i ■lib. COMPLETE GUIDE TO ^ UBLIC SPEAKING GRENVILLE KLEISER 6 uv^ Cornell UniverBtty Library PN4016.K64 „p„,„cspea. Kleiser's compjete guide to,P.„,.,,,,„„,,,,|,,| 1924 012 854 737 "^.OUNUBRARY ' 1^ DATE DUE m\ ^■^ffisnis i CAVLOIIO PRfNTCOINU.S.A Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/cletails/cu31924012854737 KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE TO PUBLIC SPEAKING By GRENVILLE KLEISER How to Speak in Public Humorous Hits and How to Hold an Audience How to Develop Power and Personality in Speaking How to Argue and Win How to Develop Self-Confidence in Speech and Manner Great Speeches and How to Make Them How to Read and Declaim The World's Great Sermons Kleiser's Complete Guide to Public Speaking Personal Lessons in Public Speaking (Correspondence Course) * Speeches for Study 'Phrases for Public Speakers •Impromptu 'Helpful Hints on Speaking 'Stories that Take Personal Lessons in Practical English (Correspondence Course) * Study of Words, by Trench 'Lectures on Rhetoric by Blair 'IHelpful Hints on Reading and Writing 'Models for Study 'The Philosophy of Rhetoric by Campbell * Miscellaneous Studies in Prose Personal Lessons in Business Success (Correspondence Course) 'Daily Steps to Power 'Salesmanship and Advertising 'Talks on EflSciency 'Letters that Produce Results 'How to Make and Save Money * These books are ■vaUable only with Mr. Kleiser's Correspondence CoorseB. FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY. Publishers NEW YORK and LONDON KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE TO PUBLIG SPEAKING COMPRISING EXTRACTS FROM THE WORLD'S GREAT AUTHORITIES UPON PUBLIC SPEAKING, ORATORY, PREACH- ING, PLATFORM AND PULPIT DELIVERY, VOICE BUILDING AND MANAGEMENT, ARGUMENTATION, DEBATE, READING, RHETORIC, EXPRESSION, GESTURE, COM- POSITION, ETC. COMPILED AND EDITED BY GRENVILLE KLEISER 'Author of "How to Speak in Public," "Humorous Hits and How to Hold an Audience," "How to Develop Power and Personality in Speak- ing," "Great Speeches and How to Make Them," etc., Itc. FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY NEW YORK AND LONDON 1916 Copyright, 1915, by FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY Printed in the United States of America Published, July, 1915 TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE Preface v The Art of Public Speaking . . . . vii Key to Abbreviations xvi Complete Guide to Public Speaking . . 1 General Topical Index 609 Index of Authors and Publishers of Works Quoted 638 PREFACE The widespread interest manifested in the subject of public speaking has led to the construction of this work. For some years there has been an increasing recognition of the value of speech training, not only for the public and professional man but for those in practically every other walk of life. Hence an extended literature has sprung up, and books, both ancient and modern, bearing upon this important subject, now number well up into the hundreds. A difficult problem for most persons, however, has been to choose wisely from these various and scattered books. Systems have been multiplied, con- flicting suggestions have been offered, and much of a purely theoretical char- acter has been presented by various authors and teachers. Again, some of the older books, while containing occasional valuable instruction, have been found in the main to be unsuited to present day requirements. Many persons have therefore expressed discouragement in their attempts to find in book form the practical guidance which they have earnestly sought in this direction. The editor and compiler of this volume has been zealous in his endeavor to incorporate here only the essentials of the subject. He has chosen his material from many and varied sources. All of the extracts are from recog- nized authorities, and have invariably been made with a view to their practical value to the student of public speaking. Liberal abridgments have been made in order to bring all the desirable matter possible within the compass of a single volume. A few hints on how to use this work will be of value. The reader will find it both interesting and profitable to peruse this book in regular order frpm beginning to end. Indeed, a studious reading of it will impart little short of a liberal education in the speaker's art. If desired, the student may study the book in topical order, selecting the subjects which best meet his personal tastes and requirements. For this purpose he will find the subject- index of great convenience. An admirable plan is to read the various extracts bearing upon a single subject and then to write out frpm memory a brief summary of the whole. Most of the extracts will repay several perusals. As a reference-work on public speaking and kindred subjects, this book will prove invaluable. Many hundreds of questions are answered here in con- cise form, and the ample index, combined with the alphabetical arrangement of the extracts, renders the information readily accessible. The student should first make himself thoroughly familiar with the general plan of the book. vi PREFACE Then he may follow the method of study which he believes best adapted to his needs. Appended to each extract, with a few unavoidable exceptions, will be found the name of the author, the title of the book from which the extract has been taken, the name of the publisher, and date of publication. This will enable the student to locale the original books, should he desire to pursue the subject further. Among the older books, however, are some volumes which, owing to their scarcity, will probably not be found available. A complete list of the authors, ancient and modern, to whom this book is in any way indebted, will be found at the close of the volume. Special acknowledgment is made to the following authors and publishers of the more recent books, who have generously granted permission to reprint extracts from their works : Prof George P. Baker, Rev. James M. Buckley, James Bryce, Rev. Russell H. Conwell, Judge Joseph W. Donovan, Sir Courtenay P. Ilbert, Joseph Spencer Kennard, Prof. Guy Carleton Lee, William C. Robin- son, Prof. Lorenzo Sears, Rev. Albert F. Tenney, D. Appleton & Co., Horace Cox, Dodd, Mead & Co., George H. Doran Co., Eaton & Mains, Ginn & Co., Henry Holt & Co., Kegan Paul, Trench, Triibner & Co., Ltd., Little, Brown & Co., Fr. Pustet & Co., G. P. Putnam's Sons, Scott, Foresman & Co., Charles Scribner's Sons, The Century Co., The A. S. Barnes Co., Thomas Whittaker, Inc. A long and varied experience in training students of public speaking con- vinces the compiler of this work that it fills a much-needed want, and that the information and knowledge which it contains will be of inestimable value to those who study the book with diligence and regularity. So far as the com- piler is aware, no book of a similar character has before been published, and it is his earnest hope that it will prove a source of great usefulness and inspira- tion to those who study its contents. Grenville Kleiser. THE ART OF PUBLIC SPEAKING By Grenville Kleiser The daily newspaper, far from supplanting the public speaker, is provid- ing him with an ever-broadening field for useful activity. The multiplicity and complexity of social, political, religious, and other problems, pressing for solution, are making more and more imperative demands upon those who can think and speak on their feet. It is undeniable that the power of speech to interest and move men is as great to-day as ever before in the world's history. The old declamatory style of oratory has passed, but in its place there has sprung up a new art of public speaking, appropriate to a practical age — simple, direct, conversational, vital. A speaker does not now say, passionately: "I would take my own head by the hair, cut it off, and, presenting it to the despot, would say to him, 'Tyrant, behold the act of a free man !' " This style of speaking would bring down upon him well-merited rebuke. To-day the effective public speaker aims rather to present his thoughts in the natural tones of one man addressing another, with clearness, precision, and appropriate feeling. Ranting and bom- bast have given way to naturalness and intelligence. There is an insistent demand for concise, practical, dignified, common-sense speech. Oratory has been defined as the art of persuasion; hence its two-fold pur- pose is to present the truth and to stimulate men to action. Highly success- ful public speaking is cooperative in character. The speaker takes the hearers into his confidence, reasons with them, talks with them, leads them patiently from conceded facts to disputed questions, endeavoring all the while to en- lighten them where they are not clear, and to conciliate them at the slightest sign of opposition. He receives from his hearers what Gladstone described as an influence in the form of yapor which the speaker pours back upon them in a flood. It was said of an eminent British orator that when he spoke, the listener intuitively felt there was something finer in the man than in anything he said. That is one of the great secrets of effective public speaking. The man of real power impresses you not only by what he says, but by what he is. As Lord Morley has so well said : "That which is the true force of all oratory worth talking about, is the momentum of the speaker's history, personality, and purpose." A well-trained speaker does not squander his force, ner seek to vii yiii THE ART OF PUBLIC SPEAKING overwhelm the hearer by violence and loudness. The spirit of modern public speaking is not to coerce, but to persuade. The neophyte may therefore study to advantage the tribute paid by George William Curtis in his eloquent descrip- tion of Wendell Phillips: "He faced his audience with a tranquil mien, and a beaming aspect that was never dimmed. He spoke, and in the measured cadence of his quiet voice there was intense feeling, but no declamation, no passionate appeal, no superficial or feigned emotion. It was simple colloquy — a gentleman conversing. How was it done? Ah! how did Mozart do it — how Raphael? The secret of the rose's sweetness, of the bird's ecstasy, of the sunset's glory — that is the secret of genius and eloquence. What was heard, what was seen, was the form of noble manhood, the courteous and self-possessed tone, the flow of modulated speech, sparkling with matchless richness of illustration, with apt allusion, and happy anecdote, and historic parallel, with wit and pitiless invective, with melodious pathos, with stinging satire, with crackling epigram, and limpid humor, like the bright ripples that play around the sure and steady prow of the resistless ship. Like an illuminated vase of odors, he glowed with concentrated and perfumed fire. The divine energy of his conviction utterly possest him, and his " 'Pure and eloquent blood Spoke in his cheek, and so distinctly wrought, That one might almost say his body thought.' "Was it Pericles swaying the Athenian multitude? Was it Apollo breathing the music of the morning from his lips? It was an American patriot, a modern son of liberty, with a soul as firm and as true as was ever consecrated to unselfish duty, pleading with the Amer- ican conscience for the chained and speechless victims of American inhumanity." There is an erroneous impression that only those with unusual natural gifts can be successful public speakers, and that to make a great impression necessarily requires a great effort. Almost the contrary of this is true. Many of the world's most distinguished speakers began under discouraging circum- stances. Their difficulties and shortcomings served as incentives to increased effort and study, and indirectly were the means of their ultimate success. It is almost surely fatal for any man deliberately to set out to make a great speech. Frjpm the ancient orators we learn that a certain degree of modesty of manner and purpose is one of the highest recommendations of a public speaker. II Legislative assemblies are always ready to listen to a speaker who has something worth while to say. So powerful are the two qualities of sincerity and naturalness, that we sometimes see a man wholly untrained in the art of expression, carry his audience with him by the fearless honesty of his pur- pose, his homely logic, and his rugged manhood. Lincoln was a conspicuous example of this kind. An audience will follow a speaker if he has the facts, but without these at his command all the rhetorical paraphernalia and embel- lishments of oratory will be futile. Right thinking, which gives the power of lucid statement, is the real basis of effective public speaking. How seldom does one hear a public speaker with the power to interest, to convince, to persuade, to exalt. The chief reason for this is lack of proper THE ART OF PUBLIC SPEAKING ix speech training. It is no exaggeration to say that the vast majority of speeches are the product of haste and are therefore lacking in careful thought. A man should take ample time in which properly to prepare his speech. "How long do you wish me to speak?" asked a man who was invited by a society to attend its annual dinner. "Why do you ask?" inquired the secretary. "Be- cause," said the orator, "if you want me to give a ten-minute address I must have at least two weeks in which to prepare myself, but if you want me to talk for an hour or more, I am ready." The world's great orators have invariably recommended the frequent use pi the pen as the best preparation for accurate and concise speaking. Many thoughts which seem clear in the mind assume a strange and sudden vague- ness when the attempt is made to commit them to writing. The speaker should, therefore, write much, and while writing he should occasionally stand up and test aloud the speaking quality of what he has written, since he may be producing not a speech but an essay. The advantages of writing out a speech in full are many, even though the speaker does not intend to speak memoriter. Thoughts placed on paper lend themselves readily to analysis, and the writer finds he is then better able to examine the logical order of his ideas, strengthen his statements, and re- arrange his arguments, illustrations, and climactic effects. Composition is in itself an intellectual stimulant, and nothing else will so largely contribute to systematic arrangement and original expression. Another advantage ^f writing is that it tends to correct verbosity and circumlocution. Purely extempore speakers — men without discipline of the pen — are prone to loquacity and over-amplification. The very fluency with which some men speak only serves the more to disclose their loose, careless, and inaccurate thought and diction. The quantity is unlimited, but at best it is a muddy stream bf clumsy, redundant, unconvincing language. Having written out a speech in full, another very good plan is to render the speech aloud in as many varied forms of phraseology as possible. Then the manuscript should be laid aside for a time, and the exercise repeated on another day. In this way the speaker, having his thoughts clearly in mind, is not likely to be at a loss for appropriate language when at last he stands before his audience. The great objection to memoriter speaking — that is, committing a speech to memory and rendering it word for word — is that a man may then appear I artificial and awkward. He will be likely to declaim his speech, and speak from his memory rather than from his personality. His delivery will almost surely be cold and labored, and he will be fettered by the thought that he dare not trust himself for a moment to spontaneous feeling and action. It is a serious mistake to imagine that a man can be too well prepared for his speech ; that constant study and repetition will cause it to become stale in his mind ; and that painstaking rehearsal will necessarily make him unreal. Preparation is absolutely essential, although the method will necessarily vary THE ART OF PUBLIC SPEAKING according to taste, temperament, and the circumstances under which the speech is to be delivered. Benjamin Franklin tells us that the great Whitefield was at his best in preaching a sermon only after he had preached that particular sermon at least three times. It was this familiarity with his subject, after several repetitions and actual tests before his congregation, which gave Whitefield perfect free- dom in the use of his supreme oratorical powers. No man, however rare his natural ability, should venture to speak in public upon an important subject or in a great cause, without the most thorough preparation. It is only then that he can safely let out all the length of all the reins, and give frank and hearty expression to whatever power is within him. Ill Public sentiment is decidedly in favgr of shorter speeches. The gift of brevity is vouchsafed to few men. Therefore the public must devise some remedy for its own protection against those who habitually inflict upon them speeches of inordinate length. Proposals to limit the length of speeches, however, have usually met with disfavor on the part of those to whom such proposals would particularly apply. The greatest offenders in this respect offer specious objections to all suggestions for speech-limitation. They argue that the world's greatest speeches have not been brief ; that great occasions demand great speeches ; and that these can not be comprest into the space of a few minutes. A prolific cause bf lengthy speeches is that the speakers apparently have no sense of the passage of time. Under no circumstances do they suspect themselves of making a long speech. Many a speaker, moreover, feeling either that he has actually failed or that his speech is weak, yields to an in- clination to talk on in an effort to retrieve his fault. It is inexplicable how a speaker of ordinary intelligence can continue to speak right on, in the face of a restless and impatient audience. And yet this is of frequent occurrence. Many speakers seem to become utterly oblivious of everything but their desire to express all that they can possibly say upon a chosen subject. The greatest short speech in history occupied about three minutes in its delivery. Edward Everett acknowledged that he would have been satisfied to have made by his three-hour address the same impression which Lincoln made in his Gettysburg speech of three minutes ! The greatest sermon of all time — the Sermon on the Mount — can be embodied in seven pages of typewriting. There are numerous examples of short speeches entitled to a place in the first class of successful utterances. After-dinner speakers will find a model in the speech of Horace Greeley, delivered at the Franklin banquet of 1870, in New York city, when he said: "Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen, — If I were required to say for which of Franklin's achievements he deserved most and best of mankind, I should award the palm to his auto- biography — so frank, so sunny, so irradiated by a brave, blithe, hearty humanity. For if THE ART OF PUBLIC SPEAKING xi our fathers had not — ^largely by the aid of his counsel, his labors, his sacrifices — achieved their independence at the first effort, they would have tried it again and again until they did achieve it; if he had not made his immortal discovery of the identity of electricity with the lightning, that truth would nevertheless have at length been demonstrated; but if he had not so modestly and sweetly told us how to wrestle with poverty and compel oppor- tunity, I do not know who beside would, or could, have done it so well. There is not to-day, there will not be in this nor in the next century, a friendless, humble orphan, work- ing hard for naked daily bread, and glad to improve his leisure hours in the corner of a garret, whom that biography will not cheer and strengthen to fight the battle of life buoy- antly and manfully. I wish some humane tract society would present a copy of it to every poor lad in the United States. "But I must not detain you. Let me sum up the character of Franklin in the fewest words that will serve me. I love and revere him as a journeyman printer who was frugal and didn't drink; a parvenu who rose from want to competence, from obscurity to fame, without losing his head; a statesman who did not crucify mankind with long-winded documents or speeches; a diplomatist who did not intrigue; a philosopher who never loved, and an officeholder who didn't steal. So regarding him, I respond to your sentiment with 'Honor to the memory of Franklin'." An illustration of a very short but effective speech is that of a little Cana- dian lawyer who had to speak for his candidate at a by-election in Ontario, at which the opposing candidate, who was a speaker, was present. The substance of the latter's speech was as follows : "Fellow-citizens! you know me— I'm a self-made man— you know me! I can not make speeches." To which the little French lawyer replied : "Fellow-citoyens ! I'm verra sorry ma freend could not coom — I'd like mooch you haf seen heem. He verra defferent from dis man dat have made heemself. I believe dat. But ma man — God made heem! And, ma f rends, dere is joost as mooch deeference between de men as dere is between de makers !" That was all of his speech ; but it was enough to gain the seat fgr his "freend who could not coom !" The prodigal waste of words in speech-making is incalculable. Post- prandial oratory has become a bore to serious-minded men, largely from the fact that such speeches are so long in delivery and so empty in content. Toast-masters and chairmen are often guilty of this fault of prolixity, so that a general remedy is required to apply to all men who take part in public functions. The use of a bell and a printed announcement of the time-limit of the speaker have been tried, but thus far with only occasionally successful re- sults. Pulling the coat-tails of the speaker has had the contrary effect of encouraging him to go on speaking. It remains for some ingenious person to suggest an effectual remedy for a condition of affairs already intolerable. IV One of the most effective elements in a speaker is sympathy. Coldness and over-deliberateness may easily repel an audience. A man who is too exacting in his argument may easily drive out all interest from his speech. There is frequent need for warmth and fervor in the speaker who would at- tract and persuade others. It is the man who invites you to the fireside of xH THE ART OF PUBLIC SPEAKING his heart who makes you capitulate, often without your knowing why. It is not necessarily his cogency pf argument, nor his mental agility which wins your favor, but an indefinable cord of sympathy by which he draws you irresistibly to him. Courtesy is valuable to the speaker because it teaches him, among other things, tact and adaptability. It is a distinguishing character of such after- dinner orators as Rosebery and Choate. Such speakers ingratiate themselves by the grace and gentleness of their personality — by their simple, manly, open-hearted afifability. Courtesy does not by any means imply weakness, apology, nor obsequiousness. Nor is this courtesy incompatible with self- confidence. The first possession pf a public speaker should be self-possession. No speech amounts to anything which lacks the element of courage. After a speaker has learned the technique of his art and has tested his ability to think on his feet, he should then fling himself into his speech with a certain audacity. Assuming that he knows what to do and how to do it, he should npt hamper himself by conscious thought of rules and principles of delivery. The art of the public speaker should not be lightly regarded. He must thoroughly possess himself with the facts of his subject, and this of ten-times means patient and laborious work. He should go to authentic sources for his informatipn. He should take nothing for granted. Facts are his invincible weapons ; their possession will inspire him with self-confidence and authority, and will make him worthy to be followed as a leader. It is conceded that no instrument of communication between men is com- parable to that of the human voice. It holds undisputed sovereignty in its power to persuade. And yet comparatively slight attention is given to its cultivation. Many men in their ordinary conversation use only three or four keys of the voice, consequently when they attempt to address an audience they find themselves woefully handicapped for lack of vocal resourcefulness. Their voices need volume, compass, variety. Every man who aspires to distinction as a public speaker should culti- vate his voice. The greatest orators of the world gave considerable time and thought to this subject, and men like Brougham, Burke, O'Connell, Gladstone, Webster, and Beecher, owed much of their oratorical success to the possession of a well-developed voice. There must be not only the large mind, but the corre- spondingly large voice, in order to arouse great enthusiasm in a vast audience. A common fault of many public speakers, in their endeavor to make them- selves heard, is to confuse high pitch with intensity 'pf voice. High pitch combined with loudness may easily make the speaker unintelligible, while a voice of less volume but possessing purity, intensity, and carrying power, may be audible in all parts of a large hall. The general injunction may be given to favor the low pitches of the voice, as the most agreeable to the listener, and the least fatiguing to the speaker. Many a public speaker, and especially a beginner, makes the mistake of attempting too much. His overwhelming ambition is to deliver a great speech, an oration "that v/ill ring down through the centuries!" So he car- THE ART OF PUBLIC SPEAKING xin ries his huge burden with him to the hall, and despite herculean efforts on his part, ends in hopeless failure. The experienced public speaker knows better. He has learned, perhaps, through bitter experience, that his best effects are secured through simplicity, earnestness, and directness. He has prepared himself thoroughly, and he goes before his audience self-composed and self-confident. When at last he speaks he approaches his task as a skilful workman. If the speaker is naturally of nervous temperament this is a point actually in his favor, provided he learns to conserve his nerve force. For the encour- agement of this type of man, let it be said that the greatest speakers of all times were nervous men, and the consequent anxiety engendered in them was one of the conditions of their ultimate great achievement. Nervousness which arises from lack of preparation, or superficial knowledge, properly leads to failure; but nervousness born of desire for service and success, rightly leads to that very success which is so earnestly coveted. Hence it is that many a speaker who is almost overcome with trepidation at the outset of his speech, loses all his fear and self-consciousness once he has plunged into the heart of his subject. Our best speakers are those who speak deliberately. The advantages of speaking slowly are shared alike by the speaker and hearer. It gives to the one adequate time in which to think on his feet, and to the other ample time in which to understand what is being said. Moreover, a deliberate speaker conveys the impression that he is saying something worth while, that he weighs his thoughts, and, what is perhaps most vital, that he has himself well in hand. Rapid speaking has its special uses. There are subordinate parts to be hurried over, or the hour is late, or the audience, if it is to be won at all, must be swept along by a rushing stream of eloquence. The speaker should be able to speak rapidly or slowly at will, but for most occasions a deliberate style will prove most effective. This deliberateness should manifest itself not only in the utterance but also in the movements of the speaker. Rapid gesticulation, waving of the arms, pacing the platform, and jerky physical action usually suggest lack of self-control, and, except in those rare instances in which they are demanded by the thought, should be carefully avoided. Few speakers realize the power and eloquence of a pause. To stop sud- denly before a word, so as to clear the mind of the hearer, and then to expel the waiting word like a pistol shot, will sometimes produce a most significant and enduring effect. It is chiefly by means of judicious pauses that the speaker and hearer come into intimate relationship, and it is often during these intervals of time that the listener most closely observes and enjoys the silent working of the speaker's mind. The pause has great possibilities even in a humorous way, as illustrated in the story of Doctor Henson and his lecture on "Fools." Bishop Vincent introduced him to an audience thus : xiv THE ART OF PUBLIC SPEAKING "Ladies and Gentlemen : We are to have a great treat this evening, in the form of a lecture on 'Fools' by one " Here he paused a moment, while a ripple of laughter went through the audi- ence. Then the speaker continued: " by one of the brightest and brainiest men in this country!" This witty use of the pause caused great merriment, and everyone was curious to hear how Dr. Henson would treat the clever introduction. He said: "Ladies and Gentlemen : I am not half so big a fool as Dr. Vincent " Then he paused, while the laughter broke forth again with redoubled vigor; and at last, when it subsided, he continued, " would have you believe !" V It is only a man with exceptional personality who can venture to read a speech, and even in his case the effect would be vastly enhanced by extempore delivery. It can safely be said, too, that no style is at once so easy, so effec- tive, and so self-satisfying, when it is acquired, as extempore speaking. There is probably not a single case on record showing that a great speaker who had ■once trained himself in extempore delivery, ever returned to the manuscript method. The occasions on which a manuscript is necessary are so rare that the general counsel may be given to learn to speak without notes. Modern audiences demand it. They resent the reading of a speech. It throws a wet blanket over them. They assume that the speaker has not qualified himself for his task. They feel imposed upon, since they might quite as well read the speech next morning in their newspaper, in the quiet of their own homes. Besides, the speaker reads to them and they have come to hear him speak. They miss the personal magnetism of eye-to-eye communication, since the speaker is almost sure to bury his face in his manuscript. The ancients associated a deep-toned voice and dignity of manner with magnanimity. It is of decided advantage when both the speaker and the cause are worthy. A man who seeks merely to serve his personal or selfish ends is soon found out. "What you are prevents me from hearing what you say," is still the silent comment made regarding some public men. Seldom should a speaker apologize. Apology is repellant. It suggests weakness. It often spells failure. It does not comport with leadership and great achieve- ment. It is the subterfuge of mediocrity. A public speaker should seek to know something about the occasion and the audience before whom he is to speak. How many will be present? What is the purpose of his address? What class of people will be there? What are their probable likes and prejudices? In what kind of a hall will the meet- ing take place? How much time will the speaker be expected to occupy? What other speakers will take part? Knowledge of this kind will be of prac- tical advantage to the speaker in preparing his speech and adapting it to the particular occasion, while at the same time it will contribute much to his THE ART OF PUBLIC SPEAKING xv peace of mind. If the iDccasion will be a very unusual and important one, it is advisable to visit in advance the hall in which one is to speak, in order to test its acoustic properties. A speaker should have a clearly-defined purpose in view. "You don't expect to make a convert every time you preach, do you?" asked a clergyman of another. "Oh, no," answered the ygunger man. "Then you'll not!" said the first speaker. So it is with the orator. If he does not set out deliberately to persuade men, his speaking will probably be fruitless. The method of concluding a speech will largely depend upon the sub- ject and occasion. The one important thing to keep in mind is tQ know how to end swiftly. A lingering conclusion has ruined many an otherwise excel- lent speech. At a public meeting in New York City several distinguished men were announced to speak. One gentleman, famous for his after-dinner oratory, made a most entertaining and convincing address, but when he should have sat down, observing the good impression he was making, he succumbed to the temptation to continue speaking. He went on and on, while the speakers who were to follow him shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, and the audi- ence looked inquiringly at one another. No one dared pull the speaker's coat-tails to remind him that there were bther speakers waiting to be heard, and the orator, now carried away by the "exuberance of his own verbosity," continued his speaking, to the increasing distress of everyone around him. When at last he sat down, what had been a brilliant and successful speech half an hour before was now transformed into a dismal failure. A public speaker who suspects himself of lacking proper terminal facilities will do well to ponder this paraphrase : A speech should be judicious, clear, succinct; The language plain, the incidents well linked. Tell not as new what everybody knows, And new or old, do hasten to a close. KEY TO ABBREVIATIONS A.— A, C Armstrong & Son. A. S. — A. Strahan. A. S & Co. — Adam, Stevenson & Co. A. S. B. & Co.— A. S. Barnes & Co. B. — George Bell & Sons. B. & D.— Bell and Daldy. B. B. Co. — Boston Book Co. B. L.— B. Law. B. V. & Co.— Baker, Voorhis & Co. C— G. W. Carleton & Co. C. & W.— Cooper & Wilson. C. D. — Charles Desilver. C. Dy.— C. DiUy. C. of O. & A. — College of Oratory and Act- ing. C. S. & Co. — Charles Scribner & Co. D. — Warren F. Draper. D. A. & Co.— D. Appleton & Co. D. & Co.— Dana & Co. D. M. & Co.— Dodd, Mead & Co. E. & M.— Eaton & Mains. F. & W.— Funk & Wagnalls Co. Fr. P. & Co.— Fr. Pustet & Co. G. — Washington Government Printing Office. G. & Co. — Ginn & Co. G. & W. B. W.— G. & W. B. Whittaker. G. K. & L.— Gould, Kendall & Lincoln. G. P. P. Sons— G. P. Putnam's Sons. G. R. & Sons — George Routledge & Sons. G. W. J. & Co.— George W. Jacobs & Co. H. ; H. & B. ; H. & Bros.— Harper & Bros. H. & H.— Henry Holt & Co. H. & M.— Hillard & Metcalf. H. & W.— Houlston & Wright. H. C. — Horace Cox, H. N.— Henry Neil. L & P. — Ivison & Phinney. I. B. & Co. — Ivison, Blakeman & Co. J. — J. Johnson. J. B. F. & Co.— J. B. Ford & Co. J. M. — ^J. Moyes. J. My.— John Murray. J. N. & Co.— James Nisbet & Co. J. P. M. & Co.— John P. Morton & Co. L. — J. B. Lippincott & Co. L. & S. — Lee & Shepard. L. B. & Co.— Little, Brown & Co. L. G. & Co. — Lippincott, Grambo & Co. L. G. R. & D. — Longmans, Green, Reader & Dyer. M. H. G. & Son— M. H. Gill & Son. S. — Charles Scribner's Sons. S. A. & Co. — Scribner, Armstrong & Co. S. & Co. — Sheldon & Co. S. & S. — Spalding and Shepard. S. C. G. & Co.— S. C. Griggs & Co. S. F. & Co. — Scott, Foresman & Co. S. R. W.— Samuel R. Wells. S. S. & Co. — Swan, Sonnenschein & Co. T. & Co. — Triibner & Co. T. & T. C— T. & T. Clark. The C. Co. — The Century Co. The C. P. S. — The Catholic Publication Society. T. W.— Thomas Whittaker. W. B. & Co.— W. Bulmer & Co. W. L. & Co.— Ward, Locke & Co. W. L. B. Co.— Williamson Law Book Co. KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE TO PUBLIC SPEAKING 1. ACCENT AND ITS USES.— Accent has four functions; it gives unity and vari- ety to the sound of wfords, expresses their different and contrasted meanings, and con- stitutes the principal element of rhythm. It gives to words of more than one syllable unity and variety of sound. This is the most important function of the accent. For every such word in English takes one, and but one primary accent, which gives distinction or prominence to the accented syllable over all the others, and draws them into a certain relation of subordination and dependence upon it. Accent expresses the different mean- ings of words which, without the accent, would have the same sound. We have a large class of words in English which are composed of precisely the same elementary sounds, and are represented by the same alphabetical symbols, but which differ widely in their grammatical character and meaning. Such are all the words which are used both as nouns or adjectives, and as verbs. Accent expresses the contrasted meanings of simi- lar words. When the meanings of any two similar words in the same sentence are con- trasted, or opposed to each other, the accent enables us to express this contrast or oppo- sition in a corresponding difference of sound. This function is of such importance that it justifies and requires a change of the accent from its normal position on one or both of the words, as in the following expressions: "He must in'crease, but I must de'crease;" Jus'tice and in'justice, giv'ing and for'giving, prob'ability not plau'sibility. Accent is the principal element of rhythm. The rhythm, both of prose and poetry, depends in Eng- lish chiefly upon such a distribution of ac- cented and unaccented syllables as is adapted to the expression of the sentiment, and as makes a pleasing impression upon the ear. — McIlvaine, Elocution, p. 230. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 2. ACCENT IN SPEAKING.— Accent is that force of words of more than one syl- lable which gives one syllable a heavier sound than another. The terms heavy and light are the best to apply to such syllables. In the word process, pro is the accented or heavy syllable, cess the light one. Mr. Steele, an early writer on elocution, and subsequently Dr. Rush and other authors, designate this difference in sound by the term poise (weight), a very appropriate one if gener- ally accepted. "Many persons," says Profes- sor Plumptre, "naturally carry out this poise admirably in delivery without ever having had any instruction in elocution, especially such persons who (as) are possessed of strong feelings, lively imagination, and warm temperament, particularly when they are speaking in public, or reading aloud any powerful, descriptive or dramatic passage. Others, on the contrary, who are of cold, lethargic, unimpassioned temperament, or languid health, allow only the slightest amount of range of action and reaction to be perceptible, and hence the poise is inade- quately maintained, and the delivery in speak- ing or reading is poor, tame, and feeble, void of all proper expression, and often accompa- nied with a tendency to stammer or stutter." Sheridan says "that theatrical declamation, or what is called the stagey style of delivery, is due to the actors dwelling upon syllables that are unaccented, with the same force as upon the accented ones, through a notion that it makes the words move more slowly, stately, and uniform than the quicker and more spirited accents will allow." Accent is a physiological necessity, dependent upon the structure and action of the vocal chords, and, in its regular action and reaction, it is not only an agreeable relief to the ear, but also to the organs employed in speech. The terms long and short, grave and acute, are quite inadequate to express this action, and are. Acoustics Action, Avoidance of KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE therefore, now, in relation to the English language, no longer used. The accented syl- lable may be long or short, acute or grave, but it is always the heavy syllable, and the unaccented one is always light. — Lewis, The Dominion Elocutionist and Public Reader, p. 44. (A. S. & Co., 1872.) 8. ACOUSTICS— Every auditorium has its own voice. Powerful voices are not al- ways managed properly as to pitch, pace, in- tensity. In each place tune the voice; try to adapt by looking at the hall. Slow time or fast, high or low pitch, or vary intensity. In a spacious hall every syllable must be ar- ticulated with rigid distinctness and a swell given to the sound; this is absolutely indis- pensable, and yet how few so speak; and if for a long time one must husband resources in beginning; must be easy and self-pos- sessed. If at first too strong, exhaustion en- sues. It should be to express what all feel but can not do. Only the leading elements should be touched unerringly, leaving the air to soften, unite, and complete the rest. All trifling and petty points and useless de- tails should be abandoned, leaving only the great features. It is not as necessary in an open or a large space to raise the pitch and increase the force, as to speak distinctly. More speaking and less bawling is best need- ed at all times. Words are not more dis- tinct by drawling the syllables, neither is pomp or solemnity added by making it dif- ferent from private speech. This is the vice of the art. Accent the same as in common life, and not labor on the unaccented syl- lables, giving them overweight and prom- inence ; at least, one must not seem to do so. The quantity of sound actually needed is smaller than is generally imagined. Over- heated rooms are bad for the voice, as heat is a non-conductor of sound and spoils the intonation of the voice. Irregular shaped places are often very difficult to speak in. Small wires stretched across a room at pro- per height break the sound-waves and pre- vent unpleasant echoes. — Frobisher, Acting and Oratory, p. 363. (C. of O. & A., 1879.) ' 4. ACTION, ADDISON ON STYLE OF. — The commonest grounds of com- plaint are that our speakers use no action at all. This want of action in speaking has been most forcibly described by Addison in his essay on "English Oratory." "Most for- eign writers,'' says he, "who have given any character of the English nation, whatever vices they ascribe to it, allow, in general, that the people are naturally modest. It pro- ceeds, perhaps, from this our national virtue, that our orators are observed to make use of less gesture or action than those of other countries. Our preachers stand stock-still in the pulpit, and will not so much as move a finger to set off the best sermons in the world. We meet with the same speaking Statues at our bars, and in all public places of debate. Our words flow from us in a smooth, continued stream, without those strainings of the voice, motions of the body, and majesty of the hand, which are so much celebrated in the orators of Greece and Rome. We can talk of life and death in cold blood, and keep our temper in a dis- course which turns upon everything that is dear to us. Tho our zeal breaks out in the finest tropes and figures, it is not able to stir a limb about us. I have heard it observed more than once, by those who have seen Italy, that an untravelled Englishman can not relish all the beauties of Italian pictures, because the postures which are expressed in them are often such as are peculiar to that country. One who has not seen an Italian in the pulpit will not know what to make of that noble gesture in Raffael's picture of Paul preaching at Athens, where the apostle is rep- resented as lifting up both his arms, and pouring out the thunder of his rhetoric amidst an audience of pagan philosophers. It is certain that the proper gestures and ve- hement exertions of the voice can not be too much studied by a public orator. They are a kind of comment to what he utters, and en- force everything which he says, with weak hearers, better than the strongest argument he can make use of. They keep the audi- ence awake, and fix their attention to what is delivered to them, at the same time that they show that the speaker is in earnest, and affected himself with what he so passion- ately recommends to others. Violent ges- ture and vociferation naturally shake the hearts of the ignorant, and fill them with a kind of religious horror. Nothing is more frequent than to see women weep and trem- ble at the sight of a moving preacher, tho he is placed quite out of their hearing; as in England we very frequently see people lulled asleep with solid and elaborate discourses of piety, who would be warmed and transported out of themselves by the bellowings and dis- tortions of enthusiasm. If nonsense, when accompanied with such an emotion of voice and body, has such an influence on men's minds, what might we not expect from many of those admirable discourses which are printed in our tongue, were they delivered with a becoming fervor, and with the most TO PUBLIC SPEAKING AoonstlcB Action, Avoidance of agreeable graces of voice and gesture? We are told that the great Latin orator very much impaired his health by this 'laterum contentio' — the vehemence of action — with which he used to deliver himself. The Greek orator was likewise so very famous for this particular in rhetoric, that one of his antag- onists, whom he had banished from Athens, reading over the oration which had procured his banishment, and seeing his friends ad- mire it, could not forbear asking them, if they were so much affected by the bare read- ing of it, how much more they would have been alarmed had they heard him actually throwing out such a storm of eloquence? How cold and dead a figure, in comparison with these two great men, does an orator often make at the British bar, holding up his head with the most insipid serenity, and stroking the sides of a long wig that reaches down to his middle ! The truth of it is, there is often nothing more ridiculous than the gestures of an English speaker; you see some of them running their hands into their pockets as far as ever they can thrust them, and others looking with great attention on a piece of paper that has nothing written upon it; you may see many a smart rhetorician turning his hat in his hands, molding it into several cocks, examining sometimes the lin- ing of it, and sometimes the bottom, during the whole course of his harangue. A deaf man would think he was cheapening a beaver, when perhaps he is talking of the fate of the British nation. I remember, when I was a young man and used to frequent Westmin- ster Hall, there was a counsellor who never pleaded without a piece of pack-thread in his hand, which he used to twist about a thumb or a finger all the while he was speak- ing; the wags of those days used to call it 'the thread of his discourse,' for he was not able to utter a word without it. One of his clients, who was more merry than wise, stole it from him one day in the midst of his pleading; but he had better have let it alone, for he lost his cause by his jest. I have all along acknowledged myself to be a dumb man, and therefore may be thought a very improper person to give rules for oratory; but I believe every one will agree with me in this, that we ought either to lay aside all kinds of gesture (which seems to be very suitable to the genius of our nation), or, at least, to make use of such only as are grace- ful and expressive." — Anon, The Public Speaker, p. 77. (J. N. & Co., 1860.) 6. ACTION AND DISCOURSE— It is certain that action adds greatly to the clear- ness, the weight, the impressiveness, and the power of thought. It is the charm of elo- quence. Saint Frangois de Sales writes : "You may utter volumes, and yet if you do not utter them well, it is lost labor. Speak but little, and that little well, and you may affect much." Only a few are capable of appreciating the intrinsic value of a dis- course; whereas all can see whether you speak from an inward sense of the truth — from the heart and from personal convic- tion. It is more especially upon the people that action produces a powerful effect; it attracts, it transports them. A preacher who possesses sterling and noble ideas, who has genuine sentiment and true action, is irre- sistible with them. Such weapons will as- suredly do great havoc among them; or, as I should rather say, will save many. They may not always admit their discomfiture ; but they will not hesitate to confess that your words are weighty and true, and tell against them. But in order to be impressive, action must be: First, true and natural; secondly, concentrated ; thirdly, edifying. — Mullois, The Clergy and the Pulpit, p. 354. (The C. P. S., 1867.) 6. ACTION, AVOIDANCE OF.— Ac- tion seems to be natural to man when speak- ing earnestly; but the state of the case at present seems to be that the disgust excited, on the one hand, by awkward and ungraceful motions, and, on the other, by studied ges- ticulations, has led to the general disuse of action altogether, and has induced men to form the habit (for it certainly is a formed habit) of keeping themselves quite still, or nearly so, when speaking. This is supposed to be, and perhaps is, the more rational and dignified way of speaking; but so strong is the tendency to indicate vehement internal emotion by some kind of outward gesture that those who do not encourage or allow themselves in any, frequently fall uncon- sciously into some awkward trick of swing- ing the body, folding a paper, twisting a string, or the like. But when anyone is read- ing, or even speaking, in the artificial man- ner, there is little or nothing of this ten- dency, precisely because the mind is not oc- cupied by that strong internal emotion which occasions it. And the prevalence of this (the artificial) manner may reasonably be conjec- tured to have led to the disuse of all gestic- ulation, even in extemporary speakers; be- cause if anyone whose delivery is artificial does use action, it will of course be like his voice, studied and artificial, and savoring still more of disgusting affectation, from the cir- Action, Concentrated Action, Sources of KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE cumstance that it evidently might be entirely omitted. And hence the practice came to be generally disapproved and exploded. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 253. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 7. ACTION, CONCENTRATED.— Ac- tion should be concentrated; that is to say, it should proceed from a soul which is itself convinced, penetrated, fervent; which puts a restraint upon itself that it may not say all that it feels; unless it be from time to time, like the flames which escape at intervals from a volcano. Inward fervor harmonizes with the sacred word, whereas excessive noise and motion are wholly unsuited to it. If a pas- sionate outburst sometimes escapes us, it should be repressed forthwith. The preacher should be calm ; master of himself as well as of his subject. He should have a steady demeanor, should keep his forces well in hand, not relinquish his hold over them, un- less it be designedly, and never lose self- control : — be carried away and yet possess himself, and retain self-possession while al- lowing himself to be carried away. — MuLLOis, The Clergy and the Pulpit, p. 258. (The C. P. S., 1867.) 8. ACTION DEMOSTHENES ON.— It is said that Demosthenes, upon being once asked what was the first qualification of an orator, answered : Action. What was the second? Action. What was the third? Still action. How many blundering comments, and how many sagacious misapplications, have been made upon this story, on the supposi- tion that Demosthenes, by action, merely meant gesture, bodily motion ! How many a semi-pedant, knowing just enough to be self- sufficient, has, in the plenitude of his wisdom, discovered by this anecdote that Demosthe- nes and the Athenians knew little or nothing of real eloquence ! How many a petty bab- bler, engrafting upon a kinder veneration of the Grecian orator the same misconstruction of his words, has made it an article of his creed that eloquence consists in gesticulation ; and, adapting his conduct to his belief, prac- tised the antic postures of an harlequin, and fancied himself a Demosthenes! I have known even eloquent scholars and accom- plished speakers perplexed to account for this opinion of the greatest of orators, and ques- tioning the truth of the story, merely from the same inaccurate idea of his meaning. His meaning was, that the first, the second, and the third thing, to which a public speaker should attend, is his delivery ; and altho from a variety of circumstances the relative im- portance of this article was greater in that age than ours, yet even now those who have witnessed in its full extent the difference of effect upon an auditory between a good and a bad delivery, will be at no loss to account for the opinion of Demosthenes, and see no cause to question his judgment. — Adams, Lec- tures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 1, p. 172. (H. & M., 1810.) 9. ACTION, DIVISIONS OF.— The late B. H. Smart, a well-known writer and teacher of elocution, used to group all ges- ture under four heads: 1. Emphatic; 2. Ref- erential; 3. Impassioned; and 4. Imitative gesture. The first head requires no explana- tion. Its name clearly defines what it is. "Referential gesture is of frequent occur- rence. By it, the speaker calls attention to what is actually present, or to what is im- agined for the moment to be present, or to the direction, real or for the moment con- ceived, in which anything has happened or may happen. When Lord Chatham speaks of the figure in the tapestry frowning on a degenerate representative of his race, he re- fers to the place by corresponding action. When Canute is described ordering his chair to be placed on the shore, the narrator, by action, fixes attention to some particular spot, as if the sea were really present. When a picture of any kind is to be exhibited to the mental view, the speaker will convey a lively impression in proportion as he himself con- ceives it clearly, and, by action, refers con- sistently to its different parts, as if the scene were before the eyes of his auditors. Of impassioned gesture, it may be observed . . . that, tho all gesture of this kind ought to be the effect of natural impulse, yet the assumption of the outward signs of ex- pression is one of the means of rousing in the speaker the real feeling. This consider- ation, and this alone, can justify any percep- tive directions where nature seems to offer herself as sole instructor. Imitative gesture often takes place with good effect in speak- ing, particularly in narration or description of a comic kind. To use it in serious de- scription would generally be to burlesque the subject; though even here, if sparingly and gracefully introduced, it is not always mis- placed. For instance, in Collins' 'Ode to the Passions,' the narrator may use imitative ac- tion when he tells us that " 'Fear his hand its skill to try Amid the chords bewildered laid. And back recoiled :' and that TO PUBLIC SPEAKING JlOUoii, Concentrated Action, Sources of " 'Anger rushed — In one rude clash he struck the lyre. And swept with hurried hands the strings.' and so, throughout the ode, whenever imita- tive action is possible without extravagance. Of gesture, thus discriminated, it will not be difficult to determine the species which this or that department of speaking calls most into play. The pulpit, for instance, hardly admits of other than emphatic gesture, seldom of referential, not very often of impassioned, never of imitative. The senate and the bar may more frequently admit of referential and impassioned gesture, very seldom of imita- tive. It is only the stage that makes full use of gesture drawn from all the four sources that have been indicated. Yet the practise of the pupil, whatever may be his destined pro- fession, ought not to be confined only to one or two of these species of gesture. For, in order to bring forth the powers of intellect and sensibility, a wide range of subjects must be chosen; and in all these his business will be to 'suit the action to the word, and the word to the action.' " — Beeton, Art of Pub- lic Speaking, from Complete Orator, p. 93. (W. L. & Co.) 10. ACTION, IN SPEAKING.— I would strongly advise the beginner at first to use no action at all, as that is far better than inap- propriate action. His first effort should be to forget that he has hands, as the conscious- ness of them which most people show is very painful. His first attempt should be to let his arms hang down easily and naturally at his sides, and that is not so easy to do as it sounds. Then, if he leaves one arm hanging easily down, and raises the other at a right angle from the elbow, keeping it close to the body, he will find himself at once in an easy and natural attitude of repose. But when the arms are raised in action, they should be raised from the shoulder and not from the elbow only, and the fingers should not be kept stiffly closed together, but separated and slightly bent. It used to be considered cor- rect to use the right arm only, and that it was improper, and, as one old writer called it, even "indecent" to use the left. But this is nonsense. It is obvious that on many oc- casions it may be quite as convenient to use the left arm as the right, and both should be trained to move with equal grace. As the speaker warms with his subject, he will prob- ably find his arms moving instinctively and unconsciously in response to his feelings, and as he increases in confidence by practise, he may find after a time that it is necessary rather to restrain his action than to encour- age it. — Beandram, Brandram's Speaker, p. 35. (G. R. & Sons.) 11. ACTION, RIGHT USE OF.— Some speakers merely wave the hand up and down, or to and fro, in one even and measured sweep, as if they were beating time to mu- sic. Pray you avoid it. Do not saw the air, as Hamlet terms it. Do not stick your thumbs in your waistcoat, nor thrust your hands under the tail of your coat, nor twirl a thread, nor play with a pen. Of these inele- gancies there are eminent examples among the foremost orators of this generation. An impressive because expressive action, if used at a fit place, is a thump with the hand upon the table, or of one hand against the other, when you want to give extraordinary empha- sis to some word or point in the sentence. There is a natural language of the limbs as well as of the voice, and if you observe that you will not much err. The difficulty, you will say, is to remember the rule when your thoughts are busily engaged in constructing your speech and you can not at once think of what you shall say and how you shall say it- Happily for you, this natural action is instinctive. It follows the feelings and ac- companies the words. You have nothing to do but to give it free play by removing all ungainly habits, all artificial action, whatever affectations you may have been taught by ig- norant and pedantic masters. Having put yourself in the best position for the muscles to act, you may leave the manner of their action to the impulses of nature. You will ask why it is, if nature prompts the right action, so few orators are found to practise it. My answer is, that they have not trusted to nature. Either they have sought to make an art of action and learn it by rule ; or they do not feel what they say but are speaking by rote; or they have fallen into bad habits at the beginning, before they were sufficiently confident to let Nature speak her own lan- guage; or they are still so wanting in self- command that, as it is with beginners, fear impedes the free motions that nature prompts. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 339. (H. C, 1911.) 12. ACTION, SOURCES OF.— All true action in the pulpit must first proceed from the soul. In other words, it has a psychic base and spring. If the man's soul is in a healthy and vigorous state, inspired by his theme, his thoughts will swim to the surface and reflect itself in his physical features and organs. By a subtle psychological law the whole nervous and muscular system responds Action Affectation KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE to the sympathetic impulses of the emotions and will ; feeling and purpose mysteriously and spontaneously press at every gate of the eyes, the lips, the cheeks, the hands, the feet, for expression. The preacher's heart, swell- ing with inspired, energetic conviction and emotion, lifts itself up like a great tidal wave, overflows its banks, and pours itself forth in expressions of the features, glances of the eyes, quivering of the mouth, tones of the voice, and movements of the limbs, so that the physical structure becomes simply the complex and delicate organ of expression for the brain, and heart, and will. And this dis- tinguishes pulpit action from stage acting. The former is in a large degree spontaneous and natural; the latter is mainly the result of study, art, and imitation. The prejudice against what is called "theatrical" preaching is due to the attempt to copy the arts of the actor instead of gaining the fulness of life and its natural utterance. Art is by no means to be despised; it has an important place in the correction of faults and the development of grace and impressiveness ; but while it may guide and rectify the forces of nature, when through bad examples they have be- come cramped or distorted, it must always be subordinate. — Kennard, Psychic Power in Preaching, p. 101. (G. W. J. & Co., 1901.) 13. ACTION, SPONTANEITY OF.— The organs of speech should be so thoroughly trained as to respond readily to all demands. There must of necessity be conscious effort before you can safely risk spontaneous per- formance, but after you have consciously applied some of the leading principles of good reading, it is well to let yourself go occasionally, in order to test your general powers of expression. The final aim of this study is to be able to read and speak without immediate thought of rules or principles. Let it be understood that to be in bondage to any set of nerves or muscles is to destroy all possibility of natural and spontaneous expression. Learn the art of relaxation, of abandoning yourself to your expression, and you will be surprized to find yourself be- coming master of your highest powers. Reading in this manner is like playing in tune. It simply means that there is a har- monious adjustment of the mental and phys- ical machinery, and that you give the greatest freedom to your various powers of expres- sion, because you have first brought them under discipline. — Kleiser, How to Read and Declaim, p. 89. (F. & W., 1911.) 14. ACTION, THE LANGUAGE OF NATURE. — Strong passion, or profound emotion, is never satisfied with any expreS' sion of itself that is possible in mere words; it feels itself to be still pent up, until it finds an outlet by embodying itself in some appro- priate act or motion of the body. Nay, even slight and transient feelings require action, in order to their full and adequate expression. Not only does the tempest raise up the great ocean waves ; the zephyr also ripples the smooth surface of the mountain lake. Hence nature has provided that certain actions or motions shall correspond to certain feelings ; and that these feelings shall instinctively prompt to those actions. Such actions or motions are, in a peculiar sense, the language of nature for the expression of such feelings. Here we have the whole theory of gesture, and the explanation of its wonderful power of expression. Hence it is that anger frowns, fear turns pale, shame blushes, pleasure smiles, love sparkles in the eyes, humility bows the head, and despair grins, gnashes the teeth, and tears the hair. No words can equal the expressive power of such symboli- cal acts — actions, here as everywhere, speak louder than words. — McIlvaine, Elocution, p. 387. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 15. ADAMS, JOHN QUINCY.— Born a* Braintree, Mass., Oct. 30, 1735. Died at Quincy, July 4, 1826. Began to practise law at the age of twenty-three. Middle height, strong, well-knit frame. Presence serious and imposing, but not unbending. He was ardent, vehement, somewhat dogmatic, intol- erant of wrongdoing. He had implicit confi- dence in himself and his own opinions. Pos- sessed deep understanding, imagination, and keen reasoning. Distinguished for his patri- otism, earnestness, courage, and bull-dog te- nacity. His style has been described as crisp and vivacious ; terse and matter-of-fact ; and as making up in energy what it lacked in smoothness. Few of his speeches are left to le. ADAMS, JOHN QUINCY, METH- OD OF. — Mr. Adams seems to have positively loved to use his pen. His habit was to get up at a very early hour, often before sunrise; and this he did even when resident at courts, where he was forced to attend parties kept up inordinately late. His working day was thus much longer than that of most of his associates, and was filled by the pen, which indefatigably committed to paper what appear to have been in most cases his first thoughts on every conceivable sub- TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Action Affectation ject which presented itself, whether in talk, reading, silent observation in company, or solitude. It was, we believe, rarely his habit to revise; and the resulting mass of manu- script is almost beyond precedent in the lives of even industrious men. But it strongly re- minds us of the work achieved by one man, of whose writings Mr. Adams was a constant and devoted student, and whose character, though strongly alien to his in many points, was strongly akin to it in others : that is, Cicero. Nor in any point is this resemblance more curiously marked than in the fondness alike of the Volscian and the Yankee for verse composition, of a kind that both con- temporaries and posterity persist in thinking the reverse of poetical. The editor has very properly included a few of his father's pieces in these volumes, justly remarking that no true notion of his character can be acquired without them. He retained the habit of translating and composing in verse. — Everett, John Quincy Adams, Atlantic Monthly, 1875, vol. 36, p. 197. 17. ADAPTABILITY IN THE SPEAKER. — A skilful, experienced orator adapts things to the capacity of his hearers, and varies his discourse according to the im- pression which he sees it makes upon their minds. For he easily perceives whether they understand him or not, and whether he gains their attention and moves their hearts, and if it be needful he resumes the same things in a different manner, and sets them in an- other light ; he clothes them in more familiar images and comparisons; or he goes back to the plainest principles, from which he grad- ually deduces the truths he would enforce; or he endeavors to cure those passions which hinder the truth from making a dlie impres- sion. This is the true art of instruction and persuasion, and without this address and presence of mind we can only make roving and fruitless declamations. Observe now how far the orator, who gets everything by heart, falls short of the other's success. If we suppose, then, a man to preach who depends entirely on his memory, and dares not pro- nounce a word different from his lesson, his style will be very exact, but, as Dionysius Halicarnassus observes of Isocrates, his com- position must please more when it is read than when it is pronounced. Besides, let him take what pains he will, the inflexions of his voice will be too uniform and always a little constrained. He is not like a man who speaks to an audience, but like a rhetorician who re- cites or declaims. His action must be awk- ward and forced; by fixing his eyes too much, he shows how much his memory la- bors in his delivery, and he is afraid to give way to an unusual emotion lest he should lose the thread of his discourse. Now, the hearer perceiving such an undisguised art, is so far from being touched and captivated, as he ought to be, that he observes the speaker's artifice with coldness and neglect. — F^nelon, Dialogues on Eloquence, p. 113. (J. M., 1808.) 18. ADJECTIVES, OVERUSE OF.— It is the besetting sin of young writers to in- dulge in adjectives and precisely as a man gains experience his adjectives diminish in number. It seems to be supposed by all un- practised scribblers — and it is a fixed creed with the penny-a-lining class — ^that the multi- plication of epithets gives force. The nouns are never left to speak for themselves. It is curious to take up any newspaper and read the paragraphs of news, especially if they are dipt from a provincial journal or sup- plied by a penny-a-liner, or to open the books of nine-tenths of our authors of the third and downward ranks. You will rarely see a noun standing alone without one or more adjectives prefixed. Be assured that this is a mistake. An adjective should never be used unless it is essential to correct description. As a general rule, adjectives add little strength to the noun they are set to prop, and a multiplication of them is always en- feebling. The vast majority of nouns con- vey to the mind a much more accurate pic- ture of the thing they signify than you can possibly paint by attaching epithets to them. A river is not improved by being described as "flowing" ; the sun by being called "the glorious orb of the day" ; the moon by being styled "gentle"; or a hero by being termed "gallant." — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Read- ing, and Speaking, p. 25. (H. C, 1911.) 19. AFFECTATION AND SIMPLIC- ITY. — Affectation of manner, though ap- parently originating in insincerity and art, is often the result of a perception of common errors, and a desire to avoid them. It pro- ceeds, sometimes, from the wish to be cor- rect or graceful. It is the natural product of the prevalent neglect of manner and de- portment, which characterizes our modes of education. The molding influence of taste, if applied, as it ought to be, to the formation of habit, would anticipate and cut off this reaction of the mind against the consequences of early neglect. A sound judgment and a manly taste are the only possible security against faults of affectation; and the culti- Affectation Ampliflcatlon KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 8 vation of these traits of mind ought to form a prominent part of intellectual training. The systematic study and practise of elocution may do much to form and direct the mental tendencies, in regard to modes and habits of expression; as the principles of the art in- volve a recognition of all the distinctive fea- tures of chaste and correct style, not merely in this, but also in every other art which gives form to thought and feeling. Sim- plicity, as the grand characteristic of truth and nature, holds as high a place in elocu- tion as in any other mode of expressive art; and directness of tone and emphasis it en- joins as the straight road to the heart: it forbids all attempts at arbitrary modulations of voice — all merely mechanical variations for effect. The simplest and the truest manner it holds up as the most eloquent and the most effective. The studied changes in which the speaker passes arbitrarily from soft to loud, from high to low, and the opposition to these, it condemns as false to the subject, and destructive to every effect of genuine and earnest address. — Russell, Pulpit Elocu- tion, p. 118. (D., 1878.) 20. AFFECTATION OF SPEECH.— I would not have letters sounded with too much affectation, or uttered imperfectly through negligence ; I would not have the words dropt out without expression or spir- it; I would not have them puffed and, as it were, panted forth, with a difficulty of breathing; for I do not as yet speak of those things relating to the voice which belong to oratorical delivery, but merely of that which seems to me to concern pronunciation. For there are certain faults which every one is desirous to avoid, as a too delicate and ef- feminate tone of voice, or one that is ex- travagantly harsh and grating. There is also a fault which some industriously strive to attain; a rustic and rough pronunciation is agreeable to some, that their language, if it has that tone, may seem to partake more of antiquity; as Lucius Cotta, an acquaintance of yours, Catulus, appears to me to take a delight in the broadness of his speech and the rough sound of his voice, and thinks that what he says will savor of the antique if it certainly savors of rusticity. But your har- mony and sweetness delight me ; I do not refer to the harmony of your words, which is a principal point, but one which method introduces, learning teaches, practise in read- ing and speaking confirms ; but I mean the mere sweetness of pronunciation, which, as among the Greeks it was peculiar to the Athenians, so in the Latin tongue is chiefly remarkable in this city. At Athens, learning among the Athenians themselves has long been entirely neglected ; there remains in that city only the seat of the studies which the citizens do not cultivate, but which foreign- ers enjoy, being captivated in a manner with the very name and authority of the place; yet any illiterate Athenian will easily sur- pass the most learned Asiatics, not in his language, but in sweetness of tone, not so much in speaking well as in speaking agree- ably. Our citizens pay less attention to let- ters than the people of Latium, yet among all the people that you know in the city, who have the least tincture of literature, there is not one who would have a manifest advan- tage over Quintus Valerius of Sora, the most learned of all Latins, in softness of voice, in conformation of the mouth, and in the gen- eral tone of pronunciation. — Cicero, On Ora- tory and Orators, p. 343. (B., 1909.) 21. AGITATION IN SPEAKING.— I have often observed that the most accom- plished orators have felt some agitation in entering upon their speeches. When I in- quired into the reason of this, and consid- ered why a speaker, the more ability he pos- sessed, felt the greater fear in speaking, I found that there were two causes of such timidity : one, that those whom experience and nature had formed for speaking, well knew that the event of a speech did not al- ways satisfy expectation even in the greatest orators; and thus, as often as they spoke, they feared, not without reason, that what sometimes happened might happen then; the other (of which I am often in the habit of complaining) is, that men, tried and approved in other arts, if they ever do anything with less success than usual, are thought either to have wanted inclination for it, or to have failed in performing what they knew how to perform from ill health. "Roscius," they say, "would not act to-day," or, "he was dis- posed." But if any deficiency is seen in the orator, it is thought to proceed from want of sense; and want of sense admits of no excuse, because nobody is supposed to have wanted sense because he "was indisposed," or because "such was his inclination." Thus we undergo a severer judgment in oratory, and judgment is pronounced upon us as often as we speak ; if an actor is once mistaken in an attitude, he is not immediately considered to be ignorant of attitude in general; but if any fault is found in a speaker, there pre- vails forever, or at least for a very long time, a notion of stupidity. — Cicero, On Ora- tory and Orators, p. 174. (B., 1909.) TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Affectation AmplUlcatlon 22. ALERTNESS AND ENERGY.— Be very sure to keep your mind in a state of habitual activity, alertness, energy; so that it will be ready to grasp subjects strongly, and to handle them with easy and effectual force; so that thoughts shall come to you rapidly when you speak, and your freedom in uttering them be proportioned to the rapid- ity with which they are suggested. Keep the mind up to its highest point. Of course, we all know the immense differences that ap- pear in it, at different times, in regard to that dynamic force by which it seizes a sub- ject presented, opens it rapidly in its parts and relations, and sets it forth clearly for others to consider. Sometimes it seems im- possible to accomplish what at other times is easy. Things are dim and obscure to us on one day, which on another are manifest, vivid. The whole atmosphere seems changed. — Stoers, Preaching Without Notes, p. 94. (D. M. & Co., 1875.) 23. ALLEGORY.— The allegory, the parable, and the fable belong to the same class of figurative forms of representation; and their distinctions are not nicely observed in the common use of language. It is suffi- cient to remark of them that the fable is distinguished from the proper allegory by being shorter and also by being narrative or historical. It is founded on an imaginary event; whereas, an allegory may be descrip- tive. The term parable is more strictly con- fined to allegories which are either narrative or descriptive, of a more or less religious character; which are, moreover, founded on real scenes or events, as those of Christ. One of the finest examples of the allegory is in the eightieth Psalm, from the eighth verse to the sixteenth, inclusive. The "Pil- grim's Progress," by Bunyan, is another fine exemplification of the extended allegory.— Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 333. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 24. ALLEGORY, USE OF.— The alle- gory, which we interpret inversion, says one thing and means another, sometimes meaning quite the reverse of what is said. The Ode of Horace, in which by a ship he means the commonwealth; by the agitations of stormy seas, civil wars; by a harbor, peace and con- cord ; may be an example of the first kind of allegory. Orators often use it, but seldom in a pure and entire form, as in the example just cited; for they often mix it up with words that make it clear and intelligible. It is pure and entire in these words of Cicero: "I am surprized at, and I even pity, that man who has so keen a desire for calumny that rather than refrain from it he chooses to sink the vessel in which he himself sails." But the mixed allegory is more frequently used, as in this other example from Cicero: "As for other storms and tempests, I always believed Milo had no occasion to be appre- hensive of any, except amidst the boisterous waves of the Assemblies of the People." If he had not added "the Assemblies of the People," it would have been pure allegory, but by so doing it became mixed, and in that manner it receives beauty from the borrowed words, and perspicuity from the proper words. But nothing else has so beautiful an effect as when there is an admixture of sim- ile, allegory, and metaphor. "What sea is subject to so many storms as the Assembly of the People ? The one, by ebbing and flow- ing, has not so many waves, such changes, such agitations, as the other, in passing its votes, has inconstancy, trouble, and vexation. One day, one night, is enough to change the face of things : sometimes even the least ru- mor, the least noise, is a brisk gale of wind, wafting minds away, and drifting about all their former opinions." Particular care should be taken to end with the same kind of metaphor as that with which we begin; for many, having begun with a storm, end with a fire or downfall — a shameful incon- gruity, and an evident sign of lack of judg- ment. — QuiNTiLiAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 2, p. 95. (B. L., 1774.) 25. AMPLIFICATION BY INCRE- MENT. — Increment is very powerful when of things in comparison even the less consid- erable are great. This is done by one de- gree, or several; and thus we proceed not only to the highest, but sometimes, as it were, beyond it. One example from Cicero will be sufficient to clear up all these points: "It is a signal trespass against our laws to lay in irons a Roman citizen, it is an unheard-of crime to have him whipt, it is, in a manner, parricide to put him to death; what shall I call it to make him die on the cross?" If the Roman citizen had only been whipt, the ora- tor would have made the cruelty greater by ' one degree by alleging that a less punishment was even expressly forbidden by the laws; and if this citizen had only been put to death, he would have augmented the crime by many degrees. Yet, having said that to put to death a Roman citizen was in a manner par- ricide, beyond which there was nothing, he added, notwithstanding, "What shall I call it to make him die on a cross?" And thus having aggravated Verres's crime in as great Amplification Analogy aad Its Use KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 10 a degree as possible, it was necessary that expression should be lacking for his proceed- ing further. — Quintilian, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 2, p. 67. (B. L., 1774.) 26.— AMPLIFICATION, E F F E C- TIVE. — If no mere collection of words, however eloquent, no mere heaping up of phrases, however polished, can ever consti- tute useful or effective amplification of an argument, it follows that amplification will only be genuine just in proportion as it is a useful or necessary development of that ar- gument. Hence, all true amplification, as all solid reasoning, must have its foundation in deep and earnest thought. The man who would amplify with effect must return again and again to the very viscera of his argu- ment for the happy thoughts and the felici- tous illustrations with which to develop it. Buffon remarks that it is only by means of profound meditation, and of deep and ear- nest thought, that the mind of man is made truly fruitful. If this be so, does it not nec- essarily follow that the man who would speak eloquently and well upon any subject must study that subject with all his heart and soul, and strive his very utmost to real- ize it in all its varied bearings, in all its fruit- ful application? He must fathom its lowest depths. He must realize the most minute details which are proper to it, the special circumstances which give it a life and charac- ter of its own. He must study how to bring out these circumstances and details in the most striking and most lively colors. He must try to discover what turns of expres- sion, what figures of speech, what contrasts or comparisons, what inductions and conclu- sions, what accumulation of ideas, or what careful working out of leading thoughts will contribute most powerfully, most clearly, and most effectually to the true development of his subject, to the vivid realization of those substantial details and those leading circum- stances which, as we have just said, animate and give it life. Just in proportion as he succeeds in this will he succeed in clothing the bare skeleton of his discourse in vig- orous breathing, living flesh, and muscle. — Potter, The Spoken Word, p. 146. (M. H. G. & Son, 1880.) 27. AMPLIFICATION IN SPEAK- ING. — In some cases, intentional verbos- ity, or more properly speaking, amplification, is a beauty. When, for instance, multitude, and amplitude, and vastness, and indefatig- ableness, are the ideas which you wish to express, your language should be correspon- dently extended. Thus, in Exodus i: 7, "And the children of Israel were fruitful and in- creased abundantly, and multiplied, and waxed exceedingly mighty, and the land was full of them :" all this is not too much to ex- press the prodigious increase of the children of Israel from seventy souls to six hundred thousand men, besides women and children. Amplification is suited to express great in- terest and excitement. When you are nar- rating an interesting story, you naturally dwell on all the minutest details; and when any passion is excited, the mind loves to ex- press itself in redundant copiousness. Thus St. Paul : "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or the sword? As it is written, for thy sake we are killed all day long; we are ac- counted as sheep for the slaughter. Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. For I am per- suaded, that neither death, nor life; nor an- gels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ our Lord." In this passage you will observe the reiteration of the conjunction, as well as the lengthened enumeration of particulars. — Gresley, Let- ters to a Young Clergyman, p. 143. (D. & Co., 1856.) 28. AMPLIFICATION, USE OF.— A sermon is of its nature a persuasive oration, which is addressed to the people with the object of gaining them efficaciously to the service of God, of causing them to reject that which is evil, and to embrace that which is good. This is the primary end of all our preaching. But experience teaches us that the people are slow to understand the things of God, slow to comprehend and to seize the mysteries of the supernatural order. Hence, we can not, as a rule, rest satisfied with our arguments merely because we have put them clearly, or rendered them fairly intelligible to ordinary intellects. We must go a step further than this ; we must bring them home to every heart and soul; and in order to do this we must present them under different aspects and from different points of view. We must give warmth to what would other- wise be cold, life to what would otherwise remain inanimate and dead. We have sown the good seed by the solid instruction which we have imparted to our people. We must cause that good seed to grow and develop itself under the vivifying influence of the 11 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING AmpUfioatlon Aualoery and Its TTae life-giving rain of amplification. Yes; if we would succeed, we must put our arguments in a popular form and shape. We speak, and we see by the vacant faces, and the uninter- ested looks of our hearers, that they either do not comprehend what we say, or, if they comprehend it, that they neither appreciate its force, nor are moved by its influence. We must present it in a different shape, clothe it in another form of words, illustrate it by some homely comparison, or by a happy and well-chosen example. Remembering that the real amplification of an argument, as of a discourse, consists in something more than in merely heaping words upon words, and phrases upon phrases, we must, if necessary, present our arguments again and again. We must bring them forward again and again in a new dress; we must labor to render them more clear, more intelligible, more vivid, more homely, and more full of human and practical interest; and we must continue to do this until the sparkling eyes, the sympa- thetic looks, the eager faces of our audience, tell us that our words have struck home at last; that they have made their mark upon the hearts of our hearers ; that they have produced the full effect which we intended them to have upon the souls of those who listen to us. When this result has been ac- complished, we may be satisfied that our argument has been put in a popular shape; that it has been amplified secundum regulas artis, or, what is the same thing, according to the rules of good taste, of sound common sense, of honest intention, and of laborious endeavor elevated and directed by one of the highest and most sublime motives which can actuate and move the human heart — zeal for the greater glory of God and the good of our brother's soul. — Potter, The Spoken Word, p. 140. (M. H. G. & Son, 1880.) 29. ANALOGY. — ^This argument is never demonstrative. It is based, not upon a di- rect resemblance, but upon a resemblance of ratios. It is in form like a compound pro- portion ; as o is to B, so is c to D. As a son iajo a parent, so is a citizen to his country. Tou pi^e i: t ilt! falUuiuuii use uf the digui Went, we must show that the resemblance does not hold good, or that it is assumed, or imagi- nary. A special weakness of this form of argument (even where the analogy is not false, but real), is that it is at best only probable, and the employment of it by itself is a tacit admission of the want or absence of true demonstrative argument. It is a trite but important remark that "analogy does not necessarily lead to truth." The fal- lacy of false analogy — derived from the ar- gument found in a true analogy — is called nan tali pro tali — that is, no likeness put for a likeness. We will draw an example, both of the argument, and of the refutation of the fallacy, from Alexander Hamilton's speech in the Debates on the Constitution. "In my reasonings on the subject of government, I rely more on the interests and opinions of men than on any speculative parchment pro- visions whatever. / have found that consti- tutions are more or less exce llent, as they are more or less agreeable to the natural operation of things. But, sav gentlemen, the members of Congress will be interested not to increase the number [of Representatives], as it will diminish their relative influence. In all their reasoning upon the subject, there seems to be this fallacy. They suppose that the Representative will have no motive of action, on the one side, but a sense of duty; or, on the other, but corruption. They do not reflect that he is to return to the com- munity," etc., etc. The last part is the refu- tation of an incomplete induction. In the following paragraph, Hamilton replies to the argument of a false analogy. "It is a harsh doctrine, that men grow wicked in proportion as tley 'improve and enlighten their minds. Experience Has by no means justified us_in the supposition that there is more virtue in "one "class" of men Jhan in another. Look through tKe rich and the poor of the com- munity, the learned and the ignorant. Where does virtue predominate? The difference in- deed consists, not in the quality, but kind of vices which are incident to -various classes," etc., etc. He denies that the asserted ratio is found to exist, and appeals to example, which developed, would be an induction of the facts, for proof of his denial. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 319. (S., 1901.) 30. ANALOGY AND ITS USE.— There is a common error in the use of anal- ogy which you must be careful to avoid — that is, the pressing it too far. The analogy seldom holds in more than a few points; if you press it farther, you fall into error. If, for instance, because conversation is com- pared to a new birth, you were to say that it must be accompanied by pangs ; or if, because the Church is the spouse of Christ, you were to say, as some preacher did, that he was bound to pay her debts, you would be going farther than you are warranted. So, in the parables of Scripture, it is wrong to suppose that all the circumstances will bear to be in- cluded. In the parable of the virgins, for Analysis Analysis KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 12 instance, the point of analogy consists in the necessity of being watchful and prepared. If, because there were five wise and five fool- ish virgins, we were to argue that half man- kind would be admitted into heaven and half excluded, we should infer what was never intended to be taught. Or, if we were to aigue that because the wise virgins had no oil to spare, therefore there could be no such thing as works of super erogation, altho the conclusion be unquestionably trHe, still it would be unwarrantably inferred from the premises. We might as well infer that it was right to cheat and lie, because the master commended the unjust steward for having done wisely. In preaching, therefore, on the text, "Ye shall be fishers of men," do not say, as a certain preacher said, "In prosecu- tion of this idea, I propose to show you three things : First, as the fish caught by these fishermen were taken out of the sea, so I shall show you what is that sea, out of which those spiritual fish spoken of by Christ are taken; secondly, I shall show the manner of taking them ; and, thirdly, the effects of their being taken. For, as Christ made use of this metaphor, we may be sure that the meta- phor is perfect, and that it must be suitable in all its parts." On this false principle he goes on to teach "that the sea is the world; and as in the sea are things innumerable, both great and small — great leviathans, and so forth — so there are in the world. The people of the world have no taste for spir- itual pleasures, as fishes have no enjoyment out of the water. Then as to catching them, there are unlawful nets — the net of mere morality : morality is like a bait without a hook. No, we should throw the Gospel net, and if we catch none this Sunday we may the next. Again, the fish, when caught, are taken out of the water, and never return; so God translates us into the kingdom of his dear Son. He that is caught in the Gospel nevei; returns into the world, and in this I appre- hend," says he, "that the beauty of the meta- phor mainly consists. It is that which seems particularly to have been intended by it;" and so he goes on. This is "riding a meta- ^/' phor to death." — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergyman, p. 78. (D. & Co., 1856.) 31. ANALYSIS AND PREPARATION. — If the true art of a sermon is to make it the natural, easy, and complete development of but one idea, then the best result of a ser- mon is that that one idea should be so per- sistently and ingeniously and attractively beaten into the mind of the hearers, that ev- ery one comes away perfectly clear as to what the preacher wanted to say, and how far he succeeded in saying it. A young preacher, who can hardly take too much pains in his first efforts at sermon-writing, will do well, for at least a year or two, to make two analyses before he sits down finally to write. The first need only be very brief and rough, on a slate or piece of waste paper, with the main thought of his sermon written at the top of the page in a large, clear hand. He will thus keep distinctly before him the sub- ject he has to think out, and the place to which he is traveling. Beneath this let him put down in half a dozen lines any thoughts that occur to him, just as they occur; and if at this first period of incubation he can suc- ceed in jotting down something with which to begin his sermon, and a word, say, of ap- plication for the end, he will have fairly broken ground and seen daylight. Then, say the next day, the fuller analysis should fol- low. An architect has no doubt done some- thing when he has secured his site, chosen his aspect, settled on the dimensions of the house, and dug his foundations ; but even be- fore he collects his materials, or prepares his estimates, he feels it prudent to settle on the number and size of the rooms, the passages that lead to them, the windows that let in the light, the doors that admit the inmates. Thus, this first skeleton, sufficient as it will be and ought to be for preachers of experi- ence, must by no means be treated as a suf- ficient ground-plan for beginners. A book should be kept solely for the fuller analyses, numbered and indexed at the end, with text and subject for convenient reference; and here the sketch already made should be care- fully and fully developed. On the mooted point of the divisions of a sermon it is not possible to linger. Great authorities differ here as widely as they are occasionally known to differ elsewhere; and Fenelon, as some will remember, is very strong against them, observing of them that "sometimes they are not natural ; that they make the ser- mon dry and wearisome; that there is no more any real unity, but two or three dif- ferent discourses linked together by a mere arbitrary connexion; ancient orators did not adopt them ; the fathers knew nothing of them ; and that they are a modern invention derived from the schoolmen." It is unwise, however, to try to fetter individual discre- tion by any universal or arbitrary rules. The quality of a man's own mind ; the nature of the congregation to which he ministers; the fixt habits of perhaps many years ; the not unreasonable prejudices of hearers in favor of a plan which at any rate gives landmarks. 13 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Analysis Analysis and helps memory, are all so many factors in the formation of a practise, about which everybody at last does exactly as he chooses, and which practically justifies itself wher- ever it commands success. In some things, however, we shall all concur: That there should be a definite and orderly arrangement pervading the sermon ; that it is usually inex- pedient to alarm the congregation by a too extensive and fatiguing prospect of the road in front of them; that everything should be kept in its proper place; that "the sermon ought to go on growing, and the hearer be made to feel more and more the weight of truth." — ^Thoeold, Homiletical and Pastoral Lectures, p. 7. (A., 1880.) 32. ANALYSIS AND SYNTHESIS.— Two different methods may be used by ora- tors in the conduct of their reasoning, the terms of art for which they are: The ana- lytic, and the synthetic method. The ana- lytic is, when the orator conceals his inten- tion concerning the point he is to prove, till he has gradually brought his hearers to the designed conclusion. They are led on, step by step, from one known truth to another, till the conclusion be stolen upon them, as the natural consequence of a chain of propo- sitions. As, for instance, when one intend- ing to prove the being of a God, sets out with observing that everything which we see in the world has had a beginning, that what- ever has had a beginning must have had a prior cause, that in human productions art shown in the effect necessarily infers design in the cause; and proceeds leading you on from one cause to another till you arrive at one supreme first cause from which is de- rived all the order and design visible in his works. This is much the same with the So- cratic method, by which that philosopher si- lenced the sophists of his age. It is a very artful method of reasoning, may be carried on with much beauty, and is proper to be used when the hearers are much prejudiced against any truth and by imperceptible steps must be led to conviction. But there are few subjects that will admit this method, and not many occasions on which it is proper to be employed. The mode of reasoning most gen- erally used, and most suited to the train of popular speaking, is what is called the syn- thetic, when the point to be proved is fairly laid down, and one argument after another is made to bear upon it till the hearers be fully convinced. — Blair, Lectures on Rhet- oric, vol. 3, p. 403. (A. S., 1787.) 33. ANALYSIS AND SYNTHESIS IN ARGUMENTATION.— According to the first form, I announce the truth I would prove, and I prove it by decomposing it, either in parts or in its effects ; according to the other method, I gradually form the truth from the elements which enter into its com- position. The latter process is scarcely prop- er in the pulpit. When we have only to reduce an adversary to silence, this method to which Socrates has given his name may certainly be employed with great propriety. We remark it in many of our Lord's dis- courses; but it is interesting to observe that he uses it rather to confound his unprinci- pled adversaries than to instruct well-dis- posed hearers. As far as it is employed with captiousness and subtlety, it is perfectly adapted to minds destitute of benevolence and sincerity, and that would set themselves against the truth, if it should be presented to them directly ; but as thus employed it is not necessary to the preacher. He must not re- gard his adversaries as unprincipled hearers, as enemies whom he may entangle in skil- fully-prepared nets. Their presence in the temple implies, in respect to the greater part, that they are under- some other influence than that of malevolence; and those of them who may seem to have this disposition, can not be discriminated and taken personally apart in the assembly; can not be confounded since they have made no attack, can not be reduced to a silence which they have not distuibed. The preacher's design, moreover, is revealed or betrayed by his text. And, after all, these means are not the best for disarming malevo- lence. We must exhibit confidence even to- ward those who do not deserve it. Let us add that this method almost necessarily ex- cludes eloquence. — ^Vinet, Homiletics; or, The Theory of Preaching, p. 180. (L & P., 1855.) 34. ANALYSIS AND SYNTHESIS, STUDY OF.— It is indispensable to ac- quire the perfect mastery of your instru- ment, if you wish so to play upon it in public as to give pleasure to others, and avoid bringing confusion upon yourself. As the vi- olinist commands with the touch every part of the string, and his fingers alight on the exact point in order to produce the required sound, so the mind of the orator ought to alight preciselyon the right word, correspond- ing to each part of the thought, and to seize on the most suitable arrangement of words, in order to exhibit the development of its parts with due regard to each sentence as well as to the whole discourse. An admirable Analysis, Power of Applause, Seeking: KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 14 and prodigious task in the quickness and cer- titude of the discernment is executed at the moment of extemporizing, and in the taste and the tact which it implies. And here es- pecially are manifested the truth and use of our old literary studies and of the method which, up to cur own day, has been con- stantly employed, but now apparently de- spised, or neglected, to the great injury of logic and eloquence. The end of that meth- od is to stimulate and bring out the intelli- gence of youth by the incessant decomposi- tion and recomposition of speech — in other words, by the continual exercise of both anal- ysis and synthesis; and that the exercise in question may be the more closely reasoned and more profitable, it is based simultaneous- ly on two languages studied together, the one ancient and dead, and not therefore to be learned by rote, the other living and as analo- gous as possible to the first. The student is then made to account to himself for all the words of both, and for their bearings in par- ticular sentences, in order to establish the closest parallel between them, the most exact equiponderance, and so to reproduce with all attainable fidelity the idea of one language in the other. Hence, what are termed themes and versions — the despair of idle school- boys, indeed, but very serviceable in forming and perfecting the natural logic of the mind, which, if carefully pursued for several years, is the best way of teaching the unpractised and tender reason of youth all the operations of thought— a faculty which, after all, keeps pace with words, and can work and manifest itself only by means of the signs of language. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 71. (S., 1901.) 35. ANALYSIS, POWER OF.— You will never be capable of speaking properly in public, unless you acquire such mastery of your own thought as to be able to decom- pose it into its parts, to analyze it into its elements, and then at need, to recompose, regather, aad concentrate it again by a syn- thetical process. Now this analysis of the idea, which displays it, as it were, before the eyes of the mind, is well executed only by writing. The pen is the scalpel which dis- sects the thoughts, and never, except when you write down what you behold internally, can you succeed in clearly discerning all that is contained in a conception, or in obtaining its well-marked scope. You then understand yourself, and make others understand you. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 67. (S., 1901.) ANCIENT ORATORY.— See Oratory. Ancient. 36.— ANECDOTE AND ILLUSTRA- TION. — Few things are more effective than anecdote when brief and pithy; few more demoralizing when wrongly used. Christ used anecdote as well as other forms of illustration, but how apt, how luminous I The abuse of anecdote in these days of abundant lay evangelism is a conspicuous evil; its effective use is a matter of keen discrimination and of true oratorical tact. Illustrations in general are like windows to a house, but they should be such as let in and let out uncolored light. They should not be fanciful, or far-fetched, or foreign to the hearers' appreciation. Nature in her infinite variety, human nature in its fa- miliar traits, social life, current events, ev- ery-day objects of the home, the shop, the farm, the street, are more easily compre- hended and more effective than those from the realm of history, science, or literature. The latter are, however, eminently appro- priate to a well-educated congregation; and, indeed, may be made effective with the un- cultured if rightly handled. Introductions and supplements to illustrations should be eschewed. Illustrations should be like sheet- lightning — quickly come, quickly gone — ^but lighting up the landscape. — Kennard, Psy- chic Power in Preaching, p. 74. (G. W. J. & Co., 1901.) 37. ANIMATION IN PREACHING.— It is obvious that the style and manner of those parts of a sermon which are intended to move the passions should be very differ- ent from those which are suitable to argu- ment and instruction. In an address to the passions, the preacher must put forth his whole energy ; his address must be more than ordinarily earnest and pathetic, and his lan- guage of a bolder and freer character. Whether from constitutional temperament, or habitual reserve, some very good men ap- pear wholly incapable of that fervid and impassioned expression which is so neces- sary for this purpose. It is highly impor- tant for a young clergyman to struggle from the very beginning of his ministerial duties against a coldness of manner, which, if not corrected, will grow, and fix itself upon him. At the same time, he must guard against mere declamation. To attempt to fix any standard, or to draw a line where right en- thusiasm ends, and ranting and bombast be- gins, would be fruitless. I might write you down a sentence, which, when you read it 15 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Analysis, Power of Applause, Seeking' calmly, detached from the rest, would sound more like raving than preaching, and yet it might by no means follow that it should have seemed so to an audience which was worked up into enthusiasm. At such times highly figurative and even hyperbolical language may be rightly used, at least by preachers whose manner will bear them out. — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergyman, p. 101. (D. & Co., 1856.) 88. ANNOUNCING TOO MUCH, DANGER IN, — If a speaker alarms his audience in the outset by announcing a great number of topics to be handled, and perhaps also several preliminary considerations, pre- paratory explanations, etc., they will be like- ly (especially after a protracted debate) to listen with impatience to what they expect will prove tedious, and to feel an anticipated weariness even from the very commence- ment. — ^Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 109. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 89. ANTITHESIS, EXCESS IN USE OF. — It is, of course, impossible to lay down precise rules for determining what will amount to excess in the use of antithesis or of any other figure. The great safeguard ■will be the formation of a pure taste, by the study of the most chaste writers, and un- sparing self-correction. But one rule always to be observed in respect to the antithetical construction, is to remember that in a true antithesis the opposition is always in the ideas expressed. Some writers abound with a kind of mock-antithesis, in which the same, or nearly the same sentiment which is ex- pressed by the first clause, is repeated in a second, or at least in which there is but lit- tle of real contrast between the clauses which are expressed in a contrasted form. This kind of style not only produces disgust instead of pleasure when once the artifice is detected, which it soon must be, but also, instead of the brevity and vigor resulting from true antithesis, labors under the fault of prolixity and heaviness. Sentences which might have been expressed as simple ones are expanded into complex, by the addition of clauses which add little or nothing to the sense, and which have been compared to the false handles and key-holes with which fur- niture is decorated, that serve no other pur- pose than to correspond to the real ones. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 311. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 40. APOSTROPHE.— Here the speaker, instead of addressing directly his proper hearer, turns himself to some other person or thing, either really or only in imagination present. This figure abounds in the orations of Cicero. Thus in his first against Catiline : "I desire, senators, to be merciful, but not to appear negligent in so great dangers of the State; tho at present I can not but con- demn myself of remissness. There is a camp formed in Italy at the entrance of Etruria, against the State; our enemies increase daily; but we see the commander of the camp and general of the enemies within our walls, in the very senate, contriving some intestine ruin to the State. If, now, Catiline, I should order you to be seized and put to death," etc. Again, in his defense of Milo, he turns to his brother Quintus and addresses him as if present : "And how shall I answer it to you, my brother Quintus, the partner of my mis- fortunes, who art now absent?" — Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 325. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 41. APPEAL, STATING THE OBJECT OF THE.— It certainly can not be laid down as a universal rule that, in an ad- dress to the feelings, it must ever be wrong to state the object in respect to which the feelings are to be moved. That in pronounc- ing a eulogy it would be improper for the speaker to inform the audience, at the out- set, of the subject of the eulogy in refer- ence to which their feelings of admiration are to be excited; that in endeavoring to in- spire sentiments of confidence and courage it would be improper for a statesman to men- tion beforehand those circumstances and facts which warrant confidence and tend to awaken courage ; that in seeking to strength- en the sentiment of Christian gratitude for the blessings of the gospel, it would be im- proper for the preacher distinctly to propose the richness or the freeness of those bless- ings in reference to which the sentiments of gratitude are to be called forth, no one sure- ly can maintain. — Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 178. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 42. APPLAUSE, SEEKING.-Let no speaker too much disquiet himself as to the , eflfect he may have produced and the results ( of his discourse; let him leave all this in the hands of God, whose organ he is, and let him beseech Him to make something ac- crue from it to His glory, if success has been achieved; or, if he has had the misfortune to fail, to make good come out of of this evil, as it belongs to the Divine Power to do, and to that power alone. Above all, let him not canvass this person and that inquisitively concerning what their feelings were in hear- Argument ArgTuneut KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 16 tng him, and their opinion of his discourse and his manner. All such questions seek a motive for self-love, rather than any use- ful hints; they are an indirect way of going in quest of praise and admiration, and may be carried to a very abject extent, in order to get oneself consideration, criticizing one's ovirn performance merely to elicit a contrary verdict — tricks and subterfuges of vanity, which begs its bread in the meanest quar- ters, and which in its excessive craving for flattery, challenges applause and extorts eu- logy. This wretched propensity is so inborn in human nature, since original sin, that fre- quently the greatest orators are not proof against this littleness, which abuses them in the eyes of God and man. Besides, it is a way of exposing oneself to cruel disappoint- ments. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speak- ing, p. W3. (S., 1901.) 43. ARGUMENT, ADVANCING FROM WEAK TO STRONG.— Among argu- ments of the same nature, whether addrest to the understanding or the will, we must advance from the weaker to the stronger. But what are the weaker and what the stronger? If the question relates to proofs for the mind, the simplest and most evident are the strongest, and presumptions are less strong than proofs. If the question relates to facts, progress is from the less to the more important. If it relates to motives, the ques- tion is difficult. What are the weakest, what are the strongest? If so, Bourdaloue was wrong, when in treating of impurity he con- sidered it first as a sign, then as the prin- ciple of reprobation. A question presents it- self. When a motive or argument is incom- parably stronger than all others, when it is supreme and decisive, why pass through many others to arrive at that? Is it thus that we do in occasional and accidental discourses? Perhaps not ordinarily; -but perhaps we should do thus if these discourses were some- what prepared, and were not accidental; in the majority of cases, we are confident that this method would be justified by the result. — ViNET, Homiletics; or. The Theory of Preaching, p. 393. (I. & P., 1855.) 44. ARGUMENT AND EMOTION BLENDED.— In some modern systems of rhetoric, the very divisions of discourse are founded upon a supposed arrangement of matter, adapted successively to the under- standing and to the feelings of the hearer. By this disposition the argumentative and the pathetic parts of an oration are separated from each other, as if they formed distinct divisions of the subject. You can not have it too deeply imprest upon your minds that classifications are merely instruments for methodizing science; but are no part of the science itself. What necessity there ever was of departing from the distinct and simple di- visions of Aristotle, which composed a dis- course of the introduction, proposition, proof, and conclusion, I am unable to see. The line of separation between these parts is discern- ible to the dullest eye. They can not be blended together without producing confu- sion. But sit down to write an oration with the determination to put your argument into one apartment, and your pathetic into an- other; and depend upon it, in the execution you will come halting off with both. Take your divisions from your subject, and you will have a torch to illumine your way. Now, as Aristotle most acutely remarks, argument is of the subject; but pathos is to the judge. They are made to be blended, and not to be separated; let feeling sharpen argument, and argument temper feeling. Their strength is in union, not in division. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 3, p. 133. (H. & M., 1810.) 45. ARGUMENT, HOW TO PRESENT ONE'S. — You should condense your thoughts and language, devoting your entire attention to the logical array of your argu- ment and the precision with which you pre- sent it. The graces of oratory, such as voice and manner can impart, are never useless nor to be despised in any kind of speaking, and they are not to be disregarded even in ad- dressing the court ; but they are by no means necessary to a successful effort. The atten- tion of the judge is directed more to your argument than to you — to your matter rather than to your manner, and provided that the argument }'ou have construed be sound and sensible it will be heard and ac- cepted, although conveyed in broken sen- tences and inelegant language. Hesitating speech to a jury is worse than fluent feeble- ness, because it is mistaken for incapacity. But by the court fluency and hesitation are alike disregarded, and the speaker is mea- sured more by his mind than by his lips. Do not, therefore, lose courage if you lack ex- pression for your logic. Provided only that you have in your own mind the clear con- struction of an argument, you may safely trust to your audience to seize it, howsoever ungainly the manner in which you bring it forth. But then it is difficult to discover if you have in your mind a perfectly reasoned argument. In fact, the mind is very apt, un- I7i TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Argroment Aignment consciously to itself, to adopt a summary process of reasoning and to arrive at a con- clusion by jumps instead of by steps. When in a merely contemplative argument we ar- rive at a difficulty, the mind is liable to pass on one side of it or to leap over it, instead of threading its way through it, and often the fault is not found until the thoughts take shape in words. The surest way to avoid this not uncommon discomfiture is to set down your argument upon paper (not the very words to be used, but only an outline), in the order in which you design to place your case before the court. This skeleton of the discourse will serve the double pur- pose of enabling you to detect any defects or fallacies not seen when it existed only in con- templation, and of keeping you strictly to the point when you are presenting it to the court. In this summary be careful to sep- arate the several parts of the argument so that they may be readily caught by the eye; for when you are hurried and flurried by action, a written page is merely a confused mass to your glance unless the sentences are marked by very obvious divisions. Altho you would not habitually resort to the preacher's practise of announcing at the opening of it the divisions of the discourse, with the formidable figures that advise the victims of the infliction they are to antici- pate, it is necessary that you should so state the divisions on your note, for your own guidance only. The divisions should be writ- ten within a second margin, and the cases you propose to cite by way of illustration should be noted within a third margin. The effect of this arrangement is, that at any moment a glance will inform you what you have said, what more you have to say, and in what order you should say it. In putting your argument, your manner should be def- erential and your language suggestive. Noth- ing but consummate ability and unquestioned profundity of legal knowledge excuses a dog- matic style of address. It has been endured by, and even commanded respect from, the bench; but it was accompanied by personal dislike and no junior could adopt it with im- punity. Diffidence, even if it take the form of confusion of speech, is sure to receive kindly encouragement from the judges, and you could not desire a more generous audi- ence. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 284. (H. C, 1911.) 46. ARGUMENT IN CONVERSA- TION. — Earnest argument should be avoided in society or before a third person. To prove yourself in the right is to show that another is in the wrong. It is ill-bred to do this before witnesses, and it is courteous to avoid it, so far as is possible, at any time. Men are much more given to "argument" than women, and are far less sensible of its absurdity. It is well to reason with oneself as much as possible, but little beyond a dis- play of vanity, is gained in debating a point with another. For a man or woman of intel- lect to seriously argue a point with one of inferior mind, experience, or cultiire, is ri- diculous. If you are known to hold firmly established views on any subject, beware of conversing much on it, except with those who perfectly agree with you. You will not aid your cause or yourself by disputing over it. If you are boldly attacked, respectable people will give you much more credit for grace- fully evading a strife of opinions, than for entering upon it. Ladies who have a true claim to the name, invariably appreciate and admire such conduct in a man. Much more skill and sagacity may be shown in refusing to argue, than in so doing ; the one who seeks to escape having the great advantage of be- ing able to make his adversary appear de- termined to be disagreeable and discourteous. — Carleton", The Art of Conversation, p. 98. (C, 1867.) 47. ARGUMENT, INDUCTIVE.— The argument from example, when its cases are multiplied, becomes an inductive argument. The orator's proposition is that wicked men must be unhappy. He cites Herod, the slay- er of John the Baptist, and shows him de- voured before his death by worms; Tiberius yelling with remorse in the caverns of Cap- reus; Nero sinking into the horrors of men- tal alienation from the visions of vengeance which haunted him. From history he assem- bles a multitude of fearful examples in sup- port of his proposition, and draws his con- clusion, from the induction, that happiness is not for the wicked. — Bautain, Art of Ex- tempore Speaking, p. 309. (S., 1901.) 48. ARGUMENT, MODES OF COM- MENCING AN. — An exceedingly graceful and convenient way of commencing an argu- ment to a jury or to an assembly of any de- scription, where the speaker follows imme- diately after a debater on 'the opposite side of the question, is to take some proposition of the speaker who has just concluded, and to make some remarks on that in the very act of rising. This forms one of the most simple and agreeable methods of opening an argument which is known to the speaking world, for it at once introduces the speaker Argiuuent Argfuments KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 18 and the subject to the jury or audience in a very practical and easy manner, without the vapid circumlocution which is usually em- braced in an exordium. And in taking up at the start, and in the very act of rising, some proposition of the preceding speaker, the one who is engaged in answering the other may remark by way of commencing, "that he en- tirely concurs with the gentleman on the op- posite side in the opinion that the case is a plain one, but not plain for the benefit of the gentleman and his client." Or, he may ex- press a concurrence with the preceding coun- sel or speaker, in any proposition or affirma- tion he may choose, but deny the application of the proposition for the benefit of the op- posing speaker and his side. Another con- venient way of opening an argument is to commence it just at the very point where the preceding speaker leaves it, by selecting some fact which conflicts with the principles and propositions urged by the opposing counsel, and that in the very act of rising. Or the speaker who follows immediately after an- other may with infinite benefit to his own side of a question, observe (if the anec- dote or incident be a good one) that the gen- tleman on the opposite side, or his client, re- minded one very forcibly of some very apposite and ludicrous incident or anecdote, which may be then stated. All these modes of commencing an argument, a speech, or address, have been dictated by an observa- tion of the great benefit which has frequently resulted from a resort to them by debaters. They are easy and familiar in their nature, and are calculated to arouse a jury from a state of torpor, lethargy, or indifference, and to place them at once in the kindest and most friendly relations toward the speaker. — • McQueen, The Orator's Touchstone: or, Elo- quence Simplified, p. 172. (H. & B., 1860.) 49. ARGUMENT OF REDUCTIO AD ABSURDUM. — The inductive argument is sometimes made to produce a reductio ad absurdum, or ad impossibile — i.e., it proves that the conclusion attempted can not be; that it is absurd, impossible. Erskine, de- fending the Dean of St. Asaph, for libel against the government, thus employs it : "Every sentence contained in this little book, of the interpretation of the words is to be settled not according to fancy, but by the common rules of language, is to be found in the brightest pages of English literature, and in the most sacred volumes of English law ; if any one sentiment from the beginning to the end of it be seditious or libelous, the Bill of Rights was a seditious libel; the Revolu- tion was a wicked rebellion ; the existing gov- ernment is a traitorous conspiracy against the hereditary monarchy of England; and our gracious sovereign is a usurper of the crown of these kingdoms."— Bautain, Art of Ex- tempore Speaking, p. 309. (S., 1901.) 50. ARGUMENT, SECURING ONE GOOD. — It is a matter of incalculable moment to a writer or speaker to secure one good argument or idea on any subject which he may have under deliberation, and to write the argument or idea thus produced, imme- diately and perspicuously off on paper. For other arguments and ideas will continue to come within the reach of his intellectual vision on the same subject, if he continues to reflect on it, as naturally as it is when he looks in at the window or door of a room to see a friend who is setting in that chamber, to perceive at the same time the chair in which that friend is sitting, the table before which he is seated, and every other visible object within the bounds of the chamber. There is an invisible charm connected with the birth of one full, healthy, and perfect view of a subject, which communicates a sur- prising degree of fecundity to the mind of a reasoner. His thoughts may be rambling over the theme before him, like a ship- wrecked mariner over a dark and dreary waste, without a gleam of light to cheer the heart, and without a patch of verdure to re- fresh the eye. But once let the light of one clear view of the subject beam upon the mind, and the mists of darkness will vanish before the luminous rays thus let in, like the shades of night before the dawning radi- ance of the rising sun, and the light will continue to grow brighter and clearer, unden the influence of reflection, until he may sur- vey the subject in all its relations and bear- ings. — McQueen, The Orator's Touchstone; or. Eloquence Simplified, p. 184. (H. & B., 1860.) 51. ARGUMENTATION IN BUSI- NESS. — Sincerity is an essential part of successful business argumentation. It is akin to earnestness, and one may be said to com- plement the other. When a man is sincere, when he has diligently studied out his sub- ject in all its details, when he believes in his mind and heart that he is right, he becomes a formidable opponent in almost any kind of argument. Sincerity based upon facts is not readily dislodged. If facts are stubborn things, they are particularly so when exprest by a man who is at once earnest, agreeable. 19 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Arerumeut Argiuu«nta positive, and sincere. — Kleiser, How to Ar- gue and Win, p. 117. (F. & W., 1910.) 52. ARGUMENTATION, INDIRECT. — The human mind is so formed that it often prefers the reflection of light itself, the echo of the voice to the voice. By examining our- selves, we find that in almost all discussions we tend rapidly and imperceptibly toward in- direct proof. Man in everything submits more readily to indirect constraint. The final judgment that springs from a syllogism is a kind of judgment by constraint. I do not think we should indulge freely an in- clination which is not always without weak- ness. I think we should accustom the mind to look truth in the face, to seek truth at her own home, and not at another's; but it is also important that we see (and we do this peculiarly through indirect or lateral argu- mentation) from how many directions the light comes to us at the same moment, that all things concur in proving what is true, that truth is connected with everything, that "all things answer to one another." (Prov- erbs, xvi:4.) It is to this, as to impressions from surprise, that the peculiar virtue of in- direct argumentation is to be ascribed. We add that there are some objects in which, whether it be from the evidence or too great simplicity of the object, direct argumentation is almost impossible; there are others, on the contrary, in which it is very possible, and much in place.— Vinet, Homiletics; or, The Theory of Preaching, p. 186. (I. & P., 1855.) 53. ARGUMENTATION, REQUIRE- MENTS FOR. — Arguing requires a cool, sedate, attentive aspect, and a close, slow, and emphatic accent, with much demonstration by the hand ; it assumes somewhat of author- ity, as if fully convinced of what it pleads for ; and sometimes rises to great vehemence and energy of action: the voice clear, dis- tinct, and firm as in confidence. — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 202. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 64. ARGUMENTS A FORTIORI.— The argument ci fortiori refers to force and its degrees. It very often takes the form of in- terrogation — as indeed forcible argumenta- tion in general inclines to do. The ideas of less and greater, then, lie under the d for- tiori turn of argument. Says Jeflferson: "Sometimes it is said that man can not be trusted with the government of himself. Can he, then, be trusted with the government of others? Or have we found angels, in the form of kings, to govern him? Let history answer this question." Burke, in defending before the Bristol electors his course on Catholic emancipation, employs a powerful, implied, d fortiori argument to support the justice of the emancipation. The English Catholics were most loyal when most tempt- ed not to be so. "A great terror fell upon this kingdom. On a sudden we saw our- selves threatened with an immediate inva- sion, which we were at that time very ill prepared to resist. You remember the cloud which gloomed over us all. In that hour of our dismay, from the bottom of the hiding- places into which the indiscriminate rigor of our statutes had driven them, came out the Roman Catholics. They appeared before the steps of a tottering throne with one of the most sober, measured, steady, and dutiful ad- dresses, that was ever presented to the crown. At such a crisis, nothing but a decided reso- lution to stand or fall with their country could have dictated such an address, the di- rect tendency of which was to cut off all retreat, and to render them peculiarly ob- noxious to an invader of their own com- munion" (France). The conclusion is ob- vious — d fortiori such subjects would be loyal in less extraordinary times and emer- gencies, and their odious disabilities should have been removed.— Bautain, Art of Ex- tempore Speaking, p. 306. (S., 1901.) 65. ARGUMENTS A PRIORI AND A POSTERIORI.— The argument a priori is, when we appeal to a reasonable, natural ex- pectancy. The magnificent oration of Paul before Agrippa proceeds in the a priori form. He describes his "manner of life from his youth," his training after the straightest sect of his religion, a Pharisee. The inference d priori must be that such a one knew well the prophecies of the Jews, and could wisely judge of their fulfilment in the Messiah. Next he recites his bitter prejudices and per- secutions of the believers. The inference d priori must be that such a man would join himself to them only from overwhelm- ing reasons of conviction. The argument d posteriori is the direct opposite of the for- mer: it looks back, and from effects and consequences infers causes. "If such and such be the effects of this law — the inevitable and undeniable effects, can the law itself be good? — a good tree is known by its fruits," etc. Webster's fervid burst of declamation over the vision of a broken union — "States dissevered, discordant, belligerent, a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood" — is an d posteriori argument ArgnmentB ArgnmentB KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 20 for a union "now and forever one and in- separable." Curran's awful denunciation of an Informer, "A wretcli that is buried a man till his heart has time to fester and dissolve, and is then dug up a witness," "how the stormy wave of the multitude retired at his approach," etc., argues from these hideous effects that the prosecution of the govern- ment against Finnerty, needing and produc- ing such instruments is unrighteous, and that the jury can not, in conscience, sustain it. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 304. (S., 1901.) 5S. ARGUMENTS, ARRANGEMENT OF. — A public speaker is supposed to have made, either from previous study at home, or from the rapid glance of the moment, some arrangement of the topics upon which his argument is to be maintained. These can not all be produced at once; they not only ap- pear to the hearers to arise in the speaker's mind in succession, but they actually do so, even when he pronounces a premeditated, or reads a written, discourse. If his manner of speaking be confined to mere dry disserta- tion, he will proceed coldly and uniformly throughout; but if his argument be main- tained by rhetorical ornament and illustra- tion, and if he appeal to the passion of his audience, he will himself be excited, and the interest he feels, however rapidly he may proceed, will discover itself at each differ- ent period in the following order. The thought which arises in his mind will in- stantly be seen in his countenance, and first in his eyes, which it will brighten or suffuse, then suitable gestures follow, and last the words find utterance. The countenance and gesture are the language of nature, words are derived from art, and are more tardy in their expression ; sometimes in high passion they cannot at all find their way, till the voice first breaks out into those tones and inter- jections which appear to be the only language of nature belonging to the voice. In this view of the subject, the difficulty of recon- ciling authors to each other, and even to themselves, is got over; and the order of the combined expressions of the signs of a public speaker will be thus: In calm dis- course the words and gestures are nearly contemporaneous; and in high passion the order is: 1. The eyes. 2. The countenance in general. 3. The gestures. 4. Language. But the interval between each is extremely limited. — Austin, Chironomh, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 380. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 57. ARGUMENTS, DISPOSITION OF. — In the first place, avoid blending arguments confusedly together that are of a separate nature. All arguments whatever are directed to prove one or other of these three things: that something is true; that it is morally right or fit; or that it is profitable and good. These make the three great subjects of dis- cussion among mankind : Truth, Duty, and Interest. But the arguments directed to- ward any one of them are generically dis- tinct; and he who blends them all under one topic which he calls his argument, as, in ser- mons especially, is too often done, will ren- der his reason indistinct and inelegant. Sup- pose, for instance, that I am recommending to an audience benevolence, or the love of our neighbor; and that I take my first argu- ment from the inward satisfaction which a benevolent temper affords; my second, from the obligation which the example of Christ lays upon us to this duty ; and my third, from the tendency to procure us the good-will of all around us: my arguments are good; but I have arranged them wrong; for my first and third arguments are taken from consid- erations of interest, internal peace, and ex- ternal advantages ; and between these I have introduced one which rests wholly upon duty. I should have kept those classes of argu- ments which are addrest to different prin- ciples in human nature separate and distinct. In the second place, with regard to the dif- ferent degrees of strength in arguments, the general rule is to advance in the way of cli- max, ut augeatur semper, et increscat oratio. This especially is to be the course when the speaker has a clear cause, and is confident that he can prove it fully. He may then venture to begin with feebler arguments, ris- ing gradually and not putting forth his whole strength till the last, when he can trust to making a successful impression on the minds of hearers prepared by what has gone before. But this rule is not to be always followed, for if he distrusts his cause, and has but one material argument on which to lay the stress, putting less confidence in the rest in this case, it is often proper for him to place this mate- rial argument in the front ; to pre-occupy the hearers early, and make the strongest effort at first; that having removed prejudices, and disposed them to be favorable, the rest of his reasoning may be listened to with more candor. When it happens that amidst a va- riety of arguments there are one or two which we are sensible are more inconclusive than the rest, and yet proper to be used, Cicero advises to place these in the middle, as a station less conspicuous than either the 21 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Arerumenta Argtunents beginning or the end of the train of reason- ing. In the third place, when our arguments are strong and satisfactory, the more they are distinguished and treated apart from each other the better. Each can then bear to be brought out by itself, placed in its full light, amplified and rested upon. But when our arguments are doubtful, and only of the pre- sumptive kind, it is safer to throw them to- gether in a crowd and to run them into one another; "ut qua sunt natura imbecilla," as Quintilian speaks, "multuo auxilio sustinean- tur;" that, tho infirm of themselves, they may serve mutually to prop each other. He gives a good example in the case of one who was accused of murdering a relation to whom he was heir. Direct proof was wanting; but "you expected a succession, and a great suc- cession; you were in distrest circumstances; you were pushed to the utmost by your cred- itors; you had offended your relation who had made you his heir; you knew he was just then intend^ing to alter his will; no time was to be lost. Each of these particulars by itself," says this author, "is inconclusive ; but when they are assembled in one group they have effect." In the fourth place, arguments must not .be extended too far, or multiplied too much. This serves rather to rgnder a cause suspected than to give it weight. An unnecessary multiplicity of arguments both burdens the memory and detracts from the weight of that conviction which a few well- chosen arguments carry. It is to be observed, too, that in the amplification of arguments a diffuse and spreading method beyond the bounds of reasonable illustration is always enfeebling. It takes off greatly from that vis et acumen which should be the distin- guishing character of the argumentative part of a discourse. When a speaker dwells long on a favorite argument, and seeks to turn it into every possible light, it almost always happens that, fatigued with the effort, he loses the spirit with which he set out, and concludes with feebleness what he began with force. There is a proper temperance in reasoning as there is in other parts of a dis- course. At the same time, it must be al- lowed that the frequent repetition of argu- ments in new words is often of great service for a reason already explained, and has often been employed with success by some of our greatest speakers. With reference to the ar- guments of an opponent, the speaker should be always on his guard not to do them in- justice by disguising or placing them in a false light. The deceit is soon discovered; it will not fail of being exposed, and tends to impress the hearers with distrust of the speaker as one who either wants discernment to perceive, or wants fairness to admit the strength of the reasoning on the other side. — Beeton, Art of Public Speaking, from Com- plete Orator, p. 49. (W. L. & Co.) 68. ARGUMENTS, GIVING ALL THE. — It is said that, in general, there is but one reason which is decisive. It is true that when a man is to give an account of an action which he has done or is about to do, we may be sure that one of the reasons which he gives is the strongest, that which has deter- mined him — that which he has given to him- self; the others are for those to whom he may wish to commend the resolution he has taken. Why does he not express this first? or, rather, why does he not express only this ; for it is very certain that if he begins with the strongest argument, the others will be neither felt nor listened to? But the orator must give all the reasons; first, because he does not know which is the decisive reason, and because the same reason is not decisive with every one, nor with each one always; next, because truth should employ all its means ; and finally, because it is useful to the mind to discern light from every point of the horizon; for it is not with truth as it is with the sun. We have not, however, the mis- taken idea that quantity, in this case, may serve instead of quality; we do not regard conviction as a kind of intellectual oppres- sion in which the mind is overwhelmed by the mass of arguments and the multitude of words. — ^ViNET, Homiletics; or. The Theory of Preaching, p. 295. (I. & P., 1855.) 59. ARGUMENTS IN A JUDICIAL CAUSE. — If proofs be strong and cogent, they should be proposed and insisted on sep- arately; if weak, it will be best to collect them into a body. In the first case, being persuasive by themselves, it would be im- proper to obscure them by the confusion of others : they should appear in their due light. In the second case, being naturally weak, they should be made to support each other. If, therefore, they are not greatly effective in point of quality, they may be in that of num- ber, all of them having a tendency to prove the same thing; as, if one were accused of killing another for the sake of inheriting his fortune: "You did expect an inheritance, and it was something very considerable ; you were poor, and your creditors troubled you more than ever; you also offended him who had appointed you his heir, and you knew that he intended to alter his will." These proofs taken separately are of little moment, ArgxaneatB ArirumentB, Order of KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 22 and common; but collectively their shock is felt, not as a peal of thunder, but as a show- er of hail. The judge's memory, however, is not always to be loaded with the arguments we may invent. They will create disgust, and beget distrust in him, as he cannot think such arguments to be powerful enough which we ourselves do not think sufficient. But to go on arguing and proving, in the case of self-evident things, would be a piece of folly not unlike that of bringing a candle to light us when the sun is in its greatest splendor. To these some add proofs which they call moral, drawn from the milder passions ; and the most powerful, in the opinion of Aris- totle, are such as arise from the person of him who speaks, if he be a man of real in- tegrity. This is a primary consideration ; and a secondary one, remote, indeed, yet follow- ing, will be the probable notion entertained of his irreproachable life. It has been a matter of debate, also, whether the strongest proofs should have place in the beginning, to make an immediate impression on the hear- ers, or at the end, to make the impression lasting with them, or to distribute them, partly in the beginning, and partly at the end, placing the weaker in the middle, or to begin with the weakest and proceed to the strong- est. For my part, I think this should de- pend on the nature and exigencies of the cause, yet with this reservation, that the dis- course might not dwindle from the powerful into what is nugatory and frivolous. — Quin- TiLiAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 316. (B. L., 1774.) 60. ARGUMENTS IN DIFFERENT CASES.— The first rule to be observed is, that it should be considered, whether the principal object of the discourse be, to give satisfaction to a candid mind, and convey in- struction to those who are ready to receive it, or to compel the assent, or silence the objec- tions of an opponent. For, cases may occur, in which the arguments to be employed with most effect will be different, according as it is the one or the other of these objects that we are aiming at. It will often happen that of the two great classes into which argu- ments were divided, the d priori [or argu- ment from cause to effect] will be princi- pally employed when the chief object is to instruct the learner; and the other class, when our aim is to refute the opponent. And to whatever class the arguments we resort to may belong, the general tenor of the reason- ing will, in many respects, be affected by the present consideration. The distinction in question is nevertheless in general little at- tended to. It is usual to call an argument, simply, strong or weak, without reference to the purpose for which it is designed; where- as, the arguments which afford the most sat- isfaction to a candid mind, are often such as would have less weight in controversy than many others, which again would be less suitable for the former purpose. E. G. There are some of the internal evidences of Chris- tianity which, in general, are the most satis- factory to a believer's mind, but are not the most striking in the refutation of unbeliev- ers : the arguments from analogy, on the other hand, which are (in refuting objec- tions) the most unanswerable, are not so pleasing and consolatory. — Whately, Ele- ments of Rhetoric, p. 70. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 61. ARGUMENTS, NOTING DOWN. — The process of noting down on a slip of paper the points of propositions which must legitimately arise in the discussion of any question which is to be debated, is very dif- ferent from what is usually denominated a lawyer's brief, tho it may accomplish in ef- fect the same objects. What is commonly termed a brief, comprehends in a succinct form all the authorities which a lawyer in- tends to bring to bear on the points involved in his cause, together with a compendious presentation of his own views annexed to each of the authorities and points. The proc- ess of noting down the heads of a discourse or argument is much more simple in its character, for only the heads or points are written down in succession themselves, in as few words as a due regard to perspicuity will permit. The process is so very brief that one word is sometimes used to express the nature or character of a single head. — Mc- Queen, The Orator's Touchstone, or Elo- quence Simplified, p. 190. (H. & B., 1860.) 62. ARGUMENTS OF RESEM- BLANCE.— While those arguments which rest on resemblances in objects most unlike are generally in themselves more striking and forcible, they are yet often sophistically invalidated and rejected, because in most re- spects the objects compared are so dissim- ilar. On the other hand, no sophistry, per- haps, is more common than that of assuming a resemblance in all points where there is such resemblance in many. In the use of this species of argument, it becomes, then, of the utmost importance to bear in mind both that the most similar things differ in some respects, and perhaps in that very point on which the argument in a given case depends ; 23 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Arernments Arguments, Order of and, also, that the most dissimilar things may have some properties or relations in common, and may therefore furnish foundations for valid reasoning. The decisive test of the soundness of all arguments founded on re- semblance is furnished in the inquiry: Do the particulars of resemblance owe their ex- istence to the same cause? As the whole force of examples as arguments rest on the sameness of the cause, or of the law or gen- eral attribute in the proof and the conclusion on which the classification depends, the de- tection of this cause, where possible, will ever discover the validity or invalidity of the example as an argument. Just so far as there remains a doubt of the sameness of the cause or law, so far must there be weakness in the argument. — Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 147. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 63. ARGUMENTS, ORDER OF.— Sup- posing the arguments properly chosen, it is evident that their effect will in some meas- ure depend on the right arrangement of them, so as they shall not jostle and embarrass one another, but give mutual aid, and bear with the fairest and fullest direction on the point of view. Concerning this, the follow- ing rules may be taken: In the first place, avoid blending arguments confusedly together that are of a separate nature. All arguments whatever are directed to prove one or other of these three things : that something is true, that it is morally right or fit, or that it is profitable and good. These make the three great subjects of discussion among mankind: truth, duty, and interest. But the arguments directed toward any one of them are generi- cally distinct, and he who blends them all under one topic, which he calls his argu- ment, will render his reasoning indistinct and inelegant. Suppose, for instance, that I am recommending to an audience benevolence, or the love of our neighbor, and that I take my first argument from the inward satisfaction which a benevolent temper affords; my sec- ond, from the obligation which the example of Christ lays upon us to this duty; and my third, from its tendency to procure us the good-will of all around us. My arguments are good, but I have arranged them wrong, for my first and third arguments are taken from considerations of interest, internal peace, and external advantages; and between these I have introduced one which rests wholly upon duty. I should have kept those classes of arguments which are addrest to different principles in human nature separate and distinct. In the second place, with re- gard to the different degrees of strength in arguments, the general rule is to advance in the way of climax. This especially is to be the course when the speaker has a clear cause and is confident that he can prove it fully. He may then venture to begin with feebler arguments, rising gradually, and not putting forth his whole strength till the last, when he can trust to his making a successful im- pression on the minds of hearers prepared by what has gone before. But this rule is not to be always followed. For, if he dis- trusts his cause and has but one material ar- gument on which to lay the stress, putting less confidence in the rest, in this case it is often proper for him to place this material argument in the front, to preoccupy the hear- ers early and make the strongest effort at first, that having removed prejudices and dis- posed them to be favorable, the rest of his reasoning may be listened to with more can- dor. When it happens that amidst a variety of arguments there are one or two which we are sensible are more inconclusive than the rest and yet proper to be used, Cicero ad- vises to place these in the middle, as a sta- tion less conspicuous than either the begin- ning or the end of the train of reasoning. In the third place, when our arguments are strong and satisfactory, the more they are distinguished and treated apart from each other, the better. Each can then bear to be brought out by itself, placed in its full light, amplified and rested upon. But when our arguments are doubtful and only of the pre- sumptive kind, it is safer to throw them to- gether in a crowd and to run them into one another. — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 2, p. 404. (A. S., 1787.) 84. ARGUMENTS, ORDER OF SEV- ERAL. — The order in which the several arguments, or considerations, should be ar- ranged, deserves attention; since the rela- tive position of an argument may be essen- tial to its efficiency, and a proper order may increase the combined force of the whole. The rule that the stronger arguments should be placed at the beginning and the end, while the weaker should occupy an intermediate po- sition, is applicable to secular oratory rather than to preaching. For in the former, argu- ments which have but a remote relation to the subject may, notwithstanding, conduce to the orator's purpose : they may enlarge the array of arguments for present effect, or may even be used with the covert design of with- drawing the hearer's attention from the real weakness of the speaker's cause, or from the strong arguments of his opponent. But a sermon is, for the most part, so simple in Argtunenta Arrang-ement KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 24 its structure, that considerations which are remote from its subject, and which require artifice in order to be turned to account, can hardly find place. Nor does the sacred char- acter of a sermon allow the use of question- able arguments : whatever a sermon advances in support of a position ought to be, for its own sake, worthy of an intelligent assent; and assent that will bear examination. The end of preaching is the establishment of true moral and religious principles, the quicken- ing of men's consciences, and the promotion of genuine righteousness. Any success in attaching men to certain opinions, or influ- encing them to certain actions, which is at- tained otherwise than by an enlightened con- viction of the truth, and a sincere regard to the will of God, on their part, is unworthy to be aimed at by a minister of the gospel. — Ripley, Sacred Rhetoric, p. 77. (G. K. & L., 1849.) 65. ARGUMENTS. SEQUENCE OF.— Since we bring our people in general to our opinions by three methods, by instructing their understandings, conciliating their be- nevolence, or exciting their passions, one only of these three methods is to be profest by us, so that we may appear to desire nothing else but to instruct; the other two, like blood throughout the body, ought to be diffused through the whole of our pleading; for both the beginning and the other parts of a speech, on which we will by and by say a few words, ought to have this power in a great degree, so that they may penetrate the minds of those before whom we plead, in order to excite them. But in those parts of the speech which, tho they do not convince by argument, yet by solicitation and excitement produce great effect, tho their proper place is chiefly in the exordium and the peroration, still, to make a digression from what you have pro- posed and are discussing, for the sake of ex- citing the passions, is often advantageous. Since, after the statement of the case has been made, an opportunity often presents it- self of making a digression to rouse the feel- ings of the audience; or this may be proper- ly done after the confirmation of our own arguments, or the refutation of those on the other side, or in either place, or in all, if the cause has sufficient copiousness and im- portance ; and those causes are the most con- siderable, and most pregnant with matter for amplification and embellishment, which afford the most frequent opportunities for that kind of digression in which you may descant on those points by which the passions of the audience are either excited or calmed. In touching on this matter, I can not but blame those who place the arguments to which they trust least in the front; and, in like manner, I think that they commit an error, who, if ever they employ several advocates (a prac- tise which never had my approbation), will have to speak first in whom they confide least, and rank the others also according to their abilities. For a cause requires that the expectations of the audience should be met with all possible expedition; and if nothing to satisfy them be offered in the commence- ment, much more labor is necessary in the sequel; for that case is in a bad condition which does not at the commencement of the pleading at once appear to be the better. For this reason, as, in regard to pleaders, he who is the most able should speak first, so in re- gard to speech, let the arguments of most weight be put foremost; yet so that this rule be observed with respect to both, that some of superior sufficiency be reserved for the peroration; if any are but of moderate strength, (for to the weak no place should be given at all,) they may be thrown into the main body and into the midst of the group. All these things being duly considered, it is then my custom to think last of that which is to be spoken first, namely, what exordium I shall adopt. For whenever I have felt in- clined to think of that first, nothing occurs to me but what is jejune, or nugatory, or vulgar and ordinary. — Cicero, On Oratory and Orators, p. 314. (B., 1909.) 66. ARGUMENTUM AD HOMINEM. — The argumentum ad hominem, is an en- thymeme which overturns the adversary's ar- guments by his own facts and words. Tu- berus brought an accusation against Ligarius, that he had fought against Caesar, in Africa. Cicero defended Ligarius, and turned the charge against his accuser. "But, I ask, who says that it was a crime in Ligarius that he was in Africa?. It is a man who himself wished to be there; a man who complains that Ligarius prevented him from going, and one who has assuredly borne arms against Cassar. For, Tuberus, wherefore that naked sword of yours in the lines of Pharsalia? Whose breast was its point seeking? What was the meaning of those arms of yours? Whither looked your purpose? your eyes? your hand? your fiery courage? What were you craving, what wishing?" This was the passage which so moved Cassar that the act of condemnation of Ligarius dropt from his shaking hand, and he pardoned him. — Bau- TAiN, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 310. (S., 1901.) 25 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING ArgrumeiitB Arranerement 67, ARISTOTLE'S STYLE.— Aristotle's style, which is frequently so elliptical as to be dry and obscure, is yet often, at the very same time, unnecessarily diffuse, from his enumerating much that the reader would easily have supplied, if the rest had been fully and forcibly stated. He seems to have re- garded his readers as capable of going along with him readily in the deepest discussions, but not of going beyond him in the most sim- ple, that is, of filling up his meaning and in- ferring what he does not actually express, so that in many passages a free translator might convey his sense in a shorter compass, and yet in a less cramped and elliptical diction. A particular statement, example, or proverb, of which the general application is obvious, will often save a long abstract rule which needs much explanation and limitation, and will thus suggest much that is not actually said, thus answering the purpose of a mathemati- cal diagram, which, tho itself an individual, serves as a representative of a class. Slight hints also respecting the subordinate branches of any subject, and notices of the principles that will apply to them, etc., may often be substituted for digressive discussions, which, tho laboriously comprest, would yet occupy a much greater space. Judicious divisions likewise and classifications save much tedious enumeration, and, as has been formerly re- marked, a well-chosen epithet may often sug- gest, and therefore supply the place of, an entire argument. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 201. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) G8. ARNOLD, MATTHEW.— Born at Laleham, Dec. 24, 1822. Won scholarship at Oxford 1840. Died April 15, 1888. Tall, erect; brow of unusual breadth and beauty, large mouth with firm lines. His mental at- titude was lofty, his demeanor grave, his nature gentle, sweet, and full of dignity; of unblemished character. At his lecture in Chickering Hall, most of the audience, even those sitting in the front row, could not hear him, and left before it was over. He was a brilliant literary critic and poet. His sen- tences are described as "limpid, crisp, grace- ful, strong, charged to the full with thoughts." Style, authoritative, pliant, per- haps over-fastidious. He possessed personal charm, was courteous in controversy. He had unfailing intelligence, lucid analysis, calm judgment, a feeling for humor and pathos, but was without the swing and glow of im- passioned oratory. The amount of direct in- formation to be learned from him is small. He battled strenuously for genuine culture. 69. ARRANGEMENT, IMPORTANCE OF. — The natural and suitable order of the parts of a discourse (natural it may be called because corresponding with that in which the ideas suggest themselves to the mind) is, that the statements and arguments should first be clearly and calmly laid down and developed, which are the ground and jus- tification of such sentiments and emotions as the case calls for; and that then the impas- sioned appeal (supposing the circumstances such as admit of or demand this) should be made, to hearers well prepared by their pre- vious deliberate conviction for resigning themselves to such feelings as fairly arise out of that conviction. The former of these two parts may be compared to the back of a saber; the latter to its edge. The former should be firm and weighty; the latter keen. The writer who is deficient in strength of argument, seems to want weight and stout- ness of metal ; his strokes make but a super- ficial impression, or the weapon is shivering to fragments in his hand. He, again, whose logic is convincing but whose deficiency is in the keenness of his application to the heart and to the will of the hearer, seems to be wielding a blunt tho ponderous weapon : we wonder to find that such weighty blows have not cut deeper. And he who reverses the natural order, who begins with a vehement address to the feelings, and afterward pro- ceeds to the arguments which alone justify such feelings, reminds us of one wielding an excellent sword, but striking with the back of it: if he did but turn it round, its blows would take effect. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 129. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 70. ARRANGEMENT, METHOD OF. — The more common and ordinary method of arranging our matter consists in the for- mation of a formal plan of the discourse which we propose to deliver — a plan which, while it will carefully avoid all undue for- mality or pedantic stiffness, will nevertheless arrange everything in its own proper place, will have the ideas of its introduction, its proposition, its arguments, exemplifications, and the broad details of the appeals to be addrest to the passions of the hearers, so clearly and definitely marked out as to pro- vide the preacher with a shapely, compact, and well-knit skeleton on which the mind's eye may rest without risk of mistaking one member for another, or confusing the whole. There is no need to speak of the confidence and absolute sense of security which the pos- session of such a skeleton imparts to the preacher ; and hence it is little wonder to find Arraug'einent Articulation KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 26 that this method of arranging the matter of a discourse is the one which has ever been most generally followed. This method is equally useful, whether we propose to write our sermon or to preach extempore; or, rather, whilst it is almost indispensable tq him who writes, it is, in the opinion of many, absolutely so to him who extemporises. — Potter, The Spoken Word, p. 54. (M. H. G. & Son, 1880.) 71. ARRANGEMENT, PRINCIPLE OF. — If the reasoning embrace arguments of distingt classes, the principle of arrange- ment is to be sought, first, in the state of the mind addrest. If there be already a state of belief, and the object of the discourse is to confirm and strengthen it, then the weaker arguments will generally need to be placed first, and the stronger ones last. In this way the deepest and strongest impression will be the last. If there be an opposing belief to be set aside, it will be better to advance the stronger first, in order to overthrow opposi- tion at once. The weaker may follow, which will serve to confirm when they would be of no avail in the first assault. In order to leave, however, a strong impression, some of the stronger should be reserved to the close; or, what is equivalent, the arguments may be recapitulated in the reverse order. Altho this principle of arrangement, derived from a consideration of the state of the mind ad- drest, is not the higher and more controlling one, but must generally give way to the next to be named, still the state of the mind ad- drest must be first consulted, for that will often determine what kind of arguments are to be employed, as well as the order of ar- rangement. — Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 153. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 72. ARRANGEMENT, VALUE OF.— Disposition is the order, or method, in which the thoughts of the speaker should be ar- ranged. As invention is the standard by which to measure his genius and learning, disposition is more especially the trial of his skill. The thoughts in the mind of an ora- tor upon any subject requiring copious eluci- dation, arise at first in a state resembling that of chaos; a mingled mass of elemental matter without form and void. Disposition is the art of selecting, disposing, and com- bining them in such order and succession as shall make them most subservient to his de- sign. This faculty, tho not of so high an order as invention, is equally important, and much more uncommon. You shall find hun- dreds of persons able to produce a crowd of good ideas upon any subject, for one that can marshal them to the best advantage. Dis- position is to the orator what tactics or the discipline of armies is to the military art. And as the balance of victory has almost al- ways been turned by the superiority of tac- tics and of discipline, so the great effects of eloquence are always produced by the excel- lency of disposition. There is no part of the science in which the consummate orator will be so decidedly marked out, by the perfection of his disposition. It will deserve your par- ticular meditation ; for its principles are ap- plicable to almost every species of literary composition ; and are by no means confined exclusively to oratory. It is that department in the art of writing in which a young writer most sensibly feels his weakness. — Adams, Lectures and Rhetoric on Oratory, vol. 1, p. 168. (H. & M., 1810.) ' 73. ARTICULATION, ADVANTAGE OF A DISTINCT.— The defects of a feeble or husky voice may be redeemed, to a great extent, by distinct articulation. The part which this quality plays in good ora- tory, as well as in good reading and acting, is immense. Clearness, energy, passion, ve- hemence, all depend more or less upon ar- ticulation. There have been actors of the first order who have had voices as feeble as a mouse's. Monvel, the famous French ac- tor, had scarcely any voice ; he had not even teeth ! And yet, according to high author- ity, not only did his hearers never lose one of his words, but no artist had ever more pathos or fascination. The secret of his suc- cess was his exquisite articulation. — Mat- thews, Oratory and Orators, p. 82. (S. F. & Co., 1896.) 74. ARTICULATION, CARELESS. — The articulation of many speakers is marred by undue haste or hurry, arising from nerv- ous timidity and agitation. When thus flur- ried, instead of articulating every element with deliberateness and precision, they throw out whole mouthfuls of vowels and conso- nants, all jumbled up together. For speak- ing to a great audience, as the most prac- tised and eloquent orators have always felt, is something terrible; it is like hunting the lion single handed. But this terror must be overcome by the firm and steady exercise of self-control. "One must be sure of himself before he can be sure of the lion." One of the most fruitful causes of bad articulation is mere carelessness, or slovenly habits, in speaking. When such habits are once formed, they are, like all others, extremely 27 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Axraneremeut Articulation difficult to correct. For the speaker becomes entirely unconscious of his faults, even when they are so numerous and aggravated as to render a large proportion of his words un- intelligible. But whoever can be careless or slovenly in addressing a public audience, may thereby know that he is naturally incapable of speaking well. Sometimes the articula- tion is marred by over-nicety, rendering it finical, pedantic and aflfected. This fault ap- pears most frequently in sounding silent let- ters, the t, e.g., in such words as often, soften, epistle, apostle, thistle. Such faults are worse than many that arise from care- lessness, because they attract more attention, and because pedantry or affectation in any form is fatal to eloquence. — McIlvaine, Elo- cution, p. 231. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 75. ARTICULATION, DISTINCT.— Take care to speak plainly; — I do not mean loudly, but plainly. "Some preachers seem to think that they shall be heard if they bellow as loud as they can; and so they are, but they are not understood." It is not so much loudness of sound as distinctness of utterance which renders the voice intelligibly audible. In a church, as well as in a room, it is very possible to be too loud. Some writers recommend that particular care should be used to pronounce the consonants ; others insist on the necessity of attention to the due pronunciation of the vowels. I would say, rather, attend to both. Let every syllable of every word be properly and clear- ly pronounced. Do not cut short some words and almost drop others, or confuse them to- gether, as some readers are apt to do; but give each word, even the smallest, its due pronunciation. A little attention to this point when first you begin officiating will prevent you from contracting a habit which often spoils a preacher's delivery for life. Only take care that you do not run into the con- trary extreme, and acquire a pedantic pre- ciseness of expression, which is, perhaps, as disagreeable, tho not so essentially bad, as the former fault. — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergyman, p. 365. (D. & Co., 1856.) 76. ARTICULATION, GOOD.— Articu- lation and the true sounding of the vowel ele- ments are the first essentials in making our- selves understood by an audience. A good articulation consists in giving every letter and syllable of a word its full and finished sound. A public speaker possessed of only a moderate voice, if he articulates correctly, will be better understood, and heard with greater pleasure, than one who vociferates without distinct articulation. The voice of the latter may indeed extend to a consider- able distance, but the sound is dissipated in confusion. Of the former voice, not the smallest vibration is wasted; every stroke is perceived at the utmost distance to which it reaches; and hence it has often the appear- ance of penetrating even farther than one which is loud, but badly articulated. — Lewis, The Dominion Elocutionist and Public Read- er, p. 34. (A. S. & Co., 1873.) 77. ARTICULATION, GOOD, ESSEN- TIAL TO CORRECT EXPRESSION.— All the delicate modifications and distinctions of emotion, all its nicer shades and varia- tions, and all passion that is held under con- trol — in a word, all feelings which are dis- tinctively human, require for their adequate expression, the purest and most perfect ar- ticulation. Thus anger, scorn, contempt, hatred, and all such passions, when not un- controllable express themselves by sharpen- ing and hardening the consonantal sounds; whilst love, pity, sorrow, and all the tender and gentle emotions, give these sounds a pe- culiar softness and smoothness, and a cer- tain liquid flow to the whole utterance. In the expression of emotion and passion the vowels are more significant than the conso- nants. One reason of this is that they cor- respond to the nature of emotion more close- ly, as being less sharply distinguished from each other than the consonants; which more properly correspond to the sharp and precise distinctions of thought. Hence it is by means of the vowel sounds, in all their ever varying qualities of voice, and changes of pitch, time and force, that the passions of the speaker's soul pour themselves forth, and are communicated to the audience, with the greatest fulness and power. — McIlvaine, Elo- cution, p. 335. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 78. ARTICULATION, IMPORTANCE OF DISTINCT. — No words can exagger- ate the importance of this. The advice which is commonly given may be summed up in the maxim, "Take care of the consonants, and the vowels will take care of themselves." This is, on the whole, a true maxim, but it is only approximately true. Some men pro- nounce their vowels very badly and incor- rectly, and the result is most unpleasing. Still the great difficulty is with the conso- nants; and every man ought to find out and observe with what organs, and with what use of these organs, they are produced — how the throat, the palate, the tongue, the teeth, the lips, are severally employed, so as to produce Articulation Attention KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 28 the sounds in question. Without this knowl- edge and observation it will be almost im- possible to cure defects. Let it be remem- bered, too, that each consonantal sound has a separate existence, and has a right to this separate existence. The same thing is true of words and of sentences. No doubt words may be sent out separately from the mouth, like drops out of a medicine-bottle, in a man- ner which is ludicrous and provoking. But if words are impinged against one another, and jammed into one another, the result must be confusion on the part of the speaker and inattention on the part of the hearers. You can imagine their feelings under such cir- cumstances, if you remember the irritating effect sometimes produced on yourself by that kind of handwriting in which the words are run into one another and entangled to- gether on the page. And as with words, so with sentences. Those groups of words which we call sentences are marked off on the page by punctuation, so as to be isolated and self-existent. And in vocal utterance to the ear, this their right ought to be pre- served. To secure this end, the voice should not be unduly lowered at the close of a sen- tence; and it is not always easy to manage this without speaking artificially. — Howson, Homiletical and Pastoral Lectures, p. 55. (A., 1880.) 79. ARTICULATION, VALUE OF.— The part played in reading by articulation is very great. It is articulation, and articula- tion alone, that gives clearness, energy, pas- sion, vehemence. So great is its power that it can fully compensate for a feeble voice even before a large assembly. Actors of the first order have been almost without a voice. Potier had no voice. Monvel, the famous Monvel, had no voice ; he had not even teeth ! But his audience never lost a word, and never did artist produce a more pathetic effect. How? By the perfection of his articulation. Andrieux was one of the most finished read- ers I ever heard. His voice was worse than weak ; it was feeble, ragged, husky. How did he win such triumphs in spite of such seri- ous drawbacks? Splendid articulation again! By making you listen to him, he made you hear him. His incomparable articulation made not to listen a matter of impossibility. — LEGouvf;, The Art of Reading, p. 51. (L., 1885.) 80. ARTICULATION, VALUE OF DISTINCT. — More important to clear speaking than even command of the voice is distinct articulation. You must study to pro- nounce, not words only, but syllables, and even letters. In the rapidity of talk, we Eng- lish habitually clip our words, slur our syl- lables, and drop our letters. The gen- ius of our spoken language is for ab- breviation. We cut short every sound capable of condensation and cast off every superfluous word. It is for this reason that written discourse is so different from spo- ken thought as to make it almost impossible so to write a speech, and afterward to re- peat it from memory, that a critical ear shall not discover the presence of the pen. The composition of a speech lies midway between the written essay and common talk. It is less formal than the one, but more orderly than the other. So, in the utterance of a speech, you should give its full expression to every sound, still avoiding the opposite faults of affectation and drawling. Beware that you do not run your words together. Strive that each syllable shall be fully breathed. Give to the letters, or rather to the conven- tional utterance of words, their complete ex- pression, having especial regard for your r's. The reason for this is that your audience must follow your thoughts as well as your words, and if you put them to so much as a momentary pause to seize the words, the process of translating them into thoughts can not be performed in time to catch the next words that come from you. For the same reason it is necessary that you should speak deliberately. The most frequent fault of an orator is speaking too rapidly. His ideas flow faster than the tongue can express them, and in his eagerness to catch the passing idea before it is tripped up by its successor, the organ of speech is urged to its utmost speed, and the words come tumbling one over the other, to the bewilderment of the audience, who could tell of the discourse only that they had heard a mass of things but clearly.— Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 331. (H. C, 1911.) 81. ARTS, KNOWLEDGE OF THE, NECESSARY TO THE ORATOR.— It is not geometry, nor music, nor any other art, which of itself can make an orator, who must also be a_ sage ; but these arts will contribute to his being consummate. Are not antidotes and other medicines prescribed for diseases and wounds, compounded of many ingredients, which separately produce contrary effects, but mixed become, as it were, a specific, extract- ing healing virtues from all the constituent parts without resembling any one of them? Do not bees sip their honey from a variety of flowers and juices, the taste of which is inimitable by human in- 29 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Articulation Attention vention? Shall we then be surprized if eloquence, the most excellent gift provi- dence has imparted to mankind, should re- quire the assistance of many arts, which, the they might not manifest themselves in the orator, yet have an occult force, operating imperceptibly, and tacitly giving notice of their presence? Such were good speakers without these arts, but I will have an orator. They add not much, but I must have a com- plete whole, and to make this whole, nothing must be wanting. — Quintilian, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 49. (B. L., 1774.) 82. ATTENTION AND APPEAL.— The means by which the advocate enchains the attention of his hearers, and suits his lan- guage to their varying thoughts, consists in the employment of the same rhetorical fig- ures which are required in other forms of oratory. Yet even here the forensic orator is restricted more than any other. The cen- tral idea he presents is duty. The impulses which attend this idea, as he represents it, are necessarily few, and are by no means the strongest and most absorbing of those which grow out of the natural dispositions of the heart. His whole oration gathers thence a character of moderation and sobriety, not necessarily attendant on any other form of oratory, except in those rare cases where the issues of his cause are calculated to excite intense emotions. Hence in his choice of epithets and metaphors, as well as in his manner and delivery, dignity and earnestness appear rather than vehement and enthusiastic fervor. A plain and simple mode of illus- tration, a chaste and sober ornament, a self- contained and courteous deportment, are all that is appropriate to the great majority of the causes that he seeks to gain. The jury are not won by noise and bluster; they do not sit to weep over the common ills of life; especially when suffered by such persons as do not hesitate to expose them to the public eye. They sit to judge; and, conscious of their duty, they will most readily follow him who gives to them the clearest ideas, the best arguments, and the strongest reason to rely upon his word. — Robinson, Forensic Or- atory, p. 55. (L. B. & Co., 1893.) 83. ATTENTION AND EMOTION.— Attention and quickened emotion are recip- rocal. The preacher has the whole diapason of the motives on which to play — as a skil- ful organist, he must understand his keys, stops and combinations. His congregation includes every variety of life, every degree of sensibility to impression. His ability to gain the attention of the larger number will rest on his confining his art to the simple and universal feelings in which all share alike. Such are curiosity, hope of gain or pleasure, fear of loss or pain, love of freedom, of rest, of companionship, life in all its pleasurable forms — in other words, the egoistic senti- ments. Rising higher, tho reaching a more limited number, we may appeal to the senti- ments of justice, benevolence, sympathy, social responsibility, patriotism, mercy, en- thusiasm for humanity — in other words, the altruistic sentiments. Rising still higher, and reaching a still smaller number, we have the moral emotions — love of the good, the beauti- ful, the true; the sentiment of honor, nobil- ity, magnanimity, of the special obligations and privileges of the prosperous and the strong. Pleasure in the harmony of things, yearnings for an ideal state, all these in all their combinations form the wide range of motives and emotions which will on the one hand produce attention, and on the other re- ceive development and vigor through the re- sult of attention. — Kennard, Psychic Power in Preaching, p. 63. (G. W. J. & Co., 1901.) 84. ATTENTION, HOW TO AROUSE THE. — To arouse attention we must awaken pleasure, pain, or surprize. The themes the preacher deals with are intrinsi- cally adapted to this end, more, indeed, than any others ; but it is not what things are, but what they appear to be, that awakens interest, and the eyes of the human understanding are naturally darkened by sin so that the "things that accompany salvation" do not ap- pear in their true colors and proportions, but obscured and distorted. Through Satanic devices men are led to think evil good and good evil, and through the glamour and fas- cination of things purely secular, the supreme greatness and glory of things spiritual are eclipsed, and even through passion or fear they become repulsive. Human nature has not ceased to turn from the sublime teach- ings of Christ with the cry of impatience or contempt. "This is a hard saying; who can hear it?" Christ is still to the multitudes "a root out of a dry ground without form or comeliness, and there is no beauty that they should desire him." Now, just as a man in- capable of pleasure or pain would be inca- pable of attention, so, unless we can awaken surprize, pleasure, or pain by specific psycho- logical methods, we fail of gaining atten- tion. Voluntary attention must be excited by novelty addrest to the senses and through them to the intellect and the emotions, and thus calling into action the will which, with effort, purposely or unconsciously, bends the Attention Attention, Winning KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 30 whole man to that which is thus presented. This impulsion of the mind in attention is not steady like the pressure of the trolley arm upon the wire ; it is, rather, intermittent, like the oscillation of a pendulum. Continued tension speedily exhausts the power of lis- tening. To preserve its freshness and elas- ticity, there must be momentary rests for the mind to unbend; it will return enlivened. Voluntary attention, in its durable form, is really a difficult state to maintain. The speaker should remember that. There is al- ways an effort and a feeling of effort. When this is reduced — as the skilful speaker knows how — to its lowest point, voluntary attention approximates to the spontaneous, and so can be held to its work for a longer time. We only do that easily which we do unconscious- ly. — Kennard, Psychic Power in Preaching, p. 53. (G. W. J. & Co., 1901.) 85. ATTENTION, INTENSITY AND DURATION OF.— The preacher's work is to make men first see things, then feel them, then act upon them. If the first result is not gained, the others, of course, fail; often if the first is obtained, the other two go along with it. The Arabian proverb, "He is the best orator who can change men's ears into eyes," has application here. There are two qualities of attention — intensity and du- ration — which are characteristic; their com- bination at the same moment raises it to its highest condition. We must distinguish be- tween spontaneous and voluntary attention. The former is natural and primitive; the latter is mechanical, artificial, the result of education. The former is the basis of the latter; and both are to be found in every degree of development, from the feeblest to the most intense. A part of the preacher's science is to be able to discern the degree of voluntary attention in his congregation— when it begins, when it increases, when it declines, and when it ends. This is not easy, but a degree of facility and proficiency may be gained by study and observation. He will fail in carrying his hearers with him if he has not this tact; that is, if he is not in con- scious and intelligent touch with them; he must throw off his mental tentacles (which should be electrical), or, better, he should sink from the pulpit to the pews his sympa- thetic grappling-hooks and "get hold" of the people, or he might as well stop before he begins. — Kennard, Psychic Power in Preach- ing, p. 49. (G. W. J. & Co., 1901.) 86. ATTENTION OF THE HEARER, GAINING THE.— To win the hearer is to seize his attention, and so to fix it that he shall listen without effort, and even with pleasure, to what is said, opening his mind for its reception and absorption, to the ex- clusion of all other thought, image, or sen- sation which may arise. Now this capture of mind by a discourse is no easy matter, and it sometimes requires a considerable time and sustained exertions to obtain it. At other times, it is effected at once, at the first words, whether on account of the confidence in- spired by the speaker, or of the lively inter- est of the subject and the curiosity which it excites, or for whatever reason else. It is hard to give a recommendation in this re- spect, seeing the great diversity of circum- stances which may in this case exercise a favorable or an adverse influence; but this we may safely assert, that you must attain this point in order to produce any impres- sion by your speech. — Bautain, Art of Ex- tempore Speaking, p. 368. (S., 1901.) 87. ATTENTION, SECURING.— Much is gained if, at the outset, we can arrest the attention and win the sympathy of our hear- ers. They come together from many dif- ferent employments, with thoughts fixed on various objects, and it is a difficult task to remove these distracting influences and cause the assembly to dwell with intense interest on one subject. Sometimes a startling prop- osition will accomplish this end. Earnestness in the speaker tends powerfully toward it. But sameness must be carefully avoided. If every sermon is carried through an unvary- ing number of always-expressed divisions and subdivisions, the hearer knows what is com- ing, and loses all curiosity. We have heard of a minister who made it a rule to con- sider the nature, reason, and manner of ev- erything he spoke of. He would ask the questions: "What is it? Why is it? How is it?" The eloquence of Paul would not many times have redeemed such an arrange- ment. — PiTTiNGER, Oratory Sacred and Secu- lar, p. 106. (S. R. W., 1869.) 88. ATTENTION, SECURING AND HOLDING THE.— It is of great conse- quence to secure the attention of the hearers at the outset. But we must not only secure their attention at the outset, we must sus- tain it to the end. We must have attention; we must be listened to with interest. Other- wise, however plain and intelligible our ser- mon, however full of valuable matter, and however useful its lessons, our labor will be lost. The following hints may be of service : Do not let us rest satisfied with general state- 31 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Attautlon Attention, Winning ments, general directions, general cautions, etc. These must be followed out into par- ticulars. We must give instances of what we mean — instances drawn from Scripture, or furnished by other books, or suggested by our own experience, especially by intercourse with our parishioners — only taking care to avoid every approach to personality. We must ask questions — sometimes supplying the answers, at other times leaving it to our hearers to give them. We may refer, where occasion serves, to local history of ancient date connected with the church, or parish, or neighborhood — for instance, the figure of a knight in armor or an ancient monument might serve to illustrate a sermon on the Christian armor (Eph. vi.), or we may avail ourselves of matters of recent occurrence or of public notoriety. We may lay hold of proverbs in frequent use, and point out how, as is often the case, they are misapplied; or of common phrases, which are made to serve the purpose of excusing what is evil or stig- matizing what is good — as, for example, when sins, which it ought to be a shame even to speak of, are called "misfortunes," or when religious earnestness is sneered at as "Meth- odism." — Heurtley, Homiletical and Pastoral Lectures, p. 150. (A., 1880.) 89. ATTENTION, SECURING CON- TINUED. — If a sermon does not exceed the ordinary length, and is composed in the style of an address to an assembly, no spe- cial attempts will be needed to maintain the hearers' attention. But when the subject is of such a nature as to require more fixed attention than usual, or when the sermon must exceed the ordinary limit of time, it is desirable to forestall the flagging of atten- tion. Some respectful expressions, not un- suitable to the dignity of the pulpit, might then be of utility: particularly if introduced with ease, and, as it were, spontaneously oc- curring at the moment. Tho no signs of im- patience, or of listlessness, may appear, yet such language may favorably influence an as- sembly, and secure an undiminished interest in the discourse. Nothing is lost by urbanity in address on the part of the preacher, un- less he is guilty of excess either as to his phraseology, or the frequency with which he thus expresses himself. Excess would not only defeat the purpose, but, like affectation, would call forth feelings akin to disgust. If sparingly used, on proper occasions, and evidently marked by delicacy of feeling, no valid objection can exist to such expedients for preventing weariness. — Ripley, Sacred Rhetoric, p. 103. (G. K. & L., 1849.) 90. ATTENTION, VALUE OF PAY- ING. — There are few who know how to listen; it presupposes a great desire for in- struction, and therefore a consciousness of one's ignorance, and a certain mistrust of one's self, which springs from modesty or humility— the rarest of virtues. Besides, lis- tening demands a certain strength of will, which makes a person capable of directing the mind to one point and there keeping it despite every distraction. Even when you are alone with a serious book, what trouble you have in concentrating your attention so as to comprehend what you are reading. And if the perusal be protracted, what a number of things escape and have to be read over again! What will it not be, then, in the midst of a crowd in which you are assailed on all hands by a variety of impressions? Besides, each individual comes with a differ- ent disposition, with different anxieties, or with prejudices in proportion to age, condi- tion, and antecedents. Imagine several hun- dreds, several thousands, of persons in an audience, and you have as many opinions as there are heads, as many passions as there are interests and situations, and in all this great crowd few agree in thoughts, feelings, and desires. Each muses on this matter or on that, desires one thing or another, has such or such prepossessions ; when lo ! in the midst of all these divergences, of all these contrarieties, I rise, a man, mount pulpit or platform, and have to make all attend in order to make all think, feel, and will, just as I do. Truly it is a stupendous task, and one which can not be achieved except by a power almost above humanity. Rhetoricians say that the exordium should be devoted to this purpose. It is at the outset that you should endeavor to captivate the mind and to attach it to the subject, either by forcibly striking it by surprize, as in the exordium ex abrupto, or in dexterously winning good will, as in the exordium "of insinuation." All this is true, but the precept is not easy to reduce to practise. It is tantamount to say- ing that in order to make a good beginning, a great power, or a great adroitness, in speaking is required. — Bautain, Art of Ex- tempore Speaking, p. 269. (S., 1901.) 91, ATTENTION, WINNING.— Many rules have been proposed for winning the attention of the congregation. Some have laid stress on commencing the sermon with something striking. Mr. Moody, the evan- gelist, whose opinion on such a subject ought to be valuable, recommends the preacher to crowd in his best things at the beginning, AudlMUty Audience KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 32 when the attention is still fresh. Others have favored the opposite procedure. During the first half of the discourse nearly every au- dience will give the speaker a chance. At this point, therefore, the heavier and drier things which need to be said ought to occur. But about the middle of the discourse the attention begins to waver. Here, therefore, the more picturesque and interesting things should begin to come; and the very best should be reserved for the close, so that the impression may be strongest at the last. St. Augustine says that a discourse should in- struct, delight, and convince ; and perhaps these three impressions should, upon the whole, follow this order. The more instruc- tive elements — the facts and explanations — should come first, appealing to the intellect; then should follow the illustrative and pa- thetic elements, which touch the feelings ; and then, at the close, should come those moving and over-awing considerations which stir the conscience and determine the will. Thus the impression would grow from the commence- ment to the close. — Stalker, The Preacher and His Models, p. 114. (A., 1891.) 92. AUDIBILITY AT THE END OF SENTENCES.— Be careful, in particular, not to allow your voice to sink into an inau- dible tone at the end of a sentence. Keep it well sustained throughout ; so that the last part of each sentence may be heard as dis- tinctly as the first. But in so doing, avoid a practise which I have remarked in declama- tory speakers, of raising the voice at the last syllable, or last but one, with a jerk, as if they were asking an impertinent question. It is difficult to explain more accurately what I mean ; but, if you have ever been at a de- bating society of young orators, you will, probably, have observed the trick to which I allude. Few habits have a worse effect in the pulpit, or give more the air of affecta- tion. — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergy- man, p. 365. (D. & Co., 1856.) 93. AUDIENCE, CHARACTER OF THE.— When it is affirmed that the hear- ers are to be considered as such men in particular, no more is meant than that re- gard ought to be had by the speaker to the special character of the audience, as com- posed of such individuals ; that he may suit himself to them, both in his style and his arguments. Now the difference between one audience and another is very great, not only in intellectual but in moral attainments. A discourse may be clearly intelligible to a House of Commons, which would appear as if spoken in an unknown tongue to a con- venticle of enthusiasts. A speaker may kin- dle fury in the latter, and create no emo- tion in the former but laughter and contempt. The most obvious difference that appears in different auditories, results from the different cultivation of the understanding, and the in- fluence which this and their manner of life have upon imagination and the memory. Dif- ferent occupations in life give different pro- pensities, and make one man incline more to one passion, another to another. The favo- rite passion is the readiest passage to the heart. Thus, liberty and independence are prevalent motives with republicans, pomp and splendor with monarchy. Interest is the most cogent argument with mercantile states, glory that of military states. Men of genius love fame ; of industry, riches ; of fortune, pleasure. — Campbell, The Philosophy of Rhetoric, p. 93. (G. & W. B. W., 1823.) 94. AUDIENCE, DIRECT ADDRESS TO THE.— Speaking directly to the audi- ence implies, of course, a strong conscious- ness of their presence, and of the thoughts or sentiments as addrest to them. It im- plies, moreover, that the speaker thinks of them as people; that is, as persons clothed with all the attributes of human beings ; in a word, as men and women. He grasps them thus with his mind, and holds them steadily in his mental grasp. This enables him to gain their attention and sympathy, and to bring all his personal power, as a man, to bear upon them, as men and women of like passions with himself. Thus he pours his thoughts and feelings into them, through the open, but ever mysterious channels of the sympathetic affections. This direct mental action of the speaker upon the minds of the audience, is one of the great secrets of a powerful delivery; it is the magnetism of eloquence. The loss of the consciousness of speaking directly to the audience breaks up these vital relations, paralyzes the action of the speaker's mind upon the audience, and renders it subject to the dominant influence of sub-processes. Whenever the mental act of speaking directly to the audience ceases, or ceases to be one of the dominant mental operations, the speaker no longer recognizes the presence of the audience, or it becomes to him something dim, shadowy, and inef- fectual. He does not grasp them with his mind, nor engage their attention. His thoughts are withdrawn from them, and leave their thoughts to wander from him, and from all that he pretends, but utterly fails to say to them. The leading operations 33 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING AndlMllty Audience of his mind become those of invention and style, or those of remembering, or those of taking in the sense of his manuscript; or his mind becomes chiefly occupied with other irrelevant thoughts, perhaps still more in- compatible with true expression. Hence, the delivery, if such it may be called, being of necessity the expression of the mental oper- ations in which he is immediately and chief- ly engaged, becomes wholly false and power- less.— McIlvaine, Elocution, p. 95. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 95. AUDIENCE, GAINING THE FAVOR OF THE.— We ought at first to give a general view of our subject, and en- deavor to gain the favor of the audience by a modest introduction, a respectful address, and the genuine marks of candor and pro- bity. Then we should establish those prin- ciples on which we design to argue, and in a clear, easy, sensible manner propose the prin- cipal facts on which we are to build, insist- ing chiefly on those circumstances of which we intend to make use afterward. From these principles and facts we must draw just consequences, and argue in such a clear and well-connected manner that all our proofs may support each other, and so be the more easily remembered. Every step we advance our discourse ought to grow stronger, so that the hearers may gradually perceive the force and evidence of the truth, and then we ought to display it in such lively images and movements as are proper to excite the passions. In order to do this, we must know their various springs, and the mutual de- pendence they have one upon another; which of them we can most easily move and em- ploy to raise the rest; and which of them, in fine, is able to produce the greatest effects, and must therefore be applied to in the con- clusion of our discourse. It is oft-times proper, at the close, to make a short recapit- ulation, in which the orator ought to exert all his force and skill in giving the audience a full, clear, concise view of the chief topics on which he has enlarged. In short, one is not obliged always to follow this method without any variation. There are exceptions and allowances to be made for different sub- jects and occasions. And even in this order which I have proposed, one may find an end- less variety. But now you may easily see that this method, which is chiefly taken from Tully, can not be observed in a discourse which is divided into three parts, nor can it be followed in each particular division. We ought, therefore, to choose some method, but such a method as is not discovered and promised in the beginning of our discourse. Cicero tells us that the best method is gen- erally to conceal the order we follow, till we lead the hearer to it without his being aware of it before. I remember he says, in express terms, that we ought to conceal even the number of our arguments, so that one shall not be able to count them, though they be very distinct in themselves, and that we ought not plainly to point out the division of a discourse. — Fenelon, Dialogues on Elo- quence, p. 123. (J. M., 1808.) 9G. AUDIENCE, HOW THE PREACH- ER MAY WIN HIS.— You will have done much if you can establish in your hearers' minds an opinion of your Christian integ- rity; but you must endeavor to go beyond this, and give them reason to believe that you are not only generally well disposed, but per- sonally interested in their welfare and sal- vation. To make this impression seems con- stantly to have been present in the mind of St. Paul. Feeling most deeply interested for his flock, he seems to have sought opportuni- ties to let them know his affection for them; being well aware how important it was with a view to their persuasion. With this view, deliver your message, as it really is, a mes- sage of mercy — "glad tidings of great joy" — an offer of pardon and peace. Dwell often on God's love to man, and speak of it cor- respondently. Let "your doctrine drop as the rain, and your speech distil as the dew; as the small rain upon the tender herb, and as the showers upon the grass." And imitate the goodness of God in your mode of pro- pounding the message : make yourself a party concerned — which, indeed, you are — ''as one that shall give account;" like the apostle, be- seech them, in Christ's stead, to be recon- ciled with God, as if your own salvation de- pended on their acceptance of your message. How affectionate are the expressions of St. Paul: "Though ye have ten thousand in- structors in Christ, yet have ye not many fathers; for in Christ Jesus I have begotten you through the gospel." "Now I Paul, my- self beseech you by the meekness and gentle- ness of Christ." Such words almost persiiade before they convince. — Geesley, Letters to a Young Clergyman, p. 43. (D. & Co., 1856.) 97. AUDIENCE, HOW TO WIN THE. — When the opinion of the audience is un- favorable, the speaker must use great cau- tion, modesty and deference; perhaps in order to win them he may find it necessary to make some concessions in relation to his former principles or conduct, and to entreat Audience Audience KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 34 their attention from pure regard to the sub- ject; that, Hke men of judgment and candor, they would impartially consider what is said, and give a welcome reception to truth, from what quarter soever it proceeds. Thus he must attempt, if possible, to mollify them, gradually to insinuate himself into their favor, and thereby imperceptibly to transfuse his sentiments and passions into their minds. The man who enjoys the advantage of pop- ularity needs not this caution; the minds of his auditors are perfectly attuned to his; they are prepared for adopting implicitly his opinions, and accompanying him in all his most passionate excursions. When the peo- ple are willing to run with you, you may run as fast as you can, especially when the case requires impetuosity and dispatch; but if you find in them no such ardor, if it is not even without reluctance that they walk with you, you must slacken your pace and keep them company, lest they stand still or turn back. — Campbell, The Philosophy of Rhetoric, p. 97. (G. & W. B. W., 1833.) 98. AUDIENCE, LOOKING AT THE. — Make it a rule to look your congregation in the face. It is surprising to see how many preachers are unable or unaccustomed to do this. Some will keep their eyes constantly on the book; others, if they raise them, will close them in the act of looking up — (a habit which is acquired in the desk: for if, when you raise your eyes in praying, they meet those of your congregation, it is natural to close them, rather than seem to address your fellow-creatures instead of God : this you should avoid by contriving to turn your face to a window or some vacant place during the prayers. It is a very bad habit carried into the pulpit.) Others will preach against a dead wall, or a pillar, rather than encounter the gaze of their hearers. Others, again, will turn their faces hither and thither, as if addressing different parts of their con- gregation, but their lack-lustre and unimpres- sive eyes show that they are wandering in vacancy. Half the force of preaching is lost by this vague and indiscriminate address. Hear what is said by Herbert on this matter : "The country parson, when he preacheth, pro- cures attention by all possible art, both by earnestness of speech, it being natural to men to think that when there is much earnest- ness, there is something worth hearing, and by a diligent and busy cast of the eye among the auditors, with letting them know, that he observes who marks and who not; and with particularizing his speech now to the younger sort, now to the elder, now to the poor, now to the rich; — this is for you, and this for you; — for particulars touch and awake more than generals." The power of the eyes may be noticed in common conversa- tion. So long as a man you are conversing with looks you in the face, you can not help listening to him, whatever nonsense he may speak. It is as if he held you by the button. But if he looks at the wall, or out of the window, you are less able to attend to him, tho he should speak oracles. The first thing, then, is to look your congregation in the face. Consider it a duty to get the better of that ill-timed bashfulness, which, if not corrected early, will become habitual. I dp not recommend you to assume a bold and confident air, for that is unseemly and repul- sive, but a look of manly self-possession. There is another sort of expression highly unbecoming in a Christian minister; I mean a sort of nonchalant and careless look, almost as if the preacher considered himself above his work; and cared not whether his congre- gation were the better for his preaching or not. Oh ! how little does such a preacher know of what spirit he should be ! All the most benevolent and evangelic feelings should light up the countenance of the minister of the Gospel, while he is declaring the message of mercy: he should mingle the dignity of God's ambassador with the benevolence of a friend or father. He should be like the min- ister so well described by Dryden — "Nothing reserved or sullen was to see, But sweet regards and pleasing sanctity ; Mild was his accent, and his action free." We all know this manner, and probably have seen it instanced. The question is, how to attain it. My chief advice is, that you do not think of yourself : this is a great fault in a preacher. To avoid this, some will tell you to think on the subject on which you are speaking; there, I think, they are wrong. To think on your subject will help you to acquire varied tones of voice, but not varied expression of countenance. I would bid you to think more of the persons to whom you are speaking ; or rather to think of your sub- ject with constant reference to them. It is not enough to feel that you have written, and are delivering, a faithful discourse on Gospel truth, that you are really and truly declaring the counsel of God, but think of those to whom you are delivering it. Do not consider whether you are acquitting yourself faith- fully, but whether they are listening to their profit. Endeavor to look as deeply as you can into their hearts; and remember, that 35 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Audience Audience unless what you say enters there, however faithful and able it may be, it will be of no avail. Reflect not only that you are God's ambassador, but that you are sent to those who sit before you. Feel this, and your looks will show it. — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergyman, p. 384. (D. & Co., 1856.) 99. AUDIENCE, MAKING A FAVOR- ABLE IMPRESSION ON THE.— In no point more than in the conciliation of the hearers, is it requisite to consider who and what the hearers are; for when it is said that good sense, good principle, and good- will, constitute the character which the speaker ought to establish of himself, it is to be remembered that every one of these is to be considered in reference to the opinions and habits of the audience. To think very differently from his hearers, may often be a sign of the orator's wisdom and worth, but they are not likely to consider it so. A witty satirist has observed that "it is a short way to obtain the reputation of a wise and reasonable man, whenever any one tells you his opinion, to agree with him." Without going the full length of completely acting on this maxim, it is quite necessary to remember that in proportion as the speaker manifests his dissent from the opinions and principles of his audience, so far he runs the risk at least of impairing their estimation of his judgment. But this it is often necessary to do when any serious object is proposed, be- cause it will commonly happen that the very end aimed at shall be one which implies a change of sentiments, or even of principles and character, in the hearers.— Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 133. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 100. AUDIENCE, MOVING THE.— There is a great difference between showing the hearers that they ought to be moved and actually moving them. This distinction is not sufficiently attended to, especially by preach- ers, who, if they have a head in their ser- mon to show how much we are bound to be grateful to God, or to be compassionate to the distrest, are apt to imagine this to be a pathetic part. Now, all the arguments you produce to show me why it is my duty, why it is reasonable and fit, that I should be moved in a certain way, go no further than to dispose or prepare me for entering into such an emotion: but they do not actually excite it. To every emotion or passion Na- ture has adapted a set of corresponding ob- jects; and without setting these before the mind, it is not in the power of any orator to raise that emotion. I am warmed with gratitude, I am touched with compassion, not when a speaker shows me that these are noble dispositions, and that it is my duty to feel them, or when he exclaims against me for my indifference and coldness. All this time he is speaking only to my reason or con- science. He must describe the kindness and tenderness of my friend ; he must set before me the distress suffered by the person for whom he would interest me; then, and not till then, my heart begins to be touched, my gratitude or my compassion begins to flow. The foundation, therefore, of all successive execution in the way of pathetic oratory is, to paint the object of that passion which we wish to raise in the most natural and striking manner; to describe it with such circum- stances as are likely to awaken it in the minds of others. Every passion is most strongly excited by sensation; as anger by the feeling of an injury, or the presence of the injurer. Next to the influence of sense is that of memory ; and next to memory is the influence of imagination. Of this power, therefore, the orator must avail himself so as to strike the imagination of the hearers with circum- stances which, in luster and steadiness, re- semble those of sensation and remembrance. — Beeton, Art of Public Speaking, from Complete Orator, p. 53. (W. L. & Co.) 101. AUDIENCE. MOVING THE, TO ACTION. — When the orator has pene- trated into the hearer's soul by the radiation of his speech, animating that soul with its life, he becomes master of it, impresses, moves, and turns it at will, without effort, in the simplest manner, by a word, a gesture, an exclamation, nay silence itself. The fact is, he possesses the hearer's heart; it is open to him, and there is between them an inti- mate communication which has scarcely any further need of exterior means. Thus it is with two persons who love each other dearly, and who have confidence in each other; they understand each other, without speaking, and the feeling which animates and unites them is so intimate and so sweet that language is powerless to express it, and they need it no longer to make themselves mutually under- stood. Everything, then, is in the orator's power when he has thus won his audience, and he ought to take advantage of this power which is given to him temporarily, to com- plete his work, and to develop and organize in the minds of the listeners the idea to which he has given birth ; this is the third stage of his undertaking. Strike the iron while it is hot, says the proverb. In the present instance Audience Audience KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 36 there is something more than iron and better than iron to forge and fashion; there is the young life which eloquence has called forth to develop, in order that the conceived idea may take shape in the understanding, and influence the will — partly through the emo- tion which it has produced, and partly through the intellectual views which furnish the will with motives, as feeling and passion supply it with incentives. Eloquence would miss its aim, if it failed to lead the hearer to some act by which the idea is to be real- ised. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 277. (S., 1901.) 102. AUDIENCE, NEARNESS TO THE. — A speaker in commencing an argu- ment, should never take his position at a point too remote from his audience. If he is addressing a jury he should never get at a distance greater than five feet from it, if he may command a choice of positions. In a deliberative or popular assembly he should take his position about the center of the audi- ence, or by all means at that point in the space occupied by his audience which will afford its members the best opportunity of observing and hearing him, and which at the same time will yield to him the best means of speaking to the assembly as if he was addressing each individual in it. The benefit which a speaker derives from being near the body to which his remarks may be addrest, and particularly a jury, is that sympathy which flows from their seeing him, hearing him distinctly, and in possessing the power of marking with precision the particular ges- ture and expression of countenance which ac- companies each idea or proposition he pre- sents for their consideration. — McQueen, The Orator's Touchstone, or Eloquence Simplified, p. 170. (H. & B., 1860.) 103. AUDIENCE, OBSERVING INDI- VIDUALS IN THE.— For the greatest possible avoidance of distractions, I will rec- ommend a thing which I have always found successful — that is, not to contemplate the individuals who compose the audience, and thus not to establish a special understanding with any one of them. The short-sighted have no need of my recommendation, but it will be useful to those who see far, and who may be disturbed by some sudden impression or some movement of curiosity. As for my- self I carefully avoid all ocular contact with no matter whom, and I restrict myself to a contemplation of the audience as a whole, — keeping my looks above the level of the heads. Thus I see all, and distinguish no- body, so that the entire attention of my mind remains fastened upon my plan and my ideas. I do not, however, advise an imitation of Bourdaloue, who closed his eyes while deliv- ering his sermon, lest his memory should fail, or some distraction sweep away part of his discourse. It is a great disadvantage to shut the eyes while speaking; for the look and its play are among the most effectual means of oratorical action. It darts fire and light, it radiates the most vital energy, and people understand the orator by looking at him and following the play of his eyes almost as well as by listening to lis voice and words. — Bau- tain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 361. (S., 1901.) 104. AUDIENCE, PLEASING THE.— Nothing can be better than that the orator should endeavor to please and satisfy his audience ; that desire will impel him to noble exertions and the exercise of all his means; but that, while actually speaking, such an end should engross him above everything else, and that the care of his own glory should agitate him more than any love of the truths which he has to announce, or of the souls of the hearers whom he should enlighten and edify, — this, I say, is a gross abuse, a per- version of the talent and of the ministry intrusted to him by Providence, and sooner or later will bring him to grief. This inordi- nate attention to himself and his success agitates, disturbs, and makes him unhappy, — too often inciting him to exaggerations for the sake of effect. In taking from his sim- plicity it takes his right sense, his tact, his good taste, and he becomes displeasing by dint of striving to please. Yet far from us be the idea of condemning a love of glory in the orator, and especially in the lay orator. While still young a man needs this spur, which sometimes produces prodigies of talent and of labor; and it may safely be affirmed that a very great progress must have been made in wisdom and perfection to dispense with it altogether. Even where it ought to have the least influence, it still too often has sway, and the minister of the holy Word, who ought to be inspired by the Spirit from on High, and to refer exclusively to God all that he may do, has much difficulty in pre- serving himself indifferent to the praises of men, seeking these praises only too often, and thus making self, almost unconsciously, the end of his speaking and of his success. In such a case the movements of nature and of grace get mingled in his heart, and it is hard to distinguish and separate them. This is the reason why so many deceive them- 37 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING AndI«noe Audience selves, and why piety itself has its illusions.— Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 235. (S., 1901.) 105. AUDIENCE, RELATION OF SPEAKER TO.— Good sense is requisite, because an audience will deem itself insulted if a speaker presumes to come before it but ill-informed in regard to the matter to be discust. The speaker, from his very office, professes his ability to enlighten and inform his audience. Negligence to obtain a proper understanding of the subject, shows at once a want of capacity to speak, or a high con- tempt of the audience. A character for in- tegrity is necessary, inasmuch as just so far as the speaker shows himself unworthy of confidence, will everything he says be received with misgivings and suspicions ; while the bare assertions of a reputedly honest man will often be received with the submission which is due to actual demonstration. If, further, the audience be convinced that the speaker is actuated by good-will to them, all the influence of the feelings over the move- ments of the intellect will be favorable to his designs. While general reputation or char- acter in regard to these qualities will be most serviceable in effecting conciliation so far as it depends on them, the speaker may do much in removing an unfavorable impression from the minds of his hearers, or in produc- ing one that is favorable, by his manner at the time. The character of his discourse, as marked by the particular features of intelli- gence, familiarity with the subject, gravity, modesty, pure moral sentiment; by kindness, deference, and respect for his hearers, will conduce greatly to awaken a favorable dis- position in them toward himself. At the same time, indirect professions together with allusions to facts in his history which may present his character favorably in these re- spects, may be often beneficially employed. It is obvious that the same general means are to be made use of as well when an un- favorable disposition is to be set aside as when a favorable sentiment is to be awak- ened.— Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 164. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 106. AUDIENCE, RESTING THE.— It is a great art to know how to preach as long as you want to, or have to, and yet not tire your audience, especially where you have been preaching many years in the same place. For my own part I do not think that a very long sermon is adapted to edification; but a man ought to be able to preach an hour, and to hold his audience, too. He can not do it, however, if his sermon is a monotone, either in voice or thought. He can not do it unless he is interesting. He can not possibly hold his people unwearied, when they have become accustomed to his voice, his manner, and his thoughts, unless he moves through a very considerable scale, up and down, resting them ; in other words, changing the faculties that he is addressing. For instance, you are at one time, by statements of fact, engaging the perceptive reason, as a phrenologist would say. You soon pass, by a natural transition, to the relations that exist between facts and statements, and you are then addressing an- other audience, namely, the reflective facul- ties of your people. And when you have concluded an argument upon that, and have flashed an illustration that touches and wakes up their fancy and imagination, you are bringing in still another audience, — the ideal or imaginative one. And now, if out of these you express a sweet wine that goes to the emotions and arouses their feelings, so that one and another in the congregation wipes their eyes, and the proud man, that does not want to cry, blows his nose, — what have you done? You have relieved the weariness of your congregation by enabling them to listen with different parts of their minds to what you have been saying. If I were to stand here on one leg for ten min- utes, I should be very grateful if I were per- mitted to stand on the other a little while. If I stood on them, perfectly erect, I should be glad to have the opportunity of resting more heavily on one, and taking an easy position. In other words, there is nothing that tires a man so much as standing in one posture, stock still. By preaching to differ- ent parts of the minds of your audience, one part rests the others; and persons not wearied out will listen to long sermons and think them very short. It is a. good thing for a man to preach an hour, and have his people say, "Why, you ought not to have stopt for an hour yet." That is a compli- ment that you will not get every day, and you ought to be grateful when you do get it. — Beecher, Yale Lectures on Preaching, p. 160. (J. B. F. & Co., 1873.) 107. AUDIENCE, SECURING AU- THORITY OVER THE.— Whenever the audience proves refractory in an extraordi- nary degree, which will sometimes be the case, the orator must not yield to them, or he is lost. He must try to rise with the difficulty, and by his voice, countenance, and manner, exert a certain authority over them, for which his position and relations to them Audience Authority, True KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 38 afford him peculiar advantages. But here again he must be on his guard against irrita- tion. For if he show temper, they will not be slow to perceive that they have gained the mastery; and having discovered his weak point, they will, not be tender of it. There- fore, with unrufHed temper, and perfect good nature, by his eye, countenance, tones and whole manner, he should seem to say. My friends, I am here to speak to you, and I am going to do it; you are here to listen, and you have got to do it — the sooner you begin, the better it will be for us both. — McIlvaine, Elocution, o. 114. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 108. AUDIENCE, SECURING THE CONFIDENCE OF THE.— One of your first objects should be to secure the confi- dence of your people. They will get very little good from your preaching unless they trust you. You and they are to work to- gether ; mutual trust is indispensable if you are to work together happily. To secure their confidence it is not enough that you deserve it. There are some young ministers who are upright, unselfish, chivalrous, devout, loyal to Christ, and who yet put a very severe strain on the generosity of their congrega- tions. They thoughtlessly and wantonly pro- voke suspicion. So far as the substance of their creed is concerned, it is precisely iden- tical with the creed of the people to whom they are preaching. But the form is differ- ent ; and by their incessant attacks on what they suppose to be the unsatisfactory form in which the truth is commonly held, they cre- ate the impression that they reject the truth itself. This is sheer folly. The truth is greater than their particular intellectual con- ception and definition and theory of it. This they seem to forget, and the resuft is that they surround themselves with an atmos- phere of distrust. They ought to make it clear that they have no new gospel to preach, though they may preach it in a new lan- guage. And even if, in connection with the central and fundamental truths of the Christian faith, many of their people hold what they believe to be pernicious errors, they will act wisely if, before attacking the errors, they have placed their own loyalty to the truth beyond suspicion. — Dale, Nine Lectures on Preaching, p. 223. (A. S. B. & Co., 1878.) 109. AUDIENCE, WINNING THE.— There is, perhaps, no preacher, certainly no one with much practise in preaching, who has not had some experience of days on which everything seems to go wrong with him. No matter how carefully he may have selected the subject of his discourse; no matter how diligently he may have studied it; no matter how earnestly and zealously he may have striven to imbue himself with the spirit and sentiments appropriate to the occasion ; ft has all been of little or no use. His words have fallen idly and coldly upon the ears of an audience whom all his efforts have failed to rouse or to excite into anything like warmth or enthusiasm : an audience whose mere attention, perhaps, he has not succeeded in arresting and maintaining. On days such as these, and they occur in the life of every preacher, he seems to be pressed to the earth by a relentless and overpowering hand ; and, after struggling for a longer or shorter time with the adverse circumstances which surround and master him, he is fain to descend from the pulpit, opprest by the conviction, as evident as it is painful, that he has produced no result; that his efforts, so far at least as they may be weighed in human balances, have been thrown away; that he has moved no man's heart, perhaps not even convinced any man's intellect ; that, in one word, he has never for a moment mastered the position, but that the whole thing, to use a plain, hard phrase, has been a failure. But there have been days — the "red-letter" days of the true orator — when it has been quite different with him. There have been days when the sacred fire has blazed up keenly and brightly within his soul; when his voice, and his eye, and his heart have answered promptly and readily, with keen instinct, and with eager impulse, to the demand of those who, sitting at his feet, have hung upon his words; of those who, with their eyes riveted upon his face, have communed with him, soul to soul, in that unspoken but most eloquent language, whose mystic power may be felt at such a time witli a responsive throb, but can never be described. On such days as these the fiash of his eye has been enough to inflame the hearts of his audience; the mere uprais- ing of his hand has been enough to hold them spellbound. On these days he has stood before his audience, in the fullest, deepest sense of the word, their master and their ruler. They have hung entranced upon the words of his mouth. They have been power- less before the force of his reasoning, the fascination of his manner, the magic of his voice, the depth and vehemence of his pas- sion. They have been moved in the deep- est recesses of their moral being, and in the most hidden corners of their hearts. The 39 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Audience Authority, True preacher has realised to the full his position as pastor and as man, and hence he has spoken to them in the very language of na- ture, of nature ennobled and exalted by religion and faith. His success on such occa- sions has been perfect and complete, simply because it has had its foundation in that mutual sympathy, that mutual action of soul upon soul, which is perhaps so rarely found, at least in the perfection of its fulness, but which, when it once exists between a preach- er and his audience, renders success easy, triumphant, and complete. In one word, on such days as these he has mastered the posi- tion fully and entirely ; he has not only done what it is in the power of every man of ordinary attainments and industry to do — seize his subject — but he has succeeded in achieving a much more important victory, and one which is much more rarely gained — he has seized his audience. — Pottek, The Spoken Word, p. 123. (M. H. G. & Son, 1880.) 110. AUDIENCE, WINNING THE SYMPATHY OF THE.— To secure the sympathies of an audience, it is in the first place necessary that you should be at one with them. The process is not wholly on your part. The most eloquent speaker can not move an assembly entirely at his own pleasure. There must be some predisposition on the part of the listeners to sympathize with him; they must meet him, as it were, half-way. Consequently he is compelled to consult their prejudices. Let him run coun- ter to these and his influence is gone. It has been said, indeed, of speakers, as of writers, who court popularity, that they achieve it only by expressing in more apt words than the listener can employ the emo- tions already lurking in the minds of those whom they address; that, in fact, the orator does but fire the train that has been previ- ously laid. A brief experience will satisfy you how true is this. The lesson to be learned from it is, that to succeed upon the platform you should, as a rule, shun argu- ment in its own shape, tho sometimes you may venture it if cleverly disguised. But inasmuch as a speech can not be all declama- tion and you must appear to aim at con- vincing even when you are only persuading, there is a resource, always readily received as a substitute for argument, in resort to narrative, simile, and type. If, for instance, you wish that a certain proposition should be accepted as truth. Should you proceed to prove it by an argument you would send half your audience to sleep, or throw them into a state of uneasy bewilderment. But tell them an anecdote that seems to carry with it your desired conclusion, or typify the teaching, or introduce a striking simile, and eyes and mouths will open and the compari- son or the incident will be accepted with un- questioning readiness, however illogical the process and however unsatisfactory the rea- soning. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 293. (H. C, 1911.) AUDIENCE. — See also Congregation. 111. AUTHORITY, SPEAKING WITH. — Every tone, glance, and gesture should manifest how deeply the speaker is penetrated. He should have a commanding attitude, untiring zeal, an air of authority, and given sudden bursts of eloquence to carry by assault. One acquires such power by reading less and meditating more, and in happy moments when the heart is all on fire, seizing those feelings and turning them to the best account; and when the soul is full to overflowing and seeks to give expression to the sentiments with which it is penetrated, noting them down, for such times are worth hours of labor; but they are sometimes brought on by working at a subject for a long time. Confidence in one's powers and deliberation in effort will win one by one to listen until all hearts beat in unison. This silent, pulsating interest is most to be de- sired. Be simple in beginning or the icy thought will come that you are failing, and this will paralyze. It will be talk to no pur- pose; command will be lost, and you will long to come to an end. The audience will become restive, for they are also tortured and will rejoice as you finish. As you pro- gress read in the eyes of your audience whether they understand you. — Frobisher, Acting and Oratory, p. 44. (C. of O. & A., 1879.) 112. AUTHORITY. TRUE, IN SPEAK- ING. — We can not say that authority is exclusively appropriate to pulpit discourse. We look for it, it gives us pleasure to per- ceive it in all public discourse. The orator's confidence in his own word, inspires the auditory with confidence. We like to see a man sensible of what the force of his con- viction and the seriousness of his object demands from others. Truth has rights which pass to its representative, its organ. The most modest man should be able to sac- rifice his modesty to the dignity of truth, and firmness becomes him when he is speaking in its behalf. But authority is especially Authority, Undue Bar, Eloquence of KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 40 essential in a Christian preacher, who speaks on the part of God himself, and who an- nounces the oracles of God. We should offend sincere souls by not putting this seal on our discourse; we should even surprize those who do not believe our gospel. They are not at our point of view, but they well know what it ought to be; if they allow us to be in earnest, they allow us at the same time to speak with authority, and by ad? dressing them in any other tone than that of authority, we succeed only in scandalizing and estranging them the more. We speak of true authority, that which rests entirely on conviction and zeal, and through which humility and charity shine, as through a pure and transparent medium. Every one readily distinguishes it from that magisterial state- liness, that studied importance, to which min- isters who have the spirit of their order rather than the spirit of the gospel, are necessarily exposed, from their holding an officially protected position, and from their being accustomed to speak without contra- diction or interruption. — Vinet, Homiletics; or, the Theory of Preaching, p. 837. (I. & P., 1855.) 113. AUTHORITY, UNDUE. — The general rule with regard to the choice of arguments is to employ such as you judge most likely to convince your hearers ; but in this place, speaking with reference rather to moral effect, I would suggest, what may appear contradictory, but is in truth con- current with this principle, namely, to employ those arguments which have convinced your- self; — not those which are generally consid- ered conclusive, but those which appear so to you. They will always come from you with more ethical force, and, consequently, with more power of conviction and persua- sion. Confidence in the Scriptural accuracy and truth of what you assert will give you an unhesitating air of sincerity, which can not fail to react favorably on the hearts and understandings of your hearers. It is laid down by all teachers of rhetoric, that a public speaker, even when he speaks with authority, should exhibit a due respect, nay, a degree of deference, to his audience; — if not to their moral character, at least to their understanding. A young clergyman, especially, should not assume a high and authoritative tone. He should not say, "It is my duty to preach, yours to hear." "What I would have you to do is thTs." "I charge you now go home, and think on what I have said." When you have grown gray in your parish, you may speak with more authority, but still, an overbearing and dicta- torial tone is always unbecoming, and will be sure to tell against you. It is also proper to carry a tone of courtesy with you into the pulpit, and say, "Do I make myself un- derstood?" instead of, "Do you understand me \" However, you must not run into the contrary extreme, and forego the just author- ity which your office gives you. In avoiding the danger of being disliked, you must not incur that of being despised. Tho you shun a dictatorial air, you should still speak with decision. It is very necessary to get above the fear of your audience, and acquire a self-possest and manly air. "It seems," says a modern preacher, "as if we were in general too timid : as if we were not sufficiently aware of the high ground on which we stand, and the important interests committed to our charge. If our situation in society is in general humble, yet here it is the highest and most dignified. He who stands where I now stand, is placed between God and the people, and trusted with the most solemn of all trusts. Whom need he fear ; whoiji ought he to fear?" It may be prudent to qualify these remarks by the grave advice of Seeker — "Every one should consider what his age, standing, reputation for learning, prudence, and piety, will support him in say- ing ; that he may not take more upon him- self than will be allowed him." The best rule for a young minister is, to take care to rest his authority on that ground on which alone in truth it stands — the word of God. Whenever, therefore, you have occasion to use an authoritative tone, support it as much as you can by Scripture. — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergyman, p. 38. (D. & Co., 1856.) 114. BAR, ART OF PLEADING AT THE. — When the pleader comes to refute the arguments employed by his adversary, he should be on his guard not to do them in- justice by disguising or placing them in a false light. The deceit is soon discovered, it will not fail of being exposed, and tends to impress the judge and the hearers with distrust of the speaker as one who either wants discernment to perceive, or wants fair- ness to admit, the strength of the reasoning on the other side. Whereas, when they see that he states with accuracy and candor the arguments which have been used against him before he proceeds to combat them, a strong prejudice is created in his favor. They are naturally led to think that he has a clear and full conception of all that can be said on both sides of the argument, that he has entire confidence in the goodness of his own 41 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Authority, Undue Bar, Eloquence of cause, and does not attempt to support it by any artifice or concealment. The judge is thereby inclined to receive much more readily the impressions which are given him by a speaker who appears both so fair and so penetrating. There is no part of the discourse in which the orator has greater opportunity of showing a masterly address than when he sets himself to represent the reasonings of his antagonists in Order to refute them. Wit may sometimes be of service at the bar, especially in a lively reply by which we may throw ridicule on some- thing that has been said on the other side. But tho the reputation of wit be dazzling to a young pleader, I would never advise him to rest his strength upon this talent. It is not his business to make an audience laugh, but to convince the judge, and seldom or never did anyone rise to eminence in his profession by being a witty lawyer. A proper degree of warmth in pleading a cause is always of use. Tho in speaking to a multi- tude greater vehemence be natural, yet in addressing ourselves even to a single man, the warmth which arises from seriousness and earnestness is one of the most powerful means of persuading him. An advocate per- sonates his client, he has taken upon him the whole charge of his interests, he stands in his place. It is improper, therefore, and has a bad eflfect upon the cause if he appears indifferent and unmoved, and few clients will be fond of trusting their interests in the hands of a cold speaker. At the same time he must beware of prostituting his earnest- ness and sensibility so much as to enter with equal warmth into every cause that is com- mitted to him, whether it can be supposed really to excite his zeal or not. There is a dignity of character which it is of the utmost importance for everyone in this profession to support. For it must never be forgotten that there is no instrument of persuasion more powerful than an opinion of probity and honor in the person who undertakes to persuade. It is scarcely possible for any hearer to separate altogether the impression made by the character of him that speaks from the things that he says. However secretly and imperceptibly, it will be always lending its weight to one side or other, either detracting from or adding to the authority and influence of his speech. This opinion of honor and probity must therefore be care- fully preserved, both by some degree of deli- cacy in the choice of causes and by the man- ner of conducting them. And tho perhaps the nature of the profession may render it extremely difficult to carry this delicacy its utmost length, yet there are attentions to this point which, as every good man for virtue's sake, so every prudent man for reputation's sake, will find to be necessary. He will always decline embarking in causes that are odious and manifestly unjust, and when he supports a doubtful cause, he will lay the chief stress upon such arguments as appear to his own judgment the most tenable, re- serving his zeal and his indignation for cases where injustice and iniquity are flagrant. — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 2, p. 876. (A. S., 1787.) 115. BAR, ELOQUENCE OF THE.— The foundation of a lawyer's reputation and success must always be laid in a profound knowledge of his own profession. Nothing is of such consequence to him or deserves more his deep and serious study. For what- ever his abilities as a speaker may be, if his knowledge of the law be reckoned super- ficial, few will choose to commit their cause to him. Besides previous study and a proper stock of knowledge attained, another thing highly material to the success of every plead- er is a diligent and painful attention to every cause with which he is entrusted so as to be thoroughly master of all the facts and cir- cumstances relating to it. On this the an- cient rhetoricians insist with great earnest- ness and justly represent it as a necessary basis to all the eloquence that can be ex- erted in pleading. Cicero tells us that he always conversed at full length with every client who came to consult him; that he took care there should be no witness to their con- versation, in order that his client might ex- plain himself more freely; that he was wont to start every objection and to plead the cause of the adverse party with him, that he might come at the whole truth and be fully prepared on every point of the busi- ness; and that after the client had retired, he used to balance all the facts with him- self, under three different characters, his own, that of the judge, and that of the advocate on the opposite side. He censures very severely those of the profession who declined taking so much trouble, taxing them not only with shameful negligence, but with dishonesty and breach of trust. To the same purpose Quintilian, in the eighth chapter of his last book, delivers a great many excellent rules concerning all the methods which a lawyer should employ for attaining the most thorough knowledge of the cause he is to plead, again and again recommending patience and attention in conversation with clients and observing very sensibly, "To lis« Bar, Oratory of Beauty and Streiig1;h KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 42 ten to something that is superfluous can do no hurt, whereas to be ignorant of some- thing that is material may be highly preju- dicial. The advocate will frequently discover the weak side of a cause and learn, at the same time, what is the proper defence, from circumstances which to the party himself ap- peared to be of little or no moment." — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 3, p. 269. (A. S., 1787.) 116. BAR, ORATORY OF THE.— In studying the art of oratory for the Bar, you must, in the first place, keep clearly before you the objects of it. Unlike most of the other forms of oratory, it is not a display of yourself, with the acquisition of fame as the primary purpose. It is a duty which you have undertaken for the benefit of another, and your single thought should be — as I be- lieve with most of us it is — the advantage of your client. Whatever will best promote his interests you are bound to do without a thought of display on your own part. The cause of your client is advanced only by per- suading the jury and convincing the court. Therefore your business is to adopt pre- cisely that style of speaking which will best persuade jurymen and convince judges, and this is not a style that finds favor in the debating club or in the House of Commons. —Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 269. (H. C, 1911.) 117. BAR, SPEAKING AT THE.— The style required for the Bar is the very oppo- site of that customary in the debating club. It should be characterized by exceeding plainness and simplicity, the thoughts of the speaker being clothed in the common lan- guage of every-day life ; in short, he must do little more than talk. In many, in most indeed, of the cases which come before our courts of justice, eloquence would be nothing short of ridiculous. The speaker at the bar must ever keep in mind that his end is to persuade jurymen and to convince judges, and adopt such language and reasoning as may bring about these results. With refer- ence to the jurymen it is a common error to talk so as to be quite unintelligible to them, and it is a good rule, sometimes given, that the advocate should address himself to the lowest intellect among the twelve, that is to say, he should suit his language and illus- trations to him whom he conceives to be the least cultivated juryman. The characteristics of an address to a jury should be lightness, liveliness, and good temper. There should also be an appearance of unbounded confi- dence in your cause. In the case of arguing before a special jury, a higher tone of lan- guage and more subtle argument may of course be employed than before a common one. — Beeton, Art of Public Speaking, from Complete Orator, p. 35. (W. L. & Co.) 118. BAR, TACT IN SPEAKING AT THE. — Lawyers waste too much time in talking — rely too much on it — tire a court' too often by it, repeat a story until it is thread- bare and loses snap, pitch or meaning. Law- yers in asking special verdicts of a jury, by five questions, — should so frame them that some at least will be rightly answered. The wrong reply is a double-edged sword. Re- quests to charge are nine times out of ten too numerous and six times too long to be remem- bered. They are thus confusing and mislead- ing to a jury. They create a hatred more than a liking for the counsel who framed them. As is repeatedly shown, to cross- examine a smart woman, boy, girl or man, is suicidal. It lets them get the laugh on coun- sel or the cry on the witness, and either is killing to the purpose. Why will young law- yers forget this? Why will they fool with edge-tools in darkness? A trained laviryer with Tact in Court, will not be in on faulty pleadings. He will not be in on a breach of promise unable to prove a promise. He will not be in on negligence, unable to show his client looked and listened, or that he could have seen and avoided all that hap- pened. He will show right of possession in Replevin and Trover; demand in both, and offer to turn back property in fraud cases. A good lawyer will not bluster. No boxer, rider, racer, or ball player even, would start with a flourish; coolness proves ability, strength and reserve power, — it begets con- fidence, — it is wisdom in court practice. That your witnesses are candid, is a strong lever. A silly, half-witted, half-captious "smart Aleck" is worse than no witness. Look out about being ridiculed. It is a powerful weapon. More cases — ten to one — are lost than gained by trying to dig from the enemy what you should leave alone ("never wake a sleeping dog") and rely on your own law and testimony. Disputing with the court after adverse ruling, is a weakness. It's idle and fruitless. It decided cases for fhe jury, that they might decide otherwise, and yet fear to go contrary to the court's ruling — once emphasized. Good lawyers knowr what they want and stop with it. Ask no ques- tions that may be answered for the enemy. Leave what is done where a layman can notice it. Argue discrepancies with jury, and 43 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Bar, Oratory of Beauty and Strength never with witnesses. Learn to rely on sub- stantial, not trivial matters. Do the Lincoln act — catch the middle of cases and hold that part up like a painting to the court or jury. Make the brief less wordy, more meaty and direct. Three good citations are worth ten poorer ones. Single page briefs are always of interest. Know your law and facts be- fore starting. Both sides ready? Yes, your honor. But how often otherwise. Open clearly, tersely, candidly. Don't declare you will annihilate the enemy. You may not be so fortunate. Press a few points home with emphasis. Persuade and please by good methods. Anger rarely wins anything but applause from spectators. That is rebuked; and leaves you weak from the rebuke it in- vites. Question your parties carefully. A recent suit went to judgment when defendant was actually dead before it was started. An old firm sign had misled the plaintiff. By all means, get the right parties. Rely on the right of matters. If you win and go wrong, of what use is it? If you deceive a court on the law, a new trial will follow. If you get an unjust verdict, will it avail anything? Stand by your client, but take a fair posi- tion. He cannot ask you to clear him in all cases, if actually guilty. He will be pleased with a moderate sentence,— with a moderate verdict, with a fair adjustment. Think for yourself. Try every case as if it never should be tried again. Try it clearly,_^ fairly, wisely, thoroughly,— with your heart in your hand. "The hand is no stronger than the heart" in trial work. Rely on yourself in the court room. The counsel will pick up but a part of the facts that took you days to learn from the witnesses. There is no coun- sel like the first one, with whom all facts are centered. Verify your pleadings by com- parison. Study them after cooling time,— an amendment may be given, if asked for. Be not too certain, or too hasty. Law is a sci- ence. Trial work is a science. Victory is a science. Wisdom is a science.— Donovan, Tact in Comt, p. 8. (W. L. B. Co., 1907.) BAR. — See also Forensic , Judicial ' , Jury. 119. BASHFULNESS, CURE FOR.— A bashful man should purposely seek the soci- ety of women. Their refining influence will tend to bring out the best that is in him, to polish off the rough places, and to lift them in higher ideals. Many of the world's great- est men have testified to their indebtedness to women, not only for practical help, but for those higher spiritual qualities that trans- form men into heroes. No man should live unto himself. Silence and solitude, if long protracted, have a depressing effect upon all the noblest elements in a man. — Kleiser, How to Develop Self -Confidence in Speech and Manner, p. 238. (F. & W., 1910.) 120. BASHFULNESS IN CONVERSA- TION. — Exercise your attention and your thoughts when in company. If you find that bashfulness and embarrassment without cause occasionally afiSict you in society, ban- ish them by finding something to do or say forthwith. Do not stop to argue with your- self but act promptly. Ask for an introduc- tion to anybody, and talk of the weather or the walking, or the rooms, or any trifles, till something better suggests itself. The first step in politeness is to make such efforts, and they are a duty. In society you owe them to your host or hostess who does not of course like to see a gloomy or embarrassed guest. And you owe them at all times, in all places, to everybody, as a matter of polite- ness. — Carleton, The Art of Conversation, p. 73. (C, 1867.) 121. BEAUTY AND STRENGTH COMPATIBLE.— I well know that there are some who will not sanction any care in composition, contending that our words as they flow by chance, however uncouth they may sound, are not only more natural, but likewise more manly. If what first sprung from nature, indebted in nowise to care and industry, be only what they deem natural, I admit that the art of oratory in this respect has no pretensions to that quality. For it is certain that the first men did not speak ac- cording to the exactness of the rules of com- position; neither were they acquainted with the art of preparing by an exordium, in- forming by a narration, proving by argu- ments, and moving by passions. They were deficient in all these particulars, and not in composition only; and if they were not al- lowed to make any alterations for the better, of course they would not have exchanged their cottages for houses, nor their coverings of skins for more decent apparel, nor the mountains and forests in which they ranged, for the abode of cities in which they enjoy the comforts of social intercourse. And in- deed what art do we find coeval with the world, and what is there of which the value is not enhanced by improvement? Why do we restrain the luxuriance of our vines? Why do we dig about them? Why do we grub up the bramble-bushes in our fields? Yet the earth produces them. Why do we Beeo}ier, Henry VTard Beginners, Advice to KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 44 tame animals? Yet are they born with un- tt actable dispositions. Rather let us say that that is very natural which nature permits us to meliorate in her handiwork. How can a jumble of uncouth words be more manly than a manner of expression which is well joined and properly placed? If some authors weaken the subjects of which they treat, by straining them into certain soft and lascivi- ous measures, we must not on that account judge that this is the fault of composition. As the current of rivers is swifter and more impetuous in a free and open channel than amidst an obstruction of rocks breaking and struggling against the flow of their waters; an oration that is properly connected flows with its whole might, and is far preferable to one that is craggy and desultory by rea- son of frequent interruptions. Why, then, should it be thought that strength and beauty are incompatible, when, on the contrary, nothing has its just value without art, and embellishment always attends on it? Do not we observe the javelin which has been cleverly whirled about, dart through the air with the best effect; and in managing a bow and arrow, is not the beauty of the attitude as much more graceful as the aim fs more unerring? In feats of arms, and in all the exercises of the palaestra, is not his attitude best calculated for defense or offense, who uses a certain art in all his motions, and keeps to a certain position of the feet? Com- position therefore, in my opinion, is to thoughts and words what the dexterous man- agement of a bow or string may be for directing the aim of missive weapons. — QuiNTiLiAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 2, p. 143. (B. L. 1774.) 122. BEECHER, HENRY WARD.— Born at Litchfield, Conn., June 24, 1813. Died at Brooklyn, N. Y., March 8, 1887. Medium height, erect, large but well-propor- tioned body, florid complexion, large firm mouth. His motions were quick and elastic. His expression showed much humor, frank- ness, fearlessness and cordiality. He was intensely human, natural, magnetic, imagina- tive, humorous, dramatic. He was an accomplished elocutionist, with the natural advantages of an imposing presence and a musical voice of great power and flexibility. So magnetic was his personality, so irresisti- ble his appeal, that in his Brooklyn church for many years there often was not standing room left. "He speaks for the ear," said Theodore Parker, "which takes in at once and understands. He never makes attention painful. His dramatic power makes his ser- mon also a life in the pulpit; his auditorium is also a theatrum, for he acts to the eye what he addresses to the ear, and at once wisdom enters at the two gates." James Parton said: "An elegant, finished simplicity, characterizes all he does and says : not a word too much, nor a word misused, nor a word waited for, nor unharmonious move- ment, mars the satisfaction of the auditor.'' He had an almost unique gift of language, a richness of imagery, ripe judgment, wide sympathy, inexhaustible enthusiasm. His philosophy was sometimes crude, but his moral power was tremendous. He never spoke on any subject until he had made it his own by the most diligent study. His mind was a rich storehouse of knowledge. It is as a preacher and orator that he is remembered. Some of his sermons are mod- els of persuasive eloquence, combining close logic with beautiful imagery. 123. BEECHER, HENRY WARD, ORATORY OF.