

SAXON	words	are	usually	more	forceful	than	Latinistic	words—for	force,
use	 _wars	against_ 	rather	than	 _militate	against_.

SPECIFIC	words	are	stronger	than	general	words— _pressman_ 	is	more
definite	than	 _printer_.

CONNOTATIVE	words,	those	that	suggest	more	than	they	say,	have	more
power	than	ordinary	words—"She	 _let_ 	herself	be	married"	expresses	more
than	"She	 _married_ ."

EPITHETS,	figuratively	descriptive	words,	are	more	effective	than	direct
names—"Go	tell	that	 _old	fox_ ,"	has	more	"punch"	than	"Go	tell	that
_sly	fellow_ ."	ONOMATOPOETIC	words,	words	that	convey	the	sense	by	the
sound,	are	more	powerful	than	other	words— _crash_ 	is	more	effective
than	 _cataclysm_.

_Arrangement	of	words_

Cut	out	modifiers.

Cut	out	connectives.

Begin	with	words	that	demand	attention.


"End	with	words	that	deserve	distinction,"	says	Prof.	Barrett	Wendell.

Set	strong	ideas	over	against	weaker	ones,	so	as	to	gain	strength	by	the
contrast.

Avoid	elaborate	sentence	structure—short	sentences	are	stronger	than
long	ones.

Cut	out	every	useless	word,	so	as	to	give	prominence	to	the	really
important	ones.

Let	each	sentence	be	a	condensed	battering	ram,	swinging	to	its	final
blow	on	the	attention.

A	familiar,	homely	idiom,	if	not	worn	by	much	use,	is	more	effective
than	a	highly	formal,	scholarly	expression.

Consider	well	the	relative	value	of	different	positions	in	the	sentence
so	that	you	may	give	the	prominent	place	to	ideas	you	wish	to	emphasize.

"But,"	says	someone,	"is	it	not	more	honest	to	depend	the	inherent	interest	in	a
subject,	its	native	truth,	clearness	and	sincerity	of	presentation,	and	beauty	of
utterance,	to	win	your	audience?	Why	not	charm	men	instead	of	capturing	them
by	assault?"

_Why	Use	Force?_

There	 is	 much	 truth	 in	 such	 an	 appeal,	 but	 not	 all	 the	 truth.	 Clearness,
persuasion,	beauty,	simple	statement	of	truth,	are	all	essential—indeed,	they	are
all	definite	parts	of	a	forceful	presentment	of	a	subject,	without	being	the	only
parts.	 Strong	 meat	 may	 not	 be	 as	 attractive	 as	 ices,	 but	 all	 depends	 on	 the
appetite	and	the	stage	of	the	meal.

You	can	not	deliver	an	aggressive	message	with	caressing	little	strokes.	No!	Jab
it	in	with	hard,	swift	solar	plexus	punches.	You	cannot	strike	fire	from	flint	or
from	an	audience	with	love	taps.	Say	to	a	crowded	theatre	in	a	lackadaisical
manner:	"It	seems	to	me	that	the	house	is	on	fire,"	and	your	announcement	may
be	greeted	with	a	laugh.	If	you	flash	out	the	words:	"The	house's	on	fire!"	they
will	crush	one	another	in	getting	to	the	exits.


The	spirit	and	the	language	of	force	are	definite	with	conviction.	No	immortal
speech	in	literature	contains	such	expressions	as	"it	seems	to	me,"	"I	should
judge,"	"in	my	opinion,"	"I	suppose,"	"perhaps	it	is	true."	The	speeches	that	will
live	have	been	delivered	by	men	ablaze	with	the	courage	of	their	convictions,
who	uttered	their	words	as	eternal	truth.	Of	Jesus	it	was	said	that	"the	common
people	heard	Him	gladly."	Why?	"He	taught	them	as	one	having	 _AUTHORITY_ ."
An	audience	will	never	be	moved	by	what	"seems"	to	you	to	be	truth	or	what	in
your	"humble	opinion"	may	be	so.	If	you	honestly	can,	assert	convictions	as	your
conclusions.	Be	sure	you	are	right	before	you	speak	your	speech,	then	utter	your
thoughts	as	though	they	were	a	Gibraltar	of	unimpeachable	 _truth_ .	Deliver	them
with	the	iron	hand	and	confidence	of	a	Cromwell.	Assert	them	with	the	fire	of
_authority_ .	Pronounce	them	as	an	 _ultimatum_ .	If	you	cannot	speak	with	conviction,
be	silent.

What	force	did	that	young	minister	have	who,	fearing	to	be	too	dogmatic,	thus
exhorted	his	hearers:	"My	friends—as	I	assume	that	you	are—it	appears	to	be
my	duty	to	tell	you	that	if	you	do	not	repent,	so	to	speak,	forsake	your	sins,	as	it
were,	and	turn	to	righteousness,	if	I	may	so	express	it,	you	will	be	lost,	in	a
measure"?

Effective	speech	must	reflect	the	era.	This	is	not	a	rose	water	age,	and	a	tepid,
half-hearted	 speech	 will	 not	 win.	 This	 is	 the	 century	 of	 trip	 hammers,	 of
overland	expresses	that	dash	under	cities	and	through	mountain	tunnels,	and	you
must	instill	this	spirit	into	your	speech	if	you	would	move	a	popular	audience.
From	a	front	seat	listen	to	a	first-class	company	present	a	modern	Broadway
drama—not	a	comedy,	but	a	gripping,	thrilling	drama.	Do	not	become	absorbed
in	the	story;	reserve	all	your	attention	for	the	technique	and	the	force	of	the
acting.	There	is	a	kick	and	a	crash	as	well	as	an	infinitely	subtle	intensity	in	the
big,	 climax-speeches	 that	 suggest	 this	 lesson:	 the	 same	 well-calculated,
restrained,	delicately	shaded	force	would	simply	 _rivet_ 	your	ideas	in	the	minds	of
your	audience.	An	air-gun	will	rattle	bird-shot	against	a	window	pane—it	takes	a
rifle	to	wing	a	bullet	through	plate	glass	and	the	oaken	walls	beyond.

_When	to	Use	Force_

An	audience	is	unlike	the	kingdom	of	heaven—the	violent	do	not	always	take	it
by	force.	There	are	times	when	beauty	and	serenity	should	be	the	only	bells	in
your	chime.	Force	is	only	one	of	the	great	extremes	of	contrast—use	neither	it
nor	quiet	utterance	to	the	exclusion	of	other	tones:	be	various,	and	in	variety	find
even	greater	force	than	you	could	attain	by	attempting	its	constant	use.	If	you	are


reading	an	essay	on	the	beauties	of	the	dawn,	talking	about	the	dainty	bloom	of	a
honey-suckle,	or	explaining	the	mechanism	of	a	gas	engine,	a	vigorous	style	of
delivery	 is	 entirely	 out	 of	 place.	 But	 when	 you	 are	 appealing	 to	 wills	 and
consciences	for	immediate	action,	forceful	delivery	wins.	In	such	cases,	consider
the	minds	of	your	audience	as	so	many	safes	that	have	been	locked	and	the	keys
lost.	Do	not	try	to	figure	out	the	combinations.	Pour	a	little	nitro	glycerine	into
the	cracks	and	light	the	fuse.	As	these	lines	are	being	written	a	contractor	down
the	street	is	clearing	away	the	rocks	with	dynamite	to	lay	the	foundations	for	a
great	building.	When	you	want	to	get	action,	do	not	fear	to	use	dynamite.

The	final	argument	for	the	effectiveness	of	force	in	public	speech	is	the	fact	that
everything	must	be	enlarged	for	the	purposes	of	the	platform—that	is	why	so
few	speeches	read	well	in	the	reports	on	the	morning	after:	statements	appear
crude	and	exaggerated	because	they	are	unaccompanied	by	the	forceful	delivery
of	a	glowing	speaker	before	an	audience	heated	to	attentive	enthusiasm.	So	in
preparing	your	speech	you	must	not	err	on	the	side	of	mild	statement—your
audience	will	inevitably	tone	down	your	words	in	the	cold	grey	of	afterthought.
When	Phidias	was	criticised	for	the	rough,	bold	outlines	of	a	figure	he	had
submitted	 in	 competition,	 he	 smiled	 and	 asked	 that	 his	 statue	 and	 the	 one
wrought	by	his	rival	should	be	set	upon	the	column	for	which	the	sculpture	was
destined.	 When	 this	 was	 done	 all	 the	 exaggerations	 and	 crudities,	 toned	 by
distances,	melted	into	exquisite	grace	of	line	and	form.	Each	speech	must	be	a
special	study	in	suitability	and	proportion.

Omit	the	thunder	of	delivery,	if	you	will,	but	like	Wendell	Phillips	put	"silent
lightning"	into	your	speech.	Make	your	thoughts	breathe	and	your	words	burn.
Birrell	said:	"Emerson	writes	like	an	electrical	cat	emitting	sparks	and	shocks	in
every	 sentence."	 Go	 thou	 and	 speak	 likewise.	 Get	 the	 "big	 stick"	 into	 your
delivery—be	forceful.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	Illustrate,	by	repeating	a	sentence	from	memory,	what	is	meant	by	employing
force	in	speaking.
2.	Which	in	your	opinion	is	the	most	important	of	the	technical	principles	of
speaking	that	you	have	studied	so	far?	Why?
3.	What	is	the	effect	of	too	much	force	in	a	speech?	Too	little?


4.	Note	some	uninteresting	conversation	or	ineffective	speech,	and	tell	why	it
failed.
5.	Suggest	how	it	might	be	improved.
6.	Why	do	speeches	have	to	be	spoken	with	more	force	than	do	conversations?
7.	Read	aloud	the	selection	on	page	 84 ,	using	the	technical	principles	outlined	in
chapters	III	to	VIII,	but	neglect	to	put	any	force	behind	the	interpretation.	What
is	the	result?
8.	Reread	several	times,	doing	your	best	to	achieve	force.
9.	Which	parts	of	the	selection	on	page	 84 	require	the	most	force?
10.	 Write	 a	 five-minute	 speech	 not	 only	 discussing	 the	 errors	 of	 those	 who
exaggerate	and	those	who	minimize	the	use	of	force,	but	by	imitation	show	their
weaknesses.	Do	not	burlesque,	but	closely	imitate.
11.	Give	a	list	of	ten	themes	for	public	addresses,	saying	which	seem	most	likely
to	require	the	frequent	use	of	force	in	delivery.
12.	In	your	own	opinion,	do	speakers	usually	err	from	the	use	of	too	much	or	too
little	force?
13.	Define	(a)	bombast;	(b)	bathos;	(c)	sentimentality;	(d)	squeamish.
14.	Say	how	the	foregoing	words	describe	weaknesses	in	public	speech.
15.	Recast	in	twentieth-century	English	"Hamlet's	Directions	to	the	Players,"
page	 88.
16.	 Memorize	 the	 following	 extracts	 from	 Wendell	 Phillips'	 speeches,	 and
deliver	them	with	the	of	Wendell	Phillips'	"silent	lightning"	delivery.

```
We	are	for	a	revolution!	We	say	in	behalf	of	these	hunted	lyings,
whom	 God	 created,	 and	 who	 law-abiding	 Webster	 and	 Winthrop
have	sworn	shall	not	find	shelter	in	Massachusetts,—we	say	that
they	 may	 make	 their	 little	 motions,	 and	 pass	 their	 little	 laws	 in
Washington,	 but	 that	 Faneuil	 Hall	 repeals	 them	 in	 the	 name	 of
humanity	and	the	old	Bay	State!
```

My	advice	to	workingmen	is	this:

If	you	want	power	in	this	country;	if	you	want	to	make	yourselves
felt;	if	you	do	not	want	your	children	to	wait	long	years	before	they
have	the	bread	on	the	table	they	ought	to	have,	the	leisure	in	their
lives	they	ought	to	have,	the	opportunities	in	life	they	ought	to	have;
if	you	don't	want	to	wait	yourselves,—write	on	your	banner,	so	that
every	political	trimmer	can	read	it,	so	that	every	politician,	no	matter
how	short-sighted	he	may	be,	can	read	it,	" _WE	NEVER	FORGET!_ 	If
you	launch	the	arrow	of	sarcasm	at	labor,	 _WE	NEVER	FORGET!_ 	If
there	 is	 a	 division	 in	 Congress,	 and	 you	 throw	 your	 vote	 in	 the
wrong	scale,	 _WE	NEVER	FORGET!_ You	 may	 go	 down	 on	 your
knees,	and	say,	'I	am	sorry	I	did	the	act'—but	we	will	say	' _IT	WILL
AVAIL	YOU	IN	HEAVEN	TO	BE	SORRY,	BUT	ON	THIS	SIDE	OF
THE	 GRAVE,	 NEVER!_ '"	 So	 that	 a	 man	 in	 taking	 up	 the	 labor
question	will	know	he	is	dealing	with	a	hair-trigger	pistol,	and	will
say,	"I	am	to	be	true	to	justice	and	to	man;	otherwise	I	am	a	dead
duck."

In	 Russia	 there	 is	 no	 press,	 no	 debate,	 no	 explanation	 of	 what
government	does,	no	remonstrance	allowed,	no	agitation	of	public
issues.	Dead	silence,	like	that	which	reigns	at	the	summit	of	Mont
Blanc,	freezes	the	whole	empire,	long	ago	described	as	"a	despotism
tempered	 by	 assassination."	 Meanwhile,	 such	 despotism	 has
unsettled	 the	 brains	 of	 the	 ruling	 family,	 as	 unbridled	 power
doubtless	 made	 some	 of	 the	 twelve	 Cæsars	 insane;	 a	 madman,
sporting	with	the	lives	and	comfort	of	a	hundred	millions	of	men.
The	young	girl	whispers	in	her	mother's	ear,	under	a	ceiled	roof,	her
pity	for	a	brother	knouted	and	dragged	half	dead	into	exile	for	his
opinions.	The	next	week	she	is	stripped	naked	and	flogged	to	death
in	the	public	square.	No	inquiry,	no	explanation,	no	trial,	no	protest,
one	 dead	 uniform	 silence,	 the	 law	 of	 the	 tyrant.	 Where	 is	 there
ground	for	any	hope	of	peaceful	change?	No,	no!	in	such	a	land
dynamite	and	the	dagger	are	the	necessary	and	proper	substitutes	for
Faneuil	Hall.	Anything	that	will	make	the	madman	quake	in	his
bedchamber,	 and	 rouse	 his	 victims	 into	 reckless	 and	 desperate


```
resistance.	This	is	the	only	view	an	American,	the	child	of	1620	and
1776,	can	take	of	Nihilism.	Any	other	unsettles	and	perplexes	the
ethics	of	our	civilization.
```
```
Born	 within	 sight	 of	 Bunker	 Hill—son	 of	 Harvard,	 whose	 first
pledge	was	"Truth,"	citizen	of	a	republic	based	on	the	claim	that	no
government	is	rightful	unless	resting	on	the	consent	of	the	people,
and	which	assumes	to	lead	in	asserting	the	rights	of	humanity—I	at
least	can	say	nothing	else	and	nothing	less—no	not	if	every	tile	on
Cambridge	roofs	were	a	devil	hooting	my	words!
```
For	practise	on	forceful	selections,	use	"The	Irrepressible	Conflict,"	page	 67 ;
"Abraham	Lincoln,"	page	 76 ,	"Pass	Prosperity	Around,"	page	 470 ;	"A	Plea	for
Cuba,"	page	 50.


### FOOTNOTES:

```
[2]	Those	who	sat	in	the	pit	or	the	parquet.
[3] Hamlet ,	Act	III,	Scene	2.
```
### CHAPTER	X

#### FEELING	AND	ENTHUSIASM

```
Enthusiasm	is	that	secret	and	harmonious	spirit	that	hovers	over	the
production	of	genius.
```
```
—ISAAC	DISRAELI,	 Literary	Character.
```
If	you	are	addressing	a	body	of	scientists	on	such	a	subject	as	the	veins	in	a
butterfly's	wings,	or	on	road	structure,	naturally	your	theme	will	not	arouse	much
feeling	in	either	you	or	your	audience.	These	are	purely	mental	subjects.	But	if
you	want	men	to	vote	for	a	measure	that	will	abolish	child	labor,	or	if	you	would
inspire	 them	 to	 take	 up	 arms	 for	 freedom,	 you	 must	 strike	 straight	 at	 their
feelings.	We	lie	on	soft	beds,	sit	near	the	radiator	on	a	cold	day,	eat	cherry	pie,
and	 devote	 our	 attention	 to	 one	 of	 the	 opposite	 sex,	 not	 because	 we	 have
reasoned	out	that	it	is	the	right	thing	to	do,	but	because	it	feels	right.	No	one	but
a	dyspeptic	chooses	his	diet	from	a	chart.	Our	feelings	dictate	what	we	shall	eat
and	 generally	 how	 we	 shall	 act.	 Man	 is	 a	 feeling	 animal,	 hence	 the	 public
speaker's	ability	to	arouse	men	to	action	depends	almost	wholly	on	his	ability	to
touch	their	emotions.

Negro	mothers	on	the	auction-block	seeing	their	children	sold	away	from	them
into	slavery	have	flamed	out	some	of	America's	most	stirring	speeches.	True,	the
mother	did	not	have	any	knowledge	of	the	technique	of	speaking,	but	she	had
something	greater	than	all	technique,	more	effective	than	reason:	feeling.	The
great	speeches	of	the	world	have	not	been	delivered	on	tariff	reductions	or	post-
office	 appropriations.	 The	 speeches	 that	 will	 live	 have	 been	 charged	 with
emotional	force.	Prosperity	and	peace	are	poor	developers	of	eloquence.	When
great	wrongs	are	to	be	righted,	when	the	public	heart	is	flaming	with	passion,


that	is	the	occasion	for	memorable	speaking.	Patrick	Henry	made	an	immortal
address,	for	in	an	epochal	crisis	he	pleaded	for	liberty.	He	had	roused	himself	to
the	point	where	he	could	honestly	and	passionately	exclaim,	"Give	me	liberty	or
give	me	death."	His	fame	would	have	been	different	had	he	lived	to-day	and
argued	for	the	recall	of	judges.

_The	Power	of	Enthusiasm_

Political	parties	hire	bands,	and	pay	for	applause—they	argue	that,	for	vote-
getting,	to	stir	up	enthusiasm	is	more	effective	than	reasoning.	How	far	they	are
right	depends	on	the	hearers,	but	there	can	be	no	doubt	about	the	contagious
nature	of	enthusiasm.	A	watch	manufacturer	in	New	York	tried	out	two	series	of
watch	 advertisements;	 one	 argued	 the	 superior	 construction,	 workmanship,
durability,	and	guarantee	offered	with	the	watch;	the	other	was	headed,	"A	Watch
to	be	Proud	of,"	and	dwelt	upon	the	pleasure	and	pride	of	ownership.	The	latter
series	sold	twice	as	many	as	the	former.	A	salesman	for	a	locomotive	works
informed	 the	 writer	 that	 in	 selling	 railroad	 engines	 emotional	 appeal	 was
stronger	than	an	argument	based	on	mechanical	excellence.

Illustrations	without	number	might	be	cited	to	show	that	in	all	our	actions	we	are
emotional	beings.	The	speaker	who	would	speak	efficiently	must	develop	the
power	to	arouse	feeling.

Webster,	great	debater	that	he	was,	knew	that	the	real	secret	of	a	speaker's	power
was	an	emotional	one.	He	eloquently	says	of	eloquence:

```
"Affected	passion,	intense	expression,	the	pomp	of	declamation,	all
may	aspire	after	it;	they	cannot	reach	it.	It	comes,	if	it	come	at	all,
like	the	outbreak	of	a	fountain	from	the	earth,	or	the	bursting	forth	of
volcanic	fires,	with	spontaneous,	original,	native	force.
```
```
"The	graces	taught	in	the	schools,	the	costly	ornaments	and	studied
contrivances	 of	 speech,	 shock	 and	 disgust	 men,	 when	 their	 own
lives,	and	the	fate	of	their	wives,	their	children,	and	their	country
hang	on	the	decision	of	the	hour.	Then	words	have	lost	their	power,
rhetoric	 is	 in	 vain,	 and	 all	 elaborate	 oratory	 contemptible.	 Even
genius	itself	then	feels	rebuked	and	subdued,	as	in	the	presence	of
higher	qualities.	Then	patriotism	is	eloquent,	then	self-devotion	is
eloquent.	The	clear	conception	outrunning	the	deductions	of	logic,
the	high	purpose,	the	firm	resolve,	the	dauntless	spirit,	speaking	on
the	 tongue,	 beaming	 from	 the	 eye,	 informing	 every	 feature,	 and
```

```
urging	the	whole	man	onward,	right	onward	to	his	subject—this,	this
is	eloquence;	or	rather,	it	is	something	greater	and	higher	than	all
eloquence;	it	is	action,	noble,	sublime,	godlike	action."
```
When	traveling	through	the	Northwest	some	time	ago,	one	of	the	present	writers
strolled	up	a	village	street	after	dinner	and	noticed	a	crowd	listening	to	a	"faker"
speaking	on	a	corner	from	a	goods-box.	Remembering	Emerson's	advice	about
learning	something	from	every	man	we	meet,	the	observer	stopped	to	listen	to
this	speaker's	appeal.	He	was	selling	a	hair	tonic,	which	he	claimed	to	have
discovered	in	Arizona.	He	removed	his	hat	to	show	what	this	remedy	had	done
for	him,	washed	his	face	in	it	to	demonstrate	that	it	was	as	harmless	as	water,	and
enlarged	on	its	merits	in	such	an	enthusiastic	manner	that	the	half-dollars	poured
in	on	him	in	a	silver	flood.	When	he	had	supplied	the	audience	with	hair	tonic,
he	asked	why	a	greater	proportion	of	men	than	women	were	bald.	No	one	knew.
He	explained	that	it	was	because	women	wore	thinner-soled	shoes,	and	so	made
a	good	electrical	connection	with	mother	earth,	while	men	wore	thick,	dry-soled
shoes	that	did	not	transmit	the	earth's	electricity	to	the	body.	Men's	hair,	not
having	a	proper	amount	of	electrical	food,	died	and	fell	out.	Of	course	he	had	a
remedy—a	little	copper	plate	that	should	be	nailed	on	the	bottom	of	the	shoe.	He
pictured	in	enthusiastic	and	vivid	terms	the	desirability	of	escaping	baldness—
and	paid	tributes	to	his	copper	plates.	Strange	as	it	may	seem	when	the	story	is
told	in	cold	print,	the	speaker's	enthusiasm	had	swept	his	audience	with	him,	and
they	crushed	around	his	stand	with	outstretched	"quarters"	in	their	anxiety	to	be
the	possessors	of	these	magical	plates!

Emerson's	suggestion	had	been	well	taken—the	observer	had	seen	again	the
wonderful,	persuasive	power	of	enthusiasm!

Enthusiasm	sent	millions	crusading	into	the	Holy	Land	to	redeem	it	from	the
Saracens.	 Enthusiasm	 plunged	 Europe	 into	 a	 thirty	 years'	 war	 over	 religion.
Enthusiasm	sent	three	small	ships	plying	the	unknown	sea	to	the	shores	of	a	new
world.	When	Napoleon's	army	were	worn	out	and	discouraged	in	their	ascent	of
the	Alps,	the	Little	Corporal	stopped	them	and	ordered	the	bands	to	play	the
Marseillaise.	Under	its	soul-stirring	strains	there	were	no	Alps.

Listen!	Emerson	said:	"Nothing	great	was	ever	achieved	without	enthusiasm."
Carlyle	declared	that	"Every	great	movement	in	the	annals	of	history	has	been
the	triumph	of	enthusiasm."	It	is	as	contagious	as	measles.	Eloquence	is	half
inspiration.	Sweep	your	audience	with	you	in	a	pulsation	of	enthusiasm.	Let
yourself	go.	"A	man,"	said	Oliver	Cromwell,	"never	rises	so	high	as	when	he


knows	not	whither	he	is	going."

_How	are	We	to	Acquire	and	Develop	Enthusiasm?_

It	is	not	to	be	slipped	on	like	a	smoking	jacket.	A	book	cannot	furnish	you	with
it.	It	is	a	growth—an	effect.	But	an	effect	of	what?	Let	us	see.

Emerson	wrote:	"A	painter	told	me	that	nobody	could	draw	a	tree	without	in
some	sort	becoming	a	tree;	or	draw	a	child	by	studying	the	outlines	of	his	form
merely,—but,	by	watching	for	a	time	his	motion	and	plays,	the	painter	enters	his
nature,	and	then	can	draw	him	at	will	in	every	attitude.	So	Roos	'entered	into	the
inmost	nature	of	his	sheep.'	I	knew	a	draughtsman	employed	in	a	public	survey,
who	found	that	he	could	not	sketch	the	rocks	until	their	geological	structure	was
first	explained	to	him."

When	Sarah	Bernhardt	plays	a	difficult	role	she	frequently	will	speak	to	no	one
from	four	o'clock	in	the	afternoon	until	after	the	performance.	From	the	hour	of
four	she	lives	her	character.	Booth,	it	is	reported,	would	not	permit	anyone	to
speak	to	him	between	the	acts	of	his	Shakesperean	rôles,	for	he	was	Macbeth
then—not	Booth.	Dante,	exiled	from	his	beloved	Florence,	condemned	to	death,
lived	 in	 caves,	 half	 starved;	 then	 Dante	 wrote	 out	 his	 heart	 in	 "The	 Divine
Comedy."	 Bunyan	 entered	 into	 the	 spirit	 of	 his	 "Pilgrim's	 Progress"	 so
thoroughly	 that	 he	 fell	 down	 on	 the	 floor	 of	 Bedford	 jail	 and	 wept	 for	 joy.
Turner,	who	lived	in	a	garret,	arose	before	daybreak	and	walked	over	the	hills
nine	miles	to	see	the	sun	rise	on	the	ocean,	that	he	might	catch	the	spirit	of	its
wonderful	 beauty.	 Wendell	 Phillips'	 sentences	 were	 full	 of	 "silent	 lightning"
because	he	bore	in	his	heart	the	sorrow	of	five	million	slaves.

There	is	only	one	way	to	get	feeling	into	your	speaking—and	whatever	else	you
forget,	 forget	 not	 this:	 _You	 must	 actually	 ENTER	 INTO_ the	 character	 you
impersonate,	the	cause	you	advocate,	the	case	you	argue—enter	into	it	so	deeply
that	it	clothes	you,	enthralls	you,	possesses	you	wholly.	Then	you	are,	in	the	true
meaning	of	the	word,	in	 _sympathy_ with	 your	 subject,	 for	 its	 feeling	 is	 your
feeling,	you	"feel	with"	it,	and	therefore	your	enthusiasm	is	both	genuine	and
contagious.	The	Carpenter	who	spoke	as	"never	man	spake"	uttered	words	born
out	of	a	passion	of	love	for	humanity—he	had	entered	into	humanity,	and	thus
became	Man.

But	we	must	not	look	upon	the	foregoing	words	as	a	facile	prescription	for
decocting	a	feeling	which	may	then	be	ladled	out	to	a	complacent	audience	in
quantities	to	suit	the	need	of	the	moment.	Genuine	feeling	in	a	speech	is	bone


and	blood	of	the	speech	itself	and	not	something	that	may	be	added	to	it	or
substracted	at	will.	In	the	ideal	address	theme,	speaker	and	audience	become
one,	fused	by	the	emotion	and	thought	of	the	hour.

_The	Need	of	Sympathy	for	Humanity_

It	is	impossible	to	lay	too	much	stress	on	the	necessity	for	the	speaker's	having	a
broad	and	deep	tenderness	for	human	nature.	One	of	Victor	Hugo's	biographers
attributes	his	power	as	an	orator	and	writer	to	his	wide	sympathies	and	profound
religious	feelings.	Recently	we	heard	the	editor	of	 _Collier's	Weekly_ 	speak	on
short-story	writing,	and	he	so	often	emphasized	the	necessity	for	this	broad	love
for	humanity,	this	truly	religious	feeling,	that	he	apologized	twice	for	delivering
a	sermon.	Few	if	any	of	the	immortal	speeches	were	ever	delivered	for	a	selfish
or	a	narrow	cause—they	were	born	out	of	a	passionate	desire	to	help	humanity;
instances,	Paul's	address	to	the	Athenians	on	Mars	Hill,	Lincoln's	Gettysburg
speech,	 The	 Sermon	 on	 the	 Mount,	 Henry's	 address	 before	 the	 Virginia
Convention	of	Delegates.

The	seal	and	sign	of	greatness	is	a	desire	to	serve	others.	Self-preservation	is	the
first	law	of	life,	but	self-abnegation	is	the	first	law	of	greatness—and	of	art.
Selfishness	 is	 the	 fundamental	 cause	 of	 all	 sin,	 it	 is	 the	 thing	 that	 all	 great
religions,	all	worthy	philosophies,	have	struck	at.	Out	of	a	heart	of	real	sympathy
and	love	come	the	speeches	that	move	humanity.

Former	United	States	Senator	Albert	J.	Beveridge	in	an	introduction	to	one	of
the	volumes	of	"Modern	Eloquence,"	says:	"The	profoundest	feeling	among	the
masses,	the	most	influential	element	in	their	character,	is	the	religious	element.	It
is	as	instinctive	and	elemental	as	the	law	of	self-preservation.	It	informs	the
whole	 intellect	 and	 personality	 of	 the	 people.	 And	 he	 who	 would	 greatly
influence	the	people	by	uttering	their	unformed	thoughts	must	have	this	great
and	unanalyzable	bond	of	sympathy	with	them."

When	the	men	of	Ulster	armed	themselves	to	oppose	the	passage	of	the	Home
Rule	Act,	one	of	the	present	writers	assigned	to	a	hundred	men	"Home	Rule"	as
the	topic	for	an	address	to	be	prepared	by	each.	Among	this	group	were	some
brilliant	 speakers,	 several	 of	 them	 experienced	 lawyers	 and	 political
campaigners.	 Some	 of	 their	 addresses	 showed	 a	 remarkable	 knowledge	 and
grasp	of	the	subject;	others	were	clothed	in	the	most	attractive	phrases.	But	a
clerk,	without	a	great	deal	of	education	and	experience,	arose	and	told	how	he
spent	his	boyhood	days	in	Ulster,	how	his	mother	while	holding	him	on	her	lap


had	pictured	to	him	Ulster's	deeds	of	valor.	He	spoke	of	a	picture	in	his	uncle's
home	that	showed	the	men	of	Ulster	conquering	a	tyrant	and	marching	on	to
victory.	His	voice	quivered,	and	with	a	hand	pointing	upward	he	declared	that	if
the	men	of	Ulster	went	to	war	they	would	not	go	alone—a	great	God	would	go
with	them.

The	speech	thrilled	and	electrified	the	audience.	It	thrills	yet	as	we	recall	it.	The
high-sounding	phrases,	the	historical	knowledge,	the	philosophical	treatment,	of
the	other	speakers	largely	failed	to	arouse	any	deep	interest,	while	the	genuine
conviction	and	feeling	of	the	modest	clerk,	speaking	on	a	subject	that	lay	deep	in
his	heart,	not	only	electrified	his	audience	but	won	their	personal	sympathy	for
the	cause	he	advocated.

As	Webster	said,	it	is	of	no	use	to	try	to	pretend	to	sympathy	or	feelings.	It
cannot	be	done	successfully.	"Nature	is	forever	putting	a	premium	on	reality."
What	is	false	is	soon	detected	as	such.	The	thoughts	and	feelings	that	create	and
mould	the	speech	in	the	study	must	be	born	again	when	the	speech	is	delivered
from	the	platform.	Do	not	let	your	words	say	one	thing,	and	your	voice	and
attitude	another.	There	is	no	room	here	for	half-hearted,	nonchalant	methods	of
delivery.	 Sincerity	 is	 the	 very	 soul	 of	 eloquence.	 Carlyle	 was	 right:	 "No
Mirabeau,	Napoleon,	Burns,	Cromwell,	no	man	adequate	to	do	anything,	but	is
first	of	all	in	right	earnest	about	it;	what	I	call	a	sincere	man.	I	should	say
sincerity,	a	great,	deep,	genuine	sincerity,	is	the	first	characteristic	of	all	men	in
any	way	heroic.	Not	the	sincerity	that	calls	itself	sincere;	ah	no,	that	is	a	very
poor	matter	indeed;	a	shallow	braggart,	conscious	sincerity,	oftenest	self-conceit
mainly.	The	great	man's	sincerity	is	of	the	kind	he	cannot	speak	of—is	not
conscious	of."

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

It	is	one	thing	to	convince	the	would-be	speaker	that	he	ought	to	put	feeling	into
his	speeches;	often	it	is	quite	another	thing	for	him	to	do	it.	The	average	speaker
is	afraid	to	let	himself	go,	and	continually	suppresses	his	emotions.	When	you
put	enough	feeling	into	your	speeches	they	will	sound	overdone	to	you,	unless
you	are	an	experienced	speaker.	They	will	sound	too	strong,	if	you	are	not	used
to	enlarging	for	platform	or	stage,	for	the	delineation	of	the	emotions	must	be
enlarged	for	public	delivery.

1.	Study	the	following	speech,	going	back	in	your	imagination	to	the	time	and
circumstances	 that	 brought	 it	 forth.	 Make	 it	 not	 a	 memorized	 historical


document,	but	feel	the	emotions	that	gave	it	birth.	The	speech	is	only	an	effect;
live	over	in	your	own	heart	the	causes	that	produced	it	and	try	to	deliver	it	at
white	heat.	It	is	not	possible	for	you	to	put	too	much	real	feeling	into	it,	though
of	course	it	would	be	quite	easy	to	rant	and	fill	it	with	false	emotion.	This
speech,	according	to	Thomas	Jefferson,	started	the	ball	of	the	Revolution	rolling.
Men	were	then	willing	to	go	out	and	die	for	liberty.

### PATRICK	HENRY'S	SPEECH

#### BEFORE	THE	VIRGINIA	CONVENTION	OF	DELEGATES

```
Mr.	President,	it	is	natural	to	man	to	indulge	in	the	illusions	of	hope.
We	are	apt	to	shut	our	eyes	against	a	painful	truth,	and	listen	to	the
song	of	that	siren,	till	she	transforms	us	to	beasts.	Is	this	the	part	of
wise	men,	engaged	in	a	great	and	arduous	struggle	for	liberty?	Are
we	disposed	to	be	of	the	number	of	those	who,	having	eyes,	see	not,
and	having	ears,	hear	not,	the	things	which	so	nearly	concern	our
temporal	salvation?	For	my	part,	whatever	anguish	of	spirit	it	may
cost,	I	am	willing	to	know	the	whole	truth;	to	know	the	worst,	and	to
provide	for	it.
```
```
I	have	but	one	lamp	by	which	my	feet	are	guided;	and	that	is	the
lamp	of	experience.	I	know	of	no	way	of	judging	of	the	future	but	by
the	past.	And	judging	by	the	past,	I	wish	to	know	what	there	has
been	in	the	conduct	of	the	British	Ministry	for	the	last	ten	years	to
justify	 those	 hopes	 with	 which	 gentlemen	 have	 been	 pleased	 to
solace	themselves	and	the	House?	Is	it	that	insidious	smile	with
which	our	petition	has	been	lately	received?	Trust	it	not,	sir;	it	will
prove	a	snare	to	your	feet.	Suffer	not	yourselves	to	be	"betrayed	with
a	kiss"!	Ask	yourselves,	how	this	gracious	reception	of	our	petition
comports	with	those	warlike	preparations	which	cover	our	waters
and	darken	our	land.	Are	fleets	and	armies	necessary	to	a	work	of
love	and	reconciliation?	Have	we	shown	ourselves	so	unwilling	to
be	reconciled,	that	force	must	be	called	in	to	win	back	our	love?	Let
us	not	deceive	ourselves,	sir.	These	are	the	implements	of	war	and
subjugation,	the	last	"arguments"	to	which	kings	resort.
```
```
I	ask	gentlemen,	sir,	what	means	this	martial	array,	if	its	purpose	be
not	 to	 force	 us	 to	 submission?	 Can	 gentlemen	 assign	 any	 other
```

possible	motive	for	it?	Has	Great	Britain	any	enemy	in	this	quarter
of	the	world,	to	call	for	all	this	accumulation	of	navies	and	armies?
No,	sir,	she	has	none.	They	are	meant	for	us;	they	can	be	meant	for
no	other.	They	are	sent	over	to	bind	and	to	rivet	upon	us	those	chains
which	the	British	Ministry	have	been	so	long	forging.	And	what
have	we	to	oppose	to	them?	Shall	we	try	argument?	Sir,	we	have
been	trying	that	for	the	last	ten	years.	Have	we	anything	new	to	offer
upon	the	subject?	Nothing.	We	have	held	the	subject	up	in	every
light	of	which	it	is	capable;	but	it	has	been	all	in	vain.	Shall	we
resort	to	entreaty	and	humble	supplication?	What	terms	shall	we	find
which	have	not	been	already	exhausted?	Let	us	not,	I	beseech	you,
sir,	 deceive	 ourselves	 longer.	 Sir,	 we	 have	 done	 everything	 that
could	be	done,	to	avert	the	storm	which	is	now	coming	on.	We	have
petitioned,	 we	 have	 remonstrated,	 we	 have	 supplicated,	 we	 have
prostrated	 ourselves	 before	 the	 throne,	 and	 have	 implored	 its
interposition	 to	 arrest	 the	 tyrannical	 hands	 of	 the	 Ministry	 and
Parliament.	 Our	 petitions	 have	 been	 slighted;	 our	 remonstrances
have	produced	additional	violence	and	insult;	our	supplications	have
been	disregarded,	and	we	have	been	spurned	with	contempt	from	the
foot	of	the	throne.	In	vain,	after	these	things,	may	we	indulge	in	the
fond	hope	of	peace	and	reconciliation.	There	is	no	longer	any	room
for	hope.	If	we	wish	to	be	free,	if	we	mean	to	preserve	inviolate
those	 inestimable	 privileges	 for	 which	 we	 have	 been	 so	 long
contending;	if	we	mean	not	basely	to	abandon	the	noble	struggle	in
which	we	have	been	so	long	engaged,	and	which	we	have	pledged
ourselves	never	to	abandon	until	the	glorious	object	of	our	contest
shall	be	obtained,	we	must	fight;	I	repeat	it,	sir,	we	must	fight!	An
appeal	to	arms,	and	to	the	God	of	Hosts,	is	all	that	is	left	us!

They	 tell	 us,	 sir,	 that	 we	 are	 weak—"unable	 to	 cope	 with	 so
formidable	an	adversary"!	But	when	shall	we	be	stronger?	Will	it	be
the	next	week,	or	the	next	year?	Will	it	be	when	we	are	totally
disarmed,	 and	 when	 a	 British	 guard	 shall	 be	 stationed	 in	 every
house?	Shall	we	gather	strength	by	irresolution	and	inaction?	Shall
we	acquire	the	means	of	effectual	resistance,	by	lying	supinely	on
our	 backs,	 and	 hugging	 the	 delusive	 phantom	 of	 hope,	 until	 our
enemies	have	bound	us	hand	and	foot?	Sir,	we	are	not	weak,	if	we
make	a	proper	use	of	those	means	which	the	God	of	Nature	hath
placed	in	our	power.	Three	millions	of	people,	armed	in	the	holy


```
cause	of	Liberty,	and	in	such	a	country	as	that	which	we	possess,	are
invincible	 by	 any	 force	 which	 our	 enemy	 can	 send	 against	 us.
Besides,	sir,	we	shall	not	fight	our	battles	alone.	There	is	a	just
Power	who	presides	over	the	destinies	of	nations,	and	who	will	raise
up	friends	to	fight	our	battles	for	us.	The	battle,	sir,	is	not	to	the
strong	alone;	it	is	to	the	vigilant,	the	active,	the	brave.	Besides,	sir,
we	have	no	election.	If	we	were	base	enough	to	desire	it,	it	is	now
too	 late	 to	 retire	 from	 the	 contest.	 There	 is	 no	 retreat,	 but	 in
submission	and	slavery.	Our	chains	are	forged.	Their	clanking	may
be	heard	on	the	plains	of	Boston.	The	war	is	inevitable;	and	let	it
come!	I	repeat	it,	sir,	let	it	come!	It	is	in	vain,	sir,	to	extenuate	the
matter.	Gentlemen	may	cry	"Peace,	peace!"	but	there	is	no	peace!
The	war	is	actually	begun!	The	next	gale	that	sweeps	from	the	north
will	bring	to	our	ears	the	clash	of	resounding	arms!	Our	brethren	are
already	 in	 the	 field!	 Why	 stand	 we	 here	 idle?	 What	 is	 it	 that
gentlemen	wish?	What	would	they	have?	Is	life	so	dear,	or	peace	so
sweet,	as	to	be	purchased	at	the	price	of	chains	and	slavery?	Forbid
it,	Almighty	Powers!—I	know	not	what	course	others	may	take;	but
as	for	me,	give	me	liberty	or	give	me	death!
```
2.	Live	over	in	your	imagination	all	the	solemnity	and	sorrow	that	Lincoln	felt	at
the	Gettysburg	cemetery.	The	feeling	in	this	speech	is	very	deep,	but	it	is	quieter
and	more	subdued	than	the	preceding	one.	The	purpose	of	Henry's	address	was
to	get	action;	Lincoln's	speech	was	meant	only	to	dedicate	the	last	resting	place
of	those	who	had	acted.	Read	it	over	and	over	(see	page	 50 )	until	it	burns	in	your
soul.	Then	commit	it	and	repeat	it	for	emotional	expression.
3.	 Beecher's	 speech	 on	 Lincoln,	 page	 76 ;	 Thurston's	 speech	 on	 "A	 Plea	 for
Cuba,"	page	 50 ;	and	the	following	selection,	are	recommended	for	practise	in
developing	feeling	in	delivery.

```
A	living	force	that	brings	to	itself	all	the	resources	of	imagination,
all	the	inspirations	of	feeling,	all	that	is	influential	in	body,	in	voice,
in	eye,	in	gesture,	in	posture,	in	the	whole	animated	man,	is	in	strict
analogy	with	the	divine	thought	and	the	divine	arrangement;	and
there	is	no	misconstruction	more	utterly	untrue	and	fatal	than	this:
that	 oratory	 is	 an	 artificial	 thing,	 which	 deals	 with	 baubles	 and
trifles,	for	the	sake	of	making	bubbles	of	pleasure	for	transient	effect
on	mercurial	audiences.	So	far	from	that,	it	is	the	consecration	of	the
whole	man	to	the	noblest	purposes	to	which	one	can	address	himself
```

```
—the	education	and	inspiration	of	his	fellow	men	by	all	that	there	is
in	learning,	by	all	that	there	is	in	thought,	by	all	that	there	is	in
feeling,	by	all	that	there	is	in	all	of	them,	sent	home	through	the
channels	of	taste	and	of	beauty.—HENRY	WARD	BEECHER.
```
4.	 What	 in	 your	 opinion	 are	 the	 relative	 values	 of	 thought	 and	 feeling	 in	 a
speech?
5.	Could	we	dispense	with	either?
6.	What	kinds	of	selections	or	occasions	require	much	feeling	and	enthusiasm?
Which	require	little?
7.	Invent	a	list	of	ten	subjects	for	speeches,	saying	which	would	give	most	room
for	pure	thought	and	which	for	feeling.
8.	Prepare	and	deliver	a	ten-minute	speech	denouncing	the	(imaginary)	unfeeling
plea	 of	 an	 attorney;	 he	 may	 be	 either	 the	 counsel	 for	 the	 defense	 or	 the
prosecuting	attorney,	and	the	accused	may	be	assumed	to	be	either	guilty	or
innocent,	at	your	option.
9.	Is	feeling	more	important	than	the	technical	principles	expounded	in	chapters
III	to	VII?	Why?
10.	 Analyze	 the	 secret	 of	 some	 effective	 speech	 or	 speaker.	 To	 what	 is	 the
success	due?
11.	Give	an	example	from	your	own	observation	of	the	effect	of	feeling	and
enthusiasm	on	listeners.
12.	Memorize	Carlyle's	and	Emerson's	remarks	on	enthusiasm.
13.	Deliver	Patrick	Henry's	address,	page	 110 ,	and	Thurston's	speech,	page	 50 ,
without	show	of	feeling	or	enthusiasm.	What	is	the	result?
14.	Repeat,	with	all	the	feeling	these	selections	demand.	What	is	the	result?
15.	What	steps	do	you	intend	to	take	to	develop	the	power	of	enthusiasm	and
feeling	in	speaking?
16.	 Write	 and	 deliver	 a	 five-minute	 speech	 ridiculing	 a	 speaker	 who	 uses
bombast,	pomposity	and	over-enthusiasm.	Imitate	him.


### CHAPTER	XI

#### FLUENCY	THROUGH	PREPARATION

```
Animis	opibusque	parati—Ready	in	mind	and	resources.
```
```
— Motto	of	South	Carolina.
```
```
In	omnibus	negotiis	prius	quam	aggrediare,	adhibenda	est	præparatio
diligens—In	 all	 matters	 before	 beginning	 a	 diligent	 preparation
should	be	made.
```
```
—CICERO,	 De	Officiis.
```
Take	your	dictionary	and	look	up	the	words	that	contain	the	Latin	stem	 _flu_ —the
results	will	be	suggestive.

At	first	blush	it	would	seem	that	fluency	consists	in	a	ready,	easy	use	of	words.
Not	so—the	flowing	quality	of	speech	is	much	more,	for	it	is	a	composite	effect,
with	each	of	its	prior	conditions	deserving	of	careful	notice.

_The	Sources	of	Fluency_

Speaking	broadly,	fluency	is	almost	entirely	a	matter	of	preparation.	Certainly,
native	 gifts	 figure	 largely	 here,	 as	 in	 every	 art,	 but	 even	 natural	 facility	 is
dependent	on	the	very	same	laws	of	preparation	that	hold	good	for	the	man	of
supposedly	small	native	endowment.	Let	this	encourage	you	if,	like	Moses,	you
are	prone	to	complain	that	you	are	not	a	ready	speaker.

Have	you	ever	stopped	to	analyze	that	expression,	"a	ready	speaker?"	Readiness,
in	 its	 prime	 sense,	 is	 preparedness,	 and	 they	 are	 most	 ready	 who	 are	 best
prepared.	Quick	firing	depends	more	on	the	alert	finger	than	on	the	hair	trigger.
Your	fluency	will	be	in	direct	ratio	to	two	important	conditions:	your	knowledge
of	what	you	are	going	to	say,	and	your	being	accustomed	to	telling	what	you
know	to	an	audience.	This	gives	us	the	second	great	element	of	fluency—to
preparation	must	be	added	the	ease	that	arises	from	practise;	of	which	more
presently.

_Knowledge	is	Essential_


Mr.	 Bryan	 is	 a	 most	 fluent	 speaker	 when	 he	 speaks	 on	 political	 problems,
tendencies	of	the	time,	and	questions	of	morals.	It	is	to	be	supposed,	however,
that	 he	 would	 not	 be	 so	 fluent	 in	 speaking	 on	 the	 bird	 life	 of	 the	 Florida
Everglades.	Mr.	John	Burroughs	might	be	at	his	best	on	this	last	subject,	yet
entirely	lost	in	talking	about	international	law.	Do	not	expect	to	speak	fluently	on
a	subject	that	you	know	little	or	nothing	about.	Ctesiphon	boasted	that	he	could
speak	all	day	(a	sin	in	itself)	on	any	subject	that	an	audience	would	suggest.	He
was	banished	by	the	Spartans.

But	 preparation	 goes	 beyond	 the	 getting	 of	 the	 facts	 in	 the	 case	 you	 are	 to
present:	it	includes	also	the	ability	to	think	and	arrange	your	thoughts,	a	full	and
precise	vocabulary,	an	easy	manner	of	speech	and	breathing,	absence	of	self-
consciousness,	and	the	several	other	characteristics	of	efficient	delivery	that	have
deserved	special	attention	in	other	parts	of	this	book	rather	than	in	this	chapter.

Preparation	may	be	either	general	or	specific;	usually	it	should	be	both.	A	life-
time	of	reading,	of	companionship	with	stirring	thoughts,	of	wrestling	with	the
problems	of	life—this	constitutes	a	general	preparation	of	inestimable	worth.
Out	of	a	well-stored	mind,	and—richer	still—a	broad	experience,	and—best	of
all—a	warmly	sympathetic	heart,	the	speaker	will	have	to	draw	much	material
that	no	 _immediate_ 	study	could	provide.	General	preparation	consists	of	all	that	a
man	has	put	into	himself,	all	that	heredity	and	environment	have	instilled	into
him,	and—that	other	rich	source	of	preparedness	for	speech—the	friendship	of
wise	companions.	When	Schiller	returned	home	after	a	visit	with	Goethe	a	friend
remarked:	 "I	 am	 amazed	 by	 the	 progress	 Schiller	 can	 make	 within	 a	 single
fortnight."	 It	 was	 the	 progressive	 influence	 of	 a	 new	 friendship.	 Proper
friendships	form	one	of	the	best	means	for	the	formation	of	ideas	and	ideals,	for
they	enable	one	to	practise	in	giving	expression	to	thought.	The	speaker	who
would	 speak	 fluently	 before	 an	 audience	 should	 learn	 to	 speak	 fluently	 and
entertainingly	with	a	friend.	Clarify	your	ideas	by	putting	them	in	words;	the
talker	gains	as	much	from	his	conversation	as	the	listener.	You	sometimes	begin
to	converse	on	a	subject	thinking	you	have	very	little	to	say,	but	one	idea	gives
birth	to	another,	and	you	are	surprised	to	learn	that	the	more	you	give	the	more
you	 have	 to	 give.	 This	 give-and-take	 of	 friendly	 conversation	 develops
mentality,	and	fluency	in	expression.	Longfellow	said:	"A	single	conversation
across	the	table	with	a	wise	man	is	better	than	ten	years'	study	of	books,"	and
Holmes	whimsically	yet	none	the	less	truthfully	declared	that	half	the	time	he
talked	to	find	out	what	he	thought.	But	that	method	must	not	be	applied	on	the
platform!


After	all	this	enrichment	of	life	by	storage,	must	come	the	special	preparation	for
the	 particular	 speech.	 This	 is	 of	 so	 definite	 a	 sort	 that	 it	 warrants	 separate
chapter-treatment	later.

_Practise_

But	preparation	must	also	be	of	another	sort	than	the	gathering,	organizing,	and
shaping	of	materials—it	must	include	 _practise_ ,	which,	like	mental	preparation,
must	be	both	general	and	special.

Do	not	feel	surprised	or	discouraged	if	practise	on	the	principles	of	delivery
herein	laid	down	seems	to	retard	your	fluency.	For	a	time,	this	will	be	inevitable.
While	you	are	working	for	proper	inflection,	for	instance,	inflection	will	be
demanding	your	first	thoughts,	and	the	flow	of	your	speech,	for	the	time	being,
will	be	secondary.	This	warning,	however,	is	strictly	for	the	closet,	for	your
practise	 at	 home.	 Do	 not	 carry	 any	 thoughts	 of	 inflection	 with	 you	 to	 the
platform.	 There	 you	 must	 _think_ only	 of	 your	 subject.	 There	 is	 an	 absolute
telepathy	between	the	audience	and	the	speaker.	If	your	thought	goes	to	your
gesture,	their	thought	will	too.	If	your	interest	goes	to	the	quality	of	your	voice,
they	will	be	regarding	that	instead	of	what	your	voice	is	uttering.

You	have	doubtless	been	adjured	to	"forget	everything	but	your	subject."	This
advice	says	either	too	much	or	too	little.	The	truth	is	that	while	on	the	platform
you	must	not	 _forget_ 	a	great	many	things	that	are	not	in	your	subject,	but	you
must	 not	 _think_ of	 them.	 Your	 attention	 must	 consciously	 go	 only	 to	 your
message,	but	subconsciously	you	will	be	attending	to	the	points	of	technique
which	have	become	more	or	less	 _habitual	by	practise_.

A	nice	balance	between	these	two	kinds	of	attention	is	important.

You	can	no	more	escape	this	law	than	you	can	live	without	air:	Your	platform
gestures,	your	voice,	your	inflection,	will	all	be	just	as	good	as	your	 _habit_ 	of
gesture,	 voice,	 and	 inflection	 makes	 them—no	 better.	 Even	 the	 thought	 of
whether	you	are	speaking	fluently	or	not	will	have	the	effect	of	marring	your
flow	of	speech.

Return	to	the	opening	chapter,	on	self-confidence,	and	again	lay	its	precepts	to
heart.	Learn	by	rules	to	speak	without	thinking	of	rules.	It	is	not—or	ought	not	to
be—necessary	for	you	to	stop	to	think	how	to	say	the	alphabet	correctly,	as	a
matter	of	fact	it	is	slightly	more	difficult	for	you	to	repeat	Z,	Y,	X	than	it	is	to	say
X,	Y,	Z—habit	has	established	the	order.	Just	so	you	must	master	the	laws	of


efficiency	in	speaking	until	it	is	a	second	nature	for	you	to	speak	correctly	rather
than	otherwise.	A	beginner	at	the	piano	has	a	great	deal	of	trouble	with	the
mechanics	of	playing,	but	as	time	goes	on	his	fingers	become	trained	and	almost
instinctively	wander	over	the	keys	correctly.	As	an	inexperienced	speaker	you
will	find	a	great	deal	of	difficulty	at	first	in	putting	principles	into	practise,	for
you	will	be	scared,	like	the	young	swimmer,	and	make	some	crude	strokes,	but	if
you	persevere	you	will	"win	out."

Thus,	 to	 sum	 up,	 the	 vocabulary	 you	 have	 enlarged	 by	 study,[4]	the	ease	 in
speaking	you	have	developed	by	practise,	the	 economy	of	your	 well-studied
emphasis	all	will	subconsciously	come	to	your	aid	on	the	platform.	Then	the
habits	you	have	formed	will	be	earning	you	a	splendid	dividend.	The	fluency	of
your	speech	will	be	at	the	speed	of	flow	your	practise	has	made	habitual.

But	this	means	work.	What	good	habit	does	not?	No	philosopher's	stone	that	will
act	as	a	substitute	for	laborious	practise	has	ever	been	found.	If	it	were,	it	would
be	 thrown	 away,	 because	 it	 would	 kill	 our	 greatest	 joy—the	 delight	 of
acquisition.	If	public-speaking	means	to	you	a	fuller	life,	you	will	know	no
greater	 happiness	 than	 a	 well-spoken	 speech.	 The	 time	 you	 have	 spent	 in
gathering	ideas	and	in	private	practise	of	speaking	you	will	find	amply	rewarded.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	What	advantages	has	the	fluent	speaker	over	the	hesitating	talker?
2.	What	influences,	within	and	without	the	man	himself,	work	against	fluency?
3.	Select	from	the	daily	paper	some	topic	for	an	address	and	make	a	three-minute
address	 on	 it.	 Do	 your	 words	 come	 freely	 and	 your	 sentences	 flow	 out
rhythmically?	Practise	 _on	the	same	topic_ 	until	they	do.
4.	Select	some	subject	with	which	you	are	familiar	and	test	your	fluency	by
speaking	extemporaneously.
5.	Take	one	of	the	sentiments	given	below	and,	following	the	advice	given	on
pages	118-119,	construct	a	short	speech	beginning	with	the	last	word	in	the
sentence.

```
Machinery	has	created	a	new	economic	world.
```
```
The	Socialist	Party	is	a	strenuous	worker	for	peace.
```

```
He	was	a	crushed	and	broken	man	when	he	left	prison.
```
```
War	must	ultimately	give	way	to	world-wide	arbitration.
```
```
The	labor	unions	demand	a	more	equal	distribution	of	the	wealth
that	labor	creates.
```
6.	Put	the	sentiments	of	Mr.	Bryan's	"Prince	of	Peace,"	on	page	 448 ,	into	your
own	words.	Honestly	criticise	your	own	effort.
7.	Take	any	of	the	following	quotations	and	make	a	five-minute	speech	on	it
without	pausing	to	prepare.	The	first	efforts	may	be	very	lame,	but	if	you	want
speed	on	a	typewriter,	a	record	for	a	hundred-yard	dash,	or	facility	in	speaking,
you	must	practise,	 _practise_ ,	 _PRACTISE_.

```
There	lives	more	faith	in	honest	doubt,
Believe	me,	than	in	half	the	creeds.
```
```
—TENNYSON,	 In	Memoriam.
```
```
Howe'er	it	be,	it	seems	to	me,
'Tis	only	noble	to	be	good.
Kind	hearts	are	more	than	coronets,
And	simple	faith	than	Norman	blood.
```
```
—TENNYSON,	 Lady	Clara	Vere	de	Vere.
```
```
'Tis	distance	lends	enchantment	to	the	view
And	robes	the	mountain	in	its	azure	hue.
```
```
—CAMPBELL,	 Pleasures	of	Hope.
```
```
His	best	companions,	innocence	and	health,
And	his	best	riches,	ignorance	of	wealth.
```
```
—GOLDSMITH,	 The	Deserted	Village.
```
```
Beware	of	desperate	steps!	The	darkest	day,
Live	till	tomorrow,	will	have	passed	away.
```
```
—COWPER,	 Needless	Alarm.
```

```
My	country	is	the	world,	and	my	religion	is	to	do
good.
```
```
—PAINE,	 Rights	of	Man.
```
```
Trade	it	may	help,	society	extend,
But	lures	the	pirate,	and	corrupts	the	friend:
It	raises	armies	in	a	nation's	aid,
But	bribes	a	senate,	and	the	land's	betray'd.
```
```
—POPE,	 Moral	Essays .[5]
```
```
O	God,	that	men	should	put	an	enemy	in	their	mouths	to
steal
away	their	brains!
```
```
—SHAKESPEARE,	 Othello.
```
```
It	matters	not	how	strait	the	gate,
How	charged	with	punishment	the	scroll,
I	am	the	master	of	my	fate,
I	am	the	captain	of	my	soul.
```
```
—HENLEY,	 Invictus.
```
```
The	world	is	so	full	of	a	number	of	things,
I	am	sure	we	should	all	be	happy	as	kings.
```
```
—STEVENSON,	 A	Child's	Garden	of	Verses.
```
```
If	your	morals	are	dreary,	depend	upon	it	they	are
wrong.
```
```
—STEVENSON,	 Essays.
```
```
Every	advantage	has	its	tax.	I	learn	to	be	content.
```
```
—EMERSON,	 Essays.
```
8.	Make	a	two-minute	speech	on	any	of	the	following	general	subjects,	but	you
will	find	that	your	ideas	will	come	more	readily	if	you	narrow	your	subject	by


taking	some	specific	phase	of	it.	For	instance,	instead	of	trying	to	speak	on
"Law"	 in	 general,	 take	 the	 proposition,	 "The	 Poor	 Man	 Cannot	 Afford	 to
Prosecute;"	or	instead	of	dwelling	on	"Leisure,"	show	how	modern	speed	is
creating	more	leisure.	In	this	way	you	may	expand	this	subject	list	indefinitely.

### GENERAL	THEMES

```
Law.
Politics.
Woman's	Suffrage.
Initiative	and	Referendum.
A	Larger	Navy.
War.
Peace.
Foreign	Immigration.
The	Liquor	Traffic.
Labor	Unions.
Strikes.
Socialism.
Single	Tax.
Tariff.
Honesty.
Courage.
Hope.
Love.
Mercy.
Kindness.
Justice.
Progress.
Machinery.
Invention.
Wealth.
Poverty.
Agriculture.
Science.
Surgery.
Haste.
Leisure.
Happiness.
```

Health.
Business.
America.
The	Far	East.
Mobs.
Colleges.
Sports.
Matrimony.
Divorce.
Child	Labor.
Education.
Books.
The	Theater.
Literature.
Electricity.
Achievement.
Failure.
Public	Speaking.
Ideals.
Conversation.
The	Most	Dramatic	Moment	of	My	Life.
My	Happiest	Days.
Things	Worth	While.
What	I	Hope	to	Achieve.
My	Greatest	Desire.
What	I	Would	Do	with	a	Million	Dollars.
Is	Mankind	Progressing?
Our	Greatest	Need.

### FOOTNOTES:

```
[4]	See	chapter	on	"Increasing	the	Vocabulary."
[5]	Money.
```

### CHAPTER	XII

#### THE	VOICE

```
Oh,	there	is	something	in	that	voice	that
reaches
The	innermost	recesses	of	my	spirit!
```
```
—LONGFELLOW,	 Christus.
```
The	dramatic	critic	of	The	London	 _Times_ 	once	declared	that	acting	is	nine-tenths
voice	work.	Leaving	the	message	aside,	the	same	may	justly	be	said	of	public
speaking.	 A	 rich,	 correctly-used	 voice	 is	 the	 greatest	 physical	 factor	 of
persuasiveness	and	power,	often	over-topping	the	effects	of	reason.

But	 a	 good	 voice,	 well	 handled,	 is	 not	 only	 an	 effective	 possession	 for	 the
professional	speaker,	it	is	a	mark	of	personal	culture	as	well,	and	even	a	distinct
commercial	asset.	Gladstone,	himself	the	possessor	of	a	deep,	musical	voice,	has
said:	"Ninety	men	in	every	hundred	in	the	crowded	professions	will	probably
never	 rise	 above	 mediocrity	 because	 the	 training	 of	 the	 voice	 is	 entirely
neglected	and	considered	of	no	importance."	These	are	words	worth	pondering.

There	are	three	fundamental	requisites	for	a	good	voice:

_1.	Ease_

Signor	Bonci	of	the	Metropolitan	Opera	Company	says	that	the	secret	of	good
voice	is	relaxation;	and	this	is	true,	for	relaxation	is	the	basis	of	ease.	The	air
waves	that	produce	voice	result	in	a	different	kind	of	tone	when	striking	against
relaxed	muscles	than	when	striking	constricted	muscles.	Try	this	for	yourself.
Contract	the	muscles	of	your	face	and	throat	as	you	do	in	hate,	and	flame	out	"I
hate	you!"	Now	relax	as	you	do	when	thinking	gentle,	tender	thoughts,	and	say,
"I	love	you."	How	different	the	voice	sounds.

In	practising	voice	exercises,	and	in	speaking,	never	force	your	tones.	Ease	must
be	your	watchword.	The	voice	is	a	delicate	instrument,	and	you	must	not	handle
it	with	hammer	and	tongs.	Don't	 _make_ 	your	voice	go— _let_ 	it	go.	Don't	work.	Let
the	yoke	of	speech	be	easy	and	its	burden	light.

Your	throat	should	be	free	from	strain	during	speech,	therefore	it	is	necessary	to
avoid	muscular	contraction.	The	throat	must	act	as	a	sort	of	chimney	or	funnel


for	the	voice,	hence	any	unnatural	constriction	will	not	only	harm	its	tones	but
injure	its	health.

Nervousness	 and	 mental	 strain	 are	 common	 sources	 of	 mouth	 and	 throat
constriction,	 so	 make	 the	 battle	 for	 poise	 and	 self-confidence	 for	 which	 we
pleaded	in	the	opening	chapter.

But	 _how_ 	can	I	relax?	you	ask.	By	simply	 _willing_ 	to	relax.	Hold	your	arm	out
straight	from	your	shoulder.	Now—withdraw	all	power	and	let	it	fall.	Practise
relaxation	 of	 the	 muscles	 of	 the	 throat	 by	 letting	 your	 neck	 and	 head	 fall
forward.	Roll	the	upper	part	of	your	body	around,	with	the	waist	line	acting	as	a
pivot.	 Let	 your	 head	 fall	 and	 roll	 around	 as	 you	 shift	 the	 torso	 to	 different
positions.	 Do	 not	 force	 your	 head	 around—simply	 relax	 your	 neck	 and	 let
gravity	pull	it	around	as	your	body	moves.

Again,	let	your	head	fall	forward	on	your	breast;	raise	your	head,	letting	your
jaw	hang.	Relax	until	your	jaw	feels	heavy,	as	though	it	were	a	weight	hung	to
your	face.	Remember,	you	must	relax	the	jaw	to	obtain	command	of	it.	It	must
be	 free	 and	 flexible	 for	 the	 moulding	 of	 tone,	 and	 to	 let	 the	 tone	 pass	 out
unobstructed.

The	lips	also	must	be	made	flexible,	to	aid	in	the	moulding	of	clear	and	beautiful
tones.	For	flexibility	of	lips	repeat	the	syllables,	 _mo_ — _me_ .	In	saying	 _mo_ ,	bring
the	lips	up	to	resemble	the	shape	of	the	letter	O.	In	repeating	 _me_ 	draw	them	back
as	you	do	in	a	grin.	Repeat	this	exercise	rapidly,	giving	the	lips	as	much	exercise
as	possible.

Try	the	following	exercise	in	the	same	manner:

Mo—E—O—E—OO—Ah.

After	this	exercise	has	been	mastered,	the	following	will	also	be	found	excellent
for	flexibility	of	lips:

Memorize	these	 _sounds_ 	indicated	(not	the	 _expressions_ )	so	that	you	can	repeat
them	rapidly.


```
Aas	inMay. E as	inMet. Uas	inUse.
A " Ah. I " Ice. Oi " Oil.
A " At. I " It. u " Our.
O " No. O " No. O " Ooze.
A " All. OO " Foot. A " Ah.
E " Eat. OO " Ooze. E " Eat.
```
All	the	activity	of	breathing	must	be	centered,	not	in	the	throat,	but	in	the	middle
of	the	body—you	must	breathe	from	the	diaphragm.	Note	the	way	you	breathe
when	lying	flat	on	the	back,	undressed	in	bed.	You	will	observe	that	all	the
activity	 then	 centers	 around	 the	 diaphragm.	 This	 is	 the	 natural	 and	 correct
method	of	breathing.	By	constant	watchfulness	make	this	your	habitual	manner,
for	it	will	enable	you	to	relax	more	perfectly	the	muscles	of	the	throat.

The	next	fundamental	requisite	for	good	voice	is

_2.	Openness_

If	the	muscles	of	the	throat	are	constricted,	the	tone	passage	partially	closed,	and
the	mouth	kept	half-shut,	how	can	you	expect	the	tone	to	come	out	bright	and
clear,	or	even	to	come	out	at	all?	Sound	is	a	series	of	waves,	and	if	you	make	a
prison	of	your	mouth,	holding	the	jaws	and	lips	rigidly,	it	will	be	very	difficult
for	the	tone	to	squeeze	through,	and	even	when	it	does	escape	it	will	lack	force
and	carrying	power.	Open	your	mouth	wide,	relax	all	the	organs	of	speech,	and
let	the	tone	flow	out	easily.

Start	to	yawn,	but	instead	of	yawning,	speak	while	your	throat	is	open.	Make	this
open-feeling	habitual	when	speaking—we	say	 _make_ 	because	it	is	a	matter	of
resolution	and	of	practise,	if	your	vocal	organs	are	healthy.	Your	tone	passages
may	be	partly	closed	by	enlarged	tonsils,	adenoids,	or	enlarged	turbinate	bones
of	the	nose.	If	so,	a	skilled	physician	should	be	consulted.

The	nose	is	an	important	tone	passage	and	should	be	kept	open	and	free	for
perfect	tones.	What	we	call	"talking	through	the	nose"	is	not	talking	through	the
nose,	as	you	can	easily	demonstrate	by	holding	your	nose	as	you	talk.	If	you	are
bothered	with	nasal	tones	caused	by	growths	or	swellings	in	the	nasal	passages,	a
slight,	painless	operation	will	remove	the	obstruction.	This	is	quite	important,
aside	from	voice,	for	the	general	health	will	be	much	lowered	if	the	lungs	are
continually	starved	for	air.


The	final	fundamental	requisite	for	good	voice	is

_3.	Forwardness_

A	voice	that	is	pitched	back	in	the	throat	is	dark,	sombre,	and	unattractive.	The
tone	must	be	pitched	forward,	but	do	not	 _force_ 	it	forward.	You	will	recall	that	our
first	principle	was	ease.	 _Think_ 	the	tone	forward	and	out.	Believe	it	is	going
forward,	and	allow	it	to	flow	easily.	You	can	tell	whether	you	are	placing	your
tone	forward	or	not	by	inhaling	a	deep	breath	and	singing	 _ah_ 	with	the	mouth
wide	open,	trying	to	feel	the	little	delicate	sound	waves	strike	the	bony	arch	of
the	mouth	just	above	the	front	teeth.	The	sensation	is	so	slight	that	you	will
probably	not	be	able	to	detect	it	at	once,	but	persevere	in	your	practise,	always
thinking	the	tone	forward,	and	you	will	be	rewarded	by	feeling	your	voice	strike
the	roof	of	your	mouth.	A	correct	forward-placing	of	the	tone	will	do	away	with
the	dark,	throaty	tones	that	are	so	unpleasant,	inefficient,	and	harmful	to	the
throat.

Close	the	lips,	humming	 _ng_ ,	 _im_ ,	or	 _an_ .	Think	the	tone	forward.	Do	you	feel	it
strike	the	lips?

Hold	the	palm	of	your	hand	in	front	of	your	face	and	say	vigorously	 _crash,	dash,
whirl,	buzz_ .	Can	you	feel	the	forward	tones	strike	against	your	hand?	Practise
until	you	can.	Remember,	the	only	way	to	get	your	voice	forward	is	to	 _put_ 	it
forward.

_How	to	Develop	the	Carrying	Power	of	the	Voice_

It	 is	 not	 necessary	 to	 speak	 loudly	 in	 order	 to	 be	 heard	 at	 a	 distance.	 It	 is
necessary	only	to	speak	correctly.	Edith	Wynne	Matthison's	voice	will	carry	in	a
whisper	 throughout	 a	 large	 theater.	 A	 paper	 rustling	 on	 the	 stage	 of	 a	 large
auditorium	can	be	heard	distinctly	in	the	furthermost	seat	in	the	gallery.	If	you
will	only	use	your	voice	correctly,	you	will	not	have	much	difficulty	in	being
heard.	 Of	 course	 it	 is	 always	 well	 to	 address	 your	 speech	 to	 your	 furthest
auditors;	if	they	get	it,	those	nearer	will	have	no	trouble,	but	aside	from	this
obvious	suggestion,	you	must	observe	these	laws	of	voice	production:

Remember	to	apply	the	principles	of	ease,	openness	and	forwardness—they	are
the	prime	factors	in	enabling	your	voice	to	be	heard	at	a	distance.

Do	not	gaze	at	the	floor	as	you	talk.	This	habit	not	only	gives	the	speaker	an
amateurish	appearance	but	if	the	head	is	hung	forward	the	voice	will	be	directed


towards	the	ground	instead	of	floating	out	over	the	audience.

Voice	is	a	series	of	air	vibrations.	To	strengthen	it	two	things	are	necessary:	more
air	or	breath,	and	more	vibration.

Breath	is	the	very	basis	of	voice.	As	a	bullet	with	little	powder	behind	it	will	not
have	force	and	carrying	power,	so	the	voice	that	has	little	breath	behind	it	will	be
weak.	Not	only	will	deep	breathing—breathing	from	the	diaphragm—give	the
voice	a	better	support,	but	it	will	give	it	a	stronger	resonance	by	improving	the
general	health.

Usually,	ill	health	means	a	weak	voice,	while	abundant	physical	vitality	is	shown
through	a	strong,	vibrant	voice.	Therefore	anything	that	improves	the	general
vitality	is	an	excellent	voice	strengthener,	provided	you	 _use_ 	the	voice	properly.
Authorities	differ	on	most	of	the	rules	of	hygiene	but	on	one	point	they	all	agree:
vitality	 and	 longevity	 are	 increased	 by	 deep	 breathing.	 Practise	 this	 until	 it
becomes	second	nature.	Whenever	you	are	speaking,	take	in	deep	breaths,	but	in
such	a	manner	that	the	inhalations	will	be	silent.

Do	not	try	to	speak	too	long	without	renewing	your	breath.	Nature	cares	for	this
pretty	well	unconsciously	in	conversation,	and	she	will	do	the	same	for	you	in
platform	speaking	if	you	do	not	interfere	with	her	premonitions.

A	certain	very	successful	speaker	developed	voice	carrying	power	by	running
across	country,	practising	his	speeches	as	he	went.	The	vigorous	exercise	forced
him	to	take	deep	breaths,	and	developed	lung	power.	A	hard-fought	basketball	or
tennis	 game	 is	 an	 efficient	 way	 of	 practising	 deep	 breathing.	 When	 these
methods	are	not	convenient,	we	recommend	the	following:

Place	your	hands	at	your	sides,	on	the	waist	line.

By	trying	to	encompass	your	waist	with	your	fingers	and	thumbs,	force	all	the
air	out	of	the	lungs.

Take	a	deep	breath.	Remember,	all	the	activity	is	to	be	centered	in	the	 _middle_ 	of
the	body;	do	not	raise	the	shoulders.	As	the	breath	is	taken	your	hands	will	be
forced	out.

Repeat	the	exercise,	placing	your	hands	on	the	small	of	the	back	and	forcing
them	out	as	you	inhale.

Many	methods	for	deep	breathing	have	been	given	by	various	authorities.	Get


the	air	into	your	lungs—that	is	the	important	thing.

The	body	acts	as	a	sounding	board	for	the	voice	just	as	the	body	of	the	violin
acts	as	a	sounding	board	for	its	tones.	You	can	increase	its	vibrations	by	practise.

Place	your	finger	on	your	lip	and	hum	the	musical	scale,	thinking	and	placing
the	voice	forward	on	the	lips.	Do	you	feel	the	lips	vibrate?	After	a	little	practise
they	will	vibrate,	giving	a	tickling	sensation.

Repeat	this	exercise,	throwing	the	humming	sound	into	the	nose.	Hold	the	upper
part	 of	 the	 nose	 between	 the	 thumb	 and	 forefinger.	 Can	 you	 feel	 the	 nose
vibrate?

Placing	 the	 palm	 of	 your	 hand	 on	 top	 of	 your	 head,	 repeat	 this	 humming
exercise.	Think	the	voice	there	as	you	hum	in	head	tones.	Can	you	feel	the
vibration	there?

Now	 place	 the	 palm	 of	 your	 hand	 on	 the	 back	 of	 your	 head,	 repeating	 the
foregoing	process.	Then	try	it	on	the	chest.	Always	remember	to	think	your	tone
where	you	desire	to	feel	the	vibrations.	The	mere	act	of	thinking	about	any
portion	of	your	body	will	tend	to	make	it	vibrate.

Repeat	the	following,	after	a	deep	inhalation,	endeavoring	to	feel	all	portions	of
your	body	vibrate	at	the	same	time.	When	you	have	attained	this	you	will	find
that	it	is	a	pleasant	sensation.

```
What	ho,	my	jovial	mates.	Come	on!	We	will	frolic	it	like	fairies,
frisking	in	the	merry	moonshine.
```
_Purity	of	Voice_

This	quality	is	sometimes	destroyed	by	wasting	the	breath.	Carefully	control	the
breath,	using	only	as	much	as	is	necessary	for	the	production	of	tone.	Utilize	all
that	you	give	out.	Failure	to	do	this	results	in	a	breathy	tone.	Take	in	breath	like	a
prodigal;	in	speaking,	give	it	out	like	a	miser.

_Voice	Suggestions_

Never	attempt	to	force	your	voice	when	hoarse.

Do	not	drink	cold	water	when	speaking.	The	sudden	shock	to	the	heated	organs
of	speech	will	injure	the	voice.


Avoid	pitching	your	voice	too	high—it	will	make	it	raspy.	This	is	a	common
fault.	When	you	find	your	voice	in	too	high	a	range,	lower	it.	Do	not	wait	until
you	get	to	the	platform	to	try	this.	Practise	it	in	your	daily	conversation.	Repeat
the	alphabet,	beginning	A	on	the	lowest	scale	possible	and	going	up	a	note	on
each	succeeding	letter,	for	the	development	of	range.	A	wide	range	will	give	you
facility	in	making	numerous	changes	of	pitch.

Do	not	form	the	habit	of	listening	to	your	voice	when	speaking.	You	will	need
your	brain	to	think	of	what	you	are	saying—reserve	your	observation	for	private
practise.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	What	are	the	prime	requisites	for	good	voice?
2.	Tell	why	each	one	is	necessary	for	good	voice	production.
3.	Give	some	exercises	for	development	of	these	conditions.
4.	Why	is	range	of	voice	desirable?
5.	Tell	how	range	of	voice	may	be	cultivated.
6.	 How	 much	 daily	 practise	 do	 you	 consider	 necessary	 for	 the	 proper
development	of	your	voice?
7.	How	can	resonance	and	carrying	power	be	developed?
8.	What	are	your	voice	faults?
9.	How	are	you	trying	to	correct	them?

### CHAPTER	XIII

#### VOICE	CHARM

```
A	 cheerful	 temper	 joined	 with	 innocence	 will	 make	 beauty
attractive,	knowledge	delightful,	and	wit	good-natured.
```

```
—JOSEPH	ADDISON,	 The	Tattler.
```
Poe	said	that	"the	tone	of	beauty	is	sadness,"	but	he	was	evidently	thinking	from
cause	to	effect,	not	contrariwise,	for	sadness	is	rarely	a	producer	of	beauty—that
is	peculiarly	the	province	of	joy.

The	 exquisite	 beauty	 of	 a	 sunset	 is	 not	 exhilarating	 but	 tends	 to	 a	 sort	 of
melancholy	that	is	not	far	from	delight	The	haunting	beauty	of	deep,	quiet	music
holds	more	than	a	tinge	of	sadness.	The	lovely	minor	cadences	of	bird	song	at
twilight	are	almost	depressing.

The	 reason	 we	 are	 affected	 to	 sadness	 by	 certain	 forms	 of	 placid	 beauty	 is
twofold:	movement	is	stimulating	and	joy-producing,	while	quietude	leads	to
reflection,	and	reflection	in	turn	often	brings	out	the	tone	of	regretful	longing	for
that	which	is	past;	secondly,	quiet	beauty	produces	a	vague	aspiration	for	the
relatively	unattainable,	yet	does	not	stimulate	to	the	tremendous	effort	necessary
to	make	the	dimly	desired	state	or	object	ours.

We	must	distinguish,	for	these	reasons,	between	the	sadness	of	beauty	and	the
joy	of	beauty.	True,	joy	is	a	deep,	inner	thing	and	takes	in	much	more	than	the
idea	of	bounding,	sanguine	spirits,	for	it	includes	a	certain	active	contentedness
of	heart.	In	this	chapter,	however	the	word	will	have	its	optimistic,	exuberant
connotation—we	are	thinking	now	of	vivid,	bright-eyed,	laughing	joy.

Musical,	 joyous	 tones	 constitute	 voice	 charm,	 a	 subtle	 magnetism	 that	 is
delightfully	contagious.	Now	it	might	seem	to	the	desultory	reader	that	to	take
the	lancet	and	cut	into	this	alluring	voice	quality	would	be	to	dissect	a	butterfly
wing	and	so	destroy	its	charm.	Yet	how	can	we	induce	an	effect	if	we	are	not
certain	as	to	the	cause?

_Nasal	Resonance	Produces	the	Bell-tones	of	the	Voice_

The	tone	passages	of	the	nose	must	be	kept	entirely	free	for	the	bright	tones	of
voice—and	after	our	warning	in	the	preceding	chapter	you	will	not	confuse	what
is	popularly	and	erroneously	called	a	"nasal"	tone	with	the	true	nasal	quality,
which	is	so	well	illustrated	by	the	voice	work	of	trained	French	singers	and
speakers.

To	develop	nasal	resonance	sing	the	following,	dwelling	as	long	as	possible	on
the	 _ng_ 	sounds.	Pitch	the	voice	in	the	nasal	cavity.	Practise	both	in	high	and	low
registers,	and	develop	range— _with	brightness_.


```
Sing-song.	Ding-dong.	Hong-kong.	Long-thong.
```
Practise	in	the	falsetto	voice	develops	a	bright	quality	in	the	normal	speaking-
voice.	Try	the	following,	and	any	other	selections	you	choose,	in	a	falsetto	voice.
A	man's	falsetto	 voice	is	extremely	 high	and	womanish,	 so	men	should	 not
practise	in	falsetto	after	the	exercise	becomes	tiresome.

```
She	perfectly	scorned	the	best	of	his	clan,	and	declared	the	ninth	of
any	man,	a	perfectly	vulgar	fraction.
```
The	actress	Mary	Anderson	asked	the	poet	Longfellow	what	she	could	do	to
improve	her	voice.	He	replied,	"Read	aloud	daily,	joyous,	lyric	poetry."

The	joyous	tones	are	the	bright	tones.	Develop	them	by	exercise.	Practise	your
voice	exercises	in	an	attitude	of	joy.	Under	the	influence	of	pleasure	the	body
expands,	the	tone	passages	open,	the	action	of	heart	and	lungs	is	accelerated,	and
all	the	primary	conditions	for	good	tone	are	established.

More	songs	float	out	from	the	broken	windows	of	the	negro	cabins	in	the	South
than	from	the	palatial	homes	on	Fifth	Avenue.	Henry	Ward	Beecher	said	the
happiest	days	of	his	life	were	not	when	he	had	become	an	international	character,
but	when	he	was	an	unknown	minister	out	in	Lawrenceville,	Ohio,	sweeping	his
own	church,	and	working	as	a	carpenter	to	help	pay	the	grocer.	Happiness	is
largely	an	attitude	of	mind,	of	viewing	life	from	the	right	angle.	The	optimistic
attitude	can	be	cultivated,	and	it	will	express	itself	in	voice	charm.	A	telephone
company	 recently	 placarded	 this	 motto	 in	 their	 booths:	 "The	 Voice	 with	 the
Smile	Wins."	It	does.	Try	it.

Reading	joyous	prose,	or	lyric	poetry,	will	help	put	smile	and	joy	of	soul	into
your	voice.	The	following	selections	are	excellent	for	practise.

_REMEMBER_ 	that	when	you	first	practise	these	classics	you	are	to	give	sole
attention	to	two	things:	a	joyous	attitude	of	heart	and	body,	and	bright	tones	of
voice.	After	these	ends	have	been	attained	to	your	satisfaction,	carefully	review
the	principles	of	public	speaking	laid	down	in	the	preceding	chapters	and	put
them	into	practise	as	you	read	these	passages	again	and	again.	 _It	would	be	better
to	commit	each	selection	to	memory._

### SELECTIONS	FOR	PRACTISE

#### FROM	MILTON'S	"L'ALLEGRO"


Haste	thee,	Nymph,	and	bring	with	thee
Jest,	and	youthful	Jollity,
Quips	and	Cranks	and	wanton	Wiles,
Nods	and	Becks,	and	wreathèd	Smiles,
Such	as	hang	on	Hebe's	cheek,
And	love	to	live	in	dimple	sleek,—
Sport	that	wrinkled	Care	derides,
And	Laughter	holding	both	his	sides.

Come,	and	trip	it	as	ye	go
On	the	light	fantastic	toe;
And	in	thy	right	hand	lead	with	thee
The	mountain	nymph,	sweet	Liberty:
And,	if	I	give	thee	honor	due,
Mirth,	admit	me	of	thy	crew,
To	live	with	her,	and	live	with	thee,
In	unreprovèd	pleasures	free;

To	hear	the	lark	begin	his	flight,
And	singing,	startle	the	dull	Night
From	his	watch-tower	in	the	skies,
Till	the	dappled	Dawn	doth	rise;
Then	to	come	in	spite	of	sorrow,
And	at	my	window	bid	good-morrow
Through	the	sweetbrier,	or	the	vine,
Or	the	twisted	eglantine;
While	the	cock	with	lively	din
Scatters	the	rear	of	darkness	thin,
And	to	the	stack,	or	the	barn-door,
Stoutly	struts	his	dames	before;

Oft	listening	how	the	hounds	and	horn
Cheerly	rouse	the	slumbering	Morn,
From	the	side	of	some	hoar	hill,
Through	the	high	wood	echoing	shrill;
Sometime	walking,	not	unseen,
By	hedge-row	elms,	on	hillocks	green,
Right	against	the	eastern	gate,
Where	the	great	Sun	begins	his	state,


Robed	in	flames	and	amber	light,
The	clouds	in	thousand	liveries	dight,
While	the	plowman	near	at	hand
Whistles	o'er	the	furrowed	land,
And	the	milkmaid	singing	blithe,
And	the	mower	whets	his	scythe,
And	every	shepherd	tells	his	tale,
Under	the	hawthorn	in	the	dale.

#### THE	SEA

The	sea,	the	sea,	the	open	sea,
The	blue,	the	fresh,	the	fever	free;
Without	a	mark,	without	a	bound,
It	runneth	the	earth's	wide	regions	round;
It	plays	with	the	clouds,	it	mocks	the	skies,
Or	like	a	cradled	creature	lies.
I'm	on	the	sea,	I'm	on	the	sea,
I	am	where	I	would	ever	be,
With	the	blue	above	and	the	blue	below,
And	silence	wheresoe'er	I	go.
If	a	storm	should	come	and	awake	the	deep,
What	matter?	I	shall	ride	and	sleep.

I	love,	oh!	how	I	love	to	ride
On	the	fierce,	foaming,	bursting	tide,
Where	every	mad	wave	drowns	the	moon,
And	whistles	aloft	its	tempest	tune,
And	tells	how	goeth	the	world	below,
And	why	the	southwest	wind	doth	blow!
I	never	was	on	the	dull,	tame	shore

But	I	loved	the	great	sea	more	and	more,
And	backward	flew	to	her	billowy	breast,
Like	a	bird	that	seeketh	her	mother's	nest,—
And	a	mother	she	was	and	is	to	me,
For	I	was	born	on	the	open	sea.

The	waves	were	white,	and	red	the	morn,


```
In	the	noisy	hour	when	I	was	born;
The	whale	it	whistled,	the	porpoise	rolled,
And	the	dolphins	bared	their	backs	of	gold;
And	never	was	heard	such	an	outcry	wild,
As	welcomed	to	life	the	ocean	child.
I	have	lived,	since	then,	in	calm	and	strife,
Full	fifty	summers	a	rover's	life,
With	wealth	to	spend,	and	a	power	to	range,
But	never	have	sought	or	sighed	for	change:
And	death,	whenever	he	comes	to	me,
Shall	come	on	the	wide,	unbounded	sea!
```
```
—BARRY	CORNWALL.
```
The	sun	does	not	shine	for	a	few	trees	and	flowers,	but	for	the	wide
world's	 joy.	 The	 lonely	 pine	 upon	 the	 mountain-top	 waves	 its
sombre	boughs,	and	cries,	"Thou	art	my	sun."	And	the	little	meadow
violet	lifts	its	cup	of	blue,	and	whispers	with	its	perfumed	breath,
"Thou	art	my	sun."	And	the	grain	in	a	thousand	fields	rustles	in	the
wind,	 and	 makes	 answer,	 "Thou	 art	 my	 sun."	 And	 so	 God	 sits
effulgent	in	Heaven,	not	for	a	favored	few,	but	for	the	universe	of
life;	and	there	is	no	creature	so	poor	or	so	low	that	he	may	not	look
up	 with	 child-like	 confidence	 and	 say,	 "My	 Father!	 Thou	 art
mine."—HENRY	WARD	BEECHER.

#### THE	LARK

```
Bird	of	the	wilderness,
Blithesome	and	cumberless,
Sweet	be	thy	matin	o'er	moorland	and	lea!
Emblem	of	happiness,
Blest	is	thy	dwelling-place:
Oh,	to	abide	in	the	desert	with	thee!
```
```
Wild	is	thy	lay,	and	loud,
Far	in	the	downy	cloud,—
Love	gives	it	energy;	love	gave	it	birth.
Where,	on	thy	dewy	wing
Where	art	thou	journeying?
```

```
Thy	lay	is	in	heaven;	thy	love	is	on	earth.
```
```
O'er	fell	and	fountain	sheen,
O'er	moor	and	mountain	green,
O'er	the	red	streamer	that	heralds	the	day;
Over	the	cloudlet	dim,
Over	the	rainbow's	rim,
Musical	cherub,	soar,	singing,	away!
```
```
Then,	when	the	gloaming	comes,
Low	in	the	heather	blooms,
Sweet	will	thy	welcome	and	bed	of	love	be!
Emblem	of	happiness,
Blest	is	thy	dwelling-place.
Oh,	to	abide	in	the	desert	with	thee!
```
```
—JAMES	HOGG.
```
In	 joyous	 conversation	 there	 is	 an	 elastic	 touch,	 a	 delicate	 stroke,	 upon	 the
central	ideas,	generally	following	a	pause.	This	elastic	touch	adds	vivacity	to	the
voice.	If	you	try	repeatedly,	it	can	be	sensed	by	feeling	the	tongue	strike	the
teeth.	The	entire	absence	of	elastic	touch	in	the	voice	can	be	observed	in	the
thick	tongue	of	the	intoxicated	man.	Try	to	talk	with	the	tongue	lying	still	in	the
bottom	of	the	mouth,	and	you	will	obtain	largely	the	same	effect.	Vivacity	of
utterance	is	gained	by	using	the	tongue	to	strike	off	the	emphatic	idea	with	a
decisive,	elastic	touch.

Deliver	the	following	with	decisive	strokes	on	the	emphatic	ideas.	Deliver	it	in	a
vivacious	 manner,	 noting	 the	 elastic	 touch-action	 of	 the	 tongue.	 A	 flexible,
responsive	tongue	is	absolutely	essential	to	good	voice	work.

```
FROM	 NAPOLEON'S	 ADDRESS	 TO	 THE	 DIRECTORY	 ON	 HIS
RETURN	FROM	EGYPT
```
```
What	have	you	done	with	that	brilliant	France	which	I	left	you?	I	left
you	at	peace,	and	I	find	you	at	war.	I	left	you	victorious	and	I	find
you	 defeated.	 I	 left	 you	 the	 millions	 of	 Italy,	 and	 I	 find	 only
spoliation	 and	 poverty.	 What	 have	 you	 done	 with	 the	 hundred
thousand	Frenchmen,	my	companions	in	glory?	They	are	dead!...
This	state	of	affairs	cannot	last	long;	in	less	than	three	years	it	would
```

```
plunge	us	into	despotism.
```
Practise	the	following	selection,	for	the	development	of	elastic	touch;	say	it	in	a
joyous	 spirit,	 using	 the	 exercise	 to	 develop	 voice	 charm	 in	 _all_ the	 ways
suggested	in	this	chapter.

#### THE	BROOK

```
I	come	from	haunts	of	coot	and	hern,
I	make	a	sudden	sally,
And	sparkle	out	among	the	fern,
To	bicker	down	a	valley.
```
```
By	thirty	hills	I	hurry	down,
Or	slip	between	the	ridges;
By	twenty	thorps,	a	little	town,
And	half	a	hundred	bridges.
```
```
Till	last	by	Philip's	farm	I	flow
To	join	the	brimming	river;
For	men	may	come	and	men	may	go,
But	I	go	on	forever.
```
```
I	chatter	over	stony	ways,
In	little	sharps	and	trebles,
```
```
I	bubble	into	eddying	bays,
I	babble	on	the	pebbles.
```
```
With	many	a	curve	my	banks	I	fret,
By	many	a	field	and	fallow,
And	many	a	fairy	foreland	set
With	willow-weed	and	mallow.
```
```
I	chatter,	chatter,	as	I	flow
To	join	the	brimming	river;
For	men	may	come	and	men	may	go,
But	I	go	on	forever.
```
```
I	wind	about,	and	in	and	out,
```

```
With	here	a	blossom	sailing,
And	here	and	there	a	lusty	trout,
And	here	and	there	a	grayling,
```
```
And	here	and	there	a	foamy	flake
Upon	me,	as	I	travel,
With	many	a	silvery	water-break
Above	the	golden	gravel,
```
```
And	draw	them	all	along,	and	flow
To	join	the	brimming	river,
For	men	may	come	and	men	may	go,
But	I	go	on	forever.
```
```
I	steal	by	lawns	and	grassy	plots,
I	slide	by	hazel	covers,
I	move	the	sweet	forget-me-nots
That	grow	for	happy	lovers.
```
```
I	slip,	I	slide,	I	gloom,	I	glance,
Among	my	skimming	swallows;
I	make	the	netted	sunbeam	dance
Against	my	sandy	shallows,
```
```
I	murmur	under	moon	and	stars
In	brambly	wildernesses,
I	linger	by	my	shingly	bars,
I	loiter	round	my	cresses;
```
```
And	out	again	I	curve	and	flow
To	join	the	brimming	river;
For	men	may	come	and	men	may	go,
But	I	go	on	forever.
```
```
—ALFRED	TENNYSON.
```
The	children	at	play	on	the	street,	glad	from	sheer	physical	vitality,	display	a
resonance	and	charm	in	their	voices	quite	different	from	the	voices	that	float
through	the	silent	halls	of	the	hospitals.	A	skilled	physician	can	tell	much	about
his	patient's	condition	from	the	mere	sound	of	the	voice.	Failing	health,	or	even


physical	 weariness,	 tells	 through	 the	 voice.	 It	 is	 always	 well	 to	 rest	 and	 be
entirely	refreshed	before	attempting	to	deliver	a	public	address.	As	to	health,
neither	scope	nor	space	permits	us	to	discuss	here	the	laws	of	hygiene.	There	are
many	 excellent	 books	 on	 this	 subject.	 In	 the	 reign	 of	 the	 Roman	 emperor
Tiberius,	one	senator	wrote	to	another:	"To	the	wise,	a	word	is	sufficient."

"The	apparel	oft	proclaims	the	man;"	the	voice	always	does—it	is	one	of	the
greatest	 revealers	 of	 character.	 The	 superficial	 woman,	 the	 brutish	 man,	 the
reprobate,	the	person	of	culture,	often	discloses	inner	nature	in	the	voice,	for
even	 the	 cleverest	 dissembler	 cannot	 entirely	 prevent	 its	 tones	 and	 qualities
being	affected	by	the	slightest	change	of	thought	or	emotion.	In	anger	it	becomes
high,	harsh,	and	unpleasant;	in	love	low,	soft,	and	melodious—the	variations	are
as	limitless	as	they	are	fascinating	to	observe.	Visit	a	theatrical	hotel	in	a	large
city,	and	listen	to	the	buzz-saw	voices	of	the	chorus	girls	from	some	burlesque
"attraction."	The	explanation	is	simple—buzz-saw	lives.	Emerson	said:	"When	a
man	lives	with	God	his	voice	shall	be	as	sweet	as	the	murmur	of	the	brook	or	the
rustle	of	the	corn."	It	is	impossible	to	think	selfish	thoughts	and	have	either	an
attractive	personality,	a	lovely	character,	or	a	charming	voice.	If	you	want	to
possess	voice	charm,	cultivate	a	deep,	sincere	sympathy	for	mankind.	Love	will
shine	out	through	your	eyes	and	proclaim	itself	in	your	tones.	One	secret	of	the
sweetness	of	the	canary's	song	may	be	his	freedom	from	tainted	thoughts.	Your
character	beautifies	or	mars	your	voice.	As	a	man	thinketh	in	his	heart	so	is	his
voice.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	Define	( _a_ )	charm;	( _b_ )	joy;	( _c_ )	beauty.
2.	Make	a	list	of	all	the	words	related	to	 _joy_.
3.	Write	a	three-minute	eulogy	of	"The	Joyful	Man."
4.	Deliver	it	without	the	use	of	notes.	Have	you	carefully	considered	all	the
qualities	that	go	to	make	up	voice-charm	in	its	delivery?
5.	Tell	briefly	in	your	own	words	what	means	may	be	employed	to	develop	a
charming	voice.
6.	Discuss	the	effect	of	voice	on	character.
7.	Discuss	the	effect	of	character	on	voice.


8.	Analyze	the	voice	charm	of	any	speaker	or	singer	you	choose.
9.	Analyze	the	defects	of	any	given	voice.
10.	Make	a	short	humorous	speech	imitating	certain	voice	defects,	pointing	out
reasons.
11.	Commit	the	following	stanza	and	interpret	each	phase	of	delight	suggested	or
expressed	by	the	poet.

```
An	infant	when	it	gazes	on	a	light,
A	child	the	moment	when	it	drains	the	breast,
A	devotee	when	soars	the	Host	in	sight,
An	Arab	with	a	stranger	for	a	guest,
A	sailor	when	the	prize	has	struck	in	fight,
A	miser	filling	his	most	hoarded	chest,
Feel	rapture;	but	not	such	true	joy	are	reaping
As	they	who	watch	o'er	what	they	love	while	sleeping.
```
```
—BYRON,	 Don	Juan.
```
### CHAPTER	XIV

#### DISTINCTNESS	AND	PRECISION	OF	UTTERANCE

```
In	man	speaks	God.
```
```
—HESIOD,	 Words	and	Days.
```
```
And	endless	are	the	modes	of	speech,	and	far
Extends	from	side	to	side	the	field	of	words.
```
```
—HOMER,	 Iliad.
```
In	popular	usage	the	terms	"pronunciation,"	"enunciation,"	and	"articulation"	are
synonymous,	but	real	pronunciation	includes	three	distinct	processes,	and	may
therefore	be	defined	as,	 _the	utterance	of	a	syllable	or	a	group	of	syllables	with
regard	to	articulation,	accentuation,	and	enunciation_.


Distinct	and	precise	utterance	is	one	of	the	most	important	considerations	of
public	 speech.	 How	 preposterous	 it	 is	 to	 hear	 a	 speaker	 making	 sounds	 of
"inarticulate	 earnestness"	 under	 the	 contented	 delusion	 that	 he	 is	 telling
something	to	his	audience!	Telling?	Telling	means	communicating,	and	how	can
he	actually	communicate	without	making	every	word	distinct?

Slovenly	 pronunciation	 results	 from	 either	 physical	 deformity	 or	 habit.	 A
surgeon	 or	 a	 surgeon	 dentist	 may	 correct	 a	 deformity,	 but	 your	 own	 will,
working	 by	 self-observation	 and	 resolution	 in	 drill,	 will	 break	 a	 habit.	 All
depends	upon	whether	you	think	it	worth	while.

Defective	speech	is	so	widespread	that	freedom	from	it	is	the	exception.	It	is
painfully	common	to	hear	public	speakers	mutilate	the	king's	English.	If	they	do
not	actually	murder	it,	as	Curran	once	said,	they	often	knock	an	 _i_ 	out.

A	 Canadian	 clergyman,	 writing	 in	 the	 _Homiletic	 Review_ ,	 relates	 that	 in	 his
student	days	"a	classmate	who	was	an	Englishman	supplied	a	country	church	for
a	Sunday.	On	the	following	Monday	he	conducted	a	missionary	meeting.	In	the
course	of	his	address	he	said	some	farmers	thought	they	were	doing	their	duty
toward	missions	when	they	gave	their	'hodds	and	hends'	to	the	work,	but	the
Lord	required	more.	At	the	close	of	the	meeting	a	young	woman	seriously	said
to	a	friend:	'I	am	sure	the	farmers	do	well	if	they	give	their	hogs	and	hens	to
missions.	It	is	more	than	most	people	can	afford.'"

It	 is	 insufferable	 effrontery	 for	 any	 man	 to	 appear	 before	 an	 audience	 who
persists	in	driving	the	 _h_ 	out	of	happiness,	home	and	heaven,	and,	to	paraphrase
Waldo	Messaros,	will	not	let	it	rest	in	hell.	He	who	does	not	show	enough	self-
knowledge	 to	 see	 in	 himself	 such	 glaring	 faults,	 nor	 enough	 self-mastery	 to
correct	them,	has	no	business	to	instruct	others.	If	he	 _can_ 	do	no	better,	he	should
be	silent.	If	he	 _will_ 	do	no	better,	he	should	also	be	silent.

Barring	incurable	physical	defects—and	few	are	incurable	nowadays—the	whole
matter	is	one	of	will.	The	catalogue	of	those	who	have	done	the	impossible	by
faithful	work	is	as	inspiring	as	a	roll-call	of	warriors.	"The	less	there	is	of	you,"
says	Nathan	Sheppard,	"the	more	need	for	you	to	make	the	most	of	what	there	is
of	you."

_Articulation_

Articulation	is	the	forming	and	joining	of	the	elementary	sounds	of	speech.	It
seems	an	appalling	task	to	utter	articulately	the	third-of-a	million	words	that	go


to	make	up	our	English	vocabulary,	but	the	way	to	make	a	beginning	is	really
simple:	 _learn	to	utter	correctly,	and	with	easy	change	from	one	to	the	other,	each
of	the	forty-four	elementary	sounds	in	our	language_.

The	reasons	why	articulation	is	so	painfully	slurred	by	a	great	many	public
speakers	are	four:	ignorance	of	the	elemental	sounds;	failure	to	discriminate
between	sounds	nearly	alike;	a	slovenly,	lazy	use	of	the	vocal	organs;	and	a
torpid	will.	Anyone	who	is	still	master	of	himself	will	know	how	to	handle	each
of	these	defects.

The	 vowel	 sounds	 are	 the	 most	 vexing	 source	 of	 errors,	 especially	 where
diphthongs	 are	 found.	 Who	 has	 not	 heard	 such	 errors	 as	 are	 hit	 off	 in	 this
inimitable	verse	by	Oliver	Wendell	Holmes:

```
Learning	condemns	beyond	the	reach	of	hope
The	careless	lips	that	speak	of	sŏap	for	sōap;
Her	edict	exiles	from	her	fair	abode
The	clownish	voice	that	utters	rŏad	for	rōad;
Less	stern	to	him	who	calls	his	cōat,	a	cŏat
And	steers	his	bōat	believing	it	a	bŏat.
She	pardoned	one,	our	classic	city's	boast.
Who	said	at	Cambridge,	mŏst	instead	of	mōst,
But	knit	her	brows	and	stamped	her	angry	foot
To	hear	a	Teacher	call	a	rōōt	a	rŏŏt.
```
The	foregoing	examples	are	all	monosyllables,	but	bad	articulation	is	frequently
the	result	of	joining	sounds	that	do	not	belong	together.	For	example,	no	one
finds	it	difficult	to	say	 _beauty_ ,	but	many	persist	in	pronouncing	 _duty_ 	as	though	it
were	spelled	either	 _dooty_ 	or	 _juty_ .	It	is	not	only	from	untaught	speakers	that	we
hear	such	slovenly	articulations	as	 _colyum_ 	for	 _column_ ,	and	 _pritty_ 	for	 _pretty_ ,	but
even	 great	 orators	 occasionally	 offend	 quite	 as	 unblushingly	 as	 less	 noted
mortals.

Nearly	all	such	are	errors	of	carelessness,	not	of	pure	ignorance—of	carelessness
because	 the	 ear	 never	 tries	 to	 hear	 what	 the	 lips	 articulate.	 It	 must	 be
exasperating	to	a	foreigner	to	find	that	the	elemental	sound	 _ou_ 	gives	him	no	hint
for	the	pronunciation	of	 _bough_ ,	 _cough_ ,	 _rough_ ,	 _thorough_ ,	and	 _through_ ,	and	we
can	well	forgive	even	a	man	of	culture	who	occasionally	loses	his	way	amidst
the	intricacies	of	English	articulation,	but	there	can	be	no	excuse	for	the	slovenly
utterance	of	the	simple	vowel	sounds	which	form	at	once	the	life	and	the	beauty


of	our	language.	He	who	is	too	lazy	to	speak	distinctly	should	hold	his	tongue.

The	consonant	sounds	occasion	serious	trouble	only	for	those	who	do	not	look
with	 care	 at	 the	 spelling	 of	 words	 about	 to	 be	 pronounced.	 Nothing	 but
carelessness	can	account	for	saying	 _Jacop_ ,	 _Babtist_ ,	 _sevem_ ,	 _alwus_ ,	or	 _sadisfy_.

"He	 that	 hath	 yaws	 to	 yaw,	 let	 him	 yaw,"	 is	 the	 rendering	 which	 an
Anglophobiac	clergyman	gave	of	the	familiar	scripture,	"He	that	hath	ears	to
hear,	let	him	hear."	After	hearing	the	name	of	Sir	Humphry	Davy	pronounced,	a
Frenchman	who	wished	to	write	to	the	eminent	Englishman	thus	addressed	the
letter:	"Serum	Fridavi."

_Accentuation_

Accentuation	is	the	stressing	of	the	proper	syllables	in	words.	This	it	is	that	is
popularly	called	 _pronunciation_ .	For	instance,	we	properly	say	that	a	word	is
mispronounced	when	it	is	accented	 _in'-vite_ instead	of	 _in-vite'_ ,	though	it	is	really
an	offense	against	only	one	form	of	pronunciation—accentuation.

It	is	the	work	of	a	lifetime	to	learn	the	accents	of	a	large	vocabulary	and	to	keep
pace	with	changing	usage;	but	an	alert	ear,	the	study	of	word-origins,	and	the
dictionary	habit,	will	prove	to	be	mighty	helpers	in	a	task	that	can	never	be
finally	completed.

_Enunciation_

Correct	enunciation	is	the	complete	utterance	of	all	the	sounds	of	a	syllable	or	a
word.	Wrong	articulation	gives	the	wrong	sound	to	the	vowel	or	vowels	of	a
word	or	a	syllable,	as	 _doo_ 	for	 _dew_ ;	or	unites	two	sounds	improperly,	as	 _hully_ 	for
_wholly_ .	Wrong	enunciation	is	the	 _incomplete_ 	utterance	of	a	syllable	or	a	word,
the	 sound	 omitted	 or	 added	 being	 usually	 consonantal.	 To	 say	 _needcessity_
instead	of	 _necessity_ 	is	a	wrong	articulation;	to	say	 _doin_ 	for	 _doing_ 	is	improper
enunciation.	The	one	articulates—that	is,	joints—two	sounds	that	should	not	be
joined,	and	thus	gives	the	word	a	positively	wrong	sound;	the	other	fails	to	touch
all	the	sounds	in	the	word,	and	 _in	that	particular	way_ 	also	sounds	the	word
incorrectly.

"My	tex'	may	be	foun'	in	the	fif'	and	six'	verses	of	the	secon'	chapter	of	Titus;
and	the	subjec'	of	my	discourse	is	'The	Gover'ment	of	ar	Homes.'"[6]

What	did	this	preacher	do	with	his	final	consonants?	This	slovenly	dropping	of
essential	sounds	is	as	offensive	as	the	common	habit	of	running	words	together


so	that	they	lose	their	individuality	and	distinctness.	 _Lighten	dark_ ,	 _uppen	down_ ,
_doncher	know_ ,	 _partic'lar_ ,	 _zamination_ ,	are	all	too	common	to	need	comment.

Imperfect	enunciation	is	due	to	lack	of	attention	and	to	lazy	lips.	It	can	be
corrected	by	resolutely	attending	to	the	formation	of	syllables	as	they	are	uttered.
Flexible	lips	will	enunciate	difficult	combinations	of	sounds	without	slighting
any	of	them,	but	such	flexibility	cannot	be	attained	except	by	habitually	uttering
words	with	distinctness	and	accuracy.	A	daily	exercise	in	enunciating	a	series	of
sounds	will	in	a	short	time	give	flexibility	to	the	lips	and	alertness	to	the	mind,
so	that	no	word	will	be	uttered	without	receiving	its	due	complement	of	sound.

Returning	to	our	definition,	we	see	that	when	the	sounds	of	a	word	are	properly
articulated,	the	right	syllables	accented,	and	full	value	given	to	each	sound	in	its
enunciation,	 we	 have	 correct	 pronunciation.	 Perhaps	 one	 word	 of	 caution	 is
needed	 here,	 lest	 any	 one,	 anxious	 to	 bring	 out	 clearly	 every	 sound,	 should
overdo	the	matter	and	neglect	the	unity	and	smoothness	of	pronunciation.	Be
careful	not	to	bring	syllables	into	so	much	prominence	as	to	make	words	seem
long	and	angular.	The	joints	must	be	kept	decently	dressed.

Before	delivery,	do	not	fail	to	go	over	your	manuscript	and	note	every	sound	that
may	possibly	be	 mispronounced.	Consult	the	 dictionary	and	make	 assurance
doubly	sure.	If	the	arrangement	of	words	is	unfavorable	to	clear	enunciation,
change	either	words	or	order	and	do	not	rest	until	you	can	follow	Hamlet's
directions	to	the	players.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	Practise	repeating	the	following	rapidly,	paying	particular	attention	to	the
consonants.

```
"Foolish	 Flavius,	 flushing	 feverishly,	 fiercely	 found	 fault	 with
Flora's	frivolity.[7]"
```
```
Mary's	matchless	mimicry	makes	much	mischief.
```
```
Seated	on	shining	shale	she	sells	sea	shells.
```
```
You	youngsters	yielded	your	youthful	yule-tide	yearnings	yesterday.
```
2.	Sound	the	 _l_ 	in	each	of	the	following	words,	repeated	in	sequence:

```
Blue	black	blinkers	blocked	Black	Blondin's	eyes.
```

3.	Do	you	say	a	 _bloo_ 	sky	or	a	 _blue_ 	sky?
4.	Compare	the	 _u_ 	sound	in	 _few_ 	and	in	 _new_ .	Say	each	aloud,	and	decide	which	is
correct,	 _Noo	York_ ,	 _New	Yawk_ ,	or	 _New	York_?
5.	Pay	careful	heed	to	the	directions	of	this	chapter	in	reading	the	following,
from	Hamlet.	After	the	interview	with	the	ghost	of	his	father,	Hamlet	tells	his
friends	Horatio	and	Marcellus	that	he	intends	to	act	a	part:


```
Horatio .	O	day	and	night,	but	this	is	wondrous
strange!
```
```
Hamlet .	And	therefore	as	a	stranger	give	it	welcome.
```
```
There	are	more	things	in	heaven	and	earth,	Horatio,
Than	are	dreamt	of	in	your	philosophy.
But	come;
Here,	as	before,	never,	so	help	you	mercy,
How	strange	or	odd	so'er	I	bear	myself,—
As	I	perchance	hereafter	shall	think	meet
To	put	an	antic	disposition	on,—
That	you,	at	such	times	seeing	me,	never	shall,
With	arms	encumber'd	thus,	or	this	head-shake,
Or	by	pronouncing	of	some	doubtful	phrase,
As	"Well,	well,	we	know,"	or	"We	could,	an	if	we	would,"
Or	"If	we	list	to	speak,"	or	"There	be,	an	if	there	might,"
Or	such	ambiguous	giving-out,	to	note
That	you	know	aught	of	me:	this	not	to	do,
So	grace	and	mercy	at	your	most	need	help	you,
Swear.
```
— _Act	I.	Scene	V._

6.	Make	a	list	of	common	errors	of	pronunciation,	saying	which	are	due	to	faulty
articulation,	wrong	accentuation,	and	incomplete	enunciation.	In	each	case	make
the	correction.
7.	Criticise	any	speech	you	may	have	heard	which	displayed	these	faults.
8.	Explain	how	the	false	shame	of	seeming	to	be	too	precise	may	hinder	us	from
cultivating	perfect	verbal	utterance.
9.	Over-precision	is	likewise	a	fault.	To	bring	out	any	syllable	unduly	is	to
caricature	the	word.	Be	 _moderate_ 	in	reading	the	following:

```
THE	LAST	SPEECH	OF	MAXIMILIAN	DE	ROBESPIERRE
```
```
The	enemies	of	the	Republic	call	me	tyrant!	Were	I	such	they	would
grovel	at	my	feet.	I	should	gorge	them	with	gold,	I	should	grant
```

them	immunity	for	their	crimes,	and	they	would	be	grateful.	Were	I
such,	 the	 kings	 we	 have	 vanquished,	 far	 from	 denouncing
Robespierre,	would	lend	me	their	guilty	support;	there	would	be	a
covenant	between	them	and	me.	Tyranny	must	have	tools.	But	the
enemies	of	tyranny,—whither	does	their	path	tend?	To	the	tomb,	and
to	immortality!	What	tyrant	is	my	protector?	To	what	faction	do	I
belong?	 Yourselves!	 What	 faction,	 since	 the	 beginning	 of	 the
Revolution,	has	crushed	and	annihilated	so	many	detected	traitors?
You,	 the	 people,—our	 principles—are	 that	 faction—a	 faction	 to
which	I	am	devoted,	and	against	which	all	the	scoundrelism	of	the
day	is	banded!

The	confirmation	of	the	Republic	has	been	my	object;	and	I	know
that	the	Republic	can	be	established	only	on	the	eternal	basis	of
morality.	Against	me,	and	against	those	who	hold	kindred	principles,
the	league	is	formed.	My	life?	Oh!	my	life	I	abandon	without	a
regret!	I	have	seen	the	past;	and	I	foresee	the	future.	What	friend	of
this	country	would	wish	to	survive	the	moment	when	he	could	no
longer	serve	it,—when	he	could	no	longer	defend	innocence	against
oppression?	 Wherefore	 should	 I	 continue	 in	 an	 order	 of	 things,
where	 intrigue	 eternally	 triumphs	 over	 truth;	 where	 justice	 is
mocked;	where	passions	the	most	abject,	or	fears	the	most	absurd,
over-ride	 the	 sacred	 interests	 of	 humanity?	 In	 witnessing	 the
multitude	of	vices	which	the	torrent	of	the	Revolution	has	rolled	in
turbid	 communion	 with	 its	 civic	 virtues,	 I	 confess	 that	 I	 have
sometimes	feared	that	I	should	be	sullied,	in	the	eyes	of	posterity,	by
the	 impure	 neighborhood	 of	 unprincipled	 men,	 who	 had	 thrust
themselves	into	association	with	the	sincere	friends	of	humanity;	and
I	rejoice	that	these	conspirators	against	my	country	have	now,	by
their	 reckless	 rage,	 traced	 deep	 the	 line	 of	 demarcation	 between
themselves	and	all	true	men.

Question	history,	and	learn	how	all	the	defenders	of	liberty,	in	all
times,	have	been	overwhelmed	by	calumny.	But	their	traducers	died
also.	The	good	and	the	bad	disappear	alike	from	the	earth;	but	in
very	different	conditions.	O	Frenchmen!	O	my	countrymen!	Let	not
your	enemies,	with	their	desolating	doctrines,	degrade	your	souls,
and	 enervate	 your	 virtues!	 No,	 Chaumette,	 no!	 Death	 is	 not	 "an
eternal	sleep!"	Citizens!	efface	from	the	tomb	that	motto,	graven	by


```
sacrilegious	hands,	which	spreads	over	all	nature	a	funereal	crape,
takes	 from	 oppressed	 innocence	 its	 support,	 and	 affronts	 the
beneficent	 dispensation	 of	 death!	 Inscribe	 rather	 thereon	 these
words:	"Death	is	the	commencement	of	immortality!"	I	leave	to	the
oppressors	of	the	People	a	terrible	testament,	which	I	proclaim	with
the	independence	befitting	one	whose	career	is	so	nearly	ended;	it	is
the	awful	truth—"Thou	shalt	die!"
```
### FOOTNOTES:

```
[6] School	and	College	Speaker ,	Mitchell.
[7] School	and	College	Speaker ,	Mitchell.
```
### CHAPTER	XV

#### THE	TRUTH	ABOUT	GESTURE

```
When	Whitefield	acted	an	old	blind	man	advancing	by	slow	steps
toward	the	edge	of	the	precipice,	Lord	Chesterfield	started	up	and
cried:	 "Good	 God,	 he	 is	 gone!"—NATHAN	 SHEPPARD,	 Before	 an
Audience.
```
Gesture	is	really	a	simple	matter	that	requires	observation	and	common	sense
rather	 than	 a	 book	 of	 rules.	 Gesture	 is	 an	 outward	 expression	 of	 an	 inward
condition.	It	is	merely	an	effect—the	effect	of	a	mental	or	an	emotional	impulse
struggling	for	expression	through	physical	avenues.

You	must	not,	however,	begin	at	the	wrong	end:	if	you	are	troubled	by	your
gestures,	or	a	lack	of	gestures,	attend	to	the	cause,	not	the	effect.	It	will	not	in	the
least	help	matters	to	tack	on	to	your	delivery	a	few	mechanical	movements.	If
the	tree	in	your	front	yard	is	not	growing	to	suit	you,	fertilize	and	water	the	soil
and	let	the	tree	have	sunshine.	Obviously	it	will	not	help	your	tree	to	nail	on	a
few	branches.	If	your	cistern	is	dry,	wait	until	it	rains;	or	bore	a	well.	Why
plunge	a	pump	into	a	dry	hole?


The	 speaker	 whose	 thoughts	 and	 emotions	 are	 welling	 within	 him	 like	 a
mountain	spring	will	not	have	much	trouble	to	make	gestures;	it	will	be	merely	a
question	of	properly	directing	them.	If	his	enthusiasm	for	his	subject	is	not	such
as	to	give	him	a	natural	impulse	for	dramatic	action,	it	will	avail	nothing	to
furnish	him	with	a	long	list	of	rules.	He	may	tack	on	some	movements,	but	they
will	look	like	the	wilted	branches	nailed	to	a	tree	to	simulate	life.	Gestures	must
be	born,	not	built.	A	wooden	horse	may	amuse	the	children,	but	it	takes	a	live
one	to	go	somewhere.

It	is	not	only	impossible	to	lay	down	definite	rules	on	this	subject,	but	it	would
be	 silly	 to	 try,	 for	 everything	 depends	 on	 the	 speech,	 the	 occasion,	 the
personality	and	feelings	of	the	speaker,	and	the	attitude	of	the	audience.	It	is	easy
enough	to	forecast	the	result	of	multiplying	seven	by	six,	but	it	is	impossible	to
tell	any	man	what	kind	of	gestures	he	will	be	impelled	to	use	when	he	wishes	to
show	his	earnestness.	We	may	tell	him	that	many	speakers	close	the	hand,	with
the	exception	of	the	forefinger,	and	pointing	that	finger	straight	at	the	audience
pour	out	their	thoughts	like	a	volley;	or	that	others	stamp	one	foot	for	emphasis;
or	that	Mr.	Bryan	often	slaps	his	hands	together	for	great	force,	holding	one	palm
upward	in	an	easy	manner;	or	that	Gladstone	would	sometimes	make	a	rush	at
the	 clerk's	 table	 in	 Parliament	 and	 smite	 it	 with	 his	 hand	 so	 forcefully	 that
D'israeli	once	brought	down	the	house	by	grimly	congratulating	himself	that
such	a	barrier	stood	between	himself	and	"the	honorable	gentleman."

All	these	things,	and	a	bookful	more,	may	we	tell	the	speaker,	but	we	cannot
know	whether	he	can	use	these	gestures	or	not,	any	more	than	we	can	decide
whether	he	could	wear	Mr.	Bryan's	clothes.	The	best	that	can	be	done	on	this
subject	is	to	offer	a	few	practical	suggestions,	and	let	personal	good	taste	decide
as	to	where	effective	dramatic	action	ends	and	extravagant	motion	begins.

_Any	Gesture	That	Merely	Calls	Attention	to	Itself	Is	Bad_

The	purpose	of	a	gesture	is	to	carry	your	thought	and	feeling	into	the	minds	and
hearts	of	your	hearers;	this	it	does	by	emphasizing	your	message,	by	interpreting
it,	 by	 expressing	 it	 in	 action,	 by	 striking	 its	 tone	 in	 either	 a	 physically
descriptive,	a	suggestive,	or	a	typical	gesture—and	let	it	be	remembered	all	the
time	that	gesture	includes	 _all_ 	physical	movement,	from	facial	expression	and	the
tossing	of	the	head	to	the	expressive	movements	of	hand	and	foot.	A	shifting	of
the	pose	may	be	a	most	effective	gesture.

