PUBLIC SPEAKING AND READING
A TREATISE ON DELIVERY
ACCORDING TO THE PRINCIPLES OF THE NE\V
ELOCUTION
BY
E. N. KIRBY, A.B.
FORMERLY INSTRUCTOR IN ELOCUTION IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY AND PROFESSOR
OF ELOCUTION AND ORATORY IN BOSTON UNIVERSITY
BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
fwl
\_-
COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY LBB AND SHBPARD
All Rights Reserved
PUBLIC SPEAKING
TYPOGRAPHY BY C. J. PKTBRS * SON, BOSTON.
PREFACE
THE principles of this treatise are in accord with what
may reasonably be called the " New Elocution." The terra
" New Elocution " describes, in the first place, the style of
delivery in vogue among the representative speakers of to-
day, and in the second place, the method employed by the
best teachers of the subject. The style of delivery, espe-
cially since the oratory of Wendell Phillips and Henry Ward
Beecher, has been conversational at basis; that is, it has
been simple, direct, varied, and spontaneous. The new
method of teaching lays stress mainly upon mental condi-
tions. It recognizes more fully that man is mind as well
as body ; and it aims at making the speaker skilful, by at-
tending to the mental, as well as the physical and vocal
conditions.
Again, contrary to the usual methods, I have taken up
Delivery from the rhetorician's point of view, and have
developed it according to the principles of accepted psy-
chology ; while from the beginning to the end the practical
requirements of the subject have been kept in view. These
features, together with the doctrine of the conversational
basis, make the method pre-eminently a natural one.
Without attempting to give a full account in this place of
the distinguishing features of the book, the author calls
special attention to Book II., Chapter i., on "The Mental
Content of Language."
While the book will greatly benefit any student, it by no
means supplants the teacher ; for without thorough practice
and study, very few persons are able to accurately inspect
844345
8 PREFACE
their own effort. Then, too, the ability to diagnose one's
own or another's needs is comparable to the physician's
skill, and is gained only by prolonged practice in teaching.
Moreover, to secure the best results, a teacher to illustrate
and exemplify the principles will be necessary.
This treatise is adapted to the laboratory method of
instruction. The student is taught the principles of the
art, the instruments and elements are named, the problems
are set, and he is required to experiment for himself under
the eye and ear of the teacher; he is then shown wherein
he fails or succeeds. Only as the individual is reached
can instruction be made effective; and each teacher as
well as student will, soon or late, find out how farcical, with-
out supplementary practice given to the individual, is the
attempt to treat large classes.
While presenting the principles, training for physical and
vocal development should be given from the start. Each
teacher must determine for himself, however, the pedagogi-
cal order of the instruction.
This book is the result of much study, and considerable
experience in teaching in High Schools, in Harvard Uni-
versity, and in Boston University.
The author sends it out in the belief that it will help
many teachers, and will aid in the promotion of good speak-
ing. It will be found best adapted to colleges and prepara-
tory schools.
Although there is very little in this book directly attribu-
table to my former teachers, with pleasure I acknowledge
my indebtedness to the late Dean Monroe as a leader in
the New Elocution, and as the first teacher to show me the
importance of affecting the mental conditions. Wherever
due, I have given special credit in the body of the book.
CAMBRIDGE, June 7, 1895.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAG*
PREFACE 3
INTRODUCTION 13
Speaking Distinguished from Reading 14
Public Speaking is Conversational at Basis 16
Predominant and Subordinate Processes 17
The Main Problem 17
The Lesser Problem 20
Individuality 21
PART I
Principles of Public Speaking
BOOK I
ESSENTIALS OF PUBLIC SPEAKING
ER
I. Clearness 27
Force 28
Elegance 29
BOOK II
SOURCES OF THE ESSENTIALS OF PUBLIC SPEAKING
I. Mental Content of Language 34
SEC. I. ATTENTION 37
II. ANALYSIS 38
1. Meaning as a whole 39
2. Logical Relations 40
3. Meaning of the Words 41
4. New Idea 41
5. Ellipses 42
6. Imagination 43
7. Associated Ideas ... 44
8. Emotions 45
9
10 TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGB
II. Earnestness 50
III. Physical Vitality 54
IV. Control 56
V. Reserved Force 62
Specialization of Function 63
VI. Conversational Basis 65
VII. The Audience 68
1. Communicative Attitude 70
2. Deferential Attitude 71
VIII. Good- Will 72
IX. Variety 74
BOOK III
ELEMENTS OF THE ESSENTIALS OF PUBLIC SPEAKING
I. Elements of Clearness 76
SEC. I. ENUNCIATION 76
1. Syllabication 76
2. Accent 77
3. Vowel Moulding 77
4. English Vowels 78
5. English Consonants 79
II. EMPHASIS 80
III. PHRASING, ok GROUPING . 82
IV. TRANSITION 83
II. Elements of Force 86
SEC. I. A GOOD VOICE 86
1. Strength 86
2. Flexibility 87
3. Purity of Tone 87
4. Range of Pitch 87
5. Resonance 88
6. Vocal Defects 91
7. Vocal Development 92
SBC. II. KINDS OF VOICE 99
1. Voice of Pure Tone 99
2. Full Voice 100
3. Aspirate Voice 100
4. Guttural Voice 100
TABLE OF CONTENTS II
PTER FAGM
II. Elements of Force Continued
KINDS CLASSIFIED 100
1. Intellective Voice 100
2. Vital Voice 101
3. Affectional Voice . 101
. . III. INFLECTION 103
IV. RHYTHM 106
V. MELODY OF SPEECH no
VI. STRESS 112
. . VII. LOUDNESS 113
VIII. TIME OR RATE 113
IX. CLIMAX 114
X. IMITATIVE MODULATION 115
XI. GESTURE 116
Subjective Gesture 118
Picture-Making Gesture 119
Laws of Gesture 119
Praxis 121
Criteria 124-130
III. Elements of Elegance 131
SEC. I. HARMONY OF FUNCTION 131
II. PRONUNCIATION 132
III. AGREEABLE VOICE . 135
IV. STRONG AND GRACEFUL MOVEMENTS .... 135
i. Physical Development 135
PART II
Praxis in Delivery
ANALYSIS OF A SPEECH 140
TYPES OF DELIVERY 145
INDEX TO SELECTIONS
Antony's Oration Shakespeare .... 140
White Horse Hill Thomas Hughes ... 146
The May Pole of Merry Mount . . . Nathaniel Hawthorne . 148
12 TABLE OF CONTENTS.
Await the Issue Thos. Carlyle .... 150
National Bankruptcy Mirabeau 151
Brutus and Cassius Shakespeare .... 153
Brutus, Cassius, and Casca .... Shakespeare . . . . 155
Paul Revere's Ride Longfellow 158
An Order for a Picture Alice Gary 161
Skill and Beauty in Art John Ritskin .... 165
The Boston Massacre Geo. Bancroft .... 166
Rip Van Winkle, Part I Washington Irving . . 170
Part II " " . . 172
Tom Pinch's Journey to London . . . Charles Dickens ... 177
The Cloud P. B. Shelley .... 179
Public Dishonesty H. IV. Beecher ... 182
Eloquence Daniel Webster ... 184
The Orator's Art John Quincy Adams . . 185
From Henry V Shakespeare .... 186
Herv6 Riel, Part I Robert Browning . . . 186
" " Part II " " ... 189
Hamlet's Advice to the Players . . . Shakespeare .... 191
Othello's Defence Shakespeare .... 192
The Scholar in a Republic .... Wendell Phillips . . . 194
The Problem of the New South . . . H. W. Grady . . . 197
The Scholar in Politics G. W. Curtis . . . . 200
Hyder Ali's Revenge Burke 201
Havelock's Highlanders W. Brock 204
PUBLIC SPEAKING
INTRODUCTION
PUBLIC SPEAKING is the art of efficient public communica-
tion by spoken and gesticular language. 1 Reading and reci-
tation, in short, all kinds of delivery, before few or many, are
included under this term. The subject includes all that is
now taught as rhetoric and delivery. Anciently, as is indi-
cated by the Greek word pTJrwp, meaning speaker, Rhetoric
was identical with Public Speaking. " Aristotle," says Pro-
fessor Hill, " makes the very essence of rhetoric to lie in
the distinct recognition of an audience."
This treatise deals with the fundamental processes of
Public Speaking, and especially with those involved in the
act of Delivery. It assumes familiarity with the technique
of what is now taught as rhetoric. Those who lack this
assumed familiarity are referred to books on rhetoric for
such topics as the Choice and Use of Words, the Doctrine
of the Sentence and the Paragraph, Figures of Speech, Dif-
ferent kinds of Composition, Style, and other topics con-
nected with Composition.
Extensive Knowledge, a Reliable Memory, Logical Skill,
and Tact, utilizing common-sense and a knowledge of hu-
man nature by means of which the speaker adapts the
speech and its delivery to a particular audience, are among
the sources of power in Public Speaking.
But as these topics belong more to the preparation than to
the delivery of the speech, they are dismissed from consid-
eration in this book.
i See Principles of Rhetoric, by A. S. Hill, p. i.
13
14 INTRODUCTION
The related sciences of Grammar, Logic, ^Esthetics, and
Ethics- contribute their laws to the art. Hence the confu-
sion of those 'who speak of the subject as a science.
As the subject is an art, it has skill as its aim ; and from
the beginning to the end, in this attempt to methodize in-
struction in Public Speaking, this aim is kept before the
student; and a distinct effort made to render him skilful
in commanding the principles to which, consciously or un-
consciously, effective speaking must always conform. Ac-
cordingly, instead of the hopeless method of prescribing
innumerable rules impossible of application, this treatise
aims to thoroughly analyze the sources and elements of the
essentials of the art, and to exhibit the leading excellences
that must be cultivated in contrast with the faults that are
to be corrected.
The art of making a speech involves, usually, the process
of reproducing a set of ideas upon some subject. If there
has been previous reflection upon a subject, whether the
discourse has been written or not, it is, in its delivery, a re-
production. But effective reproduction is creative, and not
mechanical. Moreover, discourse created or re-created at
the point of delivery is extemporaneous. Hence, in the
praxis of written or printed selections, since creation or
recreation as a central and essential idea is strenuously
insisted on, the discipline of this work qualifies for the
delivery of either written or unwritten matter.
SPEAKING DISTINGUISHED FROM READING.
To further distinguish the properties of delivery, it is
important to recognize the wide difference between reading
and speaking. Listening to the delivery of a person who is
out of sight, you can ordinarily determine whether he is
reading (that is, delivering from manuscript or the printed
page) or speaking (that is, composing in the act of delivery).
INTRODUCTION 15
Without being able to analyze the difference, any one can
also distinguish between the delivery in the ordinary reading
of a newspaper or book, and that of ordinary conversation ;
this, too, when the style of the composition does not betray
the difference ; for it can be determined by the tones, even
when the words and sentences are not distinguishable.
What, then, constitutes the difference between these two
styles of delivery?
In reading, the delivery is more uniform. The pitch,
the degree of force, the length and place of the pauses,
vary but little. It is popularly called " monotonous," " inex-
pressive ; " and where great force or loudness is employed
this delivery is characterized as " declamatory," " heavy,"
"noisy," as "spouting," "preaching." A single word,
then, variety, describes the distinguishing characteristic of
conversational or speaking delivery. In speaking, the pitch,
the kind of voice, the rate, the pause, and all other elements
of delivery, are continually changing. It has the variability
of life.
The ground of this variability is the way the mind acts.
In reading, there is little differentiation of the thoughts :
the emotion is unvaried. It is indeed, mainly, the emotion
connected with a kind of chant, and closely associated with
the sense of rhythm. In this form of expression the mind
is less alert, and it runs along " the line of the least resist-
ance."
On the other hand, in conversation we have the original
function, and also the very essence of all language. As
spoken language precedes written language, so also the
delivery of the unwritten word precedes the delivery of
the written word. Moreover, the function of language is a
social one, and hence presupposes one mind communicating
with another, indeed, one person thinking with another ;
for in real conversation, thought and word are one. In
conversation, the expression is more spontaneous, more
l6 INTRODUCTION
direct. The sub-processes (that is, the processes producing
voice and gesture) are held in their subordinate places.
Mind appears to act more immediately upon mind without
being conscious of the media of communication. The
thought and feeling are created in the act of delivery.
With that other use of the word " reading," meaning the
expressional delivery of what another has composed, we
are not at present concerned. Our purpose is rather to con-
trast reading with speaking; and to show that the former is
mechanical, and the latter creative, or expressive, delivery.
This distinction between reading and speaking is the
popular one. The majority of people dislike sermons that
are read in contrast to those that are spoken. In this
treatise, "speaking" includes the delivery of all forms of
written or unwritten matter that creates the thought in
the act of delivery.
" Reading " (that is, word-delivery or statistical represen-
tation of facts), requires only distinct enunciation of words,
and, hence, expressional discipline is unnecessary. The
purpose of all elocutionary practice aims at speaking as its
legitimate goal.
PUBLIC SPEAKING is CONVERSATIONAL AT BASIS.
According to this analysis, speaking, conversation, and
extemporaneous delivery, are essentially the same. Each
has the same property of variety. In each the mind acts
with the same spontaneity and directness. Each, too,
creates or re-creates the ideas at the point of delivery. As
distinguished from these, Public Speaking, according to the
most approved delivery, may be further characterized as
the heightened conversational. At basis it is simple, direct,
spontaneous, varied, creative ; but heightened in pitch, force,
and in the other elements, as determined by the emotional
content of the discourse. Corresponding to this, it is to
be observed that " declamatory," or " orotund," delivery is
INTRODUCTION I/
heightened reading. This form of reading-delivery also is
to be avoided.
PREDOMINANT AND SUBORDINATE PROCESSES.
One of the difficulties in Public Speaking arises from the
great number and variety of the processes. Some of these
processes are predominant, and others are subordinate.
Now, in all speaking, good or bad, the predominant pro-
cesses are the ones that express themselves. Hence the
importance of making the ideas to be communicated the
predominant processes, and the means to this end the sub-
ordinate ones. Frequently, however, through lack of skill,
the processes that should be subordinate become predomi-
nant ones. The speaker obviously puzzles over the gram-
mar, the rhetoric, or the gesture of his address. At one time
the speaker gives his main effort to discerning the words of
his manuscript ; at another (as in memoriter delivery) he is
absorbed in the labor of recalling the language. Instead,
all of those operations of mind and body that may be
regarded as means, are to be held in their places as sub-
processes. The thought and feeling, together with the
volitional attitude which the speaker intends to produce in
the mind of the hearer, are always to be regarded as the
predominant process ; and hence should form the leading
content of the speaker's mind.
THE MAIN PROBLEM.
The main problem before the student is to secure the
right mental action. When this is done, the body responds.
First, the thought and feeling intended as the predominant
process, and constituting the speech proper, or the matter of
the address, is clearly, from beginning to end, the result of
mental activity. This mastery of the ideas of the discourse
constitutes the primary aspect of the Main Problem.
In the second place, voice and its various modifications,
1 8 INTRODUCTION
gesture in short, the use of all of the instruments or
means of communication constituting the subordinate pro-
cesses, or the manner of the address, vaguely regarded by
some as physical changes, are also the result of mental
activity. We mean to say, in brief, that no one can produce
a sound, or change a pitch, or make a gesture, without the
action of the mind. The proper use of the voice and other
agents of expression depends, therefore, upon right mental
action, as fully as does the mastery of the ideas. Such
proper use of the means constitutes the secondary aspect of
the Main Problem.
For the solution of this Main Problem, both the subjective
and the objective treatment are employed. The subjective
treatment deals directly with the content of the mind ; that
is, with the thought and feeling.
The thought and feeling are analyzed and dwelt upon.
Related ideas are brought forward ; and thus, by dealing
with the factors of the mind directly, we seek to promote
right mental action with reference to the subject-matter and
its expression. This treatment is more fully developed
under the chapter on "The Content of Language."
In the objective treatment, however, we call attention to
the agents (the chest, the mouth, the hands, etc.), and to the
elements (emphasis, pitch, etc.), expressive of the thought
and feeling.
The objective treatment is based upon the fact that bodily
states affect mental states ; hence, by assuming the physical
attitude, the corresponding mental state is initiated and pro-
moted. We not only entreat the angry man not be angry,
but also coax him to sit down and not speak so loudly ; that
is, to assume the act and attitude of composure. Practically,
an emotion and its expression are one and the same thing.
The emotion of the sublime, for instance, is developed by
assuming the low pitch, measured time, and approximate
monotone expressive of this emotion, This treatment,
INTRODUCTION IQ
reaching the mind by calling attention to the physical states,
is the shorthand method of every-day life. Just as the
child is told to " quit whining," and to " straighten out " his
face, so also, in elocutionary training, we say, " Speak
louder," " Pause more frequently," " Speak on a lower
pitch."
The objective treatment, therefore, promotes not only the
proper use of the agents and elements of expression, but
also a mastery of the subject-matter, or the ideas in process
of delivery. For instance, the intention to lift the voice to
a higher pitch with increased ictus, as a means of rendering
it emphatic, makes that word prominent, and hence em-
phatic in the mind. The mind, in turn, reacts upon the
voice, and promotes that intention. The effect is reciprocal.
Thus it is seen that the subjective and objective treatment
are the two ways of promoting right mental action.
The discipline here recommended develops the power to
think at the point of delivery, or to think through delivery,
and also to master the technique or to use the instruments
of Expression.
At the risk of being tedious to some, we will further illus-
trate the subjective and objective treatment.
"The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof; the
world, and they that dwell therein."
The subjective treatment of this sentence requires that
the student understand the history of the psalm of which it
forms a part, the occasion and method of its use as an an-
tiphonal psalm in the temple service ; dwell upon each word ;
analyze the thought ; especially, develop the emotional con-
tent of the sentence. The feeling is one of majesty, of tri-
umph, and splendidly sublime. Notice, according to the
method of Hebrew poetry, that the second clause repeats
the idea of the first, and hence is not differentiated as a
new thought. In short, apply the method of the chapter
on "The Content of Language."
2O INTRODUCTION
In reading this psalm, if the student find himself delivering
it on a high pitch, with metallic ring and rapid rate, the
objective treatment orders him to use a lower pitch, to slow
rate, full tone, full major slides, and with due observance
of the rhythm.
A too exclusive use of the objective treatment is a feature
of the old elocution, and runs into the mechanical.
THE LESSER PROBLEM.
The lesser problem before the student is to modify or
remove bodily limitations. Obviously, some limitations are
only partially, and others not at all removable. It is as-
sumed, however, that the most important organs are modi-
fiable, and that especially their functions may be rendered
more full, economic, and accurate. Faulty breathing may
be corrected, the chest capacity developed, vocal quality
improved, the bearing and movement rendered strong, grace-
ful, and free in short, all the organs of speech and gesture
may be developed, and the channels cleared for the prompt,
accurate, and full expression of the mental states.
In exercises for physical and vocal development, the
organs, as such, are dealt with. Even in such exercise, how-
ever, the feelings and imagination are utilized ; and as bodily
limitations are oftenest functional, the main and the lesser
problems nearly merge into the one problem of disciplining
the mind's action. Moreover, in this technical training on
special non-expressive exercises for physical and vocal de-
velopment, from the very beginning, the expressional use of
the organs is anticipated.
The principles of Public Speaking can be realized only in
use ; and to point out the specific excellences and faults of
any delivery requires the skill of an experienced practitioner.
Hence the teacher becomes a trainer, enabling the pupil to
accomplish what, in all probability, he never would accom-
plish alone.
INTRODUCTION 21
INDIVIDUALITY.
In the practical pursuit of the subject, the question of in-
dividuality, or personality, arises. The method here offered,
dealing as it does with general principles, and directing the
main effort to realize the thought in the act of delivery, in-
stead of prescribing absolute and arbitrary forms, ought to
be a sufficient guarantee that individuality, or personality,
will have all the freedom it can reasonably claim.
It is to be conceded that all good speakers do not speak
alike. On the other hand, every one needs to remove, as far
as possible, vocal and bodily limitations to suppress glaring
mannerisms ; to develop versatility and responsiveness to
thought and feeling outside of the individual habits. Moods
of the individual that impede the realization of the thought
and feeling of the subject must be subordinated or practi-
cally eliminated, and a broader capacity developed. To
mention a specific and marked case, a person of an over-
serious mood must develop the possibility of other moods.
Again, a speaker who conceives an idea merely as fact must
also realize it as an emotion.
Development in expressional power is always in the direc-
tion of emotional mastery. That which is narrow, accidental,
and limited, must give place to the varied and universal.
The difference among speakers is attributable to the different
ways of realizing the thought, or what amounts to the same
thing, the different way the thought affects each emotionally.
Take the following sentence for an illustration :
" All in the valley of death
Rode the six hundred."
This may be conceived merely as a fact : there were six
hundred men in this charge here described. There may
have been a few more or less, or possibly just six hundred.
They all without exception rode forward at the command.
22 INTRODUCTION
The enemy were in front, to right and left a valley; and,
as we know, it was death to most of them.
Again, this may be conceived as fact that affects the
speaker emotionally. The leading emotion may be that of
horror at the thought of these soldiers, because of a blunder,
marching to almost inevitable death. In this conception
the word " all " has more than statistical value. It shows
the extent of the doom. " Valley of Death " now takes on
a more sombre color. It is not merely a historic fact, but
a present reality. Imagination reproduces the scene. The
"valley" and "riders," with "cannon in front," "to right"
and " left," volleying and thundering, are in sight.
Still another conception may arouse feelings of admiration
and heroism as we see the splendid discipline and bravery
of these men. This conception will emotionally affect all of
the subordinate ideas. The words, " all," " valley of death,"
and so all the rest, which have much in common, are changed
from the first conception. These, and possibly other con-
ceptions, may be combined. Moreover, in any conception
that intends to reproduce the thought of another, the variety
of lights and shades and crossings of emotions are almost
endless.
Again, the character, the culture of the individual, not
to mention his peculiarities, will contribute an important
element. No two minds reproduce the same thought in
the same way. No speaker reproduces his own ideas in the
same way.
It is just this difference in conception that gives largest
opportunity to individuality or personality. Not only men-
tal quality, but the nervous system and physical conditions,
are a part of the matter. I have found frequently that some
mannerism, which was the result of nervous conditions, or
which was capriciously or possibly accidentally adopted, was
as tenaciously held to as the most sacred attribute of person-
ality. We must distinguish between peculiarity and per-
INTRODUCTION 23
sonality. Things of habit, good or bad, are dear to us.
The student of speaking should be sane. In fact, the
nervous state and dominating moods frequently render it
impossible for the speaker to fully realize other emotions.
To such an one it must be said, " Ye must be born again ! "
All, to some extent, need such regeneration. Like all
educational growth, it is a process, and hence requires dis-
cipline under intelligent direction. Elocution treated on
this basis is of the highest value as a means of culture.
In spite, however, of the rational and practical method
of treatment, the teacher frequently appears to invade the
personality of the speaker; hence, in drill, it will require
care on the part of the teacher, and patience on the part
of the student.
PART I
PRINCIPLES OF PUBLIC SPEAKING
BOOK I
ESSENTIALS OF PUBLIC SPEAKING
CHAPTER I
CLEARNESS, FORCE, AND ELEGANCE
WHILE listening to speakers for the purpose of determin-
ing their respective effectiveness, judges find it necessary to
consider the delivery with reference to at least three things,
intelligibility, or ease, with which the speaker makes
himself understood; the ability of the speaker to interest
and move the listener; and the ease and gracefulness of
the delivery, especially with reference to the bearing and
gesture. Although not always so clearly analyzed by every
one, these are the qualities that make speaking effective
to all listeners.
These three groups of properties, under the names of
Clearness, Force, and Elegance, are regarded by teachers of
rhetoric as the essential properties of style ; and in keep-
ing with the rhetorical spirit, these terms are used to repre-
sent the essential properties of delivery.
Clearness. One of the principal aims of public speak-
ing is to give information. This aim addresses the under-
standing and satisfies the demand of the intellect. The
group of properties by means of which information is com-
municated is called " clearness." Professor Bain describes
it as "opposed to obscurity, vagueness, ambiguity, or ill-
27
28 PUBLIC SPEAKING
defined boundaries." 1 Prof. A. S. Hill says, "It is not
enough to use language that may be understood, he [a
writer or speaker] should use language that must be under-
stood," and quotes Quintilian and Emerson to the same
effect. 2
In Public Speaking, clearness means more than the
choice of words and sentences for this purpose. The
clearest style of a Newman may be rendered obscure in
the delivery.
By the use of proper enunciation, varied pitch, pause, em-
phasis, and other elements of speech, the speaker must ren-
der the thought so clear to the ear that the listener cannot
fail to understand at once the purposed idea.
If, for purposes of information, a speaker aims only at the
bare statement of facts, as in rendering judicial opinions, in
the technical treatment of scientific subjects, and in reading
news items, the speaking, if it is clear, answers every de-
mand. 8 It is seldom, however, that a speech is limited to
this single purpose.
Force. The second of the leading aims of speaking,
and especially of oratory, is persuasion. Persuasion affects
the will principally through the emotions. The group of
qualities, by means of which the emotions are stirred and
the will affected, is variously called "vivacity," "energy,"
"strength," "force." The term "force," as we have seen,
is now more generally used.
While the tendency is toward a factive simplicity in Public
Speaking, and especially toward a suppression of excessive
emotion and sentimental adornment, so long as man is
capable of poetry, and is susceptible of aesthetic influences,
a speech must have certain emotional qualities. Conditions
may modify the emotions, but can never obliterate them.
1 English Composition and Rhetoric. Bain, p. 48.
2 Principles of Rhetoric, by A. S. Hill, p. 65.
8 A. S. Hill's Rhetoric, p. 84.
CLEARNESS, FORCE, AND ELEGANCE 2Q
Force satisfies this demand of the emotions; and while
the listener does not consciously attend to the emotional
states nor seek to promote them as he does an understand-
ing of the speech, yet if a speaker lacks force, he is, in
popular language, called "dull," "dry," "lifeless," "inex-
pressive," " without force"
But declamation and noise should not be mistaken for
Force. A blind struggle for this property leads to just this
mistake. The softest tone, the gentlest whisper, may be
more forceful than the strongest declamation.
Silence is often forceful. A natural manner, a vivacious,
but subdued and dignified delivery, is the most impressive
delivery, and is Forceful in the sense used in this book.
By means of Force in the Delivery, the speaker first of
all holds the attention of the audience ; the listener " awakes
the senses," is alert and anticipative. Beyond this, other emo-
tions, indeed, the whole range of emotions, may be affected.
Elegance. Public speaking, in the next place, aims to
please. To give pleasure is a motive leading in poetry,
prominent in the essay, and not neglected in oratory; for
speech can persuade only as it pleases.
The group of qualities that renders the discourse agreea-
ble, and that gives the charm of language that pleases, is,
as we have already said, called by the rhetoricians, "ele-
gance." It corresponds to the feelings, and satisfies the
demand of the aesthetic nature.
Besides the usual rhetorical elements that appeal to taste
and imagination, and upon which the pleasing quality of the
speech is primarily based, elegance in delivery demands also
an agreeable voice, strong, easy bearing, graceful gesture,
harmony of function, and correct pronunciation.
A WORKING SCHEME.
In practice, the student still finds it difficult to hold before
the subconscious attention the leading processes involved
3<D PUBLIC SPEAKING
in good speaking. He frequently says, " I lost sight of this
while attending to the other." " I find it difficult to attend
to so many things." Hence some scheme of summarizing
the various sources and elements, especially for beginners,
is important
Clearness, Force, and Elegance, besides adequately sum-
marizing the properties of public address, also serve as a
scheme to carry into practice the various elements to which
effective speaking must conform. The student should ac-
custom himself to associate under these heads the group of
qualities belonging to each, so that they at once schematize
the complex functions, and suggest all that is to be done.
Especially should the five sources of effective delivery
be continually held before the student. This positive treat-
ment may be alternated with criticism of special faults.
Criticism should be both general and specific. This will
involve the elements as well as the sources. The student
and the speaker soon become accustomed to these cate-
gories. The value of a teacher is in proportion to his
ability to diagnose the student's needs and to prescribe a
remedy.
The student should thoroughly commit each item of the
scheme. Its value will be fully appreciated only after a thor-
ough study of the whole treatise and after much practice.
The attempt, however, to make the speaking forceful by
thinking too exclusively of force, results in what is opprobri-
ously called "dramatic," "stagy," "bombastic" delivery;
while the attempt to secure elegance by thinking too ex-
clusively of this property results in affectation. These
faults are seen in a great many professional and amateur
"readers."
It is otherwise with regard to Clearness. If the speaker
give the appearance of consciously attending to this qual-
ity, it does not so seriously detract from the effort. If the
audience find it difficult to understand the thought, then a
CLEARNESS, FORCE, AND ELEGANCE $1
statement, description, or illustration from a different point
of view is welcomed ; and if the voice is not clearly audible,
it seems to be allowable in deliberative assemblies to de-
mand that the speaker " speak louder."
THE SCHEME.
A. SOURCES OF CLEARNESS,
FORCE, AND ELEGANCE.
I. Physical Vitality and Ear-
ncstness.
II . Control and Reserved Force .
III. The Audience (Attention of
Communication); and
Good-will (Sympathy).
IV. Mental Content, Thought
and Feeling (Attention).
V. Variety in Unity , Differ-
entiation.
B. ELEMENTS OF CLEARNESS,
FORCE, AND ELEGANCE.
I. Of Clearness.
1. Enunciation (Syllables,
Vowels, Consonants).
2. Emphasis.
3. Phrasing or grouping.
4. Transition.
II. Of Force.
1 . Strong, pure, flexible tones.
2. Appropriate voice.
3. Inflection (Slides).
4. Melody of speech.
5. Rhythm.
6. Loudness.
7. Stress.
8. Rate.
9. Climax.
10. Imitative modulation,
n. Gesture.
III. Of Elegance.
1. Harmony of parts.
2. Pronunciation.
The main dependence, however, in each essential, is in
clearly conceiving the thought, and in fully realizing the
emotions of the subject.
The student who hopes to make elocution compensate for
brains, and his thought to pass for more than its intrinsic
32 PUBLIC SPEAKING
worth, and who hopes to substitute a good voice and grace-
ful gesture the externals of speech for real thought and
heartfelt emotion, will be disappointed, as he ought to be.
" With the art of all men . . . that of language, the chief
vices of education have arisen from the one great fallacy
of supposing that noble language is a communicable trick of
grammar and accent, instead of simply the careful expres-
sion of right thought. All the virtues of language are, in
their roots, moral ; it becomes accurate if the speaker de-
sires to be true ; clear, if he speaks with sympathy and a
desire to be intelligible ; powerful, if he has earnestness ;
pleasant, if he has sense of rhythm and order.
"There are no other virtues of language producible by
art than these ; but let me mark more deeply for an instant
the significance of one of them. Language, I said, is only
clear when it is sympathetic. You can, in truth, under-
stand a man's word only by understanding his temper.
Your own word is also as of an unknown tongue to him
unless he understands yours. And it is this which makes
the art of language, if any one is to be chosen separately
from the rest, that which is fittest for the instrument of a
gentleman's education.
" To teach the meaning of a word thoroughly, is to teach
the nature of the spirit that coined it ; the secret of lan-
guage is the secret of sympathy, and its full charm is possi-
ble only to the gentle. And thus the principles of beautiful
speech have all been fixed by sincere and kindly speech.
" On the laws which have been determined by sincerity,
false speech, apparently beautiful, may afterward be con-
structed ; but all such utterance, whether in oration or
poetry, is not only without permanent power, but it is
destructive of the principles it has usurped. So long as no
words are uttered but in faithfulness, so long the art of lan-
guage goes on exalting itself ; but the moment it is shaped
and chiselled on external principles, it falls into frivolity
CLEARNESS, FORCE, AND ELEGANCE 33
and perishes. . . . No noble nor right style was ever yet
founded but out of a sincere heart.
" No man is worth reading to form your style who does
not mean what he says ; nor was any great style ever
invented but by some man who meant what he said. . . .
" And of yet greater importance is it deeply to know that
every beauty possessed by the language of a nation is sig-
nificant of the innermost laws of its being. Keep the tem-
per of the people stern and manly ; make their associations
grave, courteous, and for worthy objects ; occupy them in
just deeds, and their tongue must needs be a grand one.
Nor is it possible, therefore, . . . that any tongue should be
a noble one, of which the words are not so many trumpet
calls to action. All great languages invariably utter great
things and command them ; they cannot be mimicked but
by obedience ; the breath of them is inspiration, because it
is not only vocal but vital ; and you can only learn to speak
as these men spoke by becoming what these men were." 1
The principles of Delivery will be further treated, (i) as
the SOURCES, and (2) as the ELEMENTS, of Clearness, Force,
and Elegance the essentials of Public Speaking. So far
as I know, Professor Mcllvain, in his excellent book on
"Elocution," was the first to apply the terms "sources and
elements " to these two aspects of Public Speaking. The
former deals more with the fundamental powers of mind and
body, the latter more with the manifestive forms of Delivery;
the former are more subjective, the latter, more objective.
l Ruskin. Relation of Art to Morals, in Crown of Wild Olives.
BOOK II
SOURCES OF THE ESSENTIALS OF PUBLIC SPEAKING
CHAPTER I
MENTAL CONTENT OF LANGUAGE
IT was stated in the Introduction that the main problem
in the art of Public Speaking is to induce right mental
action, and that the first part of this problem is to achieve
the purposed thought and emotion, the mental content of
the language. To this first part of the problem this chapter
is devoted.
Any notion that agreeable sounds and graceful gestures
are in themselves effective in Public Speaking is to entirely
misconceive the function of language and the purpose of
speaking. Yet such misconceptions are frequent. The sub-
ject of delivery should be approached with the distinct
understanding that there is no substitute for thought and
feeling. Nor can superficial attainments be polished suffi-
ciently to compete with thorough culture. Indeed, to the
serious and patient student, nothing is so self-revelatory of
one's mental and linguistic poverty as a thorough consider-
ation and application of the principles of Public Speaking.
The student has not done well unless the subject has been
suggestive, not only in the particulars specifically treated,
but also in all that constitutes man.
Something more, however, than a general suggestion to
deal with the thought of the speech is needed to arouse
mental activity and accuracy. It seems to me that, as a
34
MENTAL CONTENT OF LANGUAGE 35
discipline, nothing can surpass the conscious attention to
the processes that unconsciously take place, more or less
effectively, in all thinking and speaking. This, an original
contribution to elocutionary study, is the method of this
chapter.
Words have no absolute meaning. In speaking, they may
be used as so much breath or sound, without any relation
to the mental content. Obviously, a speaker may learn to
pronounce any language, and utter pages, say of Greek or
Latin, without getting or giving a single idea. This is also
true of the use of words of unknown meaning in the mother-
tongue. Suppose I ask the average person to speak the
following sentence, composed of words taken from our
familiar English Bible : " The abjects pill the chapman of
collops, fitches, habergons and brigandines" The words may
be correctly pronounced without the speaker having any
idea of the content of the language. This is true, not only
in the use of words of unknown meaning, but is also pos-
sible in the use of language commonly intelligible. Through
inattention, or other cause, the mind reacts upon the words
only as signs of sounds, and not as symbols of ideas. This
use of words without content is common, too, in speech
disorder, known as aphasia.
More common instances in which the student of speaking
is interested are the cases of poorly instructed children
learning to read. The word, to the struggling child, is the
sign of a sound, and so he reads the sentence, " I see the
horse on the hill," in that characteristic high-pitched, mo-
notonous, over-loud, and empty voice. Mark the contrast
as he, without book, in a flexible, life-like voice, expresses
spontaneously the idea out of his own mind.
A similar use of words, as sound, is heard in most manu-
script delivery. The writer deals with subject as ideas when
in the act of writing, but in delivery reads the manuscript as
a matter of words, without rethinking or feeling again the
ideas of the language.
36 PUBLIC SPEAKING
The mental processes involved in writing differ from those
involved in speaking. Some persons are able to think only
at the end of the pen, while others can adequately express
their ideas only in oral delivery. There are marked in-
stances of each of these classes. The difference is attribut-
able to natural aptitude and to previous training. Hence
the necessity of oral practice by those who speak from man-
uscript. The time devoted to writing should be balanced
by equal time given to preparation by practice in oral de-
livery.