— His forte was oratory. His genius lay in aptitude for this high mode of power, which is a finite phase of His who "spake, and it was done ; commanded, and it stood fast." He was of the men who speak the word and the world waits, albeit unwittingly, to hear, and that, being spoken, rules the hour, determines the event, and becomes the divortium of history, the daybreak of ages: the men whose deeds are words, but whose words are deeds. We must add to this, how- ever, a distinctive qualification. His oratory was sacred. This does not mean simply that he was a preacher. A preacher indeed he was, specially trained, regularly constituted, and cherishing with loyal regard his high vocation. In his preaching, the sermon, the highest, intensest, most vivid, and most vital utterance of living truth, emancipated from scholasticism and convention, lived anew; and the glorious Gospel of the Son of God, in all its wondrous elements of grace and motive, privilege and obligation, divine good- ness and love, and human worth and duty, was interpreted with throbbing sympathy and thrilling power. But the qualification means much more than this. While the pulpit was his principal throne, his oratory took the wider sweep of the lecture lyceum, the pop- ular assembly, and the mass-meeting. He was as much at home, and with equal mas- tery, in these situations as in the pulpit. Aye, he loved those popular gatherings, with their freedom, their excitement, their ever imminent tumult, and all their demiurgic pos- sibilities. He was one of the masters of assemblies who control, convince, and move 45 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Beeolier, Henry Ward BegrlimerB, Advice to the masses in their maddest moods ; the men who wrestle with Demos and prevail. Yet, in every connection, his oratory was sacred — in Plymouth Church, Cooper Institute, or Exeter Hall; with text or without; on what are known as sacred, and what are regarded as secular themes. It was sacred in its basic principles of righteousness and humanity, the everlasting laws of God, and the rights and duties of men as the children of God ; sacred in its motive, which was love, and this made it ever large and generous ; sacred in its aim, which was ever some good to man and the glory of God in ennobling benefaction to His children; sacred in its means, which were truth, humane sentiment, flashing wit, concil- iating and quickening humor, and all the modes of noble passion; sacred, though it brought all the resources of a wondrously capable and versatile nature into play, "every bell in his belfry ringing," as himself avowed, "to help and influence men," and striking every chord of human feeling; and sacred especially in that it was ever positive and not merely negative, constructive rather than destructive — not only resisting evil, but over- coming evil with good — so that it was never bitter nor malignant, but gracious as sun- light or the breath of spring— though vivid as the lightning's flash and stirring as the thun- der's crack and peal. In this he presents a strong contrast to some with whom he was closely associated. It is indeed true of him that he forged thunderbolts of Anglo-Saxon speech and discharged them flaming against the fortresses of bastioned and defiant wrong; but it is yet more true that of the same wondrous element he wove radiant tex- tures of verbal sunshine with which to quicken, foster, and fructify germs of good. — Earnshaw, Henry Ward Beecher: His Genius, Work, and Worth. Homiletic Re- view, vol. 89, No. 6, p. 494, 1895. (F. & W.) 124. BEECHER, LYMAN. — Born in New Haven, Conn., in 1775. He graduated from Yale in 1797, and in 1797 took charge of the Presbyterian Church at Eastharapton, Long Island. He first attracted attention by his sermon on the death of Alexander Ham- ilton, and in 1810 became pastor of the Con- gregational Church at Litchfield, Conn. In the course of a pastorage of sixteen years, he preached a remarkable series of sermons on temperance and became recognized as one of the foremost pulpit orators of the coun- try. In 1826 he went to Boston as pastor of the Hanover Street Congregational Church. Six years later he became president of the Lane Theological Seminary in Ohio, an office he retained for twenty years. In l853 he returned to Boston and subsequently retired to the house of his son, Henry Ward Beecher, where he died in 1863. Hfs public utterances, whether platform or pulpit, were carefully elaborated. They were delivered extemporaneously and sparkled with wit, were convincing by their logic, and conciliat- ing by their shrewd common sense. 125. BEGGING THE QUESTION.— This is probably the commonest of the fal- lacies of reasoning. It consists in giving, as proof of itself, the very thing to be proved. One of Moliere's comedies has a playful ex- ample. "Why does opium produce sleep? Because it possesses a soporific quality." The power to induce sleep, aand the possession of a soporific (or sleep producing), quality are one and the same thing. Whatever is prov- able must be distinct from that which proves it — the evidence, from the thing evidenced. Where these two separate things are con- founded, the petitio occurs, and the question is not proved, but "begged." Any statement which, instead of supporting the question, merely varies its expression, or assigns its incidents granting it to be true, is no more than a repetition of the assertion, and is no evidence nor proof. Such is the petitio prin- cipii, the phases of which are many, and the answer is to distinguish the new statement from proof, and identify it with the original proposition — the consequence then drawn is that, whether the proposition be, or be not true, this does not establish it — as seto above in the sportive instance from Moliere. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 313. (S., 1901.) 126. BEGINNERS, ADVICE TO.— Choose some fitting occasion, when a ques- tion is to be discust at a public meeting in v/hich you feel an interest. Turn the subject well over in your mind, and view it under all the various aspects in which it rnay be regarded, and then choose that which seems best adapted to your mode of treatment. Arrange your ideas after you have well con- sidered the subject, as far as you can, in a clear and logical order, and more especially let your arguments be duly linked together, so that the conclusions to which they lead may seem to follow as a necessary conse- quence, and so make a strong impression on the audience you are about to address. This mental arrangement of ideas then commit in outline to paper — ^but do not write down more. Content yourself with a clear and simple outline of the subjects and of the BeglTnilTig, Accurate Beginning', Qood KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 46 mode in which you propose they shall be treated. Endeavor to fix your thoughts firmly in your mind, and remember how much their proper sequence may be aided by carrying out the principle of the association of ideas as the most powerful of all the aids to mem- ory. When you have thoughts, that is, really something to say, it will not be long, even if your earliest attempts are comparative failures, before you will find the facility of clothing those thoughts in language be- comes with every succeeding effort greater and greater. No doubt it is a moment cal- culated to make any man feel nervous and embarrassed when he is called upon for the first time to address an audience in public. But if you will bear in mind the importance of occupying the first few moments after you have risen on your legs, in placing yourself in the best and easiest position for speaking; then of calmly, deliberately, and thoroughly filling your lungs, and quietly surveying your audience before you begin, you will be aston- ished to find how much these mere physical adjuncts will assist in giving you mental composure and self-possession. — Plumptre^ King's College Lectures on Elocution, p. 359. ,(T. & Co., 1883.) 127. BEGINNING, ACCURATE, OF A SPEECH.— The beginnings of speeches ought always to be accurate and judicious, well furnished with thoughts, and happy in expression, as well as peculiarly suited to their respective causes. For our earliest ac- quaintance with a speech as it were, and the first recommendation of it to our notice, is at the commencement; which ought at once to propitiate and attract the audience. In regard to this point, I can not but feel aston- ished, not indeed at such as have paid no attention to the art, but at a man of singular eloquence and erudition, I mean Philippus, who generally rises to speak with so little preparation that he knows not what word he shall utter first; and he says that when he has warmed his arm, then it is his custom to begin to fight; but he does not consider that those from whom he takes this simile hurl their first lances gently, so as to pre- serve the utmost grace in their action, and at the same time to husband their strength. Nor is there any doubt, but that the beginning of a speech ought very seldom to be vehement and pugnacious ; but if even in the combat of gladiators for life, which is decided by the sword, many passes are made previous to the actual encounter, which appear to be in- tended, not for mischief, but for display, how much more naturally is such prelude to be expected in a speech, in which an exhibition of force is not more required than gratifi- cation? Besides, there is nothing in the whole nature of things that is all produced at once, and that springs entire into being in an instant; and nature herself has intro- duced everything that is done and accom- plished most energetically with a moderate beginning. Nor is the exordium of speech to be sought from without, or from any- thing unconnected with the subject, but to be derived from the very essence of the cause. It is, therefore, after the whole cause has been considered and examined, and after every argument has been excogitated and prepared, that you must determine what sort' of exordium to adopt ; for thus it will easily be settled, as it will be drawn from those points which are most fertile in arguments, or in those matters on which I said you ought often to make digressions. Thus our exordia will give additional weight when they are drawn from the most intimate parts of our defense ; and it will be shown that they are not only not common, and can not be transferred to other causes, but that they have wholly grown out of the cause under consideration. — Cicero, On Oratory and Ora- tors, p. 315. (B., 1909.) 128. BEGINNING, CONFIDENCE IN, — It will be better for the preacher to have confidence in himself, and to open his ^s- course with a few simple words, which he can scarcely find much difficulty in framing. Let him have the great leading idea of his discourse clearly and vividly present to his mind, and he will easily find the words, plain, simple and earnest, with which to lead the way to its enunciation. It is quite pos- sible that these words, as well as the voice in which they are uttered, may be somewhat weak and faltering in the opening, biit let him persevere, strong in the conscious recti- tude of his intention, and his trust in God, and in a moment all will be changed. He will scarcely have pronounced a couple of sentences before his confusion will have van- ished, and he will stand, a man, face to face with his subject, its master and its ruler. Thus face to face with his subject, grappling the great idea which, with all the enthusiasm of the true orator, he burns to manifest and bring home to the hearts and minds of the multitude whose eyes are fixed in rapt atten- tion full upon him, he at once feels within his heart the ardent glow of earnestness, of enthusiasm, of inspiration. The Tight which illumines his soul will show itself in his eyes, in every feature of his face, and will lend 47 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Bearliuiliitr. Accurate Beginning', Qood its character and influence to the very tones of his voice. In a word, he will reaFize in all its fulness the great and consoling idea that he is master of the situation. Strength- ened by the consciousness that he is thor- oughly prepared, and that the materials of his discourse, plain, clear, orderly, and well- I defined, are ready at hand, and can not pos- sibly fail him, he will launch into his ser- mon with a confidence which will grow stronger as he proceeds, and with a success which will receive its consummation and its crown only when the last word of his dis- course shall have been uttered. — Potter, The Spoken Word, p. 96. (M. H. G. & Son, 1880.) 129. BEGINNING, DIFFICULTIES IN. — The first moments of the discourse are generally very difficult to the orator, not only on account of the trouble he experi- ences in setting out, in laying down and developing his subject, as we just now showed, but also on account of the neces- sity of making his audience set out; and here he meets at starting, either the resist- ance of inertness, the indolence loth to take the pains of listening, or else the levity which flies off each instant, or else the la- tent or the express opposition of some ad- verse prejudice or interest. He has, there- fore, to wrestle with his hearer in order to overcome him, and in this he is always suc- cessful. Until everybody has taken his place and settled himself well in it, and then has coughed, cleared his throat, blown his nose, and made a stir as long as he decently can in his situation, the poor orator speaks more or less in the midst of noise, or at least of a half-supprest disturbance, which hinders his words, at first, from having any effect upon the mind. They penetrate nowhere, they return to him, and he is tempted to give way to discouragement, especially in large as- semblies where there are all sorts of peo- ple, as at a sermon. If he waver, he is un- done, he will never become master of his hearers, and his discourse will be powerless. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 271. (S., 1901.) 130. BEGINNING, EASE IN.— Begin with a moderate voice. Try to feel at ease by looking around, and shaking off any stiff- ness of position. Keep your mind composed and collected. Guard against bashfulness — which will wear away by opposition. Think of what you are going to say, and not mere- ly of the audience. Be manly but simple. You must acquire assurance : First, by thor- oughly mastering your subject, and the con- sciousness that you can make what you are to deliver worth hearing. Secondly, by whol- ly engaging in it, with the mind intent on it, and the heart warmed with it. Never be in- fluenced and moved by outside circumstances. Be yourself and know yourself. Have a presence that fills the limits. Whatever changes you may have occasion to make in voice and gesture, should be simple and easy, so as not to detract from the interest. Have your gestures in argumentative language aimed directly to your audience; look into their eyes and not into vacuum. — Frobish- ER, Voice and Action, p. 54. (I. B. & Co., 1867.) 131. BEGINNING, FIRST MOMENTS OF THE, OF A SPEECH.— In moving from your seat to the stage, rise easily, but firmly. As you approach the place, feel your whole weight, by a manly, dignified, yet sim- ple walk. Do not bend the knees mincingly, but swing the lower limbs easily and grace- fully at each step. Let the lungs be slowly, quietly filled, until the moment of commenc- ing; this effort sends the blood to the brain, and gives it power to act with firmness and decision. It prevents nervousness, and gives the voice fulness to start well. It prevents a burst of loudness, so common to young ora- tors in commencing their orations. — Feo- BiSHER, Voice and Action, p. 50. (I. B. & Co., 1867.) 132. BEGINNING, GOOD, OF A SPEECH. — As a general proposition, a speaker should not commence speaking im- mediately on rising from his seat, but should take sufficient time to survey his audience and to collect his ideas with every appear- ance of the calmest self-possession and of respectful but easy confidence. After a few preliminary moments thus occupied, he should commence his remarks in a mod- erate tone of voice, and in such a way as to introduce the subject be- fore him directly to the attention of his au- dience. He should also take due care to begin his remarks with the briefest sentences within the reach of his powers. For no circumstance is better calculated to throw a speaker out of an easy style of enunciation than a long sentence at the very opening of an argument. It requires a great expenditure of breath to speak one of these sentences through, where it is so long before a pause is reached. And aside from the irksomeness of the operation connected with the delivery of such sentences, it is difficult in speaking, Beirlnulngf Belief, Jiep:ees of KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 48 as it is in singing, to blend any particular measure of music or intonation with the speaking of them. And if the measure or music of the speaker should be wrong at the commencement of the speech, as it will be difficult to rectify it when he has once gotten under way, his style of speaking will be apt to continue erroneous through the whole speech. — McQueen, The Orator's Touchstone, or Eloquence Simplified, p. 171. (H. & B., 1860.) 133. BEGINNING, IMPORTANCE OF A RIGHT. — Too often a speaker takes the first path that offers, to reach the main idea, and that path is not always the straightest nor the clearest. Once in the way, with eyes bent toward the point of destination, a man plies, not indeed the ears, but words, in order to attain the idea, and he attains it only by circuitous and tortuous efforts. The hearer who is following you does not very well see whither you are leading him, and if this position continues for a little longer, the discomfort of the speaker gains upon the listeners, and a coldness is diffused with the uneasiness among the assembly. Have you at times contemplated from the shore a white sail striving to leave the roadstead, and by the wind's help to gain the offing? It tacks in all directions, to gain its object, and, when baulked, it flutters inward and os- cillates without advancing, until at last the favorable breeze distends it, and then it passes swiftly over the waters, enters upon the open sea, and speedily vanishes below the horizon. Thus it is with the orator who misses his right course in the first instance. Eager to set out, because it would be dis- creditable to stand still, he hoists his sail to the first wind that blows, and presently back it sinks with the deceitful breeze. He tries another course with as poor success, and runs the risk of either not advancing or of taking a wrong line. He then makes for the first image that presents itself, and it be- guiles him far from his subject. He would fain return but no longer knows his way. He sees his goal afar, eluding him, as Ithaca escaped Ulysses, and, like Ulysses, he may complete a very long Odyssey ere reaching it. Perhaps he will never get thither, and that is sadder still. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 250. (S., 1901.) 134. BEGINNING MODESTLY.— The speaker ought to begin softly, modestly, and without any pompous announcement of what is to follow. The grain of mustard-seed, which is the smallest of seeds, produces a great tree in which the birds of heaven come and take shelter. The exordium of an ex- temporaneous discourse ought to be the sim- plest thing in the world. Its principal use is in laying the subject well down and in giv- ing a glimpse of the idea which has to be developed. Unquestionably, if circumstances require it, you may also introduce certain oratorical precautions— insinuations, commen- dations — and a delicate and supple mind al- ways finds a way to insert these things. But generally they clog that mind, because they are outside of its idea and may divert it from the idea; and as the expressions are not ready made, the mind runs a risk of being carried away from its subject at the first start, and of missing its plan. For the same reason, the speaker's voice will be mod- erate, nay, a little weak, at first, and it may happen, at least in a vast audience, that his first expressions are not heard, or are heard ill. This is, of course, an inconvenience, but it can not be helped, and it is not without its advantages. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 243. (S., 1901.) 135. BEGINNING, NATURAL, OF A SPEECH. — Some tell us that when com- mencing an address the voice should be di- rected to those most distant, but this is evi- dently wrong. At the beginning the mind is naturally clear and serene, the passions un- awakened; if the speaker adopt this high pitch, how can it be elevated afterward, agreeably to those emotions and sentiments which require still higher pitches ? To strain the voice thus, destroys all solemnity, weight, and dignity, and gives to what one says a squeaking effeminacy, unbecoming a manly and impressive speaker; it makes the voice harsh and unmusical, and also produces hoarseness.- — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 144. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 136. BEGINNING, PROPER, OF A SPEECH. — The beginning is the most dif- ficult. You are led up to the parts of your discourse, but you must begin by leading up to the main subject. It will not do to plunge abruptly into it. There should be always an opening, designed to attract the attention of the audience and excite their interest in what you are about to say. Be not argu- mentative at the beginning, or you will cer- tainly repel the sympathies of a consider- able majority of the assembly, who are in truth incapable of following the steps of an argument or of understanding it when it is completed. If the subject permits, begin 49 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Be?limlngr Belief, Deerrees of lightly, almost playfully. Assume, both in language and manner, a great deal of defer- ence for your audience, even if you do not feel it. Your present business is to win their favor and so to secure a patient hearing. There is nothing so effective for this as the silent flattery that assures the good people before you how you covet the approval of their judgments. Talk about the subject,' hut do not treat of it. Show what interest it has for them and how profoundly it af- fects you — inasmuch that you are urged to speak upon it by the impulses of convictfon and feeling; that it fills your mind to over- flow, so that you can not help pouring it into their ears and striving to enlist their sympathies. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 241 (H. C, 1911.) 137. BEGINNING, QUIET, OF A DIS- COURSE. — The young preacher will com- mence his sermon in a calm, quiet voice, and with, as far at least as this may be, unruf- fled self-possession. He will commence in a calm, quiet tone of voice, for he will remem- ber that he has yet a long way to go, and that if he is to arrive at the end of his jour- ney with sufficient energy remaining in him to throw that fire and spirit into his perora- tion without which it cannot succeed, he must carefully husband his resources in the be- ginning of his discourse. Young and inex- perienced speakers not unfrequently com- mence on their very highest note, and with all the fire and energy which they can com- mand. The consequence is, that they become utterly exhausted before the discourse is half over; they gasp for breath, and cling to the pulpit for support ; and those concluding sen- tences which should have rung with thrilling force and effect through the church, which should have awakened the unconcerned, and animated the ardent with the highest and most holy resolves, are often exprest in tones so low, so feeble, and so utterly spiritless, as to fall vapid, cold, and dead upon the ears of an unconcerned and unsympathetic audi- ence. But, if he begin calmly and quietly, not elevating his voice above the emphatic and distinct conversational tone, he will be able, as he proceeds, to let himself out, to adapt himself to the requirements of his sub- ject and his audience. He will thus escape the unpleasant prejudice which is nearly al- ways excited against a speaker who com- mences by getting into a passion without any conceivable reason, and at the same time reserve to himself sufificient energy and strength to conclude with earnest warmth_ and due effect. — Potter, The Spoken Word, p. 97. (M. H. G. & Son, 1880.) 138. BEGINNING SLOWLY AND SOFTLY. — Should the orator force his voice in the beginning, it will be presently rendered hoarse, broken, exhausted, and it will fail him before a quarter of an hour. You must speak neither too loudly nor too fast at first; or else the violent and rapid expansions and contractions of the larynx force it and falsify it. You must husband your voice at starting, in order that it may last and maintain itself to the end. Wheh you gradually strengthen and animate it, it does not give way — it remains clear, strong, and pleasing to the close of your harangue. Now this is a very important particular for speaker and for hearers ; for the former, be- cause he keeps sound and powerful the in- strument without which he can do nothing; for the latter because nothing tires them more than hoarse, obstreperous, and ill-artic- ulated sounds. The inconvenience in ques- tion has the further advantage of establish- ing silence among the audience, especially if it is considerable and diffused over a vast space, as in churches. At the beginning of a sermon, there is always noise; people taking their places, chairs or benches turning, coughs, pocket-handkerchiefs, murmurs, A hubbub more or less protracted, which is un- avoidable in a large assembly of persons set- tling themselves. But if you speak low, softly, and the audience sees you speak, with- out hearing you, it will make haste to be still that it may listen, and all ears will be di- rected more eagerly toward the pulpit. In general, men esteem only what they have not, or what they dread losing, and the words which they fear they shall not be able to catch become more valuable. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 244. (S., 1901.) BEGINNING. — See also Introduction. 139. BELIEF, DEGREES OF. — In forming any judgment, we cannot avoid at- taching to it a particular degree of credence, which might be, and often is, exprest by the insertion of some adverb to qualify the cop- ula; thus, "To-morrow will (possibly) be fine," and "Two straight lines (indisputably) cannot enclose a space." Altho one of these judgments admits a degree of doubt, which the other excludes, the difference lies in our knowledge of the things spoken of, rather than in the things themselves. To-morrow will be fine or will be stormy, and it is fixed by the laws of nature which shall happen; Bible passag'eB BlMe reading' KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE SO but to us the matter is purely doubtful, be- cause we cannot see into the order of nature as to this particular. Doubtful statements may become certain, without any alterati6n in the facts to which they relate, by changes in our knowledge. A child sees with wonder a lunar eclipse, and thinks that possibly an- other may happen to-morrow ; when he has learnt astronomy he may be able to say from exact calculations upon what day one may positively be expected. Yet here the order of things remains the same. The amount of belief which we have in our judgment has been called its modality, as being the mode in which we hold it for truth. Arranging the degrees of modality in an ascending scale, we find that a judgment may be: (1) Pos- sible, where upon the first view we have no cause to think that the predicate may not be truly said of the subject, but have not ex- amined. Does this amount to a judgment, or is it the step which must precede the for- mation of the weakest kind of judgment? (3) Doubtful, where we have tested it in some cases, and found that some seem to confirm it, whilst some are doubtful. (3) Probable, where all the trials we have made are favorable, but the number of them is not sufficient to warrant certainty. (4) Morally certain for the thinker himself; where from examination of the matter, or prejudice, or interest, he has formed his own belief, but cannot put forward sufficient grounds for it, so as to control that of others. (5) Morally certain for a class or school; where the judg- ment rests upon grounds which are sufficient for all men of the same habits of thought, or the same education, as the thinker. (6) Mor- ally certain for all; as for example the be- lief that there is a future state, which, tho not absolutely demonstrable, rests upon such grounds that it ought to influence the con- duct of every man. (7) Physically certain, with a limit ; where the judgment is ground- ed on an induction supposed to be complete, but with the possibility that future induction may supersede it. (8) Physically certain without limitation; as our belief in the law of gravitation, the law of chemical affinity, etc. (9) Mathematically certain ; where doubt cannot be admitted. For example, the ax- iom, "Two straight line's cannot enclose a space" ; or the theorem, "The angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are equal." — Thomson, Laws of Thought, p. 278. (S. & Co., I860.) 140. BIBLE PASSAGES, CLASSIFI- CATION OF.— The Bible, regarded for the moment as a volume which may be used for the purposes of audible reading, may be classified, in rhetorical arrangement, as fol- lows: (1) Narrative passages, varying in style, with their subjects, from the familiar to the sublime — as in the historical books of the Old Testament, and the Gospels in the New. (2) Didactic and doctrinal passages — as in the Epistles, which, being addrest to the understanding and the reason, require modi- fications of the voiee in forms, chiefly, of inflection, emphasis, and pause — the intellec- tual instruments of efifect in elocution. (3) Prophetic and descriptive passages — marked by the language of strong epic and dramatic emotion, and requiring a bold, vivid, and ex- pressive style of voice. (4) Lyric passages — requiring intense expression, in strains of joy, pathos, triumph, grief, adoration, sup- plication. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 295. (D., 1878.) 141. BIBLE READING.— It is the busi- ness of the clergy to read, and they have not learned their business if they have not stud- ied the art of reading. It might be presumed that most of them do this more or less. Yet such is the difficulty, either of conquering bad habits already acquired, or avoiding a lapse into mannerism where the same thing is often repeated, that we find clergymen re- maining or becoming bad readers, in spite of study of the art of reading. Even if they learn to read other things well, they fail for the most part to read rightly that which it is their daily duty to read. Why is this? I believe the foundation of the fault to be a very prevalent, but very mistaken, notion that the Bible requires to be read in a different manner from other books and this inde- pendently of and in addition to the expres- sion proper to the subject treated of. A tone is assumed that was originally designed to be reverential, as if the reader supposed that there was something holy in the words them- selves, apart from the ideas they express. This tone once assumed and consciously em- ployed, but kept somewhat under control at first, soon comes to be used unconsciously and habitually. It rapidly usurps the place of expression, showing itself in many varieties of sound, from drawl and sing-song to the nasal t\yang that formerly distinguished the conventicle. Few readers escape the infec- tion or shake off the habit, when once it is required, because it ceases to be audible to themselves. The voice will unconsciously swell and fall at regular intervals, the read- er all the while supposing that he is speak- ing quite naturally while he is really on the verge of a chant. If, immediately afterward. 51 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Bible pasaatrea Bible reading he were asked to read a narrative in a news- paper, he would do so in his own proper voice and every-day manner. This evil hab- it, so powerful because so imperceptible to the victim of it, is the mischief mainly to be grappled with, for it is the foundation of that bad reading of the Bible which prevails as much in the pulpit as out of it. The first step to conquest is to know the fault and its origin. The supposed religious tone must be banished, so far as it is applied to the book itself or to the words printed in it. But there is a reverential tone properly applicable to the meaning conveyed by the words. That should be cultivated. A mere narrative in the Bible demands no utterance differing from a narrative in a newspaper, unless the subject of it be solemn. But pious exhorta- tions and religious sentiments have a man- ner of expression properly belonging to them, but very different indeed from the nasal twang and the intoned groans that are so much in vogue. Cast off every relic of these conventional habits, and having first patient- ly learned how not to read the Bible and prayer-book, study zealously how to read them. The drawl, the drone, the whine, the chant, the groan — these are the besetting sins to be sedulously shunned. Frequent repeti- tion of the self-same passages is apt to gen- erate some of them. The services, recited so often, came so readily to the lips of the clergyman who reads them three or four times a week that there is a natural tendency to utterance of them mechanically, without first passing them through the mind. Hence the mannerisms of which he is so uncon- scious. As once read, so are they always, and if the habit be not early wrestled with it becomes incurable. The only remedy is the presence of an inexorable critic, who shall stop you when you are faulty and make you repeat the sentence until you read it rightly; or a professional teacher, who will not mere- ly detect your errors but show you how you ought to read and thus substitute his style for yours. A special difficulty in the reading of the Bible arises from its division into verses and its very incorrect and imperfect punctuation. Indeed, you will find it neces- sary to overlook the printed signs and in- troduce your own pauses according to the requirements of the composition. But they very much trouble the eye, however resolved you may be not to heed them, and they cer- tainly offer a serious impediment to good Bible reading. A still more difficult task is to pay no heed to the verses. You should so read that the listener may be unable to dis- cover from your voice where a verse begins or ends. Often the verse is the correct meas- ure of a sentence or a paragraph and then the voice and the verse should run together, but marking it only as if it were a sentence occurring in an undivided page and with no indication of any artificial arrangement. The sense rarely requires this breaking up of the Bible into verses. It is a purely arbitrary arrangement. It does not exist in the origi- nal. It was adopted in translation for thS convenience of reference and for chanting, and therefore there is no more call for heed to be given to it in reading than if it were the History of England. Strive not to no- tice it. You will find the task extremely difficult; but until you have learned it, you can not properly read the Bible aloud. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 155. (H. C, 1911.) 142. BIBLE READING, DIDACTIC PASSAGES IN.— The peculiar mode of voice which characterizes appropriate didac- tic reading, in ordinary composition, as dif- fering from that which belongs to narrative or descriptive style, holds good, also, in the reading of the Scriptures. Narration and description address themselves, in many in- stances, to feeling and imagination, for their chief effect; while didactic subjects are usu- ally directed exclusively, or nearly so, to the reason and judgment, through the under- standing. Narrative and descriptive read- ing, accordingly, abound, comparatively, in vivid and varied tones, associated with the different moods of sympathy and emotion. Didactic reading holds a more steady, uni- form, and regulated course of utterance, adapted to a clear, distinct conveyance of thought to the intellect. It depends less on empassioned variation of voice, and more on correct and exact articulation — ^less on vivid tone and strong expression, more on true inflection, just emphasis, and appropriate pauses, as aids to the effect of clear appre- hension and precise discrimination. The common faults in the reading of didactic portions of Scripture, are a mechanical and inexpressive tone, the lifeless result of mere habit; a heavy, solemn, grandiose style, des- titute of spirit and effect; a formal, sermon- izing manner, utterly unsuited to the simple and vivid style of Scripture instruction; an over-familiar, flippant utterance, which di- vests the language of the sacred volume of its dignity and authority, and its proper pow- er over the soul. The doctrinal parts of the Bible require, in reading, a firm, energetic, spirited, authoritative, but quiet and steady voice; perfectly clear and distinct in enunci- Bible reading; Body, Position of KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 52 ation, free from any dryness or formality, and breathing a tone of conscious dignity and power, blended with that of mildness, condescension, gentleness, and affectionate interest. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 303. (D., 1878.) 143. BIBLE READING, FAULTS IN. — The Scriptures are not unfrequently read with tones which do not indicate any per- sonal interest, on the part of the reader, in the sentiments which he is uttering. The ef- fect of the cold, dry style, commonly adopt- ed in reading the Bible, is often, indeed, ren- dered utterly absurd, when the attention happens, for a moment, to fall on the oriental fervor and sublimity of the style of language, in contrast with the meager and shabby ef- fect of the reader's voice. The words, in such cases, speak of God and of eternity, in strains which the undebased mind associates with the vastness of the overhanging firma- ment, and the grandeur of the reverberating thunder; but the reader's tone is that of the coolest indifference, or of an affair ordinary and trivial. The fault of a cold, inexpres- sive voice is often the result of an anxiety to shun all appearance of assumed and im- posing style, and to allow the hearer to feel for himself the solemnity of the subject. But as it is destitute of the natural indication of earnestness in the reader, it deadens the sympathy of the hearer. Another error in the style of reading is that of loading the words of Scripture with a formal, unwieldy, and unmeaning tone, which aims at a cer- tain solemn dignity of effect, but only reaches a very musical song. Sometimes, a third fault is incurred by a desire to break through the trammels of conventional re- straint, and produce a lively impression on the mind, by familiar and vivid tone, which savors too much of ordinary talk by the fire- side. But coldness and familiarity are alike forbidden, on subjects which appeal to the deepest susceptibilities of the heart. The monotonous solemnity of tone, which is ex- emplified by many readers of the sacred vol- ume, defeats its own purpose by a dull uni- formity of effect; as a painter would spoil a picture by the exclusive use of one somber tint, applied indiscriminately to scenes of evening, morning, and midday. The cold, indifferent reader seems to forget the vivid interest which appropriately belongs to ev- ery subject introduced in the pages of Scrip- ture; the lively reader seems, by his familiar and anecdotic style, to overlook the majesty of the sacred volume ; but the formal reader seems blind to all the varied beauties of lan- guage, and the natural and simple expres- sion, which pervade, and so peculiarly charac- terize, both the Old Testament and the New. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 291. (D., 1878.) 144. BIBLE READING, NARRATIVE PASSAGES IN.— The ancient rhetorical arrangement of "low," or familiar, "middle," and "sublime," or elevated styles, may be practically serviceable in arranging the nar- rative portions of Scripture, for the pur- poses of elocution. The first division ("the low") would comprise all simple and fa- miliar narrations; the last ("the sublime") narrative passages of great elevation of style; the second ("the middle") would include whatever forms of narrative were neither so familiar as the first, nor so elevated as the third. Passages which exemplify the style of familiar narration demand attention to the due observance of two opposite principles of expression in elocution — grandeur and sim- plicity; the former being inseparable from sacred subjects — the latter, from the peculiar style of language, in the Scriptures. The former mode of expression in elocution, un- modified by the latter, would assume the form of deep "pectoral," and full "orotund" utter- ance — a grave, round, ample, and swelling effect of voice. The latter mode of expres- sion, on the contrary, would incline to "oral" quality — a higher, thinner, and softer utter- ance, approaching to that of colloquial style. The middle effect of this style of utterance, blending with that of "orotund" grandeur, softens and chastens it to a gentle expression, but does not impair its dignity. The effect on the ear is similar to that produced on the eye and the mind, by a noble deportment softened by condescension. The common faults in the style of reading the familiar narrative passages of Scripture, are dry mo- notony, undue vivacity, pompous solemnity, rhetorical and forced variation. The analysis of the appropriate tone for such passages, would suggest that the familiar narratives of the books of Scripture should be read with a deeper, softer, and slower voice, than sim- ilar compositions in other works ; the whole style vivid, earnest, but subdued — indicating, at the same time, the interest awakened by the events which are related, and the chas- tening effect of the reverence due to the sa- cred volume. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 295. (D., 1878.) 145. BODILY ATTITUDE.— Look your hearers in the face, give yourself, body and soul, to the subject, let not the attention be 53 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Bible readiu^ Body, Fositlou of divided between the manner and matter. Practise in private to establish correct hab- its of voice and gesture, and become so fa- miliar with all rules as not to think of them when exercising. The head, face, eyes, hands, and upper part of the body are principally employed in oratorical action. The soul speaks most intelligibly in the muscles of the face and through the eye, which is the chief seat of expression. Let the internal man and the external correspond. An erect attitude and a firmness of position denote majesty, activity, strength; the leaning, affection, re- spect, earnestness of entreaty, dignity of com- posure, indifference, disease. The air of a person expresses a language easily under- stood. The husbandman, dandy, gentleman, and military chief bespeak the habits and qualities of each. The head gently reclined, denotes grief, shame; erect, courage, firm- ness; thrown back or shaken, dissent; for- ward, assent. The hand raised and inverted, repels, more elevated and extended, surprize, astonishment; placed on the mouth, silence; on the head, pain ; on the breast, affection or appeal to conscience ; elevated, defiance ; both raised and palms united, supplication; gently lapsed, thankfulness; wrung, agony. — Bron- soN, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philos- ophy, p. 234. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 146. BODILY ATTITUDE OF THE PREACHER.— The dress of the preacher should never be peculiar, should not draw attention to itself, nor in any way hamper him; generally the clerical garb, the schol- ar's gown, and all jewelry should be avoided. The speaker should not be partly hidden ; he should stand fully seen by the audience; if his position is by the side of the desk, he should be far enough away to avoid touching it or leaning upon it. Generally he should stand still or nearly so, not move from side to side ; while he is trying to secure one part of the audience, he may lose the side he leaves, and this shifting indicates lack of control of himself. There is a language in the position of the body, and if one has such mastery of it as to be unconscious of himself, and has ideas swaying him, the posture, with its slight, unconscious changes, will clearly convey his message to the people. The head should be held erect and firm; shaking the head indicates weakness rather than strength. The eyes should look not at the ceiling or the gallery, but at the people ; not at a par- ticular person, but generally to those farthest away, for you want your words to reach them— then those near by will hear. The eyes should rest upon those to whom you are speaking, and occasionally look at those near by. — ScHENCK, Modern Practical Theology, p. 68. (F. & W., 1903.) 147. BODILY CARRIAGE.— It is not necessary that a man should stand awkward- ly because it is natural. It is not necessary that a man, because he may not be able to stand like the statue of Apollo, should stand ungracefully. He loses, unconsciously, a cer- tain power; for, altho he does not need a very fine physical figure (which is rather a hindrance, I think), yet he should be pleasing in his bearing and gestures. A man who is very beautiful and superlatively graceful sets people to admiring him; they make a kind of monkey-god of him, and it stands in the way of his usefulness. From this temptation most of us have been mercifully delivered. On the other hand, what we call naturalness, fitness, good taste, and propriety are to be sought. You like to see a man come into your parlor with, at least, ordinary good manners and some sense of propriety, and what you require in your parlor you cer- tainly have a right to expect in church. One of the reasons why I condemn these churns called pulpits is that they teach a man bad habits; he is heedless of his posture, and learns bad tricks behind these bulwarks. He thinks that people will not see them. — Beech- ER, Yale Lectures on Preaching, p. 136. (J. B. F. & Co., 1872.) 148. BODILY POSTURE IN SPEAK- ING. — Erect posture is a matter of habit and of a self-respecting state of mind. The speaker who slouches, or stands in a hang- dog fashion, has either acquired inelegant and unhygienic habits which gymnastic prac- tise must correct, or else he is not on the proper terms with himself, his subject, and his audience. The self-controlled speaker, who feels that he is master of the occasion, will be likely to take a position of self-con- trol. Even then, however, he may need friendly caution as to shuffling his feet, car- rying his hands in his pockets, or indulging in bodily contortions when he is carried away by enthusiasm.— Alden, The Art of Debate, p. 213. (H. H. & Co., 1906.) 149. BODY, POSITION OF THE, IN SPEAKING. — Keep your hands out of your pockets, don't finger your watch-key or chain, let your business influence you. Feel your subject thoroughly, and speak without fear ; have a style and manner of your own, for an index to yourself. Expression is the looking out of the soul, through the eyes. BoldneBB Breadth of VIeW KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 54 which are the windows, into the natural world. The body should generally be erect; not constantly changing, nor always motion- less, declining in humiliation, rising in praise and thanksgiving; should accompany motion of the hands, head, and eyes. Never turn your back on the audience. Do not appear haughty, nor the reverse; nor recline the head to one shoulder, nor stand like a post; avoid tossings of the body from side to side, rising on tip-toe, writhing of the shoulders. Refer within, to your own nature, for dicta- tion, and never adopt any gesture that you do not make your own by appropriation. All gestures must originate within. Let every- thing you do and say correspond. — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 235. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 150. BOLDNESS AND TIMIDITY.— A reckless boldness of manner is repulsive in any speaker, and, most of all, in him who addresses his fellow-men on sacred themes. It is utterly at variance with the spirit of gentleness and tenderness which was mani- fested by the preacher's great Exemplar. Yet, owing to the absence of the molding influ- ence of true culture, how often is an audi- ence harangued from the pulpit in a style of address which implies no respect for the speaker's fellow-beings ! This style is usu- ally characterized by an ungoverned loudness of voice, a violent emphasis, an unmitigated vehemence of tone, a perpetual sweeping and jerking of the arm, and a frequent clinching of the fist. It is true that such a style is often the unconscious result of the speaker's force of conviction and fulness of feeling in regard to his subject, rather than the per- sons whom he is addressing; and that the idea of a bullying effect in his style never, probably, occurred to him. But one season- able suggestion from his teacher at school would have sufficed to guard him against this obstacle to his usefulness, by leading him to recognize the difference between a manner which merely expresses the excitement of the speaker himself, and that which molds this very excitement into an eloquent effect on others. The timid or the diffident speaker, on the contrary, who has not, apparently, the courage, or the self-possession to lift up his voice in an audible sound, and whose hand seems glued to his side, and his whole body paralyzed — so that he appears a statue-like personification of constraint — unavoidably im- parts to the feelings of those whom he ad- dresses a degree of the irksomeness and mis- ery under which he himself is laboring. \Vhatever he would attempt to say, becomes. as it were, frozen in the act of issuing from the mouth. His arm, if it ever rises to an action, makes but an approach to gesture, and only leaves the eye more sensitive to the want of it. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 72. (D., 1878.) 151. BOOKS A SOURCE OF KNOWL- EDGE. — One of the most important and valuable sources of knowledge is the reading of good books. The reader's object is not merely to understand words, or "to contra- dict and confute," or "to believe and take for granted," but to get clear-cut ideas and make them his own. The multiplicity of books in these days renders it difficult to choose widely. A man may well inquire : Is this book worth while? Do I read it be- cause a friend, who perchance may not know my needs, recommends it? What purpose will it serve? Will it contribute anything to my mental growth, my happiness, my gener- al development? What, really, is the ob- ject of my reading — amusement, information, knowledge, or spiritual uplift? What should guide me in my choice of books? — Kleiser, How to Argue and Win, p. 215. (F. & W., 1910.) 152. BOSSUET AS A SPEAKER.— Of all the eminences which a mortal may reach on earth, the highest to a man of talent is incontestably the sacred pulpit. If this indi- vidual happens to be Bossuet; that is to say, if he unites in his person conviction to in- spire the commanding attitude, purity of life to enhance the power of truth, untiring zeal, an air of imposing authority, celebrity which commands respectful attention, episco- pal rank which consecrates, age which gives holiness of appearance, genius which consti- tutes the divinity of speech, reflective power which marks the mastery of intelligence, sudden bursts of eloquence which carry the minds of listeners by assault, poetic imagery which adds luster to truth — a deep, sonorous voice, which reflects the tone of the thoughts — silvery locks, the paleness of strong emo- tion, the penetrating glance, the expressive mouth — in a word, all the animated and well- varied gestures which indicate the emotions of the soul — if such a man issues slowly from his self-concentrated reflection, as from some inward sanctuary; if he suffers himself to be raised gradually by excitement, hke the eagle, the first heavy flapping of whose wings can scarcely produce air enough to carry him aloft ; if he at length respires freely, and takes flight ; if he no longer feels the pulpit beneath his feet ; if he draws in a full breath 55 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Breadth of View BoldnesB of the Divine Spirit, and pours forth unceas- ingly from this lofty height, to his hearers, the inspiration which comes to them as the word of God — this being is no longer indi- vidual man, he becomes an organ of the Di- vine will, a prophetic voice. And what a voice! A voice which is never hoarse, bro- ken, soured, irritated, or troubled by the worldly and passionate struggles of interest peculiar to the time; a voice which, like that of the thunder in the clouds, or the organ in the cathedral, has never been anything but the medium of power and divine persuasion to the soul ; a voice which only speaks to kneeling auditors; a voice which is listened to in profound silence, to which none reply save by an inclination of the head or by fall- ing tears — those mute applauses of the soul ! — a voice which is never refuted or contra- dicted, even when it astonishes or wounds ; a voice, in fine, which does not speak in the name of opinion, which is variable; nor in the name of philosophy, which is open to discussion; nor in the name of country, which is local ; nor in the name of regal su- premacy, which is temporal; nor in the name of the speaker himself, who is an agent trans- formed for the occasion ; but which speaks in the name of God an authority of language unequaled upon earth, and against which the lowest murmur is impious and the smallest opposition a blasphemy. Such is the tribune of the priesthood, the tripod of the prophet, the pulpit of the sacred orator. We can only behold therein Bossuet, and we can not rec- ognise Bossuet in any other place. His life is but the history of his pulpit eloquence. The man is worthy of the rostrum from which he preached; no other oratory has ever equaled his. Great names have been selected and preserved, but Bossuet, whose genius equals theirs, excels them in the range and elevation of his subject; they speak of earth, while he discourses of heaven. Cicero does not surpass him in a careful selection and ample supply of words; Demosthenes possesses not superior energy of persuasion ; Chatham is not more richly endowed with poetic oratory; the periods of Mirabeau do not flow more easily ; Vergniaud is not more redundant of imagery and illustration. All have less elevation, extent, and majesty in their language; they were human orators, but Bossuet alone was divine !—Lamartine, Memoirs of Celebrated Characters, vol. 3, p. 217. (H. & Bro., 1856.) 153. BOSSUET, JACQUES BENIGNE, Born at Dijon, in Burgundy, in 1637. In an illustrious group of French Catholic preachers he occupied a foremost place. In beginning his sermons, he was reserved and dignified, but as he moved forward and his passionate utterance captured his hearers, "he watched their rising emotion, the rooted glances of a thousand eyes filled him with a sort of divine frenzy, his notes became a burden and a hindrance, and with impetuous ardor, he abandoned himself to the inspira- tion of the moment." To ripe scholarship Bossuet added a voice that was deep and sonorous, an imposing personality, and an animated and graceful style of gesture. La- martine says he had "a voice which, like that of the thunder in the clouds, or the organ in the cathedral, had never been anything but the medium of power and divine persuasion to the soul ; a voice which only spoke to kneeling auditors; a voice which spoke in the name of God, an authority of language unequaled upon earth, and against which the lowest murmur was impious and the smallest opposition blasphemy." He died in 1704. 154. BOURDALOUE, LOUIS.— Born at Bourges, in 1632. At the age of sixteen he entered the order of the Jesuits, and was thoroughly educated in the scholarship, phi- losophy, and theology of the day. He devoted himself entirely to the work of preach- ing, and was ten times called upon to ad- dress Louis XIV. and his court from the pulpit as Bossuet's successor. This was an unprecedented record, and yet Bourdaloue could adapt his style to any audience, and "mechanics left shops, merchants their busi- ness, and lawyers their court house" to hear him. His high personal character, his sim- plicity of life, his clear, direct, and logical utterance as an accomplished orator united to make him not only "the preacher of kings, but the king of preachers." Retiring from the pulpit late in life, he ministered to the sick and to prisoners. He died in Paris, 1704. 155. BREADTH OF VIEW.— There is one class of dangers pertaining alike to ev- ery profession, every branch of study, every kind of distinct pursuit. I mean the danger in each, to him who is devoted to it, of over- rating its importance as compared with oth- ers ; and, again, of unduly extending its prov- ince. To a man who has no enlarged views, no general cultivation of mind, and no fa- miliar intercourse with the enlightened and the worthy of other classes besides his own, the result must be more or less of the sev- eral forms of narrow-mindedness. To ap- Breatli, Economy of Breathing' KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 56 ply to all questions, on all subjects, the same principles and rules of judging that are suit- able to the particular questions and subjects about which he is especially conversant; to bring in those subjects and questions on all occasions, suitable or unsuitable, like the painter Horace alludes to, who introduced a cypress tree into the picture of a shipwreck; to regard his own particular pursuit as the one important and absorbing interest ; to look on all other events, transactions, and occu- pations, chiefly as they minister more or less to that; to view the present state and past history of the world chiefly in reference to that; and to feel a clannish attachment to the members of the particular profession or class he belongs to, as a body or class (an attachment, by-the-by, which is often limited to the collective class, and not accompanied with kindly feelings toward the individual members of it), and to have more or less an alienation of feeling from those of other classes; all these, and many other such, are symptoms of that narrow-mindedness which is to be found, alike, mutatis mutandis, in all who do not carefully guard themselves against it, whatever may be the profession or department of study of each. Against this kind of danger the best preservation, next to that of being thoroughly aware of it, will be found in varied reading and varied society, in habitual intercourse with men, whether liv- ing or dead, whether personally or in their words, of different professions and walks of life, and, I may add, of different countries and different ages from our own. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 150. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 156. BREATH, ECONOMY OF.— Take a lighted candle and, standing pretty close to it, sing the note do. The light is hardly af- fected. But, instead of a single note, sing the whole octave, and you will see how at every note the light flickers and trembles. Well, Delle Sedie, the singer, often ran up and down the whole gamut without making the light quiver once. How so? you will naturally ask. By simply never allowing more breath to escape than was absolutely necessary to emit the note ; the air, employed in forming the note, had too much to do to become wind: to form the sound gave it sufficient employment. Now, on the contrary, what do you do — I mean, of course, what do you and I do? We waste the wind, we scat- ter it right and left, we fritter away our store. Our own elocution rule against this prodigality is a good one, and it is so easily remembered that, with a slight change, it might be profitably extended far beyond the field of mere elocution: Never in any ac- tion of our lives should we expend more force than is absolutely necessary to accom- plish it. All the emotions of the soul are treasures. Let us always carefully econo- mize them, until the moment comes to employ them to advantage. How many of us use up in little pets of impatience, in little puer- ile acts of peevishness and irritation, that invaluable treasure — anger — so sacred, so forcible, so powerful when it can be called indignation ! — Legouve, The Art of Reading, p. 43. (L., 1885.) 157. BREATH, MANAGEMENT OF.— In all reading and public speaking, the man- agement of the breath requires great care, so as not to be obliged to divide words from one another which have so intimate a con- nection that they ought to be pronounced in the same breath, and without the least sep- aration. Many sentences are marred, and the force of the emphasis totally lost, by di- visions being made in the wrong place. To avoid this, every one, while he is reading or speaking, should be careful to provide a full supply of breath for what he is to utter. It is a great mistake to imagine that the breath must be drawn only at the end of a period, when the voice is allowed to fall. It may easily be gathered at intervals of the period, when the voice is only suspended for a mo- ment ; and, by this management, we may have always a sufficient stock for carrying on tha longest sentence, without improper interrup- tions. The importance of a skilful manage- ment of the breath in utterance will be made apparent by a little practise. It is a good exercise for the pupil to repeat the cardinal numbers rapidly up to twenty, inhaling a full breath at the commencement. He may, by practice, make his breath hold out till he reaches forty and more, enunciating every syllable distinctly. It must always be part of a healthful physiological regimen to exercise the voice daily, in reading or speaking aloud. The habit of Demosthenes, of walking by the sea-shore and shouting, was less important, in accustoming him to the sound of a multi- tude, than in developing and strengthening his vocal organs. The pupil will be aston- ished to find how much his voice will gain in power by daily exercise. "Reading aloud and recitation," says Andrew Combe, "are more useful and invigorating muscular ex- ercises than is generally imagined; at least, when managed with due regard to the nat- ural powers of the individual, so as to avoid effort and fatigue. Both require the varied 57 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Breath, Eoouomy of Breatmng' activity of most of the muscles of the trunk to a degree of which few are conscious till their attention is turned to it. In forming and undulating the voice, not only the chest, but also the diaphragm and abdominal mus- cles, are in constant action, and communi- cate to the stomach and bowels a healthy and agreeable stimulus." How doubly important does the judicious and methodical exercise of the voice thus become to him who would make it at once an effective instrument of conveying truth to his fellowmen, and of improving his own physical strength and ca- pacity! — Sargent, The Standard Speaker, p. 36. (C. D., 1867.) 158. BREATH, USE OF THE, IN PUBLIC SPEAKING.— The breath ought not to be drawn so often as to make the sentences appear to be cut through and man- gled, nor need it be held until the voice is quite lost. The sound of the breath so spent is quite disagreeable, and, like that of one who has dived under water, it is drawn with difficulty, is long in recovering, and is out of character and unseasonable, because the ora- tor does so not from inclination but through necessity. When, therefore, he has a long period to pronounce, let him make ready for it by drawing the breath quickly and noiselessly. In other parts he may take breath freely between the connections of the discourse. The breathing is to be so exercised, however, as to enable one to hold the breath as long as possible. Demosthenes, in order to do this, was ac- customed to repeat in one breath, and by gradually raising his voice, as many verses as he well could; and the same orator, in order to pronounce more freely and articu- lately all kinds of words, made a practise of rehearsing his speeches at home, while hold- ing a number of pebbles in his mouth. Some- times the breath is adequate, and full enough, and clear, yet not of due consistence, and therefore tremulous; like bodies making a show of health, but scarcely able to support themselves from weakness. The Greeks call this faltering. Some do not draw in their breath, but suck it in with a hissing sound, between the interstices of their teeth. Oth- ers, by a sort of frequent panting, tho clear enough inwardly, imitate beasts of burden laboring under their yoke and load ; and this not a few affect, as if pregnant with more thoughts and a greater flow of elo- quence than can well pass out of their mouth. — Anonymous. 159. BREATHING AND READING.— What is the chief point to be observed in the art of inhaling? Simply this: We must take breath by means of the base of our lungs, we must employ the diaphragm itself to per- form the operation. If to inhale we employ only the upper portion of our lungs, we take but a small stock of air. We never fill up our magazine. We hardly fill a third of it. What is the consequence? Our stock runs out quickly, too quickly, so that, if we have a long passage to read, we resemble the man who started on a journey across the desert with his water-pitcher only half full. We want air; we can't do without air; we must turn back then and get air — a great fatigue for yourself, and for your hearers, too, as you shall find presently. The first duty, there- fore, of a reader who has some serious work on hand, is, at the very beginning, to take a good deep inspiration so as to give his lungs an abundant supply. Then comes the second part of the performance — a far more diffi- cult one — the paying out. A bad reader nev- er inhales enough, and always exhales too much — that is, he wastes an ill-supplied store without order or measure. He squanders his money lavishly, like the prodigal son, ex- pending it on trifles, instead of distributing it with forethought, with science — in a word, he is totally unable to husband it habitually and systematically, so as to be always ready to display magnificently on the grand occa- sions. The result is inevitable ; it happens as a matter of course. We see it every day. The reader or the speaker, like certain ac- tors or singers, is obliged to make a con- stant appeal to the bellows, to take those noisy, wheezy, hoarse catches of breath, so well known in theatrical language as gasps — more painful even to the hearer than to the performer. A certain singer, in other re- spects really eminent, has this fault. He took in breath every moment, until this double action of the lungs, half singing, half hiss- ing, at last became unsupportable. He per- ceived it, however, at last, himself, and cor- rected it — a proof that such a fault can be corrected. — Legouv£, The Art of Reading, p. 37. (L., 1885.) 160. BREATHING AND SPEAKING. — When we are silent and the lips are closed as they should always be, easily, but yet firmly, when we are not using the voice, the air can only enter the lungs by the nostrils; and this, happily, is the way in which the generality of us are accustomed to breathe; for it is not very often, I think, that we meet with individuals who are always seen with Breathing', Seep BreatMug', Bolea for KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 58 the hiouth open more or less. To say noth- ing of the irresolute, vacant, idiotic look which such a habit always gives the counte- nance, I can certainly, from my own obser- vation of such cases, assert that such per- sons always have a tendency to hesitation, stammering, or other impediments of speech, or the voice is wanting in purity and clear- ness of tone, and there is a constant liability to colds, coughs, and other bronchial affec- tions. But those persons who always, when silent, keep the lips closed, and so conse- quently breathe through the nostrils, are yet (unless they have been made acquainted with the art) generally in the habit, when they are called upon to speak in public or read aloud, of breathing by the open mouth, and even in this mode of inadequately filling the lungs with air, and replenishing them on no kind of system. Dryness of the mouth, sore- ness of the throat (most frequently that form of inflammation termed "clerical sore throat"), hoarseness of voice, and a general sense of fatigue and exhaustion after pro- longed and continued efforts of this nature, soon make them aware that something is wrong. Now, none of these ill effects would have been experienced if they had had re- course to the second method of supplying the lungs with air by the nostrils, which is this : There is no occasion at the end of every sentence, or during the various pauses in a long sentence, to stop and close the lips, and then to take the breath by the nostrils ; for, if done to any great extent in this way, it is apt to be heard even at some little dis- tance, and the sound is not agreeable. But if at the moment of taking in the breath, the upper surface of the tongue is just pressed gently but firmly against the middle part of the hard palate, it serves in that position as a barrier to prevent the passage of any air beyond. Then if the head and neck are very slightly drawn back, and the chest is proper- ly expanded, a large amount of air enters by the nostrils, and in a very few seconds com- pletely fills the lungs quite inaudibly; for not a sound should be heard even by the nearest bystanders. This is the "great se- cret" that was sold at such a heavy price by the older elocutionists to their pupils. But in order to inspire the requisite amount of air quietly, inaudibly, and yet effectually, the inspiratory effort should not be made with the external orifices of the nostrils, but at the back of the posterior nares, where the canal opens into the pharynx. By the for- mer passage it is scarcely possible to avoid the inspiratory effort being both seen and heard, but by the latter the inspiration is as inaudible as it is invisible. — Plumptre, King's College Lectures on Elocution, p. 80. (T. & Co., 1883.) 161. BREATHING, DEEP. — Correct management of the breath is of first impor- tance to the student of elocution. When the voice is not in use, breathe exclusively through the nose, so that the air may be warmed and purified before reaching the lungs. This habit will, in large measure, obviate the disagreeable effects of dry mouth and sore throat, so common to public speak- ers. Practise as much as possible in the open air. Be enthusiastic and in earnest. It is now generally conceded that the abdominal method is the natural and correct way to breathe. In inhalation the abdominal wall moves outward, the diaphragm contracts and descends, while the lungs resting upon the latter are expanded to their fullest capacity. In exhalation the reverse movement takes place. To inflate the chest and draw in the abdomen is to breathe wrongly. — Kleiser, How to Speak in Public, p. 3. (F. & W., 1910.) 162. BREATHING, DEEP, AND EX- ERCISE. — The first great requisite for the public speaker physically is a well-developed chest. This may be rapidly brought about by deep breathing exercises in the open air, combined breathing and physical exercises at home. After expanding the lungs somewhat fully, the chest should be gently tapped with the palms of the hands. It is helpful to rub the chest vigorously with salt and water, fin- ishing with a rough towel. Habitually carry the chest high and full without undue strain- ing. The abdominal and waist muscles should be developed in a similar way. In taking a full breath, endeavor to expand the entire circle of the waist, then in exhaling allow the same muscles to contract. Inhale and exhale suddenly several times, while expand- ing and contracting the abdominal muscles. During these exercises the breath may be taken through the mouth and nose, but in repose use the nose exclusively. Through diligent practise, deep breathing should be- come an unconscious habit. Many of our most successful pulpit and platform speakers attribute their power of endurance to deep breathing and the proper use of the abdom- inal muscles. — Kleiser, How to Develop Power and Personality in Speaking, p. 14. (F. & W., 1909.) 163. BREATHING FREQUENTLY.— Very few persons breathe sufficiently often. 59 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Breathiner, Deep BreatMng', Bulea for when reading, speaking, or singing. All the directions the author has seen on this sub- ject are at variance with truth and nature. There are a few instances when a long breath is necessary, but they are very rare. To ac- quire a long breath, exercise on all the diffi- culties of respiration, and pursue a similar course for strengthening a weak voice ; also, practise long quantity, walking uphill, and running when reciting. In the following, breathe at least once while reading each pe- riod : "He died young (breathe) , but he died happy. His friends have not had him long (breathe), but his death (breathe) is the greatest trouble and grief (breathe) they ever had. He has enjoyed the sweets of the world (breathe) only for a little while (breathe), but he never tasted its bitters." The writer is aware of being, in this respect, in opposition to authorities; but he can not be influenced by that, so long as he is per- suaded that truth and nature are with him. If one does not breathe sufficiently often, he will be almost sure to speak too rapidly ; and, as the object of elocution is to convince and persuade, how can one expect to do this if he does not give his hearers time to think, or reason, about what he says? How can a jury keep pace with a lawyer, whose lan- guage rides post-haste? If his reason, and arguments, are hurled upon the ear, like flashes of lightning upon the eye, how can they be remembered, or produce the intended effect? If one does not breathe at the pro- per times and places, the sense is not fully conveyed, and the lungs are injuriously af- fected. Too infrequent breathing, and rapid speaking, must be avoided ; but beware of the opposite extreme, unless you wish to lull your hearers to sleep. — Beonson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 97. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 164. BREATHING FRESH A I R . — Whether the voice is used as by a reader or not, those who value their lungs and vocal powers should attend particularly to the ven- tilation of their apartments, especially those in which they sleep. They should never sit or sleep in a room that is not properly aired. The author, even in mid-winter, has his win- dows lowered several inches, both day and night, or in some manner a door ajar, lead- ing to another apartment or to a hallway through which fresh air is constantly admit- ted. The vocal organs become enervated and paralyzed for want of action, but a far worse fate awaits them if deprived of pure air, for then they become diseased.— Feobisher, Voice and Action, p. 30. (I. B. & Co., 1867.) 165. BREATHING FRESH AIR, IM- PORTANCE OF.— All irritation of the throat, as far as regards its use in public speaking, arises from the comparative ex- clusiveness of its employment, and thus mak- ing it do nearly all the work, when it should be used merely as an assistant. This strain- ing the throat, instead of energizing the voice, proves the ruin and misery of many who might, under proper cultivation, become celebrated among the gifted. The lungs are the great means; the throat, mouth, tongue, teeth, lips, and even the nose, only assist in forming that wonderful feature, the human voice. They would all work with compara- tive ease and comfort to their individual owners, from the first beam of intelligence upon infantile mind, even into advanced age, were they not cramped by enervating, arti- ficial habits. The atmosphere of ill-venti- lated, overheated school-rooms, dwellings, churches, places of business, public halls, col- leges, and, in fact, in all sedentary pursuits, has the strongest tendency to weaken the lungs and prevent their proper action. The air breathed in such places, and under such circumstances, becomes greatly insufficient and impure; the lack of exercise also lessens the animal heat of the body, and artificial heat is supplied and kept in the rooms with closed doors and windows, till it is breathed over and over again, and rendered fearfully poisonous and totally unfit for further use. This weakens all parts of the system, but chiefly the lungs, and the muscles, mem- branes, and delicate linings of the throat. These lose their vigor, and become doubly susceptible to the slightest chafing. — Feo- bisher, Voice and Action, p. 13. (I. B. & Co., 1867.) 166. BREATHING, RULES FOR.— The quantity of breath should be greater than for vital wants. No command without breath. It is a rule without exception never to exhaust the lungs. One should fill the lungs quickly, deeply, with the least noise, and be able to economize so as to continue an incredible length of time. A gradual in- crease of tone, on such power, gives an alarming, mighty sound — like roaring, raging — and the mind becomes filled and over- whelmed; too great for soul to bear. Even in decrease it can be made sublimely soft and delicate. Make the most of breath ; too large a stream injures the pitch and quality of tone. Artistically, systematically practise breathing — intone every portion emitted, making the stream as small as possible to produce prolongation with clearness and Brevity Brief, UaUnsr a KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 60 completeness of perfect vocalization. A prac- tised reader breathes imperceptibly; his voice is strong by capacity of lungs, and strong respiratory action; his words flow with his breath. Let a moderate breath be taken and then with a small stream commence sudden- ly as if by the quick opening of a valve without further effort. This prompt "attack" will give vibration and the mouth will be filled with solid sound. This will produce modulation, breadth, and expansion; but the effort must be all tone. Unnatural force will diminish the brilliancy by destroying the out- line. The sensation of "laying hold" should be constantly remembered. The vocal or- gans being delicate, to obtain the most flex- ible execution and the nicest intonation, their power must not be forced nor their action opprest, but free scope given to their natural movements. The sound must be fitted, not fixt. The full, open mouth prevents twang. The raising of even the uvula may become self-acting and performed at pleasure; it imparts freedom and beauty to the voice. Free air outside and around the neck hard- ens the skin and invigorates the muscles of the throat. — Frobisher, Acting and Oratory, p. 19. (C. of O. & A., 1879.) 167. BREVITY OF DISCOURSE.— Why preach so long? I know not how we have allowed ourselves to be led into these lengthy discourses. What is the good of it? What is the object? We speak in God's name. Now, power and majesty are always chary of words; yet such are not the less efficacious for being few. The instructions of our blessed Lord, who is the Divine Mas- ter of us all, were uniformly short. Even the Sermon on the Mount, which has revolu- tionized the world, does not appear to have lasted more than half an hour. Saint Fran- cois de Sales, too, recommends short ser- mons, and remarks that excessive length was the general fault in the preachers of his time. He says: "The good Saint Frangois, in his rules to the preachers of his Order, directs that their sermons should be short. Believe me — and I speak from experience — the more you say, the less will the hearers retain ; the less you say, the more they will profit. By dint of burdening their memory, you will overwhelm it; just as a lamp is extinguished by feeding it with too much oil, and plants are choked by immoderate irrigation. When a sermon is too long, the end erases the middle from the memory, and the middle the begin- ning. Even mediocre preachers are accept- able, provided their discourses are short; whereas even the best preachers are a bur- den when they speak too long." Is not long preaching very much like an attempt to sur- pass these men, who were so highly imbued with the spirit of Christianity? On the other hand, we have to deal with the most intelligent, keen, and sensible people in the world. They understand a thing when only half stated, and very often divine it. You hardly speak before they are moved to ac- cept or to reject; and yet we overcharge them with long and heavy dissertations. To act in this way, is to evince an utter acquaintance with one's people, and to display our own ignorance, in spite of all the learning which we may possess. Moreover, it tends to ex- cite antipathy. The Frenchman does not care to be treated like a German : he does not wish to be told everything, thereby depriving him of the pleasure of working out the truth for himself. Open the vein, lance his imagi- nation and feelings, let them flow on the road to truth, and he will pursue it alone : per- chance more quickly and further than you. Nothing impairs intelligence, sentiment, and the effusion of thought so much as redun- dancy of words and even of ideas. — Mul- Lois, The Clergy and the Pulpit, p. 184. (The C. P. S., 1867.) 168. BREVITY OF SPEECH. — The great difficulty for the forensic orator is not to develop his matter, or to discover what to say, but, on the contrary, to restrict it, to concentrate it, and to say nothing but what is necessary. Advocates are generally prolix and diffuse, and it must be said in their ex- cuse they are led into this by the nature of their subject, and by the way in which they are compelled to treat it. Having constantly facts to state, documents to interpret, con- tradictory arguments to discuss, they easily become lost in details to which they are obliged to attach great importance; and in- deed more or less subtle discussion on the articles of the law, of facts, and of objec- tions occupies a very large space. It re- quires an exceedingly clear mind and no or- dinary talent, to avoid being carried along by the current of this too easy eloquence, which degenerates so readily into mere flu- ency. Here, more than elsewhere, modera- tion and sobriety deserve praise, and the aim should be, not to say a great deal, but to avoid saying too much. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 136. (S., 1901.) 169. BREVITY, PROLIXITY, AND DIFFUSENESS.— It is obvious, and has often^ been remarked that extreme concise- ness is ill-suited to hearers or readers whose 61 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Brevity Brief, MaMnsr of intellectual powers and cultivation are but small. The usual expedient, however, of em- ploying a prolix style by way of accommoda- tion to such minds, is seldom successful. Most of those who could have comprehended the meaning, if more briefly expressed, and many of those who could not do so, are like- ly to be bewildered by tedious expansion; and being unable to maintain a steady attention to what is said, they forget part of what they have heard, be- fore the whole is completed. Add to which, that the feebleness produced by excessive dilution (if such an expression may be al- lowed), will occasion the attention to lan- guish; and what is imperfectly attended to, however clear in itself, will usually be but imperfectly understood. Let not an author, therefore, satisfy himself by finding that he has exprest his meaning so that, if attended to, he can not fail to be understood; he must consider also what attention is likely to be paid to it. If, on the one hand, much matter is exprest in very few words to an unreflecting audience, or if, on the other hand, there is a wearisome prolixity, the requisite attention may very probably not be bestowed. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 168. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 170. BRIEF-DRAWING.— A knowledge of brief-drawing is of great practical value to the man who would argue with force and effectiveness. It enables him to grasp his subject as a whole, to fasten it securely in his mind, and to present it in clear and logi- cal order to others. A brief is divided into three parts, as follows: The Introduction, Tvhicli should clearly state the issue, explain the proposition, or define the terms of the discussion that is to follow. The Discussion, which sets forth the arguments and proofs to be offered. This constitutes the main por- tion of a, speech. The order should be cli- mactic, leading from the known and con- ceded to the unknown and disputed. The Conclusion, which sums up, or reviews, the essential points already ennumerated in the discussion. — Kleiser, Hoiv to Argue and . Win, p. 175. (F. & W., 1910.), 171. BRIEF-DRAWING, RULES FOR. —General: (1) A brief should be divided into three parts, marked "Introduction," "Brief Proper," and "Conclusion." (2) Ideas should be phrased in complete state- ments, arranged in headings and sub-head- ings. (3) The relation of each idea to every other should be indicated by means of num- bers, letters, or other symbols. (4) A change of symbol should always denote a change of relation. (5) Headings or sub- headings should never be marked twice. Introduction : (6) The Introduction should contain all the information necessary for an intelligent reading of the Brief Proper. (7) The Introduction should always contain a statement of the Special Issues. (8) In the Introduction ideas bearing upon the truth or the falsity of the proposition in dispute should be so phrased as not to produce im- mediate discussion. (9) In the Introduction the connectives "for" and "because" should be avoided. Brief Proper: (10) In the Brief Proper every main heading should read as proof of the truth of the proposition, and every subheading as proof of the truth of the heading to which it is subordinate, never as mere explanation. (11) The relatiov be- tween subheadings or series of subheadings and their headings is never exprest by "hence" or "therefore," but by "for" or "be- cause." (12) Subheadings should be ar- ranged in the order of climax, unless this order violates the logical order. (13) Each heading or subheading should contain but a single proposition. (14) Refutation should be so phrased as to make the objection per- fectly clear. (15) Refutation of objections, not to the proposition, but to details of proof, should meet such objections where they arise. Conclusion: (16) The Conclu- sion should state concisely the steps by which the decision is reached. (17) The Conclusion should never contain new evi- dence. (18) The decision should never qual- ify the proposition, but should be an affirma- tion or denial of it in its original form. — Baker and Huntington, The Principles of Argumentation, p. 355. (G. & Co., 1905.) 172. BRIEF, MODE OF MAKING A.— I follow a brief penned at my table during a short interval. I made it thus : Mere catch- words — ^took a general thought to start with, let the next come of itself, then the next, and so on without effort. It served well. The thing to be noted is, that in a few moments, by letting the mind flow, and not interfering with the flow, one may jot down materials for a long discourse. It was not merely heads : these are barren ; they are disconnect- ed; it was concatenation, it was genesis. I consider this a little new, but Nevins showed me something like it for Sabbath lectures ; I have done too much in the way of naked skeleton. I wish I could embody my thoughts in a formula; try it thus: (1) Write rapid sketch, the faster the better. (2) In first draft omit all partition, and do not force irS^man"caia,« KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 62 your mind to method. (3) Let thought gen- erate thought. (4) Do not dwell on particu- lars; leave all amplification for the pulpit. (5) Keep the mind in a glow. (6) Come to it with a full mind. (7) Forget all care of language. (8) Forget all previous cram- ming, research, quotation, and study. (9) In delivery, learn to know when to dwell on a point; let the enlargement be, not where you determined in your closet it should be; but where you feel the spring flowing as you speak — let it gush. Let contemplation have place while you speak. — Alexander, Thoughts on Preaching, p. 27. (S., 1862.) 173. BRIEFING, RULES FOR.— Before attempting to draw a brief, these rules should be carefully fixt in the mind : Rule 1 : Set down each statement by itself. Rule 3: Make each statement clear and concise. Rule 3 : Place your principal ideas as main head- ings. Rule 4 : Place your subordinate ideas as subheadings. Rule 5: Indicate each and every statement by a separate symbol. — Kleiser, How to Argue and Win, p. 176. (F. & W., 1910.) 174. BRIGHT, JOHN.— Born at Roch- dale, Nov. 16, 1811. Died March 27, 1889. He was of middle height, had a commanding, magnificent face, square jawed. There was a touching simplicity about him. He read the Bible to his family every morning, drawing from it illustration and argument. Was self- taught. When he denounced, his voice trem- bled with agitation. There was at times hu- mor and pathos in his speech. His voice could reach 15,000 with ease. He used much scriptural imagery, and at one time is said to have carried "Paradise Lost" about with him. An irresistible advocate — spontaneous grace and gesture. Lord Salisbury said of Bright : "He was the greatest master of English oratory that this generation has pro- duced, or I may perhaps say several genera- tions back. I have met men who have heard Pitt and Fox, and in whose judgment their eloquence at its best was inferior to the fin- est efforts of John Bright." Bright spoke seldom, and required time for preparation. 175. BRILLIANCY, UNIFORM, IN SPEAKING.— It is an important rule that the boldest and most striking, and almost poetical, turns of expression should be re- served for the most impassioned parts of a discourse, and that an author should guard against the vain ambition of expressing every thing in an equally high-wrought, brilliant, ^d forcible style. The neglect of this cau- tion often occasions the imitation of the best models to prove detrimental. When the ad- miration of some fine and animated passages leads a young writer to take those passages for his general model, and to endeavor to make every sentence he composes equally fine, he will, on the contrary, give a flatness to the whole, and destroy the effect of those portions which would have been forcible if they had been allowed to stand prominent. To brighten the dark parts of a picture, pro- duces much the same result as if one had darkened the bright parts; in either case there is a want of relief and contrast; and composition, as well as painting, has its lights and shades, which must be distributed with no less skill, if we would produce the desired effect. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 187. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 17G. BRITISH PARLIAMENTARY SPEECH.— The British Parliament is es- sentially and substantially a place of business. The show days, the party fights, the speech- makings, are exceptional. An oration upon a matter of business, however eloquent, would be properly deemed an impertinence and perhaps the offender would be summarily put down by those who have come there for work and will not have their precious time wasted by abstractions. It is in committee that the business speech is most in requisi- tion and most esteemed, and the reputation of a young member in the House will depend upon the success with which he performs this part of his senatorial duties. The style of the business speech will be gathered from this statement of its objects. It should be a clear, straightforward, unadorned statement of facts and arguments. Its purpose is not to excite passion or awaken sympathy, to command or to persuade — but to convince the sober judgment. Hence fine words, polished sentences, and flights of eloquence are inad- missible. Breath should not be wasted upon a formal introduction. Go at once to the point. Sedulously avoid committing to paper a single sentence you propose to say. Arm yourself well with facts and figures. Keep clearly in your mind the argument by which you apply them to "the question," and trust to your mother-wit to express them in the fittest language— the fittest being, not the best, but that which is most likely to be un- derstood most readily by your audience. Such are the words that come spontaneously when- soever we really have something to say. But altho you should on no account write even a sentence of a business speech — if you are about to cite figures, you should come well 63 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Brleflnjr, Rules for Bronjrham and Canning* armed with them upon paper. Do not trust your memory with these, for it may prove treacherous at any moment and throw you into utter confusion. Some small skill is required in so arraying figures that their results may be readily intelligible to your audience. Hence the necessity for the exer- cise of much forethought in the marshalling of your facts. This is study-work. It must be performed upon paper, with due delibera- tion, arranged and rearranged, until all is cast into the most conclusive and convincing form. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 259. (H. C, 1911.) 177. BROOKS, PHILLIPS.— Born at Boston, Mass., in 1835, graduated at Harvard in 1855 and studied theology at the P. E. Seminary, Alexandria, Va. He was elected rector of the Church of Advent, Philadel- phia, in 1859, and three years later to that of Holy Trinity in the same city. In 1869 he became rector of Trinity Church, Boston, and was consecrated Bishop of Massachusetts in 1891. He died in 1893. He was in every sense a large man, large in simplicity and sympathy, large in spiritual culture. In his lectures to the students at Yale he spoke of the preparation for the ministry as being nothing less than the making of a man. Said he: "It can not be the mere training to cer- tain tricks. It can not be even the furnishing with abundant knowledge. It must be noth- ing less than the kneading and tempering of a man's whole nature till it becomes of such a consistency and quality as to be capable of transmission. This is the largeness of the preacher's culture." Doctor Brastow de- scribes him thus: "The physical equipment was symbol of his soul; and the rush of his speech was typical of those mental, moral, and spiritual energies that were fused into unity and came forth in a stream of fiery intensity." 178. BROUGHAM AND CANNING COMPARED.— The character of Lord Brougham's eloquence corresponds to the subjects he has chosen. "For fierce, venge- ful, and irresistible assault," says John Fos- ter, "Brougham stands the foremost man in all this world." His attack is usually carried on under the forms of logic. For the mate- rials of his argument he sometimes goes off to topics the most remote and apparently alien from his subject, but he never fails to come down upon it at last with overwhelming force. He has wit in abundance, but it is usually dashed with scorn or contempt. His irony and sarcasm are terrible. None of our orators have ever equaled him in bitterness. His style has a hearty freshness about it, which springs from the robust constitution of his mind and the energy of his feelings. He sometimes disgusts by his use of Latinized English, and seems never to have studied our language in the true sources of its strength — Shakespeare, Milton, and the English Bible. His greatest fault lies in the structure of his sentences. He rarely puts forward a simple, distinct proposition. New ideas cluster around the original framework of his thoughts ; and instead of throwing them into separate sentences, he blends them all in one ; enlarging, modifying, interlacing them to- gether, accumulating image upon image, and argument upon argument, till the whole be- comes perplexed and cumbersome, in the at- tempt to crowd an entire system of thought into a single statement. Notwithstanding these faults, however, we dwell upon his speeches with breathless interest. They are a continual strain of impassioned argument, intermingled with fearful sarcasm, withering invective, lofty declamation, and the earnest majesty of a mind which has lost every other thought in the magnitude of its theme. The following comparison between the subject of this sketch and his great parliamentary rival will interest the reader, as presenting the characteristic qualities of each in bolder re- lief from their juxtaposition. It is from the pen of one who had watched them both with the keenest scrutiny during their conflicts in the House of Commons. The scene described in the conclusion arose out of a memorable attack of Mr. Canning on Lord Folkestone for intimating that he had "truckled to France." "The Lacedaemonians," said Mr. Canning, "were in the habit of deterring their children from the vice of intoxication by occasionally exhibiting their slaves in a state of disgusting inebriety. But, sir, there is a moral as well as a physical intoxication. Never before did I behold so perfect a per- sonification of the character which I have somewhere seen described as 'exhibiting the contortions of the Sibyl without her inspira- tion.' Such was the nature of the noble lord's speech." Mr. Brougham took occasion, a few evenings after, to retort on Mr. Can- ning and repeat the charge, in the manner here described : but first we have a sketch of their characteristics as orators. "Canning was airy, open, and prepossessing ; Brougham seemed stern, hard, lowering, and almost re- pulsive. Canning's features were handsome, and his eye, tho deeply ensconced under his eyebrows, was full of sparkle and gayety; the features of Brougham were harsh in the i^Slham'SAdvi^* KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 64 extreme, while his forehead shot up to a great elevation, his chin was long and square, his mouth, nose, and eyes seemed huddled to- gether in the center of his face, the eyes absolutely lost amid folds and corrugations, and while he sat listening they seemed to retire inward or to be veiled by a filmy cur- tain, which not only concealed the appalling glare which shot from them when he was aroused, but rendered his mind and his pur- pose a sealed book to the keenest scrutiny of man. Canning's passions appeared upon the open champaign of his face, drawn up in ready array, and moved to and fro at every turn of his own oration and every retort in that of his antagonist. Those of Brougham remained within, as in a citadel which no artillery could batter and no mine blow up; and even when he was putting forth all the power of his eloquence, when every ear was tingling at what he said, and while the immediate object of his invective was writhing in helpless and indescribable agony, his visage retained its cold and brassy hue; and he triumphed over the passions of other men by seeming to be without passion himself. When Canning rose to speak, he elevated his countenance, and seemed to look round for applause as a thing dear to his feelings; while Brougham stood coiled and concentrated, reckless of all but the power that was within himself. "From Canning there was expected the glitter of wit and the glow of spirit — something showy and ele- gant; Brougham stood up as a being whose powers and intentions were all a mystery — whose aim and effect no living man could divine. You bent forward to catch the first sentence of the one, and felt human nature elevated in the specimen before you; you crouched and shrunk back from the other, and dreams of ruin and annihilation darted across your mind. The one seemed to dwell among men, to join jn their joys, and to live upon their praise; the other appeared a son of the desert, who had deigned to visit the human race merely to make it tremble at his strength. The style of their eloquence and the structure of their orations were just as different. Canning arranged his words like one who could play skilfully upon that sweet- est of all instruments, the human voice; Brougham proceeded like a master of every power of reasoning and the understanding. The modes and allusions of the one were always quadrable by the classical formulae; those of the other could be squared only by the higher analysis of the mind; and they soared, and ran, and pealed, and swelled on and on, till a single sentence was often a complete oration within itself; but still, so clear was the logic, and so close the connec- tion, that every member carried the weight of all that went before, and opened the way for all that was to follow after. The style of Canning was like the convex mirror, which scatters every ray of light that falls upon it, and shines and sparkles in whatever posi- tion it is viewed; that of Brougham was like the concave speculum, scattering no indis- criminate radiance, but having its light con- centrated into one intense and tremendous focus. Canning marched forward in a straight and clear track; every paragraph was perfect in itself, and every coruscation of wit and of genius was brilliant and de- lightful; it was all felt, and it was felt all at once. Brougham twined round and round in a spiral, sweeping the contents of a vast circumference before him, and uniting and pouring them onward to the main point of attack. Such were the rival orators, who sat glancing hostility and defiance at each other during the session of eighteen hundred and twenty-three — Brougham as if wishing to overthrow the Secretary by a sweeping accu- sation of having abandoned all principle for the sake of office, and the Secretary ready to parry the charge and attack in his turn. An opportunity at length offered. Upon that occasion the oration of Brougham was dis- jointed and ragged, and apparently without aim or application. He careered over the whole annals of the world, and collected every instance in which genius had prosti- tuted itself at the footstool of power, or prin- ciple had been sacrificed for the vanity or the lucre of place; but still there was no allusion to Canning, and no connection, that ordinary men could discover, with the busi- ness before the House. When, however, he had collected every material which suited his purpose — when the mass had become big and black, he bound it about and about with the cords of illustration and argument; when its union was secure, he swung it round and round with the strength of a giant and the rapidity of a whirlwind, in order that its impetus and its effects might be the more tremendous ; and while doing this he ever and anon glared his eye, and pointed his finger, to make the aim and the direction sure. Can- ning himself was the first that seemed to be aware where and how terrible was to be the collision, and he kept writhing his body in agony and rolling his eye in fear, as i£ anxious to find some shelter from the im- pending bolt. The House soon caught the impression and every man in it was glancing fearfully, first toward the orator, and then 65 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Brougham and Canning BTOUfflitun'B Advice toward the Secretary. There was, save the voice of Brougham, which growled in that undertone of muttered thunder which is so fearfully audible, and of which no speaker of the day was fully master but himself, a silence as if the angel of retribution had been flaring in the faces of all parties the scroll of their personal and political sins. The stiff- ness of Brougham's figure had vanished, his features seemed concentrated almost to a point, he glanced toward every part of the House in succession, and sounding the death- knell of the Secretary's forbearance and pru- dence with both his clinched hands upon the table, he hurled at him an accusation more dreadful in its gall, and more torturing in its effects than had ever been hurled at mortal man within the same walls. The result was instantaneous — ^was electric. It was as when the thunder-cloud descends upon the Giant Peak : one flash — one peal — the sublimity van- ished and all that remained was a small and cold pattering of rain. Canning started to his feet, and was able only to utter the un- guarded words, 'It is false!' to which fol- lowed a dull chapter of apologies. From that moment the House became more a scene of real business than of airy display and angry vituperation." — Goodeich, Select British Elo- quence, p. 88. (H. & Bros., 1853.) 179. BROUGHAM, LORD.— Lord Brougham was born at Edinburgh, in 1779, and received the rudiments of education at the High School of that famous city, under the celebrated Dr. Adams. It is enough for our present purpose to mention that he afterwards removed to London and entered Parliament by the influence of the Russell family. The character of Lord Brougham's eloquence was in every way remarkable, and secured for him a distinguished place among his contemporaries. "For fierce, vengeful, and irresistible assault," says John Foster, "Brougham stands the foremost man in all the world." His attack was usually carried on under the forms of logic. For the mate- rials of his argument he sometimes went off to topics the most remote, and apparently I alien from his subject, but he never failed to come down upon it at last with over- whelming force. He had wit in abundance, but it was usually dashed with scorn and con- tempt. His irony and sarcasm were terrible. None of onr orators have ever equalled him in bitterness. His style had a hearty fresh- ness about it, which sprang from the robust constitution of his mind and the energy of his feelings. He sometimes disgusted by his use of Latinized English, and seemed never to have studied our language in the true sources of its strength — Shakespeare, Milton, and the English Bible. His greatest fault lay in the structure of his sentences. He rarely put forward a simple, distinct proposition. New ideas clustered round the original framework of his thoughts, and instead of throwing them into separate sentences, he blended them all in one; enlarging, modify- ing, interlacing them together, accumulating image upon image, and argument upon argu- ment, till the whole became perplexed and cumbersome, in the attempt to crowd an en- tire system of thought into a single state- ment. Notwithstanding these faults, how- ever, his speeches were listened to with breathless interest. They were a continual strain of impassioned argument, intermingled with fearful sarcasm, withering invective, lofty declamation, and the earnest majesty of a mind which had lost every other thought in the magnitude of its theme. Lord Brougham has, like Cicero, discoursed largely upon his art; and not Cicero himself has in- sisted more strenuously upon the absolute necessity of incessant study of the best mod- els, and the diligent use of the pen. His speeches are an evidence that he has done both in his own person. His familiarity with Demosthenes is attested by his imitation of some of his noblest passages ; and he is gen- erally understood to have written several of his celebrated perorations again and again. "No man has spoken," remarks a contempo- rary writer, "more frequently offhand, or has had a more inexhaustible supply of language, knowledge, and sarcasm at command. He, if any one, might have been supposed capable of dispensing with the preparation he has prac- tised and enforced; and we could desire no stronger illustration of the eternal truth that excellence and labor are never disjoined. In the speeches of Pitt, Fox, Sheridan, and Can- ning we seek in vain for specimens of oratory which, when separated from the context, would give an adequate idea of their powers, and do justice to their renown. Their most perfect pages would disappoint those whose opinion of their genius is chiefly derived from traditionary fame." — Beeton, British Orators and Oratory, from Complete Orator, p. 61. (W. L. & Co.) 180. BROUGHAM'S ADVICE ON OR- ATORY.— In 1823 Lord Brougham ad- drest the following letter to Mr. Zachary Macaulay, the father of the late Lord Macau- lay: "My Dear Friend, — My principal object in writing to you to-day is to offer you some suggestions in consequence of some conver- Brougrham's Advice Burke, Bdmuud KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 66 sation I have just had with Lord Grey, who has spoken of your son (at Cambridge) in terms of the greatest praise. He takes his account from his son; but from all I know and have learned in other quarters, I doubt not that his judgment is well formed. Now you, of course, destine him for the bar; and assuming that this and the public objects incidental to it are in his views, I would fain impress upon you (and through you upon him) a truth or two which experience has made me aware of, and which I would have given a great deal to have been ac- quainted with earlier in life, from the experi- ence of others. First, that the foundation of all excellence is to be laid in early application to general knowledge is clear — that he is already aware of; and equally so it is (of which he may not be so well aware) that professional eminence can only be attained by entering betimes into the lowest drudgery, the most repulsive labors of the profession; even a year in an attorney's office, as the law is now practised, I should not hold too severe a task, or too high a price to pay for the benefit it must surely lead to; but at all events the life of a special pleader, I am quite convinced, is the thing before being called to the bar. A young man whose mind has once been well imbued with general learning, and has acquired classical propensi- ties, will never sink into a mere drudge. He will always save himself harmless from the dull atmosphere he must live and work in, and the sooner he will emerge from it, and arrive at eminence. But what I wish to in- culcate especially, with a view to the great talent for public speaking which your son happily possesses, is that he should cultivate that talent in the only way in which it can reach the height of the art; and I wish to turn his attention to two points. I speak upon this subject with the authority both of experience anad observation; I have made it very much my study in theory; have written a great deal upon it which may never see the light, and something which has been pub- lished; have meditated much, and conversed much on it with famous men ; have had some little practical experience in it, but have pre- pared for much more than I ever tried by a variety of laborious methods — reading, wri- ting, much translation, composing in foreign languages, etc. — and I have lived in times when there were great orators among us, therefore I reckon my opinion worth listening to, and the rather, because I have the utmost confidence in it myself, and I should have saved a world of trouble and much time had I started with a conviction of its truth. 1. The first point is this : the beginning of the art is to acquire a habit of easy speaking; and in whatever way this can be had (which individual inclination or accident will gener- ally direct, and may safely be allowed to do so), it must be had. Now, I differ from all other doctors of rhetoric in this. I say, let him first of all learn to speak easily and flu- ently, as well and as sensibly as he can, no doubt, but at any rate let him learn to speak. This is to eloquence, or good public speak- ing, what the being able to talk in a child is to correct grammatical speech. It is the requisite foundation, and on it you must build. Moreover, it can only be acquired young; therefore, let it by all means, and at any sacrifice, be gotten hold of forthwith. But in acquiring it, every sort of slovenly error will also be acquired. It must be got by a habit of easy writing (which, as Wynd- ham said, proved hard reading) by a custom of talking much in company; by debating in speaking societies, with little attention to rule, and more love of saying something at any rate than of saying anything well. I can even suppose that more attention is paid to the matter in such discussions than to the manner of saying it, yet still to say it easily, ad libitum, to be able to say what you choose, and what you have to say. This is the first requisite; to acquire which everything else must for the present be sacrificed. 2. The next step is the grand one; to convert this style of easy speaking into chaste eloquence. And here there is but one rule. I do earnest- ly entreat your son to set daily and nightly before him the Greek models. First of all he may look to the best modern speeches (as he probably has already) ; Burke's best compositions, as the "Thoughts on the Cause of the Present Discontent;" "Speech on the American Conciliation," and "On the Nabob of Arcot's Debt;" Fox's "Speech on the Westminster Scrutiny" (the first part of which he should pore over till he has it by heart) ; "On the Russian Armament," and "On the War, 1803 ;" with one or two of Wyndham's best, and very few, or rather none, of Sheridan's ; but he must by no means stop here; for, if he would be a great orator, he must go at once to the fountain head, and be familiar with every one of the great ora- tions of Demosthenes. I take it for granted that he knows those of Cicero by heart ; they are all very beautiful, but not very useful, except perhaps the Milo pro Ligario, and one or two more; but the Greek must positively be the model; and merely reading it, as boys do, to know the language, won't do at all; he must enter into the spirit of each speech, 67 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Broufham'* Advice Buike, Bdmiind thoroughly know the position of both parties, follow each turn of the argument, and make the absolutely perfect and most chaste and severe composition familiar to his mind. His taste will improve every time he reads and repeats to himself (for he should have the fine passages by heart), and he will learn how much may be done by a skilful use of a few words, and a rigorous rejection of all super- fluities. In this view I hold a familiar knowl- edge of Dante to be next to Demosthenes. It is vain to say that imitations of these mod- els won't do for our times. First, I do not counsel any imitation, but only an imbibing of the same spirit. Secondly, I know from experience that nothing is half so successful in these times (bad though they be) as what has been formed on the Greek models. I use a very poor instance in giving my own ex- perience; but I do assure you that both in course of law and Parliament, and even to mobs, I have never made so much play (to use a very modern phrase) as when I was almost translating from the Greek. I com- posed the peroration of my speech for the Queen, in the Lords, after reading and re- peating Demosthenes for three or four weeks, and I composed it twenty times over at least, and it certainly succeeded in a very ex- traordinary degree, and far above any merits of its own. This leads me to remark that, though speaking without writing beforehand is very well till the habit of easy speaking is acquired, yet after that he can never write too much; this is quite clear. It is labori- ous, no doubt ; and it is more difficult beyond comparison than speaking offhand; but it is necessary to perfect oratory, and at any rate it is necessary to acquire the habit of correct diction. But I go further, and say, even to the end of a man's life he must prepare, word for word, most of his finer passages. Now, would he be a great orator or no? In other words, would be have almost absolute! power of doing good to mankind in a free country, or no? So he wills this, he must follow these rules. Believe me, yours, H. Brougham." — Beeton, Art of Public Speak- ing, Appendix, from Complete Orator, p. 119. (W. L. & Co.) 181. BROUGHAM'S STYLE DE- SCRIBED. — Lord Brougham was a rare illustration of the use of the will in public speaking of self-reliance, and knowing what you are about, and making the most of your- self when you get upon your legs before an audience. He had an oratorical ambition and an oratorical temperament. He made a study of himself and of every other speaker. He picked up any quality or device that he found in the effective barristers and preachers, and incorporated it in his own style. That is the way he secured his famous "Brougham whis- per." He noticed that a preacher made up for the feebleness of his voice by lowering it at certain times on certain passages. He cul- tivated a whisper which commanded atten- tion, but he knew what he and his voice were about too well to be always whispering. He knew when to whisper and when to blow upon his bugle. He knew enough to be dull enough when it suited his purpose. He could rest himself, and save himself, and husband his resources for the emergency. He knew, as every speaker should, where he was strong and where weak, and in what kind of rhetor- ical harness he worked best. He was great in making or repelling an attack. He was a striking illustration of how much the com- bative element has to do with the working of the animal galvanic battery on two legs. His delivery expressed his mood and created it as well. When he rose the storm rose within him ; when he sat down the storm sub- sided. He spoke as much with his body as he did with his mind. And his body, like Mirabeau's, was a powerful auxiliary of the mind. He had a bold forehead and a shaggy shock of coarse hair — a rock covered with thorns and briers. His nose was a huge crag, and his eyes glared. He was awkward, but his awkwardness became him. It was in keeping with his style of rhetoric and elocu- tion. For such a speaker to take on the effeminate graces of a Chesterfield would be to reduce him to — a Chesterfield. — Sheppard, Before an Audience, p. 54. (F. & W., 1888.) 182. BURKE, EDMUND.— This prince of imaginative orators was an Irishman. He was born in 1730, and graduated in Dublin University at the age of twenty. For a short time afterward he studied law, but soon grew weary of it and turned his atten- tion to philosophy and literature. The pro- ductions of his pen speedily won an enviable reputation. A "Vindication of Natural Soci- ety" was speedily followed by the celebrated "Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful." His appearance in Parliament, the great arena of British eloquence, was comparatively late in life, but as soon as elected he gave promise of the great brilliancy he afterward dis- played. For more than thirty years he had no superior in that august body, and scarcely an equal. He stood side by side with Pitt in defense of America, and endeared himself to every lover of liberty in both hemispheres. The great impeachment of Warren Hastings Burke, Eloquence of Burke, Intellect of KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 68 was mainly brought about by his influence, and afforded room for all his powers. The war with France was the last great theme upon which his eloquence was employed, and in it his strongly conservative views alien- ated him from most of his former friends. During all this time his eloquence was a won- der both to friend and foe, and in its own style was never equalled in the House of Commons, or in the world. His speech on the impeaching of Warren Hastings, made at the bar of the House of Lords, was an un- paralleled effort. It extended over a period of four days, and bore everything before it. On the third day of this great speech, he described the cruelties inflicted on some of the natives of India by one of Hastings's agents, with such vividness that one convul- sive shudder ran through the whole assem- blage, while the speaker was so much af- fected by the picture he had penciled, that he dropped his head upon his hands, and was for some moments unable to proceed. Some, who were present, fell in a swoon, while even Hastings himself, who disclaimed all respon- sibility for these things, was overwhelmed. In speaking of the matter afterwards he says: "For half an hour I looked upon the orator in a reverie of wonder, and actually felt my- self to be the most culpable man on earth." Lord Thurlow, who was present, declares that long after, many who were present had not recovered from the shock, and probably >never would. — Pittenger, Oratory Sacred and Secular, p. 150. (S. R. W., 1869.) 183. BURKE, ELOQUENCE OF.— Per- haps Burke's most memorable appearance was on the trial of Warren Hastings in 1788. This trial commenced in Westminster Hall on the 13th of February. Two days were spent in preliminary proceedings, and then the case was opened by Mr. Burke in a speech which lasted four days, and was in- tended to give the members of the court a view of the character and condition of the people of India; the origin of the power exercised by the East India Company; the situation of the natives under the govern- ment of the English; the miseries they had endured through the agency of IVIr. Hastings; and the motives by which he had been influ- enced in his multiplied acts of cruelty and oppression. This speech has, perhaps, been characterized as the greatest intellectual ef- fort ever made before the Parliament of Great Britain. A writer adverse to the im- peachment has remarked that "Mr. Burke astonished even those who were most inti- mately acquainted with him by the vast ex- tent of his reading, the variety of his re- sources, the minuteness of his information, and the lucid order in which he arranged the whole for the support of his subject, and to make a deep impression on the minds of his auditory." On the third day, when he de- scribed the cruelties inflicted upon the natives by Debi Sing, one of Mr. Hastings's agents, a convulsive shudder ran throughout the whole assembly. "In this part of his speech," says the reporter, "his descriptions were more vivid, more harrowing, more horrible than human utterance, in either fact or fancy, perhaps ever formed before." Mr. Burke himself was so much overpowered at one time that he dropped his head upon his hands and was unable for some minutes to proceed, while "the bosoms of the auditors became convulsed with passion, and those of more delicate organs swooned away." Even Mr. Hastings himself, who, not having ordered these inflictions, had always claimed that he was not involved in this guilt, was utterly overwhelmed. In describing the scene after- wards he said, "For half-an-hour I looked up at the orator in a reverie of wonder, and actually felt myself to be the most culpable man on earth." "But at length," he added (in reference to the grounds just mentioned) "I recurred to my own bosom, and there found a consciousness that consoled me un- der all I heard and all I suffered." — Beeton, British Orators and Oratory, from Complete Orator, p. 38. (W. L. & Co.) 184. BURKE, INDEPENDENCE OF.— A prominent feature in the character of Mr. Burke, which prepared him for a wide exer- cise of his powers, was his intellectual inde- pendence. He leaned on no other man's un- derstanding, however great. In the true sense of the term, he never borrowed an idea or image. Like food in a healthy sys- tem, everything from without was perfectly assimilated; it entered by a new combination into the very structure of his thoughts as when the blood, freshly formed, goes out to the extremities under the strong pulsations of the heart. On most subjects, at the present day, this is all we can expect of originality; the thoughts and feeling which a man ex- presses must be truly his own. In the struc- ture of his mind he had a strong resemblance to Bacon, nor was he greatly his inferior in the leading attributes of his intellect. In imagination he went far beyond him. He united more perfectly than any other man the qualities of the philosopher and the poet, and this union was equally the source of his greatest excellences and faults as an orator. 69 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Burke, Eloquence of Burke, Intellect of The first thing that strikes us in a survey of his understanding is its comprehensive- ness. He had an amplitude of mind, a power and compass of intellectual vision, beyond that of most men who ever lived. He looked on a subject like a man standing on an emi- nence, taking a large and rounded view of it on every side, contemplating each of its parts under a vast variety of relations, and those relations often extremely complex or remote. To this wide grasp of original thought he added every variety of informa- tion gathered from abroad. There was no subject on which he had not read, no system relating to the interests of man as a social being which he had not thoroughly explored. All those treasures of acquired knowledge he brought home to amplify and adorn the prod- ucts of his own genius as the ancient Romans collected everything that was beautiful in the spoils of conquered nations, to give new splendor to the seat of empire. To this largeness of view he added a surprizing sub- tlety of intellect and a remarkable power of generalization. With these qualities and hab- its of mind the oratory of Burke was of necessity didactic. His speeches were lec- tures, and tho often impassioned, enlivened at one time with wit and rising at another into sublimity or pathos, they usually became wearisome to the House from their minute- ness and subtlety. — Beeton, British Orators and Oratory, from Complete Orator, p. 39. (W. L. & Co.) 185. BURKE, INTELLECTUAL POW- ER OF. — As an orator Edmund Burke de- rived little or no advantage from his personal qualifications. He was tall, but not robust; his gait and gesture were awkward; his countenance, though intellectual, was desti- tute of softness, and rarely relaxed into a smile; and as he always wore spectacles, his eye gave him no command over an audience. "His enunciation," says Wraxall, "was vehe- ment and rapid, and his Irish accent, which was strong as if he had never quitted the banks of the Shannon, diminished to the ear the effect of his eloquence on the mind." The variety and extent of his powers in debate were greater than that of any other orator in ancient or modern times. No one ever poured forth such a flood of thought — so many original combinations of inventive genius, so much knowledge of man and the working of political systems, so many just remarks on the relation of government to the manners, the spirit, and even the prejudices of a people, so many wise maxims as to a change in constitutions and laws, so many beautiful effusions of lofty and generous sen- timent, such exuberant stores of illustration, ornament, and apt allusion, all intermingled with the liveliest sallies of wit or the boldest flights of a sublime imagination. In actual debate, as a contemporary informs us, he passed more rapidly from one exercise of his powers to another, than in his printed pro- ductions. During the same evening, some- times in the space of a few moments, he would be pathetic and humorous, acriinonious and conciliating, now giving vent to his in- dignant feelings in lofty declamation, and again, almost in the same breath, convulsing his audience by the most laughable exhibi- tions of ridicule or burlesque. In respect to the versatility of Mr. Burke as an orator. Dr. Parr says, "Who among men of eloquence and learning was ever more profoundly versed in every branch of science? Who is there that can transfer so happily the results of laborious research to the most familiar and popular topics? Who is there that pos- sesses so extensive yet so accurate an ac- quaintance with every transaction recent or remote ? Who is there that can deviate from his subject for the purposes of delight with such engaging ease, and insensibly conduct his hearers or readers from the severity of reasoning to the festivity of wit? iWho is there that can melt them, if the occasion re- quires, with such resistless power to grief or pity? Who is there that combines the charm of inimitable grace and urbanity with such magnificent and boundless expansion?" A prominent feature in the character of Mr. Burke, which prepared him for this wide exercise of his powers, was intellectual in- dependence. He leaned on no other man's understanding, however great. In the true sense of the term, he never borrowed an idea or an image. Like food in a healthy system, everything from without was perfectly as- similated; it entered by a new combination into the very structure of his thoughts, as when the blood, freshly formed, goes out to the extremities under the strong pulsations of the heart. On most subjects, at the pres- ent day, this is all we can expect of origi- nality, the thoughts and feelings which a man expresses must be truly his own. In the structure of his mind he had a strong re- semblance to Bacon, nor was he greatly his inferior in the leading attributes of his intel- lect. In imagination he went far beyond him. He united more perfectly than any other man the discordant qualities of tho philosopher and the poet, and this union was equally the source of some of his greatest excellences and faults as an orator. The Burke, Intellect of Burke, Intellect of KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 70 first thing that strikes us in a survey of his understanding is its remarkable comprehen- siveness. He had an amplitude of mind, a power and compass of intellectual vision be- yond that of most men that ever lived. He looked on a subject like a man standing upon an eminence, taking a large and rounded view of it on every side, contemplating each of its parts under a vast variety of relations, and those relations often extremely complex or remote. To this wide grasp of original thought he added every variety of informa- tion gathered from abroad. There was no subject on which he had not read, no system relating to the interests of man as a social being which he had not thoroughly explored. All these treasures of acquired knowledge he brought home to amplify and adorn the prod- ucts of his own genius, as the ancient Romans collected everything that was beauti- ful in the spoils of conquered nations, to give new splendor to the seat of empire. To this largeness of view he added a surprizing sub- tlety of intellect. So quick and delicate were his perceptions that he saw his way clearly through the most complicated relations, fol- lowing out the finest thread of thought with- out once letting go his hold, or becoming lost or perplexed in the intricacies of the subject. This subtlety, however, did not usu- ally take the form of mere logical acuteness in the detection of fallacies. He was not re- markable for his dexterity as a disputant. He loved rather to build up than to pull down, he dwelt not so much on the differ- ences of things, as on some hidden agree- ment between them when apparently most dissimilar. The association of resemblance was one of the most active principles of his nature. While it filled his mind with all the imagery of the poet, it gave an impulse and direction to his researches as a philosopher. It led him, as his favorite employment, to trace out analogies, correspondences, or con- trasts (which last, as Brown remarks, are the necessary result of a quick sense of re- semblance) ; thus filling up his originally comprehensive mind with a beautiful series of associated thoughts, showing often the identity of things which appeared the most unlike, and binding together in one system what might seem the most unconnected or contradictory phenomena. To this he added another principle of association, still more characteristic of the philosopher, that of cause and effect. "Why?" "Whence?" "By what means?" "For what end?" "With what results?" These questions from childhood ■were continually pressing upon his mind. To answer them in respect to man in all his multiplied relations as the creature of soci- ety, to trace out the working of political in- stitutions, to establish the principles of wise legislation, to lay open the sources of na- tional security and advancement, was the great object of his life; and he here found the widest scope for that extraordinary sub- tlety of intellect of which we are now speak- ing. In these two principles of association, we see the origin of Mr. Burke's inexhausti- ble richness of thought. We see, also, how it was that in his mode of viewing a subject there was never anything ordinary or com- monplace. If the topic was a trite one, the manner of presenting it was peculiarly his own. As in the kaleidoscope, the same object takes a thousand new shapes and colors un- der a change of light, so in his mind the most hackneyed theme was transformed and illuminated by the radiance of his genius, or placed in new relations which gave it all the freshness of original thought. This ampli- tude and subtlety of intellect, in connection with his peculiar habits of association, pre- pared the way for another characteristic of Mr. Burke, his remarkable power of generali- zation. Without this he might have been one of the greatest of poets, but not a philoso- pher or a scientific statesman. "To general- ize," says Sir John Mackintosh, "is to philosophize; and comprehension of mind, joined to the habit of careful and patient observation, forms the true genius of philos- ophy." But it was not in his case a mere "habit," it was a kind of instinct of his nature, which led him to gather all the re- sults of his thinking, as by an elective affinity, around their appropriate centers, and, know- ing that truths are valuable just in propor- tion as they have a wider reach, to rise from particulars to generals, and so to shape his statements as to give them the weight and authority of universal propositions. His philosophy, however, vras not that of ab- stract truth, it was confined to things in the concrete, and chiefly to man, society, and government. He was no metaphysician. He had, in fact, a dislike, amounting to weak- ness, of all abstract reasoning in politics, affirming, on one occasion, as to certain state- inents touching the rights of man, that just "in proportion as they were metaphysically true, they were morally and politically false !" He was, as he himself said, "a philosopher in action;" his generalizations embraced the great facts of human society and political institutions as affected by all the interests and passions, the prejudices and frailties of a be- ing like man. The impression he made was owing, in a great degree, to the remoteness 71 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Bnxke, Intellect of Burke, Intellect of of the ideas which he brought together, the starthng noveUy and yet justness of his com- binations, the heightening power of contrast, and the striking manner in which he con- nected truths of imperishable value with the individual case before him. It is here that we find the true character and office of Mr. Burke. He was the man of principles, one of the greatest teachers of "civil prudence'' that the world has ever seen. A collection of maxims'might be made from his writings, infinitely superior to those of Rochefoucauld; equally true to nature and adapted, at the same time, not to produce selfishness and dis- trust, but to call into action all that is gen- erous and noble and elevated in the heart of man. His high moral sentiment and strong sense of religion added greatly to the force of these maxims, and as a result of these fine generalizations, Mr. Burke has this peculiarity, which distinguishes him from every other writer, that he is almost equally instructive whether he is right or wrong as to the particular point in debate. He may fail to make out his case ; opposing consider- ations may induce us to decide against him; and yet every argument he uses is full of in- struction. It contains great truths which, if they do not turn the scale here, may do it elsewhere, so that he whose mind is filled with the maxims of Burke has within him not only one of the finest incentives of genius, but a fountain of the richest thought, which may flow forth through a thousand channels in all the efforts of his own intel- lect, to whatever subject those efforts may be directed. With these qualities and habits of mind, the oratory of Mr. Burke was of necessity didactic. His speeches were lec- tures, and, tho often impassioned, enlivened at one time with wit, and rising at another into sublimity or pathos, they usually became wearisome to the House from their minute- ness and subtlety, as "He went on refining, And thought of convincing while they thought of dining." We see, then, in the philosophical habits of his mind (admirable as the results were in most respects), why he spoke so often to empty benches, while Fox, by seizing on the strong points of the case, by throwing away intermediate thoughts, and striking at the heart of the subject, never failed to carry the House with him in breathless attention. His method was admirable, in respect at least to his published speeches. No man ever be- stowed more care on the arrangement of his thoughts. The exceptions to this remark are apparent, not real. There is now and then a slight irregularity in his mode of transi- tion, which seems purposely thrown in to avoid an air of sameness; and the subordi- nate heads sometimes spread out so widely that their connection with the main topic is not always obvious. But there is reigning throughout the whole a massive unity of de- sign like that of a great cathedral, whatever may be the intricacy of its details. In his reasonings (for he was one of the greatest masters of reason in our language, tho some have strangely thought him deficient in this respect) Mr. Burke did not usually adopt the outward forms of logic. He has left us, indeed, some beautiful specimens of dialecti- cal ability, but his arguments, in most in- stances, consisted of the amplest enumeration and the clearest display of all the facts and principles, the analogies, relations, or ten- dencies which were applicable to the case, and were adapted to settle it on the immutable basis of the nature and constitution of things. Here again he appeared, of necessity, more as a teacher than a logician, and hence many were led to underrate his argumentative powers. The exuberance of his fancy was likewise prejudicial to him in this respect. Men are apt to doubt the solidity of a struc- ture which is covered all over with flowers. As to this peculiarity of his eloquence Mr. Fox truly said, "It injures his reputation, it casts a veil over his wisdom. Reduce his language, withdraw his images, and you will find that he is more wise than eloquent; you will have your full weight of metal tho you melt down the chasing." In respect to Mr. Burke's imagery, however, it may be proper to remark that a large part of it is not liable to any censure of this kind; many of his figures are so finely wrought into the texture of his style that we hardly think of them as figures at all. His great fault in other cases is that of giving them too bold a relief or dwelling on them too long, so that the pri- mary idea is lost sight of in the image. Some- times the prurience of his fancy makes him low and even filthy. He is like a man depict- ing the scenes of nature, who is not content to give us those features of the landscape that delight the eye, but fills out his canvas with objects which are coarse, disgusting, or noisome. Hence no writer in any language has such extremes of imagery as Mr. Burke. . . . His language, tho copious, was not verbose. Every word had its peculiar force and application. His chief fault was that of overloading his sentences with secondary thoughts, which weakened the blow by divid- Bnrke Canuinef, Geotge KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 72 ing it. His style is at times more careless and inaccurate than might be expected in so great a writer. But his mind was on higher things. His idea of a truly fine sentence, as once stated to a friend, is worthy of being remembered. It consists, said he, in a union of thought, feeling, and imagery — of a strik- ing truth and a corresponding sentiment, rendered doubly striking by the force and beauty of figurative language. There are more sentences of this kind in the pages of Mr. Burke than of any other writer. — Good- KiCH, Select British Eloquence, p. S37. (H. & Bros., 1853.) 186. BURKE. VERSATILITY OF.— As an orator Burke derived little or no advan- tage from his personal qualifications. He was tall, but not robust; his gait and gesture were awkward ; his countenance, tho intellec- tual, was destitute of softness, and rarely re- laxed into a smile; and as he always wore spectacles, his eye gave him no command over an audience. "His enunciation," says Wrax- all, "was vehement and rapid, and his Irish accent, which was as strong as if he had never quitted the banks of the Shannon, diminished the effect of his eloquence on the mind." The variety and extent of his powers in debate were greater than those of any other orator in ancient or modern times. No one ever poured forth such a flood of thought — so many original combinations of inventive genius; so much knowledge of man, and the working of political systems; so many just remarks on the relation of government to the manners, the spirit, and even the prejudices of a people; so many wise maxims as to the change in the constitution and laws ; so many beautiful effusions of lofty and generous sen- timent; such exuberant stores of illustration, ornament, and apt allusion; all intermingled with the liveliest sallies of wit or the boldest flights of a sublime imagination. In actual debates, as a contemporary informs us, he passed more rapidly from one exercise of his powers to another than in his printed productions. During the same evening, some- times in the space of a few moments, he would be pathetic and humorous, acrimonious and conciliating, now giving vent to his in- dignant feelings in lofty declamation, and again, almost in the same breath, convulsing his audience by the most laughable exhibi- tions of ridicule or burlesque. In respect to the versatility of Mr. Burke, Dr. Parr says : "Who among men of eloquence and learning was ever more profoundly versed in every branch of science? Who is there that can transfer so happily the results of laborious research to the most familiar and popular topics? Who is there that possesses so ex- tensive yet so accurate an acquaintance with every transaction recent or remote? Who is there that can deviate from his subject for the purposes of delight with such engaging ease, and insensibly conduct his hearers or readers from the severity of reasoning to the festivity of wit? Who is there that can melt them, if the occasion requires, with such re- sistless power to grief or pity? Who is there that combines the charm of inimitable grace and urbanity with such magnificence and boundless expansion ?" — Beeton, British Ora- tors and Oratory, from Complete Orator, p. 39. (W. L. & Co.) 187. BUSHNELL, HORACE.— Born at Litchfield, Conn., April 14, 1803. Died at Hartford, Conn., Feb. 17, 1876. He was modest, imaginative, sensitive to a degree, and forceful without being dogmatic. An unconscious geniality pervaded his personal- ity. He was broad-minded, tolerant, many- sided. As a thinker he was bold, original, and profound, with "piercing glances" of in- sight. He had a full, rich vocabulary, skilful handling of language, intertwining rhetoric with logic, practical down to the plainest de- tail. His utterances were commended for their intellectual beauty. From 1833 to 1859 he was pastor of the North Congregational Church at Hartford. The "Vicarious Sacri- fice" was published in 1866. 188. CAIRO, JOHN.— Bom at Green- ock, Scotland, in 1820. He attained great popularity as a preacher in Edinburgh. In 1862 he was called to Park Church, Glasgow, and in 1873 became Principal of Glasgow University. His deep and earnest thought was clothed almost invariably in clear and beautiful language. He had many gifts as a pulpit speaker. His voice was full and deep-toned, his manner gracious and sym- pathetic, and his gestures, tho infrequent, were always significant and graceful. He died in 1898. 189. CALHOUN, JOHN CALDWELL. —Born at Abbeville County, S. C, March 18, 1782. Died March 31, 1850. Had flashing eye, rapid action and enunciation. Voice powerful, but not melodious. Easy manners, affable, dignified; fascinating conversational- ist. Sincere, vigorous, determined, deep con- victions, self-reliant mind. Style terse, con- cise, strong. His eloquence lay chiefly in closeness of reasoning, plainness in expres- sion of his proposition. His superlative pow- n TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Burke ers of argumentation attracted admiration of friends and foes alike. His logic was re- morseless, it is said, and he gave little place to the arts of rhetoric. 190. CALVIN, JOHN.— Born in 1509, at Noyon, France. He has been called the greatest of Protestant commentators and the- ologians, and the inspirer of the Puritan ex- odus. He often preached every day for weeks in succession. He possest two of the greatest elements in successful pulpit ora- tory, self-reliance, and authority. It was said of him, as it was afterward said of Webster, that "every word weighed a pound." His style was simple, direct, and convincing. He made men think. His splendid contribu- tions to religious thought, and his influence upon individual liberty, give him a distin- guished place among great reformers and preachers. His idea of preaching is thus ex- prest in his own words: "True preaching must not be dead, but living and effective. No parade of rhetoric, but the Spirit of God must resound in the voice in order to oper- ate with power." He died at Geneva in 1564. 191. CANNING, GEORGE. — Canning made his maiden speech in Parliament on the 31st of January, 1794, in his second session in parliament. It was in favor of a subsidy proposed to be granted to the King of Sar- dinia. He thus describes his first appearance in a letter dated March 20th, 1794, addrest to Lord Boringdon : "I intended to have told you at full length what were my feelings at getting up and being pointed at by the Speak- er, and hearing my name called from all parts of the House; how I trembled lest I should hesitate, or misplace a word in the first two or three sentences; while all was dead silence around me, and my own voice sounded to my ears quite like some other gentleman's; how, in about ten minutes or less, I got warmed in collision with Fox's arguments, and did not even care twopence for anybody or anything; how I was roused, in about half an hour, from this pleasing state of self-sufficiency by accidentally cast- ing my eyes toward the Opposition Bench, and for the purpose of paying compliments to Fox, and assuring him of my respect and admiration, and there seeing certain mem- bers of the Opposition laughing (as I thought) and quizzing me ; how this accident abashed me, and together with my being out of breath, rendered me incapable of uttering ; how those who sat below me on the Treasury Bench, seeing what it was that distrest me, cheered loudly, and the House joined them; and how, in less than a minute, straining every nerve in my body, and plucking up every bit of resolution in my heart, I went on more boldly than ever, and getting into a part of my subject that I liked, and having got the House with me, got happily and triumphantly to the end." This first speech seems on the whole to have been a failure. It possest, it has been remarked, in an emi- nent degree all the ordinary faults of clever young men. Its arguments were much too refined, its arrangements much too system- atic: cold, tedious, and parliamentary; it would have been twice as good if it had at- tempted half as much; for the great art in speaking, as in writing, consists in knowing what should not be said or written. In gen- eral, it may be remarked that he rose slowly into those higher qualities as a speaker, for which he was so justly distinguished during the later years of his life. He was from the first easy and fluent; he knew how to play with an argument when he could not answer it; he had a great deal of real wit, and too much of that ungenerous raillery and sar- casm by which an antagonist may be made ridiculous and the audience turned against him, without once meeting the question on its true merits. There was added to this an air of disregard for the feelings of others, and even of willingness to offend, which doubled the sense of injury every blow he struck; so that during the first ten years of his parliamentary career he never made a speech, it is said, on which he particularly plumed himself, without making likewise an enemy for life. — Beeton, British Orators and Oratory, from Complete Orator, p. 59. (W. L. & Co.) 192. CANNING, GEORGE, STYLE OF. — The reader will be interested in the following beautiful sketch of Mr. Canning's character by Sir James Mackintosh, slightly abridged and modified in the arrangement of its parts : "Mr. Canning seems to have been the best model among our orators of the adorned style. The splendid and sublime descriptions of Mr. Burke— his comprehen- sive and profound views of general princi- 1 pies— tho they must ever delight and instruct ' the reader, must be .owned to have been digressions which diverted the mind of the hearer from the object on which the speaker ought to have kept it steadily fixed. Sheri- dan, a man of admirable sense and matchless wit, labored to follow Burke into the for- eign regions of feeling and grandeur. The specimens preserved of his most celebrated speeches show too much of the exaggeration Canning, G-eorffe Chalmers' Success KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 74 and excess to which those are peculiarly li- able who seek by art and effort what nature has denied. By the constant part which Mr. Canning took in debate, he was called upon to show a knowledge which Sheridan did not possess, and a readiness which that accom- plished man had no such means of strength- ening and displaying. In some qualities of style Mr. Canning surpassed Mr. Pitt. His diction was more various — sometimes more simple — more idiomatical, even in its more elevated parts. It sparkled with imagery, and was brightened by illustration, in both of which Mr. Pitt, for so great an orator, was defective. Had he been a dry and meager speaker, Mr. Canning would have been universally allowed to have been one of the greatest masters of argument, but his hearers were so dazzled by the splendor of his diction that they did not perceive the acuteness and the occasional excessive refine- ment of his reasoning; a consequence which, as it shows the injurious influence of a se- ductive fault, can with the less justness be overlooked in the estimate of his understand- ing. Ornament, it must be owned, when it only pleases or amuses, without disposing the audience to adopt the sentiments of the speaker, is an offense against the first law of public speaking; it obstructs instead of promoting its only reasonable purpose. But eloquence is a widely extended art, compre- hending many sorts of excellence, in some of which ornamented diction is more liberally employed than in others, and in none of which the highest rank can be attained with- out an extraordinary combination of mental powers. No English speaker used the keen and brilliant weapon of wit so long, so often, or so effectively, as Mr. Canning. He gained more triumphs, and incurred more enmity by it than by any other. Those whose im- portance depends much on birth and fortune are impatient of seeing their own artificial dignity, or that of their order, broken down by derision; and perhaps few men heartily forgive a successful jest against themselves, but those who are conscious of being unhurt by it. Mr. Canning often used this talent imprudently. In sudden flashes of wit, and in the playful description of men or things, he was often distinguished by that natural felicity which is the charm of pleasantry, to which the air of art and labor is more fatal than to any other talent. The exuberance of fancy and wit lessened the gravity of his general manner, and perhaps also indisposed the audience to feel his earnestness where it clearly showed itself. In that important qual- ity he was inferior to Mr. Pitt, " 'Deep on whose front engraven, Deliberation sat, and public care ;' "and no less inferior to Mr. Fox, whose fer- vid eloquence flowed from the love of his country, the scorn of baseness, and the ha- tred of cruelty, which were the ruling pas- sions of his nature. On the whole, it may be observed that the range of Mr. Canning's powers as an orator was wider than that in which he usually exerted them. When mere statement only was allowable, no man of his age was more simple. When infirm health compelled him to be brief, no speaker could compress his matter with so little sacrifice of clearness, ease, and elegance. As his ora- torical faults were those of youthful genius, the progress of age seemed to purify his eloquence, and every year appeared to re- move some speck which hid, or at least dimmed, a beauty. He daily rose to larger views, and made, perhaps, as near approaches to philosophical principles as the great dif- ference between the objects of the philoso- pher and those of the orator will commonly allow. Mr. Canning possest, in a high de- gree, the outward advantages of an orator. His expressive countenance varied with the changes of his eloquence; his voice, flexible and articulate, had as much compass as his mode of speaking required. In the calm part of his speeches, his attitude and gesture might have been selected by a painter to rep- resent grace rising toward dignity. In so- cial intercourse, Mr. Canning was delightful. Happily for the true charm of his conver- sation, he was too busy not to treat society as more fitted for relaxation than for dis- play. It is but little to say that he was neither disputatious, declamatory, nor sen- tentious — neither a dictator nor a jester. His manner was simple and unobtrusive ; his lan- guage always quite familiar. If a higher thought stole from his mind, it came in its conversational undress. From this plain ground his pleasantry sprang with the hap- piest effect ; and it was nearly exempt from that alloy of taunt and banter which he sometimes mixed with more precious mate- rials in public contest. He may be added to the list of those eminent persons who pleased most in their friendly circle. He had the agreeable quality of being more easily pleased in society than might have been expected from the keenness of his discernment and the sensibility of his temper; still he was liable to be discomposed, or even silenced, by the presence of anyone whom he did not like. His manner in company betrayed the po- litical vexations or anxieties which preyed 75 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Caunlntr, C^eorge Cbalmers' Success on his mind: nor could he conceal that sen- sitiveness to public attacks which their fre- quent recurrence wears out in most English politicians. These last foibles may be thought interesting as the remains of natural char- acter, not destroyed by refined society and political affairs." — Goodrich, Select British Eloquence, p. 856. (H. & Bros., 1853.) 193. CAUSE AND EFFECT.— The in- ference from effect to cause is more conclu- sive than that from cause to effect. Thus the material world, both in reason and in scripture, is the foundation of a never-an- swered argument to prove the existence of the Creator. The visible things are the ef- fect; and they prove beyond dispute the in- visible things, the eternal power and god- head of the Creator. But this argument can not be inverted. The existence of the Cre- ator is not in itself a proof of the creation. A necessary caution in the use of this argu- ment from effect to cause is not to trace the connection too far, by ascending to a cause too remote. The reasoning in such cases becomes ludicrous. Thus Shakespeare's Polonius undertakes with great solemnity to find out the cause of Hamlet's madness. And, after much circumlocution in praise of brev- ity, and much prologue to introduce nothing, when he comes to assign the cause, it is, "I have a daughter" ; and then, through a long and minute deduction, infers, from his hav- ing a daughter, the lord Hamlet's madness; to make all whicli elaborate reasoning the more ridiculous, you will recollect that the madness so shrewdly deduced from its cause by Polonius, was all the time feigned. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 1, p. 214. (H. & M., 1810.) 194. CAUSE AND PROOF.— The prem- ise by which anything is proved is not nec- essarily the cause of the fact being such as it is; but it is the cause of our knowing, or being convinced, that it is so; e.g., the wet- ness of the earth is not the cause of rain, but it is the cause of our knowing that it has rained. These two things — the premise which produces our conviction, and the cause which produces that of which we are con- vinced — are the more likely to be confounded together, in the looseness of colloquial lan- guage, from the circumstance that they fre- quently coincide ; as e.g., when we infer that the ground will be wet, from the fall of rain which produces that wetness. And hence it is that the same words have come to be ap- plied, in common, to each kind of sequence ; e.g., an effect is said to "follow" from a cause, and a conclusion to "follow"' from the premises; the words "cause" and "rea- son" are each applied indifferently, both to a cause, properly so called, and to the premise of an argument; tho "reason," in strictness of speaking, should be confined to the latter. "Therefore," "hence," "consequently," etc., and also "since," "because," and "why," have likewise a corresponding ambiguity. The multitude of the words which bear this dou- ble meaning (and that, in all languages) greatly increases our liability to be misled by it; since thus the very means men resort to for ascertaining the sense of any expres- sion, are infected with the very same ambigu- ity; e. g., if we inquire what is meant by a "cause," we shall be told that it is that from which something "follows," etc., all which expressions are as equivocal and uncertain in their signification as the original one. It is in vain to attempt ascertaining by the bal- ance the true amount of any commodity, if uncertain weights are placed in the opposite scale. Hence it is that so many writers, in investigating the cause to which any fact or phenomena is to be attributed, have assigned that which is not a cause, but only a proof that the fact is so; and have thus been led into an endless train of errors and perplexi- ties. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 36. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 195. CHALMERS' SUCCESS IN PREACHING, SECRET OF.— One great secret of Dr. Chalmers' success was that he held it to be a duty to bestow upon a compo- sition to be used in God's service not less but more labor than upon any ordinary liter- ary production. He showed but little sym- pathy with those preachers who, eschewing all ornaments of style, indulged in a labored simplicity or offensive familiarity; and tho at times he has himself been charged with going to the opposite extreme, and offending by his turgidity of expression, yet from the excellence of the motive it may well be re- garded as a fault on the right side. We do not, indeed, question the sincerity of those who hold a different opinion, yet we can not but regard the fact of their so doing as a very curious and contradictory phenomenon of religious experience, and one which we can no more account for than we can for the somewhat kindred inconsistency of those persons who, while content themselves to dwell in houses of cedar, would begrudge the smallest expense incurred for the beauti- fying the house of God. Lest the marvellous power to which some men have attained should seem to place them beyond our reach CHialmers, Thomas Oliaracter KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 7e as examples, we must remember that we nec- essarily hear more of the successes than the failures of great orators ; and many of those who at times have produced the profoundest impression have been on other occasions powerless even to keep the attention of an audience. Burke, for instance, in spite of his rich imagination, commanding intellect, and matchless eloquence, spoke oftener to empty benches or slumbering hearers than any of his contemporaries. And we are told that on one occasion a member hurrying to the House, and finding it rapidly emptying, asked with the greatest naivete, "Is the House broken up, or is Burke on his legs?" If such, therefore, has been the manner in which some of the greatest orators which the world ever knew have been appreciated, we conclude that, in spite of all their study, it would be the height of presumption in any, but especially in the young and inexperienced, to expect to obtain a uniformly attentive hearing. — Halcombe, The Speaker at Home, p. 110. (B. & D., 1860.) 196. CHALMERS, THOMAS.— Thomas Chalmers was born at Anstruther in the year 1780. As a boy, he was remarkable for his extreme vivacity, idleness, and good nature — characteristics which in early youth gave place to enthusiasm, perseverance, and gentle kind-heartedness. At the age of nineteen he received his license to preach from the col- lege of St. Andrew's, where he had studied for some years previously; and at the age of thirty-five we find that his literary produc- tions, as well as his extraordinary powers as a preacher, had brought him into consider- able notice. His oratory has been thus de- scribed: "His voice is neither strong nor melodious, his gestures neither graceful nor easy, but, on the contrary, extremely rude and awkward; his pronunciation is not only broadly national, but broadly provincial, dis- torting almost every word he utters into some barbarous novelty, which, had his hear- ers leisure to think of such things, might be productive of an effect at once ludicrous and offensive in a singular degree; but of a truth these are things which no listener can attend to. This great preacher stands be- fore him, armed with all the weapons of the most commanding eloquence, and swaying all around him with its imperial rule. At first, indeed, there is nothing to make one suspect what riches are in store ; he commences in a low, drawling key, which has not even the merit of being solemn, and advances from sentence to sentence, and from paragraph to paragraph, while you seek in vain to catch a single echo that gives promise of that which is to come. There is, on the contrary, an appearance of constraint about him that af- fects and distresses you. You are afraid that his chest is weak, and that even the slightest exertion he makes may be too much for it. But, then, with what tenfold richness does this dim preliminary curtain make the glories of his eloquence to shine forth, when the heated spirit at length shakes from it its chill confining fetters, and bursts out elate and rejoicing in .the full splendor of its disimpris- oned wings ... I have heard many men deliver sermons far better arranged in regard to argument, and have heard very many de- liver sermons far more uniform in elegance, both of conception and of style; but most unquestionably I have never heard, either in England or Scotland, or in any other country, any preacher whose eloquence is capable of producing an effect so strong and irresistible as his." — Halcombe, The Speaker at Home, p. 108. (B. & D., 1860.) 197. CHALMERS, THOMAS, GRAPHIC POWER OF.— For power of presenting graphic and vivid pictures before the mind few would excel Dr. Chalmers. The conclusion of a sermon on Proverbs i:39, warning his hearers of the folly of trusting to a death-bed repentance, both by its won- derful power, and by the effect which it pro- duced, may be compared with the well-known passage of Massillon, in which he anticipates the results of the final judgment of his hear- ers. One of his hearers, speaking of this sermon, writes thus : "The power of his oratory and the force of his delivery were at times extraordinary; at length, when near the close of his sermon, all on a sudden, his eloquence gathered triple force, and came down in one mighty whirlwind, sweeping all before it. Never can I forget my feelings at the time, neither can I describe them. It was a transcendently grand — a glorious burst. The energy of the Doctor's action corresponded; intense emotion beamed from his countenance. I can not describe the ap- pearance of his face better than by saying, as Foster said of Hall's, it was "lighted up almost into a glare." The congregation, in so far as the spell under which I was allowed me to observe them, were intensely excited, leaning forward in the pews like a forest bending under the power of the hurricane, looking steadfastly at the preacher, and lis- tening in breathless wonderment. One young man, apparently by his dress a sailor, who sat in a pew before me, started to his feet, and stood till it was over. So soon as it n TO PUBLIC SPEAKING ClialmeTB, Thomas Character was concluded, there was (as invariably was the case at the close of the Doctor's bursts) a deep sigh, or rather gasp, for breath, ac- companied by a movement through the whole audience. — Halcombe, The Speaker at Home, p. 110. (B. & D., 1860.) 198. CHALMERS, THOMAS, STYLE OF.— He is like the very genius or demon of theological controversy personi- fied. He has neither airs nor graces at com- mand ; he thinks nothing of himself : he has nothing theatrical about him (which can not be said of his successor and rival) ; but you see a man in mortal throes and agony with doubts and difficulties, seizing stubborn, knotty points with his teeth, tearing them with his hands, and straining his eyeballs till they almost start out of their sockets, in pursuit of a train of visionary reasoning, like a Highland-seer with his sight. . . . Dr. Chalmers' manner, the determined way in which he gives himself up to his subject, or lays about him and buffets sceptics and gain- sayers, arrests attention in spite of every other circumstance, and iixes it on that, and that alone, which excites such interest and such eagerness in his own breast! Besides, he is a logician, has a theory in support of whatever he chooses to advance, and weaves the tissue of his sophistry so close and in- tricate that it is difficult not to be entangled in it, or to escape from it. — Hazlitt, The Spirit of the Age, p. 59. (1825.) 199. CHANNING, WILLIAM EL- LERY.— Born at Newport, R. I., April 7, 1780. Died at Bennington, Vt., Oct. 3, 1843. Somewhat insignificant in appear- ance, short, slight, of delicate health. Voice soft, musical, persuasive, vast and "undulat- ing" variety of modulation. Style natural, transparent, devoid of ornamentation. Dwelt on the abstract and other than the material. As a preacher, he was zealous, spiritual- minded, and enthusiastic. Not a great man, yet, as one has said of him, "There is a su- perior light in his mind, that sheds a pure, bright gleam on everything that comes from it. He talks freely upon common topics when he speaks of them. There is the in- fluence of the sanctuary, the holy place, about him." 200. CHANNING, WILLIAM EL- LERY, VOICE OF. — The most singular thing in his utterance was the extraordinary flexibility of his voice, its vast and "undu- lating" variety of modulation. It seemed to us like one of those delicate, scientific instru- ments, invented to detect and measure the subtlest elements in nature, and sensitive to the slightest influence — as, for instance, those nicely adjusted scales which vibrate under the small dust on the balance or the weight of a hair. It rose and fell so strangely in the course of the simplest and most com- monplace sentence, in the utterance of a single word often, that his hearers felt im- mediately that here was a speaker of a novel kind, and they watched to see how he could possibly become, according to any ordinary sense of the word, eloquent. If our readers who were wont to hear him will recall the word "immortality," as spoken by Dr. Chan- ning, they will understand what we endeavor to describe. His style of speaking, from this peculiarity, was instantly felt to be his own — not the product of any art, but the gift of nature; if indeed it could be thought a gift, and not a misfortune, when only its singu- larity was apparent, before its capabilities were witnessed and its wondrous power felt. There wis no want of firmness in his tones, and yet they fluctuated continually. And the power of his voice lay in this, that, being thus flexible, it was true to every change of emotion that arose in his mind. — Furness, Memoir of Channing, Christian Examiner, 1848, vol. 45, p. 374. 201. CHARACTER, BELIEF IN THE, OF THE SPEAKER.— In any description of composition, except the speech of an ad- vocate, a man's maintaining a certain conclu- sion, is a presumption that he is convinced of it himself. Unless there be some special rea- son for doubting his integrity and good faith, he is supposed to mean what he says, and to use arguments that are at least satisfactory to himself. But it is not so with a pleader; who is understood to be advocating the cause of the client who happens to have engaged him, and to have been equally ready to take the opposite side. The fullest belief in his uprightness goes no further, at the utmost, than to satisfy us that he would not plead a cause which he was conscious was grossly unjust, and that he would not resort to any unfair artifices. But to allege all that can fairly be urged on behalf of his client, even tho, as a judge, he might be inclined to de- cide the other way, is regarded as his pro- fessional duty. If, however, he can induce a jury to believe not only in his own gen- eral integrity of character, but also in his sincere conviction of the justice of his cli- ent's cause, this will give great additional weight to his pleading, since he will thus be regarded as a sort of witness in the cause. Character Character KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 78 And this accordingly is aimed at, and often with success, by practised advocates. They employ the language, and assume the man- ner, of full belief and strong feeling. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 140. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 202. CHARACTER, HIGH, OF THE SPEAKER. — It contributes much to suc- cess in speaking, that the morals, principles, conduct, and lives of those who plead causes, and of those for whom they plead, should be such as to merit esteem; and that those of their adversaries should be such as to deserve censure; and also that the minds of those before whom the cause is pleaded should be moved as much as possible to a favorable feeling, as well toward the speaker as toward him for whom he speaks. The feelings of the hearers are conciliated by a person's dignity, by his actions, by the char- acter of his life ; particulars which can more easily be adorned by eloquence, if they really exist, than be invented, if they have no ex- istence. But the qualities that attract favor to the orator are a soft tone of voice, a countenance expressive of modesty, a mild manner of speaking; so that if he attacks any one with severity, he may seem to do so unwillingly and from compulsion. It is of peculiar advantage that indications of good nature, of liberality, of gentleness, of piety, of grateful feelings, free from selfishness and avarice, should appear in him; and every- thing that characterizes men of probity and humility, not acrimonious, nor pertinacious, nor litigious, nor harsh, very much concili- ates benevolence, and alienates the affections from those in whom such qualities are not apparent. The contrary qualities to these, therefore, are to be imputed to your oppo- nents. This mode of address is extremely excellent in those causes in which the mind of the judge can not well be inflamed by ardent and vehement incitation; for ener- getic oratory is not always desirable, but often smooth, submissive, gentle language, which gains much favor for rei, or defen- dants, a term by which I designate not only such as are accused, but all persons about whose affairs there is any litigation ; for in that sense people formerly used the word. To describe the character of your clients in your speeches, therefore, as just, full of in- tegrity, religious, unpresuming, and patient of injuries, has an extraordinary effect; and such a description, either in the commence- ment, or in your statement of facts, or in the peroration, has so much influence, if it is agreeably and judiciously managed, that it often prevails more than the merits of the cause. Such influence, indeed, is produced by a certain feeling and art in speaking, that the speech seems to represent, as it were, the character of the speaker; for, by adopting a peculiar mode of thought and expression, united with action that is gentle and indica- tive of amiableness, such an effect is produced that the speaker seems to be a man of pro- bity, integrity, and virtue.— Cicero, On Ora- tory and Orators, p. 371. (B., 1909.) 203. CHARACTER, KNOWN, OF THE SPEAKER.— In March, 1880, a gentleman went to the Music Hall, Edinburgh, to hear a great orator. "I did not believe," he said, "in his politics ; but when, amid a perfect tempest of applause, the veteran statesman appeared on the platform, and I saw before me the man who for the last fifty years had been before the public as a most earnest thinker and worker, who had kept his mind open on all sides to the truth, and had never been ashamed to confess when he was in the wrong, who had during his leisure moments ranged with avidity the whole provinces of literature and science, whose eloquent voice on great emergencies had sounded like a clarion through Europe, cheering the heart of the poor political prisoner in his dungeon, atid making the tyrant quake upon his throne, and who, at the age of threescore and ten, was as active and enthusiastic as ever, and ready to do battle for his convictions against all comers — when, I say, I saw this man, and remembered what he had done and what he was still anxious to do, I was half-converted to his opinions even before he opened his lips." "Of eloquence," says Channing, "there is but one fountain, and that is inward life — force of thought, and force of feeling." Ar- istotle also says : "There are three cases of a speaker deserving belief; and these are prudence, excellence, and the having our in- terests at heart." Personal character, there- fore, is the most essential of all the orator's qualifications. Without it, the others would fall short of the effect. It is the proof; the others are merely the propositions. It is the example; the others are merely the promis- sory notes. It is the substance; the others are merely the shadow which the substance casts before. Character— high personal char- acter—must, in the end, clench all the orator's able arguments and stirring appeals. He must be — and not only be, but appear to the audience manifestly to be — modest, wise, and, above all, brimful of sympathy and philan- thropy. In this qualification, the prophets, apostles, and martyrs of old had great ad- 79 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Character Character vantage over men of the present day. Their lives — what they had suffered and what they were still prepared at a moment's notice to suffer — spoke trumpet-tongued. What an impressive figure Paul must have been to an audience who knew something of his his- tory! For his Divine Master's sake, he had given up his home, his kindred, his profes- sion, and had become an outcast and a wan- derer on the face of the earth. He had been shipwrecked, imprisoned, scourged, stoned, almost torn to pieces by the mob, tossed into the bloody arena to fight with wild beasts. As he stood before his audience in his poor, travel-stained garments, with his body wast- ed by hunger, his hands hard with toil, his face marred by manifold suffering, and, above all, his eyes glowing with holy zeal, he must have been a living sermon full of pathos and of power. No wonder that, aided by the grace of God, he stirred the Roman empire to its depths, and, in the phrase of his enemies, "turned the world upside down." — Pryde, Highways of Literature, p. 134. (F. & W.) 204. CHARACTER, MORAL, OF THE SPEAKER. — It is important to observe that a speaker, to become great, must be a good man. This was a favorite maxim of the ancient rhetoricians. They, perhaps, in their illustration of it, dealt somewhat in ex- aggeration, but it may be received as a cer- tain rule that a bad man can never be a con- summate orator. His mind is certain to lack that openness and power without which the noblest impressions can not be received or reproduced with effect. The consciousness of guilt, in whatever form, fetters a man's spir- it: the feeling of remorse, which accompa- nies it, weighs him down, and forbids his soaring into pure regions of lofty thought. There is nothing like the freedom and elas- ticity of spirit given by the consciousness of virtue. They are not only very favorable to . study, but give great ease in imparting the results of that study to others. On the for- mer of these points Quintilian has touched very happily. He says: "If the managing of an estate, if anxious attention to domes- tic economy, a passion for hunting, or whole days given up to places of public amusement, consume so much time that is due to study, how much greater waste must be occasioned by licentious desires, avarice, or envy? Noth- ing is so hurried and agitated, so contradic- tory to itself, or so violently torn and shat- tered by conflicting passions, as a bad heart. Amidst the distractions which it produces what room is left for the cultivation of let- ters, or the pursuit of any honorable art? No more, assuredly, than there is for the growth of corn in a field that is overrun with weeds." It is still more sure that a known bad man can never exercise influence as a public speaker. The very fact that we are aware of the baseness of corruption of a speaker's morals forbids our listening with anything but distrust to his opinions ; where- as a knowledge of his honesty and upright- ness would predispose us in favor of any- thing he might say. To be really virtuous, and to be known to be so, are two necessary things. There is something worthy of no- tice, as exhibiting the ideas of the ancients as to the length to which an advocate might go on behalf of his client, in the views of Quintilian on this point. In his professional capacity he shows, with great strength and felicity of argument, that a great orator must be a good man, and he recommends the strictest abstinence from all licentiousness or immorality in language. Yet he never for- got that he was a pleader, or that a pleader thinks himself justified in resorting to every possible means for the establishment of his case. He thought, with Cicero, that a good orator and a good man may sometimes tell a lie, provided it be told with a good motive; that the ignorant may be misled with a view to their benefit; that the mind of a judge may be drawn away from the contemplation of truth; that we may sometimes speak in favor of vice to promote a virtuous object; that if a dishonorable course be advisable, it may be advocated in plausible forms; and that vices may sometimes be honored with the names of the proximate virtues. But his worst offence against morality is that he sanc- tions the subornation of witnesses to de- clare what they know to be false. He seems to have thought, indeed, that a pleader might do all manner of evil if he could but per- suade himself that good would come of it. — Beeton, Art of Public Speaking, from Com- plete Orator, p. 8. (W. L. & Co.) 205. CHARACTER OF THE ORA- TOR. — It is unquestionably true that in forming that ideal model of an all-accom- plished orator, that perfect master of the art, which a fruitful imagination is able to conceive, the first quality with which he should be endowed is uprightness of heart. In mere speculation we can not separate the moral character from the oratorical power. If we assume as a given point that a man is deficient in the score of integrity, we dis- card all confidence in his discourse, and all benevolence to his person. We contemn his argument as sophistry. We detest his pathos Character Chatham, Iiord KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 80 as hypocrisy. If the powers of creation could be delegated to mortal hands, and we could make an orator, as a sculptor molds a statue, the first material we should employ for the composition would be integrity of heart. The reason why this quality becomes so essential is that it forms the basis of the hearer's con- fidence, without which no eloquence can op- erate upon his belief. Now if the pro- fession and the practise of virtue were always found in unison with each other, it would inevitably follow that no other than a good man could possess high powers of ora- tory; but as the world is constituted, the reputation of integrity will answer all the purpose of inspiring confidence, which could be attained by the virtue itself. The reputa- tion of integrity is sometimes enjoyed with- out being deserved, and sometimes deserved without being enjoyed. There is, however, no safer maxim upon which a young man can proceed in the career of life than that the reputation is to be acquired and main- tained by the practise of virtue. — Adams, Lec- tures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 1, p. 345. (H. & M., 1810.) 206. CHARACTER OF THE PREACH- ER. — A part of your preparation for the Christian ministry consists in such a ripen- ing of your disposition that you yourselves shall be exemplars of what you preach. And by an exemplar I do not mean simply that you must be a man who does not cheat his neighbor, or who unites in himself all the scrupulosities of the neighborhood; but a minister ought to be entirely, inside and out, a pattern man ; not a pattern man in absten- tion, but a man of grace, generosity, mag- nanimity, peaceableness, sweetness, tho of high spirit, and self-defensory power when required; a man who is broad, and wide, and full of precious contents. You must come up to a much higher level than common man- hood, if you mean to be a preacher. You are not to be a needle to carry a thin thread, and sew up old rags all your life long. That is not the thing to which you are called. You are called to be men of such nobleness and largeness and gentleness, so Pauline, and so Christlike, that in all your intercourse with the little children, and with the young people of your charge, you shall produce a feeling that they would rather be with the minister than with any gentleman in the State — al- ways fresh, always various, always intent on the well-being of others, well understanding Ihem and their pleasures and sympathies, promoting enjoyment, promoting instruction, promoting all that is noble in its noblest form and purest Christlikeness — that is what it is your business to be. — Beecher, Yale Lectures on Preaching, p. 37. (J. B. F. & Co., 1873.) 207. CHARACTER OF THE PUBLIC SPEAKER.— There is an advantage which genuine integrity will secure to the speaker, independent of the fallacious estimates of his hearers, which no baseless reputation can usurp, and no delusive prejudice can de- stroy. The advantage of that natural alli- ance which always subsists between honesty and truth, guided by that spirit of truth, which is no other than the perception of things as they exist in reality, an orator will never use, for he will never need any species of deception. He will never substitute false- hood for fact, nor sophistry for argument. Always believing himself what he says, he will possess the first of instruments for ob- taining the belief of others. Nor is the respect for truth in a fair and ingenuous mind a passive or inert quality. It is warm with zeal. It never suffers carelessness to over- look, nor indolence to slumber. It spurs to active exertion; it prompts to industry, to perseverance, to fortitude. Integrity of heart is a permanent and ever active principle, ex- ercising its influence over the heart through- out life. It is friendly to all the energetic virtues ; to temperance, to resolution, to la- bor. It trims the midnight lamp in pursuit of that general knowledge which alone can qualify the orator of ages. It greets the ris- ing dawn in special application to the cause for which its exertions may be required. Yet more; integrity of heart must be founded upon an enlarged and enlightened morality. A truly virtuous orator must have an accu- rate knowledge of the duties incident to man in a state of civil society. He must have formed a correct estimate of good and evil; a moral sense, which in demonstrative dis- course will direct him with the instantaneous impulse of intuition to the true sources of honor and shame ; in judicial controversy, to those of justice; in deliberation, to the path of real utility; in the pulpit, to all that the wisdom of man, and all that the revelation of heaven have imparted of light for the pur- suit of temporal or eternal felicity.— Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 1, p. 355. (H. & M., 1810.) 208. CHARACTER OF THE SPEAK- ER. — The man who in the long run is cer- tain to win and keep an honorable place in political life, and m so far to make his pub- lic addresses powerful and effective, is one whose aims are noble; whose principles are 81 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Character Cliatliaiu, Iiord sound; who seeks to accomplish his pur- poses by steady, patient, self-denying, en- lightened, and undaunted perseverance; who cannot be turned aside from the course he has laid before himself by love of ease, wealth, or popularity; who knows no stand- ard of judgment but truth and duty; who acts from the decision of his own mind; masters his passions and faculties so as to harmonize them with the resolves which ani- mate him. Such a man carries within him- self one of the paramount powers of elo- quence — the power of mastery, control, conviction, influence. When a man is what he seems, and seems what he is, opportunity alone is wanting to make him a power among his fellows wheresoever his lot, may be cast — if for good, great; if for evil, lamentable. Hence the need of recognizing character as an oratorical influence — an influence which, in direct address, makes itself powerfully and palpably felt, not only because it creates a presumption in favor of the opinions exprest, but because dependence can be placed in the honesty of that opinion. — Neil, The Art of Public Speaking, p. 43. (H. & W., 1868.) 209. CHARACTER, PERSONAL, OF THE SPEAKER.— The value of personal character in the speaker is emphasized in the phrase, "What you are prevents me from hearing what you say." What an audience may know about a man goes to determine the mental image they have of him when he stands before them to speak, and in a very large degree this affects the importance they attach to his utterance. A sneak need not try to be an orator, for he can not be. His real character will shortly betray him, if his reputation does not, and he will be appraised at his true value.. His soul's emphasis will unconsciously disclose the soul itself. — Kleiser, Great Speeches and How to Make Them, p. 9. (F. & W., 1911.) 210. CHATHAM, LORD.— It may well be doubted whether the eloquence of this great and wonderful man did not surpass that of either Cicero or Demosthenes. It is certain that the effects he repeatedly pro- duced have never been surpassed. And he had not to deal with a populace easily moved, al- tho cultivated in some particulars, as they had ; but his mightiest triumphs were won in the British Parliament, from an acute, criti- cal, and often hostile assembly. His example, with that of his son, who was almost equally great, afford an irrefutable answer to those who doubt the capacity of unwritten speech to convey impressions as mighty as any ever produced by man. He was born in 1708, and was educated at Oxford, quitting it without a degree, but with a brilliant reputation. Soon after he entered Parliament, and gained such power that he was shortly advanced to the ofiice of Prime Minister. This was in the reign of George II. and at the opening of the Seven Years' War, by which England won the province of Canada, and became the most powerful empire in the world. But when he took the reins of government, it was far different. The armies of the nation had been beaten in every quarter, and the people were almost in despair. But he infused new spirit into them, and by his energy and far- sighted combinations, won the most glorious series of triumphs that ever crowned the arms of England. His fame did not cease when he left the ministry, and, in America at least, he is best known for his friendly words to us during the revolutionary war. He opposed with all the strength of his won- drous eloquence the oppressive measures that provoked the colonists to revolution. Yet there was no element of fear or compromise in his disposition. He only opposed the ministry in their government of our country because he believed their measures to be unjust. But when, after seven years of de- feat and disaster, the body of the nation be- came convinced that the Americans never could be conquered, and the proposition was made to recognize their independence, Chat- ham fought against the accomplishment of the separation with all his vigor. He made his last speech on this subject, and while the house was still under the solemn awe that followed his address, he was strick- en down by apoplexy and borne home to die. — PiTTENGER, Oratory, Sacred and Secular, p. 143. (S. R. W., 1869.) 211. CHATHAM, LORD, ORATORY OF. — The leading characteristic of elo- quence is force; and force in the orator de- pends mainly on the action of strongly ex- cited feeling on a powerful intellect. The intellect of Chatham was of the highest or- der, and was peculiarly fitted for the broad and rapid combination of oratory. It was at once comprehensive, acute, and vigorous ; en- abling him to embrace the largest range of thought, to see at a glance what most men labor out by slow degrees, and to grasp his subject with a vigor, and hold on to it with a firmness, which have rarely, if ever, been equaled. But his intellect never acted alone. It was impossible for him to speak on any subject in a dry or abstract manner; all the operations of his mind were pervaded and diatham, Aord diatham, Iiord KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 82 governed by intense feeling. This gave rise to certain characteristics of his eloquence which may here be mentioned. First, he did not, like many in modern times, divide it into separate compartments — one designed to convince the understanding, and another to move the passions and the will. They were too closely united in his mind to allow of such a separation. All went together, con- viction and persuasion, intellect and feeling, like chain-shot. Secondly, the rapidity and abruptness with which he often flashed his thoughts upon the mind arose from the same source. Deep emotion strikes directly at its object. It struggles to get free from all sec- ondary ideas — all mere accessories. Hence the simplicity, and even bareness of thought, which we usually find in the great passages of Chatham and Demosthenes. The whole turns often on a single phrase, a word, an allusion. They put forward a few great ob- jects, sharply defined and standing boldly out in the glowing atmosphere of emotion. They pour their burning thoughts instantaneously upon the mind as a person might catch the rays of the sun in a concave mirror, and turn them on their object with a sudden and consuming power. Thirdly, his power of reasoning, or rather of dispensing with the forms of argument, resulted from the same cause. It is not the fact, tho sometimes said, that Lord Chatham never reasoned. In most of his early speeches, and in some of his later ones, especially those on the right of taxing America, we find many examples of argument; brief, indeed, but remarkably clear and stringent. It is true, however, that he endeavored, as far as possible, to escape from the trammels of formal reasoning. When the mind is all aglow with a subject, and sees its conclusions with a vividness and certainty of intuitive truths, it is impatient of the slow process of logical deduction. It seeks rather to reach the point by a bold and rapid process, throwing away the intermedi- ate steps, and putting the subject at once under such aspects and relations as to carry its own evidence along with it. The strength of Lord Chatham's feelings bore him di- rectly forward to the results of argument. He aflSrmed them earnestly, positively, not as mere assertions, but on the ground of their intrinsic evidence and certainty. John Fos- ter has finely remarked "that Lord Chatham struck on the results of reasoning as a com- mon shot strikes the mark, without your see- ing its course in the air." Perhaps a bomb- shell would have furnished even a better illustration. It explodes when it strikes, and thus becomes the most powerful of argu- ments. Fourthly, this ardor of feeling, in connection with his keen penetration of mind, made him often indulge in political prophecy. His predictions were in many instances sur- prizingly verified. It was so in the case of Admiral Hawke's victory, and in his quick foresight of a war with Spain in 1762. Eight years after, in the midst of a profound peace, he declared to the House of Lords that the inveterate enemies of England were, at the moment he spoke, striking "a blow of hos- tility" at her possessions in some quarter of the globe. News arrived at the end of four months, that the Spanish governor of Bue- nos Ayres was, at that very time, in the act of seizing the Falkland Islands, and expelling the English. When this prediction was aft- erward referred to in parliament, he re- marked, "I will tell these young ministers the true secret of intelligence. It is sagacity — sagacity to compare causes and effects; to judge of the present state of things, and discern the future by a careful review of the past. Oliver Cromwell, who astonished mankind by his intelligence, did not derive it from spies in the cabinet of every prince in Europe; he drew it from the cabinet of his own sagacious mind." As he advanced in years, his tone of admonition, especially on American affairs, became more and more lofty and oracular. He spoke as no other man ever spoke in a great deliberative as- sembly — as one who felt that the time of his departure was at hand ; who, withdrawn from the ordinary concerns of life, in the words of the great eulogist, "came occasionally into our system to counsel and decide." Fifthly, his great preponderance of feeling made him, in the strict sense of the term, an ex- temporaneous speaker. His mind was, in- deed, richly furnished with thought upon every subject which came up for debate, and the matter he brought forward was always thoroughly matured and strikingly appropri- ate; but he seems never to have studied its arrangement, much less to have bestowed any care on the language, imagery, or illustra- tions. Everything fell into its place at the moment. _ He poured out his thoughts and feelings just as they arose in his mind, and hence, on one occasion, when dispatches had been received which could not safely be made public, he said to one of his colleagues, "I must not speak to-day; I shall let out the secret." It is also worthy of remark that nearly all these great passages which came with such startling power upon the House arose out of some unexpected turn of the debate, some incident or expression which called forth, at the moment, these sudden 83 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Cbatbam, Iiord. Chatbam, Kord bursts of eloquence. In his attack on Lord Suffolk, he caught a single glance at "the tapestry which adorned the walls" around him, and one flash of his genius gave us the most magnificent passage in our eloquence. His highest power lay in. these sudden bursts of passion. To call them hits, with Lord Brougham, is beneath their dignity and force. "They form," as his lordship justly observes, "the great charm of Lord Chat- ham's oratory; they were the distinguishing excellence of his great predecessor, and gave him at will to wield the fierce 'democritie of Athens and to fulmine over Greece.' " — Bee- ton, British Orators and Oratory, from Com- plete Orator, p. 17. (W. L. & Co.) 212. CHATHAM, LORD, SPEAKING OF. — Lord Chatham has been generally regarded as the most powerful orator of modern times. He certainly ruled the Brit- ish senate as no other man has ever ruled over a great deliberative assembly. There have been stronger minds in that body, abler reasoners, profounder statesmen, but no man has ever controlled it with such absolute sway by the force of his eloquence. He did things which no human being but himself would ever have attempted. He carried through triumphantly what would have cov- ered any other man with ridicule and dis- grace. His success, no doubt, was owing, in part, to his extraordinary personal advan- tages. Few men have ever received from the hand of Nature so many of the outward qual- ifications of an orator. In his best days, be- fore he was crippled by the gout, his figure was tall and erect, his attitude imposing, his gestures energetic even to vehemence, yet tempered with dignity and grace. Such was the power of his eye that he very often cowed down an antagonist in the midst of his speech, and threw him into utter confu- sion by a single glance of scorn or contempt. Whenever he rose to speak his countenance glowed with animation, and was lighted up with all the varied emotions of his soul, so that Cowper describes him, in one of his bursts of patriotic feeling, "With all his country beaming in his face." "His voice," says a contemporary, "was both full and clear. His lowest whisper was dis- tinctly heard, his middle notes were sweet and beautifully varied, and when he ele- vated his voice to its highest pitch the Hous^ was completely filled with the volume of sound. The effect was awful, except when he wished to cheer or animate. Then he had spirit-stirring notes which were perfect- ly irresistible." The prevailing character of his delivery was majesty and force. "The crutch in his hand became a weapon of ora- 'tory." Much, however, as he owed to these personal advantages, it was his character as a man which gave him his surprizing ascen- dency over the minds of his countrymen. There was a fascination for all hearts in his lofty bearing, his generous sentiments, his comprehensive policy, his grand concep- tions of the height to which England might be raised as arbiter of Europe, his prefer- ence of her honor over all inferior material interests. The range of his powers as a speaker was uncommonly wide. He was equally qualified to conciliate and subdue. When he saw fit, no man could be more plausible and ingratiating, no one had ever a more winning address, or was more adroit in obviating objections and allaying preju- dice. When he changed his tone and chose rather to subdue, he had the sharpest and most massy weapons at command — wit, hu- mor, irony, overwhelming ridicule and con- tempt. His forte was the terrible, and he employed with equal ease the indirect mode of attack with which he so often tortured Lord Mansfield, and the open, withering in- vective with which he trampled down Lord Suffolk. His burst of astonishment and hor- ror at the proposal of the latter to let loose the Indians on the settlers of America, is without a parallel in our language for se- verity and force. In all such conflicts the energy of his will and his boundless self- confidence secured him the victory. Never did that "erect countenance" sink before the eye of an antagonist. Never was he known to hesitate or falter. He had a feeling of superiority over every one around him, which acted on his mind with the force of an in- spiration. He knew he was right ! He knew he could save England, and that no one else could do it! Such a spirit, in great crises, is the unfailing instrument of command both to the general and the orator. We may call it arrogance, but even arrogance here oper- ates upon most minds with the potency of a charm, and when united to a vigor of genius and a firmness of purpose like his, men of the strongest intellect fall down before it and admire — perhaps hate — what they can not resist. The leading characteristic of elo- quence is force, and force in the orator de- pends mainly on the action of strongly ex- cited feeling on a powerful intellect. The intellect of Chatham was of the highest or- der, and was peculiarly fitted for the broad and rapid combinations of oratory. It was at once comprehensive, acute, and vigorous. Chatham, Iiord Cicero-OemoBtlieiies KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 84 enabling him to embrace the largest range of thought, to see at a glance what most men labor out by slow degrees, and to grasp his subject with a vigor and hold on to it with a firmness, which have rarely, if ever, been equaled. But his intellect never acted alone. It was impossible for him to speak on any subject in a dry or abstract manner; all the operations of his mind were pervaded and governed by intense feeling. This gave rise to certain characteristics of his eloquence which may here be mentioned. First, he did not, like many in modern times, divide a speech into distinct compartments, one de- signed to convince the understanding, and another to move the passions and the will. They were too closely united in his own mind to allow of such a separation. All went together, conviction and persuasion, intellect and feeling, like chain-shot. Secondly, the rapidity and abruptness with which he often flashed his thoughts upon the mind arose from the same source. Deep emotion strikes directly at its object. It struggles to get free from all secondary ideas — all mere ac- cessories. Hence the simplicity, and even bareness of thought, which we usually find in the great passages of Chatham and De- mosthenes. The whole turns often on a sin- gle phrase, a word, an allusion. They put forward a few great objects, sharply defined, and standing boldly out in the glowing at- mosphere of emotion. They pour their burn- ing thoughts instantaneously upon the mind, as a person might catch the rays of the sun in a concave mirror, and turn them on their object with a sudden and consuming power. Thirdly, his mode of reasoning, or, rather, of dispensing with the forms of argument, resulted from the same cause. It is not the fact, tho sometimes said, that Lord Chatham never reasoned. In most of his early speeches, and in some of his later ones, es- pecially those on the right of taxing America, we find many examples of argument ; brief, indeed, but remarkably clear and stringent. It is true, however, that he endeavored as far as possible to escape from the trammels of formal reasoning. When the mind is all aglow with a subject and sees its conclusions with the vividness and certainty of intuitive truths, it is impatient of the slow process of logical deduction. It seeks rather to reach the point by a bold and rapid progress, throwing away the intermediate steps, and putting the subject at once under such aspects and relations as to carry its own evidence along with it. Fourthly, this ardor of feel- ing, in connection with his keen penetration of mind, made him often indulge in political prophecy. His predictions were in many in- stances surprizingly verified. Fifthly, his great preponderance of feeling made him, in the strictest sense of the term, an extem- poraneous speaker. His mind was, indeed, richly furnished with thought upon every subject which came up for debate, and the matter he brought forward was always thor- oughly matured and strikingly appropriate; but he seems never to have studied its ar- rangement, much less to have bestowed any care on the language, imagery, or illustra- tions. Everything fell into its place at the moment. He poured out his thoughts and feelings just as they arose in his mind, and hence on one occasion, when dispatches had been received which could not safely be made public, he said to one of his colleagues, "I must not speak to-day; I shall let out the secret." It is also worthy of remark that nearly all these great passages, which came with such startling power upon the House, arose out of some unexpected turn of the debate, some incident or expression which called forth, at the moment, these sudden bursts of eloquence. To this intense emotion, thus actuating all his powers. Lord Chatham united a vigorous and lofty imagination, which formed his crowning excellence as an orator. It is this faculty which exalts force into the truest and most sublime eloquence. In this respect he approached more nearly than any speaker of modern times, to the great master of Athenian art. It was here, chiefly, that he surpassed Mr. Fox, who was not at all his inferior in ardor of feeling or robust vigor of intellect. Mr. Burke had even more imagination, but it was wild and irregular. It was too often on the wing, cir- cling around the subject, as if to display the grace of its movement for the beauty of its plumage. The imagination of Lord Chatham struck directly at its object. It "flew an eagle flight, forth and right on." It never became his master. Nor do we ever find it degenerating into fancy, in the limited sense of that term : it was never fanciful. It was, in fact, so perfectly blended with the other powers of his mind — so simple, so true to nature even in its loftiest flights — that we rarely think of it as imagination at all. — Goodrich, Select British Eloquence p. 71. (H. & Bros., 1853.) 213. CHOATE, RUFUS.— Born at Es- sex, Mass., Oct. 1, 1799. Died at Halifax, Nova Scotia, July 13, 1859. He was tall, with black hair, bronzed complexion, black eyes that could be gentle and winning or brilliant and commanding. His voice was 85 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Chatham, ImOtS. Clcero-SemoBtheues melodious, authoritative, emotional, with great flexibility. To an inexhaustible store of broad sympathy and genial tolerance, were added great original genius, vast capacity of mind. He loved study, and seemed to ac- quire knowledge without any effort. His vo- cabulary was remarkably extensive. He had "wealth of language and opulence of fancy." "For combination of accurate memory, logi- cal acumen, vivid imagination, profound learning in the law, exuberance of literary knowledge, and command of language, united with strategic skill," said Loring, "I should place him at the head of all whom I have ever seen in the management of a cause at the bar." When preparing an argument or a speech, he became completely absorbed with it. It is said that he would arise a score of times during the night to make a note of some thought that had just flashed through his wakeful mind. He was impetuous, bril- liant, exotic — a great extempore speaker, combining a most wonderful voice with all the arts of rhetoric and oratory. It is doubt- ful if any other man was ever his equal in swaying his hearers. His great knowledge of human nature, his extraordinary personal fascination, together with the captivating richness of his voice, carried every one along with him. 215. CHRIST'S PREACHING. — The form of Christ's teaching was as varied and as simple as were its methods. It was the spontaneous outcome of the requirements of the moment. Whatever was most exactly needed for the defence of a truth, or the blighting of a hypocrisy, or the startling of self-satisfaction into penitence, or the con- solation of despondency, was instantaneously clothed in its best form, whether of reproach, or question, or deep irony, or tender apos- trophe, or exquisitely poetic image. It was "a richly variegated wisdom," which, like the King's daughter, was "circtimamicta varietati- bus — clothed in raiment of various colors." His lessons were not, it would seem, often exprest in long and didactic addresses to which the Sermon on the Mount offers the nearest approach. There was in them noth- ing of recondite metaphysics. "What Jesus had to offer," it has been said, "was not a new code with its penal enactments, not a new system of doctrine with its curse upon all who should dare to depart from it, but a sure promise of deliverance from misery, of consolation under all suffering, and perfect satisfaction for all the wants of the soul." And this was set forth, not in gorgeous met- aphor, or sonorous rhetoric, but in language of the most perfect simplicity, unencumbered by the pedantry of scholasticism, or the mi- nutiae of logic. There ran throughout His discourses "the two weighty qualities of im- pressive pregnancy and popular intelligibil- ity.'' And to make what He said more clear in its brevity. His words were illuminated with constant illustrations, not drawn from remote truths of science, but suggested by the commonest sights, sounds, and scenes of nature, and the most familiar incidents of humble life — the rejoicing shepherd carrying back on his shoulders the recovered lamb; the toiling vine-dressers; the harvesters in the fields of ripe corn; the children busy in gathering the tares for burning; the woman seeking for the lost coin out of her forehead- circlet; the man going to borrow from his neighbor a loaf for his hungry and unex- pected guest. He taught by picturesque and concrete examples, or when He laid down general rules applied them to actual cases. — Fakrar, The Life of Lives, p. 315. (D. M. & Co., 1900.) 215. CICERO AND DEMOSTHENES COMPARED.— On the subject of com- paring Cicero and Demosthenes, much has been said by critical writers. The different manners of these two princes of eloquence, and the distinguishing characters of each, are so strongly marked in their writings that the comparison is, in many respects, obvious and easy. The character of Demosthenes is vigor and austerity; that of Cicero is gen- tleness and insinuation. In the one you find more manliness, in the other more ornament. The one is more harsh, but more spirited and cogent; the other more agreeable, but withal looser and weaker. To account for this difference without any prejudice to Cicero, it has been said that we must look to the nature of their different auditories; that the refined Athenians followed with ease the concise and convincing eloquence of De- mosthenes ; but that a manner more popular, more flowery and declamatory, was requisite in speaking to the Romans, a people less acute and less acquainted with the arts of speech. But this is not satisfactory. For we must observe that the Greek orator spoke much oftener before a mixed multitude than the Roman. Almost all the public business of Athens was transacted in popular assem- blies. The common people were his hearers and his judges. Whereas Cicero generally addrest himself to his "Fatres Conscripti," or in criminal courts to the Prsetor, and the select judges ; and it cannot be imagined that the persons of highest rank and best educa- Clceio-SemoatheneB Clay, Henry KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 86 tion in Rome required a more diffuse man- ner of pleading than the common citizens of Athens, in order to make them understand the cause, or reUsh the speaker. Perhaps we shall come nearer the truth by observing that to unite all the qualities, without the least exception, that form a perfect orator, and to excel equally in each of those quali- ties, is not to be expected from the limited powers of human genius. The highest de- gree of strength is, we suspect, never found united with the highest degree of smooth- ness and ornament," equal attentions to both are incompatible; and the genius that car- ries ornament to its utmost length is not of such a kind as can excel as much in vigor. For there plainly lies the characteristic dif- ference between these two celebrated orators. It is a disadvantage to Demosthenes, that besides his conciseness, which sometimes pro- duces obscurity, the language in which he writes is less familiar to most of us than the Latin, and that we are less acquainted with the Greek antiquities than we are with the Roman. We read Cicero with more ease and, of course, with more pleasure. Inde- pendent of this circumstance, too, he is, no doubt, in himself, a more agreeable writer than the other. But notwithstanding this advantage, we are of opinion that were the state in danger, or some great national inter- est at stake, which drew the serious attention of the public, an oration in the spirit and strain of Demosthenes would have more weight and produce greater effects than one in the Ciceronian manner. Were Demosthe- nes' philippics spoken in a British assembly, in a similar conjuncture of affairs, they would convince and persuade at this day. The rapid style, the vehement reasoning, the disdain, anger, boldness, freedom, which per- petually animate them, would render their success infallible over any modern assembly. It may be questioned whether the same can be said of Cicero's orations ; whose eloquence, however beautiful, and however well suited to the Roman taste, yet borders oftener on declamation, and is more remote from the manner in which we now expect to hear real business and causes of importance treated. — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 3, p. 208. (A. S., 1787.) 216. CICERO, THE ORATOR. — The literary high-water mark was reached at Rome during the first century before the Christian era, and its prose representative was the orator, Marcus Tullius Cicero. Born in 106 B. C, at Arpinum, he was educated at Rome from his fourteenth year in grammar. philosophy, and the technical rules of verse, altho the poet Archias, his teacher, could not give to the greater orator his own po- etic faculty. After he was sixteen years of age, Cicero frequented the forum, and, by carefully exercising himself in composition, made the eloquence of the celebrated orators to whom he listened his own. At twenty-five he argued his first cause. Afterward he traveled in Greece and Asia, employing his time in the cultivation of oratory. At thirty- nine he began to distinguish himself as a deliberative orator, his speeches hitherto hav- ing been entirely of the judicial kind. At forty-three, when he attained to the consul- ship, the moral qualities of his character were the highest, and his genius shone forth with the greatest splendor. It was at this time that the famous oration against Catiline was delivered, and the plot which had been digni- fied with the title of war was broken up by the eloquence of one who wore the peaceful toga. Other triumphs of his oratorical power followed, until the year of his death, when he delivered the twelve Phillipic orations — "that torrent of indignant and eloquent invective." — Sears, History of Oratory, p. 116. (S. C. G. & Co., 1896.) 217. CICERO'S STYLE.— Cicero's vir- tues are, beyond controversy, eminently great. In all his orations there is high art. He begins generally with a regular exordium; and with much preparation and insinuation prepossesses the hearers, and studies to gain their affections. His method is clear, and his arguments are arranged with great pro- priety. His method is indeed more clear than that of Demosthenes; and this is one advantage which he has over him. We find everything in its proper place; he never at- tempts to move till he has endeavored to convince, and in moving, especially the softer passions, he is very successful. No man knew the power and force of words better than Cicero. He rolls them along with the great- est beauty and pomp, and in the structure of his sentences is curious and exact to the high- est degree. He is always full and flowing, never abrupt. He is a great amplifier of every subject; magnificent, and in his senti- ments highly moral. His manner is on the whole diffuse, yet it is often happily varied, and suited to the subject In his four ora- tions, for instance, against Catiline, the tone and style of each of them, particularly the first and last, is very different, and accommo- dated_ with a great deal of judgment to the occasion and the situation in which they were spoken. When a great public object 87 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING 01c«ro-DemosUieues Clay, Henry roused his mind and demanded indignation and force, he departs considerably from that loose and declamatory manner to which he leans at other times, and becomes exceeding- ly cogent and vehement. This is the case in his orations against Antony, and in those two against Verres and Catiline. Together with those high qualities which Cicero pos- sesses, he is not exenjpt from certain de- fects, of which it is necessary to take notice. For the Ciceronian eloquence is a pattern so dazzling by its beauties that if not examined with accuracy and judgment, it is apt to be- tray the unwary into a faulty imitation, and it can hardly be doubted that it has some- times produced this effect. In most of his orations, especially those composed in the earlier part of his life, there is too much art, even carried to the length of ostentation. There is too visible a parade of eloquence. He seems often to aim at obtaining admira- tion, rather than at producing conviction, by what he says. Hence, on some occasions, he is showy rather than solid ; and diffuse where he ought to have been pressing. His sen- tences are at all times round and sonorous; they can not be accused of monotony, for they possess variety of cadence; but, from too great a study of magnificence, he is sometimes deficient in strength. On all occa- sions, where there is the least room for it, he is full of himself. His great actions, and the real services which he had performed to his country, apologise for this in part; an- cient manners, too, imposed fewer restraints from the side of decorum; but, even after these allowances made, Cicero's ostentation of himself can not be wholly palliated; and his orations, indeed all his works, leave on our minds the impression of a good man, but, withal, of a vain man. — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 2, p. 804. (A. S., 1787.) 218. CLAY, HENRY.— Born in Hanover County, Virginia, April 13, 1777. Died at Washington, D. C, June 39, 1853. Tall, sin- ewy, erect, commanding; graceful, affable, and dignified ; nervously constituted, sensitive to a degree. Prominent nose, large mouth, clear, gray eyes. Clear, rotund, indescribably melodious voice, of wide compass and dis- tinct enunciation. "His conversation, his ges- tures, his very look, were magisterial, persuasive, seductive, irresistible ; and his ap- pliance of all these was courteous, patient, and indefatigable," said William Seward. H^ was entirely self-educated. He was frank, ardent, fearless, chivalrous, optimistic, pa- triotic, of strong impulses and vivid imagina- tion, with brilliancy of intellect; but lacking somewhat in accuracy of knowledge, clarity of insight, and depth of logic. His honest convictions possest him. When speaking on a great occasion, he was absolutely engrossed in his subject. He was vehement and impas- sioned, and his personal fascination was amazing. His printed speeches give no ade- quate idea of his powers. Said William Mathews: "His eloquence is generally of a warm and popular rather than of a strictly argumentative cast, and abounds in just those excellences which lose their interest when divorced from the orator's manner and from the occasion that produced them, and in those faults that escape censure only when it can be pleaded for them that they are the in- evitabk overflow of a mind too vividly at work to restrain the abundance of its cur- rent. The subtle charm of his peculiarly mu- sical voice reached the very heart-strings of his audience. He spoke to win then and there, with no thought for posterity." 219. CLAY, HENRY, STYLE OF.— The vast power of Clay as an orator was early displayed. When only twenty-two years of age, he, with another very able speaker, addrest a popular meeting. While the other spoke there was great applause and deafen- ing acclamations, but Clay's address was so much more thrilling and effective that the popular feeling became too deep for utter- ance, and he closed amid unbroken silence. It was some moments before the crowd re- covered sufficiently to give vent, in thunder- ing cheers, to the emotion that he had kin- dled. It is hardly necessary to follow the career of Clay through all the years that were devoted to the public service, for the country is still familiar with it. Many of the measures with which he was connected may not meet our approval, but no one will question the honesty of his motives or the ability with which they were advocated. In Congress he had scarcely a rival. Calhoun was equally active and more logical, but had not the magic of voice and eye, the nameless graces of delivery, that distinguished the Kentucky orator. Webster spoke more like a giant, but was hard to call out in his full force, and on ordinary occasions did not speak nearly as well as Clay. The voice of the latter was an instrument of great power, and he well knew how to use it. "Nature," he said, on one occasion, referring to an ef- fort made years before, "had singularly fa- vored me by giving me a voice peculiarly adapted to produce the effects I wished in public speaking. Now," he added, "its mel- ody is changed, its sweetness gone." These Clay, Senrf Common Sense KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 88 words were pronounced as if in mockery, in tones of exquisite sweetness. One who heard him often, says : "Mr. Clay's voice has pro- digious power, compass, and richness; all its variations are captivating, but some of its base tones thrill through one's whole frame. To those who have never heard the living melody, no verbal description can convey an adequate idea of the diversified effects of those intonations which, in one strain of sen- timent, fall in whispering gentleness like the first words of love upon a maiden's lips, and anon in sterner utterances ring with the maddening music of the main." A gentle- man who witnessed an oratorical encounter between Clay and Webster describes it as inconceivably grand : "The eloquence of Mr. Webster was the majestic roar of a strong and steady blast pealing through the forest; but that of Mr. Clay was the tone of a god- like instrument, sometimes visited by an angel touch, and swept anon by all the fury of the raging elements." Clay, Webster, and Cal- houn were all extempore speakers. Webster sometimes prepared very elaborately, but never confined himself to his preparation. And some of his very best efforts were made on the spur of the moment when cir- cumstances conspired to arouse his vast but somewhat sluggish genius. Both the others prepared their discourses in thought alone, and those who were obliged to rely on their manuscripts or their memories stood no chance at all with them in the fiery debates through which they passed. — Pittenger, Ora- tory, Sacred and Secular, p. 176. (S. R. W., 1869.) 220. CLEARNESS AND ELEGANCE IN SPEAKING.— The pronunciation will be clear, first, if all words be articulated, part of which is often eaten up, and part left un- pronounced, and many do not pronounce the last syllables, while they lean upon the sound of the first. It is necessary to give a full sound to words, but to tell over, as it were, and reckon every letter, must be very trou- blesome and disagreeable; for vowels fre- quently suffer an elision, and the sound of some consonants, when a vowel follows, is partly drowned. The second thing to be ob- served for clear pronunciation is keeping distinct parts of the discourse, that he who speaks may begin and end where he ought. It will also be necessary to take notice in what place the sense ought to be kept up, and, as it were, suspended, and where it is to end as being complete. In these distinctions, likewise, we should observe sometimes longer and sometimes shorter pauses, for there is a difference between a distinction ending a sense and a period. Pronunciation is elegant when seconded by a voice that is easy, loud, fine, flexible, strong, sweet, durable, clear, pure, sonorous, and dwelling upon the ear. P'or there is a certain voice fit for being heard, not so much by its loudness as by its propriety, being manageable at pleasure, and susceptible of all manner of tones and in- flexions, as a musical instrument that is per- fect and well-mounted. As adjuncts to this voice, the lungs should be strong and the breath be of good continuance, proof against labor. A tone greatly upon the base, or greatly upon the treble, may occasionally agree well with music, but never with an oratorical discourse. The one, little clear, but too full, can not affect minds with any emo- tion?; the other, too sharp, and overstrained in clearness, and surpassing what is natural, can neither admit of a due inflexion from pronunciation nor bear to be held for any time on the stretch. For the voice is like the strings of a musical instrument: the slacker it is, the graver and fuller it will be: and the more it is stretched, the more will it be thin and sharp. Thus flats have no force, and sharps are in danger of breaking asunder. Middle tones therefore will best suit the orator, and when his vehemence is upon the swell these are to be raised higher, but will require to be tempered upon a lower key when he subsides into strains more peace- ful. — Anonymous. CLEARNESS.— See also Perspicuity. CLERGYMEN.— See Preachers. 221. CLIMAX AND ITS USE.— When several successive steps are employed to raise the feelings gradually to the highest pitch, which is the principal employment of what rhetoricians call the climax, a far stronger effect is produced than by the mere presenta- tion of the most striking object at once. It is observed by all travelers who have visited the Alps, or other stupendous mountains, that they form a very inadequate notion of the vastness of the greater ones, till they ascend some of the less elevated, which yet are huge mountains, and thence view the others still towering above them. And the mind, no less than the eye, cannot so well take in and do justice to any vast object at a single glance, as by several successive approaches and re- peated comparisons. Thus in the well-known climax of Cicero in the oration against Verres, shocked as the Romans were likely to be at the bare mention of the crucifixion of 89 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Clay, Heury Common Sense one of their citizens, the successive steps by which he brings them to the contemplation of such an event, were calculated to work up their feelings to a much higher pitch: "It is an outrage to bind a Roman citizen; to scourge him is an atrocious crime ; to put him to death is almost parricide; but to crucify him — what shall I call it?" — Whately, Ele- ments of Rhetoric, p. 127. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 222. COMMON SENSE AND ELE- GANCE IN SPEAKING.— One thing there will certainly be, which those who speak well will exhibit as their own : a grace- ful and elegant style, distinguished by a pe- culiar artifice and polish. But this kind of diction, if there be not matter beneath it clear and intelligible to the speaker, must either amount to nothing, or be received with ridicule by all who hear it. For what savors so much of madness, as the empty sound of words, even the choicest and most elegant, when there is no sense or knowledge con- tained in them? Whatever be the subject of a speech, therefore, in whatever art or branch of science, the orator, if he has made him- self master of it, as of his client's cause, will speak on it better and more elegantly than even the very originator and author of it can. If indeed any one shall say that there are certain trains of thought and reasoning properly belonging to orators, and a knowl- edge of certain things circumscribed within the limits of the forum, I will confess that our common speech is employed about these matters chiefly; but yet there are many things, in these very topics, which those mas- ters of rhetoric, as they are called, neither teach nor understand. For who is ignorant that the highest power of an orator con- sists in exciting the minds of men to anger, or to hatred, or to grief, or in recalling them from these more violent emotions to gentleness and compassion? which power will never be able to effect its object by eloquence, unless in him who has obtained a thorough insight into the nature of mankind, and all the passions of humanity, and those causes by which our minds are either impelled or restrained. But all these are thought to be- long to the philosophers, nor will the orator, at least with my consent, ever deny that such is the case ; but when he has conceded to them the knowledge of things, since they are willing to exhaust their labors on that alone, he will assume to himself the treatment of oratory, which without that knowledge is nothing. For the proper concern of an ora- tor, as I have already often said, is language of power and elegance accommodated to the feelings and understandings of mankind. — Cicero, On Oratory and Orators, p. 156. (B., 1909.) 223. COMMON SENSE IN SPEAK- ING. — Common sense is an original source of knowledge common to all mankind, but prevailing in different degrees of strength in different persons. Idiots and changelings are exceptions to the general truth that all men are endowed with common sense ; in madness it is not always totally lost. It is purely hence that we derive our assurance of such truths as these : "Whatever has a beginning has a cause." "When there is in the effect a manifest adjustment of the several parts to a certain end, there is intelligence in the cause." "The course of nature will be the same to- morrow that it is to-day; or, the future will resemble the past." "There is such a thing as body; or, there are material substances in- dependent of the mind's conceptions." "There are other intelligent beings in the universe beside me." "The clear representations of my memory, in regard to past events, are in- dubitably true." These and a great many more of the same kind, it is impossible for any man by reasoning to evince, as might easily be shown were this a proper place for the discussion. And it is equally impossible, without a full conviction of them, to advance a single step in the acquisition of knowledge, especially in all that regards mankind, life, and conduct. In point of evidence, this ranks with mathematical axioms. The faith we give to memory differs from consciousness, into which it is not resolvable. By that firm belief in sense which, under the second branch of intuitive evidence, I resolved into consciousness, I meant no more than to say I am certain I see, and feel, and think what I actually see, and feel, and think. As in this I pronounce only concerning my own present feelings, whose essence consists in being felt, and of which I am at present conscious, my conviction is reducible to this action or co- incident with it. "It is impossible for a thing to be and not to be at the same time." Now when I say I trust entirely to the clear re- port of my memory, I mean a good deal more than "I am certain that my memory gives such a report, or represents things in such a manner," for this conviction I have indeed from consciousness ; but I mean, "I am certain that things happened heretofore at such a time, in the precise manner in which I now remember that they then hap- pened." Thus there is a reference in the ideas of memory, to former sensible impres- Common Sense Composition KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 90 sions, to which there is nothing analogous in sensation. At the same time, it is evident that remembrance is not always accompanied with this full conviction. Experience assists us in judging of languid and confused sug- gestions of memory, but it is not from ex- perience we come to know that faith in every case is due to memory. To maintain propo- sitions the reverse of the primary truths of common sense, implies insanity, not a con- tradiction. If any one please to call the evi- dence of memory instinctive, his use of the term will not derogate in the least from the dignity, the certainty, or the importance of the truths themselves. Such instincts are no other than the oracles of eternal wisdom. Axioms of this last kind are as essential to moral reasoning as those of the first kind to the sciences of geometry and arithmetic. Without the aid of some of them, these sci- ences would be utterly inaccessible to us. The whole conduct and business of human life depend on matter of fact. All reasoning necessarily supposes that there are certain principles in which we must acquiesce, and beyond which we can not go, principles clear- ly discernible by their own light, which can derive no additional evidence from anything besides. On the contrary supposition, the in- vestigation of truth would be an endless and a fruitless task ; we should be eternally prov- ing, whilst nothing could ever be proved ; be- cause, by the hypothesis, we could never as- cend to premises which require no proof. If there be no first truths, there can be no second truths, nor third, nor indeed any truth at all. The extensive meaning we have given to the phrase intuitive evidence, shows that it includes everything whose evidence results from the simple contemplation of the ideas or perceptions which form the proposition under consideration, and requires not the intervention of any third idea as a medium of proof. The truths of pure intellection may be denominated metaphysical; those of con- sciousness, physical ; those of common sense, moral; and all of them natural, original, and unaccountable. — Campbell, The Philosophy of Rhetoric, p. 40. (G. & W. B. W., 1823.) 224. COMPARISON AS A FIGURE OF SPEECH. — The comparison is a figure in which the properties or relations of the object are represented by means of similar properties or relations in another object of the same class. The comparison differs from the metaphor chiefly in being more extended. It is not essential to the comparison that the words of comparison, "like," "as," "so," etc., be actually exprest; altho the term, "meta- phor,'' or "metaphorical comparison," is more commonly applied when those words are omitted. The figure is in this case bolder, and makes a stronger demand on the imagi- nation of the reader ; as all the properties of the representative object are in form attrib- uted to the other, and the reader is left to distinguish and select from among them such as may be appropriate. The use of the com- parative particles and words, on the other hand, indicate only a partial resemblance. If the poet had said, "Be not dumb, driven cat- tle," the expression, if allowed by the meter, would be felt at once to be stronger and bolder than the comparative form which he adopts, "Be not like dumb, driven cattle." — Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 321. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 225. COMPASSION, APPEALS TO— "Appeals to compassion should be brief," it has been said, "for nothing dries more quick- ly than a tear." And a great master of rhet- oric warns us not to attempt the pathetic kind of oratory, unless we are conscious of great powers. It is certain that a failure in an attempt to move to tears is more than a mere failure; it chills and even disgusts. At the same time, every preacher must attempt at times to appeal to the compassion of his people. He is the appointed pleader for the needy, the sick, for them that sit in darkness ; and he must do his best for these unhappy clients. But he must not think it a first con- dition to assume a pathetic manner. There need not be a tear in his eye, nor even what the French call "tears in the voice." Any- thing like a forced manner, in subjects of this kind, would be fatal. Many of us know how painful is that lachrymose tone which sometimes becomes habitual to a preacher. The great point for a young preacher is to let his subject, rather than his manner, work on the feelings. — Thomson, Homiletical and Pastoral Lectures, p. 98. (A., 1880.) 226. COMPOSITION, CORRECTING THE. — The business of correcting is to add, retrench, and alter. Adding and re- trenching are effected with greater ease, but to keep down what swells, to raise what is low, to restrain what is luxuriant, to dispose of wliat is not in order, to make compact what is loose, to circumscribe within its just bounds what is otherwise extravagant, imply more than ordinary labor and sagacity, as we must condemn the things that pleased, and find others that escaped us. The best way, undoubtedly, of correcting our compositions is to lay them by for some time, and after- 91 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Oommon Seaae Composition wards to return to them as something new and executed by another; to prevent our being possest with that parental fondness which is so natural in regard to every newly born offspring. But this counsel can not always be followed, more especially by an orator, who, to satisfy the duties of his pro- fession, is obliged to write oftener than an- other. The manner of correcting ought like- wise to have certain bounds fixed to it; for some return to all they have written as faulty, and as if nothing was allowed to be right which is first, they deem anything else better ; and this they do as often as they take in hand their compositions. Thus do their works turn out full of scars, and bloodless, and much the worse for all this accuracy. Let there be, then, some time or other some- thing that may please, or at least be suffi- cient, that the file may polish the work, and not wear it down. — Quintilian, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 2, p. 836. (B. L., 1774.) 227. COMPOSITION, DISCIPLINE IN. — It is said to have been the usual practice of Alexander Hamilton, who was one of the most original and prolific thinkers who has enlightened the world in modern times, when he had an important subject under deliberation, to concentrate his thoughts upon it in the silence of night, then to retire to rest, and immediately on awaking from sleep, to inscribe his views on paper. Apart from the encouragement for adopting this mode of procedure, in an ex- ample so attractive and impressive as that of Hamilton, there is a sort of invisible charm or magical influence associated with nocturnal meditation on a subject, which powerfully commends it to the young mind. This species of mental labor may be com- pared to the act of sowing seeds which are to vegetate during the indulgence of sleep, and to exhibit with the light of the morning sun, the plant fully developed both in its stem and leaves. Those who have had diffi- cult exercises assigned them to be committed to memory, during their youth, will remem- ber with delight how vividly some portion of an author was painted on the page of mem- ory in the morning, which they had carefully studied on the preceding night. The suc- cess connected with this specific mode of reflection may be traced to the principle or fact that the last thoughts which hang on the mind, previous to sleep, will be the first to visit it after awaking. The repose of sleep may be regarded in the light of an isthmus intervening between two seasons of labor, and the images or objects which were most carefully observed and cultivated on the commencing side of that isthmus, will cer- tainly be the first to accost the memory at its terminating boundary.— McQueen, The Ora- tor's Touchstone, or Eloquence SimpMed, p. 201. (H. & B., 1860.) 228. COMPOSITION, EXAMINING THE. — A young writer should cultivate the habit of correcting his productions. Dur- ing composition, he should allow his thoughts to flow on without interruption, and should surrender himself entirely to his subject. But when this work is performed, he should, after some interval, carefully examine his style, with particular reference to its per- spicuity and energy; he should transpose clauses and recast whole sentences, if neces- sary, to make them more lucid and forcible; diluted and tame expressions should give place to others; and, in general, the phrase- ology should be conformed to a just concep- tion of a spoken discourse. Adaptation should be observed throughout, in argument, illustration, and language, to the particular assembly which is to be addressed. Experi- ence, indeed, is requisite in order to attain this; but attention should be directed to it at the very commencement of public labors. Young preachers, who have just entered pub- lic life, should remember that they are more conversant with books than are the mass of hearers ; and that, though their thoughts may not be at all beyond the capacity of the com- mon mind, yet their sources of illustration and their diction may be widely different from those which the common mind requires, and may, therefore, rather impede than pro- mote their object. — Ripley, Sacred Rhetoric, p. 157. (G. K. & L., 1849.) 229. COMPOSITION, NUMBERS, OR RHYTHMS IN.— Numbers are nowhere so much lacking, nor so remarkable, as at the end of periods; because every sense has its bounds, and takes up a natural space, by which it is divided from the beginning of what follows : next, because the hearers fol- lowing the flow of words, and drawn, as it were, down the current of the oration, are then more competent judges, when that im- petuosity ceases and gives time for reflec- tion. There should not, therefore, be any- thing harsh nor abrupt in that ending, which seems calculated for the respite and recrea- tion of the mind and ear. This, too, is the resting-place of the oration, this the auditor expects, and here burst forth all his effusions of praise. The beginning of periods de- mands as much care as the closing of them, Composltloii Composition KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 92 for here, also, the auditor is attentive. But it is easier to observe numbers in the begin- ning of periods, as they are not depending on, nor connected with^ what went before. But the ending of periods, however grace- ful it may be in composition and numbers, will lose all its charm if we proceed to it by a harsh and precipitate beginning. As to the] composition of the middle parts of a period, care must be taken not only of their connec- tion with each other, but also that they may not seem slow, nor long, nor, what is now a great vice, jump and start, from being made up of many short syllables, and pro- ducing the same effect on the ear as the sounds from a child's rattle. For as the or- dering of the beginning and ending is of much importance, as often as the sense be- gins or ends ; so in the middle, too, there is a sort of stress which slightly insists; as the feet of people running, which, tho they make no stop, yet leave a track. It is not only necessary to begin and end well the several members and articles, but the inter- mediate space, tho continued without respira- tion, ought also to retain a sort of composi- tion, by reason of the insensible pauses that serve as so many degrees for pronunciation. — QuiNTiLiAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 2, p. 158. (B. L., 1774.) 230. COMPOSITION OF SERMONS. — The first and most essential principle is, that a sermon must be a vertebrate compo- sition. It must have a vertebral column — a back-bone. When this has been secured, other things may be attended to; and just as the higher vertebrate animals have ap- pendages in the shape of limbs, so may this vertebrate composition — a sermon — ^be the better for an appendage or two. You may depart occasionally from the direct line of the column of construction to append here what may serve as a leg, to give the body of the discourse as it were a little movement, and here what may serve as an arm, to smite the wrong-doer, or to raise the distrest in mind, body, or estate. But these must grow naturally from it, and their use must be obvious. They will give to what is being said motion and action; but the vertebral column itself is the body and substance of the sermon : these additions are the means it uses for effecting its immediate objects. Sometimes we hear of a speaker having lost the thread of his discourse; sometimes also we hear an extemporary preacher accused of having repeated himself. Here we have an accident and a fault, both of which may be avoided by the observance of the rule I have just laid down; for if his sermon be so com- posed, the preacher must begin at the begin- ning and go on to the end. What he has to say will then not admit of his doubling back. He will always know just where he is, what he has said, and what he has still to say. — ZiNCKE, Extemporary Preaching, p. 78. (S., 1867.) 231. COMPOSITION, ORDER OF WORDS IN.— Care must be taken that there be no decrease by adding a weaker word to a stronger, as accusing one of sac- rilege, and giving him afterwards the name of thief; or adding the character of wanton fellow to that of a highwayman. The sense ought to increase and rise, which Cicero ob- serves admirably where he says : "And thou, with that voice, those lungs, and that gladia- tor-like vigor of thy whole body." Here each succeeding thing is stronger than the one before; but if he had begun with the whole body, he could not with propriety have descended to the voice and lungs. There is another natural order in saying men and women, day and night, east and west. Words in prose not being measured, as are the feet which compose verse, they are therefore transferred from place to place, that they may be joined where they best fit, as in a building where the irregularity, however great, of rough stones is both suitable and proper. The happiest composition language can have, however, is to keep to a natural order, just connection, and a regularly flow- ing cadence. Sometimes there is something very striking about a word. Placed in the middle of a sentence, it might pass unnoticed, or be obscured by the other words that lie about it, but when placed at the end the auditor can not help noting it and retaining it in his mind. — Quintilian, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 2, p. 149. (B. L., 1774.) 232. COMPOSITION, PRACTISE IN. —Take a writer of good English, — Swift, Addison, Dryden, Macaulay, Cobbett, or even leading articles of the Times (usually mod- els of pure, nervous English)— and read half a page twice or thrice; close the book and write, in your own words, what you have read, borrowing nevertheless from the author so much as you can remember. Compare what you have written with the original, sen- tence by sentence and word by word, and observe how far you have fallen short of the skilful author. You will thus not only find out your faults, but you will take the mea- sure of them and discover where they lie and how they may be mended. Repeat the 93 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Composition ComposlUon lesson with the same passages twice or thrice if your memory is not filled with the words of the author, and observe at each trial the progress you have made, not merely by com- parison with the original but by comparison with the previous exercises. Do this day after day, changing your author for the pur- pose of varying the style, and continue to do so long after you have passed on to the second and more advanced stages of your training. Preserve all your exercises and occasionally, compare the latest with the earliest, and so measure your progress peri- odically. I pray you to give especial atten- tion to the words, which, to my mind, are of greater importance than the sentences. First, talce your nouns and compare them with the nouns by your author. You will probably find your words to be very much bigger than his, more sounding, more far- fetched, more classical or more poetical. All young writers and speakers fancy that they can not sufficiently revel in fine words. Com- parison with the great masters of English will rebuke this pomposity of inexperience and chasten your aspirations after magnilo- quence. You will discover, to your surprise, that our best writers eschew big words and abhor fine words. Where there is a choice, they prefer the pure, plain, simple English noun — the name by which the thing is known to all their countrymen and which, there- fore, is instantly understood by every audi- ence. These great authors call a spade "a spade"; only small scribblers or penny-a- liners term it "an implement of husbandry." If there is a choice of names, good writers prefer the homeliest, while you select the most uncommon, supposing that you have thus avoided vulgarity. The example of the masters of the English tongue should teach you that the commonness (if I may be al- lowed to coin a word to express that for which I can find no precise equivalent) and vulgarity are not the same in substance. Vul- garity is shown in assumption and affectation of language quite as much as in dress and manners. It is never vulgar to be natural. Your object is to be understood. You will be acquired to address all sorts and condi- tions of men. To be successful, you must write and talk in a language that all classes of your countrymen can understand ; and such is the natural vigor, picturesqueness and music of our tongue, that you could not pos- sess yourself of a more powerful instrument for expression. It is well for you to be as- sured that by this choice of homely English for the embodying of your thoughts, while you secure the ears of the common people you will at the same time please the most highly educated and refined. The words that have won the applause of a mob at an elec- tion are equally successful in securing a hear- ing in the House of Commons, provided that the thoughts exprest and the manner of their expression be adapted to the changed audi- ence. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 22. (H. C, 1911.) 233. COMPOSITION, PRACTISE OF WRITTEN. — The speaker must accustom himself to written composition. It is one of cision and closeness of style, and helping to correct slovenliness. Slipshod sentences which he would readily utter with his mouth he will often hesitate to put down on paper with his pen. Every sort of written compo- sition is to be indulged in — narrative, argu- ment, even poetry, if the student have a turn that way. And the exercise is not to be taken up by fits and starts, but to be prac- tised regularly and systematically. There is a good rule sometimes given for the prepara- tion of written compositions to be submitted to the public, and it will be found alike ser- viceable in the case of those intended for no eye but the student's own. It is, when you are about to write on any theme, never begin by seeking to consult all who have written on the same. Begin by pondering it over in your own thoughts ; collect your ideas ; form a plan of some sort for yourself; set it down in writing, and then see how others have dealt with the matter. Practise in wri- ting is insisted on by Quintilian with much force. It is attended, he says, with most labor, but it is attended also with the great- est advantage. Cicero, with reason, called the pen the best modeller and teacher of elo- quence. — Beeton, Art of Public Speaking, from Complete Orator, p. 16. (W. L. & Co.) 234. COMPOSITION, RAPID.— When we come to the actual composition of the sermon, I am inclined to think that, for the sake of energy and freshness in the word spoken, it is good that within limits it be rapid. My own consideration and experience lead me to recognize characteristic advan- tages both in the sermon written and the ser- mon in which the words are really extempo- rary. They do not recommend the sermon delivered memoriter, which, however, is, I know, sanctioned by high authority. But in whatever way we compose, I do not think that for our ordinary sermons it is good to compose slowly and elaborately. What we gain in abstract perfection, we are apt to lose in energy and life. In many instances. Composition Conciseness KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 94 when we complain that sermons are not suf- ficiently studied, it is rather that study is misplaced — too much bestowed on the words, too little on the thought — too much on the parts, too little on the whole. It may be asked, "Is there not frequent necessity for speaking without study on the spur of the moment? Are not sudden inspirations occa- sionally the fullest of energy and of fruit?" Undoubtedly; but it is the habit of study in general which gives such readiness and clear- ness of mind as may enable us to dispense with it in exceptional cases. What we think to be sudden flashes of thought are often the final outcome of long silent gatherings of force. — Barry, Homiletical and Pastoral Lec- tures, p. 210. (A., 1880.) 235. COMPOSITION, REGULAR PRACTISE IN.— All our thoughts please us at the time of their birth, otherwise we should not have written them. Still let us consult our judgment, and revise any sus- picious facility. So we learn Sallust wrote ; and indeed the pains he took appear evident from his labored composition. Virgil, too, as Varus tells us, wrote but very few verses in a day. But the orator not being so cir- cumstanced, I therefore require this delay and care in the beginning. To write as well as we possibly can must be our principal aim, and we must exact it from ourselves. Practise will create expedition. Things grad- ually will present themselves with more facility, words will correspond with them, composition will follow; everything, at last, as in a well-regulated family, will be ready in its own place. The whole point is that swift wrfting does not make us write well, but good writing will make us write swiftly. Having acquired this facility, then it is that we are to stop short and look before us and check, as with a curb, our impetuosity, which is like a mettlesome horse striving to run away with his rider. This care, far from re- tarding, will supply us with new vigor to proceed. On the other hand, I would not have those whose style has reached a certain degree of maturity, harass themselves by perpetually finding fault with their composi- tions. And indeed how shall that orator acquit himself of his duty to the public, who should waste so much time on each part of a pleading? There are some who never are satisfied with what they do. They would alter and say everything otherwise than as it occurs; mistrustful and deserving ill of their ability for thinking that to be exact which they make an embarrassment to them- selves in writing. I can not well say which I think more in the wrong, they who are pleased with everything in their productions, or they who like nothing in them. — Quin- TiLiAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 3, p. 238. (B. L., 1774.) 236. COMPOSITION, REVISION OF A. — It will be advisable for a tyro in com- position to look over what he has written, and to strike out every word and clause which he finds will leave the passage neither less perspicuous nor less forcible than it was before; remembering that, as has been aptly observed, "nobody else knows what good things you leave out"; if the general effect is improved, that advantage is enjoyed by the reader, unalloyed by the regret which the author may feel at the omission of anything which he may think in itself excellent. But this is not enough, he must study contraction as well as omission. There are many sen- tences which would not bear the omission of a single word consistently with perspicuity, which yet may be much more concisely ex- pressed, with equal clearness, by the employ- ment of different words, and by recasting a great part of the expression. — Whately, Ele- ments of Rhetoric, p. 196. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 237. COMPOSITION, SELF - IN- STRUCTION IN.— It has been said that whoever can talk well, can write. It might be added, that if one can write elegantly, it will be sure to exert a favorable influence on his conversation. If a young man has had absolutely no practise whatever in com- mitting his thoughts to paper, he would do well to obtain some simple and well written work and copy from it until the general forms of expression become familiar to him. Letters are excellent subjects for such prac- tise. Having done this until he has filled a few quires, let him form a few reflections of as natural a character as tho he were telling something to a friend, and note them on a slate. From these he should write a letter; and, what is of greater importance, should then rewrite it, with the utmost care, at least once. I have observed that unprac- tised letter-writers are always perfectly sat- isfied with the first effort. Epistolary wri- ting is an art which rapidly cultivates the mind. It is said that during the Revolution- ary war, men who were at its beginning very ignorant of composition, yet who were raised to offices which obliged them to correspond extensively, became excellent writers. It has the advantage of being the easiest road to ready expression. By writing on a great 95 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Composition Conciseoesa variety of subjects, and by the occasional in- troduction of humor into composition, the student will rapidly improve in the manage- ment of language, and his letters will be received and read with pleasure. It will be found well worth the while to enter into a book, from time to time, subjects to intro- duce into correspondence. When confident that you can write a good letter, correctly, (and not before), you may begin to commit your thoughts to paper in the form of "com- positions." Do not begin by selecting "Love," or "Ambition," as a subject. Rather describe, as accurately as possible, scenes which you have witnessed; and events which have come under your observation. Let your language be plain and simple, such as you would like to hear from a friend in conver- sation, and endeavor to use short words. "Fine writing,"as it is called, is rapidly going out of fashion, and "sensational" efforts are peculiar to the vulgar. So far as it is pos- sible, write as you should talk, and talk as you would write. — Carleton, The Art of Conversation, p. 149. (C, 1867.) 238. COMPOSITION, VALUE OF.— If you have time for preparation, never under- take to speak without having put on paper the frame of what you have to say, the links of your ideas; and this for two rea- sons: The first and weightiest is, that you thus possess your subject better, and ac- cordingly you speak more closely and with less risk of digressions. The second is, that when you write down a thought you ana- lyse it. The division of the subject be- comes clear, becomes determinate, and a crowd of things which were not before per- ceived present themselves under the pen. Speaking is thinking aloud, but it is more; it is thinking with method and more dis- tinctly, so that in uttering your idea you not only make others understand it, but you understand it better yourself while spreading it out before your own eyes and unfolding it by words. Writing adds more still to speech, giving it more precision, more fixity, more strictness, and by being forced more closely to examine what you wish to write down, you extract hidden relations, you reach greater depths, wherein may be disclosed rich veins or abundant lodes. We are able to declare that one is never fully conscious of all that is in one's own thought, except after having written it out. So long as it remains shut up in the inside of the mind, it preserves a certain haziness ; one does not see it completely unfolded; and one can not consider it on all sides, in each of its facets, in each of its bearings. — BautaiN, The Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 194. (S., 1901.) 239. CONCENTRATION, DEVELOP- MENT OF.— It is a mistake to think that concentration means a straining of the mind. On the contrary, it is power in repose. It is not a nervous habit of doing one's work under pressure, but the ease of self-control. Every man should have one great ideal in life toward which he directs his best powers. By constantly keeping that aim before him, by bending his energies to it, he may hope eventually to attain to his highest ideal. When a successful financier was asked the secret of his great success, he said that as a young man he made a strong mental picture of what some day he would become. Day and night he concentrated his powers upon that one goal. There was no feverish haste, no nervous overreaching, no squandering of mental and physical power, but a strong, reposeful, never-wavering determination to make that picture of his youth a living real- ity. Such is the power of concentration, such is the secret of success. — Kleiser, How to Develop Self-ConHdence in Speech and Manner, p. 81. (F. & W., 1910.) 