What	is	true	of	gesture	is	true	of	all	life.	If	the	people	on	the	street	turn	around


and	watch	your	walk,	your	walk	is	more	important	than	you	are—change	it.	If
the	attention	of	your	audience	is	called	to	your	gestures,	they	are	not	convincing,
because	they	 _appear_ 	to	be—what	they	have	a	doubtful	right	to	be	in	reality—
studied.	Have	you	ever	seen	a	speaker	use	such	grotesque	gesticulations	that	you
were	fascinated	by	their	frenzy	of	oddity,	but	could	not	follow	his	thought?	Do
not	smother	ideas	with	gymnastics.	Savonarola	would	rush	down	from	the	high
pulpit	among	the	congregation	in	the	 _duomo_ 	at	Florence	and	carry	the	fire	of
conviction	to	his	hearers;	Billy	Sunday	slides	to	base	on	the	platform	carpet	in
dramatizing	one	of	his	baseball	illustrations.	Yet	in	both	instances	the	message
has	 somehow	 stood	 out	 bigger	 than	 the	 gesture—it	 is	 chiefly	 in	 calm
afterthought	that	men	have	remembered	the	 _form_ 	of	dramatic	expression.	When
Sir	Henry	Irving	made	his	famous	exit	as	"Shylock"	the	last	thing	the	audience
saw	was	his	pallid,	avaricious	hand	extended	skinny	and	claw-like	against	the
background.	At	the	time,	every	one	was	overwhelmed	by	the	tremendous	typical
quality	of	this	gesture;	now,	we	have	time	to	think	of	its	art,	and	discuss	its
realistic	power.

Only	when	gesture	is	subordinated	to	the	absorbing	importance	of	the	idea—a
spontaneous,	living	expression	of	living	truth—is	it	justifiable	at	all;	and	when	it
is	remembered	for	itself—as	a	piece	of	unusual	physical	energy	or	as	a	poem	of
grace—it	is	a	dead	failure	as	dramatic	expression.	There	is	a	place	for	a	unique
style	 of	 walking—it	 is	 the	 circus	 or	 the	 cake-walk;	 there	 is	 a	 place	 for
surprisingly	rhythmical	evolutions	of	arms	and	legs—it	is	on	the	dance	floor	or
the	stage.	Don't	let	your	agility	and	grace	put	your	thoughts	out	of	business.

One	of	the	present	writers	took	his	first	lessons	in	gesture	from	a	certain	college
president	who	knew	far	more	about	what	had	happened	at	the	Diet	of	Worms
than	he	did	about	how	to	express	himself	in	action.	His	instructions	were	to	start
the	movement	on	a	certain	word,	continue	it	on	a	precise	curve,	and	unfold	the
fingers	at	the	conclusion,	ending	with	the	forefinger—just	so.	Plenty,	and	more
than	plenty,	has	been	published	on	this	subject,	giving	just	such	silly	directions.
Gesture	 is	 a	 thing	 of	 mentality	 and	 feeling—not	 a	 matter	 of	 geometry.
Remember,	whenever	a	pair	of	shoes,	a	method	of	pronunciation,	or	a	gesture
calls	attention	to	itself,	it	is	bad.	When	you	have	made	really	good	gestures	in	a
good	speech	your	hearers	will	not	go	away	saying,	"What	beautiful	gestures	he
made!"	but	they	will	say,	"I'll	vote	for	that	measure."	"He	is	right—I	believe	in
that."

_Gestures	Should	Be	Born	of	the	Moment_


The	best	actors	and	public	speakers	rarely	know	in	advance	what	gestures	they
are	going	to	make.	They	make	one	gesture	on	certain	words	tonight,	and	none	at
all	tomorrow	night	at	the	same	point—their	various	moods	and	interpretations
govern	their	gestures.	It	is	all	a	matter	of	impulse	and	intelligent	feeling	with
them—don't	overlook	that	word	 _intelligent_ .	Nature	does	not	always	provide	the
same	kind	of	sunsets	or	snow	flakes,	and	the	movements	of	a	good	speaker	vary
almost	as	much	as	the	creations	of	nature.

Now	all	this	is	not	to	say	that	you	must	not	take	some	thought	for	your	gestures.
If	that	were	meant,	why	this	chapter?	When	the	sergeant	despairingly	besought
the	 recruit	 in	 the	 awkward	 squad	 to	 step	 out	 and	 look	 at	 himself,	 he	 gave
splendid	advice—and	worthy	of	personal	application.	Particularly	while	you	are
in	the	learning	days	of	public	speaking	you	must	learn	to	criticise	your	own
gestures.	Recall	them—see	where	they	were	useless,	crude,	awkward,	what	not,
and	 do	 better	 next	 time.	 There	 is	 a	 vast	 deal	 of	 difference	 between	 being
conscious	of	self	and	being	self-conscious.

It	will	require	your	nice	discrimination	in	order	to	cultivate	spontaneous	gestures
and	yet	give	due	attention	to	practise.	While	you	depend	upon	the	moment	it	is
vital	to	remember	that	only	a	dramatic	genius	can	effectively	accomplish	such
feats	as	we	have	related	of	Whitefield,	Savonarola,	and	others:	and	doubtless	the
first	 time	 they	 were	 used	 they	 came	 in	 a	 burst	 of	 spontaneous	 feeling,	 yet
Whitefield	declared	that	not	until	he	had	delivered	a	sermon	forty	times	was	its
delivery	 perfected.	 What	 spontaneity	 initiates	 let	 practise	 complete.	 Every
effective	speaker	and	every	vivid	actor	has	observed,	considered	and	practised
gesture	until	his	dramatic	actions	are	a	sub-conscious	possession,	just	like	his
ability	 to	 pronounce	 correctly	 without	 especially	 concentrating	 his	 thought.
Every	able	platform	man	has	possessed	himself	of	a	dozen	ways	in	which	he
might	depict	in	gesture	any	given	emotion;	in	fact,	the	means	for	such	expression
are	endless—and	this	is	precisely	why	it	is	both	useless	and	harmful	to	make	a
chart	of	gestures	and	enforce	them	as	the	ideals	of	what	may	be	used	to	express
this	or	that	feeling.	Practise	descriptive,	suggestive,	and	typical	movements	until
they	come	as	naturally	as	a	good	articulation;	and	rarely	forecast	the	gestures
you	will	use	at	a	given	moment:	leave	something	to	that	moment.

_Avoid	Monotony	in	Gesture_

Roast	beef	is	an	excellent	dish,	but	it	would	be	terrible	as	an	exclusive	diet.	No
matter	how	effective	one	gesture	is,	do	not	overwork	it.	Put	variety	in	your
actions.	Monotony	will	destroy	all	beauty	and	power.	The	pump	handle	makes


one	effective	gesture,	and	on	hot	days	that	one	is	very	eloquent,	but	it	has	its
limitations.

_Any	Movement	that	is	not	Significant,	Weakens_

Do	 not	 forget	 that.	 Restlessness	 is	 not	 expression.	 A	 great	 many	 useless
movements	 will	 only	 take	 the	 attention	 of	 the	 audience	 from	 what	 you	 are
saying.	A	widely-noted	man	introduced	the	speaker	of	the	evening	one	Sunday
lately	 to	 a	 New	 York	 audience.	 The	 only	 thing	 remembered	 about	 that
introductory	speech	is	that	the	speaker	played	nervously	with	the	covering	of	the
table	as	he	talked.	We	naturally	watch	moving	objects.	A	janitor	putting	down	a
window	can	take	the	attention	of	the	hearers	from	Mr.	Roosevelt.	By	making	a
few	movements	at	one	side	of	the	stage	a	chorus	girl	may	draw	the	interest	of	the
spectators	from	a	big	scene	between	the	"leads."	When	our	forefathers	lived	in
caves	they	had	to	watch	moving	objects,	for	movements	meant	danger.	We	have
not	yet	overcome	the	habit.	Advertisers	have	taken	advantage	of	it—witness	the
moving	electric	light	signs	in	any	city.	A	shrewd	speaker	will	respect	this	law
and	 conserve	 the	 attention	 of	 his	 audience	 by	 eliminating	 all	 unnecessary
movements.

_Gesture	Should	either	be	Simultaneous	with	or	Precede	the	Words—not	Follow
Them_

Lady	 Macbeth	 says:	 "Bear	 welcome	 in	 your	 eye,	 your	 hand,	 your	 tongue."
Reverse	this	order	and	you	get	comedy.	Say,	"There	he	goes,"	pointing	at	him
after	you	have	finished	your	words,	and	see	if	the	result	is	not	comical.

_Do	Not	Make	Short,	Jerky	Movements_

Some	speakers	seem	to	be	imitating	a	waiter	who	has	failed	to	get	a	tip.	Let	your
movements	be	easy,	and	from	the	shoulder,	as	a	rule,	rather	than	from	the	elbow.
But	do	not	go	to	the	other	extreme	and	make	too	many	flowing	motions—that
savors	of	the	lackadaisical.

Put	a	little	"punch"	and	life	into	your	gestures.	You	can	not,	however,	do	this
mechanically.	The	audience	will	detect	it	if	you	do.	They	may	not	know	just
what	is	wrong,	but	the	gesture	will	have	a	false	appearance	to	them.

_Facial	Expression	is	Important_

Have	 you	 ever	 stopped	 in	 front	 of	 a	 Broadway	 theater	 and	 looked	 at	 the
photographs	of	the	cast?	Notice	the	row	of	chorus	girls	who	are	supposed	to	be


expressing	fear.	Their	attitudes	are	so	mechanical	that	the	attempt	is	ridiculous.
Notice	the	picture	of	the	"star"	expressing	the	same	emotion:	his	muscles	are
drawn,	his	eyebrows	lifted,	he	shrinks,	and	fear	shines	through	his	eyes.	That
actor	 _felt_ 	fear	when	the	photograph	was	taken.	The	chorus	girls	felt	that	it	was
time	for	a	rarebit,	and	more	nearly	expressed	that	emotion	than	they	did	fear.
Incidentally,	that	is	one	reason	why	they	 _stay_ 	in	the	chorus.

The	movements	of	the	facial	muscles	may	mean	a	great	deal	more	than	the
movements	of	the	hand.	The	man	who	sits	in	a	dejected	heap	with	a	look	of
despair	on	his	face	is	expressing	his	thoughts	and	feelings	just	as	effectively	as
the	man	who	is	waving	his	arms	and	shouting	from	the	back	of	a	dray	wagon.
The	eye	has	been	called	the	window	of	the	soul.	Through	it	shines	the	light	of
our	thoughts	and	feelings.

_Do	Not	Use	Too	Much	Gesture_

As	a	matter	of	fact,	in	the	big	crises	of	life	we	do	not	go	through	many	actions.
When	your	closest	friend	dies	you	do	not	throw	up	your	hands	and	talk	about
your	grief.	You	are	more	likely	to	sit	and	brood	in	dry-eyed	silence.	The	Hudson
River	does	not	make	much	noise	on	its	way	to	the	sea—it	is	not	half	so	loud	as
the	little	creek	up	in	Bronx	Park	that	a	bullfrog	could	leap	across.	The	barking
dog	never	tears	your	trousers—at	least	they	say	he	doesn't.	Do	not	fear	the	man
who	waves	his	arms	and	shouts	his	anger,	but	the	man	who	comes	up	quietly
with	eyes	flaming	and	face	burning	may	knock	you	down.	Fuss	is	not	force.
Observe	these	principles	in	nature	and	practise	them	in	your	delivery.

The	writer	of	this	chapter	once	observed	an	instructor	drilling	a	class	in	gesture.
They	had	come	to	the	passage	from	Henry	VIII	in	which	the	humbled	Cardinal
says:	"Farewell,	a	long	farewell	to	all	my	greatness."	It	is	one	of	the	pathetic
passages	of	literature.	A	man	uttering	such	a	sentiment	would	be	crushed,	and
the	last	thing	on	earth	he	would	do	would	be	to	make	flamboyant	movements.
Yet	this	class	had	an	elocutionary	manual	before	them	that	gave	an	appropriate
gesture	for	every	occasion,	from	paying	the	gas	bill	to	death-bed	farewells.	So
they	were	instructed	to	throw	their	arms	out	at	full	length	on	each	side	and	say:
"Farewell,	a	long	farewell	to	all	my	greatness."	Such	a	gesture	might	possibly	be
used	in	an	after-dinner	speech	at	the	convention	of	a	telephone	company	whose
lines	extended	from	the	Atlantic	to	the	Pacific,	but	to	think	of	Wolsey's	using
that	movement	would	suggest	that	his	fate	was	just.

_Posture_


The	 physical	 attitude	 to	 be	 taken	 before	 the	 audience	 really	 is	 included	 in
gesture.	Just	what	that	attitude	should	be	depends,	not	on	rules,	but	on	the	spirit
of	the	speech	and	the	occasion.	Senator	La	Follette	stood	for	three	hours	with	his
weight	thrown	on	his	forward	foot	as	he	leaned	out	over	the	footlights,	ran	his
fingers	through	his	hair,	and	flamed	out	a	denunciation	of	the	trusts.	It	was	very
effective.	But	imagine	a	speaker	taking	that	kind	of	position	to	discourse	on	the
development	of	road-making	machinery.	If	you	have	a	fiery,	aggressive	message,
and	will	let	yourself	go,	nature	will	naturally	pull	your	weight	to	your	forward
foot.	A	man	in	a	hot	political	argument	or	a	street	brawl	never	has	to	stop	to
think	upon	which	foot	he	should	throw	his	weight.	You	may	sometimes	place
your	weight	on	your	back	foot	if	you	have	a	restful	and	calm	message—but	don't
worry	about	it:	just	stand	like	a	man	who	genuinely	feels	what	he	is	saying.	Do
not	stand	with	your	heels	close	together,	like	a	soldier	or	a	butler.	No	more
should	you	stand	with	them	wide	apart	like	a	traffic	policeman.	Use	simple	good
manners	and	common	sense.

Here	a	word	of	caution	is	needed.	We	have	advised	you	to	allow	your	gestures
and	postures	to	be	spontaneous	and	not	woodenly	prepared	beforehand,	but	do
not	go	to	the	extreme	of	ignoring	the	importance	of	acquiring	mastery	of	your
physical	movements.	A	muscular	hand	made	flexible	by	free	movement,	is	far
more	likely	to	be	an	effective	instrument	in	gesture	than	a	stiff,	pudgy	bunch	of
fingers.	If	your	shoulders	are	lithe	and	carried	well,	while	your	chest	does	not
retreat	 from	 association	 with	 your	 chin,	 the	 chances	 of	 using	 good
extemporaneous	gestures	are	so	much	the	better.	Learn	to	keep	the	 _back_ 	of	your
neck	touching	your	 collar,	hold	your	 chest	high,	and	 keep	down	your	 waist
measure.

So	attention	to	strength,	poise,	flexibility,	and	grace	of	body	are	the	foundations
of	good	gesture,	for	they	are	expressions	of	vitality,	and	without	vitality	no
speaker	can	enter	the	kingdom	of	power.	When	an	awkward	giant	like	Abraham
Lincoln	 rose	 to	 the	 sublimest	 heights	 of	 oratory	 he	 did	 so	 because	 of	 the
greatness	of	his	soul—his	very	ruggedness	of	spirit	and	artless	honesty	were
properly	expressed	in	his	gnarly	body.	The	fire	of	character,	of	earnestness,	and
of	message	swept	his	hearers	before	him	when	the	tepid	words	of	an	insincere
Apollo	would	have	left	no	effect.	But	be	sure	you	are	a	second	Lincoln	before
you	despise	the	handicap	of	physical	awkwardness.

"Ty"	Cobb	has	confided	to	the	public	that	when	he	is	in	a	batting	slump	he	even
stands	before	a	mirror,	bat	in	hand,	to	observe	the	"swing"	and	"follow	through"
of	his	batting	form.	If	you	would	learn	to	stand	well	before	an	audience,	look	at


yourself	in	a	mirror—but	not	too	often.	Practise	walking	and	standing	before	the
mirror	so	as	to	conquer	awkwardness—not	to	cultivate	a	pose.	Stand	on	the
platform	in	the	same	easy	manner	that	you	would	use	before	guests	in	a	drawing-
room.	If	your	position	is	not	graceful,	make	it	so	by	dancing,	gymnasium	work,
and	 _by	getting	grace	and	poise	in	your	mind_.

Do	 not	 continually	 hold	 the	 same	 position.	 Any	 big	 change	 of	 thought
necessitates	a	change	of	position.	Be	at	home.	There	are	no	rules—it	is	all	a
matter	of	taste.	While	on	the	platform	forget	that	you	have	any	hands	until	you
desire	to	use	them—then	remember	them	effectively.	Gravity	will	take	care	of
them.	Of	course,	if	you	want	to	put	them	behind	you,	or	fold	them	once	in
awhile,	it	is	not	going	to	ruin	your	speech.	Thought	and	feeling	are	the	big	things
in	speaking—not	the	position	of	a	foot	or	a	hand.	Simply	 _put_ 	your	limbs	where
you	want	them	to	be—you	have	a	will,	so	do	not	neglect	to	use	it.

Let	us	reiterate,	do	not	despise	practise.	Your	gestures	and	movements	may	be
spontaneous	and	still	be	wrong.	No	matter	how	natural	they	are,	it	is	possible	to
improve	them.

It	is	impossible	for	anyone—even	yourself—to	criticise	your	gestures	until	after
they	are	made.	You	can't	prune	a	peach	tree	until	it	comes	up;	therefore	speak
much,	and	observe	your	own	speech.	While	you	are	examining	yourself,	do	not
forget	to	study	statuary	and	paintings	to	see	how	the	great	portrayers	of	nature
have	made	their	subjects	express	ideas	through	action.	Notice	the	gestures	of	the
best	speakers	and	actors.	Observe	the	physical	expression	of	life	everywhere.
The	leaves	on	the	tree	respond	to	the	slightest	breeze.	The	muscles	of	your	face,
the	light	of	your	eyes,	should	respond	to	the	slightest	change	of	feeling.	Emerson
says:	"Every	man	that	I	meet	is	my	superior	in	some	way.	In	that	I	learn	of	him."
Illiterate	Italians	make	gestures	so	wonderful	and	beautiful	that	Booth	or	Barrett
might	have	sat	at	their	feet	and	been	instructed.	Open	your	eyes.	Emerson	says
again:	"We	are	immersed	in	beauty,	but	our	eyes	have	no	clear	vision."	Toss	this
book	to	one	side;	go	out	and	watch	one	child	plead	with	another	for	a	bite	of
apple;	see	a	street	brawl;	observe	life	in	action.	Do	you	want	to	know	how	to
express	victory?	Watch	the	victors'	hands	go	high	on	election	night.	Do	you	want
to	plead	a	cause?	Make	a	composite	photograph	of	all	the	pleaders	in	daily	life
you	constantly	see.	Beg,	borrow,	and	steal	the	best	you	can	get,	 _BUT	DON'T
GIVE	IT	OUT	AS	THEFT_ .	Assimilate	it	until	it	becomes	a	part	of	you—then	 _let_
the	expression	come	out.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES


1.	From	what	source	do	you	intend	to	study	gesture?
2.	What	is	the	first	requisite	of	good	gestures?	Why?
3.	Why	is	it	impossible	to	lay	down	steel-clad	rules	for	gesturing?
4.	Describe	( _a_ )	a	graceful	gesture	that	you	have	observed;	( _b_ )	a	forceful	one;	( _c_ )
an	extravagant	one;	( _d_ )	an	inappropriate	one.
5.	What	gestures	do	you	use	for	emphasis?	Why?
6.	How	can	grace	of	movement	be	acquired?
7.	When	in	doubt	about	a	gesture	what	would	you	do?
8.	 What,	 according	 to	 your	 observations	 before	 a	 mirror,	 are	 your	 faults	 in
gesturing?
9.	How	do	you	intend	to	correct	them?
10.	What	are	some	of	the	gestures,	if	any,	that	you	might	use	in	delivering
Thurston's	speech,	page	 50 ;	Grady's	speech,	page	 36 ?	Be	specific.
11.	Describe	some	particularly	appropriate	gesture	that	you	have	observed.	Why
was	it	appropriate?
12.	 Cite	 at	 least	 three	 movements	 in	 nature	 that	 might	 well	 be	 imitated	 in
gesture.
13.	What	would	you	gather	from	the	expressions:	 _descriptive_ 	gesture,	 _suggestive_
gesture,	and	 _typical_ 	gesture?
14.	Select	any	elemental	emotion,	such	as	fear,	and	try,	by	picturing	in	your	mind
at	least	five	different	situations	that	might	call	forth	this	emotion,	to	express	its
several	phases	by	gesture—including	posture,	movement,	and	facial	expression.
15.	Do	the	same	thing	for	such	other	emotions	as	you	may	select.
16.	Select	three	passages	from	any	source,	only	being	sure	that	they	are	suitable
for	public	delivery,	memorize	each,	and	then	devise	gestures	suitable	for	each.
Say	why.
17.	Criticise	the	gestures	in	any	speech	you	have	heard	recently.
18.	Practise	flexible	movement	of	the	hand.	What	exercises	did	you	find	useful?


19.	Carefully	observe	some	animal;	then	devise	several	typical	gestures.
20.	Write	a	brief	dialogue	between	any	two	animals;	read	it	aloud	and	invent
expressive	gestures.
21.	Deliver,	with	appropriate	gestures,	the	quotation	that	heads	this	chapter.
22.	Read	aloud	the	following	incident,	using	dramatic	gestures:

```
When	Voltaire	was	preparing	a	young	actress	to	appear	in	one	of	his
tragedies,	he	tied	her	hands	to	her	sides	with	pack	thread	in	order	to
check	 her	 tendency	 toward	 exuberant	 gesticulation.	 Under	 this
condition	 of	 compulsory	 immobility	 she	 commenced	 to	 rehearse,
and	 for	 some	 time	 she	 bore	 herself	 calmly	 enough;	 but	 at	 last,
completely	carried	away	by	her	feelings,	she	burst	her	bonds	and
flung	 up	 her	 arms.	 Alarmed	 at	 her	 supposed	 neglect	 of	 his
instructions,	 she	 began	 to	 apologize	 to	 the	 poet;	 he	 smilingly
reassured	her,	however;	the	gesture	was	 then 	admirable,	because	it
was	irrepressible.—REDWAY,	 The	Actor's	Art.
```
23.	Render	the	following	with	suitable	gestures:

```
One	day,	while	preaching,	Whitefield	"suddenly	assumed	a	nautical
air	and	manner	that	were	irresistible	with	him,"	and	broke	forth	in
these	words:	"Well,	my	boys,	we	have	a	clear	sky,	and	are	making
fine	headway	over	a	smooth	sea	before	a	light	breeze,	and	we	shall
soon	lose	sight	of	land.	But	what	means	this	sudden	lowering	of	the
heavens,	 and	 that	 dark	 cloud	 arising	 from	 beneath	 the	 western
horizon?	Hark!	Don't	you	hear	distant	thunder?	Don't	you	see	those
flashes	of	lightning?	There	is	a	storm	gathering!	Every	man	to	his
duty!	The	air	is	dark!—the	tempest	rages!—our	masts	are	gone!—
the	ship	is	on	her	beam	ends!	What	next?"	At	this	a	number	of
sailors	 in	 the	 congregation,	 utterly	 swept	 away	 by	 the	 dramatic
description,	leaped	to	their	feet	and	cried:	"The	longboat!—take	to
the	longboat!"
```
```
—NATHAN	SHEPPARD,	 Before	an	Audience.
```

### CHAPTER	XVI

#### METHODS	OF	DELIVERY

```
The	 crown,	 the	 consummation,	 of	 the	 discourse	 is	 its	 delivery.
Toward	it	all	preparation	looks,	for	it	the	audience	waits,	by	it	the
speaker	is	judged....	All	the	forces	of	the	orator's	life	converge	in	his
oratory.	 The	 logical	 acuteness	 with	 which	 he	 marshals	 the	 facts
around	his	theme,	the	rhetorical	facility	with	which	he	orders	his
language,	the	control	to	which	he	has	attained	in	the	use	of	his	body
as	a	single	organ	of	expression,	whatever	richness	of	acquisition	and
experience	 are	 his—these	 all	 are	 now	 incidents;	 the	 fact is	 the
sending	of	his	message	home	to	his	hearers....	The	hour	of	delivery
is	the	"supreme,	inevitable	hour"	for	the	orator.	It	is	this	fact	that
makes	lack	of	adequate	preparation	such	an	impertinence.	And	it	is
this	that	sends	such	thrills	of	indescribable	joy	through	the	orator's
whole	being	when	he	has	achieved	a	success—it	is	like	the	mother
forgetting	her	pangs	for	the	joy	of	bringing	a	son	into	the	world.
```
```
—J.B.E.,	 How	to	Attract	and	Hold	an	Audience.
```
There	are	four	fundamental	methods	of	delivering	an	address;	all	others	are
modifications	of	one	or	more	of	these:	reading	from	manuscript,	committing	the
written	 speech	 and	 speaking	 from	 memory,	 speaking	 from	 notes,	 and
extemporaneous	speech.	It	is	impossible	to	say	which	form	of	delivery	is	best	for
all	speakers	in	all	circumstances—in	deciding	for	yourself	you	should	consider
the	occasion,	the	nature	of	the	audience,	the	character	of	your	subject,	and	your
own	limitations	of	time	and	ability.	However,	it	is	worth	while	warning	you	not
to	be	lenient	in	self-exaction.	Say	to	yourself	courageously:	What	others	can	do,
I	can	attempt.	A	bold	spirit	conquers	where	others	flinch,	and	a	trying	task
challenges	pluck.

_Reading	from	Manuscript_

This	method	really	deserves	short	shrift	in	a	book	on	public	speaking,	for,	delude
yourself	as	you	may,	public	reading	is	not	public	speaking.	Yet	there	are	so	many
who	grasp	this	broken	reed	for	support	that	we	must	here	discuss	the	"read
speech"—apologetic	misnomer	as	it	is.

Certainly	 there	 are	 occasions—among	 them,	 the	 opening	 of	 Congress,	 the


presentation	 of	 a	 sore	 question	 before	 a	 deliberative	 body,	 or	 a	 historical
commemoration—when	it	may	seem	not	alone	to	the	"orator"	but	to	all	those
interested	that	the	chief	thing	is	to	express	certain	thoughts	in	precise	language—
in	language	that	 _must_ 	not	be	either	misunderstood	or	misquoted.	At	such	times
oratory	 is	 unhappily	 elbowed	 to	 a	 back	 bench,	 the	 manuscript	 is	 solemnly
withdrawn	from	the	capacious	inner	pocket	of	the	new	frock	coat,	and	everyone
settles	himself	resignedly,	with	only	a	feeble	flicker	of	hope	that	the	so-called
speech	may	not	be	as	long	as	it	is	thick.	The	words	may	be	golden,	but	the
hearers'	(?)	eyes	are	prone	to	be	leaden,	and	in	about	one	instance	out	of	a
hundred	does	the	perpetrator	really	deliver	an	impressive	address.	His	excuse	is
his	apology—he	is	not	to	be	blamed,	as	a	rule,	for	some	one	decreed	that	it
would	 be	 dangerous	 to	 cut	 loose	 from	 manuscript	 moorings	 and	 take	 his
audience	with	him	on	a	really	delightful	sail.

One	great	trouble	on	such	"great	occasions"	is	that	the	essayist—for	such	he	is—
has	been	chosen	not	because	of	his	speaking	ability	but	because	his	grandfather
fought	in	a	certain	battle,	or	his	constituents	sent	him	to	Congress,	or	his	gifts	in
some	line	of	endeavor	other	than	speaking	have	distinguished	him.

As	well	choose	a	surgeon	from	his	ability	to	play	golf.	To	be	sure,	it	always
interests	an	audience	to	see	a	great	man;	because	of	his	eminence	they	are	likely
to	listen	to	his	words	with	respect,	perhaps	with	interest,	even	when	droned	from
a	manuscript.	But	how	much	more	effective	such	a	deliverance	would	be	if	the
papers	were	cast	aside!

Nowhere	is	the	read-address	so	common	as	in	the	pulpit—the	pulpit,	that	in
these	days	least	of	all	can	afford	to	invite	a	handicap.	Doubtless	many	clergymen
prefer	finish	to	fervor—let	them	choose:	they	are	rarely	men	who	sway	the
masses	to	acceptance	of	their	message.	What	they	gain	in	precision	and	elegance
of	language	they	lose	in	force.

There	are	just	four	motives	that	can	move	a	man	to	read	his	address	or	sermon:

1.	Laziness	is	the	commonest.	Enough	said.	Even	Heaven	cannot	make	a	lazy
man	efficient.
2.	A	memory	so	defective	that	he	really	cannot	speak	without	reading.	Alas,	he	is
not	speaking	when	he	is	reading,	so	his	dilemma	is	painful—and	not	to	himself
alone.	But	no	man	has	a	right	to	assume	that	his	memory	is	utterly	bad	until	he
has	buckled	down	to	memory	culture—and	failed.	A	weak	memory	is	oftener	an
excuse	than	a	reason.


3.	A	genuine	lack	of	time	to	do	more	than	write	the	speech.	There	are	such
instances—but	 they	 do	 not	 occur	every	 week!	 The	 disposition	 of	 your	 time
allows	more	flexibility	than	you	realize.	Motive	3	too	often	harnesses	up	with
Motive	1.
4.	A	conviction	that	the	speech	is	too	important	to	risk	forsaking	the	manuscript.
But,	if	it	is	vital	that	every	word	should	be	so	precise,	the	style	so	polished,	and
the	thoughts	so	logical,	that	the	preacher	must	write	the	sermon	entire,	is	not	the
message	important	enough	to	warrant	extra	effort	in	perfecting	its	delivery?	It	is
an	insult	to	a	congregation	and	disrespectful	to	Almighty	God	to	put	the	phrasing
of	a	message	above	the	message	itself.	To	reach	the	hearts	of	the	hearers	the
sermon	must	be	delivered—it	is	only	half	delivered	when	the	speaker	cannot
utter	it	with	original	fire	and	force,	when	he	merely	repeats	words	that	were
conceived	hours	or	weeks	before	and	hence	are	like	champagne	that	has	lost	its
fizz.	The	reading	preacher's	eyes	are	tied	down	to	his	manuscript;	he	cannot	give
the	audience	the	benefit	of	his	expression.	How	long	would	a	play	fill	a	theater	if
the	actors	held	their	cue-books	in	hand	and	read	their	parts?	Imagine	Patrick
Henry	 reading	 his	 famous	 speech;	 Peter-the-Hermit,	 manuscript	 in	 hand,
exhorting	the	crusaders;	Napoleon,	constantly	looking	at	his	papers,	addressing
the	army	at	the	Pyramids;	or	Jesus	reading	the	Sermon	on	the	Mount!	These
speakers	were	so	full	of	their	subjects,	their	general	preparation	had	been	so
richly	adequate,	that	there	was	no	necessity	for	a	manuscript,	either	to	refer	to	or
to	serve	as	"an	outward	and	visible	sign"	of	their	preparedness.	No	event	was
ever	so	dignified	that	it	required	an	 _artificial_ 	attempt	at	speech	making.	Call	an
essay	by	its	right	name,	but	never	call	it	a	speech.	Perhaps	the	most	dignified	of
events	is	a	supplication	to	the	Creator.	If	you	ever	listened	to	the	reading	of	an
original	prayer	you	must	have	felt	its	superficiality.

Regardless	 of	 what	 the	 theories	 may	 be	 about	 manuscript	 delivery,	 the	 fact
remains	 that	 it	 does	 not	 work	 out	 with	 efficiency.	 _Avoid	 it	 whenever	 at	 all
possible._

_Committing	the	Written	Speech	and	Speaking	from	Memory_

This	method	has	certain	points	in	its	favor.	If	you	have	time	and	leisure,	it	is
possible	 to	 polish	 and	 rewrite	 your	 ideas	 until	 they	 are	 expressed	 in	 clear,
concise	terms.	Pope	sometimes	spent	a	whole	day	in	perfecting	one	couplet.
Gibbon	consumed	twenty	years	gathering	material	for	and	rewriting	the	"Decline
and	Fall	of	the	Roman	Empire."	Although	you	cannot	devote	such	painstaking
preparation	to	a	speech,	you	should	take	time	to	eliminate	useless	words,	crowd


whole	 paragraphs	 into	 a	 sentence	 and	 choose	 proper	 illustrations.	 Good
speeches,	 like	 plays,	 are	 not	 written;	 they	 are	 rewritten.	 The	 National	 Cash
Register	 Company	 follows	 this	 plan	 with	 their	 most	 efficient	 selling
organization:	they	require	their	salesmen	to	memorize	verbatim	a	selling	talk.
They	maintain	that	there	is	one	best	way	of	putting	their	selling	arguments,	and
they	 insist	 that	 each	 salesman	 use	 this	 ideal	 way	 rather	 than	 employ	 any
haphazard	phrases	that	may	come	into	his	mind	at	the	moment.

The	 method	 of	 writing	 and	 committing	 has	 been	 adopted	 by	 many	 noted
speakers;	 Julius	 Cæsar,	 Robert	 Ingersoll,	 and,	 on	 some	 occasions,	 Wendell
Phillips,	 were	 distinguished	 examples.	 The	 wonderful	 effects	 achieved	 by
famous	actors	were,	of	course,	accomplished	through	the	delivery	of	memorized
lines.

The	inexperienced	speaker	must	be	warned	before	attempting	this	method	of
delivery	that	it	is	difficult	and	trying.	It	requires	much	skill	to	make	it	efficient.
The	memorized	lines	of	the	young	speaker	will	usually	 _sound_ 	like	memorized
words,	and	repel.

If	you	want	to	hear	an	example,	listen	to	a	department	store	demonstrator	repeat
her	 memorized	 lingo	 about	 the	 newest	 furniture	 polish	 or	 breakfast	 food.	 It
requires	training	to	make	a	memorized	speech	sound	fresh	and	spontaneous,	and,
unless	you	have	a	fine	native	memory,	in	each	instance	the	finished	product
necessitates	much	labor.	Should	you	forget	a	part	of	your	speech	or	miss	a	few
words,	you	are	liable	to	be	so	confused	that,	like	Mark	Twain's	guide	in	Rome,
you	will	be	compelled	to	repeat	your	lines	from	the	beginning.

On	the	other	hand,	you	may	be	so	taken	up	with	trying	to	recall	your	written
words	that	you	will	not	abandon	yourself	to	the	spirit	of	your	address,	and	so	fail
to	deliver	it	with	that	spontaneity	which	is	so	vital	to	forceful	delivery.

But	do	not	let	these	difficulties	frighten	you.	If	committing	seems	best	to	you,
give	it	a	faithful	trial.	Do	not	be	deterred	by	its	pitfalls,	but	by	resolute	practise
avoid	them.

One	of	the	best	ways	to	rise	superior	to	these	difficulties	is	to	do	as	Dr.	Wallace
Radcliffe	often	does:	commit	without	writing	the	speech,	making	practically	all
the	preparation	mentally,	without	putting	pen	to	paper—a	laborious	but	effective
way	of	cultivating	both	mind	and	memory.

You	will	find	it	excellent	practise,	both	for	memory	and	delivery,	to	commit	the


specimen	speeches	found	in	this	volume	and	declaim	them,	with	all	attention	to
the	 principles	 we	 have	 put	 before	 you.	 William	 Ellery	 Channing,	 himself	 a
distinguished	speaker,	years	ago	had	this	to	say	of	practise	in	declamation:

"Is	there	not	an	amusement,	having	an	affinity	with	the	drama,	which	might	be
usefully	introduced	among	us?	I	mean,	Recitation.	A	work	of	genius,	recited	by	a
man	of	fine	taste,	enthusiasm,	and	powers	of	elocution,	is	a	very	pure	and	high
gratification.	 Were	 this	 art	 cultivated	 and	 encouraged,	 great	 numbers,	 now
insensible	 to	 the	 most	 beautiful	 compositions,	 might	 be	 waked	 up	 to	 their
excellence	and	power."

_Speaking	from	Notes_

The	third,	and	the	most	popular	method	of	delivery,	is	probably	also	the	best	one
for	the	beginner.	Speaking	from	notes	is	not	ideal	delivery,	but	we	learn	to	swim
in	shallow	water	before	going	out	beyond	the	ropes.

Make	a	definite	plan	for	your	discourse	(for	a	fuller	discussion	see	Chapter
XVIII)	and	set	down	the	points	somewhat	in	the	fashion	of	a	lawyer's	brief,	or	a
preacher's	outline.	Here	is	a	sample	of	very	simple	notes:

ATTENTION

I.	INTRODUCTION.

```
Attention	indispensable	to	the	performance	of	any
great	work.	 Anecdote.
```
II.	DEFINED	AND	ILLUSTRATED.

1.	From	common	observation.
2.	From	the	lives	of	great	men	{Carlyle,	Robert	E.	Lee.}

III.	ITS	RELATION	TO	OTHER	MENTAL	POWERS.

1.	Reason.
2.	Imagination.


3.	Memory.
4.	Will.	 _Anecdote_.

IV.	ATTENTION	MAY	BE	CULTIVATED.

1.	Involuntary	attention.
2.	Voluntary	attention.	 _Examples_.

V.	CONCLUSION.

```
The	consequences	of	inattention	and	of	attention.
```
Few	briefs	would	be	so	precise	as	this	one,	for	with	experience	a	speaker	learns
to	use	little	tricks	to	attract	his	eye—he	may	underscore	a	catch-word	heavily,
draw	a	red	circle	around	a	pivotal	idea,	enclose	the	key-word	of	an	anecdote	in	a
wavy-lined	box,	and	so	on	indefinitely.	These	points	are	worth	remembering,	for
nothing	 so	 eludes	 the	 swift-glancing	 eye	 of	 the	 speaker	 as	 the	 sameness	 of
typewriting,	or	even	a	regular	pen-script.	So	unintentional	a	thing	as	a	blot	on	the
page	 may	 help	 you	 to	 remember	 a	 big	 "point"	 in	 your	 brief—perhaps	 by
association	of	ideas.

An	inexperienced	speaker	would	probably	require	fuller	notes	than	the	specimen
given.	 Yet	 that	 way	 lies	 danger,	 for	 the	 complete	 manuscript	 is	 but	 a	 short
remove	from	the	copious	outline.	Use	as	few	notes	as	possible.

They	may	be	necessary	for	the	time	being,	but	do	not	fail	to	look	upon	them	as	a
necessary	evil;	and	even	when	you	lay	them	before	you,	refer	to	them	only	when
compelled	to	do	so.	Make	your	notes	as	full	as	you	please	in	preparation,	but	by
all	means	condense	them	for	platform	use.

_Extemporaneous	Speech_

Surely	this	is	the	ideal	method	of	delivery.	It	is	far	and	away	the	most	popular
with	the	audience,	and	the	favorite	method	of	the	most	efficient	speakers.

"Extemporaneous	 speech"	 has	 sometimes	 been	 made	 to	 mean	 unprepared
speech,	and	indeed	it	is	too	often	precisely	that;	but	in	no	such	sense	do	we
recommend	it	strongly	to	speakers	old	and	young.	On	the	contrary,	to	speak	well
without	notes	requires	all	the	preparation	which	we	discussed	so	fully	in	the


chapter	on	"Fluency,"	while	yet	relying	upon	the	"inspiration	of	the	hour"	for
some	of	your	thoughts	and	much	of	your	language.	You	had	better	remember,
however,	that	the	most	effective	inspiration	of	the	hour	is	the	inspiration	you
yourself	bring	to	it,	bottled	up	in	your	spirit	and	ready	to	infuse	itself	into	the
audience.

If	you	extemporize	you	can	get	much	closer	to	your	audience.	In	a	sense,	they
appreciate	 the	 task	 you	 have	 before	 you	 and	 send	 out	 their	 sympathy.
Extemporize,	and	you	will	not	have	to	stop	and	fumble	around	amidst	your	notes
—you	can	keep	your	eye	afire	with	your	message	and	hold	your	audience	with
your	very	glance.	You	yourself	will	feel	their	response	as	you	read	the	effects	of
your	warm,	spontaneous	words,	written	on	their	countenances.

Sentences	 written	 out	 in	 the	 study	 are	 liable	 to	 be	 dead	 and	 cold	 when
resurrected	before	the	audience.	When	you	create	as	you	speak	you	conserve	all
the	native	fire	of	your	thought.	You	can	enlarge	on	one	point	or	omit	another,
just	as	the	occasion	or	the	mood	of	the	audience	may	demand.	It	is	not	possible
for	every	speaker	to	use	this,	the	most	difficult	of	all	methods	of	delivery,	and
least	of	all	can	it	be	used	successfully	without	much	practise,	but	it	is	the	ideal
towards	which	all	should	strive.

One	danger	in	this	method	is	that	you	may	be	led	aside	from	your	subject	into
by-paths.	 To	 avoid	 this	 peril,	 firmly	 stick	 to	 your	 mental	 outline.	 Practise
speaking	from	a	memorized	brief	until	you	gain	control.	Join	a	debating	society
—talk,	 _talk_ ,	 _TALK_ ,	and	always	extemporize.	You	may	"make	a	fool	of	yourself"
once	or	twice,	but	is	that	too	great	a	price	to	pay	for	success?

Notes,	like	crutches,	are	only	a	sign	of	weakness.	Remember	that	the	power	of
your	speech	depends	to	some	extent	upon	the	view	your	audience	holds	of	you.
General	Grant's	words	as	president	were	more	powerful	than	his	words	as	a
Missouri	farmer.	If	you	would	appear	in	the	light	of	an	authority,	be	one.	Make
notes	on	your	brain	instead	of	on	paper.

_Joint	Methods	of	Delivery_

A	modification	of	the	second	method	has	been	adopted	by	many	great	speakers,
particularly	lecturers	who	are	compelled	to	speak	on	a	wide	variety	of	subjects
day	after	day;	such	speakers	often	commit	their	addresses	to	memory	but	keep
their	manuscripts	in	flexible	book	form	before	them,	turning	several	pages	at	a
time.	They	feel	safer	for	having	a	sheet-anchor	to	windward—but	it	is	an	anchor,
nevertheless,	and	hinders	rapid,	free	sailing,	though	it	drag	never	so	lightly.


Other	speakers	throw	out	a	still	lighter	anchor	by	keeping	before	them	a	rather
full	outline	of	their	written	and	committed	speech.

Others	 again	 write	 and	 commit	 a	 few	 important	 parts	 of	 the	 address—the
introduction,	the	conclusion,	some	vital	argument,	some	pat	illustration—and
depend	on	the	hour	for	the	language	of	the	rest.	This	method	is	well	adapted	to
speaking	either	with	or	without	notes.

Some	speakers	read	from	manuscript	the	most	important	parts	of	their	speeches
and	utter	the	rest	extemporaneously.

Thus,	 what	 we	 have	 called	 "joint	 methods	 of	 delivery"	 are	 open	 to	 much
personal	variation.	You	must	decide	for	yourself	which	is	best	for	you,	for	the
occasion,	for	your	subject,	for	your	audience—for	these	four	factors	all	have
their	individual	claims.

Whatever	form	you	choose,	do	not	be	so	weakly	indifferent	as	to	prefer	the	easy
way—choose	the	 _best_ 	way,	whatever	it	cost	you	in	time	and	effort.	And	of	this
be	assured:	only	the	practised	speaker	can	hope	to	gain	 _both_ 	conciseness	of
argument	and	conviction	in	manner,	polish	of	language	and	power	in	delivery,
finish	of	style	and	fire	in	utterance.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	Which	in	your	judgment	is	the	most	suitable	of	delivery	for	you?	Why?
2.	 What	 objections	 can	 you	 offer	 to,	 ( _a_ )	 memorizing	 the	 entire	 speech;	 ( _b_ )
reading	from	manuscript;	( _c_ )	using	notes;	( _d_ )	speaking	from	memorized	outline
or	notes;	( _e_ e)	any	of	the	"joint	methods"?
3.	What	is	there	to	commend	in	delivering	a	speech	in	any	of	the	foregoing
methods?
4.	 Can	 you	 suggest	 any	 combination	 of	 methods	 that	 you	 have	 found
efficacious?
5.	What	methods,	according	to	your	observation,	do	most	successful	speakers
use?
6.	Select	some	topic	from	the	list	on	page	 123 ,	narrow	the	theme	so	as	to	make	it
specific	(see	page	 122 ),	and	deliver	a	short	address,	utilizing	the	four	methods
mentioned,	in	four	different	deliveries	of	the	speech.


7.	Select	one	of	the	joint	methods	and	apply	it	to	the	delivery	of	the	same
address.
8.	Which	method	do	you	prefer,	and	why?
9.	From	the	list	of	subjects	in	the	Appendix	select	a	theme	and	deliver	a	five-
minute	address	without	notes,	but	make	careful	preparation	without	putting	your
thoughts	on	paper.

NOTE:	It	is	earnestly	hoped	that	instructors	will	not	pass	this	stage	of	the	work
without	 requiring	 of	 their	 students	 much	 practise	 in	 the	 delivery	 of	 original
speeches,	in	the	manner	that	seems,	after	some	experiment,	to	be	best	suited	to
the	student's	gifts.	Students	who	are	studying	alone	should	be	equally	exacting	in
demand	upon	themselves.	One	point	is	most	important:	It	is	easy	to	learn	to	read
a	speech,	therefore	it	is	much	more	urgent	that	the	pupil	should	have	much
practise	in	speaking	from	notes	and	speaking	without	notes.	At	this	stage,	pay
more	attention	to	manner	than	to	matter—the	succeeding	chapters	take	up	the
composition	of	the	address.	Be	particularly	insistent	upon	 _frequent_ 	and	 _thorough_
review	of	the	principles	of	delivery	discussed	in	the	preceding	chapters.

### CHAPTER	XVII

#### THOUGHT	AND	RESERVE	POWER


```
Providence	is	always	on	the	side	of	the	last	reserve.
```
```
—NAPOLEON	BONAPARTE.
```
```
So	mightiest	powers	by	deepest	calms	are	fed,
And	sleep,	how	oft,	in	things	that	gentlest	be!
```
```
—BARRY	CORNWALL,	 The	Sea	in	Calm.
```
What	would	happen	if	you	should	overdraw	your	bank	account?	As	a	rule	the
check	would	be	protested;	but	if	you	were	on	friendly	terms	with	the	bank,	your
check	 might	 be	 honored,	 and	 you	 would	 be	 called	 upon	 to	 make	 good	 the
overdraft.

Nature	has	no	such	favorites,	therefore	extends	no	credits.	She	is	as	relentless	as
a	gasoline	tank—when	the	"gas"	is	all	used	the	machine	stops.	It	is	as	reckless
for	a	speaker	to	risk	going	before	an	audience	without	having	something	in
reserve	as	it	is	for	the	motorist	to	essay	a	long	journey	in	the	wilds	without
enough	gasoline	in	sight.

But	in	what	does	a	speaker's	reserve	power	consist?	In	a	well-founded	reliance
on	his	general	and	particular	grasp	of	his	subject;	in	the	quality	of	being	alert	and
resourceful	in	thought—particularly	in	the	ability	to	think	while	on	his	feet;	and
in	that	self-possession	which	makes	one	the	captain	of	all	his	own	forces,	bodily
and	mental.

The	first	of	these	elements,	adequate	preparation,	and	the	last,	self-reliance,	were
discussed	fully	in	the	chapters	on	"Self-Confidence"	and	"Fluency,"	so	they	will
be	touched	only	incidentally	here;	besides,	the	next	chapter	will	take	up	specific
methods	of	preparation	for	public	speaking.	Therefore	the	central	theme	of	this
chapter	is	the	second	of	the	elements	of	reserve	power—Thought.

_The	Mental	Storehouse_

An	empty	mind,	like	an	empty	larder,	may	be	a	serious	matter	or	not—all	will
depend	 on	 the	 available	 resources.	 If	 there	 is	 no	 food	 in	 the	 cupboard	 the
housewife	does	not	nervously	rattle	the	empty	dishes;	she	telephones	the	grocer.
If	you	have	no	ideas,	do	not	rattle	your	empty	 _ers_ 	and	 _ahs_ ,	but	 _get_ 	some	ideas,
and	don't	speak	until	you	do	get	them.

This,	however,	is	not	being	what	the	old	New	England	housekeeper	used	to	call


"forehanded."	The	real	solution	of	the	problem	of	what	to	do	with	an	empty	head
is	never	to	let	it	become	empty.	In	the	artesian	wells	of	Dakota	the	water	rushes
to	the	surface	and	leaps	a	score	of	feet	above	the	ground.	The	secret	of	this
exuberant	flow	is	of	course	the	great	supply	below,	crowding	to	get	out.

What	is	the	use	of	stopping	to	prime	a	mental	pump	when	you	can	fill	your	life
with	the	resources	for	an	artesian	well?	It	is	not	enough	to	have	merely	enough;
you	must	have	more	than	enough.	Then	the	pressure	of	your	mass	of	thought	and
feeling	will	maintain	your	flow	of	speech	and	give	you	the	confidence	and	poise
that	denote	reserve	power.	To	be	away	from	home	with	only	the	exact	return	fare
leaves	a	great	deal	to	circumstances!

Reserve	power	is	magnetic.	It	does	not	consist	in	giving	the	idea	that	you	are
holding	something	in	reserve,	but	rather	in	the	suggestion	that	the	audience	is
getting	the	cream	of	your	observation,	reading,	experience,	feeling,	thought.	To
have	reserve	power,	therefore,	you	must	have	enough	milk	of	material	on	hand
to	supply	sufficient	cream.

But	how	shall	we	get	the	milk?	There	are	two	ways:	the	one	is	first-hand—from
the	cow;	the	other	is	second-hand—from	the	milkman.

_The	Seeing	Eye_

Some	sage	has	said:	"For	a	thousand	men	who	can	speak,	there	is	only	one	who
can	think;	for	a	thousand	men	who	can	think,	there	is	only	one	who	can	see."	To
see	and	to	think	is	to	get	your	milk	from	your	own	cow.

When	the	one	man	in	a	million	who	can	see	comes	along,	we	call	him	Master.
Old	Mr.	Holbrook,	of	"Cranford,"	asked	his	guest	what	color	ash-buds	were	in
March;	she	confessed	she	did	not	know,	to	which	the	old	gentleman	answered:	"I
knew	you	didn't.	No	more	did	I—an	old	fool	that	I	am!—till	this	young	man
comes	and	tells	me.	'Black	as	ash-buds	in	March.'	And	I've	lived	all	my	life	in
the	country.	More	shame	for	me	not	to	know.	Black;	they	are	jet-black,	madam."

"This	young	man"	referred	to	by	Mr.	Holbrook	was	Tennyson.

Henry	Ward	Beecher	said:	"I	do	not	believe	that	I	have	ever	met	a	man	on	the
street	 that	 I	 did	 not	 get	 from	 him	 some	 element	 for	 a	 sermon.	 I	 never	 see
anything	 in	 nature	 which	 does	 not	 work	 towards	 that	 for	 which	 I	 give	 the
strength	of	my	life.	The	material	for	my	sermons	is	all	the	time	following	me	and
swarming	up	around	me."


Instead	of	saying	only	one	man	in	a	million	can	see,	it	would	strike	nearer	the
truth	to	say	that	none	of	us	sees	with	perfect	understanding	more	than	a	fraction
of	what	passes	before	our	eyes,	yet	this	faculty	of	acute	and	accurate	observation
is	so	important	that	no	man	ambitious	to	lead	can	neglect	it.	The	next	time	you
are	in	a	car,	look	at	those	who	sit	opposite	you	and	see	what	you	can	discover	of
their	habits,	occupations,	ideals,	nationalities,	environments,	education,	and	so
on.	 You	 may	 not	 see	 a	 great	 deal	 the	 first	 time,	 but	 practise	 will	 reveal
astonishing	results.	Transmute	every	incident	of	your	day	into	a	subject	for	a
speech	or	an	illustration.	Translate	all	that	you	see	into	terms	of	speech.	When
you	can	describe	all	that	you	have	seen	in	definite	words,	you	are	seeing	clearly.
You	are	becoming	the	millionth	man.

De	Maupassant's	description	of	an	author	should	also	fit	the	public-speaker:	"His
eye	 is	 like	 a	 suction	 pump,	 absorbing	 everything;	 like	 a	 pickpocket's	 hand,
always	 at	 work.	 Nothing	 escapes	 him.	 He	 is	 constantly	 collecting	 material,
gathering-up	 glances,	 gestures,	 intentions,	 everything	 that	 goes	 on	 in	 his
presence—the	slightest	look,	the	least	act,	the	merest	trifle."	De	Maupassant	was
himself	a	millionth	man,	a	Master.

"Ruskin	 took	 a	 common	 rock-crystal	 and	 saw	 hidden	 within	 its	 stolid	 heart
lessons	which	have	not	yet	ceased	to	move	men's	lives.	Beecher	stood	for	hours
before	the	window	of	a	jewelry	store	thinking	out	analogies	between	jewels	and
the	souls	of	men.	Gough	saw	in	a	single	drop	of	water	enough	truth	wherewith	to
quench	the	thirst	of	five	thousand	souls.	Thoreau	sat	so	still	in	the	shadowy
woods	that	birds	and	insects	came	and	opened	up	their	secret	lives	to	his	eye.
Emerson	observed	the	soul	of	a	man	so	long	that	at	length	he	could	say,	'I	cannot
hear	what	you	say,	for	seeing	what	you	are.'	Preyer	for	three	years	studied	the
life	of	his	babe	and	so	became	an	authority	upon	the	child	mind.	Observation!
Most	men	are	blind.	There	are	a	thousand	times	as	many	hidden	truths	and
undiscovered	 facts	 about	 us	 to-day	 as	 have	 made	 discoverers	 famous—facts
waiting	for	some	one	to	'pluck	out	the	heart	of	their	mystery.'	But	so	long	as	men
go	about	the	search	with	eyes	that	see	not,	so	long	will	these	hidden	pearls	lie	in
their	shells.	Not	an	orator	but	who	could	more	effectively	point	and	feather	his
shafts	were	he	to	search	nature	rather	than	libraries.	Too	few	can	see	'sermons	in
stones'	and	'books	in	the	running	brooks,'	because	they	are	so	used	to	seeing
merely	sermons	in	books	and	only	stones	in	running	brooks.	Sir	Philip	Sidney
had	 a	 saying,	 'Look	 in	 thy	 heart	 and	 write;'	 Massillon	 explained	 his	 astute
knowledge	of	the	human	heart	by	saying,	'I	learned	it	by	studying	myself;'	Byron
says	of	John	Locke	that	'all	his	knowledge	of	the	human	understanding	was


derived	from	studying	his	own	mind.'	Since	multiform	nature	is	all	about	us,
originality	ought	not	to	be	so	rare."[8]

_The	Thinking	Mind_

Thinking	is	doing	mental	arithmetic	with	facts.	Add	this	fact	to	that	and	you
reach	 a	 certain	 conclusion.	 Subtract	 this	 truth	 from	 another	 and	 you	 have	 a
definite	result.	Multiply	this	fact	by	another	and	have	a	precise	product.	See	how
many	times	this	occurrence	happens	in	that	space	of	time	and	you	have	reached	a
calculable	dividend.	In	thought-processes	you	perform	every	known	problem	of
arithmetic	 and	 algebra.	 That	 is	 why	 mathematics	 are	 such	 excellent	 mental
gymnastics.	But	by	the	same	token,	thinking	is	work.	Thinking	takes	energy.
Thinking	 requires	 time,	 and	 patience,	 and	 broad	 information,	 and
clearheadedness.	Beyond	a	miserable	little	surface-scratching,	few	people	really
think	at	all—only	one	in	a	thousand,	according	to	the	pundit	already	quoted.	So
long	as	the	present	system	of	education	prevails	and	children	are	taught	through
the	ear	rather	than	through	the	eye,	so	long	as	they	are	expected	to	remember
thoughts	of	others	rather	than	think	for	themselves,	this	proportion	will	continue
—one	man	in	a	million	will	be	able	to	see,	and	one	in	a	thousand	to	think.

But,	however	thought-less	a	mind	has	been,	there	is	promise	of	better	things	so
soon	as	the	mind	detects	its	own	lack	of	thought-power.	The	first	step	is	to	stop
regarding	thought	as	"the	magic	of	the	mind,"	to	use	Byron's	expression,	and	see
it	as	thought	truly	is— _a	weighing	of	ideas	and	a	placing	of	them	in	relationships
to	 each	 other_ .	 Ponder	 this	 definition	 and	 see	 if	 you	 have	 learned	 to	 think
efficiently.

Habitual	thinking	is	just	that—a	habit.	Habit	comes	of	doing	a	thing	repeatedly.
The	lower	habits	are	acquired	easily,	the	higher	ones	require	deeper	grooves	if
they	are	to	persist.	So	we	find	that	the	thought-habit	comes	only	with	resolute
practise;	yet	no	effort	will	yield	richer	dividends.	Persist	in	practise,	and	whereas
you	have	been	able	to	think	only	an	inch-deep	into	a	subject,	you	will	soon	find
that	you	can	penetrate	it	a	foot.

Perhaps	 this	 homely	 metaphor	 will	 suggest	 how	 to	 begin	 the	 practise	 of
consecutive	thinking,	by	which	we	mean	 _welding	a	number	of	separate	thought-
links	into	a	chain	that	will	hold_ .	Take	one	link	at	a	time,	see	that	each	naturally
belongs	with	the	ones	you	link	to	it,	and	remember	that	a	single	missing	link
means	 _no	chain_.

Thinking	is	the	most	fascinating	and	exhilarating	of	all	mental	exercises.	Once


realize	that	your	opinion	on	a	subject	does	not	represent	the	choice	you	have
made	between	what	Dr.	Cerebrum	has	written	and	Professor	Cerebellum	has
said,	but	is	the	result	of	your	own	earnestly-applied	brain-energy,	and	you	will
gain	a	confidence	in	your	ability	to	speak	on	that	subject	that	nothing	will	be
able	to	shake.	Your	thought	will	have	given	you	both	power	and	reserve	power.

Someone	has	condensed	the	relation	of	thought	to	knowledge	in	these	pungent,
homely	lines:

```
"Don't	give	me	the	man	who	thinks	he	thinks,
Don't	give	me	the	man	who	thinks	he	knows,
But	give	me	the	man	who	knows	he	thinks,
And	I	have	the	man	who	knows	he	knows!"
```
_Reading	As	a	Stimulus	to	Thought_

No	matter	how	dry	the	cow,	however,	nor	how	poor	our	ability	to	milk,	there	is
still	the	milkman—we	can	read	what	others	have	seen	and	felt	and	thought.
Often,	indeed,	such	records	will	kindle	within	us	that	pre-essential	and	vital
spark,	the	 _desire_ 	to	be	a	thinker.

The	following	selection	is	taken	from	one	of	Dr.	Newell	Dwight	Hillis's	lectures,
as	given	in	"A	Man's	Value	to	Society."	Dr.	Hillis	is	a	most	fluent	speaker—he
never	refers	to	notes.	He	has	reserve	power.	His	mind	is	a	veritable	treasure-
house	of	facts	and	ideas.	See	how	he	draws	from	a	knowledge	of	fifteen	different
general	or	special	subjects:	geology,	plant	life,	Palestine,	chemistry,	Eskimos,
mythology,	literature,	The	Nile,	history,	law,	wit,	evolution,	religion,	biography,
and	electricity.	Surely,	it	needs	no	sage	to	discover	that	the	secret	of	this	man's
reserve	power	is	the	old	secret	of	our	artesian	well	whose	abundance	surges	from
unseen	depths.

```
THE	USES	OF	BOOKS	AND	READING[9]
```
```
Each	Kingsley	approaches	a	stone	as	a	jeweler	approaches	a	casket
to	unlock	the	hidden	gems.	Geikie	causes	the	bit	of	hard	coal	to
unroll	the	juicy	bud,	the	thick	odorous	leaves,	the	pungent	boughs,
until	the	bit	of	carbon	enlarges	into	the	beauty	of	a	tropic	forest.
That	little	book	of	Grant	Allen's	called	"How	Plants	Grow"	exhibits
trees	and	shrubs	as	eating,	drinking	and	marrying.	We	see	certain
date	 groves	 in	 Palestine,	 and	 other	 date	 groves	 in	 the	 desert	 a
hundred	miles	away,	and	the	pollen	of	the	one	carried	upon	the	trade
```

winds	to	the	branches	of	the	other.	We	see	the	tree	with	its	strange
system	 of	 water-works,	pumping	 the	 sap	 up	 through	 pipes	 and
mains;	we	see	the	chemical	laboratory	in	the	branches	mixing	flavor
for	the	orange	in	one	bough,	mixing	the	juices	of	the	pineapple	in
another;	we	behold	the	tree	as	a	mother	making	each	infant	acorn
ready	against	the	long	winter,	rolling	it	in	swaths	soft	and	warm	as
wool	blankets,	wrapping	it	around	with	garments	impervious	to	the
rain,	and	finally	slipping	the	infant	acorn	into	a	sleeping	bag,	like
those	the	Eskimos	gave	Dr.	Kane.

At	length	we	come	to	feel	that	the	Greeks	were	not	far	wrong	in
thinking	 each	 tree	 had	 a	 dryad	 in	 it,	 animating	 it,	 protecting	 it
against	destruction,	dying	when	the	tree	withered.	Some	Faraday
shows	 us	 that	 each	 drop	 of	 water	 is	 a	 sheath	 for	 electric	 forces
sufficient	to	charge	800,000	Leyden	jars,	or	drive	an	engine	from
Liverpool	 to	 London.	 Some	 Sir	 William	 Thomson	 tells	 us	 how
hydrogen	gas	will	chew	up	a	large	iron	spike	as	a	child's	molars	will
chew	off	the	end	of	a	stick	of	candy.	Thus	each	new	book	opens	up
some	 new	 and	 hitherto	 unexplored	 realm	 of	 nature.	 Thus	 books
fulfill	for	us	the	legend	of	the	wondrous	glass	that	showed	its	owner
all	things	distant	and	all	things	hidden.	Through	books	our	world
becomes	as	"a	bud	from	the	bower	of	God's	beauty;	the	sun	as	a
spark	from	the	light	of	His	wisdom;	the	sky	as	a	bubble	on	the	sea	of
His	Power."	Therefore	Mrs.	Browning's	words,	"No	child	can	be
called	 fatherless	 who	 has	 God	 and	 his	 mother;	 no	 youth	 can	 be
called	 friendless	 who	 has	 God	 and	 the	 companionship	 of	 good
books."

Books	also	advantage	us	in	that	they	exhibit	the	unity	of	progress,
the	solidarity	of	the	race,	and	the	continuity	of	history.	Authors	lead
us	back	along	the	pathway	of	law,	of	liberty	or	religion,	and	set	us
down	in	front	of	the	great	man	in	whose	brain	the	principle	had	its
rise.	As	the	discoverer	leads	us	from	the	mouth	of	the	Nile	back	to
the	 headwaters	 of	 Nyanza,	 so	 books	 exhibit	 great	 ideas	 and
institutions,	as	they	move	forward,	ever	widening	and	deepening,
like	some	Nile	feeding	many	civilizations.	For	all	the	reforms	of	to-
day	go	back	to	some	reform	of	yesterday.	Man's	art	goes	back	to
Athens	and	Thebes.	Man's	laws	go	back	to	Blackstone	and	Justinian.
Man's	 reapers	 and	 plows	 go	 back	 to	 the	 savage	 scratching	 the


```
ground	with	his	forked	stick,	drawn	by	the	wild	bullock.	The	heroes
of	liberty	march	forward	in	a	solid	column.	Lincoln	grasps	the	hand
of	Washington.	Washington	received	his	weapons	at	the	hands	of
Hampden	and	Cromwell.	The	great	Puritans	lock	hands	with	Luther
and	Savonarola.
```
```
The	unbroken	procession	brings	us	at	length	to	Him	whose	Sermon
on	the	Mount	was	the	very	charter	of	liberty.	It	puts	us	under	a
divine	spell	to	perceive	that	we	are	all	coworkers	with	the	great	men,
and	yet	single	threads	in	the	warp	and	woof	of	civilization.	And
when	 books	 have	 related	 us	 to	 our	 own	 age,	 and	 related	 all	 the
epochs	to	God,	whose	providence	is	the	gulf	stream	of	history,	these
teachers	go	on	to	stimulate	us	to	new	and	greater	achievements.
Alone,	man	is	an	unlighted	candle.	The	mind	needs	some	book	to
kindle	its	faculties.	Before	Byron	began	to	write	he	used	to	give	half
an	hour	to	reading	some	favorite	passage.	The	thought	of	some	great
writer	never	failed	to	kindle	Byron	into	a	creative	glow,	even	as	a
match	lights	the	kindlings	upon	the	grate.	In	these	burning,	luminous
moods	Byron's	mind	did	its	best	work.	The	true	book	stimulates	the
mind	as	no	wine	can	ever	quicken	the	blood.	It	is	reading	that	brings
us	to	our	best,	and	rouses	each	faculty	to	its	most	vigorous	life.
```
We	recognize	this	as	pure	cream,	and	if	it	seems	at	first	to	have	its	secondary
source	in	the	friendly	milkman,	let	us	not	forget	that	the	theme	is	"The	Uses	of
Books	and	Reading."	Dr.	Hillis	both	sees	and	thinks.

It	is	fashionable	just	now	to	decry	the	value	of	reading.	We	read,	we	are	told,	to
avoid	the	necessity	of	thinking	for	ourselves.	Books	are	for	the	mentally	lazy.

Though	this	is	only	a	half-truth,	the	element	of	truth	it	contains	is	large	enough
to	make	us	pause.	Put	yourself	through	a	good	old	Presbyterian	soul-searching
self-examination,	 and	 if	 reading-from-thought-laziness	 is	 one	 of	 your	 sins,
confess	it.	No	one	can	shrive	you	of	it—but	yourself.	Do	penance	for	it	by	using
your	own	brains,	for	it	is	a	transgression	that	dwarfs	the	growth	of	thought	and
destroys	mental	freedom.	At	first	the	penance	will	be	trying—but	at	the	last	you
will	be	glad	in	it.

Reading	should	entertain,	give	information,	or	stimulate	thought.	Here,	however,
we	are	chiefly	concerned	with	information,	and	stimulation	of	thought.

What	shall	I	read	for	information?


The	ample	page	of	knowledge,	as	Grey	tells	us,	is	"rich	with	the	spoils	of	time,"
and	these	are	ours	for	the	price	of	a	theatre	ticket.	You	may	command	Socrates
and	 Marcus	 Aurelius	 to	 sit	 beside	 you	 and	 discourse	 of	 their	 choicest,	 hear
Lincoln	at	Gettysburg	and	Pericles	at	Athens,	storm	the	Bastile	with	Hugo,	and
wander	 through	 Paradise	 with	 Dante.	 You	 may	 explore	 darkest	 Africa	 with
Stanley,	penetrate	the	human	heart	with	Shakespeare,	chat	with	Carlyle	about
heroes,	and	delve	with	the	Apostle	Paul	into	the	mysteries	of	faith.	The	general
knowledge	and	the	inspiring	ideas	that	men	have	collected	through	ages	of	toil
and	experiment	are	yours	for	the	asking.	The	Sage	of	Chelsea	was	right:	"The
true	university	of	these	days	is	a	collection	of	books."

To	 master	 a	 worth-while	 book	 is	 to	 master	 much	 else	 besides;	 few	 of	 us,
however,	make	perfect	conquest	of	a	volume	without	first	owning	it	physically.
To	read	a	borrowed	book	may	be	a	joy,	but	to	assign	your	own	book	a	place	of
its	own	on	your	own	shelves—be	they	few	or	many—to	love	the	book	and	feel
of	its	worn	cover,	to	thumb	it	over	slowly,	page	by	page,	to	pencil	its	margins	in
agreement	or	in	protest,	to	smile	or	thrill	with	its	remembered	pungencies—no
mere	book	borrower	could	ever	sense	all	that	delight.

The	reader	who	possesses	books	in	this	double	sense	finds	also	that	his	books
possess	him,	and	the	volumes	which	most	firmly	grip	his	life	are	likely	to	be
those	it	has	cost	him	some	sacrifice	to	own.	These	lightly-come-by	titles,	which
Mr.	Fatpurse	selects,	perhaps	by	proxy,	can	scarcely	play	the	guide,	philosopher
and	friend	in	crucial	moments	as	do	the	books—long	coveted,	joyously	attained
—that	are	welcomed	into	the	lives,	and	not	merely	the	libraries,	of	us	others	who
are	at	once	poorer	and	richer.

So	it	is	scarcely	too	much	to	say	that	of	all	the	many	ways	in	which	an	owned—
a	mastered—book	is	like	to	a	human	friend,	the	truest	ways	are	these:	A	friend	is
worth	making	sacrifices	for,	both	to	gain	and	to	keep;	and	our	loves	go	out	most
dearly	to	those	into	whose	inmost	lives	we	have	sincerely	entered.

When	you	have	not	the	advantage	of	the	test	of	time	by	which	to	judge	books,
investigate	as	thoroughly	as	possible	the	authority	of	the	books	you	read.	Much
that	is	printed	and	passes	current	is	counterfeit.	"I	read	it	in	a	book"	is	to	many	a
sufficient	warranty	of	truth,	but	not	to	the	thinker.	"What	book?"	asks	the	careful
mind.	"Who	wrote	it?	What	does	he	know	about	the	subject	and	what	right	has
he	to	speak	on	it?	Who	recognizes	him	as	authority?	With	what	other	recognized
authorities	does	he	agree	or	disagree?"	Being	caught	trying	to	pass	counterfeit
money,	even	unintentionally,	is	an	unpleasant	situation.	Beware	lest	you	circulate


spurious	coin.

Above	all,	seek	reading	that	makes	you	use	your	own	brains.	Such	reading	must
be	alive	with	fresh	points	of	view,	packed	with	special	knowledge,	and	deal	with
subjects	of	vital	interest.	Do	not	confine	your	reading	to	what	you	already	know
you	will	agree	with.	Opposition	wakes	one	up.	The	other	road	may	be	the	better,
but	you	will	never	know	it	unless	you	"give	it	the	once	over."	Do	not	do	all	your
thinking	 and	 investigating	 in	 front	 of	 given	 "Q.E.D.'s;"	 merely	 assembling
reasons	to	fill	in	between	your	theorem	and	what	you	want	to	prove	will	get	you
nowhere.	Approach	each	subject	with	an	open	mind	and—once	sure	that	you
have	thought	it	out	thoroughly	and	honestly—have	the	courage	to	abide	by	the
decision	of	your	own	thought.	But	don't	brag	about	it	afterward.

No	book	on	public	speaking	will	enable	you	to	discourse	on	the	tariff	if	you
know	nothing	about	the	tariff.	Knowing	more	about	it	than	the	other	man	will	be
your	only	hope	for	making	the	other	man	listen	to	you.

Take	a	group	of	men	discussing	a	governmental	policy	of	which	some	one	says:
"It	is	socialistic."	That	will	commend	the	policy	to	Mr.	A.,	who	believes	in
socialism,	but	condemn	it	to	Mr.	B.,	who	does	not.	It	may	be	that	neither	had
considered	the	policy	beyond	noticing	that	its	surface-color	was	socialistic.	The
chances	are,	furthermore,	that	neither	Mr.	A.	nor	Mr.	B.	has	a	definite	idea	of
what	socialism	really	is,	for	as	Robert	Louis	Stevenson	says,	"Man	lives	not	by
bread	alone	but	chiefly	by	catch	words."	If	you	are	of	this	group	of	men,	and
have	observed	this	proposed	government	policy,	and	investigated	it,	and	thought
about	 it,	 what	 you	 have	 to	 say	 cannot	 fail	 to	 command	 their	 respect	 and
approval,	for	you	will	have	shown	them	that	you	possess	a	grasp	of	your	subject
and—to	adopt	an	exceedingly	expressive	bit	of	slang— _then_ 	some.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	Robert	Houdin	trained	his	son	to	give	one	swift	glance	at	a	shop	window	in
passing	and	be	able	to	report	accurately	a	surprising	number	of	its	contents.	Try
this	several	times	on	different	windows	and	report	the	result.
2.	What	effect	does	reserve	power	have	on	an	audience?
3.	What	are	the	best	methods	for	acquiring	reserve	power?
4.	What	is	the	danger	of	too	much	reading?


5.	Analyze	some	speech	that	you	have	read	or	heard	and	notice	how	much	real
information	there	is	in	it.	Compare	it	with	Dr.	Hillis's	speech	on	"Brave	Little
Belgium,"	page	 394.
6.	 Write	 out	 a	 three-minute	 speech	 on	 any	 subject	 you	 choose.	 How	 much
information,	and	what	new	ideas,	does	it	contain?	Compare	your	speech	with	the
extract	on	page	 191 	from	Dr.	Hillis's	"The	Uses	of	Books	and	Reading."
7.	Have	you	ever	read	a	book	on	the	practise	of	thinking?	If	so,	give	your
impressions	of	its	value.

NOTE:	There	are	a	number	of	excellent	books	on	the	subject	of	thought	and	the
management	of	thought.	The	following	are	recommended	as	being	especially
helpful:	 "Thinking	 and	 Learning	 to	 Think,"	 Nathan	 C.	 Schaeffer;	 "Talks	 to
Students	on	the	Art	of	Study,"	Cramer;	"As	a	Man	Thinketh,"	Allen.

8.	Define	( _a_ )	logic;	( _b_ )	mental	philosophy	(or	mental	science);	( _c_ )	psychology;
( _d_ )	abstract.

### FOOTNOTES:

```
[8] How	to	Attract	and	Hold	an	Audience ,	J.	Berg	Esenwein.
[9]	Used	by	permission.
```
### CHAPTER	XVIII

#### SUBJECT	AND	PREPARATION

```
Suit	your	topics	to	your	strength,
And	ponder	well	your	subject,	and	its	length;
Nor	lift	your	load,	before	you're	quite	aware
What	weight	your	shoulders	will,	or	will	not,	bear.
```
```
—BYRON,	 Hints	from	Horace.
```
```
Look	to	this	day,	for	it	is	life—the	very	life	of	life.	In	its	brief	course
lie	all	the	verities	and	realities	of	your	existence:	the	bliss	of	growth,
```

```
the	glory	of	action,	the	splendor	of	beauty.	For	yesterday	is	already	a
dream	and	tomorrow	is	only	a	vision;	but	today,	well	lived,	makes
every	yesterday	a	dream	of	happiness	and	every	tomorrow	a	vision
of	hope.	Look	well,	therefore,	to	this	day.	Such	is	the	salutation	of
the	dawn.
```
```
— From	the	Sanskrit.
```
In	the	chapter	preceding	we	have	seen	the	influence	of	"Thought	and	Reserve
Power"	on	general	preparedness	for	public	speech.	But	preparation	consists	in
something	more	definite	than	the	cultivation	of	thought-power,	whether	from
original	or	from	borrowed	sources—it	involves	a	 _specifically_ 	acquisitive	attitude
of	the	whole	life.	If	you	would	become	a	full	soul	you	must	constantly	take	in
and	assimilate,	for	in	that	way	only	may	you	hope	to	give	out	that	which	is	worth
the	hearing;	but	do	not	confuse	the	acquisition	of	general	information	with	the
mastery	of	specific	knowledge.	Information	consists	of	a	fact	or	a	group	of	facts;
knowledge	is	 _organized_ information—knowledge	 knows	 a	 fact	 in	 relation	 to
other	facts.

Now	the	important	thing	here	is	that	you	should	set	all	your	faculties	to	take	in
the	things	about	you	with	the	particular	object	of	correlating	them	and	storing
them	for	use	in	public	speech.	You	must	hear	with	the	speaker's	ear,	see	with	the
speaker's	eye,	and	choose	books	and	companions	and	sights	and	sounds	with	the
speaker's	purpose	in	view.	At	the	same	time,	be	ready	to	receive	unplanned-for
knowledge.	One	of	the	fascinating	elements	in	your	life	as	a	public	speaker	will
be	the	conscious	growth	in	power	that	casual	daily	experiences	bring.	If	your
eyes	are	alert	you	will	be	constantly	discovering	facts,	illustrations,	and	ideas
without	having	set	out	in	search	of	them.	These	all	may	be	turned	to	account	on
the	platform;	even	the	leaden	events	of	hum-drum	daily	life	may	be	melted	into
bullets	for	future	battles.

_Conservation	of	Time	in	Preparation_

But,	you	say,	I	have	so	little	time	for	preparation—my	mind	must	be	absorbed	by
other	matters.	Daniel	Webster	never	let	an	opportunity	pass	to	gather	material	for
his	speeches.	When	he	was	a	boy	working	in	a	sawmill	he	read	out	of	a	book	in
one	hand	and	busied	himself	at	some	mechanical	task	with	the	other.	In	youth
Patrick	 Henry	 roamed	 the	 fields	 and	 woods	 in	 solitude	 for	 days	 at	 a	 time
unconsciously	 gathering	 material	 and	 impressions	 for	 his	 later	 service	 as	 a
speaker.	Dr.	Russell	H.	Conwell,	the	man	who,	the	late	Charles	A.	Dana	said,


had	 addressed	 more	 hearers	 than	 any	 living	 man,	 used	 to	 memorize	 long
passages	from	Milton	while	tending	the	boiling	syrup-pans	in	the	silent	New
England	woods	at	night.	The	modern	employer	would	discharge	a	Webster	of
today	for	inattention	to	duty,	and	doubtless	he	would	be	justified,	and	Patrick
Henry	seemed	only	an	idle	chap	even	in	those	easy-going	days;	but	the	truth
remains:	those	who	take	in	power	and	have	the	purpose	to	use	it	efficiently	will
some	day	win	to	the	place	in	which	that	stored-up	power	will	revolve	great
wheels	of	influence.

Napoleon	said	that	quarter	hours	decide	the	destinies	of	nations.	How	many
quarter	hours	do	we	let	drift	by	aimlessly!	Robert	Louis	Stevenson	conserved	 _all_
his	time;	 _every_ experience	 became	 capital	 for	 his	 work—for	 capital	 may	 be
defined	 as	 "the	 results	 of	 labor	 stored	 up	 to	 assist	 future	 production."	 He
continually	tried	to	put	into	suitable	language	the	scenes	and	actions	that	were	in
evidence	about	him.	Emerson	says:	"Tomorrow	will	be	like	today.	Life	wastes
itself	whilst	we	are	preparing	to	live."

Why	wait	for	a	more	convenient	season	for	this	broad,	general	preparation?	The
fifteen	minutes	that	we	spend	on	the	car	could	be	profitably	turned	into	speech-
capital.

Procure	a	cheap	edition	of	modern	speeches,	and	by	cutting	out	a	few	pages	each
day,	and	reading	them	during	the	idle	minute	here	and	there,	note	how	soon	you
can	make	yourself	familiar	with	the	world's	best	speeches.	If	you	do	not	wish	to
mutilate	your	book,	take	it	with	you—most	of	the	epoch-making	books	are	now
printed	in	small	volumes.	The	daily	waste	of	natural	gas	in	the	Oklahoma	fields
is	equal	to	ten	thousand	tons	of	coal.	Only	about	three	per	cent	of	the	power	of
the	coal	that	enters	the	furnace	ever	diffuses	itself	from	your	electric	bulb	as
light—the	other	ninety-seven	per	cent	is	wasted.	Yet	these	wastes	are	no	larger,
nor	more	to	be	lamented	than	the	tremendous	waste	of	time	which,	if	conserved
would	increase	the	speaker's	powers	to	their	 _nth_ 	degree.	Scientists	are	making
three	 ears	 of	 corn	 grow	 where	 one	 grew	 before;	 efficiency	 engineers	 are
eliminating	useless	motions	and	products	from	our	factories:	catch	the	spirit	of
the	age	and	apply	efficiency	to	the	use	of	the	most	valuable	asset	you	possess—
time.	 What	 do	 you	 do	 mentally	 with	 the	 time	 you	 spend	 in	 dressing	 or	 in
shaving?	Take	some	subject	and	concentrate	your	energies	on	it	for	a	week	by
utilizing	just	the	spare	moments	that	would	otherwise	be	wasted.	You	will	be
amazed	at	the	result.	One	passage	a	day	from	the	Book	of	Books,	one	golden
ingot	from	some	master	mind,	one	fully-possessed	thought	of	your	own	might
thus	be	added	to	the	treasury	of	your	life.	Do	not	waste	your	time	in	ways	that


profit	you	nothing.	Fill	"the	unforgiving	minute"	with	"sixty	seconds'	worth	of
distance	run"	and	on	the	platform	you	will	be	immeasurably	the	gainer.

Let	no	word	of	this,	however,	seem	to	decry	the	value	of	recreation.	Nothing	is
more	vital	to	a	worker	than	rest—yet	nothing	is	so	vitiating	to	the	shirker.	Be
sure	 that	 your	 recreation	 re-creates.	 A	 pause	 in	 the	 midst	 of	 labors	 gathers
strength	for	new	effort.	The	mistake	is	to	pause	too	long,	or	to	fill	your	pauses
with	ideas	that	make	life	flabby.

_Choosing	a	Subject_

Subject	and	materials	tremendously	influence	each	other.

"This	arises	from	the	fact	that	there	are	two	distinct	ways	in	which	a	subject	may
be	chosen:	by	arbitrary	choice,	or	by	development	from	thought	and	reading.

"Arbitrary	choice	...	of	one	subject	from	among	a	number	involves	so	many
important	 considerations	 that	 no	 speaker	 ever	 fails	 to	 appreciate	 the	 tone	 of
satisfaction	in	him	who	triumphantly	announces:	'I	have	a	subject!'

"'Do	give	me	a	subject!'	How	often	the	weary	school	teacher	hears	that	cry.	Then
a	list	of	themes	is	suggested,	gone	over,	considered,	and,	in	most	instances,
rejected,	because	the	teacher	can	know	but	imperfectly	what	is	in	the	pupil's
mind.	To	suggest	a	subject	in	this	way	is	like	trying	to	discover	the	street	on
which	a	lost	child	lives,	by	naming	over	a	number	of	streets	until	one	strikes	the
little	one's	ear	as	sounding	familiar.

"Choice	by	development	is	a	very	different	process.	It	does	not	ask,	What	shall	I
say?	It	turns	the	mind	in	upon	itself	and	asks,	What	do	I	think?	Thus,	the	subject
may	be	said	to	choose	itself,	for	in	the	process	of	thought	or	of	reading	one
theme	rises	into	prominence	and	becomes	a	living	germ,	soon	to	grow	into	the
discourse.	He	who	has	not	learned	to	reflect	is	not	really	acquainted	with	his
own	thoughts;	hence,	his	thoughts	are	not	productive.	Habits	of	reading	and
reflection	will	supply	the	speaker's	mind	with	an	abundance	of	subjects	of	which
he	already	knows	something	from	the	very	reading	and	reflection	which	gave
birth	to	his	theme.	This	is	not	a	paradox,	but	sober	truth.

"It	must	be	already	apparent	that	the	choice	of	a	subject	by	development	savors
more	of	collection	than	of	conscious	selection.	The	subject	'pops	into	the	mind.'
...	In	the	intellect	of	the	trained	thinker	it	concentrates—by	a	process	which	we
have	seen	to	be	induction—the	facts	and	truths	of	which	he	has	been	reading	and


thinking.	This	is	most	often	a	gradual	process.	The	scattered	ideas	may	be	but
vaguely	connected	at	first,	but	more	and	more	they	concentrate	and	take	on	a
single	 form	 until	 at	 length	 one	 strong	 idea	 seems	 to	 grasp	 the	 soul	 with
irresistible	force,	and	to	cry	aloud,	'Arise,	I	am	your	 _theme_ !	Henceforth,	until
you	transmute	me	by	the	alchemy	of	your	inward	fire	into	vital	speech,	you	shall
know	no	rest!'	Happy,	then,	is	that	speaker,	for	he	has	found	a	subject	that	grips
him.

"Of	course,	experienced	speakers	use	both	methods	of	selection.	Even	a	reading
and	reflective	man	is	sometimes	compelled	to	hunt	for	a	theme	from	Dan	to
Beersheba,	and	then	the	task	of	gathering	materials	becomes	a	serious	one.	But
even	 in	 such	 a	 case	 there	 is	 a	 sense	 in	 which	 the	 selection	 comes	 by
development,	because	no	careful	speaker	settles	upon	a	theme	which	does	not
represent	at	least	some	matured	thought."[10]

_Deciding	on	the	Subject	Matter_

Even	when	your	theme	has	been	chosen	for	you	by	someone	else,	there	remains
to	you	a	considerable	field	for	choice	of	subject	matter.	The	same	considerations,
in	fact,	that	would	govern	you	in	choosing	a	theme	must	guide	in	the	selection	of
the	material.	Ask	yourself—or	someone	else—such	questions	as	these:

What	is	the	precise	nature	of	the	occasion?	How	large	an	audience	may	be
expected?	From	what	walks	of	life	do	they	come?	What	is	their	probable	attitude
toward	the	theme?	Who	else	will	speak?	Do	I	speak	first,	last,	or	where,	on	the
program?	What	are	the	other	speakers	going	to	talk	about?	What	is	the	nature	of
the	auditorium?	Is	there	a	desk?	Could	the	subject	be	more	effectively	handled	if
somewhat	modified?	Precisely	how	much	time	am	I	to	fill?

It	is	evident	that	many	speech-misfits	of	subject,	speaker,	occasion	and	place	are
due	to	failure	 to	ask	just	such	pertinent	questions.	 _What_ should	 be	 said,	 by
_whom_ ,	and	 _in	what	circumstances_ ,	constitute	ninety	per	cent	of	efficiency	in
public	address.	No	matter	who	asks	you,	refuse	to	be	a	square	peg	in	a	round
hole.

_Questions	of	Proportion_

Proportion	in	a	speech	is	attained	by	a	nice	adjustment	of	time.	How	fully	you
may	treat	your	subject	it	is	not	always	for	you	to	say.	Let	ten	minutes	mean
neither	 nine	 nor	 eleven—though	 better	 nine	 than	 eleven,	 at	 all	 events.	 You
wouldn't	 steal	 a	 man's	 watch;	 no	 more	 should	 you	 steal	 the	 time	 of	 the


succeeding	speaker,	or	that	of	the	audience.	There	is	no	need	to	overstep	time-
limits	if	you	make	your	preparation	adequate	and	divide	your	subject	so	as	to
give	each	thought	its	due	proportion	of	attention—and	no	more.	Blessed	is	the
man	that	maketh	short	speeches,	for	he	shall	be	invited	to	speak	again.

Another	matter	of	prime	importance	is,	what	part	of	your	address	demands	the
most	emphasis.	This	once	decided,	you	will	know	where	to	place	that	pivotal
section	 so	 as	 to	 give	 it	 the	 greatest	 strategic	 value,	 and	 what	 degree	 of
preparation	must	be	given	to	that	central	thought	so	that	the	vital	part	may	not	be
submerged	by	non-essentials.	Many	a	speaker	has	awakened	to	find	that	he	has
burnt	up	eight	minutes	of	a	ten-minute	speech	in	merely	getting	up	steam.	That
is	like	spending	eighty	percent	of	your	building-money	on	the	vestibule	of	the
house.

The	same	sense	of	proportion	must	tell	you	to	stop	precisely	when	you	are
through—and	it	is	to	be	hoped	that	you	will	discover	the	arrival	of	that	period
before	your	audience	does.

_Tapping	Original	Sources_

The	surest	way	to	give	life	to	speech-material	is	to	gather	your	facts	at	first	hand.
Your	 words	 come	 with	 the	 weight	 of	 authority	 when	 you	 can	 say,	 "I	 have
examined	the	employment	rolls	of	every	mill	in	this	district	and	find	that	thirty-
two	per	cent	of	the	children	employed	are	under	the	legal	age."	No	citation	of
authorities	can	equal	that.	You	must	adopt	the	methods	of	the	reporter	and	find
out	the	facts	underlying	your	argument	or	appeal.	To	do	so	may	prove	laborious,
but	it	should	not	be	irksome,	for	the	great	world	of	fact	teems	with	interest,	and
over	and	above	all	is	the	sense	of	power	that	will	come	to	you	from	original
investigation.	To	see	and	feel	the	facts	you	are	discussing	will	react	upon	you
much	more	powerfully	than	if	you	were	to	secure	the	facts	at	second	hand.

Live	an	active	life	among	people	who	are	doing	worth-while	things,	keep	eyes
and	ears	and	mind	and	heart	open	to	absorb	truth,	and	then	tell	of	the	things	you
know,	as	if	you	know	them.	The	world	will	listen,	for	the	world	loves	nothing	so
much	as	real	life.

_How	to	Use	a	Library_

Unsuspected	treasures	lie	in	the	smallest	library.	Even	when	the	owner	has	read
every	last	page	of	his	books	it	is	only	in	rare	instances	that	he	has	full	indexes	to
all	of	them,	either	in	his	mind	or	on	paper,	so	as	to	make	available	the	vast


number	of	varied	subjects	touched	upon	or	treated	in	volumes	whose	titles	would
never	suggest	such	topics.

For	this	reason	it	is	a	good	thing	to	take	an	odd	hour	now	and	then	to	browse.
Take	down	one	volume	after	another	and	look	over	its	table	of	contents	and	its
index.	(It	is	a	reproach	to	any	author	of	a	serious	book	not	to	have	provided	a	full
index,	with	cross	references.)	Then	glance	over	the	pages,	making	notes,	mental
or	physical,	of	material	that	looks	interesting	and	usable.	Most	libraries	contain
volumes	that	the	owner	is	"going	to	read	some	day."	A	familiarity	with	even	the
contents	of	such	books	on	your	own	shelves	will	enable	you	to	refer	to	them
when	you	want	help.	Writings	read	long	ago	should	be	treated	in	the	same	way
—in	every	chapter	some	surprise	lurks	to	delight	you.

In	looking	up	a	subject	do	not	be	discouraged	if	you	do	not	find	it	indexed	or
outlined	in	the	table	of	contents—you	are	pretty	sure	to	discover	some	material
under	a	related	title.

Suppose	 you	 set	 to	 work	 somewhat	 in	 this	 way	 to	 gather	 references	 on
"Thinking:"	 First	 you	 look	 over	 your	 book	 titles,	 and	 there	 is	 Schaeffer's
"Thinking	and	Learning	to	Think."	Near	it	is	Kramer's	"Talks	to	Students	on	the
Art	of	Study"—that	seems	likely	to	provide	some	material,	and	it	does.	Naturally
you	think	next	of	your	book	on	psychology,	and	there	is	help	there.	If	you	have	a
volume	on	the	human	intellect	you	will	have	already	turned	to	it.	Suddenly	you
remember	 your	 encyclopedia	 and	 your	 dictionary	 of	 quotations—and	 now
material	 fairly	 rains	 upon	 you;	 the	 problem	 is	 what	 _not_ to	 use.	 In	 the
encyclopedia	 you	 turn	 to	 every	 reference	 that	 includes	 or	 touches	 or	 even
suggests	"thinking;"	and	in	the	dictionary	of	quotations	you	do	the	same.	The
latter	volume	you	find	peculiarly	helpful	because	it	suggests	several	volumes	to
you	that	are	on	your	own	shelves—you	never	would	have	thought	to	look	in
them	for	references	on	this	subject.	Even	fiction	will	supply	help,	but	especially
books	of	essays	and	biography.	Be	aware	of	your	own	resources.

To	 make	 a	 general	 index	 to	 your	 library	 does	 away	 with	 the	 necessity	 for
indexing	individual	volumes	that	are	not	already	indexed.

To	begin	with,	keep	a	note-book	by	you;	or	small	cards	and	paper	cuttings	in
your	 pocket	 and	 on	 your	 desk	 will	 serve	 as	 well.	 The	 same	 note-book	 that
records	the	impressions	of	your	own	experiences	and	thoughts	will	be	enriched
by	the	ideas	of	others.

To	be	sure,	this	note-book	habit	means	labor,	but	remember	that	more	speeches


have	been	spoiled	by	half-hearted	preparation	than	by	lack	of	talent.	Laziness	is
an	 own-brother	 to	 Over-confidence,	 and	 both	 are	 your	 inveterate	 enemies,
though	they	pretend	to	be	soothing	friends.

Conserve	your	material	by	indexing	every	good	idea	on	cards,	thus:

```
Socialism
Progress	of	S.,	Env.	16
S.	a	fallacy,	96/210
General	article	on	S.,	Howells',	Dec.	1913
"Socialism	and	the	Franchise,"	Forbes
"Socialism	in	Ancient	Life,"	Original	Ms.,
Env.	102
```
On	the	card	illustrated	above,	clippings	are	indexed	by	giving	the	number	of	the
envelope	in	which	they	are	filed.	The	envelopes	may	be	of	any	size	desired	and
kept	in	any	convenient	receptacle.	On	the	foregoing	example,	"Progress	of	S.,
Envelope	 16,"	 will	 represent	 a	 clipping,	 filed	 in	 Envelope	 16,	 which	 is,	 of
course,	numbered	arbitrarily.

The	fractions	refer	to	books	in	your	library—the	numerator	being	the	book-
number,	the	denominator	referring	to	the	page.	Thus,	"S.	a	fallacy,	96/210,"
refers	to	page	210	of	volume	96	in	your	library.	By	some	arbitrary	sign—say	red
ink—you	may	even	index	a	reference	in	a	public	library	book.

If	you	preserve	your	magazines,	important	articles	may	be	indexed	by	month	and
year.	An	entire	volume	on	a	subject	may	be	indicated	like	the	imaginary	book	by
"Forbes."	If	you	clip	the	articles,	it	is	better	to	index	them	according	to	the
envelope	system.

Your	own	writings	and	notes	may	be	filed	in	envelopes	with	the	clippings	or	in	a
separate	series.

Another	good	indexing	system	combines	the	library	index	with	the	"scrap,"	or
clipping,	system	by	making	the	outside	of	the	envelope	serve	the	same	purpose
as	the	card	for	the	indexing	of	books,	magazines,	clippings	and	manuscripts,	the
latter	two	classes	of	material	being	enclosed	in	the	envelopes	that	index	them,
and	all	filed	alphabetically.

When	your	cards	accumulate	so	as	to	make	ready	reference	difficult	under	a


single	 alphabet,	 you	 may	 subdivide	 each	 letter	 by	 subordinate	 guide	 cards
marked	by	the	vowels,	A,	E,	I,	O,	U.	Thus,	"Antiquities"	would	be	filed	under	 _i_
in	A,	because	A	begins	the	word,	and	the	second	letter,	 _n_ ,	comes	after	the	vowel	 _i_
in	the	alphabet,	but	before	 _o_ .	In	the	same	manner,	"Beecher"	would	be	filed
under	 _e_ 	in	B;	and	"Hydrogen"	would	come	under	 _u_ 	in	H.

_Outlining	the	Address_

No	one	can	advise	you	how	to	prepare	the	notes	for	an	address.	Some	speakers
get	the	best	results	while	walking	out	and	ruminating,	jotting	down	notes	as	they
pause	in	their	walk.	Others	never	put	pen	to	paper	until	the	whole	speech	has
been	thought	out.	The	great	majority,	however,	will	take	notes,	classify	their
notes,	write	a	hasty	first	draft,	and	then	revise	the	speech.	Try	each	of	these
methods	and	choose	the	one	that	is	best— _for	you_ .	Do	not	allow	any	man	to	force
you	to	work	in	 _his_ 	way;	but	do	not	neglect	to	consider	his	way,	for	it	may	be
better	than	your	own.

For	 those	 who	 make	 notes	 and	 with	 their	 aid	 write	 out	 the	 speech,	 these
suggestions	may	prove	helpful:

After	having	read	and	thought	enough,	classify	your	notes	by	setting	down	the
big,	central	thoughts	of	your	material	on	separate	cards	or	slips	of	paper.	These
will	stand	in	the	same	relation	to	your	subject	as	chapters	do	to	a	book.

Then	arrange	these	main	ideas	or	heads	in	such	an	order	that	they	will	lead
effectively	 to	 the	 result	 you	 have	 in	 mind,	 so	 that	 the	 speech	 may	 rise	 in
argument,	in	interest,	in	power,	by	piling	one	fact	or	appeal	upon	another	until
the	climax—the	highest	point	of	influence	on	your	audience—has	been	reached.

Next	group	all	your	ideas,	facts,	anecdotes,	and	illustrations	under	the	foregoing
main	heads,	each	where	it	naturally	belongs.

You	now	have	a	skeleton	or	outline	of	your	address	that	in	its	polished	form
might	serve	either	as	the	brief,	or	manuscript	notes,	for	the	speech	or	as	the
guide-outline	which	you	will	expand	into	the	written	address,	if	written	it	is	to
be.

Imagine	each	of	the	main	ideas	in	the	brief	on	page	213	as	being	separate;	then
picture	 your	 mind	 as	 sorting	 them	 out	 and	 placing	 them	 in	 order;	 finally,
conceive	of	how	you	would	fill	in	the	facts	and	examples	under	each	head,
giving	special	prominence	to	those	you	wish	to	emphasize	and	subduing	those	of


less	moment.	In	the	end,	you	have	the	outline	complete.	The	simplest	form	of
outline—not	very	suitable	for	use	on	the	platform,	however—is	the	following:

_WHY	PROSPERITY	IS	COMING_

What	prosperity	means.—The	real	tests	of	prosperity.—Its	basis	in	the	soil.—
American	agricultural	progress.—New	interest	in	farming.—Enormous	value	of
our	 agricultural	 products.—Reciprocal	 effect	 on	 trade.—Foreign	 countries
affected.—Effects	of	our	new	internal	economy—the	regulation	of	banking	and
"big	business"—on	prosperity.—Effects	of	our	revised	attitude	toward	foreign
markets,	including	our	merchant	marine.—Summary.

Obviously,	this	very	simple	outline	is	capable	of	considerable	expansion	under
each	head	by	the	addition	of	facts,	arguments,	inferences	and	examples.

Here	is	an	outline	arranged	with	more	regard	for	argument:


#### FOREIGN	IMMIGRATION	SHOULD	BE	RESTRICTED[11]

```
I.	FACT	AS	CAUSE:	Many	immigrants	are	practically	paupers.	(Proofs
involving	statistics	or	statements	of	authorities.)
```
```
II.	FACT	AS	EFFECT:	They	sooner	or	later	fill	our	alms-houses	and
become	public	charges.	(Proofs	involving	statistics	or	statements	of
authorities.)
```
```
III.	FACT	AS	 CAUSE:	 Some	 of	 them	 are	 criminals.	 (Examples	 of
recent	cases.)
```
```
IV.	FACT	AS	EFFECT:	They	reënforce	the	criminal	classes.	(Effects	on
our	civic	life.)
```
```
V.	FACT	AS	CAUSE:	Many	of	them	know	nothing	of	the	duties	of	free
citizenship.	(Examples.)
```
```
VI.FACT	AS	EFFECT:	Such	immigrants	recruit	the	worst	element	in
our	politics.	(Proofs.)
```
A	 more	 highly	 ordered	 grouping	 of	 topics	 and	 subtopics	 is	 shown	 in	 the
following:

```
OURS	A	CHRISTIAN	NATION
```
```
I.	INTRODUCTION:	 Why	 the	 subject	 is	 timely.	 Influences	 operative
against	this	contention	today.
```
```
II.	CHRISTIANITY	 PRESIDED	 OVER	THE	 EARLY	 HISTORY
OF	AMERICA.
```
1.	 First	 practical	 discovery	 by	 a	 Christian	 explorer.	 Columbus
worshiped	God	on	the	new	soil.
2.	The	Cavaliers.
3.	The	French	Catholic	settlers.
4.	The	Huguenots.
5.	The	Puritans.


#### III.	THE	BIRTH	OF	OUR	NATION	WAS	UNDER	CHRISTIAN	AUSPICES.

1.	Christian	character	of	Washington.
2.	Other	Christian	patriots.
3.	The	Church	in	our	Revolutionary	struggle.	Muhlenberg.

```
IV.	OUR	 LATER	 HISTORY	 HAS	 ONLY	 EMPHASIZED	 OUR
NATIONAL	ATTITUDE.	Examples	of	dealings	with	foreign	nations
show	 Christian	 magnanimity.	 Returning	 the	 Chinese	 Indemnity;
fostering	the	Red	Cross;	attitude	toward	Belgium.
```
```
V.	OUR	 GOVERNMENTAL	 FORMS	 AND	 MANY	 OF	 OUR
LAWS	ARE	OF	A	CHRISTIAN	TEMPER.
```
1.	The	use	of	the	Bible	in	public	ways,	oaths,	etc.
2.	The	Bible	in	our	schools.
3.	 Christian	 chaplains	 minister	 to	 our	 law-making	 bodies,	 to	 our
army,	and	to	our	navy.
4.	The	Christian	Sabbath	is	officially	and	generally	recognized.
5.	The	Christian	family	and	the	Christian	system	of	morality	are	at
the	basis	of	our	laws.

```
VI.	THE	LIFE	OF	THE	PEOPLE	TESTIFIES	OF	THE	POWER	OF
CHRISTIANITY.	Charities,	education,	etc.,	have	Christian	tone.
```
```
VII.	OTHER	NATIONS	REGARD	US	AS A	CHRISTIAN	PEOPLE.
```
```
VIII.	CONCLUSION:	The	attitude	which	may	reasonably	be	expected	of
all	good	citizens	toward	questions	touching	the	preservation	of	our
standing	as	a	Christian	nation.
```
_Writing	and	Revision_

After	the	outline	has	been	perfected	comes	the	time	to	write	the	speech,	if	write
it	you	must.	Then,	whatever	you	do,	write	it	at	white	heat,	with	not	 _too_ 	much
thought	of	anything	but	the	strong,	appealing	expression	of	your	ideas.

The	final	stage	is	the	paring	down,	the	re-vision—the	seeing	again,	as	the	word


implies—when	all	the	parts	of	the	speech	must	be	impartially	scrutinized	for
clearness,	precision,	force,	effectiveness,	suitability,	proportion,	logical	climax;
and	in	all	this	you	must	 _imagine	 yourself	 to	 be	 before	 your	 audience_ ,	 for	 a
speech	is	not	an	essay	and	what	will	convince	and	arouse	in	the	one	will	not
prevail	in	the	other.

_The	Title_

Often	last	of	all	will	come	that	which	in	a	sense	is	first	of	all—the	title,	the	name
by	which	the	speech	is	known.	Sometimes	it	will	be	the	simple	theme	of	the
address,	as	"The	New	Americanism,"	by	Henry	Watterson;	or	it	may	be	a	bit	of
symbolism	 typifying	 the	 spirit	 of	 the	 address,	 as	 "Acres	 of	 Diamonds,"	 by
Russell	H.	Conwell;	or	it	may	be	a	fine	phrase	taken	from	the	body	of	the
address,	as	"Pass	Prosperity	Around,"	by	Albert	J.	Beveridge.	All	in	all,	from
whatever	motive	it	be	chosen,	let	the	title	be	fresh,	short,	suited	to	the	subject,
and	likely	to	excite	interest.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	Define	( _a_ )	introduction;	( _b_ )	climax;	( _c_ )	peroration.
2.	If	a	thirty-minute	speech	would	require	three	hours	for	specific	preparation,
would	you	expect	to	be	able	to	do	equal	justice	to	a	speech	one-third	as	long	in
one-third	the	time	for	preparation?	Give	reasons.
3.	Relate	briefly	any	personal	experience	you	may	have	had	in	conserving	time
for	reading	and	thought.
4.	 In	 the	 manner	 of	 a	 reporter	 or	 investigator,	 go	 out	and	 get	 first-hand
information	on	some	subject	of	interest	to	the	public.	Arrange	the	results	of	your
research	in	the	form	of	an	outline,	or	brief.
5.	From	a	private	or	a	public	library	gather	enough	authoritative	material	on	one
of	the	following	questions	to	build	an	outline	for	a	twenty-minute	address.	Take
one	 definite	 side	 of	 the	 question,	 ( _a_ )	 "The	 Housing	 of	 the	 Poor;"	 ( _b_ )	 "The
Commission	Form	of	Government	for	Cities	as	a	Remedy	for	Political	Graft;"
( _c_ )	"The	Test	of	Woman's	Suffrage	in	the	West;"	( _d_ )	"Present	Trends	of	Public
Taste	 in	 Reading;"	 ( _e_ )	 "Municipal	 Art;"	 ( _f_ )	 "Is	 the	 Theatre	 Becoming	 more
Elevated	in	Tone?"	( _g_ )	"The	Effects	of	the	Magazine	on	Literature;"	( _h_ )	"Does
Modern	 Life	 Destroy	 Ideals?"	 ( _i_ )	 "Is	 Competition	 'the	 Life	 of	 Trade?'"	 ( _j_ )
"Baseball	is	too	Absorbing	to	be	a	Wholesome	National	Game;"	( _k_ )	"Summer


Baseball	and	Amateur	Standing;"	( _l_ )	"Does	College	Training	Unfit	a	Woman	for
Domestic	Life?"	( _m_ )	"Does	Woman's	Competition	with	Man	in	Business	Dull
the	 Spirit	 of	 Chivalry?"	 ( _n_ )	 "Are	 Elective	 Studies	 Suited	 to	 High	 School
Courses?"	 ( _o_ )	 "Does	 the	 Modern	 College	 Prepare	 Men	 for	 Preeminent
Leadership?"	( _p_ )	 "The	 Y.M.C.A.	 in	 Its	 Relation	 to	 the	 Labor	 Problem;"	 ( _q_ )
"Public	Speaking	as	Training	in	Citizenship."

6.	Construct	the	outline,	examining	it	carefully	for	interest,	convincing	character,
proportion,	and	climax	of	arrangement.

NOTE:—This	exercise	should	be	repeated	until	the	student	shows	facility	in
synthetic	arrangement.

7.	Deliver	the	address,	if	possible	before	an	audience.
8.	Make	a	three-hundred	word	report	on	the	results,	as	best	you	are	able	to
estimate	them.
9.	Tell	something	of	the	benefits	of	using	a	periodical	(or	cumulative)	index.
10.	Give	a	number	of	quotations,	suitable	for	a	speaker's	use,	that	you	have
memorized	in	off	moments.
11.	In	the	manner	of	the	outline	on	page	 213 ,	analyze	the	address	on	pages	78-
79 ,	"The	History	of	Liberty."
12.	Give	an	outline	analysis,	from	notes	or	memory,	of	an	address	or	sermon	to
which	you	have	listened	for	this	purpose.
13.	Criticise	the	address	from	a	structural	point	of	view.
14.	Invent	titles	for	any	five	of	the	themes	in	Exercise	5.
15.	Criticise	the	titles	of	any	five	chapters	of	this	book,	suggesting	better	ones.
16.	Criticise	the	title	of	any	lecture	or	address	of	which	you	know.

### FOOTNOTES:

```
[10] How	to	Attract	and	Hold	an	Audience ,	J.	Berg	Esenwein.
[11]	Adapted	from	 Competition-Rhetoric ,	Scott	and	Denny,	p.	241.
```

### CHAPTER	XIX

#### INFLUENCING	BY	EXPOSITION

```
Speak	not	at	all,	in	any	wise,	till	you	have	somewhat	to	speak;	care
not	for	the	reward	of	your	speaking,	but	simply	and	with	undivided
mind	for	the	truth	of	your	speaking.
```
```
—THOMAS	CARLYLE,	Essay	on	 Biography.
```
A	complete	discussion	of	the	rhetorical	structure	of	public	speeches	requires	a
fuller	treatise	than	can	be	undertaken	in	a	work	of	this	nature,	yet	in	this	chapter,
and	 in	 the	 succeeding	 ones	 on	 "Description,"	 "Narration,"	 "Argument,"	 and
"Pleading,"	the	underlying	principles	are	given	and	explained	as	fully	as	need	be
for	a	working	knowledge,	and	adequate	book	references	are	given	for	those	who
would	perfect	themselves	in	rhetorical	art.

_The	Nature	of	Exposition_

In	the	word	"expose"— _to	lay	bare,	to	uncover,	to	show	the	true	inwardness	of_ —
we	see	the	foundation-idea	of	"Exposition."	It	is	the	clear	and	precise	setting
forth	of	what	the	subject	really	is—it	is	explanation.

Exposition	does	not	draw	a	picture,	for	that	would	be	description.	To	tell	in	exact
terms	what	the	automobile	is,	to	name	its	characteristic	parts	and	explain	their
workings,	would	be	exposition;	so	would	an	explanation	of	the	nature	of	"fear."
But	to	create	a	mental	image	of	a	particular	automobile,	with	its	glistening	body,
graceful	lines,	and	great	speed,	would	be	description;	and	so	would	a	picturing
of	fear	acting	on	the	emotions	of	a	child	at	night.	Exposition	and	description
often	 intermingle	 and	 overlap,	 but	 fundamentally	 they	 are	 distinct.	 Their
differences	will	be	touched	upon	again	in	the	chapter	on	"Description."

Exposition	furthermore	does	not	include	an	account	of	how	events	happened—
that	is	narration.	When	Peary	lectured	on	his	polar	discoveries	he	explained	the
instruments	used	for	determining	latitude	and	longitude—that	was	exposition.	In
picturing	his	equipment	he	used	description.	In	telling	of	his	adventures	day	by
day	 he	 employed	 narration.	 In	 supporting	 some	 of	 his	 contentions	 he	 used
argument.	Yet	he	mingled	all	these	forms	throughout	the	lecture.


Neither	does	exposition	deal	with	reasons	and	inferences—that	is	the	field	of
argument.	A	series	of	connected	statements	intended	to	convince	a	prospective
buyer	that	one	automobile	is	better	than	another,	or	proofs	that	the	appeal	to	fear
is	a	wrong	method	of	discipline,	would	not	be	exposition.	The	plain	facts	as	set
forth	in	expository	speaking	or	writing	are	nearly	always	the	basis	of	argument,
yet	the	processes	are	not	one.	True,	the	statement	of	a	single	significant	fact
without	the	addition	 of	one	other	 word	may	be	 convincing,	but	a	 moment's
thought	will	show	that	the	inference,	which	completes	a	chain	of	reasoning,	is
made	in	the	mind	of	the	hearer	and	presupposes	other	facts	held	in	consideration.
[12]

In	like	manner,	it	is	obvious	that	the	field	of	persuasion	is	not	open	to	exposition,
for	exposition	is	entirely	an	intellectual	process,	with	no	emotional	element.

_The	Importance	of	Exposition_

The	importance	of	exposition	in	public	speech	is	precisely	the	importance	of
setting	forth	a	matter	so	plainly	that	it	cannot	be	misunderstood.

```
"To	master	the	process	of	exposition	is	to	become	a	clear	thinker.	'I
know,	when	you	do	not	ask	me,'[13]	replied	a	gentleman	upon	being
requested	to	define	a	highly	complex	idea.	Now	some	large	concepts
defy	explicit	definition;	but	no	mind	should	take	refuge	behind	such
exceptions,	 for	 where	 definition	 fails,	 other	 forms	 succeed.
Sometimes	we	feel	confident	that	we	have	perfect	mastery	of	an
idea,	but	when	the	time	comes	to	express	it,	the	clearness	becomes	a
haze.	Exposition,	then,	is	the	test	of	clear	understanding.	To	speak
effectively	 you	 must	 be	 able	 to	 see	 your	 subject	 clearly	 and
comprehensively,	and	to	make	your	audience	see	it	as	you	do."[14]
```
There	are	pitfalls	on	both	sides	of	this	path.	To	explain	too	little	will	leave	your
audience	in	doubt	as	to	what	you	mean.	It	is	useless	to	argue	a	question	if	it	is
not	perfectly	clear	just	what	is	meant	by	the	question.	Have	you	never	come	to	a
blind	lane	in	conversation	by	finding	that	you	were	talking	of	one	aspect	of	a
matter	while	your	friend	was	thinking	of	another?	If	two	do	not	agree	in	their
definitions	of	a	Musician,	it	is	useless	to	dispute	over	a	certain	man's	right	to
claim	the	title.

On	the	other	side	of	the	path	lies	the	abyss	of	tediously	explaining	too	much.
That	offends	because	it	impresses	the	hearers	that	you	either	do	not	respect	their
intelligence	or	are	trying	to	blow	a	breeze	into	a	tornado.	Carefully	estimate	the


probable	knowledge	of	your	audience,	both	in	general	and	of	the	particular	point
you	are	explaining.	In	trying	to	simplify,	it	is	fatal	to	"sillify."	To	explain	more
than	is	needed	for	the	purposes	of	your	argument	or	appeal	is	to	waste	energy	all
around.	In	your	efforts	to	be	explicit	do	not	press	exposition	to	the	extent	of
dulness—the	confines	are	not	far	distant	and	you	may	arrive	before	you	know	it.

_Some	Purposes	of	Exposition_

From	what	has	been	said	it	ought	to	be	clear	that,	primarily,	exposition	weaves	a
cord	of	understanding	between	you	and	your	audience.	It	lays,	furthermore,	a
foundation	of	fact	on	which	to	build	later	statements,	arguments,	and	appeals.	In
scientific	and	purely	"information"	speeches	exposition	may	exist	by	itself	and
for	itself,	as	in	a	lecture	on	biology,	or	on	psychology;	but	in	the	vast	majority	of
cases	 it	 is	 used	 to	 accompany	 and	 prepare	 the	 way	 for	 the	 other	 forms	 of
discourse.

Clearness,	precision,	accuracy,	unity,	truth,	and	necessity—these	must	be	the
_constant_ 	standards	by	which	you	test	the	efficiency	of	your	expositions,	and,
indeed,	that	of	every	explanatory	statement.	This	dictum	should	be	written	on
your	brain	in	letters	most	plain.	And	let	this	apply	not	alone	to	the	 _purposes_ 	of
exposition	but	in	equal	measure	to	your	use	of	the

_Methods	of	Exposition_

The	various	ways	along	which	a	speaker	may	proceed	in	exposition	are	likely	to
touch	each	other	now	and	then,	and	even	when	they	do	not	meet	and	actually
overlap	they	run	so	nearly	parallel	that	the	roads	are	sometimes	distinct	rather	in
theory	than	in	any	more	practical	respect.

**Definition** ,	the	primary	expository	method,	is	a	statement	of	precise	limits.[15]
Obviously,	here	the	greatest	care	must	be	exercised	that	the	terms	of	definition
should	not	themselves	demand	too	much	definition;	that	the	language	should	be
concise	and	clear;	and	that	the	definition	should	neither	exclude	nor	include	too
much.	The	following	is	a	simple	example:

```
To	 expound	 is	 to	 set	 forth	 the	 nature,	 the	 significance,	 the
characteristics,	and	the	bearing	of	an	idea	or	a	group	of	ideas.
```
```
—ARLO	BATES,	 Talks	on	Writing	English.
```
**Contrast	and	Antithesis** 	are	often	used	effectively	to	amplify	definition,	as	in
this	sentence,	which	immediately	follows	the	above-cited	definition:


```
Exposition	therefore	differs	from	Description	in	that	it	deals	directly
with	 the	 meaning	 or	 intent	 of	 its	 subject	 instead	 of	 with	 its
appearance.
```
This	antithesis	forms	an	expansion	of	the	definition,	and	as	such	it	might	have
been	still	further	extended.	In	fact,	this	is	a	frequent	practise	in	public	speech,
where	the	minds	of	the	hearers	often	ask	for	reiteration	and	expanded	statement
to	help	them	grasp	a	subject	in	its	several	aspects.	This	is	the	very	heart	of
exposition—to	amplify	and	clarify	all	the	terms	by	which	a	matter	is	defined.

**Example** 	is	another	method	of	amplifying	a	definition	or	of	expounding	an	idea
more	fully.	The	following	sentences	immediately	succeed	Mr.	Bates's	definition
and	contrast	just	quoted:

```
A	good	deal	which	we	are	accustomed	inexactly	to	call	description	is
really	exposition.	Suppose	that	your	small	boy	wishes	to	know	how
an	engine	works,	and	should	say:	"Please	describe	the	steam-engine
to	me."	If	you	insist	on	taking	his	words	literally—and	are	willing	to
run	the	risk	of	his	indignation	at	being	wilfully	misunderstood—you
will	 to	 the	 best	 of	 your	 ability	 picture	 to	 him	 this	 familiarly
wonderful	machine.	If	you	explain	it	to	him,	you	are	not	describing
but	expounding	it.
```
The	chief	value	of	example	is	that	it	makes	clear	the	unknown	by	referring	the
mind	to	the	known.	Readiness	of	mind	to	make	illuminating,	apt	comparisons	for
the	sake	of	clearness	is	one	of	the	speaker's	chief	resources	on	the	platform—it	is
the	 greatest	 of	 all	 teaching	 gifts.	 It	 is	 a	 gift,	 moreover,	 that	 responds	 to
cultivation.	Read	the	three	extracts	from	Arlo	Bates	as	their	author	delivered
them,	as	one	passage,	and	see	how	they	melt	into	one,	each	part	supplementing
the	other	most	helpfully.

**Analogy** ,	which	calls	attention	to	similar	relationships	in	objects	not	otherwise
similar,	is	one	of	the	most	useful	methods	of	exposition.	The	following	striking
specimen	is	from	Beecher's	Liverpool	speech:

```
A	savage	is	a	man	of	one	story,	and	that	one	story	a	cellar.	When	a
man	 begins	 to	 be	 civilized	 he	 raises	 another	 story.	 When	 you
christianize	and	civilize	the	man,	you	put	story	upon	story,	for	you
develop	faculty	after	faculty;	and	you	have	to	supply	every	story
with	your	productions.
```

**Discarding** is	 a	 less	 common	 form	 of	 platform	 explanation.	 It	 consists	 in
clearing	away	associated	ideas	so	that	the	attention	may	be	centered	on	the	main
thought	to	be	discussed.	Really,	it	is	a	negative	factor	in	exposition	though	a
most	important	one,	for	it	is	fundamental	to	the	consideration	of	an	intricately
related	matter	that	subordinate	and	side	questions	should	be	set	aside	in	order	to
bring	out	the	main	issue.	Here	is	an	example	of	the	method:

```
I	cannot	allow	myself	to	be	led	aside	from	the	only	issue	before	this
jury.	It	is	not	pertinent	to	consider	that	this	prisoner	is	the	husband	of
a	heartbroken	woman	and	that	his	babes	will	go	through	the	world
under	the	shadow	of	the	law's	extremest	penalty	worked	upon	their
father.	We	must	forget	the	venerable	father	and	the	mother	whom
Heaven	in	pity	took	before	she	learned	of	her	son's	disgrace.	What
have	these	matters	of	heart,	what	have	the	blenched	faces	of	his
friends,	what	have	the	prisoner's	long	and	honorable	career	to	say
before	 this	 bar	 when	 you	 are	 sworn	 to	 weigh	 only	 the	 direct
evidence	before	you?	The	one	and	only	question	for	you	to	decide
on	 the	 evidence	 is	 whether	 this	 man	 did	 with	 revengeful	 intent
commit	the	murder	that	every	impartial	witness	has	solemnly	laid	at
his	door.
```
**Classification** 	assigns	a	subject	to	its	class.	By	an	allowable	extension	of	the
definition	 it	 may	 be	 said	 to	 assign	 it	 also	 to	 its	 order,	 genus,	 and	 species.
Classification	 is	 useful	 in	 public	 speech	 in	 narrowing	 the	 issue	 to	 a	 desired
phase.	It	is	equally	valuable	for	showing	a	thing	in	its	relation	to	other	things,	or
in	correlation.	Classification	is	closely	akin	to	Definition	and	Division.

```
This	question	of	the	liquor	traffic,	sirs,	takes	its	place	beside	the
grave	 moral	 issues	 of	 all	 times.	 Whatever	 be	 its	 economic
significance—and	 who	 is	 there	 to	 question	 it—whatever	 vital
bearing	it	has	upon	our	political	system—and	is	there	one	who	will
deny	it?—the	question	of	the	licensed	saloon	must	quickly	be	settled
as	 the	 world	 in	 its	 advancement	 has	 settled	 the	 questions	 of
constitutional	government	for	the	masses,	of	the	opium	traffic,	of	the
serf,	 and	 of	 the	 slave—not	 as	 matters	 of	 economic	 and	 political
expediency	but	as	questions	of	right	and	wrong.
```
**Analysis** 	separates	a	subject	into	its	essential	parts.	This	it	may	do	by	various
principles;	for	example,	analysis	may	follow	the	order	of	time	(geologic	eras),
order	 of	 place	 (geographic	 facts),	 logical	 order	 (a	 sermon	 outline),	 order	 of


increasing	interest,	or	procession	to	a	climax	(a	lecture	on	20th	century	poets);
and	so	on.	A	classic	example	of	analytical	exposition	is	the	following:

```
In	philosophy	the	contemplations	of	man	do	either	penetrate	unto
God,	or	are	circumferred	to	nature,	or	are	reflected	or	reverted	upon
himself.	 Out	 of	 which	 several	 inquiries	 there	 do	 arise	 three
knowledges:	 divine	 philosophy,	 natural	 philosophy,	 and	 human
philosophy	or	humanity.	For	all	things	are	marked	and	stamped	with
this	triple	character,	of	the	power	of	God,	the	difference	of	nature,
and	the	use	of	man.
```
```
—LORD	BACON,	 The	Advancement	of	Learning .[16]
```
**Division** 	differs	only	from	analysis	in	that	analysis	follows	the	inherent	divisions
of	a	subject,	as	illustrated	in	the	foregoing	passage,	while	division	arbitrarily
separates	the	subject	for	convenience	of	treatment,	as	in	the	following	none-too-
logical	example:

```
For	civil	history,	it	is	of	three	kinds;	not	unfitly	to	be	compared	with
the	three	kinds	of	pictures	or	images.	For	of	pictures	or	images,	we
see	some	are	unfinished,	some	are	perfect,	and	some	are	defaced.	So
of	histories	we	may	find	three	kinds,	memorials,	perfect	histories,
and	antiquities;	for	memorials	are	history	unfinished,	or	the	first	or
rough	drafts	of	history;	and	antiquities	are	history	defaced,	or	some
remnants	of	history	which	have	casually	escaped	the	shipwreck	of
time.
```
```
—LORD	BACON,	 The	Advancement	of	Learning .[16A]
```
**Generalization** states	 a	 broad	 principle,	 or	 a	 general	 truth,	 derived	 from
examination	 of	 a	 considerable	 number	 of	 individual	 facts.	 This	 synthetic
exposition	is	not	the	same	as	argumentative	generalization,	which	supports	a
general	contention	by	citing	instances	in	proof.	Observe	how	Holmes	begins
with	one	fact,	and	by	adding	another	and	another	reaches	a	complete	whole.	This
is	one	of	the	most	effective	devices	in	the	public	speaker's	repertory.

```
Take	a	hollow	cylinder,	the	bottom	closed	while	the	top	remains
open,	and	pour	in	water	to	the	height	of	a	few	inches.	Next	cover	the
water	 with	 a	 flat	 plate	 or	 piston,	 which	 fits	 the	 interior	 of	 the
cylinder	perfectly;	then	apply	heat	to	the	water,	and	we	shall	witness
the	following	phenomena.	After	the	lapse	of	some	minutes	the	water
```

```
will	begin	to	boil,	and	the	steam	accumulating	at	the	upper	surface
will	 make	 room	 for	 itself	 by	 raising	 the	 piston	 slightly.	 As	 the
boiling	continues,	more	and	more	steam	will	be	formed,	and	raise
the	piston	higher	and	higher,	till	all	the	water	is	boiled	away,	and
nothing	 but	 steam	 is	 left	 in	 the	 cylinder.	 Now	 this	 machine,
consisting	of	cylinder,	piston,	water,	and	fire,	is	the	steam-engine	in
its	most	elementary	form.	For	a	steam-engine	may	be	defined	as	an
apparatus	for	doing	work	by	means	of	heat	applied	to	water;	and
since	raising	such	a	weight	as	the	piston	is	a	form	of	doing	work,
this	apparatus,	clumsy	and	inconvenient	though	it	may	be,	answers
the	definition	precisely.[17]
```
**Reference	to	Experience** 	is	one	of	the	most	vital	principles	in	exposition—as	in
every	other	form	of	discourse.