Usually, too, delivery from the printed page is without
the legitimate and full content of the language. In short,
inattention, lack of concentration, failure to appreciate the
sentiments when using another's composition, or the case of
giving leading attention to the means of expression (the sub-
ordinate processes), always results in the insufficient mental
content.
Of course, the matter of content is a relative one. It
ranges from the zero of pronouncing in an unknown tongue,
to the content of an ideally perfect knower and revealer.
Consequently, the statement in any given case, that the de-
livery is without content, must be in this relative sense. The
content, moreover, from the nature of mind, must vary in
each repetition of a discourse. But the clearness, force, and
elegance of the speaking is always in proportion to the clear-
ness and fulness of the mental content.
When criticised, the student sometimes objects, "Why, I
am sure I understood what I delivered." But as Hume
says, " Thought is quick ; " and one must distinguish between
thinking the thought and feeling the emotions at the instant
of delivery, and the recollection of the ideas, as an act of
memory, a moment later. In the latter case, the words are
carried in memory, and the ideas subsequently read into
them. Again, the ideational process is frequently retro-
spective, and thinking, in point of time, is behind the voice.
MENTAL CONTENT OF LANGUAGE 37
The voice is distinctly in advance of the thought. This
phenomenon is a matter of common observation. Besides,
the matter, as we have said, is relative, and the speaker may
achieve the topic and some of the leading ideas without
dealing with the full content.
The student must also distinguish between dealing with
language for the purpose of getting the idea, and of the use
of it for communication. The speaker may spend practi-
cally all of his effort in acquiring the thought, and still keep
on vocalizing. He must communicate as well as acquire.
This fault of mere word-utterance is not unknown in what
is usually called extemporaneous delivery, though it is less
common. Verbal fluency, wordiness, is the form in which
the fault is recognized in this kind of delivery. But the
vigor, the directness, the spontaneity, and naturalness, char-
acteristic of extemporaneous speaking, are due mainly to the
fact that in this kind of delivery the speaker deals primarily
with ideas and only secondarily with words. How, then,
can this ability to deal primarily with ideas be cultivated ?
This whole treatise is mainly an answer to this question.
The direct way of dealing with the problem is the method of
the remainder of this chapter.
SEC. I. Attention. The first condition necessary to
the achievement of Content is an effective functioning of
attention. This is sometimes called "concentration of at-
tention."
Confusion of utterance, as in fright, uneasiness of mind,
anger, etc., arises, not as some suppose, from having noth-
ing to say, but from having too many ideas flitting through
the mind. So also in speaking, from one cause or another,
excess of ideas insufficiently focused in the attention hin-
ders the achievement of the proposed content.
While the speaker goes on uttering the " words, words,
words " of his discourse, " wandering thoughts " straggle
into the consciousness, and, indeed, at times side trains of
38 PUBLIC SPEAKING
thought, foreign to the purpose of the speech, preoccupy
the mind. Ideas contained in the speech, ideas about its
success, about the audience, reputation, and many other
things, capriciously present themselves.
Now, in voluntary attention, sometimes called forced atten-
tion, we choose to attend to certain objects and ideas to the
exclusion of others. It is a matter of accepted psychology
and of common experience, that ideas are brought by atten-
tion from the obscurer into the more distinct fields of con-
sciousness. Attention, moreover, involves not only selection,
but the adjustment of ideas in a certain order of sequence
in order to fulfil the purpose of the mind. The activity of
the mind may become more and more efficient. Larger and
still larger content may be apprehended ; and while con-
sciousness may be narrowed down and rendered more defi-
nite and precise, at the same time a larger number of details
are projected into this unity. Effective speaking depends
upon rapid analysis, and this in turn depends upon the
power of voluntary attention.
Attention is controlled, first of all, by interest. We be-
come absorbed only in that which interests us. Again,
attention is controlled by inhibition. Inhibition is an ac-
tivity of mind that enters into the very nature of attention.
We promote attention to the purposed ideas by voluntarily
inhibiting ideas to which we do not wish to attend. The
practical value of cultivating the attention is obvious.
A suggestion about another aspect of attention will be
given under the chapter on " Audience." We shall now
proceed to discuss analysis.
SEC. II. Analysis. Sustained practice in logical an-
alysis, and its application to the act of speaking, is of prime
importance. Attention is involved in a most thorough-going
way. The thought process is one of comparison. Only that
which has connection with other elements has meaning. An
idea to be significant must point to something beyond itself.
MENTAL CONTENT OF LANGUAGE 39
That which is isolated and separated is not capable of being
thought The process involves (i) identification or recogni-
tion, (2) discrimination or differentiation, (3) construction.
The main thing it is hoped to accomplish in this some-
what meagre account of the process of thinking is to im-
press upon the mind of the student, first, the fact of the
connection of ideas in the sentence, and secondly, the differ-
entiation of parts as determined by the thought process. In
teaching, no suggestion is oftener needed than to " discrim-
inate ! discriminate ! "
Analysis may be conducted independent of speaking, and
form no connection with it. In this case it is wholly sub-
jective, and consequently the utterance must be feeble.
Persons accustomed to write their thought analyze best by
writing. This fact accounts for the ability of some persons
to think best with pen in hand, and the inability of some
good writers to speak. It is the first business of the stu-
dent of speaking to train himself to relate the analysis to
the delivery. Impose the thinking on the speaking. Think-
ing through the voice is a characteristic of spontaneous
or conversational delivery. Finally, speak the thought.
Thought grows in the act of speaking.
i. First, grasp the purpose or meaning of the address, selec-
tion, or speech as a whole. The editorial title is a convenient
name for identifying the selection or address, but it is not
to be relied upon for purposes of the analysis. The pur-
pose of the address gives you the theme or subject. Unite
the various ideas of the address, if possible, under a single
proposition in the categorical or declaratory form. For
instance, the funeral oration of Mark Antony, in "Julius
Caesar," might be put in this form as follows : " Brutus and
his associates are cruel assassins." This proposition held
fairly in mind inspires and unifies the speech, and illumi-
nates its plan. To conceal the subject to the close, and
sometimes to suppress its plain statement altogether, is
4O PUBLIC SPEAKING
a method frequently employed in orations. The treatment
given the speech as a whole should be applied to each
division or paragraph of the address.
2. Analyze the sentence to determine its logical relations.
(1) Every sentence consists of two principal elements.
The first element is that of which something is stated ; the
second is that which is stated of the something. The first
is the subject; the second is the predicate.
The student should clearly distinguish the subject from
the predicate, and group with each its respective modifiers.
(2) Reduce to the proper place parenthetical and other
subordinate matter.
(3) To state anything of a subject involves an act of
judgment. This is the essential function of the proposition,
and is the typical act of thinking. The judgment is the unit
of thought ; hence the value of analyzing the matter of dis-
course for the judgments. The method is illustrated in the
treatment of the following paragraph from Macaulay's esti-
mate of the character of Charles the First :
" The advocates of Charles, like the advocates of other
malefactors against whom overwhelming evidence is pro-
duced, generally decline all controversy about the facts,
and content themselves with calling testimony to character.
He had so many private virtues ! And had James the Sec-
ond no private virtues ? "
The judgments are : Charles's advocates are like advo-
cates of malefactors against-whom-overwhelming-evidence
is produced. Advocates of malefactors decline all fact-
controversy. Advocates of malefactors content themselves-
with-calling-testimony to character. The next sentence in
the paragraph is exclamatory ; but it has the force of a
declaration. Charles had many private virtues. Con-
demned James the Second had private virtues. So, also, all
the statements expressed and inferred in this and other
selections may be put in the form of judgments.
MENTAL CONTENT OF LANGUAGE 4!
3. Dwell on the meaning of each word. Every clear
speaker defines the meaning of his words in order to
determine their significance.
In the case of nouns, take more than the simple definition
of the dictionary. Let it include some of what the logicians
call the attributes or qualities. I am sure rather smart
people will frequently find how imperfect is their knowledge
of words. Giving the qualities of the word reveals, more-
over, the animus of its use. Attend only to those attri-
butes in which the speaker is interested. Take that of
" advocates," for instance, in the paragraph already used.
Advocates are men ; advocates are men with special quali-
fications; advocates are men engaged to defend their
clients ; advocates are men prejudiced in favor of their
clients ; advocates are dependent and partial men. Other
attributes may be added. Treat in a similar way " male-
factors " and other words.
4. Analyze the sentence to determine the new idea. We have
seen that, to be significant, the idea must point to some-
thing beyond itself. This fact is utilized in attending to
the relations of one sentence to another. In delivering
a succession of sentences, since the old idea has a hold
already upon the thought, the new idea should be made
most easily apprehensible by giving it greater prominence.
Hence, the old as related to the new must be clearly thought.
In the second sentence of the previous quotation, the pro-
noun He [Charles] is the old idea, for it is contained
in the preceding sentence. It relates the new idea of the
second sentence to the old idea of the preceding sentence.
" Private virtues " is this new idea of the second sentence.
In the third sentence, " And had James the Second no private
virtues ? " virtues [the old idea] is the term relating the
third to the second sentence. James the Second is the new
idea. So each sentence of the composition has something
new, but at the same time something old, that points to
42 PUBLIC SPEAKING
other sentences. In this manner the sentences of well-
constructed discourses form a chain. To determine the
new idea is of prime importance, and well worth the stu-
dent's most careful and prolonged attention. It contributes
equally to clearness and force. Upon it correct emphasis
and all movement depend.
5. Analyze the speech in order to supply the ellipses. All
language is more or less elliptical; that is, it omits words
necessary to a full and complete expression of the ideas.
In good composition only obvious ideas are omitted ; these
are suggested by the form of the language, including punc-
tuation, by the context, and by logical relation of the parts
expressed. Ellipses are sometimes of a logical, and at other
times of a grammatical nature ; but whether of one or
the other, elliptical expression economizes effort. It is
the shorthand, the direct method of speech. The unex-
pressed ideas, that is, the ideas between the lines, are fre-
quently the most important in connection with the emo-
tional content of the speech. The time, pause, and pitch
element of delivery are immediately regulated by mentally
supplying the ellipses. Treating the same selection for
purposes of this analysis, the ellipses may be supplied in
brackets. "The advocates of Charles [the First are, or
being] like the advocates of other malefactors, against
whom overwhelming evidence is produced, generally decline
all controversy about the facts, and [although obviously
unfair, they complacently] content themselves with calling
testimony to character. [They say that] He had so many
private virtues ! [Marvellous, indeed ! ] And had James
the Second [whom you condemn] no private virtues ? [You
answer, yes.] Was Oliver Cromwell [whom you execrate],
his bitterest enemies themselves [and not impartial men]
being judges, destitute of private virtues? [You answer,
no.]" The second paragraph is richer still in ellipses.
Observe, that, in delivery, pauses occupy the place of the
ellipses or omitted words.
MENTAL CONTENT OF LANGUAGE 43
6. Fill out the content through the imagination. Through
the imagination we realize and make specific the idea.
Charles the First is individualized, possibly pictured to the
mind. " Advocates " is no longer a general term, but a
specific and localized set of men, possibly individualized.
In the process, imagination uses the visual and aural
memory; that is, the memory of things as we have seen
them and sounds as we have heard them. At times the
memory of other sense-perceptions also is used. Fre-
quently there is very little constructive activity of the im-
agination, and the mind simply reproduces the sight, sound,
or other sense-perception through memory. At other times
the mind acts more constructively; this is properly called
imagination. Delivery that is graphic, that brings the
events before the mind of the listener in clear and specific
form, makes splendid use of the imagination or the percep-
tive memory. For this purpose take the following stanzas
from Longfellow's " Paul Revere's Ride " :
" He said to his friend, ' If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,
One, if by land, and two, if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm.' "
Picture the two men standing in the street in secret coun-
sel. See the lofty tower; see the signal light one, two;
see the opposite shore ; the rider upon his horse ; see the
Middlesex villages and farms wrapped in midnight slumbers ;
again, see them stirring with life. The scene becomes defi-
nite and vivid, first to speaker, then to listener.
When these objects are reproduced in the mind, motor
reactions result, and the eye and arms act in gesture just
44 PUBLIC SPEAKING
as though the real objects were before the mind. By this
means the story is illustrated, and thus made real to the eye
of the auditor.
In a similar way reproduce the sounds imaginatively.
" Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack-door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers
Marching down to their boats on the shore."
The speaker imaginatively hearing these sounds realizes
more fully the idea, and through his voice and gestures, the
mind of the listener becomes similarly affected.
The objects of the imagination are to be regarded as a
series of illustrations, and not as a bird's-eye view of things ;
hence the same object may be made to appear in different
directions at different times. The speaker should control
the location, and place the object where it can best be used.
7. Analyze the language in order to call up the associated
ideas. It is a matter of common knowledge that according
to certain laws of the mind, whenever certain ideas present
themselves in consciousness, certain others are suggested.
The principal associations are as follows: (i) Contiguity.
Ideas that occur close together in time or space suggest one
another; (2) ideas of similarity and contrast; and (3) ideas
of cause and effect.
In the stanza last quoted, " silence " suggests " hears "
[the muster] ; " muster," " men ; " " men," " barrack ; " " bar-
rack," "door." "Hears" further suggests "sounds" [of
arms], "tramp" [of feet], "measured tread;" "tread,"
"grenadiers," etc.
The ability to look from the printed page or manuscript,
an ability seldom well mastered, is due, not simply to a
sharpening of the eye gained by practice, but also to the
confidence with which the mind utilizes the associational
MENTAL CONTENT OF LANGUAGE 4$
process. One word suggesting another, the eye more
readily seizes it. The process applies also to clauses and
phrases.
By means of association the mind successively antici-
pates the words and phrases of the discourse, and so keeps
the thought ahead of the voice. These associated ideas
suggested by the leading idea, especially enrich the emo-
tional content, and, again, help the mind to realize its
thought. The extent and clearness of these ideas will de-
pend upon the mental ability, discipline, knowledge, and
experience of the individual. To the child, the sentence,
" The discovery of microbes is an important event in sci-
ence," means little or nothing. To the scientist it suggests,
possibly, a range of ideas from the creation down to the last
surgical operation in which he was interested. Such words
as " flag," " home," " mother," are especially, rich in associa-
tion.
The ideas associated with those of the previously quoted
stanza may be those of patriotism, self-sacrifice, heroism.
They suggest the mutual confidence, personal daring, the
good sense, the secrecy and caution of the two men, and a
whole train of other ideas that grow out of the time, place,
and other relations.
A study of the times and circumstances out of which a
speech grows, meditations upon kindred themes, indeed, any
broad study of related matter, puts the student in the spirit
or " atmosphere " of the speech, and aids him in a more
comprehensive and accurate understanding of it. This
fuller use of the associational process employed by success-
ful speakers is of obvious value. Such methods make the
"full man," out of which the best speaking comes.
8. Analyze the speech to find its emotion. The content may
be further filled out by developing the emotions. Attend-
ing to the things of the imagination and to the associated
ideas, aids at once in realizing the emotions; but the fol-
46 PUBLIC SPEAKING
lowing treatment will be found still further helpful ; for in
proportion as we realize the idea, we develop its subjective
or emotional side.
An idea not only gives information concerning an event
or thing, but it is also the individual's experience of that
fact or event. Feeling is the subjective side of the idea.
For instance, the emotion of indignation arises in connec-
tion with the idea of an act of injustice.
(1) It is of first importance to remember that emotions
are the result of ideational activity. A great deal of feeble,
extravagant, and insincere elocution is the result of an at-
tempt to express emotions that do not grow out of ideas ; or,
which amounts to the same thing, the attempt to express
emotions that are not felt. Yet it is just this extravagance
that is often condemned as "emotional." Emotional de-
livery is to be condemned only when it is excessive, hol-
low, or "theatric." The most chaste and simple delivery
is emotional as truly as is bombast. The orator's power
is primarily an emotional one; there can be no effective
speaking without it. It is only a question as to what emo-
tions shall be expressed, and the avoidance of the falsities
and excesses already indicated.
(2) Again, emotions grow. They gradually develop,
reach their height, and then subside. Even when the same
idea that gives rise to an emotion continues, the emotion
periodically grows and then subsides again. Grief is an
instance of this. Feelings or sense impressions, on the
other hand, are instantaneous, even when reproduced in
the imagination. The emotion of anger, for example, de-
velops through the ideas that give rise to it; while the
startling effect of an unexpected sound or sight, real or
imaginary, is instantaneous. The practical outcome of
this demands that the speaker hold the idea till the emotions
are made real, and that reproduced sensations be real and vivid
by concentrated attention.
MENTAL CONTENT OF LANGUAGE 47
No thoroughly satisfactory classification of the emotions
has yet been made. Possibly Wundt's classification into
(i) Excitant and (2) Inhibitory, corresponding to what
Professor Bain calls affection of the active or plus side,
and the passive or minus side of the mental states, is as
serviceable as any.
It will not do to insist too rigorously upon all emotions
coming under this classification, nor is the list to be re-
garded as exhaustive.
Among the following words, those coming after " Arro-
gance " and "Anxiety " are not found in Wundt's list.
I. EXCITANT OR ACTIVE. II. INHIBITORY OR PASSIVE.
Pleasurable Surprise, Painful surprise,
Joy, Perplexity,
Anger, Sorrow,
Jollity, Sadness,
Frolicsomeness, Apprehension,
Rapture, Depression,
Courage, Timidity,
Rage, Shame,
Vexation, Anguish,
Admiration, Terror,
Enthusiasm, Horror,
Ecstasy, Repugnance,
Beauty, Despair,
Love, Sublimity,
Arrogance, Hatred,
Ridicule, Anxiety,
Esteem, Reverence,
Pity, Submission,
Tenderness, Wonder,
Reproach, Humility.
Pride,
Defiance,
Surprise (objective).
Class I. quickens the ideation, the action of the heart,
mimetic and pantomimic movements. The result of Class
48 PUBLIC SPEAKING
II. is the reverse. Consequently the effect of Class I. on
the voice is to increase the rate, heighten the pitch, and
brighten the tone ; while the effect of Class II. is to slow
down the rate, lower the pitch, and dull the tone.
The mind is usually occupied with a complex of emo-
tions. This fact must be kept in mind in any attempt to
describe the emotional condition arising from any set of
ideas. Moods are more lasting emotional states. Emotion
heightened by urgent desires is called passion.
A summary of hints may be given as follows :
(1) Determine the prevailing emotion, sometimes called
the " spirit," the " atmosphere ' ' of the speech ; that is,
whether it is joyous, patriotic, or dominated by some other
emotion.
(2) Note each separate emotion, naming it fear, per-
plexity, or otherwise as the case may be.
(3) Observe that the emotions are often complex.
(4) Let the emotion grow out of the idea, and wait till
it matures.
(5) Notice whether it is of the excitant or inhibitory
class.
What has in this analysis been treated in this successive
and lengthy way takes place simultaneously and instantly.
This fact is a temptation to the student. In practice, he will
be tempted to use this complete process, rather than first
analyzing the several aspects of thinking as a foundation for
the developed and full content. The result will be the usual
vague and undifferentiated way of dealing with the thoughts.
In live thinking there is the variety so necessary to hold
attention and induce alertness. But variety results only
from thought differentiation. And this is distinctly the
feature attended to in the foregoing treatment. Indeed,
MENTAL CONTENT OF LANGUAGE 49
variety is one of the objects that the speaker must keep con-
stantly before his mind, and if the changes are to be any-
thing but capricious they must grow out of the thought.
If the method of analysis here recommended for the pur-
pose of developing the attention and quickening the thought-
activity may appear laborious, it is to be borne in mind
that learning to speak is, at best, laborious, and requires
much painstaking effort.
Again, some special aspects of the process may be but
little developed in the student. The thought may be dealt
with too exclusively as matter of fact. In this case, analy-
sis enables the student to pay larger attention to the emo-
tional content. Imagination may be lacking ; in that case
it may be emphasized in the treatment recommended. So
the thought may be filled out, limited only by the ability
and industry of the student. Long selections should be
taken up and carefully analyzed according to these eight
aspects of the thought process. Once again the suggestion
is given to deal with this analysis from the communicative
attitude of mind.
It is clear that this analysis is the method applied in the
production as well as in the reproduction of a speech ; that is,
for the writing or the preparation as well as for the delivery.
It is the method, consciously or otherwise, of all effective
readers or speakers. Conscious methodical preparation,
however, is rare. The books have not taught it. But is not
methodical and definite work better than haphazard effort ?
In concluding the chapter, I wish to emphasize the fact
that the preparation of a selection or discourse is a growth,
just as is the writing of an effective book, sermon, or oration.
The brooding process is necessary. I recently asked a dis-
tinguished reader how long it took him to prepare an hour's
reading. He answered, "A year!" Perfect fruit requires
time in ripening. The student of speaking must have the
patience to repeat and wait.
50 PUBLIC SPEAKING
CHAPTER II
EARNESTNESS
THE picture of a slow, timid speaker giving the impression
that he really does not feel what he says, or that he is too
indolent, or physically too feeble to enforce his ideas, shows
by contrast the importance of earnestness in Public Speak-
ing. From such a speaker the hearer turns listlessly away.
The listener demands such an alertness and energy in the
delivery, such a quickening of all the agents of expres-
sion, as is indicative of vigorous mental and emotional
activity. A logical appreciation of the idea is insufficient.
The speaker must realize the idea emotionally. The lis-
tener demands also that the speaker mean what he says,
that he be morally in earnest, and speak out of conviction.
How fatal to have it said, " He is speaking for effect ; " or to
charge that his utterance is that of a mere partisan ! It is
still worse to say that his is the voice of a hireling. The
true speaker comes " that they might have life." I suppose
it is this that has led writers upon oratory, from the time of
Quintilian to the present, to insist that oratory is essentially
moral, and that "only the good man can be a perfect
orator."
Oratory involves the processes of convincing and persuad-
ing. But how can the speaker convince another when he is
not himself stirred by conviction ? or how can he persuade in
that to which he gives only half-hearted allegiance ?
By earnestness, then, something more is meant than ener-
getic vocalization and forceful gesture. Earnestness is sin-
cerity all aglow. Its roots are moral. A speech is a kind of
personality. Certainly it is expressive of personality ; hence
EARNESTNESS 5 1
the necessity of right motive and legitimate method. This
is the earnestness described by Webster as " The clear con-
ception outrunning the deductions of logic, the high pur-
pose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the
tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and
urging the whole man onward, right onward to his subject."
To give direction how to secure this compelling earnest-
ness belongs to the teacher of ethics and of religion. One
or two aspects of the subject may be profitably considered.
1. The speaker must be thoroughly in liking with the
work of his profession or calling. The feeling of inadapta-
bility is fatal to success. A genuine interest is indispensa-
ble. Who would prefer the statesman, the lawyer, or the
preacher whose heart is not in his work? The advocate
may feel in earnest in behalf of his client because his repu-
tation is at stake, the politician may be spurred by the de-
sire for advancement, and the preacher show an earnestness
because his success and fame are being weighed in the bal-
ance ; but the fire of their earnestness is uncertain and
feeble beside that which grows out of a peculiar liking and
adaptability to the work of the chosen profession. He who
would promote the social, political, and religious interests of
the world by means of speaking must be thoroughly imbued
with these interests.
2. Again, the speaker must have, not only this general
interest in the work, but must feel the importance of the
special subject and occasion. The purpose of the speech
must be clearly defined and fully indorsed. In order to do
this it will frequently be found desirable and even necessary
to link the special occasion to some larger interest. The
case of petty larceny must be discouraging to the advocate
except as he relates the case to justice. If the preacher is
to show a real interest in speaking to the small audience
and to degraded men, he frequently must realize the impor-
tance of the individual, and think of what they are capable
of becoming.
52 PUBLIC SPEAKING
3. All who are disciplining themselves in speaking should
guard against the tendency to trust too much to the in-
spiration of the audience. The influence of the audience
in stimulating mental and physical earnestness cannot be
denied ; but it does not wholly compensate for the lack of
stimulus that should come from the subject.
4. In practising for skill, the student frequently finds him-
self unable to enter into the spirit of the subject composed
by another. Indeed, he frequently finds himself incapable
of delivering with effective earnestness his own composition
before a teacher or to a class. He compares this with the
greater sense of freedom and efficiency in addressing a real
audience for other than disciplinary purposes. But this
sense of freedom, or having a " good time," frequently ac-
companies extravagances, and generally means simply let-
ting bad habits have free course. It is always easy to
speak according to habit, whether the habit be good or bad.
It is the observation of the author and of others, that the
faults that show themselves in the class-room are the ones
that are prominent in delivery elsewhere. That the student
should feel his restraint under drill is not surprising. Un-
der such circumstances, the voice and gesture are likely
to occupy a large part of the field of consciousness ; the
speaker is self conscious, and in some cases the sense of the
incongruous is overmastering. A thorough control, how-
ever, overcomes the difficulties of the situation, and enables
the speaker to use the thoughts of others with spontaneous
earnestness.
As to the incongruous, it, in fact, does not exist. Just as
the writer composes for an imaginary audience, so the sol-
itary speaker addresses an imaginary audience; but there
is nothing incongruous in either case. The class or the
teacher may be regarded as the audience ; or in their pres-
ence the speaker may still have an imaginary audience
beyond them.
EARNESTNESS. 53
According to the author's observation, a person with the
gift of speaking, or who has long disciplined himself in
delivery, is little disturbed by the drill-room atmosphere.
The ability to enter heartily into the delivery of another's
speech depends on dramatic power. This power is always a
valuable source of earnestness. Proper discipline calls up
the latent dramatic faculty, and enables the student to throw
himself heartily into the delivery of another's composition.
It does not postpone earnestness for the audience and the
live occasion ; that which is written by another becomes the
speaker's own. Every room is imaginatively peopled, and
every occasion is made a live one.
54 PUBLIC SPEAKING
CHAPTER III
PHYSICAL VITALITY
THE importance of physical vitality as a source of the
essentials of Public Speaking, is seen, first of all, from the
nature of the subject. Speaking is a physical as well as a
mental act. Strong and erect carriage and free movements,
the ability to endure the strains of thoroughly alive speak-
ing, are possible in the most effective degree only in con-
nection with large vitality. Proper breathing and vocal
control are secured through the same source ; so also is
life and the feeling of power. Proper nerve-functioning, so
essential to successful speaking, and other features of con-
trol, are favorably conditioned by vitality. Reserved force,
" grasp of the audience," in short, those various elements,
the sum of which is sometimes vaguely called magnetism,
reside largely in the same source.
Again, it is observed that distinguished speakers, in
general, have been men of more than ordinary vitality.
Even size seems to have its advantage. In the estimation
of many, Henry Ward Beecher represents the highest in
American pulpit oratory. Dr. Bartol, in a sermon on the
death of Mr. Beecher, said that " an examiner of his bumps
and body pronounced him a splendid animal." No one
can doubt that this splendid physical power made possible
his splendid oratory. This unusual physical endowment is
matched by that of America's greatest political orator.
Carlyle said of Webster, " He looks like a walking cathe-
dral."
Every student of the subject should develop his physical
powers to the limit of his ability. Some who enter upon a
PHYSICAL VITALITY 55
study of the subject would properly first go to a physician,
and adopt such a course of life as would build them up
physically. The physical training usually practised in con-
nection with the subject, as now usually taught, is found
promotive of vital development. The development of erect
carriage and chest capacity is the result of even a minimum
amount of work in physical training. Instruction and a
list of exercises for physical development may be found at
the end of this treatise.
Every one who is to speak to an audience should so
order his time and work as to come to the speaking fresh
and vigorous. The feeling of physical vigor and buoyancy
favorably affects, not only the bearing and voice, but also
the mental action. For those who compose at the time of
delivery, this feeling is indispensable. A few physical
and vocal exercises preceding the speaking, is of decided
advantage, provided one does not tire himself. Just before
speaking the first sentence, to close the mouth and delib-
erately fill the lungs by breathing through the nostrils,
immediately gives the speaker the sense of vigor. This,
together with the erect attitude and " active " (lifted) chest,
is a good preparation for the start.
$6 PUBLIC SPEAKING
CHAPTER IV
CONTROL
THE first serious difficulty that besets almost every one
when first addressing an audience is that of nervousness.
It is most serious in the case of the inexperienced ; but is
never entirely overcome by the person of oratoric tempera-
ment. The unusual environment of the speaker, the seri-
ousness of addressing people on important matters, the
attitude of a person facing a silent and attentive audience
with the assumption that it is worth their while to listen,
the consciousness that what is said may be challenged
and the way of saying it criticised, may well disturb any
one but the most stolid.
Again, the necessarily quickened thought, the aroused
emotions, effective earnestness, may easily run into extrava-
gance. Sudden emotions that sweep upon the speaker,
unexpected happenings, interruptions in debate, will be
among the occasions for self-control.
By control, however, something more is meant than the
mere negative activity involved in overcoming nervousness
or "stage -fright," or the prevention of some unpurposed
emotion running away with the speaker. It means the
ability to command all the powers of mind and body in
the complex process of oral delivery, such a use of the
powers of impression and expression as shall make the
speaker skilful in the clear, forceful, and elegant presenta-
tion of the things of the mind. Hence, not only the main
features of speaking, but the simplest act of articulation,
involves control.
In general, practice and familiarity in the sphere of Pub-
CONTROL 57
lie Speaking is the means of cultivating control, and espe-
cially the means of cultivating self-control. The only way
to learn speaking is to speak. But a knowledge of the prob-
lem and some practical suggestions will promote this aim.
The psychology of control involves a discussion of control
through the feelings and the will.
i. Control through the Feelings. Conscious guid-
ance of the complex movements involved in the simplest
vocal or other act would be impossible. It is accomplished
in nature through intuition or the guidance of feeling.
Neither sensations nor ideas come to the mind isolated
from one another, but in larger unities or trains. When
one of the factors is recalled, it starts up the others. This
is true of the most minute and complex elements in any
association, the details of which the mind may not be
able to bring into consciousness. The slightest initiation
through memory is sufficient to set off the whole train.
Every change in the ordinary movements, and also in
vocal and gesticular action, is accompanied by a feeling
peculiar to itself. This sensation becomes a sign or sym-
bol of the movement. The sensation at one stage of change
becomes a guide to the sensation at the succeeding stage of
change, according to the law of association. And so in the
repetition of any movement, feeling guides in its accom-
plishment. Otherwise it is purely reflex and uncontrolled.
The motions of infants are at first extremely impulsive,
vague, and numerous. They next become purposeful, but
lacking in control. For instance, with the successful effort
to locate an object there is, doubtless, a muscular sense of
the proper adjustment in reaching for it. These recog-
nized feelings of proper adjustment with increasing cer-
tainty, guide to similar movements. Learning to talk is
accomplished in a similar manner. This is obviously the
way adults learn the pronunciation of the strange sounds of
a new language; say English-speaking persons learning the
58 PUBLIC SPEAKING
German "6" or "ii," or the German learning the English
"th." The sound is at first vague and inexact. The ad-
justments for the utterance of the sound are at first pains-
takingly made, with slight satisfaction as to results. Next,
the adjustments are more promptly and accurately accom-
plished. There is the accompanying feeling of successful
adjustment. This feeling is at last the guide, without any
conscious effort, for adjusting the organs for the pronuncia-
tion of these elements. So also in all the acts of speak-
ing, there is the feeling that the vocal organs are illy or
well adjusted to produce the best tone, and to insure the
most effective vocal control; the feeling that the force and
direction of the voice are illy or well adapted to the size
of the room and audience ; that the speech and speaker are
fitted to the audience, or otherwise. The feeling of adjust-
ment applies not only to these general features, but to
each detail of vocal, gesticular, and mental movement.
The co-ordinations must be effected, the acts made specific
and accurate, and repeated till they organize themselves in
the mind. Feeling is the bond of this organization.
What is true of these features particularized is true also
of every fellure in the technique of vocal and gesticular
movements. The student, practising till these feelings of
specific adjustment organize themselves in the mind, can
detect a mal-adjustment in speech as readily as he detects
that he has put on another person's hat by the way it fits
or feels.
Tone. One of the characteristics of feeling is that of
Tone. By tone, psychologists mean that every feeling is
either agreeable or painful. The feelings connected with
Public Speaking are usually very marked in their tone.
The agreeable or painful may be connected with the voice
as it is used properly or otherwise, with the ease or diffi-
culty of enunciation, with the freedom or hindrance of the
co-ordinations, with the feeling of success or failure, and
CONTROL 59
in connection with the other aspects of the complex func-
tions of Public Speaking. All normal speaking, adapted
to its end, is promotive of agreeable feelings; hence, it
appears that the tone of the feeling becomes at once a
guide to the speaker.
It is not to be supposed, however, that the tone of the
feelings will unerringly guide the student into proper con-
trol at once and without attention. If the student has been
in the habit of flattening the chest and stooping, it is, at
first, anything but comfortable to stand erect and with
"active" chest. But when the erect attitude is taken, it
soon feels right; and finally it is the only attitude that
the tone of the feelings approves. Again, the teacher
directs the student to the proper use of the voice or the
proper form of gesture. The end or purpose soon becomes
definite ; and a failure to reach the end results in the feel-
ing of discomfort, while the accomplishment of the end
results in the feeling of pleasure. The feeling of proper
adjustment is closely related to or identical with the feel-
ing of satisfaction.
A few general suggestions should receive the student's
attention : Take advantage of the consciousness of being
prepared on the subject-matter of the speech, as the feel-
ing of composure and adjustment growing out of this is
of incalculable advantage in every respect. Do not be
painfully conscious and attentive as to the details of the
effort; but, instead, the speaker should feel his way to the
comfort of effective performance. Before beginning, he
should get his bearings as to audience, and adjust him-
self to the general aims and temper of his speech, and
take time for the right impulses to assert themselves. The
feeling that the speech is moving along easily should be
fostered.
Moods. Moods are those habitual feelings that pre-
occupy the mind, those fixed sets of feelings that hinder the
6O PUBLIC SPEAKING
person from realizing new ones. Each temperament, trade,
and profession (this is especially true of the ministry) gives
rise to a set of feelings peculiar to itself. These feelings
are of narrow range, and are frequently so pronounced as
to dominate the speaker. Some students require a recon-
struction of their emotional character amounting to a new
birth. Dominant sets of feelings must be guarded against,
and a combination of temperaments cultivated.
The student of speaking must submit to the unaccus-
tomed. New ways of speaking, new ways of acting, are
possible only to those who can welcome new feelings. The
greater ease with which youth and those in early manhood
can take up that which produces new feelings, indicates this
period as the most hopeful one for the study and practice of
the Elements of Public Speaking.
2. Control through the Will. The faults of the stu-
dent of Public Speaking may be clearly pointed out. He
soon learns to recognize his main faults for himself. He
squeezes the voice in the throat ; he speaks too rapidly or too
slowly ; he reads in monotone, and without reference to com-
municating to the audience. Now, these and other faults
may be affected by direct effort of the will. Inhibit by act
of will all unpurposed movements of the mind and body.
Possibly, inhibition is never purely negative, but includes
the substitution of a purposed idea or act for one that is not
purposed. For instance, anger is controlled by filling the
mind with some other idea, say of pleasure or pity. Inhibi-
tion of rapid delivery is accompanied by a substitution of
the idea of orderly and deliberate movement. In ordinary
control, however, the negative feature of inhibition is dwelt
upon more fully than substitutionary activity, and practi-
cally amounts to the same in result.
" In an adult of pretty complete volitional control, almost all
movements, whether of recreation or of business, are connected
together through their reference to some unity, some final purpose
CONTROL 6l
which the man intends. There is involved first a process of inhi-
bition^ by which all movements not calculated to reach the end are
suppressed ; second, co-ordination, by which the remaining move-
ments are brought into harmonious relations with each other ; and
third, accommodation, by which they are all adjusted to the end
present in consciousness.
" There is also a deepening of the control. The movements
become organized, as it were, into the very structure of the body.
The body becomes a tool more and more under command, a mech-
anism better fitted for its end, and also more responsive to the
touch. Isolated acts become capacity for action. That which has
been laboriously acquired becomes spontaneous function. There
result a number of abilities to act in this way or that abilities to
walk, to talk, to read, to write, to labor at the trade. Acquisition
becomes function ; control becomes skill. These capacities are
also tendencies. They constitute not only a machine capable of
action in a given way at direction, but an automatic machine
which, when consciousness does not put an end before it, acts for
itself. It is this deepening of control which constitutes what we
1 Dewey's Psychology, p. 382.
62 PUBLIC SPEAKING
CHAPTER V
RESERVED FORCE
As the credit of a person is good, not by what he spends,
but by what he holds, so also the strength of a speaker is
great, not by what he uses, but by what he keeps in reserve.