240. CONCISENESS AND DIFFUSE- NESS. — The construction and use of sen- tences and rhetorical figures determine the style of the composition in which they are employed. No style can be commendable that is not clear, correct, natural, dignified, and harmonious ; but within these limits its character depends in part upon its copious- ness, or the quantity of words used in ex- pressing the ideas, in part upon its orna- mentation by rhetorical figures, and in part upon its energy, or the impressiveness with which, through the use of proper words and figures, the ideas are conveyed. Style, as to its copiousness or quantity is either con- cise or diffuse. A concise style communi- cates ideas in the fewest possible words, and introduces no rhetorical figures, or only such as add force rather than grace to its asser- tions. A diffuse style indulges in an unre- stricted flow of words, presents the thought in many different aspects, and clothes it with all available and appropriate ornaments. Carried to an extreme, each of these styles becomes objectionable; too much concise- ness producing undue brevity, with its con- sequent harshness and obscurity; too much diffuseness rendering the entire sentence weak and unimpressive. When properly em- ployed, each is adapted to certain species of Coucl>eiie«B Conclusion KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 96 composition. A concise style is suited to descriptive writing, which best accomplishes its purpose when a few striking features are portrayed; to didactic, where the pre- cision with which the idea is exprest meas- ures its apprehension by the hearer; and to pathetic, where the transient heat of excited passion is dissipated if the idea is kept too long before the mind. A diffuse style is required in argumentative productions, where repetition and examples are necessary to ex- plain and enforce the demonstration ; in per- suasive, where new impulses are to be con- tinually aroused to operate upon the will; and in narrative where actions and events are to be delineated in detail with their at- tendant circumstances and effects. In ora- tory a style more or less diffuse is indis- pensable, in order that the auditor may fully comprehend the meaning of the speaker, al- tho pathetic and descriptive portions must, for the reasons above stated, be as much as possible condensed. — Robinson, Forensic Or- atory, p. 255. (L. B. & Co., 1893.) 241. CONCISENESS AND PERSPI- CUITY. — Herbert Spencer, in his pro- found and analytic essay on the Philosophy of Style, says : "Regarding language as an apparatus of symbols for the conveyance of thought, we may say that, as in a mechani- cal apparatus, the more simple and the bet- ter arranged its parts, the greater will be the effect produced. In either case, what- ever force is absorbed by the machine is de- ducted from the result. A listener has, at each moment, but a limited amount of men- tal power available. To recognize and in- terpret the symbols presented to him re- quires part of this power; to arrange and combine the images suggested requires a further part, and only that part which re- mains can be used for realizing the thought conveyed." Keeping this law in view, it is clear that simplicity, lucidity and directness of address, both in vocabulary and rhetoric, are of primary consequence. As in the trans- ference of electrical energy, it is important to avoid waste in the process, so there is no more important problem in the transmission of thought than how to produce a maximum of impression with a minimum of tax on the attention, since whatever mental energy the hearer expends in getting at the speaker's meaning leaves so much less for grasping the value of his thought. — Kennard, Psychic Power in Preaching, p. 65. (G. W. J. & Co., 1901.) 242. CONCISENESS AND PROLIX- ITY. — Long and short sentences ought to be interspersed, so as to relieve each other. It is very tiresome to hear a string of sen- tences about the same length, and uttered with the same tone and cadence, like cou- plets of long and short verses in the mouth of a school-boy. But conciseness and pro- lixity depend, not so much on actual length or shortness, as on the diffuseness or con- densation of matter. In some kinds of writ- ing, conciseness could not well be excessive, as in maxims, proverbs, precepts : "Cease to do evil, learn to do well"; "Waste not, want not" ; "Honor all men : love the brotherhood : fear God : honor the king." But in the gen- eral style of your sermon great conciseness is a considerable fault. For, if the mind of the hearer be not suffered to dwell long enough on an idea, but is hurried on to something else, before an impression is made, the matter of the discourse will be found to have had but little effect. In reading a book, if you do not catch the full sense of a pas- sage, you may turn back and read it over again, or lay down the book and think; but when you are listening to a sermon, how- ever interested you may be, you can not ask the preacher to repeat or explain anything which you have not fully understood, and, like Saint Augustine's hearers, signify to him when you have comprehended it. Clearly, therefore, it is better for the preacher to say too much than too little — to dwell too long than too short a time on a subject. On the other hand, you must avoid that tiresome prolixity of style, when "two grains of wheat are hid in two bushels of meal." — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergyman, p. 138. (D. & Co., 1856.) 243. CONCISENESS OF EXPRES- SION. — It is impossible to lay down pre- cise rules as to the degree of conciseness which is, on each occasion that may arise, al- lowable and desirable; but to an author, or speaker, who is, in his expression of any sen- timent, wavering between the demands of perspicuity and of energy (of which the for- mer, of course, requires the first care, lest he should fail of both), and doubting wheth- er the phrase which has the most forc- ible brevity will be readily taken in, it may be recommended to use both expressions; first to expand the sense sufficiently to be clearly understood, and then to contract it into the most compendious and striking form. This expedient might seem at first sight the most decidedly adverse to the brev- ity recommended; but it will be found in 97 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Conciseness Conclusion practise that the addition of a comprest and pithy expression of the sentiment which has been already stated at greater length will produce the effect of brevity. For it is to be remembered that it is not on account of the actual number of words that diffuseness is to be condemned (unless one were lim- ited to a certain space or time), but to avoid the flatness and tediousness resulting from it; so that if this appearance can be obviated by the insertion of such an abridged repeti- tion as is recommended, which adds poign- ancy and spirit to the whole, conciseness will be practically promoted by the addition. The hearers will be struck by the forcibleness of the sentence which they will have been pre- pared to comprehend; they will understand the longer expression, and remember the shorter. But the force will in general be totally destroyed, or much enfeebled, if the order be reversed — if the brief expression be put first and afterward expanded and ex- plained. Tho it is well to cultivate a con- cise style, yet care must be taken not to have it crowded. There must be no appearance of laborious compression, for that is highly offensive. — Beeton, Art of Public Speaking, from Complete Orator, p. 37. (W. L. & Co.) 244. CONCLUSION, A GOOD. — In whatever way we terminate the discourse, it is difficult to do it well, and more rare, I think, than to begin it well. We are nat- urally more desirous and careful to make a good beginning. Whatever idea occurs to us as proper for the exordium, the text, the subject gives it. We are more embarrassed at the end, since, on one hand, it seems that we have said everything, and find ourselves, so to speak, in presence of nothing; while, on the other hand, we feel the necessity of saying something more. We are fatigued, exhausted; we dread a new effort, and we dispatch the peroration with some common- place exhortation or wish, with exclamations, with passages of Scripture negligently intro- duced. It is, however, an essential part of the art to terminate well; it is at least as important to be assured in respect to the last impressions as to the first, on which the hearer may return; he is the conqueror who remains master of the battlefield. I cannot here apply the proverb, "All is well that ends well;" for a fine peroration cannot make amends for a bad discourse; the damage is not to be repaired, and the peroration which draws its force and its beauty from its re- lation to the discourse, cannot be conceived of as beautiful or good independently of that relation; but supposing the discourse to be what it should be, it is important that the conclusion should agree with it, and con- firm the effect which has already been pro- duced. In order to do this, we must, in the peroration: (1) Introduce no new subject. I say subject; but I do not call a subject new, the general idea in which tends to ex- pansion and enlargement, the new idea in which tends to renovate the particular idea in the subject of the discourse. (2) Pre- sent a truly distinct idea, not vague effusions. Let the bed of the river be enlarged, but let the river arrive at the sea entire and distin- guishable. (3) Adhere to the idea of the discourse quite to the end, even where we seem to be throwing ourselves upon one more general. — Vinet, Homiletics; or. The The- ory of Preaching, p. 336. (I. & P., 1855.) 245.— CONCLUSION, APPEAL TO THE PASSIONS IN THE.— The first point in a successful conclusion will be 3 brief recapitulation and summary of the most striking features of the discourse, and es- pecially of those arguments, illustrations, etc., which we deem most conducive to per- suasion, and best adapted to pave the way for that grand coup, for that last final as- sault, which we are presently to make upon the feelings of our hearers, in order to carry all before us, in order to soften every heart, to bow every head, and bend every stubborn knee before the sweet yoke of Jesus Christ. The preacher, therefore, having disposed of the instructive, argumentative, and illustra- tive parts of his discourse, sees that the time has come to wind up and bring that discourse to a happy conclusion. Hence, he proceeds to recall as much of his discourse as can be recalled in a few short sentences, because he feels instinctively that by presenting his ar- guments, etc., in one serried, compact body, they will naturally produce a greater im- pression upon the mind and heart, and gain a more complete victory over his hearers, than they have yet done, brought forward as they have been without that strength and vigor which they will acquire from mutual support. But, as the argumentation has been already concluded, and we must neither ven- ture to return upon it ourselves in any sub- stantial measure or degree, nor allow our hearers to perceive, in so far as this may be practicable, that we are merely recapitulat- ing, this recapitulation must be extremely brief, rapid, and, as we have just said, as impercept:ible as possible to the audience Our object here is not to return to the con- sideration of any special portion of our dis- course, but to renew the impression of the Conclusion Conclusion KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 98 whole, and to do this in such a manner as to interest, to move, to persuade our hearers, or at least to dispose and prepare them to be persuaded; and nothing would be more fatal to our object than the idea that the preacher was preparing to reconduct his au- dience over the ground which they had al- ready traveled with so much patient labor and so much ready and diligent attention. Having thus briefly recapitulated the leading heads of his discourse, and having done this with such energy and warmth, with such an absence of anything like formal or premedi- tated recapitulation, as to make it appear as if in reality he were appealing to the pas- sions rather than to the reason, he passes on to the second part of his conclusion, which, in truth, constitutes the peroration strictly so called, and upon his skilful or unskilful management of which so much of his suo cess will depend. This element of his per- oration, or conclusion, consists in a few words, or at most in a few sentences, of ear- nest, burning, truly zealous exhortation. Al- tho brief, but warm, exhortation may have had its place in other parts of his sermon, and notably at the conclusion of each lead- ing point, it is now that what we have called the crisis of the discourse will, as a general rule, occur. This is the moment in which the preacher is to bear down, with all his forces, upon the already wavering, or yet stubborn will. This is the moment in which, expressing in burning, but in plain and sim- ple words, those practical conclusions, and those fervent resolutions regarding a more holy and Christian mode of life, which must be the natural fruit of every really success- ful discourse, he must carry, not only con- viction to every mind, but persuasion to ev- ery heart. Now is the time in which the appeal to the passions, par excellence, will have full play. Now is the moment in which the speaker will prove how much or how little of the true fire burns within his heart. Now is the time for the sparkling eye, the ringing voice, the impassioned gesture of his hand, to make themselves known and felt. Now, or never, is he to stand before his audience in the fullest, truest, deepest sense of the word, their master and their lord: their master in the light of the truth, and their lord in the strength of the Gospel of Christ. Now every intellect must bow, now every heart must melt, beneath the irresistible influence of his words : of those words which are irresistible because they are the words of a man who, altho he may not be very learned, nor very deeply skilled in worldly things, speaks with the accent of one who believes what he pro- claims, who practises what he preaches, whose soul is all on fire with ardent love for the welfare of his flock, with unquenchable zeal for the greater glory of Jesus Christ; the words of a man who never wearies of proclaiming to the world, to the willing and to the unwilling, to the just and to the un- just, to the sinner and to the saint, the rights, prerogatives, and the attributes of his Mas- ter, Jesus Christ — of Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever. Now, in one word, is the moment in which the heart of the true orator answers with keen instinct and ready impulse to the demands which are made upon it ; now is the moment in which the true orator will rise to the full dignity of his position as minister of Christ, as guide and teacher of his fellowraen; and now is the moment in which, having won his vic- tory and carried his point, the man who is wise with the priceless wisdom of experi- ence will know how to conclude his dis- course, how to descend from the sacred chair, whilst the success of his appeal is at its very height, whilst the power of his language and the force of his words are as yet unques- tioned and unimpaired. — Potter, The Spoken Word, p. 177. (M. H. G. & Son, 1880.) 24S. CONCLUSION, BREVITY IN THE. — The conclusion is a place of peril. Few things are more exasperating to hearers than to have their expectation of the end of a discourse deferred when the hearer has led them to believe or hope that it is near. The temptation is always great to say one thing more, to add a "lastly," a "finally," and an "in conclusion," with the single remark in closing. It is a wise man who knows ex- actly when it is fiood-tide in his speech and can stop before the ebb begins. Of one thing he may be sure, that if at this point his object has not been accomplished, he will gain nothing by multiplying words. — Sears, The Occasional Address, p. 105. (G. P. P. Sons, 1897.) 247. CONCLUSION, CAREFUL PREPARATION OF THE.— The con- clusion, since it exhibits the legitimate re- sults of the subject which has been treated, and aims to direct its diversified practical influences, is evidently too important a part to be omitted, or to be only slightly provid- ed for, in the collecting of materials, or in the subsequent preparation of a sermon. It ought to receive as careful attention as any other part, and should by no means be left to the inspiration of the moment of deliv- ery. In secular oratory, the concluding pas- 99 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Conolusion CouoluBlon sages of speeches, as having so important a relation to the designed result, have often been elaborated with the utmost care. The conclusion of Lord Brougham's defence of Queen Caroline is said to have been wrought over as many as sixteen times before the speech was delivered. "It is a great mis- take," Dr. Ware remarks, "to imagine a closing exhortation easier work than the previous management of the discourse. I know nothing which requires more intense thought, more prudent consideration, or more judicious skill, both in ordering the topics and selecting the words. One may, indeed, very easily dash out into exclamations, and make loud appeals to his audience. But to appeal pungently, weightily, effectually, in such words and emphasis, that the particular truth or duty shall be driven home and fas- tened in the mind and conscience — this is an arduous, delicate, anxious duty, which may well task a man's most serious and thought- ful hours of preparation. It is only by giv- ing such preparation that he can hope to make that impression which God will bless ; and he that thinks it the easiest of things, and harangues without forethought, must ha- rangue without effect. Is it not probable that much of the vapid and insignificant verbiage which is poured out at the close of sermons originates in this notion that exhortation is a very simple affair, to which anybody is equal at any time?" As the conclusion of a sermon will often be the most fervid and moving part, and as it aims to secure the proper effect of the discourse, it is important to consider what class of feel- ings it should more particularly address. Regard must be paid, of course, to the nature of the subject which has been treated, and to the characters of those hear- ers whom it may appear specially desirable, on a given occasion, to influence. In respect to both, it may sometimes be advisable that the final impression should be that of terror. Care, however, should be taken, universally, that terror should not be an indefinite kind, but should arise from an intelligent and well- proportioned view of the whole truth con- cerning men's sinfulness and danger, and the divine provision for their pardon and salva- tion; for only thus can it directly conduce to the preacher's ultimate purpose, namely, persuading men to become reconciled to God, and to lead a life of righteousness. — Ripley, Sacred Rhetoric, p. 104. (G. K & L., 1849.) 248. CONCLUSION, ENERGETIC— In sermons to the p«ople, the peroration should be energetic, captivating, fervent; not a fervor of the head or throat, but of the soul, accompanying something to enlighten the minds of the hearers, to gain the assent of their hearts, to subdue their passions, and to electrify their spirits. Let us be on our guard against those vapid perorations which are nothing more than the ending of a dis- course which we are at a loss how otherwise to wind up. The audience must not be dis- missed with a wrong impression; therefore, be more affectionate at the conclusion, the more severe the truths have been which you have enunciated. In a word, the peroration should be sympathetic and vibrating. It should comprise all the power, all the mar- row, and all the energy of the sermon. It should contain some of those keen thoughts, some of those proverbial phrases, which re- cur to the mind again and again like the strains of a familiar song which we sing involuntarily — or a single thought, which when once entertained, leads one to say: "Were I to live a hundred years, I shall never forget it." — Mtjllois, The Clergy and the Pulpit, p. 134. (The C. P. S., 1867.) 249. CONCLUSION, MATERIALS FOR THE. — Sometimes the development of a subject will, in its progress, furnish the most suitable opportunities for making such practical suggestions, or presenting such il- lustrations, as would supersede the necessity of directing attention at the close to its practical bearings. In this case, the purpose of a sermon is better secured without a for- mal exhibition of consequences which result from the subject. Sometimes, again, the un- folding of a religious truth will be so inti- mately connected with its practical uses, that its relations will be instantly discerned and felt by every hearer; and a formal conclu- sion might weaken the impression already made. A hortatory sermon, also, as being throughout a persuasive address, does not ad- mit of a train of remarks in the form of a conclusion. Such a sermon is best concluded by briefly recapitulating the several consider- ations which have been urged, and combining the whole into one impressive view ; or, when the preacher is about to present his last per- suasive thought, he may advantageously re- state all the preceding items, and then bring forward his concluding motive, as the close of the discourse. Materials for a conclu- sion properly consist of deductions from the subject which has been treated, or of re- marks naturally suggested by it — deductions, or remarks, which appear necessary in order to give completeness to the discourse. They are replies to the inquiry, "What, then?" Couclnsion Conclusion KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 100 Care should be taken, therefore, that the items of a conclusion flow severally from the subject as unfolded, and not from indi- vidual parts of the treatment, or from one another. They should all be traceable to the subject, as their source. — Ripley, Sacred Rhetoric, p. 83. (G. K. & L., 1849.) 250. CONCLUSION, OBJECT OF THE. — The object which you should have in view of your conclusion is to leave on the minds of your hearers a vivid impression of the particular matter of your discourse — not a mere intellectual perception of its sense and meaning, but a consentaneous feeling of its moral import. Whatever may be the sub- ject of your discourse, you should make a last vigorous effort in the conclusion to stir up, or raise to the utmost, a corresponding tone of feeling, whether it be of love, grati- tude, zeal, courage, faith, hope, and charity; or of sorrow, shame, self-condemnation, res- olution to amend, repentance. Your language and manner must be suited to the feelings you wish to produce — entreating, expostulat- ing, encouraging, consoling, directing, elevat- ing; tender, or compassionate, and sometimes severe, indignant, or even threatening, in ac- cordance with the train of feeling to which your discourse has led you. Hence, your conclusion should not be vague and general, but closely connected with the subject of the sermon. Bad preachers fall into the error of getting gradually away from the matter in hand, and falling toward the end into vague generalities, so that their conclusion would do as well for one sermon as another. It may be an earnest appeal, perhaps, on Christian faith or duty, yet lose half its ef- fect, by deriving no weight from the pre- vious discussion. A good conclusion should be directly and forcibly deduced from the particular subject of which you have been treating. — Gresley, Letters to a Young Cler- gyman, p. 256. (D. & Co., 18.56.) 251. CONCLUSION OF A DIS- COURSE. — There is no part of a dis- course which requires to be so skilfully man- aged, and so thoroughly studied as the conclusion. This is the decisive moment. The victory is to be won now or never. It may be that our hearers still hang back. They can not deny the force of our arguments, the strength of our reasoning, the validity of our consequences. But, for all that, they still hang back, unwilling to make the generous sacrifice which God demands at their hands ; or, with hearts hardened and seared by long habits of indulgence and disregard of the voice of God, they shelter themselves behind a thousand petty subterfuges, and invent a thousand excuses, false and void of founda- tion tho they be, why they should not listen to the voice of the Lord, or render obedi- ence to the commands and prayers of the minister. It may be that the reason and in- tellect are convinced, and acknowledge the truth, but the will still remains stubborn and unbending. Perhaps, nay, most likely, it wa- vers. It would fain bow before the voice of God, were it not for that other voice which raises itself in proud rebellion — a rebellion which, perchance, is all the more insidious and deadly because it is built upon the foun- dations of sensuality and pride. But what- ever the motive may be, the unregenerate will hangs back, and the preacher feels that, un- less it can be subdued, broken, discomfited, and routed utterly and entirely, all his labor will have been lost, all his arguments will have been thrown away, all the good seed which he has sown, with so much patient labor, and so much tearful hope, will have been choked and rendered fruitless by the thorns and briars amongst which it has fall- en. He feels all this, keenly and intensely, as the man who is in earnest about his Mas- ter's business must ever feel these things; and he knows that the moment for the great assault has arrived. In these supreme mo- ments, concentrating the sacred fire which burns so keenly within his breast, and which merely seeks some feeble expression in those ardent appeals, those brilliant turns of thought, those melting images, those torrents of hot and burning words which pour spon- taneously from his lips, he throws himself with all his might upon the wavering but still stubborn foe. He rushes down upon him with all the highest, deepest efforts of his mind and heart, of his love and zeal, concentrated on this grand assault. He presses the reluctant but faltering will on every side. He leaves that will, and the ir- regular passions upon which it relies for its support, no loop-hole for escape. Urging, arguing, reasoning, pleading, praying, by ev- ery motive and by every power through which one man may act upon another, he presses more and more keenly upon his foe, that thus, aided and strengthened by the as- sistance of God's supporting grace, he may wring from every soul full and uncondi- tional surrender to those arguments and those practical conclusions which he has laid before them, that thus he may draw from penitent and broken hearts those saving tears which are potent enough to wash the most deadly sins away; that thus he may awaken 101 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Oonoluilon OonoIuBlon those generous resolutions, and obtain those triumphs of conquering grace which, like a true soldier of Christ, he ardently desires to lay at his Master's feet, as the pledges of his conflict, the trophies of his fight.— Pot- ter, The Spoken Word, p. 173. (M. H. G. & Son, 1880.) 252. CONCLUSION OF A SERMON. — It might appear that it must be easy enough to conclude, because when a speaker has said all that he has to say upon a subject, then he has arrived at the natural end of the matter. It is not so, however, with a ser- mon. If one were writing a disquisition, or an essay, that would generally be sufficient; but the preacher has furthermore to make the treatment of his subject impressive; he has to put it in such a way that it shall not only convince the reason, but also interest the feelings of the congregation. He has to leave an impression — ^to interest — to move — to persuade. Hence arises the difficulty of concluding in a satisfactory manner, for it is no easy thing that has to be done, and it has to be done in a few words; and the feeling will often be left on the preacher's mind that the effect of his sermon was short of what it might have been had there been more concentration and power in his con- clusion. Several of Bishop Butler's cele- brated fifteen sermons conclude with some scripture which more or less embodies his general aim, or recalls his argument. This method has great advantages. It is as it were a summary of one's own sermon in the authoritative language of the word of God. The mind receives it as a strongly corrobo- rative argument, which produces this effect without its having been directly used, or sta- ted as an argument. Many of our Lord's parables conclude with instances of the most wonderful condensation combined with ex- hortation — for example, those of the Good Samaritan, the Pharisee and publican, the unjust steward, the unforgiving servant, the wise and foolish virgins, etc. It will not often perhaps happen that such terminations as these would be suitable to our sermons, still it would be of use to the preacher to re- gard them as perfect models which may oc- casionally be imitated. — Zincke, Extemporary Preaching, p. 88. (S., 1867.) 253. CONCLUSION, PROMPT, OF A DISCOURSE. — There is some peculiarity connected with the manner of everyone who speaks before others, which clearly indicates to intelligent observation when he is verging to the close of his remarks. And when an intimation of this kind is once given to his audience by a speaker, since they will expect a rigid fidelity to it on his part, he should never disappoint them by taking a fresh start, should a new idea occur to his mind or an omitted fact rise to his recollection. For unless he is a speaker of uncommon fas- cination, who has only consumed a moiety of what would be considered a reasonable length of time, his audience will certainly look for his conclusion with some impatience when he has once manifested to them an in- tention to close. And an addendum which he may annex to a discourse or argument which may be predicated on freshly-discovered lights, will not only be labor lost, but it will invest with dark hues the preceding part of the argument or discourse, which, but for the after-piece, might have left a fine impression. — McQueen, The Orator's Touchstone, or Eloquence Simplified, p. 185. (H. & B., 1860.) 254. CONCLUSION, SIMPLE.— There is a way of concluding which is the most simple, the most rational, and the least adopted. True, it gives little trouble and af- fords no room for pompous sentences, and that is why so many despise it, and do not even give it a thought. It consists merely of winding up by a rapid recapitulation of the whole discourse, presenting in sum what has been developed in the various parts, so as to enunciate only the leading ideas with their connection — a process which gives the opportunity of a nervous and lively summary, foreshortening all that has been stated, and making the remembrance and profitable ap- plication of it easy. And since you have spoken to gain some point, to convince and persuade your hearer, and thus influ- ence his will by impressions and con- siderations and finally by some par- amount feeling which must give the finishing stroke and determine him to action, the epi- tome of the ideas must be itself strengthened, and, as it were, rendered living by a few touching words which inspirit the feeling in question at the last moment, so that the con- vinced and affected auditor shall be ready to do what he is required. Such, in my mind, is the best peroration, because it is alike the most natural and the most efficacious. It is the straight aim of the discourse, and as it issues from the very bowels of the subject and from the direct intention of the speaker, it goes right to the soul of the listener and places the two in unison at the close. I am aware that you may, and with success, adopt a different method of concluding, either by some pungent things which you reserve for Conclusion Congreg'atiou KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 102 your peroration, and which tend to maintain to the last and even to reawaken the atten- tion of the audience; or else by well-turned periods which flatter the ear and excite all sorts of feelings, more or less analogous to the subject — or, in fine, by any other way. Undoubtedly there are circumstances in which these oratorical artifices are in keep- ing, and may prove advantageous or agree- able; I do not reject them, for in war all means, not condemned by humanity and honor, and capable of procuring victory, are allowable — and public speaking is a real con- flict ; I merely depose that the simplest meth- od is also the best, and that the others, be- longing more to art than to nature, are rather in the province of rhetoric than of true elo- quence. — Bautain, Art of Public Speaking, p. 284. (S., 1901.) 255. CONCLUSION, SUDDEN, IN DISCOURSE.— You should endeavor to end with spirit, and in such a manner as to recall and fix the attention of any who may have become listless. And you should so manage that your congregation shall be aware when you are going to conclude. It is not well to wind up your subject, and then, when your congregation think you have finished, to start off again on some new tack; for this reason, if your sermon is not long enough, do not add to the end of it, but rather insert new matter in the middle. Nor is it good to end so abruptly that they shall say, "We did not know he was going to leave off." It should be seen by your matter and manner that you are coming to a close; or you may say plainly, "Let me now conclude in the words of " With regard to the manner of your conclusion, it should more frequently be affectionate and encouraging than other- wise ; sometimes admonitory and solemn ; but rarely, and only on particular occasions, se- vere and menacing. For, if too painful an impression is left, there is danger lest the mind, distrest and alarmed, should cast from it the uneasy thoughts which have been sug- gested, or resort to the last expedient, even unbelief. A hope of mercy should be held out even to the worst of sinners. Besides— as we observed, when treating of the pas- sions — fear, remorse, excessive grief, and the like, are apt to deaden the heart, and indis- pose it to action ; whereas gratitude, emula- tion, hope, and love, make the soul buoyant and aspiring; and are much more likely to lead to those practical results which it must always be the preacher's object to effect. The language of your conclusion need not be so careful and measured as that of your exor- dium. It is to be hoped that your hearers will have become interested in the subject, and not be disposed to criticize the language ; and you will yourself be too earnest to be fastidious about your expressions. When you conclude, as you generally should, with a v/arm and somewhat impassioned appeal, let your language be brief and energetic, even approaching to abruptness. "What are we?" says Dwight, "worms ! When born ? yester- day! What do we know? nothing!" This is too abrupt, and, I should think, must have appeared affected. The following conclusion of Cooper's third sermon, vol. ii., is as good a one, for a plain discourse, as I can find. His text is, "We, then, as workers together with him, beseech you also that ye receive not the grace of God in vain." He concludes in the style of the text, "Let me then, as a worker together with God, beseech you, brethren, by the riches of Divine mercy, by the love of Christ, by the value of your never-dying souls, by the hope of glory, by the weeping and gnashing of teeth, which await the slothful and wicked servant, 'that ye receive not the grace of God in vain.' Use the means — embrace the opportunity — improve the privileges so freely, so gracious- ly bestowed upon you. Let not the Lord spread out His hands all day unto a rebellious people; let Him not say of you, 'I called, but they refused; I stretched out My hand, but no man regarded.' Close with His offers. Accept His grace. Yield yourselves to Him as willing servants. Delay not to do it. Take notice of the words which follow the text. 'Behold, now is the appointed time : behold, now is the day of salvation.' May this be the appointed time ; may this be the day of sal- vation to us, for His mercy's sake in Jesus Christ." — Gresley, Letters to a Young Cler- gyman, p. 360. (D. & Co., 1856.) 256. CONCLUSION, TARDY.— It some- times happens, unfortunately, that you are barely into your subject when you should end; and then, with a confused feeling of all that you have omitted, and a sense of what you might still say, you are anxious to re- cover lost ground in some degree, and you begin some new development when you ought to be concluding. This tardy, and unseason- able, yet crude after-growth has the very worst effect upon the audience which, already fatigued, becomes impatient, and listens no longer. The speaker loses his words and his trouble, and everything which he adds by way of elucidating or corroborating what he has said, spoils what has gone before, de- stroying the impression of it. He repeats 103 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Oougfregratlou ConclUBlou himself unconsciously, and those who still listen to him follow him with uneasiness, as men watch from shore a bark which seeks to make port and can not. It is a less evil to turn short round and finish abruptly than thus to tack incessantly without advancing. For the greatest of a speaker's misfortunes is that he should bore. The bored hearer be- comes almost an enemy. He can no longer attend, and yet, at that moment, he is un- able to think of anything else. His mind is like an overladen stomach which requires rest, and into which additional aliment is thrust despite its distaste and repugnance; it needs not much to make it rise, rebel, and disgorge the whole of what it has received. An unseasonable or awkward speaker in- flicts a downright torture on those who are compelled to hear him, a torture that may amount to sickness or a nervous paroxysm. Such is the state into which a too lengthy discourse, and, above all, a never-ending per- oration, plunge the audience. It is easy to calculate the dispositions which it inspires and the fruit it produces. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 280. (S., 1901.) CONCLUSION.— See also Peroration. 257. CONDESCENSION OF THE SPEAKER. — Man's upright form and no- ble stature are naturally attended by dignity in movement and action. An erect attitude, a lofty carriage, a commanding air, are char- acteristic even of the savage who spends his days in little else than asserting his domin- ion over the brutes, or communicating with his fellows whose habits are but a little more elevated than those of the animals which they hunt. Civilized life, by its enervating influ- ence, brings down the erect and heroic mien, and the fearless demeanor, which are natural to man, while consciously sufficient to him- self, and independent of factitious support. The courtesy and the condescensions of re- finement, bring along with them tameness and feebleness in manner and in character : a bland and flexible exterior takes, in the forms of conventional habit, the place of the manly and majestic port of nature. The transition from childhood to manhood is attended with similar effects on the aspect and deportment of the human being. The unconscious, un- abashed child exhibits, often, the noblest forms of attitude and action. The school- boy loses his self-possession, and shrinks and cowers, in the consciousness of being ob- served; he lacks the decision, the firmness, and the dignity of manner, which he pos- sessed in earlier life, when mingling with his equals and companions. The bearing of the youth gives still stronger evidence of be- ing vitiated by self-consciousness, and over- weening regard for the estimation of others. The speaker, who, in the maturity of man- hood, addresses his fellow-beings, manifests, notunfrequently, in his crestfallen air, in his hesitating utterance and embarrassed actions, his want of conscious elevation and power, and betrays the fact that he does not ap- proach the task with a manly reliance on himself and his subject. Self-respect seems to desert him, when subjected to observation: his nature appears to shrink, rather than to expand, with the circumstances in which he is placed. Eloquence, the result of expres- sive power, is a thing unattainable in such a situation; for eloquence implies freedom, manly firmness, and force, a genuine moral courage, a conscious elevation of soul, a pos- itive inspiration of mind. It presupposes that the speaker stands, for the moment, above those whom he addresses, for the very pur- pose of lifting them up to the level of his own views and inspiring them with his own feelings. The persuasive condescension of the orator is never incompatible with the na- tive majesty of man. — Russell, Pulpit Elo- cution, p. 95. (D., 1878.) CONFIDENCE.— See Self-Confidence. 258. CONGREGATION, MOVING A, — Cicero says of Callidius, that of the three parts of which eloquence consists, instructing and delighting and moving, he enjoyed the power of the first two in an eminent degree, but was quite wanting in the last and most important — that of touching and exciting the minds of his hearers. This verdict applied to a Christian preacher would be the sever- est condemnation. To speak of heaven and hell, of God, of sin, of remorse and peni- tence, without inspiring emotion of any kind, would be a miserable exercise of the mind. Array every precept of Holy Scripture that belongs to your subject, and support them with every scriptural example; exhaust, if possible, all the ornaments of composition to decorate your sermon; yet if from first to last there is no unction, if you are not car- ried forth out of yourself toward those souls — so dear to Christ — who are looking up to you for spiritual food, what gain is there to your Master or to you? Many a good man amongst us lies under the reproach of Cal- lidius, that he seems to aim at instruction and at pleasing, without attempting to awaken and rouse his people. But I fear we must go a step farther, and must say that the Chris- Conerreeratlon Construction KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 104 tian preacher can not stand still in the posi- tion of Callidius. If we can not move our hearers, I do not say to tears or groanings, but to any holy love, to any noble endeavor, we shall not long be able to instruct them or delight them. The hungering soul, failing of food, will no longer expect it from us; and will turn with weariness even from the truest aphorism or the aptest figure of speech. — Thomson, Homiletical and Pastoral Lec- tures, p. 90. (A., 1880.) CONGREGATION.— See also Audience. 269. CONGREGATION, SLEEPING.— Hour-glasses used to be attached to pulpits to regulate the length of sermons. They seem to have been chiefly introduced after the Reformation, when long sermons came much into fashion. Previous to that period, pulpit discourses were generally character- ised by brevity. Many of St. Austin's might be easily delivered in ten minutes; nor was it usual in the church to devote more than half an hour to the most persuasive elo- quence. These old sermons were of the na- ture of homilies, and it was only when the church felt called upon to explain tenets at- tacked, or eliminate doctrinal disputes, that they altered in character, and the pulpit be- came a veritable "drum ecclesiastic." From the days of Luther the length of sermons in- creased, until the middle of the seventeenth century, when the Puritan preachers inflicted discourses of two hours and more on their hearers. In some degree, to regulate these enthusiastic talkers, hour-glasses were placed upon the desks of their pulpits, and in 1633 we read of a preacher "being attended by a man who brought after him his book and hour-glass." Some churches were provided with half-hour glasses also, and we may im- agine the anxiety with which the clerk would regard the choice made by the parson of the half-hour glass or the whole-hour one, as this would regulate the length of his attend- ance. L'Estrange tells an amusing story of a parish clerk who had sat patiently under a preacher "till he was three-quarters through his second glass," and the auditory had slow- ly withdrawn tired out by his prosing; the clerk then arose at a convenient pause in the sermon, and calmly requested "when he had done," if he would be pleased to close the church door, "and push the key under it," as he himself and the few that remained were about to retire. In the book of St. Kather- ine's Church, Aldgate, date 1564, we find, "Paid for an hour-glass that hangeth by the pulpit where the preacher doth make a ser- mon, that he may know how the hour pass- eth away, one shiUing," and in the same book, among the bequests of date 1616, is an "hower-glass with a frame of iron to stand in." In the time of Cromwell, the preacher, having named the text, turned up the glass; and if the sermon did not last till the sand had run down, it was said that the preacher was lazy; but if, on the other hand, he exceeded this limit, they would yawn and stretch themselves till he had finished. Many humorous stories originated from this cleri- cal usage. There is a print of Hugh Peters preaching, holding up the hour-glass as he utters the words, "I know you are good fel- lows, so let's have another glass." A simi- lar tale is told of Daniel Burgess, the celebrated Nonconformist divine, at the be- ginning of the last century. Famous for the length of his pulpit harangues and the quaint- ness of his illustrations, he was at one time declaiming with great vehemence against the sin of drunkenness, and in his ardor had fully allowed the hour-glass to run out be- fore bringing his discourse to a conclusion. Unable to arrest himself in the midst of his eloquence, he exclaimed, "I have something more to say on the nature and consequence of drunkenness, so let's have the other glass — and then !" the usual phrase adopted by to- pers at protracted sittings. — Beeton, British Orators and Oratory, from Complete Orator, p. 155. (W. L. & Co.) 260. CONSCIENCE AND REASON IN SPEAKING. — The profane orator is mas- ter of his own thought; he modifies it only by itself ; that the contrast may appear more striking, let us put him on tlie same stage with the evangelical preacher — that of moral- ity and religion. He draws his principles from his own fund, that is to say, from his reason and his moral sense ; he connects with them, according to the laws of logic, their consequences and bearings; no foreign force has broken under his feet the first round of the ladder, or removed the last; his course is free oyer the entire ladder, master alike of his point of departure, and of his conclu- sions. Reason and conscience may, it is very true, pass for authorities, but they are au- thorities we like to recognize, which, born and developed with us, are a part of our- selves ; to which we at once adhere, by which alone we take cognizance of our own exis- tence, and which, from their very nature, are perfectly exempt from the more or less ar- bitrary character which is inherent in all other authority. The same, at least we sup- pose so, in all thinking individuals, they 105 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Coutrretratloii ConBtruotlon ought to concilate or subject them to us; and as all the means drawn from this source have the appearance of being at the same time ours and every one's, we have, in case of victory, the satisfaction of feeling that we are conquerors, while they, whom we have persuaded, have on that account no impres- sion of having been conquered. An agree- able position for both parties, but very dif- ferent from that in which evangelical eloquence places respectively the preacher and his auditory. The Christian minister un- questionably has much to do with reason and conscience ; aided by these, he closes all the outlets through which souls would escape from the circle he would have them enter; since, when once in this enclosure, reason and conscience will retain, will fix, will es- tablish them in it — will, in short, make them say, "It is good for us to be here, let us make tabernacles" (Matthew xvii. 4). So that he does absolutely nothing without con- science and reason. But these faculties ac- cept, they do not create the truth; the truth is given; given as a sovereign fact, given as a divine thought, not as a deduction of our understanding; given as a fact which our faculties should explore, should employ, but which they would never have discovered. In a word, reason and conscience are the touch- stones of truth, and not as in other spheres the very source of truth. — Vinet, Homiletics; or. The Theory of Preaching, p. 335. (I. & P., 1855.) 261. CONSECRATED PERSONAL- ITY. — The preacher should have a conse- crated personality. In a materialistic and ambitious age this consideration is none too popular. In the pulpit work (and pastoral work as well) of many a popular but power- less and perplexed minister this is the one thing lacking. When the necromancers of the middle ages were spending their days and nights in experimenting toward the making of gold by chemical process, it used to seem to them that only one thing was needed to crown their efforts with complete success. Often their combinations would seem to de- mand but a single substance to precipitate or crystallize into golden metal. But this one substance they never found, and so their mor- tars and crucibles contained nothing precious. Somewhat similar to these worthless com- pounds lacking only a single element, are those pulpit ministrations which omit "for Christ's sake" from their strivings after suc- cess. This is the one thing which combines all thought and effort in a divine result. The one thing whose absence leaves but a poor residuum. An audience can commonly detect the absence of this element of highest worth. Christ enthroned in the heart, every ambi- tion, every personal aim, every effort concen- trated in a sublimely humble surrender to His purposes, His love inflaming, constrain- ing — this is power. Christ shining in the life is eloquent and persuasive ere the lips are opened, and is felt warming and illumining all the utterances of the lips. The explana- tion of the marvelous pulpit power of cer- tain men of very modest talents is in one word — consecration. — Kennard, Psychic Power in Preaching, p. 43. (G. W. J. & Co., 1901.) 262. CONS-TRUCTION, CLEARNESS OF. — A studious writer, and especially one whose work compels a careful adjust- ment of language to the receptive powers of a mixed assembly, soon learns that perspicu- ity of style is vitally dependent on clearness of construction. Construction is as vital to style as to architecture. Stiffness of con- struction tends to obscurity. Anything un- friendly to the sense of ease is inimical to clearness. A hearer wearies of a measured drill of diction in which sentences file out like the squads of a regiment. Monotony of con- struction tends to obscurity. It lulls the thinking power. It almost necessitates mono- tone in delivery. Circumlocution in construc- tion tends to obscurity. Did you never dis- cover the cause of a certain dimness of impression in the want of quick movement of discourse? The speaker's thought is a stone in a sling from which it is never ejected. He talks around, and around, and around; yet you do not see the upshot of the business. Abruptness of construction tends to obscur- ity. Why is Carlyle's "French Revolution" hard reading? Mainly because of the jerks in style, by which English syntax is so rude- ly dealt with that half your mental force is expended in readjusting words to sense. Any defect which is pervasive in style tends so far to defeat the object of speech. — Phelps, English Style in Public Discourse, p. 159. (S., 1910.) 2G3. CONSTRUCTION, PLAIN.— It certainly seems to me that whereas more ma- terial can be packed into the same time by writing, the spoken sermon, if well spoken, is more likely to be simple in the construc- tion of its sentences, and so by simple folk more easily understood. The phrase plain construction may be taken in a wider sense, and may be regarded as applying to the lines upon which the sermon is built, as the skele- Contrast Controversy KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 106 ton to which the flesh of the sermon is at- tached. A sermon should have a skeleton, as the human body has one; but it should not wear it outside, like a crab or a lobster. The skeleton should be known to exist by the symmetrical form which it gives to the whole body. In other words, a sermon should have a beginning, a middle, and an end, and should be constructed upon a general plan well thought out before pen is put to paper. This will give unity to the whole composi- tion. "Propose one point in one discourse," said Paley, in an ordination sermon, "and stick to it; a hearer never carries away more than one impression." Possibly the case may be overstated in this language, but anyhow it is most desirable that a person going away from church should be able to say, The sub- ject of the sermon was this, or was that; and this result cannot possibly be secured with- out a plain construction of the whole dis- course. — Goodwin, Homiletical and Pastoral Lectures, p. 118. (A., 1880.) 264. CONTRAST AS A FIGURE OF SPEECH. — Contrast is a figure in which the object is represented by another similar object, but the attention is turned on the op- position or points of difference between them. Contrast thus involves comparison, since there can be no contrast between things en- tirely dissimilar. It differs from comparison in this, that while it assumes the resemblance it goes further and dwells on the points of opposition or dissimilarity. — Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 322. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 265. CONTROVERSIAL ORATORY. — This partakes of the nature of a battle, but should be something more than strife for victory. There is little danger of languid attention in this species of address, for op- position arouses both speaker and hearer. The golden rule in all controversies is to be certain of a solid basis of fact, and follow the guidance of true principles. Then we de- serve success. But fair means only should be employed. It is so hard to see an adver- sary triumph even, when convinced of the correctness of his position, that we can scarcely forbear employing every artifice to prevent such a result. But we should never misrepresent our opponent. Even if he has been unfortunate in his explanations, and leaves the way open for a natural misconcep- tion, we should use our best efforts to un- derstand what he really means, and give him the credit of that. We must also allow his reasoning its due force. No just argument ought ever to be weakened. Let us bring forward our views, and, if possible, show that they are truer and more firmly based than his. And if we see that this cannot be done, there is only one manly course left — to surrender at discretion. If we can not maintain our views by clear proof, we should abandon them, and seek others that need no questionable support. — Pittenger, Oratory, Sacred and Secular, p. 130. (S. R. W., 1869.) 266. CONTROVERSY AND ITS USES. — As all inductive reasoning pro- ceeds on the basis of similitude, the most ef- fectual means of opposition against it is the exposure of unlikeness. In all oratorical con- troversy, reason is the common auxiliary to both parties; and the general direction to him whose cause is defensive, must be to turn to his own advantage every defect that he can discover in the argument of his ad- versary. To qualify him for this purpose, one of his most indispensable faculties must be a readiness to perceive by a rapid glance the strength and the weakness of his op- ponent's ground. I have repeatedly urged upon you the importance of this to every public speaker, as well as to the hearers of public discourses. But to no one is it so directly and vitally necessary as to him who is charged with the risk of confutation; since this can never be accomplished until he has distinctly ascertained what he is to confute. The difficulties which in all controversy be- set this inquiry are aggravated at the bar by the suddenness in which the question often presents itself, and the rapidity with which the judgment must be formed. To acquire this talent in its highest perfection, the most laborious industry of the student must be aided by the experience of long practise in the profession. There are, however, three very common errors in the management of controversy. The first may be termed an- swering too much ; the second answering too little; and the third answering yourself and not your opponent. You answer too much when you make it an invariable principle to reply to everything which has been said or could be said by your antagonist on the other side. This is as if at the eve of a battle a general should send for a reenforce- ment of women and children, to increase his numbers. If you can contend against a dif- fuse speaker, who has wasted hour after hour in a lingering lapse of words, which had little or no bearing upon the proper question between you, it is incumbent upon you to discriminate between that part of his dis- course which was pertinent, and that which was superfluous. Nor is it less necessary to 107 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Contrast Controversy detect the artifice of an adversary who pur- posely mingles a flood of extraneous matter with the controversy, for the sake of dis- guising the weakness of his cause. In the former of these two cases, if you undertake to answer everything that has been said, you charge yourself with all the tediousness of your adversary, and double the measure by an equal burden of your own. In the latter you promote the cause of your antagonist, by making yourself the dupe of his stratagem. If, then, you have an opponent whose redun- dancies arise only from his weakness, whose standard of oratory is time, and whose meas- ure of eloquence is in arithmetical proportion to the multitude of his words, your general rule should be to pass over all his general unappropriated declamation in silence; to take no more notice of it than if it had never been spoken. But if you see that the ex- ternal matter is obtruded upon the subject with design to mislead your attention, and fix it upon objects different from those which are really at issue, you should so far take no- tice of it as to point out the artifice, and derive from it an argument of the most pow- erful efficacy to your own side. This spe- cies of management is not always easily dis- covered, tho it is one of the most ordinary resources of sophistry. One of the surest tests by which you can distinguish it from the dropsical expansions of debility is by its livid spots of malignity. It flies from the thing to the person. It applies rather to your pas- sions than to those of your audience. Know- ing that anger is rash and undiscerning, it stings you, that it may take off your feel- ings, your reason, and your active powers from the post you are defending, to your own person. To a speaker who has not acquired a perfect control over himself, it is a dan- gerous snare; but it is almost infallibly the characteristic of a bad cause. The defence against it is to make its design manifest, and expose it as a deception, practised upon the judgment of the audience; which, when per- formed with coolness and address, power- fully conciliates their favor to you, and .instigates their resentment against your oppo- 'nent. In accomplishing this, you may at your option reply to such adventitious mat- ter, or dismiss it with contempt or disdain. The second error in controversy, against which I am anxious of warning you, is that of answering too little. When too much of our strength is lavished upon the outworks, the citadel is left proportionally defenceless. If we say too much upon points extrinsic to the cause, we shall seldom say enough upon those on which it hinges. To avoid this fault. therefore, it is as essential to ascertain which are the strong parts of your adversary's ar- gument, as it is to escape the opposite error of excess. To this effect it is also a duty of the first impression to obtain a control over your own prejudices and feelings. Nothing is so sure to blind us to the real validity of the reasons alleged against us as our pas- sions. It is so much easier to despise than to answer an opponent's argument, that wherever we can indulge our contempt, we are apt to forget that it is not refutation. But the most inexcusable of all the errors in confutation is that of answering yourself, in- stead of your adversary ; which is done when- ever you suppress, or mutilate, or obscure, or misstate, his reasoning, and then reply not to his positions, but to those which you have substituted in their stead. This practise is often the result of misapprehension, when a disputant mistakes the point of the argument, urged by his adversary; but it often arises also from design, in which case it should be clearly detected and indignantly exposed. The duty of a disputant is fairly to take and fully to repel the idea of his opponent, and not his own. To misrepresent the meaning of your antagonist evinces a want of candor, which the auditory seldom fail to perceive, and which engages their feelings in his fa- vor. When involved in controversy, then, never start against yourself frivolous objec- tions for the sake of showing how easily you can answer them. — Adams, Lectures on Rhet- oric and Oratory, vol. 2, p. 80. (H. & M., 1810.) 267. CONTROVERSY, ART OF.— Be severely logical. A false step here will fre- quently destroy all possibility of attaining the desired effect. Few audiences could be found that would not detect the use of false or unnatural argument or of a falsely ob^ tained conclusion. Such a detection leads to distrust, and when confidence is destroyed, persuasion is impossible. Hence, all such er- rors are anti-oratorical. The clearly defined path then is found in strict adherence to the rules of logic and in clear and accurate state- ment of the results of such a course. (1) Order of conclusions. From the conclusions which are perfectly obvious to the audience, lead to those which are less easily compre- hended. (2) Discussion of opposing views. One of the most telling arguments is the ex- act statement of facts representing opposing views together with arguments therefrom leading to conclusions distasteful or harmful to the audience or which oppose their feel- ings of justice. Edward Everett wrote con- Conversation Conversation KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 108 cerning the great orator, Daniel Webster: "The battle had been fought and won with- in, upon the broad field of his own capacious mind ; for it was Mr. Webster's habit first to state to himself his opponent's argument in its utmost strength, and, having overthrown it in that form, he feared the efforts of no other antagonist. Hence it came to pass that he was never taken by surprize by any turn of the discussion." It is well, and especially is this mode of argument effective in debate, to familiarize oneself with the opponent's facts, and then to go one step farther, as has been suggested in the preceding paragraph — and show the audience that you are familiar with them. This may be done either in the statement of fact or in the conclusion or argument. In either place, be scrupulously careful to represent accurately the opposing views; here, open-handed fairness gains friends, but narrow or partisan feelings al- ways arouse prejudice and aversion. (3) The conclusion "to act." The conclusion or the inference that those who have closely followed through the line of argument should themselves act, should be made last of all. This duty must be made imperative. The conclusion "to act," as the most important of all the conclusions drawn, should be given the utmost prominence, which, of course, must be last in the climax of conclusions. An- other reason may also be assigned. It should stand in immediate conjunction with the ap- peal, so that the appeal may naturally en- dorse and stimulate any latent desire to act. (4) Conclusions cumulative. Conclusions should be drawn not only logically, but also cumulatively, leading up to the platform for the appeal. This rule is simply a natural out- growth of the natural principles which gov- ern the laws of the climax as a figure of speech. — Conwell, Conwell's System of Ora- tory, p. 31. (H. N., 1892.) 288. CONVERSATION, ATTENTION IN. — "The best talkers are the best listen- ers" is an axiom which has been repeated, in one form or the other, in every cultivated language. "The duty of paying attention to what other people say is a fundamental law of the social code." You may be able to startle with your wit, move by your pathos, and thrill with your eloquence— but all this will not save you from being frequently a positive annoyance unless you have occasion- ally what Sidney Smith desired in a loqua- cious gentleman — a few flashes of silence. The duller the intellect and the more lim- ited the knowledge and experience may be of the person with whom you talk, the more will he wish to hear himself, and the less will he desire to listen to you, save for applause and flattery. Bear patiently with such people, and content yourself with following the ex- ample of Sir Walter Scott, by directing their conversation to subjects on which they can give you useful information. Remember that there are few persons from whom you can not learn something, and that everything is worth knowing. Whenever you meet with a man or woman who seems disposed, as the French say, to defray all the expenses of the conver- sation, you would do well to become a lis- tener and limit yourself to an occasional re- mark, which you will have time to render piquant, and which, if apropos, will make the greater impression on your "subject." Pa- tience is the first of all social virtues, but silence is her most useful handmaid. And tho you be even a Job by nature, you will seldom take part in a conversation in which the two may not aid you. I can safely say that in reviewing my own studies of conver- sation I find that those who produced the, most favorable impression on all, were men or women who indicated the possession of great patience. No degree of brilliancy or of knowledge will impress well-bred people with a sense of superiority at all comparable to that which is awakened by patience and self-command. It is the true basis of the savoir faire, or "knowing how to act cor- rectly under all circumstances," which is the whole art of being a man of the world. It would be well if every one would once a day reflect on the proverb which states that we seldom get into trouble by saying too little, but very often by saying too much.— Carleton, The Art of Conversation, p. 84. (C, 1867.) 269. CONVERSATION, CARE IN.— Resolve that you will never use an incorrect, an inelegant, or a vulgar phrase or word, in any society whatever. If you are gifted with wit, you will soon find that it is easy to give it far better point and force in pure Eng- lish than through any other medium, and that brilliant thoughts make the deepest im- pressions when well worded. However great , it may be, the labor is never lost which earns for you the reputation of one who habitu- ally uses the language of a gentleman, or of a lady. It is difficult for those who have not frequent opportunities for conversation with well-educated people, to avoid using expres- sions which are not current in society, altho they may be of common occurrence in books. As they are often learned from novels, it will be well for the reader to remember that 109 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING OouTarsatloii Couversatlon even in the best of such works dialogues are seldom sustained in a tone which would not appear affected in ordinary life. This fault in conversation is the most difficult of all to amend, and it is unfortunately the one to which those who strive to express them- selves correctly are peculiarly liable. Its ef- fect is bad, for tho it is not like slang, vulgar in itself, it betrays an effort to conceal vul- garity. It may generally be remedied by avoiding any word or phrase which you may suspect yourself of using for the purpose of creating an effect. Whenever you imagine that the employment of any mere word or sentence will convey the impression that you are well informed, substitute for it some sim^ pie expression. If you are not positively certain as to the pronunciation of a word, never use it. If the temptation be great, re- sist it; for, rely upon it, if there be in your mind the slightest doubt on the subject, you will certainly make a mistake. Never use a foreign word when its meaning can be given in English, and remember that it is both rude and silly to say anything to any person who possibly may not understand it. But never attempt, under any circumstances whatever, to utter a foreign word, unless you have learned to pronounce correctly the language to which it belongs.— Carleton, The Art of Conversation, p. 138. (C, 1867.) 270. CONVERSATION, CENSURE IN. — Those who would excel in conversa- tion should beware of censuring. There are persons who seldom talk without blaming some one, or carping, grumbling, and disap- proving. The faults of others are as their very breath. They seem to be forever look- ing down ; and, to judge them by their own accounts, one might imagine that they had never, in all their lives, associated or met with a decent or reputable human being. It is unfortunately true that a very large pro- portion of social conversation consists of fault-iinding, or of remarks derogatory to the character of the absent. Here and there, indeed, we encounter a truly noble nature, which recognizes the vileness of abusive 1 gossip and avoids it. I would have the read- . er adopt such a character as an ideal to be followed out at all risks, at all times, and under every temptation. Let him resolve every morning that no needless word of cen- sure shall during the day pass his lips; and when he shall have so long adhered to the resolution as to feel quite certain that he has cured himself of the vice, he may in- dulge in the proud consciousness of being at heart not only a gentleman, but a gentleman who has few peers in the first circles of any land. There are few persons who do not regard a man or woman who never speaks ill of others as of truly noble character. Such instances of magnanimity are rare, but they never fail to be duly honored. In so- ciety their words meet with marked atten- tion, for they are invariably truthful, and the world knows that what they say will be discolored by no malice or uncharitableness. Very elegant and highly accomplished women of the world sometimes accomplish this great triumph over the most insidious fault of our nature, and thereby wonderfully increase their abilities in the art of pleasing. — Caele- TON, The Art of Conversation, p. 46. (C, 1867.) 271. CONVERSATION, COM- PLIMENTS IN.— The spirit of a compli- ment is the expression of something agree- able to another person. It is therefore absurd to broadly condemn it, since the whole art of pleasing is more or less directly that of complimenting. The most benevolent or generous act to an equal, loses much of its value if utterly devoid of compliment — that delicate homage by which we imply that cer- tain excellences or merits in another have made upon us a something more than su- perficial impression. Women — or men — who are not familiar with the world, or skilled in conversation, invariably express, and perhaps feel, a dislike to compliments. They are either suspicious and doubt the sincerity of all praise, or, as is more frequently the case, they find themselves unable to turn the com- pliment with an adroit answer or graceful reply, and are consequently rather vexed than pleased with it. Much of this comes from an uneasy fear of covert ridicule, of being "quizzed" or held at an advantage. It is needless to say that such feelings or fears never annoy a cultivated woman, or any one gifted with proper self-respect. It is true there are compliments to which objection may justly be raised. Some are coarse, some clumsy, others trivial, and others worn out; but they almost invariably correspond to the character and conversation of those who ut- ter them, and if we are frequently annoyed, it is generally our fault. But no compliment should be too severely judged, unless it be manifestly a downright sarcasm or insult in disguise. The flattest flattery implies at least on the part of the one uttering it, a desire to commend himself to favorable consider- ation, and has a more creditable ground than scandal, satire, and gossip. — Carleton, The Art of Conversation, p. 49. (C, 1867.) Conversation Conversation KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 110 272. CONVERSATION, DISAGREE- ABLE SUBJECTS IN.— To be scrupu- lously cleanly in every respect should, with a well-bred man, be so much a matter of habit as to seldom occupy his thoughts when not engaged in its duties. But there are people so self-conscious of their neatness as to make a constant parade of their customs in this respect. They will talk in any so- ciety of the details of their toilet, and de- scant on the advantages to be derived from cold water as tho it were a new invention. Others are fond of discussing their own ail- ings, and will describe a dyspepsia or liver- complaint at any time to almost anybody. Some will enter upon such unpleasant per- sonal details with an apology, while others with still greater caution contrive under the guise of an excuse for not fulfilling an en- gagement, to give the full particulars of the maladies which prevented attendance. Can it really interest anyone to know that a per- son has an excellent or an indifferent appe- tite, and does it never occur to others that it is seldom agreeable to a guest to be in- formed before company that he is eating very little? Is it less polite than it would be to exclaim, "Why, how much you are eating !" When a lady carefully informs all present that she seldom requires much food, does it suggest to those who are even slight- ly acquainted with physiology, any agreeable associations, and does it prove anything ex- cept that she neglects to exercise and to otherwise take proper care of her health? We all know that dental operations, the suf- ferings endured from tight boots, the offen- sive conduct of bad servants, children's teeth- ings, the effects of medicines, casualties and deaths, must not only occur, but also be more or less discust. But many people who are by no means absurdly fastidious naturally avoid all such subjects of annoyance in con- versation, while others, in proportion to the vulgarity of their minds, introduce them and dwell upon them. There is, of course, noth- ing so easy as to prove the necessity of talk- ing on such matters, but it is very certain that refined people instinctively avoid a griev- ance, or a personal detail, and experience no inconvenience from so doing. I trust that these hints will be borne in mind by the young reader not merely "in society," but among his most familiar associates. The habit of talking on disagreeable and personal topics is generally formed among intimate companions, and when formed is apt to be- tray itself at all times. As with all subjects for reform, it should be attended to in the root, and not in the branches. — Carleton, The Art of Conversation, p. 111. (C, 1867.) 273. CONVERSATION, EGOTISM IN. — In conversation make as few refer- ences as possible to yourself. Beware of giving the slightest indication that you ha- bitually realize your own merits. This is, however, equivalent to urging you to begin with first principles, and to conquer the habit, since no one who has formed it can conceal it. Egotism is the most insidious and effective poison of merit. No matter how wise, how witty, learned, brave, or beau- tiful one may be, self-consciousness spoils all its effects, and even a child can render the least vanity ridiculous. It is the greatest of blemishes in social intercourse, and should be most scrupulously shunned in its every form. A French writer has spoken of people in whose manner could be detected "supprest vanity," and of different varieties of such people. The truth is, that the habit— for it is only a mere habit — must be cured, not disguised. Suppressing egotism does not mean crushing self-confidence or pride, but the destroying a silly habit of continually looking at self as another personage parad- ing about on the stage of life, and anxiously caring for what is said of it, or studying the effects which it produces. The fault is rap- idly developed by much indulgence in "small talk," and, above all, by continually gossiping of other people — of families, marriages, en- gagements, "attentions," fortunes, and what is said by everybody of everybody else. — Carleton, The Art of Conversation, p. 57. (C, 1867.) 274. CONVERSATION, INSPIRING CONFIDENCE IN.— A requisite element of agreeable conversation is that it be unre- strained, and to do this you must inspire con- fidence in your discretion. Strive by every means in your power to avoid the reputation of a tattler. Never repeat to anyone a syl- lable which was not intended for repetition. Make it a point of personal pride to be re- served on this subject. Few persons seem to be aware of the advantages which are to be derived from having the character of never repeating anything that is told them. Most people in the warmth of conversation say much which they trust will be kept secret, and quite as many, it may be added, repeat nearly all these confidences, hoping that an injunction to secrecy will protect them from all consequences. How can they hop« that others will be more truthful than themselves? But those who are truly faithful in their Ill TO PUBLIC SPEAKING OonTeraatlon Converaatlon reserve enjoy an advantage, as regards mak- ing friends, which it is difficult to exaggerate. With many women, the mere conviction of such a merit in a man is enough to insure intimacy and unreserved confidence. He who hopes to become a favorite with the fair sex can not begin too soon, or labor too assidu- ously, in creating the impression that the most trivial secret, whether imparted to him or acquired by accident, is, in his keeping, perfectly safe. But it will be vain to attempt to gain this character unless it be founded in fact. A single bit of gossip in circulation stamped with your name will excite general distrust and doubt as to your fidelity. If you can establish a character with yourself for secrecy, others will soon elevate it to something remarkable. — Carleton, The Art of Conversation, p. 29. (C, 1867.) 275. CONVERSATION, LIBERTIES IN. — Avoid at all times in conversation all manner of liberties. "Teasing" is a fa- vorite amusement with many, and is not un- frequently carried, as regards youthful vic- tims, to such an extent as to utterly ruin dispositions which would otherwise have been excellent. It generally leads to irritation and insult. Persons who habitually tease in any manner whatever, directly or indirectly, may be possest of many excellent qualities, but they are not entitled to true respect; nor is anyone, who fails in respect toward others or in regard for their feelings. The incur- able "tease" who can not refrain from an- noyances, is indeed invariably an individual whose intellect is in some respect deficient or disordered, and who is therefore to be avoided. Such persons are frequently gifted with wit, and, occasionally, with polished (not refined) manners, but they are danger- ous companions, as their irritating disposition is apt to communicate itself to those whom they are in the habit of attacking. — Carle- ton, The Art of •Conversation, p. 44. (C, 1867.) 27G. CONVERSATION, POLITENESS IN. — Let memory be on the alert to re- call anything which may be agreeable or serviceable to those with whom you con- verse, and keep your eyes and ears open to seize the opportunity for any friendly of- fice, no matter how trifling. Politeness, be it remembered, includes "polish, elegance, ease and gracefulness of manner, united with a desire to please others, and a careful at- tention to their wants and wishes." The first step toward achieving grace^ is to be quietly confident and feel at ease in any so- ciety. If your language be good, your knowl- edge creditable, your personal appearance de- void of eccentricity, and if you have learned to avoid making yourself "conspicuous," there is no reason why you should not be firm and assured, anywhere. Do not vex yourself with thoughts of inferiority, but "be yourself to yourself," and a little familiarity with the world will soon teach you the ab- surdity of timidity. Ease rapidly brings grace, if any effort whatever be made to say and do kindly things in a cheerful and con- ciliatory way. — Carleton, The Art of Con- versation, p. 72. (C, 1867.) 277. CONVERSATION, USES OF.— No man ever gave himself in earnest for any great length of time to the object of succeeding in the art of conversation, and of thereby making himself generally acceptable in society, without ridding himself of many defects, which, if not positive vices, at least had nothing in common with goodness. To converse well is to acquire that delicate mor- ality of the heart which leads on the one hand to kindness, and is on the other mys- teriously allied to good taste in matters of life, of literature and of art. Hence, it will be found that in those circles where a very high standard of social intercourse is ex- acted and which is exprest and attested by excellence in conversation, genius is most readily freed from the clogs of prejudice, of suspicion and of vulgarity, and quickly mani- fests itself in great works. Talents are no- where so rapidly developed as among people who in their intercourse aim at constant ele- gance and propriety in discourse and discus- sion, and this latter is not the result, but rather the cause of the development. It has often been a matter of wonder that great minds are more generally developed in groups than singly; in cities than in the country. No one doubts that the same An- glo-Saxon blood exists all over America or England, with the same average of talent; and in every corner of the two countries may be found highly educated men. But how much greater is the proportion of genius which is developed into actual results by so- cial intercourse than by solitary reflection! The real reason for it is that now and then a circle is formed whose members cultivate the art of mutual expression and of mutual intelligence — in other words, the art of con- versation — and thereby succeed in a short time in imparting to each other not merely a general knowledge of what they themselves know, but also what they themselves are. Among men and women who consciously or Conversatioii Courag'e and CoolnesB KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 112 unconsciously excel in conversation, experi- ences of travel and of adventure, of per- sonal intercourse with eminent characters, and impressions of remarkable objects, are communicated with a vividness which no written description can convey. Tones, ges- tures, glances, attitudes and smiles supply a color, so to speak, remaining indelibly im- prest upon the memory, and which no book can ever impart. — Carleton, The Art of Conversation, p. 19. (C, 1867.) 278. CONVERSATION, VANITY IN. — Avoid very frequent conversation on any subject in which you are notoriously inter- ested. If you have a specialty in politics, religion, or in any other direction, it will be often enough referred to by others without your introducing it. If you are physically strong, or handsome, or accomplished in many arts, do not make strength and beauty and your favorite abilities, even indirectly, a frequent subject of discussion. Beware of a peculiar form of vanity which consists in making confidences of your private affairs to many people, and in binding every acquain- tance to solemn secrecy as to this or that matter relative to yourself or friends. Weak people often think by such confidence to at- tract intimacy, but the confided-in . seldom fail, on reflection, to attribute it to mere vanity. Of all follies, never seek to make capital in general conversation by communi- cating to any mortal whatever your misfor- tunes, grievances, and losses. Whatever mo- mentary sympathy you may attract will, in too many cases, be entirely neutralized on the fatal sober second thought of those in whom you may confide. That is a pitiful vanity, indeed, which would sooner expose its defeats from fortune than not talk of self. More absurd still is the confession of your private faults and vices — a species of vanity frequent enough among would-be romantic people of a school which is now becoming generally ridiculous. On this subject a French writer has well remarked, that "you should always avoid mention of yourself, since, if it be an eulogiutn, people will re- gard it as a lie; while if you criticize your- self, they will take you at your word, and accept it as an article of faith." In short, never allude in any way, or under any cir- cumstances, where it can be avoided, to your own excellences or defects. — Carleton, The Art of Conversation, p. 64. (C, 1867.) 279. CONVICTION AND PERSUA- SION BOTH NECESSARY.— To speak of an appeal to the passions, conveys to many people the idea of a mode of address little in harmony with the soberness of a sermon. It reminds them of Peter the her- mit urging the warriors of Europe to the crusades; or of some modern agitator in- flaming the passions of the populace. True it is, that the base passions are those most easily and most frequently excited, but it must not be forgotten that there are good passions as well as bad. Not only anger, jealousy, revenge, hatred, malice, and un- charitableness ; but love, joy, peace, long- suffering, gentleness, meekness, faith, tem- perance, gratitude, exultation, hope — all these partake of the nature of passions; tho it may be more in accordance with common acceptation if we call them feelings or affec- tions. Persuasion is the end of all preach- ing; but it is clear that persuasion and con- viction do not always go together. A man will sometimes be persuaded without being convinced, but much more frequently con- vinced without being persuaded. Conviction is, indeed, generally speaking, an essential preliminary to persuasion, yet it is necessary to go a step farther before the preacher's object is attained. It is not enough to con- vince men how penitent and humble they ought to be, how grateful to God, how char- itable to their neighbors; there is something beyond this : they must be persuaded to be so. The preacher has not performed his task when he has convinced his hearers of their sin and danger, but he must persuade them to forsake the one, and guard against the other. And this is to be done princi- pally by moving the passions, or the feel- ings. When the reason is brought to assent to the truth of any proposition, and the feel- ings are wrought upon, and urged to action — then, and not till then, will the will be gained, and a man disposed to act, and by God's grace will act, in consequence of what he hears ; and then, and not till then, is the preacher's task accomplished. It is in this last requirement of their art that English preachers are mainly defective. "Sermons," says Blair, "have passed too much into mere reasoning and instruction, owing to a distaste to fanatics and puritans. This will' account, not only for the ineffectiveness of preaching in general, but also, in some cases, for the thinness of congregations ; for peo- ple will not go to hear where they are not made to feel." I am the last person to ad- vocate extravagant and passionate declama- tion; still, it is a Christian minister's botm- den duty to aim at such a style of preaching as will move and win the affections of his 113 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Conversation Courag'e and Coolness hearers.— Gresley, Letters to a Young Cler- gyman, p. 84. (D. & Co., 1856.) 280. CONVICTION AND PERSUA- SION, PRINCIPLES OF.— One would think, to hear some men talk, that it was proposed to instruct a youth to adjust be- forehand the number of sentences of which each paragraph should consist, and the lengths into which the sentences should be cut — to determine how many should be per- fect periods, and how many should not — what allowance of antitheses, interrogatives, and notes of admiration, should be given to each page, where he shall stick on a metony- my or a metaphor, and how many niches he shall reserve for gilded ornaments. Who is pleading for any such nonsense as this? All that we contend for is that no public speaker should be destitute of a clear perception of those principles of man's nature on which conviction and persuasion depend, and of those proprieties of style which ought to characterize all discourses which are de- signed to effect these objects. General as all this knowledge must be, we cannot help thinking that it would be most advantageous. One great good it would undoubtedly in many cases effect; it would prevent men from setting out wrong, or abridge the amount or duration of their errors ; in other words, prevent the formation of vicious hab- its, or tend to correct them when formed. Nothing is more common than for a speaker to set out with false notions as to the style which effective public speaking requires, to suppose it something very remote from what is simple and natural. Still more are led into similar errors by their vanity. The young especially are apt to despise the true style for what are its chief excellences — its simplicity and severity. Let them once be taught its great superiority to every other, and they will at least be protected from in- voluntary errors, and less likely to yield to the seductions of vanity. Such a knowledge would also (perhaps the most important benefit of all) involve a knowledge of the best models, and secure timely appreciation of them. — Edinburgh Review, October, 1840. 281. CONVICTION, SINCERE. IN SPEAKING. — In any description of com- position, except the speech of an advocate, a man's maintaining a certain conclusion, is a presumption that he is convinced of it him- self. Unless there be some special reason for doubting his integrity and good faith, he is supposed to mean what he says, and to use arguments that are at least satisfactory to himself. But it is not so with a pleader; who is understood to be advocating the cause of the client who happens to have engaged him, and to have been equally ready to take the opposite side. The fullest belief in his uprightness goes no further, at the utmost, than to satisfy us that he would not plead a cause which he was conscious was grossly unjust, and that he would not resort to any unfair artifices. But to allege all that can fairly be urged on behalf of his client, even tho, as a judge, he might be inclined to de- cide the other way, is regarded as his pro- fessional duty. If, however, he can induce a jury to believe not only in his own general integrity of character, but also in his sin- cere conviction of the justice of his client's cause, this will give great additional weight to his pleading, since he will thus be re- garded as a sort of witness in the cause. And this accordingly is aimed at, and often with success, by practised advocates. They employ the language, and assume the man- ner, of full belief and strong feeling.— Whately. Elements of Rhetoric, p. 141. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 282. COURAGE AND COOLNESS IN SPEAKING. — There are occasions when courage, coolness, presence of mind, and promptness of decision are required of the orator as truly as of the general on the field of battle. Especially does he require them on field-days, in parliamentary duellos, in the hand-to-hand encounter of intellects, where the home thrust is often so suddenly given. At such times, it is not enough to be endowed with the rarest intellectual gifts, unless he is able also to command his whole intellectual force the moment he wants to use it. We be- lieve, therefore, that there is no grander man^ ifestation of the power of the human mind than that of an orator launched suddenly, without warning, on the ocean of improvisa- tion, and spreading his sails to the breeze, coolly yet instantaneously deciding upon his course, and earnestly and even passionately pursuing it ; at the same moment guiding his bark amid the rocks and quicksands on the way, and forecasting his future course; now seemingly overwhelmed in a storm of inter- ruption, yet rising stronger from opposition; now suddenly collecting his forces in an in- terval of applause, battling with and conquer- ing both himself and his audience, and mount- ing triumphantly billow after billow, until with his auditory he reaches the haven on which his longing eye has been fixed. — Mathews, Oratory and Orators, p. 160. (S. F. & Co., 1896.) Conrag'e CroBS-Ezamtnatioii KLEISER'S COMPLETE GmDE 114 283. COURAGE. NECESSITY FOR, IN SPEAKING.— Unquestionably cour- age is necessary to venture upon speaking in public. To rise before an assembly, often numerous and imposing, without books or notes, carrying everything in the head, and to undertake a discourse in the midst of general silence, with all eyes fixed on you, under the obligation of keeping that audi- ence attentive and interested for three-quar- ters of an hour, an hour, and sometimes longer, is assuredly an arduous task and a weighty burden. All who accept this bur- den, or have it imposed upon them, know how heavy it is, and what physical and mental suffering is experienced until it is dis- charged. Timidity or hesitation will make a person incapable of the duty; and such will always recoil from the dangers of the situa- tion. When, indeed, it is remembered how little is required to disconcert and even par- alyse the orator, — ^his own condition, bodily and moral, which is not always favorable at a given moment, — that of the hearers so un- stable and prone to vary never known, — ^the distractions which may assail and divert him from his subject, — the failure perhaps of memory, so that a part of the plan, and oc- casionally its main division, may be lost on the instant, — the inertness of the imagina- tion, which may play him false, and bring feebly and confusedly to the .mind what it represents, — the escape of an unlucky ex- pression, — the not finding the proper term, — a sentence badly begun, out of which he no longer knows the way, — and finally, all the influences to which he is subjected, and which converge upon him from a thousand eyes, — when all these things are borne in mind, it is truly enough to make a person lose head or heart, and the only wonder is that men can be found who will face such dangers, and fling themselves into the midst of them. Nor, indeed, ought they to be courted save when duty urges, when your mission enjoins it, or in order to fulfil some obligation of conscience or of position. Any other motive — such as ambition, vainglory, or interest — exposes you to cruel miscalculations and well-merited downfalls.— Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 31. (S., 1901.) COURT ROOM. — See Bar, Forensic , Judicial , Jury. 284. COURTESY IN SPEECH.— Your manner upon the platform should be defer- ential. A mixed audience is far more self- important and tetchy than a select party of the educated and intelligent. The more nearly an assembly resembles a mob, the more exacting it is of professions of re- spect. All the famous mob orators whom I have heard appeared to me to owe much of their power to the extreme deference they exhibited towards the people before them. King Mob feels an affront — and resents i^, too — as readily as any other potentate. But you may take it as a maxim that an audi- ence, whatever its composition, is more easily won than commanded. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 293. (H. C, 1911.) 285. CROSS-EXAMINATION, BOLD ATTACK IN.— An excellent plan is to take the witness through his story, but not in the same order of incidents in which he told it. Dislocate his train of ideas, and you put him out; you disturb his memory of his lesson. Thus begin your cross-ex- amination at the middle of his narrative, then jump to one end, then to some other part the most remote from the subject of the previous question. If he is telling the truth, this will not confuse him, because he speaks from impressions upon his mind; but if he is lying, he will be perplexed and will betray himself, for, speaking from the memory only, which acts by association, you disturb that association, and his invention breaks down. — Cox, "The Advocate, His Training, Practise, Rights, and Duties" quoted by Ram, Treatise on Facts, p. 351. (B. V. & Co., 1873.) 28S. CROSS-EXAMINATION, MODES OF. — I am convinced that the most effec- tual mode of eliciting truth, is quite different from that by which an honest, simple-minded witness is most easily baffled and confused. I have seen the experiment tried, of sub- jecting a witness to such a kind of cross- examination by a practised lawyer, as would have been, I am convinced, the most likely to alarm and perplex many an honest wit- ness ; without any effect in shaking the testi- mony : and afterwards, by a totally opposite mode of examination, such as would not have at all perplexed one who was honestly telling the truth, that same witness was drawn on, step by step, to acknowledge the utter falsity of the whole. Generally speak- ing, I believe that a quiet, gentle, and straightforward, tho full and careful exami- nation, will be the most adapted to elicit truth ; and that the maneuvers, and the brow- beating, which are the most adapted to con- fuse an honest witness, are just what the dishonest one is the best prepared for. The lis TO PUBLIC SPEAKING OonraiTe CroBB-ezamlnatloit more the storm blusters, the more carefully he wraps round him the cloak, which a warm sunshine will often induce him to throw off. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 43. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 287. CROSS-EXAMINATION, OB- JECT OF. — Some persons seem to sup- pose that their credit is concerned in getting up a cross-examination, and they look upon the dismissal of a witness without it as if it were an opportunity lost, and they feared that clients would attribute it not so much to prudence as to conscious incapacity. So they rise and put a number of questions that do not concern the issue, and perhaps elicit something more damaging to their own cause than anything the other side has brought out, and the result is, that they leave their client in a far worse condition than before. Let it be a rule with you never to cross-examine unless to gain some dis- tinct object. — Cox, "The Advocate, His Train- ing, Practise, Rights, and Duties," quoted by Ram, Treatise on Facts, p. 337. (B. V. & Co., 1873.) 288. CROSS-EXAMINATION, RULES FOR. — I. Except in indifferent matters, never take your eye from that of the wit- ness. This is a channel of communication from mind to mind, the loss of which noth- ing can compensate: — "Truth, falsehood, hatred, anger, scorn, despair. And all the passions — all the soul is there." II. Be not regardless, either, of the voice of the witness. Next to the eye, this is perhaps the best interpreter of his mind. The very design to screen conscience from crime — the mental reservation of the witness — is often manifested in the tone or accent or emphasis of the voice. For instance, it becoming im- portant to know that the witness was at the corner of Sixth and Chestnut Streets at a certain time, the question is asked. Were you at the corner of Sixth and Chestnut Streets at six o'clock? A frank witness would an- swer, Perhaps, I was near there. But a wit- ness who had been there, desirous to conceal the fact and to defeat your object, speaking to the letter rather than the spirit of the in- quiry, answers. No; although he may have been within a stone's throw of the place, or at the very place, within ten minutes of the time. The common answer of such a wit- ness would be, I was not at the corner, at six o'clock. Emphasis upon both words plainly implies a mental evasion or equivocation, and gives rise, with a skilful examiner, to the question. At what hour were you at the cor- ner, or at what place were you at six o'clock ? And in nine instances out of ten it will ap- pear that the witness was at the place about the time, or at the time about the place. There is no scope for further illustrations, but be watchful, I say, of the voice, and the principle may be easily applied. III. Be mild with the mild; shrewd with the crafty; con- fiding with the honest; merciful to the young, the frail, or the fearful; rough to the ruffian, and a thunderbolt to the liar. But in all this, never be unmindful of your own dignity. Bring to bear all the powers of your mind, not that you may shine, but that virtue may triumph and your cause may prosper. IV. In a criminal, especially in a capital case, so long as your cause stands well, ask but few questions ; and be certain never to ask any the answer to which, if against you, may destroy your client, unless you know the witness perfectly well, and know that his answer will be favorablel equally well ; or unless you be prepared with testimony to destroy him if he play traitor to the truth and your expectations. V. An equivocal question is almost as much to be avoided and condemned as an equivocal an- swer, and it always leads to, or excuses, an equivocal answer. Singleness of purpose, clearly exprest, is the best trait in the exam- ination of witnesses, whether they be honest or the reverse. Falsehood is not detected by cunning, but by the light of truth; or if by cunning, it is the cunning of the witness, and not of the counsel. VI. If the witness determine to be witty or refractory with you, you had better settle that account with him at first, or its items will increase with the examination. Let him have an opportunity of satisfying himself either that he has mis- taken your power or his own. But, in any result, be careful that you do not lose your temper. Anger is always either the precur- sor or evidence of assured defeat in every intellectual conflict. VII. Like a skilful chess player, in every move fix your mind upon the combinations and relations of the game; partial and temporary success may otherwise end in total and remediless defeat. VIII. Never undervalue your adversary, but stand steadily upon your guard. A random blow may be just as fatal as tho it were directed by the most consummate skill; the negli- gence of one often cures, and sometimes renders effective, the blunders of another. IX. Be respectful to the court and to the Curran Deliate KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 116 jury, kind to your colleague, civil to your antagonist; but never sacrifice the slightest principle of duty to an overweening defer- ence toward either. — David Paul Brown's "Golden Rules for the Cross-Examination of Witnesses," quoted by W. M. Best, The Principles of the Law of Evidence, p. 651. (B. B. Co., 1889.) 289. CURRAN, CHARACTERISTICS OF. — Mr. Curran was short of stature, with a swarthy complexion, and "an eye that glowed like a live coal." His countenance was singularly expressive, and as he stood before a jury he not only read their hearts with a searching glance, but he gave them back his own, in all the fluctuations of his feelings, from laughter to tears. His ges- ture was bold and impassioned; his articula- tion was uncommonly distinct and deliberate ; the modulations of his voice were varied in a high degree and perfectly suited to the widest range of his eloquence. His power lay in the variety and strength of his emo- tions. He delighted a jury by his wit; he turned the court room into a scene of the broadest farce by his humor, mimicry, or fun; he made it "a place of tears," by ai tenderness and pathos which subdued every heart; he poured out his invective like a stream of lava and inflamed the minds of his countrymen almost to madness by the recital of their wrongs. His rich and power- ful imagination furnished the materials for these appeals, and his instinctive knowledge of the heart taught him how to use them with unfailing success. He relied greatly for effect on his power of painting to the eye; and the actual condition of the country for months during the insurrection, and after it, furnished terrific pictures for his pencil. Speaking of the ignorance which prevailed in England as to the treatment of the Irish, he said, "If you wished to convey to the mind of an English matron the horrors of that period, when, in defiance of the remon- strances of the ever-to-be-lamented Aber- cromby, our poor people were surrendered to the brutality of the soldiery by the authority of the state, you would vainly attempt to give her a general picture of lust and rapine and murder and conflagration. By endeavor- ing to comprehend everything, you would convey nothing. When the father of poetry wishes to portray the movements of con- tending armies and an embattled field, he exemplifies, he does not describe. So should your story to her keep clear of generalities. You should take a cottage, and place the affrighted mother with her orphan daughters at the door, the paleness of death in her face, and more than its agonies in her heart — her aching heart, her anxious ear strug- gling through the mist of closing day to catch the approaches of desolation and dis- honor. The ruffian gang arrives, the feast of plunder begins, the cup of madness kin- dles in its circulation, the wandering glances of the ravisher become concentrated upon the shrinking and devoted victim. You need not dilate, you need not expatiate. The un- polluted matron to whom you tell the story of horror beseeches you not to proceed; she presses her child to her heart, she drowns it in her tears, her fancy catches more than an angel's tongue could describe. At a single view she takes in the whole miserable suc- cession of force, of profanation, of despair, of death. So it is in the question before us." The faults of Mr. Curran arose from the same source as his excellences. They lay chiefly on the side of excess; intense expres- sions, strained imagery, overwrought pas- sion, and descriptions carried out into too great minuteness of circumstance. But he spoke for the people; the power he sought was over the Irish mind; and in such a case the cautious logic and the Attic taste of Erskine, just so far as they existed, would only have weakened the effect. There are but few parts of our country where Curran would be a safe model for the bar, but our mass meetings will be swayed most power- fully by an eloquence conceived in the spirit of the great Irish orator. — Goodrich, Select British Eloquence, p. 789. (H. & Bros., 1853.) 290. CURRAN, JOHN PHILPOT.— John Philpot Curran was born on the 24th of July, 1750, at Newmarket, an obscure vil- lage in the northwest corner of the county of Cork. His family was in low circum- stances, his father being a collector of taxes to a gentleman of small property in the neighborhood. He was a man, however, of vigorous intellect and acquirements above his station, while his wife was distinguished for that bold, irregular strength of mind, that exuberance of imagination and warmth of feeling which were so strikingly manifested in the character of her favorite son. Whilst Curran studied law in early life in the Mid- dle Temple he was supported in part by a wealthy friend; but his life in London was a "hard one." "He spent his mornings," he states, "in reading even to exhaustion, and the rest of the day in the more congenial pursuits of literature, and especially in un- remitted labors to perfect himself as a 117 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Cur ran Deliate speaker." His voice was bad, and his articu- lation so hasty and confused that he went among his school-fellows by the name of "stuttering- Jack Curran." His manner was awkward, his gesture constrained and mean- ingless, and his whole appearance calculated only to produce laughter, notwithstanding the evidence he gave of superior abilities. All these faults he overcame by severe and patient labor. Constantly on the watch against bad habits, he practised daily before a glass, reciting passages from Shakspeare, Junius, and the best English orators. He frequented the debating societies which then abounded in London; and though mortified at first by repeated failures, and ridiculed by one of his opponents as "Orator Mum," he surmounted every difficulty. "He turned his shrill and stumbling brogue," says one of his friends, "into a flexible, sustained, and finely modulated voice ; his action became free and forcible ; he acquired perfect readiness in thinking on his legs"; he put down every opponent by the mingled force of his argu- ment and wit, and was at last crowned by the universal applause of the society, and invited by the president to an entertainment on their behalf. Well might one of his biog- raphers say, "His oratorical training was as severe as any Greek ever underwent." — ■ Beeton, British Orators and Oratory, from Complete Orator, p. 67. (W. L. & Co.) 291. CURTIS, GEORGE WILLIAM.— Born at Providence, R. I., Feb. 24, 1824. Died on Staten Island, N. Y., Aug. 31, 1892. He was manly, gentle and unpretentious. He possest good sense, indefatigable persever- ance, strong self-respect, broad sympathies and culture. His voice was pure, bell-like, rich, with much sympathetic quality. His enunciation was so perfect that he could be heard in the largest halls without apparent effort. His manners and appearance on the platform were most attractive. In felicity of speech and in oratory he is said to have excelled all his contemporaries. His style shows a fine harmony between the subject and its method of handling and phrasing, is delicate, refined, graceful, marked by wis- dom, clearness of thought and expression, strong individuality, and carried a sense of quiet conviction. 292. DALE, ROBERT WILLIAM.— Born in London, England, in 1829; died in 1895. His long and fruitful ministry was confined to Birmingham, where he preached with great power. He believed, as he once said, that if a minister had anything from God to say to his fellowmen, they would gladly come to hear him. He favored ex- temporaneous preaching, was a devoted stu- dent of English style, and advocated in his Yale lectures a more thorough attention to this important subject. He said: "There is no reason why, when you have at your ser- vice the noblest language for an orator that was ever spoken by the human race, you should be satisfied with the threadbare phrases, the tawdry, tarnished finery, the patched and ragged garments, with the smell like that of the stock of a secondhand clothes shop, with which half-educated and ambitious declaimers are content to cover the nakedness of their thought. You can do something better than this, and you should resolve to do it." 293. DEBATE, ANGER IN.— A good debater should be careful not to yield to the vice of anger, as no other passion is so great an enemy to reason nor more capable of making us lose sight of the cause, often com- pelling us to say unseemly things and to meet with a like return, sometimes also irri- tating the minds of the judges against us. It is more advisable, therefore, to use modera- tion and sometimes even patience. We need not put ourselves to the trouble of refuting all manner of objections; some we may make light of, lessen their force, or turn into ridi- cule, and keen jests and raillery are never elsewhere so seasonable; yet we must bear up against agitators, and withstand impu- dence with all our might. — Quintilian, In- stitutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 397. (B. L., 1774.) 294. DEBATE, CHOICE OF POSI- TION IN. — The question has been fre- quently propounded, without any satisfactory or positive solution, as to which formed the most eligible position in a controversy where there were but two contestants. This ques- tion must be settled with a due regard to the relative ability of two antagonists in de- bate. If there are but two speeches to be made on any given occasion, and one of the speakers is endowed with but moderate pow- ers, a prudent opponent would decide that a speaker of such moderate abilities should precede him in debate, for the obvious rea- son that a feeble speaker will make no impression which a gifted one will find it dif- ficult to destroy; while the latter, if destroy- ing the positions of his adversary, will be presented with an open and fair field in which to exert his own reasoning faculties, without any sort of obstruction. If, how- Se1}ate Sel3ate KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 118 ever, there are but two contestants in any given case, and they should both prove to be men of extraordinary endowments in debate, a prudent debater would, in most cases, con- cede the concluding speech to an opponent of extraordinary ability, where there are but two speeches to be made. Because, if a speaker of the kind just mentioned should engrave upon the mind of a jury, or any other assembly, the first impressions which are made concerning a cause or question, it will be very difficult for a conclusion of the most masterly ability completely to re- move impressions thus early and powerfully imprinted. — McQtiEEN, The Orator's Touch- stone, or Eloquence Simplified, p. 217. (H. & B., 1860.) 295. DEBATE, ESSENTIALS IN.— There is a class of speakers who consider it obligatory upon them to reply to every- thing which has been advanced by an oppo- nent who has preceded them in debate. They consequently take up the positions advanced by an adversary, without the slightest shade of discrimination, the weak as well as the strong, and make a Quixotic effort to see what wild havoc they can produce among them. This very comprehensive perform- ance of duty is dictated by the stimulus of two very frivolous motives — the desire to appear expert in the matter of making a replication, combined with the ambition to exhibit an uncommon fertility of resources in the exercise of speech-making; for the work of replying to everything which is said by a competitor, will enable a speaker who has not one original idea of his own to advance, to weave out a speech of inter- minable length. This method of conducting a discussion is productive of some very seri- ous and visible disadvantages. It gives an undue and irksome degree of extension to a speech, which includes in its limits so much irrelevant lumber. It produces in the mind of the assembly which is addressed, from the multiplication of unnecessary points and impertinent issues, an obscure and confused conception of the grounds of the speaker's defense, who adopts this very injudicious and exceptionable course; and by fixing the attention of the speaker almost exclusively on the points assumed in the argument of his opponent, it leaves the available positions which ought to be pressed on his own side of the question, unfortified and completely exposed. This course of conduct^ in a de- bater bears a very strong similarity to the military policy of a general who would visit fire and sword upon the country of the enemy while he left his own encampment without a single gun to defend it; or it may be com- pared to a wanton system of butchery by a commander, who, on capturing a city of the enemy, puts to the sword both women and children, both the sick and the disabled. A large proportion of the positions assumed by an adversary in debate, may be permitted to stand untouched and unmolested by a speaker on the opposite side, who succeeds him in the discussion, without injury to the cause of the latter. The most of the points taken in debate are perfectly indifferent and harmless, and the labor expended in assailing them is worse than a useless consumption of time. It should be the chief aim of a debater to fortify the prominent positions pertaining to his own side of a cause, in such a manner as to render them impregnable, and to select two or three of the most plausible points assumed by his opponent, and to attack them with brevity, point, and spirit, and to close his case. — McQueen, The Orator's Touch- stone, or Eloquence Simplified, p. 194. (H. & B., 1860.) 296. DEBATE, LETTING THE CAUSE SPEAK IN.— In debate it is the question and not the speaker which should win. Or, to put it differently, the disputant should present his cause so convincingly that it will seem to speak for itself. The audi- ence has an instinctive love of the truth, or of what it conceives to be the truth. Hence the debater who can state his side of the contention so as to conform with popular sentiment is on the right road to success. The sentiment of the listeners may be far from ethical, but for the time being it is law to the debater. Of course, there are instances in which men are called upon to face the mob, to bring opposition to silence, and to compel assent to unwelcome truth. Such occasions came to Anselm, to Savona- rola, to Luther, and to many another mighty mind. But in ordinary debate the partici- pants must take cognizance of the temper of their auditors, and the speaker who can hide himself behind the issue he advocates, and present it as an offering to popular senti- ment, deserves and will have success. — ^Lee, Principles of Public Speaking, p. 364. (G. P. P. Sons, 1900.) 297. DEBATE, ORDER OF, IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES OF THE UNITED STATES.— When the Speaker is seated in his chair, every Member is to sit in his place. (In the House of Rep- resentatives the decorum of Members is reg- 119 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Debate Debate ulated by the various sections of a provided rule ; and this provision of the parliamentary law is practically obsolete.) When any Member means to speak, he is to stand up in his place, uncovered, and to address him- self, not to the House, or any particular Member, but to the Speaker, who calls him by his name, that the House may take notice who it is that speaks. But Members who are indisposed may be indulged to speak sit- ting. (In the House of Representatives the Member, in seeking recognition, is governed by a provided rule, which differs materially from this provision of the parliamentary law. The Speaker, moreover, calls the Member, not by name, but as "the gentleman from ," naming the State. As long ago as 1832, at least, a Member was not required to rise from his own seat.) When a Mem- ber stands up to speak, no question is to be put, but he is to be heard unless the House overrule him. (In the House of Repre- sentatives no question is put as to the right of a Member to the floor, unless he be called to order and dealt with by the House under provided rules.) If two or more rise to speak nearly together, the Speaker deter- mines who was first up, and calls him by name, whereupon he proceeds, unless he vol- untarily sits down and gives way to the other. But sometimes the House does not acquiesce in the Speaker's decision, in which case the question is put, "which Member was first up?" In the Senate of the United States the President's decision is without appeal. (In the House of Representatives recogni- tions by the Chair are governed by certain rules, and the practise thereunder. There has been no appeal from the Speaker's deci- sion since 1881.) No man may speak more than once on the same bill on the same day; or even on another day, if the debate be adjourned. But if it be read more than once in the same day, he may speak once at every reading. Even a change of opinion does not give a right to be heard a second time. But he may be permitted to speak again to clear a matter of fact; or merely to explain him- self, in some material part of his speech; or to the manner or words of the question, keeping himself to that only, and not trav- eling into the merits of it; or to the orders of the House, if they be transgressed, keep- ing within that line, and not falling into the matter itself. (The House of Representa- tives has modified the parliamentary law as to a Member's right to speak a second time. But in practise the rule is not, ordinarily, enforced rigidly and Members find little diffi- culty in making explanations such as are con- templated by the parliamentary law.) But if the Speaker rise to speak, the Member standing up ought to sit down, that he may be first heard. Nevertheless, tho the Speaker may of right speak to matters of order, and be first heard, he is restrained from speak- ing on any other subject, except where the House have occasion for facts within his knowledge; then he may, with their leave, state the matter of fact. (This provision is usually observed in the practise of the House, so far as the conduct of the Speaker in the chair is concerned. In several instances the Speaker has been permitted by the House to make a statement from the chair, as in a case wherein his past conduct had been criti- cized, and in a case wherein there had been unusual occurrences in the joint meeting to count the electoral vote, and in a matter re- lating to a contest for the seat of the Speaker as a Member. In rare instances the Speaker has made brief explanations from the chair without asking the assent of the House. On occasions comparatively rare Speakers have called others to the chair and participated in debate, usually without asking consent of the House, and in one case a Speaker on the floor debated a point of order which the Speaker pro tempore was to decide. In rare instances Speakers have left the chair to make motions on the floor. According to a former custom, now fallen into disuse, Speakers participated , freely in debate in Committee of the Whole.) No one is to speak impertinently or beside the question, superfluous, or tediously. (The House pro- vides that the Member shall address himself to the question under debate, but neither by rule nor practise has the House ever sup- pressed superfluous or tedious speaking, its hour rule being a sufficient safeguard in this respect.) No person is to use indecent lan- guage against the proceedings of the House ; no prior determination of which is to be reflected on by any Member, unless he means to conclude with a motion to rescind it. But while a proposition under consideration is still in fieri, tho it has even been reported by a committee, reflections on it are no re- flections on the House. (In the practise of the House of Representatives it has been held out of order in debate to cast reflec- tions on either the House or its membership or its decisions, whether present or past. A Member who had used offensive words against the character of the House, and who declined to explain, was censured. Words impeaching the loyalty of a portion of the membership have also been ruled out. Where a Member reiterated on the floor certain Debate Debate KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 120 published charges against the House, action was taken, altho other business had inter- vened, the question being considered one of privilege. It is not in order in debate to refer to the proceedings of a committee un- less the committee have formally reported their proceedings to the House.) No person, in speaking, is to mention a Member then present by his name, but to describe him by his seat in the House, or who spoke last, or on the other side of the question, etc. ; nor to digress from the matter to fall upon the person ; by speaking reviling, nipping, or un- mannerly words against a particular Mem- ber. (In the practise of the House a Mem- ber is not permitted to refer to another by name, or to address him in the second person instead of as "the gentleman from ," naming the State. By rule of the House, as well as by the parliamentary law, personali- ties are forbidden, whether against the Mem- ber in his capacity as Representative or otherwise. But a distinction has been drawn between charges made by one Member against another in a newspaper and the same made in debate on the floor. Questions have arisen sometimes involving a distinction be- tween general language and personalities. A denunciation of the spirit in which a Member had spoken was held out of order as a per- sonality. The House has censured a Member for gross personalities. Complaint of the conduct of the Speaker should be presented directly for the action of the House and not by way of debate on other matters. In a case wherein a Member used words insulting to the Speaker, the House on a subsequent day, and after other business had intervened, censured the offender. In such a case the Speaker would ordinarily leave the chair while action should be taken by the House.) The consequences of a measure may be rep- robated in strong terms; but to arraign the motives of those who propose to advocate it, is a personality, and against order. Qui digre- ditur a materia ad personam, Mr. Speaker ought to suppress. (The arraignment of the motives of Members is not permitted, and the Speakers have intervened to prevent it, in the earlier practise preventing even the mildest imputations. While in debate the assertion of one Member may be declared untrue by an- other, yet in so doing an intentional misrep- resentation must not be implied, and if stated or implied is censurable, and presents a ques- tion of privilege. A Member in debate hav- ing declared the words of another "a base lie," censure was inflicted by the House on the offender.) No one is to disturb another in his speech by hissing, coughing, spitting. speaking or whispering to another; nor stand up to interrupt him ; nor to pass between the Speaker and the speaking Member, nor to go across the House, or to walk up and down it, or to take books or papers from the table, or write there. (The House of Representa- tives has prescribed certain rules of decorum differing somewhat from this provision of the parliamentary law, but supplemental to it rather than antagonistic. In one respect, however, the practise of the House differs from the apparent intent of the parliamentary law. In the House a Member may interrupt by addressing the Chair for permission of the Member speaking ; but it is entirely with- in the discretion of the Member occupying the floor to determine when and by whom he shall be interrupted.) Nevertheless, if a Member finds that it is not the inclination of the House to hear him, and that by conver- sation or any other noise they endeavor to drown his voice, it is his most prudent way to submit to the pleasure of the House, and sit down; for it scarcely ever happens that they are guilty of this piece of ill manners without sufficient reason, or inattention to a Member who says anything worth their hear- ing. (In the House of Representatives, where the previous question and hour rule of debate have been used for many years, the parlia- mentary method of suppressing a tedious Member has never been imported into the practise.) If repeated calls do not produce order, the Speaker may call by his name any Member obstinately persisting in irregularity; whereupon the House may require the Mem- ber to withdraw. He is then to be heard in exculpation, and to withdraw. Then the Speaker states the offense committed; and the House considers the degree of punish- ment they will inflict. (The House of Rep- resentatives has made a provision which su- persedes this provision of the parliamentary law.) Whenever warm words or an assault have passed between Members, the House, for the protection of theii- Members, requires them to declare in their places not to prose- cute any quarrel; or orders them to attend the Speaker, who is to accommodate their differences, and report to the House; and they are put under restraint if they refuse, or until they do. (In several instances as- saults and affrays have occurred on the floor of the House of Representatives. Some- times the House has allowed these affairs to pass without notice, the Members concerned making apologies either personally or through other Members. In other cases the House has exacted apologies, or required the of- fending Members to pledge themselves before 121 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Se1)ate Debate the House to keep the peace. In case of an aggravated assault by one Member on an- other on the portico of the Capitol for words spoken in debate, the House censured the as- sailant and three other Members who had been present, armed, to prevent interference. Assaults or affrays in Committee of the Whole are dealt with by the House.) Dis- orderly words are not to be noticed till the Member has finished his speech. Then the person objecting to them, and desiring them to be taken down by the Clerk at the table, must repeat them. The Speaker then may direct the Clerk to take them down in his minutes; but if he thinks them not disor- derly, he delays the direction. If the call becomes pretty general, he orders the Clerk to take them down, as stated by the object- ing Member. They are then a part of his minutes, and when read to the offending Member, he may deny they were his words, and the House must then decide by a ques- tion whether they are his words or not. Then the Member must justify them, or ex- plain the sense in which he used them, or apologize. If the House is satisfied, no fur- ther proceeding is necessary. But if two Members still insist to take the sense of the House, the Member must withdraw be- fore that question is stated, and then the sense of the House is to be taken. When any Member has spoken, or other business intervened, after offensive words spoken, they can not be taken notice of for censure. And this is for the common security of all, and to prevent mistakes which must happen if words are not taken down immediately. Formerly they might be taken down at any time the same day. (The House of Repre- sentatives has provided a method of proce- dure in cases of disorderly words. The House permits and requires them to be no- ticed as soon as uttered, and has not insisted that the offending Member withdraw while the House is deciding as to its course of action.) Disorderly words spoken in a com- mittee must be written down as in the House; but the committee can only report them to the House for animadversion. (This provision of the parliamentary law has been applied to the Committee of the Whole rather than to select or standing committees. The House has censured a Member for dis- orderly words spoken in Committee of the Whole and reported therefrom.) In Parlia- ment, to speak irreverently or seditiously against the King, is against order. (This provision of the parliamentary law is mani- festly inapplicable to the House of Repre- sentatives; and it has been held in order in debate to refer to the President of the United States or his opinions, either with ap- proval or criticism, provided that such refer- ence be relevant to the subject under discus- sion and otherwise conformable to the rules of the House. Also a reference to the prob- able action of the President was held in or- der. In debating a proposition to impeach the President, a wide latitude was permitted to a Member in preferring charges, but he was required to abstain from language per- sonally offensive. On January 27, 1909, the House struck from the Congressional Record remarks which went beyond the limits of proper criticism of executive action.) It is a breach of order in debate to notice what has been said on the same subject in the other House, or the particular votes or ma- jorities on it there; because the opinion of each House should be left to its own inde- pendency, not to be influenced by the pro- ceedings of the other; and the quoting them might beget reflections leading to a misun- derstanding between the two Houses. (This rule of the parliamentary law is in use in the House of Representatives to the full ex- tent of its provisions, and it has always been held a breach of order to refer to debates or votes on the same subject in the other House, or to the action or probable action of the other House, or to its methods of procedure, as bearing on the course to be taken on a pending matter. In one instance the Senate declined to have read from the Congressional Record the proceedings of the House, even as the basis of a question of order relating to the rights of the Senate. It is, however, permissible to refer to pro- ceedings in the other House generally, pro- vided the reference does not contravene the principles of the rule; but a Member may not, in debate, in the House, read the record of speeches and votes of Senators in such connection of comment or criticism as might be expected to lead to recriminations, and it was even held out of order to criticize words spoken in the Senate by one not a Member of that body in the course of an impeach- ment trial. But a Member of the House was permitted to read, in debate, a speech made in the Senate by one no longer a mem- ber of that body, and in another case the personal views of a Senator, not uttered in the Senate, were referred to in the House. While the Senate may be referred to prop- erly in debate, it is not in order to discuss its functions or criticize its acts, or refer to a Senator in terms of personal criticism, or read a paper making such criticism ; and after examination by a committee a speech Seliate Debate KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 122 reflecting on the character of the Senate was ordered to be stricken from the Record, on the ground that it tended to create "un- friendly conditions between the two bodies, . . . obstructive of wise legislation and little short of a public calamity." But where a Member has been assailed in the Senate, he has been permitted to explain his own * conduct and motives, without bringing the whole controversy into discussion or assail- ing the Senator. Propositions relating to breaches of these principles have been enter- tained as of privilege.) Neither House can ;' exercise any authority over a Member or ■ officer of the other, but should complain to ' the House of which he is, and leave the pun- iishment to them. (In a notable instance, wherein a Member of the House had assault- ed a Senator in the Senate Chamber for words spoken in debate, the Senate exam- lined the breach of privilege and transmitted ' its report to the House, which punished the Member. But where certain Members of the House, in a published letter, sought to influ- ence the vote of a Senator in an impeach- ment trial, the House declined to consider the matter as a breach of privilege.) Where the complaint is of words disrespectfully spoken by a Member of another House, it is difficult to obtain punishment, because of the rules supposed necessary to be observed I (as to the immediate noting down of words) for the security of Members. Therefore it is the duty of the House, and more partic- ularly of the Speaker, to interfere immedi- ately, and not to permit expressions to go unnoticed which may give a ground of com- plaint to the other House, and introduce pro- ceedings and mutual accusations between the two Houses, which can hardly be terminated without difficulty and disorder. (In the House of Representatives this rule of the parliamentary law is considered as binding on the Chair.) No Member may be present when a bill or any business concerning him- self is debating; nor is any Member to speak to the merits of it till he withdraws. The rule is that if a charge against a Member arise out of a report of a committee, or ex- amination of witnesses in the House, as the Member knows from that to what points he is to direct his exculpation, he may be heard to those points before any question is moved or stated against him. He is then to be heard, and withdraw before any question is moved. But if the question itself is the charge, as for breach of order or matter arising in the debate, then the charge must be stated (that is, the question must be moved), himself heard, and then to with- draw. (In 1833, during proceedings for the censure of a Member, the Speaker informed the Member that he should retire; but this seems to be an exceptional instance of the enforcement of the law of Parliament. In other cases, after the proposition for censure or expulsion has been proposed. Members have been heard in debate, either as a matter of right, as a matter of course, by express provision, and in writing, or by unanimous consent. But a Member was not permitted to depute another Member to speak in his behalf.) Where the private interests of a Member are concerned in a bill or question, he is to withdraw. And where such an in- terest has appeared, his voice has been dis- allowed, even after a division. In a case so contrary, not only to the laws of decency, but to the fundamental principle of the social compact, which denies to any man to be a. judge in his own cause, it is for the honor of the House that this rule of immemorial observance should be strictly adhered to. (In the House of Representatives it has not been usual for the Member to withdraw when his private interests are concerned in a pending measure ; but the House has provided by rule that the Member shall not vote in such a contingency. In one instance the Senate dis- allowed a vote given by a Senator on a question relating to his own right to a seat; but the House has never had occasion to proceed so far.) No Member is to come into the House with his head covered, nor to remove from one place to another with his hat on, nor is to put on his hat in com- ing in or removing, until he be set down in his place. (Until 1837 the parliamentary practise of wearing hats during the session continued in the House; but in that year it was abolished by rule.) A question of order may be adjourned to give time to look into precedents. (The Speaker once declined, on a difficult question of order, to rule until he had taken time for examination ; but it is conceivable that a case might arise wheiein this privilege of the Chair would require approval of the majority of the House, to prevent arbitrary obstruction of the pending business by the Chair. The law of Parlia- ment evidently contemplates that the adjourn- ment of a question of order shall be con- trolled by the House.) In Parliament, all decisions of the Speaker may be controlled by the House. (The House of Representa- tives provides for controlling decisions of the Speaker by appeal.) — Crisp, Jefferson's Manual, from Constitution. Jefferson's Man- ual, and Rules of the House of Representa- 123 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Debate tives, with a Digest of the Practise, p. 180. (G., 1912.) 298. DEBATE, PERSONALITIES IN. — The example of Lord John Russell is well worthy of imitation by debaters. There was never, it is said, the slightest acrimony in his personal allusions. His triumphs, won easily by tact and intellectual keenness, un- aided by passion, contrasted strikingly with "the costly victories of debaters like Lord Stanley, Disraeli, or Roebuck." What could be happier than his reply to Sir Francis Bur- dett, who had accused him of indulging in "the cant of patriotism" — that "there is also such a thing as the recant of patriot- ism"? This mildness of tone, this well-bred, pungent raillery, which is now so generally characteristic of the English Parliament, has often proved a more effective weapon of de- bate than the most brilliant eloquence or the sharpest wit. It draws a magic circle around the speaker, which only similar weap- ons can penetrate." — Mathews, Oratory and Orators, p. 319. (S. F. & Co., 1896.) 299. DEBATE, POISE AND JUDG- MENT IN. — An acute and piercing judg- ment is of vast service in dispute. This un- doubtedly does not proceed from art, as nature is not taught, but may be helped by art. The principal consideration here is to keep always in view the main question, and what we design to effect. Thus holding to our purpose, we shall not engage in wran- gling, nor spend the allotted time of the de- bate in obloquy, and if the opponent does so, we may have reason to be glad that he acts contrary to his interest. Everything lies ready for him who has diligently meditated on what he may be confronted with, or what he ought to answer. Sometimes it may not be amiss to have recourse to the artifice of producing suddenly in the dispute some things, which have been dissembled in the pleading, in order to bear down the opponent contrary to his expectation, like a sally from a besieged place or an eruption from an ambuscade, rapidly pouring down upon the unprepared enemy. This is best done when anything occurs which can not be answered immediately, tho it might be with sufficient time. What is really substantial in an argu- ment it always would be advisable to make the most of in the first pleadings, in order that it might the oftener and the longer be insisted on. It will be advisable to make some concession to the opponent, for think- ing it to his advantage, and making use of it as such, he will be obliged to give up something of greater moment himself. Again, two things may be proposed, the choice of either of which will be against him. This is done with better effect in the dispute than ill the pleading, as in the latter we answer ourselves, but in the former we obhge the opponent to hold to his own statement. It is, likewise, the business of acute judgment to discern the things which make an impres- sion on the judges, or create in them dis- pleasure, which is oftenest perceptible from reading their countenances, and sometimes from a particular word or action. We should insist upon the reasons they seem to approve, and by a gentle transition disen- gage ourselves insensibly from those to which they are unfavorable. It is in this way that physicians manage their patients. They cease or continue their remedies in proportion as they observe that their constitutions receive or reject them. Sometimes, if it be not easy to extricate ourselves from the difficulties of the proposed question, we should start another, and if possible draw the judge's at- tention over to it. For where we can not answer properly, ourselves, what better ex- pedient can we adopt than to involve our opponent in the same dilemma? — Quintil- lAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 397. (B. L., 1774.) 300. DEBATE, REPLYING TO FEW POINTS IN.— A speaker should reply to as few points of an adversary as possible, and these points should be selected with masterly discretion. For by noticing every- thing which has been said by an opponent, the impression may be imparted to the minds of those in whose opinions a speaker is inter- ested, that a great deal may be said on the opposite side; and that it yields a large sup- ply of materials for defense. And another objection to this indiscriminate mode of reply- ing to arguments already made, may be found in the fact that in thus multiplying the op- posing points which he is to touch, a speaker must inevitably have his attention diverted from the points of intrinsic strength on his own side, in such a way that he will touch them but feebly.— McQueen, The Orator's Touchstone, or Eloquence Simplified, p. 219. (H. & B., 1860.) 301. DEBATE, RULES OF, IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.— A Member who desires to speak must rise in his place uncovered and address himself to the Speak- er, or, in committee, to the chairman. But Members disabled by sickness or infirmity are by the special indulgence of the. House or Debate Debate KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 124 committee usually permitted to speak sitting. (There is an exception to this rule when a Member speaks on a point of order during a division. A Member must not speak from a seat below the bar.) When a Member rises to speak, his name is called by the Speaker or chairman. If more Members than one rise at the same time, the Member whose name is so called is entitled to speak. (As a matter of courtesy, a new Member who has not yet spoken in the House is usu- ally called upon in preference to other Mem- bers rising at the same time.) Debate must be relevant to the matter or question before the House or the committee and, where more than one question has been proposed from the chair, the debate must be relevant to the last question so proposed, until it has been disposed of. But this rule does not prevent a Member from rising to speak on a point of order, or on a question of privilege sud- denly arising. By the indulgence of the House, a Member may make a personal ex- planation, altho there is no question before the House, but in this case no debatable mat- ter may be brought forward, and no debate can arise. (1) Except in committee, or in the exercise of a right of reply, a Member may not speak more than once to the same question. (2) Provided that where a bill has been committed to a standing committee, or has been so committed in respect of any provision, then, at the report stage of the bill or provision, the rule against speaking more than once does not apply to the Mem- ber in charge of the bill, or to the mover of any amendment or new clause in respect of that amendment or clause. (3) The right of reply is only allowed to a Member who has moved a substantive motion. For in- stance, it is not allowed to a Member who has moved an order of the day, an amend- ment, the previous question, an adjournment during a debate, a motion on the considera- tion of lords' amendments, or an instruction to a committee. (The relaxation of the rule against speaking twice at the report stage of a bill reported from a standing committee is made as to standing committees.) If a Member, when an order of the day is read, moves the order by raising his hat, without rising to address the chair, or if a Member seconds a substantive motion by merely rais- ing his hat, he may speak on the main ques- tion during a subsequent period of the de- bate. (By a substantive motion is meant a motion not incidental to a proceeding before the House. This privilege does not apply to a Member who moves an amendment or an adjournment, because in that case he must rise in his place, nor does it apply to the seconder of such a motion.) Where a mo- tion is made during a debate for the adjourn- ment of the debate or of the House, and where a motion is made in committee that the chairman do report progress or do leave the chair, the debate thereon must be con- fined to the matter of the motion. A Mem- ber who has moved or seconded any such motion, may not move or second a similar motion during the same debate. (The sec- onder forfeits his right of speaking subse- quently even if he seconds by merely raising his hat.) Where a motion for the adjourn- ment of a debate is agreed to, the mover of the adjournment, if he has confined his speech to reasons for the adjournment, and claims the privilege, is allowed precedence in address- ing the House when the debate is resumed, or may, if he prefers it, take part in the debate at a later period. (1) A Member may not read his speech, but may refresh his memory by reference to notes. (2) A Mem- ber may not read from a book, newspaper, or other printed document, the report of, or an extract referring to, any debate in Par- liament during the same session. A Member while speaking on a question must not — (t) refer to any debate of the same session on any question not then under discussion — (this rule is not always strictly enforced) ; nor (ii) speak against or reflect on any de- termination of the House except on a motion for rescinding it; nor (Hi) refer to any de- bate of the same session in the House of Lords — (it is not always gasy to enforce this rule) ; nor (tV) refer to any matter on which a judicial decision is pending; nor (_v) refer to any other Member by his name — (it is usual to describe a member by reference to the constituency which he represents, or in some other indirect fashion) ; nor (vi) make a personal charge against any Member; nor (vii) use offensive expressions about the con- duct or proceedings of either House of Par- liament; nor (viii) reflect upon the conduct of the King or of certain persons in high authority — (unless the discussion is based on a substantive motion drawn in proper terms) ; nor (i>) use the King's name for the pur- pose of influencing the debate ; nor (x) utter treasonable or seditious words or use the King's name irreverently; nor (xi) use his right of speech for the purpose of obstruc- ting the business of the House. (Consider- able latitude and discretion are necessarily allowed to the Speaker and chairman in interpreting or applying these rules.) A Member may not speak on a question after the Speaker or chairman has collected the 125 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Debate Debate voices both of the ayes and of the noes on that question. (A question is said to be "fully put" when the voices have been so collected.) A Member whilst present in the House during a debate — (») must beep his place — (this rule is of course not strictly en- forced; its object is to prevent sauntering or standing within the bar) ; (it) must enter and leave the House with decorum — (under this rule a Member must be uncovered whilst entering or leaving the House, and should make an obeisance to the chair when passing to or from his place) ; (in) must not cross the House irregularly— (a Member must not cross between the chair and a Member who is speaking from either of the two benches nearest to the floor, nor between the chair and the table, nor between the chair and the mace when the mace is taken off the table by the sergeant-at-arms) ; (iv) must not read any book, newspaper, or letter ex- cept in connection with the business of the debate; {v) must maintain silence — (this means that Members must not talk loud) ; (vi) must not interrupt any member while speaking, by disorderly expression or noises or in any other disorderly manner — (it is of course for the Speaker or chairman to inter- pret and apply this rule — much will depend on the character, object, degree, and dura- tion of the interruption). (Some of these rules are rules of etiquette. All of them ad- mit of considerable latitude and require much discretion in their application.) Whenever the Speaker or the chairman rises during a debate, any Member who is then speaking, or offering to speak, must sit down, and the House must be silent, so that the Speaker or chairman may be heard without interrup- tion. A Member may retain a seat during a sitting of the House by attending prayers and then affixing to the seat the proper card with his name. A Member may, by placing on a seat his hat, or a card in a form pro- vided for that purpose, and subsequently re- maining within the precincts of the House, acquire a right to occupy that seat at pray- ers. A Member serving on a select commit- tee, whilst in attendance on the committee, may, without being present at prayers, retain a seat in the House by affixing thereto the proper card with his name. (Cards for se- curing seats are placed on the table. A Member can not secure a seat for another Member.) If a Member objects to words used in debate, and desires that they be taken down, he must repeat the words imme- diately after they have been uttered, stating them exactly as he conceives them to have been spoken. Thereupon the Speaker or the chairman, if in his opinion the words are dis- orderly, and if he ascertains that the sense of the House or of the committee is in ac- cordance with the demand, directs the clerk at the table to take down the words. If the words are taken down in committee, they must be reported forthwith to the House. (This procedure is not often adopted in modern practise.)— ManMo? of Procedure in the Public Business of the House of Com- mons, p. 123. (H. M. S. O., 1912.) 302. DEBATE, SELF-POSSESSION IN. — A debater should open an argument with a degree of deliberation and serene self- possession which indicate that he is perfectly at home on the intellectual ground over which he is about to tread. It is desirable that a speaker should not only appear to be at home, but that he should really feel him- self to be so. But if he may not be adequate to the reality, he should certainly affect by his manner to be perfectly at ease, both in commencing and in prosecuting an argument. For self-possession in performing all the du- ties of life, especially those of a high and responsible character, is a draft upon the admiration of the world, which will never be dishonored. And even if an affectation of ease and self-possession by a speaker should be skilfully executed, it will tell as loudly for him with his audience as the reality it- self, for they will not be able to discriminate between the genuine coin and the counter- feit, if the latter should be adroitly assumed. During the progress of an argument a speaker should uniformly proceed at a deliberate and measured pace, and should never permit himself to slide into a hurried manner. — McQueen, The Orato/s Touch- stone, or Eloquence Simplified, p. 162. (H. & B., 1860.) 303. DEBATE, SUGGESTIONS RE- GARDING. — To be a successful debater, a man must keep two principal elements ever before him : convincingness and persuasion. His work does not end with merely convin- cing his hearers of the truth of his conten- tions ; he must, like the genuine orator, move men to action. This, after all, is the true test of debating, as it is of oratory. No matter how earnest a man may be in his beliefs he should not assume infallibility. There is always the possibility of being in error, and if such be proved he should be quick to acknowledge it. A man who per- sists that he is right, when it has been made clear to every one present that he is wrong, simply holds himself up to possible ridicule. Beflulteness DeUlieiatenesB KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 126 To resent contradiction is to be without one of the most essential qualities of a level- headed debater. The speaker should seek to explain rather than to defend. He will not protest too much. He will concede everything possible to the other side. He will despise petty advantages, and concentrate his powers on the main ideas. He will remember not to make too much of his opponent's arguments, since to elaborate them excessively would invest them with undue significance. Neither will he wholly ignore them, lest it be thought that he can not answer them. He will adopt rather a middle course, saying neither too little nor too much. — Kleiser, How to Argue and Win, p. 188. (F. & W., 1910.) 304. DEFINITENESS IN SPEAKING. — The man who writes his discourse will not, in all probability, unless he be alto- gether ignorant of the ordinary principles of composition, or destitute of the faculty of reasoning, wander away very widely from his subject. But, unless the road which he is to travel has been clearly defined, un- less the point from which he starts, the des- tination whither he tends, and the precise route which he is to take, all stand out clear- ly and unmistakably before his mental vi- sion, it will easily be otherwise with him who extemporizes. Such a one is like a traveler who starts, indeed, upon his journey with the intention of reaching a certain goal, but without any clear or definite knowledge of the road by which he is to travel. It is all a matter of chance; one wrong turning may lead him in the very opposite direction to that in which he should advance; and, being a matter of chance, he is as likely as not to take the wrong turning. It is the same with the extemporary speaker who has not se- cured some great leading idea so clearly and definitely marked out that he cannot mis- take it, and an idea to which everything else in his discourse will be subordinate. He is exposed to all the adverse influences which are seldom wanting on such an occasion. A sudden noise in the church, an unexpected disturbance, an unforeseen distraction, is quite enough to confuse him; and hence, unsupported as he is by manuscript or copi- ous notes, he will infallibly, unless he can fall back strongly on a sharp, clear, pre- cisely defined leading idea, lose his way, and, after floundering more or less hopelessly amongst the pitfalls which surround his path, be finally buried in an abyss of con- fusion and inextricable disorder. — Potter, The Spoken Word, p. 33. (M. H. G. & Son, 2880.) 305. DEFINITIONS, USE OF, IN ORATORY.— Definitions are of two kinds — that is, of things and of ideas — objects perceptible to the sense, and objects only con- ceived by the understanding. The forms of definition are various ; but the essential char- acter of them all must be to separate the properties which the defined object has in common with all others, from those which are peculiar to itself. Definition is of great use in argument, and is at least as service- able in logic as in rhetoric. It is much used by the French orators, as an instrument of amplification. Thus, in the funeral oration of Turenne by Flechier, the orator, to dis- play with greater force the combination of talents required for commanding an army, resorts to an oratorical definition. "What," says he, "what is an army? An army is a body agitated by an infinite variety of pas- sions, directed by an able man to the de- fence of his country. It is a multitude of armed men blindly obedient to the orders of a commander, and totally ignorant of his designs. An assembly of base and merce- nary souls for the most part, toiling for the fame of kings and conquerors, regardless of their own; a motley mass of libertines to keep in order; of cowards to lead into battle; of profligates to restrain; of mutineers to control." This definition, you see, is no panegyric, and to a superficial view may ap- pear to have been ill-judged at the court of Louis XIV, and ill-timed in the funeral eulo- gy of a great general. It is precisely what constitutes its highest merit. In this defini- tion there was couched a profound moral lesson to Louis himself, which that prince had magnanimity enough to hear without of- fence, tho not enough to apply with genuine wisdom to his conduct. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 1, p. 309. (H. & M., 1810.) 306. DELIBERATE SPEAKING REC- OMMENDED. — I would always advise a novice in the art to begin by speaking slowly and deliberately. As he goes on construct- ing his sentences, let him divide them as much as possible into their proper clauses, between each clause take just such a quiet, easy, imperceptible inspiration as will suffi- ciently replenish the lungs, and in the pauses between such clauses endeavor to clothe the next ideas in fitting words, and so train the mind to be ever in advance of the tongue. Some of the very best extempore speakers I have ever listened to always begin their addresses very slowly and deliberately — so much so, indeed, that it might be said to be 127 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING DeflnltenesB DellberatenesB actual hesitation which characterises their opening remarks. But even this is scarcely of an unpleasing effect if the hesitation is between sentences or clauses, and not be- tween the words which compose them. Such speakers, as they enter more fully into their subject, and warm to their work, become every moment more fluent, fervid, and im- passioned; and this, too, you will find by practise will be the experience of yourselves. Calmness and deliberation at first will, in general, ensure increasing fluency of ideas and language as you proceed with your ad- dress. — Plumptre, King's College Lectures on Elocution, p. 360. (T. & Co., 1883.) 307. DELIBERATE THINKING. — Adolphe Monod, himself a distinguished master of the art of delivery, gives some good hints on it in a paper on "The Elo- quence of the Pulpit," translated and pub- lished as an article in The British and For- eign Evangelical Review, January, 1881 : "In general, people recite too quickly, far too quickly. When a man speaks, the thoughts and feelings do not come to him all at once ; they take birth little by little in his mind. It is necessary that this labor and this slow- ness appear in the reciting, or it will al- ways come short of nature. Take time to reflect, to feel, and to allow ideas to come, and hurry your recitation only when con- strained by some particular consideration. . . . Talk not in the pulpit. An exagger- ated familiarity would be a mistake nearly as great as declamation: it happens more sel- dom; it is, nevertheless, found in certain preachers, those especially who have not studied. The tone of good conversation, but that tone heightened and ennobled, such ap- pears to me the ideal of pulpit delivery. . . . In order to rise above the tone of conversation, the majority of preachers withdraw too far from it. They swell their delivery, and declaim instead of speaking. Now, when bombast comes in, nature goes out." — Stalker, The Preacher and His Mod- els, p. 121. (A., 1891.) 308. DELIBERATENESS AND RA- PIDITY. — Too great rapidity of utter- ance is one of the commonest faults in speak- ing, and causes many inconveniences; it is incompatible, on the part of the speaker, with coolness and self-possession, or with proper intonation, pronunciation, and general effect, and quickly fatigues all parties concerned. Deliberation, on the other hand, has not only the negative virtue of avoiding these evils, but of itself secures considerable advantages to the speaker. It shows that he is master of his subject, and enables him, without either wearying or confusing his hearers, to carry their minds along with him, without any visible effort on their part. Distinctness of utterance, altho the only method by which a person can, without effort, make himself audible in a large building, is a point to which few speakers sufficiently attend. There must be an acquired habit of giving the full value to every letter — so far, of course, as it does not violate the conventional mode of pronouncing a word.— Halcombe, The Speak- er at Home, p. 79. (B. & D., 1860.) 309. DELIBERATENESS IN READ- ING. — Avoid the common fault of reading rapidly and of skimming passages. Remem- ber that deliberateness invariably makes a good impression, because it is associated with depth of thought and feeling. Deliberateness does not mean dwelling unduly upon words, but arises from judicious pausing. The time spent upon a single word — called quantity — may be lengthened if the thought requires it, but deliberateness applies to the style in which you read an entire passage. In your reading you should understand the relation of one thought to another. Unless you make what you read your intellectual possession, you read in vain. To memorize without as- similation is one way to produce mental weakness. Deliberate on what you read, and you will read slowly. — Kleiser, How to Read and Declaim, p. 41. (F. & W., 1911.) 310. DELIBERATENESS OF STYLE AND MANNER.— The habit of silent reading enables the practised student to fol- low the succession of thought with the ut- most rapidity; and his discipline of intellect renders him competent even to foresee a speaker's drift of thought, and anticipate his train of argument. But the man of merely operative and practical habit must move de- liberately, and follow, rather than accompany, a speaker. The aged hearer, who has little intellectual facility, often complains of the preacher's rapidity and confusion of utter- ance. Complaints such as this are not always well grounded; and the waning faculties of age are, too often in these cases, the chief source of apparent feebleness and indistinct- ness in the voice of the preacher. No speak- er, however, who addresses a mixed audience, should suffer himself to fall into the rapidity of utterance which leaves any passage unin- telligible to any individual among his hearers. Deliberateness of manner is not only an in- dispensable requisite to intelligible address, Sellberateness Delivery KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 128 but a powerful and natural aid to impressive utterance. Without a moderate rate of "movement" in tiie voice, there can be no as- sociation of grave or grand effect on the ear : the style of utterance is, in such instances, unavoidably rendered light and trivial. So- lemnity, in particular, demands the utmost slowness of utterance. The uncultivated reader is always prone to celerity of enunci- ation, and thus hinders repose and reverence, and every other form of deep and tranquil impression. A style like this is peculiarly ill-suited to the purposes of reading and speaking, as connected with the duties of the sacred ofBce. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 150. (D., 1878.) 311. DELIBERATIVE AND DEMON- STRATIVE SPEAKING.— Proof should be demonstrative ; and the points of dispute being four, you must demonstrate by pro- ducing proof respecting the particular point at issue : thus, if the adversary question the fact, you must at the trial produce proof of this point above the rest; should it be that he did no harm, then of that point; and so should he urge that the action is not of the importance supposed, or that it was done justly: and it must be done in the latter cases exactly in the same way as if the in- quiry were respecting the matter of fact. And let it not escape us that in this single inquiry, it must needs be that one party is guilty: for it is not ignorance which is to blame, as tho any were to dispute on a point of justice. So that, in this inquiry, the cir- cumstance should be employed ; but not in the other three. But, in demonstrative rhet- oric, amplification, for the most part, will constitute the proof, because the facts are honorable and useful ; for the actions should be taken on credit, since, even on these sub- jects, a speaker on very rare occasions does adduce proof, if either the action be passing belief, or if another have the credit of it. But, in deliberative speeches, the orator may either contend that the circumstances will not take place, or that what he directs will in- deed take place, but that it is not just, or not beneficial, or not in such a degree. And it will be well for him to observe whether any falsehood appears in the extraneous ob- servations of his adversary; for these ap- pear as so many convincing proofs that he is false in the case of the other more impor- tant statements. And example is best adapt- ed to deliberative rhetoric; while enthymem is more peculiar to judicial. For the former is relative to the future ; so that out of what has been heretofore, we needs must adduce examples: the latter respects what is or is not matter of fact, to which belong more especially demonstration and necessity; for the circumstances of the past involve a ne- cessity. The speaker ought not, however, to bring forward his enthymems in a continued series, but to blend them by the way; should he not do this, they prove an injury one to the other, for there is some limit on the score of quantity too : "Oh, friend, since you have spoken just so much as a prudent man would !" but the poet does not say, of such a quality. Neither should you seek after enthymems on every subject; otherwise you will be doing the very thing which some phi- losophers do who infer syllogistically conclu- sions in themselves better known, and more readily commanding belief, than the prem- ises out of which they deduce them. And when you would excite any passion, do not employ an enthymem; for either it will ex- pel the passion, or the enthymem will be ut- tered to no purpose ; for the emotions which happen at the same time expel each other, and either cancel or render one or the other feeble. Neither when one aims at speaking with the effect of character, ought he at all to aim at the same time at enthymem; for demonstration possesses neither an air of character, nor deliberate choice. But a speak- er should employ maxims alike in narration and in proof; for it has an expression of character : "Yes ; I delivered it, even know- ing that one ought never to repose implicit confidence." And if one speak with a view to excite passion : "And injured tho I be, yet I do not repent; for the gain, indeed, is on his side, but justice on mine." — Aristotle's Rhetoric and Poetics, p. 262. (B., 1906.) 312. DELIBERATIVE ORATORY — Deliberative oratory requires wide and ready knowledge, a suave and serious style, careful logical division and distinctness, copious illus- tration, drawn from constitutional practise, precedents, customs, usages, historic exam- ple, etc., constant appeal to the maxims of policy prevalent in the assembly where the discussion is carried on, as well as an ap- propriate use of arguments tending to pre- serve the continuity of thought upon the topic receiving attention. In this species of oratory there is need, in general, of a brief, expository exordium, showing how the pub- lic care is involved in the proper settlement of the subject; a fair statement of the sev- eral alternatives least liable to objection; with, occasionally, a criticism of those which appear most plausible ; a detail of the com- promises or concessions made toward a set^ 129 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING DellberatenesB Bellvery tlement by the advocates of the several modes of effecting a solution, so stated, as to lead to the mention of the manner of arranging the question at issue proposed by the speaker, and so reconciling the rival interests. This should be followed by a clear and circum- stantial representation of the view proposed, and should be closed by a peroration, in which the several grounds for preference of each mode are disposed of, leading to and ending in the conclusion, that the suggestion made, as the result of the speaker's deliber- ation, is such as is free from the chief ob- jections to which the others are exposed, and would yet procure the greater part of the advantages they aim at gaining. The man- agement of the argument, and the tone of the speech, may each admit of latitude of manner ; but the general tenor should be suit- able to the breaking down of prejudices, the securing of concessions, the effecting of a conviction that the most salutary course has been pointed out, and ought, therefore, to be adopted. — Neil, The Art of Public Speaking, p. 36. (H. & W., 1868.) 313. DELIBERATIVE ORATORY AND ITS USES.— The principal feature in the style of deliberative oratory should be simplicity. Not that it disdains, but that it has seldom occasion for decoration. The speaker should be much more solicitous for the thought than for the expression. This constitutes the great difference between the diction proper for this, and that which best suits the two other kinds of oratory. De- monstrative eloquence, intended for show, de- lights in ostentatious ornament. The speaker is expected to have made previous prepara- tion. His discourse is professedly studied, and* all the artifices of speech are summoned to the gratification of the audience. The heart is cool for the reception, the mind is at leisure for the contemplation of polished periods, oratorical numbers, coruscations of metaphor, profound reflection, and subtle in- genuity. But deliberative discussions require little more than prudence and integrity. Even judicial oratory supposes a previous painful investigation of his subject by the speaker, and exacts an elaborate, methodical conduct of the discourse. But deliberative subjects often arise on a sudden, and allow of no premeditation. Hearers are disinclined to advice which they perceive the speaker has been dressing up in his closet. Ambitious ornament should then be excluded, rather than sought. Plain sense, clear logic, and, above all, ardent sensibility— these are the qualities needed by those who give, and those who take, counsel. A profusion of brilliancy betrays a speaker more full of himself than of his cause ; more anxious to be admired ■ than believed. The stars and ribbons of princely favor may glitter on the breast of the veteran hero at a birthday ball ; but, ex- posed to the rage of battle, they only direct the bullet to his heart. A deliberative orator should bury himself in his subject. Like a superintending providence, he should be vis- ible only in his mighty works. Hence that universal prejudice, both of ancient and mod- ern times, against written deliberative dis- courses, a prejudice which bade defiance to all the thunders of Demosthenes. In the midst of their most enthusiastic admiration of his eloquence, his countrymen nevertheless remarked that his orations "smelt too much of the lamp." Let it, however, be observed that upon great and important occasions the deliberative orator may be allowed a more liberal indulgence of preparation. When the cause of ages and the fate of nations hangs upon the thread of a debate, the orator may fairly consider himself as addressing not only his immediate hearers, but the world at large, and all future times. Then it is that, looking beyond the moment in which he speaks and the immediate issue of the deliberation, he makes the question of an hour a question for every age and every region, takes the vote of unborn millions upon the debate of a little senate, and incorporates himself and his discourse with the general history of man- kind. On such occasions and at such times, the oration naturally and properly assumes a solemnity of manner and a dignity of lan- guage commensurate with the grandeur of the cause. Then it is that deliberative elo- quence lays aside the plain attire of her daily occupation, and assumes the port and purple of the queen of the world. Yet even then she remembers that majestic grandeur best comports with simplicity. Her crown and scepter may blaze with the brightness of the diamond, but she must not, like the kings of the gorgeous east, be buried under a show- er of barbaric pearls and gold. — Adams, Lec- tures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 1, p. 273. (H. & M., 1810.) 314. DELIVERY, ADVANTAGES OF A NATURAL.— Who shall determine to aim at the natural manner, tho he will have to contend with considerable difficulties and discouragements, will not be without corre- sponding advantages, in the course he is pur- suing. He will be at first, indeed, represt to a greater degree than another, by emotions of bashfulness; but it will be more speedily Delivery Delivery KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 130 and more completely subdued; the very sys- tem pursued, since it forbids all thoughts of self, striking at the root of the veil. He will, indeed, on the outset, incur censure, not only critical, but moral; he will be blamed for using a colloquial delivery and the censure will very likely be, as far as relates to his earli- est efforts, not wholly undeserved; for his manner will probably at first too much re- semble that of conversation, tho of serious and earnest conversation; but by persever- ance he may be sure of avoiding deserved, and of mitigating, and ultimately overcoming undeserved, censure. He will, indeed, never be praised for a "very fine delivery" ; but his matter will not lose the approbation it may deserve, as he will be the more sure of being heard and attended to. He will not indeed meet with many who can be regarded as models of the natural manner; and those he does meet with he will be precluded, by the nature of the system, from minutely imitat- ing; but he will have the advantage of carry- ing with him an infallible guide, as long as he is careful to follow the suggestions of nature ; abstaining from all thoughts respect- ing his own utterance, and fixing his mind intently on the business he is engaged in. And tho he must not expect to attain per- fection at once, he may be assured that while he steadily adheres to this plan, he is in the right road to it ; instead of becoming — as on the other plan — more and more artificial, the longer he studies. And every advance he makes will produce a proportional effect: it will give him more and more of that hold on the attention, the understanding, and the feelings of the audience, which no studied modulation can ever attain. Others, indeed, may be more successful in escaping censure, and ensuring admiration; but he will far more surpass them, in respect of the proper object of the orator, which is, to carry his point.— Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 252. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 315. DELIVERY AND DIVISIONS OF THE THOUGHT.— Without inter- fering with the natural disposition or apti- tudes of individual preachers, we may say that simplicity, perspicuity, scripturality, and dignity of phraseology, are indispensable; that uncouth, quaint, smart, foppish, obso- lete, new-fangled, or merely learned, diction is to be eschewed, and that cautious accu- racy in the selection of words, and abstinence from the use of recurrent synonymous terms are highly advisable. In the structure of a discourse it is essential that it be textual, logically coherent, and consistent; free from cross-divisions, or overlapping theses. The divisions ought to be the fewest possible in which the thought of the sermon can be ex- hausted; and they should be mutually illus- trative, and concurrently applicable to the point or points under consideration. In de- livery the manner ought to be sincere, grave, earnest, devout, and unostentatious; modest, and free from elocutionariness ; fluent, yet distinct, and partaking as much of the nature of extemporiness as thought, memory, and preparation will allow. The speaker's ani- mation and ardor should indicate his con- viction; his eager and engaging address should testify to his own anxiety to succeed in reaching the minds of his auditory, while the dignity, importance, and undelayableness of his theme ought to be felt in the pressing energy and persistent importunity of his voice, gesture, and words. Human infirmity, it may be pleaded, is too great to allow of the perfect acquirement and habitual em- ployment of each and all of these characteris- tics and requirements. True, but the strug- gle to attain them gains them in precise proportion to its honest earnestness, and the pulpit orator alone has the promise — and that, too, from the Divine "Master of Assemblies" — "Lo ! I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world."— Neil, The Art of Public Speaking, p. 96. (H. & W., 1868.) 316. DELIVERY AND MONOTONY. — Great complaints are made of the monoto- nous and uninteresting tone with which cler- gymen are apt to read their sermons. To this I answer, let no clergyman, on any ac- count, read his sermon; let him preach it. The monotonous tone of voice into which readers commonly fall arises from a circum- stance noticed by Dr. Bell: "The difficulty of learning to read," he says, "is that while with the voice we are pronouncing one part of the sentence, with our eyes we are look- ing forward to another; to which may be added that at the same time we are gathering the meaning of the whole sentence in the mind." It is obvious that this objection does not apply to preaching your own composi- tion. The monotony of reading is attrib- utable to the circumstance of not knowing what is coming: you can not venture to use an impassioned tone of voice, because you can not tell whether the words which follow will bear you out, or whether you may not come to a lame and impotent conclusion. But when what you are pronouncing is your own composition, and consequently you know what is coming, and begin a sentence with the same feeling and train of thought with 131 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Delivery Delivery which you composed it, there is no reason why you should not give full scope to the tones of your voice; nay, you may do it with more freedom than if you had to search for words, and were apprehensive of break- ing down. Nevertheless, it must be con- fessed that preachers are too apt to carry with them the reading tone into the pulpit. All that I contend for is that there is no necessity for this; it may be corrected with care, and therefore does not form a valid objection against written sermons. — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergyman, p. 295. (D. & Co., 1856.) 317. DELIVERY AND NATURAL- NESS. — In any one who should think a natural delivery desirable, it would be an obvious absurdity to think of attaining it by practising that which is most completely ar- tificial. If there is, as is evident, much diffi- culty to be surmounted, even by one who is delivering, on a serious occasion, his own composition, before he can completely suc- ceed in abstracting his mind from all thoughts of his own voice — of the judgment of the audience on his performance, etc., and in fixing it on the matter, occasion, and place — on every circumstance which ought to give the character to his elocution — how much must this difKculty be enhanced, when neither the sentiments he is to utter, nor the char- acter he is to assume, are his own, or even supposed to be so, or anywise connected with him — when neither the place, the thing to do with the substance of what is said ! It is therefore almost inevitable that he will stu- diously form to himself an artificial manner, which (especially if he succeed in it) will probably cling to him through life, even when he is delivering his own compositions on real occasions. The very best that can be ex- pected is that he should become an accom- plished actor — possessing the plastic power of putting himself, in imagination, so completely into the situation of him whom he person- ates, and of adopting for the moment, so perfectly, all the sentiments and views of that character, as to express himself exactly as such a person would have done, in the sup- posed situation. Few are likely to attain such perfection; but he who shall have suc- ceeded in accomplishing this will have taken a most circuitous route to his proposed ob- ject, if that object be, not to qualify himself for the stage, but to be able impressively to deliver in public, on real and important oc- casions, his own sentiments. He will have been carefully learning to assume what, when the real occasion occurs, need not be as- sumed, but only exprest. Nothing surely can be more preposterous than laboring to ac- quire the art of pretending to be what he is not, and to feel what he does not, in order that he may be enabled, on a real emer- gency, to pretend to be and to feel just what the occasion requires and suggests; in short, to personate himself. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 248. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 318. DELIVERY AND NERVOUS TEMPERAMENT.— A certain amount of sensibility is, of course, absolutely indispen- sable to the orator, and it is therefore a good sign when he feels some anxiety before rising to address an assembly. The most valiant troops feel always more or less nervous at the first cannon-shot; and it is said that one of the most famous generals of the French Empire, who was called "the bravest of the brave," was always obliged to dismount from his horse at that solemn moment ; after which he rushed like a lion into the fray. But while the orator must feel deeply what he has to say, his feeling must not reach that vehemence which prevents the mind from acting — which paralyzes the expression from the very fulness of the feeling. As a mill- wheel may fail to move from an excess of water as truly as from a lack of it, so there may be a sort of intellectual apoplexy, which obstructs speech, and renders it powerless by the very excess of life. — Mathews, Oratory and Orators, p. 143. (S. F. & Co., 1896.) 319. DELIVERY AND PAINTING.— There is a striking analogy or correspon- dence between painting and delivery. We' have what are called seven primary colors, and seven pitches of sound — tho, strictly speaking, but three of each. Letters are uncompounded paints ; words like paints, pre- pared for use ; and when these words are ar- ranged into proper sentences, they form pic- tures on the canvas of the imagination. Let the following beautiful landscape be sketched out in the mind : "On a mountain (stretched beneath a hoary willow) lay a shepherd swain, and viewed the rolling billow." Now review it; and see everything as it is — the mountain covered with trees; the shepherd reclining under the willow tree, with his flock near by, some feeding and some lying down ; and what is he doing? Looking out upon the ocean, covered with pleasure boats, vessels, etc. In this way, you may behold, with the mind's eye (for the mind has its eye, as well as the body), the ideas of the author; and then picture out whatever you hear and read, and give to it life, habitation, and a name; Delivery Delivery KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 132 thus you will see the thoughts, receive the light, and catch or draw out their latent heat ; and having enlightened and warmed your own mind, you will read and speak from your own thoughts and feelings — and trans- fer the living, breathing landscapes of your mind to others, and leave a perfect daguerre- otype likeness on the retina of their mind's eye ; you feel and think, and therefore speak ; and thus you can memorize, so as not to for- get: for you will have it by heart. — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 94. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 320. DELIVERY AND POWER.— I dare say that an indifferent speech recom- mended by the force of action will carry more weight with it than the best, deficient in that respect. Demosthenes, on being asked what was the greatest excellence in oratory, gave the preference to delivery, and to it assigned the second and the third place, until no further question was put to him ; whereby it appeared that he judged it to be not so much the principal as the only excellence. It was on that account that he himself worked so diligently to acquire it under the tuition of Andronicus the comedian ; whence, the Rhodians admiring his oration for Ctesi- phon, as spoken by ^Eschines, the latter says : "Your admiration little surprises me, but what would it be if you had heard Demosthe- nes himself deliver it!" There are some who think that an action which is simple and such as the impetuosity of the thought gives birth to is more forcible and the only kind that becomes men. And these, for all I know, are they who make it their business to find fault with all care, and art, and ornament, in speaking, and whatever is acquired by study, thinking them affected and unnatural ; or per- haps they are of the disposition of those who pretend to imitate antiquity by a rusticity of words and accent, as Cicero mentions of Cot- ta. But while I permit them to enjoy their way of thinking, and to imagine that it is enough for man to be born, to become ora- tors, I hope at least they will excuse the trouble to which I here put myself and will not take it amiss in me for believing that nothing is perfect but where nature is helped by care. Still I am not so peremptory in what I say as not to attribute to nature the principal qualification.— Anonymous. 321. DELIVERY, FREEDOM IN.— 321. DELIVERY, FREEDOM IN.— Graceful action must be performed with facility, because the appearance of great ef- forts is incompatible with ease, which is one constituent part of grace. A man of great corpulency can not bend downward without extreme difficulty, nor run without laboring; whilst the bow of a light figure may be both profound and graceful, and, in running, the facility of his motion may almost compare with the gracefulness of the flight of some birds. Since much of the facility of action consists in the due proportions of length, in the different parts of the form those whose arms and necks are short and thick must be void of grace; whilst the motions of those whose limbs are long and whose neck is well proportioned, and well set on, are generally graceful, as from the ample space through which they pass. The motions of the former are short, unmarked, and round; of the lat- ter the motions are flowing, decided, and dis- tinct. Freedom is also necessary to graceful- ness of action. No gestures can be graceful, which are either confined by external cir- cumstances, or restrained by the mind. If a man were obliged to address an assembly from a narrow window, through which he could not extend his arms and his head, it would be vain for him to attempt graceful gesture. Confinement in every lesser degree must be proportionably injurious to grace; thus the crowded bar is injurious to the ac- tion of the advocate, and the enclosed and bolstered pulpit, which often cuts off more than half of his figure, is equally injurious to the graceful action of the preacher. The gracefulness of action will also be prevented if the speaker actually suffer from the pain of a wound, or from chronic pains, which disable him from raising his arms or moving his legs, or bending his body. The senti- ments which he delivers may derive consid- erable interest from their solidity and sound- ness, and from other circumstances, but can not borrow any recommendation from the manner, since grace, the most powerful of all external additions to oratory, must be wanting, where every motion must indicate restraint and pain. But not only they who labor under present indisposition or injury are disqualified from graceful rhetorical ac- tion ; they are also to be included in this dis- qualification who have been in the smallest degree injured or mutilated; whose muscles have been deranged by any permanent con- traction, or who have suffered even the loss of a finger; and so on in proportion to the greatness of the injury. And it may be said almost without a figure that the sacrifices to the Graces must consist of offerings perfect and free from blemish. The reason is evi- dent. The action of the limbs can seldom be considered to originate from, and be referred solely to, their own immediate muscles. The 133 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING SeliTery Delivsry most energetic actions of the arm arise from the muscles of the body, and the connection of the lower limbs with the trunk is equally strict and important. In the soundness and vigor of health, the muscles which are brought into action influence involuntarily all the others connected with their motions. But if any, even the smallest of these, have suffered injury or feel pain, a consciousness seems to be imparted to the muscle originating the mo- tion, so that it sympathetically checks its own action, lest it should distress the morbid sen- sibility of its associates. Rigidity or mutila- tion causes more laborious action of the mus- cle, which is deprived of its associates. Such labor or even interruption without reference to the matter of the discourse, is incompatible v/ith grace. But if, in public speaking, the gesture should be suddenly arrested from surprise or any similar feeling, the effect may even be graceful, and will be altogether dif- ferent from that which arises from bodily pain or infirmity. — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 510. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 822. DELIVERY, MANNER OF.— The first and simplest element of plainness of delivery is slowness, or, at all events, deliber- ateness of articulation. This is a truth which almost every preacher will soon find out for himself; but it is nevertheless worth men- tioning. Using musical language, I should say that the proper time of a sermon should be andante, which means properly a moderate walking pace, neither running nor lagging; there may occasionally be an adagio, or quicker passage, and sometimes even an al- legro, or rapid delivery; but the standard time should be a quiet, regular, steady an- dante. This pace renders possible a clear and distinct enunciation. Clearness and dis- tinctness are of more importance than loud- ness; in fact, in some churches loud utter- ance is fatal to hearing; the phenomena of acoustics in this matter are very strange and apparently capricious, and a preacher would do well to make inquiry as to what degree of loudness is found practically to make his voice most audible. But, as I have said, clearness and distinctness of enunciation are the points of greatest moment; and one great condition of clearness is to be found in what I may call the perfect finish of each word; each word should be thoroughly and care- fully pronounced, and, above all things, the voice should not be dropt at the close of a sentence, but sustained in its fulness to the very end. — Goodwin, Homiletical and Pas- toral Lectures, p. 132. (A., 1880.) 323. DELIVERY, OBLIGATION TO CULTIVATE GOOD.— The importance of good delivery can not easily be overrated. Not only is an indifferent discourse, well de- livered, more profitable to the hearers than a good one, badly delivered, but also a dis- course well delivered is often better under- stood, and is more interesting to the hearers, than if read by them in private. Ambigui- ties of style which would occasion incon- venience to a reader, may, by virtue of the speaker's manner of utterance, pass wholly unnoticed. Emphatic words and clauses re- ceive a more just treatment; the peculiar significance of certain words, or sentences, is rendered instantly obvious, and their im- pressiveness increased, by the speaker's tones and expression of countenance. In an as- sembly occupied with an interesting discourse, the hearers act insensibly on each other; and their mutual sympathy contributes much to the effect of the discourse. The institution of preaching is founded, therefore, in human nature. Men need to be excited and im- pelled. Public address secures, better than any private methods, the action of divine truth on their minds. Hence, God has made preaching his "great ordinance," the chief means of bringing and keeping the gospel before the minds of men. Nothing could supply its place. When the gospel was intro- duced, such was the state of the world that no means of establishing it, by human agen- cy, could have been at all comparable to preaching. And in those Christian com- munities which are the best instructed in the gospel, and the most imbued with its spirit, to relinquish preaching would be to make a wilderness of a garden. Preachers of the gospel ought, then, to feel a special obliga- tion to conform to this part of the divine plan, and assiduously to cultivate their power of impressively communicating, as well as that of acquiring, religious knowledge. For who can think lightly of divesting the gospel of half its power by his manner of present- ing it? — Ripley, Sacred Rhetoric, p. 161. (G. K. & L., 1849.) 324. DELIVERY OF THE SERMON. — As to the question whether it be most pro- per to write sermons fully and commit them accurately to memory, or to study only the matter and thoughts and trust the expres- sion, in part at least, to the delivery: I am of opinion that no universal rule can here be given. The choice of either of these methods must be left to preachers, accord- ing to their different genius. The expres- sions which come warm and glowing from Delivery Seinostlieii«B KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 134 the mind during the fervor of pronunciation, will often have a superior grace and energy to those which are studied in the retirement of the closet. But then this fluency and power of expression can not at all times be depended upon, even by those of the readi- est genius, and by many can at no time be commanded when overawed by the presence of an audience. It is proper, therefore, to begin, at least, the practise of preaching with writing as accurately as possible. This is absolutely necessary in the beginning, in or- der to acquire the power and habit of cor- rect speaking, nay, also of correct thinking, upon religious subjects. I am inclined to go further, and to say that it is proper not only to begin thus, but also to continue as long as the habits of industry last, in the practise both of writing and committing to memory. Relaxation in this particular is so common and so ready to grow upon most speakers in the pulpit, that there is little occasion for giving any cautions against the extreme of overdoing in accuracy. — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 3, p. 320. (A. S., 1787.) 325. DELIVERY, RATE OF UTTER- ANCE IN. — The time, that is, the rapidity or slowness of our delivery, must accord with the character of the feeling or passion ex- prest, whether impetuous or concentrated ; of the action or scene described, whether stir- ring or tranquil; or of the sentiment that pervades the language, whether it be ele- vated, impulsive, glowing, or deep, solemn, and enduring. For, different sentiments and passions, as they use different pitch, also speak in different time : the utterance of grief is slow and heavy, while that of hope and joy is light, bounding, and rapid. Again, the rush of an impetuous torrent, roaring and bursting over the plains, destroying vegeta- tion, tearing up trees, carrying away cot- tages, in its resistless course, must be paint- ed, as it were, to the ear, not only by appropriate pitch and force, but by a rapidity of utterance whose time shall be in keeping with the sweeping destruction described : while the placid flow of a gentle river, calm- ly gliding between its flower-spangled banks, amid a landscape of richest verdure, whose unbroken silence and golden smile, caught from the rays of the setting sun, breathe the quiet happiness of content and peace — this requires to be painted by a slow and even movement of the voice, whose time shall ac- cord with the tranquillity of the scene, and allow the hearer to dwell on the placid pic- ture before him.^VANDENHOFF, Art of Elo- cution, p. 178. (S. & S., 1851.) 326. DEMOSTHENES. — The cir- cumstances of Demosthenes' life are well known. The strong ambition which he discov- ered to excel in the art of speaking, the unsuc- cessfulness of his first attempts, his unwearied perseverance in surmounting all the disad- vantages that arose from his person and ad- dress, his shutting himself up in a cave, that he might study with less distraction his de- claiming by the seashore, that he might ac- custom himself to the noise of a tumultuous assembly, and with pebbles in his mouth, that he might correct a defect in his speech, his practising at home with a naked sword hang- ing over his shoulder, that he might check an ungraceful motion to which he was subject; all those circumstances, which we learn from Plutarch, are very encouraging to such as study eloquence, as they show how far art and application may avail for acquiring an excellence which nature seemed unwilling to grant us. Despising the affected and florid manner which the rhetoricians of that age followed, Demosthenes returned to the forc- ible and manly eloquence of Pericles, and strength and vehemence form the principal characteristics of his style. Never had ora- tor a finer field than Demosthenes in his Olynthiacs and Philippics, which are his cap- ital orations ; and, no doubt, to the nobleness of the subject and to that integrity and pub- lic spirit which eminently breathe in them they are indebted for much of their merit. The subject is to rouse the indignation of his countrymen against Philip of Macedon, the public enemy of the liberties of Greece, and to guard them against the insidious measures by which that crafty prince endeavored to lay them asleep to danger. In the prosecu- tion of this end we see him taking every proper method to animate a people renowned for justice, humanity, and valor, but in many instances become corrupt and degenerate. He boldly taxes them with their venality, their indolence, and indifference to the public cause; while, at the same time, with all the art of an orator, he recalls the glory of their ancestors to theil" thoughts, shows them that they are still a flourishing and a powerful people, the natural protectors of the liberty of Greece, and who wanted only the inclina- tion to exert themselves in order to make Philip tremble. With his contemporary ora- tors, who were in Philip's interest and who persuaded the people to peace, he keeps no measures, but plainly reproaches them as the betrayers of their country. He not only prompts to vigorous conduct, but he lays down the plan of that conduct ; he enters into 135 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING SellvexT DemostlieiieB particulars and points out with great exact- ness the measures of execution. This is the strain of these orations. They are strongly animated and full of the impetuosity and fire of public spirit. They proceed in a contin- ued train of inductions, consequences, and demonstrations, founded on sound reason. The figures which he uses are never sought after, but always rise from the subject. He employs them sparingly indeed, for splendor and ornament are not the distinctions of this orator's composition. It is an energy of thought peculiar to himself which forms his character and sets him above all others. He appears to attend much more to things than to words. We forget the orator and think of the business. He warms the mind and impels to action. He has no parade and ostentation, no methods of insinuation, no labored introductions, but is like a man full of his subject, who, after preparing his audi- ence by a sentence or two for hearing plain truths, enters directly on business. — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 2, p. 195. (A. S., 1787.) 327. DEMOSTHENES, DILIGENCE OF. — As to his manner of study, or his opinions concerning his art, Demosthenes himself has said little which has come down to us; and the most we know of him, imme- diately from those of his own age, we learn from the reproaches of his contemporary and rival ^schines. He charged him with labor- ing at writing out his orations, and re- proached him with affectation in his gestures, from which he said he had justly got an opprobrious nickname. But the malice and spleen of a rival enemy, whatever might have been its ebullitions in the anger of debate, changed into admiration when the irrita- tion was over; as may be recollected in the answer which JEschines made to the people of Rhodes. But the celebrity of Demosthe- nes, in all the requisites of a consummate orator, does not depend alone on the justice of his rival. History has furnished abun- dant proofs of his indefatigable exertions, more especially in the delivery of his ora- tions, and has also recorded in strong terms the importance he attached to it : and of the various authors who have recorded his fame, not one has omitted the mention of these circumstances. Tho Lucian is not the first in order, yet he has collected together in a very small compass so many particulars con- cerning the industry of this great orator that I am induced to quote him previous to older writers. He says that love is of two kinds: the one sensual, the other intellectual; and that Demostlienes was smitten with the last. "This love was let down from heaven by a golden chain, not by fires, or arrows inflicting the pain of wounds difficult to cure, but enamoring of its beauty the uncontaminated and pure intellect; exciting by a discreet madness of the soul, as says the tragic poet, those who are near to Jupiter, and who are associated with the gods. To this love all was easy, the tonsure, the cave, the mirror, the sword, the conquering of impediments, the learning at a late period of life the art of gesture, the strengthening his memory, the contempt of tumult, the adding of nights to laborious days. Who is there that knows not how great an orator Demosthenes came forth after these exertions; enriching his eloquence by thoughts and expressions, es- tablishing the credit of his arguments by the evidence of his feelings, splendid in his copiousness, vehement in his impetuosity, ex- quisite in his choice of words and senti- ments, inexhaustible in the variety of his fig- ures?" It is not surprizing, after all this, that, as Lucian tells us, "Pythias should say that the orations of Demosthenes smelled of the lamp." — Austin, Chironomia, or a Trea- tise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 151. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 328. DEMOSTHENES, STYLE OF.— The style of Demosthenes is strong and con- cise, tho sometimes, it must not be dissem- bled, harsh and abrupt. His words are very expressive ; his arrangement is firm and man- ly, and tho far from being unmusical, yet it seems difficult to find in him that studied but concealed number and rhythmus which some of the ancient critics are fond of attributing to him. Negligent of these lesser graces, one would rather conceive him to have aimed at that sublimity which lies in sentiment. His action and pronunciation are recorded to have been uncommonly vehement and ardent; which, from the manner of his composition, we are naturally led to believe. The char- acter which one forms of him from reading his works is of the austere, rather than of the gentle, kind. He is, on every occasion, grave, serious, passionate; takes everything on a high tone; never lets himself down, nor attempts anything like pleasantry. If any fault can be found with his admirable elo- quence, it is that he sometimes borders on the high and dry. He may be thought to want smoothness and grace, which Dionysius of Halicarnassus attributes to his imitating too closely the manner of Thucydides, who was his great model for style, and whose history he is said to have written eight times Segoriptlon Dialog KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 136 over with his own hand. But these defects are far more than compensated by that ad- mirable and masterly force of masculine elo- quence, which, as it overpowered all who heard it, cannot to this day be read without emotion. — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 2, p. 198. (A. S., 1787.) 329. DESCRIPTION, INDIRECT.— It is not always advisable to enter into a direct detail of circumstances, which would often have the effect of wearying the hearer be- forehand with the expectation of a long de- scription of something in which he probably does not as yet feel much interest, and would also be likely to prepare him too much and forewarn him, as it were, of the object pro- posed, the design laid against his feelings. It is observed by opticians and astronomers that a side view of a faint star, or, especially, of a comet, presents it in much greater bril- liancy than a direct view. To see a comet in its full splendor, you should look not straight at it, but at some star a little beside it. Something analogous to this often takes place in mental perceptions. It will often, therefore, have a better effect to describe obliquely, if I may so speak, by introducing circumstances connected with the main ob- ject or event, and affected by it, but not ab- solutely forming a part of it. And circum- stances of this kind may not unfrequently be so selected as to produce a more striking impression of anything that is in itself great and remarkable than could be produced by a minute and direct description, because in this way the general and collective result of a whole, and the effects produced by it on other objects, may be vividly imprest on the hearer's mind, the circumstantial detail of collateral matters not drawing off the mind from the contemplation of the principal mat- ter as one and complete. Thus, the woman's application to the King of Samaria, to com- pel her neighbor to fulfil the agreement of sharing with her the infant's flesh, gives a more frightful impression of the horrors of the famine than any more direct description could have done, since it presents to us the picture of that hardening of the heart to every kind of horror, and that destruction of the ordinary state of human sentiment which is the result of long-continued and extreme misery. Nor could any detail of the par- ticular vexations to be suffered by the exiled Jews for their disobedience convey so lively an idea of them as that description of their result contained in the denunciation of Moses: "In the evening thou shalt say. Would God it were morning! and in the morning thou shalt say. Would God it were evening!" — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 125. (L. G. R. & D.) 330. DESCRIPTION IN ELO- QUENCE.— To paint is not only to de- scribe things, but to represent the circum- stances of them, in such a lively, sensible manner that the hearer shall fancy he almost sees them with his eyes. For instance, if a dry historian were to give an account of Dido's death, he would only say she was overwhelmed with sorrow after the depar- ture of .iEneas, and that she grew weary o'f her life, so she went up to the top of her palace, and, lying down on her funeral pile, she stabbed herself. Now, these words would inform you of the fact, but you do not see it. When you read the story in Virgil, he sets it before your eyes. When he represents all the circumstances of Dido's despair, describes her wild rage and death already staring in her aspect, when he makes her speak at the sight of the picture and sword which jEneas left, your imagination transports you to Car- thage, where you see the Trojan fleet leaving the shore, and the queen quite inconsolable. You enter into all her passions and into the sentiments of the supposed spectators. It is not Virgil you then hear : you are too at- tentive to the last words of unhappy Dido to think of him. The poet disappears, and we see only what he describes, and hear those only whom he makes to speak. Such is the force of a natural imitation, and of painting in language. Hence it comes that the paint- ers and the poets are so nearly related, the one paints for the eyes, and the other for the ears, but both of them ought to convey the liveliest pictures to people's imagination. I have taken an example from a poet to give you a livelier image of what I mean by paint- ing, in eloquence ; for poets paint in a stronger manner than orators. Indeed, the main thing in which poetry differs from eloquence is that the poet paints with enthu- siasm, and gives bolder touches than the ora- tor. But prose allows of painting in a mod- erate degree, for without lively descriptions it is impossible to warm the hearer's fancy or to stir his passions. A plain narrative does not move people, we must not only in- form them of facts, but strike their senses by a lively, moving representation of the manner and circumstances of the facts which we relate. — Fenelon, Dialogues on Eloquence, p. 76. (J. M., 1808.) 831. DESCRIPTION, USE OF.— The most earnest descriptions of the enormity and 137 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING sesoHptlou Dliaog' danger of sin fail to touch the hearts of men with fear, unless enforced with every ad- junct, and heightened by every circumstance which the preacher has at his command. And surely a preacher can not be wrong in fol- lowing the course of God's own word. If the terrors which are described in the Bible be a true description of things which will really happen, he is bound to declare them. It, on the other hand, they are figurative and imaginary, for what reason are they set forth in the Bible, but because they are among the means most suited to influence the will o'f man? We need not suppose that there will really be a "worm that dieth not," nor a "fire that is not quenched," yet surely these thrice-repeated terrors have more powerful effect to excite the feeling of fear than the em- ployment of the mere abstract terms for which they stand — everlasting pain and endless remorse. The very subject in question calls forth from St. Peter than terribly awful de- scription, in which he dwells with reiterated force on the material accompaniments of the day of judgment, "The day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night; in which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat, the earth also and the works that are therein shall be burned up. Seeing then that these things shall be dissolved, what manner of persons ought ye to be in all holy conversa- tion and godliness, looking for and hasting into the coming of the day of God, wherein the heavens being on fire shall be dissolved, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat?" It is clear, I think, that these im- ages may fairly be used — and that without more restriction than the taste of the speaker suggests — as subsidiary engines to heighten the effect of a description, when it is the preacher's object to call up feelings of fear and solemnity. They are legitimately em- ployed as introductory to an appeal to moral feelings; they prepare the mind for it, or rather spontaneously suggest it. Our hearts are so constituted that physical and moral impressions act reciprocally upon each other. Nor can the feelings be strongly moved un- less the imagination is appealed to. Read any interesting work of fiction, and you will find the author invariably availing himself of this mode of introducing or heightening the impression. When a scene of love and happiness is to be depicted, it is sure to be "a delightful day, sun shining, not too hot; air balmy, birds singing, all nature gay, and the influence is quickly felt" by the persons who figure in the scene. When, on the other hand, sorrow and misfortune are approach- ing, it is a drizzling rain in November, or snow storm in January. Spring is always the season for hope and expectation, autumn for calm and sober reflection. My conclusion is that descriptions of natural phenomena and material accompaniments, instead of only affecting the imagination, may, through the imagination, most powerfully influence the heart, whether for good or evil; and, there- fore, that the preacher will do well to avail himself of them — not to the exclusion of moral appeals from their due prominence, but as heightening auxiliaries. — Geesley, Let- ters to a Young Clergyman, p. 88. (D. & Co., 1856.) 332. DIALOG, HOW TO READ.— Re- solved to express whatever you may feel, you will begin by reading to yourself the dialogue you have selected for your lesson. Let it be, for instance, the glorious scene in "Ivanhoe" between Richard and the Clerk of Copmanhurst. Having thus learned the char- acters of the two personages, as designed by the novelist, think how such characters would speak — by which I mean the manner of their speaking, the tones of their voices, the pe- culiarities of their utterances, considered apart from the meaning of their words. Read one of the sentences in the dialog in the manner you have thus conceived of the speaker. Repeat the sentence until you are satisfied with your performance of it. Then do the like with the other characters, until you have mastered them also. In this exer- cise be careful to study the reading of each character separately and do not attempt to read the speeches of a second character until you have so perfectly learned the first that you can at once read any sentence set down to him in the dialog in the characteristic manner belonging to him. Do not attempt to read the whole as dialog until you have thus mastered each separate part in it. You will find the labor well bestowed, for this task accomplished, the rest is comparatively easy. The next process is to read the dialog si- lently, slowly and thoughtfully, for the pur- pose of clearly comprehending what the au- thor designed the characters to say — that is, the meaning of the speakers as distinguished' from their manner of speaking. Unless you rightly understand their full meaning, it is impossible for you to give correct expres- sion to the words. Moreover, this is a fine exercise of the intellect, and it is not the least of the many uses of the art of reading that it compels you to cultivate the full un- derstanding of what you read. Where you have doubts as to the meaning, you will Dialog: Sigiiitr KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 138 often find them solved by reading the doubt- ful passage aloud. Thus your ear having caught the words of the author as they pre- sented themselves to him, you will be con- ducted readily to a true conception of his ideas. You will now be prepared to begin the reading of the whole dialog with some success. You have acquired the mannerisms of the various speakers. You have mastered the meaning of the words put into their mouths. There remains but the still more difficult art of instantaneously changing your manner and voice as you pass from speaker to speaker, according to the exigencies of the dialog. This is an accomplishment of un- doubted difficulty, but it is essential to good reading. It can be acquired by practise alone, and fortunately perseverance will command success, however impracticable it may seem to you at the beginning. Thus the art of dramatic reading is comprised in three dis- tinct requirements : First, representation of the manner of the speakers; secondly, the right expression of the thoughts to which they give utterance; and, thirdly, an instant change of voice and manner from one char- acter to another, without hesitation or halt for reflection, always so painful to listeners. And the test of your success in this will be whether, without its being named by you on the change of speakers or indicated other- wise than by the change in your voice and manner, your audience know to whose part in the dialog the sentence you are then read- ing belongs. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 167. (H. C, 1911.) 333. DIALOG READING.— Dialog is the very best practise for students of the art of reading. Nothing so rapidly and effectual- ly destroys personal mannerisms. In other readings, it is yourself that speaks, and you speak according to your habits, which are more likely to be bad than good. But in dialog you speak, not as yourself, but as some other person, and often as half-a-dozen different persons, so that you are uncon- sciously stripped of your own mannerisms. You must infuse into your style so much life and spirit, you must pass so rapidly from one mode of utterance to another, that the most inveterate habits are rudely shaken. Di- alog is not only excellent practise for your- self, but, well read, it is the most pleasant of all forms of composition to listen to. It never wearies the ear by monotony, for the tones of the voice change with every sen- tence; nor the mind by overtaxing thought, for each speaker suggests a new train of ideas. Being such, how should dialog bei read and how may you learn to read it? Di- alog must everywhere and at all times be read in character. Whensoever what you read assumes the form of a conversation between two or more persons, all that is rep- resented as spoken should be read precisely as such descriptions, sentiments, or argu- ments would have been uttered by such per- sons as the supposed speakers. I repeat, that you must read these in character, changing the character with each part in the dialog and preserving throughout the same manner of reading each of the parts, so that it shall not be necessary for you to name the speak- er, but the audience shall know, from your utterance of the first half-dozen words, which of the characters is supposed to be speaking. And the change must be instantaneous. There must be no pause to think who the next speaker is, and what he is, and how you should represent him, or how you have already represented him. You must pass from one to the other without hesitation and apparently without an effort. There is no emotion of the mind which you may not thus be required to express without any prepara- tion, and the changes to opposite emotions are often most abrupt. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 165. (H. C, 1911.) 334. DIALOG, STUDY OF.— The study of dialog serves to develop sympathy and versatility in the speaker. It is important that you first have a clear conception of the characters you intend to personate, and of their distinctive qualities of voice, speech, and manner. After you have quietly read one of the extracts, imagine yourself to be the character or characters represented; then speak as you think they would speak. Sup- plement this lesson by studying some person in real life. Carefully observe such person's voice, enunciation, manner, gesture, and lan- guage. Write out your impressions of some of the people you meet. This exercise will be valuable to you in developing not only your expression, but also your powers of observation, memory, and adaptability. — Kleiser, How to Read and Declaim, p. 62. (F. & W., 1911.) 335. DIAPHRAGM, THE.— The dia- phragm is an elastic muscle of the abdomen, one of the principal organs of breathing, and capable of being brought under complete vol- untary control. The diaphragm is the low- est in position of all the vocal organs. This organ is a very elastic muscle which divides 139 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Biaioer Dignity the stomach below from the lungs above. Hence it has been called, "the roof of the stomach, and the door of the lungs." Its principal vocal function is that of expanding and contracting the lungs in respiration. This function it shares with the pectoral mus- cles, not necessary to be. described here. When the diaphragm is feeble, the speaker is incapable of drawing in a full breath and of expelling it again with adequate force. When it is not under perfect voluntary con- trol, he is unable properly to economize his breath ; whence impurity of tone, unnecessary fatigue, and exhaustion in speaking. When it is fully developed, and under good control, neither breath nor voice will commonly be found wanting. — McIlvaine, Elocution, p. 185. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 336. DICTION OF EXTEMPORE SPEAKERS.— When you resolve to at- tempt preaching ex tempore, in the qualified sense of that phrase, you by no means re- nounce order, correctness, or elegance. Of all these we have repeatedly known as great examples in those who did not write as in those who did. All these qualities will be found to depend less on writing or not writ- ing than on the entire previous discipline. As well might you say that no one can speak good grammar unless he has previously writ- ten. Whether he speaks good grammar or not, depends on his breeding, in the nursery, in school, and in society. He who has been trained can not but speak good English; and so of the rest. You have read what Cicero says concerning the latinity of the old model orators — they could not help it: "Ne cupientes quidem, potuerunt loqui, nisi La- tine." Madison, Ames, Wirt, Webster, or Everett, could not be cornered into bad Eng- lish. Cicero goes aside even in his great ethical treatise to relate with gusto how de- licious was the Latin speech of the whole family of CatuUi. And in regard as well to this as to flow of words, he lays down the grand principle when he says : "Abundance of matter begets abundance of words; and if the things spoken of possess nobleness, there will be derived from that nobleness a certain splendor of diction. Only let the man who is to speak or write be liberally trained by the education and instruction of his boyish days ; let him burn with desire of proficiency; let him have natural advantages, and be exercised in innumerable discussions of every kind, and let him be familiar with the finest writers and speakers, so as to com- prehend and imitate them ; and you need give yourself no trouble about such a one's need- ing masters to tell him how he shall arrange or beautify his words !" — Alexander, Thoughts on Preaching, p. 161. (S., 1862.) 337. DIET AND BATHING.— The public speaker should bathe frequently, and after drying the body, apply a gentle fric- tion, for a few moments, by rubbing or pat- ting the chest to keep the lungs healthy and active. He should also take exercise in the open air. He should stoutly resist the temp- tations of smoking or chewing tobacco as decidedly injurious to the pure quality of the voice. The excessive use of sweetmeats, nuts,, and confections of any kind has a clog- ging character on the vocal organs. Warm bread, pastry, rich puddings, cake, and highly seasoned, greasy, or salt food, aflfect the voice through the instrumentality of the stomach. In short, anything that injures the latter affects the former. — Frobisher, Voice and Action, p. 48. (I. B. & Co., 1867.) 338. DIFFIDENCE AND BASHFUL- NESS. — It is possible for a minister to be sincere in heart and yet, by reason of diffi- dence and bashfulness, to exhibit a want of earnestness in manner — a fault into which young clergymen, who have but just engaged seriously in God's service, are most apt to fall. You must struggle manfully against this feeling, or it will greatly impede your usefulness, perhaps prevent you from ever becoming an effective preacher. Why should you feel bashfulness in the performance of your sacred duty? You have watched prob- ably the advocate at the bar; you have marked his anxious desire to persuade, and have seen him fix the attention of his hear- ers by the businesslike earnestness of his manner. Do you, then, speak as if you were about your heavenly Master's business — as if you were dealing with the spirits of men for real and important purposes. And in order to speak thus, you must not only really feel it, but must not be ashamed of showing that you feel it. Why should you? The advocate is not ashamed to appear really earnest in what he is about. His own interest, and the interest of his client, depend on the success of his exertions. And is it not the same with you? Are not the external interests of yourself and your hearers at stake? Only feel this, and you will not fail of being ear- nest. — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergy- man, p. 273. (D. & Co., 1856.) 339. DIGNITY IN SPEAKING.— There is a certain dignity connected with the work of an orator which ought never to be Slgfresslon Discourse KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 140 lost sight of. His work is to teach, to cheer, and to elevate his fellowmen. Under these circumstances, he will never condescend to anything approaching buffoonery. He may be as lively in his manner, and illustrate by as pleasing examples as possible; but buf- foonery and wit, tho they may create a laugh at the time, will raise up in the mind a feel- ing of secret contempt. Maury has beauti- fully exprest himself upon this head : "To all those rules which art furnishes for con- ducting the plan of a discourse, we proceed to subjoin a general rule, from which ora- tors, and especially Christian orators, ought never to swerve. When such begin their ca- reer, the zeal for the salvation of souls which animates them does not always render them unmindful of the glory which follows great success. A blind desire to shine and to please is often at the expense of that sub- stantial honor which might be obtained were they to give themselves up to the pure emo- tions of piety, which so well agree with the sensibility necessary to eloquence. It is un- questionably to be wished that he who de- votes himself to the arduous labor which preaching requires should be wholly ambi- tious to render himself useful to the cause of religion. To such reputation can never be recompense. But if motives so pure have not always sufficient sway in your breast, calculate at least the advantages of self-love, and you may perceive how inseparably con- nected these are with the success of your ministry. Is it on your own account that you preach? Is it for you that religion as- sembles her votaries in a temple? You ought never to indulge so presumptuous a thought. However, I only consider you as an orator. Tell me, then, what is this you call elo- quence? Is it the wretched trade of imitat- ing that criminal mentioned by a poet in his satires, 'who balanced his crimes before his judges with antithesis?' Is it the puerile secret of forming jejune quibbles — of round- ing periods — of tormenting oneself by tedi- ous studies, in order to reduce sacred in- struction into a vain amusement? Is this, then, the idea which you have conceived of that divine art which disdains frivolous or- naments, which sways the most numerous assemblies, and which bestows on a single man the most personal and majestic of all sovereignties? Are you in quest of glory? You fly from it. Wit alone is never sublime ; and it is only by the vehemence of the pas- sions that you can become eloquent. Reckon up all the illustrious orators. Will you find among them conceited, subtle, or epigram- matic writers? No; these immortal men confined their attempts to affect and per- suade; and their having been always simple is that which will always render them great. How is this? You wish to proceed in their footsteps, and you stoop to the degrading pretensions of a rhetorician ! and you appear in the form of a mendicant, soliciting com- mendations from those very men who ought to tremble at your feet! Recover from this ignominy. Be eloquent by zeal, instead of being a mere declaimer through vanity. And be assured that the most certain method of preaching well for yourself is to preach use- fully to others." — Anon, The Public Speaker, p. 92. (J. N. & Co., 1860.) 340. DIGRESSION, DANGERS OF.— In practise, it is not always easy to point out all the parts of a discourse which might be embraced under the general name of a di- gression. Strictly speaking, everything not included of necessity within the six regular parts is digression. Descriptions, personal panegyric or invective, exclamations of pas- sion, excuses, palliation, reproach and con- ciliation, amplification and diminution, all addresses to the feelings, and all the com- monplace remarks upon human nature, the moral and political reflections, the brightest gems, and the most attractive charms of elo- quence, partake of the digressive nature. They are indeed often so closely allied to the question or proposition, that they appear in- dissolubly incorporated with it But whether premeditated or occasional, they are often interwoven with grace and elegance in the texture of the discourse, when it might still subsist in all its strength without them. And hence it is that the most important precept which a rhetorical teacher can inculcate re- specting this part of a discourse is negative. The rules for the management of digressions are obvious and simple ; but the caution the most necessary to an orator is to beware of admitting them with too much indulgence. They are like foreigners in the bosom of a national society. Received under just and prudent restrictions, they may contribute to the honor and prosperity of the common- wealth; but they should never be admitted in such numbers, or with such a latitude of powers, as to give them the control of the political body. A digression is a stranger; and as such let your general rule, as a pub- lic speaker, be to exclude it from your dis- course. To this general rule, as to all others, exceptions must be allowed ; and the condi- tion for such exception should be that when admitted it shall contribute to the common interest, and not usurp an undue proportion 141 TO PUBLIC SPEAKINa Dl^redslou BlBcouTse of space in the fabric. This caution is pe- culiarly necessary to all extemporaneous speakers. For written and even for unwrit- ten, but premeditated discourse, the judg- ment has time to select and discriminate be- tween the first thoughts which the fertility of invention produces to the mind. But it requires a very rigorous and habitual re- straint upon the operations of your own un- derstanding, to speak on the spur of the occasion without curvetting beyond the boun- daries of the road. There was, therefore, nothing absurd, however seemingly paradox- ical, in the apology which we are told was once made by Phocion, the most nervous and concise of all the Athenian orators. As an excuse for having spoken, one day, longer than was his usual custom, he said he had not time to make his speech short. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 2, p. 96. (H. & M., 1810.) 341. DILEMMA, THE.— The Dilemma divides the adversary's argument into two or more parts, and then opposes to each of them an unanswerable reply. It is no more than several Enthymemes joined together. For instance (regularly in form) : (1) He who writes on general topics must either support popular prejudices, or oppose them. (2) If he supports them, he will be condemned by the ignorant. (3) Therefore, he who writes on general topics, will be condemned. The orator turns the argument into an Enthy- meme somewhat in this way : He who writes on general topics will be condemned, because he must either support popular prejudices, or oppose them. If he oppose them, he will be condemned by the ignorant; if he support them, by the intelligent. Patrick Henry's famous oration for the war runs into the form of a Dilemma. He argues, "We must resort either to submission or to arms. Therefore, there is no need of longer debate. We have tried submission in vain — and the war is already begun. There is no peace." The Dilemma is most frequently employed for retort. The best way of replying to it is to show that the adversary has not fully, or fairly, subdivided his subject. The well- known dispute of the travelers, concerning the chameleon's color, is an example. The creature, when "produced," was of no one of the colors named by the three disputants. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 302. (S., 1901.) 342. DIRECTNESS IN SPEAKING.— Mobile speaking directly to the audience, the speaker is engaged in his proper work, and consequently he is enabled to do it well. Speaking directly to the people before him is the orator's proper work in delivery — his whole business for the time. Hence it re- quires his undivided attention — the exercise of all his faculties and powers. Whilst, therefore, he is thus engaged in his proper work, whilst it constitutes the dominant op- eration of his mind and consciousness, he is giving his attention to what he is about, he is minding his present business. The nat- ural consequence of this is that he does his work well, just as in any other case in which a person gives himself up to the work which he has in hand. Conversely, when the speak- er loses his consciousness of direct address to the people before him, his state of mind is that of forgetting what he is about; he is not minding the business he has in hand; he is occupied with something else, inconsistent, and often totally incompatible with the ex- pression of what he has to deliver. Hence it becomes impossible for him to do his work well, just as in every other case in which a person forgets what he is about, and allows his mind to become otherwise occupied. — Mc- Ilvaine, Elocution, p. 94. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 343. DISCOURSE, APPLICATION AND CONCLUSION OF A.— It has been generally recommended to begin- ners, that their first experiments should be hortatory; and for this end, that after hav- ing written the body of the discourse, the application and conclusion should be left to the moment of delivery. Then, it is said, the hearer and speaker having become engaged and warm in the subject, the former will less observe any blemishes and inexactness of language, and the latter will have a freedom and flow of utterance which he would be less likely to enjoy at an earlier and colder mo- ment; besides, that the exhortation is a much easier achievement than the body of the dis- course. It is probable that for some persons this rule may be found best; tho if I were to give one founded on my own experience it would be directly opposed to it. I should esteem it a much safer and more successful mode to attempt extempore the commence- ment than the close of a discourse. The commencement, if the sermon be worth preaching, is laid out in an orderly succes- sion of ideas, which follow one another in a connected train of illustration, or argument, or narrative ; and he who is familiar with the train will find its several steps spontaneously follow one another, and will have no diffi- culty in clothing them in ready and suitable siseontse Disraeli KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 142 terras. But the application is a matter which can not so well be thus arranged, and the parts of which do not so closely adhere to each other. This makes the actual effort of mind at the moment of delivery more severe. And, besides this, it will generally be found more difficult, I apprehend, to change the passive state of mind which exists in reading for the action and ardor of extemporaneous address than to start with this activity at the beginning, when the mind, in fact, is already acting under the excitement of a preparation to speak. Not to forget that a young man, who is modest because of his youth as much, as he is bold because of his office, is nat- urally intimidated by the attempt to address with direct exhortation those whom he sees around him so much older than himself, and many of whom, he feels, to be so much bet- ter. I am persuaded, too, that it is a great mistake to imagine a closing exhortation easier work than the previous management of the discourse. I know nothing which re- quires more intense thought, more prudent consideration, or more judicious skill, both in ordering the topics and selecting the words. One may indeed very easily dash out into exclamations, and make loud appeals to his audience. But to appeal pungently, weightily, effectually, in such words and emphasis that the particular truth or duty shall be driven home and fastened in the mind and con- science — this is an arduous, delicate, anxious duty which may well task a man's most seri- ous and thoughtful hours of preparation. It is only by giving such preparation that he can hope to make that happiness which God will bless; and he that thinks it the easiest of things, and harangues without fore- thought, must harangue without effect. Is it not probable that much of the vapid and in- significant verbiage which is poured out at the close of sermons originates in this no- tion that exhortation is a very simple af- fair, to which anybody is equal at any time? — Ware, Hints on Extemporaneous Preach- ing, p. 335. (G. K. & L., 1849.) 344. DISCOURSE, EXPLANATORY. — The object of the discourse in explanation is to inform or instruct; to communicate some new view, or to correct, to expand, or to modify in some way one already enter- tained. Explanation and confirmation both immediately address the intelligence, not the passions or the will, but they differ in this respect, that they respect different states of the intelligence, and aim to effect different kinds of cognitions. The distinction which is originally given in logic or the science of the laws and forms of thought, is twofold — that of the technical concept and the technical judgment. A concept is a cognition of a mere object; a judgment is a cognition of two related objects in which one of the ob- jects is affirmed or denied of the other. A concept is exprest in language by a noun; a judgment by a sentence or proposition. All concepts are, indeed, derived from judg- ments, and founded upon them; but they drop from view the affirmation or denial which distinguishes all judgments. They con- stitute a large part of the nouns or terms used in discourse. But perceptions and intu- itions resemble concepts in this respect, that they exclude all affirmation and denial. It is convenient, therefore, for rhetorical pur- poses, to distinguish all cognitions primarily as of the two classes — ^those expressing and those not expressing affirmation or denial. The first class are judgments ; the second class includes the original cognitions given in perception and intuition, and the deriva- tive cognitions given in proper conception. The objects of perception and intuition, when known, are said to be apprehended; the ob- jects of conception are said to be compre- hended or conceived. — Day, The Art of Dis- course, p. 58. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 345. DISCOURSE, NATURAL, FOR- MAL, AND POETIC FORMS OF.— There are in the languages of all civilized nations three kinds of discourse, distin- guished from each other by boundaries very clear, altho, like all other boundaries, they are not always secure from reciprocal en- croachment upon each other. The first is the discourse of ordinary conversation and business in common use and daily practise. The second is a formal and stately kind of discourse, employed on occasions of solem- nity, and in the discussion of important ob- jects. The third is the discourse of poetry. The stock of words belonging to any particu- lar language is alike open to the use of all discourse in either of these forms; the same ideas may be communicated by them all ; but that which forms the greatest diversity be- tween them is the arrangement of the words. The predominating principle of collocation differs in each of them. In the discourse of conversation or business, the grammatical or- der is that to which all the others are sub- ordinate. In the discourse of form, if the subject be speculative, the metaphysical or- der will be first observed. But in all the walks of oratory the natural order will stand pre-eminent ; while in the discourse of poetry the paramount principle of arrangement is 143 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Discourse Disraeli harmony. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 3, p. 193. (H. & M., 1810.) 34G. DISCOURSE, RULES FOR THE DIVISIONS OF A.— First, the several parts into which the subject is divided must be really distinct from one another; that is, no one must include the other. It were a very absurd division, for instance, if one should propose to treat first of the advan- tages of virtue, and next of justice or tem- perance; because the first head evidently comprehends the second, as a genus does the species ; which method of proceeding involves the subject in indistinctness and disorder. Secondly, in division we must be careful to follow the order of nature; beginning with the simplest points, such as are easiest ap- prehended and necessary to be first discust, and proceeding thence to those which are built upon the former and suppose them to be known. We must divide the subject into those parts into which most easily and nat- urally it is resolved; that it may seem to split itself, and not be violently torn asun- der: "Dividere," as is commonly said, "non frangere." Thirdly, the several members of a division ought to exhaust the subject; otherwise, we do not make a complete di- vision; we exhibit the subject by pieces and corners only, without giving any such plan as displays the whole. Fourthly, the terms in which our partitions are exprest should be as concise as possible. Avoid all circumlo- cution here. Admit not a single word but what is necessary. Precision is to be studied above all things in laying down a method. It is this which chiefly makes a division ap- pear neat and elegant : when the several heads are propounded in the clearest, most expres- sive, and, at the same time, the fewest words possible. This never fails to strike the hear- ers agreeably, and is at the same time of great consequence toward making the divi- sions more easily remembered. Fifthly, avoid an unnecessary multiplication of heads. To split a subject into a great many minute parts, by divisions and subdivisions without end, has always a bad effect in speaking. It may be proper in a logical treatise, but it makes an oration appear hard and dry, and unnecessarily fatigues the memory. In a sermon there may be from three to five or six heads, including subdivisions, seldom should there be more.— Beeton, Art of Pub- lic Speaking, from Complete Orator, p. 45. (W. L. & Co.) DISCOURSE.— See also Speech. 347. DISINTERESTEDNESS OF THE SPEAKER.— An orator then should have nothing either to hope or fear from his hear- ers, with regard to his own interest. If you allowed of ambitious, mercenary declaimers, do you think they would oppose all the fool- ish, unruly passions of men? If they them- selves be subject to avarice, ambition, lux- ury, and such shameful disorders, will they be able to cure others? If they seek after wealth, can they be fit to disengage others from that mean pursuit? I grant that a vir- tuous and disinterested orator ought always to be supplied with the conveniences of life: nor can he ever want them if he be a true philosopher ; I mean, such a wise and worthy person as is fit to reform the manners of men : for then he will live after a plain, mod- est, frugal, laborious manner: he will have occasion only for little, and that little he will never want, tho he should earn it with his own hands. Now, what is superfluous ought not to be offered him as the recompense of his public services, and indeed it is not wor- thy of his acceptance. He may have hon- or and authority conferred on him : but if he be master of his passions, as we suppose, and above selfish views, he will use this author- ity only for the public good, and be ready to resign it when he can no longer enjoy it with- out flattery or dissimulation. In short, an orator can not be fit to persuade people un- less he be inflexibly upright, for, without this steady virtue, his talents and addresses would, like a mortal poison, infect and de- stroy the body politic. For this reason, Cicero thought that virtue is the chief and most essential quality of an orator, and that he should be a person of such unspotted probity as to be a pattern to his fellow- citizens, without which he can not even seem to be convinced himself of what he says, and consequently he can not persuade others. — Fenelon, Dialogs on Eloquence, p. 39. (J. M., 1808.) 348. DISRAELI, BENJAMIN.— Born in London, England, Dec. 31, 1804. Died April 19, 1881. He seemed to be an actor, in a mask which he never took off. He had cour- j age, audacity, patience, indomitable will. His gestures were abundant, voice powerful, ac- tion rapid. He was unsurpassed in his use of invective, satire, irony, humor, wit. His greatest triumphs were in his shortest speeches of twenty minutes in length. He lacked ease, fluency, and the power to touch- ing emotions, tho he could dazzle with bril- liant rhetoric. He was a most skilful par- liamentary strategist. "As an orator his first Distractions EamestnesB KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 144 appearance in the House of Commons was a failure. It was spoken of as 'more scream- ing than an Adelphi farce.' Tho composed in grand and ambitious strain, every sentence was hailed with loud laughter ! 'Hamlet,' played as a comedy, were nothing to it. But he concluded with a sentence which embodied a prophecy. Writhing under the laughter with which his studied eloquence had been received, he exclaimed, 'I have begun several times many things, and have succeeded in them at last. I will sit down now, but the time will come when you will hear me." 349. DISTRACTIONS IN SPEAKING. — It is essential to beware of the distractions which may break the thread of the exposi- tion, and abruptly send the mind into a totally different and unprepared channel. This is another of the dangers attending extemporisation, which imperatively demands that you should give yourself wholly to your subject, and thus exclude from your mind every extraneous image and thought; — no easy task when a man stands face to face with a numerous assembly, whose eyes from all directions are centered upon him, tempt- ing him to look at people, were it only be- cause people are all looking at him. On this account it is necessary that the orator before speaking should be collected, — he should be wholly absorbed in his ideas, and proof against the interruptions and impres- sions which surround him. The slightest distraction to which he yields may break the chain of his thoughts, mar his plan, and even sponge out of his mind the very remem- brance of his subject itself. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 257. (S., 1901.) 350. DON'T'S AND DO'S FOR PUB- LIC SPEAKERS.— Don't apologize. Don't shout. Don't hesitate. Don't attitudinize. Don't be personal. Don't be "funny." Don't be sar- castic. Don't declaim. Don't fidget. Don't speak in a high key. Don't pace the plat- form. Don''t destroy your words. Don't exceed your time limit. Don't emphasize everything. Don't praise yourself. Don't tell a long story. Don't sway your body. Don't fatigue your audience. Don't speak through closed teeth. Don't drink while speaking. Don't fumble with your clothes. Don't "hem" and "haw." Don't stand like a statue. Don't clear your throat. Don't speak rapidly. Don't antagonize. Don't over-gesticulate. Don't wander from your subject. Don't be awkward. Don't address the ceiling. Don't be monotonous. Don't put your hands on your hips. Don't be vio- lent. Don't rise on your toes. Don't forget to sit down when you have finished. Do be prepared. Do begin slowly. Do be modest. Do speak distinctly, Do address all your hearers. Do be uniformly courteous. Do prune your sentences. Do cultivate mental alertness. Do conceal your method. Do be scrupulously clear. Do feel sure of your- self. Do look your audience in the eyes. Do be direct. Do favor your deep tones. Do speak deliberately. Do get your facts. Do be earnest. Do observe your pauses. Do suit the action to the word. Do be yourself at your best. Do speak fluently. Do use your abdominal muscles. Do make yourself interesting. Do be conversational. Do con- ciliate your opponent. Do rouse yourself. Do be logical. Do have your wits about you. Do be considerate. Do open your mouth. Do speak authoritatively. Do cul- tivate sincerity. Do cultivate brevity. Do cultivate tact. Do end swiftly. 351. DRINKING DURING SPEECH. — Abstain from the use of water while speaking. It requires digestion to a certain extent, and must, therefore, more or less in- terfere with the oratorical powers. It is only a vicious habit to stop every few mo- ments to swallow a large draught of water. A person must reform this habit, which he blindly commenced, if he desires an un- trammeled use of his mental and vocal powers. Even in the warmest weather, and when perspiration is freely induced, there is no necessity of drinking at the time of speaking, even if it should occupy an hour or more. A moderate quantity of water, not too cold, may be drunk half an hour before, or very soon afterward. — Frobisher, Voice and Action, p. 50. (I. B. & Co., 1867.) 352. DULLNESS IN DISCOURSE.— The chief source of dullness in the pulpit is, no doubt, the want of tact in the handling of a subject, which makes the great themes of religion commonplace to the preacher himself, and therefore to his audience. Edu- cation, it must be acknowledged, does little to empower the preacher to breathe fresh life into old themes. The theologian enters upon his office but little disciplined in that free, natural, original, and inspiring use of his faculties, which enables the poet to find new life and beauty in every component atom of the creation, and to expatiate, with an eloquence which we feel to be divine, on the common light and air of heaven, or the most ordinary plant by the wayside. The preacher seems, too often, to be consciously 145 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING SlBtractloiia EamestnesB handling trite themes, to which it is a hope- less attempt to endeavor to impart life and interest. He speaks, accordingly, as if the utmost reach of his ambition were to invest dullness with a tolerable decency, and to get through the routine of his function in the best way he can. The power of taking in- teresting, impressive, and striking views of common things, implies, unquestionably, a higher talent than mere education can im- part. But while this important acquirement remains, as at present, one of the unat- tempted prizes of diligence, it is certain that the obvious and palpable advantages of even a partial cultivation are entirely overlooked, as respects the express training of preachers for the public duties of their office. It surely is not absolutely necessary that, to want of original power, and to want of due intellec- tual discipline, in the occupants of the pulpit, there should invariably be added an utter want of skill in expression, as regards the use of the voice, and the appropriate accom- paniments of action. The dull and lifeless speaker may become animated, if he will resolutely set about accomplishing the task. The training prescribed in the practise of elocution will present him with subjects of exercise, drawn from the most inspiriting passages of the most powerful writers. It will accustom him to glow over inspiring themes. It will show him the natural modes of uttering and imparting vivid emotions. It will train his organs to lively exertion. It will invigorate his tones, enhance his em- phasis, sharpen his inflections, enliven his accents, breathe life into his whole expres- sion, mold his frame into pliancy and elo- quent effect, impel his arm, kindle his eye, flush his cheek with genuine emotion, and light up his whole manner with a feeling which radiates from within. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 58. (D., 1878.) 353. EARLY FAILURE IN SPEAK- ING. — If it was the necessary or even the usual result of a failure in early attempts, to quench the glow of ambition in the bosom of the young candidate for renown, some of the most radiant names which shine on the catalog of the world's benefactors would have been doomed to everlasting obscurity. For the forensic and professional records of every enlightened nation on earth abound in memorials to show how often the brightest ornaments of our race, in arms, in art, and in civil polity, stumbled in passing through the porch of entry to the temple of fame. It is in many instances the direct tendency of beneiicent intellectual endowments to in- spire such an eager and intense desire for absolute perfection in execution, as to pre- vent and suppress any performance at all; just as an exquisite performer in music may have all his capabilities palsied, in the very outset of a performance, by a failure to pro- duce some note or tone, in a favorite piece of music, in that perfection of elegance and sweetness which he had long anticipated with delight. — McQueen, The Orator's Touchstone, or Eloquence Simplified, p. 213. (H. & B., 1860.) 354. EARNESTNESS AND PERSUA- SION. — The first requisite, in order to create an interest in others, is to feel, or at least to exhibit, an earnestness ourselves. We must be in earnest. Between the orator and his auditory there is a certain involun- tary sympathy communicated from one to the other. If he be himself animated and energetic, his audience soon acknowledges a kindred spirit; if, on the contrary, he be cold, they catch the infection; if he be tame, they are apathetic; if he be spiritless, they are listless : their torpor again reacts upon him, and both orator and audience sleep together. Energy quickens and infuses life into the style : it warms, it revivifies with its touch. It adds a brisker movement to the voice.' it flushes the cheek, it lights the eye, it animates the frame, and passing like an electric spark from speaker to audience, it enkindles in them a sympathetic spirit, it arouses their enthusiasm, it takes possession of their hearts, and places their feelings, their reason, and their will, in the hands of him whose power has agitated the recesses of their souls.— Vandenhoff, Art of Elocu- tion, p. 177. (S. & S., 1851.) 355. EARNESTNESS AND TRUTH. —What the student of public speaking pri- marily needs is a frank, truthful, earnest habit of examining ideas and facts as they are presented to his mind in everyday life. He should look at questions from every viewpoint, as Lincoln is said to have done, and determine to get the truth at any cost. It is this fearless pursuit of truth that leads to fearless expression, and only after the thinker has made the ground good under his own feet can he hope to succeed as a guide and leader of other men. Another important element of power is earnestness. This is not to be confounded with assumed and artificial feeling adapted consciously to certain ends, neither is it sudden impulse which may or may not do the right thing. I Earnestness comes mainly from concentration ZaraeBtness EarnestueBS KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 146 of the speaker's energies upon his subject. It is a form of intensity by which all his best powers are enlisted in behalf of some cause, and stimulated into action by a pro- found sense of duty, patriotism, or the de- sires for useful service. True earnestness is born of sincerity and unselfishness. It is too great to intimidate, too serious to amuse, and too genuine to fall into bombast or empty declamation. There is nothing that imparts sympathetic power and a winning personality to a speaker like innate goodness of heart and life. When a man shows that he both understands and feels what he says, he is in a large way toward influencing other men, and of persuading other men to act as he desires. It is the power arising from loftiness of soul and sublime purpose which touches the lips of the orator, as if by magic, and bids them vibrate with the heart of hu- manity. Intelligence points the way, earnest- ness gives wings for flight, and consecrated unselfishness carries conviction and persua- sion to men. — Kleiser, Great Speeches and How to Make Them, p. 39. (F. & W., 1911.) 356. EARNESTNESS, GENUINE.— As earnestness is the essential element in every true orator's success, so we conceive that the general absence of it is the main cause of the comparative failure of those who en- deavor to produce the same effects by artifi- cial means. At the same time, it must be clearly understood that this term is not ap- plied to the mere impulse or excitement of the moment of delivery. Genuine earnest- ness will be as different from mere "rant" as the foolhardiness of the drunkard is from the undaunted bravery of him who goes out knowingly to meet death face to face. It will differ as much from a mere passing ebul- lition of feeling as the rude clamor of an excited mob differs from the stern purpose of the patriot, who, feeling that the long- looked-for and decisive moment has arrived, casts away every thought of further prepara- tion, and throws himself into the struggle, trusting to God and the justice of his cause for victory. And we may add, that, just as that patriotism will be but an empty name which does not lead a man to put all his thoughts of self on one side, and to give up his time, his thoughts, and, if needs be, life itself, for his country's cause, so that earnest- ness which has not previously led a man to concentrate all his energies on the work he takes in hand will be little more than mere bombastic parade ; it may be mighty to dazzle or to amuse, but it will never be mighty to the pulling down of strongholds. — Halcombe, The Speaker at Home, p. 37. (B. & D., 1860.) 