"Reference	 to	 experience,	 as	 here	 used,	 means	 reference	 to	 the	 known.	 The
known	is	that	which	the	listener	has	seen,	heard,	read,	felt,	believed	or	done,	and
which	still	exists	in	his	consciousness—his	stock	of	knowledge.	It	embraces	all
those	thoughts,	feelings	and	happenings	which	are	to	him	real.	Reference	to
Experience,	then,	means	 _coming	into	the	listener's	life_ .[18]

```
The	 vast	 results	 obtained	 by	 science	 are	 won	 by	 no	 mystical
faculties,	 by	 no	 mental	 processes,	 other	 than	 those	 which	 are
practised	by	every	one	of	us	in	the	humblest	and	meanest	affairs	of
life.	A	detective	policeman	discovers	a	burglar	from	the	marks	made
by	his	shoe,	by	a	mental	process	identical	with	that	by	which	Cuvier
restored	the	extinct	animals	of	Montmartre	from	fragments	of	their
bones.	Nor	does	that	process	of	induction	and	deduction	by	which	a
lady,	finding	a	stain	of	a	particular	kind	upon	her	dress,	concludes
that	somebody	has	upset	the	inkstand	thereon,	differ	in	any	way
from	that	by	which	Adams	and	Leverrier	discovered	a	new	planet.
The	man	of	science,	in	fact,	simply	uses	with	scrupulous	exactness
the	 methods	 which	 we	 all	 habitually,	 and	 at	 every	 moment,	 use
carelessly.
```
```
—THOMAS	HENRY	HUXLEY,	 Lay	Sermons.
```
```
Do	you	set	down	your	name	in	the	scroll	of	youth,	that	are	written
down	old	with	all	the	characters	of	age?	Have	you	not	a	moist	eye?	a
dry	 hand?	 a	 yellow	 cheek?	 a	 white	 beard?	 a	 decreasing	 leg?	 an
```

```
increasing	belly?	is	not	your	voice	broken?	your	wind	short?	your
chin	double?	your	wit	single?	and	every	part	about	you	blasted	with
antiquity?	and	will	you	yet	call	yourself	young?	Fie,	fie,	fie,	Sir
John!
```
```
—SHAKESPEARE,	 The	Merry	Wives	of	Windsor.
```
Finally,	in	preparing	expository	material	ask	yourself	these	questions	regarding
your	subject:

What	is	it,	and	what	is	it	not?
What	is	it	like,	and	unlike?
What	are	its	causes,	and	effects?
How	shall	it	be	divided?
With	what	subjects	is	it	correlated?
What	experiences	does	it	recall?
What	examples	illustrate	it?

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	What	would	be	the	effect	of	adhering	to	any	one	of	the	forms	of	discourse	in	a
public	address?
2.	Have	you	ever	heard	such	an	address?
3.	Invent	a	series	of	examples	illustrative	of	the	distinctions	made	on	pages	 232
and	 233.
4.	Make	a	list	of	ten	subjects	that	might	be	treated	largely,	if	not	entirely,	by
exposition.
5.	Name	the	six	standards	by	which	expository	writing	should	be	tried.
6.	Define	any	one	of	the	following:	( _a_ )	storage	battery;	( _b_ )	"a	free	hand;"	( _c_ )	sail
boat;	( _d_ )	"The	Big	Stick;"	( _e_ )	nonsense;	( _f_ )	"a	good	sport;"	( _g_ )	short-story;	( _h_ )
novel;	( _i_ )	newspaper;	( _j_ )	politician;	( _k_ )	jealousy;	( _l_ )	truth;	( _m_ )	matinée	girl;	( _n_ )
college	honor	system;	( _o_ )	modish;	( _p_ )	slum;	( _q_ )	settlement	work;	( _r_ )	forensic.
7.	Amplify	the	definition	by	antithesis.
8.	Invent	two	examples	to	illustrate	the	definition	(question	6).


9.	Invent	two	analogies	for	the	same	subject	(question	6).
10.	Make	a	short	speech	based	on	one	of	the	following:	( _a_ )	wages	and	salary;	( _b_ )
master	 and	 man;	 ( _c_ )	 war	 and	 peace;	 ( _d_ )	 home	 and	 the	 boarding	 house;	 ( _e_ )
struggle	and	victory;	( _f_ )	ignorance	and	ambition.
11.	Make	a	ten-minute	speech	on	any	of	the	topics	named	in	question	6,	using	all
the	methods	of	exposition	already	named.
12.	Explain	what	is	meant	by	discarding	topics	collateral	and	subordinate	to	a
subject.
13.	Rewrite	the	jury-speech	on	page	 224.
14.	Define	correlation.
15.	Write	an	example	of	"classification,"	on	any	political,	social,	economic,	or
moral	issue	of	the	day.
16.	Make	a	brief	analytical	statement	of	Henry	W.	Grady's	"The	Race	Problem,"
page	 36.
17.	By	what	analytical	principle	did	you	proceed?	(See	page	 225 .)
18.	Write	a	short,	carefully	generalized	speech	from	a	large	amount	of	data	on
one	of	the	following	subjects:	( _a_ )	The	servant	girl	problem;	( _b_ )	cats;	( _c_ )	the
baseball	craze;	( _d_ )	reform	administrations;	( _e_ )	sewing	societies;	( _f_ )	coeducation;
( _g_ )	the	traveling	salesman.
19.	Observe	this	passage	from	Newton's	"Effective	Speaking:"

```
"That	 man	 is	 a	 cynic.	 He	 sees	 goodness	 nowhere.	 He	 sneers	 at
virtue,	sneers	at	love;	to	him	the	maiden	plighting	her	troth	is	an
artful	schemer,	and	he	sees	even	in	the	mother's	kiss	nothing	but	an
empty	conventionality."
```
Write,	commit	and	deliver	two	similar	passages	based	on	your	choice	from	this
list:	( _a_ )	"the	egotist;"	( _b_ )	"the	sensualist;"	( _c_ )	"the	hypocrite;"	( _d_ )	"the	timid
man;"	 ( _e_ )	 "the	 joker;"	 ( _f_ )	 "the	 flirt;"	 ( _g_ )	 "the	 ungrateful	 woman;"	 ( _h_ )	 "the
mournful	man."	In	both	cases	use	the	principle	of	"Reference	to	Experience."

20.	Write	a	passage	on	any	of	the	foregoing	characters	in	imitation	of	the	style	of
Shakespeare's	characterization	of	Sir	John	Falstaff,	page	 227.


### FOOTNOTES:

```
[12]	Argumentation	will	be	outlined	fully	in	subsequent	chapter.
[13] The	Working	Principles	of	Rhetoric ,	J.F.	Genung.
[14] How	to	Attract	and	Hold	an	Audience ,	J.	Berg	Esenwein.
[15]	On	the	various	types	of	definition	see	any	college	manual	of	Rhetoric.
[16]	Quoted	in	 The	Working	Principles	of	Rhetoric ,	J.F.	Genung.
[16A]	Quoted	in	 The	Working	Principles	of	Rhetoric ,	J.F.	Genung.
[17]	G.C.V.	Holmes,	quoted	in	 Specimens	of	Exposition ,	H.	Lamont.
[18] Effective	Speaking ,	Arthur	Edward	Phillips.	This	work	covers	the	preparation	of
public	speech	in	a	very	helpful	way.
```
### CHAPTER	XX

#### INFLUENCING	BY	DESCRIPTION

```
The	groves	of	Eden	vanish'd	now	so	long,
Live	in	description,	and	look	green	in	song.
```
```
—ALEXANDER	POPE,	 Windsor	Forest.
```
```
The	moment	our	discourse	rises	above	the	ground-line	of	familiar
facts,	and	is	inflamed	with	passion	or	exalted	thought,	it	clothes
itself	 in	 images.	 A	 man	 conversing	 in	 earnest,	 if	 he	 watch	 his
intellectual	processes,	will	find	that	always	a	material	image,	more
or	less	luminous,	arises	in	his	mind,	contemporaneous	with	every
thought,	 which	 furnishes	 the	 vestment	 of	 the	 thought....	 This
imagery	is	spontaneous.	It	is	the	blending	of	experience	with	the
present	action	of	the	mind.	It	is	proper	creation.—RALPH	WALDO
EMERSON,	 Nature.
```
Like	other	valuable	resources	in	public	speaking,	description	loses	its	power
when	carried	to	an	extreme.	Over-ornamentation	makes	the	subject	ridiculous.	A
dust-cloth	is	a	very	useful	thing,	but	why	embroider	it?	Whether	description


shall	be	restrained	within	its	proper	and	important	limits,	or	be	encouraged	to	run
riot,	is	the	personal	choice	that	comes	before	every	speaker,	for	man's	earliest
literary	tendency	is	to	depict.

_The	Nature	of	Description_

To	describe	is	to	call	up	a	picture	in	the	mind	of	the	hearer.	"In	talking	of
description	we	naturally	speak	of	portraying,	delineating,	coloring,	and	all	the
devices	of	the	picture	painter.	To	describe	is	to	visualize,	hence	we	must	look	at
description	as	a	pictorial	process,	whether	the	writer	deals	with	material	or	with
spiritual	objects."[19]

If	you	were	asked	to	describe	the	rapid-fire	gun	you	might	go	about	it	in	either	of
two	ways:	give	a	cold	technical	account	of	its	mechanism,	in	whole	and	in	detail,
or	else	describe	it	as	a	terrible	engine	of	slaughter,	dwelling	upon	its	effects
rather	than	upon	its	structure.

The	 former	 of	 these	 processes	 is	 exposition,	 the	 latter	 is	 true	 description.
Exposition	deals	more	with	the	 _general_ ,	while	description	must	deal	with	the
_particular_ .	Exposition	elucidates	 _ideas_ ,	description	treats	of	 _things_ .	Exposition
deals	with	the	 _abstract_ ,	description	with	the	 _concrete_ .	Exposition	is	concerned
with	 the	 _internal_ ,	 description	 with	 the	 _external_ .	 Exposition	 is	 _enumerative_ ,
description	 _literary_ .	Exposition	is	 _intellectual_ ,	description	 _sensory_ .	Exposition	is
_impersonal_ ,	description	 _personal_.

If	description	is	a	visualizing	process	for	the	hearer,	it	is	first	of	all	such	for	the
speaker—he	cannot	describe	what	he	has	never	seen,	either	physically	or	in
fancy.	It	is	this	personal	quality—this	question	of	the	personal	eye	which	sees
the	things	later	to	be	described—that	makes	description	so	interesting	in	public
speech.	Given	a	speaker	of	personality,	and	we	are	interested	in	his	personal
view—his	view	adds	to	the	natural	interest	of	the	scene,	and	may	even	be	the
sole	source	of	that	interest	to	his	auditors.

The	 seeing	 eye	 has	 been	 praised	 in	 an	 earlier	 chapter	 (on	 "Subject	 and
Preparation")	 and	 the	 imagination	 will	 be	 treated	 in	 a	 subsequent	 one	 (on
"Riding	the	Winged	Horse"),	but	here	we	must	consider	the	 _picturing	mind_ :	the
mind	that	forms	the	double	habit	of	seeing	things	clearly—for	we	see	more	with
the	mind	than	we	do	with	the	physical	eye—and	then	of	re-imaging	these	things
for	the	purpose	of	getting	them	before	the	minds'	eyes	of	the	hearers.	No	habit	is
more	useful	than	that	of	visualizing	clearly	the	object,	the	scene,	the	situation,
the	action,	the	person,	about	to	be	described.	Unless	that	primary	process	is


carried	out	clearly,	the	picture	will	be	blurred	for	the	hearer-beholder.

In	 a	 work	 of	 this	 nature	 we	 are	 concerned	 with	 the	 rhetorical	 analysis	 of
description,	and	with	its	methods,	only	so	far	as	may	be	needed	for	the	practical
purposes	 of	 the	 speaker.[20]	 The	 following	 grouping,	 therefore,	 will	 not	 be
regarded	as	complete,	nor	will	it	here	be	necessary	to	add	more	than	a	word	of
explanation:

```
Description	for	Public	Speakers
```
```
Objects {	Still
Objects {	In	motion
Scenes {	Still
Scenes {	Including	action
Situations {	Preceding	change
Situations {	During	change
Situations {	After	change
Actions {	Mental
Actions {Physical
Persons {	Internal
Persons {	External
```
Some	of	the	foregoing	processes	will	overlap,	in	certain	instances,	and	all	are
more	likely	to	be	found	in	combination	than	singly.

When	 description	 is	 intended	 solely	 to	 give	 accurate	 information—as	 to
delineate	the	appearance,	not	the	technical	construction,	of	the	latest	Zeppelin
airship—it	is	called	"scientific	description,"	and	is	akin	to	exposition.	When	it	is
intended	to	present	a	free	picture	for	the	purpose	of	making	a	vivid	impression,	it
is	called	"artistic	description."	With	both	of	these	the	public	speaker	has	to	deal,
but	 more	 frequently	 with	 the	 latter	 form.	 Rhetoricians	 make	 still	 further
distinctions.

_Methods	of	Description_

In	public	speaking,	 _description	should	be	mainly	by	suggestion_ ,	not	only	because
suggestive	description	is	so	much	more	compact	and	time-saving	but	because	it
is	so	vivid.	Suggestive	expressions	connote	more	than	they	literally	say—they
suggest	ideas	and	pictures	to	the	mind	of	the	hearer	which	supplement	the	direct


words	of	the	speaker.	When	Dickens,	in	his	"Christmas	Carol,"	says:	"In	came
Mrs.	Fezziwig,	one	vast	substantial	smile,"	our	minds	complete	the	picture	so
deftly	begun—a	much	more	effective	process	than	that	of	a	minutely	detailed
description	because	it	leaves	a	unified,	vivid	impression,	and	that	is	what	we
need.	Here	is	a	present-day	bit	of	suggestion:	"General	Trinkle	was	a	gnarly	oak
of	a	man—rough,	solid,	and	safe;	you	always	knew	where	to	find	him."	Dickens
presents	Miss	Peecher	as:	"A	little	pin-cushion,	a	little	housewife,	a	little	book,	a
little	 work-box,	a	 little	 set	 of	 tables	 and	 weights	 and	 measures,	 and	 a	 little
woman	 all	 in	 one."	 In	 his	 "Knickerbocker's"	 "History	 of	 New	 York,"	 Irving
portrays	Wouter	van	Twiller	as	"a	robustious	beer-barrel,	standing	on	skids."

Whatever	 forms	 of	 description	 you	 neglect,	 be	 sure	 to	 master	 the	 art	 of
suggestion.

_Description	may	be	by	simple	hint._ 	Lowell	notes	a	happy	instance	of	this	sort	of
picturing	 by	 intimation	 when	 he	 says	 of	 Chaucer:	 "Sometimes	 he	 describes
amply	by	the	merest	hint,	as	where	the	Friar,	before	setting	himself	down,	drives
away	the	cat.	We	know	without	need	of	more	words	that	he	has	chosen	the
snuggest	corner."

_Description	 may	 depict	 a	 thing	 by	 its	 effects._ "When	 the	 spectator's	 eye	 is
dazzled,	and	he	shades	it,"	says	Mozley	in	his	"Essays,"	"we	form	the	idea	of	a
splendid	object;	when	his	face	turns	pale,	of	a	horrible	one;	from	his	quick
wonder	and	admiration	we	form	the	idea	of	great	beauty;	from	his	silent	awe,	of
great	majesty."

_Brief	 description	 may	 be	 by	 epithet._ "Blue-eyed,"	 "white-armed,"	 "laughter-
loving,"	are	now	conventional	compounds,	but	they	were	fresh	enough	when
Homer	first	conjoined	them.	The	centuries	have	not	yet	improved	upon	"Wheels
round,	 brazen,	 eight-spoked,"	 or	 "Shields	 smooth,	 beautiful,	 brazen,	 well-
hammered."	Observe	the	effective	use	of	epithet	in	Will	Levington	Comfort's
"The	Fighting	Death,"	when	he	speaks	of	soldiers	in	a	Philippine	skirmish	as
being	"leeched	against	a	rock."

_Description	 uses	 figures	 of	 speech._ 	Any	advanced	 rhetoric	will	discuss	 their
forms	and	give	examples	for	guidance.[21]	This	matter	is	most	important,	be
assured.	A	brilliant	yet	carefully	restrained	figurative	style,	a	style	marked	by
brief,	 pungent,	 witty,	 and	 humorous	 comparisons	 and	 characterizations,	 is	 a
wonderful	resource	for	all	kinds	of	platform	work.

_Description	may	be	direct._ 	This	statement	is	plain	enough	without	exposition.


Use	your	own	judgment	as	to	whether	in	picturing	you	had	better	proceed	from	a
general	view	to	the	details,	or	first	give	the	details	and	thus	build	up	the	general
picture,	but	by	all	means	BE	BRIEF.

Note	 the	 vivid	 compactness	 of	 these	 delineations	 from	 Washington	 Irving's
"Knickerbocker:"

```
He	was	a	short,	square,	brawny	old	gentleman,	with	a	double	chin,	a
mastiff	mouth,	and	a	broad	copper	nose,	which	was	supposed	in
those	 days	 to	 have	 acquired	 its	 fiery	 hue	 from	 the	 constant
neighborhood	of	his	tobacco	pipe.
```
```
He	was	exactly	five	feet	six	inches	in	height,	and	six	feet	five	inches
in	 circumference.	 His	 head	 was	 a	 perfect	 sphere,	 and	 of	 such
stupendous	 dimensions,	 that	 Dame	 Nature,	 with	 all	 her	 sex's
ingenuity,	would	have	been	puzzled	to	construct	a	neck	capable	of
supporting	it;	wherefore	she	wisely	declined	the	attempt,	and	settled
it	firmly	on	the	top	of	his	backbone,	just	between	the	shoulders.	His
body	was	of	an	oblong	form,	particularly	capacious	at	bottom;	which
was	wisely	ordered	by	Providence,	seeing	that	he	was	a	man	of
sedentary	habits,	and	very	averse	to	the	idle	labor	of	walking.
```
The	foregoing	is	too	long	for	the	platform,	but	it	is	so	good-humored,	so	full	of
delightful	exaggeration,	that	it	may	well	serve	as	a	model	of	humorous	character
picturing,	for	here	one	inevitably	sees	the	inner	man	in	the	outer.

Direct	description	for	platform	use	may	be	made	vivid	by	the	 _sparing_ 	use	of	the
"historical	present."	The	following	dramatic	passage,	accompanied	by	the	most
lively	action,	has	lingered	in	the	mind	for	thirty	years	after	hearing	Dr.	T.	De
Witt	Talmage	lecture	on	"Big	Blunders."	The	crack	of	the	bat	sounds	clear	even
today:

```
Get	ready	the	bats	and	take	your	positions.	Now,	give	us	the	ball.
Too	low.	Don't	strike.	Too	high.	Don't	strike.	There	it	comes	like
lightning.	 Strike!	 Away	 it	 soars!	 Higher!	 Higher!	 Run!	 Another
base!	Faster!	Faster!	Good!	All	around	at	one	stroke!
```
Observe	 the	 remarkable	 way	 in	 which	 the	 lecturer	 fused	 speaker,	 audience,
spectators,	and	players	into	one	excited,	ecstatic	whole—just	as	you	have	found
yourself	starting	forward	in	your	seat	at	the	delivery	of	the	ball	with	"three	on
and	two	down"	in	the	ninth	inning.	Notice,	too,	how—perhaps	unconsciously—


Talmage	painted	the	scene	in	Homer's	characteristic	style:	not	as	having	already
happened,	but	as	happening	before	your	eyes.

If	you	have	attended	many	travel	talks	you	must	have	been	impressed	by	the
painful	extremes	to	which	the	lecturers	go—with	a	few	notable	exceptions,	their
language	is	either	over-ornate	or	crude.	If	you	would	learn	the	power	of	words	to
make	scenery,	yes,	even	houses,	palpitate	with	poetry	and	human	appeal,	read
Lafcadio	Hearn,	Robert	Louis	Stevenson,	Pierre	Loti,	and	Edmondo	De	Amicis.


```
Blue-distant,	a	mountain	of	carven	stone	appeared	before	them,—the
Temple,	 lifting	 to	 heaven	 its	 wilderness	 of	 chiseled	 pinnacles,
flinging	to	the	sky	the	golden	spray	of	its	decoration.
```
```
—LAFCADIO	HEARN,	 Chinese	Ghosts.
```
```
The	stars	were	clear,	colored,	and	jewel-like,	but	not	frosty.	A	faint
silvery	vapour	stood	for	the	Milky	Way.	All	around	me	the	black	fir-
points	stood	upright	and	stock-still.	By	the	whiteness	of	the	pack-
saddle	I	could	see	Modestine	walking	round	and	round	at	the	length
of	her	tether;	I	could	hear	her	steadily	munching	at	the	sward;	but
there	was	not	another	sound	save	the	indescribable	quiet	talk	of	the
runnel	over	the	stones.
```
```
—ROBERT	LOUIS	STEVENSON,	 Travels	with	a	Donkey.
```
```
It	was	full	autumn	now,	late	autumn—with	the	nightfalls	gloomy,
and	all	things	growing	dark	early	in	the	old	cottage,	and	all	the
Breton	land	looking	sombre,	too.	The	very	days	seemed	but	twilight;
immeasurable	 clouds,	 slowly	 passing,	 would	 suddenly	 bring
darkness	at	broad	noon.	The	wind	moaned	constantly—it	was	like
the	 sound	 of	 a	 great	 cathedral	 organ	 at	 a	 distance,	 but	 playing
profane	airs,	or	despairing	dirges;	at	other	times	it	would	come	close
to	the	door,	and	lift	up	a	howl	like	wild	beasts.—PIERRE	LOTI,	 An
Iceland	Fisherman.
```
```
I	see	the	great	refectory,[22]	where	a	battalion	might	have	drilled;	I
see	the	long	tables,	the	five	hundred	heads	bent	above	the	plates,	the
rapid	motion	of	five	hundred	forks,	of	a	thousand	hands,	and	sixteen
thousand	teeth;	the	swarm	of	servants	running	here	and	there,	called
to,	 scolded,	 hurried,	 on	 every	 side	 at	 once;	 I	 hear	 the	 clatter	 of
dishes,	the	deafening	noise,	the	voices	choked	with	food	crying	out:
"Bread—bread!"	and	I	feel	once	more	the	formidable	appetite,	the
herculean	strength	of	jaw,	the	exuberant	life	and	spirits	of	those	far-
off	days.[23]
```
```
—EDMONDO	DE	AMICIS,	 College	Friends.
```
_Suggestions	for	the	Use	of	Description_

Decide,	on	beginning	a	description,	what	point	of	view	you	wish	your	hearers	to


take.	One	cannot	see	either	a	mountain	or	a	man	on	all	sides	at	once.	Establish	a
view-point,	and	do	not	shift	without	giving	notice.

Choose	 an	 attitude	 toward	 your	 subject—shall	 it	 be	 idealized?	 caricatured?
ridiculed?	exaggerated?	defended?	or	described	impartially?

Be	 sure	 of	 your	 mood,	 too,	 for	 it	 will	 color	 the	 subject	 to	 be	 described.
Melancholy	will	make	a	rose-garden	look	gray.

Adopt	an	order	in	which	you	will	proceed—do	not	shift	backward	and	forward
from	near	to	far,	remote	to	close	in	time,	general	to	particular,	large	to	small,
important	to	unimportant,	concrete	to	abstract,	physical	to	mental;	but	follow
your	chosen	order.	Scattered	and	shifting	observations	produce	hazy	impressions
just	as	a	moving	camera	spoils	the	time-exposure.

Do	not	go	into	needless	minutiæ.	Some	details	identify	a	thing	with	its	class,
while	other	details	differentiate	it	from	its	class.	Choose	only	the	significant,
suggestive	 characteristics	 and	 bring	 those	 out	 with	 terse	 vividness.	 Learn	 a
lesson	from	the	few	strokes	used	by	the	poster	artist.

In	determining	what	to	describe	and	what	merely	to	name,	seek	to	read	the
knowledge	of	your	audience.	The	difference	to	them	between	the	unknown	and
the	known	is	a	vital	one	also	to	you.

Relentlessly	cut	out	all	ideas	and	words	not	necessary	to	produce	the	effect	you
desire.	Each	element	in	a	mental	picture	either	helps	or	hinders.	Be	sure	they	do
not	hinder,	for	they	cannot	be	passively	present	in	any	discourse.

Interruptions	of	the	description	to	make	side-remarks	are	as	powerful	to	destroy
unity	as	are	scattered	descriptive	phrases.	The	only	visual	impression	that	can	be
effective	is	one	that	is	unified.

In	describing,	try	to	call	up	the	emotions	you	felt	when	first	you	saw	the	scene,
and	 then	 try	 to	 reproduce	 those	 emotions	 in	 your	 hearers.	 Description	 is
primarily	emotional	in	its	appeal;	nothing	can	be	more	deadly	dull	than	a	cold,
unemotional	outline,	while	nothing	leaves	a	warmer	impression	than	a	glowing,
spirited	description.

Give	a	swift	and	vivid	general	view	at	the	close	of	the	portrayal.	First	and	final
impressions	 remain	 the	 longest.	 The	 mind	 may	 be	 trained	 to	 take	 in	 the
characteristic	 points	 of	 a	 subject,	 so	 as	 to	 view	 in	 a	 single	 scene,	 action,
experience,	or	character,	a	unified	impression	of	the	whole.	To	describe	a	thing


as	 a	 whole	 you	 must	 first	 see	 it	 as	 a	 whole.	 Master	 that	 art	 and	 you	 have
mastered	description	to	the	last	degree.

SELECTIONS	FOR	PRACTISE

```
THE	HOMES	OF	THE	PEOPLE
```
```
I	went	to	Washington	the	other	day,	and	I	stood	on	the	Capitol	Hill;
my	 heart	 beat	 quick	 as	 I	 looked	 at	 the	 towering	 marble	 of	 my
country's	Capitol	and	the	mist	gathered	in	my	eyes	as	I	thought	of	its
tremendous	significance,	and	the	armies	and	the	treasury,	and	the
judges	and	the	President,	and	the	Congress	and	the	courts,	and	all
that	was	gathered	there.	And	I	felt	that	the	sun	in	all	its	course	could
not	look	down	on	a	better	sight	than	that	majestic	home	of	a	republic
that	had	taught	the	world	its	best	lessons	of	liberty.	And	I	felt	that	if
honor	and	wisdom	and	justice	abided	therein,	the	world	would	at	last
owe	to	that	great	house	in	which	the	ark	of	the	covenant	of	my
country	is	lodged,	its	final	uplifting	and	its	regeneration.
```
```
Two	days	afterward,	I	went	to	visit	a	friend	in	the	country,	a	modest
man,	with	a	quiet	country	home.	It	was	just	a	simple,	unpretentious
house,	set	about	with	big	trees,	encircled	in	meadow	and	field	rich
with	the	promise	of	harvest.	The	fragrance	of	the	pink	and	hollyhock
in	the	front	yard	was	mingled	with	the	aroma	of	the	orchard	and	of
the	gardens,	and	resonant	with	the	cluck	of	poultry	and	the	hum	of
bees.
```
```
Inside	was	quiet,	cleanliness,	thrift,	and	comfort.	There	was	the	old
clock	that	had	welcomed,	in	steady	measure,	every	newcomer	to	the
family,	that	had	ticked	the	solemn	requiem	of	the	dead,	and	had	kept
company	with	the	watcher	at	the	bedside.	There	were	the	big,	restful
beds	and	the	old,	open	fireplace,	and	the	old	family	Bible,	thumbed
with	the	fingers	of	hands	long	since	still,	and	wet	with	the	tears	of
eyes	long	since	closed,	holding	the	simple	annals	of	the	family	and
the	heart	and	the	conscience	of	the	home.
```
```
Outside,	there	stood	my	friend,	the	master,	a	simple,	upright	man,
with	no	mortgage	on	his	roof,	no	lien	on	his	growing	crops,	master
of	his	land	and	master	of	himself.	There	was	his	old	father,	an	aged,
trembling	man,	but	happy	in	the	heart	and	home	of	his	son.	And	as
they	started	to	their	home,	the	hands	of	the	old	man	went	down	on
```

the	young	man's	shoulder,	laying	there	the	unspeakable	blessing	of
the	honored	and	grateful	father	and	ennobling	it	with	the	knighthood
of	the	fifth	commandment.

And	as	they	reached	the	door	the	old	mother	came	with	the	sunset
falling	fair	on	her	face,	and	lighting	up	her	deep,	patient	eyes,	while
her	 lips,	 trembling	 with	 the	 rich	 music	 of	 her	 heart,	 bade	 her
husband	and	son	welcome	to	their	home.	Beyond	was	the	housewife,
busy	with	her	household	cares,	clean	of	heart	and	conscience,	the
buckler	 and	 helpmeet	 of	 her	 husband.	 Down	 the	 lane	 came	 the
children,	trooping	home	after	the	cows,	seeking	as	truant	birds	do
the	quiet	of	their	home	nest.

And	I	saw	the	night	come	down	on	that	house,	falling	gently	as	the
wings	of	the	unseen	dove.	And	the	old	man—while	a	startled	bird
called	from	the	forest,	and	the	trees	were	shrill	with	the	cricket's	cry,
and	the	stars	were	swarming	in	the	sky—got	the	family	around	him,
and,	taking	the	old	Bible	from	the	table,	called	them	to	their	knees,
the	little	baby	hiding	in	the	folds	of	its	mother's	dress,	while	he
closed	 the	 record	 of	 that	 simple	 day	 by	 calling	 down	 God's
benediction	on	that	family	and	that	home.	And	while	I	gazed,	the
vision	of	that	marble	Capitol	faded.	Forgotten	were	its	treasures	and
its	majesty	and	I	said,	"Oh,	surely	here	in	the	homes	of	the	people
are	 lodged	 at	 last	 the	 strength	 and	 the	 responsibility	 of	 this
government,	the	hope	and	the	promise	of	this	republic."—HENRY	W.
GRADY.

_SUGGESTIVE	SCENES_

One	thing	in	life	calls	for	another;	there	is	a	fitness	in	events	and
places.	The	sight	of	a	pleasant	arbor	puts	it	in	our	mind	to	sit	there.
One	place	suggests	work,	another	idleness,	a	third	early	rising	and
long	rambles	in	the	dew.	The	effect	of	night,	of	any	flowing	water,
of	lighted	cities,	of	the	peep	of	day,	of	ships,	of	the	open	ocean,	calls
up	 in	 the	 mind	 an	 army	 of	 anonymous	 desires	 and	 pleasures.
Something,	 we	 feel,	 should	 happen;	 we	 know	 not	 what,	 yet	 we
proceed	in	quest	of	it.	And	many	of	the	happiest	hours	in	life	fleet	by
us	in	this	vain	attendance	on	the	genius	of	the	place	and	moment.	It
is	thus	that	tracts	of	young	fir,	and	low	rocks	that	reach	into	deep
soundings,	particularly	delight	and	torture	me.	Something	must	have


happened	in	such	places,	and	perhaps	ages	back,	to	members	of	my
race;	and	when	I	was	a	child	I	tried	to	invent	appropriate	games	for
them,	as	I	still	try,	just	as	vainly,	to	fit	them	with	the	proper	story.
Some	places	speak	distinctly.	Certain	dank	gardens	cry	aloud	for	a
murder;	certain	old	houses	demand	to	be	haunted;	certain	coasts	are
set	 aside	 for	 shipwreck.	 Other	 spots	 again	 seem	 to	 abide	 their
destiny,	suggestive	and	impenetrable,	"miching	mallecho."	The	inn
at	 Burford	 Bridge,	 with	 its	 arbours	 and	 green	 garden	 and	 silent,
eddying	river—though	it	is	known	already	as	the	place	where	Keats
wrote	some	of	his	 _Endymion_ 	and	Nelson	parted	from	his	Emma—
still	seems	to	wait	the	coming	of	the	appropriate	legend.	Within
these	 ivied	 walls,	 behind	 these	 old	 green	 shutters,	 some	 further
business	smoulders,	waiting	for	its	hour.	The	old	Hawes	Inn	at	the
Queen's	ferry	makes	a	similar	call	upon	my	fancy.	There	it	stands,
apart	from	the	town,	beside	the	pier,	in	a	climate	of	its	own,	half
inland,	half	marine—in	front,	the	ferry	bubbling	with	the	tide	and
the	guard-ship	swinging	to	her	anchor;	behind,	the	old	garden	with
the	trees.	 Americans	 seek	 it	 already	 for	 the	 sake	 of	 Lovel	 and
Oldbuck,	who	dined	there	at	the	beginning	of	the	 _Antiquary_ .	But	you
need	not	tell	me—that	is	not	all;	there	is	some	story,	unrecorded	or
not	yet	complete,	which	must	express	the	meaning	of	that	inn	more
fully....	I	have	lived	both	at	the	Hawes	and	Burford	in	a	perpetual
flutter,	on	the	heel,	as	it	seemed,	of	some	adventure	that	should
justify	the	place;	but	though	the	feeling	had	me	to	bed	at	night	and
called	me	again	at	morning	in	one	unbroken	round	of	pleasure	and
suspense,	nothing	befell	me	in	either	worth	remark.	The	man	or	the
hour	had	not	yet	come;	but	some	day,	I	think,	a	boat	shall	put	off
from	the	Queen's	ferry,	fraught	with	a	dear	cargo,	and	some	frosty
night	a	horseman,	on	a	tragic	errand,	rattle	with	his	whip	upon	the
green	shutters	at	the	inn	at	Burford.

```
—R.L.	STEVENSON,	 A	Gossip	on	Romance.
```
_FROM	"MIDNIGHT	IN	LONDON"_

Clang!	Clang!	Clang!	the	fire-bells!	Bing!	Bing!	Bing!	the	alarm!	In
an	instant	quiet	turns	to	uproar—an	outburst	of	noise,	excitement,
clamor—bedlam	broke	loose;	Bing!	Bing!	Bing!	Rattle,	clash	and
clatter.	 Open	 fly	 the	 doors;	 brave	 men	 mount	 their	 boxes.	 Bing!
Bing!	Bing!	They're	off!	The	horses	tear	down	the	street	like	mad.


Bing!	Bing!	Bing!	goes	the	gong!

"Get	 out	 of	 the	 track!	 The	 engines	 are	 coming!	 For	 God's	 sake,
snatch	that	child	from	the	road!"

On,	 on,	 wildly,	 resolutely,	 madly	 fly	 the	 steeds.	 Bing!	 Bing!	 the
gong.	Away	dash	the	horses	on	the	wings	of	fevered	fury.	On	whirls
the	machine,	down	streets,	around	corners,	up	this	avenue	and	across
that	one,	out	into	the	very	bowels	of	darkness,	whiffing,	wheezing,
shooting	a	million	sparks	from	the	stack,	paving	the	path	of	startled
night	with	a	galaxy	of	stars.	Over	the	house-tops	to	the	north,	a
volcanic	burst	of	flame	shoots	out,	belching	with	blinding	effect.
The	sky	is	ablaze.	A	tenement	house	is	burning.	Five	hundred	souls
are	in	peril.	Merciful	Heaven!	Spare	the	victims!	Are	the	engines
coming?	 Yes,	 here	 they	 are,	 dashing	 down	 the	 street.	 Look!	 the
horses	ride	upon	the	wind;	eyes	bulging	like	balls	of	fire;	nostrils
wide	open.	A	palpitating	billow	of	fire,	rolling,	plunging,	bounding
rising,	falling,	swelling,	heaving,	and	with	mad	passion	bursting	its
red-hot	sides	asunder,	reaching	out	its	arms,	encircling,	squeezing,
grabbing	up,	swallowing	everything	before	it	with	the	hot,	greedy
mouth	of	an	appalling	monster.

How	the	horses	dash	around	the	corner!	Animal	instinct	say	you?
Aye,	more.	Brute	reason.

"Up	the	ladders,	men!"

The	towering	building	is	buried	in	bloated	banks	of	savage,	biting
elements.	Forked	tongues	dart	out	and	in,	dodge	here	and	there,	up
and	 down,	 and	 wind	 their	 cutting	 edges	 around	 every	 object.	 A
crash,	a	dull,	explosive	sound,	and	a	puff	of	smoke	leaps	out.	At	the
highest	point	upon	the	roof	stands	a	dark	figure	in	a	desperate	strait,
the	hands	making	frantic	gestures,	the	arms	swinging	wildly—and
then	 the	 body	 shoots	 off	 into	 frightful	 space,	 plunging	 upon	 the
pavement	with	a	revolting	thud.	The	man's	arm	strikes	a	bystander
as	 he	 darts	 down.	 The	 crowd	 shudders,	 sways,	 and	 utters	 a	 low
murmur	of	pity	and	horror.	The	faint-hearted	lookers-on	hide	their
faces.	One	woman	swoons	away.

"Poor	fellow!	Dead!"	exclaims	a	laborer,	as	he	looks	upon	the	man's
body.


"Aye,	Joe,	and	I	knew	him	well,	too!	He	lived	next	door	to	me,	five
flights	 back.	 He	 leaves	 a	 widowed	 mother	 and	 two	 wee	 bits	 of
orphans.	I	helped	him	bury	his	wife	a	fortnight	ago.	Ah,	Joe!	but	it's
hard	lines	for	the	orphans."

A	ghastly	hour	moves	on,	dragging	its	regiment	of	panic	in	its	trail
and	leaving	crimson	blotches	of	cruelty	along	the	path	of	night.

"Are	they	all	out,	firemen?"

"Aye,	aye,	sir!"

"No,	they're	not!	There's	a	woman	in	the	top	window	holding	a	child
in	 her	 arms—over	 yonder	 in	 the	 right-hand	 corner!	 The	 ladders,
there!	A	hundred	pounds	to	the	man	who	makes	the	rescue!"

A	dozen	start.	One	man	more	supple	than	the	others,	and	reckless	in
his	bravery,	clambers	to	the	top	rung	of	the	ladder.

"Too	short!"	he	cries.	"Hoist	another!"

Up	 it	 goes.	 He	 mounts	 to	 the	 window,	 fastens	 the	 rope,	 lashes
mother	and	babe,	swings	them	off	into	ugly	emptiness,	and	lets	them
down	to	be	rescued	by	his	comrades.

"Bravo,	fireman!"	shouts	the	crowd.

A	crash	breaks	through	the	uproar	of	crackling	timbers.

"Look	alive,	up	there!	Great	God!	The	roof	has	fallen!"

The	 walls	 sway,	 rock,	 and	 tumble	 in	 with	 a	 deafening	 roar.	 The
spectators	cease	to	breathe.	The	cold	truth	reveals	itself.	The	fireman
has	been	carried	into	the	seething	furnace.	An	old	woman,	bent	with
the	weight	of	age,	rushes	through	the	fire	line,	shrieking,	raving,	and
wringing	her	hands	and	opening	her	heart	of	grief.

"Poor	John!	He	was	all	I	had!	And	a	brave	lad	he	was,	too!	But	he's
gone	now.	He	lost	his	own	life	in	savin'	two	more,	and	now—now
he's	there,	away	in	there!"	she	repeats,	pointing	to	the	cruel	oven.

The	 engines	 do	 their	 work.	 The	 flames	 die	 out.	 An	 eerie	 gloom
hangs	over	the	ruins	like	a	formidable,	blackened	pall.


```
And	the	noon	of	night	is	passed.—ARDENNES	JONES-FOSTER.
```
QUESTIONS	AND	ANSWERS

1.	Write	two	paragraphs	on	one	of	these:	the	race	horse,	the	motor	boat,	golfing,
tennis;	let	the	first	be	pure	exposition	and	the	second	pure	description.
2.	 Select	 your	 own	 theme	 and	 do	 the	 same	 in	 two	 short	 extemporaneous
speeches.
3.	Deliver	a	short	original	address	in	the	over-ornamented	style.
4.	( _a_ )	Point	out	its	defects;	( _b_ )	recast	it	in	a	more	effective	style;	( _c_ )	show	how
the	one	surpasses	the	other.
5.	Make	a	list	of	ten	subjects	which	lend	themselves	to	description	in	the	style
you	prefer.
6.	Deliver	a	two-minute	speech	on	any	one	of	them,	using	chiefly,	but	not	solely,
description.
7.	For	one	minute,	look	at	any	object,	scene,	action,	picture,	or	person	 you
choose,	take	two	minutes	to	arrange	your	thoughts,	and	then	deliver	a	short
description—all	without	making	written	notes.
8.	In	what	sense	is	description	more	 _personal_ 	than	exposition?
9.	Explain	the	difference	between	a	scientific	and	an	artistic	description.
10.	In	the	style	of	Dickens	and	Irving	(pages	 234 ,	 235 ),	write	five	 separate
sentences	describing	five	characters	by	means	of	suggestion—one	sentence	to
each.
11.	Describe	a	character	by	means	of	a	hint,	after	the	manner	of	Chaucer	(p.
235 ).
12.	Read	aloud	the	following	with	special	attention	to	gesture:

```
His	very	throat	was	moral.	You	saw	a	good	deal	of	it.	You	looked
over	a	very	low	fence	of	white	cravat	(whereof	no	man	had	ever
beheld	the	tie,	for	he	fastened	it	behind),	and	there	it	lay,	a	valley
between	two	jutting	heights	of	collar,	serene	and	whiskerless	before
you.	It	seemed	to	say,	on	the	part	of	Mr.	Pecksniff,	"There	is	no
deception,	ladies	and	gentlemen,	all	is	peace,	a	holy	calm	pervades
```

```
me."	So	did	his	hair,	just	grizzled	with	an	iron	gray,	which	was	all
brushed	off	his	forehead,	and	stood	bolt	upright,	or	slightly	drooped
in	kindred	action	with	his	heavy	eyelids.	So	did	his	person,	which
was	sleek	though	free	from	corpulency.	So	did	his	manner,	which
was	soft	and	oily.	In	a	word,	even	his	plain	black	suit,	and	state	of
widower,	 and	 dangling	 double	 eye-glass,	 all	 tended	 to	 the	 same
purpose,	and	cried	aloud,	"Behold	the	moral	Pecksniff!"
```
```
—CHARLES	DICKENS,	 Martin	Chuzzlewit.
```
13.	Which	of	the	following	do	you	prefer,	and	why?

```
She	was	a	blooming	lass	of	fresh	eighteen,	plump	as	a	partridge,	ripe
and	 melting	 and	 rosy-cheeked	 as	 one	 of	 her	 father's	 peaches.
—IRVING.
```
```
She	was	a	splendidly	feminine	girl,	as	wholesome	as	a	November
pippin,	and	no	more	mysterious	than	a	window-pane.
```
```
—O.	HENRY.
```
```
Small,	 shining,	 neat,	 methodical,	 and	 buxom	 was	 Miss	 Peecher;
cherry-cheeked	and	tuneful	of	voice.—DICKENS.
```
14.	Invent	five	epithets,	and	apply	them	as	you	choose	(p.	 235 ).
15.	( _a_ )	Make	a	list	of	five	figures	of	speech;	( _b_ )	define	them;	( _c_ )	give	an	example
—preferably	original—under	each.
16.	Pick	out	the	figures	of	speech	in	the	address	by	Grady,	on	page	240.
17.	Invent	an	original	figure	to	take	the	place	of	any	one	in	Grady's	speech.
18.	What	sort	of	figures	do	you	find	in	the	selection	from	Stevenson,	on	page
242?
19.	What	methods	of	description	does	he	seem	to	prefer?
20.	Write	and	deliver,	without	notes	and	with	descriptive	gestures,	a	description
in	imitation	of	any	of	the	authors	quoted	in	this	chapter.
21.	Reëxamine	one	of	your	past	speeches	and	improve	the	descriptive	work.
Report	on	what	faults	you	found	to	exist.


22.	Deliver	an	extemporaneous	speech	describing	any	dramatic	scene	in	the	style
of	"Midnight	in	London."
23.	Describe	an	event	in	your	favorite	sport	in	the	style	of	Dr.	Talmage.	Be
careful	to	make	the	delivery	effective.
24.	Criticise,	favorably	or	unfavorably,	the	descriptions	of	any	travel	talk	you
may	have	heard	recently.
25.	Deliver	a	brief	original	travel	talk,	as	though	you	were	showing	pictures.
26.	Recast	the	talk	and	deliver	it	"without	pictures."

### FOOTNOTES:

```
[19] Writing	the	Short-Story ,	J.	Berg	Esenwein.
[20]	For	fuller	treatment	of	Description	see	Genung's	 Working	Principles	of	Rhetoric ,
Albright's	 Descriptive	 Writing ,	 Bates'	 Talks	 on	 Writing	 English ,	 first	 and	 second
series,	and	any	advanced	rhetoric.
[21]	See	also	 The	Art	of	Versification ,	J.	Berg	Esenwein	and	Mary	Eleanor	Roberts,
pp.	28-35;	and	 Writing	the	Short-Story ,	J.	Berg	Esenwein,	pp.	152-162;	231-240.
[22]	In	the	Military	College	of	Modena.
[23]	This	figure	of	speech	is	known	as	"Vision."
```
### CHAPTER	XXI

#### INFLUENCING	BY	NARRATION

```
The	art	of	narration	is	the	art	of	writing	in	hooks	and	eyes.	The
principle	 consists	 in	 making	 the	 appropriate	 thought	 follow	 the
appropriate	thought,	the	proper	fact	the	proper	fact;	in	first	preparing
the	mind	for	what	is	to	come,	and	then	letting	it	come.—WALTER
BAGEHOT,	 Literary	Studies.
```
```
Our	very	speech	is	curiously	historical.	Most	men,	you	may	observe,
speak	 only	 to	 narrate;	 not	 in	 imparting	 what	 they	 have	 thought,
```

```
which	indeed	were	often	a	very	small	matter,	but	in	exhibiting	what
they	have	undergone	or	seen,	which	is	a	quite	unlimited	one,	do
talkers	dilate.	Cut	us	off	from	Narrative,	how	would	the	stream	of
conversation,	 even	 among	 the	 wisest,	 languish	 into	 detached
handfuls,	and	among	the	foolish	utterly	evaporate!	Thus,	as	we	do
nothing	 but	 enact	 History,	 we	 say	 little	 but	 recite	 it.—THOMAS
CARLYLE,	 On	History.
```
Only	a	small	segment	of	the	great	field	of	narration	offers	its	resources	to	the
public	 speaker,	 and	 that	 includes	 the	 anecdote,	 biographical	 facts,	 and	 the
narration	of	events	in	general.

Narration—more	easily	defined	than	mastered—is	the	recital	of	an	incident,	or	a
group	of	facts	and	occurrences,	in	such	a	manner	as	to	produce	a	desired	effect.

The	laws	of	narration	are	few,	but	its	successful	practise	involves	more	of	art
than	would	at	first	appear—so	much,	indeed,	that	we	cannot	even	touch	upon	its
technique	 here,	 but	 must	 content	 ourselves	 with	 an	 examination	 of	 a	 few
examples	of	narration	as	used	in	public	speech.

In	a	preliminary	way,	notice	how	radically	the	public	speaker's	use	of	narrative
differs	 from	 that	 of	 the	 story-writer	 in	 the	 more	 limited	 scope,	 absence	 of
extended	 dialogue	 and	 character	 drawing,	 and	 freedom	 from	 elaboration	 of
detail,	which	characterize	platform	narrative.	On	the	other	hand,	there	are	several
similarities	of	method:	the	frequent	combination	of	narration	with	exposition,
description,	argumentation,	and	pleading;	the	care	exercised	in	the	arrangement
of	material	so	as	to	produce	a	strong	effect	at	the	close	(climax);	the	very	general
practise	of	concealing	the	"point"	(dénouement)	of	a	story	until	the	effective
moment;	and	the	careful	suppression	of	needless,	and	therefore	hurtful,	details.

So	we	see	that,	whether	for	magazine	or	platform,	the	art	of	narration	involves
far	more	than	the	recital	of	annals;	the	succession	of	events	recorded	requires	a
_plan_ 	in	order	to	bring	them	out	with	real	effect.

It	will	be	noticed,	too,	that	the	literary	style	in	platform	narration	is	likely	to	be
either	 less	 polished	 and	 more	 vigorously	 dramatic	 than	 in	 that	 intended	 for
publication,	 or	 else	 more	 fervid	 and	 elevated	 in	 tone.	 In	 this	 latter	 respect,
however,	the	best	platform	speaking	of	today	differs	from	the	models	of	the
preceding	generation,	wherein	a	highly	dignified,	and	sometimes	pompous,	style
was	thought	the	only	fitting	dress	for	a	public	deliverance.	Great,	noble	and
stirring	as	these	older	masters	were	in	their	lofty	and	impassioned	eloquence,	we


are	sometimes	oppressed	when	we	read	their	sounding	periods	for	any	great
length	of	time—even	 allowing	for	all	 that	we	lose	 by	missing	the	 speaker's
presence,	voice,	and	fire.	So	let	us	model	our	platform	narration,	as	our	other
forms	of	speech,	upon	the	effective	addresses	of	the	moderns,	without	lessening
our	admiration	for	the	older	school.

_The	Anecdote_

An	anecdote	is	a	short	narrative	of	a	single	event,	told	as	being	striking	enough
to	bring	out	a	point.	The	keener	the	point,	the	more	condensed	the	form,	and	the
more	suddenly	the	application	strikes	the	hearer,	the	better	the	story.

To	regard	an	anecdote	as	an	illustration—an	interpretive	picture—will	help	to
hold	us	to	its	true	purpose,	for	a	purposeless	story	is	of	all	offenses	on	the
platform	 the	 most	 asinine.	 A	 perfectly	 capital	 joke	 will	 fall	 flat	 when	 it	 is
dragged	in	by	the	nape	without	evident	bearing	on	the	subject	under	discussion.
On	the	other	hand,	an	apposite	anecdote	has	saved	many	a	speech	from	failure.

"There	is	no	finer	opportunity	for	the	display	of	tact	than	in	the	introduction	of
witty	or	humorous	stories	into	a	discourse.	Wit	is	keen	and	like	a	rapier,	piercing
deeply,	 sometimes	 even	 to	 the	 heart.	 Humor	 is	 good-natured,	 and	 does	 not
wound.	Wit	is	founded	upon	the	sudden	discovery	of	an	unsuspected	relation
existing	between	two	ideas.	Humor	deals	with	things	out	of	relation—with	the
incongruous.	It	was	wit	in	Douglass	Jerrold	to	retort	upon	the	scowl	of	a	stranger
whose	shoulder	he	had	familiarly	slapped,	mistaking	him	for	a	friend:	'I	beg	your
pardon,	 I	 thought	 I	 knew	 you—but	 I'm	 glad	 I	 don't.'	 It	 was	 humor	 in	 the
Southern	orator,	John	Wise,	to	liken	the	pleasure	of	spending	an	evening	with	a
Puritan	girl	to	that	of	sitting	on	a	block	of	ice	in	winter,	cracking	hailstones
between	his	teeth."[24]

The	foregoing	quotation	has	been	introduced	chiefly	to	illustrate	the	first	and
simplest	form	of	anecdote—the	single	sentence	embodying	a	pungent	saying.

Another	 simple	 form	 is	 that	 which	 conveys	 its	 meaning	 without	 need	 of
"application,"	as	the	old	preachers	used	to	say.	George	Ade	has	quoted	this	one
as	the	best	joke	he	ever	heard:

```
Two	solemn-looking	gentlemen	were	riding	together	in	a	railway
carriage.	One	gentleman	said	to	the	other:	"Is	your	wife	entertaining
this	summer?"	Whereupon	the	other	gentleman	replied:	"Not	very."
```

Other	anecdotes	need	harnessing	to	the	particular	truth	the	speaker	wishes	to
carry	along	in	his	talk.	Sometimes	the	application	is	made	before	the	story	is	told
and	the	audience	is	prepared	to	make	the	comparison,	point	by	point,	as	the
illustration	is	told.	Henry	W.	Grady	used	this	method	in	one	of	the	anecdotes	he
told	while	delivering	his	great	extemporaneous	address,	"The	New	South."

```
Age	does	not	endow	all	things	with	strength	and	virtue,	nor	are	all
new	things	to	be	despised.	The	shoemaker	who	put	over	his	door,
"John	Smith's	shop,	founded	1760,"	was	more	than	matched	by	his
young	rival	across	the	street	who	hung	out	this	sign:	"Bill	Jones.
Established	1886.	No	old	stock	kept	in	this	shop."
```
In	two	anecdotes,	told	also	in	"The	New	South,"	Mr.	Grady	illustrated	another
way	of	enforcing	the	application:	in	both	instances	he	split	the	idea	he	wished	to
drive	home,	bringing	in	part	before	and	part	after	the	recital	of	the	story.	The	fact
that	the	speaker	misquoted	the	words	of	Genesis	in	which	the	Ark	is	described
did	not	seem	to	detract	from	the	burlesque	humor	of	the	story.

```
I	 bespeak	 the	 utmost	 stretch	 of	 your	 courtesy	 tonight.	 I	 am	 not
troubled	about	those	from	whom	I	come.	You	remember	the	man
whose	wife	sent	him	to	a	neighbor	with	a	pitcher	of	milk,	who,
tripping	on	the	top	step,	fell,	with	such	casual	interruptions	as	the
landings	afforded,	into	the	basement,	and,	while	picking	himself	up,
had	the	pleasure	of	hearing	his	wife	call	out:
```
```
"John,	did	you	break	the	pitcher?
```
```
"No,	I	didn't,"	said	John,	"but	I	be	dinged	if	I	don't."
```
```
So,	while	those	who	call	to	me	from	behind	may	inspire	me	with
energy,	if	not	with	courage,	I	ask	an	indulgent	hearing	from	you.	I
beg	 that	 you	 will	 bring	 your	 full	 faith	 in	 American	 fairness	 and
frankness	 to	 judgment	 upon	 what	 I	 shall	 say.	 There	 was	 an	 old
preacher	once	who	told	some	boys	of	the	Bible	lesson	he	was	going
to	read	in	the	morning.	The	boys,	finding	the	place,	glued	together
the	connecting	pages.	The	next	morning	he	read	on	the	bottom	of
one	page:	"When	Noah	was	one	hundred	and	twenty	years	old	he
took	unto	himself	a	wife,	who	was"—then	turning	the	page—"one
hundred	and	forty	cubits	long,	forty	cubits	wide,	built	of	gopher
wood,	 and	 covered	 with	 pitch	 inside	 and	 out."	 He	 was	 naturally
puzzled	at	this.	He	read	it	again,	verified	it,	and	then	said,	"My
```

```
friends,	this	is	the	first	time	I	ever	met	this	in	the	Bible,	but	I	accept
it	 as	 an	 evidence	 of	 the	 assertion	 that	 we	 are	 fearfully	 and
wonderfully	made."	If	I	could	get	you	to	hold	such	faith	to-night,	I
could	proceed	cheerfully	to	the	task	I	otherwise	approach	with	a
sense	of	consecration.
```
Now	 and	 then	 a	 speaker	 will	 plunge	 without	 introduction	 into	 an	 anecdote,
leaving	the	application	to	follow.	The	following	illustrates	this	method:

```
A	large,	slew-footed	darky	was	leaning	against	the	corner	of	the
railroad	 station	 in	 a	 Texas	 town	 when	 the	 noon	 whistle	 in	 the
canning	factory	blew	and	the	hands	hurried	out,	bearing	their	grub
buckets.	 The	 darky	 listened,	 with	 his	 head	 on	 one	 side	 until	 the
rocketing	echo	had	quite	died	away.	Then	he	heaved	a	deep	sigh	and
remarked	to	himself:
```
```
"Dar	she	go.	Dinner	time	for	some	folks—but	jes'	12	o'clock	fur
me!"
```
```
That	is	the	situation	in	thousands	of	American	factories,	large	and
small,	today.	And	why?	etc.,	etc.
```
Doubtless	the	most	frequent	platform	use	of	the	anecdote	is	in	the	pulpit.	The
sermon	"illustration,"	however,	is	not	always	strictly	narrative	in	form,	but	tends
to	extended	comparison,	as	the	following	from	Dr.	Alexander	Maclaren:

```
Men	will	stand	as	Indian	fakirs	do,	with	their	arms	above	their	heads
until	they	stiffen	there.	They	will	perch	themselves	upon	pillars	like
Simeon	Stylites,	for	years,	till	the	birds	build	their	nests	in	their	hair.
They	 will	 measure	 all	 the	 distance	 from	 Cape	 Comorin	 to
Juggernaut's	temple	with	their	bodies	along	the	dusty	road.	They
will	wear	hair	shirts	and	scourge	themselves.	They	will	fast	and
deny	themselves.	They	will	build	cathedrals	and	endow	churches.
They	will	do	as	many	of	you	do,	labor	by	fits	and	starts	all	thru	your
lives	at	the	endless	task	of	making	yourselves	ready	for	heaven,	and
winning	it	by	obedience	and	by	righteousness.	They	will	do	all	these
things	 and	 do	 them	 gladly,	 rather	 than	 listen	 to	 the	 humbling
message	that	says,	"You	do	not	need	to	do	anything—wash."	Is	it
your	washing,	or	the	water,	that	will	clean	you?	Wash	and	be	clean!
Naaman's	cleaning	was	only	a	test	of	his	obedience,	and	a	token	that
it	 was	 God	 who	 cleansed	 him.	 There	 was	 no	 power	 in	 Jordan's
```

```
waters	to	take	away	the	taint	of	leprosy.	Our	cleansing	is	in	that
blood	of	Jesus	Christ	that	has	the	power	to	take	away	all	sin,	and	to
make	the	foulest	amongst	us	pure	and	clean.
```
One	final	word	must	be	said	about	the	introduction	to	the	anecdote.	A	clumsy,
inappropriate	introduction	is	fatal,	whereas	a	single	apt	or	witty	sentence	will
kindle	 interest	 and	 prepare	 a	 favorable	 hearing.	 The	 following	 extreme
illustration,	by	the	English	humorist,	Captain	Harry	Graham,	well	satirizes	the
stumbling	manner:

```
The	best	story	that	I	ever	heard	was	one	that	I	was	told	once	in	the
fall	of	1905	(or	it	may	have	been	1906),	when	I	was	visiting	Boston
—at	least,	I	think	it	was	Boston;	it	may	have	been	Washington	(my
memory	is	so	bad).
```
```
I	happened	to	run	across	a	most	amusing	man	whose	name	I	forget
—Williams	or	Wilson	or	Wilkins;	some	name	like	that—and	he	told
me	this	story	while	we	were	waiting	for	a	trolley	car.
```
```
I	can	still	remember	how	heartily	I	laughed	at	the	time;	and	again,
that	evening,	after	I	had	gone	to	bed,	how	I	laughed	myself	to	sleep
recalling	the	humor	of	this	incredibly	humorous	story.	It	was	really
quite	extraordinarily	funny.	In	fact,	I	can	truthfully	affirm	that	it	is
quite	 the	 most	 amusing	 story	 I	 have	 ever	 had	 the	 privilege	 of
hearing.	Unfortunately,	I've	forgotten	it.
```
_Biographical	Facts_

Public	 speaking	 has	 much	 to	 do	 with	 personalities;	 naturally,	 therefore,	 the
narration	 of	 a	 series	 of	 biographical	 details,	 including	 anecdotes	 among	 the
recital	of	interesting	facts,	plays	a	large	part	in	the	eulogy,	the	memorial	address,
the	political	speech,	the	sermon,	the	lecture,	and	other	platform	deliverances.
Whole	addresses	may	be	made	up	of	such	biographical	details,	such	as	a	sermon
on	"Moses,"	or	a	lecture	on	"Lee."

The	following	example	is	in	itself	an	expanded	anecdote,	forming	a	link	in	a
chain:

```
MARIUS	IN	PRISON
```
```
The	peculiar	sublimity	of	the	Roman	mind	does	not	express	itself,
nor	is	it	at	all	to	be	sought,	in	their	poetry.	Poetry,	according	to	the
```

```
Roman	 ideal	 of	 it,	 was	 not	 an	 adequate	 organ	 for	 the	 grander
movements	of	the	national	mind.	Roman	sublimity	must	be	looked
for	in	Roman	acts,	and	in	Roman	sayings.	Where,	again,	will	you
find	a	more	adequate	expression	of	the	Roman	majesty,	than	in	the
saying	of	Trajan— Imperatorem	oportere	stantem	mori —that	Cæsar
ought	to	die	standing;	a	speech	of	imperatorial	grandeur!	Implying
that	he,	who	was	"the	foremost	man	of	all	this	world,"—and,	in
regard	to	all	other	nations,	the	representative	of	his	own,—should
express	its	characteristic	virtue	in	his	farewell	act—should	die	 in
procinctu —and	 should	 meet	 the	 last	 enemy	 as	 the	 first,	 with	 a
Roman	 countenance	 and	 in	 a	 soldier's	 attitude.	 If	 this	 had	 an
imperatorial—what	follows	had	a	consular	majesty,	and	is	almost
the	grandest	story	upon	record.
```
```
Marius,	 the	 man	 who	 rose	 to	 be	 seven	 times	 consul,	 was	 in	 a
dungeon,	and	a	slave	was	sent	in	with	commission	to	put	him	to
death.	These	were	the	persons,—the	two	extremities	of	exalted	and
forlorn	humanity,	its	vanward	and	its	rearward	man,	a	Roman	consul
and	an	abject	slave.	But	their	natural	relations	to	each	other	were,	by
the	 caprice	 of	 fortune,	 monstrously	 inverted:	 the	 consul	 was	 in
chains;	the	slave	was	for	a	moment	the	arbiter	of	his	fate.	By	what
spells,	 what	 magic,	 did	 Marius	 reinstate	 himself	 in	 his	 natural
prerogatives?	By	what	marvels	drawn	from	heaven	or	from	earth,
did	he,	in	the	twinkling	of	an	eye,	again	invest	himself	with	the
purple,	 and	 place	 between	 himself	 and	 his	 assassin	 a	 host	 of
shadowy	lictors?	By	the	mere	blank	supremacy	of	great	minds	over
weak	ones.	He	 fascinated 	the	slave,	as	a	rattlesnake	does	a	bird.
Standing	 "like	 Teneriffe,"	 he	 smote	 him	 with	 his	 eye,	 and	 said,
" Tune,	 homo,	 audes	 occidere	 C.	 Marium? "—"Dost	 thou,	 fellow,
presume	to	kill	Caius	Marius?"	Whereat,	the	reptile,	quaking	under
the	voice,	nor	daring	to	affront	the	consular	eye,	sank	gently	to	the
ground—turned	round	upon	his	hands	and	feet—and,	crawling	out
of	the	prison	like	any	other	vermin,	left	Marius	standing	in	solitude
as	steadfast	and	immovable	as	the	capitol.
```
```
—THOMAS	DE	QUINCY.
```
Here	 is	 a	 similar	 example,	 prefaced	 by	 a	 general	 historical	 statement	 and
concluding	with	autobiographical	details:


#### A	REMINISCENCE	OF	LEXINGTON

One	raw	morning	in	spring—it	will	be	eighty	years	the	19th	day	of
this	 month—Hancock	 and	 Adams,	 the	 Moses	 and	 Aaron	 of	 that
Great	 Deliverance,	 were	 both	 at	 Lexington;	 they	 also	 had
"obstructed	 an	 officer"	 with	 brave	 words.	 British	 soldiers,	 a
thousand	strong,	came	to	seize	them	and	carry	them	over	sea	for
trial,	and	so	nip	the	bud	of	Freedom	auspiciously	opening	in	that
early	spring.	The	town	militia	came	together	before	daylight,	"for
training."	A	great,	tall	man,	with	a	large	head	and	a	high,	wide	brow,
their	captain,—one	who	had	"seen	service,"—marshalled	them	into
line,	numbering	but	seventy,	and	bade	"every	man	load	his	piece
with	powder	and	ball.	I	will	order	the	first	man	shot	that	runs	away,"
said	he,	when	some	faltered.	"Don't	fire	unless	fired	upon,	but	if	they
want	to	have	a	war,	let	it	begin	here."

Gentlemen,	you	know	what	followed;	those	farmers	and	mechanics
"fired	the	shot	heard	round	the	world."	A	little	monument	covers	the
bones	of	such	as	before	had	pledged	their	fortune	and	their	sacred
honor	to	the	Freedom	of	America,	and	that	day	gave	it	also	their
lives.	I	was	born	in	that	little	town,	and	bred	up	amid	the	memories
of	that	day.	When	a	boy,	my	mother	lifted	me	up,	one	Sunday,	in	her
religious,	 patriotic	 arms,	 and	 held	 me	 while	 I	 read	 the	 first
monumental	line	I	ever	saw—"Sacred	to	Liberty	and	the	Rights	of
Mankind."

Since	 then	 I	 have	 studied	 the	 memorial	 marbles	 of	 Greece	 and
Rome,	in	many	an	ancient	town;	nay,	on	Egyptian	obelisks	have	read
what	was	written	before	the	Eternal	raised	up	Moses	to	lead	Israel
out	 of	 Egypt;	 but	 no	 chiseled	 stone	 has	 ever	 stirred	 me	 to	 such
emotion	as	these	rustic	names	of	men	who	fell	"In	the	Sacred	Cause
of	God	and	their	Country."

Gentlemen,	the	Spirit	of	Liberty,	the	Love	of	Justice,	were	early
fanned	into	a	flame	in	my	boyish	heart.	That	monument	covers	the
bones	of	my	own	kinsfolk;	it	was	their	blood	which	reddened	the
long,	green	grass	at	Lexington.	It	was	my	own	name	which	stands
chiseled	on	that	stone;	the	tall	captain	who	marshalled	his	fellow
farmers	and	mechanics	into	stern	array,	and	spoke	such	brave	and
dangerous	words	as	opened	the	war	of	American	Independence,—


```
the	last	to	leave	the	field,—was	my	father's	father.	I	learned	to	read
out	of	his	Bible,	and	with	a	musket	he	that	day	captured	from	the
foe,	I	learned	another	religious	lesson,	that	"Rebellion	to	Tyrants	is
Obedience	to	God."	I	keep	them	both	"Sacred	to	Liberty	and	the
Rights	of	Mankind,"	to	use	them	both	"In	the	Sacred	Cause	of	God
and	my	Country."—THEODORE	PARKER.
```
_Narration	of	Events	in	General_

In	this	wider,	emancipated	narration	we	find	much	mingling	of	other	forms	of
discourse,	greatly	to	the	advantage	of	the	speech,	for	this	truth	cannot	be	too
strongly	emphasized:	The	efficient	speaker	cuts	loose	from	form	for	the	sake	of	a
big,	free	effect.	The	present	analyses	are	for	no	other	purpose	than	to	 _acquaint_
you	with	form—do	not	allow	any	such	models	to	hang	as	a	weight	about	your
neck.

The	 following	 pure	 narration	 of	 events,	 from	 George	 William	 Curtis's	 "Paul
Revere's	 Ride,"	 varies	 the	 biographical	 recital	 in	 other	 parts	 of	 his	 famous
oration:

```
That	 evening,	 at	 ten	 o'clock,	 eight	 hundred	 British	 troops,	 under
Lieutenant-Colonel	Smith,	took	boat	at	the	foot	of	the	Common	and
crossed	to	the	Cambridge	shore.	Gage	thought	his	secret	had	been
kept,	but	Lord	Percy,	who	had	heard	the	people	say	on	the	Common
that	the	troops	would	miss	their	aim,	undeceived	him.	Gage	instantly
ordered	that	no	one	should	leave	the	town.	But	as	the	troops	crossed
the	river,	Ebenezer	Dorr,	with	a	message	to	Hancock	and	Adams,
was	riding	over	the	Neck	to	Roxbury,	and	Paul	Revere	was	rowing
over	the	river	to	Charlestown,	having	agreed	with	his	friend,	Robert
Newman,	to	show	lanterns	from	the	belfry	of	the	Old	North	Church
—"One	if	by	land,	and	two	if	by	sea"—as	a	signal	of	the	march	of
the	British.
```
The	 following,	 from	 the	 same	 oration,	 beautifully	 mingles	 description	 with
narration:

```
It	was	a	brilliant	night.	The	winter	had	been	unusually	mild,	and	the
spring	very	forward.	The	hills	were	already	green.	The	early	grain
waved	 in	 the	 fields,	 and	 the	 air	 was	 sweet	 with	 the	 blossoming
orchards.	Already	the	robins	whistled,	the	bluebirds	sang,	and	the
benediction	of	peace	rested	upon	the	landscape.	Under	the	cloudless
```

```
moon	the	soldiers	silently	marched,	and	Paul	Revere	swiftly	rode,
galloping	 through	 Medford	 and	 West	 Cambridge,	 rousing	 every
house	as	he	went	spurring	for	Lexington	and	Hancock	and	Adams,
and	evading	the	British	patrols	who	had	been	sent	out	to	stop	the
news.
```
In	the	succeeding	extract	from	another	of	Mr.	Curtis's	addresses,	we	have	a	free
use	of	allegory	as	illustration:

```
THE	LEADERSHIP	OF	EDUCATED	MEN
```
```
There	is	a	modern	English	picture	which	the	genius	of	Hawthorne
might	 have	 inspired.	 The	 painter	 calls	 it,	 "How	 they	 met
themselves."	A	man	and	a	woman,	haggard	and	weary,	wandering
lost	in	a	somber	wood,	suddenly	meet	the	shadowy	figures	of	a
youth	and	a	maid.	Some	mysterious	fascination	fixes	the	gaze	and
stills	the	hearts	of	the	wanderers,	and	their	amazement	deepens	into
awe	as	they	gradually	recognize	themselves	as	once	they	were;	the
soft	bloom	of	youth	upon	their	rounded	cheeks,	the	dewy	light	of
hope	in	their	trusting	eyes,	exulting	confidence	in	their	springing
step,	 themselves	 blithe	 and	 radiant	 with	 the	 glory	 of	 the	 dawn.
Today,	and	here,	we	meet	ourselves.	Not	to	these	familiar	scenes
alone—yonder	 college-green	 with	 its	 reverend	 traditions;	 the
halcyon	cove	of	the	Seekonk,	upon	which	the	memory	of	Roger
Williams	broods	like	a	bird	of	calm;	the	historic	bay,	beating	forever
with	the	muffled	oars	of	Barton	and	of	Abraham	Whipple;	here,	the
humming	city	of	the	living;	there,	the	peaceful	city	of	the	dead;—not
to	these	only	or	chiefly	do	we	return,	but	to	ourselves	as	we	once
were.	 It	 is	 not	 the	 smiling	 freshmen	 of	 the	 year,	 it	 is	 your	 own
beardless	and	unwrinkled	faces,	that	are	looking	from	the	windows
of	University	Hall	and	of	Hope	College.	Under	the	trees	upon	the
hill	 it	 is	 yourselves	 whom	 you	 see	 walking,	 full	 of	 hopes	 and
dreams,	 glowing	 with	 conscious	 power,	 and	 "nourishing	 a	 youth
sublime;"	and	in	this	familiar	temple,	which	surely	has	never	echoed
with	 eloquence	 so	 fervid	 and	 inspiring	 as	 that	 of	 your
commencement	orations,	it	is	not	yonder	youths	in	the	galleries	who,
as	they	fondly	believe,	are	whispering	to	yonder	maids;	it	is	your
younger	selves	who,	in	the	days	that	are	no	more,	are	murmuring	to
the	fairest	mothers	and	grandmothers	of	those	maids.
```

```
Happy	the	worn	and	weary	man	and	woman	in	the	picture	could
they	have	felt	their	older	eyes	still	glistening	with	that	earlier	light,
and	 their	 hearts	 yet	 beating	 with	 undiminished	 sympathy	 and
aspiration.	Happy	we,	brethren,	whatever	may	have	been	achieved,
whatever	left	undone,	if,	returning	to	the	home	of	our	earlier	years,
we	bring	with	us	the	illimitable	hope,	the	unchilled	resolution,	the
inextinguishable	faith	of	youth.
```
```
—GEORGE	WILLIAM	CURTIS.
```
### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	Clip	from	any	source	ten	anecdotes	and	state	what	truths	they	may	be	used	to
illustrate.
2.	Deliver	five	of	these	in	your	own	language,	without	making	any	application.
3.	From	the	ten,	deliver	one	so	as	to	make	the	application	before	telling	the
anecdote.
4.	Deliver	another	so	as	to	split	the	application.
5.	Deliver	another	so	as	to	make	the	application	after	the	narration.
6.	Deliver	another	in	such	a	way	as	to	make	a	specific	application	needless.
7.	Give	three	ways	of	introducing	an	anecdote,	by	saying	where	you	heard	it,	etc.
8.	Deliver	an	illustration	that	is	not	strictly	an	anecdote,	in	the	style	of	Curtis's
speech	on	page	 259.
9.	Deliver	an	address	on	any	public	character,	using	the	forms	illustrated	in	this
chapter.
10.	Deliver	an	address	on	some	historical	event	in	the	same	manner.
11.	Explain	how	 the	sympathies	and	 viewpoint	of	the	 speaker	will	color	an
anecdote,	a	biography,	or	a	historical	account.
12.	Illustrate	how	the	same	anecdote,	or	a	section	of	a	historical	address,	may	be
given	two	different	effects	by	personal	prejudice.
13.	 What	 would	 be	 the	 effect	 of	 shifting	 the	 viewpoint	 in	 the	 midst	 of	 a


narration?

14.	What	is	the	danger	of	using	too	much	humor	in	an	address?	Too	much
pathos?


### FOOTNOTES:

```
[24] How	to	Attract	and	Hold	an	Audience ,	J.	Berg	Esenwein.
```
### CHAPTER	XXII

#### INFLUENCING	BY	SUGGESTION

```
Sometimes	 the	 feeling	 that	 a	 given	 way	 of	 looking	 at	 things	 is
undoubtedly	 correct	 prevents	 the	 mind	 from	 thinking	 at	 all....	 In
view	of	the	hindrances	which	certain	kinds	or	degrees	of	feeling
throw	into	the	way	of	thinking,	it	might	be	inferred	that	the	thinker
must	suppress	the	element	of	feeling	in	the	inner	life.	No	greater
mistake	could	be	made.	If	the	Creator	endowed	man	with	the	power
to	think,	to	feel,	and	to	will,	these	several	activities	of	the	mind	are
not	designed	to	be	in	conflict,	and	so	long	as	any	one	of	them	is	not
perverted	 or	 allowed	 to	 run	 to	 excess,	 it	 necessarily	 aids	 and
strengthens	the	others	in	their	normal	functions.
```
```
—NATHAN	C.	SCHAEFFER,	 Thinking	and	Learning	to	Think.
```
When	we	weigh,	compare,	and	decide	upon	the	value	of	any	given	ideas,	we
reason;	when	an	idea	produces	in	us	an	opinion	or	an	action,	without	first	being
subjected	to	deliberation,	we	are	moved	by	suggestion.

Man	was	formerly	thought	to	be	a	reasoning	animal,	basing	his	actions	on	the
conclusions	of	natural	logic.	It	was	supposed	that	before	forming	an	opinion	or
deciding	on	a	course	of	conduct	he	weighed	at	least	some	of	the	reasons	for	and
against	the	matter,	and	performed	a	more	or	less	simple	process	of	reasoning.
But	modern	research	has	shown	that	quite	the	opposite	is	true.	Most	of	our
opinions	and	actions	are	not	based	upon	conscious	reasoning,	but	are	the	result
of	suggestion.	In	fact,	some	authorities	declare	that	an	act	of	pure	reasoning	is
very	 rare	 in	 the	 average	 mind.	 Momentous	 decisions	 are	 made,	far-reaching
actions	are	determined	upon,	primarily	by	the	force	of	suggestion.


Notice	that	word	"primarily,"	for	simple	thought,	and	even	mature	reasoning,
often	follows	a	suggestion	accepted	in	the	mind,	and	the	thinker	fondly	supposes
that	his	conclusion	is	from	first	to	last	based	on	cold	logic.

_The	Basis	of	Suggestion_

We	must	think	of	suggestion	both	as	an	effect	and	as	a	cause.	Considered	as	an
effect,	or	objectively,	there	must	be	something	in	the	hearer	that	predisposes	him
to	receive	suggestion;	considered	as	a	cause,	or	subjectively,	there	must	be	some
methods	 by	 which	 the	 speaker	 can	 move	 upon	 that	 particularly	 susceptible
attitude	of	the	hearer.	How	to	do	this	honestly	and	fairly	is	our	problem—to	do	it
dishonestly	and	trickily,	to	use	suggestion	to	bring	about	conviction	and	action
without	a	basis	of	right	and	truth	and	in	a	bad	cause,	is	to	assume	the	terrible
responsibility	that	must	fall	on	the	champion	of	error.	Jesus	scorned	not	to	use
suggestion	so	that	he	might	move	men	to	their	benefit,	but	every	vicious	trickster
has	adopted	the	same	means	to	reach	base	ends.	Therefore	honest	men	will
examine	well	into	their	motives	and	into	the	truth	of	their	cause,	before	seeking
to	influence	men	by	suggestion.

Three	fundamental	conditions	make	us	all	susceptive	to	suggestion:

_We	naturally	respect	authority._ 	In	every	mind	this	is	only	a	question	of	degree,
ranging	from	the	subject	who	is	easily	hypnotized	to	the	stubborn	mind	that
fortifies	itself	the	more	strongly	with	every	assault	upon	its	opinion.	The	latter
type	is	almost	immune	to	suggestion.

One	of	the	singular	things	about	suggestion	is	that	it	is	rarely	a	fixed	quantity.
The	 mind	 that	 is	 receptive	 to	 the	 authority	 of	 a	 certain	 person	 may	 prove
inflexible	to	another;	moods	and	environments	that	produce	hypnosis	readily	in
one	 instance	 may	 be	 entirely	 inoperative	 in	 another;	 and	 some	 minds	 can
scarcely	ever	be	thus	moved.	We	do	know,	however,	that	the	feeling	of	the
subject	 that	 authority—influence,	 power,	 domination,	 control,	 whatever	 you
wish	to	call	it—lies	in	the	person	of	the	suggester,	is	the	basis	of	all	suggestion.

The	extreme	force	of	this	influence	is	demonstrated	in	hypnotism.	The	hypnotic
subject	is	told	that	he	is	in	the	water;	he	accepts	the	statement	as	true	and	makes
swimming	motions.	He	is	told	that	a	band	is	marching	down	the	street,	playing
"The	Star	Spangled	Banner;"	he	declares	he	hears	the	music,	arises	and	stands
with	head	bared.

In	the	same	way	some	speakers	are	able	to	achieve	a	modified	hypnotic	effect


upon	their	audiences.	The	hearers	will	applaud	measures	and	ideas	which,	after
individual	 reflection,	 they	 will	 repudiate	 unless	 such	 reflection	 brings	 the
conviction	that	the	first	impression	is	correct.

A	second	important	principle	is	that	 _our	feelings,	thoughts	and	wills	tend	to
follow	the	line	of	least	resistance_ .	Once	open	the	mind	to	the	sway	of	one	feeling
and	it	requires	a	greater	power	of	feeling,	thought,	or	will—or	even	all	three—to
unseat	it.	Our	feelings	influence	our	judgments	and	volitions	much	more	than	we
care	to	admit.	So	true	is	this	that	it	is	a	superhuman	task	to	get	an	audience	to
reason	 fairly	 on	 a	 subject	 on	 which	 it	 feels	 deeply,	 and	 when	 this	 result	 is
accomplished	the	success	becomes	noteworthy,	as	in	the	case	of	Henry	Ward
Beecher's	Liverpool	speech.	Emotional	ideas	once	accepted	are	soon	cherished,
and	finally	become	our	very	inmost	selves.	Attitudes	based	on	feelings	alone	are
prejudices.

What	is	true	of	our	feelings,	in	this	respect,	applies	to	our	ideas:	All	thoughts
that	 enter	 the	 mind	 tend	 to	 be	 accepted	 as	 truth	 unless	 a	 stronger	 and
contradictory	thought	arises.

The	speaker	skilled	in	moving	men	to	action	manages	to	dominate	the	minds	of
his	audience	with	his	thoughts	by	subtly	prohibiting	the	entertaining	of	ideas
hostile	to	his	own.	Most	of	us	are	captured	by	the	latest	strong	attack,	and	if	we
can	be	induced	to	act	while	under	the	stress	of	that	last	insistent	thought,	we	lose
sight	of	counter	influences.	The	fact	is	that	almost	all	our	decisions—if	they
involve	thought	at	all—are	of	this	sort:	At	the	moment	of	decision	the	course	of
action	then	under	contemplation	usurps	the	attention,	and	conflicting	ideas	are
dropped	out	of	consideration.

The	head	of	a	large	publishing	house	remarked	only	recently	that	ninety	per	cent
of	the	people	who	bought	books	by	subscription	never	read	them.	They	buy
because	the	salesman	presents	his	wares	so	skillfully	that	every	consideration	but
the	attractiveness	of	the	book	drops	out	of	the	mind,	and	that	thought	prompts
action. _Every_ 	idea	that	enters	the	mind	will	result	in	action	unless	a	contradictory
thought	arises	to	prohibit	it.	Think	of	singing	the	musical	scale	and	it	will	result
in	your	singing	it	unless	the	counter-thought	of	its	futility	or	absurdity	inhibits
your	action.	If	you	bandage	and	"doctor"	a	horse's	foot,	he	will	go	lame.	You
cannot	 think	 of	 swallowing,	 without	 the	 muscles	 used	 in	 that	 process	 being
affected.	You	cannot	think	of	saying	"hello,"	without	a	slight	movement	of	the
muscles	of	speech.	To	warn	children	that	they	should	not	put	beans	up	their
noses	is	the	surest	method	of	getting	them	to	do	it.	Every	thought	called	up	in	the


mind	of	your	audience	will	work	either	for	or	against	you.	Thoughts	are	not	dead
matter;	they	radiate	dynamic	energy—the	thoughts	all	tend	to	pass	into	action.
"Thought	is	another	name	for	fate."	Dominate	your	hearers'	thoughts,	allay	all
contradictory	ideas,	and	you	will	sway	them	as	you	wish.

Volitions	 as	 well	 as	 feelings	 and	 thoughts	 tend	 to	 follow	 the	 line	 of	 least
resistance.	That	is	what	makes	habit.	Suggest	to	a	man	that	it	is	impossible	to
change	his	mind	and	in	most	cases	it	becomes	more	difficult	to	do	so—the
exception	is	the	man	who	naturally	jumps	to	the	contrary.	Counter	suggestion	is
the	only	way	to	reach	him.	Suggest	subtly	and	persistently	that	the	opinions	of
those	 in	 the	 audience	 who	 are	 opposed	 to	 your	 views	 are	 changing,	 and	 it
requires	an	effort	of	the	will—in	fact,	a	summoning	of	the	forces	of	feeling,
thought	and	will—to	stem	the	tide	of	change	that	has	subconsciously	set	in.

But,	not	only	are	we	moved	by	authority,	and	tend	toward	channels	of	least
resistance:	 _We	are	all	influenced	by	our	environments_ .	It	is	difficult	to	rise	above
the	sway	of	a	crowd—its	enthusiasms	and	its	fears	are	contagious	because	they
are	suggestive.	What	so	many	feel,	we	say	to	ourselves,	must	have	some	basis	in
truth.	Ten	times	ten	makes	more	than	one	hundred.	Set	ten	men	to	speaking	to
ten	audiences	of	ten	men	each,	and	compare	the	aggregate	power	of	those	ten
speakers	with	that	of	one	man	addressing	one	hundred	men.	The	ten	speakers
may	be	more	logically	convincing	than	the	single	orator,	but	the	chances	are
strongly	in	favor	of	the	one	man's	reaching	a	greater	total	effect,	for	the	hundred
men	will	radiate	conviction	and	resolution	as	ten	small	groups	could	not.	We	all
know	 the	 truism	 about	 the	 enthusiasm	 of	 numbers.	 (See	 the	 chapter	 on
"Influencing	the	Crowd.")

Environment	controls	us	unless	the	contrary	is	strongly	suggested.	A	gloomy
day,	in	a	drab	room,	sparsely	tenanted	by	listeners,	invites	platform	disaster.
Everyone	feels	it	in	the	air.	But	let	the	speaker	walk	squarely	up	to	the	issue	and
suggest	by	all	his	feeling,	manner	and	words	that	this	is	going	to	be	a	great
gathering	in	every	vital	sense,	and	see	how	the	suggestive	power	of	environment
recedes	before	the	advance	of	a	more	potent	suggestion—if	such	the	speaker	is
able	to	make	it.

Now	these	three	factors—respect	for	authority,	tendency	to	follow	lines	of	least
resistance,	and	susceptibility	to	environment—all	help	to	bring	the	auditor	into	a
state	 of	 mind	 favorable	 to	 suggestive	 influences,	 but	 they	 also	 react	 on	 the
speaker,	and	now	we	must	consider	those	personally	causative,	or	subjective,
forces	which	enable	him	to	use	suggestion	effectively.


_How	the	Speaker	Can	Make	Suggestion	Effective_

We	have	seen	that	under	the	influence	of	authoritative	suggestion	the	audience	is
inclined	to	accept	the	speaker's	assertion	without	argument	and	criticism.	But	the
audience	is	not	in	this	state	of	mind	unless	it	has	implicit	confidence	in	the
speaker.	If	they	lack	faith	in	him,	question	his	motives	or	knowledge,	or	even
object	to	his	manner	they	will	not	be	moved	by	his	most	logical	conclusion	and
will	fail	to	give	him	a	just	hearing.	 _It	is	all	a	matter	of	their	confidence	in	him._
Whether	the	speaker	finds	it	already	in	the	warm,	expectant	look	of	his	hearers,
or	must	win	to	it	against	opposition	or	coldness,	he	must	gain	that	one	great
vantage	point	before	his	suggestions	take	on	power	in	the	hearts	of	his	listeners.
Confidence	is	the	mother	of	Conviction.

Note	in	the	opening	of	Henry	W.	Grady's	after-dinner	speech	how	he	attempted
to	secure	the	confidence	of	his	audience.	He	created	a	receptive	atmosphere	by	a
humorous	story;	expressed	his	desire	to	speak	with	earnestness	and	sincerity;
acknowledged	"the	vast	interests	involved;"	deprecated	his	"untried	arm,"	and
professed	his	humility.	Would	not	such	an	introduction	give	you	confidence	in
the	speaker,	unless	you	were	strongly	opposed	to	him?	And	even	then,	would	it
not	partly	disarm	your	antagonism?

```
Mr.	President:—Bidden	by	your	invitation	to	a	discussion	of	the	race
problem—forbidden	 by	 occasion	 to	 make	 a	 political	 speech—I
appreciate,	in	trying	to	reconcile	orders	with	propriety,	the	perplexity
of	the	little	maid,	who,	bidden	to	learn	to	swim,	was	yet	adjured,
"Now,	go,	my	darling;	hang	your	clothes	on	a	hickory	limb,	and
don't	go	near	the	water."
```
```
The	stoutest	apostle	of	the	Church,	they	say,	is	the	missionary,	and
the	missionary,	wherever	he	unfurls	his	flag,	will	never	find	himself
in	deeper	need	of	unction	and	address	than	I,	bidden	tonight	to	plant
the	standard	of	a	Southern	Democrat	in	Boston's	banquet	hall,	and	to
discuss	 the	 problem	 of	 the	 races	 in	 the	 home	 of	 Phillips	 and	 of
Sumner.	 But,	 Mr.	 President,	 if	 a	 purpose	 to	 speak	 in	 perfect
frankness	and	sincerity;	if	earnest	understanding	of	the	vast	interests
involved;	if	a	consecrating	sense	of	what	disaster	may	follow	further
misunderstanding	 and	 estrangement;	 if	 these	 may	 be	 counted	 to
steady	undisciplined	speech	and	to	strengthen	an	untried	arm—then,
sir,	I	shall	find	the	courage	to	proceed.
```

Note	also	Mr.	Bryan's	attempt	to	secure	the	confidence	of	his	audience	in	the
following	 introduction	 to	 his	 "Cross	 of	 Gold"	 speech	 delivered	 before	 the
National	Democratic	Convention	in	Chicago,	1896.	He	asserts	his	own	inability
to	oppose	the	"distinguished	gentleman;"	he	maintains	the	holiness	of	his	cause;
and	he	declares	that	he	will	speak	in	the	interest	of	humanity—well	knowing	that
humanity	 is	 likely	 to	 have	 confidence	 in	 the	 champion	 of	 their	 rights.	 This
introduction	completely	dominated	the	audience,	and	the	speech	made	Mr.	Bryan
famous.

```
Mr.	 Chairman	 and	 Gentlemen	 of	 the	 Convention:	 I	 would	 be
presumptuous	 indeed	 to	 present	 myself	 against	 the	 distinguished
gentlemen	to	whom	you	have	listened	if	this	were	a	mere	measuring
of	abilities;	but	this	is	not	a	contest	between	persons.	The	humblest
citizen	in	all	the	land,	when	clad	in	the	armor	of	a	righteous	cause,	is
stronger	than	all	the	hosts	of	error.	I	come	to	speak	to	you	in	defense
of	a	cause	as	holy	as	the	cause	of	liberty—the	cause	of	humanity.
```
Some	speakers	are	able	to	beget	confidence	by	their	very	manner,	while	others
can	not.

_To	 secure	 confidence,	 be	 confident._ How	 can	 you	 expect	 others	 to	 accept	 a
message	in	which	you	lack,	or	seem	to	lack,	faith	yourself?	Confidence	is	as
contagious	 as	 disease.	 Napoleon	 rebuked	 an	 officer	 for	 using	 the	 word
"impossible"	in	his	presence.	The	speaker	who	will	entertain	no	idea	of	defeat
begets	in	his	hearers	the	idea	of	his	victory.	Lady	Macbeth	was	so	confident	of
success	 that	 Macbeth	 changed	 his	 mind	 about	 undertaking	 the	 assassination.
Columbus	was	so	certain	in	his	mission	that	Queen	Isabella	pawned	her	jewels
to	finance	his	expedition.	Assert	your	message	with	implicit	assurance,	and	your
own	belief	will	act	as	so	much	gunpowder	to	drive	it	home.

Advertisers	have	long	utilized	this	principle.	"The	machine	you	will	eventually
buy,"	"Ask	the	man	who	owns	one,"	"Has	the	strength	of	Gibraltar,"	are	publicity
slogans	so	full	of	confidence	that	they	give	birth	to	confidence	in	the	mind	of	the
reader.

It	should—but	may	not!—go	without	saying	that	confidence	must	have	a	solid
ground	of	merit	or	there	will	be	a	ridiculous	crash.	It	is	all	very	well	for	the
"spellbinder"	to	claim	all	the	precincts—the	official	count	is	just	ahead.	The
reaction	against	over-confidence	and	over-suggestion	ought	to	warn	those	whose
chief	asset	is	mere	bluff.


A	short	time	ago	a	speaker	arose	in	a	public-speaking	club	and	asserted	that
grass	would	spring	from	wood-ashes	sprinkled	over	the	soil,	without	the	aid	of
seed.	This	idea	was	greeted	with	a	laugh,	but	the	speaker	was	so	sure	of	his
position	that	he	reiterated	the	statement	forcefully	several	times	and	cited	his
own	 personal	 experience	 as	 proof.	 One	 of	 the	 most	 intelligent	 men	 in	 the
audience,	who	at	first	had	derided	the	idea,	at	length	came	to	believe	in	it.	When
asked	the	reason	for	his	sudden	change	of	attitude,	he	replied:	"Because	the
speaker	is	so	confident."	In	fact,	he	was	so	confident	that	it	took	a	letter	from	the
U.S.	Department	of	Agriculture	to	dislodge	his	error.

If	 by	 a	 speaker's	 confidence,	 intelligent	 men	 can	 be	 made	 to	 believe	 such
preposterous	theories	as	this	where	will	the	power	of	self-reliance	cease	when
plausible	propositions	are	under	consideration,	advanced	with	all	the	power	of
convincing	speech?

Note	the	utter	assurance	in	these	selections:

```
I	know	not	what	course	others	may	take,	but	as	for	me	give	me
liberty	or	give	me	death.—PATRICK	HENRY.
```
```
I	ne'er	will	ask	ye	quarter,	and	I	ne'er	will	be
your	slave;
But	I'll	swim	the	sea	of	slaughter,	till	I	sink
beneath	its	wave.
```
```
—PATTEN.
```
```
Come	one,	come	all.	This	rock	shall	fly
From	its	firm	base	as	soon	as	I.
```
```
—SIR	WALTER	SCOTT
```
### INVICTUS

```
Out	of	the	night	that	covers	me,
Black	as	the	pit	from	pole	to	pole,
I	thank	whatever	Gods	may	be
For	my	unconquerable	soul.
```
```
In	the	fell	clutch	of	circumstance
```

```
I	have	not	winced	nor	cried	aloud;
Under	the	bludgeonings	of	chance
My	head	is	bloody,	but	unbowed.
```
```
Beyond	this	place	of	wrath	and	tears
Looms	but	the	Horror	of	the	shade,
And	yet	the	menace	of	the	years
Finds	and	shall	find	me	unafraid.
```
```
It	matters	not	how	strait	the	gate,
How	charged	with	punishments	the	scroll,
I	am	the	master	of	my	fate;
I	am	the	captain	of	my	soul.
```
```
—WILLIAM	ERNEST	HENLEY.
```
_Authority	is	a	factor	in	suggestion._ 	We	generally	accept	as	truth,	and	without
criticism,	the	words	of	an	authority.	When	he	speaks,	contradictory	ideas	rarely
arise	in	the	mind	to	inhibit	the	action	he	suggests.	A	judge	of	the	Supreme	Court
has	the	power	of	his	words	multiplied	by	the	virtue	of	his	position.	The	ideas	of
the	U.S.	Commissioner	of	Immigration	on	his	subject	are	much	more	effective
and	powerful	than	those	of	a	soap	manufacturer,	though	the	latter	may	be	an	able
economist.

This	principle	also	has	been	used	in	advertising.	We	are	told	that	the	physicians
to	two	Kings	have	recommended	Sanatogen.	We	are	informed	that	the	largest
bank	in	America,	Tiffany	and	Co.,	and	The	State,	War,	and	Navy	Departments,
all	use	the	Encyclopedia	Britannica.	The	shrewd	promoter	gives	stock	in	his
company	to	influential	bankers	or	business	men	in	the	community	in	order	that
he	may	use	their	examples	as	a	selling	argument.

If	you	wish	to	influence	your	audience	through	suggestion,	if	you	would	have
your	statements	accepted	without	criticism	or	argument,	you	should	appear	in
the	 light	 of	 an	 authority—and	 _be_ one.	 Ignorance	 and	 credulity	 will	remain
unchanged	unless	the	suggestion	of	authority	be	followed	promptly	by	facts.
Don't	claim	authority	unless	you	carry	your	license	in	your	pocket.	Let	reason
support	the	position	that	suggestion	has	assumed.

Advertising	will	help	to	establish	your	reputation—it	is	"up	to	you"	to	maintain
it.	One	speaker	found	that	his	reputation	as	a	magazine	writer	was	a	splendid


asset	as	a	speaker.	Mr.	Bryan's	publicity,	gained	by	three	nominations	for	the
presidency	and	his	position	as	Secretary	of	State,	helps	him	to	command	large
sums	 as	 a	 speaker.	 But—back	 of	 it	 all,	 he	 _is_ a	 great	 speaker.	 Newspaper
announcements,	all	kinds	of	advertising,	formality,	impressive	introductions,	all
have	a	capital	effect	on	the	attitude	of	the	audience.	But	how	ridiculous	are	all
these	if	a	toy	pistol	is	advertised	as	a	sixteen-inch	gun!

Note	 how	 authority	 is	 used	 in	 the	 following	 to	 support	 the	 strength	 of	 the
speaker's	appeal:

```
Professor	 Alfred	 Russell	 Wallace	 has	 just	 celebrated	 his	 90th
birthday.	 Sharing	 with	 Charles	 Darwin	 the	 honor	 of	 discovering
evolution,	Professor	Wallace	has	lately	received	many	and	signal
honors	from	scientific	societies.	At	the	dinner	given	him	in	London
his	address	was	largely	made	up	of	reminiscences.	He	reviewed	the
progress	of	civilization	during	the	last	century	and	made	a	series	of
brilliant	and	startling	contrasts	between	the	England	of	1813	and	the
world	of	1913.	He	affirmed	that	our	progress	is	only	seeming	and
not	real.	Professor	Wallace	insists	that	the	painters,	the	sculptors,	the
architects	of	Athens	and	Rome	were	so	superior	to	the	modern	men
that	the	very	fragments	of	their	marbles	and	temples	are	the	despair
of	the	present	day	artists.	He	tells	us	that	man	has	improved	his
telescope	and	spectacles,	but	that	he	is	losing	his	eyesight;	that	man
is	 improving	 his	 looms,	 but	 stiffening	 his	 fingers;	 improving	 his
automobile	and	his	locomotive,	but	losing	his	legs;	improving	his
foods,	but	losing	his	digestion.	He	adds	that	the	modern	white	slave
traffic,	orphan	asylums,	and	tenement	house	life	in	factory	towns,
make	a	black	page	in	the	history	of	the	twentieth	century.
```
```
Professor	 Wallace's	 views	 are	 reinforced	 by	 the	 report	 of	 the
commission	of	Parliament	on	the	causes	of	the	deterioration	of	the
factory-class	people.	In	our	own	country	Professor	Jordan	warns	us
against	 war,	 intemperance,	 overworking,	 underfeeding	 of	 poor
children,	and	disturbs	our	contentment	with	his	"Harvest	of	Blood."
Professor	Jenks	is	more	pessimistic.	He	thinks	that	the	pace,	the
climate,	and	the	stress	of	city	life,	have	broken	down	the	Puritan
stock,	that	in	another	century	our	old	families	will	be	extinct,	and
that	the	flood	of	immigration	means	a	Niagara	of	muddy	waters
fouling	the	pure	springs	of	American	life.	In	his	address	in	New
Haven	 Professor	 Kellogg	 calls	 the	 roll	 of	 the	 signs	 of	 race
```

```
degeneracy	and	tells	us	that	this	deterioration	even	indicates	a	trend
toward	race	extinction.
```
```
—NEWELL	DWIGHT	HILLIS.
```
```
From	 every	 side	 come	 warnings	 to	 the	 American	 people.	 Our
medical	 journals	 are	 filled	 with	 danger	 signals;	 new	 books	 and
magazines,	fresh	from	the	press,	tell	us	plainly	that	our	people	are
fronting	a	social	crisis.	Mr.	Jefferson,	who	was	once	regarded	as
good	Democratic	authority,	seems	to	have	differed	in	opinion	from
the	gentleman	who	has	addressed	us	on	the	part	of	the	minority.
Those	who	are	opposed	to	this	proposition	tell	us	that	the	issue	of
paper	money	is	a	function	of	the	bank,	and	that	the	government
ought	to	go	out	of	the	banking	business.	I	stand	with	Jefferson	rather
than	with	them,	and	tell	them,	as	he	did,	that	the	issue	of	money	is	a
function	of	government,	and	that	the	banks	ought	to	go	out	of	the
governing	business.
```
```
—WILLIAM	JENNINGS	BRYAN.
```
Authority	is	the	great	weapon	against	doubt,	but	even	its	force	can	rarely	prevail
against	prejudice	and	persistent	wrong-headedness.	If	any	speaker	has	been	able
to	forge	a	sword	that	is	warranted	to	piece	such	armor,	let	him	bless	humanity	by
sharing	his	secret	with	his	platform	brethren	everywhere,	for	thus	far	he	is	alone
in	his	glory.

There	is	a	middle-ground	between	the	suggestion	of	authority	and	the	confession
of	weakness	that	offers	a	wide	range	for	tact	in	the	speaker.	No	one	can	advise
you	 when	 to	 throw	 your	 "hat	 in	 the	 ring"	 and	 say	 defiantly	 at	 the	 outstart,
"Gentlemen,	 I	 am	 here	 to	 fight!"	 Theodore	 Roosevelt	 can	 do	 that—Beecher
would	have	been	mobbed	if	he	had	begun	in	that	style	at	Liverpool.	It	is	for	your
own	 tact	 to	 decide	 whether	 you	 will	 use	 the	 disarming	 grace	 of	 Henry	 W.
Grady's	introduction	just	quoted	(even	the	time-worn	joke	was	ingenuous	and
seemed	to	say,	"Gentlemen,	I	come	to	you	with	no	carefully-palmed	coins"),	or
whether	the	solemn	gravity	of	Mr.	Bryan	before	the	Convention	will	prove	to	be
more	effective.	Only	be	sure	that	your	opening	attitude	is	well	thought	out,	and	if
it	change	as	you	warm	up	to	your	subject,	let	not	the	change	lay	you	open	to	a
revulsion	of	feeling	in	your	audience.

_Example	 is	 a	 powerful	 means	 of	 suggestion._ As	 we	 saw	 while	 thinking	 of
environment	in	its	effects	on	an	audience,	we	do,	without	the	usual	amount	of


hesitation	 and	 criticism,	 what	 others	 are	 doing.	 Paris	 wears	 certain	 hats	 and
gowns;	the	rest	of	the	world	imitates.	The	child	mimics	the	actions,	accents	and
intonations	of	the	parent.	Were	a	child	never	to	hear	anyone	speak,	he	would
never	acquire	the	power	of	speech,	unless	under	most	arduous	training,	and	even
then	only	imperfectly.	One	of	the	biggest	department	stores	in	the	United	States
spends	fortunes	on	one	advertising	slogan:	"Everybody	is	going	to	the	big	store."
That	makes	everybody	want	to	go.

You	can	reinforce	the	power	of	your	message	by	showing	that	it	has	been	widely
accepted.	Political	organizations	subsidize	applause	to	create	the	impression	that
their	speakers'	ideas	are	warmly	received	and	approved	by	the	audience.	The
advocates	of	the	commission-form	of	government	of	cities,	the	champions	of
votes	for	women,	reserve	as	their	strongest	arguments	the	fact	that	a	number	of
cities	and	states	have	already	successfully	accepted	their	plans.	Advertisements
use	the	testimonial	for	its	power	of	suggestion.

Observe	how	this	principle	has	been	applied	in	the	following	selections,	and
utilize	 it	 on	 every	 occasion	 possible	 in	 your	 attempts	 to	 influence	 through
suggestion:

```
The	war	is	actually	begun.	The	next	gale	that	sweeps	from	the	North
will	bring	to	our	ears	the	clash	of	resounding	arms.	Our	brethren	are
already	in	the	field.	Why	stand	ye	here	idle?
```
```
—PATRICK	HENRY.
```
```
With	a	zeal	approaching	the	zeal	which	inspired	the	Crusaders	who
followed	Peter	the	Hermit,	our	silver	Democrats	went	forth	from
victory	unto	victory	until	they	are	now	assembled,	not	to	discuss,	not
to	debate,	but	to	enter	up	the	judgment	already	rendered	by	the	plain
people	 of	 this	 country.	 In	 this	 contest	 brother	 has	 been	 arrayed
against	 brother,	 father	 against	 son.	 The	 warmest	 ties	 of	 love,
acquaintance,	 and	 association	 have	 been	 disregarded;	 old	 leaders
have	been	cast	aside	when	they	refused	to	give	expression	to	the
sentiments	of	those	whom	they	would	lead,	and	new	leaders	have
sprung	 up	 to	 give	 direction	 to	 this	 cause	 of	 truth.	 Thus	 has	 the
contest	been	waged,	and	we	have	assembled	here	under	as	binding
and	solemn	instructions	as	were	ever	imposed	upon	representatives
of	the	people.
```
```
—WILLIAM	JENNINGS	BRYAN.
```

_Figurative	and	indirect	language	has	suggestive	force_ ,	because	it	does	not	make
statements	that	can	be	directly	disputed.	It	arouses	no	contradictory	ideas	in	the
minds	 of	 the	 audience,	 thereby	 fulfilling	 one	 of	 the	 basic	 requisites	 of
suggestion.	By	 _implying_ 	a	conclusion	in	indirect	or	figurative	language	it	is	often
asserted	most	forcefully.

Note	that	in	the	following	Mr.	Bryan	did	not	say	that	Mr.	McKinley	would	be
defeated.	He	implied	it	in	a	much	more	effective	manner:

```
Mr.	McKinley	was	nominated	at	St.	Louis	upon	a	platform	which
declared	for	the	maintenance	of	the	gold	standard	until	it	can	be
changed	into	bimetallism	by	international	agreement.	Mr.	McKinley
was	the	most	popular	man	among	the	Republicans,	and	three	months
ago	everybody	in	the	Republican	party	prophesied	his	election.	How
is	it	today?	Why,	the	man	who	was	once	pleased	to	think	that	he
looked	 like	 Napoleon—that	 man	 shudders	 today	 when	 he
remembers	that	he	was	nominated	on	the	anniversary	of	the	battle	of
Waterloo.	Not	only	that,	but	as	he	listens	he	can	hear	with	ever-
increasing	distinctness	the	sound	of	the	waves	as	they	beat	upon	the
lonely	shores	of	St.	Helena.
```
Had	Thomas	Carlyle	said:	"A	false	man	cannot	found	a	religion,"	his	words
would	have	been	neither	so	suggestive	nor	so	powerful,	nor	so	long	remembered
as	his	implication	in	these	striking	words:

```
A	false	man	found	a	religion?	Why,	a	false	man	cannot	build	a	brick
house!	If	he	does	not	know	and	follow	truly	the	properties	of	mortar,
burnt	clay,	and	what	else	he	works	in,	it	is	no	house	that	he	makes,
but	a	rubbish	heap.	It	will	not	stand	for	twelve	centuries,	to	lodge	a
hundred	and	eighty	millions;	it	will	fall	straightway.	A	man	must
conform	 himself	 to	 Nature's	 laws,	 be	 verily	 in	 communion	 with
Nature	and	the	truth	of	things,	or	Nature	will	answer	him,	No,	not	at
all!
```
Observe	how	the	picture	that	Webster	draws	here	is	much	more	emphatic	and
forceful	than	any	mere	assertion	could	be:

```
Sir,	I	know	not	how	others	may	feel,	but	as	for	myself	when	I	see
my	 alma	mater 	surrounded,	like	Caesar	in	the	senate	house,	by	those
who	are	reiterating	stab	after	stab,	I	would	not	for	this	right	hand
have	her	turn	to	me	and	say,	"And	thou,	too,	my	son!"—WEBSTER.
```

A	speech	should	be	built	on	sound	logical	foundations,	and	no	man	should	dare
to	speak	in	behalf	of	a	fallacy.	Arguing	a	subject,	however,	will	necessarily
arouse	contradictory	ideas	in	the	mind	of	your	audience.	When	immediate	action
or	persuasion	is	desired,	suggestion	is	more	efficacious	than	argument—when
both	are	judiciously	mixed,	the	effect	is	irresistible.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	Make	an	outline,	or	brief,	of	the	contents	of	this	chapter.
2.	Revise	the	introduction	to	any	of	your	written	addresses,	with	the	teachings	of
this	chapter	in	mind.
3.	Give	two	original	examples	of	the	power	of	suggestion	as	you	have	observed
it	in	each	of	these	fields:	( _a_ )	advertising;	( **b** )	politics;	( _c_ )	public	sentiment.
4.	Give	original	examples	of	suggestive	speech,	illustrating	two	of	the	principles
set	forth	in	this	chapter.
5.	 What	 reasons	 can	 you	 give	 that	 disprove	 the	 general	 contention	 of	 this
chapter?
6.	What	reasons	not	already	given	seem	to	you	to	support	it?
7.	What	effect	do	his	own	suggestions	have	on	the	speaker	himself?
8.	Can	suggestion	arise	from	the	audience?	If	so,	show	how.
9.	Select	two	instances	of	suggestion	in	the	speeches	found	in	the	Appendix.
10.	 Change	 any	 two	 passages	 in	 the	 same,	 or	 other,	 speeches	 so	 as	 to	 use
suggestion	more	effectively.
11.	Deliver	those	passages	in	the	revised	form.
12.	Choosing	your	own	subject,	prepare	and	deliver	a	short	speech	largely	in	the
suggestive	style.

### CHAPTER	XXIII


#### INFLUENCING	BY	ARGUMENT

```
Common	sense	is	the	common	sense	of	mankind.	It	is	the	product	of
common	 observation	 and	 experience.	 It	 is	 modest,	 plain,	 and
unsophisticated.	 It	 sees	 with	 everybody's	 eyes,	 and	 hears	 with
everybody's	ears.	It	has	no	capricious	distinctions,	no	perplexities,
and	 no	 mysteries.	 It	 never	 equivocates,	 and	 never	 trifles.	 Its
language	is	always	intelligible.	It	is	known	by	clearness	of	speech
and	singleness	of	purpose.
```
```
—GEORGE	JACOB	HOLYOAKE,	 Public	Speaking	and	Debate.
```
The	very	name	of	logic	is	awesome	to	most	young	speakers,	but	so	soon	as	they
come	to	realize	that	its	processes,	even	when	most	intricate,	are	merely	technical
statements	of	the	truths	enforced	by	common	sense,	it	will	lose	its	terrors.	In
fact,	logic[25]	is	a	fascinating	subject,	well	worth	the	public	speaker's	study,	for	it
explains	the	principles	that	govern	the	use	of	argument	and	proof.

Argumentation	is	the	process	of	producing	conviction	by	means	of	reasoning.
Other	ways	of	producing	conviction	there	are,	notably	suggestion,	as	we	have
just	shown,	but	no	means	is	so	high,	so	worthy	of	respect,	as	the	adducing	of
sound	reasons	in	support	of	a	contention.

Since	more	than	one	side	of	a	subject	must	be	considered	before	we	can	claim	to
have	deliberated	upon	it	fairly,	we	ought	to	think	of	argumentation	under	two
aspects:	building	up	an	argument,	and	tearing	down	an	argument;	that	is,	you
must	not	only	examine	into	the	stability	of	your	structure	of	argument	so	that	it
may	both	support	the	proposition	you	intend	to	probe	and	yet	be	so	sound	that	it
cannot	be	overthrown	by	opponents,	but	you	must	also	be	so	keen	to	detect
defects	in	argument	that	you	will	be	able	to	demolish	the	weaker	arguments	of
those	who	argue	against	you.

We	can	consider	 argumentation	only	generally,	 leaving	minute	and	 technical
discussions	to	such	excellent	works	as	George	P.	Baker's	"The	Principles	of
Argumentation,"	and	George	Jacob	Holyoake's	"Public	Speaking	and	Debate."
Any	 good	 college	 rhetoric	 also	 will	 give	 help	 on	 the	 subject,	 especially	 the
works	of	John	Franklin	Genung	and	Adams	Sherman	Hill.	The	student	is	urged
to	familiarize	himself	with	at	least	one	of	these	texts.

The	following	series	of	questions	will,	it	is	hoped,	serve	a	triple	purpose:	that	of


suggesting	the	forms	of	proof	together	with	the	ways	in	which	they	may	be	used;
that	of	helping	the	speaker	to	test	the	strength	of	his	arguments;	and	that	of
enabling	the	speaker	to	attack	his	opponent's	arguments	with	both	keenness	and
justice.

TESTING	AN	ARGUMENT

I.	THE	QUESTION	UNDER	DISCUSSION

1.	 _Is	it	clearly	stated?_

( _a_ )	Do	the	terms	of	statement	mean	the	same	to	each
disputant?	(For	example,	the	meaning	of	the	term	"gentleman"	may	not
be	mutually	agreed	upon.)

```
( b )	Is	confusion	likely	to	arise	as	to	its	purpose?
```
2.	 _Is	it	fairly	stated?_

```
( a )	Does	it	include	enough?
```
```
( b )	Does	it	include	too	much?
```
```
( c )	Is	it	stated	so	as	to	contain	a	trap?
```
3.	 _Is	it	a	debatable	question?_
4.	 _What	is	the	pivotal	point	in	the	whole	question?_
5.	 _What	are	the	subordinate	points?_

II.	THE	EVIDENCE

1.	 _The	witnesses	as	to	facts_

( _a_ )	Is	each	witness	impartial?	What	is	his	relation	to	the
subject	at	issue?

```
( b )	Is	he	mentally	competent?
```

```
( c )	Is	he	morally	credible?
```
( _d_ )	Is	he	in	a	position	to	know	the	facts?	Is	he	an
eye-witness?

```
( e )	Is	he	a	willing	witness?
```
```
( f )	Is	his	testimony	contradicted?
```
```
( g )	Is	his	testimony	corroborated?
```
( _h_ )	Is	his	testimony	contrary	to	well-known	facts	or	general
principles?

```
( i )	Is	it	probable?
```
2.	 _The	authorities	cited	as	evidence_

```
( a )	Is	the	authority	well-recognized	as	such?
```
```
( b )	What	constitutes	him	an	authority?
```
```
( c )	Is	his	interest	in	the	case	an	impartial	one?
```
```
( d )	Does	he	state	his	opinion	positively	and	clearly?
```
( _e_ )	Are	the	non-personal	authorities	cited	(books,	etc.)
reliable	and	unprejudiced?

3.	 _The	facts	adduced	as	evidence_

```
( a )	Are	they	sufficient	in	number	to	constitute	proof?
```
```
( b )	Are	they	weighty	enough	in	character?
```
```
( c )	Are	they	in	harmony	with	reason?
```
```
( d )	Are	they	mutually	harmonious	or	contradictory?
```

```
( e )	Are	they	admitted,	doubted,	or	disputed?
```
4.	 _The	principles	adduced	as	evidence_

```
( a )	Are	they	axiomatic?
```
```
( b )	Are	they	truths	of	general	experience?
```
```
( c )	Are	they	truths	of	special	experience?
```
```
( d )	Are	they	truths	arrived	at	by	experiment?
Were	such	experiments	special	or	general?
Were	the	experiments	authoritative	and	conclusive?
```
III.	THE	REASONING

1.	 _Inductions_

( _a_ )	Are	the	facts	numerous	enough	to	warrant	accepting	the
generalization	as	being	conclusive?

( _b_ )	Do	the	facts	agree	 _only_ 	when	considered	in	the
light	of	this	explanation	as	a	conclusion?

```
( c )	Have	you	overlooked	any	contradictory	facts?
```
( _d_ )	Are	the	contradictory	facts	sufficiently	explained	when
this	inference	is	accepted	as	true?

( _e_ )	Are	all	contrary	positions	shown	to	be	relatively
untenable?

```
( f )	Have	you	accepted	mere	opinions	as	facts?
```
2.	 _Deductions_

```
( a )	Is	the	law	or	general	principle	a	well-established	one?
```

( _b_ )	Does	the	law	or	principle	clearly	include	the	fact	you
wish	to	deduce	from	it,	or	have	you	strained	the	inference?

( _c_ )	Does	the	importance	of	the	law	or	principle	warrant	so
important	an	inference?

```
( d )	Can	the	deduction	be	shown	to	prove	too	much?
```
3.	 _Parallel	cases_

( _a_ )	Are	the	cases	parallel	at	enough	points	to	warrant	an
inference	of	similar	cause	or	effect?

```
( b )	Are	the	cases	parallel	at	the	vital	point	at	issue?
```
```
( c )	Has	the	parallelism	been	strained?
```
( _d_ )	Are	there	no	other	parallels	that	would	point	to	a
stronger	contrary	conclusion?

4.	 _Inferences_

( _a_ )	Are	the	antecedent	conditions	such	as	would	make	the
allegation	probable?	(Character	and	opportunities	of	the	accused,	for
example.)

( _b_ )	Are	the	signs	that	point	to	the	inference	either	clear
or	numerous	enough	to	warrant	its	acceptance	as	fact?

```
( c )	Are	the	signs	cumulative,	and	agreeable	one	with	the	other?
```
```
( d )	Could	the	signs	be	made	to	point	to	a	contrary	conclusion?
```
5.	 _Syllogisms_

( _a_ )	Have	any	steps	been	omitted	in	the	syllogisms?
(Such	as	in	a	syllogism	 _in	enthymeme_ .)	If	so,	test	any	such	by
filling	out	the	syllogisms.


( _b_ )	Have	you	been	guilty	of	stating	a	conclusion	that	really
does	not	follow?	(A	 _non	sequitur_ .)