The tear in the eye stirs more than the tear on the cheek,
and the suppressed groan is more affecting than the loud
lament. While the audience demands vigor and earnest-
ness, it also demands a control that shall master and direct
that earnestness. The impression that great force is used
upon small matters, and that the speaker's limitations are
obvious, is fatal to success.
Reserved force, however, is not suppressive of earnest-
ness. The dull speaker may never be excessive nor extrava-
gant in physical or emotional energy, but it cannot be said
that he is governed by reserved force. He is, instead,
lacking in force, since one can reserve only what he has.
The speaker with the control of reserve, it is safe to say,
feels more than others. He gives the impression that he
has sources of power upon which he does not find it neces-
sary to draw. His store of information is not exhausted;
his physical strength could well endure more; his vocal
force is within the range of easy delivery; his emotions are
chastened within appropriate manifestation.
Many speakers start out with an abrupt force that shocks
the audience, and then allow the force gradually to dimin-
ish. Consequently, at the climaxes there is insufficient
force to make them effective, and finally the close is feeble.
The process of good speaking has been reversed. Some-
times excessive force continues uniform from beginning to
RESERVED FORCE 63
end ; and at other times there is unnecessary and excessive,
sometimes periodic, application of force. Other violations
of this principle are excessive bodily action, pacing the
platform, swinging the arms ; the lungs are allowed to
become exhausted, the tone is breathy, .excessive loudness
is obvious.
Specialization of Function. As specialization econ-
omizes effort, it is to be regarded as an aspect of reserved
force. By specialization of function is meant that in the
accomplishment of any purpose only those agents, organs,
or muscles are used that are necessary to the achievement
of the specific aim. It implies also the successive instead
of the simultaneous use of the several parts. The awkward
walker, for example, exerts the whole body, while the
graceful walker uses only the organs and muscles of loco-
motion. Again, contrast the excessive muscular exertion
of the person learning to ride the bicycle with the ease and
localized effort of the skilful rider.
In Public Speaking, there is a tendency to use too many
parts, and to use the necessary parts simultaneously in any
special act. At times, physical energy is substituted for
vocal discrimination, noise for emphasis. In physical
carriage, the body should be erect, free ; and in movements,
only the organs of locomotion should be used. In voice,
only the kind and force adapted to the special demand
should be allowed. Excessive and laborious use should be
guarded against. In enunciation, only the tip of the tongue
should be active, if the proper sound demand it alone. In
gesture, the whole body should not be thrown with the
movements of the arms; and the fingers should distinguish
their function from that of the hand.
These examples will serve to show the application of the
principle of specialization in delivery.
As might be supposed, specialization is realized by
inhibiting the reflex participation of unrelated functions,
64 PUBLIC SPEAKING
and by educating the special functions to depend on their
own office. For example, where emphasis is called for,
train the voice to use emphasis instead of loudness. Again,
when the hand and arm only are needed in gesture, compel
the body to remain passive. To the audience, specializa-
tion gives the impression of ease and elegance, and so sat-
isfies the aesthetic demand of eye and ear.
Reserved force manifests itself in the following ways:
1. In the physical bearing. It is strong, and every move-
ment has a purpose, and is without excess. It is closely
identified with physical control; the co-ordinations are
accurate and timely. It suggests culture and good char-
acter.
2. In the use of the voice. The breath is all converted
into tone. The chest is active, the lungs are well filled.
Breathing is never labored nor obtrusive. There is an ab-
sence of noisiness.
3. In suppressed emotion. In reserved force, there is the
impression given of strong and vital thought and feeling.
The speaker seems to express less emotion than he feels.
Intensity and dynamic effort, rather than noise, are the man-
ifestations of such force.
4. In a masterful hold upon the audience. The speaker
seems to hold the audience by direct effort of will. This
hold upon the audience seems to reflect its power upon the
speaker, and he in turn is restrained or held by the audi-
ence. Poise and purpose are controlling. Mentally,
emotionally, vocally, the audience is in the grasp of the
speaker. The total impression upon the audience is that of
vigor with ease.
5. In specialized effort. This gives the impression of ease
and grace.
THE CONVERSATIONAL BASIS 65
CHAPTER VI
THE CONVERSATIONAL BASIS
THE conversational style of delivery is the next source
of clearness, force, and elegance in Public Speaking. The
communicative attitude of mind, direct address, is closely
related to the conversational style. This style is the basis
of all effective delivery. It is simple, direct, varied.
The conversational is not to be confused with the feeble
and indifferent manner of speaking. It demands anima-
tion, energy, and is consistent with loudness.
The main characteristic of the conversational is that of
variety ; and in this respect is identical with our characteri-
zation of speaking as opposed to reading. In the delivery
of strongly emotional, oratoric, and forensic discourse, the
delivery heightens with the emotion. Increased intensity,
loudness, and dynamic effort will be demanded; but then
the words containing the leading thought will be differenti-
ated by change of pitch and increased ictus (emphasis), and
by use of the characteristic long slides belonging to the
conversational style.
After each emotional heightening, there must be a return
to the composure and discrimination of the conversational.
Without this return the style becomes "declamatory,"
"speech-making," "noisy," "grandiloquent." This kind
of delivery is loud, labored, and heavy, and is sometimes
called monotonous. It deals with a single emotion; and
even this does not grow out of the ideas involved, but is,
rather, that vague feeling arising out of the notion that
something important is being attempted. The emotion
may be the prevailing emotion of the speech or composi-
66 PUBLIC SPEAKING
tion, without any of the varied emotions, the lights and
shades, of the piece; but even in this case the speaker is
blindly swept along.
Transition. An important aspect of the differentiating
process of the conversational style is that of transition. The
separation of the parts of the sentences, of one sentence
from another, and the change from one paragraph to an-
other, are clearly marked by pause, change of pitch, kind
of voice, etc. The delivery changes with the varied
thoughts and emotions. At the main divisions, there is
a lull not unlike that of well-ordered conversation when
the subject is spontaneously changed. The speaker then
starts out with much of the composure and deliberation of
a new beginning.
Another aspect of the conversational delivery, closely
allied to that of transition, is that of time-taking, or deliber-
ation.
In beginning, the speaker should be deliberate; for the
persons of the audience are thinking of many things other
than the speech. If he speak rapidly, they will become
bewildered and be left behind. The speaker should be
sure that the listeners are with him before the pace is
greatly quickened. The same conditions are to be observed
in the transitions of the main divisions.
Time-taking is not to be confused with lazy, tardy,
drawling delivery. In the heat of the emotion, the time
may be unusually rapid: so also may the utterance of
slurred phrases in all kinds of delivery; but even in rapid
delivery some parts are retarded, and pauses made at ap-
propriate places.
Silence. The hesitance and thoughtfulness, at times
characteristic of the purely colloquial, should be allowed
as a feature of the conversational style. Normal silence,
arising from a transition of ideas, is an important factor
in delivery. The mind of the speaker, however, at this
THE CONVERSATIONAL BASIS 67
point must be active, as the silence resulting from mental
vacuity is quite another matter. The silence resulting from
waiting on the idea, or from adjusting one's self to a new
trend of ideas, is full of significance. It points to the past,
and anticipates the future. At such pauses the listener is
active, adjusting himself to the conditions; hence, no dis-
appointment is felt, no time is lost. Contrast the short
silence occasioned by a misplaced page of manuscript.
The inexperienced speaker regards silence as ominous.
To him it seems to suggest inefficiency and to presage fail-
ure. He must hear his voice constantly sounding. Ex-
cept in the case of natural drawlers and stolid folks, the art
of time-taking in delivery must be acquired.
The Start. Select persons (possibly an individual is
better) in the farthest part of the audience, and direct your
talk to them. To insure a proper start, Col. T. W. Hig-
ginson recommends the speaker to say, when occasion
admits, as in after-dinner speaking, "I was just saying to
my friend here." This induces the conversational attitude.
A favorable start is the best assurance of a good time
speaking. To recover from a faulty beginning as to key,
force, and time, is difficult, if not impossible. Think of
good speaking as simply strong talk.
68 PUBLIC SPEAKING
A
CHAPTER VII
THE AUDIENCE
THE next source of the essentials of Public Speaking is
that of the audience. The speaker is conditioned by the
audience as truly as the audience is affected by the speaker.
A speech is, in fact, the joint product of speaker and audi-
ence. The audience reflects the thought and feeling of the
speaker ; and the speaker, in turn, reflects the mind of the
audience. He intuitively realizes the sympathy of the audi-
ence, and is quick to feel when a false chord is struck. He
realizes when an unwelcome or unharmonious idea is felt
by the audience. The stimulus of attention and sympathy
is, at times, exhilarating in the highest degree. In the
highest flights of oratory, so unobserved are the symbols of
communication, that the minds of the speaker and listener
seem to affect each other immediately. Antagonism may
overcome a feeble speaker ; but he who is confident of the
right and assured of his strength finds it a stimulus. He
arouses his energies, determined to win.
Speaking, in which there is not conscious communication,
is destructive of everything that might be called eloquence.
A response of some kind is essential to the welfare of
speaking. Frequently the speaker is unconscious of this
lack of grasp on the audience, because he is having a good
time all alone, or is occupied with the subordinate pro-
cesses of the speech. At other times, the conscious lack
of grasp is realized in an overwhelming way. In order to
communicate, the speaker must first of all gain, and then
hold the attention of his audience.
Attention. "He held the attention of the audience
THE AUDIENCE 69
from the beginning to the close," is often heard in proof of
a successful effort. The ability to do this is one of the
commonest tests of effective speaking. It is the safest one,
too, if the speaker is sure that the attention given is spon-
taneous. Spontaneous attention is the attention that the
person must give because he cannot, under the circum-
stances, avoid it.
Frequently, however, the attention is voluntary or
" forced," and is the result, not of the speaker's power, but
of the good manners of the audience. The listener compels
himself to attend. It requires effort, and involves purpose.
A speaker with marked ability to hold the attention and
to exert a masterful control over an audience is called
magnetic. No description of a speaker's power is more
common than this, and yet none is more vague. Sometimes
it is used as a literal description of what takes place. The
speaker is said to magnetize the audience with "animal
magnetism." In describing the power of a certain speaker,
a minister of more than ordinary culture once said to me,
" I could almost see the fluid pass to the audience." With
imagination a little more vivid, the cautious "almost"
would have been turned into an absolute statement.
What are the most striking effects produced by the " mag-
netic " speaker? Rapt attention, that makes the listener
oblivious to all else but the speech. The listener enters
thoroughly into the thoughts, emotions, and volitions of
the speaker. For the time he loses his independence ; he
is susceptible to the slightest suggestion ; he involuntarily
applauds, laughs, cries, is pitiful, burns with indignation,
becomes angry, as swayed by the thought of the speaker.
The stir of the audience and the sigh of relief are the most
common reaction from this kind of attention. The listener
" comes to himself," somewhat as if waking out of a dream.
Sometimes the issue is in action, as when the audience of
Demosthenes cry out, "Let us march against Philip!"
7O PUBLIC SPEAKING
In rapt attention the members of an audience have been
known to rise to their feet, sometimes to applaud, at other
times to stand with fixed gaze and open mouth.
Do not these manifestations suggest hypnotic states ?
Certainly these results are not due to any occult power of
mind or any mysterious "fluid." They are perfectly nor-
mal, and are explicable as phenomena of spontaneous atten-
tion. And as recent psychology gives up the theory of a
" mesmeric fluid " and " animal magnetism," and accepts
the phenomena of attention and suggestion purely psychic
processes as an explanation of the hypnotic state, so, also,
in analyzing the power of magnetic speaking, crude notions
of a peculiar fluid must be abandoned.
The matter of the speech and the manner of the delivery
adapted to secure the spontaneous attention of the listener,
that is, to lead the attentive mind on step by step in the
thought, feelings, volitions, and aims of the speaker, is
the only mystery involved. To secure, in some measure, this
involuntary attention of the listener, even though genius is
lacking, is the legitimate aim of every modest student of
speaking.
i. Communicative Attitude. To secure attention and
get a response, the speaker must, first of all, be in the com-
municative attitude of mind. This is the attitude of direct
address. As language is social in its function, it is impos-
sible to a solitary mind. We may, indeed, have sounds and
symbols without having language, for language always pre-
supposes a real or imaginary mind addressed. In Public
Speaking, the mind of the audience is directly communi-
cated with by means of the voice and action.
(1) The communicative attitude of mind speaks to, and
not before, an audience.
(2) It is essentially the vocative attitude. The speaker at
his best spontaneously says, " My friends," " My neigh-
bors," " My countrymen," "Fellow-citizens," "My brethren."
THE AUDIENCE J\
These are, in their best use, by no means mere comen-
tions of speech. When the words are not used, the speaker
should, from time to time, mentally supply the vocative.
(3) The communicative attitude manifests itself in facing
the audience.
The speaker should not merely " appear before the audi-
ence," but should look at it. The eye is not only expres-
sive, but controlling. It first challenges attention, and
leads in all expression by gesture. Gesture while looking
intently at the manuscript, or above and beyond the audi-
ence, is provokingly ineffective. In every description that
necessarily takes the eye away from the audience, the eye
starts from the audience and returns to it. Playing back
and forth, the eye, together with the movement, says, " Do
you see it?" The speaker should localize individuals or
groups, and study the effect of the effort upon them. To
give proper pitch and direction to the voice, select a person
in the farther part of the room, and speak to him as collo-
quially as possible. In speaking to individuals of the audi-
ence, however, do not " catch their eye," that is, to recognize
them. Speaking then becomes personal, and is liable to
give offence.
(4) Communication objectifies the thought. The subjective
or soliloquizing attitude of mind is to be avoided. " Objec-
tify," must be frequently urged upon the student. "Talk
it out ; " but not noisily or fussily.
2. Deferential Attitude. The deferential attitude of
mind and manner quickens the sympathies of both speaker
and audience. The arrogant, boastful attitude repels, while
the simple and frank manner wins sympathy and attention.
But deference to the audience has its sources in good-will.
In these ways, if the matter is adapted to the purpose,
the listener is interested, foreign thoughts excluded, and,
by the laws of association, the mind is led on step by step
in the thoughts and emotions, and to the purposes of the
speaker.
72 PUBLIC SPEAKING
CHAPTER VIII
GOOD-WILL
WE have already, in several places in this treatise, come
upon the idea that effective speech is in its roots moral.
We face the same conception again. No one who, from
the pulpit, at the bar, on the rostrum or platform, speaks
upon serious matters, has any right to demand a hearing
unless he intends the good of those addressed. The good
of man is the most comprehensive aim of the speaker, as
it is of all human effort. If one speak merely for entertain-
ment, he must, in order to get into the best frame of mind
for the purpose, even in this, will the temporary good of
those addressed. If effective speech is essentially moral,
it must be because of its aims. The aim of true speech
is not victory, but the welfare of the individual and the
race.
Good-will toward those with whom we communicate has
an inherent force that defies analysis. Some aspects of it,
however, may be brought under our attention.
1. The speaker inspired by good-will recognizes the rights
and worth of man, and assumes the attitude of deference
when speaking to men. This opens the door to their emo-
tions through their sympathies. This right to civil and fair
treatment is specifically recognized in the conventional com-
pliments of Public Speaking. Though known to be con-
ventional, they still have value, and are ineffective only
when compliments degenerate into flattery. Compliment is
all the more effective if genuinely sincere.
2. Again, good- will is a fertile source of sympathy. Sym-
pathy is one of the most practical demands of good speaking.
GOOD-WILL 73
By means of it the speaker reaches the listeners' point of
view, feels what they feel, and is guided accordingly. It is
the force of the "one mind." Interests are identical, the
feelings are in accord, and the speaker is heard gladly.
3. The confidential attitude is an important aspect of sym-
pathy. In consequence of it the speaker is sincere, frank,
takes the audience into his thoughts and motives. Open-
ing the channels for free communication, and bringing the
mind into close touch, he reaches toward the audience and
talks to its individuals.
The confidential attitude is profitably attended to in con-
nection with the voice and bearing. Vocal direction and
modulation are immediately affected by it, as is also the
physical bearing. The aspirate or half-whispered tone, care-
fully directed to the individual, is the intense form of the
confidential voice. But in speaking, other elements neces-
sarily modify this form. Nothing, however, so develops the
agreeable voice as the sympathetic emotions.
74 PUBLIC SPEAKING
CHAPTER IX
VARIETY
AN adequate utilization of the principles already discussed
will foster that variety which is indispensable to effective
speaking. It should, however, be definitely held before the
speaking-aim as a point to be realized. The demand for
variety is fundamental in the human mind. Nature, with her
infinite forms and colors, with her changes, is adapted to
satisfy this demand for variety, which in its aspects of change
and difference is fundamental in all thinking. Sensation is
realized only through change or difference. For instance,
the foul odor of a room is not detected by the occupant long
accustomed to it. A person coming from out-of-doors, by
contrast, at once forcibly appreciates the condition. We
have already treated the importance of differentiation in the
thinking process. This differentiation manifests itself ob-
jectively as variety.
Variety in the aspect of novelty is interesting to the lis-
tener. It is a means of keeping the mind alert and atten-
tive, and so reduces the effort of hearing. The mind says,
" What next ? " and is constantly expectant. The soporific
influence of uninteresting discourse, or of monotonous, uni-
form delivery, is too familiar to most audiences. People
sleep well the senses are dormant under even loud noises
when they are uniform. A lull in the delivery or actual
pause is more arousing than uniformly loud tones.
Variety must not be capricious. Changes of force, of rate,
or of other elements, must grow out of the thought and feel-
ing of the speech. The practice of a prominent preacher,
formerly of Boston, well illustrated faulty change. He, in a
VARIETY 75
most arbitrary fashion, would suddenly change the pitch. It
was done to rest the voice. The change, and hence all its
benefits, might have been secured by letting it be expressive
of the variety in the thought and feeling.
As in all art, so here, variety must, however, recognize
the claims of Unity. The leading thought of the speech and
principal aim must unify all the parts. The lesser unities
of paragraphs, and even sentences, must not be overlooked.
Moreover, each speech or selection has its own atmosphere
or prevailing emotion underlying all the variety of its parts.
It gives the ideational, and especially the emotional unity of
speech. All the parts must harmonize with this unity. The
atmosphere of tragedy differs from that of comedy. That
of the funeral sermon differs from that of the cheerful essay.
Each part of a discourse is colored emotionally by each im-
mediately adjacent part. With the ideal differentiation the
relation with reference to unity must also be observed. The
anger of one part colors the tenderest sentiment of the adja-
cent part. Words introducing a quotation are colored by
the emotion of the quotation.
But, possibly, variety is more difficult to realize than unity,
and leading attention must be given to it. To secure vari-
ety in the delivery, the speaker must first of all realize the
content of the language. Again, by attending to the objec-
tive aspects of delivery, controlling the kinds of voice, rate,
pitch, and other features of delivery, one may more readily
master this source of effective speaking.
BOOK III
ELEMENTS OF THE ESSENTIALS OF PUBLIC
SPEAKING
CHAPTER I
ELEMENTS OF CLEARNESS
SEC. I. Enunciation. Enunciation refers to the deliv-
ery of words as such. It involves purity of tone (to be dis-
cussed under voice), syllabication, vowel moulding, and
consonantal articulation. The distinct enunciation of words,
including as it does the clear-cut coinage of syllables, is
the leading element in the intelligibility or clearness of
delivery.
The mistake of supposing that distinct utterance depends
upon loudness is common. I have found that persons of
meagre training, speaking for the first time in a large hall,
must almost invariably be restrained from excess of vocal
effort. Noise is the result of such effort, but the words are
unintelligible. Aiming at distinctness by means of loud
and strained vocal effort leads to a clumsy formation of
the vowels and consonants, and so defeats its purpose.
Mr. A. M. Bell says that the Rev. Mr. Spurgeon, address-
ing an audience of twenty-five thousand people in Agricul-
tural Hall, in London, was, because of his accurate and
vigorous enunciation, distinctly heard by all.
For distinctness, the speaker should aim at pure rather
than loud tone, and depend mainly upon effective enuncia-
tion.
Syllabication. Although the syllable strikes the ear
as a single impulse, it is usually composed of more than
76
ELEMENTS OF CLEARNESS 77
one element. The word "man *' has three, while " strands "
has seven elements ; but they are uttered so quickly that
they strike the ear as one sound. To do this well requires
a quick, as well as an accurate action of the organs. At-
tention should be centred rather upon syllables than upon
words.
Enunciation is frequently bad, because insufficient time
is given to each word. The speaker attempts to give long
words, and words difficult to utter, in the time of short
words, and words easy of utterance. This results in a
tumbling or skipping of syllables. Taking care, then, of
the syllables remedies this feature of faulty enunciation.
Such words as "uninterrupted," ''indivisibility" must be
given time, so also difficult combinations, especially a suc-
cession of sounds of the same order. Try the following
sentence from Carlyle: "In this world with its wild whirl-
ing eddies and mad foam oceans . . . dost thou think that
there is therefore no justice? "
Accent. Each accented syllable requires a separate
and decided vocal impulse or ictus, while the unaccented
syllable may be given with remission of the effort. For
instance, in " king, king," and in " boy-hood" each syllable
requires a separate impulse ; but in " kingly " and " boy-
ish," the unaccented syllables are given with the vocal
remission. It is evident, then, that neglect of the accent
lessens the vigor of enunciation.
Vowel Moulding. Shaping the mouth for the vowel
formation may most accurately be called moulding the
vowel. The student should appreciate this characteristic
of vowel formation. A fuller understanding of the nature
of both vowels and consonants must prove helpful in their
utterance. A vowel is the result of vocalization with a
definite, fixed position of the organs of enunciation. It is
syllabic, and in its formation the breath is not obstructed.
A consonant is the result of vocalization with a definite,
78 PUBLIC SPEAKING
fixed position of the organs of enunciation. It is non-
syllabic; and in its formation the breath or voice is ob-
structed by two articulating parts ; as, for instance, the tip
of the tongue and hard palate in " t." Consonants are artic-
ulated, while vowels are moulded. In current enunciation
the obstruction is but momentary ; but it is sharp and accu-
rate. Vowels form the sensuous, and consonants the intel-
lectual elements of speech. The use of the latter is the
prerogative of man alone. Women articulate better than
men; the cultivated, better than the uncultivated. Clear-
cut enunciation is one of the signs of intellectuality and
refinement.
The student should accustom himself to an elementary,
that is, separate utterance of the vowels and consonants.
English Vowels. The following is Mr. A. M. Bell's
list of vowels :
1. Eve 7. orange 13. do
2. fll 8. ah 14. cure
3. ale 9. err 15. pole
4. care 10. up 16. ore
5. met II. ice 17. all
6. at 12. far 18. on
I=i-f-e; a = a + ee; o = o -f oo.
A (far), 66 (pool), and e (feel), may be regarded, so far
as the position of tongue, lips, and vocal cords are involved,
as typical vowels.
In "a," the lower jaw drops, the upper lip is lifted and
arched, showing the central upper teeth, the aperture con-
forming in a general way to the outline of a triangle,
whose base is the lower lip. The tongue is flattened and
hollowed.
In a general way, the position for " e " is the reverse of
this. The mouth is extended from side to side. The posi-
tion is a more nearly closed one, and the organs are brought
nearer together. It is the " smiling " position of the mouth.
In " oo " the lips are rounded.
ELEMENTS OF CLEARNESS 79
English Consonants. The following is Mr. A. M.
Bell's list of consonants :
With BREATH only. With VOICE. With nasal VOICE.
M in man.
N in nun.
Ng in song.
Th
in
thin.
B
in
ban.
Wh
in
whey.
V
in
voice.
F
in
fell.
W
in
will.
8
in
sin.
D
in
do.
Sh
in
shun.
Th
in
this.
T
in
tin.
L
in
lo.
H
in
how.
B
in
ray.
K
in
king.
z
in
zinc.
Q
in
queen.
Zh
in
vision.
P
in
pin.
Y
in
yes.
C
in church.
Q
in
go-
J
in
judge.
Exercise. From the nature of vowels and consonants,
it must appear that skill in enunciation is secured by means
of the accuracy, promptness, and vigor of their utterance.
Practice to this end must be elementary. Supplementary
attention moreover, while in the act of speaking, may be
given to enunciation.
Practice. (i) Fronting the tone. (To be discussed
under the section on voice.)
(2) Sounding the separate vowels and consonants of the
tables.
(3) Shaping the mouth for lip-mobility: with voice, and
again without voice, round the lips on do, rapidly change to
ah, and then to e. Thus : 55, ah, e, etc.
(4) Spelling words phonetically.
(5) Exercising the tip of the tongue. Practice do, do,
etc., rapidly ; change to to, to, etc. ; now repeat " fa, la, si,
do."
(6) Speaking with exaggerated movements of the tongue
and lips, as though talking to the deaf, generously opening
the mouth teeth as well as lips.
8O PUBLIC SPEAKING
(7) Carefully and patiently pronouncing each separate
word of any selection to be delivered.
(8) Enouncing difficult combinations : fifth, eighth, this,
then, should'st, would'st, sixty-sixth, cloud-capt, ing, ness,
lovedst.
" 'Twas a wild, mad kind of a night, as black as the bottomless pit,
The wind was howling away like a Bedlamite in a fit,
Tearing the ash boughs off, and mowing the poplars down,
In the meadows beyond the old flour-mill where you turn to go off to the
town."
" Nothing could stop old Lightning Bess but the broad breast of the
sea."
" Lovely art thou, O Peace, and lovely are thy children, and lovely sure
thy footsteps in the green valleys."
wzld whirling copies. . . .
(9) In speaking, (i) avoid forcing the voice ; (2) centre
the attention upon syllables ; (3) attend to the final syllable
of each word ; (4) project the tone, making the consonants
fricative, and giving the vowels due quantity.
SEC. II. Emphasis. The intelligibility, or clearness,
of the delivery depends in the next place upon Emphasis.
By change of emphasis, as many different ideas may be
conveyed as the sentence contains words. It follows from
this, that an emphasis not sharply given may blur, and
one placed at random may defeat the intended meaning.
Hence it is of practical importance to know how to empha-
size a word. The intention to emphasize a word makes the
thought of that word stand out prominently in the mind.
A word is made emphatic by making it stand out promi-
nently from among the rest of the sentence. For intellec-
tive emphasis this is done by placing the word on a higher
pitch, and uttering it with increased ictus. This stress must,
of course, be upon the accented syllable. The accented
ELEMENTS OF CLEARNESS 8 1
syllable bears the same relation to its word as the emphatic
word bears to its sentence.
"The feudalism of Capital is not a whit less formidable
than the feudalism of Force" 1 The words " capital " and
" force " are rendered emphatic by being lifted on a higher
pitch than the rest of the words, and by increased ictus.
Change the emphasis to other words and the meaning is
changed.
There is another order of emphasis, mainly emotional,
given by pausing before or after a word or phrase, and the
use of a different kind of voice.
"Up the English come too late."
Pausing before the phrase " too late " illustrates this kind
of emphasis. Ordinarily emphasis means the treatment of
the word as first described. It is by far the most impor-
tant feature of emphasis, and the latter order is mentioned
mainly for completeness of treatment.
Sometimes the idea to be emphasized is contained in a
phrase. In this case the phrase is to be regarded as a long
compound word.
In applying emphasis, it is of primary importance to know
what word to emphasize. To determine the proper word to
emphasize, main reliance must be placed upon the analysis
of the language-content. Sometimes, however, the meaning
that best suits the mind's purpose is found out by trying
different emphases, and so allowing the ear to guide. The
clearer the style of the composition, the easier it is to
select the right emphasis. Since the thought process is one
of comparison, the word containing the new idea or anti-
thetic idea must always receive the leading emphasis. Be-
yond the primary and secondary emphasis the objective
treatment cannot profitably go.
1 Horace Mann.
2 Browning: Herv6 Kiel
82 PUBLIC SPEAKING
Faults. The more common faults to be guarded against
are, briefly, these :
1. Emphasizing too many words. Where all are generals,
there can be no privates.
2. Emphasizing words at regular intervals.
3. Emphasizing unimportant words.
4. Emphasizing words at random.
As already stated, the main dependence for correctly pla-
cing emphasis is in clear thinking.
SEC. III. Phrasing, or Grouping. In the analysis
under the chapter on " Content of Language," we have found
that a sentence contains, (i) that of which something is
stated, and (2) that which is stated of the something. Now,
these leading parts of the idea are restricted, extended,
and otherwise modified by subordinate ideas. Some of
them affect the subject, others the predicate. In some sen-
tences additional ideas of co-ordinate value, in others
parenthetical or explanatory ideas, are introduced. Clear-
ness, then, in delivery, requires that these relations be ex-
pressed. This is done by vocal punctuation and other
modifications called phrasing, or grouping. The principal
means of phrasing are, pause, pitch, and rate ; and although
inflection is primarily expressive of emotional states, it also
plays an important part in grouping, since, in this, the
falling slide closes the thought, while the rising slide in-
dicates an incomplete idea.
Ideas are discriminated by pausing between them. The
degree of their separation determines the length of the
pause. Ideas of equal value assume, in the main, the same
pitch. Parenthetical and other subordinate ideas are slurred
by the use of more rapid utterance. Such a phrase, when in-
troducing an important explanation, becomes a leading idea,
and is treated accordingly; that is, it is given in slower time.
Elliptical ideas are accounted for by means of pauses.
A single sentence may illustrate grouping.
ELEMENTS OF CLEARNESS 83
" It may, in the next place, be asked, perhaps, supposing
all this to be true, what can we do ? " 1 The group, " in the
next place," is formed by pausing before the word "in" and
after "place," and by giving the group on a lower pitch,
with slightly increased rate; "be asked" returns to the pitch
of "it may," and slows down slightly. The group, "per-
haps, " receives a pause before and after, and is rendered
on a lower pitch. The ellipsis, or omitted part, after "per-
haps" is "be asked," hence, pause as long as would be
required to say these words. The group, " supposing . . .
true," is separated by pause, and still lower pitch and
faster time. The group, " what . . . do ? " is separated by
pause, and returns to the pitch of the first two words of the
sentence.
SEC. IV. Transition. Transition may be regarded as
an accompaniment, if not an aspect, of phrasing and group-
ing. More exactly, it describes the changes that take place
in passing from one group to another. As we have already
shown, some of these groups are within the sentence. But
there are larger groups or unities that must be attended to
in delivery. Each completed idea, usually indicated by
the sentence, must be clearly separated from its fellows.
A transition from a literal statement to an illustration, from
one part of a description to another, must be distinctly made.
The passage from one paragraph to another, from one
stanza to another, being among the larger groups, requires
transition of wider intervals.
While transition primarily marks the thought-groups of
the speech, it is also expressive of the emotional changes
of the group. The ebb and flow of any emotion, and the
change from one emotion to another, are among the occa-
sions for transition. These emotional changes may be as
widely divergent as the grave and the gay, or so delicate
as to be difficult to analyze.
1 Daniel Webster : Public Opinion.
84 PUBLIC SPEAKING
Transition from group to group is effected, first of all, by
pausing between groups, and then by change of rate, of
pitchy and of kinds of voice within the group.
While no attempt is made to illustrate the fine shades of
grouping and transition, it is thought worth the while, on a
single sentence, to give the main features of the grouping,
with special reference to the emotion.
"'Tis true this god did shake; his coward lips did from
their color fly." The group, "'tis true," reaffirms with
slight irony. The transition to the group "this god," is
marked with intense irony. Transition to "did shake,"
less ironical, strongly affirmatory of a suppository denial of
shaking. The groups, "'Tis . . . shake," are given with
irony, high pitch, deliberation, circumflex. The transi-
tion or change to the second member is marked. A tinge
of irony remains. But Cassius attempts to be rather more
indifferent, and to make, mainly, a statement of fact, lower
pitch, more rapid rate, major slides.
How, then, may the speaker become skilful in the use
of Transition ? In this, as in other aspects of speaking,
the main dependence should be in mental activity. Some
common hindrances, however, may be noted, and a few
hints be given from the objective point of view.
The following are the more common faults :
1. I have frequently found pupils grouping by mechani-
cally following the punctuation. Punctuation only in a
general way indicates the pauses of delivery, and does not
reach at all changes of rate and pitch. Sometimes the
pause is as long at a comma as it is at other times at a
period.
2. Another common fault is the habit of running on
without change as long as the breath allows, and, in the
main, pausing only to supply the lungs. Akin to this
is the fault of capricious pausing without reference to
sense.
ELEMENTS OF CLEARNESS 8$
3. The fault of falling into a melodic swing, and paus-
ing at regular intervals, is to be guarded against.
4. Probably no fault under this head is more common
than that of hurriedly pouring out words, with little or no
recognition of differentiated parts. Such delivery is fluent,
but fluency is not eloquence.
As restlessness and anxiety precipitate the speaker into
false pausing and pitch, he should direct his attention to
ease and time-taking, and by effort of will apply pause,
pitch, and rate according to the requirements of transition.
Always distinctly aim at making the thought clear.
86 PUBLIC SPEAKING
CHAPTER II
ELEMENTS OF FORCE
SEC. I. A Good Voice. A voice may be clear, ring-
ing, and easily heard at a distance, and still not be a
good voice. For a voice may have those qualities, and at
the same time be harsh, throaty, strident, and be limited in
range of pitch, and, most serious of all, deficient in musi-
cal quality. To be good, a voice must be, not only an
organ of clear enunciation, but be capable also of ex-
pressing all shades and complexities of emotions. This
capability is due, in the main, to its musical quality. A
voice of this kind contributes primarily to force; but in-
asmuch as a musical voice is agreeable in itself, it also
satisfies the aesthetic demands.
A good voice is characterized by Strength, Flexibility,
Purity, Range of Pitch, and Resonance.
i. Strength refers to those qualities that render the voice
capable of sustained effort, and to its capacity for loudness.
Its further and most satisfactory manifestation is a well-
supported tone that gives the impression of solidity.
Strength is favorably affected by a healthy condition of
the lungs, and of the muscles and membrane of the vocai
passage; but it is secured principally by the strength and
proper use of the muscles of respiration. If the diaphrag-
matic and other muscles of respiration fail to act strongly
and accurately, a feeble, relaxed tone, lacking in the power
of projection, results. While it is true that a strong
resilience of the lungs aids in strength of tones, vocal
strength does not, as popularly supposed, depend mainly
upon "strong lungs," but upon the strength and upon the
ELEMENTS OF FORCE 8?
sustained resistance of the inspiratory, against the expiratory
act of breathing.
In ordinary breathing, the rather long act of inspiration
is followed by a sudden relaxation of the inspiratory mus-
cles, and quick expulsion of the breath. This process,
although normal in ordinary breathing, is reversed in the
production of voice. Hence, in speaking, the tendency
is still to sudden expulsion of breath, and consequent
feeble tone. This must give place to strong and sustained
muscular action, resulting in slow and firm dealing out of
the breath.
2. Flexibility. By flexibility of voice is meant the
ability to change easily from pitch to pitch, on successive
syllables, either by sliding, or by a distinct change from
one pitch to another. It includes also the "vanish" or
slide of the voice on the single vowel. For instance, "a"
is properly a compound tone composed of a -f- e. As or-
dinarily pronounced by a good voice, the latter part (e) of
the sound glides to a lower pitch. Harsh tones result in
part from a lack of this "vanishing," or gliding. From
these considerations it is at once evident that the music of
the tone is enriched by flexibility.
3. Purity of tone. To be most effective, a voice must be
composed of pure tones ; that is, tones free from waste of
breath. Upon this quality the carrying power of the voice
primarily depends. It is also one of the conditions of rich
resonance. Vocalizing while panting and purring after vio-
lent exercise gives an exaggerated exhibition of breathy
voice. But sudden collapse, running too long on one breath,
and faulty adjustment of the vocal cords, are the more
common causes of impure tones.
4. Range of pitch. That many speakers use a limited
range of pitch, usually too high or too low, is a matter of
common observation. The use of the medium pitch, ranging
above and below according to the emotional demands, is
88 PUBLIC SPEAKING
quite as necessary in speech as in music. The nature and
power of this use hardly need extended treatment.