357. EARNESTNESS, IMPORTANCE OF, IN SPEAKING.— Earnestness is the natural language of sincerity; it is the con- dition of persuasion. It is the security for the orator's success, — most of all, in the case of him who is not contending for palpable rights and outward interests, but who is pleading the most of all causes, — that which is ever pending between the soul and God. Earnestness is the most prominent trait of eloquence. It is a thing not to be mistaken. It depends not on science. It is a direct product of the soul. It has no halfway ex- istence. Either it is not, or it comes "beam- ing from the eye, speaking on the tongue, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his ob- ject." Nothing can take its place. Decorum, without it, becomes hollow formality; grav- ity, coldness ; dignity, reserve : all expression loses life and power. Yet earnestness is ex- ternal in its character, and may be counter- feited, even, by assuming certain outward signs of tone and action. It needs but a lit- tle attention and reflection to note and dis- criminate its traits. Every observer per- ceives its characteristic glance of the eye; its energetic, warm, breathing, heart-issuing voice, its pithy emphasis, its acute and keen inflection, its vivid intonation, its animated movement ; its forcible and spirited and vary- ing action ; its speaking attitude and posture ; its eloquent glow of pervading inspiration. We see it manifested in all its power as the instinctive art of eloquence which nature teaches to the child, to the mother, to the loving youth, to the unconscious savage. Earnestness, as a habit in expression, is one of those traits which education tends to quell rather than to aid. Early, in the conven- tional forms of school life, it gives way to reserve and morbid apathy, or to an arbitrary decorum. Inexpressive modes of action and utterance become thus, inseparable from the prevalent habits of the student and the pro- fessional man. Resolute self-culture alone can replace the lost power in individuals. He who would recover it effectually, must watch narrowly the sources of influence on mind and character. He must frequent those men- tal resorts whence he may derive energetic and stirring impulses ; he must learn to de- tect, and apply to his own being, the elements of inward life and force, to see the deep and living reality within all external forms. He must learn to deal with thoughts rather than words, and with things more than with 147 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING EamoBtneiB EameBtnesB mere thought. He who inhales the inner air of truth and reality, can not be an indiffer- ent spectator of life, or an indifferent pleader for its duties. The words and tones and looks and actions of the human being, are profound and instructive realities to him. He can not be indifferent to their power : he will study them thoroughly; he will use them effectively. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 62. (D., 1878.) 358. EARNESTNESS IN DISCOURSE. — Above and before all things else, popular speech must be characterized by thorough earnestness — by earnestness of thought, by earnestness of composition, by earnestness of delivery ; by that earnestness which is at once the witness and the exponent of strong con- victions and of ardent feelings. The sacred orator who is not in earnest is nothing. If he be not in earnest, if he be not all ablaze with the sacred fire, if his own soul does not thrill under the sacred influences which he undertakes to urge upon others, he must necessarily be nothing. As an accomplished writer has said so well, nothing can supply, even for elocutionary purposes, the want of a living faith, and a personal interest in the solemn and glorious truth we have to de- clare, or the want of a deep and heart- piercing conviction that the salvation of those to whom we speak depends upon their believ- ing it. — Potter, The Spoken Word, p. 300. (M. H. G. & Son, 1880.) 359. EARNESTNESS OF SPEAKERS. — Ardent zeal, intensity of desire, vehement solicitude, and diligent endeavor, are all requisite to stir, to rouse, to stimulate, and to compel the unthinking and careless to seri- ous consideration. The dull and degraded, the tempted and the scorned, the self-satis- fied and the unconcerned, the make-believer and the unbeliever, may delight to have their fancy tickled by careful syntax and by grace- ful speech, may admire bombast and enjoy the glittering rhetoric of the pulpit per- former, whose chief endeavor is to please an audience and to fill a church; but it is sorry policy either to suffer rigid formulism or frigid formalism, adroit time-serving or plausible priestliness, conceited folly or pre- tentious pliancy, to acquire the mastery in congregations. An earnest man in the world, as it is, must strike — strike and be heard — even strike to be heard. He can not palliate and glaze, tamper and trifle, he must fling all the energy of his being's love for God and man into the task of winning souls. He makes himself wise to know, and he prays and labors to be sinewed for performance. To effect his purpose he must affect his hear- ers and he struggles and agonizes to achieve the work given him to do. Stoutness, cour- age, and intrepidity to resist the conservative clamors of iniquity, the pleadings of sin for time, and of the soul for indulgence; fear- lessness to probe the gross and peccant hu- mors of the heart, to check with incisive in- stantness the spread of vileness, to neutralise contagion, and to wreak from the soul "the perilous stuff" which deteriorates with its deleterious venom the social state and per- sonal condition of men, are all required of the true preacher of righteousness. To be earnest is for him an inevitable necessity. If he fail in earnestness to whom is committed the oracles of God for the salvation of man, where shall we look to find ardor of heart and intensity of daring to accomplish any good work? Without the earnestness of the pulpit orator conviction of mind is, humanly speaking, impossible; for men too frequently calculate the value of that which is prest on their notice at less than that which it is rep- resented to be worth, and if the advocate talks coolly of its importance, they can scarcely believe in its intrinsic worth. — Neil, The Art of Public Speaking, p. 92. (H. & W., 1868.) 360.— EARNESTNESS, THOROUGH, OF THE SPEAKER.— When the intel- lect of the speaker is fully occupied with the thought of his object, and his heart with the desire of accomplishing it, this leaves no place for any thoughts about himself, his tones, inflections, articulation, emphasis, or gesture, nor for any conceits or anxieties about his manner ; consequently it purges, or tends to purge, his delivery from the vices of awkwardness, mannerism and affectation, in which such thoughts and feelings never fail to express themselves. His mind, being freed from such distracting and enfeebling occu- pations, naturally throws all its faculties and powers into the proper work of delivery. It may be said, therefore, that nothing purifies the mind and whole manner of the speaker, like being in dead earnest. It gives simpli- city and directness to the whole manner, and adapts it to effect the object in view. It clothes the gestures with propriety and force. It imparts seriousness and gravity to the features, depth and power of expression to the eye. It gives fulness, strength and depth to the voice, and a certain characteristic quality, which makes it seem to come not so much from the throat or lungs, as from the depths of the heart— a quality which is sure Ease and Orace Elociuence KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 148 to reach the hearts of the audience. Also it brings to bear upon the audience a steady and sustained mental pressure, imparting a soste- nuto character to the whole delivery, which is never intermitted even in the longest pauses, and which is one of the most telling traits of a strong delivery. — McIlvaine. Elo- cution, p. 88. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 3G1. EASE AND GRACE IN SPEAK- ING. — The orator must take the most studiotis precaution not merely to satisfy those whom he necessarily must satisfy, but to seem worthy of admiration to those who are at liberty to judge disinterestedly. If you would know what I myself think, I will express to you, my intimate friends, v/hat I have hitherto never mentioned, and thought that I never should mention. To me, those who speak best, and speak with the utmost ease and grace, appear, if they do not com- mence their speeches with some timidity, and show some confusion in the exordium, to have almost lost the sense of shame, tho it is impossible that such should not be the case ; for the better qualified a man is to speak, the more he fears the difficulties of speaking, the uncertain success of a speech, and the expectation of the audience. But he who can produce and deliver nothing worthy of his subject, nothing worthy of the name of an orator, nothing worthy the attention of his audience, seems to me, tho he be ever so confused while he is speaking, to be down- right shameless; for we ought to avoid a character for shamelessness, not by testify- ing shame, but by not doing that which does not become us. But the speaker who has no shame (as I see to be the case with many) I regard as deserving not only of rebuke, but of personal castigation. Indeed, what I often observe in you I very frequently experience in myself, that I turn pale in the outset of my speech, and feel a tremor through my whole thoughts, as it were, and limbs. When I was a young man, I was on one occasion so timid in commencing an accusation, that I owed to Q. Maxiraus the greatest of obliga- tions for immediately dismissing the assem- bly, as soon as he saw me absolutely dis- heartened and incapacitated through fear.^ Cicero, On Oratory and Orators, p. 173. (B., 1909.) 362. EDWARDS, JONATHAN.— Born at East Windsor, Conn., Oct. 5, 1703. Grad- uated from Yale in 1720. Died at Princeton, March 22, 1758. His method of study was to write much — "pursuing the clue to my utmost," as he said himself. He was tall and slender, broad forehead and piercing eyes^and "on his whole countenance, the features of his mind — perspicacity, sincerity, and benevolence — were so strongly impressed that no one could behold it without at once discovering the clearest indications of great intellectual and moral elevation." Although of delicate constitution he studied upward of twelve hours daily. His "Freedom of the Will" has been called "a masterpiece of meta- physical reasoning." It is justly regarded as one of the great books in English theology. 363. EGOTISM IN SPEAKING.— Avoid egotism. That little pronoun of one letter, of the first person singular, ought to be used sparingly and with judgment. The corresponding plurals, "we" and "us," are generally, tho not invariably, to be chosen in preference to the plural of the second per- son, at least where the preacher has not the authority of years superadded to that of office. It is more in keeping, most of us must feel, with the consciousness we have of our own infirmity, to associate ourselves with our hearers, as sympathizing with them in their trials and temptations ; and yet we must speak with authority also, as remembering in Whose Name we speak. But authority is not weakened, but strengthened rather, when it is tempered with sympathy. — Heurtley, Homi- letical and Pastoral Lectures, p. 154. (A., 1880.) 364. ELOCUTION, OBJECTS OF.— Elocution is not, as some erroneously sup- pose, an art of something artificial in tones, looks and gestures, that may be learned by imitation. The principles teach us to exhibit truth and nature dressed to advantage; its objects are, to enable the reader and speaker to manifest his thoughts and feelings in the most pleasing, perspicuous, and forcible man- ner, so as to charm the affections, enlighten the understanding, and leave the deepest and most permanent impression on the mind of the attentive hearer. — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 45. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 365. ELOCUTION OF CHILDREN.— Children are splendid elocution teachers. How true, hov? pure, how just their intona- tions ! Their flexible young organs, readily accommodating themselves to every variety of sensation, enable them to reach more dar- ing inflexions than the ablest actor would ever dream of. Have you ever listened at- tentively to a little girl telling some secret she has discovered, describing some mysteri- 149 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Saae and Otaoe Xloauence ous scene that she has just witnessed? Does not she remind you of little Louise talking so innocently to her father in the Malade Imaginaire? She imitates every voice. She; reproduces every tone. You see the person- ages pass before you. You actually hear them talk! Well, just as she has got through with her story, ask her to read the very same little Louise's part in Moliere, or a few of Joas's verses in Athalie. You are astounded. What has become of her naturalness? Where are those tones so varied and so appropri- ate? You hear nothing but the sing-song, tiresome, stupid monotony peculiar to the reading of school children. These great pro- fessors of elocution have not the first idea of a principle of their art! — LEGOUvi;, Tke Art of Reading, p. 79. (L., 1885.) 36G. ELOCUTION, PREJUDICE AGAINST STUDYING.— There is a cer- tain amount of prejudice even now existing against studying the art of delivery and ac- tion, on the ground that a stilted, formal, and artificial style must be the result of such lessons. And yet how stands the fact? Have not all the very greatest orators, from De- mosthenes and Cicero to Lord Mansfield and Lord Oiatham, made the study and practise of delivery and gesture under competent masters part of their regular training in the art of rhetoric? Doubtless the story Plu- tarch has told of the patience and perseve- rance of Demosthenes, whose very name has become to us almost a synonym for the per- fection of oratory, is familiar to most of you; but I think it may well be repeated here, as the most memorable instance which history has recorded of th'e advantages which nature may derive from the resources of art. Demosthenes, says Plutarch, after an unsuc- cessful attempt to address the Assembly, was returning to his house, burning with sharne and mortification at the disgrace of his fail- ure. In this state of mind he was met and accosted by his old and intimate acquaintance, Satyrus, the actor, to whom he confided the whole story of his misfortunes, adding that the most bitter thought of all was that he had been in study the most industrious of all the advocates, and had spent almost the whole of his strength and vigor of body in that profession, and yet could not make him- self acceptable to the people ; while, to crown all, he had the mortification of seeing all kinds of inferior and illiterate men ascend the rostrum, while he himself was ridiculed and despised. What was the answer of Satyrus to all these complaints? "I must admit," said the actor, "that what you say is perfectly true, and yet I will engage ere long to remove all these impediments to suc- cess, if you will repeat some lines to me from the great tragedies of Sophocles or Euripi- des." Demosthenes accordingly did so after his own originally uncouth and ungainly manner. Satyrus then recited them with all that grace of delivery, mien, and gesture which his art had given him, producing such an effect on his hearer, that it seemed to Demosthenes as if the whole passage was changed and wore quite a different appear- ance. Convinced by this how much effect and grace may be given to a speech by a proper delivery, and the accompaniment of an appropriate action, he began now, Plutarch tells us, to think it of little consequence for a man to exercise himself in making public addresses if he neglected the effective pro- nunciation of words, and the other aids lent by elocution. Accordingly he built forthwith a subterranean room (which the biographer says was in existence at the time of his wri- ting), to which he retired every day to exer- cise his voice and form his action; and in this room, Plutarch states, he did not disdain to avail himself of the aid afforded by a large mirror, before which he would stand and repeat his orations, and so be enabled to see how far his action was graceful or awk- ward. — Plumptre, King's College Lectures on Elocution, p. 276. (T. & Co., 1883.) 367. ELOQUENCE, AIDS TO.— It has been questioned which helps eloquence more, art or nature? Nothing is more certain than that both are necessary to form an accom- plished orator. Considering these two requi- sites separately from each other, nature with- out learning may effect a great deal, but learning can not subsist without nature. If they equally concur, and we suppose them to be only in an indifferent degree, nature will have the ascendant, but if in an eminent de- gree, learning. Just as a barren piece of ground will mock all hopes from the best culture, while a fertile spot will of itself produce something, but if cultivated, the work of the tiller will contribute more to its fruitfulness than its own native goodness. If Praxiteles endeavored to form a statue out of a millstone, I should prefer it to a piece of marble in the rough ; but if he had polished this piece of marble it would be indebted in point of value more to his art than to the intrinsic goodness of the mate- rials. And, indeed, nature is the matter, and learning the art ; the one forms, the other is formed. Art effects nothing without mate- rials to work upon; materials have their Elocinenee Eloquence KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE ISO value without art; but the master-strokes of art are preferable to the most precious mate- rials. — QuiNTiLiAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 136. (B. L., 1774.) 368. ELOQUENCE, AIM OF.— Elo- quence is the profoundest and the most diffi- cult of arts, on account of the end at which it aims, which is not merely to charm, please, or amuse, transiently, but to penetrate into the soul, that it may move and change the will, may excite or may prevent its action by means of the ideas which it engenders, or, as it is expressed in rhetorical treatises, by convincing and persuading. The true end of the orator is to make himself master of souls, guiding them by his mind, causing them to think as he thinks, and thus impart- ing to their wills the movements and direc- tion of its own. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 266. (S., 1901.) 3G9. ELOQUENCE AND ACTION.— Caussinus instituted a comparison of Demos- thenes and Cicero in their different oratorical talents, and decided in favor of Cicero. And speaking of their action, he thus lamented its irreparable loss : "The orations of Demos- thenes and Cicero which are extant com- mitted to writing, afford in many respects opportunity to judge of their manner of de- livery: but their action, which has perished along with themselves, has left a subject of regret to all. If they could have expressed this in their writings, we might, after search- ing into the monuments of antiquity, be less in the dark." And again, in the introduction of his ninth book, which is particularly de- voted to delivery, he says : "It is principally by the practise of speaking that graceful ac- tion is required, the force of which is very great, and most efficacious in the power of persuasion. For action is a kind oi eloquence of the body, by which the mind abounding in the finest sentiments flows out upon the body, and impresses upon it a noble image of itself. As light therefore proceeds from the sun, so does action proceed from the inmost recesses of the mind. Now, the mind displays itself by action as if in a mirror ; and makes itself known externally, by the countenance, by the eyes, by the hands, and by the voice, the most excellent organ of eloquence. And since the internal feelings are not easily disclosed to the conception of the multitude, who are accustomed to estimate everything by the eyes : and since on the contrary whatever is seen and heard, when transmitted through the senses affects the feelings most power- fully, it has always been observed that those speakers who excelled in action carried every point. And, therefore, it was not without reason that Demosthenes recognized it as the first, if not the single, excellence in oratory." — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise oti Rhetorical Delivery, p. 176. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 370. ELOQUENCE AND OTHER ARTS CONTRASTED.— Eloquence has this peculiarity which distinguishes it from other arts, that it is always through the in- telligence it reaches the heart, — that is, it is by means of the idea which it engenders or gives birth to; and this is what makes it the most excellent, the most profound, of arts, because it takes possession of the whole man and can neither charm, nor move, nor bear him along, except by enlightening him and causing him to think. It is not a matter of mere sensibility, imagination, or passion, as in music and painting, which may produce great effects without thought having a pre- dominant share in them, altho those arts themselves have a loftier and a wider range in proportion as the intelligence plays a greater part, and ideas exercise a higher sway in their operations. Yet in music and in the plastic arts, ideas are so blended with form and so controlled by it, that it is very difficult to abstract them from it, with a view of testing their value and analysing them ; they flow with the form which is their vehicle, and you could scarcely translate them into any intelligible or precise language. Hence the vagueness of these arts, and par- ticularly of music; a fact which does not prevent it from exercising a powerful effect at the very moment of the impression, which, however, is transient, and leaves little behind it. It vanishes almost as soon as the sounds which have produced it cease. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 263. (S., 1901.) 371. ELOQUENCE AND POETRY.— We may be inclined to distinguish poetry from eloquence, according to the exclusive predominance or presence of the two ele- ments, strength and beauty. They should not, however, be so distinguished; for neither does poetry dispense with strength nor elo- quence exclude beauty. We must look else- where for the principle of discrimination be- tween these two kinds of composition. It is that one, eloquence, has facts for its objects, the other has ideas ; eloquence, I mean as far as it is eloquence, and poetry as far as it is poetry; for these two arts sometimes touch and intermingle more or less. Eloquence seeks to produce changes in the world of 151 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Eloanence Eloquence reality, poetry would produce them only in the ideal sphere. Eloquence does not ignore ideas, poetry does not take away facts, but the former goes from ideas to facts, the latter from facts to ideas, that is to say, elo- quence transforms ideas into facts, and poetry transforms facts into ideas. Elo- quence, indeed, must rest upon ideas (ideas of justice, honesty, fitness), but it uses them as a lever, to act upon facts ; poetry also must rest upon facts, upon reality, upon experi- ences, but only that by means of them it may rise to ideas or to an ideal. Let us remark, however, that the word ideas does not, in both cases, mean the same thing; in the former it means laws, the laws of nature, reason, conscience; in the latter, ideas are only types of existences — ^types, however, more pure and complete, than any real or concrete existence, separately taken, or all such existences collectively, can present. Elo- quence, then, leads us to action, poetry to contemplation. Eloquence is a combat, poetry a representation or a vision. Eloquence speaks of what is, poetry creates that which ought to be. Eloquence flows in the same channel with life, poetry digs a channel for itself by the side of life. Eloquence, so to speak, raises itself with the wave of life which it enlarges and bears along; poetry suspends it. Let it be understood, that I do not here speak of inward or contemplative life, but of external or practical life. They are two rivers which are not always sepa- rated ; they may unite and flow together from and to a great distance; poetry may become eloquent, eloquence may become poetical ; but eloquence and poetry are not less distinct in their principle than in their end and conse- quently in their means; and so true is this, that if eloquence, which is an action, passes from action to contemplation, it ceases to be eloquence; and that if poetry omits contem- plation in order to act, it ceases to be poetry. — ViNET, Homiletics; or, the Theory of Preaching, p. 433. (I. & P., 1855.) 372. ELOQUENCE AS ONE OF THE I ARTS. — In eloquence the form is subor- dinate to the idea. In itself it possesses little to dazzle or to charm — it is articulate lan- guage, which ertainly is far less agreeable than language sung, or melody. However sonorous the voice of the speaker, it will never charm the ear like a musical passage, and even the most graceful or the most ener- getic oratorial action can never have the_ ele- gance, harmony, or finish which the painter or the sculptor is able to give to the bodies of the characters whom he represents. Not- withstanding which the tones and action of the speaker often produce astonishing effects on those who hear him, which are lost in reading what he has said, or in his written discourse. It follows that eloquence has its own artistic or esthetic side, besides that ideaj which it is its business to convey. But it relies much more on the idea than do the other arts, so that the absence or the feeble- ness of the idea is much more felt in it, and it is impossible to be a great orator, without possessing a lofty intelligence and great power of thought; whereas a man may be a distinguished musician, painter, or sculptor without any brilliant share of these endow- ments ; which amounts to this, that eloquence is the most intellectual of the arts, and whose exercise requires the mightiest faculties of the mind. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 264. (S., 1901.) 378. ELOQUENCE, BASIS OF.— Elo- quence rests on sympathy. One can never be eloquent except as he can speak or write under an influence from those to whom he addresses himself; they must inspire him, and unless this condition is met, he may be profound and interesting, but he can not be eloquent. In order to be eloquent, he must feel the necessity of communicating his life to others, and of comprehending intimately what chords must be made to vibrate within them. Pascal says : "Eloquence consists in a correspondence which we endeavor to estab- lish between the mind and heart of those to whom we speak, on the one hand, and the thought and expressions which we employ on the other. And this supposes that we have carefully studied the human heart, to know all its recesses, and then how we may be able to adapt to them justly-arranged dis- course. We must put ourselves in the place of those who are to hear us, and try on our own heart the train of thought which we) give to our discourse, to ascertain if one be suited to the other, and whether we may con- fidently expect that the hearer will be obliged to yield to us." — ^Vinet, Homiletics; or, the Theory of Preaching, p. 23. (I. & P., 1855.) 374.— ELOQUENCE, CHIEF POW- ERS OF. — It may well be imagined that nothing else is so important in the whole art of oratory as the proper use of the passions. A slender genius, aided by learning or ex- perience, may be sufficient to manage certain parts to some advantage, yet I think they are fit only for instructing the judges, and as masters and models for those who take no concern beyond passing for good speakers. Hloiinence Eloquence KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 152 But to possess the secret of forcibly carrying away the judges, of moving them, as we please, to a certain disposition of mind, of inflaming them with anger, of softening them to pity, so as to draw tears from them — all this is rare, tho by it the orator is made most distinguished, and by it eloquence gains em- pire over hearts. The cause itself is natur- ally productive of arguments, and the better share generally falls to the lot of the more rightful side of the question, so that which- ever side wins by dint of argument, may think that so far they did not lack an advo- cate. But when violence is to be used to influence the minds of the judges, when they are to be turned from coolly reflecting on the truth that works against us, then comes the true exercise of the orator's powers; and this is what the contending parties can not inform us of, nor is it contained in the state of their cases. Proofs, it is true, make the judges presume that our cause is the better, but passion makes them wish it to be such, and as they wish it, they are not far from believing it to be so. For as soon as they begin to absorb from us our passions of anger, favor, hatred, or pity, they make the affair their own. As lovers can not be com- petent judges of beauty, because love blinds them, so here a judge attentive to the tumul- tuous working of passion, loses sight of the way by which he should proceed to inquire after the truth. The impetuous torrent sweeps him away, and he is borne down in the current. The effect of arguments and witnesses is not known until judgment has been passed, but the judge who has been af- fected by the orator, still sitting and hearing, declares his real sentiments. Has not he who is seen to melt into tears, already pronounced sentence? Such, then, is the power of moving the passions, to which the orator ought to direct all his efforts, this being his principal work and labor, since without it all other resources are naked, hungry, weak, and un- pleasing. The passions are the very life and soul of persuasion. — Quintilian, Institutes of the Orator, vol. X, p. 366. (B. L., 1774.) 375. ELOQUENCE, CHRISTIAN.— Many rules of eloquence have been set forth, but, strange to say, the first and most essen- tial of all has been overlooked, namely, Char- ity. ... To address men well, they must be loved much. Whatever they may be, be they ever so guilty, or indifferent, or un- grateful, or however deeply sunk in crime, before all and above all, they must be loved. Love is the sap of the Gospel, the secret of lively and effectual preaching, the magic power of eloquence. . . . The end of preaching is to reclaim the hearts of men to God, and nothing but love can find out the mysterious avenues which lead to the heart. We are always eloquent when we wish to save one whom we love; we are always lis- tened to when we are loved. But when a hearer is not moved by love, instead of lis- tening to the truth, he ransacks his mind for something wherewith to repel it: and in so doing human depravity is seldom at fault. If, then, you do not feel a fervent love and profound pity for humanity — if in beholding its miseries and errors you do not experi- ence the throbbings, the holy thrillings of Charity — be assured that the gift of Christian eloquence has been denied you. You will not win souls, neither will you ever gain in- fluence over them, and you will never acquire that most excellent of earthly sovereignities — sovereignty over the hearts of men. — Mul- Lois, The Clergy and the Pulpit, p. 15. (The C. P. S., 1867.) 376. ELOQUENCE, CHRISTIAN, REAL POWER OF.— The people have a certain aggregate of ideas and thoughts, and their own way of apprehending and appre- ciating things. All this should be studied, for it constitutes the best holdfast of human- ity. We should make ourselves of the people, as it were, in their mode of thought, joining thereto superior knowledge; study those ideas which they do not adequately estimate, put them into expressive and proverbial lan- guage such as they relish, and then engraft religious thought into their thoughts in order to elucidate and elevate them. But the peo- ple possess, above all, an inexpressible rich- ness of sentiment, together with admirable instincts. These must be laid hold of, culti- vated, and profoundly stirred, and then Christianity should be brought in and fused, so to speak, with those good instincts and noble sentiments. Dive down to the bottom of the souls of the people . . . touch the best chords of their hearts ... be inspired with their aspirations ... be animated with their passions; I had almost said be agitated with their anger. Possess yourself of what is best in them, and return it to them in vivid expressions and glowing effusions of the soul, that they may think, feel, will, as you do; that their thought may seem to have antici- pated yours, while, at the same time, you ex- ercise sway over them. Then your sermon will be the outward expression of the best sentiments of the human heart, ennobled by the Divine word. Such, we take it, is true popularity; such also is the real power of 153 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Elociueuce Sloauenco Christian eloquence.— Mullois, The Clergy and the Pulpit, p. 139. (The C. P. S., 1867.) 377. ELOQUENCE, CONDITIONS OF- — It is so hard to get many men to understand that true eloquence does not con- sist in mere grace of style, or in elegant figures of speech; but that it is simply the power of acting upon and influencing the minds and the hearts of men, and that, as a necessary consequence, the first condition of being eloquent consists in putting ourselves in some sense, on a level with those to whom we speak, that thus we may address our- selves most clearly to their intellectual ca- pacity, and most powerfully to their emotions and feelings. No language is eloquent, in the concrete, which does not accomplish this end ; but it is not easy to get a young preacher to admit this principle, or reduce it to practise. A young preacher shrinks from employing that simple language, and that still more simple style, which alone are intelligible to the uneducated audience whom it may be his duty to instruct; and thus, forgetting that language has been primarily given to man as the vehicle of communicating his ideas to his fellowmen, whilst he labors to be elegant he simply becomes unintelligible and obscure. Or, as likely as not, he fails to comprehend and to master the intellectual difficulties of his simple flock. Everything is clear and plain to him, and he at once concludes that it is the same with those who listen to him. He does not appreciate the fact that it re- quires more careful study, and no ordinary amount of patience, of tact, and of reflection, to address an uncultivated and uneducated audience with profit and success. Many men fail to understand and appreciate these ideas, and hence the talent of "teaching" is so rarely met with. But if we desire to seize our audience, we must persuade ourselves that the power of teaching and instructing them is one of our most effective means of doing so ; and we must equally persuade our- selves that we shall never become good teach- ers except by the careful observance of cer- tain conditions which are radically opposed J to the defects at which we have just glanced. —Potter, The Spoken Word, p. 129. (M. H. G. & Son, 1880.) 378. ELOQUENCE, DANGER OF REPUTATION FOR.— Of intellectual qualifications, there is one which, it is evi- dent, should not only not be blazoned forth, but should in a great measure be concealed, or kept out of sight, viz., rhetorical skill; since whatever is attributed to the eloquence of the speaker, is so much deducted from the strength of his cause. Hence, Pericles is rep- resented by Thucydides as artfully claiming, in his vindication of himself, the power of explaining the measures he proposes, not .eloquence in persuading their adoption. And jaccordingly a skilful orator seldom fails to notice and extol the eloquence of his oppo- nent, and to warn the hearers against being misled by it. There is indeed a class of per- sons, and no inconsiderable one, who have a suspicion and dread of all intellectual superi- ority. Such, especially, are men who possess, and are proud of, the advantages of birth, rank, high connexions, and wealth, while they are deficient in others, and have a half-con- sciousness of that deficiency ;— who, being partly conscious of their own ignorance, dis- like, dread, and endeavor to despise, exten- sive knowledge ;— who being held aware of their own dulness (which they call "com- mon-sense," and "sound discretion"), eagerly advocate the maxim which, it has been well remarked, has been always a favorite with dunces, that a man of genius is unfit for business; — and who accordingly regard with a curious mixture of disdain, jealousy, and alarm, any of those superior intellectual qual- ifications which seem to threaten rivalry to the kind of advantages possessed by them- selves. But it is only a particular class of men that are subject to this kind of dread. Eloquence, on the other hand, is, in some de- gree, dreaded by all; and the reputation for it, consequently, will always be, in some de- gree, a disadvantage. It is a peculiarity therefore, in the rhetorical art, that in it, more than in any other, vanity has a direct and irrunediate tendency to interfere with the proposed object. Excessive vanity may indeed, in various ways, prove an impediment to suc- cess in other pursuits; but in the endeavor to persuade, all wish to appear excellent in that art, operates as a hindrance. A poet, a statesman, or a general, etc., tho extreme covetousness of applause may mislead them, will, however, attain their respective ends, certainly not the less for being admired as excellent, in poetry, politics, or war; but the orator attains his end the better the less he is regarded as an orator. If he can make the hearers believe that he is not only a stranger to all unfair artifice, but even desti- tude of all persuasive skill whatever, he will persuade them the more effectually, and if there ever could be an absolutely perfect ora- tor, no one would (at the time at least) discover that he was so. — Whately, Ele- ments of Rhetoric, p. 135. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) Elociuenoe Xlo^uence KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 154 379. ELOQUENCE, DIFFERENT STYLES OF.— It is really surprising to see how many different kinds of eloquence there are. One man proceeds in a calm, col- lected, impressive style from first to last, like the gentle flow of deep waters. You are borne, as it were, imperceptibly along, and are solemnised, imprest, and charmed with what he says. His language is as easy and captivating as is his manner. There needs no stretch of the imagination — it does not even require the least operation of the mind to understand his meaning; and you feel a willing captive to the powers of his language. Another man rises to speak whose first words seem to electrify you. If the former may be compared to a gently-flowing stream, his may be likened to a rushing torrent— strong and deep. Fancy, imagination, reason, and, in- deed, all the powers of the soul are brought into requisition; for he not only takes the greatest flights himself, but he also stirs up his audience to accompany him. Their inmost souls are fired by his eloquence, and shouts of applause attest the force of his remarks. Tho so different to each other, they possess something in common which interests us — something in common which claims our atten- tion. The latter kind of eloquence is that which was possest by Sheridan, according to the following description, as given of him by Burke : — "He has this day surprized the thousands who hung with rapture on his accents, by such an array of talents, such an exhibition of capacity, such a display of pow- ers, as are unparalleled in the annals of ora- tory; a display that reflected the highest honor on himself — luster upon letters — re- nown upon Parliament — glory upon the coun- try. Of all species of rhetoric, of every kind of eloquence that has been witnessed or re- corded, either in ancient or modern times, whatever the acuteness of the bar, the dig- nity of the senate, the solidity of the judg- ment-seat, and the sacred morality of the pulpit have hitherto furnished; nothing has equalled what we have this day heard. No holy seer of religion, no statesman, no ora- tor, no man of any literary description what- ever, has come up, in the one instance, to the pure sentiments of morality; or, in the other, to that variety of knowledge, force of imagination, propriety and vivacity of allu- sion, beauty and elegance of diction, strength and copiousness of style, pathos and sublim- ity of conception, to which we this day lis- tened with ardor and admiration. From poetry up to eloquence, there is not a species of composition of which a complete and per- fect specimen might not from that single speech be culled and collected." — Anon, The Public Speaker, p. 95. (J. N. & Co., 1860.) 380. ELOQUENCE, DISPLAY OF.— A kind of spurious oratory is that which has for its object to gain the hearer's admiration of the eloquence displayed. This, indeed, constitutes one of the three kinds of oratory enumerated by Aristotle, and is regularly treated of by him, along with the delibera- tive and judicial branches, tho it hardly de- serves the place he has bestowed on it. When this is the end pursued, perspicuity is not indeed to be avoided, but it may often with- out detriment be disregarded. Men frequently admire as eloquent, and sometimes admire the most, what they do not at all, or do not fully, comprehend, if elevated and high- sounding words be arranged in graceful and sonorous periods. Those of uncultivated, or ill-cultivated, minds, especially, are apt to think meanly of anything that it is brought down perfectly to the low level of their capacity, tho to do this with respect to val- uable truths which are not trite, is one of the most admirable feats of genius. They admire the profundity of one who is mystical and obscure ; mistaking the muddiness of the water for depth, and magnifying in their imaginations what is viewed through a fog, and they conclude that brilliant language must represent some brilliant ideas, without troubling themselves to inquire what those ideas are. Many an enthusiastic admirer of a "fine discourse," or a piece of "fine wri- ting," would be found on examination to retain only a few sonorous but empty phrases, and not only to have no notion of the general drift of the argument, but not even to have even considered whether the author had any such drift or not. It is not meant to be insinuated that in every such case the composition is in itself unmeaning, or that the author had no other object than the credit of eloquence, he may have had a higher end in view, and he may have exprest himself very clearly to some hearers, tho not to all, but it is most important to be fully aware of the fact that it is possible to obtain the highest applause from those who not only receive no edification from what they hear, but absolutely do not under- stand it. So far is popularity from being a safe criterion of the usefulness of a preacher. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 177. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 381. ELOQUENCE, ESSENTIALS OF — Give a man nerve, a presence, sway over language, and, above all, enthusiasm, or the 155 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING ElOQueuoe Eloaueuce skill to simulate it; start him in the public arena with these requisites ; and ere many years, perhaps many months, have passed, you will either see him in high station, or in a fair way of rising to it. Party politics, social grievances, "humanity-mongering," and the like, are to him so many newly discov- I ered worlds where he may, with the orator's sv/ord — ^his tongue — carve out his fortune and his fame. Station — the prior possession, by rank or wealth, of the public ear — is, no doubt, a great advantage. It is much for a man to be asked as a favor to speak to a cause, for that his position and name will influence the people; or to have secured to him by his birth a seat in the senate : these things, doubtless, give one man a start be- fore another in the race. But, without the gift of eloquence, all these special favors of Fortune are of no avail in securing you influ- ence over your countrymen. Unless you have the art of clothing your ideas in clear and captivating diction, of identifying yourself with the feelings of your hearers and utter- ing them in language more forcible or terse, or brilliant, than they can themselves com- mand; or unless you have the power — still more rare — of originating, — of commanding their intellects, their hearts — of drawing them in your train by the irresistible magic of sympathy, — of making their thoughts your thoughts, or your thoughts theirs ; unless you have stumbled on the shell that shall make you the possessor of this lyre, never hope to rule your fellowmen in these modern days. Write books rather; be a patient and ad- miring listener ; make other men puppets if you can, and hold the strings; but rest con- tent with a private station, and make it as influential as you may. Publicly and osten- sibly powerful you never will be unless you have mastered the art of oratory. — Francis, Orators of the Age, p. 8. (H., 1871.) 382. ELOQUENCE, F L O R I D— The florid kind of eloquence has its beauties, but they are quite misapplied in those discourses which ought to be animated with the noblest passions, and wherein there is no room for delicate turns of wit. The florid sort of rhetoric can never come up to the true sub- lime. What would the ancients have said of a tragedy wherein Hecuba laments her mis- fortunes with points of wit? True grief does not talk thus. Or what could we think of a preacher who should, in the most affected jingle of words, show sinners the divine judgment hanging over their head, and hell open under their feet? There is a decency to be observed in our language, as in our clothes. A disconsolate widow does not mourn in fringes, ribands, and embroidery. And an apostolical minister ought not to preach the word of God in a pompous style, full of affected ornaments. The pagans would not have endured to see even a comedy so ill acted.— Fenelon, A Letter to the French Academy, p. 233. (J. M., 1808.) 383. ELOQUENCE, HAVING A REP- UTATION FOR.-It is true, a general reputation for eloquence will often gain a man great influence, especially in a free coun- try, governed in great measure by means of party having open debates, and appeals made to public opinion through the press. In such a country, next to the reputation of great political wisdom, spotless integrity, and zealous public spirit, there is nothing more influential than the reputation of being a powerful speaker. He who is sure to detect and skilfully expose any error of his oppo- nents, and who may be relied on, if not to propose always good measures, at least never to propose any of which he can not give a plausible vindication, and always to furnish, for those already prepared to side with him, some specious reasons to justify their vote, — such a man will be regarded as a powerful supporter and a formidable adversary. But this is not at variance with what has been above said. For tho a reputation for elo- quence generally is thus influential, still in each individual case that arises the more is thought of the eloquence of the speaker, the less of the strength of his cause, and con- sequently the less will he be really persua- sive. And it may be added that, in proportion as he has the skill to transfer the admi- ration from his eloquence to his supposed political wisdom, the more will his influence be increased. And it is nearly the same with the pleader. A reputation, generally, for elo- quence will gain him clients, but, in each par- ticular pleading, will tend to produce distrust in proportion as the force of what he urges is attributed to his ingenuity than to the justice of the cause. And again, as far as he can succeed in transferring the admira- tion from his eloquence to his supposed soundness in law, his influence will in the same degree be increased. And universally, if, along with a character for eloquence, a man acquires (as he often will) the character of being fond of displaying it by speaking on all occasions, and on all subjects, well or ill understood, and of sometimes choosing the wrong side as affording more scope for his ingenuity, this will greatly lessen his influ- Sloqnenoe Xlo^uence KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 156 ence. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 137. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 384. ELOQUENCE, HOW TO AC- QUIRE. — The only way to be eloquent in the pulpit is to banish every thought of self, — to forget everything but God and duty. The triumphs of true eloquence, touching, grand, sublime, awful, as they may sometimes have been, are seen only when the orator stands before you in the simple majesty of truth, and, overpowered by the weight of his con- victions, forgets himself and forgets every- thing but his momentous subject. You think not of who speaks, or how he speaks, but of what is spoken; transported by his pathos, your rapt imagination pictures new visions of happiness; subdued by the gushes of his ten- derness, your ears mingle with his ; deter- mined by the power of his reasoning, you are prompt to admit, if not prepared to yield to, the force of his arguments; entering with your whole heart and soul into the subject of his address, you sympathize with those strong emotions which you see are in his bosom, burning and struggling for utterance; and soon find yourself moving onward with him on the same impetuous and resistless current of feeling and passion.— Mathews, The Great Conversers, p. 209. (S. F. & Co., 1893.) 385. ELOQUENCE, KINDS OF.— We may distinguish three kinds or degrees of eloquence. The first, and lowest, is that which aims only at pleasing the hearers. Such generally, is the eloquence of panegyrics, in- augural orations, addresses to great men, and other harangues of this sort. This orna- mental sort of composition is not altogether to be rejected. It may innocently amuse and entertain the mind, and it may be mixed, at the same time, with very useful sentiments. But it must be confest that where the speak- er has no further aim than merely to shine and to please, there is great danger of art being strained into ostentation, and of the composition becoming tiresome and languid. A second and a higher degree of eloquence is when the speaker aims not merely to please, but also to inform, to instruct, to con- vince; when his art is exerted in removing prejudices against himself and his cause, in choosing the most proper arguments, stating them with the greatest force, arranging them in the best order, expressing and delivering them with propriety and beauty, and thereby disposing us to pass that judgment, or em- brace that side of the cause, to which he seeks to bring us. Within this compass, chiefly, is employed the eloquence of the bar. But there is a third, and still higher degree of eloquence, wherein a greater power is exerted over the human mind, by which we are not only convinced, but are interested, agitated, and carried along with the speaker; our passions are made to rise together with his; we enter into all his emotions; we love, we detest, we resent, according as he inspires us; and are prompted to resolve, or to act, with vigor and warmth. Debate, in popular assemblies, opens the most illustrious field to this species of eloquence, and the pulpit also admits it. — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 2, p. 176. (A. S., 1787.) 386. ELOQUENCE, NATURE OF.— Eloquence leaves pure speculation to philoso- phy, pure contemplation to poetry; it strengthens and embellishes itself, by profit- able intercourse with them, but it tends to action. Action is its very essence. Elo- quence does not imitate, it acts. The drama of the poets is but the representation of the thousand dramas of which life is formed; public discourse is a real drama which has its plot, its incidents, its catastrophe. This catastrophe is the determination or conver- sion of the will. Poetry, even when it sim- ulates action, moves in the region of ideas; eloquence has life for its matter and life for its object. It dies in a corrupted atmos- phere, but it also dies in an air too rarefied. — ViNET, Homiletics; or, the Theory of Preach- ing, p. 253. (I. & P., 1855.) 387. ELOQUENCE, OBLIGATIONS OF. — The practitioner at the bar, having a just idea of his professional duties, will consider himself as the minister of justice among men, and feel it his obligation to maintain and protect the rights of those who entrust their affairs to his charge, whether they are rights of person or of property; whether public or private; whether of civil or of criminal jurisdiction. The litigation of these rights in the courts of justice often requires the exertion of the most exalted in- tellectual powers ; and it is by public speak- ing alone that they can be exerted. For the knowledge of the law the learning of the closet may suffice; for its application to the circumstances of the individual case, correct reasoning and a sound judgment will be com- petent. But when an intricate controversy must be unfolded in a perspicuous manner to the mind of the judge, or a tangled tissue of blended facts and law must be familiarly unraveled to a jury; that is, at the very crisis, when the contest is to be decided by the authority of the land, learning and judgment 157 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Eloquence ElocLuence are of no avail to the client or his counsel, without the assistance of an eloquent voice to make them known. Then it is that all the arts of the orator are called into action, and that every part of a rhetorical discourse finds its place for the success of the cause. The diamond in the mine is no brighter than the pebble upon the beach. From the hand of the lapidary must it learn to sparkle in the solar beam, and to glitter in the imperial crown. The crowd of clients, the profits of practise, and the honors of reputation, will all inevitably fly to him who is known to possess not only the precious treasures of legal learning, but the keys which alone can open them to the public eye. Hence if per- sonal utility, the acquisition of wealth, of honor, and of fame, is the pursuit of the lawyer, the impulse of eloquence can alone speed him in his course. If relative utility, the faculty of discharging in the utmost per- fection the duties of his station, and the means of being most serviceable to his fel- low-creatures, is the nobler object of his am- bition, still he can soar to that elevated aim only upon the pinions of eloquence. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 1, p. 49. (H. & M., 1810.) S88. ELOQUENCE, ORIGINS OF.— In any attempt to discover the origins of eloquence it should not be assumed that there were no "speaking men" before the middle of the fifth century B. C. That faculty which, more than reason itself, distinguishes man from beast could not have remained unem- ployed during the existence of empires which were old when Greece was young. The earli- est documentary testimony we possess brings to view first the poet and then the prophet, speaking before kings and people of the wel- fare and the woe to a nation which was to, be carried into captivity by one of the oldest powers of which there is any written or mon- umental record. The prophecy of Isaiah is an example of what human speech had attained to six generations before the age of Peri- cles. Passing over contemporaries and suc- cessors during this period, and turning back- ward for indications of eloquence, it is not impossible to find them here and there in the historical documents of the Hebrews. They grow fainter with every receding century, as might be expected, until the first far-off frag- ment of the earliest recorded human address is reached — the boastful defense of Lamech for the crime of homicide. — Sears, History of Oratory, p. 27. (S. C. G. & Co., 1896.) 389. ELOQUENCE, PARLIAMENT- ARY. — Speech is a parliamentary neces- sity — freedom of speech, if possible; if not, as much as can be taken or gained. Wher- ever speech is employed in circumstances which may excite emotion in the speaker, or demand the arousing of passion in the hear- ers, eloquence is possible. The very funda- mental purpose of a parliament, therefore, implies a likelihood for the need and use of eloquence. To speak with the full conscious- ness of having mastered any subject, and made ourselves well acquainted with all the matters, near or remote, affected by the topic under consideration ; to show ourselves fully provided with proof upon proof of the accu- racy of our opinions ; and to display a candid and unprejudiced criticism of the pleas of the opposition, are great merits in a speaker. To add to these the tact of winning men over to our views, by the employment of elegance of phrase, the effective disposition of arguments, and the use of strikingly apposite illustra- tions, or of analogies and sentiments capable of being instantly apprehended by the audi- ence, uttered in a natural and sincere tone and manner, may gain for a man the title of an orator. But he who, in apparently unpremeditated phrase, expresses the present thought fresh from the invisible spirit, beat- ing with the very pulses of the heart, and hot with the hasty breathing of passion ; who seems without artificial aids to rise to the height of any argument at a single act and rebound of thought, forces his way with vehement quickness and the warmth elicited by that rapidity, through, as it were, a crowd of thoughts, using those only which suit his immediate purpose, and dashing others aside in impatience, as he strives for utterance, pants along his course, keeping the order and method of his exposition always clear, and by the exquisite intensity of his own progress excites within others the sympathetical re- sistlessness, — "That from the wisest steals their best resolves," is eloquent. His quick conception, good sense, and just discernment; the beauty, force, and pertinence of his expressions ; the animation, involuntariness and emotional vehemence, of his delivery, — all combine to hurry on an au- dience into a concurring sympathy, and to press into the spirit the feelings which shall impel thought in them to follow in the grooves cut out by the energetic forerunner to whose influences they have for the time involuntarily succumbed. — Neil, The Art of Public Speaking, p. 31. (H. & W., 1868.) Eloquenoe Xloquence KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 158 390. ELOQUENCE, POPULAR.— All eloquence to be effectual must be popular. An orator is essentially a man for all, and is specially made for the people. The people are the best judges of true eloquence, and are themselves the best soil to be cultivated thereby. Cicero says that "the most infallible token of an orator is to be esteemed as such in the opinion of the people." He was so persuaded of this that he remarks in an- other place : — "I wish my eloquence to be relished by the people." This is still more true as regards the Christian orator. He appeals to all : to the little, to the poor and the ignorant as well as to the great, the wealthy, and the learned, and his speech should be understood and enjoyed by all. He is not free to deprive any one of the truth. All men are people before the Gospel, and that Gospel speaks in unison with the soul of all. It stoops to raise, to comfort, and to enlighten all. Hence the truly popular preacher proclaims himself at the outset as no ordinary orator, but one about to be pow- erful, and to rise into a giant, before whom even the most learned will be obliged to bow, because his soul is linked with the Divine word, and with the hearts of the people. — MuLLOis, The Clergy and the Pulpit, p. 136. (The C. P. S., 1867.) 391. ELOQUENCE, PRECEPTS OF. — Since, in speaking, three things are requi- site for finding argument; genius, method, (which, if we please, we may call art), and diligence, I can not but assign the chief place to genius; yet diligence can raise even genius itself out of dulness; diligence, I say, which, as it avails in all things, is also of the utmost moment in pleading causes. Diligence is to be particularly cultivated by us ; it is to be constantly exerted; it is capable of effecting almost everything. That a cause is thor- oughly understood, as I said at first, is owing to diligence; that we listen to our adversary attentively, and possess ourselves, not only of his thoughts, but even of his every word; that we observe all the motions of his coun- tenance, which generally indicate the work- ings of the mind, is owing to diligence; but to do this covertly, that he may not seem to derive any advantage to himself, is the part of prudence; that the mind ruminates on those topics which I shall soon mention, that it insinuates itself thoroughly into the cause, that it fixes itself on it with care and atten- tion, is owing to diligence; that it applies the memory like a light, to all these matters, as well as the tone of voice and power of delivery, is owing to diligence. Betwixt genius and diligence there is very little room left for art; art only shows you where to look, and where that lies which you want to find — all the rest depends on care, attention, consideration, vigilance, assiduity, industry; all which I include in that one word which I have so often repeated, diligence; a single virtue, in which all other virtues are com- prehended. For we see how the philosophers abound in copiousness of language, who, as I think, lay down no precepts of eloquence, and yet do not, on that account, the less under- take to speak with fulness and fluency on whatever subject is proposed to them. — Cicero, On Oratory and Orators, p. 262. (B., 1909.) 392. ELOQUENCE, RELATION OF, TO LOGIC AND GRAMMAR.— The nat- ural division of man is into soul and body. Analogous to this are the sense and expres- sion of discourse; in other words, the thought and the symbol by which it is com- municated. These constitute the soul and body of our oration. It is by the sense that rhetoric holds of logic, and by the expression that it holds of grammar. The ultimate end of logic is the evincing of truth; the end of eloquence the conviction of the hearers. Pure logic regards the subject; truth is the aim of the examiner. Eloquence considers the subject, the speaker, and the hearers. Of the five sorts of discourses, there are only two in which conviction is the avowed pur- pose ; those addrest to the understanding and the will : the three others which address the fancy, the imagination, and the passions, con- viction accompanies the end to be accom- plished. In explanatory discourse, precision prevails; in pathetic harangues, it is of con- sequence to impress the hearers with a be- lief of the reality of the subject. This holds true in poetry and romance. These general truths regarding character, manners, and in- cidents are chief objects to the mind. When these are preserved, the piece is considered a picture of life; tho false, considered as a narrative of particular events. These un- true events are counterfeits of truth, and bear its image. Logic evinces truth, elo- quence applies the logician's art to convince an auditory. Logic forges the arms which eloquence teaches us to wield. We must, therefore, first become acquainted with the materials of which her weapons and armor are made; know their strength and temper; when and how each is used. The art of the logician is universal ; that of the gram- marian, particular and local. The rules of argumentation laid down by Aristotle, in his 159 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Elo^aence Elo^nenca Analytics, are of as much use for the dis- covery of truth in Britain or in China, as they were in Greece; but Priscian's rules of inflection and construction can assist us in learning no language but Latin. In propri- ety there can not be such a thing as a uni- versal grammar, unless there were such a thing as a universal language. General col- lections of analogies from various languages do not compose general grammar. The gram- matical art completes in syntax the oratori- cal in style; syntax regards the construction of sentences, style the composition of a dis- course. The grammarian's art requires only purity, that the words belong to the language, and that they be construed in the manner and used in the signification which custom has rendered necessary for conveying the sense. The orator requires also beauty and strength. The highest aim of the former is the lowest aim of the latter; where gram- mar ends, eloquence begins. Thus the gram- marian's department bears the same relation to the orator's which the art of the mason bears to that of the architect. There is one difference that deserves notice. In archi- tecture it is not necessary that he who de- signs should execute his own plans. But it is alike incumbent on the orator to design and to execute. He must, therefore, be mas- ter of the language he speaks or writes, and must be capable of adding to grammatic pur- ity those higher qualities of elocution which render his discourse graceful and energetic. — Campbell, The Philosophy of Rhetoric, p. 34. (G. & W. B. W., 1823.) 893. ELOQUENCE, REQUIRE- MENTS OF.— The multitude may be stirred and carried away by fine phrases, by brilliant images, and, above all, by bursts of voice and a vehement action, without any great amount of ideas at the root. The ora- tor, in this instance, acts after the manner of music, which produces feelings and some- times deeds, without thoughts. But what is sufficient in music is at the very utmost but half of what eloquence requires, and, altho it may indeed produce some effect in this way, it remains beneath itself, and loses in dig- nity. It is sonorous but empty ; it is a sound- ing cymbal, or, if the comparison be liked better, it is a scenic decoration, which pro- duces a momentary illusion and leaves little behind it. Eloquence is not worthy of its name, and fulfils not its high vocation, except in so far as it sways the human will by in- telligence, determining its resolutions in a manner suitable to a rational and free be- ing, not by mere sensible impressions, or by sallies of passion, but, above all, by the as- pect of truth, by convictions of what is just and right — that is, by the idea of them which it gives, or, rather, which it ought to en- gender, develop, and bring to life in the soul. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 266. (S., 1901.) 394. ELOQUENCE, REQUIRE- MENTS OF POPULAR.— Popular elo- quence most assuredly must be clear and simple ; but it by no means follows from this, as some seem to imagine, that it need be loV or vulgar. Young writers and speakers are very slow to learn the great truth that, so far from clearness and simplicity being in- compatible with perfect purity of style and composition, they constitute, on the contrary, its finishing and crowning grace. Whilst, therefore, the sacred orator will not much concern himself about any great elaboration of his style, any over-careful trimming of his sentences, or any undue affectation of elegance, either in composition or in utter- ance, he will ever take care to speak as be- comes a scholar and a Christian gentleman; and let him be quite certain that if, under a mistaken idea of rendering himself more acceptable or more intelligible to them> he descends to their level, and forgets the dignity of the pulpit by the use of coarse, unpolished, and unbecoming language, the people will be the first to take offence at this, and to resent the lib- erty which such a speaker takes with their understanding and good taste. They expect a preacher to speak to them simply, and in intelligible language, but they expect him, at the same time, to remember the position which he occupies. They will strive their utmost to rise to his level, at least so far as to be able to comprehend his meaning, but they do not wish him to descend to theirs. The prudent teacher will never lose sight of this. At the same time, let him not alarm himself needlessly lest he be not understood. If he preach in plain, simple, grammatical English, his audience will understand the meaning of what he says, since they compre- hend much more readily than they speak. — Potter, The Spoken Word, p. 196. (M. H. G. & Son, 1880.) 395. ELOQUENCE, SERIOUSNESS OF. — We must not judge so unfavorably of eloquence as to reckon it only a frivolous art, which a declaimer uses to impose on the weak imagination of the multitude, and to serve his own ends. It is a very serious art, designed to instruct people, suppress their Eloctuence Embelllsluuent; KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 160 passions, and reform their manners, to sup- port the laws, direct public councils, and to make men good and happy. The more pains a haranguer takes to dazzle me, by the arti- fices of his discourse, the more I should de- spise his vanity. His eagerness to display his wit would, in my judgment, render him unworthy of the least admiration. I love a serious preacher, who speaks for my sake, and not for his own; who seeks my salva- tion, and not his own vain glory. He best deserves to be heard who uses speech only to clothe his thoughts, and his thoughts only to promote truth and virtue. Nothing is more despicable than a professed declaimer, who retails his discourses as a quack does his medicines. — Fenelon, A Letter to the French Academy, p. 334. (J. M., 1808.) 39S. ELOQUENCE, TEST OF.— It has been justly said that for the triumphs of elo- quence — ^for the loftiest displays of the art — there must be something more than an elo- quent man ; there must be a reinforcing of man from events, so as to give the double force of reason and destiny. For the explo- sions and eruptions, "there must be some crisis in affairs ; there must be accumulations of heat somewhere, beds of ignited anthra- cite at the center. And in cases where pro- found conviction has been wrought, the elo- quent man is he who is no beautiful speaker, but who is inwardly drunk with a certain belief. It agitates and tears him, and per- haps almost bereaves him of the power of articulation. Then it rushes from him in short, abrupt screams, in torrents of mean- ing." Hence, Goethe has somewhere said that to write is an abuse of words ; that the impression of a solitary reading replaces but sadly the vivid energy of spoken language ; that it is by his personality that man acts upon man, which such impressions are at once the strongest and the purest. The immeasurable superiority of oratory spoken over oratory read, is known to all. When the contending forces are drawn out face to face, there is the excitement of a battle, and every blow which tells against the enemy is welcomed with the same huzzas that soldiers raise when a well-aimed shot makes a chasm in the ranks of the enemy, or demolishes his defences. The effect, under such circum- stances, of an overwhelming attack or of a scathing retort, arises as much from the mental condition of the hearers as from the vigor of the blows. "It is because the powder lights upon a heated surface that an explosion is produced." Again, the electric sympathy of numbers deepens the impres- sion, even when no exciting question is up, and no party feeling is kindled. An audience is not a mere aggregate of the individuals that compose it. Their common sympathy intensifies the feeling which the speaker pro- duces, as a jar in a battery is charged with the whole electricity of the battery. The speech which would be listened to calmly by ten or a dozen persons, will thrill and elec- trify a multitude, as a jest will set the ta- bles in a roar, which, heard by one man, will scarcely provoke a smile. Another secret of the superiority of spoken oratory, is the de- light which is felt in impromptu eloquence as a mere feat. The difBculty of pouring forth extempore beautiful or striking thought in apt and vivid language, especially for an hour or hours, is so great that only few can overcome it; and the multitude, who see something divine in such mysterious mani- festations of power, are ready to exclaim, as in the days of Herod, "It is the voice of a god !" — Mathews, Oratory and Orators, p. 193. (S. F. & Co., 1896.) ELOQUENCE.— See also Oratory. 397. EMBELLISHMENT N E C E S - SARY TO ELOQUENCE.— But a slen- der degree of honor is acquired from speak- ing with correctness and perspicuity, as one thereby will only seem to be rather free from faults than distinguished by any great per- fection. Invention is often common to the orator with the illiterate, disposition may be thought to be the effect of moderate learn- ing, the masterly strokes of art are generally kept concealed, otherwise they would cease being what they are ; in short, all these mat- ters can contribute only to the utility of the causes. But the orator will recommend him- self in a very particular manner by the ele- gance of the ornaments he adopts, acquiring in other respects the approbation of the learned, and in this also the favor of popu- lar applause. Not so much with strong, as with shining armor, did Cicero engage in the cause of Cornelius. He would not have been indebted for his success to merely in- structing the judges, and speaking in a pure and clear style. These qualities would not have honored him with the admiration and applause of the Roman people. It was the sublimity, and magnificence, and splendor, and dignity of his eloquence that forced from them those signal demonstrations of their astonishment. Neither would such unusual eulogies have attended on the orator, if his speech had contained nothing extraordinary, nothing but what was common in it. And 161 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Eloctnence XmlielUglinient indeed, I believe that those present had not an intimate feeling of what they were doing, and that what they did was neither spon- taneous nor from an act of judgment, but that by a sort of enthusiasm of mind, and not considering the place they were in, they broke out into those precipitate agitations. These ornaments may therefore be thought to contribute not a little to the success of a cause. For they who hear willingly are more attentive, and more disposed to believe. Most commonly it is pleasure that gains them over, and sometimes they are seized and hurried away with admiration. A glittering sword strikes the eyes with some terror, and thun- der would not so shock us, if its crash only, and not its lightning, was dreaded. There- fore, Cicero, with good reason, says in one of his epistles to Brutus: "The eloquence which does not excite admiration, I repute as nothing." Aristotle, too, would have us en- deavor to attain this perfection. But this embellishment ought to be manly, noble, and modest, neither inclining to effeminate deli- cacy, nor assuming a color indebted to paint, but glistening with health and spirits. This is so true that tho in this respect virtues and vices border nearly upon each other, yet they who may adopt vices for virtues will not be wanting to palliate the choice they make by some specious appellation. — Quintilian, In- stitutes of the Orator, vol. S, p. 40. (B. L., 1774.) 398. EMBELLISHMENT OF LAN- GUAGE SOMETIMES UNSUITABLE. —Subjects of the demonstrative kind, as be- ing calculated for the pleasure of the auditor, may be illustrated with greater pomp and splendor than such as are of the deliberative and judicial kinds, because these treat of business and are discust with more conten- tion. It may not be amiss to add that the condition of causes makes some other- wise great perfections in eloquence to be less becoming. Who could endure that a man whose life is at stake should, in pleading his cause, affect frequent metaphors, words new- ly coined or borrowed from remote antiquity, a composition quite out of the common style, flowing periods, ingenious thoughts, and flor- id commonplaces? Will not all this refine- ment destroy that appearance of solicitude so necessary to a man in danger, and should not mercy, rather, be asked for, a help of which innocence stands in need? Can any- one be moved at his misfortunes, and wish he may be acquitted, whom he sees puffed up with pride and ostentatiously vain of his eloquence? No, surely; but he will hate him for hunting after words, for being solicitous about his reputation for wit, and for being at leisure to think about showing himself eloquent. — Anonymous. 399. EMBELLISHMENT, USE OF.— There are two different opinions concerning the uses that ought to be made of ingenious thoughts. Some think there never can be enough of them; others entirely proscribe them. Neither opinion is to my liking. If too crowded, they obstruct and hurt one an- other, as is shown in all things too closely sown and planted, in which case none can shoot to a natural size for lack of room to grow in. A painting can have no relief without proper adjusting of shades and lights, therefore, the masters in this art, when they have designed several figures on the same canvas, are careful to keep dis- tinct spaces, that the shadows may not fall directly on the bodies. This exuberance nec- essarily must make a speech desultory and full of stops. For every thought has in itself a complete meaning, after which an- other must begin. Consequently, the dis- course that is loose and disjointed, and composed not of limbs but scraps, must be deficient in regularity of structure, not unlike bodies of a round shape, which can not be properly joined together. Besides, the col- oring of the style, however brilliant, is, not- withstanding, strangely deformed by a mul- tiplicity and variety of spots. As a knot of purple fastened in its proper place adds grace and elegance to a robe, which would appear ridiculous if interspersed with knots of different colors, so, tho these thoughts shine and seem to stand out a little, yet may they well resemble, not the blaze of a flame, but sparks gushing out amidst smoke. And v/here the whole discourse becomes lumi- nous, they indeed can not appear, as the stars cease to be visible when the sun shines ; and such as rise by reiterated and small ef- forts will at best be but uneven, presenting, as it were, a craggy surface; neither will they excite admiration by any degree of eminence, while at the same time they must lose the graces of plainness. Some have given their genius a quite contrary bent, avoiding and dreading all these engaging charms of eloquent composition, and approve nothing but that which is plain, humble, and v/ithout the least show of embellishment. Thus through the fear of falling they al- ways grovel. Yet what is more faulty in a good thought? Is it not of service to the cause? Is it not of weight with the judge? And does it not recommend the speaker? — Ilmeraon Emotion KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 162 QuiNTiLiAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 3, p. 83. (B. L., 1774.) 400. EMERSON, RALPH WALDO.— Born at Boston, Mass., May 25, 1803. Grad- uated at Harvard in 1831. Entered the min- istry in 1826. Died at Concord, Mass., April 27, 1882. In person he was tall, of spare figure, sloping shoulders, small head, aquiline face, clear blue eyes, with a steady, intense gaze. In manner was unobtrusive, entirely unaffected, but had a simple and exquisite dignity. He never laughed loudly, his smile was warm and benign, his expression sedate, kindly, with marked refinement. His nature was large, rich, amiable, utterly free from conceit and dogmatism. He was extremely scrupulous in every respect. His voice was a rich baritone, his enunciation clear and dis- tinct. He is said to have complained that he lacked power of voice and "a command- ing presence." His lectures were read in a monotone. Nathaniel Parker Willis de- scribed his voice as having a "curious con- tradiction, which we tried in vain to analyse satisfactorily — an outwardly repellent and in- wardly reverential mingling of qualities. It bespeaks a life that is half contempt, half adoring recognition, and very little between. But it is noble, altogether. It is a voice with shoulders in it." When speaking in public, Mr. Emerson would occasionally sway for- ward when most in earnest, but used almost no gestures. His sentences had the "Emer- sonian" pithiness ; he uttered no commonplace thought, and used no commonplace expres- sions. His speech was laconic and to the point. "He has all the qualities of the sage," said Montegut — "originality, sponta- neity, sagacious observation, delicate analy- sis, criticism, absence of dogmatism. He col- lects all the materials of a philosophy, with- out reducing it to a system ; he thinks a little at random, and often meditates without finding definite limits at which this medita- tion ceases." Thomas Powell said that Em- erson "possesses so many characteristics of genius that his want of universality is the more to be regretted; the leading feature of his mind is intensity; he is deficient in heart sympathy. He is elevated, but not expan- sive ; his flight is high, but not extensive. He has a magnificent vein of the purest gold, but it is not a mine." Emerson addrest him- self to the individual ; revealing to them the possibilities within their reach. "Without accepting all his opinions, or indeed knowing what they were," said James Freeman Clark, "we (I, and most of my friends) felt that he did us more good than any other writer or speaker among us, and chiefly in two ways — first, by encouraging self-reliance; and, secondly, by encouraging God-reliance." His influence is of a moral one, in arousing and stimulating the spiritual side of man. As a man of intuition, of insight, a seer, in- clining to mysticism, he appealed to the in- tellect and the most fastidious conscience. He solved no problems ; he could not create or build. He has neither definiteness nor dogmatism in philosophy or religion. He was a most original and independent think- er; his thought is pure, clear, and accurate, sometimes dry, often of exquisite beauty. In style and imagination he was without passion or sensuousness. James Russell Lowell said, "A diction at once so rich and so homely as his I know not where to match in these days of writing by the page; it is like homespun cloth-of-gold." 401. EMOTION, HOW TO CULTI- VATE. — There are two methods of culti- vating genuine emotion that we would cordially recommend to all desirous of sway- ing the hearts of the people. The first is prayer. We need not enlarge on its general benefits, but will notice its effect on sacred oratory. The man who often addresses God in prayer is in the very best school of elo- quence. It brings us close to Him, and in the awful light of His purity we more clear- ly see anything that is bad in our hearts and strive to cast it out. As we pray for others, and spread their needs before Him, we can not fail to be inspired with a stronger de- sire for their welfare. Then, too, religion becomes something more than a mere form of words, and our hearts burn with a strong- er flame. We speak now of prayer as it should be — a warm, pure, fervent outpour- ing of the heart to God. This is more diffi- cult in the public congregation, for then many disturbing elements are brought to bear on the person praying. The listening people are apt to be in the preacher's thoughts, and prevent him from enjoying simple and direct communion with heaven. It is the prayer "when none but God is nigh," that will stir his heart to its pro- foundest depths and put his mind in the right frame for delivering his sermons. Let anyone pray earnestly for help from above all the time his sermons are in course of preparation, and he will be surprized to find how much of the coldness and dead- ness supposed to belong to this species of composition will be swept away, and how beautifully over all will be spread the vivid charm of real experience. Yet we must 163 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Emerson Emotion not restrict our prayers to this time, for God may not meet us in loving friend- ship if we only approach him when we have a favor to ask. To reap the full bene- fit of prayer, it should be a habit woven into our life and continued on every occasion. This will rebuke sinful ambition and mod- erate that sensitiveness which has reference to the opinions of our fellow-beings. Thus armed the preacher will come as the mes- senger of God, rather than the caterer to men's fancies. And from the mere opera- tion of natural causes he will speak with a boldness and earnestness that will draw the hearts of men as the magnet does the steel. But prayer is far more than the means of cultivating emotion. There is a direct influ- ence that comes from God to man. The power of the Holy Spirit is no fable. A heavenly anointing is sent down — an unction that gives sweetness and power even to the most commonplace words. It is not be- stowed unasked, for God desires that we should feel the need of His high gifts before they are granted. But, when humbly im- plored, there is often breathed an influence from above, mighty to sustain the faithful minister in his task. What an encouraging but awful thought! God Himself stands by us in the time of our weakness and gives us His strength. It the minister would always go to the pulpit with this assurance, he would not fear the mass of upturned faces, but calmly view them with a heart stayed on the Master whose work he has to do. The Spirit's presence will not in the least ab- ■solve us from the need of complete prepara- tion. In nothing is it more true that God helps those who help themselves. All that we contend for is such an influence as will cause the words uttered to penetrate the souls of those for whom they were spoken, remove the fear of man from the preacher's heart, and make him bold in speaking the truth. It may be that clearer knowledge will be given, and the most fitting selection of words suggested, but this can only be hoped for after all preparation is made. God does not duplicate his work, and that which he gives man faculties to discover, he will not afterward bring to him by an express reve- lation. The second method of imparting unction and feeling to the coldness of thought, is by meditating on the great truths and promises of Christianity. This subject is well treated in Baxter's "Saint's Rest," tho not with reference to the wants of the ora- tor. The power of long-continued and ear- nest meditation varies in different persons, but all can acquire it to some degree. It may be defined as a method of transporting one's-self from a sense of the present real- ity to an ideal situation — reaching and ex- periencing the feelings that would naturally arise in that situation. Thus we may ex- perience some of the pleasures of heaven and the society of the blest. We may walk the plains of Galilee with the Lord and behold his wondrous love there manifested, almost as if we mingled with the throng who hung on his gracious words; we may turn to the time of our own conversion, and recall the passage from despair to conscious life; or look forward to the day of our death, and think of its mingled sorrow and triumph. It is a kind of waking dream by which the mind is filled with one idea to the exclu- sion of all others. And when we select some high object of contemplation and return often to it, we acquire a susceptibility of strong and fervent emotion on that subject which it requires only a word to arouse. An illustration of this is often found in the case of an inventor or discoverer who has dwelt on one subject until his whole mind is filled with it and he cannot hear it mentioned without the deepest feeling. However cold and listless he may be on other subjects, touch but the sacred one of his fancy, and his sparkling eye and animated voice tell how deeply you have roused the whole man. What an advantage it must be to the ex- tempore speaker, with whom everything de- pends on feeling, to have all the cardinal facts he proclaims surrounded by fountains of holy emotion, continually supplied from the spring of meditation, and ready to flow copiously at the slightest touch ! Such trains of thought may be carried on in moments too often given to idleness, and thus not only will a mighty power be added to our pulpit ministrations, but our whole life en- nobled and enriched. It has been conjec- tured that Milton's mind, while composing "Paradise Lost," existed in the state of a sublime waking dream, in which the forms of heaven and hell, chaos and creation, all mingled in one glorious vision. Something of this nature, tho not necessarily continu- ous, must take place in the mental history of every true and powerful Christian minister. — PiTTiNGER, Oratory, Sacred and Secular, p. 31. (S. R. W., 1869.) 402. EMOTION IN PREACHING.— If a man undertake to minister to the wants of his congregation purely by the power of feeling, without adequate force in the intel- lect, there are valid objections to that; but every man who means to be in affinity with Eluotion Iiinotlons KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 164 his congregation must have feeling. It can not be helped. A minister without feeling is no better than a book. You might just as well put a book printed in large type, on the desk where all could read it, and have a man turn over the leaves as you read, as to have a man stand up, and clearly and coldly recite the precise truth through which he has gone by a logical course of reasoning. It has to melt somewhere. Somewhere there must be that power by which the man speak- ing and the men hearing are unified ; and that is the power of emotion. It will vary indefinitely in different persons. Some will have much emotion, and some but very lit- tle. It is a thing to be striven for. Where there is relatively a deficiency, men can edu- cate themselves and acquire this power. Now one of the great hindrances to the exhibi- tion of true Christian feeling in the pulpit is that which I hear called the "dignity of the pulpit." Men have been afraid to lay that aside, and bring themselves under the con- ditions necessary for the display of emotion. Now and then they will have a sublime, re- ligious tone of feeling at a revival. But, after all, there is a vast amount of feeling playing in every man's mind, which is a very able element in preaching. It may be in- tense, earnest, pathetic, or cheerful, mirth- ful, and gratifying, and is the result of love to God and God's creatures. If a man de- sires to preach with power, he must have this element coming and going between him and his hearers ; he must believe what he is saying, and what he says must be out of him- self, and not out of his manuscript merely. If a man can not be free to speak as he feels, but is thinking all the time about the sacred- ness of the place, it will shut him up. He will grow critical. I think the best rule for a man in society— and it is good for the pul- pit, too — is to have right aims, do the best things by the best means you can find, and then let yourself alone. Do not be a spy on yourself. A man who goes down the street thinking of himself all the time, with criti- cal analysis, whether he is doing this, that, or the other thing — turning himself over, as if he were a goose on a spit before a fire, and basting himself with good resolutions- is simply belittling himself. This course is bad also in the closet— Beecher, Yale Lec- tures on Preaching, p. 118. (J. B. F. & Co., 1872.) 403. EMOTION, TRUE AND FALSE. — Emotion is necessary in the speaker, not only because the absence of it would render all efforts to excite feeling in the audience futile; but because, from the law of sym- pathy, emotion is communicated directly from one bosom to another. Shakespeare had a just conception of human nature when he put the following words into the lips of An- thony : "Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes. Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, Began to water." In all pathetic discourse, the speaker must manifest the suitable kind and degree of feeling in all the possible modes of express- ing it; in the form of the thought, the lan- guage, the voice, countenance, and gesture. To secure this, he must feel himself. Hypo- critical expressions of feeling will seldom escape detection. The human breast instinc- tively discerns between true and false emo- tion. Even trained stage-actors, when they succeed perfectly in their art, are infected themselves by the passion the contagion of which they wish to extend to the spectators. For the time, they feel as if they were in reality the characters they personate. They accomplish this, perhaps the most difficult at- tainment of their art, by a close and thor- ough study of the causes of feeling sup- posed to operate in the scene which they represent. Mere natural sensibility, altho not indispensable, is not enough. The heart, by close contemplation, must be brought into contact with, the .object of feeling. The speaker and the writer need equally to kin- dle the fire of feeling in themselves by long and close contemplation of the truth to be exprest in the discourse. — Day, The Art of Discourse, p, 184. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 404. EMOTIONAL APPEAL.— In or- der to speak to the heart, we must have a heart ourselves, and make use of it, too. Now, it is questionable in these days whether many preachers have a heart. No one can perceive it in them ; so great is the care which they take not to expose even a corner of it, lest by so doing they might derange the massive chain of their arguments. And, besides, who knows but that it might subject them to the charge of being deficient in dig- nity? In fact, the heart appears to have come down from the pulpit, and fears to oc- cupy it again . . . it is no longer allowed to play a part there, lest it might prove dis- concerting. It is now regarded with suspi- cion, and God must have been mistaken when he said : "My son, give me thine heart." The general notion seems to be that nothing more is required in order to do men good than clearly or obscurely to demonstrate the truth to them. But knowing and doing are 165 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Emotion Emotlona as widely apart as heaven and earth, and the distance between the two can only be sur- mounted by the heart. . . . Nothing, in- deed, profits an audience so much; nothing is so successful as the windings, the bound- ings of the heart, even when introduced in the middle of an argument. — Mullois, The Clergy and the Pulpit, p. 337. (The C. P. S., 1867.) 405. EMOTIONAL POWER IN PREACHING.— Every part of a sermon is to be penetrated by emotion, by sober, real, chastened emotion. There is no need to ob- serve that what is usually called emotion could not be sustained or tolerated through- out the whole of a long sermon; but the level of the discourse must be such that from it the heights of feeling and of passion may be easily and naturally reached. Reverence for God, love for souls, and a deep sense of his own responsible position are feelings that attend the preacher throughout his course. The emotion on which the preacher must rely is that mild beneficent warmth of love that glows throughout the whole discourse, rather than the more passionate utterances on which he may venture only when the sub- ject strictly warrants them. There is some risk when we attempt to be pathetic that we may excite a pity, not for our subject, but for ourselves. The greatest caution and judgment are required for dealing with the passions of an audience; and a young preacher may well be pardoned — may be praised — who declines to attempt these high- er flights until he has acquired a knowledge of the human heart and the confidence that experience alone can give. The passions that belong to preaching are chiefly these — fear, hope, love, zeal, compassion, reverence. — Thomson, Homiletkal and Pastoral Lec- tures, p. 93. (A., 1880.) 406. EMOTIONS. APPEAL TO THE. — Persons, not place, are the immediate ob- jects of the passions of love or hatred, pity or anger, envy or contempt. Relation to the actors produces an effect contrary to that produced by relation to the sufferers, the first in extenuation, the second in aggrava- tion of the crime alleged. The first makes for the apologist, the second for the accus- ers. This is commonly, not always, the case. A remote relation to the actors, when the offence is heinous, especially if the suffer- ers be more nearly related, will aggravate the guilt in our estimation. But it is impos- sible with any precision to reduce these ef- fects to rules, so much depending on the different tempers and sentiments of differ- ent audiences. The personal relations of consanguinity, affinity, friendship, acquaint- ance, citizenship, countrymen, surname, lan- guage, religion, occupation, etc., have their respective influence with different persons. — Campbell, The Philosophy of Rhetoric, p. 87. (G. & W. B. W., 1823.) 407, EMOTIONS, CULTIVATION OF THE. — The emotional nature is capable of cultivation and development. There is, indeed, a great difference between good and able men, in this respect, as in all others, but there are none in whom this class of facul- ties are not capable of being quickened and purified. The esthetic and moral affections — sensibility to beauty, physical, and moral af- fections — sensibility to beauty, physical, intel- lectual, and moral; sympathy, compassion, hope, and joy; the love of truth, duty, and justice — these, and all other right affections of the soul, are as capable of culture and de- velopment as the intellectual faculties. The method of cultivating the sensibilities is by exercising them upon their appropriate ob- jects. All the sensibilities of the soul should be systematically exercised upon their ap- propriate objects ; the esthetic, in the con- templation and enjoyment of beautiful ob- jects : the moral, upon moral objects. Sympathy and pity, e.g., should be exercised in sympathizing with, and in relieving, the wants and sufferings of those who are in af- fliction and calamity; and so of all the oth- ers. Without such exercise, the sensibilities of the soul grow feeble, especially as we advance in years, and our power to call forth the requisite feeling, on our various occa- sions of speaking, declines. This is one rea- son why some speakers, whilst young and immature, are much more effective than in later life. Instead of gaining, they lose pow- er from decline of their susceptibility of emotion and passion. — McIlvaine, Elocution, p. 76. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 408. EMOTIONS, EXCITEMENT OF THE. — The excitement of the emotions may lead to faith or fanaticism, according as it is guided by the moral intelligence. Ig- norant or unscrupulous preachers have seized this susceptibility and wrought up excite- ments and startling and harmful manifesta- tions. On the other hand, anesthetic preach- ers have supprest emotion to the extent of producing a moral atrophy and spiritual paralysis. There are innocent young sermons that touch the emotions as a breath wakes a faint note on the eolian, that exhausts itself EmphEials Energ-y KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 166 in a sigh; and there are storm sermons that gash, like lightning, the murky clouds of the soul and send awful reverberations through its depths. Between these extremes there are all degrees of the emotional element in sermons. Those which address themselves chiefly to the reasoning powers should not be destitute of this feature; at least, it should appear in the application or perora- tion, while those which appeal chiefly to the affections should spring from and be con- trolled by reason. The metaphysical and the sentimental sermon both are equally deficient in psychic energy. — Kennard, Psychic Power in Preaching, p. 83. (G. W. J. & Co., 1901.) 409. EMPHASIS AND UNDER- STANDING.— Every man who is inter- ested in any subject on which he is speaking to a friend in private life, and clearly com- prehends what he is saying, never fails to lay the right emphasis on the right word. When, therefore, he is about to read, or re- peat the words of others, or his own, in public, he can not adopt a better principle by which to be guided, than that laid down by Sheridan, which is in substance as follows: Let him only reflect on the place where he would lay the emphasis, supposing these words had proceeded from the immediate sentiments of his own mind in private dis- course, and he will have an infallible rule for laying the simple emphasis right in all sentences the meaning of which he clearly understands. This rule is so obvious,^ so plain, and so easy to be observed, that it is astonishing to find so often and in so many places as we do, such a neglect or improper use of emphasis in reading and reciting. But the cause of this is easily explained. In teaching to read by the eye, masters instruct pupils, of course, in the use of such marks as are by type presented to the eye. Now, as in ordinary printing there are no visible signs but letters, stops, and the marks of interrogation, exclamation, etc., and as the words are distinguished from each other only by a greater distance between them than between the letters of which such words are composed, and the different clauses of sen- tences by the marks of commas, semicolons, and colons, the eye has no assistance as re- gards inflection, modulation, poise, or em- phasis; and therefore it is in these that the chief errors are committed, either by wrong- ly giving them or scarcely giving them at all. — PlumpteEj King's College Lectures on Elo- cution, p. 353. (T. & Co., 1883.) 410. EMPHASIS, EFFECT OF.— The various effects produced by changing the seat of emphasis from one word to another, may be seen in the following sentence, of em- phatic memory; provided it be read accord- ing to the notation. "Will you ride to town to-day?" That is: will you ride, or will you not? "Will you ride to town to-day?" That is: will you ride, or will you send some one? "Will you ride to town to-day?" That is: will you ride, or walk? "Will you ride to town to-day?" That is: will you ride to town, or will you ride somewhere else? "Will you ride to town to-day?" That is: will you ride to town to-day, or to-morrow, or next week? By using other modifications of voice, as many shades of meaning may be given even to this short sentence as there are letters in it. — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 103. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 411. EMPHASIS ESSENTIAL.— Em- phasis is as essential to every sentence as ac- cent is to every word. It is merely the dis- tinction which a good reader or speaker naturally makes between the most important and the least important words, whether for the sake of expressing more forcibly the promi- nent idea, or merely to mark the sense. Ob- serve, however, that each sentence must be pronounced with a reference to the sen- tences which precede and follow, not consid- ered solely by itself; and it will be seen that words which are the most important in a sentence, when viewed separately, are often not so, when you look at the context. Perhaps the most general use of emphasis is to distinguish primary information from what has been before mentioned or preun- derstood. For instance, in a sentence "Who- soever shall break one of the least com- mandments, and shall teach men so, he shall be called the least in the kingdom of heaven ; but whosoever shall do and teach them, the same shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven"— the accent in the last clause must be on "great," that being the only new idea. — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergyman, p. 268. (D. & Co., 1856.) 412. EMPHASIS, FORMS OF.— The form of emphasis most frequently used by untrained speakers is that of force. Many people who speak with varied and appro- priate emphasis in conversation, change to a loud declamatory style when called upon to address an audience. They endeavor to drive their thought home by force — mere loudness of voice, accompanied by violent 167 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Emphasis Energy physical movements. The difference be- tween conversational style and that of pub- lic speaking is illustrated as follows: A cabinet-size photograph, if shown to a few individuals, can be seen in all its details. Hold the same picture up before an audience of a hundred or more people, and the result is unsatisfactory. The picture, however, can be enlarged so that everybody in a large audience can see it, and if the process of enlarging it is naturally and symmetrically done the large picture will be as true a likeness as the small one. If it is otherwise enlarged, the result may be a caricature. In like manner, the public speaker who wishes to be natural and effective should enlarge his conversational style to fit the larger occasion, using all the various modulations and modes of emphasis employed in addressing a single individual. — Kleiser, How to Speak in Pub- lic, p. 120. (F. & W., 1910.) 413. EMPHASIS, HOW TO PRAC- TISE. — The best practise for the mastery of emphasis is to read a sentence, ponder upon its meaning, see that you understand it, or think you do; then with a pencil score the words on which the greatest stress should be laid. Read it aloud, emphasizing the words so marked, and those only. Then score in like manner, but with a shorter dash, such words as require a lesser degree of emphasis. Read again, observing the two degrees of emphasis. Repeat the process a third and even a fourth time, until you have exhausted all the words that appear to you to require any stress to be laid upon them. This is the first lesson. After a while you may spare yourself the tediousness of repeat- ed readings of the same sentence by thus scoring with lines of different lengths the words to be emphasized in whole paragraphs, pages, and sections. But score them thus while reading silently and afterward read the whole aloud, pencil in hand. The necessity for expression and the judgment of your ear will combine to test to a considerable extent the accuracy of your previous mental exer- cise. As you read, you should improve the score by additions and corrections, according to the discoveries you make of errors and omissions, and this continue to do until you are satisfied with the reading and the whole is marked as you would utter it. But not for a final closing. As you advance in the study and practise of the art of reading, you should from time to time revert to the pages that preserve your earlier impressions of the emphasis to be bestowed upon them and re- peat the reading, for the purpose of learning not only what progress you have made, but how your better knowledge has changed your first views. At each of such readings alter the scoring according to your new concep- tions. You will thus measure your advance- ment, which mere memory will not enable you to do.— Cox, The Arts of Writing, Read- ing, and Speaking, p. 90. (H. C, 1911.) ENDING OF A SPEECH OR SER- MON. — See Conclusion, Peroration. 414. ENERGETIC SPEAKING.— The property of force is not, it is true, an in- variable characteristic of eloquence. There are subjects and occasions which quell and subdue force, and which forbid mere loud- ness of voice, or energy of action. But the public speaker who does not, on appropriate occasions, rise to impressive force of man- ner, falls short, not merely of eloquent ef- fect, but of true and manly expression. Freedom, appropriateness, grace, are all in- ferior to this master quality. An energetic speaker will force his way to the heart, in spite of awkward and ungainly habits. Gen- uine force is, to sympathy, what necessity is to motive; it sweeps all before it. Force is the prime attribute of man ; it cannot be dis- pensed with, in the habits of the speaker. No degree of fluency, or of mere grace, can be accepted in its stead. The feeble, florid rhetorician never affects his audience beyond the surface of fancy. The preacher whose manner is weak never penetrates the heart, or impresses the mind. The prime character- istic of style in man addressing man, on top- ics of vast concern, must be force. Culture may come in to modulate that force into fit- ting and graceful forms. But where life and soul are, there must be force. Eloquence persuades; but it also impels and urges, with irresistible power. — Russell, Pulpit Elocu- tion, p. 69. (D., 1878.) 415. ENERGY IN SPEAKING.— Pub- lic speaking should be energetic in its char- acter. The larger public spaces are to be filled with a fulness and strength of voice that comes from a more than mere every- day conversational power of expression; and unless persons have already this character of voice, they must of necessity, by an elemen- tary and persistent, thorough practise, tone up their vocal organs requisite to the de- mand, prior to any considerable effort in the use of them, or failure will be inevitable. Articulate words, to be heard agreeably by an audience, must be well filled and made round, with air expelled from strong, active Enetgfy Unondatloit KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 168 lungs. It behooves us, therefore, in the first place, to see that the breathing apparatus is in good working order. To regulate this portion, and to see that it works easily and appropriately, should be our first effort to- ward improvement in this noble art. By training our lungs so that we can breathe deeply and thoroughly, and fill the very low- est air-cells in them, and thus speak with the whole, as it were, of ourselves and not simply with the lips and throat, we shall ex- perience none of those distressing feelings which so harass the larger portion of our pubhc speakers, in the shape of bronchitis and other annoying throat diseases. The throat should very rarely be used other than as an extended or widened passage, straight in its direction, for breath to come up from the lungs, and thus be made a secondary in- strument in forming articulate expression of our thoughts. — Frobisher, Voice and Action, p. 11. (I. B. & Co., 1867.) 416. ENERGY SOMETIMES UNDE- SIRABLE.— Unimportant thought, how- ever clear, is not the proper subject of en- ergy of expression. Speakers who ignore this create in their style a gap between ex- pression and thought, which commonly re- sults in bombast. This is only another mode of putting upon a thought a quality which is not in it. You can not speak with energy of an infant's rattle or a tuft of thistledown, without uttering burlesque. Rufus Choate once poured out an impassioned strain of eloquence, in a vocabulary which no other man could equal, in defense of his client's right to a side-saddle. It convulsed the Bos- ton bar with laughter. Some thoughts are important, and as clear as they can be, and yet are not becoming subjects of an ener- getic utterance. Some thoughts are neces- sarily indefinite in any truthful conception of them by a finite mind. They depend, for all the impressiveness of which they are suscep- tible, on a certain degree of vagueness. De- fine them sharply, and they are no longer true. The immortality of the soul, the eter- nity of God, divine omnipresence, are exam- ples. All thoughts suggestive of the infinite in time or space must be clouded to finite vision in order to be truthful. They must be felt, if at all, through a remote perspec- tive — so remote as to create a certain dim- ness of outline which gives room for the imagination to play. You can not drag them out of their sublime reserve by the mere enginery of style. — Phelps, English Style in Public Discourse, p. 203. (S., 1910.) 417. ENTHUSIASM AND PASSION. — As all high eloquence flows from passion, several consequences follow which deserve to be attended to, and the mention of which will serve to confirm the principle itself. For hence the universally acknowledged effect of enthusiasm, or warmth of any kind, in public speakers, for affecting their audience. Hence all labored declamation and affected orna- ments of style, which show the mind to be cool and unmoved, are so inconsistent with persuasive eloquence. Hence all studied pret- tinesses in gesture or pronunciation, detract so greatly from the weight of a speaker. Hence a discourse that is read moves us less than one that is spoken, as having less the appearance of coming warm from the heart. Hence to call a man cold is the same thing as to say that he is not eloquent. Hence a skeptical man, who is always in sus- pense, and feels nothing strongly, or a cun- ning, mercenary man, who is suspected rather to assume the appearance of passion than to feel it, have so little power over men in public speaking. Hence, in fine, the ne- cessity of being, and being believed to be, disinterested and in earnest, in order to per- suade. — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 2, p. 178. (A. S., 1787.) 418. ENTHUSIASM, USES OF.— There is in all enthusiasm a certain outburst of glow. You may have enthusiasm and feeling; or, it may be, enthusiasm and imagi- nation ; or, it may be, enthusiasm and reason. In almost all communities enthusiasm stands before everything else in moving popular as- semblies. A preacher who is enthusiastic in everything he does, in all that he believes, and in all the movements of his ministry, will generally carry tJie people with him. He may do this without enthusiasm, but it will be a slow process, and the work will be much more laborious. If you have the pow- er of speech and the skill of presenting the truth, and are enthusiastic, the people will become enthusiastic. People will take your views, because your enthusiasm has innocu- lated them. Very often you will see a man of great learning go into a community and accomplish nothing at all ; and a whipster will go after him with not as much in his whole body as his predecessor had in his lit- tle finger, yet he will revolutionize every- thing. You may say that a community aroused by enthusiasm alone will just as quickly relapse into their former state. Yes ; but I do not counsel enthusiasm alone. The mistake is in permitting any such relapse. It is the same as tho you plowed a field and 169 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Enertry EnnnolEitloii then left it for the rain to level again. You must not only plow it, but sow seed, harrow, and till it. Yet it is essential that the field should be plowed. So it is with a community. Mere enthusiasm will do noth- ing permanent; but its work must be fol- lowed up by continual and fervent preach- I ing, and by indoctrination of tlie truths of the gospel. I repeat, therefore, that enthusi- . asm is an indispensable element in a minis- ter's work among men, to bring them to a knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ. — Beech- ER, Yale Lectures on Preaching, p. 131. (J. B. F. & Co., 1873.) 419. ENTHYMEME, THE.— The en- thymeme is the orator's form of argument. It is an elliptical statement of his reasoning. One of his propositions is held back in his mind — such is the literal meaning of the term — the other two, only, are exprest. For such is the mysterious process of mental genera- tion — there must be three terms, three propo- sitions, three thoughts in the act of reason. The first two by their union engender the third. Take an example: The philosopher might discourse thus formally: (1) We ought to love what renders us more perfect. (3) Now literature renders us more perfect. (3) Therefore, we ought to love literature. Deny the first proposition, and the argument fails; its major premise is gone. Deny the second, it again fails; its minor premise has disappeared. But grant both, and the third, the conclusion, stands firm. This slow mode of statement suits not, however, the fervid movement of the orator. He exclaims, "Who is it that loves not letters? They enrich the understanding, and refine the mariners; they polish and adorn humanity. Self-love and good sense themselves endear them to us, and engage us in their cultivation." Zeno said that the philosophic argument is like the human hand closed, the oratorical like the same hand unfolded.— Bautain, Art of Ex- tempore Speaking, p. 300. (S., 1901.) 420. ENUMERATION, IMPERFECT. — This is the error of defective induction. A generalized conclusion is drawn from a given number of examples, but other exam- ples which conflict with the conclusion are overlooked, or left out ; as if many lakes of fresh water were named and the conclusion drawn that all such isolated bodies of water are fresh — omitting the fact of the Caspians. Or this, "The French are white, the Eng- lish are white, the Italians, Germans, Rus- sians, and Americans are white; therefore, all men are white." The conclusion is er- roneous, because the enumeration is imper- fect. There are black men in Guinea. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 315. (S., 1901.) 421. ENUNCIATION, CLEARNESS OF. — What we are most deficient in is articulation — that powerful articulation which isolates, engraves, and chisels a thought . . . which fills the ear with har- mony and the soul with truth; which gives the orator an extraordinary power of anima- tion, by bringing into play the whole nervous system. The force of a word is entirely in the consonant, whereas it is often laid on the vowel. The emission of the vowel is the rude block ; the consonant is the artist's chis- el, which works it into a masterpiece. . . . It appears to be frequently imagined that it requires as much effort to discharge waves of air as to hurl a heavy club into space; but it is not so in the least. What is needed is that the air should be comprest and tritu- rated, and reduced into expressive and har- monious sounds. It is from misapprehen- sion on this score that so many preachers fume and tire themselves and others, and that some appear like men who disgorge words which they have swallowed by mis- take. A little practise would prevent them from falling into these and similar aberra- tions. — MuLLOis, The Clergy and the Pulpit, p. 366. (The C. P. S., 1867.) 422. ENUNCIATION, OVERCOMING DEFECTS OF. — Utterance is a very im- portant condition of being audible, and consequently of being attended to. It deter- mines the voice, or the vowel, by the modi- fication which this last receives from the con- sonant; it produces syllables and by joining them together, gives the words, the series of which forms what is termed articulate lan- guage. Man being organized for speech speaks naturally the language he hears, and as he hears it. His instinctive and original pronunciation depends on the formation of the vocal organs, and on the manner in which those around him pronounce. There- fore, nature discharges here the chief func- tion, but art may also exert a certain power either to correct or abate organic defects or vicious habits, or to develop and perfect fa- vorable aptitudes. Demosthenes, the great- est orator of antiquity, whose very name con- tinues to be the symbol of eloquence, is a remarkable case in point. Everybody is aware that by nature he had a difficulty of utterance almost amounting to a stammer, which he succeeded in overcoming by fre- Epithets Evidence KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 170 quently declaiming on the sea-shore with pebbles in his mouth. The pebbles obliged him to redouble his exertions to subdue the rebellious organ, and the noise of the surge, obliging him to speak more loudly and more distinctly in order to hear his own words, accustomed him to the still more deafening uproar of the people's mighty voice in the market-place. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 95. (S., 1901.) 423. EPITHETS, USE OF.— It is a common practise with some writers to en- deavor to add force to their expressions by accumulating high-sounding epithets, denot- ing the greatness, beauty, or other admirable qualities of the things spoken of, but the effect is generally the reverse of what is in- tended. Most readers, except those of a very vulgar or puerile taste, are disgusted at studied efforts to point out and force upon their attention whatever is remarkable, and this even when the ideas conveyed are them- selves striking. But when an attempt is made to cover poverty of thought with mock sub- limity of language, and to set off trite senti- ments and feeble arguments by tawdry mag- nificence, the only result is that a kind of indignation is super-added to contempt, as when an attempt is made to supply by paint, the natural glow of a youthful and healthy complexion. "A principal device in the fab- rication of this style" (the mock-eloquent) "is to multiply epithets — dry epithets, laid on the outside, and into which none of the vital- ity of the sentiment is found to circulate. You may take a great number of the words out of each page, and find that the sense is neither more nor less for your having cleared the composition of these epithets of chalk of various colors, with which the tame thoughts had submitted to be rubbed over, in order to be made fine." — Whately, Ele- ments of Rhetoric, p. 186. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 424. ERSKINE, BOLDNESS OF.— His boldness was equal to his caution. In his defence of the liberty of the press, and of the rights of the subject when assailed by the doctrine of constructive treason, he had some of the severest conflicts with the court which any advocate was ever called to main- tain. When the jury, in the case of the Dean of St. Asaph's, brought in their verdict, "Guilty of publishing only," which had the effect of clearing the defendant, Justice Bul- Icr, who presided, acting on the principle then held by the court, considered it beyond their province to make this addition, and determined they should withdraw it. Ers- kine, on the other hand, seized upon the word the moment it was uttered, and de- manded to have it recorded. After some sparring between him and the court, he put the question to the foreman, "Is the word only to stand as part of the verdict?" "Cer- tainly," was the reply. "Then I insist it shall be recorded," says Erskine. "The verdict," says Buller, "must be misunderstood; let me understand the jury." "The jury," replied Erskine, "do understand their verdict." Bul- ler: "Sir, I will not be interrupted." Ers- kine: "I stand here as an advocate of a brother citizen, and I desire the word only may be recorded." Buller: "Sit down, sir. Remember your duty, or I shall be obliged to proceed in another manner." Erskine: "Your lordship may proceed in what manner you think fit; I know my duty as well as your lordship knows yours. I shall not alter my conduct." The spirit of the judge sank be- fore the firmness of the advocate; no at- tempt was made to carry the threat into execution. — Beeton, British Orators and Or- atory, from Complete Orator, p. 33. (W. L. & Co.) 425. ERSKINE, ORATORY OF.— The oratory of Erskine owed much of its impres- siveness to his admirable delivery. He was of the medium height, with a slender but finely-turned figure, animated and graceful in gesture, with a voice somewhat shrill but beautifully modulated, a countenance beam- ing with emotion, and an eye of piercing keenness and power. "Juries," in the words of Lord Brougham, "have declared that they felt it impossible to remove their looks from him when he had riveted and, as it were, fas- cinated them by his first glance ; and it used to be a common remark of men who ob- served his motions, that they resembled those of a blooded horse ; as light, as limber, as much betokening strength and speed, as free from all gross superfluity or encumbrance." His style was chaste, forcible, and harmoni- ous, a model of graceful variety, without the slightest mannerism or straining after ef- fect. His rhythmus was beautiful; that of the passage containing his Indian Chief is surpast by nothing of the kind in our lan- guage. His sentences were sometimes too long — a fault which arose from the close- ness and continuity of his thought. The ex- ordium with which Erskine introduced a speech was always natural, ingenious, and highly appropriate. None of our orators have equaled him in this respect. The ar- rangement of the matter which followed was 171 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Xplthets Evidence highly felicitous, and he had this peculiar- ity, which gave great unity and force to his arguments, that "he proposed," in the words of another, "a great leading principle, to which all his efforts were referable and sub- sidiary — which ran through the whole of his address, governing and elucidating every part. As the principle was a true one, what- ever might be its application to that particu- lar case, it gave to his whole speech an air of honesty and sincerity which it was diffi- cult to resist." — Goodrich, Select British Elo- quence, p. 636. (H. & Bros., 1853.) 42G. ERSKINE. STYLE OF.— "As an advocate in the forum," says Lord Camp- bell, "I hold him [Erskine] to be without an equal in ancient or modern times." What is rare in so brilliant a genius, he had no less power with the court than the jury. It was remarked of him as of Scarlett, that "he had invented a machine by the secret use of which, in court, he could make the head of a judge nod assent to his propositions, where- as his rivals, who tried to pirate it, always made the same head move from side to side." He was certainly not a profound lawyer as the result of original investigation; his short period of study rendered this impossible. But he had the power, it has been observed, of availing himself more completely than almost any man that ever lived of the knowledge collected for his use by others. — Beeton, British Orators and Oratory, from Complete Orator, p. 32. (W. L. & Co.) 427. ERSKINE, THOMAS.— Born at Edinburgh, Scotland, Jan. 21, 1750. Died at Almondell, near Edinburgh, Nov. 17, 1823. In his earlier years he was accustomed to prepare his arguments with minutest care and read them from a manuscript. Perhaps the greatest tribute paid to him as a foren- sic orator is that not a single line in all his speeches was uttered to provoke a laugh or admiration for himself. "The style of Lord Erskine's speeches," says Henry Roscoe, "may be regarded as a model for serious and forensic oratory; it is clear, animated, forcible, and polished; never loaded with meretricious ornament, never debased by colloquial vulgarisms." William Mathews ascribes the singular power and charm of his oratory to "its matchless strength and vigor." 428. EVERETT, EDWARD.— Born at Dorchester, Mass., April 11, 1794. Died at Boston, Jan. 15, 1865. "His orations were composed for widely differing occasions, but in each case the treatment is so masterly that one would think the subject then in hand had been the special study of his life. His care did not cease with the preparation; his voice, gestures, and cadences were always in harmony with his theme, so that he was ab- solute master of his audience. It is seldom that the literary annalist has to record a career in which the preacher and essayist is developed by natural growth into the states- man and diplomatist. While his scholastic tastes and habits grow in parallel lines, and the man at threescore is an epitome of the knowledge and an exemplar, of the eloquence of his generation." — Francis H. Underwood, in A Hand-Book of English Literature. (L. & S., 1872.) 429. EVIDENCE, JUDGMENT OF.— As to all truths capable of being established by evidence either on certain or probable grounds, God has given us the faculty of judging of that evidence, as the instrument of obtaining a belief in them. Any belief acquired not through the use of this in- strument, but by pressing into the service faculties intended for other purposes, be the subject of belief never so true, rests on de- fective grounds as regards the party believing. If truth have really any objective existence at all — if it be anything more than that which every man believes — it is the merest truism to say that to believe as truth that which is established on slight evidence or no evidence, or arguments addrest to the conscience and not to the reason, may be an act piously done, but must proceed from a neglect of that portion of the faculties which are spe- cially assigned to us by our Creator for that special purpose. This is an error which may often lead to good results in particular cases, as it has led, and still leads, to fearful evils in many others; but all the sophistry in the world can not make it other than an error. . . . He (Loyola) fixes on a particular de- fect in human nature as a means of govern- ment, and consequently as something to be encouraged and cultivated. He would have obedience, as far as possible, comprehend the acts of the judgment, as well as the acts of the will. He would have men strive to give a false bias to their minds ; to stifle the light within them. He is not content with know- ing that they will do so, and availing himself of the weakness, he would implant it in them as a principle. It would take but a short process to show that it is this fatal notion of governing men by their failings which has Evidence Exclamation KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 172 led, in the main, to all the perverse and ir- rehgious portions of the developments of Jesuitism; to condescensions to every weak- ness, apologies for every crime, and serious defences of every unnatural absurdity.— Edinburgh Review, April, 1845. 430. EVIDENCE, STATING THE SOURCE OF. — It sometimes happens that an arguer fails to state the source of his evidence. This omission is usually fatal to success. No one is likely to put much confi- dence in statements that are introduced by such flimsy preambles as, "A certain states- man has declared"; "I have read some- where"; "An acquaintance told me." Not only must evidence come from sources that seem good to the writer, but those sources must be satisfactory to the audience. In the last analysis the audience is the judge of what is credible and what is not. Moreover, if the evidence is of great importance, or is liable to be disputed, the arguer should show in a few words why the witness is especially reliable. — Pattee, Practical Argumentation, p. 118. (The C. Co., 1909.) 481. EVIDENCE, SUPERIORITY OF SCIENTIFIC. — Memory is the repository of the stores which we collect from experi- ence; yet, tho it be not infallible, we have implicit faith in its representations. Here, it may be said, is an irremediable imbecility in the very foundation of moral reasoning. But is it less so in demonstrative reasoning? The latter arrives at its proof by an uninterrupted series of axioms, the truth of each is intui- tively seen as we proceed, and the process is gradual, as the axioms are brought in suc- cession. Memory alone, then, produces con- viction in the mind. We remember not all the preceding steps with their connections, so as to have them all present at one instant; but our perception of the truth of the axiom to which we are advanced in the proof is ac- companied with a strong impression on the memory of the satisfaction that the mind re- ceived from the justness and regularity of what preceded. And in this we are under a necessity of acquiescing, for the understand- ing is no more capable of contemplating and perceiving at once the truth of all the propo- sitions in the series than the tongue is ca- pable of uttering them at once. The whole evidence is reduced to the testimony of mem- ory, the power of recollecting the several steps successively, and the instantaneous rec- ollection of the whole are widely different. The consequence of this induction is that no demonstration, can produce a higher degree of certainty than what results from the vivid representations of memory, on which moral evidence is obliged to lean. The possibility of error does, therefore, attend thhe most complete demonstration. A geometrician dis- covers a new theorem, and succeeds in dem- onstrating it. His diagram is complex, his demonstration long. He will try it a second, third, and fourth time to be satisfied of its truth, because he is conscious his own facul- ties are fallible. He does so because he has learned from experience that the mistakes or oversights committed by the mind in one operation are sometimes, on a review, cor- rected in a second, or perhaps in a third. Besides, the repetition, when no error is dis- covered, enlivens the remembrance, and so strengthens the conviction. But for this con- viction, it is plain that we are in a great measure indebted to memory, and in some measure even to experience. Arithmetical operations, as well as geometrical, are pure- ly scientific, and subject to the same mixture of certainty and doubt. You may work an algebraic question and bring out the answer, but another person comes after you and de- tects an error in the operation. In mathe- matical reasoning, provided you are ascer- tained of the regular procedure of the mind, to affirm that the conclusion is false implies a contradiction; in moral reasoning, tho the procedure of the mind were quite unexcep- tionable, there still remains a physical possi- bility of the falsity of the conclusion. But how small this difference is in reality, any judicious person who but attends a little may easily discover. The geometrician, for in- stance, can no more doubt whether the book called Euclid's Elements is a human compo- sition, whether its contents were discovered and digested into the order in which they are there disposed, by human genius and art, than he can doubt the truth of the proposi- tions therein demonstrated. Is he in the smallest degree surer of any of the proper- ties of the circle than that if he take away his hand from the compasses, with which he is describing it on the wall, they will imme- diately fall to the ground. These things af- fect his mind, and influence his practise, pre- cisely in the same manner. — Campbell, The Philosophy of Rhetoric, p. 60. (G. & W. B. W., 1833.) 432. EXAGGERATING AND EXTEN- UATING METHODS.— As to the tone of feeling to be manifested by the writer or speaker himself, in order to excite the most effectually the desired emotions in the minds of the hearers, this is to be accomplished by 173 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Evidence Ezclamatlon two opposite methods : the one, which is the more obvious, is to express openly the feel- ing in question; the other, to seem laboring to suppress it. In the former method, the most forcible remarks are introduced, the most direct as well as impassioned kind of description is employed, and something of exaggeration introduced, in order to carry the hearers as far as possible in the same direction in which the orator seems to be himself hurried, and to infect them to a certain degree with the emotions and senti- ments which he thus manifests : the other method, which is often no less successful, is to abstain from all remarks, or from all such as come up to the expression of feeling which the occasion seems to authorize, to use a gentler rttode of expression than the case might fairly warrant, to deliver "an unvar- nished tale," leaving the hearers to make their own comments, and to appear to stifle and studiously to keep within botlnds such emotions as may seem natural. This pro- duces a kind of reaction in the hearer's minds; and, being struck with the inade- quacy of the expressions and the studied calmness of the speaker's manner of stating things, compared with what he may natural- ly be supposed to feel, they will often rush into the opposite extreme, and become the more strongly affected by that which is set before them in so simple and modest a form. And tho this method is in reality more artificial than the other, the artifice is the more likely, perhaps for that very reason, to escape detection; men being less on their guard against a speaker who does not seem so much laboring to work up their feelings, as to repress or moderate his own; provided that this calmness and coolness of manner be not carried to such an extreme as to bear the appearance of affectation; which caution is also to be attended to in the other mode of procedure no less, an excessive hyperbolical exaggeration being likely to defeat its own object. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 128. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 433. EXCELLENCE, PRINCIPLE OF IDEAL. — To whatever occupation your future inclinations or destinies may direct you, that pursuit of ideal excellence which constituted the plan of Cicero's oratory, and the principle of Cicero's life, if profoundly meditated and sincerely adopted, will prove a. never-failing source of virtue and of happi- ness. I say profoundly meditated, because no superficial consideration can give you a con- ception of the real depth and extent of this principle. I say sincerely adopted, because its efficacy consists not in resolutions, much less in pretensions, but in action. Its affectation can only disclose the ridiculous coxcomb, or conceal the detestable hypocrite; nor is it in occasional, momentary gleams of virtue and energy, preceded and followed by long pe- riods of indulgence or inaction, that his sub- lime principle can be recognized. It must be the steady purpose of a life, maturely con- sidered, deliberately undertaken, and inflex- ibly pursued, through all the struggles of human opposition, and all the vicissitudes of fortune. It must mark the measure of your duties in the relations of domestic, of social, and of public life. Must guard from pre- sumption your rapid moments of prosperity, and nerve with fortitude your lingering hours of misfortune. It must mingle with you in the busy murmurs of the city, and retire in silence with you to the shades of solitude. Like hope, it must "travel through, nor quit you when you die.'' Your guide amid the dissipations of youth; your counsellor in the toils of manhood; your companion in the leisure of declining age. It must, it will, irradiate the darkness of dissolution; will identify the consciousness of the past with the hope of futurity; will smooth the pas- sage from this to a better world, and link the last pangs of expiring nature with the first rapture of never-ending joy. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 1, p. 113. (H. & M., 1810.) 434. EXCLAMATION AND ITS USE. — The figure of exclamation de- serves a caution rather than commendation. It is excessively used in the pulpit. Not only in the monosyllabic forms "oh !" and "ah !" but in the constructive forms in which the whole sentence is made exclamatory, "How great !" "How important !" "How solemn !" "Awful moment!" "Fearful tidings !" There is a style, which, for the freedom with which it employs such constructions, may be fitly termed the exclamatory style. It is very easy composition ; it is a facile way of beginning a sentence : therefore, we employ it excessive- ly. It is a sign of indolent composing. Our inquiry, therefore, should be. When may we omit it ? and our rule, to dispense with it when- ever we can. Dean Swift commends a read- er who said it was his rule to pass over every paragraph in reading, at the end of which his eye detected the note of exclama- tion. Home Tooke denied that exclamations belong to language : he said they were invol- untary nervous affections, like sneezing, coughing, yawning. — Phelps, English Style in Public Discourse, p. 270. (S., 1910.) Hzliortatlon Xzposltlou KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE '174 435. EXHORTATION AND ITS USES. — Persuasion depends on, first, ar- gument, to prove the expediency of the means proposed, and, secondly, what is usually called exhortation, i.e., the excitement of men to adopt those means, by representing the end as sufficiently desirable. It will happen, in- deed, not unfrequently, that the one or the other of these objects will have been already, either wholly or in part, accomplished ; so that the other shall be the only one that it is requisite to insist on; viz., sometimes the hearers will be sufficiently intent on the pur- suit of the end, and will be in doubt only as to the means of attaining it; and sometimes, again, they will have no doubt on that point, but will be indifferent, or not sufficiently ar- dent, with respect to the proposed end, and ■will need to be stimulated by exhortations. Not sufficiently ardent, I have said, because it will not so often happen that the object in question will be one to which they are to- tally indifferent, as that they will, practically at least, not reckon it, or not feel it, to be worth the requisite pains. No one is abso- lutely indifferent about the attainment of a happy immortality, and yet a great part of the preacher's business consists in exhorta- tion, endeavoring to induce men to use those! exertions which they themselves believe to be necessary for the attainment of it. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 113. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 436. EXHORTATION IN PREACH- ING. — Exhortation is a necessary part of a sermon, because the object of preaching is to influence the will. Arguments and dem- onstrations only affect the reason and the understanding'. And tho the reason may be thoroughly convinced, the preacher's work is only done in part. He aims at convincing the reason with the ulterior view of regard- ing such convictions as levers by which he hopes to move the will. He has then to con- sider how this leverage is to be brought to bear. It can only be done by showing that what has been proved and established is ad- vantageous or disadvantageous to the hear- er. And this can only be done by addressing the feelings and sentiments of the congrega- tion; that is, by appealing to their moral sense, to their religious sentiments, to en- lightened self-love, to their approval of what is just, and true, and noble, and lovable, to their hopes and fears, to their desires and affections. The attempt in these ways to awaken emotion in the congregation, and so to lead it to accept or reject what reasoning has demonstrated, is properly exhortation. It is an appeal to their feelings on the subject before them. It is absurd to object to these appeals to the feelings, for if they are not to be made, then there can be no such thing as exhortation ; and then there can be no such thing as influencing the will : for reasoning, as a general rule, cannot do it. The will is reached, as nature seems to have intended, through the feelings. The demonstration of one of Euclid's problems convinces the un- derstanding, but, as this is not a subject about which the feelings can be interested, the mat- ter ends when the proof is understood : the will can be in no way affected by that proof. So you may demonstrate the statements that Jesus Christ is the Light of the world, and the Saviour of the world, but you will have done little, as a preacher, till by making men feel that it is for their advantage to receive Him in these capacities, you shall have brought them to wish so to receive Him. To do this you must appeal to their sense of sin, to their desire to be at peace with God, to their gratitude, to their natural approval of all that is pure and holy, and to any other feelings by which you may hope to draw them to desire what you have proved. These ap- peals are exhortations. — Zincke^ Extempo- rary Preaching, p. 93. (S., 1867.) EXORDIUM. — See Beginning, Introduc- tion. 437. EXPERIENCE, LESSONS GAINED FROM.— It is well to ponder closely the lessons derived from each new experience in speaking. The minister can never exactly measure his own success, and may often lament as a failure that effort which has accomplished great good. He has in his mind an ideal of excellence by which he estimates his sermons. If this be placed very low, he may succeed in coming up to it, or even pass beyond it, without accomplish- ing anything worthy of praise. But in such a case he is apt to be well satisfied with the result. And often the sermons with which we are least pleased are really the best. For in the mightiest efforts of mind the standard is placed very high — sometimes beyond the limit of possible attainment, and the speaker works with his eye fixt upon the summit, and often, after all his exertions, sees it shining above him still, and closes with the convic- tion that his ideas are but half exprest. He feels mortified that there should be such difference between conception and execution. But his hearers, who have been led over un- trodden fields of thought, know nothing of the heights still above the orator's head, and 175 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Ezhortatiou Exposition are filled with enthusiasm, or have received new impulses to good. This is the reason why we are least able to judge of the suc- cess of sermons that have been long medi- tated, and are thoroughly prepared. The sub- ject expands as we study it, and its outlines become grander and vaster, until they pass j beyond our power of representation. And each separate thought that is mastered also becomes familiar, and is not valued at its full worth by the speaker. If he had begun to speak without thought, intending to give only the easy and common views of his subject, all would have been fresh to him, and if a striking idea presented itself, its novelty would have enhanced its appreciation. This is no reason against diligent preparation, but rather a strong argument in favor of it. It should only stimulate us to improve our pow- ers of expression as well as of conception. — PiTiENGER, Oratory and Orators, p. 116. (S. R. W., 1869.) 438. EXPOSITION IN PREACHING. — An exposition should, of course, be con- ducted on just principles of interpretation, and unfold the true meaning of the passage. It will thus be adapted to secure the hearers' assent, as being not fanciful, nor forced. As much brevity as is consistent with the pur- pose should be studied, and the explanation be confined to those terms, or clauses, which need it. It should make as little display of learning as possible ; and the less formal the process, the better. In the pulpit, the results of a critical inquiry should be presented, rather than the steps by which those results have been attained. Yet, as the reasons for opinions on all objects of religious belief should be given, so in an exposition it will often be found desirable for the preacher to state the leading reasons for his view of a text. It is, however, unnecessary and inju- dicious for a preacher, whenever he employs a text as suggesting a subject in a somewhat remote or inferential manner, invariably to state this circumstance to the audience, and enter on a vindication of himself for thus employing it. If he has reasons satisfactory to himself for thus using his text, and if no special importance is connected with exact conformity, on that occasion, to the primary use of the text, why should he put his hear- ers into a questioning, criticizing state of mind, instead of aiming at once and with all his might to impress the thought which his judgment, or genius, has attached to the passage. — Ripley, Sacred Rhetoric, p. 92. (G. K. & L., 1849.) 439. EXPOSITION, L U C I D.— Clear- ness is essential to cogency. Thinking and speaking in one simultaneous act presents peculiar difficulties in regard to the attain- ment of clearness. Either thought is too quick for speech, and then the orator is apt to overleap some step in the process of rea- soning which is essential to place the matter of discourse fully and fairly before the minds of others less acquainted with the matter than the pleader to whom it has (or should have) been a special study ; or thought is too slow, and then speech is dragging and heavy, expletive and tiresome, repetitive and re- dundant. In either case lucidity will be un- attainable, unless in the former condition of mind sententious phraseology be employed to utter the thoughts as they arise, and the groundwork of the case be retraversed, and explained at large to the listeners ; and in the former, unless the speaker shall manage by artful repetition of the same idea in well- varied language to fill the hearer's ear, and entertain their minds until the next idea has been gained and mastered. This may be done by the use of plain, strong, concise language at first, by following this with allu- sive and illustrative matter, and by repeating the same thought in more familiar expres- sions and more vernacular phraseology. Lu- cidity is best provided for by having stored in the memory, in their most concise and simple form, the several successive steps of the argument to be used, and noticing that, however frequently the terms employed in delivering it may be changed, no change — either by addition, subtraction, or substitu- tion—be made in the original argument, which must be kept, as a whole, steadily in view. The following suggestions may not be found ineffectual in guarding against ob- scurities of thought or language: — 1st. Con- sider carefully (a) the point or points to be gained ; (b) what would be sufficient to gain that or those; (c) how far the case in hand falls short of this; (d) how the point or points may be evaded by one or other of the parties; (e) what false principles may be most easily substituted for the true one in the case. 2nd. Having pre-determined the consequences to be attained, search out a principle which will justify you in claiming them as effectively gained. 3rd. Graduate the facts and arguments so that they may follow in such an order as shall bring their full effects to bear upon the end aimed at. 4th. Attend to the signification of all words used in the important arguments or state- ments ; distinguish between the primary, par- ticular, or common meaning of any terms. Exposition Eyes KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 176 and sedulously avoid the use of those to which custom has attached any secondary sense detrimental to the case in hand; ab- stain from the employment of doubtful terms, and, when necessary, define the exact extent of signification in which special terms are used. — Neil, The Art of Public Speaking, p. 72. (H. & W., 1868.) 440. EXPOSITORY ELOQUENCE.— Expository eloquence is employed to make statements of facts, to supply an abstract of some foregone occurrence or debate, to ex- plain in detail the opinions of the speaker, or to describe the proceedings upon which any motion is to be founded, or from which the propriety or impropriety of a course of action, whether past or ifuture, is to be judged. It is, of course, chiefly narrative and explanatory, and its main object is either to inform or to produce behef in the essential accuracy of the view given and the opinions enforced. In such speech there need be no straining after novelty of form ; an easy and idiomatic style, the words of which are sim- ple and exact, the collocations of which are precise and perspicuous, the flow of which is discursive and animated, and a mildly earnest, yet pretty sedate elocution will, in general, best fit the utterance of an exposi- tory discourse. The chief constructive ele- ments to be attained to are, the selection and the arrangement of the facts, opinions, etc. These should, in general, receive the order of time for facts, and that of logical consecution for opinions. The salient points alone ought to receive preeminence ; and tedious particularity, unless under special circum- stances, should be carefully avoided. These should be so allocated as to admit of a ready and easy transition from part to part, and yet be so built together as to produce a cumulative impression, heighten- ing always towards the close. Each section of such a discourse ought to lead to, and necessitate, the next ; each should deal with a distinct subject distinctly; and the whole, unitedly, tho they need not exhaust the topic, must present such a view of the entire sub- ject as might justify, if not demand, deci- sion. These moral elements seem essential to expository discourse, viz., fidelity as to state- ments, and impartiality in their exhibition. Any appearance of what is called "making a case" tends materially to lessen the effect of a narrative, descriptive, or enunciatory speech; and honor and honesty possess a vigor of their own, which we ought always to endeavor to bring over to our side. Good temper and unstrained promptness may co- exist with, and be employed in, even a hostile marshaling of facts or thoughts; and modest firmness, as well as exact and unmistakable pertinence, may add force and pungency to a defensive detail of matters of fact, policy, or purpose. Exposition need not dispense with ornament. The words should be ex- pressive and well chosen ; the sentences should be skilfully rounded and harmoniously balanced ; and the length and style of the sev- eral paragraphs ought to be judiciously varied. Yet it is desirable that any appear- ance of minute care, elaborate arrangement, or exquisite polish of diction should be avoided, and as far as possible we must labor against incurring a suspicion of subordinating any portion of the details on which we enter to the requirements of proportion, elegance, grace, or selection. The more credit we gain for art, the less we shall get for candor and correctness and honesty. The form which an expository discourse will preferentially as- sume will consist of an exordium, showing the necessity of the statement to be made, the importance of acciiracy and truth, and making a claim upon attention. The state of the subject, at the point where it is taken up, will naturally form a matter for observation, and the narrative portion will follow that order of selection already determined upon. The peroration may usually conciliate objec- tors, and maintain the substantial integrity of the statements made, defend the form of exposition adopted, and indicate the aspect which the topic should assume after the mat- ter addrest to the hearers has been duly re- flected upon or taken into consideration. — Neil, The Art of Public Speaking, p. 31. (H. & W., 1868.) 441. EXPOSITORY PREACHING.— The expository method is adapted to secure the greatest amount of scriptural knowledge to both preacher and hearers. It needs no argument, we trust, to sustain the position that every minister of the Gospel should be mighty in the Scriptures ; familiar with the whole text ; versed in the best commentaries ; at home in every portion of both Testa- ments ; and accustomed to grapple with the most perplexing difficulties. This is the ap- propriate and peculiar field of clerical study. It is obvious that the pulpit exercises of every diligent minister will give direction and color to his private lucubrations. In order to success and usefulness in any species of discourse, the preacher must love his work, and must have it constanty before his mind. He must be possest of an enthusiasm which shall never suffer him to forget the impend- 177 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING EzpOBltion ' Eyes ing task. His reading, his meditation, and even his casual trains of thought, must per- petually revert to the performances of the Sabbath. — Alexander, Thoughts on Preach- ing, p. S83. (S., 1862.) 442. EXPRESSION AND EMOTION. — Whatever the mind desires to convey it ex- presses naturally and unconsciously in a man- ner of its own. You will instantly recognize this natural language in the expression of the more powerful emotions — ^joy, grief and fear. Each has its proper tone, the meaning of which is recognized by all human beings, whether the emotion be or be not shaped into speech. But the finer emotions have their own appropriate expressions also, which you may discover if you observe closely, diminishing by delicate shades until they can be caught only by the refined ear. From this we may conclude that whatever the mind desires to express in speech is naturally and unconsciously uttered in a tone appropriate to itself, which tone is adapted to excite the corresponding emotion in the mind to which it is addrest. You feel alarm. Your voice, without effort on your part, sounds the note of alarm. It falls upon the ear and passes into the mind of another trian and instantly excites the same emotion in him. You are opprest with grief. You give utterance to your grief in tone of sadness. The mind that hears them feels sad, too. The same emotion is awakened in that mind by the faculty which is called sympathy. Words that come from the mind are but the mind made audible and therefore must vary with every wave of thought or feeling. This is what I mean by expression in reading. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 73. (H. C, 1911.) EXTEMPORE PREACHIN G.— See Preaching, Extempore; Speaking, Ex- tempore. EXTEMPORE SPE AKIN G.— See Preaching, Extempore; Speaking, Extempore. 443. EYES, INFLUENCE OF THE, IN SPEAKING.— As the principal object of every public speaker must be to obtain the attention of his audience; so every circumr stance which can contribute to this end must be considered important. Nothing will be found so effectually to attract attention, and to detain it, as the direction of the eyes. It is well known that the eyes can influence per- sons at a distance; and that they can select from a multitude a single individual, and turn their looks on him alone, tho many lie in the same direction. The whole person seems to be in some measure affected by this influence of another's eyes, but the eyes themselves feel it with the most lively sen- sibility. It is in the power of a public speak- er to obtain the attention of any individual by turning his eyes upon him, tho the mat- ter of his discourse may not be particularly addrest or relating to that person. But if he direct his looks into the eyes of any one of his audience, he holds his attention irre- sistibly fixed. We seem to have the power, as it were, of touching each other by the sense of sight, and to be endued with some- thing of that fascination of the eye which is attributed to other animals, and which the serpent is particularly said to possess. Not only is everyone conscious when he is looked upon himself, but he even perceives when others are looked upon. The line of the direction of the axis of the eye, however in- visible and imaginary, seems as if in effect it could be seen, and that in every instance throughout a great assembly, crossing and radiating in a thousand directions from the center of every orb of sight. And if in such an assembly any individual should be con- spicuous from his situation or appearance, he glories, and is seen to glory in the contempla- tion of every eye. If another be remarkable for anything unusual, and which affords no ground of pride, he is opprest by the weight of eyes which are turned upon him. Hence bashfulness casts down the curtains of the eyes, and can not bear to raise them lest it should encounter the glance of curiosity in that most tender organ : whilst it feels pain- fully enough the gazing eye which wanders over its whole person. However these cir- cumstances may be accounted for, the public speaker will judiciously take care to avail himself of them in a proper manner. He will therefore turn his eyes upon the eyes of his audience, and in the more important and earnest passages, he will look into the very pupils of their eyes. But in the practise of this direction of the eyes, which is of such advantage towards obtaining attention, he will be most cautious not to appear to fix on any particular person as the object of invective, or as the subject and example of the vices he may condemn; unless unhappily in public debate such severity should be absolutely necessary. — Austin, Chironomia, or a Trea- tise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 101. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 444. EYES, POWER OF THE SPEAK- ER'S. — The eye governs the expression of the other features. The expressive power of Eyes Facial Expression KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 178 the human eye is so great that it determines, in a manner, the expression of the whole countenance. It is almost impossible to dis- guise it. It is said that gamblers rely mor^ upon the study of the eye, to discover the state of their opponents' game, than upon any other means. Even animals are susceptible of its power. The dog watches the eyes of his master, and discovers from them, before a word is spoken, whether he is to expect a caress, or apprehend chastisement. It is said that the lion can not attack a man, so long as the man look him steadily in the eyes. Joy and grief, anger, pride, scorn, hatred, love, jealousy, pity— in a word, all the pas- sions and emotions of the human heart, in all their degrees and interworkings with each other, express themselves, with the utmost fulness and power, in the eyes. Through them the soul makes its most clear and vivid manifestations of itself. In order that the speaker may avail himself of this great and mysterious power of expression, he must not allow his eyes to become fixed upon his man- uscript ; nor to assume a vacant expression, under the influence of the intellectual opera- tions of invention, or remembering; nor to wander around the walls of the audience room, or up to the ceiling, nor to follow the motions of the hands, as if the speaker were looking at them. He must look at the audi- ence, and scan their faces individually, in or- der to open a personal communication be- tween himself and every one of them, so far as this is possible. He should not allow his eye to wander from the audience, except when this is required by some gesture. Thus he will be enabled to command their atten- tion, and awaken their sympathy ; and his eye will naturally express and convey to them all the passions and emotions of his own heart. — McIlvaine, Elocution, p. 400. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 445. EYES, USE OF THE, IN SPEAK- ING. — The speaker's eye should be fixed upon the audience. It is indispensable that the speaker should not allow his eye to be- come fixt upon his manuscript, nor to wan- der around the walls, or up to the ceiling, nor to express in any way abstraction from the business in hand. He must bring his eye to bear steadily upon the people before him, scanning their countenances individually, and noting every sign of attention, or of the want of it. Where he perceives inattention, or any lack of interest, he should keep looking at the persons in whom it is manifested, and seem to direct his words more particularly to them, until he makes them feel that he is almost calling them by name. This, however, requires care to avoid giving offense. He must, indeed, be ever on his guard, in such circumstances, against the temptation to man- ifest annoyance or irritation. — McIlvaine, Elocution, p. 113. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 446. FACE AND EMOTION.— An idea may be derived of what the countenance of the speaker adds to his address from the in- stinctive want we experience of beholding him, even when he is already sufficiently audible. Not only all ears, but all eyes like- wise are bent upon the speaker. The fact is that man's face, and, above all, his eye, is the mirror of his soul; also, in the lightning of the glance, there is a flush of luster which illumines what is'said; and on this account it was unspeakably to be regretted that Bour- daloue should have spoken with his eyes closed. One of the disadvantages of a re- cited speech is to quench, or at least to en- feeble and dim, the brilliancy of the dis- course. Besides which the rapid contractions and dilatations of the facial muscles — which each moment are changing and renewing the physiognomy, by forming upon the visage a sort of picture, analogous to the speaker's feeling, or to this thought — these signs of dismay or joy, or fear or hope, of aifliction of heart or of calmness, of storm or serenity, all these causes which successively plow and agitate the countenance, like a sea shaken by the winds, and which impart so much move- ment and life to the physiognomy that it becomes like a second discourse which doubles the force of the first — ought to be employed by the orator as so many means of effect, mighty with the crowd whom they strike and carry away. But it is under na- ture's dictate that he will best employ them; and the best, the only method which it be- hooves him to follow in this respect is, to grasp powerfully, and to conceive thoroughly, what he has to unfold or to describe; and then to say it with all the sincerity and all the fervor of conviction or emotion. The face will play its own part spontaneously; for, as the various movements of the counte- nance are produced of their own accord in the ratio of the feeling experienced, when- ever you are really moved and under the influence of passion, the face naturally adapts the emotion of the words, as these that of the mind; and art can be of little avail under these circumstances. — Bautain, Art of Ex- tempore Speaking, p. 100. (S., 1901.) 179 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Eye* Facial EzpresBiou 447. FACE AND HEAD AS AIDS TO EXPRESSION.— The head is the princi- pal part in action, as it is in the body. The means toward qualifying it for right use is, first, to keep it straight and in a natural posi- tion, for when downcast it may denote mean- ness ; drawn back, arrogance ; inclined on one side, indolence; and hard and stiff, some- thing of a savage disposition. It, next, must receive just motions from the action, to agree with the gesture, and accompany the hands and sides. The eyes always turn together with the gesture, except when referring to things which we should condemn, or not allow, or remove from us, that we may seem to show the same aversion to them in our countenance, and keep them back with our hand. The head is in many ways expressive of gesture, for beside the motions for grant- ing, refusing, affirming, there are also some for bashfulness, and doubt, and admiration, and indignation, which are well known and common to all. But the face is what is most expressive. By it we appear suppliant, men- acing, mild, mournful, joyous, proud, sub- missive. From the expression of the face men hang, as it were; on it they look, and even examine it before they speak. By the face we show fondness for some persons, and hate for others ; for by it also we understand many things, and it is often equivalent in expressiveness to whatever can be said in words. For this reason it is that in plays for the stage the actors have represented on the masks they wear, the passions of the re- spective characters they personate. — QuiN- TiLiAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 2, p. 337. (B. L., 1774.) 448. FACE-TO-FACE SPEAKING.— One of the first objects of the preacher and of the reader alike must be to gain the at- tention of the audience. In his efforts to do this, the preacher follows the natural method — the method everyone is using all his life through, and with the application of which to himself everyone is equally familiar. It is the method of conversation. It is the only way in which men use language in their face- to-face intercourse with each other. When a man speaks to another, the auditor feels that his attention is challenged, and there- fore attention is given as a matter of course and of habit. It would be unreasonable if the auditor did not attend. The speaker is speaking to him. There seems no room for choice. The auditor is called upon not only to attend, but to do what attention to a speaker implies, to remember, and to judge of what is being said. This is understood by what is seen of the present working of the mind of the speaker, in the play of his fea- tures, in the tones of his voice, and in the direct bearing of what he is saying, either by way of explanation, illustration, or appeal, on the actual feelings of the hearers, or on the thoughts that are at that moment in their minds. Contrast with this the effect of read- ing. I hardly need go into particulars. This is not the natural mode of address. It is a mode with which no one can be familiar. It does not challenge attention. We feel that the reader's mind is not directed to our mind, as a speaker's would be ; but rather that it is addrest to an imaginary unbeliever, or an imaginary misbeliever, to an imaginary worldling, or to an imaginary wrongdoer of some kind or other. It is not addrest to what is passing in the minds of the men and women then and there present. And, as a matter of fact, the effect corresponds with this difference; and the reader fails to gain attention to that degree which is accorded without any effort on the part of the con- gregation to the extemporary preacher. We all know that reading does not possess the requisites for enabling it always to command our attention. And after all there are rea- sonable grounds why the congregation should not make much effort to listen to what is read. It is not the living mind that is wres- tling with their minds, but in reality a manu- script which, through the medium of the reader's voice, is addressing them. It is the manuscript that is dealing with them, a man- uscript which they might read for themselves with as much profit perhaps as they will de- rive from hearing it read to them. — Zincke, Extemporary Preaching, p. 39. (S., 1867.) 449. FACIAL EXPRESSION.— Many books of elocution give instruction on the various forms the face is to assume while under the influence of affected passion. The first error in such instruction is to infer that the passion is affected. It is for the time real. The great actor or reader realizes in his imagination the true circumstances, the true passion, until he feels it, and then he never fails in facial expression. Let us con- ceive an enemy who has deeply wronged us — • thwarted our purposes, injured our interests, blasted our reputation — what must be the feeling but one of intense hatred? How would we address him — how express our hatred? Would any description of facial ex- pression assist as well as a true conception of the feeling? And he who can not realize the feeling can never put the requisite ex- pression into his face by rule and method. Facial Expression Facial Expression KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 180 Think of a reader studying before he begins to read a love passage of the following de- scription and then literally following it : "love gives a soft serenity to the countenance, a languishing to the eyes, a sweetness to the voice, and a tenderness to the whole frame." Or in reproach, "the brow is contracted, the lip turned up with scorn, and the head shaken." The difficulty would be to give, by such rules, the due measure of expression, how to languish with the eye, how high to turn the lip, how often to shake the head. Everyone passes through the ordeal of some of these feelings in the experiences of life, and whoever thinks how he feels in sorrow, hatred, love or pride, will never fail to give, without premeditation, the due expression to his face. The "mind is the music breathing from the face," and the great evil of such instruction is to misguide the student as to the true sources of power in expressive de- livery. Study will improve conception, and true conception of sentiment is the best and only sure guide for true facial expression. — Lewis, The Dominion Elocutionist and Public Reader, p. 140. (A. S. & Co., 1872.) 450. FACIAL EXPRESSION AND ACTION. — The countenance is the pri- mary seat of all expression, and in the changes seen in the forehead, eyebrows, eyes, and hps, all the passions and emotions of the soul may be successively seen as in a mirror. For these to be wholly without expression is enough to destroy almost all the power of the most earnest, vigorous, and impassioned language, so far as the mere words are con- cerned, and there should always be appro- priate harmony in the expression of face, gesture, and language. But it is here per- haps, more than in anything, that discretion must be our tutor, and teach us to shun vio- lence of action, and exuberance of gesture and expression of countenance, on the one hand, and tame, cold, motionless demeanor, and stolid, changeless face on the other. Due regard must always be had to the size of the place in which we are speaking, the character of our audience, the nature of our subject, and the language we have to utter ; and these being borne in mind, our chief instructors must be sound judgment and good taste in these and kindred matters. As you proceed with your speech, and warm with your prog- ress in it, there will doubtless occur some word or clause which you desire to make emphatic, and you will almost instinctively use some action of the arm and hand to en- force it on the attention of your audience. Now avoid all narrow, awkward actions, pro- ceeding only from the elbows. Remember that the arms should always perform their chief motions from the shoulders, the elbows by a gentle bend contributing to the principal action. Grace depends on freedom and ease of movement, and the curve which the hand usually describes in action, depends, as re- gards its latitude of motion, very much on the character of the language that is being uttered. If very earnest, passionate, or dig- nified in character, the action of the arm or hand should be free and waving in the ampli- tude of the curve it takes, but avoid, if pos- sible, all mere violent angular action. Of course, in quieter passages the curves of the arm and hand are naturally very much less in extent. It is in elevated, declamatory, and poetical passages, that the language is best accompanied by extended motions; in ordi- nary discourse, simple and easy transitions are alone appropriate. — Plumptre, King's College Lectures on Elocution, p. 280. (T. & Co., 1883.) 451. FACIAL EXPRESSION AND FEELING. — Feeling cannot be expressed by words alone, or even by tones of voice; but by the flash on the cheek, the look of the eye, the contracted brow, the comprest lip, the heaving breast, trembling frame, rigid muscle, the general bearing of the whole body. A slight movement of the head, a turn of the hand, a judicious pause or interruption of gesture, or change of position of the feet, often illuminates the meaning of a passage and sends it glowing into the understanding; and yet there are times when even the won- ders of the eye will lose much of their charm, if not supported by the still more imposing organ of the voice. — Feobisher, Voice and Action, p. 28. (I. B. & Co., 1867.) 452. FACIAL EXPRESSION NECES- SARY. — If the different passions and feelings require to be delivered in different tones of voice, at least equally do they de- mand a different expression of countenance. To wear the same imperturbable visage, when you are setting forth the loving-kindness of God, or denouncing his wrath, when you are expatiating on the comforts of divine grace, or picturing the degradation and misery of sin ; — to look with unvaried expression, whether you are warning or encouraging, re- proving or praising, whether you are setting forth the horrors of eternal suffering, or en- deavoring to give a faint picture of those joys which "eye hath not seen, nor ear heard" ; — to speak on all these topics with the same cold, unvarying countenance, is to r»- 181 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Facial EzpresBion Facial EspresBlon ject one of the most forcible auxiliaries of the pulpit. One point in which expression of countenance surpasses everything else is this, that it signifies at once the feeling of the speaker; words can only gradually un- fold the meaning; action is useful to give force to words as they are uttered, but the expression denotes the state of the speaker's mind, and the tone of what he is about to say, before he utters a word. It is not pos- sible to do much by rules to assist you in acquiring this most excellent gift, for it is, even more than the tones of voice, the work of nature. — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergyman, p. 283. (D. & Co., 1856.) 453. FACIAL EXPRESSION. PROP- ER. — It may be considered as an estab- lished point, that a public speaker should at- tend to the expression of his countenance as well as to that of his voice. The sort of expression to be adopted should suit best the nature of his subject, and the character of the feeling with which it should be ~ accom- panied. This general rule extends to every part of an oration. But as every public ad- dress should bespeak the attention and favor of the audience by due respect, and as the looks of the speaker precede his words, so it should be an established maxim (rarely to be violated) that an orator should temper with becoming modesty, that persuasion and con- fidence which his countenance should express of the justice and truth of what he recom- mends. This sentiment of respect mingled with modest confidence, should pervade every part of a discourse intended to win over others to the opinion of the speaker. And in the forms in the courts of law, where the pleader is accustomed often to break the tenor of his argument by a respectful repeti- tion of his address to the judges and the jury; and in Parliament, where the orator in the same manner repeats his address to the Speaker and to the House, it would seem that usage had provided for the proper mani- festation of this respect. But in the opening of an oration it appears more particularly necessary to bespeak favor by the demeanor. Every circumstance that can indicate respect for the audience should be studied. The speaker should rise up in his place with mod- esty, and without bustle or affectation; he should not begin at once abruptly, but delay a short time before he utters a word, as if to collect himself in the presence of those he respects. He should not stare about, but cast down his eyes, and compose his countenance : nor should he at once discharge the whole volume of his voice, but begin almost at the lowest pitch, and issue the smallest quantity , if he desire to silence every murmur, and to arrest all attention. These are the precepts of the greatest critics of ancient and modern days, and in this manner have the poets rep- resented their hero to speak, whose eloquence and irresistible power of persuasion they have celebrated. If on ordinary occasions, and in the common business of life, modesty of countenance and manner be a commendable grace in a public speaker, such modesty is much more to be desired, or is rather indispen- sable, in the sacred orator. When he pours out the public prayers to God, when he reads and expounds his laws; he can not fail to recollect that he is himself equally obnoxious to their sanctions, and equally in need of mercy as his congregation; and that he kneels only as one among the supplicants, and that he stands up only as one among the guilty before his unerring Judge. Vanity and presumption in such a situation would be more than indecorous. Humility is the proper characteristic of a Christian minister. But this humility is not incompatible with earnest- ness of manner, nor with the just confidence which every public speaker should appear to have in the truth of what he delivers. It is the less necessary for a public speaker to be solicitous to give this expression to his deliv- ery, because if he be truly in earnest, it can not fail to manifest itself. Expression of countenance, so important to the public speaker, will follow almost naturally to all who sincerely deliver their true sentiments. But far from this as well as from the other requisites of true eloquence will he be, whose heart is not engaged in the cause which he pleads. In vain does the apathy of rank and fashion deliver coldly and carelessly the law , of his opinion ; he may dictate to his crea- tures, but he can not persuade. In vain does the pleader at the bar weary the judge and the jury in the cause which he only labors to think just. In vain does the preacher attempt to enforce with energy and pathos those heavenly precepts to which he reluctantly conforms his life. If an orator is truly good and sincere, the expression of his counte- nance will not disappoint the feelings of his heart. Nature has done thus far for every man who can utter his sentiments at all; because it would be dangerous to the inter- ests of society to leave them doubtful or keep them opprest by concealment, till art or cultivation should enable men to bring them to light. Art has little to do in this matter: the expression of the countenance is faithful, and that of the voice is also faith- ful; they are the universal language of all Facial EzpresDlon. Facts KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 182 men, however rudely they may speak the lan- guage of convention. To the art of oratory belong only what are the objects of art, in- vention, arrangement, choice of words, grace- ful and impressive delivery, and other circumstances which are found to have con- spicuous influence in deciding doubtful af- fairs. A fine countenance, which above all things is to be desired by the orator, differs much from expression of countenance. The worst of men may have a sufficiently expres- sive countenance, but a fine countenance be- longs to a good heart, and an improved un- derstanding. This may also in some degree be acquired ; and the means are, long habits of virtuous life, and the cultivation of the benevolent dispositions. These in public will flash into the countenance and irradiate the looks of the orator, with an expression irre- sistible and almost divine. No assumed char- acter of occasional benevolence or occasional virtue can imitate this fine habitual emana- tion of the good mind; the labor and affecta- tion of the mere actor are manifest; and the audience will be more influenced by referring to the orator's life, when he utters generous and noble sentiments, than by his present looks and words, if discordant with his life. — Austin^ Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhe- torical Delivery, p. 93. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 454. FACIAL EXPRESSION, VARI- ETY IN.— The face, being furnished with a great variety of muscles, does more in man- ifesting our thoughts and feelings than the whole body besides, so far as silent language is concerned. The change of color shows anger by redness, fear by paleness, and shame by blushes ; every feature contributes its por- tion. The mouth open, shows one state of mind: closed, another; and gnashing the teeth, another. The forehead smooth and eyebrows easily arched, exhibit joy or tran- quillity. Mirth opens the mouth towards the cars, crisps the nose, half shuts the eyes, and sometimes suffuses them with tears. The front wrinkled into frowns, and the eye- brows overhanging the eyes, like clouds fraught with tempests, show a mind agitated with pity. — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 227. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 455. FACILITY OF SPEECH— In re- gard to that ready flow of words, which seems to be the natural gift of some men, it is of little consequence whether it be really such, or be owing to the education and habits of early life, and vain self-confidence. It is certain that diffidence and the want of habit are great hindrances to fluency of speech > and it is equally certain, that this natural fluency is a very questionable advantage to him who would be an impressive speaker. It is quite observable that those who at first talk easiest, do not always talk best. Their very facility is a snare to them. It serves to keep them content; they make no effort to improve, and are likely to fall into slovenly habits of elocution. So that this unacquired fluency is so far from essential, that it is not even a benefit, and it may be an injury. It keeps from final eminence by the very great- ness of its early promise. On the other hand, he who possesses originally no remarkable command of language, and whom an unfortu- nate bashfulness prevents from well using what he has, is obliged to subject himself to severe discipline, to submit to rules and tasks, to go through a tedious process of training, to acquire by much labor the needful sway over his thoughts and words, so that they shall come at his bidding, and not be driven away by his own diffidence, or the presence of other men. To do all this, is a long and disheartening labor. He is exposed to fre- quent mortifications, and must endure many grievous failures before he attain that confi- dence which is indispensable to success. But then in this discipline, his powers, mental and moral, are strained up to the highest intense- ness of action; after persevering practice, they become habitually subject to his control, and work with a precision, exactness, and energy, which can never be in the possession of him who has depended on his native, un- disciplined gift. Of the truth of this, exam- ples are by no means wanting, and I could name, if it were proper, more than one stri- king instance within my own observation. It was probably this to which Newton referred, when he said that he never spoke well till he felt that he could not speak at all. Let no one therefore think it an obstacle in his way that he has no readiness of words. If he have good sense and no deficiency of talent, and is willing to labor for this as all great acquisitions must be labored for, he needs not fear but that in time he will attain it. — Ware, Hints on Extemporaneous Preaching, p. 220. (G. K. 8e L., 1849.) 456. FACT AND OPINION.— The ex- pressions "matter of fact," and "matter of opinion," are not employed by all persons with precision and uniformity. But the no- tion most nearly conformable to ordinary usage seems to be this : by a "matter of fact" is meant, something which might, conceivably, be submitted to the sense; and about which 183 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Facial Ezpreislon Tacts it is supposed there could be no disagreement among persons who should be present, and to whose senses it should be submitted : and by a "matter of opinion" is understood, anything respecting which an exercise of judgment would be called for on the part of those who should have certain objects before them, and who might conceivably disagree in their judg- ment thereupon. This, I think, is the descrip- tion of what people in general intend to de- note (tho often without having themselves any very clear notion of it) by these phrases. Decidedly it is not meant, by those at least who use language with any precision, that there is greater certainty, or more general and ready agreement, in the one case than in the other. E. g. That one of Alexander's friends did, or did not, administer poison to him, everyone would allow to be a question of fact; tho it may be involved in inextrica- ble doubt: while the question, what sort of an act that was, supposing it to have taken place, all would allow to be a question of opinion ; tho probably all would agree in their opinion thereupon. Again, it is not, appar- ently, necessary that a "matter of fact," in order to constitute it such, should have ever been actually submitted — or likely to be so — to the senses of any human being ; only, that it should be one which conceivably might be so submitted. E. g. Whether there is a lake in the center of New Holland— whether there is land at the South Pole— whether the moon is inhabited— would generally be ad- mitted to be questions of fact; altho no one has been able to bear testimony concerning them; and, in the last case, we are morally certain that no one ever will. The circuni- stance that chiefly tends to produce indistinct- ness and occasional inconsistency in the use of these phrases, is, that there is often much room for the exercise of judgment, andfor difference of opinion, in reference to things which are, themselves, matters of fact. E. g. The degree of credibility of the witnesses who attest any fact, is, itself, a matter of opinion; and so, in respect of the degreeof weight due to any other kind of probabilities. That there is, or is not, land at the South Pole, is a matter of fact; that the existence of land there is likely, or unlikely, is a mat- ter of opinion. And in this, and many other cases, different questions very closely con- nected, are very apt to be confounded to- gether, and the proofs belonging to one of them brought forward as pertaining to the other. E. g. A case of alleged prophecy shall be in question: the event, said to have been foretold, shall be established as a fact ; and also, the utterance of the supposed pre- diction before the event; and this will per- haps be assumed as proof of that which is in reality another question, and a "question of opinion"; whether the supposed prophecy re- lated to the event in question ; and again, whether it were merely a conjecture of hu- man sagacity, or such as to imply super- human prescience. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 38. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 457. FACTS, IMPORTANCE OF^The vast majority of persons love a fact and a sentiment but loathe an argument, because all can comprehend the former and few can understand the latter. Minds that can reason a single step beyond the necessary require- ments of existence are but a small minority in the world. A single fact seeming to con- firm an opinion that has been taken upon trust weighs more with such minds than a logical demonstration. In like manner, a sentiment is vehemently applauded and ac- cepted as if it were proof, by those who feel but can not think. Facts and figures are es- sential ingredients in a business speech; but they require careful handling, for they are addressed to the reasoners as well as to those who can not reason. The art of effectively manipulating facts and figures in a speech, where the audience have not time to grasp the details as when they are read, consists in an elaborate and careful exposition of the results, for these will be readily apprehended and easily remembered, while the items are unheard or forgotten. If, for instance, your theme be Crime and Punishment, you show the operation of existing punishments upon crime by reference to the Judicial Statistics. To make your argument complete, it is neces- sary for you to state the items that compose the totals, for the reporter will need these for the satisfaction of your readers, altho your audience can not possibly follow the cal- culations with the speed of your utterance. You may therefore recite them briefly and rapidly. But what you desire to impress upon other minds are the results you deduce from them. You show that crime has or has not increased by a certain percentage, or in a certain ratio to the whole population, or in a certain direction. These conclusions you should invariably put forward in the plainest language, with emphatic utterance, and even repeat them twice or thrice, to be assured that they are understood by all. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 260. (H. C, 1911.) Facta rear KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 184 458. FACTS, INTRODUCING A STATEMENT OF.— When we ought to introduce a statement of facts, and when we ought not, requires judicious consideration. For we ought to make no such statement, either if the matter is notorious, or if the circumstances are free from doubt, or if the adversary has related them, unless indeed we wish to confute his statement; and whenever we do make a statement of facts, let us not insist too eagerly upon points which may create suspicion and ill-feeling, and make against us, but let us extenuate such points as much as possible; lest that should happen which, whenever it occurs, Crassus thinks is done through treachery, not through folly, namely, that we damage our own cause; for it concerns the fortune of the whole cause, whether the case is stated with caution, or otherwise, because the statement of the case is the foundation of all the rest of the speech. What follows is, that the matter in question be laid down, when we must settle what is the point that comes under dispute; then the chief grounds of the cause are to be laid down conjunctively, so as to weaken your adversary's supports, and to strengthen your own; for there is in causes but one method for that part of your speech, which is of efficacy to prove your arguments ; and that needs both confirmation and refutation ; but because what is alleged on the other side can not be refuted unless you confirm your ov^fn statements, and your own statements can not be confirmed unless you refute the allegations on the opposite side, these matters are in consequence united both by their nature, by their object, and by their mode of treatment. The whole speech is then generally brought to a conclusion by some amplification on the different points, or by exciting or mollifying the judge ; and every particular, not only in the former parts of the speech, but more especially towards the conclusion, is to be adapted to excite as much as possible the feelings of the judges, and to incline them in our favor. — Cicero, On Oratory and Ora- tors, p. 319. (B., 1909.) 459. FACTS MOST FAMILIAR TO THE AUDIENCE.— These should be stated first, in accordance with the rule to argue "from the known to the unknown." The average audience is extremely sensitive to natural oratory, responding quickly and satisfactorily to the various shades of thought presented. Before a skilful orator, it will rise consecutively to the sublimity of his thought— grasping without the slightest ap- parent effort ideas never before dreamed in wildest fancy. Lay the foundation of the argument within the scope of the experience of the audience, and use such familiar facts as are perfectly apparent to them, and which they will immediately recognize as facts upon which they have relied and perchance acted for years. Then the orator has won their fa- vor, their sympathy, their credence, and they become eager to ascertain the logical out- growth of the principles to which they have given their ready assent, and to learn the relation of these principles to the case in hand. Thus, as we have seen, the gain is two-fold. The audience, as if by special in- spiration, pass from one proposition to an- other, readily and eagerly, even concurring in that for which they have had no previous proof, because of the confidence which they repose in the speaker, inasmuch as he did correctly state the facts with which they were perfectly familiar. — Conwell, Conwell's Sys- tem of Oratory, p. 28. (H. N., 1893.) 460. FACTS, SEEKING THE.— In or- der to accumulate facts there must be per- petual alertness of mind. The professional detective perceives a thousand things which an ordinary observer would not notice. The hunter listens to every sound and notices every broken leaf. The extemporizer should have as keen a scent for facts as the hound for game, and also needs the spirit of the detective. The memory of facts may operate in either of two ways : there may be a re- membrance of a fact by its title, so that the man's brain is like a library catalog ; but this sort of memory is of little worth to the extemporizer. It transforms the mind into a mere index rerum. One who has it can sit down, pen in hand, and call up facts, select those that he considers appropriate, and asso- ciate them in the body of an essay; but the extemporizer can make scant progress thus. He must bound and measure every fact when he adopts it, determine in what class it be- longs and what it will prove or illustrate. When he thus weighs and authenticates he may be assured that the facts are incorpo- rated in the raw material of thought, and that the laws of association will certainly revive them whenever they are necessary to the work in hand. He need not exhaust him- self by the ceaseless iteration of the ques- tion, "What have I ever seen or heard that will serve my purpose now?" By an inexor- able law, meditation will summon from every recess of his mind everything bearing upon it. Attention is the open sesame to his treasures. — Buckley, Extemporaneous Ora- tory, p. 104. (E. & M., 1898.) 185 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Facts Fear 461. FAITH AND CONVICTION.— In listening to some men you feel repelled by an impression that in their heart of hearts they do not realize or believe a word of what they are saying; that they have never experi- enced aught of the thing of which they are speaking. In listening to others, you know at once that they are on fire within with faith and conviction of the truth, and that in earnestness of purpose their lives correspond to their speech. And these are the only men that reach you. It is simply impossible not to listen to them. In the name of God they lay hold of your understanding and con- science, and you can not escape them. When you come near to them you feel the heat of the hidden fire, and you know that this divine fire has been kindled by Almighty love. — Kennard, Psychic Power in Preaching, p. 140. (G. W. J. & Co., 1901.) 462. FALLACY OF INTERROGA- TION. — The fallacy in the employment of this instrument consists in varying the queries in such a way as to institute really another inquiry while appearing to adhere to the question at issue. This fallacy is plainly re- ferable to that of irrelevant conclusion. The remedy is to reaffirm, and to return to the question. It may likewise be sometimes over- thrown by means of a parallel series of coun- ter questions. All depends upon a clear comprehension of the subject-matter, and a distinct statement of the issue. To the same head may be referred the Ambiguity of Terms, where a term is employed in different senses. Knowledge of the language and of the special terminology, is the resource against the fallacy — which is a fruitful cause not only of self-deception, but of sophistical argumentation. As Aristotle remarks, all the fallacies may be referred to ignoratio elenchi, to mistake of the proposition, or misappre- hension, or ignorance of it. Hence the cap- ital importance of a clear statement of the proposition. As Lord Coke says, with respect to a legal issue in pleading — it should be single, certain, material, and triable. — Bau- TAiN, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 331. (S., 1901.) 463. FEAR AND TRUTH IN SPEAK- ING. — If it is good to entertain some fear before speaking, it would nevertheless be prejudicial to entertain too much : first, be- cause a great fear disturbs the power of ex- pression; and, secondly, because if it does not proceed from timidity of character, it often springs from excessive self-love, from too violent an attachment to praise, or from the passion of glory, which overcomes the love of truth. Here is that which one should try to combat and to abate in oneself. The real orator should have but what is true in view; he should blot himself out in presence of the truth and make it alone appear, — as happens naturally, spontaneously, whenever he is profoundly impressed by it, and identi- fies himself with it, heart and mind. Then he grows like it, great, mighty, and dazzling. It is no longer he who lives, it is the truth which in him lives and acts ; his language is truly inspired; the man vanishes in the vir- tue of the Almighty who manifests Himself by His organ — and this is the speaker's no- blest, his true glory. Then are wrought mir- acles of eloquence which turn men's wills and change their souls. Such is the end at which the Christian orator should aim. He should try to dwarf himself, to annihilate himself, as it were, in his discourse, in order to allow Him whose minister he is, to speak and to work, a result oftenest attained when the speaker thinks he has done nothing, on account of his too fervent and too natural desire to do a great deal. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 226. (S.. 1901.) 464. FEAR IN SPEAKING, BENE- FITS OF.— It is well to feel somewhat afraid ere speaking, first in order that you may not lightly expose yourself to the trial, and that you may be spared the mortification ; and, in the second place, still more particu- larly, if you are obliged to speak, in order that you may maturely consider what you should say, seriously study your subject, penetrate it, become master of it, and thus be able to speak usefully to a public audi- ence. The fear in question is also useful in making the speaker feel his want of help from above, such as shall give him the ade- quate light, strength, and vividness of life. All men who have experience in public speak- ing, and who have ever themselves been elo- quent, know how much they have owed to the inspiration of the moment, and to that mysterious power which gives it. It is pre- cisely because a man may have sometimes received this efficacy from above, rendering him superior to himself, that he dreads being reduced to his own strength in that critical situation, and so to prove beneath the task which he has to accomplish. This fear which agitates the soul of a person about to speak, has also another and a less noble cause, which unfortunately prevails in the majority of instances ; that is, self-love — vanity, which dreads falling below oneself and below the expectations of men — a desire of success and Fear Feelings KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 186 of applause. Public speaking is a singularly conspicuous sort of thing, exposing a person to all manner of observations. Doubtless there is no harm in seeking the esteem of ones' fellows and the love of a good repu- tation is an honorable motive of action, capa- ble of producing excellent effects. But car- ried too far, it becomes a love of glory, a passion to make a dazzling appearance, and to cause one's self to become the theme of talk — and then, like all other passions, it is ready to sacrifice truth, justice, and good to its own gratification or success. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 223. (S., 1901.) 465. FEAR, LEGITIMATE.— Fear, if it does not paralyze, is salutary, but woe to him who experiences none, for it shows him to be unconscious of the greatness of his art. One of the most celebrated French generals was always obliged to dismount before going into battle, after which he rushed like a lion into action. This fear must not be that of too much self-esteem, but blended with love of truth. A true speaker must have that dread that can not be analyzed. There is hardly a public speaker of celebrity but what feels nervous every time he rises to speak on a great question. Actors feel the same in a new part. The very delicacy of percep- tion, the exquisite sensibility to impressions, and the impulsiveness, which are the soul of eloquence, are almost necessarily accom- panied by a certain degree of nervousness. Some so constituted fail, while a mere parrot of a person, with little culture, is certain to succeed. To await the moment with calm and self-confidence is very diflScult, but it can be learned. It is not to be bold, but courageous and swift. It should be fear and love, with openness and reality. — Frobisher, Acting and Oratory, p. 46. (C. of O. & A., 1879.) 466. FEAR, USES OF, IN SPEAKING. — Woe to him who experiences no fear be- fore speaking in public! It shows him to be unconscious of the importance of the func- tion which he is about to discharge — that he does not understand what truth is, whose apostle he himself should be, or that he little cares, and that he is not animated by that sacred fire which comes down from heaven to burn in the soul. I except alto- gether the Prophets, the Apostles of Jesus Christ, all who speak under supernatural in- spiration, and who have been told that they must not prepare what they shall say when they shall stand before the powerful and the arbiters of the world, for that all they should say shall be given to them at the time itself. It is not for men like these that we write. The Almighty, whosei instruments they are, and who fills them with His Spirit, makes them act and speak as He pleases, and to them the resources of human experience are entirely unnecessary. They never are afraid, because He who is truth and light is with them, and speaks by them. But others are not afraid because their enlightenment is small and their self-assurance great. They are unconscious of the sacredness of their task and of their ministry, and they go for- ward like children who, knowing not what they do, play with some terrible weapon, and with danger itself. The most valiant troops always feel some emotion at the first cannon shot, and I have heard it stated that one of the most celebrated generals of the empire — ■ who was even called "the bravest of the brave" — was always obliged to dismount from his horse at that solemn moment ; after which he rushed like a lion into the battle. Brag- garts, on the contrary, are full of assurance before the engagement, and give way during the action. So it is with those fine talkers, who think themselves competent to undertake any subject and to face any audience, and who, in the excellent opinion which they en- tertain of themselves, do not even think of making any serious preparation. After a few phrases uttered with confidence, they hesi- tate, they break down, or if they have suffi- cient audacity to push forward amidst the confusion of their thoughts and the inco- lierency of their discourse, they twaddle without understanding their own words, and drench their audience with their inexhausti- ble volubility. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 221. (S., 1901.) 467. FEELING AND POWER.— It is impossible for a person of a dull, heavy, or sluggish soul to speak well. The true orator is a man of keen and deep sensibility; he is all alive, even to his finger tips. It is this which gives him that charming animation or vivacity, which enables him always to com- mand the attention and sympathy of his audi- ence, and which is almost irresistible. It is this which inspires the tones, inflections, ar- ticulation, emphasis and gesture, so that it seems to be the feeling itself which speaks, rather than the man. It flashes in the eye, it plays upon the countenance, so that the features seem to talk as expressively as the lips. It pours itself into the audience by the mysterious channels of sympathy, and kindles in their hearts all the passions which glow in 187 rrO PUBLIC SPEAKING Teat Feeling's the speaker's own bosom. — McIlvaine, Elocu- tion, p. 65. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 4G8. FEELING AND UNDERSTAND- ING. — Every one who understands what he reads, can not fail of finding out each emphatic word; and his business then is to mark it properly, not by stress only, as in the accented syllables, but by a change of note, suited to the matter, which constitutes the essence of emphasis. If it be asked how the proper change of note is always to be hit upon, my answer is, that he must not only understand, but feel the sentiments of the author; as all internal feeling must be ex- prest by notes, which is the language of emo- tions ; not words, the language of ideas. And if he enters into the spirit of the author's sentiments, as well as into the meaning of his words, he will not fail to deliver the words in properly varied tones. For there are few people who speak. English without a provincial tone, that have not the most accurate use of emphasis, when they utter their sentiments in common discourse; and the reason that they have not the same use of it, in reading aloud the sentiments of others, is owing to the very defective and erroneous method, in which the art of read- ing is taught; whereby all the various, nat- ural, expressive tones of speech, are supprest, and a few artificial, unmeaning, reading notes are substituted in their room. — Sheridan, The Art of Reading, p. 103. (C. Dy., 1781.) 469. FEELING, LANGUAGE OF.— There is an original element in our natures, a connection between the senses, the mind and the heart, implanted by the Creator for pure and noble purposes, which can not be reasoned away. You can not argue men out of their senses and feelings, and after having wearied yourself and others by talking about books and history, set your foot upon the spot where some great and memorable ex- ploit was achieved, especially with those whom you claim kindred, and your heart swells within you. You do not now reason, you feel the inspiration of the place. Your cold philosophy vanishes, and you are ready to put off your shoes from your feet, for the place whereon you stand is holy. A language which letters can not shape, which sounds can not convey, speaks, not to the head but to the heart, not to the understanding but to the affections. — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 233. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 470. FEELING ONE'S SUBJECT.— In order to achieve the best success, extem- poraneous efforts should be made in an ex- cited state of mind, when the thoughts are burning and glowing, and long to find vent. There are some topics which do not admit of this excitement. Such should be treated with the pen. When the preacher would speak, he should choose topics on which his own mind is kindling with a feeling which he is earnest to communicate; and the higher the degree to which he has elevated his feelings, the more readily, happily, and powerfully will he pour forth whatever the occasion may demand. There is no style suited to the pulpit, which he will not more effectually command in this state of mind. He will rea- son more directly, pointedly, and convin- cingly; he will describe more vividly from the living conceptions of the moment ; he will be more earnest in persuasion, more animated in declamation, more urgent in appeals, more terrible in denunciation. Everything will vanish from before him, but the subject of his attention, and upon this his powers will be concentrated in keen and vigorous action. If a man would do his best, it must be upon subjects which are at the moment interesting to him. We see it in conversation, where everyone is eloquent upon his favorite topics. We see it in deliberative assemblies ; where it is those grand questions, which excite an intense interest, and absorb and agitate the mind, that call forth those bursts of elo- quence by which men are remembered as powerful orators, and that give a voice to men who can speak on no other occasions. Cicero tells us of himself, that the instances in which he was most successful, were those in which he most entirely abandoned himself to the impulses of feeling. Every speaker's experience will bear testimony to the same thing; and thus the saying of Goldsmith proves true, that "to feel one's subject thor- oughly, and to speak without fear, are the only rules of eloquence." Let him who would preach successfully, remember this. In the choice of subjects for extemporaneous ef- forts, let him have regard toi it, and never encumber himself nor distress his hearers, with the attempt to interest them in a subject, which excites at the moment only a feeble interest in his own mind. — Ware, Hints on Extemporaneous Preaching, p. 246. (G. K & L., 1849.) 471. FEELINGS, ADDRESS TO THE. — Men know, and feel, that he who presents to their minds a new and cogent train of argument, does not necessarily possess or as- Peellners Z'^nelen KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 188 sume any offensive superiority; but may, by merely having devoted a particular attention to the point in question, succeed in setting before them arguments and explanations which have not occurred to themselves. And even if the arguments adduced, and the con- clusions drawn, should be opposite to those with which they had formerly been satisfied, still there is nothing in this so humiliating, as in that which seems to amount to the imputation of a moral deficiency. It is true that sermons not unfrequently prove popu- lar, which consist avowedly and almost exclu- sively of exhortation, strictly so-called — in which the design of influencing the senti- ments and feelings is not only apparent, but prominent throughout : but it is to be feared, that those who are the most pleased with such discourses, are more apt to apply these exhortations to their neighbors than to them- selves ; and that each bestows his commenda- tion rather from the consideration that such admonitions are much needed, and must be generally useful, than from finding them thus useful to himself. When indeed the speaker has made some progress in exciting the feel- ings required, and has in great measure gained possession of his audience, a direct and distinct exhortation to adopt the conduct recommended will often prove very effectual ; but never can it be needful or advisable to tell them (as some do) that you are going to exhort them. It will, indeed, sometimes happen that the excitement of a certain feel- ing will depend, in some measure, on a pro- cess of reasoning; e.g., it may be requisite to prove, where there is a doubt on the sub- ject, that the person so recommended to the pity, gratitude, etc., of the hearers, is really an object deserving of these sentiments: but even then, it will almost always be the case, that the chief point to be accomplished shall be to raise those feelings to the requisite height, after the understanding is convinced that the occasion calls for them. And this is to be effected not by argument, properly so called, but by presenting the circumstances in such a point of view, and so fixing and de- taining the attention upon them, that corre- sponding sentiments and emotions shall grad- ually, and, as it were, spontaneously, arise. Sermons would probably have more effect, if, instead of being, as they frequently are, directly hortatory, they were more in a didac- tic form ; occupied chiefly in explaining some transaction related, or doctrine laid down, in Scripture. The generality of hearers are too much familiarized to direct exhortation to feel it adequately: if they are led to the game point obliquely, as it were, and induced to dwell with interest for a considerable time on some point, closely, tho incidentally, con- nected with the most awful and important truths, a very slight application to them- selves might make a greater impression than the most vehement appeal in the outset. Often indeed they would themselves make this ap- plication unconsciously; and if on any this procedure made no impression, it can hardly be expected that anything else would. To use a homely illustration, a moderate charge of powder will have more effect in splitting a rock, if we begin by deep boring, and intro- ducing the charge into the very heart of it, than ten times the quantity exploded on the surface. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 122. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 472. FEELINGS, HOW TO REACH THE. — It is in vain to form a will to quicken or lower the circulation, but we may, by a voluntary act, swallow a medicine which will have that effect; and so, also, tho we can not by a direct effort of volition excite or allay any sentiment or emotion, we may by a voluntary act fill the understanding with such thoughts as shall operate on the feel- ings. Thus, by attentively studying and med- itating on the history of some extraordinary personage, by contemplating and dwelling on his actions and sufferings, his virtues and his wisdom, and by calling on the imag- ination to present a vivid picture of all that is related and referred to, in this manner we may at length succeed in kindling such feelings, suppose, of reverence, admiration, gratitude, love, hope, emulation, as we were already prepared to acknowledge are suitable to the case. So, again, if a man of sense wishes to allay in himself any emotion, that of resentment for instance, tho it is not under the direct control of the will, he de- liberately sets himself to reflect on the soften- ing circumstances; such as the provocations the other party may suppose himself to have received, perhaps his ignorance or weakness or disordered state of health : he endeavors to imagine himself in the place of the of- fending party, and, above all, if he is a sin- cere Christian he meditates on the parable of the debtor who, after having been himself forgiven, claimed payment with rigid severity from his fellow-servant ; and on other similar lessons of Scripture. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 118. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 473. FEELINGS OF THE SPEAKER. — Whatever passion or feeling you wish to excite, whether it be joy, sorrow, love, hatred, pity, or indignation, you must show by your 189 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING TeeJlnga FSuelou tone and expression, as well as by your words, that you are yourself affected in the way you wish your hearers to be affected. If you are unmoved and indifferent, they will be the same. A few sentences warm from the heart, and delivered with corresponding earnestness, are often sufficient; indeed, gen- erally speaking, they are better than many; for it is difficult to keep up for long a sus- tained warmth of expression, and if the fer- vor subsides, the address instantly becomes frigid, and your hearers will be unmoved. Judicious fanning keeps alive the flame, but too much may chance to extinguish it. Do not, however, check the stream of enthusiasm too soon, for every drop, if genuine, is pre- cious. In this point the extemporaneous preacher has a manifest advantage, for he can say more or less according as his own feelings bear him out, or his hearers are in a fit frame to receive it. — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergyman, p. 100. (D. & Co., 1856.) 474. FEET, CHANGES OF POSI- TION OF THE.— In changing the posi- tions of the feet, the motions are to be made with the utmost simplicity and free from the parade and sweep of dancing. The speaker must advance, retire, or change, almost im- perceptibly; except only when particular en- ergy requires that he should stamp with his foot, that he should start back, or advance with marked decision. The general rule for the time of change in the position of the feet, is, that it should take place after the first gesture or preparation of the changing hand, and coincide with the second or the finishing gesture ; and it is particularly to be observed that the changes should not be too frequent. Frequent change gives the idea of anxiety or instability, which are unfavorable to an ora- tor. — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 303. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 475. FEET, POSITION OF THE, IN SPEAKING. — In the various positions of the feet, care is to be taken that the grace v/hich is aimed at be attended with simplicity. The position of the orator is equally removed from the awkwardness of the rustic with toes turned in and knees bent, and from the af- fectation of the dancing-master, constrained and prepared for springing agility, and for conceited display. The orator is to adopt such attitudes and positions only as are con- sistent with manly and simple grace. The toes are to be moderately turned outwards, but not to be constrained ; the limbs are to be disposed so as to support the body with ease, and to change with facility. The sustaining foot is to be planted firmly ; the leg and thigh braced, but not contracted; and the knee straightened; (contraction suits the spring necessary for the dancer, and bent knees be- long to feebleness or timidity), the other foot and limb must press lightly, and be held re- laxed so as to be ready for immediate change and action. — Austin, Chironomia, or a Trea- tise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 301. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 476. FEET, POSITIONS OF THE.— The feet advance or retreat, to express de- sire or aversion, love or hatred, courage or fear. Dancing or leaping is often the effect of joy and exaltation, stamping of the feet expresses earnestness, anger or threatening. Stability of position and facility of change, general ease and grace of action, depend on the right use of the feet. — Bronson, Elocu- tion, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 325. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 477. FfiNELON AS A SPEAKER.— Fenelon had been endowed by nature with the two attributes most requisite in those who teach the power of command and the gift of pleasing. Dignity and fascination emanated from his whole being — nature had traced in his lineaments the beauty of his soul. His countenance exprest his genius even in mo- ments of silence. The pencil, the chisel, and the pen of his contemporaries, some of whom were his enemies, all agree in their delinea- tion of Fenelon. D'Aguesseau and St. Simon have been his Vandyck and his Rubens. He lives, he speaks, and enchants in their hands. His figure was tall, elegant, and flexible in its proportions as that of Cicero. Nobility and modesty reigned in his air and governed his motions; the delicacy and paleness of his features added to their perfection. He bor- rowed none of his beauty from the carna- tion, owed none of it to color; it consisted entirely in the purity and grace of outline, and was altogether of a moral and intel- lectual cast. In molding his expression, Na- ture had employed but little physical mate- rial. We feel, while contemplating this countenance, that the rare and delicate ele- ments of which it was composed afforded no home to the more brutal and sensual pas- sions. They were shaped and molded only to display a quick intelligence and to render the soul visible. His forehead was lofty, oval, rounded in the center, deprest and throbbing toward the temples ; surmounted by fine hair of an undecided color, which the involuntary JPervor Fluency KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 190 breath of inspiration agitated like a gentle wind, as it curled around the cap that cov- ered the top of his head. His eyes, of a liquid transparency, received, like water, the various reflections of light and shadow, thought and impression. It was said that their color reflected the texture of his mind. Eyebrows arched, round, and delicate, re- lieved them; long, veined, and transparent lids covered and unveiled them alternately with a rapid movement. His aquiline nose was marked by a slight prominence, which gave energy of expression to a profile more Greek than Roman. His mouth, the lips of which were partly unclosed, like those of a man who breathes from an open heart, had an expression wavering between melancholy and playfulness, which revealed the freedom of a spirit controlled by the gravity of the thoughts. It seemed to incline equally to prayer or to smiles, and breathed at the same time of heaven and earth. Eloquence or familiar conversation flowed spontaneous- ly from every fold ; the cheeks were deprest, but unwrinkled, save at the two corners of the mouth, where benevolence had indented lines expressive of habitual graciousness. His chin, firm and somewhat prominent, gave a manly solidity to a countenance otherwise approaching to the feminine. His voice cor- responded, in its sweet, grave, and winning resonance, with all the harmonious traits of his countenance. The tone conveyed as much as the words, and moved the hsteners before the meaning was conveyed to them. — Lamar- TiNE, Memoirs of Celebrated Characters, vol. 2, p. 324. (H., 1854.) 478. FERVOR IN SPEAKING.— A great orator must have fervor. In the phys- ical world, force can be resolved into heat. It is the same in the spiritual world. The whole truths which the orator contemplates stir all the faculties of his soul into intense action, and this intense action takes the form of heat— of fervor. His tone may be low or high, his enunciation may be rapid or slow, his language may be plain or figurative, but in any case the fervor is apparent. His face glows, his eyes sparkle, his words burn, and his very sentences are poured forth in an easy and continuous flow as if they were molten. The whole man is on fire. An ora- tor on fire very soon affects his hearers. The most combustible among them are kindled by the shower of burning words that fall upon them. They are softened, are melted, become plastic, and are ready to take almost any shape. They are completely under the con- trol of the speaker. It is said that the elo- quence of St. Bernard was so captivating that mothers hid their sons, and wives hid their husbands, lest he should draw them away into a monastery. This fervor of the true orator is often imitated by the false. But the base imitation is easily detected. The fire of the true orator is fed with solid thoughts, and sheds a steady and lasting glow. The fire of the false orator is fed with chaff, and after a momentary flicker goes out, leaving nothing but smoke. — Pryde^ Highways of Literature, p. 133. (F. & W.) 479. FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE.— You have learnt from Mr. Locke that all human ideas are ultimately derived from one or two sources; either from objects percep- tible to the senses, or from the reflections of our own minds upon such subjects. It is equally clear that language, the purpose of which is to communicate our ideas, must be composed of words, first drawn from ideas of sensation. For, in order that the articu- late sound by which an idea could be con- veyed, might be received in association with the same idea, connected with it in the mind of the speaker, there must necessarily be some material prototype, to which both speaker and hearer might alike resort, and which they should agree to represent by that sound. Of ideas of reflection no such proto- type can exist. The operations of the mind, therefore, when exhibited by means of speech, must be embodied into figure ; and hence ev- ery word representing such an operation, must have been originally figurative. Fig- ures have sometimes been called modes of speech, differing from the common. But this, from what I have here observed, is not alto- gether correct. Nothing is more common than figurative language. The symbols, the hieroglyphics, the allegories of antiquity, all furnish examples of the prevalence of fig- ures in the primitive ages of the world. Among the savages of this continent the same figurative character is found in their modes of communicating thought. It is among the most unlettered classes of civilized society that figurative discourse principally predominates. The disposition so generally observed in men of every trade and profes- sion to apply the technical terms with which they are most familiar, bears the same indi- cation. They all use figuratively the words with which they are acquainted, instead of the proper terms, of which they are ignorant. So that figurative speech, instead of being a departure from the ordinary mode, is the general practise, from which the words, rig- orously confined to their proper sense, are 191 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Tervov- fluency rare exceptions. The use of figures must indeed have preceded metaphysical reasoning. They communicate ideas not by abstractions, but by images. They speak always to the senses, and only through them to the intel- lect. They give thought a shape. They are therefore the mother-tongue, not only of reflection, but of the imagination and the passions. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 2, p. 249. (H. & M., 1810.) 480. FIGURES OF COMPARISON, RULES FOR.— I recommend to you the following rules of restriction upon the use of figures, founded upon resemblance. (1) That there should be some resemblance between the figurative and the literal object. (2) That the figure, when brought into view, be not too much dwelt upon. It is seldom safe even to run a metaphor into an allegory. Your hearer expects you will leave something for his own imagination to perform. (3) Avoid selecting metaphorical figures from mean or disgusting objects. (4) Let your metaphors not be too thickly crowded. The species, which give a relish to your food, would make but indifferent food by themselves. And the best food, over-seasoned with them, would be spoiled. (5) Distinguish between the metaphors suitable for oratorical dis- course, and those which are reserved to the exclusive use of poetry. The poet may soar beyond the flaming bounds of space and time ; but the orator must remember that an audience is not so readily excursive, and is always under the power of gravitation. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 2, p. 326. (H. & M., 1810.) 481. FINDING YOURSELF.— A strong motive is a compelling force in a man's life. If he sets before him a high aim, and real- izes what it will mean to attain it, he will probably bend every nerve to that one defi- nite end. Such a man will make himself worthy of the respect of others. In his per- sonal appearance, and thought, and conver- sation, he will instantly commend himself to others. He will seek to develop judgment and far-sightedness. He will be industrious. ' He will seek the counsel of other men. He will be guided by his intuition and conscience. When he believes a thing is right, he will do it; when he knows a thing is wrong, he will avoid it. He will make each day count to- ward his certain progress. He will find him- self by discovering and developing all that is good and best in him. To such a man any reasonable achievement is possible. Sir Thomas Buxton said, "The longer I live, the more I am certain that the great difference between men, between the great and the in- significant, is energy, invincible determina- tion, an honest purpose once fixt, and then death or victory. This quality will do any- thing in the world; and no talents, no cir- cumstances, will make a two-legged creature a man without it." This has been the ani- mating spirit of the world's great men. This must be the ruling principle of any one who eventually finds himself. — Kleises, How to Develop Self-Confidence in Speech and Man- ner, p. 104. (F. & W., 1910.) 482. FLUENCY AND READINESS OF SPEECH.— It is told of one of our great orators that he himself attributed his fluency of speech and readiness of reply, not to any laborious cultivation of his natural powers, but to the fact of his never having for years been present at any debate in Par- liament without speaking, however shortly, upon the subject under discussion. Lord Chesterfield's maxims on this subject are too valuable to be passed over. He advises ev- ery man not only to aim at correctness of speech in his ordinary conversation, but even to write the most commonplace letter with care and accuracy; showing that the habit thus acquired will, in time, make it difiicult for him to avoid expressing himself, on all occasions, with elegance and propriety. The correctness here insisted upon in our ordi- nary conversation may at first sight seem likely to lead to pedantry and affectation ; but a moment's reflection will be sufficient to en- able us fully to appreciate the value of the suggestion. In the first place, very few per- sons, in casual conversation, seem to think that their having begun a sentence involves the least grammatical obligation to finish it. Let an ordinary colloquial discussion between educated men be taken down verbatim, and I question whether even the gifted possessor of a first-class government certificate would be able to parse and analyze it. A person of excitable temperament will doubtless experi- ence some difficulty in thus forcing himself to complete a sentence when he sees that it will not quite express his meaning, or after some new or different idea has struck him; but, until he has formed the habit of doing this in private, he is never likely to pass muster as a speaker in public. Another hab- it, which we are all more or less apt to fall into, is that familiarly known as "humming and hawing," whilst mentally groping for a word which most provokingly eludes us. What should we think of a person who, when writing, should give utterance to simi- Plu«noy rorenslo Abilit? KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 192 lar sounds every time his pen stopt and he had to think how to express his meaning? And yet there is no reason why a man should not think as quietly in speaking as in writing — the very pause which he is obliged to make will often add to rather than detract from the force of his words ; besides which, the calmness and deliberation which this involves is the very soul of good speaking, as without it a man has not even command over him- self, much less of his audience. Until, in "the very torrent, even whirlwind of his passion, he can acquire and beget a temperance which may give it smoothness," he will never be able to avoid the "inexplicable dumb show and noise" which the above habit often in- volves. — HalcombEj The Speaker at Home, p. 20. (B. & D., 1860.) 483. FLUENCY AND WARMTH IN SPEAKING.— Passions, when the mind is strongly affected by them, and images, when recent, manifest themselves by lively and rapid expressions which sometimes cool in the slowness of composition, and if put off for any time may not return. When an un- happy, scrupulous care about words stops us short at every step we take, we can no longer expect that volubility of speech, and tho single expressions may seem well chosen, yet are not fluent, they will seem painful. We therefore must endeavor to have a clear con- ception of things by means of the images before spoken of, placing all that we have to say concerning persons and questions before our eyes, and entering into all the passions of which our subject can well admit. For it is the sensibility of the heart and perturba- tion of the mind that make us eloquent, and therefore the illiterate do not lack words when stimulated to speak through passion or interest. We must strive, also, to direct the attention of the mind not to any object singly, but to many together, that if we cast our eye upon any point of view, we may be able to see all in a direct line, and about it, and not the last only but as far as the last.— Anony- mous. 484. FLUENCY OF SPEECH.— Many persons who have never attempted to speak in public, decide that they have not sufficient fluency of language from the fact of their feeling a defect even in ordinary conversa- tion. Now it may seem a curious assertion, but I believe that nearly all public speakers will afiirm that they find it more difficult to express their ideas in one continuous flow of language in conversation than they do in a public address. Nay, many men have so felt their deficiency in attempting to explain their ideas to a single person previous to address- ing a meeting, that it has been only the con- tinued experience of this fact that has pre- vented their being disheartened by it. But this may be readily accounted for : First, there is the additional stimulus arising from the sympathy of numbers; there is the abso- lute necessity of not showing any hesitation, and the acquired habit of giving up the ex- pression you want, if it does not come to hand, and substituting some other, tho much less forcible, in its stead ; again, in conver- sation men have generally to arrange their arguments as they go on ; new ideas are sug- gested or sought for whilst they speak; they have not exactly decided what they want to say, nor are they familiar enough with their subject to have all the terms and expressions ready for use. Let them, however, be telling you something of which their whole mind is full, some piece of good news or some story of an injustice done to them, and there will be very little hesitation. Hence want of flu- ency in conversation, or in the first attempts at public speaking, is by no means prima facie evidence that a man will not eventually speak without the least hesitation. — Hal- combe, The Speaker at Home, p. 4. (B. & D., 1860.) 485. FORCE AND VEHEMENCE IN SPEAKING. — Genuine force of manner in speaking, rises, indeed, on some occasions to vehemence itself. The inspiration of a strong emotion does not stop to weigh man- ner in "the hair-balance of propriety"; it will not wait for nice and scrupulous adapta- tion. The speaker who is never moved be- yond a certain decorous reserve, will never move his audience to sympathy. Force will not be hedged in by arbitrary prescriptions. It is not less true, however, that vehemence, being the offspring of enthusiasm, is, like its parent, exceedingly prone to the evils of excess. There is a bad as well as a good enthusiasm, and, consequently, a bad as well as a good vehemence. The genuine inspira- tion, the true vehemence, is, even in its strongest expression, like the eloquence which the great orator has so characteristi- cally described as resembling "the outbreak- ing of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires"; it has the force, but, still, the beauty or the grandeur, of nature. The vehemence of indignation is, sometimes, one of the strongest incitements of eloquence. We trace this fact, in many instances, in the language of the sacred vol- ume, not less distinctly than in that of De- 193 rrO PUBLIC SPEAKING riuenoy Forenilo Ability mosthenes, or Cicero, or Chatham. But true vehemence never degenerates into violence and vociferation. It is the force of inspira- tion — not of frenzy. It is not manifested in the screaming and foaming, the stamping and the contortions, of vulgar excess. It is ever manly and noble, in its intensest excite- ment: it elevates — it does not degrade. It never descends to the bawling voice, the gut- tural coarseness, the shrieking emphasis, the hysteric ecstasy of tone, the bullying atti- tude, and the clinched fist of extravagant passion.— Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 70. (D., 1878.) 486. FORCE, GRACE, AND VARI- ETY OF SPEECH.— It is variety which gives so much grace and force to the action of an orator, and made Demosthenes far excel all others. The more easy and famil- iar that the voice and action appear, when the speaker only narrates, explains, or in- structs; the more apt he will be to surprize and move the audience in those parts of his discourse where he grows suddenly vehe- ment, and enforces lofty affecting sentiments by a suitable energy of voice and action. This due pronunciation is a kind of music, whose beauty consists in the variety of pro- per tones and inflexions of the voice, which ought to rise or fall with a just and easy cadence, according to the nature of the things we express. It gives light as well as grace to language, and is the very life and spirit of discourse. — Fenelon, Dialogs on Eloquence, p. 97. (J. M., 1808.) 487. FORCE, MODES OF CULTI- VATING. — The cultivation of elocution with a view to the acquisition of due force of manner — a style free from all the faults of feebleness and tameness— requires a pro- per attention to health and vigor of body, as an indispensable condition of energetic ex- pression in utterance and action. The weak and constrained speaker may become effec- tive and free, by due exposure and exercise. The flaccid muscle, and the enfeebled nerve, will thus acquire tone ; the voice will become sonorous; the arm energetic; the attitude firm; the whole manner impressive. The sedentary life of the student and the preach- er subjects them to weakness of body and languor of spirits, and predisposes them to feebleness in voice and action. They need double care and diligence, for the preserva- tion of that healthy tone of feeling which alone can ensure energy of habit in expres- sive utterance. To such measures should be added a constant resort to all the genu- ine sources of mental vigor; the attentive study of the effects of force in all its natr Ural forms, in the outward phenomena of the universe; in the varied shapes which it assumes in all the expressive arts — ^particu- larly in music, sculpture, and painting, and, most of all, in written language. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 75. (D., 1878.) 488. FORENSIC ABILITY.— To think decidedly and to speak clearly; to know the requirements of courts and the forms of process; to possess as much self-confidence as to plead without embarrassment, yet to be so free from self-conceit as to avoid of- fence; to have read with diligence a multi- tude of acts of parliament, the digests of legists, the decisions of judges, abstracts of cases, and specifications of styles; to have matured a habit of distinct definition; and to have settled into categories the various possibilities of civil, criminal, or other law — important as these are — will not succeed in eliciting the compliment due to distinguished forensic ability : "Persuasion tips his tongue whene'er he talks." There is another set of studies to be mas- tered before the thrill of oratory can be em- ployed to animate emotion, give effect to deft argument, and invincibility to intellec- tual force. To artistic precision of style, to perspicuity of thinking, to emphatic perti- nence of argument, to thorough knowledge of law and acquiescence in its forms, there must be added the power of touching truth with the colors of imagination, of applying inducements to the will, and of stirring the sensitive feelings of the hearer. We do not depreciate skill in comparison with eloquence. We appreciate it as essential and indispen- sable. We do not suggest the lessening of skill; we only advocate the addition of an- other element of skill to that already implied- ly attained. Forensic eloquence is confessedly not always a concomitant of forensic abil- ity, and our best pleaders in law are not un- frequently our worst pleaders by speech. This does not result from any incompatibil- ity between the possession of sound legal knowledge and ready facility in expression. It arises, more generally, from contempt for eloquence, as a subsidiary art, as a showy and fantastic acquisition, a simulating trickery, and an adventitious element in legal advo- cacy. This, we apprehend, is a misconcep- tion. Pleading is speech. Speech has its laws and forms, its graces and peculiarities, Forensic Oratory Priendsliip KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 194 its processes and technicalities. If the in- strument must be employed, the art of using it should be learned. Speech has been the subject of scientific culture. Its principles have been discovered and their applicability has been tested. — Neil, The Art of Public Speaking, p. 53. (H. & W., 1868.) 489. FORENSIC ORATORY.— Foren- sic oratory is that form of public speaking' used in debate or in legal proceedings. It is argumentative and rhetorical in its nature. This kind of oratory derived its name from the custom of pleading causes in the Roman Forum. It has to do with establishing the rights of individuals, and consists primarily in an argument before a court, in an appeal to a jury or a defense before a clerical or deliberative body. In its wider application, however, the term Forensic may be applied to any form of public debate. It will be observed that this variety of public speakiiig is closely allied with the Deliberative. In fact, nearly all the great deliberative orators have been also advocates or pleaders at the bar. Forensic speaking usually takes on the purely argumentative type when employed be- fore learned judges, and falls into an appeal to the sensibilities when addrest to a jury. It is a principle widely accepted among law- yers that he who would win verdicts must cultivate persuasive speech. But in Foren- sic oratory there should be perfect lucidity of statement and candor on the part of the speaker. Sophistry may amuse, but it rare- ly will convince judge or jury. Hence there should be as a foundation to forensic dis- course a statement of all the facts in the case. The next step is to point out with un- mistakable clearness the points at issue. Then comes proof, and in presenting this the whole gamut of eloquence may be run. If the foun- dation is firmly laid, the superstructure will stand the better, and the advocate will have little to fear from the delays of the consult- ing table or the jury room. — ^Lee, Principles of Public Speaking, p. 176. (G. P. P. Sons, 1900.) FORENSIC— See also Bar, Judicial- Jury. 490. FOX, CHARLES JAMES, ELO- QUENCE OF.— Mr. Fox was the most completely English of all the orators in our language. Lord Chatham was formed on the classic model — the express union of force, majesty, and grace. He stood raised above his audience, and launched the bolts of his eloquence like the Apollo Belvidere, with the proud consciousness of irresistible might. Mr. Fox stood on the floor of the House like a Norfolkshire farmer in the midst of his fellows : short, thick-set, with his broad shoulders and capacious chest, his bushy hair and eyebrows, and his dark countenance working with emotion, the very image of blunt honesty and strength. His understand- ing was all English — plain, practical, of pro- digious force — always directed to definite ends and objects, under the absolute control of sound common sense. He had that his- torical cast of mind by which the great Eng- lish jurists and statesmen have been so gen- erally distinguished. Facts were the staple of his thoughts; all the force of his intel- lect was exerted on the actual and the posi- tive. He was the most practical speaker of the most practical nation on earth. His heart was English. There is a depth and tenderness of feeling in the national char- acter, which is all the greater in a strong mind, because custom requires it to be re- prest. In private life no one was more guarded in this respect than Mr. Fox; he was the last man to be concerned in getting up a scene. But when he stood before an audience, he poured out his feelings with all the simplicity of a child. "I have seen his countenance," says Mr. Godwin, "lighten up with more than mortal ardor and goodness; I have been present when his voice was suf- focated with tears." In all this his power- ful understanding went out the whole length of his emotions, so that there was nothing strained or unnatural in his most vehement bursts of passion. "His feeling," says Cole- ridge, "was all intellect, and his intellect was all feeling." Never was there a finer sum- ming up; it shows us at a glance the whole secret of his power. To this he added the most perfect sincerity and artlessness of manner. His very faults conspired to heighten the conviction of his honesty. His broken sentences, the choking of his voice, his ungainly gestures, his sudden starts of passion, the absolute scream with which he delivered his vehement passages, all showed him to be deeply moved and in earnest, so that it may be doubted whether a more per- fect delivery would not have weakened the impression he made. Sir James Mackintosh has remarked, that "Fox was the most Demosthenean speaker since Demosthenes," while Lord Brougham says, in commenting on this passage, "There never was a greater mistake than the fancying a close resem- blance between his eloquence and that of Demosthenes." When two such men differ on a point like this, we may safely say that 195 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Forensic Oratory rrlemOBlilp both are in the right and in the wrong. As to certain qualities, Fox was the very re- verse of the great Athenian; as to others, they had much in commorL In whatever relates to the forms of oratory — symmetry, dignity, grace, the working up of thought and language to their most perfect expres- sion — Mr. Fox was not only inferior to De- mosthenes, but wholly unlike him, having no rhetoric and no ideality; while, at the same time, in the structure of his understanding, the modes of its operation, the soul and spirit which breathes throughout his elo- quence, there was a striking resemblance. This will appear as we dwell for a moment on his leading peculiarities. (1) He had a luminous simplicity which gave his speeches the most absolute unity of impression, how- ever irregular might be their arrangement No man ever kept the great points of his case more steadily and vividly before the minds of his audience. (2) He took every- thing in the concrete. If he discust princi- ples, it was always in direct connection with the subject before him. Usually, however, he did not even discuss a subject; he grap- pled with an antagonist. Nothing gives such life and interest to a speech, or so delights an audience, as a direct contest of man with man. (3) He struck instantly at the heart of his subject. He was eager to meet his opponent at once on the real points at issue ; and the moment of his greatest power was when he stated the argument against him- self, with more force than his adversary or any other man could give it, and then seized it with the hand of a giant, tore it in pieces, and trampled it under foot. (4) His mode of enforcing a subject on the minds of his audiehce was to come back again and again to the strong points of his case. Mr. Pitt amplified when he wished to impress, Mr. Fox repeated. Demosthenes also repeated, but he had more adroitness in varying the mode of doing it. (5) He had rarely any preconceived method or arrangement of his thoughts. This was one of his greatest faults, in which he differed most from the Athenian artist. If it had not been for this unity of impression and feeling mentioned above, his strength would have been wasted in disconnected efforts. (6) Reasoning was his forte and his passion. But he was not a regular reasoner. In his eagerness to press forward, he threw away everything he could part with, and compacted the rest into a sin- gle mass. Facts, principles, analogies, were all wrought together like the strands of a cable, and intermingled with wit, ridicule, or impassioned feeling. His arguments were usually personal in their nature, and were brought home to his antagonist with stinging severity and force. (7) He abounded in hits — those abrupt and startling turns of thought which rouse an audience, and give them more delight than the loftiest strains of eloquence. (8) He was equally distinguished for his side blows, for keen and pungent remarks flashed out upon his antagonist in passing, as he pressed on with his argument. (9) He was often dramatic, personating the char- acter of his opponents or others, and car- rying on a dialogue between them, which added greatly to the liveliness and force of his oratory. (10) He had astonishing dex- terity in evading difficulties and turning to his own advantage everything that occurred in debate. In nearly all these qualities he had a close resemblance to Demosthenes. In his language, Mr. Fox studied simplicity, strength, and boldness. "Give me an ele- gant Latin and a homely Saxon word," said he, "and I will always choose the latter." Another of his sayings was this : "Did the speech read well when reported? If so, it was a bad one." These two remarks give us the secret of his style as an orator. The life of Mr. Fox has this lesson for young men, that early habits of recklessness and vice can hardly fail to destroy the influence of the most splendid abilities and the most humane and generous dispositions. Tho thirty-eight years in public life, he was in office only eighteen months. — Goodrich, Se- lect British Eloquence, p. 460. (H. & Bros., 1853.) 491. FRIENDSHIP IN SPEAKING.— Let us discuss the characters toward whom men bear friendly feelings, and hatred, and the reasons why they do so; setting out with a definition of friendliness and the act of cherishing this feeling. Let the bearing friendly feeling, then, be defined to be "the wishing a person what we think good, for his sake and not for our own, and, as far as is in our power, the exerting ourselves to procure it." And a friend is he who enter- tains and meets a return of this feeling. And those people consider themselves friends who consider themselves to stand thus affected toward each other. These considerations being laid down, of necessity it must be, that one who participates in another's joy at good fortune, and in his sorrow at what ag- grieves him, not from any other motive, but simply for his sake, is his friend. For every one, when that happens which he wishes, rejoices ; but when the contrary happens, all are grieved. So that the pain and pleasure rrlendshlp OenluB KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 196 men feel are an indication of their wishes. Those, too, are friends, to whom the same things are become by this time good, and the same evil; those, too, who are friends and foes to the same persons, for they must necessarily desire similar objects. So that he who wishes for another what he does for himself, appears to be a friend to that other. Men love also those who have bene- fited either themselves, or those for whom they have a regard; whether in important particulars, or with readiness, and for their own sakes, or those whom they deem will- ing to benefit them. Again, people love the friends of their friends, and such as cherish friendly feelings toward those for whom they do themselves; likewise those who are loved by such as are beloved by themselves; those also who are enemies to the same peo- ple, and who hate those whom they hate themselves, and those who are hated by those who also are hated by themselves; for to all these the same objects seem good as to themselves; so that they wish for things which are good to them, both which were laid down to be characteristic of a friend. Moreover, men love those who benefit them in regard to money matters, and the security of life; on which account people honor the liberal and brave. They love also the just, of which character they esteem those who do not live at the cost of others, such are all who are supported by their bodily labor, and of these are husbandmen, and among the rest handicraftsmen in particular. They love also the temperate, for they are not unjust; and those who are disengaged from business, for the same reason. We love also those of whom we wish to become the friends, should they appear to desire it also. Of this sort are those who are good in respect to moral ex- cellence, and men of approved character, either among all men, or among the best men, or those who are held in admiration by ourselves, or who themselves admire us. Again, we love those who are pleasant com- panions for passing time, or spending a day with; of this description are the good-tem- pered, and such as are not fond of chiding those who err, and are not quarrelsome or contentious. For all people of this sort are fond of dispute ; but such as are fond of dispute give us the idea of desiring the op- posite of what we do. Also those who have a happy turn in passing and taking a joke; for both seem bent on the same things as their neighbors, being able both to endure being rallied and neatly rallying others. Men love also those who praise their good quali- ties, and particularly such as they apprehend not to belong to them : also those who are neat in their appearance, their dress, and their whole manner of living. Also those who do not reproach them with errors, nor their own benefits; for both these descrip- tions of people have an air of reproving them. People admire also those who forget old grievances, and who do not treasure up grounds of quarrel, but are easily recon- ciled; because of whatever disposition they show themselves toward others, people nat- urally think they will prove to be of toward themselves also : as also those who do not talk scandal, nor inform themselves of the ills either of their neighbors or themselves, but of their good points only; for this is the conduct of a good man. We are friendly disposed also toward those who are not at cross purposes with us when angry, or seri- ously engaged; for all such people are fond of dispute: toward those also who comport themselves seriously toward us; thus, for in- stance, those who admire us, or consider us worthy men, and take a pleasure in our so- ciety, and who are thus affected in regard particularly to points about which ourselves are desirous to be admired, or to appear excellent or agreeable : as also toward our equals, and those who have the same objects in view, supposing they do not clash with us, and at their livelihood arise from the same profession, for thus arises an instance of the proverb, "Potter hates potter." We stand thus affected toward those also who are desirous of the same objects with our- selves, and which it is possible for us to participate in as well as them; otherwise, the same collision takes place in this case: to- ward those also in regard to whom men have themselves in such a way as, while they do not hold them cheap, not to feel shame on mere matters of opinion. With this feel- ing do people regard those also in respect to whom they feel shame about matters really shameful : and those before whom they are studious to stand approved, and by whom they wish to be emulated, yet without being envied, all these men either love as friends, or wish to become their friends ; also those with whom they would co-operate toward some good, were it not that greater ills are likely thereby to befall themselves : and such as regard, with friendly feeling, the absent equally with the present; on which account all love those who manifest this disposition in regard to the dead. Also men entirely love those who are particularly zealous for their friends and never abandon them; for eminently beyond all the good, people love those who are good as friends. They also 197 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Friendship Qenlua love those who do not dissemble toward them ; of this class are such as mention their own failings; for it has been said already, that before friends we feel no shame about mere matters' of opinion; if, then, he who is ashamed has not the feelings of a friend, the man who is without such shame bears a re- semblance to one who has friendly feelings. Also, we love those who do not inspire us with fear, and before whom we feel confi- dence; for no one loves a person whom he fears. But the species of friendship are com- panionship', intimacy, relationship, and the like. And the efficient causes of friendship are gratuitous benefits, the rendering a serv- ice unsolicited, and the not disclosing it after it has been rendered; for thus done the fa- vor appears to be solely for the sake of your friend himself, and from no other mo- tive. The subject of hatred, however, and of bearing it, may, it is plain, be considered by taking the contraries. But the efficient causes of hatred are anger, vexatiousness, calumny. (1) Now anger arises out of some- thing which has reference to ourselves; ha- tred, however, even independently of any- thing having reference to ourselves, since if we conceive a person to be of a certain de- scription, we bear hatred toward him. (8) And our anger invariably has reference to individual objects, as to Callias or Socrates; but hatred may be borne even to whole classes ; for every one hates the character of a thief and an informer. (3) Again, the one feeling is to be remedied by time ; the other is incurable. (4) Also the first is a desire of inflicting pain on its object, the last of doing him deadly harm; for the angry man wishes to be felt, to him who bears hatred this matters not; and all things which give pain may be felt; but what does harm in the highest degree is least capable of being felt, for instance, injustice and folly, for the pres- ence of vice does not at all pain him to whom it is present. (5) And anger is attended by pain, hatred not; for he who is affected by anger is pained, but he who is affected by hatred is not. (6) The former, too, had many ills befallen the object of his anger, might be inclined to pity him; the latter would not, in any case; for the former wishes the object of his anger to suffer in his turn, the latter desires the extinction of the object of his hate. Out of these heads, then, it is plain that the orator may both prove those to be friends and enemies who are really such, and render such those who are not, and may do away the assertions of people on the subject, and may draw over those who hesitate whether an act was done from motives of anger or hatred, to whatso- ever side he may fix on. — Aristotle's Rhet- oric and Poetics, p. 116. (B., 1906.) 