( _c_ )	Can	your	syllogism	be	reduced	to	an	absurdity?
( _Reductio	ad	absurdum._ )

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	Show	why	an	unsupported	assertion	is	not	an	argument.
2.	Illustrate	how	an	irrelevant	fact	may	be	made	to	seem	to	support	an	argument.
3.	What	inferences	may	justly	be	made	from	the	following?

```
During	the	Boer	War	it	was	found	that	the	average	Englishman	did
not	measure	up	to	the	standards	of	recruiting	and	the	average	soldier
in	 the	 field	 manifested	 a	 low	 plane	 of	 vitality	 and	 endurance.
Parliament,	alarmed	by	the	disastrous	consequences,	instituted	an
investigation.	The	commission	appointed	brought	in	a	finding	that
alcoholic	poisoning	was	the	great	cause	of	the	national	degeneracy.
The	investigations	of	the	commission	have	been	supplemented	by
investigations	 of	 scientific	 bodies	 and	 individual	 scientists,	 all
arriving	 at	 the	 same	 conclusion.	 As	 a	 consequence,	 the	 British
Government	 has	 placarded	 the	 streets	of	 a	 hundred	 cities	 with
billboards	setting	forth	the	destructive	and	degenerating	nature	of
alcohol	and	appealing	to	the	people	in	the	name	of	the	nation	to
desist	from	drinking	alcoholic	beverages.	Under	efforts	directed	by
the	Government	the	British	Army	is	fast	becoming	an	army	of	total
abstainers.
```
```
The	Governments	of	continental	Europe	followed	the	lead	of	the
British	Government.	The	French	Government	has	placarded	France
with	appeals	to	the	people,	attributing	the	decline	of	the	birth	rate
and	increase	in	the	death	rate	to	the	widespread	use	of	alcoholic
beverages.	The	experience	of	the	German	Government	has	been	the
same.	The	German	Emperor	has	clearly	stated	that	leadership	in	war
and	in	peace	will	be	held	by	the	nation	that	roots	out	alcohol.	He	has
undertaken	to	eliminate	even	the	drinking	of	beer,	so	far	as	possible,
from	 the	 German	 Army	 and	 Navy.—RICHMOND	 PEARSON	 HOBSON,
Before	the	U.S.	Congress.
```

4.	Since	the	burden	of	proof	lies	on	him	who	attacks	a	position,	or	argues	for	a
change	in	affairs,	how	would	his	opponent	be	likely	to	conduct	his	own	part	of	a
debate?
5.	Define	( _a_ )	syllogism;	( _b_ )	rebuttal;	( _c_ )	"begging	the	question;"	( _d_ )	premise;	( _e_ )
rejoinder;	( _f_ )	sur-rejoinder;	( _g_ )	dilemma;	( _h_ )	induction;	( _i_ )	deduction;	( _j_ )	 _a	priori_ ;
( _k_ )	 _a	posteriori_ ;	( _l_ )	inference.
6.	Criticise	this	reasoning:

```
Men	ought	not	to	smoke	tobacco,	because	to	do	so	is	contrary	to	best
medical	 opinion.	 My	 physician	 has	 expressly	 condemned	 the
practise,	and	is	a	medical	authority	in	this	country.
```
7.	Criticise	this	reasoning:

```
Men	ought	not	to	swear	profanely,	because	it	is	wrong.	It	is	wrong
for	the	reason	that	it	is	contrary	to	the	Moral	Law,	and	it	is	contrary
to	 the	 Moral	 Law	 because	 it	 is	 contrary	 to	 the	 Scriptures.	 It	 is
contrary	to	the	Scriptures	because	it	is	contrary	to	the	will	of	God,
and	we	know	it	is	contrary	to	God's	will	because	it	is	wrong.
```
8.	Criticise	this	syllogism:

```
MAJOR	PREMISE:	All	men	who	have	no	cares	are	happy.
MINOR	PREMISE:	Slovenly	men	are	careless.
CONCLUSION:	Therefore,	slovenly	men	are	happy.
```
9.	Criticise	the	following	major,	or	foundation,	premises:

```
All	is	not	gold	that	glitters.
```
```
All	cold	may	be	expelled	by	fire.
```
10.	Criticise	the	following	fallacy	( _non	sequitur_ ):

```
MAJOR	PREMISE:	All	strong	men	admire	strength.
MINOR	PREMISE:	This	man	is	not	strong.
CONCLUSION:	Therefore	this	man	does	not	admire	strength.
```
11.	Criticise	these	statements:

```
Sleep	is	beneficial	on	account	of	its	soporific	qualities.
```

```
Fiske's	 histories	 are	 authentic	 because	 they	 contain	 accurate
accounts	 of	 American	 history,	 and	 we	 know	 that	 they	 are	 true
accounts	 for	 otherwise	 they	 would	 not	 be	 contained	 in	 these
authentic	works.
```
12.	What	do	you	understand	from	the	terms	"reasoning	from	effect	to	cause"	and
"from	cause	to	effect?"	Give	examples.
13.	What	principle	did	Richmond	Pearson	Hobson	employ	in	the	following?

```
What	is	the	police	power	of	the	States?	The	police	power	of	the
Federal	Government	or	the	State—any	sovereign	State—has	been
defined.	Take	the	definition	given	by	Blackstone,	which	is:
```
```
The	due	regulation	and	domestic	order	of	the	Kingdom,	whereby	the
inhabitants	of	a	State,	like	members	of	a	well-governed	family,	are
bound	to	conform	their	general	behavior	to	the	rules	of	propriety,	of
neighborhood	and	good	manners,	and	to	be	decent,	industrious,	and
inoffensive	in	their	respective	stations.
```
```
Would	 this	 amendment	 interfere	 with	 any	 State	 carrying	 on	 the
promotion	of	its	domestic	order?
```
```
Or	you	can	take	the	definition	in	another	form,	in	which	it	is	given
by	Mr.	Tiedeman,	when	he	says:
```
```
The	object	of	government	is	to	impose	that	degree	of	restraint	upon
human	 actions	 which	 is	 necessary	 to	 a	 uniform,	 reasonable
enjoyment	of	private	rights.	The	power	of	the	government	to	impose
this	restraint	is	called	the	police	power.
```
```
Judge	Cooley	says	of	the	liquor	traffic:
```
```
The	business	of	manufacturing	and	selling	liquor	is	one	that	affects
the	public	interests	in	many	ways	and	leads	to	many	disorders.	It	has
a	tendency	to	increase	pauperism	and	crime.	It	renders	a	large	force
of	peace	officers	essential,	and	it	adds	to	the	expense	of	the	courts
and	of	nearly	all	branches	of	civil	administration.
```
```
Justice	Bradley,	of	the	United	States	Supreme	Court,	says:
```
```
Licenses	 may	 be	 properly	 required	 in	 the	 pursuit	 of	 many
```

```
professions	and	avocations,	which	require	peculiar	skill	and	training
or	supervision	for	the	public	welfare.	The	profession	or	avocation	is
open	 to	 all	 alike	 who	 will	 prepare	 themselves	 with	 the	 requisite
qualifications	 or	 give	 the	 requisite	 security	 for	 preserving	 public
order.	 This	 is	 in	 harmony	 with	 the	 general	 proposition	 that	 the
ordinary	 pursuits	 of	 life,	 forming	 the	 greater	 per	 cent	 of	 the
industrial	pursuits,	are	and	ought	to	be	free	and	open	to	all,	subject
only	 to	 such	 general	 regulations,	 applying	 equally	 to	 all,	 as	 the
general	good	may	demand.
```
```
All	 such	 regulations	 are	 entirely	 competent	 for	 the	legislature	to
make	 and	 are	 in	 no	 sense	 an	 abridgment	 of	 the	 equal	 rights	 of
citizens.	 But	 a	 license	 to	 do	 that	 which	 is	 odious	 and	 against
common	right	is	necessarily	an	outrage	upon	the	equal	rights	of
citizens.
```
14.	What	method	did	Jesus	employ	in	the	following:


```
Ye	are	the	salt	of	the	earth;	but	if	the	salt	have	lost	his	savour,
wherewith	shall	it	be	salted?	It	is	thenceforth	good	for	nothing	but	to
be	cast	out,	and	to	be	trodden	under	foot	of	men.
```
```
Behold	the	fowls	of	the	air;	for	they	sow	not,	neither	do	they	reap
nor	gather	into	barns;	yet	your	heavenly	Father	feedeth	them.	Are	ye
not	much	better	than	they?
```
```
And	why	take	ye	thought	for	raiment?	Consider	the	lilies	of	the
field;	how	they	grow;	they	toil	not,	neither	do	they	spin;	And	yet	I
say	unto	you,	that	even	Solomon	in	all	his	glory	was	not	arrayed	like
one	of	these.	Wherefore,	if	God	so	clothe	the	grass	of	the	field,
which	today	is,	and	tomorrow	is	cast	into	the	oven,	shall	he	not
much	more	clothe	you,	O	ye	of	little	faith?
```
```
Or	what	man	is	there	of	you,	whom	if	his	son	ask	bread,	will	he	give
him	a	stone?	Or	if	he	ask	a	fish,	will	he	give	him	a	serpent?	If	ye
then,	being	evil,	know	how	to	give	good	gifts	unto	your	children,
how	much	more	shall	your	Father	which	is	in	heaven	give	good
things	to	them	that	ask	him?
```
15.	Make	five	original	syllogisms[26]	on	the	following	models:

```
MAJOR	PREMISE:	He	who	administers	arsenic	gives	poison. MINOR
PREMISE:	 The	 prisoner	 administered	 arsenic	 to	 the	 victim.
CONCLUSION:	Therefore	the	prisoner	is	a	poisoner.
```
```
MAJOR	 PREMISE:	 All	 dogs	 are	 quadrupeds.	MINOR	 PREMISE:	 This
animal	is	a	biped.	CONCLUSION:	Therefore	this	animal	is	not	a	dog.
```
16.	Prepare	either	the	positive	or	the	negative	side	of	the	following	question	for
debate:	 _The	recall	of	judges	should	be	adopted	as	a	national	principle_.
17.	Is	this	question	debatable?	 _Benedict	Arnold	was	a	gentleman._ 	Give	reasons
for	your	answer.
18.	Criticise	any	street	or	dinner-table	argument	you	have	heard	recently.
19.	Test	the	reasoning	of	any	of	the	speeches	given	in	this	volume.
20.	Make	a	short	speech	arguing	in	favor	of	instruction	in	public	speaking	in	the
public	evening	schools.


21.	( _a_ )	Clip	a	newspaper	editorial	in	which	the	reasoning	is	weak.	( _b_ )	Criticise	it.
( _c_ )	Correct	it.
22.	 Make	 a	 list	 of	 three	 subjects	 for	 debate,	 selected	 from	 the	 monthly
magazines.
23.	Do	the	same	from	the	newspapers.
24.	Choosing	your	own	question	and	side,	prepare	a	brief	suitable	for	a	ten-
minute	debating	argument.	The	following	models	of	briefs	may	help	you:

DEBATE

RESOLVED:	 _That	armed	intervention	is	not	justifiable	on	the	part	of	any	nation	to
collect,	on	behalf	of	private	individuals,	financial	claims	against	any	American
nation._ [27]

BRIEF OF	AFFIRMATIVE	ARGUMENT

```
First	speaker—Chafee
```
Armed	intervention	for	collection	of	private	claims	from	any	American
nation	is	not	justifiable,	for

1.	 _It	is	wrong	in	principle_ ,	because

( _a_ )	It	violates	the	fundamental	principles	of	international	law	for	a
very	slight	cause

```
( b )	It	is	contrary	to	the	proper	function	of	the	State,	and
```
```
( c )	It	is	contrary	to	justice,	since	claims	are	exaggerated.
```
```
Second	speaker—Hurley
```
2.	 _It	is	disastrous	in	its	results_ ,	because

```
( a )	It	incurs	danger	of	grave	international	complications
```
( _b_ )	It	tends	to	increase	the	burden	of	debt	in	the	South	American
republics


```
( c )	It	encourages	a	waste	of	the	world's	capital,	and
```
```
( d )	It	disturbs	peace	and	stability	in	South	America.
```
```
Third	speaker—Bruce
```
3.	 _It	is	unnecessary	to	collect	in	this	way_ ,	because

```
( a )	Peaceful	methods	have	succeeded
```
( _b_ )	If	these	should	fail,	claims	should	be	settled	by	The	Hague
Tribunal

( _c_ )	The	fault	has	always	been	with	European	States	when	force	has	been
used,	and

( _d_ )	In	any	case,	force	should	not	be	used,	for	it	counteracts	the
movement	towards	peace.

#### BRIEF OF	NEGATIVE	ARGUMENT

```
First	speaker—Branch
```
Armed	intervention	for	the	collection	of	private	financial	claims
against	some	American	States	is	justifiable,	for

1.	 _When	other	means	of	collection	have	failed,	armed	intervention
against	any	nation	is	essentially	proper_ ,	because

```
( a )	Justice	should	always	be	secured
```
```
( b )	Non-enforcement	of	payment	puts	a	premium	on	dishonesty
```
( _c_ )	Intervention	for	this	purpose	is	sanctioned	by	the	best
international	authority

```
( d )	Danger	of	undue	collection	is	slight	and	can	be	avoided	entirely	by
```

submission	of	claims	to	The	Hague	Tribunal	before	intervening.

```
Second	speaker—Stone
```
2.	 _Armed	intervention	is	necessary	to	secure	justice	in	tropical
America_ ,	for

```
( a )	The	governments	of	this	section	constantly	repudiate	just	debts
```
( _b_ )	They	insist	that	the	final	decision	about	claims	shall	rest	with
their	own	corrupt	courts

```
( c )	They	refuse	to	arbitrate	sometimes.
```
```
Third	speaker—Dennett
```
3.	 _Armed	intervention	is	beneficial	in	its	results_ ,	because

```
( a )	It	inspires	responsibility
```
```
( b )	In	administering	custom	houses	it	removes	temptation	to	revolutions
```
```
( c )	It	gives	confidence	to	desirable	capital.
```
Among	 others,	 the	 following	 books	 were	 used	 in	 the	 preparation	 of	 the
arguments:

N.	"The	Monroe	Doctrine,"	by	T.B.	Edgington.	Chapters	22-28.
"Digest	of	International	Law,"	by	J.B.	Moore.	Report	of	Penfield	of

```
proceedings	before	Hague	Tribunal	in	1903.
```
```
"Statesman's	Year	Book"	(for	statistics).
```
A.	Minister	Drago's	appeal	to	the	United	States,	in	Foreign

```
Relations	of	United	States,	1903.
```

```
President	Roosevelt's	Message,	1905,	pp.	33-37.
```
And	articles	in	the	following	magazines	(among	many	others):

```
"Journal	of	Political	Economy,"	December,	1906.
```
```
"Atlantic	Monthly,"	October,	1906.
```
```
"North	American	Review,"	Vol.	183,	p.	602.
```
All	of	these	contain	material	valuable	for	both	sides,	except	those	marked	"N"
and	"A,"	which	are	useful	only	for	the	negative	and	affirmative,	respectively.

NOTE:—Practise	in	debating	is	most	helpful	to	the	public	speaker,	but	if	possible
each	debate	should	be	under	the	supervision	of	some	person	whose	word	will	be
respected,	 so	 that	 the	 debaters	 might	 show	 regard	 for	 courtesy,	 accuracy,
effective	 reasoning,	 and	 the	 necessity	 for	 careful	 preparation.	 The	 Appendix
contains	a	list	of	questions	for	debate.

25.	Are	the	following	points	well	considered?

THE	INHERITANCE	TAX IS	NOT A	GOOD	SOCIAL	REFORM	MEASURE

A.	Does	not	strike	at	the	root	of	the	evil

1.	 _Fortunes	not	a	menace	in	themselves_ 	A	fortune	of	$500,000	may
be	a	greater	social	evil	than	one	of	$500,000,000
2.	 _Danger	of	wealth	depends	on	its	wrong	accumulation	and	use_
3.	 _Inheritance	tax	will	not	prevent	rebates,	monopoly,
discrimination,	bribery,	etc._
4.	 _Laws	aimed	at	unjust	accumulation	and	use	of	wealth	furnish	the
true	remedy._

B.	It	would	be	evaded

1.	 _Low	rates	are	evaded_


2.	 _Rate	must	be	high	to	result	in	distribution	of	great	fortunes._
26.	Class	exercises:	Mock	Trial	for	( _a_ )	some	serious	political	offense;	( _b_ )	a
burlesque	offense.

### FOOTNOTES:

```
[25]	McCosh's	 Logic 	is	a	helpful	volume,	and	not	too	technical	for	the	beginner.	A
brief	digest	of	logical	principles	as	applied	to	public	speaking	is	contained	in	 How	to
Attract	and	Hold	an	Audience ,	by	J.	Berg	Esenwein.
[26]	For	those	who	would	make	a	further	study	of	the	syllogism	the	following	rules
are	given:	1.	In	a	syllogism	there	should	be	only	three	terms.	2.	Of	these	three	only
one	can	be	the	middle	term.	3.	One	premise	must	be	affirmative.	4.	The	conclusion
must	be	negative	if	either	premise	is	negative.	5.	To	prove	a	negative,	one	of	the
premises	must	be	negative.
Summary	of	Regulating	Principles :	1.	Terms	which	agree	with	the	same	thing	agree
with	each	other;	and	when	only	one	of	two	terms	agrees	with	a	third	term,	the	two
terms	disagree	with	each	other.	2.	"Whatever	is	affirmed	of	a	class	may	be	affirmed	of
all	the	members	of	that	class,"	and	"Whatever	is	denied	of	a	class	may	be	denied	of	all
the	members	of	that	class."
[27]	All	the	speakers	were	from	Brown	University.	The	affirmative	briefs	were	used
in	debate	with	the	Dartmouth	College	team,	and	the	negative	briefs	were	used	in
debate	with	the	Williams	College	team.	From	 The	Speaker ,	by	permission.
```
### CHAPTER	XXIV

#### INFLUENCING	BY	PERSUASION

```
She	hath	prosperous	art
When	she	will	play	with	reason	and	discourse,
And	well	she	can	persuade.
```
```
—SHAKESPEARE,	 Measure	for	Measure.
```
```
Him	we	call	an	artist	who	shall	play	on	an	assembly	of	men	as	a
master	on	the	keys	of	a	piano,—who	seeing	the	people	furious,	shall
soften	and	compose	them,	shall	draw	them,	when	he	will,	to	laughter
and	to	tears.	Bring	him	to	his	audience,	and,	be	they	who	they	may,
```

```
—coarse	or	refined,	pleased	or	displeased,	sulky	or	savage,	with
their	opinions	in	the	keeping	of	a	confessor	or	with	their	opinions	in
their	bank	safes,—he	will	have	them	pleased	and	humored	as	he
chooses;	and	they	shall	carry	and	execute	what	he	bids	them.
```
```
—RALPH	WALDO	EMERSON,	Essay	on	 Eloquence.
```
More	good	and	more	ill	have	been	effected	by	persuasion	than	by	any	other	form
of	speech.	 _It	is	an	attempt	to	influence	by	means	of	appeal	to	some	particular
interest	held	important	by	the	hearer._ 	Its	motive	may	be	high	or	low,	fair	or
unfair,	 honest	 or	 dishonest,	 calm	 or	 passionate,	 and	 hence	 its	 scope	 is
unparalleled	in	public	speaking.

This	"instilment	of	conviction,"	to	use	Matthew	Arnold's	expression,	is	naturally
a	complex	process	in	that	it	usually	includes	argumentation	and	often	employs
suggestion,	 as	 the	 next	 chapter	 will	 illustrate.	 In	 fact,	 there	 is	 little	 public
speaking	worthy	of	the	name	that	is	not	in	some	part	persuasive,	for	men	rarely
speak	 solely	to	 alter	 men's	 opinions—the	 ulterior	 purpose	 is	 almost	 always
action.

The	nature	of	persuasion	is	not	solely	intellectual,	but	is	largely	emotional.	It
uses	every	principle	of	public	speaking,	and	every	"form	of	discourse,"	to	use	a
rhetorician's	 expression,	 but	 argument	 supplemented	 by	 special	 appeal	 is	 its
peculiar	quality.	This	we	may	best	see	by	examining

_The	Methods	of	Persuasion_

High-minded	speakers	often	seek	to	move	their	hearers	to	action	by	an	appeal	to
their	highest	motives,	such	as	love	of	liberty.	Senator	Hoar,	in	pleading	for	action
on	the	Philippine	question,	used	this	method:

```
What	has	been	the	practical	statesmanship	which	comes	from	your
ideals	 and	 your	 sentimentalities?	 You	 have	 wasted	 nearly	 six
hundred	 millions	 of	 treasure.	 You	 have	 sacrificed	 nearly	 ten
thousand	 American	 lives—the	 flower	 of	 our	 youth.	 You	 have
devastated	provinces.	You	have	slain	uncounted	thousands	of	the
people	you	desire	to	benefit.	You	have	established	reconcentration
camps.	Your	generals	are	coming	home	from	their	harvest	bringing
sheaves	 with	 them,	 in	 the	 shape	 of	 other	 thousands	 of	 sick	 and
wounded	and	insane	to	drag	out	miserable	lives,	wrecked	in	body
and	mind.	You	make	the	American	flag	in	the	eyes	of	a	numerous
```

```
people	the	emblem	of	sacrilege	in	Christian	churches,	and	of	the
burning	of	human	dwellings,	and	of	the	horror	of	the	water	torture.
Your	 practical	 statesmanship	 which	 disdains	 to	 take	 George
Washington	and	Abraham	Lincoln	or	the	soldiers	of	the	Revolution
or	of	the	Civil	War	as	models,	has	looked	in	some	cases	to	Spain	for
your	example.	I	believe—nay,	I	know—that	in	general	our	officers
and	soldiers	are	humane.	But	in	some	cases	they	have	carried	on
your	warfare	with	a	mixture	of	American	ingenuity	and	Castilian
cruelty.
```
```
Your	practical	statesmanship	has	succeeded	in	converting	a	people
who	three	years	ago	were	ready	to	kiss	the	hem	of	the	garment	of	the
American	and	to	welcome	him	as	a	liberator,	who	thronged	after
your	men,	when	they	landed	on	those	islands,	with	benediction	and
gratitude,	 into	 sullen	 and	 irreconcilable	 enemies,	 possessed	 of	 a
hatred	which	centuries	cannot	eradicate.
```
```
Mr.	President,	this	is	the	eternal	law	of	human	nature.	You	may
struggle	 against	 it,	 you	 may	 try	 to	 escape	 it,	 you	 may	 persuade
yourself	that	your	intentions	are	benevolent,	that	your	yoke	will	be
easy	and	your	burden	will	be	light,	but	it	will	assert	itself	again.
Government	without	the	consent	of	the	governed—authority	which
heaven	never	gave—can	only	be	supported	by	means	which	heaven
never	can	sanction.
```
```
The	American	people	have	got	this	one	question	to	answer.	They
may	answer	it	now;	they	can	take	ten	years,	or	twenty	years,	or	a
generation,	or	a	century	to	think	of	it.	But	will	not	down.	They	must
answer	it	in	the	end:	Can	you	lawfully	buy	with	money,	or	get	by
brute	force	of	arms,	the	right	to	hold	in	subjugation	an	unwilling
people,	and	to	impose	on	them	such	constitution	as	you,	and	not
they,	think	best	for	them?
```
Senator	Hoar	then	went	on	to	make	another	sort	of	appeal—the	appeal	to	fact
and	experience:

```
We	have	answered	this	question	a	good	many	times	in	the	past.	The
fathers	answered	it	in	1776,	and	founded	the	Republic	upon	their
answer,	which	has	been	the	corner-stone.	John	Quincy	Adams	and
James	Monroe	answered	it	again	in	the	Monroe	Doctrine,	which
```

```
John	Quincy	Adams	declared	was	only	the	doctrine	of	the	consent	of
the	 governed.	 The	 Republican	 party	 answered	 it	 when	 it	 took
possession	of	the	force	of	government	at	the	beginning	of	the	most
brilliant	period	in	all	legislative	history.	Abraham	Lincoln	answered
it	when,	on	that	fatal	journey	to	Washington	in	1861,	he	announced
that	 as	 the	 doctrine	 of	 his	 political	 creed,	 and	 declared,	 with
prophetic	vision,	that	he	was	ready	to	be	assassinated	for	it	if	need
be.	You	answered	it	again	yourselves	when	you	said	that	Cuba,	who
had	no	more	title	than	the	people	of	the	Philippine	Islands	had	to
their	independence,	of	right	ought	to	be	free	and	independent.
```
```
—GEORGE	F.	HOAR.
```
Appeal	to	the	things	that	man	holds	dear	is	another	potent	form	of	persuasion.

Joseph	 Story,	 in	 his	 great	 Salem	 speech	 (1828)	 used	 this	 method	 most
dramatically:

```
I	call	upon	you,	fathers,	by	the	shades	of	your	ancestors—by	the
dear	ashes	which	repose	in	this	precious	soil—by	all	you	are,	and	all
you	 hope	 to	 be—resist	 every	 object	 of	 disunion,	 resist	 every
encroachment	upon	your	liberties,	resist	every	attempt	to	fetter	your
consciences,	 or	 smother	 your	 public	 schools,	 or	 extinguish	 your
system	of	public	instruction.
```
```
I	call	upon	you,	mothers,	by	that	which	never	fails	in	woman,	the
love	of	your	offspring;	teach	them,	as	they	climb	your	knees,	or	lean
on	your	bosoms,	the	blessings	of	liberty.	Swear	them	at	the	altar,	as
with	their	baptismal	vows,	to	be	true	to	their	country,	and	never	to
forget	or	forsake	her.
```
```
I	 call	 upon	 you,	 young	 men,	 to	 remember	 whose	 sons	 you	 are;
whose	inheritance	you	possess.	Life	can	never	be	too	short,	which
brings	nothing	but	disgrace	and	oppression.	Death	never	comes	too
soon,	if	necessary	in	defence	of	the	liberties	of	your	country.
```
```
I	call	upon	you,	old	men,	for	your	counsels,	and	your	prayers,	and
your	benedictions.	May	not	your	gray	hairs	go	down	in	sorrow	to	the
grave,	with	the	recollection	that	you	have	lived	in	vain.	May	not
your	last	sun	sink	in	the	west	upon	a	nation	of	slaves.
```

```
No;	I	read	in	the	destiny	of	my	country	far	better	hopes,	far	brighter
visions.	We,	who	are	now	assembled	here,	must	soon	be	gathered	to
the	congregation	of	other	days.	The	time	of	our	departure	is	at	hand,
to	make	way	for	our	children	upon	the	theatre	of	life.	May	God
speed	 them	 and	 theirs.	 May	 he	 who,	 at	 the	 distance	 of	 another
century,	shall	stand	here	to	celebrate	this	day,	still	look	round	upon	a
free,	happy,	and	virtuous	people.	May	he	have	reason	to	exult	as	we
do.	May	he,	with	all	the	enthusiasm	of	truth	as	well	as	of	poetry,
exclaim,	that	here	is	still	his	country.—JOSEPH	STORY.
```
The	appeal	to	prejudice	is	effective—though	not	often,	if	ever,	justifiable;	yet	so
long	 as	 special	 pleading	 endures	 this	 sort	 of	 persuasion	 will	 be	 resorted	 to.
Rudyard	 Kipling	 uses	 this	 method—as	 have	 many	 others	 on	 both	 sides—in
discussing	the	great	European	war.	Mingled	with	the	appeal	to	prejudice,	Mr.
Kipling	uses	the	appeal	to	self-interest;	though	not	the	highest,	it	is	a	powerful
motive	in	all	our	lives.	Notice	how	at	the	last	the	pleader	sweeps	on	to	the
highest	ground	he	can	take.	This	is	a	notable	example	of	progressive	appeal,
beginning	with	a	low	motive	and	ending	with	a	high	one	in	such	a	way	as	to
carry	all	the	force	of	prejudice	yet	gain	all	the	value	of	patriotic	fervor.

```
Through	no	fault	nor	wish	of	ours	we	are	at	war	with	Germany,	the
power	which	owes	its	existence	to	three	well-thought-out	wars;	the
power	 which,	 for	 the	 last	 twenty	 years,	 has	 devoted	 itself	 to
organizing	 and	 preparing	 for	 this	 war;	 the	 power	 which	 is	 now
fighting	to	conquer	the	civilized	world.
```
```
For	the	last	two	generations	the	Germans	in	their	books,	lectures,
speeches	and	schools	have	been	carefully	taught	that	nothing	less
than	this	world-conquest	was	the	object	of	their	preparations	and
their	sacrifices.	They	have	prepared	carefully	and	sacrificed	greatly.
```
```
We	must	have	men	and	men	and	men,	if	we,	with	our	allies,	are	to
check	the	onrush	of	organized	barbarism.
```
```
Have	no	illusions.	We	are	dealing	with	a	strong	and	magnificently
equipped	enemy,	whose	avowed	aim	is	our	complete	destruction.
The	 violation	 of	 Belgium,	 the	 attack	 on	 France	 and	 the	 defense
against	 Russia,	 are	 only	 steps	 by	 the	 way.	 The	 German's	 real
objective,	 as	 she	 always	 has	 told	 us,	 is	 England,	 and	 England's
wealth,	trade	and	worldwide	possessions.
```

```
If	 you	 assume,	 for	 an	 instant,	 that	 the	 attack	 will	 be	 successful,
England	will	not	be	reduced,	as	some	people	say,	to	the	rank	of	a
second	rate	power,	but	we	shall	cease	to	exist	as	a	nation.	We	shall
become	an	outlying	province	of	Germany,	to	be	administered	with
that	severity	German	safety	and	interest	require.
```
```
We	are	against	such	a	fate.	We	enter	into	a	new	life	in	which	all	the
facts	of	war	that	we	had	put	behind	or	forgotten	for	the	last	hundred
years,	 have	 returned	 to	 the	 front	 and	 test	 us	 as	 they	 tested	 our
fathers.	It	will	be	a	long	and	a	hard	road,	beset	with	difficulties	and
discouragements,	 but	 we	 tread	 it	 together	 and	 we	 will	 tread	 it
together	to	the	end.
```
```
Our	petty	social	divisions	and	barriers	have	been	swept	away	at	the
outset	of	our	mighty	struggle.	All	the	interests	of	our	life	of	six
weeks	ago	are	dead.	We	have	but	one	interest	now,	and	that	touches
the	naked	heart	of	every	man	in	this	island	and	in	the	empire.
```
```
If	we	are	to	win	the	right	for	ourselves	and	for	freedom	to	exist	on
earth,	 every	 man	 must	 offer	 himself	 for	 that	 service	 and	 that
sacrifice.
```
From	these	examples	it	will	be	seen	that	the	particular	way	in	which	the	speakers
appealed	to	their	hearers	was	 _by	coming	close	home	to	their	interests,	and	by
themselves	showing	emotion_ —two	very	important	principles	which	you	must
keep	constantly	in	mind.

To	 accomplish	 the	 former	 requires	 a	 deep	 knowledge	 of	 human	 motive	 in
general	and	an	understanding	of	the	particular	audience	addressed.	What	are	the
motives	that	arouse	men	to	action?	Think	of	them	earnestly,	set	them	down	on
the	tablets	of	your	mind,	study	how	to	appeal	to	them	worthily.	Then,	what
motives	would	be	likely	to	appeal	to	 _your_ 	hearers?	What	are	their	ideals	and
interests	in	life?	A	mistake	in	your	estimate	may	cost	you	your	case.	To	appeal	to
pride	in	appearance	would	make	one	set	of	men	merely	laugh—to	try	to	arouse
sympathy	for	the	Jews	in	Palestine	would	be	wasted	effort	among	others.	Study
your	audience,	feel	your	way,	and	when	you	have	once	raised	a	spark,	fan	it	into
a	flame	by	every	honest	resource	you	possess.

The	larger	your	audience	the	more	sure	you	are	to	find	a	universal	basis	of
appeal.	A	small	audience	of	bachelors	will	not	grow	excited	over	the	importance
of	furniture	insurance;	most	men	can	be	roused	to	the	defense	of	the	freedom	of


the	press.

Patent	medicine	advertisement	usually	begins	by	talking	about	your	pains—they
begin	 on	 your	 interests.	 If	 they	 first	 discussed	 the	 size	 and	 rating	 of	 their
establishment,	or	the	efficacy	of	their	remedy,	you	would	never	read	the	"ad."	If
they	can	make	you	think	you	have	nervous	troubles	you	will	even	plead	for	a
remedy—they	will	not	have	to	try	to	sell	it.

The	patent	medicine	men	are	pleading—asking	you	to	invest	your	money	in	their
commodity—yet	they	do	not	appear	to	be	doing	so.	They	get	over	on	your	side
of	the	fence,	and	arouse	a	desire	for	their	nostrums	by	appealing	to	your	own
interests.

Recently	a	book-salesman	entered	an	attorney's	office	in	New	York	and	inquired:
"Do	you	want	to	buy	a	book?"	Had	the	lawyer	wanted	a	book	he	would	probably
have	bought	one	without	waiting	for	a	book-salesman	to	call.	The	solicitor	made
the	same	mistake	as	the	representative	who	made	his	approach	with:	"I	want	to
sell	 you	 a	 sewing	 machine."	 They	 both	 talked	 only	 in	 terms	 of	 their	 own
interests.

The	successful	pleader	must	convert	his	arguments	into	terms	of	his	hearers'
advantage.	 Mankind	 are	 still	 selfish,	 are	 interested	 in	 what	 will	 serve	 them.
Expunge	from	your	address	your	own	personal	concern	and	present	your	appeal
in	terms	of	the	general	good,	and	to	do	this	you	need	not	be	insincere,	for	you
had	better	not	plead	any	cause	that	is	 _not_ 	for	the	hearers'	good.	Notice	how
Senator	Thurston	in	his	plea	for	intervention	in	Cuba	and	Mr.	Bryan	in	his
"Cross	of	Gold"	speech	constituted	themselves	the	apostles	of	humanity.

_Exhortation_ 	is	a	highly	impassioned	form	of	appeal	frequently	used	by	the	pulpit
in	efforts	to	arouse	men	to	a	sense	of	duty	and	induce	them	to	decide	their
personal	 courses,	 and	 by	 counsel	 in	 seeking	 to	 influence	 a	 jury.	 The	 great
preachers,	like	the	great	jury-lawyers,	have	always	been	masters	of	persuasion.

Notice	the	difference	among	these	four	exhortations,	and	analyze	the	motives
appealed	to:

```
Revenge!	About!	Seek!	Burn!	Fire!	Kill!	Slay!	Let	not	a	traitor	live!
—SHAKESPEARE,	 Julius	Cæsar.
```
```
Strike—till	the	last	armed	foe	expires,
Strike—for	your	altars	and	your	fires,
```

```
Strike—for	the	green	graves	of	your	sires,
God—and	your	native	land!
```
```
—FITZ-GREENE	HALLECK,	 Marco	Bozzaris.
```
Believe,	gentlemen,	if	it	were	not	for	those	children,	he	would	not
come	here	to-day	to	seek	such	remuneration;	if	it	were	not	that,	by
your	 verdict,	 you	 may	 prevent	 those	 little	 innocent	 defrauded
wretches	from	becoming	wandering	beggars,	as	well	as	orphans	on
the	face	of	this	earth.	Oh,	I	know	I	need	not	ask	this	verdict	from
your	mercy;	I	need	not	extort	it	from	your	compassion;	I	will	receive
it	 from	 your	 justice.	 I	 do	 conjure	 you,	 not	 as	 fathers,	 but	 as
husbands:—not	as	husbands,	but	as	citizens:—not	as	citizens,	but	as
men:—not	 as	 men,	 but	 as	 Christians:—by	 all	 your	 obligations,
public,	private,	moral,	and	religious;	by	the	hearth	profaned;	by	the
home	desolated;	by	the	canons	of	the	living	God	foully	spurned;—
save,	oh:	save	your	firesides	from	the	contagion,	your	country	from
the	crime,	and	perhaps	thousands,	yet	unborn,	from	the	shame,	and
sin,	and	sorrow	of	this	example!

```
—CHARLES	PHILLIPS,	 Appeal	to	the	jury	in	behalf	of	Guthrie.
```
So	I	appeal	from	the	men	in	silken	hose	who	danced	to	music	made
by	slaves	and	called	it	freedom,	from	the	men	in	bell-crown	hats
who	led	Hester	Prynne	to	her	shame	and	called	it	religion,	to	that
Americanism	 which	 reaches	 forth	 its	 arms	 to	 smite	 wrong	 with
reason	and	truth,	secure	in	the	power	of	both.	I	appeal	from	the
patriarchs	 of	 New	 England	 to	 the	 poets	 of	 New	 England;	 from
Endicott	to	Lowell;	from	Winthrop	to	Longfellow;	from	Norton	to
Holmes;	and	I	appeal	in	the	name	and	by	the	rights	of	that	common
citizenship—of	that	common	origin,	back	of	both	the	Puritan	and	the
Cavalier,	 to	 which	 all	 of	 us	 owe	 our	 being.	 Let	 the	 dead	 past,
consecrated	by	the	blood	of	its	martyrs,	not	by	its	savage	hatreds,
darkened	alike	by	kingcraft	and	priestcraft—let	the	dead	past	bury
its	dead.	Let	the	present	and	the	future	ring	with	the	song	of	the
singers.	 Blessed	 be	 the	 lessons	 they	 teach,	 the	 laws	 they	 make.
Blessed	be	the	eye	to	see,	the	light	to	reveal.	Blessed	be	tolerance,
sitting	ever	on	the	right	hand	of	God	to	guide	the	way	with	loving
word,	as	blessed	be	all	that	brings	us	nearer	the	goal	of	true	religion,
true	republicanism,	and	true	patriotism,	distrust	of	watchwords	and


```
labels,	shams	and	heroes,	belief	in	our	country	and	ourselves.	It	was
not	Cotton	Mather,	but	John	Greenleaf	Whittier,	who	cried:
```
```
Dear	God	and	Father	of	us	all,
Forgive	our	faith	in	cruel	lies,
Forgive	the	blindness	that	denies.
```
```
Cast	down	our	idols—overturn
Our	Bloody	altars—make	us	see
Thyself	in	Thy	humanity!
```
```
—HENRY	WATTERSON,	 Puritan	and	Cavalier.
```
Goethe,	 on	 being	 reproached	 for	 not	 having	 written	 war	 songs	 against	 the
French,	replied,	"In	my	poetry	I	have	never	shammed.	How	could	I	have	written
songs	of	hate	without	hatred?"	Neither	is	it	possible	to	plead	with	full	efficiency
for	a	cause	for	which	you	do	not	feel	deeply.	Feeling	is	contagious	as	belief	is
contagious.	The	speaker	who	pleads	with	real	feeling	for	his	own	convictions
will	instill	his	feelings	into	his	listeners.	Sincerity,	force,	enthusiasm,	and	above
all,	 feeling—these	 are	 the	 qualities	 that	 move	 multitudes	 and	 make	 appeals
irresistible.	 They	 are	 of	 far	 greater	 importance	 than	 technical	 principles	 of
delivery,	 grace	 of	 gesture,	 or	 polished	 enunciation—important	 as	 all	 these
elements	must	doubtless	be	considered.	 _Base_ 	your	appeal	on	reason,	but	do	not
end	 in	 the	 basement—let	 the	 building	 rise,	 full	 of	 deep	 emotion	 and	 noble
persuasion.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	( _a_ )	What	elements	of	appeal	do	you	find	in	the	following?	( _b_ )	Is	it	too	florid?
( _c_ )	Is	this	style	equally	powerful	today?	( _d_ )	Are	the	sentences	too	long	and
involved	for	clearness	and	force?

```
Oh,	gentlemen,	am	I	this	day	only	the	counsel	of	my	client?	No,	no;
I	am	the	advocate	of	humanity—of	yourselves—your	homes—your
wives—your	families—your	little	children.	I	am	glad	that	this	case
exhibits	such	atrocity;	unmarked	as	it	is	by	any	mitigatory	feature,	it
may	stop	the	frightful	advance	of	this	calamity;	it	will	be	met	now,
and	marked	with	vengeance.	If	it	be	not,	farewell	to	the	virtues	of
your	 country;	 farewell	 to	 all	 confidence	 between	 man	 and	 man;
farewell	 to	 that	 unsuspicious	 and	 reciprocal	 tenderness,	 without
```

```
which	 marriage	 is	 but	a	 consecrated	 curse.	 If	 oaths	 are	 to	 be
violated,	laws	disregarded,	friendship	betrayed,	humanity	trampled,
national	and	individual	honor	stained,	and	if	a	jury	of	fathers	and	of
husbands	will	give	such	miscreancy	a	passport	to	their	homes,	and
wives,	and	daughters,—farewell	to	all	that	yet	remains	of	Ireland!
But	I	will	not	cast	such	a	doubt	upon	the	character	of	my	country.
Against	the	sneer	of	the	foe,	and	the	skepticism	of	the	foreigner,	I
will	still	point	to	the	domestic	virtues,	that	no	perfidy	could	barter,
and	 no	 bribery	 can	 purchase,	 that	 with	 a	 Roman	 usage,	 at	 once
embellish	and	consecrate	households,	giving	to	the	society	of	the
hearth	all	the	purity	of	the	altar;	that	lingering	alike	in	the	palace	and
the	cottage,	are	still	to	be	found	scattered	over	this	land—the	relic	of
what	she	was—the	source	perhaps	of	what	she	may	be—the	lone,
the	stately,	and	magnificent	memorials,	that	rearing	their	majesty
amid	 surrounding	 ruins,	 serve	 at	 once	 as	 the	 landmarks	 of	 the
departed	glory,	and	the	models	by	which	the	future	may	be	erected.
```
```
Preserve	those	virtues	with	a	vestal	fidelity;	mark	this	day,	by	your
verdict,	your	horror	of	their	profanation;	and	believe	me,	when	the
hand	which	records	that	verdict	shall	be	dust,	and	the	tongue	that
asks	it,	traceless	in	the	grave,	many	a	happy	home	will	bless	its
consequences,	and	many	a	mother	teach	her	little	child	to	hate	the
impious	treason	of	adultery.
```
```
—CHARLES	PHILLIPS.
```
2.	Analyze	and	criticise	the	forms	of	appeal	used	in	the	selections	from	Hoar,
Story,	and	Kipling.
3.	What	is	the	type	of	persuasion	used	by	Senator	Thurston	(page	 50 )?
4.	Cite	two	examples	each,	from	selections	in	this	volume,	in	which	speakers
sought	to	be	persuasive	by	securing	the	hearers'	( _a_ )	sympathy	for	themselves;	( _b_ )
sympathy	with	their	subjects;	( _c_ )	self-pity.
5.	Make	a	short	address	using	persuasion.
6.	What	other	methods	of	persuasion	than	those	here	mentioned	can	you	name?
7.	Is	it	easier	to	persuade	men	to	change	their	course	of	conduct	than	to	persuade
them	to	continue	in	a	given	course?	Give	examples	to	support	your	belief.


8.	In	how	far	are	we	justified	in	making	an	appeal	to	self-interest	in	order	to	lead
men	to	adopt	a	given	course?
9.	Does	the	merit	of	the	course	have	any	bearing	on	the	merit	of	the	methods
used?
10.	Illustrate	an	unworthy	method	of	using	persuasion.
11.	Deliver	a	short	speech	on	the	value	of	skill	in	persuasion.
12.	Does	effective	persuasion	always	produce	conviction?
13.	Does	conviction	always	result	in	action?
14.	Is	it	fair	for	counsel	to	appeal	to	the	emotions	of	a	jury	in	a	murder	trial?
15.	Ought	the	judge	use	persuasion	in	making	his	charge?
16.	Say	how	self-consciousness	may	hinder	the	power	of	persuasion	in	a	speaker.
17.	Is	emotion	without	words	ever	persuasive?	If	so,	illustrate.
18.	Might	gestures	without	words	be	persuasive?	If	so,	illustrate.
19.	Has	posture	in	a	speaker	anything	to	do	with	persuasion?	Discuss.
20.	Has	voice?	Discuss.
21.	Has	manner?	Discuss.
22.	What	effect	does	personal	magnetism	have	in	producing	conviction?
23.	 Discuss	 the	 relation	 of	 persuasion	 to	 ( _a_ )	 description;	 ( _b_ )	 narration;	 ( _c_ )
exposition;	( _d_ )	pure	reason.
24.	What	is	the	effect	of	over-persuasion?
25.	Make	a	short	speech	on	the	effect	of	the	constant	use	of	persuasion	on	the
sincerity	of	the	speaker	himself.
26.	Show	by	example	how	a	general	statement	is	not	as	persuasive	as	a	concrete
example	illustrating	the	point	being	discussed.
27.	Show	by	example	how	brevity	is	of	value	in	persuasion.
28.	Discuss	the	importance	of	avoiding	an	antagonistic	attitude	in	persuasion.


29.	What	is	the	most	persuasive	passage	you	have	found	in	the	selections	of	this
volume.	On	what	do	you	base	your	decision?
30.	Cite	a	persuasive	passage	from	some	other	source.	Read	or	recite	it	aloud.
31.	Make	a	list	of	the	emotional	bases	of	appeal,	grading	them	from	low	to	high,
according	to	your	estimate.
32.	 Would	 circumstances	 make	 any	 difference	 in	 such	 grading?	 If	 so,	 give
examples.
33.	Deliver	a	short,	passionate	appeal	to	a	jury,	pleading	for	justice	to	a	poor
widow.
34.	Deliver	a	short	appeal	to	men	to	give	up	some	evil	way.
35.	Criticise	the	structure	of	the	sentence	beginning	with	the	last	line	of	page
296.

### CHAPTER	XXV

#### INFLUENCING	THE	CROWD

```
Success	in	business,	in	the	last	analysis,	turns	upon	touching	the
imagination	 of	 crowds.	 The	 reason	 that	 preachers	 in	 this	 present
generation	are	less	successful	in	getting	people	to	want	goodness
than	business	men	are	in	getting	them	to	want	motorcars,	hats,	and
pianolas,	is	that	business	men	as	a	class	are	more	close	and	desperate
students	of	human	nature,	and	have	boned	down	harder	to	the	art	of
touching	 the	 imaginations	 of	 the	 crowds.—GERALD	 STANLEY	 LEE,
Crowds.
```
In	the	early	part	of	July,	1914,	a	collection	of	Frenchmen	in	Paris,	or	Germans	in
Berlin,	was	not	a	crowd	in	a	psychological	sense.	Each	individual	had	his	own
special	interests	and	needs,	and	there	was	no	powerful	common	idea	to	unify
them.	A	group	then	represented	only	a	collection	of	individuals.	A	month	later,
any	collection	of	Frenchmen	or	Germans	formed	a	crowd:	Patriotism,	hate,	a
common	fear,	a	pervasive	grief,	had	unified	the	individuals.


The	psychology	of	the	crowd	is	far	different	from	the	psychology	of	the	personal
members	that	compose	it.	The	crowd	is	a	distinct	entity.	Individuals	restrain	and
subdue	 many	 of	 their	 impulses	 at	 the	 dictates	 of	 reason.	 The	 crowd	 never
reasons.	It	only	feels.	As	persons	there	is	a	sense	of	responsibility	attached	to	our
actions	which	checks	many	of	our	incitements,	but	the	sense	of	responsibility	is
lost	in	the	crowd	because	of	its	numbers.	The	crowd	is	exceedingly	suggestible
and	 will	 act	 upon	 the	wildest	 and	 most	 extreme	 ideas.	 The	 crowd-mind	 is
primitive	and	will	cheer	plans	and	perform	actions	which	its	members	would
utterly	repudiate.

A	mob	is	only	a	highly-wrought	crowd.	Ruskin's	description	is	fitting:	"You	can
talk	 a	 mob	 into	 anything;	 its	 feelings	 may	 be—usually	 are—on	 the	 whole,
generous	and	right,	but	it	has	no	foundation	for	them,	no	hold	of	them.	You	may
tease	or	tickle	it	into	anything	at	your	pleasure.	It	thinks	by	infection,	for	the
most	part,	catching	an	opinion	like	a	cold,	and	there	is	nothing	so	little	that	it
will	not	roar	itself	wild	about,	when	the	fit	is	on,	nothing	so	great	but	it	will
forget	in	an	hour	when	the	fit	is	past."[28]

History	will	show	us	how	the	crowd-mind	works.	The	medieval	mind	was	not
given	to	reasoning;	the	medieval	man	attached	great	weight	to	the	utterance	of
authority;	his	religion	touched	chiefly	the	emotions.	These	conditions	provided	a
rich	soil	for	the	propagation	of	the	crowd-mind	when,	in	the	eleventh	century,
flagellation,	a	voluntary	self-scourging,	was	preached	by	the	monks.	Substituting
flagellation	for	reciting	penitential	psalms	was	advocated	by	the	reformers.	A
scale	was	drawn	up,	making	one	thousand	strokes	equivalent	to	ten	psalms,	or
fifteen	thousand	to	the	entire	psalter.	This	craze	spread	by	leaps—and	crowds.
Flagellant	fraternities	sprang	up.	Priests	carrying	banners	led	through	the	streets
great	 processions	 reciting	 prayers	 and	 whipping	 their	 bloody	 bodies	 with
leathern	 thongs	 fitted	 with	 four	 iron	 points.	 Pope	 Clement	 denounced	 this
practise	and	several	of	the	leaders	of	these	processions	had	to	be	burned	at	the
stake	before	the	frenzy	could	be	uprooted.

All	western	and	central	Europe	was	turned	into	a	crowd	by	the	preaching	of	the
crusaders,	and	millions	of	the	followers	of	the	Prince	of	Peace	rushed	to	the
Holy	Land	to	kill	the	heathen.	Even	the	children	started	on	a	crusade	against	the
Saracens.	The	mob-spirit	was	so	strong	that	home	affections	and	persuasion
could	not	prevail	against	it	and	thousands	of	mere	babes	died	in	their	attempts	to
reach	and	redeem	the	Sacred	Sepulchre.

In	the	early	part	of	the	eighteenth	century	the	South	Sea	Company	was	formed	in


England.	Britain	became	a	speculative	crowd.	Stock	in	the	South	Sea	Company
rose	from	128-1/2	points	in	January	to	550	in	May,	and	scored	1,000	in	July.
Five	million	shares	were	sold	at	this	premium.	Speculation	ran	riot.	Hundreds	of
companies	were	organized.	One	was	formed	"for	a	wheel	of	perpetual	motion."
Another	 never	 troubled	 to	 give	 any	 reason	 at	 all	 for	 taking	 the	 cash	 of	 its
subscribers—it	merely	announced	that	it	was	organized	"for	a	design	which	will
hereafter	be	promulgated."	Owners	began	to	sell,	the	mob	caught	the	suggestion,
a	panic	ensued,	the	South	Sea	Company	stock	fell	800	points	in	a	few	days,	and
more	than	a	billion	dollars	evaporated	in	this	era	of	frenzied	speculation.

The	burning	of	the	witches	at	Salem,	the	Klondike	gold	craze,	and	the	forty-
eight	people	who	were	killed	by	mobs	in	the	United	States	in	1913,	are	examples
familiar	to	us	in	America.

_The	Crowd	Must	Have	a	Leader_

The	leader	of	the	crowd	or	mob	is	its	determining	factor.	He	becomes	self-
hynoptized	with	the	idea	that	unifies	its	members,	his	enthusiasm	is	contagious
—and	so	is	theirs.	The	crowd	acts	as	he	suggests.	The	great	mass	of	people	do
not	have	any	very	sharply-drawn	conclusions	on	any	subject	outside	of	their	own
little	spheres,	but	when	they	become	a	crowd	they	are	perfectly	willing	to	accept
ready-made,	hand-me-down	opinions.	They	will	follow	a	leader	at	all	costs—in
labor	 troubles	 they	 often	 follow	 a	 leader	 in	 preference	 to	 obeying	 their
government,	in	war	they	will	throw	self-preservation	to	the	bushes	and	follow	a
leader	in	the	face	of	guns	that	fire	fourteen	times	a	second.	The	mob	becomes
shorn	 of	 will-power	 and	 blindly	 obedient	 to	 its	 dictator.	 The	 Russian
Government,	 recognizing	 the	 menace	 of	 the	 crowd-mind	 to	 its	 autocracy,
formerly	prohibited	public	gatherings.	History	is	full	of	similar	instances.

_How	the	Crowd	is	Created_

Today	the	crowd	is	as	real	a	factor	in	our	socialized	life	as	are	magnates	and
monopolies.	It	is	too	complex	a	problem	merely	to	damn	or	praise	it—it	must	be
reckoned	with,	and	mastered.	The	present	problem	is	how	to	get	the	most	and	the
best	out	of	the	crowd-spirit,	and	the	public	speaker	finds	this	to	be	peculiarly	his
own	question.	His	influence	is	multiplied	if	he	can	only	transmute	his	audience
into	a	crowd.	His	affirmations	must	be	their	conclusions.

This	can	be	accomplished	by	unifying	the	minds	and	needs	of	the	audience	and
arousing	their	emotions.	Their	feelings,	not	their	reason,	must	be	played	upon
— _it	is	"up	to"	him	to	do	this	nobly_ .	Argument	has	its	place	on	the	platform,	but


even	its	potencies	must	subserve	the	speaker's	plan	of	attack	to	 _win	possession_ 	of
his	audience.

Reread	the	chapter	on	"Feeling	and	Enthusiasm."	It	is	impossible	to	make	an
audience	a	crowd	without	appealing	to	their	emotions.	Can	you	imagine	the
average	group	becoming	a	crowd	while	hearing	a	lecture	on	Dry	Fly	Fishing,	or
on	Egyptian	Art?	On	the	other	hand,	it	would	not	have	required	world-famous
eloquence	 to	 have	 turned	 any	 audience	 in	 Ulster,	 in	 1914,	 into	 a	 crowd	 by
discussing	the	Home	Rule	Act.	The	crowd-spirit	depends	largely	on	the	subject
used	to	fuse	their	individualities	into	one	glowing	whole.

Note	how	Antony	played	upon	the	feelings	of	his	hearers	in	the	famous	funeral
oration	given	by	Shakespeare	in	"Julius	Cæsar."	From	murmuring	units	the	men
became	a	unit—a	mob.

```
ANTONY'S	ORATION	OVER	CÆSAR'S	BODY
```
```
Friends,	Romans,	countrymen!	Lend	me	your	ears;
I	come	to	bury	Cæsar,	not	to	praise	him.
The	evil	that	men	do	lives	after	them;
The	good	is	oft	interred	with	their	bones:
So	let	it	be	with	Cæsar!	The	Noble	Brutus
Hath	told	you	Cæsar	was	ambitious.
If	it	were	so,	it	was	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	ransoms	did	the	general	coffers	fill:
Did	this	in	Cæsar	seem	ambitious?
When	that	the	poor	have	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?
Yet	Brutus	says	he	was	ambitious;
And	sure,	he	is	an	honorable	man.
I	speak	not	to	disprove	what	Brutus	spoke,
But	here	I	am	to	speak	what	I	do	know.
You	all	did	love	him	once,	not	without	cause;
What	cause	withholds	you	then	to	mourn	for	him?
Oh,	judgment,	thou	art	fled	to	brutish	beasts,
And	men	have	lost	their	reason!—Bear	with	me;
My	heart	is	in	the	coffin	there	with	Cæsar,
And	I	must	pause	till	it	come	back	to	me.	[ _Weeps._


_1	Plebeian._ 	Methinks	there	is	much	reason	in	his	sayings.

_2	Ple._ 	If	thou	consider	rightly	of	the	matter,
Cæsar	has	had	great	wrong.

_3	Ple._ 	Has	he,	masters?
I	fear	there	will	a	worse	come	in	his	place.

_4	Ple._ 	Mark'd	ye	his	words?	He	would	not	take	the	crown;
Therefore,	'tis	certain,	he	was	not	ambitious.

_1	Ple._ 	If	it	be	found	so,	some	will	dear	abide	it.

_2	Ple._ 	Poor	soul,	his	eyes	are	red	as	fire	with	weeping.

_3	Ple._ 	There's	not	a	nobler	man	in	Rome	than	Antony.

_4	Ple._ 	Now	mark	him,	he	begins	again	to	speak.

_Ant._ 	But	yesterday,	the	word	of	Cæsar	might
Have	stood	against	the	world:	now	lies	he	there,
And	none	so	poor	to	do	him	reverence.

Oh,	masters!	if	I	were	dispos'd	to	stir
Your	hearts	and	minds	to	mutiny	and	rage,
I	should	do	Brutus	wrong,	and	Cassius	wrong,
Who,	you	all	know,	are	honorable	men.
I	will	not	do	them	wrong;	I	rather	choose
To	wrong	the	dead,	to	wrong	myself,	and	you,
Than	I	will	wrong	such	honorable	men.
But	here's	a	parchment,	with	the	seal	of	Cæsar;
I	found	it	in	his	closet;	'tis	his	will:
Let	but	the	commons	hear	this	testament—
Which,	pardon	me,	I	do	not	mean	to	read—
And	they	would	go	and	kiss	dead	Cæsar's	wounds,
And	dip	their	napkins	in	his	sacred	blood;
Yea,	beg	a	hair	of	him	for	memory,
And,	dying,	mention	it	within	their	wills,
Bequeathing	it	as	a	rich	legacy


Unto	their	issue.

_4	Ple._ 	We'll	hear	the	will:	Read	it,	Mark	Antony.

_All._ 	The	will!	the	will!	we	will	hear	Cæsar's	will.

_Ant._ 	Have	patience,	gentle	friends:	I	must	not	read	it;
It	is	not	meet	you	know	how	Cæsar	lov'd	you.
You	are	not	wood,	you	are	not	stones,	but	men;
And,	being	men,	hearing	the	will	of	Cæsar,
It	will	inflame	you,	it	will	make	you	mad:
'Tis	good	you	know	not	that	you	are	his	heirs;
For	if	you	should,	oh,	what	would	come	of	it!

_4	Ple._ 	Read	the	will;	we'll	hear	it,	Antony!
You	shall	read	us	the	will!	Cæsar's	will!

_Ant._ 	Will	you	be	patient?	Will	you	stay	awhile?
I	have	o'ershot	myself,	to	tell	you	of	it.
I	fear	I	wrong	the	honorable	men
Whose	daggers	have	stab'd	Cæsar;	I	do	fear	it.

_4	Ple._ 	They	were	traitors:	Honorable	men!

_All._ 	The	will!	the	testament!

_2	Ple._ 	They	were	villains,	murtherers!	The	will!	Read	the
will!

_Ant._ 	You	will	compel	me	then	to	read	the	will?
Then,	make	a	ring	about	the	corpse	of	Cæsar,
And	let	me	shew	you	him	that	made	the	will.
Shall	I	descend?	And	will	you	give	me	leave?

_All._ 	Come	down.

_2	Ple._ 	Descend.	[ _He	comes	down	from	the	Rostrum_.

_3	Ple._ 	You	shall	have	leave.


_4	Ple._ 	A	ring;	stand	round.

_1	Ple._ 	Stand	from	the	hearse,	stand	from	the	body.

_2	Ple._ 	Room	for	Antony!—most	noble	Antony!

_Ant._ 	Nay,	press	not	so	upon	me;	stand	far	off.

_All._ 	Stand	back!	room!	bear	back!

_Ant._ 	If	you	have	tears,	prepare	to	shed	them	now;
You	all	do	know	this	mantle:	I	remember
The	first	time	ever	Cæsar	put	it	on;
'Twas	on	a	summer's	evening,	in	his	tent,
That	day	he	overcame	the	Nervii.
Look,	in	this	place,	ran	Cassius'	dagger	through:
See,	what	a	rent	the	envious	Casca	made:
Through	this,	the	well-beloved	Brutus	stab'd;
And	as	he	pluck'd	his	cursed	steel	away,
Mark	how	the	blood	of	Cæsar	follow'd	it!—
As	rushing	out	of	doors,	to	be	resolv'd
If	Brutus	so	unkindly	knock'd,	or	no;
For	Brutus,	as	you	know,	was	Cæsar's	angel:
Judge,	O	you	Gods,	how	Cæsar	lov'd	him!
This	was	the	most	unkindest	cut	of	all!
For	when	the	noble	Cæsar	saw	him	stab,
Ingratitude,	more	strong	than	traitors'	arms,
Quite	vanquish'd	him:	then	burst	his	mighty	heart;
And	in	his	mantle	muffling	up	his	face,
Even	at	the	base	of	Pompey's	statue,
Which	all	the	while	ran	blood,	great	Cæsar	fell.
Oh	what	a	fall	was	there,	my	countrymen!
Then	I	and	you,	and	all	of	us,	fell	down,
Whilst	bloody	treason	flourish'd	over	us.
Oh!	now	you	weep;	and	I	perceive	you	feel
The	dint	of	pity;	these	are	gracious	drops.
Kind	souls!	what,	weep	you,	when	you	but	behold
Our	Cæsar's	vesture	wounded?	Look	you	here!
Here	is	himself,	mar'd,	as	you	see,	by	traitors.


_1	Ple._ 	Oh,	piteous	spectacle!

_2	Ple._ 	Oh,	noble	Cæsar!

_3	Ple._ 	Oh,	woful	day!

_4	Ple._ 	Oh,	traitors,	villains!

_1	Ple._ 	Oh,	most	bloody	sight!

_2	Ple._ 	We	will	be	reveng'd!

_All._ 	Revenge;	about—seek—burn—fire—kill—day!—Let
not
a	traitor	live!

_Ant._ 	Stay,	countrymen.

_1	Ple._ 	Peace	there!	Hear	the	noble	Antony.

_2	Ple._ 	We'll	hear	him,	we'll	follow	him,	we'll	die	with	him.

_Ant._ 	Good	friends,	sweet	friends,	let	me	not	stir	you	up
To	such	a	sudden	flood	of	mutiny:
They	that	have	done	this	deed	are	honorable:
What	private	griefs	they	have,	alas!	I	know	not,
That	made	them	do	it;	they	are	wise,	and	honorable,
And	will,	no	doubt,	with	reasons	answer	you.
I	come	not,	friends,	to	steal	away	your	hearts;
I	am	no	orator,	as	Brutus	is;
But	as	you	know	me	all,	a	plain	blunt	man,
That	love	my	friend,	and	that	they	know	full	well
That	gave	me	public	leave	to	speak	of	him:
For	I	have	neither	wit,	nor	words,	nor	worth,
Action,	nor	utterance,	nor	the	power	of	speech,
To	stir	men's	blood.	I	only	speak	right	on:
I	tell	you	that	which	you	yourselves	do	know;
Show	your	sweet	Cæsar's	wounds,	poor,	poor,	dumb
mouths,
And	bid	them	speak	for	me.	But	were	I	Brutus,


And	Brutus	Antony,	there	were	an	Antony
Would	ruffle	up	your	spirits,	and	put	a	tongue
In	every	wound	of	Cæsar,	that	should	move
The	stones	of	Rome	to	rise	and	mutiny.

_All._ 	We'll	mutiny!

_1	Ple._ 	We'll	burn	the	house	of	Brutus.

_3	Ple._ 	Away,	then!	Come,	seek	the	conspirators.

_Ant._ 	Yet	hear	me,	countrymen;	yet	hear	me	speak.

_All._ 	Peace,	ho!	Hear	Antony,	most	noble	Antony.

_Ant._ 	Why,	friends,	you	go	to	do	you	know	not	what.
Wherein	hath	Cæsar	thus	deserv'd	your	loves?
Alas!	you	know	not!—I	must	tell	you	then.
You	have	forgot	the	will	I	told	you	of.

_Ple._ 	Most	true;—the	will!—let's	stay,	and	hear	the	will.

_Ant._ 	Here	is	the	will,	and	under	Cæsar's	seal.
To	every	Roman	citizen	he	gives,
To	every	several	man,	seventy-five	drachmas.

_2	Ple._ 	Most	noble	Cæsar!—we'll	revenge	his	death.

_3	Ple._ 	O	royal	Cæsar!

_Ant._ 	Hear	me	with	patience.

_All._ 	Peace,	ho!

_Ant._ 	Moreover,	he	hath	left	you	all	his	walks,
His	private	arbours,	and	new-planted	orchards,
On	this	side	Tiber;	he	hath	left	them	you,
And	to	your	heirs	forever,	common	pleasures,
To	walk	abroad,	and	recreate	yourselves.
Here	was	a	Cæsar!	When	comes	such	another?


```
1	Ple. 	Never,	never!—Come,	away,	away!
We'll	burn	his	body	in	the	holy	place,
And	with	the	brands	fire	the	traitors'	houses.
Take	up	the	body.
```
```
2	Ple. 	Go,	fetch	fire.
```
```
3	Ple. 	Pluck	down	benches.
```
```
4	Ple. 	Pluck	down	forms,	windows,	anything.
[ Exeunt	Citizens,	with	the	body.
```
```
Ant. 	Now	let	it	work.	Mischief,	thou	art	afoot,
Take	thou	what	course	thou	wilt!
```
To	unify	single,	auditors	into	a	crowd,	express	their	common	needs,	aspirations,
dangers,	and	emotions,	deliver	your	message	so	that	the	interests	of	one	shall
appear	to	be	the	interests	of	all.	The	conviction	of	one	man	is	intensified	in
proportion	as	he	finds	others	sharing	his	belief— _and	feeling_ .	Antony	does	not
stop	with	telling	the	Roman	populace	that	Cæsar	fell—he	makes	the	tragedy
universal:

```
Then	I,	and	you,	and	all	of	us	fell	down,
Whilst	bloody	treason	flourished	over	us.
```
Applause,	generally	a	sign	of	feeling,	helps	to	unify	an	audience.	The	nature	of
the	crowd	is	illustrated	by	the	contagion	of	applause.	Recently	a	throng	in	a	New
York	moving-picture	and	vaudeville	house	had	been	applauding	several	songs,
and	when	an	advertisement	for	tailored	skirts	was	thrown	on	the	screen	some
one	 started	 the	 applause,	 and	 the	 crowd,	 like	 sheep,	 blindly	 imitated—until
someone	saw	the	joke	and	laughed;	then	the	crowd	again	followed	a	leader	and
laughed	at	and	applauded	its	own	stupidity.

Actors	sometimes	start	applause	for	their	lines	by	snapping	their	fingers.	Some
one	in	the	first	few	rows	will	mistake	it	for	faint	applause,	and	the	whole	theatre
will	chime	in.

An	 observant	 auditor	 will	 be	 interested	 in	 noticing	 the	 various	 devices	 a
monologist	will	use	to	get	the	first	round	of	laughter	and	applause.	He	works	so
hard	because	he	knows	an	audience	of	units	is	an	audience	of	indifferent	critics,


but	once	get	them	to	laughing	together	and	each	single	laugher	sweeps	a	number
of	others	with	him,	until	the	whole	theatre	is	aroar	and	the	entertainer	has	scored.
These	are	meretricious	schemes,	to	be	sure,	and	do	not	savor	in	the	least	of
inspiration,	but	crowds	have	not	changed	in	their	nature	in	a	thousand	years	and
the	one	law	holds	for	the	greatest	preacher	and	the	pettiest	stump-speaker—you
must	fuse	your	audience	or	they	will	not	warm	to	your	message.	The	devices	of
the	great	orator	may	not	be	so	obvious	as	those	of	the	vaudeville	monologist,	but
the	principle	is	the	same:	he	tries	to	strike	some	universal	note	that	will	have	all
his	hearers	feeling	alike	at	the	same	time.

The	evangelist	knows	this	when	he	has	the	soloist	sing	some	touching	song	just
before	the	address.	Or	he	will	have	the	entire	congregation	sing,	and	that	is	the
psychology	of	"Now	 _every_ body	sing!"	for	he	knows	that	they	who	will	not	join
in	the	song	are	as	yet	outside	the	crowd.	Many	a	time	has	the	popular	evangelist
stopped	in	the	middle	of	his	talk,	when	he	felt	that	his	hearers	were	units	instead
of	 a	 molten	 mass	 (and	 a	 sensitive	 speaker	 can	 feel	 that	 condition	 most
depressingly)	and	suddenly	demanded	that	everyone	arise	and	sing,	or	repeat
aloud	a	familiar	passage,	or	read	in	unison;	or	perhaps	he	has	subtly	left	the
thread	of	his	discourse	to	tell	a	story	that,	from	long	experience,	he	knew	would
not	fail	to	bring	his	hearers	to	a	common	feeling.

These	things	are	important	resources	for	the	speaker,	and	happy	is	he	who	uses
them	 worthily	 and	 not	 as	 a	 despicable	 charlatan.	 The	 difference	 between	 a
demagogue	and	a	leader	is	not	so	much	a	matter	of	method	as	of	principle.	Even
the	most	dignified	speaker	must	recognize	the	eternal	laws	of	human	nature.	You
are	by	no	means	urged	to	become	a	trickster	on	the	platform—far	from	it!—but
don't	kill	your	speech	with	dignity.	To	be	icily	correct	is	as	silly	as	to	rant.	Do
neither,	but	appeal	to	those	world-old	elements	in	your	audience	that	have	been
recognized	by	all	great	speakers	from	Demosthenes	to	Sam	Small,	and	see	to	it
that	you	never	debase	your	powers	by	arousing	your	hearers	unworthily.

It	is	as	hard	to	kindle	enthusiasm	in	a	scattered	audience	as	to	build	a	fire	with
scattered	sticks.	An	audience	to	be	converted	into	a	crowd	must	be	made	to
appear	as	a	crowd.	This	cannot	be	done	when	they	are	widely	scattered	over	a
large	seating	space	or	when	many	empty	benches	separate	the	speaker	from	his
hearers.	 Have	 your	 audience	 seated	 compactly.	 How	 many	 a	 preacher	 has
bemoaned	the	enormous	edifice	over	which	what	would	normally	be	a	large
congregation	has	scattered	in	chilled	and	chilling	solitude	Sunday	after	Sunday!
Bishop	Brooks	himself	could	not	have	inspired	a	congregation	of	one	thousand
souls	seated	in	the	vastness	of	St.	Peter's	at	Rome.	In	that	colossal	sanctuary	it	is


only	on	great	occasions	which	bring	out	the	multitudes	that	the	service	is	before
the	high	altar—at	other	times	the	smaller	side-chapels	are	used.

Universal	ideas	surcharged	with	feeling	help	to	create	the	crowd-atmosphere.
Examples:	liberty,	character,	righteousness,	courage,	fraternity,	altruism,	country,
and	 national	 heroes.	 George	 Cohan	 was	 making	 psychology	 practical	 and
profitable	when	he	introduced	the	flag	and	flag-songs	into	his	musical	comedies.
Cromwell's	regiments	prayed	before	the	battle	and	went	into	the	fight	singing
hymns.	The	French	corps,	singing	the	Marseillaise	in	1914,	charged	the	Germans
as	one	man.	Such	unifying	devices	arouse	the	feelings,	make	soldiers	fanatical
mobs—and,	alas,	more	efficient	murderers.

### FOOTNOTES:

```
[28] Sesame	and	Lilies.
```
### CHAPTER	XXVI

#### RIDING	THE	WINGED	HORSE

```
To	think,	and	to	feel,	constitute	the	two	grand	divisions	of	men	of
genius—the	men	of	reasoning	and	the	men	of	imagination.
```
```
—ISAAC	DISRAELI,	 Literary	Character	of	Men	of	Genius.
```
```
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.
```
```
—SHAKESPEARE,	 Midsummer-Night's	Dream.
```
It	is	common,	among	those	who	deal	chiefly	with	life's	practicalities,	to	think	of
imagination	as	having	little	value	in	comparison	with	direct	thinking.	They	smile
with	tolerance	when	Emerson	says	that	"Science	does	not	know	its	debt	to	the
imagination,"	for	these	are	the	words	of	a	speculative	essayist,	a	philosopher,	a


poet.	But	when	Napoleon—the	indomitable	welder	of	empires—declares	that
"The	 human	 race	 is	 governed	 by	 its	 imagination,"	 the	 authoritative	 word
commands	their	respect.

Be	it	remembered,	the	faculty	of	forming	 _mental	images_ 	is	as	efficient	a	cog	as
may	be	found	in	the	whole	mind-machine.	True,	it	must	fit	into	that	other	vital
cog,	pure	thought,	but	when	it	does	so	it	may	be	questioned	which	is	the	more
productive	of	important	results	for	the	happiness	and	well-being	of	man.	This
should	become	more	apparent	as	we	go	on.

#### I.			WHAT	IS	IMAGINATION?

Let	us	not	seek	for	a	definition,	for	a	score	of	varying	ones	may	be	found,	but	let
us	grasp	this	fact:	By	imagination	we	mean	either	the	faculty	or	the	process	of
forming	mental	images.

The	subject-matter	of	imagination	may	be	really	existent	in	nature,	or	not	at	all
real,	or	a	combination	of	both;	it	may	be	physical	or	spiritual,	or	both—the
mental	image	is	at	once	the	most	lawless	and	the	most	law-abiding	child	that	has
ever	been	born	of	the	mind.

First	of	all,	as	its	name	suggests,	the	process	of	imagination—for	we	are	thinking
of	it	now	as	a	process	rather	than	as	a	faculty—is	memory	at	work.	Therefore	we
must	consider	it	primarily	as

_1.	Reproductive	Imagination_

We	see	or	hear	or	feel	or	taste	or	smell	something	and	the	sensation	passes	away.
Yet	we	are	conscious	of	a	greater	or	lesser	ability	to	reproduce	such	feelings	at
will.	Two	considerations,	in	general,	will	govern	the	vividness	of	the	image	thus
evoked—the	strength	of	the	original	impression,	and	the	reproductive	power	of
one	mind	as	compared	with	another.	Yet	every	normal	person	will	be	able	to
evoke	images	with	some	degree	of	clearness.

The	fact	that	not	all	minds	possess	this	imaging	faculty	in	anything	like	equal
measure	will	have	an	important	bearing	on	the	public	speaker's	study	of	this
question.	No	man	who	does	not	feel	at	least	some	poetic	impulses	is	likely	to
aspire	seriously	to	be	a	poet,	yet	many	whose	imaging	faculties	are	so	dormant
as	to	seem	actually	dead	do	aspire	to	be	public	speakers.	To	all	such	we	say	most
earnestly:	Awaken	your	image-making	gift,	for	even	in	the	most	coldly	logical


discourse	it	is	sure	to	prove	of	great	service.	It	is	important	that	you	find	out	at
once	just	how	full	and	how	trustworthy	is	your	imagination,	for	it	is	capable	of
cultivation—as	well	as	of	abuse.

Francis	Galton[29]	says:	"The	French	appear	to	possess	the	visualizing	faculty	in
a	high	degree.	The	peculiar	ability	they	show	in	pre-arranging	ceremonials	and
fêtes	of	all	kinds	and	their	undoubted	genius	for	tactics	and	strategy	show	that
they	are	able	to	foresee	effects	with	unusual	clearness.	Their	ingenuity	in	all
technical	contrivances	is	an	additional	testimony	in	the	same	direction,	and	so	is
their	singular	clearness	of	expression.	Their	phrase	 _figurez-vous_ ,	or	 _picture	to
yourself_ ,	seems	to	express	their	dominant	mode	of	perception.	Our	equivalent,	of
'image,'	is	ambiguous."

But	individuals	differ	in	this	respect	just	as	markedly	as,	for	instance,	the	Dutch
do	from	the	French.	And	this	is	true	not	only	of	those	who	are	classified	by	their
friends	as	being	respectively	imaginative	or	unimaginative,	but	of	those	whose
gifts	or	habits	are	not	well	known.

Let	us	take	for	experiment	six	of	the	best-known	types	of	imaging	and	see	in
practise	how	they	arise	in	our	own	minds.

By	all	odds	the	most	common	type	is,	(a)	 _the	visual	image_ .	Children	who	more
readily	recall	things	seen	than	things	heard	are	called	by	psychologists	"eye-
minded,"	and	most	of	us	are	bent	in	this	direction.	Close	your	eyes	now	and	re-
call—the	 word	 thus	 hyphenated	 is	 more	 suggestive—the	 scene	 around	 this
morning's	breakfast	table.	Possibly	there	was	nothing	striking	in	the	situation	and
the	image	is	therefore	not	striking.	Then	image	any	notable	table	scene	in	your
experience—how	 vividly	 it	 stands	 forth,	 because	 at	 the	 time	 you	 felt	 the
impression	strongly.	Just	then	you	may	not	have	been	conscious	of	how	strongly
the	scene	was	laying	hold	upon	you,	for	often	we	are	so	intent	upon	what	we	see
that	we	give	no	particular	thought	to	the	fact	that	it	is	impressing	us.	It	may
surprise	you	to	learn	how	accurately	you	are	able	to	image	a	scene	when	a	long
time	has	elapsed	between	the	conscious	focussing	of	your	attention	on	the	image
and	the	time	when	you	saw	the	original.

(b)	 _The	 auditory	 image_ is	 probably	 the	 next	 most	 vivid	 of	 our	 recalled
experiences.	Here	association	is	potent	to	suggest	similarities.	Close	out	all	the
world	beside	and	listen	to	the	peculiar	wood-against-wood	sound	of	the	sharp
thunder	among	rocky	mountains—the	crash	of	ball	against	ten-pins	may	suggest
it.	Or	image	(the	word	is	imperfect,	for	it	seems	to	suggest	only	the	eye)	the


sound	of	tearing	ropes	when	some	precious	weight	hangs	in	danger.	Or	recall	the
bay	of	a	hound	almost	upon	you	in	pursuit—choose	your	own	sound,	and	see
how	pleasantly	or	terribly	real	it	becomes	when	imaged	in	your	brain.

(c)	 _The	motor	image_ 	is	a	close	competitor	with	the	auditory	for	second	place.
Have	you	ever	awakened	in	the	night,	every	muscle	taut	and	striving,	to	feel
your	self	straining	against	the	opposing	football	line	that	held	like	a	stone-wall—
or	as	firmly	as	the	headboard	of	your	bed?	Or	voluntarily	recall	the	movement	of
the	boat	when	you	cried	inwardly,	"It's	all	up	with	me!"	The	perilous	lurch	of	a
train,	the	sudden	sinking	of	an	elevator,	or	the	unexpected	toppling	of	a	rocking-
chair	may	serve	as	further	experiments.

(d)	 _The	gustatory	image_ 	is	common	enough,	as	the	idea	of	eating	lemons	will
testify.	Sometimes	the	pleasurable	recollection	of	a	delightful	dinner	will	cause
the	mouth	to	water	years	afterward,	or	the	"image"	of	particularly	atrocious
medicine	will	wrinkle	the	nose	long	after	it	made	one	day	in	boyhood	wretched.

(e)	 _The	olfactory	image_ 	is	even	more	delicate.	Some	there	are	who	are	affected
to	illness	by	the	memory	of	certain	odors,	while	others	experience	the	most
delectable	sensations	by	the	rise	of	pleasing	olfactory	images.

(f)	 _The	tactile	image_ ,	to	name	no	others,	is	well	nigh	as	potent.	Do	you	shudder
at	the	thought	of	velvet	rubbed	by	short-nailed	finger	tips?	Or	were	you	ever
"burned"	by	touching	an	ice-cold	stove?	Or,	happier	memory,	can	you	still	feel
the	touch	of	a	well-loved	absent	hand?

Be	it	remembered	that	few	of	these	images	are	present	in	our	minds	except	in
combination—the	sight	and	sound	of	the	crashing	avalanche	are	one;	so	are	the
flash	and	report	of	the	huntman's	gun	that	came	so	near	"doing	for	us."

Thus,	imaging—especially	conscious	reproductive	imagination—will	become	a
valuable	part	of	our	mental	processes	in	proportion	as	we	direct	and	control	it.

_2.	Productive	Imagination_

All	of	the	foregoing	examples,	and	doubtless	also	many	of	the	experiments	you
yourself	may	originate,	are	merely	reproductive.	Pleasurable	or	horrific	as	these
may	be,	they	are	far	less	important	than	the	images	evoked	by	the	productive
imagination—though	that	does	not	infer	a	separate	faculty.

Recall,	 again	 for	 experiment,	 some	 scene	 whose	 beginning	 you	 once	 saw
enacted	on	a	street	corner	but	passed	by	before	the	dénouement	was	ready	to	be


disclosed.	Recall	it	all—that	far	the	image	is	reproductive.	But	what	followed?
Let	your	fantasy	roam	at	pleasure—the	succeeding	scenes	are	productive,	for
you	have	more	or	less	consciously	invented	the	unreal	on	the	basis	of	the	real.

And	just	here	the	fictionist,	the	poet,	and	the	public	speaker	will	see	the	value	of
productive	imagery.	True,	the	feet	of	the	idol	you	build	are	on	the	ground,	but	its
head	pierces	the	clouds,	it	is	a	son	of	both	earth	and	heaven.

One	fact	it	is	important	to	note	here:	Imagery	is	a	valuable	mental	asset	in
proportion	as	it	is	controlled	by	the	higher	intellectual	power	of	pure	reason.	The
untutored	child	of	nature	thinks	largely	in	images	and	therefore	attaches	to	them
undue	importance.	He	readily	confuses	the	real	with	the	unreal—to	him	they	are
of	like	value.	But	the	man	of	training	readily	distinguishes	the	one	from	the	other
and	evaluates	each	with	some,	if	not	with	perfect,	justice.

So	we	see	that	unrestrained	imaging	may	produce	a	rudderless	steamer,	while	the
trained	faculty	is	the	graceful	sloop,	skimming	the	seas	at	her	skipper's	will,	her
course	steadied	by	the	helm	of	reason	and	her	lightsome	wings	catching	every
air	of	heaven.

The	game	of	chess,	the	war-lord's	tactical	plan,	the	evolution	of	a	geometrical
theorem,	the	devising	of	a	great	business	campaign,	the	elimination	of	waste	in	a
factory,	the	dénouement	of	a	powerful	drama,	the	overcoming	of	an	economic
obstacle,	 the	 scheme	 for	 a	 sublime	 poem,	 and	 the	 convincing	 siege	 of	 an
audience	may—nay,	indeed	must—each	be	conceived	in	an	image	and	wrought
to	reality	according	to	the	plans	and	specifications	laid	upon	the	trestle	board	by
some	modern	imaginative	Hiram.	The	farmer	who	would	be	content	with	the
seed	he	possesses	would	have	no	harvest.	Do	not	rest	satisfied	with	the	ability	to
recall	images,	but	cultivate	your	creative	imagination	by	building	"what	might
be"	upon	the	foundation	of	"what	is."

#### II.	THE	USES	OF	IMAGING	IN	PUBLIC	SPEAKING

By	this	time	you	will	have	already	made	some	general	application	of	these	ideas
to	the	art	of	the	platform,	but	to	several	specific	uses	we	must	now	refer.

_1.	Imaging	in	Speech-Preparation_

(a)	 _Set	 the	 image	 of	 your	 audience	 before	 you	 while	 you	 prepare._
Disappointment	 may	 lurk	 here,	 and	 you	 cannot	 be	 forearmed	 for	 every


emergency,	but	in	the	main	you	must	meet	your	audience	before	you	actually	do
—image	its	probable	mood	and	attitude	toward	the	occasion,	the	theme,	and	the
speaker.

(b)	 _Conceive	your	speech	as	a	whole	while	you	are	preparing	its	parts_ ,	else	can
you	not	see—image—how	its	parts	shall	be	fitly	framed	together.

(c)	 _Image	the	language	you	will	use_ ,	so	far	as	written	or	extemporaneous	speech
may	dictate.	The	habit	of	imaging	will	give	you	choice	of	varied	figures	of
speech,	for	remember	that	an	address	without	 _fresh_ 	comparisons	is	like	a	garden
without	blooms.	Do	not	be	content	with	the	first	hackneyed	figure	that	comes
flowing	to	your	pen-point,	but	dream	on	until	the	striking,	the	unusual,	yet	the
vividly	real	comparison	points	your	thought	like	steel	does	the	arrow-tip.

Note	 the	 freshness	 and	 effectiveness	 of	 the	 following	 description	 from	 the
opening	of	O.	Henry's	story,	"The	Harbinger."

```
Long	before	the	springtide	is	felt	in	the	dull	bosom	of	the	yokel	does
the	city	man	know	that	the	grass-green	goddess	is	upon	her	throne.
He	sits	at	his	breakfast	eggs	and	toast,	begirt	by	stone	walls,	opens
his	morning	paper	and	sees	journalism	leave	vernalism	at	the	post.
```
```
For	whereas	Spring's	couriers	were	once	the	evidence	of	our	finer
senses,	now	the	Associated	Press	does	the	trick.
```
```
The	warble	of	the	first	robin	in	Hackensack,	the	stirring	of	the	maple
sap	in	Bennington,	the	budding	of	the	pussy	willows	along	the	main
street	in	Syracuse,	the	first	chirp	of	the	blue	bird,	the	swan	song	of
the	blue	point,	the	annual	tornado	in	St.	Louis,	the	plaint	of	the
peach	pessimist	from	Pompton,	N.J.,	the	regular	visit	of	the	tame
wild	goose	with	a	broken	leg	to	the	pond	near	Bilgewater	Junction,
the	base	attempt	of	the	Drug	Trust	to	boost	the	price	of	quinine
foiled	in	the	House	by	Congressman	Jinks,	the	first	tall	poplar	struck
by	 lightning	 and	 the	usual	 stunned	 picknickers	 who	 had	 taken
refuge,	the	first	crack	of	the	ice	jamb	in	the	Allegheny	River,	the
finding	of	a	violet	in	its	mossy	bed	by	the	correspondent	at	Round
Corners—these	are	the	advanced	signs	of	the	burgeoning	season	that
are	wired	into	the	wise	city,	while	the	farmer	sees	nothing	but	winter
upon	his	dreary	fields.
```
```
But	these	be	mere	externals.	The	true	harbinger	is	the	heart.	When
```

```
Strephon	seeks	his	Chloe	and	Mike	his	Maggie,	then	only	is	Spring
arrived	and	the	newspaper	report	of	the	five	foot	rattler	killed	in
Squire	Pettregrew's	pasture	confirmed.
```
A	hackneyed	writer	would	probably	have	said	that	the	newspaper	told	the	city
man	about	spring	before	the	farmer	could	see	any	evidence	of	it,	but	that	the	real
harbinger	of	spring	was	love	and	that	"In	the	Spring	a	young	man's	fancy	lightly
turns	to	thoughts	of	love."

_2.	Imaging	in	Speech-Delivery_

When	once	the	passion	of	speech	is	on	you	and	you	are	"warmed	up"—perhaps
by	striking	 _till_ 	the	iron	is	hot	so	that	you	may	not	fail	to	strike	 _when_ 	it	is	hot—
your	mood	will	be	one	of	vision.

Then	(a)	 _Re-image	past	emotion_ —of	which	more	elsewhere.	The	actor	re-calls
the	old	feelings	every	time	he	renders	his	telling	lines.

(b)	 _Reconstruct	in	image	the	scenes	you	are	to	describe._

(c)	 _Image	the	objects	in	nature	whose	tone	you	are	delineating_ ,	so	that	bearing
and	voice	and	movement	(gesture)	will	picture	forth	the	whole	convincingly.
Instead	of	merely	stating	the	fact	that	whiskey	ruins	homes,	the	temperance
speaker	paints	a	drunkard	coming	home	to	abuse	his	wife	and	strike	his	children.
It	is	much	more	effective	than	telling	the	truth	in	abstract	terms.	To	depict	the
cruelness	of	war,	do	not	assert	the	fact	abstractly—"War	is	cruel."	Show	the
soldier,	an	arm	swept	away	by	a	bursting	shell,	lying	on	the	battlefield	pleading
for	water;	show	the	children	with	tear-stained	faces	pressed	against	the	window
pane	praying	for	their	dead	father	to	return.	Avoid	general	and	prosaic	terms.
Paint	pictures.	Evolve	images	for	the	imagination	of	your	audience	to	construct
into	pictures	of	their	own.

#### III.	HOW	TO	ACQUIRE	THE	IMAGING	HABIT

You	remember	the	American	statesman	who	asserted	that	"the	way	to	resume	is
to	resume"?	The	application	is	obvious.	Beginning	with	the	first	simple	analyses
of	this	chapter,	test	your	own	qualities	of	image-making.	One	by	one	practise	the
several	 kinds	 of	 images;	 then	 add—even	 invent—others	 in	 combination,	 for
many	images	come	to	us	in	complex	form,	like	the	combined	noise	and	shoving
and	hot	odor	of	a	cheering	crowd.


After	practising	on	reproductive	imaging,	turn	to	the	productive,	beginning	with
the	 reproductive	 and	 adding	 productive	 features	 for	 the	 sake	 of	 cultivating
invention.

Frequently,	 allow	 your	 originating	 gifts	 full	 swing	 by	 weaving	 complete
imaginary	fabrics—sights,	sounds,	scenes;	all	the	fine	world	of	fantasy	lies	open
to	the	journeyings	of	your	winged	steed.

In	like	manner	train	yourself	in	the	use	of	figurative	language.	Learn	first	to
distinguish	and	then	to	use	its	varied	forms.	 _When	used	with	restraint_ ,	nothing
can	be	more	effective	than	the	trope;	but	once	let	extravagance	creep	in	by	the
window,	and	power	will	flee	by	the	door.

All	in	all,	master	your	images—let	not	them	master	you.

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	Give	original	examples	of	each	kind	of	reproductive	imagination.
2.	 Build	 two	 of	 these	 into	 imaginary	 incidents	 for	 platform	 use,	 using	 your
productive,	or	creative,	imagination.
3.	 Define	 ( _a_ )	 phantasy;	 ( _b_ )	 vision;	 ( _c_ )	 fantastic;	 ( _d_ )	 phantasmagoria;	 ( _e_ )
transmogrify;	( _f_ )	recollection.
4.	What	is	a	"figure	of	speech"?
5.	Define	and	give	two	examples	of	each	of	the	following	figures	of	speech[30].
At	least	one	of	the	examples	under	each	type	would	better	be	original.	( _a_ )	simile;
( _b_ )	 metaphor;	 ( _c_ )	 metonymy;	 ( _d_ )	 synecdoche;	 ( _e_ )	 apostrophe;	 ( _f_ )	 vision;	 ( _g_ )
personification;	( _h_ )	hyperbole;	( _i_ )	irony.
6.	( _a_ )	 What	 is	 an	 allegory?	 ( _b_ )	 Name	 one	 example.	 ( _c_ )	 How	 could	 a	 short
allegory	be	used	as	part	of	a	public	address?
7.	Write	a	short	fable[31]	for	use	in	a	speech.	Follow	either	the	ancient	form
(Æsop)	or	the	modern	(George	Ade,	Josephine	Dodge	Daskam).
8.	What	do	you	understand	by	"the	historical	present?"	Illustrate	how	it	may	be
used	( _ONLY_ 	occasionally)	in	a	public	address.
9.	Recall	some	disturbance	on	the	street,	( _a_ )	Describe	it	as	you	would	on	the


platform;	( _b_ )	imagine	what	preceded	the	disturbance;	( _c_ )	imagine	what	followed
it;	( _d_ )	connect	the	whole	in	a	terse,	dramatic	narration	for	the	platform	and
deliver	 it	 with	 careful	 attention	 to	 all	 that	 you	 have	 learned	 of	 the	 public
speaker's	art.

10.	Do	the	same	with	other	incidents	you	have	seen	or	heard	of,	or	read	of	in	the
newspapers.

NOTE:	It	is	hoped	that	this	exercise	will	be	varied	and	expanded	until	the	pupil
has	 gained	 considerable	 mastery	 of	 imaginative	 narration.	 (See	 chapter	 on
"Narration.")

11.	Experiments	have	proved	that	the	majority	of	people	think	most	vividly	in
terms	of	visual	images.	However,	some	think	more	readily	in	terms	of	auditory
and	motor	images.	It	is	a	good	plan	to	mix	all	kinds	of	images	in	the	course	of
your	address	for	you	will	doubtless	have	all	kinds	of	hearers.	This	plan	will
serve	to	give	variety	and	strengthen	your	effects	by	appealing	to	the	several
senses	 of	 each	 hearer,	 as	 well	 as	 interesting	 many	 different	 auditors.	 For
exercise,	 ( _a_ )	 give	 several	 original	 examples	 of	 compound	 images,	 and	 ( _b_ )
construct	brief	descriptions	of	the	scenes	imagined.	For	example,	the	falling	of	a
bridge	in	process	of	building.
12.	Read	the	following	observantly:

```
The	strikers	suffered	bitter	poverty	last	winter	in	New	York.
```
```
Last	winter	a	woman	visiting	the	East	Side	of	New	York	City	saw
another	woman	coming	out	of	a	tenement	house	wringing	her	hands.
Upon	inquiry	the	visitor	found	that	a	child	had	fainted	in	one	of	the
apartments.	She	entered,	and	saw	the	child	ill	and	in	rags,	while	the
father,	a	striker,	was	too	poor	to	provide	medical	help.	A	physician
was	called	and	said	the	child	had	fainted	from	lack	of	food.	The	only
food	in	the	home	was	dried	fish.	The	visitor	provided	groceries	for
the	family	and	ordered	the	milkman	to	leave	milk	for	them	daily.	A
month	later	she	returned.	The	father	of	the	family	knelt	down	before
her,	and	calling	her	an	angel	said	that	she	had	saved	their	lives,	for
the	milk	she	had	provided	was	all	the	food	they	had	had.
```
In	the	two	preceding	paragraphs	we	have	substantially	the	same	story,	told	twice.
In	the	first	paragraph	we	have	a	fact	stated	in	general	terms.	In	the	second,	we
have	an	outline	picture	of	a	specific	happening.	Now	expand	this	outline	into	a


dramatic	recital,	drawing	freely	upon	your	imagination.

### FOOTNOTES:

```
[29] Inquiries	into	Human	Faculty.
[30]	Consult	any	good	rhetoric.	An	unabridged	dictionary	will	also	be	of	help.
[31]	 For	 a	 full	 discussion	 of	 the	 form	 see,	 The	 Art	 of	 Story-Writing ,	 by	 J.	 Berg
Esenwein	and	Mary	D.	Chambers.
```
### CHAPTER	XXVII

#### GROWING	A	VOCABULARY

```
Boys	flying	kites	haul	in	their	white	winged	birds;
You	can't	do	that	way	when	you're	flying	words.
"Careful	with	fire,"	is	good	advice	we	know,
"Careful	with	words,"	is	ten	times	doubly	so.
Thoughts	unexpressed	many	sometimes	fall	back
dead;
But	God	Himself	can't	kill	them	when	they're	said.
```
```
—WILL	CARLETON,	 The	First	Settler's	Story.
```
The	term	"vocabulary"	has	a	special	as	well	as	a	general	meaning.	True,	 _all_
vocabularies	are	grounded	in	the	everyday	words	of	the	language,	out	of	which
grow	 the	 special	 vocabularies,	 but	 each	 such	 specialized	 group	 possesses	 a
number	of	words	of	peculiar	value	for	its	own	objects.	These	words	may	be	used
in	other	vocabularies	also,	but	the	fact	that	they	are	suited	to	a	unique	order	of
expression	marks	them	as	of	special	value	to	a	particular	craft	or	calling.

In	this	respect	the	public	speaker	differs	not	at	all	from	the	poet,	the	novelist,	the
scientist,	the	traveler.	He	must	add	to	his	everyday	stock,	words	of	value	for	the
public	presentation	of	thought.	"A	study	of	the	discourses	of	effective	orators
discloses	 the	 fact	 that	 they	 have	 a	 fondness	 for	 words	 signifying	 power,
largeness,	speed,	action,	color,	light,	and	all	their	opposites.	They	frequently


employ	words	expressive	of	the	various	emotions.	Descriptive	words,	adjectives
used	in	 _fresh_ 	relations	with	nouns,	and	apt	epithets,	are	freely	employed.	Indeed,
the	nature	of	public	speech	permits	the	use	of	mildly	exaggerated	words	which,
by	 the	 time	 they	 have	 reached	 the	 hearer's	 judgment,	 will	 leave	 only	 a	 just
impression."[32]

_Form	the	Book-Note	Habit_

To	 possess	 a	 word	 involves	 three	 things:	 To	 know	 its	 special	 and	 broader
meanings,	to	know	its	relation	to	other	words,	and	to	be	able	to	use	it.	When	you
see	or	hear	a	familiar	word	used	in	an	unfamiliar	sense,	jot	it	down,	look	it	up,
and	master	it.	We	have	in	mind	a	speaker	of	superior	attainments	who	acquired
his	vocabulary	by	noting	all	new	words	he	heard	or	read.	These	he	mastered	and
_put	into	use_ .	Soon	his	vocabulary	became	large,	varied,	and	exact.	Use	a	new
word	accurately	five	times	and	it	is	yours.	Professor	Albert	E.	Hancock	says:
"An	 author's	 vocabulary	 is	 of	 two	 kinds,	 latent	 and	 dynamic:	 latent—those
words	he	understands;	dynamic—those	he	can	readily	use.	Every	intelligent	man
_knows_ 	all	the	words	he	needs,	but	he	may	not	have	them	all	ready	for	active
service.	The	problem	of	literary	diction	consists	in	turning	the	latent	into	the
dynamic."	Your	dynamic	vocabulary	is	the	one	you	must	especially	cultivate.

In	his	essay	on	"A	College	Magazine"	in	the	volume,	 _Memories	and	Portraits_ ,
Stevenson	shows	how	he	rose	from	imitation	to	originality	in	the	use	of	words.
He	had	particular	reference	to	the	formation	of	his	literary	style,	but	words	are
the	raw	materials	 of	style,	and	 his	excellent	example	 may	well	be	 followed
judiciously	 by	 the	 public	 speaker.	 Words	 _in	 their	 relations_ are	 vastly	 more
important	than	words	considered	singly.

```
Whenever	I	read	a	book	or	a	passage	that	particularly	pleased	me,	in
which	a	thing	was	said	or	an	effect	rendered	with	propriety,	in	which
there	was	either	some	conspicuous	force	or	some	happy	distinction
in	the	style,	I	must	sit	down	at	once	and	set	myself	to	ape	that
quality.	I	was	unsuccessful,	and	I	knew	it;	and	tried	again,	and	was
again	unsuccessful,	and	always	unsuccessful;	but	at	least	in	these
vain	 bouts	 I	 got	 some	 practice	 in	 rhythm,	 in	 harmony,	 in
construction	and	coördination	of	parts.
```
```
I	 have	 thus	 played	 the	 sedulous	 ape	 to	 Hazlitt,	 to	 Lamb,	 to
Wordsworth,	to	Sir	Thomas	Browne,	to	Defoe,	to	Hawthorne,	to
Montaigne.
```

```
That,	like	it	or	not,	is	the	way	to	learn	to	write;	whether	I	have
profited	or	not,	that	is	the	way.	It	was	the	way	Keats	learned,	and
there	never	was	a	finer	temperament	for	literature	than	Keats'.
```
```
It	is	the	great	point	of	these	imitations	that	there	still	shines	beyond
the	student's	reach,	his	inimitable	model.	Let	him	try	as	he	please,	he
is	still	sure	of	failure;	and	it	is	an	old	and	very	true	saying	that
failure	is	the	only	highroad	to	success.
```
_Form	the	Reference-Book	Habit_

Do	not	be	content	with	your	general	knowledge	of	a	word—press	your	study
until	 you	 have	 mastered	 its	 individual	 shades	 of	 meaning	 and	 usage.	 Mere
fluency	 is	 sure	 to	 become	 despicable,	 but	 accuracy	 never.	 The	 dictionary
contains	the	crystallized	usage	of	intellectual	giants.	No	one	who	would	write
effectively	dare	despise	its	definitions	and	discriminations.	Think,	for	example,
of	the	different	meanings	of	 _mantle_ ,	or	 _model_ ,	or	 _quantity_ .	Any	late	edition	of	an
unabridged	dictionary	is	good,	and	is	worth	making	sacrifices	to	own.

Books	of	synonyms	and	antonyms—used	cautiously,	for	there	are	few	 _perfect_
synonyms	in	any	language—will	be	found	of	great	help.	Consider	the	shades	of
meanings	 among	 such	 word-groups	 as	 _thief,	 peculator,	 defaulter,	 embezzler,
burglar,	 yeggman,	 robber,	 bandit,	 marauder,	 pirate_ ,	 and	 many	 more;	 or	 the
distinctions	among	 _Hebrew,	Jew,	Israelite,	and	Semite_ .	Remember	that	no	book
of	synonyms	is	trustworthy	unless	used	with	a	dictionary.	"A	Thesaurus	of	the
English	 Language,"	 by	 Dr.	 Francis	 A.	 March,	 is	 expensive,	 but	 full	 and
authoritative.	Of	smaller	books	of	synonyms	and	antonyms	there	are	plenty.[33]

Study	the	connectives	of	English	speech.	Fernald's	book	on	this	title	is	a	mine	of
gems.	Unsuspected	pitfalls	lie	in	the	loose	use	of	 _and,	or,	for,	while_ ,	and	a	score
of	tricky	little	connectives.

Word	 derivations	 are	 rich	 in	 suggestiveness.	 Our	 English	 owes	 so	 much	 to
foreign	 tongues	 and	 has	 changed	 so	 much	 with	 the	 centuries	 that	 whole
addresses	may	grow	out	of	a	single	root-idea	hidden	away	in	an	ancient	word-
origin.	Translation,	also,	is	excellent	exercise	in	word-mastery	and	consorts	well
with	the	study	of	derivations.

Phrase	books	that	show	the	origins	of	familiar	expressions	will	surprise	most	of
us	by	showing	how	carelessly	everyday	speech	is	used.	Brewer's	"A	Dictionary
of	Phrase,	and	Fable,"	Edwards'	"Words,	Facts,	and	Phrases,"	and	Thornton's


"An	American	Glossary,"	are	all	good—the	last,	an	expensive	work	in	three
volumes.

A	prefix	or	a	suffix	may	essentially	change	the	force	of	the	stem,	as	in	 _master-ful_
and	 _master-ly_ ,	 _contempt-ible_ 	and	 _contempt-uous,	envi-ous_ 	and	 _envi-able_ .	Thus	to
study	words	in	groups,	according	to	their	stems,	prefixes,	and	suffixes	is	to	gain
a	mastery	over	their	shades	of	meaning,	and	introduce	us	to	other	related	words.

_Do	not	Favor	one	Set	or	Kind	of	Words	more	than	Another_

"Sixty	 years	 and	 more	 ago,	 Lord	 Brougham,	 addressing	 the	 students	 of	 the
University	of	Glasgow,	laid	down	the	rule	that	the	native	(Anglo-Saxon)	part	of
our	vocabulary	was	to	be	favored	at	the	expense	of	that	other	part	which	has
come	from	the	Latin	and	Greek.	The	rule	was	an	impossible	one,	and	Lord
Brougham	himself	never	tried	seriously	to	observe	it;	nor,	in	truth,	has	any	great
writer	made	the	attempt.	Not	only	is	our	language	highly	composite,	but	the
component	words	have,	in	De	Quincey's	phrase,	'happily	coalesced.'	It	is	easy	to
jest	at	words	in	 _-osity_ 	and	 _-ation_ ,	as	'dictionary'	words,	and	the	like.	But	even
Lord	Brougham	would	have	found	it	difficult	to	dispense	with	 _pomposity_ 	and
_imagination_ ."[34]

The	 short,	 vigorous	 Anglo-Saxon	 will	 always	 be	 preferred	 for	 passages	 of
special	thrust	and	force,	just	as	the	Latin	will	continue	to	furnish	us	with	flowing
and	smooth	expressions;	to	mingle	all	sorts,	however,	will	give	variety—and	that
is	most	to	be	desired.

_Discuss	Words	With	Those	Who	Know	Them_

Since	 the	 language	 of	 the	 platform	 follows	 closely	 the	 diction	 of	 everyday
speech,	 many	 useful	 words	 may	 be	 acquired	 in	 conversation	 with	 cultivated
men,	and	when	such	discussion	takes	the	form	of	disputation	as	to	the	meanings
and	usages	of	words,	it	will	prove	doubly	valuable.	The	development	of	word-
power	marches	with	the	growth	of	individuality.

_Search	Faithfully	for	the	Right	Word_

Books	 of	 reference	 are	 tripled	 in	 value	 when	 their	 owner	 has	 a	 passion	 for
getting	the	kernels	out	of	their	shells.	Ten	minutes	a	day	will	do	wonders	for	the
nut-cracker.	"I	am	growing	so	peevish	about	my	writing,"	says	Flaubert.	"I	am
like	a	man	whose	ear	is	true,	but	who	plays	falsely	on	the	violin:	his	fingers
refuse	to	reproduce	precisely	those	sounds	of	which	he	has	the	inward	sense.


Then	the	tears	come	rolling	down	from	the	poor	scraper's	eyes	and	the	bow	falls
from	his	hand."

The	 same	 brilliant	 Frenchman	 sent	 this	 sound	 advice	 to	 his	 pupil,	 Guy	 de
Maupassant:	"Whatever	may	be	the	thing	which	one	wishes	to	say,	there	is	but
one	word	for	expressing	it,	only	one	verb	to	animate	it,	only	one	adjective	to
qualify	it.	It	is	essential	to	search	for	this	word,	for	this	verb,	for	this	adjective,
until	they	are	discovered,	and	to	be	satisfied	with	nothing	else."

Walter	 Savage	 Landor	 once	 wrote:	 "I	 hate	 false	 words,	 and	 seek	 with	 care,
difficulty,	and	moroseness	those	that	fit	the	thing."	So	did	Sentimental	Tommy,
as	related	by	James	M.	Barrie	in	his	novel	bearing	his	hero's	name	as	a	title.	No
wonder	T.	Sandys	became	an	author	and	a	lion!

Tommy,	 with	 another	 lad,	 is	 writing	 an	 essay	 on	 "A	 Day	 in	 Church,"	 in
competition	for	a	university	scholarship.	He	gets	on	finely	until	he	pauses	for
lack	 of	 a	 word.	 For	 nearly	 an	 hour	 he	 searches	 for	 this	 elusive	 thing,	 until
suddenly	he	is	told	that	the	allotted	time	is	up,	and	he	has	lost!	Barrie	may	tell
the	rest:


Essay!	It	was	no	more	an	essay	than	a	twig	is	a	tree,	for	the	gowk
had	stuck	in	the	middle	of	his	second	page.	Yes,	stuck	is	the	right
expression,	as	his	chagrined	teacher	had	to	admit	when	the	boy	was
cross-examined.	He	had	not	been	"up	to	some	of	his	tricks;"	he	had
stuck,	and	his	explanations,	as	you	will	admit,	merely	emphasized
his	incapacity.

He	had	brought	himself	to	public	scorn	for	lack	of	a	word.	What
word?	they	asked	testily;	but	even	now	he	could	not	tell.	He	had
wanted	a	Scotch	word	that	would	signify	how	many	people	were	in
church,	and	it	was	on	the	tip	of	his	tongue,	but	would	come	no
farther.	Puckle	was	nearly	the	word,	but	it	did	not	mean	so	many
people	as	he	meant.	The	hour	had	gone	by	just	like	winking;	he	had
forgotten	all	about	time	while	searching	his	mind	for	the	word.

The	other	five	[examiners]	were	furious....	"You	little	tattie	doolie,"
Cathro	roared,	"were	there	not	a	dozen	words	to	wile	from	if	you
had	an	ill-will	to	puckle?	What	ailed	you	at	manzy,	or—"

"I	thought	of	manzy,"	replied	Tommy,	woefully,	for	he	was	ashamed
of	himself,	"but—but	a	manzy's	a	swarm.	It	would	mean	that	the
folk	in	the	kirk	were	buzzing	thegither	like	bees,	instead	of	sitting
still."

"Even	if	it	does	mean	that,"	said	Mr.	Duthie,	with	impatience,	"what
was	the	need	of	being	so	particular?	Surely	the	art	of	essay-writing
consists	in	using	the	first	word	that	comes	and	hurrying	on."

"That's	how	I	did,"	said	the	proud	McLauchlan	[Tommy's	successful
competitor]....

"I	see,"	interposed	Mr.	Gloag,	"that	McLauchlan	speaks	of	there
being	a	mask	of	people	in	the	church.	Mask	is	a	fine	Scotch	word."

"I	thought	of	mask,"	whimpered	Tommy,	"but	that	would	mean	the
kirk	was	crammed,	and	I	just	meant	it	to	be	middling	full."

"Flow	would	have	done,"	suggested	Mr.	Lonimer.


"Flow's	but	a	handful,"	said	Tommy.

"Curran,	then,	you	jackanapes!"

"Curran's	no	enough."

Mr.	Lorrimer	flung	up	his	hands	in	despair.

"I	 wanted	 something	 between	 curran	 and	 mask,"	 said	 Tommy,
doggedly,	yet	almost	at	the	crying.

Mr.	 Ogilvy,	 who	 had	 been	 hiding	 his	 admiration	 with	 difficulty,
spread	 a	 net	 for	 him.	 "You	 said	 you	 wanted	 a	 word	 that	 meant
middling	 full.	 Well,	 why	 did	 you	 not	 say	 middling	 full—or	 fell
mask?"

"Yes,	why	not?"	demanded	the	ministers,	unconsciously	caught	in
the	net.

"I	wanted	one	word,"	replied	Tommy,	unconsciously	avoiding	it.

"You	jewel!"	muttered	Mr.	Ogilvy	under	his	breath,	but	Mr.	Cathro
would	have	banged	the	boy's	head	had	not	the	ministers	interfered.

"It	is	so	easy,	too,	to	find	the	right	word,"	said	Mr.	Gloag.

"It's	no;	it's	difficult	as	to	hit	a	squirrel,"	cried	Tommy,	and	again	Mr.
Ogilvy	nodded	approval.

And	then	an	odd	thing	happened.	As	they	were	preparing	to	leave
the	school	[Cathro	having	previously	run	Tommy	out	by	the	neck],
the	door	opened	a	little	and	there	appeared	in	the	aperture	the	face	of
Tommy,	tear-stained	but	excited.	"I	ken	the	word	now,"	he	cried,	"it
came	to	me	a'	at	once;	it	is	hantle!"

Mr.	Ogilvy	...	said	in	an	ecstasy	to	himself,	"He	 _had_ 	to	think	of	it	till
he	got	it—and	he	got	it.	The	laddie	is	a	genius!"

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES


1.	What	is	the	derivation	of	the	word	 _vocabulary_?
2.	Briefly	discuss	any	complete	speech	given	in	this	volume,	with	reference	to
( _a_ )	exactness,	( _b_ )	variety,	and	( _c_ )	charm,	in	the	use	of	words.
3.	Give	original	examples	of	the	kinds	of	word-studies	referred	to	on	pages	 337
and	 338.
4.	Deliver	a	short	talk	on	any	subject,	using	at	least	five	words	which	have	not
been	previously	in	your	"dynamic"	vocabulary.
5.	Make	a	list	of	the	unfamiliar	words	found	in	any	address	you	may	select.
6.	Deliver	a	short	extemporaneous	speech	giving	your	opinions	on	the	merits	and
demerits	of	the	use	of	unusual	words	in	public	speaking.
7.	Try	to	find	an	example	of	the	over-use	of	unusual	words	in	a	speech.
8.	Have	you	used	reference	books	in	word	studies?	If	so,	state	with	what	result.
9.	Find	as	many	synonyms	and	antonyms	as	possible	for	each	of	the	following
words:	Excess,	Rare,	Severe,	Beautiful,	Clear,	Happy,	Difference,	Care,	Skillful,
Involve,	 Enmity,	 Profit,	 Absurd,	 Evident,	 Faint,	 Friendly,	 Harmony,	 Hatred,
Honest,	Inherent.

### FOOTNOTES:

```
[32] How	to	Attract	and	Hold	an	Audience ,	J.	Berg	Esenwein.
[33]	A	book	of	synonyms	and	antonyms	is	in	preparation	for	this	series,	"The	Writer's
Library."
[34] Composition	and	Rhetoric ,	J.M.	Hart.
```
### CHAPTER	XXVIII

#### MEMORY	TRAINING

```
Lulled	in	the	countless	chambers	of	the	brain,
```

```
Our	thoughts	are	linked	by	many	a	hidden	chain;
Awake	but	one,	and	lo!	what	myriads	rise!
Each	stamps	its	image	as	the	other	flies!
```
```
Hail,	memory,	hail!	in	thy	exhaustless	mine
From	age	to	age	unnumber'd	treasures	shine!
Thought	and	her	shadowy	brood	thy	call	obey,
And	Place	and	Time	are	subject	to	thy	sway!
```
```
—SAMUEL	ROGERS,	 Pleasures	of	Memory.
```
Many	an	orator,	like	Thackeray,	has	made	the	best	part	of	his	speech	to	himself
—on	the	way	home	from	the	lecture	hall.	Presence	of	mind—it	remained	for
Mark	Twain	to	observe—is	greatly	promoted	by	absence	of	body.	A	hole	in	the
memory	is	no	less	a	common	complaint	than	a	distressing	one.

Henry	Ward	Beecher	was	able	to	deliver	one	of	the	world's	greatest	addresses	at
Liverpool	because	of	his	excellent	memory.	In	speaking	of	the	occasion	Mr.
Beecher	said	that	all	the	events,	arguments	and	appeals	that	he	had	ever	heard	or
read	 or	 written	 seemed	 to	 pass	 before	 his	 mind	 as	 oratorical	 weapons,	 and
standing	there	he	had	but	to	reach	forth	his	hand	and	"seize	the	weapons	as	they
went	 smoking	 by."	 Ben	 Jonson	 could	 repeat	 all	 he	 had	 written.	 Scaliger
memorized	the	Iliad	in	three	weeks.	Locke	says:	"Without	memory,	man	is	a
perpetual	infant."	Quintilian	and	Aristotle	regarded	it	as	a	measure	of	genius.

Now	all	this	is	very	good.	We	all	agree	that	a	reliable	memory	is	an	invaluable
possession	 for	 the	 speaker.	 We	 never	 dissent	 for	 a	 moment	 when	 we	 are
solemnly	told	that	his	memory	should	be	a	storehouse	from	which	at	pleasure	he
can	draw	facts,	fancies,	and	illustrations.	But	can	the	memory	be	trained	to	act	as
the	warder	for	all	the	truths	that	we	have	gained	from	thinking,	reading,	and
experience?	And	if	so,	how?	Let	us	see.

Twenty	years	ago	a	poor	immigrant	boy,	employed	as	a	dish	washer	in	New
York,	 wandered	 into	 the	 Cooper	 Union	 and	 began	 to	 read	 a	 copy	 of	 Henry
George's	"Progress	and	Poverty."	His	passion	for	knowledge	was	awakened,	and
he	became	a	habitual	reader.	But	he	found	that	he	was	not	able	to	remember
what	he	read,	so	he	began	to	train	his	naturally	poor	memory	until	he	became	the
world's	greatest	memory	expert.	This	man	was	the	late	Mr.	Felix	Berol.	Mr.


Berol	could	tell	the	population	of	any	town	in	the	world,	of	more	than	five
thousand	inhabitants.	He	could	recall	the	names	of	forty	strangers	who	had	just
been	introduced	to	him	and	was	able	to	tell	which	had	been	presented	third,
eighth,	seventeenth,	or	in	any	order.	He	knew	the	date	of	every	important	event
in	history,	and	could	not	only	recall	an	endless	array	of	facts	but	could	correlate
them	perfectly.

To	what	extent	Mr.	Berol's	remarkable	memory	was	natural	and	required	only
attention,	for	its	development,	seems	impossible	to	determine	with	exactness,	but
the	evidence	clearly	indicates	that,	however	useless	were	many	of	his	memory
feats,	 a	 highly	 retentive	 memory	 was	 developed	 where	 before	 only	 "a	 good
forgettery"	existed.

The	 freak	 memory	 is	 not	 worth	 striving	 for,	 but	 a	 good	 working	 memory
decidedly	is.	Your	power	as	a	speaker	will	depend	to	a	large	extent	upon	your
ability	to	retain	impressions	and	call	them	forth	when	occasion	demands,	and
that	sort	of	memory	is	like	muscle—it	responds	to	training.

_What	Not	to	Do_

It	is	sheer	misdirected	effort	to	begin	to	memorize	by	learning	words	by	rote,	for
that	is	beginning	to	build	a	pyramid	at	the	apex.	For	years	our	schools	were
cursed	by	this	vicious	system—vicious	not	only	because	it	is	inefficient	but	for
the	more	important	reason	that	it	hurts	the	mind.	True,	some	minds	are	natively
endowed	with	a	wonderful	facility	in	remembering	strings	of	words,	facts,	and
figures,	 but	 such	 are	 rarely	 good	 reasoning	 minds;	 the	 normal	 person	 must
belabor	and	force	the	memory	to	acquire	in	this	artificial	way.

Again,	it	is	hurtful	to	force	the	memory	in	hours	of	physical	weakness	or	mental
weariness.	Health	is	the	basis	of	the	best	mental	action	and	the	operation	of
memory	is	no	exception.

Finally,	do	not	become	a	slave	to	a	system.	Knowledge	of	a	few	simple	facts	of
mind	and	memory	will	set	you	to	work	at	the	right	end	of	the	operation.	Use
these	 _principles_ ,	whether	included	in	a	system	or	not,	but	do	not	bind	yourself	to
a	method	that	tends	to	lay	more	stress	on	the	 _way_ 	to	remember	than	on	the
development	of	memory	itself.	It	is	nothing	short	of	ridiculous	to	memorize	ten
words	in	order	to	remember	one	fact.

_The	Natural	Laws	of	Memory_


_Concentrated	attention_ 	at	the	time	when	you	wish	to	store	the	mind	is	the	first
step	in	memorizing—and	the	most	important	one	by	far.	You	forgot	the	fourth	of
the	 list	 of	 articles	 your	 wife	 asked	 you	 to	 bring	 home	 chiefly	 because	 you
allowed	 your	 attention	 to	 waver	 for	 an	 instant	 when	 she	 was	 telling	 you.
Attention	may	not	be	concentrated	attention.	When	a	siphon	is	charged	with	gas
it	is	sufficiently	filled	with	the	carbonic	acid	vapor	to	make	its	influence	felt;	a
mind	charged	with	an	idea	is	charged	to	a	degree	sufficient	to	hold	it.	Too	much
charging	 will	 make	 the	 siphon	 burst;	 too	 much	 attention	 to	 trifles	 leads	 to
insanity.	Adequate	attention,	then,	is	the	fundamental	secret	of	remembering.

Generally	 we	 do	 not	 give	 a	 fact	 adequate	 attention	 when	 it	 does	 not	 seem
important.	Almost	everyone	has	seen	how	the	seeds	in	an	apple	point,	and	has
memorized	the	date	of	Washington's	death.	Most	of	us	have—perhaps	wisely—
forgotten	both.	The	little	nick	in	the	bark	of	a	tree	is	healed	over	and	obliterated
in	a	season,	but	the	gashes	in	the	trees	around	Gettysburg	are	still	apparent	after
fifty	years.	Impressions	that	are	gathered	lightly	are	soon	obliterated.	Only	deep
impressions	can	be	recalled	at	will.	Henry	Ward	Beecher	said:	"One	intense	hour
will	do	more	than	dreamy	years."	To	memorize	ideas	and	words,	concentrate	on
them	until	they	are	fixed	firmly	and	deeply	in	your	mind	and	accord	to	them
their	true	importance.	LISTEN	with	the	mind	and	you	will	remember.

How	shall	you	concentrate?	How	would	you	increase	the	fighting-effectiveness
of	a	man-of-war?	One	vital	way	would	be	to	increase	the	size	and	number	of	its
guns.	To	strengthen	your	memory,	increase	both	the	number	and	the	force	of
your	 mental	 impressions	 by	 attending	 to	 them	 intensely.	 Loose,	 skimming
reading,	and	drifting	habits	of	reading	destroy	memory	power.	However,	as	most
books	and	newspapers	do	not	warrant	any	other	kind	of	attention,	it	will	not	do
altogether	to	condemn	this	method	of	reading;	but	avoid	it	when	you	are	trying
to	memorize.

Environment	has	a	strong	influence	upon	concentration,	until	you	have	learned
to	 be	 alone	 in	 a	 crowd	 and	 undisturbed	 by	 clamor.	 When	 you	 set	 out	 to
memorize	a	fact	or	a	speech,	you	may	find	the	task	easier	away	from	all	sounds
and	moving	objects.	All	impressions	foreign	to	the	one	you	desire	to	fix	in	your
mind	must	be	eliminated.

The	next	great	step	in	memorizing	is	to	 _pick	out	the	essentials	of	the	subject_ ,
arrange	 them	 in	 order,	 and	 dwell	 upon	 them	 intently.	 Think	 clearly	 of	 each
essential,	one	after	the	other.	 _Thinking_ 	a	thing—not	allowing	the	mind	to	wander
to	non-essentials—is	really	memorizing.


_Association	of	ideas_ 	is	universally	recognized	as	an	essential	in	memory	work;
indeed,	whole	systems	of	memory	training	have	been	founded	on	this	principle.

Many	 speakers	 memorize	 only	 the	 outlines	 of	 their	 addresses,	 filling	 in	 the
words	at	the	moment	of	speaking.	Some	have	found	it	helpful	to	remember	an
outline	by	associating	the	different	points	with	objects	in	the	room.	Speaking	on
"Peace,"	you	may	wish	to	dwell	on	the	cost	the	cruelty,	and	the	failure	of	war,
and	so	lead	to	the	justice	of	arbitration.	Before	going	on	the	platform	if	you	will
associate	 four	 divisions	 of	 your	 outline	 with	 four	 objects	 in	 the	 room,	 this
association	may	help	you	to	recall	them.	You	may	be	prone	to	forget	your	third
point,	but	you	remember	that	once	when	you	were	speaking	the	electric	lights
failed,	so	arbitrarily	the	electric	light	globe	will	help	you	to	remember	"failure."
Such	 associations,	 being	 unique,	 tend	 to	 stick	 in	 the	 mind.	 While	 recently
speaking	on	the	six	kinds	of	imagination	the	present	writer	formed	them	into	an
acrostic— _visual_ ,	 _auditory_ ,	 _motor_ ,	 _gustatory_ ,	 _olfactory_ ,	and	 _tactile_ ,	furnished	the
nonsense	word	 _vamgot_ ,	but	the	six	points	were	easily	remembered.

In	the	same	way	that	children	are	taught	to	remember	the	spelling	of	teasing
words— _separate_ 	comes	from	 _separ_ —and	as	an	automobile	driver	remembers
that	two	C's	and	then	two	H's	lead	him	into	Castor	Road,	Cottman	Street,	Haynes
Street	and	Henry	Street,	so	important	points	in	your	address	may	be	fixed	in
mind	by	arbitrary	symbols	invented	by	yourself.	The	very	work	of	devising	the
scheme	is	a	memory	action.	The	psychological	process	is	simple:	it	is	one	of
noting	intently	the	steps	by	which	a	fact,	or	a	truth,	or	even	a	word,	has	come	to
you.	Take	advantage	of	this	tendency	of	the	mind	to	remember	by	association.

_Repetition_ is	 a	 powerful	 aid	 to	 memory.	 Thurlow	 Weed,	 the	 journalist	 and
political	leader,	was	troubled	because	he	so	easily	forgot	the	names	of	persons	he
met	from	 day	 to	 day.	 He	 corrected	 the	 weakness,	 relates	 Professor	 William
James,	by	forming	the	habit	of	attending	carefully	to	names	he	had	heard	during
the	day	and	then	repeating	them	to	his	wife	every	evening.	Doubtless	Mrs.	Weed
was	heroically	longsuffering,	but	the	device	worked	admirably.

After	reading	a	passage	you	would	remember,	close	the	book,	reflect,	and	repeat
the	contents—aloud,	if	possible.

_Reading	thoughtfully	aloud_ 	has	been	found	by	many	to	be	a	helpful	memory
practise.

_Write	what	you	wish	to	remember._ 	This	is	simply	one	more	way	of	increasing	the
number	 and	 the	 strength	 of	 your	 mental	 impressions	 by	 utilizing	 _all_ your


avenues	of	impression.	It	will	help	to	fix	a	speech	in	your	mind	if	you	speak	it
aloud,	listen	to	it,	write	it	out,	and	look	at	it	intently.	You	have	then	impressed	it
on	your	mind	by	means	of	vocal,	auditory,	muscular	and	visual	impressions.

Some	folk	have	peculiarly	distinct	auditory	memories;	they	are	able	to	recall
things	heard	much	better	than	things	seen.	Others	have	the	visual	memory;	they
are	best	able	to	recall	sight-impressions.	As	you	recall	a	walk	you	have	taken,
are	you	able	to	remember	better	the	sights	or	the	sounds?	Find	out	what	kinds	of
impressions	your	memory	retains	best,	and	use	them	the	most.	To	fix	an	idea	in
mind,	use	 _every_ 	possible	kind	of	impression.

_Daily	habit_ 	is	a	great	memory	cultivator.	Learn	a	lesson	from	the	Marathon
runner.	 Regular	 exercise,	 though	 never	 so	 little	 daily,	 will	 strengthen	 your
memory	in	a	surprising	measure.	Try	to	describe	in	detail	the	dress,	looks	and
manner	of	the	people	you	pass	on	the	street.	Observe	the	room	you	are	in,	close
your	eyes,	and	describe	its	contents.	View	closely	the	landscape,	and	write	out	a
detailed	description	of	it.	How	much	did	you	miss?	Notice	the	contents	of	the
show	 windows	 on	 the	 street;	 how	 many	 features	 are	 you	 able	 to	 recall?
Continual	practise	in	this	feat	may	develop	in	you	as	remarkable	proficiency	as	it
did	in	Robert	Houdin	and	his	son.

The	daily	memorizing	of	a	beautiful	passage	in	literature	will	not	only	lend
strength	to	the	memory,	but	will	store	the	mind	with	gems	for	quotation.	But
whether	by	little	or	much	add	daily	to	your	memory	power	by	practise.

_Memorize	out	of	doors._ 	The	buoyancy	of	the	wood,	the	shore,	or	the	stormy
night	on	deserted	streets	may	freshen	your	mind	as	it	does	the	minds	of	countless
others.

Lastly,	 _cast	out	fear_ .	Tell	yourself	that	you	 _can_ 	and	 _will_ 	and	 _do_ 	remember.	By
pure	 exercise	 of	 selfism	 assert	 your	 mastery.	 Be	 obsessed	 with	 the	 fear	 of
forgetting	and	you	cannot	remember.	Practise	the	reverse.	Throw	aside	your
manuscript	crutches—you	may	tumble	once	or	twice,	but	what	matters	that,	for
you	are	going	to	learn	to	walk	and	leap	and	run.

_Memorizing	a	Speech_

Now	let	us	try	to	put	into	practise	the	foregoing	suggestions.	First,	reread	this
chapter,	noting	the	nine	ways	by	which	memorizing	may	be	helped.

Then	read	over	the	following	selection	from	Beecher,	applying	so	many	of	the


suggestions	as	are	practicable.	Get	the	spirit	of	the	selection	firmly	in	your	mind.
Make	mental	note	of—write	down,	if	you	must—the	 _succession_ 	of	ideas.	Now
memorize	 the	 thought.	 Then	 memorize	 the	 outline,	 the	 order	 in	 which	 the
different	ideas	are	expressed.	Finally,	memorize	the	exact	wording.

No,	when	you	have	done	all	this,	with	the	most	faithful	attention	to	directions,
you	will	not	find	memorizing	easy,	unless	you	have	previously	trained	your
memory,	 or	 it	 is	 naturally	 retentive.	 Only	 by	 constant	 practise	 will	 memory
become	strong	and	only	by	continually	observing	these	same	principles	will	it
remain	strong.	You	will,	however,	have	made	a	beginning,	and	that	is	no	mean
matter.