5. Resonance. Even persons unskilled in vocal analy-
sis call one voice " harsh ; " another, " thick ; " another,
" throaty ; " and so on ; and, on the other hand, they say
another is " ringing ; " another, " rich and full ; " and still
another is called " pleasant," or " musical." The last term
is not only a popular, but also an accurate description of a
voice rich in resonance. This property of voice variously
called " timbre," " klang," " color," " quality," is that which
gives individuality to voice, or which distinguishes one voice
from another ; for each voice has its own way of combining
its partial with its fundamental tones, and it can be distin-
guished from another, just as we distinguish a flute from a
violin or an organ, by the characteristics of its resonance.
The meaning of fundamental and partial tones, and the part
they play in resonance, may be made clear by a brief dis-
cussion of the physical basis of voice.
Sound. Physical acoustics is a section of the theory of elastic
bodies. Elastic bodies vibrating, set the air in vibration, pro-
ducing wave-like "motions that reach to distant points. These
wave-like motions radiate in all directions, and are similar to the
agitation produced by throwing a stone into a placid sheet of
water. The air vibrations, if sufficiently rapid, striking upon the
ear, produce the sensation of sound.
Sounds are distinguished as (a) musical tones and as ()
noises. Musical tones result from rapid periodic vibrations of
sonorous bodies. Noises result from non-periodic vibrations.
Musical tones are distinguished as to
1. Force or loudness.
2. Pitch or relative height.
3. Quality.
Vibrations of sonorous bodies producing sound may be seen
by the naked eye ; felt, as in touching a tuning-fork ; and by mechan-
ical contrivances their amplitude, form, and rapidity may be deter-
mined.
ELEMENTS OF FORCE 89
Force, or loudness of sound, depends upon amplitude of vibra-
tion. The wider the vibration, the louder the sound.
Pitch, or place in the scale, depends upon the rapidity or rate of
vibration. The greater the number of vibrations in a second, the
higher the pitch. The highest audible number of vibrations is
38,000 per second ; the lowest, 20 per second ; from 40 to 4,000 (7
octaves) only are valuable for music or speech. The number of
vibrations is very accurately determined by means of an instru-
ment called the siren, consisting of a perforated disk in rapid
revolution.
Quality is that peculiarity which distinguishes the musical tones
of a flute from a violin, or that distinguishes different voices, and
depends upon inform of vibration.
A string or resonant body is found to vibrate not only the entire
length, but at the same time in sections which are aliquot parts of
the whole.
The sounds of these sectional vibrations, combined with the
sound of the whole or prime vibration, give a compound tone that
ordinarily reaches the ear as one tone. The tones of these sec-
tional vibrations are called overtones, or partials, and mingling with
the tone of the prime vibration, give the quality of tone. The
prime tone is generally the loudest and lowest, and names the pitch
of the compound. The "upper partial tones" are harmonics of
the prime.
Compound Tones. The most important of the series of these
upper partial tones are as follows :
The first upper partial is an octave above the prime, and makes
double the number of vibrations in the same time.
The second upper partial is a twelfth above the prime, making
three times the number of vibrations in the same time as the
prime.
The third upper partial is two octaves above the prime, with four
times as many vibrations.
The fourth upper partial is two octaves and a major third above
the prime, with five times as many vibrations.
The fifth upper partial tone is two octaves and a major fifth
above the prime, with six times as many vibrations.
The sixth upper partial is two octaves and a sub-minor seventh
above the prime, with seven times as many vibrations.
gO PUBLIC SPEAKING
The seventh upper partial is three octaves above the prime, with
eight times the number of vibrations.
Many other partials occur in some compound tones, but always
in the same relative position.
"Simple tones have a very soft, pleasant sound, free from all
roughness, but wanting in power, and dull at low pitches."
" Musical tones, which are accompanied by a moderately loud
series of the lower upper partial tones up to about the sixth par-
tial, are more harmonious and musical. Compared with simple
tones they are rich and splendid, while they are at the same time
perfectly sweet and soft if the higher upper partials are absent."
"If only the uneven partials are present, the quality of tone
is hollow ; and when a large number of such partials are present, it is
nasal. When the prime tone predominates, the quality of the tone
is rich or full ; but when the prime tone is not sufficiently superior
in strength to the upper partials, the quality of the tone is poor or
empty.
"When partial tones higher than the sixth or seventh are very
distinct, the quality of the tone is cutting and rough. The degree
of harshness may be very different. When their force is inconsid-
erable, the higher upper partials do not essentially detract from the
musical applicability of the compound tones ; on the contrary, they
are useful in giving character and expression to the music."
" Tuning-forks are the most difficult to set in sympathetic vibra-
tion. To effect this they must be fastened on sounding-boxes
which have been exactly tuned to their tone. If we have two such
forks of exactly the same pitch, and excite one by a violin bow, the
other will begin to vibrate in sympathy, even if placed at the
farther end of the room, and it will continue to sound when the first
is damped. The astonishing nature of such a case of sympathetic
vibration will appear, if we merely compare the heavy and powerful
mass of steel set in motion with the light, yielding mass of air,
which produces effect by such small motive power that it could not
stir the lightest spring which was not in tune with the fork. With
such forks the time required to set them in full swing by sympa-
thetic action is also of sensible duration, and the slightest disagree-
ment in pitch is sufficient to produce a sensible diminution in the
sympathetic effect. By sticking a piece of wax to one prong of
the second fork, sufficient to make it vibrate once in a second less
ELEMENTS OF FORCE 9!
than the first, a difference of pitch scarcely sensible to the finest
ear, the sympathetic vibration will be wholly destroyed. 1 ' 1
Thus sympathetically the chambers of the pharnyx, ventricles,
nares, mouth the entire vocal passage, chest, and head re-en-
force the tones of the vocal bands.
Vowel-resonance. One vowel sound is distinguished from
another, though both have the same pitch and intensity. This
fact was long a question of inquiry. Sir C Wheatstone first stated
the true theory, which was afterwards subjected to exhaustive
study by Helmholtz. " The vibrations of the vocal bands associ-
ate with the vibrations of the resonant cavity of the mouth, which
can so alter its shape as to resound at will either the fundamental
tones of the vocal cords or any of their overtones. With the aid
of the mouth, therefore, we can mix together the fundamental tone
and the overtones of the voice in different combinations." Helm-
holtz was able to imitate those tones by tuning-forks, and by com-
bining them appropriately to produce the sounds of the vowels.
I once had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Alexander Graham Bell
exhibit the fact that vocal pitch may be determined by the shape
of the mouth cavity. Closing the mouth, and moving the tongue
to alter the shape of the cavity to suit, the pitches of the scale were
distinctly produced by snapping a lead-pencil placed against the
windpipe.
For practical purposes we distinguish the chest from the
head resonance. The former is brilliant, clear, and ringing ;
the latter is full and mellow. Chest resonance is due to the
actual sympathetic vibrations of the chest; while the head
resonance is due to the resonance of the face and head. Some
voices use more of one than of the other, while some com-
bine the two for the ordinary voice. The varied use of res-
onance is determined by the kind of emotion to be expressed.
Vocal Defects. Besides defects resulting from natural
limitations and disease, there are others due to a lack of
skill in the use of the organs. The latter are removable,
and the accomplishment of this forms an important part
1 Sensation of Tone. Helmholtz.
92 PUBLIC SPEAKING
of the minor problem of Public Speaking. They may be
described as follows :
1. Squeezed-back voice. This is the guttural voice, and re-
sults from an attempt to manage the voice by means of the
throat muscles, rather than by use of the deep respiratory
muscles.
2. Fall-back voice. This results from a failure to contin-
uously support the voice. Instead, it allows it to fall back in
the throat ; and it is slightly squeezed, especially at pauses.
3. Back-back voice. This is the voice improperly "fo-
cused." It is held far back in the pharynx. It lacks sup-
port and projection, and sounds muffled, feeble, and far off.
An over-cautious use of the voice in case of a sore throat
generally exhibits this quality.
4. Nasality, resulting from lowering the soft palate and
uvula, and allowing the voice to beat against them instead
of freely passing to the front part of the mouth, is a most
common fault.
5. Thick or mouthful voice, resulting from carrying the
tongue too high, and attempting to articulate with the top
instead of with the tip of the tongue.
6. Huskiness, resulting from thickened vocal cords, and
from allowing non-vocalized breath to escape because of a
faulty adjustment of the vocal cords.
Besides the causes assigned to the several faults named,
the habit of running too long on one breath is the frequent
accompaniment of husky, feeble, and squeezed voice.
Vocal Development. In analyzing the leading faults
of voice, it will be found that they are due either to a failure
to support and control the voice by means of the diaphrag-
matic and other deep respiratory muscles, or to an improper
obstruction of the vocal passage at some point, or to both.
It will be found, moreover, that the qualities of good voice
depend upon the reverse ; that is, upon a deep support and
control, and a relaxed and/r^ condition of the vocal pas-
ELEMENTS OF FORCE 93
sage. A recognition of these two facts renders simpler
our understanding of the main features of vocal develop-
ment.
Vocal support and control involve deep breathing. The
more obvious signs of deep breathing are as follows : While
avoiding the sudden lifting of the shoulders and upper part
of the chest, and directing the inspired breath to the lower
part of the chest or upper part of the abdomen, it will be
observed that this part of the body, together with the sides,
will be pressed out, and then followed by a slight falling
in of the same, and an enlargement of the whole chest.
Leading attention, however, is to be given to the deep
distention. The following description of respiration, the
facts and quotations of which are from Dr. Martin's " The
Human Body," may aid in an understanding of the breath-
ing process :
i. The Enlargement of the Thorax for Inspiration. (i) The
diaphragm is a strong, sheet-like muscle, arching up dome-like,
separating the chest and the abdominal cavities. Its muscular
fibres radiate from the dome downwards and outwards, and are
attached to the breastbone, the lower ribs, and the vertebral
column. By contraction the diaphragm sinks to a horizontal
position, thus greatly increasing the size of the thorax vertically.
(2) The ribs slope downwards from the vertebral column to
the breastbone. " The scalene muscles, three on each side, arise
from the cervical vertebrae, and are inserted into the upper ribs.
The external intercostal lie between the ribs, and extend from the
vertebral column to the costal cartilages ; the fibres slope down-
wards and forwards."
" During inspiration the scalenes contract, and fix the upper ribs
firmly ; then the external intercostal shorten, and each raises the
rib below it." Thus the ribs are elevated, the breastbone shoved
out from the spine, and the capacity of the thorax enlarged from
front back. Other muscles are employed, but chiefly in offering
points of resistance to those already described. These are the
principal ways of enlarging the chest, and require considerable
muscular effort.
94 PUBLIC SPEAKING
Now, when the chest is enlarged, the space between the lungs
and sides of the chest forms a cavity which contains no air. The
external air, with a pressure of 14.5 pounds to the square inch,
rushes in when the glottis of the air-box is open, distends the
lungs, just as an elastic bag suspended in a bottle may be made
to distend and touch the sides of the bottle from which the air
has been exhausted.
2. Expiration. In expiration very little muscular effort is
required. After inspiration, the muscles relax, and the sternum
and ribs fall to their former position. The elastic abdominal wall
presses the contained viscera against the under side of the dia-
phragm, arching it up. Thus the air is sent out in passive breathing
most largely by the elasticity of the parts stretched in inspiration,
rather than by special expiratory muscles.
In the forced breathing of vocal effort, the muscles of expiration
assist in the expulsion of air. " The main expiratory muscles are
the internal intercostal, which lie beneath the external, between
each pair of ribs, and have an opposite direction, their fibres run-
ning upwards and forwards." The internal intercostal, contract-
ing, pull down the upper ribs and sternum, and so diminish the
size of the thorax from front back.
At the same time the lower ribs and breastbone are pulled down
by a muscle running in the abdominal wall from the pelvis to them.
" At the same time, also, the abdominal muscles contract and press
the walls of that cavity against the viscera, force the diaphragm to
arch up, and lessen the cavity from up down."
In moknt inspiration many extra muscles are called into play,
chiefly as points of firm resistance, or otherwise assisting the usual
muscles of inspiration.
In violent expiration, also, many other muscles may co-operate
with the usual muscles, tending to diminish the thoracic cavity.
3. Kinds of Breathing. The breathing that brings the upper
part of the chest into the greatest action, and lifts the clavicles or
collar bones excessively, is called " clavicular breathing." It is
readily seen that the lungs in this kind of breathing can only be
partially filled, as the lower part of the chest is still contracted.
When breathing is carried on by action of the ribs, it is then
called "costal," or "chest-breathing." This, like "clavicular
breathing," does not admit of the lungs being fully distended.
ELEMENTS OF FORCE 95
That breathing which brings the diaphragm into action, which
is indicated by the external movement of the upper part of the
abdomen outward, is called "diaphragmatic," "abdominal," or
" deep breathing." This fills the lungs completely, and is evi-
dently the normal breathing. Many physiologists have taught,
and still teach, that while men and children breathe abdominally,
women breathe with the chest.
Dr. Martin, among the leaders of scientific specialists,
says : " In both cases the diaphragmatic breathing is the
most important. Women are again warned of the danger
and folly of tight lacing, which prevents natural breathing."
" Diaphragmatic " breathing, with the " chest " breathing,
is known as " compound " breathing. This gives the great-
est lung capacity, and at the same time makes possible the
use of the muscles of expiration in the forced breathing of
vocal effort. Very clearly, then, diaphragmatic or abdom-
inal breathing, aside from its relation to health, is indis-
pensably necessary to the speaker. Without it, he will
frequently " run out " of breath, and find it impossible to
project strong tone.
Exercises. The following are the exercises prescribed for
deep vocal support and control :
SERIES I. i. Breathe while lying upon the back. In
this position it is hardly possible to breathe other than
deeply.
2. (i) Stand erect with lifted chest, place the fingers of
both hands (palms toward the body) against the upper part
of the abdomen. Slowly expel the breath from behind the
fingers ; now breathe against the fingers.
(2) Take the same position, breathe in suddenly, avoid
lifting the shoulders, breathe out slowly.
3. Practise frequently while sitting, walking, and stand-
ing, prompt or instantaneous filling of the lungs, holding the
breath for an instant, then as slowly as possible letting the
breath out.
9O PUBLIC SPEAKINQ
In breathing to support life, and especially during sleep,
inspiration is slow and expiration is sudden ; but in forced
breathing, for speaking purposes, inspiration is sudden and
expiration is slow; hence the value of practice in slow or
controlled expiration.
4. Take the second exercise under number 2, and
slightly vocalize the vowel a (far) while breathing out.
5. Take an erect attitude, with hands passive at the side,
and with more voice and with more force chant the sen-
tence, "Breathe, breathe out all."
" An all-pervading voice."
Break, break, break,
On thy cold grey stones, O sea ! "
TENNYSON.
6. Take the same position, chant in measured mono-
tone, moderate force :
"The ocean old, centuries old,
Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled,
Paces restless to and fro
Up and down the sands of gold."
LONGFELLOW.
An essential of the exercises given in Series I. is the rec-
ognition of the fact that the deep respiratory muscles are the
active, and the throat muscles the relatively passive agents.
All feeling of tension and discomfort of the throat and
neck muscles must be avoided ; and instead, the feeling of
relaxation and of the open vocal passage should be main-
tained. The tones are made to " float out."
Again, the same vocal exercises should be given with
special attention to lifting the uvula and the soft palate.
Determine this by looking in a glass. Afterward be guided
by the feeling of the lifted position. A slight gaping effort
also lifts the soft palate.
Before proceeding to Series II., the student should acquire
some skill in Series I.
ELEMENTS OF FORCE 97
SERIES II. In this series, the form of the tone is explo-
sive or dynamic, instead of diffusive. The general observa-
tions under Series I. are applicable here.
1. Stand erect, with lifted chest, fingers on the upper
part of the abdomen, gentle force, diaphragmatic stroke,
vocalize, ha (far).
2. The same exercise with slightly increased force:
" Up drawbridge, groom,
What, warder, ho!"
WALTER SCOTT.
The same exercise with increased force :
" Forward, the light brigade,
Charge for the guns, he said."
TENNYSON.
For variety, the student or teacher, keeping in mind the
leading object, may add other exercises. After some skill
in Series I. and II. is achieved, practice should be directed
to the following slightly different aspect of vocal develop-
ment.
Placing the Voice. The most casual observer unhesi-
tatingly describes one voice as "throaty," and another as
" nasal. " It is obvious that all such descriptions are taken
from the locations that determine the vocal quality. All
may not agree as to the location of the most satisfactory
voice. It seems, however, to possess the entire vocal
apparatus. At one time the head tones and at another time
the chest tones predominate. It is certain that a proper
enlargement and shaping of the pharynx and mouth,
together with a suitable fronting of the tone, is indispen-
sable to the good voice. This gives the condition for sym-
pathetic vibration, hence for developing that most pleasing
quality of effective voice, full resonance.
3. Exercise for shaping the pharynx and mouth.
(i) Stand erect, with lower jaw relaxed and falling
(mouth open), slight gaping, diaphragmatic impulse,
98 PUBLIC SPEAKING
slightly prolong the syllable, "huh." The result is a full,
unobstructed resonance.
(2) Eliminating the technical exaggeration, but retain-
ing the typical form and resonance, gradually transfer the
same to any ordinary selection.
4. Stroke of the glottis. The sluggish, thick, and sliding
action of the vocal cords must be overcome by practice in
their prompt action. Giving a stroke of the glottis on the
syllable, "ung," well answers this purpose. This exercise
is an excellent preparative to the use of the syllable, "huh."
5. Fronting the voice. The proper placing of the voice,
as has been shown, involves fronting the tone. If the
pharynx and mouth cavity are properly shaped, the tone is
deflected to the front of the mouth-cavity, and hence is
more skilfully converted into the different vowels and con-
sonants. Another consequence of fronting, is the develop-
ment of the facial or bright resonance of the voice. It
favors also distinct enunciation. For fronting the tone,
hum, "ing," "ng," "le," "me," "M," "ge." Explode
"bim, bim," etc.
" By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges."
TENNYSON'S Brook.
In practice for vocal development, especially for relaxed
or unobstructed vocal passage, the student should utilize
the emotions which naturally contribute to this end.
Emotions of the sublime, of tenderness and sympathy,
favorably affect vocal development. I have found that the
semi-confidential and sympathetic attitude toward the audi-
ence has a decidedly good effect in overcoming the vocal
defects enumerated.
6. Purity of tone. For Purity of Tone, the several exer-
cises for support, for the stroke of the glottis and for
ELEMENTS OF FORCE 99
fronting are directly beneficial. Carefully avoid all blowing
and puffing, and convert all of the breath into tone. To hold
a candle-flame in front of the mouth, and avoid blowing it
while speaking, is a certain proof of pure tone. Practise
selections of cheerful, ringing tones as, "Ye bells in the
steeple," etc.
7. For flexibility. Practise the intervals of the musical
scale ; the word " char-coal," " cuck-oo," slowly at first, then
rapidly, changing the pitch on each syllable. Slide, or slur,
up, down, on syllables as, " a," " a," etc. Any pitch out of
the range of the individual's habitual pitches is repugnant
to the ear, and care must be taken not to allow the ear to
dominate and restrain the voice.
8. For strength. Practise projecting the tone to a distant
auditor. In this, sustain the voice as in calling, "Boat,
ahoy ! " and other distant calls. Practise dynamic tones,
striking with radical stress, and at the same time avoid sym-
pathetically squeezing the throat.
In work for vocal development the student must con-
stantly keep in mind that the voice may be coaxed into
proper conduct, but not driven, and that strength must not
be urged beyond other qualities. But few persons, accord-
ing to my observation, are disposed to give the necessary
patience and time to secure the best results in vocal de-
velopment.
SEC. II. Kinds of Voice. Each emotion, and the
sets of feelings called moods, unless inhibited by volition,
and this can be done only to a limited extent, express them-
selves in corresponding vocal forms. The more pronounced
of these forms we have called kinds of voice. They are
as follows :
i. Voice of pure tone. First, may be distinguished the
voice in which pure tones are used. It especially utilizes
the facial or brilliant resonance. It is a normal voice, and
is expressive of plain thought and the emotions of the
IOO PUBLIC SPEAKING
intellect. Joy, cheerful and agreeable sentiments, well rep-
resent this type. This tone is distinctly analytic.
2. Full voice. What is here called the full voice, also
variously called the " orotund," the " pulmonic," and the
" chest " voice, is the deep, full, strong voice. It calls into
use the deep or chest resonance. It, too, is a normal voice,
and is expressive of strength, vastness, grandeur, sublimity.
It is not analytic, but is manifestive of great masses of
feelings.
3. Aspirate voice. This kind of voice, as a habit, is ab-
normal. It is the voice that does not use up all of the breath,
and it has been condemned as a vicious quality. The whis-
per is its exaggerated form. It is expressive of undesirable
conditions of mind, of secrecy, vagueness, fear, darkness,
moral impurity.
4. Guttural voice. This is an abnormal, throaty voice.
It is expressive of the malevolent feelings, of passions
that produce the snarl, the growl, and disgust.
Besides the kinds of voice already given, the late Profes-
sor Monroe, after the Delsarte method, further analyzed it
into a threefold division. Somewhat modified, these divis-
ions are the intellective, the vital, and the affectional voice.
i. Intellective voice. The intellective type is charac-
terized by high pitch, clear, hard, non-flexible tones. It uses
head resonance. Every word is distinct and penetrative.
This is the didactic voice. It is primarily cold and
factive.
The mind is discriminative ; the ideas, ultra-objective ;
the mood, intense.
The teacher, uninfluenced by other emotions, falls into
the habit of this voice, and must guard against its exclusive
use. To dull pupils, he, with all the characteristics of
this voice heightened, says, "I will explain this point
again, and I trust that you may understand it this time."
The argumentative quarreller, insisting upon his own against
ELEMENTS OF FORCE IOI
his opponent's facts, uses this voice. This type of voice is
primarily expressive of thought, and is adapted to convince.
It is not forgotten that both anger ancl joy , sometimes
express themselves on the high pitch witfo '<iftgtng voice.
But the mental state is never exclusively intellective* ; npr
emotional ; so in expression, the forms 'are never etelvsivtly
appropriated to any type. It is true, however, of the in-
tellective type that it expresses itself as we have said. It is
characteristic. Although joy and anger may sometimes ex-
press themselves in the high-pitched, ringing voice, it is not
the characteristic form for all emotions. Indeed, emotions
that so express themselves may have a large intellective
element. Certainly this is true of the anger that employs
this tone. It grows out of an urgency of my fact against
your fact, as in quarrelling, or a clear differentiation of
things that are the cause of the anger.
2. Vital voice. The vital voice, as a type, is the oppo-
site of the intellective voice. It is low in pitch, strong and
full. It uses the chest resonance, and may be degraded
into the throaty voice.
It is recognized as the brute voice; it is the voice of the
groan. Its lowest stratum is represented by the swag-
gering bully. Notwithstanding these uncomplimentary de-
scriptions of this type of voice, in certain forms it has a
legitimate use. It is expressive of ideas of power, of
strong passion, and sublime sentiments. Energy and the
urgency of weighty matter suitably employ this voice. It is
hortatory rather than didactic. // is expressive of strong and
urgent passion, and is adapted to move the listener.
In this characteristic voice the orator Mirabeau urges:
" I exhort you, then, most earnestly to vote these extraordi-
nary supplies, and God grant they may be sufficient. Vote
then at once."
3. Affectional Voice. The affectional voice is char-
acterized by medium pitch, soft, smooth, flexible tones.
102 PUBLIC SPEAKING
This voice is expressive of the aesthetic feelings. Senti-
ments of kindness, sympathy, affection, and of the milder
poetic moods, maftifest themselves by its use, as do also
plain and umrr.passioned thought. The affectional voice is
aJap-ted to persuade. \
The-use-of the three types of voice maybe illustrated as
follows: A father warning his youthful son against the
folly of certain conduct, concludes with some irritation :
" Now, the reasons for changing your conduct are as clear
as noonday; and I trust that you will be governed accord-
ingly, and never repeat the folly." After a repetition of the
offence, the father, now angry, concludes an interview by
saying, " I have argued the matter, now I warn you, James,
that I will flog you if you do so again! "
But James is still incorrigible. The case is desperate.
Arguments and threats have alike failed. The father tries
the experiment of kinder methods. "Now, look here, my
boy, you know how dearly we love you ; unless you change
your conduct you will break our hearts. Let me persuade
you to do as I wish ! "
To express the mental states of the first interview the
father would naturally use the intellective voice; at the
second, the vital ; and at the third, the affectional.
The content of scientific text-books and similar matter is
distinctly, but not exclusively, intellective ; and is suitably
expressed by the corresponding voice. In the same way,
passionate orations are mainly vital, and the greater part
of poetic sentiments affectional. As intellective, emo-
tional, and volitional activity are always present in the
mental content of any discourse, no hard and fast classi-
fication of speeches according to types is possible. In
no speech is the intellective, vital, or affectional type ex-
clusively present. One or the other of the types may pre-
dominate ; but all will be more or less present, and in best
literature blend in richest variety. When it comes to the
ELEMENTS OF FORCE IO3
divisions of the discourse, one part may be vital ; another,
mental ; and still another, affectional.
To determine the type of any speech, as a whole or in
part, confirm your analysis by applying each of the types
in succession.
To make the type clear, try the delivery of Mirabeau's
Speech before the Senate in the affectional, intellective
voice. Again, attempt the delivery of Alice Gary's "Order
for a Picture" in the intellective or the vital voice. We do
not assert that emotional expression never uses the high
and ringing pitch, nor that kind and gentle sentiments
never use low pitch. But that the analysis is true for the
type is easy of verification.
Faults. The use of the intellective (/active delivery) for
all matter, and also the use of the vital voice in a similar
way, are common.
The affectional voice is oftener needed. All should aim
to make it the habitual voice, rising to the intellectual, and
broadening and strengthening to the vital when necessary.
SEC. III. Inflection. By inflection is meant the slide
of the voice from one pitch to another. It includes slides
and circumflexes. When the tone slides from a lower to
a higher pitch, it is called a rising slide ; when from a
higher to a lower, it is called a falling slide. The distance
of the slide may be a semitone, or any number of tones to
the limit of the individual's range of pitch. Besides the
simple up and down slides, the tone may, without any
break, slide up and then down, or the reverse. In the
former case it is known as a falling, and in the latter as
a rising circumflex.
Monotone, or the absence of slides, is an aspect of
inflection.
Inflection is expressive of emotion. As inflection is prima-
rily expressive of emotion, it is consequently an element
of force. It manifests the feeling that accompanies the
IO4 PUBLIC SPEAKING
thought. " It was not what he said, but the way he said
it," is a frequent tribute to the power of inflection.
Principles of Inflection. I. The rising slide is pro-
spective. While the emotions are on-going, that is, while
there is the feeling of incomplete idea, the rising slide
is used.
1. Rising tones appeal:
(1) To bespeak attention to something that follows, as
completing a statement.
(2) For solution of doubt.
(3) For the expression of the hearer's will, as in response
to a proposition.
(4) To question the possibilities of an assertion, as in
surprise.
(5) Rising tones are deferential.
II. The falling slide is retrospective. When the emotions
have rested, that is, when there is the feeling of the com-
pleted idea, the falling slide is used.
2. Falling tones assert :
(1) To express completion of statement.
(2) To express conviction.
(3) To express the speaker's will, as in command, refusal,
or contradiction.
(4) To express impossibility of denial.
(5) Falling tones are peremptory.
III. The circumflexes are compound in their meaning,
partaking of the character of the rising and falling, or of the
falling and rising tone ; these, then, are querulous-assertive
or assertive-querulous.
Circumflexes, partaking of the nature both of the rising
and falling slide, are used :
(1) When the emotions are unsettled, as in mental
perplexity.
(2) In double meanings, as in sarcasm, scorn, etc.
(3) In conscious insincerity, as when a man of trade
ELEMENTS OF FORCE IO$
recommends for purchase some article with concealed
defect. His conscience and will opposing each other puts
the circumflex in the voice.
(4) In wheedling and flattery ; there is insincerity, too,
in this; in complimentary, comfort-making, and coaxing
moods.
IV. Monotone is reflective. It is expressive of the sub-
lime and allied sentiments of grandeur, awfulness, rever-
ence, etc. The mind is not discriminative.
V. Semitone is expressive of the plaintive emotions. It is
used in grief, sorrow, etc.
VI. The length of a slide is determined by the strength
and intensity of the feeling.
A chart of the various slides corresponding to their emo-
tions is impossible ; and were it possible, I do not see
how it could be of practical value. The slides, and all that
constitute the tune of the speech, are even more elusive
than the feelings of which they are expressive.
Faults. I have noted the following faults as more or
less common.
(1) Habitual rising slides. These keep the audience in
continual suspense, and . give no rest. We have heard
ministers who closed almost all positively constructed sen-
tences with the upward slide.
(2) Habitual downward slides. These are tiresome ; for
the listening mind instinctively rests at the downward slide,
when lo ! it must up and on, for the thought is not com-
pleted. Such delivery is humdrum and tiresome, and heavy
in the extreme.
(3) Habitual circumflex. This inflection lacks force and
dignity.
(4) Habitual semitones or minors.
(5) Beginning the rising inflection too high, the falling
too low.
Practice. (i) Use the exercises as given under " Flex-
ibility of voice."
IO6 PUBLIC SPEAKING
(2) Train the ear to detect the various inflections. In
many persons the ear resists any effort to depart from ha-
bitual inflections.
(3) Cultivate the ability to mechanically give the inflec-
tions at will.
(4) These faulty habits are due generally to the moods
of the speaker. Of course, then, it is of fundamental im-
portance to attack the moods. Only those who have had
the fault, or who have taught Public Speaking, know how
persistent is the minor or circumflex habit. It is hardly
necessary to add that only by means of the emotions, real-
ized through the ideas, can the various slides be suitably
given.
SEC. IV. Rhythm. The alternate pulsation and re-
mission with its attendant flow, well marked in pleasing
delivery both of prose and verse, are due to the rhythm of
speech. In other words, rhythm in speech refers to the
periodic recurrence of groups of sounds.
It is the nature of the mind, in listening to a series of
sounds, even when of uniform loudness and length, to reduce
them to groups. A familiar instance of this is the alternate
loud and soft sounds attributed to the ticking clock. If one
sound of a series be actually louder or longer, and regularly
recurrent, the tendency to grasp sounds into groups is pro-
moted, and the gratification of rhythm fully realized. This
grouping is actually done in English speech-rhythms, and
is mainly accomplished by means of increased loudness or
accent at approximately regular intervals ; 1 but the accent,
as Poe long since pointed out, lengthens the sound of the
syllables, so that the rhythm-groups in English are usually
doubly marked off, by accent and by length of sound.
Moreover, the periodicity of the recurrent group is main-
tained when silence takes up a part of the group.
1 See Rhythm, by J. B. Mayor.
ELEMENTS OF FORCE IO?
Nursery rhymes, as Mr. Sidney Lanier has well shown,
furnish familiar instances of this. The first line of the
following quotation from Tennyson sufficiently illustrates
the fact:
Break, | break, | break |
On thy cold, | grey stones, | oh sea |
And I would | that my tongue | could utter j
The thoughts | that arise in me. j
Pausing after "break," each group or bar is co-ordinated
with every other group.
In the Journal of Psychology for January, 1894, Mr. T.
L. Bolton describes some elaborate psychological experi-
ments made in the study of rhythm, from which among
others he deduced the following general principles:
" Rhythmic effects when applied to poetry demand that the
accents in a line shall recur at regular intervals ; they also require
that the succeeding feet in a line shall be of precisely the same
character. The introduction of a three-syllable foot into iambic
(two-syllable) verse is allowable on this condition only, that the
three-syllable foot can be read in the same time as the two-syl-
lable, so that there shall be no disturbance in the temporal
sequence of the accents."
English rhythms are not chanted, but conform to the
idiomatic, spoken form of the language. They are spon-
taneous and free. Hence, any attempt to give direction for
the scansion of English rhythm must be based, not upon the
appearance of the printed page, but upon the sound as
heard. 1 Theories that demand a pause where no pause is
logically or emotionally required, that demand an accent
on words that are not accented in ordinary speech, and
that require that an accented syllable be treated as though
1 See On Rhythm in English Verse, in Papers of Fleming Jenkins : Long-
mans, Green, & Co., 1887.
IO8 PUBLIC SPEAKING
it were not accented, wholly misapprehend the nature of
English rhythm.
For applying the principles involved in English rhythm,
the following hints are given :
1. Read according to the idioms of spoken English.
Avoid changing the accent to accommodate the meter, or
pausing to mark the separated foot.
2. Run through the selection to find out the prevailing
foot-group. These groups will co-ordinate with one an-
other.
3. Note exceptional foot-groups that may not be of the
prevailing type. To illustrate, trochees, dactyls, and other
feet will often be found among groups that are typically
iambic.
4. The time of the exceptional foot-group must con-
form to the time of the prevailing or typical foot-group of
the line. If, for instance, it is an anapaest, it must be
read in the time given to the iambic, if this is the prevail-
ing foot.
5. The so-called extra syllable at the beginning or end
of the line is to be regarded as part of a foot-group of
which a pause forms the remaining part. If the extra syl-
lable is accented, pause forms the unaccented part of the
group. If the extra syllable, however, is unaccented, the
mind attributes accents to the pause in much the same
way that it attributes the alternate loud or accented sound
to the ticking clock. Filling out the group by means of
pause takes place also often in other parts of the line.
This frequently gives an extra group to the line. Again,
sometimes the sound of a syllable is prolonged to fill out
the time of the group.
6. The essential fact is the co-ordination of group with
group ; this requires that the group have one and only one
accent. The beat or stroke must be firmly placed on the
accented syllable.
ELEMENTS OF FORCE
7. Observe that for ordinary ears slight variations do
not destroy the effect of rhythm, and that the introduction
of exceptional feet gives an agreeable variety, and in this
way furthers poetic expression. Variability within certain
limits obtains also in the line-group or verse.
Verses or Lines. Rhythmical delivery requires the
co-ordination of line with line; that is, that the line be
given the same time as that with which it corresponds.
The time length, and not the number of syllables, is the
determining factor. The rhyming words also aid in mark-
ing off the line-group. The rhythmical ear, however, is
the main reliance.
In spite of all theories, the pausing in the delivery of
verse must be according to the logical requirements, and not
the exigencies of the line. Run-on lines are to be spoken
as such. If the poet has not composed his lines so as to
require the middle and final pause, it does violence to lan-
guage to force it. A speaker, however, will pause without
doing violence to the -thought, when the dull-eared, con-
trolled only by the logical relations, will not. Reading
run-on lines without pause at the end of the line amounts
to this: it introduces a line-group of exceptional length.
This feature is agreeable rather than otherwise.
Many persons are deficient in the rhythmical sense. To
cultivate this sense it will be found decidedly helpful to
scan verse according to the principles here laid down. For
practice, while omitting any decided effort to read for ex-
pression, and still speaking the phrase idiomatically, exag-
gerate the rhythmical flow. In this practice the reader need
not be afraid of "sing-song," for " sing-song " is a matter
of melody and not rhythm.
Rhythmical Prose. Because of the allowable irregu-
larities of blank verse, it is difficult to distinguish it from
prose. The difference is one of degree only. Mr. Lanier
calls prose " a wild variety of verse." To make but one
IIO PUBLIC SPEAKING
quotation, the co-ordinations and rhythmical character of
the following sentence from Ruskin is obvious to the aver-
age ear :
"There is a saying
which is in all good men's mouths
namely,
that they are stewards,
or ministers,
of whatever talents are entrusted to them."
SEC. V. Melody of Speech. In impressions of
Rhythm, we simply regard the succession of sounds in
time, without regard to change of pitch. In Melody, or
tune, however, we are impressed by a set of successive
tones varying in pitch.
Every language and dialect has its own tunes, that are as
fundamental and expressive as its words and grammatical
forms. The part that tune plays as revelatory of thought,
is most marked in the Chinese language, but is not un-
known in English. For example, some soldiers are said
to have killed some badly wounded ^prisoners by cutting
off their heads. It was said afterward, that " if they had
not they would have died." Read with a rising circum-
flex on ** not" and the falling circumflex on " died," and
the sentence implies that the prisoners lives were saved
by cutting off their heads. Now read with a downward
slide on " not " and also on "died," and the sentence
means that death, was inevitable anyway.