492. GENIUS AND DULNESS.— A general habit of close attention is a most important requisite, as in all other pursuits, in the exercise of the imagination, or judg- ment, upon works of taste. The difference between a languid and a vigorous exertion of the faculties forms the chief point of distinction between genius and dulness. No man who was not capable of forming clear and vivid conceptions ever wrote well. Nor can anyone, without that degree of exertion which preserves the mind, awake to every impression, and strongly fixes its attention upon every object which comes under its no- tice, be in a proper state for enjoying the pleasures of taste, or for exercizing the func- tions of criticism. He who has acquired this important habit of attention, has learned to see and feel. The general picture presented before his fancy by the artist will strike him with its full force, nor will any single touch, however minute, escape his observation. The consequence must be a perfect experience of the effect which it was intended to produce, and an accurate discernment of all its beauties and blemishes. — Enfield, The Speaker, p. 36. (J., 1799.) 493. GENIUS AND NATURE.— I am of opinion that nature and genius in the first place contribute most aid to speaking; and that to some writers on the art it is not skill and method in speaking, but natural talent that is wanting; for there ought to be cer- tain lively powers in the mind and under- standing, which may be acute to invent, fer- tile to explain and adorn, and strong and retentive to remember; and if anyone imag- ines that these powers may be acquired by art (which is false, for it is very well if they can be animated and excited by art ; but they certainly can not by art be ingrafted or in- stilled, since they are all the gifts of nature) what will he say of those qualities which are certainely born with the man himself; volu- bility of tongue, tone of voice, strength of lungs, and a peculiar conformation and as- pect of the whole countenance and body? I do not say that art can not improve in these particulars (for I am not ignorant that what is good may be made better by education, and what is not very good may be in some de- gree polished and amended) ; but there are some persons so hesitating ir their speech, so inharmonious in their tone of voice, or so unwieldy and rude in the air and movements Oestnre Creature KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 198 of their bodies that, whatever power they possess, either from genius or art, they can never be reckoned in the number of accom- plished speakers ; while there are others so happily qualified in these respects, so emi- nently adorned with the gifts of nature, that they seem not to have been born like other men, but molded by some divinity. It is, in- deed, a great task and enterprise for a per- son to undertake and profess, that while ev- ery one else is silent, he alone must be heard on the most important subjects, and in a large assembly of men; for there is scarcely anyone present who is not sharper and quick- er to discover defects in the speaker than merits ; and thus whatever o^flfends the hearer effaces the recollection of what is worthy of praise. I do not make these observations for the purpose of altogether deterring young men from the study of oratory, even if they be deficient in some natural endow- ments. — Cicero, On Oratory and Orators, p. 171. (B., 1909.) 494. GESTURE ALLIED WITH EMOTION. — Gesture is expressive of passion and emotion rather than of thought. This is a general principle, and one of great importance in determining the character, place, and frequency of the gestures which are required in public speaking. It teaches us to distinguish between the orator, and the mimic or pantomime actor. For in oratory, we ought not to gesticulate as if we were limited to dumb signs; we must remember that we have also words to express our thoughts; and, thereby, guard ourselves against the temptation to redundant and in- appropriate gesture. The orator should en- deavor to express by his gestures his emo- tions rather than his thoughts or intellectual states. With due discretion, indeed, he may employ gesture for imitative purposes, and for the expression of his thoughts. He may point to the sun, or to a mountain, or river, when speaking of any of these objects, or he may touch his own forehead, or lay his finger on his lips, to express meditation or silence; but he should avoid the frequent use oi such imitative gestures, and too great partic- ularity of them ; otherwise, he will assuredly enfeeble his delivery.— McIlvaine, Elocution, p. 392. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 495. GESTURE AND ATTITUDE, TRAINING IN.— I find no fault with those who sometimes resort to schools of palestric exercises. I mean not the places where people pass away one part of_ their lives in supplying their joints with oil and another part by drowning their senses in wine. These I would keep at a due dis- tance from our orator. But I mean the places (for the Latin word palestra signifies both) where young persons are taught a graceful carriage. To this may belong the manner of keeping the arms in a straight position; refraining from fiddling with the hands, as clowns; standing in a graceful at- titude ; walking with a good air ; and making no motions with the head and eyes that dis- agree with the other motions of the body. All these are accessions to grace pronuncia- tion, a thing so essential to an orator. Why, then, should what is necessary to be known be neglected? We find that the rules for gesture originated from the times of heroes; that they were approved of by the greatest men of Greece, even by Socrates himself ; that Plato gave them a place amongst civil virtues ; and that Chrysippus did not omit them in his precepts for the education of youth. We learn from history that the La- cedaemonians had among their exercises a sort of dance, which their youth were made to learn as an useful accomplishment for warfare. The ancient Romans thought the like practise no disparagement to them, and dancing is still retained by some of our priests in the solemnities of their religious ceremonies. Cicero gives us his sentiments of gesture in his third book of the Orator, where Crassus has these words : "An orator," says he, "must have something noble and manly in his whole action ; and he must form it, not on the model of a stage-player, and buffoon, but on that of a man trained to arms, or one proficient in the academy of exercises." This manner of discipline has descended to us, is still in use, and without reproof; but in my opinion should not go beyond our younger days, and then even be not long continued ; for it is an orator I would form, and not a dancer. This bene- fit, however, will accrue from it, that without thinking, and imperceptibly, a secret grace will mingle with all our behavior, and con- tinue vdth us through life.— Quintilian, In- stitutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 63. (B. L, 1774.) 496. GESTURE AND EXPRESSION. — Expression of the hands is almost equal to the language ; they speak themselves. The gestures and facial movements should speak, as well as the voice, but gestures should never be made unless impelled by the soul and in proportion to that impulse; move- ments would then be less frequent, but more effective. They would seem like necessity if 199 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Oesturd Oestora one studied from within and moved only when by an absolute demand from pent-up feeling. In conversation the face lights up and expands, the eyes radiate and glance; public effort should be the same. It should all be with such an awful air of severe sim- plicity and unaffected worth as commands belief; every thought transparent; every word, look, motion, the picture of the mind with influence peculiar to itself. This is dif- ficult to define, difficult to comprehend. — Fkobishes, Acting and Oratory, p. 47. (C. of O. & A., 1879.) 497. GESTURE AND FEELING.— As some action must necessarily accompany our words, it is of the utmost consequence that this be such as is suitable and natural. No matter how little, if it be but akin to the words and passion, for if foreign to them, it counteracts and destroys the very inten- tion of delivery. The voice and gesture may be said to be tuned to each other, and if they are in a different key, as it may be called, discord must inevitably be the consequence. An awkward action, and such as is unsuit- able to the words and passion, is the body out of tune, and gives the eye as much pain as discord does the ear. In order, therefore, to gain a just idea of suitable action and expression, it will be necessary to observe that every passion, emotion, and sentiment has a particular attitude of the body, cast of the eye, and tone of the voice, that particu- larly belong to that passion, emotion, or sen- timent. These should be carefully studied and practised before a glass when we are alone, and before a few friends whose can- dor and judgment we can rely on. Some good piece of composition should be then selected, and every period or sentence be marked with that passion, emotion, or senti- ment indicated by the words, that the eye in reading may be reminded of the passion or sentiment to be assumed. These passions and emotions we should express with the utmost force and energy we are able, when we are alone, that we may wear ourselves into the habit of assuming them easily in public. This forcible practise in private will have the same effect on our public delivery that danc- ing a minuet has on our general air and de- portment. — Walker, Elements of Elocution, p. 317. (C. & W., 1799.) 498. GESTURE AND ITS USES.— Tho according to the system, gesture may be varied also to infinity, it is not proposed that the speaker's gesture should be incessant; nothing could so completely defeat every ex- pectation of the advantage arising from ges- ture. In many parts of an oration little gesture should be used; in many the speaker should be almost unmoved; and very few passages admit of vehement gesticulation. It is not necessary always to saw the air; far from it. But it is necessary to consider and to judge when the air is to be divided by the arm of the orator; when he is to move his head, his body, and his limbs ; and how he is to do all this with effect, with propri- ety, and with grace. And instead of adding much to his action, he who studies it the most carefully will only be inclined to alter it for the better, or perhaps in many places to retrench it altogether. The art of ges- ture, however cultivated, is not to be used for incessant flourishing; as well might the steps and bounds in dancing be adopted on all occasions, instead of the simple movement of walking: and our art may serve the same excellent purpose to the awkward gesticula- tor for which the father sent his clownish son to the dancing school, that he might learn to stand still. An observation of Cic- ero applies to our present purpose; those, he says, who have learned at the palestraj are distinguished even in other exercises by their grace and agility; they who have learned to dance elegantly are also easily dis- tinguished in all their motions from the un- taught, even when they are not dancing. And the gesture also of the well-instructed speak- er, even in its most trivial movements, is al- together different from neglected rudeness. That nature without cultivation should sug- gest on the moment to every man all the gesture necessary to enforce his feelings and to illustrate and grace his sentiments, cannot be maintained by any analogy from the as- sistance afforded by nature in the other parts of oratory, nor is it found agreeable to fact. All the strong passions of the mind do in- deed communicate themselves so suddenly and irresistibly to the body, that vehement gesticulations can hardly be avoided: and these are no doubt natural. Thus anger threatens, affright starts, joy laughs and dances. But nature does not by any means suggest (except it may be to some chosen few) the most dignified or graceful expres- sions of those various passions, as may be sufficiently observed in the untutored extrav- agance and uncouth motions of the vulgar; in the gesticulations of mirth in their dances, and of anger in their quarrels. These, tho they may be perfectly intelligible, and strong- ly energetic, degrade the person who uses them from all pretensions to the character of liberality of mind, or of enlightened elo- Oestnra Oesture KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 200 quence, and are more likely to excite in the cultivated spectator, laughter or disgust, than the kindred passion of the gesticulator. So fastidious is the taste with respect to oratory. And if a public speaker, conscious of his own deficiency, should be contented to relinquish the honor of aspiring to the name of an ora- tor, he must carefully guard himself against manifesting any emotion of the mind, and limit his efforts to dry expositions and frigid reasonings. For should he at any time be moved, and be betrayed into vehemence, he is undone; he has abandoned his place of security, and has ventured upon the en- chanted ground of the orator (for to him be- longs all the region of the dignified and strong passions), where he is incapable of governing himself; he falls into undignified gesticulations, and into absurd distortions; and instead of inspiring others with his feel- ings, he will frequently become ridiculous, and be laughed at himself. Well aware of this danger, such speakers are often found carefully to restrain themselves, and to stand unmoved; using no gesture at all, but seem- ing to speak like the face in the picture in the ludicrous French farce of the Tableau Parlant. Others more bold, but equally un- instructed, and without study, fall into some uncouth gesture, as a vehement stroke of the right arm, and stamping of the foot, or balancing of the body, which they repeat in- variably whenever they are moved. These iterations of awkward gesture are disgust- ing at first, but at last are entirely over- looked, and stand for nothing; they are par- doned as the peculiar manner of the man, provided he is found to possess the other essential requisites expected in one who un- dertakes to instruct the public, or to main- tain an interesting argument. And this de- scription will be found applicable to many of our most celebrated public speakers : but his is far short of the praise of consummate eloquence, or even of that degree of it which, with due attention and labor, such speakers might have attained. — Austin, Chi- ronomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Deliv- ery, p. 136. (W. B. &. Co., 1806.) 499. GESTURE AND REPOSE.— The first effort of the student should be, not to create but to subdue and control action. He must learn to stand still, to keep his head, his arms, his whole body calm and quiet, concentrating his energy on his voice. The most easy and healthful attitude he can as- sume will not only assist him in doing this, but contribute to the dignity and graceful- ness of his appearance. There must, how- ever, be the utmost avoidance of stiffness and lifelessness in his appearance. The body must be naturally erect, the head upright, resting easily in its position; the shoulders should be thrown a little back, so that the chest may be expanded and have full play, while the arms lie naturally at the side. He must not stand on bent knees, but the limbs must give evidence of power to support the body. One foot and limb should be firmly fixt as the chief support, the pivot on which the whole person rests; while the other foot and limb should be directed a little outward from the side, so that if necessary the speak- er may turn himself to either side, or throw himself backward or forward as the case may require. The right foot generally is placed in advance of the left, the distance between the feet being about one foot. The defects of attitude are to keep the feet close togeth- er, to turn them in straight lines and parallel to each other to the audience, to bend the knees and rest upon them, to hold the head too stiff and too erect, or to bury it in the shoulders, or to bend the whole body too much forward. The attitude rec- ommended for the comfort of the speaker and the relief of the audience may occasion- ally be varied; the left foot may take the position of the right one, and may rest some- times on one side and sometimes on the other; but the normal attitude must never be forgotten, and when the speaker for any purpose changes to other positions, he must again return to the first normal attitude. Often, in earnest appeals or the expression of great passion, the speaker will fling him- self forward or lean more to on eside or the other; still, his safeguard is always to return to that first position. Stillness and re- pose here again must be the rule; all toss- ing of the body round about, shrugging of the shoulders, stamping of the feet, crossing of the limbs, rising on the toes, or extreme rigidness of person being equally avoided. — Lewis, The Dominion Elocutionist and Pub- lic Reader, p. 135. (A. S. & Co., 1872.) 500. GESTURE, APPROPRIATE.— Appropriate gesture in speaking arises from the mind either anticipating some forcible expression, or finding words on the spur of the moment inadequate fully to convey its meaning. This at once accounts for the fact of so few persons, when reading from the pages of a written composition, having the power of enforcing their words by this ap- parently most simple and natural expedient. JFor in reading the mind is generally keep- ing pace pretty evenly with the written mat- 201 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Oesture Oestare ter, oftener lagging behind than outstripping it; whilst the words spoken invariably pre- cede the mental conception. Thus the ges- ture of readers is often governed by the very reverse of the rule of nature. When they are unexcited and treating of a com- paratively unimportant part of their subject they use action; but when sufficiently im- prest with it to forget themselves they are perfectly motionless, showing at once what is natural to them under such circum- stances. The reader may, however, by prac- tise acquire the habit of occasionally en- forcing or helping out his words by action, tho to do this without effort will require him to be able to merge the reader in the speaker to an extent which is attainable by very few. — Halcombe, The Speaker at Homej p. 86. (B. & D., 1860.) 501. GESTURE, CLASSIFICATION OF. — Among the parts of the body the head and countenance hold the principal rank, and next the hands, on account of the variety of their motions and their distin- guished effects. The motions of the features of the face, tho sometimes included under the name of gesture, more frequently claim for themselves, at least among the moderns, the peculiar name of expression of the coun- tenance; and are properly considered as forming a distinct class of motions. The expression of the countenance, which is the very reflection of the soul in the face, and the most vivid bodily image of the senti- ments of the mind, has always been so in- teresting to mankind in society that all its modifications and smallest changes have been classed and discriminated by every observer at all times; and are so well understood as to require no illustration in a work like this. The countenance has engaged the attention and illustrations not only of the poets and painters, but also of the philosophers in ev- ery age. And tho physiognomy, as this sci- ence is named by the latter, may still afford ample employment to ingenious investigation, it demands only an incidental notice in this work. But the gestures of the limbs, and particularly of the arms and hands, how- ever an important subject of investigation to certain descriptions of men, have not been treated of with the attention which they mer- it. This wide field is yet almost unexplored by moderns, and little of what antiquity has discovered in it has come down to our times : so that our enquiries are as if without a guide in an unknown region. Gesture is here understood to relate only to the motions of the whole head, of the body, and of the limbs. Gesture may be considered under four general points of view: (1) With re- spect to the instrument or manner by which it is performed. (2) The signification of the gesture. (3) The quality of the gesture. (4) As suited to the style or character of the matter delivered. These general divisions are thus subdivided: (I) Gesture referred to the instrument or manner of performance is subdivided into : (1) Principal, performed by the advanced or more elevated hand and arm. (2) Subordinate, performed by the hand and arm more retired and more de- prest. (11) Gesture with reference to its sig- nification, is considered as: (1) Significant, and (2) not significant ; these are subdivided. Significant gestures: 1. Natural. 3. Insti- tuted. Gestures not significant: 1. Com- mencing. 3. Discriminating. 3. Auxiliary, or Alternate. 4. Suspended, or Preparatory. 5. Emphatic, which are also terminating ges- tures. (HI) Gesture is considered to b© capable of the following general qualities: 1. Magnificence. 2. Boldness. 3. Variety. 4. Energy. 5. Simplicity. 6. Grace. 7. Pro- priety. 8. Precision. (IV) Gesture, as to the proportion of those qualities requisite in the delivery, may be suited to the style of speak- ing: 1. Epic. 2. Rhetorical. 3. Colloquial.— Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhe- torical Delivery, p. 385. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 502. GESTURE, COMMON FAULTS OF. — A prevalent fault of gesture in the pulpit is that of allowing it to fall habitually in a line drawn from the speaker's side. This style of action might be applicable, were all his audience placed in one long row at his right hand. But as they are actually seated in front of him, his hand, if its action is to have any meaning, should be presented in front, and obliquely from his own body. A horizontal sweep or swing of the arm is the habitual gesture of some pulpit oratorsi But this style belongs only to descriptive ef- fect, or to that of negation or removal, while assertion — ^the prevalent mood of speaking — demands a downward movement of the arm, more or less direct, according to the form of a sentiment. The horizontal line of action i in that which properly terminates the ex- pression of general ideas, as coincident in character with the expansive horizontal sweep of the eye, in an extensive view; for the phenomena of gesture are analogous, in their influence on imagination, to the effect of ocular action on external objects, and on visible motion : hence the energetic charac- ter of the descent of the arm, in a strong assertion, the expansive effect of a wide hori- Gesture Ctestura KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 202 zontal motion, the elevation and sublimity associated with a lofty or ascending ges- ture, the direct character of an action which throws the speaker's arm in front, the wider effect of an oblique line outward, the still wider of the line extended from the side, the association of remoteness in time or place, which accompanies a gesture directed obliquely backward from the body, and ap>- pealing effect of the open hand, the threat- ening and intimidating or the determined effect of the clinched hand, the marked sig- nificance of the pointing finger, the repel- lent character of the extended arm and opposing hand, the solemn or impressive ef- fect of the upraised hand of awe, wonder, grief, joy, adoration; the supplicating effect of the clasped hands, the welcoming and ap- pealing power of the outspread arms, the tri- umphant and exulting style of the wave of the hand. A fault exhibited by some speak- ers consists in a ceaseless motion of the arms. The true principle of gesture is that of applying the ictus of the arm along with the emphasis of the voice, and reserving the consummation of an action till that mo- ment. Another error is that of keeping the arms habitually down by the side, and, at long intervals, bringing them up in action, or that of perpetually raising and dropping the arms, at short intervals. The proper regu- lation of action is founded on the principle that the hand should remain at the point to which it was brought by the movement of the preceding gesture, till occasion call for the preparation requisite to a new action, and that the dropping of the hand should be reserved for the completion of termina- tion of a sentiment, and should be the vis- ible indication that a pause of considerable length is about to take place. — Russell, Pul- pit Elocution, p. 361. (D., 1878.) 503. GESTURE, GRACEFUL.— The graces of gesture and action are simplicity, smoothness, and variety. They consist in changing from one position to another in the free, untrammeled movements of the ductile limbs, added to general symmetry and har- mony; but before variety of grace can be obtained there must be flexibility. The most awkward person may give expression, but rigidity of muscle and stiffness of body de- stroy graceful action. The habits of stu- dents are especially awkward and ungrace- ful, from their physically inactive life which is continually cramping and restraining na- ture. They daily weaken vocal and muscu- lar power and lose confidence in themselves as speakers. There should be no restriction on the mind such as uncertainty, bashfulness, and timidity. The head should slightly imi- tate the hands in every motion. The speak- er should not stand too erect, but gently wind his body in graceful keeping with the senti- ments, using great judgment. The lower limbs should change with the ideas, but great caution must be observed, especially in dig- nified discourse. Imitative gesture should be limited to the light styles of expression and never used in serious delivery. — Frobisher, Voice and Action, p. 37. (I. B. & Co., 1867.) 504. GESTURE, HINTS ON.— The right arm is chiefly used in gesticulation, tho the left arm may be often brought in for relief, or to direct attention to opposite or contrary objects; but whether the right or the left, the whole arm should be moved from the shoulder, not from the elbow. Its action, too, should be in curves. If, for in- stance, the speaker intends to point to the heavens, his arm previously lying still at his side, he must not lift it up in a straight line, parallel with his body, but gently extending it from his side at any angle, gracefully move it around, until, fully extended, it points in the direction intended, but lying at some an- gle which shall not be a right one either to the earth or his own body. In moving through the curve the motion of the arm, during its progress to the object to which attention is directed, will at first be slightly in a contrary direction. Thus, if we wish to direct attention to any object to the left of us, or to hurl contempt or defiance in that direction, the arm previously lying at the side will first move outward to the right, and then proceed in a rising curve, swift or slow, as the case may require, toward the object of attention. The fingers should never lie close together, but be slightly outspread. If the purpose be to direct attention to some object near at hand and finite in character, as in pointing to a man or a building, the index finger may be used; but when the pur- pose is to direct attention to the universe, to the heavens, to a multitude or a nation, or some abstract principle, as justice or liberty, then the hand should be freely opened, the fingers separated, the back of the hand turned outward or from the person. This is the form of action used in addressing, ap- pealing, or exhorting. When, however, we desire to repel visible or invisible objects, the palms of the hands are turned toward the object of repulsion, the body leaning from it as if we would push it from us and shun its presence. Thus also do we forbid, reject, deny, or imperatively command, as 203 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Oeitore Oesture when a ruler would dismiss offensive coun- sellors or petitioners. In prayer the hands are clasped, but when appealing to the God of nature, as represented by the universe and as being round us on every side, the arms outspread and the hands extended would be more dignified and appropriate. In strong passion, and especially in defiance, the hand is often closed tightly or clenched as if we would strike the object of our anger or ha- tred. In restoring the hands and arms to their position of repose, the return should not be too rapid, but in keeping with the first action and in similar curved motions^ To let them drop down suddenly as if they had lost all life looks ungraceful. — Lewis, The Dominion Elocutionist and Public Read- er, p. 137. (A. S. & Co., 1873.) 505. GESTURE, JUDICIOUS USE OF. — As a gesture is used for the illustration or enforcement of language, it should be lim- ited in its application to such words and pas- sages only as admit, or rather require, sucH illustration or enforcement. That is, gesture should not be used by a public speaker on every word, where it is possible to apply it without manifest impropriety; but it should rather be reserved for such passages as re- quire to be rendered more prominent than the others, and to be colored higher. A ju- dicious speaker will therefore reserve his gesture, at least the force and ornament of it, for those parts of his discourse for which he also reserves the brilliancy of language and thought. As words of themselves, when composed and delivered with propriety, are fully intelligible for every purpose of argu- ment, instruction, and information ; in those divisions of a discourse, therefore, which treat of such topics, gesture may be well spared, and if any is used it ought to be the most moderate and unostentatious. The sim- ple and occasional inclination of the head, the direction of the eyes, and the noting of the hand and similar quiet discriminating gestures are altogether sufficient, and some- times perhaps even more than necessary. Hence it will be evident that if an entire discourse is composed in this character, the gesture, in no part, should transgress this moderation. In many parts absolute inter- mission of gesture is advantageous, in such compositions; as in the commencement, and at the beginning or opening of arguments; afterward, when the argument is brought more nearly to a conclusion, a little of ges- ture will give it more force, and relieve the monotony of a mere dry demonstration, should the spirit of the composition admit such addition. In discourses, or particular parts of discourses, admitting freer gesture, the frequency of it will be determined, in general, by the number, the novelty, and the discrimination of ideas. In every well-con- structed sentence some new idea is advanced, which may be marked by a suitable gesture ; and possibly the various limitations and mod- ifications of it will also admit of a similar distinction. And the new gesture will be forcible according to the importance of the new idea or modification introduced, and will fall upon the accented syllable of the word which contains it. Thus each separate clause or member of a sentence may admit a dis- tinct gesture on the principal word; and as each epithet or adjective is a new quality added to the principal name, and each ad- verb has the same effect on the principal action exprest by the verb, a new gesture may be made on each. But for this purpose, unless the word be important or emphatical, a turn of the hand, a small motion in the transverse direction or in the elevation of the arm, or a small inclination of the head, are sufficient, or any of those intermediate ges- tures termed discriminating gestures. In a sentence where each word is important, if gesture be used, each should be marked with a gesture. Sentences of this kind are gen- erally moral observations, which condense in a short compass valuable information, and should therefore be strongly enforced and marked with precision. The indispensable requisite for the proper production of the desired effect is that the sentence be deliv- ered most distinctly and deliberately : if it be so, the gestures will have good effect, but if hurried on rapidly, the gestures confuse thel sentiment, and may even cast a degree of ridicule upon it. — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 433. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 506. GESTURE, KINDS OF.— By far the greatest number of gestures are too vague to be comprehended within this de- scription; they do not mark any particular sentiment; but are rather used to denote a sort of general relation in the expressions, and derive their significance from the time and manner of their application, from the place in which they are used, and from their various combinations. Some are used at the beginning of a sentence, merely as an indi- cation of commencement in action as well as speech; some are used for description, some for explaining, extending, or limiting, and some for the enforcing of the predominant idea; some for suspending the attention pre- G-eiture Qestore KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 204 vious to the more decided gestures, and some for marking the termination of the sense and the final result of the reasoning. These and various other kinds of gestures may be observed as circumstances arise to cause them ; and they might be divided into very numerous classes : but the perplexity of such a division will be avoided, and the pres- ent purpose will be sufficiently answered by limiting them to five classes : (1) Commenc- ing gestures. (2) Discriminating. (3) Aux- iliary. (4) Suspended. (5) Emphatic. (1) Commencing gestures begin the discourse or division, by simply raising the hand from the rest; and that in general not higher than the downward or horizontal position of the arm. (2) Discriminating gestures comprehend all those which serve the purpose of indicating persons or objects; or which are used for explaining, extending, limiting, or modifying the predominant idea; or in question and an- swer, when made without vehemence. They are performed in the intermediate degrees of the range of the gesture, with moderate force and at small intervals, and are fre- quently confined in colloquial action to the motions of the head. (3) Auxiliary or alter- nate gestures serve to aid or enforce the gesture of the advanced hand. They are thus performed : After the advanced hand has made its gesture on the emphatic word, instead of passing to another gesture on the next emphatic word, it remains in the atti- tude of the last stroke, till the retired hand is brought up in aid of it, either by a sim- ilar gesture or by a more decided one ; which gives at once variety and extraordinary en- ergy to passages admitting such gestures : they are used, of course, with great advan- tage in high passion; but are also frequent in description, where they are executed more tamely. (4) Suspended or preparatory ges- tures elevate the arm preparatory to the stroke which is to fall on the emphatic word ; or contract or bend it for the purpose of a forcible projection unbending or stroke of the arm. Suspended gestures are so named because they hold the attention in suspense by the elevation of the arm on some less important word preceding, and because they are also expected to lead to some emphatic gesture on a more important word. It will be observed that not only those gestures which are elevated high in preparation for a descending stroke are named "suspended," but also such as seem preparatory to others, and so hold the expectation in suspense. Of this kind, as already mentioned, are the ges- tures in which the arm is contracted, with- drawn or bended in order that it may the more forcibly thrust, advance, or unbend it- self on the stroke of a succeeding gesture. (5) Emphatic gestures mark with force words opposed to or compared with each other, and more particularly the word which expresses the predominant idea. Their stroke is generally arrested on the horizontal elevation, but sometimes they are directed to the highest point of the range of the ges- ture, and sometimes also to the lowest. Em- phatic gestures, when directed to the highest point, serve often as suspended or previous gestures to the next emphatic gesture; and when made at the close of a sentence or di- vision of a subject, they serve as closing or terminating gestures, because when the last important idea is marked, no other gesture should be added to weaken its effect; the arm then falls to rest. — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 389. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 507. GESTURE, LATITUDE OF.— The grace of movement consists, according to Hogarth, in the inflexion of the lines in which it moves. And these lines must not be either too much or too little bended; the line of beauty will be transgressed by either extreme. Indentations too deep, and flour- ishes too much extended, fall into quaint- ness, or run out into bombast and wild ex- travagance, whilst the want of a certain degree of deflexion from the direct line de- generates into stiff and cold formality. True elegance of gesture follows the graceful mean. So far, the principles of Hogarth. But the parallel between the line of beauty in drawing and the line of grace in gesture does not entirely hold. There is in gesture a latitude allowable, which, when occasion requires, overpasses the forms of grace, and, on the one hand, enters within the confines of the grand and magnificent, and, on the other, with great propriety, and with equal grace, the circumstances being considered, re- trenches from its flowing, and brings it near- er to the unaffected simplicity of truth and common life. This latitude, as to the pa- rade or conciseness of gesture, gives occa- sion for distinguishing its grace rather by its suitableness to the style of speaking, which it is to accompany, and to adorn or enforce, than by the precise inflexion to which the lines in drawing may properly be confined. — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 451. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 508. GESTURE, MODERATE USE OF. — There is no doubt that moderate 205 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Ct'esture GesturB gesture gives energy and impressiveness to what is said, especially when it is natural and spontaneous. To the extemporaneous preach- er some degree of gesture is absolutely necessary, because, like the actor on the stage, he must find employment for his hands. But when you have your sermon written before you, your hands are occasionally used in turning over the leaves of the manu- scripts, so that the want of action is not so much observed. The question is, how to acquire that sort of moderate, just, and spon- taneous action, which shall not divert atten- tion from your words, but rather add to their effect. I doubt whether the rules com- monly laid down have done much good. "When speaking in public," says Blair, "study to preserve as much dignity as possible in the whole attitude of your body." Many a good preacher has been spoiled by following this rule. Studied and affected gestures is one of the greatest blemishes of a preacher ; it must be natural, or it is worse than useless. Blair, however, was speaking at random. He meant, rather, "avoid undignified attitudes"; and, in the next page, he says that action should be learnt at home ; a rule which, with certain qualifications, it would be well to adopt. In studying action at home, do not practise the delivery of your own sermon. Do not read over on Saturday night the ser- mon which you are going to preach next day, and say to yourself, "Here I must hold up my forefinger with a significant motion ; here my right hand with a graceful wave; here I will be like St. Paul at Athens; here like St. John in the wilderness." If you "study attitudes" in this way, it must needs happen that your sermon will be delivered in an af- fected and studied manner. But if you must study action (and I have no wish to dis- suade you from it) the least objectionable plan which I can think of, is to recite, with appropriate action, the work of some stand- ard author. But, after all, nature will be far more useful to you than any rules, to teach propriety of gesture. Whatever you do, be sure when you get into the pulpit not to think then at all about your action. If the matter of your discourse be stirring and animated, appropriate gesture will probably come of its own accord; but if it does not, never mind, you may be a very good preacher without it; whereas, if it is unnatural and forced, it will entirely ruin the effect of your preaching. — GresleYj Letters to a Yoimg Clergyman, p. 883. (D. & Co., 1856.) 509, GESTURE, NATURALNESS IN. — The simplicity of gesture is opposed to af- fectation, that falsehood of action which de- stroys every pretension of genuine grace. The more showy and fine the gestures are, unless they belong indispensably to the sub- ject, to the affection of the mind, and to the character of the speaker, the more do they offend the judicious by their manifest affec- tation. When the profligate speaks of piety, the miser of generosity, and the coward of valor, and the corrupt of integrity, they are only the more despised by those who know them. To these faults of character, the faults of manner are analogous and almost equally disgusting. If dignity be assumed where none is found in the sentiment, pathos with- out anything interesting, vehemence in trifles, and solemnity upon common place; such af- fectation may impose on the ignorant, but makes "the judiciqus grieve." Simplicity, which constitutes the true grace in manners and in dress, should equally be observed in the action of an orator. Early good instruc- tions with constant practise and imitation of the best models will establish habits of graceful action : in the same manner as the personal accomplishments, however, at first the cause of constraint, become, after suffi- cient exercise, easy and agreeable; and dis- tinguish, in all their motions and manners, those who have been cultivated, from the awkward and affected vulgar. It is an ob- servation founded in fact, that the action of young children is never deficient in grace; for which two reasons may be assigned: first, because they are under no restraint from diffidence or from any other cause, and therefore use their gestures with all sincer- ity of heart only to aid the expression of their thoughts : and, next, because they have as yet few ideas of imitation, and so are not deprived of the graces of nature by af- fectation, nor perverted by bad models. — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhet- orical Delivery, p. 514. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 510 GESTURE, OMISSION OF.— A judicious speaker will often intermit his gesture altogether, that he will restrain its frequency, and use it only when absolutely necessary to illustrate or to enforce his senti- ments. Gesture will be recollected to hold the place of high seasoning and ornament, and it must be managed with discretion lest it should defeat its own purposes and create disgust or disapprobation. It will also be recollected by the judicious speaker that our prepossessions in general are not in favor of gesture; and that nothing less than the most evident correctness, spirit, and chastity of manner can obtain approbation, or in spite Ctesture aesture KLEISER'S COMPLETE GmDE 206 of prejudice afford delight. It is not for want of judgment or through any deficiency in taste that a British audience do not re- quire of a public speaker the gesture which is the last refinement and polish of eloquence; custom alone, and a certain habitual gravity of character, disposes our people to listen with patience to long and tedious disserta- tion, delivered with good sense but without grace. Whole assemblies attend with com- placency, and absorb with tranquillity, and weigh with judgment the public reasonings of public speakers. Many prefer the quiet information thus obtained to any efforts of oratory. When at any time excited from their tranquillity by attempts at eloquence, they are at first rather disturbed than pleased; and are apt to judge of the inno- vation with severity, joined to all the critical skill which learning and refined taste unite. If the speaker prove truly eloquent, and truly elegant and judicious, he is sure of most liberal atid solid approbation. But he must be discreet, and not hazard too much till he finds himself possest of his audience arid filled with his subject. He will be quiet and guarded in the commencement of his dis- course (and particularly in the commence- ment of his practise of this art), he will re- strain his gestures in the calm and reasoning passages, and reserve its force and brilliancy for the appropriate expression of his most earnest feelings and boldest thoughts. His transitions from the placid and tranquil nar- rative, to the parts which are most highly wrought, and which require his utmost exer- tions, will be gradual and just and free from sudden extravagance. As he warms, his ges- ture will commence; and when he glows, it will be more vehement and also more fre- quent. A public speaker sometimes delivers his sentiments from the impression of the moment ; when these are ardent and gener- ous, nothing further is to be wished, than that he may have been well practised and instructed beforehand in all the powers of language, as well as in all external arts of eloquence. Words of fire will then be sup- plied, and lightnings will flash as splendid as irresistible ; and voice, countenance, and gesture will be such as expression, force, and gracefulness demand. But this is a felicity not to be expected always, even by the most consummate orators. The matter and the manner of the oration are both generally composed in the closet, it would be pre- sumption and disrespect to a great assembly should it be otherwise: and the example of the greatest orators proves that it can be attended with no imputation against our tal- ents : for we have still remaining for our in- struction what Demosthenes and Cicero had thus composed. A prudent speaker, who has meditated his oration and his delivery, will perhaps not always find his feelings on the actual exertion to answer his premeditations. In such an event his care should be that his action shall not overpass the degree of feeling with which he is actually affected. If he cannot excite himself to the degree he proposed or expected during the composi- tion of his discourse, he will not allow his purposed style of gesture to overpower the force and expression of his voice ; otherwise it will prove cold and artificial. The voice, which is the true test of the feelings, should regulate the whole external demeanor ; and if it be languid or uninterested, notwithstanding the speaker's efforts, he will accommodate it from his ready store with gesture and man- ner of such sort, as shall be rather below than above the feelings which he can reach. By such management gesture will not fail to please even those who are not used to this great addition to a popular discourse. The knowledge of the extreme bounds also to which decorum should allow a speaker to proceed according to his situation ought to be familiar to his imagination. So that even in the "tempest and whirlwind of his passion" he shall be still in possession of himself and never abandon himself to undue extrava- gance. All that energy, brilliancy, or pathos can require, may, in the pulpit, in parlia- ment, and at the bar be kept within such bounds as shall better produce the intended effect, than the most licentious indulgence. Even on the stage itself, where more is per- mitted, if our great Poet may be considered as authority, temperance should be strictly observed. If it should be transgressed wan- tonly and audaciously, the outrage is sure to produce derision instead of applause. — Aus- tin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 441. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 511. GESTURE, QUALITIES OF.— (1) Magnificence of gesture. This consists in the ample space through which the arm and hand are made to move : and it is effected by detaching the upper arm completely from the body, and unfolding the whole oratorical weapon. The center of its motion is the shoulder. In magnificent gesture the action is flowing and unconstrained, the preparations are made in some graceful curve, the transi- tions are easy and the accompaniments are correct, and in all respects illustrative of the principal action. The motions of the head are free, and the inflexions of the body manly 207 ,T0 PUBLIC SPEAKING O-eature Oflsture and dignified. Tlie action of the lower limbs is decided, and a considerable space is trav- ersed with firmness and with force. The opposite inperfections are short, and dry, and mean gestures, constrained motions, rigidity of the joints, and stiffness of the body witli short steps and doubtful or timid movements. (2) Boldness of gesture. This consists in that elevated courage and self-confidence •which ventures to hazard any action produc- tive of a grand or striking effect, however unusual. In this sort of gesture, unexpected positions, elevations and transitions surprize at once by their novelty and grace, and thus illustrate or enforce their ideas with irre- sistible effect. The opposite imperfection is tameness; which hazards nothing, is timid and doubtful of its own powers, and pro- duces no great effect. (3) Energy of ges- ture. This consists in the firmness and decision of the whole action : and in the sup- port which the voice receives from the pre- cision of the stroke of the gesture which aids its emphasis. The opposite imperfections are feebleness and indecision. (4) Variety of gesture. This consists in the ability of read- ily adapting suitable and different gestures to each sentiment and situation, so as to avoid recurring too frequently to one favor- ite gesture or set of gestures. The opposite imperfections are sameness, barrenness, and monotony of gesture analogous to that of the voice. (5) Simplicity of gesture. This con- sists in such a character of gesture as ap- pears the natural result of the situation and sentiments ; which is neither carried beyond the just extent of the feeling through affec- tation of variety, nor falls short of it through meanness or false shame. The opposite im- perfection is affectation. (6) Grace of gesture. This is the result of all other perfections, arising from a dignified self-possession of mind'; and the power of personal ex- ertion practised into facility after the best models, and according to the truest taste. The opposite imperfections are awkwardness, vulgarity, and rusticity. (7) Propriety of gesture, called also truth of gesture, or nat- ural gesture. This consists in the judicious use of the gestures best suited to illustrate or to express the sentiment. Appropriate gestures are generally founded in some nat- ural connection of the sentiment with the gesture; significant gestures are strictly con- nected with the sentiments. The opposite im- perfections are false, contradictory,, or unsuit- able gestures: such as produce solecism in gesture. (8) Precision or correctness of ges- ture. Arises from the just preparation, the due force, and the correct timing of the action: when the preparation is neither too much abridged and dry, nor too pompously displayed; when the stroke of the gesture is made with such a degree of force as suits the character of the sentiment and speaker; and when it is correctly marked on the pre- cise syllable to be enforced. Precision of gesture gives the same effect to action, as neatness of articulation gives to speech. The opposite imperfections are indecision, un- certainty, and incorrectness, arising from vague and sawing gestures, which far from illustrating, render dubious the sense of the sentiments which they accompany, and dis- tract the spectator. — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 453. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) S12. GESTURE, RIGHT USE OF— An abrupt or jerky gesticulation is special- ly to be avoided, such as a regular swing up and down, down and up again, of the speak- er's arms, which gives the appearance of two hatchets incessantly at work. Generally speak- ing, moderation is better than superfluity of gesticulation. Nothing is more wearisome to the audience than a violent delivery with- out respite ; and next to a monotony of voice, nothing more readily puts it to sleep than a gesture forever repeated, which marks with exactness each part of the period, as a pen- dulum keeps time. This portion of oratorical delivery, more important than is supposed, greatly attended to by the ancients, and too much neglected by the moderns, may be ac- quired by all the exercises which form the body, by giving it carriage and ease, grace of countenance and motion ; and still more by well-directed studies in elocution in what concerns gesture under a clever master. To this should be added the often repeated study of the example of those speakers who are most distinguished for the quality in ques- tion — which is only too rare at the present day. But what perhaps conduces more than all this to form the faculty mentioned is the frequenting good company — that is, of the society most distinguished for elegance of language and fine manners. Nothing can supply the place in this regard of a primary j education in the midst of the most refined class. In this medium the youth fashions himself, as it were, of his own accord, by the impressions he is every moment receiving, and the instinctive imitation of what he sees and hears. It is the privilege of high society, and of what used to be called men of the court. There one learns to speak with cor- rectness and grace, almost without study, by the mere force of habit; and if persons of Oestare Gesture KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 208 quality combined with this facility of elocu- tion that science which is to be acquired only by study, and the power of reflection, which is formed chiefly in solitude — and this is not very compatible with the life of the great world, — they would achieve oratorical suc- cesses more easily than other people. — Bau- TAiN, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 105. (S., 1901.) 513. GESTURE, SIGNIFICANT USE OF. — When the gesture is highly signifi- cant and expressive, a very little of it will go a great way; and too much of it enfeebles its expressive power, and is to be carefully avoided. It has an effect similar to that of too much emphasis. It comes so frequently that it does not allow time sufficient for the audience to feel its force. From its redun- dancy, it ceases to attract attention. A single gesture in a paragraph, provided it be one of striking significance, will often produce a far greater effect than a dozen, in themselves equally expressive. Continence of significant gesture, like continence of words, and of em- phasis, is a great element of power in deliv- ery. — McIlvaine, Elocution, p. 395. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 514. GESTURE, SIMPLICITY IN.— The gestures of the public speaker must be few and vary according to circumstances of situation, audience, and language, but they must be decided rather than merely graceful ; earnest and manly, not delicate and effemi- nate. The speaker should be cautious of add- ing the slightest trait to the simple but grand character of natural action, for instead of making the appeal stronger it is sure to weaken it. Each gesture should have a suffi- cient reason for its bueing used. Vigor is given by excitement of the breast, lips, and nostrils; while the posture and the look of the eye add direction and meaning. By a just energizing of the functions we can work out all the capability of expression in the words as they severally make up the sense. We must never drop a gesture until the period has closed; but vary the movement in a suspensive manner as we continue until the voice falls at a cadence in the language.— Feobisher, Voice and Action, p. 38. (I. B. & Co., 1867.) 515. GESTURE, STROKE OF THE. —The arm, the hand, and the fingers united in one flexible line of several joints, which combine together their mutual action, form the grand instrument of gesture, or as Cicero calls it, "the weapon of the orator." The center of motion of this compound line is the shoulder, which does not move all to- gether in the manner of an inflexible line; but each separate joint becomes often a new center of motion for the portion between it and the extremity. Accordingly, in directing the gesture towards any particular point, the upper arm first arrives at its proper position, then the forearm, turning on the joint of the) elbow, and lastly the hand moving on the joint of the wrist; and in some cases there is a fourth motion of the fingers from the knuckles next the palm, in which the last motion is the expanding of the collected fin- gers. The other joints of the fingers have in this case also their peculiar motions, but they are so inconsiderable that, however con- tributing to grace, they do not require to be particularly noticed in here. The construc- tion of the arm and hand together, in the adjustment of the number and nature of the, joints, is such as to allow almost as much variety of motion as if they formed a pliant chain, whilst at the same time they possess as much firmness and decision as if they con- sisted of an inflexible line, or were an in- strument with a single joint, like a flail. The admirable variety of the motions of the hand, depends partly on the power of the forearm, which can turn at the wrist nearly a complete revolution, and partly upon the joint of the wrist itself, which is capable of moving both upwards and downwards, and also to either side, with equal facility. This compound instrument, the upper arm, the forearm, and the hand with the fingers, in gesticulation seldom continues long, either in one direct line or in any particular flexure, but changes every moment the angles formed by the different joints; adding at once grace and variety to the motions. The farther any portion of the compound line formed by those parts is from the center of motion, the greater space does it pass through. The least motion therefore is that made by the upper arm, and the greatest, of course, that made by the hand, so that from this circum- stance alone its gestures must be conspicu- ous. But in performing the different ges- tures, the hand has not only the advantage of being placed at the extremity of the line farthest from the center of motion; but by means of the joint at the wrist it can reserve to itself the power of springing to the point, to which its gesture is directed. In this man- ner the hand often finishes its gesture and marks its complete termination. This action is termed the stroke of the gesture; and should be marked by different degrees of force according to the energy of the senti- 209 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Oestnxe Qesture tnent exprest; being sometimes in high pas- sion distinguished by a strong percussion, and again in the more moderate state of the speaker's feelings being distinguished merely by a turn of the hand, by a change of the position or elevation of the arm, or by a momentary arrestation of the motion of the gesture in its transitions : but whenever ges- ture is used, the stroke in its proper force is indispensably required to mark it with pre- cision. The stroke of the gesture is analo- gous to the impression of the voice made on those words which it would illustrate or enforce; it is used for the same purposes and should fall precisely on the same place, that is, on the accented syllable of the em- phatic word; so that the emphatic force of the voice and the stroke of the gesture co- operate in order to present the idea in the most lively and distinguished manner, as well to the eye as to the ear of the hearer. The stroke of the gesture is to the eye, what the emphasis and inflexions of the voice are to the ear, and it is capable of equal force and variety. When gesture is used and not marked by the precision of the stroke in the proper places, the arms seem to wander about in quest of some uncertain object, like a person groping in the dark; and the action is of that faulty kind which is called sawing the air; which tho suitable for some partic- ular expressions is very offensive when fre- quently and injudiciously used. Even grace- ful motions, as they may sometimes be seen, particularly among singers on the stage, un- marked by the precision of the stroke of the gesture, lose much of their force and effect; and their soft flowing quickly ceases to afford pleasure. Gesture used for the mere display of the person, without reference to any other particular or decided meaning in its move- ments and changes, very soon disgusts. — ■ Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhet- orical Delivery, p. 375. (W B. & Co., 1806.) 516. GESTURE, TERMINATION OF. ^After the stroke of the emphatic gesture, if the speaker has completely closed his sen- timents on a particular part of his subject, or if he has finished his oration, both hands fall to rest in a manner suiting his own charac- ter, and the last expressions which he has delivered. This falling of the hands to rest is named the close and termination of ges- ture. Quintilian and the rhetoricians require the concluding gesture to be made at the right hand; and for a good reason: because, supposing the principal gesture to be made only with the right hand, if the emphatical and closing gesture is made towards the left or across, another gesture will be required before the hand can be brought into the posi- tion oblique, from which the arm falls with that kind of relaxation which indicates that its exertions are, for the present, completely finished. If the arm were thus abandoned when in the position across, it would be apt to swing or vibrate for some time like a pen- dulum before it settled at the point of rest, or be forcibly stopt here, either of which circumstances would not accord with the im- pression intended by a terminating gesture, or mark it with proper decision. And it is contrary to the correct simplicity of gesture to mark any single word or idea with more than a single emphatical stroke; any appen- dix of gesture after this would only weaken its force or render it ridiculous. Intoxica- tion and insanity are observed to continue their gesticulations, and to reiterate the same after they have ceased to speak; but the de- corum of public speaking ought not to be betrayed into any intemperance bearing the most remote similitude to the manner of such unhappy or vicious derangement. The rule of Quintilian should therefore be care- fully observed ; and it may be rendered more general according to our modern customs by saying, that the emphatic and terminating gestures should not be made across. The termination, or rather the emphatic gesture which terminates, is generally made about the horizontal elevation, but sometimes may also be made downwards or elevated accord- ing to the sentiment. The horizontal termi- nation suits decision and instruction; the downward disapprobation and condemnation; the elevated pride, high passion, and devo- tion. — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 425. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 517. GESTURE, THE LANGUAGE OF NATURE.— Gesture, considered as a just and elegant adaptation of every part of the body to the nature and import of the subject we are pronouncing, has always been considered as one of the most essential parts of oratory. Its power, as Cicero observes, is much greater than that of words. It is the language of nature in the strictest sense, and makes its way to the heart, without the utter- ance of a single sound. Ancient and modern orators are full of the power of action, and action, as with the illustrious Grecian orator, seems to form the beginning, the middle, and end of oratory. Such, however, is the force of custom that tho we all confess the power and necessity of this branch of public speak- ing, we find few, in our own country at least. Qeitnre Ciesture KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 210 that are hardy enough to put it into practise. The most accomplished speakers in the Brit- ish Senate are very faulty in their use of action, and it is remarkable that those who are excellent in every other part of oratory are very deficient in this. The truth is, the I the reason of action in speaking is in the I nature of things, the difficulty of acquiring the other requisites of an orator, and the still greater difficulty of attaining excellence in action; these, I say, seem to be the reasons why action is so little cultivated among us. To this we may add that so different are national tastes in this particular that hardly any two people agree in the just proportion of this so celebrated quality of an orator. Perhaps the finished action of a Cicero, or a Demosthenes, would scarcely be borne in our times, tho accompanied with every other ex- cellence. The Italians and French, tho gen- erally esteemed better public speakers than the English, appear to us to overcharge their oratory with action, and some of their finest strokes of action would, perhaps, excite our laughter. The oratory, therefore, of the Greeks and Romans in this point, is as ill suited to a British auditor as the accent and quantity of the ancients is to the English language. The common feelings of nature, with the signs that express them, undergo a kind of modification which is suitable to the taste and genius of every nation, and it is this national taste which must necessarily be the vehicle of everything we convey agree- ably to the public we belong to. Whether the action of the ancients was excessive, or whether that of the English be not too scanty, is not the question. Those who would succeed as English orators must speak to English taste, as a general must learn the modern exercise of arms to command mod- ern armies, and not the discipline and weap- ons of the ancients. But tho the oratory of the moderns does not require all those vari- ous evolutions of gesture which are almost indispensable in the ancient, yet a certain de- gree of it must necessarily enter into the composition of every good speaker and read- er. To be perfectly motionless while we are pronouncing words which require force and energy, is not only depriving them of their necessary support, but rendering them unnat- ural and ridiculous. A very vehement ad- dress pronounced without any motion but that of the lips and tongue, would be a bur- lesque upon the meaning, and produce laugh- ter; nay, so unnatural is this total absence of gesticulation that it is not very easy to speak in this manner. — Walker, Elements of Elocution, p. 315. (C. & W., 1799.) 518. GESTURE, TRANSITION IN.— Variety, which is a most important object to be kept in view by a public speaker, allows with advantage an interchange of the princi- pal gesture, even when the subject may be of a more abstruse and demonstrative nature. When there is any opposition or antithesis among the ideas, or even in the structure of sentences ; or where a new argument is in- introduced after the discussion of a former is ended, as at a new division or a new par- agraph, there may be a change of the prin- cipal gesture. But it will be a point of judg- ment and taste in the speaker not to carry this balancing or alternation of gesture to an affected extreme, and not even in allowable cases to indulge in it over much; nor will he prolong too far the principal action permit- ted to the left hand, which he will always feel to be the weaker, and recollect to be admitted into the foremost place, rather by courtesy than of right; and he will there- fore require to use its distinction with dis- cretion. In the changes made from one hand to the other, the transition should be man- aged with ease and simplicity. As soon as the advanced hand has made the stroke of its last emphatic gesture, it should fall quiet- ly to rest, whilst at the same time the hand which is in its turn to assume the principal action, commences its preparation for the ensuing gesture. It will be observed that a commencing or discriminating gesture as a modest beginning suits its first entrance into authority. An emphatic gesture immediately after one from the other hand would be vio- lent and outrageous ; something like the ges- ticulations of those little wooden figures set up to frighten birds from corn or fruit; which have the arms fixt on an axis in such a manner that they are alternately raised and deprest with equal vehemence, accord- ing as they are blown about by the wind. An obvious exception to this rule will occur, as necessarily taking place on the stage in very sudden affections or alarms : thus when Hamlet starts at his father's ghost, he changes at once the entire position of both hands and feet. But oratory is not liable to surprize of this nature; therefore, with re- spect to it the rule is absolute. When the orator finds it necessary to change the posi- tion of the feet, so as to advance that which was before retired, the general rule is that he should effect it imperceptibly, and not commence the change till after the hand has begun its change of action. Sometimes, how- ever, in vehement passages the orator is al- lowed by the highest authority to advance suddenly, and even to stamp with his foot. — • 211 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Oestiue Oestnre Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhe- torical Delivery, p. 419. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 519. GESTURE, USE OF.— Gesture, considered as a just and elegant adaptation of every part of the body to the nature and import of the subject we are pronouncing, has always been considered as one of the most essential parts of oratory. Cicero says that its power is even greater than that of words. It is the language of nature in the strictest sense, and makes its way to the heart without the utterance of a single sound. I may threaten a man with my sword by speech, and produce little effect; but if I clap my hand to the hilt simultaneously with the threat, he will be startled according to the earnestness of the action. This instance will illustrate the whole theory of gesture. According to Demosthenes, action is the be- ginning, the middle, and the end of oratory. To be perfectly motionless while we are pro- nouncing words which require force and en- ergy, is not only depriving them of their necessary support, but rendering them unnat- ural and ridiculous. A very vehement ad- dress, pronounced without any motion but that of the lips and tongue, would be a bur- lesque upon the meaning, and produce laugh- ter; nay, so unnatural is this total absence of gesticulation that it is not very easy to speak in this manner. As some action, therefore, must necessarily accompany our words, it is of the utmost consequence that this be such as is suitable and natural. No matter how little, if it be but akin to the words and passion ; for, if foreign to them, it counter- acts and destroys the very intention of de- livery. The voice and gesture may be said to be tuned to each other; and, if they are in a different key, as it may be called, dis- cord must inevitably be the consequence. "A speaker's body," says Fenelon, "must betray action when there is movement in his words ; and his body must remain in repose when what he utters is of a level, simple, unim- passioned character. Nothing seems to me so shocking and absurd as the sight of a man lashing himself to a fury in the utter- ance of tame things. The more he sweats, the more he freezes my very blood." Mr. Austin, in his "Chironomia," was the first to lay down laws for the regulation of gesture ; and nearly all subsequent writers on the sub- ject have borrowed largely from his work. He illustrates his rules by plates, showing the different attitudes and gestures for the expression of certain emotions. Experience has abundantly proved that no benefit is to be derived from the study of these figures. They only serve as a subject for ridicule to boys; and are generally found, in every vol- ume in use, well penciled over with satiri- cal marks of mottoes, issuing from the mouths of stiff-looking gentlemen who are presented as models of grace and expression to aspiring youth. The following is an enu- meration of some of the most frequent ges- tures, to which the various members of the body contribute : The Head and Face: The hanging down of the head denotes shame or grief. The holding it up, pride, or courage. To nod forward, implies assent. To toss the head back, dissent. The inclination of the head implies bashfulness or languor. The head is averted in dislike or horror. It leans forward in attention. The Eyes: The eyes are raised, in prayer. They weep, in sorrow. Burn, in anger. They are cast on vacancy, in thought. They are thrown in different di- rections, in doubt and anxiety. The Arms: The arm is projected forward, in authority. Both arms are spread extended, in admira- tion. They are held forward, in imploring help. They both fall suddenly, in disappoint- ment. Folded, they denote thoughtfulness. The Hands : The hand on the head indicates pain, or distress. On the eyes, shame. On the lips, injunction of silence. On the breast, it appeals to conscience, or intimates desire. The hand waves or flourishes, in joy, or contempt. Both hands are held supine, or clasped, in prayer. Both descend prone, in blessing. They are clasped, or wrung, in af- fliction. The outstretched hands, with the knuckles opposite the speaker's face, express fear, abhorrence, rejection, or dismissal. The outstretched hands, with the palms toward the face of the speaker, denote approval, ac- ceptation, welcoming, and love. The Body: The body, held erect, indicates steadiness and courage. Thrown back, pride. Stooping for- ward, condescension, or compassion. Bend- ing, reverence, or respect. Prostration, the utmost humility, or abasement. The Lower Limbs : Their form position signifies cour- age, or obstinacy. Bended knees, timidity, or weakness. Frequent change, disturbed thoughts. They advance, in desire, or cour- age. Retire, in aversion, or fear. Start, in terror. Stamp, in authority, or anger. Kneel, in submission and prayer. Walker says that we should be careful to let the stroke of the hand which marks force, or emphasis, keep exact time with the force of pronunciation — that is, the hand must go down upon the emphatic word, and no other. Thus, in the imprecation of Brutus, in Julius Caesar : Qestore Oood Humor KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 212 "When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, To lock such rascal counters from his friends. Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, Dash him in pieces!" Here, says Walker, the action of the arm which enforces the emphasis ought to be so directed that the stroke of the hand may be given exactly on the word dash; this will give a concomitant action to the organs of pronunciation, and by this means the whole expression will be greatly augmented. Arch- bishop Whately contends, on the contrary, that the natural order of action is that the gesture should precede the utterance of the words. "An emotion, strugghng for utter- ance, produces a tendency to a bodily ges- ture, to express that emotion more quickly than words can be framed ; the words follow as soon as they can be spoken. And this be- ing always the case with a real, earnest, un- studied speaker, this mode, of placing the action foremost, gives (if it be otherwise ap- propriate) the appearance of earnest emotion actually present in the mind. And the re- verse of this natural order would alone be sufficient to convert the action of Demosthe- nes himself into unsuccessful and ridiculous mimicry." Where two such authorities clash, the pupil's own good taste must give the bias to his decision. — Sargent, The Standard Speaker, p. 33. (C. D., 1867.) 520. GESTURE, VARIETY OF.— Bodily motion should be moderate ; too much motion wearies the preacher and the audience likewise, and distracts their attention. One may be eloquent without much gesticulation. There is a famous preacher who generally speaks with his hand in his robes, whose dis- courses, nevertheless, are very powerful. A profound passion is scarcely ever accompa- nied with agitation; it is unmoved, prostrate, and does not manifest itself except by occa- sional sudden outbursts. iVEistakes are often made on this score, and that is thought to be a fervent sermon which is delivered with much bawling and much gesticulation. It is true, as M. de Corraenin remarks, that the people are fond of expressive gestures, such as are visible at a distance, and above the heads of the congregation ; that they also like a powerful and thrilling voice; . . . but all this cannot be kept up long, for preacher and hearers soon grow tired of it. Then, again, the people are fond of variety, and a monotonous voice sends them to sleep. That the delivery of a sermon should sometimes be accompanied with significant gestures, and that emotion should occasionally vent itself in an outburst, is all well enough; but com- press such power as much as possible, so that it may be felt that you possess within your own soul a force threefold greater than you outwardly manifest. . . . The more ve- hement you wish your sermon to be, the more you should restrain the air in its pas- sage, forcing it to make its way in thrilling explosions and a resounding articulation. Then many will fall by the sword of the word. — MuLLOis, The Clergy and the Pulpit, p. 359. (The C. P. S., 1867.) 521. GESTURE, WHAT DETER- MINES. — Gesture should be fast or slow, large or small, as determined by the thought. It is usually made on the word or words to which it particularly refers, and is sustained as long as the thought demands it. The hand should not be jerked back to its place, but be allowed to drop gently and unobtrusively to its natural position. Gestures that are slowly made, and allowed to glide easily one into the other, are most effective and graceful. It is never permissible to point across the body. If a gesture is to be made to the left, use the left hand, and if to the right, use the right hand, always remembering that the arm should move in curves, not in straight lines, and that the movement should be made when- ever possible from the shoulder. — Kleiser, Great Speeches and How to Make Them, p. 95. (F. & W., 1911.) 532. GESTURES, VARIOUS, AND THEIR SIGNIFICANCE.— The Head and Face : The hanging down of the head denotes shame or grief. The holding it up, pride or courage. To nod forward implies assent. To toss the head back, dissent. The inclination of the head implies bashfulness or languor. The head is averted in dislike or horror. It leans forward in attention. The Eyes : The eyes are raised in prayer. They weep in sorrow. They burn in anger. They are downcast or averted in anger. They are cast on vacancy in thought. They are thrown in different directions in doubt and anxiety. The Arms : The arm is projected forward in authority. Both arms are spread extended in admiration. They are both held forward in imploring help. They both fall suddenly in disappointment. The Hands: The hand on the head indicates pain or dis- tress. On the eyes, shame. On the lips, in- junction of silence. On the breast, it ap- peals to conscience, or intimates desire. The hand waves or flourishes in joy or contempt. Both hands are held supine, applied, or 213 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Gesture Oood Knmor clasped, in prayer. Both descend prone in blessing. They are clasped or wrung in af- fliction. They are held forward and received in friendship. The Body : The body held erect indicates steadiness and courage. Thrown back, pride. Stooping forward, con- descension or compassion. Bending, rever- ence or respect. Prostration, the utmost hu- mility or abasement. The Lower Limbs: Their firm position signifies courage or ob- stinacy. Bended knees, timidity or weakness. Frequent change, disturbed thoughts. They advance in desire or courage. Retire in aver- sion or fear. Start in terror. Stamp in au- thority or anger. Kneel in submission and prayer. — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 483. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 523. GLADSTONE, WILLIAM EWART.— Born at Liverpool, England, Dec. 29, 1809. Died 1898. Scholar, author, orator. His face was like that of a lion, with viselike resolution, and in old age was magnificent. Above middle height, pale com- plexion, rigidly comprest lips, large, piercing dark eyes, fiercely luminous, restless. "When he differed from you," said a friend, "there were moments when he would give you a glance as if he would stab you to the heart." He was sincere, straightforward, ardent, with wonderful self-control. He had an essential- ly moral nature, and devotional habits of mind, accompanied by dignity and majesty. Extreme considerateness and courtesy were among his chief personal characteristics. In conversation he was inquiring and eager to learn. He possest extraordinary powers of mental concentration. As an orator, he did not quite equal Bright in majesty of imagery, nor Richard Cobden in logic and undisputable facts. He had a stronger grasp of principles than of facts. He had great mental and physical energy, capacity of mind, and ver- satility. His voice was musical, of remark- able range and variety. He could modulate it even to a whisper, without ceasing to be audible, and an audience of thousands could hear with perfect ease every syllable he spoke. His style was copious, forcible, re- plete with varied knowledge. He used too many figures of speech, quotations, and allu- sions. While always grammatical and fin- ished, his sentences were sometimes very long, parentheses within parentheses. His enormous vocabulary tended to blunt the point of his arguments, so as to make him seem lacking in definiteness. His powers of instruction and persuasion were very great. 524. GLADSTONE'S STYLE.— It was by his oratory that he first won fame, and largely by it that he maintained his ascen- dency. If his eloquence be compared either with that of the great ancient masters of the art, or with such modern masters as Edmund Burke and Daniel Webster, it does not show an equal depth and volume of thought, nor an equal beauty and polish of diction. Many thought the speeches of John Bright supe- rior, if considered as fine pieces of English. Mr. Gladstone, however, possest three great gifts of the parliamentary orator. He had a superb voice and delivery. His resources were inexhaustible. His quiver was always full of arguments, and he was equally skilful in the setting forth his own case in the most persuasive form and in answering his oppo- nent's case on the spur of the moment with skill and spirit. And, above all, he had great fighting force. He enjoyed the clash of wits, and the more formidable an attack was the more did it rouse him to the highest point of effectiveness. Indeed, it was often said in Parliament that his extempore speeches made in some conflict of debate that arose suddenly were more telling and gave a higher impression of his powers than the discourses thought over beforehand. This power re- mained with him to the end, hardly less con- spicuous when he quitted the House of Com- mons in 1894, at eighty-five years of age, than it had been when, at forty years of age, he astonished England by his famous speech in the Pacifico debate. — From speech of James Bryce, British Ambassador, at Carnegie Hall, December 28, 1909. 525. GOOD HUMOR IN SPEECH.— Another quality essential to success upon the platform is good humor, and good temper must be combined with it. You know the difference between them. Good humor is the foundation of geniality; it is the habitual condition of a mind that looks on the sunny side of things, a kindly disposition, a cheer- ful temperament, an inclination to be rather blind to faults and very discerning of vir- tues. Good humor is near of kin to good na- ture, tho not identical with it. Its presence is always written upon the countenance, and bespeaks favor for the orator before a word passes his lips. Good temper is not exhib- ited until the occasion calls for it, and then it is a quality of the highest value. In all mixed assemblies ofi a public character, es- pecially in public gatherings, opposition is tolerably certain to appear in some shape, often in forms calculated and possibly de- signed to produce vexation and anger. Noth- Qood Sense Qrac« KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 214 ing so surely bafHes your opponents and wins for you the sympathy and support of the friendly and indifferent as imperturbable good temper. Face abuse with a smile, an- swer gibes with a joke, and you will turn the laugh against your assailants. Under any imaginable provocation, keep your temper. This will secure you the advantage every- where. Lose your temper, and you are your- self lost; you give the victory to your oppo- nents. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 293. (H. C, 1911.) 526. GOOD SENSE ESSENTIAL IN SPEAKING. — Let it be ever kept in view that the foundation of all that can be called eloquence is good sense and solid thought. As popular as the orations of Demosthenes were, spoken to all the citizens of Athens, everyone who looks into them must see how fraught they are with argument, and how im- portant it appeared to him to convince the understanding in order to persuade or to work on the principles of action. Hence their influence in his own time, hence their fame at this day. Such a pattern as this public speakers ought to set before them for imitation, rather than follow the track of those loose and frothy declaimers who have brought discredit on eloquence. Let it be their first study, in addressing any popular assembly, to be previously masters of the business on which they are to speak, to be well provided with matter and argument, and to rest upon these the chief stress. This will always give to their discourse an air of man- liness and strength, which is a powerful in- strument of persuasion. Ornament, if they have genius for it, will follow of course ; at any rate, it demands only their secondary study. "To your expression be attentive, but about your matter be solicitous," is an ad- vice of Quintilian, which can not be too often recollected by all who study oratory. — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 2, p. 232. (A. S., 1787.) 527. GOOD SENSE, TALKING.— I grant that in some lively passages one ought to speak faster than usual. But it is a great fault to speak with so much precipitatioti that one can not stop himself nor be distinctly understood. The voice and action bear some resemblance to verse. Sometimes we must use such a slow and grave measure as is fit to describe things of that character; and sometimes a short, impetuous one, to express what is quick and ardent. To use always the same degree of action and the same tone of voice is like prescribing one remedy for all distempers. But we ought to excuse the uniformity of that preacher's voice and ac- tion; for, besides his possessing many excel- lent qualities, the fault we complain of is the natural effect of his style. We agree that the modulation of the voice should be ex- actly suited to the words. Now, his style is even and uniform, without the least variety. On the one hand, it is not familiar, insinuat- ing, and popular; and, on the other, it has nothing in it lively, figurative, and sublime; but it consists of a constant flow of words, which press one after the other, containing a close and well-connected chain of reason- ing on clear ideas. In a word, he is a man who talks good sense very correctly. Nay, we must acknowledge that he has done great service to the pulpit: he has rescued it from the servitude of vain declaimers, and filled it himself with much strength and dignity. He is very capable of convincing people, but I know few preachers who persuade and move them less than he does. If you observe care- fully, you will even find that his way of preaching is not very instructive, for, be- sides his not having a familiar, engaging, pa- thetic manner of talking, as I observed be- fore, his discourse does not in the least strike the imagination, but is addrest to the under- standing only. It is a thread of reasoning which can not be comprehended without the closest attention. And since there are but few hearers capable of such a constant appli- cation of mind, they retain little or nothing of his discourse. It is like a torrent, which hurries along at once, and leaves its channel dry. In order to make a lasting impression on people's minds, we must support their at- tention by moving their passions, for dry instructions can have but little influence. But the thing which I reckon least natural in this preacher is the continual motion he gives his arms, while there is nothing figurative nor moving in his words. The action used in ordinary conversation would suit his style best, or his impetuous gesture would require a style full of sallies and vehemence, and even then he ought to manage his warmth better and render it less uniform. In fine, I think he is a great man, but not an orator. A country preacher, who can alarm his hearers, and draw tears from them, answers the end of eloquence better than he. — Fenelon, Dia- logs on Eloquence, p. 99. (J. M., 1808.) 528. GOOD TASTE IN THE SPEAK- ER. — The orator must be a man of good taste, that pure and delicate instinct which intimately appreciates whatever is truly beau- tiful, which discovers intuitively whatever is 215 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Gooa Senaa Qraoe false, coarse or unbecoming, which renders an idea or sentiment with perfect truth and perfect propriety. Without its cpntrol and direction the imagination runs ricrt, and rhet- oric scatters its flowers without order or dis- cernment. Governed and directed by good taste, imagination and rhetoric are restrained I within due limits. The colors which are to embellish and give beauty to a discourse are distributed with wisdom instead of being lav- ished with tasteless profusion. Everything is in its place, where it ought to be, and as it ought to be. The great and important fac- ulty of taste is cultivated and developed by the study of good models, by the habit of reflection, and by a severe and unsparing criticism of our own compositions, whether spoken or written. — Potter, Sacred Elo- quence, p. 297. (Fr. P. & Co., 1903.) 529. GRACE IN SPEAKING.— The gracefulness of rhetorical action depends partly on the person and partly on the mind. Some are so happily formed in person that all their motions are graceful; and some minds are so noble that they impart genuine grace to the most uncouth forms : but both these cases are comparatively rare : the per- son in general requires to be practised into grace, and the mind to be instructed and en- couraged. Grace, like the ideal beauty of the painter and of the sculptor, is not commonly to be found in the individual living model, but to be collected from the various excel- lences of many. Most forms of the human figure are capable, in a considerable degree, of graceful motions, but if not trained and educated in the most perfect, are more apt to imitate the awkward and the vulgar; be- cause their manners abound among the ma- jority or the less cultivated, and because they are the short, the inattentive, and the most direct expressions of the feelings. If the vulgar at any time attempt circuitous or cere- monious motions, they discover the habits of obsolete and of bad taste. The mind also may be capable of every dignified sentiment, but when untaught, not being acquainted with the manner of suitable expression, and either dubious, or conscious of its own deficiency, it betrays in every motion of the person con- straint and apprehension, with consequent awkwardness and want of grace. This hap- pens principally to the young and timid. Men who are seriously affected, and express their feelings in public according to their natural impression, if previously uninstructed, may in some measure be ungraceful; but when so much in earnest as to cease to think of ap- pearances, or of anything but the accomplish- ment of their particular object, they never fail to be energetic and impressive in pro- portion to their sincerity, their good sense, and the extent of their information. It will be here observed, that no comparison is made between sincerity, good sense, and informa- tion on the one hand, as opposed to grace on the other ; the influence of the truth, how- ever presented, it is hoped will always be vic- torious in every wise assembly. But it may not be amiss above all other ornaments to recommend it by the simple grace and dignity which so much become it, and so admirably suit its character. And the observation goes only so far as to show that nothing less than the irresistible force of sincerity and fact can bear out a public speaker when divested of grace, the proper garb and ornament of truth. A silly fellow, however, capable of imitating a graceful manner, can never be an impressive speaker; his attempts degen- erate into vapid affectation, and impose only on the weak and ignorant; yet, as such de- scriptions of people make no inconsiderable portion of a popular audience, the affected graces of a fluent coxcomb will not be alto- gether disregarded. Such is the influence of the exterior in oratory. But genuine ora- torical grace can only be the result of refined cultivation adorning a superior understand- ing, or the rare gift of nature to a pure and exalted mind, expressed by the actions of a distinguished person.— Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 505. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 5S0. GRACE, RHETORICAL^Grace is the revelation or symbol of free activity. In style, accordingly, it is the expression of the activity of the speaker as being free and untrammeled. It is the highest characteristic of genius in discourse. It is the predominant characteristic of Shakespeare, who outranks all writers, not in the extent of his learning or richness of his intelligence nor in the in- tensity of his feeling, but in his wonderful power and freedom in rendering, in reveal- ing or embodying. Everywhere do we stand in admiration of it in his dramas — in the rendering of historic fact and of historic character through the development of the plot, the selection and grouping of person- ages and their utterances. Every word, every sentence, every image, every scene is the most perfect revelation of whatever idea was to be brought forth in it. Well has it been said: "You can not change a word but for the worse ; the embodiment, the rendering, would be marred by the change." Grace — freedom in rendering — must characterize discourse fixammav Gutlixle, Tliomas KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 216 everywhere. We can put up with almost any- thing in discourse but imbecility — impotence in conceiving and developing the theme, and in the representation in imagery and lan- guage. As the highest characteristic of ora- torical genius it demands special study and training. It should be remarked that grace respects continuous and sustained power, rather than that which is fitful, which is merely impetuous and violent. Abruptness and sententiousness in style imply, indeed, power. So far as abrupt and broken, how- ever, discourse implies a broken or impeded energy. The roar and foam of a mountain torrent dashing against rocks and trees dis- play force ; it is force, however, checked, im- peded, and out-mastered. The easy, gentle flow of the majestic river, that quietly takes into its current and bears along without a ripple every obstacle that comes in its way, is a more perfect emblem of unimpeded pow- er, and in its motion we see grace exem- plified. Mere impulsive, jetting oratory is so far deficient in grace as it implies impeded and resisted power. — Day, The Art of Dis- course, p. 338. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 531. GRAMMAR, STUDY OF.— The grammar of your native language, as I have already intimated, should be carefully studied. A good, full-sized dictionary should be in your possession — the best that money can buy • — tho to obtain it you should be obliged to sell every book you own except your gram- mar and your Bible. Refer to it continually. Let no day pass without determining from it the meaning and proper pronunciation of words with which you are not familiar. But beware, lest, as many do, you suffer the dic- tionary to take the place of memory. Bear in mind in studying the grammar, that your object is not simply to commit rules by heart, and to parse, but to converse and write cor- rectly. If you can associate with you, in studying the grammar, one or more friends, it is not impossible that your progress in learning will be much greater than if you were directed by an indifferent teacher. After becoming somewhat familiar with the general principles of the language, it will be time to begin to read aloud from authors noted for their purity of style. For this purpose, I recommend Goldsmith's "Vicar of Wake- field," Washington Irving's writings, "The Spectator," and Macaulay's "Essays," and "History of England." Observe, while read- ing, the agreement of the precepts of your grammar with the sentences which you fol- low. Remember that by devoting regular hours to study, and by frequently reviewing and understanding thoroughly every page, before you undertake a single new paragraph, you must inevitably succeed. — Carleton, The Art of Conversation, p. 147. (C, 1867.) 532. GRATTAN, HENRY, DESCRIP- TION OF. — The personal appearance and delivery of Mr. Grattan are brought vividly before us in one of the lively sketches of Charles Phillips. "He was short in stature and unprepossessing in appearance. His arms were disproportionately long. His walk was a stride. With a person swinging like a pendulum, and an abstracted air, he seemed always in thought, and each thought pro- voked an attendant gesticulation. How strange it is that a mind so replete with grace and symmetry and power and splendor should have been allotted such a dwelling for its residence ! Yet so it was, and so, also, was it one of his highest attributes that his genius, by its 'excessive light,' blinded his hearers to his physical imperfections. It was the victory of mind over matter. The chief difficulty in this great speaker's way was the first five minutes. During his exordium laughter was imminent. He bent his body almost to the ground, swung his arms over his head, up and down and around him, and added to the grotesqueness of his manner a hesitating tone and drawling emphasis. Still there was an earnestness about him that at first besought, and, as he warmed, enforced, nay, commanded attention." The speeches of Mr. Grattan afford unequivocal proof, not only of a powerful intellect, but of high and original genius. There was nothing common- place in his thoughts, his images, or his sen- timents. Everything came fresh from his mind, with the vividness of a new creation. His most striking characteristic was conden- sation and rapidity of thought. Pressing con- tinually upon himself, he never dwelt upon an idea, however important. He rarely pre- sented it under more than one aspect; he hardly ever stopped to fill out the interme- diate steps of his argument. His forte was reasoning, but it was "logic on fire," and he seemed ever to delight in flashing his ideas on the mind with a sudden, startling abrupt- ness. Hence, a distinguished writer has spoken of his eloquence as a "combination of cloud, whirlwind, and flame" — a striking representation of the occasional obscurity and the rapid force and brilliancy of his style. But his incessant effort to be strong made him sometimes unnatural. He seems to be continually straining after effect. He wanted that calmness and self-possession which mark the highest order of minds and show their 217 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Qraniinax G-utiine, Tliomas consciousness of great strength. When he had mastered his subject, his subject mas- tered him. His great efforts have too much the air of harangues. They sound more like the battle speeches of Tacitus than the ora- tions of Demosthenes. His style was elab- orated with great care. It abounds in meta- phors, which are always striking and often grand. It is full of antithesis and epigram- matic turns, which give it uncommon point and brilliancy but have too often an appear- ance of labor and affectation. His language is select. His periods are easy and fluent, made up of short clauses with but few or brief qualifications, all uniting in the ex- pression of some one leading thought. His rhythmus is often uncommonly fine. In the peroration of his great speech of April 19th, 1780, we have one of the best specimens in our language of that admirable adaptation of the sound to the sense which distinguished the ancient orators. Tho Mr. Grattan is not a safe model in every respect, there are cer- tain purposes for which his speeches may be studied with great advantage. Nothing can be better suited to break up a dull monotony of style, to give raciness and point, to teach a young speaker the value of that terse and expressive language which is, to the orator especially, the finest instrument of thought. — Goodrich, Select British Eloquence, p. 384. (H. & Bros., 1853.) 533. GREATNESS IN THE SPEAK- ER. — To be a great public speaker one must be a great man. A glance over the enduring speeches of the world shows that not one was delivered for a consideration. Demosthenes spoke in his own defense. Cicero excelled all his other efforts in his oration against Catiline. The speeches that have been preserved in English oratory were made in behalf of the country or for some other great cause. Burke, Pitt, Erskine, Fox, O'Connell, Macaulay, Gladstone, and Disraeli spoke at their best when they spoke for the common welfare. The history of oratory in America testifies to this same quality of dis- interestedness. The greatest speeches were not inspired by any thought of personal re- ward. Webster, Lincoln, Clay, Sumner, Phil- lips, and other great names are remembered for their devotion to cause and country. Henry Ward Beecher, with all his pulpit elo- quence, never spoke so well as in his speeches against slavery. When Seward made his elo- quent defense of the negro Freeman, he did it without compensation. He toiled for months, spent his own money, lost lifelong friends, and was abused and almost mobbed by an infuriated people, because he dared to defend a helpless negro, charged with mur- der, whom he believed to be insane. The greatest speeches of all time invariably have been inspired by an overwhelming desire for public service. — Kleiser, Great Speeches and How to Make Them, p. 11. (F. & W., 1911.) 534. GROUPING IN EXPRESSION.— This word has been borrowed from the art of painting, and is peculiarly applicable to the art of reading and speaking. In a painting you will observe that some figures are grouped together, or possibly placed in the background. So it is in expressing the thoughts of a passage. Certain words must be grouped together, because the thoughts belong together, and some words are to be given special prominence while others are to be subordinated. No arbitrary rules can be given for grouping, but if you closely analyze an extract you should be able to determine for yourself the proper divisions and disposi- tion of the various thoughts. You must bend your intelligence to the passage under con- sideration, and before attempting to read it aloud, be quite sura that you have grasped its significance. — Kleiser, How to Read and Declaim, p. 45. (F. & W., 1911.) 535. GUTHRIE, THOMAS.— This preacher, philanthropist, and social reformer, was born at Brechin, Forfarshire, Scotland, in 1803. He spent ten years at the Univer- sity of Edinburgh and was licensed to preach by the Presbytery of Brechin in 1825. In 1830 he was ordained minister of Arbirlot. After a valuable, experience in evangelical preaching among the farmers, weavers and peasants of his congregation, he became one of the ministers of Old Greyfriars Church, Edinburgh, in 1827. Lock Cockburn described his sermons in that city as appealing equally "to the poor woman on the steps of the pul- pit" as to the "stranger attracted solely by his eloquence." He was a great temperance advocate, becoming a total abstainer in 1844, and has been styled "the apostle of the rag- ged school movement." Retiring from the active work of the ministry in 1864, he still remained in public life until he died in 1873. Through long practise. Dr. Guthrie delivered his memorized discourses as tho they fell spontaneously from his lips. His voice has been described as powerful and musical. He was fond of vivid illustration, and even on his deathbed, as he lay dying in the arms of his sons, he exclaimed : "I am just as help- less in your arms now as you once were in mine." Habit Sands KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 218 536. HABIT AND NATURE IN SPEAKING.— The negligent speaker often justifies his mannerism, on the ground of personality. Speaking of his prominent faults, he will say, "This is my natural man- ner : I like to see individuality of style in de- livery, as in all otlier forms of expression; and this trait constitutes mine. I can not change it for another; because that other, the perhaps better in itself, would not be nat- ural to me." This reasoning would be as sound as it is plausible in itself and comfort- ing to indolence, were habit and nature in- variably the same in individuals, and were manner inevitable and immutable, like Rich- ter's cast-metal king. But manner in ex- pression is the most plastic of all things: it can be molded, at will, to whatever shape a decisive resolution and a persevering spirit determine. Attentive cultivation will reform, renovate, and recreate, here, as extensively as elsewhere. It will enable the individual to shake off the old and put on the new vesture of habit, and to wear it, too, with perfect ease, as the true and the natural garb of expression. For all genuine culture is but the cherishing or the resuscitating of nature. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 86. (D., 1878.) 537. HALL, JOHN.— Born at Market Hill, County Armagh, Ireland, in 1829. For many years he was pastor of the Fifth Ave- nue Presbyterian Church, New York, where he had a large and devoted following. He was of fine physique, and there was a power in face and voice that at once commanded his audience. He spoke without manuscript, and his style was marked by great sincerity, directness and earnestness. He died in 1899. 538. HALL, ROBERT.— Born at Ar- nesby, near Leicester, England, in 1764. Des- tined for the ministry, he was educated at the Baptist Academy at Bristol, and preached for the first time in 1779. In 1783 he began his ministry in Bristol and drew crowded con- gregations of all classes. The tradition of Hall's pulpit oratory has secured his lasting fame. Many minds of a high order were fascinated by his eloquence, and his conver- sation was brilliant. His treatment of re- ligious topics had the rare merit of com- mending evangelical doctrine to people of taste. Dugald Stewart declares that his wri- tings and public utterances exhibited the English language in its perfection. He died in 1831. 539. HALL, ROBERT, STYLE OF.— Robert Hall was a Nonconformist, and the son of a Nonconformist, an English Bap- tist of the class denominated General Bap- tists, to distinguish them from those called Particular Baptists, who held a narrower and more confined view of Christian communion. Hall was a master of English ; his sermons contain passages of majestic eloquence, which seem to partake a good deal of the character of Edmund Burke and of Samuel Johnson. His sermons were not written, neither could they be called, in the proper sense of the term, at all extempore. They seem to have been built up in his own mind, and formed there complete, both as to argument and diction, and thus were poured forth to his hearers. "Hall," says the late Dean Ramsay, "suffered during a period of mental aberration, and was for a time under restraint. Before that period he had a chapel in Cambridge; and his sermons were often listened to by gownsmen, who filled his aisles. On his recovery he went to Leicester, and was known for years as Hall of Leicester. He then went to Bristol, where he died. It is said that he never had the same power and eloquence after his confinement. Indeed, I have been told by an intimate friend of Sedg- wick that he had heard him say he had in Cambridge before that retirement listened to Hall till he seemed to hear the words of one who belonged to an order of superior intelligence. If such a man as Sedgwick was thus affected by the pulpit addresses of Rob- ert Hall, we need not be surprised to hear of the deep impression produced on his ordi- nary hearers." The following account of the eflfect of his preaching is taken from Dr. O. Gregory's Memoir: "Mr. Hall began with hesitation, and often in a very low and feeble voice. As he proceeded, his manner became easy and graceful, and at last highly impas- sioned: his voice also acquired more flexi- bility, body, and sweetness, and in all his happier and more successful efforts, swelled into a stream of the most touching and im- pressive melody. The further he advanced the more spontaneous, natural, and free from labor seemed the progression of thought. . In his sublimer strains, not only was every faculty of his soul enkindled and in entire operation, but his very features seemed fully to sympathize with the spirit, and to give out, nay to throw out, thought, and sen- timent, and feeling. . . . Mr. Foster, in referring to Mr. Hall's earlier efforts, before age and almost continual pain had abated the energy and splendor of his eloquence, records that his intense ardor of emotion and utter- 219 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING HaMt Hands ance often animated to the extreme emphasis a train of sentiment impressive by their in- trinsic force, and which, as he delivered them, held dominion over every faculty of thought and feeling in a large assembly." — Beeton, British Orators and Oratory, from Complete Orator, p. 131. (W. L. & Co.) 540. HAMILTON, ALEXANDER.— Born in the Island of Nevis, in the West Indies, Jan. 11, 1757. Died at New York City, July 12, 1804, the day following a duel — fought with Aaron Burr. He was under middle height, slender, youthful and immacu- late in appearance, erect and dignified. In manner he was frank, genial, hospitable. He was proud, says Bancroft, with the natural arrogance of youth, conscious of his powers, bold, fearless. He had a strong nature, im- perious will, and was capable of intense ap- plication. He had keen penetration, power of analysis, comprehensive understanding. Gris- wold says, in his "Prose Writers of Amer- ica," that his (Hamilton's) works "are easily distinguished by their superior comprehensive- ness, practicalness, originality, and condensed and polished diction." "The Federalist," an elaborate exposition of the Constitu- tion of the United States, was his greatest work. It reveals powerful reasoning, ex- pressed in masterly style. His literary fame is overshadowed by his political fame, yet he combined in an unusual degree literary skill with the highest oratorical power. His style has been characterized as "sonorous, often weighty and austere"; and as "dry"; and as pure, condensed, perspicuous, vigorous. 541. HANDS AND ARMS, REGULA- TION OF THE. — In oratory the regula- tion of the hand is of peculiar importance, not only as it serves to express passion, but to mark the dependence of clauses, and to interpret the emphasis. All action without the hand, says Quintilian, is weak and crip- pled. The expressions of the hand are as varied as language. It demands, promises, calls, dismisses, threatens, implores, detests, fears, questions, and denies. It expresses joy, sorrow, doubt, acknowledgment, depen- dence, repentance, number and time. Yet, the hand may be so employed as not only to become an unmeaning, but an inconvenient appendage. One speaker may raise his hands so high that he can not readily get them down. One can not take them from his bosom. One stretches them above his head; and another lays about him with such vigor, that it is dangerous to be within his reach. In using the arms, a speaker should give his action in curves, and should bear in mind that different situations call for more or less motion of the limbs. The fingers of the hand should not be kept together, as if it were intended by nature that they should unite; nor should they be held forth un- meaningly, like a bunch of radishes; but they should be easily and naturally bent. The speaker who truly feels his subject will feel it to his very finger-tips, and these last will take unconsciously the right bend or motion. Study well, therefore, what you have to say, and be prepared to say it in earnest. The hand and arm should usually be moved gracefully in semicircles, except in indicative passages, as thus : "I charm thy life !" "Lord Cardinal, to you I speak !" To lay down rules as to how far the arms may be ex- tended or to what elevation the hand may be raised, would be superfluous. A speaker should avoid throwing his arms up, as if he were determined to fling them from him ; and he should avoid letting them fall with a violence sufficient to bruise his thigh; yet it is indispensable that the arm should fall and that it should not remain pinioned to the side. It is as essential for a speaker to endeavor, by his appearance and manner, to please the eye, as by his tones to please the ear. His dress should be decent and un- affected. His position should be easy and graceful. If he stand in a perfectly perpen- dicular posture, an auditor would naturally say, "He looks like a post." If the hands work in direct lines, it will give him the ap- pearance of a two-handled pump. The first point to be attained is to avoid awkward habits : such as resting the chief weight of the body first on one foot and then on the other; swinging to and fro; jerking forward the upper part of the body, at every emphatic word; keeping the elbows pinioned to the sides; and sawing the air with one hand, with one unvaried and ungraceful motion. As gesture is used for the illustration and enforcement of language, so it should be lim- ited, in its application, to such words and passages as admit of or require it. A judi- cious speaker will not only adapt the general style and manner of his action to the subject, the place, and the occasion, but even when he allows himself the greatest latitude, he will reserve his gesture, or, at least, the force and ornament of it, for those parts of his discourse for which he also reserves his boldest thoughts and his most brilliant ex- pressions. As the head gives the chief grace to the person, so does it principally con- tribute to the expression of grace in delivery. It must be held in an erect and natural posi- Bands Health BnleB KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 220 tion. For, when drooped, it is expressive of humility; when turned upwards, of arro- gance ; when inclined to one side, it expresses languor; and when stiff and rigid, it indi- cates a lack of ease and self-possession. Its movements should be suited to the character of the delivery; they should accord with the gesture, and fall with the action of the hands, and the motions of the body. The eyes, which are of the utmost consequence in aiding the expression of the orator, are generally to be directed as the gesture points; except when we have occasion to condemn, or re- fuse, or to require any object to be removed; on which occasion, we should at the same moment express aversion in our countenance, and reject by our gesture. A listless, inani- mate expression of countenance will always detract from the effect of the most eloquent sentiments, and the most appropriate utter- ance. — Sargent, The Standard Speaker, p. 34. (C. D., 1867.) 542. HANDS AS AIDS TO EXPRES- SION. — Of the hands, without which the action would be maimed and weak, it can hardly be said what and how many motions they have, they being emulous to express al- most every word. Other parts help the speaker; these, I might almost say, help themselves. Do we not ask with them, prom- ise, call, dismiss, threaten, supplicate, detest, fear, interrogate, deny, show joy, grief, doubt, confession, penitence, and point out measure, abundance, number, time? Do they not stir up to anger, crave pity, hinder, ap- prove, admire, and declare shame? Do they not serve as adverbs and pronouns in indi- cating places and persons? Whence, amid the great diversity of language of all nations and people, the hands seem to me the com- mon language of all men. — Quintilian, In- stitutes of the Orator, vol. 2, p. 332. (B. L., 1774.) 543. HANDS, EXPRESSION OF THE. • — The hand has a great share in expressing our thoughts and feelings. Raising the hands towards heaven, with the palms united, ex- presses devotion and supplication; wringing them, grief ; throwing them towards heaven, admiration; dejected hands, despair and amazement ; folding them, idleness ; holding the fingers intermingled, musing and thought- fulness ; holding them forth together, yielding and submission ; lifting them and the eyes to heaven, solemn appeal; waving the hand from us, prohibition ; extending the right hand to anyone, peace, pity, and safety; scratching the head, care and perplexing thought; laying the right hand on the heart, affection and solemn affirmation; holding up the thumb, approbation; placing the right forefinger on the lips perpendicularly, bid- ding silence, etc. In these and many other ways are manifested our sentiments and pas- sions by the action of the body, but they are shown principally in the face, and par- ticularly in the turn of the eye, and the eye- brows, and the infinitely various motions of the lips. — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 226. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 544. HANDS, RIGHT USE OF THE. — Quintilian considers the gesture of the hands of such importance for illustration and enforcement, that after a long and eloquent enumeration of their powers, he even attrib- utes to them the faculty of universal lan- guage. "Without the aid of the hands, action would be mutilated and void of energy, but it is hardly possible, since they are almost as copious as words themselves, to enumerate the variety of motions of which they are capable. The action of the other parts of the body assists the speaker, but the hands (I could almost say) speak themselves. By them do we not demand, promise, call, dismiss, threaten, supplicate, express abhorrence and terror, question, and deny? Do we not by them express joy and sorrow, doubt, confes- sion, repentance, measure, quantity, number, and time? Do they not also encourage, sup- plicate, restrain, convict, admire, respect? And in pointing out places and persons do they not discharge the office of adverbs and of pronouns? so that in the great diversity of languages, which obtain among all king- doms and nations, theirs appears to me the universal language of mankind." Vossius follows the opinion of Quintilian almost in the same words. "The hands," he says, "not only assist the speaker, but seem almost themselves to speak." But Cresollius in his ardent manner goes far beyond the correct criticism and tempered warmth of Quintilian. The very contents or title of the chapter in which he treats of the hands, are in this spirit : "The hand, the admirable contrivance of the divine artist. — The minister of reason and wisdom. — Without the hand no elo- quence. Man, I say, full of wisdom and divinity could have appeared nothing superior to a naked trunk or a block, had he not been adorned with this interpreter and mes- senger of his thoughts. The celebrated phy- sician Cous called the practise of the ges- tures of the hand the most excellent lesson in eloquence. The brother of St. Basil said, 221 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Hands Health Boles that had men been formed without hands, they would never have been endowed with an articulate voice. Among the wise men of Egypt, the inventors of the sacred hiero- glyphics, their designation of language, was by the symbol of a hand placed under a tongue. "Contention, play, love, revels change and rest. And truth and grace are by the head exprest." "Everything, it must be confest, depends on the hand; it gives strength and coloring to eloquence, and adds force and nerves to the riches of thought, which, otherwise languid, creeping on the ground, and deficient in vigor, would lose all estimation. Hence we see how it came to pass, that among the inter- preters of dreams, the hand signifies lan- guage, because the gestures of the hands are requisite to be used along with language, as Artemidorus says. He has even declared in those works of his which remain, that if a public speaker should dream that he had many hands, he might expect the most fortu- nate events of profit and honor from his studies in oratory. In my judgment, there- fore, the hand may properly be called a sec- ond tongue, because nature has adapted it by the most wonderful contrivance for illus- trating the art of persuasion. Since, then, nature has furnished us with two instruments for the purpose of bringing into light and expressing the silent affections of the mind, language and the hand ; it has been the opin- ion of learned and intelligent men, that the former would be maimed and nearly useless without the latter; whereas the hand, with- out the aid of language, has produced many and wonderful effects." — Austin, Chirono- mia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 331. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 545. HANDS, USE OF THE, IN SPEAKING.— The hands should be care- fully trained for flexibility and expressive- ness. The fingers should be slightly apart and curved. A gesture has three divisions : (1) The preparation, made in an opposite direction from that which the gesture is to take. (3) The gesture proper, which must be precisely upon the word intended. (3) The return, in which the hand should be dropped gently and slowly without slapping the sides of the body. The supine hand, palm upward, is used to express good-humor, frankness and generalization. The prone hand, palm downward, shows superposition, or the resting of one thing upon another. The vertical hand, palm outward, is used in warding off, putting from, and in repugnant and disagreeable thought. The clenched hand is used in anger, defiance and great emphasis. The index finger is used to specialize and in- dicate. Both hands are used in appeal and to express intensity, expansiveness and great- ness. Usually one hand should slightly lead the other. The hands are clasped in prayer and wrung in grief. — KleiseRj How to Speak in Public, p. 100. (F. & W., 1910.) 546. HEAD POSITIONS, MEANING OP. — Every part of the body contributes to express our thoughts and affections, hence the necessity of training the whole man. The head is sometimes erect, denoting courage or firmness ; at other times down or reclined, expressive of sorrow, grief and shame ; again it is suddenly drawn back, with an air of disdain ; or shaken, as in dissent ; or brought forward in assent; sometimes it shows by a significant nod a particular object or person; threatens by one set of movements, approves by another, and expresses suspicion by an- other. — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 337. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 547. HEALTH RULES FOR SPEAK- ERS. — The will must brace up the mind, and a rational mode of treatment must brace up the body. A vigorous determination not to give way to the doubts, the fears, and melancholy forebodings of the mind^a firm trust in and dependence upon a Divine Provi- dence — a mind strengthened by religious prin- ciple, by holy love and prayer — -these, we think, are the rules to be observed for the fortifying and strengthening of the mind. But there must also be a proper attention paid to the body, for God has created us reasonable beings, and He therefore expects us to act as such. Plenty of outdoor exercise, walk- ing, gardening, active sport, and real manual labor, proportioned, of course, to the strength of the individual — early rising, and early re- tiring to rest, the time spent in bed never exceeding eight hours — a cold bath every morning, and plenty of grooming and exer- cise afterwards — the strictest temperance in plain, substantial food — avoiding over-heated and ill-ventilated rooms, excess of clothing, and soft, downy beds, a good comfortable mattress being by far the best — freedom from too much stress of mind — indeed, tho we have never ourselves been under any regime of medical treatment, yet we hear that in many hydropathic establishments nervous pa- tients are not permitted to exercise the brain Heart-Force Heiury, Patrick KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 222 at all, no, not even light reading or a game) of draughts is allowed — these we think to be the best means of strengthening not the ner- vous system only, but the general health of the body. As regards the use of medicine, we do not condemn it. There will, perhaps, be times when it will be required; but if a man would carry out the above rules he would rarely need medical assistance. In- deed, a man should depend on himself for health, rather than the doctor, and the less need he has for medicine, the stronger will his health and constitution become. And the above rules are of so simple a nature, and so entirely within the reach of everyone to carry out, that we have no hesitation in recomr mending them. And when we come to think of the greatest of earthly blessings, good health — of the power which it gives to the mind, the amount of work, both mental and bodily, which it enables a man to carry out — and of the strict account which we shall here- after have to give of it, as to how we have preserved, improved, and employed it, — we think that every means which we have within our reach for its preservation and improve- ment should be thankfully embraced and rightly made use of. — Anon, The Public Speaker, p. 111. (J. N. & Co., 1860.) 548. HEART-FORCE IN PREACH- ING. — There are natures cold, reserved, selfish, which quite unfit their possessor for the true work of the preacher. And there are natures that, from ungenial environments, have grown undemonstrative and retroactive, or have found a narrow channel for their affections and interests, so that literature, theology, criticism, science of some sort, have won, fascinated and enchained sympathies that the whole struggling world might other- wise have enjoyed. Such men can not expect that outflow of psychic energy in preaching which comes from a larger, livelier interest in men. The effective preacher will have heart-force; an affluent, genial, frank, con- fiding nature that yearns to blend itself with others, helping them to bear life's burdens. Philosophical, idealistic and abstracted habi- tudes of mind tend to paralyze psychic force by alienating the preacher from the living touch of the actual, current and concrete con- ditions and needs of men in their daily trials, sorrows, and cares.— Kennard, Psychic Pow- er in Preaching, p. 120. (G. W. J & Co., 1901.) 549. HEART, KNOWLEDGE OF THE HUMAN. — There is one species of knowledge which it is most important to acquire, and that is, the knowledge of the human heart — that knowledge which our Saviour so eminently possest of "what is in man." If you call a physician, and as soon as he has seen you and felt your pulse, he is able to tell your complaint and describe all its symptoms — nay, anticipate your descrip- tion, and suggest what you have not ob- served, you are naturally led to think that he is able to cure you. His evident acquaint- ance with your case gives you a confidence in his discernment, and a faith in his pre- scription. "Come, see a man," said the wom- an of Samaria, "which told me all things that ever I did." If your hearers perceive that you have an accurate knowledge of their hearts, if you can dive into the secret depths of the soul, drag sin to light from all her secret hiding-places, point out the seat of the disorder, nay, if you are not only able to interpret these symptoms, but can detect oth- ers of which they themselves were ignorant — as Daniel told the king his dream before he gave the interpretation; if you show this intimate acquaintance with the constitution and maladies of the human heart, men will naturally be disposed to believe the remedy which you propose to them. This discrimina- tion of character is the part of your office in which you will at first find yourself most deficient. But it is not difficult with patience and observation to attain it. The Scriptures will unfold to you the corruption of human nature; a careful study of your own heart will confirm it; and the practical acquaint- ance which you will daily improve with the hearts of others, will gradually give you the competent skill in this most important sub- ject. Besides the common flaws in human nature, there are many besetting sins and sin- ful habits peculiar to men's callings, and in- cidental to the times in which we live ; many, also, connected with circumstances of your own particular flock. Apply this knowledge skilfully and unsparingly; only in so doing beware of roughness or causticity. If the physician gives his patient unnecessary pain, the confidence gained by his skill is often neutralized by the rudeness and clumsiness of his manner. — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergyman, p. 55. (D. & Co., 1856.) 550. HENRY, PATRICK.— Patrick Henry was born in Hanover County, Vir- ginia, in May, 1736. In childhood he acquired the common elements of education, and some knowledge of Latin and mathematics, and was not the ignorant youth that some of his admirers delight in representing him. When about fourteen, he heard the celebrated Pres- 223 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Keaxt-Foroe Henry, Patrick byterian minister, Samuel Davies. His elo- quence was the most powerful that Henry had hitherto enjoyed, and awakened in him a spirit of emulation. All his life Henry de- lighted to do him honor, and attributed the bent of his own mind to oratory and a large measure of his success to this man. In busi- ness, the future statesman was uniformly most unsuccessful. He twice failed as a storekeeper, and once as a farmer. But all this time he was really studying for his future profession. He was fond of talk, and by indulging in it freely doubtless improved his power of language. He would relate long stories, and do it so well that those who thronged his counter took as little note of time as he did, and yielded their hearts as fully to him as larger audiences did after- ward. As a last resort he studied law, but for a time his success was no better in this than in his previous occupations. But after two or three years, during which he lived without practise, and in a dependent condi- tion, he was retained in what seemed merely a nominal capacity — as defendant in the noted "Parsons case." The preachers of the estab- lished church were paid so many pounds of tobacco per annum. But when the price arose, in a time of scarcity, the Legislature passed an act allowing all persons to pay their as- sessment in money at the rate of 2d. per pound, which was much less than it was worth at that time. After an interval this law was declared void by the king and his council. Then the clergy instituted suit to recover what they had lost during the time the act was enforced. There was no doubt of the legality of their claim, altho more of its intrinsic rightfulness, and the law ques- tion was decided in a test case, almost with- out controversy. This really surrendered the whole matter, and the only issue then was as to the amount of damage they had sustained -^a. very plain question, apparently affording no room for argument by the defense. A vast array of ihe clergy were present, and on the bench was Henry's own father. No circum- stances could be imagined more unfavorable for the maiden speech of a young lawyer. The case for the plaintiff was clearly and forcibly stated by a leading member of the bar, and Henry began his reply. It is no wonder that he faltered, and that his sen- tences were awkward and confused. The people, who were present in great numbers, and who were intensely hostile to the preach- ers, hung their heads, and gave up the con- test. The father of the speaker was shame- faced and dismayed. The preachers smiled in derision, and exchanged congratulatory glances. But it was too soon. The power of eloquence began to assert itself. The strong mind of Henry mastered all embar- rassment, and was brought to bear, with irre- sistible force, upon his subject, and upon those around. All eyes were drawn to the almost unknown speaker. His rusticity of manner had disappeared; his form became erect, and his piercing eyes shot forth light- ning. "A mysterious and almost supernat- ural transformation of appearance" passed over him. Every pulse beat responsive to his, and throbbed with his own mighty indigna- tion. He turned his withering invective upon the clergy, speaking of their greediness, op- pression, and meanness, until they fled from the court. Spectators say that their blood ran cold and their hair stood on end ! When he concluded, the jury in an instant brought judgment for one penny damages! A new trial was refused, and the young but unpar- alleled orator was borne away in triumph by the shouting multitude. His first appear- ance in the house of Burgesses was not less brilliant, and far more important in its re- sults. The majority of the Assembly seemed to be bent on new petitions and remon- strances against the oppression of England, when Henry introduced his celebrated reso- lutions, declaring in plain phrases that the acts complained of were unconstitutional and void. This, which was little short of a dec- laration of war, was received, even by well- meaning patriots, with a storm of opposition. A most bitter debate followed. Henry at first stood almost alone, with the wealth and talent of the Assembly arrayed against him. But his clear conviction, determined will, and powerful eloquence turned the scale, and the resolutions passed, committing Virginia to the cause of resistance. When Henry at- tended the first Congress he found an array of men whose fame was already becoming world-wide. But he soon won his way to the very highest rank among them, and main- tained it to the close. His extraordinary elo- quence excited the same astonishment on this broader field, as in the seclusion of the Vir- ginia hills. It was "Shakespeare and Gar- rick combined." When he took his seat after his opening speech, the first speech that had broken the silence of the great Assembly, there was no longer a doubt that he was the greatest orator in America, and probably in the world. This preeminence he maintained all through the exciting struggle. His voice was ever like an inspiration, and the people looked up to him almost as a prophet. His vast power remained until the close of his life. The last great speech, made in a con- Hoaraeneas Hyperbole KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 224 test with John Randolph, when he was nearly seventy years of age, and only three months before his death, was equal to any of his former efforts. "The sun had set in all its glory."— PiTTENGER, Oratory, Sacred and Sec- ular, p. 157. (S. R. W., 1869.) 551. HOARSENESS, CAUSES OF— Hoarseness in speaking is produced by the emission of more breath than is converted into sound, which may be perceived by whis- pering a few minutes. The reason why the breath is not converted into sound in thus speaking is that the thorax (or lungs) is principally used, and when this is the case, there is always an expansion of the chest and consequently a lack of power to produce sounds in a natural manner : therefore some of the breath, on its emission through the glottis, over the epiglottis, and through the back part of the mouth, chafes up their sur- faces, producing a swelling of the muscles in those parts and terminating in what is called hoarseness. — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 63. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 552. HOOKER, RICHARD.— Born at Heavitree, Exeter, England, March, 1553. Died at Bishopsbourne, England, Nov. 3, 1600. He has been described as of short stat- ure, with a voice of low key— no gesture. In the pulpit he stood absolutely motionless, "as if the posture of his body were the emblem of his mind, unmovable in his opinions." He was naturally controversial and intellectual, yet of patient and humble character. When preaching he seldom turned his eyes from one place, doubtless due to a natural shyness that forbade his looking anyone straight in the eyes. His style has been commended for its dignity and force, and his "Ecclesiastical Polity" is regarded as one of the master- pieces of English eloquence. "Never was logic," says one, "more successfully employed to combat error and establish truth." 553. HORTATIVE ELOQUENCE.— Hortative eloquence, in its highest rhetorical form, rises into harangue. Its aim is to in- cite, or stimulate, to encourage, and to spur on. It has a due place in the conduct of pub- lic business, when the speaker is proposing some new view, and is anxious to impress its importance on his hearers, when argument on the subject has been pretty equally matched, and there is need for bringing the feelings, affections, or passions into activity, and when a defeat has been sustained by the advocates of any measure. It must, of course, be stirring and lively; thought and emotion must work together in it, and the diction must be warm, vivid, and well placed. In some species, rhetoric deploys its forces under the leadership of logic, and only, or at least chiefly subordinates the form of argument to the requirement of the time and circum- stance; but here rhetoric takes the command of the passions, and employs logic as its aux- iliary. The prompt, emphatic utterance of passion, and the heat and fervor of emotion, invigorate the hosts of the mind, and work them to the limits of their action. Yet, in all hortation, there is required a carelessness to avoid offense, a judiciousness, and a can- dor which prevents the agitation of the feel- ings from betrayal, and keeps within the scope of rational thought. In the advocacy of innovation, tho glowing and intense, the language is conciliatory, and the utmost suavity of demeanor is maintained, because the production of a state of mind, favorable to the views advanced, is the aim of the speaker. He is hence constrained to cover many of his most eager expressions with a tone of apology, and to utter many of his most keenly cherished wishes with modesty and hesitation, till he observes how the ideas take. When he notices that favor is ac- corded to them, he may then widen the sweep of his purpose, and give the reins to his enthusiasm ; for, by so doing, he will most effectively ignite the passions of an audience, and spread the flame of his own intent. In importing into a closely matched debate the eloquence of hortation, care must be taken to begin on the level of the debate, and to impress the House with a thorough confi- dence in the power of the speaker to discuss the question; to test now and again the tem- perature of passion in the hearers, and to discover in what form to administer the de- signed incitement. The topic suggested by the feeling of the audience should be em- ployed earliest, and from these they should be hurried on to the desired consummation, by energy of mind imparting effectiveness to speech. — Neil, The Art of Pubiic Speaking, p. 37. (H. & W., 1868.) 554. HOUSE OF COMMONS, ELO- QUENCE IN THE.— The House of Com- mons has often been called a giant debating- club; and very often, at the time of great party struggles, it deserves that name. But ordinarily it takes a higher ground. It is not a mere battle-field for gladiatorial combats, the aim of which is personal distinction and public honor alone, but an assembly in which the opinions and interests of rival classes are 225 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING EoaraeneBS Hyperbole set forth and judged by the master-spirits of the time, who are the real legislators. In order that they may be as far as possible equalized, and mutually satisfied, without too great sacrifice. For this purpose it is neces- sary that those views and interests should be set forth clearly to either House ; and the men who can do this the most effectually, pointedly, or truly, are those who become eminent. If they can superadd the charms of eloquence to its more essential requisites, their power is the greater; but the fact re- mains the same, that it is to the ability with which the individual expounds his opinions, not to the supposed honesty of his convic- tions, that respect is paid. If this be disputed let the reader run over the names of the most distinguished orators now in Parlia- ment, and he will find that, with a few ex- ceptions (and those the men of less talent), they are all now engaged successfully in de- fending opinions which during their former lives they had attacked. The power of ex- position, then, not the tendency of the opin- ions, is the standard of merit in our Par- liament. — Francis, Orators of the Age, p. 16. (H., 1871.) 555. HYMN READING.— The general and common faults of hymn reading are: (1) that the prosodial accentuation is marked so strongly as to give the delivery all the sing-song accents of school-boy recitations; (2) that every verse is read in precisely the same tones and with the same inflection, with- out any regard to meaning, pause or expres- sion. Some will end every line with a rising inflection, some, as in stanzas of four lines, every second line with the same inflection. Others, again, will invariably drop the voice in both senses, that is, give a falling inflec- tion, with a descent in pitch of two or three notes on the last syllable of each second line, and invariably, without reference to sense or connection, give a rising inflection to the last syllable of the first and third line. In such reading there will also be often an extraordinary upward leap on the antepenulti- mate syllable of the third line. (3) The read- ing will have no pauses excepting at the end of the lines; and (4) through all these runs the canting, whining tone so often held up to ridicule; (5) to all this add the slovenly ar- ticulation, and the final sound of the last word or syllable being so low as to be in- audible. It would be a useful exercise to lis- ten to hymn deliveries and observe which of these defects prevail. To avoid undue ac- centuation let the reader mark off for prac- tise verses in bars as directed in the lesson on "Time in Poetry," and group the words as in the lesson on grammatical grouping; let him arrange the pauses logically and grammatically, and where there is a tendency to emphasize unimportant words, a distinct pause before each word will destroy that tendency; then let him determine the em- phatic words and their inflection, according to principles explained in lessons on inflec- tions. In addition to these modes of correc- tion, the reader who is in bondage to this sing-song delivery, and who finds it hard to break loose from prosodial accentuation and whining tones, would find an advantage in reading the hymn exactly as if it were prose; and, when there is a strong tendency to throw sing-song accent on the second word or syllable, a slight pause after the first will arrest that tendency. Practise in reading blank verse will also be of great service, as, while it is metrical, it is free from the asso- ciations which make hymn reading a bad habit. Mr. Russell, an eminent American elo- cutionist, gives the following rule : "Keep the voice up at the end of the second line, unless emphasis or independent sense or abrupt style authorizes or requires a downward slide, and let the voice take a lower pitch at the begin- ning of the third line." The reader should study for reading whatever he has read, to read publicly, and he would find great benefit from marking for inflection, pauses, and em- phases, the hymns he has to read, until he can dispense with such helps. — Lewis, The Dominion Elocutionist and Public Reader, p. 117. (A. S. & Co., 1872.) 556. HYPERBOLE IN SPEAKING.— Since hyperbole is an exaggeration, surpas- sing truth, it may properly be used also for argumentation and diminution. There are many ways of expressing ourselves by hyper- bole, for we either say more than what hap- pened, or we magnify the reality of a thing. Sometimes hyperbole is exaggerated by the superaddition of another, as in Cicero against Antony : "Is there a gulf, a Charybdis, which can be compared with the gluttony of that man? What, do I speak of a Charybdis? If any such existed, it was but a single animal. The ocean, I believe indeed, is scarcely capa- ble of swallowing up in so short a time so many things, so different in nature, and pro- duced in so many far distant places." I think there is a very beautiful hyperbole in a book of Pindar, the prince of lyric poets, which he entitled Hymns. To give us an idea of the rapidity with which Hercules made an attack upon the Meropes, a people said to have lived on the island of Cos, he does, not Idea Ideaa KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 226 compare him to fire, nor to wind, nor to the sea, but to a thunderbolt, as if these other things were too weak, and that thunder only could equal the hero's impetuosity. Much in Pindar's manner, Cicero says in one of his speeches against Verres : "There lived for a long time in Sicily, not a Dennis, nor a Pha- laris (for that island was formerly remark- able for producing many and cruel tyrants), but a new sort of monster, compounded out of that ancient savageness, which had estab- lished its abode in the same parts. And in- deed I can not think that Charybdis or Scylla were ever so terrible to shipping as that same monster has been in the same straits." There is hardly anything else so much in use as hyperbole, and the reason why the learned as well as the ignorant, the citizen as well as the clown, speak in that strain is that all have a natural desire implanted in them to magnify and diminish, and no one seems content with the real truth. Yet is hyperbole made par- donable by our giving no positive assurance to enforce its credibility ; and it may be reck- oned a beauty as often as it is better to say more than less of a thing when it is indeed extraordinary and no other expression can equal it. — Quintilian, Institutes of the Ora- tor, vol. 2, p. 101. (B. L., 1774.) 557. IDEA, DOMINATING, OF A SPEECH. — In every discourse, if it have life, there is a parent idea or fertile germ, and all the parts of the discourse are like the principal organs and the members of an ani- mated body. The propositions, expressions, and words resemble those secondary organs which connect the principal, as the nerves, muscles, vessels, tissues, attaching them to one another and rendering them co-partners in life and death. Then amid this animate and organic mass there is the spirit of life, which is the blood, and is everywhere dif- fused with the blood from the heart, life's center, to the epidermis. So in eloquence, there is the spirit of words, the soul of the orator, inspired by the subject, his intelli- gence illumined with mental light, which cir- culates through the whole body of the dis- course, and pours therein brightness, heat, and life. A discourse without a parent idea, is a stream without a fountain, a plant with- out a root, a body without a soul; empty phrases, sounds which beat the air, or a tinkling cymbal.— Bautain, Art of Extem- pore Speaking, p. 151. (S., 1901.) 658. IDEAL, WORKING FOR AN, IN SPEAKING.— We palliate our sloth by the specious pretext of difficulty. We do not engage in study by a love of choice and in- clination. If we seek eloquence, it is not be- cause it is the most noble accomplishment in nature and more deserving of our care; but rather for a base end and the desire of sor- did gain. Without these requisites let several then plead at the bar and endeavor to enrich themselves : what will be the consequence ? Notwithstanding all their toil and pains, a broker may acquire more from the sale of his sorry ware, and a public crier from the hire of his voice. For my part I should dislike even a reader who could think of computing the income of his labor. But give me the man of sublime genius, who can form to him- self an idea of the grandeur of eloquence, which a celebrated tragic poet styles "the queen of all things." He it is who keeps con- stantly his eyes fixed upon her. He seeks after no emoluments from his pleadings : the fruits of his labors are his knowledge, his contemplation, his noble thoughts; fruits per- petually abiding with him and in no way sub- ject to the caprices of fortune. A person of this exalted character will employ in music and geometry the time others generally mis- spend at shows, in the Campus Martins, at gaming, in idle talk, not to speak of sleep, and infamous revelling. His pleasure will be exquisite, attended in charms not to be found in others in the main frivolous, as destitute of all delicacy and refinement. For Provi- dence has granted this blessing to mankind, that the taste of pleasure is always more sat- isfactory in innocent amusements. — Quinti- lian, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 69. (B. L., 1774.) 559. IDEAS, BIRTH OF.— A question well stated is half solved. In like manner a subject well fixt, admits of easier treatment, and singularly facilitates the discourse. As to the rest, the occasion, the circumstances, and the nature of the subject, do much in the same direction. There are cases in which the subject determines itself by the necessity of the situation and the force of things. The case is more embarrassing when the speaker is master of circumstances, as in teaching, where he may distribute his materials at his pleasure, and design each lesson's part. In any case, and howsoever he sets to work, each discourse must have its own unity and constitute a whole, in order that the hearer may embrace in his understanding what has been said to him, may conceive it in his own fashion, and be able to reproduce it at need. But the general view of the subject, and the formula which gives it precision, are not enough; the idea of it, the living idea, the 227 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Idea laeas parent idea, which is the source of the life in a discourse, and without which the words will be but a dead letter, must be obtained. What is this parent idea and how do we obtain it? In the physical world, whatever has life conies from a germ, and this germ, previously contained in another living exis- tence, there takes life itself, and on its own account, by the process of fecundation. Fe- cundated, it quits its focus ; punctum saliens, it radiates and tends to develop itself by rea- son of the primordial life which it bears within it, and of the nurture it receives ; then by gradual evolution, it acquires organic form, constituted existence, individuality, and body. It is the same in the intellectual world, and in all the productions of our mind, and by our mind outside of itself, through lan- guage and discourse. There are in our un- derstanding germs of mental existences, and when they are evoked by a mind which is of their own nature, they take life, become de- veloped and organized, first in the depth of the understanding which is their brooding receptacle, and finally passing into the outer world by that speech which gives them a body, they become incarnate there, so to speak, and form living productions, instinct with more or less of life by reason of their fecundated germ, of the understanding which begets them, and of the mind which vivifies them. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 149. (S., 1901.) Seo. IDEAS, CLEARNESS OF.— Uni- versally, indeed, an unpractised writer is lia- ble to be misled by his own knowledge of his own meaning, into supposing those expres- sions clearly intelligible, which are so to him- self, but which may not be so to the reader, whose thoughts are not in the same train. And hence it is that some do not write or speak with so much perspicuity on a subject which has long been very familiar to them, as in one, which they understand indeed, but with which they are less intimately acquaint- ed, and in which their knowledge has been more recently acquired. In the former case it is a matter of some difficulty to keep in mind the necessity of carefully and copiously explaining principles which hf long habit have come to assume in our minds the ap- pearance of self-evident truths. Utterly in- correct therefore is Blair's notion, that ob- scurity of style necessarily springs from indistinctiveness of conception. A little con- versation on nautical affairs, with sailors, or on agriculture, with farmers, would soon have undeceived him. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 171. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 561. IDEAS, COMMUNICATION OF, — In the physical world wherever there is the communication and reproduction of life, it is also the Living God who acts; whereas, the men, the animals, and the plants which are employed in this great operation, are merely organs and implements in the work. This is why the Gospel declares that there is but one Father, He from whom all paternity is derived in heaven and on earth ; as He alone is good, because He is the source of every good, and He alone is Master and Lord, be- cause He is truth. It is just the same, and for still greater reason, in the moral world, or in the communication of intellectual life. It is an operation performed according to the same laws — and on this account, he who in- structs or effects a mental genesis (the true meaning of the word "instinct") — that per- son also is a father intellectually, and it is the noblest and most prolific species of pater- nity. Such is the sublime mission of the orator, such the high function which he dis- charges. When he circulates a living word, it is a transmission of life, it is a reproduc- tion and multiplication of truth in the souls of others whom he intellectually vivifies, as a father his offspring according to the flesh. As He whose image and instrument he is, diffuses His light, warmth, and life over all creatures, so the orator, filled with inspira- tion, instils upon the spot into thousands of hearers the light of his word, the warmth of his heart, and the life of his soul. He ferti- lizes all these intelligences at once; and this is why, as soon as the rays of his discourse have entered them and imparted to them the new conception, they make but one soul with him, and he is master of that soul, and pours into it virtue from on high. They all live in unison at that important moment, identified by the words which have mastered them. This critical instant of the discourse, when the supreme effort of eloquence is achieved, is accordingly marked by the profoundest emo- tion of which men are susceptible, that which always attends the communication of life, and in this case by so much the more replete with happiness as the life of the intellect is more pure, and less remote from Him who is its source. Hence that exquisite feeling, to which no other is to be compared, which the orator experiences when his words enter into and vivify the minds of his audience; and hence also the sweet impressions of which these last are conscious when they receive the spirit of the word and by it are nourished. — Bau- tain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 375. (S., 1901.) Ideas lUnstratiouB KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 228 562. IDEAS, FORMATION OF.— In general, one must not be in a hurry to form one's plan. In nature, life always needs a definite time for self-organization— and it is only ephemeral beings which are quickly formed for they quickly pass away. Every- thing destined to be durable is of slow growth, and both the solidity and the strength of existing things bear a direct ratio to the length of their increase and the matureness of their production. When, therefore, you have conceived an idea, unless it be perfectly clear to you at the first glance, be in no haste to throw it into shape. Carry it for a time in your mind, as the mother carries her off- spring, and during this period of gestation (or bearing), by the very fact that the germ lives in your understanding, and lives with its life, it will of itself tend toward develop- ment and completion. By means of the spir- itual, the mental incubation of meditation, it will pass from the egg to the embryo, and when sufficiently mature to be trusted to the light of day, it will spontaneously strike to break from confinement, and to issue forth to view; — then comes the moment for writ- ing. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 178. (S., 1901.) 563. IDEAS, PERFECTING OF.— There are frequently good ideas which perish in a man's understanding, abortively, whether for want of nourishment, or from the debil- ity of the mind which, through levity, indo- lence, or giddiness, fails to devote a sufficient amount of reflection to what it has conceived. It is even observable that those who conceive with the greatest quickness and facility, bring forth, generally, both in thoughts and in lan- guage, the weakest and the least durable pro- ductions ; whether it be that they do not take time enough to mature what they have con- ceived, — hurried into precocious display by the vivacity of their feelings and imagination, — or on account of the impressionability and activity of their minds, which, ever yielding to fresh emotions, exhausting themselves in too rapid an alternation of revulsions, have not the strength for patient meditations, and allow the half-formed idea or the crude thought, born without life, to escape from the understanding. Much, then, is in our own power towards the ripening and perfecting of our ideas. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 181. (S., 1901.) 564. ILLUSTRATION, USE OF.— If you want illustrations, open your eyes and look about you ; open your ears and listen ; open your minds and hearts to understand. Form the habit of asking: Why is this? What does it mean ? What does it teach me ? What relation does it bear to the great living truths of the world's mystery? How may it help t me or my neighbor in understanding life's mission? When you find a fact in one realm of nature, see if it holds true in other realms, until you can trace an established law, and then see if you can trace an analogy in a higher sphere. So far as possible, be inde- pendent in your research, and then be very modest in your proclamation of it. If other men have made the same discoveries before you, it will not take away your own satisfac- tion or mental and moral strength in having searched it out for yourself. Study all things with the idea of their yielding to you the best of their possession; yet study not for the pleasure of possession yourself, but for the good it may yield to others. — Conwell, Con- •well's System of Oratory, p. 49. (H. N., 1892.) 565. ILLUSTRATIONS IN PREACH- ING. — The purpose that we have in view in employing an illustration is to help people to understand more easily the things that we are teaching them. You ought to drive an audience as a good horseman drives a horse on a journey, not with a supreme re- gard for himself, but in a way that will en- able the horse to achieve his work in the easiest way. An audience has a long and sometimes an arduous journey when you are preaching. Occasionally the way is pretty steep and rough ; and it is the minister's busi- ness, not so much to take care of himself, as, by all the means in his power, to ease the way for his audience and facilitate their understanding. An illustration is one of the means by which the truth that you teach to men is made so facile that they receive the it without effort. I know that some men — among whom, I think, was Coleridge — justify the obscurities of their style, saying that it is a good practise for men to be obliged to dig for the ideas which they get. But I sub- mit to you that working on Sunday is not proper for ordinary people in church, and obliging your parishioners to dig and delve for ideas in your sermons is making them do the very work you are paid a salary to do for them. Your office is to do the chief part of the thinking and to arrange the truth, while their part is to experience the motive- power, and take the incitement toward a bet- ter life. In this work, whatever can make your speech touch various parts of the mind in turn will be of great advantage to your audience, and will enable them to perform 229 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Ideas ZUustiatlonB their rugged journey with less fatigue and with more pleasure. An illustration is never to be a mere ornament, altho its being orna- mental is no objection to it. If a man's ser- mon is like a boiled ham, and the illustra- tions are like cloves stuck in it afterward to make it look a little better, or like a bit of celery or other garnish laid around on the edge for the mere delectation of the eye, it is contemptible. But if you have a real and good use for an illustration, that has a real and direct relation to the end you are seek- ing, then it may be ornamental, and no fault should be found with it for that. — Beechee, Yale Lectures on Preaching, p. 155. (J. B. F. & Co., 1872.) see. ILLUSTRATIONS, REAL AND INVENTED.— Aristotle in his rhetoric has divided examples into real and invented : the one being drawn from actual matter of fact; the other, from a supposed case. And he remarks, that tho the latter is more easily adduced, the former is more convincing. If, however, due care be taken that the fictitious instance — the supposed case, adduced — be not wanting in probability, it will often be no less convincing than the other. For it may so happen, that one, or even several, historical facts may be appealed to, which, being never- theless exceptions to a general rule, will not prove the probability of the conclusion. Thus from several known instances of ferocity in black tribes, we are not authorized to con- clude that blacks are universally, or generally, ferocious ; and in fact, many instances may be brought forward on the other side. Where- as in the supposed case (instanced by Aris- totle, as employed by Socrates) of mariners choosing their steersman by lot, tho we have no reason to suppose such a case ever oc- curred, we see so plainly the probability that if it did occur, the lot might fall on an un- skilful person, to the loss of the ship, that the argument has considerable weight against the practise, so common in the ancient re- publics, of appointing magistrates by lot. There is, however, this important difference: that a fictitious case which has not this in- trinsic probability has absolutely no weight whatever ; so that of course such arguments might be multiplied to any amount, without the smallest effect: whereas any matter of fact which is well established, however un- accountable it may seem, has some degree of weight in reference to a parallel case; and a sufficient number of such arguments may fairly establish a general rule, even tho we may be unable, after all, to account for the alleged fact in any of the instances. B. g., No satisfactory reason has yet been assigned for a connexion between the absence of upper cutting teeth, or of the presence of horns, and rumination ; but the instances are so nu- merous and constant of this connexion, that no naturalist would hesitate, if, on examina- tion of a new species, he found those teeth absent, and the head horned, to pronounce the animal a ruminant. Whereas, on the other hand, the fable of the countryman who obtained from Jupiter the regulation of the weather, and in consequence found his crops fail, does not go one step towards proving the intended conclusion; because that con- sequence is a mere gratuitous assumption without any probability to support it. In fact, the assumption there is not only gratuitous, but is in direct contradiction to experience; for a gardener has, to a certain degree, the command of rain and sunshine, by the help of his wateringnpots, glasses, hot-beds, and flues; and the result is not the destruction of his crops. There is an instance of a like error in a tale of Cumberland's, intended to prove the advantage of a public over a pri- vate education. He represents two brothers, educated on the two plans, respectively; the former turning out very well, and the latter very ill; and had the whole been matter of fact, a sufficient number of such instances would have had weight as an argument; but as it is a fiction, and no reason is shown why the result should be such as represented, except the supposed superiority of a public education, the argument involves a manifest petitio principii; and resembles the appeal made, in the well-known fable, to the picture of a man conquering a lion ; a result which might just as easily have been reversed, and which would have been so, had the lions been painters. It is necessary, in short, to be able to maintain, either that such and such an event did actually take place, or that, under a certain hypothesis, it would be likely to take place. On the other hand, it is important to observe, with respect to any imaginary case, whether introduced as an argument, or mere- ly for the sake of explanation, that, as it is (according to what I have just said) requi- site that the hypothesis should be conceivable, and that the result supposed should follow naturally from it, so, nothing more is to be required. No fact being asserted, it is not fair that any should be denied. Yet it is very common to find persons, "either out of ignorance and infirmity, or out of malice and obstinacy," joining issue on the question whether this or that ever actually took place ; and representing the whole controversy as turning on the literal truth of something that rjinstrauons Imagination. KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 230 had never been affirmed. — ^Whately, Ele- ments of Rhetoric, p. 66. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 567. ILLUSTRATIONS, RHETORI- CAL. — The effect of illustrations upon ideality is very great. They bring into play the imaginative faculty, which is only another name for ideality. The sense of the invisible and of the beautiful are combined in ideality. Now all great truth is beautiful. It carries in it elements of taste and fitness. The "beauty of holiness" we find spoken of in the Word of God, and this is a beauty that does not belong to anything material. God is transcendently a lover of beauty, and all the issues of the Divine Soul are, if we could see them as He sees them, beautiful, just as self-denial and love are beautiful, and as purity and truth and all good things are beau- tiful. It is not, therefore, in the interest of truth that a man should sift it down to the merest bare nuggets of statement that it is susceptible of; and this is not best for an audience. It is best that a truth should have argument to substantiate it, and analysis and close reasoning; yet when you come to give it to an audience you should clothe it with flesh, so that it shall be fit for their under- standings. In no other way can you so stir up that side of the mind to grasp your state- ments and arguments easily, and prepare it to remember them. You can not help your audience in any other way so well as by keeping alive in them the sense of the imagi- nation, and making the truth palpable to them, because it is appealing to the taste, to the sense of the beautiful in imagery as well as to the sense of the truth. — Beecher, Yale Lectures on Preaching, p. 159. (J. B. F. & Co., 1873.) 568. ILLUSTRATIONS, VARIETY IN. — All illustrations, to be apt, should touch your people where their level is. I do not know that this art can be learned ; but I may suggest that it is a good thing, in look- ing over an audience, to cultivate the habit of seeing illustrations in them. If I see a seaman sitting among my audience, I do not say "I will use him as a figure," and apply it personally; but out of him jumps an illus- tration from the sea, and it comes to seek me out. If there be a watchmaker present that I happen to recognize, my next illusion will very likely be from horology; tho he will be utterly unconscious of the use I have made of him. Then I see a school-mistress, and my next illustration will be out of school-teaching. Thus, where your audience is known to you, the illustration ought not simply to meet your wants as a speaker, but it should meet the wants of your congrega- tion, it should be a help to them. — Beecher, Yale Lectures on Preaching, p. 169. (J. B. F. & Co., 1872.) ' 569. IMAGERY IN SPEAKING.— There can not be a greater perfection than to express the things we speak of in such lively colors as to make them seem really to take place in our presence. Our words are lacking in full effect, they assume not that absolute empire they ought to have, when they strike only the ear, and when the judge who is to take cognizance of the matter is not sensible of its being emphatically exprest. One man- ner of representation consists in making out of an assemblage of circumstances the image we endeavor to exhibit. An example of this we have in Cicero's description of a riotous banquet ; he being the only one who can fur- nish us with examples of all kinds of orna- ments : "I seemed to myself to see some coming in, others going out; some tottering with drunkenness, others yawning from yes- terday's carousing. In the midst of these was Gallius, bedaubed with essences, and crowned with flowers. The floor of their apartment was all in a muck dirt, streaming with wine, and strewed all about with chaplets of faded flowers, and fishbones." Who could have seen more had he been present? — Quintilian, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 3, p. 56. (B. L., 1774.) 570. IMAGINATION AND ENTHU- SIASM. — Imagination and enthusiasm, which may be regarded as twin sisters, are valuable factors in arousing the will. The power to think visually, to picture spiritual and invisible things as present and acting to- gether with actual and passing events and the outgoing fire of the speaker's glowing soul, is irresistible. Malebranche says, "an impas- sioned man always moves." And he adds : "Although his rhetoric may be confused, it fails not to be very impressive because his air and manner make it felt, agitating the imagination and touching the heart." "The secret of oratory," says George Eliot, "lies not in saying new things, but in saying them with a certain power that moves the hear- ers." The primitive meaning of enthusiasm is God-within-ness : and the enthusiast is an inspired man, to whom mind and heart and will respond, as feeling that a moral power is acting upon them which they can not resist. Some men's natures are like seething geysers ; others, like the genial glow of June; but to 231 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING niaatrationk Imagination carry a popular audience with him, there is nothing that helps the preacher more than the psychic force of the contagious warmth and outgoing impulse of enthusiasm. But the effects of enthusiasm are largely evanescent — the iron must be shaped on the anvil of facts by the hammer of truth while it is at white heat. — Kennard, Psychic Power in Preaching, p. 93. (G. W. J. & Co., 1901.) 571. IMAGINATION AND FEELING. — To evince truth, conclusive arguments are requisite ; to convince me by these arguments, they must be attended to and remembered by me ; to persuade me by them, I must be made to feel them. It is not, therefore, the under- standing alone that is here concerned. If the orator would prove successful, it is neces- sary that he engage in his service all these different powers of mind, the imagination, the memory, and the passions. These are not the supplanters of reason, or even rivals in her sway; they are her handmaids, by whose ministry she is enabled to usher truth into the heart and procure it there a favor- able reception. As handmaids they are liable to be seduced by sophistry in the garb of reason, and sometimes are made ignorantly to lend their aid in the introduction of false- hood. But their service is not on this ac- count to be dispensed with; there is even a necessity of employing it, founded in our nature. They are more friendly to truth than to falsehood, and more easily retained in the cause of virtue than in that of vice. — Camp- bell, The Philosophy of Rhetoric, p. 72. (G. & W. B. W., 1823.) 678. IMAGINATION AND TIMID- ITY. — In the imagination we find much of the difference between the timid and self- confident man. One pictures defeat and fail- ure, the other sees himself as successful and influential. One man thinks of all the ways in which he will fail, photographs them upon his mind, places them in the gallery of his imagination, there to haunt him day and night. The other man thinks of the one way in which he will succeed, sketches himself a^ a strong, noble, courageous character, places the picture before his mind's eye, delights in it by day and dreams of it by night. Fear is nowhere else more destructive than in the imagination. It is often a greater enemy than the thing feared. We have all heard of the soldier, a prisoner who was experimented upon many years ago, blindfolded and then told he was bleeding to death, while merely water was trickling from his arm. When subsequently examined he was found to be dead, altho not the slightest injury had been done to his body. The fearthought had so completely possest him that he believed he was actually bleeding to death. — Kleiser, How to Develop Self-Confidence in Speech and Manner, p. 181. (F. & W., 1910.) 673. IMAGINATION, CULTIVATING THE. — The faculty may be cultivated by reading and pondering the works of those who have it in a high degree of perfection. The time devoted to the study of the great poets is not lost. They give richness and tone to the speaker's mind, introduce him into scenes of ideal beauty, and furnish him with many a striking thought and glowing image to be woven into his future discourses. Many of the sciences give as full scope to imagination in its best workings as the fields of poesy. Astronomy and geology stand pre- eminent in this particular. Everything about them is great. They deal with immense peri- ods of time, immeasurable magnitudes and sublimest histories. Hugh Miller's "Vision of Creation" is as replete with imagination as a play of Shakespeare, and his other works sparkle with the same radiant spirit. Each science requires the formation of mental images, and thus approaches the domain of poetry. The dryness of mathematical and scientific study is a pure myth. A philoso- pher once said that poetry and the higher branches of science depended on the same powers of mind. He was right. The poet is a creator who forms new worlds of his own, and "gives to airy nothing a local habitation and a name." He pictures the idea that arises in his brain in all the vividness of out- ward form. The man of science is required to do the same thing, with the advantage, perhaps, of a few scattered hints. The geolo- gist may have a few broken bones, a withered leaf, and some fragments of rock, from which to bring before him the true "forest primeval," through which roamed gigantic an- imals, and dragons more unsightly than ever figured in Grecian mythology. The astron- omer has the half dozen phenomena he can observe with his telescope from which to conceive the physical appearance of distant worlds. In every science the same need for imagination in its high, truthful function ex- ists, and the same opportunity is afforded for its cultivation. — Pittenger, Oratory Sa- cred and Secular, p. 46. (S. R. W., 1869.) 574. IMAGINATION, IMPORTANCE OF. — It is by this faculty that we form those distinct and vivid conceptions and images of the truth which we have to deliver, Imaeplnatlon Imitation KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 232 and of the scenes and incidents which we have to describe or narrate, by which our own hearts become affected with the very- same feelings which we wish to excite in the audience. This it is also which teaches us to lay hold of those individual and special traits, and "touches of nature," which are most pow- erful to affect our own feelings, and those of the audience. It enables us also to enter into the sympathies of the audience, and to iden- tify ourselves with those whose sorrows we portray, so as to feel the same sorrow our- selves. Cicero upon this point delivers him- self as follows : "There is such force, let me assure you, in those thoughts and senti- ments which you apply, handle and discuss in speaking, that there is no occasion for simulation or deceit; for the very nature of the language which is adapted to move the passions of others, moves the orator himself in a greater degree than any who listen to him. ... I never yet, I assure you, tried to excite sorrow, or compassion when speaking before a court of judicature, but I myself was affected with the very same emo- tions that I wished to excite in the judges." Elsewhere he gives us this precept, that "we must represent to our imaginations, in the most lively manner possible, all the most striking circumstances of the transaction we describe, or of the passion we wish to excite in ourselves." Quintilian also teaches us that in order to feel as we ought, and thus to exer- cise the power of moving the feelings of the audience, we must form such images and rep- resentations of absent objects, that they shall seem to be present, and we shall seem to see them with our eyes. "A man of lively imagi- nation," he says, "is one who can vividly rep- resent to himself things, voices, actions, with the exactness of reality; and this faculty we may readily acquire if we desire it. When, for example, the mind is unoccupied, and we are indulging in chimerical hopes, and waking dreams, these images beset us so closely that we seem to be not thinking but acting, on a journey or a voyage, in a battle, or har- anguing an assembly, or disposing of wealth which we do not possess. Shall we not then turn this lawless power of our minds to ad- vantage? When I make a complaint that a man has been murdered, shall I not bring before my eyes everything that is likely to have happened when the murder was com- mitted? Shall not the assassin suddenly rush forth? Shall not the victim tremble, cry out, supplicate, on flee? Shall I not behold the murderer striking, the murdered falling? Shall not the blood and paleness and expiring gasp of the murdered man present themselves fully to my mental view? . . . For thus our feelings will be moved not less strongly than if we were actually present." — McIlvaine, Elocution, p. 78. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 575. IMAGINATION, MAN CONSID- ERED AS HAVING.— That his reason- ing be attended to, the speaker must engage the imagination. Attention is pre-requisite to every effect of speaking, and without some gratification in hearing there will be no at- tention, at least of any continuance. Those qualities in ideas which principally gratify the fancy are vivacity, beauty, sublimity, novelty. Nothing contributes more to vivacity than striking resemblances in the imagery, which convey, besides, an additional pleasure of their own. Belief enlivens our ideas, and lively ideas have a stronger influence than faint ideas to produce belief. Vivacity of ideas is not always accompanied with faith, nor is faith always able to produce vivacity. Tragedy, of which we believe not a single sentence, produces a livelier impression than historic narrative, and the effect thus pro- duced serves for argument. The connection, however, that generally subsists between vivacity and belief will appear less marvelous if we reflect that there is not so great a dif- ference between argument and illustration as is usually imagined. The imagination is af- fected not by the similitude of man to man, eagle to eagle; nor by the similarity of one species to another of the same genus, as of lion to tiger, alder to oak; but by rhetorical comparisons, arguments from analogy, tropes and figures, which derive light and efficacy thus : — "Would you be convinced of the ne- cessity of education for the mind, consider of what importance culture is to the ground : the field which, cultivated, produces a plenti- ful crop of useful fruits ; if neglected, will be overrun with briars and brambles and other useless or noxious weeds." — Campbell, The Philosophy of Rhetoric, p. 74. (G. & W. B. W., 1823.) 576. IMAGINATION, POWER OF.— The first element on which your preaching will largely depend for power and success, you will perhaps be surprised to learn, is imagination, which I regard as the most im- portant of all the elements that go to make the preacher. But you must not understand me to mean the imagination as the creator of fiction, and still less as the factor of embel- lishment. The imagination in its relations to art and beauty is one thing; and in its rela- tions to moral truth it is another thing, of the most substantial character. Imagination 233 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Imagination Imitation. of this kind is the true germ of faith; it is the power of conceiving as definite the things which are invisible to the senses— of giving distinct shape. And this, not merely in your own thoughts, but with the power of present- ing the things which experience can not pri- marily teach to other people's minds, so that 'they shall be just as obvious as tho seen with the bodily eye. Imagination of this kind is a most vital element in preaching. If we pre- sented to people things we had seen, we should have all their bodily organism in our favor. My impression is, that the fountain of strength in every Christian ministry is the power of the minister himself to realize God present, and to present Him to the people. No ministry can be long, various, rich, and fruitful, I think, except from that root. — Beecher, Yale Lectures on Preaching, p. 109. (J. B. F. & Co., 1873.) 577. IMAGINATION, QUICKNESS OF. — The imagination ought to be en- dowed with great quickness in the formation and variation of its pictures; but it requires also great clearness, in order to produce, at the first effort, a well-marked image, the lines and outlines defined with exactitude, and the tints bright — so that language has only to re- produce it unhesitatingly, and unconfusedly, as an object is faithfully represented in a spotless glass. For you must not grope for your words while speaking, under penalty of braying like a donkey, which is the death of a discourse. The expression of the thought must be effected at the first stroke, and de- cidedly — a condition which hinders many men, and even men of talent, from speaking in public. Their imagination is not sufficiently supple, ready, or clear; it works too slowly, and is left behind by the lightning of the thought, which at first dazzles it, a result due either to a natural deficiency, or to want of practise ; or else — and this is the most general case with men of talent — it arises from al- lowing the mind to be too much excited and agitated in the presence of the public and in the hurry of the moment ; whence a certain incapacity for speaking, not unlike inability to walk produced by giddiness. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 30. (S., 1901.) 578. IMAGINATION, USE OF Among the faculties demanded by the orator, few are more essential to high success than a lively imagination. He needs this not only that he may be able to fix his plan well in his mind and retain it there, but in order that he may have clear, distinct, and vivid conceptions of that which he wishes to say, and may be able to put both his premeditated thought and any new thought that occurs to him instantly into language at the first stroke. It must not be supposed that the tropes and illustrations which the imagination supplies are purely ornamental. The difference be- tween languid speaking and vivid oratory de- pends largely upon the quality of the speak- er's imagination. The plumage of the eagle supports it in its flight. It is not by naked, bold statements of fact, but by pictures that make them see the facts, that assemblies are moved. Put an argument into concrete shape — into a lively image, or into "some hard phrase, round and solid as a ball, which men can see and handle and carry home" — and your cause is half won. Rufus Choate used to say that no train of thought is too deep, too subtle, or too grand, for a popular audi- ence, if the thought is rightly presented to them. It should be conveyed, he said, in anecdote, or sparkling truism, or telling illus- tration, or stinging epithet — never in a logi- cal, abstract shape. — Mathews, Oratory and Orators, p. 103. (S. F. & Co., 1896.) 579. IMITATION AND INDIVIDU- ALITY. — The student should not imitate the style of other speakers. He may hear them, and not their virtues and faults, but his constant aim should be to develop his own power and individuality. What is per- fectly natural to one man may be ridiculous in another. Cardinal Newman spoke with unusual deliberateness, enunciating every syl- lable with care and precision, while Phillips Brooks sent forth an avalanche of words at the rate of two hundred or more to the minute. These two examples would certainly be dangerous precedents for the average man to follow. — Kleiser, Great Speeches and How to Make Them, p. 86. (F. & W., 1911.) 580. IMITATION, DANGERS OF.— A thing which imitates can not equal in exact- ness that which it imitates : a shadow is weaker than a body, an image falls short of reality, and the action of an actor is only faintly expressive of the true emotions of the mind. The same thing is true in orator- ical compositions. Those we copy after are endowed with nature and innate force, where- as every imitation is a counterfeit or at best a servile subjecting of ourselves to the man- ner of another. Hence declamations retain little of the animating spirit of orations, the subject in the latter case being real, and in the former, fictitious. Besides, there is no imitating of the greatest accomplishments of an orator. His genius, invention, force, ease, Imitation Imitation KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 234 and whatever can not be taught by art, are not to be copied. Therefore many persons, when they have adopted a certain manner of expression or a certain measure in com- position which they have observed in an ora- tor, vainly imagine themselves like him; little reflecting that language is ever in a fluctu- ating condition, and consequently that some words must become obsolete, others come into vogue, for all which custom is the only in- fallible rule. For words, in their nature, are neither good nor bad, being of themselves mere sounds, but are good or bad only as they are opportunely and properly, or other- wise, applied; so the composition resulting from use of good words, will appear as much adapted to things as delectable by its variety. The most accurate judgment therefore is re- quired for examining into particulars of this part of our study. First, who ought to be imitated, as a great many take for study very bad models. Secondly, what is deserving of imitation in those who are chosen, for the best authors are not without their faults, and the learned are liberal in their criticisms of one another. So that I could wish that eloquence was as much improved by imitation of the good and the true, as it is debased by that of the bad and false. At least, let not those who are endowed with competent judgment for avoiding what is bad, think it enough to have copied in themselves an image of perfection, and only, as I may say, the appearance of eloquence. This is the fate of those who have sounded the depths of what may be supposed oratorical perfection; and tho they may be very successful in imi- tation, as showing little difference in choice of expression and harmony of cadence, yet are they far from attaining the force and invention of their model. Most commonly they degenerate into what is worse, and lay hold of such vices as lie in the proximity of perfections : for grand, they become bom- bastic; for close, thin; for strong, rash; for florid, profusely adorned; for harmonious in composition, bounding amidst the wantonness of number; and for simple, graceless through negligence. Again, if in the roughness of a barbarous style they have produced any cold and empty conceit, they fancy themselves on an equality with the ancients; if they lack the lustre of ornaments and thoughts, they are quite in the Attic style; if they affect conciseness to the degree of becoming ob- scure, they surpass Sallust and Thucydides ; if dry and hungry, they rival Pollio ; if care- less and flat by circumlocution, they swear Cicero would have so expressed himself. Therefore, the first consideration ought to be to understand what we wish to imitate, and to know on what account it deserves to be imitated. — Quintilian, Institutes of the Ora- tor, vol. a, p. 220. (B. L., 1774.) 581. IMITATION DISCOURAGED.— There should be no conscious effort after this gift of the preacher or after that; still less any attempt, conscious or unconscious, to copy the gifts of another. And yet a con- scious effort there must be on the negative side, not to allow any of our gifts to run into license or to be extravagantly indulged. Some knowledge of the special habitudes of our ' own minds we can scarcely help having. At all events, for the needful lesson of self- restraint, it is enough for us to know what kind of work we do most easily, most pleas- antly to ourselves, and with the least mental and moral friction; for this is just the work over which the preacher needs most vigilantly to watch, and most sternly to discipline him- self. Content with his own gifts, he is yet not to be content to let them have their own way, lest, like an unruly horse, they run away with him beyond all bounds. The very ease and pleasantness with which he exercises them should put him on his guard ; for God's great law of labor extends throughout all human action, and we can expect no Divine blessing when there has been no holy and prayerful toil. I take, for instance, the power of language, the facile command of words. It is a great gift; sternly disciplined, and curbed by a severe propriety and cultivated taste, used as the vehicle for solid thought which has been got by honest thinking, it is a great gift — a power fit for noble purposes, and worthy of all admiration. And yet, un- disciplined, uncurbed, allowed to become a substitute for sohd matter, practised as a fascinating kind of self-indulgence, it is about the most fatal to a preacher of all his possible faults. The placid orator goes on his own self-admiring way, unconscious that sound has taken the place of sense, idle plati- tudes of solid truth, and that painful pov- erty of thought is peering all the while through that abundance of words, hke a grinning skeleton through a mask of flowers. Or the truth may be illustrated in a much higher sphere. I take another gift of the preacher^the power of illustration. Again I say it is a great and enviable gift. Who has not been charmed and instructed by it? And yet, undisciplined and used to excess, it may not only clog and weary by its abun- dance, but it may even defeat the particular object for which it is used. — GaebetTj Homi- 235 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING tmltatloa Imltatloa letical and Pastoral Lectures, p. 182. (A., 1880.) 582. IMITATION, INTELLIGENT, RECOMMENDED.— I would not advise so close an imitation of anyone as to copy him unreservedly in all respects. Demosthenes was by far the most unobjectionable of the Greeks, yet others on some occasions might have said something better. He had indeed many excellences, but by being highly worthy of our imitation it does not follow that he is the only one who ought to be imitated. But would it not be enough to speak on all things as Cicero did? It certainly would if we were possest of his ability; yet what should hinder our occasionally adopting the force of Caesar, the asperity of Coelius, the accuracy of PoUio, and the judgment of Calvus ? For besides its arguing prudence to convert into our own substance, if possible, what is best in everyone, it should be borne in mind that if amid the great difficulties in wfhich imitation entangles us, we pattern our- selves after only one model, we shall scarcely be able to retain a part. Therefore when in a manner it is impossible to achieve an en- tire likeness to him whom we have chosen, let us place before our eyes the excellences of many, and having copied one perfection from one, and another from another, let us make them coalesce for use wherever they may suit our subject. Imitation must not be in words only. Rather ought our thoughts aim at knowing how well the great orators just mentioned maintained dignity and propri- ety in things and persons, how well they man- aged their plan, how they carried out their method, and how far even everything which seemed calculated for pleasing, tended to gain their point; how they behaved in the exor- dium, how they ordered and diversified the narration, what strength of argument they used in proving and refuting, how powerful they were in exciting all kinds of passions, and how far popular praise may be made con- ducive to the good of the cause, it being indeed a fine thing when it comes sponta- neously and is not courted. If we previously weigh well these matters, we then shall truly fit ourselves for imitation. Now he who to these can superadd his own excellences for supplying what has been deficient, and re- trench what has been redundant in the models he has undertaken to imitate, will be the per- fect orator for whom we seek ; and it is now incumbent on him to render himself consum- mate in eloquence, so much the more as he has a far greater number of examples for imitation than they had who, nevertheless. are considered masters, whose glory it is to have surpassed all who went before them, and to have left memorable lessons to posterity. — ■ QuiNTiLiAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 2, p. 224. (B. L., 1774.) 583. IMITATION OF MODELS.— He who has a capacity for public speaking will learn it best by listening to those who know how to speak well, and he will make more progress by striving to imitate them than by all their instructions : as the young birds on their first attempts to quit the parent nest, try at first their unskilful flight in the track of their parents, guided and sustained by their wings, and venture not except with eyes fixt on them, so a youth who is learning how to become a writer, follows his master with confidence while imitating him, and in his first essays cleaves timidly at his heels, daring in the beginning to go only where he is led, but every day tries to proceed a little farther, drawn on, and, as it were, carried by his guide. It is a great blessing to have an able man for a master. It is worth more than all books; for it is a living book, im- parting life at the same moment as instruc- tion. It is one torch kindling another. Then an inestimable advantage is gained, for, to the authority of the master, which youth is always more or less prone to dispute, is added the authority of talent which invariably pre- vails. He gladly receives the advice and the guidance of the man whose superiority he recognizes. This much is needed to quell the pride of youth, and cast down, or at least abate, its presumption and self-confidence. It willingly listens to the master it admires, and feels happy in his society. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 65. (S., 1901.) 584. IMITATION OF NATURE.— Look at the limbs of a willow tree, gently and variously waving before the breeze, cut- ting curved lines, which are lines of beauty; and cultivate a graceful, easy, flowing and forcible gesticulation. Adapt your action, as well as vocal powers, to the occasion and cir- cumstances — ^the action to the word, and thei word to the action. A young speaker may use more variety than an older one. Do not act words instead of ideas ; that is, not make gestures to correspond when you speak of anything small, low, up, large, etc. Let the voice, countenance, mien, and gesture, con- spire to drive home to the judgment and heart, your impassioned appeals, cogent argu- ments, strong conclusions, and deep convic- tions. Let Nature, guided by science, be your oracle, and the voice of unsophisticated feel- Imitation Industry KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 236 ing your monitor. Fill your soul with the mighty purpose of becoming an orator and turn aside from no labor, shrink from no effort, that are essential to the enterprise. Self-made men are the glory of the world, — • Bronson^ Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 236. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 585. IMITATION OF THE BEST AUTHORS.— It is from the best authors that we ought to borrow copiousness of lan- guage, variety of figures, and manner of com- position, and when these have been duly at- tended to, our next care ought to be to direct our thoughts to the imitation of all their perfections, as it can not be doubted that a great part of art is due to imitation. So children, to acquire the practise of writing, study to form the characters marked out be- fore them ; so one learning music accompanies the voice of his teacher ; painters keep an eye upon the works of former masters in the art; and farmers cultivate their ground as the experience of others and their own experi- ence direct them. We observe, in short, that the beginning of all instruction is formed ac- cording to some proposed model. We must, indeed, be either like or unlike that which is good; and to be like is rarely the effect of nature, tho often the fruit of imitation. — QuiNTiLiAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 3, p. 217. (B. L., 1774.) 58G. IMPEDIMENTS OF SPEECH. — Of these there are various descriptions, but the most difficult to get over is hesitation or stammering. Whether persons who are sub- ject in any great degree to this defect, can ever conquer it, may strongly be doubted ; but supposing success possible, the constant vigilance, and the incessant efforts necessary in difficult cases, are such as must effectually overcome the vigor of ordinary minds, and determine them rather to submit to their deficiency than to the labor of correcting it. In cases where a small degree of hesitation occasionally breaks the fluent tenor of dis- course ; much may be done by due attention. If, in order to seek for a remedy, I might presume to offer an opinion upon the cause of this distressing defect, I should say that as persons of delicate habits are more generally subject to it, it proceeds from a constitutional trepidation of the nerves : and I should there- fore recommend, as the foundation of every hope of cure, such care of the health as may tend to strengthen the whole system. All ex- cess should be avoided, particularly in the use of wine, tea, and coffee, which give a mo- mentary stimulus, and leave behind increased debility. All personal irregularity ought to be still more carefully guarded against; and then it may be hoped that with the growing strength of the constitution, the defect may gradually diminish. We may judge that it is sometimes removed, since, tho we frequent- ly meet young persons subject to hesitation, we do not, in proportionable numbers, meet grown people who labor under it in any great degree. And that it is owing principally to some nervous affection may be gathered from observing that whatever agitates the nerves, either increases or diminishes the complaint. The defect is aggravated by the fear of strangers, by surprize, by impatience, by anxi- ety; it is moderated by familiar society, by indulgence, and by tranquillity. Since, there- fore, in its distressing effects it is subject to all the variations of bodily health, it may also be presumed to be capable of being re- lieved by those means which contribute to es- tablish the general health and vigor. But much of the success in the combat against this defect will depend on the exertions made by the mind, and on the establishment of such habits as tend to counteract the weak- ness. A young person should therefore prac- tise to speak with more than usual delibera- tion, and to practise frequently when alone those words and letters which he finds most difficult to enounce. He should also furnish his mind with a copious vocabulary of lan- guage ; and make himself as familiar as pos- sible with all the synonyms, so that if he finds himself unable to utter a particular word, he may readily substitute in its place some other of nearly the same import. The habit of running over synonyms will associate them in such a manner that the idea of one word will readily bring the other into the recol- lection. It is one character of this impedi- ment, that it is obstinate in struggling with the particular word which stops the current of discourse. But in such case, it appears to be the most advisable method to divert it, if it can be done, into some other channel. Above all, a young person should be encour- aged to exert the energy of his own mind, to assume a courageous command over him- self, to check his trepidation with determined deliberation, and should he even fail, not to suffer himself to be disturbed, or to lose his temper, even when laughed at by this thought- less young companions. If his hesitation be not extreme, these directions may be of some use, and palliate the evil in some degree, till time and strength shall perhaps nearly re- move it. — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 40. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 237 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Imitation Industry IMPROMPTU PREACHING. — See Preaching, Extempore; Speaking, Extem- pore; Speaking, Impromptu. IMPROMPTU SPEAKING.— See Speaking, Extempore; Speaking, Impromptu. 587. INDISTINCTNESS, CURE FOR. — As to consonants, the art of pronouncing them perfectly is the art of articulating them perfectly. There is no art more useful, but it is one that is by no means easy of acquire- ment. Few people possess from nature per- fect powers of articulation. With some it is too strong, with others too weak, with many indistinct. These defects can be remedied by systematic labor, and by that alone. How? you naturally ask. Well, here is one way, very ingenious and effective, and yet ex- tremely simple and eminently practicable. You wish, let us suppose, to confide a secret to a friend; but you are afraid of being over- heard, the door being open and somebody listening in the next room. What would you do? Walk up to your friend and whisper the secret into his ear? Not at all. You might be caught in the act, and so excite sus- picion. What should you do? I will tell you, and, in doing so, I quote the exact words of that master of masters, Regnier: "You face your friend exactly, and, pronoun- cing your words distinctly but in an under- breath, you commission your articulations to convey them to your friend's eyes rather than to his ears, for he is carefully watching how you speak as he is intently listening to what you say. Articulation, having here a double duty to perform, that of sound as well as its own peculiar function, is compelled as it were to dwell strongly on each syllable so as to land it safely within the intelligence of your hearer." This is an infallible means of correcting all the defects and faults of your articulation. It is at once an exercise and a test ; if you don't articulate well, your friend will not understand you. After a very few months' steady practise at this exercise for a few hours a day, you will find that your most obdurate articulatory muscles become flexible as well as strong, that they rise elastically and respond harmoniously to every movement of the thought and to every difficulty of the pronunciation. — Legouve, The Art of Read- ing, p. 50. (L., 1885.) 588. INDIVIDUALITY OF THE SPEAKER. — A good speaker will always merge himself in his subject, and never ob- trude himself at its expense. But thought, even the most abstract, when it passes into expression, is, like the purest water, naturally subjected to the tinge of the channel through which it flows. The individuality of man should never be lost in the formal function of the speaker. There is no law of necessity that every sermon should be a succession of low and hollow tones, false inflections, me- chanical cadences, and stereotype gestures; — the whole manner so proverbially unnatural, that, among juvenile classes at school, when one pupil would sum up, in one expressive word, his criticism on a fellow-pupil, who has spoken in a heavy, uniform style, he says of him, "He does not speak, he preaches." The study of elocution, if it were duly at- tended to, as a part of early education, would enable the young speaker to recognize and trace the natural differences of manner, which ought to exist in individuals, in their modes of applying the same general principles. The genuine characteristics of expression, are so numerous and varied, that they afford vast scope for the natural diversity of action, in different mental and physical constitutions. The elements of effect, blended in one expres- sive tone, amount sometimes to more than six or eight, even in the unstudied utterance of a person utterly illiterate. The temperament and tendency of an individual, therefore, may well be expected to cause him to lean to one more than to others among these elements. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 93. (D., 1878.) 589. INDUSTRY AND DISCIPLINE OF THE SPEAKER.— The history of the world is full of testimony to prove how much depends upon industry; not an eminent ora- tor has lived but is an example of it. Yet in contradiction to all this, the almost uni- versal feeling appears to be, that industry can effect nothing, that eminence is the result of accident, and that every one must be con- tent to remain just what he may happen to be. Thus multitudes, who come forward as teachers and guides, suffer themselves to be satisfied with the most indifferent attainments and a miserable mediocrity, without so much as inquiring how they might rise higher, much less making any attempt to rise. For any other art they would have served an apprenticeship, and would be ashamed to practise it in public before they had learned it. If anyone would sing, he attends a mas- ter, and is drilled in the very elementary principles; and only after the most laborious process dares to exercise his voice in public. This he does, tho he has scarce anything to learn but the mechanical execution of what lies in sensible forms before his eye. But the extemporaneous speaker, who is to in- Inflection Inspiratloii KLEISER'S COMPLETE GmDE 238 vent as well as to utter, to carry on an oper- ation of the mind as well as to produce sound, enters upon the work without prepar- atory discipline, and then wonders that he fails ! If he were learning to play on the flute for public exhibition, what hours and days would he spend in giving facility to his fingers, and attaining the power of the sweet- est and most impressive execution. If he were devoting himself to the organ, what months and years would he labor, that he might know its compass, and be master of its keys, and be able to draw out, at will, all its various combinations of harmonious sound, and its full richness and delicacy of expression. And yet he will fancy that the grandest, the most various, the most expres- sive of all instruments, which the infinite Creator has fashioned by the union of an intellectual soul with the powers of speech, may be played upon without study or prac- tice ; he comes to it, a mere uninstructed tyro and thinks to manage all its stops, and com- mand the whole compass of its varied and comprehensive power ! He finds himself a bungler in the attempt, is mortified at his failure, and settles it in his mind forever that the attempt is vain.— Ware, Hints on Extemporaneous Preaching, p. 227. (G. K. & L., 1849.) 590. INFLECTION DESCRIBED.— The rules for inflection may be stated briefly. The rising inflection is used to express sus- pended sense, in questions that can be an- swered by a simple "yes" or "no," in paren- thesis, and sometimes in making a statement generally accepted as true. The falling in- flection usually indicates completion of sense, but may be applied to any word if special emphasis is required. The circumflex inflec- tion, which combines the rising and falling, is not often used, but is effective in ex- pressing thoughts of sarcasm, insinuation, and double meaning. Proper inflection plays an important part in the music of speech. Almost everyone employs these curves of the voice correctly in conversation, but in read- ing aloud, or in public speaking, the ten- dency is to become artificial. When you read or speak before a large audience, do not depend upon loud or single tones for your carrying power, but rather upon varied in- flections, combined with increased intensity of voice. — Kleiser, How to Read and De- claim, p. 125. (F. & W., 1911.) 591. INFLECTION, EXERCISE IN.— In connection with the subject of declama- tion, it may be appropriately observed that there is one very important exercise for the voice which a speaker should certainly in- clude in his disciplinary code. This is not declamation in its perfect character, but ap- proaches the nature of that exercise to some extent, and may be denominated a fragmen- tary declamation. This discipline for the voice consists in the repetition of the various interrogatories which are used in conversa- tion and in speaking, in regular succession, and for a considerable interval of time, on each occasion when the exercise shall be re- sorted to. Most persons have observed the animation which is communicated to a speech when an energetic speaker pours out a num- ber of interrogatories in quick succession. And it is a circumstance perceptible to every person who has yielded even a superficial degree of attention to proceedings of this description, how much additional vigor is exerted by the voice of a spirited speaker in the act of propounding questions to an audi- ence. The terms, the use of which is here enjoined on the student in elocution, are the following: How? Who? What? Where? When? Why? and various other words which usually constitute the leading terms in any interrogatory which may be used in the de- livery of a speech or address, but which do not at all times, when standing alone, form a full and perfect interrogatory, without the accompaniment of other terms or language applicable to the information apparently or really sought by the interrogatory. To avail himself of the benefits of this exercise, when- ever an opportunity of doing so may present itself, the pupil may frame a declamation for- mula, containing an extended list of inter- rogatories. — McQueen, The Orator's Touch- stone, or Eloquence Simplified, p. 105. (H. & B., 1860.) 592. INFLECTION, RIGHT USE OF. —Many persons, trying to escape from a level voice, fall into the still more unpleasant practise of speaking in waves ; that is to say, the voice is made to rise and fall by a regu- lar swelling and sinking and at precisely even periods — an utterance difficult to describe in words, but which you will doubtless recog- nize readily from this rude comparison of it. The right use of inflection is one of the most subtle ingredients in the art of reading. If it be judiciously employed, however slightly, it gives a spirit and meaning to the words that win even unwilling ears. The voice, raised at some fitting moment, sends the thought straight into the listener's mind. Ju- diciously lowered it touches the emotions. There is no fixed rule either for raising or 239 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Inflection Inspiration dropping the voice. A vague notion prevails that punctuation has something to do with it ; that you ought to lower the voice at the end of a sentence; that a full stop should be notice to you not merely to halt but to drop gradually down into silence. This is a griev- ous error and so common as to be almost a national fault. It is remarkably shown in our English habit of utterance, and this will serve as an excellent illustration of my meaning. The English usually drop their voice at the end of a sentence. Other na- tions, the French especially, usually raise it. In other words, we talk with the downward inflection. The consequence is that their con- versation appears much more lively and their talk is more readily intelligible to a foreigner than is ours. The last words of an English- man's sentences are often unintelligible be- cause his voice falls until it dies away in a sort of guttural murmuring. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Riding, and Speaking, p. 98. (H. C, 1911.) 593. INFLECTION, RULES FOR.— The laws of inflection, pitch, and general modulation of the voice are in strict har- mony with the expression of thought and passion. Hence the student must not only understand the subject matter, and the force and meaning of the words, and their rela- tions to each other, but he must, especially in the creations of poetry and fiction, realize to his own imagination the true character of the thought and passion he has to express with his voice ; he must, in short, become that which he seeks to represent, and, when he earnestly and truthfully does this, he is nearly achieving the perfection, which rules aim to secure. These rules are consistent and uniform, and, from the beginning, the student must patiently apply them to his readings and speech delivery. He will soon have the satisfaction of finding them so thor- oughly in harmony with common sense, with the experiences of life, that the difficulty of remembering and applying them in practise will be no more than the difficulty of remem- bering how he and others do actually speak in daily life, under all its varied demands and circumstances of calmness and thought- fulness; or of conflict and . passion. There are only two inflections with their combina- tions, and their application will always de- pend on two principles. The two inflections are the rising and the falling; the circumflex inflexions are a combination of these. The monotone is a continuous inflection of the sam& kind, with the smallest compass or ex- tent of slide. The following two principles lie at the root of all the rules : — First. All incompleteness of expression will have the ris- ing inflection. Second. All completeness of expression will have the falling inflection. The extent of the inflection will depend on the earnestness and passionateness of the ex- pression. Hence, earnest inquiry or appeal takes an extended upward inflection, because it denotes incompleteness : earnest emphasis or command, or expression of conviction, an extended downward inflection. In both cases the compass will vary from a third to an octave. Solemn utterance of solemn thought marked rather by reverence or fear than pas- sion, will have less compass of slide, and hence, altho the term is not scientifically cor- rect, it is called monotone. — Lewis, The Do- minion Elocutionist and Public Reader, p. 57. (A. S. & Co., 1873.) 594. INFORMATION, HOW TO GET, — There are two points about learning. In the first place, never ask a question if you can help it; and, secondly, never let a thing go unknown for the lack of asking a ques- tion, if you can not help it. Think it out first. Dig it out, study it, go around it, question yourself, and get it out. If you really can not, then turn and ask somebody. See everything, and see it right, and use it as you go along. A man's study should be everywhere — in the house, in the street, in the fields, and in the busy haunts of men. You see a bevy of children in the window, and you can form them into a picture in your mind. You may see the nurse, and the way she is drest. You try to describe it. You look again, and make yourself master of the details. By and by it will come up to you again itself, and you will be able to make an accurate picture of it, having made your observation accurate. Little by little, this habit will grow, until by and by, in later life, you will find that you command respect by your illustrations just as much as by argu- ments and analogies. — Beecher, Yale Lec- tures on Preaching, p. 173. (J. B. F. & Co., 1873.) 595. INSPIRATION FROM READ- ING. — When you rise from reading a great book that has inspired you to better and greater things, then is the time to set down in writing your new-made resolutions and to put at least some part of them into immediate practise. Perhaps you have decid- ed to seek a higher place among your fellow- men? Then go out among them, prepared to render service. Be interested in their welfare, and give to them freely of your Inspiration Interest KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 240 sympathy and cheerfulness. Cultivate a true- hearted and intelligent optimism toward everyone. Carry in your voice and manner a message of hope and good will, and give what you can without thought of receiving. — • Kleiser^ How to Develop Self -Confidence, in Speech and Manner, p. 69. (F. & W., 1910.) 596. INSPIRATION, PERSONAL.— What limit is there to the force of that man in whom rolls and surges the deep, shore- less sea of divine inspiration; who is an- ointed with the oil of gladness above his fellows; who is mightily conscious of the ever-blessed God, as a concrete and personal inhabitant, a living, sympathetic quicliener of thought and emotion? He is upborne by a power invisible, but as real as is the sea to the swimmer who floats on its emerald bosom, or as the ambient air to the sailing eagle. His utterance will be a blending se- renity and energy; he will be free from the nervous tension and unnatural strain of voice and manner which exhaust both himself and his audience. It is indeed impossible to ex- press or overestimate the force represented in the fulness of the Spirit. It might be compared to the incalculable force of Niag- ara, whose placid bosom and mighty plunge carry a power competent to generate electric power and light for a hundred great cities.— Kennard, Psychic Power in Preaching, p. 158. (G. W. J. & Co., 1901.) 597. INSPIRATIONAL SPEAKING.— A great orator, for a great occasion, may con and learn by rote his ideas and language, and yet he finds it impossible to make them run in the groove he had intended. When he is swept onward in spite of himself, the ar- guments he had most carefully studied are replaced by others more vivid, and senti- ments which he could not have originated in his cooler moments flash incessantly on his brain, and he is completely transfigured to the hearers. Not so to the speaker who owes all his power to art. He is not stung into eloquence by the impulses of his being, yet even he may be considered a great speaker. The one is total oblivion of self, and utter abandon to the subject— the other self-con- scious as to all he utters.— Frobisher, Act- ing and Oratory, p. 48. (C. of 0. & A., 1879.) 598. INTELLECTUAL COMPE- TENCY.— It is hard to determine just how much mental power is required to secure a moderate degree of success as an orator. No precise rules can be given on this point, and, if they could, egotism would prevent each from applying them to himself, how- ever correctly he might gauge his neighbor. The presumptuous would do well to remem- ber that oratory is the highest of all arts, and to measure themselves with becoming hu- mihty; perhaps the following questions may aid in self-examination. Can you grasp an idea firmly? can you follow its ramification, perceive its shades of meaning, and render it familiar in all its bearings? Can you ana- lyze it clearly, so that each separate part will be understood by itself, and then again link these together and make each serve as a stepping-stone to the comprehension of that which follows? If you can do this with a single subject, you have the mental power to speak on that subject. — Pittenger, Oratory, Sacred and Secular, p. 19. (S. R. W., 1869.) 599. INTELLECTUAL MATERIAL, KINDS OF. — It is impossible to estimate accurately the influence of the first instruc- tion which a man receives : that influence de- pends upon the virtue of the words which instruct, and on the way they are received. It is a sort of fertilisation, the fruits of which are sometimes slow in ripening, and come forth late. As the life-giving action of instruction can not be exercised except by words and the signs of language, the form often overlies the spirit, and many retain scarcely more than the letter or the words, which they reproduce from memory with great facility. The larger part of infantine successes and collegiate glories consist of this. Others, on the contrary, deeply smitten with the spirit of what is said, early con- ceive ideas of a fertile kind destined to be- come the parent ideas of all their future thoughts. The more imprest and absorbed their mind is interiorly, the less vivid, the less brilliant it appears exteriorly. It carries within it confusedly ideas which are too great for what contains them, and of which it can not yet render to itself an account ; and it is only afterward, when it has capacity and time for reflection, that it knows how to rec- ognize, turn to advantage, and bring forth to the light the treasures buried within. Hence two kinds of fund or of intellectual wealth, the fruit of instruction, and derived from the manner in which it has been given and re- ceived. (1) A collection of words, expres- sions, images, facts, superficial thoughts, com- monplaces — things commonly received and already discust; whatever, in a word, strikes the senses, excites the imagination, and easily impresses itself upon the memory. It is not to be denied that this intellectual 241 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Inspiration Interest baggage, however light, accumulated during many years, and arranged with a certain de- gree of order, may be of some service toward speaking with facility on some occasions, but then like a rhetorician ; that is, composing on the instant a sort of discourse or harangue more or less elegant, wherein there may be certain happy expressions but few ideas, and which may yet afford a transient pleasure to the listener, without moving or instructing him. In many circumstances, discourses of this class are in keeping; they at least suf- fice. It is a part played in a given situation, a portion of the program performed," and it is assuredly an advantage not to be despised to acquit oneself of it with honor or even without discredit. (2) But the real fund is in ideas, not in phrases, in the succession or connexion of the thoughts, and not in a series of facts or images. He who has laid in a store in this manner is not so ready at a speech, because there is within him a ver- itable thought with which his spirit strives in order to master, possess, and manifest it, so soon as he shall have thoroughly entered into it; such a man speaks not merely from memory or imagination, only and always with a labor of the understanding, and then what he produces is something with life in it and capable of inspiring life — and this is just what distinguishes the orator from the rheto- rician. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speak- ing, p. 45. (S., 1901.) 600. INTENSITY AND POWER.— The orator must compel his audience to un- derstand; he must force his way into con- sciousness by the most significant, the most direct, manner possible. Adding force to this will makes it penetrative. It will inspire and permeate. No man is plain until he sees the truth, and no man sees the truth who does not look beyond the exterior. It is not intuition alone, but it must come out. Force is power manifested — ^power streaming out in all directions, and from every pore of the mind. The intellect may spin with great in- tensity upon its own axis, and make no other movement. This is incessant motion but not progress. Ideas should not lie in the speak- er's mind in the form of congregated atoms, but of living, salient energies. The mind, by long-continued contemplation of a subject, can become steeped and saturated with it. Then force is electrical ; it permeates and thrills. A speaker destitute of such energy may please, and we listen complacently and with a quiet satisfaction, but nothing more. He does not cut sharply into the heart of his subject and consequently does not cut sharply into the heart of his hearers. The utterances of an intense and forcible man penetrate to the quick. An audience loathes a lukewarm earnestness, a counterfeit enthusiasm. — Fro- msHER, Acting and Oratory, p. 38. (C. of O. & A., 1879.) 601, INTEREST AND SYMPATHY.— Personal relation most enlivens that sym- pathy which attaches us to the concerns of others; interest in the effects, brings the ob- ject into contact with us; the mind clings to it, as its own. Injury offered, excites indig- nation in the beholder; indignation implies resentment; in the person injured, retaliation is called revenge. Beneficence is the object of love; love implies benevolence in the per- son benefited; this passion is called grati- tude. Now, by this circumstance of interest in the effects, the speaker from engaging pity in his favor, can proceed to operate on a more powerful principle, self-preservation. The benevolence of his hearers he can work up into gratitude, their indignation into re- venge. The two last-mentioned circum- stances, personal relation and interest, are not without influence, tho they regard the speaker only, and not the hearers. The rea- son is, a person present with us, whom we see and hear, and who by words, and looks, and gestures gives the liveliest signs of his feelings, has the surest and most immediate claim upon our sympathy. We become in- fected with his passions. We are hurried along by them, and not allowed leisure to dis- tinguish between his relation and our rela- tion, his interest and our interest. — Camp- bell, The Philosophy of Rhetoric, p. 88. (G. & W. B. W., 1833.) 602. INTEREST, EMOTION, AND ANIMATION.— The sermon should be interesting, animated, vivifying ; ten years of a lifetime should be comprized in a sermon of thirty minutes' duration. Speak to the mind, to the good sense, to the imagination, to the hearts of men, in words that breathe and thoughts that burn ; laying hold of them, as it were, by whatever stirs the lively and profound emotions of the soul : by grief and by joy, by hatred and by love, by tears and by consolations, by hell and by heaven. Let your speech be always powerful and trium- phant. Whatever you attempt, do well. If you reason, let your reasoning be sharp, to the point, and decisive. If you exercise char- ity, let it flow in broad streams, that it may inundate and cheer all around. If you give vent to anger, let it escape in glowing and irresistible sallies. If you are ever at a loss Interrogation lutiocliiction KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 242 what other influence to invoke, then appeal to pity. After such outbursts, there should be intervals of calm to tone down asperities, to smooth to softness any bitterness, and to express regret for having used them ; but in reality to make a deeper impression by touch- ing a different chord of the heart. These contrasts of thought and sentiment always produce a powerful effect. — Mullois, The Clergy and the Pulpit, p. 239. (The C. P. S., 1867.) G03. INTERROGATION AND ENERGY IN SPEAKING.— The intui- tion of the orator recognizes the interroga- tion as a tribute to energy in style. Few expedients of speech so simple as this are so effective in giving vigor of style. A sermon comparatively dull may be made compara- tively vivacious, and so far forcible, by a liberal sprinkling of interrogatives. Is a de- clarative utterance of a truth tame? Put it as an inquiry. Ask a question which implies it, and the silent answer may be more im- pressive to the hearer than any words of yours. Does an antithetic expression disap- point you? Try the mark of interrogation. Put it to the hearer as if he must sharpen it by a response. I do not mean that this is to be put on mechanically, but that you should throw your own mind into the mood of col- loquy. Single out one man in your audi- ence, and talk with him. Jeremiah Mason, who contested with Daniel Webster the head- ship of the Boston bar, used, in addressing juries, to single out one man in the jury-box, the man of dullest look, of immobile coun- tenance, who went to sleep most easily, and then directed his whole plea to him, keeping his eye upon him till the man felt that he was watched, and that the counsel had busi- ness with him. That kind of impression can often be wrought into your style, and made to come out of it again to the one hearer whom it is aimed at. The effect of that mental change in you will be magical. The style which was humdrum becomes alive, be- cause you have come to life. The thought springs, because you spring. There is no mechanism about it: it is an honest expres- sion of a new force within you. — Phelps, English Style in Public Discourse, p. 366. (S., 1910.) 604. INTERROGATION IN SPEAK- ING. — Interrogation is a figure in which a strong and confident assertion is repre- sented under the form of an inquiry or de- mand. Have any alarms been occasioned by the emancipation of our Catholic brethren? Has the bigoted malignity of any individuals been crushed? or has the stability of the gov- ernment or that of the country been weak- ened? or is one million of subjects stronger than four millions? — Day, The Art of Dis- course, p. 326. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 605. INTRODUCTION, CONSE- QUENCES OF A POOR.— The introduc- tion should be plain, simple, and direct. But its very simplicity renders it more difficult to construct. Preachers who are great in almost everything else, often fail by making their introductions too complicated, thus de- feating their own purpose as surely as the engineer who gives his road such steep grades that no train can pass over it. Others deliver a string of platitudes that no one wishes to hear, and the audience grows res- tive at the very beginning. When from these or other causes the sermon is misbegun, the consequences are likely to be serious. The thought is forced home on the speaker, with icy weight, that he is failing, and this con- viction paralyses all his faculties. He talks on, but grows more and more embarrassed. Incoherent sentences drop from him, requir- ing painful explanation to prevent them from degenerating into perfect nonsense. The out- line of his plan dissolves into mist. The points he intended to make, and thought strong and important, now appear very triv- ial. He blunders on with little hope ahead. The room may grow dark before him, and in the excess of his discomfort he ardently longs for the time when he can close with- out absolute disgrace. But, alas ! the end seems far off. In vain he searches for some avenue of escape. There is none. His throat becomes dry and parched, and the command of his voice is lost. The audience grow restive, for they are tortured, as well as the speaker, and if he were malicious he might find some alleviation in this. But he has no time to think of it, or if he does, it reacts on himself. No one can help him. At last, in sheer desperation, he cuts the Gordian knot and stops, perhaps seizing some swell- ing sentence and hurling it as a farewell volley at the audience, or speaks of the eter- nal rest, which no doubt appears very bliss- ful in comparison with his own unrest, then sits down bathed in sweat and feeling that he is disgraced forever! If he is very weak or foolish, he resolves that he will never speak again without manuscript, or, if wiser, that he will not only understand his dis- course, but how to begin it. — Pittenger, Ora- tory, Sacred and Secular, p. 107. (S. R. W., 1869.) 243 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING ZuterroiTatloa Introduction eoe. INTRODUCTION, MANNER OF TREATING THE.— The favor of an audi- tory may be engaged by an exordium, bor- rowed from the subject itself; for which purpose the orator must prepare himself by a careful and impartial examination of its character, with reference to the previous dis- positions of his hearers. And in this point of view there are five different shades of complexion which the subject may bear. It may be popular, obnoxious, equivocal, trivial, or obscure. The popular subject is that which, being already possest of the public fa- vor, calls for no exertion on the part of the orator to bespeak kindness. The obnoxious subject is that against which the hearers come forearmed with strong prepossessions. The equivocal subject is that which presents a doubtful aspect, a mixture of favorable and of unpropitious circumstances. The trivial subject is that which, involving no important interest or engaging no strong sensation, is considered by the hearer as insignificant and deserving little attention. And the obscure subject is that which, by embracing a multi- tude of intricate and entangled facts or prin- ciples, perplexes the understanding of the auditory. To suit these various descriptions of subjects introductions are divided into two general classes : the first direct, and the sec- ond oblique; which the Roman rhetoricians distinguish by the names of principium or beginning, and insinuation. The direct in- troduction is always to be employed upon popular subjects, if any exordium is expe- dient; and it is the most suitable for the trivial and the obscure subjects. But in equi- vocal cases for the most part, and in obnoxious subjects generally, a skilful ora- tor will begin with insinuation. The name is sufficiently indicative of the thing. It arises from the necessity of the case and the most common propensities of mankind. For di- rectly to solicit their good will in the mo- ment of their animosity, instead of concili- ating their kindness, only exasperates their indignation. On such occasions the only pos- sible chance of success of which the speaker can avail himself is to begin by diverting his hearers from their own thoughts. He must appease them with excuses, soothe them with apologies. He must allure the attention of their minds, from objects of their aversion, to images in which they take delight; from characters whom they despise or hate, to those whom they love and revere. The real purpose of his discourse must sometimes be concealed, sometimes even disguised. An oc- casional incident occurring at the moment, a humorous anecdote, ingeniously pointed to the purpose, a smart retort or repartee aris- ing from the opponent's recent conclusion, an allusion to some object of sympathy to the audience, an address to the natural love of novelty or to the taste for satire; all these may furnish the variety of expedients which the speaker must seize with the sud- denness of instinct to commence a discourse by insinuation. The introduction, whether direct or oblique, should be simple and un- assuming in its language, avoiding all ap- pearance of brilliancy, wit, or polished ele- gance. These are graces the display of which tend rather to prepossess the audience against a speaker than in his favor. They raise that sort of temper with which we observe a hand- some person admiring himself before a glass. The natural kindness toward beauty is lost in the natural disgust at vanity. To excite the admiration of his audience, the speaker must cautiously forbear to discover his own. But he may throw into it the whole powers of his mind, by energy of thought and dig- nity of sentiment; for nothing can so forc- ibly propitiate his hearer, both to himself and to his discourse, as the exhibition of ideas which command respect without the appear- ance of a solicitude to obtain it. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 1, p. 405. (H. & M., 1810.) 607. INTRODUCTION, METHOD IN THE. — The reason for an exordium is to dispose the auditors to be favorable to us in the other parts of the discourse. This, as most authors agree, is accomplished by mak- ing them friendly, attentive, and receptive, tho due regard should be paid to these three particulars throughout the whole of a speech. Sometimes the exordium is applicable to the pleader of the cause, who, tho he ought to speak very little of himself and always mod- estly, will find it of vast consequence to cre- ate a good opinion of himself and to make himself thought to be an honest man. So it is he will be regarded not so much as a zealous advocate, as a faithful and irre- proachable witness. His motives for plead- ing must therefore appear to proceed from tie of kindred, or friendship, but principally from a desire to promote public good, if such motive can be urged, or any other im- portant consideration. This conduct will be- fit plaintiffs in a much greater degree, that they may seem to have brought their action for just and weighty reasons, or were even compelled to do it from necessity. As noth- ing else gives so great a sanction to the au- thority of the speaker as to be free from all suspicion of avarice, hatred, and ambition, so. Introduction Introduction KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 244 also, there is a sort of tacit recommendation of ourselves if we profess our weal: state and inability for contending with the superior genius and talents of the advocate of the other side. We are naturally disposed to fa- vor the weak and opprest, and a conscientious judge hears an orator willingly whom hei presumes not to be capable of making him swerve from his fixt purpose of doing jus- tice. Hence the care of the ancients for concealing their talents. All contemptuous, spiteful, haughty, calumniating expressions must be avoided and not so much as even insinuated to the defamation of any particu- lar person or rank, much less against those to whom an affront would alienate the minds of the judges. To be so imprudent as to at- tack the judges themselves, not openly, but in any indirect manner, would be most unwise. The advocate for the other side may like- wise furnish sufficient matter for an exor- dium. Sometimes honorable mention may be made of him, as when we pretend to be in dread of his interest and eloquence in order to make them suspected by the judges, and sometimes by casting odium on him, although this must be done very seldom. I rather think, from the authority of the best authors, that whatever affects the orator, affects also the cause he patronizes, as it is natural for a judge to give more credit to those whom he more willingly hears. We shall procure the favor of the judge not so much by praising him, which ought to be done with modera- tion, and is common to both sides, but rather by making his praise fitting, and connecting it with the interest of our cause. Thus, in speaking for a person of consequence, we may lay some stress on the judge's own dig- nity; for one of mean condition, on his jus- tice; for the unhappy, on his mercy; for the injured, on his severity. It also would not be amiss to become acquainted, if pos- sible, with his character. For according as his temper is harsh or mild, pleasant or grave, severe or easy, the cause should be made to incline toward the side which cor- responds with his disposition, or to admit some mitigation or softening where it runs counter to it. It may happen sometimes, too, that the judge is our enemy, or the oppo- nent's friend. This is a circumstance requir- ing the circumspection of both parties, yet I think the favored advocate should behave with great caution, for a judge of a biased disposition will sometimes choose to pass sen- tence against his friends, or in favor of those to whom he bears enmity, that he may not ap- pear to act with injustice. Judges have also their private opinions and prejudices, which we must either strengthen or weaken, accord- ing as we see necessary. — Quintilian, Insti- tutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 193. (B. L., 1774.) 608. INTRODUCTION, MODESTY IN THE. — Nothing will so well suit an exordium as a modesty in the countenance, and voice, and thoughts, and composition, so that even in an uncontrovertible kind of cause too great a confidence ought not to dis- play itself. Security is always odious in a pleader, and a judge who is sensible of his authority tacitly requires respect. An orator must likewise be exceedingly careful to keep himself from being suspected, particularly in that part, and therefore not the least show of study should be made, because all his art will seem exerted against the judge, and not to show it will be the greatest perfection of art. This precept was recommended by all authors, and undoubtedly with good reason, but is sometimes altered by circumstances of times, because now in certain causes, and especially in capital, pleaded before the Cen- tumviri, the judges themselves require studied discourses, and fancy themselves thought mean of unless accuracy appears in thought and expression. It is of no significance to instruct them, they must be pleased. It is indeed diffi- cult to find a medium in this point, but it may be so tempered as to speak with justness and not with too great a show of art. An- other precept inculcated by the ancients is not to admit into the exordium any strange word, too bold a metaphor, obsolete expres- sion, or of a poetical turn. As yet we are not favorably received by the auditory, their at- tention is still new, but when once they con- ceive an esteem and are warmly inclined to- wards us, then is the time to hazard this liberty, especially when we enter upon parts the natural fertility of which does not suf- fer the liberty of an expression to be noticed amidst the luster spread about it. — Quin- TiLiAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 205. (B. L., 1774.) 609. INTRODUCTION, PLAN OF THE. — It is politic in the introduction not to promise too much. That is to say, the speaker should not set out in too lofty a strain. Should he do so, there is a great dan- ger that he may not be able to keep it up, and he may end in a descent from the sub- lime to the commonplace. Occasionally, how- ever, this rule must be disregarded, and circumstances may warrant a speaker com- mencing in a bold and high tone. The intro- duction also should be easy and natural, and 245 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Introduction Introduction this not only in manner, but in matter. It should not be far-fetched, but quite of a piece with the subject to which it is prefixt. In or- der to render introductions natural and easy, it is a good rule that they should not be planned till after one has meditated in his own mind the substance of his discourse. Then, and not till then, he should begin to think of some proper and natural introduction. By taking a contrary course, and laboring in the first place on an introduction, every one who is accustomed to composition will often find that either he is led to lay hold of some com^ monplace topic, or that, instead of the in- troduction being accommodated to the dis- course, he is obliged to accommodate the whole discourse to the introduction which he had previously written. Cicero, tho his prac- tise was not always conformable to his own rule, said: "When I have planned and di- gested all the materials of my discourse, it is my custom to think, in the last place, of the introduction with which I am to begin. For if, at any time, I have endeavored to invent an introduction first, nothing has ever oc- curred to me for that purpose but what was trifling, nugatory, and vulgar." After the mind has been once warmed and put in train by close meditation on the subject, materials for the preface will then suggest themselves much more readily. — Beeton, Art of Public Speaking, from Complete Orator, p. 43. (W. L. & Co.) 610. INTRODUCTION, PURPOSES OF THE. — When one is going to coun- sel another, when he takes upon him to in- struct, or to reprove, prudence will generally direct him not to do it abruptly, but to use some preparation, to begin with somewhat that may incline the persons to whom he addresses himself to judge favorably of what he is about to say and may dispose them to such a train of thought as will forward and assist the purpose which he has in view. This is, or ought to be, the main scope of an introduction. First, to conciliate the good will of the hearers, to render them benevo- lent or well-affected to the speaker and to the subject. Topics for this purpose may, in causes at the bar, be sometimes taken from the particular situation of the speaker him- self, or of his client, or from the character or behavior of his antagonists contrasted with his own; on other occasions, from the na- ture of the subject, as closely connected with the interest of the hearers; and, in general, from the modesty and good intention with which the speaker enters upon his subject. The second end of an introduction is to raise the attention of the hearers, which may be effected by giving them some hints of the im- portance, dignity, or novelty of the subject, or some favorable view of the clearness and precision with which we are to treat it, and of the brevity with which we are to dis- course. The third end is to render the hear- ers docile, or open to persuasion, for which end we must begin with studying to remove any particular prepossessions they may have contracted against the cause or side of the argument which we espouse. Some one of tliese ends should be proposed by every in- troduction. When there is no occasion for aiming at any of them, when we are already secure of the good will, the attention, and the docility of the audience, as may often be the case, formal introductions may, without any prejudice, be omitted. And, indeed, when they serve for no purpose but mere ostentation, they had for the most part bet- ter be omitted, unless as far as respect to the audience makes it decent that a speaker should not break in upon them too abruptly, but by a short exordium prepare them for what he is going to say. Demosthenes' in- troductions are always short and simple, Ci- cero's are fuller and more artful. — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 2, p. 371. (A. S., 1787.) 611. INTRODUCTION, STYLE OF THE. — The style of the exordium ought not to be like that of the argument proper and the narration, neither ought it to be fine- ly spun out, or harmonized into periodical cadences, but, rather, it should be simple and natural, promising neither too much by words nor countenance. A modest action, also, devoid of the least suspicion of osten- tation, will better insinuate itself into the mind of the auditor. But these ought to be regulated according to the sentiments we would have the judges imbibe from us. It must be remembered, however, that nowhere is less allowance made than here for failing in memory or appearing destitute of the power of articulating many words together. — QuiNTiLiAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 206. (B. L., 1774.) 612. INTRODUCTION, THE.— Every exordium ought either to convey an intima- tion of the whole matter in hand, or some introduction and support to the cause, or something of ornament and dignity. But, like vestibules and approaches to houses and temples, so the introductions that we prefix to causes should be suited to the importance of the subjects. In small and unimportant Introduction Introduction KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 246 causes, therefore, it is often more advisable to commence with the subject-matter itself without any preface. But, when we are to use an exordium (as will generally be the case) our matter for it may be derived either from the suitor, from the adversary, from the subject, or from those before whom we plead. From the suitor (I call all those suit- ors whom a suit concerns) we may deduce such particulars as characterize a worthy, generous, or unfortunate man, or one de- serving of compassion; or such particulars as avail against accusation. From the ad- versary we may deduce almost the contrary particulars from the same points. From the adversary we may deduce almost the con- trary particulars from the same points. From the subject, if the matter under considera- tion be cruel, or heinous, or beyond expec- tation, or undeserved, or pitiable, or savoring of ingratitude or indignity, or unprecedented, or not admitting restitution or satisfaction. From those before whom we plead we may draw such considerations as to procure their benevolence and good opinion; an object bet- ter attained in the course of pleading than by direct entreaty. This object is indeed to be kept in view throughout the whole ora- tion, and especially in the conclusion ; but m.any exordia, however, are wholly based upon it; for the Greeks recommend us to make the judge, at the very commencement, attentive and desirous of information; and such hints are useful, but not more proper for the exordium than for other parts ; but they are indeed easier to be observed in the beginning, because the audience are then most attentive when they are in expectation of the whole affair, and they may also, in the com- mencement, be more easily informed, as the particulars stated in the outset are generally of greater perspicuity than those which are spoken by way of argument, of refutation, in the body of the pleading. But we shall derive the greatest abundance and variety of matter for exordia, either to conciliate or to arouse the judge, from those points in the cause which are adapted to create emotion in the mind; yet the whole of these ought not to be brought forward in the exordium ; the judge should only receive a slight im- pulse at the outset, so that the rest of our speech may come with full force upon him when he is already imprest in our favor.— Cicero, On Oratory and Orators, p. 316. (B., 1909..) 613. INTRODUCTION, THE SUC- CESSFUL.— The design of this part is to lead the hearers easily and naturally to the subject of the discourse. Such is the rela- tion of the preacher to his hearers, such the nature of a sermon, and such the occasion on which it is delivered, that seldom, at its commencement, will an effort be required, according to the ordinary rules of rhetoric, to secure the attention, or the favor, of the hearers. In regular religious assemblies, a preacher generally, on rising to preach, en- joys the advantage of attention and good- will on the part of his audience; and his only special care here need be, not to divert, nor alienate good-will. Still, some prefatory sentences are commonly advisable, in order to avoid the disadvantage of an abrupt en- trance on the treatment of a subject. Be- sides, some thoughts will often be suggested by the subject, or the text, or by something special in the occasion, that will naturally require to be mentioned before entering on the discussion. The quality chiefly desirable in an introduction is, therefore, appropriate- ness to the sermon of which it is a part As being the commencement of a sermon, and as intended gradually to lead the hearers to a certain subject, it should be characterized by simplicity, both in thought and in lan- guage ; it should avoid abstruseness and elab- orate composition. Gravity, too, is specially demanded in the introduction of so serious a discourse as a sermon ought to be. As the introduction, tho not devised till all the main parts of the sermon are provided for, is yet the first to be written, the writer may be presumed to be, at this point, in a state of mind similar to that of the hearers ; namely, comparatively cool, but entering on a process which will, ere long, enkindle and elevate his feelings. The introduction should, gen- erally, be conformed to such a view of the' v/riter. While, however, it is ordinarily suf- ficient that this part should be appropriate, simple, and grave, it is susceptible of higher qualities. It may sometimes be made deep- ly impressive. Some striking thought may be here employed, which will secure to the preacher the interested attention of his hear- ers. When the means of thus advantageously introducing a discourse occur to a preacher, let him not fail to employ them through sub- jection to the generally correct rule, that an introduction should not be fervid. Only let him take care that the attention and expec- tation which may be excited by the brilliancy, or picturesqueness, or fervor of his opening paragraphs, end not in disappointment. If he be not able to maintain the interest which the introduction may create, it would be more judicious to check himself somewhat at the commencement, and trust to the infiu- 247 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Introduction Introductlou ence of his subject for elevation, or emotion, in less hazardous passages. — Ripley, Sacred Rhetoric, p. 87. (G. K. & L., 1849.) G14. INTRODUCTION, TREAT- MENT OF THE.