```
THE	REIGN	OF	THE	COMMON	PEOPLE
```
```
I	do	not	suppose	that	if	you	were	to	go	and	look	upon	the	experiment
of	self-government	in	America	you	would	have	a	very	high	opinion
of	it.	I	have	not	either,	if	I	just	look	upon	the	surface	of	things.	Why,
men	will	say:	"It	stands	to	reason	that	60,000,000	ignorant	of	law,
ignorant	 of	 constitutional	 history,	 ignorant	 of	 jurisprudence,	 of
finance,	and	taxes	and	tariffs	and	forms	of	currency—60,000,000
people	that	never	studied	these	things—are	not	fit	to	rule."	Your
diplomacy	is	as	complicated	as	ours,	and	it	is	the	most	complicated
on	earth,	for	all	things	grow	in	complexity	as	they	develop	toward	a
higher	condition.	What	fitness	is	there	in	these	people?	Well,	it	is	not
democracy	merely;	it	is	a	representative	democracy.	Our	people	do
not	vote	in	mass	for	anything;	they	pick	out	captains	of	thought,	they
pick	out	the	men	that	do	know,	and	they	send	them	to	the	Legislature
to	think	for	them,	and	then	the	people	afterward	ratify	or	disallow
them.
```
```
But	when	you	come	to	the	Legislature	I	am	bound	to	confess	that	the
thing	does	not	look	very	much	more	cheering	on	the	outside.	Do
they	really	select	the	best	men?	Yes;	in	times	of	danger	they	do	very
generally,	but	in	ordinary	time,	"kissing	goes	by	favor."	You	know
what	the	duty	of	a	regular	Republican-Democratic	legislator	is.	It	is
to	get	back	again	next	winter.	His	second	duty	is	what?	His	second
duty	is	to	put	himself	under	that	extraordinary	providence	that	takes
care	of	legislators'	salaries.	The	old	miracle	of	the	prophet	and	the
meal	and	the	oil	is	outdone	immeasurably	in	our	days,	for	they	go
there	poor	one	year,	and	go	home	rich;	in	four	years	they	become
```

```
moneylenders,	all	by	a	trust	in	that	gracious	providence	that	takes
care	of	legislators'	salaries.	Their	next	duty	after	that	is	to	serve	the
party	that	sent	them	up,	and	then,	if	there	is	anything	left	of	them,	it
belongs	to	the	commonwealth.	Someone	has	said	very	wisely,	that	if
a	man	traveling	wishes	to	relish	his	dinner	he	had	better	not	go	into
the	kitchen	to	see	where	it	is	cooked;	if	a	man	wishes	to	respect	and
obey	the	law,	he	had	better	not	go	to	the	Legislature	to	see	where
that	is	cooked.
```
```
—HENRY	WARD	BEECHER.
```
```
From	a	lecture	delivered	in	Exeter	Hall,	London,	1886,	when
making	his	last	tour	of	Great	Britain.
```
_In	Case	of	Trouble_

But	what	are	you	to	do	if,	notwithstanding	all	your	efforts,	you	should	forget
your	points,	and	your	mind,	for	the	minute,	becomes	blank?	This	is	a	deplorable
condition	that	sometimes	arises	and	must	be	dealt	with.	Obviously,	you	can	sit
down	and	admit	defeat.	Such	a	consummation	is	devoutly	to	be	shunned.

Walking	slowly	across	the	platform	may	give	you	time	to	grip	yourself,	compose
your	 thoughts,	 and	 stave	 off	 disaster.	 Perhaps	 the	 surest	 and	 most	 practical
method	is	to	begin	a	new	sentence	with	your	last	important	word.	This	is	not
advocated	as	a	method	of	composing	a	speech—it	is	merely	an	extreme	measure
which	may	save	you	in	tight	circumstances.	It	is	like	the	fire	department—the
less	you	must	use	it	the	better.	If	this	method	is	followed	very	long	you	are	likely
to	find	yourself	talking	about	plum	pudding	or	Chinese	Gordon	in	the	most
unexpected	manner,	so	of	course	you	will	get	back	to	your	lines	the	earliest
moment	that	your	feet	have	hit	the	platform.

Let	us	see	how	this	plan	works—obviously,	your	extemporized	words	will	lack
somewhat	of	polish,	but	in	such	a	pass	crudity	is	better	than	failure.

Now	you	have	come	to	a	dead	wall	after	saying:	"Joan	of	Arc	fought	for	liberty."
By	this	method	you	might	get	something	like	this:

"Liberty	is	a	sacred	privilege	for	which	mankind	always	had	to	fight.	These
struggles	[Platitude—but	push	on]	fill	the	pages	of	history.	History	records	the
gradual	triumph	of	the	serf	over	the	lord,	the	slave	over	the	master.	The	master
has	continually	tried	to	usurp	unlimited	powers.	Power	during	the	medieval	ages


accrued	to	the	owner	of	the	land	with	a	spear	and	a	strong	castle;	but	the	strong
castle	 and	 spear	 were	 of	 little	 avail	 after	 the	 discovery	 of	 gunpowder.
Gunpowder	was	the	greatest	boon	that	liberty	had	ever	known."

Thus	far	you	have	linked	one	idea	with	another	rather	obviously,	but	you	are
getting	your	second	wind	now	and	may	venture	to	relax	your	grip	on	the	too-
evident	chain;	and	so	you	say:

"With	gunpowder	the	humblest	serf	in	all	the	land	could	put	an	end	to	the	life	of
the	 tyrannical	 baron	 behind	 the	 castle	 walls.	 The	 struggle	 for	 liberty,	 with
gunpowder	as	its	aid,	wrecked	empires,	and	built	up	a	new	era	for	all	mankind."

In	a	moment	more	you	have	gotten	back	to	your	outline	and	the	day	is	saved.

Practising	exercises	like	the	above	will	not	only	fortify	you	against	the	death	of
your	speech	when	your	memory	misses	fire,	but	it	will	also	provide	an	excellent
training	for	fluency	in	speaking.	 _Stock	up	with	ideas._

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	Pick	out	and	state	briefly	the	nine	helps	to	memorizing	suggested	in	this
chapter.
2.	Report	on	whatever	success	you	may	have	had	with	any	of	the	plans	for
memory	culture	suggested	in	this	chapter.	Have	any	been	less	successful	than
others?
3.	Freely	criticise	any	of	the	suggested	methods.
4.	Give	an	original	example	of	memory	by	association	of	ideas.
5.	List	in	order	the	chief	ideas	of	any	speech	in	this	volume.
6.	Repeat	them	from	memory.
7.	Expand	them	into	a	speech,	using	your	own	words.
8.	 Illustrate	 practically	 what	 would	 you	 do,	 if	 in	 the	 midst	 of	 a	 speech	 on
Progress,	your	memory	failed	you	and	you	stopped	suddenly	on	the	following
sentence:	"The	last	century	saw	marvelous	progress	in	varied	lines	of	activity."
9.	How	many	quotations	that	fit	well	in	the	speaker's	tool	chest	can	you	recall
from	memory?


10.	Memorize	the	poem	on	page	 42 .	How	much	time	does	it	require?

### CHAPTER	XXIX

#### RIGHT	THINKING	AND	PERSONALITY

```
Whatever	crushes	individuality	is	despotism,	by	whatever	name	it
may	be	called.—JOHN	STUART	MILL,	 On	Liberty.
```
```
Right	thinking	fits	for	complete	living	by	developing	the	power	to
appreciate	the	beautiful	in	nature	and	art,	power	to	think	the	true	and
to	will	the	good,	power	to	live	the	life	of	thought,	and	faith,	and
hope,	and	love.
```
```
—N.C.	SCHAEFFER,	 Thinking	and	Learning	to	Think.
```
The	 speaker's	 most	 valuable	 possession	 is	 personality—that	 indefinable,
imponderable	something	which	sums	up	what	we	are,	and	makes	us	different
from	others;	that	distinctive	force	of	self	which	operates	appreciably	on	those
whose	 lives	 we	 touch.	 It	 is	 personality	 alone	 that	 makes	 us	 long	 for	 higher
things.	Rob	us	of	our	sense	of	individual	life,	with	its	gains	and	losses,	its	duties
and	joys,	and	we	grovel.	"Few	human	creatures,"	says	John	Stuart	Mill,	"would
consent	to	be	changed	into	any	of	the	lower	animals	for	a	promise	of	the	fullest
allowance	of	a	beast's	pleasures;	no	intelligent	human	being	would	consent	to	be
a	fool,	no	instructed	person	would	be	an	ignoramus,	no	person	of	feeling	and
conscience	would	be	selfish	and	base,	even	though	he	should	be	persuaded	that
the	fool,	or	the	dunce,	or	the	rascal	is	better	satisfied	with	his	lot	than	they	with
theirs....	It	is	better	to	be	a	human	being	dissatisfied	than	a	pig	satisfied,	better	to
be	a	Socrates	dissatisfied	than	a	fool	satisfied.	And	if	the	fool	or	the	pig	is	of	a
different	 opinion,	 it	 is	 only	 because	 they	 know	 only	 their	 own	 side	 of	 the
question.	The	other	party	to	the	comparison	knows	both	sides."

Now	it	is	precisely	because	the	Socrates	type	of	person	lives	on	the	plan	of	right
thinking	and	restrained	feeling	and	willing	that	he	prefers	his	state	to	that	of	the
animal.	All	that	a	man	is,	all	his	happiness,	his	sorrow,	his	achievements,	his
failures,	his	magnetism,	his	weakness,	all	are	in	an	amazingly	large	measure	the
direct	 results	 of	 his	 thinking.	 Thought	 and	 heart	 combine	 to	 produce	 _right_


thinking:	"As	a	man	thinketh	in	his	heart	so	is	he."	As	he	does	not	think	in	his
heart	so	he	can	never	become.

Since	this	is	true,	personality	can	be	developed	and	its	latent	powers	brought	out
by	careful	cultivation.	We	have	long	since	ceased	to	believe	that	we	are	living	in
a	realm	of	chance.	So	clear	and	exact	are	nature's	laws	that	we	forecast,	scores	of
years	in	advance,	the	appearance	of	a	certain	comet	and	foretell	to	the	minute	an
eclipse	of	the	Sun.	And	we	understand	this	law	of	cause	and	effect	in	all	our
material	realms.	We	do	not	plant	potatoes	and	expect	to	pluck	hyacinths.	The	law
is	universal:	it	applies	to	our	mental	powers,	to	morality,	to	personality,	quite	as
much	as	to	the	heavenly	bodies	and	the	grain	of	the	fields.	"Whatsoever	a	man
soweth	that	shall	he	also	reap,"	and	nothing	else.

Character	has	always	been	regarded	as	one	of	the	chief	factors	of	the	speaker's
power.	Cato	defined	the	orator	as	 _vir	bonus	dicendi	peritus_ —a	good	man	skilled
in	speaking.	Phillips	Brooks	says:	"Nobody	can	truly	stand	as	a	utterer	before	the
world,	unless	he	be	profoundly	living	and	earnestly	thinking."	"Character,"	says
Emerson,	"is	a	natural	power,	like	light	and	heat,	and	all	nature	cooperates	with
it.	The	reason	why	we	feel	one	man's	presence,	and	do	not	feel	another's	is	as
simple	as	gravity.	Truth	is	the	summit	of	being:	justice	is	the	application	of	it	to
affairs.	All	individual	natures	stand	in	a	scale,	according	to	the	purity	of	this
element	in	them.	The	will	of	the	pure	runs	down	into	other	natures,	as	water	runs
down	from	a	higher	into	a	lower	vessel.	This	natural	force	is	no	more	to	be
withstood	 than	 any	 other	 natural	 force....	 Character	 is	 nature	 in	 the	 highest
form."

It	is	absolutely	impossible	for	impure,	bestial	and	selfish	thoughts	to	blossom
into	 loving	 and	 altruistic	 habits.	 Thistle	 seeds	 bring	 forth	 only	 the	 thistle.
Contrariwise,	it	is	entirely	impossible	for	continual	altruistic,	sympathetic,	and
serviceful	thoughts	to	bring	forth	a	low	and	vicious	character.	Either	thoughts	or
feelings	 precede	 and	 determine	 all	 our	 actions.	 Actions	 develop	 into	 habits,
habits	constitute	character,	and	character	determines	destiny.	Therefore	to	guard
our	thoughts	and	control	our	feelings	is	to	shape	our	destinies.	The	syllogism	is
complete,	and	old	as	it	is	it	is	still	true.

Since	"character	is	nature	in	the	highest	form,"	the	development	of	character
must	proceed	on	natural	lines.	The	garden	left	to	itself	will	bring	forth	weeds	and
scrawny	 plants,	 but	 the	 flower-beds	 nurtured	 carefully	 will	 blossom	 into
fragrance	and	beauty.


As	the	student	entering	college	largely	determines	his	vocation	by	choosing	from
the	 different	 courses	 of	 the	 curriculum,	 so	 do	 we	 choose	 our	 characters	 by
choosing	our	thoughts.	We	are	steadily	going	up	toward	that	which	we	most
wish	for,	or	steadily	sinking	to	the	level	of	our	low	desires.	What	we	secretly
cherish	in	our	hearts	is	a	symbol	of	what	we	shall	receive.	Our	trains	of	thoughts
are	hurrying	us	on	to	our	destiny.	When	you	see	the	flag	fluttering	to	the	South,
you	know	the	wind	is	coming	from	the	North.	When	you	see	the	straws	and
papers	being	carried	to	the	Northward	you	realize	the	wind	is	blowing	out	of	the
South.	It	is	just	as	easy	to	ascertain	a	man's	thoughts	by	observing	the	tendency
of	his	character.

Let	it	not	be	suspected	for	one	moment	that	all	this	is	merely	a	preachment	on
the	question	of	morals.	It	is	that,	but	much	more,	for	it	touches	the	whole	man—
his	imaginative	nature,	his	ability	to	control	his	feelings,	the	mastery	of	his
thinking	faculties,	and—perhaps	most	largely—his	power	to	will	and	to	carry	his
volitions	into	effective	action.

Right	thinking	constantly	assumes	that	the	will	sits	enthroned	to	execute	the
dictates	 of	 mind,	 conscience	 and	 heart.	 _Never	 tolerate	 for	 an	 instant	 the
suggestion	that	your	will	is	not	absolutely	efficient._ 	The	way	to	will	is	to	will—
and	the	very	first	time	you	are	tempted	to	break	a	worthy	resolution—and	you
will	be,	you	may	be	certain	of	that— _make	your	fight	then	and	there_ .	You	cannot
afford	to	lose	that	fight.	You	 _must_ 	win	it—don't	swerve	for	an	instant,	but	keep
that	resolution	if	it	kills	you.	It	will	not,	but	you	must	fight	just	as	though	life
depended	on	the	victory;	and	indeed	your	personality	may	actually	lie	in	the
balances!

Your	success	or	failure	as	a	speaker	will	be	determined	very	largely	by	your
thoughts	and	your	mental	attitude.	The	present	writer	had	a	student	of	limited
education	enter	one	of	his	classes	in	public	speaking.	He	proved	to	be	a	very
poor	speaker;	and	the	instructor	could	conscientiously	do	little	but	point	out
faults.	However,	the	young	man	was	warned	not	to	be	discouraged.	With	sorrow
in	his	voice	and	the	essence	of	earnestness	beaming	from	his	eyes,	he	replied:	"I
will	not	be	discouraged!	I	want	so	badly	to	know	how	to	speak!"	It	was	warm,
human,	and	from	the	very	heart.	And	he	did	keep	on	trying—and	developed	into
a	creditable	speaker.

There	is	no	power	under	the	stars	that	can	defeat	a	man	with	that	attitude.	He
who	down	in	the	deeps	of	his	heart	earnestly	longs	to	get	facility	in	speaking,
and	is	willing	to	make	the	sacrifices	necessary,	will	reach	his	goal.	"Ask	and	ye


shall	receive;	seek	and	ye	shall	find;	knock	and	it	shall	be	opened	unto	you,"	is
indeed	applicable	to	those	who	would	acquire	speech-power.	You	will	not	realize
the	prize	that	you	wish	for	languidly,	but	the	goal	that	you	start	out	to	attain	with
the	spirit	of	the	old	guard	that	dies	but	never	surrenders,	you	will	surely	reach.

Your	belief	in	your	ability	and	your	willingness	to	make	sacrifices	for	that	belief,
are	the	double	index	to	your	future	achievements.	Lincoln	had	a	dream	of	his
possibilities	as	a	speaker.	He	transmuted	that	dream	into	life	solely	because	he
walked	many	miles	to	borrow	books	which	he	read	by	the	log-fire	glow	at	night.
He	sacrificed	much	to	realize	his	vision.	Livingstone	had	a	great	faith	in	his
ability	to	serve	the	benighted	races	of	Africa.	To	actualize	that	faith	he	gave	up
all.	Leaving	England	for	the	interior	of	the	Dark	Continent	he	struck	the	death
blow	 to	 Europe's	 profits	 from	 the	 slave	 trade.	 Joan	 of	 Arc	 had	 great	 self-
confidence,	glorified	by	an	infinite	capacity	for	sacrifice.	She	drove	the	English
beyond	the	Loire,	and	stood	beside	Charles	while	he	was	crowned.

These	all	realized	their	strongest	desires.	The	law	is	universal.	Desire	greatly,
and	you	shall	achieve;	sacrifice	much,	and	you	shall	obtain.

Stanton	Davis	Kirkham	has	beautifully	expressed	this	thought:	"You	may	be
keeping	accounts,	and	presently	you	shall	walk	out	of	the	door	that	has	for	so
long	seemed	to	you	the	barrier	of	your	ideals,	and	shall	find	yourself	before	an
audience—the	pen	still	behind	your	ear,	the	ink	stains	on	your	fingers—and	then
and	there	shall	pour	out	the	torrent	of	your	inspiration.	You	may	be	driving
sheep,	 and	 you	 shall	 wander	 to	 the	 city—bucolic	 and	 open-mouthed;	 shall
wander	under	the	intrepid	guidance	of	the	spirit	into	the	studio	of	the	master,	and
after	a	time	he	shall	say,	'I	have	nothing	more	to	teach	you.'	And	now	you	have
become	the	master,	who	did	so	recently	dream	of	great	things	while	driving
sheep.	You	shall	lay	down	the	saw	and	the	plane	to	take	upon	yourself	the
regeneration	of	the	world."

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	What,	in	your	own	words,	is	personality?
2.	How	does	personality	in	a	speaker	affect	you	as	a	listener?
3.	In	what	ways	does	personality	show	itself	in	a	speaker?
4.	Deliver	a	short	speech	on	"The	Power	of	Will	in	the	Public	Speaker."


5.	Deliver	a	short	address	based	on	any	sentence	you	choose	from	this	chapter.

### CHAPTER	XXX

#### AFTER-DINNER	AND	OTHER	OCCASIONAL	SPEAKING

```
The	perception	of	the	ludicrous	is	a	pledge	of	sanity.
```
```
—RALPH	WALDO	EMERSON,	 Essays.
```
```
And	let	him	be	sure	to	leave	other	men	their	turns	to	speak.
```
```
—FRANCIS	BACON,	Essay	on	 Civil	and	Moral	Discourse.
```
Perhaps	the	most	brilliant,	and	certainly	the	most	entertaining,	of	all	speeches	are
those	delivered	on	after-dinner	and	other	special	occasions.	The	air	of	well-fed
content	in	the	former,	and	of	expectancy	well	primed	in	the	latter,	furnishes	an
audience	which,	though	 not	readily	won,	 is	prepared	for	 the	best,	while	the
speaker	himself	is	pretty	sure	to	have	been	chosen	for	his	gifts	of	oratory.

The	first	essential	of	good	occasional	speaking	is	to	study	the	occasion.	Precisely
what	 is	 the	 object	 of	 the	 meeting?	 How	 important	 is	 the	 occasion	 to	 the
audience?	How	large	will	the	audience	be?	What	sort	of	people	are	they?	How
large	is	the	auditorium?	Who	selects	the	speakers'	themes?	Who	else	is	to	speak?
What	are	they	to	speak	about?	Precisely	how	long	am	I	to	speak?	Who	speaks
before	I	do	and	who	follows?

If	 you	 want	 to	 hit	 the	 nail	 on	 the	 head	 ask	 such	 questions	 as	 these.[35]	No
occasional	 address	 can	 succeed	 unless	 it	 fits	 the	 occasion	 to	 a	 T.	 Many
prominent	men	have	lost	prestige	because	they	were	too	careless	or	too	busy	or
too	self-confident	to	respect	the	occasion	and	the	audience	by	learning	the	exact
conditions	under	which	they	were	to	speak.	Leaving	 _too_ 	much	to	the	moment	is
taking	a	long	chance	and	generally	means	a	less	effective	speech,	if	not	a	failure.

Suitability	is	the	big	thing	in	an	occasional	speech.	When	Mark	Twain	addressed
the	Army	of	the	Tennessee	in	reunion	at	Chicago,	in	1877,	he	responded	to	the
toast,	"The	Babies."	Two	things	in	that	after-dinner	speech	are	remarkable:	the
bright	 introduction,	 by	 which	 he	 subtly	 _claimed_ the	 interest	 of	 all,	 and	 the


humorous	use	of	military	terms	throughout:

```
Mr.	Chairman	and	Gentlemen:	"The	Babies."	Now,	that's	something
like.	We	haven't	all	had	the	good	fortune	to	be	ladies;	we	have	not	all
been	 generals,	 or	 poets,	 or	 statesmen;	 but	 when	 the	 toast	 works
down	to	the	babies,	we	stand	on	common	ground—for	we've	all
been	 babies.	 It	 is	 a	 shame	 that	 for	 a	 thousand	 years	 the	 world's
banquets	have	utterly	ignored	the	baby,	as	if	he	didn't	amount	to
anything!	If	you,	gentlemen,	will	stop	and	think	a	minute—if	you
will	go	back	fifty	or	a	hundred	years,	to	your	early	married	life,	and
recontemplate	your	first	baby—you	will	remember	that	he	amounted
to	a	good	deal—and	even	something	over.
```
"As	 a	 vessel	 is	 known	 by	 the	 sound,	 whether	 it	 be	 cracked	 or	 not,"	 said
Demosthenes,	"so	men	are	proved	by	their	speeches	whether	they	be	wise	or
foolish."	Surely	the	occasional	address	furnishes	a	severe	test	of	a	speaker's
wisdom.	To	be	trivial	on	a	serious	occasion,	to	be	funereal	at	a	banquet,	to	be
long-winded	 ever—these	 are	 the	 marks	of	 non-sense.	 Some	 imprudent	 souls
seem	to	select	the	most	friendly	of	after-dinner	occasions	for	the	explosion	of	a
bomb-shell	of	dispute.	Around	the	dinner	table	it	is	the	custom	of	even	political
enemies	to	bury	their	hatchets	anywhere	rather	than	in	some	convenient	skull.	It
is	the	height	of	bad	taste	to	raise	questions	that	in	hours	consecrated	to	good-will
can	only	irritate.

Occasional	speeches	offer	good	chances	for	humor,	particularly	the	funny	story,
for	humor	with	a	genuine	point	is	not	trivial.	But	do	not	spin	a	whole	skein	of
humorous	yarns	with	no	more	connection	than	the	inane	and	threadbare	"And
that	reminds	me."	An	anecdote	without	bearing	may	be	funny	but	one	less	funny
that	fits	theme	and	occasion	is	far	preferable.	There	is	no	way,	short	of	sheer
power	 of	 speech,	 that	 so	 surely	 leads	 to	 the	 heart	 of	 an	 audience	 as	 rich,
appropriate	humor.	The	scattered	diners	in	a	great	banqueting	hall,	the	after-
dinner	lethargy,	the	anxiety	over	approaching	last-train	time,	the	over-full	list	of
over-full	speakers—all	throw	out	a	challenge	to	the	speaker	to	do	his	best	to	win
an	interested	hearing.	And	when	success	does	come	it	is	usually	due	to	a	happy
mixture	of	seriousness	and	humor,	for	humor	alone	rarely	scores	so	heavily	as
the	two	combined,	while	the	utterly	grave	speech	 _never_ 	does	on	such	occasions.

If	 there	 is	 one	 place	 more	 than	 another	 where	 second-hand	 opinions	 and
platitudes	are	unwelcome	it	is	in	the	after-dinner	speech.	Whether	you	are	toast-
master	or	the	last	speaker	to	try	to	hold	the	waning	crowd	at	midnight,	be	as


original	as	you	can.	How	is	it	possible	to	summarize	the	qualities	that	go	to	make
up	the	good	 after-dinner	 speech,	 when	 we	 remember	 the	 inimitable	 serious-
drollery	of	Mark	Twain,	the	sweet	southern	eloquence	of	Henry	W.	Grady,	the
funereal	gravity	of	the	humorous	Charles	Battell	Loomis,	the	charm	of	Henry
Van	Dyke,	the	geniality	of	F.	Hopkinson	Smith,	and	the	all-round	delightfulness
of	Chauncey	M.	Depew?	America	is	literally	rich	in	such	gladsome	speakers,
who	punctuate	real	sense	with	nonsense,	and	so	make	both	effective.

Commemorative	occasions,	unveilings,	commencements,	dedications,	eulogies,
and	all	the	train	of	special	public	gatherings,	offer	rare	opportunities	for	the
display	of	tact	and	good	sense	in	handling	occasion,	theme,	and	audience.	When
to	be	dignified	and	when	colloquial,	when	to	soar	and	when	to	ramble	arm	in
arm	with	your	hearers,	when	to	flame	and	when	to	soothe,	when	to	instruct	and
when	to	amuse—in	a	word,	the	whole	matter	of	APPROPRIATENESS	must
constantly	be	in	mind	lest	you	write	your	speech	on	water.

Finally,	remember	the	beatitude:	Blessed	is	the	man	that	maketh	short	speeches,
for	he	shall	be	invited	to	speak	again.

SELECTIONS	FOR	STUDY

```
LAST	DAYS	OF	THE	CONFEDERACY
```
```
(Extract)
```
```
The	 Rapidan	 suggests	 another	 scene	 to	 which	 allusion	 has	 often
been	made	since	the	war,	but	which,	as	illustrative	also	of	the	spirit
of	both	armies,	I	may	be	permitted	to	recall	in	this	connection.	In	the
mellow	twilight	of	an	April	day	the	two	armies	were	holding	their
dress	parades	on	the	opposite	hills	bordering	the	river.	At	the	close
of	the	parade	a	magnificent	brass	band	of	the	Union	army	played
with	great	spirit	the	patriotic	airs,	"Hail	Columbia,"	and	"Yankee
Doodle."	Whereupon	the	Federal	troops	responded	with	a	patriotic
shout.	 The	 same	 band	 then	 played	 the	 soul-stirring	 strains	 of
"Dixie,"	 to	 which	 a	 mighty	 response	 came	 from	 ten	 thousand
Southern	troops.	A	few	moments	later,	when	the	stars	had	come	out
as	witnesses	and	when	all	nature	was	in	harmony,	there	came	from
the	same	band	the	old	melody,	"Home,	Sweet	Home."	As	its	familiar
and	pathetic	notes	rolled	over	the	water	and	thrilled	through	the
spirits	 of	 the	 soldiers,	 the	 hills	 reverberated	 with	 a	 thundering
response	from	the	united	voices	of	both	armies.	What	was	there	in
```

this	old,	old	music,	to	so	touch	the	chords	of	sympathy,	so	thrill	the
spirits	and	cause	the	frames	of	brave	men	to	tremble	with	emotion?
It	 was	 the	 thought	 of	 home.	 To	 thousands,	 doubtless,	 it	 was	 the
thought	of	that	Eternal	Home	to	which	the	next	battle	might	be	the
gateway.	To	thousands	of	others	it	was	the	thought	of	their	dear
earthly	homes,	where	loved	ones	at	that	twilight	hour	were	bowing
round	the	family	altar,	and	asking	God's	care	over	the	absent	soldier
boy.

```
—GENERAL	J.B.	GORDON,	C.S.A.
```
_WELCOME	TO	KOSSUTH_

(Extract)

Let	me	ask	you	to	imagine	that	the	contest,	in	which	the	United
States	 asserted	 their	 independence	 of	 Great	 Britain,	 had	 been
unsuccessful;	that	our	armies,	through	treason	or	a	league	of	tyrants
against	us,	had	been	broken	and	scattered;	that	the	great	men	who
led	 them,	 and	 who	 swayed	 our	 councils—our	 Washington,	 our
Franklin,	and	the	venerable	president	of	the	American	Congress—
had	been	driven	forth	as	exiles.	If	there	had	existed	at	that	day,	in
any	 part	 of	 the	 civilized	 world,	 a	 powerful	 Republic,	 with
institutions	resting	on	the	same	foundations	of	liberty	which	our	own
countrymen	 sought	 to	 establish,	 would	 there	 have	 been	 in	 that
Republic	any	hospitality	too	cordial,	any	sympathy	too	deep,	any
zeal	for	their	glorious	but	unfortunate	cause,	too	fervent	or	too	active
to	be	shown	toward	these	illustrious	fugitives?	Gentlemen,	the	case	I
have	supposed	is	before	you.	The	Washingtons,	the	Franklins,	the
Hancocks	of	Hungary,	driven	out	by	a	far	worse	tyranny	than	was
ever	endured	here,	are	wanderers	in	foreign	lands.	Some	of	them
have	sought	a	refuge	in	our	country—one	sits	with	this	company	our
guest	to-night—and	we	must	measure	the	duty	we	owe	them	by	the
same	 standard	 which	 we	 would	 have	 had	 history	 apply,	 if	 our
ancestors	had	met	with	a	fate	like	theirs.

```
—WILLIAM	CULLEN	BRYANT.
```
_THE	INFLUENCE	OF	UNIVERSITIES_

(Extract)


When	the	excitement	of	party	warfare	presses	dangerously	near	our
national	safeguards,	I	would	have	the	intelligent	conservatism	of	our
universities	and	colleges	warn	the	contestants	in	impressive	tones
against	the	perils	of	a	breach	impossible	to	repair.

When	popular	discontent	and	passion	are	stimulated	by	the	arts	of
designing	 partisans	 to	 a	 pitch	 perilously	 near	 to	 class	 hatred	 or
sectional	anger,	I	would	have	our	universities	and	colleges	sound	the
alarm	 in	 the	 name	 of	 American	 brotherhood	 and	 fraternal
dependence.

When	the	attempt	is	made	to	delude	the	people	into	the	belief	that
their	suffrages	can	change	the	operation	of	national	laws,	I	would
have	 our	 universities	 and	 colleges	 proclaim	 that	 those	 laws	 are
inexorable	and	far	removed	from	political	control.

When	 selfish	 interest	 seeks	 undue	 private	 benefits	 through
governmental	aid,	and	public	places	are	claimed	as	rewards	of	party
service,	 I	 would	 have	 our	 universities	 and	 colleges	 persuade	 the
people	to	a	relinquishment	of	the	demand	for	party	spoils	and	exhort
them	to	a	disinterested	and	patriotic	love	of	their	government,	whose
unperverted	operation	secures	to	every	citizen	his	just	share	of	the
safety	and	prosperity	it	holds	in	store	for	all.

I	 would	 have	 the	 influence	 of	 these	 institutions	 on	 the	 side	 of
religion	and	morality.	I	would	have	those	they	send	out	among	the
people	 not	 ashamed	 to	 acknowledge	 God,	 and	 to	 proclaim	 His
interposition	in	the	affairs	of	men,	enjoining	such	obedience	to	His
laws	 as	 makes	 manifest	 the	 path	 of	 national	 perpetuity	 and
prosperity

—GROVER	CLEVELAND,	delivered	at	the	Princeton	Sesqui-Centennial,
1896.

_EULOGY	OF	GARFIELD_

(Extract)

Great	in	life,	he	was	surpassingly	great	in	death.	For	no	cause,	in	the
very	 frenzy	 of	 wantonness	 and	 wickedness,	 by	 the	 red	 hand	 of
murder,	he	was	thrust	from	the	full	tide	of	this	world's	interest,	from


its	hopes,	its	aspirations,	its	victories,	into	the	visible	presence	of
death—and	he	did	not	quail.	Not	alone	for	the	one	short	moment	in
which,	stunned	and	dazed,	he	could	give	up	life,	hardly	aware	of	its
relinquishment,	but	through	days	of	deadly	languor,	through	weeks
of	agony,	that	was	not	less	agony	because	silently	borne,	with	clear
sight	and	calm	courage,	he	looked	into	his	open	grave.	What	blight
and	 ruin	 met	 his	 anguished	 eyes,	 whose	 lips	 may	 tell—what
brilliant,	broken	plans,	what	baffled,	high	ambitions,	what	sundering
of	strong,	warm,	manhood's	friendships,	what	bitter	rending	of	sweet
household	ties!	Behind	him	a	proud,	expectant	nation,	a	great	host	of
sustaining	friends,	a	cherished	and	happy	mother,	wearing	the	full
rich	honors	of	her	early	toil	and	tears;	the	wife	of	his	youth,	whose
whole	life	lay	in	his;	the	little	boys	not	yet	emerged	from	childhood's
day	of	frolic;	the	fair	young	daughter;	the	sturdy	sons	just	springing
into	 closest	 companionship,	 claiming	 every	 day	 and	 every	 day
rewarding	 a	 father's	 love	 and	 care;	 and	 in	 his	 heart	 the	 eager,
rejoicing	 power	 to	 meet	 all	 demand.	 Before	 him,	 desolation	 and
great	darkness!	And	his	soul	was	not	shaken.	His	countrymen	were
thrilled	with	instant,	profound	and	universal	sympathy.	Masterful	in
his	 mortal	 weakness,	 he	 became	 the	 centre	 of	 a	 nation's	 love,
enshrined	in	the	prayers	of	a	world.	But	all	the	love	and	all	the
sympathy	could	not	share	with	him	his	suffering.	He	trod	the	wine
press	alone.	With	unfaltering	front	he	faced	death.	With	unfailing
tenderness	he	took	leave	of	life.	Above	the	demoniac	hiss	of	the
assassin's	bullet	he	heard	the	voice	of	God.	With	simple	resignation
he	bowed	to	the	Divine	decree.

—JAMES	G.	BLAINE,	delivered	at	the	memorial	service	held	by	the
U.S.	Senate	and	House	of	Representatives.

_EULOGY	OF	LEE_

(Extract)

At	 the	 bottom	 of	 all	 true	 heroism	 is	 unselfishness.	 Its	 crowning
expression	is	sacrifice.	The	world	is	suspicious	of	vaunted	heroes.
But	when	the	true	hero	has	come,	and	we	know	that	here	he	is	in
verity,	 ah!	 how	 the	 hearts	 of	 men	 leap	 forth	 to	 greet	 him!	 how
worshipfully	we	welcome	God's	noblest	work—the	strong,	honest,
fearless,	upright	man.	In	Robert	Lee	was	such	a	hero	vouchsafed	to


us	and	to	mankind,	and	whether	we	behold	him	declining	command
of	the	federal	army	to	fight	the	battles	and	share	the	miseries	of	his
own	people;	proclaiming	on	the	heights	in	front	of	Gettysburg	that
the	fault	of	the	disaster	was	his	own;	leading	charges	in	the	crisis	of
combat;	walking	under	the	yoke	of	conquest	without	a	murmur	of
complaint;	or	refusing	fortune	to	come	here	and	train	the	youth	of
his	country	in	the	paths	of	duty,—he	is	ever	the	same	meek,	grand,
self-sacrificing	spirit.	Here	he	exhibited	qualities	not	less	worthy	and
heroic	 than	 those	 displayed	 on	 the	 broad	 and	 open	 theater	 of
conflict,	when	the	eyes	of	nations	watched	his	every	action.	Here	in
the	 calm	 repose	 of	 civil	 and	 domestic	 duties,	 and	 in	 the	 trying
routine	of	incessant	tasks,	he	lived	a	life	as	high	as	when,	day	by
day,	he	marshalled	and	led	his	thin	and	wasting	lines,	and	slept	by
night	upon	the	field	that	was	to	be	drenched	again	in	blood	upon	the
morrow.	And	now	he	has	vanished	from	us	forever.	And	is	this	all
that	is	left	of	him—this	handful	of	dust	beneath	the	marble	stone?
No!	the	ages	answer	as	they	rise	from	the	gulfs	of	time,	where	lie	the
wrecks	of	kingdoms	and	estates,	holding	up	in	their	hands	as	their
only	trophies,	the	names	of	those	who	have	wrought	for	man	in	the
love	and	fear	of	God,	and	in	love—unfearing	for	their	fellow-men.
No!	 the	 present	 answers,	 bending	 by	 his	 tomb.	 No!	 the	 future
answers	as	the	breath	of	the	morning	fans	its	radiant	brow,	and	its
soul	drinks	in	sweet	inspirations	from	the	lovely	life	of	Lee.	No!
methinks	the	very	heavens	echo,	as	melt	into	their	depths	the	words
of	reverent	love	that	voice	the	hearts	of	men	to	the	tingling	stars.

Come	we	then	to-day	in	loyal	love	to	sanctify	our	memories,	to
purify	our	hopes,	to	make	strong	all	good	intent	by	communion	with
the	spirit	of	him	who,	being	dead	yet	speaketh.	Come,	child,	in	thy
spotless	innocence;	come,	woman,	in	thy	purity;	come,	youth,	in	thy
prime;	 come,	 manhood,	 in	 thy	 strength;	 come,	 age,	 in	 thy	 ripe
wisdom;	come,	citizen;	come,	soldier;	let	us	strew	the	roses	and
lilies	of	June	around	his	tomb,	for	he,	like	them,	exhaled	in	his	life
Nature's	beneficence,	and	the	grave	has	consecrated	that	life	and
given	it	to	us	all;	let	us	crown	his	tomb	with	the	oak,	the	emblem	of
his	strength,	and	with	the	laurel	the	emblem	of	his	glory,	and	let
these	guns,	whose	voices	he	knew	of	old,	awake	the	echoes	of	the
mountains,	 that	 nature	 herself	 may	 join	 in	 his	 solemn	 requiem.
Come,	for	here	he	rests,	and


```
On	this	green	bank,	by	this	fair
stream,
We	set	to-day	a	votive	stone,
That	memory	may	his	deeds
redeem?
When,	like	our	sires,	our	sons	are
gone.
```
```
—JOHN	WARWICK	DANIEL,	on	the	unveiling	of	Lee's	statue	at
Washington	and	Lee	University,	Lexington,	Virginia,	1883.
```
### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	Why	should	humor	find	a	place	in	after-dinner	speaking?
2.	Briefly	give	your	impressions	of	any	notable	after-dinner	address	that	you
have	heard.
3.	Briefly	outline	an	imaginary	occasion	of	any	sort	and	give	three	subjects
appropriate	for	addresses.
4.	Deliver	one	such	address,	not	to	exceed	ten	minutes	in	length.
5.	What	proportion	of	emotional	ideas	do	you	find	in	the	extracts	given	in	this
chapter?
6.	Humor	was	used	in	some	of	the	foregoing	addresses—in	which	others	would
it	have	been	inappropriate?
7.	Prepare	and	deliver	an	after-dinner	speech	suited	to	one	of	the	following
occasions,	and	be	sure	to	use	humor:

```
A	lodge	banquet.
A	political	party	dinner.
A	church	men's	club	dinner.
A	civic	association	banquet.
A	banquet	in	honor	of	a	celebrity.
A	woman's	club	annual	dinner.
A	business	men's	association	dinner.
A	manufacturers'	club	dinner.
An	alumni	banquet.
```

An	old	home	week	barbecue.


### FOOTNOTES:

```
[35]	See	also	page	205.
```
### CHAPTER	XXXI

#### MAKING	CONVERSATION	EFFECTIVE

```
In	conversation	avoid	the	extremes	of	forwardness	and	reserve.
```
```
—CATO.
```
```
Conversation	is	the	laboratory	and	workshop	of	the	student.
```
```
—EMERSON,	 Essays:	Circles.
```
The	father	of	W.E.	Gladstone	considered	conversation	to	be	both	an	art	and	an
accomplishment.	Around	the	dinner	table	in	his	home	some	topic	of	local	or
national	interest,	or	some	debated	question,	was	constantly	being	discussed.	In
this	 way	 a	 friendly	 rivalry	 for	 supremacy	 in	 conversation	 arose	 among	 the
family,	and	an	incident	observed	in	the	street,	an	idea	gleaned	from	a	book,	a
deduction	from	personal	experience,	was	carefully	stored	as	material	for	the
family	 exchange.	 Thus	 his	 early	 years	 of	 practise	 in	 elegant	 conversation
prepared	the	younger	Gladstone	for	his	career	as	a	leader	and	speaker.

There	is	a	sense	in	which	the	ability	to	converse	effectively	is	efficient	public
speaking,	 for	 our	 conversation	 is	 often	 heard	 by	 many,	 and	 occasionally
decisions	of	great	moment	hinge	upon	the	tone	and	quality	of	what	we	say	in
private.

Indeed,	conversation	in	the	aggregate	probably	wields	more	power	than	press
and	 platform	 combined.	 Socrates	 taught	 his	 great	 truths,	 not	 from	 public
rostrums,	but	in	personal	converse.	Men	made	pilgrimages	to	Goethe's	library
and	Coleridge's	home	to	be	charmed	and	instructed	by	their	speech,	and	the
culture	 of	 many	 nations	 was	 immeasurably	 influenced	 by	 the	 thoughts	 that
streamed	out	from	those	rich	well-springs.


Most	of	the	world-moving	speeches	are	made	in	the	course	of	conversation.
Conferences	of	diplomats,	business-getting	arguments,	decisions	by	boards	of
directors,	considerations	of	corporate	policy,	all	of	which	influence	the	political,
mercantile	and	economic	maps	of	the	world,	are	usually	the	results	of	careful
though	informal	conversation,	and	the	man	whose	opinions	weigh	in	such	crises
is	 he	 who	 has	 first	 carefully	 pondered	 the	 words	 of	 both	 antagonist	 and
protagonist.

However	important	it	may	be	to	attain	self-control	in	light	social	converse,	or
about	the	family	table,	it	is	undeniably	vital	to	have	oneself	perfectly	in	hand
while	taking	part	in	a	momentous	conference.	Then	the	hints	that	we	have	given
on	 poise,	 alertness,	 precision	 of	 word,	 clearness	 of	 statement,	 and	 force	 of
utterance,	with	respect	to	public	speech,	are	equally	applicable	to	conversation.

The	form	of	nervous	egotism—for	it	is	both—that	suddenly	ends	in	flusters	just
when	the	vital	words	need	to	be	uttered,	is	the	sign	of	coming	defeat,	for	a
conversation	is	often	a	contest.	If	you	feel	this	tendency	embarrassing	you,	be
sure	to	listen	to	Holmes's	advice:

```
And	when	you	stick	on	conversational	burs,
Don't	strew	your	pathway	with	those	dreadful	 urs.
```
Here	bring	your	will	into	action,	for	your	trouble	is	a	wandering	attention.	You
must	 _force_ your	 mind	 to	 persist	 along	 the	 chosen	 line	 of	 conversation	 and
resolutely	 refuse	 to	 be	 diverted	 by	 _any_ subject	 or	 happening	 that	 may
unexpectedly	pop	up	to	distract	you.	To	fail	here	is	to	lose	effectiveness	utterly.

Concentration	 is	 the	 keynote	 of	 conversational	 charm	 and	 efficiency.	 The
haphazard	habit	of	expression	that	uses	bird-shot	when	a	bullet	is	needed	insures
missing	the	game,	for	diplomacy	of	all	sorts	rests	upon	the	precise	application	of
precise	words,	particularly—if	one	may	paraphrase	Tallyrand—in	those	crises
when	language	is	no	longer	used	to	conceal	thought.

We	 may	 frequently	 gain	 new	 light	 on	 old	 subjects	 by	 looking	 at	 word-
derivations.	 Conversation	 signifies	 in	 the	 original	 a	 turn-about	 exchange	 of
ideas,	yet	most	people	seem	to	regard	it	as	a	monologue.	Bronson	Alcott	used	to
say	that	many	could	argue,	but	few	converse.	The	first	thing	to	remember	in
conversation,	then,	is	that	listening—respectful,	sympathetic,	alert	listening—is
not	only	due	to	our	fellow	converser	but	due	to	ourselves.	Many	a	reply	loses	its
point	because	the	speaker	is	so	much	interested	in	what	he	is	about	to	say	that	it


is	really	no	reply	at	all	but	merely	an	irritating	and	humiliating	irrelevancy.

Self-expression	is	exhilarating.	 This	explains	the	 eternal	impulse	to	 decorate
totem	poles	and	paint	pictures,	write	poetry	and	expound	philosophy.	One	of	the
chief	delights	of	conversation	is	the	opportunity	it	affords	for	self-expression.	A
good	conversationalist	who	monopolizes	all	the	conversation,	will	be	voted	a
bore	 because	he	 denies	 others	 the	 enjoyment	 of	 self-expression,	 while	 a
mediocre	 talker	 who	 listens	 interestedly	 may	 be	 considered	 a	 good
conversationalist	 because	 he	 permits	 his	 companions	 to	 please	 themselves
through	self-expression.	They	are	praised	who	please:	they	please	who	listen
well.

The	first	step	in	remedying	habits	of	confusion	in	manner,	awkward	bearing,
vagueness	in	thought,	and	lack	of	precision	in	utterance,	is	to	recognize	your
faults.	If	you	are	serenely	unconscious	of	them,	no	one—least	of	all	yourself—
can	help	you.	But	once	diagnose	your	own	weaknesses,	and	you	can	overcome
them	by	doing	four	things:

1.	 _WILL_ 	to	overcome	them,	and	keep	on	willing.
2.	Hold	yourself	in	hand	by	assuring	yourself	that	you	know	precisely	what	you
ought	to	say.	If	you	cannot	do	that,	be	quiet	until	you	are	clear	on	this	vital	point.
3.	Having	thus	assured	yourself,	cast	out	the	fear	of	those	who	listen	to	you—
they	are	only	human	and	will	respect	your	words	if	you	really	have	something	to
say	and	say	it	briefly,	simply,	and	clearly.
4.	Have	the	courage	to	study	the	English	language	until	you	are	master	of	at	least
its	simpler	forms.

_Conversational	Hints_

Choose	some	subject	that	will	prove	of	general	interest	to	the	whole	group.	Do
not	explain	the	mechanism	of	a	gas	engine	at	an	afternoon	tea	or	the	culture	of
hollyhocks	at	a	stag	party.

It	is	not	considered	good	taste	for	a	man	to	bare	his	arm	in	public	and	show	scars
or	deformities.	It	is	equally	bad	form	for	him	to	flaunt	his	own	woes,	or	the
deformity	of	some	one	else's	character.	The	public	demands	plays	and	stories
that	 end	 happily.	 All	 the	 world	 is	 seeking	 happiness.	 They	 cannot	 long	 be
interested	in	your	ills	and	troubles.	George	Cohan	made	himself	a	millionaire
before	he	was	thirty	by	writing	cheerful	plays.	One	of	his	rules	is	generally


applicable	to	conversation:	"Always	leave	them	laughing	when	you	say	good
bye."

Dynamite	the	"I"	out	of	your	conversation.	Not	one	man	in	nine	hundred	and
seven	can	talk	about	himself	without	being	a	bore.	The	man	who	can	perform
that	feat	can	achieve	marvels	without	talking	about	himself,	so	the	eternal	"I"	is
not	permissible	even	in	his	talk.

If	you	habitually	build	your	conversation	around	your	own	interests	it	may	prove
very	tiresome	to	your	listener.	He	may	be	thinking	of	bird	dogs	or	dry	fly	fishing
while	you	are	discussing	the	fourth	dimension,	or	the	merits	of	a	cucumber
lotion.	 The	 charming	 conversationalist	 is	 prepared	 to	 talk	 in	 terms	 of	 his
listener's	interest.	If	his	listener	spends	his	spare	time	investigating	Guernsey
cattle	or	agitating	social	reforms,	the	discriminating	conversationalist	shapes	his
remarks	accordingly.	Richard	Washburn	Child	says	he	knows	a	man	of	mediocre
ability	who	can	charm	men	much	abler	than	himself	when	he	discusses	electric
lighting.	This	same	man	probably	would	bore,	and	be	bored,	if	he	were	forced	to
converse	about	music	or	Madagascar.

Avoid	platitudes	and	hackneyed	phrases.	If	you	meet	a	friend	from	Keokuk	on
State	Street	or	on	Pike's	Peak,	it	is	not	necessary	to	observe:	"How	small	this
world	is	after	all!"	This	observation	was	doubtless	made	prior	to	the	formation	of
Pike's	Peak.	"This	old	world	is	getting	better	every	day."	"Fanner's	wives	do	not
have	to	work	as	hard	as	formerly."	"It	is	not	so	much	the	high	cost	of	living	as
the	cost	of	high	living."	Such	observations	as	these	excite	about	the	same	degree
of	admiration	as	is	drawn	out	by	the	appearance	of	a	1903-model	touring	car.	If
you	have	nothing	fresh	or	interesting	you	can	always	remain	silent.	How	would
you	like	to	read	a	newspaper	that	flashed	out	in	bold	headlines	"Nice	Weather
We	Are	Having,"	or	daily	gave	columns	to	the	same	old	material	you	had	been
reading	week	after	week?

### QUESTIONS	AND	EXERCISES

1.	Give	a	short	speech	describing	the	conversational	bore.
2.	In	a	few	words	give	your	idea	of	a	charming	converser.
3.	What	qualities	of	the	orator	should	 _not_ 	be	used	in	conversation.
4.	Give	a	short	humorous	delineation	of	the	conversational	"oracle."


5.	Give	an	account	of	your	first	day	at	observing	conversation	around	you.
6.	Give	an	account	of	one	day's	effort	to	improve	your	own	conversation.
7.	Give	a	list	of	subjects	you	heard	discussed	during	any	recent	period	you	may
select.
8.	What	is	meant	by	"elastic	touch"	in	conversation?
9.	 Make	 a	 list	 of	 "Bromides,"	 as	 Gellett	 Burgess	 calls	 those	 threadbare
expressions	which	"bore	us	to	extinction"—itself	a	Bromide.
10.	What	causes	a	phrase	to	become	hackneyed?
11.	Define	the	words,	( _a_ )	trite;	( _b_ )	solecism;	( _c_ )	colloquialism;	( _d_ )	slang;	( _e_ )
vulgarism;	( _f_ )	neologism.
12.	What	constitutes	pretentious	talk?


## APPENDICES

### APPENDIX	A

#### FIFTY	QUESTIONS	FOR	DEBATE

1.	Has	Labor	Unionism	justified	its	existence?
2.	Should	all	church	printing	be	brought	out	under	the	Union	Label?
3.	Is	the	Open	Shop	a	benefit	to	the	community?
4.	Should	arbitration	of	industrial	disputes	be	made	compulsory?
5.	Is	Profit-Sharing	a	solution	of	the	wage	problem?
6.	Is	a	minimum	wage	law	desirable?
7.	Should	the	eight-hour	day	be	made	universal	in	America?
8.	 Should	 the	 state	 compensate	 those	 who	 sustain	 irreparable	 business	 loss
because	 of	 the	 enactment	 of	 laws	 prohibiting	 the	 manufacture	 and	 sale	 of
intoxicating	drinks?
9.	Should	public	utilities	be	owned	by	the	municipality?
10.	Should	marginal	trading	in	stocks	be	prohibited?
11.	Should	the	national	government	establish	a	compulsory	system	of	old-age
insurance	by	taxing	the	incomes	of	those	to	be	benefited?
12.	 Would	 the	 triumph	 of	 socialistic	 principles	 result	 in	 deadening	 personal
ambition?
13.	Is	the	Presidential	System	a	better	form	of	government	for	the	United	States
than	the	Parliamental	System?
14.	Should	our	legislation	be	shaped	toward	the	gradual	abandonment	of	the
protective	tariff?


15.	Should	the	government	of	the	larger	cities	be	vested	solely	in	a	commission
of	not	more	than	nine	men	elected	by	the	voters	at	large?
16.	Should	national	banks	be	permitted	to	issue,	subject	to	tax	and	government
supervision,	notes	based	on	their	general	assets?
17.	Should	woman	be	given	the	ballot	on	the	present	basis	of	suffrage	for	men?
18.	Should	the	present	basis	of	suffrage	be	restricted?
19.	Is	the	hope	of	permanent	world-peace	a	delusion?
20.	Should	the	United	States	send	a	diplomatic	representative	to	the	Vatican?
21.	Should	the	Powers	of	the	world	substitute	an	international	police	for	national
standing	armies?
22.	Should	the	United	States	maintain	the	Monroe	Doctrine?
23.	Should	the	Recall	of	Judges	be	adopted?
24.	Should	the	Initiative	and	Referendum	be	adopted	as	a	national	principle?
25.	 Is	 it	 desirable	 that	 the	 national	 government	 should	 own	 all	 railroads
operating	in	interstate	territory?
26.	Is	it	desirable	that	the	national	government	should	own	interstate	telegraph
and	telephone	systems?
27.	Is	the	national	prohibition	of	the	liquor	traffic	an	economic	necessity?
28.	Should	the	United	States	army	and	navy	be	greatly	strengthened?
29.	Should	the	same	standards	of	altruism	obtain	in	the	relations	of	nations	as	in
those	of	individuals?
30.	Should	our	government	be	more	highly	centralized?
31.	Should	the	United	States	continue	its	policy	of	opposing	the	combination	of
railroads?
32.	In	case	of	personal	injury	to	a	workman	arising	out	of	his	employment,
should	his	employer	be	liable	for	adequate	compensation	and	be	forbidden	to	set
up	as	a	defence	a	plea	of	contributory	negligence	on	the	part	of	the	workman,	or
the	negligence	of	a	fellow	workman?


33.	Should	all	corporations	doing	an	interstate	business	be	required	to	take	out	a
Federal	license?
34.	Should	the	amount	of	property	that	can	be	transferred	by	inheritance	be
limited	by	law?
35.	 Should	 equal	 compensation	 for	 equal	 labor,	 between	 women	 and	 men,
universally	prevail?
36.	Does	equal	suffrage	tend	to	lessen	the	interest	of	woman	in	her	home?
37.	Should	the	United	States	take	advantage	of	the	commercial	and	industrial
weakness	of	foreign	nations,	brought	about	by	the	war,	by	trying	to	wrest	from
them	their	markets	in	Central	and	South	America?
38.	Should	teachers	of	small	children	in	the	public	schools	be	selected	from
among	mothers?
39.	Should	football	be	restricted	to	colleges,	for	the	sake	of	physical	safety?
40.	 Should	 college	 students	 who	 receive	 compensation	for	 playing	 summer
baseball	be	debarred	from	amateur	standing?
41.	Should	daily	school-hours	and	school	vacations	both	be	shortened?
42.	 Should	 home-study	 for	 pupils	 in	 grade	 schools	 be	 abolished	 and	 longer
school-hours	substituted?
43.	Should	the	honor	system	in	examinations	be	adopted	in	public	high-schools?
44.	Should	all	colleges	adopt	the	self-government	system	for	its	students?
45.	Should	colleges	be	classified	by	national	law	and	supervision,	and	uniform
entrance	and	graduation	requirements	maintained	by	each	college	in	a	particular
class?
46.	 Should	 ministers	 be	 required	 to	 spend	 a	 term	 of	 years	 in	 some	 trade,
business,	or	profession,	before	becoming	pastors?
47.	Is	the	Y.M.C.A.	losing	its	spiritual	power?
48.	Is	the	church	losing	its	hold	on	thinking	people?
49.	Are	the	people	of	the	United	States	more	devoted	to	religion	than	ever?


50.	Does	the	reading	of	magazines	contribute	to	intellectual	shallowness?

### APPENDIX	B

#### THIRTY	THEMES	FOR	SPEECHES

With	Source	References	for	Material.

1.	KINSHIP,	A	FOUNDATION	STONE OF	CIVILIZATION.
    "The	State,"	Woodrow	Wilson.
2.	INITIATIVE AND	REFERENDUM.
    "The	Popular	Initiative	and	Referendum,"	O.M.	Barnes.
3.	RECIPROCITY WITH	CANADA.
    Article	in	 _Independent_ ,	53:	2874;	article	in	 _North_
    _American	Review_ ,	178:	205.
4.	IS	MANKIND	PROGRESSING?
    _Book	of	same	title,	M.M.	Ballou._
5.	MOSES THE	PEERLESS	LEADER.
    _Lecture	by	John	Lord,	in	"Beacon	Lights	of	History."_
    _NOTE:	This	set	of	books	contains	a	vast	store	of_
    _material	for	speeches._
6.	THE	SPOILS	SYSTEM.
    _Sermon	by	the	Rev.	Dr.	Henry	van	Dyke,	reported_
    in	the	 _New	York	Tribune_ ,	February	25,	1895.
7.	THE	NEGRO IN	BUSINESS.
    Part	III,	Annual	Report	of	the	Secretary	of	Internal
    Affairs,	Pennsylvania,	1912.
8.	IMMIGRATION AND	DEGRADATION.
    "Americans	or	Aliens?"	Howard	B.	Grose.
9.	WHAT IS THE	THEATRE	DOING FOR	AMERICA?
    "The	Drama	Today,"	Charlton	Andrews.
10.	SUPERSTITION.
    "Curiosities	of	Popular	Custom,"	William	S.	Walsh.
11.	THE	PROBLEM OF	OLD	AGE.
    "Old	Age	Deferred,"	Arnold	Lorand.
12.	WHO IS THE	TRAMP?


```
Article	in	 Century ,	28:	41.
```
13.	TWO	MEN	INSIDE.
    "Dr.	Jekyll	and	Mr.	Hyde,"	R.L.	Stevenson.
14.	THE	OVERTHROW OF	POVERTY.
    "The	Panacea	for	Poverty,"	Madison	Peters.
15.	MORALS AND	MANNERS.
    "A	Christian's	Habits,"	Robert	E.	Speer.
16.	JEW AND	CHRISTIAN.
    "Jesus	the	Jew,"	Harold	Weinstock.
17.	EDUCATION AND THE	MOVING	PICTURE.
    Article	by	J.	Berg	Esenwein	in	"The	Theatre	of
    Science,"	Robert	Grau.
18.	BOOKS AS	FOOD.
    "Books	and	Reading,"	R.C.	Gage	and	Alfred
    Harcourt.
19.	WHAT IS A	NOVEL?
    "The	Technique	of	the	Novel,"	Charles	F.	Home.
20.	MODERN	FICTION AND	MODERN	LIFE.
    Article	in	 _Lippincott's_ ,	October,	1907.
21.	OUR	PROBLEM IN	MEXICO.
    "The	Real	Mexico,"	Hamilton	Fyfe.
22.	THE	JOY OF	RECEIVING.
    Article	in	 _Woman's	Home	Companion_ ,	December,	1914.
23.	PHYSICAL	TRAINING VS.	COLLEGE	ATHLETICS.
    Article	in	 _Literary	Digest_ ,	November	28,	1914.
24.	CHEER	UP.
    "The	Science	of	Happiness,"	Jean	Finot.
25.	THE	SQUARE	PEG IN THE	ROUND	HOLE.
    "The	Job,	the	Man,	and	the	Boss,"	Katherine
    Blackford	and	Arthur	Newcomb.
26.	THE	DECAY OF	ACTING.
    Article	in	 _Current	Opinion_ ,	November,	1914.
27.	THE	YOUNG	MAN AND THE	CHURCH.
    "A	Young	man's	Religion,"	N.	McGee	Waters.
28.	INHERITING	SUCCESS.
    Article	in	 _Current	Opinion_ ,	November,	1914.
29.	THE	INDIAN IN	OKLAHOMA.
    Article	in	 _Literary	Digest_ ,	November	28,	1914.
30.	HATE AND THE	NATION.


```
Article	in	 Literary	Digest ,	November	14,	1914.
```
### APPENDIX	C

#### SUGGESTIVE	SUBJECTS	FOR	SPEECHES[36]

With	Occasional	Hints	on	Treatment

1.	MOVIES AND	MORALS.
2.	THE	TRUTH	ABOUT	LYING.
    The	essence	of	truth-telling	and	lying.	Lies	that	are	not	so
    considered.	The	subtleties	of	distinctions	required.	Examples	of
    implied	and	acted	lies.
3.	BENEFITS	THAT	FOLLOW	DISASTERS.
    Benefits	that	have	arisen	out	of	floods,	fires,	earthquakes,	wars,
    etc.
4.	HASTE FOR	LEISURE.
    How	the	speed	mania	is	born	of	a	vain	desire	to	enjoy	a	leisure
    that	never	comes	or,	on	the	contrary,	how	the	seeming	haste	of
    the	world	has	given	men	shorter	hours	off	labor	and	more	time	for
    rest,	study,	and	pleasure.
5.	ST.	PAUL'S	MESSAGE TO	NEW	YORK.
    Truths	from	the	Epistles	pertinent	to	the	great	cities	of	today.
6.	EDUCATION AND	CRIME.
7.	LOSS IS THE	MOTHER OF	GAIN.
    How	many	men	have	been	content	until,	losing	all,	they	exerted	their
    best	efforts	to	regain	success,	and	succeeded	more	largely	than
    before.
8.	EGOISM VS.	EGOTISM.
9.	BLUNDERS OF	YOUNG	FOGYISM.
10.	THE	WASTE OF	MIDDLE-MEN IN	CHARITY	SYSTEMS.
    The	cost	of	collecting	funds	for,	and	administering	help	to,	the


```
needy.	The	weakness	of	organized	philanthropy	as	compared	with
the	giving	that	gives	itself.
```
11.	THE	ECONOMY OF	ORGANIZED	CHARITY.
    The	other	side	of	the	picture.
12.	FREEDOM OF THE	PRESS.
    The	true	forces	that	hurtfully	control	too	many	newspapers	are	not
    those	of	arbitrary	governments	but	the	corrupting	influences	of
    moneyed	and	political	interests,	fear	of	the	liquor	power,	and	the
    desire	to	please	sensation-loving	readers.
13.	HELEN	KELLER:	OPTIMIST.
14.	BACK TO THE	FARM.
    A	study	of	the	reasons	underlying	the	movement.
15.	IT	WAS	EVER	THUS.
    In	ridicule	of	the	pessimist	who	is	never	surprised	at	seeing	failure.
16.	THE	VOCATIONAL	HIGH	SCHOOL.
    Value	of	direct	training	compared	with	the	policy	of	laying	broader
    foundations	for	later	building.	How	the	two	theories	work	out	in
    practise.	Each	plan	can	be	especially	applied	in	cases	that	seem	to
    need	special	treatment.
17.	ALL	KINDS OF	TURNING	DONE	HERE.
    A	humorous,	yet	serious,	discussion	of	the	flopping,	wind-mill
    character.
18.	THE	EGOISTIC	ALTRUIST.
    Herbert	Spencer's	theory	as	discussed	in	"The	Data	of	Ethics."
19.	HOW THE	CITY	MENACES THE	NATION.
    Economic	perils	in	massed	population.	Show	also	the	other	side.
    Signs	of	the	problem's	being	solved.
20.	THE	ROBUST	NOTE IN	MODERN	POETRY.
    A	comparison	of	the	work	of	Galsworthy,	Masefield	and	Kipling	with
    that	of	some	earlier	poets.
21.	THE	IDEALS OF	SOCIALISM.


#### 22.	THE	FUTURE OF THE	SMALL	CITY.

```
How	men	are	coming	to	see	the	economic	advantages	of	smaller
municipalities.
```
23.	CENSORSHIP FOR THE	THEATRE.
    Its	relation	to	morals	and	art.	Its	difficulties	and	its	benefits.
24.	FOR	SUCH A	TIME AS	THIS.
    Mordecai's	expression	and	its	application	to	opportunities	in	modern
    woman's	life.
25.	IS THE	PRESS	VENAL?
26.	SAFETY	FIRST.
27.	MENES AND	EXTREMES.
28.	RUBICONS AND	PONTOONS.
    How	great	men	not	only	made	momentous	decisions	but	created	means
    to	carry	them	out.	A	speech	full	of	historical	examples.
29.	ECONOMY A	REVENUE.
30.	THE	PATRIOTISM OF	PROTEST	AGAINST	POPULAR	IDOLS.
31.	SAVONAROLA,	THE	DIVINE	OUTCAST.
32.	THE	TRUE	POLITICIAN.
    Revert	to	the	original	meaning	of	the	word.	Build	the	speech	around
    one	man	as	the	chief	example.
33.	COLONELS AND	SHELLS.
    Leadership	and	"cannon	fodder"—a	protest	against	war	in	its	effect
    on	the	common	people.
34.	WHY IS A	MILITANT?
    A	dispassionate	examination	of	the	claims	of	the	British	militant
    suffragette.
35.	ART AND	MORALS.
    The	difference	between	the	nude	and	the	naked	in	art.
36.	CAN MY	COUNTRY BE	WRONG?
    False	patriotism	and	true,	with	examples	of	popularly-hated	patriots.


#### 37.	GOVERNMENT BY	PARTY.

```
An	analysis	of	our	present	political	system	and	the	movement	toward
reform.
```
38.	THE	EFFECTS OF	FICTION ON	HISTORY.
39.	THE	EFFECTS OF	HISTORY ON	FICTION.
40.	THE	INFLUENCE OF	WAR ON	LITERATURE.
41.	CHINESE	GORDON.
    A	eulogy.
42.	TAXES AND	HIGHER	EDUCATION.
    Should	all	men	be	compelled	to	contribute	to	the	support	of
    universities	and	professional	schools?
43.	PRIZE	CATTLE VS.	PRIZE	BABIES.
    Is	Eugenics	a	science?	And	is	it	practicable?
44.	BENEVOLENT	AUTOCRACY.
    Is	a	strongly	paternal	government	better	for	the	masses	than	a	much
    larger	freedom	for	the	individual?
45.	SECOND-HAND	OPINIONS.
    The	tendency	to	swallow	reviews	instead	of	forming	one's	own	views.
46.	PARENTAGE OR	POWER?
    A	study	of	which	form	of	aristocracy	must	eventually	prevail,	that
    of	blood	or	that	of	talent.
47.	THE	BLESSING OF	DISCONTENT.
    Based	on	many	examples	of	what	has	been	accomplished	by	those	who
    have	not	"let	well-enough	alone."
48.	"CORRUPT AND	CONTENTED."
    A	study	of	the	relation	of	the	apathetic	voter	to	vicious	government.
49.	THE	MOLOCH OF	CHILD-LABOR.
50.	EVERY	MAN	HAS A	RIGHT TO	WORK.
51.	CHARITY THAT	FOSTERS	PAUPERISM.


#### 52.	"NOT IN	OUR	STARS BUT IN	OURSELVES."

```
Destiny	 vs. 	choice.
```
53.	ENVIRONMENT VS.	HEREDITY.
54.	THE	BRAVERY OF	DOUBT.
    Doubt	not	mere	unbelief.	True	grounds	for	doubt.	What	doubt	has	led
    to.	Examples.	The	weakness	of	mere	doubt.	The	attitude	of	the
    wholesome	doubter	 _versus_ 	that	of	the	wholesale	doubter.
55.	THE	SPIRIT OF	MONTICELLO.
    A	message	from	the	life	of	Thomas	Jefferson.
56.	NARROWNESS IN	SPECIALISM.
    The	dangers	of	specializing	without	first	possessing	broad
    knowledge.	The	eye	too	close	to	one	object.	Balance	is	a	vital
    prerequisite	for	specialization.
57.	RESPONSIBILITY OF	LABOR	UNIONS TO THE	LAW.
58.	THE	FUTURE OF	SOUTHERN	LITERATURE.
    What	conditions	in	the	history,	temperament	and	environment	of	our
    Southern	people	indicate	a	bright	literary	future.
59.	WOMAN THE	HOPE OF	IDEALISM IN	AMERICA.
60.	THE	VALUE OF	DEBATING	CLUBS.
61.	AN	ARMY OF	THIRTY	MILLIONS.
    In	praise	of	the	Sunday-school.
62.	THE	BABY.
    How	the	ever-new	baby	holds	mankind	in	unselfish	courses	and	saves
    us	all	from	going	lastingly	wrong.
63.	LO,	THE	POOR	CAPITALIST.
    His	trials	and	problems.
64.	HONEY AND	STING.
    A	lesson	from	the	bee.
65.	UNGRATEFUL	REPUBLICS.
    Examples	from	history.


#### 66.	"EVERY	MAN HAS HIS	PRICE."

```
Horace	Walpole's	cynical	remark	is	not	true	now,	nor	was	it	true
even	in	his	own	corrupt	era.	Of	what	sort	are	the	men	who	cannot
be	bought?	Examples.
```
67.	THE	SCHOLAR IN	DIPLOMACY.
    Examples	in	American	life.
68.	LOCKS AND	KEYS.
    There	is	a	key	for	every	lock.	No	difficulty	so	great,	no	truth	so
    obscure,	no	problem	so	involved,	but	that	there	is	a	key	to	fit	the
    lock.	The	search	for	the	right	key,	the	struggle	to	adjust	it,	the
    vigilance	to	retain	it—these	are	some	of	the	problems	of	success.
69.	RIGHT	MAKES	MIGHT.
70.	ROOMING	WITH A	GHOST.
    Influence	of	the	woman	graduate	of	fifty	years	before	on	the	college
    girl	who	lives	in	the	room	once	occupied	by	the	distinguished	"old	grad."
71.	NO	FACT IS A	SINGLE	FACT.
    The	importance	of	weighing	facts	relatively.
72.	IS	CLASSICAL	EDUCATION	DEAD TO	RISE	NO	MORE?
73.	INVECTIVE	AGAINST	NIETSCHE'S	PHILOSOPHY.
74.	WHY	HAVE WE	BOSSES?
    A	fair-minded	examination	of	the	uses	and	abuses	of	the	political
    "leader."
75.	A	PLEA FOR	SETTLEMENT	WORK.
76.	CREDULITY VS.	FAITH.
77.	WHAT IS	HUMOR?
78.	USE AND	ABUSE OF THE	CARTOON.
79.	THE	PULPIT IN	POLITICS.
80.	ARE	COLLEGES	GROWING TOO	LARGE?
81.	THE	DOOM OF	ABSOLUTISM.


#### 82.	SHALL	WOMAN	HELP	KEEP	HOUSE FOR	TOWN,	CITY,	STATE,	AND	NATION?

#### 83.	THE	EDUCATIONAL	TEST FOR	SUFFRAGE.

#### 84.	THE	PROPERTY	TEST FOR	SUFFRAGE.

#### 85.	THE	MENACE OF THE	PLUTOCRAT.

#### 86.	THE	COST OF	HIGH	LIVING.

#### 87.	THE	COST OF	CONVENIENCES.

#### 88.	WASTE IN	AMERICAN	LIFE.

#### 89.	THE	EFFECT OF THE	PHOTOPLAY ON THE	"LEGITIMATE"	THEATRE.

#### 90.	ROOM FOR THE	KICKER.

#### 100.	THE	NEED FOR	TRAINED	DIPLOMATS.

#### 101.	THE	SHADOW OF THE	IRON	CHANCELLOR.

#### 102.	THE	TYRANNY OF THE	CROWD.

#### 103.	IS	OUR	TRIAL BY	JURY	SATISFACTORY?

#### 104.	THE	HIGH	COST OF	SECURING	JUSTICE.

#### 105.	THE	NEED FOR	SPEEDIER	COURT	TRIALS.

#### 106.	TRIUMPHS OF THE	AMERICAN	ENGINEER.

#### 107.	GOETHALS AND	GORGAS.

#### 108.	PUBLIC	EDUCATION	MAKES	SERVICE TO THE	PUBLIC A	DUTY.

#### 109.	MAN	OWES HIS	LIFE TO THE	COMMON	GOOD.

### FOOTNOTES:

```
[36]	It	must	be	remembered	that	the	phrasing	of	the	subject	will	not	necessarily	serve
for	the	title.
```

### APPENDIX	D

### SPEECHES	FOR	STUDY	AND	PRACTISE

### NEWELL	DWIGHT	HILLIS

#### BRAVE	LITTLE	BELGIUM


Delivered	in	Plymouth	Church,	Brooklyn,	N.Y.,	October	18,	1914.
Used	by	permission.

Long	ago	Plato	made	a	distinction	between	the	occasions	of	war	and
the	causes	of	war.	The	occasions	of	war	lie	upon	the	surface,	and	are
known	and	read	of	all	men,	while	the	causes	of	war	are	embedded	in
racial	 antagonisms,	 in	 political	 and	 economic	 controversies.
Narrative	 historians	 portray	 the	 occasions	 of	 war;	 philosophic
historians,	the	secret	and	hidden	causes.	Thus	the	spark	of	fire	that
falls	is	the	occasion	of	an	explosion,	but	the	cause	of	the	havoc	is	the
relation	between	charcoal,	niter	and	saltpeter.	The	occasion	of	the
Civil	 War	 was	 the	 firing	 upon	 Fort	 Sumter.	 The	 cause	 was	 the
collision	 between	 the	 ideals	 of	 the	 Union	 presented	 by	 Daniel
Webster	and	the	secession	taught	by	Calhoun.	The	occasion	of	the
American	 Revolution	 was	 the	 Stamp	 Tax;	 the	 cause	 was	 the
conviction	on	the	part	of	our	forefathers	that	men	who	had	freedom
in	 worship	 carried	 also	 the	 capacity	 for	 self-government.	 The
occasion	of	the	French	Revolution	was	the	purchase	of	a	diamond
necklace	for	Queen	Marie	Antoinette	at	a	time	when	the	treasury
was	 exhausted;	 the	 cause	 of	 the	 revolution	 was	 feudalism.	 Not
otherwise,	the	occasion	of	the	great	conflict	that	is	now	shaking	our
earth	was	the	assassination	of	an	Austrian	boy	and	girl,	but	the	cause
is	embedded	in	racial	antagonisms	and	economic	competition.

As	for	Russia,	the	cause	of	the	war	was	her	desire	to	obtain	the
Bosphorus—and	an	open	seaport,	which	is	the	prize	offered	for	her
attack	upon	Germany.	As	for	Austria,	the	cause	of	the	war	is	her	fear
of	 the	 growing	 power	 of	 the	 Balkan	 States,	 and	 the	 progressive
slicing	away	of	her	territory.	As	for	France,	the	cause	of	the	war	is
the	instinct	of	self-preservation,	that	resists	an	invading	host.	As	for
Germany,	the	cause	is	her	deep-seated	conviction	that	every	country
has	 a	 moral	 right	 to	 the	 mouth	 of	 its	 greatest	 river;	 unable	 to
compete	with	England,	by	roundabout	sea	routes	and	a	Kiel	Canal,
she	wants	to	use	the	route	that	nature	digged	for	her	through	the
mouth	of	the	Rhine.	As	for	England,	the	motherland	is	fighting	to
recover	 her	 sense	 of	 security.	 During	 the	 Napoleonic	 wars	 the
second	 William	 Pitt	 explained	 the	 quadrupling	 of	 the	 taxes,	 the
increase	of	the	navy,	and	the	sending	of	an	English	army	against
France,	by	the	statement	that	justification	of	this	proposed	war	is	the


"Preservation	of	England's	sense	of	security."	Ten	years	ago	England
lost	her	sense	of	security.	Today	she	is	not	seeking	to	preserve,	but	to
recover,	 the	 lost	 sense	 of	 security.	 She	 proposes	 to	 do	 this	 by
destroying	Germany's	ironclads,	demobilizing	her	army,	wiping	out
her	forts,	and	the	partition	of	her	provinces.	The	occasions	of	the
war	 vary,	 with	 the	 color	 of	 the	 paper—"white"	 and	 "gray"	 and
"blue"—but	 the	 causes	 of	 this	 war	 are	 embedded	 in	 racial
antagonisms	and	economic	and	political	differences.

```
WHY	LITTLE	BELGIUM	HAS THE	CENTER OF THE	STAGE
```
Tonight	our	study	concerns	little	Belgium,	her	people,	and	their	part
in	this	conflict.	Be	the	reasons	what	they	may,	this	little	land	stands
in	the	center	of	the	stage	and	holds	the	limelight.	Once	more	David,
armed	 with	 a	 sling,	 has	 gone	 up	 against	 ten	 Goliaths.	 It	 is	 an
amazing	spectacle,	this,	one	of	the	smallest	of	the	States,	battling
with	 the	 largest	 of	 the	 giants!	 Belgium	 has	 a	 standing	 army	 of
42,000	men,	and	Germany,	with	three	reserves,	perhaps	7,000,000	or
8,000,000.	Without	waiting	for	any	assistance,	this	little	Belgium
band	went	up	against	2,000,000.	It	is	as	if	a	honey	bee	had	decided
to	attack	an	eagle	come	to	loot	its	honeycomb.	It	is	as	if	an	antelope
had	turned	against	a	lion.	Belgium	has	but	11,000	square	miles	of
land,	 less	 than	 the	 States	 of	 Massachusetts,	 Rhode	 Island	 and
Connecticut.	Her	population	is	7,500,000,	less	than	the	single	State
of	New	York.	You	could	put	twenty-two	Belgiums	in	our	single
State	of	Texas.	Much	of	her	soil	is	thin;	her	handicaps	are	heavy,	but
the	industry	of	her	people	has	turned	the	whole	land	into	one	vast
flower	and	vegetable	garden.	The	soil	of	Minnesota	and	the	Dakotas
is	new	soil,	and	yet	our	farmers	there	average	but	fifteen	bushels	of
wheat	to	the	acre.	Belgium's	soil	has	been	used	for	centuries,	but	it
averages	 thirty-seven	 bushels	 of	 wheat	 to	 the	 acre.	 If	 we	 grow
twenty-four	bushels	of	barley	on	an	acre	of	ground,	Belgium	grows
fifty;	she	produces	300	bushels	of	potatoes,	where	the	Maine	farmer
harvests	90	bushels.	Belgium's	average	population	per	square	mile
has	risen	to	645	people.	If	Americans	practised	intensive	farming;	if
the	 population	 of	 Texas	 were	 as	 dense	 as	 it	 is	 in	 Belgium—
100,000,000	 of	 the	 United	 States,	 Canada	 and	 Central	 America
could	all	move	to	Texas,	while	if	our	entire	country	was	as	densely
populated	 as	 Belgium's,	 everybody	 in	 the	 world	 could	 live


comfortably	within	the	limits	of	our	country.

```
THE	LIFE OF THE	PEOPLE
```
And	 yet,	 little	 Belgium	 has	 no	 gold	 or	 silver	 mines,	 and	 all	 the
treasures	of	copper	and	zinc	and	lead	and	anthracite	and	oil	have
been	denied	her.	The	gold	is	in	the	heart	of	her	people.	No	other	land
holds	a	race	more	prudent,	industrious	and	thrifty!	It	is	a	land	where
everybody	works.	In	the	winter	when	the	sun	does	not	rise	until	half
past	seven,	the	Belgian	cottages	have	lights	in	their	windows	at	five,
and	 the	 people	 are	 ready	 for	 an	 eleven-hour	 day.	 As	 a	 rule	 all
children	work	after	12	years	of	age.	The	exquisite	pointed	lace	that
has	made	Belgium	famous,	is	wrought	by	women	who	fulfill	the
tasks	 of	 the	 household	 fulfilled	 by	 American	 women,	 and	 then
begins	their	task	upon	the	exquisite	laces	that	have	sent	their	name
and	fame	throughout	the	world.	Their	wages	are	low,	their	work
hard,	but	their	life	is	so	peaceful	and	prosperous	that	few	Belgians
ever	 emigrate	 to	 foreign	 countries.	 Of	 late	 they	 have	 made	 their
education	compulsory,	their	schools	free.	It	is	doubtful	whether	any
other	 country	 has	 made	 a	 greater	 success	 of	 their	 system	 of
transportation.	You	will	pay	50	cents	to	journey	some	twenty	odd
miles	out	to	Roslyn,	on	our	Long	Island	railroad,	but	in	Belgium	a
commuter	journeys	twenty	miles	in	to	the	factory	and	back	again
every	night	and	makes	the	six	double	daily	journeys	at	an	entire	cost
of	37-1/2	cents	per	week,	less	than	the	amount	that	you	pay	for	the
journey	one	way	for	a	like	distance	in	this	country.	Out	of	this	has
come	Belgium's	prosperity.	She	has	the	money	to	buy	goods	from
other	countries,	and	she	has	the	property	to	export	to	foreign	lands.
Last	year	the	United	States,	with	its	hundred	millions	of	people,
imported	less	than	$2,000,000,000,	and	exported	$2,500,000,000.	If
our	people	had	been	as	prosperous	per	capita	as	Belgium,	we	would
have	 purchased	 from	 other	 countries	 $12,000,000,000	 worth	 of
goods	and	exported	$10,000,000,000.

So	largely	have	we	been	dependent	upon	Belgium	that	many	of	the
engines	used	in	digging	the	Panama	Canal	came	from	the	Cockerill
works	that	produce	two	thousands	of	these	engines	every	year	in
Liege.	 It	 is	 often	 said	 that	 the	 Belgians	 have	 the	 best	 courts	 in
existence.	The	Supreme	Court	of	Little	Belgium	has	but	one	Justice.
Without	waiting	for	an	appeal,	just	as	soon	as	a	decision	has	been


reached	by	a	lower	Court,	while	the	matters	are	still	fresh	in	mind
and	 all	 the	 witnesses	 and	 facts	 readily	 obtainable,	 this	 Supreme
Justice	reviews	all	the	objections	raised	on	either	side	and	without	a
motion	from	anyone	passes	on	the	decision	of	the	inferior	court.	On
the	other	hand,	the	lower	courts	are	open	to	an	immediate	settlement
of	disputes	between	the	wage	earners,	and	newsboys	and	fishermen
are	almost	daily	seen	going	to	the	judge	for	a	decision	regarding	a
dispute	over	five	or	ten	cents.	When	the	judge	has	cross-questioned
both	sides,	without	the	presence	of	attorneys,	or	the	necessity	of
serving	 a	 process,	 or	 raising	 a	 dollar	 and	 a	 quarter,	 as	 here,	 the
poorest	of	the	poor	have	their	wrongs	righted.	It	is	said	that	not	one
decision	 out	 of	 one	 hundred	 is	 appealed,	 thus	 calling	 for	 the
existence	of	an	attorney.

To	all	other	institutions	organized	in	the	interest	of	the	wage	earner
has	been	added	the	national	savings	bank	system,	that	makes	loans
to	men	of	small	means,	that	enables	the	farmer	and	the	working	man
to	buy	a	little	garden	and	build	a	house,	while	at	the	same	time
insuring	the	working	man	against	accident	and	sickness.	Belgium	is
a	poor	man's	country,	it	has	been	said,	because	institutions	have	been
administered	in	the	interest	of	the	men	of	small	affairs.

```
THE	GREAT	BELGIUM	PLAIN IN	HISTORY
```
But	the	institutions	of	Belgium	and	the	industrial	prosperity	of	her
people	alone	are	not	equal	to	the	explanation	of	her	unique	heroism.
Long	ago,	in	his	Commentaries,	Julius	Cæsar	said	that	Gaul	was
inhabited	by	three	tribes,	the	Belgæ,	the	Aquitani,	the	Celts,	"of
whom	the	Belgæ	were	the	bravest."	History	will	show	that	Belgians
have	courage	as	their	native	right,	for	only	the	brave	could	have
survived.	The	southeastern	part	of	Belgium	is	a	series	of	rock	plains,
and	if	these	plains	have	been	her	good	fortune	in	times	of	peace,
they	 have	 furnished	 the	 battlefields	 of	 Western	 Europe	 for	 two
thousand	years.	Northern	France	and	Western	Germany	are	rough,
jagged	and	wooded,	but	the	Belgian	plains	were	ideal	battlefields.
For	this	reason	the	generals	of	Germany	and	of	France	have	usually
met	and	struggled	for	the	mastery	on	these	wide	Belgian	plains.	On
one	 of	 these	 grounds	 Julius	 Cæsar	 won	 the	 first	 battle	 that	 is
recorded.	 Then	 came	 King	 Clovis	 and	 the	 French,	 with	 their
campaigns;	 toward	 these	 plains	 also	 the	 Saracens	 were	 hurrying


when	assaulted	by	Charles	Martel.	On	the	Belgian	plains	the	Dutch
burghers	and	the	Spanish	armies,	led	by	Bloody	Alva,	fought	out
their	battle.	Hither,	too,	came	Napoleon,	and	the	great	mound	of
Waterloo	is	the	monument	to	the	Duke	of	Wellington's	victory.	It
was	to	the	Belgian	plains,	also,	that	the	German	general,	last	August,
rushed	his	troops.	Every	college	and	every	city	searches	for	some
level	spot	of	land	where	the	contest	between	opposing	teams	may	be
held,	and	for	more	than	two	thousand	years	the	Belgian	plain	has
been	the	scene	of	the	great	battles	between	the	warring	nations	of
Western	Europe.

Now,	out	of	all	these	collisions	there	has	come	a	hardy	race,	inured
to	peril,	rich	in	fortitude,	loyalty,	patience,	thrift,	self-reliance	and
persevering	faith.	For	five	hundred	years	the	Belgian	children	and
youth	 have	 been	 brought	 up	 upon	 the	 deeds	 of	 noble	 renown,
achieved	 by	 their	 ancestors.	 If	 Julius	 Cæsar	 were	 here	 today	 he
would	wear	Belgium's	bravery	like	a	bright	sword,	girded	to	his
thigh.	And	when	this	brave	little	people,	with	a	standing	army	of
forty-two	 thousand	 men,	 single-handed	 defied	 two	 millions	 of
Germans,	it	tells	us	that	Ajax	has	come	back	once	more	to	defy	the
god	of	lightnings.

```
A	THRILLING	CHAPTER FROM	BELGIUM'S	HISTORY
```
Perhaps	one	or	two	chapters	torn	from	the	pages	of	Belgium	history
will	enable	us	to	understand	her	present-day	heroism,	just	as	one
golden	bough	plucked	from	the	forest	will	explain	the	richness	of	the
autumn.	You	remember	that	Venice	was	once	the	financial	center	of
the	world.	Then	when	the	bankers	lost	confidence	in	the	navy	of
Venice	they	put	their	jewels	and	gold	into	saddle	bags	and	moved
the	financial	center	of	the	world	to	Nuremburg,	because	its	walls
were	seven	feet	thick	and	twenty	feet	high.	Later,	about	1500	A.D.,
the	discovery	of	the	New	World	turned	all	the	peoples	into	races	of
sea-going	folk,	and	the	English	and	Dutch	captains	vied	with	the
sailors	of	Spain	and	Portugal.	No	captains	were	more	prosperous
than	 the	 mariners	 of	 Antwerp.	 In	 1568	 there	 were	 500	 marble
mansions	in	this	city	on	the	Meuse.	Belgium	became	a	casket	filled
with	jewels.	Then	it	was	that	Spain	turned	covetous	eyes	northward.
Sated	 with	 his	 pleasures,	 broken	 by	 indulgence	 and	 passion,	 the
Emperor	Charles	the	Fifth	resigned	his	gold	and	throne	to	his	son,


King	Philip.	Finding	his	coffers	depleted,	Philip	sent	the	Duke	of
Alva,	 with	 10,000	 Spanish	 soldiers,	 out	 on	 a	 looting	 expedition.
Their	approach	filled	Antwerp	with	consternation,	for	her	merchants
were	busy	with	commerce	and	not	with	war.	The	sack	of	Antwerp	by
the	Spaniards	makes	up	a	revolting	page	in	history.	Within	three
days	 8,000	 men,	 women	 and	 children	 were	 massacred,	 and	 the
Spanish	soldiers,	drunk	with	wine	and	blood,	hacked,	drowned	and
burned	like	fiends	that	they	were.	The	Belgian	historian	tells	us	that
500	 marble	 residences	 were	 reduced	 to	 blackened	 ruins.	 One
incident	 will	 make	 the	 event	 stand	 out.	 When	 the	 Spaniards
approached	the	city	a	wealthy	burgher	hastened	the	day	of	his	son's
marriage.	During	the	ceremony	the	soldiers	broke	down	the	gate	of
the	city	and	crossed	the	threshold	of	the	rich	man's	house.	When
they	had	stripped	the	guests	of	their	purses	and	gems,	unsatisfied,
they	killed	the	bridegroom,	slew	the	men,	and	carried	the	bride	out
into	the	night.	The	next	morning	a	young	woman,	crazed	and	half
clad,	was	found	in	the	street,	searching	among	the	dead	bodies.	At
last	she	found	a	youth,	whose	head	she	lifted	upon	her	knees,	over
which	she	crooned	her	songs,	as	a	young	mother	soothes	her	babe.	A
Spanish	officer	passing	by,	humiliated	by	the	spectacle,	ordered	a
soldier	to	use	his	dagger	and	put	the	girl	out	of	her	misery.

```
THE	HORRORS OF THE	INQUISITION
```
Having	looted	Antwerp,	the	treasure	chest	of	Belgium,	the	Spaniards
set	up	the	Inquisition	as	an	organized	means	of	securing	property.	It
is	a	strange	fact	that	the	Spaniard	has	excelled	in	cruelty	as	other
nations	have	excelled	in	art	or	science	or	invention.	Spain's	cruelty
to	the	Moors	and	the	rich	Jews	forms	one	of	the	blackest	chapters	in
history.	 Inquisitors	 became	 fiends.	 Moors	 were	 starved,	 tortured,
burned,	 flung	 in	 wells,	 Jewish	 bankers	 had	 their	 tongues	 thrust
through	little	iron	rings;	then	the	end	of	the	tongue	was	seared	that	it
might	swell,	and	the	banker	was	led	by	a	string	in	the	ring	through
the	streets	of	the	city.	The	women	and	the	children	were	put	on	rafts
that	were	pushed	out	into	the	Mediterranean	Sea.	When	the	swollen
corpses	drifted	ashore,	the	plague	broke	out,	and	when	that	black
plague	 spread	 over	 Spain	 it	 seemed	 like	 the	 justice	 of	 outraged
nature.	The	expulsion	of	the	Moors	was	one	of	the	deadliest	blows
ever	struck	at	science,	commerce,	art	and	literature.	The	historian


tracks	 Spain	 across	 the	 continents	 by	 a	 trail	 of	 blood.	 Wherever
Spain's	hand	has	fallen	it	has	paralyzed.	From	the	days	of	Cortez,
wherever	her	captains	have	given	a	pledge,	the	tongue	that	spake	has
been	mildewed	with	lies	and	treachery.	The	wildest	beasts	are	not	in
the	jungle;	man	is	the	lion	that	rends,	man	is	the	leopard	that	tears,
man's	 hate	 is	 the	 serpent	 that	 poisons,	 and	 the	 Spaniard	 entered
Belgium	to	turn	a	garden	into	a	wilderness.	Within	one	year,	1568,
Antwerp,	 that	 began	 with	 125,000	 people,	 ended	 it	 with	 50,000.
Many	 multitudes	 were	 put	 to	 death	 by	 the	 sword	 and	 stake,	 but
many,	many	thousands	fled	to	England,	to	begin	anew	their	lives	as
manufacturers	and	mariners;	and	for	years	Belgium	was	one	quaking
peril,	 an	 inferno,	 whose	 torturers	 were	 Spaniards.	 The	 visitor	 in
Antwerp	 is	 still	 shown	 the	 rack	 upon	 which	 they	 stretched	 the
merchants	that	they	might	yield	up	their	hidden	gold.	The	Painted
Lady	may	be	seen.	Opening	her	arms,	she	embraces	the	victim.	The
Spaniard,	 with	 his	 spear,	 forced	 the	 merchant	 into	 the	 deadly
embrace.	As	the	iron	arms	concealed	in	velvet	folded	together,	one
spike	passed	through	each	eye,	another	through	the	mouth,	another
through	the	heart.	The	Painted	Lady's	lips	were	poisoned,	so	that	a
kiss	was	fatal.	The	dungeon	whose	sides	were	forced	together	by
screws,	so	that	each	day	the	victim	saw	his	cell	growing	less	and
less,	and	knew	that	soon	he	would	be	crushed	to	death,	was	another
instrument	 of	 torture.	 Literally	 thousands	 of	 innocent	 men	 and
women	were	burned	alive	in	the	market	place.

There	is	no	more	piteous	tragedy	in	history	than	the	story	of	the
decline	 and	 ruin	 of	 this	 superbly	 prosperous,	 literary	 and	 artistic
country,	and	yet	out	of	the	ashes	came	new	courage.	Burned,	broken,
the	Belgians	and	the	Dutch	were	not	beaten.	Pushed	at	last	into
Holland,	where	they	united	their	fortunes	with	the	Dutch,	they	cut
the	dykes	of	Holland,	and	let	in	the	ocean,	and	clinging	to	the	dykes
with	their	finger	 tips,	fought	their	 way	back	to	 the	land;	but	 no
sooner	had	the	last	of	the	Spaniards	gone	than	out	of	their	rags	and
poverty	they	founded	a	university	as	a	monument	to	the	providence
of	God	in	delivering	them	out	of	the	hands	of	their	enemies.	For,	the
Sixteenth	 Century,	 in	 the	 form	 of	 a	 brave	 knight,	 wears	 little
Belgium	and	Holland	like	a	red	rose	upon	his	heart.

```
THE	DEATH OF	EGMONT
```

But	some	of	you	will	say	that	the	Belgian	people	must	have	been
rebels	 and	 guilty	 of	 some	 excess,	 and	 that	 had	 they	 remained
quiescent,	and	not	fomented	treason,	that	no	such	fate	could	have
overtaken	them	at	the	hands	of	Spain.	Very	well.	I	will	take	a	youth
who,	at	the	beginning,	believed	in	Charles	the	Fifth,	a	man	who	was
as	true	to	his	ideals	as	the	needle	to	the	pole.	One	day	the	"Bloody
Council"	 decreed	 the	 death	 of	 Egmont	 and	 Horn.	 Immediately
afterward,	the	Duke	of	Alva	sent	an	invitation	to	Egmont	to	be	the
guest	of	honor	at	a	banquet	in	his	own	house.	A	servant	from	the
palace	that	night	delivered	to	the	Count	a	slip	of	paper,	containing	a
warning	to	take	the	fleetest	horse	and	flee	the	city,	and	from	that
moment	not	to	eat	or	sleep	without	pistols	at	his	hand.	To	all	this
Egmont	responded	that	no	monster	ever	lived	who	could,	with	an
invitation	of	hospitality,	trick	a	patriot.	Like	a	brave	man,	the	Count
went	to	the	Duke's	palace.	He	found	the	guests	assembled,	but	when
he	had	handed	his	hat	and	cloak	to	the	servant,	Alva	gave	a	sign,	and
from	behind	the	curtains	came	Spanish	musqueteers,	who	demanded
his	sword.	For	instead	of	a	banquet	hall,	the	Count	was	taken	to	a
cellar,	fitted	up	as	a	dungeon.	Already	Egmont	had	all	but	died	for
his	country.	He	had	used	his	ships,	his	trade,	his	gold,	for	righting
the	people's	wrongs.	He	was	a	man	of	a	large	family—a	wife	and
eleven	children—and	people	loved	him	as	to	idolatry.	But	Alva	was
inexorable.	 He	 had	 made	 up	 his	 mind	 that	 the	 merchants	 and
burghers	had	still	much	hidden	gold,	and	if	he	killed	their	bravest
and	best,	terror	would	fall	upon	all	alike,	and	that	the	gold	he	needed
would	be	forthcoming.	That	all	the	people	might	witness	the	scene,
he	took	his	prisoners	to	Brussels	and	decided	to	behead	them	in	the
public	square.	In	the	evening	Egmont	received	the	notice	that	his
head	would	be	chopped	off	the	next	day.	A	scaffold	was	erected	in
the	public	square.	That	evening	he	wrote	a	letter	that	is	a	marvel	of
restraint.

"Sire—I	have	learned	this	evening	the	sentence	which	your	majesty
has	been	pleased	to	pronounce	upon	me.	Although	I	have	never	had
a	thought,	and	believe	myself	never	to	have	done	a	deed,	which
would	tend	to	the	prejudice	of	your	service,	or	to	the	detriment	of
true	religion,	nevertheless	I	take	patience	to	bear	that	which	it	has
pleased	the	good	God	to	permit.	Therefore,	I	pray	your	majesty	to
have	compassion	on	my	poor	wife,	my	children	and	my	servants,


having	regard	to	my	past	service.	In	which	hope	I	now	commend
myself	to	the	mercy	of	God.	From	Brussels,	ready	to	die,	this	5th	of
June,	1568.

```
"LAMORAL	D'	EGMONT."
```
Thus	died	a	man	who	did	as	much	probably	for	Holland	as	John
Eliot	for	England,	or	Lafayette	for	France,	or	Samuel	Adams	for	this
young	republic.