When we ask a question, using the words, " Who did you
say he was? " the rising slide is used; but when we say,
" Who is he? " the falling slide is used. The melody of
the two otherwise differs. Compare the Irish dialectic way
of asking the question.
Melody or tunes are, however, primarily expressive of
feelings. Every emotion has its own melody. There is
the melody of joy, of sorrow, of interrogation, of affir-
ELEMENTS OF FORCE III
mation; and so on through the whole range of feelings.
Melody of speech is elusive. We feel its force, and say,
" It was not what he said, but the way he said it; " 1 but
cannot reproduce the impression. No symbols can ever
adequately reproduce a melody of emotion. Melody is
the life of speech. It is expressive of the speaker's indi-
viduality. It is intuitive, subtle, irresistible.
Mr. Lanier maintained that the impossibility of repro-
ducing melodies of speech is owing to the limitation of the
musical scale. The least interval of the scale is a half-tone,
whereas speech tones involve shades of a tenth of a tone, or
finer. However this may be, trustworthy musicians say
that no two trained persons read in just the same way what
purports to be written melodies of speech.
Intuition and imitation, it seems to me, are the main
reliance in reproducing speech-melodies. Some general
characteristics may be given.
Unsuppressed joy expresses itself in high pitch and widely
varying, pure tones. Pity uses minor tones. The sublime
and awful incline to the low pitch and monotone. Malevo-
lence and anger use staccato. Tenderness employs gentle
force medium to low pitch, sustained tones. Bombast
expresses itself in full, slow tones, circumflexed ; gravity,
in slow, moderate force, simple slides.
Key. Melody involves the key, or central tone. Each
emotion has it own key.
Faults of Melody. i. The recurrent melody. This is
identified as "sing-song." This is a very common fault.
2. The habitual use of the minor slide. This is the pa-
thetic tone.
3. The circumflex fault. This lacks the manly, clear-cut
tone.
1 " Using cadence in an unusually extended sense, as comprehending all
modifications of the voice, we may say that cadence is the commentary of the
emotions upon the propositions of the intellect." HERBERT SPENCER'S
Origin and Function of Music, p. 379.
112 PUBLIC SPEAKING
4. The monotone.
5. The "drift" of one emotion. In this, the speaker falls
into a certain heavy swing, and, ignoring the variety of
thought and feeling, "drifts " along on certain uniformities.
Akin to this is a more pauseful, but still heavy, delivery.
6. Light or flippant melody.
7. Key on too high a pitch, and again on too low a pitch.
The former involves a high, nervous strain; the latter
induces throatiness and indistinctness.
In order to eliminate faulty melody, the student and
teacher must rely mainly upon the subjective treatment,
that is, upon a mastery of the content. It will usually
require a teacher to locate the fault.
Narrow, emotional states, habitual to the speaker, must
be broken up; and the mind be made susceptible of new
emotions. The mind must be aroused, and made attentive
and discriminating.
SEC. VI. Stress. Stress is the way force is applied to
the tone.
If applied abruptly it is called radical stress, as in ex-
ploding "Arm! " "arm!" This is a serviceable stress in
prompt and strong utterance, and should be clearly recog-
nized and mastered.
Medium Stress opens with moderate force, swells to more
force, and then diminishes. It corresponds to the swell in
music.
This stress makes use of the long quantity of the vowel.
It produces smooth and flexible tones. It is the second
most serviceable stress. "O precious word! "
Terminal stress is the opposite of radical. It is the growl.
"Here I stand and scoff you."
Thorough stress continues the force equally from beginning
to close. It is used in placing the voice off to a distant
point, and in calling, as in "Boat, ahoy! " It is a feature
of the declamatory style.
ELEMENTS OF FORCE 113
Intermittent Stress corresponds to tremolo in music. Fre-
quently speakers try to speak impressively by the use of
this stress. Its proper use is very limited.
SEC. VII. Loudness. This term explains itself. Its
uses are rather obvious, and little need be said upon it.
The speaker should avoid the extremes of feeble force on
the one hand, and of noisiness on the other. This is a point
at which reserved force may well be looked after. Always
feel competent to speak with loud force, but restrain the
effort and modify the degree to the emotions involved.
Vociferation and declamation is as empty as it is loud.
The degrees range from gentle and moderate to loud and very
loud. In their use " let your own discretion be your tutor."
SEC. VIII. Time or Rate. Time refers to the rapidity
or slowness of the delivery. It is primarily determined by
the feelings, hence is first of all an element of force. Four
degrees of rate are noted : (i) Quick rate, expressive of rapid
movements, lightness, slurred matter, cheerfulness, joy, etc.
(2) Moderate rate, used in simple narrative, etc. (3) Slow
rate, expressive of slow movements, weighty matters, sor-
rowful sentiments, obscure ideas, profound feelings, etc.
(4) Very slow rate, expressive of ponderous, labored move-
ments, of very solemn, weighty matter, of grave sentiments,
of sublime emotions, etc.
THE BEGINNING REQUIRES SLOW TIME.
AT the beginning of the speech, the listener is preoccupied
with other ideas ; hence the speaker must be distinct, and by
slowness give time to change the train of thought. Then,
too, the speaker himself is more or less preoccupied with
thoughts about the audience, about himself, and many other
things. He requires time to collect himself in order to
fully concentrate his mind upon the proposed ideas. Then,
too, the enunciatory and other functions are dormant, and
must be quickened.
114 PUBLIC SPEAKING
Once again, as the emotional parts of the content prima-
rily determine the rate of utterance, these must have time
to mature, and so to quicken the rate. The emotion must
wait upon the idea; and this requires time. For similar
reasons, after each transition the rate must be slower; and
the more divergent the succeeding groups, the slower the
rate after each change.
Faults. Most beginners speak too rapidly, but slow
down with experience. Rate is relative to the individual as
well as to the matter. It is conceded that some persons can
well speak more rapidly than others ; but every beginner
may suspect himself of trying to speak too fast. Since de-
livery, when too rapid, mars the enunciation, and confuses
the phrasing or grouping, it seriously interferes with the in-
telligibility of the speech. While prompt and ready utter-
ance suggests a certain kind of mastery, it must not be for-
gotten that word-fluency is not eloquence.
On the other hand, dull, slow, dragging utterance, and
that over-pauseful delivery, holding on to the final syllable,
and sometimes ending with an " ugh," though not so com-
mon, is equally bad.
In overcoming both hasty and tardy utterance, main de-
pendence is to be placed in the will. This ability, however,
is not commanded at a moment's notice, but is the result of
discipline.
Variability of rate follows, of course, the emotional move-
ments of the content.
SEC. IX. Climax. Climax refers to a heightening of
the delivery. The most obvious elements of this heighten-
ing are ascending pitch, increased loudness and rate, cul-
minating, generally, with the radical stress. As climax is
expressive of emotional growth, it is plainly another element
of force.
Growth is a well-defined characteristic of all emotion.
For instance, the angry man grows more angry as he dwells
ELEMENTS OF FORCE 115
upon the idea calling it forth; and one grows more tender
by dwelling upon its idea. The same law of growth applies
to groups of emotions as contained in the paragraph or
other unities of the speech, and to the composition as a
whole. The emotions connected with these several groups,
and with the whole, gradually mature, or are more and more
realized by the speaker, till they reach this highest point,
and then subside. Climax expresses this growth. The
counterpart of this growth is the ascending importance of
the ideas. Climax in delivery follows the rhetorical climax
of the composition.
Faults. The faults of climax readily suggest themselves,
as climaxing too soon, too late, or not at all. Every speaker
should guard against the dead level of one emotional drift.
The emotions and their growth must be realized.
The sentence usually, but not invariably, begins on a lower,
proceeds to a higher, and then returns to a lower pitch. Some
sentences give exceptional opportunity for climax. To
illustrate, begin the following sentence on a very low pitch,
and gradually rise till the word "devil" reaches a very
high pitch, and gradually descend from this word.
" O, you and I have heard our fathers say
There was a Brutus once that would have brooked
Th' eternal devil to keep his state in Rome,
As easily as a king." SHAKESPEARE.
SEC. X. Imitative Modulation. According to the
onomata-poetic organ of language, imitation of the appear-
ances and sound of objects lies at the beginning of all
speech. With the theory we have nothing to do here. It
is obvious, however, that we now reproduce the idea, and
make it more varied by imitating the sound. For instance,
the roar of the ocean, the boom of cannon, the hiss of the
snake, the rushing wind, if only slightly imitated, aid in
recalling the idea. So, also, vocally, the hugeness and
Il6 PUBLIC SPEAKING
littleness of objects, the rapidity or slowness of a move-
ment, may be represented.
A conservative use of this element adds force to the
delivery; but overdone, it "out-Herods Herod."
SEC. XI. Gesture. Although gesture is subordinate to
voice as a mode of expression, it still has a value; and even
conservatives may well attend to its development and use.
As indicating its universality and naturalness, Sir Charles
Bell says, '* Man does not depend upon articulate language
alone ; there is the language of expression, a mode of com-
munication understood equally by all mankind all over the
globe, not conventional or confined to nations, but used by
infants before speech, and by untutored savages. " 1
Moreover, the effectiveness of gestures is enhanced by the
fact that they are directly and instantaneously expressive,
as compared with speech, which is analytic and successive,
spoken by letters, syllables, words, phrases, sentences. A
motion toward the door shows the indignation, and gives
the order to go more forcibly than any number of words
that could be spoken.
Gesture, in this treatise, includes all significant move-
ments of the body, including facial expression.
Why is the body expressive in the way in which we find
it ? The psychologists have not yet agreed upon an answer
to this question; and although it is mainly a speculative
one, it is worth the while to look at some of the more rep-
utable theories.
Darwin, after an extensive study, treats the subject in his
volume on the "Expression of Emotion in Man and Ani-
mals," and deduces three principles.
i. Serviceable Associated Habit. Certain actions are ori-
ginated because of their serviceableness ; for instance, in
accordance with his evolutionary hypothesis, in extreme
rage the upper lip is drawn up exposing the canine teeth.
1 Anatomy and Physiology of Expression.
ELEMENTS OF FORCE 117
This originated when it was serviceable to the animal while
biting its antagonist. The spasmodic movement of the
fingers in anger is a relic of the beast clutching and claw-
ing at its prey.
"Whenever the same state of mind is induced, however
feebly, there is a tendency, through the force of habit and
association, for the same movements to be performed,
whether or not of service in each particular case."
2. Antithetic action. Certain acts, as has been shown,
are serviceable.
" Now, when a directly opposite state of mind is induced,
there is a strong and involuntary tendency to the perform-
ance of movements of a directly opposite nature, though
these are of no use ; and such movements are, in some cases,
highly expressive." The angry dog enlarges his size to
appear formidable ; the whipped, humbled dog reduces his
size, and skulks.
3. Action resulting from the constitution of the nervous sys-
tem, independent of the will, and to a certain extent in-
dependent of habit, as trembling, loss of color, etc. When
the brain is excited strongly, nerve force is generated in
excess, and is transmitted in certain definite directions ; for
instance, reddening of the face in rage, and perspiration in
grief and pain.
Sir Charles Bell holds that the expression of the body
exhibits the design of the Creator. He has shown how
intimately the vital organs, the heart and lungs especially,
are united to each other and to the muscles of the neck,
face, and chest, by a system of nerves. He has also shown
how they are affected by the emotions of the mind, and says,
" Thus the frame of the body, constituted for the support of
the vital functions, becomes the instrument of expression;
and an extensive class of passions, by influencing the heart,
by affecting that sensibility which governs the muscles of
respiration, calls them into operation, so that they become
Il8 PUBLIC SPEAKING
an undeviating mark of certain states or conditions of the
mind. They are the organs of expression."
The following principles given by Wundt are more sug-
gestive, and more available in expressional practice.
1. Principles of analagous associated feelings. Feelings of a
similar emotional tone are easily connected; and when con-
nected, the expression of one is transferred to the other.
One expression, for instance, follows the tasting of sweet,
and another of sour, and another of bitter substances. Now,
all experiences, however ideal in their nature, possess a
tone analagous to that of sweet taste, etc. ; and hence they
naturally express themselves by the same external sign.
2. Principles of the relation of movements to sense ideas.
When we speak of persons or objects that are present, we
point to them; when absent, in their direction; then we un-
consciously imitate their shape, and measure their size by
movements of the hand.
The Nature of Gesture. Gestures are mainly expres-
sive of emotion, and hence contribute primarily to force.
They are physical movements or reactions against both real
and imaginary objects. Gestures that seem to be the most
subjective can generally be traced ultimately to emotional
reactions against things that have affected the senses.
Some of the gestures that come under Mr. Darwin's third
principle are exceptions. If a person points to an imagi-
nary spire, it is because he is moved by a feeling of its
loftiness or of its distance.
Gestures of anger are reactions that arise with reference
to some imaginary object of the anger. Gestures of aver-
sion, of endearment, of resignation, of pride, of arrogance,
and so on, arise in the same way.
Subjective Gestures. Most gestures are expressive
of subjective conditions, and are made without special
intention toward the audience. They represent moods,
dispositions, and passing emotions. They grow out of the
ELEMENTS OF FORCE I IQ
feelings, and are less purposeful than other gestures. Ges-
tures, representative of personal states (joy, fear, sadness),
and also many dramatic gestures, may be placed under this
head.
Picture-making Gestures. In a secondary way, ges-
tures grow out of a desire to make the ideas or objects of
the mind plain to the auditor. They are illustrative, just
as the pictures and maps of the book or daily newspaper are
illustrative. Gestures of this objective type, and pictures,
have a common motive. Under picture-making gesture
two distinct classes are formed.
1. Gestures of location. The function of this gesture is
to point out the place of the imaginary object in space and
in time. Objects in space are represented as far or near,
high or low. Objects in time are referred to the present,
past, or future. They point out the direction of absent
persons or things.
2. Descriptive gestures. Akin to the locative is another
illustrative use of gesture, giving rise to what are called
Plastic or Descriptive gestures. In this use, some salient
feature or features of the object are represented. Its
length, height, weight, or some other feature, is suggested.
This class includes also gestures reproducing \h& physical
acts of another, and gestures representing motions both as to
direction and rate.
Laws of Gesture. The following general principles
in one form or another are usually attributed to the so-
called Delsarte system.
i. The attitude or bearing indicates the total self. The erect
attitude, with easily lifted chest, free, easy carriage, well-
poised bearing, is expressive of strength, culture, grace,
preparation, and favorably affects vitality and control.
The bent form, and shambling or awkward movement, sug-
gest feebleness, lack of control, lack of preparedness. The
attitude and bearing are of primary importance in all gesture.
I2O PUBLIC SPEAKING
2. Chest-centre. This law, an aspect of the preceding one,
makes the chest the centre of action. It utilizes the space
in front of the body, and avoids side movements of the arm.
3. Buoyancy. The law of elasticity or strength demands
that the gesture be made on a higher plane, instead of al-
lowing gravity to drag down the body and arms.
4. Economy. According to the law of economy, every
movement of the speaker should be purposeful and signifi-
cant. Economy prevents habitual movements, pacing to
and fro, wild swinging of the arms, and other movements
that are meaningless for the purpose at hand. This law
is a particular aspect of the specialization of function.
5. Grace. Curved movements are graceful. The prin-
ciple of succession contributing to grace, means that the
gesture flows from the centre. Gestures, of the arms espe-
cially, are all related to the chest. In referring to the
spire of a church, for instance, to stiffen the arm, or to
lift all of it simultaneously, violates this principle of
grace. Instead, when properly done, the hand is brought
in front near the chest; the arm gradually unfolds till the
hand points to the spire, palm down. In this, the move-
ment is flexible, and without muscular tension.
6. Evolution. The expression centres in the eye, first
manifests itself there, and then radiates to the extremities
of the body. The pugilist watches his antagonist's eyes
instead of his fists; for the purpose and direction of the
blow first manifests itself there.
7. Symbolization. According to this principle, one can
treat ideas as he treats material objects. In this case,
ideas are symbolized. A cube of wood may be employed.
The hand beneath it, palm up, supports the block; but on
the top it crushes it down ; edged in front, it protects it ; at
the side, limits or defines ; removed from beneath, refuses
support, and it falls; a movement against it overthrows it.
The hand, in the same positions or movements, not only
ELEMENTS OF FORCE 121
appropriately, but naturally, expresses the same attitude
or action toward ideas.
8. Sequence. Gesture precedes or accompanies the spoken
word. "My Lord Northumberland, we license your depar-
ture with your son." Just before or while uttering the
word "departure" make a strong and rapid movement or
wafture of the hand toward the door, signifying, depart
immediately. Make the same gesture while or after pro-
nouncing the word "son," and mark the difference.
9. Velocity. The rapidity of a movement is inversely
proportionate to the mass moved. A trifling matter is
tossed off with a quick movement; but, "up the high hill
he heaves a huge round stone," is labored and slow.
Gesture, representing motion, corresponds to the rate of the
motion represented.
10. Opposition. In making a movement of two parts of
the body in gesture, each part should move in an opposite
direction, or else a parallelism is perpetrated. To illus-
trate: If in salutation, the hand be lifted near the face,
and the arm, body, and all together, be moved forward in
bowing, we have a parallelism. If, however, while inclin-
ing the head and body, we lift the hands, the movements
between these parts are in opposition; then, moving the
head back to the erect position, we toss the hand out and
down in opposition.
11. Suavity and Vehemence. Tender, kind emotions ex-
press themselves in curved movements. Over-excitement,
"nervousness," and malevolent emotions express them-
selves in angular gestures. Romeo's gestures are curved;
Shylock's are angular.
Faults. The faults of gesture are the violations of the
principles already given.
Praxis. I fear that a disproportionate amount of time
is frequently given to gesture. I am convinced, also, that
the best results follow a restriction of the work to a few
122 PUBLIC SPEAKING
leading features. First, take suitable exercises for breaking
up the tension or rigidity of the muscles. Secondly, prac-
tise a few typical gestures of the objective type; and thirdly,
let the gestures come in connection with the speaking, and
then criticise them. The aim of all practice is to secure
spontaneous, graceful, and significant gesture.
Preparatory Relaxing Exercises. The first effort
of the student in this connection should be directed to free
the arms, in short, the whole body, from all rigidity; to
destroy habitual movements by counteracting exercises and
general development. Then the body is prepared to respond
to the action of the mind. Only the parts involved at the
time should be used. The passive or elastic condition
should be the prevailing one.
1. Dangle the hands, and shake the arms freely from the
shoulder, up and down, whirling in, then out ; now rotate
the body on the hip-joints, letting the arms and hands fly
whither they may, while rotating the body.
2. Lift the main arm until the elbow is level with the
shoulder. Shake it back and forth, letting the forearm
dangle to the very finger-tips.
3. (i) Slowly lift the arm extended forward up as high
as the level of the head, then down, the back of the wrist
leading while moving up, the face of the wrist leading down,
while the fingers trail. Take care to make the movements
from the shoulder easy and flowing.
(2) Make this same movement; hands level with the
shoulders in bringing them near together in front ; then
out till extended from the sides. Continue these; first (i),
then (2).
In these movements, command a steady body, and feel
balanced with the "sea-poise," as though buoyed up by a
surrounding element.
4. Practise any exercise that will give suppleness to the
limbs.
ELEMENTS OF FORCE 123
In all these movements avoid muscular rigidity. Let
the mind be easy, else the mental constraint will sympa-
thetically affect the muscles.
5. Combination movement. Slowly lift the arm extended
in front, the fingers dangling or trailing; when the hand is
level with the eye, hold and sight over the thumb to an
object on the wall ; hold in this position, and depress the
wrist ; the open palm is now from you, imagine a ball
against the palm, turn the hand out around this imaginary
ball, now the fingers are depressed and palm up and out ;
fold the fingers on the palm, beginning with the little
finger. We now have the half fist (thumb unfolded). Fold
this half fist upon the forearm, the forearm on the main
arm. Let the half fist dip in and down, the elbow moving
up in opposition. Now unfold the arm, palm down, ex-
tending with a final thrust, fingers straightened.
This movement educates the movement of the hand and
arm in preparing for a gesture, and also combines move-
ments found in many gestures. It also educates the muscles
to nicety and precision of action.
In this combination, there are at least eight distinct move-
ments. These may be resolved into three general move-
ments, the preparation in lifting, the folding in, and the
folding out. The latter is spiral.
All the above exercises should be practised, first by the
right, then by the left arm and hand, and then by both.
Cultivate muscular consciousness. When the hands are
passive by the sides, we feel their weight.
The criteria in the series to follow will give opportunity
to carry out this same principle of freeing the body, and
educating the muscles to perform the most commonly used
expressions.
As the corresponding emotions are associated with their
appropriate expression, these criteria will have the additional
advantage of the constructive element in their practice.
124 PUBLIC SPEAKING
First Series. i. Presentation or Revelation. In this ges-
ture, the hand is at first partially closed, easily held in front
as high as the waist, and is then extended front, slightly
oblique. One or both hands may be used. " Let us look at
this," illustrates the type of which this gesture is expressive.
2. Extensive, or Universal reference. Arm, or arms, start-
ing in front of chest, extended level with the shoulder, palm
up, slightly oblique. "As wide as the world," "From one
extreme to the other," give examples of extensive reference.
3. Definition. Both hands brought in front, palms facing
each other, separated from one to two feet. " We are shut
up to this," illustrates this type.
4. Near reference. Arm easily thrown forward, half oblique,
palm exposed. " There it is before you in plain sight," gives
this type.
5. Far reference. Hand extended level with the shoulder,
side oblique, palm down, fingers straightened. " And I on
the opposite shore will be," affords an example.
6. Distant future. Arm extended front, level with the
shoulder, palm of hand down.
7. Distant past. Arm extended to the rear, oblique, level
with shoulders, palm of hand down. " The opportunity is
gone forever."
8. Far reference, lofty. Arm extended, angle about forty-
five degrees, palm of hand down, index finger prominent.
Type : " Hang a lantern aloft."
9. Aspiration, or elevated affirmation. In this, the hands
are thrown up, nearly overhead, palms to speaker. " Let us
look up full of hope and courage," illustrates this type.
All of these gestures suggest, if they do not fully reach,
the chest as their starting-point. These and the succeed-
ing series should be practised till they become spontaneous.
Second Series. The following series is mainly oratori-
cal in character.
i. Repulsion. In repulsion, the hand is lifted, palm out,
ELEMENTS OF FORCE 125
thumb near the ear. It is then shoved out straight in front,
while the head moves back in opposition. " Avaunt, and
quit my sight ! "
2. Attraction is the opposite of repulsion. " Hark ! "
3. Supplication. In supplication, the arm is lifted to
heaven, the hand open, and held half horizontal. Do not
hold the arm immediately in front. " Our Father."
4. Appellation. In appellation, the forearm is lifted per-
pendicular, the palm of the hand out. Voting gesture :
" Aye."
5. Affirmation. In this gesture the hand is thrown down
in front, the palm out. [He] " would have brooked the eter-
nal devil."
6. Salutation. The hand is raised gracefully, the head
inclining to meet it ; after they have approached near each
other, the hand is thrown gently forward, the head moving in
opposition. The hand is lifted in proportion to the amount
of deference or respect expressed. Common salutation of
men who are equals is frequently made by a wafture of the
hand from the lower part of the chest. " Good-morning."
7. Negation. The arm is thrown across the space in front
of the student toward the back, the palm down. " This can
never be."
8. Declaration. This is the same movement, with the palm
of the hand half up. "The North answers the South."
9. Rejection. This is the same as negation, with the
thumb down. " Sweep away all opposition."
Third Series. The gestures in the third series are
mainly dramatic ; but as they give added variety, their prac-
tice is helpful in oratory.
1. Calm repose. This is the natural, easy position with
arms quiet by the side.
2. Resigned appeal to heaven. In this action the arm
without lifting is turned face out, the hand is turned palm
slightly up; the face is turned in opposition, and uplifted
to heaven.
126 PUBLIC SPEAKING
3. Accusation. In accusation, the arm is stiffened at the
side; the eye first accuses and centres upon the object, then
the stiffened arm and hand are lifted till the eye sees the
object down the arm.
4. Imprecation. The arm is elevated overhead. The
hand is formed into a claw, ready as a bird of prey to
pounce upon its victim.
5. Remorse. The hand grasps the back of the head,
forearm pressing against the face.
6. Grief or shame. The face is hidden by spreading
the hand over it.
7. Tender reproach. Hand slightly closed, drawn across
the chest away from the object, while the face is turned
upon it in reproach.
8. Pathetic repulsion. To express this emotion, the hand
moves toward the object from the seventh position, while
the head moves in the opposite direction.
9. Benediction. In benediction, the hands are lifted,
the backs up, extended front.
10. Petition. Excepting that the palms are turned up,
the positions in petition are the same as in benediction.
The Chest in Expression. i. In excitement, courage, the
sense of vigor, the chest is expanded. In timidity, anxiety, pain,
conscious weakness, the chest is contracted. In repose, the chest is
erect and normal.
2. In reflection, the chest bends forward.
3. In sublimity, the chest is broadened and lifted.
4. In attack, or vehemence, the chest is expanded, broadened,
and brought forward.
5. In despair, the chest is flattened.
6. The body leaning directly before an object indicates defer-
ence.
7. The body leaning obliquely toward object indicates reverence.
8. The body leaning back shows pride.
9. The body leaning sidewise is the attitude of wickedness ; it
is fox-like.
ELEMENTS OF FORCE I2/
Positions. In physical and moral weakness, the gravity of the
earth beneath draws the body down. The gestures are made on a
lower plane.
In spiritual or moral exaltation the body is lifted, and gesture is
made on a higher plane.
The Feet and Legs in Expression. Conscious weakness as-
sumes strong position, as in the case of the aged, infirm, and in
children, placing their feet far apart in standing and walking.
Conscious strength assumes weak positions, as in the case of ath-
letes and other strong persons keeping their feet nearer together.
Gravities. Three centres of gravity are to be distinguished.
The weight upon the heels indicates the subjective state of mind ;
the weight upon the balls of the feet indicates the objective state
of mind a reaching out to the auditor; the weight upon the
centre indicates hesitance and balance.
First attitude. In this attitude, the weight is upon both feet,
separated by a few inches, and the toes turned out at an angle of
75. This is a weak attitude. It characterizes respect. If the
feet be far separated, the expression is physical weakness, inso-
lence, familiar ease, vulgar repose, intoxication.
Second attitude. *' In this attitude, the strong leg is back-
ward, the free one forward." This is the attitude of reflection,
of concentration, of the strong man. It indicates the absence of
passion. It has something of intelligence. It is neither the
position of the child nor of the uncultured man. It indicates
calmness, strength, independence.
Third attitude. In this attitude the strong leg is forward, the
free leg backward. This is the attitude of vehemence, of ener-
getic action, of intense objectivity, of urging the speaker's will
upon the audience.
Fourth attitude. In this attitude the leg holding most of the
weight is behind, but rather widely separated from the advanced
leg, and bent at the knee. It is expressive of weakness following
terror, fear, recoil.
The Hand in Expression. " By representing the hands dis-
posed in conformity with the attitude of the figures, the old masters
have been able to express every different kind of sentiment in their
compositions. Who, for example, has not been sensible to the
expression of reverence in the hands of the Magdalens by Guide,
128 PUBLIC SPEAKING
to the eloquence of those in the cartoons of Raphael, or the signifi-
cant force in those of the Last Supper by Da Vinci. In these
great works may be seen all that Quintillian says the hand is capa-
ble of expressing : ' For other parts of the body assist the speaker ;
but these, I may say, speak themselves. By them we ask, we
promise, we invoke, we dismiss, we threaten, we entreat, we depre-
cate ; we express fear, joy, grief, our doubts, our assent, our peni-
tence ; we show moderation, profusion; we mark number and
time.'" 1
The part of the hand exposed to the auditor is the expressive part.
1. The palm of the hand is revelatory. Exposed to the auditor,
it opens up the subject to plain sight. The back of the hand ex-
presses secrecy, indefiniteness, doubt, and darkness. The edge
of the hand is definitive in expression.
2. Primary position. In the primary position of the hand, the
fingers are differentiated ; the first finger quite straight and most
separated; the second and third but little separated, and more
bent ; the fourth more separated from the third, and more straight.
Straighten the thumb, and separate from the first finger. Avoid
woodenness, which results from keeping the fingers close together
and straightened out. Avoid spreading the hand, and also all
convulsive attitudes of it. Leave them entirely alone except when
gesturing, or raised in preparation before the body. This attitude
should be mastered as the habitual one ; it expresses calm repose.
3. The fist expresses firmness, conflict, strength, concentra-
tion of force.
4. The fingers bent at first joint is expressive of convulsion
malevolence.
5. The thumb falling into the middle of the hand expresses life-
lessness, lack of energy, and when carried to extreme, drunken-
ness, and imbecility. This faulty position is frequently seen in
speakers.
6. The fingers and thumb opened, and the hand thrown up,
expresses exultation, earnestness, animated attention.
7. The same position, with the fingers stiffened straight and
separated to the utmost, expresses exasperation.
8. The hand closed, with the index finger straight, defines,
1 The Hand, by Sir Charles Bell.
ELEMENTS OF FORCE I2Q
points out the way ; when the finger is shaken, it is discriminative
and threatening.
9. The hand tossed from side to side expresses impatience.
The Shoulders in expression. i. Normal condition indicates
calm repose. The shoulders elevated, indicate passion. The
shoulders depressed, indicate feebleness. The shoulders brought
forward, indicate pain. "The patient shrug" of the shoulders
indicates helplessness, resignation.
"The face is the mirror of the soul" because it is the most
impressive part of the body, and less under the control of the will,
and consequently the most faithful agent in rendering the states
of the soul.
Not only may momentary emotions be read in the face, but the con-
formation of the features of the face reveals the aptitude of the indi-
vidual, his temperament and character, always, of course, allowing
for the freedom of man to will and live above his natural appetences.
Every emotion of the soul writes itself upon the countenance,
and persistency will fix it there.
We have characteristically sad, joyful, thoughtful, stupid, vicious
faces.
We have seen the same face undergo marked and sometimes
remarkable changes, as the individual has changed his life. The
face gives the hand more significance in gesture.
The Eyes. The eyes and ears are called the organs of the
spiritual sense. The other organs of sense must come in contact
with the object, in order to know of its qualities or character.
With the ear we can hear sounds produced afar off; and with
the eye we can see the object that impresses us, though many
leagues in the distance. The eye, then, is the highest as an agent
of expression. It has long been characterized as the "window of
the soul."
1. The normal eye indicates calm repose; the eyes partially
closed, firmness; the eyelids closed indicate stupor; the eyelids
dilated, and the brows raised, indicate astonishment; the brows
held normal, and the lids dilated, indicate disdain; the brows and
lids contracted indicate perplexity.
The Head in Expression. i . The head easily erect is expressive
of calm repose.
2. Head inclined from object, sidewise to self, is expressive of
cunning, envy, hate, suspicion.
I3O PUBLIC SPEAKING
3. Head turned away from the object and thrown back is ex-
pressive of pride, arrogance.
4. Head inclined before the object is expressive of contempla-
tion.
5. Head thrown back is expressive of vehemence, exaltation,
abandonment of self.
6. Head inclined obliquely toward object is expressive of vener-
ation, reverence.
7. Head inclined away from object, nonchalance, confidence.
8. Head thrown directly and easily back, with uplifted face, is
expressive of spiritual exaltation.
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE
CHAPTER III
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE
THE elements that gratify the aesthetic nature are varied,
and in most instances subtle things, upon which it is
difficult, if not impossible, to put the finger. The princi-
pal ones are those that give charm to the literary style of
the speaker. A few elements may be specially but briefly
considered :
SEC. I. Harmony of Function. Delivery, to be effec-
tive for its purpose must harmonize the various elements,
so that each feature shall be timely, accurate, and complete.
It should be without hitch or friction. Everything that jars
upon the feelings calls attention from the thought to the
agent. Not to speak of such co-ordinations as those in-
volved in the simplest alphabetic element, the principal
relations involved in speaking may be consciously directed.
In brief, the idea must be co-ordinated with the word, as
imaginatively seen or heard ; the word with the adjustment
of the organs of enunciation (the breathing, breath control,
pronunciation, etc.); the gesture with the spoken word;
and all related to the audience. In manuscript or book
delivery, the idea is read out of the page, and the identical
language of the page selected in turn for the expression of
that idea. A failure to co-ordinate any of these parts dis-
turbs the expression. Harmony effectively suits the word
to the action, and the action to the word. Among other
things it means graceful bearing.
Another aspect of harmony is the proper relating of the
various ideas of the discourse. It involves the harmony of
each part to the other and of each to the whole.
132 PUBLIC SPEAKING
Each speech or selection has its own atmosphere or pre-
vailing emotion underlying all the variety of parts. It
gives the ideal and especially the emotional unity of speech,
and all the parts must harmonize with this unity. The
atmosphere of tragedy differs from that of comedy, and that
of the funeral sermon differs from that of the cheerful
essay.
Each part of discourse is colored emotionally by each
immediately adjacent part. With the ideal differentiation,
the unity must also be observed. The anger of one part
colors the tenderest sentiment of the adjacent part. Words
introducing a quotation are colored by the emotion of the
quotation.
Violation of the principle of harmony manifests itself
in delivering all types of composition in the same mood.
Fits and starts of emotions are most unexpectedly intro-
duced, and the delivery is fragmentary. It is capriciously
loud or soft, slow or rapid; the delivery is unsuited to
the mental content.
SEC. II. Pronunciation. The word pronunciation is
used in the ordinary modern sense. Elegance demands
that a word be pronounced according to best usage, so far as
that can be determined. Pronunciation that suggests pro-
vincialism, or lack of ordinary culture, offends the taste,
and calls attention away from the ideas of the discourse;
it also weakens confidence as to the qualifications of the
speaker, in proportion to the obviousness and seriousness
of the blunder. One should avoid calling attention to the
pronunciation as such.
Absolute uniformity in pronunciation among all those
who use the English language is quite impossible; for each
individual has his personal equation. Besides, large sec-
tions, equally creditable as authority, differ from one
another; and colloquial pronunciation allowably differs from
that of formal discourse. The maker of each important
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 133
dictionary has found it necessary to give a long list of
words variously pronounced. The pronunciation of lan-
guage, too, is constantly changing. The pronunciation of
Chaucer's English is a forcible reminder of this fact. Ac-
cording to Sweet, the pronunciation of the London of to-day
differs widely from that of a century ago. A. J. Ellis holds
that there are three generations of pronunciation at any one
instant, each succeeding one modifying the other.
A changed pronunciation practised by any considerable
number of educated speakers is first noted as a "tendency,"
and finally recorded as the accepted pronunciation of good
usage. For instance, there has long been a tendency to
change the long " u " sound into " 6 " (oo) sound, in situa-
tions unfavorable to its pronunciation. The use of " 6 "
(oo) instead of "u" after "r" is fully established and
accepted by all recent authorities. There is no question
about "true," "prune," "ferrule." Usage is still divided
as to the treatment of "u" after "1." Is it "lute," "flue,"
"plume," or otherwise. After "t," "d," "u," and "s,"
usage is not uniform. There is a tendency in all these
cases to change "u" into "6" (oo). After "t," in such
words as "tune," "tube," "Tuesday," "66" contends with
"u." After "d" (duty, duly, during, dude, duke), after
"n" (news, nude), and after "s" (suit, insulate, sewer,
capsule), there is a tendency to change "u" into "oo."
Usage is undecided as to the treatment of "t," "d," "s,"
" z," with the " i " or " y " sound after it before another vowel.
Are they fused into "ch," " j," and "sh," "zh,"ornot? The
struggle is between " na/ure " and " nature, " between " grad-
ual " and "gra/ual," " jure " and "^ure," " visual and "vizh-
ual. But we say vision, not vision ; assure, not asure. Ac-
cording to the Century Dictionary, there is a tendency to
change "o" in lot into "o" in song; also to omit "r" in
many situations. Sweet ("A Primer of Spoken English")
recorded "suh" for "sir," "haad" for "hard," "haat" for
134 PUBLIC SPEAKING
"heart," "staa" for "star," "pooa" for" poor, "etc., as the
pronunciation of "educated spoken English." Such omis-
sion of the " r " is not unknown in America. Murray, as
the editor of the greatest English dictionary ever projected,
says, " From the composite character of the English vocabu-
lary, the pronunciation also, of many words is in a very
unsettled state." He instances that he heard the word
"gaseous" pronounced in six different ways on one occa-
sion, by as many different men eminent in science.