— The exordium is the commencement of the speech; which in po- etry, is the prolog, and in the performance on the pipe, the prelude: for these are all commencements, and, as it were, an opening of the way for what is to succeed. The prelude, then, corresponds to the exordium of demonstrative speeches; for the perform- ers on the pipe, using as a prelude any piece whatever which they are able to execute with skill, connect the whole by an inserted pas- sage : and so in demonstrative speeches ought we to write; for the speaker ought, after stating whatever he lists, straightway to em- ploy the insertion, and link it to the body of the speech. Which indeed all do, having as their model the exordium of the Helen of Isocrates : for there exists no very near connexion between Helen and the artifices of sophists. At the same time, if the ex- ordium be out of the way of the subject, there is this advantage, that the whole speech is not of one uniform character. But the exordia of demonstrative speeches are de- rived from praise, or from blame, like Geor- gias in the Olympic oration — "Men worthy, O Greeks, of admiration among many"; for he is eulogizing those who instituted the gen- eral assemblies; Isocrates, however, blames them, "because they distinguish by prizes the excellences of person, while for those who are wise they propose no reward;" and, thirdly, from suggesting advice ; for instance, "because it is fitting to honor the good," on that account the orator himself also speaks the praises of Aristides, or such characters as neither enjoy reputation, nor are worth- less, but as many as, tho they be excellent persons, are obscure; just as was Parisj the son of Priam : for thus the orator conveys advice. Again, we may borrow demonstra- tive exordia from those proper to judicial rhetoric, i.e., from appeals to the auditor, in case the speech be respecting anything revolt- ing to opinion, or difficult, or already noised abroad among many, so as to obtain his pardon : as Choerilus begins, "Now after ev- erything has become public." The exordia, then, of demonstrative rhetoric arise from these sources — from praise, blame, exhorta- tion, dissuasion, and appeals to the hearers. The inserted connective clauses may be either foreign or appropriate to the subject. With regard to the exordia of judicial rhetoric, we must assume that they are equivalent to the opening scenes of dramas, and the ex- ordia of epic poems; for the commencement of dithyrambic poetry resembles demonstra- tive exordia— "on account of thee, thy gifts, thy spoils." But in the drama, and in epic poetry, the commencement is an intimation of the subject, that the hearer may foresee what the story is about, and that his mind may not be in suspense; for whatever is in- determinate bewilders us. He then who puts, as it were, into the hand the beginning of the clue, causes him who holds it to follow on the story. On this account, we have — "Sing, muse, the wrath," etc. "The man, O muse, resound," etc. "This, too, declare; from Asia's coasts afar, How upon Europe burst the mighty war." And the tragedians give some insight into the plot of the drama, if not forthwith, as Euripides does, yet they give it somewhere at least in the opening scene; just as also does S'ophocles: "Polybus was my father!" And comedy in the same way. The most necessary business of the exordium, and this is peculiar to it, is to throw some light on the end for the sake of which the speech is made. For which very reason, if this be evi- dent, and the case a brief one, we need not employ an exordium. The other species which speakers employ are correctives, and general : these are, however, deduced from (1) the speaker himself; (3) his hearers; (3) the subject; (4) and from the adver- sary. Everything whatsoever which refers to the doing away or the casting an aspersion of character, has a relation to one's self or the adversary. But these things are not done exactly in the same way: for by one speak- ing on a defense, whatever tends to aspersion of character should be put first; but by one who is laying an accusation, in his peroration. And the reason why is not indistinct; for it is necessary that one who is making a de- fense, when he is about to introduce himself, should sweep away every stumbling-block ; so that the prepossession against you must first be removed : by him, however, who raises the unfavorable impression, let it be raised in winding up, in order that the judges may the rather recollect it. The correctives, how- ever, which refer to the hearer, are drawn out of conciliating his good will, and inflam- ing him with anger, and occasionally from attracting his attention, or the reverse; for it is not at all times convenient to render him attentive, for which reason many en- deavor to induce them to laughter. But all these will conduce to tractability on the judge's part, if one wishes it, as does also the showing one's self a person of charac- Introduction Invention KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 248 ter; for to such do people the rather give heed. But men are attentive to objects of importance, of a peculiar description, or de- serving admiration, or pleasing. Hence we ought to throw in a hint that the speech is concerning subjects of this nature. But if you would have them not attentive, hint that the matter is trifling, concerns them not, or is disgusting. But it ought not to escape our olDservation, that the whole of this is foreign to the subject; for they are addrest to a hearer of sorry taste, and one who lends an ear to points foreign to the subject; for if the hearer be not of this character, there is no need of exordium, except so far as to state the matter summarily, that, like a body, it may have a head. Again, the business of exciting attention is common to all the di- visions of a speech, wherever it may be nec- essary; for the audience relax their atten- tion anywhere rather than at the beginning. For which reason it is ridiculous to range this head at the beginning, when more par- ticularly every one is at the summit of at- tention. So that, whenever it is convenient, we may use the formulary, "Lend me your whole attention, for the question does not affect me any more than yourselves ;" and this one : "for I will relate to you a thing so strange, so wonderful, as you never yet heard." But this is just what Prodicus says he used to do — "whenever the audience hap- pen to nod, to insert, by the by, a display of his pentecontadrachmial demonstration." But that these things are referred to the hearer not in his proper capacity as such, is evi- dent; for all create unfavorable impressions or do them away in their exordia : as, "O king, I confess indeed, that not with haste," etc. : and again, "Why such long preludes." They, too, employ exordia who have, or ap^ pear to have, the worse case; for it is bet- ter to pause anywhere than on the case it- self. On which account servants tell not what is asked them, but all the circumstances, and make long preambles. But the means out of which we must conciliate have been stat- ed, and each other point of that nature : and, as it is well remarked by the poet, "Grant that I may reach the Phoenicians a friend and object of their compassion ;" we ought, there- fore, to aim at these two objects. And in demonstrative orations, you should cause the hearer to suppose that he is praised simul- taneously with the subject, either in his own person or his family, or in his maxims of conduct, or at least somehow or other. For true it is, as Socrates remarks, that "To praise Athenians before an Athenian audi- ence is no difficult thing, however it may be in the presence of Lacedaemonians." But the exordia of deliberative rhetoric are derived from those of judicial: but this species has them naturally least of all three; for indeed the audience are aware of the subject; and the case needs no exordium except (1) on account of the speaker himself; (2) or his opponent; or (3) if the audience conceive of the importance of the matter otherwise than he could wish, thinking it either too serious or too trifling: with a view to which objects respectively there is a necessity for either exciting or doing away a prejudice, or for amplification or diminution. On account of these things, there is need of exordium; (4) or otherwise for the sake of ornament; since without it a speech appears hastily got up. Of this sort was the panegyric of Georgias on the Eleans ; for without anything like the preluding display of gesture and attitude in the Gymnasium, he begins forthwith, "O Elis, city blest by fortune !" — Aristotle's Rhetoric and Poetics, p. 251. (B., 1906.) 615. INTRODUCTION, USE OF THE. — The exordium is defined by Cicero as "a discourse to prepare the minds of the audi- ence for the favorable reception of the re- mainder." Hence, you will observe it is not inherent in the subject, but a mere prelimi- nary to conciliate the favor of the hearer. Tho not always indispensable, it is often nec- essary; and when not improper should never be omitted. It is not peculiar to the scenes of public oratory, it is equally habitual to every species of written composition, and its use is analogous to that of the common salu- tations among men, which under some form or other in every state of society precede their entrance upon the transaction of busi- ness. The universal propensity to some sort of prefatory introduction, at the threshold of all intercourse between men, may perhaps be traced to the constitution of human nature, independent of any state of society. It has been a question among philosophers whether the natural st%te of man is that of peace or of war. Different solutions have with great and rival ingenuity been drawn from differ- ent speculative views of human nature. If we judge, however, from the experience we have of mankind in the state approaching nearest to that of nature, in which men have ever been found, or from the nature and character of human wants and human pas- sions, or by analogy from the state of other wild beasts among themselves, I think we shall conclude that the state of nature, like the state of society, is in itself not uniform- ly a state either of peace or war; but alter- 249 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Introduction Invention nately of either. Stimulated by the necessi- ties or the passions implanted in his nature for the preservation of the individual or of the species, man would be at war with any of his fellow-creatures from whom he could wrest the object of his immediate wants. Sa- tiated and satisfied, he would be at peace with the whole creation. In hunger he would be active and violent; in fulness indolent and coVardly. A natural result of this va- riation of temper would be that, in the acci- dental meeting of two human creatures, a reciprocal uncertainly would exist in the bos- om of each with regard to the disposition of the other; and one of the first steps toward association would be the concert of some sign or indication which might be under- stood as a pledge of peace at such occur- rences. A manifestation of amity would thus become habitual, as introductory to every transaction of a peaceable nature between men ; and passing from speculation to experience, we find some usage of this kind practised by every tribe of savages, as well as among all civilized nations, with which we are acquainted. When by the progress of society the original motive for exhibiting these banners of benevolence disappears, the courtesies of civilized life assume its place, and adopt, as a customary forrnality, what was in its origin a promise of kindness. In all civilized society professions of friend- ship are multiplied in proportion as its reali- ties diminish. Salutations, embraces, the joining of hands, are lavished as tokens of mutual regard, even when it is not felt; and wherever man meets man in the attitude of peace, be it for objects of pleasure, of busi- ness, or of devotion, some introduction to every purpose is held to be not less neces- sary than the purpose itself. From the com- mon forms of personal intercourse the usage was transferred to the silent communica- tions, introduced by the art of writing, and all literary discourse, from the familiar let- ter to the epic poem, announces itself with more or less formality of introduction, ac- cording to the nature of the subject and the genius of the writer. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 1, p. 399. (H. & M., 1810.) INTRODUCTION.— See also Begin- ning. ei8. INVENTION, INSTRUMENTS OF. — Invention is talent itself. We do not teach talent; we give to him who hath, not to him who hath not. To the inventive mind (and what is mind wholly destitute of invention?) there are means of inventing more, and of inventing better. The first point is to know. If knowledge does not give originality, it increases and nourishes it. Know man then : know life, know the divine word, know yourself; know every- thing if you can; all truth tends to the su- preme truth; all truth may serve it in the way of proof or illustration. Next unite! yourself to your subject by intense medita- tion; warm it with your own heat; warm yourselves with heat from your subject; let your subject be a reality to you, and the preparation of the discourse an epoch in your history ; think not only but live ; try on your soul the same ideas by which you would influence the souls of others. Do one thing more; analyze according to the laws of a sound logic the matter which you have be- fore you. Having put yourselves by medita- tion into contact with the things themselves, now put yourselves by analysis into contact with their idea; having applied the logic of the soul in this study, now apply that of the mind. Inventing is finding ; the same faculty of reasoning which you are presently to employ in proving, employ at the outset in finding. Such are the instruments of in- vention; make frequent use of them; study, meditate, analyze much; sharpen by re- peated efforts the edge of invention, which rust, without them, will soon render dull; be not in haste to recur to that blank, if we may call it so, of superficial minds, that stock of commonplaces which are not contemptible, which have rendered service to every one, but of which the injudicious use has led talent to neglect its own re- sources. — ^ViNET, Homiletics; or, The Theory of Preaching, p. 254. (I. & P., 1855.) G17. INVENTION, MEANS OF.— It should be observed that the ancient orators, having in view only judicial and deliberative eloquence, have nothing to say on invention of the subject, which was always prescribed to the orator. It is otherwise with the elo- quence of the pulpit. The preacher, it is true, might be compelled to choose a text, but he can not be forbidden to choose his subject first, and his text for his subject; and then, as to the text itself, after it has been chosen, he has often to find or create a sub- ject for it. Besides, we do not admit that the use of a text is essential to pulpit elo- quence. We may, then, say that the preacher is often required to choose his subject. And when we say choose, we do not mean take it ready prepared from the midst of a table of contents, all arranged in order, of a list Irony Jury KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 250 of heads with their subdivisions. The num- ber of subjects is incalculable; each follow- ing the relation, the combination which has been preconceived, multiplies itself; it is as the five loaves and two fishes of the gospel. No one in this matter is obliged to walk in the steps of his predecessors. Without seek- ing novelty, we may be new. A simple im- pression received from our text, or a view furnished by life, may contribute to novelty. But the most reliable means of invention, as to the subject of discourse, is a truly philo- sophical culture. Under this conviction we can riot too earnestly recommend to candi- dates for the pulpit, the study of philosophy, which will be constantly giving them new aspects of the same truth. — Vinet, Homilet- ics; or, The Theory of Preaching, p. 53. (I. & P., 1855.) 618. IRONY. — Irony is a figure in which the speaker represents his thought in a form that properly expresses the directly opposite of his opinion. It is employed mostly for purposes of playfulness, or scorn and con- tempt. "Silence at length the gay Antinous broke, Constrained a smile, and thus ambiguous spoke : What god to you, untutored youth, affords This headlong torrent of amazing words ! May Jove delay thy reign, and cumber late So bright a genius with the cares of state !" (Odyssey, I, 490.) "But, Mr. Speaker, we have a right to tax America. O inestimable right ! O wonderful, transcendent right ! the assertion of which has cost this country thir- teen provinces, six islands, one hundred thou- sand lives, and seventy millions of money. O invaluable right ! for the sake of which we have sacrificed our rank among nations, our importance abroad, and our happiness at home !"— Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 326. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 619. JEFFERSON, THOMAS.— Born at Shadwell, Albemarle County, Va., April 13, 1743. Admitted to bar in 1767. Elected to Continental Congress March, 1775. Be- came President March 4, 1801. Died July 4, 1826. Author of the Declaration of Ameri- can Independence. Some changes were made in its original draft, but essentially it is the product of Jefferson. Webster said "It is the production of his mind, and the high honor of it belongs to him, clearly and ab- solutely." Over six feet. Self-controlled, fearless, an almost perfect citizen. One of the most picturesque characters in American history. He lacked voice for a great orator — inclined to be guttural. His style was marked by naturalness and perspicuity. 620. JESTING IN SPEECH MAKING. — Jesting may often be introduced with good effect into a speech. It affords relief from the dulness of a dry subject, and tends to put the audience in better humor, both with them- selves and with the speaker. Besides, it often attracts their wandering attention, and secures their notice to the end, when mere argument would fail to do so. But we must remember that this ornament of a speech is to be used with moderation. Nothing is more painful to sensible people than to see a man play the buffoon. The least offensive jokes, it is to be remarked, are always the best, as they are the most politic. At times, however, ridicule may be heaped upon an adversary for the purpose of overthrowing him; for laughter excited at his expense is often worth more than a dozen reasons against his arguments. The speaker must be very care- ful at the same time not to lay himself open to ridicule. The jests need not, in order to succeed, be of the first quality, for it has been often observed that a joke which would not excite a smile in private will excite loud laughter in public. It is hardly necessary to add that all indecency of language and all jests bordering on profanity are to be shunned. No one who values his own peace of mind, and the esteem of those whose good opinion is of any value, will be likely to transgress in this way. In connexion with this whole subject of ornament, Hume, in his essays, says that uncommon expressions, strong flashes of wit, pointed similes, and epigrammatic turns, especially when they recur too frequently, often disfigure, rather than embellish, a discourse. It commonly happens, in such cases, that twenty insipid conceits are found for one thought which is really beautiful. — Beeton, Art of Public Speaking, from Complete Orator, p. 39. (W. S. & Co.) 621. JUDICIAt CAUSE, DIVISION IN A. — Tho division may not always be necessary, yet when properly used it gives great light and beauty to a discourse. This it effects not only by adding more perspicu- ity to what is said, but also by refreshing the minds of the hearers by a view of each part circumscribed within its bounds: just so milestones ease in some measure the fatigue of travelers, it being a pleasure to know the extent of the labor they have undergone, and to know what remains encourages them to 251 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Irony Juiy persevere, as a thing does not necessarily seem long when there is a certainty of com- ing to the end. Every division, therefore, when it may be employed to advantage, ought to be first clear and intelligible, for what is worse than being obscure in a thing, the use of which is to guard against obscurity in other things? Second, it ought to be short, and not encumbered with any superfluous word, because we do not enter upon the sub- ject matter, but only point it out. — Quintil- lAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 256. (B. L., 1774.) G22. JUDICIAL CAUSE, UNDER- STANDING A.— It is my custom to use my endeavor that every one of my clients may give me instruction in his own affairs himself, and that nobody else be present, so that he may speak with the greater freedom. I am accustomed also to plead to him the cause of his adversary, in order to engage him to plead his own, and state boldly what he thinks of his own case. When he is gone, I conceive myself in three characters: my own, that of the adversary, and that of the judge. Whatever circumstance is such as to promise more support or assistance than ob- struction, I resolve to speak upon it; wher- ever I find more harm than good, I set aside and totally reject that part entirely; and thus I gain this advantage that I consider at one time what I shall say, and say it at an- other; two things which most speakers, rely- ing upon their genius, do at one time and the same time ; but certainly those very per- sons would speak considerably better, if they would but resolve to take one time for pre- meditation, and another for speaking. When I have acquired a thorough understanding of the business and the cause, it immediately becomes my consideration what ground there may be for doubt. For of all points that are disputed among mankind, whether the case is of a criminal nature, as concerning an act of violence; or controversial, as concern- ing an inheritance ; or deliberative, as on go- ing to war; or personal, as in panegyric; or argumentative, as on modes of life; there is nothing in which the inquiry is not either what has been done, or is being done, or will be done, or of what nature a thing is, or how it should be designated.— Cicero, On Oratory and Orators, p. 249. (B., 1909.) G23. JUDICIAL SPEAKING, ORDER IN. — The judicial kind, tho of all the most extensive and various, consists of but two offices, accusation and defense. Its parts, ac- cording to most authors, are five: exordium,' narration, proof, refutation, and peroration. To these some have added division, proposi- tion, and digression, but the first two are in- cluded in the proof. As to digression, if it be foreign to the cause, it cannot make a part of it ; if it belongs to the cause, it may serve as a help or ornament to the parts from which it digresses. But if everything in a cause ought to be called part of it, why should not also argument, similitude, commonplace, passions, examples, likewise be called parts? Neither do I agree with those, like Aristotle, who ex- clude refutation as included in proof, for the one establishes, and the other destroys, which are different things. The same author differs also from us in opinion, by placing after the exordium not narration but proposition. But I do not pretend that the orator must think of every one of these parts in the same order in which he is to deliver them. His princi- pal care should be to examine into the nature of the cause he undertakes, to know the state of the question, what makes for and against it, what he is to prove and what to refute; next, how he must order his narration, for the exposition of it is preparatory to his proofs; nor can it be of service unless it first is plain what he may promise himself from his proofs. Lastly, he must consider the means of procuring the favor of the judges, as it must be from a diligent inspec- tion into all parts of the cause that he will be able to know the frame of mind they ought to be in, as gentle or severe, passionate or cool, inflexible or tractable, for deciding in his favor. I can not, likewise, side with those who think the exordium should be the last thing written. For, as it is necessary to get together all materials and see how they ought to be disposed, before we set about writing or speaking, so ought we to begin with what naturally occurs first. A painter or sculptor does not begin with the feet, in a portrait or statue, neither does any art consummate a work where it must begin. And what shall an orator do if he has not time enough to compose entirely his discourse? Will he not find himself under an illusion in abiding by so preposterous a custom? He must there- fore consider his matter in the order we have prescribed, and write it down in the order of delivering it. — Quintilian, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 185. (B. L., 1774.) JUDICIAL.— See 'also Bar, Forensic- Jury. 624. JURY, ADDRESSING A.— Juries differ much in character, not merely in the various counties, in commercial and rural dis- Jury Jury KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 252 tricts, in London and in the provinces, but even in the same locality, at the same assizes or sittings. Therefore, your first care should be to study the character of your jury. If you have accustomed yourself to read the character in the face, you will probably make a shrewd guess of your men at a glance. But it must be con f est that the countenance some- times deceives, and we are often surprized to find a sound judgment under a stolid front and an intelligent aspect concealing a shallow mind. Your eye will give you a reading that will prove tolerably correct. Do not, how- ever, rest upon that alone, but watch closely the twelve heads when the case is launched, and especially when the witnesses are under examination. Then you will certainly discov- er who are the intelligent, who the impotent, who the sagacious, who the shallow, who the facile, who the obstinate. Knowing them, you know how to deal with them. You know who will lead the others and therefore to whom you are mainly to address yourself. You learn whom you must endeavor to con- vince, whom to persuade, whom to bend to your will, and you must mold your speech to the measure of their capacities. In the first place, it is essential that all of them should, if possible, understand what you are saying to them. As in a team the slowest horse rules the pace, so must you address yourself to the comprehension of the lowest intelli- gence among the twelve, and I need not say that with a common jury this is too often very low indeed. But do not mistake my meaning in this. When I tell you that you must speak for the ignorant, I do not con- template vulgar thoughts or lowlife phrases, but your own ideas put into plain language and enforced by familiar illustrations. The besetting sin of advocates is that of talking over the heads of their juries— addressing to them words that are as strange to their ears ^and therefore as unintelligible to their minds— as any foreign tongue and throwing before them ideas comprehensible only to the cultivated intellect. I am perfectly con- scious of the extreme difficulty of avoiding this error; how hard it is even to recognize the fact that thoughts and words which habit has made familiar to you are unintelligible to minds that have not enjoyed your training; how still more formidable is the task of translating, as you speak, the fine words that come naturally to your lips into the homely vernacular of the classes from whom the common juries are taken. But this is your business, and to this you must train yourself at any cost of time and labor. It is a con- dition of success at the Nisi Prius Bar that will be excused only in rare and exceptional cases of extraordinary power or capacity to command a sufficiency of that higher class of business in which you will address a special jury or a judge. You will soon learn the signs by which you may know if you are making yourself to be understood by your jury, and holding not their ears only but their minds. It is difficult to describe the signs of this. A certain steady gaze of at- tention and fixedness of feature and com- monly a slight bending forward of the head are the usual outward manifestations. But more sure than these is that secret sympathy which exists between minds with whom a communion is established. You feel that you are listened to and understood, just as you are painfully conscious when your audience are not heeding tho they be ever so silent and still. Keep your eyes upon the jurymen while you address them, for the eye is often as attractive as the tongue. Watch them well, and if you mark any that do not seem to listen, fix your eyes upon them and you will instinctively talk to them, and they will feel as if you were addressing them individually, and open their ears to you accordingly. If they put on a puzzled look at any time, you may be sure that your argument is too subtle for them or your language too fine. Be warned. Simplify your argument; introduce some homely illustration ; win them to a laugh ; repeat in other forms and phrases the substance of what you have wasted in unin- telligible sentences. Above all, if you see them growing weary, restless in their seats, averting their eyes, yawning, looking at their watches, or other symptoms of having heard enough, accept the warning and bring your speech to a close, even if you may not have said all that you designed to say. When your jury has arrived at this pass, continued at- tempts to attract their attention are not mere- ly failures in themselves, but they mar the good effect of that which has gone before. Come to a hasty or even to an abrupt conclu- sion, and resume your seat. The art of sit- ting down is quite as useful at the Bar as in all other arenas of the orator. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. S69. (H. C, 1911.) 625. JURY AND WITNESSES.— Noth- ing is gained, but, on the contrary, a great deal is lost, by stating to the jury anytl^ing you can not prove. The jury are not con- vinced by your speech, but by the evidence. You can not hope to achieve more with the most impressionable juryman than to bring him to this : "Well, if you prove what you 253 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Jury Jury say, you will have my verdict." In accord- ance with this state of feeling on the part of the jury, your course will be only to de- scribe your testimony in the course in which it will least disturb the order of the story, as it already exists in their minds. You will take the witnesses, therefore, in order of I time, and shortly repeating that portion of the narrative which is spoken to by the wit- ness you are about to introduce, state who and what he is, and the circumstances, if any, that give peculiar value to his testimony, or that enabled him to depose to the partic- ular facts, and then very shortly repeat the facts he will prove. If he speaks also to a subsequent part of the transaction, when you have said all you have to say of the former part, and not before, refer to that latter part with the like introduction and the like brev- ity.— Ram, A Treatise on Facts, p. 368. (B. V. & Co., 1873.) GZe. JURY, CAUTION IN OPENING A CASE TO THE.— Bear in mind when you rise to open a defense, that you are about to comment upon a story already known to the jury; that it is your business to convince them that this story is not credible, by rea- son either of its own intrinsic improbabilities, or of the insufficiency of the testimony by which it was supported, or of the little faith due to the witnesses, or of the contradictions which you purpose to produce. In order to remove the impressions made upon their minds by that story, you must ask them to review it with you, and to do this, you must recall it to them; and it can be best recalled in the order in which it was imparted to them. Then is it more prudent to recall the whole of your adversary's case, its strongest as well as its weakest parts, that which you cannot answer as well as that which you can ; or, to pass over that which tells against you, and to dwell exclusively on that which you can meet. On the one hand, it is said that, by reviewing the strong points, and leaving them unassailed, you not only recall what may have been unnoticed, but you give them double significance by the confession of their strength, implied in the inability to answer them. On the other hand, it is argued that, not to notice them at all, is to admit them to be unanswerable. This is a dilemma of such frequent occurrence that we should have been very glad if we could have discovered any rules for guidance in the choice. But we have endeavored in vain to do so. Even after the experiment has been made, and with reference to the results of actual ex- perience, we are unable to say which course has the balance of reason or the proofs of practise to recommend it. Much must de- pend upon the particular circumstances of the case, upon the impression apparently made upon the jury, upon the nature and worth of the answer you are about to put in. If you have reason to believe that the jury did not see all the value of the evidence you can not disturb, it will obviously be prudent not to give it additional importance by reviewing it. But if the jury do not appear to have been imprest by it, you can not do harm by repeating it; on the contrary, by linking it skilfully with other portions of the evidence which you can answer, you may, to some extent, shake its influence also. At all events, by boldly meeting it, and even putting it for- ward prominently, making a virtue of the necessity, you may not improbably obtain this advantage, that the jury will say : "These facts can not be so important as we thought, or the counsel would not have so talked about them." So infinitely small are all the reasons that sway verdicts, that even this sometimes would give a chance which would be annihilated by the opposite remark: "He never said a word about that, because he could not." But whether you do or do not determine to recall the whole case, a great deal of ingenuity may be employed, and will be requisite, in dealing with the evidence, so to treat it as to throw into shade the stronger parts, and bring out prominently its weak- nesses. — Ram, a Treatise on Facts, p. 371. (B. V. & Co., 1873.) G27 JURY, PERSUADING A.— Good temper goes a great way toward conciliating a jury. Command yourself. Win them with smiles; frowns repel them. Exhibit unflinch- ing confidence in your cause, for any distrust betrayed by you is instantly imparted to them. If the subject be dry, enliven it with some timely jest, and the duller the theme the smaller the joke that suffices to relieve its dulness. Throw before them as much fact and as little argument as possible; you are not so likely to convince as to persuade. When you think what sort of minds you are seeking to sway, how entirely incompetent they are to follow an argument, you must make the most of facts, treating your audi- ence as children, who are never tired of lis- tening to that which paints a picture upon their minds or evokes a sentiment, but who are sent to sleep by abstractions and logic. The majority of any common jury are in this respect only children. You may make them "see it," you may make them "feel it"; but I defy you by the cleverest and closest Knowledg'e Knowledg'e KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 2S4 argument to convince them as a cultivated thinker is convinced. Make large use of il- lustrations; they vifill be readily accepted as substitutes for argument, and often, I am sorry to say, for facts. But you must not travel for them beyond the circle with which your jurymen are familiar. You will not throw light on one obscurity by comparing it with another. Refer to their own knowledge and experience whenever you can, and seize the slightest chance to make your client's case theirs. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Read- ing, and Speaking, p. 274. (H. C, 1911.) JURY.- Judiciat — -See also Bar, Forensic 628. KNOWLEDGE AND CONVER- SATION. — Experience tells that knowl- edge is not knowledge until we use it — that it is not ours till we have brought it under the dominion of the great social faculty, speech. Solitary reading will enable a man to stuff himself with information; but, with- out conversation, his mind will become like a pond without an outlet — a mass of un- healthy stagnature. It is not enough to har- vest knowledge by study; the wind of talk must winnow it, and blow away the chaff; then will the clear, bright grains of wisdom be garnered, for our own use or that of oth- ers. Then let us talk; and that our talk may be a true recreation, let us talk with congenial spirits. Such spirits may be met with singly in the ordinary intercourse of life, but the full play of the mind demands that they should be encountered "not in sin- gle spies, but in battalions"; and hence the necessity of clubs to bring together, like steel filings out of sand at the approach of a mag- net, men of the most opposite pursuits and tastes, the attrition of whose minds may brush away their rust and cobwebs, and give them edge and polish. — Mathews, The Great Conversers, p. 53. (S. F. & Co., 1893.) 629. KNOWLEDGE AND GOOD SENSE ESSENTIAL.— I would have an orator prepare himself a long time, by gen- eral study, to acquire a large stock of knowl- edge, and to qualify himself for composing well, that so he might need the less prepara- tion for each particular discourse. I would have him naturally a man of good sense, and to reduce all he says to good sense, as the standard of his discourse. His studies should be solid, he should apply himself to reason justly, and industriously avoid all subtle and over-refined notions. He should distrust his imagination, and not let it influence his judg- ment. He should ground every discourse upon some evident principle, and from that draw the most obvious and natural conse- quences. — Fenelon, a Letter to the French Academy, p. 335. (J. M., 1808.) 630. KNOWLEDGE, DEFINITE.— In undertaking the work of confirmation or con- vincing, the speaker must of course know the matter of the judgment which he is to es- tablish. He must be regarded, also, as be- lieving in himself and of course as knowing the evidence on which it rests. He professes this in undertaking to convince. He must know, thus, both the matter of the proposi- tion and its truth. In investigation, on the other hand, it may be wholly unknown whether there is such a truth as the process of investigation may lead to as its proper result. Known truths may be taken, and by the application to them of various principles of reasoning entirely new truths may be as- certained and proved in the very process of investigation. The mathematical analyst, thus, applies to an assumed formula certain processes by which its members are changed in their form, and comes thus to new truths —to truths, perhaps, of which he had never dreamed until they stood out proved before his eye. More commonly, however, in inves- tigation, the truth is at least guessed at, or conceived as possible. The matter of the judgment is before the mind, and the process of investigation consists in the discovery of the proof on which the truth of it rests. Con- firmation employs the results of this discov- ery for the conviction of another mind. This latter species of investigation, therefore, which respects the proof on which an as- sumed or conjectural truth rests, coincides to a certain degree with invention in confir- mation. For it is the proper office of inven- tion here to furnish the proof for a given asserted judgment. It differs from this pro- cess of investigation only in the circum- stance that it directs all its operations with a view to an effect on another mind. Investi- gation might rest satisfied with any adequate proof; invention seeks the best. Invention explores the whole field of proof, and then selects ; investigation is content to take what is at hand, provided it be sufficient to estab- lish the truth proposed. Investigation im- plies a candid mind, ready to be convinced by the proof discovered ; invention in rhetoric regards a mind possibly prejudiced against the truth, and struggling against every fresh charge of proof. — Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 113. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 255 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Kuowledg'e Xnowledero 631. KNOWLEDGE OF MEN— The man who speaks without a knowledge of the world, of the opinions, feelings, and habits of those he addresses, is like a sentinel in the dark firing his piece at random at an en- emy whose approach he hears without being able to distinguish his form, or to tell ex- actly from what quarter he is advancing; veteran soldier and skilful marksman as he may be, his discharge, under these circum- stances, will be less likely to prove effective than if, in broad daylight, and with a clear view of the advancing foe, the rawest and most unskilful recruit had pointed the wea- pon. It would be very easy to quote authorities to show that the labor necessary for extempore preaching has not been over- estimated. Dr. Gumming writes thus : "I do not," he says, "think reading sermons is best; I like myself best to hear them read, because I am often best satisfied with them ; but I am convinced that the living speaker, speaking the thoughts that are in his soul, in language furnished to him at the moment, does speak with a power and demonstration and effect, notwithstanding his little inele- gancies, his periods not so well rounded, his sentences not so perfectly finished for criti- cal ears, with which you never can be ad- drest from sermons merely read from man- uscripts. I am no fanatic; I am sure you will acquit me of that; but I know the best thoughts I have ever spoken to you ; and the thoughts I know have been most blessed to you are the thoughts that never occurred to me in my study, but that have sprung up in my heart at the moment I have been speak- ing, suggested often by that attentive face that looked to me there, and by that riveted eye that looked upon me here, and by that silent listening that was perceptible else- where. I am persuaded, therefore, that God speaks to His ministers in the pulpit, and there through His ministers to the people. I do not say that to read one's sermons (be- cause good men do so, greater and better men than I) is to dishonor the Holy Ghost; but I do say in my case, and in my experi- ence, it would be parting with an element of power and a means of good which I would not resign for the whole world. But do not suppose that by extemporaneous preaching I mean going into the pulpit and saying what comes uppermost. Tho I do not write my sermons, it costs me hard and weary think- ing, often followed by many a sleepless night, to prepare thera. It does not follow that be- cause a man does not write his sermons that therefore he does not study them. It is quite possible to write in the most extemporaneous manner, as it is to speak in the most extem- poraneous manner; sermons that are written may be the most random shots, sermons that are not written may be the results of the deepest study, meditation, and prayer." — Halcombe, The Speaker at Home, p. 41. (B. & D., 1860.) 632. KNOWLEDGE, WIDE, NECES- SARY. — Who can suppose that, amid the greatest multitude of students, the utmost abundance of masters, the most eminent ge- niuses among men, the infinite variety of causes, the most ample rewards offered to eloquence, there is any other reason to be found for the small number of orators than the incredible magnitude and difficulty of the art? A knowledge of a vast number of things is necessary, without which volubility of words is empty and ridiculous ; speech it- self is to be formed, not merely by choice, but by careful construction of words; and all the emotion of the mind, which nature has given to man must be intimately known; for all the force and art of speaking must be employed in allaying or exciting the feel- ings of those who listen. To this must be added a certain portion of grace and wit, learning worthy of a well-bred man, and quickness and brevity in replying as well as attacking, accompanied with a refined deco- rum and urbanity. Besides, the whole of antiquity and a multitude of examples is to be kept in the memory ; nor is the knowledge of laws in general, or of the civil law in particular, to be neglected. And why need I add any remarks on delivery itself, which is to be ordered by action of body, by gesture, by look, and by modulation and variation of the voice, the great power of which, alone and in itself, the comparatively trivial art of actors and the stage proves, on which tho all bestow their utmost labor to form their look, voice, and gesture, who knows not how few there are, and have been, to whom we can attend with patience? What can I say of that repository for all things, the memory, which, unless it be made the keeper of the matter and words that are the fruits of thought and invention, all the talents of the orator, we see, tho they be of the slightest degree of excellence, will be of no avail? Let us then cease to wonder what is the cause of the scarcity of good speakers, since eloquence results from all those qualifica- tions, in each of which singly it is a great merit to labor successively; and let us rather exhort our children, and others whose glory and honor is dear to us, to contemplate in their minds the full magnitude of the ob- Knoz, John KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 256 ject, and not to trust that they can reach the height at which they aim, by the aid of the precepts, masters, and exercises, that they are all now following, but to understand that they must adopt others of a different char- acter. — Cicero, On Oratory and Orators, p. 147. (B., 1909.) 633. KNOX, JOHN.— The great Scot- tish reformer, was born at Giffordgate, four miles from Haddington, Scotland, in 1505. He first made his appearance as a preacher in Edinburgh, where he thundered against popery, but was imprisoned and sent to the galleys in 1546. In 1547 Edward VI. se- cured his release, and made him a royal chaplain, when he acquired the friendship of Cranmer and other reformers. On the ac- cession of Mary (1553), he took refuge on the Continent. In 1556 he accepted the charge of a church in Geneva, but, after three years of tranquillity, returned to Scot- land, and became a popular leader of the Reformation in that country. His eloquence lashed the multitude to enthusiasm and acts of turbulent violence. As a preacher his style was direct and fearless, often fiery, and he had a habit of pounding the pulpit to em- phasize particular truths. He died in 1573. 634. LANGUAGE AND PERCEP- TION. — Language does not exist solely to minister to thought, and to our poetically living and sympathetic apprehension of the world and its events that substantializing of dependent conceptions is no less indispen- sable than it is dangerous for thought. The same holds true of another drawback of lan- guage which is but rarely felt, yet when it is plainly perceived, is seen to be of some magnitude. Seeing that in speech the ele- ments of thought are only successively pre- sented, even in the most natural style of ex- pression, it is impossible always to avoid an order of words occurring that does not an- swer to the combination of the ideas de- noted by them; but in a cultured style, with its tendency to intertwine much that in sim- pler speech is exprest in detached coordinate clauses, there is often a most striking per- version of the order apparently required by the general purport of the context. Undoubt- edly an awkward use of these liberties is felt as cumbrous obscurity; but how much can be tolerated in this respect by our concep- tive and constructive imagination is shown most plainly by the collocation of words in Latin poetry. Even where they divide close- ly coherent and separately unintelligible parts of the discourse, we yet can often hit upon a manner of reading and accenting such as even in this situation enables us to discern their connection. In general, however, it seems to me a mistake to look upon that which most closely conforms to logical order as the best arrangement of words. On the contrary, one of the ends of language is to supply the place of perception. Now, as here it very frequently happens that the unimpor- tant comprehensive background or some striking detail first shows itself, and not till afterward the more important events, as the obvious effect comes before the hidden cause, or passivity on the one side before com- pensating activity on the other: so that dis- course will be most distinct in which the sev- eral points of relation are marshalled in an order that brings them vividly before the reproductive imagination, no matter whether or not this corresponds to the logical order of the relations involved. For as even in perception our judgment in regard to this inherent connection is little affected by the order of succession in which objects hap- pen to present themselves, so by thought we can very easily add to the given concrete im- age of an event those inherent relations by which it becomes intelligible; whereas the imagination has a highly difficult task when it is called on to represent successively cer- tain relations at the bidding of the preceding words, before it knows the concrete conclud- ing points toward which the thought is tend- ing,— Lotze, Microcosmus, p. 631. (T. & T. C, 1885.) 635. LANGUAGE AND STYLE.— The first rule is to be natural, to endeavor to speak as we should express ourselves if we were speaking to one or another of those •who compose our audience on the same sub- jects in private — or, rather, were preaching to the same audience without book. This is not always an easy matter. The moment we take pen in hand, we are apt to fall into an artificial style, with measured cadences, and sentences framed less simply than when we speak— a style proper for an essay or a dis- sertation, but too stiff and elaborate for a sermon. I am not recommending negligence or slovenliness (God forbid), nor again fa- miliarity, which would be unsuitable to our subject, as well as to the place, the occasion, and ourown character and office. What is wanted is, as I have said, a style as nearly as possible approaching to that which we should use, both as to our words and as to the structure of our sentences, if our sermon were unwritten, and we were preaching with- out book. I kno\r of no better way of at^ 257 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Knoz, Jolm taining it than by endeavoring, while we write, to place our congregation before us, in imagination, and to test what we have writ- ten, from time to time, by what we have reason to believe the caliber of their un- derstanding. — HuERTLEYj Homiletical and Pastoral Lectures, p. 153. (A., 1880.) 636. LANGUAGE AS AN INSTRU- MENT. — If usual phraseology, not de- faced, by positive blemishes, and not repul- sive by any associated thoughts, clearly and strongly convey our meaning, why should we search far and wide for other expressions? Language is an instrument, not an end; and it ought to be appropriate, and subordinate, to its end. Now, however justly beauty may be demanded in a poem, or in any produc- tion designed chiefly to please, beauty in a public discourse, involving some great inter- est and having mainly in view enlightened conviction and persuasion is of minor con- sideration. Appropriateness to conviction and persuasion is, in such a discourse, the chief thing; and even a homely style, if it clearly convey and deeply impress solid thoughts, is incalculably better than the most elegant style which attracts attention to itself. If, in ad- dition to this quality, a preacher singly in- tent on the great object of his commission, expresses his ideas in beautiful language, un- consciously, as it were, and without alluring the hearers' attention from the subject to himself, or to the beauty of his language, so much the better; for with him the great ob- ject is held supreme; with that, nothing is allowed to interfere ; to that, everything is made subservient. But should he be with- drawn from the true purpose, and beauty of language become itself an object of anxiety, he would cease to be an orator convincing and persuading men; he would then be ex- hibiting himself. On a kindred point, Whate- ly well remarks that "young writers, of ge- nius, ought especially to be admonished to ask themselves frequently, not whether this or that is a striking expression, but whether it makes the meaning more striking than an- other phrase would, whether it impresses more forcibly the sentiment to be conveyed." —Ripley, Sacred Rhetoric, p. 150. (G. K & L., 1849.) 637. LANGUAGE, BREADTH OF THE ENGLISH.— It is possible to find in modern languages valuable specimens of every species of polite literature. The Eng- lish language, in particular, abounds with writings addrest to the imagination and feel- ings, and calculated for the improvement of taste. No one who is not so far blinded by prejudice in favor of antiquity as to be in- capable of relishing anything modern, can doubt that excellent examples of every kind of literary merit are to be found among the British writers. The inventive powers of Shakespeare, the sublime conceptions of Mil- ton, the versatile genius of Dryden, the wit of Butler, the easy gaiety of Prior, the strength and harmony of Pope, the descrip- tive powers of Thomson, the delicate humor of Addison, the pathetic simplicity of Sterne, and the finished correctness of Gray, might, with some degree of confidence, be respec- tively brought into comparison with any ex- amples of similar excellence among the an- cients. For minds capable of the pleasures of imagination and sentiment, such writings as these provide a kind of entertainment, which is in its nature elegant and refined and which admits of endless diversity. By ex- hibiting images industriously collected and judiciously disposed, they produce impres- sions upon the reader's fancy scarcely less vivid than those which would result from the actual contemplation of natural objects. By combining incidents and characters of vari- ous kinds, and representing them as associ- ated in new and interesting relations, they keep curiosity perpetually awake, and touch in succession every affection and passion of the heart. Whatever is grand or beautiful in nature, whatever is noble, lovely, or singu- lar in character, whatever is surprizing or affecting in situation, is by the magic power of genius brought at pleasure into view, in the manner best adapted to excite correspon- dent emotions. A rich field of elegant pleas- ure is hereby laid open before the reader who is possest of a true taste for polite literature, which distinguishes him from the vulgar at least as much as the man who enjoys an af- fluent fortune is distinguished by the lux- uries of his table. Besides the immediate gratification which this kind of reading af- fords, it is attended with several collateral advantages which are perhaps of equal value. The exercise which it gives to the imagi- nation and feelings improves the vigor and sensibility of the mind. It is the natural tendency of an intimate acquaintance with images of grandeur, beauty, and excellence, as they are exhibited in works of taste, to pro- duce a general habit of dignity and elegance, which will seldom fail to tincture a man's general character and diffuse a graceful air over his whole conversation and manners. It is not unreasonable even to expect that they who are habitually conversant with beautiful forms in nature and art, and are frequently Ziaugtiatro Ziang^ag'e KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 258 employed in contemplating excellent charac- ters in the pages of history and fiction, will learn to admire whatever is noble, or becom- ing, in conduct. — Enfield, The Speaker, p. 32. (J., 1799.) 638. LANGUAGE DEFINED,— Lan- guage, in its most general acceptation, might be described as a mode of expressing our thoughts by means of motions of the organs of the body. It would thus include spoken words, cries and involuntary gestures that indicate the feelings, even painting and sculp- ture, together with those contrivances which replace speech in situations where it cannot be employed — the telegraph, the trumpet-call, the emblem, the hieroglyphic. For the pres- ent, however, we may limit it to its most ob- vious signification ; it is a system of articulate words adopted by convention to represent outwardly the internal proofs of thinking. But language, besides being an interpreter of thought, exercises a powerful influence on the thinking process. The logician is bound to notice it in four functions : (1) as it enables him to analyze complex impressions, (2) as it preserves or records the result of the analyses for future use, (3) as it abbre- viates thinking by enabling him to substitute a short word for a highly complex notion, and the like, and (4) as it is a means of communication. — Thomson, Laws of Thought, p. 43. (S. & Co., 1860.) 639. LANGUAGE, IMPORTANCE OF CORRECT. — To speak your own lan- guage correctly, is to secure the most impor- tant aid to success in society. Study the grammar and dictionary carefully and con- tinually, but avoid unusual words and high- fiown phrases. If you have a well-educated friend, ask him, in confidence, to observe and correct your faults of language. If your own education has been defective and your opportunities for mingling with cultivated persons limited, you will probably use many expressions which, you will be surprized to learn, are, if not incorrect, at least to be avoided. Do not suppose them to be trifles. In good society, the slightest inaccuracy in language will be greatly to your disadvan- tage. No advantages of persons or of for- tune can entirely counterbalance the effect of a phrase, or of a peculiarity in pronuncia- tion which betrays early ignorance. But if you converse correctly, you certainly pos- sess an accomplishment which will enable you to sustain a position in any society. When it is once acquired, you need experience no timidity in talking with any person whatever — your language will of itself entitle you to a courteous reception. The number of per- sons whose expressions are entirely free from mistakes, or improprieties, is so small, that one belonging to it is sure of respect. You would do well to form a class with a few friends, for the purpose of reading aloud by turns some well-written works. Select a chapter, and determine, by the aid of your dictionary, the proper pronunciation and ac- cent of every word. In the beginning, read the separate chapters over at least six times, or oftener, if you are not confident of hav- ing perfectly mastered every difficulty which each presents. If there be added to this, practise in writing short "compositions" or essays, to be submitted to the criticism and correction of the whole class, your progress will be rapid. — Cakleton, The Art of Con- versation, p. 135. (C, 1867.) 640. LANGUAGE, ORIGIN OF.— The opinions about the origin of language maybe divided into three classes, as follows: (1) The belief that man at his creation was en- dowed with a full, perfect, and copious lan- guage, and that as his faculties were called forth by observation and experience, this language supplied him at every step with names for the various objects he encoun- tered. In this view, which has found many able advocates, speech is separated from, and precedes, thought; for, as there must have been a variety of phenomena both outward and in his mind, to which the first man was a stranger, until long experience gradually unfolded them, their names must have been entrusted to him long before the thoughts or images which they were destined ulti- mately to represent, were excited in his mind. (2) The belief that the different families of men, impelled by necessity, invented and set- tled by agreement the names that should rep- resent the ideas they possest. In this view, language is a human invention, grounded on convenience. But "to say that man has in- vented language would be no better than to assert that he has invented law. To make laws, there must be a law obliging all to keep them ; to form a compact to observe certain institutes, there must be already a government protecting this compact. To in- vent language, presupposes language already, for how could men agree to name different objects without communicating by words their designs?" In proof of this opinion, ap- peal is made to the great diversity of lan- guages. Here it is supposed again that thought and language were separate, and that the former had made some progress before 259 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Kauernagre Iiangniag'e the latter was annexed to it. (3) The third view is that as the Divine Being did not give man at his creation actual knowledge, but the power to learn and to know, so He did not confer a language but the power to name and describe. The gift of reason once con- veyed to man, was the common root from which both thought and speech proceeded, like the pitch and the rind of the tree, to be developed in inseparable union. With the first inspection of each natural object, the first imposition of a name took place: "Out of the ground, the Lord God formed every beast of the iield, and every fowl of the air, and brought them unto Adam to see what he would call them, and whatsoever Adam called every living creature, that was the name thereof." (Gen. ii. 19.) In the fullest sense, language is a divine gift, but the power and not the results of its exercise, the germ and not the tree, was imparted. A man can teach names to another man, but nothing less than divine power can plant in another's mind the far higher gift, the faculty of nam- ing. From the first we have reason to be- lieve that the functions of thought and lan- guage went together. A conception received a name; a name recalled a conception; and every accession to the knowledge of things expanded the treasures of expression. And we are entangled in absurdities by any the- ory which assumes that either element ex- isted in a separate state, antecedently to the other. — ^Thomson, Laws of Thought, p. 61. (S. & Co., 1860.) G41. LANGUAGE, PLAIN, RECOM- MENDED. — As long as public assemblies are composed, for the most part, of the poor, and of those who have had to battle with the world before becoming prosperous, it must surely be out of place to introduce into ser- mons or speeches words and phrases which the majority can not understand. A clergy- man especially should guard against this er- ror, and endeavor to point out in all clear- ness, fulness, and simplicity the glorious truths of the Gospel. The more clearly a man is understood, and the less he introduces into his remarks that which is perplexing, the more will his hearers' attention be withdrawn from himself and confined to his subject. And this, says Archbishop Whately, is what a first-rate orator would chiefly aim at. We will, however, quote his own words, which are as follows : "When the moon shines brightly, we are apt to say, 'How beautiful is the moonlight!' but in the daytime, 'How beautiful are the trees, the fields, the moun- tains!' and, in short, all objects that are il- luminated; we never speak of the sun that makes them so. The really greatest orator shines like the sun, making you think much of the things he is speaking of; the second best shines like the moon, making you think much of him and his eloquence." It may not be out of place here to remark, that in an extempore speech it will sometimes hap- pen that the speaker wishes to make use of a word which will not occur to his mind at the instant. Under these circumstances, it is always better for him to explain his mean- ing by some other word or phrase, than, by pausing, to think of the word wanted. And such is the richness of the English language, that this may always be done very readily; but to pause in a discourse, and come partly to a standstill for the want of a word which does not occur to the mind at the time, would only be to confuse himself, and create a dis- agreeable sensation in the minds of the hear- ers. Such, also, is the rapidity of thought, that this is done in far less time than is here taken to explain our meaning; for the mind generally keeps ahead in the discourse, so that if the right word will not present itself at once, the mind can supply the tongue with a proper substitute ere it has arrived at the place for making use of it. Any one well accustomed to extempore speaking will eas- ily understand such a position of affairs above mentioned. It occurs at times to all men, however eloquent they may be. And at times, when both words and ideas are flowing most freely, the speaker will be brought to a mo- mentary pause for the want of some word which the mind at the time knows would just explain the meaning. But stop he must not, and stop he need not, if he will only avail himself of another word of a similar mean- ing, which, tho it may not bq of the same force as the word in question, will serve full well for the occasion. This will be alleged by some as a sufficient reason why the use of manuscript ought to be adopted and con- tinued in. For, it will be urged, if one word or phrase will better explain our meaning than another, that method of bringing a sub- ject before an audience ought to be adopted which will most surely supply us with the right terms in the proper place. And this, it will be maintained, is having the whole subject written out before us. But surely the advantages which attend an extempore manner of speaking ought not to give way to such a trifling circumstance as this, especially when it is possible to supply the want by other words of similar import, which in some instances would be more intelligible to many of the hearers. And the man who possesses IianiTnaire KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 260 a well-stored mind, and is accustomed to use a variety of words rather than being stereo- typed in his language, will find but little dif- ficulty in this respect. — Anon, The Public Speaker, p. 90. (J. N. & Co., 1860.) 642. LANGUAGE, PRECISION IN.— Your first care in the choice of words will be that they shall express precisely your meaning. Words are used so loosely in so- ciety that the same word will often be found to convey half a dozen different ideas to as many auditors. Even where there is not a conflict of meanings in the same word, there is usually a choice of words having meanings sufficiently alike to be used indiscriminately, without subjecting the user to a charge of positive error. But the cultivated taste is shown in the selection of such as express the most delicate shades of difference. Therefore, it is not enough to have abun- dance of words — you must learn the precise meaning of each word and in what it differs from other words supposed to be synony- mous and then select that which most ex- actly conveys the thought you are seeking to embody. I will not pretend to give you rules for this purpose — I am acquainted with none that are of much practical value. Some of the books profess to teach the pupil how to choose his words ; but having tried these teachings I found them worthless and others who have done the like have experienced the same unsatisfactory result. There is but one way to fill your mind with words and that is, to read the best authors and to acquire an accurate knowledge of the precise meaning of their words — by parsing as you read. By the practise of parsing, I intend very nearly the process so called at schools, only limiting the exercise to the definitions of the princi- pal words. As thus : — take, for instance, the sentence that immediately precedes this—ask yourself what is the meaning of "practise," of "parsing," of "process," and such like. Write the answer to each that you may be assured your definition is distinct. Compare it with the definitions of the same word in the dictionaries and observe the various senses in which it has been used. You will thus learn also the words that have the same or nearly the same meaning a large vocabu- lary of which is necessary to composition, for frequent repetition of the same sentence, is an inelegance if not a positive error. Com- pare your definition with that of the lexicog- rapher and your use of the word with the uses of it by the authorities cited in the dic- tionary, and you will thus measure your own progress in the science of words. This use- ful exercise may be made extremely amusing as well as instructive, if friends, having a like desire for self-improvement, will join you in the practise of it. I can assure you that an evening will be thus spent pleasantly as well as profitably. You may make a mer- ry game of it — a game of speculation. Given a word: each one of the company in turn writes his definition of it; Webster's Diction- ary is then referred to and that which comes nearest the authentic definition wins the hon- or or the prize ; it may be a sweepstakes car- ried off by him whose definition hits the mark the most nearly. But, whether in company or alone, you should not omit the frequent practise of this exercise, for none will im- part such a power of accurate expression and supply such an abundance of apt words wherein to embody the delicate hues and va- rious shadings of thought. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 48. (H. C, 1911.) 643. LANGUAGE, STUDIED.— In re- gard to language, the best rule is that no preparation be made. There is no convenient and profitable medium between speaking from memory and from immediate suggestion. To mix the two is no aid, but a great hindrance, because it perplexes the mind between the very different operations of memory and in- vention. To prepare sentences, and parts of sentences, which are to be introduced here and there, and the intervals between them to be filled up in the delivery, is the surest of all ways to produce constraint. It is like the embarrassment of framing verses to pre- scribed rhymes ; as vexatious, and as absurd. To be compelled to shape the course of re- mark so as to suit a sentence which is by and by to come, or to introduce certain ex- pressions which are waiting for their place, is a check to the natural current of thought. The inevitable consequence is constraint and labor, the loss of everything like easy and flowing utterance, and perhaps that worst of confusion which results from a jumble of ill- sorted, disjointed periods. It is unavoidable that the subject should present itself in a little different form and complexion in speak- ing from that which it took in meditation ; so that the sentences and modes of expression, which agreed very well with the train of re- mark as it came up in the study, may be wholly unsuited to that which it assumes in the pronunciation. The extemporaneous speaker should therefore trust himself to the moment for all his language. This is the safe way for his comfort, and the only way to make all of a uniform piece. The gen- 261 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Eangrnag'e Itanguag'e eral rule is certain, tho there may be some exceptions. It may be well, for example, to consider what synonymous terms may be em- ployed in recurring to the chief topic, in or- der to avoid the too frequent reiteration of tlie same word. This will occasion no em- barrassment. He may also prepare texts of Scripture to be introduced in certain parts of the discourse. These, if perfectly com- mitted to memory, and he be not too anxious to make a place for them, will be no incum- brance. When a suitable juncture occurs, they will suggest themselves, just as a suit- able epithet suggests itself. But if he bo very solicitous about them, and continually on the watch for an opportunity to intro- duce them, he will be likely to confuse him- self. And it is better to lose the choicest quotation than suffer constraint and awk- wardness from the effort to bring it in. Un- der the same restrictions he may make ready, pithy remarks, striking and laconic expres- sions, pointed sayings and aphorisms, the force of which depends on the precise form of the phrase. Let the same rule be ob- served in regard to such. If they suggest themselves (which they will do, if there be a proper place for them), let them be welcome. But never let him run the risk of spoiling a whole paragraph in trying to make a place for them. — ^Ware, Hints on Extemporaneous Preaching, p. 243. (G. K. & L., 1849.) 644. LANGUAGE, SYNTACTIC PLI- ABILITY OF.— Much can be done with words, and as what is evidently nonsense must admit of being, grammatically and syn- tactically, quite correctly and elegantly ex- prest, even that it may be examined and de- nied: still more, by the readiness with which a grammatically faultless form can be as- sumed, half true, confused, distorted state- ments may be made to deceive by an appear- ance of perfect correctness. These processes can be most clearly traced in the combina- tions of mathematical symbolic language. Many particular groups of signs bearing on one another, at first devised for a special case to express a relation there comprehen- sible, may afterward be made to undergo a series of changes or of applications that for the moment have no assignable meaning, may frequently receive none even when we con- tinue to calculate with them, yet sometimes lead to the discovery of new and veritable relations, whose meaning we only afterward begin to understand. The pliability of lan- guage very rarely indeed leads to such fa- vorable results; for the most part, it only suggests modes of conception that depart fur- ther and further from the truth. We must be content to adduce a single but compre- hensive example of this very fruitful source of error. The substantive form belongs orig- inally only to things, the adjective form to qualities, the verb form to events. But, of course, language could not in its judgments always begin with the thing, and annex qual- ities and action to this as the subject; it had to make the qualities in themselves and ac- tion in itself also matter of its reflection. Hence it severed their connection with things, and gave them a substantive form, either by adding a peculiar termination to express this new character, or by transforming the infini- tive of the verb or the neuter of the adjec- tive into a consistent, complete, and indepen- dent whole by means of a prefixed article. When we survey the still continued contro- versies of scientific men, who are mainly oc- cupied with general notions and can not pro- tect themselves from error by the constant check of regulative perception of some sort, we can not but acknowledge that nothing is more fatal than this one case of the pliabil- ity of language. Almost invariably we find a tendency to make the newly acquired syn- tactic dignity of words convertible with a new metaphysical dignity acquired by their matter. Thus we have almost ceased to speak of beautiful objects, i.e., we forget that what we call beautiful is originally a mere adjec- tive determination not existing apart from a subject; we speak now of the Beautiful, or at the best of Beauty, and our esthetic think- ers are quite convinced that what can exist only as an attribute is correctly apprehended only when it has unnaturally been apprehend- ed as something substantive which is every- where identical. Need we recall the host of similar instances — the Infinite, the Evil — or speak of the mischief in ethical inquiries by the habit of speaking, not of the freely will- ing mind, but of Freedom, as if it were a power acting independently, whose energy and achievements could b€ judged without reference to the nature of the mind to which it pertains^ — Lotze, Microcosmus, p. 628. (T. & T. C, 1885.) 645. LANGUAGE THE PLASTIC MA- TERIAL OF THOUGHT.— Language, of course, does not impart to the mind the ele- ments of thinking; but it is indispensablel when the mind has to combine these ele- ments into the spacious fabric of its culture. As we always experience a refreshing effect from sense-intuition, and are not convinced of the success of any labor till we have be- fore us some palpable result, so must the Iiawyer KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 262 auticular images of names and the combina- tions of sounds that constitute grammatical and syntactical forms of speech present to us in a fixt sensible form, the former the multi- phcity of things, the latter the systematic plu- rality of their possible relations. There can be no clearness of thought where the many presentations and groups of presentations that in mutual relation are to form a thought simultaneously to occupy our consciousness without names, and only in their original character of affections of the soul ; even tho thus they may be not a mere heterogeneous assemblance, but already held together by relations corresponding to those subsequently to be formulated, yet consciousness is not aware of this internal organization. It be- comes to us real and true when in the task of statement we first bring one presentation into prominence, and then, guided by the syn- tactical form which we have given to its name, go beyond it in a definite direction, and rejecting on the way many others, succeed at last in putting into special connection with it the particular second presentation indicat- ed by that direction. No thought is clear and distinct until it has undergone this pro- cess of analysis and recombination, and the simplest self-scrutiny may teach anyone how, in proportion as the plastic form of the idea comes out into relief, the obscurities disap- pear that clove to it in its. earlier unexprest stage. As a work of art can not be a full, harmonious truth until it has been completed in marble or bronze, and as a conception in the artist's imagination is but a disjointed and fragmentary beauty, so for mankind lan- guage is the universal plastic material in which alone they elaborate their surging ideas into thought. — Lotze, Microcosmus, p. 637. (T. & T. C, 1885.) 646. LANGUAGE, USE OF APPRO- PRIATE. — The first requisite for public speaking is the power of clothing thoughts previously conceived in appropriate language ; the second, the power of weaving together a succession of thoughts into a harmonious whole. In the outset, then, we shall find that some men have greater difficulties to con- tend with than others. For instance, the man, some eight or ten years of whose life has been spent in studying the classics, will have gained an accurate and almost instinctive per- ception of the various shades of meaning ex- prest by nearly synonymous words ; and more than this, a continual habit of translating classical authors will have given him not only a ready command of words, but an aptitude for arranging them, so as best to convey his meaning. For those who have not had this previous training, perhaps the most useful exercise will be to take up a book, and, choosing out words or expressions from it, to vary and modify them; e.g., I wish — in- tend — purpose — think of — meditate^my de- sire, intention, or wish, is — my inclination leads me. Or, again : hatred — dislike — loath- ing — disgust — aversion — distaste — disinclina- tion to — objection to — ^prejudiced against — > antipathy to, etc. It may seem a childish exercise, but is none the less useful for that. Having secured the use of the right words, we then want them put in their right places in the sentence. This nothing but continued practise will effect ; an expression which in itself involves the idea of private study, not of public exhibition. The question arises, How is one to practise speaking with no one to speak to? It may be answered by another question. How can a man learn singing with no one to sing to ? Even by singing to him- self — so a man may speak to himself. The best speakers tell us to abstract our minds from the individuals of the mass of people before us. Some even would conceive them to be so many blocks of wood ; and surely, therefore, tables and chairs will stand for an audience under these circumstances. — Hal- combe, The Speaker at Home, p. 8. (B. & D., 1860.) 647. LANGUAGE, VAGUENESS OF. — Nothing so much impairs the perspicuity and force of language as vagueness. If you fall into the too common habit of preaching, in general terms, on virtue and religion, vice and wickedness, without specifying the par- ticular sins which do most easily beset men, and the particular excellencies and comforts of the paths of godliness, your hearers will carry away but a vague and transient impres- sion of your meaning. You will never preach effectively without being very careful to se- lect the most specific and appropriate lan- guage; and this point should be attended to in every line. There is almost always a choice between a more or less appropriate, a stronger and a weaker term. Open any book — for instance, the New Testament, at Phi- lippians i :6 : "Being confident of this very thing," says the apostle: he might have given nearly the same sense if he had merely said "knowing this" ; but how much weaker the expression! "Abhor that which is evil, cleave to that which is good" : how much stronger than "Cease to do evil, learn to do well." — Gresley, Letters to Young Clergy- man, p. 123. (D. & Co., 1856.) 263 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING £angrnagre lawyer 648. LANGUAGE. VERBAL PRECI- SION OF. — Verbal precision requires that a writer express his exact meaning, without tautology, ambiguity, or redundance, that he be careful not to load his sentences with words which are synonymous, or nearly so, that he make use of no terms or phrases but such as convey a determinate meaning, and that he avoid the introduction of uncommon words where words in ordinary use would answer his purpose as well. Perspicuity is equally injured by an excessive multiplicity of words and by a parade of pompous and stately language. — Enfield, The Speaker, p. 44. (J., 1799.) G49. LARGE BUILDINGS, SPEAK- ING IN. — A convenient, practical rule has, however, been given for the guidance of speakers in accommodating the loudness and pitch of their voice to the size of the room in which they have to speak. It consists in fixing the eyes on the farthest corner of the room, and addressing the speech to those who are there situated; commencing rather softly, the voice is gradually raised until it seems to return to the speaker, not with a noisy echo, but with a sensation of its per- vading all parts of the building. Buildings of very large size and of irregular form pre- sent a greater difficulty, inasmuch as they re- verberate with several notes at a time, and sometimes prolong some one or more in the form of a musical echo. These echoes have been well divided into the quick echoes and the slow. The former immediately reverbe- rate a confused iteration of the sounds; and the latter, which are generally much more distinct and articulate, only repeat after a pause of one or more seconds. The first kind apparently depends on the simultaneous re- verberation from several flat surfaces, such as the walls, ceiling, and floor, all of which are near the speaker, and whence the sound instantly returns. The second is generally attributable to some one or more distant reflecting surfaces accidentally placed in such a ' relation to the speaker as to return his words to him, after twice traversing the length of the building. The musical echo seems similar to the ringing sound produced by stamping or clapping the hands in a vault- ed building, and probably depends on the re- flection of sound from a large number of small surfaces situated at regular and sym- metrical distances beyond one another. Thus the returned wave of sound comes in pulsa- tions following one another at fixt intervals, determined by the distance of each reflecting surface beyond the last. Now as regularity of pulsation above a certain rapidity forms a musical note, this kind of echo is more or less imprest with the same character. There seems no remedy for these difficulties, ex- cept a consciousness of their effects with great slowness and deliberation in speech; but high pitch is an important auxiliary. In connection with this point it is curious to notice that in our cathedrals, building gener- ally of very large size and irregular shape, and frequently echoing with several discor- dant musical echoes, the practise of intoning has been preserved. It would appear as if this custom of reciting the prayers to a sin- gle high note, with occasional rising and fall- ing inflections to mark the terminations of the sense, had at first originated in accident; for it is an indisputable fact that the samq voice can be made to travel much farther in a building when it is thus used than when there is much fluctuation of the pitch ; indeed, the returning echoes meeting with an incon- gruous note greatly obscure the sound. Most persons, moreover, who have to read with some rapidity, after a time fall into a mono- tone more or less perfect, according to the accuracy of their ear and their control of voice. — Halcombe, The Speaker at Home, p. 150. (B. & D., 1860.) 650. LAWYER, THE SUCCESSFUL. — The successful advocate is a man of poise. His calmness and self-confidence inspire sim- ilar qualities in his hearers. He does not bluster or browbeat a witness ; he is slow to resent smartness and even insult ; he is not tempted "to give back in one's own coin"; he is sparing in his use of sarcasm and de- nunciation; he never knowingly takes an un- fair advantage. Personalities are not argu- ments. The real lawyer does not threaten, but persuades ; does not "play to the gallery," but speaks directly to judge and jury; does not spend his time upon trifles and quibbles, but gives his best abilities to the law and facts. When a lawyer has prepared his case, let him closely examine it to see how much is substance and how much merely words. Has he placed his feet firmly upon facts? If so, it will require a strong adversary seri- ously to disturb him. If not, what chance has he against an opponent who, in addition to having the facts, may also be a trained speaker? A few points clearly and concisely stated, and prest home with proper emphasis and earnestness, are likely to be more effec- tive in winning a favorable verdict than an over-detailed and lengthy exposition. — Kleiser, How to Argue and Win, p. 95. (F. & W., 1910.) Ijlsplng: KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 264 651. LENGTH, CAUTION AGAINST UNDUE. — Beware of undue length. Do not undertake to say everything, which is the secret of tiresomeness. Oh, the grievous- ness even of calhng to memory the exhaus- tive and exhausting teachers of patience ! Avoid the notion of those who think they must occupy a certain time as by an hour- glass. Fifteen minutes, well and wisely filled, can insure a better sermon than two hours of platitude and repetition. Touch and go in these early attempts. Only be on the watch for moments when the thought un- expectedly thaws out and flows, and give the current free course. Beginners, who appre- hend a paucity of matter, and have small power of ampliiication, will be much relieved by carrying out the scheme or plan of their sermon into more numerous subdivisions. On each of these something can certainly be said, especially if, after the Scotch method, each particular is fortified with a Scripture pas- sage. Neither in these exercises, nor in any other, act upon the mean policy of reserv- ing your good things till afterward. Be- lieve, with Sir Walter Scott, that the mind is not like poor milk, which can bear but one creaming. Therefore, always do your best. It is unfair in some who lament the decay of extemporaneous preaching, to as- sume that it has gone altogether into desue- tude in the Northern States. This is so far from being the case that there is scarcely a settled pastor of my acquaintance who does not frequently, if not every week, address his smaller audiences without what, in Scot- land, are called "the papers." Some of the happiest efforts I have heard were made by preachers who elaborate their more impor- tant discourses by thorough writing. It is in such meetings, then, as these that the young preacher will find his most favorable school of practise. Here he will be sustained by the sympathy of pious and loving fellow- Christians, who, with minds remote from ev- erything like critical inquisition, will seek from the pastor's lips the word of life. I strongly advise you to seek out and dehght in such assemblages. If they interest you, they will interest those who hear you; and the more you forget the scholar and the ora- tor, the more will you attain the qual- ities of the successful preacher. — Alexander, Thoughts on Preaching, p. 154. (S., 1863.) 652. LENGTH OF SERMONS.— As to the length of sermons. That never should be determined by the clock, but upon broader considerations^short sermons for small sub- jects, and long sermons for large subjects. It does not require that sermons should be of any uniform length. Let one be short, and the next long, and the next intermediate. It is true that it is bad policy to fatigue men, but shortness is not the only remedy for that. The true way to shorten a sermon is to make it more interesting. The object of preach- ing is not to let men out of church at a given time. The length and quality of a ser- mon must be determined by the objects which it has in view. Now you can not discuss great themes in a short compass, nor can you by driblets — by sermons of ten or twenty minutes — train an audience to a broad con- sideration of high themes. There is a me- dium. A minister ought to be able to hold an audience for an hour in the discussion of great themes ; and the habit of ample time and ample discussion, even if occasionally it carries with it the incidental evil of weari- ness, will, in the long run, produce a nobler class of minds and a higher type of educa- tion than can possibly belong tO' the school of dwarfed sermonizers. — Beecher, Yale Lec- tures on Preaching, p. 234. (J. B. F. & Co., 1872.) 653. LENGTH, PROPER, OF A SPEECH.— As to the time for which a speaker may generally calculate upon retain- ing the attention of his hearers, if it is al- lowable to hazard a rule which might, I be- lieve, be of universal application, and tend to preserve that amity of feeling which ought ever to exist between a speaker and his au- dience, we should say, as Aristotle said of the length of a sentence, that a speech should neither be too long nor too short ; that it will be too short, if it be shorter; too long, if it be longer, than the hearers anticipated. — Hal- combe, The Speaker at Home, p. 54. (B. & D., 1860.) 654. LENGTH, UNDUE, OF A DIS- COURSE. — Nothing is more fatal to the success of a discourse than to prolong it be- yond due limits. We speak for a certain purpose, with a certain object in view. When that object has been attained, the motive which urged us to speak, and which alone justified our speaking, has ceased; and if we attempt to prolong our discourse beyond this point we shall, in all probability, address an unwilling, a reasonably unwilling, audience, who will not fail to let us understand that they are weary of us and of our subject, and desire no more of it. The skilful orator, therefore, will always keep his gaze keenly fixt upon the crisis of his discourse, and when that has been successfully secured, will con- 265 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING elude. Not unfrequently, of course, the de- velopment, or consummation, or whatever we may please to call it, of this crisis, will con- stitute the principal and most important part of the conclusion itself. — Potter, The Spo- ken Word, p. 170. (M. H. G. & Son, 1880.) 655. LINCOLN, ABRAHAM.— Born at Hardin County, Ky., Feb. 13, 1809. Died at Washington, D. C, April 15, 1865. Farm la- borer, salesman, merchant, surveyor, lawyer. Six feet four inches ; large-boned, spare, gaunt; face dark, pallid, homely; expression kind, serious, modest, and unassuming. Re- markably self-reliant, but never arrogant. In- tensely human, broad-minded. Keen analy- sis, common sense, shrewdness, sense of humor. Voice flexible. Speech terse, well pro- nounced. Diction easy. Manner of speaking quiet, dignified. Sympathy and honest pur- pose were the keynotes of his character. Be- longed to no type. Style of speaking was distinctive, individual, characteristic. James Russell Lowell said of him, "The dignity of his thought owes nothing to any ceremonial garb of words, but to the manly movement that comes of settled purpose and an energy of reason that knows not what rhetoric means. He always addrest the intelUgence of men, never their prejudice, their passion, or their ignorance." Of him Richard Watson Gilder said, "He achieved a singularly clear and forcible style, which took color from his own noble character, and became a thing in- dividual and distinguished"; and he might also have added what he said of Napoleon, "His words go to the mark like a stroke of lightning; where he speaks, it is as if an earthquake had passed under one's feet." Lincoln's Gettysburg oration, which consisted of only two hundred and seventy-one words and occupied probably not more than _ three minutes in delivery, is unsurpast in dignity, simplicity, and lofty sentiment. 656. LINCOLN, SECRET OF THE SUCCESS OF. — When President Lincoln was once inquired of what was the secret of his success as a popular debater, he re- plied, "I always assume that my audiences are in many things wiser than I am, and I say the most sensible thing I can to them. I never found that they did not understand me." Two things here were all that Mr. Lincoln was conscious of — respect for the in- tellect of his audience, and the effort to say the most sensible thing. He could not know how those two things affected the respect of his audience for him, their trust in him as their superior, and their inclination to obey him on the instant when they felt the mag- netism of his voice. But he saw that, say what he might in that mood, he got a hear- ing, he was understood, he was obeyed. — Phelps, English Style in Public Discourse, p. 137. (S., 1910.) 657. LISPING.— This is caused by per- mitting the tongue to come against or be- tween the front teeth, when it should not; thus substituting the breath sound of TH for that of S or SH. This bad habit may be avoided or overcome by practising these and similar combinations with the teeth firmly and closely set; not allowing the tongue to press against the teeth, nor making the effort too near the front part of the mouth. The object to be attained is worthy of great ef- forts ; many can be taught to do a thing in a proper manner which they would never find out by themselves. — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and, Vocal Philosophy, p. 36. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 658. LISPING AND ITS CURE.— Lisp- ing is pronouncing j like th in the word that; it proceeds from allowing the tongue to pass the teeth when we pronounce s. It is sometimes the result of an organic defect, but it springs oftenest from a bad habit con- firmed by custom. The worst feature in lisp- ing is that it gives an air of silliness to our most serious moments. Here is a case in point. In his younger days, Regnier was as- signed the part of a simpleton in some play or other. Of how he should get through such a role with anything like success he had not the faintest idea, and all his reflexions on the subject ended in nothing practicable. He was almost in despair, when, happening to call into some store one day, he saw a purchaser there lisping so outrageously that the atten- dants had all they could do to keep their faces straight. "The very man I want !" says Regnier to himself. "That's the model I have to copy !" It was a most happy thought. His imitation of a lisper was so natural and at the same time judicious that his success as a simpleton was immense. Even this little ■ anecdote should be enough to convince you > that if inclined to this defect you should get rid of it as soon as possible. The task is by no means difficult. You have only to prac- tise pretty regularly and for some time, giv- ing .y its own sound by pressing the top of your tongue against the inside of the lower, not the upper, front teeth. This will accus- tom the tongue to keep within precise bounds ; and custom will soon become sec- iiogric I^yndhurBt, Iiord KLEISER'S COMPLETE GtllDE 266 ond nature. — Legouv£, The Art of Reading, p. 54. (L., 1885.) 6S9. LOGIC AND SPEAKING.— I would have persons who are intended for public speaking follow a course of logic, rather practical than theoretic, in which the mind should be vigorously trained to the di- vision and combination of ideas upon inter- esting and instructive topics. These exercises should be written or oral. Sometimes it should be a dissertation on a point of litera- ture, morals, or history; and a habit should be acquired of composing with order and method, by pointing out, in proportion as the student proceeded, the several parts of the discourse, the steps of the development, and means of proof — in a word, whatever serves to treat a subject suitably. Sometimes it should be a discussion between several de- baters, with the whole apparatus and strict rules of a dialectic argument, under the master's direction ; the disputants should not be allowed to proceed or conclude without reducing their thoughts to the forms of syl- logistic reasoning — a process which entails some lengthiness, and even heaviness upon the discourse, but it gives greater clearness, order, and certainty. At other times, the de- bate might be extemporaneous, and then, in the unforeseen character of the discussion and in all the sparks of intelligence which it strikes forth, will be seen the minds which are distinguished, the minds that know how to take possession of an idea at once, enter into it, divide, and expound it. There should, for every position of thesis, be the coun- ter-position or antithesis, and some one to maintain it; for in every subject there are reasons for and against. Thus would the stu- dent learn to look at things in various lights, and not allow himself to be absorbed by one point of view, or by a preconceived opinion. But these gymnastics of thinking ought to be led by an intelligent master, who suffers not himself to be swayed by forms or enslaved by routine. Real thinking must be effected under all these forms of disputation and ar- gument, but the latter must not kill the spirit, as frequently was the case in the schools of antiquity. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 58. (S., 1901.) 6G0. LOGIC, RHETORIC AND GRAMMAR, CONNECTION BE- TWEEN. — The connection between genu- ine rhetoric and sound logic is indeed indis- soluble. All good speaking must necessarily rest upon the basis of accurate thinking. But to form a precise idea of the two arts, we must carefully distinguish them from each other, and confine them to their respective peculiar departments ; logic to the operations of the mind within itself; rhetoric to the communication of their results to the minds of others. In this view, logic is the store- house from which the instruments of rhet- oric are to be drawn. Logic is the arsenal, and rhetoric the artillery, which it preserves. Both have their utility ; both contribute to the same purposes. But the arts themselves are as distinct as those of the architect who erects the building, and of the armorer, who fabricates the weapons. Thus Aristotle, who perceived as well the clear distinction, as the necessary relation between these faculties, has treated of them in two distinct works ; and unfolded their mysteries with all the ener- gies of his profound, comprehensive, and dis- criminating genius. Equally proper and nec- essary will it be to separate in our minds the science of rhetoric, or of speaking well, from that of grammar, or the science of speaking correctly. Grammar stands in the same re- lation to rhetoric that arithmetic bears to ge- ometry. Rhetoric is not essential to gram- mar, but grammar is indispensable to rhetoric. The one teaches an art of mere neces- sity; the other, an art of superadded orna- ment. Without a system of grammatical construction, the power of speech itself would be of no avail, and language would be a mere intellectual chaos; a perpetual Babel of confusion. But the powers of grammar ex- tend no farther than to the communication of ideas. To delight the imagination, or to move the passions, you must have recourse to rhetoric. Grammar clothes the shadowy tribes of mind in the plain, substantial attire of a Quaker ; rhetoric arrays them in the glories of princely magnificence. Grammar is sufficient to conduct you over the bound- less plains of thought ; but rhetoric alone has access to the lofty regions of fancy. Rhet- oric alone can penetrate to the secret cham- bers of the heart. — Adams, Lectures on Rhet- oric and Oratory, vol. 1, p. 39. (H. & M., 1810.) G61. LOGIC, VALUE OF, TO THE SPEAKER.— Altho we think by nature, yet is there an art of thinking which teaches us to do with greater ease and cer- tainty what our nature, as rational beings, leads us to do spontaneously. In all that man voluntarily does, liberty has its own share; and liberty, which nowhere exists without intelligence, is ever the source of 267 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING XiOglo LyudhUTBt, £ord progress and perfection. Man learns how to think as he learns how to speak, read, write, and sing, to move his body gracefully, and to use all the powers of mind and body. Logic teaches the art of thinking. The orator therefore must be a good logician ; not alone theoretically, but practically. It is not his business to know how to declaim about the origin and formation of ideas, nor about th^ four operations of thought. It is not the method of teaching, but the use of logic which he requires — and a prompt and dexter- ous familiarity with it he will not acquire except by long and repeated exercises, under the guidance of an experienced thinker, an artist of thought, who will teach him how to do with ease what he knows how to do al- ready of himself imperfectly. We, in this point of view, somewhat regret the disuse of the old syllogistic method of the schools; for we are convinced that, properly applied and seriously directed, it gives quickness, subtility, clearness, and something sure and firm to the mind, rarely found in the thinkers of the present day. The fault formerly, perhaps, was in the excessiveness of the dialectical turn, and frequently the style became spoilt by dryness, heaviness, and an appearance of pedantry. Still, men knew how to state a question, and how to treat it; they knew at which end to begin it in order to develop and solve it; and the line of the argument, dis- tinctly marked out, led straight to the object and to a conclusion. The fault nowadays is in an absence or deficiency of method. Peo- ple remain a long time before their subject without knowing how to begin it, even tho they rightly understand its very terms. This superinduces interminable preparations, de- sultory introductions, a confused exposition, a disorderly development, and finally no con- clusion, or at least nothing decisive. There are really few men in our day who know how to think; that is, how to lay down and develop a subject in such a way as to in- struct and interest those who read them or listen to them. A horror is everywhere felt for rules or for what imposes constraint, and, as nearly all the barriers have been re- moved which supported and protected hu- man activity by obliging it to exert itself within fixt lines, liberty has become disor- der, men swerve from the track in order to walk at their ease; and, far from gaining by it, they lose a great part of their time and their strength in seeking a path which would have been shown them from the outset had they chosen to accept of discipline, and to allow themselves to be guided. In order to think in their own fashion, or be original. they think at random, just as ideas happen to come, if any come; and the upshot, for the most part, is vagueness, oddity, and con- fusion. This is the era of the vague and the almost. Everybody wants to speak of everyr thing, as everybody wants to interfere in everything; and the result is that amidst this flood of thoughts, this overflow of divergent or irreconcilable words and actions, the minds of men, tossed to and fro, float uncertain, without a notion where they are going, just as the wind blows or the current drives. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 55. (S., 1901.) 662. LUTHER, MARTIN.— Born at Eis- leben in 1483, died there, 1546. His rugged character and powerful intellect, combined with a strong physique, made him a natural orator, so that it was said "his words were half battles." Of his own method of preach- ing he once remarked : "When I ascend the pulpit, I see no heads, but imagine those that are before me to be all blocks. When I preach I sink myself deeply down ; I regard neither doctors nor masters, of which there| are in the church above forty. But I have an eye to the multitude of young people, children, and servants, of which there are more than two thousand. I preach to them. When he preaches on any article, a man must first distinguish it, then define, describe, and show what it is; thirdly, he must produce sentences from the Scripture to prove and to strengthen it; fourthly, he must explain it by examples; fifthy, he must adorn it with similitudes; and, lastly, he must admonish and arouse the indolent, correct the disobedi- ent, and reprove the authors of false doc- trine." 663. LYNDHURST, LORD.— If by good fortune your visit to the House should have happened on a night when this remark- able man has resolved to speak, the physical attributers of his oratory still more enchain your attention while confirming your pre- conceived opinion of his mental supremacy. Nature seems to have organized him for his destiny as a public orator — as one of those singled out to convey the magical influence of intelligence and sympathy from heart to heart and mind to mind. Had he been born in more stirring and dangerous times, when lives and empires, not ministers and meas- ures, were at stake, he must have stood for- ward as one of the world's intellectual he- roes. As it is, contemplating him amid the lurid atmosphere of party, and under the dis- Maoaulay MacUnt08ll KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 268 advantages of that too close proximity which breeds contempt, he reahzes much, if not all, we expect from an orator. His voice is full of organlike music, deep and sonorous, and capable of sufficient modulation for one who rarely appeals either to the passions or the feelings, the stronger or the gentler sympa- thies of his hearers, but rather to their in- tellect, their judgment, their sense of the humorous. His bearing is dignified in the extreme : it exhibits the boldness of the Tri- bune, tempered by the calmness of the Sena- tor. Self-possessed, cool, impressive, he ele- vates his audience to the level of his own mind, and sustains them there : he never de- scends from his elevation as other orators do, to obtain applause by echoing current prejudices or party passions. When he uses those passions and prejudices, he compels them by superior power to his own purpose, and does not become the slave of his own agents. Like the rest of our public men, he is a very different man, as an orator, when in power from what he was when in opposi- tion. Then, he could condescend to be the partisan, and a powerful one he was ; but still you could see it was a condescension — a tribute to the necessities of political strife, not an assault made in hot blood and pur- sued for the pleasure and excitement of the combat. Lord Lyndhurst, rising in his re- mote corner on the extreme left of the op- position bench and delivering one of those teasing, terrific attacks on the Whig govern- ment which formed the staple of his annual review of the session, was a very different man from Lord Lyndhurst the Chancellor, the moderator of the debates, the triumphant warrior indulging in indolent repose, or the statesman delivering the pure dictates of his judgment for the general good of the whole country, instead of the temporary battle-cries of a party. At all times, however, his ora- tory has displayed a rare union of power and good taste. He is very self-denying for so powerful a speaker. Great as his tri- umphs have been as an orator, he always left one under the impression that he could ef- fect much more if he chose.— Francis, Ora- tors of the Age, p. 118. (H., 1871.) 664. MACAULAY'S READINESS OF SPEECH. — There is no speaker now be- fore the public who so readily and usefully, and with so little appearance of effort, in- fuses the results of very extensive reading and very deep research into the common, everyday business of P'arliament. But his learning never tyrannizes over his common sense. If he has a parallel ready for almost every great character or great event, or an instance, or a dictum, from some acknowl- edged authority, his own reason does not, therefore, bow with implicit deference, ma- king the one case a rule for all time. His speeches on the Reform bill, more especially that on the third reading, were remarkable evidences of the skill and readiness with which he could bring historical instances to bear upon immediate political events, with- out being at all embarrassed by the prece- dents. His mind appears so admirably or- ganized, his stores of memory so well filled and so instantaneously at hand, that the right idea or the most happy illustration seems to spring up at exactly the right moment; and the train of thinking thus aroused is dis- missed again with equal ease, leaving him at liberty to pursue the general tenor of his argument. There is very great symmetry in his speeches. The subject is admirably han- dled for the purpose of instructing, delight- ing, or arousing; and learning, illustration, invective, or declamation, are used with such a happy art, and with so equally happy an abstinence, that, when the speech is conclud- ed, you are left under the impression that everything material to a just judgment has been said, and the whole theme exhausted. His speeches read like essays, as his essays read like speeches. It is impossible to doubt that they are prepared with the utmost care, and committed to memory before delivery. They bear internal evidences of this, and the mode of delivery confirms the suspicion.-^ Francis, Orators of the Age, p. 73. (H., 1871.) 665. MACAULAY, SPEECHES OF.— Admirable as Mr. Macaulay's speeches are on paper, his delivery of them altogether belies that reputation which they are calcu- lated to obtain for him. It is, perhaps, heightened expectation which causes the deep disappointment one feels on hearing him the first time; or it may be that his defects of manner and style would not be observed, were the matter he utters of an inferior or- der. Whatever the cause, the spell is in a great measure broken. Nature has not gifted him, either in voice or in person, with those attributes of the orator which help to fasci- nate and kindle a popular assembly. With such a voice and aspect as Lord Denman, how infinitely greater would be the effect on his audience of his undoubted intellectual power ! Mr. Macaulay, in his personal ap- pearance, and in the material or physical part 269 rrO PUBLIC SPEAKING ICacaulay Maokintoili of his oratory, contradicts altogether the ideal portrait one has formed on reading his speeches. Every man would, of course, have his own especial hallucination, but the chances are ten to one that the majority would have associated with his subject every physical attribute of the intellectual — invest- ing him in imagination with a noble and dignified presence, and especially with a voice fit to give utterance to those fine passages of declamation with which his speeches abound. The contrast of the reality is, in many re- spects, striking. Nature has grudged Mr. Macaulay height and fine proportion, and his voice is one of the most monotonous and least agreeable of those which usually belong to our countrymen north of the Tweed — a voice well adapted to give utterance with precision to the conclusions of the intellect, but in no way naturally formed to express feeling or passion. Mr. Macaulay is short in stature, round, and with a growing ten- dency to aldermanic disproportions. His head has the same rotundity as his body, and seems stuck on it as firmly as a pin-head. This is nearly the sum of his personal de- fects; all else, except the voice, is certainly in his favor. His face seems literally in- stinct with expression: the eye, above all, full of deep thought and meaning. As he walks, or, rather, straggles along the street, he seems as if in a state of total abstraction, unmindful of all that is going on around him, and solely occupied with his own work- ing mind. You can not help thinking that literature with him is not a mere profession or pursuit, but that it has almost grown a part of himself, as tho historical problems or analytical criticism were a part of his daily and regular intellectual food. — Francis, Ora- tors of the Age, p. 76. (H., 1871.) 666. MACAULAY, THOMAS BAB- INGTON.— Born at Rothlet Temple, Lei- cestershire, Oct. 25, 1800. Died at London, Dec. 28, 1859. He was of medium stature, without grace of body or attractiveness of face, inclined to slovenliness. His voice was lacking in intonation and variety. "The loud, even, declamatory sound of his voice," says one, "was like the uninterrupted flow of a fountain." He was "overflowing with words," and was pronounced "absolutely re- nowned in society as the greatest bore that ever yet appeared." There was no limit to his knowledge, and his memory was mar- vellous. At the age of thirty-two his parlia- mentary success and his literary eminence were great. Social attention and praise were lavished on him. As a historian he shows the closest familiarity with the facts of Eng- lish history. His style is filled with a strong personality, it is brilliant, with a wealth of epigram, antithesis, epithets, and imagery. His English is pure to the point of fastidious- ness. He is never obscure at any time. He spoke as he wrote, smoothly, gracefully, elo- quently, with an aim to conviction rather than persuasion. A great characteristic is the shortness of his sentences. His defects were those of a genius — "a redundancy, an over- crowding of every one thing that is touched upon, that almost turns one's head," says Brougham, "for it is out of one digression into another, and each thought in each is illustrated by twenty different cases and an- ecdotes, all of which follow from the first without any effort." Unwearied diligence marked his work. Regarding an article he had written, Macaulay himself said : "There is not a sentence in the latter half which has not been repeatedly recast." He had no tal- ent for extempore speaking — it was evident that he committed to memory at least the main parts of his speeches. 667. MACKINTOSH'S INTELLEC- TUAL QUALITIES.— Whatever was val- uable in the compositions of Sir James Mack- intosh, was the ripe fruit and study of meditation. It was the same with his con- versation. In his most familiar talk there was no wildness, no inconsistency, no amusing nonsense, no exaggeration for the sake of momentary effect. His mind was a vast mag- azine, admirably arranged; everything was there, and everything was in its place. His judgments on men, on sects, on books, had been often and carefully tested and weighed, and had then been committed, each to its proper receptacle, in the most capacious and accurately constructed memory that any hu- man being ever possest. It would have been strange, indeed, if you had asked for any- thing that was not to be found in that im- mense storehouse. The article which you required was not only there. It was ready. It was in its own proper compartment. In a moment, it was brought down, unpacked, and displayed. If those who enjoyed the privi- lege — for privilege indeed it was — of listen- ing to Sir James Mackintosh, had been dis- posed to find some fault in his conversation, they might perhaps have observed that he yielded too little to the impulse of the mo- ment. He seemed to be recollecting, not cre- ating. He never appeared to catch a sudden glimpse of a subject in a new light. You Uacklntosh Manner KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 270 never saw his opinions in the making — still rude, still inconsistent, and requiring to be fashioned by thought and discussion. They came forth, like the pillars of that temple in which no sound of axes or hammers was heard, finished, rounded, and exactly suited to their places. — Macaulay, Critical and Mis- cellaneous Essays, 1834. 668. MACKINTOSH, SIR JAMES.— Born at Aldourie, Loch Ness, Oct. 24, 1765. Knighted in 1803. Died at London, May 30, 1833. His most memorable speech, in De- fense of Peltier, was delivered in 1803. He appeared to best advantage in discussion, and as one has said, "He spoke the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. His mind was well-disciplined through long and arduous study. He combined candor, cau- tion, and modesty, in a preeminent degree. He had a capacious mind for facts, and his knowledge was well systematized, but his style somewhat obscure. His style of speak- ing was rather mechanical, in which he swayed backward and forward. He was ear- nest and at times would burst forth like a volcanic fire." 669. MacLAREN, ALEXANDER.— Born in 1836, educated at Glasgow Univer- sity, for twelve years preached at Southamp- ton, and afterward for many years in Man- chester. Besides an impressive face and figure, he brought to the pulpit a ripe schol- arship, an almost perfect English style, and an uncommonly vigorous personality. The key- note of his life and character is disclosed in his own words, uttered in Manchester : "I have been so convinced that I was best serv- ing all the varied social, economical, and po- litical interests that are dear to me by preach- ing what I conceived to be the gospel of Jesus Christ, that I have limited myself to that work. I am sure, with a growing con- viction day by day, that so we Christian min- isters best serve our generation. My work, whatever yours may be, is, and has been for thirty-eight years, and I hope will be for a little while longer yet, to preach Jesus Christ as the King of England and the Lord of all our communities, and the Saviour and Friend of the individual soul." 670. MANNER, ACQUIRING EXCEL- LENCE OF. — Since by natural manner is not meant your common, colloquial way of speaking, and since you have seldom or never exercised your natural manner of speaking on serious and solemn subjects — because, ex- cept in conversation, you have not been ac- customed to speak upon them at all — it fol- lows that by the natural manner so much and so justly recommended by some writers, we must consider that manner in which na- ture would speak on these particular sub- jects if she were encouraged; so that it comes to this, that, however paradoxical it may ap- pear, you have this natural manner to ac- quire. I do not mean that you are to assume or affect that which you do not feel, but you must disembarrass yourself of your habitual reserve on these subjects, and do everything you can to let nature resume her proper and unfettered course. The first point at which you should aim, will be to unlearn all your faults. You must get rid of all ungraceful peculiarities of tone and manner, and avoid affected mannerism. Most men have some peculiar way of expressing themselves, which, tho unimportant on other occasions, is offen- sive when carried into the pulpit. And here I shall avail myself of the advice of Swift: "You will do well," he says, in his letter to a young clergyman, "if you can prevail on some intimate and judicious friend to be your constant hearer, and allow him, with the ut- most freedom, to give you notice of whatever he shall find amiss, either in your voice or gesture ; for want of which early warning, many clergymen continue defective and ri- diculous to the end of their lives. Neither is it rare to observe, amongst excellent and learned divines, a certain ungracious manner, or an unhappy tone, which they never have been able to shake off." That there is some truth in the Dean's remarks, your own ob- servation doubtless has taught you; and cer- tainly the plan which he recommends seems well calculated to enable you to avoid the faults into which others have fallen. Hav- ing got rid of faults, the next step is to ac- quire excellence. "We should recommend," says an able writer, "the adoption of a man- ner somewhat less dry and didactic, some- what more warm, earnest, and devotional than generally prevails. . . Either hea- ven and hell, redemption and eternity, are subjects awful, appalling, and splendid, or they are without meaning ; and the preach- er must not speak of these solemn and tre- mendous truths, as if he were collecting the result of a mathematical problem, or labor- ing out a point of political economy. Still, this is a dangerous ground ; and if young men are taught, or even permitted, to appeal to the vague and more easily excited faculties, the imagination and feelings, they will be apt to enter into a rivalry of tumor and infla- 271 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING nCacUntOBh Uanuer tion, or degenerate into puling and whining." Avoiding the errors alluded to by the fore- going writer, and aiming at the excellencies which he describes, we shall find that the es- sential points in manner are earnestness and feeling. I would never recommend that an unreal earnestness should be assumed, and that which is real is not within the compass of art. "There is a force and earnestness in nature which art can not imitate." All I can say on this deeply important subject is that if you feel conscious of a want of earnest- ness, you must seek it from other and higher sources than the rules of art. You must seek it by redoubled diligence in studying and applying the Holy Word — ^by serious meditation on the awful effects of sin, and on the value of immortal souls — by increased attention to those committed to your care — by the deep thoughts on the fearful respon- sibility of your office — but, above all, by fre- quent and earnest prayer for the assistance of the Holy Spirit. It is God's grace alone that can give you real earnestness. — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergyman, p. 271. (D. & Co, 1856.) 671. MANNER AND MATTER.— A speaker may calculate beforehand (so far as human agency is concerned, and other things being equal) the effect of a certain effort, by adapting the manner to the matter, as well as a farmer can in raising a crop, by using the proper means. As a stringed in- strument, when touched at given points, infallibly produces certain tunes; so, the human mind, when touched by certain mod- ulations, and corresponding sentiments, as infallibly receives certain impressions. But a speaker, singer, or writer, who thinks much of himself, is in danger of being forgotten by others. If he takes no sincere and heart- felt delight in what he is doing, but as it is admired and applauded by his audience, dis- appointment will be his portion; for he can not long succeed. He who would be great in the eyes of others, must first learn to be made nothing in his own.— Bronson, Elocu- tion, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 138. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 672. MANNER AND PERSUASION.— In the first place, I will not deny that, as be- comes a man well born and liberally educated, I learned those trite and common precepts of teachers in general; first, that it is the business of an orator to speak in a manner adapted to persuade ; next, that every speech is either upon a question concerning a matter in general, without specification of persons or times, or concerning a matter referring to certain persons and times. But that, in either case, whatever falls under controversy, the question with regard to it is usually, whether such a thing has been done, or, if it has been done, of what nature it is, or by what name it should be called; or, as some add, whether it seems to have been done rightly or not. That controversies arise also on the inter- pretation of writing, in which anything has been exprest ambiguously, or contradictorily, or so that what is written is at variance with the writer's evident intention ; and that there are certain lines of argument adapted to all these cases. But that of such subjects as are distinct from general questions, part come under the head of judicial proceedings, part under that of deliberations ; and that there is a third kind which is employed in praising or censuring particular persons. That there are also certain commonplaces on which we may insist in judicial proceedings, in which equity is the object; others, which we may adopt in deliberations, all which are to be directed to the advantage of those to whom we give counsel; others in panegyric, in which all must be referred to the dignity of the persons commended. That since all the business and art of an orator is divided into five parts, he ought first to find out what he should say ; next, to dispose and arrange his matter, not only in a certain order, but with a sort of power and judgment; then to clothe and deck his thoughts with language ; then to secure them in his memory; and, lastly, to deliver them with dignity and grace. I had learned and understood, also, that before we enter upon the main subject, the minds of the audience should be conciliated by an ex- ordium; next, that the case should be clearly stated; then, that the point in controversy should be established; then, that what we maintain should be supported by proof, and that whatever was said on the other side should be refuted; and that, in the conclu- sion of our speech, whatever was in our fa- vor should be amplified and enforced, and whatever made for our adversaries should be weakened and invalidated. — Cicero, On Oratory and Orators, p. 177. (B., 1909.) 673. MANNER AND POSITION OF THE SPEAKER.— As the object of the orator is to persuade, and as prejudice against his person or manners may greatly impede him, and may be easily conceived by the fas- tidious or light-minded, whom it is often im- portant to influence and gain over; he must Maimer Manner KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 272 recommend himself by every attention to his external deportment, which may be deemed correct and proper ; and guard against every species of inelegance that may prove disad- vantageous. He must, therefore, even in his position as he stands, prefer manly dignity and grace, to awkward rusticity or rude strength. Rude strength may suit him who wishes to terrify or to insult; but this is rarely the purpose of a public speaker. Grace and decorum win favor; and this is the gen- eral object. Rude strength stands indeed with stability, but without grace. Of this de- scription is the portrait of Henry VHL, mentioned by Hogarth, presented full in front, the arms akimbo, and supporting his weight equally on both feet. Before a per- son standing in this manner can change his place, he must make an awkward effort to poise his weight on either leg, in order that he may advance or retire with the other. The gracefulness of motion in the human form, or perhaps in any other, consists in the facility and security with which it is exe- cuted. And the grace of any positions (ex- cept such as are manifestly designed for re- pose) consists in the apparent facility with which they can be varied. Hence, in the standing figure, the position is graceful when the weight of the body is principally sup- ported on one leg, whilst the other is so placed as to be ready to relieve it promptly and without effort. And as the legs are formed for a mutual share of labor and of honor, so their alternation in position and in motion is agreeable and graceful. A man may indeed stand very firmly on both legs, and it is in his power in moving to leap or spring with both feet together ; but tho they may both be practised on occasion, yet the continuance of the one is ungraceful, and of the other would be ridiculous. The body must then be supported, if grace be consult- ed, on either limb, like the Apollo, the An- tinous, or other beautiful and well-executed statues. The foot which at any instant sus- tains the principal weight, must be so placed that a perpendicular line let fall from the hole of the neck shall pass through the heel of that foot. Of course the center of grav- ity of the body is for the time in that line, whilst the other foot assists merely for the purpose of keeping the body balanced in this position and of preventing it from tottering. — ^AusTiN, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhe- torical Delivery, p. 294. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 674. MANNER AND PRACTISE.— Professors of elocution lay great stress on the manner of utterance, and they are right. To form and "break" the organs to a dis- tinct and agreeable utterance, much practise is requisite, under able tuition, and such as affords an example of what it inculcates. First, there is the emission of the voice — which the practitioner should know how to raise and lower through every degree within its range — and in each degree to increase or diminish, heighten or soften its power ac- cording to circumstances, but always so as to produce no sound that is false or disagree- able to the ear. Then comes articulation, which should be neat, clear, sharply cut— yet unexaggerated, or else it will become heavy, harsh, and hammer-like, rending the ear. Next to this, the prosody of the language must be observed, giving its longs and its shorts ; as in singing, the minims, semibreves, quavers, and crotchets. This imparts to the sentence variety, movement, and measure. A written or spoken sentence admits, indeed, strictly of notation as well as a bar of mu- sic; and when this notation is followed by the voice of the speaker, naturally or artifi- cially, the discourse gains in expression and pleasantness. Moreover, there is accentua- tion, or emphasis, which marks the paramount tone of each sentence, and even in each word, the syllable on which the chief stress should be laid. Art may here effect somewhat, es- pecially in the enunciation of words; but as regards the emphasis of the sentence, it is imprest principally by the palpitation of the soul, thrilling with desire, feeling, or convic- tion. Finally, there is the declamatory move- ment, which, like the measure in music, should adapt itself to what is to be conveyed, now grave and solemn, now light, rapid, with a guiding rein, slackening or urging the pace, becoming nervous or gentle, according to the occasion; bursting forth at times with the vehemence of a torrent, and at times flowing gently with the clearness of a stream, or even trickling, drop by drop, like water noiselessly filtered; which, at last, fills the vessel that receives it, or wears out the stone on which it falls. In vocal speech, as in vocal music, there are an infinitude of gra- dations ; and the orator should have the feel- ing, the instinct, or the acquired habit of all these effects; and this implies in him a spe- cial taste and tact which art may develop, but can never implant. And thus there is need of caution here, as in many other cases, not to spoil nature by science, while endea- voring to perfect her. School precepts may teach a manner, a certain mechanical skill in elocution, but can never impart the sacred 273 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Manuel IlEaiuier fire which makes speech live, nor those ani- mated, delicate, just feelings of an excited or impassioned soul, and of a mind convinced, which grasps on the instant the peculiarity of expression and of voice which are most appropriate. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 97. (S., 1901.) 676. MANNER, ATTRACTIVE^ IN SPEAKING. — An easy, natural, earnest manner will attract favorable attention. A pleasing facial expression will add greatly not only to the attractiveness of a public speaker, but also to his forcefulness. Ges- tures should be free and graceful — always the natural and spontaneous outgrowth of the essential thought — never tacked on, for the mere sake of breaking monotony. Bod- ily movement, facial expression and gestures, like illustrations, when rightly used, aid clear perception; but when wrongly applied they detract and appear ludicrous; even, at times, to the total defeat of the purpose of the speaker. A speaker's manner should be dis- tinctively his own — ^the natural outgrowth of his own individuality. All attempts at copy- ing the habits or the peculiarities of others will end in failure, for mimicry is quickly detected and despised. It is non-persuasive — non-oratorical. — Conwell, Conwell's Sys- tem of Oratory, p. 15. (H. N., 1892.) 676. MANNER, COLDNESS A DE- FECT OF. — Next to lack of oratorical skill, the greatest defect of our preachers, as a body, is, not that they are, but they too often seem to be, wanting in heart. They are not flames, but icicles. They preach to the head, not to the heart. They may argue with logical precision, but they argue coldly. They convince the understanding, but do not manifest sensibility enough to touch the warm sympathies, and make a vivid impression upon the feelings of even the devout soul. In- stead of giving a deep and commanding in- terest to their arguments by applying them to those feelings which are common to all hearts, and which will eagerly answer when appealed to, they endeavor to interest the un- derstandings of men in opposition to their feelings, and to set up the intellect in con- temptuous despotism over every generous and glowing sympathy. Who can wonder, when religious truth is enforced in this dry, argu- mentative, phlegmatic manner — when the preacher reads his drowsy lucubration with- out lifting his nose from the text, or ventur- ing to earn the shame of an enthusiast — that the harangues of the pulpit are so destitute of living energy, and fail to alarm the profli- gate, or to animate the desponding? What would be the result, if an actor at the the- ater, instead of throwing his whole soul into his "counterfeit presentment" of feeling — ^his mimicry of the "billowy ecstasy of wo"— should drawl through his part in the freez- ing manner of many preachers? Would he not be hissed from the stage, or play to empty boxes? — Mathews, The Great Conversers, p. SOS. (S. F. & Co., 1893.) 677. MANNER, COLDNESS OF.— Coldness of manner is, in some speakers, a fault of habit which originates partly in con- stitution and temperament. But, in most, it is the consequence of imperfect or ill-di- rected culture. Faults of the former de- scription are by no means so obdurate as is sometimes imagined. The testimony of the physiologist is clear and decisive on the point that, with adequate attention and care, we can, by processes of cultivation, change the temperament of individuals from the muscu- lar to the nervous character. The discipline of education, in ancient Greece, was conduct- ed so as to blend and unite these tempera- ments, in every individual, by a high-toned physical training, accompanied by the most elevated forms of intellectual culture, and an intense incitement applied to the sentiments and passions. The magnificent ideal of hu- man excellence which Grecian education set up as its standard, was fully attained in the personal and mental character of such men as Xenophon and Epaminondas — instances in which the attainments of the philosopher, the statesman, the general, the scholar, the poet, the orator, the artist, the athlete, the moral enthusiast, were all blended in the in- dividual man. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 110. (D., 1878.) 678. MANNER IN SPEAKING.— It is a mistake into which many persons fall, to suppose that because a man uses words fur-- nished to him at the moment, he will, there- fore, speak with anything like oratorical pro- priety — there is ever a Scylla or a Charybdis on one side or other of the speaker. If he avoid spouting or declamation, he may be- come tame and spiritless, or fall into a mere colloquial style. If he fear to speak too fast, he may become tediously slow; while, from a faulty or inarticulate pronunciation, he is in danger of being driven into a labored and bombastic delivery; so that, save under the most singu- larly favorable circumstances, it will only be Marnier Mannerisms KLEISER'S COMPLETE GmDE 274 with the assistance of a skilful pilot that a speaker will be able to steer safely among the various shoals and sunken reefs which be- set his course. The manner of speaking usu- ally termed "spouting," is one of the many proofs that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing — it is almost invariably the result of a short and insufficient study of the principles of elocution — and thus it exhibits the speaker in a sort of chrysalis state, with- out the inoffensiveness of the grub or the beauty of the butterfly. It arises from a speaker attempting to give force to an ad- dress without knowing how, when, or where that force is to be applied. — Halcombe, The Speaker at Home, p. 78. (B. & D., 1860.) 679. MANNER OF THE SPEAKER.— The advantage of natural manner — i.e., the manner which one naturally falls into who is really speaking, in earnest, and with a mind exclusively intent on what he has to say — may be estimated from this consideration; that there are few who do not speak so as to give effect to what they are saying. Some, indeed, do this much better than others. Some have, in ordinary conversation, an in- distinct or incorrect pronunciation — an em- barrassed and hesitating utterance, or a bad choice of words ; but hardly any one who fails to deliver (when speaking earnestly) what he does say, so as to convey the sense and the force of it, much more completely than even a good reader would, if those same words were written down and read. The latter might, indeed, be more approved; but that is not the present question; which is, concerning the impression made on the hear- ers' minds. It is not the polish of the blade that is to be considered, or the grace with which it is brandished, but the keenness of the edge, and the weight of the stroke. There is, indeed, a wide difference between differ- ent men, in respect of the degrees of im^ pressiveness with which, in earnest conver- sation, they deliver their sentiments ; but it may safely be laid down that he who deliv- ers a written composition with the same de- gree of spirit and energy with which he would naturally speak on the same subject, has attained, not indeed necessarily, absolute perfection, but the utmost excellence attain- able by him. Any attempt to outdo his own natural manner will inevitably lead to some- thing worse than failure. On the contrary, it can hardly be denied that the elocution of most readers, even when delivering their own compositions, is such as to convey the notion, at the very best, not that the speaker is ex- pressing his own real sentiments, but that he is making known to his audience what is written in the book before him : and, whether the composition is professedly the reader's own, or not, the usual mode of delivery, the grave and decent, is so remote from the en- ergetic style of real natural speech, as to furnish, if one may so speak, a kind of run- ning comment on all that is uttered, which says, "I do not mean, think, or feel, all this; I only mean to recite it with propriety and decorum": and what is usually called fine reading, only superadds to this, a kind of admonition to the hearers, that they ought to believe, to feel, and to admire what is read. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 836. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 680. MANNER, RIGIDITY OF.— The correctives for rigid habit in a speaker's man- ner are, in part, to be sought in the cultiva- tion and refinement of taste, by which the mind is guarded against every uncouth and repulsive effect in expression. An excellent remedial influence will always be derived from habitual contact with the ease and pol- ish of elevated society. The meliorating in- fluence of the fine arts should ever be so- licited by the student whose purpose is to addict himself to public speaking. But the express study of gesture, as a part of elocu- tion, will exert the most direct influence on manner and habit. It will lead the student to discern the character and effect of every attitude and action of the body. It will teach him that there is no escape from the im- pression which external manner produces; that the speaker who neglects this part of elocution incurs the effects of inappropriate- ness and awkwardness, and, sometimes, of self-contradiction, in the discrepance between the style of his gesture and the language of his tongue ; that he who flatters himself with the hope of escaping inappropriate manner by avoiding action, gives, by his statue-like and motionless power, the lie to any earnestness betrayed in his voice. Earnestness warms and impels the heart; and, by the law of our constitution, the same nerve which glows and quivers at the fountain head thrills along the arm to the expressive hand, and solicits its action. The rigid speaker who attempts to counteract this effect kills, equally, his own emotions and those of his audience: he de- stroys the natural character of communica- tion, and defeats its purpose.— Russell, Pul- pit Elocution, p. 103. (D., 1878.) 275 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING SEimner Mannerisma 681. MANNER, STERNNESS AND HARSHNESS OF.— The too bold speaker is apt to add to the bad effects of apparent indifference to the presence of his hearers, that of a repulsive harshness of voice and aspect — a fault at variance with everything like persuasive or genial effect. Sternness and asperity of expression precludes the speaker from access to the heart, and seal the mind to his influence. Yet inadvertent habit, in the absence of culture, has some- times stamped such a manner on the preach- er. The energy of such speakers soon becomes vehemence, and their vehemence apparent anger. No wonder that they should displease, rather than win, their hearers. Faults of this description are usually mat- ters of utter unconsciousness to the individ- uals who commit them. They are often the results of mere constitutional austerity and ill-regulated force of expression. Ten min- utes of the so much derided practise before the looking-glass would reflect so faithfully to such speakers the visible image which they present that they could not tolerate its as- sociations; and the reform of mien and as- pect would unavoidably extend its softening influence to the voice. An insipid, simpering, blandness of manner is certainly a very un- desirable trait in any speaker. It is pecu- liarly silly or ridiculous in a preacher ; he is the ambassador of Divine truth; and, if he understands his office, is clothed with a high- er dignity than can be conferred by man. His oflSce entitles him to speak as one hav- ing authority. But the spirit of love which should breathe from the preacher's lips will diffuse its genial amenity over his whole manner. His tones, his features, his action, will invite, will intreat, will persuade, will win his hearers, and attract them to his sub- ject. The humane and benevolent spirit of his office will be legible in every trait of his address.— Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 74. (D., 1878.) 682. MANNERISMS, UNDESIRABLE. — Especial care ought to be taken not to fall into any disagreeable habit, or to adopt any unnatural gesture of the body. You will see one man suddenly stretch forth his neck for an instant when speaking, and twitch some article of his dress ; another will be continu- ally boring the palm of one hand with a fin- ger of the other, as if his sole object were to pierce a hole through; and the more ear- nest he appears in his subject, the more his countenance is distorted, and the more in- tent he seems on piercing his hand. Whilst a third will raise his hand on high, and then will suddenly let it fall with a loud clap into the hollow of the other. These and many other such like peculiarities may frequently be seen around us; while a really graceful action and manner, which, so far from draw- ing the attention of the hearers from the subject of discourse, shall tend rather to im- press it the more deeply on their minds, is far from being common among us. It is admitted that to be constantly thinking upon the tone of voice, or studying any particular gesture of body whilst speaking, would only fetter the speaker and draw his mind from the subject on which he is discoursing. At the same time, he ought to exercise a watch- fulness over himself, lest his tone of voice! be unnatural and harsh, and his action of body be ridiculous. How pleasing it is to listen to some men! Their subject so clearly exprest; their voice modulated, or the ex- pression changed according to the change in their subject; and a graceful motion of the hand seems to confirm you in the opinion which they adduce. — ^Anon, The Public Speaker, p. 75. (J. N. & Co., 1860.) 683. MANNERISMS, PROFES- SIONAL. — There is no reason why a clergyman should be anything but an earnest Christian gentleman. I shall not quarrel with the preacher who employs a symbolic dress for some special religious reason, but no man should dress himself simply for the purpose of saying, "I am a preacher." The highest character in which a preacher can stand is that of simple Christian manhood. It is not the things in which he differs from his fel- lowmen, by which he will gain power. It is by the things in which he will be in sympathy with them. There is great significance in that sentence, "It behooved him to be made like unto his brethren, that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest, in things pertaining to God." It is not a man's busi- ness, then, to separate himself, by dress or by manner, from the common people. It is his humanity, and his sympathy with their humanity; it is his sameness with them, both in weaknesses and in sins, in aspirations and partial attainment, that give him his power. The power of a preacher is the power of a brother among his brethren. It always seems to me, therefore, that the putting on of a professional dress is the hiding of one's pow- er. Walk into your pulpit as you would enter an ordinary room. Don't go there thinking of yourself, your coat, your hair, your step. Don't go there as a "man of God." Never be a puppet — most of all, a religious puppet. I abhor the formal, state- Majisfleld, Iiord Manuscript KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 276 ly, and solemn entrance of a man whose whole appearance seems to call upon all to see how holy he is, and how intensely he is a minister of the gospel. Nor can I avoid a feeling of displeasure akin to that which Christ felt when he condemned prayers at the street corners, when I see a man bow down himself in the pulpit to say his pray- ers on first entering. Many men sacrifice the best part of themselves for what is called the dignity of the pulpit. They are afraid to speak of common things. They are afraid to introduce home matters; things of which men think and speak, and in which, every day, a part of their lives consist, are thought not to be of enough dignity for the pulpit. And so the interests of men are sacrificed to an idol. For when the pulpit is of more im- portance than the joys and the sorrows, the hopes and the fears, the minute temptations and frets of daily life, it has become an idol, and, to feed its dignity, bread is taken from the mouths of the children and of the com- mon people. There are few things that have power to make men good or bad, happy or unhappy, that it is not the duty of the pulpit to handle. This superstition of dignity has gone far to make the pulpit a mere skeleton. Men hear plenty from the pulpit about ev- erything except the stubborn facts of their every-day life, and the real relation of these immediate things to the vast themes of the future. There is much about the divine life, but very little about human life. There is much about the future victory, but very little about the present battles. There is a great deal about divine government, but there is very little about the human governments under which men are living, and the duties which arise under those governments for every Christian man. There is a great deal about the immortal soul, but very little about these mortal bodies, that go so far to in- fluence the destiny of the immortal souls. A sermon, like a probe, must follow the wound into all its intricate passages. Nothing is too minute for the surgeon or for the physi- cian; nothing should be too common or too familiar for the preacher.— Beecher, Yale Lectures on Preaching, p. 231. (J. B. F. & Co., 1872.) 684. MANSFIELD, LORD. — In elo- quence of argument, in happiness of illus- tration, in copiousness and grace of diction, the oratory of Lord Mansfield was unsur- past; and indeed in all the qualities which conspire to form an able debater he is al- lowed to have been Pitt's superior. When measures were attacked no one was better capable of defending them; when reasoning was the weapon employed, none handled it with such effect; but against declamatory in- vective, his very temperament incapacitated him for contending with so much advantage. He was like an accomplished fencer, invul- nerable to the strokes of a small sword, but not equally able to ward off the downright strokes of a bludgeon. The countenance of Lord Mansfield, according to a friend and contemporary, was uncommonly beautiful, and none could ever behold it, even in ad- vanced years, without reverence. Nature had given him an eye of fire; and his voice, till it was affected by the years which passed over him, was perhaps unrivaled in the sweet- ness and variety of its tones. There was a similitude between his action and that of Mr. Garrick. In speaking from the bench, there was sometimes a confusion in his pe- riods, and a tendency to involve his sen- tences in parentheses, yet, such was the charm of his voice and action, and such the general beauty, propriety, and force of his expressions, that while he spoke all these de- fects passed unnoticed. His eloquence, es- pecially in the case of his best speeches in the House of Lords, was that of a judge rather than an advocate or a party leader. He had the air of addressing the House of Lords, according to the theory of that body, as one who spoke upon honor. He sought not to drive but to lead; not to overwhelmi the mind by appeals to the passions, but to aid and direct its enquiries, so that his hear- ers had the satisfaction of seeming at least to form their own conclusions. He was pe- culiarly happy in his statement of a case. "It was worth more," said Mr. Barker, "than any other man's argument." Omitting all that was unnecessary, he seized, with sur- prizing tact, on the strong points of a sub- ject; he held them steadily before the mind, and as new views opened, he led forward his hearers, step by step, toward the desired re- sult, with almost the certainty of intuitive evidence. "It was extremely difficult," said Lord Ashburton, "to answer him when he was wrong, and impossible when he was in the right." His manner was persuasive, with enough of force and animation to secure thei closest attention. His illustrations were al- ways apposite, and sometimes striking and beautiful. His language, in his best speeches, was select and graceful; and his whole style of speaking approached as near as possible to that dignified conversation which has always been considered appropriate to the House of Lords.— Beeton, British Orators and Ora- 277 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING MAUBfleld, Lord Manuscript tory, from Complete Orator, p. 25. (W. L. & Co.) 685. MANUSCRIPT AND MEMORY. — The method adopted by some speakers of writing their speeches out and committing them to memory for delivery is the most objectionable form of oratory. It never will qualify the speaker for extemporaneous speech. It gives him no preparation for de- bate and swift and apt reply to an opponent. If he meet with interruption or opposition during delivery, he dare not fling out a prompt and appropriate reply or a cutting retort ; for he may lose the thread of his discourse, and then he is lost. Besides all this, written compositions have too much the style of an essay. They want the abrupt- ness, pointedness, fire, and reality inspired always in the mind of the practised speaker by the presence of living men whom he ad- dresses. Even sermons, when there is no fear of interruption, are rarely so effective and impressive when delivered in memoriter style, as when spoken from notes of extemi- pore. When the speaker or preacher, how- ever, fails utterly in conquering the difficulty of extempore delivery, it is better in every respect for him to read his production than to deliver it in memoriter system. But let him read it as a professional reader renders a dramatic scene or a poem; let him thor- oughly study his own composition, having written it as legible as print; let him mark off the pauses, the emphatic words, and even, if important, the inflections. Then let him read it aloud to himself, keeping his eye on an imaginary audience, just glancing at his manuscript; and taking into his eye and his mind a group of words, and assume as much as possible the style and action of extempore delivery. This method would not be labori- ous as committing a production to memory; it would have, as it has with the professional reader, all the semblance and reality of an unwritten composition ; the speaker would be free from the terror of forgetting his part; and, if interruption occurred, or the speaker, inspired by some new phase of thought flash- ing across his mind, desired to leave his pa- per for a moment, he could do this and re- turn to his written composition, without the dread of losing the thread of the discourse. Hence, under every circumstance the practise of elocution, the art of reading well, is of the first importance to the clergyman, to the lecturer, or the public speaker.— Lewis, The Dominion Elocutionist and Public Reader, p. 134. (A. S. & Co., 1873.) G8G. MANUSCRIPT AND WRITTEN OUTLINES. — Good outlines are neces- sary, both when you preach, and when you write your sermons at full length; but they should contain, in a few well-chosen words, the substance of all you intend to advance. And when the subject is well studied, and fixt in the memory, you will not often need your outline in the pulpit. So far as my own ex- perience goes, I may say, that I have forgot- ten or mislaid my notes on more than one occasion, and absolutely could not have preached at all, had I not known, as well as the text, the substance of my theme, its main points and illustrations. I was, therefore, practically independent of all crutches what- soever. In one particular instance, tho, I remember preaching from manuscript, when, worse than forgetting the whole, at a very critical place in the discourse, to my dismay I missed a part — just the last page ! But, fortunately, if I may be pardoned for saying so, the subject was so well studied in this instance, and I was so used to extemporize, that I was enabled to extricate myself from the dilemma with comparative ease. — Monks, The Preacher's Guide, p. 257. (T. W., 1905.) 687. MANUSCRIPT, FAMILIARITY WITH THE.— The one great and sore temptation to neglect the previous study of the manuscript, which many speakers find themselves unable to resist, and which some- times overcomes probably the best, arises from the very thing which gives this method of speaking its chief advantages — namely, that security which the speaker feels, with re- spect to the matter of his discourse, that he shall be able to reproduce it in some form, when he knows that he shall have it lying before him in manuscript, at the moment of delivery. It is necessary to guard against this temptation with the utmost vigilance, in order to avoid the most shameful failure, and in order to speak, in this method of delivery, with anything worthy of the name of power. — McIlvaine, Elocution, p. 149. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 688. MANUSCRIPT PREACHING.— To deliver a sermon even from a manuscript always requires a laborious preparation of two or three hours at least, in addition to the time spent in writing it, and that, too, in the case even of the very best readers. Un- less a man is content to give up the power and effect which he undoubtedly gains by looking toward those to whom he is speaking, he must have gained so accurate an acquain- manuscript UanviscTlpt KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 278 tance with his subject that the eye may read- ily take in the whole of a sentence at a glance, and that, too, during the momentary pauses which he makes in the delivery. That this is one secret of the power of many of our most effective preachers few probably will deny ; by this means they approach indefi- nitely near to the manner of extempore speaking, while they secure all the advan- tages of having the manuscript before them. Unfortunately, experience proves that the vast majority of men are not able to carry out this method, that there is something in being tied down to the exact letter of that which was written in the quietness of the study, which makes the whole operation merely mechanical, and effectually checks the earnestness which the speaker really feels but can not give way to from the fear of becoming embarrassed between what he wants to say and what is written before him. He feels that if he only misplaces a single sentence, or anticipates a single idea, it may quite disarrange what is to follow; whereas the man who is depending upon himself alone, can throw himself entirely into his subject, and, with his mind full of it, and with the one object of persuading his hear- ers possessing him, he can hardly fail of being earnest and real himself, and making that reality felt by others. If, however, a preacher can deliver his sermon as well, and, feeling the same earnestness, believes that he makes a greater impression upon his hear- ers by a written sermon than he could by speaking without it, he is, indeed, much to be envied; but let him not despise those who are less gifted, nor misunderstand their mo- tives in adopting different means to attain to the same end. The real point at issue is not which is the better — to preach with or without a manuscript — but how can a man best enlist the attention, convince the con- sciences, and persuade the hearts of his hear- ers. To the man who has found out the means of doing this already the present in- quiry will personally be one of slight inter- est, inasmuch as he is not likely to give up a substance for that which may seem to him a shadow. — Halcombe, The Speaker at Home, p. 33. (B. & D., 1860.) 689. MANUSCRIPT, PREACHING FROM. — The sermon, having been com- posed throughout, can be delivered, from that manuscript, without embarrassment. A discourse, intended to be thus preached, should be written on paper of the quarto form, so that large quantities of matter may be under the eye at once, and as infrequent occasion as possible exist for turning over the leaves. The writing should also be of such a size as to be distinctly legible with- out the preacher's stooping, or making any special effort. The paragraphs ought to be very distinct from each other; and the em- phatic words underscored. The lower cor- ner of each leaf should be partially bent up, so that the leaf may be instantly turned without a failure, and without the accident of turning more leaves than one at a time. Thus externally prepared, the sermon should be carefully read and reread, paragraph by paragraph, till the whole has become so fa- miliar that the preacher can, by catching a few words here and there, complete a sen- tence without keeping his eye fixt on the paper. So familiar, indeed, ought he to be- come with the manuscript, and so much in- terested in the subject of the discourse as to be able during the delivery to substitute in place of what he has written, more ener- getic expressions, and to introduce new thoughts. For sometimes, while preaching, when his mind is thoroughly occupied with the subject, thoughts will occur highly ap- propriate, and even more striking and effec- tive, than were originated in the composition of the sermon. The preacher thus fully ac- quainted with his manuscript, and intent on his subject, can steadily view his audience ; his hearers and himself can enjoy the re- ciprocal benefit of each other's eyes. His arms will be comparatively free to obey the impulse of his soul. His whole person, in- stead of being statue-like, will be animated ; and he may approximate to speaking from the heart — the perfection of speaking — as near as one can with a written discourse before him. By such preparation, he may combine many of the advantages of extem- poraneous address with those of written dis- course. When written discourses are thus employed, the principal objections against their use are obviated; for the dehvery is free from dulness and formality. At the same time, the solid advantages which habit- ual carefulness in preparation promises both to the preacher and to the hearers, may be secured.— Ripley, Sacred Rhetoric, p. 165. (G. K. & L., 1849.) 690. MANUSCRIPT, PREJUDICE AGAINST USE OF.— The question of the use of manuscript in speaking before an au- dience has been widely discust. If it were left to the public, the decision would be unan- imously in favor of the extemporaneous style. An audience has a distinct prejudice against a speech or sermon read from a pa- 279 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Manuscript Manuscript per. If a speaker refers even to notes, it is considered a point against him. The public expect to see the speaker unencumbered by written notes of any kind. If he has to use them, they conclude he is not master of him- self nor of the occasion. If an address is read from a paper, the listener feels he could ' as well read it himself at his own home. In the speech or sermon that is read he misses the action of the speaker, the eye-to-eye com- munication, the free and spontaneous ex- pression of the voice and body, the direct appeal, the varied pausing, and the infinite shades of modulation attached to extempo- raneous delivery. A read speech is likely to be too right-onward in its movement, savor- ing of the essay, and losing much of the personal element so necessary to effective speaking. — Kleiser, How to Develop Power and Personality in Speaking, p. 156. (F. & W., 1909.) 691. MANUSCRIPT SOMETIMES IN- DISPENSABLE.— If we were to com- mence by asserting that every clergyman should aim at becoming an extemporary preacher, we should, undoubtedly, lay down a proposition to which all men might, in a general way, render a ready assent. But if we were to advance a step further, and to affirm that no other kind of preaching is worthy of the name, and that the practise of delivering from memory sermons which have been previously written, should be neither countenanced nor allowed, should we not say something which, to use the mildest form of expression, would be very foolish and im- practicable? For, is it not palpably evident that there are at least a certain number of clergymen who, in the beginning of their career, are so timid, so nervous, and pos- sest of such little command of language, as to be unable to give utterance to ten consecu- tive sentences unless they have been previ- ously carefully prepared? To lay upon such men the alternative of preaching extempore or not at all is practically the same thing as to tell them to give up the attempt. _ To force a man of this kind into the pulpit in ■ such a contingency is to force him to make ' a fool of himself, and that under circum- stances which, whilst they necessarily cover the preacher himself with confusion, pro- duce at the same time another result which is even more lamentable, viz., bring discredit upon the holy and sublime ministry of the word. Look at the victim in the pulpit — we have all seen the sight sometime or other— and is it not one which is painful to the last degree? He commences, perhaps indiffer- ently well, but presently he begins to hesi- tate; he grows very red in the face, or very pale, as the case may be ; then he stammers lamely on for another sentence or two, hesi- tates again, repeats what he has just said, and, finally, as likely as not, comes to a dead stop ! But even if he should not break down so thoroughly as this, he is so absorbed by his eager and painful hunt for the faltering and feeble words in which to express his still more feeble and faltering ideas, that his de- livery, and the whole tenor of his discourse, becomes cold and uninteresting to the last degree. This terrible strain and preoccupa- tion of mind extinguishes everything like fervor and unction, and, whilst it renders his action constrained, and stiff, and false, it de- prives his voice of its natural inflections and force, so that the discourse which should have brought glory to God,, benefit to His flock, and the consciousness of important duty creditably discharged to himself, results in as complete and miserable a failure as it is possible to conceive. To how many young men do not these remarks apply in all their fulness? Are there not even some men, hon- est, zealous, and truly devoted, who never, through the course of a long life, succeed in conquering that nervous timidity which is such a terrible foe to many of those whose duty obliges them to address large bodies of their fellowmen? — Potter, The Spoken Word, p. 10. (M. H. G. & Son, 1880.) 692. MANUSCRIPT, SPEAKING FROM. — Reading, and speaking from manuscript are so nearly allied, and the sub- processes in the two cases differ so little, and the light they throw upon each other is so important, that they require to be treated together. For in both the sub-processes are those of taking in the sense of the manu- script, or printed page, through the eye; and these processes are the reverse of those which belong to the giving out of the sense by the voice, and to the impressing of the thought and sentiment upon other minds. The men- tal operations of giving out, and of taking in the sense are in the highest degree incom- patible with each other. Certainly they can not both go on together as leading states of the same mind; one or the other must fall into the rank of a sub-process. At least three of those leading states or mental oper- ations, the expression of which constitutes good delivery, namely, the consciousness of speaking directly to the audience, (b) with the desire of accomplishing a given object, (c) which object is held firmly in the grasp of the mind, are diametrically opposed to Manuscript axatters KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 280 the mental operations of taking in the sense through the eye. This opposition and in- compatibility between these two classes of mental operations, both of which have to be carried on simultaneously, exhibits the great difficulty to be overcome in speaking from manuscript. — McIlvaine, Elocution, p. 138. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 693. MANUSCRIPT, SPEAKING WITH OR WITHOUT.— Is our public speaker to commit his lecture or speech to memory? or is he to prepare extensive notes as a kind of outline of the subject, which he may fill up at the time of delivery? or is he to go on the platform without any manu- script at all? These are questions which have been asked and discust by many, and which have perplexed the mind of many a young beginner in speaking. We will, there- fore, now consider them. As regards com- mitting a lecture or speech to memory, we think it by no means advisable. By doing so, the language may be very good, the periods well rounded, and the subject concise, yet clear and well worked out. These are ad- vantages which are not to be despised. De- livering a speech which has been previously committed to memory may have the appear- ance of learning, being clothed in a mora cultivated garb, and abounding in more strik- ing metaphors than what might be presented in any other way. Such a speech may be rich in pleasing illustrations, and contain more striking examples, than what might be expected in a purely extempore oration. The plan we are speaking of may expand the memory, and make what is called "a full man" ; and, since it has been adopted by some of the most popular men of the day, it can not be altogether condemned. It may please the ears of the fastidious, and cause many to admire the speaker for his clearness of view and conciseness of expression. These and many other remarks may be made in favor of it; but still we maintain that there are other considerations which may be al- leged against it, that make it anything but a desirable mode, and on which account, there- fore, we should by no means think of recom- mending it. In the first place, it burdens the memory, and will, if continued in for a course of years, bring the man that adopts it to premature old age. Then, again, there can not but appear a studied mode of expres- sion about it which has a most cold and chill- ing effect. There is a great difference be- tween being thoroughly acquainted with a subject, and committing to memory the very words which we intend to use in bringing that subject forward. The former is what we most strongly advise; the latter is what we would altogether discountenance. We have heard men give lectures which had been previously committed to memory, and during the whole time of delivery the eye of the lecturer was fixt on one spot, giving a most uninteresting appearance, and making us somewhat nervous lest his "thread should break" and leave him in bewilderment. There was but little earnestness in his manner, no sign that the lecturer believed what he was repeating, and nothing to show that his ob- ject was either to instruct or to convince. Twice in our lives have we adopted the plan, and twice in our lives have we made most miserable failures — in one instance being obliged to let our prepared speech take care of itself, and to launch out into a purely ex- tempore one — and in the other instance break- ing down in unutterable confusion. So that, for our own part, we prefer a purely extem- pore speech, where the words come freely and spontaneously, convincing us that the speaker is really in earnest, and that what he utters are his own sentiments ; or else a writ- ten discourse well read, showing that there have been time and care bestowed upon the subject. To combine the two is giving neither one thing nor the other, but to spoil the effect of both. For in using a manuscript the eye of the lecturer does not rest on va- cancy — he may then have the courage to look off from his notes to his audience at times, and there seems no dread on the part of his audience lest his thread of discourse should break and leave him in a sea of con- fusion. By using it, he may emphasize the right words, modulate his voice at the right part of his subject, and increase or lessen the pace as need may require. For the mind employing, as it were, a medium of commu- nication, dwells upon it rather than upon a vacancy of words ; for when the mind is con- tinually dwelling upon the very words which are next to be repeated, the sense and im- portance of the subject are altogether lost by it. Hence, then, we should prefer the using of a manuscript to the plan of com- mitting a speech to memory. But yet it seems rather strange at times to see a man, full of energy and life, fixing his eyes for the most part on the manuscript before him. It looks like a man in a rage, venting all his fury on an inanimate object. — Anon, The Public Speaker, p. 58. (J. N. & Co., 1860.) MANUSCRIPT See also Memory, Preaching, Speaking. 281 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Manuaoript Matters 694. MARSHALL, JOHN. — Born at Fauquier County, Va., Sept. 34, 1755. H0 died at Philadelphia, July 6, 1835. Was tall, slender, had simple tastes, calm and judicial mind, great powers of analysis. "His style is a model, simple and masculine; his rea- soning direct, cogent, demonstrative, advan- cing with a giant's pace and power, and yet withal so easy evidently to him as to show clearly a mind in the constant habit of such efforts." As a judge, he was patient, atten- tive, "supremely filled for high judicial sta- tion, a solid judgment, great reasoning powers, acute and penetrating mind." He published "Life of Washington," 1804-07. 695. MASSILLON AS A PREACH- ER. — He was persuaded that if the preacher of God's Word, on the one hand, de- grades himself by uttering common truths in trivial language; on the other, he misses his purpose by thinking to captivate his au- dience with a long chain of reasoning; he knew that, if all hearers are not blessed with an informed mind, all have a heart, whence the preacher ought to seek his arms ; that, in the pulpit, man ought to be shown to him- self, not so much to disgust him by a shock- ing portrait as to afflict him by the resem- blance ; and, in fine, that if it is sometimes useful to alarm and disquiet him, it is still more so to draw from him those tears of sensibility which are more efficacious than the tears of despair. His eloquence goes right to the soul; it agitates without con- founding, appals without crushing, penetrates without lacerating it. He goes to the heart in search of those hidden folds which in the passions are enwrapt — those secret sophisms which they so artfully employ to blind and seduce us. To combat and destroy these sophisms, it suffices him merely to develop them; but he does it in language so affec- tionate and tender that he subdues less than he attracts ; and, even in displaying before us the pictures of our vices, he knows how to attract and please us. . . . "I have learned to draw others," he candidly said, "by study- ing myself." . . . His action was perfectly suited to his species of eloquence. On en- tering the pulpit, he appeared thoroughly penetrated with the great truths he was about to utter; with eyes declined, a modest and collected air, without violent motions, and almost without gestures, but animating the whole with a voice of sensibility, he diffused over his audience the religious emotion which his own exterior proclaimed, and caused him- self to be listened to with that profound si- lence by which eloquence is better praised than by loudest applause. — D'Alembert, Ho- miletic Review, vol. 13, no. 1, p. 86, January, 1887. (F. &W.) 696. MATERIAL, GATHERING THE. — Having chosen a theme, the logical order is to first gather the material, second to ju- diciously select from it and arrange it in or- der, and third to fix it in the mind ready for use. The task of finding material may be slow and tedious at first, but successive ef- forts will bring ease and facility. The habit of completely "thinking out" a subject should be cultivated from the beginning. Thoughts should be noted down in writing as they oc- cur, and not be left to the caprice of memory. There must be ample time in which thor- oughly to do this work. After exhausting the resources of his own mind, the student may next turn to books in order to confirm and strengthen his ideas and gather further new material. He will also converse with well-informed people whenever possible, and closely observe things about him that bear upon the subject in hand. — Kxeiser, How to Speak in Public, p. 196. (F. & W., 1910.) 697. MATTERS OF WHICH THE ORATOR MAY SPEAK.— It is objected that an orator ought to be skilled in all arts if he is to speak at all. I answer this in Cicero's own words : "In my opinion," says he, "no one can be thought to have attained perfection in oratory unless he is learned in all matters of importance and has a compe- tent knowledge of arts and sciences." But it is enough for me if he be master of his subject. He may not be acquainted with ev- ery cause or question that is agitated, yet ought he to be capable of speaking of them. Of which, therefore, shall he speak? Of those he has learned. In like manner, he will acquire proper information of arts which are to be spoken of, and when he has got this information, he will be able to speak to the point in debate. What then? Will not an artisan make himself better understood in what relates to his trade, or a musician ex- plain better the nature of his science? Yes, certainly, if the orator possesses no knowl- edge of these matters, for a peasant and an illiterate person will talk more pertinently in their own suit than an orator who is igno- rant of the point to be settled. But let the orator have some necessary insight, and he will speak better and more to the purpose than the musician, artisan, or peasant. It is true the artisan and musician may clear up and argue cases very exactly in regard to their respective professions, but they will not Maxims Meditation KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 282 therefore be orators, tho they may act as such, any more than a man can be consid- ered a physician for binding up a wound, tho so far he acts the part of one. But do these points never become subjects of discussion in the demonstrative, deliberative, and judicial kinds? When the construction of a harbor at Ostia was so often deliberated upon, were not our orators consulted about the matter? Yet this was the business of architects. It belongs to the work of physicians to examine whether tumors and livid spots on the body be indications of poison or rather caused by weakness of digestion in the stomach. Was an orator never obliged to enter into the merits of an examination of this kind? Whatever regards dimensions and numbers is treated of by geometry, but are they never subjects of discussion for orators? Almost everything, in my opinion, may be incident to the orator's duty, may be illustrated by the colors of eloquence, and should anything be supposed not within its sphere, it will not be of its object. We therefore make the mat- ter of rhetoric to consist in all the things of which it may undertake to speak. — Quintil- lAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 142. (B. L., 1774.) 698. MAXIMS FOR SPEAKING.— I will tell you what maxims I adopt in speak- ing, and what I keep principally in view ; for a long life and experience in important af- fairs have taught me to discern by what means the minds of men are to be moved. The first thing I generally consider is, whether the cause requires that the minds of the audience should be excited ; for such fiery oratory is not to be exerted on trivial subjects, nor when the minds of men are so affected that we can do nothing by eloquence to influence their opinions, lest we be thought to deserve ridicule or dislike, if we either act tragedies about trifles or endeavor to pluck up what can not be moved. For as the feel- ings on which we have to work in the minds of the judges, or whoever they may be be- fore whom we may plead, are love, hatred, anger, envy, pity, hope, joy, fear, anxiety, we are sensible that love may be gained if you seem to advocate what is advantageous to the persons before whom you are speaking; or if you appear to exert yourself in behalf of good men, or at least for such as are good and serviceable to them; for the latter case more engages favor, the former, the defense of virtue, esteem; and if a hope of future advantage is proposed, it has a greater effect than the mention of past benefits. You must endeavor to show that in the cause which you defend, either their dignity or advantage is concerned ; and you should signify that he for whom you solicit their love has referred nothing to his own private benefit, and done nothing at all for his own sake; for dislike is felt for the selfish gains of individuals, while favor is shown to their desires to serve others. But we must take care, while we are on this topic, not to appear to extol the merit and glory of those whom we would wish to be esteemed for their good deeds, too highly, as these qualities are usually the greatest objects of envy. From these consid- erations, too, we shall learn how to draw hatred on our adversaries, and to avert it from ourselves and our friends. The same means are to be used, also, either to excite or allay anger; for if you exaggerate every fact that is hurtful or disadvantageous to the au- dience, their hatred is excited; but if any- thing of the kind is thrown out against men of worth, or against characters on whom no one ought to cast any reflection, or against the public, there is then produced, if not so violent a degree of hatred, at least an un- favorable feeling, or displeasure near akin to hatred. Fear is also inculcated either from people's own dangers or those of the public. Personal fear affects men more deep- ly; but that which is common to all is to be treated by the orator as having similar in- fluence. Similar, or, rather, the same, is the case with regard to hope, joy, and anxiety; but I know not whether the feeling of envy is not by far the most violent of all emo- tions; nor does it require less power to sup- press than to excite it. Men envy chiefly their equals or inferiors when they perceive themselves left behind, and are mortified that the others have outstript them ; but there is often a strong unfavorable feeling toward su- periors, which is the stronger if they are in- tolerably arrogant, and transgress the fair bounds of common justice through super- eminence in dignity or fortune. If such ad- vantages are to be made instruments to kin- dle dislike, the chief thing to be said is "that they are not the acquisitions of virtue, that they have even been gained perhaps by vice and crime; and that, however honorable or imposing they may appear, no merit was ever carried so high as the insolence of mankind and their contumelious disdain." To allay envy, it may be observed "that such advan- tages have been gained by extreme toil and imminent perils ; that they have not been ap- plied to the individual's own private benefit, but that of others; that he himself, if he appear to have gained any glory, altho it might not be an undue reward for danger, 283 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Kozlina Meditation was not elated with it, but wholly set it aside and undervalued it" ; and such an effect must by all means be produced (since most men are envious, and it is a most common and prevalent vice, and envy is felt toward all supereminent and flourishing fortune), that the opinion entertained of such characters be lowered, and that their fortunes, so excel- lent in people's imaginations, may appear min- gled with labor and trouble. Pity is excited if he who hears can be induced to apply to his own circumstances those unhappy partic- ulars which are lamented in the case of others, particulars which they have either suffered or fear to suffer ; and while he looks at another, to glance frequently at himself. Thus, as all the circumstances incident to hu- man suffering are heard with concern, if they are pathetically represented, so virtue in afHiction and humiliation is the most sor- rowful of all objects of contemplation; and as that other department of eloquence which, by its recommendation of goodness, ought to give the picture of a virtuous man, should be in a gentle and a submissive strain, so this, which is adopted by the orator to effect a change in the minds of the audience, and to work upon them in every way, should be vehement and energetic. — Cicero, On Oratory and Orators, p. 279. (B., 1909.) G99. MEANING AND EXPRESSION. — In order to acquire a habit of speaking with a just and forcible emphasis, nothing more is necessary than previously to study the construction, meaning, and spirit of ev- ery sentence, and to adhere as nearly as possible to the manner in which we distin- guish one word from another in conversa- tion; for in familiar discourse we scarcely ever fail to express ourselves emphatically, or place the emphasis improperly. With re- spect to artificial helps, such as distinguish- ing words or clauses of sentences by partic- ular characters or marks, I believe it mill be found, upon trial, that, except where they may be necessary as a guide to the sense, not leaving the reader at full liberty to follow his own understanding and feelings, they rather mislead than assist him.— Enfield, The Speaker, p. 18. (J., 1799.) 700. MEDITATION AND MASTERY OF SUBJECT.— Let us be assured that we shall only master our subject by deep thought and earnest meditation on it. Un- less we thus master and fully possess it, how can we announce and develop it with ease and facility? In what other way is our_ in- tellect to gather its arguments, our imagina- tion its rich and varied figures of speech, our heart its best and deepest emotions? No ! let us convince ourselves once for all that if we are to take our proper place amongst the men of our age, if we are to be orators in any sense of the word, we must be men of keen intelligence, men to whom the habit of close and earnest thought is at once easy, pleasant, and familiar. Let us apply to our- selves the sound advice which the Abbe Mullois gives to preachers. "Let us seize," says he, "the superiority which is conferred by knowledge, and by its means we shal! secure the attention of both great and small. The world is athirst for knowledge. Let us give it knowledge; but, to do this, we must, first of all, have filled ourselves with knowl- edge, else we shall be weaker, instead of stronger, than those whom we are to teach. If we are men of learning, we shall be stronger than the world, and we shall be able to dominate it by a twofold power, the power of human and of divine knowledge. The world possesses the earth, and the power of human speech only. We shall possess all that the earth possesses, but we shall pos- sess something more, something to which it can make no claim, the power of God's word. Thus we shall rule the world."— Potter, The Spoken Word, p. 38. (M. H. G. & Son, 1880.) 701. MEDITATION AND SPEAKING. — The speaker must meditate much. This is the secret of power. As a general rule, there is not much real honest thinking done in this world, and a man who betakes himself to it receives an immense advantage over his fel- lows. On this head it may interest the read- er to peruse the following lines written by the present Prime Minister, the Right Hon- orable William Ewart Gladstone. He had been applied to for his opinion as to what was the best system of mental training to make a good speaker. His answer was : "Speaking from my own experience, I think that the public men of England are beyond all others engrossed by the multitudes of cares and subjects of thought belonging to a highly diversified empire, and therefore are probably less than others qualified either to impart to others the best methods of pre- paring public discourses, or to consider and adopt them for themselves. Supposing, how- ever, I were to make the attempt I should certainly found myself on a double basis, compounded as follows: First, of a wide and general education, which, I think, gives a suppleness and readiness, as well as a firm- ness of tissue, to the mind, not easily ob- Melody Kemorlzlnsr KLEISER*S COMPLETE GUIDE 284 tained without this form of discipline; and, secondly, of the habit of constant and search- ing reflection on the subject of any proposed discourse. Such reflection will naturally clothe itself in words, and of the phrases it supplies many will spontaneously rise to the lips." — Beeton, Art of Public Speaking, from Complete Orator, p. 15. (W. L. & Co.) 702. MELODY IN SPEECH. — The term melody, as applied both to style in com- position and to elocution, has, for the most part, been used in a vague and indeterminate sense. Its use in music is, however, fixt ; and there is obviously every reason for preserv- ing to it the same radical import in all its various applications. In song it denotes pitch in succession, and is clearly distinguished from rhythm, which respects accent in suc- cession. In elocution we perceive the neces- sity of maintaining the same distinction, and need, for this purpose, the same precision in the distinct use of the terms. The same ne- cessity, likewise, exists in style. The exact relations of pitch to style are indicated in the fact that, in the oral delivery of dis- course, the mutual dependence and connec- tion of the particular constituents of the com- plex thought are exprest chiefly, altho not exclusively, through the variations of pitch. While it belongs to elocution to define pre- cisely what these variations are, it is the appropriate province of rhetoric to describe how the sentence shall be constructed so as to meet these qualities of an easy and agree- able elocution. More particularly, every con- stituent part of a complex thought, or the expression of it in a particular phrase, has, in a correct elocution, a pitch of its own by which it is distinguished from the other con- stituent parts. In passing from one phrase to another, the voice changes its pitch for the purpose often simply of making the tran- sition, and with no reference to any emphatic distinction. These successive ranges of pitch, given respectively to the several phrases, may obviously be such as to be offensive to a mu- sical ear. So far, therefore, as they are de- termined by the structure of the sentence, they need to be regarded in style. But, fur- ther than this, the relations between the con- stituent thoughts are indicated, in delivery, chiefly by the pitch of the voice. If, ac- cordingly, the sentence be so constructed that these relations can not appropriately be ex- prest with each and agreeable effect under the limitations of the laws of vocal sounds, it is so far faulty; and the prevention or correction of the fault comes within the prop- er purview of rhetorical style. — Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 235. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 703. MELODY OF SPEECH.— Melody is an excellence in expression, of too much consequence to be overlooked. In every kind of writing, according to the degree of skill with which soft and rugged, long and short, accented and unaccented sounds, whether simple or complex, are combined, the ear receives an agreeable impression, in some degree similar to that which is pro- duced by a melodious succession of musical notes. This effect is heightened when the divisions of distinct clauses, and the ca- dences at the close of entire sentences, are agreeably diversified. Melody is so intimate- ly combined with the other graces of ex- pression, and has so large a share in the pleasures produced by fine writing, that it deserves more attention, both among writers and critics, than the moderns have been in- clined to allow it. — Enfield, The Speaker, p. 46. (J., 1799.) 704. MELODY, USE OF.— The ancient orators bestowed incredible pains not alone upon the choice of words, but upon their metrical arrangement. Cicero quoted a few words from a speech which were so exquis- itely selected and collocated that they almost brought his hearers to their feet. It is the melody of a sentence which makes it cut into the mind, causes it to penetrate deeply, and ring in the ears. Let one brood over the finest parts of Shakespeare, Milton, the poets and prose writers, until his mind is filled with them and he can recite from them at will, and he will insensibly adopt their style and language, and imitate them. Pitt read and reread Barrow's sermons to get copious- ness of language. Burke abounds with gems from Virgil and Milton. The discipline and customs of social life tend to crush emo- tion. Literature alone is brimful of feeling. Webster read not many books. Shakespeare, Milton, and Burke he seems to have read till their ideas were held in his own mind in constant solution. He always prepared his speeches as if mentally facing his audience. — Frobisher, Acting and Oratory, p. 67. (C. of O. & A., 1879.) MEMORITER SPEAKING.— See Speaking, Memoriter. 705. MEMORIZING A SELECTION. —Do not learn a selection simply by rote — that is, by repeating it parrot-like over and 289 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Melodr Memorlzlngr over again — ^but fix it in the mind by a care- ful and detailed analysis of the thoughts. As you practise aloud, train your eye to take in as many words as possible, then look away from the book a« you recite them aloud. This will give the memory immediate practise and will tend to make it self-reliant. Having chosen a selection, read it over first in a gen- eral way to secure an impression of it in its entirety. Then read it a second time, giving particular attention to each part. Consult a dictionary for the correct meaning and pro- nunciation of every word about which you are in doubt. Next underline the emphatic words — those which you think best express the most important thoughts. Underscoring one line for emphatic words and two lines for the most emphatic, will do for this pur- pose. Now indicate the various pauses, both grammatical and rhetorical, by drawing short perpendicular lines between the words where) they occur. In a general way, use one line for a short pause, two lines for a medium pause, and three lines for a long pause. On the margin of the selection you may make other notes, such as the dominant feeling, transitions, changes of rate, force, and pitch, special effects, gestures, facial expression, etc. — Kleiser, Humorous Hits and How to Hold An Audience, p. 16. (F. & W., 1909.) 706. MEMORIZING A SPEECH.— The best way of committing a discourse to mem- ory is to divide it into small parts, and to learn each part thoroughly before going on to that which succeeds it. Of course, it will be seen that a logical arrangement of the matter is of great assistance to the recollec- tion. The best time for learning by heart is at night before retiring to rest (provided no heavy supper has been taken). On rising the following morning, the memory should be called to account. Of the advantages of a ready memory we may read in the following story: Lyncestes, accused of conspiracy against Alexander, the day that he was brought out before the army, according to custom, to be heard what he could say for himself, had prepared a studied speech, of which, haggling and stammering, _ he pro- nounced som« words; but still being more perplexed, whilst struggling with his memory, and whilst he was recollecting himself what he had to say, the soldiers nearest to him charged their pikes against him and killed him, looking upon him as guilty. His aston- ishment and silence served them for_ a con- fession. For, having had so much leisure to prepare himself in prison, they concluded it was not his memory that failed him, but that his conscience tied up his tongue, and stopt his mouth. — Beeton, Art of Public Speaking, from Complete Orator, p. 30. (W. L. & Co.) 707. MEMORIZING PARTS OF A SPEECH.— While speeches should not, except in rare cases, be written out and mem- orized entire, yet important passages, we think, should be; and, in every case where one is to speak on an important occasion, he should make himself so completely master of his theme by patient thought and frequent use of the pen, that the substance and the method, the matter and the order, of his ideas shall be perfectly familiar to him. Nor is it enough that he possess himself of sharp- ly defined thoughts, and the precise order of their delivery; he must brood over them hour by hour till "the fire burns" and the mind glows with them — till not only the ar- guments and illustrations have been supplied to the memory, but the most felicitous terms, the most vivid, pregnant, and salient phrases have been suggested, which he will recall, to an extent that will surprize him, by the mat- ter in which they are imbedded, and with which they are connected by the laws of as- sociation. Proceeding in this way, he will unite, in a great measure, the advantages of the written and the spoken styles. Avoiding the miserable bondage of the speaker who servilely adheres to manuscript — a procedure which produces, where the effort of memory has not been perfect, a feeling of constraint and frigidity in the delivery, and where it has been perfect, an appearance of artificial- ity in the composition — he will weave into his discourse the passages which he has pol- ished to the last degree of art, and he will introduce also anything that occurs during the inspiration of delivery. He will have all the electrical power, the freshness, fire, and fervor of the orator who does not write, and at the same time much of the condensa- tion, elegance, and exquisite finish of him who coins his phrases in the deliberation of his study. — Mathews, Oratory and Orators, p. 178. (S. F. & Co., 1896.) 708. MEMORIZING PASSAGES.— There is a practise which strikingly conduces toward facilitating expression and toward perfecting its form ; we mean the learning by heart of the finest passages in great writers, and especially in the most musical poets, so as to be able to recite them at a single ef- fort, at moments of leisure, during a solitary walk for instance, when the mind so read- ily wanders. This practice, adopted in all schools, is particularly advantageous in rhet- Uemorlzlnf Memory KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 286 oric and during the bright years of youth. At that age it is easy and agreeable, and he who aspires to the art of speaking ought never to neglect it. Besides furnishing the mind with all manner of fine thoughts, well exprest and well linked together, and thus nourishing, developing, and enriching it, it has the additional advantage of filling the un- derstanding with graceful images, or form- ing the ear to the rhythm and number of the period, and of obtaining a sense of the har- mony of speech, which is not without its own kind of music; for ideas, and even such as are the most abstract, enter the mind more readily, and sink into it more deeply, when presented in a pleasing fashion. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 78. (S., 1901.) 709. MEMORIZING THE PLAN.— By committing the plan to memory, the mind takes possession of the whole subject. It is brought into one view, and if any part is inconsistent with the main discussion, the defect will be seen at once. If the plan is properly constructed, the mind is then in the best possible condition for speech. The object is fixt in the heart, and will fire it to earnestness and zeal, and the subject is spread out before the mind's eye, While the two meet and mingle in such a way as to give life and vitality to every part. This is just what is needed in true preaching. The speaker's soul, heated by the contemplation of his object, penetrates every part of his theme, investing it with an interest that com.- pels attention. All the power he possesses is brought to bear directly on the people. — Pit- TiNGER. Oratory, Sacred 'and Secular, p. 92. (S. R. W., 1869.) 710. MEMORY AND ITS EFFECTS. — Vivid ideas are most efficacious in pro- ducing conviction, and they are most easily retained. Here the understanding, the imagi- nation, the memory, and the passions are mu- tually subservient. The memory must be en- gaged, because on it depends the conviction to be produced by the sum of all the evi- dence. In introducing new topics, the ves- tiges left by the former on the minds of the hearers may not be effaced. It is the sense of this necessity which has given rise to the rules of composition. The speaker's atten- tion to this subserviency of memory is al- ways so much the more requisite, the greater the difficulty of remembrance is, and the more important the being remembered is to the attainment of the ultimate end. On both accounts it is of more consequence in those discourses the aim of which is either instruction or persuasion, than in those whose aim is to please the fancy and move the pas- sions. Simplicity and uniformity have a wonderful effect upon the memory, so has order of place. If any person question this influence, let him but reflect how much easier it is to remember a considerable number of persons whom one has seen ranged on benches or chairs round a hall, than the same number seen standing promiscuously in a crowd; and how natural it is for assisting the memory in recollecting the persons to recur to the order wherein they were placed. Order in time, which in composition is prop- erly styled Method, consists in connecting the parts so as to give vicinity to things in the discourse which have an affinity; that is, resemblance, casuality, or other relation in nature ; and thus making their customary as- sociation and resemblance cooperate with their contiguity in duration or succession in delivery. The utility of method for aiding the memory, all the world knows. But, be- sides this, there are some parts of the dis- course, as well as figures of speech, pecu- liarly adapted to this end. Such are the division of the subject, the rhetorical repeti- tions of every kind, the different modes of transition and recapitulation. — Campbell, The Philosophy of Rhetoric, p. 76. (G. & W. B. W., 1823.) 711. MEMORY CULTURE, RULES FOR. — The memory has a certain amount of work to do in the delivery of a public speech ; but then it is a memory of no great- er power of retention than what is usually possest by most men that is required. Let it be clearly understood what we mean. A memory that shall deliver up, when called upon to do so, every word of a speech in its proper place, that had been given to its keep- ing, is not required. But one that can give forth great principles, no matter how or when collected, is that which is needed, and that which may be obtained by men general- ly. It is true there is a great difference be- tween being able to deliver a long lecture or speech from memory and giving a few facts or dates and such like, the omission of which, or any uncertainty in that respect, would at times place a man in a very awkward posi- tion ; but men in general have sufficient mem- ory in this respect to fit them for public speaking. And in cases where such is not so, it is, with some few exceptions, owing to the fault of the parties themselves. Every part of the human constitution, whether it belongs to our physical, moral, or spiritual 287 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Hemorlzluir ICemoxr nature, may be improved and strengthened, or become enfeebled and weak, through our own care and management, or our neglect and abuse. If burdening the memory for a continual series of years, and taxing it be- yond its powers of endurance, would impair the general health of the man, so, on the other hand, being indolent in our actions, spending our time in building castles in the air, being intemperate in our mode of living, and indulging in vicious practises, would also impair both mind and body, and degrade our whole spiritual nature. If, however, a man really wishes to improve his memory, he must adopt means to that end. The first step is rigid temperance in his mode of liv- ing — moderation in eating, in drinking, and sleeping. There should be early retiring to rest, and early rising in the morning. There should be a moderate amount of exercise given to the memory, so as not to burden it, and the mind should be thoroughly disci- plined and trained. We should seek to ac- quire concentration of thought, for until we can do so, our general reading will profit us little. The mind, like other things, needs the government of the will, and when the latter is brought to bear upon it, it duly performs its task. Without concentration of thought we may read a book over and over again before we grasp hold of its leading features and ideas; and in making a speech, our minds would wander here and there, to the confusion rather than the edification of our hearers. We sum up, therefore, by saying that strict temperance, discipline, and train- ing the mind to a habit of concentration of thought, and a moderate exercise of the mem- ory, are the chief rules to be observed for its improvement. — Anon, The Public Speaker, p. 103. (J. N. & Co., 1860.) 712. MEMORY, IMPORTANCE OF.— How great the benefit of memory is to the orator, how great the advantage, how great the power, what need is there for me to ob- serve? Why should I remark how excellent, a thing it is to retain the instructions which you have received with the cause, and the opinion which you have formed upon it? to keep all your thoughts upon it fixt in your mind, all your arrangement of language! marked out there? to listen to him from whom you receive any information, or to him to whom you have to reply, with such pow- er of retention, that they seem not to have poured their discourse into your ears, but to have engraven it on your mental tablet? They alone, accordingly, who have a vigo- rous memory, know what, and how much, and in what manner they are about to speak ; to what they have replied, and what remains unanswered; and they also remember many courses that they have formerly adopted in other cases, and many which they have heard from others. I must, however, acknowledge that nature is the chief author of this quali- fication, as of all those of which I have pre- viously spoken (but this whole art of ora- tory, or image and resemblance of an art, has the power, not of engendering and pro- ducing anything entirely of itself, of whici, no part previously existed in our understand- ing, but of being able to give education and strength to what has been generated, and has had its birth there) ; yet there is scarce- ly any one of so strong a memory as to re- tain the order of his language and thoughts without a previous arrangement and obser- vation of heads ; nor is any one of so weak a memory as not to receive assistance from this practise and exercise. For Simonides, or whoever else invented the art, wisely saw that those things are the most strongly fixt in our minds which are communicated to them, and imprinted upon them, by the senses; that of all the senses that of seeing is the most acute ; and that, iccordingly, those things are most easily retained in our minds which we have received from the hearing or the understanding, if they are also recom- mended to the imagination by means of the mental eye; so that a kind of form, resem- blance, and representation might denote in- visible objects, and such as are in their na- ture withdrawn from the cognisance of the sight, in such a manner that what we are scarcely capable of comprehending by thought we may retain as it were by the aid of the visual faculty. By these imaginary forms and objects, as by all those that come under our corporeal vision, our memory is admon- ished and excited; but some place for them must be imagined; as bodily shape can not be conceived without a place for it. That I may not, then, be prolix and impertinent upon so well-known and common a sub- ject, we must fancy many plain, distinct places, at moderate distances; and such sym- bols as are impressive, striking, and well- marked, so that they may present them- selves to the mind, and act upon it with the greatest quickness. This faculty of artifi- cial memory will afford practice (from which proceeds habit), as well as the derivation of similar words converted and altered in cases, or transferred from particulars to generals, and the idea of an entire sentence from the symbol of a single word, after the manner and method of any skilful painter, who dis- Memory Mental DlreotneBS KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 288 tinguishes spaces by the variety of what he depicts. — Cicero, On Oratory and Orators, p. 326. (B., 1909.) 713. MEMORY METHODS, ARTIFI- CIAL, CONDEMNED.— You must dis- trust all methods of mnemonics or artificial memory, intended to localize and to fagot together in your imagination the different parts of your address. Cicero and Quintil- ian recommend them, I think, in moderation ; be it so, but let it be in the strictest pos- sible moderation. For it is putting the me- chanism of form in the stead of the organ- ization of thoughts— substituting arbitrary and conventional links for the natural as- sociation of ideas; at the very least, it is introducing into the head an apparatus of signs, forms, or images which are to serve as a support to the discourse, and which must needs burden, obscure, and hamper the march of it. If your address be the expression of an idea fraught with life, it will develop it- self naturally, as plants germinate, as ani- mals grow, through the sustained action of a vital force, by an incessant organic oper- ation, by the effusion of a living principle. It ought to issue from the depths of the soul, as the stream from its spring. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 216. (S., 1901.) 714. MEMORY, SPEAKING FROM.— Without considerable skill in the art, speak- ing entirely from memory has a very bad effect. A man does not speak with any freedom, point, or force; the idea of a for- mal recitation is so irresistibly conveyed to his hearers that, tho his words will be lis- tened to, they will never come home like the words of an earnest, natural speaker ; his elo- quence, however great it may be, will suffer as much from his defective oratory as a fine song from a faulty execution. His whole delivery will be bad, there will be no light or shade, but one tone and manner through- out : argument, narrative, threatening, rebuke, encouragement, will all be the same; while the occasional sudden transitions from high- ly oratorical language to mere ordinary re- mark will often be so abrupt and unexpected as entirely to take off the mind from the matter to the manner. Such a speaker is like a bold but unskilful rider crossing an en- closed country; there is none of the quiet ease and grace, the steadiness, nerve, and masterly handling of one more practised ; he is all excitement, and hurries on to the end with rash impetuosity, not only without the slightest appreciation of the ground he trav- erses, but often laboring as much at the smallest obstacles as when he would gather himself together for some bold, decisive, and crowning effort. — Halcombe, The Speaker at Home, p. 68. (B. & D., 1860.) 715. MEMORY TRAINING.— If the memory be poor, it will be helpful at first to inquire into the reason for this condition. Such questions may be asked as : Is it lack of proper practise? Is it due to ill health? Is it lack of observation or of interest? Is there a systematic plan of gathering and re- cording knowledge? Are the daily habits of thinking and reading well ordered? Is there lack of thoroughness, accuracy, and deliber- ateness? These and similar questions should be answered frankly, and a determined effort made to correct such faults as are noted. To strengthen the memory, it is advisable to form the habit of making comparisons and contrasts. In reading a book, one should take notes and at the first opportunity try to re- peat from memory, to some other person, the general idea of what has been read. It is helpful also to interrogate one's self as to what has been seen or read. A good exer- cise is to read a passage from some writer and endeavor to repeat the same ideas in dif- ferent words and in as many ways as pos- sible. Vivid picturing of the thought helps to impress it upon the mind, and frequent repetition of a passage or speech will grad- ually fix it in the memory. Committing to heart each day a verse or prose extract will train the memory with surprizing rapidity. An exercise that has been used with good results is to enter a room, take a quick glance around, walk out, and write down what you remember of the things that you have seen. The same exercise can be applied to passing a shop window. — Kleiser, How to Develop Power and Personality in Speaking, p. 126. (F. & W., 1909.) 716. MENTAL ALERTNESS IN SPEAKING. — In writing you have time for reflection, and can arrange at leisure the sequence of your ideas. Nevertheless, every- body knows what trouble this arrangement often costs, and how great the perplexity is in catching the exact thread of unravelment, and in distinguishing amidst several ideas that which commands the rest and will open a way for them, as a principle has its con- sequences and a cause its effects. Sometimes whole hours are consumed in seeking the end of the chain, so as to unroll it suitably, and too often, as when trying to disentangle a skein of thread, you proceed awkwardly, 1 and you complicate instead of unraveling. 289 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING memory acentaa Directness This is one of the chief annoyances of those who want to write, especially in the period of impatient, fancy-ridden youth, when one readily mistakes whatever glitters or pro- duces effect, for the main point and the thing essential. A rare sagacity, or else much reflection and matureness are requisite to catch, at the first glance, the true serial connection of ideas, and to put everything in its right place, without groping and with- out unsuccessful trials. What, then, if you must decide on the spot, without hesitation, without being able "to try," before an audi- ence, which has its eyes riveted upon you, its ears intent, and its expectation eagerly await- ing the words that are to fall from your lips? The slightest delay is out of the ques- tion, and you must rush into the arena, often but half accoutred or ill armed. The mo- ment is come, you must begin to speak, even tho you do not exactly know what you are going to say, nor whether what you shall say will lead precisely to the passage which leads into the open sea. There is here a critical instant for the orator, an instant which will decide the fate of his discourse. No doubt he has prepared the sequence of his thoughts, and he is in possession of his plan. But this plan comprises only the lead- ing ideas stationed widely apart, and in or- der to reach the first station from the start- ing point, there is a rush to make and an aim to take, and therein lies the difficulty. The best way is to go on with resolution straight to the heart of your subject, the main idea, and to disembowel it, so to speak, in order to get forth its entrails and lay them out. But a man has not always the courage and the strength; besides which, he is afraid of being deficient in materials if he makes short work with his exposition, and thus of breaking down after a while, with- out having iilled up the time assigned to run his due course. This is a common illusion among beginners. They are always in dread of wanting sufficient materials, and either in their plan, or in their discourse, they heap up all manner of things, and end by being lengthy, diffuse, and confused. A man is never short of materials when he is in the true line of his development. But he must strike the rock with the rod of Moses, and, above all, he must strike it as God has com- manded, in order that the waters may gush from it in an exhaustible stream. When the miner has touched the right lode, wealth abounds.— Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 247. (S., 1901.) 717. MENTAL ATTITUDE IN SPEAKING.— Be natural; do not aim at too much ; do not try to read, but to feel ; do not declaim, but talk, be colloquial, yet not prosaic; be forcible, but not ranting. Be in earnest, profoundly in earnest. Be moderate in gesture; be impetuous and ardent; do not command by sympathy, but by power, pas- sion, will — indomitable will. Keep the body firm and braced in high excitement ; keep the sinews braced up like the strings of a harp or violin; be simple and without parade. Speak as tho the whole thought was your own; give passionate thoughts a rapid con- densation ; give the words a vibratory intona- tion; suppress force, and treasure strength and power. Concentrated tones of passion are better than the highest fury. Imbue each thought with all its capability of expression, and conceive fullest force in each particular. Be intense and passionate in intonation, the whole soul absorbed. In the severest pas- sions delineate to appall ; be real ; let the form fill the eye of the listener. Effect by tone of voice, the power of the eye, the mo- tion of the hand, and the quality of the sound given. Fervor is sure to effect. Read like one possessing good sense unconsciously; be the character, forget self. Conception of character, or passion, comes long before ex- ecution, is not imitation but reality of feeling. To be a hero, feel to be so. Do not despise trifles. Do not guess, but determine abili- ties. Practise often, for the vocal organs become paralyzed for want of action.— Fro- BiSHER, Voice and Action, p. 57. (I. B. & Co., 1867.) 718. MENTAL DIRECTNESS.— Inas- much as all speaking consists in the expres- sion of the leading operations of the speak- er's mind, it is evident that the mental action of speaking directly to the audience must al- ways predominate in the consciousness of the speaker, in order that the delivery should take on its true character and form, and should keep true to its object. It is this mental state which gives to all the signs, both voice and gesture, their last modifica- tion and adaptation to the object which they aim to effect. The mind of the speaker, e.g., being directed to his audience, his eye nat- urally follows his mind — -he looks at them; and not barely as "a sea of faces," without distinction, but he scans their individual countenances, notes their several expressions, and thus becomes conscious of the effect which he is producing upon them. All the gestures are affected in a similar manner. Thus also the voice naturally becomes suffi- Mental Sladplliie Message KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 290 ciently loud, and the articulation sufficiently hard and firm, to ensure that the speaker shall be heard and understood by the most distant person to whom he is speaking. Sim- ilar modifications are produced upon every sound, and every variation of sound, which he utters. In fine, it is this consciousness of the presence of the audience, and of speaking directly to them, for the accomplishment of his object, which gives the last molding touch to all the signs. It is this which gives point and direction to all those arrows of signifi- cant sound and gesture, which every moment are launched, by the force of his thoughts and passions, from the speaker's lips, eyes, countenance, and from all the motions of his hands, arms, and body, into the minds and hearts of his audience, and which makes them feel that they are the object of a well- manned battery, playing upon them with no uncertain aim. — McIlvaine, Elocution, p. 98. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 719. MENTAL DISCIPLINE.— The ad- vantages blended with a habitual resort to the disciphne afforded by Euclid, are at- tested by the nature of the exercise itself. Geometrical science has been justly pro- nounced the perfection of logic, and the train of reasoning is there presented in a state of such pure abstraction from all ex- traneous matter and all superfluous verbi- age, each link in the chain of geometrical ratiocination is so perfectly consecutive in its character, is so dependent on precedent links and propositions, that the mind of a reasoner, by studying one of these propositions closely, previous to the investigation of any abstruse question in legal or political science, is pre- pared for the work of searching after the pure ore of truth. The mind of a reason- er, by this preliminary training, is narrowed down to a specific point in an inquiry, in- stead of rambling over the indefinite field of speculative reasoning. It has a measure of ballast imparted to it, which renders it firm and stable in its operations, instead of being inflated with that passion for ethereal soar- ing which is frequently created by the peru- sal of highly imaginative authors.— McQueen, The Orator's Touchstone, or Eloquence Sim- pMed, p. 248. (H. & B., 1860.) 720. MENTAL EXERCISE AND CONVERSATION.— The mental facul- ties demand exercise as truly as the bodily, and enjoy it as keenly. The mind that is healthy delights in the glow of movement and contest. It loves to meet with a con- genial spirit — one that has sucked the sweet- ness of the same authors, and enjoyed them with the same gust — which has brought away their quintessence, and treats it to the juice of the grape without thrusting upon it the stalks and husks. Talking is a digestive process which is absolutely essential to the mental constitution of the man who devours many books. A full mind must have talk, or it will grow dyspeptic. — Mathews, The Great Conversers, p. 51. (S. F. & Co., 1892.) 721. MENTAL OPERATIONS TO BE SUPPREST WHILE SPEAKING.— (1) In speaking from memory, the whole intellectual process of remembering what is to be delivered must be kept from mani- festing itself; no sign of it can be allowed to appear in the vocal expression. Hence this laborious operation, together with all the anxieties attending it, must never become prominent in the consciousness of the speak- er ; it must be carried on strictly as a sub- process : otherwise it will confuse those other mental operations which properly belong to the expression of thought, and either mar or destroy the effect of the delivery. (2) The operations of invention and style must be supprest. In speaking extempore, all these laborious operations have to be carried on, for the most part, unconsciously; otherwise the speaking will express them, and little else. (3) The operations of reading must be supprest. The case is similar in speaking from manuscript. All the mental operations of taking in the sense through the eye, which are in fact the reverse of those which belong to giving it out, must be carried on uncon- sciously; for they become the leading oper- ations, the speaking expresses them, and thus becomes the reverse of true expression. Here now we have the great difficulty to be overcome. It is that of carrying on all such mental operations strictly as sub-processes, and for the most part unconsciously, in or- der that they may not appear in the speak- ing; together with that of keeping all the mental faculties intently engaged in those operations which properly belong to the ex- pression of thought, and to the work of im- pressing it upon others. This is the grand obstacle to excellence in speaking, which, if there were no others, would make instruc- tion, training, and practise indispensable to success. — McIlvaine, Elocution, p. 25. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 722. MENTAL POWERS, EXERCISE OF THE. — One of the most powerful auxiliaries in training the human mind for conducting a discussion with skill, regularity, 291 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Uental OliolpUne and success, is the constant practise of ob- serving, with a scrutinizing degree of atten- tion, speakers of every description, as they are progressing in the delivery of an argu- ment, speech, essay, or address. This exer- cise of the mental powers, with a juvenile candidate for the benefits and the honors of eloquence, will be found to rank next, in point of efficacy and importance, to the dis- cipline involved in the actual labor of pre- paring a speech or argument. The course here enjoined was a favorite resort with the celebrated William Pitt, and he acknowl- edged its charming efficacy in developing the irresistible powers as a debater, which he manifested even at a very early period of his life, in the Parliament of Great Britain. It was his daily habit, during his hours of lei- sure, to sit in the gallery of the House of Commons, to note down in his mind the points assumed by the different speakers of celebrity, to examine in silence the validity of these points, and also to reflect on the methods by which they might be improved, and how they might be answered. It is rare- ly that we find a person endowed with a tem- perament so stolid and apathetic as not to derive some degree of pleasure from listen- ing to an able and animated argument. But it is not the listless and superficial attention to an intellectual performance, which yields to the student a return of rich benefits and blessings. He must habituate himself to the practise of yielding to an argument, as it unfolds itself in its various divisions, that measure of abstract and concentrated atten- tion which an enthusiastic aspirant to per- fection in any mechanical art or pursuit, gives to an accomplished artizan or mechan- ic as he adds one part to another in per- fecting the whole of any useful and complex piece of machinery. With such attention given to the argument of a luminous and en- lightened speaker, one would be at a loss to determine why a student of debating should not be benefited equally as much as would students in any of the professional depart- ments, from an intelligent and uniform at- tention to the lectures of their professors or preceptors. When a susceptible pupil has received the benefit from devout and patient attention to speakers in the pulpit, at the bar, and in deliberative assemblies; when he participates in conflicts with the master minds of his country, on the various theaters of intellectual contention; he will possess the same advantage over the young debater whose faculties have not been previously practised in this way, that the person who has long received instruction from an expert swordsman will possess over an untutored son of the forest, in any grave contention in which the sword is appealed to as an arbiter. — McQueen, The Orator's Touchstone, or Eloquence Simplified, p. 181. (H. & B., 1860.) 723. MENTAL PREPARATION.— The human mind is not a grinding machine, but a living organ ; not only very different in different men, but different in the same man on different days. If you overdrive it, it may take its revenge on you, either by strik- ing altogether, or by turning out such bad work that you are ashamed to own it. Yet sometimes it is but sluggishness, that only needs pushing, instantly to obey the spur. Some heads, again, always work slowly, oth- ers rapidly; some best without food at all, or only of the slightest kind ; others, like Christopher North, need the support of plen- tiful food at frequent intervals. It is not always the quickest work that saves time in the end; in sermon writing, as in other things, the hare is often beaten by the tor- toise. Sometimes, however, slow composition means that the head is out of gear; and then what is slow is bad. This, however, is be- yond dispute : that certain parts of a sermon are best worked off at once, and not left unfinished; also that when the head is tired, or time insufficient for completing it proper- ly, conscience as well as judgment will sug- gest the postponement of the task. The men- tal heat and the moral sympathy with the subject will all come back when you sit down to it next day, if only you are careful to read through what has been written before you begin again. — Thorald, Homiletical and Pastoral Lectures, p. 17. (A., 1880.) 724. MESSAGE, IMPORTANCE OF HAVING A. — A true orator must have a message — that is, some great truth that he is bound to proclaim. By his very nature he is a leader, a king. He must guide and com- mand. He must therefore occupy a high standpoint, take a wide survey of life, and see clearly the various paths by which men walk. He must, indeed, be a beacon, placed on high, and shedding down a steady light upon the travelers below. If he does not occupy this lofty position, he is at best but a wandering fire, a will-o'-the-wisp; and the sooner he disappears the better for the pub- lic. A dull man once intimated to his friend that he was about to study for the ministry. "What is your reason?" said his friend. "That I may glorify God by preaching the gospel." "My dear fellow, you will best glorify God by holding your tongue." In TSeBBago Method KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 292 Old Testament times, the Jewish prophets, when preparing for a public career, used to retire to solitary places — to the caves of the rock, or the hollow bosom of the hills, or the depths of the wilderness. There, gazing upon the grand movements of the universe, and musing upon the history of the human race, they became acquainted with the ways of God in nature and in providence. Inspira- tion came upon them; they felt themselves filled, possest with a divine message ; and, re- turning to the haunts of men, they proclaimed this message to the nation with a voice like a trumpet. Some, like Isaiah, rapt away by sublime enthusiasm, addrest themselves to the universe, and called upon the heavens and the earth to listen to the word of the Lord. In the same way, one who aspires to be a true orator must study the ways of God in nature, in history, and in society. He must enter so far into the mind of God, and un- derstand to a certain extent the great laws by which the universe is ruled. He must, in plain language, know the truth, and nothing but the truth, regarding the subject about which he is to speak. Facts — real, distinct facts — must be the substance of the speech. The feeling of a speech may, according to Whately, be compared to the edge of a saber; but the back of the saber — that which gives consistency and strength and weight — must be the facts. When an orator proclaims these great eternal truths, he can not fail to produce a mighty effect. Tho bishops or presbyters may not have laid their conse- crating hands upon his head, tho he may be merely a lecturer on literature or science, yet he is really a preacher. He speaks not his own message, but the message of God; and he speaks it with a voice of power, for he feels that it is backed by the weight of the universe, nay, by the Divine Spirit him- self. Self is sunk, and the subject possesses him. You see the inspiration in the bright- ening of his countenance, in the flash of his eye, in the thrill of his voice, in the com- manding vigor of his gestures ; and mean- while his speech flows forth, clear and strong, like a river let loose from the living rock, sometimes rushing down the steep and sweep- ing before it all obstructions, sometimes flowing majestically along the level lands, but always borne along by that same omnipres- ent force of gravity which rolls the planets round the sun and holds together the bound- less system of the universe. — Pryde, High- ways of Literature, p. 127. (F. & W.) 725. METAPHOR DEFINED AND ILLUSTRATED.— A trope is the change of a word or speech from its proper signifi- cation to another, in order to gain greater perfection. Let us begin with that which most frequently is used, and which is also the most beautiful; I mean that which the Greeks call metaphor. Nature has so adapt- ed it to us that the illiterate often use it unconsciously, and it is, likewise, so pleas- ing and graceful that in the finest speech it will always shine forth by its own light. It cannot be vulgar, nor low, nor disagreeable, if it be properly applied. It adds also to the copiousness of language by changing that which is harsh and unseemly in it, or bor- rowing that which is deficient in it, and what is most difficult of all, it provides everything with an appellation. A name or word is transferred, therefore, from the place in which it is proper, into that where either a proper word is lacking, or the metaphorical is better than the proper word. This we do through necessity, or to express a thing more emphatically, or, as said before, for orna- ment's sake. Otherwise the metaphor will be improper. Peasants say through neces- sity, "The vines bud"; for what else could they say? They say also that "A field of corn is dry or thirsty," and that "Fruit trees are sick." Necessity makes us say that such a man is "hard" or "rough," there being no proper name for expressing these disposi- tions of the mind. But when we say one is "inflamed with anger, fired with lust, fallen into error," we express the nature of these things in a more significant manner, for not one of them is more proper in its own words than in these borrowed ones. There are others for the purpose of ornament, as, "The light of the bar," "The splendor of birth," "The storms that rage in the assemblies of the people," and "Floods of eloquence." The metaphor is shorter than the simile, the dif- ference between them being that the one is compared to the thing we wish to express, and the other is said for the thing itself. When I say of a man that he fought like a lion, it is a simile; but when I say that he is a lion, it becomes a metaphor.— Quintil- lAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 3, p. 85. (B. L., 1774.) 726. METAPHOR, STRENGTH OF.— Since perspicuity is the primary excellence of style in sermon writing, your metaphors must be such as may be easily understood; many metaphors which are suitable to poetry would be inadmissible in the pulpit. Look at the 104th Psalm, "O my Lord God, Thou are be- come exceedingly glorious, Thou art clothed with majesty and honor. Thou deckest Thy- 293 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING MesBag'e Uethoa self with light as it were with a garment, and spreadest out the heavens like a curtain. Who layeth the beams of His chambers in the waters, and maketh the clouds His char- iot, and walketh upon the wings of the wind." Now this splendid and bold style is evidently unsuited to preaching, because not only is it out of accordance with the sober and serious tone of a sermon, but would be found to be unintelligible; it might please the ears of the more imaginative part of your audience, but would not edify any of them. At the same time, metaphors should not be trite and common, so as to convey no new or pleasing idea; as if you speak of af- flictions as the storms and waves of life, and heaven as the haven where we would be. Such metaphors are tame and spiritless. The point to be aimed at is to hit upon such as shall be easily intelligible when spoken, but not too obvious before. The metaphors used by our Saviour, in the New Testament, are the best models for your purpose ; they unite the requisite force and simplicity. "I am the good shepherd, and know My sheep, and am known of Mine." "I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman. Every branch in Me that beareth not fruit He ta- keth away: and every branch that beareth fruit He purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit." "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life." "Enter ye in at the strait gate; for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction." "Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden." The force and beauty of such metaphors as these are intelligible to all. "Sermons," says Hooker, "are keys to the kingdom of heaven, wings to the soul, spurs to the good affec- tions of man, unto the sound and healthy food, physic unto diseased minds." The principle source of strength and vividness in the use of metaphors is when you represerit things in action, or give a tangible and visi- ble form to what is abstract or inanimate ; as when you say inflamed with anger, swollen with pride, a stony heart, deep-rooted preju- dice, voice of nature, daughter of Jerusalem. — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergyman, p. 135. (D. & Co., 1856.) 727. METHOD, ADVANTAGE OF.— Irregularity and want of method are only supportable in men of great learning or ge- nius, who are often too full to be exact; and, therefore, choose to throw down their pearls in heaps before the reader, rather than be at the pains of stringing them. Method is of advantage to a work both in respect to the writer and the reader. In regard to the first, it is a great help to his invention. When a man has planned his discourse, he finds a great many thoughts rising out of every head, that do not offer themselves upon the general survey of a subject. His thoughts are at the same time more intelligible, and better discover their drift and meaning when they are placed in their proper lights, and follow one another in regular series, than when they are thrown together without or- der or connection. There is always an ob- scurity in confusion, and the same sentence that would have enlightened the reader in one part of a discourse, perplexes him in an- other. For the same reason, likewise, every thought in a methodical discourse shows it- self in its greatest beauty, as the several figures in a piece of painting receive new grace from their disposition in the picture. The advantages of a reader from a method- ical discourse are correspondent with those of the writer. He comprehends everything easily, takes it in with pleasure, and retains it long. Method is not less requisite in speak- ing than in writing, provided a man would talk to make himself understood. I, who hear a thousand coffee-house debates every day, am very sensible of this want of meth- od in the thoughts of my honest country- men. There is not one dispute in ten which is managed in those schools of politics, where, after the first three sentences, the question is not entirely lost. Our disputants put me in mind of the skuttle-fish, that when he is unable to extricate himself, blackens all the water about him till he becomes invis- ible. The man who does not know how to methodize his thoughts has always to bor- row a phrase from the dispensary, a barren superfluity of words; the fruit is lost amidst the exuberance of laws. — The Spectator. 728. METHOD, CLEARNESS OF.— In all kinds of public speaking, nothing is of greater consequence than a proper and clear method. I mean not that formal method of laying down heads and subdivisions, which is commonly practised in the pulpit and which in popular assemblies, unless the speaker be a man of great authority and character and the subject of great importance, and the prep- aration, too, very accurate, is rather in haz- ard of disgusting the hearers, such an in- troduction presenting always the melancholy prospect of a long discourse. But tho the method be not laid down in form, no dis- course of any length should be without meth- od; that is, everything should be found in its proper place. Everyone who speaks will find it of the greatest advantage to himself Method MiuiBter KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 294 to have previously arranged his thoughts and classed under proper heads in his own mind what he is to deliver. This will assist his memory and carry him through his discourse without that confusion to which one is every moment subject who has fixt no distinct plan of what he is to say. And with respect to the hearers, order in discourse is absolutely necessary for making any proper impression. It adds both force and light to what is said. It makes them accompany the speaker easily and readily as he goes along, and makes them feel the full effect of every argument which he employs. Few things, therefore, deserve more to be attended to than distinct arrange- ment; for eloquence, however great, can never produce entire conviction without it. — • Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 3, p. 237. (A. S., 1787.) 729. METHOD, CLEARNESS OF, IN SPEAKING.— There should be energy without rant, solemnity without melancholy, comprehensiveness without being prosy, and conciseness without leaving in uncertainty. Let there be an enunciation of great truths, broad principles, and just ideas; and let there be manifested in the speaker a desire for the public weal, and then his style can hardly fail to captivate and to please. Let there be method and regularity in the ar- rangement of your discourse, and you will hardly fail to be understood. Some authors, such, for instance, as Seneca and Montaigne, men of great learning and genius, let their remarks and ideas fall promiscuously, being too full to be exact. It has been said of them that "they choose to throw down their pearls in heaps before the reader, rather than be at the pains of stringing them." But, how- ever supportable this may be in such writers as those above mentioned, it is not allowable in a speaker. Few audiences will be at the trouble to find out the speaker's meaning, from a whole chapter of odds and ends spread out before them. Indeed, nothing ap- pears more perfectly childish, or shows great- er proofs of an undisciplined mind, than for a speaker to wander here and there in his remarks, and leave his hearers at a loss to discover his drift and meaning. Adopt, there- fore, some method and order in the arrange- ment of your discourse, and the benefits deriving therefrom will be great, both to your- self and your hearers. To yourself, many thoughts will present themselves which would not have occurred to your mind in taking a general survey of the subject. And such thoughts, being presented in their proper light, and following each other in regular order, will produce their full effect on the minds of the hearers. For they will be eas- ily comprehended, taken in with pleasure, re- tained long in the memory, and, it is to be hoped, will influence the audience for good. —Anon, The Public Speaker, p. 97. (J. N. & Co., 1860.) 730. METHOD INDISPENSABLE.— The study of method for the formation and strengthening of habits of methodical think- ing, is the indispensable condition of all ra- tional progress. A mind trained to habitual activity in method has reached Its true ma- turity of training. Without this, it is essen- tially deficient in its culture. It is obvious that the method, while it must vary with the character of the theme in discourse, must vary also with the object or proposed end of the discourse. It is not sufficient, there- fore, in rhetorical training merely to indi- cate the necessity of method and its general nature. It is necessary to view it in its va- rious modifications as determined by the par- ticular theme, but especially by the particular object of the discourse, as well as also by the particular process which is adopted in the discussion. — Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 61. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 731. METHOD, USES OF.— Every kind of writing is certainly illuminated by an ac- curate disposition of its several parts. Meth- od is so far from being an absolute proof of stupidity that it is no very questionable indication of strength of mind and compass of thought. The first conceptions which ac- cidental association may raise in the mind are not likely to come forth spontaneously in that order which is most natural and best suited to form a regular piece. It is only by the exercise of much attention and ac- curate judgment that a writer can give his work the beauty of regularity amidst vari- ety, and without this, the detached parts, however excellent, are but the members of a disjointed statue. The reader, therefore, who wishes to form an accurate judgment con- cerning the merit of any literary production, will inquire whether the author's general ar- rangement be such as best suits his design, whether there be no confusion in the dispo- sition of particular parts, no redundancies or unnecessary repetitions — in fine, whether ev- ery sentiment be not only just, but pertinent, and in its proper place. — Enfield, The Speak- er, p. 42. (J., 1799.) 732. MIND, LIBERATING THE.— Discharge your mind of the sermon when 295 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Uethod nunlgter once you have preached it; so keeping the mind free and open for other subjects suc- ceeding that one. I can not give you any rule by which to do this. I only know that it can be done, tho it is not easy; that the habit of doing it can be formed, like the habit of dining at a certain hour, or of walking at a certain pace, or like any other habit which we make for ourselves. And I know that it is indispensable to one who would speak energetically, usefully, without help from his notes. The lawyer does it, all the time. All sorts of cases come succes- sively before him, and each, in its turn, fully occupies his mind : cases of insurance ; cases involving felony — murder, theft, forgery, barratry, libel, or what not; cases of patent rights ; cases involving the title to lands ; horse-cases, perhaps. While he is arguing one, his thoughts are full of it. The next eliminates it wholly from his mind; and the one is forgotten when the other is before him. A minister must learn to do much the same thing. It is not easy, as I said. I used to be more embarrassed at this point than at almost any other. But I found the one great secret of success in doing what was needed was to take a second subject very different from the first: then the expulsive power of the new subject, occupying the thoughts, freed them from embarrassing reminiscences of the other. — Storks, Preaching Without Notes, p. 56. (D. M. & Co., 1875.) 733. MIND, OPERATION OF, ON MIND. — In physics there are forces which operate not mechanically, but dynamically; not by the conveyance of new matter, but by the production of a new state or contact. Such is now believed to be the mode of pro- ducing vision in the human organ. Some- thing analogous to this occurs in operation of mind on mind. Over and above the truth conveyed, I believe there may be an opera- tion. When I go to see a poor widow, and take her by the hand, the words which I speak to her are for the most part such as she has known before; and yet she is com- forted. The same truths uttered from the pulpit by different men, or by the same man in different states of feeling, will produce very different effects. Some of these are far beyond what the bare conviction of the truth so uttered would ordinarily produce. The whole mass of truth, by the sudden passion of the speaker, is made red-hot, and burns its way. Passion is eloquence. Hence the great value of extempore discourse. Demos- thenes' discourses read coldly sometimes; but who can restore on paper the whirlwind and earthquake power of the passion with which they were delivered ! No man can be a great preacher without great feeling. Hence the value of devotional preparation. You should seize, for writing, moments of great feeling. Record the outflow of these, and you will perhaps have some measure of them in delivery. — Alexander, Thoughts on Preaching, p. 31. (S., 1862.) 734. MINISTERIAL RESPONSIBILI- TIES.-. — The great thing for us is to be real. It is the decision of the heart that gives decision to the life. It is the devotion of the man who has felt the constraining love of Christ which gives the tone to all his work. Decision for God — that consecra- tion of body, soul, and spirit to Christ's ser- vice, which follows on a true conversion, and true Spirit-taught perception of the Savior's love — is the secret of perseverance in well- doing; it is the great safeguard against wear- iness or indolence, against any subtle thought of merit or of working for the sake of re- ward. Decision distinctly for Him who has bought us with His precious blood will give the tone to our preaching; for it will prompt us to teach our people that we work from life, and not for life; that we do not work that we may be saved, but that we are saved that we may work. Decision for Him will characterize the outward life in the eyes of the discerning world. Decision for Him will be of strength to us in that self-denial which is daily and hourly put to the test and strain. And the thought of the responsibility of the minister, occasionally and thoughtfully real- ized, as during a retreat, or on the anniver- sary of our ordination, or on some Sabbath morning before we go forth to our public ministration, or before we go our round of pastoral visits, will surely bring us to our knees for ourselves, that Christ's strength may be made perfect in our weakness, that in all we do or say we may do all in the name of the Lord Jesus ; that we may have a single eye to God's glory, and may be the honored and privileged instruments in in- creasing the kingdom of our Lord and Sa- vior. We shall be often praying for all need- ful grace and for an unction from above. We shall pray for ourselves, that after we have preached to others we ourselves be not cast away, that by our example we may not have given the enemies of the Lord occasion to blaspheme; and that by our devotion to our work we may magnify our office. We may faintly imagine what the reward of faithful service will hereafter be, when we think of the joy we are now given to know. Mlrabeau Models KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 296 when we have been allowed of God to help a soul out of darkness into light — what the crown must be in heaven, if a happiness the world knows not of be our experience here. — PiGou, Homiletical and Pastoral Lectures, p. 500. (A., 1880.) 735. MIRABEAU, STYLE OF. — The career of Mirabeau more resembles a strange romance than a sober history. He was of a good family, but during his childhood and early manhood his father treated him like a brute. His very appearance was pecuhar. His head was of enormous size, his body so much misshapen that his father, who perse- cuted him for his deformity, declared that he looked more like a monster than a human being. The whole of his early life presents a picture of dreariness and misery exceeding that of almost any other man who has risen to greatness. Several times he was impris- oned, once for three years and a half, by order of his unnatural parent. Finally he began to use his pen, and soon won general admiration. His father, having failed to crush him, now became reconciled, and al- lowed him to assume the family name, which he had not permitted before. By this time he had a wide experience of vice, and was deeply in debt. His struggles for several years were still severe. But at length the great revolution came, and he found his true element. The powers of speech which had already been displayed to a limited extent, were now exercised in a noble field. The people soon recognized in him the qualities necessary for a leader, and elected him to the General Assembly of France. Here he was feared and respected by all. He had no party to support him, but worked alone, and often by the mere force of his genius bent the Assembly to his will. During his whole career there he was not an extremist, and for a time before his death was engaged in upholding the crown and the cause of con- stitutional government against the party of anarchy and death. This lost him his un- bounded popularity with the fickle populace of Paris, and they began to shout for his blood. He was charged in the Assembly with corruption and treason to the cause of liberty. This only prepared the way for his triumph. The very tree was marked on which he vras to be hung. But he did not quail before the storm. When he reached the hall, he found himself in the midst of determined enemies already drunk with blood, and with no friend who dared to speak on his behalf. But the mere force of eloquence prevailed. He spoke in words of such power that the noisy multitude was stilled, and the tide turned. After this tri- umph he took part in every measure, and was really the guiding power of the state. The king leaned on him as the only stay of his reign, and the moderate of every party began to look to him as the hope of France. Sometimes he spoke five times in one day, and at the sound of his magical voice the anarchical Assembly was hushed into rev- erence and submission. But his exertions were beyond his strength. At last he was prostrated. Every hour the king sent to in- quire of his health, and bulletins of his state were posted in the streets. It seemed as if the destiny of France was to be decided in his sick chamber. He died, and the whole nation mourned, as well it might, for no other hand than his could hold back the reign of terror. It is indeed a problem whether that terrible tragedy would not have been prevented if he had but lived a few months longer. Some of the speeches of this remarkable man were recited, but in these he never attained his full power. A French writer well describes him: "Mira- beau in the tribune was the most imposing of orators, an orator so consummate that it is harder to say what he wanted than what he possest. Mirabeau had a massive and square obesity of figure, thick lips, a forehead broad, bony, prominent, arched eyebrows, an eagle eye, cheeks flat and somewhat fleshy, fea- tures full of pock holes and blotches, a voice of thunder, an enormous mass of hair, and the face of a lion. His manner as an ora- tor is that of the great masters of antiquity, with an admirable energy of gesture, and a vehemence of diction which perhaps they had never reached. Mirabeau in his premeditated discourses was admirable. But what was he not in his extemporaneous effusions? His natural vehemence, of which he repressed the flights in his prepared speeches, broke down all barriers in his improvizations. A sort of nervous irritability gave then to his whole frame an almost preternatural animation and life. His breast dilated with an impetuous breathing. His Hon face became wrinkled and contorted. His eyes shot forth flame. He roared, he stamped, he shook the fierce mass of his hair, all whitened with foam; he trod the tribune with the supreme author- ity of a master and the imperial air of a king. What an interesting spectacle to behold him momently erect and exalt himself under the pressure of obstacle ! To see him dis- play the pride of his commanding brow! To see him, like the ancient orator, when, with all the power of his unchained eloquence. 297 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING lUrabean ModelB he was wont to sway to and fro in the Forum the agitated waves of the Roman multitude. Then would he throw by the measured notes of his declamation, habitu- ally grave and solemn. Then would escape him broken exclamations, tones of thunder, and accents of heartrending and terrible pa- thos. He concealed with the flash and color of his rhetoric the sinewy arguments of his dialectics. He transported the Assembly, be- cause himself transported. And yet, so ex- traordinary was his force, he abandoned him- self to the torrent of his eloquence without wandering from his course; he mastered others by its sovereign sway, without losing for an instant his own self-control." — Pix- TENGER, Oratory, Sacred and Secular, p. 154. (S. R. W., 1869.) 736. MODELS AND THEIR STUDY. — We do not study good models in order that we may steal from them what is pe- culiarly theirs, and what may be in nowise suited either to our temperament or our style; but we study them in order that we may derive from their more matured experi- ence, and their greater excellence, the means of developing in ourselves those peculiar qualities which they may seem to share, to some extent, with us. In this sense we en- deavor to appropriate whatever we consider most excellnet in them by making it our own. Such imitation is certain to open some new ideas, certain to enlarge and purify our own, to give new vigor to the current of our thoughts, and greater depth to the emotions of our heart. We behold, for example, cer- tain peculiar qualities in a great orator, and we feel that we possess the same, but with this difference, that he possesses them in a higher degree, and expresses them with more power than we are able to do. We endeavor to penetrate his secret, and to discover the source of his excellence. Having done so, we strive, not to steal what is his, but to make it our own; and, by transferring it to our own souls, to cause it to aid us in de- veloping and raising to the highest degree of perfection our peculiar and characteristic qualities ; those qualities, be they of head or of heart, of cold logic or of warm sympa- thies and deep emotions, which should dis- tinguish us from other men; those special qualities and characteristics whose cultiva- tion is to be the foundation of whatever de- gree of greatness or excellence we are to attain. — Potter, Sacred Eloquence, p. 65. (Fr. P. & Co., 1903.) 737. MODELS, STUDY OF.— As for models, in what spirit must we study them? It is with beauty as with virtue, either the one or the other is to be copied; they im- press themselves, the one on the taste, the other on the conscience; they have only to show themselves; by contemplation of their forms we become like them. This excludes neither reflection nor analysis; looking does not hinder us from seeing. But beauty does not transport itself ready-made; and we less resemble models the more we wish to re- semble them. It is simply or chiefly a con- tagion, to which we must expose ourselves. Admiration is fruitful. And what are mod- els? Not only sermons, but all oratorical discourses; not all these only, but eloquence wherever it is to be found; eloquence, not oratory; the eloquence of narration as well as that of reasoning; eloquence of kinds the most diverse, that we may have the most comprehensive, the mbst pure, the least con- ventional idea of it; not only eloquence pre- pared to hand, but that which makes itself eloquence. Ready-made eloquence may put your own out of doors. — ^Vinet, Homiletics; or. The Theory of Preaching, p. 48. (I. & P., 1855.) 738. MODELS, STUDY OF GREAT.— One efficacious means of infusing an earnest spirit into expression, is the attentive study of the great models of eloquence, ancient and modern. It is true that the process of ver- bal translation, and the routine of formal declamation, in academic exercises, have ex- tracted much of the freshness and the life of eloquence from the best pages of classic oratory, by blunting the student's sensibility to their peculiar power and beauty. But to every true scholar there comes a time when the trammels of early association are laid aside with the other transient impressions of boyhood, and the man, in the maturity of his mind, perceives and appreciates the liv- ing force of the great masters in oratory; and then Demosthenes and Cicero and Chat- ham are, to his view, themselves again, in their original power and splendor. The daily practise of reading aloud, and declaiming from these authors, can not but rouse and impel a mind that truly feels their power. The sympathetic spirit must catch something of their glowing earnestness and breathing life of utterance. Language such as theirs it is hardly possible for the man to repeat in the cold, flat tones of the school-boy's com- pulsory task. The same may be said in re- gard to the effect produced on elocution by the reading and study of all writers whose Models monotony KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 298 language breathes an earnest spirit. The stirring narratives, even of the novelist — if we take such as Scott for our illustration — exert a similar power in awakening and im- peUing the feelings of the reader; and could the clergyman who pleads his incessant oc- cupation, as an apology for neglecting the cultivation of his delivery, be induced to de- vote but half an hour a day to the practise of reading aloud, to his own family circle, an effective passage from such a writer, he would unavoidably acquire a vivid and ear- nest manner of expression, as a habit, in whatever possest an interest to his own feel- ings. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 64. (D., 1878.) 739. MODELS, THE BEST SPEAK- ERS AS. — The oratorical aspirant should listen to the best living speakers. As the young bird, that is learning to fly, watches its parents, and vidth its eyes fixt on them, spreads its unsteady wings, follows in their path, and copies their motions, so the young man who would master the art of oratory should watch closely the veteran practition- ers of the art, and assiduously note and imi- tate their best methods, till, gaining confi- dence in the strength of his pinions, he may venture to cease circling about his nest, and boldly essay the eagle flights of eloquence. It was thus, in part, that Grattan's oratori- cal genius was trained and directed. Going in his youth to London, he was attracted to the debates in Parliament by the eloquence of Lord Chatham, which acted with such z spell upon his mind as henceforth to fix his destiny. To emulate the fervid and electric oratory of that great leader, reproducing his lofty conceptions in new and original forms — for he was no servile copyist — was hence- forth the object of his greatest efforts and of his most fervent aspirations. The genius of Rufus Choate, original and distinctive as it unquestionably was, was fired in a great degree by listening, when he was a law-stu- dent at Washington, to the fervid eloquence of William Pinkney, whom he not a little resembled.— Mathews, Oratory and Orators, p. 174. (S. F. & Co., 1896.) 740. MODELS, WRITING FROM.