```
THE	WOE OF	BELGIUM
```
And	now	out	of	all	this	glorious	past	comes	the	woe	of	Belgium.
Desolation	 has	 come	 like	 the	 whirlwind,	 and	 destruction	 like	 a
tornado.	But	ninety	days	ago	and	Belgium	was	a	hive	of	industry,
and	in	the	fields	were	heard	the	harvest	songs.	Suddenly,	Germany
struck	Belgium.	The	whole	world	has	but	one	voice,	"Belgium	has
innocent	hands."	She	was	led	like	a	lamb	to	the	slaughter.	When	the
lover	of	Germany	is	asked	to	explain	Germany's	breaking	of	her
solemn	treaty	upon	the	neutrality	of	Belgium,	the	German	stands
dumb	 and	 speechless.	 Merchants	 honor	 their	 written	 obligations.
True	citizens	consider	their	word	as	good	as	their	bond;	Germany
gave	treaty,	and	in	the	presence	of	God	and	the	civilized	world,
entered	into	a	solemn	covenant	with	Belgium.	To	the	end	of	time,
the	 German	 must	 expect	 this	 taunt,	 "as	 worthless	 as	 a	 German
treaty."	 Scarcely	 less	 black	 the	 two	 or	 three	 known	 examples	 of
cruelty	 wrought	 upon	 nonresisting	 Belgians.	 In	 Brooklyn	 lives	 a
Belgian	woman.	She	planned	to	return	home	in	late	July	to	visit	a
father	who	had	suffered	paralysis,	an	aged	mother	and	a	sister	who
nursed	 both.	 When	 the	 Germans	 decided	 to	 burn	 that	 village	 in
Eastern	 Belgium,	 they	 did	 not	 wish	 to	 burn	 alive	 this	 old	 and
helpless	man,	so	they	bayonetted	to	death	the	old	man	and	woman,
and	the	daughter	that	nursed	them.

Let	us	judge	not,	that	we	be	not	judged.	This	is	the	one	example	of
atrocity	that	you	and	I	might	be	able	personally	to	prove.	But	every
loyal	German	in	the	country	can	make	answer:	"These	soldiers	were
drunk	with	wine	and	blood.	Such	an	atrocity	misrepresents	Germany
and	her	soldiers.	The	breaking	of	Germany's	treaty	with	Belgium
represents	the	dishonor	of	a	military	ring,	and	not	the	perfidy	of


68,000,000	of	people.	We	ask	that	judgment	be	postponed	until	all
the	facts	are	in."	But,	meanwhile,	the	man	who	loves	his	fellows,	at
midnight	in	his	dreams	walks	across	the	fields	of	broken	Belgium.
All	through	the	night	air	there	comes	the	sob	of	Rachel,	weeping	for
her	children,	because	they	are	not.	In	moods	of	bitterness,	of	doubt
and	despair	the	heart	cries	out,	"How	could	a	just	God	permit	such
cruelty	 upon	 innocent	 Belgium?"	 No	 man	 knows.	 "Clouds	 and
darkness	are	round	about	God's	throne."	The	spirit	of	evil	caused
this	war,	but	the	Spirit	of	God	may	bring	good	out	of	it,	just	as	the
summer	can	repair	the	ravages	of	winter.	Meanwhile	the	heart	bleeds
for	Belgium.	For	Brussels,	the	third	most	beautiful	city	in	Europe!
For	 Louvain,	 once	 rich	 with	 its	 libraries,	 cathedrals,	 statues,
paintings,	missals,	manuscripts—now	a	ruin.	Alas!	for	the	ruined
harvests	and	the	smoking	villages!	Alas,	for	the	Cathedral	that	is	a
heap,	and	the	library	that	is	a	ruin.	Where	the	angel	of	happiness	was
there	stalk	Famine	and	Death.	Gone,	the	Land	of	Grotius!	Perished
the	 paintings	 of	 Rubens!	 Ruined	 is	 Louvain.	 Where	 the	 wheat
waved,	now	the	hillsides	are	billowy	with	graves.	But	let	us	believe
that	God	reigns.	Perchance	Belgium	is	slain	like	the	Saviour,	that
militarism	may	die	like	Satan.	Without	shedding	of	innocent	blood
there	is	no	remission	of	sins	through	tyranny	and	greed.	There	is	no
wine	without	the	crushing	of	the	grapes	from	the	tree	of	life.	Soon
Liberty,	God's	dear	child,	will	stand	within	the	scene	and	comfort	the
desolate.	Falling	upon	the	great	world's	altar	stairs,	in	this	hour	when
wisdom	is	ignorance,	and	the	strongest	man	clutches	at	dust	and
straw,	let	us	believe	with	faith	victorious	over	tears,	that	some	time
God	will	gather	broken-hearted	little	Belgium	into	His	arms	and
comfort	her	as	a	Father	comforteth	his	well-beloved	child.

### HENRY	WATTERSON

#### THE	NEW	AMERICANISM

```
(Abridged)
```
Eight	years	ago	tonight,	there	stood	where	I	am	standing	now	a
young	 Georgian,	 who,	 not	 without	 reason,	 recognized	 the
"significance"	of	his	presence	here,	and,	in	words	whose	eloquence	I
cannot	hope	to	recall,	appealed	from	the	New	South	to	New	England


for	a	united	country.

He	is	gone	now.	But,	short	as	his	life	was,	its	heaven-born	mission
was	fulfilled;	the	dream	of	his	childhood	was	realized;	for	he	had
been	appointed	by	God	to	carry	a	message	of	peace	on	earth,	good
will	to	men,	and,	this	done,	he	vanished	from	the	sight	of	mortal
eyes,	even	as	the	dove	from	the	ark.

Grady	told	us,	and	told	us	truly,	of	that	typical	American	who,	in	Dr.
Talmage's	mind's	eye,	was	coming,	but	who,	in	Abraham	Lincoln's
actuality,	had	already	come.	In	some	recent	studies	into	the	career	of
that	man,	I	have	encountered	many	startling	confirmations	of	this
judgment;	and	from	that	rugged	trunk,	drawing	its	sustenance	from
gnarled	roots,	interlocked	with	Cavalier	sprays	and	Puritan	branches
deep	beneath	the	soil,	shall	spring,	is	springing,	a	shapely	tree—
symmetric	 in	 all	 its	 parts—under	 whose	 sheltering	 boughs	 this
nation	shall	have	the	new	birth	of	freedom	Lincoln	promised	it,	and
mankind	the	refuge	which	was	sought	by	the	forefathers	when	they
fled	from	oppression.	Thank	God,	the	ax,	the	gibbet,	and	the	stake
have	had	their	day.	They	have	gone,	let	us	hope,	to	keep	company
with	the	lost	arts.	It	has	been	demonstrated	that	great	wrongs	may	be
redressed	and	great	reforms	be	achieved	without	the	shedding	of	one
drop	of	human	blood;	that	vengeance	does	not	purify,	but	brutalizes;
and	that	tolerance,	which	in	private	transactions	is	reckoned	a	virtue,
becomes	 in	 public	 affairs	 a	 dogma	 of	 the	 most	 far-seeing
statesmanship.

So	I	appeal	from	the	men	in	silken	hose	who	danced	to	music	made
by	slaves—and	called	it	freedom—from	the	men	in	bell-crowned
hats,	who	led	 _Hester	Prynne_ 	to	her	shame—and	called	it	religion—
to	that	Americanism	which	reaches	forth	its	arms	to	smite	wrong
with	reason	and	truth,	secure	in	the	power	of	both.	I	appeal	from	the
patriarchs	 of	 New	 England	 to	 the	 poets	 of	 New	 England;	 from
Endicott	to	Lowell;	from	Winthrop	to	Longfellow;	from	Norton	to
Holmes;	and	I	appeal	in	the	name	and	by	the	rights	of	that	common
citizenship—of	that	common	origin—back	of	both	the	Puritan	and
the	Cavalier—to	which	all	of	us	owe	our	being.	Let	the	dead	past,
consecrated	by	the	blood	of	its	martyrs,	not	by	its	savage	hatreds—
darkened	alike	by	kingcraft	and	priestcraft—let	the	dead	past	bury
its	dead.	Let	the	present	and	the	future	ring	with	the	song	of	the


singers.	 Blessed	 be	 the	 lessons	 they	 teach,	 the	 laws	 they	 make.
Blessed	be	the	eye	to	see,	the	light	to	reveal.	Blessed	be	Tolerance,
sitting	ever	on	the	right	hand	of	God	to	guide	the	way	with	loving
word,	as	blessed	be	all	that	brings	us	nearer	the	goal	of	true	religion,
true	Republicanism,	and	true	patriotism,	distrust	of	watchwords	and
labels,	shams	and	heroes,	belief	in	our	country	and	ourselves.	It	was
not	Cotton	Mather,	but	John	Greenleaf	Whittier,	who	cried:—

```
"Dear	God	and	Father	of	us	all,
Forgive	our	faith	in	cruel	lies,
Forgive	the	blindness	that	denies.
```
```
"Cast	down	our	idols—overturn
Our	bloody	altars—make	us	see
Thyself	in	Thy	humanity!"
```
### JOHN	MORLEY

#### FOUNDER'S	DAY	ADDRESS

```
(Abridged)
```
Carnegie	Institute,	Pittsburgh,	Pa.,	November	3,	1904.

What	is	so	hard	as	a	just	estimate	of	the	events	of	our	own	time?	It	is
only	now,	a	century	and	a	half	later,	that	we	really	perceive	that	a
writer	has	something	to	say	for	himself	when	he	calls	Wolfe's	exploit
at	Quebec	the	turning	point	in	modern	history.	And	to-day	it	is	hard
to	imagine	any	rational	standard	that	would	not	make	the	American
Revolution—an	 insurrection	 of	 thirteen	 little	 colonies,	 with	 a
population	 of	 3,000,000	 scattered	 in	 a	 distant	 wilderness	 among
savages—a	mightier	event	in	many	of	its	aspects	than	the	volcanic
convulsion	in	France.	Again,	the	upbuilding	of	your	great	West	on
this	 continent	 is	 reckoned	by	 some	 the	 most	 important	 world
movement	of	the	last	hundred	years.	But	is	it	more	important	than
the	amazing,	imposing	and	perhaps	disquieting	apparition	of	Japan?
One	authority	insists	that	when	Russia	descended	into	the	Far	East
and	pushed	her	frontier	on	the	Pacific	to	the	forty-third	degree	of
latitude	 that	 was	 one	 of	 the	 most	 far-reaching	 facts	 of	 modern


history,	 tho	 it	 almost	 escaped	 the	 eyes	 of	 Europe—all	 her
perceptions	then	monopolized	by	affairs	in	the	Levant.	Who	can
say?	Many	courses	of	the	sun	were	needed	before	men	could	take
the	full	historic	measures	of	Luther,	Calvin,	Knox;	the	measure	of
Loyola,	the	Council	of	Trent,	and	all	the	counter-reformation.	The
center	of	gravity	is	forever	shifting,	the	political	axis	of	the	world
perpetually	changing.	But	we	are	now	far	enough	off	to	discern	how
stupendous	a	thing	was	done	when,	after	two	cycles	of	bitter	war,
one	foreign,	the	other	civil	and	intestine,	Pitt	and	Washington,	within
a	span	of	less	than	a	score	of	years,	planted	the	foundations	of	the
American	Republic.

What	Forbes's	stockade	at	Fort	Pitt	has	grown	to	be	you	know	better
than	I.	The	huge	triumphs	of	Pittsburg	in	material	production—iron,
steel,	coke,	glass,	and	all	the	rest	of	it—can	only	be	told	in	colossal
figures	that	are	almost	as	hard	to	realize	in	our	minds	as	the	figures
of	astronomical	distance	or	geologic	time.	It	is	not	quite	clear	that	all
the	 founders	 of	 the	 Commonwealth	 would	 have	 surveyed	 the
wonderful	 scene	 with	 the	 same	 exultation	 as	 their	 descendants.
Some	 of	 them	 would	 have	 denied	 that	 these	 great	 centers	 of
industrial	democracy	either	in	the	Old	World	or	in	the	New	always
stand	for	progress.	Jefferson	said,	"I	view	great	cities	as	pestilential
to	the	morals,	the	health,	and	the	liberties	of	man.	I	consider	the
class	of	artificers,"	he	went	on,	"as	the	panders	of	vice,	and	the
instrument	 by	 which	 the	 liberties	 of	 a	 country	 are	 generally
overthrown."	In	England	they	reckon	70	per	cent.	of	our	population
as	dwellers	in	towns.	With	you,	I	read	that	only	25	per	cent.	of	the
population	live	in	groups	so	large	as	4,000	persons.	If	Jefferson	was
right	our	outlook	would	be	dark.	Let	us	hope	that	he	was	wrong,	and
in	fact	toward	the	end	of	his	time	qualified	his	early	view.	Franklin,
at	any	rate,	would,	I	feel	sure,	have	reveled	in	it	all.

That	 great	 man—a	 name	 in	 the	 forefront	 among	 the	 practical
intelligences	 of	 human	 history—once	 told	 a	 friend	 that	 when	 he
dwelt	upon	the	rapid	progress	that	mankind	was	making	in	politics,
morals,	and	the	arts	of	living,	and	when	he	considered	that	each	one
improvement	always	begets	another,	he	felt	assured	that	the	future
progress	of	the	race	was	likely	to	be	quicker	than	it	had	ever	been.
He	was	never	wearied	of	foretelling	inventions	yet	to	come,	and	he


wished	he	could	revisit	the	earth	at	the	end	of	a	century	to	see	how
mankind	was	getting	on.	With	all	my	heart	I	share	his	wish.	Of	all
the	men	who	have	built	up	great	States,	I	do	believe	there	is	not	one
whose	alacrity	of	sound	sense	and	single-eyed	beneficence	of	aim
could	be	more	safely	trusted	than	Franklin	to	draw	light	from	the
clouds	and	pierce	the	economic	and	political	confusions	of	our	time.
We	can	imagine	the	amazement	and	complacency	of	that	shrewd
benignant	mind	if	he	could	watch	all	the	giant	marvels	of	your	mills
and	 furnaces,	 and	 all	 the	 apparatus	 devised	 by	 the	 wondrous
inventive	 faculties	 of	 man;	 if	 he	 could	 have	 foreseen	 that	 his
experiments	with	the	kite	in	his	garden	at	Philadelphia,	his	tubes,	his
Leyden	 jars	 would	 end	 in	 the	 electric	 appliances	 of	 to-day—the
largest	electric	plant	in	all	the	world	on	the	site	of	Fort	Duquesne;	if
he	could	have	heard	of	5,000,000,000	of	passengers	carried	in	the
United	States	by	electric	motor	power	in	a	year;	if	he	could	have
realized	all	the	rest	of	the	magician's	tale	of	our	time.

Still	more	would	he	have	been	astounded	and	elated	could	he	have
foreseen,	beyond	all	advances	in	material	production,	the	unbroken
strength	of	that	political	structure	which	he	had	so	grand	a	share	in
rearing.	Into	this	very	region	where	we	are	this	afternoon,	swept
wave	after	wave	of	immigration;	English	from	Virginia	flowed	over
the	border,	bringing	English	traits,	literature,	habits	of	mind;	Scots,
or	 Scots-Irish,	 originally	 from	 Ulster,	 flowed	 in	 from	 Central
Pennsylvania;	 Catholics	 from	 Southern	 Ireland;	 new	 hosts	 from
Southern	and	East	Central	Europe.	This	is	not	the	Fourth	of	July.	But
people	 of	 every	 school	 would	 agree	 that	 it	 is	 no	 exuberance	 of
rhetoric,	it	is	only	sober	truth	to	say	that	the	persevering	absorption
and	 incorporation	 of	 all	 this	 ceaseless	 torrent	 of	 heterogenous
elements	into	one	united,	stable,	industrious,	and	pacific	State	is	an
achievement	that	neither	the	Roman	Empire	nor	the	Roman	Church,
neither	Byzantine	Empire	nor	Russian,	not	Charles	the	Great	nor
Charles	the	Fifth	nor	Napoleon	ever	rivaled	or	approached.

We	are	usually	apt	to	excuse	the	slower	rate	of	liberal	progress	in
our	Old	World	by	contrasting	the	obstructive	barriers	of	prejudice,
survival,	 solecism,	 anachronism,	 convention,	 institution,	 all	 so
obstinately	rooted,	even	when	the	branches	seem	bare	and	broken,	in
an	old	world,	with	the	open	and	disengaged	ground	of	the	new.	Yet


in	fact	your	difficulties	were	at	least	as	formidable	as	those	of	the
older	 civilizations	 into	 whose	 fruitful	 heritage	 you	 have	 entered.
Unique	was	the	necessity	of	this	gigantic	task	of	incorporation,	the
assimilation	of	people	of	divers	faiths	and	race.	A	second	difficulty
was	more	formidable	still—how	to	erect	and	work	a	powerful	and
wealthy	State	on	such	a	system	as	to	combine	the	centralized	concert
of	a	federal	system	with	local	independence,	and	to	unite	collective
energy	with	the	encouragement	of	individual	freedom.

This	 last	 difficulty	 that	 you	 have	 so	 successfully	 up	 to	 now
surmounted,	at	the	present	hour	confronts	the	mother	country	and
deeply	perplexes	her	statesmen.	Liberty	and	union	have	been	called
the	twin	ideas	of	America.	So,	too,	they	are	the	twin	ideals	of	all
responsible	 men	 in	 Great	 Britain;	 altho	 responsible	 men	 differ
among	themselves	as	to	the	safest	path	on	which	to	travel	toward	the
common	goal,	and	tho	the	dividing	ocean,	in	other	ways	so	much
our	friend,	interposes,	for	our	case	of	an	island	State,	or	rather	for	a
group	of	island	States,	obstacles	from	which	a	continental	State	like
yours	is	happily	altogether	free.

Nobody	 believes	 that	 no	 difficulties	 remain.	 Some	 of	 them	 are
obvious.	 But	 the	 common-sense,	 the	 mixture	 of	 patience	 and
determination	that	has	conquered	risks	and	mischiefs	in	the	past,
may	be	trusted	with	the	future.

Strange	 and	 devious	 are	 the	 paths	 of	 history.	 Broad	 and	 shining
channels	get	mysteriously	silted	up.	How	many	a	time	what	seemed
a	glorious	high	road	proves	no	more	than	a	mule	track	or	mere	cul-
de-sac.	Think	of	Canning's	flashing	boast,	when	he	insisted	on	the
recognition	of	the	Spanish	republics	in	South	America—that	he	had
called	a	new	world	into	existence	to	redress	the	balance	of	the	old.
This	is	one	of	the	sayings—of	which	sort	many	another	might	be
found—that	make	the	fortune	of	a	rhetorician,	yet	stand	ill	the	wear
and	tear	of	time	and	circumstance.	The	new	world	that	Canning
called	 into	 existence	 has	 so	 far	 turned	 out	 a	 scene	 of	 singular
disenchantment.

Tho	not	without	glimpses	on	occasion	of	that	heroism	and	courage
and	even	wisdom	that	are	the	attributes	of	man	almost	at	the	worst,
the	 tale	 has	 been	 too	 much	 a	 tale	 of	 anarchy	 and	 disaster,	 still


leaving	a	host	of	perplexities	for	statesmen	both	in	America	and
Europe.	It	has	left	also	to	students	of	a	philosophic	turn	of	mind	one
of	the	most	interesting	of	all	the	problems	to	be	found	in	the	whole
field	of	social,	ecclesiastical,	religious,	and	racial	movement.	Why	is
it	that	we	do	not	find	in	the	south	as	we	find	in	the	north	of	this
hemisphere	 a	 powerful	 federation—a	 great	 Spanish-American
people	stretching	from	the	Rio	Grande	to	Cape	Horn?	To	answer	that
question	would	be	to	shed	a	flood	of	light	upon	many	deep	historic
forces	in	the	Old	World,	of	which,	after	all,	these	movements	of	the
New	are	but	a	prolongation	and	more	manifest	extension.

What	more	imposing	phenomenon	does	history	present	to	us	than
the	rise	of	Spanish	power	to	the	pinnacle	of	greatness	and	glory	in
the	sixteenth	century?	The	Mohammedans,	after	centuries	of	fierce
and	stubborn	war,	driven	back;	the	whole	peninsula	brought	under	a
single	 rule	 with	 a	 single	 creed;	 enormous	 acquisitions	 from	 the
Netherlands	 of	 Naples,	 Sicily,	 the	 Canaries;	 France	 humbled,
England	menaced,	settlements	made	in	Asia	and	Northern	Africa—
Spain	in	America	become	possessed	of	a	vast	continent	and	of	more
than	one	archipelago	of	splendid	islands.	Yet	before	a	century	was
over	the	sovereign	majesty	of	Spain	underwent	a	huge	declension,
the	territory	under	her	sway	was	contracted,	the	fabulous	wealth	of
the	 mines	 of	 the	 New	 World	 had	 been	 wasted,	 agriculture	 and
industry	were	ruined,	her	commerce	passed	into	the	hands	of	her
rivals.

Let	me	digress	one	further	moment.	We	have	a	very	sensible	habit	in
the	island	whence	I	come,	when	our	country	misses	fire,	to	say	as
little	as	we	can,	and	sink	the	thing	in	patriotic	oblivion.	It	is	rather
startling	to	recall	that	less	than	a	century	ago	England	twice	sent	a
military	force	to	seize	what	is	now	Argentina.	Pride	of	race	and
hostile	creed	vehemently	resisting,	proved	too	much	for	us.	The	two
expeditions	ended	in	failure,	and	nothing	remains	for	the	historian	of
to-day	but	to	wonder	what	a	difference	it	might	have	made	to	the
temperate	region	of	South	America	if	the	fortune	of	war	had	gone
the	other	way,	if	the	region	of	the	Plata	had	become	British,	and	a
large	British	immigration	had	followed.	Do	not	think	me	guilty	of
the	 heinous	 crime	 of	 forgetting	 the	 Monroe	 Doctrine.	 That
momentous	declaration	was	not	made	for	a	good	many	years	after


our	Gen.	Whitelocke	was	repulsed	at	Buenos	Ayres,	tho	Mr.	Sumner
and	other	people	have	always	held	that	it	was	Canning	who	really
first	started	the	Monroe	Doctrine,	when	he	invited	the	United	States
to	join	him	against	European	intervention	in	South	American	affairs.

The	day	is	at	hand,	we	are	told,	when	four-fifths	of	the	human	race
will	trace	their	pedigree	to	English	forefathers,	as	four-fifths	of	the
white	people	in	the	United	States	trace	their	pedigree	to-day.	By	the
end	of	this	century,	they	say,	such	nations	as	France	and	Germany,
assuming	that	they	stand	apart	from	fresh	consolidations,	will	only
be	able	to	claim	the	same	relative	position	in	the	political	world	as
Holland	and	Switzerland.	These	musings	of	the	moon	do	not	take	us
far.	The	important	thing,	as	we	all	know,	is	not	the	exact	fraction	of
the	human	race	that	will	speak	English.	The	important	thing	is	that
those	who	speak	English,	whether	in	old	lands	or	new,	shall	strive	in
lofty,	generous	and	never-ceasing	emulation	with	peoples	of	other
tongues	 and	 other	 stock	 for	 the	 political,	 social,	 and	 intellectual
primacy	among	mankind.	In	this	noble	strife	for	the	service	of	our
race	we	need	never	fear	that	claimants	for	the	prize	will	be	too	large
a	multitude.

As	an	able	scholar	of	your	own	has	said,	Jefferson	was	here	using
the	old	vernacular	of	English	aspirations	after	a	free,	manly,	and
well-ordered	political	life—a	vernacular	rich	in	stately	tradition	and
noble	phrase,	to	be	found	in	a	score	of	a	thousand	of	champions	in
many	camps—in	Buchanan,	Milton,	Hooker,	Locke,	Jeremy	Taylor,
Roger	Williams,	and	many	another	humbler	but	not	less	strenuous
pioneer	and	confessor	of	freedom.	Ah,	do	not	fail	to	count	up,	and
count	up	often,	what	a	different	world	it	would	have	been	but	for
that	 island	 in	 the	 distant	 northern	 sea!	 These	 were	 the	 tributary
fountains,	that,	as	time	went	on,	swelled	into	the	broad	confluence	of
modern	 time.	 What	 was	 new	 in	 1776	 was	 the	 transformation	 of
thought	into	actual	polity.

What	is	progress?	It	is	best	to	be	slow	in	the	complex	arts	of	politics
in	 their	 widest	 sense,	 and	 not	 to	 hurry	 to	 define.	 If	 you	 want	 a
platitude,	there	is	nothing	for	supplying	it	like	a	definition.	Or	shall
we	say	that	most	definitions	hang	between	platitude	and	paradox?
There	are	said,	tho	I	have	never	counted,	to	be	10,000	definitions	of
religion.	There	must	be	about	as	many	of	poetry.	There	can	hardly


be	fewer	of	liberty,	or	even	of	happiness.

I	am	not	bold	enough	to	try	a	definition.	I	will	not	try	to	gauge	how
far	the	advance	of	moral	forces	has	kept	pace	with	that	extension	of
material	forces	in	the	world	of	which	this	continent,	conspicuous
before	all	others,	bears	such	astounding	evidence.	This,	of	course,	is
the	question	of	questions,	because	as	an	illustrious	English	writer—
to	whom,	by	the	way,	I	owe	my	friendship	with	your	founder	many
long	 years	 ago—as	 Matthew	 Arnold	 said	 in	 America	 here,	 it	 is
moral	ideas	that	at	bottom	decide	the	standing	or	falling	of	states	and
nations.	Without	opening	this	vast	discussion	at	large,	many	a	sign
of	progress	is	beyond	mistake.	The	practise	of	associated	action—
one	of	the	master	keys	of	progress—is	a	new	force	in	a	hundred
fields,	 and	 with	 immeasurable	 diversity	 of	 forms.	 There	 is	 less
acquiescence	in	triumphant	wrong.	Toleration	in	religion	has	been
called	the	best	fruit	of	the	last	four	centuries,	and	in	spite	of	a	few
bigoted	survivals,	even	in	our	United	Kingdom,	and	some	savage
outbreaks	of	hatred,	half	religious,	half	racial,	on	the	Continent	of
Europe,	this	glorious	gain	of	time	may	now	be	taken	as	secured.
Perhaps	of	all	the	contributions	of	America	to	human	civilization
this	is	greatest.	The	reign	of	force	is	not	yet	over,	and	at	intervals	it
has	its	triumphant	hours,	but	reason,	justice,	humanity	fight	with
success	their	long	and	steady	battle	for	a	wider	sway.

Of	all	the	points	of	social	advance,	in	my	country	at	least,	during	the
last	generation	none	is	more	marked	than	the	change	in	the	position
of	women,	in	respect	of	rights	of	property,	of	education,	of	access	to
new	callings.	As	for	the	improvement	of	material	well-being,	and	its
diffusion	among	those	whose	labor	is	a	prime	factor	in	its	creation,
we	might	grow	sated	with	the	jubilant	monotony	of	its	figures,	if	we
did	not	take	good	care	to	remember,	in	the	excellent	words	of	the
President	of	Harvard,	that	those	gains,	like	the	prosperous	working
of	your	institutions	and	the	principles	by	which	they	are	sustained,
are	 in	 essence	 moral	 contributions,	 "being	 principles	 of	 reason,
enterprise,	 courage,	 faith,	 and	 justice,	 over	 passion,	 selfishness,
inertness,	timidity,	and	distrust."	It	is	the	moral	impulses	that	matter.
Where	they	are	safe,	all	is	safe.

When	this	and	the	like	is	said,	nobody	supposes	that	the	last	word
has	been	spoken	as	to	the	condition	of	the	people	either	in	America


or	 Europe.	 Republicanism	 is	 not	 itself	 a	 panacea	 for	 economic
difficulties.	Of	self	it	can	neither	stifle	nor	appease	the	accents	of
social	discontent.	So	long	as	it	has	no	root	in	surveyed	envy,	this
discontent	itself	is	a	token	of	progress.

What,	cries	the	skeptic,	what	has	become	of	all	the	hopes	of	the	time
when	France	stood	upon	the	top	of	golden	hours?	Do	not	let	us	fear
the	challenge.	Much	has	come	of	them.	And	over	the	old	hopes	time
has	brought	a	stratum	of	new.

Liberalism	is	sometimes	suspected	of	being	cold	to	these	new	hopes,
and	you	may	often	hear	it	said	that	Liberalism	is	already	superseded
by	Socialism.	That	a	change	is	passing	over	party	names	in	Europe
is	plain,	but	you	may	be	sure	that	no	change	in	name	will	extinguish
these	principles	of	society	which	are	rooted	in	the	nature	of	things,
and	 are	 accredited	 by	 their	 success.	 Twice	 America	 has	 saved
liberalism	 in	 Great	 Britain.	 The	 War	 for	 Independence	 in	 the
eighteenth	 century	 was	 the	 defeat	 of	 usurping	 power	 no	 less	 in
England	than	here.	The	War	for	Union	in	the	nineteenth	century
gave	the	decisive	impulse	to	a	critical	extension	of	suffrage,	and	an
era	of	popular	reform	in	the	mother	country.	Any	miscarriage	of
democracy	here	reacts	against	progress	in	Great	Britain.

If	 you	 seek	 the	 real	 meaning	 of	 most	 modern	 disparagement	 of
popular	or	parliamentary	government,	it	is	no	more	than	this,	that	no
politics	will	suffice	of	themselves	to	make	a	nation's	soul.	What
could	be	more	true?	Who	says	it	will?	But	we	may	depend	upon	it
that	the	soul	will	be	best	kept	alive	in	a	nation	where	there	is	the
highest	proportion	of	those	who,	in	the	phrase	of	an	old	worthy	of
the	seventeenth	century,	think	it	a	part	of	a	man's	religion	to	see	to	it
that	his	country	be	well	governed.

Democracy,	they	tell	us,	is	afflicted	by	mediocrity	and	by	sterility.
But	has	not	democracy	in	my	country,	as	in	yours,	shown	before
now	that	it	well	knows	how	to	choose	rulers	neither	mediocre	nor
sterile;	men	more	than	the	equals	in	unselfishness,	in	rectitude,	in
clear	sight,	in	force,	of	any	absolutist	statesman,	that	ever	in	times
past	bore	the	scepter?	If	I	live	a	few	months,	or	it	may	be	even	a	few
weeks	longer,	I	hope	to	have	seen	something	of	three	elections—one
in	Canada,	one	in	the	United	Kingdom,	and	the	other	here.	With	us,


in	respect	of	leadership,	and	apart	from	height	of	social	prestige,	the
personage	corresponding	to	the	president	is,	as	you	know,	the	prime
minister.	Our	general	election	this	time,	owing	to	personal	accident
of	the	passing	hour,	may	not	determine	quite	exactly	who	shall	be
the	prime	minister,	but	it	will	determine	the	party	from	which	the
prime	minister	shall	be	taken.	On	normal	occasions	our	election	of	a
prime	minister	is	as	direct	and	personal	as	yours,	and	in	choosing	a
member	of	Parliament	people	were	really	for	a	whole	generation
choosing	whether	Disraeli	or	Gladstone	or	Salisbury	should	be	head
of	the	government.

The	one	central	difference	between	your	system	and	ours	is	that	the
American	president	is	in	for	a	fixed	time,	whereas	the	British	prime
minister	depends	upon	the	support	of	the	House	of	Commons.	If	he
loses	that,	his	power	may	not	endure	a	twelvemonth;	if	on	the	other
hand,	he	keeps	it,	he	may	hold	office	for	a	dozen	years.	There	are
not	 many	 more	 interesting	 or	 important	 questions	 in	 political
discussion	than	the	question	whether	our	cabinet	government	or	your
presidential	system	of	government	is	the	better.	This	is	not	the	place
to	argue	it.

Between	1868	and	now—a	period	of	thirty-six	years—we	have	had
eight	ministries.	This	would	give	an	average	life	of	four	and	a	half
years.	 Of	 these	 eight	 governments	 five	 lasted	 over	 five	 years.
Broadly	 speaking,	 then,	 our	 executive	 governments	 have	 lasted
about	the	length	of	your	fixed	term.	As	for	ministers	swept	away	by
a	gust	of	passion,	I	can	only	recall	the	overthrow	of	Lord	Palmerston
in	1858	for	being	thought	too	subservient	to	France.	For	my	own
part,	I	have	always	thought	that	by	its	free	play,	its	comparative
fluidity,	its	rapid	flexibility	of	adaptation,	our	cabinet	system	has
most	to	say	for	itself.

Whether	democracy	will	make	for	peace,	we	all	have	yet	to	see.	So
far	democracy	has	done	little	in	Europe	to	protect	us	against	the
turbid	whirlpools	of	a	military	age.	When	the	evils	of	rival	states,
antagonistic	races,	territorial	claims,	and	all	the	other	formulas	of
international	conflict	are	felt	to	be	unbearable	and	the	curse	becomes
too	great	to	be	any	longer	borne,	a	school	of	teachers	will	perhaps
arise	to	pick	up	again	the	thread	of	the	best	writers	and	wisest	rulers
on	the	eve	of	the	revolution.	Movement	in	this	region	of	human


things	has	not	all	been	progressive.	If	we	survey	the	European	courts
from	 the	 end	 of	 the	 Seven	 Years'	 War	 down	 to	 the	 French
Revolution,	we	note	the	marked	growth	of	a	distinctly	international
and	pacific	spirit.	At	no	era	in	the	world's	history	can	we	find	so
many	European	statesmen	after	peace	and	the	good	government	of
which	peace	is	the	best	ally.	That	sentiment	came	to	violent	end
when	Napoleon	arose	to	scourge	the	world.

### ROBERT	TOOMBS

#### ON	RESIGNING	FROM	THE	SENATE,	1861

```
(Abridged)
```
The	success	of	the	Abolitionists	and	their	allies,	under	the	name	of
the	Republican	party,	has	produced	its	logical	results	already.	They
have	for	long	years	been	sowing	dragons'	teeth	and	have	finally	got
a	 crop	 of	 armed	 men.	 The	 Union,	 sir,	 is	 dissolved.	 That	 is	 an
accomplished	fact	in	the	path	of	this	discussion	that	men	may	as
well	heed.	One	of	your	confederates	has	already	wisely,	bravely,
boldly	confronted	public	danger,	and	she	is	only	ahead	of	many	of
her	 sisters	 because	 of	 her	 greater	 facility	 for	 speedy	 action.	 The
greater	 majority	 of	 those	 sister	 States,	 under	 like	 circumstances,
consider	her	cause	as	their	cause;	and	I	charge	you	in	their	name	to-
day:	"Touch	not	Saguntum."[37]	It	is	not	only	their	cause,	but	it	is	a
cause	which	receives	the	sympathy	and	will	receive	the	support	of
tens	 and	 hundreds	 of	 honest	 patriot	 men	 in	 the	 nonslaveholding
States,	who	have	hitherto	maintained	constitutional	rights,	and	who
respect	their	oaths,	abide	by	compacts,	and	love	justice.

And	 while	 this	 Congress,	 this	 Senate,	 and	 this	 House	 of
Representatives	 are	 debating	 the	 constitutionality	 and	 the
expediency	of	seceding	from	the	Union,	and	while	the	perfidious
authors	of	this	mischief	are	showering	down	denunciations	upon	a
large	portion	of	the	patriotic	men	of	this	country,	those	brave	men
are	 coolly	 and	 calmly	 voting	 what	 you	 call	 revolution—aye,	 sir,
doing	better	than	that:	arming	to	defend	it.	They	appealed	to	the
Constitution,	they	appealed	to	justice,	they	appealed	to	fraternity,
until	the	Constitution,	justice,	and	fraternity	were	no	longer	listened


to	in	the	legislative	halls	of	their	country,	and	then,	sir,	they	prepared
for	the	arbitrament	of	the	sword;	and	now	you	see	the	glittering
bayonet,	and	you	hear	the	tramp	of	armed	men	from	your	capitol	to
the	Rio	Grande.	It	is	a	sight	that	gladdens	the	eyes	and	cheers	the
hearts	of	other	millions	ready	to	second	them.	Inasmuch,	sir,	as	I
have	labored	earnestly,	honestly,	sincerely,	with	these	men	to	avert
this	necessity	so	long	as	I	deemed	it	possible,	and	inasmuch	as	I
heartily	approve	their	present	conduct	of	resistance,	I	deem	it	my
duty	to	state	their	case	to	the	Senate,	to	the	country,	and	to	the
civilized	world.

Senators,	my	countrymen	have	demanded	no	new	government;	they
have	demanded	no	new	Constitution.	Look	to	their	records	at	home
and	 here	 from	 the	 beginning	 of	 this	 national	 strife	 until	 its
consummation	in	the	disruption	of	the	empire,	and	they	have	not
demanded	 a	 single	 thing	 except	 that	 you	 shall	 abide	 by	 the
Constitution	of	the	United	States;	that	constitutional	rights	shall	be
respected,	and	that	justice	shall	be	done.	Sirs,	they	have	stood	by
your	Constitution;	they	have	stood	by	all	its	requirements,	they	have
performed	all	its	duties	unselfishly,	uncalculatingly,	disinterestedly,
until	a	party	sprang	up	in	this	country	which	endangered	their	social
system—a	party	which	they	arraign,	and	which	they	charge	before
the	 American	 people	 and	 all	 mankind	 with	 having	 made
proclamation	 of	 outlawry	 against	 four	 thousand	 millions	 of	 their
property	in	the	Territories	of	the	United	States;	with	having	put	them
under	 the	 ban	 of	 the	 empire	 in	 all	 the	 States	 in	 which	 their
institutions	exist	outside	the	protection	of	federal	laws;	with	having
aided	 and	 abetted	 insurrection	 from	 within	 and	 invasion	 from
without	 with	 the	 view	 of	 subverting	 those	 institutions,	 and
desolating	their	homes	and	their	firesides.	For	these	causes	they	have
taken	up	arms.

I	 have	 stated	 that	 the	 discontented	 States	 of	 this	 Union	 have
demanded	 nothing	 but	 clear,	 distinct,	 unequivocal,	 well-
acknowledged	constitutional	rights—rights	affirmed	by	the	highest
judicial	tribunals	of	their	country;	rights	older	than	the	Constitution;
rights	which	are	planted	upon	the	immutable	principles	of	natural
justice;	rights	which	have	been	affirmed	by	the	good	and	the	wise	of
all	countries,	and	of	all	centuries.	We	demand	no	power	to	injure	any


man.	 We	 demand	 no	 right	 to	 injure	 our	 confederate	 States.	 We
demand	no	right	to	interfere	with	their	institutions,	either	by	word	or
deed.	We	have	no	right	to	disturb	their	peace,	their	tranquillity,	their
security.	We	have	demanded	of	them	simply,	solely—nothing	else—
to	give	us	 _equality,	 security	 and	 tranquillity_ .	 Give	 us	 these,	 and
peace	restores	itself.	Refuse	them,	and	take	what	you	can	get.

What	do	the	rebels	demand?	First,	"that	the	people	of	the	United
States	shall	have	an	equal	right	to	emigrate	and	settle	in	the	present
or	any	future	acquired	Territories,	with	whatever	property	they	may
possess	(including	slaves),	and	be	securely	protected	in	its	peaceable
enjoyment	until	such	Territory	may	be	admitted	as	a	State	into	the
Union,	with	or	without	slavery,	as	she	may	determine,	on	an	equality
with	all	existing	States."	That	is	our	Territorial	demand.	We	have
fought	for	this	Territory	when	blood	was	its	price.	We	have	paid	for
it	when	gold	was	its	price.	We	have	not	proposed	to	exclude	you,	tho
you	have	contributed	very	little	of	blood	or	money.	I	refer	especially
to	New	England.	We	demand	only	to	go	into	those	Territories	upon
terms	of	equality	with	you,	as	equals	in	this	great	Confederacy,	to
enjoy	the	common	property	of	the	whole	Union,	and	receive	the
protection	of	the	common	government,	until	the	Territory	is	capable
of	coming	into	the	Union	as	a	sovereign	State,	when	it	may	fix	its
own	institutions	to	suit	itself.

The	second	proposition	is,	"that	property	in	slaves	shall	be	entitled
to	the	same	protection	from	the	government	of	the	United	States,	in
all	of	its	departments,	everywhere,	which	the	Constitution	confers
the	power	upon	it	to	extend	to	any	other	property,	provided	nothing
herein	contained	shall	be	construed	to	limit	or	restrain	the	right	now
belonging	to	every	State	to	prohibit,	abolish,	or	establish	and	protect
slavery	within	its	limits."	We	demand	of	the	common	government	to
use	its	granted	powers	to	protect	our	property	as	well	as	yours.	For
this	protection	we	pay	as	much	as	you	do.	This	very	property	is
subject	to	taxation.	It	has	been	taxed	by	you	and	sold	by	you	for
taxes.

The	title	to	thousands	and	tens	of	thousands	of	slaves	is	derived
from	the	United	States.	We	claim	that	the	government,	while	the
Constitution	recognizes	our	property	for	the	purposes	of	taxation,
shall	give	it	the	same	protection	that	it	gives	yours.


Ought	 it	 not	 to	 be	 so?	 You	 say	 no.	 Every	 one	 of	 you	 upon	 the
committee	 said	 no.	 Your	 senators	 say	 no.	 Your	 House	 of
Representatives	says	no.	Throughout	the	length	and	breadth	of	your
conspiracy	against	the	Constitution	there	is	but	one	shout	of	no!	This
recognition	of	this	right	is	the	price	of	my	allegiance.	Withhold	it,
and	you	do	not	get	my	obedience.	This	is	the	philosophy	of	the
armed	men	who	have	sprung	up	in	this	country.	Do	you	ask	me	to
support	a	government	that	will	tax	my	property:	that	will	plunder
me;	that	will	demand	my	blood,	and	will	not	protect	me?	I	would
rather	see	the	population	of	my	native	State	laid	six	feet	beneath	her
sod	 than	 they	 should	 support	 for	 one	 hour	 such	 a	 government.
Protection	is	the	price	of	obedience	everywhere,	in	all	countries.	It	is
the	only	thing	that	makes	government	respectable.	Deny	it	and	you
can	not	have	free	subjects	or	citizens;	you	may	have	slaves.

We	 demand,	 in	 the	 next	 place,	 "that	 persons	 committing	 crimes
against	slave	property	in	one	State,	and	fleeing	to	another,	shall	be
delivered	 up	 in	 the	 same	 manner	 as	 persons	 committing	 crimes
against	other	property,	and	that	the	laws	of	the	State	from	which
such	persons	flee	shall	be	the	test	of	criminality."	That	is	another	one
of	the	demands	of	an	extremist	and	a	rebel.

But	 the	 nonslaveholding	 States,	 treacherous	 to	 their	 oaths	 and
compacts,	have	steadily	refused,	if	the	criminal	only	stole	a	negro
and	that	negro	was	a	slave,	to	deliver	him	up.	It	was	refused	twice
on	the	requisition	of	my	own	State	as	long	as	twenty-two	years	ago.
It	was	refused	by	Kent	and	by	Fairfield,	governors	of	Maine,	and
representing,	I	believe,	each	of	the	then	federal	parties.	We	appealed
then	to	fraternity,	but	we	submitted;	and	this	constitutional	right	has
been	practically	a	dead	letter	from	that	day	to	this.	The	next	case
came	up	between	us	and	the	State	of	New	York,	when	the	present
senior	senator	[Mr.	Seward]	was	the	governor	of	that	State;	and	he
refused	it.	Why?	He	said	it	was	not	against	the	laws	of	New	York	to
steal	a	negro,	and	therefore	he	would	not	comply	with	the	demand.
He	made	a	similar	refusal	to	Virginia.	Yet	these	are	our	confederates;
these	are	our	sister	States!	There	is	the	bargain;	there	is	the	compact.
You	have	sworn	to	it.	Both	these	governors	swore	to	it.	The	senator
from	New	York	swore	to	it.	The	governor	of	Ohio	swore	to	it	when
he	was	inaugurated.	You	can	not	bind	them	by	oaths.	Yet	they	talk	to


us	of	treason;	and	I	suppose	they	expect	to	whip	freemen	into	loving
such	brethren!	They	will	have	a	good	time	in	doing	it!

It	is	natural	we	should	want	this	provision	of	the	Constitution	carried
out.	The	Constitution	says	slaves	are	property;	the	Supreme	Court
says	so;	the	Constitution	says	so.	The	theft	of	slaves	is	a	crime;	they
are	a	subject-matter	of	felonious	asportation.	By	the	text	and	letter	of
the	Constitution	you	agreed	to	give	them	up.	You	have	sworn	to	do
it,	and	you	have	broken	your	oaths.	Of	course,	those	who	have	done
so	look	out	for	pretexts.	Nobody	expected	them	to	do	otherwise.	I	do
not	think	I	ever	saw	a	perjurer,	however	bald	and	naked,	who	could
not	invent	some	pretext	to	palliate	his	crime,	or	who	could	not,	for
fifteen	shillings,	hire	an	Old	Bailey	lawyer	to	invent	some	for	him.
Yet	 this	 requirement	 of	 the	 Constitution	 is	 another	 one	 of	 the
extreme	demands	of	an	extremist	and	a	rebel.

The	next	stipulation	is	that	fugitive	slaves	shall	be	surrendered	under
the	 provisions	 of	 the	 Fugitive	 Slave	 Act	 of	 1850,	 without	 being
entitled	either	to	a	writ	of	habeas	corpus,	or	trial	by	jury,	or	other
similar	obstructions	of	legislation,	in	the	State	to	which	he	may	flee.
Here	is	the	Constitution:


```
"No	person	held	to	service	or	labor	in	one	State,	under	the
laws	thereof,	escaping	into	another,	shall,	in	consequence
of	any	law	or	regulation	therein,	be	discharged	from	such
service	or	labor,	but	shall	be	delivered	up	on	claim	of	the
party	to	whom	such	service	or	labor	may	be	due."
```
This	language	is	plain,	and	everybody	understood	it	the	same	way
for	 the	 first	 forty	 years	 of	 your	 government.	 In	 1793,	 in
Washington's	time,	an	act	was	passed	to	carry	out	this	provision.	It
was	adopted	unanimously	in	the	Senate	of	the	United	States,	and
nearly	 so	 in	 the	 House	 of	 Representatives.	 Nobody	 then	 had
invented	pretexts	to	show	that	the	Constitution	did	not	mean	a	negro
slave.	It	was	clear;	it	was	plain.	Not	only	the	federal	courts,	but	all
the	 local	 courts	 in	 all	 the	 States,	 decided	 that	 this	 was	 a
constitutional	obligation.	How	is	it	now?	The	North	sought	to	evade
it;	following	the	instincts	of	their	natural	character,	they	commenced
with	 the	 fraudulent	 fiction	 that	 fugitives	 were	 entitled	 to	 habeas
corpus,	entitled	to	trial	by	jury	in	the	State	to	which	they	fled.	They
pretended	to	believe	that	our	fugitive	slaves	were	entitled	to	more
rights	than	their	white	citizens;	perhaps	they	were	right,	they	know
one	another	better	than	I	do.	You	may	charge	a	white	man	with
treason,	or	felony,	or	other	crime,	and	you	do	not	require	any	trial	by
jury	before	he	is	given	up;	there	is	nothing	to	determine	but	that	he
is	legally	charged	with	a	crime	and	that	he	fled,	and	then	he	is	to	be
delivered	up	upon	demand.	White	people	are	delivered	up	every	day
in	this	way;	but	not	slaves.	Slaves,	black	people,	you	say,	are	entitled
to	trial	by	 jury;	and	in	this	 way	schemes	 have	been	invented	 to
defeat	your	plain	constitutional	obligations.

Senators,	 the	 Constitution	 is	 a	 compact.	 It	 contains	 all	 our
obligations	and	the	duties	of	the	federal	government.	I	am	content
and	have	ever	been	content	to	sustain	it.	While	I	doubt	its	perfection,
while	I	do	not	believe	it	was	a	good	compact,	and	while	I	never	saw
the	day	that	I	would	have	voted	for	it	as	a	proposition	 _de	novo_ ,	yet	I
am	bound	to	it	by	oath	and	by	that	common	prudence	which	would
induce	men	to	abide	by	established	forms	rather	than	to	rush	into
unknown	 dangers.	 I	 have	 given	 to	 it,	 and	 intend	 to	 give	 to	 it,
unfaltering	support	and	allegiance,	but	I	choose	to	put	that	allegiance
on	the	true	ground,	not	on	the	false	idea	that	anybody's	blood	was


shed	for	it.	I	say	that	the	Constitution	is	the	whole	compact.	All	the
obligations,	all	the	chains	that	fetter	the	limbs	of	my	people,	are
nominated	in	the	bond,	and	they	wisely	excluded	any	conclusion
against	 them,	 by	 declaring	 that	 "the	 powers	 not	 granted	 by	 the
Constitution	to	the	United	States,	or	forbidden	by	it	to	the	States,
belonged	to	the	States	respectively	or	the	people."

Now	I	will	try	it	by	that	standard;	I	will	subject	it	to	that	test.	The
law	of	nature,	the	law	of	justice,	would	say—and	it	is	so	expounded
by	the	publicists—that	equal	rights	in	the	common	property	shall	be
enjoyed.	Even	in	a	monarchy	the	king	can	not	prevent	the	subjects
from	 enjoying	 equality	 in	 the	 disposition	 of	 the	 public	 property.
Even	in	a	despotic	government	this	principle	is	recognized.	It	was
the	 blood	 and	 the	 money	 of	 the	 whole	 people	 (says	 the	 learned
Grotius,	 and	 say	 all	 the	 publicists)	 which	 acquired	 the	 public
property,	and	therefore	it	is	not	the	property	of	the	sovereign.	This
right	of	equality	being,	then,	according	to	justice	and	natural	equity,
a	right	belonging	to	all	States,	when	did	we	give	it	up?	You	say
Congress	has	a	right	to	pass	rules	and	regulations	concerning	the
Territory	and	other	property	of	the	United	States.	Very	well.	Does
that	 exclude	 those	 whose	 blood	 and	 money	 paid	 for	 it?	 Does
"dispose	of"	mean	to	rob	the	rightful	owners?	You	must	show	a
better	title	than	that,	or	a	better	sword	than	we	have.

What,	 then,	 will	 you	 take?	 You	 will	 take	 nothing	 but	 your	 own
judgment;	that	is,	you	will	not	only	judge	for	yourselves,	not	only
discard	the	court,	discard	our	construction,	discard	the	practise	of	the
government,	but	you	will	drive	us	out,	simply	because	you	will	it.
Come	and	do	it!	You	have	sapped	the	foundations	of	society;	you
have	destroyed	almost	all	hope	of	peace.	In	a	compact	where	there	is
no	common	arbiter,	where	the	parties	finally	decide	for	themselves,
the	sword	alone	at	last	becomes	the	real,	if	not	the	constitutional,
arbiter.	Your	party	says	that	you	will	not	take	the	decision	of	the
Supreme	Court.	You	said	so	at	Chicago;	you	said	so	in	committee;
every	man	of	you	in	both	Houses	says	so.	What	are	you	going	to	do?
You	say	we	shall	submit	to	your	construction.	We	shall	do	it,	if	you
can	make	us;	but	not	otherwise,	or	in	any	other	manner.	That	is
settled.	You	may	call	it	secession,	or	you	may	call	it	revolution;	but
there	is	a	big	fact	standing	before	you,	ready	to	oppose	you—that


fact	is,	freemen	with	arms	in	their	hands.

### THEODORE	ROOSEVELT

#### INAUGURAL	ADDRESS

#### (1905)

MY	FELLOW	CITIZENS:—No	people	on	earth	have	more	cause	to
be	thankful	than	ours,	and	this	is	said	reverently,	in	no	spirit	of
boastfulness	in	our	own	strength,	but	with	gratitude	to	the	Giver	of
Good,	Who	has	blessed	us	with	the	conditions	which	have	enabled
us	to	achieve	so	large	a	measure	of	well-being	and	happiness.

To	us	as	a	people	it	has	been	granted	to	lay	the	foundations	of	our
national	life	in	a	new	continent.	We	are	the	heirs	of	the	ages,	and	yet
we	have	had	to	pay	few	of	the	penalties	which	in	old	countries	are
exacted	by	the	dead	hand	of	a	bygone	civilization.	We	have	not	been
obliged	to	fight	for	our	existence	against	any	alien	race;	and	yet	our
life	has	called	for	the	vigor	and	effort	without	which	the	manlier	and
hardier	virtues	wither	away.

Under	such	conditions	it	would	be	our	own	fault	if	we	failed,	and	the
success	 which	 we	 have	 had	 in	 the	 past,	 the	 success	 which	 we
confidently	 believe	 the	 future	 will	 bring,	 should	 cause	 in	 us	 no
feeling	of	vainglory,	but	rather	a	deep	and	abiding	realization	of	all
that	life	has	offered	us;	a	full	acknowledgment	of	the	responsibility
which	is	ours;	and	a	fixed	determination	to	show	that	under	a	free
government	 a	 mighty	 people	 can	 thrive	 best,	 alike	 as	 regard	 the
things	of	the	body	and	the	things	of	the	soul.

Much	has	been	given	to	us,	and	much	will	rightfully	be	expected
from	us.	We	have	duties	to	others	and	duties	to	ourselves—and	we
can	shirk	neither.	We	have	become	a	great	nation,	forced	by	the	fact
of	its	greatness	into	relation	to	the	other	nations	of	the	earth,	and	we
must	behave	as	beseems	a	people	with	such	responsibilities.

Toward	all	other	nations,	large	and	small,	our	attitude	must	be	one	of
cordial	and	sincere	friendship.	We	must	show	not	only	in	our	words
but	in	our	deeds	that	we	are	earnestly	desirous	of	securing	their	good


will	 by	 acting	 toward	 them	 in	 a	 spirit	 of	 just	 and	 generous
recognition	of	all	their	rights.

But	justice	and	generosity	in	a	nation,	as	in	an	individual,	count
most	when	shown	not	by	the	weak	but	by	the	strong.	While	ever
careful	to	refrain	from	wronging	others,	we	must	be	no	less	insistent
that	we	are	not	wronged	ourselves.	We	wish	peace;	but	we	wish	the
peace	of	justice,	the	peace	of	righteousness.	We	wish	it	because	we
think	it	is	right,	and	not	because	we	are	afraid.	No	weak	nation	that
acts	rightly	and	justly	should	ever	have	cause	to	fear,	and	no	strong
power	should	ever	be	able	to	single	us	out	as	a	subject	for	insolent
aggression.

Our	relations	with	the	other	powers	of	the	world	are	important;	but
still	more	important	are	our	relations	among	ourselves.	Such	growth
in	wealth,	in	population,	and	in	power,	as	a	nation	has	seen	during	a
century	and	a	quarter	of	its	national	life,	is	inevitably	accompanied
by	a	like	growth	in	the	problems	which	are	ever	before	every	nation
that	rises	to	greatness.	Power	invariably	means	both	responsibility
and	 danger.	 Our	 forefathers	 faced	 certain	 perils	 which	 we	 have
outgrown.	We	now	face	other	perils	the	very	existence	of	which	it
was	impossible	that	they	should	foresee.

Modern	 life	 is	 both	 complex	 and	 intense,	 and	 the	 tremendous
changes	wrought	by	the	extraordinary	industrial	development	of	the
half	century	are	felt	in	every	fiber	of	our	social	and	political	being.
Never	before	have	men	tried	so	vast	and	formidable	an	experiment
as	that	of	administering	the	affairs	of	a	continent	under	the	forms	of
a	 democratic	 republic.	 The	 conditions	 which	 have	 told	 for	 our
marvelous	material	well-being,	which	have	developed	to	a	very	high
degree	our	energy,	self-reliance,	and	individual	initiative,	also	have
brought	the	care	and	anxiety	inseparable	from	the	accumulation	of
great	wealth	in	industrial	centers.

Upon	the	success	of	our	experiment	much	depends—not	only	as
regards	our	own	welfare,	but	as	regards	the	welfare	of	mankind.	If
we	fail,	the	cause	of	free	self-government	throughout	the	world	will
rock	to	its	foundations,	and	therefore	our	responsibility	is	heavy,	to
ourselves,	to	the	world	as	it	is	to-day,	and	to	the	generations	yet
unborn.


There	is	no	good	reason	why	we	should	fear	the	future,	but	there	is
every	reason	why	we	should	face	it	seriously,	neither	hiding	from
ourselves	 the	 gravity	 of	 the	 problems	 before	 us,	 nor	 fearing	 to
approach	these	problems	with	the	unbending,	unflinching	purpose	to
solve	them	aright.

Yet	after	all,	tho	the	problems	are	new,	tho	the	tasks	set	before	us
differ	 from	 the	 tasks	 set	 before	 our	 fathers,	 who	 founded	 and
preserved	 this	 Republic,	 the	 spirit	 in	 which	 these	 tasks	 must	 be
undertaken	and	these	problems	faced,	if	our	duty	is	to	be	well	done,
remains	 essentially	 unchanged.	 We	 know	 that	 self-government	 is
difficult.	We	know	that	no	people	needs	such	high	traits	of	character
as	that	people	which	seeks	to	govern	its	affairs	aright	through	the
freely	expressed	will	of	the	free	men	who	compose	it.

But	we	have	faith	that	we	shall	not	prove	false	to	memories	of	the
men	 of	 the	 mighty	 past.	 They	 did	 their	 work;	 they	 left	 us	 the
splendid	heritage	we	now	enjoy.	We	in	our	turn	have	an	assured
confidence	that	we	shall	be	able	to	leave	this	heritage	unwasted	and
enlarged	to	our	children's	children.

To	 do	 so,	 we	 must	 show,	 not	 merely	 in	 great	 crises,	 but	 in	 the
everyday	 affairs	 of	 life,	 the	 qualities	 of	 practical	 intelligence,	 of
courage,	of	hardihood,	and	endurance,	and,	above	all,	the	power	of
devotion	to	a	lofty	ideal,	which	made	great	the	men	who	founded
this	Republic	in	the	days	of	Washington;	which	made	great	the	men
who	preserved	this	Republic	in	the	days	of	Abraham	Lincoln.

#### ON	AMERICAN	MOTHERHOOD[38]

#### (1905)

In	 our	 modern	 industrial	 civilization	 there	 are	 many	 and	 grave
dangers	to	counterbalance	the	splendors	and	the	triumphs.	It	is	not	a
good	thing	to	see	cities	grow	at	disproportionate	speed	relatively	to
the	country;	for	the	small	land	owners,	the	men	who	own	their	little
homes,	and	therefore	to	a	very	large	extent	the	men	who	till	farms,
the	men	of	the	soil,	have	hitherto	made	the	foundation	of	lasting
national	life	in	every	State;	and,	if	the	foundation	becomes	either	too
weak	or	too	narrow,	the	superstructure,	no	matter	how	attractive,	is


in	imminent	danger	of	falling.

But	far	more	important	than	the	question	of	the	occupation	of	our
citizens	is	the	question	of	how	their	family	life	is	conducted.	No
matter	what	that	occupation	may	be,	as	long	as	there	is	a	real	home
and	as	long	as	those	who	make	up	that	home	do	their	duty	to	one
another,	 to	 their	 neighbors	 and	 to	 the	 State,	 it	 is	 of	 minor
consequence	whether	the	man's	trade	is	plied	in	the	country	or	in	the
city,	whether	it	calls	for	the	work	of	the	hands	or	for	the	work	of	the
head.

No	piled-up	wealth,	no	splendor	of	material	growth,	no	brilliance	of
artistic	development,	will	permanently	avail	any	people	unless	its
home	 life	 is	 healthy,	 unless	 the	 average	 man	 possesses	 honesty,
courage,	common	sense,	and	decency,	unless	he	works	hard	and	is
willing	at	need	to	fight	hard;	and	unless	the	average	woman	is	a
good	wife,	a	good	mother,	able	and	willing	to	perform	the	first	and
greatest	duty	of	womanhood,	able	and	willing	to	bear,	and	to	bring
up	as	they	should	be	brought	up,	healthy	children,	sound	in	body,
mind,	and	character,	and	numerous	enough	so	that	the	race	shall
increase	and	not	decrease.

There	are	certain	old	truths	which	will	be	true	as	long	as	this	world
endures,	and	which	no	amount	of	progress	can	alter.	One	of	these	is
the	truth	that	the	primary	duty	of	the	husband	is	to	be	the	home-
maker,	 the	 breadwinner	 for	 his	 wife	 and	 children,	 and	 that	 the
primary	duty	of	the	woman	is	to	be	the	helpmate,	the	housewife,	and
mother.	The	woman	should	have	ample	educational	advantages;	but
save	in	exceptional	cases	the	man	must	be,	and	she	need	not	be,	and
generally	ought	not	to	be,	trained	for	a	lifelong	career	as	the	family
breadwinner;	and,	therefore,	after	a	certain	point,	the	training	of	the
two	must	normally	be	different	because	the	duties	of	the	two	are
normally	different.	This	does	not	mean	inequality	of	function,	but	it
does	mean	that	normally	there	must	be	dissimilarity	of	function.	On
the	whole,	I	think	the	duty	of	the	woman	the	more	important,	the
more	difficult,	and	the	more	honorable	of	the	two;	on	the	whole	I
respect	the	woman	who	does	her	duty	even	more	than	I	respect	the
man	who	does	his.

No	ordinary	work	done	by	a	man	is	either	as	hard	or	as	responsible


as	 the	 work	 of	 a	 woman	 who	 is	 bringing	 up	 a	 family	 of	 small
children;	for	upon	her	time	and	strength	demands	are	made	not	only
every	hour	of	the	day	but	often	every	hour	of	the	night.	She	may
have	to	get	up	night	after	night	to	take	care	of	a	sick	child,	and	yet
must	by	day	continue	to	do	all	her	household	duties	as	well;	and	if
the	family	means	are	scant	she	must	usually	enjoy	even	her	rare
holidays	 taking	 her	 whole	 brood	 of	 children	 with	 her.	 The	 birth
pangs	 make	 all	 men	 the	 debtors	 of	 all	 women.	 Above	 all	 our
sympathy	and	regard	are	due	to	the	struggling	wives	among	those
whom	Abraham	Lincoln	called	the	plain	people,	and	whom	he	so
loved	and	trusted;	for	the	lives	of	these	women	are	often	led	on	the
lonely	heights	of	quiet,	self-sacrificing	heroism.

Just	as	the	happiest	and	most	honorable	and	most	useful	task	that
can	be	set	any	man	is	to	earn	enough	for	the	support	of	his	wife	and
family,	for	the	bringing	up	and	starting	in	life	of	his	children,	so	the
most	important,	the	most	honorable	and	desirable	task	which	can	be
set	any	woman	is	to	be	a	good	and	wise	mother	in	a	home	marked	by
self-respect	and	mutual	forbearance,	by	willingness	to	perform	duty,
and	 by	 refusal	 to	 sink	 into	 self-indulgence	 or	 avoid	 that	 which
entails	effort	and	self-sacrifice.	Of	course	there	are	exceptional	men
and	exceptional	women	who	can	do	and	ought	to	do	much	more	than
this,	 who	 can	 lead	 and	 ought	 to	 lead	 great	 careers	 of	 outside
usefulness	in	addition	to—not	as	substitutes	for—their	home	work;
but	I	am	not	speaking	of	exceptions;	I	am	speaking	of	the	primary
duties,	I	am	speaking	of	the	average	citizens,	the	average	men	and
women	who	make	up	the	nation.

Inasmuch	as	I	am	speaking	to	an	assemblage	of	mothers,	I	shall	have
nothing	whatever	to	say	in	praise	of	an	easy	life.	Yours	is	the	work
which	is	never	ended.	No	mother	has	an	easy	time,	the	most	mothers
have	very	hard	times;	and	yet	what	true	mother	would	barter	her
experience	 of	 joy	 and	 sorrow	 in	 exchange	 for	 a	 life	 of	 cold
selfishness,	 which	 insists	 upon	 perpetual	 amusement	 and	 the
avoidance	of	care,	and	which	often	finds	its	fit	dwelling	place	in
some	flat	designed	to	furnish	with	the	least	possible	expenditure	of
effort	the	maximum	of	comfort	and	of	luxury,	but	in	which	there	is
literally	no	place	for	children?

The	woman	who	is	a	good	wife,	a	good	mother,	is	entitled	to	our


respect	as	is	no	one	else;	but	she	is	entitled	to	it	only	because,	and	so
long	as,	she	is	worthy	of	it.	Effort	and	self-sacrifice	are	the	law	of
worthy	life	for	the	man	as	for	the	woman;	tho	neither	the	effort	nor
the	self-sacrifice	may	be	the	same	for	the	one	as	for	the	other.	I	do
not	in	the	least	believe	in	the	patient	Griselda	type	of	woman,	in	the
woman	who	submits	to	gross	and	long	continued	ill	treatment,	any
more	 than	 I	 believe	 in	 a	 man	 who	 tamely	 submits	 to	 wrongful
aggression.	No	wrong-doing	is	so	abhorrent	as	wrong-doing	by	a
man	 toward	 the	 wife	 and	 the	 children	 who	 should	 arouse	 every
tender	 feeling	 in	 his	 nature.	 Selfishness	 toward	 them,	 lack	 of
tenderness	toward	them,	lack	of	consideration	for	them,	above	all,
brutality	in	any	form	toward	them,	should	arouse	the	heartiest	scorn
and	indignation	in	every	upright	soul.

I	believe	in	the	woman	keeping	her	self-respect	just	as	I	believe	in
the	man	doing	so.	I	believe	in	her	rights	just	as	much	as	I	believe	in
the	 man's,	 and	 indeed	 a	 little	 more;	 and	 I	 regard	 marriage	 as	 a
partnership,	in	which	each	partner	is	in	honor	bound	to	think	of	the
rights	of	the	other	as	well	as	of	his	or	her	own.	But	I	think	that	the
duties	are	even	more	important	than	the	rights;	and	in	the	long	run	I
think	that	the	reward	is	ampler	and	greater	for	duty	well	done,	than
for	 the	 insistence	 upon	 individual	 rights,	 necessary	 tho	 this,	 too,
must	 often	 be.	 Your	 duty	 is	 hard,	 your	 responsibility	 great;	 but
greatest	of	all	is	your	reward.	I	do	not	pity	you	in	the	least.	On	the
contrary,	I	feel	respect	and	admiration	for	you.

Into	 the	 woman's	 keeping	 is	 committed	 the	 destiny	 of	 the
generations	 to	 come	 after	 us.	 In	 bringing	 up	 your	 children	 you
mothers	must	remember	that	while	it	is	essential	to	be	loving	and
tender	it	is	no	less	essential	to	be	wise	and	firm.	Foolishness	and
affection	must	not	be	treated	as	interchangeable	terms;	and	besides
training	your	sons	and	daughters	in	the	softer	and	milder	virtues,	you
must	seek	to	give	them	those	stern	and	hardy	qualities	which	in	after
life	they	will	surely	need.	Some	children	will	go	wrong	in	spite	of
the	 best	 training;	 and	 some	 will	 go	 right	 even	 when	 their
surroundings	are	most	unfortunate;	nevertheless	an	immense	amount
depends	upon	the	family	training.	If	you	mothers	through	weakness
bring	up	your	sons	to	be	selfish	and	to	think	only	of	themselves,	you
will	be	responsible	for	much	sadness	among	the	women	who	are	to


be	their	wives	in	the	future.	If	you	let	your	daughters	grow	up	idle,
perhaps	under	the	mistaken	impression	that	as	you	yourselves	have
had	to	work	hard	they	shall	know	only	enjoyment,	you	are	preparing
them	to	be	useless	to	others	and	burdens	to	themselves.	Teach	boys
and	girls	alike	that	they	are	not	to	look	forward	to	lives	spent	in
avoiding	difficulties,	but	to	lives	spent	in	overcoming	difficulties.
Teach	them	that	work,	for	themselves	and	also	for	others,	is	not
curse	but	a	blessing;	seek	to	make	them	happy,	to	make	them	enjoy
life,	 but	 seek	 also	 to	 make	 them	 face	 life	 with	 the	 steadfast
resolution	to	wrest	success	from	labor	and	adversity,	and	to	do	their
whole	duty	before	God	and	to	man.	Surely	she	who	can	thus	train
her	sons	and	her	daughters	is	thrice	fortunate	among	women.

There	are	many	good	people	who	are	denied	the	supreme	blessing	of
children,	and	for	these	we	have	the	respect	and	sympathy	always	due
to	those	who,	from	no	fault	of	their	own,	are	denied	any	of	the	other
great	 blessings	 of	 life.	 But	 the	 man	 or	 woman	 who	 deliberately
foregoes	 these	 blessings,	 whether	 from	 viciousness,	 coldness,
shallow-heartedness,	self-indulgence,	or	mere	failure	to	appreciate
aright	the	difference	between	the	all-important	and	the	unimportant,
—why,	 such	 a	 creature	 merits	 contempt	 as	 hearty	 as	 any	 visited
upon	the	soldier	who	runs	away	in	battle,	or	upon	the	man	who
refuses	to	work	for	the	support	of	those	dependent	upon	him,	and
who	tho	able-bodied	is	yet	content	to	eat	in	idleness	the	bread	which
others	provide.

The	 existence	 of	 women	 of	 this	 type	 forms	 one	 of	 the	 most
unpleasant	and	unwholesome	features	of	modern	life.	If	any	one	is
so	dim	of	vision	as	to	fail	to	see	what	a	thoroughly	unlovely	creature
such	a	woman	is	I	wish	they	would	read	Judge	Robert	Grant's	novel
"Unleavened	Bread,"	ponder	seriously	the	character	of	Selma,	and
think	 of	 the	 fate	 that	 would	 surely	 overcome	 any	 nation	 which
developed	 its	 average	 and	 typical	 woman	 along	 such	 lines.
Unfortunately	it	would	be	untrue	to	say	that	this	type	exists	only	in
American	 novels.	 That	 it	 also	 exists	 in	 American	 life	 is	 made
unpleasantly	evident	by	the	statistics	as	to	the	dwindling	families	in
some	localities.	It	is	made	evident	in	equally	sinister	fashion	by	the
census	statistics	as	to	divorce,	which	are	fairly	appalling;	for	easy
divorce	is	now	as	it	ever	has	been,	a	bane	to	any	nation,	a	curse	to


society,	a	menace	to	the	home,	an	incitement	to	married	unhappiness
and	to	immorality,	an	evil	thing	for	men	and	a	still	more	hideous	evil
for	women.	These	unpleasant	tendencies	in	our	American	life	are
made	evident	by	articles	such	as	those	which	I	actually	read	not	long
ago	in	a	certain	paper,	where	a	clergyman	was	quoted,	seemingly
with	approval,	as	expressing	the	general	American	attitude	when	he
said	that	the	ambition	of	any	save	a	very	rich	man	should	be	to	rear
two	children	only,	so	as	to	give	his	children	an	opportunity	"to	taste
a	few	of	the	good	things	of	life."

This	man,	whose	profession	and	calling	should	have	made	him	a
moral	teacher,	actually	set	before	others	the	ideal,	not	of	training
children	to	do	their	duty,	not	of	sending	them	forth	with	stout	hearts
and	ready	minds	to	win	triumphs	for	themselves	and	their	country,
not	of	allowing	them	the	opportunity,	and	giving	them	the	privilege
of	making	their	own	place	in	the	world,	but,	forsooth,	of	keeping	the
number	of	children	so	limited	that	they	might	"taste	a	few	good
things!"	The	way	to	give	a	child	a	fair	chance	in	life	is	not	to	bring	it
up	in	luxury,	but	to	see	that	it	has	the	kind	of	training	that	will	give	it
strength	of	character.	Even	apart	from	the	vital	question	of	national
life,	 and	 regarding	 only	 the	 individual	 interest	 of	 the	 children
themselves,	happiness	in	the	true	sense	is	a	hundredfold	more	apt	to
come	to	any	given	member	of	a	healthy	family	of	healthy-minded
children,	well	brought	up,	well	educated,	but	taught	that	they	must
shift	for	themselves,	must	win	their	own	way,	and	by	their	own
exertions	make	their	own	positions	of	usefulness,	than	it	is	apt	to
come	to	those	whose	parents	themselves	have	acted	on	and	have
trained	their	children	to	act	on,	the	selfish	and	sordid	theory	that	the
whole	end	of	life	is	to	"taste	a	few	good	things."

The	intelligence	of	the	remark	is	on	a	par	with	its	morality;	for	the
most	rudimentary	mental	process	would	have	shown	the	speaker	that
if	the	average	family	in	which	there	are	children	contained	but	two
children	 the	 nation	 as	 a	 whole	 would	 decrease	 in	 population	 so
rapidly	that	in	two	or	three	generations	it	would	very	deservedly	be
on	the	point	of	extinction,	so	that	the	people	who	had	acted	on	this
base	and	selfish	doctrine	would	be	giving	place	to	others	with	braver
and	more	robust	 ideals.	Nor	would	 such	a	result	 be	in	any	 way
regrettable;	for	a	race	that	practised	such	doctrine—that	is,	a	race


that	practised	race	suicide—would	thereby	conclusively	show	that	it
was	unfit	to	exist,	and	that	it	had	better	give	place	to	people	who	had
not	forgotten	the	primary	laws	of	their	being.

To	sum	up,	then,	the	whole	matter	is	simple	enough.	If	either	a	race
or	an	individual	prefers	the	pleasure	of	more	effortless	ease,	of	self-
indulgence,	to	the	infinitely	deeper,	the	infinitely	higher	pleasures
that	come	to	those	who	know	the	toil	and	the	weariness,	but	also	the
joy,	of	hard	duty	well	done,	why,	that	race	or	that	individual	must
inevitably	in	the	end	pay	the	penalty	of	leading	a	life	both	vapid	and
ignoble.	No	man	and	no	woman	really	worthy	of	the	name	can	care
for	 the	 life	 spent	 solely	 or	 chiefly	 in	 the	 avoidance	 of	 risk	 and
trouble	and	labor.	Save	in	exceptional	cases	the	prizes	worth	having
in	life	must	be	paid	for,	and	the	life	worth	living	must	be	a	life	of
work	for	a	worthy	end,	and	ordinarily	of	work	more	for	others	than
for	one's	self.

The	woman's	task	is	not	easy—no	task	worth	doing	is	easy—but	in
doing	 it,	 and	 when	 she	 has	 done	 it,	 there	 shall	 come	 to	 her	 the
highest	and	holiest	joy	known	to	mankind;	and	having	done	it,	she
shall	have	the	reward	prophesied	in	Scripture;	for	her	husband	and
her	children,	yes,	and	all	people	who	realize	that	her	work	lies	at	the
foundation	of	all	national	happiness	and	greatness,	shall	rise	up	and
call	her	blessed.

### ALTON	B.	PARKER

#### THE	CALL	TO	DEMOCRATS

```
From	a	speech	opening	the	National	Democratic
Convention	at	Baltimore,	Md.,	June,	1912.
```
It	is	not	the	wild	and	cruel	methods	of	revolution	and	violence	that
are	needed	to	correct	the	abuses	incident	to	our	Government	as	to	all
things	human.	Neither	material	nor	moral	progress	lies	that	way.	We
have	 made	 our	 Government	 and	 our	 complicated	 institutions	 by
appeals	to	reason,	seeking	to	educate	all	our	people	that,	day	after
day,	year	after	year,	century	after	century,	they	may	see	more	clearly,
act	more	justly,	become	more	and	more	attached	to	the	fundamental


ideas	that	underlie	our	society.	If	we	are	to	preserve	undiminished
the	heritage	bequeathed	us,	and	add	to	it	those	accretions	without
which	society	would	perish,	we	shall	need	all	the	powers	that	the
school,	the	church,	the	court,	the	deliberative	assembly,	and	the	quiet
thought	of	our	people	can	bring	to	bear.

We	are	called	upon	to	do	battle	against	the	unfaithful	guardians	of
our	Constitution	and	liberties	and	the	hordes	of	ignorance	which	are
pushing	forward	only	to	the	ruin	of	our	social	and	governmental
fabric.

Too	long	has	the	country	endured	the	offenses	of	the	leaders	of	a
party	which	once	knew	greatness.	Too	long	have	we	been	blind	to
the	bacchanal	of	corruption.	Too	long	have	we	listlessly	watched	the
assembling	of	the	forces	that	threaten	our	country	and	our	firesides.

The	time	has	come	when	the	salvation	of	the	country	demands	the
restoration	to	place	and	power	of	men	of	high	ideals	who	will	wage
unceasing	war	against	corruption	in	politics,	who	will	enforce	the
law	against	both	rich	and	poor,	and	who	will	treat	guilt	as	personal
and	punish	it	accordingly.

What	 is	 our	 duty?	 To	 think	 alike	 as	 to	 men	 and	 measures?
Impossible!	 Even	 for	 our	 great	 party!	 There	 is	 not	 a	 reactionary
among	 us.	 All	 Democrats	 are	 Progressives.	 But	 it	 is	 inevitably
human	that	we	shall	not	all	agree	that	in	a	single	highway	is	found
the	only	road	to	progress,	or	each	make	the	same	man	of	all	our
worthy	candidates	his	first	choice.

It	 is	 impossible,	 however,	 and	 it	 is	 our	 duty	 to	 put	 aside	 all
selfishness,	to	consent	cheerfully	that	the	majority	shall	speak	for
each	of	us,	and	to	march	out	of	this	convention	shoulder	to	shoulder,
intoning	the	praises	of	our	chosen	leader—and	that	will	be	his	due,
whichever	of	the	honorable	and	able	men	now	claiming	our	attention
shall	be	chosen.

### JOHN	W.	WESCOTT

#### NOMINATING	WOODROW	WILSON


```
At	the	National	Democratic	Convention,	Baltimore,
Maryland,	June,	1912.
```
The	New	Jersey	delegation	is	commissioned	to	represent	the	great
cause	of	Democracy	and	to	offer	you	as	its	militant	and	triumphant
leader	a	scholar,	not	a	charlatan;	a	statesman,	not	a	doctrinaire;	a
profound	lawyer,	not	a	splitter	of	legal	hairs;	a	political	economist,
not	 an	 egotistical	 theorist;	 a	 practical	 politician,	 who	 constructs,
modifies,	restrains,	without	disturbance	and	destruction;	a	resistless
debater	and	consummate	master	of	statement,	not	a	mere	sophist;	a
humanitarian,	not	a	defamer	of	characters	and	lives;	a	man	whose
mind	 is	 at	 once	 cosmopolitan	 and	 composite	 of	 America;	 a
gentleman	of	unpretentious	habits,	with	the	fear	of	God	in	his	heart
and	the	love	of	mankind	exhibited	in	every	act	of	his	life;	above	all	a
public	servant	who	has	been	tried	to	the	uttermost	and	never	found
wanting—matchless,	 unconquerable,	 the	 ultimate	 Democrat,
Woodrow	Wilson.

New	Jersey	has	reasons	for	her	course.	Let	us	not	be	deceived	in	our
premises.	Campaigns	of	vilification,	corruption	and	false	pretence
have	 lost	 their	 usefulness.	 The	 evolution	 of	 national	 energy	 is
towards	 a	 more	 intelligent	 morality	 in	 politics	 and	 in	 all	 other
relations.	The	situation	admits	of	no	compromise.	The	temper	and
purpose	of	the	American	public	will	tolerate	no	other	view.	The
indifference	of	the	American	people	to	politics	has	disappeared.	Any
platform	and	any	candidate	not	conforming	to	this	vast	social	and
commercial	behest	will	go	down	to	ignominious	defeat	at	the	polls.

Men	are	known	by	what	they	say	and	do.	They	are	known	by	those
who	hate	and	oppose	them.	Many	years	ago	Woodrow	Wilson	said,
"No	man	is	great	who	thinks	himself	so,	and	no	man	is	good	who
does	not	try	to	secure	the	happiness	and	comfort	of	others."	This	is
the	secret	of	his	life.	The	deeds	of	this	moral	and	intellectual	giant
are	known	to	all	men.	They	accord,	not	with	the	shams	and	false
pretences	of	politics,	but	make	national	harmony	with	the	millions	of
patriots	 determined	 to	 correct	 the	 wrongs	 of	 plutocracy	 and
reestablish	 the	 maxims	 of	 American	 liberty	 in	 all	 their	 regnant
beauty	 and	 practical	 effectiveness.	 New	 Jersey	 loves	 Woodrow
Wilson	not	for	the	enemies	he	has	made.	New	Jersey	loves	him	for
what	he	is.	New	Jersey	argues	that	Woodrow	Wilson	is	the	only


candidate	who	can	not	only	make	Democratic	success	a	certainty,
but	secure	the	electoral	vote	of	almost	every	State	in	the	Union.

New	Jersey	will	indorse	his	nomination	by	a	majority	of	100,000	of
her	 liberated	 citizens.	 We	 are	 not	 building	 for	 a	 day,	 or	 even	 a
generation,	but	for	all	time.	New	Jersey	believes	that	there	is	an
omniscience	in	national	instinct.	That	instinct	centers	in	Woodrow
Wilson.	He	has	been	in	political	life	less	than	two	years.	He	has	had
no	organization;	only	a	practical	ideal—the	reestablishment	of	equal
opportunity.	Not	his	deeds	alone,	not	his	immortal	words	alone,	not
his	 personality	 alone,	 not	 his	 matchless	 powers	 alone,	 but	 all
combined	compel	national	faith	and	confidence	in	him.	Every	crisis
evolves	its	master.	Time	and	circumstance	have	evolved	Woodrow
Wilson.	The	North,	the	South,	the	East,	and	the	West	unite	in	him.
New	Jersey	appeals	to	this	convention	to	give	the	nation	Woodrow
Wilson,	that	he	may	open	the	gates	of	opportunity	to	every	man,
woman,	and	child	under	our	flag,	by	reforming	abuses,	and	thereby
teaching	 them,	 in	 his	 matchless	 words,	 "to	 release	 their	 energies
intelligently,	 that	 peace,	 justice	 and	 prosperity	 may	 reign."	 New
Jersey	rejoices,	through	her	freely	chosen	representatives,	to	name
for	the	presidency	of	the	United	States	the	Princeton	schoolmaster,
Woodrow	Wilson.

### HENRY	W.	GRADY

#### THE	RACE	PROBLEM

```
Delivered	at	the	annual	banquet	of	the	Boston	Merchants'
Association,	at	Boston,	Mass.,	December	12,	1889.
```
MR.	PRESIDENT:—Bidden	by	your	invitation	to	a	discussion	of
the	race	problem—forbidden	by	occasion	to	make	a	political	speech
—I	 appreciate,	 in	 trying	 to	 reconcile	 orders	 with	 propriety,	 the
perplexity	of	the	little	maid,	who,	bidden	to	learn	to	swim,	was	yet
adjured,	"Now,	go,	my	darling;	hang	your	clothes	on	a	hickory	limb,
and	don't	go	near	the	water."

The	stoutest	apostle	of	the	Church,	they	say,	is	the	missionary,	and
the	missionary,	wherever	he	unfurls	his	flag,	will	never	find	himself


in	deeper	need	of	unction	and	address	than	I,	bidden	to-night	to	plant
the	standard	of	a	Southern	Democrat	in	Boston's	banquet	hall,	and	to
discuss	 the	 problem	 of	 the	 races	 in	 the	 home	 of	 Phillips	 and	 of
Sumner.	 But,	 Mr.	 President,	 if	 a	 purpose	 to	 speak	 in	 perfect
frankness	and	sincerity;	if	earnest	understanding	of	the	vast	interests
involved;	if	a	consecrating	sense	of	what	disaster	may	follow	further
misunderstanding	and	estrangement;	if	these	may	be	counted	upon
to	steady	undisciplined	speech	and	to	strengthen	an	untried	arm—
then,	sir,	I	shall	find	the	courage	to	proceed.

Happy	am	I	that	this	mission	has	brought	my	feet	at	last	to	press
New	England's	historic	soil	and	my	eyes	to	the	knowledge	of	her
beauty	 and	 her	 thrift.	 Here	 within	 touch	 of	 Plymouth	 Rock	 and
Bunker	 Hill—where	 Webster	 thundered	 and	 Longfellow	 sang,
Emerson	 thought	 and	 Channing	 preached—here,	 in	 the	 cradle	 of
American	letters	and	almost	of	American	liberty,	I	hasten	to	make
the	obeisance	that	every	American	owes	New	England	when	first	he
stands	uncovered	in	her	mighty	presence.	Strange	apparition!	This
stern	and	unique	figure—carved	from	the	ocean	and	the	wilderness
—its	majesty	kindling	and	growing	amid	the	storms	of	winter	and	of
wars—until	at	last	the	gloom	was	broken,	its	beauty	disclosed	in	the
sunshine,	and	the	heroic	workers	rested	at	its	base—while	startled
kings	and	emperors	gazed	and	marveled	that	from	the	rude	touch	of
this	handful	cast	on	a	bleak	and	unknown	shore	should	have	come
the	embodied	genius	of	human	government	and	the	perfected	model
of	human	liberty!	God	bless	the	memory	of	those	immortal	workers,
and	prosper	the	fortunes	of	their	living	sons—and	perpetuate	the
inspiration	of	their	handiwork.

Two	years	ago,	sir,	I	spoke	some	words	in	New	York	that	caught	the
attention	of	the	North.	As	I	stand	here	to	reiterate,	as	I	have	done
everywhere,	 every	 word	 I	 then	 uttered—to	 declare	 that	 the
sentiments	I	then	avowed	were	universally	approved	in	the	South—I
realize	 that	 the	 confidence	 begotten	 by	 that	 speech	 is	 largely
responsible	for	my	presence	here	to-night.	I	should	dishonor	myself
if	I	betrayed	that	confidence	by	uttering	one	insincere	word,	or	by
withholding	one	essential	element	of	the	truth.	Apropos	of	this	last,
let	me	confess,	Mr.	President,	before	the	praise	of	New	England	has
died	on	my	lips,	that	I	believe	the	best	product	of	her	present	life	is


the	procession	of	seventeen	thousand	Vermont	Democrats	that	for
twenty-two	years,	undiminished	by	death,	unrecruited	by	birth	or
conversion,	 have	 marched	 over	 their	 rugged	 hills,	 cast	 their
Democratic	 ballots	 and	 gone	 back	 home	 to	 pray	 for	 their
unregenerate	neighbors,	and	awake	to	read	the	record	of	twenty-six
thousand	Republican	majority.	May	the	God	of	the	helpless	and	the
heroic	help	them,	and	may	their	sturdy	tribe	increase.

Far	to	the	South,	Mr.	President,	separated	from	this	section	by	a	line
—once	defined	in	irrepressible	difference,	once	traced	in	fratricidal
blood,	and	now,	thank	God,	but	a	vanishing	shadow—lies	the	fairest
and	 richest	 domain	 of	 this	 earth.	 It	 is	 the	 home	 of	 a	 brave	 and
hospitable	people.	There	is	centered	all	that	can	please	or	prosper
humankind.	 A	 perfect	 climate	 above	 a	 fertile	 soil	 yields	 to	 the
husbandman	every	product	of	the	temperate	zone.	There,	by	night
the	cotton	whitens	beneath	the	stars,	and	by	day	the	wheat	locks	the
sunshine	in	its	bearded	sheaf.	In	the	same	field	the	clover	steals	the
fragrance	of	the	wind,	and	tobacco	catches	the	quick	aroma	of	the
rains.	There	are	mountains	stored	with	exhaustless	treasures;	forests
—vast	 and	 primeval;	 and	 rivers	 that,	 tumbling	 or	 loitering,	 run
wanton	to	the	sea.	Of	the	three	essential	items	of	all	industries—
cotton,	iron	and	wood—that	region	has	easy	control.	In	cotton,	a
fixed	monopoly—in	iron,	proven	supremacy—in	timber,	the	reserve
supply	of	the	Republic.	From	this	assured	and	permanent	advantage,
against	which	artificial	conditions	cannot	much	longer	prevail,	has
grown	an	amazing	system	of	industries.	Not	maintained	by	human
contrivance	of	tariff	or	capital,	afar	off	from	the	fullest	and	cheapest
source	of	supply,	but	resting	in	divine	assurance,	within	touch	of
field	and	mine	and	forest—not	set	amid	costly	farms	from	which
competition	has	driven	the	farmer	in	despair,	but	amid	cheap	and
sunny	lands,	rich	with	agriculture,	to	which	neither	season	nor	soil
has	set	a	limit—this	system	of	industries	is	mounting	to	a	splendor
that	shall	dazzle	and	illumine	the	world.	That,	sir,	is	the	picture	and
the	promise	of	my	home—a	land	better	and	fairer	than	I	have	told
you,	and	yet	but	fit	setting	in	its	material	excellence	for	the	loyal	and
gentle	 quality	 of	 its	 citizenship.	 Against	 that,	 sir,	 we	 have	 New
England,	recruiting	the	Republic	from	its	sturdy	loins,	shaking	from
its	overcrowded	hives	new	swarms	of	workers,	and	touching	this
land	all	over	with	its	energy	and	its	courage.	And	yet—while	in	the


Eldorado	of	which	I	have	told	you	but	fifteen	per	cent	of	its	lands
are	cultivated,	its	mines	scarcely	touched,	and	its	population	so	scant
that,	were	it	set	equidistant,	the	sound	of	the	human	voice	could	not
be	heard	from	Virginia	to	Texas—while	on	the	threshold	of	nearly
every	house	in	New	England	stands	a	son,	seeking,	with	troubled
eyes,	some	new	land	in	which	to	carry	his	modest	patrimony,	the
strange	fact	remains	that	in	1880	the	South	had	fewer	northern-born
citizens	than	she	had	in	1870—fewer	in	'70	than	in	'60.	Why	is	this?
Why	is	it,	sir,	though	the	section	line	be	now	but	a	mist	that	the
breath	may	dispel,	fewer	men	of	the	North	have	crossed	it	over	to
the	South,	than	 when	it	was	crimson	with	the	 best	blood	of	 the
Republic,	or	even	when	the	slaveholder	stood	guard	every	inch	of	its
way?

There	can	be	but	one	answer.	It	is	the	very	problem	we	are	now	to
consider.	The	key	that	opens	that	problem	will	unlock	to	the	world
the	fairest	half	of	this	Republic,	and	free	the	halted	feet	of	thousands
whose	eyes	are	already	kindling	with	its	beauty.	Better	than	this,	it
will	open	the	hearts	of	brothers	for	thirty	years	estranged,	and	clasp
in	 lasting	 comradeship	 a	 million	 hands	 now	 withheld	 in	 doubt.
Nothing,	sir,	but	this	problem	and	the	suspicions	it	breeds,	hinders	a
clear	 understanding	 and	 a	 perfect	 union.	 Nothing	 else	 stands
between	us	and	such	love	as	bound	Georgia	and	Massachusetts	at
Valley	Forge	and	Yorktown,	chastened	by	the	sacrifices	of	Manassas
and	Gettysburg,	and	illumined	with	the	coming	of	better	work	and	a
nobler	destiny	than	was	ever	wrought	with	the	sword	or	sought	at
the	cannon's	mouth.

If	this	does	not	invite	your	patient	hearing	to-night—hear	one	thing
more.	My	people,	your	brothers	in	the	South—brothers	in	blood,	in
destiny,	in	all	that	is	best	in	our	past	and	future—are	so	beset	with
this	problem	that	their	very	existence	depends	on	its	right	solution.
Nor	are	they	wholly	to	blame	for	its	presence.	The	slave-ships	of	the
Republic	sailed	from	your	ports,	the	slaves	worked	in	our	fields.	You
will	not	defend	the	traffic,	nor	I	the	institution.	But	I	do	here	declare
that	in	its	wise	and	humane	administration	in	lifting	the	slave	to
heights	of	which	he	had	not	dreamed	in	his	savage	home,	and	giving
him	a	happiness	he	has	not	yet	found	in	freedom,	our	fathers	left
their	sons	a	saving	and	excellent	heritage.	In	the	storm	of	war	this


institution	was	lost.	I	thank	God	as	heartily	as	you	do	that	human
slavery	 is	 gone	 forever	 from	 American	 soil.	 But	 the	 freedman
remains.	With	him,	a	problem	without	precedent	or	parallel.	Note	its
appalling	conditions.	Two	utterly	dissimilar	races	on	the	same	soil—
with	equal	political	and	civil	rights—almost	equal	in	numbers,	but
terribly	 unequal	 in	 intelligence	 and	 responsibility—each	 pledged
against	fusion—one	for	a	century	in	servitude	to	the	other,	and	freed
at	last	by	a	desolating	war,	the	experiment	sought	by	neither	but
approached	 by	 both	 with	 doubt—these	 are	 the	 conditions.	 Under
these,	adverse	at	every	point,	we	are	required	to	carry	these	two
races	in	peace	and	honor	to	the	end.

Never,	sir,	has	such	a	task	been	given	to	mortal	stewardship.	Never
before	in	this	Republic	has	the	white	race	divided	on	the	rights	of	an
alien	 race.	 The	 red	 man	 was	 cut	 down	 as	 a	 weed	 because	 he
hindered	the	way	of	the	American	citizen.	The	yellow	man	was	shut
out	of	this	Republic	because	he	is	an	alien,	and	inferior.	The	red	man
was	owner	of	the	land—the	yellow	man	was	highly	civilized	and
assimilable—but	they	hindered	both	sections	and	are	gone!	But	the
black	man,	affecting	but	one	section,	is	clothed	with	every	privilege
of	government	and	pinned	to	the	soil,	and	my	people	commanded	to
make	good	at	any	hazard,	and	at	any	cost,	his	full	and	equal	heirship
of	American	privilege	and	prosperity.	It	matters	not	that	every	other
race	has	been	routed	or	excluded	without	rhyme	or	reason.	It	matters
not	that	wherever	the	whites	and	the	blacks	have	touched,	in	any	era
or	in	any	clime,	there	has	been	an	irreconcilable	violence.	It	matters
not	that	no	two	races,	however	similar,	have	lived	anywhere,	at	any
time,	on	the	same	soil	with	equal	rights	in	peace!	In	spite	of	these
things	we	are	commanded	to	make	good	this	change	of	American
policy	which	has	not	perhaps	changed	American	prejudice—to	make
certain	here	what	has	elsewhere	been	impossible	between	whites	and
blacks—and	 to	 reverse,	 under	 the	 very	 worst	 conditions,	 the
universal	 verdict	 of	 racial	 history.	 And	 driven,	 sir,	 to	 this
superhuman	task	with	an	impatience	that	brooks	no	delay—a	rigor
that	accepts	no	excuse—and	a	suspicion	that	discourages	frankness
and	sincerity.	We	do	not	shrink	from	this	trial.	It	is	so	interwoven
with	our	industrial	fabric	that	we	cannot	disentangle	it	if	we	would
—so	bound	up	in	our	honorable	obligation	to	the	world,	that	we
would	not	if	we	could.	Can	we	solve	it?	The	God	who	gave	it	into


our	hands,	He	alone	can	know.	But	this	the	weakest	and	wisest	of	us
do	know:	we	cannot	solve	it	with	less	than	your	tolerant	and	patient
sympathy—with	less	than	the	knowledge	that	the	blood	that	runs	in
your	veins	is	our	blood—and	that,	when	we	have	done	our	best,
whether	the	issue	be	lost	or	won,	we	shall	feel	your	strong	arms
about	us	and	hear	the	beating	of	your	approving	hearts!

The	 resolute,	 clear-headed,	 broad-minded	 men	 of	 the	 South—the
men	whose	genius	made	glorious	every	page	of	the	first	seventy
years	of	American	history—whose	courage	and	fortitude	you	tested
in	five	years	of	the	fiercest	war—whose	energy	has	made	bricks
without	 straw	 and	 spread	 splendor	 amid	 the	 ashes	 of	 their	 war-
wasted	 homes—these	 men	 wear	 this	 problem	 in	 their	 hearts	 and
brains,	by	day	and	by	night.	They	realize,	as	you	cannot,	what	this
problem	means—what	they	owe	to	this	kindly	and	dependent	race—
the	 measure	 of	 their	 debt	 to	 the	 world	 in	 whose	 despite	 they
defended	and	maintained	slavery.	And	though	their	feet	are	hindered
in	its	undergrowth,	and	their	march	cumbered	with	its	burdens,	they
have	lost	neither	the	patience	from	which	comes	clearness,	nor	the
faith	 from	 which	 comes	 courage.	 Nor,	 sir,	 when	 in	 passionate
moments	is	disclosed	to	them	that	vague	and	awful	shadow,	with	its
lurid	abysses	and	its	crimson	stains,	into	which	I	pray	God	they	may
never	go,	are	they	struck	with	more	of	apprehension	than	is	needed
to	complete	their	consecration!

Such	is	the	temper	of	my	people.	But	what	of	the	problem	itself?	Mr.
President,	we	need	not	go	one	step	further	unless	you	concede	right
here	that	the	people	I	speak	for	are	as	honest,	as	sensible	and	as	just
as	your	people,	seeking	as	earnestly	as	you	would	in	their	place	to
rightly	solve	the	problem	that	touches	them	at	every	vital	point.	If
you	insist	that	they	are	ruffians,	blindly	striving	with	bludgeon	and
shotgun	to	plunder	and	oppress	a	race,	then	I	shall	sacrifice	my	self-
respect	and	tax	your	patience	in	vain.	But	admit	that	they	are	men	of
common	 sense	 and	 common	 honesty,	 wisely	 modifying	 an
environment	they	cannot	wholly	disregard—guiding	and	controlling
as	 best	 they	 can	 the	 vicious	 and	 irresponsible	 of	 either	 race—
compensating	error	with	frankness,	and	retrieving	in	patience	what
they	lost	in	passion—and	conscious	all	the	time	that	wrong	means
ruin—admit	this,	and	we	may	reach	an	understanding	to-night.


The	President	of	the	United	States,	in	his	late	message	to	Congress,
discussing	 the	 plea	 that	 the	 South	 should	 be	 left	 to	 solve	 this
problem,	asks:	"Are	they	at	work	upon	it?	What	solution	do	they
offer?	When	will	the	black	man	cast	a	free	ballot?	When	will	he
have	the	civil	rights	that	are	his?"	I	shall	not	here	protest	against	a
partisanry	that,	for	the	first	time	in	our	history,	in	time	of	peace,	has
stamped	with	the	great	seal	of	our	government	a	stigma	upon	the
people	of	a	great	and	loyal	section;	though	I	gratefully	remember
that	the	great	dead	soldier,	who	held	the	helm	of	State	for	the	eight
stormiest	years	of	reconstruction,	never	found	need	for	such	a	step;
and	 though	 there	 is	 no	 personal	 sacrifice	 I	 would	 not	 make	 to
remove	 this	 cruel	 and	 unjust	 imputation	 on	 my	 people	 from	 the
archives	of	my	country!	But,	sir,	backed	by	a	record,	on	every	page
of	 which	 is	 progress,	 I	 venture	 to	 make	 earnest	 and	 respectful
answer	to	the	questions	that	are	asked.	We	give	to	the	world	this	year
a	crop	of	7,500,000	bales	of	cotton,	worth	$450,000,000,	and	its
cash	equivalent	in	grain,	grasses	and	fruit.	This	enormous	crop	could
not	have	come	from	the	hands	of	sullen	and	discontented	labor.	It
comes	from	peaceful	fields,	in	which	laughter	and	gossip	rise	above
the	hum	of	industry,	and	contentment	runs	with	the	singing	plough.
It	is	claimed	that	this	ignorant	labor	is	defrauded	of	its	just	hire,	I
present	the	tax	books	of	Georgia,	which	show	that	the	negro	twenty-
five	years	ago	a	slave,	has	in	Georgia	alone	$10,000,000	of	assessed
property,	worth	twice	that	much.	Does	not	that	record	honor	him	and
vindicate	his	neighbors?

What	people,	penniless,	illiterate,	has	done	so	well?	For	every	Afro-
American	agitator,	stirring	the	strife	in	which	alone	he	prospers,	I
can	 show	 you	 a	 thousand	 negroes,	 happy	 in	 their	 cabin	 homes,
tilling	their	own	land	by	day,	and	at	night	taking	from	the	lips	of
their	children	the	helpful	message	their	State	sends	them	from	the
schoolhouse	door.	And	the	schoolhouse	itself	bears	testimony.	In
Georgia	we	added	last	year	$250,000	to	the	school	fund,	making	a
total	of	more	than	$1,000,000—and	this	in	the	face	of	prejudice	not
yet	 conquered—of	 the	 fact	 that	 the	 whites	 are	 assessed	 for
$368,000,000,	the	blacks	for	$10,000,000,	and	yet	forty-nine	per
cent	of	the	beneficiaries	are	black	children;	and	in	the	doubt	of	many
wise	men	if	education	helps,	or	can	help,	our	problem.	Charleston,
with	her	taxable	values	cut	half	in	two	since	1860,	pays	more	in


proportion	for	public	schools	than	Boston.	Although	it	is	easier	to
give	much	out	of	much	than	little	out	of	little,	the	South,	with	one-
seventh	of	the	taxable	property	of	the	country,	with	relatively	larger
debt,	having	received	only	one-twelfth	as	much	of	public	lands,	and
having	back	of	its	tax	books	none	of	the	$500,000,000	of	bonds	that
enrich	the	North—and	though	it	pays	annually	$26,000,000	to	your
section	as	pensions—yet	gives	nearly	one-sixth	to	the	public	school
fund.	The	South	since	1865	has	spent	$122,000,000	in	education,
and	 this	 year	 is	 pledged	 to	 $32,000,000	 more	 for	 State	 and	 city
schools,	although	the	blacks,	paying	one-thirtieth	of	the	taxes,	get
nearly	one-half	of	the	fund.	Go	into	our	fields	and	see	whites	and
blacks	working	side	by	side.	On	our	buildings	in	the	same	squad.	In
our	shops	at	the	same	forge.	Often	the	blacks	crowd	the	whites	from
work,	or	lower	wages	by	their	greater	need	and	simpler	habits,	and
yet	are	permitted,	because	we	want	to	bar	them	from	no	avenue	in
which	their	feet	are	fitted	to	tread.	They	could	not	there	be	elected
orators	of	white	universities,	as	they	have	been	here,	but	they	do
enter	there	a	hundred	useful	trades	that	are	closed	against	them	here.
We	hold	it	better	and	wiser	to	tend	the	weeds	in	the	garden	than	to
water	the	exotic	in	the	window.

In	 the	 South	 there	 are	 negro	 lawyers,	 teachers,	 editors,	 dentists,
doctors,	preachers,	multiplying	with	the	increasing	ability	of	their
race	to	support	them.	In	villages	and	towns	they	have	their	military
companies	equipped	from	the	armories	of	the	State,	their	churches
and	societies	built	and	supported	largely	by	their	neighbors.	What	is
the	testimony	of	the	courts?	In	penal	legislation	we	have	steadily
reduced	 felonies	 to	 misdemeanors,	 and	 have	 led	 the	 world	 in
mitigating	 punishment	 for	 crime,	 that	 we	 might	 save,	 as	 far	 as
possible,	 this	 dependent	 race	 from	 its	 own	 weakness.	 In	 our
penitentiary	record	sixty	per	cent	of	the	prosecutors	are	negroes,	and
in	every	court	the	negro	criminal	strikes	the	colored	juror,	that	white
men	may	judge	his	case.

In	the	North,	one	negro	in	every	185	is	in	jail—in	the	South,	only
one	in	446.	In	the	North	the	percentage	of	negro	prisoners	is	six
times	as	great	as	that	of	native	whites;	in	the	South,	only	four	times
as	 great.	 If	 prejudice	 wrongs	 him	 in	 Southern	 courts,	 the	 record
shows	it	to	be	deeper	in	Northern	courts.	I	assert	here,	and	a	bar	as


intelligent	and	upright	as	the	bar	of	Massachusetts	will	solemnly
indorse	my	assertion,	that	in	the	Southern	courts,	from	highest	to
lowest,	pleading	for	life,	liberty	or	property,	the	negro	has	distinct
advantage	because	he	is	a	negro,	apt	to	be	overreached,	oppressed—
and	that	this	advantage	reaches	from	the	juror	in	making	his	verdict
to	the	judge	in	measuring	his	sentence.

Now,	 Mr.	 President,	 can	 it	 be	 seriously	 maintained	 that	 we	 are
terrorizing	the	people	from	whose	willing	hands	comes	every	year
$1,000,000,000	 of	 farm	 crops?	 Or	 have	 robbed	 a	 people	 who,
twenty-five	years	from	unrewarded	slavery,	have	amassed	in	one
State	$20,000,000	of	property?	Or	that	we	intend	to	oppress	the
people	we	are	arming	every	day?	Or	deceive	them,	when	we	are
educating	them	to	the	utmost	limit	of	our	ability?	Or	outlaw	them,
when	we	work	side	by	side	with	them?	Or	re-enslave	them	under
legal	 forms,	 when	 for	 their	 benefit	 we	 have	 even	 imprudently
narrowed	the	limit	of	felonies	and	mitigated	the	severity	of	law?	My
fellow-countrymen,	 as	 you	 yourselves	 may	 sometimes	 have	 to
appeal	at	the	bar	of	human	judgment	for	justice	and	for	right,	give	to
my	people	to-night	the	fair	and	unanswerable	conclusion	of	these
incontestable	facts.

But	it	is	claimed	that	under	this	fair	seeming	there	is	disorder	and
violence.	This	I	admit.	And	there	will	be	until	there	is	one	ideal
community	on	earth	after	which	we	may	pattern.	But	how	widely	is
it	misjudged!	It	is	hard	to	measure	with	exactness	whatever	touches
the	negro.	His	helplessness,	his	isolation,	his	century	of	servitude,—
these	 dispose	 us	 to	 emphasize	 and	 magnify	 his	 wrongs.	 This
disposition,	inflamed	by	prejudice	and	partisanry,	has	led	to	injustice
and	delusion.	Lawless	men	may	ravage	a	county	in	Iowa	and	it	is
accepted	as	an	incident—in	the	South,	a	drunken	row	is	declared	to
be	 the	 fixed	 habit	 of	 the	 community.	 Regulators	 may	 whip
vagabonds	in	Indiana	by	platoons	and	it	scarcely	arrests	attention—a
chance	collision	in	the	South	among	relatively	the	same	classes	is
gravely	accepted	as	evidence	that	one	race	is	destroying	the	other.
We	might	as	well	claim	that	the	Union	was	ungrateful	to	the	colored
soldier	 who	 followed	 its	 flag	 because	 a	 Grand	 Army	 post	 in
Connecticut	closed	its	doors	to	a	negro	veteran	as	for	you	to	give
racial	 significance	 to	 every	 incident	 in	 the	 South,	 or	 to	 accept


exceptional	grounds	as	the	rule	of	our	society.	I	am	not	one	of	those
who	becloud	American	honor	with	the	parade	of	the	outrages	of
either	section,	and	belie	American	character	by	declaring	them	to	be
significant	 and	 representative.	 I	 prefer	 to	 maintain	 that	 they	 are
neither,	and	stand	for	nothing	but	the	passion	and	sin	of	our	poor
fallen	humanity.	If	society,	like	a	machine,	were	no	stronger	than	its
weakest	part,	I	should	despair	of	both	sections.	But,	knowing	that
society,	sentient	and	responsible	in	every	fiber,	can	mend	and	repair
until	the	whole	has	the	strength	of	the	best,	I	despair	of	neither.
These	gentlemen	who	come	with	me	here,	knit	into	Georgia's	busy
life	as	they	are,	never	saw,	I	dare	assert,	an	outrage	committed	on	a
negro!	And	if	they	did,	no	one	of	you	would	be	swifter	to	prevent	or
punish.	It	is	through	them,	and	the	men	and	women	who	think	with
them—making	 nine-tenths	 of	 every	 Southern	 community—that
these	two	races	have	been	carried	thus	far	with	less	of	violence	than
would	 have	 been	 possible	 anywhere	 else	 on	 earth.	 And	 in	 their
fairness	and	courage	and	steadfastness—more	than	in	all	the	laws
that	can	be	passed,	or	all	the	bayonets	that	can	be	mustered—is	the
hope	of	our	future.

When	will	the	blacks	cast	a	free	ballot?	When	ignorance	anywhere	is
not	 dominated	 by	 the	 will	 of	 the	 intelligent;	 when	 the	 laborer
anywhere	casts	a	vote	unhindered	by	his	boss;	when	the	vote	of	the
poor	anywhere	is	not	influenced	by	the	power	of	the	rich;	when	the
strong	and	the	steadfast	do	not	everywhere	control	the	suffrage	of
the	weak	and	shiftless—then,	and	not	till	then,	will	the	ballot	of	the
negro	 be	 free.	 The	 white	 people	 of	 the	 South	 are	 banded,	 Mr.
President,	 not	 in	 prejudice	 against	 the	 blacks—not	 in	 sectional
estrangement—not	in	the	hope	of	political	dominion—but	in	a	deep
and	abiding	necessity.	Here	is	this	vast	ignorant	and	purchasable
vote—clannish,	 credulous,	 impulsive,	 and	 passionate—tempting
every	 art	 of	 the	 demagogue,	 but	 insensible	 to	 the	 appeal	 of	 the
stateman.	Wrongly	started,	in	that	it	was	led	into	alienation	from	its
neighbor	and	taught	to	rely	on	the	protection	of	an	outside	force,	it
cannot	be	merged	and	lost	in	the	two	great	parties	through	logical
currents,	for	it	lacks	political	conviction	and	even	that	information
on	which	conviction	must	be	based.	It	must	remain	a	faction—strong
enough	in	every	community	to	control	on	the	slightest	division	of
the	whites.	Under	that	division	it	becomes	the	prey	of	the	cunning


and	unscrupulous	of	both	parties.	Its	credulity	is	imposed	upon,	its
patience	inflamed,	its	cupidity	tempted,	its	impulses	misdirected—
and	even	its	 superstition	made	to	 play	its	part	 in	a	campaign	 in
which	every	interest	of	society	is	jeopardized	and	every	approach	to
the	ballot-box	debauched.	It	is	against	such	campaigns	as	this—the
folly	 and	 the	 bitterness	 and	 the	 danger	 of	 which	 every	 Southern
community	has	drunk	deeply—that	the	white	people	of	the	South	are
banded	together.	Just	as	you	in	Massachusetts	would	be	banded	if
300,000	men,	not	one	in	a	hundred	able	to	read	his	ballot—banded
in	race	instinct,	holding	against	you	the	memory	of	a	century	of
slavery,	taught	by	your	late	conquerors	to	distrust	and	oppose	you,
had	 already	 travestied	 legislation	 from	 your	 State	 House,	 and	 in
every	species	of	folly	or	villainy	had	wasted	your	substance	and
exhausted	your	credit.

But	admitting	the	right	of	the	whites	to	unite	against	this	tremendous
menace,	we	are	challenged	with	the	smallness	of	our	vote.	This	has
long	 been	 flippantly	 charged	 to	 be	 evidence	 and	 has	 now	 been
solemnly	and	officially	declared	to	be	proof	of	political	turpitude
and	baseness	on	our	part.	Let	us	see.	Virginia—a	state	now	under
fierce	assault	for	this	alleged	crime—cast	in	1888	seventy-five	per
cent	of	her	vote;	Massachusetts,	the	State	in	which	I	speak,	sixty	per
cent	of	her	vote.	Was	it	suppression	in	Virginia	and	natural	causes	in
Massachusetts?	Last	month	Virginia	cast	sixty-nine	per	cent	of	her
vote;	and	Massachusetts,	fighting	in	every	district,	cast	only	forty-
nine	per	cent	of	hers.	If	Virginia	is	condemned	because	thirty-one
per	cent	of	her	vote	was	silent,	how	shall	this	State	escape,	in	which
fifty-one	per	cent	was	dumb?	Let	us	enlarge	this	comparison.	The
sixteen	Southern	States	in	'88	cast	sixty-seven	per	cent	of	their	total
vote—the	six	New	England	States	but	sixty-three	per	cent	of	theirs.
By	what	fair	rule	shall	the	stigma	be	put	upon	one	section	while	the
other	escapes?	A	congressional	election	in	New	York	last	week,	with
the	polling	place	in	touch	of	every	voter,	brought	out	only	6,000
votes	 of	 28,000—and	 the	 lack	 of	 opposition	 is	 assigned	 as	 the
natural	 cause.	 In	 a	 district	 in	 my	 State,	 in	 which	 an	 opposition
speech	has	not	been	heard	in	ten	years	and	the	polling	places	are
miles	apart—under	the	unfair	reasoning	of	which	my	section	has
been	a	constant	victim—the	small	vote	is	charged	to	be	proof	of
forcible	 suppression.	 In	 Virginia	 an	 average	 majority	 of	 12,000,


unless	hopeless	division	of	the	minority,	was	raised	to	42,000;	in
Iowa,	in	the	same	election,	a	majority	of	32,000	was	wiped	out	and
an	 opposition	 majority	 of	 8,000	 was	 established.	 The	 change	 of
40,000	votes	in	Iowa	is	accepted	as	political	revolution—in	Virginia
an	increase	of	30,000	on	a	safe	majority	is	declared	to	be	proof	of
political	fraud.

It	is	deplorable,	sir,	that	in	both	sections	a	larger	percentage	of	the
vote	is	not	regularly	cast,	but	more	inexplicable	that	this	should	be
so	in	New	England	than	in	the	South.	What	invites	the	negro	to	the
ballot-box?	He	knows	that	of	all	men	it	has	promised	him	most	and
yielded	him	least.	His	first	appeal	to	suffrage	was	the	promise	of
"forty	 acres	 and	 a	 mule;"	 his	 second,	 the	 threat	 that	 Democratic
success	meant	his	re-enslavement.	Both	have	been	proved	false	in
his	experience.	He	looked	for	a	home,	and	he	got	the	Freedman's
Bank.	 He	 fought	 under	 promise	 of	 the	 loaf,	 and	 in	 victory	 was
denied	the	crumbs.	Discouraged	and	deceived,	he	has	realized	at	last
that	his	best	friends	are	his	neighbors	with	whom	his	lot	is	cast,	and
whose	prosperity	is	bound	up	in	his—and	that	he	has	gained	nothing
in	politics	to	compensate	the	loss	of	their	confidence	and	sympathy,
that	is	at	last	his	best	and	enduring	hope.	And	so,	without	leaders	or
organization—and	lacking	the	resolute	heroism	of	my	party	friends
in	Vermont	that	make	their	hopeless	march	over	the	hills	a	high	and
inspiring	pilgrimage—he	shrewdly	measures	the	occasional	agitator,
balances	his	little	account	with	politics,	touches	up	his	mule,	and
jogs	down	the	furrow,	letting	the	mad	world	wag	as	it	will!

The	negro	voter	can	never	control	in	the	South,	and	it	would	be	well
if	partisans	at	the	North	would	understand	this.	I	have	seen	the	white
people	of	a	State	set	about	by	black	hosts	until	their	fate	seemed
sealed.	But,	sir,	some	brave	men,	banding	them	together,	would	rise
as	Elisha	rose	in	beleaguered	Samaria,	and,	touching	their	eyes	with
faith,	 bid	 them	 look	 abroad	 to	 see	 the	 very	 air	 "filled	 with	 the
chariots	of	Israel	and	the	horsemen	thereof."	If	there	is	any	human
force	 that	 cannot	 be	 withstood,	 it	 is	 the	 power	 of	 the	 banded
intelligence	 and	 responsibility	 of	 a	 free	 community.	 Against	 it,
numbers	and	corruption	cannot	prevail.	It	cannot	be	forbidden	in	the
law,	or	divorced	in	force.	It	is	the	inalienable	right	of	every	free
community—the	just	and	righteous	safeguard	against	an	ignorant	or


corrupt	suffrage.	It	is	on	this,	sir,	that	we	rely	in	the	South.	Not	the
cowardly	menace	of	mask	or	shotgun,	but	the	peaceful	majesty	of
intelligence	and	responsibility,	massed	and	unified	for	the	protection
of	 its	 homes	 and	 the	 preservation	 of	 its	 liberty.	 That,	 sir,	 is	 our
reliance	and	our	hope,	and	against	it	all	the	powers	of	earth	shall	not
prevail.	It	is	just	as	certain	that	Virginia	would	come	back	to	the
unchallenged	control	of	her	white	race—that	before	the	moral	and
material	power	of	her	people	once	more	unified,	opposition	would
crumble	until	its	last	desperate	leader	was	left	alone,	vainly	striving
to	 rally	 his	 disordered	 hosts—as	 that	 night	 should	 fade	 in	 the
kindling	glory	of	the	sun.	You	may	pass	force	bills,	but	they	will	not
avail.	You	may	surrender	your	own	liberties	to	federal	election	law;
you	may	submit,	in	fear	of	a	necessity	that	does	not	exist,	that	the
very	 form	 of	 this	 government	 may	 be	 changed;	 you	 may	 invite
federal	interference	with	the	New	England	town	meeting,	that	has
been	 for	 a	 hundred	 years	 the	 guarantee	 of	 local	 government	 in
America;	this	old	State—which	holds	in	its	charter	the	boast	that	it
"is	a	free	and	independent	commonwealth"—may	deliver	its	election
machinery	into	the	hands	of	the	government	it	helped	to	create—but
never,	 sir,	 will	 a	 single	 State	 of	 this	 Union,	 North	 or	 South,	 be
delivered	again	to	the	control	of	an	ignorant	and	inferior	race.	We
wrested	 our	 state	 governments	 from	 negro	 supremacy	 when	 the
Federal	 drumbeat	 rolled	 closer	 to	 the	 ballot-box,	 and	 Federal
bayonets	hedged	it	deeper	about	than	will	ever	again	be	permitted	in
this	free	government.	But,	sir,	though	the	cannon	of	this	Republic
thundered	in	every	voting	district	in	the	South,	we	still	should	find	in
the	 mercy	 of	 God	 the	 means	 and	 the	 courage	 to	 prevent	 its
reestablishment.

I	regret,	sir,	that	my	section,	hindered	with	this	problem,	stands	in
seeming	estrangement	to	the	North.	If,	sir,	any	man	will	point	out	to
me	a	path	down	which	the	white	people	of	the	South,	divided,	may
walk	in	peace	and	honor,	I	will	take	that	path,	though	I	take	it	alone
—for	at	its	end,	and	nowhere	else,	I	fear,	is	to	be	found	the	full
prosperity	of	my	section	and	the	full	restoration	of	this	Union.	But,
sir,	if	the	negro	had	not	been	enfranchised	the	South	would	have
been	divided	and	the	Republic	united.	His	enfranchisement—against
which	I	enter	no	protest—holds	the	South	united	and	compact.	What
solution,	 then,	 can	 we	 offer	 for	 the	 problem?	 Time	 alone	 can


disclose	it	to	us.	We	simply	report	progress,	and	ask	your	patience.	If
the	problem	be	solved	at	all—and	I	firmly	believe	it	will,	though
nowhere	 else	 has	 it	 been—it	 will	 be	 solved	 by	 the	 people	 most
deeply	 bound	 in	 interest,	 most	 deeply	 pledged	 in	 honor	 to	 its
solution.	I	had	rather	see	my	people	render	back	this	question	rightly
solved	than	to	see	them	gather	all	the	spoils	over	which	faction	has
contended	since	Cataline	conspired	and	Cæsar	fought.	Meantime	we
treat	the	negro	fairly,	measuring	to	him	justice	in	the	fulness	the
strong	should	give	to	the	weak,	and	leading	him	in	the	steadfast
ways	 of	 citizenship,	 that	 he	 may	 no	 longer	 be	 the	 prey	 of	 the
unscrupulous	and	the	sport	of	the	thoughtless.	We	open	to	him	every
pursuit	in	which	he	can	prosper,	and	seek	to	broaden	his	training	and
capacity.	We	seek	to	hold	his	confidence	and	friendship—and	to	pin
him	to	the	soil	with	ownership,	that	he	may	catch	in	the	fire	of	his
own	hearthstone	that	sense	of	responsibility	the	shiftless	can	never
know.	 And	 we	 gather	 him	 into	 that	 alliance	 of	 intelligence	 and
responsibility	 that,	 though	 it	 now	 runs	 close	 to	 racial	 lines,
welcomes	the	responsible	and	intelligent	of	any	race.	By	this	course,
confirmed	 in	 our	 judgment,	 and	 justified	 in	 the	 progress	 already
made,	we	hope	to	progress	slowly	but	surely	to	the	end.

The	love	we	feel	for	that	race,	you	cannot	measure	nor	comprehend.
As	I	attest	it	here,	the	spirit	of	my	old	black	mammy,	from	her	home
up	there,	looks	down	to	bless,	and	through	the	tumult	of	this	night
steals	the	sweet	music	of	her	croonings	as	thirty	years	ago	she	held
me	 in	 her	 black	 arms	 and	 led	 me	 smiling	 to	 sleep.	 This	 scene
vanishes	as	I	speak,	and	I	catch	a	vision	of	an	old	Southern	home
with	its	lofty	pillars	and	its	white	pigeons	fluttering	down	through
the	golden	air.	I	see	women	with	strained	and	anxious	faces,	and
children	alert	yet	helpless.	I	see	night	come	down	with	its	dangers
and	its	apprehensions,	and	in	a	big	homely	room	I	feel	on	my	tired
head	the	touch	of	loving	hands—now	worn	and	wrinkled,	but	fairer
to	me	yet	than	the	hands	of	mortal	woman,	and	stronger	yet	to	lead
me	than	the	hands	of	mortal	man—as	they	lay	a	mother's	blessing
there,	while	at	her	knees—the	truest	altar	I	yet	have	found—I	thank
God	that	she	is	safe	in	her	sanctuary,	because	her	slaves,	sentinel	in
the	silent	cabin,	or	guard	at	her	chamber	door,	put	a	black	man's
loyalty	between	her	and	danger.


I	 catch	 another	 vision.	 The	 crisis	 of	 battle—a	 soldier,	 struck,
staggering,	fallen.	I	see	a	slave,	scuffing	through	the	smoke,	winding
his	black	arms	about	the	fallen	form,	reckless	of	hurtling	death—
bending	 his	 trusty	 face	 to	 catch	 the	 words	 that	 tremble	 on	 the
stricken	lips,	so	wrestling	meantime	with	agony	that	he	would	lay
down	his	life	in	his	master's	stead.	I	see	him	by	the	weary	bedside,
ministering	 with	 uncomplaining	 patience,	 praying	 with	 all	 his
humble	heart	that	God	will	lift	his	master	up,	until	death	comes	in
mercy	and	in	honor	to	still	the	soldier's	agony	and	seal	the	soldier's
life.	I	see	 him	by	the	 open	grave—mute,	motionless,	 uncovered,
suffering	for	the	death	of	him	who	in	life	fought	against	his	freedom.
I	see	him,	when	the	mold	is	heaped	and	the	great	drama	of	his	life	is
closed,	turn	away	and	with	downcast	eyes	and	uncertain	step	start
out	into	new	and	strange	fields,	faltering,	struggling,	but	moving	on,
until	 his	 shambling	 figure	 is	 lost	 in	 the	 light	 of	 this	 better	 and
brighter	day.	And	from	the	grave	comes	a	voice,	saying,	"Follow
him!	put	your	arms	about	him	in	his	need,	even	as	he	put	his	about
me.	Be	his	friend	as	he	was	mine."	And	out	into	this	new	world—
strange	to	me	as	to	him,	dazzling,	bewildering	both—I	follow!	And
may	God	forget	my	people—when	they	forget	these!

Whatever	the	future	may	hold	for	them,	whether	they	plod	along	in
the	 servitude	 from	 which	 they	 have	 never	 been	 lifted	 since	 the
Cyrenian	was	laid	hold	upon	by	the	Roman	soldiers,	and	made	to
bear	the	cross	of	the	fainting	Christ—whether	they	find	homes	again
in	Africa,	and	thus	hasten	the	prophecy	of	the	psalmist,	who	said,
"And	 suddenly	 Ethiopia	 shall	 hold	 out	 her	 hands	 unto	 God"—
whether	forever	dislocated	and	separate,	they	remain	a	weak	people,
beset	by	stronger,	and	exist,	as	the	Turk,	who	lives	in	the	jealousy
rather	 than	 in	 the	 conscience	 of	 Europe—or	 whether	 in	 this
miraculous	 Republic	 they	 break	 through	 the	 caste	 of	 twenty
centuries	 and,	 belying	 universal	 history,	 reach	 the	 full	 stature	 of
citizenship,	and	in	peace	maintain	it—we	shall	give	them	uttermost
justice	and	abiding	friendship.	And	whatever	we	do,	into	whatever
seeming	estrangement	we	may	be	driven,	nothing	shall	disturb	the
love	 we	 bear	 this	 Republic,	 or	 mitigate	 our	 consecration	 to	 its
service.	I	stand	here,	Mr.	President,	to	profess	no	new	loyalty.	When
General	Lee,	whose	heart	was	the	temple	of	our	hopes,	and	whose
arm	was	clothed	with	our	strength,	renewed	his	allegiance	to	this


Government	at	Appomattox,	he	spoke	from	a	heart	too	great	to	be
false,	and	he	spoke	for	every	honest	man	from	Maryland	to	Texas.
From	that	day	to	this	Hamilcar	has	nowhere	in	the	South	sworn
young	Hannibal	to	hatred	and	vengeance,	but	everywhere	to	loyalty
and	 to	 love.	 Witness	 the	 veteran	 standing	 at	 the	 base	 of	 a
Confederate	monument,	above	the	graves	of	his	comrades,	his	empty
sleeve	tossing	in	the	April	wind,	adjuring	the	young	men	about	him
to	serve	as	earnest	and	loyal	citizens	the	Government	against	which
their	 fathers	 fought.	 This	 message,	 delivered	 from	 that	 sacred
presence,	has	gone	home	to	the	hearts	of	my	fellows!	And,	sir,	I
declare	 here,	 if	 physical	 courage	 be	 always	 equal	 to	 human
aspiration,	 that	 they	 would	 die,	 sir,	 if	 need	 be,	 to	 restore	 this
Republic	their	fathers	fought	to	dissolve.

Such,	Mr.	President,	is	this	problem	as	we	see	it,	such	is	the	temper
in	which	we	approach	it,	such	the	progress	made.	What	do	we	ask	of
you?	 First,	 patience;	 out	 of	 this	 alone	 can	 come	 perfect	 work.
Second,	 confidence;	 in	 this	 alone	 can	 you	 judge	 fairly.	 Third,
sympathy;	in	this	you	can	help	us	best.	Fourth,	give	us	your	sons	as
hostages.	When	you	plant	your	capital	in	millions,	send	your	sons
that	they	may	know	how	true	are	our	hearts	and	may	help	to	swell
the	Caucasian	current	until	it	can	carry	without	danger	this	black
infusion.	Fifth,	loyalty	to	the	Republic—for	there	is	sectionalism	in
loyalty	as	in	estrangement.	This	hour	little	needs	the	loyalty	that	is
loyal	to	one	section	and	yet	holds	the	other	in	enduring	suspicion
and	estrangement.	Give	us	the	broad	and	perfect	loyalty	that	loves
and	trusts	Georgia	alike	with	Massachusetts—that	knows	no	South,
no	North,	no	East,	no	West,	but	endears	with	equal	and	patriotic	love
every	foot	of	our	soil,	every	State	of	our	Union.

A	mighty	duty,	sir,	and	a	mighty	inspiration	impels	every	one	of	us
to-night	 to	 lose	 in	 patriotic	 consecration	 whatever	 estranges,
whatever	divides.	We,	sir,	are	Americans—and	we	stand	for	human
liberty!	 The	 uplifting	 force	 of	 the	 American	 idea	 is	 under	every
throne	on	earth.	France,	Brazil—these	are	our	victories.	To	redeem
the	earth	from	kingcraft	and	oppression—this	is	our	mission!	And
we	shall	not	fail.	God	has	sown	in	our	soil	the	seed	of	His	millennial
harvest,	and	He	will	not	lay	the	sickle	to	the	ripening	crop	until	His
full	and	perfect	day	has	come.	Our	history,	sir,	has	been	a	constant


and	expanding	miracle,	from	Plymouth	Rock	and	Jamestown,	all	the
way—aye,	even	from	the	hour	when	from	the	voiceless	and	traceless
ocean	a	new	world	rose	to	the	sight	of	the	inspired	sailor.	As	we
approach	the	fourth	centennial	of	that	stupendous	day—when	the	old
world	will	come	to	marvel	and	to	learn	amid	our	gathered	treasures
—let	us	resolve	to	crown	the	miracles	of	our	past	with	the	spectacle
of	a	Republic,	compact,	united,	indissoluble	in	the	bonds	of	love—
loving	from	the	Lakes	to	the	Gulf—the	wounds	of	war	healed	in
every	heart	as	on	every	hill,	serene	and	resplendent	at	the	summit	of
human	 achievement	 and	 earthly	 glory,	 blazing	 out	 the	 path	 and
making	clear	the	way	up	which	all	the	nations	of	the	earth	must
come	in	God's	appointed	time!

### WILLIAM	McKINLEY

#### LAST	SPEECH

```
Delivered	at	the	World's	Fair,	Buffalo,	N.Y.,	on
September	5,	1901,	the	day	before	he	was	assassinated.
```
I	am	glad	again	to	be	in	the	city	of	Buffalo	and	exchange	greetings
with	her	people,	to	whose	generous	hospitality	I	am	not	a	stranger,
and	 with	 whose	 good	 will	 I	 have	 been	 repeatedly	 and	 signally
honored.	To-day	I	have	additional	satisfaction	in	meeting	and	giving
welcome	 to	 the	 foreign	 representatives	 assembled	 here,	 whose
presence	and	participation	in	this	Exposition	have	contributed	in	so
marked	a	degree	to	its	interest	and	success.	To	the	commissioners	of
the	 Dominion	 of	 Canada	 and	 the	 British	 Colonies,	 the	 French
Colonies,	 the	 Republics	 of	 Mexico	 and	 of	 Central	 and	 South
America,	and	the	commissioners	of	Cuba	and	Porto	Rico,	who	share
with	us	in	this	undertaking,	we	give	the	hand	of	fellowship	and
felicitate	with	them	upon	the	triumphs	of	art,	science,	education	and
manufacture	which	the	old	has	bequeathed	to	the	new	century.

Expositions	are	the	timekeepers	of	progress.	They	record	the	world's
advancement.	They	stimulate	the	energy,	enterprise	and	intellect	of
the	people,	and	quicken	human	genius.	They	go	into	the	home.	They
broaden	and	brighten	the	daily	life	of	the	people.	They	open	mighty
storehouses	of	information	to	the	student.	Every	exposition,	great	or


small,	has	helped	to	some	onward	step.

Comparison	of	ideas	is	always	educational	and,	as	such,	instructs	the
brain	and	hand	of	man.	Friendly	rivalry	follows,	which	is	the	spur	to
industrial	improvement,	the	inspiration	to	useful	invention	and	to
high	endeavor	in	all	departments	of	human	activity.	It	exacts	a	study
of	 the	 wants,	 comforts,	 and	 even	 the	 whims	 of	 the	 people,	 and
recognizes	the	efficacy	of	high	quality	and	low	prices	to	win	their
favor.	 The	 quest	 for	 trade	 is	 an	 incentive	 to	 men	 of	 business	 to
devise,	invent,	improve	and	economize	in	the	cost	of	production.
Business	life,	whether	among	ourselves,	or	with	other	peoples,	is
ever	a	sharp	struggle	for	success.	It	will	be	none	the	less	in	the
future.

Without	 competition	 we	 would	 be	 clinging	 to	 the	 clumsy	 and
antiquated	process	of	farming	and	manufacture	and	the	methods	of
business	 of	 long	 ago,	 and	 the	 twentieth	 would	 be	 no	 further
advanced	 than	 the	 eighteenth	 century.	 But	 tho	 commercial
competitors	we	are,	commercial	enemies	we	must	not	be.	The	Pan-
American	Exposition	has	done	its	work	thoroughly,	presenting	in	its
exhibits	evidences	of	the	highest	skill	and	illustrating	the	progress	of
the	human	family	in	the	Western	Hemisphere.	This	portion	of	the
earth	has	no	cause	for	humiliation	for	the	part	it	has	performed	in	the
march	of	civilization.	It	has	not	accomplished	everything;	far	from
it.	It	has	simply	done	its	best,	and	without	vanity	or	boastfulness,
and	recognizing	the	manifold	achievements	of	others	it	invites	the
friendly	rivalry	of	all	the	powers	in	the	peaceful	pursuits	of	trade	and
commerce,	and	will	cooperate	with	all	in	advancing	the	highest	and
best	interests	of	humanity.	The	wisdom	and	energy	of	all	the	nations
are	none	too	great	for	the	world	work.	The	success	of	art,	science,
industry	and	invention	is	an	international	asset	and	a	common	glory.

After	 all,	 how	 near	 one	 to	 the	 other	 is	 every	 part	 of	 the	 world.
Modern	inventions	have	brought	into	close	relation	widely	separated
peoples	and	make	them	better	acquainted.	Geographic	and	political
divisions	will	continue	to	exist,	but	distances	have	been	effaced.
Swift	ships	and	fast	trains	are	becoming	cosmopolitan.	They	invade
fields	 which	 a	 few	 years	 ago	 were	 impenetrable.	 The	 world's
products	 are	 exchanged	 as	 never	 before	 and	 with	 increasing
transportation	facilities	come	increasing	knowledge	and	larger	trade.


Prices	are	fixed	with	mathematical	precision	by	supply	and	demand.
The	world's	selling	prices	are	regulated	by	market	and	crop	reports.
We	travel	greater	distances	in	a	shorter	space	of	time	and	with	more
ease	than	was	ever	dreamed	of	by	the	fathers.	Isolation	is	no	longer
possible	 or	 desirable.	 The	 same	 important	 news	 is	 read,	 tho	 in
different	languages,	the	same	day	in	all	Christendom.

The	telegraph	keeps	us	advised	of	what	is	occurring	everywhere,	and
the	Press	foreshadows,	with	more	or	less	accuracy,	the	plans	and
purposes	of	the	nations.	Market	prices	of	products	and	of	securities
are	hourly	known	in	every	commercial	mart,	and	the	investments	of
the	people	extend	beyond	their	own	national	boundaries	into	 the
remotest	 parts	 of	 the	 earth.	 Vast	 transactions	 are	 conducted	 and
international	exchanges	are	made	by	the	tick	of	the	cable.	Every
event	of	interest	is	immediately	bulletined.	The	quick	gathering	and
transmission	of	news,	like	rapid	transit,	are	of	recent	origin,	and	are
only	made	possible	by	the	genius	of	the	inventor	and	the	courage	of
the	investor.	It	took	a	special	messenger	of	the	government,	with
every	facility	known	at	the	time	for	rapid	travel,	nineteen	days	to	go
from	the	City	of	Washington	to	New	Orleans	with	a	message	to
General	Jackson	that	the	war	with	England	had	ceased	and	a	treaty
of	peace	had	been	signed.	How	different	now!	We	reached	General
Miles,	in	Porto	Rico,	and	he	was	able	through	the	military	telegraph
to	stop	his	army	on	the	firing	line	with	the	message	that	the	United
States	and	Spain	had	signed	a	protocol	suspending	hostilities.	We
knew	almost	instanter	of	the	first	shots	fired	at	Santiago,	and	the
subsequent	 surrender	 of	 the	 Spanish	 forces	 was	 known	 at
Washington	within	less	than	an	hour	of	its	consummation.	The	first
ship	of	Cervera's	fleet	had	hardly	emerged	from	that	historic	harbor
when	the	fact	was	flashed	to	our	Capitol,	and	the	swift	destruction
that	followed	was	announced	immediately	through	the	wonderful
medium	of	telegraphy.

So	accustomed	are	we	to	safe	and	easy	communication	with	distant
lands	that	its	temporary	interruption,	even	in	ordinary	times,	results
in	loss	and	inconvenience.	We	shall	never	forget	the	days	of	anxious
waiting	and	suspense	when	no	information	was	permitted	to	be	sent
from	 Pekin,	 and	 the	 diplomatic	 representatives	 of	 the	 nations	 in
China,	cut	off	from	all	communication,	inside	and	outside	of	the


walled	capital,	were	surrounded	by	an	angry	and	misguided	mob	that
threatened	their	lives;	nor	the	joy	that	thrilled	the	world	when	a
single	message	from	the	government	of	the	United	States	brought
through	our	minister	the	first	news	of	the	safety	of	the	besieged
diplomats.

At	the	beginning	of	the	nineteenth	century	there	was	not	a	mile	of
steam	railroad	on	the	globe;	now	there	are	enough	miles	to	make	its
circuit	many	times.	Then	there	was	not	a	line	of	electric	telegraph;
now	we	have	a	vast	mileage	traversing	all	lands	and	seas.	God	and
man	 have	 linked	 the	 nations	 together.	 No	 nation	 can	 longer	 be
indifferent	to	any	other.	And	as	we	are	brought	more	and	more	in
touch	 with	 each	 other,	 the	 less	 occasion	 is	 there	 for
misunderstandings,	and	the	stronger	the	disposition,	when	we	have
differences,	to	adjust	them	in	the	court	of	arbitration,	which	is	the
noblest	forum	for	the	settlement	of	international	disputes.

My	fellow	citizens,	trade	statistics	indicate	that	this	country	is	in	a
state	of	unexampled	prosperity.	The	figures	are	almost	appalling.
They	show	that	we	are	utilizing	our	fields	and	forests	and	mines,	and
that	 we	 are	 furnishing	 profitable	 employment	 to	 the	 millions	 of
workingmen	 throughout	 the	 United	 States,	 bringing	 comfort	 and
happiness	to	their	homes,	and	making	it	possible	to	lay	by	savings
for	old	age	and	disability.	That	all	the	people	are	participating	in	this
great	prosperity	is	seen	in	every	American	community	and	shown	by
the	enormous	and	unprecedented	deposits	in	our	savings	banks.	Our
duty	 in	 the	 care	 and	 security	 of	 these	 deposits	 and	 their	 safe
investment	 demands	 the	 highest	 integrity	 and	 the	 best	 business
capacity	 of	 those	 in	 charge	 of	 these	 depositories	 of	 the	 people's
earnings.


We	have	a	vast	and	intricate	business,	built	up	through	years	of	toil
and	struggle	in	which	every	part	of	the	country	has	its	stake,	which
will	not	permit	of	either	neglect	or	of	undue	selfishness.	No	narrow,
sordid	policy	will	subserve	it.	The	greatest	skill	and	wisdom	on	the
part	of	manufacturers	and	producers	will	be	required	to	hold	and
increase	it.	Our	industrial	enterprises,	which	have	grown	to	such
great	proportions,	affect	the	homes	and	occupations	of	the	people
and	 the	 welfare	 of	 the	 country.	 Our	 capacity	 to	 produce	 has
developed	so	enormously	and	our	products	have	so	multiplied	that
the	problem	of	 more	markets	requires	 our	urgent	and	 immediate
attention.	Only	a	broad	and	enlightened	policy	will	keep	what	we
have.	No	other	policy	will	get	more.	In	these	times	of	marvelous
business	 energy	 and	 gain	 we	 ought	 to	 be	 looking	 to	 the	 future,
strengthening	 the	 weak	 places	 in	 our	 industrial	 and	 commercial
systems,	that	we	may	be	ready	for	any	storm	or	strain.

By	sensible	trade	arrangements	which	will	not	interrupt	our	home
production	we	shall	extend	the	outlets	for	our	increasing	surplus.	A
system	 which	 provides	 a	 mutual	 exchange	 of	 commodities	 is
manifestly	essential	to	the	continued	and	healthful	growth	of	our
export	trade.	We	must	not	repose	in	the	fancied	security	that	we	can
forever	sell	everything	and	buy	little	or	nothing.	If	such	a	thing	were
possible	it	would	not	be	best	for	us	or	for	those	with	whom	we	deal.
We	should	take	from	our	customers	such	of	their	products	as	we	can
use	 without	 harm	 to	 our	 industries	 and	 labor.	 Reciprocity	 is	 the
natural	outgrowth	of	our	wonderful	industrial	development	under	the
domestic	policy	now	firmly	established.

What	we	produce	beyond	our	domestic	consumption	must	have	a
vent	abroad.	The	excess	must	be	relieved	through	a	foreign	outlet,
and	we	should	sell	everywhere	we	can	and	buy	wherever	the	buying
will	enlarge	our	sales	and	productions,	and	thereby	make	a	greater
demand	for	home	labor.

The	period	of	exclusiveness	is	past.	The	expansion	of	our	trade	and
commerce	 is	 the	 pressing	 problem.	 Commercial	 wars	 are
unprofitable.	A	policy	of	good	will	and	friendly	trade	relations	will
prevent	reprisals.	Reciprocity	treaties	are	in	harmony	with	the	spirit
of	the	times;	measures	of	retaliation	are	not.	If,	perchance,	some	of


our	tariffs	are	no	longer	needed	for	revenue	or	to	encourage	and
protect	our	industries	at	home,	why	should	they	not	be	employed	to
extend	 and	 promote	 our	 markets	 abroad?	 Then,	 too,	 we	 have
inadequate	steamship	service.	New	lines	of	steamships	have	already
been	 put	 in	 commission	 between	 the	 Pacific	 coast	 ports	 of	 the
United	States	and	those	on	the	western	coasts	of	Mexico	and	Central
and	 South	 America.	 These	 should	 be	 followed	 up	 with	 direct
steamship	lines	between	the	western	coast	of	the	United	States	and
South	 American	 ports.	 One	 of	 the	 needs	 of	 the	 times	 is	 direct
commercial	lines	from	our	vast	fields	of	production	to	the	fields	of
consumption	that	we	have	but	barely	touched.	Next	in	advantage	to
having	the	thing	to	sell	is	to	have	the	conveyance	to	carry	it	to	the
buyer.	We	must	encourage	our	merchant	marine.	We	must	have	more
ships.	They	must	be	under	the	American	flag;	built	and	manned	and
owned	 by	 Americans.	 These	 will	 not	 only	 be	 profitable	 in	 a
commercial	 sense;	 they	 will	 be	 messengers	 of	 peace	 and	 amity
wherever	they	go.

We	must	build	the	Isthmian	canal,	which	will	unite	the	two	oceans
and	give	a	straight	line	of	water	communication	with	the	western
coasts	of	Central	and	South	America	and	Mexico.	The	construction
of	a	Pacific	cable	can	not	be	longer	postponed.	In	the	furtherance	of
these	objects	of	national	interest	and	concern	you	are	performing	an
important	part.	This	Exposition	would	have	touched	the	heart	of	that
American	statesman	whose	mind	was	ever	alert	and	thought	ever
constant	for	a	larger	commerce	and	a	truer	fraternity	of	the	republics
of	the	New	World.	His	broad	American	spirit	is	felt	and	manifested
here.	 He	 needs	 no	 identification	 to	 an	 assemblage	 of	 Americans
anywhere,	for	the	name	of	Blaine	is	inseparably	associated	with	the
Pan-American	movement	which	finds	here	practical	and	substantial
expression,	and	which	we	all	hope	will	be	firmly	advanced	by	the
Pan-American	Congress	that	assembles	this	autumn	in	the	capital	of
Mexico.	The	good	work	will	go	on.	It	can	not	be	stopped.	Those
buildings	will	disappear;	this	creation	of	art	and	beauty	and	industry
will	perish	from	sight,	but	their	influence	will	remain	to	"make	it
live	beyond	its	too	short	living	with	praises	and	thanksgiving."	Who
can	tell	the	new	thoughts	that	have	been	awakened,	the	ambitions
fired	and	the	high	achievements	that	will	be	wrought	through	this
Exposition?


Gentlemen,	let	us	ever	remember	that	our	interest	is	in	concord,	not
conflict;	and	that	our	real	eminence	rests	in	the	victories	of	peace,
not	those	of	war.	We	hope	that	all	who	are	represented	here	may	be
moved	to	higher	and	nobler	efforts	for	their	own	and	the	world's
good,	and	that	out	of	this	city	may	come	not	only	greater	commerce
and	 trade	 for	 us	 all,	 but,	 more	 essential	 than	 these,	 relations	 of
mutual	respect,	confidence	and	friendship	which	will	deepen	and
endure.	Our	earnest	prayer	is	that	God	will	graciously	vouchsafe
prosperity,	 happiness	 and	 peace	 to	 all	 our	 neighbors,	 and	 like
blessings	to	all	the	peoples	and	powers	of	earth.

### JOHN	HAY

#### TRIBUTE	TO	MCKINLEY