What, then, is to guide the student in pronunciation ?
Obviously good usage. But what is good usage ? Is it the
usage of London, of Boston, of New York, of Chicago ?
Can any section rightly claim precedence ? What guides
do the guides follow ? Boswell once asked Dr. Johnson
why he did not indicate the pronunciation of words in his
dictionary, urging that he understood Mr. Sheridan had
done so; and Johnson replied, "What entitles Sheridan to
fix English pronunciation? He is an Irishman! He says
the example of the best educated ; but they differ among
themselves. I remember an instance. Lord Chesterfield
once told me that 'great ' must rhyme with ' state; ' Sir Wil-
liam Yonge said with ' seat. ' One is the best speaker of the
House of Lords, and the other of the House of Commons."
The specialist, A. J. Ellis, ridicules any high claim to a
standard of pronunciation. When appealed to, he replies,
" I pronounce the word so and so ; but I have heard others
pronounce it so and so. I have no means of determining
which is the correct way." Henry Sweet and other distin-
guished phoneticians teach that there is no absolute stand-
ard, and that there may be many correct ways of pronoun-
cing any word. Any notion, then, that any one man can
determine the pronunciation of a word, or that any one
dictionary decides the matter, shows a reverence for au-
thority more submissive than intelligent, and totally fails to
appreciate how language is made. On the other hand, those
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 135
who claim that "language is a life," and not mechanically
fixed, are likely, it seems to me, to exercise too great free-
dom in matters of pronunciation.
No student must conclude, however, that pronunciation
is a matter of indifference. Many now in the schools must
guard against the faulty pronunciation of their early sur-
roundings; elementary defects and narrow provincialisms
are inexcusable. The pronunciation of any important dic-
tionary, in all likelihood, represents some considerable
number of persons, and for practical purposes is entitled to
be regarded as authority. To the student, then, any lead-
ing dictionary is a sufficient guide. He may feel reasona-
bly secure, also, if he be sure he follows the usage of a
considerable number of the educated people of his section
in any tendency to a changed pronunciation, whether it has
found the way into a dictionary or not; and as usage, and
not a priori principles, governs, consistency does not re-
quire the student to conform to any one book exclusively.
SEC. III. Agreeable Voice. Voices that are rich
and resonant give pleasure to the listener. This is due to
the musical qualities already discussed. Such a voice is
not only pleasing to the ear, but suggests refinement and
culture, and hence is an element of elegance.
SEC. IV. Strong and Graceful Movements. As the
advantages of strong and easy bearing and movement have
already been shown, but slight reference to them is neces-
sary at this point. Strong and graceful movements, also,
suggest strength, character, culture, and at once please the
eye, as an agreeable voice does the ear.
PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT.
AT this point, not for one only, but for all the purposes
of Public Speaking, Physical Development may properly
receive consideration. It is not our intention, however, to
present an elaborate system of gymnastics, but to briefly
136 PUBLIC SPEAKING
treat the leading principles, and to give a sufficient num-
ber and variety of exercises adapted to classes where only
limited attention can be given to the subject. They will be
found adequate for ordinary practical purposes.
Principles and Aims of Physical Development.
The ends of exercise are the development of vital capacity and
strength^ and the acquisition of correct habit. The former is
hygienic, and the latter educational.
Dr. E. M. Hartwell, of Johns Hopkins University, distin-
guishes between the fundamental and the Accessory mechan-
ism of the body. In the former class, is the mechanism of
respiration, of the heart, of locomotion, etc. In the latter,
is the muscular mechanism for maintaining the erect posi-
tion, for the action of the hand, for the vocal organs, etc.
The development of the Fundamental mechanism means
increased vitality and strength, while the development of
the Accessory mechanism means skill and grace.
Dr. J. Enebuske, representing the Swedish system, states
the object of educational gymnastics to be "the harmonious
relation of mind and body."
These principles and aims of physical exercises are no-
where more serviceable than in exercises taken for purposes
of Public Speaking.
The aims of exercises, that is, exercises for increased
strength and vitality, and for the development of right
habit, depend for their realization upon the following
conditions :
1. The accuracy with which any given exercise is taken.
2. The alternate tension and relaxation of the muscles;
momentary rest alternating with action.
3. The repetition or frequency of the exercise. Two
hours of vigorous exercise taken once a month may do
more harm than good.
4. The rhythmical character or ease of the movements.
Rigid restraint, constant tension, make hard work, and
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 137
prevent the development desired. Count during the move-
ment. Be deliberate.
Cultivate the sense of control in all movements.
The vigorous and rapid movements, breaking down old
tissue and renewing it more rapidly, should alternate with
slower movements for the purpose of gesticular control.
It seems to me that the free-hand movements of the
Swedish system, especially promotive of grace and con-
trol, may well alternate with the exercise with weights, as
advocated by Dr. Sargent of Harvard. Free-hand move-
ments are, moreover, more practicable under ordinary cir-
cumstances.
Avoid exercise immediately before or after a full meal.
Exercise in pure air. After long periods of rest, approach
the exercise gradually, so as to prevent unnecessary lame-
ness. Stop before becoming fatigued.
EXERCISES. First Series. i. Stand, inhale, hands
on chest, elbows level with the shoulder; tap chest with
light percussive blows.
2. Stand, both hands in front of face, palm to face,
separate, pull back and down; count two.
3. Stand, toss both hands front, palm down, turn over,
clasp fists, draw in, elbows at sides, fists below the waist
level, slightly out; count three.
4. Stand, arms extended stiff by the sides, fists, bring
straight up, stretch, rotate.
5. Hands extended over head, bend forward, reach with
tips of fingers, drop the hands, erect, bend back, flex to
right, to left, arms dangling.
6. Hands on hips, bend forward, rotate clear around,
now in opposite direction.
7. Clasp hands back of head, rotate as in Exercise 6.
8. Drop the head forward, rotate clear around.
9. Bend back, face to ceiling, arms stretched up, palm to
palm, separate, extended sidewise, level with shoulders, fist.
138 PUBLIC SPEAKING
10. Stand, fingers of open hand on each shoulder, sud-
denly thrust the hands straight up.
11. Stand, suddenly thrust both hands down by the sides,
extended fingers, then straight up over head.
12. Stand, arms extended in front, clasp hands, rotate
body to left, to right.
13. Stand firm on right foot, swing the free leg; change
to opposite.
14. Stand, rise on tiptoe.
15. Knead the chest by putting the hands as far up under
the armpits as possible, and then squeezing the chest.
This loosens the articulations at the sternum and vertebrae,
allowing the ribs at the same time to elevate themselves
more at a right angle, thus giving greater chest capacity.
1 6. Diaphragmatic resistance.
(1) Place the hands circling the region just below the
floating ribs, thumbs toward the back, deep breath, make a
continuous muscular effort, hold breath, resisting the hands,
hold sides firm.
(2) Place the hands in front, the fingers pressing on the
region of the diaphgram, make muscular resistance.
(3.) Place the half -fist on the region midway; muscular
resistance as above. Practise i, 2, and 3 with continuous
breathing, also with sudden breathing.
17. Left fist well up on the chest, half back, right hand
fingers on right clavical, breathe, pressing against each hand.
Additional special exercises for "setting up," or for the
erect attitude.
1. Stand, both arms level with shoulder, extended side-
wise, palms up, turn head to right, look in palm. To left,
etc.
2. Hold spinal column straight, stoop, hands on the
thigh, turn head slowly, looking right, left, etc.
3. Hold spinal column straight, stoop, hands on knees,
turn head looking right, left, slowly.
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 139
4. Standing and walking make the back of the neck
touch the collar.
Second Series. With this series, light dumb-bells,
say of one pound each, are to be used. Lifted chest. Re-
peat each exercise according to circumstances.
1. Arms extended from the sides, level with the shoulder,
rotate slightly.
2. Over head, in a similar way.
3. Beginning with a bell on each shoulder, thrust up
over head.
4. Beginning the same as in 3, open the arms out side-
wise.
5. (a) Both feet together, weight on left, step forward
with right; bring both arms up, bent back, closing with
forearm vertical; bring back to starting-point.
(b) Change to right.
(c) Same movement, stepping back.
(d) Change.
6. Pull bell up to each armpit; rise on toes.
7. Bend right and left, hands hanging down.
8. Stand on right foot, swing the left ; change.
9. Rise on toes, stoop, strike end of bell on floor.
10. Feet firm, stoop, strike bells together under the legs.
11. Grasp both bells together, arms extended front,
rotate right, left.
12. Both feet together, grasp bells together with both
hands, swing over head, bend back, swing between legs,
bending forward.
13. Right foot advanced, swing as in 12, oblique ;
change, left advanced.
14. Bend back, face to ceiling, bells in front, bring
down level with shoulder.
The exercises given in Series I. and II. are all that
classes generally, and persons primarily interested in de-
livery, will care to use.
PART II
PRAXIS IN DELIVERY
ANALYSIS OF 'A SPEECH
The Subjective Treatment. The analytic method
of the book is applied in the preparation of the following
selection. The attempt is not intended to be exhaustive,
but rather to further illustrate the method.
ANTONY'S SPEECH OVER CESAR'S BODY.
SHAKESPEARE.
1. I COME to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
2. The evil that men do lives after them ;
3. The good is oft interred with their bones;
4. So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
5. Hath told you Caesar was ambitious;
6. If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
7. And grievously hath Caesar answer 'd it.
8. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest
9. (For Brutus is an honorable man;
10. So are they all, all honorable men)
11. Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
12. He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
13. But Brutus says he was ambitious;
14. And Brutus is an honorable man.
15. He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
16. Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
17. Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
18. When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:
19. Ambition should be made of sterner stuff :
20. Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ;
140
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE I4J
21. And Brutus is an honorable man.
22. You all did see that on the Lupercal
23. I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
24. Which he did thrice refuse : was this ambition?
25. Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
26. And, sure, he is an honorable man.
27. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
28. But here I am to speak what I do know.
29. You all did love him once, not without cause :
30. What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him?
31. O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
32. And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
33. My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
34. And I must pause till it come back to me.
1. The Subject and purpose of the address. Brutus and his con-
federates are assassins, enemies of Rome, and deserve death. The
speaker's purpose is to excite the populace to violence.
2. The atmosphere or mood. The prevailing emotion or mood
is that of pity and simulated humility.
3. Definition of words. Even when the meaning of words is
familiar, it is well worth the while to define them, and to name
their special qualities. Observe how difficult it is to define familiar
words. The attempt will frequently be like Justice Shallow's at-
tempt to define " accommodated." " Come " = approach, be pres-
ent ; here, manifestive of purpose. " To bury " = to inter a corpse,
to hide in the ground, to entomb. " Caesar " a conqueror, a
wise ruler, a friend to many, the assassinated. " Praise " = to
commend for virtues or worthy actions, to glorify. " Evil " = in-
jurious qualities, bad qualities, wrong deeds. " Lives" = abides,
continues. "The good " = right deeds, virtuous conduct, helpful
qualities. " Oft " = often, sometimes. " Interred " = buried, put
under the ground. " Bones "== (here) body; literally, a sub-
stance composing the skeleton. " Noble " = great, elevated,
honorable reputation. " Brutus " noble Roman, a conspirator,
a participant in the death of Caesar. " Ambitious "== desirous of
power. * Honorable " = of distinguished rank ; illustrious, noble.
4. Logical Relations. "I" is the subject of "come." "To
bury Caesar," predicate; "I," understood, subject, and [come]
" not to praise him," predicate. The latter is antithetic, but sub-
ordinate to the first clause. "The Evil" is the subject; "lives
142 PUBLIC SPEAKING
after them," the predicate. " That men do," modifying " evil," is
subordinate. The first and last clauses are co-ordinate. " The
good is oft interred with their bones" is the leading statement.
" So let it be with Caesar" is less analytic, and is conclusive. The
thought and feeling repose for a while after this sentence. It is
subordinate to the preceding member of the sentence. "The
. . . ambitious" continually heightens to the word "ambitious."
"If it were so" is subordinate to the next clause. '* It . . .
fault," is made strikingly prominent; the hypothetical "if" is
kept rather out of sight, since he does not wish to question, at
this point, Brutus's opinion.
5. Elipscs. The elipses will be supplied in brackets.
I come to bury Caesar ; [but I do] not [come] to praise him.
The noble Brutus hath told you [but has given no proof that]
Caesar was ambitious ;
If it were so, [but it is not], it was a grievous fault ;
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? [Obviously, not.]
Yet Brutus says, [is he to be believed? that] he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honorable [is he not honorable?] man
I thrice presented him a kingly crown [which shows he was not
ambitious].
6. The New Idea. " Not praise " is the new idea. " Him,"
old idea, previously given in the word, " Caesar." " Evil," new
idea. " Men " is a new idea, but subordinate. " Lives " is a new
idea, and is significant from what follows. "Good" contains a
new idea. "Interred" and "bones" are each old ideas, previ-
ously given in "bury" and "Caesar." "So" is a new idea.
" Brutus" is a new idea. " Ambitions," new. " Grievous fault,"
new. "Answered," new. "To speak," new. "Friend," new.
" Faithful," " just," " me," each contains a new idea. " Ambitious,"
new.
The style of this speech is rather laconic ; and being broken up,
and without oratorical continuity, it does not so well illustrate the
relation of new and old as many other selections.
7. Imagination. Picture the noisy, bustling rabble; imagine
the difficulties of the situation ; see Antony with bowed head, defer-
ential and silent before the crowd, and in the presence of the body
prepared for burial. All of the scene and occasion emotionally
affects the mind of the speaker, and hence, also, the mind of the
person who reproduces it. In the first line, the reader looks at
the imaginary body. One naturally imagines the evil deeds re-
peated from generation to generation.
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 143
The next picture awakened is that of mouldering bones ; then
the physical appearance of Brutus, rather tall, erect, strong, digni-
fied, dark complexioned. A little further along, imaginatively,
Caesar is pictured triumphantly entering Rome, followed by a
captive train ; the gold of their ransom is seen ; next, in contrast,
Caesar, weeping ; then Antony, presenting him a crown ; his wav-
ing it aside. A few other pictures present themselves. The selec-
tion, however, is not rich in things of the imagination.
8. Associated Ideas. (i) ".I come" suggests "bury;"
" bury," " Caesar, " also, " praise." The next line is rather discon-
nected. " Evil " suggests "men;" "men," "do," "lives," and
" good ; " " the good," suggests " interred ; " " interred," " bones."
The second and third lines are introduced for the purpose of at-
tributing them to Caesar. "So" summarizes and suggests the
two preceding lines and also "Caesar." (2) " Praise" suggests
*' blame ; " the blame others have placed on Caesar. To the average
mind, it suggests some sympathy with Brutus. " Evil " suggests
possibly the evil of Caesar. The listener connects the association.
It is the evil of men. " The good " is forgotten. By association,
"good" is a quality of Caesar. The orator says let the evil of
Caesar live and the good die. This by implication seems to side
with Brutus. "Bones" suggests powerlessness Caesar's condi-
tion; hence he should not excite resentment. " Noble," being a
complimentary term, suggests approval of Brutus's course. " Brutus
hath told" suggests what he told of Caesar's ambition ; this, more-
over, suggests agreement with what Antony is telling. Caesar's
ambition was a fault. " J/ n adroitly slipped in the first note of
dissent ; but not dwelt upon. " Grievously answered it," suggests
forgiveness and pity. The situation requires great caution. The
orator breaks in upon the ideas last introduced, and again refers
to the superior power and place of " Brutus and the rest." Pauses
to call them "honorable." Repeats it twice at short intervals.
That word, "honorable," is the key-word to the most important
association in the oration. By repetition and concurrent notions,
its opposite is suggested and attributed, not by the speaker (no
need of that), but by the listener to the conspirators. The
eleventh line repeats the first. " Friend," " faithful," and "just,"
awaken ideas of approval ; " to me," added at last, allays all ques-
tioning. "But" suggests an antithetic idea; "ambitious" is
smuggled in as that idea. They have approved " friend," " faith-
ful," and "just;" hence disapprove of "ambitious." The next
144 PUBLIC SPEAKING
line is thrown in to show agreement and to further impress
"honorable" on the listener. "Many captives" suggests power,
riches the material for ambition. "General coffers fill" sug-
gests generosity, unselfishness. This, together with " Caesar
wept," " Crown thrice refuse," suggests absence of ambition.
9. Emotions. The whole speech is given with conversational
simplicity and directness. The speaker, however, is thoroughly
alert and intense. Grief and assumed humility are the prevailing
emotions. Very meekly, he says, " I come to bury Caesar." The
feeling of positiveness or affirmation repeats itself. "So let it be
with Cesar," given with feelings of tenderness and yet positive-
ness. From " the " to " fault," inclusive, given with lighter touch,
and the next line with increased positiveness. The next three (8-10)
lines given with feeling of simple statement ; the eleventh line, the
positiveness of completed statement. The eighteenth line is given
with imitative (slight) tenderness ; nineteenth changes to feelings
of sternness ; twentieth and twenty-first, the feelings accompany-
ing simple statement. . . . "O judgment" . . . " reason," given
with regretful and censorious feeling. "Bear . . . me," given
with a sudden break of overwhelming grief.
The various changes of emotion are so slight that they are not
so easily described as in many selections.
The oration as a whole, viewed as a means to an end, is a master-
piece. From the ethical point of view, it is not defensible. Almost
from beginning to end it is a tissue of false statements. The ethics
of speech-making is an important subject. We can take space to
say only that an element of the new oratory is honesty and direct-
ness.
The Objective Treatment. As the purpose in analyz-
ing this speech is to make clear the method of this book
rather than to aid in its special preparation, and as the
instruction upon the Elements is already full, and more or
less familiar as a method of treatment, it is hardly neces-
sary to illustrate their application in this selection.
In dealing with the Elements, always remember that they
are the counterpart of subjective conditions. In determin-
ing emphasis, stress, inflection, gesture, etc., apply the
principles involved. Do not settle capriciously upon an
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 145
emphasis or slide, but give the reason for its selection.
Never allow any stereotyped form to interfere with mental
freedom and spontaneity. In preparing a selection, pro-
vide for growth. This involves change. The objective
treatment will be especially valuable in difficult places.
Try a certain kind of voice, inflection, pause, or other ele-
ment, and then judge of it. In every instance apply the
committed "Scheme."
PRAXIS IN DELIVERY.
The leading types of Composition DESCRIPTIVE and
NARRATIVE, ORATORICAL and DRAMATIC combine elements
peculiar to each, and afford opportunity for concentrated
effort in practice. For practical purposes, HIGHLY IMAGINA-
TIVE and METRICAL SELECTIONS may also be regarded as
types affording distinct opportunities.
While carrying into practice all of the sources and ele-
ments according to the "Scheme," the student will find it
advantageous to recognize the leading feature or features of
any selection, and practise at first with special reference to
these features.
I. DESCRIPTION AND NARRATION.
Descriptive and narrative selections emphasize the con-
versational. As the conversational is the basis of all effec-
tive speaking, and as it is naturally the least difficult type, it
may well be selected for beginning elocutionary discipline.
The purpose of description and narration is to give infor-
mation in an interesting way. Its essential feature is move-
ment.
Descriptive and narrative delivery, while drawing upon all
of the sources, and employing all of the elements of effective
speaking, is simple, direct, and distinctly clear. Variety with
its differentiation is a marked feature.
146 PUBLIC SPEAKING
The two following selections will serve to indicate the
type:
I. WHITE HORSE HILL.
THOMAS HUGHES.
This selection is taken from " Tom Brown's School Days," Chapter I. This and
other selections may best be studied in connection with the chapter or whole of
which it is a part.
And then what a hill is the White Horse Hill ! There it stands
right up above all the rest, nine hundred feet above the sea, and
the boldest, bravest shape for a chalk hill that you ever saw. Let
us go up to the top of him, and see what is to be found there. Ay,
you may well wonder and think it odd you never heard of this be-
fore ; but wonder or not, as you please, there are hundreds of such
things lying about England, which wiser folk than you know noth-
ing of, and care nothing for. Yes, it's a magnificent Roman camp,
and no mistake, with gates, and ditch, and mounds, all as complete
as it was twenty years after the strong old rogues left it. Here,
right up on the highest point, from which they say you can see
eleven counties, they trenched round all the tableland, some twelve
or fourteen acres, as was their custom, for they couldn't bear any-
body to overlook them, and made their eyrie. The ground falls
away rapidly on all sides. Was there ever such turf in the whole
world ? You sink up to your ankles at every step, and yet the
spring of it is delicious. There is always a breeze in the " camp,"
as it is called ; and here it lies just as the Romans left it, except
that cairn on the east side left by her Majesty's corps of sappers and
miners the other day, when they and the engineer officer had fin-
ished their sojourn there, and their surveys for the ordnance map
of Berkshire. It is altogether a place that you won't forget a
place to open a man's soul and make him prophesy, as he looks
down on the great vale spread out as the garden of the Lord before
him, and wave on wave of the mysterious downs behind; and to
the right and left the chalk hills running away into the distance,
along which he can trace for miles the old Roman road, " the
Ridgeway" (" the Rudge," as the country folk call it) keeping
straight along the highest back of the hills ; such a place as Balak
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 147
brought Balaam to, and told him to prophesy against the people in
the valley beneath. And he would not ; neither shall you, for they
are a people of the Lord who abide there.
And now we leave the camp, and descend toward the west, and
are on the Ashdown. s We are treading on heroes. It is sacred
ground for Englishmen, more sacred than all but one or two fields
where their bones lie whitening. For this is the actual place where
our Alfred won his great battle, the battle of Ashdown ('* &scen-
dum" in the chroniclers), which broke the Danish power, and
made England a Christian land. The Danes held the camp and
the slope where we are standing the whole crown of the hill, in
fact. " The heathen had beforehand seized the higher ground,"
as old Asser says, having wasted everything behind them from
London, and being just ready to burst down on the fair vale,
Alfred's own birthplace and heritage. And up the heights came
the Saxons, as they did at the Alma. The Christians led up their
line from the lower ground. There stood also on that same spot a
single thorn-tree, marvellous stumpy (which we ourselves with our
very own eyes have seen) ." Bless the old chronicler ! Does he
think nobody ever saw a " single thorn-tree " but himself? Why,
there it stands to this very day, just on the edge of the slope, and
I saw it not three weeks since ; an old single thorn-tree, " mar-
vellous stumpy." At least, if it isn't the same tree, it ought to have
been, for it's just in the place where the battle must have been won
or lost * around which, as I was saying, the two lines of foemen
came together in battle with a huge shout." And in this place, one
of the two kings of the heathen and five of his earls fell down and
died, and many thousands of the heathen side in the same place.
After which crowning mercy, the pious king, that there might never
be wanting a sign and a memorial to the country-side, carved out
on the northern side of the chalk hill under the camp, where it is
almost precipitous, the 'great Saxon white horse, which he who will
may see from the railway, and which gives its name to the vale,
over which it has looked these thousand years and more.
14$ PUBLIC SPEAKING
II. THE MAYPOLE OF MERRY MOUNT.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNS.
This selection is taken from "Twice Told Tales."
Bright were the days at Merry Mount, when the Maypole was
the banner staff of that gay colony. They who reared it, should
their banner be triumphant, were to pour sunshine over New Eng-
land's rugged hills, and scatter flower-seeds throughout the soil.
Jollity and gloom were contending for an empire. Midsummer
eve had come, bringing deep verdure to the forest, and roses in her
lap of a more vivid hue than the tender buds of spring. But May,
or her mirthful spirit, dwelt all the year round at Merry Mount,
sporting with the summer months, and revelling with autumn, and
basking in the glow of winter's fireside. Through a world of toil
and care she flitted with a dream-like smile, and came hither to
find a home among the lightsome hearts of Merry Mount.
Never had the Maypole been so gayly decked as at sunset on
Midsummer Eve. This venerated emblem was a pine-tree, which
had preserved the slender grace of youth, while it equalled the
loftiest height of the old wood monarchs. From its top streamed
a silken banner, colored like the rainbow. Down nearly to the
ground, the pole was dressed with birchen boughs, and others of
the liveliest green, and some with silvery leaves, fastened by rib-
bons that fluttered in fantastic knots of twenty different colors,
but no sad ones. Garden flowers and blossoms of the wilderness
laughed gladly forth amid the verdure, so fresh and dewy, that
they must have grown by magic on thiat happy pine-tree. Where
this green and flowery splendor terminated, the shaft of the May-
pole was stained with the seven brilliant hues of the banner at its
top. On the lowest green bough, hung an abundant wreath of
roses, some that had been gathered in the sunniest spots of its
forest, and others, of still richer flush, which the colonists had
reared from English seed. Oh, people of the Golden Age, the chief
of your husbandry was to raise flowers.
But what was the wild throng that stood hand in hand about
the Maypole ? It could not be that the fairies and nymphs, when
driven from their classic groves and homes of ancient fable, had
sought refuge, as all the persecuted did, in the fresh woods of the
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 149
West. These were Gothic monsters, though perhaps of Grecian
ancestry. On the shoulders of a comely youth, up rose the head
and branching antlers of a stag; a second, human in all other
points, had the grim visage of a wolf; a third, still with the trunk
and limbs of a mortal man, showed the beard and horns of a vener-
able he-goat. There was a likeness of a bear erect, brute in all
but his hind legs, which were adorned with pink silk stockings.
And here again, almost as wondrous, stood a real bear of the dark
forest, lending each of his forepaws to the grasp of a human hand,
and as ready for the dance as any in that circle. His inferior
nature rose half-way to meet his companions as they stooped.
Other faces wore the similitude of man or woman, but distorted
or extravagant, with red noses, pendulous before their mouths,
which seemed of awful depth, and stretched from ear to ear in
an eternal fit of laughter. Here might be seen the Salvage Man,
well known in heraldry, hairy as a baboon, and girdled with green
leaves. By his side, a nobler figure, but still a counterfeit, ap-
peared an Indian hunter, with feathery crest and wampum belt.
Many of this strange company wore foolscaps, and had little bells
appended to their garments, tinkling with a silvery sound, respon-
sive to the inaudible music of their gleesome spirits. Some youths
and maidens were of soberer garb, yet well maintained their places
in the irregular throng, by the expression of wild revelry upon their
features. Such were the colonists of Merry Mount, as they stood
in the broad smile of sunset, round their venerated Maypole.
Had a wanderer, bewildered in the melancholy forest, heard
their mirth, and stolen a half-affrighted glance, he might have fan-
cied them the crew of Comfls, some already transformed to brutes,
some midway between man and beast, and the others rioting in the
flow of tipsy jollity, that foreran the change. But a band of Puri-
tans, who watched the scene, invisible themselves, compared the
masques to those devils and ruined souls with whom their supersti-
tion peopled the black wilderness.
II. ORATORIO (HORTATORY).
The purely Oratorio is distinctly dynamic, especially in
its hortatory form, and is characterized by great energy. It
affords excellent opportunity to practise the more forceful
I5O PUBLIC SPEAKING
elements, the radical stress, staccato movement, strong
force, reserved force. The following additional suggestion
is made: Deliver the two following selections in the sim-
plest conversational way; then deliver them exaggerating
the intense form (reserved force) ; in the next place deliver
them dynamically, radical stress and marked staccato move-
ment; lastly combine all of these elements in the full and
finished form of the type.
I. AWAIT THE ISSUE.
THOMAS CARLYLB.
This selection is taken from " Past and Present."
1. IN this God's world, with its wild, whirling eddies and
mad, foam oceans, where men and nations perish as if without law,
and judgment for an unjust thing is sternly delayed, dost thou think
that there is therefore no justice ? It is what the fool hath said in
his heart. It is what the wise, in all times, were wise because they
denied, and knew forever not to be. I tell thee again, there is
nothing else but justice. One strong thing I find here below : the
just thing, and true thing.
2. My friend, if thou hadst all the artillery of Woolwich trun-
dling at thy back in support of an unjust thing, and infinite bonfires
visibly waiting ahead of thee to blaze centuries long for thy victory
on behalf of it, I would advise thee to call halt, to fling down thy
baton, and say, ** In Heaven's name, no ! "
3. Thy " success " ? Poor devil, what will thy success amount
to? If the thing is unjust, thou hast not succeeded ; no, not though
bonfires blazed from north to south, and bells rang, and editors
wrote leading articles, and the just things lay trampled out of
sight, to all mortal eyes an abolished and annihilated thing. . . .
4. For it is the right and noble alone that will have victory in
this struggle ; the rest is wholly an obstruction, a postponement,
and fearful imperilment of the victory. Towards an eternal centre
of right and nobleness, and of that only, is all confusion tending.
We already know whither it is all tending ; what will have victory,
what will have none ! The heaviest will reach the centre. The
heaviest has its deflections ; its obstructions ; nay, at times its re-
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE I$l
boundings, its resiliences, whereupon some blockhead shall be heard
jubilating, " See, your heaviest ascends ! " but at all moments it is
moving centreward, fast as is convenient for it ; sinking, sinking ;
and, by laws older than the world, old as the Maker's first plan
of the world, it has to arrive there.
5. Await the issue. In all battles, if you await the issue, each
fighter has prospered according to his right. His right and his
might, at the close of the account, were one and the same. He
has fought with all his might, and in exact proportion to all his
right he has prevailed. His very death is no victory over him.
He dies indeed ; but his work lives, very truly lives.
6. A heroic Wallace, quartered on the scaffold, cannot hinder
that his Scotland become, one day, a part of England ; but he does
hinder that it become, on tyrannous, unfair terms, a part of it;
commands still, as with a god's voice, from his old Valhalla and
Temple of the Brave, that there be a just, real union as of brother
and brother, not a false and merely semblant one as of slave and
master. If the union with England be in fact one of Scotland's
chief blessings, we thank Wallace withal that it was not the chief
curse. Scotland is not Ireland : no, because brave men rose there
and said, " Behold, ye must not tread us down like slaves ; and ye
shall not, and cannot ! "
7. Fight on, thou brave, true, heart, and falter not, through dark
fortune and through bright. The cause thou fightest for, so far as
it is true, no further, yet precisely so far, is very sure of victory.
The falsehood alone of it will be conquered, will be abolished, as it
ought to be ; but the truth of it is part of Nature's own laws, co-
operates with the world's eternal tendencies, and cannot be con-
quered.
II. NATIONAL BANKRUPTCY.
MlRABEAU.
From a speech before the National Convention of France, 1789.
I. I HEAR much said of patriotism, appeals to patriotism, trans-
ports of patriotism. Gentlemen, why prostitute this noble word?
Is it so very magnanimous to give up a part of your income in order
to save your whole property? This is very simple arithmetic; and
he that hesitates deserves contempt rather than indignation.
152 PUBLIC SPEAKING
2. Yes, gentlemen, it is to your immediate self-interest, to your
most familiar notions of prudence and policy, that I now appeal.
I say not to you now as heretofore, beware how you give the world
the first example of an assembled nation untrue to the public faith.
I ask you not, as heretofore, what right you have to freedom, or
what means of maintaining it, if, at your first step in administra-
tion, you outdo in baseness all the old and corrupt governments. I
tell you, that unless you prevent this catastrophe, you will all be
involved in the general ruin; and that you are yourselves the per-
sons most deeply interested in making the sacrifices which the gov-
ernment demands of you.
3. I exhort you, then, most earnestly, to vote these extraordi-
nary supplies ; and God grant that they may prove sufficient ! Vote
them, I beseech you ; for, even if you doubt the expediency of the
means, you know perfectly well that the supplies are necessary, and
that you are incapable of raising them in any other way. Vote
them at once, for the crisis does not admit of delay ; and, if it oc-
curs, we must be responsible for the consequences.
4. Beware of asking for time. Misfortune accords it never.
While you are lingering, the evil day will come upon you. Why,
gentlemen, it is but a few days since that upon occasion of some
foolish bustle in the Palais Royal, some ridiculous insurrection that
existed nowhere but in the heads of a few weak or designing in-
dividuals, we were told with emphasis, " Catiline is at .the gates of
Rome, and yet we deliberate." You know, gentlemen, that this
was all imagination. We are far from being at Rome ; nor is there
any Catiline at the gates of Paris. But now are we threatened with
a real danger ; bankruptcy, national bankruptcy, is before you ; it
threatens to swallow up your persons, your property, your honor,
and yet you deliberate.
III. DRAMATIC TYPE.
The Dramatic is the third type of composition. It affords
splendid discir^ine in frequent and radical changes of emo-
tion, in control, and in broadening the moods and tempera-
ment of the speaker. The practice of dramatic selections
is an excellent means for developing oratoric power. The
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 1 53
interpretation of great pieces of literature as found in the
drama is a legitimate aim, and though achieved in a high
degree only by genius, is well worthy the aim of all for
its cultural value. The two following selections are as
simple as any that may be chosen for this purpose.
I. BRUTUS AND CASSIUS.
SHAKESPEARE.
This selection is taken from " Julius Caesar," Act I. Sc. ii. The student should
read the whole play, and form a definite estimate of the two men, etc.
Brutus. What means this shouting ? I do fear, the people
Choose Caesar for their king.
Cassms. Ay, do you fear it?
Then must I think you would not have it so.
Brutus. I would not, Cassius, yet I love him well.
But wherefore do you hold me here so long ?
What is it that you would impart to me ?
If it be aught toward the general good,
Set honor in one eye, and death i' the other,
And I will look on both indifferently,
For let the gods so speed me as I love
The name of honor more than I fear death.
Cassius. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
As well as I do know your outward favor.
Well, honor is the subject of my story.
I cannot tell what you and other men
Think of this life, but for my single self,
I had as lief not be as live to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself.
I was born free as Cassar ; so were you :
We both have fed as well ; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he :
For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tyber chafing with her shores,
Caesar said to me, Dar'st thou, Cassms, now
Leap in 'with me into this angry flood,
154 PUBLIC SPEAKING
And swim to yonder point ? Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,
And bade him follow : so indeed he did.
The torrent roared, and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside
And stemming it with hearts of controversy ;
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd,
Caesar cried, Help me, Cassius, or I sink I
I, as yEneas, our great ancestor,
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tyber
Did I the tired Caesar. And this man
Is now become a god ; and Cassius is
A wretched creature, and must bend his body,
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him.
He had a fever when he was in Spain ;
And when the fit was on him I did mark
How he did shake ; 'tis true, this god did shake :
His coward lips did from their color fly ;
And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world,
Did lose his lustre. I did hear him groan :
Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
Alas, it cried, Give me some drink, Titinius,
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,
A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of the majestic world,
And bear the palm alone. \Shout and flourish.
Brutus. Another general shout !
I do believe that these applauses are
For some new honors that are heaped on Caesar.
Cassius. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves dishonorable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates ;
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 155
Brutus and Cezsar : what should be in that Ccesar f
Why should that name be sounded more than yours ?
Write them together, yours is as fair a name ;
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ;
Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with them,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Ccesar.
Now, in the name of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed,
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shanVd
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods !
When went there by an age, since the great flood,
But it was fam'd with more than one man ?
When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome,
That her wide walls encompassed but one man?
Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough,
When there is in it but one only man.
O, you and I have heard our fathers say
There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd
Th 1 eternal Devil to keep his state in Rome,
As easily as a king !
II. BRUTUS, CASSIUS, AND CASCA.
SHAKESPEARE.
This selection, like the preceding, is from " Julius Caesar," ACT I. Sc. ii.
Casca. You puird me by the cloak : would you speak with me?
Bru. Ay, Casca ; tell us what hath chanc'd to-day, that Caesar
looks so sad.
Casca. Why, you were with him, were you not?
Bru. I should not, then, ask Casca what had chanc'd.
Casca. Why, there was a crown offer'd him ; and being offer'd
him, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus ; and then the
people fell a-shouting.
Bru. What was the second noise for?
Casca. Why for that too.
Cass. They shouted thrice : what was the last cry for ?
Casca. Why, for that too.
Bru. Was the crown offer'd him thrice?
156 PUBLIC SPEAKING
Casca. Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, every time
gentler than other ; and at every putting-by mine honest neighbors
shouted.
Cass. Who offer'd him the crown?
Casca. Why, Antony.
Bru. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca.