— To learn to write, one must write a great deal in imitation of those who know how, and under their guidance, just as one learns to draw or paint from good models, and by means of wise instruction. It is a school process, or a workshop process, if the phrase be preferred, and to a great extent mechani- cal and literal, but indispensable to the stu- dent of letters. Thus the musician must tu- tor his fingers to pliancy, in order to exe- cute easily and instantaneously all the move- ments necessary for the quick production of sounds, depending on the structure of his in- strument. Thus, likewise, the singer must become master of all the movements of his throat, and must long and unremittingly practise vocal exercises, until the will ex- periences no difficulty in determining those contractions and expansions of the windpipe which modify and inflect the voice in every degree and fraction of its scale. In the same manner, the future orator must, by long study and repeated compositions of a finished kind, handle and turn all expressions of language, various constructions of sentences, and end- less combinations of words, until they have become supple and well-trained instruments of the mind, giving him no longer any trou- ble while actually speaking, and accommo- dating themselves unresistingly to the slight- est guidance of his thought. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 69. (S., 1901.) 741. MODERATION IN SPEAKING. — It is very important, in speaking, as in singing, to know how to send forth and how to husband the breath, so as to spin length- ened sounds and deliver a complete period, without being blown, and without breaking a sentence already begun, or a rush of decla- mation by a gasp — needful, indeed, for lungs that have failed, but making a sort of dis- agreeable gap or stoppage. Care should also be taken not to speak too fast, too loud, or with too much animation at the outset; for if you force your voice in the beginning you are presently out of breath, or your voice is cracked or hoarse, and then you can no longer proceed without repeated efforts which fatigue the hearers and exhaust the speaker. All these precautions, which appear trivial, but which are really of high impor- tance, are learned by labor, practise, and personal experience. Still it is a very good thing to be warned and guided by the ex- perience of others, and this may be ensured advantageously by frequent recitations aloud under the direction of some master of elocu- tion. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speak- ing, p. 85. (S., 1901.) 742. MODESTY IN SPEAKING.— In recommending an extempore manner of de- livery to a man whose vocation lays on him the necessity of frequently addressing oth- ers, or to a man who would wish to be able to speak well in public, it may seem to some that we are urging too bold a stroke 299 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Uodeli Monotony at once. They will say, "Perhaps a man, after many years of study and practise, might be able to dispense with his manuscript and notes, save the mere heads of his dis- course — such a one might have nerve to stand up before an audience, depending on the ideas which came into his mind, or on the words that came to his tongue; such a one is placed in different circumstances to a new beginner who wishes to rise in the world as an orator. But, for ourselves, we should tremble to make such an attempt." This is a very natural remark to make, and for their encouragement, we would say that most men, however successful they may become as pub- lic speakers, feel a little awkward, bashful, or nervous on first rising to address their audience. Addison has written a most ad- mirable essay on this subject, in which he has the following words : "But notwithstand- ing, an excess of modesty obstructs the tongue and renders it unfit for its offices, a due proportion of it is thought so requisite to an orator, that rhetoricians have recom- mended it to their disciples as a particular in their art. Cicero tells us that he never liked an orator who did not appear in some little confusion at the beginning of his speech, and confesses that he himself never entered upon an oration without trembling and concern. It is indeed a kind of defer- ence which is due to a great assembly, and seldom fails to raise a benevolence in the audience toward the person who speaks. A just and reasonable modesty does not only recommend eloquence, but sets off every great talent which a man can be possest of. It heightens all the virtues which it accompa- nies; like the shades in paintings, it raises and rounds every figure, and makes the col- ors more beautiful, tho not so glaring as they would be without it." The whole essay is well worth reading, and he ends with these words : "If a man appear ridiculous by any of the afore-mentioned circumstances, he be- comes much more so by being out of coun- tenance for them. They should rather give him occasion to exert a noble spirit, and to , palliate those imperfections which are not in his power, by those perfections which are, or, ' to use a very witty allusion of an eminent author, he should imitate Caesar, who, be- cause his head was bald, covered it with laurels."— Anon, The Public Speaker, p. 66. (J. N. & Co., 1860.) 743. MODESTY, RECOMMENDA- TION OF. — All appearances of modesty are favorable and prepossessing. If the ora- tor set out with an air of arrogance and ostentation, the self-love and pride of the hearers will be presently awakened and will follow him with a very suspicious eye through- out all his progress. His modesty should discover itself not only in his expressions at the beginning, but in his whole manner, in his looks, in his gestures, in the tone of his voice. Every auditory takes in good part those marks of respect and awe which are paid to them by one who addresses them. Indeed, the modesty of an introduction should never betray anything mean or abject. It is always of great use to an orator that to- gether with modesty and deference to his hearers, he should show a certain sense of dignity, arising from a persuasion of the jus- tice or importance of the subject on which he is to speak. The modesty of an intro- duction requires that it promise not too much. This certainly is the general rule, that an orator should not put forth all his strength at the beginning, but should rise and grow upon us as his discourse advances. There are cases, however, in which it is allowable for him to set out from the first in a high and bold tone, as, for instance, when he rises to defend some cause which has been much run down and decried by the public. Too modest a beginning might be then like a confession of guilt. By the boldness and strength of his exordium he must endeavor to stem the tide that is against him and to remove prejudices by encountering them without fear. In subjects too much of a declamatory nature, and in sermons, where the subject is striking, a magnificent intro- duction has sometimes a good effect, if it be properly supported in the sequel. — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 2, p. 378. (A. S., 1787.) 744. MONOTONY IN READING.— It were much to be wished that all public speakers would deliver their thoughts and sentiments either from memory or immediate conception, for, besides that, there is an ar- tificial uniformity which almost always dis- tinguishes reading from speaking, the fixt posture and the bending of the head which reading requires, are inconsistent with the freedom, ease, and variety of just elocution. But if this is too much to be expected, es- pecially from preachers, who have so much to compose and are so often called upon to speak in public, it is, however, extremely de- sirable that they should make themselves so well acquainted with their discourse as to be able with a single glance of the eye to take in several clauses or the whole of a sentence. —Enfield, The Speaker, p, 36. (J., 1799.) Monotony Moutb KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 300 746. MONOTONY OF STYLE.— Senti- ments which possess force and interest to the mind, tho they sometimes run compara- tively long in one channel of feeling and ex- pression, do not pursue an undeviating, un- varying course. The natural tendency of impressive thought is to call up varied emo- tions and diversified forms of imagination. The appropriate communication of such thought implies, therefore, a varying tone, aspect, and action. Trite thoughts may jus- tify a monotonous manner of expressing them. But public address, especially from the pulpit, forbids the presentation of thread- bare topics and insignificant ideas. We par- don these in the aimless movement of unpremeditated conversation, but not on oc- casions when numbers are assembled to hear important and impressive truths. The popu- lar complaint, therefore, that preachers are deficient in variety of manner in their speak- ing — altho sometimes an arbitrary objection, founded on a vague and general impression, regardless of particular circumstances which may happen to forbid variety — is by no means destitute of foundation. Sermons are too commonly written after the fashion of academic themes on prescribed common-place topics. The mind of the writer pursues, in such cases, an unexciting, mechanical routine of thought; his pen betrays the fact in its trite language ; and his tones — ^his very looks and gestures — repeat the effect to ear and eye, in flat and wearisome monotony. — Rus- sell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 81. (D., 1878.) 746. MOODY, DWIGHT LYMAN.— Born at Northfield, Massachusetts, in 1837; died in 1899. As a business man, he brought to his evangelistic work exceptional tact, in- itiative, and executive ability, but the main source of his power lay in his knowledge of the Bible, his constant companion. In preach- ing he largely disregarded form, and thought little of the sermon as such. His one over- whelming and undeviating purpose was to lead men to Christ. His speaking was in a kind of monotone, but his straightforward plainness never failed to be effective. He usually held the Bible in his hand while speaking, so that there was little of gesture. His great sympathetic nature is spoken of by Henry Drummond in these words : "K eloquence is measured by its effect upon an audience, and not by its balanced sentences and cumulative periods, then this is eloquence of the highest sort. In sheer persuasiveness Mr. Moody has few equals, and rugged as his preaching may seem to some, there is in it a pathos of a quality which few orators have ever reached, and an appealing tenderness which not only wholly redeems it, but raises it, not unseldom, almost to sublimity." 747. MORAL EDUCATION OF THE SPEAKER. — Nothing is more necessary for those who would excel in any of the higher kinds of oratory, than to cultivate habits of the several virtues and to refine and improve all their moral feelings. When- ever these become dead or callous, they may be assured that on every great occasion they will speak with less power and less success. The sentiments and dispositions particularly requisite for them to cultivate are the fol- lowing: the love of justice and order, and indignation at insolence and oppression; the love of honesty and truth, and detestation of fraud, meanness, and corruption ; magnani- mity of spirit; the love of liberty, of their country, and the public; zeal for all great and noble designs; and reverence for all worthy and heroic characters. A cold and skeptical turn of mind is extremely adverse to eloquence, and no less so is that cavilling disposition which takes pleasure in depre- ciating what is great and ridiculing what is generally admired. Such a disposition be- speaks one not very likely to excel in any- thing, but least of all in oratory. A true orator should be a person of generous sen- timents, of warm feelings, and of a mind turned toward the admiration of all those great and high objects which mankind are naturally formed to admire. Joined with the manly virtues, he should, at the same time, possess strong and tender sensibility to all the injuries, distresses, and sorrows, of his fellow-creatures ; a heart that can easily re- lent, that can readily enter into the circum- stances of others, and can make their case his own. A proper mixture of courage and of modesty must also be studied by every pub- lic speaker. Modesty is essential ; it is al- ways, and justly, supposed to be a concomi- tant of merit, and every appearance of it is winning and prepossessing. But modesty ought not to run into excessive timidity. Every public speaker should be able to rest somewhat on himself, and to assume that air, not of self-complacency, but of firmness, which bespeaks a consciousness of his being thoroughly persuaded of the truth or justice of what he delivers, a circumstance of no small consequence for making impression on those who hear. — Blair, Lectures on Rhet- oric, vol. 2, p. 464. (A. S., 1787.) 748. MOTIVE, APPEAL TO THE.— It is sufficient often simply to propose some- 301 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Konotony Moutlj thing to be done. In its discontented rest- lessness, its dissatisfaction with things or events, its ennui, the mind is often ready to adopt anything, any act, any measure, any course, any policy; and the skilful orator in persuasion has only to ascertain the particu- lar sphere of its discontent, and whatever may be the course he may open, he may cal- culate on its being adopted. The mind moves, moreover, with readiness in the channel of its habitual activity. Hence the importance of the speaker's informing himself of the hab- its of those whom he addresses, as he may reasonably expect that so far as he can en- list them, his success is more sure and com- plete. — Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 199. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 749. MOTIVES, DECLARATION OR CONCEALMENT OF THE.— When en- engaged in reasoning, properly so called, our purpose not only need not be concealed, but may without prejudice to the effect be dis- tinctly declared. On the other hand, even when the feelings we wish to excite are such as ought to operate so that there is no rea- son to be ashamed of the endeavors thus to influence the hearer, still our purpose and drift should be, if not absolutely concealed, yet not openly declared and made prominent. Whether the motives which the orator is en- deavoring to call into action be suitable or unsuitable to the occasion, such as it is right or wrong for the hearer to act upon, the same rule will hold good. In the latter case, it is plain that the speaker who is seeking to bias unfairly the minds of the audience will be the more likely to succeed by going to work clandestinely, in order that his hear- ers may not be on their guard and prepare and fortify their minds against the impres- sion he wishes to produce. In the other case, where the motives dwelt on are such as ought to be present and strongly to operate, men are not likely to be pleased with the idea that they need to have these motives urged upon them and that they are not already suf- ficiently under the influence of such senti- ' ments as the occasion calls for. A man may I indeed be convinced that he is in such a predicament, and may ultimately feel obliged to the orator for exciting or strengthening such sentiments; but while he confesses this, he can not but feel a degree of mortification in making the confession, and a kind of jeal- ousy of the apparent assumption of superior- ity in a speaker who seems to say, "Now I will exhort you to feel as you ought on this occasion;" "I will endeavor to inspire you with such noble, and generous, and amiable sentiments as you ought to entertain ;" which is, in effect, the tone of him who avows the purpose of exhortation. The mind is sure to revolt from the humiliation of being thus molded and fashioned in respect to its feel- ings, at the pleasure of another, and is apt, perversely, to resist the influence of such a discipline. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 122. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 750. MOUTH, EXPRESSION OF THE. — The mouth is, next to the eyes, or even in preference to the eyes themselves, the most important part of the countenance: it is so in whatever way we consider it, whether in the variety and precision of which it is capable, or in the interest which it ex- cites, whether by the language and tones which issue from it, or from its expression and character as it strikes the beholder. "How," says CresoUius, "must the dignity and composition of that most honored mouth avail to detain the attention of the auditor. The mouth is the vestibide of the soul, the door of eloquence, and the place in which the thoughts hold their high debates; and that part of the man is placed in an elevated situation obvious to the sight, most preg- nant in its use." The mouth is the seat of grace and sweetness; smiles and good tem- per play around it; composure calms it, and discretion keeps the door of its lips. It is more particularly important to attend to the mouth, than even to the eyds themselves. The eyes at all times can assume the char- acter suited to the expression of the mo- ment. But the mouth being one of the soft- est features is soonest changed, and if it once lose its character of sweetness, it changes perhaps forever. How few mouths which have been beautiful in youth (the sea- son of happiness and smiles) are preserved beyond that period ; whilst the eyes are often found to retain their luster, or to flash occa- sionally with their early brightness even in advanced life? Every bad habit defaces the soft beauty of the mouth, and leaves indel- ible on it the traces of their injury. The stains of intemperance discolor it, ill nature wrinkles it, envy deforms, and voluptuous- ness bloats it. The impressions of sorrow upon it are easily traced, the injuries which it suffers from ill health are manifest, and accident may often deform its symmetry. It is sweetened by benevolence, confirmed by wisdom, chiseled by taste, and composed by discretion; and these traces if habitually fixt last unaltered in its sc|ft forms throughout every varying stage of life. We should therefore labor in our own persons, and Mouth Narration KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 302 watch those of the youthful under our con- trol, to form, if possible, this distinguished and phant feature to decorum and grace, lest it assume an ungracious form irretrievably. But whatever may be that beauty and ex- pression O'f the mouth which prepossesses in favor of an orator, a gracious mouth is to be desired on another very important ac- count, which is for the advantage of more perfect articulation and delivery. An in- formed, uncouth, underhung, or gaping mouth can never finish perfectly and cor- rectly the articulation of words, nor deliver them out with that winning and irresistible grace which delights the ear as well as the eye of every hearer. The authors of the fantastic tales of the fairies describe this talent very impressively, as the gift of drop- ping at every word pearls and diamonds from the lips. A near approach to this imaginary gift is made in real life by those who acquire the most perfect eloquence : who join to cor- rect and finished enunciation the graces of a refined taste, and the riches of a cultivated mind. On their lips sit persuasion and de- light, and the words which fall from them precious and brilliant, may well be compared to the brightest gems. — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 121. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 751. MOUTH, LARGE, DESIRABLE IN A SPEAKER.— There is no doubt about it, a large and well-formed mouth is a great advantage to the public speaker. In general, the larger the internal cavities, the better the resonance of the voice. Often, however, the resonant capacities are not half utilized ; and they are capable of consider- able development by the conscious effort to speak with a full voice. The organs of dif- ferentiation should be exercised systemati- cally, for the purpose of bringing thetn un- der the most perfect and facile control of the will, and of obtaining the greatest possible precision in the formation of all the sounds of speech. — McIlvaine, Elocution, p. 195. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 752. MOUTH, OPENING THE.— This is among the most important duties of the elocutionist and singer; more fail in this particular than in any other; indistinctness and stammering are the sad effects of not opening the mouth wide enough. Let it be your first object to obtain the proper posi- tions of the vocal organs. The first effort is — separating the lips and teeth, which will not only enable you to inhale and exhale freely through the nose when speaking and singing, but avoid uneasiness in the chest and an unpleasant distortion of the features. The second is a simultaneous action of the lips, teeth, and tongue. Let these remarks be indelibly stamped upon your memory, for they are of immense practical importance. — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 110. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 753. MOUTHING.— Some think that words are rendered more distinct to large assemblies by dwelling longer on the sylla- bles ; others, that it adds to the pomp and solemnity of public declamation, in which they think everything must be different from private discourse. This is one of the vices of the stage, and is called theatrical, in op- position to what is natural. By "trippingly on the tongue," Shakspeare probably means the bounding of the voice from accent to ac- cent, trippingly along from word to word, without resting on syllables by the way. And by "mouthing," dwelling on syllables that have no accent and ought therefore to be pronounced as quickly as is consistent with a proper enunciation. Avoid an artificial air, and hold, as it were, the mirror up to nature. — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 116. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 754. MOVEMENT AND EMOTION.— What an orator desires, if he is truly an orator, is not only to give clear or even bright representations, nor to connect hrs ideas with each other so exactly that there shall be no interruption of logical continuity from the beginning to the end ; nor even that this chain should be so complete that the proof should not be one moment suspended, but the discourse be, so to speak, as a single breath — oratorical discourse is an action ; this action, which proceeds from the soul, sup- poses emotion ; it would, of course, represent but a part of what ought to be represented, if it were only logical, clear, bright, and even profound, and the hearer would receive only a part of the impressions which he should receive from it. If the orator is not wholly united to his subject, if the discourse be not an action of man upon man, if it be not, as we have said it should be, a drama with its plot, its incidents, and its catastrophe, it wants that communicative life, and we may even say that truth, without which the end of oratorical discourse is wanting in respect to the majority of hearers, who require to feel the truth as identified with him who exhibits and endeavors to unfold it. The orator, moved by his subject, moved by his auditory, can not but transfer to his style 303 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING ISouth Narration the emotion which he feels; now, emotion is a movement, that is, to speak exactly, pass- ing from one moral place to another; a mo- mentary emotion is a change of place, a con- tinuous emotion is a succession of changes which arise one after another. Movement 1 must be distinguished from movements. There are abrupt movements which are very fine, but still oratorical movement is not necessarily abrupt. It is different with dif- ferent orators, with some it is gentle and soft. In vain might we smite the sides, mul- tiply blows, strike with the foot, the soul of the hearer yields only to a true movement. To adopt any other, as Cicero has some- where said, "is to leap, not to walk." Move- ment is the royal beauty of style, the char- acteristic of great writers and great epochs. In the models, images interblending with movements are furnished by movement it- self. Color and life come together. Thus the pale countenance of Atalanta acquires color from the swiftness of her course. Im- ages are not contrary to movement; they may even contribute to it, since they may be impassioned; but in themselves they pro- duce it no more than would a mirror, since they are but the mirror of things. Movement corresponds to the soul; eloquence may dis- pense with everything except truth and move- ment; the most naked, the most austere, the least colored style, may be eloquent. — Vinet, Homiletics; or, The Theory of Preaching, p. 447. (I. & P., 1855.) 755 MUSICAL EAR, LACK OF.— It frequently happens that persons with the highest capacity and most refined and cor- rect taste on general subjects, and who possess the richest and most varied mental culture, are yet entirely destitute of the perception of tune, or what is more usually des- ignated an ear for music. The question here presented is, how are persons of this description to improve the voice for public speaking and to correct its imperfections? This question may be answered by the state- ment that such persons have at their com- mand the whole volume of sound, and the broad field of reading and declamation, in which to give full and profitable exercise to their vocal functions. And let it be re- marked, in this connection, in the first place, that there is no exercise known to man, the daily practise of which yields a larger amount of expansion to the voice than the practise of declamation on the most ele- vated key which will admit of a full and perfect sound being given to each word in the speech which may be read or spoken in this way. Nor is there any other exercise, the daily use of which more greatly im- proves the voice in depth of tone and in increase of melody. In order to avail him- self of the foregoing exercise to the great- est advantage, a student should resort to some retired place, with his speech in his memory, or his book of speeches in his pock- et, and, after having first secured for his voice a pitch on which it will sound melo- diously, declaim a committed speech, or such portion of it as he may be competent to de- claim without injury to his lungs or throat, at the very loftiest pitch of his voice. In the early stages of this exercise, a single page of a committed speech will constitute a sufficient daily exercise for his voice, and he should, at the commencement of this ex- ercise, content himself with the perform.- ance of it once in each day. When the voice has become in some degree inured to the exercise, he may increase the number of times at which it is repeated. — McQueen, The Orator's Touchstone, or Eloquence Sim- plified, p. 78. (H. & B., 1860.) 756. NARRATION, BREVITY AND CLEARNESS IN.— To comply with the requisition that the narration should be short, it will be sufficient to remember that you must begin precisely with that incident which is material to the argument you in- tend to urge; and, as you proceed, to sup- press every circumstance which has no rela- tion to it. For the purpose of brevity, you must exclude likewise every part of a trans- action necessarily implied in the statement of the fact itself. Suppose in the narrative of a journey you should say we came to the river, inquired the rate of ferriage, entered the boat, were rowed across, and landed on the opposite shore; every part of this rela- tion, considered separately, is as short as it could be made; but "we crossed the river" would tell the same fact in four words. The rule of brevity is not necessary for the pur- pose of proscribing repetitions and tautology. For, however allowable it might be to pro- tract the narration, these would still be in- admissible. But in the endeavor to avoid these faults we must be no less careful to avoid those of confusion and obscurity. And the danger is still more incident to an ora- tor, over-anxious of brevity in his narra- tion. The danger of redundancy, too, is not of such vital importance as that of obscurity. By saying too much the speaker may be- come tedious. But in saying too little he puts in jeopardy the very justice of his cause. So that the precept of brevity must be relative. Narration Natural Qifts KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 304 not only with regard to the character of the cause, but also with regard to that of the audience. Nothing, already known to all his hearers, can be essential to the narration of a speaker. To a very select and intelligent body, a concise summary will fully answer the end of a narrative, when to a numerous, popular assembly, or to an ordinary jury, a circumstantial detail might be indispensable to make them understand your subject. If the narrative comprehends events so multi- farious and complicated that it must be pos- itively long, it will be most advisable to di- vide it into several distinct periods, and mark the divisions either by formal enumeration, or as the relation proceeds, so that the mind of your hearer may dwell upon them, as rest- ing stages for his attention. Nor let the love of brevity preclude the seasoning of oc- casional ornament. As you lead your hearer along, scatter fragrance in his path. Spread the smiling landscape around. With the at- tractive charm of fancy, make all nature beauty to his eye and music to his ear. The road will then never be long. The second of the qualities essential to a good narration is clearness or perspicuity; to obtain which the speaker must use plain, intelligible language, never descending to vulgarity; never soaring into affectation. He must mark with obvi- ous distinctions the things, persons, times, places, and motives, of which he discourses ; and observe a due conformity of voice, ac- tion, and delivery, to the substance of his speech. He must fasten the attention of his hearers altogether upon the facts which he is relating; and, instead of attracting it, use his most strenuous endeavors to withdraw it from the manner in which he tells the story. Let him relate so that every hearer may seem to have been present at the scene, and may fancy that he could himself have told it exactly so. If the orator labors here for admiration, he must earn it at the expense of his credit. He will be applauded, and not understood, or not believed. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratdry, vol. 1, p. 421. (H. & M., 1810.) 757. NATURAL ENDOWMENTS.— It is clear that some qualities in mankind are desirable, and some praiseworthy. Birth, beauty, strength, power, riches, and other things which fortune bestows, either amid external circumstances, or as personal en- dowments, carry with them no real praise, which is thought to be due to virtue alone; but, as virtue itself becomes chiefly conspic- uous in the use and management of such things, these endowments of nature and of fortune are also to be considered in panegyr- ics; in which it is mentioned as the highest praise for a person not to have been haughty in power, or insolent in wealth, or to have assumed a preeminence over others from the abundance of the blessings of fortune; so that his riches and plenty seem to have af- forded means and opportunities, not for the indulgence of pride and vicious appetites, but for the cultivation of goodness and modera- tion. Virtue, too, which is of itself praise- worthy, and without which nothing can be deserving of praise, is distinguished, how- ever, into several species, some of which are more adapted to panegyric than others; for there are some virtues which are conspicu- ous in the manners of men, and consist in some degree in affability and beneficence; and there are others which depend on some peculiar natural genius, or superior greatness and strength of mind. Clemency, justice, benignity, fidelity, fortitude in common dan- gers, are subjects agreeable to the audience in panegyric ; for all such virtues are thought beneficial, not so much to the persons who possess them as to mankind in general ; while wisdom, and that greatness of soul by which all human affairs are regarded as mean and inconsiderable, eminent power of thought, and eloquence itself, excite indeed no less admiration, but not equal delight ; for' they apear to be an ornament and support rather to the persons themselves whom we commend, than to those before whom we commend them ; yet, in panegyric, these two kinds of virtues must be united; for the ears of men tolerate the praises not only of those parts of virtue which are delightful and agreeable, but of those which excite admira- tion. — CiCEEO, On Oratory and Orators, p. 323. (B., 1909.) 758. NATURAL GIFT, MAN'S, OF SPEECH. — Certainly, the gracious Author of all beings and Maker of the world, has distinguished us from the animals in no re- spect more than by the gift of speech. They surpass us in bulk, in strength, in the sup- porting of toil, in speed, and stand less in need of outside help. Guided by nature only, they learn sooner to walk, to seek for their food, and to swim- over rivers. They have on their bodies sufficient covering to guard them against cold; all of them have their natural weapons of defense; their food lies, in a manner, on all sides of them ; and we, indigent beings ! to what anxieties are we put in securing these things? But God, a beneficent parent, gave us reason for our portion, a gift which makes us partakers of 305 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Varratloii Natnxta Qlfts a life of immortality. But this reason would be of little use to us, and we would lie greatly perplexed to make it known, unless we could express by words our thoughts. This is what animals lack, more than thought and understanding, of which it can not be said they are entirely destitute. For to make themselves secure and commodious lodges, to interweave their nests with such art, to rear their young with such care, to teach them to shift for themselves when grown up, to hoard provisions for the winter, to produce such inimitable works as wax and honey, are instances perhaps of a glimmer- ing of reason; but because destitute of speech, all the extraordinary things they do can not distinguish them from the brute part of creation. Let us consider dumb persons: how does the heavenly soul, which takes form in their bodies, operate in them? We perceive indeed that its help is but weak, and its action but languid. If, then, the benefi- cent Creator of the world has not imparted to us a greater blessing than the gift of speech, what can we esteem more deserving of our labor and improvement, and what object is more worthy of our ambition than that of raising ourselves above other men by the same means by which they raise them- selves above beasts, so much the more as no labor is attended with a more abundant harvest of glory? To be convinced of this we need only consider by what degrees elo- quence has been brought to the perfection in which we now see it, and how far it might still be perfected. For, not to mention the advantage and pleasure a good man reaps from defending his friends, governing the senate by his counsels, seeing himself the oracle of the people, and master of armies, what can be more noble than by the faculty of speaking and thinking, which is common to all men, to erect for himself such a stand- ard of praise and glory as to seem to the minds of men not so much to discourse and speak, but, like Pericles, to make his words thunder and lightning. — Quintilian, Insti- tutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 126. (B. L., 1774.) 759. NATURAL GIFTS, MAKING THE MOST OF ONE'S.— The preacher must endeavor to make the best of the gifts with which he is endowed. They are a great responsibility, and he will have to give account of them. He must not let them rust with disuse, or be lost from actual want of exercise. He must cultivate them to the ut- most. I lay stress upon this, because I am conscious of a temptation to neglect the les- sons of the wise and the plain results of ex- perience, on the plea that we have gifts of only one kind, and can only work in accord- ance with our own method. We are thus in danger of substituting our own inclination for the will of God. In one sense, it is quite true that a man must work according to his gifts; but if the plea be used as an excuse for not earnestly endeavoring to preach in the best and wisest way we can, it becomes quite untrue. All the gifts with which a preacher catr possibly be endowed are amen- able to the general principles by which the ministry should be directed. Let a man be gifted how he may, it does not do away with the duty of a conscious and prayerful effort to cultivate his preaching powers to the ut- most. It does not supersede the responsi- bility of preaching a full gospel, and making known the whole revealed counsel of God; or the necessity of maintaining the propor- tion of faith, and presenting the plan of salvation in that relation and correspondence of doctrine with doctrine in which it is re- vealed to us in the Word. It does not ren- der it needless to strive after simplicity of language and clearness of expression, so that into whatever direction your mental habi- tude may lead you, your style may neither be deformed by affectation, nor so embar- rassed with technical terms or long com- pounds as to be not "understanded of the people." It does not interfere with the cul- tivation of earnestness and simplicity of man- ner and voice, so that the preacher's soul may come out in his words, and set other hearts on fire with his own enthusiasm. The quiet- est manner, when it is natural to a man, may be as earnest, and express as intense an emo- tion as the most excitable. Nor, lastly, does it touch the question of extempore or writ- ten discourses. I venture with great hu- mility to express my own doubt, whether men not naturally gifted with utterance may not do mcfre good, and become more moving and effective preachers, with the written sermon than without it; and I am quite sure that coldness and lifelessness of delivery are by no means the necessary conditions of a sermon preached from manuscript. At all events, if a man preaches extempore only to save himself trouble, and because he has not time to write, he is making a grievous mis- take. No specialty of gift can excuse the lack of prayerful and laborious cultivation, or justify indifference to the rules which great men of various ages have laid down for the guidance of the Christian preacher. We must seek to work up to the potentiality we feel to be in us. A preacher who is not natural QlftB NatuialneBB KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 306 doing his best, nor seeking ever to improve this best, is not doing his duty. — Gaebett, Homiletical and Pastoral Lectures, p. 177. (A., 1880.) 760. NATURAL GIFTS OF THE PREACHER. — How is a man to recog- nize his ov^rn gifts, and so know^ in what di- rection or in what mode he is to work? It is not easy even for hearers, unless they are endowed with a strong critical faculty, to discriminate very exactly the mental gifts of the preacher; and for the preacher to do it himself is almost impossible. We may by grace learn the secrets of our own conscience, but rightly appraise and appreciate our own gifts we can not. Yet we must not devolve it upon others to arrange the direction of our ministry — we must do it ourselves; and how are we to attain that knowledge of our gifts, which seems to be the starting-point? I reply that we need not acknowledge it at all. The less the preacher speculates about himself and his own gifts, the better. He has higher things to think of than the exact character of his own endowments. Let him try to do his work for his Master, and his gifts will determine their own direction and proportion surely enough. The characteris- tics of the man himself will become the characteristics of his work. Let him leave his constitution of intellect and temperament to develop itself, after its own laws, sure that his powers will come into exercise spon- taneously. Or rather let him leave himself to the guidance of God the Holy Ghost, that he may mold the earthen vessel just as He will, pleased with what pleases Him, and not caring much whether his work be done in strength or weakness, in the sunshine or in the shadow, so that God is glorified and souls are saved.- — Garbett, Homiletical and Pastoral Lectures, p. 181. (A., 1880.) 761. NATURAL RESOURCES OF A SPEAKER. — Art may develop and perfect the talent of a speaker, but can not produce it. The exercises of grammar and of rhet- oric will teach a person how to speak cor- rectly and elegantly; but nothing can teach him to be eloquent, or give that eloquence which comes from the heart and goes to the heart. All the precepts and artifices on earth can but form the appearance or sem- blance of it. Now this true and natural elo- quence which moves, persuades, and trans- ports, consists of a soul and a body, like man, whose image, glory, and word it is. The soul of eloquence is the center of the human soul itself, which, enlightened by the rays of an idea, or warmed and stirred by an im- pression, flashes or bursts forth to manifest, by some sign or other, what it feels or sees. This it is which gives movement and light to a discourse; it is like a kindled torch, or a shuddering and vibrating nerve. The body of eloquence is the language which it re- quires in order to speak, and which must harmoniously clothe what it thinks or feels, as a fine shape harmonizes with the spirit it contains. The material part of language is learnt instinctively_, and practise makes us feel and seize its delicacies and shades. The understanding, then, which sees rightly and conceives clearly, and the heart which feels keenly, find naturally, and without effort, the words and the arrangement of words most analogous to what is to be exprest. Hence the innate talent of eloquence, which results alike from certain intellectual and moral ap- titudes, and from the physical constitution, especially from that of the senses and of the organs of the voice. — Bautain, Art of Ex- tempore Speaking, p. 37. (S., 1901.) 762. NATURAL TALENT FOR SPEAKING.— The more we study the history of oratory, the more shall we be convinced that natural facility of speech oftener results in mediocrity than in excel- lence. The greatest men in this as in every other art have been the men who have la- bored most. The painter, the musician, the scholar, or the divine — all, in fact, who have attained to eminence in their particular spheres of life, know within themselves that they are distinguished from those with whom they first competed, not so much by superior genius as by greater energy and persever- ance. It is true that, just as some persons of great wealth would fain have their for- tune attributed to anything rather than their own exertions, so it may gratify a petty van- ity in some men to conceal the steps by which they have risen. Unfortunately, this vanity is not very general; we see it at our work in schools, our universities, and in public life; making success, if attributed to plod- ding industry, to be spoken of with a sneer, if to innate genius, to be regarded with un- qualified admiration. Thus it happens that the world is misled, it accords to the few a monopoly of that which belongs to the many; while some of its brightest lights, the set upon a candlestick, had far more advan- tageously been placed beneath a bushel.— Halcombe, The Speaker at Home, p. 96. (Bi & D., 1860.) 307 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING STatural CMftH NatucaluesB 763. NATURALNESS AND AFFEC- TATION. — Eloquence, in whatever form, and, most of all, in addresses from the pul- pit, demands, as a condition of its effect, a conviction, on the part of the hearer, of the perfect sincerity of the speaker. The slight- est indication of artifice, or, even, of mere art, becomes an effectual barrier between the orator and his audience; as it betrays the fact that he is not in earnest in his com- munication, or, at all events, that he is not expressing himself with the directness and simplicity which a deep conviction of his sentiments ought to inspire. Artifice and af- fectation are utterly incompatible with the "simplicity and godly sincerity" which the Scriptures ascribe to the preacher. But the fact of having been accustomed, during the period of early training, to utter sentiment by rote, in the unmeaning and uninteresting routine of school declamation, has, in most instances, untuned the ear for the genuine effects of voice, and reconciled it to false intonation, just as it has misled the eye, and accustomed it to a mechanical and ar- tificial style of gesture. The living effect of tone and natural manner is thus irrecov- erably lost, and, with it, the speaker's power over the heart : his conventional tone, atti- tude, and action, all plainly indicate that it is the clergyman, not the individual, who is addressing us. The style, in such cases, is, at best, too obviously of that secondary gra- dation of art, which knows not how to "con- ceal art." We can trace the absence of sin- gle-minded purpose, in every speaker whose voice evidently assumes a new and facti- tious character, when he begins to read or speak in public; we feel the fact in the false hollowness and affected swell of utterance, which some preachers always assume in the pulpit; we perceive it in their studied pre- cision of enunciation, forced emphasis, mechanical inflection, chanting tone, and ar- bitrary variations of voice, and in their pre- meditated and elaborate motions of the arm. The whole machinery of effect is thus, as it were, perpetually thrust on ear and eye, at the expense of the great business of the hour. It is impossible, under such circumstances, for the hearer to derive the proper impres- sion from the subject, or to enter into sym- pathy with the speaker; and it is well if the result of the whole discourse is not, un- avoidably, a state of dissatisfaction and dis- gust with the manner of the preacher, rather than any just influence from his sentiments. Earnest and warm feeling will not allow the speaker to wait for niceties of elocution, in the act of speech. The preacher who feels that the decision of a soul may be hanging, for the moment, on the accents that fall from his lips, will not be found stopping to adjust his inflections, and mold his gestures. It is quite a false impression, which is current re- garding the practise of elocution, that it con- sists in acquiring certain fixt modes of voice, putting on a certain air, or practising set actions, which, after a given time, will be- come natural by habituation, but which must necessarily be awkward, at first. There is no such thing as speaking naturally by rule and study, applied during the act of speech. All, then, must be left to the guidance of feeling and intuitive perception, and the in- fluence of unconscious tendencies of taste, previously disciplined by critical and reflec- tive judgment. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 116. (D., 1878.) 764. NATURALNESS AND POMPOS- ITY. — After the utmost pains have been taken to acquire a just elocution, and this with the greatest success, there is some diffi- culty in carrying the art of speaking out of the school, or chamber, to the bar, the senate, or the pulpit. A young man who has been accustomed to perform frequent exercises in this art in private, can not easily persuade himself, when he appears before the public, to consider the business he has to perform in any other light than as a trial of skill and a display of oratory. Hence the char- acter of an orator is often treated with ridi- cule, sometimes with contempt. We are pleased with the easy and graceful move- ments which the true gentleman has acquired by having learned to dance, but we are of- fended by the coxcomb, who is always ex- hibiting his formal dancing-bow and minuet- step. So, we admire the manly eloquence and noble ardor of the senator employed in the cause of justice and freedom, the quick recollection, the ingenious reasoning, and the ready declamation of the accomplished bar- rister, and the dignified simplicity and unaf- fected energy of the sacred instructor. But when, in any one of these capacities, a man so far forgets the ends and degrades the consequence of his profession as to set him- self forth under the character of a spouter, and to parade it in the ears of the vulgar with all the pomp of artificial eloquence; tho the unskilful may gaze and applaud, the ju- dicious can not but be grieved and disgusted. Avail yourself, then, of your skill in the art of speaking, but always employ your powers of elocution with caution and modesty, re- membering that tho it be desirable to be ad- mired as an eminent orator, it is of much! Naturalneas ITatiKe KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 308 more importance to be respected as an able lawyer, a useful preacher, or a wise and up- right statesman. — Enfield, The Speaker, p. S7. (J., 1799.) 766. NATURALNESS, IMPORTANCE OF. — Great care must be taken to avoid a stiff and formal mode of reading and speaking. We must never become enslaved to thought alone, which rules with a rod of iron; but yield to feeling when it is to pre- dominate. In a perfect blending of feeling, thought, and action there is all the freedom and gracefulness of nature, provided they are in harmony with nature. It is better to be natural than mechanically correct. Ev- ery thought and feeling has its pecu- liar tone of voice by which it is to be exprest, and which is exactly suited to the de- gree of internal feeling. In the proper use of these tones most of the life, spirit, beauty, and effect of delivery consist. Hence em- phasis, or expression, is almost infinite in variety, yet none should be discouraged — be- cause we can not do everything, is no rea- son why we should not try to do something. — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 114. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 766. NATURALNESS IN SPEAKING. — Naturalness is founded on the peculiar mental condition of the individual speaker. Every one has his own modes of thinking. He has his own modes of viewing truth. His feelings have their own peculiar characteris- tics. The same ideas, even, passing through two different minds, or through the same mind at different times and in different cir- cumstances, become to a considerable degree modified in their character. Everyone has, also, his own manner of expression. His range of words is peculiar. The structure of his sentences is peculiar. His forms of il- lustration, his images are peculiar. Every writer and every speaker, thus, has his own manner. One is more diffuse, another more concise; one more lean and jejune, another more copious and luxuriant; one is more florid, another more plain; one more dry, another more rich and succulent; one more nervous or vehement, an- other more feeble or tame; one more neat and elegant, another more careless and loose ; one more elevated and stately, another more familiar and free. The speaker's own man- ner best becomes him. While he is careful to avoid positive faults, and particularly those of excess, to vary and enrich with all the various excellences that can be admitted into his style, he should still preserve his own manner, as scarcely any thing is more offen- sive than a strained, affected, unnatural style of expression. For the purpose of forming a style, it may be safe to select a model and strive to imitate. This may, indeed, be rec- ommended within certain limits and in strict subjection to certain principles. Even here, however, the better course is to study the different elements of expression or properties of style, and exercise on those especially in which there is consciousness of deficiency, using other writers or speakers remarkable for those properties rather as exemplifica- tions than as models for imitation. But when actually engaging in the work of con- veying thought and feeling to others, the speaker or writer should banish from his mind all thought of this or that style or manner, and allow a free, spontaneous ex- pression to his thoughts. Reason must, in- deed, preside over all discourse. But its influence in securing rational discourse should be exerted rather in determining and shaping the mental habits, and thus impressing its high character on every exertion of the mind while the life and beauty of spontaneous ac- tion is still preserved. This is, indeed, the end and object of all true intellectual disci- pline. Excessive care, at the time of con- structing discourse, to preserve from every- thing faulty, may be injurious. In writing, at least, it is better to write freely and cor- rect afterward. In training, this freedom can be secured only by confining the study and practise to specific elements and processes. Each should be practised by itself, till it shall be fully mastered and so cause no dis- traction in subsequent practical efforts. — Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 283. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 767. NATURALNESS OR REALITY IN PREACHING.— This should be the naturalness of oratory, not of conversa- tion, or ordinary society. It should be real in its own sphere, but the sermon should be on a higher plane than conversation. The colloquial style may be used occasionally, but not continually, lest oratoric power should be weakened. Naturalness, here, in accord- ance with the oratoric spirit, should be ex- prest in intense, projective tones, after the manner of St. Paul, who, the "all things to all men," yet "spake boldly, as (he) ought to speak." There is, indeed, the conversational form of inflection, etc., but it should attain to the oratoric degree. Affected sentimen- tality, prolonged semitone or whine, invol- untary cadence or "tune," or sing-song, re- curring repeatedly or regularly, or any other 309 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Naturalneis Nature peculiarities, are unnatural and do not be- long to a symmetrical personality. Natural- ness is well tested in the use of a manu- script. If it can not be read as if ex tempore, then it is a "wet blanket" between speaker and congregation, as it has been called. A preacher should hav^ learned to break through that possible barrier, before he de- livers many sermons, because the speaking must be, and must seem to be, a spontaneous activity, not an effort limited by the pres- ence of the written sermon. Naturalness permits a man to expand in his style of de- livery as he is inspired by the greater occa- sions. Simplicity of purpose and of con- sciousness ought to prevent a preacher from becoming nervous, when there seems to be more than usual to face. If the inner ear- nestness is always ready, it will come out to fit the occasion. A great preacher once said that one could hardly be eloquent to fewer than fifty people ; but St. Paul was, and many preachers of our day are, because, in a meas- ure like him, it is natural for them to be earnest before any congregation, and to feel that the message they bring is greater than the occasion. — Tenney, Elocution and Ex- pression, p. 258. (J. My., 1906.) 768. NATURE AND ART.— Beware of a slavish attention to rules; for nothing should supersede Nature, who knows more than art ; therefore, let her stand in the fore- ground, with art for her servant. Emotion is the soul of oratory; one flash of passion on the cheek, one beam of feeling from the eye, one thrilling note of sensibility from the tongue, one stroke of hearty emphasis from the arm, have infinitely more value than all the rhetorical rules and flourishes of an- cient or modern times. The great rule is. Be in earnest. This is what Demosthenes more than intimated, in thrice declaring that the most important thing in eloquence was ac- tion. There will be no execution without fire. — Bronson, Elocution or Mental and Vo- cal Philosophy, p. 152. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 769. NATURE AND ART, RELA- TION BETWEEN.— The artist is a mas- ter, not a slave; he wields his passion, he is not hurried along by it. He possesses and is not possest. Art enshrines the great sad- ness of the world, but is itself not sad. Haz- litt says that whatever is genuine in art must proceed from the impulse of nature and in- dividual genius. The ideal is not the prefer- ence of that which exists only in the mind to that which is fine in nature, but to that which is less so. There is nothing fine in art but what is taken almost immediately, and as it were in the mass, from what is finer in na- ture. Where there have been the finest mod- els in nature, there have been the finest works in art. In the study of this art, the proper object, when a good foundation is laid in the voice, is the directness of one's endeavor to acquire that exacting habit which is able to exclude all that is foreign and omit nothing in expression that is essential to its just and elegant proportions. — Frobisher, Voice and Action, p. 24. (I. B. & Co., 1867.) 770. NATURE AND HABIT.— He who not only understands fully what he is read- ing, but is earnestly occupying his mind with the matter of it, will be likely to read as if he understood it, and thus to make others understand it; and, in like manner, with a view to the impressiveness of the delivery, he who not only feels it, but is exclusively absorbed with that feeling, will be likely to read as if he felt it, and to communicate the impression to his hearers. But this can not be the case if he is occupied with the thought of what their opinion will be of his reading, and how his voice ought to be regulated ; if, in short, he is thinking of himself, and, of course, in the same degree, abstracting his attention from that which ought to occupy it exclusively. It is not, indeed, desirable that in reading the Bible, for example, or any- thing which is not intended to appear as his own composition, he should deliver what are avowedly another's sentiments, in the same style as if they were such as arose in his own mind; but it is desirable that he should de- liver them as if he were reporting another's sentiments, which were both fully under- stood and felt in all their force by the re- porter : and the only way to do this effectu- ally — with such modulations of voice, etc., as are suitable to each word and passage — is to fix his mind earnestly on the meaning and lea!ve nature and habit to suggest the utter- ance. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 229. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 771. NATURE AND THE PREACH- ER.— The Book of Nature— I delight in the phrase, because it asserts that in this wonderful system there is a handwriting, and a handwriting surely implies a hand. There it lies, always unrolled, before the intuition of imagination, and the investigation of sci- ence. In regard to the former, all ages are much on a level; in regard to the latter, God's providence has ordained that in our generation a new flood of light has been Nature ITervousuesB KLEISER'S COMPLETE GtJIDE 310 thrown upon His Book, so that each day more of its secrets are ciphered, and yet, by each deciphering, new mysteries, yet unread, are made visible to us. If God has so or- dered it, and if by His permission the ideas derived from such discovery have profound- ly affected the spirit of the age, it can not be right that the preachers of His Word should turn their eyes away from it. We must come to it — be it acknowledged at once — with a foregone conclusion, based upon knowledge derived from other sources, that there is the hand of God in it, and that we may hope to see its traces. Just as the phy- sicist, entering on any new field of study, takes it for granted that law must exist and may be discoverable, so we, believing in God, know that He is there, and hope that we may see the skirts at least of His majesty. We enter it with a protest on our lips against the belief that there is nothing in things physi- cal, which physical investigation can not dis- cover, just as we accept the existence of life as a fact, altho no microscope or scalpel can discover its secret. And, moreover, when we study the Book of Nature, we do so not as mere physicists, but as ministers of the Gospel. We care not greatly to read any word there, if it be not a word of God. — Barry, Homiletical and Pastoral Lectures, p. 199. (A., 1880.) 772. NATURE AND TRUE ART.— A discourse of which the progress is measured, the plan rigidly symmetrical, the style pom- pous or brilliant, the sentences always round- ed and sonorous, distresses or wearies us by its cold elegance. We condemn strongly a kind of writing so false. We even venture to blame, in works much more simple and grave, a certain stiffness of form and a cer- tain starchness of language, the last and two persistent vestiges of an epoch in which elo- quence was a pageant. We would banish if we would the rhetoric of rhetoricians to make place for that of the philosophers. We insist on the rights of individuality, which is to art what liberty is to law. But we do not arraign, we do not banish art, which has nothing to do with the whims which offend us. Art is necessary, art is immortal; the reformations we recommend depend upon it, and will be its work; and when we shall have accomplished them we may say with equal justice, with equal truth, Nature at last has regained its prerogatives ; art at last has triumphed. Art, in fact, consists essentially in following and perhaps in retrieving na- ture. There is only one real opposition ; it is not an opposition between nature and art. but between false art and true. If we ad- here to this formula it is because this for- mula is a principle. — Vinet, Homiletics; or, The Theory of Preaching, p. 365. (I. & P., 1855.) 773. NATURE AS A GUIDE.— The whole art of good orators consists in ob- serving what nature does when unconstrained. You ought not to imitate those haranguers who choose always to declaim, but will never talk to their hearers. On the contrary, you should address yourself to an audience in such a modest, respectful, engaging manner that each of them shall think you are speak- ing to him in particular. And this is the use and advantage of natural, familiar, in- sinuating tones of voice. They ought always to be grave and becoming, and even strong and pathetic when the subject requires it. But you must not fancy that you can express the passions by the mere strength of voice, like those noisy speakers who, by bawling and tossing themselves about, stun their hearers instead of affecting them. If we would suc- ceed in painting and raising the passions, we must know exactly what movements they in- spire. For instance, observe what is the pos- ture, and what the voice, of one whose heart is pierced with sorrow or surprized at the sight of an astonishing object; remark the natural action of the eyes, what the hands do, and what the whole body. On such occa- sions nature appears, and you need only fol- low it. If you must employ art, conceal it so well under an exact imitation that it may pass for nature itself. But, to speak the truth, orators in such cases are like poets who write elegies or other passionate verses : they must feel the passion which they de- scribe, else they can never paint it well. The greatest art imaginable can never speak like true passion and undisguised nature. So that you will always be but an imperfect orator if you be not thoroughly moved with those sentiments which you paint and would infuse into others. — Fenelon, Dialogs on Eloquence, p. 102. (J. M., 1808.) 774. NATURE TO BE COPIED.— Man is radiant with expressions. Every feature, limb, muscle, and vein may tell something of the energy within. The brow, smooth or contracted ; the eye, placid, dilated, tearful, flashing ; the lip, calm, quivering, smiling, curled ; the whole countenance, serene, dis- torted, pale, flushed ; the hand, with its thou- sand motions ; the chest, still or heaving ; the attitude, relaxed or firm, cowering or lofty; in short, the visible characteristics of the 311 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Vatoxs NervoufueM whole external man, are Nature's handwrit- ing, and the tones and qualities of the voice, soft, low, quiet, broken, agitated, shrill, grave, boisterous, are her oral language : let the student copy and learn. Nature is the god- dess, and art and science her ministers. — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 159. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 775. NERVOUS EXCITEMENT IN SPEAKING.— The manly composure of manner which properly belongs to all forms of public address, but especially to the style of the pulpit, is quite incompatible with a very common fault into which some preach- ers are habitually betrayed by nervous ex- citement. This fault evinces itself in an overstrained expression on the features, and is legible in the wrinkling or knitting of the brow, in the upraising of the eyebrows, and in the staring projection of the eye. Such effects are unavoidably associated, in the mind of those who are addrest, with a feeling of pain or repulsion. Habitual serenity of mien and aspect does not forbid the occasional ex- pression of even the strongest emotion. But it cannot be reconciled with a continued stare or frown, which seems incompatible with de- corum or self-possession. Offenses of this description might all be easily put down by an occasional glance at a mirror, when the student is at practice. Without such re- course, or the admonition of a friend, the unconscious habit must continue an obstacle to the speaker's success in attaining to per- suasive manner. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 115. (D., 1878.) 776. NERVOUSNESS, CONSTITU- TIONAL. — Those who are constitution- ally shy and nervous, and whose natural defects of this kind have perhaps been increased, as is frequently the case with cler- gymen, by the habits of a studious life, will find that a very great effort is required for making the first attempt. It is voluntarily submitting oneself to a kind of unseen mar- tyrdom. But the first Sunday will do much toward mitigating these distressing feelings, because it will prove the possibility, where before all was uncertainty, of carrying out one's resolve. That beginning will enable the preacher to feel assured that if he will give himself the same amount of trouble he has just expended in preparing for his first Sunday, he will on subsequent Sundays do at least as well and be as safe from breaking down and hesitation ; or, rather, he may have reason for hoping that continued practice will give a proportionate increase of confidence. ease, and power. Here, as in so many other things, it is the first step which is the diffi- cult one to take ; that, once taken, the way is smoothed for all the steps that are to fol- low. I note this for the encouragement of those who may be thinking of making the attempt. They will find their first effort far less of a failure than they are beforehand disposed to anticipate. This will very much diminish what they may now be supposing will be the mental distress of their subse- quent efforts. In some cases, of course, these uncomfortable feelings will only be removed very gradually. Many of the most accus- tomed speakers have told us that they never rose to speak in public without experiencing sensations of this kind; tho, indeed, there must be more reason for their feeling in this way in the contests of public life, than there can be for the minister of the word, who is only called upon to make a short ad- dress to his own friendly congregation on his own familiar subjects. Speaking from my own experience, I must say that this feeling, to a painful degree, may last for several years, and even afterward may never entirely leave one. But I found, even in my first years of extemporary preaching, when it was most troublesome, that it seldom lasted beyond the first few sentences. One soon becomes, from the necessity of having to attend to what he is about, so completely absorbed in his subject, as generally tO' lose all consciousness even of the pres- ence of the congregation, certainly to lose all consciousness of self. The beginner is obliged to be so intent on his subject, that with him this will frequently be the case. When practise has given him an easier com- mand of himself, he will be able to attend both to his subject and to his congregation at the same time.^ZiNCKE, Extemporary Preaching, p. 58. (S., 1867.) 777. NERVOUSNESS, INITIAL, IN SPEAKING.— One of the best and most practised speakers I ever listened to always opened with stammering voice and imperfect sentences, and seemed continually on the point of breaking down. But, as he warmed in the work, words began to flow and self- possession to return, until he rose to elo- quence that held his audience in delighted thraldom for three hours. In this, as in all the business of life, he who has not the cour- age to fail may not hope to achieve success. Do not venture at all unless you are re- solved to go through with it. Even if you can not collect yourself sufficiently to say the sensible things you intended to say, do KerrouaneiB ITotes KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 312 not give up, but talk on. You may be as- sured of this, that half your audience will give you credit for having some meaning in your words, tho they can not exactly find it out, and if words come freely will think you a fine speaker, regardless of their sense or nonsense. There is but one hopeless failure — coming to a full stop. But it is probable that, after you have conquered the first ter- ror at the consciousness of lost memory and scattered thoughts, when you find your audi- ence still patient and listening, your self- command will return and you will make a triumphant ending. — Cox, The Arts of Wri- ting, Reading, and Speaking, p. 235. (H. C, 1911.) 778. NERVOUSNESS IN SPEAKING. — In his first attempts, both in private and before an audience, the student will often find himself inclined to break down, and per- haps will actually make several disastrous failures. But he must not be disheartened. The recollection of such men as Sheridan, Robert Hall, and the late Earl of Beacons- field must console him. Of the first it is told that when he made his maiden speech in Par- liament it so completely failed that his friends dissuaded him from trying a second time. To this Sheridan would not consent; "For, by Heaven, it is in me," said he, "and it shall come out." And what a brilliant speak- er he became is well known. Robert Hall, the celebrated preacher, is another example of early inability and subsequent success. When, as a student, it came to his turn to preach in Broadmead Chapel at Bristol, he had not spoken long when he came sudden- ly to a halt, covered his face, and exclaimed, "I have lost my ideas !" And his second at- tempt ended, it is said, in a failure even more painful to witness. As for Lord Beacons- field, every one has heard how his first speech in the House of Commons was received with shouts of laughter, and how the young ora- tor sat down uttering a prophecy, which was afterward fulfilled: "The time will come when you shall hear me." These examples should give great encouragement to those who really are determined to distinguish themselves. Nervousness is the first stum- bling-block in the way of the speaker, and of it only this is to be said, that it is to be got over gradually, by practise. Beginning at first by addressing some small debating so- ciety, the speaker will accustom himself to appear before an audience; he will endeavor then to address larger and larger meetings, till at length he will be able to address the largest without feeling any painful timidity, or anything else than anxiety to impress upon his hearers the truths which occupy his mind. Another of the common misfortunes of the young speaker will be to land in the middle of a sentence and find himself unable to get grammatically to the end. What must he do in such a case? He may do one of two things : he may go back to the beginning again, or he may go boldly ahead in defiance of grammar, and finish the sentence as best he can. Of these two courses the latter is the preferable. The public are more tolerant of bad grammar than of hesitation and un- certainty. — Beeton, Art of Public Speaking, from Complete Orator, p. 19. (W. L. & Co.) 779. NERVOUSNESS NATURAL IN SPEAKING.— It would be absurd pedan, try to attempt to give any rules by which a man shall overcome his nervousness, and the dread with which he will approach each new trial of his powers. We can only say that he must speak from a sense of duty, he must have at once a confidence in, and a doubt of, his own power; a confidence inspired by the feeling that he has availed himself of every possible means of preparation for the task he has undertaken, and a doubt arising from a consciousness that in spite of all his labor his sufficiency must depend upon something quite external to himself. Above all, he must feel that if he does his best, it is to his own Master, and not to his hearers, that he must stand or fall. Let him once forget this, and speak with the sole view of gratifying an audience, and his must indeed be a curiously constituted mind that is not either secretly trembling with an excess of nervousness at the fear of failure, or palpably puffed up with self-complacency at his fancied suc- cess. — Halcombe, The Speaker at Home, p. 76. (B. & D., 1860.) 780. NEWMAN, JOHN HENRY. — Born at London, England, Feb. 21, 1801. Matriculated Trinity College, Oxford, Dec. 14, 1816. Crested Cardinal May IS, 1879. Died at Edgbaston, Aug. 11, 1890. Justin McCarthy describes him as strikingly defi- cient "in all the arts that make an orator or a great preacher. His manner is con- strained, awkward, and even ungainly, his voice is thin and weak. His bearing is not impressive. His gaunt, emaciated figure, his sharp, eagle face, his cold, meditative eyes, rather repel than attract those who see him for the first time. The matter of his dis- course, whether sermon, speech, or lecture, is always admirable, and the language is con- cise, scholarly, expressive — ^perhaps a little 313 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING ITerToitsnMS MTotes overweighted with thought ; but there is noth- ing there of the orator." Another says : "His sermon keeps us 'spellbound with an unac- countable fascination.' There was not very much change in the inflection of the voice ; action there was none. His sermons were read, and his eyes were always bent on his book, and all that, you will say, is against ef- ficiency in preaching. Yes, but you must take the man as a whole, and there was a stamp and a seal upon him; there was a solemn sweetness and music in the tone and the manner, which made even his delivery, such as I have described it, and tho exclusively from written sermons, singularly attractive." Another describes him as having "A voice sweet and pathetic both, but so distinct that you could count each vowel and consonant in every word." Another : "The extraordinary attraction of voice and manner." Another : "What delicacy of style, yet what strength ! how simple, yet how suggestive ! how home- ly, yet how refined ! how penetrating, yet how tender-hearted !" 781. NOBILITY OF UTTERANCE.— While the style of the pulpit should be sim- ple, popular, familiar, it should still be noble. There is nothing more noble than Christian truth. Its nobleness is the first character- istic of it that strikes us. Style should cor- respond to it; it ought to be noble. But in what does nobleness of style consist? In style as in society, nobility imparts the idea of distinction and even of exclusiveness. There is a class of images and words which is regarded as noble, as there is in aristo- cratic constitutions a class of men separated from the community of citizens by a visible and distinct barrier. Language also has its ignoble element, confounded in dictionaries, tho not in discourse, with the aristocratic element. A low term is one which brings one's thought into too close contact with an object which it disdains; that is, judges un- worthy of being occupied with, except from absolute necessity. Man does not willingly submit or wish to have the appearance of submitting willingly to what too distinctly re- minds him of what is humiliating in his na- ture or condition. Nobility in manners, ac- tions, or language, springs from a sense of human dignity, and every one feels that this dignity resides in thought or in the faculty in us which thinks. Hence we are, in the first place, led to exclude certain ideas, or if we cannot wholly avoid them, then to ex- clude the words which recall them too di- rectly, and to give preference to terms which present them obliquely and by a retreating side to the mind which recoils from them. It here concerns us to consider whether, from any cause, such or such a word im- peaches our conscious respect for ourselves, or for such or such an object which we can- not despise without despising ourselves. This impression we should avoid making on our hearers, first by the choice of thoughts, next by the choice of words. But, understand us well. We have respect to legitimate invin- cible disgusts, not to those which proceed from effeminacy of manners and culture; these last, if we would be noble, we must sometimes be able to bear, for nothing is less noble than the reciprocal conventionali- ties of fastidious politeness. We give them their place, and do not distrust them in it; but neither let them undertake to impose their yoke on the generous freedom of apos- tolic language. Religion, which embraces true nature, the truly natural in itself, con- stantly tends to restore civilization to its just conditions, and it approximates it to no- bility in the proportion in which it removes it from effeminacy; for if coarseness is ig- noble, effeminacy is scarcely less so. This spirit of Christianity should be that of the pulpit. In the choice of his terms, the preacher should have respect to the state of the society from the bosom of which his flock has been drawn ; but in this policy there should be no unmanly complaisance ; he ought boldly to attempt to raise above itself, above i^s vain ideas of delicacy, this society to which Christianity only can impart natural beauty. — ViNET, Homiletics; or, The Theory of, Pteaching, p. 407. (I. & P., 1855.) 782. NOTES, RELIANCE ON. — You must not rely on the notes which you must carry in your hand, to help you in the ex- position and save you from breaking down. Doubtless, they may have their utility, espe- cially in business speaking, as at the bar, at the council board, or in a deliberative as- sembly. Sometimes they are even necessary to remember facts or to state figures. They are the material part, the baggage of the orator, and he should lighten them and disen- cumber himself of their burden, to the ut- most of his power. In truth, on the very oc- casions when it should seem you would have the most need of them, they are totally worthless. In the most fervid moments of extemporaneous speaking, when light teems, and the sacred fire burns, when the mind is hurried along upon the tide of thoughts, and the tongue, obedient to its impulse, accom- modates itself in a wonderful manner to its operations and lavishes the treasures of Notes O1>]ectlonii KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 314 expression, everything should proceed from within. The mind's glance is bent inward, absorbed by the subject and its ideas; you distinguish none of the external objects, and you can no longer even read your notes on the paper. You see the lines without under- standing them, and they become an em- barrassment instead of a help. Nothing so thoroughly freezes the oratorical flow as to consult those wretched notes. Nothing is so inimical to the prestige of eloquence; it forthwith brings down to the common earth both the speaker and his audience. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 314. (S., 1901.) 783. NOTES, USE OF, IN SPEAK- ING. — We strongly advise that, whatever may be a man's fancy or imagination, or whatever be the powers of his mind, he should not only make a frequent use of his pen as a preparation for extempore speak- ing, but also that he should at all times prac- tise himself in writing and composition. It has been said by someone, that "a man ought to write out his speech, read it carefully over to himself, and then throw it on one side, and deliver it without manuscript." But this ought to be done some time before delivering it ; for, without doubt, nothing can make a man more concise, give him clearer views on any subject, improve his language, and dis- cipline his mind to a course of accurate rea- soning and thinking, better than writing upon the subject in hand. But tho this may, and, indeed, should be, done for the purpose just mentioned, yet on no account would we rec- ommend it as a preparation for immediate delivery; for the mind would be dwelling on the manuscript, and the thought would often occur to the mind, "How did I treat this part of the subject, and what were the words I used?" These and many similar questions would be constantly rising up in the mind of the speaker, and would fetter him very con- siderably all the time of delivery. "Shall we then use notes?" some of our readers will say. The fewer the better ; for, tho commit- ting a speech to memory has some advan- tages, writing it out in full and reading it has perhaps more ; yet, we maintain that to be extempore has most of all, and the objec- tions that may be raised against it are fewest. And here let it be clearly understood what we mean by an extempore delivery. The pure meaning of the word, we know, means "readily and without study" ; but we again repeat that we would have a speaker study his subject in all its bearings, and try and gain clear and concise views of it. Having done so, let him not be at any anxiety as to how he shall deliver himself; for if he be really in earnest and natural in the mode of delivery, he can not be otherwise than elo- quent. Make yourselves masters of the sub- ject — write down upon a slip of paper the heads of your speech, with one or two lead- ing ideas under each ; and then go, and with- out any rrtore preparation, deHver yourself as well as you can. This we think to be the best plan to be adopted from first to last; for too many notes will only fetter a man, with- out his being able to leave them off after commencing to use them; but a few will keep the subject in his mind, and make him more logical than he otherwise would be. By adopting the above plan, you may at first make one or two blunders — you may use a slight repetition of words — ^you may have to pause a little longer than you would wish — and you may even partly break down, or have to come to a hasty conclusion. But make up your minds that you will succeed, and succeed you undoubtedly will. Follow out the same plan of studying the subject, and adopt the same mode of delivery, and you will soon find that blunders or contra- dictions will rarely occur. There will be no further repetition than what you actually in- tend ; your pauses will be just as long or as short as you wish them; words and ideas will occur to your mind as readily as you can utter them; and confidence will prevent your breaking down. — Anon, The Public Speaker, p. 62. (J. N. & Co., 1860.) 784. NOTES, USE OF WRITTEN.— If you press me to say which is absolutely the best practise in regard to "notes," prop- erly so called, that is, in distinction from a complete manuscript, I unhesitatingly say, use none. Carry no scrap of writing into the pul- pit. Let your scheme, with all its branches, be written on your mental tablet. The prac- tise will be invaluable. I know a public speaker about my own age who has never employed a note of any kind. But while this is a counsel for which, if you will follow it, you will thank me as long as you live, I am pretty sure you have not courage and self- denial to make the venture. And I admit that some great preachers have been less vigorous. The late Mr. Wirt, himself one of the most classical and brilliant extempore orators of America, used to speak in ad- miration of his pastor, the beloved Nevins, of Baltimore. Now, having often counseled with this eloquent clergyman, I happen to know that while his morning discourses were coror- mitted to memory, his afternoon discourses 315 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING IToteg Objeotlong were from a "brief." A greater orator than either, who was at the same time a friend of both, thus advised a young preacher: "In your case," said Summerfield, "I would rec- ommend the choice of a companion or two, with whom you could accustom yourself to open and amplify your thoughts on a por- tion of the Word of Gk)d in the way of lec- ture. Choose a copious subject, and be not anxious to say all that might be said. Let your efforts be aimed at giving a strong out- line; the filling up will be much more easily attained. Prepare a skeleton of your lead- ing ideas, branching them off into their sec- ondary relations. This you may have before you. Digest well the subject, but be not care- ful to choose your words previous to your delivery. Follow out the idea with such lan- guage as may offer at the moment. Don't be discouraged if you fall down a hundred times ; for, tho you fall, you shall rise again ; and cheer yourself with the prophet's chal- lenge, 'Who hath despised the day of small things?'" If any words of mine could be needed to reinforce the opinion of the most enchanting speaker I ever heard, I should employ them in fixing in your mind the coun- sel not to prepare your words. Certain preachers, by a powerful and constraining discipline, have acquired the faculty of men- tally rehearsing the entire discourse which they were to deliver, with almost the precise! language. This is manifestly no more ex- temporaneous preaching than if they had written down every word in a book. It is almost identical with what is called memoriter preaching. But if you would avail yourself of the plastic power of excitement in a great assembly to create for the gushing thought a mold of fitting diction, you will not spend a moment on the words. — Alexander, Thoughts on Preaching, p. 145. (S., 1862.) 785. NUMERICAL TERMS, USE OF. — The passage from one part to another may be made either with or without the usual numerical words, secondly, thirdly, etc. It is not a sufficient reason for declining the use of these words that they give an air of stiff- ness to the performance, and bring into too bold relief the joints of the discourse. The judicious use of these words secures ends far more important than the beauty of structure, or the harmony of sound, which may be ob- tained by avoiding them. Nor do true beauty and harmony require the various parts to be welded together, or even to be so intimately united that the junctures would escape the notice of all, except a few very sagacious in- dividuals. The ready perception, on the part of the hearers, of the successive considera- tions that are employed, must be regarded; and numerical terms may be generally used in connection with formulas of transition, so as not at all to impair neatness or elegance of composition. As, however, variety is desir- able, and transitions can be distinctly marked by other terms, a preacher will find it agree- able and useful to have at command several words, or phrases, even, that will serve this purpose. Thus, instead of uniformly saying, secondly, thirdly, etc., a regard to variety and to attractiveness would recommend the employment of such terms as again, still further, in addition, moreover, once more, finally, etc. — Ripley, Sacred Rhetoric, p. 101. (G. K. & L., 1849.) 786.— OBJECTIONS, FAIR STATE- MENT OF. — Nothing is more opposed to persuasiveness in reasoning, than the appear- ance of unfairness. Sound principle was ac- cordingly reckoned by the ancients among the three essential requisites in the charac- ter of the orator. Where the speaker is to appear before the same audience frequently, or to address one acquainted with his char- acter as a candid and honest reasoner, the necessity of observing this principle is mani- fest. And even where the general character of the speaker can have no influence in fa- vorably disposing the minds of the hearers, still, as unfairness is with difficulty disguised, and even suspicion of it is exceedingly preju- dicial ; as, moreover, the consciousness of can- dor and fairness will give the speaker him- self a tone of confidence and authority, itself most favorable to effect, it is ever safest, as a matter of policy, to conduct the argumenta- tion in perfect fairness. — Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 162. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 787. OBJECTIONS, MANNER OF REFUTING.— As regards objections to be refuted, you should never adduce any but as are current in the locality where you are speaking ; and it is dangerous to give them a too salient form, for you may thereby wound the faith of your audience. But the objec- tion once stated, refute it at once in a few sharp and decisive words. Let your reply be in language as prompt, striking, and decisive as that of the objection. Avoid all circum- locution and hesitation in meeting it. Show it no pity, but let it aspire forthwith in the presence of your audience. Let every word tell like the cut or thrust of a sword, or, at least, like the stroke of a mace which shall effectually silence the objection. You may then justify, easily, the blows which you have O'Connell, Daniel Orator KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 316 dealt; but strike first and explain afterward; otherwise, never attempt to place an objec- tion before the people. If, as is too often done, you begin by saying: "Before refuting this objection, two principles must first be laid down," or, "three reflections must first be made," the minds of your hearers will go a wool-gathering; they will not listen to your reflections ; they will retain nothing of your discourse beyond the objection; you will have lost your time, and may have done harm into the bargain. — Mullois, The Clergy and the Pulpit, p. 133. (The C. P. S., 1867.) 788. O'CONNELL, DANIEL. — As a popular orator before a miscellaneous audi- ence, O'Connell had few equals. John Ran- dolph, who had good opportunities of form- ing a judgment, pronounced him the first orator in Europe. Every chord of the "harp of a thousand strings" lay open to his touch, and he played upon it with a master's hand. His voice, which Disraeli admitted to have been the finest ever heard in Parliament, was deep, sonorous, distinct, and flexible. In its transitions from the higher to the lower notes, it was wondrously effective. All who heard him were enchanted by its swelling and sinking waves of sound, its quiet and soft cadences of beauty, alternated with brass notes of grandeur; and even its "divinely- managed brogue" added not a little to its charm, especially when he indulged in spar- kles of "Easy humor, blossoming Like the thousand flowers of spring." One of the most marked traits of his ora- tory was its utter self-abnegation. He had no rhetorical trickery; he never strove, like his contemporary, Sheil, to strike and daz- zle — to create a sensation and be admired. Of the thousands and tens of thousands who heard him, whether thundering in the Sen- ate or haranguing the multitude on his route from his coach-roof, not one person prob- ably ever dreamed that a sentence of that flowing stream of words had been prestudied. His bursts of passion displayed that fresh- ness and genuineness which art can so sel- dom counterfeit. "The listener," says Mr. Lecky, "seemed almost to follow the work- ings of his mind — to perceive him hewing his thoughts into rhetoric with a negligent but colossal grandeur; with the chisel, not of a Canova, but of a Michael Angelo." There was no chord of feeling that he could not strike with power. Melting his hearers at one moment by his pathos, he convulsed them at the next by his humor; bearing them in one part of his speech to a dizzy height on the elastic wing of his imagination, in an- other he would make captive their judgments by the iron links of his logic. No actor on the stage surpast him in revealing the work- ings of the mind through the windows of the face. Not the tongue only, but the whole countenance spoke; he looked every senti- ment as it fell from his lips. "He could whine and wheedle, and wink with one eye, while he wept with the other." It is said that on one occasion a deputation of Hindoo chiefs, while listening to his recital before an assembly of the wrongs of India, never took their eyes off him for an hour and a half, tho not one word in ten was intelligible to their ears. His gesticulation, says an in- telligent American writer, who heard him when at the height of his fame, "was redun- dant, never commonplace, strictly sui gener- is, far from being awkward, not precisely graceful, and yet it could hardly have been more forcible, and, so to speak, illustrative. He threw himself into a great variety of at- titudes, all evidently unpremeditated. Now he stands bolt upright, like a grenadier. Then he assumes the port and bearing of a pugi- list. Now he folds his arms upon his breast, utters some beautiful sentiment, relaxes them, recedes a step, and giving wing to the corus- cations of his fancy, while a winning smile plays over his countenance. Then he stands at ease, and relates an anecdote with the rol- licking air of a horse-jockey at Donnybrook fair. Quick as thought, his indignation is kindled, and, before speaking a word, he makes a violent sweep with his arm, seizes his wig as if he would tear it in pieces, ad- justs it to its place, throws his body into the attitude of a gladiator, and pours out a flood of rebuke and denunciation. In person, O'Connell had many of the qualifications of an orator, his appearance corresponding to his mind. He was tall and muscular, with a; broad chest, and Herculean shoulders as ex- tensive as the burden he had to bear. From his strong and homely look, and his careless and independent swing as he walked along, he might have been taken for a plain, wealthy farmer, had not his face been occasionally enlivened by an eye of fire. In private life he was enthusiastically admired. Warm and generous in his feelings, cordial and frank in his manners, loving a good joke, having an exhaustless supply of wit and humor, he was every way so fascinating in manners that even the veriest Orangeman who had drunk knee-deep to the "Glorious Memory," and strained his throat in giving "one cheer 317 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING O'Counell, Daniel Orator more" for Protestant ascendency, could not sit ten minutes by the side of the "Great Agitator" without being charmed into the confession that no man was ever better fitted to win and hold the hearts of his country- men. He was a born king among his fellow- men — so truly such, that even his faults and errors had a princely air. His early ex- cesses and sins were royal in their extrava- gance. His highest glory is that, tho not a statesman, he was a daring and successful political agitator; that he revolutionized the whole social system of Ireland, and remod- eled by his influence its representative, ec- clesiastical and educational institutions; that, if he indulged sometimes in ribaldry and vul- gar abuse, his fury was poured out upon meanness, injustice, and oppression; that he championed the cause of humanity without regard to clime, color, or condition ; and that wherever the moan of the opprest was heard, there, too, was heard the trumpet-voice of O'Connell, rousing the sympathies of man- kind, rebuking the tyrant, and cheering the victim. — Mathews, Oratory and Orators, p. 296. (S. F. & Co., 1896.) 789. OPEN-AIR SPEAKING.— Most persons find this difficult of accomplishment, very trying to the lungs, and very crazing to the voice. Beginners usually speak from a window, or from a hustings, in the same tones as they use in a room. They are put out by finding that the sounds they have sent forth seem to be swallowed up in space and that no echo of them comes back to their ears. Consequently, they are in utter igno- rance how far off they have been heard. If not unpleasantly informed by the usual cry of "Speak out !" from beyond the favored circle in the foreground, the unpractised orator has no means whatever of measuring his fire. In cither case, he strains his voice to the ut- most, with still the same unpleasant sensation that it is lost. Louder and louder; still no echo; then pain; then hoarseness, which will not be cured for days. But when you speak in the open air, there is no echo; your voice will be heard just as far as you can throw it and no farther, and it will grow fainter as the distance grows until the words die away in inarticulate murmurs. Nature has given great variety of powers to voice, and if the vocal organs have not been framed for it no training will create power. But the voice may be vastly strengthened by judicious ex- ercise under instruction. Besides the com- pass of the voice, there is a great deal in its management. Mere loudness will not suffice for the open air, and straining will never suc- ceed. When the effort becomes painful, the voice loses in force, and a sense of pain is the best warning that you have trespast be- yond your capacities. On the instant that the sensation occurs, moderate your tones, re- lax the exertion, and rather close your speech than continue it at such risk of injury to your voice. But mere loudness will not suf- fice to make the voice audible in the open air. You will be heard at much farther dis- tance by help of clearness and fulness of sound, and more than all by very distinct articulation. You should speak slowly, look- ing at the most distant of the assembly, for the voice addrest to them, even if they should be beyond its reach, will fall upon the far- thest ear to which its capacities extend. Here, also, it is of the utmost importance that you should use the upward inflection; that is, that you should raise the voice at every pause or close of a sentence, instead of lowering it, as is the too frequent failing with public speakers. In open-air speaking, it is impos- sible to employ the delicate variety of tones so effective in a room, where the voice may be lowered almost to a whisper without be- ing lost to the audience, the degree of loud- ness necessary to be exercised where there is no echo to help you, forbidding the expres- sion of more than the ruder tones of emo- tion, and these must be somewhat exagger- ated to be effective. Consequently, action is especially demanded on such occasions. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 312. (H. C, 1911.) 790. ORATOR, CRASSUS' DESCRIP- TION OF THE IDEAL.— Crassus affirms that for the genuine orator nothing less can suffice than universal knowledge. And he successively shows how an acquaintance with the science of government, with the forms of administration, with the doctrines of religion, with laws, usages, history, and the knowledge of mankind, may be applied to the purposes of the orator. Physics and mathematics, he contends, are in their own nature inert sci- ences, of little use even to their professors, without the talent of the speaker to give them life ; while in the whole circle of science there is not a particle of knowledge which can be condemned to sleep in the mind of an ora- tor. Besides this broad basis of universal knowledge, the orator of Crassus must be endowed with a fine natural genius, and a pleasing personal appearance. He must have a soul of fire; an iron application; indefati- gable, unremitting assiduity of exercise in writing and composition; unwearied patience to correct and revise; constant reading of Oratof Orator KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 318 the poets, orators, and historians ; the prac- tise of declamation; the exercise and im- provement of the memory; the attentive cul- tivation of the graces ; and a habit of raillery and humor, sharpened by wit, but tempered with the soberest judgment, to point their ap- plication. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 1, p. 102. (H. & M., 1810.) 791. ORATOR, EQUIPMENT OF THE. — The fund to be amassed by those who intend to speak in public, is a treasury of ideas, thoughts, and principles of knowl- edge, strongly conceived, firmly linked to- gether, carefully wrought out, in such a way that throughout all this diversity of study, the mind, so far as may be, shall admit nothing save what it thoroughly comprehends, or at least has made its own to a certain extent, by meditation. Thus, knowledge becomes strangely melted down, not cumbersome to the understanding; and not overburdening the memory. It is the essence of things re- duced to their simplest expression, and com- prizing all their concentrated virtue. It is the drop of oil extracted from thousands of roses, and fraught with their accumulated odors ; the healing power of a hundred-weight of bark in a few grains of quinine. In a word, it is the idea in its intellectuality and metaphysical purity, compared to the multi- plicity of facts and images from which it has been extracted, and of which it is the law. This is not well enough understood in our day, when material things are made para- mount, and the spirit is postponed to the let- ter—to such a degree, indeed, that even in instruction, and in spiritual or mental things, no less than in all else, quantity is consid- ered more than quality.— Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 48. (S., 1901.) 792. ORATOR, KEEN SENSIBILI- TIES OF THE.— It makes but little dif- ference how rare the intellectual graces or how abundant the information may be, a speaker without keen sensibilities can not be a popular orator. A sensitive nature is ex- tremely difficult to acquire artificially. With- out a strong natural basis, almost any amount of discipline would be unavailing. The psy- chological explanation of the early failures of many great orators is found in their extrerne constitutional sensitiveness. And it is this same extreme sensitiveness, when brought un- der control, which is among the most invalu- able oratorical allies. Its perfect subjection, upon elocutionary grounds, is, however, reso- lutely demanded. Sensitiveness uncontrolled explains the inability of many men to speak publicly who are masters in rhetorical com- position, and who with the pen can easily hew in pieces their antagonists. — Townsend, The Art of Speech^ p. 65.^ (D. A. & Co., 1882.) 793. ORATOR, POWER AND IN- FLUENCE OF THE.— To estimate the degree in which the orator has influenced the world's history, would be a difficult task. It would be hardly too much to say that, since the dawn of civilization, the triumphs of the tongue have rivalled, if not surpast, those of the sword. There is hardly any man, illiter- ate or educated, so destitute of sensibility that he is not charmed by the music of elo- quent speech, even tho it affect his senses rather than his mind and heart, and rouse his blood only as it is roused by the drums and trumpets of military bands. But when elo- quence is something more than a trick of art, or a juggle with words ; when it has a higher aim than to tickle the ear, or to charm the imagination as the sparkling eye and daz- zling scales of the serpent enchant the hov- ering bird; when it has a higher inspiration than that which produces the "sounding brass and tinkling cymbal" of merely fascinating speech; when it is armed with the thunder- bolt of powerful thought, and winged with lofty feeling; when the electric current of sympathy is established, and the orator sends upon it thrill after thrill of sentiment and emotion, vibrating and pulsating to the sen- sibilities of his hearers, as if their very heart- strings were held in the grasp of his trem- bling fingers; when it strips those to whom it is addrest of their independence, invests them with its own life, and makes them obe- dient to a strange nature, as the mighty ocean tides follow the path of the moon; when it divests men of their peculiar quali- ties and affections, and turns a vast multitude into one man, giving to them but one heart, one pulse, and one voice, and that an echo of the speaker's — then, indeed, it becomes not only a delight, but a power, and a power greater than kings or military chieftains can command. — Mathews, Oratory and Orators, p. 9. (S. F. & Co., 1896.) 794. ORATOR, POWER OF THE— If any one desires to define and comprehend the whole and peculiar power of an orator, that man, in my opinion, will be an orator worthy of so great a name, who, whatever subject comes before him, and requires rhe- torical elucidation, can speak on it judicious- ly, in set form, elegantly, and from memory, and with a certain dignity of action. But if 319 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Orator Orator the phrase which I have used, "on whatever subject," is thought by any one too compre- hensive, let him retrench and curtail as much of it as he pleases; but this I will maintain: that tho the orator be ignorant of what be- longs to other arts and pursuits, and under- stands only what concerns the discussions and practise of the forum, yet if he has to speak on those arts, he will, when he has learned what pertains to any of them from persons who understand them, discourse upon them much better than the very persons of whom those arts form the peculiar province. Thus, if our friend Sulpicius have to speak on mil- itary affairs, he will inquire about them of my kinsman Caius Marius, and when he has received information, will speak upon them in such a manner that he shall seem to Ma- rius to understand them better than himself. Or if he has to speak on the civil law, he will consult with you, and will excel you, tho eminently wise and learned in it, in speaking on those very points which he shall have learned from yourself. Or if any subject presents itself, requiring him to speak on the nature and vices of men, on desire, on mod- eration, on continence, on grief, on death, perhaps, if he thinks proper (tho the orator ought to have a knowledge of these things), he will consult with Sextus Pompeius, a man learned in philosophy. But this he will cer- tainly accomplish, that, of whatever matter he gains a knowledge, or from whomsoever, he will speak upon it much more elegantly than the very person from whom he gained the knowledge. But, since philosophy is dis- tinguished into three parts, inquiries into the obscurities of physics, the subtleties of logic, and the knowledge of life and manners, let us, if Sulpicius will listen to me, leave the two former, and consult our ease; but unless we have a knowledge of the third, which has always been the province of the orator, we shall leave him nothing in which he can dis- tinguish himself. The part of philosophy, therefore, regarding life and manners, must be thoroughly mastered by the orator; other subjects, even if he has not learned them, he will be able, whenever there is occasion, to adorn by his eloquence, if they are brought before him and made known to him. — Cicero, On Oratory and Orators, p. 159. (B., 1909.) 795. ORATOR, QUALIFICATIONS OF THE.— Of all the efforts of the human mind, there is no one which demands for its success so rare a union of mental gifts as eloquence. For its ordinary displays the pre- requisites are clear perception, memory, pow- er of statement, logic, imagination, force of will, and passion; but, for its loftiest flights it demands a combination of the most ex- alted powers — a union of the rarest facul- ties. Unite in one man the most varied and dissimilar gifts — a strong and masculine un- derstanding with a brilliant imagination; a nimble wit with a solid judgment; a prompt and tenacious memory with a lively and fer- tile fancy; an eye for the beauties of nature with a knowledge of the realities of life; a brain stored with the hived wisdom of the ages, and a heart swelling with emotion — and you have the moral elements of a great ora- tor. But even these qualifications, so sel- dom harmonized in one man, are not all. Eloquence is a physical as well as an intel- lectual product; it has to do with the body as well as the mind. It is not a cold and voiceless enunciation of abstract truth; it is truth warm and palpitating — reason "perme- ated and made red-hot with passion." It de- mands, therefore, a trained, penetrating, and sympathetic voice, ranging through all the keys in the scale, by which all the motions and agitations, all the shudderings and throbbings of the heart, no less than the subtlest acts, the nimblest operations of the mind — in fine, all the modifications of the moral life — may find a tone, an accent. The eye as well as the lips, the heaving chest and the swaying arm, the whole frame quivering with emotion, have a part; and the speech that thrills, melts, or persuades, is the result of them all combined. The orator needs, therefore, a stout bodily frame, especially as his calling is one that rapidly wears the nerves, and exhausts the vital energy. — Mathews, Oratory and Orators, p. 63. (S. F. & Co., 1896.) 796. ORATOR, THE IDEAL.— The ac- complished and complete orator I shall call him who can speak on all subjects with va- riety and copiousness. For often in those causes which all acknowledge properly to be- long to orators, there is something to be drawn forth and adopted, not from the rou- tine of the forum, which is the only knowl- edge that you grant to the orator, but from some of the more obscure sciences. I ask whether a speech can be made for or against a general, without an acquaintance with mili- tary affairs, or often without a knowledge of certain inland and maritime countries? whether a speech can be made to the people about passing or rejecting laws, or in the senate on any kind of public transactions, without the greatest knowledge and judgment in political matters? whether a speech can be adapted to excite or calm the thoughts and Orator Orators KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 320 passions (which alone is a great business of the orator) without a most diligent examina- tion of all those doctrines which are set forth on the nature and manners of men by the philosophers? I do not know whether I may not be less successful in maintaining what I am going to say; but I shall not hesitate to speak that which I think. Physics and math- ematics belong to the peculiar knowledge of those who profess them ; but if anyone would illustrate those arts by eloquence, he must have recourse to the power of oratory. Nor, if, as is said, Philo, the famous architect, who built an arsenal for the Athenians, gave that people an eloquent account of his work, is it to be imagined that his eloquence pro- ceeded from the art of the architect, but from that of the orator. Or, if our friend Mar- cus Antonius had had to speak for Hermo- dorus on the subject of dock-building, he would have spoken, when he had learned the case from Hermodorus, with elegance and copiousness, drawn from an art quite uncon- nected with dock-building. And Asclepiades, whom we knew as a physician and a friend, did not, when he excelled others of his pro- fession in eloquence, employ, in his graceful elocution, the art of physic, but that of ora- tory. What Socrates used to say, that all men are sufficiently eloquent in that which they understand, is very plausible, but not true. It would have been nearer truth to say that no man can be eloquent on a sub- ject that he does not understand; and that if he understands a subject ever so well, but is ignorant how to form and polish his speech, he can not express himself eloquently even about what he does understand. — Cicero, On Oratory and Orators, p. 158. (B., 1909.) 797. ORATORICAL DISCOURSE.— An oratorical discourse is a discourse deliv- ered to an assembly with the view of incul- cating on it certain ideas, impressing it with certain sentiments, or inducing certain re- solves, or of doing these three things at once. The last, however, is the final purpose; that in relation to which the other two are means, instruments. The orator should address the heart as well as the understanding, since his desire is to reach the will, and our will is under the control of our affections. Oratori- cal discourse thus appears as a contest, a combat; this idea is essential to it. At one time, the orator combats an error by a truth ; at another, he opposes one sentiment to an- other sentiment. In its just use, oratory is a combat waged against errors of the mind and heart, with the weapon of speech. The ora- tor seeks to make himself master of our will. His attempt is a bold aggression; he lays siege to the soul as tho it were a fort; a fort, however, which he can never take un- less he keeps himself informed of the in- terior of the place; for eloquence is but an appeal to sympathy. Its secret consists in disengaging and arresting properties in others which correspond to what is in us, and in every one ; its object is to lay hold of a hand which, unknown to ourselves, we are ever extending to it. It arms itself against us from ourselves; it fortifies itself by our ad- missions; it supplies itself from our gifts; with our confessions it overwhelms us. In other words, the orator invokes intellectual and moral principles, which we hold in com- mon with him, and does but enforce conclu- sions from these premises. He proves to us that we agree with him, and causes us to feel and like this agreement. — Vinet, Homiletics ; or. The Theory of Preaching, p. 26. (I. & P., 1855.) 798. ORATORICAL TASTE. — The shades of thought in the mind depend for their correct expression, not merely upon words, but also upon the mode of pronoun- cing them. It scarcely needs to be repeated here that a bad emphasis may make a true statement become a falsehood. It is not mere- ly the tongue that speaks; the whole frame utters a language definite and powerful. The moment a speaker rises before an audience, he makes an impression. His attitude is a language. If he be a man of true dignity, and his soul be elevated by the noblest sentiments, he may, for want of a proper cultivation of his body, produce the contrary impression on his hearers. An erect attitude is dignified, and becomes no man more than him who approaches his fellows with messages from God. And every man of true dignity should accustom his body to correspond to his mind, and not to belie it. Physical uprightness is not an unbecoming representative and ex- pression of moral rectitude. There is more moral effect on an audience in a posture which presents the expanded front than in the side-posture of a fencing-master. There is also more power in the gestures which are made by a body firmly sustained than by one which reels upon its base. The voice, too, is capable of countless inflections, each one of which is itself a language to the soul. Every shade of sentiment in a discourse has an ap- propriate modulation of the voice; and if that modulation be not made, that sentiment must lie buried in the bosom of the speaker : the hearer fails, just so far, to participate in it. With many preachers, the exercise of 3211 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Orator Orators reading the Scriptures and the hymns ap- pears to be a mere form. This is a great loss to their hearers. The reading of the Scriptures by Dr. John Mason, was said to be a commentary on them. The reading of the hymns by Mr. Nettleton was often a ser- mon to the assembly. All this may be admit- ted, however, and yet the conviction not to be received, of the importance of cultivating elocution. Let it then be repeated that the powers of utterance come under the great law of education, which pertains to the en- tire man. No physical function of man is capable of greater improvement than the voice. Its compass, its musical quality, its distinctness, its flexibility, its delicate utter- ance of sentiment, admit of indefinite im- provement. The oratorical taste, too, can be cultivated to a very high degree, so that the body shall enter into the most delicate sym- pathy with the mind and heart, and faith- fully symbolize to every other eye and ear all the wonderful workings of the spiritual man. The age of miracles is past. And since "it has pleased God, by the foolishness of preaching to save" men ; and since preaching employs organs and faculties which we find to be capable of so great improvement, we must believe that God will employ a preacher who has cultivated his oratorical powers, to do a greater amount of good by preaching than another of equal piety and learning, who has neglected this cultivation. From the pres- ent style of the pulpit and the senate, one might suppose that the age of eloquence is past. We believe it is yet to come. The pow- er of a preached gospel is yet to be seen as our eyes have not seen it. And if we may still further express our anticipations, we be- lieve that three things are demanded for the coming of that age : a stronger faith in God and His Word, a profounder knowledge of divine and human things, a thorough culti- vation of the functions of speech. — Anon. 799. ORATORS, SCARCITY OF.— The true foundation of oratory, no doubt, is sound logic; but then it should be remem- bered that it is only the foundation ; and that, to complete the plan, the superstructure, with all its accommodations and with all its orna- ments, is wanting. To be an orator is more difficult than to be a reasoner, and demands in addition many other talents and perfec- tions both natural and acquired. The con- summate orator is therefore rare, and a wonder in every age and in every country. And perhaps Demosthenes in Athens, and Cicero in Rome, were the only perfect ora- tors (if even they reached perfection) whom the world has yet seen. But there are many degrees of excellence far below theirs, and below perfection, by reaching any of which a public speaker may acquire considerable fame and honor. The high degrees of excellence, should a man aspire to them, can be attained only by those whom nature has endowed with great abilities, and who attempt perfection itself. For this object long and laborious ex- ertion must be made, but the very effort will bring its adequate reward in every stage, and will carry the aspiring mind farther and far- ther beyond the dull boundaries of medio- crity, and place him within the regions of honorable excellence. Among the many who have taken this view both of the subject of eloquence in general and of national elo- quence, perhaps the authority of none will be admitted with greater deference than that of Mr. Hume. "In ancient times," says this acute philosopher and learned writer, "no work of genius was thought to require so great parts and capacity as the speaking in public; and some eminent writers have pro- nounced the talents even of a great poet or philosopher to be of an inferior nature to those which are requisite for such an under- taking. Greece and Rome produced, each of them, but one accomplished orator; and whatever praises the other celebrated speak- ers might merit, they were still esteemed much inferior to these great models of elo- quence. ... Of all the polite and learned nations, England alone possesses a popular government, or admits into the legislature such numerous assemblies as can be supposed to lie under the dominion of eloquence. But what has England to boast of in this par- ticular? In enumerating the great men who have done honor to our country, we exult in our poets and philosophers ; but what ora- tors are ever mentioned, or where are the monuments of their genius to be met with? There are found, indeed, in our histories, the names of several who directed the resolu- tions of our Parliament : but neither them- selves nor others have taken the pains to preserve their speeches; and the authority which they possest seems to have been ow- ing to their existence, wisdom, or power, more than to their talents for oratory. At present there are above half a dozen speak- ers in the two houses, who, in the judgment of the public, have reached very near the same pitch of eloquence; and no man pre- tends to give any one the preference above the rest. This seems to me a certain proof that none of them has attained much beyond a mediocrity in his art, and that the species of eloquence, which he aspires to, gives no Oratom Oratoxy KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 322 exercise to the sublimer faculties of the mind, but may be reached by ordinary talents and a slight application. A hundred cabinet-ma- kers in London can work a table or chair equally well, but no one poet can write verses with such spirit as Mr. Pope. We are told that when Demosthenes was to plead, all in- genious men flocked to Athens from the most remote parts of Greece, as to the most cele- brated spectacle of the world. At London you may see men sauntering in the court of requests, while the most important debates are carried on in the two houses ; and many do not think themselves sufficiently compen- sated for the losing of their dinners, by all the eloquence of our most celebrated speak- ers." — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 219. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 800. ORATORS, SHAM.— Who are the sham orators? We would divide them into three classes. The first is the twaddler, the man who talks mere nothings in a blundering and dreary way. He is seen in his most de- veloped state at a public dinner-table. There the Britons (such is their consistency) think it necessary to torture a fellow-being by com- pelling him to speak, and to torture them- selves by entailing upon themselves the necessity of listening. Their victim is gener- ally a harmless, simple soul, who would have as soon thought of flying as of making speeches, if vile custom had not driven him to it. He is happy at the social board with his friends, his soul is filled with the sense of good things, and his countenance is all aglow with geniality, when, without a moment's warning, he is called upon to stand up and make a fool of himself. As long as he re- mains in a sedentary position, ideas are in his head, and have no difficulty in finding their way out in the form of speech. But no sooner does he rise up than these ideas seem to slip down — where they go, we can not say — and his head is left empty. He mumbles some hackneyed phrases such as : "Unexpectedly called upon," "Some one bet- ter able to do justice to the subject," "Thfs joyful occasion," etc. He moves his glass deliberately from his left to his right; and this looks so like clearing his way that we grow sanguine, and expect to see him make a good start. He puts his hand into his pocket ; and a mad hope seizes us that he may have some ideas carefully stowed away there. But it is all in vain. He is soon utterly at sea, and we look on in torturing suspense, expecting every moment to see him sink. However, Providence is kind. There are al- ways floating about some well-known phrases, the wrecks of former after-dinner speeches. He clutches at these, and is kept from sink- ing; and by and by, besides being buoyed up, he finds that he can even move with some degree of ease and comfort. The second sham orator is the man of the "sounding- brass type," the whiner, or the howler, or the ranter. He may have a small modicum of meaning to communicate, but he gives very little heed to that. It is the manner more than the matter, the sound more than the sense, to which he attends. It is the ear more than the understanding that he ad- dresses. He is a mere bell, empty of every- thing but a long tongue, and capable of ut- tering nothing but a vague sound. And yet this sing-song style, unnatural tho it may be, has a wonderful effect. It is like an incan- tation handed down from remote antiquity. In the first place, it has a striking effect upon the speaker himself, giving him a never-fail- ing fluency. He may utter nothing but what is worthless, he may go on adding to com- monplace, in the style of an inventory, and piling up what Dickens calls "verbose flights of stairs," but he pours into the ears of his audience an uninterrupted flood of musical sound. He completely avoids at least one fatal defect in an orator, namely, hesitation. For instance, Chadband, in his famous ad- dress to the London Arab, Jo, without hav- ing a single valuable idea to stir his mind, but intoxicated by the sound of his own voice, is borne along triumphantly through an eloquent rhapsody: "For what are you, my young friend? Are you a beast of the field? No. A bird of the air? No. A fish of the sea or river? No. You are a hu- man boy, my young friend. A human boyf Oh, glorious to be a human boy!" . . . "O running stream of sparkling joy, To be a soaring, human boy !" This kind of eloquence, too, in the second place, had a great and varied effect upon the hearers. In the case of some, it lulls the understanding into a sort of pleasing, half- waking consciousness, that everything in the universe is going right, and that there is no necessity of harassing thought. The third kind of sham orator is the special pleader, the spokesman of a party, the retailer of oc- casional sophistry, or what the Americans call "bunkum." The most perfect specimens of this class were the old Greek sophists. They frankly admitted that they owed no al- legiance to truth, and that, in their opinion, truth must accommodate itself to the wants \ 323 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Orators OratoiT' of man; and one even declared that "Ora- tory must say 'good-by' to truth." But there are not wanting representatives of this same class in the present day. We do not include under this head the special pleaders at the bar, the barristers or advocates. They are following a necessary calling. They are pleading for those who cannot plead for themselves; and it is perfectly well under- stood that they are speaking, not their own sentiments, but those of their clients. But the spokesman of a party, religious, social, or political, often belongs to a different class. Not by conviction, but by the accident of birth, education, or circumstance, he finds himself the champion of a particular set of opinions. If these opinions are altogether true (a state of matters very unlikely), he is a most fortunate person, the official advo- cate of the truth. But if they are, as is most probable, partly true and partly false, then he is of all men the most unfortunate. He is not like a free and intelligent human be- ing, taking a wide survey of the universe, looking before and after, and choosing out for himself the paths of rectitude. But he is like a mill-horse with blinkers on, con- demned to fix his gaze upon the narrow track before him, and to plod on, apparently go- ing forward, but in reality going round and round in the same contracted circle. Such a man is bound to keep to his own walk, and to defend it to the death against all comers. It does not matter how unfair or dishonor- able the weapons he employs may be. The end justifies the means. If the facts of his- tory are brought against him, he unblush- ingly seizes them, twists and disfigures them, and, holding them up, loudly asserts that they mean the very reverse of what they are gen- erally supposed to mean. If reason fail him, he forthwith shapes some high-sounding cries, such as: "The symmetry of the Brit- ish constitution," "Religion in danger," "Eng- lish ends by English methods," all of which are echoed from mouth to mouth, and are mistaken by the simple for strong arguments. If a statement of his views is demanded, he expresses or rather conceals his meaning in cunningly devised phrases, which look like great axiomatic truths bearing their evidence in their face. And when these arts fail, he has others in reserve. Ever cool, ready, in- genious, and bold, he can delight his friends by his brilliant metaphors, annihilate his ene- mies by his jibes and happy nicknames, and play upon the superstitions and prejudices of the nation, until he sets it in a roar of ex- citement. The whole process is intended, not to enlighten the public, but to prevent it from seeing. — Pryde, Highways of Literature, p. 183. (F. & W.) 801. ORATORY AIVIONQ THE AN- CIENTS.— It is apparent, from the speeches attributed by Homer to the chiefs of the Iliad, as well as by the commendations which he bestows on Nestor and Ulysses for their eloquence, that the art of oratory was early understood and honored in Greece. But it was not till Demosthenes appeared that Grecian eloquence reached its perfection. Demosthenes, who, by the consent of all an- tiquity, was the prince of orators, still main- tains his preeminence. Of his style, Hume has happily said: "It is rapid harmony, ex- actly adjusted to the sense; it is vehement reasoning, without any appearance of art; it is disdain, anger, boldness, freedom, involved in a continued stream of argument; and of all human producCons, the orations of De- mosthenes present to us the models which approach the nearest to perfection." It is related of this great orator, that, in his first address to the people, he was laughed at and interrupted by their clamors. He had a weakness of voice and a stammering propen- sity which rendered it difficult for him to be understood. By immense labor, and an un- daunted perseverance, he overcame these de- fects, and subsequently, by the spell of his elo- quence, exercised an unparalleled sway over that same people who had jeered at him when they first heard him speak in public. The speeches of Demosthenes were not extem- poraneous. There were no writers of short- hand in his days ; and what was written could only come from the author himself. After the time of Demosthenes, Grecian eloquence, which was coeval with Grecian liberty, de- clined with the decay of the latter. In Rome, the military spirit, so incompatible with a high degree of civil freedom, long checked the growth of that popular intelligence which is the only element in which the noblest elo- quence is nurtured. Rhetoricians were ban- ished from the country as late as the year of the city 593. A few years subsequent to this period, the study of oratory was introduced from Athens; and it at length found a zeal- ous disciple and a consummate master in Cicero, whose fame is second only to that of his Athenian predecessor. The main causes to which the extraordinary perfection of an- cient oratory is to be ascribed are the great pains bestowed on the education of the young in this most difficult art, and the practise among speakers of preparing nearly all their finest orations before delivery. — Sargent, The Standard Speaker, p. 15. (C. D., 1867.) Oratory Oratory KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 324 802. ORATORY, ANCIENT.— There is always a certain correspondence and propor- tion between the estimation in which an art is held, and the effects which it produces. In the flourishing periods of Athens and Rome, eloquence was power. It was at once the instrument and the spur to ambition. The talent of public speaking was the key to the highest dignities; the passport to the supreme dominion of the state. The rod of Hermes was the scepter of empire; and the voice of oratory was the thunder of Jupiter. The most powerful of human passions was enlisted in the cause of eloquence, and elo- quence in return was the most effectual aux- iliary to the passion. In proportion to the wonders she achieved was the eagerness to acquire the faculties of this mighty magician. Oratory was taught as the occupation of a life. The course of instruction commenced with the infant in the cradle, and continued to the meridian of manhood. It was made the fundamental object of education, and every other part of instruction for childhood, and of discipline for youth, was bent to its accommodation. Arts, science, letters, were to be thoroughly studied and investigated, upon the maxim that an orator must be a man of universal knowledge. Moral duties were inculcated, because none but a good man could be an orator. Wisdom, learning, virtue herself, were estimated by their sub- serviency to the purposes of eloquence, and the whole duty of man consisted in making himself an accomplished public speaker. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 1, p. 19. (H. & M., 1810.) 803. ORATORY, ANCIENT AND MODERN, COMPARED.— In our efforts after the attainment of an oratorical style — in our criticisms upon those who aim at oc- cupying the senate-house or the forum, the platform, the lecture-desk, or the pulpit— we refer to the old oratory with all its stir, its fearlessness, its passion, fervor, power, flash, vigor, invective, glow, point, polish, and an- tithesis, as our model and pattern, forgetful in this of our altered days and ways. The elder orators had no such dampening prac- ticality as we have to contend against; had no such mere reference to business, fact, in- terest, and sect to gratify ; no such intricate- ly collocated questions to unravel; no such general culture to address ; no such compari- son with books, treatises, and serials, to fear ; and no such criticism of men yielding the vast powers of the daily press to risk, en- dure, and run the gauntlet of. If we say, then, that modern eloquence ought to be con- siderably different from that which moved the aggregated masses of past centuries, we say what facts warrant and experience proves — that ancient eloquence can not rightly be cited either as our "ensample," or used as the given premises of a just criticism. An- cient eloquence was impassioned thought; modern eloquence is thought impassioned : the former kindles thought by the emotions ; the latter illustrates it by the glare, or lights it on the way by the glow of passion: the one excited passion to incite or induce thought; the other induces thought by reflec- tion, but excites to active ulterior objects by the stimulation of the passions. Ancient elo- quence persuades ; modern eloquence not only persuades, but convinces. — Neil, The Art of Public Speaking, p. 13. (H. & W., 1868.) 804. ORATORY, ANCIENT, GREAT-, NESS OF. — ^We may boast that we have excelled the ancients in many of the arts of life; but in oratory, which is perhaps the highest of all, we must still admit their su- periority. Something in the nature of our difference has its weight against modern elo- quence : but much more might have been done; our free constitution affords as many grand occasions for eloquence as even Rome or Greece; and in the discharge of the duty of the preacher, a field of oratory is opened, more splendid and more interesting than any in which either Demosthenes or Cicero ever expatiated. An additional reason for our deficiency, and one perhaps as true, will be found in our partial and imperfect applica- tion to the principles of the art of oratory. If studied at all (for sometimes we have seen young men expect to become great ora- tors by the sole inspiration of natural ge- nius, and a confident assurance), it is studied only in the writings of the ancients, which must necessarily be deficient in the living principle, delivery. As to the precious re- mains of the compositions of the ancient ora- tors, they have been often and happily emu- lated by our public speakers : and this is no doubt a proof of sufficient advancement in the most valuable part of oratory. But this is not the whole of oratory, and the error lies in estimating it as such. It is only the dead letter, the spirit of the art is lost. That consisted in the living delivery; and it has disappeared, together with the voice, thei countenance, and the action of the orator who gave it life. This portion of the art we are apt to think the ancient orators esti- mated beyond its just value, because we avail ourselves little of its potent influence; 1 yet who shall pronounce it to have been in 325 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Oratory Oratory their management less important than they said, and perhaps it is a proposition contain- ing a simple truth : that what is said, is of less consequence than how it is said. We collect our information of the importance which the ancients attached to the delivery more from the occasional expression of their opinions, than from their actual and precise instructions. They all incidentally speak of delivery as the highest point in eloquence, but few give express instructions upon the subject. Cicero has said something upon it, valuable indeed, as everything must be from him, but extremely short; to Quintilian we are indebted for the most extensive, and the best treatise which antiquity has left us; he has devoted nearly a whole book of his In- stitutes to the subject of delivery, and has given many excellent precepts ; but even from him we cannot recover the lost knowledge of the whole of this art. Whether the diffi- culty of conveying instruction intelligibly on all the minutiae of this subject prevented the ancients from treating of it so largely as the other parts of oratory; whether their works are lost (if such there were) which treated of it, or whether they might not rather have considered it as more properly to be learned by practise from the numerous professors of it, the rhetoricians, and also the players; or whatever was the cause of the loss of omis- sion, the state of oratory in our country is injured and mutilated by the want of this branch of the art. And if the public speak- ers of to-day would adequately emulate the perfection of the ancient models of elo- quence, they must endeavor to acquire the whole comprehension of their art. By their industry and ingenuity, they must recover what is lost of the art of delivery; and tho the effort may be attended with considerable difficulty, there is no reason to despair ; as we see, tho rare, indeed, instances of complete success in the profession of the theater, which depends solely on delivery; and the models of which, as Roscius and .iEsopus, are as transitory and irrecoverably lost to them as Demosthenes and Cicero, in their action, are to us. The orator who has suc- cessfully imitated the best compositions of the ancient models, should not stop short of perfection. The sculptor who should copy exactly, or even excel the truth and sym- metry of the ancient Torso (were it possible for him) would unquestionably give proof of his abilities in the most difficult and impor- tant power of his art: but would he rest contented with his progress, would he limit all his exertions to the mutilated, however admirable, trunk; and be not rather stimu- lated by his partial success to endeavor to execute an entire human figure, with all the beauty and dignity of the head, and with all its perfect limbs and finished graces? The Torso is the dead letter of oratory, the de- livery the head and limbs. — Austin, Chiro- nomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 146. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 805. ORATORY, ANCIENT, SUPERI- ORITY OF. — The immeasurable superior- ity of ancient over modern oratory is one of the most remarkable circumstances which of- fer themselves to the scrutiny of reflecting minds, and it is in the languages, the insti- tutions, and to the manners of modern Eu- rope that the solution of a phenomenon so extraordinary must be sought. The assem- blies of the people, of the select councils, or of the senate in Athens and Rome, were held for the purpose of real deliberation. The fate of measures was not decided before they were proposed. Eloquence produced a pow- erful effect, not only upon the minds of the hearers, but upon the issue of the delibera- tion. In the only countries of modern Eu- rope where the semblance of deliberative as- semblies has been preserved, corruption, here in the form of executive influence, there in the guise of party spirit, by intrMucing a more compendious mode of securing deci- sions, has crippled the sublimest efforts of oratory, and the votes upon questions of magnitude to the interest of nations are all told, long before the questions themselves are submitted to discussion. Hence those nations which for ages have gloried in the devotion to literature, science, and the arts, have never been able to exhibit a specimen of deliberative oratory that can bear a comparison with those transmitted to us from antiquity. Religion indeed has opened one new avenue to the career of eloquence. Amidst the sacrifices of paganism to her three hundred thousand gods, amidst her sa- gacious and solemn consultations in the en- trails of slaughtered brutes, in the flight of birds, and the feeding of fowls, it had never entered her imagination to call upon the pon- tiff, the haruspex, or the augur, for dis- courses to the people on the nature of their duties to their Maker, their fellow-mortals, and themselves. This was an idea too au- gust to be mingled with the absurd and ri- diculous, or profligate and barbarous, rites of her deplorable superstition. It is an institu- tion for which mankind are indebted to Christianity ; introduced by the Founder him- self of this divine religion, and in every point of view worthy of its high original. Oratory Oratory KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 326 Its effects have been to soften the tempers and purify the morals of mankind; not in so high a degree as benevolence could wish, but enough to call forth our strains of warm- est gratitude to that good being who pro- vides us with the means of promoting our own felicity, and gives us power to stand, tho leaving us free to fall. Here, then, is an unbounded and inexhaustible field for elo- quence, never explored by the ancient ora- tors; and here alone have the modern Euro- peans cultivated the art with much success. In vain should we enter the halls of justice, in vain should we listen to the debates of senates for strains of oratory, worthy of re- membrance, beyond the duration of the oc- casion which called them forth. The art of embalming thought by oratory, like that of embalming bodies by aromatics, would have perished but for the exercises of religion. These alone have in the latter ages furnished discourses, which remind us that eloquence is yet a faculty of the human mind. Among the causes which have contributed thus to depress the oratory of modern times, must be numbered the indifference with which it has been treated as an article of education. The ancients had fostered an opinion that this talent was in a more than usual degree the creature of discipline; and it is one of the maxims, handed down to us as the result of their experience, that men must be born to poetry, and bred to eloquence; that the bard is always the child of nature, and the orator always the issue of instruction. The doctrine seems to be not entirely without foundation, but was by them carried in both its parts to an extravagant excess. The foundations for the oratorical talent, as well as those of the poetical faculty, must be laid in the bounties of nature; and as the muse in Homer, impartial in her distribution of good and evil, struck the bard with blind- ness, when she gave him the powers of song, her sister not unfrequently, by a like mix- ture of tenderness and rigor, bestows the blessing of wisdom, while she refuses the readiness of utterance. The modern Euro- peans have run into the adverse extreme, and appear, during a considerable period, in their system of public education, to have passed upon eloquence a sentence of proscription. Even when they studied rhetoric as a theory, they neglected oratory as an art; and while assiduously unfolding to their pupils the bright displays of Greek and Roman elo- quence, they never attempted to make them eloquent themselves. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 1, p. 32. (H. & M., 1810.) 806. ORATORY AND ACTING.— Act- ing is distinguished from oratory, both by the subject, the character of the speaker, and the manner. The actor is seldom supposed to deliver his own composition, so that his merit is generally considered separately from that of the part which he sustains. But this just judgment is sometimes defeated by the illusion which, in the common eyes, identi- fies him with his part; because the actor ap- pears as the very person represented by the dramatic writer. The orator, on the con- trary, appears always in his own character. The actor's manner must be a close represen- tation of the character he assumes, even as far as the very dress ; he must imitate nature exactly, and in some cases exaggerate, in or- der to give the portrait more force. The orator, however various may be the tones of his voice, the expression of his countenance, and his gesture ; and however various and strong the circumstances he may have to rep- resent, must guard himself against imitation ; the limits allowed to such indulgence are very narrow; and if he transgress them in the smallest degree, he loses at once his dignity and his credit with his audience. The actor traverses the whole stage; as he is moved by passion, or by the circumstances of the scene. The orator is limited in the move- ment of his lower limbs, at most, to an occasional, single, step in advancing or retir- ing, or perhaps merely to a change of posi- tion of the feet. The gesture of the actor is unrestrained, except that he is forbidden by the great master to "overstep the modesty of nature." But the liberty of the theater would be licentiousness in the orator, and he is to guard himself carefully against it. Altho his action is required to be various and graceful, it is never to degenerate into triviality or affectation ; and, altho it should be energetic, it should never transgress by extravagance ; nor should he for a moment forget the im- portance of his subject, the solemnity of the place in which he speaks, the respect due to his audience, and the dignity of his own character. Affectation altogether defeats the objects of the orator by disgusting his audi- ence; extravagance renders him ridiculous; and weakness gives him over to contempt. He loses all influence with his audience, who appears to have lost himself : for the power of self-government is indispensable to those who would govern the opinions of others. Even when an orator is moved to tears, there* must appear adequate cause for such emotion, and the continuance must be only momentary, if he wish to escape the charge of imbecility and its consequences, as has been already ob- 327 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Oratory Oratory served. And sincerity itself, that first of qualifications in an orator, loses all its in- fluence, and becomes absolutely ridiculous, unless accompanied with a dignified self- possession. This happens when an orator is carried beyond the bounds of manly indig- nation, and falls into the feeble vehemence of passion ; or when he melts into tears with- out sufficient ground for such emotion. To the actor the same precautions are not so necessary. If he conceive the character truly, he may represent it strongly, and he is lim- ited by no restraint except the bounds of de- cency and of nature. The dignity of the player's art consists in his ability to repre- sent and sustain the higher and nobler pas- sions and characters. For these reasons the tragic actor, who represents justly the man- ners and the feelings of a hero, has always been esteemed high in the rank of public speakers. The powers, the acquisitions, and the taste of the man who can adequately sup- port such a character, must be rare and ad- mirable, and he is classed next to the great orators. — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 239. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 807. ORATORY AND ACTING COM- PARED. — The orator is not an actor who plays a fictitious character by putting him- self in another's position. He must, by dint of art, enter into the situation which he rep- resents, and thus he has no means of be- coming imprest or moved except by the study of his model, and the meditation of his part. He must, accordingly, compose his voice as well as his countenance, and it requires great cleverness and long habit to imitate by the inflexions of the voice, and the play of the physiognomy, the true and spontaneous feel- ing of nature. The actor, in a word, is obliged to grimace morally as well as physi- cally; and on this account, even when most successful, when most seeming to feel what 'he impersonates, as he in general feels it not, something of this is perceptible; and it is the most consummate actor's fate that, through a certain illusion of the imagination, his acting is never more than a grimace. Hence the vice, and hence the disfavor of that profession, notwithstanding all the tal- ent and study which it requires; there is al- ways something disingenuous in saying what you do not think, in manifesting sentiments which are not your own. The orator, on the contrary, unless he chooses to become the advocate of falsehood, is always with the truth. He must feel and think whatever he says, and consequently he may allow his face and his eyes to speak for themselves. As soon as his soul is moved, and becomes fer- vid, it will find immediate expression in his countenance and in his whole person, and the more natural and spontaneous is the play of his physiognomy, the more effect it will produce. It is not the same, or not to the same degree, with regard to the movements of the body and to gesticulation. The body, indeed, and limbs of the speaker, animated by a soul expressing itself fervidly, will rep- resent naturally to a certain degree, by their outward movements, the inward movements of the mind. But the machinery, if I may say so, is more complicated, heavier, and more cumbersome, because matter predomi- nates here; it is not easy to move without awkwardness and elegantly the whole bulk of the body, and particularly the arms which are the most mobile organs, and those most in sight. How many have a tolerably good no- tion of speaking, and can not move their arms and hands properly, or have postures of head and attitudes which are at once un- graceful and at variance with their words. It is in this department of action that speak- ers most betray their inexperience and em- barrassment; and, at the same time, the clumsiness or inappropriateness of the ges- tures; the puerility or affectation of the at- titudes used, are enough to spoil the best speech's effect. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 102. (S., 1901.) 808. ORATORY AND ART.— All sorts of gestures and motions must not be bor- rowed from comedians ; because an orator, forming himself in some respects on their model, ought not to affect a theatrical air. His action, his gait, his countenance, should be quite different. What is supportable in the one would be quite ridiculous in the other ; and if there be an art in these particu- lars, I should think the orator's greatest art would be to conceal them. But what herein is the duty of a master? It is to correct all faults of pronunciation; to take care that words be exactly exprest, and that every let- ter have its proper sound. The sound of some letters is vitiated by mincing; others we pronounce too thick or broad; harsh let- ters we either drown or exchange for others not unlike them, but of a more obtuse sound ; neither ought speaking in the throat, or with a gaping mouth, or with a twist of the mouth, to give a word a fuller sound than it has. A master, in like manner, ought to be careful that the last syllables be not lost in a word; that the pronunciation be consistent with it- self; that in exclamations the effort proceed Oratory Oratory KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 328 rather from the lungs than the head ; that the gesture correspond with the voice, and the countenance with the gesture; that the face be in a straight position ; that the lips be not distorted ; that immoderate gaping distend not the jaws; that the visage be not tossed up- ward; that the eyes be not downcast, and the neck inclined to either side. The fore- head trespasses in a variety of respects. I have seen several, at every effort of the voice, raise their eyebrows ; others knit them ;' and others keep one up and the other far down, as almost to press upon the eye. All these particulars are of singular consequence, as will be seen in the sequel ; for nothing can please but that which is becoming. A come- dian ought likewise to teach how a narra- tive is to be pronounced; what a degree of authority is necessary to persuade ; what tone of voice best suits anger, and what, pity. In order to do this, he may select such pas- sages from plays that nearest resemble plead- ings at the bar, which will be useful for forming not only the pronunciation, but also very proper for augmenting eloquence. What I here say is for our orator's weaker years ; but when riper age makes him capable of greater things, he must read the speeches of orators; and when he begins to be sensible of their beauties, then must a skilful master use all his diligence, both to give hira a taste for reading, and oblige him to commit to memory the most striking parts, and next to declaim them, as if he were really pleading. Thus it is that his voice and memory will be exercised by pronunciation. — Quintilian, In- stitutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 61. (B. L., 1774.) 809. ORATORY AND ELOCUTION. — Elocution is the art, or the act, of so de- livering our own thoughts and feelings, or the thoughts and feelings of others, as not only to convey to those around us, with pre- cision, force, and harmony, the full purpose and meaning of the words and sentences in which these thoughts are clothed, but also to excite and to impress upon their minds the feelings, imaginations and passions by which those thoughts are dictated or by which they should naturally be accompanied. Elocution, therefore, in its more ample and liberal sig- nification, is not confined to the mere exer- cise of the organs of speech. It embraces the whole theory and practise of the exterior demonstration of the inward workings of the mind. To concentrate what has been said by an allegorical recapitulation: Eloquence may be considered as the soul, or animated prin- ciple of discourse, and is dependent on intel- lectual energy and intellectual attainments. Elocution is the embodying form, or repre- sentative power; dependent on exterior ac- complishments, and on the cultivation of the organs. Oratory is the complicated and vital existence resulting from the perfect har- mony and combination of eloquence and elo- cution. The vital existence, however, in its full perfection, is one of the choicest rari- ties of nature. The high and splendid ac- complishments of oratory, even in the most favored age and the most favored countries, have been attained by few; and many are the ages, and many are the countries, in which these accomplishments have never once appeared. Generations have succeeded to gen- erations, and centuries have rolled after centuries, during which the intellectual des- ert has not exhibited even one solitary speci- men of the stately growth and flourishing ex- pansion of oratorical genius. The rarity of this occurrence is undoubtedly, in part, to be accounted for from the difficulty of the at- tainment. The palm of oratorical perfection is only to be grasped — it is, in reality, only to be desired — by aspiring souls, and intellects of unusual energy. It requires a persevering toil which few would be contented to en- counter; a decisive intrepidity of character, and an untamableness of mental ambition which very, very few can be expected to pos- sess. It requires, also, conspicuous oppor- tunities for cultivation and display, to which few can have the fortune to be born, and which fewer still will have the hardihood to endeavor to create. — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 244. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 810. ORATORY AND HISTORY.— Do you see how far the study of history is the business of the orator? I know not whether it is not his most important business, for flow and variety of diction; yet I do not find it anywhere treated separately under the rules of the rhetoricians. Indeed, all rules respect- ing it are obvious to common view; for who is ignorant that it is the first law in writing history, that the historian must not dare to tell any falsehood, and the next that he must be bold enough to tell the whole truth ? Also, that there must be no suspicion of partiality in his writings, or of personal animosity? These fundamental rules are doubtless uni- versally known. The superstructure depends on facts and style. The course of facts re- quires attention to order of time, and de- scriptions of countries ; and since, in great affairs, and such as are worthy of remem- brance, first the designs, then the actions. 329 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Oiatoiy Oratory and afterward the results, are expected, it demands also that it should be shown, in re- gard to the designs, what the writer ap- proves, and that it should be told, in regard to the actions, not only what was done or said, but in what manner; and when the re- sult is stated, that all the causes contribut- ing to it should be set forth, whether arising from accident, wisdom, or temerity; and of the characters concerned, not only their acts, but, at least of those eminent in reputation and dignity, the life and manners of each. The sort of language and character of style to be observed must be regular and continu- ous, flowing with a kind of equable smooth- ness, without the roughness of judicial plead- ings, and the sharp-pointed sentences used at the bar. Concerning all these numerous and important points, there are no rules, do you observe, to be found in the treatises of the rhetoricians. — Cicero, On Oratory and Ora- tors, p. 237. (B., 1909.) 811. ORATORY AND LAW.— Is the knowledge of the civil law of no advantage to the orator? I can not deny that every kind of knowledge is of advantage, especially to him whose eloquence ought to be adorned with variety of matter; but the things which are absolutely necessary to an orator are numerous, important, and difficult, so that I would not distract his industry among too many studies. Who can deny that the ges- ture and grace of Roscius are necessary in the orator's action and deportment? Yet no- body would advise youths that are studying oratory to labor in forming their attitudes like players. What is so necessary to an ora- tor as the voice? Yet, by my recommenda- tion, no student in eloquence will be a slave to his voice like the Greeks and tragedians, who pass whole years in sedentary declama- tion, and daily, before they venture upon de- livery, raise their voice by degrees as they sit, and, when they have finished pleading, sit down again, and lower and recoveir it, as it were, through a scale, from the highest to the deepest tone. If we should do this, they whose causes we undertake would be con- demned, before we had repeated the paean and the munio as often as is prescribed. But if we must not employ ourselves upon ges- ture, which is of great service to the orator, or upon the culture of the voice, which alone is a great recommendation and support of eloquence; and if we can only improve in either, in proportion to the leisure afforded us in this field of daily business; how much less must we apply to the occupation of learning the civil law? of which we may learn the chief points without regular study, and which is also unlike those other matters in this respect, that power of voice and gesture can not be got suddenly, or caught up from another person; but a knowledge of the law, as far as it is useful in any cause, may be gained on the shortest possible notice, either from learned men or from books. Those eminent Greek orators, therefore, as they are unskilled in the law themselves, have, in their causes, men acquainted with the law to as- sist them, who are, as you before observed, called pragmatici. In this respect our coun- trymen act far better, as they would havS the laws and judicial decisions supported by the authority of men of the highest rank. But the Greeks would not have neglected, if they had thought it necessary, to instruct the orator in the civil law, instead of allow- ing him a pragmaticus for an assistant. — Ci- cero, On Oratory and Orators, p. 215. (B., 1909.) 812. ORATORY AND MUSIC— Music has two numbers; the one in the voice, the other in the body. Each of these requires a certain regulation. Aristoxenus, the musi- cian, divides what regards the voice into rhythms and measured melodies. By rhythms he understands the structure of words, by measured melodies the airs and sounds. Arq not all these deserving of the orator's no- tice? Must not his body be formed to regu- lar gesture? Must he not in composition place his words in proper order? Must he not in pronouncing use certain inflexions of his voice? All are undoubtedly necessary qualifications for an orator, unless we think that a chain of words, amusing agreeably the ear, ought to be wholly restricted to songs and verses, and therefore useless in oratory; imless also the orator is not to diversify his composition and pronunciation according to the nature of the things he speaks of, as well as the musician, whose compositions, according to their respective qualities, must be exprest and sung differently. For the grand and sublime are best suited by loud and strong tones, pleasant by sweet, gentle by soft; the beauty of the musical are de-,' pending entirely on entering into the pas- sions, and making them a lively picture of what is exprest. In like manner the orator, according to the various inflexions of his voice, will differently excite the passions of his auditors. By such an order of words, by such a tone of voice, he rouses the indigna- tion of the judges, and by such he bends their hearts to pity. Who now can doubt of the power of words, when even musical in- Oratory Oratory KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 330 strutnents, which cannot form the articulate sounds of speech, in so many different ways affect us? — QuiNTiLiAN, Institutes of the Or- ator, vol. 1, p. 53. (B. L., 1774.) 813. ORATORY AND OPPORTU- NITY.— The following picture of "the perfect orator" is by Sheridan, than which nothing can be more beautiful: "Imagine to yourself a Demosthenes addressing the most illustrious assembly in the world, upon a point whereon the fate of the most illustri- ous of nations depended. How awful such a meeting! how vast the subject! Is man pos- sest of talents adequate to the great occa- sion ? Adequate ! Yes, superior. By the powers of the eloquence, the augustness of the assembly is lost in the dignity of the orator, and the importance of the subject for a while superseded by the admiration of his talents. With what strength of argument, with what powers of the fancy, with what emotions of the heart, does he assault and subjugate the whole man, and at once capti- vate his reason, his imagination, and his pas- sions ! To effect this must be the utmost ef- fort of the most improved state of human nature. Not a faculty that he possesses is here unemployed ; not a faculty that he pos- sesses but is here exerted to its highest pitch. All his internal powers are at work; all his external testify their energies. Within, the memory, the fancy, the judgment, the pas- sions are all busy ; without, every muscle, every nerve is exerted — not a feature, not a limb but speaks. The organs of the body, attuned to the exertions of the mind, through the kindred organs of the hearers, instantly vibrate those energies from soul to soul. Notwithstanding the diversity of minds in such a multitude, by the lightning of elo- quence they are melted into one mass ; the whole assembly, actuated in one and the same way, become, as it were, but one man, and have but one voice. The universal cry is, 'Let us march against Philip ! let us fight for our liberties ! let us conquer or die !' " If there is a man in the world we would envy, it is the man whose character as an orator is here so powerfully drawn. And yet this is the man that had such serious defects to contend against. How often do men go from public meeting, wishing they could speak like such and such a one, whom they heard ad- dress the assembly ! How often have we heard men say they would give all they pos- sess to be able to speak like some men ; whereas, if they would only begin in earnest and cultivate those parts which compose the orator, altho they might not in some in- stances equal the one whom they so much admire, yet we venture to say that in others they would excel him. We are too apt to make unequal comparisons in this respect, and to compare ourselves with those who may be said to have attained their ends. But we forget the immense pains to succeed which they have been at — ^the diligent study — the frequent exercise and hard toil which they have gone through — and the many failures they met with — before they became what they are now. Let us make the same earnest ap- plication, the same endeavors to excel, and use the same diligence, before making the comparison, or, at all events, before sitting down and folding our hands in despair. And surely we are not urging to an impossibil- ity, or to anything that may be lightly es- teemed. "What others have done I can ac- complish," said a manly spirit before us — an excellent motto for all. And to reason calm- ly and clearly, to think correctly, and to be able to express oneself without fear, and in a manner calculated to command attention and rivet the mind, are, we think, acquirements which are well worth using every means to obtain. And tho the time may not yet have arrived when all these powers will be brought into requisition, yet rest assured that it will come some time. Progress is on the march, and we are going on to a better state of things ; and amidst the jostlings of society the worthless dregs will fall to the bottom — right will adjust itself in the end — and the right men be found in the right places. Ev- ery day we live the world is becoming more sensible to the value of true worth ; and so strong is the voice of public opinion on the part of justice and merit that the times have now gone by when mere family interest alone was sufficient to obtain a man a for- tune or procure him an office. But the man that would rise to distinction and honor must also show a fitness and merit on his own part, and prove that he is worthy of that to which he aspires. In no age of the world were goodness and worth more appreciated than in our own time. — Anon, The Public Speaker, p. 23. (J. N. & Co., 1860.) 814. ORATORY AND PREACHING. — There never was a great preacher who was not also a great orator ; and there was never a great orator who did not pay immense at- tention to the science of expressing by tongue and gesture the burning thoughts within him. Some of the most extraordinary effects of oratory have been produced by passages which, when we read them in our closets, seem tame and commonplace. The country 331 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING (ivaiovt Oratory parson justly remarks that we can see noth- ing remarkable in those quotations from Chalmers which are recorded as having so overwhelmingly opprest those who heard them. It was his manner, not his matter, that electrified his hearers. The elder Booth, be- ing once asked to repeat the Lord's Prayer, did it with such power and pathos that every heart in the room was hushed, and every eye was wet; and the gentleman who made the request said: "I have heard the words a thousand times, but I never heard the Lord's Prayer before." — Mathews, The Great Conversers, p. 303. (S. F. & Co., 1893.) 815. ORATORY, BEGINNING OF.— The beginning of speaking had its source in nature, and the beginning of art in observa- tion : for, as men from their observation of wholesome and unwholesome qualities in things, formed medicine into an art, so like- wise when in speaking they discovered many useful and useless things, the first to imi- tate, the second to avoid, other things were added according to their analogy, all were made authentic by use, everyone taught what he knew, and thus the art of speaking was insensibly formed. Cicero attributes its ori- gin to lawgivers and founders of cities, who, indeed, must have had an occasion for great powers of eloquence in order to effect their designs. But I can not see how this could be its primary origin, because many nations still exist without fixt abodes, cities, and laws, and yet all of them have equally with us their deputies and ambassadors; they accuse and defend; and some among them are supposed to have superior talents to others in speak- ing. — QuiNTiLiAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 152. (B. L., 1774.) 816. ORATORY, DEFINITION OF.— Oratory, which is public speaking on real and interesting occasions, is the most splendid ob- ject of all literary exertion, and the highest scope of all the study and practise of the art. To oratory belongs whatever the perfection of composition can produce, as well as all which the perfection of delivery can exter- nally recommend and enforce. Oratory is the power of reasoning united to the various arts of persuasion, presented by external grace, and by the whole energy of the human powers. Reasoning, divested of rhetorical composition and of rhetorical delivery, be- comes strict demonstration. Such reasoning is found in logic, mathematics, evidences of facts, and law arguments. Reasoning in this sense is distinct from oratory: both indeed alike aim at bringing over other men to their opinions, but by different means. Reasoning appeals to the understanding alone; oratory deals with the passions also. Reasoning pro- ceeds directly to the truth, and exhibits it in the simplest language. Oratory chooses the most favorable view of the subject, engages the attention of the hearer by the detail of circumstances, interests him by the coloring which he gives them, delights him by orna- ment, and, having won his favorable atten- tion, appeals at once to his understanding and to his heart. When the subject admits of demonstration, reasoning is the most power- ful, it is irresistible; but when strict dem- onstration can not be had, oratory has then the advantage. And since in a very few of the most interesting enquiries which occupy the attention of men, strict demonstration can be obtained, so the demand for the tal- ents of the orator is frequent and indispen- sable in the business of life. Reasoning is therefore applied principally to philosophical research and to objects of science; oratory to the interests of men, and to objects ad- mitting choice. It is an advantage which ora- tory possesses above reasoning, that oratory constantly avails itself of reasoning, where it can be applied; but strict reasoning does not condescend to call in the aid of ora- tory. — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 217. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 817. ORATORY, GENUINE, DE- SCRIBED.— The germ of all genuine elo- quence is contained in the thought to be ex- prest, and not in the mere words by which it is sought to be realized. It is not easy to get many preachers to believe, or, at all events, to act upon, this principle; but it is true, nevertheless. Thought and sentiment, not words or speech, constitute eloquence, and, most of all, popular eloquence. The true orator is as much under the necessity of employing spoken words as the mere impostor or the empty charlatan. But there is as vast a difference between the two as between the result of their speech. The one, forgetful or heedless of the great principle laid down by St. Augustine : Non doctor verbis serviat, sed verba doctori, is vastly solicitous about the words he employs, vastly solicitous to please his audience, to tickle their ears by his affected elegance and his sounding phrases, whilst he bestows very little atten- tion upon, and has very little real care about, the idea which is contained, or is supposed to be contained, in these highflown sentences. After listening to such a man, the judgment you are compelled to pass upon him is prob- Oratoiy Oratory KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 332 ably this — that he said very nicely what he had to say, but that, in reality, he had noth- ing to say. On the other hand, the true orator employs words, perhaps as copiously as the speaker to whom we have just re- ferred; but in every case he merely employs the word in order to express an idea. In every case the mere word is subservient to the idea. Hence, the speaker is forgotten in the words which he utters, the words are forgotten in the ideas which they express, and the result is eloquent and successful speech. One of these men is the master and ruler of his words, the other is their serv- ant and their slave. One of these men, di- recting his whole care and solicitude to the mere elaboration in his words and the trim- ming of his sentences, may, perhaps, suc- ceed in pleasing for the moment, altho he will never succeed in persuading his people that he is a man of God, or in producing any real or permanent effect. The other, far too deeply imprest with the dignity of his office, and the greatness of the interests at stake, to carry his own narrow views, his own petty interests, his own wretched vanity and self-seeking, into the pulpit with him, does not seek to please the ear but to change the heart; not to amuse and distract those amongst his hearers who may be sick unto death, but to cure and to save them. He does not disdain to employ those ornaments of language which may become his subject and his style of preaching, but he never uses them for their own sake alone. If he employs them, it is to preach Christ and Him crucified; it is in order to bring the great truths of Faith more vividly and more pow- erfully home to the minds and the hearts of his hearers ; and the success of his efforts is in direct proportion to the purity of his in- tention and the warmth of his zeal. Hence it is, that, whilst the earnest preacher will certainly aspire to reason vigorously and well, to clothe his arguments in the most just and beautiful form of words, to pre- sent them in all their varied aspects to his people, he will be equally careful never to push the amplification of his discourse be- yond its proper limit, and never to employ it except when it will render what he says more clear, more solid, more effective — ex- cept when it will cause his sermon to grow in interest and in force. Hence it is, that he will ever guard himself most carefully against becoming a mere spin-text or a mere vapid talker. Hence it is, that he will ever carefully distinguish between true fecundity and empty diffusiveness ; between that true fecundity which is the result of a deep and earnest meditation of our subject, and that diffusiveness which merely seeks to hide the absence of thought under a cloud of soul- less words and meaningless phrases. — Pot- ter, The Spoken Word, p. 143. (M. H. G. & Son, 1880.) 818. ORATORY, GRECIAN.— In so en- lightened and acute a nation, where the high- est attention was paid to everything elegant in the arts, we may naturally expect to find the public taste refined and judicious. Ac- cordingly, it was improved to such a degree that the Attic taste and Attic manner have passed into a proverb. It is true that ambi- tious demagogs and corrupt orators did sometimes dazzle and mislead the people by a showy but false eloquence, for the Athen- ians, with all their acuteness, ^Vere factious and giddy, and great admirers of every nov- elty. But when some important interest drew their attention, when any great danger roused them and put their judgment to a serious trial, they commonly distinguished, very just- ly, between genuine and spurious eloquence; and hence Demosthenes triumphed over all his opponents, because he spoke always to the purpose, affected no insignificant parade of words, used weighty arguments, and showed them clearly where their interest lay. In critical conjunctures of the state, when the public was alarmed with some pressing danger, when the people were assembled, and proclamation was made by the crier for anyone to rise and deliver his opinion upon the present situation of affairs, empty dec- lamation and sophistical reasoning would not only have been hissed but resented and pun- ished by an assembly so intelligent and ac- customed to business. Their greatest ora- tors trembled on such occasions, when they rose to address the people, as they knew they were to be held answerable for the is- sue of the counsel which they gave. The most liberal endowments of the greatest princes never could found such a school for true oratory as was formed by the nature of the Athenian republic. Eloquence there sprung, native and vigorous, from amidst the contentions of faction and freedom, of public business and of active life, and not from that retirement and speculation which we are apt sometimes to fancy more favo- rable to eloquence than they are found to be. — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 2, jv 185. (A. S., 1787.) 819. ORATORY IN MODERN TIMES. — In modern times, oratory has not been cultivated with so much care as among the 333 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Oratory Oratory ancients. The diffusion of opinions and ar- guments by means of the press has, perhaps, contributed in some degree to its neglect. A speaker is now mainly known to the public through the press, and it is often more im- portant to him to be read than heard. Still, the power of oratory in republican countries must always be immense, and the importance of its cultivation must be proportionate. We see it flourish or decay according to the de- gree of freedom among the people, and it is a bad sign for a republic when oratory is slighted or undervalued. It was not till France began to throw off the trammels of her monarchical system that she produced a Mirabeau. Her parliamentary annals will show that the eloquence of her National As- sembly has been in proportion to the pre- dominance of the element of constitutional freedom in her government. The struggle against incipient despotism in England, which resulted in the execution of King Charles the First, was productive of some great bursts of eloquence from Vane, Pym, Eliot, and other champions of popular rights ; whose speeches, however, have been strange- ly slighted by the majority of English critics. The latter part of the eighteenth century was illumined by the genius of Chat- ham, Pitt, Burke, Fox, Sheridan, and Grat- tan; all of whom were roused to some of their most brilliant efforts by the arbitrary course of government toward our ancestors of the American colonies. Ireland is well represented in this immortal list. Her sons have ever displayed a true genius for ora- tory. The little opportunity afforded for the cultivation of forensic or senatorial elo- quence by the different governments of Ger- many has almost entirely checked its growth in that country; and we may say the same of Italy, Spain, and Portugal, and most of the other countries of Europe. To the pul- pit oratory of France, the illustrious names of Bossuet, Bourdaloue, and Massillon have given enduring celebrity; and in forensic and senatorial eloquence, France has not been surpast by any modern nation. But it is only in her intervals of freedom that her senatorial eloquence reaches its high note. The growth of eloquence in the United States has been such as to inspire the hope that the highest triumphs of oratory are here to be achieved. Already we have produced at least two orators, Patrick Henry and Dan- iel Webster, to whom none since Demos- thenes, in the authority, majesty and ampli- tude of their eloquence, can be pronounced superior. In proportion to the extent of our cultivation of oratory as an art worthy our entire devotion, must be our success in en- riching it with new and precious contribu- tions. And of the power of a noble ora- tory, beyond its immediate circle of hearers, who can doubt? "Who doubts," asks Mr. Webster, "that, in our struggle for freedom and independence, the majestic eloquence of Chatham, the profound reasoning of Burke, the burning satire and irony of Barre, had influence on our fortunes in America? They tended to diminish the confidence of the British ministry in their hopes to subject us. There was not a reading man who did not struggle more boldly for his rights when those exhilarating sounds, uttered in the two houses of Parliament, reached him from across the seas." — Sargent, The Standard Speaker, p. 16. (C. D., 1867.) 820. ORATORY, KINDS OF.— When a speaker addresses the understanding, he pro- poses the instruction of his hearers, by ex- plaining something unknown to them, or by proving some position they doubt. His pur- pose is to dispel ignorance or to vanquish error. In the one his aim is their informa- tion; in the other, their conviction. Accord- ingly, the predominant quality of the former is perspicuity; of the latter, argument. By that we are made to know, by this to be- lieve. The imagination is addrest by lively and beautiful objects, and the success of the orator, like that of the painter, results from dignity in the subject imitated, in the man- ner of imitation, and resemblance in the por- trait. Epic poetry, and tragedy, whose prin- cipal scope is narration and description, are of this class, and they attain the summit of perfection in the sublime when they expand the imagination with vast conceptions, and ravish the soul with great and noble images. The sublime raises admiration by addressing the passions. Admiration in this sense de- notes an internal taste; a pleasurable sensa- tion arising out of the perception of what is great and stupendous in its kind. For in- tellectual objects, like material things, have greatness in their degrees of quality. Ad- miration, therefore, tho commonly used for a high degree of esteem toward a person, may be classed among those original feelings which rank with a taste for beauty, an ear for music, or our moral sentiments. The immediate view of whatever is directed to the imagination, terminates in the gratifica- tion of some internal taste, as a taste for the wonderful, the fair, the good, for ele- gance, for novelty, or for grandeur. This creative faculty, the fancy, lends her aid in promoting nobler ends, and from her exu- Oratory Oratory KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 334 berant stores those tropes and figures are extracted, which, by association, awaken the tenderest emotions of the heart. The ora- tor attempts not to astonish by lofty images, or to delight by the beauteous resemblance which his painting bears to nature; he is hurried on by a magical spell which seizes on his hearers and overwhelms them in love, pity, grief, terror, desire, aversion, fury, or hatred. His style is the pathetic and it is the third species of discourse addrest to the passions. Discourse designed to influence the will is composed of the argumentative and the pathetic; and this species has ever dis- tinguished the greatest orators. — Campbell, The Philosophy of Rhetoric, p. 2. (G. & W. B. W., 1833.) 821. ORATORY, KNOWLEDGE OF THE BASIS OF.— Generally speaking, a florid declaimer knows neither the principles of sound philosophy, nor those of the Chris- tian doctrine, for perfecting the manners of men. He minds nothing but bright expres- sions and ingenious turns. What he chiefly wants is solid knowledge. He can talk hand- somely without knowing what he ought to say. He weakens the most important truths by his vain and elaborate turns of fancy or expression. On the contrary, the true ora- tor adorns his discourse only with bright truths, noble sentiments, and such strong expressions as are adapted to his subject and to the passions he would excite. He thinks, he feels, and his words flow naturally from him. "He does not depend on words," says St. Austin, "but they on him." A man who has a great and active soul, with a natural easiness of speech, improved by practise, needs never fear the want of expressions. His most ordinary discourses will have ex- quisite strokes of oratory, which the florid haranguers can never imitate. He is not a slave to words, but closely pursues the truth. He knows that vehemence is, as it were, the soul of eloquence. He first lays down the principle which must serve to clear the sub- ject of which he treats: he sets this princi- ple in the fullest light ; he turns it every way, to give his slowest hearers a view of it; he draws the remotest consequences from it by a concise and obvious train of reasoning. Every truth is set in its proper place with regard to the whole: it prepares, leads on, and supports another truth which needed its assistance. This just order prevents the trouble of needless repetitions, but it re- trenches none of those useful ones which serve to direct the hearer's attention fre- quently to that chief point on which the whole depends. The orator must often show him the conclusion which is contained in the principle, and from this principle, as from the center, he must spread a due light over all the parts of the discourse, as a skilful painter places the light so in his pic- ture as from one single point to distribute a due proportion of it to every figure. The whole discourse is one, and may be reduced to one single proposition, set in the strong- est light, by various views and explications of it. This unity of design shows the whole performance at one view, as in the public places of a city one may see all the streets and gates of it, when the streets are straight, equal, and duly proportioned. The discourse is the proposition unfolded, and the propo- sition is an abstract of the discourse. — F£n- ELON, A Letter to the French Academy, p. 836. (J. M., 1808.) 822. ORATORY, KNOWLEDGE OF THE LAWS OF.— It is not, say they who object to gesture, the custom of our best speakers to use much gesture, or to study very carefully that which they use. To ar- gue against the advantages arising from ges- ture in oratory, by referring to the practise or even to the success of our public speak- ers, who neglect or despise its aid, is not just. Their talents and their progress are to be judged not according to the general me- diocrity of either the public taste, or of the ordinary acquirements in eloquence, but ac- cording to laws established long since, and during the highest and most splendid demon- strations of human genius. Oratory is no new art of merely modern invention, it has been long since brought to perfection, and its models are to be sought in the writings and opinions of those great masters who ex- celled in all its branches. The ignorance or neglect of all, or any of its laws, does by no means set them aside; nay, if we could im- agine so dismal a catastrophe to take place, as that all those works were lost forever, and that the world was sunk in universal barbarism ; before men could emerge from their darkness, and be reinstated in all the elegant refinements of life; before oratory could be again reestablished in her empire over the human heart, all her laws as we have them at this moment must be reinvent- ed nearly without variation, or human na- ture itself must be changed, because they are all founded in the original principles, feelings, and relations of cultivated men.— Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhe- torical Delivery, p. 145. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 339 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Oratory Oratory 823. ORATORY, MOB.— The speaker who can influence a mob is usually stigma- tized, by those who are unable to do so, as a demagog. It is well to be advised of this probable consequence of successful platform oratory that you may be prepared to meet and defy it. But true demagogism consists, not in the use of those arts of oratory by which an assembly is moved — not in saying in the most effective manner that which you desire to say and may with honor say — but in saying that which is not your sincere opin- ion, or which you do not verily believe, for the purpose of insuring applause and sup- port. If you are honest with your audience, you may rightfully express your honest thoughts in any fashion that will best secure for them a welcome. But if you seek to lure by the utterance of that which is not your faith, you play the demagog, and that justly odious title is then properly afKxt to you. The manner of mob oratory should, like the matter of it, be bold, confident, and energetic. You must feel the most perfect self-confidence and show it. You must speak out with the full compass of your voice, throw all your power — mental and physi- cal — into the effort and employ emphatic ac- tion. Let there be no appearance of hesita- tion for thoughts or words. Go on. Say something, sense or nonsense, anything ra- ther than seem perplexed. An English mob is peculiarly sensitive to whatever sa- vors of the ludicrous and quick to seize upon weaknesses and turn them to ridicule. A public meeting at an election time licenses every wag in the crowd to let off a joke at your expense, and he is not slow to avail himself of the opportunity. Never wince under it; or, at least, if it pricks you, do not show that you feel it. If you have suf- ficient self-possession, join in the laugh and laughingly turn the jest upon the jester. This leaves you master of the field, and his discomfiture will deter those in the crowd who are always ready to follow the lead. The kind of interruptions with which you are liable to be visited by the irreverent jest- ers who form part of every mob are exhib- ited in the admirable description of an elec- tion in "Pickwick." The gentleman with a weak voice is advised by one in the crowd "to send home and inquire if he had left his voice under the pillow"; and the mayor is interrupted by a shout of "Success to his worship the mayor, and may he never for- get the tin and sarsepan business as he has got his fortun by." These are not exagger- ations of the fun you will have to face at an election, and you must be prepared to receive it with good humor. Speak out. Speak up. Do not wait for the significant shout that will come to you if you speak small. Not only is your power over a crowd dependent upon your being heard, but a full, clear voice has a power of its own, apart from the thoughts which it conveys. It creates an impression of reality and earnest- ness. It commands attention, and the mind itself is more readily reached through the full ear.— Cox, The Arts of Writing, Read- ing, and Speaking, p. 311. (H. C, 1911.) 824. ORATORY, MODERN. — Several reasons may be given why modern eloquence has been so limited and humble in its ef- forts. In the first place, I am of opinion that this change must in part be ascribed to that correct turn of thinking which has been so much studied in modern times. It can hardly be doubted that in many efforts of mere genius, the ancient Greeks and Romans excelled us; but, on the other hand, that in accuracy and closeness of reasoning on many subjects, we have some advantage over them, ought, I think, to be admitted also. In proportion as the world has advanced, philosophy has made greater progress. A certain strictness of good sense has, in this island particularly, been cultivated and in- troduced into every subject. Hence we are more on our guard against the flowers of elocution, we are on the watch, we are jeal- ous of being deceived by oratory. Our pub- lic speakers are obliged to be more reserved than the ancients in their attempts to ele- vate the imagination and warm the passions, and by the influence of prevailing taste their own genius is sobered and chastened, per- haps, in too great a degree. It is likely, too, I confess, that what we fondly ascribe to our correctness and good sense, is owing, in a great measure, to our phlegm and natural coldness. For the vivacity and sensibility of the Greeks and Romans, more especially of the former, seem to have been much greater than ours, and to have given them a higher relish of all the beauties of oratory. Be- sides these national considerations, we must, in the next place, attend to peculiar circum- stances in the three great scenes of public speaking, which have proved disadvantageous to the growth of eloquence among us. Tho the parliament of Great Britain be the no- blest field which Europe at this day affords to a public speaker, yet eloquence has never been so powerful an instrument there as it was in the popular assemblies of Greece and Rome. Under some former reigns the high hand of arbitrary power bore a violent sway, Oratory Oratory KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 336 and in later times ministerial influence has generally prevailed. The power of spealc- ing, tho always considerable, yet has been often found too feeble to counterbalance either of these, and of course has not been studied with so much zeal and fervor as where its effect on business was irresistible and certain. — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 3, p. 223. (A. S., 1787.) 825. ORATORY, OBJECT OF— The object of oratory is to influence your audi- ence by convincing or persuading them; by satisfying their judgments or kindling and attracting their sympathies. Your purpose is not, or ought not to be, to astonish them by ingenuity or to gratify their tastes by your art. You appeal to their reason, or to their feelings, or to both, with intent to in- duce them to share your convictions or your emotions. Hence the presence of earnest- ness on your part is necessary to success. The mere appearance of conviction — an obvi- ous sincerity of belief in the cause you are advocating — will often make more converts than the most unanswerable arguments, and such is the sympathy of human feelings, that the presence of real emotion in you is sure to command the emotions of your hearers ; while the absence of it, or the show of it only, however well acted, will as certainly fail to carry an audience along with you. Mind is moved by mind ; feelings are stirred by feelings. The orator must never forget the poet's truth, "That we have all of us one human heart." There are vast variances of intellect, de- scending from Shakespeare to an idiot. The intelligence of an audience varies immensely, the best certainly not being the most numer- ous. Taste, fancy, perception, apprehension and comprehension are as unlike in different persons as their features, and the full pos- session of these powers is as rare as beauty. But the emotions are nearly the same in all of us, of what class or training soever. Edu- cation can not create nor neglect destroy them. Your most convincing appeals to the reason will be understood by few ; the bright- est pictures of your fancy will call up the like pictures only in the select of your listen- ers; your wit will be appreciated but by the most refined ; your most exquisite language will be understood by those only whose tastes have been cultivated like your own. But your emotions will find an echo in every breast, even the rudest. You will touch all minds simply by the force of sympathy. The just and the right will bring down applause even from those who rarely do right or prac- tise justice. Generous sentiments will be welcomed with hearty cheers. Righteous in- dignation will make the most sluggish bos- om heave and the dullest eye flash. If you doubt this, go to any public assembly and mark what most wins the ear and stirs the heart. Enter a theater, and note what the galleries are the first to perceive and the heartiest to applaud. Not the wit, not the wisdom, not the loftiest flights of poetry; but the generous sentiment, the noble deed, the true word, the honest indignation. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 204. (H. C, 1911.) 826. ORATORY, ORIGIN OF.— Many a house must have been built before a sys- tem of architecture could be formed; many a poem composed before an art of poetry could be written. The practise must in the nature of things precede the theory. All didactic treatises must consist of rules, re- sulting from experience; and that experi- ence can have no foundation other than pre- vious practise. Now the practise of oratory must in all probability be coeval with the faculty of speech. Philosophical inquirers into the origin of language have, with some appearance of reason, aflSrmed that the first sounds which men uttered must have been exclamations, prompted by some pressing want or vehement passion. These, by the constitution of human nature, would be best calculated to excite the first sympathies of the fellow-savage, and thus afford the first instance of an influence exercised by man over man, through the medium of speech. The character derived from this original, it has preserved through all its progress, and to a certain degree must forever retain; so that even at this day eloquence and the lan- guage of passion are sometimes used as synonymous terms. But however the prac- tise of oratory may have existed in the early ages of the world, and among those civilized nations whose career of splendor preceded that of the Grecian states, we have no mon- uments, either written or traditionary, from which we can infer that the art of speaking was ever reduced into a system, or used for the purposes to which eloquence has since been employed. In the sacred scriptures, in- deed, we have numerous examples of occa- sions upon which the powers of oratory were exercised, and many specimens of the sub- limest eloquence. But these were of a pe- culiar nature, arising from the interpositions of providence in the history and affairs of S37 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Oratory Oratory the Jewish people. There we learn that the faculty of speech was among the special powers bestowed by immediate communica- tion of the Creator to our first parents. Thus if the first cries of passion were instigated by physical nature, the first accents of rea- son were suggested by the father of spirits. But of the history of profane eloquence there is no trace or record remaining earlier than the flourishing periods of the Grecian states. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 1, p. 73. (H. & M., 1910.) 827. ORATORY. RETROSPECT OF. — A retrospect of oratory during twenty-four centuries is not unlike a glance along the horizon line of a mountain range with its elevations and depressions; for the history of eloquence, like that of liberty its com- panion, is marked by diversified fortunes. On this horizon there are lofty peaks show- ing where volcanic fires reared their monu- ments; there are lesser heights beside them and low tablelands and shadowy valleys and sunless gorges. The mountain tops upon which light perpetual lingers are named for the Greek Demosthenes and Cicero the Ro- man; for John of Antioch and TertuUian of Carthage and Ambrose of Milan; for Sa- vonarola of Florence, Peter of Picardy, Jacques de Vitry and his successors at the court of Louis the Great. Westward there is a giant group in England, and across the ocean another group upholding the honor of free and fearless speech in the remotest West. A more deliberate view also reveals eloquence and liberty going hand in hand from the Orient to the Occident; in Greece amidst Hellenic resistance to Asiatic des- potism, at Rome in a long warfare against imperialism, in the early Church against pa- pal usurpation, in medieval ages against the sacrilege of the Saracen, at the Reforma- tion in protest against ecclesiastical corrup- tion, in France against the dominion of Sa- tan in high places, and later against the grinding oppression of the people by kings. In England voices are lifted up for authority tempered with justice and generosity, in America for equal rights of all subjects of the Crown, and afterward for general lib- erty under the laws, with the natural se- quence of freedom to all the inhabitants of the land. In all this movement there can also be observed diverse phases of expres- sion in different ages and countries : Attic simplicity and strength running into Asian splendor, degenerating at length into bar- baric tawdriness, followed by a restored se- verity not untainted with the finery of a later time, passing into an almost savage crudeness, uncouth and grotesque, to be re- fined at last by the revival of letters to a style blending the classic and romantic ten- dencies, which henceforward will fare on to- gether according to the temperament of each nation, age, and orator as the subject, the issue, and the occasion shall demand. In all the long procession there is also a simi- lar variety of method and manner and form, the same repetition of unchangeable princi- ples in a diversity of manifestation that pre- vails in material and immaterial nature throughout the universe, so far as observa- tion has reached; variety in unity, diversity of form amidst uniformity of law, changing phases of expression, but ceaseless persis- tence of purpose toward larger truth, a bet- ter liberty, and a nobler life. Until, how- ever, these are more completely attained, it can not be affirmed that the movement which has continued so long with various degrees of acceleration will wholly cease, or that there will be no need of the speaking man in the future. Therefore, the necessity still remains of gathering up the lessons left by masters of the art in the past, that, profit- ing by their successes and their failures, the men of the present and the future may know how they can best instruct, convince, and per- suade. — Sears, History of Oratory, p. 416. (S. C. G. & Co., 1896.) 828. ORATORY, SIMPLICITY IN.— Cold and tame expressions will persuade the hearers that the man is not kindled by the fire of his message; florid and affected sen- tences will suggest that he puts himself above his subject, and seeks his own glory. Be- tween these two perils the mode of expres- sion which the preacher will aim at is that subdued style which, while it never sinks into mere commonplace, allows of occasional or- nament and of rising to a higher level of elo- quence when the points that excite intense interest require it. Such a style will be quite simple, but it will never cease to be oratorical. "Prose is words in their right places and poetry the best words in the best places" ; so says Coleridge, and I am inclined to vindicate for oratory its claim to the lat- ter description A word used with singular felicity; the frequent employment of meta- phorical words; the interwoven phrases of Holy Scripture, which however high and po- etical, will not seem out of place on the so- ber background of a seemly style; the allu- sion to common incidents of the market and the newspaper which are saved from vul- garity by a few slight touches of expression Oratory Oratory KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 338 (and they ought to be few and slight) — these work in easily with a style of speaking the general level of which is removed from triteness and vulgarity by a few well-marked steps, and which yet never descends from the regions of oratory. The sermon is in this respect like the church in which it is deliv- ered; it must have its appropriate furniture and ornament in order to preserve the feeling of reverence ; we could not bear to recognize the household basin in the font nor the carpet of our seaside lodgings on the floor. A style somewhat raised above the common level denotes a strain of thought and feel- ing somewhat raised. And the first advance is gained in subduing the feelings of the hearers when the preacher has brought them into the belief that he himself is imprest with the dignity of his subject and approaches it with awe and reverence as one who treads on holy ground. — Thomson, Homiletical and Pastoral Lectures, p. 85. (A., 1880.) 829. ORATORY, SOCIAL.— Beware at all times of social oratory. The parlor lec- turer is a common form of vanity, especially among men of humble origin who have un- expectedly developed some intellectual power, and risen to a little public consideration. Small orators, small clergymen, small poets, and small politicians are all given to this weakness. They love the sound of their own voices, and are not in the habit of reflecting that all professional display in private is silly. — Carleton, The Art of Conversation, p. 67. (C, 1867.) 880. ORATORY, SUCCESSFUL.— He alone can deeply move others who is himself deeply moved. But the aspirant to oratori- cal power must learn that concentrated and continuous meditation on one subject begets a zeal and awakens a sensibility in the dull- est mind. The second and third qualities are doubtless the result of mental culture, and, while some men may possess them nat- urally, extensive and methodical study of human knowledge will infallibly insure them to all. The fourth quality is of great im- portance to the orator ; but the very fact that the orator whose imaginative faculty is strong, and whose fertility of conception meets with the warmest sympathy from his audience, is a proof that they, too, who hear have imaginative faculties ; in other words, imagination is a common faculty of human nature crushed, stifled, opprest by the hard ways of life, but by proper culture capable of revival and growth. Nature in her silent forms of beauty, and poetry and fiction in their creations, offer sources and means by which that faculty may be elavated and strengthened; hence the rudiments of the mental qualities are human and common, varying in power but capable of improvement in all. The instinctive or natural gift of speaking is, no doubt, stronger in some than others. But by such methods as we shall briefly indicate, it may be wonderfully im- proved. Every person, however, should be master of the grammatical principles of his language, and, if he would give force and elegance to his expression, a knowledge of the principles of rhetoric is indispensable. But failures in public speaking are not, as is often supposed, the result of "a want of words," but of a want of thoughts. The un- practised speaker breaks down, either be- cause he has not fortified and stored his mind with all necessary facts, arguments, and ideas; or else, if he has done this, the sight of an audience, the terrible ordeal of the si- lence of a multitude, drives everything out of his head. He fails because he is thinking more of his audience than his subject. This may happen to the profoundest thinker, but it may be overcome by the most timid speak- er. Knowledge of the subject, well ar- ranged, then, is the first quality for speaking. The second quality is that of earnestness — soul-earnestness, heart-feeling. If a man earnestly desire to move his fellow-men, to convince them of some truth which deeply moves him, and to exhort to acquiescence and action, he will never fail in language while he has thoughts and motives to speak. — Lewis, The Dominion Elocutionist and Public Reader, p. 137. (A. S. & Co., 1872.) 831. ORATORY, SUCCESSFUL PLATFORM.— We shall do nothing more than enumerate the features by which a speech delivered from the platform should be marked in order to have success. The first are simplicity and force. The most familiar words and illustrations should be chosen. No matter what the thoughts of the speaker may be, let them find expression in such lan- guage as all can understand. "Think as wise men; talk as the common people," is a piece of advice given by Roger Ascham, and well worthy of being remembered. A bold pictorial style is one of the best means of attracting attention and securing favor. But it is to be observed that flowery language is out of place and much more likely to be ridi- culed than appreciated by the mob. Appeals to the feelings are more powerful in mob oratory than arguments, and this fact must never be lost sight of by whoever would 339 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Oratory Oratory speak with real effect. Lastly, to be a good platform speaker one should have a consid- erable fund of humor. — Beeton, Art of Pub- lic Speaking, from Complete Orator, p. S7. (W. L. & Co.) 832. ORATORY, SUCCESS IN.— For the attainment of the highest and most be- neficent triumphs of the orator, no degree of labor can be regarded as idly bestowed. Attention, energy of will, daily practise, are indispensable to success in this high art. The author of "Self-Formation" remarks : "Sup- pose a man, by dint of meditation on ora- tory, and by his consequent conviction of its importance, to have wrought himself up to an energy of will respecting it — this is the life and soul of his enterprise. To carry this energy into act, he should begin with a few sentences from any speech or sermon; he should commit them thoroughly, work their spirit into his mind, and then proceed to evolve that spirit by recitation. Let him as- sume the person of the original speaker — put himself in his place, to all intents and purposes. Let him utter every sentence, and every considerable member of it— if it be a jointed one — distinctly, sustainedly, and un- respirjngly; suiting, of course, everywhere his tone and emphasis to the spirit of the composition. Let him do this till the exer- cise shall have become a habit; as it were, a second nature, till it shall seem unnatural to him to do otherwise, and he will then have laid his cornerstone." Quintilian tells us that it is the good man only who can become a great orator. Eloquence, the selectest boon which Heaven has bestowed on man, can never ally itself, in its highest moods, with vice. The speaker must be himself thor- oughly sincere, in order to produce a con- viction of his sincerity in the minds of others. His own sympathies must be warm and genial, if he would reach and quicken those of his hearers. Would he denounce oppression? His own heart must be free from every quality that contributes to make the tyrant. Would he invoke mercy in be- half of a client? He must himself be hu- mane, generous, and forgiving. Would he lash the guilty? His own life and character must present no weak points, to which the guilty may point in derision. And not only the great orator, but the pupil who would fittingly interpret the great orator, and de- claim what has fallen from his lips, must aim at similar qualifications of mind and heart. — Sargent, The Standard Speaker, p. 17. (C. D., 1867.) 833. ORATORY, TEST OF. — Plato says an oration is so far eloquent as it af- fects the hearer's mind. By this rule you may judge certainly of any discourse you hear. If a harangue leave you cold and lan- guid, and only amuse instead of enlighten- ing your mind, if it do not move your heart and passions, however florid and pompous it may be, it is not truly eloquent. TuUy ap- proves of Plato's sentiments on this point, and tells us that the whole drift and force of a discourse should tend to move those secret springs of action which nature has placed in the hearts of men. Would you then consult your own mind to know wheth- er those you hear be truly eloquent? If they make a lively impression upon you and gain your attention and assent to what they say, if they move and animate your passions so as to raise you above yourself, you may be assured they are true orators. But if, instead of affecting you thus, they only please or divert you, and make you ad- mire the brightness of their thoughts, or the beauty and propriety of their language, you may freely pronounce them to be mere de- claimers. — Fenelon, Dialogs on Eloquence, p. 65. (J. M., 1808.) 834. ORATORY, TRUE.— Who is the true orator? He who, with the language of his own earnest soul, rouses the multitude to noble action. The effect which he pro- duces is like a miracle. Here he is a soli- tary man; and there, facing him, is a multi- tude brimful of ignorance, superstition, and perhaps hostility toward himself. With nothing but his voice, he has to change that seething mass of humanity, and make it obe- dient to his will. And how easily he does it! His clear, fervid soul goes forth in sim- ple, burning words, enters into the hearts and understandings of his hearers, until they gradually grow to be of the same mind with himself — until, in fact, they have been fused into one great body, animated by his spirit. He has multiplied his being a thousandfold — he has extended his being into one great united army, ready to fight the battle of the truth. The particular qualifications of an orator have been fully analyzed by Aris- totle, Cicero, and Quintilian among the an- cients, and by Campbell, Whately, and Spalding among the moderns. Aristotle has been especially minute. He has described the different subjects on which orators speak, the different kinds of men to whom they appeal, the different motives which they ex- cite, the different arguments which they use for proof, the different figures which they Order Outline KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 340 use for illustration, and the different kinds of words which they employ. But all these nice distinctions, tho they serve the end of philosophical completeness, are useless for practical purposes: "For all a rhetorician's rules Teach nothing but to name his tools.'' An orator on the eve of beginning a speech could not recollect all these rules; and even altho he could do so, the very effort would distract his mind from that complete ab- sorption in his subject which is the very foundation of all rhetorical success. A few general principles are all that need be ob- served. Of these general principles some are very well known, and are obeyed by all practised orators whether false or true. It is perfectly well known, for example, that a speaker should be mas- ter of his subject; that he should have it all clearly arranged before he begins to speak; that he should adapt his style to the nature of the audience ; that his language should be clear, fluent, and musical; and that his ges- tures should be simple and manly, and not so obtrusive as to draw away the attention of the hearers from his ideas. — Pryde, High- ways of Literature, p. 126. (F. & W.) ORATORY.— See also Eloquence. 835. ORDER AND POWER Every mind instinctively requires order. Every mind delights in order and is pained by its opposite. It suffers for the want of it, with- out knowing why, and perhaps without be- ing apprized that it does suffer; we have an uneasiness like that which one feels in a tainted atmosphere, or, not to leave the in- tellectual sphere, like suffering which we ex- perience from sophistry, when the fault in the reasoning is not detected. If it is man's destiny to err, still his natural element, his essence so to speak, is truth. However un- just a mind may be, and whatever errors it may allow in itself, it does not allow errors in others. The same mind which does not lead others aright would itself be so led, and every deviation from the true route which perhaps it is itself unable to indicate, disconcerts and wearies it. The mere inter- position of a thought which the progress of the ideas does not yet call for, or calls for no longer, destroys rising interest. A mind hesitating, uncertain, no longer lends itself to the orator's intention, if we may say, in- deed, the orator has an intention; for we see him assailed by several ideas at once, without knowing to which he is to attend, and in the perplexity, breaking his thought at every stroke, retracing his steps, mistaking gradations and confounding relations. The fact may be inexplicable; it is nevertheless real, and the certainty is that where there is less of order, there is, equally, less of power. — ViNET, Homiletics; or. The Theory of Preaching, p. 388. (I. & P., 1855.) 836. OUTLINE, DEFINITE, DESIR- ABLE. — There are certain characteristics that each sermon skeleton should possess. It must indicate the nature of the discourse, and mark out each of its steps with accu- racy. Any want of definiteness is a fatal defect. The orator must feel that he can rely absolutely on it for guidance to the end of his discourse, or be in perpetual dan- ger of embarrassment and confusion. Each clause should express a distinct idea, and but one. If it contain anything that is in- cluded under another head, we fall into wearisome repetition, the great danger of extempore preachers. But if discordant and disconnected thoughts are grouped together, we are liable to forget some of them, and in returning, destroy the order of the sermon. — PiTTENGER, Oratory, Sacred and Secular, p. 88. (S. R. W., 1869.) 837. OUTLINE OF A DISCOURSE, DECLARATION OF THE.— In favor of the partition it is alleged: (1) That tha attention and interest of the hearer are more vividly excited by it than by the simple an- nouncement of the subject (the partition is its complement; the plan sometimes is the true subject) ; (2) That he is less apt to mistake as to the subject, or to hesitate be- tween the principal idea and accidental ideas or those of simple development; (3) That it aids the hearer in following the march of the discourse and in finding his way again, if in a moment of inattention it has escaped from him ; (4) That it assists his memory, and aids him in retaining the whole and the principal parts of the discourse. On the! other side, it is maintained: (1) That par- tition is a modern invention; that the an- cients did not use it; that the Fathers them- selves did not ; that we have received it from the schools. This first consideration has more show than strength : (a) First, the an- cients sometimes practised and recommended it; (6) If they used it less than pulpit ora- tors there were reasons for this, which The- remin indicates. Let us then dismiss this first argument, and attend to the others. (2) Other kinds of eloquence make no use of the partition. This is not absolutely true, but if it were we might answer: (a) That 341 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Order OutUue in general they have to do with Hearers not so apt to be inattentive; (6) That the plan is most frequently required by the subject; (?) That the didactic kind of discourse, which is that of the pulpit, may have its own rules. We dwell no longer on this second reason, which is only a presumption. (3) The proofs should distinguish themselves. Nothing more is necessary than well-marked articulations. (4) The announcement of the proofs deprives them of their force in some measure, unless the announcement be so vague that it amounts to nothing. Of what use is it to announce that we are going to explain a duty, and state the motives to its performance, or expound a truth and express the inferences from it? (5) In refreshing the memory, we connive at mental indolence. Would it not be better to introduce the di- vision at the end of the discourse, under the name of recapitulation? (6) In order to refresh the memory, we begin by burdening it. (7) In order to refresh it, we are led to make symmetrical, artificial divisions, and to prefer external to internal order. It is sym- metry which is to fix the division in the mem- ory. If, on the contrary, we omit the parti- tion, we oblige ourselves to employ more pains in giving the discourse connexion and coherence. Is not the best refreshment for the memory precisely such a concatenated order and coherence, that if the first link of the chain is raised, the whole chain is raised? (8) The argument itself of Hiiffell, in favor of the partition, leads us to this conclusion. He speaks of a strange way of understand- ing sermons, especially by country people, but he forgets that the sermons so badly un- derstood, are sermons well and duly divided; for of the other kind none are made. (9) If we should limit ourselves to the announce- ment of the general division of the dis- course, this, according to Huffell, would not suffice; each of the great parts must be di- vided. Ammon, indeed, requires this also. It appears to me that giving these consider- ations their full weight, they do not require absolutely the suppression of the partition. The partition can not fill the place of inter- nal order and exact sequence of parts, but it may in some cases contribute to the effect which is expected from well-constructed ora- torical discourse. I think that the direct in- 'jury to the hearer, from the use of the par- tition, is less than the danger to the orator himself. In observing it, I would have him do what he can in the way of omission, and so construct his discourse that it will not seem necessary. As to the use of the parti- tion, moreover, we should distinguish be- tween different subjects and different audi- tories. And perhaps this form should not be laid aside entirely, until we have attained to years of maturity and strength. It is cer- tainly remarkable that since the time of F6n- elon, and notwithstanding his objections, al- most all orators have retained it. When we use the partition, I think we should restrict ourselves to the announcement of the general plan, rejecting a more extended program. The partition, unquestionably, should be clear and simple in expresion. It may be useful to present the particulars of the di- vision under several successive forms, but it would be puerile truly to multiply, unneces- sarily, these variations of the same idea. — ViNET, Homiletics; or. The Theory of Preaching, p. 312. (I. & P., 1855.) 838. OUTLINE OF A SERMON^If you must get the frame-work of your ser- mon from some external source, the best plan is to analyze a good sermon of some standard author; then lay the volume aside, and write it over in your own language. This will help to improve your invention, by obli- ging you to anatomize, and observe minute- ly, the composition of good authors. But the plan which I should recommend is, at all events, to make your own scheme. And first draw up a brief outline of the principal top- ics, and keep it before you. To experienced sermon-writers this process will be less nec- essary; but to a beginner it will be found useful in several ways. It will prevent you from wandering far from the subject; or, at any rate, it will help to bring you back again; and it will save you from the very common fault of being too diffuse in the be- ginning, and leaving no room for the devel- opment of your materials. The time so oc- cupied will often be found to have been economically spent; for a carefully made skeleton will save you the trouble of writing your sermon over twice. Not that I would dissuade you from writing it over twice, or even thrice, if you have time; for the very process of writing impresses it on the mind, and will help you very much in the delivery. The design and composition of a sermon is well illustrated by the example of a painter. Look at a chef-d'oeuvre of some first-rate artist, and you will see that his object has been to depict some one action or idea; and that all the parts of the picture are made subservient to the general effect. Is the subject, for instance, our Saviour on the cross? The principal light is thrown on the figure of the Redeemer, which is set forth more strongly by the surrounding gloom. OutUu« Fantomlm* KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 342 Patient endurance is marked by contrasting his graceful body with the distorted limbs of the malefactors. His placid countenance is rendered more conspicuously divine by the ferocious visages of the soldiers, and the an- guish of his weeping disciples. Everything, in short, of circumstance, of drawing, and coloring, is so conceived as to direct the minds of those who look upon it to the prin- cipal object of interest. Thus, in preaching, you should choose one principal object, and group your materials so as best to illustrate that ; keeping the main design always in your mind's eye.— Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergyman, p. 191. (D. & Co., 1856.) 839. OUTLINE OF A SPEECH.— Be- gin by sketching an outline of your proposed treatment of the theme. Asking yourself "What have I to say about it?" note in two or three suggestive words the ideas as they occur to you in meditation. Afterward ar- range these in orderly fashion, so that the discourse may assume something like a logi- cal shape, the parts of it appearing to grow naturally out of one another, with a definite beginning and a definite end. This done, expand the "headings" into a speech, still bearing in mind that you are supposed to be talking, not writing. When the speech is completed, stand up, paper in hand, and spout your performance to the tables and chairs. Thus you will learn if it comes trip- pingly on the tongue, and likewise something of its sound. As yet, you need not be over- critical upon its merits as a composition. Doubtless it is full of faults; somewhat stilted, flowery in language, abounding in what the Americans call "bunkum," and on the whole unsatisfactory. Every young ora- tor falls into these faults. Fine talking and fine writing are the universal sins of inex- perience, certain to be corrected by time. There is only one defect that is never cured, one fault for which there is no hope— the penny-a-lining style, significantly called "the high polite." The mind, once taken posses- sion of by that modern jargon, never throws it off; perhaps because the infection can be caught only by a mind essentially vulgar and conceited, and the presence of it proves in- capacity even for the appreciation of some- thing better. Your language can not be too simple. Cultivate the plain, pure Saxon Eng- lish. It is at once intelligible to the common people and pleasing to the educated taste. It is one of the secrets of the success of all the great popular orators. English — the English of the Bible, of Shakespeare, of De- foe, of Bunyan, of Dryden, of Swift— is singularly expressive and pictorial. Being for the most part the language of daily life, it is instinctively understood by an audience, who can not pause upon a word, to reflect what the speaker means by it, for this would be to fall behind him in the discourse. After you have written your imaginary speech, read it over twice or thrice, for the sole purpose of detecting and changing words for which more homely expressions can be found, and do not rest content with your performance until every foreign word for which there is a Saxon equivalent has been banished. Whenever you alight upon a "high polite" word or phrase, away with it, even if you are obliged to substitute the longest word in the dictionary. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Read- ing, and Speaking, p. 813. (H. C, 1911.) OUTLINE.— See also Plan. 840. OUT OF- DOOR SPEAKING.— Open-air speeches are amongst the most ef- fective means of addressing the people; but unless given under the control of elocution- ary principles, they are very exhaustive, and often unsuccessful, because of the violation of those principles. The common mistake is to believe that there must be unusual muscu- lar effort, and that the voice must be pitched in a very high key. Now the best effort may be produced, and all the injurious con- sequences of over-exertion avoided, by care- fully observing the rules in this work for the physical culture of the voice. The speak- er must stand erect, with his throat free from compression. He must take in ample breath, and renew it at every pause long before the lungs are emptied, inhaling through the nose. His voice must issue from the back of the mouth, and the mouth be opened wider than usual. The capacity to be heard must not depend on pitch or bawl- ing, but on chest force, and especially on the full utterance of the vowels, the sounds of which in all important words should be full and prolonged, while the consonants should be distinctly articulated, with that finished ac- tion which succeeds position. The delivery, too, should be slower than in a public hall. Reading aloud in a large room, and, when practicable, in the open air while walking, is an excellent exercise for the end in view. Hence also the value of reading before large audiences in the public entertainments which have become so general. There the reader must possess a good delivery, and learn to adapt his voice to all the tones of passion and thought, so as to be heard by his audi- I ence, and to interest them. These are ex- 343 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING OatUue Ftmtomlma cellent schools for oratory, and besides im- proving the student in elocution, they give him confidence and strengthen habits of self- control when addressing a multitude. — Lew- is, The Dominion Elocutionist and Public Reader, p. 133. (A. S. & Co., 1872.) 841. PALMERSTON'S STYLE. — To securing success as a debater, Lord Palmer- ston sacrifices the hope of becoming a first- rate orator. It is the province of the ora- tor, while he is appealing to the passions or developing the policy of the hour, also to shape and polish his discourse and to inter- weave in it what will render it interesting for all time. Such qualities and such objects are not to be distinguished in the excellent party speeches of Lord Palmerston. They are made for the House of Commons, not for posterity. There is no ambitious language, no pretense of that higher eloquence, whicH will stir the hearts of men after the par- ticular voice is dumb and the particular man dead. You can not pick extracts out of his speeches which will bear reading, and will excite interest apart from the context. There are no maxims or aphorisms, nor any po- litical illustrations or passages of declama- tory vehemence; but, on the other hand, the language is choice, the style pure and sim- ple, the construction of the sentences cor- rect, even elegant, and the general arrange- ment of the topics skilful in the extreme. The speeches seem not to be prepared with art, yet they are very artful; and there is a general harmony in the effect, such as might be expected from the spontaneous outpour- ing in argument of a highly cultivated and well-regulated mind. And altho, as has been said, he is chargeable with inordinate garrulity on the subject of his foreign ad- ministration, yet you will sometimes find him speaking on topics personal to himself in a high and gentlemanly tone, quite unaffected, and which is extremely impressive. It is be- cause his party speeches are a sort of seri- ous pastime that he can at will throw aside all party feeling, and speak in a manly and elevated tone on great public questions. One of his amusing peculiarities is to identify himself with his party in all their great pro- ceedings. "We" acceded to power; "We" brought in such a measure; "We" felt this or that; — a sort of "I-and-my king" style, which, in the somewhat self-important tones of the noble lord, and associated with his reputation for dictatorship in his own offi- cial department, sometimes borders on the ludicrous. — Francis, Orators of the Age, p. 106. (H., 1871.) 842. PANEGYRIC, OCCASIONS FOR. — The rules for the composition of pane- gyric are neither numerous nor complicated. The first is a sacred and undeviating regard for truth. But the duties which truth pre- scribes are variously modified under vari- ous relations. A mere biographer is bound to divest himself of all partialities; to no- tice the errors and failings, as well as the virtues and achievements, of his hero. The obligation of the panegyrist is less rigorous. His purpose is not history but encomium. He is bound to tell the truth. Errors, vices, follies, must not be disguised, nor justified ; but they may be covered with the veil of silence; and, if more than counterbalanced by transcendent merits, they may even be extenuated; a proceeding perfectly consis- tent with the pure morality of that religion which teaches that "charity covereth a mul- titude of sins." The ancient rhetoricians even allowed panegyrical orators the very dangerous indulgence of using what they call moral approximation; and, as all the vir- tues border very closely upon corresponding vices, they authorize the speaker of praise or invective to transpose them, or mingle up their colors with the view to cause the one to be mistaken for the other. Aristotle for- mally recommends the occasional substitu- tion of prudence for timidity ; of sagacity for cunning ; of simplicity for dulness ; of gen- tleness for indolence ; and he ingeniously re- minds his reader that this transposition will be most advisable when the vice is only the excess of its correlative virtue. And thus rashness may easily be pruned into valor, and extravagance whitened into generosity. The aspect in which moral qualities may be con- sidered, is undoubtedly susceptible of great variety; and nothing falls more frequently tinder our observation in the common occur- rences of life than the different lights in which the same act is viewed by different eyes. To deny the speaker of panegyric or invective the use of the faculty which dark- ens or illumines the canvas of his portraits, would be restriction too severe. He may present the object in the aspect best suited to his purpose, without deviating from the truth. The use of approximation is more questionable when employed for censure than for commendation ; unmerited reproach being more pernicious and more odious than undeserved praise. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 1, p. 347. (H. & M., 1810.) 843. PANTOMIME.— If the art of ges- ture be worthy of cultivation, it would ap- Parenthesis Passion KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 344 pear that it should be cultivated in its high- est perfection, and that its perfection must consist in its power of communicating the thoughts independent of language. In this view, the pantomimic art should be the sole object for the investigation and acquisition of those who study the art of gesture; for the pantomimes express entire dramas with- out the aid of words. Their art, however extraordinary, forms hardly any portion of the proper subject of our enquiry relating to the gestures suited to the illustration and enforcement of language, not to the gesture which supersedes its use, and which in its purposes and manner of application is alto- gether different. In order to express his sen- timents by mute action, the pantomime is obliged to avail himself of every natural and imagined connection between thought and gesture; he is of necessity confined to the representation of the most ordinary feelings and situations, such as love, hatred, jeal- ousy, terror, pity, courage, fear, the objects of which are easily made known, and the expression of which is understood by all. If the pantomime wishes, in the conduct of his fable, to go beyond the bounds of these expressions, he is forced upon many awk- ward expedients, and obliged to invent a language of signs which is attended with the same inconvenience as every other language, that is, it is understood only so far as com- municated to, admitted, and studied by oth- ers. The gestures of the orator, on the con- trary, are restrained within very narrow bounds as to imitation, and few of them comparatively are significant; by far the greatest number being so uncertain in their use as to be equally suited to a great va- riety of sentiments. — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 251. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 844. PARENTHESIS, IMPROPER USE OF. — You will inevitably spoil the style of your sermon by introducing fresh matter, which occurs to you subsequently to composition, or qualifying your former statements, by the use of parenthesis. It is much better to reconstruct the sentence al- together. When, however, they occur at the first composition, it is different, for they then tend to produce strength and natural- ness, inasmuch as they represent the first' impressions of the mind. This form of sen- tence may be much more frequently em- ployed in spoken than in written language, because the varied intonation of the voice is sufficient to mark the change. The follow- ing are instances: "If any man," says our Saviour — (and he makes no limitation tc3 the learned and ingenious, and no exclusion of the uneducated and simple) — "if any man will do the will of God, he shall know Oi the doctrine whether it be of God." And, again, in speaking of the miracles of the Gospel: "They might" — (I deny the fact, while I ad- mit the possibility) — ^"they might possibly be the work of some spiritual and invisible be- ing subordinate to God." In these instances the parenthesis appears to arise, as doubtless was the case, from vivacity of thought, and con- sequently, instead of clogging or impeding the sense, it gives additional spirit and en- ergy. — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergy- man, p. 145. (D. & Co., 1856.) 845. PARKER, JOSEPH. — Born at Hexham-on-Tyne, England, in 1830. He was a prodigious worker, writer, and preacher. His "The People's Bible," in twenty-eight large volumes, a popular commentary on the Scriptures, is his greatest work. To a nat- urally energetic personality he added great originality and resourcefulness. He gave much time to the preparation of sermons, reading them aloud as he wrote, in order to test their effect upon the ear. A strong per- sonal quality pervaded all his preaching. "If I have not seen Him myself," he said, "I cannot preach Him-." In lectures to students he gave much valuable advice gathered from the storehouse of his own varied experience. He gave particular attention to the use of the voice. "It is not enough," he said, "that you be heard; you must be effective as well as audible; you must lighten and thunder with the voice; it must rise and fall like a storm at times ; now a whisper, now a trum- pet, now the sound of many waters. There is an orator's voice, and there is a bellman's. The auctioneer talks ; the orator speaks." Dr. Parker's sermons are published in nu- merous volumes. He died in 1903. 846. PARKER, THEODORE.— Amer- ican divine and reformer, born at Lexington, Mass., in 1810. He was educated at Har- vard, and graduated from the Divinity School of that University in 1836. The fol- lowing year he was ordained pastor of Rox- bury Christian Church, and first attracted at- tention by his sermon on the "Transient and Permanent in Christianity," preached in 1841. This sermon was ultimately the cause of his practical exclusion from the Unitarian body, and in 1846 he became minister to fhe Twen- ty-eighth Congregational Society in Boston. In this pastorate he became well known to all denominations from the remarkable ser- 345 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING FareutheBlB Passion mons he preached for seven years in Music Hall. He died of consumption at Florence, Italy, in 1860. His powerful intellect and vigorous eloquence were exhibited in the many controversial sermons he preached, both as a believer in the non-supernaturalism of present Christianity, and as a practical humanitarian. He figured as one of the lead- ing abolitionists of New England. 847. PASSION AND ART.— "Passion," says a writer, "knows more than art." It may, indeed, in its own way, know more than art. But art, in its own way, like pru- dence in human affairs, sometimes knows better than passion. A display of the pas- sions in speech is not always addrest to per- sons under the sympathetic influence of those passions. When it is, when, at moments, the speaker can raise that sympathy, all is right that passion does. When, however, passion is no longer the slave either of words or will, and we are able to contemplate its free and better nature, without its waywardness and excesses, such comparisons arise be- tween what we feel ourselves, on the differ- ent occasions of excitement, and what we observe in others, that we are obliged to call upon reason and taste for some educa- tional rule, of things as they should be, to settle an uncertainty of opinion. Passion, as we know it, is only the enacting of a cer- tain character of ideas; and with none, ex- cept fools and madmen, is an Outlaw of the Mind; but is still amenable to its directive tho excited authority. We need not go far for the true history of what is called the natural manner in speech, thus prompted by spontaneous passion. The everyday vulgar triumphs of popular eloquence — in which the demagog, and the sectary, lead away an au- dience, eager to pursue the same selfish schemes of profit or of fanatical delusion — are proof of what this oratorical sympathy is ; and what passion alone can sometimes do, without the aid of truth, or reason, or hon- esty or taste. We look for no more, from a well-devised practical system of elocution, than we are every day receiving from estab- lished arts. All men speak and reason, for these acts are as natural as passion; but the arts of grammar, rhetoric, and logic, teach us to do these things in the best manner. In short, doing them in the best manner is signified by the name of these arts. — Rush, The Philosophy of the Human Voice, p. 438. (L. G. & Co., 1855.) 848. PASSION AND EXPRESSION.— "When strong desires or soft sensations move Th' astonish'd intellect to rage or love; Associate tribes of fibrous motions rise. Flush the red cheek, or light the laughing eyes. Whence ever active imitation finds Th' ideal trains that pass in kindred minds ; Her mimic arts associate thoughts excite. And the first language enters at the sight. "Association's mystic pow'r combines Internal passion with external signs. From these dumb gestures first th' exchange began. Of viewless thought in bird, and beast, and man: And still the stage by mimic art displays Historic pantomime in modern days; And hence the enthusiastic orator affords Force to the feebler eloquence of words." The eloquent and learned Darwin in these passages admits the full effects of oratorical action, particularly in the last line. In the first passage he mentions the association be- tween gestures and the passion. This is an important fact for the attention of the ora- tor, who is often obliged to assume, and also to inspire the feelings he has assumed. The note of Darwin upon the passage is more particularly worthy of attention in this place. "There are two ways by which we become acquainted with the passions of others : first by having observed the effects of them, as of fear or anger on our own bodies, we know at sight when others are under the influence of these affections. So children, long be- fore they can speak or understand the lan- guage of their parents, may be frightened by an angry countenance, or soothed by smiles and blandishments. Secondly, when we put ourselves into the attitude that any passion naturally occasions, we soon in some degree acquire the passion; hence when those that scold indulge themselves in loud oaths and violent actions of the arms, they increase their anger by the mode of expressing them- selves; and, on the contrary, the counter- feited smile of pleasure in disagreeable com- pany soon brings along with it a portion of the reality, as is well illustrated by Mr. Burke^ (Essay on the Sublime and Beauti- ful.)" The constraint which virtue or good manners lays upon the external and uncon- trolled expression of our passions operates much, no doubt, to keep them within proper bounds. Hence the prepossessing exterior of persons bred at courts, where all must be Passion Fasslona KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 346 guarded with propriety. The passage al- luded to by Darwin in Mr. Burke's treatise on the sublime, appears to be the following : "It appears very clearly to me from this, and from many other examples, that when the body is disposed, by any means whatso- ever, to such emotions as it would acquire by the means of a certain passion, it will of itself excite something very like that pas- sion in the mind." — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 180. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 849. PASSION AND PERSUASION.— To say that it is possible to persuade with- out speaking to the passions is but at best a kind of spacious nonsense. The coolest reasoner always in persuading addresses himself to the passions some way or other. This he can not avoid doing if he speak to the purpose. To make me believe, it is enough to show me that things are so : to make me act, it is necessary to show that the action will answer some end. That can never be an end to me which gratifies no passion or affection in my nature. You as- sure me, "It is for my honor." Now you solicit my pride, without which I had never been able to understand the word. You say, "It is for my interest." Now you bespeak my self-love. "It is for the public good." Now you rouse my patriotism. "It will relieve the miserable." Now you touch my pity. So far, therefore, is it from being an unfair method of persuasion to move the passions that there is no persuasion without moving them. But if so much depend on passion, where is the scope for argument? Before I answer this question, let it be observed that, in order to persuade, there are two things which must be carefully studied by the ora- tor. The first is, to excite some desire or passion in the hearers; the second is, to sat- isfy their judgment that there is a connec- tion between the action to which he would persuade them, and the gratification of the desire or passion which he excites. This is the analysis of persuasion. The former is effected by communicating lively and glowing ideas of the object; the latter, unless so evi- dent of itself as to supersede the necessity, by presenting the best and most forcible ar- guments which the nature of the subject admits. In the one lies the pathetic, in the other the argumentative. These incorporat- ed together constitute that vehemence of con- tention to which the greatest exploits of eloquence ought doubtless to be ascribed. — Campbell, The Philosophy of Rhetoric, p. 4. (G. & W. B. W., 1823.) 850. PASSION IN SPEAKING.— High eloquence is always the offspring of pas- sion. By passion I mean that state of the mind in which it is agitated and fired by some object it has in view. A man may convince and even persuade others to act, by mere reason and argument. But that de- gree of eloquence which gains the admira- tion of mankind, and properly denominates one an orator, is never found without warmth, or passion. Passion, when in such a degree as to rouse and kindle the mind; without throwing it out of the possession of itself, is universally found to exalt all the human powers. It renders the mind infinitely more enlightened, more penetrating, more vigorous and masterly, than it is in its calm moments. A man actuated by a strong pas- sion, becomes much greater than he is at other times. He is conscious of more strength and force, he utters greater senti- ments, conceives higher designs, and exe- cutes them with a boldness and a felicity of which on other occasions he could not think himself capable. But chiefly with respect to persuasion is the power of passion felt. Al- most every man in passion is eloquent. Then he is at no loss for words and arguments. He transmits to others, by a sort of conta- gious sympathy, the warm sentiments which he feels; his looks and gestures are all per- suasive; and nature here shows herself infi- nitely more powerful than art. — Blair, Lec- tures on Rhetoric, vol. 2, p. 177. (A. S., 1787.) 851. PASSION, LANGUAGE OF.— There is unquestionably a language of emo- tions and passions, as well as a language of ideas. Words are the arbitrary signs by which our conceptions and judgments are communicated, and for this end they are com- monly sufficient, but we find them very inade- quate to the purpose of expressing our feel- ings. If any one need a proof of this, let him read some dramatic speech expressive of strong passion, in the same unimpassioned manner in which he would read an ordinary article of intelligence. Even in silent read- ing, where the subject interests the passions, everyone who is not destitute of feeling, while he understands the meaning of the words, conceives the expression that would accompany them if they were spoken. The language of passion is uniformly taught by nature, and is everywhere intelligible. It consists in the use of tones, looks, and ges- tures. When anger, fear, joy, grief, love, or any other passion is raised within us, we naturally discover it by the manner in which 347 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Passion FatfBlona we utter our words, by the features of the face, and by other well-known signs. The eyes and countenance, as well as the voige, are capable of endless variety of expression, suited to every possible diversity of feeling, and with these the general air and gesture naturally accord. The use of this language is not confined to the more vehement pas- sions. Upon every subject and occasion on which we speak, some kind of feeling ac- companies the words, and this feeling, what- ever it be, has its proper expression. It is an essential part of elocution, to imitate this language of nature. No one can deserve the appellation of a good speaker, much less of a complete orator, who does not, to a distinct articulation, a ready command of voice, and just prenunciation, accent and em- phasis, add the various expressions of emo- tions and passion. But in this part of his office precept can afford him little assist- ance. To describe in words the particular expression which belongs to each emotion and passion, is, perhaps, wholly impracti- cable. All attempts to enable men to be- come orators by teaching them, in written rules, the manner in which the voice, coun- tenance, and hands are to be employed in expressing the passions, must, from the na- ture of the thing, be exceedingly imperfect and, consequently, ineffectual. Upon this head I shall therefore only lay down the fol- lowing general precept: observe the manner in which the several passions and feelings are exprest in real life, and when you at- tempt to express any passion, inspire your- self with that secondary kind of feeling which imagination is able to excite, and fol- low your feelings with no other restraint than "this special observance, that you o'er- step not the modesty of nature." — Enfield, The Speaker, p. 33. (J., 1799.) 852. PASSIONS, HOW TO MOVE THE. — In such passions as we would represent as true copies of real ones, let us be ourselves like those who unfeignedly suf- fer, and let our speech proceed from such a disposition of mind as that in which we would have the judge be. Will he grieve who hears me speak with an expressionless face and air of indifference? Will he be angry when I, who am to excite him to an- ger, remain cool and sedate? Will he shed tears when I plead unconcerned? All this is attempting impossibilities. Nothing warms or moistens but that which is endued with the quality of heat or moisture, nor does anything give to another a color ft has not itself. The principal consideration, then, must be that we, ourselves, retain the im- pression of which we would have the judges susceptible, and be ourselves affected before we endeavor to affect others. But how shall we be affected, the emotions of passions be- ing not at our command ? This may be done by what we may call visions, whereby the images of things absent are so represented to the mind that we seem to see them with our eyes and have them present before us. Whoever can work up his imagination to an intuitive view of this kind will be very suc- cessful in moving the passions. If I deplore the fate of a man who has been assassinated, may I not paint in my mind a lively picture of all that probably happened on the occa- sion? Shall not the assassin appear to rush forth suddenly from his lurking place? Shall not the other appear seized with horror? Shall he not cry out, beg for his life, or fly to save it? Shall I not see the assassin dealing the deadly blow, and the defenceless wretch falling dead at his feet? Shall I not picture vividly in my mind the blood gush- ing from his wounds, his ghastly face, his groans, and the last gasp he fetches? When there is occasion for moving to compassion, we should believe and indeed be persuaded that the distress and misfortunes of which we speak have happened to ourselves. Let us place ourselves in the very position of those for whom we feel sorrow on account of their having suffered such grievous and unmerited treatment. Let us plead their cause, not as if it were another's, but taking to ourselves, for a short time, their whole grief. In this way we shall speak as if the case were our own. I have seen comedians who, when they have just appeared in a mournful character, often make their exit with tears in their eyes. If, then, the expres- sion given to imaginary passions can affect so powerfully, what should not orators do, whose inner feelings ought to sympathize with their manner of speaking, which can not happen unless they are truly affected by the danger to which their clients are ex- posed. — QuiNTiLiAN, Institutes of the Ora- tor, vol. 1, p. 372. (B. L., 1774.) 853. PASSIONS OF THE SPEAKER. — The passions and emotions of the speaker are entirely independent of the modulation of the voice, tho often confounded with it, for modulation relates only to speaking either loudly or softly, in a high or a low key, while the tones of the passions or emo- tions mean only that quality of sound that indicates the feelings of the speaker, with- out any reference to the pitch or loudness of Passions Pausing KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 348 his voice; and it is in being easily suscep- tible of every passion and emotion that pre- sents itself, and being able to express them with that peculiar quality of sound which belongs to them, that the great art of read- ing and speaking consists. When we speak our own words and are really impassioned by the occasion of speaking, the passion or emotion precedes the words, and adopts such tones as are suitable to the passion we feel. But when we read, or repeat from memory, the passion is to be taken up as the words occur, and, in doing this well, the whole dif- ficulty of reading or repeating from memory lies. But it will be demanded, how are we to acquire that peculiar quality of sound that indicates the passion we wish to express? The answer is easy : by feeling the passion which expresses itself by that peculiar qual- ity of sound. But the question will return, how are we to acquire a feeling of the pas- sion? The answer to this question is rather discouraging, as it will advise those who have not a power of impassioning themselves upon reading or expressing some very pa- thetic passage, to turn their studies to some other department of learning, where nature may have been more favorable to their wishes. But is there no method of assisting us in acquiring the tone of the passion we want to express, no method of exciting the passion in ourseves when we wish to ex- press it to others? The advice of Quin- tilian and Cicero on this occasion is to rep- resent to our imagination, in the most lively manner possible, all the most striking cir- cumstances of the transaction we describe or of the passion we wish to feel. "Thus," says Quintilian, "if I complain of the fate of a man who has been assassinated, may I not paint in my mind a lively picture of all that has probably happened on the occasion? Shall not the assassin appear to rush forth suddenly from his lurking-place? Shall not the other appear seized with horrors? Shall he not cry out, beg his life, or fly to save it? Shall not I see the assassin dealing the dead- ly blow, and the defenceless wretch falling dead at his feet? Shall not I figure to my mind, and by a lively impression, the blood gushing from his wounds, his ghastly face, his groans, and the last gasp he fetches?" This must be allowed to be a very natural method of exciting an emotion in the mind, but still the woes of others, whether real or fictitious, will often make but a weak im- pression on our own mind, and will fail of affecting us with a sufficient force to excite the same emotions in the minds of our hear- ers. In this exigence it may not, perhaps, be unprofitable to call to our assistance the device of the ancient Grecian actor Polus, who, when he had the part of Electra to per- form, and was to represent that princess weeping over the ashes of her brother Ores-v tes, ordered the urn which contained the ashes of his dear and only son to be brought upon the stage, and by this means excited in himself the pitch of grief with which he wished to affect his audience. Calling to mind, therefore, such passages of our own life as are similar to those we read or speak of, will, if I am not mistaken, considerably assist us in gaining that fervor and warmth of expression which, by a certain sympathy, is sure to affect those who hear us. — Walk- er, Elements of Elocution, p. 328. (C. & W., 1799.) 854. PASSIONS, STUDY OF THE.— The passions are the impelling forces of life, and without these a man is as useless in the world as if he were without brains. He can not be good, he is only innocent. God gave us passions for a full, natural, sym- metrical development, and the grandest type is one with these thoroughly trained. Elo- quence is a complete paradox ; one must have the power of strong feeling, or he can never command the sympathy of a varied, crowded auditory; but one must control his own sen- sations, for their indulgence would enfeeble execution. One must practise effects before- hand in his own mind. The actor never im- provises a burst of passion ; everything is the result of pre-arrangement and fore- thought. The instantaneous agony, the joy that gushes forth involuntarily, the tone of the voice, the gesture, the look, all which pass for sudden inspiration, have been re- hearsed again and again. He who expects to excel must study from himself, and com- pare his own proved sensations under grief, happiness, anger, pain, and all ordinary vari- ations of human events and feelings, with the emotions he represents. His skill lies in the excellence of the imitative reality; for he is not nature, but art producing nature. But whatever the sublimity, the terror or beauty, the necessary vigor of the action to convey the passion, we must not forget that there is a limit to all human expression, be- yond which is distortion and grimace. — Fro- BiSHER, Voice and Action, p. 40. (I. B. & Co., 1867.) 855. PAUSE, ESSENTIAL USES OF THE. — Pausing is a physiological and psychological manifestation of the principle of action and reaction that underlies all vocal 349 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Paialoaa FaualniT expression. Time must be provided in which to replenish the lungs. The listening ear demands relief from an otherwise incessant flow of sound. Clearness insists upon prop- er divisions of thought. Pausing gives ad- ditional interest by keeping the hearer in a state of expectancy. It is particularly valu- able in expressing emphasis, spontaneity, and deep feeling. In short, it gives justness, freshness, clearness, and poise to spoken lan- guage.