```
From	his	memorial	address	at	a	joint	session	of	the	Senate
and	House	of	Representatives	on	February	27,	1903.
```
For	the	third	time	the	Congress	of	the	United	States	are	assembled	to
commemorate	the	life	and	the	death	of	a	president	slain	by	the	hand
of	an	assassin.	The	attention	of	the	future	historian	will	be	attracted
to	the	features	which	reappear	with	startling	sameness	in	all	three	of
these	awful	crimes:	the	uselessness,	the	utter	lack	of	consequence	of
the	 act;	 the	 obscurity,	 the	 insignificance	 of	 the	 criminal;	 the
blamelessness—so	far	as	in	our	sphere	of	existence	the	best	of	men
may	be	held	blameless—of	the	victim.	Not	one	of	our	murdered
presidents	 had	 an	 enemy	 in	 the	 world;	 they	 were	 all	 of	 such
preeminent	purity	of	life	that	no	pretext	could	be	given	for	the	attack
of	passional	crime;	they	were	all	men	of	democratic	instincts,	who
could	never	have	offended	the	most	jealous	advocates	of	equity;
they	 were	 of	 kindly	 and	 generous	 nature,	 to	 whom	 wrong	 or
injustice	was	impossible;	of	moderate	fortune,	whose	slender	means
nobody	 could	 envy.	 They	 were	 men	 of	 austere	 virtue,	 of	 tender
heart,	of	eminent	abilities,	which	they	had	devoted	with	single	minds
to	the	good	of	the	Republic.	If	ever	men	walked	before	God	and	man
without	blame,	it	was	these	three	rulers	of	our	people.	The	only
temptation	to	attack	their	lives	offered	was	their	gentle	radiance—to
eyes	hating	the	light,	that	was	offense	enough.


The	stupid	uselessness	of	such	an	infamy	affronts	the	common	sense
of	the	world.	One	can	conceive	how	the	death	of	a	dictator	may
change	the	political	conditions	of	an	empire;	how	the	extinction	of	a
narrowing	line	of	kings	may	bring	in	an	alien	dynasty.	But	in	a	well-
ordered	Republic	like	ours	the	ruler	may	fall,	but	the	State	feels	no
tremor.	 Our	 beloved	 and	 revered	 leader	 is	 gone—but	 the	 natural
process	of	our	laws	provides	us	a	successor,	identical	in	purpose	and
ideals,	 nourished	 by	 the	 same	 teachings,	 inspired	 by	 the	 same
principles,	pledged	by	tender	affection	as	well	as	by	high	loyalty	to
carry	to	completion	the	immense	task	committed	to	his	hands,	and	to
smite	with	iron	severity	every	manifestation	of	that	hideous	crime
which	 his	 mild	 predecessor,	 with	 his	 dying	 breath,	 forgave.	 The
sayings	of	celestial	wisdom	have	no	date;	the	words	that	reach	us,
over	two	thousand	years,	out	of	the	darkest	hour	of	gloom	the	world
has	ever	known,	are	true	to	life	to-day:	"They	know	not	what	they
do."	The	blow	struck	at	our	dear	friend	and	ruler	was	as	deadly	as
blind	hate	could	make	it;	but	the	blow	struck	at	anarchy	was	deadlier
still.

How	many	countries	can	join	with	us	in	the	community	of	a	kindred
sorrow!	I	will	not	speak	of	those	distant	regions	where	assassination
enters	 into	 the	 daily	 life	 of	 government.	 But	 among	 the	 nations
bound	to	us	by	the	ties	of	familiar	intercourse—who	can	forget	that
wise	 and	 mild	 autocrat	 who	 had	 earned	 the	 proud	 title	 of	 the
liberator?	that	enlightened	and	magnanimous	citizen	whom	France
still	mourns?	that	brave	and	chivalrous	king	of	Italy	who	only	lived
for	 his	 people?	 and,	 saddest	 of	 all,	 that	 lovely	 and	 sorrowing
empress,	 whose	 harmless	 life	 could	 hardly	 have	 excited	 the
animosity	of	a	demon?	Against	that	devilish	spirit	nothing	avails,—
neither	virtue	nor	patriotism,	nor	age	nor	youth,	nor	conscience	nor
pity.	We	can	not	even	say	that	education	is	a	sufficient	safeguard
against	this	baleful	evil,—for	most	of	the	wretches	whose	crimes
have	so	shocked	humanity	in	recent	years	were	men	not	unlettered,
who	have	gone	from	the	common	schools,	through	murder	to	the
scaffold.

The	 life	 of	 William	 McKinley	 was,	 from	 his	 birth	 to	 his	 death,
typically	 American.	 There	 is	 no	 environment,	 I	 should	 say,
anywhere	 else	 in	 the	 world	 which	 could	 produce	 just	 such	 a


character.	 He	 was	 born	 into	 that	 way	 of	 life	 which	 elsewhere	 is
called	 the	 middle	 class,	 but	 which	 in	 this	 country	 is	 so	 nearly
universal	as	to	make	of	other	classes	an	almost	negligible	quantity.
He	was	neither	rich	nor	poor,	neither	proud	nor	humble;	he	knew	no
hunger	he	was	not	sure	of	satisfying,	no	luxury	which	could	enervate
mind	 or	 body.	 His	 parents	 were	 sober,	 God-fearing	 people;
intelligent	and	upright,	without	pretension	and	without	humility.	He
grew	up	in	the	company	of	boys	like	himself,	wholesome,	honest,
self-respecting.	 They	 looked	 down	 on	 nobody;	 they	 never	 felt	 it
possible	they	could	be	looked	down	upon.	Their	houses	were	the
homes	of	probity,	piety,	patriotism.	They	learned	in	the	admirable
school	readers	of	fifty	years	ago	the	lessons	of	heroic	and	splendid
life	which	have	come	down	from	the	past.	They	read	in	their	weekly
newspapers	the	story	of	the	world's	progress,	in	which	they	were
eager	to	take	part,	and	of	the	sins	and	wrongs	of	civilization	with
which	they	burned	to	do	battle.	It	was	a	serious	and	thoughtful	time.
The	 boys	 of	 that	 day	 felt	 dimly,	 but	 deeply,	 that	 days	 of	 sharp
struggle	and	high	achievement	were	before	them.	They	looked	at	life
with	the	wondering	yet	resolute	eyes	of	a	young	esquire	in	his	vigil
of	 arms.	 They	 felt	 a	 time	 was	 coming	 when	 to	 them	 should	 be
addressed	the	stern	admonition	of	the	Apostle,	"Quit	you	like	men;
be	strong."

The	men	who	are	living	to-day	and	were	young	in	1860	will	never
forget	the	glory	and	glamour	that	filled	the	earth	and	the	sky	when
the	long	twilight	of	doubt	and	uncertainty	was	ending	and	the	time
for	action	had	come.	A	speech	by	Abraham	Lincoln	was	an	event	not
only	of	high	moral	significance,	but	of	far-reaching	importance;	the
drilling	 of	 a	 militia	 company	 by	 Ellsworth	 attracted	 national
attention;	the	fluttering	of	the	flag	in	the	clear	sky	drew	tears	from
the	 eyes	 of	 young	 men.	 Patriotism,	 which	 had	 been	 a	 rhetorical
expression,	became	a	passionate	emotion,	in	which	instinct,	logic
and	feeling	were	fused.	The	country	was	worth	saving;	it	could	be
saved	only	by	fire;	no	sacrifice	was	too	great;	the	young	men	of	the
country	were	ready	for	the	sacrifice;	come	weal,	come	woe,	they
were	ready.

At	seventeen	years	of	age	William	McKinley	heard	this	summons	of
his	country.	He	was	the	sort	of	youth	to	whom	a	military	life	in


ordinary	 times	 would	 possess	 no	 attractions.	 His	 nature	 was	 far
different	from	that	of	the	ordinary	soldier.	He	had	other	dreams	of
life,	its	prizes	and	pleasures,	than	that	of	marches	and	battles.	But	to
his	mind	there	was	no	choice	or	question.	The	banner	floating	in	the
morning	 breeze	 was	 the	 beckoning	 gesture	 of	 his	 country.	 The
thrilling	notes	of	the	trumpet	called	him—him	and	none	other—into
the	ranks.	His	portrait	in	his	first	uniform	is	familiar	to	you	all—the
short,	stocky	figure;	the	quiet,	thoughtful	face;	the	deep,	dark	eyes.	It
is	the	face	of	a	lad	who	could	not	stay	at	home	when	he	thought	he
was	needed	in	the	field.	He	was	of	the	stuff	of	which	good	soldiers
are	made.	Had	he	been	ten	years	older	he	would	have	entered	at	the
head	of	a	company	and	come	out	at	the	head	of	a	division.	But	he
did	what	he	could.	He	enlisted	as	a	private;	he	learned	to	obey.	His
serious,	sensible	ways,	his	prompt,	alert	efficiency	soon	attracted	the
attention	of	his	superiors.	He	was	so	faithful	in	little	things	that	they
gave	him	more	and	more	to	do.	He	was	untiring	in	camp	and	on	the
march;	swift,	cool	and	fearless	in	fight.	He	left	the	army	with	field
rank	 when	 the	 war	 ended,	 brevetted	 by	 President	 Lincoln	 for
gallantry	in	battle.

In	coming	years	when	men	seek	to	draw	the	moral	of	our	great	Civil
War,	nothing	will	seem	to	them	so	admirable	in	all	the	history	of	our
two	magnificent	armies	as	the	way	in	which	the	war	came	to	a	close.
When	 the	 Confederate	 army	 saw	 the	 time	 had	 come,	 they
acknowledged	the	pitiless	logic	of	facts	and	ceased	fighting.	When
the	 army	 of	 the	 Union	 saw	 it	 was	 no	 longer	 needed,	 without	 a
murmur	or	question,	making	no	terms,	asking	no	return,	in	the	flush
of	victory	and	fulness	of	might,	it	laid	down	its	arms	and	melted
back	into	the	mass	of	peaceful	citizens.	There	is	no	event	since	the
nation	was	born	which	has	so	proved	its	solid	capacity	for	self-
government.	 Both	 sections	 share	 equally	 in	 that	 crown	 of	 glory.
They	had	held	a	debate	of	incomparable	importance	and	had	fought
it	out	with	equal	energy.	A	conclusion	had	been	reached—and	it	is	to
the	everlasting	honor	of	both	sides	that	they	each	knew	when	the
war	was	over	and	the	hour	of	a	lasting	peace	had	struck.	We	may
admire	 the	 desperate	 daring	 of	 others	 who	 prefer	 annihilation	 to
compromise,	 but	 the	 palm	 of	 common	 sense,	 and,	 I	 will	 say,	 of
enlightened	patriotism,	belongs	to	the	men	like	Grant	and	Lee,	who
knew	when	they	had	fought	enough	for	honor	and	for	country.


So	it	came	naturally	about	that	in	1876—the	beginning	of	the	second
century	of	the	Republic—he	began,	by	an	election	to	Congress,	his
political	career.	Thereafter	for	fourteen	years	this	chamber	was	his
home.	I	use	the	word	advisedly.	Nowhere	in	the	world	was	he	so	in
harmony	with	his	environment	as	here;	nowhere	else	did	his	mind
work	with	such	full	consciousness	of	its	powers.	The	air	of	debate
was	native	to	him;	here	he	drank	delight	of	battle	with	his	peers.	In
after	 days,	 when	 he	 drove	 by	 this	 stately	 pile,	 or	 when	 on	 rare
occasions	his	duty	called	him	here,	he	greeted	his	old	haunts	with
the	affectionate	zest	of	a	child	of	the	house;	during	all	the	last	ten
years	of	his	life,	filled	as	they	were	with	activity	and	glory,	he	never
ceased	to	be	homesick	for	this	hall.	When	he	came	to	the	presidency,
there	was	not	a	day	when	his	congressional	service	was	not	of	use	to
him.	Probably	no	other	president	has	been	in	such	full	and	cordial
communion	 with	 Congress,	 if	 we	 may	 except	 Lincoln	 alone.
McKinley	knew	the	legislative	body	thoroughly,	its	composition,	its
methods,	its	habit	of	thought.	He	had	the	profoundest	respect	for	its
authority	 and	 an	 inflexible	 belief	 in	 the	 ultimate	 rectitude	 of	 its
purposes.	Our	history	shows	how	surely	an	executive	courts	disaster
and	 ruin	 by	 assuming	 an	 attitude	 of	 hostility	 or	 distrust	 to	 the
Legislature;	and,	on	the	other	hand,	McKinley's	frank	and	sincere
trust	and	confidence	in	Congress	were	repaid	by	prompt	and	loyal
support	and	coöperation.	During	his	entire	term	of	office	this	mutual
trust	 and	 regard—so	 essential	 to	 the	 public	 welfare—was	 never
shadowed	by	a	single	cloud.

When	he	came	to	the	presidency	he	confronted	a	situation	of	the
utmost	 difficulty,	 which	 might	 well	 have	 appalled	 a	 man	 of	 less
serene	 and	 tranquil	 self-confidence.	 There	 had	 been	 a	 state	 of
profound	 commercial	 and	 industrial	 depression	 from	 which	 his
friends	had	said	his	election	would	relieve	the	country.	Our	relations
with	the	outside	world	left	much	to	be	desired.	The	feeling	between
the	Northern	and	Southern	sections	of	the	Union	was	lacking	in	the
cordiality	which	was	necessary	to	the	welfare	of	both.	Hawaii	had
asked	 for	 annexation	 and	 had	 been	 rejected	 by	 the	 preceding
administration.	There	was	a	state	of	things	in	the	Caribbean	which
could	not	permanently	endure.	Our	neighbor's	house	was	on	fire,	and
there	were	grave	doubts	as	to	our	rights	and	duties	in	the	premises.	A
man	either	weak	or	rash,	either	irresolute	or	headstrong,	might	have


brought	ruin	on	himself	and	incalculable	harm	to	the	country.

The	least	desirable	form	of	glory	to	a	man	of	his	habitual	mood	and
temper—that	of	successful	war—was	nevertheless	conferred	upon
him	by	uncontrollable	events.	He	felt	it	must	come;	he	deplored	its
necessity;	 he	 strained	 almost	 to	 breaking	 his	 relations	 with	 his
friends,	in	order,	first	to	prevent	and	then	to	postpone	it	to	the	latest
possible	moment.	But	when	the	die	was	cast,	he	labored	with	the
utmost	energy	and	ardor,	and	with	an	intelligence	in	military	matters
which	showed	how	much	of	the	soldier	still	survived	in	the	mature
statesman,	to	push	forward	the	war	to	a	decisive	close.	War	was	an
anguish	to	him;	he	wanted	it	short	and	conclusive.	His	merciful	zeal
communicated	 itself	 to	 his	 subordinates,	 and	 the	 war,	 so	 long
dreaded,	 whose	 consequences	 were	 so	 momentous,	 ended	 in	 a
hundred	days.

Mr.	McKinley	was	reelected	by	an	overwhelming	majority.	There
had	been	little	doubt	of	the	result	among	well-informed	people,	but
when	it	was	known,	a	profound	feeling	of	relief	and	renewal	of	trust
were	evident	among	the	leaders	of	capital	and	industry,	not	only	in
this	country,	but	everywhere.	They	felt	that	the	immediate	future
was	secure,	and	that	trade	and	commerce	might	safely	push	forward
in	every	field	of	effort	and	enterprise.

He	felt	that	the	harvest	time	was	come,	to	garner	in	the	fruits	of	so
much	planting	and	culture,	and	he	was	determined	that	nothing	he
might	 do	 or	 say	 should	 be	 liable	 to	 the	 reproach	 of	 a	 personal
interest.	Let	us	say	frankly	he	was	a	party	man;	he	believed	the
policies	advocated	by	him	and	his	friends	counted	for	much	in	the
country's	progress	and	prosperity.	He	hoped	in	his	second	term	to
accomplish	substantial	results	in	the	development	and	affirmation	of
those	policies.	I	spent	a	day	with	him	shortly	before	he	started	on	his
fateful	journey	to	Buffalo.	Never	had	I	seen	him	higher	in	hope	and
patriotic	 confidence.	 He	 was	 gratified	 to	 the	 heart	 that	 we	 had
arranged	a	treaty	which	gave	us	a	free	hand	in	the	Isthmus.	In	fancy
he	saw	the	canal	already	built	and	the	argosies	of	the	world	passing
through	it	in	peace	and	amity.	He	saw	in	the	immense	evolution	of
American	trade	the	fulfilment	of	all	his	dreams,	the	reward	of	all	his
labors.	He	was,	I	need	not	say,	an	ardent	protectionist,	never	more
sincere	 and	 devoted	 than	 during	 those	 last	 days	 of	 his	 life.	 He


regarded	reciprocity	as	the	bulwark	of	protection—not	a	breach,	but
a	fulfilment	of	the	law.	The	treaties	which	for	four	years	had	been
preparing	under	his	personal	supervision	he	regarded	as	ancillary	to
the	general	scheme.	He	was	opposed	to	any	revolutionary	plan	of
change	in	the	existing	legislation;	he	was	careful	to	point	out	that
everything	he	had	done	was	in	faithful	compliance	with	the	law
itself.

In	 that	 mood	 of	 high	 hope,	 of	 generous	 expectation,	 he	 went	 to
Buffalo,	and	there,	on	the	threshold	of	eternity,	he	delivered	that
memorable	speech,	worthy	for	its	loftiness	of	tone,	its	blameless
morality,	its	breadth	of	view,	to	be	regarded	as	his	testament	to	the
nation.	Through	all	his	pride	of	country	and	his	joy	of	its	success
runs	the	note	of	solemn	warning,	as	in	Kipling's	noble	hymn,	"Lest
We	Forget."

The	next	day	sped	the	bolt	of	doom,	and	for	a	week	after—in	an
agony	of	dread,	broken	by	illusive	glimpses	of	hope	that	our	prayers
might	be	answered—the	nation	waited	for	the	end.	Nothing	in	the
glorious	 life	 we	 saw	 gradually	 waning	 was	 more	 admirable	 and
exemplary	than	its	close.	The	gentle	humanity	of	his	words	when	he
saw	his	assailant	in	danger	of	summary	vengeance,	"Do	not	let	them
hurt	him;"	his	chivalrous	care	that	the	news	should	be	broken	gently
to	 his	 wife;	 the	 fine	 courtesy	 with	 which	 he	 apologized	 for	 the
damage	which	his	death	would	bring	to	the	great	Exhibition;	and	the
heroic	resignation	of	his	final	words,	"It	is	God's	way;	His	will,	not
ours,	be	done,"	were	all	the	instinctive	expressions	of	a	nature	so
lofty	 and	 so	 pure	 that	 pride	 in	 its	 nobility	 at	 once	 softened	 and
enhanced	the	nation's	sense	of	loss.	The	Republic	grieved	over	such
a	son,—but	is	proud	forever	of	having	produced	him.	After	all,	in
spite	of	its	tragic	ending,	his	life	was	extraordinarily	happy.	He	had,
all	his	days,	troops	of	friends,	the	cheer	of	fame	and	fruitful	labor;
and	he	became	at	last,

```
"On	fortune's	crowning	slope,
The	pillar	of	a	people's	hope,
The	center	of	a	world's	desire."
```
### WILLIAM	JENNINGS	BRYAN


#### THE	PRINCE	OF	PEACE[39]

#### (1894)

I	offer	no	apology	for	speaking	upon	a	religious	theme,	for	it	is	the
most	 universal	 of	 all	 themes.	 I	 am	 interested	 in	 the	 science	 of
government,	 but	 I	 am	 interested	 more	 in	 religion	 than	 in
government.	I	enjoy	making	a	political	speech—I	have	made	a	good
many	and	shall	make	more—but	I	would	rather	speak	on	religion
than	on	politics.	I	commenced	speaking	on	the	stump	when	I	was
only	 twenty,	 but	 I	 commenced	 speaking	 in	 the	 church	 six	 years
earlier—and	I	shall	be	in	the	church	even	after	I	am	put	of	politics.	I
feel	sure	of	my	ground	when	I	make	a	political	speech,	but	I	feel
even	more	certain	of	my	ground	when	I	make	a	religious	speech.	If	I
addrest	you	upon	the	subject	of	law	I	might	interest	the	lawyers;	if	I
discust	the	science	of	medicine	I	might	interest	the	physicians;	in
like	 manner	 merchants	 might	 be	 interested	 in	 comments	 on
commerce,	and	farmers	in	matters	pertaining	to	agriculture;	but	no
one	of	these	subjects	appeals	to	all.	Even	the	science	of	government,
tho	broader	than	any	profession	or	occupation,	does	not	embrace	the
whole	sum	of	life,	and	those	who	think	upon	it	differ	so	among
themselves	that	I	could	not	speak	upon	the	subject	so	as	to	please	a
part	of	the	audience	without	displeasing	others.	While	to	me	the
science	of	government	is	intensely	absorbing,	I	recognize	that	the
most	important	things	in	life	lie	outside	of	the	realm	of	government
and	that	more	depends	upon	what	the	individual	does	for	himself
than	upon	what	the	government	does	or	can	do	for	him.	Men	can	be
miserable	under	the	best	government	and	they	can	be	happy	under
the	worst	government.

Government	affects	but	a	part	of	the	life	which	we	live	here	and
does	not	deal	at	all	with	the	life	beyond,	while	religion	touches	the
infinite	circle	of	existence	as	well	as	the	small	arc	of	that	circle
which	we	spend	on	earth.	No	greater	theme,	therefore,	can	engage
our	attention.	If	I	discuss	questions	of	government	I	must	secure	the
coöperation	of	a	majority	before	I	can	put	my	ideas	into	practise,	but
if,	in	speaking	on	religion,	I	can	touch	one	human	heart	for	good,	I
have	not	spoken	in	vain	no	matter	how	large	the	majority	may	be
against	me.


Man	is	a	religious	being;	the	heart	instinctively	seeks	for	a	God.
Whether	he	worships	on	the	banks	of	the	Ganges,	prays	with	his	face
upturned	to	the	sun,	kneels	toward	Mecca	or,	regarding	all	space	as	a
temple,	 communes	 with	 the	 Heavenly	 Father	 according	 to	 the
Christian	creed,	man	is	essentially	devout.

There	are	honest	doubters	whose	sincerity	we	recognize	and	respect,
but	occasionally	I	find	young	men	who	think	it	smart	to	be	skeptical;
they	talk	as	if	it	were	an	evidence	of	larger	intelligence	to	scoff	at
creeds	and	to	refuse	to	connect	themselves	with	churches.	They	call
themselves	"Liberal,"	as	if	a	Christian	were	narrow	minded.	Some
go	so	far	as	to	assert	that	the	"advanced	thought	of	the	world"	has
discarded	the	idea	that	there	is	a	God.	To	these	young	men	I	desire	to
address	myself.

Even	some	older	people	profess	to	regard	religion	as	a	superstition,
pardonable	in	the	ignorant	but	unworthy	of	the	educated.	Those	who
hold	this	view	look	down	with	mild	contempt	upon	such	as	give	to
religion	a	definite	place	in	their	thoughts	and	lives.	They	assume	an
intellectual	 superiority	 and	 often	 take	 little	 pains	 to	 conceal	 the
assumption.	Tolstoy	administers	to	the	"cultured	crowd"	(the	words
quoted	are	his)	a	severe	rebuke	when	he	declares	that	the	religious
sentiment	rests	not	upon	a	superstitious	fear	of	the	invisible	forces	of
nature,	 but	 upon	 man's	 consciousness	 of	 his	 finiteness	 amid	 an
infinite	universe	and	of	his	sinfulness;	and	this	consciousness,	the
great	philosopher	adds,	man	can	never	outgrow.	Tolstoy	is	right;
man	recognizes	how	limited	are	his	own	powers	and	how	vast	is	the
universe,	and	he	leans	upon	the	arm	that	 _is_ 	stronger	than	his.	Man
feels	the	weight	of	his	sins	and	looks	for	One	who	is	sinless.

Religion	has	been	defined	by	Tolstoy	as	the	relation	which	man	fixes
between	 himself	 and	 his	 God,	 and	 morality	 as	 the	 outward
manifestation	 of	 this	 inward	 relation.	 Every	 one,	 by	 the	 time	 he
reaches	maturity,	has	fixt	some	relation	between	himself	and	God
and	no	material	change	in	this	relation	can	take	place	 without	 a
revolution	in	the	man,	for	this	relation	is	the	most	potent	influence
that	acts	upon	a	human	life.

Religion	is	the	foundation	of	morality	in	the	individual	and	in	the
group	 of	 individuals.	 Materialists	 have	 attempted	 to	 build	 up	 a


system	of	morality	upon	the	basis	of	enlightened	self-interest.	They
would	 have	 man	 figure	 out	 by	 mathematics	 that	 it	 pays	 him	 to
abstain	from	wrong-doing;	they	would	even	inject	an	element	of
selfishness	into	altruism,	but	the	moral	system	elaborated	by	the
materialists	has	several	defects.	First,	its	virtues	are	borrowed	from
moral	systems	based	upon	religion.	All	those	who	are	intelligent
enough	to	discuss	a	system	of	morality	are	so	saturated	with	the
morals	derived	from	systems	resting	upon	religion	that	they	cannot
frame	a	system	resting	upon	reason	alone.	Second,	as	it	rests	upon
argument	rather	than	upon	authority,	the	young	are	not	in	a	position
to	accept	or	reject.	Our	laws	do	not	permit	a	young	man	to	dispose
of	real	estate	until	he	is	twenty-one.	Why	this	restraint?	Because	his
reason	is	not	mature;	and	yet	a	man's	life	is	largely	moulded	by	the
environment	of	his	youth.	Third,	one	never	knows	just	how	much	of
his	decision	is	due	to	reason	and	how	much	is	due	to	passion	or	to
selfish	interest.	Passion	can	dethrone	the	reason—we	recognize	this
in	our	criminal	laws.	We	also	recognize	the	bias	of	self-interest	when
we	exclude	from	the	jury	every	man,	no	matter	how	reasonable	or
upright	he	may	be,	who	has	a	pecuniary	interest	in	the	result	of	the
trial.	And,	fourth,	one	whose	morality	rests	upon	a	nice	calculation
of	benefits	to	be	secured	spends	time	figuring	that	he	should	spend
in	 action.	 Those	 who	 keep	 a	 book	 account	 of	 their	 good	 deeds
seldom	do	enough	good	to	justify	keeping	books.	A	noble	life	cannot
be	built	upon	an	arithmetic;	it	must	be	rather	like	the	spring	that
pours	forth	constantly	of	that	which	refreshes	and	invigorates.

Morality	is	the	power	of	endurance	in	man;	and	a	religion	which
teaches	personal	responsibility	to	God	gives	strength	to	morality.
There	is	a	powerful	restraining	influence	in	the	belief	that	an	all-
seeing	 eye	 scrutinizes	 every	 thought	 and	 word	 and	 act	 of	 the
individual.

There	is	wide	difference	between	the	man	who	is	trying	to	conform
his	life	to	a	standard	of	morality	about	him	and	the	man	who	seeks
to	 make	 his	 life	 approximate	 to	 a	 divine	 standard.	 The	 former
attempts	to	live	up	to	the	standard,	if	it	is	above	him,	and	down	to	it,
if	it	is	below	him—and	if	he	is	doing	right	only	when	others	are
looking	he	is	sure	to	find	a	time	when	he	thinks	he	is	unobserved,
and	then	he	takes	a	vacation	and	falls.	One	needs	the	inner	strength


which	comes	with	the	conscious	presence	of	a	personal	God.	If	those
who	are	thus	fortified	sometimes	yield	to	temptation,	how	helpless
and	hopeless	must	those	be	who	rely	upon	their	own	strength	alone!

There	are	difficulties	to	be	encountered	in	religion,	but	there	are
difficulties	to	be	encountered	everywhere.	If	Christians	sometimes
have	doubts	and	fears,	unbelievers	have	more	doubts	and	greater
fears.	I	passed	through	a	period	of	skepticism	when	I	was	in	college
and	I	have	been	glad	ever	since	that	I	became	a	member	of	the
church	before	I	left	home	for	college,	for	it	helped	me	during	those
trying	days.	And	the	college	days	cover	the	dangerous	period	in	the
young	man's	life;	he	is	just	coming	into	possession	of	his	powers,
and	feels	stronger	than	he	ever	feels	afterward—and	he	thinks	he
knows	more	than	he	ever	does	know.

It	was	at	this	period	that	I	became	confused	by	the	different	theories
of	creation.	But	I	examined	these	theories	and	found	that	they	all
assumed	something	to	begin	with.	You	can	test	this	for	yourselves.
The	nebular	hypothesis,	for	instance,	assumes	that	matter	and	force
existed—matter	 in	 particles	 infinitely	 fine	 and	 each	 particle
separated	 from	 every	 other	 particle	 by	 space	 infinitely	 great.
Beginning	 with	 this	 assumption,	 force	 working	 on	 matter—
according	to	this	hypothesis—created	a	universe.	Well,	I	have	a	right
to	assume,	and	I	prefer	to	assume,	a	Designer	back	of	the	design—a
Creator	back	of	the	creation;	and	no	matter	how	long	you	draw	out
the	process	of	creation,	so	long	as	God	stands	back	of	it	you	cannot
shake	 my	 faith	 in	 Jehovah.	 In	 Genesis	 it	 is	 written	 that,	 in	 the
beginning,	God	created	the	heavens	and	the	earth,	and	I	can	stand	on
that	proposition	until	I	find	some	theory	of	creation	that	goes	farther
back	 than	 "the	 beginning."	 We	 must	 begin	 with	 something—we
must	start	somewhere—and	the	Christian	begins	with	God.

I	do	not	carry	the	doctrine	of	evolution	as	far	as	some	do;	I	am	not
yet	convinced	that	man	is	a	lineal	descendant	of	the	lower	animals.	I
do	not	mean	to	find	fault	with	you	if	you	want	to	accept	the	theory;
all	I	mean	to	say	is	that	while	you	may	trace	your	ancestry	back	to
the	monkey	if	you	find	pleasure	or	pride	in	doing	so,	you	shall	not
connect	me	with	your	family	tree	without	more	evidence	than	has
yet	been	produced.	I	object	to	the	theory	for	several	reasons.	First,	it
is	a	dangerous	theory.	If	a	man	links	himself	in	generations	with	the


monkey,	it	then	becomes	an	important	question	whether	he	is	going
toward	him	or	coming	from	him—and	I	have	seen	them	going	in
both	directions.	I	do	not	know	of	any	argument	that	can	be	used	to
prove	that	man	is	an	improved	monkey	that	may	not	be	used	just	as
well	to	prove	that	the	monkey	is	a	degenerate	man,	and	the	latter
theory	is	more	plausible	than	the	former.

It	is	true	that	man,	in	some	physical	characteristics	resembles	the
beast,	but	man	has	a	mind	as	well	as	a	body,	and	a	soul	as	well	as	a
mind.	The	mind	is	greater	than	the	body	and	the	soul	is	greater	than
the	mind,	and	I	object	to	having	man's	pedigree	traced	on	one-third
of	him	only—and	that	the	lowest	third.	Fairbairn,	in	his	"Philosophy
of	Christianity,"	lays	down	a	sound	proposition	when	he	says	that	it
is	not	sufficient	to	explain	man	as	an	animal;	that	it	is	necessary	to
explain	man	in	history—and	the	Darwinian	theory	does	not	do	this.
The	ape,	according	to	this	theory,	is	older	than	man	and	yet	the	ape
is	still	an	ape	while	man	is	the	author	of	the	marvelous	civilization
which	we	see	about	us.

One	 does	 not	 escape	 from	 mystery,	 however,	 by	 accepting	 this
theory,	for	it	does	not	explain	the	origin	of	life.	When	the	follower	of
Darwin	has	traced	the	germ	of	life	back	to	the	lowest	form	in	which
it	appears—and	to	follow	him	one	must	exercise	more	faith	than
religion	calls	for—he	finds	that	scientists	differ.	Those	who	reject
the	idea	of	creation	are	divided	into	two	schools,	some	believing	that
the	first	germ	of	life	came	from	another	planet	and	others	holding
that	it	was	the	result	of	spontaneous	generation.	Each	school	answers
the	arguments	advanced	by	the	other,	and	as	they	cannot	agree	with
each	other,	I	am	not	compelled	to	agree	with	either.

If	I	were	compelled	to	accept	one	of	these	theories	I	would	prefer	the
first,	for	if	we	can	chase	the	germ	of	life	off	this	planet	and	get	it	out
into	 space	 we	 can	 guess	 the	 rest	 of	 the	 way	 and	 no	 one	 can
contradict	 us,	 but	 if	 we	 accept	 the	 doctrine	 of	 spontaneous
generation	we	cannot	explain	why	spontaneous	generation	ceased	to
act	after	the	first	germ	was	created.

Go	back	as	far	as	we	may,	we	cannot	escape	from	the	creative	act,
and	it	is	just	as	easy	for	me	to	believe	that	God	created	man	 _as	he	is_
as	to	believe	that,	millions	of	years	ago,	He	created	a	germ	of	life


and	endowed	it	with	power	to	develop	into	all	that	we	see	to-day.	I
object	 to	 the	 Darwinian	 theory,	 until	 more	 conclusive	 proof	 is
produced,	because	I	fear	we	shall	lose	the	consciousness	of	God's
presence	in	our	daily	life,	if	we	must	accept	the	theory	that	through
all	the	ages	no	spiritual	force	has	touched	the	life	of	man	or	shaped
the	destiny	of	nations.

But	there	is	another	objection.	The	Darwinian	theory	represents	man
as	reaching	his	present	perfection	by	the	operation	of	the	law	of	hate
—the	merciless	law	by	which	the	strong	crowd	out	and	kill	off	the
weak.	If	this	is	the	law	of	our	development	then,	if	there	is	any	logic
that	can	bind	the	human	mind,	we	shall	turn	backward	toward	the
beast	 in	 proportion	 as	 we	 substitute	 the	 law	 of	 love.	 I	 prefer	 to
believe	that	love	rather	than	hatred	is	the	law	of	development.	How
can	hatred	be	the	law	of	development	when	nations	have	advanced
in	proportion	as	they	have	departed	from	that	law	and	adopted	the
law	of	love?

But,	I	repeat,	while	I	do	not	accept	the	Darwinian	theory	I	shall	not
quarrel	with	you	about	it;	I	only	refer	to	it	to	remind	you	that	it	does
not	solve	the	mystery	of	life	or	explain	human	progress.	I	fear	that
some	have	accepted	it	in	the	hope	of	escaping	from	the	miracle,	but
why	should	the	miracle	frighten	us?	And	yet	I	am	inclined	to	think
that	it	is	one	of	the	test	questions	with	the	Christian.

Christ	 cannot	 be	 separated	 from	 the	 miraculous;	 His	 birth,	 His
ministrations,	and	His	resurrection,	all	involve	the	miraculous,	and
the	 change	 which	 His	 religion	 works	 in	 the	 human	 heart	 is	 a
continuing	 miracle.	 Eliminate	 the	 miracles	 and	 Christ	 becomes
merely	a	human	being	and	His	gospel	is	stript	of	divine	authority.

The	miracle	raises	two	questions:	"Can	God	perform	a	miracle?"
and,	"Would	He	want	to?"	The	first	is	easy	to	answer.	A	God	who
can	make	a	world	can	do	anything	He	wants	to	do	with	it.	The	power
to	perform	miracles	is	necessarily	implied	in	the	power	to	create.
But	would	God	 _want_ 	to	perform	a	miracle?—this	is	the	question
which	has	given	most	of	the	trouble.	The	more	I	have	considered	it
the	less	inclined	I	am	to	answer	in	the	negative.	To	say	that	God
_would	 not_ perform	 a	 miracle	 is	 to	 assume	 a	 more	 intimate
knowledge	of	God's	plans	and	purposes	than	I	can	claim	to	have.	I


will	not	deny	that	God	does	perform	a	miracle	or	may	perform	one
merely	because	I	do	not	know	how	or	why	He	does	it.	I	find	it	so
difficult	to	decide	each	day	what	God	wants	done	now	that	I	am	not
presumptuous	enough	to	attempt	to	declare	what	God	might	have
wanted	to	do	thousands	of	years	ago.	The	fact	that	we	are	constantly
learning	of	the	existence	of	new	forces	suggests	the	possibility	that
God	 may	 operate	 through	 forces	 yet	 unknown	 to	 us,	 and	 the
mysteries	with	which	we	deal	every	day	warn	me	that	faith	is	as
necessary	 as	 sight.	 Who	 would	 have	 credited	 a	 century	 ago	 the
stories	that	are	now	told	of	the	wonder-working	electricity?	For	ages
man	had	known	the	lightning,	but	only	to	fear	it;	now,	this	invisible
current	is	generated	by	a	man-made	machine,	imprisoned	in	a	man-
made	wire	and	made	to	do	the	bidding	of	man.	We	are	even	able	to
dispense	with	the	wire	and	hurl	words	through	space,	and	the	X-ray
has	enabled	us	to	look	through	substances	which	were	supposed,
until	 recently,	 to	 exclude	 all	 light.	 The	 miracle	 is	 not	 more
mysterious	than	many	of	the	things	with	which	man	now	deals—it	is
simply	 different.	 The	 miraculous	 birth	 of	 Christ	 is	 not	 more
mysterious	than	any	other	conception—it	is	simply	unlike	it;	nor	is
the	 resurrection	 of	 Christ	 more	 mysterious	 than	 the	 myriad
resurrections	which	mark	each	annual	seed-time.

It	is	sometimes	said	that	God	could	not	suspend	one	of	His	laws
without	stopping	the	universe,	but	do	we	not	suspend	or	overcome
the	law	of	gravitation	every	day?	Every	time	we	move	a	foot	or	lift	a
weight	 we	 temporarily	 overcome	 one	 of	 the	 most	 universal	 of
natural	laws	and	yet	the	world	is	not	disturbed.

Science	 has	 taught	 us	 so	 many	 things	 that	 we	 are	 tempted	 to
conclude	 that	 we	 know	 everything,	 but	 there	 is	 really	 a	 great
unknown	which	is	still	unexplored	and	that	which	we	have	learned
ought	to	increase	our	reverence	rather	than	our	egotism.	Science	has
disclosed	some	of	the	machinery	of	the	universe,	but	science	has	not
yet	revealed	to	us	the	great	secret—the	secret	of	life.	It	is	to	be	found
in	every	blade	of	grass,	in	every	insect,	in	every	bird	and	in	every
animal,	as	well	as	in	man.	Six	thousand	years	of	recorded	history
and	yet	we	know	no	more	about	the	secret	of	life	than	they	knew	in
the	beginning.	We	live,	we	plan;	we	have	our	hopes,	our	fears;	and
yet	in	a	moment	a	change	may	come	over	anyone	of	us	and	this


body	will	become	a	mass	of	lifeless	clay.	What	is	it	that,	having,	we
live,	and	having	not,	we	are	as	the	clod?	The	progress	of	the	race
and	the	civilization	which	we	now	behold	are	the	work	of	men	and
women	who	have	not	yet	solved	the	mystery	of	their	own	lives.

And	our	food,	must	we	understand	it	before	we	eat	it?	If	we	refused
to	eat	anything	until	we	could	understand	the	mystery	of	its	growth,
we	would	die	of	starvation.	But	mystery	does	not	bother	us	in	the
dining-room;	it	is	only	in	the	church	that	it	is	a	stumbling	block.

I	was	eating	a	piece	of	watermelon	some	months	ago	and	was	struck
with	its	beauty.	I	took	some	of	the	seeds	and	dried	them	and	weighed
them,	and	found	that	it	would	require	some	five	thousand	seeds	to
weigh	a	pound;	and	then	I	applied	mathematics	to	that	forty-pound
melon.	One	of	these	seeds,	put	into	the	ground,	when	warmed	by	the
sun	and	moistened	by	the	rain,	takes	off	its	coat	and	goes	to	work;	it
gathers	 from	 somewhere	 two	 hundred	 thousand	 times	 its	 own
weight,	and	forcing	this	raw	material	through	a	tiny	stem,	constructs
a	watermelon.	It	ornaments	the	outside	with	a	covering	of	green;
inside	the	green	it	puts	a	layer	of	white,	and	within	the	white	a	core
of	red,	and	all	through	the	red	it	scatters	seeds,	each	one	capable	of
continuing	the	work	of	reproduction.	Where	does	that	little	seed	get
its	tremendous	power?	Where	does	it	find	its	coloring	matter?	How
does	it	collect	its	flavoring	extract?	How	does	it	build	a	watermelon?
Until	you	can	explain	a	watermelon,	do	not	be	too	sure	that	you	can
set	limits	to	the	power	of	the	Almighty	and	say	just	what	He	would
do	or	how	He	would	do	it.	I	cannot	explain	the	watermelon,	but	I	eat
it	and	enjoy	it.

The	egg	is	the	most	universal	of	foods	and	its	use	dates	from	the
beginning,	but	what	is	more	mysterious	than	an	egg?	When	an	egg	is
fresh	it	is	an	important	article	of	merchandise;	a	hen	can	destroy	its
market	value	in	a	week's	time,	but	in	two	weeks	more	she	can	bring
forth	from	it	what	man	could	not	find	in	it.	We	eat	eggs,	but	we
cannot	explain	an	egg.

Water	has	been	used	from	the	birth	of	man;	we	learned	after	it	had
been	used	for	ages	that	it	is	merely	a	mixture	of	gases,	but	it	is	far
more	important	that	we	have	water	to	drink	than	that	we	know	that	it
is	not	water.


Everything	 that	 grows	 tells	 a	 like	 story	 of	 infinite	 power.	 Why
should	I	deny	that	a	divine	hand	fed	a	multitude	with	a	few	loaves
and	fishes	when	I	see	hundreds	of	millions	fed	every	year	by	a	hand
which	converts	the	seeds	scattered	over	the	field	into	an	abundant
harvest?	We	know	that	food	can	be	multiplied	in	a	few	months'	time;
shall	we	deny	the	power	of	the	Creator	to	eliminate	the	element	of
time,	when	we	have	gone	so	far	in	eliminating	the	element	of	space?
Who	am	I	that	I	should	attempt	to	measure	the	arm	of	the	Almighty
with	my	puny	arm,	or	to	measure	the	brain	of	the	Infinite	with	my
finite	mind?	Who	am	I	that	I	should	attempt	to	put	metes	and	bounds
to	the	power	of	the	Creator?

But	there	is	something	even	more	wonderful	still—the	mysterious
change	that	takes	place	in	the	human	heart	when	the	man	begins	to
hate	 the	 things	 he	 loved	 and	 to	 love	 the	 things	 he	 hated—the
marvelous	transformation	that	takes	place	in	the	man	who,	before
the	change,	would	have	sacrificed	a	world	for	his	own	advancement
but	who,	after	the	change,	would	give	his	life	for	a	principle	and
esteem	it	a	privilege	to	make	sacrifice	for	his	convictions!	What
greater	miracle	than	this,	that	converts	a	selfish,	self-centered	human
being	into	a	center	from	which	good	influences	flow	out	in	every
direction!	And	yet	this	miracle	has	been	wrought	in	the	heart	of	each
one	of	us—or	may	be	wrought—and	we	have	seen	it	wrought	in	the
hearts	and	lives	of	those	about	us.	No,	living	a	life	that	is	a	mystery,
and	living	in	the	midst	of	mystery	and	miracles,	I	shall	not	allow
either	to	deprive	me	of	the	benefits	of	the	Christian	religion.	If	you
ask	me	if	I	understand	everything	in	the	Bible,	I	answer,	no,	but	if
we	will	try	to	live	up	to	what	we	do	understand,	we	will	be	kept	so
busy	 doing	 good	 that	 we	 will	 not	 have	 time	 to	 worry	 about	 the
passages	which	we	do	not	understand.

Some	of	those	who	question	the	miracle	also	question	the	theory	of
atonement;	 they	 assert	 that	 it	 does	 not	 accord	 with	 their	 idea	 of
justice	for	one	to	die	for	all.	Let	each	one	bear	his	own	sins	and	the
punishments	 due	 for	 them,	 they	 say.	 The	 doctrine	 of	 vicarious
suffering	is	not	a	new	one;	it	is	as	old	as	the	race.	That	one	should
suffer	for	others	is	one	of	the	most	familiar	of	principles	and	we	see
the	principle	illustrated	every	day	of	our	lives.	Take	the	family,	for
instance;	from	the	day	the	mother's	first	child	is	born,	for	twenty	or


thirty	years	her	children	are	scarcely	out	of	her	waking	thoughts.	Her
life	trembles	in	the	balance	at	each	child's	birth;	she	sacrifices	for
them,	she	surrenders	herself	to	them.	Is	it	because	she	expects	them
to	pay	her	back?	Fortunate	for	the	parent	and	fortunate	for	the	child
if	the	latter	has	an	opportunity	to	repay	in	part	the	debt	it	owes.	But
no	child	can	compensate	a	parent	for	a	parent's	care.	In	the	course	of
nature	the	debt	is	paid,	not	to	the	parent,	but	to	the	next	generation,
and	 the	 next—each	 generation	 suffering,	 sacrificing	 for	 and
surrendering	itself	to	the	generation	that	follows.	This	is	the	law	of
our	lives.

Nor	is	this	confined	to	the	family.	Every	step	in	civilization	has	been
made	 possible	 by	 those	 who	 have	 been	 willing	 to	 sacrifice	 for
posterity.	 Freedom	 of	 speech,	 freedom	 of	 the	 press,	 freedom	 of
conscience	and	free	government	have	all	been	won	for	the	world	by
those	who	were	willing	to	labor	unselfishly	for	their	fellows.	So	well
established	is	this	doctrine	that	we	do	not	regard	anyone	as	great
unless	he	recognizes	how	unimportant	his	life	is	in	comparison	with
the	problems	with	which	he	deals.

I	find	proof	that	man	was	made	in	the	image	of	his	Creator	in	the
fact	that,	throughout	the	centuries,	man	has	been	willing	to	die,	if
necessary,	 that	 blessings	 denied	 to	 him	 might	 be	 enjoyed	 by	 his
children,	his	children's	children	and	the	world.

The	seeming	paradox:	"He	that	saveth	his	life	shall	lose	it	and	he
that	loseth	his	life	for	my	sake	shall	find	it,"	has	an	application	wider
than	that	usually	given	to	it;	it	is	an	epitome	of	history.	Those	who
live	only	for	themselves	live	little	lives,	but	those	who	stand	ready	to
give	 themselves	 for	 the	 advancement	 of	 things	 greater	 than
themselves	 find	 a	 larger	 life	 than	 the	 one	 they	 would	 have
surrendered.	Wendell	Phillips	gave	expression	to	the	same	idea	when
he	said,	"What	imprudent	men	the	benefactors	of	the	race	have	been.
How	prudently	most	men	sink	into	nameless	graves,	while	now	and
then	a	few	 _forget_ 	themselves	into	immortality."	We	win	immortality,
not	 by	 remembering	 ourselves,	 but	 by	 forgetting	 ourselves	 in
devotion	to	things	larger	than	ourselves.

Instead	of	being	an	unnatural	plan,	the	plan	of	salvation	is	in	perfect
harmony	with	human	nature	as	we	understand	it.	Sacrifice	is	the


language	of	love,	and	Christ,	in	suffering	for	the	world,	adopted	the
only	means	of	reaching	the	heart.	This	can	be	demonstrated	not	only
by	theory	but	by	experience,	for	the	story	of	His	life,	His	teachings,
His	sufferings	and	His	death	has	been	translated	into	every	language
and	everywhere	it	has	touched	the	heart.

But	if	I	were	going	to	present	an	argument	in	favor	of	the	divinity	of
Christ,	I	would	not	begin	with	miracles	or	mystery	or	with	the	theory
of	atonement.	I	would	begin	as	Carnegie	Simpson	does	in	his	book
entitled,	"The	Fact	of	Christ."	Commencing	with	the	undisputed	fact
that	Christ	lived,	he	points	out	that	one	cannot	contemplate	this	fact
without	feeling	that	in	some	way	it	is	related	to	those	now	living.	He
says	that	one	can	read	of	Alexander,	of	Cæsar	or	of	Napoleon,	and
not	feel	that	it	is	a	matter	of	personal	concern;	but	that	when	one
reads	that	Christ	lived,	and	how	He	lived	and	how	He	died,	he	feels
that	somehow	there	is	a	cord	that	stretches	from	that	life	to	his.	As
he	studies	the	character	of	Christ	he	becomes	conscious	of	certain
virtues	 which	 stand	 out	 in	 bold	 relief—His	 purity,	 His	 forgiving
spirit,	 and	 His	 unfathomable	 love.	 The	 author	 is	 correct,	 Christ
presents	 an	 example	 of	 purity	 in	 thought	 and	 life,	 and	 man,
conscious	 of	 his	 own	 imperfections	 and	 grieved	 over	 his
shortcomings,	finds	inspiration	in	the	fact	that	He	was	tempted	in	all
points	like	as	we	are,	and	yet	without	sin.	I	am	not	sure	but	that	each
can	 find	 just	 here	 a	 way	 of	 determining	 for	 himself	 whether	 he
possesses	the	true	spirit	of	a	Christian.	If	the	sinlessness	of	Christ
inspires	within	him	an	earnest	desire	to	conform	his	life	more	nearly
to	the	perfect	example,	he	is	indeed	a	follower;	if,	on	the	other	hand,
he	resents	the	reproof	which	the	purity	of	Christ	offers,	and	refuses
to	mend	his	ways,	he	has	yet	to	be	born	again.

The	most	difficult	of	all	the	virtues	to	cultivate	is	the	forgiving	spirit.
Revenge	seems	to	be	natural	with	man;	it	is	human	to	want	to	get
even	 with	 an	 enemy.	 It	 has	 even	 been	 popular	 to	 boast	 of
vindictiveness;	it	was	once	inscribed	on	a	man's	monument	that	he
had	repaid	both	friends	and	enemies	more	than	he	had	received.	This
was	 not	 the	 spirit	 of	 Christ.	 He	 taught	 forgiveness	 and	 in	 that
incomparable	prayer	which	He	left	as	model	for	our	petitions,	He
made	our	willingness	to	forgive	the	measure	by	which	we	may	claim
forgiveness.	He	not	only	taught	forgiveness	but	He	exemplified	His


teachings	in	His	life.	When	those	who	persecuted	Him	brought	Him
to	the	most	disgraceful	of	all	deaths,	His	spirit	of	forgiveness	rose
above	His	sufferings	and	He	prayed,	"Father,	forgive	them,	for	they
know	not	what	they	do!"

But	love	is	the	foundation	of	Christ's	creed.	The	world	had	known
love	 before;	 parents	 had	 loved	 their	 children,	 and	 children	 their
parents;	husbands	had	loved	their	wives,	and	wives	their	husbands;
and	friend	had	loved	friend;	but	Jesus	gave	a	new	definition	of	love.
His	love	was	as	wide	as	the	sea;	its	limits	were	so	far-flung	that	even
an	enemy	could	not	travel	beyond	its	bounds.	Other	teachers	sought
to	 regulate	 the	 lives	 of	 their	 followers	 by	 rule	 and	 formula,	 but
Christ's	plan	was	to	purify	the	heart	and	then	to	leave	love	to	direct
the	footsteps.

What	conclusion	is	to	be	drawn	from	the	life,	the	teachings	and	the
death	of	this	historic	figure?	Reared	in	a	carpenter	shop;	with	no
knowledge	of	literature,	save	Bible	literature;	with	no	acquaintance
with	philosophers	living	or	with	the	writings	of	sages	dead,	when
only	 about	 thirty	 years	 old	 He	 gathered	 disciples	 about	 Him,
promulgated	a	higher	code	of	morals	than	the	world	had	ever	known
before,	 and	 proclaimed	 Himself	 the	 Messiah.	 He	 taught	 and
performed	miracles	for	a	few	brief	months	and	then	was	crucified;
His	disciples	were	scattered	and	many	of	them	put	to	death;	His
claims	 were	 disputed,	 His	 resurrection	 denied	 and	 His	 followers
persecuted;	and	yet	from	this	beginning	His	religion	spread	until
hundreds	of	millions	have	taken	His	name	with	reverence	upon	their
lips	and	millions	have	been	willing	to	die	rather	than	surrender	the
faith	which	He	put	into	their	hearts.	How	shall	we	account	for	Him?
Here	 is	 the	 greatest	 fact	 of	 history;	 here	 is	 One	 who	 has	 with
increasing	power,	for	nineteen	hundred	years,	moulded	the	hearts,
the	thoughts	and	the	lives	of	men,	and	He	exerts	more	influence	to-
day	 than	 ever	 before.	 "What	 think	 ye	 of	 Christ?"	 It	 is	 easier	 to
believe	Him	divine	than	to	explain	in	any	other	way	what	he	said
and	did	and	was.	And	I	have	greater	faith,	even	than	before,	since	I
have	visited	the	Orient	and	witnessed	the	successful	contest	which
Christianity	is	waging	against	the	religions	and	philosophies	of	the
East.

I	was	thinking	a	few	years	ago	of	the	Christmas	which	was	then


approaching	and	of	Him	in	whose	honor	the	day	is	celebrated.	I
recalled	the	message,	"Peace	on	earth,	good	will	to	men,"	and	then
my	thoughts	ran	back	to	the	prophecy	uttered	centuries	before	His
birth,	in	which	He	was	described	as	the	Prince	of	Peace.	To	reinforce
my	 memory	 I	 re-read	 the	 prophecy	 and	 I	 found	 immediately
following	a	verse	which	I	had	forgotten—a	verse	which	declares	that
of	the	increase	of	His	peace	and	government	there	shall	be	no	end,
And,	Isaiah	adds,	that	He	shall	judge	His	people	with	justice	and
with	judgment.	I	had	been	reading	of	the	rise	and	fall	of	nations,	and
occasionally	 I	 had	 met	 a	 gloomy	 philosopher	 who	 preached	 the
doctrine	that	nations,	like	individuals,	must	of	necessity	have	their
birth,	their	infancy,	their	maturity	and	finally	their	decay	and	death.
But	 here	 I	 read	 of	 a	 government	 that	 is	 to	 be	 perpetual—a
government	of	increasing	peace	and	blessedness—the	government
of	the	Prince	of	Peace—and	it	is	to	rest	on	justice.	I	have	thought	of
this	 prophecy	 many	 times	 during	 the	 last	 few	 years,	 and	 I	 have
selected	this	theme	that	I	might	present	some	of	the	reasons	which
lead	me	to	believe	that	Christ	has	fully	earned	the	right	to	be	called
The	Prince	of	Peace—a	title	that	will	in	the	years	to	come	be	more
and	more	applied	to	Him.	If	he	can	bring	peace	to	each	individual
heart,	and	if	His	creed	when	applied	will	bring	peace	throughout	the
earth,	who	will	deny	His	right	to	be	called	the	Prince	of	Peace?

All	the	world	is	in	search	of	peace;	every	heart	that	ever	beat	has
sought	for	peace,	and	many	have	been	the	methods	employed	to
secure	it.	Some	have	thought	to	purchase	it	with	riches	and	have
labored	to	secure	wealth,	hoping	to	find	peace	when	they	were	able
to	go	where	they	pleased	and	buy	what	they	liked.	Of	those	who
have	endeavored	to	purchase	peace	with	money,	the	large	majority
have	failed	to	secure	the	money.	But	what	has	been	the	experience	of
those	who	have	been	eminently	successful	in	finance?	They	all	tell
the	same	story,	viz.,	that	they	spent	the	first	half	of	their	lives	trying
to	get	money	from	others	and	the	last	half	trying	to	keep	others	from
getting	their	money,	and	that	they	found	peace	in	neither	half.	Some
have	even	reached	the	point	where	they	find	difficulty	in	getting
people	to	accept	their	money;	and	I	know	of	no	better	indication	of
the	ethical	awakening	in	this	country	than	the	increasing	tendency	to
scrutinize	the	methods	of	money-making.	I	am	sanguine	enough	to
believe	 that	 the	 time	 will	 yet	 come	 when	 respectability	 will	 no


longer	be	sold	to	great	criminals	by	helping	them	to	spend	their	ill-
gotten	gains.	A	long	step	in	advance	will	have	been	taken	when
religious,	educational	and	charitable	institutions	refuse	to	condone
conscienceless	 methods	 in	 business	 and	 leave	 the	 possessor	 of
illegitimate	 accumulations	 to	 learn	 how	 lonely	 life	 is	 when	 one
prefers	money	to	morals.

Some	have	sought	peace	in	social	distinction,	but	whether	they	have
been	within	the	charmed	circle	and	fearful	lest	they	might	fall	out,	or
outside,	and	hopeful	that	they	might	get	in,	they	have	not	found
peace.	Some	have	thought,	vain	thought,	to	find	peace	in	political
prominence;	but	whether	office	comes	by	birth,	as	in	monarchies,	or
by	election,	as	in	republics,	it	does	not	bring	peace.	An	office	is	not
considered	a	high	one	if	all	can	occupy	it.	Only	when	few	in	a
generation	can	hope	to	enjoy	an	honor	do	we	call	it	a	great	honor.	I
am	glad	that	our	Heavenly	Father	did	not	make	the	peace	of	the
human	heart	to	depend	upon	our	ability	to	buy	it	with	money,	secure
it	in	society,	or	win	it	at	the	polls,	for	in	either	case	but	few	could
have	 obtained	 it,	 but	 when	 He	 made	 peace	 the	 reward	 of	 a
conscience	void	of	offense	toward	God	and	man,	He	put	it	within	the
reach	of	all.	The	poor	can	secure	it	as	easily	as	the	rich,	the	social
outcasts	as	freely	as	the	leader	of	society,	and	the	humblest	citizen
equally	with	those	who	wield	political	power.

To	those	who	have	grown	gray	in	the	Church,	I	need	not	speak	of	the
peace	 to	 be	 found	 in	 faith	 in	 God	 and	 trust	 in	 an	 overruling
Providence.	Christ	taught	that	our	lives	are	precious	in	the	sight	of
God,	 and	 poets	 have	 taken	 up	 the	 thought	 and	 woven	 it	 into
immortal	verse.	No	uninspired	writer	has	exprest	it	more	beautifully
than	 William	 Cullen	 Bryant	 in	 his	 Ode	 to	 a	 Waterfowl.	 After
following	the	wanderings	of	the	bird	of	passage	as	it	seeks	first	its
southern	and	then	its	northern	home,	he	concludes:


```
Thou	art	gone;	the	abyss	of	heaven
Hath	swallowed	up	thy	form,	but	on	my
heart
Deeply	hath	sunk	the	lesson	thou	hast	given,
And	shall	not	soon	depart.
```
```
He	who,	from	zone	to	zone,
Guides	through	the	boundless	sky	thy	certain
flight,
In	the	long	way	that	I	must	tread	alone,
Will	lead	my	steps	aright.
```
Christ	 promoted	 peace	 by	 giving	 us	 assurance	 that	 a	 line	 of
communication	can	be	established	between	the	Father	above	and	the
child	below.	And	who	will	measure	the	consolations	of	the	hour	of
prayer?

And	immortality!	Who	will	estimate	the	peace	which	a	belief	in	a
future	life	has	brought	to	the	sorrowing	hearts	of	the	sons	of	men?
You	may	talk	to	the	young	about	death	ending	all,	for	life	is	full	and
hope	is	strong,	but	preach	not	this	doctrine	to	the	mother	who	stands
by	the	death-bed	of	her	babe	or	to	one	who	is	within	the	shadow	of	a
great	 affliction.	 When	 I	 was	 a	 young	 man	 I	 wrote	 to	 Colonel
Ingersoll	and	asked	him	for	his	views	on	God	and	immortality.	His
secretary	 answered	 that	 the	 great	 infidel	 was	 not	 at	 home,	 but
enclosed	a	copy	of	a	speech	of	Col.	Ingersoll's	which	covered	my
question.	I	scanned	it	with	eagerness	and	found	that	he	had	exprest
himself	about	as	follows:	"I	do	not	say	that	there	is	no	God,	I	simply
say	I	do	not	know.	I	do	not	say	that	there	is	no	life	beyond	the	grave,
I	simply	say	I	do	not	know."	And	from	that	day	to	this	I	have	asked
myself	the	question	and	have	been	unable	to	answer	it	to	my	own
satisfaction,	how	could	anyone	find	pleasure	in	taking	from	a	human
heart	a	living	faith	and	substituting	therefor	the	cold	and	cheerless
doctrine,	"I	do	not	know."

Christ	gave	us	proof	of	immortality	and	it	was	a	welcome	assurance,
altho	it	would	hardly	seem	necessary	that	one	should	rise	from	the
dead	to	convince	us	that	the	grave	is	not	the	end.	To	every	created
thing	God	has	given	a	tongue	that	proclaims	a	future	life.


If	 the	 Father	 deigns	 to	 touch	 with	 divine	 power	 the	 cold	 and
pulseless	heart	of	the	buried	acorn	and	to	make	it	burst	forth	from	its
prison	walls,	will	he	leave	neglected	in	the	earth	the	soul	of	man,
made	in	the	image	of	his	Creator?	If	he	stoops	to	give	to	the	rose
bush,	whose	withered	blossoms	float	upon	the	autumn	breeze,	the
sweet	assurance	of	another	springtime,	will	He	refuse	the	words	of
hope	to	the	sons	of	men	when	the	frosts	of	winter	come?	If	matter,
mute	 and	 inanimate,	 tho	 changed	 by	 the	 forces	 of	 nature	 into	 a
multitude	of	forms,	can	never	die,	will	the	imperial	spirit	of	man
suffer	annihilation	when	it	has	paid	a	brief	visit	like	a	royal	guest	to
this	tenement	of	clay?	No,	I	am	sure	that	He	who,	notwithstanding
his	 apparent	 prodigality,	 created	 nothing	 without	 a	 purpose,	 and
wasted	not	a	single	atom	in	all	his	creation,	has	made	provision	for	a
future	life	in	which	man's	universal	longing	for	immortality	will	find
its	realization.	I	am	as	sure	that	we	live	again	as	I	am	sure	that	we
live	to-day.

In	Cairo	I	secured	a	few	grains	of	wheat	that	had	slumbered	for	more
than	thirty	centuries	in	an	Egyptian	tomb.	As	I	looked	at	them	this
thought	came	into	my	mind:	If	one	of	those	grains	had	been	planted
on	the	banks	of	the	Nile	the	year	after	it	grew,	and	all	its	lineal
descendants	 had	 been	 planted	 and	 replanted	 from	 that	 time	 until
now,	its	progeny	would	to-day	be	sufficiently	numerous	to	feed	the
teeming	millions	of	the	world.	An	unbroken	chain	of	life	connects
the	earliest	grains	of	wheat	with	the	grains	that	we	sow	and	reap.
There	is	in	the	grain	of	wheat	an	invisible	something	 which	 has
power	 to	 discard	 the	 body	 that	 we	 see,	 and	 from	 earth	 and	 air
fashion	a	new	body	so	much	like	the	old	one	that	we	cannot	tell	the
one	from	the	other.	If	this	invisible	germ	of	life	in	the	grain	of	wheat
can	 thus	 pass	 unimpaired	 through	 three	 thousand	 resurrections,	 I
shall	not	doubt	that	my	soul	has	power	to	clothe	itself	with	a	body
suited	to	its	new	existence	when	this	earthly	frame	has	crumbled	into
dust.

A	belief	in	immortality	not	only	consoles	the	individual,	but	it	exerts
a	powerful	influence	in	bringing	peace	between	individuals.	If	one
actually	thinks	that	man	dies	as	the	brute	dies,	he	will	yield	more
easily	to	the	temptation	to	do	injustice	to	his	neighbor	when	the
circumstances	are	such	as	to	promise	security	from	detection.	But	if


one	 really	 expects	 to	 meet	 again,	 and	 live	 eternally	 with,	 those
whom	he	knows	to-day,	he	is	restrained	from	evil	deeds	by	the	fear
of	endless	remorse.	We	do	not	know	what	rewards	are	in	store	for	us
or	what	punishments	may	be	reserved,	but	if	there	were	no	other	it
would	 be	 some	 punishment	 for	 one	 who	 deliberately	 and
consciously	wrongs	another	to	have	to	live	forever	in	the	company
of	the	person	wronged	and	have	his	littleness	and	selfishness	laid
bare.	 I	 repeat,	 a	 belief	 in	 immortality	 must	 exert	 a	 powerful
influence	in	establishing	justice	between	men	and	thus	laying	the
foundation	for	peace.

Again,	Christ	deserves	to	be	called	The	Prince	of	Peace	because	He
has	given	us	a	measure	of	greatness	which	promotes	peace.	When
His	disciples	quarreled	among	themselves	as	to	which	should	be
greatest	in	the	Kingdom	of	Heaven,	He	rebuked	them	and	said:	"Let
him	who	would	be	chiefest	among	you	be	the	servant	of	all."	Service
is	the	measure	of	greatness;	it	always	has	been	true;	it	is	true	to-day,
and	it	always	will	be	true,	that	he	is	greatest	who	does	the	most	of
good.	 And	 how	 this	 old	 world	 will	 be	 transformed	 when	 this
standard	of	greatness	becomes	the	standard	of	every	life!	Nearly	all
of	our	controversies	and	combats	grow	out	of	the	fact	that	we	are
trying	to	get	something	from	each	other—there	will	be	peace	when
our	 aim	 is	 to	 do	 something	 for	 each	 other.	 Our	 enmities	 and
animosities	arise	largely	from	our	efforts	to	get	as	much	as	possible
out	of	the	world—there	will	be	peace	when	our	endeavor	is	to	put	as
much	as	possible	into	the	world.	The	human	measure	of	a	human	life
is	its	income;	the	divine	measure	of	a	life	is	its	outgo,	its	overflow—
its	contribution	to	the	welfare	of	all.

Christ	also	led	the	way	to	peace	by	giving	us	a	formula	for	the
propagation	of	truth.	Not	all	of	those	who	have	really	desired	to	do
good	have	employed	the	Christian	method—not	all	Christians	even.
In	the	history	of	the	human	race	but	two	methods	have	been	used.
The	first	is	the	forcible	method,	and	it	has	been	employed	most
frequently.	A	man	has	an	idea	which	he	thinks	is	good;	he	tells	his
neighbors	about	it	and	they	do	not	like	it.	This	makes	him	angry;	he
thinks	it	would	be	so	much	better	for	them	if	they	would	like	it,	and,
seizing	a	club,	he	attempts	to	make	them	like	it.	But	one	trouble
about	this	rule	is	that	it	works	both	ways;	when	a	man	starts	out	to


compel	his	neighbors	to	think	as	he	does,	he	generally	finds	them
willing	 to	 accept	 the	 challenge	 and	 they	 spend	 so	 much	 time	 in
trying	to	coerce	each	other	that	they	have	no	time	left	to	do	each
other	good.

The	other	is	the	Bible	plan—"Be	not	overcome	of	evil	but	overcome
evil	with	good."	And	there	is	no	other	way	of	overcoming	evil.	I	am
not	much	of	 a	farmer—I	get	 more	credit	for	 my	farming	than	 I
deserve,	 and	 my	 little	 farm	 receives	 more	 advertising	 than	 it	 is
entitled	to.	But	I	am	farmer	enough	to	know	that	if	I	cut	down	weeds
they	will	spring	up	again;	and	farmer	enough	to	know	that	if	I	plant
something	there	which	has	more	vitality	than	the	weeds	I	shall	not
only	get	rid	of	the	constant	cutting,	but	have	the	benefit	of	the	crop
besides.

In	order	that	there	might	be	no	mistake	in	His	plan	of	propagating
the	truth,	Christ	went	into	detail	and	laid	emphasis	upon	the	value	of
example—"So	 live	 that	 others	 seeing	 your	 good	 works	 may	 be
constrained	to	glorify	your	Father	which	is	in	Heaven."	There	is	no
human	influence	so	potent	for	good	as	that	which	goes	out	from	an
upright	life.	A	sermon	may	be	answered;	the	arguments	presented	in
a	speech	may	be	disputed,	but	no	one	can	answer	a	Christian	life—it
is	the	unanswerable	argument	in	favor	of	our	religion.

It	may	be	a	slow	process—this	conversion	of	the	world	by	the	silent
influence	of	a	noble	example—but	it	is	the	only	sure	one,	and	the
doctrine	applies	to	nations	as	well	as	to	individuals.	The	Gospel	of
the	Prince	of	Peace	gives	us	the	only	hope	that	the	world	has—and	it
is	 an	 increasing	 hope—of	 the	 substitution	 of	 reason	 for	 the
arbitrament	of	force	in	the	settlement	of	international	disputes.	And
our	nation	ought	not	to	wait	for	other	nations—it	ought	to	take	the
lead	and	prove	its	faith	in	the	omnipotence	of	truth.

But	Christ	has	given	us	a	platform	so	fundamental	that	it	can	be
applied	 successfully	 to	 all	 controversies.	 We	 are	 interested	 in
platforms;	 we	 attend	 conventions,	 sometimes	 traveling	 long
distances;	 we	 have	 wordy	 wars	 over	 the	 phraseology	 of	 various
planks,	 and	 then	 we	 wage	 earnest	 campaigns	 to	 secure	 the
endorsement	of	these	platforms	at	the	polls.	The	platform	given	to
the	world	by	The	Prince	of	Peace	is	more	far-reaching	and	more


comprehensive	than	any	platform	ever	written	by	the	convention	of
any	 party	 in	 any	 country.	 When	 He	 condensed	 into	 one
commandment	those	of	the	ten	which	relate	to	man's	duty	toward	his
fellows	and	enjoined	upon	us	the	rule,	"Thou	shalt	love	thy	neighbor
as	thyself,"	He	presented	a	plan	for	the	solution	of	all	the	problems
that	now	vex	society	or	may	hereafter	arise.	Other	remedies	may
palliate	or	postpone	the	day	of	settlement,	but	this	is	all-sufficient
and	the	reconciliation	which	it	effects	is	a	permanent	one.

My	faith	in	the	future—and	I	have	faith—and	my	optimism—for	I
am	an	optimist—my	faith	and	my	optimism	rest	upon	the	belief	that
Christ's	teachings	are	being	more	studied	to-day	than	ever	before,
and	that	with	this	larger	study	will	come	a	larger	application	of	those
teachings	to	the	everyday	life	of	the	world,	and	to	the	questions	with
which	we	deal.	In	former	times	when	men	read	that	Christ	came	"to
bring	life	and	immortality	to	light,"	they	placed	the	emphasis	upon
immortality;	now	they	are	studying	Christ's	relation	to	human	life.
People	used	to	read	the	Bible	to	find	out	what	it	said	of	Heaven;	now
they	read	it	more	to	find	what	light	it	throws	upon	the	pathway	of	to-
day.	In	former	years	many	thought	to	prepare	themselves	for	future
bliss	by	a	life	of	seclusion	here;	we	are	learning	that	to	follow	in	the
footsteps	 of	 the	 Master	 we	 must	 go	 about	 doing	 good.	 Christ
declared	that	He	came	that	we	might	have	life	and	have	it	more
abundantly.	The	world	is	learning	that	Christ	came	not	to	narrow
life,	 but	 to	 enlarge	 it—not	 to	 rob	 it	 of	 its	 joy,	 but	 to	 fill	 it	 to
overflowing	with	purpose,	earnestness	and	happiness.

But	this	Prince	of	Peace	promises	not	only	peace	but	strength.	Some
have	thought	His	teachings	fit	only	for	the	weak	and	the	timid	and
unsuited	to	men	of	vigor,	energy	and	ambition.	Nothing	could	be
farther	from	the	truth.	Only	the	man	of	faith	can	be	courageous.
Confident	that	he	fights	on	the	side	of	Jehovah,	he	doubts	not	the
success	of	his	cause.	What	matters	it	whether	he	shares	in	the	shouts
of	triumph?	If	every	word	spoken	in	behalf	of	truth	has	its	influence
and	every	deed	done	for	the	right	weighs	in	the	final	account,	it	is
immaterial	 to	 the	 Christian	 whether	 his	 eyes	 behold	 victory	 or
whether	he	dies	in	the	midst	of	the	conflict.

```
"Yea,	tho	thou	lie	upon	the	dust,
```

```
When	they	who	helped	thee	flee	in
fear,
Die	full	of	hope	and	manly	trust,
Like	those	who	fell	in	battle	here.
```
```
Another	hand	thy	sword	shall
wield,
Another	hand	the	standard	wave,
Till	from	the	trumpet's	mouth	is
pealed,
The	blast	of	triumph	o'er	thy
grave."
```
Only	those	who	 _believe_ 	attempt	the	seemingly	impossible,	and,	by
attempting,	prove	that	one,	with	God,	can	chase	a	thousand	and	that
two	 can	 put	 ten	 thousand	 to	 flight.	 I	 can	 imagine	 that	 the	 early
Christians	who	were	carried	into	the	coliseum	to	make	a	spectacle
for	 those	 more	 savage	 than	 the	 beasts,	 were	 entreated	 by	 their
doubting	companions	not	to	endanger	their	lives.	But,	kneeling	in
the	 center	 of	 the	 arena,	 they	 prayed	 and	 sang	 until	 they	 were
devoured.	 How	 helpless	 they	 seemed,	 and,	 measured	 by	 every
human	rule,	how	hopeless	was	their	cause!	And	yet	within	a	few
decades	the	power	 which	they	invoked	 proved	mightier	than	 the
legions	 of	 the	 emperor	 and	 the	 faith	 in	 which	 they	 died	 was
triumphant	o'er	all	the	land.	It	is	said	that	those	who	went	to	mock	at
their	sufferings	returned	asking	themselves,	"What	is	it	that	can	enter
into	the	heart	of	man	and	make	him	die	as	these	die?"	They	were
greater	conquerors	in	their	death	than	they	could	have	been	had	they
purchased	life	by	a	surrender	of	their	faith.

What	would	have	been	the	fate	of	the	church	if	the	early	Christians
had	had	as	little	faith	as	many	of	our	Christians	of	to-day?	And	if	the
Christians	of	to-day	had	the	faith	of	the	martyrs,	how	long	would	it
be	before	the	fulfilment	of	the	prophecy	that	"every	knee	shall	bow
and	every	tongue	confess?"

I	am	glad	that	He,	who	is	called	the	Prince	of	Peace—who	can	bring
peace	to	every	troubled	heart	and	whose	teachings,	exemplified	in
life,	will	bring	peace	between	man	and	man,	between	community
and	community,	between	State	and	State,	between	nation	and	nation


throughout	the	world—I	am	glad	that	He	brings	courage	as	well	as
peace	so	that	 those	who	follow	 Him	may	take	 up	and	each	 day
bravely	do	the	duties	that	to	that	day	fall.

As	 the	 Christian	 grows	 older	 he	 appreciates	 more	 and	 more	 the
completeness	with	which	Christ	satisfies	the	longings	of	the	heart,
and,	grateful	for	the	peace	which	he	enjoys	and	for	the	strength
which	he	has	received,	he	repeats	the	words	of	the	great	scholar,	Sir
William	Jones:

```
"Before	thy	mystic	altar,	heavenly	truth,
I	kneel	in	manhood,	as	I	knelt	in	youth,
Thus	let	me	kneel,	till	this	dull	form
decay,
And	life's	last	shade	be	brightened	by
thy	ray."
```
### RUFUS	CHOATE

#### EULOGY	OF	WEBSTER

```
Delivered	at	Dartmouth	College,	July	27,	1853.
```
Webster	possessed	the	element	of	an	impressive	character,	inspiring
regard,	trust	and	admiration,	not	unmingled	with	love.	It	had,	I	think,
intrinsically	a	charm	such	as	belongs	only	to	a	good,	noble,	and
beautiful	nature.	In	its	combination	with	so	much	fame,	so	much
force	 of	 will,	 and	 so	 much	 intellect,	 it	 filled	 and	 fascinated	 the
imagination	and	heart.	It	was	affectionate	in	childhood	and	youth,
and	it	was	more	than	ever	so	in	the	few	last	months	of	his	long	life.
It	is	the	universal	testimony	that	he	gave	to	his	parents,	in	largest
measure,	honor,	love,	obedience;	that	he	eagerly	appropriated	the
first	means	which	he	could	command	to	relieve	the	father	from	the
debts	contracted	to	educate	his	brother	and	himself;	that	he	selected
his	 first	 place	 of	 professional	 practice	 that	 he	 might	 soothe	 the
coming	on	of	his	old	age.

Equally	 beautiful	 was	 his	 love	 of	 all	 his	 kindred	 and	 of	 all	 his
friends.	When	I	hear	him	accused	of	selfishness,	and	a	cold,	bad


nature,	I	recall	him	lying	sleepless	all	night,	not	without	tears	of
boyhood,	conferring	with	Ezekiel	how	the	darling	desire	of	both
hearts	should	be	compassed,	and	he,	too,	admitted	to	the	precious
privileges	 of	 education;	 courageously	 pleading	 the	 cause	 of	 both
brothers	 in	 the	 morning;	 prevailing	 by	 the	 wise	 and	 discerning
affection	 of	 the	 mother;	 suspending	 his	 studies	 of	 the	 law,	 and
registering	deeds	and	teaching	school	to	earn	the	means,	for	both,	of
availing	 themselves	 of	 the	 opportunity	 which	 the	 parental	 self-
sacrifice	 had	 placed	 within	 their	 reach;	 loving	 him	 through	 life,
mourning	him	when	dead,	with	a	love	and	a	sorrow	very	wonderful,
passing	the	sorrow	of	woman;	I	recall	the	husband,	the	father	of	the
living	and	of	the	early	departed,	the	friend,	the	counselor	of	many
years,	and	my	heart	grows	too	full	and	liquid	for	the	refutation	of
words.

His	 affectionate	 nature,	 craving	 ever	 friendship,	 as	 well	 as	 the
presence	of	kindred	blood,	diffused	itself	through	all	his	private	life,
gave	sincerity	to	all	his	hospitalities,	kindness	to	his	eye,	warmth	to
the	 pressure	 of	 his	 hand,	 made	 his	 greatness	 and	 genius	 unbend
themselves	to	the	playfulness	of	childhood,	flowed	out	in	graceful
memories	indulged	of	the	past	or	the	dead,	of	incidents	when	life
was	young	and	promised	to	be	happy,—gave	generous	sketches	of
his	rivals,—the	high	contention	now	hidden	by	the	handful	of	earth,
—hours	passed	fifty	years	ago	with	great	authors,	recalled	for	the
vernal	emotions	which	then	they	made	to	live	and	revel	in	the	soul.
And	from	these	conversations	of	friendship,	no	man—no	man,	old
or	young—went	away	to	remember	one	word	of	profaneness,	one
allusion	 of	 indelicacy,	 one	 impure	 thought,	 one	 unbelieving
suggestion,	one	doubt	cast	on	the	reality	of	virtue,	of	patriotism,	of
enthusiasm,	 of	 the	 progress	 of	 man,—one	 doubt	 cast	 on
righteousness,	or	temperance,	or	judgment	to	come.

I	have	learned	by	evidence	the	most	direct	and	satisfactory	that	in
the	last	months	of	his	life,	the	whole	affectionateness	of	his	nature—
his	consideration	of	others,	his	gentleness,	his	desire	to	make	them
happy	and	to	see	them	happy—seemed	to	come	out	in	more	and
more	beautiful	and	habitual	expressions	than	ever	before.	The	long
day's	public	tasks	were	felt	to	be	done;	the	cares,	the	uncertainties,
the	mental	conflicts	of	high	place,	were	ended;	and	he	came	home	to


recover	himself	for	the	few	years	which	he	might	still	expect	would
be	his	before	he	should	go	hence	to	be	here	no	more.	And	there,	I	am
assured	and	duly	believe,	no	unbecoming	regrets	pursued	him;	no
discontent,	as	for	injustice	suffered	or	expectations	unfulfilled;	no
self-reproach	for	anything	done	or	anything	omitted	by	himself;	no
irritation,	no	peevishness	unworthy	of	his	noble	nature;	but	instead,
love	 and	 hope	 for	 his	 country,	 when	 she	 became	 the	 subject	 of
conversation,	 and	 for	 all	 around	 him,	 the	 dearest	 and	 most
indifferent,	for	all	breathing	things	about	him,	the	overflow	of	the
kindest	 heart	 growing	 in	 gentleness	 and	 benevolence—paternal,
patriarchal	affections,	seeming	to	become	more	natural,	warm,	and
communicative	every	hour.	Softer	and	yet	brighter	grew	the	tints	on
the	sky	of	parting	day;	and	the	last	lingering	rays,	more	even	than
the	glories	of	noon,	announced	how	divine	was	the	source	from
which	they	proceeded;	how	incapable	to	be	quenched;	how	certain
to	rise	on	a	morning	which	no	night	should	follow.

Such	a	character	was	made	to	be	loved.	It	was	loved.	Those	who
knew	and	saw	it	in	its	hour	of	calm—those	who	could	repose	on	that
soft	green—loved	him.	His	plain	neighbors	loved	him;	and	one	said,
when	he	was	laid	in	his	grave,	"How	lonesome	the	world	seems!"
Educated	young	men	loved	him.	The	ministers	of	the	gospel,	the
general	intelligence	of	the	country,	the	masses	afar	oft,	loved	him.
True,	they	had	not	found	in	his	speeches,	read	by	millions,	so	much
adulation	of	the	people;	so	much	of	the	music	which	robs	the	public
reason	of	itself;	so	many	phrases	of	humanity	and	philanthropy;	and
some	had	told	them	he	was	lofty	and	cold—solitary	in	his	greatness;
but	every	year	they	came	nearer	and	nearer	to	him,	and	as	they	came
nearer,	they	loved	him	better;	they	heard	how	tender	the	son	had
been,	the	husband,	the	brother,	the	father,	the	friend,	and	neighbor;
that	he	was	plain,	simple,	natural,	generous,	hospitable—the	heart
larger	than	the	brain;	that	he	loved	little	children	and	reverenced
God,	the	Scriptures,	the	Sabbath-day,	the	Constitution,	and	the	law
—and	their	hearts	clave	unto	him.	More	truly	of	him	than	even	of
the	great	naval	darling	of	England	might	it	be	said	that	"his	presence
would	set	the	church	bells	ringing,	and	give	schoolboys	a	holiday,
would	bring	children	from	school	and	old	men	from	the	chimney-
corner,	 to	 gaze	 on	 him	 ere	 he	 died."	 The	 great	 and	 unavailing
lamentations	first	revealed	the	deep	place	he	had	in	the	hearts	of	his


countrymen.

You	are	now	to	add	to	this	his	extraordinary	power	of	influencing
the	convictions	of	others	by	speech,	and	you	have	completed	the
survey	of	the	means	of	his	greatness.	And	here,	again	I	begin	by
admiring	 an	 aggregate	 made	 up	 of	 excellences	 and	 triumphs,
ordinarily	deemed	incompatible.	He	spoke	with	consummate	ability
to	the	bench,	and	yet	exactly	as,	according	to	every	sound	canon	of
taste	and	ethics,	the	bench	ought	to	be	addressed.	He	spoke	with
consummate	 ability	 to	 the	 jury,	 and	 yet	 exactly	 as,	 according	 to
every	 sound	 canon,	 that	 totally	 different	 tribunal	 ought	 to	 be
addressed.	In	the	halls	of	Congress,	before	the	people	assembled	for
political	discussion	in	masses,	before	audiences	smaller	and	more
select,	assembled	for	some	solemn	commemoration	of	the	past	or	of
the	dead—in	each	of	these,	again,	his	speech,	of	the	first	form	of
ability,	was	exactly	adapted,	also,	to	the	critical	properties	of	the
place;	each	achieved,	when	delivered,	the	most	instant	and	specific
success	of	eloquence—some	of	them	in	a	splendid	and	remarkable
degree;	and	yet,	stranger	still,	when	reduced	to	writing,	as	they	fell
from	his	lips,	they	compose	a	body	of	reading	in	many	volumes—
solid,	clear,	rich,	and	full	of	harmony—a	classical	and	permanent
political	literature.

And	yet	all	these	modes	of	his	eloquence,	exactly	adapted	each	to	its
stage	and	its	end,	were	stamped	with	his	image	and	superscription,
identified	 by	 characteristics	 incapable	 to	 be	 counterfeited	 and
impossible	to	be	mistaken.	The	same	high	power	of	reason,	intent	in
every	one	to	explore	and	display	some	truth;	some	truth	of	judicial,
or	historical,	or	biographical	fact;	some	truth	of	law,	deduced	by
construction,	perhaps,	or	by	illation;	some	truth	of	policy,	for	want
whereof	a	nation,	generations,	may	be	the	worse—reason	seeking
and	 unfolding	 truth;	 the	 same	 tone,	 in	 all,	 of	 deep	 earnestness,
expressive	of	strong	desire	that	what	he	felt	to	be	important	should
be	accepted	as	true,	and	spring	up	to	action;	the	same	transparent,
plain,	forcible,	and	direct	speech,	conveying	his	exact	thought	to	the
mind—not	something	less	or	more;	the	same	sovereignty	of	form,	of
brow,	and	eye,	and	tone,	and	manner—everywhere	the	intellectual
king	 of	 men,	 standing	 before	 you—that	 same	 marvelousness	 of
qualities	 and	 results,	 residing,	 I	 know	 not	 where,	 in	 words,	 in


pictures,	in	the	ordering	of	ideas,	infelicities	indescribable,	by	means
whereof,	coming	from	his	tongue,	all	things	seemed	mended—truth
seemed	more	true,	probability	more	plausible,	greatness	more	grand,
goodness	 more	 awful,	 every	 affection	 more	 tender	 than	 when
coming	from	other	tongues—these	are,	in	all,	his	eloquence.

But	 sometimes	 it	 became	 individualized	 and	 discriminated	 even
from	itself;	sometimes	place	and	circumstances,	great	interests	at
stake,	a	stage,	an	audience	fitted	for	the	highest	historic	action,	a
crisis,	 personal	 or	 national,	 upon	 him,	 stirred	 the	 depths	 of	 that
emotional	nature,	as	the	anger	of	the	goddess	stirs	the	sea	on	which
the	great	epic	is	beginning;	strong	passions	themselves	kindled	to
intensity,	 quickened	 every	 faculty	 to	 a	 new	 life;	 the	 stimulated
associations	of	ideas	brought	all	treasures	of	thought	and	knowledge
within	command;	the	spell,	which	often	held	his	imagination	fast,
dissolved,	and	she	arose	and	gave	him	to	choose	of	her	urn	of	gold;
earnestness	became	vehemence,	the	simple,	perspicuous,	measured
and	direct	language	became	a	headlong,	full,	and	burning	tide	of
speech;	 the	 discourse	 of	 reason,	 wisdom,	 gravity,	 and	 beauty
changed	to	that	superhuman,	that	rarest	consummate	eloquence—
grand,	rapid,	pathetic,	terrible;	the	 _aliquid	immensum	infinitumque_
that	Cicero	might	have	recognized;	the	master	triumph	of	man	in	the
rarest	opportunity	of	his	noble	power.

Such	elevation	above	himself,	in	congressional	debate,	was	most
uncommon.	 Some	 such	 there	 were	 in	 the	 great	 discussions	 of
executive	power	following	the	removal	of	the	deposits,	which	they
who	 heard	 them	 will	 never	 forget,	 and	 some	 which	 rest	 in	 the
tradition	of	hearers	only.	But	there	were	other	fields	of	oratory	on
which,	 under	 the	 influence	 of	 more	 uncommon	 springs	 of
inspiration,	 he	 exemplified,	 in	 still	 other	 forms,	 an	 eloquence	 in
which	 I	 do	 not	 know	 that	 he	 has	 had	 a	 superior	 among	 men.
Addressing	 masses	 by	 tens	 of	 thousands	 in	 the	 open	 air,	 on	 the
urgent	 political	 questions	 of	 the	 day,	 or	 designed	 to	 lead	 the
meditations	of	an	hour	devoted	to	the	remembrance	of	some	national
era,	or	of	some	incident	marking	the	progress	of	the	nation,	and
lifting	him	up	to	a	view	of	what	is,	and	what	is	past,	and	some
indistinct	revelation	of	the	glory	that	lies	in	the	future,	or	of	some
great	historical	name,	just	borne	by	the	nation	to	his	tomb—we	have


learned	that	then	and	there,	at	the	base	of	Bunker	Hill,	before	the
corner-stone	was	laid,	and	again	when	from	the	finished	column	the
centuries	looked	on	him;	in	Faneuil	Hall,	mourning	for	those	with
whose	spoken	or	written	eloquence	of	freedom	its	arches	had	so
often	resounded;	on	the	Rock	of	Plymouth;	before	the	Capitol,	of
which	there	shall	not	be	one	stone	left	on	another	before	his	memory
shall	have	ceased	to	live—in	such	scenes,	unfettered	by	the	laws	of
forensic	 or	 parliamentary	 debate,	 multitudes	 uncounted	 lifting	 up
their	eyes	to	him;	some	great	historical	scenes	of	America	around;
all	symbols	of	her	glory	and	art	and	power	and	fortune	there;	voices
of	 the	 past,	 not	 unheard;	 shapes	 beckoning	 from	 the	 future,	 not
unseen—sometimes	that	mighty	intellect,	borne	upward	to	a	height
and	kindled	to	an	illumination	which	we	shall	see	no	more,	wrought
out,	as	it	were,	in	an	instant	a	picture	of	vision,	warning,	prediction;
the	progress	of	the	nation;	the	contrasts	of	its	eras;	the	heroic	deaths;
the	motives	to	patriotism;	the	maxims	and	arts	imperial	by	which	the
glory	has	been	gathered	and	may	be	heightened—wrought	out,	in	an
instant,	a	picture	to	fade	only	when	all	record	of	our	mind	shall	die.

In	looking	over	the	public	remains	of	his	oratory,	it	is	striking	to
remark	how,	even	in	that	most	sober	and	massive	understanding	and
nature,	you	see	gathered	and	expressed	the	characteristic	sentiments
and	the	passing	time	of	our	America.	It	is	the	strong	old	oak	which
ascends	before	you;	yet	our	soil,	our	heaven,	are	attested	in	it	as
perfectly	as	if	it	were	a	flower	that	could	grow	in	no	other	climate
and	in	no	other	hour	of	the	year	or	day.	Let	me	instance	in	one	thing
only.	 It	 is	 a	 peculiarity	 of	 some	 schools	of	 eloquence	 that	 they
embody	and	utter,	not	merely	the	individual	genius	and	character	of
the	speaker,	but	a	national	consciousness—a	national	era,	a	mood,	a
hope,	a	dread,	a	despair—in	which	you	listen	to	the	spoken	history
of	the	time.	There	is	an	eloquence	of	an	expiring	nation,	such	as
seems	 to	 sadden	 the	 glorious	 speech	 of	 Demosthenes;	 such	 as
breathes	grand	and	gloomy	from	visions	of	the	prophets	of	the	last
days	of	Israel	and	Judah;	such	as	gave	a	spell	to	the	expression	of
Grattan	and	of	Kossuth—the	sweetest,	most	mournful,	most	awful	of
the	 words	 which	 man	 may	 utter,	 or	 which	 man	 may	 hear—the
eloquence	of	a	perishing	nation.

There	is	another	eloquence,	in	which	the	national	consciousness	of	a


young	or	renewed	and	vast	strength,	of	trust	in	a	dazzling	certain	and
limitless	 future,	 an	 inward	 glorying	 in	 victories	 yet	 to	 be	 won,
sounds	out	as	by	voice	of	clarion,	challenging	to	contest	for	the
highest	prize	of	earth;	such	as	that	in	which	the	leader	of	Israel	in	its
first	days	holds	up	to	the	new	nation	the	Land	of	Promise;	such	as
that	which	in	the	well-imagined	speeches	scattered	by	Livy	over	the
history	 of	 the	 "majestic	 series	 of	 victories"	 speaks	 the	 Roman
consciousness	of	growing	aggrandizement	which	should	subject	the
world;	such	as	that	through	which,	at	the	tribunes	of	her	revolution,
in	the	bulletins	of	her	rising	soldiers,	France	told	to	the	world	her
dream	of	glory.

And	of	this	kind	somewhat	is	ours—cheerful,	hopeful,	trusting,	as
befits	youth	and	spring;	the	eloquence	of	a	state	beginning	to	ascend
to	 the	 first	 class	 of	 power,	 eminence,	 and	 consideration,	 and
conscious	of	itself.	It	is	to	no	purpose	that	they	tell	you	it	is	in	bad
taste;	that	it	partakes	of	arrogance	and	vanity;	that	a	true	national
good	breeding	would	not	know,	or	seem	to	know,	whether	the	nation
is	old	or	young;	whether	the	tides	of	being	are	in	their	flow	or	ebb;
whether	these	coursers	of	the	sun	are	sinking	slowly	to	rest,	wearied
with	a	journey	of	a	thousand	years,	or	just	bounding	from	the	Orient
unbreathed.	 Higher	 laws	 than	 those	 of	 taste	 determine	 the
consciousness	of	nations.	Higher	laws	than	those	of	taste	determine
the	general	forms	of	the	expression	of	that	consciousness.	Let	the
downward	age	of	America	find	its	orators	and	poets	and	artists	to
erect	its	spirit,	or	grace	and	soothe	its	dying;	be	it	ours	to	go	up	with
Webster	 to	 the	 Rock,	 the	 Monument,	 the	 Capitol,	 and	 bid	 "the
distant	generations	hail!"

Until	the	seventh	day	of	March,	1850,	I	think	it	would	have	been
accorded	to	him	by	an	almost	universal	acclaim,	as	general	and	as
expressive	of	profound	and	intelligent	conviction	and	of	enthusiasm,
love,	and	trust,	as	ever	saluted	conspicuous	statesmanship,	tried	by
many	crises	of	affairs	in	a	great	nation,	agitated	ever	by	parties,	and
wholly	free.

### ALBERT	J.	BEVERIDGE

#### PASS	PROSPERITY	AROUND


