self-conscious, blundering. He is ever falling over his own feet as well as over other people's. He does not know what to do with his hands. If he so far forgets himself as to attempt gestures, those gestures have about as much grace and significance as the contortions of a jumping jack. Now, why is it not the most reasonable course for one with conscious talent and ambition, but with such physical defects, to take training from a reputable teacher of elocution and learn how to correct his shortcomings? His very awkwardness may, wisely treated, become the basis of positive power in gesture and attitude. And, surely, without correction it will prove a handicap and hindrance to the highest success.

The value of culture in elocution was well illustrated in the experience of Henry Ward Beecher. If any man could afford to depend wholly upon native powers for success in public speech, it would seem that he was such a man. The son of a distinguished preacher, brought up amid cultured surroundings, hearing eloquent sermons and addresses every week from childhood, with extraordinary talent and remarkable physical powers to begin with, what need had he for learning the tricks of the elocutionist? Why should he spend his labor for that which satisfieth not? The inquiry put in such a way is, after all, a begging of the question. He thought such training well worth his while. The mere fact that he had advantages beyond those of most men, instead of furnishing an excuse for neglect, was to him an added incentive and obligation to increased exertion. He real

ized that to whom much was given of him much would be required. So what do we find him doing? He placed himself, when at college, under a skillful teacher, and for three years was drilled incessantly, he says, in posturing, gesture, and voice culture. Not long after, at the theological seminary, Mr. Beecher continued his drill. There was a large grove between the seminary and his father's house, and it was the habit, he tells us, of his brother Charles and himself, with one or two others, to make the night, and even the day, hideous with their voices, as they passed backward and forward through the wood, exploding all the vowels from the bottom to the very top of their voices. And what was the result of all these exercises? Was it a stiff, cramped style of speaking? "The drill that I underwent," says this manysided orator, "produced, not a rhetorical manner, but a flexible instrument, that accommodated itself readily to every kind of thought and every shade of feeling, and obeyed the inward will in the outward realization of the results of rules and regulations."

Now, let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter. What do such examples teach us? As another well says, "They prove conclusively, we think, that the great orators, of ancient and modern times, have trusted, not to native endowments, but to careful culture; that it was to the infinitus labor et quotidiana meditatio, of which Tacitus speaks, that they owed their triumphs; that marvelous as were their gifts, they were less than the ignorant rated them; and that even the mightiest, the

elect natures, that are supposed to be above all rules, condescended to methods by which the humblest may profit."

This discussion may well be closed with the words of Salvini, the great actor, to students in eloquence: "Above all, study, study, STUDY. All the genius in the world will not help you along with any art, unless you become a hard student. It has taken me years to master a single part."

3. Another habit of great importance to the orator is that he cultivate the oratorical spirit. He who can conceive of his audience as always present while he is preparing his speech will have an advantage that otherwise would be impossible. His imagination will then be stirred, and if his imagination is vivid he will have something of the same spirit and inspiration that would stir him in the actual presence of an audience. As a help to him in preparation, also, it will be wise to pronounce his sentences aloud so as to test them, as it were, before actually deciding upon them. Not an uncommon thing was it for the most striking passages of the great orators, that seemed to spring spontaneously from the inspiration of the moment, to be wrought out with all care and diligence word for word days before they came so eloquently from the orator's apparently inspired lips. Such preparation cannot be criticised as deceit; it is only good sense applied to the presentation of a theme with recognition of the demands of the prospective audience.

Care in preparation, cultivation of the oratorical

imagination, thoroughness and finish of diction, must not be interpreted as meaning that these are the chief things to be sought. Figures, incidents, beauties of language should not be chosen for their own sake. There may be such a thing as too great finish. A production may be so polished and become so slick that the thought it bears may slip through the memory. It needs to have barbs, which, even though they irritate, will also penetrate and hold fast to the minds of the hearers. An illustration, a figure, a splendid passage that does not at the same time. help on the purpose for which the speech is pronounced is as sounding brass.

A.

CHAPTER XVII

THE DELIVERY OF THE ORATION

Methods of Delivery.- However great the care and skill in preparation on the part of the orator, his work is not done until he has delivered himself of his message to the actual, living audience. Rhetorically, such deliverance is the end for which his speech has been prepared. Unless he succeed in this final deliverance, his labor has been in vain. He may have spent days, weeks, months, even years, in getting ready for an occasion that will be passed by in a brief hour or two. Such being the case, how vastly important that he be prepared to make the most of the occasion when it comes! Attention has already been called to the importance of having a well trained voice and a well disciplined body, that will aid him in making the most of his opportunity.

There are various methods of delivery. Each has its champions. Each has its advantages and its difficulties. Shall the speaker write his speech and then read it from the manuscript? Shall he write it and memorize? Shall he write, and, without attempting to remember the words, follow the line of thought and the main methods of development in such detail as may come to him in the glow of delivery? Shall he speak from notes, with no attempt