— Kleiser, How to Speak in Public, p. 114. (F. & W., 1910.) 856. PAUSE, RHETORICAL.— In read- ing, it may often be proper to make a pause where the printer has made none. Nay, it is very allowable, for the sake of pointing out the sense more strongly, preparing the audience for what is to follow, or enabling the speaker to alter the tone or height of the voice, sometimes to make a very consider- able pause where the grammatical construc- tion requires none at all. In doing this, however, it is necessary that, upon the word immediately preceding the pause, the voice be suspended in such a manner as to intimate to the hearer that the sense is not complet- ed. The power of suspending the voice at pleasure is one of the most useful attain- ments in the art of speaking: it enables the speaker to pause as long as he chooses, and still keep the hearer in expectation of what is to follow. — Enfield, The Speaker, p. 21. (J., 1799.) 857. PAUSE, USE OF THE, IN READING. — Grammatical pauses are not altogether sufficient to guide you in your thought divisions. They are important in showing the synthetical structure of a sen- tence, but in reading aloud you will find many rhetorical divisions which you must de- termine for yourself. Here again your in- telligence must be brought to bear upon the extract you intend to read aloud. The pause is not an empty interval of time; tho the voice is still, the mind of the student should be fully occupied with the thought. More- over, pausing does not mean dwelling long upon words, which gives the undesirable ef- fect of drawling. Correct pausing is an intel- lectual element in good reading, and is of prime importance. Properly studied and ap- plied, it should teach the pupil how to think with clearness and precision. — Kleiser, How to Read and Declaim, p. 111. (F. & W., 1911.) 858. PAUSES, GRAMMATICAL.— The best way of getting over the faulty habit of reading contracted by following such erro- neous guides as the stops usually are, would be to copy such passages from authors, as they mean to serve for their daily exercise in reading aloud, without marking any stops at all. In this way, the sense alone must guide them, in the right use of the pauses ; nor will they have anything to mislead them. When they have had sufficient practise in this manner to be able to make out the sen- tences with ease, let them return to the print- ed books, in which they are to pursue the same rule, by giving their whole attention to the meaning of the words, and being as ut- terly regardless of the stops, as if they were not there. Tho at first they may be puz- zled at the stops, and from their former long habit may be apt frequently to relapse into their old method, yet by persevering in their attention to the words only, they will in time pay as little regard to the stops, as if they had been wholly obliterated. — Sheridan, The Art of Reading, p. 115. (C. Dy., 1781.) 859. PAUSING AND BREATHING.— The common pauses, necessary to be made according to the rules of punctuation, are so obvious that a reader or speaker in public must be very careless who offends against them. If such a violation at any time hap- pen, the speaker betrays such ignorance of his subject that he gives evidence against himself, proving that the composition which he delivers is not his own, and therefore he loses all influence with his hearers. The vio- lation of pauses, in consequence of being run out of breath, is nearly as injurious and disgraceful to the public speaker. The lungs of all men are not equally capable of sup- porting the labor of exertion, but by due at- tention, and proper management, every one may avoid this inability, which is equally painful to the hearer and himself. Tem- perance and bodily exercise strengthen the lungs; indolence and intemperance injure them. Frequent repletion bloats the body and oppresses the lungs. The failure of the breath sometimes arises from the injudicious management of it, as when the speaker has given himself a habit of exhausting his lungs at the close of every sentence; nothing can be more injurious. The lungs must be kept inflated, like the bellows of an organ, and have a body of air always in reserve, so that the portion which, in the delivery, is con- stantly giving out, must be imperceptibly and constantly supplied. The speaker is not to put off this necessary supply till he arrive at a full period, and so run himself out of breath, if the sentence should be long;, as Tanning Feel, Sir Boljert KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 350 any part of a sentence admitting a pause be- tween its members, tlio ever so slight, any place admitting a momentary suspension of the voice, suffices for the recovery of a small portion of the air which is thus expended. This precept applies equally to singing as to public speaking, and it is considered as a point of the highest consequence in that art, to sustain the voice with equabihty; this can alone be effected by the management of the breath, and by seizing the proper opportu- nities for inspiration. In this beautiful point of art the singers of Italy excel all others; and it is the true secret of that unbroken flowing stream of voice, which is called the sostenuto, and which gives the power of swell and diminution of the volume ; it regu- lates in effect the whole of their punctua- tion (if it may be so called), and constitutes the inimitable expression of Italian song. The ordinary pauses which are marked in writing, serve principally for grammatical discrimination. But in public speaking, pauses of a nature somewhat different are introduced; these may be termed rhetorical pauses, and require to be adjusted by cor- rect judgment and feeling. They are placed either before or after important matter, in order to introduce or leave it imprest on the memory with stronger effect. By suspend- ing the sense in an unusual manner and in an unexpected place, they arrest the atten- tion. They break the uniform flow of de- livery, and operate, by the sudden change from sound to silence, something in the man- ner in which Locke observes that "positive ideas are produced from privative causes. The abatement of any former motion must as necessarily produce a new sensation as the variation or increase of it." But tho the sound is to be interrupted in these pauses, the gesture and countenance must express that something further is to be ex- pected. Rhetorical pauses thus contribute to the verisimilitude : the speaker appears full of his subject and rather to wait for the ex- pression. He appears to take time for re- flection, to exercise thought, to doubt, to resolve, to be alarmed. When he speaks after such pauses judiciously made, he seems to utter the persuasions of his mind at the mo- ment, he seems to speak as nature dictates, and makes, on that account, the stronger im- pression. For among the most powerful means of influence which oratory exerts is the opinion which is entertained of the sin- cerity of the speaker. And of that we think we are able to judge, when we are, as it were, taken into consultation in his reason- ings, and shown the inmost feelings of his heart. — Austin, Chironomia, or a Treatise on Rhetorical Delivery, p. 50. (W. B. & Co., 1806.) 860. PAUSING, JUDICIOUS USE OF. — The signs are seven, viz., the comma, the semicolon, the colon, the full stop, the note of interrogation, the note of admiration, and the dash. Schoolbooks and other treatises on elocution usually give you very explicit directions for the measurement of these va- rious signals, telling you that you should count one for a comma, two for a semicolon, and so forth. Such rules are worthless. They fail utterly in practise. So various are the rests required in reading that no variety of notation would serve to indicate them. The comma may be repeated half a dozen times in a sentence, and on each occasion a different length of pause may be required. So it is with the other "stops." They tell you, in fact, nothing more than that the au- thor, or rather the printer, is of opinion that at the points of insertion the sentence is divisible into parts more or less perfectly. They are introduced with little or no refer- ence to their use in reading aloud — how little, indeed, you might discover by taking up the first book that lies before you and reading the first page at which you chance to open it. You will find that the stops do not help you much, and often are a hindrance. Authors exhibit the strangest vagaries in punctuation. You would be amused and amazed at many of the manuscripts and proofs that vex the eyes of editors. Often the stops are scat- tered with such profusion that half a dozen words are nowhere permitted to live side by side without this forcible separation from their fellows. Sometimes the right "stop" is inserted in the wrong place, as if of malice aforethought. Sometimes the wrong stop is continuously employed in the right place — as a colon where there should be a comma — to the infinite vexation of sensitive readers, who pull up suddenly or make preparation for a halt just where they ought not to do so. You must know that the follies of the author in this respect are usually corrected by the compositor or the press-reader. But the author is not always content to abide by that better judgment, and insists on his own punctuation being preserved. Even if so corrected, the work is necessarily done im- perfectly, and, as I have previously stated, with a view to the division of the sentences rather than to the reading of them aloud. For these reasons you must make your own punctuation both in place and in length of pause, being guided by the meaning of the 351; TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Fknilngr P*el, Sir BolMrt words, by your sense of fitness, by your ear, and by the requirements of your chest and throat. These last should be permitted to avail as rarely as possible, because, if not also called for by the meaning of what you are reading, they fall disagreeably upon the ears of the listener. Moreover, it is impor- tant that you should early learn to regulate your breathing, so that you may inspire at the moment when otherwise you would make a pause of equal length. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 94. (H. C, 1911.) 861. PAUSING. NECESSITY FOR.— Pauses are not only necessary, in order to enable the speaker to take breath without in- convenience, and thereby preserve the com- mand of his voice, but in order to give the hearer a distinct perception of the construc- tion and meaning of each sentence, and a clear understanding of the whole. An unin- terrupted rapidity of utterance is one of the worst faults in elocution. A speaker who has this fault may be compared to an alarm- bell, which when once put into motion clat- ters on till the weight that moves it is run down. Without pauses, the spirit of what is delivered must be lost, and the sense must appear confused, and may even be misrep- resented in a manner most absurd and con- tradictory. — Enfiexd, The Speaker, p. 20. (J., 1799.) 862. PEEL, SIR ROBERT.— Born near Bury, in Lancashire, England, Feb. 5, 1788. Died at London, England, July 2, 1850. He was thoroughly conscientious, and was held in deep respect by the working classes. His ability was not enormous, but he had stu- pendous energy, pertinacity, and intellectual application, added to practical wisdom, great will-power and guiding force. As a public speaker he knew how to hold himself to the level of his audience. He was resolute in his convictions, but always open to argument, and as he grew older and his views broad- ened and his judgment ripened, he changed his attitude on various public matters. He was prudent, and was sometimes thought over-cautious. So great was his influence and his power that the history of his life is a history of the English politics of his day. He held a seat in Parliament for forty years; was made Prime Minister in 1834 and again in 1841. He became a Free-trad- er in 1846, and secured the repeal of the Corn Laws. 863. PEEL, SIR ROBERT, STYLE OF. — If posterity shall decide to rank Sir Robert Peel among great men, he will rather be classed among the statesmen than among the orators. He may be talked of with Walpole, but not with Pitt or Fox. Ora- tory is a severe and exacting art. Its ob- ject is not merely to excite the passions or sway the judgment, but also to produce mod- els for the delight or admiration of man- kind. It is a study which will not brook a divided attention. The orator speaks rare- ly, at long intervals, during which he sat- urates his mind with his subject, while cast- ing it in the mold to which his taste guides him, as being the most calculated to enhance by its charm the intrinsic worth or beauty of his thoughts. Like the jfeet, he works either from love of his theme, or in the an- ticipation of triumph. But the exigencies of modern political warfare have called into being a class of public speakers whose effu- sions fall as far short of those of the pro- fest orator in permanent beauty as they excel them in immediate utility. As the char- acter of the House of Commons, remodeled under the Reform-bill, has become more businesslike, so the most popular and power- ful speakers there are those who, rejecting the beautiful, apply themselves to the prac- tical. Eloquence has become a positive ele- ment of power. A party leader is compelled to enter with almost equal energy into the most trifling as into the most important af- fairs. He must be always ready with facts, with arguments, with simulated enthusiasm; he must identify himself with all the inter- ests of those whom he would lead. Even were there time for that preparation which a great orator needs, there is no scope for his display. At the head of this class of public speakers — of those who either do not aim at, or fall short of, acquiring, the di- vine art which, harmonizing language till it becomes a music, and shaping thought into a talisman, gives a man the right to be called an orator— stands forth, conspicuously, Sir Robert Peel. We have already said that he sacrifices much possible fame as an orator, in order to secure substantial influence as a statesman. Some may be prepared to com- bat this; to say that Sir Robert Peel's in- herent mediocrity is such that he could not, if he would, have rivaled even the most dis- tinguished of living orators, much less the mighty dead. But it is diflScuIt to suppose that a man of such high and such varied attainments, one in whom the scholastic fer- vor has survived amid the uncongenial pur- suits of a stormy political life — one who, as Pen Peroration KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 352 for instance in his speech at Glasgow, and in some few of his speeches in parliament, or at public places, has breathed the purer atmosphere of poetry and philosophy; it is scarcely possible to believe that, had he early devoted himself to the study and imitation of the greatest models, to the perfection of style, to the discriminating choice of lan- guage, he could not have elevated himself as an orator to the highest rank. No; Sir Robert Peel's aim is different. His political weight depends on his power of charming or influencing the House of Commons. He has studied political opinion until even its minutest shades are made palpable to him. They are all more or less represented in the popular assembly, and there he displays his knowledge of all their wants, and avails him- self, concealing his purpose, of all their ri- valries and prejudices. Not one but finds, from time to time, an echo in the speeches of Sir Robert Peel. His caution, and, at the same time, his determination, are so well known, that the slightest hint he lets fall as to his purposes is instantly caught up. One cause of the breathless attention with which he is heard is that each section of the House is anxious to penetrate the mystery of his future policy, knowing well that he will not utter any direct promise as a mere flourish, or unless he means to fulfil it. If he be oracular in his mystery, he is often equally so in his studied mystification. As no man can more clearly explain himself when he pleases, so no man can more adroitly wrap up his real meaning in an unintelligible in- volvement of words. — Francis, Orators of the Age, p. 30. (H., 1871.) 864. PEN, USE OF THE.— I use my pen. . From this it must not be inferred that I am a "manuscript preacher." I am that, or an "extemporaneous preacher," according to the propriety or expediency of each case. To adopt the phrase of Dr. Boyd Carpenter, "I am now speaking of writing as a part of preparation, whether I speak or read my ad- dress. In either case, I use my pen. It is a foolish and dull mistake to suppose that" the extemporaneous preacher foregoes the use of his pen. The idea is next to a myth. I think that tho you were to give me ex- amples of such a practise, you would only give me examples of inefficient preaching. No man can afford to do without his pen. No doubt a man, after thirty or forty years' experience of preaching, may use his pen comparatively little in his preparation, but his power to forego the use of the pen is due to the accumulated force of those thirty or forty years of hard pen work. It may, there- fore, be taken as a standing rule that no man can afford to do without his pen in the modelling of his sermons. 'The best master of the orator,' said Cicero, 'is his pen.' If you are going to deliver your ser- mon extemporaneously, still write, write much. Be diligent in the use of your pen." —Monks, The Preacher's Guide, p. 203. (T. W., 1905.) 865. PERICLES, CHARACTER OF Pericles, who died about the beginning of the Peloponnesian war, was properly the first who carried eloquence to a great height, to such a height, indeed, that it does not ap- pear he was ever afterward surpast. He was more than an orator, he was also a statesman and a general, expert in business, and of consummate address. For forty years he governed Athens with absolute sway, and historians ascribe his influence not more to his political talents than to his elo- quence, which was of that forcible and ve- hement kind that bore everything before it and triumphed over the passions and affec- tions of the people. Hence he had the sur- name of Olympias given him, and it was said that, like Jupiter, he thundered when he spoke. Tho his ambition be liable to cen- sure, yet he was distinguished for several virtues, and it was the confidence which the people reposed in his integrity that gave such a powerful effect to his eloquence. He ap- pears to have been generous, magnanimous, and public-spirited; he raised no fortune to himself ; he expended indeed great sums of the public money, but chiefly on public works ; and at his death is said to have valued himself principally on having never obliged any citizen to wear mourning on his account during his long administration. It is a remarkable particular recorded of Peri- cles by Suidas, that he was the first Athen- ian who composed and put into writing a discourse designed for the public. — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 2, p. 187. (A. S., 1787.) 866. PERORATION AND RECAPIT- ULATION OF FACTS.— The peroration, called by some the completion, by others the conclusion, of a discourse, is of two kinds, and regards either the matters discust in it, or the moving of the passions. The repeti- tion of the matter and the collecting it together, which is called by the Greeks reca- pitulation, and by some of the Latins enu- meration, serves for refreshing the judge's I memory, for placing the whole cause in one 353 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Fen FeroratloD direct point of view, and for enforcing in a body many proofs whicli separate made less impression. It would seem that this repeti- tion ought to be very short, and the Greek term sufficiently denotes that we ought to run over only the principal heads, for if we are long in doing it, it will not be an enu- meration that we make, but, as it were, a second discourse. The points which may seem to require this enumeration, however, ought to be pronounced with some emphasis, and enlivened with apposite thoughts, and diversified by figures, otherwise nothing will be more disagreeable than a mere cursory repetition, which would seem to show dis- trust of the judge's memory. This seems to be the only kind of peroration allowed by most of the Athenians and by almost all the philosophers who left anything written on the art of oratory. The Athenians, I sup- pose, were of that opinion because it was customary at Athens to silence, by the pub" lic crier, any orator who should attempt to move the passions. I am less surprized at this opinion among philosophers, every per- turbation of the mind being considered by them as vicious; nor did it seem to them compatible with sound morality to divert the judge from truth, nor agreeable to the idea of an honest man to have recourse to any sinister strategem. Yet moving the passions will be acknowledged necessary when truth and justice can not be otherwise obtained and when public good is concerned in the decision. AH agree that recapitulation may also be employed to advantage in other parts of the pleading, if the cause is complicated and requires many arguments to defend it, and, on the other hand, it will admit of no doubt that many causes are so short and simple as to have no occasion in any part of them for recapitulation. The above rules for the peroration apply equally to the ac- cuser and to the defendant's advocate. — QuiNTiLiAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 348. (B. L., 1774.) 867. PERORATION, APPEAL IN THE. — ^The favor of the judges towards us is more sparingly sued for in the begin- ning, it being then sufficient to gain their attention, as the whole discourse remains in which to make further impressions. But in the peroration we must strive to bring the judge into that disposition of the mind which it is necessary for us that he should retain when he comes to pass judgment. The per- oration being finished, we can say no more, nor can anything be reserved for another place. Both of the contending sides, there- fore, try to conciliate the judge, to make him unfavorable to the opponent, to rouse and occasionally allay his passions; and both may find their method of procedure in this short rule, which is to keep in view the whole stress of the cause, and finding what it con- tains that is favorable, odious, or deplorable, in reality or in probability, to say those things which would make the greatest im- pression on themselves if they sat as judges. — QuiNTiLiAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 350. (B. L., 1774.) 868. PERORATION, DIVISIONS OF THE. — The peroration is composed of four things — of getting the hearer favorable to one's self, and ill-disposed toward the adversary; and of amplification and extenua- tion; and of placing the hearer under the influence of the passions; and of awakening his recollection. For after showing yourself to be on the right side, and your adversary on the wrong, it naturally follows to praise and blame, and to give the last finish. And one of two things the speaker ought to aim at, either to show that he is good relatively to them, the audience, or is so absolutely; and that the other party is bad, either rela- tively to them, or absolutely. And the ele- ments, out of which one ought to get up persons as of such characters, have been stated; both whence one should establish them as bad, and whence as good. Next to this, these points having been already shown, it follows naturally to amplify or diminish: for the facts must needs be acknowledged, if one be about to state their quantity; for the increase of bodies is from substances previously existing. But the elements out of which one must amplify and diminish, are above set forth. Next to this, the facts be- ing clear both as to their nature and degree, it follows that we excite the hearer to pas- sion such as are pity, terror, anger, hatred, envy, emulation, and contentiousness : the elements of these also have been stated above. So that it merely remains to awa- ken a recollection of what has been stated before. And this we are to do here, in the way in which some erroneous teachers say we should in the exordium : for in order that the facts may be readily perceived, they bid us state them frequently. Now there in the exordium indeed we ought to state the case at full, in order that it may not be un- known to the hearer upon what the trial turns; here, however, in the peroration, merely the means by which it has been proved, and that summarily. The com- mencement of the peroration will be, that Feroratlos Peroratioa KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 354 one has made good what he undertook; so that it will be so stated, as well what one has adduced, as for what reasons. And it is exprest either by means of a juxtaposi- tion with the adversary's statements ; and draw the comparison either between every point whatsoever, which both have stated relative to the same thing; or else not by a direct opposition. "He, indeed, on this sub- ject said so and so; but I so and so, and for such reasons." Or, by a kind of ban- tering: thus: "He said so and so, and I so and so." And, "What would he do, had he proved this, and not the other point!" Or by interrogation : "What has not been fully proved on my side?" or, "What has this man established?" Either in this way, then, must the speaker conclude, or he must, in natural order, so state his reasoning as it was origi- nally stated; and, again, if he pleases, he may state distinctly that of the adversary's speech. And, for the close, the style with- out connectives is becoming, in order that it may be a peroration, not an oration : I have spoken — you have heard — the case is in your hands — pronounce your decision. — Aris- totle's Rhetoric and Poetics, p. 270. (B., 1906.) 869. PERORATION, METHODS OF APPEAL IN THE. — The accuser has re- course frequently to the arousing of com- passion, either by setting forth the distrest state of him for whom he hopes to find re- dress, or by describing the desolation and ruin into which his children and relations are likely thereby to be involved. He may, too, move the judges by holding out to them a prospect of what may happen hereafter if injuries and violence remain unpunished, the consequence of which will be that either his client must abandon his dwelling and the care of his effects, or must resolve to endure patiently all the injustice his enemy may try to do him. The accuser more frequently will endeavor to caution the judge against the pity with which the defendant intends to inspire him, and he will stimulate him, in as great a degree as he can, to judge accord- ing to his conscience. Here, too, will be the place to anticipate whatever it is thought the opponent may do or say, for it makes the judges more circumspect regarding the sa- credness of their oath, and by it the answer to the pleading may lose the indulgerice which it is expected to receive, together with the charm of novelty in all the particulars which the accuser has already cleared up — QuiNTiLiAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 353. (B. L., 1774.) 870. PERORATION OF A SPEECH. — The peroration, or closing words of a speech, ought, if possible, always to be its most powerful and impresive part. Many of our best orators in the pulpit, the senate, and at the bar, have not scrupled to leave on record that they have written and rewritten the perorations to their most celebrated or most important speeches, until they had as far as possible satisfied their minds with them, and then as diligently and carefully committed them to memory, as a great actor would who was desirous of making a pow- erful impression in the chief character of some tragedy. In fact, such memorable per- orations (the late Lord Brougham's, for in- stance, in his famous speech on behalf of the Queen Caroline) have been acted. If there is any part of a regular set speech that it is desirable to write out, it is certainly this; and high authority, moreover, sanc- tions the practice on great occasions. The peroration (to use a homely metaphor) should be the driving to the hilt of the va- rious weapons you have used in the course of your career. It should not be merely a general summary of the argument, but the directing it, sending it home to the minds and hearts of your audience by vivid lan- guage and, when fitting, impassioned appeals to the sentiments, feelings, and emotions of your hearers, so as in the most powerful manner to persuade or convince them of the truth or importance of the conclusions to which you have arrived. As soon as this end seems to you to be attained — and to judge of the time rightly is a most valu- able gift — close your speech and sit down. To know when the time for the peroration has arrived, and when to end it and sit down, contributes in no small degree to a speak- er's success. — Plumptre, King's College Lec- tures on Elocution, p. 363. (T. & Co., 1883.) 871. PERORATION, PURPOSES OF THE. — Sometimes the application will be in the form of explanation, either for the purpose of correcting erroneous views or for further instruction. This form of the per- oration may be denominated the explana- tory. Sometimes the object of the perora- tion may be to correct a wrong opinion, or to confirm a particular truth involved in the general theme, in which case the peroration will be confirmatory. Sometimes the object may be to address the subject more directly to the feelings, which will give rise to the excitatory or pathetic peroration. Or, once more, some action may be proposed, in the peroration, to the mind addrest, and then 355: TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Peroration FaroratloB the persuasive peroration will have place. The recapitulation is a form of peroration common to the various objects mentioned. The respective processes of explanation, con- viction, excitation, or of persuasion pursued in the discourse are, in this form, concisely repeated for the purpose of a more full and complete effect. — Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 56. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 872. PERORATION, STYLE OF THE. — I will not say, fill the peroration with the loftiest ideas, the liveliest sentiments, the most striking images, the boldest movement. Tho all this be authorized, countenanced by the very nature of the peroration, it may not be precisely the object of a rule. I ad- mit, indeed, that if we feel as much under obligation to timidity after as before proof, we should seem to have gained little ground. I admit that tho it is never proper to sound a trumpet, a firmer tone and higher preten- sions are legitimate now ; the peroration is the mouth at which the discourse discharges itself as the exordium is its source, and a river at its mouth is larger, fuller, more powerful, than it is at its source. I grant again, that the hearer warmed in the course, readily yields to rich and moving language. But yet again all this does not furnish mat- ter for a rule. Rather will I say, let the peroration be what it may. It is not a sep- arate and independent discourse, it is the re- sult of the discourse. It is truly excellent only from its relation and proportion to this. If we may give the peroration the bold, striking, impressive character of which I have spoken, we must be authorized to do this by the tenor of the discourse, by the impression we see we have made on the hearer. If we have something more urgent to say, let us say it; but often nothing re- mains but to give the mind a calm and sol- emn view of the subject, or impart to it a devotional frame. Very properly the per- oration will often be in a less elevated and less vehement tone than the preceding parts. Here again the rhetoric of the ancients can not be taken absolutely as our guide and model. "We may recommend the observa- tion of this short precept: Let the orator keep in view the whole stress of the cause, and on seeing what it contains either fa- vorable, odious, deplorable, or heinous, in reality or probably so, say those things which would make the greatest impression on him- self." Truly, after rhetoric like this, the judges would be on their guard, and would only have to remain so. The Cumulus, of which Quintilian tells us, as if the perora- tion were intended to gather into a heap all the impressions produced by the discourse, is not necessarily the character of the per- oration. Above all, it is not the essential and constant character of the peroration or epilog of the sermon; the sermon may be very properly finished in a manner very dif- ferent. It may be remarked that the perora- tions of the great masters of the pulpit are generally moderate and gentle. We may compare them to a river, the waves of which, sure to arrive at the sea, become slow at the mouth, and present to the eye only a sheet of water, the motion of which is almost insensible. — Vinet, Homiletics; or. The The- ory of Preaching, p. 327. (I. & P., 1855.) 873. PERORATION, THE. — Having said all that you have to say, or, at least, as much as you ought to say, you come to the peroration, which, in a set speech, should be a finale with a flourish of trumpets. It is permissible and safe to write this part of an oration and confide it to the memory, for it is too difficult a composition to be en- trusted wholly to the impulse of the moment. If a formal peroration is attempted, it must be excellent or it will be worse than worth- less. It is an ambitious effort, and to fail in it is to expose youfself to merciless ridi- cule. The most brilliant speech would be marred by an ending that left your audience laughing at you. Therefore, think well be- fore you adopt a peroration, for it is not necessary to a speech, tho very desirable be- cause highly effective. But having resolved upon it, spare no pains to perfect it. Write and rewrite until it approves itself to your taste. Then recite it aloud to try how it comes to your tongue and sounds in your ears. You will find that sentences seeming excellent when mentally read are often very ineffective when actually exprest by the lips. The peroration should not be the summing- up of your argument, but rather the point- ing of it to its purpose — the moral of what you have been saying commended to the re- gards of your audience. Your speech had been addrest to convince and persuade by many arguments and illustrations. The per- oration should be the concentrated sum of all you have sought to urge, clad in glowing colors, appealing to the moral sentiments, the human feelings, and even, where the oc- casion permits, to the passions of your hear- ers. Its object is to excite them to accep- tance of your argument by exalting their conceptions of the importance of your theme or to move them to action in accordance with the purposes for which you are ad- Peroration Perspicuity KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 356 dressing them. Whatever you say should have one of these definite designs. Merely fine words are merely impertinences. A per- oration should grow in power and brilliancy as it advances, until it rises to a climax. Having once soared, you must not sink again to the level of plain prose, but maintain the stream of poetry or passion, with a gradual swell if you can, but evenly at least, re- serving your most striking thought and pow- erful language for the conclusion. Your last words will live longest in the memory.— Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 245. (H. C, 1911.) PERORATION.— See also Conclusion. 874. PERSONAL APPEARANCE.— In a well-known French work on conversation, the first three chapters are devoted to the teeth, the mouth, and the tongue. To those who would excel in the art, the suggestion may not, however, be amiss that as regards personal appearance there should be neither striking defects nor effects. Not only should the teeth, as the French writer suggests, be kept scrupulously neat, and with them the minutest details of the entire person, but the hair and dress should be strictly within the average limits of the fashion of the day. The reason for this is manifest — there should be nothing to distract the eye or divert the attention from the expression of the coun- tenance, or from the words of the person conversing. The slightest neglect of clean- liness is quite enough, with the majority of refined people, to mingle a feeling of disgust with the most favorable impressions, even tho they may be quite unconscious of the source of the disagreeable feeling — for such defects often open to us, we know not why, a long train of offensive associations. Neat toilettes and good clothes are to be com- mended, since they are in a certain sense a compliment to all with whom you associate. But for a man, jewelry and striking orna- ments, gay colors and all that attracts the eye, form serious drawbacks. People of ex- perience in the world, especially intelligent and shrewd women, are prompt to form con- clusions from foppish eccentricities of dress, which are seldom to the credit of the wear- er; and tho they may pay a tribute of ad- miration to the ornaments in themselves, it will always be discounted from the respect due to the mind of the one who bears them. ■ — Carleton, The Art of Conversation, p. 37. (C, 1867.) 875. PERSONAL INVENTION AND IMITATION OF OTHERS.— Imitation alone will not be sufficient, if on no other account than that it is the mark of an in- dolent mind to rest satisfied with the inven- tions of others. What progress could be made in those times that were without an example, if men were supposed to do or think of merely what they had already known? The consequence must be that no invention would ever have taken place. Why, then, should we decline to attempt the inventing of a thing which did not exist before us? The ancients in their rough and unpolished state could, by the force of genius only, give birth to many things, and shall we not be stimulated to make inquiries, well knowing that they who have taken the trouble to seek, have found? And as they who had not a teacher in any one particular, could, not- withstanding, give to posterity many discov- eries, shall not the knowledge of these things be of service to us in exploring others; or shall we have nothing but that for which we are indebted to another? Just as some painters, knowing only how to copy, always remain slaves to the proportions and lines they see before them. Even they who do not aspire to the greatest perfection ought to try to excel rather than merely follow oth- ers, for he who strives to be first, tho he may not surpass, will at least equal; whereas he who thinks he must tread in an- other's footsteps, will never be able to come up with him, because as follower he always will be behind. — Quintilian, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 2, p. 218. (B. L., 1774.) 876. PERSONAL MAGNETISM.— The subtle power of attraction is a quality pos- sest by few persons. It is a potent influence in swaying and moving an audience, and is associated with geniality, sympathy, frank- ness, manliness, persuasiveness, and an at- tractive personal appearance. There is a purely animal magnetism, which passes from speaker to audience and back again, swiftly and silently. This magnetic quality is some- times found in the voice, in the eyes, or may be reflected in the whole personality of the speaker. The human eye as "the window of the soul" is one of the most effective and direct means of communication between man and man. — ^Kleisee, How to Speak in Pub- lic, p. 192. (F. & W., 1910.) 877. PERSONALITY OF THE PREACHER.— The power to awaken the soul is power. The preacher must be gen- uine; he must avoid all artificiality, and he 35!^ TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Feroratlon Fersplculty must have clear convictions of truth to convince the judgment, a quick imagination to kindle the imagination, strong feelings to move the feelings, an awakened conscience to arouse the conscience, and a powerful will to give an impulse to the will. He must ^ be swayed by the truth if he would bring others under its power. A strong personal- ity exercises a kind of coercion over an au- dience. — ScHENCK, Modern Practical Theol- ogy, p. 18. (F. & W., 1903.) 878. PERSPICUITY A RELATIVE QUALITY.— It is sufficiently evident, tho the maxim is often practically disregarded, that the first requisite of style not only in rhetorical, but in all compositions, is perspi- cuity; since, as Aristotle observes, language which is not intelligible, or not clearly and readily intelligible, fails, in the same pro- portion, of the purpose for which language is employed. And it is equally self-evident, tho this truth is still more frequently over- looked, that perspicuity is a relative quality, and consequently can not properly be predi- cated of any work, without a tacit reference to the class of readers or hearers for whom it is designed. Nor is it enough that the style be such as they are capable of under- standing, if they bestow their utmost atten- tion: the degree and the kind of attention, which they have been accustomed, or are likely to bestow, will be among the circum- stances that are to be taken into the account, and provided for. I say the kind, as well as the degree, of attention, because some hear- ers and readers will be found slow of appre- hension indeed, but capable of taking in what is very copiously and gradually explained to them ; while others, on the contrary, who are much quicker at catching the sense of what is exprest in a short compass, are incapable of long attention, and are not only wearied, but absolutely bewildered, by a diffuse style. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 167. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 879. PERSPICUITY. CAUSES FOR LACK OF.— It may be stated that the no-meaning or unintelligible is always im- putable to the speaker; the double-meaning or ambiguous, commonly to the language; and the half-meaning or obscure, occasional- ly to either and sometimes to both. A speak- er may be intelligible either for want of dis- tinct ideas, or of proper expressions. No man can give what he has not. Indistinct conception never can possess distinct com- munication. This is indeed generally con- sidered ss the sole cause of deficient perspi- cuity. When the idea in the mind is clear and definite, the words for conveying it com- monly present themselves, without any toil- some search. But this is not universally the case. A free command of language is not invariably the attendant upon accuracy of intellect. And there are even examples of shrewd and active minds, united with facility of speech, in persons whose dis- courses have been remarkably unintelligible. This was particularly the character of Oli- ver Cromwell, of whom the historian Hume observes that the sagacity of his actions and the absurdity of his discourse form the most prodigious contrast that ever was known. The unintelligible sometimes results from affectation of sublimity, and excessive atten- tion to the sound. There is something so pleasing in the mere music of harmonious articulation that combinations of words are employed which have no substantial mean- ing, but with which the speaker and hearer both rest contented, because they enjoy the gratification of the ear, and never take the trouble of scrutinizing the thought. This species of nonsense is more frequent in po- etry than in public speaking. Of the double- meaning, or ambiguity, the most frequent cause is equivocation, or the use of a word which with propriety may bear two different senses. I said it was most commonly im- putable to the defects inherent in the lan- guage. There are, however, two very dif- ferent kinds of equivocation which are used with design. The first is the employment of a word in one sense, with the intention that the hearer shall receive it in another. The other is a lighter and more trivial form, not used for any purpose of deception, but to amuse and surprize, by connecting the word in one sense with an idea, formed by its combination in another. These are merely the subsidies which wit borrows from buf- foonery. They terminate in quibbles, conun- drums, and puns; cross-readings, ship-news, and mistakes of the press. It has long been decided by the grave tribunals of criticism that in all this there is no genuine wit; but they are the spoiled children of genius. They are ranked by Quintilian among the figures of speech; nor is it easy to see why they have been degraded from that rank, any more than other tropes or figures, acknowl- edged to exist alone in the words. To ex- clude them systematically from the discourses of an orator is a severity to which I am not inclined; but to seek them with much assiduity were an idle waste of industry. But the ambiguities, against which rhetoric raises her voice, are different from either of Perspicuity Fersaaalon KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 358 these. They are the fruits of ignorance or inattention, and not of design. Her precepts against them are meant to guard not against intended deceit, but against possible miscon- ceptions. Tlie half-meaning or obscure was the third of the offences against perspicuity, which I have noticed; and this may arise from a great variety of causes. Sometimes from the defect of the language, when it does not furnish the words precisely adapt- ed to the speaker's ideas; and sometimes from the design of the speaker not to dis- close his whole idea, but to leave part of it to be formed by the imagination of the hear- er. There have been periods in the literary history of most cultivated languages, when obscurity has been estimated an accomplish- ment; when a writer has been admired in proportion to the quantity of his meaning which he did not express ; and when style was little more than a trial of skill between the writer and his reader. It is a fashion which for a time gives a false glare of rep- utation to those who carry it to the utmost success; but, as instability is the essential character of all corruption, the public taste is never steady to any particular stage of de- cay. The fashion, therefore, never lasts long; and the riddle-writers, after glittering for a day in the sunshine of favor, pass from the library to the lumber-room, and thence- forth delight only the moths and the mice. Obscurity often proceeds from want of at- tention in the speaker; and not unfrequently from a want of patience to assign to every idea its rightful word. So much more rapid is the action of thought than that of utter- ance, that a careless speaker will not allow himself time to articulate his whole idea. From every sentence, which they pronounce, some material word will be omitted; their opinions are all emitted in fragments; and as this over-haste commonly induces some confusion of mind, as well as of elocution, it is not easy for the hearer to supply the words which have been left out. To sum up all that has been said on that purity and perspicuity which constitute oratorical efe- gance, I can only say that if in public dis- course you can always make choice of such words as will convey effectually to the minds of your audience your meaning, your whole meaning, and nothing but your meaning, you will fairly be entitled to the character, and unquestionably obtain the reputation of an elegant speaker. — Adams, Lectures on Rhet- oric and Oratory, vol. 3, p. 176. (H. & M., 1810.) 880. PERSPICUITY DEFINED. — By analyzing the word perspicuity we shall im- mediately discover that it is figurative, and borrowed from the operations of the sight. The combination is Latin ; per aspico, to look through. Perspicuity, then, is the quality of being easily seen through. It is, according to Quintilian, the first virtue of eloquence. For every species of written composition it is doubtless a virtue of the highest order; but of public speaking it is the vital spark. It is the property, by means of which the orator makes himself understood by his au- dience; and a discourse deficient in perspi- cuity is just so far as that defect extends like an harangue to a multitude of one na- tion in the language of another. The term is equivalent to transparency; and means that we should present our ideas m so clear a light that they may be completely received by the minds of the auditory, as natural ob- jects are perceived, with all the advantages of daylight, through the medium of a cloud- less atmosphere. To the clear perception of any material object three things are indis- pensable: first, the object itself; secondly, light, as the medium of vision; and, thirdly, unobstructed space between the eye and the object. Apply these principles by analogy to the public discourse; the object itself is the idea in the speaker's mind; the light is the words and sentences, by means of which he attempts its transmission to the minds of his auditors; and the unobstructed space is the absence of every other object or idea which by intervention might intercept the communication of his thought. If the speak- er has in his own mind no distinct idea, there can be no perspicuity; because there will be no object to be seen. — Adams, Lec- tures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 2, p. 168. (H. & M., 1810.) 881. PERSPICUITY ESSENTIAL.— A common fault amongst speakers is to be noted. They address to ordinary assemblies words far above their comprehension. This is not the true sort of eloquence, and is not in the least likely to attain that end to which all true eloquence should be directed. It should be remembered that by the people at large nothing is so well understood as plain Saxon, or rather, we should say, a style of which Saxon forms the largest ingredient. Archbishop Whately remarks that the words of the English language convey their mean- ing with different degrees of velocity, corre- sponding to their remoteness from the Sax- on. In Latin derivatives it becomes less bright, and in Greek it glimmers obscurely 359 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING FerBpicnlty Ferauasion before the scholar, and is quite opaque to the unlearned. The same writer further ob- serves that in adapting the style to the com- prehension of the illiterate it is to be borne in mind that "the vulgar require a perspic- uous, but by no means a dry and unadorned, style; on the contrary, they have a taste rather for the over-florid, tawdry, and bom- bastic; nor are the ornaments of style by any means inconsistent with perspicuity; in- deed, metaphor, which is among the princi- pal of them, is in many cases the clearest mode of expression that can be adopted : it being usually much easier for uncultivated minds to comprehend a similitude or anal- ogy than an abstract term." Perspicuity de- pends to a certain extent on the structure of sentences, and care must be taken not to make these too long; or, if they are made long, to have them readily understood when- ever heard. According to Dr. Blair, obscur- ity of style necessarily springs from indis- tinctness of conception; but it is also true that many a speaker with clear ideas deliv- ers himself of them unintelligibly through his not having mastered the art of expres- sion. — Beeton, Art of Public Speaking, from Complete Orator, p. 32. (W. L. & Co.) 882. PERSPICUITY, MEANS OF OB- TAINING. — We must avoid expressions too little known or too abstract. Style on account of these will not be absolutely less perspicuous, but we speak of a perspicuity relative to the ordinary auditory of the preacher. The pulpit should give great at- tention to this. We ought in speaking to an auditory, on matters of the highest con- cern to them, to be intelligible to them. It is a singular thing that the sacrifices made for the sake of perspicuity sometimes inter- fere with precision; but perspicuity is be- fore everything. (2) We must avoid too much ellipsis. (3) We must exclude ambigu- ity, even tho it may not lead to error. It is always disagreeable and divides attention. (4) We must shun labored and embarrassed turns of expression. An unpractised mind will find much trouble in discriminating the principal point in a phrase but a little over- loaded. This, however, does not exclude the periodic style. (5) We must allow no want of unity of phrase. We cannot determine anything as to the length of a period, but it must be as to thought, grammar, the ear, a unit. Unity of thought exists when all the ideas are integrant parts of the principal idea. The period should have the effect of con- centric circles drawn around the same cen- ter. (6) We must not admit into the same sentence too many accessory or too many subtile ideas. (7) We must have no want of order in our plans, narrations, etc., by which the parts would be hindered from throwing suitable light on one another. — ViNET, Homiletics; or, The Theory of Preaching, p. 376. (I. & P., 1855.) PERSPICUITY,— See also Clearness. 883. PERSUASION AND MOTIVE.— The collective conscience is often stronger than its individual elements when dispersed and scattered. It is like the sympathetic mo- tion of an assembly, created by contiguity and multiplied by propinquity, flaming as a hundred fagots flame when piled together, which apart, by themselves, flicker, smolder, and go out. It is in the assembled throng, too, that the conscience of the better element stands for that of all, and the speaker can afford to address the highest motives of the best present. Humanity, philanthropy, the welfare of others, the service of mankind, reverence of the Creator, gratitude for bless- ings, and a sense of corresponding obligation, culminating in devotion and service — all these are considerations which may be presented to most persons without fear of repudiation, or of apprehension that they will have little effect at the time in moving the wills of many. Other motives may supplant these subsequently, for this the orator can not be held responsible. Only for his hour, and his contribution to the aggregate sum of influ- ences, is he answerable, according to his op- portunity and his ability. — Sears, The Occa- sional Address, p. 119. (G. P. P. Sons, 1897.) 884. PERSUASION AND PHILOSO- PHY. — Plato, in his Phasdrus, shows us that the greatest fault of rhetoricians is their studying the art of persuasion before they have learned from the principles of true philosophy what those things are of which they ought to persuade men. He would have orators begin with the study of mankind in general, and then apply themselves to the knowledge of the particular genius and man- ners of those whom they may have occasion to instruct and persuade. So that they ought first of all to know the nature of man, his chief end, and his true interest, the parts of which he is composed, his mind and his body, and the true way to make him happy. They ought likewise to understand his passions, the disorders to which they are subject, and the art of governing them ; how they may be usefully raised and employed on what is Fersuaalon FlillUps, Wendell KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 360 truly good; and, in fine, the proper rules to make him live in peace, and become entirely sociable. After this general study comes that which is particular. Orators ought to know the laws and customs of their coun- try, and how far they are agreeable to the genius and temper of the people, what are the manners of the several ranks and condi- tions among them, their different ways of education; the common prejudices and sep- arate interests which prevail in the present age, and the most proper way to instruct and reform the people. — FiNELON, Dialogs on Eloquence, p. 55. (J. M., 1808.) 885. PERSUASION, MEANS OF.— Of means of persuading by speaking, there are three species : some consist in the character of the speaker; others in disposing the hear- er a certain way; others in the thing itself which is said, by reason of its proving, or appearing to prove, the point. Persuasion is effected by means of the moral character, when the speech shall have been spoken in such a way as to render the speaker worthy confidence: for we place confidence in the good to a wider extent, and with less hesi- tation, on all subjects generally; but on points where no real accuracy exists, but there is room for doubt, we even entirely confide in them. This feeling, however, should arise by means of the speech, and not by reason of its having been preconceived that the speaker is a certain kind of man. For it is not true, as some treatise-mongers lay down in their systems, of the probity of the speak- er, that it contributes nothing to persuasion; but moral character nearly, I may say, carries with it the most sovereign efficacy in making credible. Persuasion is effected through the medium of the hearers, when they shall have been brought to a state of excitement under the influence of the speech ; for we do not, when influenced by pain or joy, or partiality or dislike, award our de- cisions in the same way. — Aristotle's Rheto- ric and Poetics, p. 12. (B., 1906.) 886. PERSUASION, POWER OF.— The mere vividness of an emotion may lead to animated expression, in countenance, voice, and action. Such a result may be uncon- scious and even unintentional, as is evinced in the natural communications of childhood. But of the deliberate and voluntary speak- er, who has a definite aim in utterance, we expect more than mere vivacity. The ora- tor — and such, for the time, is the minister in the pulpit — has a grave purpose to ac- complish — a specific end in view, toward which he wishes to conduct the minds of his hearers. He has within him a deep-felt emotion, which he wishes to impart to the heart of others. He is earnestly desirous to impress the pervading sentiment of his own soul on the sympathies of his audience. He calls imagination to his aid, to give form to his idea and figure to his language. He rea- sons, he argues, he persuades, he awes, he impels, he entreats, he warns, he threatens, he exhorts, he melts, he terrifies, he arouses, he subdues, he wins. His success is the re- ward of his earnest desire to compass his object. His triumph has been achieved, un- doubtedly, by intellectual force appropriate- ly directed — but through what means? His glowing and irresistible eloquence was not a mere affair of the brain and the pen. These instruments have done their work well. But what would have been their effect without the aid of the living tongue and the ex- pressive action? What gave the thoughts of the speaker an entrance to the heart was not merely their intellectual life and power, or their ideal beauty, but the earnestness of his tone, look, and gesture. The diffidence or the lethargic indifference of some preachers cuts them off from all such effects. They may feel what they say; but they speak as tho they felt it not. The earnest pleader might justly seem to say of them, in the ex- pressive words of the great dramatist, "Their words come from their lips — ours from our breast." Their own souls are not apparently aroused by what they utter; and how can it be expected that they should awaken others? If the preacher's tone is, in such cases, any index to his heart, he is indifferent as to the result. It may be, indeed, that he is one of those who disapprove of much emotion in the pulpit, and that he is an advocate of calm dignity, and manly reserve of manner. His stoic exterior is not to be disturbed by vehemence or excitement; and the slumber- ing soul is therefore to be left to its fatal lethargy. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 61. (D., 1878.) 887. PERSUASION, SUGGESTIONS FOR. — (1) Ascertain the habits of mind of your proposed audience. (2) Determine the special interests and the idiosyncrasies of your audience. (3) Connect lower with higher motives. (4) Remember that the larger the audience the higher the motives to which appeal may be made. (5) Star- tling an audience may rout indifference or effectively emphasize. (6) Let the nature of your task determine the order of your per- suasion. (7) Unify the persuasion for some 361 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING FersnaBlon PUUUps, Wendell definite purpose. (8) Be flexible; adapt the work to unexpected exigencies. — Baker and Huntington, The Principles of Argumenta- tion, p. 331. (G. & Co., 1905.) 888. PERSUASIVE POWER. — What great and powerful orator, whose object was to make a judge angry with his adver- sary, ever hesitated, because he was ignorant what anger was, whether "a heat of temper" or "a desire of vengeance for pain re- ceived?" Who, when he wished to stir up and inflame other passions in the minds of the judges or people by his eloquence, ever uttered such things as are said by the phi- losophers? part of whom deny that any pas- sions whatever should be excited in the mind, and say that they who rouse them in the breasts of the judges are guilty of a heinous crime, and part who are inclined to be more tolerant, and to accommodate themselves more to the realities of life, say that such emotions ought to be but very moderate and gentle. But the orator, by his eloquence, represents all those things which, in the common affairs of life, are considered evil and troublesome, and to be avoided, as heavier and more grievous than they really are; and at the same time amplifies and embellishes, by power of language, those things which to the generality of mankind seem inviting and desirable; nor does he wish to appear so very wise among fools, as that his audience should think him imperti- nent or a pedantic Greek, or, tho they very much approve his understanding, and ad- mire his wisdom, yet should feel uneasy that they themselves are but idiots to him ; but he so effectually penetrates the minds of men, so works upon their senses and feelings, that he has no occasion for the definitions of philosophers, or to consider in the course of his speech "whether the chief good lies in the mind or in the body" ; "whether it is to be defined as consisting in virtue or in pleas- ure"; "whether these two can be united and coupled together"; or "whether," as some think, "nothing certain can be known, noth- ing clearly perceived and understood ;" ques- tions in which I acknowledge that a vast mul- tiplicity of learning, and a great abundance of varied reasoning is involved : but we seek something of a far different character; we want a man of superior intelligence, saga- cious by nature and from experience, who can acutely divine what his fellow-citizens, and all those whom he wishes to convince on any subject by his eloquence, think, feel, im- agine, or hope. — Cicero, On Oratory and Ora- tors, p. 204. (B., 190e.) 889. PERSUASIVE PREACHING.— The business of the preacher is much more to persuade than to convince. As a rule, his audience are already subscribers to the same creed with himself. They are of his con- gregation because his beliefs are presumed to be identical with theirs. He has no need, therefore, to plunge into argument to prove that some persons there present are wrong or to convince his hearers that he is right. It is the specialty of the pulpit orator's dis- course tliat he is exempted from the neces- sity, imposed upon all other orators, of ad- dressing himself to those who differ from him, more or less, and seeking to convert them by argument, with that liability to in- stant attack and defeat which is the best protection against feebleness and fallacy. Consequently as the rule, subject of course to rare exceptions, the business of pulpit oratory is persuasion. To convince, you ad- dress the reason; to persuade, you appeal to the emotions. In the one case, you call upon your audience to reflect and pronounce a calm, impartial judgment; in the other, you desire that they should not think but feel, surrendering their judgments to you. The preacher's title to do this is founded upon the tacit assumption that his audience and himself hold substantially the same faith, and that it is his vocation to excite in them a sense of its grandeur and importance and to stir them to thought and action in accord- ance with its precepts. To these the preach- er adds the power of awe, as the bearer of a message from above, and he appeals to the emotions of veneration and of fear. Such being the mission of the preacher, the first question is, in what manner it should be performed. It is manifest that foremost of his accomplishments should be the faculty of moving— nay, of compelling even — his con- gregation to hearken to him. Let his dis- course be ever so excellent, it will be wasted on the air unless he can keep the attention of his audience awake and their minds, as well as their ears, wide open to receive it. Hence the first step toward pulpit oratory is a good delivery. Such is the charm of this that, as very little experience will satisfy you, a bad sermon well delivered is really more effective than a _good sermon badly delivered. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 250. (H. C, 1911.) 890. PHILLIPS, WENDELt.— Born at Boston, Mass., Nov. 29, 1811. Died 1884. He had a figure of "classic mold," fine head set on broad shoulders, mouth and chin in- dicative of firmness and independence. His FhlUlpB, WeudeU Pitt, WilUam KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 362 body was supple and graceful, his expression serene and intellectual. His temperament was sanguine, emotional. He had a delicious voice softly modulated, and faultless enunciation. His speech was polished and graceful. At the age of twenty-six he came into public notice through his "Lovejoy" speech in Fan- euil Hall in Boston, in 1837. From that time on, for twenty-five years he was the leading orator of the Abolitionists, and an untiring advocate of great reforms, including political equality of women, thus speaking almost al- ways to "hostile audiences." "With the au- thority that comes of lowliness before a great idea," said Moncure Daniel Conway, "rely- ing absolutely upon the eloquence of his truth, simple almost to coldness even amid his most scathing rebukes, his gestures few and natural, his voice clear and flexible, his serene, high forehead, fair hair, and light blue eyes modifying the severity of his low- er features, he is listened to with alterna- I tions of breathless silence and wild outbursts I of enthusiasm. . . . Mobs sent to break ! up his meetings have been known to return ' to their employers, saying : 'Never mam spake like this man.' He was prompt and without fear, in his judgments; lacking in judicial quality. To rhetorical skill and a wonderful vocabulary, he added fire and magnetism, humor and pathos, sarcasm and invective. He was most effective as a de- bater. His speeches lose much in the read- ing because of his fascinating personality, his thrilling voice, and charms of his graceful delivery. He used little flowery rhetoric. A child could have understood any one of his speeches. His purely conversational style, easy and familiar, was never relaxed, tho voice, delivery, and sentences gained in warmth and vigor as he went on. He had a retentive memory for scraps of information and striking anecdotes, and he cultivated this , faculty to the utmost." I ' 891. PHILLIPS, WENDELL, SIMPLI- CITY OF. — It has been justly said by some writer, that almost every one is sur- prized on first hearing Wendell Phillips. You are looking for a man who is all art, all thunder. Lo ! a quiet man glides on to the platform, and begins talking in a simple, easy, conversational way ; presently he makes you smile at some happy turn, then he star- tles you by a rapier-like thrust, then he elec- trifies you by a grand outburst of feeling. "You listen, believe, applaud. And that is Wendell Phillips. That is also oratory — to produce the greatest effect by the quietest means." We can not all be Phillipses; but we can all copy his naturalness, earnestness, and simplicity. — Mathews, Oratory and Ora- tors, p. 87. (S. F. & Co., 1896.) 892. PHILOSOPHY, KNOWLEDGE OF, NECESSARY TO THE ORATOR. — Philosophy is divided into three parts, nat- ural, moral, and ratiocinative, every one of which is naturally allied with the orator's business. To begin with the last, the object of which is to think and speak with justness, no one will doubt its belonging to the orator if it be his business to know the propriety of each expression, to clear up ambiguities, to disentangle perplexing matters, to judge be- tween truth and falsehood, to make accu- rate inductions, and to display a thing in all its lights according to the prescript of a certain method. This, however, is not so minutely, and with such precision, to be used in pleadings as in disputations, because it is the orator's duty not only to instruct but to move and please, for which as much vehe- mence and force are required for the former as graceful manner for the latter. Thus a large river, contained in a full and deep channel, flows with a more impetuous cur- rent than a shallow brook, which, purling, skips over small pebbles. As to that part of philosophy which is called moral, or ethics, the whole of it certainly very particularly concerns the orator, for in the great diver- sity of causes scarcely one may not be said to imply some discussion concerning what is equitable and honest. A great many causes are entirely on the quality of the fact, which constitutes a purely moral question. In de- liberations what method of counsel is with- out a question of honesty? And what shall I say of the demonstrative kind, consisting of praise or dispraise: has it not for its ob- ject vice and virtue? Shall not the orator constantly have occasion to enlarge much on justice, fortitude, temperance, love of coun- try, and benevolence? Therefore, our man oi integrity, who is acquainted with all these virtues not by their names only, nor from having merely learned them for the improve- ment of language, but has imbibed the es- sence of virtue in heart and mind, he, and he only, will not be at a loss to speak worthily of them, and to express his real and genuine thoughts. Now, as a general question is more comprehensive and general than a special one, because the part is contained in the whole, and not the whole in the part, no one will doubt that general questions are strictly allied to the kind of knowledge of which we speak; and as there are many things the na- ture of which requires to be cleared up by 363 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING PhUUps, WendeU Pitt, WUllam accurate and short definitions, whence the state of causes called definities — will not they who have best studied these particulars be able to elucidate them in the most satisfac- tory manner to others? Again, does not ev- ery question of right depend either on a propriety of terms, or concern equity, or con- jecture about the intention of the law-giver, part of which belongs to dialects and part to ethics? I therefore conclude that there is no oration, which is truly such, but naturally partakes of these two kinds of philosophy; for a readiness of speech will have little effect if untutored in knowledge of this kind, and it must of course go astray when it has none or only false guides. The part of phi- losophy which is called natural, besides al- lowing eloquence scope for exercise, em- braces also the whole moral system^ without which, as I have said, there can be no elo- quence. If the world be governed by provi- dence, it is certain that good men ought to apply themselves to the administration of the commonwealth. If our souls are of divine origin, we must endeavor to adorn them with virtue, and not make them subservient to the pleasures of an earthly body. Will not the orator frequently treat of these matters? — QuiNTiLiAN, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 2, p. 369. (B. L., 1774.) 893. PHYSICAL POWER IN SPEAK- ING. — The orator should have a strong constitution; he should have a sound head, a good digestion, and, above all, a robust chest, for nothing is so fatiguing or so exhausting as declamation when long continued. I speak of oratorical declamation, which brings sim- ultaneously into action the whole person, moral and physical — the head, all the econ- omy of which is strained to the uttermost by extemporization; the lungs, which inhale and respire with violence, frequently with a shock and a gulp, according to the discourse; the larynx which is expanded and contracted precipitately; the nervous system which is wound up to the highest degree of sensibil- ity; the muscular system which is keenly agitated by the oratorical stage-play from the soul of the foot to the tips of the fin- gers; and, finally, the blood which warms, boils, makes heart and arteries beat with quick strokes, and shoots fire through the whole organization, till the humors of the body evaporate and stream in drops of per- spiration along the surface of the skin. Judge from this whether, in order to bear such fa- tigue, health and vigor should be required.— Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 231. iS., 1901.) 894. PHYSICAL PREPARATION BE- FORE SPEAKING.— A walk in the open air, not too long, for that fatigues; but a brisk walk, when the health is good, and circumstances favorable, will invigorate, and enable one to grasp the whole subject at once and launch right into the heart of it. If, however, one is necessarily confined to a room, he should pace back and forth and swing the arms until the circulation becomes active and pours a stream of arterial blood to the brain that will supply all its demands. It is also well to fill the lungs, just before speaking, to their extremities, to start them, as it were, to their work. Especially is this necessary if one is obliged to sit before an audience awaiting the time to speak. It can be done easily, and without exciting the ob- servation of others. Do not talk to others before speaking. But have perfect repose just prior to vocal effort. — Frobisher, Act- ing and Oratory, p. 35. (C. of O. & A., 1879.) 895. PITT, WILLIAM.— The manner in which the younger Pitt succeeded to the tal- ents and position of the elder is one of the' most wonderful things in history. His father trained him from his infancy in the models which he himself had imitated so success- fully. Some of these means of improvement, which at least assisted in producing the pe- culiar character of the eloquence of father and son, are worthy of our attention. They both translated from the best classical au- thors, committed to memory choice passages from the poets, and prose writers they val- ued, thus acquiring great command of words. With such previous training, it would have been useless for them to write even in their most elaborate efforts. When the younger Pitt had finished the traditional college course and was admitted to the bar, he also en- tered Parliament, being then only twenty- three years of age. He delivered his first speech, which was entirely unpremeditated, only about a month afterward. It took the house by storm. In the midst of that bril- liant assembly, accustomed to the eloquence of Fox, Burke, and others worthy of any age, there was a universal burst of enthusi- astic admiration. When some one remarked, "Pitt promises to be one of the first speakers ever heard in Parliament," Fox replied, "He is so already." When only twenty-four years of age, he was made Prime Minister, and held the post for seventeen years. Altho there is room for a wide difference of opFn- ion regarding many of his acts during this time, there is none concerning his ability. Pitt, WlUlam Pitt, WUllam KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 364 Among other reforms that he advocated was the abolition of the slave trade. He made a speech on this subject that is still celebrated. Wilberforce said that "for the last twenty minutes he really seemed to be inspired." Windham declares "that he walked home lost in amazement at the compass, un- til then unknown to him, of human elo- quence." Pitt died at the comparatively early age of forty-seven, holding the highest of- fice in the gift of his country. — Pittenger, Oratory, Sacred and Secular, p. 147. (S. R. iW., 1869.) 896. PITT, WILLIAM. CHARACTER OF. — In person, Mr. Pitt was tall and slender; his features were somewhat harsh, but lighted up with intelligence by the flashes of his eye; his gesture was animated, but devoid of grace; his articulation was remark- ably full and clear, filling the largest room with the volume of sound. His manner of entering the House was strikingly indicative of his absorption in the business before him. "From the instant he passed the doorway," says Wraxall, "he advanced up the floor with a quick and firm step, his head erect and thrown back, looking neither to the right nor the left, nor favoring with a nod or a glance any of the individuals seated on either side, among whom many who possest £5,000 a year would have been gratified even by so slight a mark of attention." Those who knew him best as a speaker expatiated with de- light on "the perfection of his arrangement, the comprehensiveness of his reasonings, the power of his sarcasm, the magnificence of his declamation, the majestic tone of his voice, the legislative authority of his man- ner, and his felicitous observance of the tem- per of his audience." Mr. Canning has given the following sketch of his character, which will form an appropriate conclusion to this memoir. "The character of this illustrious statesman early passed its ordeal. Scarcely had he attained the age at which reflection commences, when Europe with astonishment beheld him filling the first place in the coun- cils of his country, and managing the vast mass of its concerns with all the vigor and steadiness of the most matured wisdom. Dig- nity — strength — discretion — these were among the masterly qualities of his mind at its first dawn. He had been nurtured a statesman, and his knowledge was of that kind which always lay ready for practical application. Not dealing in the subtleties of abstract poli- tics, but moving in the slow, steady pro- cession of reason, his conceptions were re- flective, and his views correct. Habitually attentive to the concerns of government, he spared no pains to acquaint himself with whatever was connected, however minutely, with its prosperity. He was devoted to the state. Its interests engrossed all his study, and engaged all his care. It was the element alone in which he seemed to live and move. He allowed himself but little recreation from his labors. His mind was always on its sta- tion, and its activity was unremitted. He did not hastily adopt a measure, nor hastily abandon it. The plan struck out by him for the preservation of Europe was the result of prophetic wisdom and profound policy. But, tho defeated in many respects by the selfish ambition and short-sighted imbecility of foreign powers — whose rulers were too venal or too weak to follow the flight of that mind which would have taught them to out- wing the storm — the policy involved in it has still a secret operation on the conduct of surrounding states. His plans were full of energy, and the principles which inspired them looked beyond the consequences of the hour. He knew nothing of that timid and wavering cast of mind which dares not abide by its own decision. He never suffered pop- ular prejudice or party clamor to turn him aside from any measure which his deliberate judgment had adopted. He had a proud re- liance on himself, and it was justified. Like the sturdy warrior leaning on his own battle- axe, conscious where his strength lay, he did not readily look beyond it. As a debater in the House of Commons, his speeches were logical and argumentative. If they did not often abound in the graces of metaphor, or sparkle with the brilliancy of wit, they were always animated, elegant, and classical. The strength of his oratory was intrinsic; it pre- sented the rich and abundant resource of a clear discernment and a correct taste. His speeches are stamped with inimitable marks of originality. When replying to his oppo- nents his readiness was not more conspicu- ous than his energy. He was always prompt and always dignified. He could sometimes have recourse to the sportiveness of irony, but he did not often seek any other aid than was to be derived from an arranged and ex- tensive knowledge of his subject. This qual- ified him fully to discuss the arguments of others, and forcibly to defend his own. Thus armed, it was rarely in the power of his ad- versaries, mighty as they were, to beat him from the field. His eloquence, occasionally rapid, electric, and vehement, was always chaste, winning, and persuasive — not awing into acquiescence, but arguing into convic- tion. His understanding was bold and com- 365 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING ntt, wiuitun Pitt, VilUam prehensive. Nothing seemed too remote for its reach or too large for its grasp. Unal- lured by dissipation and unswayed by pleas- ure, he never sacrificed the national treasure to the one, or the national interest to the other. To his unswerving integrity the most authentic of all testimony is to be found in that unbounded public confidence which fol- lowed him throughout the whole of his po- litical career. Absorbed as he was in the pursuits of public life, he did not neglect to prepare himself in silence for that higher destination, which is at once the incentive and reward of human virtue. His talents, su- perior and splendid as they were, never made him forgetful of that Eternal Wisdom from which they emanated. The faith and forti- tude of his last moments were affecting and exemplary." — Goodrich, Select British Elo- quence, p. 577. (H. & Bros., 1853.) 897. PITT, WILLIAM, ELOQUENCE OF. — Brougham gives a glowing account of his power as an orator. "He is to be placed without any doubt in the highest class. With a sparing use of ornament, hard- ly indulging more in figures, or even in fig- urative expression, than the most severe ex- amples of ancient chasteness allowed — -with little variety of style, hardly any of the graces of manner — he no sooner rose than he carried away every hearer, and kept the at- tention fixt and unflagging until it pleased him to let it go; and then 'So charming left his voice that we awhile Still thought him speaking, still stood fixt to liear.' This magical effect was produced by his un- broken flow, which never for a moment left the hearer in pain or doubt, and yet was not the mean fluency of mere relaxation, requir- ing no effort of the speaker, but imposing on the listener a heavy task; by his lucid ar- rangement, which made all parts of the most complicated subject quit their entanglement and fall each in its place ; by the clearness of his statements which presented a picture to the mind; by the forcible appeals to strict reason and strong feeling which formed the great staple of the discourse ; by the majesty of the diction; by the depth and fulness of the most sonorous voice and the unbending dignity of the manner, which ever reminded us that we were in the presence of more than the mere advocate and debater, that there stood before us a ruler of the people. Such were the effects invariably of this singular eloquence, nor did anything, in any mood of mind, ever drop frpni him that was unsuited to the majestic frame of the whole, or could disturb the serenity of the full and copious flood that rolled along." Macaulay says : "At his first appearance in Parliament he showed himself superior to all his contemporaries in command of language. He could pour out a long succession of round and stately periods, without ever pausing for a word, without ever repeating a word, in a voice of silver clear- ness, and with a pronunciation so articulate that not a letter was slurred over." — Pit- TENGEE, Oratory, Sacred and Secular, p. 148. (S. R. W., 1869.) 898. PITT, WILLIAM, METHOD OF. — William Pitt, the younger, was born at Hayes, in Kent, on the 28th of May, 1759. He was the second son of Lord Chatham and Lady Hester Grenville, Countess of Temple. William Pitt's whole soul from boyhood was absorbed in one idea — that of becoming a distinguished orator; and when he heard at the age of seven that his father had been raised to the peerage, he instantly exclaimed, "Then I must take his place in the House of Commons." To this point all his youthful efforts were directed, with a zeal and con- stancy which knew of no limits but the weak- ness of his frame, and which seemed almost to triumph over the infirmities of nature. A few notes as to the studies by which the greatest of English orators trained his favo- rite son for public life will not be found uninteresting. His mode of translating the classics to his tutor was a peculiar one. He did not construe an author in the ordinary way, but after reading a passage of some length in the original, he turned it at once into regular English sentences, aiming to give the ideas with great exactness, and to express himself, at the same time, with idio- matic accuracy and ease. Such a course was admirably adapted to the formation of an English style, distinguished at once for copi- ousness, force, and elegance To this early training Mr. Pitt always ascribed his ex- traordinary command of language, which en- abled him to give every idea its most felici- tous expression, and to pour out an unbroken stream of thought, hour after hour, without once hesitating for a word, or recalling a phrase, or sinking for a moment into loose- ness or inaccuracy in the structure of his sentences. Locke on the Understanding was his favorite author on the science of mind; he soon mastered Smith's "Wealth of Na- tions," which was first published when he was a member of college. He had the finest parts of Shakespeare by heart. He read the best historians with great car$. Middletpn'.; Flan KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 366 "Life of Cicero" and the political and his- torical writings of Bolingbroke were his fa- vorite models in point of style ; he studied Barrow's sermons by the advice of his father for copiousness of diction, and was intimate- ly acquainted with the sacred Scriptures, not only as the guide of his faith and practise, but as the true "well of English undefiled." — Beeton, British Orators and Oratory, from Complete Orator, p. 27. (W. L. & Co.) 899. PITY, CAUSES OF.— Let us ex- plain the circumstances which excite pity; and the persons whom men pity; and, as regards themselves, with what dispositions. Now let pity be defined to be, "a sort of pain occasioned by an evil capable of hurting or destroying, appearing to befall one who does not deserve it, which one may himself expect to endure, or that some one connected with him will ; and this when it appears near for it evidently is necessary that a person likely to feel pity should be actually such as to deem that, either in his own person, or of some one connected with him, he may suffer some evil, and that an evil of such a descrip- tion as has been stated in the definition, or one similar to it, or nearly equivalent to it. On which account neither do those who are absolutely lost, feel pity ; for these think they shall no longer be exposed to suffering, for their sufferings are past; nor those who es- teem themselves excessively happy, but these wax insolent ; for evidently, if they esteem every good to be realized to them, they also esteem their lot to be incapable of suffering any evil; since this also enters into the num- ber of goods. But of this description, viz., such as think they may yet suffer evil, are both who already have suffered and escaped ; and those advanced in years, as well by rea- son of their prudence, as of their experience : and the weak; and those who are rather timid ; and men of education, for these cal- culate life's contingencies aright; and those to whom belong parents or children or wives, for these attach to one's self and are liable to suffer the above-mentioned evils. Those do not feel pity who are under the excite- ments of courage, for instance, under anger or confidence; for these feelings little calcu- late the future : nor do those feel pity who are under insolent dispositions ; for these per- sons also calculate little of suffering any- thing: but those who are of the mean tem- perament between these are susceptible of pity: and those again are not susceptible of it who are vehemently affected by fear, for such as are horror-struck do not feel pity, by reason of its being akin to an evil which comes home to themselves. Also people are susceptible of pity, should they esteem some persons to be good; for he who esteems no one to be such, will think every one deserv- ing of evil. And, in a word, every one, when he is so affected as to call to his recollec- tion the fact that evils of such a character have befallen either him or his, or to appre- hend that they may befall him or his. And now it has been stated with what dispositions men feel pity. The circumstances which ex- cite their pity will be evident from the defi- nition : for whatever things, of the number of those which cause pain and anguish, have a tendency to destroy, are all such as to cause pity : again, everything whose tendency is utter abolition ; also all those evils which involve the quality of greatness, and of which chance is the cause. But the evils whose characteristic is great anguish and destruc- tion, are as follows : death, assaults, personal injuries, and age, and sickness, and want of food. And the evils of which chance is the cause are absolute want, or fewness of friends (on which account even the being torn from friends and familiars is a circum- stance to be pitied), ugliness, infirmity, de- formity, and the circumstance that some evil befalls one from a source whence it were be- coming for some good to have arisen ; and the frequent occurrence of a similar thing: and the accession of some good, when one has already passed his sufferings ; as, for ex- ample, the gifts of the king were sent down to Diopithes after he was dead ; and the fact either that no good has accrued, or of their being no enjoyment of it when it has arrived. These, then, and the like, are the circum- stances on account of which men feel pity. But people are sensible of pity toward their acquaintances, if they be not extremely close connection, but about such they feel just as they do about themselves when on the eve of suffering : and on this account Amasis, as they say, did not shed a tear over his son when he was being led to execution, but he did over his friend who was asking an alms; for this was a circumstance to call for pity ; the other, to excite horror. For horror is distinct from pity and has a ten- dency to expel pity from the breast, and is frequently available to produce a contrary effect. Still men feel pity while the evil is yet approaching. And they feel it toward their equals, whether in age, in temper, in habits, in rank, or in family; for in all these relations the evil is seen with greater clear- ness as possible to befall also one's self. For we must here also assume generally that whatever people fear in their own case, that 367 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING nt7 Flan they pity as happening in the case of others. But as the disasters which excite pity always appear to be close at hand, while, as to those removed at the distance of ten thousand years men neither in the expectation of them, if future, nor in the remembrance of them, if past, are sensible of pity at all, or at least not in an equal degree; this being the case, it must follow that those characters which are got up with the aid of gesture, and voice, and dress, and of acting, generally have the greater effect in producing pity. For thus, by setting the evil before our eyes, as either being on the eve of taking place, or as having happened, men make it appear to be close at hand. Likewise, things which have just taken place, or are quickly about to do so have on this very account a greater tendency to ex- cite pity. Also the indications and actions of persons ; for instance, the garments of those who have suffered, and other things of that sort. And the expressions of those under suffering, for instance, of those already in act of dying. And especially is it a cir- cumstance to move pity, that, while in these crises, the persons have borne themselves virtuously. For all these circumstances pro- duce pity in a higher degree from its appear- ing near; also the fact of the person's being unworthy, and his disaster appearing in view before our eyes. — Aristotle's Rhetoric and Poetics, p. 136. (B., 1906.) 900. PLAN, ADHERING TO THE.— No change in the plan should be made just before speaking, for it will almost inevitably produce confusion. Yet this error is very difficult to avoid. The mind has a natural tendency to be going over the same ground, revising and testing every point, and is li- able to make changes, the consequences of which can not at once be foreseen. After all necessary preparation has been made, we should wait the result quietly and hopefully. Over-study is possible, and, when accompa- nied by great solicitude, is a sure means of driving away all interest from the subject. If the eye be fixt too long upon one object, in a steadfast gaze, it will be unable to see at all. So the mind, if confined to one point for a great period, will lose its vivacity, and grow weary. Nothing can compensate for the want of elasticity and vigor in the act of delivery. It is not enough to enumerate a dry list of particulars, but we must enter into their spirit with the deepest interest. This can not be counterfeited. To clearly arrange and weigh every thought that be- longs to the subject, lay it aside until the time for speech, and then enter upon it with only such a momentary glance as will assure us that all is right, is doubtless the method to make our strength fully available. To await the decisive moment with calm self- confidence, is very difficult, especially for be- ginners, but the ability to do it may be acquired by judicious practise and firm reso- lution. — PiiTENGER, Oratory Sacred and Secu- lar, p. 98. (S. R. W., 1869.) 901. PLAN, ADVANTAGE OF A BRIEF. — A brief plan is better than a long one. Often a single word will recall an idea as perfectly as many sentences would do, and will burden the memory less. We do not expect the draft of a house to equal the building in size, but only to indicate the position and proportion of its apartments. The plan can not supply the thought, but, indicating what exists in the mind, it shows how to bring it forth in regular order. It is a pathway leading to a definite end, and, like all roads, its crowning merits are di- rectness and smoothness. Without these, it will perplex and hinder rather than aid. Ev- ery word in the plan should express, or assist in expressing, an idea, and be so firmly bound to it that the two can not be separated by any exigency of speech. It is perplexing in the heat of discourse to have a prepared note lose the idea attached to it, and become mere- ly an empty word. But if the conception is clear, and the most fitting term has been chosen to embody it, this can not easily hap- pen. A familiar idea may be noted very briefly, while one that is new requires to be more fully exprest. Most sermon skeletons may be brought within the compass of a hundred words, and every part be clear to the mind that conceived it, tho perhaps not comprehensible by any other. — Pittenger, Oratory, Sacred and Secular, p. 88. (S. R. W., 1869.) 902. PLAN, A GENERAL.— The right distribution of your plan depends on your manner of conceiving your subject and the end you have in view in your discourse; nor have general rules much practical range even here. What is required are, good sense, sa- gacity, and tact; good sense to see things as they are, in their true light, or in their most favorable aspect, so as not to say what will not befit the occasion; sagacity, to turn the subject over, penetrate it through, analyze it, anatomize it, and exhibit it, first on paper, then in speaking; tact, to speak appropri- ately, leave in the shade whatever can not appear without disadvantage, and bring out into strong light whatever is most in your Plan Flan KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 368 favor; to put everything in its own place, and to do all this quickly, with neatness, clearness, simplicity, so that in the very knot of the statement of the case may be dis- cerned all the folds and coils of the main idea about to be untied and laid forth by the discourse. An ill-conceived, an ill-divided plan, which does not at once land the hearer right in the middle of the subject and in full possession of the matter, is rather an encum- brance than a help. It is a rickety scaffold- ing which will bear nothing. It but loads and disfigures the building instead of serving to raise it. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 201. (S., 1901.) 903. PLAN, ARRANGEMENT OF THE. — The plan of a discourse is the or- der of the things which have to be unfolded. You must therefore begin by gathering these together, whether facts or ideas, and ex'ara- ining each separately, in their relation to the subject or purport of the discourse, and in their mutual bearings with respect to it. Next, after having selected those which be- fit the subject, and rejecting those which do not, you must marshal them around the main idea, in such a way as to arrange them ac- cording to their rank and importance, with respect to the result which you have in view. But what is worth still more than even this composition or synthesis, you should try, when possible, to draw forth, by analysis or deduction, the complete development of one single idea, which becomes not merely the center, but the very principle of the rest. This is the best manner of explaining or de- veloping, because existences are thus pro- duced in nature, and a discourse, to have its full value and full efficiency, should imitate her in her vital process, and perfect it by idealizing that process. In fact, reason, when thinking and expressing its thought, per- forms a natural function, like the plant which germinates, flowers, and bears fruit. It oper- ates, indeed, according to a more exalted power, but it follows in the operation the same laws as all beings endued with life; and the methods of analysis and synthesis, of deduction and induction, essential to it, have their types and symbols in the vital acts of organic beings, which all proceed likewise by the way of expansion and con- traction unfolding and enfolding, diffusion and collection. The most perfect plan is, therefore, the plan which organizes a dis- course in the manner nature constitutes any being fraught with life. It is the sole means of giving to speaking a real and natural unity and, consequently, real strength and beauty. which consist in the unity of life. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 116. (S., 1901.) 904. PLAN, DRAWING OF THE— The speaker should have his plan well fixt, not only on paper, but in his head, so as to keep ever present before his mind the chain of the thoughts, and so as to proceed successively from one to the other in the prescribed order of the exposition. The dis- course, then, is mounted, as it were, in a frame from which it ought not to slip, under pain of digressing and diverting, by its de- viations, the attention of the hearers from the subject, as a river which overflows its bed sweeps away whatever it meets, and spreads death and ruin where it ought to have dif- fused refreshment and fertility. Or to speak more properly, the discourse which thus over- flows carries nothing at all with it except those wordy waves which beat upon the ears without leaving behind them a single idea or moving a single feeling. Many of those who are anxious to speak extemporaneously, and who do not understand it, for want of talent or of preparation, are lost in this manner. The current of their discourse, which is not kept within its banks, gets every moment di- vided and loses itself in emptiness, like those rivers with a multiplicity of mouths, which are absorbed by the sands. It is a highly im- portant matter, then, to know how to confine oneself to one's plan — altho one must not be such a slave to it as to leave no room for the new thoughts which may occur at the moment. That would be to deprive oneself of one of the chief advantages of extempori- zation — the inspiration of the moment, and the life it gives to the discourse. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 254. (S., 1901.) 905. PLAN, ESSENTIAL PROPER- TIES OF A GOOD.— The plan of a dis- course should be neat — that is, it should be drawn out with such exactness, and with such an orderly and logical distribution of all its parts as will enable its author to take in at a glance the one end to be gained and the means of gaining it. There will be nothing in this plan which will be obscure or doubt- ful ; no feature of it which will not indicate something of importance. It will not em- brace many great ideas ; but each idea which it embraces will, in some degree at least, be a great one, and one which will contain in itself the source of many happy thoughts, and of many fruitful inspirations. And, as the plan is, in the strictest sense of the word. 369 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING PUn Flan the mere skeleton of the sermon, the rough draft which the skilful hand of the artist traces out in order to secure unity of view and of means before he begins to fill in the rich and varied details of his composition, it will, as a necessary consequence, be simple. It will admit of no style or fine writing. It will contain, not the development of fine ideas, but the skeleton of them. It will form the dry bones, strong, vigorous, and compact as you will, but still the dry bones, which the skilful hand of the artist is presently to clothe with living flesh and muscle; and it will neither form, nor aim at forming, anything more. The plan should be duly proportioned ; that is to say, in sketching the plan of a dis- course we should assign to each truth, to each great idea, and to each leading argu- ment, that degree of prominence which is in- trinsically or relatively due to it; so that there shall reign in the whole discourse a true and legitimate concord of its various parts, one to another, and to the whole. This proportion and harmony, which contribute so powerfully to the beauty* of a discourse, are doubly necessary to him who extemporizes. Unless the various parts of his discourse be duly proportioned beforehand, and strongly determined and marked out — unless he have put everything in its own place, and done this with such neatness, clearness, simplicity, and order as never to lose sight of the great leading idea of his sermon — unless the plan be so arranged that, in its working out, the development of each great thought, and of each line of argument, lead him back to this parent idea — the extemporary preacher runs great risk of delivering a discourse which will be much more remarkable for diffuseness, disorder, and confusion, than for the con- trary qualities. Most preachers, rightly enough, propose to divide their discourse into three great parts, viz., introduction, body, and conclusion. But neglecting, or being unable, to proportion these parts duly, the result is a monstrum horrendum. Some spend nearly the whole time in beating about the bush, in laboring to break the ground and open up the subject; and the monster which they cre- ate is known by his enormous head. They never really get beyond the introduction. There are others who seem unable to finish — ^who never know when or how to wind up; and their creation is known by the length of his tail. There are others who, forgetting that each argument or head of the discourse should be merely a development of the lead- ing idea of the whole — forgetting that their secondary propositions or accessory thoughts have no real utility except what they derive from that leading idea — spend too much time, and dilate too much upon those secondary propositions; and, doing this at the cost of the parent idea, they produce an excrescence which deforms and mars the beauty of the object whence it has its source. In all these, and many other cases of the like nature, the result is a monster, more or less deformed and out of due proportion. — Potter, The Spoken Word, p. 71. (M. H. G. & Son, 1880.) 90e. PLAN, IMPORTANCE OF A GOOD. — The importance, both to the author of a sermon and to his hearers, of a good distribution, as preliminary to writing, can not be too highly estimated. On this depends, materially, facility of execution in writing; and, still more, clearness of appre- hension on the part of hearers. He who has a well-defined subject, and by patient thought has acquired and properly arranged all the materials requisite to its treatment, has of course clear views, and can with compara- tive rapidity clothe his conceptions in suit- able language. His pen will readily give all needed expansion to his main thoughts ; and subordinate thoughts will be in waiting to fill their appropriate places. Such a man's hearers, too, readily come into Jiis track ; his words, expressing clear ideas, make well- defined impressions. Hearers generally, when the preacher has a poor plan, feel the diffi- culty, tho they may not be able to trace it to its real source; and one of the reasons why a man of a truly philosophical mind is able "to make things plain" even to illiterate hear- ers, is, that he presents clear thoughts in a proper order. The remark of Dugald Stew- art has much weight, that "there i§ no tal- ent so essential to a public speaker, as to be able to state clearly every different step of those trains of thought by which he was led to the conclusions he wishes to establish"; or, it may be added, to be able to state clear- ly every different step of those trains of thought which are adapted to convey to oth- ers a right apprehension of a subject, and a conviction of its truth and importance. In other words, an ability to form a good plan of a discourse, is essential to a public speak- er. To attempt to make, or to hear, a ser- mon, without such a plan is, as Herder re- marks, to wrestle without a firm foothold. And however much labor the forming of a plan may cost, the labor should be cheerfully endured; since it will be so amply repaid in' benefit both to the preacher himself and to his hearers. — Ripley, Sacred Rhetoric, p. 85. (G. K. & L., 1849.) Plan Pleasure KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 370 907. PLAN IN PREACHING, ADVAN- TAGES OF A.— (1) It will aid his inven- tion. Arranging thought suggests thought. The mind moves along related thoughts nat- urally and strongly. (2) It will stir his feel- ings. Feelings are aroused by a succession of suitable truths, while they are checked by confused thoughts. (3) It will suggest strik- ing particular thoughts. The flashings of genius, and the force of such thoughts in a sermon will b-e increased by having them in their proper setting. (4) It will aid his memory, helping in the delivery of a writ- ten sermon, and it is absolutely essential to good extemporaneous preaching. — Schenck, Modern Practical Theology, p. 35. (F. & W., 1903.) 908. PLAN, OBJECT OF THE.— At the moment when we have, whether it be directly or indirectly, conceived our subject, that subject stands out before us in one sense clearly, in another sense enveloped in a certain amount of obscurity. We see clear- ly, and with the utmost distinctness, the one great leading idea, the one plain, practical truth, which is to be carried home to the minds and hearts of our hearers. We see, too — altho perhaps not quite so clearly — that the matter with which our course of reading has supplied us, the arguments, comparisons, illustrations, and sympathetic appeals, which have been carefully recorded in our notes, range themselves naturally and instinctively, so to speak, under two or three great leading heads. In other words, that they are refer- able either to Sacred Scripture, to theology, or to reason and experience, but that, inas- much as they have not yet been referred to their own proper heading, or put in their own proper place, a certain disorder and con- fusion, resulting in obscurity, exists amongst them. And it is the precise object of the plan of the discourse to get rid of this ob- scurity by thus putting everything in its own place; so that, when we ascend the pulpit to extemporize, we may carry in our mind a clear and sharply defined skeleton of the dis- course which we intend to deliver — a well- regulated plan which shall at once lend that strength to our composition which ever springs from order and logical sequence of ideas, and that confidence to ourselves which is never wanting to any man who speaks with the conscious knowledge that he has something to say, something worth saying, and that he not only knows what he is about to say, but also how he intends to say it; or, in other words, the order and connection of his discourse — of one part with another and with the whole. — Potter, The Spoken Word, p. 63. (M. H. G. & Son, 1880.) 909. PLAN OF DISCUSSION.— It would obviously be as absurd in a writer to construct an introduction before the plan of the discourse is determined upon, as it would be in an architect to put up a portico before he had determined what kind of a house to attach to it. That this absurdity is frequently committed in writing and in architecture only shows the necessity of calling particular at- tention to it. There is no one feature of the introduction which may not receive its de- terminate character from the proposition and the discussion. The length, the matter, in- cluding both the thought and the feeling, and the style can not be known till the plan of the discussion is fully determined upon. By this it is not meant that the discussion should be written out or reduced to forms of language; but merely that the whole plan of the dis- cussion be distinctly conceived in the mind before the introduction is composed. The necessity of thus first studying out and ac- curately determining in the mind the plan of the discussion before the introduction is com- menced, appears not only from the fact that unless this be the case it is all a matter of mere accident whether there by any corre- spondence between it and the body of the discourse, but also from the consideration that it is only thus that unity, in which lies all the life of invention as well as of dis- course, can be secured. The very idea of a discourse, as a product of a rational mind that ever has an aim in its proper workings, involves the necessity of unity; and this unity appears in discourse mainly in the proposi- tion and the discussion as the essential parts. The clear perception of what is needed to be effected in the mind addrest by way of prep- aration, in order that this aim of the dis- course can be attained in it, is absolutely indispensable both to guide invention in con- structing the introduction and to stimulate it so that its work shall be easy and success- ful.— Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 55. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 910. PLAN, WRITING OF THE.— Be- ware of introducing style into the arrange- ment of your plan; it ought to be like an artist's draft, the sketch, which, by a few lines unintelligible to everybody save him who has traced them, decides what is to en- ter into the composition of the picture, and each object's place. Light and shadow, col- oring and expression, will come later. Or, to take another image, the plan is a skele- 371 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Pleasure ton, the dry bone-frame of the body, repul- sive to all except the adept in anatomjr, but full of interest, of meaning, and of signifi- cance for him who has studied it and who has practised dissection; for there is not a cartilage, a protuberance, or a hollow which does not mark what that structure ought to sustain — and therefore you have here the whole body in epitome, the entire organiza- tion in miniature. Hence, the moment you feel that your idea is mature, and that you are master of it in its center and its radia- tions, its main or trunk lines, take the pen and throw upon paper what you see, what you conceive in your mind. If you are young or a novice, allow the pen to have its way and the current of thought to flow on. There is always life in this first rush, and care should be taken not to check its impetus or cool its ardor. Let the volcanic lava run ; it will become fixt and crystalline of itself. Make your plan at the first heat, if you be compelled to do so, and follow your inspira- tion to the end; after which let things alone for a few days, or at least for several hours. Then re-read attentively what you have writ- ten, and give a new form to your plan; that is, re-write it from one end to the other, leaving only what is necessary, what is essential. Eliminate inexorably whatever is accessory or superfluous, and trace, engrave with care, the leading characteristics which determine the configuration of the discourse, and contain within their demarcations the parts which are to compass it. Only take pains to have the principal features well marked, vividly brought out, and strongly connected together, in order that the division of the discourse may be clear and the links firmly welded. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 196. (S., 1901.) PLAN. — See also Outline. 911. PLAUSIBILITY IN SPEAKING. — Plausibility has an effect on the mind inde- pendent of faith or probability, arising from the consistency of the narration, from its being natural and feasible. The want of plausibility implies an internal improbability, requiring stronger external evidence to sur- mount. The implausibility may be surmount- ed by such evidence, and be certified of what is itself implausible. Implausibility is posi- tive evidence against a narrative ; plausibility implies no positive evidence for it. Fiction may be as plausible as truth. Probability is a light darted on the object from proofs, called evidence. Plausibility is a native luster issu- ing directly from the object. The former is the aim of the historian, the latter of the poet. The proof of this is found in the ef- fects of tragedy, epic poetry, and romance. Tho plausibility alone has often greater effi- cacy in rousing the passions than probability or even certainty; yet in any species of com- position wherein truth, or at least probability is expected, the mind quickly nauseates the most plausible tale which is unsupported by proper arguments. For this reason it is the business of the orator, as much as his sub- ject will permit, to avail himself of both qualities. There is one case, and but one, in which plausibility itself may be dispensed with; that is, when the fact is so incontes- table that it is impossible to entertain a doubt of it; for when implausibility is incapable of impairing belief, it has sometimes, especially in forensic causes, even a good effect. By presenting us with something monstrous in its kind, it raises astonishment, and thereby heightens every passion which the narrative is fitted to excite. — Campbell, The Philoso- phy of Rhetoric, p. 80. (G. & W. B. W., 1833.) 912. PLEASURE FROM PUBLIC SPEAKING.— I am persuaded that, pre- viously to trial, no young man can duly es- timate the glow of public discourse as a source of pleasure. When the soul is car- ried by the greatness of the subject, and the solemnity of the occasion, above its ordinary tracts, so as to be at once heated and en- larged by passion, while the kindled counte- nances of the hearers, and the reflected ar- dor of their glance carry a repercussive influence to the speaker; or when the tear twinkles in the eye of penitence, and weeping throngs attest the power of truth and af- fection; then it is that preaching becomes its own reward. This is more than rhetorical excitement and stageheat, it is caused by Christian emotion. Call it sympathy, if you please; I am yet to learn what harm there is in this : it is legitimate sympathy. If a Christian minister ever has deep impressions of truth, we may expect it to be in the pul- pit — there, if anywhere, we may hope for special gifts from above; and these gifts are dispensed for the sake of the hearer, and are reckoned on, as graces, or tokens of indi- vidual piety. Yet they constitute a great part of the preacher's happiness. They are not dependent on eloquence, in its common mean- ing; for they fall equally to the share of the humblest, rudest preacher, provided he be all on fire with his subject, and bursting with love to his people. No scholarship, filing, or varnish, can compass this; it comes from Fleasnrea Poetry KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE zn the heart : and many a minister has chipped at the edges of his sermon, and veneered it with nice bits of extract, only to find that its strength had been whittled away. There may be more awakening or melting, in a back- woodsman's improvization, than in all the climacteric periods of Melville, or all the balanced splendor of Macaulay. Certainly the delight of soul is on the side of him who is most in earnest. It is especially love that moves the souls of hearers, and love, in its very nature, gives happiness. It can not be that a man can be frequently the subject of those feelings which belong to evangeli- cal preaching, without being for that very reason a happier man. — AlexandeEj Thoughts on Preaching, p. 93. (S., 1862.) 913. PLEASURES OF ELOQUENCE. — I now assert only that of which I am con- vinced, that altho oratory is not an art, no excellence is superior to that of a consum- mate orator. For to say nothing of the ad- vantages of eloquence, which has the high- est influence in every well-ordered and free state, there is such delight attendant on the very power of eloquent speaking, that noth- ing more pleasing can be received into the ears or understanding of man. What music can be found more sweet than the pronunciation of a well-ordered oration? What poem more agreeable than that skilful structure of prose? What actor has given greater pleasure in imitating, than an orator gives in supporting truth? What penetrates the mind more keenly than an acute and quick succession of arguments? What is more admirable than thoughts illumined by brilliancy of expression? What nearer to perfection than a speech replete with every variety of matter? for there is no subject susceptible of being treated with elegance and effect, that may not fall under the pro- vince of the orator. It is his, in giving coun- sel on important affairs, to deliver his opin- ion with clearness and dignity; it is his to rouse a people when they are languid, and to calm them when immoderately excited. By the same power of language, the wicked- ness of mankind is brought to destruction, and virtue to security. Who can exhort to virtue more ardently than the orator? Who reclaim from vice with greater energy? Who can reprove the bad with more asper- ity, or praise the good with better grace? Who can break the force of unlawful desire by more effective reprehension? Who can alleviate grief with more soothing consola- tion? By what other voice, too, than that of the orator, is history, the evidence of time, the light of truth, the life of memory, the directress of life, the herald of antiquity, committed to immortality? For If there be any other art, which professes skill in invent- ing or selecting words; if any one, besides the orator, is said to form a discourse, and to vary and adorn it with certain distinc- tions, as it were, of words and thoughts; or if any method of argument, or expression of thought, or distribution and arrangement of matter, is taught, except by this one art, let us confess that either that, of which this art makes profession is foreign to it, or possest in common with some other art. But if such method and teaching be confined to this alone, it is not, tho professors of other arts may have spoken well, the less on that ac- count the property of this art ; but as an ora- tor can speak best of all men on subjects that belong to other arts, if he make him- self acquainted with them, so the professors of other arts speak more eloquently on their own subjects, if they have acquired any in- struction from this art; for if any person versed in agriculture has spoken or written with eloquence on rural affairs, or a physi- cian, as many have done, on diseases, or a painter upon painting, his eloquence is not on that account to be considered as belong- ing to any of those arts ; altho in eloquence, indeed, such is the force of human genius, many men of every class and profession at- tain some proficiency even without instruc- tion; but tho you may judge what is pe- culiar to each art, when you have observed what they severally teach, yet nothing can be more certain than that all other arts can discharge their duties without eloquence, but that an orator can not even acquire his name without it; so that other men, if they are eloquent, borrow something from him ; while he, if he is not supplied from his own stores, can not obtain the power of speaking from any other art. — Cicero, On Oratory and Ora- tors, p. 339. (B., 1909.) 914. POETRY AND SPEECH.— Poetry is a more serious and useful art than com- mon people imagine. Religion consecrated it to its own use from the very beginning of the world. Before men had a text of divine scripture, the sacred songs, which they learned by heart, preserved the remembrance of the creation and the tradition of God's wonderful works. Nothing can equal the magnificence and transport of the songs of Moses. The book of Job is a poem full of the boldest and most majestic figures. The Song of Solomon gracefully and tenderly expresses the mysterious union of God with 373 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Pleasures Poetiy the soul of man, which becomes his spouse. The Psalms will be the admiration and com- fort of all ages and all nations who know the true God. The whole scripture is full of poetry, even in those places where there is not the least appearance of versification. Be- sides, poetry gave the world its first laws; it softened men's wild and savage tempers ; it drew them from the forests where they wan- dered about, and civilized them; it governed their manners; it formed families and na- tions; and made them relish the sweety of society; it restored the exercise of reason; it cultivated virtue, and invented polite arts; it animated people's courage for war; and disposed them lilcewise for the calm enjoy- ments of peace. Speech, animated by lively images, noble figures, the transport of pas- sions, and the charms of harmony, was called the language of the gods : even the most bar- barous nations felt its power. — F4nelon, A Letter to the French Academy, p. 347. XJ- M., 1808.) 915. POETRY, HOW TO READ.— Be- fore you begin to learn to read poetry, as- certain if you are infected by the evil habit of singing it, for until that is entirely sub- dued progress is hopeless. Your own ear will not help you in this investigation, for it has been perverted also and has ceased to inform the mind of the fact. You can not so hear yourself as to sit in judgment 'on yourself — at least until another has listened and pointed out your defects to you and you learn from his instructions where you err. Call in, then, the aid of a judicious friend. Ask him to hearken while you read a few short passages from poetry in various meters and instruct him that, with most resolute dis- regard of the danger of wounding your self- love, he must stop you on the way and tell you of every lapse into song, sing-song, or chant. He must be inflexible in his criti- cism or you will not mend. Score with a pencil in the book the lines or words of which he complains. If he is apt at imita- tion, ask him to show you, by his own voice, the manner of your reading. Afterward, when alone, read the same passages again from the scored page, carefully avoiding the faults he had told you of as attaching to the words marked by the pencil. Thus re- peat them several times. A few lessons, so learned, submitting the same passages to the judgment of your listener, will enable you to avoid the most offensive features of the evil habit. But be not impatient. As the mischief was early implanted, has been long cherished and grown with your growth, it will not be cured without much care and per- severance. However tedious the delay, do not abandon the task until it is thoroughly achieved. It will not be time wholly lost. Having once unlearned, the task of learning will be comparatively easy. Thus, having learned how poetry ought not to be read, you will proceed to learn how it ought to be read. You must not sing it; you must not chant it; you must not drawl it; you must not ignore the meter and the rime ; you must not make prose of it. When, then, are you to do with it? Read it so that meter, rhythm and rime may be made sensible to the listen- er's ear, but without giving prominence to either. The difference between the reading of poetry and prose lies in this, that you mark by your voice the peculiar characteris- tics of poetry. You must observe the me- ter, not altogether by intoning it but by the very gentlest inflection of the voice. You must indicate the rhythm by a more melodi- ous utterance and the rime by a slight — very slight — emphasis placed upon it. The rule is plain enough. The difficulty lies in preserv- ing the right degree of expression. I can not convey this to you by words, it can be taught only by examples. Your ear should guide you and would do so, if it were not perverted by bad habits. But, as those hab- its are probably formed, I can but advise you to do for this as for so many other in- gredients of the art. If you have not a judi- cious friend who will hear patiently and tell you of your faults frankly, apply to a pro- fessional teacher. But there are some fre- quent errors of which I may usefully warn you. Avoid set pauses. Some readers, other- wise skilful, will make a pause at precisely the same point in the meter of each line, whether the sense does or does not require it. This is not merely monotonous — it is wrong. In the reading of poetry, as of prose, the sound must be subordinate to the sense. Altho there is a measuring of words in po- etry, there is no measure for the pauses. You must pause wheresoever the sense demands a pause, without regard to the apparent exi- gencies of meter or rime. If that pause so falls that it disturbs the melody of the verse or the harmony of the rime, you should pre- serve them by so managing your voice that, after the pause, it shall resume with the self- same tone with which it rested, just remind- ing the hearer of the music of the verse as an added charm to the beauty of the thought. Then, again, shun carefully the still more frequent practise of pausing at the end of each line, regardless of the requirement of the Poetry Political Speafclntr KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 374 thought. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Read- ing, and Speaking, p. 139. (H. C, 1911.) 916. POETRY, READING OF.— Theo- phrastus says that the reading of poets is of vast service to the orator. Many, and with good reason, are of the same opinion, as from them may be derived sprightHness in thought, sublimity in expression, force and variety in sentiment, propriety and decorum in character, together with that recreation for cheering and recruiting minds which have been for any time harassed by the drudgery of the bar. Therefore, Cicero thinks relaxa- tion should be sought for amidst the pleas- ure of poetic reading. Let it, notwithstand- ing, be remembered that poets are not in all things to be imitated by the orator, neither in the Hberty of words nor license of fig- ures. The whole of that study is calculated for ostentation. Its sole aim is pleasure, and it invariably pursues it, not only by fictions of what is false, but of some things that are incredible. It is sure also of meeting with partisans to espouse its cause, because as bound down to a certain necessity of feet, it can not always use proper words, and being driven out of the straight road, must turn into some byways of speaking, and be com- pelled both to change some words, and to lengthen, shorten, transpose, and divide them. As for orators, they must stand their ground completely armed in the order of battle, and as they fight for matters of the highest con- sequence, must think of nothing but gaining the victory. Still I would not have their armor appear squalid and covered with rust, but retain rather a brightness that dismays, such as of polished steel, striking both the mind and eyes with awe, and not the splen- dor of gold and silver, a weak safeguard in- deed, and rather dangerous to the bearer.— QuiNTiLiAN, Institutes of the Omtor, vol. 2, p. 186. (B. L., 1774.) 917. POETRY, USE OF DRAMATIC. — The great object of dramatic poetry is the natural and powerful expression of passion : this is the grace paramount, to which all others must bend, and which must not be sacrificed to any minor embellishments. It is true, the verse in which that passionate ex- pression is clothed lends it dignity and grace, and therefore, even on the stage, rhythm and meter must be preserved in delivery: but it must be done easily and without pedantry or apparent effort. For he would make but a poor impression on the heart who in an over- whelming burst of passion should stop to note a cesural pause, or the rest which in ordinary poetical reading marks the close of the line. If he be an artist, a correct ear and good taste will prevent the actor wan- tonly destroying the poet's rhythm; judg- ment will guide him in passages where he may, with propriety and grace, linger on the melody of the lines, while the power of truth- ful feeling and passionate enthusiasm will exalt him above the trammels of ordinary rule which would tame his imagination and fetter his energies. — Vandenhcff, Art of Elocution, p. 164.* (S. & S., 1851.) 918. POINTS TO BE AVOIDED IN SPEAKING. — I very frequently observe that persons by no means dishonest do mis- chief in causes. I am used to retreat, or, to speak more plainly, to flee from those points which would press hard on my side of the question. How much harm do others do when they neglect this, saunter in the en- emy's camp, and dismiss their own guards? Do they occasion but slight detriment to their causes, when they either strengthen the sup- ports of their adversaries or inflame the wounds which they can not heal? What charm do they cause when they pay no re- gard to the characters of those whom they defend? If they do not mitigate by extenu- ation those qualities in them that excite ill will, but make them more obnoxious to it by commending and extolling them, how much mischief is caused by such management? Or what if, without any precautionary language, you throw bitter and contumelious invectives upon popular persons, in favor with the judges, do you not alienate their feelings from you? Or what if there be vices or bad qualities in one or more of the judges, and you, in upbraiding your adversaries with such demerits, are not aware that you are attacking the judges, is it a small error which you then commit? Or what if, while you are speaking for another, you make his cause your own, or, taking affront, are carried away from the question by passion, and start aside from the subject, do you occasion no harm? In this respect I am esteemed too patient and forbearing, not because I willing- ly hear myself abused, but because I am un- willing to lose sight of the cause; as, for instance, when I reprove for attacking an agent, not me your adversary. From such conduct, however, I acquire this advantage, that if any one does abuse me, he is thought to be either ill-tempered or out of his wits. Or if in your arguments you shall state any- thing either manifestly false, or contradictory to what you have said or are going to say, or foreign in its nature to the practise of 373 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Po»try Political SpeaUmf trials and of the forum, do you occasion no damage to your cause? Why need I say more on this head? My whole care is con- stantly devoted to this object (for I will repeat it frequently) to effect, if I can, some good by speaking; but if not, to do at least no harm. — Cicero, On Oratory and Orators, p. 313. (B., 1909.) 919. POISE AND RELAXATION.— Relaxation means "letting go." Poise means "equilibrium," that is, equally balancing all the powers in use. Poise means power un- der control. Poise means storing up energy instead of wasting it in useless expression. Poise in a speaker suggests great stores of power in reserve. Poise stops the waste of vital power. Through relaxation you learn to let go; through poise you learn to hold and accumulate your inner power. Poise teaches you to be calm and deliberate under varied circumstances. Poise gives you a real- ization of strength even tho you are quiet and silent. Poise does not mean listlessness, vacuity, weakness, or mind-wandering. To learn to speak in poise is the highest art of the public speaker. Such a speaker does not need to proclaim his power through vocifer- ous voice and violent gesture; because of his poise, in which all of his powers are finely balanced, he both expresses and sug- gests immense power at command. — ^Anony- mous. 920. POLITICAL SPEAKING.— A politician must often talk and act before he has thought and read. He may be very ill- informed respecting a question; all his no- tions about it may be vague and inaccurate; but speak he must; and if he is a man of talents, of tact, and of intrepidity, he soon finds that, even under such circumstances, it is possible to speak successfully. He finds that there is a great difference between the effect of written words, which are perused and re-perused in the stillness of the closet, and the effect of spoken words which, set off by the graces of utterance and gesture, vi- brate for a single moment on the ear. He finds that he may blunder without much chance of being detected, that he may reason sophistically, and escape unrefuted. He finds that, even on knotty questions of trade and legislation, he can, without reading ten pages, or thinking ten minutes, draw forth loud plaudits, and sit down with the credit of having made an excellent speech. Lysias, says Plutarch, wrote a defence for a man who was to be tried before one of the Athenian tribunals. Long before the defen- dant had learned the speech by heart, he became so much dissatisfied with it that he went in great distress to the author. "I was delighted with your speech the first time I read it; but I liked it less the second time, and still less the third time; and now it seems to me to be no defence at all." "My good friend," said Lysias, "you quite forget that the judges are to hear it only once." The case is the same in the English parha- ment. It would be as idle in an orator to waste deep meditation and long research on his speeches, as it would be in the manager of a theater to adorn all the crowd of cour- tiers and ladies who cross over the stage in a procession with real pearls and diamonds. It is not by accuracy or profundity that men become the masters of great assemblies. And why be at the charge of providing logic of the best quality, when a very inferior article will be equally acceptable? Why go as deep into a question as Burke, only in order to be, like Burke, coughed down, or left speak- ing to green benches and red boxes? This has long appeared to us to be the most seri- ous of the evils which are to be set off against the many blessings of popular gov- ernment. It is a fine and true saying of Ba- con, that reading makes a full man, talking a ready man, and writing an exact man. The tendency of institutions like those of Eng- land is to encourage readiness in public men, at the expense both of fulness and of exact- ness. The keenest and most vigorous minds of every generation, minds often admirably fitted for the investigation of truth, are ha- bitually employed in producing arguments such as no man of sense would ever put into a treatise intended for publication, arguments which are just good enough to be used once, when aided by fluent delivery and pointed language. The habit of discussing questions in this way necessarily reacts on the intel- lects of our ablest men; particularly of those who are introduced into parliament at a very early age, before their minds have expanded to full maturity. The talent for debate is de- veloped in such men to a degree which, to the multitude, seems as marvelous as the performances of an Italian improvisatore. But they are fortunate indeed if they re- tain unimpaired the faculties which are re- quired for close reasoning or for enlarged speculation. — Edinburgh Review, April, 1839. 921. POLITICAL SPEAKING, PRAC- TICAL. — The political orator may have two sorts of questions to treat — questions of principle, and questions of fact. In the lat- ter, which is the more ordinary case, at least Poptdar Assemlillea Power KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 376 among well-constituted communities, whose legislation and government rest upon remote precedents and are fixt by experience, the plan of a discourse is easy to construct. With principles acknowledged by all parties, the only point is to state the matter with the circumstances which qualify it and the reasons which urge the determination de- manded from the voice of the assembly. The law or custom to which appeal is made, con- stitutes the major premise (as it is termed in logic) ; the actual case, brought by the circumstances, within the law or those prece- dents, constitutes the minor premise; and the conclusion follows of its own accord. In order to carry away the assent of the major- ity, you describe the advantages of the pro- posed measure, and the inexpediency of the opposite course, or of any other line. To treat such subjects properly, there needs no more than good sense, a certain business habit, and a clear conception of what you would say and what you demand. You must thoroughly know what you want, and how to express it. In my mind, this is the best po- litical eloquence, that is, business speaking, expounding the business clearly, succinctly with a knowledge of the matter, saying only what is necessary, with tact and temper- ately, and omitting all parade of words and big expressions, even those which embody sentiments, save now and then in the exor- dium and peroration, according to the case. It is in this way that they generally speak in the British Parliament; and these speeches are of some use ; they come to something, and carry business forward, or end it. Hap- py the nation which has no other sort of po- litical eloquence I—Bautain, Art of Extem- pore Speaking, p. 124. (S., 1901.) 922. POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. — It happens that because a popular assembly ap- pears to the orator to be his most enlarged scene of action, he is naturally excited in it to a more magnificent species of eloquence; for a multitude has such influence that, as the flute-player can not play without his flutes, so the orator can not be eloquent with- out a numerous audience. And, as the in- clinations of popular assemblies take many and various turns, an unfavorable expression of feeling from the whole people must not be incurred ; an expression which may be excited by some fault in the speech, if any- thing appears to have been spoken with harshness, with arrogance, in a base or mean manner, or with any improper feeling what- ever; or it may proceed from some offence taken, or ill-will conceived, at some particu- lar individuals, which is either just, or aris- ing from some calumny or bad report; or it may happen if the subject be displeasing; or if the multitude be swayed by any impulse from their own hopes or fears. To these four causes as many remedies may be ap- plied : the severity of rebuke, if you have sufficient authority for it ; admonition, which is a milder kind of rebuke; an assurance, that if they will give you a hearing, they will ap- prove what you say; and entreaty, which is the most condescending method, but some- times very advantageous. But on no occa- sion is facetiousness and ready wit of more effect, and any smart saying that is consistent with dignity and true jocularity; for nothing is so easily diverted from gloom, and often from rancor, as a multitude, even by a sin- gle expression uttered opportunely, quickly, smartly, and with good humor. — Cicero, On Oratory and Orators, p. 331. (B., 1909.) 923. POPULAR ASSEMBLIES, SPEAKING BEFORE.— The very aspect of a large assembly engaged in some debate of moment and attentive to the discourse of one man, is sufficient to inspire that man with such elevation and warmth as both gives rise to strong impressions and gives them pro- priety. Passion easily rises in a great assem- bly, where the movements are communicated by mutual sympathy between the orator and the audience. That ardor of speech, that vehemence and glow of sentiment, which arise from a mind animated and inspired by some great and public object, form the peculiar characteristics of popular eloquence in its highest degree of perfection. The warmth which we express must be suited to the occa- sion and the subject, for nothing can be more preposterous than an attempt to introduce great vehemence into a subject which is either of slight importance or which by its nature requires to be treated of calmly. A temper- ate tone of speech is that for which there is most frequent occasion, and he who is on every subject passionate and vehement will be considered as a blusterer and meet with little regard. We must take care never to counterfeit warmth without feeling it. This always betrays persons into an unnatural manner, which exposes them to ridicule. For, as I have often suggested, to support the appearance without the real feeling of pas- sion, is one of the most difficult things in nature. The disguise can almost never be so perfect as not to be discovered. The heart can only answer to the heart. The great rule here, as indeed in every other case, is to follow nature, never to attempt a strain of 377 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Popular AsaemliUMi Power eloquence which is not seconded by our own genius. One may be a speaker, both of mucli reputation and much influence, in the calm argumentative manner. To attain the pa- thetic and the sublime of oratory requires those strong sensibilities of mind and that high power of expression which are given to few. Even when the subject justifies the ve- hement manner and when genius prompts it, when warmth is felt not counterfeited, we must still set a guard on ourselves not to allow impetuosity to transport us too far. Without emotion in the speaker, eloquence, as was before observed, will never produce its highest effects; but, at the same time, if the speaker lose command of himself he will soon lose command of his audience, too. He must never kindle too soon, he must begin with moderation, and study to carry his hear- ers along with him as he warms in the pro- gress of his discourse. For if he runs be- fore in the course of passion and leaves them behind, if they are not tuned, if we may speak so, in unison to him, the discord will presently be felt and be very grating. Let a speaker have ever so good reason to be ani- mated and fired by his subject, it is always expected of him that the awe and regard due to his audience should lay a decent restraint upon his warmth and prevent it from carry- ing him beyond certain bounds. If when most heated by the subject, he can be so far master of himself as to preserve close atten- tion to argument and even to some degree of correct expression, this self-command, this exertion of reason, in the midst of passion, has a wonderful effect both to please and to persuade. It is indeed the masterpiece, the highest attainment of eloquence, uniting the strength of reason with the vehemence of passion, affording all the advantages of pas- sion for the purpose of persuasion, without the confusion and disorder which are apt to accompany it. — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 2, p. 338. (A. S., 1787.) 924. POWER AND PROOF IN DIS- COURSE. — All the parts of a sermon need not be equally good and powerful. Two or three more elaborate and striking passages will sufiice to ensure success ; but those pas- sages should be such as effectually to over- throw prejudices and errors, and should be conclusive against all gainsayers. There should be intervals to break monotony— that stumbling-block of many sermons; to give the mind rest ; to allow time for the hearts of the audience to be penetrated by what has been said ; to introduce familiar topics which do the soul so much good; to bind up the wounded ; in a word, intervals for the preach- er to become the father after having repre- sented the King, to attract the hearts after having gained the minds of his hearers. It is a mistake to aim at making every part of a sermon equally powerful and equally prom- inent. It is an attempt against nature. More- over, we should not aspire to adduce every available proof in support of a particular truth. One or two will suffice, and the stron- gest is not always the most convinc- ing to your audience. Select those likely to produce the greatest impression, and forbear when that end is attained. The victory is yours, retain it, and do not expose yourself to a reverse. There are men who do not think they have proved a thing until they have brought together, pell-mell, all the known proofs in the world. The consequence is that, after listening to one of their ser- mons, the question discust appears more con- fusing to you than ever. — Mullois, The Cler- gy and the Pulpit, p. 133. (The C. P. S., 1867.) 925. POWER, RESERVES OF.— There is one phase of energy which is not always given the credit that belongs to it, namely, its reserves. By this is not meant a lack of force, or even the failure to put it forth when its possession is evident. It is rather the restraint of power somewhat within its utmost limit. It is typified by the powerful engine which does its work with apparent ease, without strain or jar, and is manifestly able to do much more at high pressure. There have been speakers who conveyed a similar impression. They were speaking magnificent- ly, but with apparent ease, without straining or ranting, perhaps without flights of ora- tory, while the hearers waited for the burst of eloquence which they knew was possible. Such reserve may or may not be satisfac- tory; but, all in all, it is preferable to the extreme endeavor which indicates that the orator has reached his highest poiht and can go no farther without collapse. It may be constantly wished that the speaker would do his best here and there, but his restraint may, after all, be more satisfactory than another man's boisterous rant. The listener never knows how much is reserved; on the other hand, he sometimes would like to know what might be done at the speaker's best. The subject is a rare one, and the occasion also, when an orator may not find places to ex- ert his utmost power once or twice in the course of his address. The audience is bet- ter pleased when they have had at least a glimpse of his highest attainment. Still, re- Power Fractlie KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 378 straint is better than extravagance. — Sears, The Occasional Address, p. 155. (G. P. P. Sons, 1897.) 926. POWER, SPECIAL SOURCES OF. — In the pulpit especially, where we address frequently the same audience, upon great moral and religious truths, all motives of a selfish or worldly character will com- monly fail to impart earnestness to the de- livery. Here it is indispensable that the whole moral nature of the speaker should be habitually filled and inspired, not occasionally and in a factitious manner excited by the desire to accomplish the object for which he speaks. Here nothing can supply, even for elocutionary purposes, the want of a living faith, and a personal interest, in the solemn and glorious truth we have to declare, or the want of a deep and heart-piercing con- viction that the salvation of those to whom we speak depends upon their believing it, or the want of an habitual and all-constraining desire that they should believe and be saved. This was the source of the eloquence of the prophets and apostles, as it has been of all other great and powerful preachers of the gospel. In like manner, all the other great human interests, if we would promote them by speaking, must lie at all times very near our hearts. They must be the objects for which we not only speak, but constantly live. We must take serious views of serious things ; habitually exclude all low and groveling and unworthy thoughts, and fill our souls with pure, lofty, and magnanimous sentiments; sentiments which are superior to all selfish considerations; sentiments above the fear of death, because they belong to that in us which is immortal. In a word, we must be able to draw our inspiration from the deep fountains of patriotism and philanthropy, from the love of our country and our kind, from liberty, justice, truth, and God. It is this which in- spires delivery with power. — McIlvaine, Elo- cution, p. 91. (S. A. & Co., 1874.) 927. PRACTISE AND IMITATION.— Let this be the first of my precepts, to point out to the student whom he should imitate, and in such a manner that he may most care- fully copy the chief excellences of him whom he takes for his model. Let practise then follow, by which he may represent in his im- itation the exact resemblance of him whom he chose as his pattern ; not as I have known many imitators do, who endeavor to acquire by imitation what is easy, or what is remark- able, or almost faulty; for nothing 'is easier than to imitate any person's dress, or atti- tude, or carriage; or if there is anything of- fensive in a character, it is no very difficult matter to adopt it, and be offensive in the same way; in like manner as that Fusius, who even now, tho he has lost his voice, rants on public topics, could ever attain that nervous style of speaking which Caius Fimbria had, tho he succeeds in imitating his distortion of features and broad pronunciation; but he neither knew how to choose a pattern whom he would chiefly resemble, and in him that he did choose, he preferred copying the blem- ishes. But he who shall act as he ought, must first of all be very careful in making this choice, and must use the utmost dili- gence to attain the chief excellences of him whom he has approved. — Ciceko, On Oratory and Orators, p. 245. (B., 1909.) 928. PRACTISE, DAILY, RECOM- MENDED. — It is not enough to think methodically, in order to speak well, altho this be a great step toward it; to express or say what is thought is also necessary; in other words, form must be added to the sub- stance. We must learn then how to speak as well as how to think well. Here, again, practise surpasses theory, and daily exercise is worth more than precepts. Rhetoric teaches the art of language ; that is, of speak- ing or writing elegantly, while grammar shows how to do so with correctness. It is clear that before anything else, the rules of language must be known and observed; but correctness gives neither elegance nor grace, which are the most requisite qualities of the orator. How are they then to be acquired? In the first place, there is what can not be acquired — -a natural fund, which nature alone can give. Women are remarkable for it. The gracefulness with which nature has endowed them diffuses itself generally into their lan- guage; and some speak, and even write, ad- mirably, without any study; under the sole inspiration of feeling or passion. Credit, in- deed, must be given to the medium in which they are placed, and the society in which they live, constituting a moral atmosphere in which their very impressionable and open minds — unless wilfully closed — absorb all influences with avidity, and receive a kind of spontane- ous culture and education. As plants, which bear in their germs the hidden treasures of the most brilliant and odoriferous flowers, inhale from the ground where they are fixt, and the air which encompasses them, the coarsest juices and the subtlest fluids, which they marvelously transform by assimilation ; so these delicate souls absorb into themselves all they come in contact with, all that im- 379 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Fowev FtaotlBe presses or nourishes them; which they mani- fest by a soft radiation, by a graceful ef- florescence in their movements, actions, words, and whatever emanates from their persons. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speak- ing, p. 61. (S., 1901.) 929. PRACTISE, IMPORTANCE OF. — It is pitiable to witness the hopes and con- ceits of ambition without a resolute spirit in its required exertions. The art of reading well is one of those accomplishments all wish to possess, many think they have already, and some set about to acquire. These, after a few lessons with an elocutionist, and no toil of their own, are disappointed at not be- coming themselves at once masters of the art, and abandon the study for some new sub- ject of trial and failure. Such cases of in- firmity are in part the result of an incon- stancy in the whole tribe of human nature; but they chiefly arise from defects in the usual course of instruction. Go to some, may we say all of our colleges and universities, and observe the art of speaking is not taught here. See a boy of but fifteen years — with no want of youthful diffidence or feeling, and not without a craving desire to learn — sent upon a stage, pale and choking with appre- hension ; being forced into an attempt to do that, without instruction, which he came pur- posely to learn ; and furnishing amusement to his classmates by a pardonable awkwardness, that should be punished, in the person of his pretending but neglectful preception, with lit- tle less than scourging. Then visit a con- servatory of music; observe there, the ele- mentary outset, the orderly task, the masterly discipline, the unwearied superintendence, and the incessant toil to reach the utmost accom- plishment in the singing voice ; and afterward do not be surprized that the pulpit, the senate, the bar, and the chair of medical professorship, are filled with such abomina- ble drawlers, mouthers, mumblers, clutterers, squeakers, chanters, and mongers in monot- ony; nor that the schools of singing are con- stantly sending abroad those great instances of vocal wonder, who triumph along the high places of the world; who are bidden to the halls of fashion and wealth; who sometimes quell with pride of rank, by a momentary sen- sation of envy: and who draw forth the in- telligent curiosity, and produce the crowning of delight and approbation of the prince and sage. — Rush, The Philosophy of the Human Voice, p. 443. (L. G. & Co., 1855.) 930. PRACTISE IN SPEAKING.— An excellent exercise both for voice and health. one that will both improve the strength of the lungs and the carriage of the body, is to walk and speak aloud at the same time, a task which at first will appear difficult and tiresome, but by practice will become easy; and I answer for it that the voice will be Ijy this means much increased in strength, the carriage of the body improved, and the health of the lungs greatly promoted. I recommend any person whose professioij calls on him to speak aloud and long, to make frequent trial of this exercise. Let him take Brutus' speech for example : let him commence, the first day, by walking slowly while he recites aloud with the proper inflections, etc., but not with too great an effort of voice. Let him con- tinue this exercise daily, gradually increasing in exertion of voice and rapidity of walk, and I will undertake that in a very short time he shall be able not only to execute the whole of that speech while walking in the open air, but that he shall be able at length to speak it clearly, distinctly, and forcibly, while running gently uphill. — Vandenhoff, Art of Elocution, p. 808. (S. & S., 1851.) 931. PRACTISE, JUDICIOUS. — No knowledge of principles, however thorough, no study of models, however extended, will make an artist without exercise. Indeed, there is a possibility of cultivating the judg- ment and the taste to an excess as compared with the creative power, so as to impede rather than to aid the exertion of it. A highly refined taste will be offended and dis- gusted with the imperfect products of a feeble inventive and constructive power; and the work of composing may be made thus a constantly disagreeable and repulsive work. This is experienced by nearly all who have neglected the art of writing or speaking till the taste has become considerably developed and cultivated. They find themselves un- able, in writing or speaking, to reach the standard that their refined taste requires them to attain, and they are repelled and disheart- ened. It is only when the creative power is developed in some proportion to the taste that there can be that inspiration which fires the true artist, and makes the exertion of his power his highest pleasure and delight. This development of the creative faculty de- pends on exercise. As with the muscles of the body, so with the faculties of the mind, nothing but exercise can impart vigor and strength. Exercise is the parent of skill and power everywhere, and nowhere more than in writing and speaking. — Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 23. (C. S. & Co., 1867.), Fiaotlie Prayez KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 380 932. PRACTISE, NECESSITY FOR.— A man does not even become a mob orator without practise. We certainly do not hear of any great orator ever having found himself in ready-made possession of his power of skilfully manipulating, if I may so speak, thought and language; but we know that he attained to it by laborious study and long practise. Not but that we may find many who have a kind of natural fluency ; but I am very far from attaching value to this, taken merely by itself, whether it be a natural gift or an acquired power. What I am recom- mending is, to use, if you have it, or to acquire, if you have it not, the power of de- livering fluently and properly a sermon prop- erly composed by yourself : and to compose a sermon properly does not come by the gift of nature. It is not the result of an intui- tive process, but of study, knowledge, reflec- tion. A man must collect his materials ; he must be able to judge of the value and use of these materials; and he must learn how to deal with them and arrange them. I do not believe that there is any royal road to the accomplishment of these things, any more than there is to the acquisition of anything else that is worth living. Some, of course, have a greater aptitude for this work than others, but that is all that can be said. En- ergy and perseverance will make ample amends for some deficiency of natural apti- tude ; and no one need be ashamed of energy and perseverance; without them a natural aptitude for preaching will be of little value to its possessor or to his parishioners. — ZiNCKE, Extemporary Preaching, p. 52. (S., 1867.) 933. PRACTISE, SILENT. — The best practise is in the open air; the next, in a large hall or well-ventilated room. But if a person is so circumstanced as not to be able to practise aloud, without greatly annoy- ing people, he can use a means which I call the "silent practise," by which the voice can be even skilfully improved. In this exercise he is to sufficiently intone the words to give them audibility, and by intense will and a determined inward mental and an outward physical force, seem to shout and gesticulate as if in the very depths of the forest or on the wild and lonely seashore. It requires, however, rigid and exacting application; and thus effects nearly all that may be needed. Practise of this kind can not be heard ev^n by those in an adjoining room, but great skill is necessary to prevent straining even by this method. The exercise must be gradually and not directly powerful, and yet be earnest enough in its character to produce the de- sired results. To equalize and divide the labor with the voice, it is advisable to pace the room in a seemingly furious manner, to gesticulate freely and lustily, with the eyes full of fire and expression ; and all this, even tho the whole frame be excited to a glow of enthusiasm and animation, can be done without the least disturbance to others in the immediate vicinity. If the room is well aired, and the person deeply inflates the lungs, and concentrates his mind on the pur- pose, it is impossible not to derive immense benefit. — Frobisher, Voice and Action, p. 21. (I. B. & Co., 1867.) 934. PRAISE OF MEN IN ORATORY. — Praise of men is first distinguished by the time that preceded their birth, the time of their life, and what happened after their death. Country, parents, ancestors, preced- ed their birth, which may be considered two ways : if noble, they have equalled the glory of their progenitors; if otherwise, they have dignified the obscurity of their birth by the luster of their actions. Other particulars may also be enumerated, especially presages, if any, of future grandeur, as of the son of Thetis, who, as the oracle declared, was to be greater than his father. Personal enco- miums are founded on qualities of mind, body, and external advantages. The latter are the least worthy of consideration, and are spoken of differently according as the person is more or less accomplished with them. At one time the comely form and strength of the hero are expatiated upon, as Homer does in regard to Agamemnon and Achilles; another time the weak frame of the body arouses our admiration, as when the same poet represents Tydeus as diminu- tive in size but a gallant soldier. The same may be said of the advantages of fortune, for if, on one hand, they exalt merit, as in kings and princes, who, being more power- ful than other men, have more abundant means of showing their goodness of heart; so, on the other hand, the more one is des- titute of these helps, the brighter is the lus- ter of pure and genuine virtue. But ex- trinsic and fortuitous advantages do not render man praiseworthy for possessing them, but for the good he makes of them ; for riches, power, and interest, by placing us in a condition of life which affords great op- portunities for exertions of vice or virtue, make the surest trial of our morals, and always exhibit us as worse or better. Ad- vantages of the mind are always truly laud- able. This is a copious subject, and the 381 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING PraotlM Prayer orator has a variety of resources for dis- playing his talents. He may follow the or- der of time and actions, and commend the genius and good disposition of the first years, next he may pass to education and acquired sciences, and afterward to the con- sistent tenor of life in words and actions. To treat his subject in a different manner, he may reduce all to certain virtues, as for- titude, justice, temperance, assigning to each how far their votary has produced a copy of them in his life. It is the subject that must determine the better of these tWo ways, and the more unusual a thing is, the greater will be the pleasure of the auditors ; for un- doubtedly great must be their admiration when they hear that this was the only man, or the first, that did so, or that very few can share the glory with him, or that he exceeded expectation, or that in what he en- gaged and accomplished he showed a true disinterested spirit. As to the time subse- quent to the death of a man, it is not always to be treated of, because, tho we sometimes praise them while they are still living, yet we have but few examples of men in honor of whom decrees of deification have passed, as statues have been erected to perpetuate their memories. Among these may be ranked the monuments of genius, such as books and writings which have stood the test of many ages; for some authors, as Menander, have found the judgment of posterity more fa- vorable than that of their own age. Chil- dren are an honor to their parents, cities to their founders, laws to their givers, arts to their inventors, and institutes to their au- thors ; as our religious ceremonies revive the memory of the pious Numa, and the fasces, submitted to the authority of the Roman people, forever endear to them the name of Publicola. — QuiNTiLiAN, Institutes of the Or- ator, vol. 1, p. 160. (B. L., 17Y4.) 935. PRAISE, SUBJECTS FOR, IN ORATORY. — Cities have their praise, as well as men. The founder of them is looked upon as a father, their antiquity renders them very distinguished, for which reason we see people who boast that they are as ancient as that tract of the earth they in- habit, and are confident of having preserved traditionary accounts of all their transac- tions, whether virtuous or vicious. These considerations are for cities in general, but there are some peculiar to them, derived from their situation, their fortifications, their citizens, whose glory makes that of the state, as the glory of children reflects on their parents. There is praise likewise given to public edifices, whether their magnificence, utility, beauty or their builder is celebrated; as magnificence in temples, utility and safety in walls and ramparts, a beautiful and noble style in both, and all heightened by the rep- utation of the founder. Certain places are also the theme of praise, such as Sicily, as represented in the elegant description of Cicero. Their beauty and advantage are principally considered; beauty in harbors, plains, and pleasant groves and meadows; advantage in the wholesomeness of the air, fruitfulness of the soil, and the like. The praise of all words and actions is general; in short, what is not praised? Physicians have made the eulogium of certain ali- ments; sleep, too, and death have had their panegyrists. — Quintilian, Institutes of the Orator, vol. 1, p. 165. (B. L., 1774.) 9S6. PRAYER IN PUBLIC— The style and manner of public prayer should be rev- erential. Terms of familiarity and endear- ment should be avoided, since we are ad- dressing the Infinite and Holy God. Simple and chaste language should be used, easily understood by the ignorant and distrest, and also proper to use before the throne of the Most High. The tone of voice should be easily heard by all, from the first word of the prayer to the last, and should be earnest but never loud nor boisterous, since God is near by and loves to hear His people pray. The posture should be reverent; usually the minister should stand with clasped hands, without gesture, and the people should lis- ten with bowed heads. — Schenck, Modern Practical Theology, p. 85. (F. & W., 1903.) 937. PRAYER, PUBLIC— Vividness and fervor of feeling are, in no respect, in- compatible with the softened tones of sub- dued and reverential emotion. The chas- tened expression of earnestness is the most eloquent of all moods of the human voice : supprest intensity of tone penetrates the heart more deeply than the strongest utterance. The study of the natural language of ex- pression, with a view to the discrimination of vocal effects, and the acquisition of true and natural modulation, can not be too ear- nestly urged on the student of theology. The voice is the instrument of his usefulness; and surely the ability to use it justly, to use it skilfully and impressively, well deserves the most assiduous application of his pow- ers. The measure of devotional feeling, in an assembly, must ever be in accordance with the depth and fulness of heart imparted by the tones of the minister. The cold and Preachec Freacher KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 382 dry manner in which the exercise of devo- tion is often conducted, sufficiently accounts for the slight sympathy which it excites. Yet it would demand no great amount of time, from the minister, to acquire the power of giving true and effectual utterance to his inward feelings, and of bringing his congre- gation into accordant sympathy. The exist- ing evil consists obviously in the habit of unmeaning and inexpressive tone on his part — a habit which neglect or perversion has al- lowed to become a portion of his self-educa- tion, but which a moderate degree of study and application would enable him to cor- rect. The attitudes into which the pastor suffers himself to fall, in the act of devotion, are not unfrequently a cause of inharmoni- ous and discordant impression on the feel- ings of his people. His lounging posture, his sleepily folded hands, his hanging head, added to his drowsy voice, may all interfere with the spiritual tendency of the exercise, by causing the natural law of sympathy with given signs and effects, to transcend the speaker's power of raising and exalting the soul; so that a pervading dulness arid apathy, instead of a vivid emotion, shall be the pre- dominating mood of the audience. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 132. (D., 1878.) 938. PREACHER, AIM OF THE.— The effect to be produced by preaching is the reformation of mankind, and of all tasks ever attempted by persuasion it is that which has most frequently baffled its power. What is the task of any other orator compared with this? It is really as nothing at all, and hardly deserves to be named. An unjust judge, gradually worked on by the resistless force of human eloquence, may be persuad- ed against his inclination, perhaps against a previous resolution, to pronounce an equi- table sentence ; all the effect on him intended by the pleader was merely momentary. The orator has had the address to employ the time allowed him, in such a manner as to secure the happy moment ; notwithstanding this, there may be no real change wrought upon the judge, he may continue the same obdurate wretch he was before; nay, if the sentence had been delayed but a single day after hearing the cause, he would, perhaps, have given a very different award. Is it to be wondered at that when the passions of the people were agitated by the persuasive powers of a Demosthenes, while the thunder of his eloquence was yet sounding in their ears, the orator should be absolute master of their resolves? The fooleries and extrav- agances of heretics, madmen, and knaves. who mislead the multitude under the name of preaching the genuine faith, libel reli- gion and calumniate human nature; they are beneath consideration. To head a sect, to infuse party spirit, to make men arrogant, uncharitable, and malevolent, is the easiest task imaginable, and to which almost any blockhead is fully equal; but to produce a contrary effect, to subdue the spirit of fac- tion, and that monster spiritual pride, with which it is invariably accompanied, to inspire equity, moderation, and charity into men's sentiments and conduct with regard to oth- ers, is the genuine test of eloquence. — Campbell, The Philosophy of Rhetoric, p. 107. (G. & W. B. W., 1833.) 939. PREACHER, DIFFICULTIES OF THE. — He who would claim the highest rank as an orator must be tfte one who is the most successful, not in gaining popular applause, but in carrying his point, whatever it be, especially if there are strong preju- dices, interests, and feelings opposed to him. The preacher, however, who is intent on this object should use all such precautions as are not inconsistent with it, to avoid raising un- favorable impressions in his hearers. Much will depend on a gentle and conciliatory manner; nor is it necessary that he should at once, in an abrupt and offensive form, set forth all the differences of sentiment between himself and his congregation instead of win- ning them over by degrees ; and in whatever point and to whatever extent he may sup- pose them to agree with him, it is allow- able, and for that reason advisable, to dwell on that agreement. Above all, where censure is called for, the speaker should avoid, not merely on Christian, but also on rhetorical principles, all appearance of exultation in his own superiority, of contempt, or of un- charitable triumph in the detection of faults, "in meekness instructing them that oppose themselves." — Whately, Elements of Rhet- oric, p. 134. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 940. PREACHER, GRAND AIM' OF THE. — What is the preacher's grand aim? Whither must he tend with all his might? What do the nature and the gravity of his ministry make incumbent upon him? Clear- ly, the religious and moral instruction of those who listen to him, in order to induce them by a knowledge and conviction of the Divine Word, to observe it in their conduct, and to apply to their actions its precepts, counsels, and inspirations. Wherefore, wheth- er he expound a dogma, or morals, or what relates to worship and to discipline, he al- 383 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Freaober Preacher ways takes as his starting point and basis some truth doctrinal or practical, which he has to explain, analyse, unfold, maintaiii, and elucidate. He must shed light, by means of and around that truth, that it may enter the hearer's mind, and produce therein a clear view, a conviction, and that it may arouse or increase his faith; and this faith, this con- viction, this enlightenment must induce him to attach himself to it, to seize it through his volition, and to realize it in his life. However great may be, after that, the or- nament and pomp of style, the brilliancy and variety of imagery, the movement and pathos of the phrases, the accent and the action, whether he excite powerfully the im- agination, or move the sensibility, awake the passions, or cause the heartstrings to vibrate, all that is well and good, but only as acces- sory, and because all these means help the end, which is always the transmission of the truth. All these things lose, without the principal one, their real efficacy; or, if they produce any effect, it will neither be deep nor lasting, from there being no basis to the speech; and from the orator having la- bored much on the outside, and adorned what appears on the exterior, will have placed and left nothing inside. In one word, there is no idea in those words ; only phrases, images, and movements. I know well that one can carry away men with these, and in- flame them for the moment; but it is a blinding influence, that often leads to evil, or at least to an exaggeration that can not be kept up. It is a passing warmth that soon cools in the midst of obstacles, and fades easily in the confusion it has caused through imprudence and precipitation. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 139. (S., 1901.) 941. PREACHER, QUALIFICA- TIONS FOR A GOOD.— Luther, in his "Tabletalk," mentions what he considers the qualifications requisite for a good preacher. His remarks are worth quoting. "A good preacher," he says, "should have these prop- erties and virtues: first, to teach systemati- cally; secondly, he should have a ready witf thirdly, he should be eloquent; fourthly, he should have a good voice; fifthly, a good memory; sixthly, he should know when to make an end; seventhly, he should make sure of his doctrine ; eighthly, he should ven- ture and engage body and blood, wealth and honor in the world; ninthly, he should suf- fer himself to be mocked and jeered of every one. I would not have preachers torment their hearers and detain them with long and tedious preaching, for the delight of hearing vanishes therewith, and the preachers but hurt themselves. We ought to direct our- selves in preaching according to the condi- tion of the hearers ; but most preachers com- monly fail therein; they preach that which little edifies the poor simple people. To preach plain and simply is a great art; Christ Himself talks of tilling ground, of mustard seed, etc.; He used altogether homely and simple similitudes. I would not have preach- ers in their sermons use Hebrew, Greek, or foreign languages; for in the church we ought to speak as we do at home, the plain mother tongue, which every one is acquaint- ed with." A good delivery is of the greatest possible value to the preacher, and yet how few pulpit-speakers can the largest experi- ence point to as possest of even tolerable ability in this way. "Above all things," it has been said, "a preacher should shun mo- notony, especially those dreariest forms of it, the pulpit drawl, the pulpit whine, the pulpit groan, and the pulpit snivel." As to action in sacred oratory, there is room for it, but the "sacred mahogany tub," in which preachers are usually cooped up, does not favor the free motions of the body. — Bee- ton, Art of Public Speaking, from Complete Orator, p. 24. (W. L. & Co.) 942. PREACHER. THE, AND HU- MANITY.— There is the Book of Human- ity, in which history has recorded the deeds, in which literature and language have em- bodied the thoughts, of men. In it, far more vividly than in Nature, the handwriting of God ought to be read. The study of it, I believe — modern fashion notwithstanding — ^to be infinitely higher and closer to us than the study of Nature. I can not, therefore, re- gret that the education of our clergy is more largely concerned with it. Here once more, in respect of self-consciousness and the ex- perience of life, all ages are much on a level in the school of humanity. But in relation to what is more commonly termed study, we can hardly doubt that the power of litera- ture in general, and of the historical meth- ods of thought and investigation in particu- lar, in relation to facts, opinions, religious faiths of ages past, is wonderfully increased in our days. The power of literary produc- tion is prolific to a fault; the sphere of its influence has greatly widened, even if to some degree at the expense of its depth. I can not conceive that a man can speak to his fellowmen with full persuasiveness, who is altogether ignorant of the currents which are actually swaying and directing their thoughts. A preacher must not only think. FreaoherB FreacUngr KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 384 but read. Of course, here again remember- ing his work, he should read with a view not to what is merely human, but to what in literature is the word of God, heard through all human voices, and underlying all human peculiarities. Nothing is to my mind more repulsive than the sermon which is a mere pasticcio of quotations, perhaps from every book except the Bible, in which the unity and massiveness of God's message are lost. Nothing is more pitiful than the sermon which is a mere reflexion of the literature of the day, popular or profound, with no higher light in it, and no Divine center to which all is to be referred. But still, so far as men speak what is good and true and beautiful, it is God who speaks in them. — Barky, Homiletical and Pastoral Lectures, p. 199. (A., 1880.) 943. PREACHERS, ADVIC2 TO.— Let the minister stand up for even five minutes each day, with chest and abdomen well ex- panded, and pronounce aloud the long vowel sounds of our language, in various shades of force and feeling, and shortly he will ob- serve his voice developing new flexibility, resonance, and power. Let it be remembered that the voice grows through use. Let the minister cultivate, too, the habit of breath- ing exclusively through the nose while in repose, fully and deeply from the abdomen, and he will find himself gaining in health, tenacity, and resourcefulness. For the larg- er development of the spiritual and emo- tional powers of the speaker, a wide and varied knowledge of men and life is neces- sary. The feelings are trained through close contact with human suffering, and in the work of solving vital problems. The speak- er will do well to explore first his own heart and endeavor to read its secret meanings, preliminarily to the interpretation of the hearts of other men. Personal suffering will do more to open the well-springs of the heart than the reading of many books. — Kleiser, How to Argue and Win, p. 133. (F. & W., 1910.) 944. PREACHING, EFFECTIVE.— One of the greatest faults in style is when, from any cause, it catches the attention of the hearers, and draws it away from the matter of the discourse. "A discourse then excels in perspicuity when the subject engrosses the attention of the hearer, and the diction is so little minded by him, that he can scarcely be said to be conscious that it is through this medium he sees into the speak- er's thoughts." If in coming out of church you hear the congregation say, what beauti- ful language ! what a fine discourse ! what talent ! what eloquence ! you have too much reason to fear that your sermon has not had the right effect. The people have been ad- miring you, not minding what you said. You know what is told of the effect produced by the two great orators of antiquity. When Cicero had spoken, men said, "What a fine orator !" When Demosthenes had finished, they said, "Let us go and fight Philip." We may be permitted to doubt the correctness of this fact, because many of Cicero's speeches are known to have been most ef- fective. The style of the two orators might be more properly quoted as instances, excel- lent both in their way, of mild and forcible persuasion. However, the well-known say- ing serves to illustrate the point before us. The object of speaking in general is "to car- ry your point": the preacher's point is to win souls to Christ. "He is the best preach- er who maketh you go away and say, not how well he hath preached, but how ill I have lived." What Louis XIV. said to Mas- sillon was the best compliment he could have paid him : "Father, I have heard many great orators in this chapel, and have been highly pleased with them, but for you, whenever I hear you, I go away displeased with myself, for I see my own character." You must, therefore, be very careful that it is not your fault, if you are to your hearers what God told Ezekiel he would be, "a. very lovely song of one that hath a pleasant voice, and can play well on an instrument, for they hear thy words, but do them not." Such a ser- mon, "like a concert of music, delights the ear while it lasts, but dies with the sound, and the hearers carry little home, besides a remembrance that they were sweetly enter- tained." The best sign is, when your hear- ers depart silently, and are in haste to get home and think about what you have been saying to them ; when they are "pricked in their hearts, and inquire anxiously what they shall do to be saved." Cranraer's sermons are said to have been "accompanied by such a heart of conviction, that the people de- parted from them with minds possest of a great hatred of vice, and burning with a de- sire of virtue." It does not much matter what is the style of sermons which have this effect. — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergy- man, p. 108. (D. & Co., 1856.) 945. PREACHING, EXTEMPORE, — It is not true that read sermons are al- ways dry and dull, or that extemporaneous sermons are necessarily vivacious and vigo- rous. Dr. Chalmers was accustomed to read 385 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Preachars FreacliluK every syllable, and yet he preached with a fire and a passion which created great ex- citement and produced the deepest impres- sion. How weak, how dreary, an extempo- raneous preacher may be, we all know. But there are few of us that have Dr. Chalmers' strong and impetuous nature. Unless there is extraordinary force in the preacher, the manuscript somehow comes between him and the congregation. The very reasons which lead us to say that we can not preach unless we read, suggest some of the causes which make written sermons ineffective. If a preacher reads because he is afraid that he can not carry in his mind all the thought that he is accustomed to put into a sermon, the probability is that the thought is wanting in simplicity and breadth; that it is not well massed; that the details are so numer- ous as to be confusing; and that, as a nat- ural and almost inevitable consequence, the congregation will master his meaning very imperfectly. Or if he is conscious that what he wishes to say is not quite familiar to himself, and that he must write, in order to make sure of expressing it clearly, he may infer that he is not in such complete pos- session of it as to be able to handle it — even in writing — with freedom and vigor. If the thought — tho perfectly familiar to the preacher — is so subtle and so delicate that a great deal of care is necessary to express it accurately, the presumption is that it is too subtle and delicate to be caught at a sin- gle hearing, no matter how felicitous the expression may be. The thought of an extemporaneous preacher is more likely to be of a kind to interest and impress an ordinary congregation than the thought of a preacher who reads. — Dale, Nine Lec- tures on Preaching, p. 163. (A. S. B. & Co., 1878.) 946. PREACHING, EXTEMPORE, EFFECTIVE. — The extemporary preach- er who is in the constant practice of prop- erly studying his subject with the view of making his discourse as worthy of his office and as effective as possible, will be drawn on into many fields of inquiry. So also it may be said will the writer of sermons; but not, I think, so continuously, or with so much benefit to himself. The man who preaches extemporarily, that is, who gives himself the trouble to do it properly, must have the subject-matter of his sermons very frequent- ly in his thoughts, and must give himself a great deal of trouble in perfecting every ser- mon he preaches ; and this amount of thought directed to his work will bring him sooner or later to understand what materials his sermons require. He will thus be led on to be ever adding to his critical, historical, and philological knowledge; he will keep up and extend his acquaintance with the works of the great writers on ethical science ; nor will he allow himself to be ignorant of the con- troversies of the present or of past times. He will find this kind of knowledge nec- essary, because he will find that there are parts of his subject which it will be impos- sible for him to handle properly without it. He will, I think, become a far deeper and more varied student than the man who reads written sermons. He is likely to read more, and certainly to digest more complete- ly the fruits of his reading, and to make them more completely his own. The man who reads written sermons, supposing him to have started with an equally conscientious desire to do his work thoroughly, is not un- der the same pressure and impulsion to study widely and deeply, and to make the fruits of his study his own. The pressure is neither so strong nor so continuous. His method does not require it. He has to produce something on paper, and not in his own mind. There is a wide difference between these two ways of working, and these two kinds of work. He has not so constantly before his mind that which is the end of speaking — the effect to be produced. When the writer of sermons has seven or eight hundred by him, he must be very different from the generality of mankind if he still continues the labor of writing week after week. And, indeed, why should he? He has nothing fresh to write upon ; and after so much practise in writing, he can hardly hope to produce anything better than what he has ready at hand. With the extemporary preacher, it is quite another thing. His work is never done. His weekly preparation is incessant. His studies can never be laid aside. Still as he grows old, he learns some- thing every day. Of course, I never speak of the ignorant ranter, the frothy declaimer, or the fluent talker. Their way of discours- ing will always astonish the multitude, but that is not what will satisfy the man who has a proper respect for himself, for his con- gregation, and for his sacred oifice. He will study more or less for every sermon, and will make out, after careful consideration, the form in which his materials should be arranged on every occasion: every occasion ' thus becoming a fresh study both for matter and form. There can therefore be no doubt but that in a course of years he will acquire more, and learn better how to use what he Preachiusr Freachlngr KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 386 has acquired, than a reader of written ser- mons. — ZiNCKE, Extemporary Preaching, p. 35. (S., 1867.) 947. PREACHING, EXTEMPORE, REQUISITES FOR.— An extemporane- ous preacher, for permanent usefulness, needs habits of exact mental discipline, an ample fund of learning, both professional and general, facility in the use of knowl- edge, and diligence in adding to its stores. He should also, on the ordinary occasions of life, be careful in respect to his language. Dr. Johnson, being asked the cause of his ability to express his thoughts easily with so much propriety, mentioned in reply his habit, early formed and constantly maintained, of always selecting good language on common occasions. It hardly need be added that fer- vent piety and ready religious sensibility, as they are necessary to good written sermons, so are eminently requisite to good extem- poraneous preaching. In preparing a sermon, the extemporaneous preacher should mark out his subject with nice precision, and care- fully collect and arrange the requisite mate- rials. He should form a scheme of thought embracing all the essentials of the discourse, and should omit nothing but the composi- tion. By the clear view which he will thus obtain of his subject and all the details which he wishes to present, the subject will engross his mind, and insinuate itself into his affections ; and when all his faculties have been vigorously employed, and have furnished him with substantial preparation, he may venture into his pulpit with manly self-possession and undoubting confidence in divine aid. Two cautions are here requisite : In the first place, the inferiority which a preacher may discover in his spoken style, as compared with his written, ought not to dis- affect him with this mode of preaching. If, as has been said in the preceding chapter, the style of the pulpit may advantageously differ from that of the press, eminently true is this of extemporaneous discourse. It may have repetitions, and be destitute of polish, and yet not be unsuited to the purposes of public speaking. If it be free from inele- gance, there is ground for encouragement. Educated men have a literary sensitiveness —perhaps a fastidiousness — to which the most of their hearers are strangers. The beauties of style escape the observation of many, who yet highly appreciate good sense, clearly and earnestly exprest. More than this ; even men of the highest cultivation in- sensibly surrender themselves to a public speaker's current of thought and feeling, re- gardless of occasional irregularities of lan- guage, and sympathizing with the speaker who is too intent, in fervid passages, on his great purpose, to be thinking of mere ex- pression. The greatest of modern orators. Fox, was listened to with none the less in- terest because his stream of eloquence did not always flow on in most perfect beauty. Besides, ease of expression, strength, and appropriate elegance are matters of growth to the careful speaker, as well as to the careful writer; and by the one, as well as by the other, may be rationally expected as the result of faithful and conscientious labor. The second caution would guard a person against hastily concluding that he can not, should he attempt it, succeed in this mode of preaching. Perseverance is essential to ability. The purpose of becoming able thus to preach should not be defeated even by serious failures. Thomas Scott and Legh Richmond, who both became good extempo- raneous preachers, passed through some mor- tifications. So, too, did Robert Hall. Well worthy also of imitation, in this particular, was the spirit of Sheridan. After an un- successful attempt to speak in the House of Commons, he replied to his friends who ad- vised him to abandon the hope of serving his country in Parliament, "Never, I am sure it is in me ; and it shall come out." — Ripley, Sacred Rhetoric, p. 174. (G. K. & L., 1849.) 948. PREACHING, EXTEMPORE, TRAINING IN.— The following is an ap- proved recipe for learning to speak extem- poraneously. First make a sermon. Do not steal it, or borrow it, or buy it ; but make it ; then write it out legibly, leaving every other page a blank ; then write on blank pages a short abstract or abbreviation, setting it down opposite the original. Having prepared your sermon in this manner, you must, when you enter the pulpit, double down the sermon itself, and preach from the abstract, filling up the blanks from your recollection ; which, as the sermon was composed by yourself, you will probably not find much difficulty in doing. Should your memory fail, you must have recourse in the next place to your in- vention ; should both prove treacherous, you must, as a last resource, turn to your man- uscript which was doubled down; and as it is written opposite the abstract, you will be able to find it immediately. But the knowl- edge that you have the sermon to refer to in case of accidents will, it is hoped, give you confidence enough to proceed without it. When you have done this several times, and find that there is no difficulty about it, you 387 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Freftohin? Freachlnff may then venture to try your wings without so much support, and preach from the ab- stract only, without the sermon to refer to; and having become by this time tolerably flu- ent and confident, you will be able to supply from your own resources whatever has escaped your memory. Gradually your ab- stract may become shorter and shorter, un- til at last a few notes of some of the prin- cipal arguments will be sufficient to recall to your mind the subject of your discourse; and then you will have become what will be gen- erally considered an accomplished extempo- rary preacher. A very fluent speaker as- sured me that he had learned to preach extempore by the foregoing plan. Recollect, I do not say you will be able to preach at all better in this way, than if you wrote your sermons down, and preached them in the ordinary mannner. However, there is no harm in having the power; you may use it or not, as you like. — Gresley, Letters to a Young Clergyman, p. 301. (D. & C, 1856.) PREACHING, EXTEMPORE. also Speaking, Extempore. •See 949. PREACHING, PERFUNCTORY. — The apparent unfitness of our gifts for the special post in which we are set to preach the word of life, may arise from a lack of earnestness and honesty in the use of these gifts. Many of us must charge ourselves with not doing our best. The weekly ser- mons are rather considered as a task to be done than as an honor to be enjoyed. They become a perfunctory act of duty to be got over and done somehow; and hence the true aim and mission of the preacher is forgot- ten. There is a coldness and deadness, a want of life and animation, a lack of pleas- ure and happy effort, alike in the prepara- tion and in the delivery. The soul is not stirred by its work, and what wonder that the latent gifts are not called into exercise? There are few preachers who have not to lay this to their conscience, that we become in the pulpit a kind of cold and artificial selves, and not what God meant and made us to be. We should feel this the more, be- cause the ultimate cause of it is a want of love, and of zeal and spiritual life. The fire is not kindled with the live coals of the Spirit, or kept burning by prayer and medi- tation. We blame God for giving us a work for which we are unfitted, and yet the unfit- ness may be solely in our own selves — not in the absence of gifts, but in the non-use of them. We allow the sword to grow rusty in its scabbard, and what wonder if the edge be blunt, and the arm that should wield it stiff and awkward? But further, we mis- take the results of our own work, and think our ministry less effective than it prob- ably is. Partly it arises from the wisdom of God, who does not permit us to see all the fruit of our labors; for it may be that we are too weak to bear the consciousness of success, and might lose our power in the complacent contemplation of it. Partly it is because our ignorance is hasty and impa- tient, and measures results rather by the threescore years and ten of him' who plants and waters than by the eternity of Him who gives the increase. Partly it is because we do not expect enough, but resting in the punctual discharge of a fixt duty, neither ask a blessing nor expect an answer. — Garbett, Homiletical and Pastoral Lectures, p. 173. (A., 1880.) 950. PREACHING, POWER IN.— The true interest, life, and power of preaching lie in the exhibition and enforcement of Chris- tian truth and duty; in the justness and force of the answers it gives, to the great ques- tions. What shall I believe, what shall I love, what shall I do, in order to lead a righteous, sober, and godly life; and that when Christ appears, I also may appear with Him in glory? — in a word, in the Christian light it sheds on the intellect and conscience, to the end that it may mold the heart. The feeling awakened by such preaching will be salutary. Christian feeling. The greater the clearness, fervor, and vividness with which such truths are set forth, and sent home, the better. And we may add, that all the other sources of interest in a preacher and his sermons are aside of, if not athwart, the true aim of preaching. That the preacher be admired; that he fascinate by poetry or oratory, by philosophy, or any excellency of speech or wisdom, may answer a great many purposes. But it may all be, without preaching the gospel, or disturbing the thoughtless, or guiding the anxious soul, or edifying the people of God. We by no means underrate a good report of them that are without. We appreciate the importance of being in favor with all the people, and giving no offence in anything, that the ministry be not blamed. But we know, too, that a woe is upon those who preach not the gospel, and of all whom all men at all times speak well. We should esteem the solemn awe, the deep thoughtful- ness of the worldling, the alarm of the pre- sumptuous, the ray of spiritual comfort stealing in upon the contrite soul, the de- Freaoblncr FreacMntr KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 388 vout feeling and holy purpose springing up in the breast of one and another, on leaving the sanctuary, a more precious testimony to the power and excellence of the discourse, than all the plaudits of graceless worldings, and genteel professors, who are lovers of pleasure more than lovers of God. The self- searching, the humility, the tears of peni- tence, the sweet and confiding faith, the com- fort of hope, the movement of the soul from self and the world, toward God in Christ, with which so many heard the preaching of a Nettleton or Alexander, are a thousand- fold higher attestations of pulpit power than all the encomiums ever lavished upon mere- ly magnificent oratory. It was a common question among the hearers of the famous Shepard of Cambridge (who was wont to say that all his sermons cost him tears), as they left church on the Sabbath, "Who was wrought upon to-day?" These are the best seals of the genuineness and apostolicity of a ministry : "By their fruits shall ye know them." — Alexander, Thoughts on Preaching, p. 236. (S., 1862.) 951. PREACHING, PSYCHOLOGI- CAL. — It seems to me that the highest conception of a sermon is that it is a pre- scription which a man has made, either for a certain individual, or for a certain class, or for a certain state of things that he knows to exist in the congregation. It is as much a matter of prescription as the physician's medicine is. For instance, you say, "In my congregation there has been a good deal of affliction, which I think I ought to comfort. Now, of all ways of comforting, how shall I do it? Shall I show the hand of God in all His administration ? What will that do ? That mode of consolation will raise people up into the conception of God; but those that can not rise so high will fall short of it and not get it. Or, I can show them how af- flictions will elevate the soul; and that will have another range. Or, it may be that I will say a word about that, but strike a blow that exhilarates men and lifts them up, in- dependent of any allusion to troubles ; I may strike a chord to awaken the courage of men. What subject can I take which will most successfully sound that chord?" And so you look for your subject. You know what you are after the whole time. It is exactly like the watchmaker, who has opened your watch and discovered that something is wrong. He turns to his l>ench and pokes around among his tools, but can not find what he wants ; he looks everywhere for it, and at last, there it is, and he takes it and uses it, for it is the only instrument ex- actly fitted to do just the thing he wanted to do in that watch. Now, in preaching to a congregation there are living men to reach; and there is a particular way of doing it that you want to get at. You search for it in the Bible ; and you make your sermon to answer the end. This is psychological preaching, drawing from your own gradu- ally augmenting intelligence and experience, which will make you skilful in the ends you want to effect. — Beecher, Yale Lectures on Preaching, p. 18. (J. B. F. & Co., 1872.) 952. PREACHING, REQUIREMENTS FOR. — Let the preacher be a man not only of exalted piety and unaffected zeal, but of clear head, lively imagination, and reten- tive memory, so as to have the contents of the sacred volume at his command; let him be free from all embarrassment of manner, clear in the arrangement of his matter, and perfectly fluent in his speech — such a man may do what he pleases. Whether he write his sermons or deliver them unwritten, they can not fail of captivating and moving his hearers. But we are describing a Paul or an Apollos, or at least such a preacher as appears but once in an age. How many will you find in any church, sect, or persuasion, who will answer this description? And if any of these qualifications be wanting in a considerable degree, the power of his preach- ing will be in a great measure lost. Let the preacher be clear-headed, fluent, and pious, but let him want constitutional warmth or lively imagination, and his extemporaneous discourse will not be one jot more interest- ing than if it were written; or if he wants fluency of speech, if he hesitates and stam- mers, and his words and sentiments are doled forth with evident embarrassment; or if he is constantly obliged to refer to his notes, and is thinking of what comes next, more than of what he is saying; or if he uses over and over again the same expressions — in all these cases the hearers either experi- ence an uncomfortable feeling of anxiety, or a sensation approaching to contempt. Or if, on the other hand, he speaks fluently enough, but it is plain that his discourse is learned by heart, and repeated as a lesson, it is looked upon by the congregation as a sort of fraud practised upon them, and the in- tended effect of extemporaneous preaching is destroyed ; for its principal charm consists in the words flowing, or at least seeming to flow, fresh and pure from the heart. — Gres- ley, Letters to a Young Clergyman, p. 294. (D. & Co., 1856.) 389 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING FreaohlnEr FreacMn? 953. PREACHING, REQUISITES FOR. — An essential requisite, in order to preach well, is to have a just and, at the same time, a fixt, habitual view of the end of preaching. For in no art can any man execute well who has not a just idea of the end and object of that art. The end of all preaching is, to persuade men to become good. Every sermon therefore should be a persuasive oration. Not but that the preach- er is to instruct and to teach, to reason and argue. All persuasion is to be founded on conviction. The understanding must always be appealed to in the first place, in order to make a lasting impression on the heart; and he who would work on men's passions, or in- fluence their practise, without first giving them just principles and enlightening their minds, is no better than a mere declaimer. He may raise transient emotions, or kindle a passing ardor; but can produce no solid or lasting effect. At the same time, it must be remembered that all the preacher's instruc- tions are to be of the practical kind; and that persuasion must ever be his ultimate object. It is not to discuss some abstruse point, that he ascends the pulpit. It is not to illustrate some metaphysical truth, or to inform men of something which they never heard before; but it is to make them better men ; it is to give them, at once, clear views and persuasive impressions of religious truth. The eloquence of the pulpit, then, must be popular eloquence. One of the first quali- ties of preaching is to be popular; not in the sense of accommodation to the humors and prejudices of the people (which tends only to make a preacher contemptible), but in the true sense of the word, calculated to make impression on the people ; to strike and to seize their hearts. I scruple not, there- fore, to assert that the abstract and philo- sophical manner of preaching, however it may have sometimes been admired, is formed upon a very faulty idea, and deviates widely from the just plan of pulpit eloquence. Ra- tional, indeed, a preacher ought always to be; he must give his audience clear ideas on every subject, and entertain them with sense, not with sound; but to be an accurate rea- soner will be small praise, if he be not a persuasive speaker also. — Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric, vol. 2, p. 303. (A. S., 1787.) 954. PREACHING, SCOPE OF. — A preacher is a teacher; but he is more. A teacher brings before men a given view, or a department of truth. He expends his force upon facts or ideas. But a preacher as- sumes or proves facts and truths as a ve- hicle through which he may bring his spirit to bear upon men. A preacher looks upon truth from the constructive point of view. He looks beyond mere knowledge to the character which that knowledge is to form. It is not enough that men shall know. They must be. Every stroke of his brush must bring out some element of the likeness to Christ which he is seeking to produce. He is an artist — not of forms and matter, but of the soul. Every sermon is like the stroke of Michael Angelo's chisel, and the hidden figure emerges at every blow. A teacher has doubtless an ulterior reference to practi- cal results; but the preacher, not indifferent to remote and indirect results, aims at the immediate. "Now ! Now !" is his inspira- tion. "Cease to do evil, at once. Turn to- ward good immediately. Add strength to every excellence, and virtue to virtue, now and continually." The effect of his speech upon the souls of men is objective. It is this moral fruit in men's souls for which he plants his truth, as so much seed. — Beecher, Yale Lectures on Preaching, p. 3. (J. B. F. & Co., 1873.) 955. PREACHING, SUGGESTIVE.— A respectable source of failure is conscientious thoroughness. It is true that it is the office of the preacher to furnish thought for his hearers, but it is no less his duty to excite thought. Thus we give thought to breed thought. If, then, a preacher elaborates his theme until it is utterly exhausted, leaving nothing to the imagination and intellect of his hearers, he fails to produce that lively activity in their minds which is one of the best effects of right preaching; they are merely recipients. But under a true preach- ing, the pulpit and the audience should be carrying on the subject together, one in out- line, and the other with subtle and rapid ac- tivity filling it up by imagination, suggestion, and emotion. Don't make your sermons too good. That sermon, then, has been over- wrought and overdone which leaves nothing for the mind of the hearer to do. A ser- mon in outline is often far more effective than a sermon fully thought out and deliv- ered as a completed thing. Painters often catch the likeness of their subject when they have sketched in the picture only, and paint it out when they are finishing it; and many and many a sermon, if it had been but sketched upon the minds of men, would have; conveyed a much better idea of the truth than is produced by its elaborate painting and filling up. This is the secret of what is called "suggestive preaching," and it is also Treachlag Fxejudice KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 390 the secret of those sermons which are called "good, but heavy." There are no more thor- ough sermons in the English language, and none more hard to read, than those of Bar- row, who was called an unfair preacher, be- cause he left nothing for those to say that came after him. You must be careful not to surfeit people; leave room for their im- agination and spirit to work. Don't treat them as sacks to be filled from a funnel. Aim to make them spiritually active, self- helpful. — Beecher, Yale Lectures on Preach- ing, p. 223. (J. B. F. & Co., 1872.) 956. PREACHING WITHOUT NOTES. — As to the conditions of success in preaching without notes, I can only speak very briefly. I have had occasion to give the matter much thought. Some of the chief points, which I have stated fully elsewhere, are : (1) The physical vigor must be kept at its highest attainable point. (2) The mind must be kept in a state of habitual activity, alertness, and energy. (3) The plan of the sermon should be simple, natural, progres- sive, and thoroughly imbedded in the mind. (4) The preacher should have a distinct and energetic appreciation of the importance of his subject. (5) He must speak for a pur- pose, having in view from the beginning of his discourse a definite end of practical im- pression it is to make on the minds of his hearers. It is well also to have in view, in the preparation and delivery of the sermon, particular members of the congregation, whose needs are known to him, and on whom he desires to make an impression. (6) He should always take with him into the pulpit a sense of the immense consequences which may depend on his full and faithful presen- tation of the truth, and a sense of the per- sonal presence of the Master. Then he should be perfectly careless to criticism, and expect success. These, of course, are sub- ordinate to and dependent upon the one sub- lime, fundamental condition and prerequisite of success, and that is a serious, devout, in- telligent, inspiring conviction of the Divine origin and authority of the Gospel, and of its transcendent importance to men. I think that a great many more men than now sup- pose it possible would learn to preach with- out notes, if they would systematically and energetically endeavor to do so ; that thus they would more fully engage the attention of tHeir hearers, and impress them with the truth ; that they would themselves find larger leisure for more various studies ; and that it would tend to make congregations larger and pastorates longer. Of course, one can't point his sermons preached on this plan ; but that is of little consequence. The world has got to be counted to Christ by thought and feeling exprest in living speech, not in elab- orate writing. — Storrs, Homiletic Review, vol. 13, No. 1. p. 81, January, 1887. (F. & W.) PREACHING.— See also Sermon, Speak- ing. 957. PRECISION AND FORMALITY. — Formality, in the case of some speakers, assumes the feeble form of primness of man- ner, with its sparing voice, precise articula- tion, nice emphasis, fastidious inflection, mea- ger tone, and mincing gesture. This prudery of style is not unfrequently exemplified in the pulpits of New England, in consequence of the anxious precision and exactness of habit which are so general as local traits. The speaker's whole manner seems, in con- sequence of this tendency, to be weighed and given out with the most scrupulous and cautious regard to rigorous accuracy of ef- fect in petty detail. Elocution becomes, in such cases, a parallel to the transplanted tree, trimmed of all its natural life and beauty, and, for the time, resembling, in its quaint- ness and rigidity, rather a bare pole, than a product of vegetable nature. The result of such a manner is to anatomize and kill feel- ing — not to inspire it: the head is, in this way, allowed to take the place of the heart. Exact discrimination and subtle nicety of intellect, preponderate, usually, in the effect of such speaking on the hearer: his affec- tions are left unmoved: he is unconscious, throughout the discourse, of one manly im- pulse or strong impression. The prim, guarded, neutralizing manner of the preach- er, seems, in such instances, the appropriate style of coldness and skepticism, rather than of a warm and living faith. The fault of undue precision of manner may be traced partly to the absence of manly force and in- dependence of character, and partly to faulty education, which has led the speaker to pay more regard to the effect which he produces on the understanding and the judgment than that which he exerts on the moral sympa- thies of his audience. The last of these influences accustoms the school-boy to pre- cision and point of emphasis, and specialty of inflection, more than to earnest energy of utterance and impressive emotion. Early habit, thus directed, leads the student and the preacher to a corresponding mode of ad- dress, and involves all the defects of an over- pruned manner, with its unavoidable results 391 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Preachlnir Prejudice of cool and fastidious preciseness, which of- fers nothing to the heart and, therefore, leaves undone the great business for which the preacher addresses mankind. Formality of manner in speaking is sometimes caused, in part, by an unbending rigidity of habit, - which is plainly legible in the unyielding fea- tures, stiff postures, and stiff gestures, of some preachers. These faults of habit in address are partly owing to false impres- sions regarding manly firmness and dignity, partly to the want of free and congenial and extensive intercourse with the world, and partly to an early culture deficient in the means of imparting flexibility and grace to the mental and bodily faculties. — Russell, Pulpit Elocution, p. 100. (D., 1878.) 958. PREJUDICE AND POPULAR- ITY. — The germs of great events, the first motive-springs of change have their origin, no doubt, in the closet, in the minds of men of deep thought and extensive observation, who are not, perhaps, actually engaged in the arena. But the people are the great lever by which the movement is carried out. Therefore, the people must be acted upon; therefore, there must be orators to act upon the people, to imbue them with the ideas of the -men of the closet. The same necessity which calls up the men has also taught them the art by which they act. The public mind is not always to be influenced by straightfor- ward appeals to reason, or explanations of the desired object. Prejudices have to be worked upon, or, as the case may be, avoided. A very roundabout, or a very tortuous, course must in many, unhappily in most, cases be resorted to. A plain, blunt enthusi- ast, or an honest thinker, above guile or reserve of his opinions, might sometimes mar the best laid scheme of a public meeting (ay, or even of a debate in the senate), by let- ting the real objects peep out too soon. Hence, to speak in public, it is not merely required that you shall know how to string words gracefully together, learn exordiums and perorations by rote, and practise inflec- tions and intonations; you must also learn to feel the pulse of the public, to form a di- agnosis of the popular fever, command your own enthusiasm or your own passion, in or- der the better to arouse those of your hear- ers. — Francis, Orators of the Age, p. 13. (H., 1871.) 959. PREJUDICE, FRANKNESS IN COMBATING.— When any principle is to be established which, tho in itself capable of being made evident to the humblest ca- pacity, yet has been long and generally over- looked, and to which established prejudices are violently opposed, it will sometimes hap- pen that to set forth the absurdity of such prejudices in the clearest point of view, tho in language perfectly decent and temperate, and to demonstrate the conclusion, over and over, so fully and forcibly that it shall seem the most palpable folly or dishonesty to deny it, will, with some minds, have an opposite tendency to the one desired. Some perhaps, conscious of having been the slaves or the supporters of such prejudices as are thus held up to contempt (not indeed by disdain- ful language, but simply by being placed in a very clear light) and of having overlooked truths which, when thus clearly explained and proved, appear perfectly evident even to a child, will consequently be stung by a feel- ing of shame passing off into resentment, which stops their ears against argument. They could have borne perhaps to change their opinion, but not so to change it as to tax their former opinion with the grossest folly. They would be so sorry to think they had been blinded to such an excess, and are so angry with him who is endeavoring to persuade them to think so, that these feel- ings determine them not to think it. They try (and it is an attempt which few persons ever make in vain) to shut their eyes against a humiliating conviction : and thus the very triumphant force of the reasoning adduced, serves to harden them against admitting the conclusion ; much as one may conceive Ro- man soldiers desperately holding out an un- tenable fortress to the last extremity, from apprehension of being made to pass under the yoke by the victors, should they surren- der. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 104. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 960. PREJUDICE, HOW TO COM- BAT. — In combating deep-rooted preju- dices, and maintaining unpopular and para- doxical truths, the point to be aimed at should be to adduce what is sufficient, and not much more than is sufficient, to prove your conclusion. If in such a case you can but satisfy men that your opinion is decid- edly more probable than the opposite, you will have carried your point more effectually than if you go on much beyond this to dem- onstrate by a multitude of the most forcible arguments the extreme absurdity of thinking differently, till you have affronted the self- esteem of some and awakened the distrust of others. Laborers who are employed in driv- ing wedges into a block of wood are careful to use blows of no greater force than is just Frcmliea Fraporatloa KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 392 sufficient. If they strike too hard, the elas- ticity of the wood will throw out the wedge. — Whately, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 106. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 961. PREMISES, ORDER OF. — A proposition that is well known, whether easy to be established or not, and which contains nothing particularly offensive, should in gen- eral be stated at once, and the proofs sub- joined; but one not familiar to the hearers, especially if it be likely to be unacceptable, should not be stated at the outset. It is usu- ally better in that case to state the arguments first, or at least some of them, and then in- troduce the conclusion : thus assuming in some degree the character of an investiga- tor. There is no question relating to ar- rangement more important than the present; and it is therefore the more unfortunate that Cicero, who possest so much practical skill, should have laid down no rule on this point, tho it is one which evidently had engaged his attention, but should content himself with saying that sometimes he adopted the one mode, and sometimes the other, which doubt- less he did not do at random, without distin- guishing the cases in which each is to be pre- ferred, and laying down principles to guide our decision. Aristotle also, when he lays down the two great heads into which a speech is divisible, the proposition and the proof, is equally silent as to the order in which they should be placed ; tho he leaves it to be understood, from his manner of speaking, that the conclusion, or question, is to be first stated, and then the premises, as in mathematics. This, indeed, is the usual and natural way of speaking or writing, viz., to begin by declaring your opinion, and then to subjoin the reasons for it. But there are many occasions on which it will be of the highest consequence to reverse this plan. It will sometimes give an offensively dogmati- cal air to a composition to begin by advan- cing some new and unexpected assertion; tho sometimes again this may be advisable when the arguments are such as can be well relied on, and the principal object is to excite attention, and awaken curiosity. And accordingly, with this view, it is not unusual to present some doctrine, by no means really novel, in a new and paradoxical shape. But when the conclusion to be established is one likely to hurt the feelings and offend the prejudices of the hearers, it is essential to keep out of sight, as much as possible, the point to which we are tending, till the prin- ciples from which it is to be deduced shall have been clearly established; because men listen with prejudice, if at all, to arguments that are avowedly leading to a conclusion which they are indisposed to admit; where- as, if we thus, as it were, mask the battery, they will not be able to shelter themselves from the discharge. The observance accord- ingly, or neglect of this rule, will often make the difference of success or failure. — Whate- ly, Elements of Rhetoric, p. 91. (L. G. R. & D., 1867.) 9G2. PREPARATION, CARE IN.— Many who have been accustomed themselves to extempore preaching are too apt to drive off till the last few hours the preparation necessary for their sermon — thinking that because they have not to write down what they are going to say, they can therefore prepare it in a short time. Consequently, their sermons are frothy, illogical effusions, and what have been very justly termed "twaddle." "When Pericles, the Athenian orator, went to address the people, he prayed to the gods that nothing might go out of his mouth but what might be to the purpose. A very good example for preachers," says Bish- op Williams. Rather by far would we lis- ten to a carefully digested and written epis- tle, even tho read in a manner not at all creditable to the reader, than to such extem- pore effusions as bear on their surface neither care, thought, nor knowledge of the subject. When men are called together, whether it be to the public services of the sanctuary, or to the public lecture-room; whether it be to listen to a sermon or to hear a lecture on some popular or scientific subject, they expect to hear something worth listening to, and which shall repay them for the trouble and inconvenience they may have been put to in their endeavors to attend. There are some among us who have had the good fortune, or misfortune, to be blessed with abundance of this world's wealth — whose energies have never been called forth — whose days are passed in a listless state of ennui, and to whom the announcement of a public lecture is a godsend. To such as these, anything of a lecture, however illogi- cal and ill-prepared, may be acceptable, in- asmuch as it serves to break the dull mo- notony of their lives. But even in cases such as these, we feel sure that the better the language is, and the more clearly and logically the subject is worked out, the better will the speaker be received. But as regards men who have to battle with the difficulties of life, who have to push their way amidst opposition and rivalry, and who have to think, and plan, and devise for their very 393 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Premlieg Preparation existence; such men as these not only re- quire, but they also demand, that in order to gain their ear, a man should be a good speak- er, and put forth something worth listening to. To such as these "life is no empty dream," but "life is real, life is earnest." Having to toil and labor themselves, they would wish to see others who would claim the attention of the world, work also. When, therefore, after the toils of the day, they ar- rive at their homes wearied and fatigued with the labors of mercantile life, we think a speech should be something worth hearing in order to compensate them for the sacri- fice they make in leaving their firesides un- der such circumstances as these. And when after the toils and competition of the week, the Sabbath morn breaks on them, and finds them jaded and weary, we think it some- times excusable when we hear them com- plain that they want sermons that shall stir the deeps within their soul and nerve them for the toils of the morrow. Their bodies worn with labor, their minds fretted and weary with the cares of the week, and their souls rusted from worldliness and business, they need something which shall soothe their minds and brighten their souls, as well as afford rest and repose for the body. And this, too, they need enforced by all the elo- quence and powers of argument which a man can call to his aid ; so that Monday may find them active and businesslike still, but having calmer and purer minds, and pro- ceeding onward with fresh vigor toward heaven. — Anon, The Public Speaker, p. 40. (J. N. & Co., 1860.) 9G3. PREPARATION, CULMINATING POINT OF THE.— The plan of a dis- course, however well put together, is still but a barren letter, or a species of skeleton to which flesh and vitality must be given by words. It is the discourse potentially, and has to become such actually. Now before passing from the power of acting to action, and with a view to effecting this passage, which at the very moment of executing it is always difficult, there is a last preparation not without its importance and calculated to conduce largely toward success. Thus the soldier gets ready his weapons and his reso- lution before the fight; thus the general makes his concluding arrangements after having fixt on his order of battle, and in or- der to carry it well into effect. So it is with the speaker at that supreme instant. After having fixt his ideas upon paper in a clearly defined sketch which is to him a plan of the campaign, he ought, a little while be- fore entering the lists or battlefield, to recol- lect himself once more in order to gather up all his energies, call forth all the powers of his soul, mind, and body for the work which he has undertaken, and hold them in the spring and direction whither they have to rush. This is the culminating point of the preparation, a critical moment which is very agitating and very painful to whoever is about to speak. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 306. (S., 1901.) 964. PREPARATION, DILIGENCE IN. — Talents vary; but all may be dili- gent. No one is responsible for the exer- cise of abilities which do not belong to him ; but every man who undertakes the solemn duty of preaching the Gospel is bound to do his best : and God's blessing may be expected to rest on honest industry. Moreover, it may be laid down as a law of nature, that that which has cost thought is most likely to excite thought in others. The possession of great natural powers of exposition, whether in writing or in utterance, can be no excuse for idleness and neglect. I heard recently, at a nobleman's house in the North of England, an instructive anecdote of the late Bishop Wilberforce. When on a visit there, he had preached a charming sermon to a village congregation ; and some one had been foolish enough to say to him, "I sup- pose, my lord, you can always preach to a congregation like this without any prepara- tion?" To which he replied: "I was up at six o'clock this morning, preparing for this sermon ; and I make it a rule never, when it is possiljle, to preach anywhere unless I am saturated with my subject." This phrase, "saturated with my subject," expresses, I think, very well the condition of mind at which a clergyman should aim before he preaches ; and this general mode of stating the rule leaves great freedom for details, in accordance with variety in the habits and temperaments of preachers. — Howson, Homi- letical and Pastoral Lectures, p. 63. (A., 1880.) 965. PREPARATION, EXTENT OF.; — As to the exertion and exercise of the voice, of the breath, of the whole body, and of the tongue itself, they do not so much require art as labor ; but in those matters we ought to be particularly careful whom we imitate and whom we would wish to resem- ble. Not only orators are to be observed by us, but even actors, lest by vicious habits we contract any awkwardness or ungracefulness. The memory is also to be exercised by learn- Preparation Preparation KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 394 ing accurately by heart as many of our own writings, and those of others, as we can. In exercising the memory, too, I shall not ob- ject if you accustom yourself to adopt that plan of referring to places and figures which is taught in treatises on the art. Your lan- guage must then be brought forth from this domestic and retired exercise, into the midst of the field, into the dust and clamor, into the camp and military array of the forum; you must acquire practise in everything; you must try the strength of your understand- ing; and your retired lucubrations must be exposed to the light of reality. The poets must also be studied; an acquaintance must be formed with history; the writers and teachers in all the liberal arts and sciences must be read, and turned over, and must, for the sake of exercise, be praised, interpre- ted, corrected, censured, refuted; you must dispute on both sides of every question; and whatever may seem maintainable on any point must be brought forward and illustrat- ed. The civil law must be thoroughly stud- ied ; laws in general must be understood ; all antiquity must be known; the usages of the senate, the nature of our government, the rights of our allies, our treaties and con- ventions, and whatever concerns the interests of the state, must be learned. A certain in- tellectual grace must also be extracted from every kind of refinement with which, as with salt, every oration must be seasoned. — Cic- ero, On Oratory and Orators, p. 181. (B., 1909.) 966. PREPARATION, IMPORTANCE OF. — Preparation is the basis of success in public speaking. Genius, tact, and skill may be valuable aids to oratory, but they can not be depended upon by the speaker without careful preparation. Socrates used to say that men could be eloquent on any subject they thoroughly understood. But clearly the converse of the proposition is true, and Cicero was right in maintaining that no one can speak eloquently on a sub- ject he does not understand. The first con- sideration is to master the subject and all the facts pertaining to it, and then the public speaker may trust himself to enter "the dim and perilous way" of platform, or forensic address. It is doubtful whether any great ora- tion that has outlived the hour of its deliv- ery was entirely extempore. Speaking "on the spur of the moment" is generally as weak as it is spontaneous. No public speaker will risk his reputation to the inspiration of any conceivable occasion. Daniel Webster's reply to Hayne was not the outcome of an even- ing's meditation, but, as he afterward said, the result of many years of thought and study. The platform, the bar, or the floor of an assembly, are not so many fields for dis- play, but for hard work in garnering the sheaves and garnering the grains of elo- quence. The public speaker has a definite end to accomplish. If he be a clergyman, there are hearts to be moved and souls to be saved by his sermons. The lawyer must convince courts and win verdicts from juries. The platform speaker is called upon to enforce his views of truth, so as to carry his audi- ence. In the debate of the collegiate con- test there is a laudable ambition to win. The political speaker desires votes, and his elo- quence is wasted if it does not increase the number of followers around his standard. And in that wider field of speech in the counting-room, office, and the marts of trade, there is always an end to be attained, which, if missed, means failure. Therefore, a bur- den rests upon the speaker, of whatever sta- tion in life, which should not be put upon untried shoulders. The end in view should be the only plea needed for painstaking prep- aration on the part of those who expect to move men by the use of eloquent words. A thorough knowledge of the subject is the only safeguard in the crisis of delivery. A man can not develop a subject logically and expound truth with feeling and force when his ideas are only half formed. It was Web- ster who somewhat tartly replied to a young clergyman : "There is no such thing as ex- temporaneous acquisition." — Lee, Principles of Public Speaking, p. 239. (G. P. P. Sons, 1900.) 967. PREPARATION, MECHANICAL. — By mechanical preparation I do not under- stand the standing before a glass in an ora- torical attitude, but I do not mean the care- fully reading aloud the sermon in our own study by ourselves, that we may see how to modulate the voice — where to change the tone, where to be slow, and where rapid; the time that it is likely to take in preaching; and, in a right use of the word, the action that will aid the delivery, and so point the truth. By personal preparation I mean two things. One of them that physical prepared- ness for the sermon, about which some of our junior brethren may for the present af- ford to be indifferent, but which to oldef men is of great consequence indeed — that which results from a good night's rest, a feeling of health and vigor, and last but not least, a careful diet, about which the greatest of Scotch preachers is reported to m TO PUBLIC SPEAKING l^eparatloU Preparation have said that there was hardly anything he would not give to the man who would tell him what to eat on Saturday. The other iS a mental and moral preparedness, both in knowing the sermon well, through having thoroughly mastered it in all its details, and also in an instinct of good-humored sense about it, that having done your best, you leave it with God and your people, discard- ing with a sort of sturdy contempt the small and fidgety vanity of wondering if it will be admired. — Thorald, Homiletical and Pasto- ral Lectures, p. 21. (A., 1880.) 968. PREPARATION, METHOD OF. — Every speech addrest to masses of men is supposed to have for its object the public good. The speaker, at the very outset, must endeavor to be imbued with this idea. Let him grasp the idea with all the energy of his soul that he has to move men to virtue, to justice, and to happiness. Some great principle of this kind will not only elevate the tone of his thoughts, but will fill him with that sense of the importance of his speech by which he can be deepest moved and most deeply move his audience. Even on the most practical business speech, a certain tone of dignity and fervor, as evidence that a man is in earnest, will add to the force of his remarks; while it is indispensable to his success, when the subject is some great public duty, or the legislation which may af- fect the happiness of millions and of future ages. Decide on the course to be adopted, the view to be taken, and never let the course be too expansive. Better to exhaust one or two copies than to take up too many, which, like a mere enumeration of historical facts, are destitute of force because too contracted and concise. Collect facts, arguments, and thoughts, both by meditation on the sub- ject and by reading and investigation. Often during this inquiry, while the mind is per- vaded by the subject, reflections, like the beams of light from the aurora borealis, will flash from all points, suggested by other thoughts and words, and all of which should, as far as possible, be caught and recorded for future consideration and use. When these resources have been well prepared, they must be examined and arranged. But be- fore this, the student must refer to the course he has intended to adopt. He may then arrange his collected facts and thoughts under their various appropriate heads. In such an arrangement it is an important con- sideration which arguments and thoughts shall be brought forth first. If there be a probability of opposition, it will be the best policy to strike it down at once by using the most forcible arguments, and then intro- ducing portions of less importance, leaving to the peroration the business of rekindling attention and interest. If, however, the speak- er is likely to meet with a favorable hearing, he may, after an introduction of the general subject, commence with portions of lesser importance and then advance to the higher ones, until he prepares his audience for receiving his final appeal. The plan being adopted, the speech should then be arranged under distinct heads, each head with its de- tails and offsets of thought attached, all cor- relative thoughts being associated, and one naturally suggestive and growing out of the other. When the whole outline, and that a pretty full one, of the speech has been thus prepared, it may then be reduced in form; the minor arguments and facts, which the principal ones would be sure to suggest, be- ing removed, and the whole subject reduced to a mere skeleton. The student, to make the details familiar, should glance at any of the heads and endeavor to recall the diver- gent branches of it. Then he should put it all aside, and ascertain if he can reproduce the general arrangement from memory. Let him not be disconcerted if minor parts be omitted; the great object in view is to grasp the whole conception of his work in his mind, without committing words to memory, and even without notes. Finally, let him cut it all down to three or four leading heads, such, of course, as are the sources of all minor details. — Lewis, The Dominion Elocu- tionist and Public Reader, p. 130. (A. S. & Co., 1872.) 969. PREPARATION. PULPIT. — To seize a pen, and dash off a discourse, on a subject heretofore not familiar, and with such thoughts as occur while one is writing, may insure ease and fluency of manner, but is little better than the delivery of the same thoughts without writing; indeed, the latter possess some great advantages, from the ele- vation of the powers by sympathy, passion, and attendant devotion. Engrave it upon your souls, that the whole business of your life is to prepare yourself for the work, and that no concentration of powers can be too great. The crying evil of our sermons is want of matter; we try to remedy this evil and that evil, when the thing we should do is to get something to say: and the laborious devotion of some young clergymen to rhet- oric and style instead of theology, is as if one should study a cookery-book when he should be going to market, I yesterday listened to Preparation Frounnciatloii KLEISER'S COMPLETE GODE 396 a sermon (and I am glad I do not know the preacher's name), which was twenty-five min- utes long, but of which all the matter might have been uttered in five. It was like what the ladies call trifle, all sweetness and froth, except a modicum of cake at the bottom. It was doubtless written extempore. When a young clergyman once inquired of Dr. Bel- lamy what he should do to have matter for his discourses, the shrewd old gentleman re- plied: "Fill up the cask, fill up the cask, fill up the cask ! Then, if you tap it any- where, you will get a good stream; but if you put in but little, it will dribble, dribble, dribble, and you must tap, tap, tap; and then get but little after all." — Alexander, Thoughts on Preaching, p. 110. (S., 1862.) 970. PREPARATION, THOROUGH, FOR SPEAKING.— There is a common delusion amongst young speakers that to speak extemporaneously, with an appearance of not having prepared for the occasion, is a mark of talent. Never believe it. A speech without preparation would be a failure. The practised orator who responds apparently without preparation to an unexpected call has his mind stored with facts, and trained and disciplined to habits of rapid thoughts and arrangements. In his study he prepares for the exigencies of the public arena. The greatest speeches of great orators have often been written carefully, thrown aside, written again and again, until they have saturated their minds with the whole subject, and made themselves familiar with the most concise and forcible modes of expression. Lord Brough- am stated in a letter to Lord Macaulay's fa- ther, on the best training for the orator, that, after reading and repeating Demosthenes for three or four weeks, he composed the per- oration of his speech in defence of Queen Caroline twenty times over at least. He fur- ther added that the student of oratory can never write too much. "It is necessary," he said, "to perfect oratory, and at any rate it is necessary to acquire the habit of correct diction. But I go further, and say even to the end of a man's life he must prepare word for word most of his passages. Now, would he be a great orator or no? In other words, would he have absolute power of doing good to mankind in a free country or no? So he wills this, he must follow these rules." To this practise of composition he further added the study of the great orators, especially of Demosthenes, and by their study he meant to commit them to memory and repeat them, as he himself did. In the same way, for the improvement of style, Southey recommended the student of poetry to write out the Para- dise Lost; and Guizot, the French historian and statesman, that he might acquire the style of Gibbon, copied the "Decline and Fall" of his favorite author. Thus the student will see that there is no royal road to excellence in oratory, and that it can only be accom- plished by arduous, patient labor. No doubt "the exigencies of modern political warfare, to which add the exigencies of the bar, have called into being a class of public speakers whose effusions fall as far short of those of the profest orator in permanent beauty as they excel them in immediate utility." But, as Lord Stanley stated, the secret of the readiness of the latter class and of skilful bar pleaders was "that the mind had been previously so exercised on similar subjects, that not merely the necessary words, but the necessary arguments and combinations of thought had become by practise as intuitive as those motions of the body by which we walk, or speak, or do any familiar and every- day act." — Lewis, The Dominion Elocution- ist and Public Reader, p. 129. (A. S. & Co., 1872.) 971. PRINCIPLES, KNOWLEDGE OF, NECESSARY. — All art, whether poetry, oratory, music, or painting, as a ra- tional procedure, must be in accordance with certain principles. It must, further, proceed in intelligence — in intelligent conformity to those principles, either consciously or uncon- sciously apprehended. These principles can better be acquired when reduced to a scien- tific form, that is, to a form adapted to the understanding, than otherwise. Thus intel- lectually apprehended, as rules prescribed from without, they become, by continued ap- plication or in exercise, directing and ani- mating principles, exerting an unconscious control. What is drudgery at first, mere me- chanical application, becomes in this way eventually the most free, the most spirited, the most truly artistic creation. The poetry of Goethe and of Coleridge is not less per- fect, certainly, because they were intellectual masters of the principles of poetry. — D'Ay, The Art of Discourse, p. 20. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 972. PROBABILITY IN SPEAKING. — Probability results from evidence and be- gets belief; belief raised to the highest, be- comes certainty; certainty flows either from the force of evidence, real or apparent, that is produced ; or, without any evidence produced by the speaker, from the previous notoriety of the fact. If the fact be notorious, it will 397 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Prepaxatloii Fronnndatlon not only be superfluous in the speaker to at- tempt to prove it, but it will be pernicious to bis design. The reason is plain. By proving he supposes it questionable, and by suppos- ing he actually renders it so to his audience. He brings them from viewing it in the stronger light of certainty to view it in the weaker light of probability: in lieu of sun- shine, he gives them twilight. — Campbell, The Philosophy of Rhetoric, p. 79. (G. & W. B. W., 1823.) 973. PRONUNCIATION, BOLDNESS OF. — An insipid flatness and languor is almost a universal fault in reading. Even public speakers often suffer their words to drop from their lips with such a faint and feeble utterance that they appear neither to understand nor feel what they say them- selves, nor to have any desire that it should be understood or felt by their audience. This is a fundamental fault : a speaker without en- ergy is a lifeless statue. In order to acquire a forcible manner of pronouncing your words, inure yourself while reading to draw in as much air as your lungs can contain with ease, and to expel it with vehemence, in uttering those sounds which require an em- phatic pronunciation; read aloud in the open air, and with all the exertion you can com- mand; preserve your body in an erect atti- tude while you are speaking; let all the consonant sounds be exprest with a full impulse of percussion of the breath, and a forcible action of the organs employed in forming them; and let all the vowel sounds have a full and bold utterance. Continue these exercises with perseverance, till you have acquired strength and energy of speech. But in observing this rule, beware of run- ning into the extreme of vociferation. This fault is chiefly found among those who, in contempt and despite of all rule and pro- priety, are determined to command the atten- tion of the vulgar. These are the speakers who, in Shakespeare's phrase, "offend the ju- dicious hearer to the soul by tearing a pas- sion to rags, to very tatters, to split the ears of the groundlings." Cicero compares such speakers to cripples who get on horseback because they can not walk: they bellow, be- cause they can not speak. — Enfield, The Speaker, p. 11. (J., 1799.) 974. PRONUNCIATION, DELIBER- ATE. — If you read and speak slow, and articulate well, you will always be heard with attention; altho your delivery in other re- spects may be very faulty ; and remember that it is not necessary to speak very loud, in order to be understood, but very distinctly, and, of course, deliberately. The sweeter, and more musical your voice is, the better and the farther you may be heard, the more ac- curate will be your pronunciation, and with the more pleasure and profit will you be lis- tened to. — Bronson, Elocution, or Mental and Vocal Philosophy, p. 43. (J. P. M. & Co., 1845.) 975. PRONUNCIATION, REMEDY FOR FAULTY.— Practise and patience are the only hints I can offer you for the acquirement of a correct and pleasing pro- nunciation. But it is almost certain that you will not be entirely free from defects ac- quired in early life, especially from provin- cialisms, of which it is so very hard to rid yourself, because you are not conscious of their presence. The sounds of the first words written on your memory are hard to be obliterated and never can be corrected by your own unaided efforts. The simple rem- edy is to invite the assistance of a friend, who will be quite as eiBcient for the purpose as a master. Ask him to listen while you read, and to detect any provincialisms, or faulty or slovenly pronunciations, of which you may be guilty. Direct him to stop you as the word is spoken and show you your error by uttering to you the word, first as you spoke it and then as it ought to have been spoken. You should repeat this trial again and again until he ceases to find any fault. When you have thus completed a sentence and corrected every word that was imperfectly pronounced, read it again twice or thrice, rapidly but clearly, to be sure that you have caught the true sounds. Then, after an interval of diversion of the ear by reading other things, return to the passages that were the most incorrectly read and try them again, until you can read them rightly without reflection or pause. You will find yourself greatly assisted in this useful prac- tise by scoring the imperfectly pronounced words with a pencil, as your listening friend or your own ear tells you of their faultiness. — Cox, The Arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, p. 70. (H. C, 1911.) 976. PRONUNCIATION, STANDARD OF. — It is not easy to fix upon any stand- ard by which the propriety of pronunciation may be determined. A rigorous adherence to etymology, or to analogy, would often pro- duce a pedantic pronunciation of words, which in a polite circle would appear per- fectly ridiculous. The fashionable world has, in this respect, too much caprice and affec- troof Proofs KLEISER'S COMPLETE GUIDE 398 tation to be implicitly followed. If there be any true standard of pronunciation, it must be sought for among those who unite the accuracy of learning with the elegance of polite conversation. An attention to such models, and a free intercourse with the world afford the best guard against the peculiari- ties and vulgarisms of provincial dialects. — Enfield, The Speaker, p. 13. (J., 1799.) 977. PROOF, EXTERNAL AND IN- TERNAL. — Under the general denomina- tion of proof are included demonstrations of two different kinds : external or internal, ar- tificial or inartificial. External proof con- sists of everything which the orator can allege, not resulting from his own talent. In- ternal proof is that which he draws from his personal resources of ingenuity. External proof is evidence; internal proof is argu- ment. When a legislator in the senate reads a section of a statute in support of the prop- osition he is maintaining, when a lawyer at the bar calls a witness upon the stand to substantiate a fact material to his cause, when a divine in the pulpit quotes a passage of sacred inspiration to confirm the doctrine he has advanced, each of them adduces a proof in confirmation of his position ; and this proof is external ; it exists independent of the speaker and of his art. But when the legislator infers from the statutes which he has read the expediency of the measure which he proposes, when the lawyer draws his con- clusions from the testimony of the witness, and when the divine applies the quotation from scripture to the improvement of his discourse, then the proofs they adduce are internal, or artificial, resulting from the operations of their own minds, and which independent of them would have no exis- tence. In all the other classes of oratory, excepting that of the bar, this distinction be- tween external and internal proofs is not very important. In the pulpit or at the halls of deliberation the argument of the speaker and the authority which he vouches go hand in hand; nor is any very critical investiga- tion necessary to separate them from one another. But it is not so before courts and juries. The only proofs allowed to be con- clusive with them are law and evidence. However clear and irresistible the logic of the party or of his council may be, it is re- garded not as proof but as mere assertion; and whether it shall have any weight at all upon their decision depends always upon the discretion, and in point of fact often upon the inclination, of those to whom it is ad- drest. Hence the term proof, in its common acceptance, as used at our judicial tribunals, is confined to the more narrow sense of ex- ternal testimony. Yet undoubtedly a propo- sition may be proved by argument, as well as by testimony; and even at the bar the power of reason, properly applied, ought always to be, and often is, of equal efficacy to produce conviction, as the oath of a witness. Exter- nal proofs are considered by Aristotle as ap- plicable only to judicial causes, and they are, according to him, five in number : laws, wit- nesses, contracts, torture, and oaths of the parties. Under the general denomination of witnesses he includes authorities, the inter- pretation of oracles, and proverbial maxims. To these Quintilian adds previous adjudica- tions and common fame. These are all in- cluded in the general name of evidence in our judicial courts. Under the same head of evidence must also be ranged two other kinds of proof, which are classed by the ancient rhetoricians among their internal or artificial proofs, which are called by them signs and examples. A sign is a token by which any- thing is shown ; an example is a thing which by its resemblance may indicate another. Signs are of two kinds : certain or uncer- tain. A certain or infallible sign is that which so universally accompanies the thing it proves that nothing can be opposed against it. An uncertain sign is only an indication of probability. When you behold a culti- vated field, covered with a burden of corn ripening for the sickle, it is a certain sign of a seed-time past, and an uncertain sign of a future harvest. Certain signs by the dis- criminating Greeks were distinguished by a peculiar name, denoting termination, import- ing, says Aristotle, that they put an end to all controversy. Uncertain signs furnish all those varieties of possibility and probability which in the language of the common law occupy the broad range of presumptive evi- dence. All these, as well as examples, were included among the artificial or internal proofs ; because their application to the sup- port of any cause depended upon the ingenu- ity of the speaker. They were, however, well aware of the difference between the sign or example itself, which perhaps they ought to have classed among their external proofs, and that operation of the orator by which he makes them applicable to his own cause. Thus Quintilian remarks that, altho signs had often been confounded with arguments, there: were two reasons for distinguishing between them. First, because they might almost be reckoned among the inartificial proofs. A shriek, a wound, a garment stained with blood, are all signs ; but they are as indepen- 399 TO PUBLIC SPEAKING Proof Proofs dent of the orator as a witness or a contract. And secondly, because, if the sign be a cer- tain one, it leaves no question to which an argument can attach; if an uncertain one, it is of itself nothing without the aid of an ar- gument. And thus Aristotle long before had said that signs, if certain, formed the basis of a syllogism; if uncertain, of an enthy- mem; and that examples laid the foundation of induction. The application of all exter- nal proof belongs indeed to the task of the orator. This constitutes his argument, and his argument must assume one or both of the two processes by which alone human rea- son can act upon human opinions, ratioci- nation and induction. — Adams, Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, vol. 2, p. 29. (H. & M., 1810.) 978. PROOF IN PREACHING.— Proof is the intellectual fact by which the effect of certitude is realized in us. Definition termi- nates relative ignorance, proof puts an end to doubt. By the first we know, by the sec- ond we believe. We must distinguish two orders of truths : speculative and practical. But both are alike established by proof. In regard to both of these, proof produces con- viction, which is a state in which one can deny neither the fact nor the right, without, in some sort, denying himself. For proof consists, as it were, in opposing a hearer with his own signature; that is to say, the admission of some more general or previ- ously proved truth, which involves the truth in question, or from which it irresistibly flows. If the question be one of fact, the arguments (means, instruments of proof) are called reasons; if of right or duty, they are motives. To reorganize, fact or right, is to admit its conformity, in either case, to the idea of the true which is in us, or that it is implied in a truth which we hold already as certain and incontrovertible. This recogni- tion is what the preacher would first of all obtain, in respect not only to fact but to right. The result in both cases is called con- viction. Persuasion, which comes afterward, or the inclination of the will to such or such an act, is necessary, but neither more nor less than conviction ; and if the preacher does not think that he has attained his purpose unless conviction be also persuasion, neither does he suppose he has attained it if he has persuad- ed without convincing. We first regard only the means of producing conviction; but let it be remarked carefully that what we here separate, the orator ordinarily does not sep- arate, and that he endeavors to produce at one and the same time conviction and persua- sion. — ViNET, Homiletics; or, The Theory of Preaching, p. 170. (I. & P., 1855.) 979. PROOF, THE BURDEN OF.— It should be borne in mind that the stress is to be laid on the fact of alleging or affirm- ing, not on the form of the proposition itself as affirmative or negative. The principle is, He who alleges must prove. If the allega- tion be in the negative form, it does not shift the burden of proof. The fundamental ground on which the principle rests is that whatever is new shall be accounted for. He who makes an allegation puts into being a statement that did not exist before. He is properly called upon to account for it — ^prove it, and thus make it a truth. — Day, The Art of Discourse, p. 158. (C. S. & Co., 1867.) 980. PROOFS, CHOICE OF. — It is better to reject the light and feeble ones, and to insist upon those which are strong and convincing — present these latter dis- tinctly, and to do so separate them; but feebler ones should be treated in the oppo- site way, i.e., bound together like the bundle of sticks in the fable. Here is an example from Quintilian : He supposes a man to be accused of killing another whose heir he had hoped to be, and he combines several cir- cumstances to prove the accusation. "You hoped to receive an inlieritance — a rich in- heritance; you were in great indigence, and actually beset by your creditors. You had offended the man whose heir you expected to be, and you knew that he contemplated changing his will." No one of these argu- ments alone, says Quintilian, has any great weight; but, taken together, if they strike not like the lightning, yet like hail they come down with repeated blows. — Bautain, Art of Extempore Speaking, p. 327. (S., 1901.) 981. PROOFS, IMPORTANCE OF ORDER OF.— Order of proof is of most importance. The natural method, acording to the subject treated, is to preserve such a succession, as may, step by step, open the matter to the mind of the auditor, an