```
Delivered	as	Temporary	Chairman	of	Progressive
National	Convention,	Chicago,	Ill.,	June,	1911.
```
We	stand	for	a	nobler	America.	We	stand	for	an	undivided	Nation.
We	stand	for	a	broader	liberty,	a	fuller	justice.	We	stand	for	a	social
brotherhood	 as	 against	 savage	 individualism.	 We	 stand	 for	 an
intelligent	coöperation	instead	of	a	reckless	competition.	We	stand
for	mutual	helpfulness	instead	of	mutual	hatred.	We	stand	for	equal
rights	as	a	fact	of	life	instead	of	a	catch-word	of	politics.	We	stand
for	the	rule	of	the	people	as	a	practical	truth	instead	of	a	meaningless
pretense.	We	stand	for	a	representative	government	that	represents
the	people.	We	battle	for	the	actual	rights	of	man.

To	carry	out	our	principles	we	have	a	plain	program	of	constructive
reform.	We	mean	to	tear	down	only	that	which	is	wrong	and	out	of
date;	and	where	we	tear	down	we	mean	to	build	what	is	right	and
fitted	to	the	times.	We	harken	to	the	call	of	the	present.	We	mean	to
make	 laws	 fit	 conditions	 as	 they	 are	 and	 meet	 the	 needs	 of	 the
people	who	are	on	earth	to-day.	That	we	may	do	this	we	found	a
party	through	which	all	who	believe	with	us	can	work	with	us;	or,
rather,	 we	 declare	 our	 allegiance	 to	 the	 party	 which	 the	 people
themselves	have	founded.

For	this	party	comes	from	the	grass	roots.	It	has	grown	from	the	soil
of	the	people's	hard	necessities.	It	has	the	vitality	of	the	people's
strong	convictions.	The	people	have	work	to	be	done	and	our	party
is	here	to	do	that	work.	Abuse	will	only	strengthen	it,	ridicule	only
hasten	its	growth,	falsehood	only	speed	its	victory.	For	years	this
party	has	been	forming.	Parties	exist	for	the	people;	not	the	people
for	parties.	Yet	for	years	the	politicians	have	made	the	people	do	the
work	 of	 the	 parties	 instead	 of	 the	 parties	 doing	 the	 work	 of	 the
people—and	the	politicians	own	the	parties.	The	people	vote	for	one
party	and	find	their	hopes	turned	to	ashes	on	their	lips;	and	then	to
punish	that	party,	they	vote	for	the	other	party.	So	it	is	that	partisan
victories	 have	 come	 to	 be	 merely	 the	 people's	 vengeance;	 and
always	the	secret	powers	have	played	their	game.

Like	other	free	people,	most	of	us	Americans	are	progressive	or
reactionary,	liberal	or	conservative.	The	neutrals	do	not	count.	Yet
to-day	 neither	 of	 the	 old	 parties	 is	 either	 wholly	 progressive	 or


wholly	reactionary.	Democratic	politicians	and	office	seekers	say	to
reactionary	 Democratic	 voters	 that	 the	 Democratic	 party	 is
reactionary	enough	to	express	reactionary	views;	and	they	say	to
progressive	 Democrats	 that	 the	 Democratic	 party	 is	 progressive
enough	 _to_ 	express	progressive	views.	At	the	same	time,	Republican
politicians	 and	 office	 seekers	 say	 the	 same	 thing	 about	 the
Republican	party	to	progressive	and	reactionary	Republican	voters.

Sometimes	 in	 both	 Democratic	 and	 Republican	 States	 the
progressives	 get	 control	 of	 the	 party	 locally	 and	 then	 the
reactionaries	 recapture	 the	 same	 party	 in	 the	 same	 State;	 or	 this
process	is	reversed.	So	there	is	no	nation-wide	unity	of	principle	in
either	party,	no	stability	of	purpose,	no	clear-cut	and	sincere	program
of	one	party	at	frank	and	open	war	with	an	equally	clear-cut	and
sincere	program	of	an	opposing	party.

This	 unintelligent	 tangle	 is	 seen	 in	 Congress.	 Republican	 and
Democratic	Senators	and	Representatives,	believing	alike	on	broad
measures	affecting	the	whole	Republic,	find	it	hard	to	vote	together
because	of	the	nominal	difference	of	their	party	membership.	When,
sometimes,	under	resistless	conviction,	they	do	vote	together,	we
have	 this	 foolish	 spectacle:	 legislators	 calling	 themselves
Republicans	and	Democrats	support	the	same	policy,	the	Democratic
legislators	declaring	that	that	policy	is	Democratic	and	Republican
legislators	declaring	that	it	is	Republican;	and	at	the	very	same	time
other	Democratic	and	Republican	legislators	oppose	that	very	same
policy,	 each	 of	 them	 declaring	 that	 it	 is	 not	 Democratic	 or	 not
Republican.

The	condition	makes	it	impossible	most	of	the	time,	and	hard	at	any
time,	 for	 the	 people's	 legislators	 who	 believe	 in	 the	 same	 broad
policies	to	enact	them	into	logical,	comprehensive	laws.	It	confuses
the	public	mind.	It	breeds	suspicion	and	distrust.	It	enables	such
special	interests	as	seek	unjust	gain	at	the	public	expense	to	get	what
they	 want.	 It	 creates	 and	 fosters	 the	 degrading	 boss	 system	 in
American	politics	through	which	these	special	interests	work.

This	boss	system	is	unknown	and	impossible	under	any	other	free
government	in	the	world.	In	its	very	nature	it	is	hostile	to	general
welfare.	Yet	it	has	grown	until	it	now	is	a	controlling	influence	in


American	public	affairs.	At	the	present	moment	notorious	bosses	are
in	the	saddle	of	both	old	parties	in	various	important	States	which
must	be	carried	to	elect	a	President.	This	Black	Horse	Cavalry	is	the
most	important	force	in	the	practical	work	of	the	Democratic	and
Republican	 parties	 in	 the	 present	 campaign.	 Neither	 of	 the	 old
parties'	nominees	for	President	can	escape	obligation	to	these	old-
party	bosses	or	shake	their	practical	hold	on	many	and	powerful
members	of	the	National	Legislature.

Under	 this	 boss	 system,	 no	 matter	 which	 party	 wins,	 the	 people
seldom	win;	but	the	bosses	almost	always	win.	And	they	never	work
for	the	people.	They	do	not	even	work	for	the	party	to	which	they
belong.	 They	 work	 only	 for	 those	 anti-public	 interests	 whose
political	employees	they	are.	It	is	these	interests	that	are	the	real
victors	in	the	end.

These	special	interests	which	suck	the	people's	substance	are	bi-
partisan.	They	use	both	parties.	They	are	the	invisible	government
behind	our	visible	government.	Democratic	and	Republican	bosses
alike	 are	 brother	 officers	 of	 this	 hidden	 power.	 No	 matter	 how
fiercely	they	pretend	to	fight	one	another	before	election,	they	work
together	after	election.	And,	acting	so,	this	political	conspiracy	is
able	 to	 delay,	 mutilate	 or	 defeat	 sound	 and	 needed	 laws	 for	 the
people's	welfare	and	the	prosperity	of	honest	business	and	even	to
enact	bad	laws,	hurtful	to	the	people's	welfare	and	oppressive	to
honest	business.

It	is	this	invisible	government	which	is	the	real	danger	to	American
institutions.	Its	crude	work	at	Chicago	in	June,	which	the	people
were	 able	 to	 see,	 was	 no	 more	 wicked	 than	 its	 skillful	 work
everywhere	and	always	which	the	people	are	not	able	to	see.

But	 an	 even	 more	 serious	 condition	 results	 from	 the	 unnatural
alignment	of	the	old	parties.	To-day	we	Americans	are	politically
shattered	by	sectionalism.	Through	the	two	old	parties	the	tragedy	of
our	 history	 is	 continued;	 and	 one	 great	 geographical	 part	 of	 the
Republic	is	separated	from	other	parts	of	the	Republic	by	an	illogical
partisan	solidarity.

The	South	has	men	and	women	as	genuinely	progressive	and	others


as	genuinely	reactionary	as	those	in	other	parts	of	our	country.	Yet,
for	 well-known	 reasons,	 these	 sincere	 and	 honest	 southern
progressives	and	reactionaries	vote	together	in	a	single	party,	which
is	neither	progressive	nor	reactionary.	They	vote	a	dead	tradition	and
a	local	fear,	not	a	living	conviction	and	a	national	faith.	They	vote
not	for	the	Democratic	party,	but	against	the	Republican	party.	They
want	to	be	free	from	this	condition;	they	can	be	free	from	it	through
the	National	Progressive	party.

For	the	problems	 which	America	faces	 to-day	are	economic	 and
national.	They	have	to	do	with	a	more	just	distribution	of	prosperity.
They	concern	the	living	of	the	people;	and	therefore	the	more	direct
government	of	the	people	by	themselves.

They	affect	the	South	exactly	as	they	affect	the	North,	the	East	or	the
West.	It	is	an	artificial	and	dangerous	condition	that	prevents	the
southern	man	and	woman	from	acting	with	the	northern	man	and
woman	who	believe	the	same	thing.	Yet	just	that	is	what	the	old
parties	do	prevent.

Not	only	does	this	out-of-date	partisanship	cut	our	Nation	into	two
geographical	sections;	it	also	robs	the	Nation	of	a	priceless	asset	of
thought	in	working	out	our	national	destiny.	The	South	once	was
famous	for	brilliant	and	constructive	thinking	on	national	problems,
and	to-day	the	South	has	minds	as	brilliant	and	constructive	as	of
old.	But	southern	intellect	cannot	freely	and	fully	aid,	in	terms	of
politics,	the	solving	of	the	Nation's	problems.	This	is	so	because	of	a
partisan	sectionalism	which	has	nothing	to	do	with	those	problems.
Yet	these	problems	can	be	solved	only	in	terms	of	politics.

The	root	of	the	wrongs	which	hurt	the	people	is	the	fact	that	the
people's	government	has	been	taken	away	from	them—the	invisible
government	has	usurped	the	people's	government.	Their	government
must	be	given	back	to	the	people.	And	so	the	first	purpose	of	the
Progressive	party	is	to	make	sure	the	rule	of	the	people.	The	rule	of
the	people	means	that	the	people	themselves	shall	nominate,	as	well
as	elect,	all	candidates	for	office,	including	Senators	and	Presidents
of	the	United	States.	What	profiteth	it	the	people	if	they	do	only	the
electing	while	the	invisible	government	does	the	nominating?


The	rule	of	the	people	means	that	when	the	people's	legislators	make
a	law	which	hurts	the	people,	the	people	themselves	may	reject	it.
The	 rule	 of	 the	 people	 means	 that	 when	 the	 people's	 legislators
refuse	to	pass	a	law	which	the	people	need,	the	people	themselves
may	pass	it.	The	rule	of	the	people	means	that	when	the	people's
employees	do	not	do	the	people's	work	well	and	honestly,	the	people
may	discharge	them	exactly	as	a	business	man	discharges	employees
who	do	not	do	their	work	well	and	honestly.	The	people's	officials
are	the	people's	servants,	not	the	people's	masters.

We	progressives	believe	in	this	rule	of	the	people	that	the	people
themselves	 may	 deal	 with	 their	 own	 destiny.	 Who	 knows	 the
people's	needs	so	well	as	the	people	themselves?	Who	so	patient	as
the	people?	Who	so	long	suffering,	who	so	just?	Who	so	wise	to
solve	their	own	problems?

Today	these	problems	concern	the	living	of	the	people.	Yet	in	the
present	stage	of	American	development	these	problems	should	not
exist	in	this	country.	For,	in	all	the	world	there	is	no	land	so	rich	as
ours.	 Our	 fields	 can	 feed	 hundreds	 of	 millions.	 We	 have	 more
minerals	than	the	whole	of	Europe.	Invention	has	made	easy	the
turning	of	this	vast	natural	wealth	into	supplies	for	all	the	needs	of
man.	 One	 worker	 today	 can	 produce	 more	 than	 twenty	 workers
could	produce	a	century	ago.

The	 people	 living	 in	 this	 land	 of	 gold	 are	 the	 most	 daring	 and
resourceful	on	the	globe.	Coming	from	the	hardiest	stock	of	every
nation	of	the	old	world	their	very	history	in	the	new	world	has	made
Americans	a	peculiar	people	in	courage,	initiative,	love	of	justice
and	all	the	elements	of	independent	character.

And,	compared	with	other	peoples,	we	are	very	few	in	numbers.
There	 are	 only	 ninety	 millions	 of	 us,	 scattered	 over	 a	 continent.
Germany	 has	 sixty-five	 millions	 packed	 in	 a	 country	 very	 much
smaller	 than	 Texas.	 The	 population	 of	 Great	 Britain	 and	 Ireland
could	be	set	down	in	California	and	still	have	more	than	enough
room	for	the	population	of	Holland.	If	this	country	were	as	thickly
peopled	 as	 Belgium	 there	 would	 be	 more	 than	 twelve	 hundred
million	instead	of	only	ninety	million	persons	within	our	borders.


So	we	have	more	than	enough	to	supply	every	human	being	beneath
the	flag.	There	ought	not	to	be	in	this	Republic	a	single	day	of	bad
business,	a	single	unemployed	workingman,	a	single	unfed	child.
American	business	men	should	never	know	an	hour	of	uncertainty,
discouragement	or	fear;	American	workingmen	never	a	day	of	low
wages,	idleness	or	want.	Hunger	should	never	walk	in	these	thinly
peopled	gardens	of	plenty.

And	yet	in	spite	of	all	these	favors	which	providence	has	showered
upon	 us,	 the	 living	 of	 the	 people	 is	 the	 problem	 of	 the	 hour.
Hundreds	of	thousands	of	hard-working	Americans	find	it	difficult
to	get	enough	to	live	on.	The	average	income	of	an	American	laborer
is	less	than	$500	a	year.	With	this	he	must	furnish	food,	shelter	and
clothing	for	a	family.

Women,	whose	nourishing	and	protection	should	be	the	first	care	of
the	State,	not	only	are	driven	into	the	mighty	army	of	wage-earners,
but	are	forced	to	work	under	unfair	and	degrading	conditions.	The
right	of	a	child	to	grow	into	a	normal	human	being	is	sacred;	and
yet,	 while	 small	 and	 poor	 countries,	 packed	 with	 people,	 have
abolished	child	labor,	American	mills,	mines,	factories	and	sweat-
shops	are	destroying	hundreds	of	thousands	of	American	children	in
body,	mind	and	soul.

At	the	same	time	men	have	grasped	fortunes	in	this	country	so	great
that	 the	 human	 mind	 cannot	 comprehend	 their	 magnitude.	 These
mountains	 of	 wealth	 are	 far	 larger	 than	 even	 that	 lavish	 reward
which	no	one	would	deny	to	business	risk	or	genius.

On	the	other	hand,	American	business	is	uncertain	and	unsteady
compared	 with	 the	 business	 of	 other	 nations.	 American	 business
men	are	the	best	and	bravest	in	the	world,	and	yet	our	business
conditions	hamper	their	energies	and	chill	their	courage.	We	have	no
permanency	in	business	affairs,	no	sure	outlook	upon	the	business
future.	This	unsettled	state	of	American	business	prevents	it	from
realizing	for	the	people	that	great	and	continuous	prosperity	which
our	country's	location,	vast	wealth	and	small	population	justifies.

We	mean	to	remedy	these	conditions.	We	mean	not	only	to	make
prosperity	steady,	but	to	give	to	the	many	who	earn	it	a	just	share	of


that	prosperity	instead	of	helping	the	few	who	do	not	earn	it	to	take
an	unjust	share.	The	progressive	motto	is	"Pass	prosperity	around."
To	make	human	living	easier,	to	free	the	hands	of	honest	business,	to
make	trade	and	commerce	sound	and	steady,	to	protect	womanhood,
save	childhood	and	restore	the	dignity	of	manhood—these	are	the
tasks	we	must	do.

What,	then,	is	the	progressive	answer	to	these	questions?	We	are
able	to	give	it	specifically	and	concretely.	The	first	work	before	us	is
the	 revival	 of	 honest	 business.	 For	 business	 is	 nothing	 but	 the
industrial	 and	 trade	 activities	 of	 all	 the	 people.	 Men	 grow	 the
products	of	the	field,	cut	ripe	timber	from	the	forest,	dig	metal	from
the	mine,	fashion	all	for	human	use,	carry	them	to	the	market	place
and	exchange	them	 according	to	their	 mutual	needs—and	this	 is
business.

With	our	vast	advantages,	contrasted	with	the	vast	disadvantages	of
other	nations,	American	business	all	the	time	should	be	the	best	and
steadiest	in	the	world.	But	it	is	not.	Germany,	with	shallow	soil,	no
mines,	only	a	window	on	the	seas	and	a	population	more	than	ten
times	 as	 dense	 as	 ours,	 yet	 has	 a	 sounder	 business,	 a	 steadier
prosperity,	a	more	contented	because	better	cared	for	people.

What,	then,	must	we	do	to	make	American	business	better?	We	must
do	 what	 poorer	 nations	 have	 done.	 We	 must	 end	 the	 abuses	 of
business	by	striking	 down	those	abuses	 instead	of	striking	 down
business	 itself.	 We	 must	 try	 to	 make	 little	 business	 big	 and	 all
business	honest	instead	of	striving	to	make	big	business	little	and	yet
letting	it	remain	dishonest.

Present-day	business	is	as	unlike	old-time	business	as	the	old-time
ox-cart	is	unlike	the	present-day	locomotive.	Invention	has	made	the
whole	 world	 over	 again.	 The	 railroad,	 telegraph,	 telephone	 have
bound	the	people	of	modern	nations	into	families.	To	do	the	business
of	these	closely	knit	millions	in	every	modern	country	great	business
concerns	came	into	being.	What	we	call	big	business	is	the	child	of
the	 economic	 progress	 of	 mankind.	 So	 warfare	 to	 destroy	 big
business	is	foolish	because	it	can	not	succeed	and	wicked	because	it
ought	not	to	succeed.	Warfare	to	destroy	big	business	does	not	hurt
big	business,	which	always	comes	out	on	top,	so	much	as	it	hurts	all


other	business	which,	in	such	a	warfare,	never	comes	out	on	top.

With	the	growth	of	big	business	came	business	evils	just	as	great.	It
is	these	evils	of	big	business	that	hurt	the	people	and	injure	all	other
business.	One	of	these	wrongs	is	over	capitalization	which	taxes	the
people's	very	living.	Another	is	the	manipulation	of	prices	to	the
unsettlement	 of	 all	 normal	 business	 and	 to	 the	 people's	 damage.
Another	is	interference	in	the	making	of	the	people's	laws	and	the
running	 of	 the	 people's	 government	 in	 the	 unjust	 interest	 of	 evil
business.	 Getting	 laws	 that	 enable	 particular	 interests	 to	 rob	 the
people,	and	even	to	gather	criminal	riches	from	human	health	and
life	is	still	another.

An	 example	 of	 such	 laws	 is	 the	 infamous	 tobacco	 legislation	 of
1902,	 which	 authorized	 the	 Tobacco	 Trust	 to	 continue	 to	 collect
from	 the	 people	 the	 Spanish	 War	 tax,	 amounting	 to	 a	 score	 of
millions	of	dollars,	but	to	keep	that	tax	instead	of	turning	it	over	to
the	 government,	 as	 it	 had	 been	 doing.	 Another	 example	 is	 the
shameful	meat	legislation,	by	which	the	Beef	Trust	had	the	meat	it
sent	abroad	inspected	by	the	government	so	that	foreign	countries
would	take	its	product	and	yet	was	permitted	to	sell	diseased	meat	to
our	own	people.	It	is	incredible	that	laws	like	these	could	ever	get	on
the	Nation's	statute	books.	The	invisible	government	put	them	there;
and	only	the	universal	wrath	of	an	enraged	people	corrected	them
when,	after	years,	the	people	discovered	the	outrages.

It	is	to	get	just	such	laws	as	these	and	to	prevent	the	passage	of	laws
to	correct	them,	as	well	as	to	keep	off	the	statute	books	general	laws
which	will	end	the	general	abuses	of	big	business	that	these	few
criminal	interests	corrupt	our	politics,	invest	in	public	officials	and
keep	 in	 power	 in	 both	 parties	 that	 type	 of	 politicians	 and	 party
managers	who	debase	American	politics.

Behind	rotten	laws	and	preventing	sound	laws,	stands	the	corrupt
boss;	 behind	 the	 corrupt	 boss	 stands	 the	 robber	 interest;	 and
commanding	these	powers	of	pillage	stands	bloated	human	greed.	It
is	this	conspiracy	of	evil	we	must	overthrow	if	we	would	get	the
honest	laws	we	need.	It	is	this	invisible	government	we	must	destroy
if	we	would	save	American	institutions.


Other	nations	have	ended	the	very	same	business	evils	from	which
we	suffer	by	clearly	defining	business	wrong-doing	and	then	making
it	a	criminal	offense,	punishable	by	imprisonment.	Yet	these	foreign
nations	encourage	big	business	itself	and	foster	all	honest	business.
But	they	do	not	tolerate	dishonest	business,	little	or	big.

What,	 then,	 shall	 we	 Americans	 do?	 Common	 sense	 and	 the
experience	of	the	world	says	that	we	ought	to	keep	the	good	big
business	does	for	us	and	stop	the	wrongs	that	big	business	does	to
us.	Yet	we	have	done	just	the	other	thing.	We	have	struck	at	big
business	itself	and	have	not	even	aimed	to	strike	at	the	evils	of	big
business.	Nearly	twenty-five	years	ago	Congress	passed	a	law	to
govern	 American	 business	 in	 the	 present	 time	 which	 Parliament
passed	in	the	reign	of	King	James	to	govern	English	business	in	that
time.

For	a	quarter	of	a	century	the	courts	have	tried	to	make	this	law
work.	Yet	during	this	very	time	trusts	grew	greater	in	number	and
power	than	in	the	whole	history	of	the	world	before;	and	their	evils
flourished	unhindered	and	unchecked.	These	great	business	concerns
grew	because	natural	laws	made	them	grow	and	artificial	law	at	war
with	natural	law	could	not	stop	their	growth.	But	their	evils	grew
faster	than	the	trusts	themselves	because	avarice	nourished	those
evils	and	no	law	of	any	kind	stopped	avarice	from	nourishing	them.

Nor	 is	 this	 the	 worst.	 Under	 the	 shifting	 interpretation	 of	 the
Sherman	law,	uncertainty	and	fear	is	chilling	the	energies	of	the
great	body	of	honest	American	business	men.	As	the	Sherman	law
now	stands,	no	two	business	men	can	arrange	their	mutual	affairs
and	 be	 sure	 that	 they	 are	 not	 law-breakers.	 This	 is	 the	 main
hindrance	 to	 the	 immediate	 and	 permanent	 revival	 of	 American
business.	 If	 German	 or	 English	 business	 men,	 with	 all	 their
disadvantages	compared	with	our	advantages,	were	manacled	by	our
Sherman	law,	as	it	stands,	they	soon	would	be	bankrupt.	Indeed,
foreign	business	men	declare	that,	if	their	countries	had	such	a	law,
so	administered,	they	could	not	do	business	at	all.

Even	this	is	not	all.	By	the	decrees	of	our	courts,	under	the	Sherman
law,	the	two	mightiest	trusts	on	earth	have	actually	been	licensed,	in
the	 practical	 outcome,	 to	 go	 on	 doing	 every	 wrong	 they	 ever


committed.	Under	the	decrees	of	the	courts	the	Oil	and	Tobacco
Trusts	still	can	raise	prices	unjustly	and	already	have	done	so.	They
still	can	issue	watered	stock	and	surely	will	do	so.	They	still	can
throttle	other	business	men	and	the	United	Cigar	Stores	Company
now	is	doing	so.	They	still	can	corrupt	our	politics	and	this	moment
are	indulging	in	that	practice.

The	people	are	tired	of	this	mock	battle	with	criminal	capital.	They
do	not	want	to	hurt	business,	but	they	do	want	to	get	something	done
about	the	trust	question	that	amounts	to	something.	What	good	does
it	do	any	man	to	read	in	his	morning	paper	that	the	courts	have
"dissolved"	the	Oil	Trust,	and	then	read	in	his	evening	paper	that	he
must	thereafter	pay	a	higher	price	for	his	oil	than	ever	before?	What
good	does	it	do	the	laborer	who	smokes	his	pipe	to	be	told	that	the
courts	have	"dissolved"	the	Tobacco	Trust	and	yet	find	that	he	must
pay	the	same	or	a	higher	price	for	the	same	short-weight	package	of
tobacco?	Yet	all	this	is	the	practical	result	of	the	suits	against	these
two	greatest	trusts	in	the	world.

Such	 business	 chaos	 and	 legal	 paradoxes	 as	 American	 business
suffers	from	can	be	found	nowhere	else	in	the	world.	Rival	nations
do	not	fasten	legal	ball	and	chain	upon	their	business—no,	they	put
wings	on	its	flying	feet.	Rival	nations	do	not	tell	their	business	men
that	if	they	go	forward	with	legitimate	enterprise	the	penitentiary
may	be	their	goal.	No!	Rival	nations	tell	their	business	men	that	so
long	as	they	do	honest	business	their	governments	will	not	hinder
but	will	help	them.

But	these	rival	nations	do	tell	their	business	men	that	if	they	do	any
evil	that	our	business	men	do,	prison	bars	await	them.	These	rival
nations	do	tell	their	business	men	that	if	they	issue	watered	stock	or
cheat	the	people	in	any	way,	prison	cells	will	be	their	homes.

Just	this	is	what	all	honest	American	business	wants;	just	this	is
what	dishonest	American	business	does	not	want;	just	this	is	what
the	 American	 people	 propose	 to	 have;	 just	 this	 the	 national
Republican	platform	of	1908	pledged	the	people	that	we	would	give
them;	and	just	this	important	pledge	the	administration,	elected	on
that	platform,	repudiated	as	it	repudiated	the	more	immediate	tariff
pledge.


Both	 these	 reforms,	 so	 vital	 to	 honest	 American	 business,	 the
Progressive	party	will	accomplish.	Neither	evil	interests	nor	reckless
demagogues	can	swerve	us	from	our	purpose;	for	we	are	free	from
both	and	fear	neither.

We	mean	to	put	new	business	laws	on	our	statute	books	which	will
tell	American	business	men	what	they	can	do	and	what	they	cannot
do.	We	mean	to	make	our	business	laws	clear	instead	of	foggy—to
make	them	plainly	state	just	what	things	are	criminal	and	what	are
lawful.	And	we	mean	that	the	penalty	for	things	criminal	shall	be
prison	sentences	that	actually	punish	the	real	offender,	instead	of
money	fines	that	hurt	nobody	but	the	people,	who	must	pay	them	in
the	end.

And	 then	 we	 mean	 to	 send	 the	 message	 forth	 to	 hundreds	 of
thousands	 of	 brilliant	 minds	 and	 brave	 hearts	 engaged	 in	 honest
business,	that	they	are	not	criminals	but	honorable	men	in	their	work
to	make	good	business	in	this	Republic.	Sure	of	victory,	we	even
now	 say,	 "Go	 forward,	 American	 business	 men,	 and	 know	 that
behind	you,	supporting	you,	encouraging	you,	are	the	power	and
approval	of	the	greatest	people	under	the	sun.	Go	forward,	American
business	men,	and	feed	full	the	fires	beneath	American	furnaces;	and
give	employment	to	every	American	laborer	who	asks	for	work.	Go
forward,	American	business	men,	and	capture	the	markets	of	the
world	 for	 American	 trade;	 and	 know	 that	 on	 the	 wings	 of	 your
commerce	 you	 carry	 liberty	 throughout	 the	 world	 and	 to	 every
inhabitant	thereof.	Go	forward,	American	business	men,	and	realize
that	in	the	time	to	come	it	shall	be	said	of	you,	as	it	is	said	of	the
hand	that	rounded	Peter's	Dome,	'he	builded	better	than	he	knew.'"

The	next	great	business	reform	we	must	have	to	steadily	increase
American	prosperity	is	to	change	the	method	of	building	our	tariffs.
The	tariff	must	be	taken	out	of	politics	and	treated	as	a	business
question	instead	of	as	a	political	question.	Heretofore,	we	have	done
just	the	other	thing.	That	is	why	American	business	is	upset	every
few	 years	 by	 unnecessary	 tariff	 upheavals	 and	 is	 weakened	 by
uncertainty	in	the	periods	between.	The	greatest	need	of	business	is
certainty;	but	the	only	thing	certain	about	our	tariff	is	uncertainty.

What,	 then,	 shall	 we	 do	 to	 make	 our	 tariff	 changes	 strengthen


business	 instead	 of	 weakening	 business?	 Rival	 protective	 tariff
nations	have	answered	that	question.	Common	sense	has	answered
it.	 Next	 to	 our	 need	 to	 make	 the	 Sherman	 law	 modern,
understandable	 and	 just,	 our	 greatest	 fiscal	 need	 is	 a	 genuine,
permanent,	non-partisan	tariff	commission.

Five	years	ago,	when	the	fight	for	this	great	business	measure	was
begun	in	the	Senate	the	bosses	of	both	parties	were	against	it.	So,
when	the	last	revision	of	the	tariff	was	on	and	a	tariff	commission
might	have	been	written	into	the	tariff	law,	the	administration	would
not	 aid	 this	 reform.	 When	 two	 years	 later	 the	 administration
supported	it	weakly,	the	bi-partisan	boss	system	killed	it.	There	has
not	been	and	will	not	be	any	sincere	and	honest	effort	by	the	old
parties	to	get	a	tariff	commission.	There	has	not	been	and	will	not	be
any	sincere	and	honest	purpose	by	those	parties	to	take	the	tariff	out
of	politics.

For	the	tariff	in	politics	is	the	excuse	for	those	sham	political	battles
which	give	the	spoilers	their	opportunity.	The	tariff	in	politics	is	one
of	the	invisible	government's	methods	of	wringing	tribute	from	the
people.	 Through	 the	 tariff	 in	 politics	 the	 beneficiaries	 of	 tariff
excesses	are	cared	for,	no	matter	which	party	is	"revising."

Who	has	forgotten	the	tariff	scandals	that	made	President	Cleveland
denounce	the	Wilson-Gorman	bill	as	"a	perfidy	and	a	dishonor?"
Who	ever	can	forget	the	brazen	robberies	forced	into	the	Payne-
Aldrich	bill	which	Mr.	Taft	defended	as	"the	best	ever	made?"	If
everyone	else	forgets	these	things	the	interests	that	profited	by	them
never	will	forget	them.	The	bosses	and	lobbyists	that	grew	rich	by
putting	 them	 through	 never	 will	 forget	 them.	 That	 is	 why	 the
invisible	government	and	its	agents	want	to	keep	the	old	method	of
tariff	building.	For,	though	such	tariff	"revisions"	may	make	lean
years	for	the	people,	they	make	fat	years	for	the	powers	of	pillage
and	their	agents.

So	neither	of	the	old	parties	can	honestly	carry	out	any	tariff	policies
which	they	pledge	the	people	to	carry	out.	But	even	if	they	could
and	even	if	they	were	sincere,	the	old	party	platforms	are	in	error	on
tariff	policy.	The	Democratic	platform	declares	for	free	trade;	but
free	trade	is	wrong	and	ruinous.	The	Republican	platform	permits


extortion;	but	tariff	 extortion	is	robbery	 by	law.	The	 Progressive
party	is	for	honest	protection;	and	honest	protection	is	right	and	a
condition	of	American	prosperity.

A	 tariff	 high	 enough	 to	 give	 American	 producers	 the	 American
market	when	they	make	honest	goods	and	sell	them	at	honest	prices
but	low	enough	that	when	they	sell	dishonest	goods	at	dishonest
prices,	 foreign	 competition	 can	 correct	 both	 evils;	 a	 tariff	 high
enough	 to	 enable	 American	 producers	 to	 pay	 our	 workingmen
American	wages	and	so	arranged	that	the	workingmen	will	get	such
wages;	 a	 business	 tariff	 whose	 changes	 will	 be	 so	 made	 as	 to
reassure	business	instead	of	disturbing	it—this	is	the	tariff	and	the
method	of	its	making	in	which	the	Progressive	party	believes,	for
which	it	does	battle	and	which	it	proposes	to	write	into	the	laws	of
the	land.

The	 Payne-Aldrich	 tariff	 law	 must	 be	 revised	 immediately	 in
accordance	 to	 these	 principles.	 At	 the	 same	 time	 a	 genuine,
permanent,	non-partisan	tariff	commission	must	be	fixed	in	the	law
as	firmly	as	the	Interstate	Commerce	Commission.	Neither	of	the	old
parties	can	do	this	work.	For	neither	of	the	old	parties	believes	in
such	 a	 tariff;	 and,	 what	 is	 more	 serious,	 special	 privilege	 is	 too
thoroughly	woven	into	the	fiber	of	both	old	parties	to	allow	them	to
make	such	a	tariff.	The	Progressive	party	only	is	free	from	these
influences.	 The	 Progressive	 party	 only	 believes	in	 the	 sincere
enactment	of	a	sound	tariff	policy.	The	Progressive	party	only	can
change	the	tariff	as	it	must	be	changed.

These	are	samples	of	the	reforms	in	the	laws	of	business	that	we
intend	 to	 put	 on	 the	 Nation's	 statute	 books.	 But	 there	 are	 other
questions	 as	 important	 and	 pressing	 that	 we	 mean	 to	 answer	 by
sound	and	humane	laws.	Child	labor	in	factories,	mills,	mines	and
sweat-shops	must	be	ended	throughout	the	Republic.	Such	labor	is	a
crime	against	childhood	because	it	prevents	the	growth	of	normal
manhood	and	womanhood.	It	is	a	crime	against	the	Nation	because	it
prevents	the	growth	of	a	host	of	children	into	strong,	patriotic	and
intelligent	citizens.

Only	the	Nation	can	stop	this	industrial	vice.	The	States	cannot	stop
it.	The	States	never	stopped	any	national	wrong—and	child	labor	is


a	national	wrong.	To	leave	it	to	the	State	alone	is	unjust	to	business;
for	if	some	States	stop	it	and	other	States	do	not,	business	men	of	the
former	are	at	a	disadvantage	with	the	business	men	of	the	latter,
because	they	must	sell	in	the	same	market	goods	made	by	manhood
labor	 at	 manhood	 wages	 in	 competition	 with	 goods	 made	 by
childhood	 labor	 at	 childhood	 wages.	 To	 leave	 it	 to	 the	 States	 is
unjust	to	manhood	labor;	for	childhood	labor	in	any	State	lowers
manhood	 labor	 in	 every	 State,	 because	 the	 product	 of	 childhood
labor	in	any	State	competes	with	the	product	of	manhood	labor	in
every	State.	Children	workers	at	the	looms	in	South	Carolina	means
bayonets	at	the	breasts	of	men	and	women	workers	in	Massachusetts
who	strike	for	living	wages.	Let	the	States	do	what	they	can,	and
more	power	to	their	arm;	but	let	the	Nation	do	what	it	should	and
cleanse	our	flag	from	this	stain.

Modern	 industrialism	 has	 changed	 the	 status	 of	 women.	 Women
now	are	wage	earners	in	factories,	stores	and	other	places	of	toil.	In
hours	of	labor	and	all	the	physical	conditions	of	industrial	effort	they
must	compete	with	men.	And	they	must	do	it	at	lower	wages	than
men	receive—wages	which,	in	most	cases,	are	not	enough	for	these
women	workers	to	live	on.

This	is	inhuman	and	indecent.	It	is	unsocial	and	uneconomic.	It	is
immoral	 and	 unpatriotic.	 Toward	 women	 the	 Progressive	 party
proclaims	the	chivalry	of	the	State.	We	propose	to	protect	women
wage-earners	by	suitable	laws,	an	example	of	which	is	the	minimum
wage	for	women	workers—a	wage	which	shall	be	high	enough	to	at
least	buy	clothing,	food	and	shelter	for	the	woman	toiler.

The	care	of	the	aged	is	one	of	the	most	perplexing	problems	of
modern	life.	How	is	the	workingman	with	less	than	five	hundred
dollars	a	year,	and	with	earning	power	waning	as	his	own	years
advance,	to	provide	for	aged	parents	or	other	relatives	in	addition	to
furnishing	food,	shelter	and	clothing	for	his	wife	and	children?	What
is	to	become	of	the	family	of	the	laboring	man	whose	strength	has
been	sapped	by	excessive	toil	and	who	has	been	thrown	upon	the
industrial	scrap	heap?	It	is	questions	like	these	we	must	answer	if	we
are	 to	 justify	 free	 institutions.	 They	 are	 questions	 to	 which	 the
masses	of	people	are	chained	as	to	a	body	of	death.	And	they	are
questions	which	other	and	poorer	nations	are	answering.


We	 progressives	 mean	 that	 America	 shall	 answer	 them.	 The
Progressive	 party	 is	 the	 helping	 hand	 to	 those	 whom	 a	 vicious
industrialism	has	maimed	and	crippled.	We	are	for	the	conservation
of	our	natural	resources;	but	even	more	we	are	for	the	conservation
of	human	life.	Our	forests,	water	power	and	minerals	are	valuable
and	must	be	saved	from	the	spoilers;	but	men,	women	and	children
are	more	valuable	and	they,	too,	must	be	saved	from	the	spoilers.

Because	women,	as	much	as	men,	are	a	part	of	our	economic	and
social	life,	women,	as	much	as	men,	should	have	the	voting	power	to
solve	all	economic	and	social	problems.	Votes	for	women	are	theirs
as	a	matter	of	natural	right	alone;	votes	for	women	should	be	theirs
as	a	matter	of	political	wisdom	also.	As	wage-earners,	they	should
help	to	solve	the	labor	problem;	as	property	owners	they	should	help
to	solve	the	tax	problem;	as	wives	and	mothers	they	should	help	to
solve	all	the	problems	that	concern	the	home.	And	that	means	all
national	problems;	for	the	Nation	abides	at	the	fireside.

If	it	is	said	that	women	cannot	help	defend	the	Nation	in	time	of	war
and	therefore	that	they	should	not	help	to	determine	the	Nation's
destinies	in	time	of	peace,	the	answer	is	that	women	suffer	and	serve
in	time	of	conflict	as	much	as	men	who	carry	muskets.	And	the
deeper	answer	is	that	those	who	bear	the	Nation's	soldiers	are	as
much	the	Nation's	defenders	as	their	sons.

Public	spokesmen	for	the	invisible	government	say	that	many	of	our
reforms	are	unconstitutional.	The	same	kind	of	men	said	the	same
thing	of	every	effort	the	Nation	has	made	to	end	national	abuses.	But
in	every	case,	whether	in	the	courts,	at	the	ballot	box,	or	on	the
battlefield,	the	vitality	of	the	Constitution	was	vindicated.

The	Progressive	party	believes	that	the	Constitution	is	a	living	thing,
growing	with	the	people's	growth,	strengthening	with	the	people's
strength,	aiding	the	people	in	their	struggle	for	life,	liberty	and	the
pursuit	of	happiness,	permitting	the	people	to	meet	all	their	needs	as
conditions	change.	The	opposition	believes	that	the	Constitution	is	a
dead	form,	holding	back	the	people's	growth,	shackling	the	people's
strength	but	giving	a	free	hand	to	malign	powers	that	prey	upon	the
people.	The	first	words	of	the	Constitution	are	"We	the	people,"	and
they	declare	that	the	Constitution's	purpose	is	"to	form	a	perfect


Union	and	to	promote	the	general	welfare."	To	do	just	that	is	the
very	heart	of	the	progressive	cause.

The	Progressive	party	asserts	anew	the	vitality	of	the	Constitution.
We	believe	in	the	true	doctrine	of	states'	rights,	which	forbids	the
Nation	 from	 interfering	 with	 states'	 affairs,	 and	 also	 forbids	 the
states	 from	 interfering	 with	 national	 affairs.	 The	 combined
intelligence	and	composite	conscience	of	the	American	people	is	as
irresistible	as	it	is	righteous;	and	the	Constitution	does	not	prevent
that	force	from	working	out	the	general	welfare.

From	certain	sources	we	hear	preachments	about	the	danger	of	our
reforms	to	American	institutions.	What	is	the	purpose	of	American
institutions?	Why	was	this	Republic	established?	What	does	the	flag
stand	for?	What	do	these	things	mean?

They	mean	that	the	people	shall	be	free	to	correct	human	abuses.

They	mean	that	men,	women	and	children	shall	not	be	denied	the
opportunity	to	grow	stronger	and	nobler.

They	mean	that	the	people	shall	have	the	power	to	make	our	land
each	day	a	better	place	to	live	in.

They	mean	the	realities	of	liberty	and	not	the	academics	of	theory.

They	mean	the	actual	progress	of	the	race	in	tangible	items	of	daily
living	and	not	the	theoretics	of	barren	disputation.

If	they	do	not	mean	these	things	they	are	as	sounding	brass	and
tinkling	cymbals.

A	Nation	of	strong,	upright	men	and	women;	a	Nation	of	wholesome
homes,	realizing	the	best	ideals;	a	Nation	whose	power	is	glorified
by	 its	 justice	 and	 whose	 justice	 is	 the	 conscience	 of	 scores	 of
millions	of	God-fearing	people—that	is	the	Nation	the	people	need
and	want.	And	that	is	the	Nation	they	shall	have.

For	never	doubt	that	we	Americans	will	make	good	the	real	meaning
of	our	institutions.	Never	doubt	that	we	will	solve,	in	righteousness
and	wisdom,	every	vexing	problem.	Never	doubt	that	in	the	end,	the
hand	from	above	that	leads	us	upward	will	prevail	over	the	hand


from	below	that	drags	us	downward.	Never	doubt	that	we	are	indeed
a	Nation	whose	God	is	the	Lord.

And,	so,	never	doubt	that	a	braver,	fairer,	cleaner	America	surely
will	come;	that	a	better	and	brighter	life	for	all	beneath	the	flag
surely	will	be	achieved.	Those	who	now	scoff	soon	will	pray.	Those
who	now	doubt	soon	will	believe.

Soon	the	night	will	pass;	and	when,	to	the	Sentinel	on	the	ramparts
of	 Liberty	 the	 anxious	 ask:	 "Watchman,	 what	 of	 the	 night?"	 his
answer	will	be	"Lo,	the	morn	appeareth."

Knowing	the	price	we	must	pay,	the	sacrifice	we	must	make,	the
burdens	we	must	carry,	the	assaults	we	must	endure—knowing	full
well	the	cost—yet	we	enlist,	and	we	enlist	for	the	war.	For	we	know
the	justice	of	our	cause,	and	we	know,	too,	its	certain	triumph.

Not	reluctantly	then,	but	eagerly,	not	with	faint	hearts	but	strong,	do
we	now	advance	upon	the	enemies	of	the	people.	For	the	call	that
comes	to	us	is	the	call	that	came	to	our	fathers.	As	they	responded	so
shall	we.


```
"He	hath	sounded	forth	a	trumpet	that	shall	never
call	retreat,
He	is	sifting	out	the	hearts	of	men	before	His
judgment	seat.
Oh,	be	swift	our	souls	to	answer	Him,	be	jubilant
our	feet,
Our	God	is	marching	on."
```
### RUSSELL	CONWELL

#### ACRES	OF	DIAMONDS[40]

I	am	astonished	that	so	many	people	should	care	to	hear	this	story
over	again.	Indeed,	this	lecture	has	become	a	study	in	psychology;	it
often	 breaks	 all	 rules	 of	 oratory,	 departs	 from	 the	 precepts	 of
rhetoric,	and	yet	remains	the	most	popular	of	any	lecture	I	have
delivered	in	the	forty-four	years	of	my	public	life.	I	have	sometimes
studied	for	a	year	upon	a	lecture	and	made	careful	research,	and	then
presented	the	lecture	just	once—never	delivered	it	again.	I	put	too
much	 work	 on	 it.	 But	 this	 had	 no	 work	 on	 it—thrown	 together
perfectly	at	random,	spoken	offhand	without	any	special	preparation,
and	it	succeeds	when	the	thing	we	study,	work	over,	adjust	to	a	plan,
is	an	entire	failure.

The	"Acres	of	Diamonds"	which	I	have	mentioned	through	so	many
years	are	to	be	found	in	Philadelphia,	and	you	are	to	find	them.
Many	have	found	them.	And	what	man	has	done,	man	can	do.	I
could	not	find	anything	better	to	illustrate	my	thought	than	a	story	I
have	told	over	and	over	again,	and	which	is	now	found	in	books	in
nearly	every	library.

In	1870	we	went	down	the	Tigris	River.	We	hired	a	guide	at	Bagdad
to	 show	 us	 Persepolis,	 Nineveh	 and	 Babylon,	 and	 the	 ancient
countries	 of	 Assyria	 as	 far	 as	 the	 Arabian	 Gulf.	 He	 was	 well
acquainted	with	the	land,	but	he	was	one	of	those	guides	who	love	to
entertain	 their	 patrons;	 he	 was	 like	 a	 barber	 that	 tells	 you	 many
stories	 in	 order	 to	 keep	 your	 mind	 off	 the	 scratching	 and	 the
scraping.	He	told	me	so	many	stories	that	I	grew	tired	of	his	telling


them	 and	 I	 refused	 to	 listen—looked	 away	 whenever	 he
commenced;	 that	 made	 the	 guide	 quite	 angry.	 I	 remember	 that
toward	evening	he	took	his	Turkish	cap	off	his	head	and	swung	it
around	in	the	air.	The	gesture	I	did	not	understand	and	I	did	not	dare
look	at	him	for	fear	I	should	become	the	victim	of	another	story.	But,
although	I	am	not	a	woman,	I	did	look,	and	the	instant	I	turned	my
eyes	upon	that	worthy	guide	he	was	off	again.	Said	he,	"I	will	tell
you	a	story	now	which	reserve	for	my	particular	friends!"	So	then,
counting	myself	a	particular	friend,	I	listened,	and	I	have	always
been	glad	I	did.

He	said	there	once	lived	not	far	from	the	River	Indus	an	ancient
Persian	by	the	name	of	Al	Hafed.	He	said	that	Al	Hafed	owned	a
very	large	farm	with	orchards,	grain	fields	and	gardens.	He	was	a
contented	and	wealthy	man—contented	because	he	was	wealthy,	and
wealthy	because	he	was	contented.	One	day	there	visited	this	old
farmer	one	of	those	ancient	Buddhist	priests,	and	he	sat	down	by	Al
Hafed's	fire	and	told	that	old	farmer	how	this	world	of	ours	was
made.	He	said	that	this	world	was	once	a	mere	bank	of	fog,	which	is
scientifically	true,	and	he	said	that	the	Almighty	thrust	his	finger
into	 the	 bank	 of	 fog	 and	 then	 began	 slowly	 to	 move	 his	 finger
around	and	gradually	to	increase	the	speed	of	his	finger	until	at	last
he	whirled	that	bank	of	fog	into	a	solid	ball	of	fire,	and	it	went
rolling	through	the	universe,	burning	its	way	through	other	cosmic
banks	of	fog,	until	it	condensed	the	moisture	without,	and	fell	in
floods	of	rain	upon	the	heated	surface	and	cooled	the	outward	crust.
Then	the	internal	flames	burst	through	the	cooling	crust	and	threw
up	the	mountains	and	made	the	hills	of	the	valley	of	this	wonderful
world	of	ours.	If	this	internal	melted	mass	burst	out	and	copied	very
quickly	it	became	granite;	that	which	cooled	less	quickly	became
silver;	and	less	quickly,	gold;	and	after	gold	diamonds	were	made.
Said	the	old	priest,	"A	diamond	is	a	congealed	drop	of	sunlight."

This	is	a	scientific	truth	also.	You	all	know	that	a	diamond	is	pure
carbon,	 actually	 deposited	 sunlight—and	 he	 said	 another	 thing	 I
would	not	forget:	he	declared	that	a	diamond	is	the	last	and	highest
of	God's	mineral	creations,	as	a	woman	is	the	last	and	highest	of
God's	animal	creations.	I	suppose	that	is	the	reason	why	the	two
have	such	a	liking	for	each	other.	And	the	old	priest	told	Al	Hafed


that	if	he	had	a	handful	of	diamonds	he	could	purchase	a	whole
country,	and	with	a	mine	of	diamonds	he	could	place	his	children
upon	thrones	through	the	influence	of	their	great	wealth.	Al	Hafed
heard	all	about	diamonds	and	how	much	they	were	worth,	and	went
to	his	bed	that	night	a	poor	man—not	that	he	had	lost	anything,	but
poor	 because	 he	 was	 discontented	 and	 discontented	 because	 he
thought	he	was	poor.	He	said:	"I	want	a	mine	of	diamonds!"	So	he
lay	awake	all	night,	and	early	in	the	morning	sought	out	the	priest.
Now	I	know	from	experience	that	a	priest	when	awakened	early	in
the	morning	is	cross.	He	awoke	that	priest	out	of	his	dreams	and	said
to	him,	"Will	you	tell	me	where	I	can	find	diamonds?"	The	priest
said,	"Diamonds?	What	do	you	want	with	diamonds?"	"I	want	to	be
immensely	rich,"	said	Al	Hafed,	"but	I	don't	know	where	to	go."
"Well,"	said	the	priest,	"if	you	will	find	a	river	that	runs	over	white
sand	between	high	mountains,	in	those	sands	you	will	always	see
diamonds."	 "Do	 you	 really	 believe	 that	 there	 is	 such	 a	 river?"
"Plenty	of	them,	plenty	of	them;	all	you	have	to	do	is	just	go	and
find	them,	then	you	have	them."	Al	Hafed	said,	"I	will	go."	So	he
sold	 his	 farm,	 collected	 his	 money	 at	 interest,	 left	 his	 family	 in
charge	of	a	neighbor,	and	away	he	went	in	search	of	diamonds.	He
began	very	properly,	to	my	mind,	at	the	Mountains	of	the	Moon.
Afterwards	he	went	around	into	Palestine,	then	wandered	on	into
Europe,	and	at	last	when	his	money	was	all	spent,	and	he	was	in
rags,	wretchedness	and	poverty,	he	stood	on	the	shore	of	that	bay	in
Barcelona,	Spain,	when	a	tidal	wave	came	rolling	through	the	Pillars
of	Hercules	and	the	poor	afflicted,	suffering	man	could	not	resist	the
awful	temptation	to	cast	himself	into	that	incoming	tide,	and	he	sank
beneath	its	foaming	crest,	never	to	rise	in	this	life	again.

When	that	old	guide	had	told	me	that	very	sad	story,	he	stopped	the
camel	I	was	riding	and	went	back	to	fix	the	baggage	on	one	of	the
other	 camels,	 and	 I	 remember	 thinking	 to	 myself,	 "Why	 did	 he
reserve	 that	 for	 his	 _particular	 friends_ ?"	 There	 seemed	 to	 be	 no
beginning,	middle	or	end—nothing	to	it.	That	was	the	first	story	I
ever	heard	told	or	read	in	which	the	hero	was	killed	in	the	first
chapter.	I	had	but	one	chapter	of	that	story	and	the	hero	was	dead.
When	the	guide	came	back	and	took	up	the	halter	of	my	camel
again,	he	went	right	on	with	the	same	story.	He	said	that	Al	Hafed's
successor	led	his	camel	out	into	the	garden	to	drink,	and	as	that


camel	put	its	nose	down	into	the	clear	water	of	the	garden	brook	Al
Hafed's	successor	noticed	a	curious	flash	of	light	from	the	sands	of
the	 shallow	 stream,	 and	 reaching	 in	 he	 pulled	 out	 a	 black	 stone
having	an	eye	of	light	that	reflected	all	the	colors	of	the	rainbow,	and
he	took	that	curious	pebble	into	the	house	and	left	it	on	the	mantel,
then	went	on	his	way	and	forgot	all	about	it.	A	few	days	after	that,
this	same	old	priest	who	told	Al	Hafed	how	diamonds	were	made,
came	in	to	visit	his	successor,	when	he	saw	that	flash	of	light	from
the	mantel.	He	rushed	up	and	said,	"Here	is	a	diamond—here	is	a
diamond!	 Has	 Al	 Hafed	 returned?"	 "No,	 no;	 Al	 Hafed	 has	 not
returned	and	that	is	not	a	diamond;	that	is	nothing	but	a	stone;	we
found	it	right	out	here	in	our	garden."	"But	I	know	a	diamond	when	I
see	it,"	said	he;	"that	is	a	diamond!"

Then	together	they	rushed	to	the	garden	and	stirred	up	the	white
sands	 with	 their	 fingers	 and	 found	 others	 more	 beautiful,	 more
valuable	diamonds	than	the	first,	and	thus,	said	the	guide	to	me,
were	 discovered	 the	 diamond	 mines	 of	 Golconda,	 the	 most
magnificent	diamond	mines	in	all	the	history	of	mankind,	exceeding
the	 Kimberley	 in	 its	 value.	 The	 great	 Kohinoor	 diamond	 in
England's	crown	jewels	and	the	largest	crown	diamond	on	earth	in
Russia's	crown	jewels,	which	I	had	often	hoped	she	would	have	to
sell	before	they	had	peace	with	Japan,	came	from	that	mine,	and
when	 the	 old	 guide	 had	 called	 my	 attention	 to	 that	 wonderful
discovery	he	took	his	Turkish	cap	off	his	head	again	and	swung	it
around	 in	 the	 air	 to	 call	 my	 attention	 to	 the	 moral.	 Those	 Arab
guides	have	a	moral	to	each	story,	though	the	stories	are	not	always
moral.	He	said,	had	Al	Hafed	remained	at	home	and	dug	in	his	own
cellar	 or	 in	 his	 own	 garden,	 instead	 of	 wretchedness,	 starvation,
poverty	and	death	in	a	strange	land,	he	would	have	had	"acres	of
diamonds"—for	every	acre,	yes,	every	shovelful	of	that	old	farm
afterwards	revealed	the	gems	which	since	have	decorated	the	crowns
of	monarchs.	When	he	had	given	the	moral	to	his	story,	I	saw	why
he	had	reserved	this	story	for	his	"particular	friends."	I	didn't	tell	him
I	could	see	it;	I	was	not	going	to	tell	that	old	Arab	that	I	could	see	it.
For	it	was	that	mean	old	Arab's	way	of	going	around	a	thing,	like	a
lawyer,	and	saying	indirectly	what	he	did	not	dare	say	directly,	that
there	was	a	certain	young	man	that	day	traveling	down	the	Tigris
River	that	might	better	be	at	home	in	America.	I	didn't	tell	him	I


could	see	it.

I	told	him	his	story	reminded	me	of	one,	and	I	told	it	to	him	quick.	I
told	him	about	that	man	out	in	California,	who,	in	1847,	owned	a
ranch	out	there.	He	read	that	gold	had	been	discovered	in	Southern
California,	and	he	sold	his	ranch	to	Colonel	Sutter	and	started	off	to
hunt	for	gold.	Colonel	Sutter	put	a	mill	on	the	little	stream	in	that
farm	and	one	day	his	little	girl	brought	some	wet	sand	from	the
raceway	of	the	mill	into	the	house	and	placed	it	before	the	fire	to
dry,	and	as	that	sand	was	falling	through	the	little	girl's	fingers	a
visitor	 saw	 the	 first	 shining	 scales	 of	 real	 gold	 that	 were	 ever
discovered	in	California;	and	the	man	who	wanted	the	gold	had	sold
this	ranch	and	gone	away,	never	to	return.	I	delivered	this	lecture
two	years	ago	in	California,	in	the	city	that	stands	near	that	farm,
and	they	told	me	that	the	mine	is	not	exhausted	yet,	and	that	a	one-
third	owner	of	that	farm	has	been	getting	during	these	recent	years
twenty	dollars	of	gold	every	fifteen	minutes	of	his	life,	sleeping	or
waking.	Why,	you	and	I	would	enjoy	an	income	like	that!

But	the	best	illustration	that	I	have	now	of	this	thought	was	found
here	in	Pennsylvania.	There	was	a	man	living	in	Pennsylvania	who
owned	a	farm	here	and	he	did	what	I	should	do	if	I	had	a	farm	in
Pennsylvania—he	 sold	 it.	 But	 before	 he	 sold	 it	 he	 concluded	 to
secure	 employment	 collecting	 coal	 oil	 for	 his	 cousin	 in	 Canada.
They	first	discovered	coal	oil	there.	So	this	farmer	in	Pennsylvania
decided	 that	 he	 would	 apply	 for	 a	 position	 with	 his	 cousin	 in
Canada.	Now,	you	see,	this	farmer	was	not	altogether	a	foolish	man.
He	did	not	leave	his	farm	until	he	had	something	else	to	do.	Of	all
the	simpletons	the	stars	shine	on	there	is	none	more	foolish	than	a
man	who	leaves	one	job	before	he	has	obtained	another.	And	that
has	especial	reference	to	gentlemen	of	my	profession,	and	has	no
reference	to	a	man	seeking	a	divorce.	So	I	say	this	old	farmer	did	not
leave	one	job	until	he	had	obtained	another.	He	wrote	to	Canada,	but
his	cousin	replied	that	he	could	not	engage	him	because	he	did	not
know	anything	about	the	oil	business.	"Well,	then,"	said	he,	"I	will
understand	it."	So	he	set	himself	at	the	study	of	the	whole	subject.
He	began	at	the	second	day	of	the	creation,	he	studied	the	subject
from	the	primitive	vegetation	to	the	coal	oil	stage,	until	he	knew	all
about	it.	Then	he	wrote	to	his	cousin	and	said,	"Now	I	understand


the	oil	business."	And	his	cousin	replied	to	him,	"All	right,	then,
come	on."

That	 man,	 by	 the	 record	 of	 the	 county,	 sold	 his	 farm	 for	 eight
hundred	and	thirty-three	dollars—even	money,	"no	cents."	He	had
scarcely	gone	from	that	farm	before	the	man	who	purchased	it	went
out	 to	 arrange	 for	 the	 watering	 the	 cattle	 and	 he	 found	 that	 the
previous	 owner	 had	 arranged	 the	 matter	 very	 nicely.	 There	 is	 a
stream	running	down	the	hillside	there,	and	the	previous	owner	had
gone	out	and	put	a	plank	across	that	stream	at	an	angle,	extending
across	the	brook	and	down	edgewise	a	few	inches	under	the	surface
of	the	water.	The	purpose	of	the	plank	across	that	brook	was	to
throw	over	to	the	other	bank	a	dreadful-looking	scum	through	which
the	 cattle	 would	 not	 put	 their	 noses	 to	 drink	 above	 the	 plank,
although	they	would	drink	the	water	on	one	side	below	it.	Thus	that
man	who	had	gone	to	Canada	had	been	himself	damming	back	for
twenty-three	years	a	flow	of	coal	oil	which	the	State	Geologist	of
Pennsylvania	declared	officially,	as	early	as	1870,	was	then	worth	to
our	State	a	hundred	millions	of	dollars.	The	city	of	Titusville	now
stands	on	that	farm	and	those	Pleasantville	wells	flow	on,	and	that
farmer	 who	 had	 studied	 all	 about	 the	 formation	 of	 oil	 since	 the
second	day	of	God's	creation	clear	down	to	the	present	time,	sold
that	farm	for	$833,	no	cents—again	I	say,	"no	sense."

But	I	need	another	illustration,	and	I	found	that	in	Massachusetts,
and	I	am	sorry	I	did,	because	that	is	my	old	State.	This	young	man	I
mention	went	out	of	the	State	to	study—went	down	to	Yale	College
and	studied	Mines	and	Mining.	They	paid	him	fifteen	dollars	a	week
during	 his	 last	 year	 for	 training	 students	 who	 were	 behind	 their
classes	in	mineralogy,	out	of	hours,	of	course,	while	pursuing	his
own	studies.	But	when	he	graduated	they	raised	his	pay	from	fifteen
dollars	to	forty-five	dollars	and	offered	him	a	professorship.	Then	he
went	straight	home	to	his	mother	and	said,	"Mother,	I	won't	work	for
forty-five	dollars	a	week.	What	is	forty-five	dollars	a	week	for	a	man
with	a	brain	like	mine!	Mother,	let's	go	out	to	California	and	stake
out	gold	claims	and	be	immensely	rich."	"Now,"	said	his	mother,	"it
is	just	as	well	to	be	happy	as	it	is	to	be	rich."

But	as	he	was	the	only	son	he	had	his	way—they	always	do;	and
they	sold	out	in	Massachusetts	and	went	to	Wisconsin,	where	he


went	into	the	employ	of	the	Superior	Copper	Mining	Company,	and
he	was	lost	from	sight	in	the	employ	of	that	company	at	fifteen
dollars	a	week	again.	He	was	also	to	have	an	interest	in	any	mines
that	he	should	discover	for	that	company.	But	I	do	not	believe	that
he	has	ever	discovered	a	mine—I	do	not	know	anything	about	it,	but
I	do	not	believe	he	has.	I	know	he	had	scarcely	gone	from	the	old
homestead	before	the	farmer	who	had	bought	the	homestead	went
out	to	dig	potatoes,	and	as	he	was	bringing	them	in	in	a	large	basket
through	the	front	gateway,	the	ends	of	the	stone	wall	came	so	near
together	at	the	gate	that	the	basket	hugged	very	tight.	So	he	set	the
basket	on	the	ground	and	pulled,	first	on	one	side	and	then	on	the
other	side.	Our	farms	in	Massachusetts	are	mostly	stone	walls,	and
the	farmers	have	to	be	economical	with	their	gateways	in	order	to
have	some	place	to	put	the	stones.	That	basket	hugged	so	tight	there
that	as	he	was	hauling	it	through	he	noticed	in	the	upper	stone	next
the	 gate	 a	 block	 of	 native	 silver,	 eight	 inches	 square;	 and	 this
professor	of	mines	and	mining	and	mineralogy,	who	would	not	work
for	 forty-five	 dollars	 a	 week,	 when	 he	 sold	 that	 homestead	 in
Massachusetts,	sat	right	on	that	stone	to	make	the	bargain.	He	was
brought	up	there;	he	had	gone	back	and	forth	by	that	piece	of	silver,
rubbed	it	with	his	sleeve,	and	it	seemed	to	say,	"Come	now,	now,
now,	here	is	a	hundred	thousand	dollars.	Why	not	take	me?"	But	he
would	not	take	it.	There	was	no	silver	in	Newburyport;	it	was	all
away	off—well,	I	don't	know	where;	he	didn't,	but	somewhere	else
—and	he	was	a	professor	of	mineralogy.

I	do	not	know	of	anything	I	would	enjoy	better	than	to	take	the
whole	 time	 to-night	 telling	 of	 blunders	 like	 that	 I	 have	 heard
professors	make.	Yet	I	wish	I	knew	what	that	man	is	doing	out	there
in	Wisconsin.	I	can	imagine	him	out	there,	as	he	sits	by	his	fireside,
and	he	is	saying	to	his	friends,	"Do	you	know	that	man	Conwell	that
lives	in	Philadelphia?"	"Oh,	yes,	I	have	heard	of	him."	"And	do	you
know	that	man	Jones	that	lives	in	that	city?"	"Yes,	I	have	heard	of
him."	And	then	he	begins	to	laugh	and	laugh	and	says	to	his	friends,
"They	have	done	the	same	thing	I	did,	precisely."	And	that	spoils	the
whole	joke,	because	you	and	I	have	done	it.

Ninety	out	of	every	hundred	people	here	have	made	that	mistake	this
very	day.	I	say	you	ought	to	be	rich;	you	have	no	right	to	be	poor.	To


live	in	Philadelphia	and	not	be	rich	is	a	misfortune,	and	it	is	doubly	a
misfortune,	because	you	could	have	been	rich	just	as	well	as	be	poor.
Philadelphia	furnishes	so	many	opportunities.	You	ought	to	be	rich.
But	persons	with	certain	religious	prejudice	will	ask,	"How	can	you
spend	your	time	advising	the	rising	generation	to	give	their	time	to
getting	money—dollars	and	cents—the	commercial	spirit?"

Yet	I	must	say	that	you	ought	to	spend	time	getting	rich.	You	and	I
know	there	are	some	things	more	valuable	than	money;	of	course,
we	do.	Ah,	yes!	By	a	heart	made	unspeakably	sad	by	a	grave	on
which	the	autumn	leaves	now	fall,	I	know	there	are	some	things
higher	and	grander	and	sublimer	than	money.	Well	does	the	man
know,	 who	 has	 suffered,	 that	 there	 are	 some	 things	 sweeter	 and
holier	and	more	sacred	than	gold.	Nevertheless,	the	man	of	common
sense	also	knows	that	there	is	not	any	one	of	those	things	that	is	not
greatly	enhanced	by	the	use	of	money.	Money	is	power.	Love	is	the
grandest	thing	on	God's	earth,	but	fortunate	the	lover	who	has	plenty
of	money.	Money	is	power;	money	has	powers;	and	for	a	man	to	say,
"I	do	not	want	money,"	is	to	say,	"I	do	not	wish	to	do	any	good	to
my	fellowmen."	It	is	absurd	thus	to	talk.	It	is	absurd	to	disconnect
them.	This	is	a	wonderfully	great	life,	and	you	ought	to	spend	your
time	getting	money,	because	of	the	power	there	is	in	money.	And	yet
this	religious	prejudice	is	so	great	that	some	people	think	it	is	a	great
honor	to	be	one	of	God's	poor.	I	am	looking	in	the	faces	of	people
who	think	just	that	way.	I	heard	a	man	once	say	in	a	prayer	meeting
that	 he	 was	 thankful	 that	 he	 was	 one	 of	 God's	 poor,	 and	 then	 I
silently	wondered	what	his	wife	would	say	to	that	speech,	as	she
took	in	washing	to	support	the	man	while	he	sat	and	smoked	on	the
veranda.	I	don't	want	to	see	any	more	of	that	land	of	God's	poor.
Now,	when	a	man	could	have	been	rich	just	as	well,	and	he	is	now
weak	because	he	is	poor,	he	has	done	some	great	wrong;	he	has	been
untruthful	 to	 himself;	 he	 has	 been	 unkind	 to	 his	 fellowmen.	 We
ought	to	get	rich	if	we	can	by	honorable	and	Christian	methods,	and
these	are	the	only	methods	that	sweep	us	quickly	toward	the	goal	of
riches.

I	remember,	not	many	years	ago	a	young	theological	student	who
came	into	my	office	and	said	to	me	that	he	thought	it	was	his	duty	to
come	in	and	"labor	with	me."	I	asked	him	what	had	happened,	and


he	said:	"I	feel	it	is	my	duty	to	come	in	and	speak	to	you,	sir,	and	say
that	the	Holy	Scriptures	declare	that	money	is	the	root	of	all	evil."	I
asked	him	where	he	found	that	saying,	and	he	said	he	found	it	in	the
Bible.	I	asked	him	whether	he	had	made	a	new	Bible,	and	he	said,
no,	he	had	not	gotten	a	new	Bible,	that	it	was	in	the	old	Bible.
"Well,"	I	said,	"if	it	is	in	my	Bible,	I	never	saw	it.	Will	you	please
get	the	text-book	and	let	me	see	it?"	He	left	the	room	and	soon	came
stalking	in	with	his	Bible	open,	with	all	the	bigoted	pride	of	the
narrow	sectarian,	who	founds	his	creed	on	some	misinterpretation	of
Scripture,	and	he	put	the	Bible	down	on	the	table	before	me	and
fairly	 squealed	 into	 my	 ear,	 "There	 it	 is.	 You	 can	 read	 it	 for
yourself."	I	said	to	him,	"Young	man,	you	will	learn,	when	you	get	a
little	older,	that	you	cannot	trust	another	denomination	to	read	the
Bible	for	you."	I	said,	"Now,	you	belong	to	another	denomination.
Please	read	it	to	me,	and	remember	that	you	are	taught	in	a	school
where	emphasis	is	exegesis."	So	he	took	the	Bible	and	read	it:	"The
_love_ 	of	money	is	the	root	of	all	evil."	Then	he	had	it	right.	The	Great
Book	has	come	back	into	the	esteem	and	love	of	the	people,	and	into
the	respect	of	the	greatest	minds	of	earth,	and	now	you	can	quote	it
and	rest	your	life	and	your	death	on	it	without	more	fear.	So,	when
he	quoted	right	from	the	Scriptures	he	quoted	the	truth.	"The	love	of
money	is	the	root	of	all	evil."	Oh,	that	is	it.	It	is	the	worship	of	the
means	instead	of	the	end,	though	you	cannot	reach	the	end	without
the	means.	When	a	man	makes	an	idol	of	the	money	instead	of	the
purposes	for	which	it	may	be	used,	when	he	squeezes	the	dollar	until
the	eagle	squeals,	then	it	is	made	the	root	of	all	evil.	Think,	if	you
only	had	the	money,	what	you	could	do	for	your	wife,	your	child,
and	for	your	home	and	your	city.	Think	how	soon	you	could	endow
the	 Temple	 College	 yonder	 if	 you	 only	 had	 the	 money	 and	 the
disposition	 to	 give	 it;	 and	 yet,	 my	 friend,	 people	 say	 you	 and	 I
should	not	spend	the	time	getting	rich.	How	inconsistent	the	whole
thing	is.	We	ought	to	be	rich,	because	money	has	power.	I	think	the
best	thing	for	me	to	do	is	to	illustrate	this,	for	if	I	say	you	ought	to
get	 rich,	 I	 ought,	 at	 least,	 to	 suggest	 how	 it	 is	 done.	 We	 get	 a
prejudice	against	rich	men	because	of	the	lies	that	are	told	about
them.	The	lies	that	are	told	about	Mr.	Rockefeller	because	he	has
two	hundred	million	dollars—so	many	believe	them;	yet	how	false
is	the	representation	of	that	man	to	the	world.	How	little	we	can	tell
what	 is	 true	 nowadays	 when	 newspapers	 try	 to	 sell	 their	 papers


entirely	on	some	sensation!	The	way	they	lie	about	the	rich	men	is
something	 terrible,	 and	 I	 do	 not	 know	 that	 there	 is	 anything	 to
illustrate	this	better	than	what	the	newspapers	now	say	about	the	city
of	Philadelphia.	A	young	man	came	to	me	the	other	day	and	said,	"If
Mr.	 Rockefeller,	 as	 you	 think,	 is	 a	 good	 man,	 why	 is	 it	 that
everybody	says	so	much	against	him?"	It	is	because	he	has	gotten
ahead	of	us;	that	is	the	whole	of	it—just	gotten	ahead	of	us.	Why	is
it	 Mr.	 Carnegie	 is	 criticised	 so	 sharply	 by	 an	 envious	 world?
Because	he	has	gotten	more	than	we	have.	If	a	man	knows	more
than	I	know,	don't	I	incline	to	criticise	somewhat	his	learning?	Let	a
man	stand	in	a	pulpit	and	preach	to	thousands,	and	if	I	have	fifteen
people	in	my	church,	and	they're	all	asleep,	don't	I	criticise	him?	We
always	do	that	to	the	man	who	gets	ahead	of	us.	Why,	the	man	you
are	criticising	has	one	hundred	millions,	and	you	have	fifty	cents,
and	both	of	you	have	just	what	you	are	worth.	One	of	the	richest
men	in	this	country	came	into	my	home	and	sat	down	in	my	parlor
and	said:	"Did	you	see	all	those	lies	about	my	family	in	the	paper?"
"Certainly	I	did;	I	knew	they	were	lies	when	I	saw	them."	"Why	do
they	lie	about	me	the	way	they	do?"	"Well,"	I	said	to	him,	"if	you
will	give	me	your	check	for	one	hundred	millions,	I	will	take	all	the
lies	along	with	it."	"Well,"	said	he,	"I	don't	see	any	sense	in	their
thus	talking	about	my	family	and	myself.	Conwell,	tell	me	frankly,
what	do	you	think	the	American	people	think	of	me?"	"Well,"	said	I,
"they	think	you	are	the	blackest-hearted	villain	that	ever	trod	the
soil!"	"But	what	can	I	do	about	it?"	There	is	nothing	he	can	do	about
it,	and	yet	he	is	one	of	the	sweetest	Christian	men	I	ever	knew.	If
you	get	a	hundred	millions	you	will	have	the	lies;	you	will	be	lied
about,	and	you	can	judge	your	success	in	any	line	by	the	lies	that	are
told	about	you.	I	say	that	you	ought	to	be	rich.	But	there	are	ever
coming	to	me	young	men	who	say,	"I	would	like	to	go	into	business,
but	I	cannot."	"Why	not?"	"Because	I	have	no	capital	to	begin	on."
Capital,	 capital	 to	 begin	 on!	 What!	 young	 man!	 Living	 in
Philadelphia	and	looking	at	this	wealthy	generation,	all	of	whom
began	as	poor	boys,	and	you	want	capital	to	begin	on?	It	is	fortunate
for	you	that	you	have	no	capital.	I	am	glad	you	have	no	money.	I
pity	a	rich	man's	son.	A	rich	man's	son	in	these	days	of	ours	occupies
a	very	difficult	position.	They	are	to	be	pitied.	A	rich	man's	son
cannot	know	the	very	best	things	in	human	life.	He	cannot.	The
statistics	of	Massachusetts	show	us	that	not	one	out	of	seventeen	rich


men's	 sons	 ever	 die	 rich.	 They	 are	 raised	 in	 luxury,	 they	 die	 in
poverty.	Even	if	a	rich	man's	son	retains	his	father's	money	even
then	he	cannot	know	the	best	things	of	life.

A	young	man	in	our	college	yonder	asked	me	to	formulate	for	him
what	 I	 thought	 was	 the	 happiest	 hour	 in	 a	 man's	 history,	 and	 I
studied	it	long	and	came	back	convinced	that	the	happiest	hour	that
any	man	ever	sees	in	any	earthly	matter	is	when	a	young	man	takes
his	bride	over	the	threshold	of	the	door,	for	the	first	time,	of	the
house	he	himself	has	earned	and	built,	when	he	turns	to	his	bride	and
with	an	eloquence	greater	than	any	language	of	mine,	he	sayeth	to
his	wife,	"My	loved	one,	I	earned	this	home	myself;	I	earned	it	all.	It
is	all	mine,	and	I	divide	it	with	thee."	That	is	the	grandest	moment	a
human	heart	may	ever	see.	But	a	rich	man's	son	cannot	know	that.
He	goes	into	a	finer	mansion,	it	may	be,	but	he	is	obliged	to	go
through	the	house	and	say,	"Mother	gave	me	this,	mother	gave	me
that,	my	mother	gave	me	that,	my	mother	gave	me	that,"	until	his
wife	wishes	she	had	married	his	mother.	Oh,	I	pity	a	rich	man's	son.
I	do.	Until	he	gets	so	far	along	in	his	dudeism	that	he	gets	his	arms
up	like	that	and	can't	get	them	down.	Didn't	you	ever	see	any	of
them	astray	at	Atlantic	City?	I	saw	one	of	these	scarecrows	once	and
I	never	tire	thinking	about	it.	I	was	at	Niagara	Falls	lecturing,	and
after	the	lecture	I	went	to	the	hotel,	and	when	I	went	up	to	the	desk
there	stood	there	a	millionaire's	son	from	New	York.	He	was	an
indescribable	specimen	of	anthropologic	potency.	He	carried	a	gold-
headed	cane	under	his	arm—more	in	its	head	than	he	had	in	his.	I	do
not	believe	I	could	describe	the	young	man	if	I	should	try.	But	still	I
must	say	that	he	wore	an	eye-glass	he	could	not	see	through;	patent
leather	shoes	he	could	not	walk	in,	and	pants	he	could	not	sit	down
in—dressed	like	a	grasshopper!	Well,	this	human	cricket	came	up	to
the	clerk's	desk	just	as	I	came	in.	He	adjusted	his	unseeing	eye-glass
in	 this	 wise	 and	 lisped	 to	 the	 clerk,	 because	 it's	 "Hinglish,	 you
know,"	to	lisp:	"Thir,	thir,	will	you	have	the	kindness	to	fuhnish	me
with	thome	papah	and	thome	envelopehs!"	The	clerk	measured	that
man	quick,	and	he	pulled	out	a	drawer	and	took	some	envelopes	and
paper	and	cast	them	across	the	counter	and	turned	away	to	his	books.
You	should	have	seen	that	specimen	of	humanity	when	the	paper
and	envelopes	came	across	the	counter—he	whose	wants	had	always
been	anticipated	by	servants.	He	adjusted	his	unseeing	eye-glass	and


he	yelled	after	that	clerk:	"Come	back	here,	thir,	come	right	back
here.	Now,	thir,	will	you	order	a	thervant	to	take	that	papah	and
thothe	envelopes	and	carry	them	to	yondah	dethk."	Oh,	the	poor
miserable,	contemptible	American	monkey!	He	couldn't	carry	paper
and	 envelopes	 twenty	 feet.	 I	 suppose	 he	 could	 not	 get	 his	 arms
down.	I	have	no	pity	for	such	travesties	of	human	nature.	If	you	have
no	capital,	I	am	glad	of	it.	You	don't	need	capital;	you	need	common
sense,	not	copper	cents.

A.T.	Stewart,	the	great	princely	merchant	of	New	York,	the	richest
man	in	America	in	his	time,	was	a	poor	boy;	he	had	a	dollar	and	a
half	and	went	into	the	mercantile	business.	But	he	lost	eighty-seven
and	a	half	cents	of	his	first	dollar	and	a	half	because	he	bought	some
needles	and	thread	and	buttons	to	sell,	which	people	didn't	want.

Are	you	poor?	It	is	because	you	are	not	wanted	and	are	left	on	your
own	hands.	There	was	the	great	lesson.	Apply	it	whichever	way	you
will	it	comes	to	every	single	person's	life,	young	or	old.	He	did	not
know	what	people	needed,	and	consequently	bought	something	they
didn't	want	and	had	the	goods	left	on	his	hands	a	dead	loss.	A.T.
Stewart	learned	there	the	great	lesson	of	his	mercantile	life	and	said,
"I	will	never	buy	anything	more	until	I	first	learn	what	the	people
want;	then	I'll	make	the	purchase."	He	went	around	to	the	doors	and
asked	them	what	they	did	want,	and	when	he	found	out	what	they
wanted,	he	invested	his	sixty-two	and	a	half	cents	and	began	to
supply	 "a	 known	 demand."	 I	 care	 not	 what	 your	 profession	 or
occupation	in	life	may	be;	I	care	not	whether	you	are	a	lawyer,	a
doctor,	 a	 housekeeper,	 teacher	 or	 whatever	 else,	 the	 principle	 is
precisely	the	same.	We	must	know	what	the	world	needs	first	and
then	 invest	 ourselves	 to	 supply	 that	 need,	 and	 success	 is	 almost
certain.	 A.T.	 Stewart	 went	 on	 until	 he	 was	 worth	 forty	 millions.
"Well,"	you	will	say,	"a	man	can	do	that	in	New	York,	but	cannot	do
it	 here	 in	 Philadelphia."	 The	 statistics	 very	 carefully	 gathered	 in
New	York	in	1889	showed	one	hundred	and	seven	millionaires	in
the	 city	 worth	 over	 ten	 millions	 apiece.	 It	 was	 remarkable	 and
people	think	they	must	go	there	to	get	rich.	Out	of	that	one	hundred
and	seven	millionaires	only	seven	of	them	made	their	money	in	New
York,	and	the	others	moved	to	New	York	after	their	fortunes	were
made,	 and	 sixty-seven	 out	 of	 the	 remaining	 hundred	 made	 their


fortunes	in	towns	of	less	than	six	thousand	people,	and	the	richest
man	in	the	country	at	that	time	lived	in	a	town	of	thirty-five	hundred
inhabitants,	and	always	lived	there	and	never	moved	away.	It	is	not
so	much	where	you	are	as	what	you	are.	But	at	the	same	time	if	the
largeness	of	the	city	comes	into	the	problem,	then	remember	it	is	the
smaller	city	that	furnishes	the	great	opportunity	to	make	the	millions
of	money.	The	best	illustration	that	I	can	give	is	in	reference	to	John
Jacob	Astor,	who	was	a	poor	boy	and	who	made	all	the	money	of	the
Astor	family.	He	made	more	than	his	successors	have	ever	earned,
and	yet	he	once	held	a	mortgage	on	a	millinery	store	in	New	York,
and	because	the	people	could	not	make	enough	money	to	pay	the
interest	and	the	rent,	he	foreclosed	the	mortgage	and	took	possession
of	the	store	and	went	into	partnership	with	the	man	who	had	failed.
He	kept	the	same	stock,	did	not	give	them	a	dollar	capital,	and	he
left	them	alone	and	went	out	and	sat	down	upon	a	bench	in	the	park.
Out	there	on	that	bench	in	the	park	he	had	the	most	important,	and	to
my	mind,	the	pleasantest	part	of	that	partnership	business.	He	was
watching	the	ladies	 as	they	went	 by;	and	where	 is	the	man	 that
wouldn't	get	rich	at	that	business?	But	when	John	Jacob	Astor	saw	a
lady	pass,	with	her	shoulders	back	and	her	head	up,	as	if	she	did	not
care	if	the	whole	world	looked	on	her,	he	studied	her	bonnet;	and
before	that	bonnet	was	out	of	sight	he	knew	the	shape	of	the	frame
and	the	color	of	the	trimmings,	the	curl	of	the—something	on	a
bonnet.	Sometimes	I	try	to	describe	a	woman's	bonnet,	but	it	is	of
little	use,	for	it	would	be	out	of	style	to-morrow	night.	So	John	Jacob
Astor	went	to	the	store	and	said:	"Now,	put	in	the	show	window	just
such	a	bonnet	as	I	describe	to	you	because,"	said	he,	"I	have	just
seen	a	lady	who	likes	just	such	a	bonnet.	Do	not	make	up	any	more
till	I	come	back."	And	he	went	out	again	and	sat	on	that	bench	in	the
park,	and	another	lady	of	a	different	form	and	complexion	passed
him	with	a	bonnet	of	different	shape	and	color,	of	course.	"Now,"
said	he,	"put	such	a	bonnet	as	that	in	the	show	window."	He	didn't
fill	his	show	window	with	hats	and	bonnets	which	drive	people	away
and	then	sit	in	the	back	of	the	store	and	bawl	because	the	people	go
somewhere	else	to	trade.	He	didn't	put	a	hat	or	bonnet	in	that	show
window	the	like	of	which	he	had	not	seen	before	it	was	made	up.

In	 our	 city	 especially	 there	 are	 great	 opportunities	 for
manufacturing,	and	the	time	has	come	when	the	line	is	drawn	very


sharply	between	the	stockholders	of	the	factory	and	their	employés.
Now,	friends,	there	has	also	come	a	discouraging	gloom	upon	this
country	and	the	laboring	men	are	beginning	to	feel	that	they	are
being	held	down	by	a	crust	over	their	heads	through	which	they	find
it	impossible	to	break,	and	the	aristocratic	money-owner	himself	is
so	far	above	that	he	will	never	descend	to	their	assistance.	That	is
the	thought	that	is	in	the	minds	of	our	people.	But,	friends,	never	in
the	history	of	our	country	was	there	an	opportunity	so	great	for	the
poor	man	to	get	rich	as	there	is	now	in	the	city	of	Philadelphia.	The
very	 fact	 that	 they	 get	 discouraged	 is	 what	 prevents	 them	 from
getting	rich.	That	is	all	there	is	to	it.	The	road	is	open,	and	let	us
keep	it	open	between	the	poor	and	the	rich.	I	know	that	the	labor
unions	have	two	great	problems	to	contend	with,	and	there	is	only
one	 way	 to	 solve	 them.	 The	 labor	 unions	 are	 doing	 as	 much	 to
prevent	 its	 solving	 as	 are	 the	 capitalists	 to-day,	 and	 there	 are
positively	two	sides	to	it.	The	labor	union	has	two	difficulties;	the
first	one	is	that	it	began	to	make	a	labor	scale	for	all	classes	on	a	par,
and	they	scale	down	a	man	that	can	earn	five	dollars	a	day	to	two
and	a	half	a	day,	in	order	to	level	up	to	him	an	imbecile	that	cannot
earn	 fifty	 cents	 a	 day.	 That	 is	 one	 of	 the	 most	 dangerous	 and
discouraging	things	for	the	working	man.	He	cannot	get	the	results
of	his	work	if	he	do	better	work	or	higher	work	or	work	longer;	that
is	a	dangerous	thing,	and	in	order	to	get	every	laboring	man	free	and
every	American	equal	to	every	other	American,	let	the	laboring	man
ask	what	he	is	worth	and	get	it—not	let	any	capitalist	say	to	him:
"You	shall	work	for	me	for	half	of	what	you	are	worth;"	nor	let	any
labor	organization	say:	"You	shall	work	for	the	capitalist	for	half
your	worth."	Be	a	man,	be	independent,	and	then	shall	the	laboring
man	 find	 the	 road	 ever	 open	 from	 poverty	 to	 wealth.	 The	 other
difficulty	that	the	labor	union	has	to	consider,	and	this	problem	they
have	to	solve	themselves,	is	the	kind	of	orators	who	come	and	talk	to
them	about	the	oppressive	rich.	I	can	in	my	dreams	recite	the	oration
I	have	heard	again	and	again	under	such	circumstances.	My	life	has
been	with	the	laboring	man.	I	am	a	laboring	man	myself.	I	have
often,	in	their	assemblies,	heard	the	speech	of	the	man	who	has	been
invited	 to	 address	 the	 labor	 union.	 The	 man	 gets	 up	 before	 the
assembled	 company	 of	 honest	 laboring	 men	 and	 he	 begins	 by
saying:	 "Oh,	 ye	 honest,	 industrious	 laboring	 men,	 who	 have
furnished	all	the	capital	of	the	world,	who	have	built	all	the	palaces


and	constructed	all	the	railroads	and	covered	the	ocean	with	her
steamships.	Oh,	you	laboring	men!	You	are	nothing	but	slaves;	you
are	ground	down	in	the	dust	by	the	capitalist	who	is	gloating	over
you	as	he	enjoys	his	beautiful	estates	and	as	he	has	his	banks	filled
with	gold,	and	every	dollar	he	owns	is	coined	out	of	the	hearts'	blood
of	the	honest	laboring	man."	Now,	that	is	a	lie,	and	you	know	it	is	a
lie;	and	yet	that	is	the	kind	of	speech	that	they	are	all	the	time
hearing,	representing	the	capitalists	as	wicked	and	the	laboring	men
so	enslaved.	Why,	how	wrong	it	is!	Let	the	man	who	loves	his	flag
and	believes	in	American	principles	endeavor	with	all	his	soul	to
bring	the	capitalist	and	the	laboring	man	together	until	they	stand
side	by	side,	and	arm	in	arm,	and	work	for	the	common	good	of
humanity.

He	is	an	enemy	to	his	country	who	sets	capital	against	labor	or	labor
against	capital.

Suppose	I	were	to	go	down	through	this	audience	and	ask	you	to
introduce	me	to	the	great	inventors	who	live	here	in	Philadelphia.
"The	inventors	of	Philadelphia,"	you	would	say,	"Why	we	don't	have
any	in	Philadelphia.	It	is	too	slow	to	invent	anything."	But	you	do
have	just	as	great	inventors,	and	they	are	here	in	this	audience,	as
ever	 invented	 a	 machine.	 But	 the	 probability	 is	 that	 the	 greatest
inventor	to	benefit	the	world	with	his	discovery	is	some	person,
perhaps	some	lady,	who	thinks	she	could	not	invent	anything.	Did
you	ever	study	the	history	of	invention	and	see	how	strange	it	was
that	the	man	who	made	the	greatest	discovery	did	it	without	any
previous	idea	that	he	was	an	inventor?	Who	are	the	great	inventors?
They	are	persons	with	plain,	straightforward	common	sense,	who
saw	 a	 need	 in	 the	 world	 and	 immediately	 applied	 themselves	 to
supply	that	need.	If	you	want	to	invent	anything,	don't	try	to	find	it
in	the	wheels	in	your	head	nor	the	wheels	in	your	machine,	but	first
find	out	what	the	people	need,	and	then	apply	yourself	to	that	need,
and	this	leads	to	invention	on	the	part	of	the	people	you	would	not
dream	 of	 before.	 The	 great	 inventors	 are	 simply	 great	 men;	 the
greater	the	man	the	more	simple	the	man;	and	the	more	simple	a
machine,	the	more	valuable	it	is.	Did	you	ever	know	a	really	great
man?	His	ways	are	so	simple,	so	common,	so	plain,	that	you	think
any	one	could	do	what	he	is	doing.	So	it	is	with	the	great	men	the


world	over.	If	you	know	a	really	great	man,	a	neighbor	of	yours,	you
can	go	right	up	to	him	and	say,	"How	are	you,	Jim,	good	morning,
Sam."	Of	course	you	can,	for	they	are	always	so	simple.

When	I	wrote	the	life	of	General	Garfield,	one	of	his	neighbors	took
me	to	his	back	door,	and	shouted,	"Jim,	Jim,	Jim!"	and	very	soon
"Jim"	came	to	the	door	and	General	Garfield	let	me	in—one	of	the
grandest	men	of	our	century.	The	great	men	of	the	world	are	ever	so.
I	was	down	in	Virginia	and	went	up	to	an	educational	institution	and
was	directed	to	a	man	who	was	setting	out	a	tree.	I	approached	him
and	said,	"Do	you	think	it	would	be	possible	for	me	to	see	General
Robert	E.	Lee,	the	President	of	the	University?"	He	said,	"Sir,	I	am
General	Lee."	Of	course,	when	you	meet	such	a	man,	so	noble	a	man
as	that,	you	will	find	him	a	simple,	plain	man.	Greatness	is	always
just	so	modest	and	great	inventions	are	simple.

I	asked	a	class	in	school	once	who	were	the	great	inventors,	and	a
little	girl	popped	up	and	said,	"Columbus."	Well,	now,	she	was	not
so	far	wrong.	Columbus	bought	a	farm	and	he	carried	on	that	farm
just	as	I	carried	on	my	father's	farm.	He	took	a	hoe	and	went	out	and
sat	down	on	a	rock.	But	Columbus,	as	he	sat	upon	that	shore	and
looked	out	upon	the	ocean,	noticed	that	the	ships,	as	they	sailed
away,	sank	deeper	into	the	sea	the	farther	they	went.	And	since	that
time	 some	 other	 "Spanish	 ships"	 have	 sunk	 into	 the	 sea.	 But	 as
Columbus	noticed	that	the	tops	of	the	masts	dropped	down	out	of
sight,	he	said:	"That	is	the	way	it	is	with	this	hoe	handle;	if	you	go
around	this	hoe	handle,	the	farther	off	you	go	the	farther	down	you
go.	I	can	sail	around	to	the	East	Indies."	How	plain	it	all	was.	How
simple	the	mind—majestic	like	the	simplicity	of	a	mountain	in	its
greatness.	Who	are	the	great	inventors?	They	are	ever	the	simple,
plain,	everyday	people	who	see	the	need	and	set	about	to	supply	it.

I	was	once	lecturing	in	North	Carolina,	and	the	cashier	of	the	bank
sat	directly	behind	a	lady	who	wore	a	very	large	hat.	I	said	to	that
audience,	"Your	wealth	is	too	near	to	you;	you	are	looking	right	over
it."	He	whispered	to	his	friend,	"Well,	then,	my	wealth	is	in	that	hat."
A	little	later,	as	he	wrote	me,	I	said,	"Wherever	there	is	a	human
need	there	is	a	greater	fortune	than	a	mine	can	furnish."	He	caught
my	thought,	and	he	drew	up	his	plan	for	a	better	hat	pin	than	was	in
the	hat	before	him,	and	the	pin	is	now	being	manufactured.	He	was


offered	fifty-five	thousand	dollars	for	his	patent.	That	man	made	his
fortune	before	he	got	out	of	that	hall.	This	is	the	whole	question:	Do
you	see	a	need?

I	remember	well	a	man	up	in	my	native	hills,	a	poor	man,	who	for
twenty	years	was	helped	by	the	town	in	his	poverty,	who	owned	a
wide-spreading	maple	tree	that	covered	the	poor	man's	cottage	like	a
benediction	from	on	high.	I	remember	that	tree,	for	in	the	spring—
there	were	some	roguish	boys	around	that	neighborhood	when	I	was
young—in	the	spring	of	the	year	the	man	would	put	a	bucket	there
and	the	spouts	to	catch	the	maple	sap,	and	I	remember	where	that
bucket	was;	and	when	I	was	young	the	boys	were,	oh,	so	mean,	that
they	went	to	that	tree	before	that	man	had	gotten	out	of	bed	in	the
morning,	and	after	he	had	gone	to	bed	at	night,	and	drank	up	that
sweet	sap.	I	could	swear	they	did	it.	He	didn't	make	a	great	deal	of
maple	sugar	from	that	tree.	But	one	day	he	made	the	sugar	so	white
and	crystalline	that	the	visitor	did	not	believe	it	was	maple	sugar;
thought	maple	sugar	must	be	red	or	black.	He	said	to	the	old	man:
"Why	don't	you	make	it	that	way	and	sell	it	for	confectionery?"	The
old	man	caught	his	thought	and	invented	the	"rock	maple	crystal,"
and	before	that	patent	expired	he	had	ninety	thousand	dollars	and
had	built	a	beautiful	palace	on	the	site	of	that	tree.	After	forty	years
owning	that	tree	he	awoke	to	find	it	had	fortunes	of	money	indeed	in
it.	And	many	of	us	are	right	by	the	tree	that	has	a	fortune	for	us,	and
we	own	it,	possess	it,	do	what	we	will	with	it,	but	we	do	not	learn	its
value	 because	 we	 do	 not	 see	 the	 human	 need,	 and	 in	 these
discoveries	and	inventions	this	is	one	of	the	most	romantic	things	of
life.

I	have	received	letters	from	all	over	the	country	and	from	England,
where	I	have	lectured,	saying	that	they	have	discovered	this	and	that,
and	one	man	out	in	Ohio	took	me	through	his	great	factories	last
spring,	and	said	that	they	cost	him	$680,000,	and	said	he,	"I	was	not
worth	 a	 cent	 in	 the	 world	 when	 I	 heard	 your	 lecture	 'Acres	 of
Diamonds;'	but	I	made	up	my	mind	to	stop	right	here	and	make	my
fortune	 here,	 and	 here	 it	 is."	 He	 showed	 me	 through	 his
unmortgaged	possessions.	And	this	is	a	continual	experience	now	as
I	travel	through	the	country,	after	these	many	years.	I	mention	this
incident,	not	to	boast,	but	to	show	you	that	you	can	do	the	same	if


you	will.

Who	are	the	great	inventors?	I	remember	a	good	illustration	in	a
man	 who	 used	 to	 live	 in	 East	 Brookfield,	 Mass.	 He	 was	 a
shoemaker,	and	he	was	out	of	work,	and	he	sat	around	the	house
until	his	wife	told	him	to	"go	out	doors."	And	he	did	what	every
husband	is	compelled	by	law	to	do—he	obeyed	his	wife.	And	he
went	out	and	sat	down	on	an	ash	barrel	in	his	back	yard.	Think	of	it!
Stranded	on	an	ash	barrel	and	the	enemy	in	possession	of	the	house!
As	he	sat	on	that	ash	barrel,	he	looked	down	into	that	little	brook
which	ran	through	that	back	yard	into	the	meadows,	and	he	saw	a
little	trout	go	flashing	up	the	stream	and	hiding	under	the	bank.	I	do
not	suppose	he	thought	of	Tennyson's	beautiful	poem:

```
"Chatter,	chatter,	as	I	flow,
To	join	the	brimming	river,
Men	may	come,	and	men	may	go,
But	I	go	on	forever."
```
But	as	this	man	looked	into	the	brook,	he	leaped	off	that	ash	barrel
and	 managed	 to	 catch	 the	 trout	 with	 his	 fingers,	 and	 sent	 it	 to
Worcester.	They	wrote	back	that	they	would	give	him	a	five	dollar
bill	for	another	such	trout	as	that,	not	that	it	was	worth	that	much,
but	they	wished	to	help	the	poor	man.	So	this	shoemaker	and	his
wife,	now	perfectly	united,	that	five	dollar	bill	in	prospect,	went	out
to	get	another	trout.	They	went	up	the	stream	to	its	source	and	down
to	the	brimming	river,	but	not	another	trout	could	they	find	in	the
whole	stream;	and	so	they	came	home	disconsolate	and	went	to	the
minister.	The	minister	didn't	know	how	trout	grew,	but	he	pointed
the	way.	Said	he,	"Get	Seth	Green's	book,	and	that	will	give	you	the
information	you	want."	They	did	so,	and	found	all	about	the	culture
of	trout.	They	found	that	a	trout	lays	thirty-six	hundred	eggs	every
year	and	every	trout	gains	a	quarter	of	a	pound	every	year,	so	that	in
four	years	a	little	trout	will	furnish	four	tons	per	annum	to	sell	to	the
market	at	fifty	cents	a	pound.	When	they	found	that,	they	said	they
didn't	believe	any	such	story	as	that,	but	if	they	could	get	five	dollars
apiece	they	could	make	something.	And	right	in	that	same	back	yard
with	the	coal	sifter	up	stream	and	window	screen	down	the	stream,
they	 began	 the	 culture	 of	 trout.	 They	 afterwards	 moved	 to	 the


Hudson,	and	since	then	he	has	become	the	authority	in	the	United
States	upon	the	raising	of	fish,	and	he	has	been	next	to	the	highest	on
the	United	States	Fish	Commission	in	Washington.	My	lesson	is	that
man's	wealth	was	out	there	in	his	back	yard	for	twenty	years,	but	he
didn't	see	it	until	his	wife	drove	him	out	with	a	mop	stick.

I	 remember	 meeting	 personally	 a	 poor	 carpenter	 of	 Hingham,
Massachusetts,	who	was	out	of	work	and	in	poverty.	His	wife	also
drove	him	out	of	doors.	He	sat	down	on	the	shore	and	whittled	a
soaked	shingle	into	a	wooden	chain.	His	children	quarreled	over	it	in
the	evening,	and	while	he	was	whittling	a	second	one,	a	neighbor
came	along	and	said,	"Why	don't	you	whittle	toys	if	you	can	carve
like	that?"	He	said,	"I	don't	know	what	to	make!"	There	is	the	whole
thing.	 His	 neighbor	 said	 to	 him:	 "Why	 don't	 you	 ask	 your	 own
children?"	Said	he,	"What	is	the	use	of	doing	that?	My	children	are
different	from	other	people's	children."	I	used	to	see	people	like	that
when	I	taught	school.	The	next	morning	when	his	boy	came	down
the	stairway,	he	said,	"Sam,	what	do	you	want	for	a	toy?"	"I	want	a
wheelbarrow."	When	his	little	girl	came	down,	he	asked	her	what
she	wanted,	and	she	said,	"I	want	a	little	doll's	washstand,	a	little
doll's	carriage,	a	little	doll's	umbrella,"	and	went	on	with	a	whole	lot
of	things	that	would	have	taken	his	lifetime	to	supply.	He	consulted
his	own	children	right	there	in	his	own	house	and	began	to	whittle
out	toys	to	please	them.	He	began	with	his	jack-knife,	and	made
those	unpainted	Hingham	toys.	He	is	the	richest	man	in	the	entire
New	England	States,	if	Mr.	Lawson	is	to	be	trusted	in	his	statement
concerning	such	things,	and	yet	that	man's	fortune	was	made	by
consulting	his	own	children	in	his	own	house.	You	don't	need	to	go
out	of	your	own	house	to	find	out	what	to	invent	or	what	to	make.	I
always	talk	too	long	on	this	subject.

I	would	like	to	meet	the	great	men	who	are	here	to-night.	The	great
men!	We	don't	have	any	great	men	in	Philadelphia.	Great	men!	You
say	that	they	all	come	from	London,	or	San	Francisco,	or	Rome,	or
Manayunk,	 or	 anywhere	 else	 but	 here—anywhere	 else	 but
Philadelphia—and	 yet,	 in	 fact,	 there	 are	 just	 as	 great	 men	 in
Philadelphia	 as	 in	 any	 city	 of	 its	 size.	 There	 are	 great	 men	 and
women	in	this	audience.	Great	men,	I	have	said,	are	very	simple
men.	Just	as	many	great	men	here	as	are	to	be	found	anywhere.	The


greatest	error	in	judging	great	men	is	that	we	think	that	they	always
hold	an	office.	The	world	knows	nothing	of	its	greatest	men.	Who
are	the	great	men	of	the	world?	The	young	man	and	young	woman
may	well	ask	the	question.	It	is	not	necessary	that	they	should	hold
an	office,	and	yet	that	is	the	popular	idea.	That	is	the	idea	we	teach
now	in	our	high	schools	and	common	schools,	that	the	great	men	of
the	 world	 are	 those	 who	 hold	 some	 high	 office,	 and	 unless	 we
change	that	very	soon	and	do	away	with	that	prejudice,	we	are	going
to	change	to	an	empire.	There	is	no	question	about	it.	We	must	teach
that	 men	 are	 great	 only	 on	 their	 intrinsic	 value,	 and	 not	 on	 the
position	that	they	may	incidentally	happen	to	occupy.	And	yet,	don't
blame	the	young	men	saying	that	they	are	going	to	be	great	when
they	get	into	some	official	position.	I	ask	this	audience	again	who	of
you	are	going	to	be	great?	Says	a	young	man:	"I	am	going	to	be
great."	"When	are	you	going	to	be	great?"	"When	I	am	elected	to
some	political	office."	Won't	you	learn	the	lesson,	young	man;	that	it
is	 _prima	facie_ 	evidence	of	littleness	to	hold	public	office	under	our
form	 of	 government?	 Think	 of	 it.	 This	 is	 a	 government	 of	 the
people,	and	by	the	people,	and	for	the	people,	and	not	for	the	office-
holder,	and	if	the	people	in	this	country	rule	as	they	always	should
rule,	an	office-holder	is	only	the	servant	of	the	people,	and	the	Bible
says	that	"the	servant	cannot	be	greater	than	his	master."	The	Bible
says	that	"he	that	is	sent	cannot	be	greater	than	him	who	sent	him."
In	this	country	the	people	are	the	masters,	and	the	office-holders	can
never	be	greater	than	the	people;	they	should	be	honest	servants	of
the	people,	but	they	are	not	our	greatest	men.	Young	man,	remember
that	you	never	heard	of	a	great	man	holding	any	political	office	in
this	country	unless	he	took	that	office	at	an	expense	to	himself.	It	is
a	loss	to	every	great	man	to	take	a	public	office	in	our	country.	Bear
this	 in	 mind,	 young	 man,	 that	 you	 cannot	 be	 made	 great	 by	 a
political	election.

Another	 young	 man	 says,	 "I	 am	 going	 to	 be	 a	 great	 man	 in
Philadelphia	some	time."	"Is	that	so?	When	are	you	going	to	be
great?"	"When	there	comes	another	war!	When	we	get	into	difficulty
with	Mexico,	or	England,	or	Russia,	or	Japan,	or	with	Spain	again
over	Cuba,	or	with	New	Jersey,	I	will	march	up	to	the	cannon's
mouth,	and	amid	the	glistening	bayonets	I	will	tear	down	their	flag
from	its	staff,	and	I	will	come	home	with	stars	on	my	shoulders,	and


hold	every	office	in	the	gift	of	the	government,	and	I	will	be	great."
"No,	you	won't!	No,	you	won't;	that	is	no	evidence	of	true	greatness,
young	man."	But	don't	blame	that	young	man	for	thinking	that	way;
that	is	the	way	he	is	taught	in	the	high	school.	That	is	the	way
history	is	taught	in	college.	He	is	taught	that	the	men	who	held	the
office	did	all	the	fighting.

I	remember	we	had	a	Peace	Jubilee	here	in	Philadelphia	soon	after
the	Spanish	war.	Perhaps	some	of	these	visitors	think	we	should	not
have	had	it	until	now	in	Philadelphia,	and	as	the	great	procession
was	going	up	Broad	street	I	was	told	that	the	tally-ho	coach	stopped
right	in	front	of	my	house,	and	on	the	coach	was	Hobson,	and	all	the
people	 threw	 up	 their	 hats	 and	 swung	 their	 handkerchiefs,	 and
shouted	"Hurrah	for	Hobson!"	I	would	have	yelled	too,	because	he
deserves	much	more	of	his	country	than	he	has	ever	received.	But
suppose	I	go	into	the	High	School	to-morrow	and	ask,	"Boys,	who
sunk	 the	 Merrimac?"	 If	 they	 answer	 me	 "Hobson,"	 they	 tell	 me
seven-eighths	of	a	lie—seven-eighths	of	a	lie,	because	there	were
eight	men	who	sunk	the	Merrimac.	The	other	seven	men,	by	virtue
of	their	position,	were	continually	exposed	to	the	Spanish	fire,	while
Hobson,	as	an	officer,	might	reasonably	be	behind	the	smoke-stack.
Why,	my	friends,	in	this	intelligent	audience	gathered	here	to-night	I
do	not	believe	I	could	find	a	single	person	that	can	name	the	other
seven	men	who	were	with	Hobson.	Why	do	we	teach	history	in	that
way?	We	ought	to	teach	that	however	humble	the	station	a	man	may
occupy,	if	he	does	his	full	duty	in	his	place,	he	is	just	as	much
entitled	to	the	American	people's	honor	as	is	a	king	upon	a	throne.
We	do	teach	it	as	a	mother	did	her	little	boy	in	New	York	when	he
said,	"Mamma,	what	great	building	is	that?"	"That	is	General	Grant's
tomb."	"Who	was	General	Grant?"	"He	was	the	man	who	put	down
the	rebellion."	Is	that	the	way	to	teach	history?

Do	you	think	we	would	have	gained	a	victory	if	it	had	depended	on
General	 Grant	 alone?	 Oh,	 no.	 Then	 why	 is	 there	 a	 tomb	 on	 the
Hudson	 at	 all?	 Why,	 not	 simply	 because	 General	 Grant	 was
personally	a	great	man	himself,	but	that	tomb	is	there	because	he
was	 a	 representative	 man	 and	 represented	 two	 hundred	 thousand
men	who	went	down	to	death	for	their	nation	and	many	of	them	as
great	as	General	Grant.	That	is	why	that	beautiful	tomb	stands	on	the


heights	over	the	Hudson.

I	remember	an	incident	that	will	illustrate	this,	the	only	one	that	I
can	give	to-night.	I	am	ashamed	of	it,	but	I	don't	dare	leave	it	out.	I
close	my	eyes	now;	I	look	back	through	the	years	to	1863;	I	can	see
my	native	town	in	the	Berkshire	Hills,	I	can	see	that	cattle-show
ground	filled	with	people;	I	can	see	the	church	there	and	the	town
hall	 crowded,	 and	 hear	 bands	 playing,	 and	 see	 flags	 flying	 and
handkerchiefs	streaming—well	do	I	recall	at	this	moment	that	day.
The	people	had	turned	out	to	receive	a	company	of	soldiers,	and	that
company	came	marching	up	on	the	Common.	They	had	served	out
one	term	in	the	Civil	War	and	had	reënlisted,	and	they	were	being
received	by	their	native	townsmen.	I	was	but	a	boy,	but	I	was	captain
of	that	company,	puffed	out	with	pride	on	that	day—why,	a	cambric
needle	 would	 have	 burst	 me	 all	 to	 pieces.	 As	 I	 marched	 on	 the
Common	at	the	head	of	my	company,	there	was	not	a	man	more
proud	than	I.	We	marched	into	the	town	hall	and	then	they	seated	my
soldiers	down	in	the	center	of	the	house	and	I	took	my	place	down
on	the	front	seat,	and	then	the	town	officers	filed	through	the	great
throng	of	people,	who	stood	close	and	packed	in	that	little	hall.	They
came	up	on	the	platform,	formed	a	half	circle	around	it,	and	the
mayor	 of	 the	 town,	 the	 "chairman	 of	 the	 Selectmen"	 in	 New
England,	took	his	seat	in	the	middle	of	that	half	circle.	He	was	an
old	man,	his	hair	was	gray;	he	never	held	an	office	before	in	his	life.
He	thought	that	an	office	was	all	he	needed	to	be	a	truly	great	man,
and	 when	 he	 came	 up	 he	 adjusted	 his	 powerful	 spectacles	 and
glanced	calmly	around	the	audience	with	amazing	dignity.	Suddenly
his	eyes	fell	upon	me,	and	then	the	good	old	man	came	right	forward
and	invited	me	 to	come	up	on	the	stand	 with	the	town	 officers.
Invited	me	up	on	the	stand!	No	town	officer	ever	took	notice	of	me
before	I	went	to	war.	Now,	I	should	not	say	that.	One	town	officer
was	there	who	advised	the	teacher	to	"whale"	me,	but	I	mean	no
"honorable	mention."	So	I	was	invited	up	on	the	stand	with	the	town
officers.	I	took	my	seat	and	let	my	sword	fall	on	the	floor,	and	folded
my	arms	across	my	breast	and	waited	to	be	received.	Napoleon	the
Fifth!	Pride	goeth	before	destruction	and	a	fall.	When	I	had	gotten
my	seat	and	all	became	silent	through	the	hall,	the	chairman	of	the
Selectmen	arose	and	came	forward	with	great	dignity	to	the	table,
and	 we	 all	 supposed	 he	 would	 introduce	 the	 Congregational


minister,	who	was	the	only	orator	in	the	town,	and	who	would	give
the	oration	to	the	returning	soldiers.	But,	friends,	you	should	have
seen	the	surprise	that	ran	over	that	audience	when	they	discovered
that	this	old	farmer	was	going	to	deliver	that	oration	himself.	He	had
never	made	a	speech	in	his	life	before,	but	he	fell	into	the	same	error
that	others	have	fallen	into,	he	seemed	to	think	that	the	office	would
make	him	an	orator.	So	he	had	written	out	a	speech	and	walked	up
and	down	the	pasture	until	he	had	learned	it	by	heart	and	frightened
the	cattle,	and	he	brought	that	manuscript	with	him,	and	taking	it
from	 his	 pocket,	 he	 spread	 it	 carefully	 upon	 the	 table.	 Then	 he
adjusted	his	spectacles	to	be	sure	that	he	might	see	it,	and	walked	far
back	on	the	platform	and	then	stepped	forward	like	this.	He	must
have	 studied	 the	 subject	 much,	 for	 he	 assumed	 an	 elocutionary
attitude;	he	rested	heavily	upon	his	left	heel,	slightly	advanced	the
right	foot,	threw	back	his	shoulders,	opened	the	organs	of	speech,
and	advanced	his	right	hand	at	an	angle	of	forty-five.	As	he	stood	in
that	elocutionary	attitude	this	is	just	the	way	that	speech	went,	this	is
it	 precisely.	 Some	 of	 my	 friends	 have	 asked	 me	 if	 I	 do	 not
exaggerate	it,	but	I	could	not	exaggerate	it.	Impossible!	This	is	the
way	it	went;	although	I	am	not	here	for	the	story	but	the	lesson	that
is	back	of	it:

"Fellow	citizens."	As	soon	as	he	heard	his	voice,	his	hand	began	to
shake	like	that,	his	knees	began	to	tremble,	and	then	he	shook	all
over.	He	coughed	and	choked	and	finally	came	around	to	look	at	his
manuscript.	Then	he	began	again:	"Fellow	citizens:	We—are—we
are—we	are—we	are—We	are	very	happy—we	are	very	happy—we
are	very	happy—to	welcome	back	to	their	native	town	these	soldiers
who	have	fought	and	bled—and	come	back	again	to	their	native
town.	We	are	especially—we	are	especially—we	are	especially—we
are	especially	pleased	to	see	with	us	to-day	this	young	hero	(that
meant	me)—this	young	hero	who	in	imagination	(friends,	remember,
he	said	"imagination,"	for	if	he	had	not	said	that,	I	would	not	be
egotistical	 enough	 to	 refer	 to	 it)—this	 young	 hero	 who,	 in
imagination,	we	have	seen	leading	his	troops—leading—we	have
seen	 leading—we	 have	 seen	 leading	 his	 troops	 on	 to	 the	 deadly
breach.	We	have	seen	his	shining—his	shining—we	have	seen	his
shining—we	have	seen	his	shining—his	shining	sword—flashing	in
the	sunlight	as	he	shouted	to	his	troops,	'Come	on!'"


Oh,	dear,	dear,	dear,	dear!	How	little	that	good,	old	man	knew	about
war.	If	he	had	known	anything	about	war,	he	ought	to	have	known
what	any	soldier	in	this	audience	knows	is	true,	that	it	is	next	to	a
crime	for	an	officer	of	infantry	ever	in	time	of	danger	to	go	ahead	of
his	men.	I,	with	my	shining	sword	flashing	in	the	sunlight,	shouting
to	my	troops:	"Come	on."	I	never	did	it.	Do	you	suppose	I	would	go
ahead	of	my	men	to	be	shot	in	the	front	by	the	enemy	and	in	the
back	by	my	own	men?	That	is	no	place	for	an	officer.	The	place	for
the	officer	is	behind	the	private	soldier	in	actual	fighting.	How	often,
as	a	staff	officer,	I	rode	down	the	line	when	the	Rebel	cry	and	yell
was	coming	out	of	the	woods,	sweeping	along	over	the	fields,	and
shouted,	"Officers	to	the	rear!	Officers	to	the	rear!"	and	then	every
officer	goes	behind	the	line	of	battle,	and	the	higher	the	officer's
rank,	the	farther	behind	he	goes.	Not	because	he	is	any	the	less
brave,	but	because	the	laws	of	war	require	that	to	be	done.	If	the
general	came	up	on	the	front	line	and	were	killed	you	would	lose
your	battle	anyhow,	because	he	has	the	plan	of	the	battle	in	his	brain,
and	must	be	kept	in	comparative	safety.	I,	with	my	"shining	sword
flashing	in	the	sunlight."	Ah!	There	sat	in	the	hall	that	day	men	who
had	given	that	boy	their	last	hard-tack,	who	had	carried	him	on	their
backs	through	deep	rivers.	But	some	were	not	there;	they	had	gone
down	to	death	for	their	country.	The	speaker	mentioned	them,	but
they	were	but	little	noticed,	and	yet	they	had	gone	down	to	death	for
their	country,	gone	down	for	a	cause	they	believed	was	right	and	still
believe	was	right,	though	I	grant	to	the	other	side	the	same	that	I	ask
for	myself.	Yet	these	men	who	had	actually	died	for	their	country
were	little	noticed,	and	the	hero	of	the	hour	was	this	boy.	Why	was
he	the	hero?	Simply	because	that	man	fell	into	that	same	foolishness.
This	 boy	 was	 an	 officer,	 and	 those	 were	 only	 private	 soldiers.	 I
learned	a	lesson	that	I	will	never	forget.	Greatness	consists	not	in
holding	some	office;	greatness	really	consists	in	doing	some	great
deed	with	little	means,	in	the	accomplishment	of	vast	purposes	from
the	private	ranks	of	life;	that	is	true	greatness.	He	who	can	give	to
this	 people	 better	 streets,	 better	 homes,	 better	 schools,	 better
churches,	more	religion,	more	of	happiness,	more	of	God,	he	that
can	be	a	blessing	to	the	community	in	which	he	lives	to-night	will	be
great	anywhere,	but	he	who	cannot	be	a	blessing	where	he	now	lives
will	never	be	great	anywhere	on	the	face	of	God's	earth.	"We	live	in
deeds,	not	years,	in	feeling,	not	in	figures	on	a	dial;	in	thoughts,	not


breaths;	we	should	count	time	by	heart	throbs,	in	the	cause	of	right."
Bailey	says:	"He	most	lives	who	thinks	most."

If	 you	 forget	 everything	 I	 have	 said	 to	 you,	 do	 not	 forget	 this,
because	it	contains	more	in	two	lines	than	all	I	have	said.	Bailey
says:	"He	most	lives	who	thinks	most,	who	feels	the	noblest,	and
who	acts	the	best."

### VICTOR	HUGO

#### HONORE	DE	BALZAC

```
Delivered	at	the	Funeral	of	Balzac,	August	20,	1850.
```
Gentlemen:	The	man	who	now	goes	down	into	this	tomb	is	one	of
those	to	whom	public	grief	pays	homage.

In	one	day	all	fictions	have	vanished.	The	eye	is	fixed	not	only	on
the	heads	that	reign,	but	on	heads	that	think,	and	the	whole	country
is	moved	when	one	of	those	heads	disappears.	To-day	we	have	a
people	in	black	because	of	the	death	of	the	man	of	talent;	a	nation	in
mourning	for	a	man	of	genius.

Gentlemen,	the	name	of	Balzac	will	be	mingled	in	the	luminous
trace	our	epoch	will	leave	across	the	future.

Balzac	 was	 one	 of	 that	 powerful	 generation	 of	 writers	 of	 the
nineteenth	 century	 who	 came	 after	 Napoleon,	 as	 the	 illustrious
Pleiad	of	the	seventeenth	century	came	after	Richelieu,—as	if	in	the
development	of	civilization	there	were	a	law	which	gives	conquerors
by	the	intellect	as	successors	to	conquerors	by	the	sword.

Balzac	was	one	of	the	first	among	the	greatest,	one	of	the	highest
among	the	best.	This	is	not	the	place	to	tell	all	that	constituted	this
splendid	 and	 sovereign	 intelligence.	 All	 his	 books	 form	 but	 one
book,—a	book	living,	luminous,	profound,	where	one	sees	coming
and	going	and	marching	and	moving,	with	I	know	not	what	of	the
formidable	and	terrible,	mixed	with	the	real,	all	our	contemporary
civilization;—a	marvelous	book	which	the	poet	entitled	"a	comedy"
and	which	he	could	have	called	history;	which	takes	all	forms	and


all	style,	which	surpasses	Tacitus	and	Suetonius;	which	traverses
Beaumarchais	 and	 reaches	 Rabelais;—a	 book	 which	 realizes
observation	and	imagination,	which	lavishes	the	true,	the	esoteric,
the	 commonplace,	 the	 trivial,	 the	 material,	 and	 which	 at	 times
through	all	realities,	swiftly	and	grandly	rent	away,	allows	us	all	at
once	 a	 glimpse	 of	 a	 most	 sombre	 and	 tragic	 ideal.	 Unknown	 to
himself,	whether	he	wished	it	or	not,	whether	he	consented	or	not,
the	author	of	this	immense	and	strange	work	is	one	of	the	strong	race
of	Revolutionist	writers.	Balzac	goes	straight	to	the	goal.

Body	 to	 body	 he	 seizes	 modern	 society;	 from	 all	 he	 wrests
something,	from	these	an	illusion,	from	those	a	hope;	from	one	a
catch-word,	from	another	a	mask.	He	ransacked	vice,	he	dissected
passion.	 He	 searched	 out	 and	 sounded	 man,	 soul,	 heart,	 entrails,
brain,—the	abyss	that	each	one	has	within	himself.	And	by	grace	of
his	free	and	vigorous	nature;	by	a	privilege	of	the	intellect	of	our
time,	 which,	 having	 seen	 revolutions	 face	 to	 face,	 can	 see	 more
clearly	the	destiny	of	humanity	and	comprehend	Providence	better,
—Balzac	 redeemed	 himself	 smiling	 and	 severe	 from	 those
formidable	 studies	 which	 produced	 melancholy	 in	 Moliere	 and
misanthropy	in	Rousseau.

This	is	what	he	has	accomplished	among	us,	this	is	the	work	which
he	has	left	us,—a	work	lofty	and	solid,—a	monument	robustly	piled
in	layers	of	granite,	from	the	height	of	which	hereafter	his	renown
shall	 shine	 in	 splendor.	 Great	 men	 make	 their	 own	 pedestal,	 the
future	will	be	answerable	for	the	statue.

His	death	stupefied	Paris!	Only	a	few	months	ago	he	had	come	back
to	France.	Feeling	that	he	was	dying,	he	wished	to	see	his	country
again,	as	one	who	would	embrace	his	mother	on	the	eve	of	a	distant
voyage.	His	life	was	short,	but	full,	more	filled	with	deeds	than	days.

Alas!	 this	 powerful	 worker,	 never	 fatigued,	 this	 philosopher,	 this
thinker,	this	poet,	this	genius,	has	lived	among	us	that	life	of	storm,
of	strife,	of	quarrels	and	combats,	common	in	all	times	to	all	great
men.	To-day	he	is	at	peace.	He	escapes	contention	and	hatred.	On
the	same	day	he	enters	into	glory	and	the	tomb.	Thereafter	beyond
the	clouds,	which	are	above	our	heads,	he	will	shine	among	the	stars
of	his	country.	All	you	who	are	here,	are	you	not	tempted	to	envy


him?

Whatever	may	be	our	grief	in	presence	of	such	a	loss,	let	us	accept
these	catastrophes	with	resignation!	Let	us	accept	in	it	whatever	is
distressing	and	severe;	it	is	good	perhaps,	it	is	necessary	perhaps,	in
an	 epoch	 like	 ours,	 that	 from	 time	 to	 time	 the	 great	 dead	 shall
communicate	 to	 spirits	 devoured	 with	 skepticism	 and	 doubt,	 a
religious	fervor.	Providence	knows	what	it	does	when	it	puts	the
people	face	to	face	with	the	supreme	mystery	and	when	it	gives
them	death	to	reflect	on,—death	which	is	supreme	equality,	as	it	is
also	supreme	liberty.	Providence	knows	what	it	does,	since	it	is	the
greatest	of	all	instructors.

There	can	be	but	austere	and	serious	thoughts	in	all	hearts	when	a
sublime	spirit	makes	its	majestic	entrance	into	another	life,	when
one	of	those	beings	who	have	long	soared	above	the	crowd	on	the
visible	wings	of	genius,	spreading	all	at	once	other	wings	which	we
did	not	see,	plunges	swiftly	into	the	unknown.

No,	it	is	not	the	unknown;	no,	I	have	said	it	on	another	sad	occasion
and	I	shall	repeat	it	to-day,	it	is	not	night,	it	is	light.	It	is	not	the	end,
it	is	the	beginning!	It	is	not	extinction,	it	is	eternity!	Is	it	not	true,	my
hearers,	such	tombs	as	this	demonstrate	immortality?	In	presence	of
the	illustrious	dead,	we	feel	more	distinctly	the	divine	destiny	of	that
intelligence	which	traverses	the	earth	to	suffer	and	to	purify	itself,—
which	we	call	man.


### FOOTNOTES:

```
[37]	Saguntum	was	a	city	of	Iberia	(Spain)	in	alliance	with	Rome.	Hannibal,	in	spite
of	 Rome's	 warnings	 in	 219	 B.C.,	 laid	 siege	 to	 and	 captured	 it.	 This	 became	 the
immediate	cause	of	the	war	which	Rome	declared	against	Carthage.
[38]	From	his	speech	in	Washington	on	March	13,	1905,	before	the	National	Congress
of	Mothers.	Printed	from	a	copy	furnished	by	the	president	for	this	collection,	in
response	to	a	request.
[39]	Used	by	permission.
[40]	Reported	by	A.	Russell	Smith	and	Harry	E.	Greager.	Used	by	permission.
On	May	21,	1914,	when	Dr.	Conwell	delivered	this	lecture	for	the	five	thousandth
time,	Mr.	John	Wanamaker	said	that	if	the	proceeds	had	been	put	out	at	compound
interest	the	sum	would	aggregate	eight	millions	of	dollars.	Dr.	Conwell	has	uniformly
devoted	his	lecturing	income	to	works	of	benevolence.
```
### GENERAL	INDEX

Names	 of	 speakers	 and	 writers	 referred	 to	 are	 set	 in	 CAPITALS.	 Other
references	are	printed	in	"lower	case,"	or	"small,"	type.	Because	of	the	large
number	of	fragmentary	quotations	made	from	speeches	and	books,	no	titles	are
indexed,	but	all	such	material	will	be	found	indexed	under	the	name	of	its	author.

```
A
Accentuation,	 150.
ADDISON,	JOSEPH,	 134.
ADE,	GEORGE,	 252.
After-Dinner	Speaking,	362-370.
Analogy,	 223.
Analysis,	 225.
Anecdote,	251-255; 	364.
Anglo-Saxon	words,	 338.
Antithesis,	 222.
Applause,	 317.
Argument,	280-294.
ARISTOTLE,	 344.
```

Articulation,	148-149.
Association	of	ideas,	 347 ,	 348.
Attention,	 346 ,	 347.
Auditory	images,	 324 ,	 348 ,	 349.

**B**
BACON,	FRANCIS,	 225 ,	 226 ,	 362.
BAGEHOT,	WALTER,	 249.
BAKER,	GEORGE	P.,	 281.
BALDWIN,	C.S.,	 16 ,	 92.
BARRIE,	JAMES	M.,	339-341.
BATES,	ARLO,	222-223.
BEECHER,	HENRY	WARD,	 3 ,	 6 ,	 31 ,	76-78;
				113 ,	 139 ,	 186 ,	 188 ,	 223 ,	 265 ,	 275 ,	 343 ,	 346 ,	351-352.
BERNHARDT,	SARA,	 105.
BEROL,	FELIX,	 344.
BEVERIDGE,	ALBERT,	J.,	 22 ,	 35 ,	 46 ,	 67 ,	 107 ,	470-483
BIRRELL,	AUGUSTINE,	 97.
BLAINE,	JAMES	G.,	 368.
BONCI,	SIGNOR,	 124.
Books,	191-197; 207-210.
Breathing,	129-131.
Briefs,	 177 ,	210-214, 290-294.
BRISBANE,	ARTHUR,	 19.
BROOKS,	PHILLIPS,	 356.
BROUGHAM,	LORD,	 338.
BRYAN,	WILLIAM	JENNINGS,	 32 ,	 60 ,	 116 ,	 157 ,	 269 ,	273-277, 	302 ,	448-
464.
BRYANT,	WILLIAM	CULLEN,	366-367.
BURNS,	ROBERT,	 39.
BURROUGHS,	JOHN,	 116.
BYRON,	LORD,	 64 ,	 87 ,	 145 ,	 188 ,	 189 ,	 199.

**C**
CAESAR,	JULIUS,	 175.
CAMPBELL,	THOMAS,	 121.
CARLETON,	WILL,	 334.
CARLYLE,	THOMAS,	 42 ,	 57 ,	 105 ,	 109 ,	 194 ,	 218 ,	 249 ,	277-278.
CATO,	 356 ,	 372.


#### CHAMBERS,	ROBERT,	 19.

Change	of	pace,	39-49.
Character,	357-358.
CHANNING,	WILLIAM	ELLERY,	 177.
Charm,	134-144.
CHILD,	RICHARD	WASHBURN,	 376.
CHOATE,	RUFUS,	464-469.
CHURCHILL,	WINSTON	SPENCER,	 89.
CICERO,	 115.
Classification,	 224.
CLEVELAND,	GROVER,	367-368.
COHAN,	GEORGE,	 376.
COLERIDGE,	S.T.,	 373.
COLLINS,	WILKIE,	 60.
COMFORT,	W.L.,	 235.
Comparison,	 19.
Conceit,	 4.
Concentration,	 3 ,	 57 ,	80-84; 346-347; 	374.
Confidence,	1-8; 	184 ,	263-275; 	350 ,	358-360.
Contrast,	 19 ,	 222.
Conversation,	372-377.
CONWELL,	RUSSELL,	 200 ,	483-503.
CORNWALL,	BARRY,	 138 ,	 184.
COWPER,	WILLIAM,	 69 ,	 121.
CRANCH,	CHRISTOPHER	P.,	 72.
CROMWELL,	OLIVER,	 95 ,	 105.
Crowd,	Influencing	the,	262-278; 308-320.
Ctesiphon,	 116.
CURTIS,	GEORGE	WILLIAM,	258-260.

**D**
DANA,	CHARLES,	 18 ,	 200.
DANIEL,	JOHN	WARWICK,	369-370.
DANTE,	 106.
DE	AMICIS,	EDMONDO,	 238.
Debate,	Questions	for,	 290 ,	379-382.
Definition,	 222 ,	 224.
Delivery,	methods	of,	171-181.
DE	MAUPASSANT,	GUY,	 187 ,	 339.


#### DEMOSTHENES,	 67 ,	 363.

#### DEPEW,	CHAUNCEY	M.,	 365.

#### DE	QUINCEY,	THOMAS,	255-256; 	338

Description,	231-247.
DICKENS,	CHARLES,	 5 ,	 234 ,	 246 ,	 247.
Discarding,	 224.
DISRAELI,	ISAAC,	 101 ,	 321.
Distinctness,	146-152.
Division,	 224 ,	 225.

**E**
Egotism,	 376.
EMERSON,	RALPH	WALDO,	 10 ,	 97 ,	 103 ,	 104 ,	 105 ,	 122 ,	 144 ,	 168 ,	 188 ,
201 ,
				231 ,	 295 ,	 321 ,	 357 ,	 362 ,	 372.
Emphasis,	16-24; 31-32; 	47 ,	 73.
Enthusiasm,	101-109; 	267 ,	 304 ,	 311.
Enunciation,	150-152.
EVERETT,	EDWARD,	78-79.
Example,	 223.
Exposition,	218-228.
Extemporaneous	Speech,	 179.

**F**
Facial	Expression,	 163.
Feeling,	101-109; 	240 ,	264-265; 295-305; 	312 ,	 317 ,	 320.
Figures	of	speech,	 235 ,	 277 ,	 331.
FLAUBERT,	GUSTAVE,	 339.
Fluency,	115-123; 	179 ,	184-197, 	354 ,	 373.
Force,	87-97.

**G**
GALTON,	FRANCIS,	 323.
GASKELL,	MRS.,	 186.
Generalization,	 226.
GENUNG,	JOHN	FRANKLIN,	 55 ,	 92 ,	 220 ,	 226 ,	 281.
GEORGE,	HENRY,	 344.
Gesture,	150-168.
GIBBON,	EDWARD,	 175.


#### GLADSTONE,	WILLIAM	E.,	 2 ,	 8 ,	 124 ,	 157 ,	 372.

#### GOETHE,	J.W.	VON,	 117 ,	 372.

#### GOLDSMITH,	OLIVER,	 121.

#### GORDON,	G.B.,	365-366.

#### GOUGH,	JOHN	B.,	 188.

#### GRADY,	HENRY	W.,	 38 ,	240-242; 252-253;	 268 ,	 365 ,	425-438.

#### GRAHAM,	HARRY,	 255.

Gustatory	images,	 325 ,	 348.

**H**
Habit,	 190 ,	 349.
HALLECK,	FITZ-GREENE,	 302.
HAMLET,	88-89;	152-153.
HANCOCK,	PROF.	ALBERT	E.,	 335.
HART,	J.M.,	 338.
HAY,	JOHN,	443-448.
HEARN,	LAFCADIO,	 238.
HENLEY,	WILLIAM	ERNEST,	 122 ,	271-272.
HENRY,	O.,	 247 ,	328-329.
HENRY,	PATRICK,	 22 ,	 102 ,	 103 ,	 107 ,	110-112;	 201 ,	 271 ,	 276.
HESIOD,	 146.
HILL,	A.S.,	 92 ,	 281.
HILLIS,	NEWELL	DWIGHT,	 24 ,	 32 ,	191-193;	273-274;	394-402.
HOAR,	GEORGE,	296-297.
HOBSON,	RICHMOND	PEARSON,	285-286;	287-289.
HOGG,	JAMES,	 139.
HOLMES,	G.C.V.,	 226.
HOLMES,	OLIVER	WENDELL,	 148 ,	 373.
HOLYOAKE,	GEORGE	JACOB,	 280 ,	 281.
HOMER,	 146 ,	 235.
HOUDIN,	ROBERT,	 350.
HUBBARD,	ELBERT,	 3.
HUGO,	VICTOR,	 107 ,	503-505.
Humor,	251-255;	363-365.
HUXLEY,	T.H.,	 227.

**I**
Imagination,	321-333.
Imitation,	335-336.


Inflection,	69-74.
INGERSOLL,	ROBERT	J.,	 68 ,	 175.
IRVING,	WASHINGTON,	 5 ,	 235 ,	 236 ,	 246.
IRVING,	SIR	HENRY,	 158.

**J**
JAMES,	WILLIAM,	 349.
JAMESON,	MRS.	ANNA,	 69.
JONES-FOSTER,	ARDENNES,	243-245.
JONSON,	BEN,	 343.

**K**
KAUFMAN,	HERBERT,	42-44.
KIPLING,	RUDYARD,	 4 ,	299-300.
KIRKHAM,	STANTON	DAVIS,	 360.

**L**
LANDOR,	WALTER	SAVAGE,	 339.
LEE,	GERALD	STANLEY,	 308.
Library,	Use	of	a,	207-210.
LINCOLN,	ABRAHAM,	 50 ,	 107 ,	 166.
LINDSAY,	HOWARD,	 40.
LOCKE,	JOHN,	 188 ,	 343.
LONGFELLOW,	H.W.,	 117 ,	 124 ,	 136.
LOOMIS,	CHARLES	BATTELL,	 365.
LOTI,	PIERRE,	 238.
LOWELL,	JAMES	RUSSELL,	 235.

**M**
MACAULAY,	T.B.,	 76.
MACLAREN,	ALEXANDER,	 254.
MCKINLEY,	WILLIAM,	Last	Speech,	438-442;
				Tribute	to,	by	John	Hay,	 443.
MASSILLON,	 188.
Memory,	343-354.
MERWIN,	SAMUEL,	 72.
MESSAROS,	WALDO,	 147.
MILL,	JOHN	STUART,	 355.
MILTON,	JOHN,	 137.


Monotony,	Evils	of,	10-12;
				How	to	conquer,	12-14;	 44.
MORLEY,	JOHN,	403-410.
MOSES,	 115.
Motor	images,	 324 ,	 348.
MOTTE,	ANTOINE,	 10.
MOZLEY,	JAMES,	 235.

**N**
NAPOLEON,	 13 ,	 104 ,	 141 ,	 184 ,	 321.
Narration,	249-260.
Naturalness,	 14 ,	 29 ,	 58 ,	 70.
Notes,	see	Briefs.

**O**
Observation,	167-168;	186-188;	206-207;	 223 ,	 227 ,	 350.
Occasional	speaking,	362-370.
Olfactory	images,	 325 ,	 348.
Outline	of	speech,	212-214.

**P**
Pace,	Change	of,	30-49.
PAINE,	THOMAS,	 122.
PARKER,	ALTON	B.,	 423.
PARKER,	THEODORE,	257-258.
PATCH,	DAN,	 2.
PAUL,	 2 ,	 107.
Pause,	55-64.
Personality,	355-360.
Persuasion,	295-307.
PHILLIPS,	ARTHUR	EDWARD,	 227 ,	 229.
PHILLIPS,	CHARLES,	302-305.
PHILLIPS,	WENDELL,	25-26;	34-35;	 38 ,	 72 ,	 97 ,	99-100.
Pitch,	change	of,	27-35;
				low,	 32 ,	 69.
PITTENGER,	WILLIAM,	I,	 66.
Platitudes,	 376 ,	 377.
POPE,	ALEXANDER,	 122 ,	 175 ,	 231.
Posture,	 165.


Practise,	Necessity	for,	 2 ,	 14 ,	 118.
Precision	of	utterance,	146-152.
Preparation,	4-5;	 179 ,	184-215;	362-365.
PREYER,	WILHELM	T.,	 188.
Proportion,	 205.
PUTNAM,	DANIEL,	 80.

**Q**
QUINTILIAN,	 344.

**R**
Reading,	191-197.
REDWAY,	 170.
Reference	to	Experience,	 226.
Repetition	in	memorizing,	 348.
Reserve	power,	184-197.
Right	thinking,	355-360.
ROBESPIERRE,	153-155.
ROGERS,	SAMUEL,	 343.
ROOSEVELT,	THEODORE,	 275 ,	416-422.
RUSKIN,	JOHN,	 89 ,	 90 ,	 188.

**S**
SAINTSBURY,	GEORGE,	 55.
SAVONAROLA,	 158 ,	 161.
SCALIGER,	 343.
SCHAEFER,	NATHAN	C.,	 262 ,	 355.
SCHEPPEGRELL,	WILLIAM,	 27.
SCHILLER,	J.C.F.,	 117.
SCOTT,	WALTER	DILL,	 8.
SCOTT,	SIR	WALTER,	 271.
Self-confidence,	See	Confidence.
Self-consciousness,	1-8.
SEWARD,	W.H.,	65-68.
SHAKESPEARE,	WILLIAM,	 22 ,	 32 ,	 82 ,	88-89;	 122 ,	152-153;	 161 ,	 164 ,
227 ,
				295 ,	 302 ,	312-317;	 321.
SHEPPARD,	NATHAN,	 147 ,	 156 ,	 170.
SIDDONS,	MRS.,	 48 ,	 70.


#### SIDNEY,	SIR	PHILIP,	 188.

Sincerity,	 109.
SMITH,	F.	HOPKINSON,	 365.
SPENCER,	HERBERT,	 58 ,	 69.
Stage	fright,	1-8.
STEVENSON,	R.L.,	 122 ,	 196 ,	 201 ,	 238 ,	242-243;	335-336.
STORY,	JOSEPH,	 298.
Subject,	Choosing	a,	201-204.
Subjects	for	speeches	and	debates,	121-123;	379-393.
Suggestion,	262-278;	308-320.
SUNDAY,	"BILLY,"	 90 ,	 158.
Suspense,	59-61.
Syllogism,	 286.

**T**
Tactile	images,	 325 ,	 348.
TALMAGE,	T.	DEWITT,	 237.
Tempo,	39-49.
TENNYSON,	ALFRED,	 121 ,	141-143.
THACKERAY,	W.M.,	 343.
THOREAU,	H.D.,	 188.
Thought,	184-197;	 265 ,	 347 ,	355-360.
THURSTON,	JAMES	MELLEN,	50-54;	 302.
Titles,	 215.
TOOMBS,	ROBERT,	410-415.
TWAIN,	MARK,	 343 ,	 363 ,	 365.

**V**
VAN	DYKE,	HENRY,	 365.
Visualizing,	 323 ,	 348 ,	 349.
Vocabulary,	334-341.
Voice,	 32 ,	124-144.
VOLTAIRE,	 4.

**W**
WATTERSON,	HENRY,	 303 ,	402-403.
WEBSTER,	DANIEL,	 2 ,	 73 ,	 103 ,	 109 ,	 201 ,	 278 ;
				Eulogy	of,	by	Rufus	Choate,	464-469.
WEED,	THURLOW,	 349.


#### WENDELL,	PROF.	BARRETT,	 93.

#### WESCOTT,	JOHN	W.,	424-425.

#### WHITEFIELD,	GEORGE,	 161.

#### WHITTIER,	J.G.,	 48.

Will	power,	356-359;	 373 ,	 375.
Words,	 92 ,	 93 ,	336-341;	 374.

**Y**
YOUNG,	EDWARD,	 90.


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