Casca. I can as well be hang'd, as tell the manner of it : it was
mere foolery ; I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a
crown; yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coro-
nets ; and, as I told you, he put it by once : but, for all that, to my
thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered it to him
again ; then he put it by again : but, to my thinking, he was very
loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the third time ;
he put it the third time by ; and still, as he refus'd it, the rabble-
ment shouted, and clapp'd their chapp'd hands, and threw up their
sweaty nightcaps, and Caesar swooned, and fell down at it.
Cass. But, soft, I pray you: what, did Caesar swoon?
Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and foam'd at mouth,
and was speechless.
Bru. 'Tis very like ; he hath the falling-sickness.
Cass. No, Caesar hath it not ; but you and I,
And honest Casca, we have the falling-sickness.
Casca. I know not what you mean by that ; but I am sure
Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people did not clap him and hiss
him, according as he pleas'd and displeas'd them, as they used to
do the players in the theatre, I am no true man.
Bru. What said he when he came unto himself ?
Casca. Marry, before he fell down, when he perceiv'd the com-
mon herd was glad he refus'd the crown, he pluck'd me ope his
doublet, and offer'd them his throat to cut : an I had been a man
of any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would
I might go down among the rogues: and so he fell. When he
came to himself again he said, if he had done or said anything amiss,
he desir'd their worships to think it was his infirmity.
Bru. And, after that, he came thus sad away?
Casca. Ay.
Cass. Did Cicero say anything?
Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek.
Cass. To what effect?
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 157
Casca. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er look you i' the face
again : but those that understood him srail'd at one another and
shook their heads ; but, for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I
could tell you more news too : Marullus and Flavius, for pulling
scarfs off Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well.
There was more foolery yet, if I could remember it.
Cass. Will you sup with me to-night, Casca?
Casca. No, I am promis'd forth.
Cass. Will you dine with me to-morrow ?
Casca. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner
worth the eating.
Cass. Good ; I will expect you.
Casca. Do so : farewell both. \Exit CASCA.
Bru. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be ! He was quick
mettle when he went to school.
Cass. So is he now, in execution
Of any bold or noble enterprise,
However he puts on this tardy form.
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit,
Which gives men stomach to digest his words
With better appetite.
IV. IMAGINATION AND RHYTHM.
Selections of prose or poetry, introducing the imagination
in a prominent way, give excellent opportunity for the
special cultivation of this faculty upon which depends so
largely the essential of force in delivery. Without imagina-
tion, no considerable power in delivery is possible. The
two following selections well answer this purpose. After
using these two selections for the development of the im-
agination and emotion, they may be further used for special
attention to rhythm.
158 PUBLIC SPEAKING
I. PAUL REVERE'S RIDE.
H. W. LONGFKLLOW.
This selection is from Fireside Tales.
I.
LISTEN, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in seventy-five :
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.
n.
He said to his friend, " If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower, as a signal light,
One,^f by land, and two, if by sea ;
And I on the opposite shore will be
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country-folk to be up and to arm."
in.
Then he said, " Good-night!" and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where, swinging wide at her moorings, lay
The " Somerset," British man-of-war:
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon, like a prison bar,
And a huge, black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.
IV.
Meanwhile his friend, through alley and street
Wanders and watches with eager ears,
Till, in the silence around him, he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms and the tramp of feet,
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 159
And the measured tread of the grenadiers
Marching down to their boats on the shore.
v.
Then he climbed to the tower of the church,
Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,
Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen, and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town,
And the moonlight flowing over all.
VI.
Beneath in the church-yard lay the dead
In their night encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, " All is well ! "
VII.
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead ;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.
VIII.
Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse's side,
I6O PUBLIC SPEAKING
Now gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth ;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
IX.
And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry^s height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light !
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns !
x.
A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet :
That was all ! And yet, through the gloom and the light.
The fate of a nation was riding that night ;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
XI.
You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British regulars fired and fled,
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farm-yard wall,
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.
XII.
So through the night rode Paul Revere ;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,
A cry of defiance and not of fear,
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE l6l
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore !
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.
II. AN ORDER FOR A PICTURE.
ALICB GARY.
Light touch. Emotional content a leading feature.
O GOOD painter, tell me true,
Has your hand the cunning to draw
Shapes of things you never saw ?
Ay? Well, here is an order for you.
Woods and cornfields, a little brown,
The picture must not be over-bright,
Yet all in the golden and gracious light
Of a cloud, when the summer sun is down.
Alway and alway, night and morn,
Woods upon woods, with fields of corn
Lying between them, not quite sere,
And not in the full, thick, leafy bloom,
When the wind can hardly find breathing-room
Under their tassels, cattle near,
Biting shorter the short green grass,
And a hedge of sumach and sassafras,
With bluebirds twittering all around,
(Ah, good painter, you Can't paint sound ! )
These, and the house where I was born,
Low and little, and black and old,
With children, many as it can hold,
All at the windows, open wide,
Heads and shoulders clear outside,
162 PUBLIC SPEAKING
And fair young faces all ablush :
Perhaps you may have seen, some day,
Roses crowding the self-same way,
Out of a wilding, wayside bush
Listen closer. When you have done
With woods and cornfields and grazing herds,
A lady, the loveliest ever the sun
Looked down upon, you must paint for me ;
Oh, if I only could make you see
The clear blue eyes, the tender smile,
The sovereign sweetness, the gentle grace,
The woman's soul, and the angel's face,
That are beaming on me all the while,
I need not speak these foolish words :
Yet one word tells you all I would say,
She is my mother : you will agree
That all the rest may be thrown away.
Two little urchins at her knee
You must paint, sir ; one like me,
The other with a clearer brow,
And the light of his adventurous eyes
Flashing with boldest enterprise :
At ten years old he went to sea,
God knoweth if he be living now ;
He sailed in the good ship "Commodore,"
Nobody ever crossed her track
To bring us news, and she never came back.
Ah, 'tis twenty long years and more
Since that old ship went out of the bay
With my great-hearted brother on her deck :
I watched him till he shrank to a speck,
And his face was towards me all the way.
Bright his hair was, a golden brown,
The time we stood at our mother's knee :
That beauteous head, if it did go down,
Carried sunshine into the sea !
Out in the fields one summer night
We were together, half afraid
ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 163
Of the corn-leaves' rustling, and of the shade
Of the high hills, stretching so still and far,
Loitering till after the low little light
Of the candle shone through the open door.
Afraid to go home, sir ; for one of us bore
A nest full of speckled and thin-shelled eggs ;
The other, a bird, held fast by the legs,
Not so big as a straw of wheat :
The berries we gave her she wouldn't eat,
But cried and cried, till we held her bill,
So slim and shining, to keep her still.
At last we stood at our mother's knee.
Do you think, sir, if you try,
You could paint the look of a lie ?
If you can, pray have the grace
To put it solely in the face
Of the urchin that is likest me :
I think 'twas solely mine, indeed :
But that's no matter, paint it so ;
The eyes of my mother (take good heed)
Looking not on the nestful of eggs,
Nor the fluttering bird held so fast by the legs,
But straight through our faces down to our lies,
And oh, with such injured, reproachful surprise !
I felt my heart bleed where that glance went, as though
A sharp blade struck through it.
You, sir, know
That you on the canvas are to repeat
Things that are fairest, things most sweet,
Woods and cornfields and mulberry -tree,
The mother, the lads, with their bird, at her knee:
But, oh, that look of reproachful woe !
High as the heavens your name I'll shout,
If you paint me the picture, and leave that out.
SELECTIONS
SKILL AND BEAUTY IN ART.
JOHN RUSKIN.
From The Relation of Use to Art in " The Crown of Wild Olive."
Now, I pray you to observe for though I have said this often
before, I have never yet said it clearly enough every good piece
of art . . . involves first essentially the evidence of human skill,
and the formation of an actually beautiful thing by it.
Skill and beauty always, then ; and, beyond these, the formative
arts have always been one or other of the two objects which I have
just defined to you truth, or serviceableness ; and without these
aims neither the skill nor their beauty will avail ; only by these can
either legitimately reign. All the graphic arts begin in keeping the
outline of shadow that we have loved, and they end in giving to it
the aspect of life ; and all the architectural arts begin in the shap-
ing of the cup and the platter, and they end in a glorified roof.
Therefore, you see, in the graphic arts you have skill, beauty,
and likeness ; and in the architectural arts, skill, beauty, and use ;
and you must have the three in each group, balanced and co-ordi-
nate ; and all the chief errors of art consist in losing or exaggerat-
ing one of these elements.
For instance, almost the whole system and hope of modern life
are founded on the notion that you may substitute mechanism for
skill, photograph for picture, cast-iron for sculpture. That is your
main nineteenth-century faith, or infidelity. You think you can get
everything by grinding music, literature, and painting. You will
165
1 66 SELECTIONS
find it grievously not so; you can get nothing but dust by mere
grinding. Even to have the barley-meal out of it, you must have
the barley first ; and that comes by growth, not grinding. But
essentially, we have lost our delight in skill ; in that majesty of it
which I was trying to make clear to you in my last address, and
which long ago I tried to express, under the head of ideas of power.
The entire sense of that we have lost, because we ourselves do not
take pains enough to do right, and have no conception of what the
right costs ; so that all the joy and reverence we ought to feel in
looking at a strong man's work, have ceased in us. We keep them
yet a little in looking at a honeycomb or a bird's nest ; we under-
stand that these differ, by divinity of skill, from a lump of wax or a
cluster of sticks. But a picture, which is a much more wonderful
thing than a honeycomb or a bird's nest have we not known
people, and sensible people too, who expected to be taught to pro-
duce that in six lessons ?
THE BOSTON MASSACRE.
BANCROFT.
1. ON Friday the 2d of March, 1770, a British soldier of the
Twenty-ninth Regiment asked to be employed at Gray's rope-
walk, and was repulsed in the coarsest words. He then defied the
rope-makers to a boxing match ; and one of them accepting his
challenge, he was beaten off. Returning with several of his com-
panions, they too were driven away. A larger number came down
to renew the fight with clubs and cutlasses, and in their turn
encountered defeat.
2. There was an end to the affair at the rope- walk, but not at
the barracks, where the soldiers inflamed each other's passions, as
if the honor of the regiment had been tarnished.
3. On Saturday they prepared bludgeons ; and being resolved to
THE BOSTON MASSACRE 1 67
brave the citizens on Monday night, they forewarned their partic-
ular acquaintances not to be abroad.
4. Evening came on. The young moon was shining in a cloud-
less winter sky, and its light was increased by a new-fallen snow.
Parties of soldiers were driving about the streets, making a parade
of valor, challenging resistance, and striking the inhabitants indis-
criminately with sticks or sheathed cutlasses.
5. A band which rushed out from the barracks in Brattle Street,
armed with clubs, cutlasses, and bayonets, provoked resistance;
and an affray ensued. An ensign at the gate of the barrack-yard
cried to the soldiers, "Turn out, and I will stand by you; kill
them ; stick them ; knock them down ; run your bayonets through
them ! " And one soldier after another levelled a firelock, and
threatened to "make a lane" through the crowd.
6. Just before nine, as an officer crossed King Street, a barber's
lad cried after him, " There goes a mean fellow who hath not paid
my master for dressing his hair ; " on which a sentinel left his post,
and with his musket gave the boy a stroke on the head which made
him stagger and cry for pain.
7. The street soon became clear, and nobody troubled the sen-
try, when a party of soldiers issued violently from the main guard,
their arms glittering in the moonlight, and passed on hallooing,
"Where are they? where are they? let them come!"
8. " Pray, soldiers, spare my life !" cried a boy of twelve, whom
they met. * No, no ; we will kill you all ! " answered one of them,
and knocked him down with his cutlass. They abused and insulted
several persons at their doors, and others in the street, running
about like madmen in a fury, crying, " Fire ! " which seemed their
watchword, and, "Where are they? knock them down!" Their
outrageous behavior occasioned the ringing of the bell at the head
of King Street.
9. The citizens whom the alarm set in motion came out with
canes and clubs ; a body of soldiers also came up, crying, * Where
1 68 SELECTIONS
are the cowards ? " and brandishing their arms. From ten to
twenty boys came after them, asking, " Where are they? where
are they?" " There is the soldier who knocked me down," said
the barber's boy ; and they began pushing one another towards the
sentinel. He primed and loaded his musket.
10. "The lobster is going to fire," cried a boy. Waving his
piece about, the sentinel pulled the trigger. " If you fire, you
must die for it," said one who was passing by. ** I don't care,"
replied the sentry; "if they touch me, I will fire." "Fire away!"
shouted the boys, persuaded he could not do it without leave from
a civil officer; and a young fellow spoke out, " We will knock him
down for snapping," while they whistled through their fingers and
huzzaed.
11. "Stand off," said the sentry, and shouted aloud, "Turn
out, main guard!" "They are killing the sentinel," reported a
servant, running to the main guard. "Turn out; why don't you
turn out?" cried Preston, who was captain of the day to the guard.
A party of six formed with a corporal in front, and Preston follow-
ing. With bayonets fixed, they haughtily rushed through the
people, upon the trot, cursing them, and pushing them as they
went along.
12. They found about ten persons round the sentry, while about
fifty or sixty came down with them. " For God's sake," said a
citizen, holding Preston by the coat, "take your men back again;
if they fire, your life must answer for the consequences." " I knew
what I am about," said he hastily, and much agitated.
13. None pressed on them or provoked them till they began
loading ; when a party about twelve in number, with sticks in their
hands, moved from the middle of the street, where they had been
standing, gave three cheers, and passed along in front of the sol-
diers, whose muskets some of them struck as they went by. " You
are cowardly rascals," said they, " for bringing arms against naked
men. Lay aside your guns, and we are ready for you. Come on,
THE BOSTON MASSACRE 169
you lobster scoundrels ; fire, if you dare ; we know you dare
not."
14. Just then one of the soldiers received a blow from a stick
thrown, which hit his musket ; and the word " Fire ! " being given,
he stepped a little on one side, and shot a mulatto, who at the time
was quietly leaning on a long stick.
15. The people immediately began to move off. The rest fired
slowly and in succession on the people who were dispersing. One
aimed deliberately at a boy who was running for safety. Three per-
sons were killed ; eight were wounded, two of them mortally. Of
all the eleven, not more than one had any share in the disturbance.
1 6. So infuriated were the soldiers that, when the men returned
to take up the dead, they prepared to fire again, but were checked
by Preston; while the Twenty-ninth Regiment appeared under
arms in King Street, as if bent on a further massacre. " This is
our time," cried the soldiers ; and dogs were never seen more
greedy for their prey.
17. The bells rung in all the churches ; the town drums beat.
"To arms! to arms!" was the cry. And now was to be tested
the true character of Boston. All its sons came forth, excited almost
to madness ; many were absolutely distracted by the sight of the
dead bodies and of the blood, which ran plentifully in the streets,
and was imprinted in all directions by the foot-tracks on the snow.
1 8. '* Our hearts," says Warren, " beat to arms, almost re-
solved by one stroke to avenge the death of our slaughtered breth-
ren." But they stood self-possessed and irresistible, demanding
justice according to law.
19. The people would not be pacified till the regiment was con-
fined to the guard-room and the barracks ; and the governor himself
gave assurance that instant inquiries should be made by the county
magistrates. A warrant was issued against Preston, who surren-
dered himself to the sheriff; and the soldiers who composed the
party were delivered up and committed to prison.
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RIP VAN WINKLE'S AWAKENING.
IRVING.
PART I.
1 . ON waking, Rip found himself on the green knoll overlooking
the glen. He rubbed his eyes it was a bright sunny morning.
The birds were hopping and twittering among the bushes, and the
eagle was wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze.
" Surely," thought Rip, " I have not slept here all night."
2. He recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep the
mountain ravine the party at nine-pins the flagon. " Oh ! that
wicked flagon ! " thought Rip ; " what excuse shall I make to
Dame Van Winkle?"
3. He looked round for his gun ; but, in place of the clean, well-
oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel
incrusted with rust, the lock falling off, the stock worm-eaten. He
now suspected that the grave roisters of the mountain had put a
trick upon him, and, having dosed him with liquor, robbed him of
his gun.
4. Wolf, too, had disappeared ; but he might have strayed away
after a squirrel or a partridge. He whistled after him, and shouted
his name, but all in vain; the echoes repeated his whistle and
shout, but no dog was to be seen.
5. He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's gam-
bol, and, if he met with any of the party, to demand his dog and
gun. As he rose to walk, he found himself stiff in the joints, and
wanting in his usual activity. "These mountain beds do not
agree with me," thought Rip; * and if this frolic should lay me up
with a fit of the rheumatism, I shall have a blessed time with
Dame Van Winkle."
6. With some difficulty he got down Into the glen. He found the
gully up which he had ascended the preceding evening ; but to his
astonishment a mountain stream was now foaming down it, leaping
from rock to rock, and filling the glen with babbling murmurs.
RIP VAN WINKLE'S AWAKENING 171
7. He, however, made shift to scramble up its sides, working
his toilsome way through thickets of birch, sassafras, and witch-
hazel ; and sometimes tripped up or entangled by the wild grape-
vines that twisted their coils and tendrils from tree to tree, and
spread a kind of network in his path.
8. Here poor Rip was brought to a stand. He again called and
whistled after his dog ; he was answered only by the cawing of a
flock of idle crows, which were sporting high in air about a withered
tree that overhung a sunny precipice, and which, secure in their
elevation, seemed to look down and scoff at the poor man's per-
plexities.
9. What was to be done? The morning was passing away, and
Rip felt famished for want of his breakfast. He grieved to give up
his dog and gun ; he dreaded to meet his wife ; but it would not do
to starve among the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered
the rusty firelock, and, with a heart full of trouble and anxiety,
turned his steps homeward.
10. As he approached the village he met a number of people,
but none whom he knew ; which somewhat surprised him, for he
had thought himself acquainted with every one in the country round.
Their dress, too, was of a different fashion from that to which he
was accustomed.
1 1 . They all stared at him with equal marks of surprise ; and,
whenever they cast eyes upon him, invariably stroked their chins.
The constant recurrence of this gesture induced Rip involuntarily
to do the same, when, to his astonishment, he found his beard had
grown a foot long !
12. He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of
strange children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and pointing
at his gray beard. The dogs, too, not one of which he recognized
for an old acquaintance, barked at him as he passed. The very
village was altered ; it was larger and more populous.
13. There were rows of houses which he had never seen before ;.
1 72 SELECTIONS
and those which had been his familiar haunts had disappeared.
Strange names were over the doors ; strange faces at the windows ;
everything was strange. His mind now misgave him ; he began
to doubt whether both he and the world around him were not be-
witched.
14. Surely this was his native village, which he had left but a
day before. There stood the Catskill Mountains ; there ran the
silver Hudson at a distance ; there was every hill and dale precisely
as it had always been. Rip was sorely perplexed. " That flagon
last night," thought he, " has addled my poor head sadly ! "
15. It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his own
house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting every mo-
ment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He found the
house gone to decay ; the roof fallen in, the windows shattered,
and the doors off the hinges.
1 6. A half-starved dog, that looked like Wolf, was skulking
about it. Rip called him by name ; but the cur snarled, showed his
teeth, and passed on. This was an unkind cut indeed. '* My very
dog," sighed poor Rip, " has forgotten me ! "
17. He entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame Van
Winkle had always kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn, and
apparently abandoned. This desolateness overcame all his con-
nubial fears. He called loudly for his wife and children. The
lonely chambers rang for a moment with his voice, and then all
again was silence.
RIP VAN WINKLE'S AWAKENING.
PART II
18. HE now hurried forth and hastened to his old resort, the
village inn ; but it, too, was gone. A large, rickety wooden building
stood in its place, with great gaping windows, some of them
RIP VAN WINKLES AWAKENING 173
broken, and mended with old hats and petticoats; and over the
door was painted, ** The Union Hotel, by Jonathan Doolittle."
19. Instead of the great tree that used to shelter the quiet little
Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared a tall, naked pole, with
something on the top that looked like a red night-cap ; and from it
was fluttering a flag, on which was a singular assemblage of stars
and stripes. All this was strange and incomprehensible.
20. He recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of King
George, under which he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe ; but
even this was singularly metamorphosed. The red coat was
changed for one of blue and buff; a sword was held in the hand
instead of a sceptre ; the head was decorated with a cocked
hat; and underneath was painted in large characters, GENERAL
WASHINGTON.
21. There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but
none that Rip recollected. The very character of the people
seemed changed. There was a busy, bustling, disputatious tone
about it, instead of the accustomed phlegm and drowsy tranquillity.
He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas Vedder, with his broad
face, double chin, and fair, long pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco
smoke instead of idle speeches ; or Van Bummel, the schoolmaster,
doling forth the contents of an ancient newspaper.
22. In place of these, a lean, bilious-looking fellow, with his
pockets full of hand-bills, was haranguing vehemently about rights
of citizens election members of Congress liberty Bunker's
Hill heroes of seventy-six and other words that were a perfect
jargon to the bewildered Van Winkle.
23. The appearance of Rip with his long, grizzled beard, his
rusty fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and the army of women and
children that had gathered at his heels, soon attracted the attention
of the tavern politicians.
24. They crowded round him, eying him from head to foot
with great curiosity. The orator bustled up to him, and drawing
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him partly aside, inquired "on which side he voted." Rip started
in vacant stupidity.
25. Another short but busy little fellow pulled him by the arm,
and rising on tiptoe, inquired in his ear whether he was Federal or
Democrat.
26. Rip was equally at a loss to comprehend this question ; when
a knowing, self-important old gentleman in a sharp cocked hat
made his way through the crowd, putting them to the right and the
left with his elbows as he passed ; and planting himself before Van
Winkle, with one arm a-kimbo, the other resting on his cane, his
keen eyes and sharp hat penetrating as it were into his very soul,
demanded, in an austere tone, what brought him to the election
with a gun on his shoulder, and a mob at his heels, and whether
he meant to breed a riot in the village.
27. " Alas ! gentlemen," cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, " I am
a poor, quiet man, a native of the place, and a loyal subject of the
king, God bless him ! "
28. Here a general shout burst from the by-standers, " A tory !
a tory ! a spy ! a refugee ! hustle him ! away with him ! " It was
with great difficulty that the self-important man in the cocked hat
restored order ; and having assumed a tenfold austerity of brow,
demanded again of the unknown culprit what he came there for,
and whom he was seeking.
29. The poor man humbly assured him that he meant no harm,
but merely came there in search of some of his neighbors who used
to keep about the tavern.
30. " Well, who are they? Name them." Rip bethought him-
self a moment, and inquired, " Where is Nicholas Vedder?"
31. There was silence for a little while, when an old man replied,
in a thin, piping voice, " Nicholas Vedder? why he is dead and
gone these eighteen years ! There was a wooden tombstone in the
church-yard that used to tell about him, but that is rotten and gone
too."
RIP VAN WINKLES AWAKENING 175
32. "Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?" "He went
off to the wars, was a great militia general, and is now in Con-
gress."
33. Rip's heart died away at hearing of these sad changes in his
home and friends, and finding himself thus alone in the world.
Every answer puzzled him, too, by treating of such enormous
lapses of time, and of matters which he could not understand.
War Congress ! he had no courage to ask after any more of
his friends, but cried out in despair, * Does nobody here know
Rip Van Winkle?"
34. "Oh, Rip Van Winkle! " exclaimed two or three, "oh, to
be sure ! that is Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree."
35. Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself as he
went up to the mountain ; apparently as lazy, and certainly as
ragged. The poor fellow was now completely confounded. He
doubted his own identity, and whether he was himself or another
man. In the midst of his bewilderment the man in the cocked
hat demanded who he was, and what was his name.
36. "God knows!" exclaimed he, at his wit's end; "I'm not
myself I'm somebody else that's me yonder no that's
somebody else, got into my shoes I was myself last night, but I
fell asleep on the mountain, and they've changed my gun, and
everything's changed, and I'm changed, and I can't tell what's my
name, or who I am ! "
37. The by-standers now began to look at each other, nod, wink
significantly, and tap their fingers against their foreheads. There
was a whisper, also, about securing the gun, and keeping the old
fellow from doing mischief; at the very suggestion of which the self-
important man with the cocked hat retired with some precipitation.
38. At this critical moment, a fresh, comely woman passed
through the throng to get a peep at the gray-bearded man. She
had a chubby child in her arms, which, frightened at his looks,
began to cry. " Hush, Rip," cried she ; " hush, you little fool ; the
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old man will not hurt you." The name of the child, the air of the
mother, the tone of her voice, all awakened a train of recollections
in his mind.
39. "What is your name, my good woman?" asked he.
"Judith Gardener." " And your father's name ? "
40. " Ah, poor man, his name was Rip Van Winkle. It is twenty
years since he went away from home with his gun, and never has
been heard of since. His dog came home without him ; but whether
he shot himself, or was carried away by the Indians, nobody can
tell. I was then but a little girl."
41 . Rip had but one question more to ask, but he put it with a
faltering voice: " Where is your mother?" " Oh, she, too, had
died but a short time since; she broke a blood-vessel in a fit of
passion at a New England pedler."
42. There was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intelligence.
The honest man could contain himself no longer. He caught his
daughter and her child in his arms. " I am your father ! " cried he ;
" young Rip Van Winkle once old Rip Van Winkle now ! Does
nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle? "
43. All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out from
among the crowd, put her hand to her brow, and, peering under it
in his face for a moment, exclaimed, " Sure enough ! it is Rip Van
Winkle it is himself. Welcome home again, old neighbor.
Why, where have you been these twenty long years ? "
44. Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had
been to him but as one night. The neighbors stared when they
heard it; some were seen to wink at each other, and put their
tongues in their cheeks ; and the self-important man in the cocked
hat, who, when the alarm was over, had returned to the field,
screwed down the corners of his mouth, and shook his head ; upon
which there was a general shaking of the heads throughout the
assemblage.
TOM PINCH S JOURNEY TO LONDON I//
TOM PINCH'S JOURNEY TO LONDON.
CHARLES DICKENS.
1. IT might have confused a less modest man than Tom Pinch
to find himself sitting next that coachman ; for, of all the swells
that ever flourished a whip professionally, he might have been
elected emperor. He did not handle his gloves like another man,
but put them on even when he was standing on the pavement,
quite detached from the coach as if the four grays were, some-
how or other, at the ends of his fingers.
2. It was the same with his hat. He did things with his hat
which nothing but an unlimited knowledge of horses, and the
wildest freedom of the road, could ever have made him perfect in.
Valuable little parcels were brought to him with particular instruc-
tions, and he pitched them into his hat, and stuck it on again, as
if the laws of gravity did not admit of such an event as its being
knocked off or blown off, and nothing like an accident could befall it.
3. The guard, too ! Seventy breezy miles a day were written in
his very whiskers. His manners were a canter ; his conversation a
round trot. He was a fast coach upon a down-hill turnpike-road;
he was all pace. A wagon could not have moved slowly with that
guard and his key-bugle upon the top of it.
4. These were all foreshadowings of London, Tom thought, as
he sat upon the box and looked about him. Such a coachman and
such a guard never could have existed between Salisbury and any
other place. The coach was none of your steady-going coaches,
but a swaggering, dissipated London coach ; up all night, and lying
by all day.
5. It cared no more for Salisbury than if it had been a hamlet.
It rattled noisily through the best streets, defied the cathedral, took
the worst corners sharpest, went cutting in everywhere, making
everything get out of its way, and spun along the open country
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road, blowing a lively defiance out of its key-bugle, as its last part-
ing legacy.
6. It was a charming evening, mild and bright. Tom could not
resist the captivating sense of rapid motion through the pleasant
air. The four grays skimmed along as if they liked it quite as well
as Tom did ; the bugle was in as high spirits as the grays ; the
coachman chimed in sometimes with his voice ; the wheels hummed
cheerfully in unison ; the brass work on the harness was an orches-
tra of little bells ; and thus as they went clinking, jingling, rattling
smoothly on, the whole concern, from the buckles of the leaders'
coupling-reins to the handle of the hind boot, was one great instru-
ment of music.
7. Yoho ! past hedges, gates, and trees ; past cottages and barns
and people going home from work. Yoho! past donkey-chaises
drawn aside into the ditch, and empty carts with rampant horses,
whipped up at a bound upon the little water-course, and held by
struggling carters close to the five-barred gate, until the coach had
passed the narrow turning in the road.
8. Yoho ! by churches dropped down by themselves in quiet
nooks, with rustic burying-grounds about them, where the graves
are green, and daisies sleep for it is evening on the bosom of
the dead.
9. Yoho ! past streams in which the cattle cool their feet, and
where the rushes grow ; past paddock-fences, farms, and rick-yards ;
past last year's stacks, cut slice by slice away, and showing in the
waning light like ruined gables, old and brown. Yoho ! down the
pebbly dip and through the merry water-splash ; and up at a canter
to the level road again.
10. Away with four fresh horses from the Bald-faced Stag, where
topers congregate about the door admiring ; and the last team, with
traces hanging loose, go roaming off toward the pond, until ob-
served and shouted after by a dozen throats, while volunteering
boys pursue them. Now, with a clattering of hoofs and striking
THE CLOUD 179
out of fiery sparks, across the old stone bridge, and down again
into the shadowy road, and through the open gate, and far away,
away into the wold. Yoho !
u. See the bright moon ! High up before we know it ; making
the earth reflect the objects on its breast like water. Hedges,
trees, low cottages, church-steeples, blighted stumps, and flourish-
ing young slips have all grown vain upon the sudden, and mean to
contemplate their own fair images till morning. The poplars yon-
der rustle, that their quivering leaves may see themselves upon
the ground. Not so the oak; trembling does not become him;
and he watches himself in his stout old burly steadfastness, with-
out the motion of a twig.
12. The beauty of the night is hardly felt when day comes leap-
ing up. Yoho ! past market-gardens, rows of houses, villas, ter-
races, and squares ; past wagons, coaches, and carts ; past early
workmen, late stragglers, drunken men, and sober carriers of loads ;
past brick and mortar in its every shape, and in among the rattling
pavements, where a jaunty seat upon a coach is not so easy to pre-
serve. Yoho ! down countless turnings, until an old inn yard is
gained; and Tom Pinch, getting down quite stunned and giddy, is
in London.
THE CLOUD.
PERCY B. SHBLLKY.
I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams ;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun.
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I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under ;
And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.
I sift the snow on the mountains below,
And their great pines groan aghast ;
And all the night 'tis my pillow white,
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers,
Lightning, my pilot, sits ;
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,
It struggles and howls at fits ;
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by the love of the genii that move
In the depths of the purple sea ;
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,
Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains ;
And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile,
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.
The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes,
And his burning plumes outspread,
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,
When the morning star shines dead,
As on the jag of a mountain crag,
Which an earthquake rocks and swings,
An eagle alit one moment may sit
In the light of its golden wings.
And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,
Its ardors of rest and of love,
And the crimson pall of eve may fall
From the depth of heaven above,
With wings folded I rest on mine airy nest,
As still as a brooding dove.
THE CLOUD . l8l
That orbed maiden, with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the moon,
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn ;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer.
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.
I find the sun's throne with a burning zone,
And the moon's with a girdle of pearl ;
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim,
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl,
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,
The mountains its columns be.
The triumphal arch through which I march,
With hurricane, fire, and snow,
When the powers of the air are chained to my chair,
Is the million-colored bow ;
The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove,
While the moist earth was laughing below.
I am the daughter of earth and water,
And the nursling of the sky ;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores ;
I change, but I cannot die.
For after the rain, when with never a stain
The pavilion of heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air,
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I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.
PUBLIC DISHONESTY.
HBNRY WARD BHECHER.
A CORRUPT public sentiment produces dishonesty. A public sen-
timent in which dishonesty is not disgraceful, in which bad men are
respectable, are trusted, are honored, are exalted, is a curse to the
young. The fever of speculation, the universal derangement of
business, the growing laxness of morals, is, to an alarming extent,
introducing such a state of things.
If the shocking stupidity of the public mind to atrocious dis-
honesties is not aroused ; if good men do not bestir themselves to
drag the young from this foul sorcery; if the relaxed bands of
honesty are not tightened, and conscience tutored to a severer
morality, our night is at hand, our midnight not far off. Woe
to that guilty people who sit down upon broken laws, and wealth
saved by injustice ! Woe to a generation fed by the bread of fraud,
whose children's inheritance shall be a perpetual memento of their
fathers' unrighteousness ; to whom dishonesty shall be made pleas-
ant by association with the revered memories of father, brother,
and friend !
But when a wnole people, united by a common disregard of jus-
tice, conspire to defraud public creditors ; and States vie with
States in an infamous repudiation of just debts, by open or sinister
methods ; and nations exert their sovereignty to protect and dignify
the knavery of the Commonwealth ; then the confusion of domestic
affairs has bred a fiend, before whose flight honor fades away, and
under whose feet the sanctity of truth and the religion of solemn
compacts are stamped down and ground into the dirt. Need we
PUBLIC DISHONESTY 13
ask the cause of growing dishonesty among the young, the increas-
ing untrustworthiness of all agents, when States are seen clothed
with the panoply of dishonesty, and nations put on fraud for their
garments ?
Absconding agents, swindling schemes, and defalcations, occur-
ring in such melancholy abundance, have at length ceased to be
wonders, and rank with the common accidents of fire and flood.
The budget of each week is incomplete without its mob and run-
away cashier, its duel and defaulter ; and as waves which roll to
the shore are lost in those which follow on, so the villanies of each
week obliterate the record of the last.
Men of notorious immorality, whose dishonesty is flagrant,
whose private habits would disgrace the ditch, are powerful and
popular. I have seen a man stained with every sin, except those
which required courage ; into whose head I do not think a pure
thought has entered for forty years ; into whose heart an honorable
feeling would droop for very loneliness ; in evil he was ripe and
rotten ; hoary and depraved in deed, in word, in his present life,
and in all his past ; evil when by himself, and viler among men ;
corrupting to the young ; to domestic fidelity, a recreant ; to com-
mon honor, a traitor ; to honesty, an outlaw ; to religion, a hypo-
crite ; base in all that is worthy of man, and accomplished in
whatever is disgraceful ; and yet this wretch could go where he
would ; enter good men's dwellings, and purloin their votes. Men
would curse him, yet obey him ; hate him, and assist him ; warn
their sons against him, and lead them to the polls for him. A
public sentiment which produces ignominious knaves cannot breed
honest men.
We have not yet emerged from a period in which debts are in-
secure ; the debtor legally protected against the rights of the credi-
tor ; taxes laid, not by the requirements of justice, but for political
effect, and lowered to a dishonest inefficiency; and when thus
diminished, not collected ; the citizens resisting their own officers ;
184 SELECTIONS
officers resigning at the bidding of the electors ; the laws of prop-
erty paralyzed ; bankrupt laws built up ; and stay-laws unconstitu-
tionally enacted, upon which the courts look with aversion, yet
fear to deny them, lest the wildness of popular opinion should roll
back disdainfully upon the bench, to despoil its dignity, and pros-
trate its power. General suffering has made us tolerant of general
dishonesty ; and the gloom of our commercial disaster threatens
to become the pall of our morals.
ELOQUENCE.
WEBSTEK.
WHEN public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occa-
sions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited,
nothing is valuable in speech further than it is connected with high
intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnest-
ness are the qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence,
indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from
afar. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain.
Words and phrases may be marshalled in every way, but they can-
not compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in
the occasion. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of
declamation, all may aspire after it; they cannot reach it. It
comes, if it comes at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the
earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous,
original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly
ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust
men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their chil-
dren, and their country, hang on the decision of the hour. Then
words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate ora-
tory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked and sub-
dued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then patriotism is
eloquent; then self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception,
s
outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm re-
solve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from
the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward,
right onward to his object, this, this is Eloquence, or rather it is
something greater and higher than all eloquence, it is Action,
noble, sublime, God-like Action.
THE ORATOR'S ART.
J. Q. ADAMS.
THE eloquence of the college is like the discipline of a review.
The art of war, we are all sensible, does not consist in manoeuvres
on a training-day ; nor the steadfastness of the soldier in the hour
of battle, in the drilling of his orderly sergeant. Yet the superior
excellence of the veteran army is exemplified in nothing more for-
cibly than in the perfection of its discipline. It is in the heat of
action, upon the field of blood, that the fortune of the day may be
decided by the exactness of manual exercise ; and the art of display-
ing a column, or directing a charge, may turn the balance of vic-
tory, and change the history of the world. The application of these
observations is as direct to the art of oratory as to that of war.
The exercises to which you are here accustomed are not intended
merely for the display of the talents you have acquired. They are
instruments put into your hands for future use. Their object is not
barely to prepare you for the composition and delivery of an ora-
tion to amuse an idle hour on some public anniversary. It is to
give you a clew for the labyrinth of legislation in the public coun-
cils ; a spear for the conflict of judicial war in the public tribunals ;
a sword for the field of religious and moral victory in the pulpit.
1 86 SELECTIONS
FROM HENRY V.
SHAKXSPBARB.
ONCE more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness, and humility ;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger ;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favor'd rage :
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ;
Let it pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
SwilTd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To his full height.
HERVE RIEL.
ROBERT BROWNING.
PART I.
i.
ON the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two,
Did the English fight the French woe to France !
And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue,
Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue,
Came crowding ship on ship to St. Mal6 on the Ranee,
With the English fleet in view.
n.
'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase.
First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville ;
HERVE KIEL 187
Close on him fled, great and small,
Twenty-two good ships in all ;
And they signalled to the place,
" Help the winners of a race !
Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick or, quicker still
Here's the English can and will ! "
in.
Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leaped on board ;
"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?"
laughed they ;
" Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and
scored,
Shall the ' Formidable ' here, with her twelve and eighty guns,
Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way,
Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons,
And with flow at full beside ?
Now 't is slackest ebb of tide.
Reach the mooring? Rather say,
While rock stands or water runs,
Not a ship will leave the bay ! "
rv.
Then was called a council straight ;
Brief and bitter the debate ;
" Here's the English at our heels ; would you have them take in tow
All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow,
For a prize to Plymouth sound?
Better run the ships aground ! "
(Ended Damfreville his speech,)
" Not a minute more to wait !
Let the captains all and each
Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach !
France must undergo her fate."
v.
" Give the word ! " But no such word
Was ever spoke or heard ;
For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these
A captain? A lieutenant? A mate first, second, third?
1 88 SELECTIONS
No such man of mark, and meet
With his betters to compete ?
But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet
A poor coasting pilot he, Herve Kiel, the Croisickese.
VI.
And " What mockery or malice have we here ?" cries Herv6 Kiel ;
"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or
rogues ?
Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell
On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell,
'Twixt the offing here and Greve, where the river disembogues ?
Are you bought by English gold? Is it loVe the lying's for?
Morn and eve, night and day,
Have I piloted your bay,
Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor.
Burn the fleet, and ruin France? That were worse than fifty
Hogues !
Sirs, they know I speak the truth ! Sirs, believe me there's a
way!
VTI.
" Only let me lead the line,
Have the biggest ship to steer,
Get this ' Formidable ' clear,
Make the others follow mine,
And I lead them most and least by a passage I know well,
Right to Solidor, past Greve,
And there lay them safe and sound ;
And if one ship misbehave
Keel so much as grate the ground
Why, I've nothing but my life ; here's my head ! " cries Hervd Kiel.
VIII.
Not a minute more to wait !
" Steer us in, then, small and great !
Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron ! " cried its chief.
" Captains, give the sailor place !
He is admiral, in brief."
HERVE KIEL 189
Still the north wind, by God's grace ;
See the noble fellow's face
As the big ship, with a bound,
Clears the entry like a hound,
Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wiae seas profound !
IX.
See, safe through shoal and rock,
How they follow in a flock !
Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground,
Not a spar that comes to grief!
The peril, see, is past,
All are harbored to the last,
And just as Herve' Kiel hollas, " Anchor! " sure as fate,
Up the English come, too late.
PART II.
So the storm subsides to calm ;
They see the green trees wave
On the heights o'erlooking Greve ;
Hearts that bled are stanched with balm,
" Just our rapture to enhance,
Let the English rake the bay,
Gnash their teeth and glare askance
As they cannonade away !
'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Ranee ! "
Now hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance !
ii.
Outburst all with one accord,
" This is Paradise for hell !
Let France, let France's king,
Thank the man that did the thing ! "
What a shout, and all one word,
Kiel!"
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As he stepped in front once more,
Not a symptom of surprise
In the frank blue Breton eyes
Just the same man as before.
ill.
Then said Damfreville : " My friend,
I must speak out at the end,
Though I find the speaking hard ;
Praise is deeper than the lips ;
You have saved the king his ships,
You must name your own reward.
Faith, our sun was near eclipse !
Demand whate'er you will,
France remains your debtor still.
Ask to heart's content, and have ! or my name's not Damfreville."
IV.
Then a beam of fun outbroke
On the bearded mouth that spoke,
As the honest heart laughed through
Those frank eyes of Breton blue :
" Since I needs must say my say,
Since on board the duty's done,
And from Mal6 Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?
Since 'tis ask and have, I may
Since the others go ashore
Come ! A good old holiday !
Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore ! "
That he asked ; and that he got nothing more-
v.
Name and deed alike are lost ;
Not a pillar nor a post
In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell ;
Not a head in white and black
On a single fishing-smack,
In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack
All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the
bell.
HAMLET'S ADVICE TO THE PLAYERS 191
VI.
Go to Paris ; rank on rank
Search the heroes flung pell-mell
On the Louvre, face and flank ;
You shall look long enough ere you come to Herve Kiel.
So, for better and for worse,
Herve Kiel, accept my verse !
In my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more
Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife the Belle Aurore !
HAMLET'S ADVICE TO THE PLAYERS.
SHAKBSPKARX.
SPEAK the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trip-
pingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our players
do, I had as lief the town-crier had spoken my lines. And do not
saw the air too much with your hands, but use all gently ; for, in
the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your
passion, you must beget a temperance that will give it smoothness.
Oh ! it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious, periwig-pated
fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the
groundlings ; who (for the most part) are capable of nothing but
inexplicable dumb-shows and noise. Pray you avoid it.
Be not too tame, either ; but let your own discretion be your
tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with
this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of
nature ; for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing ;
whose end is, to hold, as it were, the mirror up to nature ; to show
virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and
body of the times, their form and pressure. Now, this overdone,
or come tardy oif, though it may make the unskilful laugh, cannot
but make the judicious grieve ; the censure of one of which must,
in your allowance, overweigh a whole theatre of others. Oh ! there
are players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that,
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highly, not to speak it profanely, who, having neither the ac-
cent of Christian, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have
so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's jour-
neymen had made men, and not made them well ; they imitated
humanity so abominably.
OTHELLO'S DEFENCE.
SHAKBSFXARX.
I.
MOST potent, grave, and reverend signiors,
My very noble and approved good masters,
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true ; true, I have married her :
The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent, no more.
n.
Rude am I in speech,
And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace :
For since these arms of mine hath seven years' pith,
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used
Their dearest action in the tented field,
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle,
And therefore little shall I grace my cause
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver,
Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what charms,
What conjuration and what mighty magic,
For such proceedings I am charged withal,
I won his daughter with.
Her father loved me ; oft invited me ;
Still question'd me the story of my life,
From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have pass'd.
OTHELLO S DEFENCE
I ran it through, even from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it ;
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field,
Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach,
Of being taken by the insolent foe
And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence
And with it all my travels' history.
IV.
These things to hear
Would Desdemona seriously incline :
But still the house-affairs would draw her thence :
Which ever as she could with haste despatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse : which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not intentively.
v.
I did consent,
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs :
She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange,
'T was pitiful, 't was wondrous pitiful :
She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd
That heaven had made her such a man :
VI.
She thank'd me,
And bade me if I had a friend that loved her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake :
She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,
And I loved her that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have used. .
194 SELECTIONS
THE SCHOLAR IN A REPUBLIC.
WBNDKLL PHILLIPS.
This extract is taken from the oration before the Phi Beta Kappa of Harvard
^College.
STANDING on Saxon foundations, and inspired, perhaps, in some
degree, by Latin example, we have done what no race, no nation,
no age, had before dared even to try. We have founded a republic
on the unlimited suffrage of the millions. We have actually worked
out the problem that man, as God created him, may be trusted with
self-government. We have shown the world that a church with-
out a bishop, and a state without a king, is an actual, real, everyday
possibility. . . .
We have not only established a new measure of the possibilities
of the race : we have laid on strength, wisdom, and skill, a new re-
sponsibility. Grant that each man's relations to God and his
n eighbor are exclusively his own concern, and that he is entitled
to all the aid that will make him the best judge of these relations ;
that the people are the source of all power, and their measureless
capacity the lever of all progress ; their sense of right the court of
final appeal in civil affairs ; the institutions they create the only
ones any power has a right to impose ; that the attempt of one class
to prescribe the law, the religion, the morals, or the trade of an-
other is both unjust and harmful, and the Wycliffe and Jefferson
of history mean this if they mean anything, then, when, in 1867,
Parliament doubled the English franchise, Robert Lowe was right
in affirming, amid the cheers of the House, " Now the first interest
and duty of every Englishman is to educate the masses our
masters." Then, whoever sees farther than his neighbor is that
neighbor's servant to lift him to such higher level. Then, power,
ability, influence, character, virtue, are only trusts with which to
serve our time.
We all agree in the duty of scholars to help those less favored
THE SCHOLAR IN A REPUBLIC IQ5
in life, and that this duty of scholars to educate the mass is still
more imperative in a republic, since a republic trusts the State
wholly to the intelligence and moral sense of the people. The
experience of the last forty years shows every man that law has no
atom of strength, either in Boston or New Orleans, unless, and
only so far as, public opinion endorses it ; and that your life, goods,
and good name rest on the moral sense, self-respect, and law-abid-
ing mood of the men that walk the streets, and hardly a whit on
the provisions of the statute book. Come, any one of you, out-
side of the ranks of popular men, and you will not fail to find it so.
Easy men dream that we live under a government of law. Absurd
mistake ! We live under a government of men and newspapers.
Your first attempt to stem dominant and keenly cherished opinions
will reveal this to you.
But what is education? Of course it is not book-learning.
Book-learning does not make five per cent of that mass of common
sense that "runs" the world, transacts its business, secures its
progress, trebles its power over nature, works out in the long run
a rough, average justice, wears away the world's restraints, and
lifts off its burdens. The ideal Yankee, who " has more brains in
his hand than others have in their skulls," is not a scholar ; and
two thirds of the inventions that enable France to double the
world's sunshine, and make Old and New England the workshops
of the world, did not come from colleges or from minds trained in
the schools of science, but struggled up, forcing their way against
giant obstacles, from the irrepressible instinct of untrained natural
power. Her workshops, not her colleges, made England, for a
while, the mistress of the world ; and the hardest job her workman
had was to make Oxford willing he should work his wonders. . . .
I urge on college-bred men, that, as a class, they fail in republi-
can duty when they allow others to lead in the agitation of the
great social questions which stir and educate the age. Agitation is
an old word with a new meaning. Sir Robert Peel, the first Eng-
196 SELECTIONS
lish leader who felt himself its tool, defined it to be " marshalling
the conscience of a nation to mould its laws." Its means are
reason and argument, no appeal to arms. Wait patiently for the
growth of public opinion. That secured, then every step taken is
taken forever. An abuse once removed never reappears in history.
The freer a nation becomes, the more utterly democratic in its form,
the more need of this outside agitation. Parties and sects laden
with the burden of securing their own success cannot afford to risk
new ideas. " Predominant opinions," said Disraeli, *' are the
opinions of a class that is vanishing." The agitator must stand
outside of organizations, with no bread to earn, no candidate to
elect, no party to save, no object but truth, to tear a question
open, and riddle it with light. . . .
Let us inaugurate a new departure, recognize that we are afloat
on the current of Niagara, eternal vigilance the condition of our
safety, that we are irrevocably pledged to the world not to go
back to bolts and bars, could not if we would, and would not if
we could. Never again be ours the fastidious scholarship that
shrinks from rude contact with the masses. Very pleasant it is to
sit high up in the world's theatre and criticise the ungraceful strug-
gles of the gladiators, shrug one's shoulders at the actor's harsh
cries, and let every one know that but for " this villainous saltpetre
you would yourself have been a soldier." But Bacon says, "In the
theatre of man's life, God and his angels only should be lookers-
on." Sin is not taken out of man as Eve was out of Adam, by put-
ting him to sleep. " Very beautiful," says Richter, " is the eagle
when he floats with outstretched wings aloft in the clear blue ; but
sublime when he plunges down through the tempest to his eyrie
on the cliff, where his unfledged young ones dwell and are star-
ving." If the Alps, piled in cold and silence, be the emblem of
despotism, we joyfully take the ever-restless ocean for ours,
only pure because never still. . . .
To be as good as our fathers, we must be better. They silenced
THE PROBLEM OF THE NEW SOUTH 197
their fears and subdued their prejudices, inaugurating free speech
and equality with no precedent on the file. Europe shouted,
"Madmen! "and gave us forty years for the shipwreck. With
serene faith they persevered. Let us rise to their level. Crush
appetite and prohibit temptation if it rots great cities. Intrench
labor in sufficient bulwarks against that wealth, which, without the
tenfold strength of modern incorporation, wrecked the Grecian and
Roman States ; and, with a sterner effort still, summon women into
civil life as re-enforcement to our laboring ranks in the effort to
make our civilization a success.
THE PROBLEM OF THE NEW SOUTH.
H. W. GRADY.
This extract is taken from Mr. Grady's speech before the Merchants' Association
of Boston, December, 1889. (By permission of Cassell Pub. Co., N.Y.)
MY people, your brothers in the South brothers in blood, in
destiny, in all that is best in our past and future are so beset
with this problem that their very existence depends upon the right
solution. Nor are they wholly to blame for its presence. The
slave-ships of the Republic sailed from your ports the slaves
worked in our fields. You will not defend the traffic, nor I the
institution. But I do hereby declare that in its wise and humane
administration in lifting the slave to heights of which he had not
dreamed in savage home, and giving him a happiness he had not
found in freedom, our fathers left their sons an excellent heritage.
In the stress of war, this institution was lost. I thank God as
heartily as you do that human slavery is gone forever from Ameri-
can soil. But the freedman remains with him, a problem with-
out precedent or parallel. Note the appalling conditions. Two
utterly dissimilar races on the same soil, with equal political rights,
almost equal in numbers, but terribly unequal in intellect and re-
sponsibility ; each pledged against fusion one for a century in
198 SELECTIONS
servitude to the other, and freed at last by a destructive war ; the
experiment sought by neither, but approached by both with doubt
these are the conditions. Under these, adverse at every point,
we are requested to carry these two races in peace and honor to the
end.
Never, sir, has such a task been given to mortal stewardship.
Never before in this Republic has the white race divided on the
rights of an alien race. The red man was cut down as a weed,
because he hindered the way of the American citizen. The yellow
man was shut out of this Republic because he was an alien and
inferior. The red man was owner of the land, the yellow man
highly civilized and assimilable ; but they hindered both sections,
and they are gone. But the black man, affecting but one section,
is clothed with every privilege of government, and pinned to the
soil, and my people commanded to make good at any hazard, and
at any cost, his full and equal heirship of American privilege and
prosperity.
It matters not that every other race has been routed, or ex-
cluded, without rhyme or reason. It matters not that wherever the
whites and blacks have touched in any era or in any clime, there
has been irreconcilable violence. It matters not that no two races,
however similar, have lived anywhere at any time on the same soil
with equal right in peace ! In spite of these things, we are com-
manded to make this change of American policy, which has not,
perhaps, changed American prejudice. . . . We do not shrink from
this trial. . . . The love we feel for that race, you can't measure
nor comprehend. As I attest it here, the spirit of my old black
mammy from her home up there looks down to bless ; and through
the tumult of this night steals the sweet music of her croonings, as
thirty years ago she held me in her black arms and led me smiling
into sleep. This scene vanishes as I speak, and I catch the vision
of an old Southern home with its lofty pillars and its white pigeons
fluttering down through the golden sunshine. I see a woman with
THE PROBLEM OF THE NEW SOUTH 199
strained and anxious face, and children alert, yet helpless. I see
night come down with its dangers and its apprehensions ; and in a
big homely room, I feel on my tired head the touch of loving
hands now worn and wrinkled, but fairer to me yet than hands of
mortal woman, and stronger yet to lead than hand of man as
they lay a mother's blessing there while at her knees the truest
altar I yet have found. I thank God she is safe in her sanctuary ;
because her slaves, sentinel in the silent cabin, or guard at her
chamber door, put a black man's loyalty between her and danger.
I catch another vision the cries of battle, a soldier struck,
staggering, fallen. I see a slave scuffling through the smoke, wind-
ing his black arms about the fallen form, reckless of the hurtling
death ; bending his trusty face to catch the words that tremble on
the stricken lips ; so wrestling meantime with agony that he would
lay down his life in his master's stead. I see him by the weary
bedside ministering with uncomplaining patience, praying with all
his humble heart that God will lift his master up, until death comes
in mercy and in honor to still the soldier's agony and seal the
soldier's life. I see him by the open grave, mute, motionless, un-
covered, suffering for the death of him who in life fought against
freedom. I see him when the mound is heaped, and the great
drama of his life is closed, turn away; and with downcast eyes and
uncertain step, start out into new and strange fields, faltering, sigh-
ing, but moving on until his shambling figure is lost in the light
of this brighter and better day. And from the grave comes a
voice, saying, " Follow him ! Put your arms about him in his
need, even as he put his arm about me. Be his friend as he was
mine ! " And out into the new world, strange to me as to him,
dazzled, bewildered both I follow. And may God forget my
people when they forget these !
2OO SELECTIONS
THE SCHOLAR IN POLITICS.
GEORGH WILLIAM CURTIS.
Inserted by permission of Harper Bros., N. Y.
EVERY educated man is aware ofr a profound popular distrust of
the courage and sagacity of the educated class. " Franklin and
Lincoln are good enough for us," exclaims this jealous scepticism ;
as if Franklin and Lincoln did not laboriously repair by vigorous
study the want of early opportunity. The scholar is denounced
as a coward. Humanity falls among thieves, we are told ; and the
college Levite, the educated Pharisee, passes by on the other side.
Gentlemen, is this humiliating arraignment true? does the edu-
cated class of America deserve this condemnation? Here in
America, undoubtedly New England has inspired and moulded our
national life. But if New England has led the Union, what has
led New England? Her scholarly class. Her educated men. And
our Roger Williams gave the keynote. ** He has broached and
divulged new and dangerous opinions against the authority of
magistrates," said Massachusetts, as she banished him. A century
later his dangerous opinions had captured Massachusetts. Young
Sam Adams, taking his Master's degree at Cambridge, argued that it
was lawful to resist the supreme magistrate, if the State could not
otherwise be preserved. Seven years afterwards, Jonathan May hew
preached in Boston the famous sermon which Thornton called the
morning gun of the Revolution, applying to the political situation
the principles of Roger Williams. The New England pulpit echoed
and re-echoed that morning gun; and twenty-five years later its
warning broke into the rattle of musketry at Lexington and Con-
cord and the glorious thunder of Bunker Hill.
It was a son of Harvard, James Otis, who proposed the assem-
bly of an American Congress, without asking the King's leave. It
was a son of Yale, John Morin Scott, who declared that if taxa-
THE SCHOLAR IN POLITICS 2OI
tion without representation were to be enforced, the Colonies ought
to separate from England. I do not forget the Virginian tongue-
of-flame, Patrick Henry, or the minute-men at Concord. But
everywhere they were educated men, who, in the pulpit, on the
platform, and through the press, conducted the mighty preliminary
argument of the Revolution, and defended liberty, until at last the
King surrendered to the people, and educated America had saved
constitutional liberty.
Daily the educated class is denounced as impracticable and
visionary. But the Constitution of the United States is the work of
American scholars ; for of the fifty-five members of the Constitu-
tional Convention, thirty-three were graduates. And the eight
leaders of the great debate were all college men.
For nearly a century after, the supreme question of the govern-
ment was the one which Jefferson had raised : "Is the Union a
league or a nation ? " That was a debate which devoured every
other ; and in the tremendous contention, as in the war that fol-
lowed, was the American scholar recreant and dumb? I do not ask
whether the educated or any other class alone maintained the fight.
I make no exclusive claim. But was the great battle fought while
we and our guild stood passive and hostile by?
The slavery agitation began with the moral appeal ; and as in
the dawn of the Revolution, educated America spoke in the bugle-
note of James Otis, so in the anti-slavery agitation, rings out the
clear voice of a son of Otis's college, Wendell Phillips. In Con-
gress, the commanding voice for freedom was that of the most
learned, experienced, and courageous of American statesmen, the
voice of a scholar and an old college professor, John Quincy
Adams. The burning words of Whittier scattered the sacred fire ;
Longfellow and Lowell mingled their songs with his : and Emerson
gave to the cause the loftiest scholarly heart in the Union. When
the national debate was angriest, while others bowed and bent
and broke around him, the form of Charles Sumner stood erect.
2O2 SELECTIONS
" I am only six weeks behind you," said Abraham Lincoln, the
Western frontiersman to the New England scholar; and along
the path that the scholar blazed in the wild wilderness of civil war,
the path of emancipation and the constitutional equality of all citi-
zens, his country followed fast to union, peace, and prosperity.
It would indeed be a sorrowful confession for this day and this
assembly to own that experience proves the air of the college to
be suffocating to generous thought and heroic action. It is the
educated voice of the country which teaches patience in politics,
and strengthens the conscience of the individual citizen, by show-
ing that servility to a majority is as degrading as servility to a
sultan.
Brethren, here on the old altar of fervid faith and boundless anti-
cipation, let us pledge ourselves once more, that as the courage
and energy of educated men fired the morning gun, and led the
contest of the Revolution, founded and framed the Union, and
purifying it as with fire, have maintained the national life to this
hour, so, day by day, we will do our part to lift America above the
slough of mercenary politics and the cunning snares of trade,
steadily forward toward the shining heights, which the hopes of
its nativity foretold.
HYDER ALPS REVENGE.
BURKE.
I. WHEN at length Hyder AH found that he had to do with
men who either would sign no convention, or whom no treaty and
no signature could bind, and who were the determined enemies of
human intercourse itself, he decreed to make the country, pos-
sessed by these incorrigible and predestinated criminals, a memor-
able example to mankind. He resolved, in the gloomy recesses of
a mind capacious of such things, to leave the whole Carnatic an
everlasting monument of vengeance, and to put perpetual desola-
HYDER ALI S REVENGE 20$
tion, as a barrier between him and those against whom the faith
which holds the moral elements of the world together was no pro-
tection.
2. He became at length so confident of his force, so collected in
his might, that he made no secret whatsoever of his dreadful reso-
lution. Having terminated his disputes with every enemy and
every rival, who buried their mutual animosities in their common
detestation against the creditors of the Nabob of Arcot, he drew
from every quarter whatever a savage ferocity could add to his
new rudiments in the art of destruction ; and compounding' all the
materials of fury, havoc, and desolation into one black cloud, he
hung for a while on the declivities of the mountains. Whilst the
authors of all these evils were idly and stupidly gazing on this
menacing meteor, which blackened all their horizon, it suddenly
burst, and poured down the whole of its contents upon the plains
of the Carnatic.
3. Then ensued a scene of woe, the like of which no eye had
seen, no heart conceived, and of which no tongue can adequately
tell. All the horrors of war before known or heard of were mercy
to that new havoc. A storm of universal fire blasted every field,
consumed every house, destroyed every temple. The miserable
inhabitants, flying from their flaming villages, in part were slaugh-
tered ; others, without regard to sex, to age, to the respect of rank
or sacredness of function, fathers torn from children, husbands
from wives, enveloped in a whirlwind of cavalry, and amidst the
goading spears of drivers, and the trampling of pursuing horses,
were swept into captivity in an unknown and hostile land. Those
who were able to evade this tempest fled to the walled cities ; but
escaping from fire, sword, and exile, they fell into the jaws of
famine. For eighteen months, without intermission, this destruc-
tion raged from the gates of Madras to the gates of Tanjore ; and
so completely did these masters of their art, Hyder Ali and his
more ferocious son, absolve themselves of their impious vow, that,
2O4 SELECTIONS
when the British armies traversed, as they did, the Carnatic for
hundreds of miles in all directions, through the whole line of their
march they did not see one man, not one woman, not one child,
not one four-footed beast of any description whatever. One dead,
uniform silence reigned over the whole region.
HAVELOCK'S HIGHLANDERS.
W. BROCK.
THE Highlanders had never fought in that quarter of India
before, and their character was unknown to the foe. Their ad-
vance has been described by spectators as a beautiful illustration
of the power of discipline. With sloped arms and rapid tread,
through the broken and heavy lands, and through the well-directed
fire of artillery and musketry, linked in their unfaltering lines, they
followed their mounted leaders, the mark for many rifles. They
did not pause to fire ; did not even cheer. No sound from them was
heard as that living wall came on and on, to conquer or to die.
Now they are near the village; but the enemies occupy every house,
and from every point a galling fire is poured on them from the heavy
guns. The men lie down till the iron storm passes over. It was
but for a moment. The general gave the word, "Rise up! Ad-
vance ! " and wild cheers rang out from those brave lines, wilder
even than their fatal fire within a hundred yards; and the pipes
sounded the martial pibroch, heard so often as earth's latest music
by dying men. The men sprung up the hill covered by the smoke
of their crushing volley, almost with the speed of their own bullets ;
over, and through all obstacles, the gleaming bayonets advanced.
And then followed those moments of personal struggle, not often
protracted, when the Mahratta learned, too late for life, the power
of the Northern arm. The position was theirs. All that stood
between them and the guns fled the field or was cut down. Gen-
HAVELOCK S HIGHLANDERS
eral Havelock was with his men. Excited by the scene, some
letter-writers say he exclaimed, " Well done, Seventy-eight ! You
shall be my own regiment. Another charge like that will win the
day."
INDEX
Accent, 77.
-(Esthetic, 29, 131.
Alphabetic, 77.
Analysis, 38, 83, 140.
Aphasia, 35.
Associated ideas, 44, 45.
Attention, 28, 37, 38, 68, 69.
Atmosphere, 45, 48, 141 ; drill-room, 53.
Audience, 52, 64, 68.
Bain, Alex., 27.
Beecher, H. W., 3.
Bell, Sir Chas., 117.
Bolton, T. L., 107.
Breathing, kinds of, 94; diaphragmatic,
95 ; controlled, 96.
Chest, enlargement, 93 ; in expression, 126.
Clearness, 27, 31.
Climax, 114.
Communication, 37, 70, 71.
Confidential attitude, 73.
Content, of language, 34, 49.
Conversational delivery, 15, 16, 45, 65.
Consonants, 77, 79.
Control, 56, 60.
Convincing, 50, 101.
Creation, 14, 16, 21, 22.
Darwin, 116.
Declamatory, 15, 29, 65.
Deference, 71.
Deliberation, 66.
DELIVERY, Principles of, 13 ; extempora-
neous, 14 ; matter of, manner of,
17 ; essentials of, 27 ; elements of,
31; sources of, 31; word delivery,
35; manuscript, 35; fluency, 37; dra-
matic power in, 53 ; praxis in, 140.
Delsarte, 100, 119.
Description, 145.
Dialectic tunes, no.
Diaphragm, 93, 95.
Differentiation, 39.
Dramatic, 30.
Drift, 112.
Earnestness, 50, 62.
Ease, 56, 62, 65, 122, 131.
Elegance, 29, 31, 131.
Ellipsis, 42, 142.
Ellis, A. J., 133, 134.
EMOTIONS, mastery of, 21 ; growth of, 46;
Wundt's classification of, 47; moods,
48; passions, 48; emotional atmos-
phere, 48, 141 ; emotional movement,
101; inflection, 103; expression of
(Darwin), 116.
Emphasis, 80.
Enebuske, 136.
Enunciation, 76, 79.
ESSENTIALS OF PUBLIC SPEAKING, 27.
Expression, 15, 18, 21, 35; the chest in,
126; the eye in, 71 ; the feet and legs
in, 127 ; the head in, 129 ; the shoulder
in, 129.
Feelings, control of, 58.
Feelings, tone of, 59.
Foot-groups, 108.
Force, 28, 31.
Fronting the voice, 79, 98.
GESTURE, Darwin's principles of, 116;
Sir Charles Bell's, 117; Wundt's, 118;
subjective, 118; laws of, 119; faults
of, 12 1 ; relaxing for, 122; first series
of, 124; second series of, 121;; the
chest in, 126; the feet and legs in,
127; thehand in, 127; the shoulder
in, 129 ; the head in, 129.
Glottis, stroke of, 98.
Good- will, 72.
Grace, 34, 131.
Grouping or phrasing, 82.
Habit, 61.
Harmony of function, 131.
Hartwell, 136.
Hill, A. S., 28.
Hortatory, 149.
Hypnotism, 70.
207
268
INDEX
Ideas, 37, 41, 44.
Imagination, 22, 43, 157.
Imitative modulation, 115.
Individuality, 21, 22.
Inflection, 103.
Judgment, 40.
Key, 112.
Language, 32, 33 ; social function of, 15.
Lanier, S., 107.
Loudness, 113.
Logical relations, 40, 141.
Macaulay, 40.
Magnetism, 69.
Mcllvain, 33.
Meaning, 35, 41.
Melody of speech, no, ru.
Mental content, 34.
Minor tones, 105, in.
Misconceptions, 34.
Modulation, 115.
Monotone, 103, 105, 112.
Monroe, Dean L. 6., 4.
Moods, 21, 59.
Movement, 145.
Narration, 145.
NEW ELOCUTION, 3.
Newman, J. H., 28.
New idea, 142.
Noise, 64, 88.
Objective treatment, n, 144.
Oratory, 28, 50, 149.
Parentheses, 40.
Pause, 28, 42, 66, 81, 82, 84, 106, 114.
Personality, 22.
Persuasion, 28, 50, 102.
Pharynx, shaping, 97.
Phillips, Wendell, 3-
Phrasing, 82.
Physical development, 136.
Pitch, 80, 82, 100, 103, no.
Placing the voice, 97.
Praxis, 145.
Problems, 17, 20.
Process, predominant and subordinate,
17; complex, 29.
Pronunciation, 132.
Psychology, 3, 107, 116.
Public speaking, 13, 16, 20.
Punctuation, 84.
Quintilian, 28.
Rate, 113.
Reading, distinguished, 13, 14, 16.
Regeneration, 23.
Reserved force, 62.
Rhetoric, 13.
Rhythm, 14, 106, 157.
Rhythmical prose, 108.
Rusk in, John, 33.
Scansion, 107.
SCHEME, 29, 31.
Self -consciousness, 52.
Semitone, 105.
Silence, 44, 66, 106.
Slides, 104.
Soliloquy, 71.
Sound, 88.
SOURCES OF ORATORY, 31, 33.
Speaking, 14.
Specialization of Function, 63.
Spontaneity, 37.
Stress, 112.
Strong talk, 57.
Stage fright, 56; " Stagy," 30.
Subordinate processes, 17, 20.
Subjective treatment, 18, 19, 140.
Sweet, H., 133.
Syllabication, 76.
Sympathy, 72.
Time, 113.
Tones, compound, 89 ; musical, 90; pure,
98; front, 98.
Transition, 66, 83, 142.
Types for praxis, 146, 149, 152, 157.
Unity, 75, 131.
Variety, 15, 65, 74.
Verse, 109.
Vitality, physical, 54.
Voice, good qualities of, 86 ; defects, 91 ;
development, 92 ; support, 93 ; pla-
cing, 97; fronting, 98; kinds of t 99;
types, 101 ; agreeable, 135.
Vowel, moulding, 77 ; list of, 78.
Will, in control, 60.
Word utterance, 35.
Writing, process of, 35.
Wundt, 118.
INDEX TO SELECTIONS IN SHAKESPEARE
I. Hotspur and Vernon. Henry IV., Part I., Act IV., scene i.,
lines 86-136.
II. The Quarrel of Brutus and Cassius. Julius Caesar, Act IV.,
scene iii., lines 1-124.
III. Hamlet's Reflections over Yorick's Skull. Hamlet, Act. V.,
scene i., lines 174-206.
IV. Brutus's Oration. Julius Ccesar, Act III., scene ii., lines 12-48.
V. Antony's Oration. Julius Ccesar, Act III., scene ii., lines 68-
236.
VI. Hamlet to his Mother. Hamlet, Act III., scene iv., lines 53-88.
VII. Macbeth anticipating the Murder of Duncan. Macbeth, Act I.,
scene vii., lines 1-28.
VIII. Falstaff's Description of the Soldiers. Henry IV., Part I., Act
IV., scene ii., lines 12-54.
IX. Polonius's Counsel to Laertes. Hamlet, Act I., scene iii., lines
56-82.
X. Observation on Music. Merchant of Venice, Act V., scene i.,
lines 54-89.
XI. York on Bolingbroke's Reception. King Richard II., Act V.,
scene ii., lines 8-40.
XII. Hotspur to the King. King Henry IV., Part I., Act I., scene
iii., lines 29-69.
XIII. Cordelia's Gratitude to Kent. King Lear, Act IV., scene vii.,
lines 1-99.
XIV. Court Scene. Merchant of Venice, Act IV., scene i., lines
168-262.
XV. The Shepherdess' Welcome. The Winter's Tale, Act IV.,
scene iv., lines 73-128 and 136-151.
XVI. Hamlet's Grief. Hamlet, Act I., scene ii., lines 129-159.
209
210
INDEX
XVII. The Ghost's Revelation. Hamlet ', Act I., scene v., lines 49-92.
XVIII. Hamlet's Description of Man. Hamlet, Act II., scene ii., lines
289-304.
XIX. Hamlet's Soliloquy. Hamlet, Act III., scene i., lines 56-90.
XX. Hamlet on his Hesitancy. Hamlet, Act IV., scene iv., lines
31-66.
XXI. lago on lago. Othello, Act I., scene i., lines 42-66.
XXII. Othello's Welcome to Desdemona. Othello, Act II., scene i.,
lines 179-189.
XXIII. Othello's Resolution. Othello, Act III., scene iii., lines 175-
192.
XXIV. Othello's Reasons for the Murder of Desdemona. Othello, Act
V., scene ii., lines 1-22.
XXV. Othello's Defence. Othello, Act V., scene ii., lines 338-355.
XXVI. Horatio, Hamlet, and Bernardo. Hamlet, Act I., scene ii.,
lines 159-212.
XXVII. Hotspur's Anger. King Henry IV., Part I., Act I., scene iii.,
lines 118-188.
INDEX TO BIBLE SELECTIONS
I. Christ's Sermon on the Mount . .
II. Christ's Testimony concerning John
III. Christ reproves the Pharisees . .
IV.
Matt, v., vi., vii.
Matt. xi.
Matt, xxiii. 13-39.
Mary's Hymn of Praise Luke i. 46-55.
V. The Prophecy of Zacharias Luke i. 68-80
VI. The Parable of the Prodigal Son . . . Luke xv. 1 1-32.
VII. Christ and the Woman at Jacob's Well . John iv.
VIII. Paul on Mars' Hill Acts xvii. 22-31.
IX. Paul before Agrippa Acts xxvi.
X. Exhortations Rom. xii.
XI. Exhortation to Faith Heb. xi.
INDEX
211
XII. The Book with Seven Seals .... Rev. v.
XIII. The Destruction of Babylon .... Rev. xix.
XIV. Jacob's Blessing to his Sons .... Gen. xlix.
XV. The Song of Moses Ex. xv. 1-21.
XVI. The Ten Commandments Ex. xx.
XVII. The Majesty of God Deut. xxxiii.
XVIII. David's Lamentation of Saul and Jona-
than 2 Sam. i. 17-27.
XIX. The Frailty of Life Job xiv.
XX. The Mighty Works of God . ... Job xxxviii.
XXI. The Reward of Righteousness . . . Psalm i.
XXII. David's Trust in God Psalm xviii.
XXIII. David's Confidence in God's Favor . Psalm xxiii.
XXIV. God's Lordship in the World . . . Psalm xxiv.
XXV. The Majesty of God Psalm \. 1-15.
XXVI. The Frailty of Human Life .... Psalm xc.
XXVII. Exhortation to fear God Psalm civ.
XXVIII. Psalm of Prayer and Praise .... Psalm cxix.
XXIX. David praiseth God for his Providence, Psalm cxxxix. 1-18.
XXX. Comfort to Jerusalem Isaiah xl.
XXXI. Christ's Suffering Isaiah liii.
XXXII. The Call to Faith Isaiah Iv.
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